#LED Shower Filters

[dark-moonlust]

Getting Pounded by Nagas PART 3: Contractions

Pairing: Two nagas x human reader

Summary: You wake up feeling pains in your belly, getting ready for the egg birth. The doctor checks on you there is an issue… one that can be resolved only with your mates’ touch and seed.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, monster smut, inaccurate pregnancy stuff (this is naga egg preg smut, let me have fun), naga smut, double 🍆🍆, double penetr, lots of come. Don’t like, don’t read please.

This is part of a series. Find all the parts here.

It was early in the morning when the contractions jolted you awake. The bedroom was still and dimly lit only the weak rays of the sun filtering through the curtains. You winced and disentangled yourself from between your mates, clutching your swollen belly and taking shallow breaths. The eggs shifted inside you, the pressure too much. Your groaned and the soft sound stirred your mates from their sleep. They woke with gasps of concern.

“What’s wrong, little one?” Ragnor asked, his fingers cradling your belly. You were 12 months along, so close to birth, your stomach round with the two eggs inside you.

“Contractions,” you breathed as another pain rolled through you.

At your words, both of your mates exchanged a look of worry. You were not supposed to have contractions. A Naga pregnancy didn’t have sudden contractions. It was completely different to a human pregnancy. The birth, too. It was the reason you’d arranged everything with the doctor and planned an induction of labor a week from now. But clearly, that plan would change.

“I can feel the eggs moving,” you muttered. “It’s starting to hurt.”

That’s was all you needed to say before your mates sprang into action.

Ragnor prepared everything you would need, packing you bags and a light meal. Meanwhile Thorne helped you take a shower and put on a soft, comfortable dress. In just twenty minutes, you found yourself lying at the padded chair in the Superhuman Maternity and Birthing Center. The room was bright and serene, the smell of disinfectant in the air. Your mates stood on each side of you, their tails wrapping around the chair.

Dr. Elise, a human woman in her fifties entered the private room, dressed in pristine white robes. She was a very kind and experienced doctor who monitored your superhuman pregnancy. Unlike you and your mates, Dr. Elise was calm upon hearing that you had contractions. She reminded you to keep taking deep breaths and trust in her ability to keep you safe.

“Good, very good,” the doctor said once you had calmed down a little. “Let’s take a look at you and the eggs. ”

The doctor used various advanced technological devises to scan your belly, take some blood samples and check the position of the eggs. You waited patiently as she analyzed your samples, winching only slightly when another contraction hit. Thorne and Ragnor stood at your sides, concealing their concern, each of them holding one of your hands tightly.

When Dr. Elise finally completed her calculations, she looked at you and your mates with a reassuring smile. “Everything appears perfect apart from the contractions. Naga pregnancies don’t cause traditional human contractions. That is because the eggs do not implant in the uterine wall like typical mammalian embryos. Instead, they remain free-floating within a specialized sac that develops to accommodate their growth. What you are experiencing now are false contractions.”

“Are my babies okay?” you asked her, tears pricking at your eyes.

Thorne kissed your sweaty forehead while Ragnor your lips. “We’re right here, love,” each of them murmured to you. “We won’t leave your side, relax for us.”

The doctor placed a strange cylindrical LED device over your vagina and ass, “I see that you’re not filled enough with your mates’ seed. It’s why you’re experiencing contractions and pain. We need to make sure you’re completely suffused in seed, and after that, it’s imminent that they be delivered. When was the last time you’ve had intimate relations with your mates?” The doctor asked you.

“Last night,” you answered in one breath.

“We fucked only once because she was sleepy,” Ragnor said, brows furrowing. “Wasn’t that enough?”

Dr. Elise shook her head. “Not in the least. The eggs consume the seed incredibly fast, especially at their current growth,” she explained. “You’ll need to fill your mate again, thoroughly and immediately.”

“Right now?” You asked, your voice pitching without meaning to.

“Yes,” Dr. Elise said. “I want you to be suffused with seed and after that I’ll induce the birth. We can’t risk waiting and risking both your health.”

“We’ll fill her. In both holes, just to be sure,” Ragnor said, his face completely serious.

Dr. Elise nodded. “Yes, and if you can give her seed through the mouth as well, that would be ideal.”

You flushed furiously as your mates and the doctor discussed the details, their faces dead-serious as if talking about filling your holes with seed was the most casual thing in the world.

Dr. Elise noticed your discomfort and smiled gently. “I want you to trust in me and my abilities to bring your babies to the world. Naga birth requires the assistance of the partners even more so in your case because you’re human.”

“Will it hurt as much as a human birth?” you asked, heart palpitating.

The doctor smiled. “No, it will be pleasurable and just mildly uncomfortable.”

You flushed at the word “pleasurable”. You’d discussed the birth plan a long time ago and you remembered the doctor telling you that your mates would need to make you climax during the birth for each egg to be delivered.

“Let me remind you how this will go,” Dr. Elise began, her voice calm. “Once you’re properly suffused with seed, I will give you a medicine that will induce the eggs to come out. Naga eggs have a tendency to like it in the womb and at some cases, they refuse to come out. The eggs will naturally leave your system, do not doubt that. I have specific instructions for that. Trust me, we will go through with it after you’ve been suffused with enough seed.”

“Thank you, doctor,” you said, your cheeks blushing a little.

“It’s my pleasure. Naga birth is completely different from that of a human so I want you to be as comfortable as possible and talk to me and your mates.”

“I understand,” you said. You trusted Dr. Elise and knew she was right. “Where can I and my mates… uhmm… do what we need to do?”

Dr. Elise stood up. “This room is reserved for your birth so you can stay here. I’ll step out to give you privacy and return roughly in two hours. Call me for whatever you need; I will be on standby.” The doctor headed to the door and glanced at your mates, “Remember, you need to fill her completely otherwise her health and the eggs will be at risk. I’ll come back to check, and if it’s not enough, you’ll have to keep going until the eggs have consumed enough seed.”

Once the doctor was out, you slumped back in the chair. “I can’t believe this. My health is dependent on your seed.”

“Lots of it”, Thorne added, looking smug.

“I’m going to be super cocky about that in the future,” Ragnor said, a smug grin on his face.

Two throaty chuckles made you look at your scaled mates. Horny bastards, they had already dragged off their shirts and their cocks had emerged from their protective slits, thick and massive, the cockheads glistening with arousal. You licked your lips and swallowed thickly. This was real. You were about to be fucked right there, in the examination room.

Ragnor wasted no time and slid up your dress, the only piece of clothing you wore. He left you completely naked on the chair, his hungry amber eyes devouring your form. Thorne was gazing at you just as intensely, both your nagas marveling at your swollen breasts, your round stomach and between your legs. You tried to close them, suddenly a little shy, but their tails wrapped around your ankles, keeping them spread wide for them.

“Will you trust us to fill your pretty little holes, little mate?” Thorne asked, his voice a whisper as he claimed your lips.

“Hnnn… fuck, yes,” you said, arching your back, offering yourself to them. The more they touched you, the more the contractions eased, pleasure taking over.

“Damn, what a pretty sight our mate is.”Ragnor lowered his head to your stomach, rubbed the swell, and spoke, "We’ll meet you soon, little ones. Stay safe and warm in there."

“Daddies will take care of mommy,” Thorne drawled, his mouth finding its way to one of your nipples, drawing it into his mouth. It leaked milk and with a groan he lapped it up.

Ragnor lavished attention on your other breast, his fingers teasing and rolling the tip that was beaded with milk. A whimper came tumbling from your lips then a drawn-out moan as they took turns worshipping your leaking breasts.

"Ahh— hnng... need your seed," you rasped, carding your fingers through their silky long hair.

"We need to prepare you mate,” Thorne said while kissing one lush rosy nipple and wetting the other with his tongue.

"I’m ready... ahh... I need your load."

Ragnor hummed. “Our mate is right. We need to fill her tight little holes. Hm?”

Thorne agreed, a smug grin playing on the lips.

Gently, you were lifted and placed onto Ragnor’s embrace. He carried you to the bed nearby and sat with you against his chest, your sensitive breasts leaking. His massive cock throbbed against your belly, slick with precum as you reached out and wrapped your hands around it. With sensual strokes, you pumped him up and down, the intimacy between you and your mates heightening.

You sensed Thorne presence behind you, his sinuous tail reaching for the bottle of lube in one of the drawers. You heard the slurp of lube then felt him take his place behind you, his cock wet against your back. With your free hand, you reached back to stroke his cock while his lubed fingers deftly parted your asscheeks, spread them wide, fingering your tight entrance and rubbing the swollen nub of your clit.

Thorne thrust a finger into your ass while stroking your clit with the other hand. Your thoughts turned into mush and you buckled your hips, the sensations electric. Another finger slid up your tight hole, the hand at your pussy moving with deliberate movements. You gasped and came with the most ridiculous moans, soaking wet and aching for more.

Sensing your need, your mates lifted you, their cocks poised beneath each quivering hole. Ragnor’s double cocks parted the folds of your pussy, his massive veined dicks thrusting upwards. Thorn’s shafts pressed insistently against the tight bud of your asshole. They guided you down until you were doubly impaled by their dicks.

Breath hitching, you squeezed your eyes shut.

You saw stars.

Pleasure and bliss.

They began their rhythmic thrusts and you whimpered, clutching onto their shoulders for dear life as they bounced you up and down on their naga dicks. Your body hummed with pleasure, the contractions barely catching your attention. Your nipples were hard and leaking, your holes clenching and unchecking around the invasions.

Your mates kissed your lips, your neck, your sensitive nipples. Their fingers roamed protectively over your belly, teasing and claiming you as you rode higher and higher. You rocked against them and rode them wildly, your juices leaking down your thighs and all over the cotton sheets.

Two more thrusts and you came crashing around their cocks, relief surging through you. Your naga mates groaned and followed the very next moment, their frames shaking violently as they spurted their seed inside you. The warmth filled you up, bringing immediate relief as the eggs seemed to settle within you.

“That’s it, such a good mate for us,” Ragnor murmured, kissing you softly. “How are you feeling, mama?”

“Better. Much better,” you said, your eyes and voice pleasure-hazed.

“It'll be okay," Thorne whispered into your ear. "Now we’re going to change positions and fill you up again, alright, love?”

You nodded, whining. You’d do anything to keep your eggs safe and you loved and needed your mates just as much.

“Let us take care of everything, love,” Ragnor said, kissing you softly once more.

A wet squelch echoed as the cocks exited your depths. Your mates held you in a way that kept most of their seed inside you, and quickly plugged you up. This time, Ragnor laid down, thrusting his dicks up your ass, while Thorne slid between your splayed legs, draped them over his green-scaled tail and filled your tight pussy. Their tails coiled around your breasts, squeezing them delightfully and making your nipples leak out milk. Thorne lapped it up greedily, while Ragnor reached down to play with your swollen clit.

“Haah, yessss, ahnnn, feels so good,” you moaned as you were worshiped and claimed in every way possible. “Hng-go…go…nna—”

You cried out at the dizzying explosion of yet another climax. Your toes, high in the air, curled tightly, and your hands clung frantically to Thorne, fingers digging into his bare back. Their movements grew frantic, desperate until they buried themselves to the hilt and exploded within you, pumping rope after rope of cum, groaning harshly in masculine satisfaction.

Their strong hands rubbed your belly possessively, feeling the gentle movements of the eggs inside you. They kissed you deeply, tongues intertwining, then rearranged your positions again. This time, you lay on your side between your mates. Thorne spooned you from behind, his tail wrapping around your knees and opening your legs. Growling, he thrusts his fat cocks into your pussy and ass. You were drenched, naga seed all over your mound and thighs.

“I say we fill her pretty mouth, too,” Thorne said, his voice thick with arousal. “I want to see her swallow your seed Ragnor, let it fill her stomach.”

Ragnor groaned and kneeled at your face, his cocks jutting proudly up to his bellybutton. “Open up, love,” he cooed. “We need to make sure you’re completely filled.

Ragnor guided his cockhead to your lips and you opened up, taking one of his dicks as deep as you could in your throat. You suckled his shaft with fervor, your tongue tracing the veiny ridges and swirling over the flared head. Your hands pumped his second cock and you alternated between the two while Thorne pounded into you, causing your tits to bounce.

“Fuck, you have no idea how beautiful you look, mate,” Ragnor muttered, watching your mouth, now filled with both his cocks, while Thorne’s dicks pistoned inside you.

“Mffgh— love—hffuh you,” you gurgled around the shafts in your mouth, wet slurping sounds filling the room.

“We love you, too, precious mate,” Throne said, hips snapping repeatedly, driving his shafts deep in your depths. “You’re doing great. We’re almost there. Just a little more, love.”

They settled into a sensual rhythm, Ragnor’s cock filling your mouth while Thorne thrust inside your pussy and ass, his hands gripping your hips to keep you steady. They whispered sweet nothings, their voices thick with praise and adoration: ”you’re doing so well”, “our brave, beautiful mate”. They caressed your tummy, pinched your breasts while their tails flicked your poor clit.

Little sparks of fire sizzled through your body and burned you up in a blissful climax. You trembled and writhed, and Ragnor withdrew his cock allowing you to cry out with ease. Thorne’s magnificent serpent body bucked and he came with a bellow, nipping at your shoulder while pumping his seed inside you. Once he was done, Ragnor slid back in your mouth, his fingers grasping your hair. He thrust once, twice and came, cocks pulsing with his release. You swallowed every single drop, and felt his hot load fill your belly.

“Damn, mate, you took all we had to give,” Thorne said affectionately, his cocks still nestled within you, plugging up the seed.

“Our mate is the strongest,” Ragnor said, kissing you passionately, his tongue tasting his seed in your mouth. “How are you feeling? The eggs?”

“I’m feeling… perfect,” you said with a soft smile. “The contractions are almost gone. When will the eggs come?”

Just in time, a knock echoed through the room. The doctor had returned and you would soon give birth to your eggs.

Any kind of support will make me smile so big! Feel free to share your thoughts and reblog! Next part will be the birth.

[elryuse]

ANTHEM pt.5

MULTIPLE FEMALE IDOLS X MALE READER

Tags : Harem, Sedcution, Kissing, Public Sex, Multiple Female Love Interest

Words : 4, 197 Words

For The Other Parts Of My ANTHEM Series, Please Kindly Check Over Here

The morning sun filtered through the blinds of Y/n’s room, casting soft stripes of light across his face. He groaned softly, stretching his arms above his head as he woke up to another day in the whirlwind that was ANTHEM. The events of the previous night with Yujin still lingered in his mind, the memory of her laughter under the shower spray fresh and vivid. But before he could dwell on it too long, his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

He reached for it, squinting at the screen. A text from Chaewon lit up the display:

“Oppa, good morning! Are you free today? I need your help with something…please don’t say no~ 🥺”

Y/n sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. Chaewon had been acting… different lately. She’d always been cheeky and playful, but recently, she’d been leaning into him more during practice, finding excuses to touch his arm or steal glances at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. He couldn’t deny there was something magnetic about her—her sharp wit, the way her eyes sparkled when she teased him, the way she seemed to know exactly how to get under his skin. But after everything with Karina, Wonyoung, and Yujin, he wasn’t sure if he was ready for… whatever this was.

Still, he typed out a reply: “Sure, what do you need?”

Her response came almost instantly: “I’ll pick you up in 30 minutes. Wear something casual but not too casual. Oh, and bring your mask!”

Thirty minutes later, Y/n stood outside their dorm building, dressed in a simple hoodie and jeans, his mask already in place. A black SUV pulled up, and Chaewon leaned out the window, grinning mischievously. “Get in, oppa!”

As soon as he slid into the passenger seat, Chaewon handed him a pair of sunglasses. “Here, put these on too. We can’t have anyone recognizing us, right?”

“Where are we even going?” Y/n asked, adjusting the glasses on his face.

“It’s a surprise,” she said, her voice sing-song as she pulled away from the curb. “Relax, oppa. Don’t be so serious all the time.”

They drove in comfortable silence for a while, Chaewon occasionally humming along to the radio. Y/n couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly stylish she looked, even in her paparazzi-proof outfit of an oversized sweater, leggings, and sneakers. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, with a few strands framing her face. She caught him looking and smirked. “See something you like?”

“Just wondering why you’re being so secretive,” he deflected, though his cheeks warmed under her teasing gaze.

Finally, they arrived at their destination: a small, brightly lit arcade tucked away in a quieter part of the city. The neon lights flashed against the windows, inviting them inside. Chaewon practically bounced out of the car, grabbing his hand as soon as he stepped out. “Come on, let’s go!”

Inside, the arcade was bustling with energy—the sounds of blaring game music, the clatter of tokens dropping into machines, and the excited shouts of players filled the air. Chaewon led him straight to the photobooth in the corner, its curtains slightly tattered but still colorful. “Let’s take some pictures!” she declared, already digging out a few coins.

“Chaewon, seriously?” Y/n laughed, shaking his head. “You dragged me all the way here for this?”

“Yes, seriously,” she replied, tugging him inside the booth. The space was tight, their bodies pressed together as she closed the curtain behind them. The screen flickered to life, displaying a countdown for the first photo.

Chaewon turned to him, her expression suddenly softer, more serious than he’d ever seen it. “Oppa,” she began, her voice low and quiet, “do you really not know why I wanted to come here with you?”

Y/n blinked, caught off guard by the shift in her tone. “Uh… because you like arcades?”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smile playing on her lips. “No, dummy. Because I wanted to spend time alone with you. Just you and me.”

Before he could respond, the photobooth’s camera snapped the first picture. Chaewon quickly leaned in closer, her fingers brushing against his arm as she tilted her head toward him. The second flash went off. Y/n’s heart began to race, his breath hitching as she looked up at him through her lashes. “Chaewon…”

“Shh,” she whispered, her hand sliding up to cup his cheek. “Stop thinking so much, oppa. Just… feel.”

And then she kissed him.

It started soft, tentative—just the briefest brush of her lips against his. But when Y/n didn’t pull away, Chaewon deepened the kiss, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed closer. The world outside the photobooth faded away, leaving only the two of them and the sound of their mingled breaths. Y/n’s hands found her waist, pulling her tightly against him as he responded with equal fervor.

The camera flashed again, capturing the moment as Chaewon broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

Y/n stared at her, dazed, his mind struggling to catch up with what was happening. “Chaewon, I—”

The camera flashed one final time, freezing the image of her grinning triumphantly before she pulled him back into another kiss. This time, it was fiercer, hungrier, her nails digging lightly into his shoulders as she poured every ounce of her pent-up feelings into it. Y/n groaned against her mouth, his hands slipping under her sweater to trace the curve of her spine.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their faces flushed. Chaewon rested her forehead against his, her voice barely audible over the hum of the arcade outside. “So… did you like my surprise?”

Y/n chuckled, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “Yeah, I liked it. A lot.”

“Good,” she said, her grin widening. “Because there’s more where that came from.”

Chaewon’s lips lingered close to his, her breath warm against his skin as she whispered, “So… what do you think about us? About this?” Her eyes searched his, a mix of playfulness and vulnerability flickering in their depths.

Y/n hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding. The air between them felt electric, charged with something unspoken but undeniable. He could still feel the ghost of her touch under his sweater, the warmth of her body pressed against his. “I think…” he started, voice low, “it’s complicated. You know that, right? With everything going on in the group…”

She tilted her head, her fingers trailing lightly down his arm until they interlaced with his. “Complicated doesn’t mean impossible,” she murmured, her tone soft but firm. “And I don’t care about complications if it means getting to have this. To have you.” There was a weight to her words, a sincerity that made Y/n’s chest tighten.

He swallowed hard, his mind racing. Karina’s confession, Wonyoung’s teasing, Yujin’s boldness—now Chaewon was laying her feelings bare. It felt like the walls were closing in, the web of emotions growing more entangled by the day. But with Chaewon staring at him like that, her lips slightly parted and her cheeks flushed from the intensity of their kiss, it was hard to focus on anything else.

“Chaewon,” he said quietly, squeezing her hand. “You know this isn’t just about us. The group… we can’t risk—”

She interrupted him with a shake of her head, her hair brushing against his cheek. “Stop thinking so much,” she said, her voice firm but tender. “For once, just let yourself feel. We’ve been dancing around this for weeks—maybe longer. Don’t you think it’s time we stopped pretending?”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. She was right, wasn’t she? Every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every playful tease—they had all been building toward this. And now, with her standing so close, her body pressed against his, it was impossible to deny the pull between them.

“Okay,” he breathed, his voice barely audible. “What do you want, Chaewon?”

A slow smile spread across her face, her eyes gleaming with something mischievous. “I want you to stop overthinking and kiss me again,” she said, her tone light but laced with desire.

Before he could respond, she leaned in, capturing his lips with hers. This kiss was different from the ones before—slower, deeper, more deliberate. Her hands slid up his chest, curling around the back of his neck as she pulled him closer. Y/n’s hands instinctively found her waist, gripping her tightly as he deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing against hers.

The world outside the photobooth faded away, leaving only the two of them and the heat building between them. When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other.

“That’s what I want,” Chaewon whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “I want us to explore this. To see where it could go. I don’t care about the others right now. I just… I care about you.”

Y/n’s heart clenched at her words. He wanted to say something—anything—to reassure her, to tell her he felt the same way. But before he could, she stepped back slightly, her hands sliding down to grip his.

“But I need you to be honest with me,” she continued, her gaze steady. “If this is too much, if you’re not ready… I’ll understand. But don’t keep me hanging, Y/n. Don’t make me guess.”

He squeezed her hands, his mind racing. How could he explain the whirlwind of emotions he was feeling? The guilt, the desire, the fear of what this could mean for the group—and for them?

“It’s not that simple,” he admitted, his voice rough. “You know that. With Karina, Wonyoung, Yujin… it’s not just about us. It’s about how this affects everyone.”

Chaewon nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. “I know,” she said softly. “And I’m not asking you to choose. I’m just asking you to give us a chance. To see where this could go. Isn’t that worth it?”

Y/n’s chest tightened at her words. She was giving him an out, a way to step back if he needed to. But as he looked into her eyes, he realized he didn’t want to. He wanted this. He wanted her.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice firm. “It’s worth it.”

A brilliant smile spread across Chaewon’s face, her eyes lighting up with joy. “Good,” she said, her voice full of relief. “Because I wasn’t planning on taking no for an answer.”

Y/n chuckled, pulling her closer. “You really are something else, you know that?”

She grinned, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “You have no idea,” she teased, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest. “Now, are you going to kiss me again, or do I have to take charge?”

His answer was to lean down and capture her lips once more, pouring every ounce of his pent-up emotions into the kiss. Chaewon responded eagerly, her hands sliding up his shoulders to tangle in his hair. The world outside the photobooth disappeared, leaving only the two of them and the fire burning between them.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their faces flushed. Chaewon rested her forehead against his, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “We should probably get out of here before someone catches us,” she murmured, though there was no urgency in her voice.

Y/n laughed softly, his hands still resting on her hips. “Probably. But I’m not ready to let you go yet.”

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Who said anything about letting go?” she said, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Meet me in my room tonight. We can continue this… privately.”

His heart skipped a beat at her words, his grip tightening on her waist. “Are you sure?”

She pulled back slightly, her gaze locking with his. “I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she said, her voice steady. “But only if you are.”

Y/n hesitated for a moment, the weight of her words settling over him. This wasn’t just about a fleeting moment of passion—this was a decision that could change everything. But as he looked into her eyes, he knew there was no turning back.

“I’m sure,” he said, his voice firm.

Chaewon’s smile widened, and she pressed one last, lingering kiss to his lips before stepping back. “Good,” she said, her voice full of promise. “Tonight, then. Don’t keep me waiting.”

The hallway was dimly lit, the faint hum of fluorescent lights casting long shadows as Chaewon led Y/n by the hand. Her fingers were warm and firm around his, pulling him closer with every step. Their footsteps echoed softly against the polished floor, but neither of them spoke—words felt unnecessary now. The tension between them had been building all day, a slow burn that had finally reached its breaking point.

When they reached her room, Chaewon turned to face him, her eyes dark with desire. She didn’t hesitate, pressing herself against him, her lips capturing his in a hungry kiss. Y/n groaned into her mouth, his hands instinctively finding her waist as he pulled her closer. The taste of her was intoxicating, sweet and sharp like cherry cola, and he couldn’t get enough.

Chaewon broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, “I’ve been waiting for this all night,” before dragging him inside and shutting the door behind them. The room was bathed in soft amber light, the curtains drawn tight, creating an intimate cocoon. Without warning, she pushed him backward until his legs hit the edge of the bed, and he fell onto it, bouncing slightly.

She stood over him, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she let out a low, breathy laugh. “You’re so eager,” she teased, her voice dripping with mischief. And then, with deliberate slowness, she began to undress.

First came her jacket, slipping off her shoulders like liquid silk. Then her top, revealing a lace bralette that clung to her curves in all the right places. Y/n’s breath hitched as he watched her, his body already responding to her every move. But she wasn’t done yet. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of her skirt, and with a slow, teasing tug, she let it fall to the floor, leaving her in nothing but her lingerie.

Y/n couldn’t help but stare, taking in every inch of her. Chaewon was beautiful—stunning, really—but there was something about the way she carried herself, the confidence radiating from her, that made her irresistible. She stepped closer, straddling him on the bed, her hands resting on his chest.

��Do you like what you see?” she purred, her voice low and husky.

Y/n nodded, swallowing hard. “More than you know.”

Her lips curved into a sultry smile, and she leaned down, her breath hot against his ear as she whispered, “Then don’t hold back.”

That was all the invitation he needed. In one swift motion, he flipped her onto her back, pinning her beneath him. The surprise in her eyes only fueled his hunger, and he kissed her deeply, his hands roaming her body as if trying to memorize every curve. She moaned into his mouth, her nails digging into his shoulders as she arched against him.

Their clothes disappeared in a flurry of movement, discarded carelessly on the floor. When Y/n finally entered her, Chaewon let out a gasp, her head falling back against the pillows as her body shuddered in response. He moved slowly at first, savoring the way she felt beneath him, the way her breathing quickened with every thrust.

But Chaewon wasn’t content to let him set the pace. Her hips bucked against his, urging him to go faster, harder, and he obliged, his own control slipping as the heat between them grew unbearable. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, filling the room with a symphony of pleasure.

“Y/n—” she gasped, her voice breaking as her nails raked down his back. “Don’t stop... please...”

He didn’t. Instead, he shifted his angle slightly, hitting a spot that made her cry out in ecstasy. Her eyes rolled back, her mouth falling open in an agegao expression that sent a jolt of primal satisfaction through him. She was completely lost in the moment, consumed by the intensity of their connection.

As her body tightened around him, signaling her climax, Y/n felt his own release building. With one final, powerful thrust, he spilled into her, their shared cries mingling in the air. For a moment, they stayed like that, their bodies pressed together, hearts racing in tandem.

When he finally pulled back, Chaewon looked up at him, her eyes glassy and unfocused, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips. “Wow,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were sure.”

Y/n chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Neither were you.”

She laughed softly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. “Guess we’re both full of surprises.”

Before he could respond, she propped herself up on one elbow, her gaze locking with his. There was something unspoken in her eyes, a question or maybe a promise, but before either of them could explore it further, the sound of voices outside the door made them freeze.

Both pairs of eyes darted toward the door, wide with panic. The last thing they needed was someone walking in on them like this. Chaewon quickly grabbed a pillow, covering herself as Y/n scrambled to find his boxers.

But before they could fully recover, the doorknob began to turn.

“Shit,” Chaewon hissed under her breath, her heart pounding. “What do we do?”

Y/n’s mind raced, but before he could come up with a plan, the door creaked open, revealing...

