#no... it's a real problem for me right now i'm afraid

[chaepink]

Private lessons | sub!oikawa toru

wc: 2.8k+ words | masterlist

dom!gn!reader, student x teacher relationship, professor!reader, reader is in mid/late twenties and oikawa is early twenties, college au, dry humping, begging, hair pulling, praising, teasing, choking, slight edging, pet names, a few mentions of "miss" for reader however can be ignored since no body parts are mentioned

note: lets see if i can still write good

"Professor? Can you go back and repeat that?"

You sigh and without turning around to see who asked the question, you begin repeating what you've just said out loud again. After all, you know exactly who asked the stupid question: Oikawa Toru.

Sure you're fresh out of college and new to the job but you're perfectly capable of dealing with all of the situations and problems that come with teaching. Your first year teaching sub-disciplines of biology passed by perfectly normally, with you even becoming one of the favorite teachers among the students.

So you weren't concerned when your second year began and you were prepared for most of the things that you assumed would happen.

But what you weren't prepared for was to deal with Oikawa fucking Toru, a senior who you've heard from your fellow teacher friends tends to be a constant pain in the ass.

He's the typical bad student. He's always bullying kids he deems inferior to him, hangs out with the frat boys, throws parties every week if not every day, and gets into fights. All while having girls surrounding him.

Oh, and he interrupts your teaching every second he gets.

That bastard has been the main problem that has suddenly made your job unenjoyable. He's been pulling all sorts of shit like making you repeat things at least 5 times each class, whispering crude remarks about you to his friend—even though he sits in the front of the room and you can hear each one—, and throwing paper balls and airplanes around randomly just to annoy you. Overall, he's a real nuisance during class.

And you know damn well that he doesn't even need or care for the repeating from the way he smirks at you when you're done and from now he has failed most of the quizzes and tests that you've given to the class yet doesn't go to you for any help.

No matter how annoying he is in your class, you can't be bothered to report him to the head of the school, afraid it would tarnish your new reputation as a teacher. After all, you heard rumors about how he's gotten teachers fired, and knowing his parents are somewhat influential, you'd rather not find out firsthand if they're true or not. All you can do is complain about him to your friends as you wait for the school year to end. At least his class is always the last one of the day, right? Yeah right.

Now back to the present.

As you finish repeating most of the things you already went over, you ignore the gaze burning into your head and quickly post the classwork on your laptop. However, right as you open your mouth to continue teaching, the bell rings and you can't help but let your shoulders slump as you look up to the students with a forced smile.

"I just posted the homework for this lesson that's due next class so don't forget to complete it! The semester is coming to an end so final grades will be put in soon."

As they pack up and begin chatting, a few give you sympathetic smiles as they exit, knowing what you have to go through during this class.

You don't bother to pay attention to the last person in the room as they walk up to your desk, stopping right in front of you.

"Professor? I think I need more help understanding."

You pause your typing on your laptop and focus on sorting the papers on your desk instead, trying to look busy but you're just trying not to look Oikawa in the eyes.

"Yes, Oikawa? What exactly do you need help understanding? If it's something that will take a while to chat with me about then I'm afraid that it'll have to wait until tomorrow because I have a lot of work to grade."

You quickly glance up at him and see the grin on his face. It's one that you've gotten accustomed to as it usually means he has something up his sleeve.

"Well mainly about today's lesson. I don't quite get it. Perhaps I even need a private lesson, don't you think?"

Right, you forgot to mention the rather obvious flirting he does towards you. It's almost as if your first year teaching went too well that your second just had to be the exact opposite.

You hold yourself back from rolling your eyes as you answer back calmly without looking at him.

"If what I notice during class is right, you haven't been paying attention much. But I'm sure if you start doing so, you'll begin understanding the lessons better."

You hear him let out a huff at your lack of attention towards him before seeing two hands being placed on either side of your laptop. You frown as your eyes immediately look up at him.

He's closer now, leaning over your desk and the grin wider now.

"Oh come on professor, a private lesson can't hurt. You'll be able to teach me so much." Teach him how to behave perhaps. "And you can do it however you want, I'm not picky." The way he looks at you as he says the last part has you questioning if he meant it in another way. Knowing him, he most likely did.

You sigh before gathering your papers and you see Oikawa's grin falter slightly.

"Oikawa, I don't think a private lesson is necessary. Nor do I think it would benefit you in any way." You're so focused on the papers that you don't hear him walk around the desk to your side until he's right beside your chair.

"Please, professor?" You jump slightly in surprise before turning your chair to face him and you remember just how tall he is. He's right in front of you now and the way he said the word "please" has you tensing. He knows what he's doing and he knows that you know.

You suddenly realize the tension in the room and clear your throat. "This is inappropriate, Oikawa. I'm your professor."

He raises an eyebrow before stepping closer and smirking.

"Inappropriate? Just what are you assuming? I'm not doing anything inappropriate." He leans down slightly and you frown. Damn him and his good looks. No wonder you see him surrounded by girls on the daily.

You narrow your eyes at him. "You know what you're doing," you say sternly and his smirk widens. Oh, you want to slap that smirk off his face so badly.

You can't help but glance back at your laptop for a second before suddenly feeling a hot breath in your ear and a presence beside you.

"Please, professor?" A shiver runs down your spine. Before you can reply, you notice his tie dangling in front of you—one that's always untucked despite the uniform policy—and you can't help but grab it and pull it down sharply. He gasps at the sudden action as he stumbles and falls to his knees in front of you. His eyes immediately widen and a faint blush appears on his face.

You can't help but be in shock as well. If someone were to walk in at this moment, they would see the infamous Oikawa Toru on his knees, a blush on his face that's growing redder by the second, in front of one of the school's most popular teachers.

Oh, the rumors.

Even on his knees, he's still tall but you swear he looks smaller from the way he looks up at you in surprise.

You're still holding onto his tie and you realize, the way you're staring down at him, tie in hand while he's on his knees staring at you with widened—awaiting?— eyes; Oikawa kinda reminds you of… a dog?

Get your mind out of the gutter, [Name], you tell yourself, yet your grip on his tie only tightens and you notice him swallow hard.

You look at his neck and realize you must've accidentally tightened the tie somehow as well, pressing it right up against his Adam's apple.

"M-Miss?" You snap out of your thoughts, both the title and the stutter catching you by surprise. Looking at Oikawa, you see he's blushing harder, fists clenched on his thighs as he continues to look up at you with that look. Shit.

Then you realize he's not moving, not getting up, not pushing you away, or yelling at you. He's not protesting it. Rather, he's deciding to stay kneeling in front of you.

Does he want this?

You swallow hard as your eyes rake over Oikawa's body and you swear you see his body shiver slightly. You were always a sucker for pretty men anyways.

However, when your eyes finally reach his lower half, you realize why he's blushing so much, or why he's avoiding your gaze suddenly. He's hard, so obviously hard.

Oikawa looks so different from his normal persona that you almost want to laugh. The cocky, annoying senior that has always pestered you in class reduced to a blushing, speechless mess in front of you with a raging boner.

"I bet this is what you wanted, right? During a private lesson?" You see him tense up before lowering his head in front of you, muttering something quietly.

"Use your words properly." You notice him staying silent and wonder if you've misread him before he suddenly speaks- no, suddenly moves.

He slowly leans forward to lay his cheek on your thigh and your breath hitches at the sight.

"I'm sorry, miss." Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Despite how one side of your mind so desperately wants to put him in his place after everything he's done, the more rational part of your mind quickly reminds you that you're his professor and he's your student. Although you're only a few years older than him, this could get you fired or worse.

He must sense your hesitation because he then gently grasps your ankle and presses your shoe against his crotch, letting out a small whimper that makes the heat inside your stomach rise.

You curse under your breath before tugging his tie again and he gasps. Feeling him start to slowly rock against your shoe, you take it back and hear him whine pathetically.

"Was this your plan all along? To rile me up so I would snap and teach you a lesson?" You feel his crotch twitch slightly.

Oikawa swallows hard before lifting his head up and nodding. "Words."

"Yes, miss." You can't help the grin that spreads across your face.

"Well," you start and you see him looking up at you awaitedly. "Perhaps I will teach you a lesson, in my own way of course, since you said you weren't picky." He blushes, remembering his previous words. You have a feeling that although he wanted you to snap, he didn't expect it to go this way.

The pressure against his crotch snaps him out of his thoughts and before his mind can process it, his body already has and you see pre cum seeping through the material of his pants. He lets out a moan at the feeling of your shoe again.

"How about, I'll ask you questions about the class material" —you see his Adam's apple bobbing— "and depending on whether you answer correctly or not, I'll either pull back my shoe or help you cum."

His breath hitches at the idea and almost immediately nods. With his brain already foggy along with the realization that you may pleasure him, he fails to remember that he hasn't been paying the best attention in your class or learned the material well.

You already feel him slightly grinding on your shoe again but you keep it there, wanting to keep on looking down at his flushed face panting near your thighs.

"What is a similarity between transcription and DNA replication?"

His eyes immediately widen in surprise and you know you've stumped him already. Although you know the rest of your classes would be able to answer it easily, his mind is already too clouded with pleasure, it's almost funny.

He stutters out some sort of half-ass response that you know is definitely wrong before you feign a disappointed sigh and pull away your shoe. Immediately he whines out in protest but a stern look from you shuts him right up.

So now he follows your orders.

"What does the shape of a protein determine?" Groaning, he lays his head back on your thigh. His grip on your ankle tightens slightly as he pouts up at you, trying to convince you to do something else. With his hair right in front of you, you suddenly grab it before yanking his head back, emitting a rather loud cry of pain from him.

"Come on, Oikawa"—he lets out a whine at the way you say his name so sternly—"I thought you wanted this? So be a good boy and answer the question. Or perhaps I should just leave you here?"

He widens his eyes before shaking his head hesitantly. "N-No, miss." Oh, the thought of you just leaving him here has his cock throbbing. He's so hard, it hurts.

You stay silent and he realizes you're still awaiting an answer from him. You swear you see the cogwheels turning in his brain, the need to cum fueling it.

"The… function?"

It comes out as more of a question than an answer but you take it anyways. The second you grind your shoe back against his already stained crotch, he humps it like a dog in heat, his groans and whimpers filling the classroom.

You ask him another question and of course, he gets it wrong, mumbling some response that had nothing to do with what you asked. However, taking pity on him, you don't pull away your shoe and he takes it as a sign to speed up. Maybe he thought he actually got it right or maybe he realized that you felt bad for him.

Your hand grips his tie again, tugging it as he lets out a small groan, his eyes rolling back in his head slightly at the pressure against his throat. So he likes getting choked?

"You know, when you're making all sorts of loud noises like that, I wouldn't be surprised if someone were to come check up on his room."

You expected him to slow down, maybe even stop at the realization. But rather he speeds up.

"Maybe you would even like that, getting caught." His cock inside his pants twitches a lot, answering your suspicions so you continue. "Imagine what they would think, seeing a big bad senior like you on his knees for a teacher, rutting against their shoe like a fucking bitch in heat."

Your language catches him off guard, the total opposite of how you act when you teach. He can't help the blush that travels down his neck or the shock of pleasure that runs through his spine or the way his dick leaks more pre-cum, trickling through his pants and onto your shoe because holy shit was that hot.

But the whole situation wouldn't happen anyway. You know for a fact that this part of the college was practically empty, even more so after the last class. But Oikawa doesn't know that and the thought of getting caught turns him on more than he would like to admit.

"M-Miss, I'm close," he murmurs into your thigh, taking no action to slow down. You raise an eyebrow. Assuming that he hooks up with girls weekly, you thought it would take him longer to cum, or perhaps this whole situation is too much for him to process clearly that he just couldn't hold it in. It's cute.

Oikawa is quick to babble out pleas to cum, his voice rising in pitch as his absolutely sinful noises become louder. Some drool escapes from the corner of his mouth and his body feels hot, tears prickling the corners of his eyes from the intensity.

His eyes roll back again and you swear his brain short circuits when you press down on his crotch, his grip on your ankle tightening even more to keep you there. Oikawa can’t even think properly anymore, he just wants to cum. "Pleasepleaseplease-"

"Go on Oikawa, since you've been such a good boy during this lesson." The praise is what gets him. He throws his head back, revealing his neck that you want to grab so badly, and lets out a cry of pleasure. Immediately you feel the wetness on your shoe and you look down to see the wet stain on his pants growing even more.

Oikawa slumps back forward onto your thighs as his humping slows down before coming to a stop. Looking up at you, his eyes are glassy and glazed over and the sight makes your heart race.

He sighs before laying his cheek on your thigh and closing his eyes, murmuring something that you almost fail to hear.

"Thank you for the private lesson, miss."

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

╰┈➤ masterlist | rules

[wastefulreverie]

DP writing prompt: in which Danny wakes up from nightmare after nightmare, right before the scalpel cuts his skin.

taking writing prompts!!

The snap of latex gloves, the dizzying smell of antiseptic and the chill of cold metal at his back. The sharp, unyielding surgical light adjusted to blot out most of his vision. And the sound of metal on metal as his parents sort through their tools, selecting which knife will do the honors. He's long since been stripped of his suit, vulnerable to whatever fresh horrors they have in store.

Mom's stance is poised and delicate and it's the same look she has when mending his clothes after they get mangled in fights. I just tripped, he tells her and she shakes her head and puts his clothes back together again. Now the scalpel in her hand is meant to undo him. Pull him apart.

The cool metal has barely just grazed his torso when Danny jolts awake.

His cheek is wet with drool and he lifts his head as slowly as he can muster, willing his heart rate to slow with careful and steady breaths. An ingrained routine at this point. Look forward, focus on the whiteboard like it's the only thing in the world that matters.

"Fenton?" Dash says, beside him. Eugh, that's right. Detention with Lancer.

He lucked out today, because it looks like he feel asleep while Lancer was out of the room.

"What," he says. "Can't a guy get a minute's rest?"

"That—that didn't look like rest," is all Dash says, an uncharacteristic observation from the biggest human pain in his ass.

"Cool," Danny nods. He looks down at the assignment he's supposed to be working on. He nodded off halfway through the first question, so undeniably he's fucked.

He follows his previous work, double checking the equations and trying to figure out where the hell he is going wrong. If he doesn't have at least the first question before Lancer gets back...

"Are you alright?" Dash adds.

Danny lowers his pencil. "Why the hell do you care?"

Dash opens and his mouth and shuts it. "You were really... um. Twitching a lot and muttering things. About your parents."

"I'm fine. It was a nightmare, nothing real," Danny explains, as if speaking to a toddler. "You gonna bully me for having bad dreams now, or something? Tell everyone in school that I'm scared shitless asleep, too? Go ahead, see if I care."

He has bigger problems.

"That's not—" he runs a hand over his face. "Fine, okay. Yeah, you're right. It's nothing and not my fucking business what kind of nightmares losers like you are having. Just stop being so fucking weird."

Danny tries to return to his assignment, but his attention keeps slipping back to Dash and his watchful eyes. Like someone had removed the wool from his eyes and he was seeing Danny for the first time as a person and not a punching bag. What the hell.

Lancer returns shortly and Dash is quiet. Too quiet, but Danny doesn't care. It's not until their way out of detention that Dash stops Danny with a gentle slam into the wall and asks him:

"Why are you afraid of them cutting you up?"

Danny rolls his eyes. "We all have irrational fears, Dash. Shove it."

He pushes his way out of his grip and keeps walking. He just has to hope that the idiot won't bring it up again, like it's even a big deal. So what? Danny dreams about them ripping him apart all the time, it doesn't have to mean anything unless he thinks too hard about it. Because it's not going to happen. (Probably.)

"Your family is nuts!" Dash calls after him. "You're nuts too!"

Despite himself, Danny just laughs.

[clflowerrr]

So... if i'm gonna draw han yoojin... i'll just draw kim dokja as template then add red earrings and fancy jeweled choker necklace?

[leofrith]

acv hate on my dash and i can't even be mad about it because they make some good points 😶

[returntotheground]

the vibe i want: 💀🌲🔪🌑🌫🪦

the vibe i have: 😐🧍‍♀️

[catboybiologist]

Two random vent lists

Cis ally shit that annoys some trans people but doesn't annoy me as much

Some misgendering, if you're receptive to being corrected. Much prefer being misgendered and lightly correcting than being degendered or having someone be afraid of addressing me at all. Also there are so many other problems I have related to transphobia that pronouns are not anywhere near my top concern.

Asking the "annoying" or intrusive questions (I WILL counter with explicit detail, though)

"This affects cis women too" in response to anti trans legislation- the root of transphobia is misogyny, this helps attack the root. It also builds solidarity

I have a complicated relationship to my old name, I don't call it my deadname and I'm fine with hearing it sometimes. It does get old though

Cis "ally" shit that annoys me but is too petty for me to talk about in day to day life

Dismissing sexism that trans women face as trivial and/or affirming ("welcome to being a woman" "hey it's just cuz you got hot [in response to being catcalled]") when they would never do the same to cis women

"Identify" as a verb (eg "you identify as a woman" bitch I just am a woman, I also identify as one but why are you avoiding saying I am one)

Talking over my relationship to dynamic/changing gender (eg, I say "when I was a guy" "silly, you were always a girl!" Like sure if that's how you want to see it but my experience in the world is radically different then v now. Also that's not how I see it, it's a much deeper conversation, I don't think "always" being a woman makes my womanhood any more or less real now. It's about who I am now, not the past, and I'm fine treating pre-transition me as a man.)

Centering "validity" as the only issue in trans rights and not thinking about it any deeper (eg, passport stuff being treated as "omg you're valid no matter what the government says!!!" As opposed to "hey the government is legally codifying sexes and what rights they have and those definitions are now used in explicitly discriminatory legislation")

"Third gendering" or "degendering" (eg, they/theming when I use she/her, avoiding using any gendered terms for me and making conversations more awkward, being paralytically afraid of giving me either binary gender. Treating me as non binary is still misgendering.)

Pushing transmasc bathroom stuff as a counterargument to trans bathroom use, eg, "do you want this big hairy masculine trans man in your bathroom" (it was never about the men's room. It's not about sex at birth. It's about policing women's spaces. Also why are you using someone with masculine features in a woman's room as a scare tactic)

Overuse of AGAB to reinvent the binary (eg, "AFAB only" events now in "progressive" spaces)

[enhaflixer]

hogwarts time travel au! traveling to the future and waking up MARRIED PART 2

slytherin!riki x gryffindor!reader PART ONE HERE

warnings: time travel, sex, kissing, lots of kissing, kinda angsty, they have two kids, there are pranks and rivalry and its just real cute im ngl

-

The night before the department dinner, after the children were asleep, Riki found you in the study reviewing your class notes—a habit you'd developed to avoid embarrassing yourself in front of your students.

"We should probably practice," he said from the doorway, startling you.

"Practice what?"

"Dancing." He shifted his weight, looking uncharacteristically nervous. "If this is a formal department thing, there will probably be dancing."

You set aside your notes reluctantly. "Is that really necessary?"

"These people know us—know our future selves," he pointed out. "If we're awkward or stepping on each other's toes, they'll notice."

You sighed. "Fine. But just a quick run-through."

He nodded, then flicked his wand at the wireless in the corner. Soft, melodic music filled the room. With another wave, he pushed the furniture against the walls, creating a small dance floor in the center of the study.

"Shall we?" He extended his hand formally, a hint of his usual confidence returning.

You rolled your eyes but placed your hand in his, allowing him to draw you to the center of the room. His right hand settled at your waist while his left held yours aloft. You placed your free hand on his shoulder, careful to maintain a respectable distance between your bodies.

"I'm not going to hex you," he said with a slight smile. "You can stand a bit closer."

"This is fine," you insisted, though you knew real couples wouldn't dance with a foot of space between them.

He shrugged and began to lead, moving with surprising grace. After a few moments of stiff movement, you found your rhythm, matching his steps as you circled the makeshift dance floor.

"You're not terrible at this," you admitted grudgingly.

"Pure-blood family," he reminded you. "Dance lessons from age six. Mother's orders."

"That explains why you didn't completely embarrass yourself at the Yule Ball," you said, remembering how he'd danced with Olivia Greengrass for most of the evening.

Something flickered in his eyes. "You noticed me at the Yule Ball?"

"Hard not to notice when someone transfigures the punch bowl into a singing toad halfway through the evening," you countered, deflecting the implied question.

He laughed. "McGonagall's face was priceless."

The music shifted to something slower, more intimate. Riki's hand at your waist exerted the slightest pressure, drawing you incrementally closer.

"People will expect us to dance like we've done it a hundred times before," he said softly. "Like we know each other's movements by heart."

"And how do we do that?" Your voice came out quieter than intended.

"For starters, not like we're afraid of each other." Before you could protest, he eliminated the space between you, bringing your bodies together from chest to knee.

Your breath caught as he adjusted his hold, his arm now encircling your waist completely. Your joined hands moved to rest against his chest, while your other hand slid from his shoulder to the nape of his neck. The new position was undeniably intimate—you could feel his heartbeat against your fingers, the warmth of his skin beneath your palm.

"This is how married people dance," he murmured, his breath stirring your hair.

You couldn't formulate a response as he began moving again, the steps simpler now—less formal waltz and more just swaying together to the music. Your bodies moved in sync, with none of the awkwardness you'd expected.

"See?" he said after a few moments. "Not so difficult."

You made a noncommittal sound, not trusting your voice. Because it wasn't difficult—that was the problem. It felt easy. Natural. As if your body remembered dancing with him like this before, even if your mind didn't.

The music swelled, and Riki spontaneously spun you out and back into his arms. You returned smoothly, your back now pressed against his chest, his arms crossed over your waist, holding you securely. The move had been unexpected but you'd followed his lead instinctively.

"Perfect," he said, his voice dropping to a lower register that sent a shiver down your spine. "You see? Muscle memory."

You turned in his arms to face him again, intending to create some distance, but found yourself caught in his gaze. There was something new there—a heat that hadn't been present in your previous interactions.

"Riki..." you began, not sure what you intended to say.

His eyes dropped to your lips, lingering just long enough to send your pulse racing, before he stepped back, releasing you as the music ended.

"That should be sufficient practice," he said, his voice slightly rougher than usual. "For tomorrow."

"Right," you agreed, wrapping your arms around yourself to ward off the sudden chill of his absence. "For tomorrow."

-

The next evening found you in the bedroom, putting the finishing touches on your appearance while Riki took the girls to The Burrow. You'd opted for the green gown after all—silk that flowed like water, with a modest neckline but a back that dipped daringly low. Your hair was arranged in an elegant updo, and you'd applied makeup with more care than you'd ever bothered with at seventeen.

The effect, you had to admit, was striking. You hardly recognized yourself in the mirror—this poised, elegant woman seemed worlds away from the student who'd spent most of her time in the library with ink-stained fingers.

The sound of the Floo activating announced Riki's return. You took a steadying breath and descended the stairs, feeling oddly nervous.

Riki stood in the living room, adjusting the silver cuffs of his midnight-blue dress robes. The tailoring was impeccable, emphasizing his broad shoulders and lean frame—clearly, these robes had been made specifically for him. He looked up as you entered, and the expression that crossed his face made your stomach flutter unexpectedly.

"Wow," was all he managed at first, his eyes traveling slowly from your face to your feet and back again. His gaze lingered on the way the deep emerald and black silk draped across your body, the Grecian-inspired cut accentuating your figure while the open back added an unexpected touch of allure.

"Just 'wow'?" you supplied when he didn't continue, turning slightly to show the full effect of the gown.

"Devastating," he finally said, his voice rough. "You look absolutely devastating."

He swallowed visibly, and you noticed with satisfaction that his usual quick wit seemed to have abandoned him entirely. The thought flashed through his mind, surprising even himself—did he have a previously undiscovered kink for seeing you in Slytherin green? The rich emerald color that had once represented rivalry now stirred something entirely different in him.

"You clean up decently yourself," you offered, aiming for casual despite the charged atmosphere.

"The robes that make my ass look fantastic," he confirmed with a flash of his usual humor, though his eyes never left yours. "Ready to convince a room full of Aurors we're madly in love?"

"As I'll ever be," you replied, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in your stomach.

-

Theodesia's turned out to be an elegant restaurant with crystal chandeliers and goblin-wrought silver place settings. You were greeted effusively by the maître d' who clearly recognized you both and led you upstairs to a private dining room already buzzing with conversation.

"Riki! Professor!" A man detached himself from a group near the bar—Jake, from the Floo call yesterday. He approached with a broad smile, a striking woman with dark skin and elaborate braids at his side. "About time you two showed up. Cutting it close as usual."

"Some things never change," Riki replied with surprising ease, clasping Jake's hand. "Traffic in the Floo network was awful."

"You look gorgeous," the woman—presumably Seera—said, embracing you warmly. "That color is perfect on you. I've been telling you to wear more green for ages."

"I decided to take your advice," you improvised, returning her hug.

"Where are the little menaces tonight?" Jake asked. "With Molly?"

"Yes, we dropped them off earlier," Riki confirmed. "Sara was already eyeing the cookie jar when we left."

His effortless lying impressed you—he sounded completely natural discussing children he'd only known for two weeks.

"Smart move using your anniversary as an excuse for a night off," Seera said with a knowing smile. "Though I still can't believe it's been five years since your wedding. I remember it like yesterday—you two dancing under those enchanted cherry blossoms, looking disgustingly in love."

"Time flies," you managed, leaning into Riki's side as his arm slipped around your waist.

"Speaking of which," Jake said, checking his watch, "we should find our seats. Kingsley will be starting the presentations soon."

The next hour passed in a blur of introductions, small talk, and desperately trying not to reveal your ignorance of people who clearly knew you well. Riki proved surprisingly adept at navigating conversations, deflecting personal questions with humor and redirecting topics when things veered into dangerous territory.

His hand remained a constant presence at the small of your back, his thumb occasionally brushing bare skin through the open back of your gown, sending little jolts of electricity up your spine each time.

Dinner was served—an elegant multi-course affair with wine pairings—as various department heads delivered speeches and presented awards. You were relieved to discover that Riki wasn't receiving any special recognition, though he was mentioned several times for his team's recent successful operations.

"Your husband's quite the rising star," whispered the witch seated on your other side—a senior Auror named Claudia. "Youngest division head in thirty years. Though I suspect he'd give it all up if you decided to have another baby."

You nearly choked on your wine. "Another—"

"Oh, I know, I know," she said hurriedly. "You've said two is your limit. But the way he dotes on those girls... Well, just saying. Never seen a man more besotted with fatherhood."

You glanced at Riki, deep in conversation with an older wizard across the table. The idea of him as a doting father had seemed absurd two weeks ago, but now... You'd seen how he was with Suki and Sara. How natural he seemed with them, how his entire demeanor softened around the children.

Your contemplation was interrupted as Jake stood, tapping his glass for attention.

"If I could have everyone's attention for a moment," he called over the chatter. "As is tradition at our annual dinner, we take a moment to celebrate not just professional achievements, but personal ones as well. And tonight, we have a very special milestone to recognize."

He turned toward your table, raising his glass. "Riki and Y/N Nishimura are celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary this month. Five years of proving that even when you start as sworn enemies, love finds a way."

A ripple of laughter and applause moved through the room.

"For those who don't know their story," Jake continued, "these two spent seven years at Hogwarts hexing each other at every opportunity. Their legendary prank war culminated in what we now affectionately call 'The Great Time-Turner Incident' where they accidentally sent themselves ten years into the future."

Your blood ran cold. Riki's hand found yours under the table, squeezing tightly.

"When they finally managed to return to their time," Jake went on, oblivious to your shock, "something had fundamentally changed. As Riki tells it, 'Seeing a future where we were happy together made me realize I'd been fighting my feelings all along.' Three years later, they were exchanging vows with half the faculty of Hogwarts in attendance."

The room awwwed appreciatively.

"So please raise your glasses," Jake concluded, "to Riki and [Your Name]—proof that sometimes the person who drives you absolutely crazy is exactly the person you're meant to be with."

"To Riki and Y/N !" the room echoed, glasses raised.

You managed a smile, lifting your glass automatically as your mind raced. The Great Time-Turner Incident? Your future selves had experienced something similar—had, in fact, ended up together because of it.

Riki's hand was still clutching yours beneath the table, his knuckles white. He'd clearly reached the same conclusion.

"And now," Seera announced, standing beside her husband, "as is tradition, a few words from our anniversary couple!"

The room erupted in applause and expectant looks.

Riki recovered first, rising to his feet and pulling you gently up beside him. His arm went around your waist, steadying you.

"Thank you all," he began, his voice remarkably steady given the bombshell that had just been dropped. "Five years doesn't seem possible, does it, love?" He looked down at you with such convincing affection that your breath caught.

"Sometimes it feels like yesterday," you managed, finding your voice. "Other times, like we've always been together."

The room sighed appreciatively at your response.

"I won't subject you all to the story of how this brilliant, beautiful woman finally agreed to go out with me after years of turning my hair various colors," Riki continued, drawing laughs from the audience. "But I will say this—Jake's right. Sometimes the person who challenges you most is exactly who you need."