Chaewon’s eyes widened in panic as the door creaked open. Without hesitation, she grabbed Y/n by the arm and yanked him under the covers with her, pulling the blanket up to their chins just as the soft glow of the hallway light spilled into the room.

“Stay quiet,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, her lips brushing against his ear. Her breath was warm, sending a shiver down his spine despite the heat pooling between them.

The sound of footsteps followed, slow and deliberate, as whoever had entered lingered near the doorway. Y/n’s heart hammered against his chest, each beat echoing loudly in his ears. He could feel Chaewon’s body pressed tightly against his, her legs tangled with his own, her skin still flushed from their earlier passion. The thin fabric of the blanket did little to hide the warmth radiating between them, but neither dared to move.

“Chaewon?” came a familiar voice—Winter. She sounded tentative, like she wasn’t sure if she should be there. “Are you awake?”

Y/n froze, his eyes locking with Chaewon’s. Her expression was a mix of amusement and mischief, her lips curling into a sly smile despite the situation. She placed a finger over her own lips, silently urging him to stay still, then turned her head slightly toward the door.

“Uh… yeah,” Chaewon called back, her voice surprisingly steady. “What’s up? I was just about to sleep.”

There was a pause, and Y/n could practically hear Winter’s hesitation. His mind raced, trying to figure out how they were going to get out of this without raising suspicion. But Chaewon seemed unfazed, her fingers tracing light patterns on his chest beneath the blanket, her touch both soothing and electrifying.

“I… couldn’t sleep,” Winter admitted finally, her voice softer now. “I thought maybe we could talk or something.”

Chaewon bit her lip, her hand stilling for a moment before she sighed softly. “Sorry, Unnie. I’m really tired tonight. Maybe tomorrow?”

Another pause. Y/n could almost picture Winter standing there, her arms crossed, her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of the situation. He prayed she wouldn’t come closer, wouldn’t notice the faint rise and fall of the blankets or the way Chaewon’s breathing hitched ever so slightly when her fingers brushed against his stomach.

“Alright,” Winter said finally, though she didn’t sound entirely convinced. “Sleep well, then.”

The footsteps retreated, and the door clicked shut, plunging the room back into semi-darkness. For a moment, neither of them moved, listening intently for any sign that Winter might change her mind and return. When it became clear she was gone, Chaewon let out a low laugh, her body relaxing against his.

“That was close,” she murmured, her lips curving into a grin. Her hand resumed its exploration, trailing lower now, and Y/n sucked in a sharp breath. “Too close.”

“You’re insane,” Y/n replied, his voice hushed but laced with disbelief. He could feel the tension coiling in his gut again, threatening to unravel as her fingers danced dangerously close to where he wanted her most. “What if she had seen us?”

Chaewon tilted her head, her gaze locking with his. “She didn’t,” she said simply, as if that settled everything. “And besides…” She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his neck, her words hot against his skin. “Wouldn’t that have been exciting?”

Y/n groaned softly, his hands instinctively finding her waist and pulling her closer. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, though he couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. “What if someone else comes in?”

“Then we’ll be quiet this time,” Chaewon replied, her tone teasing but her eyes filled with desire. She shifted slightly, straddling him beneath the blanket, her weight pressing deliciously against him. “Unless you want me to stop?”

He didn’t answer—he couldn’t. Instead, his hands slid up her back, pulling her down into a searing kiss. Their lips met with a hunger that sent sparks shooting through him, her tongue parting his as she deepened the kiss. Her hips rolled against his, the friction drawing a low groan from his throat.

“Quiet,” she reminded him, her breath hitching as she rocked against him again. Her movements were slow, deliberate, designed to drive him mad. And it was working. Every brush of her skin against his sent waves of pleasure crashing through him, every gasp and sigh from her lips only fueling his need.

Her hands roamed freely now, exploring every inch of him she could reach. She kissed along his jaw, his neck, her teeth grazing his skin in a way that made him shudder. When her lips found his ear, she whispered, “You’re mine tonight,” and the possessiveness in her voice sent a jolt of arousal straight to his core.

Y/n’s hands gripped her thighs, his fingers digging into her soft skin as he held her in place. “Chaewon…” he breathed, his voice strained with need. “We can’t—”

“Shh,” she interrupted, silencing him with another kiss. Her hips moved again, grinding against him in a rhythm that left no room for argument. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

And he did. Every touch, every movement, every whisper of her name against his skin blurred together into a haze of pleasure. The world outside the blanket ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them, lost in each other.

But just as the tension reached its peak, the sound of voices outside the door shattered the moment. Y/n tensed, his eyes darting toward the door as muffled laughter drifted in from the hallway. Chaewon froze above him, her breath coming in shallow puffs as she listened.

“Quick,” she whispered, sliding off him and pulling the blanket up higher. “Underneath me.”

Y/n didn’t argue, shifting so that she was lying on top of him, her body shielding his from view. The door handle turned again, and this time, multiple voices filtered into the room.

“Chaewon? Are you still awake?” It was Karina this time, her tone light and playful.

“We brought snacks!” added Winter, her voice cheerful now.

Chaewon propped herself up on one elbow, doing her best to look sleepy and disheveled. “Can’t you guys leave me alone for one night?” she complained, though her voice lacked any real annoyance.

Karina chuckled, stepping further into the room. “Come on, don’t be such a loner. We haven’t hung out properly in ages.”

Y/n held his breath, praying they wouldn’t notice the slight indent in the mattress where he lay hidden beneath Chaewon. Her hand found his beneath the blanket, squeezing gently in reassurance.

“Fine,” Chaewon sighed dramatically, sinking back down onto Y/n in a way that made him grit his teeth. “But if you wake me up again, I’m kicking you all out.”

The girls laughed, their voices fading as they began to chatter among themselves. Y/n could feel Chaewon’s body shaking slightly with suppressed laughter, her face buried in his shoulder to muffle the sound.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” he muttered, his lips brushing against her ear.

Chaewon grinned against his skin. “Maybe a little.” She shifted slightly, her knee brushing against him in a way that made him bite back a groan. “But don’t worry… I’ll make it up to you later.”

Y/n had no doubt she would. But for now, all he could do was lie there, his heart pounding as he waited for the girls to leave—and for Chaewon to make good on her promise…

[rememberwren]

/•Harmless Fun 8•\

Former and further chapters here.

You (fem!reader) and Johnny and Simon watch a movie. CW: Fingering, handjobs, cum-eating. For @/laughroditee.

-

Sharing a bathroom with Johnny and Simon turns out to be a lot more invasive than you expected. 

It's not actually the bathroom that’s the invasive part. That is no more invasive than sharing any public space, really. You’re a little more secretive with your tampons, and they’re likely a little more stringent in their efforts to clean up after themselves. Even-Steven and all that. You’re all very careful to never even so much as knock when the door is closed, lest you disturb the person within. 

The worst part is that the bathroom can only be accessed through your bedroom. 

You had envisioned (somehow, sillily) that they would only need the bathroom during daylight hours, and likely when you weren’t home. You trusted them not to go through your belongings, but it felt so personal for Johnny to knock on your door and ask to piss when you’re dressed in your skimpy relaxing clothes (the ones you don’t even subject the rest of the apartment to). 

It felt even more personal to wake up in the night to the water running and catch Simon coming out of the bathroom twenty minutes later with dripping hair in nothing but one of his compression t-shirts and boxer-briefs. The two of you freeze at the sight of the other. He jerks a thumb toward the shower, like that explains everything. You hold up a sleepy thumbs-up, though you’re decidedly less sleepy than you were twenty minutes before you were given a front row seat to just how thick Simon’s thighs are. 

Laying in bed, smelling the steam and scent of Simon’s body wash waft gently from the bathroom, if you roll over onto your belly and slip a hand down your panties, nobody ever has to know. 

Except that’s a problem too. Your time for dedicated masturbating (not the frantic, haphazard rubbing-one-out that you’ve taken to since the other bathroom flooded) has decreased dramatically. Before, you would have felt no guilt locking the door and taking care of your own needs—but now just beyond your door was an intrinsic piece of the apartment. You couldn’t just lock your roommates out and tell Johnny or Simon to come back later. You had to be accessible.  It was a nightmare. 

Johnny was the opposite of a help. He was happy to let you rub against his cock (and more than once you’d come to one of those superficial, limb-tingling orgasms) but he was masterful at distracting you from asking for more. 

It led to some stressful days. 

Today was a bad pain day for Johnny, which had turned him sullen and taciturn. He spent most of the day stationed on the couch (finding every excuse to avoid standing up) and in charge of the remote control. It didn’t help that repairs were being done to the bathroom today, with strangers filtering in and out of the apartment. Simon hadn’t been able to go out on a single run, and you could tell that he was drawn tense as a bowstring. 

You made it a personal mission to remain in your bedroom during the repairs, anxious at the strange men in the apartment and the tense feelings tangible in the air. 

By the time dinner rolls around and the repair people are gone, you are eager to be outside of your own four walls. You can’t help craving Johnny and Simon’s company—or any company really, after an entire day spent listening to drills and hammering, feeling trapped thanks to your own social anxiety. Simon helps Johnny to the balcony and lets him smoke, the tension in his shoulders melting away some. By the time dinner rolls around, Johnny is in a better mood, and starving. 

All three of you eat at the sofa instead of the table, brushing elbows and thighs and trying not to make messes of yourselves. A cool breeze comes in with the evening, and Simon stands to shut the balcony doors. 

“Sit with me?” Johnny asks, spreading his thighs. 

You frown. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Then be gentle to me, aye?” 

You sit with your back against his chest, his arms looped around you. “Jesus, yer freezing.” 

“You’re warm,” you murmur, pressing yourself more firmly against him, careful not to jostle his bad thigh. Simon takes a seat at the other end of the couch and you meet his eye accidentally—but he doesn’t look angry. There’s something surprisingly tender and fond in his gaze. He overhears your conversation and drags the duvet off the back of the couch, laying it over you both. Immediately you are swathed in warmth, melting deeper against Johnny. You loop your arms through his, keeping them wrapped securely around you. 

The three of you get sucked into a movie on the television—some of you more than others. 

It’s hard for you to focus on anything besides Johnny and the ache between your legs. Being so close to him has awoken it, stoked it from embers into a deep burn. It doesn’t help when one of his hands drifts down to grip your thigh softly, thumb stroking dangerously high on the inseam of your leggings. 

Your thighs inch open a little, hoping you can pass it off as just getting comfortable, but Johnny seems to take no notice at all, his eyes glued to the television screen. Sometimes he makes a comment to Simon about the plot, and the other man will hum in agreement. 

His other hand gets restless and slips beneath the hem of your t-shirt to rest against your belly, calloused fingertips trailing softly over smooth skin. Something must give you away—a sound or a movement—because his lips brush your ear as he whispers: “Okay?” 

You nod, not trusting your voice. You’re okay. You’re dying, but it’s fine. His thumb finds the crease of your pelvis and traces along it. You’re so sticky between your thighs that you’re sure you could hear it if you shifted too much. Something about his distracted touches make you feel combustible, like C4 in his hands. 

Johnny’s hand on your belly drifts up—you catch it with your hand. 

“‘M not wearing a bra,” you mutter. 

He snorts softly, breath ruffling your hair. “Trust me. I know,” he says. Then his thumb brushes the full softness of your breast. “Been thinking about it all night.”

“Do you two mind?” Simon says dryly, popping the soap bubble of arousal that Johnny had created around you both. You tense, shame in your belly. How horny did you have to be to be willing to let Johnny touch you on the same couch Simon was sitting on?  

“Sorry,” you mutter. 

Johnny nails him with a throw pillow in the chest, asking: “Do you mind?” 

Simon’s head turns away from the telly, the pillow resting innocuously in his lap. He’s got the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen, nearly black in the dim light. The television lights up the edge of him, throwing his features into sharp, harsh light. 

“No,” he says at length. “Play wherever you want.”

The three of you turn back toward the movie, not a single set of eyes truly watching it. With Simon’s explicit permission, Johnny’s hand comes up to cup your breast softly, thumb stroking over your puckered nipple. A sound slips from your throat—you can’t help it. 

“Pent up?” Johnny asks. You can hear the grin in his voice. 

“Be nice to me,” you mumble. 

Simon snorts softly at the other end of the sofa. Then Johnny pinches your nipple gently between his thumb and forefinger, and the pleasant ache goes straight to your clit. 

“Fuck,” you sigh. 

“Like it?” he asks. 

You nod. 

“Want more?” Your head nearly disconnects with the force of your nod. If he doesn’t touch you, you might go mad. Merciless, Johnny says: “Ask for it, and I’ll give it to you.”

You swallow, mouth dry. “Johnny…”

He hums. 

You turn your head a little, til you can see him out of the periphery of your vision. It’s on the tip of your tongue to ask for him to touch you, to kiss you maybe. But instead something more honest comes: “Johnny—do whatever you want to me.” 

 Johnny groans, burying his face in your hair. “You hearin’ her, LT?” 

“I hear.”

“Sweet as can fuckin’ be,” Johnny says, pressing the words to the soft skin beneath your ear. “Stay that sweet, no matter what I do, aye? Now watch the movie.”

You turn your eyes back to the television. It’s just a conglomeration of color and shapes that your eyes follow, but your brain doesn’t register a lick of what’s happening. All you can think about are Johnny’s hands, the way they cup your breasts. He touches you like you’re something precious, something friable and likely to come undone if he presses too firmly. He hums, a pleased little sound in the back of his throat and rolls your nipples between his fingers. 

Your thoughts leak out of your ears the longer that he toys with your body. It’s hard to sit still with how bad you need something in your pussy—you’re so turned on that it hurts. Against your back you can feel the solid line of his erection and you wish that you were in a position to get your hands on him, to map the shape of him beneath his sweatpants. 

When your mouth is dry from panting, your hands aching from the way your nails have bitten into your palms, Johnny finally smooths a hand down your tummy and cups your pussy over your leggings., your cunt a match for the burning heat of his palm. 

“Stop me if you don’t want it,” he says, coming to slip his fingertips beneath the waistband of your panties. 

“I want it—Johnny please—“ 

Simon shifts on the couch beside you both, and it draws your eyes to him, your face burning hot. He isn’t even looking at you, is instead staring at the television with a bored expression. At your movement, his eyes flicker to meet your own, and his mouth quirks at the edge. Against your will, your eyes shift down to where his cock would be visible— 

His knuckles are pale where he clenches a hold of the throw pillow in his lap. He flexes his fingers when he catches you looking, working the circulation back into them, but it’s too late to hide. Simon isn’t unaffected by this—you’d swear that he was turned on too, and the thought makes the last little whisper in your head (the one that says this is nogoodbadwrong) quiet. 

Johnny slips his hand into your underwear and finds you soaked, the fabric sodden where it drags along the back of his fingers. His cock twitches against your back. 

“Fuck, y’re wet,” he groans. “Just from having your tits played with?”

“It counts as foreplay for a reason.”

Johnny laughs, breath brushing your temple. His fingers sink into your folds before you can say anything else, stroking deep along the length of your sex which is so tender it feels like a blissful bruise. Your hips jerk upward into the touch, and his fingertips nearly slip inside you. Instead he tempers his movements, careful to follow along with the motion of your hips to keep from giving you any more stimulation than he’s ready to.

“Easy,” he breathes. “Relax—just let me play with you.”

I’ve had enough playing, you think to yourself, eyes rolling. But you work to loosen your death grip on the blankets around you, work to relax your hips until they rest back against Johnny’s cock again. 

He plays with you like this: the lightest brush of his fingertips along your vulva, spreading your wetness all over you. Sometimes his thumb will find your clit and stroke over it, but more often than not he avoids it altogether, content to play with the rest of your pussy, to coax more slick from it until his every touch is audible over the sound of the television. 

Simon must surely hear it. The thought makes you clench around nothing, an unhappy sound rising up in the back of your throat. 

Eventually, something happens to you—something breaks in you, maybe. You go soft and pliant against him, your hips still even when he slips two fingers inside you easy as anything, stroking along your walls as best as he can from this angle. Your noises are louder, too, like the muffler dampening them has rusted and worn away. When he sinks inside you, you let out a groan that has Johnny laughing softly against you. 

“Oh, she’s hungry, isn’t she? You’ve been starvin’ her, haven’t you?” 

He’s talking about your pussy. Jesus. 

“Haven’t,” you pant. “Not on purpose, I—“ 

Johnny just hushes you softly. “It’s alright. Bet you need it so bad, it hurts, don’t you?” 

You nod against his chest, tears filling your eyes, this foggy headspace amplifying your own emotions like an echo chamber. 

“I’ll make it all better,” Johnny promises. He slips his fingers free from you and drags the burning, wet warmth of them up over your clit. 

Just a few firm circles, and you’re climbing that peak, the cord in your belly drawn tighter and tighter until it snaps and sends you free falling, your back arching against Johnny’s chest. Frantic, you reach down and grip his wrist, urging his fingers lower until they slip back inside you, filling you up just right as you clench and spasm around them. The meaty part of his palm rubs against your clit and it’s enough to make you cum again before you’ve properly finished the first time, a choked gasp born and dying in your mouth as he fucks you through it with his fingers. 

Your body goes limp against him. This, this is what you needed.

Awareness filters back, your fingers cramping with the strength you use to grip Johnny’s wrist. You let him go, muttering a sorry. You admit: “It feels better to cum when there’s something inside me.” 

“I’ll remember that,” he says, voice rough. He nuzzles against your temple. Carefully, he withdraws his hand from inside your panties and holds it up to the light; he is slick all over from palm to fingertip. Fuzzy headspace gone, you have plenty of room inside now for embarrassment, your face warming as you bury it in your hands. “Jesus, make me still. You made a mess of me. Who gets them?” 

“Who—? Gets what?” 

He wiggles his fingers. You pull a face. 

“Don’t like the taste of yourself?” Johnny asks mildly. 

“Never tried it I guess,” you admit. Is that a silly thing? That you’ve never tasted your own cum? You wish you hadn’t admitted it, anxious about looking like a prude (which you are anything but, thanks. See the casual sex with your married roommate for more information) but Johnny just brushes over it like it’s nothing. 

“Would you like to?” Johnny asks. It’s on the tip of your tongue to say no, but at the last moment you decide what the hell. You open your mouth, and obligingly, Johnny feeds his first two fingers past your lips to let them rest on your tongue. It doesn’t really taste like anything—clean, a hint of musk. Feminine. Not at all what you had expected. You take Johnny’s wrist when he goes to pull away and lick his palm clean, relishing in his stuttered breath. “Converted you, didn’t I?”

“I think I converted myself, thanks.” Speaking of thanks—you toss the blanket off of you both and slip down to the floor at Johnny’s feet, turning around to rest your hands gently on his knees, hyper aware of his bad thigh. Johnny’s cock stretches his sweatpants obscenely, the fabric darkened around the head from how much he had been leaking pressed against your back. “Let me return the favor.” 

“It’s not about being reciprocal,” Johnny says smoothly. 

“Big word, Johnny,” Simon says. It makes you jolt. You had nearly forgotten that he was there—he is so quiet and still, unmoving on the other end of the sofa. God, he had watched you lick Johnny’s hand clean. The thought makes your face flush with warmth, though he seems cool and calm as anything, not repulsed like you might have expected. 

“I know a few, aye,” Johnny says, eyes rolling. He admits to you: “Math is my strong suit.” 

“Well, subtract your pants.” 

Johnny guffaws. It takes him work, wincing as pressure is placed on his bad thigh, but eventually he is able to draw his cock free, and fuck, what a cock it is. He’s uncut, thick. Just looking at him, you can tell that the stretch of him inside you would be blissful. It’s almost enough to have you aching again between the legs. 

You reach out and then hesitate. “Can I?”

“‘course you can,” he says. “Don’t take this as any representation of my stamina, I’ll have you know—“ 

“Tighter.” 

You both glance towards Simon. He’s loosened his grip on the throw pillow, though it still rests in his lap. He’s abandoned any facade of watching the television and has angled his body towards you where your hand looks downright dainty wrapped around Johnny’s cock. 

“What?” you ask him, unsure if you heard him correctly. 

He wets his lips and says: “Johnny likes a firm grip.” 

Your hand tightens, reflexively responding to the instruction, and Johnny groans above you. Precum leaks from the head, dripping down over your knuckles. 

“That’s it,” Simon says softly. “Good. Go ahead.” 

Maybe that ache between your legs wasn’t as gone as you had thought. Grip firm, you give Johnny a single, slick stroke from head to base, and it has his head lolling back against the couch cushions, his groan echoing around the apartment. 

“Don’t team up against me,” Johnny breathes. “Please, I already don’t stand a chance.” 

“Twist on the upstroke, if your wrist can manage it,” Simon says, eyes glittering as he watches your hand work over his husband. “Just like that—keep doing just that and—” 

Johnny sucks in a breath, wrenching the hem of his t-shirt up just as his cock bursts, pale seed splattering his tanned abs as his face twists with pleasure, eyes screwed tightly shut. His hips jerk upward on instinct until he hisses out a pained breath, and Simon shifts to reach out and place his broad palm over Johnny’s bare sternum, urging him into stillness as you work every last bit of cum from his cock. 

“Jesus,” he groans, palming at his eyes when you have finished. 

“Your turn,” you tease, holding up two sticky fingers to Johnny’s mouth. 

Johnny laughs. He takes your wrist—guides it towards Simon. 

You expect Simon to refuse—not because of Johnny’s cum, but because of your fingers. Simon looks like he thinks about refusing, his eyes careful as he looks over your hand and then your face, examining the slope of your brows, the raised corners of your mouth even as it likely slips into an anxious frown. He takes your wrist gently and brings your fingers to his mouth. His tongue is burning hot where it laps between your fingers. 

You stare, wide-eyed. 

Simon doesn’t stop until your hand is clean. 

[octaneink]

Not just you, not just me. Us.

Harry Lewis x Reader

Summary : The Reader and Harry go golfing on Valentines, even though the Reader has never gone and isn't really enjoy it but it ends on a high when they get some food and watch a film Warnings: None Notes: Happy (late) Valentines Day All 😚💕Also I hope this was alright!

You woke up to the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the curtains, the warmth of the blankets cocooning you in a sleepy haze. Your phone buzzed on the night stand, and you reached for it, squinting at the screen. A text from Harry lit up the display: “Good morning, love! Happy Valentine’s Day! Wear something comfy—we’re going golfing!”

Golfing? You blinked, trying to process the words. You’d never played golf in your life. The closest you’d ever gotten to a golf course was watching Happy Gilmore on a lazy Sunday afternoon. But Harry sounded so excited in his text, his enthusiasm practically radiating through the screen. You didn’t want to disappoint him, so you dragged yourself out of bed, showered and threw on some comfortable clothes, and texted back, “Can’t wait!”

When Harry picked you up, he was practically bouncing with energy. He had a big grin on his face, his golf bag slung over his shoulder, and a thermos of coffee in his hand. “For you,” he said, handing it to you with a kiss on the cheek. “I know you’re not a morning person, so I thought you might need this.”

You smiled, taking the thermos gratefully. The coffee was perfect—just the way you liked it—and you felt a little flutter in your chest at how thoughtful he was. “Thank you,” you said, sipping it as he drove. “So, golfing, huh? What made you decide on that?”

He glanced at you, his eyes sparkling. “I just thought it’d be fun to do something different for Valentine's Day, I’ve never heard about it being a date. Which is a big missed opportunity. Plus, I’ve been wanting to teach you how to play. It’ll be a blast, I promise.”

You nodded, trying to match his enthusiasm, but a tiny knot of anxiety formed in your stomach. What if you were terrible at it? What if you embarrassed yourself? But Harry was so happy, and you didn’t want to ruin his plans. So, you pushed your worries aside and let him lead the way.

The golf course was breathtaking, a sprawling expanse of rolling green hills that seemed to stretch endlessly under the vast, open sky. The sun hung high, casting a golden glow over the perfectly manicured fairways, and a crisp, refreshing breeze carried the faint scent of freshly cut grass. The sky was a flawless shade of blue—which was surprising for the UK—dotted with a few wispy clouds that drifted lazily overhead. It was the kind of day that made you want to stop and just breathe it all in—the beauty, the peace, the quiet.

Harry was practically vibrating with excitement as he led you to the first tee, his golf bag slung over one shoulder and a wide grin on his face. He handed you a club, his eyes sparkling as he began to explain the basics. “Okay, so first things first,” he said, positioning himself behind you. “You want to hold the club like this.” He gently adjusted your grip, his hands warm and steady against yours. “And stand with your feet shoulder-width apart. Keep your knees slightly bent. Yeah, just like that.”

You nodded along, trying to absorb everything he was saying, but your mind was racing. Golf seemed so complicated—so many rules, so many tiny adjustments. When it was finally your turn to take a shot, you took a deep breath, swung the club, and… the ball barely moved. It rolled a few feet and then stopped, pathetically short of the hole.

Harry chuckled, the sound warm and light. “It’s okay!” he said, stepping closer. “You’ll get the hang of it. Here, let me show you again.” He demonstrated the swing, his movements smooth and effortless, and then handed the club back to you. “Try it like that.”

You tried again and again, but no matter how hard you focused, your shots were either too weak or veered wildly off course. One particularly bad swing sent the ball flying sideways, straight into a cluster of trees. You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I’m hopeless,” you muttered, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

But Harry just laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re not hopeless,” he said, walking over to you. “You’re learning. And honestly, you’re doing way better than I did my first time. I think I whiffed—like, completely missed the ball—at least five times.”

You peeked at him from behind your hands. “Really?”

“Really?” he said, grinning. “It’s all part of the process. You’re supposed to be bad at it at first. That’s what makes it fun.”

By the time you reached the third hole, your arms were already starting to ache. The sun felt hotter now, and the breeze that had been so refreshing earlier did little to cool you down. Harry, on the other hand, was in his element. He was practically glowing with enthusiasm, his laughter ringing out across the course as he effortlessly sank one shot after another. At one point, he made a particularly difficult putt and celebrated with a little victory dance, spinning around and pumping his fist in the air. You couldn’t help but laugh, despite your growing frustration.

“Show-off,” you teased, shaking your head.

He grinned, walking over to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Hey, I’m just trying to impress you,” he said, his voice warm and playful. “Admit it—you’re a little impressed.”

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, leaning into him. “But I’m still terrible at this.”

“Nah, you’re doing great,” he said, squeezing your shoulder. “It’s your first time. You’re supposed to be bad at it. That’s part of the fun.”

You wanted to believe him, but as the hours passed, your frustration grew. Your arms ached from swinging the club, your feet hurt from walking the course, and you were pretty sure you’d developed a blister on your hand. Meanwhile, Harry was still in his element, laughing and joking as he effortlessly sank one shot after another. At one point, he even started narrating his swings in a dramatic commentator’s voice, making you laugh despite yourself.

By the sixth hole, you were starting to feel the strain. Your hands were sore, your back was stiff, and the blister on your hand had definitely gotten worse. You tried to hide your discomfort, forcing a smile every time Harry looked your way, but it was getting harder and harder to keep up the act. When you completely missed the ball on your next swing, sending the club flying out of your hands and into the grass, you let out a frustrated sigh.

Harry rushed over, his expression concerned. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, picking up the club and handing it back to you.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… clumsy, I guess.”

He studied your face for a moment, his brow furrowing. “You sure? You seem a little… off.”

“I’m fine,” you repeated, your voice a little sharper than you intended. “Really. Let’s just keep going.”

Harry hesitated but then nodded, his smile returning. “Alright, if you say so. But if you need a break, just let me know, okay?”

“I will,” you said, though you had no intention of doing so. You didn’t want to ruin his fun, not when he was so clearly enjoying himself.

By the time you reached the ninth hole, you were exhausted. Your arms felt like jelly, your feet were throbbing, and the blister on your hand was now a full-blown annoyance. But Harry was still grinning, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he slung an arm around your shoulders. “This is so much fun, isn’t it?” he said, his voice full of enthusiasm.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “So much fun.”

You wanted to mean it, you really did. But as you walked back to the clubhouse, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, you couldn’t help but feel a little relieved that the day was almost over. You loved Harry, and you loved seeing him so happy, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t how Valentine’s Day was supposed to feel. It wasn’t until you were sitting in the clubhouse, sipping a drink and staring out at the sunset, that Harry finally noticed something was off.

Harry tilted his head, studying your face with a soft, concerned expression. “Hey,” he said gently, reaching over to take your hand. His touch was warm, grounding. “Are you okay? You’ve been quiet for a while.”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening slightly around his. You didn’t want to ruin his mood—he’d been so happy all day, so full of energy and joy. But the way he was looking at you, his eyes searching yours with such genuine care, made it impossible to keep it all in. “I’m just… not really a golf person,” you admitted, your voice quiet. “I’ve never played before, and I’m not very good at it. I didn’t want to say anything because you were having such a great time, but… it’s not really my thing.”

Harry’s face fell, his brows knitting together in concern. “Oh no,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think about that. I just got so excited about sharing something I love with you that I didn’t stop to consider whether you’d enjoy it too.”

You shook your head quickly, not wanting him to feel bad. “No, no, it’s not that I didn’t enjoy it at all,” you said, your words tumbling out in a rush. “I mean, I loved spending the day with you, and watching you have so much fun made me happy. It’s just… I think I would’ve enjoyed it more if it wasn’t Valentine’s Day, you know? Like, maybe if we’d done this on a random weekend, it would’ve felt different. But today felt like it was supposed to be… I don’t know, more us, you know? Something we both love equally.”

Harry’s expression softened, and he squeezed your hand. “I get that,” he said, his voice gentle. “I really do. I guess I got so caught up in the idea of doing something different that I didn’t think about how it might feel for you. I’m sorry if it felt like I wasn’t considering what you wanted.”

You looked down at your hands, feeling guilty for bringing it up. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier because you were so into it,” you admitted. “You were laughing and smiling, and I didn’t want to ruin that. I thought maybe if I just pushed through, it would get better. But by the end of it, I was just so tired and frustrated, and I couldn’t keep pretending.”

Harry’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand, his touch soothing. “You don’t ever have to pretend with me,” he said, his voice firm but kind. “I want you to tell me when something’s not working for you. I never want you to feel like you have to suck it up just to make me happy. Your happiness matters just as much as mine, okay?”

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Okay,” you whispered. “I just… I didn’t want to disappoint you. You seemed so excited about today.”

“I was excited because I was with you,” he said, his tone earnest. “Not because of the golf. I mean, yeah, I love golf, but I love you more. And if you’re not having a good time, then I’m not having a good time either. Not really.”

You smiled faintly, your heart swelling at his words. “I did have fun, though,” you said. “Just… not the way I thought I would. I loved seeing you so happy, and I loved being outside with you. It was beautiful out there. I just think maybe golf isn’t my thing. Or at least, not for Valentine’s Day.”

Harry chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Noted,” he said. “No more golf on Valentine’s Day. Got it.” He paused, then grinned. “How about we make it up to you? Let’s grab some food—your favourite—and then we can go home and watch a movie. Something you pick. No golf, I promise.”

You laughed, the sound light and relieved. “That sounds perfect.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “And next year,” he said, “we’ll do something we love. Deal?”

“Deal,” you said, leaning into him. And as the two of you sat there, hand in hand, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the hills, you realised that even though the day hadn’t gone exactly as planned, it had still been pretty perfect. Harry’s arm was warm around your shoulders, his presence steady and comforting, and you couldn’t help but smile as the tension of the day melted away.

“Come on,” Harry said, standing up and pulling you gently to your feet. “Let’s get out of here. I think we’ve both had enough of golf for one day.”

You laughed, the sound light and relieved. “I think you mean I’ve had enough of golf for one day. You looked like you were having the time of your life.”

He grinned, slinging his golf bag over his shoulder and taking your hand. “Yeah, well, even I have my limits. And right now, my limit is how hungry I am. Let’s get some food.”

The two of you walked to the car, the cool evening air brushing against your skin. The sky was now a deep shade of indigo, dotted with the first few stars of the night. Harry opened the car door for you, his hand lingering on yours for a moment as you slid into the seat. “So,” he said, leaning against the door frame, “what are you in the mood for? Takeaway? Something greasy and delicious?”

You pretended to think about it for a moment, tapping your chin dramatically. “Hmm… greasy and delicious sounds perfect. How about that little Indian place we love? The one with the amazing samosas?”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “Yes. A thousand times yes. And we’re getting extra naan. No arguments.”

“Deal,” you said, laughing as he closed the door and jogged around to the driver’s side.

The drive to the takeaway was short, the streets quiet as the evening settled in. Harry kept one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your knee, his thumb tracing little circles as he hummed along to the radio. When you arrived, he insisted on going in to pick up the food while you waited in the car. “You’ve had a long day,” he said, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Just relax. I’ll be right back.”

You watched him disappear into the restaurant, a soft smile on your face. Despite the chaos of the day, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. Harry had a way of making everything feel right, even when it wasn’t.

When he returned, he was carrying two large paper bags, the smell of spices and warm bread wafting through the car. “I may have gone a little overboard,” he admitted, setting the bags on your lap. “But I figured we deserve it.”

You peeked inside, your stomach growling at the sight of samosas, butter chicken, biryani, and, of course, an absurd amount of naan. “This is definitely overboard,” you said, laughing. “But I’m not complaining.”

Back at Harry’s place, the two of you spread out on the couch, the coffee table piled high with food. You insisted on putting on Four Lions, one of the films that the both of you can enjoy without complaints, and the opening credits were just starting as you dug into the food.

“You know,” Harry said, tearing off a piece of naan and dipping it into the butter chicken, “I think this might be the best Valentine’s Day ever.”

You raised an eyebrow, popping a samosa into your mouth. “Really? Even after the golf?”

He laughed, leaning back against the cushions. “Especially after the golf. I mean, yeah, it wasn’t exactly what you’d call romantic, but it was… us. And now we’re here, eating amazing food and watching an amazing movie. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “You’re such a dork.”

“Your dork,” he corrected, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. His grin was wide and playful, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your cheek. But as he pulled back, you noticed a faint smear of butter chicken sauce on his lips—and now, unfortunately, on your cheek.

“Harry,” you said, trying to stifle a laugh, “you’ve got sauce on your lips. And now I’ve got sauce on my face.”

He blinked, then glanced at the naan in his hand, which was dripping with the rich, orange sauce. “Oh,” he said, his tone mock-serious. “Well, that’s just a bonus. Now you smell delicious.”

You groaned, eyes rolling in mock annoyance and shaking your head as you reached for a napkin. “You’re actually so annoying.”

But before you could wipe it off, he stopped you, his hand gently catching your wrist. “Wait, wait,” he said, his voice teasing. “I think I missed a spot.” He leaned in again, this time deliberately pressing a sloppy, exaggerated kiss to the same spot on your cheek, leaving an even bigger smear of sauce.

“Harry!” You squealed, half-laughing, half-trying to push him away. “You’re the worst!”

“No, I’m the best,” he said, grinning as he pulled back, his own cheek now slightly smeared with sauce from where it had brushed against yours. “Now we match. Couple goals, right?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you grabbed a napkin and started wiping your cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you,” he shot back, his tone dripping with exaggerated cheesiness. He even winked, which made you groan and throw a small piece of naan at him.

“You’re impossible,” you said, shaking your head, but you were smiling so wide your cheeks hurt.

“Impossibly charming,” he corrected, catching the naan midair and taking a triumphant bite. “Admit it. You love me.”

“I do,” you said, leaning into him and resting your head on his shoulder. “Even when you’re covered in butter chicken sauce.”

He laughed, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere. Sauce and all.”

As the movie played, the two of you laughed until your sides hurt, the stress of the day completely forgotten. Harry kept stealing bites of your food, pretending to be offended when you did the same, and by the time the credits rolled, you were both stuffed and happy. The room was warm and cosy, the soft glow of the TV casting a gentle light over the two of you as you lounged on the couch, tangled up in each other.

Harry shifted slightly, turning to face you with a mischievous grin. “So,” he said, his voice playful but with a hint of seriousness, “next year, no golf. What do you want to do instead?”

You pretended to think about it, tapping your chin dramatically. “Hmm… how about a spa day? Massages, facials, the works. Just pure relaxation.”

He groaned, but his eyes were sparkling with amusement. “Fine. But only if I get a massage too. And maybe one of those cucumber things on my eyes. I’ve always wanted to try that.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, no, don’t worry, I’m only joking. We need to think of something we both want to do. Not just me, not just you. Something that’s… us. You know, like, our thing.”

Harry tilted his head, his expression softening as he considered your words. “Okay, fair point. So, what’s something we both love? Something that feels like us?”

You paused, letting the question linger in the air for a moment. The two of you had shared so many moments together—some big, some small—but you wanted next year to be something special, something that reflected both of your personalities and passions. Then it hit you.

“How about a weekend away?” You suggested, growing more excited as the idea took shape. “Somewhere cosy, with a fireplace and a big bathtub. We could go hiking during the day—you know, explore some trails, take in the views—and then come back and relax in the evening. No golf, no spa, no pressure. Just us.”

Harry’s face lit up, his smile widening as he leaned in closer. “That sounds perfect,” he said, his voice warm and full of enthusiasm. “A little adventure, a little relaxation. Best of both worlds. And I love the idea of being somewhere quiet, just the two of us. No distractions, no schedules. Just us.”

“Exactly,” you said, feeling a rush of excitement as the plan began to take shape. “We could find a cute little cabin in the woods or maybe a cottage by the lake. Somewhere peaceful, where we can just… be.”

Harry’s eyes softened, and he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “I love that idea,” he said, his voice low and tender. “And I love that you’re thinking about us—about what we both want. That means a lot to me.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. “It means a lot to me too,” you said softly. “I want next year to be about us. Not just you, not just me. Us.”

He nodded, his hand resting gently on your cheek. “Us,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “I like the sound of that.”

You leaned into his touch, your heart swelling with affection. “And we can take turns planning the details,” you added, your voice light and playful again. “You pick the hikes, I’ll pick the cosy cabin. Deal?”

“Deal,” he said, sealing it with a kiss. His lips were soft and warm against yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded away. When he pulled back, his eyes were shining with a mix of love and excitement. “Next year, it’s all about us. Just you, me, and a lot of adventure—and relaxation.”

You laughed, resting your forehead against his. “I can’t wait.”

“Me neither,” he said, his voice filled with warmth. “But you know what? I don’t need a fancy weekend or a perfect plan to know that I’m already exactly where I want to be. Right here, with you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you felt a lump form in your throat. “Harry,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I mean it,” he said. “Today wasn’t perfect, but it was still one of the best days I’ve had because I got to spend it with you. And next year, no matter what we do, it’ll be the same. Because it’s you. And you’re my favourite person.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you blinked them away, laughing softly. “You’re such a romantic,” you said, your voice teasing but filled with affection.

“Only for you,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug. “Always for you.”

And as the two of you sat there, wrapped up in each other and the warmth of the evening, you realised that Valentine’s Day didn’t have to be perfect to be special. It just had to be with him. And next year, it would be exactly what you both wanted—a day that was truly, completely yours.

What do we think? This story was inspired by a couple I was serving while working as a waitress. They were out for Valentine’s Day, and it was clear the woman wasn’t enjoying her meal. I overheard her saying she was allergic to seafood, which was wild because the restaurant’s whole gimic was seafood.

It got me thinking about how couples navigate moments like that—where one person’s idea of a perfect day doesn’t quite align with the other’s. I hope the way I wrote their conversation came across as realistic and reasonable. Let me know your thoughts!

[youngsadlesbian]

THREADS OF FATE | chapter 05

chapter summary: the bond between you and wanda deepens as she quietly supports you through your grief. slowly, without force, you begin to reconnect with her, finding comfort in her presence.

a/n: hope you like it!

word count: 3,6k

warnings: mentions of murder and death.

The day started like any other. The sun filtered through the massive windows of the Avengers Compound, casting golden streaks across the polished floors. You had just returned from a sparring session with Sam, your muscles still aching from the relentless training. Natasha had been pushing you harder lately, claiming you were getting soft.

"You good?" Sam had asked as you both wiped the sweat from your brows.

You had laughed, punching his arm lightly. "I'm fine, Wilson. Worry about yourself."

That was the last moment you remembered feeling like yourself.

Because after that, everything shattered.

You were about to hit the showers when Steve approached, his usual composed expression replaced with something that made your stomach twist—concern, hesitation, maybe even pity.

"Hey," he started gently. "Can we talk for a second?"

Something in his tone made your heart pound, but you nodded, following him toward one of the quieter hallways. As soon as you saw Tony waiting there, arms crossed, his jaw tight with unspoken words, you knew.

No.

It couldn’t be.

"Your parents just called," Tony said, voice measured, controlled. "It's about Daniela."

The air left your lungs. Your world tilted.

"No."

"She—" Steve hesitated, eyes flickering to Tony, as if silently asking him to continue. But you didn’t need to hear it. Your hands were already shaking, the dread sinking into your bones like ice.

"Daniela was attacked," Tony finally said, and the next words hit you like a blade to the heart. "She didn’t make it."

The walls of the compound felt like they were closing in on you.

Your ears rang. Your body locked. A distant part of you registered Natasha stepping closer, as if ready to catch you.

But you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

"No… No, no, no," the words tumbled from your lips in rapid succession, but no one corrected you. No one told you it was a mistake.

"Lo están inventando," you murmured under your breath, shaking your head violently. "No puede ser verdad. No, no puede ser verdad…"

No one in the room had ever seen you like this—lost in your mother language, lost in sheer disbelief. But the way Tony looked down, the way Steve placed a hand on your shoulder, it only confirmed the truth.

Your knees buckled.

The world blurred.

You didn’t even realize you had collapsed until Natasha was gripping your arms, keeping you from hitting the ground.

"Hey, hey," she murmured, her voice steady, grounding. "Breathe."

But how could you? How could you when your sister—your best friend, your other half—was gone?

You gripped Natasha’s arms like she was the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

"Dios mío, por favor, dime que esto no es real," you sobbed, the Spanish pouring from your lips in broken gasps. "Por favor, dime que es una mentira… Daniela… mi hermanita…"

Your voice cracked into something unrecognizable, something shattered beyond repair.

"Get her to her room," Tony muttered, and then you were being half-led, half-carried down the hallway, but none of it felt real.

Nothing felt real anymore.

You weren’t sure how you made it back to your room.

One second, you were standing in the hallway, drowning in the weight of Tony’s words. The next, you were on your bed, curled up on your side, staring at the wall.

Everything was quiet.

Too quiet.

Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, your fingers clutching the fabric of your shirt. You felt… empty. Like your body was moving, existing, but you weren’t really there.

Somewhere outside your door, you could hear the hushed voices of the team. They were talking about you, probably trying to figure out what to do. But you didn’t care.

You didn’t care about anything.

Daniela was gone.

She had been walking home from work. That was all. Just walking. She wasn’t supposed to be a target. She wasn’t supposed to die.

But she had fought back. Of course, she had. Daniela had never been the type to just hand over what was hers.

And because of that—because of a stupid, senseless act of violence—she was dead.

The thought made you sick.

A knock at your door broke the silence, but you didn’t move.

"Hey, it’s me," Natasha’s voice was quiet, cautious.

You swallowed hard.

Another knock. "I’m coming in."

You didn’t respond, but the door creaked open anyway. She sat beside you on the bed, not speaking at first.

Then, softly, "I’m sorry."

You turned your face into the pillow, biting your lip so hard you tasted blood. "I can’t—" You choked on the words. "I should have been there. I should have protected her."

Natasha exhaled slowly. "This wasn’t your fault."

But you didn’t believe her.

And you didn’t say another word.

Wanda had noticed the change in you the moment she laid eyes on you, standing in the shadows of the compound with your eyes red-rimmed, your body rigid in a way that made you seem like you were trying to disappear.

It was strange, watching you.

She had always seen you as someone with light in their eyes, someone who was almost perpetually bright and warm, like the sun on a cold winter's day. But today—today was different. Today, you were a shadow of that person.

Wanda hadn’t known your sister, but she could see the impact of Daniela’s death in the way you moved, in the way your shoulders were hunched, in the glassy, distant look in your eyes whenever someone spoke to you.

You hadn’t really spoken to anyone since the news hit. Not to the team, not to Natasha, not to anyone. You had retreated into yourself. And it was killing Wanda to see it.

She had been watching you for days, ever since you first shut yourself off. She knew that grief like this wasn’t something that could be fixed with words, but she couldn’t help but feel the pull to be near you. It was like a magnetic force, this need to be close.

But what could she say?

She had no idea how to approach you, no idea how to ease your pain. But she couldn’t stand seeing you like this.

It was the day of Daniela’s funeral when Wanda finally decided to approach you.

She had seen you from the window of the compound, standing alone at the edge of the garden, your hands in your pockets, your head bowed low as you stared at the ground.

It felt wrong, seeing you like that. You were always so full of life, full of warmth, and now you were like a shell, hollowed out and unrecognizable.

Wanda took a deep breath before walking over to you, her footsteps slow but purposeful.

You didn’t notice her approach until she was standing directly in front of you. Your eyes lifted slightly, but you didn’t speak.

The silence between you two stretched for a long, painful moment.

Finally, Wanda broke it. "I—I’m sorry," she said quietly. "I know nothing I say will make this better, but I just… I wanted you to know I’m here. If you need anything."

Your eyes flickered to her, then away. "You don’t have to be here, Wanda," you murmured, your voice a fragile whisper. "I’m not… I’m not in the mood for company."

Wanda didn’t move. "I understand," she said softly, not taking offense, her gaze softening with empathy. "But that doesn’t mean I’m going to leave you alone."

You stayed silent for a long time, as if contemplating whether or not to tell her to go away. But then, unexpectedly, you spoke.

"You were right," you said, your voice thick with the weight of unspoken emotion.

Wanda blinked. "What?"

You inhaled shakily. "You told me that I’d lose the people I cared about. That no matter how strong I was, I wouldn’t be able to save them."

Wanda froze at your words. She had never wanted you to understand that kind of pain. Never wanted you to have to feel what she felt after losing Pietro. And yet, there it was, in your eyes—that look.

"I wanted you to be wrong," your voice broke. "But you weren’t. I lost her, Wanda. I lost her, and I couldn’t do anything."

She swallowed hard. "I didn’t mean for you to go through it, though," she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. "I never wanted you to understand. I just… I wanted you to stay happy. I didn’t want you to feel what I’ve felt."

"But I do now," you whispered. "And I hate you for being right."

Wanda looked away, her jaw tightening.

You closed your eyes, shaking your head. "I used to think I could protect the people I loved. That if I was strong enough, fast enough, smart enough… they’d be safe."

You exhaled shakily.

"But you were right. I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t do anything."

Wanda’s heart ached at the rawness in your voice. She didn’t know what to say, how to fix this. She wasn’t sure if anything could fix it.

"I never wanted this for you," Wanda whispered, her hand reaching out hesitantly toward you. She stopped just short, unsure if you wanted her close. You didn’t pull away, so she gently placed her hand on your shoulder. "I never wanted you to feel this kind of loss."

You looked up at her, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I know you didn’t," you whispered, your voice soft but thick with sorrow. "But now that I’m here… I understand why you were so distant with me. Why you hated seeing me so happy all the time. You couldn’t stand it."

Wanda flinched, a pained expression crossing her face. "I didn’t hate you for being happy," she said quickly, her voice trembling. "I hated it because it reminded me of everything I lost. I hated that I couldn’t be like you—so full of life, so full of light."

Your brow furrowed, confusion sweeping over your features. "But you never told me that. Instead, you made me feel like something was wrong with me."

"I know," Wanda said, shaking her head. "I know I was cruel, and I regret it. More than you’ll ever understand."

For a moment, the world around you fell away, leaving just the two of you in the quiet garden. The weight of the conversation hung heavily in the air, but there was something about it—something about this moment—that felt like it could break the silence between you two forever.

You took a deep breath, your voice barely above a whisper. "I think… I think I was wrong too. For not seeing it. For thinking I could just go on being the same after something like this happens."

Wanda’s hand tightened slightly on your shoulder, the warmth of her touch grounding you in this shared sorrow. "It’s okay," she said softly. "We don’t have to pretend to be okay."

For the first time since Daniela’s death, you allowed yourself to lean into Wanda’s presence, feeling the weight of everything you had lost and everything you were still struggling to carry.

And maybe—just maybe—you realized that, even in the midst of the deepest pain, there was a small spark of connection between you and Wanda. Something fragile, but real.

A connection that had always been there, even when neither of you were ready to see it.

In the days that followed Daniela’s funeral, the team kept their distance—understanding that grief was something no one could rush. You had pulled back into yourself, but there was a change, however subtle, that didn’t escape Wanda. It wasn’t that you were talking more or acting like your old self; no, that was far from it. But something between you had shifted in a way that couldn’t easily be ignored.

At first, Wanda had been cautious, careful to respect your space. She didn’t want to push you too far, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from checking in on you. Sometimes it was just standing in the doorway of your room, watching you for a moment, but there was something about it—something unspoken—that made it feel like you were silently letting her in.

It wasn’t a dramatic change. Nothing happened overnight. You were still distant, still broken in ways that couldn’t be healed with a simple conversation. But little by little, you started to let her into your world in ways you hadn’t allowed anyone else to see.

One afternoon, Wanda found you sitting on the roof of the compound, legs dangling over the edge as you stared at the horizon, the sunset casting a soft orange glow across your face. The wind had picked up, pulling your hair back from your face, and you seemed lost in thought.

She hesitated at the doorway, watching you quietly. There was something about this moment that felt private, like a scene from a dream—your sorrow, her distance. And yet, there was a flicker of something in the air, something that made Wanda feel like you weren’t as alone as you seemed.

She cleared her throat softly. "Mind if I join you?"

You didn’t immediately respond. Your gaze was fixed on the horizon, your expression unreadable. But then, after a long beat, you shrugged, a gesture that somehow seemed like an invitation.

She stepped forward, sitting down next to you without saying another word. For a long time, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the rustling of leaves in the wind and the distant hum of the compound’s activity.

Wanda watched you from the corner of her eye, trying to gauge whether you’d open up at all. She had no expectations, no agenda. She just wanted to be there, silently offering her presence in the way she knew how.

"You used to like to watch the sunsets with Daniela, right?" Wanda asked quietly, breaking the silence but not pressing for a response.

You glanced at her briefly before nodding. "Yeah," you said softly. "She always used to say the sunset looked different when you watched it with someone else."

Wanda’s lips curled into a faint smile. "I guess she was right."

You didn't say anything after that. But the conversation wasn’t what mattered—what mattered was the quiet companionship that settled between you two. The way Wanda simply sat beside you, her presence calming in ways that words couldn’t reach.

Over the next few weeks, you and Wanda had more of these quiet moments—small exchanges that felt less like a burden and more like a gentle reminder that you weren’t completely alone in your grief.

Sometimes, it was a simple gesture—a shared glance when the team was gathered around the dinner table, or Wanda offering you a soft smile after a particularly difficult mission. You didn’t speak much, but there was a comfort in the space between you, in the way that Wanda never pushed you to talk but seemed to understand when you needed silence.

It was a slow, natural process. You still kept most of your pain to yourself, but with Wanda, it felt easier to breathe. Easier to be around someone who didn’t demand answers or explanations.

One evening, the two of you were assigned to go over some security plans for the compound. It was a late night, the rest of the team already long in bed, but Wanda had asked you to stay back and help her. The task was tedious, but there was something almost peaceful about the way the two of you worked together in the quiet of the war room.

You were seated at the table, papers spread out in front of you, your pen moving across the paper as you made notes. Wanda was beside you, leaning over a map, her brow furrowed in concentration.

For a while, there were no words. It wasn’t necessary. You were both lost in the work, but the proximity was comfortable. And when you looked up from the map and met Wanda’s eyes, there was a brief flicker of understanding—a shared moment of peace in the midst of the chaos.

"Do you ever get tired of all this?" you asked quietly, breaking the silence.

Wanda’s gaze softened as she considered your question. She didn’t immediately answer. Instead, she met your eyes with an intensity that felt like it carried the weight of everything she had been through—the loss of Pietro, the isolation, the battles, both physical and emotional.

"Sometimes," she admitted, her voice quiet but honest. "But I think I’ve learned to live with it. I don’t know how else to be."

You nodded slowly. "I get that," you said softly.

Wanda didn’t respond right away, but she didn’t need to. The exchange was simple, but it was real. You both understood each other in a way that had taken time to build but had grown undeniable.

It wasn’t long before Natasha noticed the change between you and Wanda. The two of you had always been distant, at least as far as Natasha had seen it. But now, there was something different.

It wasn’t obvious at first, but Natasha was perceptive. She could tell that the little moments between you and Wanda had become more frequent, that you were no longer as withdrawn when Wanda was around. There was an ease in the way you interacted with her now—something she hadn’t seen before.

One evening, as the team gathered for dinner, Natasha watched you and Wanda quietly pass the salt back and forth, exchanging a few brief words, before Wanda leaned in to show you something on her phone. It was small, but Natasha could see the difference in your posture. You were leaning toward Wanda now, your body language more open, more at ease.

"Interesting," Natasha murmured to herself, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

She hadn’t seen you smile much in the past few weeks, but there you were, almost laughing at something Wanda had said. Natasha caught your eye for a brief moment, and you quickly turned away, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

It was subtle—small moments that anyone else might miss—but Natasha didn’t miss a thing.

She leaned over to Clint, who was sitting across from her, and whispered, "Have you noticed how close they’ve gotten?"

Clint raised an eyebrow, following Natasha’s gaze to where you and Wanda were now sitting. "You mean, like… closer than usual?"

"Yeah," Natasha said. "It’s more than just proximity. They’re actually talking."

Clint grinned. "Well, it’s about time."

Natasha didn’t respond, but she couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction. You were finding your way back to yourself, piece by piece, and it was clear that Wanda was playing a big part in that.

The days passed, and although the grief would never fully disappear, you felt like a small part of you was coming back to life again. It wasn’t all at once. It wasn’t a grand, sweeping transformation. But it was real, and it was happening quietly, like the gradual breaking of dawn after a long, dark night.

And Wanda was there, in the background, offering you her presence, her strength, without ever demanding anything in return.

You didn’t know exactly when it happened, but one day, you realized that Wanda had become a part of your world in a way that no one else had. Not with words, not with grand gestures. Just by being there.

And somehow, that made all the difference.

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[deansbeer]

breaking in the last chair!

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 ADULT CONTENT ; minors go away.

୨୧ warning(s). smut | fem!reader | cowgirl position (beau's favorite) | riding | praise kink | established marriage | playful teasing | strong language.

୨୧ word count. 797

୨୧ kari notes. beau brainrot is HEAVYYY rn. that's all i gotta say. he's the finest man to ever walk this earth. <3

check out LIBRARY for more <3

you've officially broken in every piece of furniture in this fancy hotel suite—except for one.

the plush armchair sits untouched and inviting in the far corner, bathed in a soft glow of afternoon sunlight filtering through semi-sheer curtains. beau's lips curve into a slow, mischievous smile as he glances from the chair to you, his eyes dark and smoldering.

you know that look intimately, the kind that makes your pulse quicken and your heart race. it's the same look that's left you pleasantly sore and thoroughly loved on every surface available—bed, dresser, shower, even the sliding glass doors that led to the balcony —over the past few days.