He turned to face you fully, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made the rest of the room fade away. "Every day with you is an adventure, even when it's just making pancakes with the girls or grading papers by the fire. I wouldn't trade our life for anything."

The raw sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten. This wasn't just a performance for the crowd—there was something real beneath his words.

"Neither would I," you said softly, surprising yourself with the truth of it. "Even when you drive me crazy."

The room laughed again, but Riki's smile was just for you—small, private, and achingly genuine.

"Thank you all," he said, turning back to the audience. "For celebrating with us tonight."

As you both sat down, the room burst into a chant: "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

Riki looked at you, a question in his eyes. A public kiss hadn't been part of your planning, but refusing would seem odd for a celebrating couple.

"We should," you whispered. "Just a quick one."

He nodded, then leaned in slowly, giving you time to prepare. You expected a brief peck—the bare minimum to satisfy the crowd.

What you got instead was a revelation.

His lips touched yours gently at first, a whisper of contact that sent a shock wave through your system. Then, as if unable to help himself, he deepened the kiss, one hand coming up to cradle your jaw. Your eyes fluttered closed as you responded instinctively, your lips parting slightly beneath his.

The kiss lasted only seconds, but it felt like an eternity—an eternity where nothing existed but the warmth of his mouth on yours and the dizzying sense that something fundamental had shifted between you.

When he pulled back, his eyes were dark, pupils dilated. You could read the same stunned recognition in his face that you felt coursing through your veins.

The room erupted in cheers and whistles, breaking the spell. Riki's thumb brushed your cheekbone once before he withdrew his hand, turning to acknowledge the crowd with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Under the table, your fingers touched your lips, still tingling from the contact. That hadn't been a performance. That had been... something else entirely.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. People stopped by your table to share anecdotes about your relationship, each one a piece of a puzzle you were desperately trying to assemble. You learned that you'd started dating in your final year at Hogwarts, after returning from your accidental time travel. That you'd worked as a curse-breaker before taking the teaching position at Hogwarts. That your wedding had featured cherry blossoms and fairy lights, with Hagrid sobbing so loudly during the vows that no one could hear them.

When the orchestra began playing a slow, haunting melody, Riki stood and offered his hand. "Dance with me?" he asked softly, all pretense stripped away in that moment.

You took his hand without hesitation, letting him lead you to the dance floor. His arm slid around your waist with practiced ease, drawing you close as you began to move together. All your awkward practice from the night before had vanished—your bodies knew this dance, knew each other, moving in perfect synchrony as if you'd done this a thousand times before.

"Everyone's watching us," you murmured, noticing the fond glances directed your way.

"Let them," he replied, his eyes never leaving yours. "They're seeing what they expect to see—the department's most disgustingly perfect couple."

"Is that what we are?" you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

Something shifted in his gaze, a vulnerability you'd glimpsed only in rare moments. "Maybe not yet. But..."

He didn't finish the thought, didn't need to. As the music swelled around you, he guided you into a graceful turn that made your dress billow around your ankles. When you returned to his arms, you were both smiling, caught in a bubble of shared connection that felt startlingly genuine.

"Happy anniversary," you whispered, so quietly that only he could hear, surprising yourself with the sincerity behind the words.

His eyes widened slightly, genuine shock flashing across his features before his expression softened into something warm and unguarded. For a moment—one perfect, suspended moment—you both forgot that this wasn't really your life, that you hadn't actually been married for five years, that the memories everyone was celebrating weren't truly yours.

"Happy anniversary," he whispered back, his eyes never leaving yours, meaning it in ways neither of you could fully understand.

As you continued to dance, you noticed a small group of witches watching you from the edge of the dance floor, smiling affectionately at what they clearly considered a romantic moment between longtime lovers. Without overthinking it, you leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to Riki's jaw—ostensibly for your audience, though the flutter in your stomach suggested other motives.

You felt his sharp intake of breath, his arm tightening almost imperceptibly around your waist. When you pulled back slightly to gauge his reaction, the heat in his eyes made your pulse skip.

The song ended too soon, breaking the spell as applause rippled through the room. But as Riki led you back to your table, his hand resting lightly on the bare skin of your back, something had changed between you—something that couldn't be dismissed as merely playing a part.

Through the rest of the evening, Riki remained close—his arm around your chair, his fingers occasionally brushing yours, his body angled toward you in the unconscious way of couples accustomed to each other's presence. You found yourself responding in kind, leaning into his touch, laughing at his jokes, exchanging glances that somehow conveyed entire conversations.

It was frighteningly easy to play the role of his wife, you realized. Too easy.

And that kiss... that hadn't been playing at all.

By the time you said your goodbyes and stepped into the cool night air outside Theodesia's, you were both quieter than usual, lost in your own thoughts.

"Well," Riki finally broke the silence as you walked toward the apparition point. "That was... informative."

"The Time-Turner Incident," you said, focusing on the practical rather than the confusing emotional aftermath of the evening. "Our future selves experienced something similar."

"And it changed everything for them," he added. "Or us. Time travel pronouns are confusing."

You laughed despite yourself. "That's your takeaway?"

"No," he admitted, stopping beneath a street lamp. The warm glow illuminated his features as he turned to you. "My takeaway is that we need to talk about what happened in there."

"The toast? The revelations about our apparent history?"

"The kiss," he said simply.

Your heartbeat quickened. "It was just for show."

"Was it?" His voice was soft, his eyes searching yours. "Because it didn't feel like just for show."

"Riki..."

"I know we're supposed to be finding a way back," he continued. "I know this isn't our real life. But—" He paused, seeming to struggle with his words. "What if Jake was right? What if the person who's been driving me crazy for seven years is actually..."

"Don't," you whispered, not ready to hear the end of that sentence. Not ready to confront the growing realization that your feelings for Riki had become far more complicated than simple animosity.

He studied your face for a long moment, then nodded once. "We should get back. Check on the girls."

"Yes," you agreed, relieved by the return to practicality. "Molly's probably wondering where we are."

He offered his arm for side-along apparition. As your fingers curled around the rich fabric of his sleeve, you couldn't help remembering how it had felt when those same fingers had tangled in your hair as he kissed you—how perfect it had felt, how right.

And how terrifying the implications of that rightness might be.

-

The days following the department dinner passed in an increasingly elaborate dance of avoidance.

You began waking up earlier than necessary, slipping out of bed before Riki stirred and volunteering for morning duties with the girls. He, in turn, started staying up later, buried in case files at the kitchen table long after you'd retired to bed. The bedroom became a transition space—a place you occupied in shifts rather than together, despite the fact that you still technically shared it.

At breakfast, you'd focus intensely on helping Suki with her cereal or wiping Sara's sticky hands, using the children as buffers. Riki would read the Daily Prophet with unusual thoroughness, suddenly fascinated by Ministry policy updates and Quidditch standings he'd normally disregard. If your fingers accidentally brushed while passing the tea, you'd both flinch away as if burned, murmuring awkward apologies before finding new reasons to be elsewhere.

The kiss—that unexpectedly genuine, heart-stopping moment at the department dinner—hovered between you like an unacknowledged presence, impossible to address yet impossible to forget.

Neither of you mentioned the way you'd whispered "happy anniversary" and meant it, or how his hand had lingered on your bare back during the dance, or how natural it had felt to lean into his touch throughout the evening. Those moments contradicted the narrative you'd both silently agreed upon: that this was all temporary, that your real lives waited elsewhere, that the growing comfort and connection between you was simply muscle memory from bodies accustomed to each other.

In the evenings, you'd grade papers in the study while Riki handled bedtime stories with elaborate sound effects that made the girls squeal with delight. You found yourself lingering outside the nursery door sometimes, listening to his patient voice as he answered Suki's endless questions or soothed Sara with a gentle lullaby. These glimpses of tenderness made avoiding him both more necessary and more difficult.

When you did occupy the same space, conversation remained strictly practical, delivered with exaggerated casualness.

"Suki's daycare is closed on Friday," you'd mention, focused intently on stirring your tea. "Teacher training day."

"I can work from home," he'd offer, eyes fixed on a spot just over your shoulder. "No problem."

"Great. Thanks," you'd reply, already moving toward the door. "I should prepare for tomorrow's lessons."

You weren't hostile—quite the opposite. There was a new carefulness between you, a politeness almost painful in its restraint. You both said "please" and "thank you" with formal precision. You complimented his cooking; he praised your patience with the children. But beneath the courtesy lay a current of tension neither of you was willing to acknowledge.

Sometimes you'd catch him watching you when he thought you wouldn't notice—a speculative look in his eyes that made your stomach flutter. Other times, you'd find yourself staring at his hands as he helped Suki with a puzzle, remembering how those same hands had felt on your waist during the dance, and you'd have to excuse yourself to another room until your heartbeat steadied.

The weekend arrived with blessed relief. Riki announced he had paperwork to complete for an ongoing smuggling investigation—a transparent excuse, but one you gratefully accepted. You responded with equal transparency about needing to revise lesson plans. The mutual agreement to separation was welcome, even as the strained atmosphere grew increasingly unbearable.

By Saturday afternoon, the house felt too small despite its magical extensions. You found yourself wandering into the study, ostensibly searching for reference materials but really just seeking a space Riki wasn't occupying. That's when you discovered a cabinet tucked in the corner that you hadn't fully explored.

Inside were rows of small crystal orbs—magical recordings, similar to Pensieve memories but viewable without immersion. You'd seen similar devices in the Hogwarts archives, used to preserve important lectures and ceremonies.

Curious, and perhaps a bit desperate for distraction, you selected one labeled "Suki's First Steps." Perhaps watching family memories would help you better understand the life you were temporarily inhabiting—or at least provide a reprieve from the uncomfortable tension that had settled over the household.

You placed the orb in the viewing stand on the desk and tapped it with your wand. Light bloomed from the crystal, expanding into a three-dimensional projection. There was your future self, sitting on the living room floor, arms outstretched toward a wobbly Suki who couldn't have been more than a year old.

"Come on, sweet girl," your voice encouraged. "Come to Mama!"

Behind the camera, Riki's voice: "She's going to do it this time, I can feel it."

Sure enough, Suki took one hesitant step, then another, her little face a mask of concentration before breaking into a delighted giggle as she tumbled into your waiting arms.

"She did it!" the recorded you exclaimed, scooping her up and spinning her around. "Riki, did you get that?"

"Every second," came his proud reply. The camera moved closer, capturing your radiant smile and Suki's chubby hands patting your cheeks. "Our little prodigy, walking at ten months."

The projection faded, leaving the study quiet again. You sat back, a strange melancholy washing over you. These were your memories—would be your memories—yet they felt like glimpses into a stranger's life.

"What are you doing?"

You startled, turning to find Riki in the doorway, a mug of tea in his hand.

"I found these recordings," you explained, gesturing to the cabinet. "I was just... curious."

He hesitated, then entered the study, setting his tea down. "Anything interesting?"

"Suki's first steps." You smiled faintly. "She was early, apparently."

"Not surprising," he said, the first hint of normal conversation between you in days. "She's rather determined about everything."

You nodded, relieved by the break in tension. "Want to see another?"

It was an olive branch of sorts. He recognized it for what it was, settling into the chair beside yours. "Sure. You choose."

You returned to the cabinet, scanning labels. "Baby's First Quidditch Match," "Sara's Naming Ceremony," "Holiday in Greece." One caught your eye, labeled simply "The Surprise." Intrigued, you selected it.

The projection revealed your future self in the kitchen, setting up what appeared to be a camera. You wore casual clothes, hair pulled back, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you adjusted the angle.

"Is this recording?" On-screen you leaned close to the lens, then stepped back, satisfied. "Perfect. Operation 'Prank the Prankster' is a go."

You quickly arranged several items on the counter—a potion vial with a mysterious pink liquid, a book titled "So You're Expecting: A Magical Guide," and what looked like a sonogram image, though you carefully hid these under a dish towel. Your recorded self was practically vibrating with suppressed excitement.

The kitchen door opened, and Riki entered, setting down a grocery bag. "Got everything, including those weird pickled radishes you suddenly can't live without."

"My hero," recorded-you smiled, reaching up to kiss him with easy affection. "Hey, can you help me with something? I brewed a potion and I need a second opinion."

"Is it for those bizarre cravings? Because the clerk at the apothecary already thinks I'm running some kind of illegal lab with all the ingredients you've been sending me for." He began unpacking groceries, oblivious to your barely contained grin.

"No, it's for a special project." You casually removed the dish towel, revealing the blue potion. "It's supposed to change color based on certain... conditions."

Riki looked up, intrigued but suspicious. "What kind of conditions? This isn't like the time you made me test that 'harmless' potion that turned my eyebrows purple for a week, is it?"

"Would I do that to you?" you asked with exaggerated innocence. "I just need you to verify the color. What shade of pink would you call this?"

He approached reluctantly, peering at the vial. "I don't know... fuchsia? Why does it matter?"

"Because," you said, sliding the book into view, "according to page 94 of this particular guide, cerulean fuchsia means it's a girl."

For a moment, Riki just stared at the book, his brain not quite making the connection. Then his eyes darted to the sonogram image you'd nudged forward, back to the potion, then finally to your face.

"Wait..." he said slowly, realization dawning. "Are you... is this... are you pranking me right now?"

You bit your lip, torn between laughter and tears. "Well, yes, I'm pranking you. But also no, because..." You reached into a drawer and withdrew a pair of tiny Slytherin green booties. "I'm actually twelve weeks pregnant."

The sequence of expressions that crossed his face was extraordinary—confusion, shock, disbelief, and then pure, unadulterated joy. He let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

"You—" he started, shaking his head in amazement. "You used a prank to tell me we're having a baby? That's—"

"Fitting?" you suggested, eyes dancing with mirth. "Given our history?"

He didn't answer with words. Instead, he closed the distance between you in two strides, lifting you off your feet in a spinning embrace that made you laugh and protest simultaneously.

"Careful! Morning sickness is still a thing!"

He set you down immediately, but his hands remained on your waist, his eyes searching yours with wonder. "We're actually having a baby? You're not just pranking the prankster?"

You took his hand and placed it gently on your still-flat stomach. "We're having a baby," you confirmed, tears spilling down your cheeks now. "Suki's going to be a big sister."

The look of pure joy that transformed his face made your throat tighten just watching. He dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead against your stomach.

"A baby," he whispered, voice choked with emotion. "Our baby."

Then he looked up at you, eyes shining with tears and laughter. "I can't believe you out-pranked me for something this important."

"Had to make it memorable," you replied with a watery smile. "Got you good, didn't I?"

He rose to his feet, cradling your face in his hands with such tenderness it was almost painful to witness. "You got me good," he agreed softly. "Best prank ever."

The kiss he bestowed upon you was reverent, his hand drifting down to rest protectively over your still-flat stomach.

"I love you," he murmured against your lips. "I love you so much."

The recording faded, leaving you and present-day Riki sitting in stunned silence. The intimacy of the moment you'd witnessed felt almost invasive, like you'd eavesdropped on something sacred.

"That was..." Riki began, then cleared his throat. "That must have been when you—they—found out about Sara."

"Yes." Your voice sounded strange to your own ears.

Neither of you seemed to know what to say next. After a moment, Riki reached for the cabinet. "Mind if I choose one?"

You nodded, grateful for the distraction.

He selected an orb labeled "Wedding Night Promises." Before you could suggest something less potentially intimate, he'd placed it on the stand and activated it.

The scene that materialized made you both inhale sharply. A hotel room, clearly luxurious, with rose petals scattered across a massive bed. Riki lay on his back, dress shirt unbuttoned, hair disheveled, and his face adorned with lipstick marks in the same shade you'd been wearing in earlier wedding photos you'd seen. The camera appeared to be held by him at arm's length, capturing both his face and you as you leaned over him, adding another kiss to his jawline.

"You missed a spot," recorded-Riki said, pointing to his left cheekbone. "Can't have an incomplete masterpiece."

Your future self laughed but obliged, pressing your lips to the indicated spot and leaving a perfect imprint. "Better?"

"Much," he said with a satisfied grin. "But this area is still tragically unmarked." He tapped the corner of his mouth.

"You're ridiculous," you told him, but leaned in to place another kiss where he'd pointed.

"And here," he continued, touching his other cheek. "Symmetry is important in art."

You were laughing now as you worked your way across his face. "Are you planning to have me cover every inch?"

"That's the general idea, yes," he confirmed without a trace of shame. "I want everyone at breakfast tomorrow to know exactly what my wife thinks of me."

"Your wife thinks you're insufferable," you teased, but contradicted your words by pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead.

"You know," he said, his free hand playing with a strand of your hair, "you were so beautiful today. When you walked down the aisle, I forgot to breathe."

You paused in your kisses, visibly touched by his sincerity.

"Who told you to stop?" he protested immediately.

"I thought you were being serious for a moment," you said, shaking your head with fond exasperation.

"I am being serious," he insisted. "Deadly serious about how stunning you looked. That dress..." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "And your hair with those little flowers woven through it. I've never seen anything more perfect."

You rewarded him with another kiss, this time at the corner of his eye.

"And when you started crying during your vows," he continued, his voice softening, "it took everything I had not to just drop to my knees right there."

"Stop," you murmured, clearly embarrassed. "I was a mess."

"A beautiful mess," he corrected. "My beautiful mess. Forever, as of today."

You leaned in to kiss him properly on the lips this time, but he turned his head slightly. "Not yet. I still have unmarked territory here." He pointed to his chin.

You rolled your eyes but complied, adding another lipstick mark.

"What are you doing with the camera, anyway?" you finally asked, looking up with mock exasperation as you pulled back.

"Documenting," he replied, voice warm with affection and something deeper. "So you can never deny how utterly irresistible you find me."

"As if your ego needs more inflation," you teased, but your expression was impossibly tender.

"Actually," Riki's voice grew serious, "I wanted to record a promise."

Your future self settled beside him, head propped on one hand. "A promise?"

"I know we did vows today," he said, camera steady on both your faces. "But there are things I wanted to say just to you. Not for an audience."

The raw emotion in his voice must have affected your future self as it did you now, because her playful expression softened into something solemn and attentive.

"I promise," he began, "that no matter how busy we get, how many cases I take, how many students you teach, I will never go a day without making sure you know how much I love you."

He shifted slightly, making sure the camera still captured both of you. "I promise that every morning when I wake up next to you, I'll remember how lucky I am that you saw past the idiot who turned your hair pink and found whatever was worth loving beneath."

Your future self's eyes had filled with tears, but she remained silent, letting him continue.

"I promise that when we fight—and we will fight, because we're both stubborn and opinionated and that's part of why I love you—I will always fight fair. I will never go to bed angry. I will never use your vulnerabilities against you."

His voice had grown husky. "I promise that when we have children, I will be the father I wish I'd had, and I will cherish every moment of creating a family with you."

Your recorded self was crying openly now, tears sliding silently down your cheeks.

"And I promise," he finished, his own eyes suspiciously bright, "that fifty years from now, I'll still look at you the way I'm looking at you right now—like you're the greatest adventure of my life, and I'd fight a hundred time-turner accidents to end up right here with you."

The recording ended as your future self leaned down to kiss him, the camera tumbling forgotten to the side.

In the study, you became aware of wetness on your cheeks. You were crying, you realized with distant surprise. Beside you, Riki's breathing had gone shallow, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the desk.

Neither of you spoke, the weight of what you'd witnessed pressing the air from the room.

Without discussion, you reached for one more orb—this one labeled "Baby Talks with Papa, Night 213."

The projection revealed a darkened bedroom—your bedroom in this house. Your future self lay on your side in bed, clearly pregnant, with Suki fast asleep beside you. Riki knelt on the floor, his face level with your rounded belly, his mouth close enough that his lips occasionally brushed the thin fabric of your nightgown.

"—and that's why Mama's wrong about the Holyhead Harpies' chances this season," he was saying softly. "But don't tell her I said that. She's very sensitive about quidditch, especially now that she can't play."

Your sleeping form shifted slightly, and Riki froze, waiting until you settled before continuing his one-sided conversation.

"Anyway, little one," he murmured, one hand spread reverently across your stomach, "your big sister finally learned to say 'dada' properly today, which is excellent timing since I was starting to worry she'd call me 'baba' forever."

He paused, smiling as something—presumably the baby—moved beneath his palm.

"That's right, kick for your dada." His voice dropped even lower. "You know, when your mama told me she was pregnant with you, I cried like a baby myself. Don't tell anyone that part. Aurors have a reputation to maintain."

The tenderness in his expression was almost painful to witness.

"I hope you have her eyes," he whispered. "And her courage. And her laugh that makes everything better even on the worst days." His thumb traced small circles on your belly. "I hope you don't have my impatience or my tendency to act before thinking. But maybe a little of my charm wouldn't hurt."

A barely audible chuckle escaped you. "Are you corrupting our unborn child again?" your drowsy voice asked, one hand reaching down to touch his hair.

"Never," he protested with mock innocence. "Just telling her about quidditch."

"Him," you corrected sleepily. "It's definitely a boy."

"We'll see," he replied, pressing a kiss to your stomach before rising to slide into bed beside you. The camera, apparently charmed to follow him, captured how he gathered both you and sleeping Suki into his arms, creating a protective circle. "Either way, they're going to be as perfect as their mother."

"And as humble as their father," you murmured, already drifting back to sleep.

The recording faded to darkness, leaving the study in crushing silence.

You realized you were still crying, tears flowing unchecked down your face. You couldn't look at Riki—couldn't bear to see if he was affected as deeply as you were by these glimpses into a life that felt both impossible and inescapably real.

When his hand found yours, you nearly jumped. His fingers twined with yours, grip almost painfully tight, as if he needed an anchor in the emotional storm these recordings had unleashed.

"I wouldn't have thought..." he began, his voice hoarse. "I never imagined I could be that person."

Summoning your courage, you turned to face him. The raw vulnerability in his expression broke something loose inside you—some final defense against the truth that had been building since you first woke in this timeline.

"I never imagined you could be either," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But you are. With the girls. Every day, I see glimpses of him—that man in the recordings."

His thumb brushed over your knuckles. "And I see her in you. The way you know exactly what Suki needs before she asks. How you sing Sara back to sleep after nightmares."

"This isn't real," you said, but the protest sounded hollow even to your own ears. "We're just... playing parts."

"Are we?" His dark eyes searched yours, more serious than you'd ever seen him. "Because it doesn't feel like playing anymore."

You couldn't answer—couldn't find words for the confusion swirling inside you. This was Nishimura Riki, your nemesis, the bane of your Hogwarts existence. Except... he wasn't. Not entirely. Not anymore.

"I don't know what's happening to us," you finally managed. "I don't know who we're becoming."

"I think," he said slowly, "we might be becoming the people in those recordings. The people we're apparently meant to be."

The thought should have terrified you. A week ago, it would have. Now, it filled you with a complicated mix of fear and something dangerously close to hope.

"What if we get sent back?" you asked, giving voice to the question that had been haunting you. "What happens to... this? To them?" You gestured toward the orbs, the tangible evidence of a future built on love rather than animosity.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I'm starting to think McGonagall might have been right."

"About what?"

"About this being an educational opportunity." His smile was rueful. "I'm definitely learning things about myself I never knew."

You found yourself returning his smile, fragile though it was. "Like the fact that you apparently cry at pregnancy announcements?"

"Like the fact that I can make pancakes with faces and that I apparently give excellent pep talks to unborn children," he corrected, a hint of his usual humor returning. "The crying is clearly fake news."

The tension broke, a small laugh escaping you. Riki's expression softened, his hand still holding yours.

"I don't know what happens next," he said quietly. "McGonagall said we only have fourteen more days before we get sent back. Two weeks to reconcile the person I was with the person I apparently become." His eyes met yours, something vulnerable and urgent in his gaze. "But I do know one thing."

"What's that?"

His eyes met yours, steady and certain. "I don't hate this life. I don't hate it at all."

The simple admission hung between you, weighted with implications neither of you was quite ready to explore fully.

"Neither do I," you confessed, the words both frightening and freeing. "And that scares me more than anything."

From upstairs came the sound of Suki's voice, calling for her father to come see the tower she'd built. The moment broke, reality reasserting itself.

Riki released your hand reluctantly. "Duty calls," he said, rising from his chair. At the doorway, he paused, looking back at you. "For what it's worth... I think we could do worse than becoming those people."

He left you sitting among the scattered orbs, each one a window into a future that felt less impossible with every passing day. The wedding night promise echoed in your mind: I'd fight a hundred time-turner accidents to end up right here with you.

Maybe, you thought as you carefully returned the recordings to their cabinet, that wasn't such an outlandish sentiment after all.

-

That night, after the emotional revelation of the memory orbs, neither of you mentioned the pillow barrier that had separated your sides of the bed for the past three weeks. When you emerged from the bathroom in your pajamas, Riki was already in bed, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling.

"Are the girls asleep?" you asked, hovering uncertainly at the edge of the mattress.

He nodded. "Suki made me read 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune' twice. Said Grandma Molly does all the proper voices."

You smiled despite yourself. "And do you?"

"I try," he admitted with a self-deprecating shrug. "My Amata is apparently 'too growly.'"

The shared moment of normalcy eased some of the tension between you. You slipped under the covers, careful to maintain a respectful distance, and turned off the bedside lamp with a wave of your wand.

For several minutes, you both lay in silence, the events of the day—the memories you'd witnessed, the glimpses of a shared future—swirling through your mind. You were acutely aware of Riki's presence beside you, his breathing, the faint scent of his soap.

"Do you think they're happy?" you asked suddenly, your voice sounding loud in the darkness. "Our future selves, I mean."

Riki was quiet for a moment. "They look happy," he finally said. "In those memories... they seem genuinely happy."

"It's strange," you murmured. "A month ago, I would have said there was no possible future where you and I could..."

"Be anything but enemies?" he finished when you trailed off.

"Yes."

"And now?"

You turned onto your side, facing him though you could barely make out his profile in the dim light filtering through the curtains. "Now I'm not so sure."

He turned to face you, and you could feel his gaze even if you couldn't clearly see his expression. "Me neither."

Neither of you spoke again, but the silence had changed quality—no longer awkward, but contemplative, almost comfortable. You weren't sure who moved first, or if perhaps you both did, but somehow the space between you shrank until your head was resting against his shoulder, his arm curled around you.

"Is this okay?" he whispered, his breath warm against your hair.

"Yes," you replied, relaxing into his embrace. It should have felt strange, being held by Riki, but instead it felt... safe. Right. As if your body remembered this comfort even if your mind didn't.

You fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other's warmth, the barriers between past and present, enmity and affection, blurring with each shared breath.

The sound of crying woke you sometime in the deepest part of the night. Sara's distressed wails coming through the baby monitor. Before you could fully register what was happening, Riki was already sitting up.

"I've got her," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. "Go back to sleep."

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he padded from the room, the gentle concern in his movements so different from the arrogant boy you'd known at Hogwarts. Your body felt cold where his warmth had been, and you found yourself missing his presence with unexpected intensity.

Unable to fall back asleep immediately, you listened to the monitor as Riki entered the nursery.

"Hey, little star," his voice came softly through the speaker. "Bad dream?"

Sara's cries subsided to hiccupping sobs.

"Shh, it's okay. Daddy's here." The creaking of the rocking chair told you he'd settled in with her. "Let's not wake up the whole house, hmm? Your mama needs her sleep. She works so hard, you know."

The tenderness in his voice made your throat tighten. This wasn't for show—he didn't know you were listening. This was just Riki, caring for his daughter, speaking about you with genuine affection.

"Should we sing our special song?" he continued. "The one that always makes you sleepy?"

And then, to your astonishment, Riki began to sing—a gentle lullaby in Japanese, his voice low and surprisingly melodic. You'd never heard him sing before, never imagined he could sound so... vulnerable.

When the song ended, Sara had quieted completely.

"That's my girl," Riki murmured. "You know, you have your mother's smile. All sunshine, even at midnight."

He fell silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice had changed—softer, more introspective, as if he were confessing something even to himself.

"I never thought I could feel this way about anyone," he said quietly. "Your mama... she was always special, even when we were kids. I used to drive her crazy just to see the fire in her eyes when she'd yell at me. Stupid, right? But I didn't know how else to get her attention."

Sara made a small cooing sound, as if encouraging him to continue.

"And now... now I see how amazing she is. How strong and brilliant and kind. The way she takes care of you and Suki, the way she teaches her students..." He sighed. "I'm not sure I deserve any of this, little star. But I think... I think I want to try to be worthy of it."

Your heart raced as you absorbed his words. This wasn't the Riki who'd turned your hair pink during exams or charmed your quills to write love poems about himself. This was a man—one who'd grown from that boy, who'd learned to love and care and put others before himself.

"Time to sleep now," he whispered to Sara. "Dreams of chocolate frogs and flying carpets for you."

You quickly sat up as you heard his footsteps approaching the bedroom. Some tide had turned inside you, some barrier broken by his unguarded words. You'd spent years pushing him away, and now all you wanted was to draw him closer.

When he entered the room, his silhouette outlined in the dim hallway light, you didn't hesitate. You crossed the bed in two movements and met him at the doorway, your hands finding his face in the darkness.

"You're awake—" he began, but you silenced him by pressing your lips to his.