"come here, sweetheart," beau drawls lazily, sinking back into the chair with that devastatingly charming smirk of his. his deep velvety voice sends heat pooling low in your stomach, and you can't help but smile as you move toward him, his eyes glued hungrily to your bare skin.

he reaches out, strong hands gripping your hips as you settle comfortably on his lap, thighs spread wide over his, your knees sinking into the soft cushions.

"we're really gonna christen every corner of this place, huh?" you tease softly, running your fingers through his thick hair. he chuckles deeply, a sound that makes your stomach flutter pleasantly.

"damn straight," he murmurs, leaning in to brush his lips tenderly against your jaw, his neatly trimmed beard tickling your skin in the best way. "ain't lettin' a single inch of this room forget us, darlin'."

you laugh, breath hitching when his mouth trails down your throat, pressing gentle, lingering kisses that make your pulse quicken. his hands slide reverently up your thighs, over your hips, gripping firmly as he guides you down onto him, filling you perfectly and slowly, inch by delicious inch.

"oh fuck," you whisper against his mouth, your breath hitching sharply as you settle fully onto him, taking a moment to adjust to the familiar stretch.

"that's it, baby," beau encourages gently, his voice rough with pleasure, yet laced with tenderness. "ride me nice and slow. show me how my babydoll takes care of her cowboy."

his words send a rush of heat straight to your core, igniting something playful and fiery within you. you smile against his lips, rolling your hips experimentally, savoring the deep, guttural groan that escapes him. his fingers tighten at your waist, guiding your rhythm, urging you to take control.

"goddamn, darlin'," he breathes roughly, green eyes dark and heated as they watch you move above him. "ain't nothin' in this world prettier than you riding me like this. my beautiful cowgirl."

you laugh softly, tipping your head back as you move faster, hips rolling smoothly, finding that perfect angle that sends sparks dancing up your spine. beau's lips brush along your collarbone, hot and open-mouthed, teeth scraping lightly against your sensitive skin.

"can't get enough of you," he murmurs huskily, voice thick with genuine adoration and desire. "never gonna be enough. fuck, baby—you got me addicted."

your chest tightens at the sincerity behind his playful words, your heart swelling with a deep, overwhelming love. even after years of marriage, he still makes you feel like the most beautiful, alluring person he's ever laid eyes on.

"good thing you've got forever," you whisper breathlessly, gripping his shoulders tighter as you ride him harder, faster, chasing the intense pleasure building steadily within you. "'cause 'm not going anywhere."

he grins broadly, eyes softening, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, utterly captivated as you lose yourself in the rhythm, in the perfect friction of your bodies moving together. his hands slide reverently up your spine, pulling you close until your lips crash together, messy and passionate, hips grinding desperately against each other.

"ride me, sweetheart," he growls against your mouth, voice deep and rough, edged with need. "show me how my cowgirl does it."

you moan, speeding up your movements, chasing the sharp burst of pleasure that's building intensely. beau meets every roll of your hips, thrusting upward to match your frantic pace, fingers digging gently into your skin, holding you securely against him.

"that's it," he whispers roughly, voice breaking slightly with pleasure. "just like that—shit, you're perfect."

you cling to him tightly, fingers tangled in his luscious hair, breathing heavily against his mouth as pleasure crashes over you, intense and overwhelming. beau groans your name hoarsely, hips stuttering beneath you as he follows you over the edge, holding you impossibly closer as you both ride your highs together.

"best damn anniversary ever," he whispers softly, pressing tender kisses along your jawline, your neck, soothing your trembling body.

and you smile, feeling impossibly happy, impossibly loved.

"best one yet," you whisper back, knowing each year somehow just gets better and better.

[cumironi]

LITTLE LAMB ! : NANAMI KENTO

you and nanami kento have been dating for years since you two graduated from jujutsu high. one day he came back from work and found you whimper and cry in your sleep.

warning. trauma, blood, death mentioned, nightmare, lil bit angst.

OHHHHH, i just love how cheesy and corny and cringe this is 😭

nanami exhaled a low, weary grunt as he managed to remove his shoe, using one hand to brace himself against the unyielding, frigid surface of the concrete. his head pounded incessantly, each throb resonating painfully as if his brain was pulsating with discomfort. the relentless demands of working for the jujutsu organization, coupled with the constant, exhausting presence of gojo satoru, surely had drained his mental fortitude and pushed his sanity to the brink.

each day felt like an uphill battle against the mounting stress and strain that came with the territory, leaving him yearning for a reprieve that seemed perpetually out of reach. the cold concrete beneath him served as a stark contrast to the heated turmoil within his mind, a reminder of the relentless challenges he faced in his line of duty.

slowly, nanami lifted his head, his gaze drifting upwards to take in the sight of his living room. the room was shrouded in darkness, with only a faint, warm yellow light providing a dim illumination that cast long shadows across the space. as he gently shifted his feet, the quiet movement seemed to echo in the stillness. he glanced to the side, his eyes landing on the clock, which revealed that it was nearly 2 AM.

sighing softly, he exhaled a string of weary breaths, each one a testament to his exhaustion. with a heavy heart and tired limbs, he began to make his way towards the staircase, every step deliberate and slow. the path led him straight to your shared bedroom, a sanctuary of comfort and solace that he longed to reach. the journey felt longer than usual, each step up the stairs requiring more effort as the weight of the day pressed down on him. finally, he reached the door, his thoughts filled with the anticipation of finally finding some rest and respite beside you.

the gentle creak of the door echoed softly through the room as he carefully opened it, trying not to disturb the tranquility. the room was enveloped in darkness, with only the soft, silvery glow of moonlight filtering in through the window, casting delicate shadows across the walls. as nanami's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he noticed your serene figure lying on the bed, comfortably cocooned in a warm blanket, your breathing steady and peaceful in deep sleep.

a tender smile spread across his face, a sense of calm washing over him at the sight of you. the urge to crawl into bed beside you, to hold you close and press gentle kisses to your forehead, was strong. however, he felt the grime and exhaustion of the day clinging to him, a reminder of the long hours and relentless challenges he had faced.

despite his overwhelming desire to join you, he knew that he needed to cleanse himself of the day's fatigue first. the allure of a hot shower beckoned, promising to wash away not only the physical dirt but also the mental strain that had built up. with a quiet sigh and one last glance at your peaceful form, nanami turned towards the bathroom, each step bringing him closer to the relief and rejuvenation he so desperately needed.

after a good half-hour, nanami emerged from the bathroom, feeling refreshed and a bit lighter. a small towel hung around his neck, which he used to gently dry his damp hair. he wore nothing but a soft blue long-sleeve shirt and comfortable beige pants, his attire reflecting his desire for comfort after a long, arduous day.

as he stepped into the dimly lit room, he suddenly heard soft whimpering, barely audible but enough to catch his attention. the faint, distressed sounds seemed to fill the room, contrasting with the quiet serenity he had expected to find. his heart clenched at the thought of you being troubled in your sleep. the sound, it's heartbreaking.

nanami paused for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness as he tried to locate the source of the whimpering. his gaze settled on you, still wrapped in the warm blanket but now shifting restlessly, a pained expression marring your previously peaceful face. the sight tugged at his heartstrings, urging him to move closer and offer the comfort you seemed to need.

with gentle, deliberate steps, nanami approached the bed, each movement filled with a quiet urgency. he reached out, his hand hovering above your shoulder before he softly placed it there, hoping to soothe you without startling you awake. the tender touch was meant to convey his presence and reassurance, a silent promise that he was there to protect and comfort you.

you were whimpering softly in your sleep, the sound reminiscent of a fragile, distressed little lamb. it was a heartbreaking noise that spoke of deep-seated hurt, echoing faintly through the stillness of the room. as nanami watched you, his concern deepened. the soft glow of the moonlight revealed the glistening tracks of tears on your cheeks, a silent testament to the pain you were experiencing even in your dreams.

your face, usually so serene in slumber, was now contorted with sorrow, your quiet cries breaking the night's tranquility. each tear that escaped your closed eyes shimmered under the silvery light, highlighting the depth of your distress. nanami's heart ached at the sight, feeling a powerful urge to protect and comfort you.

he couldn't bear to see you like this, suffering silently. he knew he needed to be there for you, to offer his support and reassure you that you were safe and loved. with a gentle hand, he reached out and softly brushed away the tears from your cheeks, his touch light and careful, hoping to bring some comfort.

nanami sat down on the edge of the bed, his presence a solid, reassuring anchor in the darkened room. he whispered soothing words, barely audible, but filled with love and reassurance. leaning closer, he wrapped his arms around you gently, pulling you into a comforting embrace, hoping to ease your pain and bring you some measure of peace even as you slept.

he gently roused you from your troubled sleep, his warm hand tenderly cupping your tear-streaked cheek. instinctively, you leaned into his touch, drawn to the soothing warmth and comfort it offered. “hey, my love, wake up,” he murmured, his deep voice flowing like a gentle river, soft and calming.

nanami's thumb brushed delicately over your skin, wiping away the remnants of your sorrow as he continued to whisper sweet reassurances. his presence was a beacon of solace in the dim light, a comforting balm to your wounded dreams. he watched as your eyes fluttered open, gradually adjusting to the moonlit room, his tender gaze never leaving your face.

“come back to me, my dear,” he whispered, his voice a poetic blend of concern and love, each word carefully chosen to bring you back to the safety of his embrace. your heart responded to his call, and you felt the tension slowly ebb away, replaced by the gentle rhythm of his care and devotion.

“ken. . .” your voice emerged as a faint whisper, your throat feeling tighter and drier than usual. he smiled at you with such gentleness that it seemed to melt away the remnants of your distress. “hey,” he murmured softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

“you were whimpering and crying in your sleep again, my love. is your nightmare back?” he asked, his calmness so profound you felt you could lose yourself in it. as he spoke, his thumb gently caressed your cheek, his presence a grounding force beside you.

“was i?” you responded, not fully aware that your old habit had resurfaced. yet, deep down, you knew the nightmares had returned, creeping into your slumber like unwelcome shadows. his calm inquiry and tender touch provided a lifeline, pulling you back from the depths of your troubled dreams.

“mhm… you were.”

his voice was a gentle hum, his tone taking on a quieter and calmer demeanor than usual. he looked down at you closely as he lightly stroked your cheek, his fingers warm and soothing against your skin. his eyes studied your features in the dim light, noting the signs of tiredness and stress on your face.

“you have bags under your eyes, my love . . . how many nights has this been going on?”

“i-i don't know,” you mumbled, tightening as if a lump was obstructing your air, refusing to let you breathe freely. your head spun, throbbing with pain, while your eyes began to sting— the pain from trying to hold back your tears.

the memories and vivid imaginations of yuu haibara— your best friends, tormented your mind, each detail rendered in brutal clarity. you could see him sprawled on the cold, merciless ground, surrounded by a pool of his own blood. the sight of his lower body missing was a horrific vision etched deeply into your consciousness. the way his eyes shaking from trying to took a glimpse of you and nanami for the last time— it's was crystal clear in your mind.

these haunting images clung to your thoughts, casting a dark shadow over your mind. the crimson pool starkly contrasted with the cold, unyielding ground, creating a macabre scene that refused to fade. cach recollection was sharp and piercing, like shards of ice embedding themselves into your soul, cutting into your peace and pulling you back into the depths of sorrow and horror.

the weight of these memories bore down on you, making it hard to breathe, hard to think, as the anguish and helplessness you felt surged anew within you. it was as if you were ensnared in a nightmarish vision, each detail a cruel reminder of a friend lost too soon, of a moment too horrific to forget. the cold ground and crimson pool were forever imprinted in your mind, a chilling testament to a tragedy that time could never erase.

he was there too— with you and yuu when that tragedy happened, engraved in your brain and his just like a gift, handing to you in a red bow, the color of his blood. leaving a stain neither you nor nanami could not get rid of just by simply washing your hands, letting it disappears, running with the waters.

that’s one of the reasons nanami kento insists you stay away from the world of jujutsu after graduation. the thought of losing you as he lost his best friend is an unbearable weight on his heart. the memory of that loss haunts him, a dark shadow that he cannot escape, and the idea of history repeating itself fills him with dread. he refuses to let you step back into that life of danger and uncertainty, unwilling to risk your safety for anything.

he will be angry at the world if he loses you.

to him, you are too precious, too irreplaceable. the pain of losing you would be a burden he could never bear, a wound that would never heal. his love for you is a fierce, protective force, driving him to keep you safe, to ensure that you remain by his side, far from the perils that once claimed his closest friend.

he observed the shift in your demeanor closely, noticing the way your throat tightened and your voice seemed to falter. he saw the tears welling up in your eyes and the pain etched on your face.

seeing you like this… it was like seeing your heart breaking in real time. he gently slid an arm underneath your body, before he lifted you up and pulled you closer to him, pulling you carefully into his lap. the faint scent of mint on his breath lingered in the air as he wrapped his other arm around you, his arms holding you close and tight against his chest.

you in such distress made his heart clench inside his chest, a deep sense of helplessness settling over him. he gently took hold of your chin, tilting your head up towards his as he saw the glossiness in your eyes. his hand moved from your chin to lightly brush some hair out of your face, his touch a tender comfort against your skin.

“look at me, honey,” he said quietly. “it’s alright. you’re safe here. i’m right here with you.”

there you are, your eyes glossy and broken, gazing up at him with a poignant, silent plea. the tears magnify their shimmer, making them glisten like fragile, luminous crystals under the soft embrace of the moonlight. the ethereal glow bathes your face, highlighting the depths of your sorrow. each tear catches the light, creating a shimmering trail that reflects your inner turmoil.

his soft and soothing voice brought slight comfort to the storm raging within you. he continued holding you, one arm protectively around your shoulders, and the other gently caressed the top of your head.

“you're safe. i've got you.”

he repeated those words a few more times, knowing they would take time to sink in. he held you closer, your body now sitting against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat steady and strong. he continued stroking your head and your hair, hoping to soothe and calm you bit by bit.

his gentle touch and coaxing voice managed to capture your focus, shifting your gaze from the memories haunting you to his eyes, their color and soothing presence anchoring you in the moment. as he spoke, his words wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, banishing the darkness that had begun to cloud your thoughts.

the weight of the past momentarily lifted, replaced by the assurance of his presence and the safety of his arms. you held onto him tighter, seeking solace in the familiar strength of his embrace, your fingers unconsciously clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

nanami felt the shift in your grip, noticing the tightness of your fingers on his shirt, as you clung to him as if he was your lifeline. he held you against him, his embrace firm and reassuring. he continued caressing your head and your hair, gently tucking strands behind your ears, and letting his fingers linger at your nape. his heart ached as he saw the pain and fear in your eyes, but he remained calm and steady, his voice just a soft murmur, meant only for your ears.

“just breathe, i've got you.”

“i’m scared. i can still see him, ken. . . like-like he’s still there,” you sobbed, your voice trembling with raw emotion. nanami pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively, forming a shield against the torment haunting your mind. each of your sobs echoed in his heart, causing it to ache with a profound, sympathetic pain. the sight of your tears and the sound of your anguish tightened his chest, filling him with a deep sorrow and an even deeper resolve to keep you safe from the shadows of the past.

“he's not there, my love. je's not there... it's just us here, remember? it's just us.”

his voice, while calm on the surface, held a hint of a pain that mirrored your own. the painful memories of that tragic day weighed on him just as heavily as they did on you. as you continued to sob against his chest, nanami continued to hold you, his embrace tight and comforting. he felt the tears dampening the fabric of his shirt, each one a heart-wrenching reminder of your pain.

he whispered soothing words in your ear, trying to reassure you that he was here and that he wasn't going anywhere. every word he spoke was filled with love and reassurance, hoping they would help ease your fears.

“it's alright… everything's alright. just let it out, my love.” he held you tighter, his grip firm but gentle as he tried to soothe your fears. “listen to my voice, alright? focus on me. focus on my voice and nothing else. can you do that for me?” his voice was soft, just a low hum against your ear. he continued caressing and stroking your hair and head, his fingers running through your locks in a slow and soothing rhythm. he kept you held close against his chest, his heart thumping steadily beneath the fabric of his shirt.

as you listened to his voice and felt his touch, you found yourself calming down bit by bit. the sound of his steady heartbeat and the soothing motion of his fingers through your hair helped to ground you, bringing you back to the present.

you closed your eyes and took a deep, shaky breath, your sobs slowly subsiding as you continued to focus on him. the pain and fear still lingered, but they felt less overwhelming with him by your side. “okay,” you whispered, your voice still trembling slightly.

minutes passed by in a hushed silence, except for the occasional, quiet sobs escaping your lips. nanami continued to hold you tightly, his hands gently stroking your back in slow, soothing movements. he wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he could feel the tension gradually leaving your body, replaced by a weary exhaustion. he took a deep breath and spoke again, his voice low and gentle.

“are you feeling any better, my love?”

you slowly nodded against his chest, your body heavy with the emotional strain from the nightmare and the subsequent breakdown. “a-a little,” you mumbled, your voice hoarse from all the crying. you didn't lift your head from his chest, taking comfort in the closeness and the protective warmth of his embrace.

you felt a mix of exhaustion and relief, but the lingering memories of the nightmare still weighed heavily on your mind. despite that, being in his arms made you feel safer, like nothing could harm you as long as he was near. “how about i make you some tea and we can go to sleep after that, hm?”

you nodded again, the idea of a warm cup of tea and a good rest sounded like just the thing you needed right now. “yes, please,” you mumbled, your voice small and weary. you continued to cling to him, feeling the comfort in his arms and not wanting to let go just yet.

the thought of sleeping was a bit intimidating, as you feared the nightmares might come back, but you trusted nanami to stay with you and keep them at bay. after a few more seconds of holding you close, nanami carefully shifted his position, gently coaxing you to sit upright. je then stood up from the bed, keeping one arm around you for support. “here, hold onto me,” he said softly, guiding you to your feet. “can you walk, or do you want me to carry you to the kitchen?” you looked up at him, your eyes filled with gratitude and trust, and reached out, stretching your hands towards him in silent request.

nanami saw the gesture and smiled gently, understanding your unsaid request. he bent down and picked you up in his arms, lifting you with ease as if you weighed nothing. he cradled you against his chest, your body fitting snugly in his embrace.

“there we go,” he said softly, his voice warm and soothing. “just rest, okay? i've got you.”

nanami carried you to the kitchen, each step he took was steady and careful, ensuring that you were secure in his arms. as you reached the kitchen, he continued holding you comfortably against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around your body. once he got to the counter, he gently set you down on a stool, keeping a supportive arm around you as he spoke.

“i'm going to start brewing the tea. just rest here for a moment, alright?” he cupped your cheek for a moment, gently caressing it with his thumb, then leaned in to kiss your forehead. you just nodded your head as an answer.

with you seated on the stool, nanami stepped away to gather the ingredients for the tea. he moved around the kitchen, his movements graceful and efficient. he placed a kettle on the stove to boil the water, and then retrieved a box of tea leaves from a nearby cabinet.

he cast occasional glances in your direction as he worked, making sure you were alright and still resting comfortably. once the water was boiling, he steeped the tea leaves in the kettle, letting the aroma of the tea fill the kitchen.

as nanami prepared the tea, he noticed your unwavering gaze upon him. whenever he glanced in your direction, he met your eyes, the silent communication passing between you like a gentle current.

seeing your focus on him, he couldn't help but smile softly. the knowledge that you were watching his every move made his heart feel a bit lighter, knowing that you were still there with him, even if your mind had temporarily been taken by that nightmare.

“you're just going to watch me work, huh?” he asked jokingly, his voice was light and playful. “no requests or demands? i'm surprised,” he chuckled lightly.

he continued to move around the kitchen, his attention split between making the tea and comforting you with his presence, adding a bit of honey and lemon as you preferred. you shook your head slightly, a soft smile playing on your lips. “no, i just like watching you,” you replied, your voice gentle and filled with affection. “it's soothing. besides, i trust you to make it perfectly.”

your gaze never wavered as you continued to watch him, finding comfort in the simple act of observing his careful movements and the calmness he exuded. “thank you for always taking care of me, ken,” you added softly, your words carrying a deep sense of gratitude and love for your boyfriend.

nanami's heart warmed at your words, the sight of your smile causing a pleasant flutter in his chest. despite his usual calm demeanor, knowing that you appreciated his efforts and felt comforted by his presence never failed to affect him. he finished preparing the tea, a fragrant steam rising from the mug. he picked it up and walked back over to you, a tender smile on his face.

“of course, my love. i'll always take care of you,” he replied softly, his voice filled with sincere affection. “that's a promise i intend to keep.”

he placed the mug on the countertop beside you, and then took a step closer. he reached out and lightly caressed your cheek, his touch of tender reassurance, the touch firm but gentle. “you don't have to thank me,” he said softly. as nanami's hand touched your cheek, his thumb lightly stroking the contour of your face, he couldn't help but notice the exhaustion etched upon it.

the weariness from the nightmare and the emotional toll it had taken on you was still evident in your weary eyes and the lines on your forehead. he gently brushed a few strands of hair back, tucking them behind your ear, his touch gentle and soothing. “drink some tea, love. it'll help you relax,” he said, his voice a low, soothing murmur.

your heart warmed at nanami’s words and the gentle smile on his face. as he placed the steaming mug of tea beside you, you couldn’t help but tease him a bit. “maybe one day i'll actually have to wife you up with all this care and attention,” you said with a playful grin, your eyes twinkling, “you’re making it really hard to stay single!”

nanami’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he lightly caressed your cheek. “well, if it means i get to be your favorite tea-maker, i’ll gladly accept the role,” he replied with a chuckle. “you don’t have to thank me, my love,” he continued softly. “nut if you do decide to make that leap, i’ll be more than ready.”

as you teased him about marrying him, nanami chuckled softly. he couldn’t help but find it adorable how you teased him despite everything that had been going on, and he appreciated that you could find humor in the midst of all the stress.

his hand caressed your cheek gently, his fingers tracing small, soothing circles against your skin. he smiled at your playful banter, his heart light with affection. “i suppose i should consider myself lucky,” he said with a smirk. “you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger already.”

he picked up your pointy finger and gently brought it to his lips, your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected gesture. his eyes met yours as he pressed a kiss against your finger, the warmth of his lips sending a shiver down your spine. is gaze held a mixture of tenderness and a hint of amusement, as he couldn’t help but tease you back.

“see? wrapped around your finger,” he mumbled, his lips still lightly touching your skin.

your gaze was fixed on his lips as they brushed against your finger, making your heart race so intensely you felt it in your ears. after a brief silence, you cleared your throat. it always annoyed you how, whenever you tried to tease nanami, he effortlessly turned the tables on you, leaving you at a loss.

you cleared your throat, a tinge of embarrassment crept onto your face. nanami couldn't help but chuckle at your reaction, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. he knew that you loved to tease him, especially when you thought you could get the upper hand in a situation. little did you know, however, that he had more than enough tricks up his sleeves.

“ah, come on now, my love,” he grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “can't handle it when i turn the tables on you?”

nanami continued to smirk as he watched you trying to compose yourself, enjoying the way your little teasing attempt had backfired so endearingly. his eyes sparkled with a touch of triumph, as he fully relished the moment. he moved a little closer to you, leaning his hip against the countertop as he spoke in a low, teasing tone. “you’re not too embarrassed, right? you started it, remember?”

you blushed, feeling a warmth spread across your cheeks as you tried to avoid his teasing gaze. “shut up,” you mumbled shyly, your voice barely more than a whisper. you glanced down, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips despite your attempt to play it cool. the playful spark in nanami’s eyes and his gentle touch only made it harder to stay composed.

as you blushed and tried to avoid his gaze, nanami chuckled softly. he could tell that you were flustered by his teasing, and it only made him want to continue messing with you a little longer. he leaned in closer, his body almost pressing against yours as he continued to smirk.

“ah, such a cute reaction,” he teased, his voice a low murmur. “you know i can’t resist teasing you when you’re like this.”

“shut up,” you groan, dragging the 'p' longer, your voice laced with a mix of shyness and playful frustration. your cheeks burned even hotter, and you quickly covered your face with both hands in an attempt to hide your embarrassment.

nanami chuckled again, clearly enjoying your embarrassed reaction. he carefully grabbed one of your hands, gently tugging it away from your face so he could see your expression. “no, no, no, don't hide from me now,” he teased, his voice filled with mock disappointment. “i love it when you get all flustered.” you let out a small, high-pitched squeal as you buried your face against his, your giggles escaping despite your attempt to hide.

as you screamed and hid your face in his chest, nanami found himself laughing quietly at your adorable behavior. the high-pitched sound and the feeling of your face against his chest only made his heart clench with affection.

he wrapped his arms around you and held you close, his hand gently stroking your hair, trying not to burst out into full-on laughter at your antics. he loved it when you acted so shy and cute, especially when you tried to hide your blushing face from him. “ah, my beautiful soon-to-be wife,” nanami murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

as he kissed the top of your head, his lips lingered for a moment, as if he was trying to imprint that affectionate gesture into your memory. he held you close, his arms strong and protective around you. he could feel you nuzzling against his chest, still trying to hide your burning face. nut he knew how much you loved it when he called you his ’beautiful soon-to-be wife’ it was a playful nickname he had used before, and it always seemed to get you just as flustered each time.

he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest against your cheek. he enjoyed the feeling of having you so close, and the way your embarrassment made you cling to him.

you gently pushed your face away from his chest, your chin resting on it as you looked up at him. the remnants of embarrassment still linger on your cheeks, adding a soft, rosy glow to your flushed expression.

as you pushed your face away from his chest, nanami looked down at you with a warm, amused smile. his gaze softened as he saw the remnants of embarrassment still lingering on your cheeks, the soft, rosy glow adding a sweetness to your expression. his hand moved to cup your jaw, his thumb lightly tracing the contours of your skin.

“there’s that blush again,” he teased gently. “you just can’t help it, can you?” you raised an eyebrow and gave him a playful eye rolling. “oh, please. if you weren’t always so charming, maybe i wouldn’t blush so easily.”

nanami raised an eyebrow in return, his smile growing wider at your sassy response. he chuckled softly, clearly enjoying your playful banter. “charm, you say?” he replied, his tone is lighthearted and amused. “so it’s all my fault then, hmm?”

he leaned down a little closer, his face hovering just inches from yours, his gaze unwavering. “well, i suppose i can’t help it if you find my irresistible charisma utterly swoon-worthy,” he teased with a grin. you smirked, hugging his waist tightly.

“oh, so this is what happens when you come back from jujutsu and gojo’s influence starts rubbing off on you. you’re getting pretty good at this charming stuff.”

you tilted your head, feigning contemplation. “i suppose i’ll just have to deal with it, since you’ve clearly mastered the art of being swoon-worthy.” nanami chuckled lowly as you accused him of getting influenced by gojo, a hint of mock offense in his expression. he knew that gojo could be hard to shake off, both in person and his impact on others.

“oh, absolutely,” he said sarcastically. “gojo's charm and banter are like a virus that spreads. i have no control over it.”

he smirked back, loving the way you continued to tease him. “and you're just going to have to deal with it, because i've mastered the art of being irresistibly charming just for you,” he chuckled. “gojo might have his tricks, but i assure you, my love— all this charm is entirely my own.”

you scrunch your nose, smile still colored in your face, “you're so cheesy and corny.”

nanami chuckled even louder at your scrunching of your nose and your blunt comment. he knew he sometimes did go overboard with cheesy lines, but he couldn’t help it when it came to you.