For a heartbeat, he froze in surprise. Then his arms encircled you, pulling you against him as he responded with a fervor that stole your breath. This wasn't like the careful, public kiss at the dinner—this was something raw and honest, years of tension dissolving into something entirely new.

When you finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, his forehead rested against yours.

"What was that for?" he whispered, his voice unsteady.

"I heard you," you admitted. "With Sara. What you said."

His body tensed slightly. "Ah."

"Did you mean it?" you asked, your hands still framing his face, thumbs tracing the line of his jaw. "About wanting to be worthy of this? Of us?"

In the darkness, you felt rather than saw him nod. "Every word."

"I think..." you began, then gathered your courage. "I think maybe you already are."

For a split second, Riki went utterly still—like the admission physically struck him. Then, his exhale came out ragged. That was the only warning before he closed the distance, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, all pent-up longing, confusion, and overwhelming hope released at once.

You melted into him, letting go of everything you’d clung to since you woke in this impossible timeline: your rivalry, your assumptions, your fear. Because beneath your fingertips, you felt Riki tremble. He was as affected by this as you were.

His mouth slid over yours, hot and searching, stealing your breath. His hands dropped from your waist to your hips, fingers digging into your flesh, pulling you flush against him. The moment your body pressed to his, he made a low, desperate sound at the back of his throat—like he’d been starving for this touch.

“God, you drive me insane,” he muttered between kisses, voice muffled by your lips. There was no space left between you—no air, no doubt, just heat and him.

When you whispered his name—Riki—he groaned, deep and guttural, a hand sliding under your shirt, up the curve of your spine. His palm was hot and possessive on your skin. It felt scandalous and necessary all at once.

Your kiss turned filthy, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, a push and pull of half-formed moans. Riki lifted you without warning, guiding your legs around his waist. You could feel how hard he was, the pressure against your core dizzying.

You gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, sucking on your bottom lip until a bolt of sensation sparked through your entire body. Your fingers twisted into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, tugging, and he growled—a low, feral noise that spurred you both into something deeper.

He backed you against the wall, one arm braced beside your head for support while the other stayed locked around your hips. You rolled your hips to meet his, eliciting another ragged groan from him.

“Careful,” he murmured, breaking the kiss for a desperate breath. His forehead rested against yours, eyes heavy-lidded, blown wide with desire. “I don’t have much self-control left.”

You swallowed hard. “Then don’t.”

It was all he needed to hear. Riki claimed your lips again, this time slower, deeper. The slide of his mouth was hot and wet, an intimate dance that sent tingles down your spine. You curled your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, never close enough.

When he finally carried you to the bed, it felt like the world had narrowed to just heartbeats and frantic breathing. He lowered you onto the mattress, crawling over you with that same mixture of filth and reverence, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to worship you or ruin you. Possibly both.

You watched, chest heaving, as he peeled off his shirt, exposing the lean lines of his torso. A slight flush stained his cheeks, but his gaze never left yours. You fumbled with your own top, but your fingers trembled too much. Riki’s hands caught yours, guiding them aside, then took over—slowly, carefully lifting the fabric away. His eyes traveled down your newly exposed skin, and he exhaled shakily.

“You’re--” he started, then stopped, swallowing back words he couldn’t say. Instead, he leaned in to kiss a path down your throat, teeth scraping lightly, tongue soothing the small bites he left.

Goosebumps flared over your entire body at the quiet, open-mouthed kisses he pressed to your shoulder, your collarbone, the swell of your chest. The friction was maddening, each press of your bodies a reminder of the tension building below your stomach.

He slid his hand under the waistband of your pants, and your breath hitched. The filthy edge returned, overshadowing any last trace of caution. A ragged moan escaped your throat when his fingers brushed lower, teasing. Even fully clothed, the sensation threatened to snap whatever fragile composure remained.

“Riki,” you whispered, voice choking on raw need. The sound of his name seemed to unravel him.

His eyes lifted to yours, dark with want, but also swirling with something dangerously close to tenderness. You pushed a shaky hand through his hair, pulling him in for another deep, sloppy kiss. Tongue, teeth, shared breath—you both devoured it all.

Suddenly, he groaned, half-cursing. “We shouldn’t—”

“We should,” you interrupted, barely able to think straight. Because if you stopped now, if you allowed sense to creep back in, you might never let yourself have this again.

He pressed his forehead to yours, each pant of air mingling. “You’re… you’re all I can think about.”

A desperate laugh bubbled from your lips. “Same.”

His mouth captured yours once more, thoroughly, like he needed to memorize every corner of you. With a growl, he moved against you, and you felt everything—every ridge, every hard line straining through his pants, pressing right into your hips. An electric jolt shot through you, drawing a high-pitched gasp from the back of your throat.

You felt him smile against your lips, a grin that was half cocky, half wrecked, before he nipped your lower lip again. He guided your hand down, letting you feel just how hard he was—a silent confession of how far gone he’d become. A dizzy wave of heat flooded you in response.

Then, all at once, the kiss slowed, shifting from ravenous to agonizingly tender. His movements became deliberate. His tongue slid over your lips, gentler now, coaxing you to let go of tension you didn’t know you were holding. You shuddered, letting your eyes drift shut, melted by the softness that peeked through the lust.

When he finally pulled away, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead to yours, voice trembling. “You don’t hate me at all, do you?”

A smile trembled on your lips. “Not anymore.”

He made a sound halfway between relief and longing, then carefully laid you back against the pillows. You felt him settle against you, one leg between yours, the rhythmic press of his hips leaving you dizzy and clinging. He kissed you again—soft, consuming—like he planned to stay there forever, tasting your every breath.

Your heart pounded at the realization that you had two weeks left in this timeline. Two weeks before you’d return to being seventeen, to the version of yourself that loathed Nishimura Riki. But in that moment, with his body heavy and warm over yours, with his tongue gently lapping at your bruised lips, none of it mattered.

All that mattered was that, for now, he was yours—and you were his—and the dark weight of your previous hatred had turned into something far more potent: raw, desperate desire, laced with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

So you let him kiss you until you were lightheaded. Let him press you deeper into the mattress, let your bodies align in a flush of friction, let the sweet, filthy moans echo between your parted mouths. Because if time was running out, you’d take every second you could get.

Two weeks left. Two weeks before you returned to the rivalry, the misunderstandings, the wide chasm you once thought separated you. Maybe you’d lose these memories. Maybe he would too. But for now, you poured yourself into him, letting the lines between past and present blur, letting the possibility of something more overshadow every bitter word you’d ever exchanged.

And when you finally made your way back to bed, tangled in each other’s arms, the question of hatred or love no longer loomed so large. In the hush of that moment, with your lips still buzzing from his, the only thing that mattered was him—Nishimura Riki, the man who had once been your enemy, but who now kissed you like you were his only future.

But now you knew what could be. What might be, if you chose a different path.

And for the first time since waking in this strange future, you weren't sure you wanted to go back at all.

-

Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the bed where you lay entwined with Riki. For a moment after waking, you felt only contentment—the warm weight of his arm across your waist, his steady breathing against your neck, the comfortable fit of your bodies together.

Then memory rushed back—the memory orbs, his confession to Sara, the kiss that had changed everything—and your eyes flew open.

Riki was already awake, watching you with an expression you'd never seen before. Gone was the cocky smirk of your school nemesis, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable, yet somehow more intense.

"Good morning," he said quietly, his voice husky from sleep.

"Morning," you replied, suddenly self-conscious. In the light of day, the boldness that had propelled you into his arms last night seemed both distant and startlingly real.

You made to move away, to create some space to collect your thoughts, but his arm tightened around your waist.

"Don't," he murmured. "Please."

You stilled, acutely aware of everywhere your bodies touched—his legs tangled with yours, his chest pressed against your side, his fingers splayed across your hip.

"About last night," you began, not entirely sure what you wanted to say.

"I meant every word," he interrupted, his eyes never leaving yours. "Everything I said to Sara, everything I... showed you afterward." A faint flush colored his cheeks at the memory of your kisses, but his gaze remained steady. "The question is, did you?"

You took a breath, searching for the right words. "I think I've been fighting this—whatever this is between us—since we arrived. Maybe longer."

"Me too," he admitted. "It seemed easier to hold onto who we were than to acknowledge who we might be becoming."

His fingers traced idle patterns on your hip, the casual intimacy of the gesture making your pulse quicken.

"I've been holding back," he continued, his voice dropping lower. "Trying to maintain some distance, some semblance of our old rivalry, because it felt safer than admitting how much I've come to..." He paused, seemingly unwilling to name the emotion. "Care about you. About this life."

You understood completely. You'd been doing the same thing—clinging to old animosities as a shield against these new, terrifying feelings.

"But I don't want to hold back anymore," he said, his expression growing determined. "We have two weeks left in this timeline, and I don't want to waste another day pretending that I'm not falling for you."

Your breath caught at his directness. "Riki—"

"No, let me finish." His hand moved from your hip to cradle your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. "I know this isn't how either of us expected things to go. I know we're supposed to hate each other. But I can't keep acting like a reluctant houseguest in what's supposed to be our life together."

The intensity in his eyes made your heart race.

"From now on, I'm going to be the husband you deserve—the one you see in those memory orbs. The one who looks at you like you're the most extraordinary thing he's ever seen. Because right now, you are."

You swallowed hard, overwhelmed by his declaration. "What exactly are you saying?"

His smile was slow, confident, yet tinged with a vulnerability that made it utterly disarming. "I'm saying that with your permission, I'm done holding back. I'm going to court you properly, the way a man should court his wife—with everything I have."

The old Riki—the boy you'd known at Hogwarts—had never looked at you this way, had never spoken with such sincerity. This was the man from the memory orbs, the one who promised forever on your wedding night, the one who spoke to his unborn child with such tenderness.

"Are you sure?" you asked, needing to know this wasn't just the influence of your surroundings, of playing house in borrowed lives.

"I've never been more sure of anything," he said. "The only question is... will you let me?"

The vulnerability beneath his confident words touched something deep inside you. This wasn't just about physical attraction or the strange circumstances that had thrown you together. This was Riki—proud, stubborn, brilliant Riki—offering his heart with no guarantee you wouldn't break it.

"Yes," you whispered, the word feeling like a leap from a great height. "Yes."

The smile that illuminated his face was like sunshine breaking through clouds—radiant and transformative. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours.

"You won't regret it," he promised. "I'm going to make these next two weeks so incredible that when we go back, you won't be able to look at me without remembering."

Before you could respond, the patter of small feet in the hallway announced Suki's approach. With a rueful smile, Riki pressed a quick kiss to your lips before rolling away just as the bedroom door flew open.

"Mama! Daddy! It's pancake day!" Suki announced, launching herself onto the bed. "You promised!"

"Did I?" Riki asked, catching her mid-bounce and tickling her until she shrieked with laughter.

"Yes!" she insisted between giggles. "With chocolate chips and strawberries!"

"Well, if I promised, then I better deliver," he said, setting her down and ruffling her hair. "Why don't you go pick out your clothes while Mama and I get ready?"

"Okay!" She darted from the room as quickly as she'd arrived, leaving a whirlwind of energy in her wake.

Riki turned back to you, his expression soft. "This is what I want," he said quietly. "Not just now, in this borrowed time, but someday. For real. With you."

The simple sincerity of his words stole your breath. This wasn't a declaration of undying love—it was something more grounded, more honest. A recognition of possibility, of potential.

"We should probably get up," you said, not quite ready to examine the way his words made your heart swell. "Before Hurricane Suki returns."

He nodded, but before you could move, he caught your hand. "Just one more thing."

"What's that?"

His eyes crinkled at the corners, a hint of his old mischief returning. "I hope you realize that as your properly devoted husband, I now have full license to be utterly, embarrassingly romantic at every opportunity."

You groaned, but couldn't suppress your smile. "I'm already regretting this arrangement."

"No, you're not," he said confidently, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before releasing your hand. "But you might when I start serenading you at breakfast."

"You wouldn't dare."

His answering grin was pure Nishimura—challenge accepted.

As you headed to the bathroom, you couldn't help but marvel at the strange path that had led you here—from bitter rivals to reluctant co-parents to... whatever you were becoming now. Something new, something unexpected, but something that felt increasingly right.

Two weeks left in this timeline. Two weeks to explore what might have been—what might still be, if you were brave enough to reach for it when you returned.

For now, though, there were pancakes to make, children to wrangle, and a husband who had apparently decided that making you blush was his new favorite pastime.

And for the first time since arriving in this future, you found yourself looking forward to whatever came next.

-

The days after your mutual decision to embrace this borrowed life took on a bittersweet urgency. Each morning, the calendar on the kitchen wall served as a silent reminder—crossing off another day meant one fewer remaining before your inevitable return.

At first, Riki stayed true to his word about courting you properly—leaving wildflowers on your pillow, preparing your favorite meals, stealing sweet kisses when the children weren't looking. It was charming, thoughtful, and absolutely maddening in its restraint.

By the fifth day, your patience had worn dangerously thin.

You found yourself hyperaware of his presence—the way his shoulder brushed yours when you passed in the hallway, how his fingers lingered when handing you a cup of tea, the sound of his voice reading bedtime stories to the girls. Each small interaction sparked something within you, a slow-burning heat that grew more difficult to ignore.

At night, you'd fall asleep in his arms, your bodies pressed together in increasingly intimate arrangements, only to wake tangled even more closely. Yet he maintained a gentlemanly distance that made you want to scream.

On the sixth day, you both clung to Sara a few seconds longer during morning goodbyes. On the seventh, Riki spent an hour teaching Suki a charm to make paper butterflies, carefully recording her delighted laughter with a memory orb. Neither of you acknowledged the reason for this sudden preservation of moments—the looming reality that soon these children wouldn't be yours anymore.

At Hogwarts, you found yourself distracted during lessons, your mind drifting to Riki—wondering what he was doing, if he was thinking of you, how his hands would feel on your skin if he ever abandoned his infuriating self-control.

The breaking point came on the eighth day.

You'd returned from work to find Riki in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up as he prepared dinner, humming a tune you recognized from one of the memory orbs. The simple domesticity of the scene—this man who had once been your greatest rival now cooking in your shared home—hit you with unexpected force.

"Where are the girls?" you asked, setting down your teaching bag.

"With your parents for the evening," he replied, turning to offer you a warm smile. "I thought we could use a night to ourselves. Maybe stargaze in the garden after dinner? The Cassiopeia constellation is particularly clear this time of year."

Stargazing. Another sweet, thoughtful, perfectly restrained activity.

Something inside you snapped.

"No," you said firmly, approaching him with determined steps.

His smile faltered. "No? I thought you liked astronomy—"

"I don't want to stargaze, Riki." You reached him and took the wooden spoon from his hand, setting it aside. "I don't want to be courted anymore."

Hurt flashed across his face. "I don't understand. I thought—"

"We have six days left," you interrupted, your voice steady despite your racing heart. "Six days before we go back to being seventeen and all of this disappears. I don't want to spend them pretending we have all the time in the world."

Understanding began to dawn in his eyes, but you needed to be absolutely clear.

"You keep treating me like we're starting from the beginning, but we're not. We're already married. We already have children. We already love each other in this timeline." You stepped closer, eliminating the space between you. "I don't need courtship. I need you to be present with me—right here, right now—while we still can be."

His breath caught audibly. "What exactly are you saying?"

"I'm saying fuck the courting," you replied bluntly, satisfaction coursing through you at his shocked expression. "Everything you do—every look, every touch, every sound you make—lights a fire in me, and I'm tired of pretending otherwise."

For a heartbeat, he remained perfectly still, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your skin tingle. Then, with a muttered curse, he closed the distance between you, one hand tangling in your hair while the other pulled you flush against him.

The kiss was nothing like the careful ones you'd shared before—this was raw, desperate, years of tension finally finding release. You responded with equal fervor, your fingers digging into his shoulders as if afraid he might pull away.

He backed you against the kitchen counter, his body pressed against yours in a way that left no doubt about how much he wanted this too. When you finally broke apart for air, his eyes were dark with desire, his breathing ragged.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice rough. "Because if you are, I won't be able to go back to just holding your hand."

In answer, you reached for your wand and cast a quick charm toward the stove, extinguishing the flames beneath the pots.

"Dinner can wait," you said, taking his hand and leading him toward the stairs. "We can't."

Your heart was still hammering from the last kiss, your mind spinning with the realization that you didn’t truly hate him—Nishimura Riki, your longtime rival, the one person you were supposed to despise. But after waking in this future and discovering your lives entwined? All that bitterness had morphed into a pulse-pounding tension you could no longer deny.

Riki’s sharp intake of breath was the only warning before he crashed his mouth into yours, claiming your lips with a force that stole every coherent thought from your head. He gripped the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer until your chests were flush. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, sucking it between his own, making you gasp into his mouth. You tasted something raw and electric on his tongue—years of pent-up rivalry fueling a desperate kind of need.

When you finally broke apart, panting, he pinned you with a dark, unwavering stare. His cheeks were flushed, eyes dilated with hunger you never imagined seeing from him.

“If we do this—” he started, words low and ragged, “there’s no coming back. I can’t go back to just ignoring you, or acting like we’re not…”

You swallowed, heart thudding. “I don’t want to ignore it anymore,” you whispered, the confession surprising even you.

He let out a sound—somewhere between a curse and a prayer—and grabbed your wrist, leading you to the bed. Each step felt like a collision of hearts, the air heavy with unspoken promises. The second your back hit the mattress, he hovered over you, breath coming in harsh pants. His body pressed you down, hips snug between your thighs, letting you feel just how achingly hard he was through his clothes.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging his mouth along the line of your jaw, the curve of your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses that had you shivering. “You feel so good… can’t believe we waited this long.”

You barely got a chance to respond before he slid down your body, fingers deftly working to peel away the barriers between you. Clothes were tugged off with clumsy urgency—your shirt up over your head, his hoodie tossed aside. His mouth followed a path down your torso, teeth scraping lightly, tongue soothing the marks he left behind.

By the time he settled between your legs, you were trembling with anticipation, your head spinning from the low, filthy groan he let out at the sight of you. He pushed your knees apart, lips skimming the inside of your thigh, sending jolts of pleasure right through your core.

“Riki…” you moaned, voice cracking.

His name seemed to snap something in him. With a growl that bordered on feral, he lowered his head, pressing his mouth to your center with no hesitation. The first stroke of his tongue was slow but deliberate, an experimental lap that had your toes curling. He moaned softly against you, the vibration making you gasp, and you dug your heels into the bed, hips bucking upward in a silent plea for more.

He gave you more.

Open-mouthed kisses replaced gentler licks, each one wetter, louder, dangerously addictive. Your breath caught when he focused on just the right spot, swirling his tongue, then flattening it in a heavy, dragging motion that left you whimpering his name. His hands crept up your thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin as if to anchor you—as if to keep you from floating away under the intensity of his mouth.

“You taste… so fucking good,” he murmured, half to himself. Heat coiled low in your belly at the filthy timbre of his voice.

He licked, sucked, nipped lightly—alternating between decadent slowness and feral bursts of pressure—making your mind go blank. Every moan or sob of pleasure you gave him, he seemed to swallow greedily, redoubling his efforts. Your fingers knotted in his hair, nails scraping his scalp, urging him closer.

When you rolled your hips against his face, desperate for friction, he groaned, a shamelessly erotic sound that sent sparks through your entire body. He pressed his hand against your stomach, keeping you pinned as he focused his tongue with maddening precision. Your vision blurred; your only tether to reality was the slick, relentless glide of his mouth and the thunder of your heart.

“Oh God,” you gasped, head thrashing on the pillow. “Riki—”

He hummed in response—a rumble that made your thighs shake. The sensation built, rising to a point you were sure you couldn’t handle. Your breath hitched, eyes squeezing shut. You were so close, the tension in your muscles near bursting.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, momentarily pulling back to suck a bruising kiss along your inner thigh, before returning to lave his tongue exactly where you needed.

That was all it took.

The coil snapped. Your body arched off the bed, a ragged cry tearing from your lips as the orgasm crashed over you—long, pulsating waves of ecstasy that left you gasping for air. Riki held you through it, unrelenting until the last aftershocks made you shiver, your mind wholly surrendered to sensation.

By the time the world drifted back into focus, you realized he had kissed his way up your trembling body, peppering lazy kisses on your skin. His face hovered over yours, eyes half-lidded, mouth glistening with proof of what he’d done. A flush colored his cheeks, and his breathing was ragged, as though he’d been lost in it as deeply as you were.

“Fuck,” he muttered, leaning down to brush his lips over yours in a sloppy, hungry kiss. You tasted yourself on his tongue, a heady reminder of how intimate you’d just been. You let out a weak moan, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him close.

Your heart pounded, and for a moment, you just breathed each other in—sweat, sweetness, the faint tang of desperation still clinging to every shared breath.

“You okay?” he murmured, running a hand gently down your side. There was a tenderness in his tone that caught you off guard, considering how filthy the moment had been just seconds ago.

“More than okay,” you managed, voice cracked with leftover tremors. You shifted, still dizzy with pleasure, arms and legs like jelly.

A soft, relieved laugh escaped him. He nuzzled your cheek, pressing another lingering kiss to your jaw. “I’m not done with you yet,” he teased, though his voice held a trace of nervous sincerity.

You swallowed, letting your fingers tangle in his hair. “Then don’t be,” you replied softly.

And just like that, the tension began to build again, a quiet, throbbing promise of more. Because if there was one thing this impossible future had shown you, it was that Nishimura Riki was no longer just your rival—he was the man who could unravel you with a single stroke of his tongue, and you never wanted him to stop.

-

Later that night, lying tangled together in the sheets of your shared bed, you traced idle patterns on his chest while he played with your hair. The desperate urgency had given way to a peaceful contentment that felt all the more precious for its transience.

"I've been an idiot, haven't I?" Riki murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Wasting time with flowers and stargazing when we could have been doing that."

You laughed softly. "To be fair, the flowers were lovely."

"Not as lovely as you," he replied, his expression growing more serious. "I just... I didn't want to push. Didn't want you to think I was only interested in the physical aspect of... us."

"I know," you assured him, propping yourself up on one elbow to meet his gaze. "But we don't have the luxury of a normal courtship timeline. We're doing everything backwards and on an accelerated schedule."

He nodded, his fingers continuing their gentle exploration of your hair. "Speaking of backwards—is it strange that I feel like I'm falling in love with my own wife? Like I'm both meeting you for the first time and rediscovering someone I've known forever?"

The casual mention of love should have frightened you. Instead, it felt right—inevitable, even.

"Not strange at all," you said softly. "I feel the same way."

For a moment, you both lay in comfortable silence, absorbing the weight of the admission.

"What happens when we go back?" he finally asked, voicing the question that had been hovering between you for days.

You sighed, settling your head against his shoulder. "I don't know. Will we even remember this? Or will it feel like a dream we can't quite recall?"

"I'll remember," he said with fierce certainty. "I refuse not to. Even if I have to brew a memory potion or create my own pensieve."

"And then what? We go from this—" you gestured between your entwined bodies, "—to being seventh-year students again? From parents to teenagers?"

"We find each other again," he said simply. "Maybe not right away. Maybe we need time to grow into the people who can truly appreciate each other. But we find our way back."

The conviction in his voice made your throat tighten with emotion. "How can you be so sure?"

His answer was immediate and unwavering. "Because now I know what's possible. And I'm not willing to live in a timeline where we don't end up together."

-

The remaining days passed in a blur of intense emotions. By unspoken agreement, you both devoted your days to Suki and Sara—memorizing their laughs, recording their milestones, storing away every precious moment with the girls who had somehow become your children in every way that mattered.

But the nights—the nights were for each other.

On those nights, once Suki and Sara were sound asleep, you and Riki would quietly slip away to your bedroom, hearts pounding with an almost desperate urgency. Each evening blurred into the next, infused with a need to capture every last second of this borrowed future.

It began the moment you closed the bedroom door. He crowded you against it, mouth searching for yours, a low, heated groan rising from his chest. You gasped at the contact—your bodies pressed tight, as if you had to make up for all the time lost in the past.

Clothes were peeled away in hurried, clumsy motions. The bed beckoned, but neither of you reached it immediately; you made it halfway across the room before Riki’s hands gripped your hips and he lowered you to the soft rug, the raw ache of your kiss fueling every frantic thrust. It was urgent and wild, a crash of breathless moans echoing in the dim light.

After you unraveled beneath him, panting, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, eyes reflecting a jumble of relief and longing.

The second night, you found each other in the very early hours, awoken by Sara’s soft cries—but once she was fed and settled, you and Riki lingered in the bed, half-lidded with sleep.

He coaxed you onto his lap slowly, fingertips tracing lazy patterns along your spine. The way he kissed you—soft, indulgent—made your entire body tingle. This time, the pace was slower, sweeter, each roll of your hips drawn out, every shared breath reverent. When you let go, he followed seconds later, whispering your name like a vow.

A random pillow fight after Suki fell asleep turned into a tangle of sheets on the living room floor, laughter morphing into sharp gasps when you straddled his lap, feeling him already half-hard against you.

He murmured something about you being the most infuriating person he’d ever loved, and you answered by kissing him with a grin. Before long, your back hit the cushions, his lips traveling down your neck, your chest, leaving you breathless. You tried to keep quiet—worried about waking the girls—but the desperate friction of your bodies made you moan louder than intended. Riki chuckled, pressing a finger to your mouth, but his own voice shook with suppressed groans.

The release was quick and intense, your nails leaving faint crescents in his shoulders, both of you dizzy from the risk and thrill.

The next day, once Sara and Suki were tucked in, you coaxed Riki into a late-night shower, the water cascading over your entwined bodies. The steamy, cramped space made every movement more intimate.

He pressed you to the tile, nipping along your jaw, water drenching your hair as he lifted your leg around his waist. Each slick slide of his hips was both filthy and tender, the warm rush of water muffling your shared gasps.

You bit your lip, fighting to stay balanced, but Riki pinned you gently, murmuring soft curses at how good you felt. By the time you both tumbled out, the bathroom mirror fogged beyond recognition, your limbs trembled with a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction.

On the final night, you could almost feel the looming separation weighing on you both. That awareness fed a fierce, almost frantic edge to your lovemaking—hands clutching, mouths hungry, as if you wanted to burn the memory of each other into your very souls.

Riki rolled you onto your stomach, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your spine, his breath hot against damp skin. You whimpered his name, already aching for the inevitable end that lurked in tomorrow’s sunrise.

When he finally slid inside you, the cry you let out felt like a broken confession, the tears threatening at the corners of your eyes. Every thrust reverberated with the ache of goodbye. When you came apart, you clung to him like a lifeline, and he followed with a ragged moan, arms wrapping around you, holding tight as though he could shield you both from time itself.

Every touch, every whispered confession, every moment of connection was infused with an almost desperate intensity, as if you could somehow store enough memories to sustain you through the separation that loomed ahead.

On your final night, you lay awake long after Riki had fallen asleep, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. In just a few hours, you would return to your original timeline—to being seventeen and full of misunderstandings and rivalry, with the entire story of your lives together yet to be written.

Would you remember this? The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled at you across the breakfast table? How his hands felt, strong and sure, when he pulled you against him? The sound of his voice singing lullabies to Sara or patiently answering Suki’s endless questions?

You traced the lines of his face with gentle fingers, committing each detail to memory. Whatever happened tomorrow, you wouldn’t regret a single moment of the time you’d spent in this borrowed future—this glimpse of what could be, if you were brave enough to reach for it.

As dawn approached, you finally closed your eyes, your body curved protectively around his, as if you could somehow shield him—shield both of you—from the inevitable separation that morning would bring.

Six days had become five, then four, then three, until finally you’d arrived at the last day of your borrowed time together. Tomorrow you would return to being students, to being rivals, to being separate.

But tonight—tonight you were still husband and wife, still partners, still two people who had found each other across time and circumstance.

And that, you decided as sleep finally claimed you, was something worth fighting to remember.

-

Your heart pounded as reality settled over you. You were back at Hogwarts—in the Room of Requirement, specifically, which had transformed itself into a bedroom much smaller than the one you'd shared for the past month. Morning sunlight streamed through unfamiliar windows, illuminating your school uniforms draped over nearby chairs.

School uniforms. Not adult robes. Not your teaching clothes or his Auror gear.

"We're back," you whispered, the words barely audible.

"The girls," Riki said, his voice cracking. "Suki. Sara."

The names hung in the air between you, impossible weights on your hearts. You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly cold despite the warm room. "They're not... they don't..."

"They don't exist yet," he finished, his face ashen. He looked younger, you realized with a jolt. The subtle maturity that had marked his adult face was gone, replaced by the smoother features of a seventeen-year-old. Still handsome, but less... weathered.

You touched your own face, feeling the slight differences. No fine lines around your eyes. Fuller cheeks. You looked down at your hands—no faint scar from where you'd burned yourself making potions with Suki. No wedding ring.

"It's like it never happened," you said hollowly.

Riki stood abruptly, pacing the small room. "No. It happened. It was real. I remember everything." He turned to you, eyes wild. "You remember too, right? Please tell me you remember."

"I remember," you assured him, your voice steadier than you felt. "Every moment."