“cheesy and corny, hm?“ he teased, not the least bit bothered by your playful criticism. “maybe i’m just trying to get you to swoon over me some more.” he smirked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “or maybe i just can’t help but be disgustingly romantic around you.”

he leaned in, you tightened your arm around his waist, a smile spreading across his face. you mirrored his expression, whispering, “and i'm disgustingly in love with you,” your lips brushing against his as you spoke.

as you tightened your arm around his waist and mirrored his expression, a warm smile spreading across your face, nanami’s heart skipped a beat in response. his eyes softened, a tenderness in his gaze, as you confessed your love. he leaned in closer to you, drawn to the affectionate gesture. he relished the way you spoke, the words dripping with sweetness.

even after all this time together, your affection still had the ability to make him weak in the knees. he closed his eyes briefly, savoring the sensation of your breath against his lips. the words ‘disgustingly in love’ echoed in his mind, a reminder of the depth of your feelings for each other. he chuckled softly, his breath warm against your lips before you kissed him.

“and i'm disgustingly in love with you, too,” he whispered, his voice filled with affection.

as your lips met in a brief, gentle kiss, nanami felt a wave of affection well up within him. he drew back briefly, drinking in the sight of your flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, before leaning back in to capture your lips again with his hands come up to gently cradle your cheeks. this time, he kissed you with a deeper, more passionate intensity, his lips molding against yours hungrily, his tongue exploring your mouth with a familiar, intoxicating rhythm.

you could feel his body press against yours, his hands holding your face tightly as he claimed your mouth with a possessive, overwhelming force. he pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss, his hand moving up to gently caress your cheek. he looked at you, his gaze filled with tenderness.

“you know,” he murmured, his voice slightly hoarse with emotion, “i could say cheesy, corny things to you all night long.” as he pulled back from the kiss, his hand gently caressing your cheek, you could see the tenderness in his gaze. you relished the huskiness in his voice, the raw emotion behind it making your heart flutter.

you chuckled softly at his words, a mixture of mock annoyance and affection in your expression.

“oh, I know you could,” you retorted gently. “but please don’t. my poor heart can only take so much cheese before it melts into a puddle.”

nanami laughed heartedly as he saw your playful eye roll in response to his cheesy words. je knew very well the effect his cheesy lines had on you, but he couldn’t help himself sometimes. the way you tried to brush them off with a coy smirk only made him want to keep going.

he pulled you in closer, his arms wrapping around your waist and holding you tight in an embrace.

“ah, come on now,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of playful pleading. “you love it when i’m cheesy. don’t deny it.”

and just like that, with nanami's cheesy and corny jokes, his comforting presence, and the warmth of his embrace, your nightmares and fears began to dissipate. his gentle humor and unwavering support created a safe haven for you, where the shadows of your past couldn't reach.

in his arms, the weight of your worries lifted, replaced by a profound sense of peace and security. nanami's love and tenderness enveloped you, turning your darkest moments into memories of light and laughter.

[soldiersareyourprotectors]

Mike and Tim loved each other deeply. Mike, with his towering frame and muscular build, looked every bit the athlete. He was the star of the local rugby team, known for his strength and agility. Tim, on the other hand, was lean and wiry, with a sharp intellect and a quick wit that matched his keen eyes. They had been together for three years, and while their friends and family assumed the dynamics of their relationship, only they knew the truth.

In public, they played their roles well. Mike would wrap an arm protectively around Tim's shoulders, pulling him close as they navigated through life. Tim would lean into Mike, a small smile playing on his lips as if to say, "Yes, he's mine." They were the picture-perfect couple, and everyone admired them, envying their seemingly perfect chemistry.

What people didn't see was the subtle dance of power that took place behind closed doors. In their private sanctuary, Mike's broad shoulders and imposing stature meant nothing. As soon as they stepped into their apartment, the roles reversed.

One evening, after a particularly grueling rugby match, Mike trudged into their apartment, sweat glistening on his body. Tim was already home, sitting on the couch with a book in hand. He looked up as Mike entered, his eyes softening for a moment before a mischievous glint replaced the tenderness.

"Rough game?" Tim asked, closing his book and setting it aside.

Mike nodded, his muscles aching and his mind weary. "Yeah, they really put us through the wringer tonight."

Tim stood and walked over to Mike, his lean form moving with an effortless grace.

He reached up, cupping Mike's face in his hands and pulling him down for a deep, lingering kiss. When they broke apart, Tim's voice was low and commanding.

"Shower. Now."

Mike's eyes widened slightly, but he obeyed without question. He stripped off his clothes as he walked to the bathroom, the hot water a welcome relief against his tired muscles. As he stood under the spray, he felt the tension slowly ebb away, replaced by a different kind of anticipation. As the hot water cascaded over Mike's sore muscles, he found himself replaying Tim's firm command in his mind. Tonight felt different, special, as if Tim had planned something extraordinary. Stepping out of the shower, Mike wrapped a towel around his waist and made his way to the bedroom, feeling a flutter of anticipation.

Tim stood by the bed, his eyes dark and intense, an air of authority radiating from him. The room was dimly lit, creating a warm and intimate atmosphere. "Come here," Tim instructed, his voice steady and commanding.

Mike obeyed, crossing the room and standing before Tim, who reached out to gently untie the towel around Mike's waist, letting it fall to the floor. Tim's touch was electric, his fingers tracing patterns over Mike's chest and down his arms, sending shivers through his body.

Tim reached up, trailing his fingers lightly over Mike's chest, his touch sending shivers down Mike's spine. "You did well today," Tim murmured, his voice a seductive whisper. "But now, it's time to let go." Mike felt his knees weaken, sinking to the floor in submission. Tim guided him to the bed, his movements confident and deliberate, his control absolute.

For the rest of the night, Tim led Mike through an intricate dance of pleasure and obedience. Every touch, every whisper was calculated to drive Mike to the edge and back, each moment more intense than the last. Mike surrendered completely, reveling in the freedom that came with letting Tim take control.

As the night deepened, their connection grew stronger, the boundaries between them blurring until all that remained was the raw, unfiltered expression of their love and trust. When they finally collapsed into each other's arms, spent and satisfied, Mike drifted off to sleep with a deep sense of contentment.

The next morning, Mike awoke to the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains. He reached out, expecting to find Tim beside him, but the bed was empty.

Confused, Mike sat up, rubbing his eyes, and that's when he noticed something strange. His body felt different, smaller. He looked down and gasped. The body he saw wasn't his own; it was Tim's.

Heart pounding, Mike scrambled out of bed and rushed to the mirror. Staring back at him was Tim's reflection. He touched his face, his hands, unable to comprehend what had happened. Just then, the bedroom door opened, and in walked Tim-or rather, Mike's body with Tim's confident stride.

Tim, now in Mike's muscular form, grinned at the look of shock on Mike's face.

"Surprise," he said, his voice carrying a hint of triumph.

"What... how?" Mike stammered, struggling to find his voice.

Tim approached, his movements fluid and commanding. "I've been working on this for a while," he explained, flexing his new, powerful muscles. "I wanted to give us an experience neither of us would ever forget."

Mike's mind raced, a mix of disbelief and awe flooding his senses. "You... you swapped our bodies?"

Tim nodded, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. "And now," he said, stepping closer,

"I'm going to show you what it's like to be on the receiving end."

Before Mike could react, Tim's strong hands were on him, pushing him back onto the bed. Tim's newfound strength and size made resistance futile. He pinned Mike down, his grip firm but not painful, his eyes burning with a dominant fire.

"Relax," Tim murmured, his voice deep and reassuring. "Let me take care of you."

Despite the surreal situation, Mike felt a familiar thrill coursing through him.

He trusted Tim implicitly, and the idea of experiencing this new dynamic was intoxicating. He nodded, surrendering once more, this time to the powerful form of the man he loved.

Mike lay back on the bed, still reeling from the intensity of the shock. Tim, now in Mike's powerful body, towered over him, his expression a blend of satisfaction and authority. "Relax," Tim said softly yet commandingly as he positioned himself. The sensation of Tim's strong hands gripping his hips made Mike shiver. It was surreal to see his own muscular arms and broad shoulders moving with Tim's confident precision.

With a firm, controlled push, Tim entered Mike, the initial shock quickly giving way to waves of intense pleasure. Tim's powerful body thrust into him, each movement precise and deliberate. Mike's smaller frame felt every inch, every movement, as Tim guided him through a symphony of pleasure.

Tim's dominance was complete. He used his newly acquired strength to pin Mike down, his thrusts growing more intense. Mike moaned, surrendering completely to the overwhelming sensation, his trust in Tim absolute. The experience was electrifying, a mix of raw power and deep intimacy that left them both breathless.

Every thrust sent waves of pleasure through Mike's body, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the moment. Tim's control was unyielding, his dominance absolute. He drove into Mike with a rhythm that spoke of both passion and mastery, each movement precise and powerful.

Finally, as they both neared the peak of their shared ecstasy, Tim's thrusts became more urgent, more forceful. Mike cried out, his body trembling with the force of his climax, matched by the powerful release from Tim. They collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and sweat, utterly spent and deeply satisfied.

For a few moments, they lay there in silence, their breathing gradually slowing.

Mike looked up at Tim, still in awe of the experience. "That was... unbelievable," he whispered.

Tim smiled down at him, his eyes softening. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said, brushing a stray lock of hair from Mike's forehead.

As they lay there, basking in the afterglow, Tim's expression grew more serious.

"There's something you need to know," he said quietly.

Mike's heart skipped a beat. "What is it?"

Tim took a deep breath. "The body swap... it's permanent."

Mike's eyes widened in shock. "Permanent?"

Tim nodded. "I don't have any regrets, Mike. This is how it's meant to be. You need to accept it. I wanted to give us something more than just a temporary experience.

I wanted us to truly become who we are inside. You've always been the strong, dominant one in public, but in private, you love to submit. And I've always been the one in control, no matter how we appeared to others. Now, our bodies match our true selves."

Mike struggled to process the enormity of what Tim had done. He looked down at his new, leaner form, then back up at Tim's muscular body. Despite the shock, he couldn't deny the rightness of it. This body felt more like him, just as Tim's new form suited him perfectly.

Tim's smile turned mischievous. "I can't wait to live life as you in public, being the hot local rugby player. Stepping into your gear for the matches is going to be amazing." He paused, eyeing Mike's new slender frame. "And you know what? You should become a cheerleader for us. With your now skinny frame, you'll fit right in."

Mike's mind whirled at the idea, but as he lay there, cradled in his-no, Tim’s-strong arms, a sense of acceptance began to wash over him. This was their new reality, and he trusted Tim completely.

Tim looked down at him, his eyes soft but firm. "From now on, we should call each other by our new names. You are Tim, and I am Mike. This is who we are now."

Mike—no, Tim-nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Alright, Mike," he said, testing the name on his tongue. "I trust you."

Tim— now the real Mike—leaned down, kissing him tenderly. "I know you do, Tim.

And I'm going to take care of you, just as you deserve."

The new Mike grinned, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "I love controlling your tall, muscular body in public, and I'll love it even more in private, with you being the smaller one now. It's going to be incredible."

[zepskies]

Every Second Counts - Part 5

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the one you trust to help you find him. 

AN: I thought about breaking up this chapter into two parts, but for some reason it didn’t feel right. I hope you enjoy the finale! I think this is the moment we’ve all been waiting for…

Word Count: 7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Fluff, angst and hurt/comfort, ‘90s movie reference, mutual pining and tension, and a strong dose of smut.

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 5: “Damn Worth It”

You borrowed Russell’s cell to call Dory from the hospital. You let her know that Charlie was stable and resting, and that Russell was bringing you home.

You should’ve known that when you two got there, you wouldn’t have the kind of privacy you craved. Colter and Dory were waiting in his car, parked in your driveway. They met you in front of your house, where Dory pulled you into a big, swaying hug. She cried, you cried, and her brothers hung back to watch the warm scene.

Dory pulled back to get a better look at you. She hesitated to touch the bandage above your brow.

“God. Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m…I’m fine,” you sniffed, wiping at your face. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

Dory actually had your keys. After she handed them to you, you took in a steadying breath, and you unlocked your front door without incident this time. You invited everyone in.

Even though you told her not to, Dory began straightening up a bit for you. She had Russell take out the trash while she washed the dishes.

Meanwhile, you pulled Colter aside in the living room. You led him to sit with you on the couch.

“Can I at least give you $1,000?” you asked. It was all you had left in your savings, but the man had literally saved your brother's life, and yours as well. “I know it’s not much, compared to what your jobs usually get you—”

“Please,” Colter said. He touched your arm. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you and Charlie are safe.”

You teared up all over again, but you gave him a smile and held his hand with both of yours.

“Thank you,” you said.

Russell happened to spot the cozy little scene from the doorway. He couldn’t help staring, and trying not to frown.

When Colter caught sight of his brother loitering (and that look on his face), Colter tried to hide most of his smile. He let go of your hand, patted your shoulder and stood. You followed him to the kitchen, where he went to check on Dory. Russell filtered in behind you both.

“Hey, wanna grab some lunch?” Colter asked his sister.

She gave him a raised brow. “Wow, my brother actually wants to hang out with me instead of rushing off to the next job?”

He gave her an amused look. “I’ve got some time.”

Dory was happy to hear that, but her expression dimmed when she turned to you.

“Would you want to go? Or do you need to rest?” she asked.

“Oh, I need to get cleaned up, and then sleep for about ten years,” you said. “But you go, D. Have fun.”

She frowned. “I don’t want to leave you here by yourself.”

“Well, she won’t be,” Russell chimed in. “I’m gonna hang out here for a bit, clean up and take little power nap myself.”

At that, Dory slowly smiled, both amused and suspicious. Her gaze slid back to you.

“Are you sure?” she asked. You read the double meaning laced in her tone.

“Yeah, definitely,” you said with a smile, and the beginnings of a warm blush. “You guys go ahead.”

There was a knowing gleam to her own smile, but Dory shrugged and gave you one last hug. She and Colter said their goodbyes to their older brother before they headed out. It left you alone in the house with Russell for the first time since this all began.

“Um, you can use the guest bathroom if you want to shower,” you told him. “Towels are under the sink, and feel free to borrow any of Charlie’s clothes if you need.”

“It’s okay, I’ve got a bag in the car with some stuff,” Russell said, tossing a thumb over his shoulder. “I take one wherever I go.”

“Smart,” you nodded. “Very prepared.”

A strange silence stretched between you two, until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m just…gonna go clean up,” you said. “We can order some food after?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” he said. He was amused as he watched you scurry off, after giving him another smile over your shoulder.

Though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a small trill of nerves himself. It brought him a little bounce in his step as he headed out to his car to grab his stuff.

By the time you were done showering and drying your hair, Russell had ordered a pizza (and a side of fries). You padded out into the living room in an old college shirt and pajama shorts. He tried not to linger his gaze on your smooth, bare legs. 

“Sorry, forgot to ask if you’d want something else to eat,” he said. 

“Pizza is perfect,” you said. At this point, after almost a full day without food, you’d eat sliced bread out of the bag. You gave him a teasing look. “I’d ask you if you wanted a beer, but I’m afraid it’s not up to your standard.”

“Well, that’s okay. I happen to have brought a sample for you, just like I promised,” he said, with that grin of his you’d come to expect.

He retrieved a case of homebrew from his car, but you had to add some ice cubes into a tall glass before you joined him back on the couch. You poured the contents of a bottle into the glass.

“Sorry, I know this is sacrilege, but I can’t drink warm beer,” you said.

“I can’t fault you, though I didn’t really peg you for a pizza and beer kind of girl,” he said. He tipped a swig of beer into his mouth, right from a lukewarm bottle. He was a purist.

You quirked a brow at him and took another bite of your pizza slice. 

“Why not?” you asked, after swallowing a mouthful of pepperoni and mushroom.

Russell shrugged. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“No, no. I want to hear this,” you said. “What, because I teach college students?”

Russell looked over at you and leaned on his elbow, resting above his knee. 

“You’re a college professor with a handful of degrees,” he said. “I’ve got a GED and a give ‘em hell outlook on life.”

You shook your head at that. 

“We’re different. That’s not a bad thing,” you said. “And like my brother, you’ve fought for this country. You’ve saved lives, including mine. I’d say that’s pretty damn special.”

His head tilted at that. He didn’t want to remind you that, just like you saw today, he’d taken lives too. Perhaps just as many as he’d saved. You could debate the quality of those lives, but in the grand scheme of things, he knew what he was. A trained killer.

He rolled his shoulders, feeling a familiar weight.

You didn’t like the pensive look on his face, so you aimed to distract him.

“Want to watch a movie?” you suggested.

Russell inclined his head. “Sure. What you got?”

That was how the two of you ended up finishing the box of pizza and a case of beer while laughing at Tommy Boy, of all things—one of the best '90s buddy road trip comedies of all time. Apparently Russell had never seen it before, but you enjoyed watching him experience it for the first time. He had a deep, infectious laugh that made you laugh just by proximity. 

Later in the movie, the reluctant, unlikely duo of Tommy and Richard hit a deer, and tried to transport it in the car. Russell both laughed and cringed when the animal woke up and thoroughly wrecked the car from the inside. You noticed his reaction and nudged him in the arm. 

Russell held in a grunt of pain when you unintentionally hit his injured shoulder, bandaged underneath his gray henley. 

“What if that was the Chevelle,” you teased. 

He cast you a playfully chiding look. “Woman, don’t even joke.”

You laughed and squeezed his forearm in a friendly gesture. But he thought there was more than just friendliness when you shot him that little smile. He decided to take a chance. 

“Come ‘ere,” he said. He slid a hand around your waist and guided you closer until you came to lay against his side. You allowed yourself to rest against him, splaying your hand flat against the firm wall of his chest. Your heart tripped up faster, but you also relaxed more fully for the first time since you got home. You let out a long breath, and you used the remote to lower the volume on the movie a little.

“Do you think Charlie will be able to get past this?” you asked quietly. “Think he’ll be okay?”

Russell hummed as he thought back to his conversation with your brother in the hospital. Charlie was still young, but he seemed to realize what he’d done, and what he needed to change. He wouldn’t have volunteered himself for rehab if he hadn’t.

Russell brushed your arm with his thumb. “Well, I think he knows what he needs to do. If he’s anything like you, then he’ll be all right.”

Your mouth tugged upward, though you considered his words with a sigh.

“He hasn’t had it easy,” you said. “He was barely eighteen when our parents died. Suddenly he had to be an adult. In fact, he almost didn’t finish high school. Had to take care of the funeral, had to get a job, had to take care of me…and I didn’t always make it easy on him.”

Russell’s lips curved in light of your faint smile. Then, your expression dimmed.

“He pulled me out of the car,” you admitted. Russell looked down at you.

“You all were there?” he asked. 

“My dad was driving. We’d just gone out to dinner as a family,” you said.

You hesitated as the scenes once again filtered through your mind. Some things were hazy. Others, you could see with perfect clarity. You remembered how your parents argued about the best way to get home while the pouring rain beat down overhead, half-drowning out their voices.

You remembered what the flash of a red stoplight looked like through the car window, with streams of water coming down, and a dead leaf stuck to the glass.

You remembered the sound of horns blaring in your ears, the crunch of metal on metal. Your mother’s scream. The feeling of being suspended, and then ricocheted painfully through time and space.

Then the smell of exhaust, and the metallic tang of blood.

“We were heading through a terrible storm,” you said, after letting out a long breath through your nose. “By the end of the night, it was just me and Charlie in the hospital.”

He’d broken his arm, but thanks to him, the only thing you really walked away with were a few cuts and bruises, and the memories of that day. They were like old scars, painful and tender at the touch.

Russell shook his head, his brows knitting together. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “And I’m sorry too. I know you understand what it’s like to lose a parent.”

The movie played on as that new weight settled between you. Russell fell into his own thoughts as he continued to rub your arm in comfort. His own past wasn’t like yours, but he did understand some of your pain.

“How much did Dory tell you about how we grew up?” he asked.

You shifted a bit, so you could see his face too.

“I know your dad took you all to a cabin in some sort of compound in the woods, when you all were still pretty young.”

“He taught us to live off the land. Drilled us, really,” Russell explained, noting your raised brows. “Yeah, he was…well, a paranoid bastard, to be frank. We still don’t know all of why, and what drove him to move us out there.”

“Dory said he was…eccentric,” you said. Russell snorted.

“He was a piece of fucking work,” he said. “Half the time I hated him, if I’m honest.”

That part was hard to admit, even if it was true. Your hand soothed across his chest, more comforting as you listened. Russell’s lips quirked. He liked that about you, that you were willing to listen without judging him, or his family. Maybe that was another reason Dory seemed to love you so much.

“But one night, it was like he snapped,” he said.

For a moment, he was lost in the memory. His father’s anger, and the damn crazy look in his eyes. 

“What happened?” you asked quietly.

Russell glanced at you again. “I don’t think you wanna hear this right now.”

You shook your head. “No, I do.”

He hesitated, but that earnest look in your eyes got him. Still, he surprised himself when he actually told you. He explained it the best he could, the way he saw it in his mind’s eye.

Their mom had been missing, hadn’t come home yet. Then his dad had torn around the house like a man possessed, until he told them it was time to leave for their own safety. Dory had been scared, especially when he grabbed her, yelled at her.

That was the one thing Russell couldn’t tolerate. So he snapped, yanking the older man back and shoving him away. It was one of the first times Russell had ever defied his father.

Ashton Shaw left them then, heading out into the night and the rain. Maybe he’d realized what he was doing to his own kids, his own family.

Colter wanted to follow after him, but Russell stopped him. Being the eldest, he took on the responsibility, even if he’d been reluctant. We’re better off without him…

He was barely sixteen at the time, but Russell knew he’d seen his father arguing with someone—a man he’d seen before, talking with his mother. And then…

“I watched him die that night,” Russell said.

Your hand clenched in his shirt, reminding him that you were still in his arms, still listening. He remembered that scene, looking over the cliff to find his father’s broken body down below. 

“He fell, and I couldn’t stop it,” he said. “And to this day, I still don’t know what all that was about.”

He’d been reluctant to tell even Colter that it still haunted him sometimes; that night, and the not knowing.

You pulled yourself up further so you could meet Russell’s gaze.

“I’m so sorry,” you said.

The movie had long faded into the background, but at least it gave some white noise for the next heavy beat that passed between you two. His eyes eventually fell away from yours.

“It’s old history,” Russell said at last.

“It’s not just history,” you denied softly. “It’s your life.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just hummed in agreement. He encouraged you to relax against him again, with a warm hand on your back. You settled and released another contented sigh. Even though Russell’s story weighed on your heart, you did feel closer to him. It made you feel like you understood Dory better too, and even Colter.

Russell rubbed your arm. “You doin’ okay? You’ve had a long day.”

“Day and night,” you agreed. Your eyes closed against your will. “But, yeah…I think I’m okay now.”

At that, he smiled. He laid a kiss on your forehead.

“Good,” he said.

A few minutes later, Russell heard your soft, deeper breaths in sleep. He chanced grabbing a throw blanket laid over the back of the couch. He managed to toss it over your body, but he made sure it covered you. You shifted in your sleep and curled up more comfortably against him. 

Russell smiled down on you fondly. He’d learned a hell of a lot more about you in just the past couple of days, but ever since he met you, he’d been picking up on the important things. The things that made you the woman you were.

And he wanted more, he realized. He wanted more time with you.

That turned out to be the last real thought he had before his eyes closed on him too. 

Russell didn’t wake again until the credits on the movie were rolling near the end. You were still knocked out. So he carried you, blanket and all, over to your bedroom.

He smelled the remnants of your floral shampoo and body wash in the air, likely coming from the bathroom. It was an intoxicating mix, one that had infiltrated his nose ever since you came out of the shower today. 

It was only 6:00 p.m., but it might as well have been midnight. He laid you down toward the middle of the bed. There was still space on the other side. Very tempting.

She did offer, he thought, remembering what you’d said at the hospital. And yet, he hesitated.

Before he could make a decision, you made it for him. Your hand reached out to hook in his shirt. 

Russell looked down at your sleepy smile. 

“Get over here,” you said, tugging him downward. He chuckled and wrapped his hand around yours. He allowed you to guide him over, and he somehow managed to roll onto the other side of the bed without crushing you. 

“Reflexes like a cat, I tell ya,” he quipped.

You giggled softly. He took off his first layer of defense (his pants), leaving him in his henley and boxer briefs. He settled into bed behind you and slipped an arm around your waist. He fit in snug against your back.

“Mmm,” he sighed. His lips pressed behind your ear, smiling there. “Feels nice.” 

“Mhmm,” you agreed.

He couldn’t see your smile, but you held his arm in place. For the first time in a while, you weren’t alone.

In the early morning, you woke up to warmth and closeness. The man in your bed snored lightly, mouth parted in sleep while he faced you. You smiled.

How could a man who felt dangerous, in more ways than one, also make you feel safe? It was a wonder. Though when an idea hit you, you carefully slid out of bed.

Russell eventually roused in his own time. He blinked awake, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He stretched out his limbs in your very comfortable bed. This sure beat rusty motel springs.

He realized that he was alone in the room, but he heard you puttering around the house. He allowed himself to doze some more.

A few minutes later, you returned to greet him with a couple of mugs, drawing him back into the waking world with the rich smell of coffee.

“Aww yeah, that’s the stuff,” he said. He groaned as he slowly sat up.

You laughed and sat beside him on the edge of the bed. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” he said. His voice was deeper and rougher with sleep, washing down your spine pleasantly.

He accepted the mug you offered him. He took a sip and hummed in pleasure at its bold flavor. It wasn’t as sweet as he usually liked it, but it was exactly what he needed right now.

“I just did a little sugar and creamer. That okay?” you asked. 

“It’s good,” he nodded. And you looked good, he noticed, with your bed-tousled hair and an open robe over your tank top and little shorts.  

“Do you want to meet Dory and Colter for breakfast?” you asked. “Dory texted me this morning.”

Russell’s brows shot up. 

“Colt stuck around?” he asked.

“Yeah, Dory asked him to stay at her place last night,” you said. Russell hummed in response. 

A bit of an awkward lull fell between you. You’d felt bolder yesterday in the hospital, but now, you weren’t entirely sure what you were doing with a man who just slept somewhat-but-not-altogether platonically in your bed.

“Um, I’ll just…get ready then,” you said, pointing to the bathroom. “You…take your time.”

He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah.”

He peeled back the covers and climbed out of your bed, away from the sheets that smelled like you. 

You watched him go when he headed across the hall back to Charlie’s room. You sighed and beat your hand against your own forehead in frustration. What the hell am I doing?

You’d literally invited him into your bed last night, but he hadn’t done anything more than hold you while you slept. It was incredibly kind, and it said a lot about him, despite his rough-around-the-edges exterior. You were just a little disappointed that he’d been a perfect gentleman about it all. 

You rolled your eyes at yourself. What did that say about you?

You shook your head and resolved to freshen up. There was still a cut that the ER nurse covered with a butterfly bandage above your brow. You cleaned it up and applied a new bandage. Then you put on some makeup to cover the ugly bruise on your cheek and the dark circles that lingered under your eyes.

God, look at me. You actually wouldn’t blame Russell for not being into you enough to make a move. 

A bit disheartened, you changed out of your pajamas to slip on a nice, but comfortable dress over your bra and underwear. Afterward, you paused to stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment. What exactly do you want here?

“Hey, uh—” Russell’s voice startled you, making you flinch. Maybe you were still jumpy.

He raised an apologetic hand. “Sorry. Just thought I’d ask if you want some toast or something. I don’t think my stomach can wait ‘til we meet up with Dory.”

You smiled faintly. “Sure, go ahead. Whatever’s there, you’re welcome to.”

Russell paused, tilting his head. There was something off with you. He saw it, and felt it. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” you said, glancing away. 

Russell’s spidey senses began to tingle. He approached you and laid a hand on the counter, inches from yours. 

“You sure?” he said. He took in your hesitant face, then the pretty dress you had on. The color matched your eyes. Soulful eyes.

He smiled when you let him see them again.

“Can you see the bruises? I think I covered them up well enough,” you said. You turned to look at yourself in the mirror again, touching your jaw carefully. 

Russell’s hand raised to find your cheek, earning your attention with wider eyes. His thumb swept across your skin as you started to blush.

“You’re beautiful,” he said with a smile. “Don’t you worry about that.”

Your face warmed further, despite your smile. 

“Yeah, the makeup helps,” you quipped. 

“I didn’t say anything about makeup,” he replied. Though he grinned and made a show of looking closer at your face. “Although, have your lashes always been that damn long?”

You laughed, but he didn’t let go of you. Instead, his hand drifted down to your neck, cradling your jaw. His thumb brushed over your lower lip this time, smudging your lipstick a little. Your eyes met his, but they’d already lowered, to the path of his hand. You were tempted to nip at his thumb, or better yet, suck it into your mouth.

Perhaps he read the thought crossing your face. Because when those darkened eyes flicked up to yours, he finally bowed his head to kiss you.

You took in a deep breath, and you melted into his mouth with a moan of wanting. A craving from the depths of your heart, finally being fulfilled.

You didn’t let yourself think anymore. You gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. He cupped the back of your head, tangling his fingers into your hair as he deepened the kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, and you let him in. You met his every kiss with the same fervor, claiming him right back, demanding just as much.

Your hands slid up his chest and helped him shrug off the green jacket first, then his shirt (Led Zeppelin this time). He hooked an arm around your waist and brought you flush against him, so he could turn you around and walk you back to the bed. 

You clung to his bare shoulders and savored the feeling of his warm, calloused hands burning up your thighs and ass, bunching the skirt of your dress. You helped him get it over your head and toss it onto the floor along with his clothes. 

As he held you by the waist, his gaze dipped for a moment to take you in, from bare thighs and hips and lacy panties, all the way up to your breasts cupped in your bra. Through panting breaths, you smiled and blushed at the heated depths of his green eyes. You felt like your heart was beating in and out of rhythm.  

But you managed to get a hold of your nerves long enough to drag your hands down his chest, down to his belt. You unclipped it for him and took your time in sliding the entire belt out of its loops. Then you let the brown leather fall to the floor. 

Russell raised a brow at you, smiling. Taking your challenge for what it was, he unbuttoned his jeans himself and aimed to step out of them, but he had some trouble when one of the pant legs got caught around his ankle and sock-covered foot.

“Shit,” he muttered as he stumbled a little. “Hold on.”

Unable to help a small giggle, you grabbed his left arm to help steady him. He hissed in pain, but he cleared his throat to cover it. You gasped as you realized what you’d done. You noticed then that he had a bandage tightly wrapped above his elbow, right below one of his tattoos.

“What’s this?” you asked in concern. You held his arm with both hands. “Did you get shot? Did you get this looked at when we were at the hospital?”

Russell staved off your questions with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay. This is old, just still healing up,” he said. 

You frowned up at him. “You got stabbed, shot, what? When did this happen? I thought you worked in private security.”

“A couple months ago. I got, uh, grazed. Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Sometimes the job gets a bit dicey.”

He could tell though, that you weren’t going to let it go easily. 

“Let me see,” you said, trying to peek under the bandage. Russell laughed and gathered you into his arms to stop your attempts. Your concern warmed him, but it wasn’t necessary. 

“I’m fine, sweetheart. I promise. Can we focus on the fun part, here?” he said.

Your brows furrowed. You opened your mouth to reply, but Russell saw the testiness in your eyes. He dipped down to kiss you, swallowing whatever snippy remark you were about to make.

You weren’t the only one giving into a craving here. Russell’s was bone-deep, molten in his blood, and getting to see you, to feel your soft body under his hands was already so much better than he’d imagined. His hold tightened on your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin.

A shudder ran up your spine at his touch. You circled your arms around his neck and let him continue ravishing you, then laying you down onto the bed. 

While you were careful about avoiding the bandage, your hand did drift down his arm, and further still, to palm at the straining bulge pressing against you. And Jesus Christ, did it feel generous. He grunted at your touch and paused with his lips against your jaw. 

“Well hey there, cowboy,” you said, adopting a more sensuous tone. “I had a feeling you’d be packing. What’s that, a .45, or a 38 Special?”

Russell’s eyes blinked wide. Then he erupted with deep laughter that made his shoulders shake. Aside from throwing a punch, your brother must’ve taught you something about guns too. 

“Well thank you, kindly,” Russell said, putting on a bit of a southern drawl, just to tease you. “But you’re about to find out, naughty girl.”

You giggled as he began to kiss your neck, languid and sloppy. He blazed a wet trail down the column of your throat and between your breasts. His beard rasping against your skin made you shudder a little, but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, you quite liked that a lot.

He slipped a hand underneath you to unclip the black lace. You arched into him so he had easier access. 

He slid the bra from your body and tossed it somewhere behind him. Just as he’d imagined, you had beautiful tits. His lips explored each of them in turn, squeezing supple flesh and rolling your sensitive, hardened nipples with his tongue and fingers. 

It was a prequel, you thought, for what talents that mouth might have further down. You had to moan just at the idea, your fingers clenching in his hair, but also at the sensations he was drawing from your body wherever he touched. The man clearly knew what he was doing.

He traveled lower still and laid slow, occasionally nipping kisses across your stomach, hips and thighs. His fingers hooked around your panties and lowered them down your legs. You felt his warm breath panting against your thigh. You glanced down at him and tensed in anticipation. 

“Still good?” he checked, squeezing your hip. You smiled and reached for his hand. Russell gave it to you, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand in affection. 

“I think I’m about to be,” you said cheekily.

He smirked. His other hand smoothed up the inside of your thigh and slipped past your folds, finding wetness that already coated his digits.

“Goddamn. You’re soaked,” he said, just a hint teasing. “Bet if I put my mouth on you, you’d fuckin’ drown me.”

Again, he stopped whatever smart quip you were about to levy at him next when his fingers found your clit. You let out a gasping moan instead.

He decided that he already loved that sound. He endeavored to pull it from you, again and again when he began working you open with his fingers and pumping them inside you. He enjoyed seeing you writhe and arch against his hand. Your hands squeezed his arms, his shoulders, trying to anchor yourself.  

His thumb circled and strummed your clit in a rhythm only he could hear in his head, until you couldn’t help biting your nails into his shoulders when you came. You shuddered your release as your core throbbed with warmth and slick around his fingers. 

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” he said. His voice rasped deep with arousal. “Wouldn’t even mind if you did drown me.” 

You huffed in response, unable to form speech just now.

Next time, Russell thought. He slipped his fingers out of you and licked them clean, making your eyes widen. He smirked and stroked your thigh as you came down, a shuddering mess.

After taking a second to regain your breath, you pulled him down for a kiss, both grateful and fueled by a passion you couldn’t put into words. What you felt for this man was instinctual, from the moment you saw him. And yet, it was also so much more. It was raw, and real, and maybe even beautiful.

The thought spurred you on as your hands moved with purpose down his body. Your nails caught at the waistband of his boxer briefs as you tried to roll them down. You got it halfway down his thighs, enough to let his hardened length spring free. You bit your lip at the mere sight of him. Goddamn.

Your hand slid around his cock, near its weeping head. You used the beads of wetness there to work your way smoothly down to its base. Russell’s body tensed above you, just before he groaned low in pleasure.    

You pushed at his chest to have him let you up. 

“Your turn, baby,” you said. It would be one hell of a challenge to get your mouth down that beautiful 44 Magnum, but you were more than willing to try.

To your surprise, Russell shook his head and guided you back down.

“Let’s pin that one for next time too. Wanna be inside you already,” he said.

You blinked, but then you nodded in breathless agreement. He kissed you deeply, devouring you with his teeth grazing your bottom lip. His tongue soon slipped out to soothe it.   

“Condom?” he panted, between kisses. 

“Oh, yeah. Um…bathroom, bottom drawer,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure why you were whispering. 

“Okay, two seconds,” he said.

He left you in the bed, quite literally hot and bothered, and very naked. You crossed your arms over your breasts on reflex while you tried to recover. Your core was still tingling, and your heart was beating fast, though you couldn’t stamp out the smile forming on your face. 

You heard the sound of foil unwrapping and clothed rustling. When he came back to the bedroom, you finally got a full picture of what you were in for. You unconsciously licked your lips as your gaze dipped down his body, and the indeed impressive package at full mast, and full display. 

A grin curved his lips when he caught you staring. He climbed back onto the bed with just a bit of struggle with all the blankets coiled about. He pushed a heavy blanket out of his way, accidentally shoving it to the floor.

“Back to business,” he said.

“Oh, yeah,” you agreed, and you welcomed him back, sliding your hands up his arms and shoulders. You hooked your thigh around his hip as he found his way back between your legs. Holding his bearded face in your hands, you pulled him in for another kiss that reignited you both. 

He sunk his hand into your hair and treated you to another slow, deep kiss. Until your thigh tightening around his hip urged him to satisfy what you both had been wanting and waiting for.

He grabbed your thighs and angled you higher. Then he lined himself up at your entrance. Looking into your eyes, your breaths mingling together, he sheathed himself a little at a time. A keening moan fell from your lips.

He started with shallow thrusts, giving you time to adjust. But that in itself was a torturous tease. It made the coil in your lower belly start to tighten again. Pleasure began to thrum inside you, ever slowly. Your head tipped back into the pillows with a gasp.  

“God, Russell, please,” you uttered. You squeezed his arms on reflex, your heels digging into his ass. 

“I know, baby. Gonna fucking wreck you, I promise,” he said with a grin. 

You huffed in amusement. That was a hefty promise.

Though a moan tore from your throat when he finally bottomed out, stretching your inner walls. He groaned along with you. His lips fastened to your neck as he gave you deeper thrusts.

“You feel so good,” you said raggedly in his ear, raking your fingers through his hair. You felt every damn inch of him.

“You too, baby. So damn good,��� he gritted out. “Tell me what you want.”

He raised your thigh a bit higher, his fingers pressing into flesh.

“Ugh, fuck,” you gasped, as he hit a particularly delicious angle. “Whatever you want to give me.”

“You sure about that?” Russell asked, panting against your neck. Your nails dragged down his back between the muscles in his shoulders, hard enough to earn a halting groan from him.

You nodded emphatically. “Yes!”

His lips hinted at a smile. “Okay, hold on."

Before you could even respond, he pulled out of you all the way, just so he could guide you over onto your stomach. He pulled you up onto your hands and knees. As he ran a hand down the gentle slope of your back and around the curve of your ass, you breathed harder in anticipation.

“So damn beautiful,” he muttered.

You glanced at him over your shoulder. You unconsciously bit your lip as your heart couldn’t help but swell at his words. Russell met you with a look that betrayed his desire, making your lower belly tremble as well.

He parted your cheeks and slotted himself between your thighs from behind. You once again felt the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, and then pushing back in with one deep plunge. Both of you let out moans of relief at the feeling.  

Pretty soon, he was pounding into you deeper and faster than before. Oh, fuck yes…

You clawed at the headboard, trying to find something to keep you stable. Russell’s arm slid around you for a solid support. You held onto him right back with one hand while he continued to drive into you, earning each and every sound coming out of your mouth. He’d finally angled you just right, so he could hit that special spot inside you with every thrust. Your pussy clenched on him in response, making him grunt in pleasure. 

“Fuck, you’re close. I can fuckin’ feel it,” he said, panting. He laid a biting kiss where your neck met your shoulder. You cried out in both pain and pleasure, your inner walls once again squeezing on him. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, breathless. “This time, you’re gonna come with me.”

You reached back and tangled your fingers into his hair. He held you to his chest and squeezed your breast a bit roughly. You uttered a wanton sound. You dragged his hand down your body to part your folds. You used his fingers to press against your clit. 

He picked up your hint, and then took control, massaging you with his fingers. There you began to tremble from the inside out. Warmth emanated from your core and spread outward, down to your toes as you came even harder on his cock. 

Russell wasn’t far behind. His voice joined yours as his body locked up, and he spilled hot into the condom. You almost wished he’d come freely inside you, so you could really feel him. Regardless, your body was boneless when he lowered you down onto the bed afterward.

“Holy shit,” you breathed.

He chuckled and kissed your shoulder, before he fully pulled out. Panting for breath though you both were, you managed to twist onto your side and reach a hand for his cheek. Your fingers slipped higher from there, cupping the back of his neck. Your thumb swept tenderly across his cheek, and you guided him down for a proper kiss.

Russell obliged you, his lips meeting yours plush and wet. He brushed strands of your sweaty hair away from your forehead with affection.

Somehow, that last kiss was softer than all the rest.

One thing was for sure though. There was no way you two were making it to breakfast. 

“I kind of feel bad now,” you later confessed. 

You and Russell were taking a few minutes just to recover under the messy sheets. He held you while sitting up against your headboard. He almost craved a smoke. You’d given him a damn workout. 

He smirked at the thought. Admittedly, his mind was more on focused on the scenes replaying in his head than on what you were saying. 

“Dory doesn’t get to see you guys that often,” you continued, “and who knows how long Colter will seriously wait for us to get out of bed.”

Russell’s attention drifted back to you at that.

“Come on, it’s not like they know why we’re running late,” he said. You gave him a knowing look. 

“Are you kidding? They were already suspicious when you brought me home yesterday,” you replied with a laugh. 

Russell grinned and rubbed your arm. He knew you were probably right, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“Yeah, well. That was damn worth it,” he said.

You smiled. You rolled your head over on his shoulder, so you could see his face, but you became contemplative as uncertainty crept in. You let in a breath to gather your courage, and you decided to take a chance. 

“You know, drug dealers aside, Laramie isn’t such a bad place to live,” you pointed out. “We’ve got a movie theater, a couple good outlet malls, a new Tex-Mex restaurant that just opened down the street. I’m gonna have to find a new bar though.”

Russell smiled at you. He knew what you were suggesting.

He sighed as his amusement faded. 

“Look, even if I stay…” he hesitated.

He looked into your eyes and saw the vulnerability there. You were being honest with him, putting your heart into his hands. The least he could do was be honest. He covered your hand where it rested on his chest.

“If I’m on a job, I could be gone weeks at a time. I won’t be able to tell you where I am or what I’m doing. That’s gonna be hard on you,” he said. 

He knew his friend Doug made it work with his wife, but their relationship wasn’t without friction because of the job he and Russell shared.

“I can handle it,” you said firmly. 

“You just had a little freak out over a scratch earlier,” Russell pointed out, with a gesturing hand at his bandaged arm. 

“Okay, that’s different,” you said.

You wouldn’t say it now, but there were things that still concerned you about his job. You had a strong feeling that "private security" wasn’t all it entailed. However, after what he’d done for you, after what he’d done for Charlie, you knew that Russell Shaw was a good man.

There was something good here, and you didn’t want to lose it this time. You shifted in his arms, so you could face him.

“Look, we can sit down and figure all that out,” you said. “But do you want to at least try? Or…am I reading this wrong?”

Russell stared back at you ruefully. He raised a hand to touch your cheek, grazing your soft skin with his fingers. 

“No, you’re not,” he said. 

In fact, what he felt already ran deeper with you than he’d like to admit. He let out a long breath through his nose. 

“Okay,” he said at last. “If we’re gonna do this, let’s do it right, I guess. I’ll book a motel here in town for now. If things go well, I can…I don’t know, find an apartment.”

Your answering smile broke him down further, even as it warmed him inside. You turned over to circle your arms around his neck, and as an added bonus, pressing your bare breasts against his chest. You kissed his cheek with a happy hum. He laughed at your enthusiasm. He also accepted your sweet path of kisses that led to his lips. 

He groaned when it became not so sweet, with your tongue slipping hotly against his. His hold on your hips tightened.

“Uh oh. Baby, we can’t do this now,” he chuckled, even though your hand was already wandering down his body and under the sheets. You both were supposed to be getting ready to meet his brother and sister for lunch. 

“Five minutes,” you said against his lips. All the while, you were pushing him back onto the bed. You began to kiss down his chest, and lower still.   

Russell snorted. Right. 

But he wasn’t about to argue with you. He had a gut feeling…one that made him almost certain.

He’d found where he wanted to be. 

AN: Well, then! I hope you enjoyed the "happy ending." 😘 I always get a bit sad at the end of a series, but thank you to everyone who's followed the ride on Every Second Counts. Let me know what you thought of how it all shook out here at the end between her and Russell! 💜

Read the Sequel:

Want more ESC? Read the next one-shot, Lost Time (18+):

Summary: When Russell takes longer than usual on a job out of town, you realize how hard it is to live half a life with him.

▶️ Keep Reading: Lost Time

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[onlyhereforthestories]

Merry Christmas Everyone! (Mapi Leon x Reader)

Day 18! Okay I struggled today. I am really not sure I like this one but I didn't ahve enough time to worry about it as it is due out now. I'm sorry!

The morning air was crisp, and as you hauled a large bag full of decorations into the locker room, your breath clouded in the chilly hallway. You were on a mission. Mapi had mentioned in passing how much she missed the cozy holiday feeling at the club, and you wanted to surprise her, and by association her teammates, with a festive touch right in their space. She'd been putting in extra hours with training, and a holiday surprise felt like just the thing to bring some cheer to her and the team that you loved very much.

You had spoken to some of the staff members who had given you permission to carry out your plan and a schedule of where the team would be at every point that day. With everyone out at practice, you had the locker room all to yourself. Grinning, you unzipped the bag, pulling out strands of colourful holiday lights, tiny decorated trees, and a small stocking for each player, each one carefully labelled with their name in glittery letters. You could already picture Mapi’s face when she walked in, her usually calm and collected expression breaking into one of those big, genuine smiles that you loved so much.

You started with the lights, stringing them across the tops of the lockers. Each twist and knot took a little more work than you'd anticipated the tangles not easy to get out so you could string them up, but seeing the twinkling lights with the main lights off was more than worth the effort.

After carefully arranging the little trees on a table by the door and the massage bench in the middle, you moved on to the stockings, hanging each one up in the players' lockers. You took extra time hanging Mapi’s in her locker, making sure it was perfectly placed. You had made an effort to make hers that little bit more special, it had a little more colour and was bolder than the others. Yes, you were slightly biased, but she deserved the best.

In each stocking, you placed small treats you'd picked out earlier that week. A candy cane here, a small bar of chocolate there, along with tiny ornaments that represented each player's style or inside jokes that only the team would get. For Mapi, you’d found a miniature black guitar ornament, nodding to her love of music, and a mini football that had her laughing face on it, a custom piece you knew would make her laugh.

With everything in place, you took a step back to admire your work, feeling a sense of accomplishment as the room glowed with warm holiday light. You imagined the looks on the players’ faces as they walked in, you really hoped it would bring them all a sense of holiday cheer, especially with how intense the season had been so far. And above all, you couldn’t wait to see Mapi’s reaction.

Just as you finished a final inspection, you heard footsteps echoing down the hall. Quickly, you ducked behind the door to the showers, hiding with a grin as you heard the team’s voices getting closer.

Mapi’s voice was clear as she led the way. “I swear, training was intense today. I’m ready to just collapse.”

A couple of her teammates murmured in agreement, and you could almost hear the fatigue in their voices. You held your breath, trying to stifle a giggle as the door swung open.

There was a moment of silence as they took in the transformed room, and then you heard it, a sound that was engrained into your brain, Mapi’s loud, joyful laugh.

“Oh my God! What is this?” she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine surprise and delight.

You peeked out from behind the lockers, watching as the team filtered in, their expressions morphing from exhaustion to amusement and joy. Mapi’s gaze swept over the room, taking in the lights, the stockings, the little trees. Her eyes sparkled with that familiar knowing glint as she moved closer to her stocking, reaching for the tiny guitar with a grin.

“This is amazing!” she laughed, looking around at her teammates, who were all chattering excitedly and digging through their stockings. “Who did this?”

Stepping out from your hiding spot, you raised a hand with a wide smile. “Surprise! Merry early Christmas, everyone!”

Mapi’s face lit up as she spotted you, her mouth curving into a grin of pure delight. “You did all this?” she asked, a hint of awe in her voice as she walked over to you.

“Guilty,” you replied, smiling as her teammates gathered around you, showering you with hugs and exclamations of thanks. “I just thought you all could use a little holiday cheer after all the hard work. I know your schedules have been packed this December and I thought you all deserved something special.”

Mapi shook her head, clearly touched. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” she said, though you could tell she was thrilled. “But I’m so glad you did. This is amazing!”

She leaned in, her arm sneaking around your shoulder as she took in the decorations, her smile warm and grateful. “This is perfect. You even got stockings for everyone?”

You nodded. “It took a while to find the right ones, but I figured each of you would appreciate something done for just for you guys to enjoy.” You gestured toward her stocking. “And I may have picked a few things that were uniquely Mapi.”

Laughing, she reached inside her stocking, pulling out the small custom football with her laughing face on it. “This is ridiculous,” she chuckled, holding it up for her teammates to see. “Look at this! She’s got me perfectly captured here.”

Claudia, nudged her with a grin. “Well, that’s exactly how you look after you score, so it’s pretty accurate.”

Everyone laughed, and Mapi playfully rolled her eyes, setting the little ornament on top of her locker like a badge of honour. She turned back to you, her gaze soft. “Thank you,” she said, her tone sincere. “This really means a lot.”

You reached out, taking her hand and giving it a light squeeze. “You’re welcome. I know how much the team means to you, and I wanted to give you all something that shows just how much I admire that.”

Just then, one of the players started up a small Bluetooth speaker, and festive music filled the room. Within seconds, the atmosphere shifted, everyone’s energy reinvigorated by the cheerful decorations and the upbeat music. A few of the players started dancing, and Mapi couldn’t resist, pulling you into a twirl with a playful grin.

“You know, I wasn’t expecting to end my training day with a dance party,” she teased as she spun you around, her laughter contagious.

“Well, then I’ve done my job,” you replied, laughing as you let her guide you in a small, playful dance.

As the festivities continued, you and Mapi helped her teammates find the little surprises in their stockings. Each item brought a new wave of laughter, and you found yourself caught up in the joyous energy, surrounded by players who now felt like an extended family. Seeing them light up at each small detail, you knew it had been worth every second.

Mapi kept glancing over at you with a look of admiration and warmth that made your heart feel full. She nudged you gently, pulling you aside for a moment.

“You know, you’re amazing,” she said, her voice low so only you could hear. “All this it’s exactly what we needed. What I needed.” She paused, her gaze softening. “I don’t say it enough but thank you for always being there for me. For us.”

Her words made your cheeks flush, and you smiled, feeling the depth of her gratitude. “I’ll always be here, Mapi. You and the team deserve every bit of this, especially with all you’ve achieved together.”

She wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, her head leaning against yours. “Best early Christmas gift ever,” she murmured, and you couldn’t help but feel the warmth of her words settle into your heart.

Between the music, laughter, and the festive decorations, the space had transformed into a place of joy, a reminder of how much love and care surrounded each of them. “I won’t ever forget this,” Mapi said softly, her gaze meeting yours with a hint of awe. “Thank you, for everything.”

You smiled, brushing a hand through her hair gently. “There’s more where this came from. I’ll make every Christmas with you just as special.”

Mapi leaned down, her lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss. When she pulled away, her eyes shone with gratitude and something deeper, something you knew was there but loved hearing in her own words.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispered, her voice filled with warmth.

[foolexby]

We belonged, but not here.

Notes: James Potter x Fem Reader. Angst. Not use of Y/N. English is not my first language. Use of Google translate.

Cw: Existentialism. Existential crisis. Broke of reality.

WC: 4.6k

Navigation| Your name | Part I | Part II

James.

James..

James…

The name floated like a feather in the thick morning air, gliding between your dreams and the faint reality slipping through the curtains. It was a voice without a body, without direction, like an echo trapped on the threshold between sleep and wakefulness. Every time you woke, it was there. Subtle. Persistent. As if it were searching for you. As if you, somehow, had been waiting for it too.

You sat up in bed abruptly, your breath coming in short gasps, heart pounding as if you’d been running for hours. A thin layer of cold sweat covered your back, making you shiver despite the warm air beginning to filter in through the window. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard that voice, that name. But today... today was different. It sounded clearer. Closer. And most of all, more real.

You stayed still for a long minute, eyes fixed on the shadow cast on the wall. The shape was ambiguous, distorted by the sunlight filtering through the swaying leaves outside. There was nothing there, and yet, the emptiness stared back. The distant hum of the city waking up contrasted with the absolute silence settling inside you, as if your entire world had held its breath all at once.

You had always led a perfectly ordinary life. Set routines, school, morning coffee, a city that never stopped spinning. There were no tragedies in your story, but no wonders either. And yet, since you were very little, you’d felt a strange sense of something being… off. A slight dislocation, like the world you saw didn’t quite fit together. As if beneath everything you knew, there was another layer — older, deeper. And somehow, you belonged to it.

You felt it in mirrors, in those moments when your reflection took just a fraction longer to follow you. In the dreams that repeated with details too precise to be mere imagination. In the sense of being watched from a corner of time you couldn’t reach. As if someone — something — was on the other side, waiting for you to remember.

And then, there was him.

Not as a clear image, not even a defined voice. At first, it was just a feeling. A warmth in your chest when you least expected it, a sudden emptiness upon waking, a word that slipped out without meaning: James.

You never knew where that name came from. You hadn’t read it, didn’t know anyone who bore it, and yet it was carved into you with the same intensity you recognize a forgotten melody. You whispered it in your dreams. You thought it silently while staring out the window, not understanding why it made your chest ache like you’d lost something that had once been yours.

There were nights — increasingly frequent — when you dreamt of laughter. A young, warm laugh that seemed to wrap around everything. Of a hand taking yours without fear. Of an intense gaze, deep and unwavering, looking at you as if you were the only secret in the universe. You couldn’t remember his face clearly, but you knew him. You felt him. As if his eyes had loved you for centuries. As if his existence, though fragmented and hazy, were part of your spine, of that quiet part of you you’d never been able to explain.

But this never — or almost never — disrupted your routine.

So, like every morning, you forced yourself to move. You took a deep breath, shaking off the chill running down your neck, and got up with the clumsiness of someone who hasn’t fully joined the day yet. You went to the bathroom, as usual. Let the shower water fall over your skin, hoping it would wash away the unease — as if it were just another layer of dream clinging to your body. But it didn’t go away.

Steam fogged up the mirror, and for an instant, when you wiped your hand across the glass, you thought you saw something behind your reflection. A blurred figure, just a shadow. You closed your eyes, shook your head, and told yourself it was just the towel rack’s reflection. Nothing more. You couldn’t let yourself fall into paranoia. Not when you have class in less than an hour. Not when the real world — the tangible one, the one that doesn’t vanish when you blink — was waiting with the cruel punctuality of routine.

You got dressed in automatic motions, as if your body knew the steps even while your mind wandered elsewhere. Everything was the same. But nothing felt normal.

You stepped into the hallway, closed the door behind you, and went down the stairs in silence, greeting the doorman with a polite smile that didn’t reach your eyes. The city streets were already alive, breathing their usual chaos. People in a hurry, cars rushing by ,the intermittent scent of coffee mixed with gasoline. It was all familiar… and yet, there was a sense of distance in the air, as if everything were wrapped in an invisible layer of distortion.