The relief on his face was palpable. "McGonagall said we would. She said the displacement would resolve itself naturally, but our memories would remain intact."

"McGonagall," you repeated. "We should talk to her. She'll know—"

The door burst open before you could finish. Professor McGonagall herself stood in the entrance, her stern expression softening slightly at the sight of you both.

"Ah, good. You're awake," she said crisply. "I see the temporal spell has resolved itself as expected."

"Professor," you began, a thousand questions crowding your mind. "The future we saw—"

"Is one possibility, Miss [Last Name]," she interrupted gently. "One of many possible futures that may come to pass."

"But it felt so real," Riki said, his fists clenching at his sides. "Those people—our children—"

"They may still come to be, Mr. Nishimura," McGonagall said. "Or they may not. Time is not fixed. The future you glimpsed was formed by choices neither of you has made yet." Her gaze sharpened. "The question is whether your experience has taught you anything about the consequences of your actions."

You exchanged a glance with Riki, a silent understanding passing between you that would have been impossible a month ago.

"I believe it has, Professor," you said quietly.

"Good." She nodded briskly. "Then perhaps this entire ordeal was not without value." She checked her watch. "You've missed breakfast, but there's still time to change for your first classes. I suggest you both make haste."

With that, she turned to leave, then paused at the doorway. "Oh, and ten points from both your houses for the reckless spellcasting that caused this mess. Try to remember that magic is not a toy, even when provoked by..." she glanced between you, "...strong emotions."

The door closed behind her, leaving you alone with Riki once more.

An awkward silence descended. He looked so different in his rumpled school uniform, his prefect badge slightly askew. Yet his eyes were the same—the eyes that had gazed at you with tenderness as you fell asleep in his arms just last night.

Except it wasn't last night. That version of him—that version of you—was more than a decade away.

"So," he finally said, his voice carefully neutral. "What happens now?"

It was the question neither of you had fully answered even during your last night together. What would you do when you returned? How could you possibly navigate the strangeness of being seventeen again, with all the memories of an adult life together?

"I don't know," you admitted. "Everything's different. But also the same."

He took a half-step toward you, then stopped himself. "Is it... are we...?" He couldn't seem to complete the thought.

You understood his hesitation. In the future, you had been equals—partners in every sense. Here, now, you were just teenagers again. The depth of feeling, the intimacy you'd shared, felt both precious and impossible in your current bodies.

"I think," you said slowly, choosing your words with care, "that we can't just pick up where we left off. We're not those people yet."

Pain flashed across his face, but he nodded. "You're right. We're not."

"But," you continued, needing him to understand, "I don't want to go back to hating you either."

Hope bloomed in his eyes. "I never really hated you," he confessed. "Even before all this."

"I know." You managed a small smile. "You were just trying to get my attention."

He laughed, a sound that made your heart ache with its familiarity. "It worked, didn't it?"

"A bit too well." You gestured around the room. "Got us thrown ten years into the future."

"Best mistake I ever made," he said softly.

The sincerity in his voice made your breath catch. This was still Riki—your Riki—just younger, less certain, with all the growing up yet to do.

"We should get to class," you said, not because you wanted to leave, but because staying felt dangerous—like you might forget all the reasons why jumping back into your relationship was a bad idea.

He nodded, reaching for his school robes. "Right. Wouldn't want to lose more house points."

You gathered your own robes, hyperaware of him just a few feet away. "Riki?"

He looked up, a flash of vulnerability crossing his features. "Yes?"

"Maybe we could..." you hesitated, then pushed forward. "Maybe we could talk later? After classes?"

The smile that lit his face was so reminiscent of his older self that your chest ached. "I'd like that."

As you both prepared to face the day—the first day of your new, old lives—you couldn't help feeling that this wasn't an ending at all. It was a beginning. A chance to build the future you'd glimpsed, but this time with your eyes wide open.

Suki and Sara might not exist yet. The house with the magical extensions, the teaching career, the shared breakfasts and bedtime stories—all of it lay in a potential future, one you might or might not reach.

But as you caught Riki's eye one more time before leaving the Room of Requirement, you felt something settle in your heart. A certainty that hadn't been there before your temporal displacement.

Some paths were meant to be walked together, even if the journey began again.

-

The day passed in a blur of familiar yet suddenly strange routines. Sitting in classes you'd once taught, surrounded by peers who had no idea the person beside them was mentally a decade older—it was disorienting to say the least.

You caught glimpses of Riki throughout the day—across the Great Hall during lunch, passing in the corridor between Charms and Transfiguration, in the library during your free period. Each time, your eyes would meet briefly, a world of understanding passing between you before someone would interrupt or you'd have to move on.

News of your overnight disappearance and return had spread, of course, but the details remained vague. Most assumed it was just another chapter in your long-standing rivalry—a prank gone wrong, perhaps, or a duel that had sent you both to the hospital wing. No one could have guessed that you'd spent the missing hours living an entire month in your future.

By the time classes ended, anxiety had settled in your stomach like a lead weight. You'd told Riki you'd meet him by the lake, away from the curious eyes and gossip of your housemates. As you walked down the sloping lawn toward the water's edge, you spotted him already waiting, skipping stones across the still surface.

He looked impossibly young in his school robes, his tie loosened and hair slightly tousled by the breeze. Yet when he turned at the sound of your approach, the look in his eyes was anything but childish. It was Riki—your Riki—the one who had held you through the night and promised to find you across time.

"Hi," you said, stopping a few feet away, suddenly shy.

"Hi," he replied, letting the stone in his hand drop back to the ground. "You came."

"I said I would."

An awkward silence fell, the weight of everything you'd experienced together—everything you'd lost—hovering between you. The easy intimacy you'd developed over the past month seemed both immediate and impossibly distant.

"This is weird," he finally said, running a hand through his hair.

You laughed, the tension breaking slightly. "So weird. I keep wanting to check on the girls, and then remembering..."

"That they don't exist," he finished, pain flashing across his features. "Yet."

That single word—yet—contained so much hope, so much uncertainty.

"I went to Defense Against the Dark Arts and kept wanting to correct Professor Mays," you admitted. "I almost offered to demonstrate the Shield Charm variation I'd been teaching my fifth years."

"I sat in Potions thinking about a case I worked on last week—will work on in a decade, I guess." He shook his head. "Time travel pronouns are still confusing."

Another silence, less awkward but weighted with things unsaid.

"So," you ventured, "what happens now?"

Riki took a deep breath, as if gathering his courage. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether it was all just the circumstances," he said, his voice low and intense. "Whether what happened between us was just because we were thrust into those roles, or if it was something real. Something that could exist here, now."

Your heart began to race. "What do you think?"

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I think I've been falling for you since fifth year, but I was too stubborn and immature to admit it. I think aggravating you was the only way I knew to get your attention. And I think seeing who we could become together—who we are together—just brought to the surface feelings that were already there."

His raw honesty stole your breath.

"What about you?" he asked, vulnerability evident in every line of his body. "Was it real for you?"

You thought about the last month—the confusion, the gradual understanding, the growing affection that had blossomed into something deeper. Had it all been circumstantial? Just two people playing the roles they were thrust into?

"At first, I thought it was just the situation," you admitted. "That we were just adapting to the reality we found ourselves in."

His face fell slightly, but he nodded, accepting your words.

"But then," you continued, needing him to understand, "somewhere along the way, it changed. It became about you—not future you, not my supposed husband—just you, Riki. The way you were with the girls. The way you looked at me. The person I saw beneath all the bravado and pranks."

Hope bloomed in his eyes, cautious but undeniable.

"I want to be your boyfriend," he blurted out, the words tumbling over each other in his haste. "Not in ten years. Now. Here." He stepped forward and took your hands in his, his grip almost painfully tight. "I don't want to be anyone else's, and I don't want you to be anyone else's either."

The intensity in his gaze nearly buckled your knees. This was Riki stripped of all pretense—raw, vulnerable, offering his heart with no guarantee you wouldn't break it.

"Kiss me," he whispered, his voice dropping to a plea. "Kiss me, kiss me, please. I've been thinking about it all day—wondering if it would feel the same, if you'd taste the same—"

You silenced him the only way you could, closing the distance between you and pressing your lips to his. The kiss was different from those you'd shared in the future—more hesitant, less practiced—but the spark was the same, the connection immediate and electric.

His hands released yours to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones as he kissed you with increasing certainty. You curled your fingers into the front of his robes, anchoring yourself to him.

When you finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, unwilling to let you go completely.

"So," he murmured, a smile tugging at his lips, "is that a yes?"

"Yes," you confirmed, your own smile breaking free. "But on one condition."

"Anything."

"No more turning my hair pink during exams."

He laughed, the sound lightening something in your chest. "I make no such promises. Besides, you looked good with pink hair."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't maintain your stern expression. "We're going to have to tell people, you know. Our friends. Our families eventually."

"Let them talk," he said, unconcerned. "They'll get used to it. Might even win a few bets—I'm pretty sure half the school has money on when we'd finally figure things out."

The casual way he spoke of your relationship—as if it was inevitable, as if you were always meant to find each other—settled something inside you. The future you'd glimpsed might not happen exactly as you'd seen it, but the essential truth remained: you and Riki belonged together, in any timeline.

"So," he said, taking your hand as you began to walk back toward the castle, "think we'll name our first daughter Suki when the time comes?"

"Don't push your luck, Nishimura," you warned, but you squeezed his hand all the same.

He grinned, unrepentant. "Just planning ahead. I've got a lot of memories to make real."

His eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper only you could hear. "Speaking of memories... are you planning to keep me 'thoroughly fucked' in this timeline too? Or was that just a future perk?"

"Riki!" You glanced around, mortified though no one was within earshot.

"What?" he asked with exaggerated innocence. "It's a legitimate question about our relationship parameters."

You elbowed him, but couldn't completely hide your smile. "You're impossible."

"And yet, you're dating me now." His grin widened. "Just wondering if I need to earn certain... privileges again, or if there's a temporal grandfather clause."

"You're definitely earning everything from scratch," you informed him primly.

"Challenge accepted," he replied without missing a beat. "Though I do hope you'll give me hints. Like whether you're wearing the same slytherin green underwear from our future, or if I need to charm them off you to find out?"

"You wouldn't dare."

His laugh was warm and intimate, sending a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the evening chill. "No, I wouldn't. Not without your permission." His voice softened. "I remember what you like. What we like together. And I'm looking forward to rediscovering every bit of it—properly this time."

As the castle rose before you, warm light spilling from its windows into the gathering dusk, you felt a curious mixture of loss and hope. You had lost a life, but gained a future—one that you would build together, step by step, choice by choice, with all the patience and passion that your journey had taught you.

fin.

-

TL: @ziiao @seonhoon @beariegyu @somuchdard @ddolleri @zzhengyu @annybah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @jakewonist @azzy02 @addictedtohobi @cherrybeomm @urmomdotcom5678 @jaeyunsbimbo @yongbokified @changbinniescurlyhair @en-whims

[humanjarvis]

i'm sorry for scaring you

synopsis: caleb shows a new side of himself during one of your fights. it almost makes you believe he's changed.

tags: angst, suggestive (psychologically), fluff (sorta kinda), caleb kneels, caleb crawls, caleb is pathetic, caleb is overprotective and unwell pairing: farspace colonel!caleb x reader word count: 1.7k

a/n: this is angstier than i intended i wanted it to be hot, maybe it's still hot, when he tries to lock u up in his house but he has lethal booboo face ⬆️

“I didn't ask for any of this! I didn’t ask for your protection, and I sure as hell don’t want it.”

“You not wanting it doesn’t change the fact that you need it,” Caleb replied blankly. 

In the four months since you’d reunited with Caleb in Skyhaven, your relationship had taken a hit. In the first few weeks, you’d barely seen each other; he’d stop by to check on you, assume you thought him the scum of the earth, and abruptly retreat back home. It wasn’t until you’d grown fed up with the awkwardness and uncertainty that you began approaching him again—asking him about his day, initiating phone calls, and even starting the rare video call, if he was lucky. 

Around the last month or so, things had gotten better. During your increasingly frequent visits, you’d gone out together several times—to see the new cyberpunk action movie, to window shop in the pet store, to marvel at the Skyhaven nightscape from the safety of his personal aircraft. Just as you thought you’d both been making progress adapting to your new dynamic, a wave of highly dangerous wanderers had infiltrated the city, and Caleb had had the nerve to essentially place you on house arrest until the threat was dealt with. Fast forward to now, his composure threatening to overpower your impassioned rebuttals. 

“Did you honestly think I’d let you leave right now?” he asked. “You’re here for a week. The Fleet will take the next couple of days to sort out the problem, and we can go out together when it’s done.”

“We can go out together. Right. So you can rush me back here the second someone looks at me the wrong way?”

“No one will look at you the wrong way. Not here. Not while you’re with me. But you need to understand, Pipsqueak: you came to Skyhaven for me. You’re in skyhaven for me. I won’t stand by and watch you put yourself in danger, and you won’t change my mind,” he replied, his large frame looming over you as he stepped closer. 

You’d had enough. You’d spent almost an hour on the losing side of this back-and-forth, and you were too exhausted to pull your punches anymore. “My first time seeing you after the explosion,” you started, voice trembling. “Do you know how it felt? When you stepped off that plane, when you interrogated me behaving like you never have in your life—I didn’t know what to think. But when you brought me back here? Started spewing off that shit about a world where my only world is you? I was scared, Caleb. I thought I’d needed to be afraid for you, but I was afraid of you. That you’d lock me in this house forever, that I'd only see the sun when you decided it wasn’t top bright for me. I was afraid that I’d die here having grown to hate the person I’d wanted to live for,” you finished, your words dripping with venom.

Seething, you spun around, ready to storm out of the kitchen and into the quiet of the guest room Caleb had remodeled for you. 

You’d taken three steps toward the door when you heard something hit the ground with a heavy thud. 

Body still facing the door, you stopped in your tracks. This was new. Unexpected. You’d been prepared to hear a few calls of your name, some “Wait!”s, maybe even a “Don't walk away from me.” Worst case, you’d expected him to pin you in place with his Evol, preventing your exit and prolonging your fight. 

But a thud? A thud could mean many things. Enough things for you to remain frozen contemplating the possibilities before the voice in the back of your head broke through your thoughts, reminding you of the very real chance that you’d spiked Caleb's blood pressure so much that he’d fainted.

The fear that he was hurt made you finally turn around, only for Caleb to catch you off guard yet again.

Caleb the Loathsome, the overprotective, obsessive, now cold-blooded colonel of the Farspace Fleet, was on the floor before you. Kneeling.

All at once, your anger dissipated, melting into shock at the assertive man before you’s sudden display of submission. 

Realizing you’d turned around, Caleb lifted his head, meeting your flustered expression with his pained one. His furrowed brows, shining eyes, and pouted lips—he looked pitiful, honestly. And as much as it tugged at your heartstrings, it awakened something dormant inside you. 

It made you feel powerful. It gave you an idea. 

Biting the inside of your bottom lip, you took several steps toward Caleb’s kneeling form, closing the distance you'd been so eager to put between you all of ten minutes ago. A slight gasp escaped Caleb at your movement, and he swiftly lowered his gaze back to the floor, as if worried that daring to watch your approaching form would make you retreat. 

When you came to a stop, you were just in front of his knees, looking down your nose at his bowed head. For a few moments, Caleb’s heavy breaths were the only sounds between you, thickening the cold air in the room. 

Then, finally—finally—you touched him, lifting his chin up before resting your palm on his cheek. At your touch, he leaned forward, nuzzling his head against your thigh. 

“…You want this that bad, huh? Want me that bad?”

“More than anything,” he breathed. 

You stared at him. 

“Please,” he whispered, turning his head into your hand to brush his lips across your fingers. 

At this, you hummed softly, running your thumb across his cheek twice before turning away from him once more. When you break contact, Caleb freezes in the midst of rubbing his face on your leg, his eyes popping open in panic. He only calms when he sees you heading for the armchair tucked into the right back corner of the room, slowly taking a seat, your legs spread. 

“Relax,” you call out, settling in your chair. He didn’t move a muscle.

You decided you’d had enough of the tense silence after a few more beats. It was time to test him.

“…Come here, Caleb.”

In an instant, his head snapped up. His gaze, abruptly ending its budding relationship with the floor tiles, held yours for more than a few seconds this time, your slight smirk challenging his slight disbelief.

Caleb had all the cunning in the world. Since joining the Fleet, nothing got by him—and on the rare chance that it did, he’d chase it down and make it beg for mercy. He was a prideful man. He was a calculated man. So when you called for him in your sweet voice, slightly breathy with unadmitted nerves, he figured you out quite quickly. 

You were testing him—to see if he’d walk or crawl to you—and he knew it. 

And unfortunately for his dignity, any reservation he held about the latter was overshadowed by his desire for you: to be in your space, to breathe your air, to be close enough to feel you—even if he rarely did now, out of fear that his touch would repulse you.

He needed you to need him. So he crawled. 

Inch by inch, Caleb crawled toward you, the only person who would ever see him reduced to this. The only person who could reduce him to this. And all the while, as the fabric of his dark pants dragged across the floor, his violet eyes never left yours. In them, you saw resignation. You saw anticipation. You saw the shattered remnants of a pride that he’d let be broken, and you saw them rebuild themselves in lust the closer he came.

A few inches away from you, Caleb stops, sitting demurely on his heels. His hands twitch in hesitation before falling into his lap. His vulnerability is palpable, and you can feel him banishing himself back to his hell of self-deprecation, the guilt-eroded space in his mind where he repeats how little he deserves you. Before he can lower his gaze again, you beckon him upwards,  guiding his palms to rest on your knees. His kneeling form almost equals your seated one in height.

“I used to love watching you scare off the boys who were mean to me,” you tell him, placing your palm back on his cheek. “But as much as I like you intimidating, this little act might be my new favorite.” 

His nervous breaths come to a momentary halt before he brightens slightly, chasing your touch. He nuzzles into your palm like he did your leg earlier, and you sigh. 

“You scared me, Caleb,” you murmur. 

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“I know you want to keep me safe, that you have kept me safe for as long as either of us can remember,” you say, continuing to stroke his head. “But I don’t want to be afraid of you, Caleb. I won't be afraid of you. So if you want to keep doing this, if you want us to move on, if you want me—it can’t happen again. Tell me it won’t happen again.”

Your movements still as you tighten your grip on his jaw, forcing him to meet your eyes. A grimace flashes across his face as he goes quiet for a moment. But you wait for him. You have to. As exhilarating as it’d been to see him crawl before you, this was the true test—if you extend your trust, will he extend his lenience? You have to believe that he will. To give him the chance to. 

And as you’re wrapped up in your optimism, your fantasies that he’ll acquiesce and let your relationship go back to normal, Caleb responds. 

“...I’m sorry for scaring you.” 

[demonpiratehuntress]

cheater (Straw Hats + Ace, Law, Kaku)

featuring - Zoro x F!Reader, Ace x F!Reader, Law x F!Reader, Kaku x F!Reader, Sanji x F!Reader, Usopp x F!Reader, Luffy x F!Reader

summary - you DREAM that they cheated on you

warnings - DREAMS of cheating but no actual cheating, violence

ZORO

You woke up with murder on your mind.

And promptly shoved the swordsman off the hammock, harder than necessary. He hit the floor with a loud thud, a groan, and several curse words you couldn't repeat out loud.

"What the hell, woman?" He grumbled, rising to his feet.

You scoffed, "Oh, so I'm 'woman' now?" You got up yourself, storming out of the room, slamming the door so hard that even Zoro winced.

The rest of the crew watched in terror as you angrily moved around the kitchen, making yourself breakfast. Even Sanji was hesitant to stop you, the look on your face downright murderous.

Zoro entered the room then, looking confused and annoyed. He was rolling his shoulders, grumbling something under his breath.

"Oh I'm sorry," you snarled. "Do you have something to say?"

"What is your problem?" He glared at you.

You chucked a pot lid at him, with startling accuracy, "My problem? You're the one with the problem!"

"I didn't do anything!" He narrowly avoided getting hit by the lid.

"Liar! You cheated on me!" You threw another pot lid.

Meanwhile, the others looked on with a mixture of shock, fear and confusion etched onto their faces. They had no idea what was going on, Zoro had no idea what was going on, and you had no idea where he had found the woman to cheat with, if you'd been on a ship the whole...oh...

"Wait a second..."

"Yes?" Zoro crossed his arms, waiting for you to realise.

"It was a dream..."

The swordsman's eye twitched, "You tried to kill me twice this morning...over a dream?!"

"In my defense, it felt real!" You laughed nervously.

Everyone expected the swordsman to say something irritably, perhaps actually smack you upside the head, but instead he walked over to you and engulfed you in his strong arms.

"That is one dream that will never come true."

ACE

Ace let out an undignified screech when he finally opened his eyes this morning, to see you hovering over him with a murderous gleam in your pretty eyes.

"Baby," he laughed nervously, "What are you doing?"

You proceeded to dump ice cold water on the commander, then got up and flung the bucket across the room. Ace screeched again, then winced at the sound of the bucket hitting the floor. He watched you walk out of the room, his jaw dropping, eyes wide.

When he finally got up and followed you out, he noticed other crewmembers clearing a path for you, each one stepping out of your way as if they didn't want to mess with your warpath.

"Ace, what did you do?" One of them asked, half amused, half afraid.

"I...don't know," the commander scratched his head, confused, trying his best to remember what he had done to piss you off so badly.

Breakfast was a little awkward. You sat beside Ace, but you didn't say a word to him. And you didn't even look at him - you didn't even breathe in his general direction.

And you were uncharacteristically quiet.

"Babe?" He tried his luck, tapping on your shoulder very, very lightly.

"What?" You snapped, turning to him so sharply that he was surprised you didn't get whiplash.

"Did I...do something?" His voice came out a little high in pitch when he caught a glimpse of the look in your eyes.

"No, no," you feigned a smile, causing him to relax, and then you slammed a knife into the wooden table so hard that everyone flinched. "You only cheated on me with a barmaid!"

"I...what?!" He cried. "When did that happen?! I wasn't-I didn't-"

You slammed the knife down between his fingers, "Don't lie!"

"I'm not!" He was panicking now, sweat dripping down his forehead, "Baby, sweetheart, my love...I was with you last night. I passed out during dinner, and then we went back to our room, remember? PLEASE don't kill me!"

Then it all came flooding back, and you dropped your knife, "Oh...right." You laughed nervously. "Must have been a dream, then."

Ace blinked once, twice, then whined, "Are you kidding? I almost lost my life because of a dream?!"

"Sorry, babe."

"You owe me LOTS of cuddles for this!"

"Yeah, yeah..."

LAW

Law hadn't seen you all morning. Usually he woke up to you next to him, ready to greet him with a warm smile and a sweet kiss. And a hot cup of coffee.

But when he opened his eyes, you weren't next to him, your side of the bed was neatly tucked back in, and his coffee was cold - ice cold.

Then it seemed like you were hiding from him, because everywhere he looked you weren't there. He'd catch a glimpse of you before you were gone, vanishing into thin air. Now, without your kiss and without you, he was a little grumpier than usual. Worsened by the fact that he had no idea what he had done to merit this behaviour.

Around him, the crew snickered and spoke in hushed whispers. He ignored them, as usual, still searching for you. When he finally found you, you shot him a scathing look before attempting to make another exit.

"No," he simply said, stopping you in your tracks.

"No?" You turned to him, your eyes narrowed.

"What happened?" He demanded, moving closer. His eyes searched yours intensely, studying you meticulously. "What did I do to earn your scorn, (Name)-ya?"

"You're a smart man, Law," you sneered, "Figure it out."

His eyes narrowed, "What-"

"Actually, where is she hiding?" You cut him off. "I just want to have a little word with her." You sounded dangerously unhinged, your eyes dark. "Did you 'room, shambles' her off the ship??"

"Who?" He asked, genuinely confused.

"That woman you cheated on me with!" Out loud, it sounded so ridiculous, that you faltered. "Oh, hold on..."

Law leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, "You're a smart woman, (Name)-ya. Figure it out."

You glared at him, "That dream felt real, okay!"

Law just sighed, before walking over to you. Before you could ask what he was doing, he had pinched your arm before pulling you into his arms. You yelped, knowing you deserved that, then relaxed in his embrace.

Him holding you was comfort enough.

KAKU

Kaku expected to be greeted with a sweet kiss, a warm smile, and a hot dinner - the usual. Since you were on assignment in Water 7, you played the dutiful housewife, but even so, you usually greeted him cheerfully.

Today he was greeted by a glare, cold food and a slammed bedroom door.

Now he was confused. Had he done something to earn such a cold shoulder? Had he said something? Couldn't be possible, because he hadn't seen you all day and you were fine this morning. Happy, even.

He gently knocked on the door, "(Name), can I come in?"

"No," was the response.

He sighed, but stood patiently outside the door. A few moments later, it was ripped open and there you stood, in all your furious glory.

"What do you want?"

"To kiss you?" He asked, his frown almost sad enough to make you less angry. Almost.

"Really? Me?" You crossed. "Or your other girlfriend?"

His eyes widened, his mind working to figure out what he had done to merit such a wild accusation that was definitely not true.

"My...other girlfriend?"

"Yes!"

He just blinked a few times, before casually lifting his hand to check your temperature. Perhaps you were delirious. You swatted his hand away, glaring at him.

"Oh now you're calling me crazy!"

He didn't know whether to run or hug you, because now he was sweating.

"No! Honey, did you get any sleep?"

"Yes! I just woke up from a nap where I..." Your eyes widened. "Oh."

Kaku sighed, but was ultimately relieved that you weren't angry anymore and decided on giving you that hug, whispering sweet words that washed all your doubt away.

SANJI

You were mad at him on a regular basis. His annoying habit of flirting with passing women just would not stop, leaving you annoyed or fuming depending on how pretty you thought she had been.

But today was different.

The ship was on open water, and you hadn't stopped at an island in days. Yet you had woken up with a scowl on your face, pushed him off the bed, and went to make breakfast yourself. You also refused his offer to make it for you, and tossed overboard any drink or snack he made for you.

"Did I...do something, my love?" He asked you after lunch - after you had made your own lunch, actually.

"No," you said calmly, offering him a strained smile.

He sighed in relief and smiled back, only for you to shove past him with a passive-aggressive remark.

"I mean, if cheating on me doesn't count as doing something wrong."

His eyes shot up wide, "I did what?!"

He started panicking, trying to recollect whatever he had done the last few days - no matter how big or small. The fact that you had all been stuck on the ship slipped his mind in his frenzy.

"I really hate to be Sanji's defender here," Nami started, "But we've been on the ship for days. How could he have done that?"

"Well, in my dream-" Your eyes went wide as you realised... "Oh..."

"A...a dream, my love?" He repeated, his smile strained. "I cheated on you...in your dream?"

"Yes...But it's your fault!" You protested. "You and your-your stupid flirting!"

He immediately dropped to his knees, hands clasped together, "You're right, of course you're right! Please forgive me, sweetheart, I promise I'll never do it again! I'll even kick my dream-self for you!"

"Maybe kick your real self while you're at it too," you grumbled, but forgave him when your words brought tears to his eyes, "Okay, I'm sorry, come here."

In the end, you ended up having to hold him and comfort him for a while before he stopped begging you to believe it would never happen - because you already believed that.

LUFFY

"Hey (Name), have you seen Luffy?"

"Oh, that guy," you grumbled, rolling your eyes.

"I-I'm sorry?" Poor Usopp had no idea what he had just stumbled into.

"Yeah, what a jerk, right?" You scoffed, scrubbing the kitchen counter a little too aggressively. "You think you know a guy."

Usopp had absolutely no idea why you were so mad at your boyfriend, but he was already afraid. Because why were you glaring at the counter like it had offended you and why was there a murderous gleam in your eyes??

Truth be told, you had woken up pissed. Oh, yes. That stupid Warlord Boa and her stupid feasts for your stupid boyfriend. You had seen it coming, but the betrayal still infuriated you beyond anything else he could ever do.

"Um...okay..." The sharpshooter wisely decided to take his leave.

When the crew next saw Luffy, you had pulled his rubber arm so hard that it snapped back and hit him in his own face, causing him to yelp and slam back into the wall. Even he was a victim to his own might, it seemed.

"OW! (Name), what was that for?" Your captain whined, hopping back onto his feet, unhurt but confused.

"You know what you did, Luffy!" You snapped, then paused, realising who you were talking to. "Okay, you don't, but it was a really bad thing! How dare you cheat on me with Boa Hancock?! I thought you were better than that!"

Luffy blinked once, twice, then grew even more confused, "When did I do that? Cheating is bad, (Name)."

"Yes, I know!" You face-palmed. "But last night, she threw you a big meal and you kissed her and then the ship was attacked by penguins-wait..."

"We were attacked by penguins?!" Luffy cried. "Why don't I remember this?"

You laughed nervously, "Okay, maybe you didn't cheat. It must have been a dream."

"You dreamed of me cheating on you?" The captain frowned. "Why?"

"I don't know, it just happened-"

Suddenly you were engulfed in his arms, wrapped so tightly in them that escape - and breathing - was impossible. You wheezed, but he didn't seem to notice as he nuzzled against you like a cat.

"You're the only one I want, (Name), I promise."

USOPP

When you stormed into the kitchen one morning, eyes blazing, looking like you were on a warpath...Usopp's immediate instinct was to dive under the dining table.

"Where is she?!" You growled, fists clenched at your sides.

"Who? Nami?" Luffy asked. "She's up-"

"No!" Your eyes travelled over each of your crewmates' faces before finally landing on a pair of quivering hands that jutted out from under the table. "Usopp. Where. Is. She?"

"Who?" He wailed, poking just his head out, "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Yes you do! You snuck her onto the ship!"

"I did not!" He looked confused. "Wait, what?? Who did I sneak onto the ship?? And why do I not remember this?!"

"Idiot," you scowled, "You think I wouldn't notice you bringing your first love on board?"

"Kaya?!" Usopp choked on his own saliva, stunned by your accusation.

"Oh so you did bring her on board?!"

"I-what-no!" He protested. "She's still in the East Blue!"

"And how do you know that?!" You hissed, "Are you keeping tabs on her???" The look on your face could only be described as deranged.

"How-"

"But then how do you explain-" You suddenly stopped as everything came back to you at that moment. Your dream, and logic. "Oh...right..."

Usopp seemed to relax, "Yes, I would never-"

"It was a dream!" You laughed, relieved, sitting down at the table like you hadn't just been about to be the reason for the Sunny's destruction. "Sorry." You kissed his cheek.

Usopp could only smile and nod, his face pale.

[sempiternalmuze]

Running Through the Halls of Your Haunted Home

Jack Abbott x doctor!Reader who has some problems being loved

tags: dr. jack abbott x female!reader, hurt comfort, reader runs away for a bit (story takes place when shes back), Robby being Jacks best friend, age/jobs not really established, implied not great childhood for reader, jack loves her ohmygod??, jack would never leave her tbh, a bit more flowery than i'm used to writing so let me know, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.3k

Five months. That was the timeframe Robby had laid out for you when you'd came to him a few days after Christmas, explaining that you needed a break, need time away from the Pitt, the city, the state. He'd been kind enough to not ask too many questions, but you knew he'd hear it sooner than later directly from Jack during one of their therapy sessions.

So three days after Christmas you packed your bag, grabbed your passport, and changed your number. From one day to the next you had gone from Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center to Portel, Brazil with Doctors Without Borders.

And you lived. You took the time you needed to find your peace again, to pick up the pieces that you had left behind in the dusty apartment Jack and you had shared.

But now it was May-- and Robbie was calling your number every few days. And today when you answered he'd sounded at about wit's end.

"Time's up kid, we need you back here." He sighed, and you could almost see his hand running over his face, tired and no doubt thinking about a fourth—fifth—coffee.

You had stayed silent for a moment, playing with the sheet of your hammock. You glanced at the tents set up by the river, kids running around in a game of tag, parents watching from the sides as they spoke to the other doctors on your crew.

"What if I told you I liked it here more? Then what?" You said, glancing back at the water.

Robby lets out a throaty laugh, one that pulls you away and forces you back to the shuffle of the Pitt. "Because if you did, you would've just said that."

It's a valid point— and true. You wouldn't be asking, wouldn't be hoping he'd tell you any different. You probably would have blocked him, sent an email to Gloria and moved on with your life.

"And I also know what you've got waiting." He whispered. And he was right. You wouldn't just leave like that and not tell Jack. The only reason you had been able to do it the first time was because you knew it was temporary, and small fold in the story you two shared.

"How is he?" The weight was heavy on your shoulders, an invisible force that only left in the depths of night and that was if you were tired enough to fall asleep as soon as your head hit your pillow. Jack was strong, and smart. He'd been through so much worse than a girl who was afraid.

"Well...he visits the roof a lot more now. The first few weeks were...well they were real bad kid." He pauses, like considering what would be too much to tell you. "I offered him to come stay with me, get away from the apartment, but he said he liked it. It gave him a reason to hold on."

Reasons to hold, how very Jack Abbott of him. To want to have hope, to find the reasons even though he wasn't sure where any of it would lead.

"He'd doing better now, I don't have to act like a hostage negotiator too much these days. He comes out to the park with us after work and he makes jokes with the new med students. But he misses you, a lot."

You nodded with a hum into the phone. The sun was so peaceful this time of day, it bounced off the water and on to your skin. You let your eyes close and let your mind drift back to those months ago, from even before the fight, to when things were still solid between the two of you.

Walks in the park after a long shift, hands intertwined as he poked fun at you for your decisions during a shift. The nights spent in bed, room slightly too cold because otherwise you'd burn up with his body heat. Even on the days when it was hard, when his active duty days caught up to him, there was still something to have, because he'd let you hold him, let himself talk and talk about the people and the days of roughing it, of the bad things he saw, of the pain of a leg that was no longer attached to his physical being.

"Kid, I gotta let Gloria know by tonight. Are you back?" Robby's voice broke through the speaker with a crack of static.

"Of course I am Robby."

Now you were running through the airport, hair a mess, sanity hardly in tact. Cassie had been kind enough to come grab you after dropping off Harrison with Chad for the weekend. Today and tomorrow would be your days to get settled, then straight back to it on Monday.

"I've missed you so much!" She squealed, arms wrapped around your center tightly. "You have no idea how much it sucks to have to take on that waiting room with myself and Javadi." She laughs.

"Oh I bet, what would you ever do without me?" You laughed. You held her tight before you both crawled into the car. She started the engine, waving off some security yelling at her and took off.

"How was it?" She asks, face covered in excitement.

"It was amazing Cassie. The people, the pace, the location, all of it was just-perfect." You sigh and throw your head back. "I think it was exactly what I needed."

"That's great." She says. Her tone tells you that there's something else, something on her mind that she isn't saying out loud.

It takes about three minutes of uncomfortable silence and a red traffic light for her to turn to you. "Have you talked to him?"

Cassie was one of about four people who definitely knew what was going on between you and Jack, one of a few who knew lengths you'd go for one another. Her tone is soft, prodding but not overstepping.

"No, Cass I...I didn't want to do anything that might...I don't know, hurt more than it already would?" You sighed. You covered your face with your hands. "I felt horrible, for taking off on him the way I did. But I just...I knew that he'd make me stay."

Cass nods along, listening. She takes your hands in hers, holding it softly over the center console. She doesn't push or try to interject her own thoughts about the whole thing into your mind. She knows you well enough to know that no decision you made came lightly, that it took hours and hours of thought and careful planning.

The light turns green and the car starts moving again. "You don't have to go back so soon. You can stay with Harrison and I if you want to." Cass offers, a small glint in her eyes.

You take a moment to consider before looking out the window. "I need to go back Cass. To my home, to my stuff. I need to go back to him. I ran once but I'm ready. I finally feel ready to face what we left behind." You smile, hands gripping the door handle a bit too tight.

Cass nods and hums. "Just know I'm there. If you need me."

And that's what the conversation is left at. Fifteen minutes later your left staring at your building. Cass offered to go upstairs with you, but you'd elected to face it all yourself.

There were two options that stood in front of you. One, Jack was home, asleep, getting ready to head to bed and face another grueling night shift. The blackout curtains would be drawn and the apartment quiet. Would the floorboards remember your steps or creak under the unfamiliar weight of your long lost body? Maybe they would, and then they'd wake him, and you'd have to explain the last five months of your life to him while he was half asleep.

The other option was simple, he wasn't home, maybe getting groceries before he inevitably came home to crash out on the couch. It had irked you so much when you first started dating. The way he'd get off a few hours before you and offer to do the shopping, just for you to come home and find him asleep in the most neck sore position possible, jacket barely off, jeans twisted too tightly across his legs. But eventually it became a comfort, the way you could rouse him and make him follow you to bed, where you'd help him take off his prosthetic, rip off his scrubs in return for a clean shirt and pj pants. Or sometimes when you were both so tired after a rough day you could snuggle yourself between his arms, him hardly waking up, but still opening his strong arms so you could press against his chest.

And you find yourself hoping it can be like those distant couch sleeps. That he'll be there, asleep on the couch, and you can just lay with him, head pressed against his chest, snuggled right below his chin as his fingers splay over the middle of your back, gripping you as to not let you disappear again.

So when you turn your key into the lock, you take a deep breath. With the click sounding, you push the door open. You roll your suitcase in first, setting it to the side. Then you pause, listening. There's silence, and for a moment you think you're safe. The buzz of the AC when it clicks on startles you, but not as much as the man standing before you.

Jack stands near the couch, hand holding on to it, like he might fall over. He wears a tight black tee, some washed jeans and his tennis shoes. When you finally meet his eyes you see something, a glint of pain? Maybe sadness, maybe shock. His hair is slightly longer along the sides, his facial hair a bit more clean shaven than the stubble you had last seen him in. He doesn't move, neither do you. Its like the saddest cowboy stand off you've ever witnessed.

The click of the door behind you finally breaks the silence. You take a step forward, placing your keys down on the entry table. You can't tear your eyes from his. You wish you could read his face, know where to start on the long list of apologies and begging of forgiveness.

"I know you probably hate me. I know you maybe wish I would have never come back. And I know when I left we were in a bad position, a position that I never wanted to be at with you." Jack opens his mouth to say something, but you're quick to silence him with a raise of your hand.

"But I'm here. I'm here because I love you. Because I never wanted to leave in the first place. And you are the first stable thing I've had in my life since med school." A sudden hiccup burst from you, followed by tears. You couldn't stop it. In an instant your face was crumpled, warm, tears spilling from your eyes.

"Sweetheart..." Jack mutters, marching towards you until his arms swaddled your frame, arms pressing tight around your ribs, fingers grasping at your hair. His face pressed deeply against the crown of your head, and his chest pressed perfectly against your ear until you could hear the thumping of his heart.

"Jack Abbott you— God you fucking took my life and put it back together in ways I didnt think possible. You showed me that I could be loved. I was worthy of love and attention."

You pulled away, Jack's arms still resting across your waist, fingers digging in, as though fully releasing you would mean you walking out the front door forever this time.

"And I ran. I ran because I was so fucking scared that you'd wake up and decide that I wasn't worthy, that you didn't need to be here. And I wouldn't be able to handle that." You glanced at him, and while your vision remained slightly blurred, you found that he was already looking back at you. For a moment you thought pity might be the thing coursing through his dark eyes, but you realized it wasn't even close. It was more like concern, fear.

"I picked that fight because I thought it was the only way to get you to leave. But you didn't. You refused to leave, to give in. And that made me mad." You laugh, wiping your face. Jack cracks a smile, followed by a small chuckle of his own.

"You made me mad because instead of doing what everyone else has done, you planted your feet. And that made me the most scared." You said, staring down at the ground. Jack gave you a moment to collect yourself, and when it seemed your breathing had finally calmed a bit, he took your hands in his, fingers intertwining with his own, his calloused palms pushing against yours.

"I planted my feet because I knew exactly what you were doing." He says, soft, speaking more into your hair than into the open space around you two.

"It was a stupid battle, and you're not stupid, so of course I knew what you were doing. Because I know you, sweetheart." he chuckles a little, the sound vibrating in his throat. "And more importantly, I planted my feet because I wanted to stay. You have never ever been anything short of the most beautiful, loving, smartest, strongest woman in my life. You are the best thing I've had in years." He sighed, his hand lefts yours as it moved up your arm, until it fell onto your jaw, guiding your eyes to his.

"And you put me back together. And I love you for that." He finishes. Neither of you two move, letting each others words swell around your embrace.

Your eyes drop to his lips, soft and kind. He doesn't hesitate, pulling you against him, letting your lips grace each others for the first time in months. You sigh, pressing your body against his. He holds you close as you two drink each other in.

Eventually he pulls away, rests his forehead against yours.

"I've missed you."

ϟ.·:¨༺ ♡ ༻¨:·.ϟ

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt: Valentine's day spirit. Superbat edition.

When Phantom sets foot on the Justice League base many years later, he expects anything but not Flash pointing finger at him and screaming about "legendary child who made Superbat canon".

~~~~

Being in Metropolis because of a ghost hunt right in the middle of a battle between Lex Luthor and Superman was not the best outcome, especially considering that Jack had his three-year-old son with him. But without such a combination of circumstances, they would never have found out that "Ghost!" "Daddy, no!" Ectoblast that Jack shot at the target of their hunt touches Superman and..really hurts him.

There were two sides to Danny-the ghostbuster's son and the astronerd. It is clear which half of him did not have a chance to win.

Danny threw his space rocket toy aside and grabbed father's arm. In the next second, boy had already sunk his teeth into Jack's fingers, forcing him to drop weapon. Youngling quickly jumped off and picked up ectoblast and then ran towards Superman. "Fly away! I'll hold him!" Danny stood up to try to cover up ghost (or alien?) in case Dad took not one but a whole bunch of shooting things with him again.

Jack: Get away from my son, ghost. Superman: Sir, I'm sure this is some kind of misunderstanding, I'm not a ghost. Jack: Danny, come to me, he's trying to hide his identity and manipulate us. Danny: No. If the heroes are being attacked, then someone must protect them too. Jack: But he's a ghost.. Danny: Alien or ghost is not so important, Daddy. He's in pain, and he's protecting this city, not haunting it. It's wrong to try to catch him for experiments. I forbid you to do that. Jack: Danny, champ, you're wrong.

Lex: Hah, what an interesting substance. Despite the other aggregate state, or rather its absence, it is so similar to kryptonite. Superman: Lex, is this a portable lab? Now is not the time, in case you haven't noticed. Lex: There is always time for science. I think my colleague will agree, right? "Similar to kryptonite?" Jack muttered to himself.

Jack: So Superman wasn't my target. And we are not colleagues. There is only one insanely rich man with questionable moral values with whom I am ready to do work, and your surname is clearly not Masters. Lex: It's a pity, but still, if you want to carry out the delivery of your wonderful weapons or exchange experiences, then call this number. Luther quickly shoves a business card into Fenton's hand. Jack*throws it away*: Come on, son, let's go back to the hotel, you've skinned your knees.

~~~The Evening. The Roof of the mentioned hotel~~~

"My friend Sam is also very frightening. And she also likes dark.“ The boy paused for a minute of thinking. “You want to kiss your goth friend?" "W-What makes you think that, kid. We’re colleagues, I respect him very much and.." "So you want to. It’s okay, I’d like to kiss Sam too but I’m afraid she’s gonna hit me. You have the same problem?" "It’s a little more complicated for adults." Kal begins to explain but stumbles upon Danny’s completely unimpressed look. Yeah, this boy apparently has heard 'kids would understand when they grow up' lectures at least thousand times. "But you’re basically right."

~~~~

When Batman himself comes to their hotel the next day as a representative of the Justice League to make sure that Mr. Fenton has no desire to harm Superman in the future and to tell that Superman is not going to press charges because of the ectoblast that injured him, Danny refuses to leave the room.

Jack: Oh, Danny, I thought you dropped your space rocket yesterday, it's a good that Alicia's Christmas present isn't lost. Danny: Well, dad, I left it on the roof of a bad bad man, yeah, but Uncle Kal returned it last night and we talked for a while. Jack: About what? Space, my little star? *Father immediately assumes that Danny would like to ask about everything real alien*. Boy*blushes and shakes his head negatively*: No, not about it.

Jack: Then what it was about? Danny: Secret superhero things. I can't tell you. I agreed to withhold that information as part of a pinky swear. Batman: And what about me, young man? You can tell me, right? Batman couldn't resist talking with such a cute kid. The boy thinks only for a second before hurriedly trying to push his father out of the room. Danny: Dad, come out for a minute and don't eavesdrop. I'll tell you when you can come in. The big man laughingly obeys. Lil child checks the reliability of the closed door and runs up to Batman. Danny: And so, Mr. Batman, first promise not to laugh or hit Uncle Kal. Batman: I promise? Danny: Good. This is very important information. Batman: I'm listening.

Danny: He thinks you're terrifying and wants to kiss you. And since he is afraid that you will hit him for this, I recommended him to appease you with a pie cooked according to his mother's recipe. Well, you know, since you love sweets and his parents' farm has the most wonderful apples in all states. He rarely cooks himself, but he will try for you, so even if he doesn't succeed, pretend that you liked it, please. Batman:...

Batman: Would you like to work in intelligence for the Justice League when you grow up? Danny: Actually, I want to be an astronaut. Batman: Our base is located in space. Danny:

Danny: Hmm, then I'll think about your offer.

Batman: Great. It's a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Fenton. You can count on a job recommendation from me. Do you want anything as compensation for your consultation? Danny: Actually, yes. Mr. Batman, tell me honestly, are you a bat on a frugivorous diet like Giant golden-crowned flying fox or you are a Vampire Bat? Sam says that such a big bat can only be a vegetarian and uncle Kal said your son was more than happy to steal strawberries from his garden with Superboy but..

~~~

Batman tries to behave naturally for a week. However, the sweet tooth inside him still makes him clamp Superman in the corner and question him. "Where the hell are the pies you promised to cook for me, Clark?"

[hyorijie]

Sorry, I fucked your wife. | Alastor x Reader

Warnings Infidelity, reader is married to a sinner on the rise , before Alastor's disappearance, P in v, Obscenity, overstimulation, Alastor is an idiot, sexual tension, possessiveness, Breeding kink, aftercare, Your husband and Alastor are friends (not for long). Summary Alastor has always been a demon of umpredictable whims, but this time... his interest has gone too far. A beautiful doe has completely captured his attention, there´s just one small catch: She´s married. Of corse, that would be a problem... if Alastor cared...

In the comfort of your home, you glided swiftly over the drink bar, most of the time you didn't drink, but right now the situation warranted it. Your husband had been gone for days and the loneliness consumed you like a slow and cruel disease.

The faint sound of music in the background relaxed your tense muscles a little, a sigh left your lips as you stroked one of your shoulders with the intention of releasing the accumulated tension.

Again you took a sip from the glass, the drink pierced your throat with a warm welcoming burn. Again, you were feeling hot, something very normal from wine.

Your gaze immediately went to the table, where rested that mysterious envelope that your husband had left on his desk, why had he left it that way?

You put the wine glass aside and the base of the glass clinked against the surface.

You walked a little disorientedly to the envelope, you saw that it was open. Curiously you reached out your hand gently until you reached the envelope, your fingers checked the embossing, while your eyes scanned the scarlet seal that stood out against the paper.

Before you could fully recognize the seal it bore, the sound of the door being knocked made you jump in place and let go of the envelope. The paper fell onto the desk and one of your hands went to your chest.

— Shit, who the fuck is that? — You growl to yourself squinting your eyes, cursing under your breath at whoever is behind the door.

With obvious annoyance, you walk towards the door, the moment you opened it, the heat seemed to shoot through your body from surprise.

— Greetings, my dear! May I have an audience with your husband at this time? — The voice that came from him was tainted with too much static, Alastor, your husband's partner was standing in front of you with a wide grin that almost forced you to return it.

You looked him up and down, hoping he wasn't real at this precise moment. But one of his eyebrows rose curiously.

You pulled yourself together immediately shaking your head.

— I'm afraid he won't be able to attend to the request, he's out.— you answered with a superhuman effort, praying to any deity that your voice wouldn't be slurred or cut off by the effect of the drink.

You took a discreet breath, trying to hold your ground as you watched Alastor, who was still smiling with that sly expression that got on your nerves.

— As I told you, he's not here. You'd better come back another time. — you repeated with a slight nod, hoping he'd take the hint and turn around.

But instead, the demon cocked his head to one side and let out a short chuckle, as if you had just told him a charming joke. Before you could react, he took a step forward and, with overflowing confidence, crossed the threshold of your house without waiting for an invitation.

— Oh, my dear, how inconsiderate it would be of me to make you spend the night alone in this storm out there. — he said in a falsely mournful tone.

You looked over your shoulder and, to your misfortune, the sky was still overflowing with disaster. You pursed your lips, holding back the urge to yell at him to get out immediately. However, Alastor was your husband's partner, and the last thing you wanted was to create unnecessary trouble.

With a restrained sigh, you closed the door behind him, turning around with your arms crossed.

— May I ask why you are still here if you already know my husband is not here? — you ask in a dry tone.

Alastor had already settled into one of the lounge seats, as casually as a cat would take over someone else's house. His eyes, lively and attentive, lingered on the glass of wine on the table.

— Well, let's just say I couldn't miss the opportunity to chat with you. After all, we're hardly ever alone. —he replied with a playful air. Then he narrowed his eyes with a spark of amusement.— Although… I dare say it's not the best night for a serious conversation.

A shiver of embarrassment ran down your spine.

— Don't imply nonsense. — you said quickly, in a tone that was meant to be firm, but sounded more like a weak defense.

Alastor let out a light laugh and leaned forward, resting an elbow on his knee.

— Oh, honey, don't take this the wrong way. We all have days like that. And if you're going to drink, what better than to do it in good company. — he said with his wide, impertinent grin.— Although, if I'm honest, I'm more of a whiskey man… but I wouldn't turn down a glass of wine if you'd be so kind as to share.

You pursed your lips, trying not to show your frustration. The last thing you wanted was to prolong his stay, but you couldn't be dismissive of someone so close to your husband either.

Resigned, you took the bottle and poured one more glass, pushing it to him with a light tap on the table.

—Here it is.

Alastor took it gracefully and raised it slightly in your direction.

— Here's to an interesting evening. — he gleamed with a glint of mischief in his eyes before lifting the wine to his lips.

You just watched, wondering, not for the first time, what the hell this Overlord was still doing in your house.

The bottle of wine was nearly empty.

You didn't know exactly at what point you stopped wishing Alastor would leave. Perhaps it was after the third glass, when the conversation stopped feeling invasive and began to feel… intriguing.

He spoke with a magnetic eloquence, with the ease of someone who had seen and understood more than he would ever admit. And you, with the warmth of the wine in your system, found yourself increasingly caught up in his words.

— It's amazing how little humans understand about true ancient magic.— Alastor commented, twirling his glass between his fingers with an almost lazy air.— Always wanting to pigeonhole it into books, rituals, symbols… but magic is not something that is locked into written rules. It's a living art, a contract between the one who invokes it and the one who responds.

Your eyes sparkled with interest. You had been trying for months to decipher certain fragments of forgotten spells, but the lack of results had begun to frustrate you.

— So, according to you, the key is not in the exact words, but in the intention behind them. — you said, leaning slightly towards him without realizing it.

Alastor looked you in the eye, as if amused to see you so absorbed.

— Exactly, my dear. It's like a conversation… only with entities that may or may not be in the mood to listen to you.

You let out a short, somewhat carefree laugh.

—And what do you suggest? That I sweeten their ears?

— Oh, some require it. Others, on the other hand, prefer a demonstration of power.— he shrugged.— But everyone, without exception, responds better to someone who knows what they want.

That last sentence left a chill on your skin, though you didn't know if it was because of his words or the way his eyes bore into yours with that brazen intensity.

You ignored him, or at least tried to, taking another sip from your glass.

— You speak as if you know from experience.

— Let's say I've had my encounters with the forbidden.— your tone became lower, more intimate. — But, my dear… What exactly do you want most?

Something about his question made you flinch. Not in the literal sense of magic, but in what he was suggesting with his velvety voice and indecipherable smile.

You tried to deflect the conversation, but then he changed the subject as lightly as he was moving his glass.

— Your husband has been gone quite a while, hasn't he?

You didn't expect that turn of phrase.

— What's that got to do with it?

— Nothing in particular… just that it must be difficult. — he cocked his head, looking at you with mock innocence.— Such a big home, so much silence. I'm surprised you haven't gone crazy with loneliness.

You pursed your lips, unwilling to acknowledge that he was right. Instead, you snorted with a sarcastic smile.

— You'd be surprised how well I get along with myself.

Alastor let out a laugh, one that rocked you without you expecting it.

— Oh, I'm sure you can entertain yourself very well, my dear. But even your own company can become… unsatisfying over time.

You choked slightly on the wine - had he meant it that way, or were you beginning to read too much into his words and that had another meaning?

You looked away, trying to concentrate on the bottle. It was almost empty, and in your head the atmosphere felt thicker, warmer.

But then something caught your attention.

Alastor was still perfectly composed. While you felt the heaviness in your eyelids, the slight tingle on your skin, he didn't seem the least bit affected.

You frowned.

— It hasn't had any effect on you at all, has it?

He blinked, feigning surprise.

— Me? Ah, my dear, wine doesn't have much impact on me. Not like it does on you.

He pointed to your empty glass with a lopsided smile, and you suddenly realized how vulnerable you might seem at that moment.

Your body was relaxed, maybe too relaxed. Your judgment, perhaps a little numb.

And Alastor, with his bright gaze and smirk, seemed fully aware of it.

Alastor set his glass down on the table with a casual motion, but his eyes never left you.

— It must be difficult.— he said, picking up the conversation as if he had never changed the subject.— Your husband, with all his ambition… making ever greater strides up the hierarchy of Hell.

You straightened up in your seat, leaning your elbows on the table as if that would help you keep your composure.

— It's what he always wanted.— you replied, trying to make your voice sound firm.

— Mmm, no doubt.— Alastor tilted his head, his smile barely perceptible. — He has determination. Firm convictions. He knows what he wants and will do what it takes to get it.

Anyone else would have taken those words as flattery. But you notice the tension in his voice.

You watch him more closely.

The way his lips seemed to twist slightly, as if he was pronouncing the words with more effort than necessary. If you knew him well, you would have said he was having trouble admitting it.

— He's loyal. — he added after a brief pause.— A valuable colleague.

You looked at him carefully.

— Yes… he's always been like that.— You smiled, a tinge of nostalgia in your voice. — He was a man of principle even when we were alive. He wasn't always this calculating strategist you know. He used to be… different.

— Different? — Alastor raised an eyebrow curiously.

— More… human. — you said, almost without thinking. — Passionate, but not just about power. He used to laugh more, used to care more about the little things. It wasn't just ambition. There was much more love in him.

Alastor let out a short, almost inaudible laugh. But something in his eyes darkened.

And then, without warning, he asked.

— Do you really love him?

The air left your lungs.

Alastor slowly sat up, setting his glass down on the table gently, as if the conversation wasn't about to cross a dangerous line. He took a couple of steps toward you, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his gaze locked on yours.

— After all this time… after all he's changed… do you still love him? — he insisted, his voice lower, more enveloping.

You opened your mouth, but the words got stuck in your chest. You didn't expect that question. You didn't expect him to ask it that way.

Your heart was pounding, you no longer knew whether from the wine or from Alastor's closeness.

He tilted his head slightly, waiting for an answer.

But you… you weren't sure what it was.

The silence that followed his question was dense, suffocating. But the burn of the wine in your system gave you enough courage to frown, feigning indignation, even as a part of you was still trying to process what you'd just heard.

— What kind of question is that? — you let out with a dry laugh, as if the very idea was ridiculous.— Of course I love him.

Alastor raised an eyebrow, his expression barely changed, but his smile… faltered. Just for an instant.

— Yes? — He said in an almost casual tone. — Because you don't seem very convinced.

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could, he tilted his head thoughtfully and continued in his usual silky voice.

— But now that you say it… I find it interesting. You say you love him, but when you talk about him, you mean how he used to be. Not how he is now.

Discomfort settled in your chest.

— That has nothing to do with it. — you quickly rebutted.

— No? — Alastor let out a small laugh, not taking his eyes off you.— I'd say it does. I'd say what you're feeling isn't love, my dear… it's nostalgia. Habit.

The way he said it, so confidently, as if he knew it better than you did, made you boil inside.

— And what the hell do you know about me? About my marriage? — you shot back harshly, standing up with a sharp movement.

Alastor didn't answer immediately. He just looked at you, as if evaluating every detail of your reaction.

And then, without warning, he moved one hand fluidly, sliding it down your side until it rested on your waist.

The contact was an unexpected jolt of electricity. Not just because of the boldness, but because of the ease with which he did it. As if he had always had the right.

You gasped in surprise, your muscles tensing, but before you could react, Alastor applied firm pressure and pulled you to him.

Your breath caught in your throat.

For the first time all night, you looked directly into his eyes.

And what you saw made something inside you curl into a dangerous mix of fear and anticipation.

Hunger.

Desire.

Possession.

A look you hadn't felt on you in a long time.

Your pulse hammered against your neck, your mind struggling to process what was happening. But Alastor didn't move, just held your waist securely, leaning in just barely, as if waiting, as if savoring the moment.

— Tell me I was wrong. — he whispered, his voice vibrating in the air between you.— Say it's not homesickness you feel.

His closeness burned you. His presence filled everything.

But worst of all…you didn't know how to respond.

The air felt thicker, charged with something you weren't sure you wanted to name.

Your throat went dry, and when you tried to respond, your words came out slow, hesitant, as if each syllable would need to be precisely measured to avoid crossing a dangerous line.

— I… that has nothing to do…— you began, forcing yourself to hold his gaze.

But Alastor wouldn't let you continue.

— When was the last time? — His voice dropped to a low, velvety tone, vibrant with that characteristic static of his. — The last time you felt loved. That you felt wanted.