As you walked to the subway stop, your footsteps echoed with an odd rhythm, as if the ground didn’t fully recognize you. As if you had shifted plans without realizing it. A couple of times, you felt like someone was watching. You turned around. No one. Just an old woman feeding pigeons and a boy distracted by his headphones.

You boarded a car full of sleepy bodies and stray thoughts. You held onto one of the metal poles and closed your eyes for a moment. In the darkness of your eyelids, the image returned: fingers entwined with yours, the brush of a forehead leaning gently against your own, a voice calling you "doll" as if that word had belonged to you before you were even born.

The train moved, jostling you slightly. You opened your eyes, swallowed. You had class in under twenty minutes. Contemporary philosophy. They’d be discussing the perception of reality, the fragility of consciousness. An ironic coincidence that didn’t go unnoticed.

But you no longer knew whether you were awake — or still dreaming of him.

Of James.

And the strangest part was that, even though you didn’t know where he came from, when you’d met him, or if he had ever even been real… you missed him like something had been torn from you. Like a part of you — the most vital, the most you — had stayed behind somewhere else, in another life, another time, another universe.

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The campus was, as always, a blend of scattered voices, hurried footsteps, and half-finished coffees. The trees were starting to shed their leaves, painting the walkways in shades of yellow and red that crunched under the students’ feet. The air smelled of damp earth, old books, and university stress. You know it well. And yet, as you walked among the people, you felt like you were the only one moving to a different rhythm. As if the world advanced to a cadence just slightly out of sync with yours.

You greeted your group of friends with a smile that felt like an echo. They responded, of course, asking about the exam, about the group project due on Friday. Everything sounded normal. Familiar voices, familiar jokes. But instead of wrapping around you like they used to, those words hovered around you without touching. As if you were inside a fish tank, hearing everything through water.

Your coffee tasted strange. Not bad, just… unfamiliar. As if they had used a different brand, a different filter, a different sequence while making it. You checked the thermos, confused. It was the same as always. But that taste didn’t belong to you.

When you entered the classroom, it was cold, as usual. White walls, flickering fluorescent lights with their insistent buzzing, and that damp paper smell that lingered in old lecture halls. You sat in your usual spot by the window, like every Tuesday. You pulled out your notebook, your pencil case, placed the pen on the blank page and aligned it carefully — almost like a ritual to contain the chaos inside.

You were trying to concentrate. You really were. But every now and then, your gaze drifted to the outside world — to that strip of sky framed by buildings, gray and distant. There was something in the tone of the day that felt… off. As if time were slipping slightly out of place. As if everything you were living today was a dimmer version of something you had lived before — but more intensely, more vividly.

Midway through class, your pen fell to the floor. You bent down to pick it up and, for a split second, when your eyes passed under the desk, you thought you saw shoes that weren’t yours. Red Converse? But when you looked up… nothing. Just your own feet, slightly trembling.

The professor arrived, an older man with a deep voice and measured tone and began talking about perception as an inevitable filter of truth. About how the senses deceive us. How everything we accept as real might just be a convenient construction to keep us from going mad.

The professor wrote on the board in his tight handwriting: “Perception is the architecture of reality.”

And for the first time in a long while, you really paid attention. Not to him, but to those words. Because lately, your perception had felt… shaky.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed. Sometimes the clock seemed to speed up, other times it stalled. The voices of your classmates mixed with a low, constant murmur that had been following you for days — as if someone were whispering just beyond the edge of your hearing. And when you tried to focus, one thought returned, inevitable:

Where am I really?

While he spoke, you took notes mechanically, but your thoughts drifted elsewhere.

You blinked. In the corner of your notebook, you had drawn a pair of initials without realizing it: J.P. Surrounded by a heart. You didn’t remember doing it.

You slammed the notebook shut.

You didn’t want to keep thinking about this.

You froze. Looked around as if someone might have seen. As if you had revealed a secret you didn’t even know you were keeping. You quickly flipped another page over the drawing, as if hiding it could erase the discomfort tightening in your chest. You didn’t know where that name came from. You only knew it didn’t belong to your world.

But deep down, you knew it did.

Class ended. You left quickly, crossing the faculty’s hallways like someone trying to outrun something. The campus was full of voices and laughter, students walking in all directions, immersed in their world of notes, deadlines, and trivial conversations. You passed your friend Vivian, who waved at you from a table at the campus café with a cheerful gesture. You joined her with a brief, automatic smile.

“Are you okay?” she asked, eyeing you with those observant eyes that rarely missed a thing.

“Yeah, I just slept badly,” you lied — though it was partly true.

She accepted the answer with a shrug and kept talking about normal things: an annoying professor, the photocopier that had broken down again, the scholarship she wanted to apply for. You nodded, smiled, answered just enough. But inside, a tightness was slowly closing around your chest.

It felt like acting. Like you were yourself — but also a misaligned version of yourself. A poorly synced copy. The sun shone differently; conversations passed by as a background hum. Everything was… slightly off. Not in an obvious way. Not in a way you could point to. But just enough to make you question it.

After lunch, you had another class — this time literature. There, you felt a bit more at home. You’d always loved words. Stories. The possibilities that opened when someone dared to invent a different universe. Maybe that’s why part of you resisted so much to believe that the name — James — was just a dream.

You got lost in a discussion about magical realism and the boundaries between the real and the fantastic. You listened to a classmate quote Borges, and without quite knowing why, the phrase stuck in your mind:

“What is a dream? Who dreams of it?”

When all of your classes ended, the sun was high, filtering its golden light through the trees as if the entire world were suspended in a moment that didn’t want to end. The air carried that late-afternoon city scent — a mix of dry leaves and promises yet to be fulfilled. You put on your headphones almost without thinking, like wrapping yourself in a familiar blanket. Hit play on your usual playlist and headed toward the nearest subway stop.

You passed the library, even though you had no real reason to. You didn’t need to look up any book or check anything urgent. But you went in anyway, like following a reflection more than a decision. It was almost a ritual. You liked that place — the smell of aged paper and dry ink, the whisper of turning pages, the muffled echo of distant footsteps, the suspended stillness that seemed to float in the air. You walked between the shelves aimlessly, unhurried. As if something — or someone — might be hiding between the rows of books, waiting to be found.

And then, you saw it. Out of the corner of your eye. It is almost as if the book had been watching you first.

A volume stuck out slightly from the shelf, crooked, misaligned. The cover was worn, its edges frayed, as if it had passed through too many hands and too many stories. The spine bore signs of age, but not of neglect. It seemed to resist being ignored. The title, in faded golden letters, made you freeze: “History of Hogwarts.”

You frowned. It didn’t ring any bells. It wasn’t part of your coursework, nor part of the usual catalog. It was… foreign. As if it belonged somewhere else, or to another time. As if it shouldn’t be there — but had chosen to be.

You picked it up carefully, as if it were something fragile. Or sacred. When you opened it, the pages rustled softly, releasing a familiar scent — of rainy afternoons and forgotten teacups. And on the first page, in the top margin, written by hand in small, neat script, you read a single word: Doll.

Your heart skipped a beat. Your whole body went still. The air thickened around you.

You blinked. Leaned in a little closer.

And the word was gone.

Just the author’s name, the publisher, a perfectly organized table of contents. Nothing out of place.

But you knew you had seen it. You knew you had read it. That word wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be.

And the most unsettling part was — you weren’t afraid. Not really. Instead, a strange, quiet peace began to settle in your chest. That part of you that had been beating like it was trying to escape something, like it couldn’t find its place, began to calm. To settle. As if, at last, something was where it was meant to be.

You slipped the book into your bag almost instinctively, without thinking too much. You didn’t know what you were going to do with it, or why it mattered so much. You only knew one thing:

You couldn’t leave it behind.

And you walked out of the library with light steps, almost floating — without looking back.

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You walked home as if the world were suspended inside a silent bubble. You couldn’t hear the cars, or the people, or the footsteps on the pavement. Everything sounded distant, muffled, as if it were playing from another room. You felt the weight of the book in your bag, pressing against your hip like a heart beating out of place. Every so often, you glanced at it from the corner of your eye, as if expecting it to glow or open on its own. As if it were going to say something else to you.

When you got to your apartment, everything seemed the same… but it wasn’t.

The same couch by the window. The same noise of cars passing under your balcony. The same mug you always used—a white one, with a thin crack in the handle—waiting for you in the cupboard. But the light of the sunset was coming in differently. As if the world were slowly aligning itself to show you something that had always been there, hidden behind the curtain.

You took off your shoes. Put water on to boil. Sat on the couch. Looked at the book.

Part of you didn’t want to open it again. Not yet. As if doing so meant crossing an invisible line. As if reading it were something you couldn’t undo afterward.

Your fingers brushed along the edge of the cover with unconscious reverence. You opened it, not looking for anything in particular, just letting yourself be guided by instinct, by the same invisible force that had drawn you into the library without reason, that had made you take that volume for no apparent cause.

The pages were thick, yellow, some marked with stains of dampness or ink. The names and dates meant nothing to you at first, but something inside you—something deep, primitive—clung to each word like they were clues, as if the meaning were hidden between the lines, waiting not to be understood, but remembered.

And then, it happened.

It wasn’t a clear memory. Not yet. It was more like an inner jolt; a subtle shiver that ran through you like a cold wind when an image materialized in your mind without warning: a castle. High on a hill. With pointed towers cut against a grayish sky, wrapped in mist. But it wasn’t a postcard. It wasn’t an idealized image. It was real. There was the smell of damp earth, of old wood, of chimney smoke. You felt the weight of a cloak on your shoulders, the crunch of your footsteps on stone floors, the distant murmur of young voices echoing through endless corridors.

You blinked, confused.

Your gaze returned to the page in front of you: Hogwarts was founded more than a thousand years ago by the four great wizards…

Wizards?

The word startled you. What kind of joke was this? Fantasy? Fiction? Maybe the book was part of some forgotten collection, a satire or an apocryphal tale. But what truly unsettled you wasn’t how strange the content was—it was that when you read it… it felt normal.

As if you had always known it.

Suddenly, you were in another library. Not the usual one. This one was different, boundless. The shelves rose like endless columns toward a ceiling you couldn’t see, covered in books with worn spines, scrolls tied with velvet ribbons, jars of thick ink, and objects you couldn’t name but which felt strangely familiar. The air was saturated with a dense, ancient scent, a mixture of melted wax, aged leather, and something else—something that could only be described as… magic. It pulsed in the air, suspended like a symphony yet to begin. In your hands, you felt the subtle weight of a feather quill, the kind used only in fantasy stories. Black ink stained your fingers, drawing small lines across your skin, as if you, too, were being written.

And then, before you even noticed it approach, someone leaned close to your ear. The voice was no more than a whisper, barely a breath, but every syllable struck the back of your neck as if you’d known them all your life. It wasn’t a full sentence. Just a single word.

“Doll.”

The breath that touched your skin was warm, intimate, and familiar. And the shiver that ran down your spine wasn’t fear, but recognition. You didn’t know who it was. You couldn’t see the face. But something in you—in that deep place where memories from another life are kept—knew him. Remember him.

You opened your eyes wide, your chest heaving. You were back in your home. Sitting in the kitchen, the book on your lap, one hand still resting on the open page. The midday light filtered in through the window, but the glass was fogged by steam rising from the boiling kettle. The clock hadn’t moved. It still showed the same time as when you opened the book. As if everything that had just happened had been contained within a single blink.

You brought your hand to your chest, right where you’d felt that voice. It still vibrated. As if the word had been etched there, pulsing softly, reminding you that it hadn’t been just any dream. You looked again at the book’s cover. History of Hogwarts. A simple title, even boring. But the word "Hogwarts" stirred something in your body. It was like an echo. An anchor. It hit you with the force of something you’d lost long ago and that now, without knowing how, was being returned to you.

You turned a page, then another. You weren’t looking for anything. You were letting the book guide your fingers. Until something stopped you. It wasn’t a picture or a specific word. It was something more subtle. A scent, maybe. A flicker, an invisible brush. You closed your eyes. And in an instant, you were there.

The Gryffindor common room. Not in your imagination, not like you were picturing it—no, you were there, for real. You could smell the fire burning in the fireplace, the sweet smoke from the wood. You felt the rough texture of the velvet armchairs, the creak of wooden floors beneath your feet, the muffled laughter rising from the dormitory stairs. Every detail was so vivid that for a moment you couldn’t tell if you were dreaming, remembering or living. It was as if a part of you had always lived there, in secret, waiting for the right moment to remind you.

You brought a hand to your chest again, an almost involuntary gesture. This couldn’t be real. But you felt it. And if it wasn’t real, then why was your whole body reacting as if it were?

Without warning, without transition, another image overtook you. A broomstick slicing through the sky, over a field golden in the sunlight. The wind hit your face, tangled your hair. Your heart pounded in your temples. And then, a voice. Loud, clear, full of life.

“Come on, doll! Don’t fall asleep on me now.”

You didn’t know who it belonged to. You didn’t remember that scene. But you recognized that voice as if it were in your bones. As if it had been stored in your blood since before you were born, waiting for this moment to speak to you again. The image faded as quickly as it had come, like a spark snuffed out in the dark, but the certainty of having lived it—or dreamed it or remembered it—remained.

That night, you took the book to bed with you. Not with the intention of reading more, but with the visceral need to keep it close. As if it were sacred, something you couldn’t let out of reach. You placed it carefully on the nightstand and lay on your side, your body still tense from the emotion, from the soft trembling that pulsed beneath your skin.

You closed your eyes.

And you didn’t dream of floating castles, or dragons, or magic wands. It wasn’t a dream of impossible adventures. It was something simpler. More intimate. You dreamed of a cup of hot tea in your hands, of the soft scent of grass and perfume enveloping you. You dreamed of a stone bench beneath an ancient oak tree, with leaves falling in silence. Of a deep, enchanting laugh. And of a hand brushing against yours with the ease of routine, as if it had done so a thousand times before.

When you woke, your heart was beating fast, but not fearful. It was something else. You turned your head toward the book.

It was open.

And on the left-hand page, written in ink so faint it looked freshly dried, was a phrase you didn’t remember reading before:

“I told you I’d find you.”

You stayed sitting on the bed for a long while, unmoving, staring at that sentence as if it could explain everything.

The ink was barely visible, as if it didn’t fully belong to the material world, like a whisper turned into words, a distant voice transformed into handwriting. You tried to touch it with the tip of your fingers, but the paper was smooth, untouched. The sentence didn’t vanish. It didn’t bleed. It just… stayed there. Waiting for you.

You felt a knot in your throat, one that didn’t hurt, but weighed heavy. Like when you realize you’ve forgotten something important for far too long. And once you remember it, you miss it with an absurd, inexplicable intensity.

You lay down again, eyes wide open, holding your breath. The book still on the nightstand, like a compass pointing toward a north you didn’t know how to reach. The room was quiet, but not the quiet of loneliness. It was the quiet of a threshold. A crossroads. A return.

When you closed your eyes again, sleep came without asking.

And this time, it wasn’t a scattered fragment.

It was a memory.

You saw it. Not clearly. Blurred. Bright. But you saw it.

He was sitting on the floor, legs crossed in front of a fireplace, damp hair falling over his forehead, a mischievous smile on his lips. The Gryffindor common room was empty, just the two of you, sharing a universe made of whispers and promises.

“Don’t laugh,” you were saying, in a low voice, a blanket over your shoulders.

“How could I not laugh, doll, when you’re looking at me like I hung the stars?”

His voice was warm. Familiar. His. Yours.

And your body recognized him before your mind did. You felt the memory of his touch, the safety of his embrace, the way the world disappeared when he looked at you like that—like you were the only thing that made sense in all the chaos. “This isn’t real,” you whispered, even though in that moment, in that version of the memory, you believed otherwise.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, like so many times before. His fingers traced the shape of your face with the gentleness of someone afraid to break a spell. “Of course it’s real,” he answered. “Just not now. Not here.”

You looked at him, confused.

And then, as if he’d been waiting for you to ask, he whispered against your skin, “We belong, just not here. This world… it’s not ours. We’re just remembering. Or trying to find our way back.”

Your hands trembled. In the dream. In real life. You couldn’t tell where you ended and the other you began. The one who had already lived this. The one who had already loved him. “Back to where?” you asked.

He gave you a sad smile. And the room began to fade around him. Like ink in water. “Home,” he said. “Back to what we were. To what we used to be.”

And just as you were reaching for him, about to beg him not to leave you again—you woke up.

Your heart was pounding so hard it hurt.

You sat up abruptly. The room looked the same as before. The curtain barely moved by the wind. The nightstand with the book, now closed. But you weren’t the same anymore.

You know something now. It wasn’t clear. It wasn’t whole. But it was there, pulsing in your chest.

We belong, but not here.

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A name whispered across time.

A touch remembered by the skin before the mind can follow.

A love that refuses to die quietly.

Some hearts are stitched not to places, but to people.

And when the world shifts, when timelines bend, when universes forget— those hearts remember.

Because they were never built to exist apart.

They don’t belong to here.

They belong to each other.

And even if the stars forget their names, they will find one another again.

Always.

[xi4oyan]

@skymoral hope ya like it ( ͡º ꒳ ͡º)

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾When the Light Fell from the Sky ☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

No one witnessed when she fell.

It was like a wayward comet torn from its firmament — a soul wrapped in ash and glass, ripped from the modern world by a fire whose flames consumed not only flesh, but also name. When Angel awoke, the sky above was a deep blue, veined with clouds that resembled marble. A damp, clean scent lingered in the air, like after rain, and the breeze whispered in a language she didn’t know, yet somehow understood.

She lay upon a bed of soft, damp moss, where tiny white flowers bloomed like fallen stars. The trees around her stood tall and solemn, and bamboo swayed in reverence to her waking. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in golden threads, and the silence wasn’t emptiness — it was welcome, like the Earth itself breathing gently.

Angel sat up slowly, her long dark hair spilling over her shoulders like waves of warm ink. Each heavy strand glinted with golden highlights, and her skin — a soft, earthy bronze — glowed with minuscule drops of dew. She wore a pale tunic of translucent gauze, cinched at the waist with a cord of gold thread entwined with tiny pearls of light. The fabric, white as new-fallen snow, was embroidered with flowering peach branches and swirled around her ankles like living mist. Delicate bronze anklets chimed softly with every movement, like notes from an ancient instrument.

She did not know her name. Only the word “Angel” remained — tattooed in small, fine black letters behind her ear, like a whispered secret. And she knew, in her very soul, that she no longer belonged to the place from which she had come. She had been pulled from it — from suffocating heat and flame, from screams no one remembered — and now she was reborn in a world that breathed legend.

Led by an intuition she could not explain, she wandered through the silent fields. The wind played with the hem of her robe, and the branches respectfully parted before her. The birds did not sing — they simply watched. And then she arrived at the clearing.

There, at the heart of the world, was the egg.

It was immense and smooth, like a drop of moonlight solidified. Its surface was pale gray, faintly blue, veined with golden light that pulsed as if it were breathing. It sat nestled among rounded stones, surrounded by golden flowers that never wilted. The air around it shimmered, caught in a trance, and time itself seemed to pause.

Angel knelt, her knees sinking gently into the moss. Her hands touched the warm surface of the stone, and her heart pounded at the recognition of something she had never seen before — a memory seeded before birth. She rested her forehead against the shell and whispered, as if in prayer:

“Sunny…”

The name escaped her lips unbidden, but carried with it a sweetness, as though a thousand suns had planted it inside her. And the stone trembled.

That night, the starlit sky opened like a ceremonial veil. Angel slept at the base of the egg, her hands resting over her belly, hair spilling over the ground like ribbons of dusk. She dreamed of a golden monkey with bright eyes and a burning heart, running through endless showers of peach blossom. He held out his hand and laughed with his gaze, and his name echoed in the wind — not as a call, but as a reunion.

When dawn broke, the stone began to crack.

The light from within was golden, like sunlight trapped in amber. The shell split silently, fragments floating gently before touching the ground. And from within emerged a small creature — golden-furred, with eyes like living embers. He trembled, newborn, and his first gesture was to reach for Angel, stumbling, his little hands coated in stardust.

She held him. His body fit in her arms like an ancient promise. He smelled of just-extinguished fire, sweet fruit, and warm stone. He looked into her eyes, vast with questions and quiet acceptance. And Angel smiled, tenderly — not because she had found something, but because, finally, she had been found.

“You’re the sun,” she said softly. “And I’ll be the sky where you shine.”

Sunny — Wukong — nestled into her arms, and the world around them exhaled a long breath. As if the Earth had finally been released from its waiting.

The days that followed were woven in gold: she bathed him in a crystal spring while he tried to bite the water. His fur gleamed like threads of lightning, and his mischief was light as childhood. Angel taught him to speak — even when all he wanted to do was scream — and he taught her how to laugh, even when all she carried was sorrow.

And as he grew, the embroidery on her robe frayed, and her hair grew longer. But her hands were always open to him. He was chaos and laughter, she was silence and comfort. She covered him with her cloak in the rain and cradled him against her chest when the nightmares of his fiery birth still burned his skin.

She never told him where she came from.

And he never asked.

Because there was love — a love born not of duty, but of choice. Angel was the sky where he danced, and he was the spark that reignited her soul.

And so, between eternally green leaves and paths that led to myth, the Girl of the Sun and the Golden Monkey rewrote their destinies not in stone, but in petals and footsteps shared. The Mountain of Flowers and Fruit, once home to only echoes and silence, became a place of laughter, of stories whispered beneath the moon, and of two hearts that had fallen from the sky — one as sun, the other as star — only to find each other at last.

༓･˚₊‧✩‧₊˚･༓

[advisorykitty]

Meal for all

Russian!Reader x Everyone

♡I have russian heritage myself and thought. this would be a cute fic!

------

The pile of blankets you called a bed—aka a large laundry basket stuffed with mismatched throws—creaked slightly as you stirred. It wasn’t the comfiest of arrangements, but somehow, it had become your spot in this strange house. Who needed a real bed when you had a cozy pile of blankets and a basket that made you feel like an oversized kitten? Well you kinda are one... anyway! You groaned, still half-asleep, as the morning sun filtered through the windows, lighting up the living room.

Your hair stuck to your face, damp from the long, drawn-out shower you'd taken the night before—fully clothed, as usual. You had a habit of soaking in the water with your MP3 player still blasting music in your ears, which had once again led to you falling asleep in sopping clothes.

The sound of your stomach growling snapped you out of your daze. Food. Right. You hadn’t eaten anything good in... well, you couldn’t remember the last meal that wasn’t a snack or a bite stolen off someone else’s plate. Pushing yourself up out of the basket, you rubbed your eyes and glanced at the others.

Nyen wasn’t there to glare at you, thank god, but the place was too quiet. It was almost peaceful, except for the faint noise of Randal’s game coming from another room. A memory popped into your head—something warm, filling, and... Russian. Something your grandma used to make on cold days like this. You couldn’t exactly make it the same way she did, but the thought alone made your mouth water.

Deciding today was the day to try cooking something, you grabbed the towel still wrapped around your wet hair and slumped into the kitchen, trailing water all the way there. Luther was already standing by the stove, just staring at it. Like he was thinking really hard about something that no one else could possibly understand.

“Master Luther,” you said, voice still groggy from sleep, “do you mind if I cook something today? Something Russian.”

Luther’s eyes flicked toward you, a slow, unnerving smile creeping across his face. He had a way of smiling that always left you wondering if he was genuinely happy or if he just enjoyed messing with people. “Russian, meine Katze?” he asked in that soft, almost monotone voice of his. “I wasn’t aware you had Russian roots.”

You scratched the back of your neck, shrugging. “Yeah, I never really talk about it, but my grandma- I mean , I made these cabbage rolls—golubtsi before. I was thinking of making them again. You know... for old times’ sake.”

Luther nodded slowly, his gaze lingering a little too long on your still-soaking clothes. “Golubtsi, ja? That sounds... intriguing. You may cook. But perhaps a change of attire first, yee?”

You blinked, glancing down at your dripping shirt and pants. “Uh... yeah. I’ll get on that.”

Before you could leave the kitchen, though, Nyen appeared in the doorway, looking as if he'd just stumbled upon a crime scene. His sharp eyes narrowed at the puddle forming under your feet.

“You’re still wet,” he grumbled, arms crossed, his tone borderline pissed. “How long are you gonna drip all over the damn house?”

“It’s water,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “Not like the place is gonna flood.”

Nyen’s scowl deepened, and you could practically hear the sarcasm dripping from his next words. “Sure. Because cleaning up after you definitely isn’t something I’d rather avoid.”

Before the situation could escalate, Luther’s soft voice cut through. “Nyen,” he said, his smile never faltering, “perhaps you should assist them in cooking, since you seem so concerned.”

Nyen flinched, his scowl shrinking just a bit. “Master Luther, I—” he began, but Luther’s gaze, though still calm, silenced him.

Nyen grumbled a few more unintelligible curses under his breath but finally gave in with a quiet, “Whatever.”

You turned back to the stove, already thinking about what you needed to get the food started. You caught a glimpse of Nyon hovering by the kitchen door, eyes flicking between you and the stove. His face was, as usual, totally unreadable, but he stepped a little closer.

“Golubtsi,” he said in his slow, accented voice. “You cook that?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. You know it?”

Nyon gave a slow nod, his hat casting a shadow over his eyes. “Da. Russian food. My... before, I ate that.”

For someone who didn’t usually talk, that was practically a full sentence. You grinned. “Well, if you don’t mind waiting, I’ll have it ready in no time. Want to help?”

Nyon blinked once, then twice. “Nyet.”

You chuckled. “Didn’t think so.”

---

As the food simmered on the stove, the kitchen began filling with the scent of cooked cabbage and spices. It wasn’t exactly a gourmet meal, but it was comforting in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. Nyon sat quietly at the table, eyes still fixed on the stove. Nyen hovered nearby, clearly impatient and less than thrilled about the whole situation.

Randal, still only seven, wandered into the kitchen, holding his game controller like it was glued to his hand. “You’re cooking?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. “Aren’t you, like... a cat? I thought cats hated water.”

You blinked. “Yeah, well, I’m a complicated cat.”

Randal stared at you, clearly not getting it, then shrugged and wandered off again, muttering, “Weird.” (despite being wierder himself)

Nyen, who had been leaning against the counter, shook his head and snorted, something about 'even randal thinking your wierd' or whatever he said.

You didn’t even bother responding to that, too focused on making sure the rolls didn’t burn. “Just wait. You’ll be thanking me when you taste this.”

Nyon’s blank expression didn’t change, but there was something almost like approval in his silence. For him, that was the equivalent of a thumbs-up.

---

Luther sat at the head of the table, watching with that unsettling, ever-present smile as you placed the dish in front of him. “Ah, golubtsi,” he mused, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “It looks wonderful, meine Katze.”

Nyen muttered something about “poison” under his breath but still pulled up a chair. You knew he’d eat it—he always did, even if he complained the whole time.

Nyon was already sitting at the table, his blank expression never wavering, but you could tell he was quietly pleased. He didn’t say a word, but his body language was a little more relaxed than usual. For Nyon, that was practically ecstatic.

Sebastian, awkward as ever, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He wasn’t part of these kinds of gatherings usually, but Randal had dragged him in. “Russian food, huh?” he said, stiff as a board. “Never tried it... before.”

“First time for everything,” you grinned, serving him a portion.

Sebastian gave a stiff nod, clearly trying not to look like he wanted to bolt from the room. It was awkward, sure, but at least everyone was seated together.

The meal wasn’t anything fancy, but it brought a rare sense of normalcy to the house. Even Nyen, who had complained nonstop, was chewing thoughtfully, though he’d never admit he liked it.

Luther’s smile stayed plastered on his face as he ate. “Sehr gut,” he said softly. “A wonderful addition to our meals, meine Liebe.”