His grip on your waist remained firm, a pressure intense enough to remind you that you were trapped in his orbit.

— When was the last time you experienced something real? Something that would make you feel alive?

You gasped, not only at his words, but because his voice reverberated through the air, sending a shiver down your spine.

No. You couldn't let it go on.

With both arms outstretched, you levered against his chest, trying to push him away from you. But it was like pushing against an immovable wall.

Alastor didn't even flinch.

Your frustration grew, and with it, anger.

— That doesn't concern you! — You snapped, glaring at him angrily.— Who the hell do you think you are to interrogate me like that? Your insolence is colossal!

But he just smiled.

Worse… he began to walk slowly forward.

And you, with no other choice, started backing away.

— You're not telling me because you don't even remember the answer, are you? — He continued, his every word pushing you further and further back.— Because you've spent so much time convincing yourself that you love a ghost from the past, you haven't even stopped to think about how you feel now.

— Stop it! — you demanded, but he didn't stop.

— Tell me… do you really think he still looks at you the way I do now?

His tone was a direct hit to your chest.

And then you felt it. The bar counter crashed against your back.

There was no more room to back up.

Alastor leaned in slightly, just enough so that his face was mere inches from yours, his smile now sharper.

— You know the answer. — he whispered, his fingers barely gliding over the fabric of your clothes, causing your skin to tingle again.— You just don't want to admit it.

Your breathing quickened. Your mind screamed a warning, but your body refused to move.

Because for the first time in a long time… you felt something you couldn't ignore.

The silence between you was almost deafening, broken only by the ragged breathing you tried unsuccessfully to regulate.

But you couldn't let him be in control. You couldn't let Alastor think he could push you wherever he wanted.

So you inhaled deeply and let the question slip out in a sharp, direct, blunt tone.

— Since when? — You blurted out suddenly.

Alastor raised an eyebrow, his smile barely twitching, but the spark of interest in his eyes flared brighter.

— Since when, my dear?

You looked at him sternly, your back still pressed against the bar counter.

— Since when did you have me in your sights. Since when did you plan all this. Since when did I become an object of desire for the radio demon himself.

For a moment, his smile widened in a way that made you feel as if you had fallen into his trap without realizing it.

— Clever. — He murmured, his voice vibrating with dangerous satisfaction. — Of course, it wasn't hard for you to notice.

Before you could move, his hand slid with precision to your chin, grasping it firmly and forcing you to look directly at him.

His touch was not rough, but relentless.

— The truth… I don't know for sure.— he admitted, his tone lower, more enveloping.— But I do know one thing…

His thumb glided barely over your skin, an almost imperceptible brush, but calculated enough to make you hold your breath.

— Your husband is a hindrance in the equation.

Your eyes widened in surprise.

— A hindrance that has prevented me from coming directly to you as I have wanted so much. — he added with a softness that was in dangerous contrast to the meaning of the word.

A shiver ran down your spine. The seriousness with which he said it, the certainty with which he admitted it… took your breath away.

Nerves exploded in your chest, and the heat of the wine in your system did nothing to help you keep your composure. But you refused to give in.

You growled in obvious disagreement, your hands clenching into fists at your sides.

— We may be in Hell. — you spat, holding his gaze.— but I refuse to give in so easily.

Alastor raised an eyebrow, but did not loosen his grip.

— I don't care what you feel. — you continued, in a tone you meant to sound cold, but which barely managed to mask the tremor in your voice. — I never cheated on my husband in life, and I will not do so in death.

For an instant, Alastor's face remained neutral.

But then you saw it.

A barely perceptible twitch in his eyelid, a shadow crossing his red eyes.

And then, his smile returned.

Only this time, it was tighter. Darker.

His grip on your chin intensified slightly, tilting his face just enough to make his every word feel more dangerous.

— You can say what you want, my dear… but we both know the truth.

— And what would that be, exactly? — you muttered through gritted teeth.

Alastor let out a small chuckle before whispering.

— You always look at me with a different gaze, perhaps, to other people's eyes it may seem like simple disdain… but to me…

Your body tensed.

— And that look was a gift from before I knew I would be your husband's colleague… from before I knew who you really were.

The air in the room became unbreathable.

Because his words were not an assumption.

They were a statement.

One that, no matter how hard you tried to deny it, was eating you up inside.

The air became thick as your mind was swept away without your permission, like a violent current of memories that had been buried until now.

A year ago actually.

You had barely been in Hell for a few months. Everything was an incessant chaos, a spiral of violence and decadence in which anyone could get lost. But you… you were living well.

Your husband had moved fast, establishing connections with powerful figures, making sure they lacked for nothing. And, indeed, nothing was lacking.

Except excitement.

Boredom had slowly begun to choke you. Even though you were in Hell, a place of chaos and madness, the routine had begun to devour you.

So you made an impulsive decision.

For the first time, you went out without your husband's company.

And you ended up in Cannibal Town.

It was as enchanting as it was dangerous. If you ignored the scenes of sinners being eaten alive in some corners, it had a certain intriguing air.

But something else caught your attention.

An enthusiastic murmur arose from a group of women with dark eyes and sharp smiles. They all seemed to be looking in the same direction, their red-painted mouths forming words of admiration and affable greetings.

Unable to help yourself, you follow their gazes.

A demon unlike any you had encountered before. Elegant, impeccable, with that presence impossible to ignore.

He was not a predator in appearance, but there was something about his appearance that made him more lethal than any of the beasts that prowled Hell.

Your eyes widened with surprise, and your heart….

It sped up.

You stood watching him without noticing the time passing, completely caught up in his image.

Until he turned around.

His bright eyes, red as fire, stared straight into yours.

They pierced through you.

As if they had been searching for you.

The air left your lungs in an instant, and an inexplicable nervousness came over you.

You looked away suddenly.

And without thinking, you fled from there.

Your memories scattered and again you forced yourself back to reality.

Your breathing was erratic.

You remembered him.

You had known him before your husband made any alliance with him.

And when your eyes returned to Alastor's, you found something worse than a smirk.

He was nodding. As if he had read your thoughts.

— That's right, my dear…— he whispered with dangerous delight. — From that moment… we both felt that spark, didn't we?

Your throat went dry.

— No…— You tried to deny, but the word came out choked.

Alastor tilted his head, enjoying your internal struggle.

— No, what? — he asked softly, as if he really wanted you to elaborate.

You drew in a shaky breath, forcing yourself to compose yourself.

— It was nothing. It didn't mean anything.

Alastor's smile widened.

— Oh… are you trying to convince me or yourself? — his tone was a venomous whisper, dragging you deeper and deeper into a game you had everything to lose.

— You ran away that time.— he continued, his grip on your chin loosening just enough for you to speak.— But… haven't you ever really wondered why?

You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

Because the truth was devastating.

Yes, you had thought about it. You had felt something that day. Something you were terrified to accept in the present.

Inside you, the battle was merciless.

Denial.

You clung to it tooth and nail, looking for any excuse, any justification for what had made sense that day.

Intrigue.

That was it. Simple curiosity in the face of someone who seemed different.

Stupidity.

Yes, a passing foolishness. A moment of weakness in a new, chaotic world in which you were still learning your way around.

But not love.

No desire.

No… that.

But the more you dug into the memories, the more the barriers you had so painstakingly erected fell away.

You remembered how you spent weeks in a state of uncertainty, with anticipation growing in your chest every time you went out, hoping - without daring to admit it - to find again.

And there, in the bitterest depths of your soul, the truth waited patiently for you to accept it.

But not here .

Not in front of it.

Fury flared in your gut and, with a spark of courage, you summoned all your strength and pushed him with both hands.

The move wasn't enough to send him away, but it did send him staggering back a few inches.

You, on the other hand, crashed backwards against the bar, feeling the edge dig into your skin.

The air left your lungs in a sharp gasp as your hands shook at your sides.

— Go away. — The words came out harsh, laden with a panic you didn't want to show.— I will not do this to my husband.

Alastor remained in place, watching you with an intensity that made you feel naked, exposed.

But he doesn't move.

— Forget this whole damn circus and get out.

Your voice echoed in the room, but instead of an immediate response, there was a silence.

A different one.

One that didn't belong to Alastor.

It was in your own chest that you felt it first: a tremor.

Not in your hands, not in your legs.

In your heart.

And when you looked up again, you noticed it.

For the first time, Alastor wasn't smiling completely.

There was something subtle in his expression, something imperceptible to anyone who didn't know him.

But you saw it.

His refusal to accept your rejection.And then, without warning, he advanced with a single long stride.

You gasped for air.

His shadow covered you, and the distance between you shrunk to almost nothing.

It was then that he asked the unimaginable .

—Just one kiss.

Your eyes widened.

— What? — Disbelief cracked your voice. Alastor looked down at you, his eyes glowing like burning embers.

— A lasting kiss. A real one.

Your body tensed.

— And if we feel nothing…— he continued with a dangerous softness, — if this has all been an illusion, a foolishness… I will leave you alone.

His voice dropped a tone lower, like a promise.

— But if we get carried away….

He didn't finish the sentence.

He didn't need to.

The implication hit you like a punch in the chest.

— You're insane — you whispered, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

Alastor smiling, but not mockingly.

— Maybe.

You instinctively took a step back, but the bar was still there, preventing you from escaping.

Refusing was the only option.

But before you could open your mouth to refuse, you felt the touch of your hands.

Not on your face.

Not on your waist.

On your hands.

His fingers intertwined with yours in an unexpectedly delicate grip, and when you looked up, his eyes caught you completely.

There was no longer arrogance in them.

There was something else, something devastating, something you never expected to see in him.

Supplication.

The radio demon, with all his power, with all his overpowering presence, was begging you.

Without words, with his eyes, with his touch.

Your heart gave a brutal flip in your chest.

— Yes… —The word escaped your lips in a barely audible whisper, so fragile you could almost convince yourself you hadn't uttered it.

But Alastor heard it, and that was enough.

Alastor did not rush. He did not advance with the abruptness of one who takes what he desires without waiting for permission.

No.

He approached with exasperating slowness, measuring every inch he reduced between you, giving you the opportunity to flee.

But you don't move.

Don't look away from his gaze, even if the anticipation made you gasp, even if the air around you seemed thicker, suffocating.

Alastor noticed it all, your tense jaw, the slight quiver of your eyelashes, the sway of your chest as the air caught in your throat.

But you don't back down. And that sold your fate.

His hand rose parsimoniously, and the pad of his thumb brushed your lower lip with almost reverential gentleness.

The caress was light, barely a brush, but a violent shiver ran through you. You did nothing when his finger slowly probed it, as if he wanted to memorize its texture, its shape.

You did nothing when he pushed off it with a playful touch, just a slight tug that sent a tingle straight to your stomach.

And when he tilted his face and pressed a kiss against your lower lip, as delicate as a whisper… You closed your eyes.

Praying to whatever divine force that it would end there. That you didn't feel anything.

Because if you did…

If you really did…

You were going to end up in his arms.

But the universe was cruel, because the void he left when he turned away hurt you more than it should have.

You didn't have time to analyze it, because Alastor leaned in again. And this time, there were no distractions.

This time, he really kissed you.

It was soft, leisurely, almost lazy, as if he savored every second his lips moved over yours.

As if he was drinking in something long longed for.

Your fingers clung to the edges of the bar behind you, searching for something to anchor you to.

But when the kiss became firmer, when the heat of his mouth became an irrefutable reality, an instinct stronger than your reasoning took over.

You let go of the bar and, without realizing it, your fingers became entangled in his sack.

It was a minimal, almost insignificant action. But to Alastor, it was the equivalent of a match lighting a forest fire. Because the need exploded in his chest.

And the containment crumbled.

His hands slid to your neck, catching it firmly, and the gentleness of the kiss became something much more ravenous.

You opened your eyes, startled, trying to pull back, to speak, to do something.

But Alastor took advantage of the opening, sinking deeper, and his tongue slipped inside your mouth without warning. A choked moan formed in your throat, drowned out amidst the mess that was now the kiss.

There was no control.

There was no caution.

Only the sound of ragged breaths, soft gasps and the static electricity emanating from your skin.

A tingle ran through your entire body as his hands left your neck to wrap around your waist, drawing you hopelessly to him.

And you…

You didn't stop him.

In fact, it was quite the opposite. Because your arms found their way to his shoulders and you clung to him with the same desperation with which he was devouring you.

As if your life depended on it.

And worst of all… It's that at that moment, you felt like he really did.

The only thing that mattered at that moment was the heat.

The burning that spread through every corner of your body, every nook and cranny of your being, as the wet sounds of both lips colliding echoed through the air with an obsessive cadence. For him, those discordant notes were a heavenly melody, a symphony of desires fulfilled and temptations realized. But to you…

To you they were the sounds of decay, of the abandonment of everything you once thought you could be. They were obscene, the complete opposite of any standards you once thought important. And yet, who are you to define what is right or wrong in a place like this?

He kept moving over you, parting for an instant only to take over another spot on your face.

First, a warm, wet kiss on your cheek, followed by one on your chin, then on your cheekbone, leaving a sensation that added to the volcano burning inside you. Then a kiss on your eyelid, as if he wanted to seal you somehow, leaving a trail of fire on your skin.

And when he stopped on your forehead, he took you completely off guard. It was a soft, tender kiss… but the mixture of his warmth with his closeness made your legs wobble.

As soon as he could do this, he captured your lips again, leaving no room for doubt, the desperate need in his kiss burning hotter than any fire, every second consuming you insatiably.

Now, your hands didn't know where to go.

It was as if your whole body was in motion, touching what it could, clinging to what it found. Your waist. Your chest. His sack , which I had learned to want to feel in your hands. But your fingers didn't stop there, they slid down to her shoulders, running up and down her figure, searching for a stability that no longer existed.

Finally, your hands ended up in her hair, messy, intricate, and the desire to touch those deer ears, those details that only reminded you of her nature, became unbearable. You moved closer, wanting to sink your fingers there, to undo the only remnant of control left in him.

The thought of your husband… evaporated, almost as if it had never existed.

You don't think of him and you don't think of anything else either.

Because all there was at that moment was Alastor. His body, his presence, that electric tension that passed between the two of you, and the feeling that everything was so perfectly right . If you remembered nothing, if this was a new beginning, if Alastor was claiming to be the true lover in your life, you would feel that it could be true, no more questions needed to be asked.

This kiss… this was the only moment worth remembering, and the only truth you had left.

The last thing you remember, through the haze of arousal, is Alastor undressing you with delicate urgency, stripping you of every garment as if he were unveiling a work of art. And then, suddenly, you find yourself reclining on one of the leather seats, being fucked by him in such a delicious way that your moans burn your throat.

You don't know how many orgasms he has brought out of you, but you know you are overstimulated by the violent trembling in your legs and the pleasurable pain your pussy is suffering.

Your moans rise in intensity, tearing through the silence as Alastor rams you with unbridled passion. It's too much for you, that your voice shoots out with a plea.

It's a slow, exquisite torture. You feel the tip of his cock brush against your cervix, that sweet spot where all your nerves converge, and a choked cry escapes your lips. It's a pleasurable pain, an electric shock that makes you buck under his touch, feeling every cell in your body explode in an explosion of sensations.

— There? You like that, don't you? — Alastor whispers, his voice throaty and loaded with a possessiveness that makes you shudder. — You like it when I fuck you like that?

— Yes, there… M-more…— you hiss in a broken, shattered voice, tears in your eyes.

You open your eyes, your gaze lost in the haze of excitement. The world is reduced to him, to the intensity of his dark eyes and the way his body completely dominates you. Fear tries to creep into your thoughts, but pleasure is an unstoppable tide that drowns him mercilessly.

You lunge again like a madman, possessed by your own pleasure, arousal drenches you both and the smell of sex wafts through the room. And the wet sounds force you to roll your eyes back and paint them white.

Alastor, intoxicated by your surrender, watches you as he makes you his. A primal instinct overcomes him and, with a nimble movement, he shifts position. Now he takes you with abandon, with an unbridled ferocity that steals your breath.

He wants to see you cry with pleasure, to see you lose control completely. He demands it of you with words and actions, praising every moan, every spasm, every sign of your surrender. He kisses you voraciously, savoring your taste, and embraces you with a possessiveness that marks you as his own.

As he gazes at you, his eyes linger on your belly. An almost ravenous need invades him, and sharp words burst from his lips, "You're going to be the mother of my children," he exclaims in a throaty voice that runs down your spine. "You're going to be the sexiest mother in hell, sporting my seed."

And seeing that little bulge of his cock in your belly only slowly breaks the self-control he still thinks he possesses. And he grunts when he hears you moan, a long, choppy moan that seems so sweet to him.

Desire consumes him, the idea of procreating with you drives him crazy. Even though that is practically impossible in hell.

— Let me fill you. — he begs with a fervor that shakes you. — Let me sow my semen inside you and create a new life, a life that belongs only to us.

Sighs and low moans came from him as he uttered those words like a mantra, the climax approaching, so fragile you feel it inside you.

Melted and not really you, you look at him with tight eyebrows, clinging to the places of his thrusts and simply nod.

— Come… come inside me, please! — You cry out with heart-rending urgency, pleading for Alastor to bring you to the ultimate orgasm.

— Look at me, my love. — he hisses, his voice a dangerous purr, — watch me as I give you what you crave so much.

Alastor purrs, his static brushing against your skin and ruffling your hair. You, lost and sensing that at any moment you are both going to be finished, bite your lip trying to hold back the screams.

Alastor immediately notices this and leans in, a quick glance informing you what he's thinking.

— Scream… scream whatever you want, precious, just scream how good you feel, how good you take me… fuck — His voice came out raspy, demanding even.

Alastor, possessed by a perverse euphoria, grunts and gasps on you, each lunge a coup de grace against your last defenses. Your vision blurs, the world is reduced to him, to the heat, the salty taste of your own skin and the sound of your own pleas.

The climax hits you like a bolt of lightning. A torrent of heat and light bursts inside you, tearing apart any barrier that remained between you and him. You scream, a wild, primal sound, as your body contracts in uncontrollable spasms. Alastor roars over you, pouring his essence deep inside you, claiming you as his own.

When the aftershocks begin to subside, you find yourself staring into his eyes, your breath hitching, your body covered in sweat.

— You are perfect. — he whispers between gasps. 

As you both recover from your climax, Alastor couldn't help but grab the back of your neck, pulling your face to his to kiss you with a hungry fervor. You accepted the kiss in response, surrendering to the passion still seething between the two of you. And as you kissed, Alastor slowly withdrew from inside you.

The contrast between the wild way he had possessed you minutes before and the gentleness with which he was now extracting his erection was mesmerizing. You gasped as you felt the emptiness in your body, a pang of longing mixed with the satisfaction of the pleasure just experienced.

Alastor contemplated the mess you were now. Your flushed face, your skin covered in sweat and your body freshly sated by his lust gave you a wonderful glow. He let out a static-laden chuckle as he watched some of his cum slide down your thigh.

With his claw, he scooped up some of the substance and looked down at you, a mischievous smile curving his lips. You blushed even more at the sight of the semen on his claw, a tangible reminder of your intimacy.

— You shouldn't feel ashamed, cherie. —Alastor exclaimed, his voice echoing softly. — After all, we have already shared a very intimate moment.

You felt a faint spark of helplessness at his comment, but it quickly vanished as Alastor lifted you into his arms, as if you were a feather.

— I'll take you to a hot bath. — he said, his voice a warm whisper in your ear.— So you can relax and recover.

The aftercare Alastor was giving you melted your defenses, weakening the resistance you were still trying to maintain. Clinging to his neck, you accepted his offer, surrendering to his charm and the need to feel his closeness.

— You're amazing. — you whispered, your voice barely audible.— I don't know what you've done to me.

Alastor smiled, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. As he carried you in his arms, you felt everything around you fade away.

In the depths of the pentagram city, a small establishment, an uncrowded place, was the ideal location for a meeting such as the one Alastor planned to have with his most promising associate

With a cup of tea in hand, he drank it neatly, savoring each sip as if it were the elixir of his victory. The sulphur-laden air and stale tobacco lent an aura of secrecy, a perfect setting for a meeting between men of his caliber.

The tinkling of the establishment's old bell resounded, marking your husband's arrival. Always punctual, always impeccable in his gait, he advanced with the confidence of a man who knows he is well received. He did not suspect, he had no reason to.

Alastor, with his perpetually stretched smile, received him with an elegant gesture. His mood was still high, his spirits renewed after the evening he had spent with you. He still savored the echoes of your presence, the memory of your skin, the timbre of your voice entwined with his on that special night.

— Alastor! — your husband exclaimed effusively, taking a seat across from him.— What a pleasure it is to see you again.

— And mine is even greater! — the demon intoned with his usual theatricality.— I'm glad to see you're still in one piece after your little excursion. I hope it was as… exciting as you imagined.

Your husband laughed, settling in with the ease of one who has good news to share.

— Oh, it was. From start to finish. Mercenaries, small-time demons, ambushes…— your husband exclaimed enthusiastically, pausing before continuing, —Violence at every turn, as expected. But you know what? It was all worth it.

Alastor tilted his head in mock interest, gently twirling the spoon in his tea.

— Ah, Yes? , And what did you find in the midst of such an odyssey?— he asked.

Your husband leaned forward slightly, and in one measured motion, pulled out a bundle wrapped in dark velvet. He held it reverently before unfolding the cloth and revealing his most precious find: a grimoire of infernal magic, its yellowed pages exuding a latent energy, its leather cover cracked and marked with symbols forgotten by time.

Alastor looks at the relic with a lopsided smile, interlacing his fingers on the table.

— Well, well… —he mused, slurring his words in his melodic tone.— It's not every day one stumbles upon a treasure like this.

— No, not every day. — agreed your husband with palpable excitement as he turned the pages with eager fingers.— But here it is. Lost magic, forbidden spells… and one in particular that changes everything.

Alastor did not react immediately.

He simply waited, letting the other man elaborate, let him drown in his own enthusiasm.

— One of these spells guarantees a conception in hell— he declared, his eyes glowing with a feverish intensity. — A pregnancy.

The silence that followed was almost imperceptible, a minuscule space of time in which the world seemed to hold its breath.

Alastor's smile did not fade, but something in his posture changed, a subtle tension in his jaw, a slight drumming of his fingers against the table.

— Oh… what a fascinating revelation,— he murmured with his usual sweetness, gently setting his teacup aside.— And tell me… who, exactly, will be the lucky one?

Your husband laughed with genuine warmth, oblivious to the storm brewing in front of him.

— Who else could it be? My wife.

Alastor felt the air grow heavy in his throat. The timbre of his laughter did not change, nor did the sharp glint in his eyes, but inside him, fury pulsed like a chained beast, clawing, wanting to escape.

No. Not yet.

Your husband continued to talk, rambling on about his love for you, about the future he planned by your side, about the miracle that was within his grasp. His enthusiasm was blinding. He didn't see the way Alastor settled into his seat, nor how the shadow of his smile took on a dangerous tinge.

And then, with absolute calm, the demon exhaled a sentence that split the conversation in two.

— I'm sorry, my friend… but. — said Alastor, his voice smooth as velvet, riddled with a steely edge. —…I fucked your wife.

The sound of his voice, though serene, felt like a thud against the table. Your husband stopped immediately. His words died in his throat, his face paled as if the blood had left him with a single jerk.

— Pardon? — he asked, a shaky laugh seeping between his lips.— I must have heard wrong… that was a joke, wasn't it?

Alastor didn't move. His smile was still there, relaxed, serene. His crimson eyes glowed with dark satisfaction, as if he enjoyed the bewilderment of the man in front of him.

— Dear colleague. — he whispered with a bone-chilling sweetness.— Do I look like someone who jokes?

The light of the establishment flickered over both men. The silence that followed the confession was thick.

Your husband, still incredulous, searched Alastor's face for some hint of mockery, a grimace that would disprove his words. But the demon only looked at him with that lazy and enchanted smile.

— No… — your husband muttered, his voice barely a choked whisper.— It can't be…

Alastor let out a light laugh, full of amusement, and leaned forward with his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers.

— Oh, but it can. — he crooned with delight.— And it was.

Your husband swallowed dryly.

— When? —His voice cracked slightly. — How?

The demon narrowed his eyes, his smile curving with pride.

— Ah, you want details? — he asked, with a venomous sweetness.— It's funny… I thought certain images would be overused in your mind.

Your husband's jaw tensed, but Alastor didn't stop.

— Although, if you insist…— he continued with mock innocence, stroking the rim of his teacup.— I might say it all began with the allure of loneliness. Poor soul, abandoned by her beloved on such a perilous travel… so, so far away. What was I to do but offer her a little company?

Your husband's eyes grew wide with horror as he realized the truth.

The travel.

The damn travel.

The letter the radio demon had sent him, with a destination that promised only advantages.

It was all Alastor's idea.

All this time, the whole odyssey, all the effort to find that grimoire… it had been nothing more than a distraction.

An excuse.

For the Radio Demon to get tangled in the sheets with you.

The chair slid back with a violent creak as your husband shot to his feet, his face flushed with anger, chest heaving with erratic breathing. He pointed a trembling finger at Alastor, while his other hand clenched into a fist, knuckles white with restrained force.

— How could you…! —he bellowed, his voice rasping with fury. — How dare you betray our alliance like this! To climb into bed with my wife!

Alastor did not flinch. On the contrary, he leaned back comfortably in his seat, raising an eyebrow haughtily.

— Betray the alliance? —he muttered, his tone overflowing with condescension. — I don't know why you're so surprised. After all… she's always been mine.

Your husband's blood boiled in her veins. But Alastor was only smiling. He was smiling as if he had already won.

Alastor brought the teacup to his lips with that infuriating grace of his, but before he took a sip, he dropped one last lunge.

— ¡Ah yes!, and actually…— he paused briefly, enjoying the anticipation on your husband's congested face.— It wasn't on the bed. It was on the couch.

The silence in the room was immediate.

For an instant, there was only the subtle tinkling of china as Alastor finally set his tea down on the wood with absolute serenity.

Your husband, however, felt the last strand of his self-control tear. The vein in his forehead pulsed violently before he let out a fierce curse, his voice so powerful that some of the demons present in the small room were startled.

Murmurs began to run through the patrons, some watching with morbid interest, others feigning indifference as their ears pricked up to catch every word.

— You damned bastard! — your husband spat, his chest rising and falling with furious breaths.

Your husband pointed a trembling finger at Alastor, his other hand clenched into a fist that rose as if at any moment he was going to hurl it at the demon.

— She's my wife!— he spat, rage exuding from every word.— As much as you have taken advantage of my absence, she is still my wife!

Ah, but those words…

Something bubbled up inside him, a dense, toxic emotion that began to seep into the atmosphere like a dark fog.

— Is that so? Your wife…— repeated the demon, his voice a silken whisper.

The teacup hovered in the air for a few seconds before disappearing in a distortion of static, as Alastor's silhouette began to change.

The lights of the place flickered, crackling with irregular frequency. His shadow, which until that moment had remained obedient under his feet, began to lengthen and twist, transformed into a creature with a will of its own.

Little flashes of his demonic form began to manifest themselves involuntarily: his smile, once playful, twisted into something sharper, more predatory; and his eyes, those glowing red eyes like burning spokes, crackled with barely contained rage.

— Ah… — he whispered, rising with an unsettling slowness. — No, no, dear friend….

— She… She's not yours. —he exclaimed, each syllable making the ground tremble beneath his feet.— She never was.

A flash of red and black flashed across his figure. The temperature in the place dropped sharply, and static electricity made the lights flicker with a sickly hum.

The murmuring in the room ceased. No one dared move.

And then Alastor bowed his head slightly, his smile curving into something that no longer looked human, but the ravenous grimace of a predator ready to feast.

— And now..—He uttered in a tone that was almost melodic. — I'm going to get rid of the nuisance.

Your husband barely had time to inhale before the shadows around him began to move.

The radio broadcast, transmitted from high above, echoed in every corner where Alastor's signal could reach. At first, only intermittent static could be heard, distorted like the wailing of a spectrum trapped between frequencies. Then, the screams began.

Heart-rending sounds echoed through the air, where the infamous red demon's radio broadcast was emitting a special edition.

Suffering permeated every note of that macabre symphony, and the listening demons shuddered, some with morbid pleasure, others with a visceral unease that made their skin crawl. But no one turned off the radio.

Alastor's distorted guffaws filtered into the transmission between each interval of screams, each word a mocking echo, a sadistic mockery of the fate of the wretch who had dared to defy him.

And the wretched victim had been your husband.

— What a… lovely evening, my friends! — He intoned enthusiastically, his voice buzzing with a hint of static.— Don't you think despair has such a… melodious ring to it!

More laughter. More pleading in the distant background, fainter and fainter.

Then silence, and then a click.

The program had come to an end.

In the demon's hands rested the grimoire.

His fingers ran over the ancient leather cover, feeling the dark energy emanating from the book. The mere presence of those pages, covered with infernal inscriptions, vibrated the air with a primal power, one he recognized all too well.

His red eyes glowed with keen interest. A spell of conception.

The idea was fascinating. In Hell, damned souls could not create life the way mortals could, but that book…that spell promised the impossible.

Could it be true?

Could there really be a being born of his essence, of his power?

A snap echoed in the air as he closed the grimoire with a firm movement. His fingers drummed on the cover as an smile widened with barely contained excitement.

Well…

There was only one way to find out.

And you… you would be the perfect person in his little experiment.

___________________

Oh god, I still don't forget this series of stories, misfortunes consumed my time and at last I can upload this work. I am sorry forever. T.T

[sulkingheichou012]

Into the Dungeon with You

Pairing: Jinwoo x Reader

Genre: RomCom, Action, Smut

Warning: Description of violence and profanity.

Summary: Jinwoo frowned as a new system notification appeared before him.

[Special Reward Successfully Claimed.]

Author's note: I'm happy that some of you are enjoying my silly work! Yes, if you're asking to be tagged—sure! 😊

Chapter 18

Y/N had thought she understood Jinwoo.

Stoic. Calm. Quiet.

A man who rarely showed emotion unless someone threatened his family or the world.

But now?

Now, Jinwoo was her husband.

Jinwoo was in full “husband unlocked, affection level MAX” mode.

The problem?

He wouldn’t. Stop. Touching. Her.

Y/N woke up tangled in limbs. Jinwoo was spooning her like he was afraid she’d vanish. One leg thrown over her hip. One arm across her waist. His face in her hair. And his hand—ahem—somewhere that made her blush daily.

“Jinwoo…” she whispered. “Mmh.” He didn’t even open his eyes. “You’re squeezing.” “I’m making sure you’re real.”

Y/N groaned, both flattered and mildly panicked.

Jinwoo found... other priorities.

Y/N was sitting at her desk, reviewing dungeon reports. Jinwoo walked in. Silent. Shadow Monarch smooth. Until he wasn’t. Until he planted his hands on either side of her chair and leaned in. His breath ghosted over her ear. “Take a break.” “I’m busy,” she muttered. He kissed just behind her ear. “Five minutes.” “No.” His lips brushed lower, down her neck. “I can make you forget paperwork.” Y/N swallowed. “I—Jinwoo!” And then he bit her gently.

She never finished those reports.

Y/N tried. Really, she did. She thought maybe tonight she’d cook dinner in peace. But no.

Jinwoo was behind her at the stove. Again. Arms around her waist. Again. Chin on her shoulder. And his hands? “Jinwoo,” she warned. “Yes?” Innocent. “Hands above the waist.” “They are.” “No, they’re not!” He hummed. “That’s a matter of perspective.”

She dropped the spoon. And found herself carried bridal-style to the couch. Dinner burned.

Every night.

…a battlefield. One Y/N lost. Every. Time.

He’d pull her close. Slide his fingers through her hair. Brush kisses over her temple. And then— “Wife,” he whispered, reverent. “You do remember I’m your wife every day, right?” she teased. “Mhm.” His gaze was molten. “But I like saying it. Because now you’re mine.” She arched a brow. “I was yours before.” “Now it’s forever.”

Cue: steamy kisses. Cue: hands on her waist. Cue: Jinwoo exploring every inch of her like it was the first time.

And that stamina recovery skill? It was real. Y/N had to beg for mercy.

“Jinwoo, wait—nooo!” “Yes,” he growled, smirking. “Yesss.”

The soft hum of the coffee maker filled the kitchen, mingling with the sizzle of bacon in the pan. Y/N stood at the counter, barefoot in nothing but Jinwoo’s oversized black shirt, the hem brushing against her thighs. Her hair was still tousled from sleep—or rather, from the lack of it, thanks to the last night’s stamina training lead by Jinwoo. The scent of fresh coffee and toasted bread wafted through the air as she flipped a pancake, her hips swaying slightly to an imaginary tune.

Jinwoo leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching her with a lazy, predatory grin. He’d slipped on a pair of gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips, leaving his chiseled torso bare. The honeymoon had been a blur of tangled sheets and whispered promises, but being back home didn’t mean the fire had dimmed. If anything, seeing Y/N in his shirt, moving so casually in their space, only stoked it higher.

“Smells good,” he said, his voice low and rough from sleep, though his eyes weren’t on the food.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder, catching the heat in his gaze. “The pancakes or me?” she teased, smirking as she turned back to the stove.

“Both,” he replied, pushing off the wall and stalking toward her. His footsteps were silent, but she felt his presence before his hands even touched her—warm, calloused fingers sliding over her hips, pulling her back against him.

“Jinwoo,” she laughed, half-protesting as she tried to focus on flipping the bacon. “I’m gonna burn breakfast. AGAIN..”

“Let it burn,” he murmured against her ear, his breath hot as his lips grazed her neck. His hands slipped under the shirt, tracing the curve of her waist before dipping lower, teasing the edge of her panties. “I’m hungry for something else.”

Her breath hitched, the spatula trembling in her hand. “You’re insatiable,” she managed, though her voice was already wavering, her body leaning into his touch despite herself.

“Says the one who kept me up all night,” he shot back, nipping at her earlobe. One hand slid up to cup her breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak, while the other dipped beneath the fabric between her thighs, finding her already slick with want. “Seems like you’re not complaining.”

“Jinwoo—” Her protest melted into a moan as he pressed himself harder against her, the evidence of his arousal unmistakable through the thin sweatpants. The bacon popped in the pan, forgotten, as he spun her around to face him, pinning her against the counter.

His lips crashed into hers, hungry and unrelenting, tasting of last night’s wine and the promise of more. She clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he hoisted her up, setting her on the edge of the counter. The shirt rode up, exposing her to the cool air—and to him. His eyes darkened, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he dropped to his knees.

“Breakfast can wait,” he said, voice thick with lust, before burying his face between her thighs.

Y/N gasped, her hands flying to his hair, tugging at the dark strands as his tongue worked her over with ruthless precision. He knew her too well—every spot, every rhythm that made her unravel. The kitchen filled with her breathless moans, the coffee maker beeping in the background like a distant applause. Her legs trembled, hooked over his shoulders, and he gripped her thighs tighter, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

“Jinwoo—oh god—” She was close, teetering on the edge, when he pulled back just enough to look up at her, lips glistening, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Not yet,” he said, standing and tugging his sweatpants down just enough to free himself. He was hard, aching, and the sight of him made her whimper. He stepped between her legs, aligning himself with her entrance, teasing her with the tip. “I want to feel you when you come.”

She didn’t have time to respond before he thrust into her, deep and unrelenting, filling her completely. The counter creaked under them as he set a brutal pace, hands gripping her hips to pull her into every stroke. Y/N’s head tipped back, a string of curses spilling from her lips as pleasure crashed through her. The kitchen was a mess of heat and sound—the slap of skin, the clatter of a spatula hitting the floor, her cries mingling with his grunts.

“Fuck, you’re perfect, I love you,” he rasped, one hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. He bit down lightly, marking her as his, and that was enough to send her over the edge. She shattered around him, clenching tight, her whole body shaking as she came undone.

Jinwoo groaned, following her a moment later, spilling inside her with a final, shuddering thrust. They stayed like that, panting and tangled, until the smell of charred bacon finally broke through the haze.

Y/N laughed weakly, shoving at his chest. “You did let it burn.”

He smirked, kissing her slow and deep, still buried inside her. “Worth it.”

Several months, dozens of late-night snack runs, and countless stamina training have passed.

Fenrir had become strangely clingy.

Wherever Y/N went, the giant primordial wolf followed. Silent, looming, and attentive. His shadowy fur blended easily into the castle walls, and his glowing eyes tracked every move she made.

To most, it was unsettling. To Y/N, it was endearing… if a bit much.

“Fenrir,” Y/N sighed one morning, balancing a tray of snacks in her hands. “I love you, but you’re breathing down my neck.”

The massive wolf huffed quietly through his nose but didn’t budge from his spot at her side.

“I’m not helpless,” she said with a grin. “I can fight too, remember?”

Fenrir remained unmoving, his gaze dropping briefly to her midsection.

“You carry more than your own life now, my Queen,” Fenrir thought, ancient and knowing. “You carry the legacy of our King, and of this world yet to come.”

Y/N blinked at his look. “What? What’s that look?” No answer. Only quiet, dignified silence.

But Fenrir was already certain. He had felt it—the pulse of a life unlike any other. Small, yes. Fragile… not quite. There was power stirring within Y/N. Ancient, deep, and coiled like a newborn star.

“This child will eclipse even the light of this world,” he mused silently. “And I shall be its first sentinel.”

Y/N chuckled, scratching behind his ear without understanding the full weight of his presence. “You’re being weird today.”

Fenrir closed his eyes, indulging her affection briefly. But his mind was ever watchful. Silent guardian of life.

Over the next few days, Fenrir did not leave Y/N' side.

He sat at the edge of every room. He watched over her as she napped in the garden, his great form a living monument beside her. His breathing was so silent that even Beru once mistook him for a statue.

Jinwoo noticed. “Has he been like this all day?”

Y/N nodded, amused. “Yep. Clingy puppy mode.”

Fenrir snorted at the label, though his great body remained still.

“Puppy,” he mused, almost offended. “If only you knew, little Queen. I was ancient before your stars were born.” Still… he allowed the label. For her.

As they walked inside, Jinwoo kept an arm around Y/N. Fenrir followed. Unseen. Unheard. Watching.

The days after Fenrir’s mysterious behavior?

Pure chaos.

Y/N woke up clingier than ever. But also… bitey.

Jinwoo was lying on the couch, minding his own business, when suddenly— “Chomp.” Her teeth sank into his cheek. “Y/N… what are you doing?” he asked patiently. “I dunno,” she mumbled, still attached. “You’re… biting me.” “It’s because you’re so cute.” Chomp. “…I’m glad you think so.”

Later that night? Chomp. On his bicep. “I’m not food, you know,” he murmured. “You taste like husband,” she shrugged.

At 2:00 AM, Y/N shook him awake. “Jinwoo.” “Hm?” “I want strawberries.” “…Okay.”

Shadow exchange. Strawberries obtained. He returned… Y/N was asleep.

At 3:15 AM. “Jinwoo.” “…Yes?” “I want tteokbokki.” “Coming right up.”

Shadow exchange. Fresh tteokbokki. He returned… Y/N stared at it. “…I changed my mind.” “…To what?” “Chocolate milk.” Jinwoo sighed. “Got it.” Shadow exchange again. Chocolate milk. He returned… Y/N was snoring.

Y/N was happily chatting with Mrs. Sung in the living room, both of them perched on the couch like detectives dissecting a major scandal. Their hands flew through the air as they reenacted scenes, eyes wide with shared disbelief.

“Eomma! Have you seen the latest episode?!” Y/N gasped, grabbing Mrs. Sung’s arm like it was a lifeline. Mrs. Sung nodded, scandalized. “I did! That cheating man got caught—red-handed! With the other woman! In her car!” Y/N clutched her chest like she’d been personally betrayed. “And when she smacked him in front of everyone?! I swear I heard that slap in my soul!” Mrs. Sung leaned closer, lowering her voice. “You know, they say she practiced her slap on a melon to get the sound just right.”

At that moment, Jinwoo casually walked by, sipping his coffee. Y/N slowly turned her head to give him the look. The silent warning. The don’t you dare stare. Jinwoo froze, lowering his mug just slightly. “…What did I do?” Mrs. Sung patted Y/N’ hand approvingly. “That’s right. You let them know.” Y/N gave a tiny nod of solidarity… then blinked, her fingers tightening slightly. The room tilted, just for a second.

“Ah…” she murmured faintly. Mrs. Sung immediately caught her shoulder. “Y/N? Are you alright?” Jinwoo was already there in an instant, coffee abandoned, his hand steadying her waist. “What’s wrong?” His voice dipped low, serious. Y/N waved a hand, attempting a small laugh. “I’m fine! Just… maybe too much excitement.” Jinwoo didn’t look convinced. “No more watching dramas,” he declared.

Mrs. Sung stood up without another word, disappeared into the hallway, and came back holding a pregnancy test kit like she had it prepped for emergencies. “Trust me, I’ve been through this before—and survived.” she said matter-of-factly, handing it over like a seasoned battlefield medic. Y/N stared. “Wait, I—” “Bathroom. Now.”

Jinwoo peeked in from the kitchen, his brow furrowed. “What’s going on?” Mrs. Sung pointed at him without looking. “You. Sit. Stay.” Jinwoo sat like an obedient son.

Y/N returned a few minutes later, staring down at the stick in her hand. Two pink lines. “Uh…” she managed.

Mrs. Sung leaned over, squinted, and then let out a squeal that shook the heavens. “Oh-ho-ho! My grandbaby!!” She spun toward Jinwoo. “You did good! You worked hard!” she praised.

Jinwoo blinked. “I… did?” Mrs. Sung grabbed his shoulders and shook him proudly. “My son! So diligent! So productive! I knew all that stamina would come in handy!” “M-Mom!” Y/N slapped her palm over her face.

But Jinwoo’s brain was already overheating from pure happiness. He swept Y/N right off the floor into his arms. “You’re pregnant! We’re having a baby!” “I’m—Jinwoo, dizzy, remember—” Too late. He spun her around like they just won a game show.

“Jinwoo!!” Y/N yelped, gripping his neck. “PUT ME DOWN!” “But I’m happy!!” “YOU’RE GOING TO MAKE ME THROW UP ON YOU!” Mrs. Sung cheered them on from the couch. “Spin her again! She’s glowing!” Y/N shot her a look of betrayal. “Mother!!” “Don’t worry! If you throw up, it means he’s blessed!”

Fenrir, who was watching from the doorway, simply huffed in dignified silence. Chaos, he thought. Humans.

Jinwoo finally stopped spinning, setting Y/N down gently but beaming from ear to ear. “I’m going to be a dad…” he whispered, kissing her forehead softly. Y/N, still a little green, poked his cheek. “You owe me tteokbokki and strawberry milk for this.” He nodded solemnly. “I’m on it.”

Meanwhile, In Jinwoo’s inner domain.

For a moment, there was complete silence.

And then chaos.

“KYEEEEEEEHHHH!” Beru screamed, launching into the air like an overgrown cicada on steroids. “THE QUEEN IS WITH CHILD! THE MONARCH’S HEIR APPROACHES! ALL HAIL!”

Bellion let out an actual chuckle—deep, rumbling, and shockingly gleeful for a seven-foot-tall armored nightmare. “Congratulations, Shall I prepare a regiment of guards for the nursery.”

Igris silently drew his sword and saluted. A glowing black rose appeared in his free hand. He held it aloft with reverence, as if offering tribute.

Tusk was already scribbling furiously on a stone tablet: “Enchantment Plan: Anti-Teleportation, Anti-Flying, Baby-Proofing Fortresses.”

Even Greed, normally stoic, pumped both fists in the air like he’d just won the lottery.

Beru landed dramatically. “The next monarch will be legendary! We must celebrate, my king! A feast! A blood offering!”

“NO BLOOD OFFERING!” They object in unison.

It was “supposed” to be a calm evening.

Y/N sat cross-legged on their bed, flipping through a baby name book, while Jinwoo lounged next to her, elbows propped up, scrolling through his phone with intense concentration. His expression was so serious, you’d think he was reading a classified guild report… but no. He was deep in a list of baby girl names.

“How about Hana?” Jinwoo said, tapping the screen and showing it to her. Y/N blinked. “Why are you searching girl names?” Jinwoo looked at her like she was the one being weird. “Because it’s going to be a girl.” Y/N choked on her water.

“Excuse me?” she said, wiping her mouth. Jinwoo shrugged, completely casual. “It’s a girl. I know it.” Y/N set her glass down very slowly. “No, it’s going to be a boy.” “Nope. Girl.” “Boy!” “Definitely a girl.” “Why are you so sure!?” Y/N huffed, smacking his arm with the book.

Jinwoo turned toward her with that unreadable face, but his ears were turning a little red. “Because,” he said seriously, “I want her to look like you. Energetic like you.” Y/N’s cheeks flushed immediately. “She’d be chaos,” Jinwoo added with a faint smile, “but she’ll light up this house like you do.”

Y/N gawked at him for a second, then smacked his shoulder again—but gentler this time. “Stop saying sweet things, you’re trying to distract me.” “It’s working,” Jinwoo replied smoothly.

She crossed her arms. “It’s a boy. I’m sure.” Jinwoo gave her a look. “How are you sure?” Y/N gulped. Because I read the manhwa and Suho is adorable! But she kept her mouth shut and glared right back. “Woman’s intuition.”

Jinwoo leaned closer, narrowing his eyes. “You’re wrong.” “Oh, I’m wrong?” “Yes. I made the baby,” Jinwoo said, raising an eyebrow. “I did all the effort.” Y/N blinked. “…And?” “The baby’s just paying rent in your womb,” he finished casually, as if it was scientific fact.

Y/N froze. “You WHAT!?” Jinwoo nodded solemnly. “Rent.” “You did NOT just say that—” “Full payment in kicks,” Jinwoo added. “See? Efficient tenant.”

Y/N threw the pillow at his face. Jinwoo caught it effortlessly, smirking as she lunged to tackle him. “You jerk! You dare say I’m just an innkeeper!?” “You’re a beautiful, glowing innkeeper,” Jinwoo teased, catching her wrists and pulling her down into his lap.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You’re lucky I love you,” she muttered. Jinwoo kissed her temple. “And you’re lucky I’m a responsible landlord.” “Jinwoo!” “I’ll offer a discount on rent if you kiss me right now.”

Y/N groaned into his shoulder, but she was laughing as she did it.

Fenrir, watching from the corner like the dignified guardian he was, sighed heavily and turned his back on them. Idiots, he thought. They will raise a kingdom, and yet… they are idiots.

Few months have passed.

It all started at 4 AM. As it always does.

Y/N woke up to a weird cramp. She poked Jinwoo in the ribs. “Wake up. I think this is it.” Jinwoo shot out of bed like he was raiding an S-rank dungeon. “WHERE’S THE BAG?!” “You packed it a week ago,” Y/N deadpanned, clutching her belly. Fenrir was already waiting by the door, dignified as ever but his tail wagging. It’s time.

They made it to the hospital in record time, partly because Jinwoo threatened to teleport them directly into the delivery room.

The contractions got worse. Y/N’ mood got… intense.

Mrs. Sung held her hand on one side. “You’re doing great, dear!” Y/N sniffled. “Eomma… thank you for being here.” “You’re my daughter now,” Mrs. Sung said firmly, kissing her forehead. “And after this, we’ll make Jinwoo your servant for a month.” “Make it a year,” Y/N groaned. “Deal.”

Meanwhile, Jinwoo was on her other side, holding her other hand like it was his lifeline. “You’ve got this,” he said quietly, but he was pale as hell. Y/N cracked an eye open. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine,” Jinwoo lied. “You look like you’re gonna pass out.” “Nope.” His face twitched. “I’m cheering for you.” “You look like I’m your support character and you’re dying in battle.”

The next contraction hit, and Y/N screamed his name. “JINWOO YOU DID THIS TO ME!!!” Jinwoo’s eyes widened. “I… yes, but—” “YOU’RE DEAD!!!” She crushed his hand in a vice grip. Jinwoo swore he heard bones crack. But he smiled anyway. “You’re doing amazing, Y/N. You’re so strong.”

Finally—after what felt like an all-night raid boss battle with no healer, half their mana gone, and aggro pulling left and right—the baby’s first cries echoed through the room.

Y/N gasped, the sound hitting her like a critical strike to the heart. “It’s a boy!” the doctor announced with a grin, carefully placing the tiny, crying bundle onto Y/N’ chest.

For a moment, everything stopped. Y/N slumped back against the bed, exhausted tears slipping down her cheeks as she stared at their son in awe. Jinwoo froze beside her, his breath caught in his throat. “…A boy,” he repeated softly, like he couldn’t believe it. Like the word alone might shatter if he spoke too loudly.

Y/N gave him a tired but victorious grin. “Told you so.” Jinwoo let out a shaky laugh that broke halfway through, his shoulders trembling. His dark eyes, usually sharp and unreadable, were now brimming with tears as he leaned in close. He kissed her temple first, gently, then their son’s tiny, wrinkled hand. “You did so well,” Jinwoo whispered, his voice low and thick with emotion. Tears slid silently down his cheeks as he smiled at them both like they were his entire world. “I… couldn’t ask for more.”

And then it hit them. Both of them. Without a word, they started crying—quietly at first, tears of pure joy they didn’t try to hide. Y/N cradled Suho close to her chest, laughing between the tears as Jinwoo rested his forehead against hers. Outside the room, someone must have heard the baby’s first cry because, moments later, they heard muffled cheers, followed by sniffles and someone (probably Mrs. Sung) full-on sobbing.

Jinwoo finally pulled back, wiping his face with the back of his hand, but his smile stayed soft as he gazed down at his son. “He’s… beautiful,” he murmured. Y/N sniffled, brushing her fingers through the soft tuft of black hair on Suho’s head. “You think he’ll stay this cute, or will he start brooding and scaring people by the time he’s five?” Jinwoo chuckled. “If he takes after me… maybe four.” Y/N smirked, though her eyes were still glossy. “Better teach him how to smile early, then.”

Suho let out a tiny whimper, his little face scrunching in protest. Jinwoo’s expression softened even more—something Y/N hadn’t thought possible—as he carefully picked up his son, cradling him in his arms with the same reverence as if he were holding an ancient relic. “Shh,” he murmured, swaying slightly. “Time to sleep, little shadow.” And like magic—no, like Jinwoo—Suho settled almost immediately, his tiny fist curled against his father’s chest.

Y/N watched them both, utterly in love, and whispered, “He already trusts you… guess he knows who’s overpowered in this family.” Jinwoo chuckled quietly, keeping his gaze on their son as he replied, “No. That’s you.

Meanwhile, in Jinwoo’s Inner Domain.

The vast shadow plains trembled. A pulse of life, raw and ancient, rippled out.

Beru froze in mid-air, antennae twitching wildly. Then his insectoid mandibles split into a terrifying grin.

“KYEEEH! THE YOUNG MASTER HAS ARRIVED!” he shrieked.

Bellion dropped his sword point-first into the obsidian ground and roared. “IT IS TIME.”

What time? Nobody knew, but it sounded official.

Then it happened.

The elite Shadows who’d once been kings, warlords, and monsters… devolved into absolute chaos.

The High Orcs, normally stoic and terrifying, began chanting in deep, guttural voices as they formed a perfect circle.

“UGA! UGA! PRINCE! UGA!”

They stomped their feet rhythmically, shaking the obsidian ground. Then they started clapping in sync, forming a drum line with their fists pounding into their own thick chests.

One of them pulled out… maracas.

No one knew where he got them. No one asked.

Overhead, Kaisel, the fearsome dragon, landed with a bone-jarring THUD.

And then…

He tucked his tiny, bony arms under his ribs, flapped his massive skeletal wings like a chicken, and started bobbing his head in a full-on chicken dance.

Clap-clap! Flap-flap! Wiggle-wiggle!

Somehow, Kaisel managed to moonwalk backward while doing it.

“WHAT IS HAPPENING?!” screamed a random mage-class shadow, openly sobbing with joy and confusion.

Bellion clutched his helmet, but the dignified knight was smiling. “The King’s heir is born. We rejoice.”

Beru launched himself off Bellion’s back like a missile, doing triple flips while screaming, “KYEEEHH! SHADOW PRINCE! KYEEEHHH!!”

The group of mage shadows joined hands in a ring, hopping  up and down, spinning in dizzy circles and flinging off fireworks spells like they were in a rave. One accidentally cast Meteor Shower—thankfully, it fizzled harmlessly.

Tusk screamed “UNCLE TUSK! TUSK CELEBRATE!” over and over again, scooping smaller shadows up and throwing them skyward like toddlers on a trampoline.

Greed flew by with another handmade banner trailing behind him. This one read:

“PRINCE SUHO: FIRST BLOOD, FIRST BITE, FIRST CRY—THE LEGACY BEGINS.”

Even Igris, ever the silent knight, was clapping politely… until Beru tackled him around the waist like a football striker scoring the winning goal.

They all ended up in a dogpile while Kaisel flapped over them in chicken dance formation.

Fenrir stood at the edges of the chaos, his golden eyes narrowing.

Buffoons. Every single one of them.

But his ears flicked once as if in approval.

And then he laid down beside Suho’s bassinet in the real world, resting his muzzle nearby. If anyone tried to approach the young heir, they’d be eating teeth.

He might let Kaisel squawk, but nobody messes with the pup.

The hospital room was finally quiet.

Y/N had drifted into an exhausted sleep not long after the delivery, her breathing soft and steady, a faint smile lingering on her lips even as she dozed. Jinwoo had tucked the blanket around her carefully, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. He kissed her forehead softly, lingering for a moment longer than necessary, before slipping out of the room.

He needed to see their son.

The nursery was dim, the soft glow of the lights casting a warm haze over the row of bassinets. Jinwoo’s steps were nearly silent, his hands slipping into his pockets like he always did when his mind was racing. But the moment his eyes landed on the tiny, wriggling bundle marked Sung Baby, he froze.

For a full minute, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stared.

His feet carried him to the glass window on their own. He placed both hands against it, as if he could reach through the barrier, as if he could hold him again.

Suho was sleeping peacefully, his tiny fists balled up near his cheeks, his breaths soft and even. Occasionally, he made an adorable little noise that Jinwoo was sure sounded like a battle cry. That’s my son, he thought, pride swelling in his chest. Our son.

Jinwoo let out a shaky breath, smiling, even as tears gathered in his eyes. “You’re really here,” he murmured, voice soft. “We were fighting over your gender for months, you know.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve even though more tears slipped through. “Your mama was so sure you were a boy. She always wins, doesn’t she?” He shook his head fondly. “She’s cool like that.”

His fingers gently tapped the glass, like he was trying to get Suho’s attention even though he knew his son wouldn’t open those sleepy eyes just yet. “Hey… whatever you are, whoever you become…” Jinwoo whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “I’ll always be here. For you. For your mama. I’ll protect you both.”

Another tiny noise came from Suho’s crib. Jinwoo laughed again, a quiet, breathless sound. “You agree with me, huh? Mama is pretty cool.”

He stood there a little longer, hands still pressed to the glass, watching his son sleep like it was the most important mission of his life. Because it was.

“Welcome to the world, Suho,” Jinwoo said softly. “I’ll make sure it’s a good one for you.”

They had barely returned from the hospital when it happened.

Y/N had just sat down on the couch, Jinwoo was fussing over adjusting her pillows (even though she swore she was fine), and baby Suho was snuggled in her arms—when Beru approached.

Very slowly.

Very seriously.

“May I… borrow the Young Master for a moment, my Queen?”

Y/N blinked, suspicious. “Uh… why?”

Jinwoo narrowed his eyes. “Beru.”

Beru gave a dramatic bow, wings spread wide, his giant claws respectfully close to his chest. “I have seen something most inspiring in the human world. A sacred rite… for the future ruler.”

Jinwoo sighed. “You’ve been watching TV again, haven’t you?”

But Y/N was already handing over Suho with a grin. “Oh, this I need to see.”

Beru carefully scooped the bundled baby into his long arms like he was holding a priceless treasure—which, in his mind, he totally was.

Without another word, Beru marched toward the nearest open balcony.

Y/N sat up straighter. “Wait, where’s he going?”

Jinwoo was already on his feet. “Beru, no!”

But it was too late.

“.....................”

The moment Beru reached the balcony, Kaisel soared out of nowhere, landing smoothly at his side, as if he’d been summoned. Bellion was already there, standing tall and proud like some royal bodyguard. And Fenrir… Fenrir stood regally beside them, tail swishing with dignified approval.

And then it happened.

Beru lifted baby Suho high into the air, his black wings flaring wide behind him. “BEHOLD! THE FUTURE HEIR!”

The shadow legion, gathered below in the training yard, immediately dropped to one knee in perfect unison, heads bowed. Some were actually crying. No, wait—that was the mage corps.

And then there was Tusk.

Oh, Tusk.

Tusk stepped forward, his staff slamming into the ground with a mighty thud. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began chanting in a deep, rumbling voice, his tone like the rise of an ancient storm:

“NNNAAAAAAHHHHHH… SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVEENNYYYYYAAAAAA… BABA GEE TIBABAAAAA…”

His voice echoed, mana crackling faintly in the air as if the heavens themselves were watching.

Jinwoo was frozen at the door, jaw slack. “What… what is happening.”

Y/N was laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe.

Beru turned slowly, as if hearing them, his voice full of reverence. “I have watched the Sacred Tale, my King and Queen. It is the Circle of Life. I'm so honored.”

Jinwoo ran a hand down his face.

Beru ignored him, still holding Suho high as the entire Shadow Legion started chanting something in perfect unison that sounded suspiciously like “Nants ingonyama bagithi baba!”

Y/N wheezed.

Jinwoo muttered, “I should’ve limited his screen time.”

Y/N wiped her tears of laughter, leaning into her husband. “Oh no, I love this. Our son’s first official introduction? Perfection.”

Jinwoo sighed, then smiled helplessly as he watched his legion honor their tiny prince with the most dramatic moment in existence.

Suho, for his part, let out a tiny yawn and sneezed.

The entire Shadow Legion gasped in unison and immediately bowed lower.

Beru clutched Suho to his chest. “Blessed be the Young Master! His power is mighty already!”

Y/N giggled. “You know what? We need to record this.”

A few weeks after Suho was born, it became undeniable. He was a miniature Jinwoo. Jet-black hair that already flopped messily over his forehead, serious little brows furrowed even while he slept, and a natural “resting monarch face” that made the everyone coo but also salute him instinctively.

“He looks like you copy-pasted your face onto a baby,” Y/N mumbled one morning, her cheek pressed against Jinwoo’s shoulder as they stared at Suho napping in his crib. Jinwoo smirked proudly, one arm wrapped around her waist. “Good genes.” Y/N reached up and playfully tugged his ear. “Yeah, well. The biting worked.”

Jinwoo groaned, covering his face with his hand. “Don’t bring that up again. You bit me every day during the pregnancy.” “And look how perfect he turned out,” Y/N said smugly, poking Suho’s chubby cheek gently with her finger. “That’s the price of a masterpiece.”

Mrs. Sung was over the moon. She visited almost every day, bringing home-cooked meals and cooing over Suho as if he was made of pure gold. “Jinwoo-ah, you finally did something right,” she sniffled one day as she held Suho, her eyes gleaming. “This child is perfect. My grandson will rule the playground and the world.” “Mom,” Jinwoo sighed. “Don’t ‘Mom’ me! If you breathe wrongly around Y/N, I’ll slap you.” Y/N, sipping her tea beside her, gave Jinwoo a sweet, smug smile. “You heard your mom.”

Mrs. Sung beamed and patted Y/N's head like a precious child.

Jinwoo? He stood off to the side. Quiet. Slightly confused why his mom gave his wife the nickname “Daughter” and him the 'side-eye in-law' look.

Jinah became the coolest aunt in existence. She had already bought Suho tiny sneakers that lit up and attempted to teach him fist bumps—despite him being only two months old. “Bro, this kid’s going to be an athlete and a genius,” she bragged, holding up Suho. “Put him down,” Jinwoo deadpanned. “Not until he does the fist bump.”

Even Jinho—Uncle Jinho, Y/N’s walking wallet, as Y/N declared—got involved, spoiling Suho with plushies and random baby gadgets. “This kid’s got VIP insurance and a gold spoon in his mouth,” Jinho said proudly. “I’m calling it: future president.” “He’s not even sitting up yet,” Jinwoo replied, but he was smiling anyway.

After the fiasco with Fenrir howling mysteriously during the pregnancy, Jinwoo wasn’t taking chances. Tusk worked overtime carving anti-teleportation and anti-flying runes into the house. Every corner had subtle, glowing glyphs. “We’re locked down tighter than a national treasure vault,” Jinwoo said, hands on his hips. Y/N patted his back. “Good job. But if he shadow-exchanges into the fridge again, we’re going to have a problem.” “...That was one time.”

By six months, Suho could hover. By eight months, he could shadow exchange… randomly. One moment he was in his crib, the next he was sitting on top of Fenrir’s head, giggling as if it was the funniest thing in the world. Fenrir, ever dignified, simply sighed in his deep, ancient way and carried the baby like an heir on a throne. “Such power in one so small,” Fenrir mused. “The realms will tremble.”

They learned to keep an eye on Suho constantly. Y/N, however, wasn’t surprised at all. “I told you,” she said one night, as they both watched Suho playing with Igris’ helmet like a toy. “He’s destined to be overpowered.” Jinwoo just sighed, hugging her from behind. “At least he’s cute.” Y/N leaned back into his chest. “That’s the biting.” “Please stop saying that.”

One sunny afternoon, while Suho was peacefully gnawing on Beru’s antenna (Beru, ever the loyal subject, simply buzzed with pride), Y/N found herself on the couch, cuddled up next to Jinwoo. Jinwoo was flipping through reports on his tablet, while Y/N scrolled through old photos on her phone.

Out of nowhere, Y/N started giggling.

Jinwoo glanced at her. “What’s funny?” Y/N turned to him, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’m just thinking about our love story.” Jinwoo raised an eyebrow, putting his tablet down. “What about it?” She sat up, cracked her knuckles dramatically, and with a grin, declared, “It all started with sniffing… and ended with biting.” Jinwoo sighed. “Not this again.” “Oh yes,” Y/N said, poking his cheek. “And now? That sniffing and biting combo gave us Suho.”

Suho giggled in response, still hanging off Beru’s antenna like it was a jungle gym.

Y/N clapped her hands once. “Okay! Listen up, baby. Mama’s gonna tell you the story of how you came to be.” Jinwoo groaned. “He’s six months old. He doesn’t need to hear this.”

Y/N winked at Suho, who floated a little higher in excitement. “Too late. He deserves to know the truth.”

And maybe one day, Suho would understand the chaos, the love, and the wild adventures that brought them here.

But for now, the Shadow Monarch, his Queen, and their flying baby prince had everything they could ever need.

“The End… for now.”

<< Chapter 17

Tag requests: @kisssleeping; @catsf0rlife707; @aorifukuzawa; @joannthebish; @ojog404; @tanspostsblog; @snowy-violet; @o-qi-shisme; @sleepyamaya; @harrystylesfan2686; @night-shadowblood-writes2; @weaponxgames; @bubera974; @moonlightsof; @limerenceisserenity; @mashiromochi; @its-carlerrr; @kuramiachan; @purplehazzes; @leviackerman2030; @estrnrea;

Dear Y/Ns,

First of all—thank you! No, seriously… a HUGE thank you for riding along on this absolutely chaotic fanfic! From the very first moment Y/N sniffed Jinwoo to the legendary biting that somehow led to Baby Suho (who’s already flying around and dodging anti-teleportation runes like a tiny pro.) And I’m so, so happy you joined me to this madness lol.

I hope this story made you laugh, cry, and maybe shout, "WHY IS KAISER MOONWALKING?!" At least once. (Don’t worry,,, I’m still asking myself the same thing! Sigh…)

And guess what? I’m already cooking up some side stories—whether it’s Jinwoo’s Prime Hitting In (Yas… it’s steamy🔥) or another chaotic one-shot adventure with action, fluff, and who knows what else! If my imagination runs wild again, well… no one is safe...

Thank you again for all your support, comments, and good vibes! Y/N and Jinwoo’s story might be wrapping up for now, but who knows what’s next? If you have fun ideas or moments you’d love to see, feel free to share them—I’d love to hear from you!

— SulkingHeichou12

[solarmorrigan]

oooh. fic requests! how about 6 - fight or 19 - allergies for steddie?

Hello! I'm sorry it took so long to get to this one, but I hope it's alright! I went with:

6. Fight - Steddie

cw: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced domestic violence, unhealthy relationship dynamics (not between Eddie and Steve)

-

The most frustrating thing about fighting with Steve is that he doesn’t fight. Not really.

Sure, he’ll poke and he’ll prod and he’ll snip and he’ll snap; he’ll dole out bitchy, passive aggressive comments and roll his eyes and sigh pointedly, but the moment things get heated, the moment an argument gets real, it’s just–

“Fine. Fine,” Steve snaps, tossing his hands up with an exasperated huff. “You’re right, okay? I’m– I’m sorry.”

And at first, Eddie had always felt so vindicated, so flush with the triumph of winning an argument, that it had taken him a while to realize that it felt– wrong. That Steve—so confident, so sure in his opinions, so willing to stand up to people when he has something to defend—would just give in without a fight– it feels wrong.

So Eddie had tried to pay attention – really pay attention. They don’t fight often, but when an argument inevitably does crop up, Eddie always wins. Rather, Steve always lets him. He never raises his voice, never gets in Eddie’s face, never really even makes counterarguments. He cedes to Eddie’s points and then subsides and it’s– it’s infuriating, because Eddie doesn’t understand.

“Don’t do that,” Eddie growls, tugging a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Don’t– what? Don’t apologize?” Steve asks incredulously.

“No!” Eddie bursts out. “Not if you don’t mean it!”

“Excuse me?” Steve draws back, offended. “What the hell do you want me to do to prove I’m sincere? Get on my knees and fucking grovel?”

“That’s not–” Eddie leaves off with a frustrated noise, trying hard to keep his tone level. “I don’t want to win an argument just because you let me. I don’t want you to apologize just because you think it’s what I want to hear.”

“I’m not letting you win,” Steve says quickly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You are, though. You do. Every time. You won’t actually engage, you just say I’m right and then clam up and that’s it,” Eddie says.

Steve levels him with a look of disbelief. “So– what, you want me to yell at you? You want me to tell you that you’re wrong?”

“I want–” Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a second to gather his thoughts. “I want you to feel like you’re allowed to argue with me. I don’t want you to just give in and then resent me or something.”

“I don’t resent you, Eddie,” Steve says with a roll of his eyes.

“No?” Eddie pushes. “How many times have we gone to bed after an argument with me perfectly satisfied, thinking I’ve won, while you’re actually still mad at me?”

“That’s– I don’t…” Steve shifts uncomfortably. “If I’m still mad, that’s my problem. I can just get over it.”

“But that’s exactly what I mean!” Eddie insists. “That shit builds up! And besides, what if you’re the one who’s really right? I might actually be wrong, and you should tell me. Or maybe there’s some kind of, like, compromise we can reach, I don’t know! I don’t want you to be afraid to push back – I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Steve says, jaw jutting out stubbornly when Eddie fixes him with a considering look. “I’m not. I’m just– how long before yelling turns into a screaming match? How long before it turns into throwing shit around, or– or shoving each other, or worse?”

“Steve…” Eddie murmurs, the last of his heated frustration draining away, leaving a clammy kind of dismay in its place. “Steve, I would never do any of those things to you.”

“I know,” Steve says, and it sounds like he means it. “I know that. But what if I–”

“No,” Eddie says firmly, because he thinks he understands now – Steve isn’t afraid of him, he’s afraid of himself. Afraid of turning into everything he’d been raised around: the blowout arguments between his parents, his mom’s petty destruction of his dad’s things, his dad’s frustration turned back on Steve, a cycle of violent familial bullshit that Steve is determined to break free from, even if it means saying that he’s wrong every time. Eddie comes forward, grabbing Steve’s hands; he can’t even remember what they’d been arguing about moments before, but he knows he doesn’t care anymore. “You would never do that. I know you, Steve, you are nothing like that.”

Steve looks down at their joined hands, blinking rapidly. “This– you… You’re more important than winning. Than any stupid argument,” he says.

“That’s exactly why we should have stupid arguments,” Eddie says, grinning a little when that gets a choked laugh out of Steve. “I’m serious. Let’s have stupid, petty arguments so they don’t turn into big ones. I swear I’m not going to stay mad if you get on my ass about not doing the dishes.”

Slowly, Steve nods. He doesn’t entirely look like he believes Eddie, but that’s fine. It’s always been like this – Steve unwilling (or unable) to believe that someone will love him if he doesn’t make it easy for them. Eddie’s been breaking that down, bit by bit, and this is no different. This is no chore.

“I’ll still love you even when I’m angry. Even when you’re angry,” Eddie promises. “I just love you, full stop.”

Steve nods again, more certain this time as he looks up to meet Eddie’s eyes. “I love you, too,” he says, because he always, always says it back, which suits Eddie just fine.

He figures if they can agree on that much, every other disagreement will be a breeze.

[mayrose713]

Beautifully Cruel World-Chapter 7

Series Masterlist | Previous | Next

ABO Non-Idol Stray Kids Universe Poly OT8 x Reader 18+ MDNI

Warnings in the Series Masterlist as well as any other information needed

I'm sorry for anyone on my tag list who haven't been getting the notifications that I posted. I'm not sure what the problem is or why it's doing that. If anyone knows how to fix it please let me know.

Enjoy this chapter

Chapter 7

A storm rages outside, thunder booming, causing the house to shake each time. Y/n doesn’t have curtains in her room so every flash of lightning lights up the room causing the omega to toss and turn unable to sleep. 

With a huff she looks at the clock on the nightstand to see it’s about three in the morning when another loud clash of thunder shakes the house once again causing her to sit up, shaking a bit in fear. She wonders if anyone else is up because of the storm or if she’s the only one. 

The alphas told her if she ever needed anything at night to just go to their room and Felix said if she wants to cuddle but she feels silly going to one of them because of a storm. She’s not afraid necessarily but she just doesn’t like how the thunder shakes the house and the sound of rain that normally soothes people irritates her. 

With a sigh she gets up deciding that she’ll go downstairs and maybe watch tv in the living room or game room to keep her occupied and distracted. Walking past everyone else’s rooms as quietly as possible she makes it down stairs stopping in the kitchen first to grab a glass of water. After gulping down most of it, setting it down on the counter, thunder boomed causing her to jump and the kitchen light turned on. 

“What are you doing up?” Chan walks in having been the one to turn the light on after seeing her jump from the thunder. 

“Sorry, did I wake you?” 

The alpha shakes his head no. “I’m a light sleeper, anyone walking past my room I hear. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Y/n leans against the counter. “Just  having trouble sleeping, I don't really like storms.” 

Thundering crashing causes her to tense up. 

“Why didn’t you come to one of us?” 

Y/n blushes feeling embarrassed. “I felt it was silly to need comfort just because of a storm”

“We get it, Felix doesn’t like storms either.” He tries to help her feel better. “Pretty sure I heard him go to Hyun’s room when the storm first started.” 

“Oh.” She now feels stupid for thinking it was silly.

“Baby girl, we’re here if you need anything, even if it’s something as small as needing to be with someone during a storm.” He moves to her and pulls her to him. “Why don’t we head to my room? You can sleep in my bed.”

“You really don’t have to do that.” Y/n protests. “I’ll be okay.”

“You’re a real stubborn omega.” Chan huffs, gently grabbing her around the waist, throwing her over his shoulder making her squeal a little and walks up stairs after turning the kitchen light back off. “You’re not getting a choice in this.” 

Y/n huffs accepting her fate letting him take her to his room, pulling the blankets back and placing her in the bed tucking her in. 

“I normally sleep without a shirt, is that okay?” He asks hovering over her. “If not I can sleep with it on tonight, I don’t mind.” 

“It’s okay.” The omega whispers. “I want you to be comfortable too.” 

He smiles down at her before taking his shirt off causing her to blush as she sees how muscular he is. She turns away as he climbs in the bed next to her getting situated. 

“Is this okay?” He checks in on her since she’s turned away. When she hums a yes he smirks before wrapping an arm around her and pulls her so her back is against his chest. “What about this?” 

“This is fine.” She mumbles, glad he can’t see her as she’s blushing so hard right now. 

“Good.” Chan hums snuggling her closer to him if that was even possible and kisses the top of her head. “Goodnight baby girl.”

“Goodnight Channie.” 

The next morning Y/n wakes up alone in Chan's bed with a headache. She heads downstairs to find anyone. 

“Where is everyone?” She asks Jisung as she walks in the kitchen.

“Chan and Changbin had to go into the office one last time this week. They normally don’t have to go in more than once a week but because of your dry heat starting tomorrow or the day after they decided to head up there to make sure everything is good since we don’t know how long it could last.” He starts to explain. “Minho had one of his advanced dance classes today as well as a one on one so he’ll be back in a little bit. Felix went with Hyunjin to teach his art class at the community center in town. Seungmin is around here somewhere and Jeongin is in the home gym.”

The omega nods but quickly regrets it as it makes her head hurt worse.

“Are you okay?” 

“Have a headache.” She whimpers, placing a hand against her temple. “Didn’t really sleep well last night because of the storm.”

“Oh, you don’t like storms either like Felix?” He hums in understanding and grabs her arm leading her to the living room. “Why don’t you lay down on the couch for a bit? I’ll get you a glass of water. I’m about to go take a walk around the property anyways so it’ll be quiet down here for a bit. I’ll tell Jeongin and Seungmin to keep it down too.” 

“Thanks Ji.” She smiles, laying down on the couch as he places a blanket over her. 

He brings her a big cup of ice water placing it on the coffee table as well as places the house phone with it. 

“If you need anything my cell is speed dial five. Jeongin’s is eight but he’s got music playing in the gym so he might not hear his phone ringing.”

She gives him a weak smile before he leaves through the back door making sure his ringer is turned up all the way in case she calls. 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Seungmin sits in his room strumming his guitar, a little annoyed after Jisung had messaged him saying to keep it down because the stupid omega has a headache. He’s really getting irritated with her presence and doesn't understand how almost all of his other mates are accepting of her. He’s just glad he has Hyunjin on his side. 

Needing to get his anger and frustration out he decides to head out to the batting cages Chan had set up for him in the field in the back near the shed. But that all changes when he walks out of his room and smells a distressed scent and his beta starts telling him that his fated mate is in pain. 

He runs downstairs as quickly as possible, scared it might be Jeongin as he knows he’s been in the gym and remembers how Jisung once had to save Changbin when he was being crushed by weights. What he wasn’t expecting though was to find the omega in the living room, writhing in pain as she clutches her lower stomach, moaning and whimpering in pain. And he realizes it’s her his beta is telling him is in pain.

“Fuck, fuck.” Seungmin runs over realizing her dry heat has started sooner than the others had expected and now that the suppressants have worn off he can fully smell her and his beta is telling him that she is in fact his fated mate. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I’m here.” He shushes her while rubbing her beck, trying to put out calming pheromones but she’s in too much pain for it to help. “I’m going to move you to the den, okay?” 

He picks her up and realizes just how light she is as he carries her to the den and settles her into the nest. He grabs one of the heating pads Minho bought, placing it where she’s clutching. She’s sweating and is hurting and he doesn’t know what to do. 

He brushes her hair out of her face to see if she’d look at him but it’s as if she’s not aware of anything around her. 

“Fuck.” He growls, pulling his phone out and dials Chan's number. 

“Hey Minnie, miss us already?” The alpha tries to joke. 

“It’s Y/n.” Seungmin pants knowing he can hear the fear in his voice. “She started her dry heat. I don’t know what to do. She’s whimpering in pain and clutching her abdomen. I moved her to the den and gave her the heating pad but she’s sweating and doesn’t seem to be aware of anything right now.”

“Fuck.” Chan groans then says something to someone else in the background. “Alright, Changbin and I are leaving now, we’ll be home as soon as we can. Where’s Innie and Ji?”

“Umm, Ji went out on his daily calming walk and Innies in the gym, but I’m too afraid to leave her alone.” Seungmin is frantic as he looks around. “I don’t know how to help her hyung.” He whimpers. “I know now, I know she’s our fated mate and I’ve been such a dick.”

“Listen to me, Seungmin, she’s going to need you right now.” Chan speaks slowly. “She shouldn’t be alone, it can cause separation anxiety. I’ll call Innie so he can get done and shower and will take over for you if you want or will just come and help you. As well as Ji. For the meantime just lay with her in the nest, keep the heating pad on her. Try and keep your scent calm, you might need to scent her if you’re okay with doing that. If she seems to get too feverious call me back. I’ll call Felix, Hyunjin and Minho and tell them what’s going on so you don’t have to worry about it. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“Okay Channie.” Seungmin takes a deep breath. “I’m really sorry for how I’ve been acting and treating her.”

“It’s okay Minnie. I know you were upset about all of this, it’s okay.” Chan reassures the beta. “Just be there for her now okay? She’ll forgive you for everything, I know she will.” 

“Thanks hyung.” He sighs. “I’ll see you guys soon.”

“See you soon baby.” 

Seungmin hangs up and tries to stay calm for the omega as he curls up behind her, wrapping an arm around her abdomen to hold the heating pad to her. His other hand plays with her hair as he tries to soothe her. He decided on singing to her hoping it’ll keep her calm. Her moans and whines of pain start to lessen as she relaxes against him a bit, her eyes stay closed though. 

“If you can hear me Y/n, tap my hand.” He whispers and she taps his hand lightly. “Good girl. I know you’re in a lot of pain right now but I’m right here. The hyungs and Innie will be here soon too. But I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” 

“How is she?” Jeongin steps into the doorway, still sweaty from working out. 

“In pain but she’s calmed down a bit now.” The beta explains.

The youngest nods in understanding, setting a glass of water down next to the nest before moving to the windows closing the curtains so the sun isn’t shining into the den. “Make sure to keep her hydrated. I’m gonna pull the curtains on the glass doors and close them, hopefully the lack of light will help with her headache as well as closing off the den will keep any loud noises from the others when they get back from disturbing her.”

“Good idea Innie.” 

“I’m gonna go shower. Jisung should be back soon.” The alpha watches them for a moment. “If you want we can take over for you when we’re back, or we can just join you guys.”

“I’ve been keeping a distance long enough.” Seungmin grunts. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Jeongin smiles at him. “Alright hyung, I’ll be back.” 

“You need to drink some water. Can you sit up for me?” Seungmin looks down at the omega who groans. “I know pup but you need to stay hydrated.”

He helps her sit up, leaning heavily against his chest, groaning and whimpering with every movement as he brings the cup to her lips helping her drink.

“Minho said she should take these. They should help with her headache and cramping. ” Jisung walks in with the two pill tablets and hands them to Seungmin to help her take them. “He’s having to go pick up Felix from the community center because Hyunjin is being an ass and won’t drive him back.”

Seungmin rolls his eyes but then reminds himself that he was acting the same way the last few days. But he tries not to think too heavily on that as he makes sure Y/n takes the tablets.

After he made sure she drank a good amount of water he settles her back down as Jisung refills the cup before crawling into the nest as well. 

“I’m here Y/nnie.”

“Ji.” She whimpers but cuddles closer to both betas and they both scent her to help ease everything.

“Move over.” Jeongin walks in. “Let me have her.”

The two betas don’t want to but know that the alpha must be going crazy internally having the need to protect her. They make room for him but stay as close as they can not willing to leave her at all. 

“Alpha.” Y/n whimpers.

“I’m here omega.” Jeongin coos petting her head. “I’m here, you're safe.”

The three of them stay like that with her for a while until Chan and Changbin get home, rushing into the den. They pause when they see the betas and alpha snuggled up to her. She’s still clutching a heating pad to her abdomen and her face scrunches up occasionally in pain but for the most part she seems okay. 

“Hi hyungs.” Jeongin whispers, giving them a small smile.

“Hi baby.” Chan smiles back. “You pups did really good taking care of your omega. I’m proud of you guys.” 

When Y/n whimpers again Chan walks over and kneels next to the nest placing a hand on her cheek.

“Hey baby girl.” He whispers, she leans into his hand and opens her eyes a little. 

“She doesn't seem to be as hazy as she was when I first found her.” Seungmin mentions seeing that she’s more aware now. 

“You guys being with her probably helped a lot.” Changbin explains watching the omega. 

“We made sure she drank water and everything but she hasn’t eaten yet.” Jisung speaks up. 

“Where is she?” Felix runs through the house and into the den, but gets stopped by Changbin real quickly.

“Calm down.” He holds the younger one in his arms. “You don’t want to overwhelm her with your emotions.” 

Felix pouts but nods as he takes a few deep breaths relaxing in the alphas arms.

“Alright, everyone out.” Minho walks in with the paper bag from the doctors as well as some of Y/n’s new comfy clothes.

“But…”

“Out.” Minho interrupts Felix’s protests. “I need to make sure she gets her medicine and I’m going to help her change, so everyone get out. You can cuddle with her after I’m done.”

Changbin picks up Felix to make the omega leave as Minho walks over and switches spots with the three in the nest to help take her weight and hold her up. 

“Where’s Hyunjin?” Chan asks, still kneeling next to the nest.

“Wouldn’t leave the community center.” Minho sighs. “I told him if he’s going to be an asshole then don't bother coming home.” 

“I’ll call him while you do this, try and talk some sense into him.” Chan rubs the bridge of his nose and stands up.

“Good luck with that, he yelled at Lix and made him cry.” 

Chan growls and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“Where’s your head at, kitten?” Minho asks once everyone left the den. 

“It hurts, Min.” She whines as he lifts her shirt up over her head. 

“I know baby, but let me do this real quick then you can snuggle with Felix.” He starts to rub the cream on her side then moves to her arm.

He makes her take her antibiotic then slips her new shirt on her before helping her change from sweatpants to sleep shorts. He lays her down, placing the heating pad back on her abdomen.

“Alpha.” She whines and he moves closer to her.

“I’m right here kitten, I’m not going anywhere.” He scents her, keeping her close for a moment enjoying the time alone with her. “Alright, she’s good.” 

Minho knew that Changbin and Felix were standing right outside the door and would hear him and laughs a little when Felix bolts in and crawls into the nest as quickly as possible while still being gentle and snuggles up to the younger omega. 

“Channie hyungs making her a snack while he yells at Hyunjin on the phone.” Felix tells the alpha still upset at the oldest beta for refusing to take him home and yelling at him.

“Are you okay baby.” Changbin asks Felix, joining them in the nest. 

“I am now that I’m here.” He whispers curled up with Y/n. 

The two alphas smile down at their omegas as they hope Y/n’s dry heat goes by quickly.

Tag list: @pixie0627 @sinfulfic @estella-novella @mbioooo0000 @ms-flowergirl @blindspot143 @ihrtlix @arishoriasims @fic-for-readers @motheraiya55 @hwangrfrnd @lxvxchxrlxttxbxrsx22-blog @juskz @borahae-reads @dreamerwasfound @galaxy4489 @kayleefriedchicken @lostgirlinthewoodss @catkight#stray

[emptyjunior]

Can I say how much I love how Ouran High School handles the rich boy/poor girl in love trope. 

Like I absolutely believe it’s discussions about classism and elitism to this Day still hold up! 

I will admit there is so much weird stuff in ouran😭, but we see the Handsome ‘Unlimited Money’ Male Lead a LOT in anime and I feel ouran gets a lot of points of the characterisation SO right, that a lot of other shows just don’t! 

Ouran does the whole love story/harem/all the boys want brown hair girl that we project on, trope. Like they do that, but they show that at the foundation, the root of all of it, those rich boys are JEALOUS. They aren’t approaching Haruhi with the need to protect and own her, at their core the rich are envious of her! Even though they have everything, they want what she has! 

Like we see in the real world with how the rich cosplay as poor! And say "ohhhh I'm so broke please venmo me for lunch" and wear their ripped jeans and strained sweaters and take pictures at the met gala with a box of McDonalds fries in their hand. 

The classist comments made towards Haruhi ARE comedic relief, but the joke isn’t on characters like Haruhi, the joke is on THEM. 

They are the ones who can’t do anything! They are the ones who are stilted and emotionally closed off! They are the ones who can’t make an instant coffee or go to a mall without help! 

THAT is why Haruhi is the center of this harem, why she is the one they’re chasing. They are jealous of her insight and world experience from living independently, from living a REAL life. That is her enviable trait. Haruhi GETS people! And they don’t. Their wealth has isolated them and now there is a barrier between these characters and the rest of the world and they have no idea how to navigate it. 

And this is the foundation of 90% of the problems/conflict in the show! 

The holiday ep when Hikaru has feelings because Haruhi reconnects with Nice Guy Arai? Hikaru says he doesn’t like this guy for all these reasons and most of them are like ‘he’s just some nobody from nothing who only knows Haruhi cause they went to some stupid public school together’. Like okay? Haruhi has all of those ‘bad traits’ as well but you still seem to like her?  

Because it’s not about that, it’s never about that, it’s not even about the love rival/romance angle (at least not completely).  

Hikaru is scared and embarrassed! He already was when they got there, when these rich boys crashed Haruhi’s summer to find out she is an employee here and she is working with her own two hands. This is not a break for her! And then he’s so worried when Haruhi and Arai find each other because what they have is so untouchable to him. Same background, same class, they can meet each other’s needs! And know the other's needs! And this is a chasm that Hikaru has no idea how to cross so he starts lashing out. 

And that episode concludes with Hikaru being told about Haruhi’s fear of thunderstorms, finally actually listening and empathizing with what that means, and then going to her and giving her the stuff she needs to deal with that problem (blanket, headphones, support, protection etc.). 

He has to LEARN that none of those poor people inherently know all this secret knowledge! They just care and ask each other stuff! You can ask Haruhi what she's afraid of and then help her with that! It was always this simple! Just because you’re not the same class as her and knowing her isn’t as easy as it is with people the same as you, doesn’t mean you’ll never know! Learn! Listen! Keep trying! 

Ouran shows their rich characters being hurt by their wealth. Their elitists mindset does NOT benefit them and they’re only narratively rewarded when they break out of it, THAT’S why the arcs are so good. 

(And also while we’re here, I LOVE when they do eps that show Tamaki’s character is actually a parallel of Haruhi’s. Tamaki grew up as an illegitimate child, hidden away in France with his mother. He knows what it is to not be at the top of the food chain, and he learns the skills to keep living! Tamaki is a survivor in a world run by a man who was ashamed of him and did not want him. That can destroy a child, but Tamaki doesn’t let it. He learns how to work people and he learns that belief in yourself is the most powerful asset someone can have. And this is the life experience he imparts onto Kyoya and this SAVES Kyoya, who was barreling towards a black pit of despair and chasing his father’s shadow. The ‘poor’ characters of this show have power that the rich people desperately desire, and in the end they learn that it’s not something you take it’s something you build for yourself.)