You smirked, sitting back in your chair. “See? Told you.”

You smiled and went back to eating your cooking. Hmm, some syrniki sound good right now...

[porcelainstarrr]

CHAPTER 2

⌖

The sun slapped me across the face like it had a personal vendetta. I groaned, rolling over and yanking the blanket over my head, already regretting every life decision that led to me forgetting to close the curtains last night. My new apartment was filled with light, warm, blinding light. I cracked one eye open, only to shut it again like I’d been flashbanged by Mother Nature herself. My head throbbed faintly from last night’s wine. My limbs were stiff. My thoughts, sluggish. I sat up slowly, my hair a tangled mess. I squinted against the brightness, shielding my eyes like a hungover vampire crawling out of a crypt. “Alright, alright,” I muttered, throwing my legs over the side of the bed. “I’m awake. You win.” I stretched, my body creaking like it was protesting the idea of functioning. The space around me still felt too quiet. Too new. The soft echo of my breathing bounced off bare walls that hadn’t lived long enough to hold memories. No dents. No scuff marks. No soul, yet. Today was my first official day.

New job.

New routine.

New everything.

And underneath it all, nerves.

Buzzing under my skin like a second heartbeat. I dragged myself into the bathroom and took a long, hot shower, longer than necessary, because part of me wasn’t ready to face the world. Not yet. I needed the steam. The quiet. The pause. My chest felt tight, not in a bad way, just… full. Like my whole body was holding its breath. By the time I stepped out, I moved on autopilot. Hair. Makeup. The outfit I’d picked out two days ago, like pretending I had it all together would actually make it true. My hands were steady. My heart wasn’t. In the kitchen, I made a quick breakfast. Nothing fancy. Just enough to get something in my stomach. I brewed coffee in my new machine and swore it tasted better just because it came from my counter. I stood there for a moment, warm mug in hand, staring out the window at Hell’s Kitchen as it began to stir. 

Cars rolled past like clockwork.

Dogs barked at nothing.

People in suits walked with purpose like they were born to own the sidewalk. I watched them for a long time, taking slow sips of my coffee. This is my life now. I said it in my head like a reminder. Like maybe if I repeated it enough, the nerves would go away. They didn’t. I packed my bag slowly. Laptop. Notebook. Pens. ID badge. Lip balm. My nerves. I looked around my apartment again. It was still too clean. Too untouched. But it smelled like citrus and fabric softener. The sunlight made everything look golden. Like a soft filter over something fragile. I caught my reflection in the hallway mirror. I looked calm. Professional. Ready. (I wasn’t. But I had to be.) I grabbed my keys. Locked the door behind me. Took one deep breath… And walked into my first day.

─────── ⌖ ───────

The building was colder than I expected. Not just the temperature, though the A/C was clearly trying to prove something, but the energy. Everything was sterile. Clean. White-walled. The kind of quiet that wasn’t comforting. It was controlled. Like even the walls were watching. I stepped through the front doors with my new work ID clipped neatly to my blazer and my nerves tucked behind a professional smile I wasn’t sure was convincing. My shoes clicked softly against the polished floors, too loud in the silence. My chest felt tight, but my face stayed neutral. Trained. Calm. A staff assistant greeted me, young, brisk, polite. The kind of smile that had done this a hundred times and knew not to linger too long. She led me through the building in quick, efficient steps.

Lobby.

Break room.

Archives.

Restricted wings.

I nodded, took mental notes, tried not to fidget with the strap of my bag or the edge of my sleeve. I kept my pace steady, even when I wanted to look back, just to make sure the hallway wasn’t closing behind me.And finally, my office. “This is yours,” she said, opening the door and flipping on the lights. I stepped inside. Spacious. Neutral tones. Not cold exactly, but not warm either. A large desk. Empty shelves waiting to be filled. A window, floor-to-ceiling, offering a clear view of the city below. From here, Hell’s Kitchen looked calm. Almost… ordinary. But nothing about today felt ordinary. “Thank you,” I said softly. A small smile. She gave a polite nod and disappeared down the hallway, heels fading into the hush. And just like that, I was alone. I stood there for a moment, just breathing. The quiet hum of the fluorescent lights. The subtle hum of the A/C. The sound of my own breath, echoing too loudly in a space that wasn’t mine yet. I walked to the desk. Fingers grazing the edge of it. Cool to the touch. I sat down slowly, adjusting the chair as I settled in. The seat gave slightly under my weight—too stiff, like it hadn’t been used in months.

It felt… blank. Like a canvas someone forgot to paint on. But it would become mine.

 Eventually.

I rolled my shoulders, opened my notebook, wrote the date in the top corner like it mattered. Ten minutes later, a stack of patient files arrived, placed silently at the corner of my desk by someone who didn’t even glance in my direction. No hello. No warning. Just, here. I reached for the top folder out of habit, flipping it open just enough to scan the name, Then there was a knock. I looked up. My supervisor stepped inside. Mid-50s. Sharp suit. Tired eyes. The kind of man who looked like he’d seen too much and trusted no one. “Doctor,” he said with a nod. “Settling in?”

“Trying to.” I offered a tight, polite smile. He walked toward me and held out a single file, Not from the stack. Not just another name. This one was different. The way he placed it in front of me said so.

“This is your first priority.”

I looked down.

The name stamped on the label in bold:

POINDEXTER, BENJAMIN LEONARD.

Something shifted in my chest. Barely. But I felt it. I opened the file slowly, my eyes scanning the summary at the top.

Former FBI agent.

United States Army veteran.

Unmatched accuracy.

Lethal. Controlled.

Diagnosed with multiple psychological disorders.

Raised in an orphanage.

Parents: deceased — circumstances unclear.

Suffered a spinal injury years ago. Survived. Barely.

Now in recovery. My eyebrows lifted slightly. My lips parted, just barely. The file was thick. Worn at the corners like it had been read over and over again. Marked with red tabs. Clipped with handwritten notes. Behavioral reports. Incident logs. Federal transcripts, some clear, some borderline incoherent. I didn’t say anything, but I felt the weight of it in my hands.

Heavy.

Both literally and… not.

“His conviction is under federal review,” my supervisor said, arms crossed. “The court is considering dropping it. But only if we can prove he’s no longer a threat.” I looked down again. This time slower.

Benjamin Leonard Poindexter.

His name sat there like a warning.

A line drawn in the sand between what the system forgives… and what it still fears. “Document him. Observe. Evaluate. If you believe he’s mentally fit, your word could be what gets him released.”

I nodded slowly. Carefully.

“Understood.”

He lingered. Watched me. Like he wasn’t sure if he was making a smart decision… or a dangerous one. Then he left. Quietly. The door clicked shut behind him. 

And I was alone again. Just me… and the file. I slid it into my bag, pressed it closed, and forced myself to move on.

Like today was just another first day. Like it didn’t already feel different. Because it did.

─────── ⌖ ───────

That night, I didn’t think much of the file. It was just another case. A thick stack of government paper and quiet red flags. Nothing more. It sat beside my laptop on the coffee table as I curled up on the floor, legs crossed, wine glass in hand, back rested against the couch. The glow of my screen reflected softly off the pages. I told myself I was just getting ahead. Reading. Prepping. Doing my job. I’d handled complex patients before. This was no different. I opened the file again, more out of obligation than curiosity. But the deeper I read, the quieter the room felt. Page after page. Details that blurred between clinical and... unsettling.

Former FBI agent.

United States Army veteran.

Unmatched accuracy.

Psychological instability.

Severe trauma history.

Past incidents involving known vigilantes.

A few names jumped out from the reports.

Special Agent Rahul Nadeem. Karen Page. Matthew Murdock. Franklin Nelson. Wilson Fisk.

I blinked. I leaned back, furrowed my brows, and chewed on the inside of my cheek. That name, Wilson Fisk. Wasn’t just familiar. It was heavy. I lifted my wine glass and took a long sip before grabbing my phone. I called Gigi. She picked up before the second ring. “Miss me already?” 

“Kind of,” I muttered, dragging the file into my lap. “But also… I might’ve just been handed one of the most complicated cases of my career.”

“Ooh.” She perked up. “Do tell.” I opened my laptop and pulled up the first tab, voice low as I read aloud: “Former agent. Military background. Underwent a psychological break while working under pressure. Possible connection to Wilson Fisk.”

There was a pause. 

“…Wait. Fisk? The Fisk?”

“Mhm.” 

My mouth was dry. I flipped to another page, scanning the timeline of incidents. “Was involved in a string of high-profile incidents a few years back. Impersonated a vigilante, Daredevil. Killed people. A church. Public attacks. Surveillance footage. The whole thing.” There was a pause on the other end.

“...Wait,” Gigi said finally. “What’s his name?”

I hesitated.

Something in me didn’t want to say it out loud. Glancing down.

“Benjamin Leonard Poindexter.”

A beat.

And then—

“No. Fucking. Way.”

I blinked. “What?”

“That’s the guy from the news! The one who dressed up like Daredevil and went on a full-blown kill spree.” I froze, My stomach twisted. “Since when do you watch the news?”

“I don’t. I read chaotic criminal blogs when I can’t sleep. He’s that guy, the one who put on the suit and snapped. People thought Daredevil lost his mind for a second. He was everywhere. I thought he was in prison.”

“The charges were dropped.”

“What?!”

“Yeah,” I said, scrolling. “Says here: ‘Case dismissed due to legal complications, classified witness statements, and insufficient evidence tied to mental stability.’ Translation: someone powerful helped him walk.”

Gigi made a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Or someone needed him silenced… or needed him.”

I didn’t realize I was fidgeting with my wine glass until it almost slipped from my hand. I set it down carefully, staring at the laptop screen in front of me. Then, slowly, I typed his name into the search bar. And there he was. Page after page. Archived articles. Court reports. Security footage stills. A man in red, not his suit. Not his role. A suit he didn’t earn.

Impersonation.

Federal breach.

Psychotic break.

Wilson Fisk.

I set my glass down, I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, trying to ground myself. Trying to stay clinical. Objective. But that tight feeling hadn’t left. In fact, it was getting worse. “FBI Agent Benjamin Poindexter under investigation for impersonating Daredevil during public attacks. Multiple civilian deaths. Confirmed confrontation with Wilson Fisk.” Spinal injury. Survived. Charges dropped. Case sealed.” I read out loud waiting for Gigi’s response. 

“...Well,” Gigi exhaled. “That’s casual.”

“He’s not known as anything else. No alias. No nickname.”

“Not yet,” she muttered under her breath. I clicked through the photos. In every image, he looked the same. Still.

Not smiling.

Not scowling.

I felt something stir in my stomach. Unease. Curiosity. Heat. Wait… what? God, what the hell was wrong with me? Just... watching the camera like he already knew what the world would say about him. “And now,” I murmured, “I’m supposed to prove whether he’s mentally fit to be released.”

“Also,” Gigi paused, “I hate myself for asking this but, please tell me there’s a photo.”

I clicked. One grainy shot from surveillance footage. Another, newer, cleaner. Probably for internal records. He didn’t look present. Didn’t even feel real. Just stared through the lens like he could burn a hole through it.

“ yeah yeah look, I sent you his picture. “ I took a picture of my screen and sent it to Gigi. Waiting for a reaction.

“...Okay,” Gigi whispered. “Why is he hot?”

I rolled my eyes, even though I was still staring at him. “He’s a literal criminal.”

“He WAS a criminal. Technically he’s just… a misunderstood veteran now.” I gave her a look she couldn’t see. “Yeah, well… he’s my responsibility now.” There was a beat of silence. “Damn,” she muttered. “They really threw you into the psychological deep end.” I looked down at the file again. My fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the page. “His charges were dropped. Somehow. He’s being considered for release.”

“And it’s your job to decide if he’s sane.” I nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “Well,” I exhaled, “I have a session with him tomorrow.”

I could feel Gigi’s reaction through the phone “Jesus. Already?” I hummed a soft ‘yeah’ in response. I inhaled and fixed my posture “I need to prep questions. Review his behavior records. Stay objective.” 

“And maybe wear something bulletproof.”

I smiled faintly. “Yeah. I just need to prep. Write some questions. Stay focused.” I said quietly, rethinking everything. Was moving here even worth it? Gigi broke the silence and interrupted my thoughts by saying. “Good. Be smart. Be sharp. And if he even blinks weirdly, throw the chair and run.” I snorted. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Eventually, the conversation drifted. We changed the subject. Laughed a little. Gigi distracted me like she always did. But after I hung up?

The silence returned.

The file sat open beside me.

His name in bold:

BENJAMIN LEONARD POINDEXTER.

─────── ⌖ ───────

heyyy, its me. if you’ve made it this far, i love you. truly. thank you for reading and letting this story live in your head, even just a little. i’d really love to hear your thoughts so far: what you’re feeling, what made you pause, what you’re curious about. chapter 3 is in the works. stay tuned.

yours truly, raey ♡

─────── ⌖ ───────

[ next chapter ]

[livingdeadblondequeen]

Tangled Hearts Pt 2

Pairing: Jenneel x Reader

Summary: Jensen and Danneel meet one of their favorite actresses, who is also a fan. What happens when sparks fly?

Rated Mature/Explicit: there be smut ahead!

Tags: Threesome, explicit sexual content,

AN: This is a work of fiction. I mean no disrespect to the actors or their families. Best to think that I am writing an alternate reality version of them and events (Some of this is to myself so that I can alter timelines a little.) It starts in 2014.

I try to keep the Y/N’s appearance as neutral as possible. However, I will have mentions of the Y/N looking up at Danneel, so I do have her as shorter. I just don’t state how much of a difference.  

THANKS TO ALL WHO READ, REBLOGGED, OR ASKED TO BE TAGGED @nancymcl, @kazsrm67

Go here to catch up: Part 1:

Part 2:

The morning sun, a sliver of brightness piercing the crack in the blackout curtains, painted stripes across the rumpled sheets. Y/N blinked, her mind struggling to catch up with her surroundings. There were two warm bodies, tangled limbs, and a room that wasn't hers. It took a moment, but the previous night's memories flooded back, a whirlwind of passion and connection that left her with a lingering warmth. A sigh escaped her lips; she wished the night could have stretched on indefinitely, but the day demanded her attention.

With practiced stealth, she slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping figures beside her. The search for her clothes began, a treasure hunt through the scattered remnants. A blush warmed her cheeks as she located her jeans and top, a jumble of fabric amongst the discarded garments. A wave of longing washed over her as she glanced back at Jensen and Danneel, their faces peaceful in slumber.

Reaching for the hotel notepad on the nightstand, she scribbled a quick note, her hand trembling slightly. "Sorry I couldn’t wake up with the two of you, but I have an early panel. See you later." She added her number, a silent hope that they would reach out. With a heavy heart, Y/N slipped out of the Ackles’ hotel room, closing the door softly behind her.

The elevator ride was blessedly empty, a moment of solitude to process the jumble of emotions swirling within her. Excitement, a lingering fear of the unknown, a deep longing, and a profound sense of contentment. She hadn’t felt this good, physically and emotionally, after sex in a long time. A soft smile touched her lips as she remembered the feel of their bodies against hers, the shared laughter, the whispered words of desire.

Back in her room, she headed straight for the shower, the warm water a welcome caress against her skin. A pang of regret flickered through her as she thought of rinsing away their scent, a lingering reminder of their night together. But duty called, and she couldn’t show up smelling of sex and booze. A glance in the mirror revealed subtle souvenirs of their shared passion on her skin, causing a slight flush to her cheeks.

As she dressed, the adrenaline rush of the night gave way to a nervous anticipation for the day ahead. The TWD panel and following interviews were starting soon, and she needed to be sharp. She had just slipped her shoes on when a knock echoed through the room, followed by the familiar greeting of her handler. "Ready to go, Y/N?"

She took a deep breath, smoothing down her top. "Almost," she replied, a smile playing on her lips. "Just give me a sec."

Thankfully, the handler led her to the Green Room, where she could grab something to eat and, most importantly, coffee. As she felt the caffeine flow through her veins, Y/N noticed that her cast mates were filtering in. Like her first thing in the morning, Norman made a beeline for the coffee.

"Early bird," Norman remarked, a teasing grin spreading across his face, his eyes lingering on her a moment longer than usual. "Thought you were in for a late one last night."

Y/N bumped his shoulder playfully, a warmth spreading through her at his nearness, shaking her head. "That's what alarms and copious amounts of coffee are for."

"So, a late night then?" he pressed, his eyebrows raised in mock suspicion, a playful challenge in his tone. He knew she'd been out, and he was curious, but there was also an underlying possessiveness, a familiar dance of teasing and desire between them.

"Let's just say we lingered," Y/N replied with a shrug, a hint of a secret smile playing on her lips. "Drinks, conversation, the usual, until closing time. Then, sleep." She deliberately kept the details vague, respecting Jensen and Danneel's privacy, and was surprised when she saw the subtle edge of jealousy that sometimes flickered in his eyes. They shared a complex history. He knew she wouldn't judge her lifestyle, but some things were just theirs. They'd been friends for years, navigating the strange world of fame together, sharing late-night phone calls and early morning set visits, but they were also intimate, sharing stolen moments and a connection that went beyond friendship.

Luckily, the stylist called her name, and she was whisked away for hair and makeup, sparing her from further questions. 

Just before Y/N was set to take the stage for the show’s panel, a new message chimed in, accompanied by a picture that made her breath catch in her throat, Danneel, still languidly draped across the rumpled sheets, her fiery hair a halo around her sleepy eyes, had captured a moment of pure, unadulterated sensuality. The crisp white sheets were artfully arranged, just low enough to tease, to hint at the lush curves beneath. The fabric dipped precariously, concealing only the barest tips of her rosebud nipples, a silent invitation, a whispered promise of the pleasures that lay beneath.

Beneath the picture, a simple message: "Wish you were here," accompanied by a winking emoji, sent a jolt of heat straight to Y/N's core.

‘She’s trying to kill me.’ Y/N thought as she groaned internally. Unfortunately, before she could even think of a reply to send, they were called onstage.

The next couple of hours were a whirlwind of activity; first, the panel where she and the other cast talked about what had happened during the previous season and what to expect in the upcoming Season 5, followed by interviews. Throughout it all, Danneel had continued sending texts, as well as a few more racy photos; however, there was no word from Jensen. 

The large green room buzzed with chaotic energy, a vibrant mix of actors, producers, and crew members swirling around Y/N as she paused near the refreshments table, subtly checking her phone. Before she could delve too deeply into her messages, she felt a familiar presence beside her.

Jensen, having excused himself from his conversation with his co-stars, approached her with a smooth, easy gait. “Y/N,” he said, his voice a low rumble that cut through the surrounding noise, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“Hey, Jensen,” she replied, her smile genuine, though her eyes held a playful glint. “Ready to face the hordes of adoring fans?”

“Yeah,” he said, his smile widening, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, a subtle undercurrent of something more passing between them. He smoothly transitioned from co-star banter to a more personal tone, keeping it light. “It’s a bit of a marathon. You holding up?”

“Surviving,” Y/N said, her eyes twinkling. “Though, Danneel’s trying her best to sabotage my focus. She’s wicked.”

Jensen chuckled as he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper, though still maintaining a friendly outward appearance. “She was very disappointed to find you gone this morning…”

“She sent me… photos,” Y/N said, her voice low, a hint of mischief in her tone. “Right before my panel.”

“Ah, yes,” Jensen said, his smile turning knowing. “She does have a knack for distraction. Did they…achieve their goal?”

“Let’s just say I’m having trouble remembering what I was saying,” Y/N replied, hoping no one had noticed, though she knew she wouldn’t have been that lucky. 

“She will be happy to hear that.” He replied. “With you gone this morning, she took her frustrations out on me.”

“Oh, you poor thing, I’m sure you hated that,” Y/N teased, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

“Maybe I should have you pay me back for it,” Jensen stated, his voice laced with playful suggestion.

“Hmm, I think I might have some time later tonight if you and Danneel aren’t too busy or tired,” Y/N stated, her voice a sultry whisper.

“For you? Never.” He answered, his eyes holding hers with a warmth that sent a shiver down her spine.

Just then, another figure approached, his easygoing charm filling the space. Jared was a towering figure, broad-shouldered, and with a warm, open face. His chestnut hair was tousled, giving him a slightly boyish charm that belied his height. Jared clapped Jensen on the shoulder with a friendly grin. "Hey, J, you ready to roll?" 

"Jared, this is Y/N," Jensen said, smoothly transitioning back to a more public persona. "Y/N, this is my co-star and friend, Jared Padalecki."

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," Jared said, his smile genuine. "Jensen's been singing your praises."

"All good things, I hope," Y/N replied, her smile widening.

"Only the best," Jared confirmed with a wink. "We should probably get going. The Panel is about to start, and we wouldn't want to keep everyone waiting, right?"

"Right," Jensen said, his eyes flicking back to Y/N. "Looks like we'll be seeing each other on stage then."

"Looking forward to it," Y/N replied, her gaze lingering on Jensen for a moment longer than necessary. She knew the panel would be a lively affair, filled with familiar faces and playful banter, and she couldn't wait to see how the energy between them shifted in front of the audience and their fellow panelists.

/////////

The Fan Favorites Panel had been a whirlwind, a chaotic mix of laughter, playful banter, and the constant flash of cameras. For Y/N, it was a blur. She navigated the questions, attempting to maintain her composure while Danneel's suggestive texts lingered in her thoughts, and she stole glances at Jensen across the stage. He, in turn, was a master of charm, effortlessly engaging with the audience and fellow panelists. His eyes occasionally met Y/N's, a silent conversation passing between them. The energy between them was palpable, a subtle undercurrent that added an extra layer of excitement to the event. They navigated the panel with practiced ease, their public personas firmly in place, but the unspoken connection between them was a tangible force, a secret language only they understood.

At the end of the day’s chaos, Y/N found her hotel room was a welcome retreat. She had left most of the lights off, with the side lamps on for ambiance. Y/N lounged on the sofa in a comfortable robe, with an open bottle of wine sitting nearby and three glasses as she waited for her guests.

A knock on the door pulled Y/N’s attention to the door, and she quickly rose to open it. On the other side were Jensen and Danneel, who looked a little rumpled, a little tired, but with bright smiles.

"Finally made it," Jensen said as they entered. "Dinner with everyone went way longer than expected."

"Tell me about it," Danneel chimed in, kicking off her heels with a sigh of relief. She moved toward Y/N, a playful glint in her eyes. "But I knew something good was waiting."

"I get it. It took me a while to get away from Norman. He wanted to go drinking after dinner. Thankfully, Andy distracted him long enough to get away.” Y/N said as she gestured toward the wine.  

Jensen picked up the bottle and began to pour generously into the glasses. He handed one to his wife and then to Y/N. The three settled onto the sofa, the conversation flowing easily, catching up on the highlights of their respective dinners. As Jensen finished a story about Jared, Danneel leaned against Y/N, her hand resting casually on Y/N's leg.

"You look comfy," Danneel murmured, her eyes tracing the soft fabric of Y/N's robe.

"Very," Y/N replied, a playful smile tugging at her lips and her gaze sweeping over them, a spark of mischief dancing in her eyes, "I was thinking I would start with a little less clothing. And maybe I could make up for my... early departure this morning."

Danneel grinned, her fingers deftly untying the knot on Y/N's robe to reveal the top of her breast encased in a lacy bra. "Sounds like a plan to me. You know I missed you," she purred, leaning in to kiss Y/N's shoulder. "Though, I think you'd look even better out of this."

"I wholeheartedly agree," Jensen murmured as he leaned into Y/N’s other side to kiss the nape of her neck, his breath warm against her skin. "Besides, I think we all deserve a little…relaxation after such a long day. And you have some making up to do."

"Oh, I intend to," Y/N replied, her fingers teasing the buttons of Jensen's jeans. "I have a few ideas, but they involve far less clothing."

With a shared look, the three of them stood and quickly began to shed their remaining clothes, their movements slow and deliberate. The air crackled with unspoken desires, the anticipation building with each discarded garment.

Danneel's fingers traced the curve of Y/N's spine, sending shivers down her back, her nails lightly scratching the skin. Jensen's lips found the sensitive skin of her upper neck, his tongue teasing her earlobe, eliciting a soft moan. Y/N's hands roamed over their bodies, exploring every curve and contour, savoring the feel of their skin against hers, the heat radiating from them both. She pressed a kiss to Danneel's temple, then slid her hand down to Jensen's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

"So," Y/N murmured, her voice a low purr, her fingers tracing the line of Jensen's lower stomach, "I feel like I owe you both a rather…thorough apology."

"Apology accepted,” Jensen whispered, his lips trailing kisses down Y/N's collarbone. "Though, I think actions speak louder than words."

"Much louder," Danneel agreed, her lips finding Y/N’s in a lingering, possessive kiss, her hand sliding down to the curve of her waist to pull her close.

Jensen watched the two women as the kiss deepened, a slow burn that ignited a fire within them all, and he couldn’t look away. Y/N, her full, curvy figure a stark and alluring contrast to Danneel’s slender frame. Their breasts were pressed together as their hands explored each other's bodies, tracing the lines of their muscles and the soft curves of their skin.

Their bodies were still intertwined as they made the journey to the bed in a slow, sensual dance, Y/N's ample hips swaying with each step, her curves drawing his eyes. Their hands explored, their lips meeting in stolen kisses, each touch a spark igniting the flames of passion.

The three of them moved onto the bed, their bodies a tangle of limbs and warmth. Y/N's hips initiated a slow, sensual gyration against Danneel’s thigh, the friction igniting a fervent heat, a rhythmic dance of desire. Jensen's fingers tilted her chin, drawing her gaze to his, their eyes locking. His other hand cupped her breast, manipulating her nipple until it peaked. A guttural moan escaped her, the sensations of his hands and the press of his erection against her back overwhelming.

Jensen’s breath, hot and ragged, fanned her neck as he pressed closer. He yearned to be buried within her but also craved the taste of her, beyond the sample he'd savored from Danneel the previous night.

An idea sparked, and Jensen assumed command. "Dee, come here."

Responding to his authoritative tone, Danneel disengaged from their shared lover, who emitted a soft whimper of protest and moved to her husband. He guided Danneel’s hips, positioning her astride his waist. Their lips met in a fervent kiss as Danneel sheathed Jensen’s cock within her slick pussy. Fully seated, Jensen reclined and reached for Y/N.

Understanding Jensen’s intent, Danneel directed Y/N to straddle his chest, facing her. At that instant, Jensen’s hands gripped Y/N’s hips, drawing her back and up his torso.

Y/N quickly caught on to what the two were doing, and she scrambled to straddle his head. Once she was positioned to his liking, he seized her thighs, burying his mouth between her legs.

Relishing the sight of her husband pleasuring their shared lover, Danneel began to ride him, her breasts swaying in rhythm with her thrusts as he worked his tongue within Y/N’s folds. Danneel knew he was skilled with his tongue. It was the way he knew exactly where to touch, where to tease, where to press just a little harder. The flicks and swirls, the gentle suction it was a symphony of sensations. He knew women’s bodies and used that knowledge with a delicious confidence. 

Danneel grasped Y/N’s hand, guiding it between her legs, and Y/N understood her need. She slid her fingers down, locating Danneel’s clit, while their lips met in a passionate kiss.

Y/N sensed Danneel’s impending climax by the escalating volume of her moans. Danneel rode him with increasing fervor, rocking Jensen and Y/N in turn. Jensen’s moans resonated through Y/N’s core. She arched her back, unleashing a torrent of explicit words as Jensen’s tongue mimicked Danneel’s rhythm.

Their movements became messy as they chased their pleasure. Danneel was the first to peak, her body shaking as she gasped for air. She moved her fingers faster to bring Danneel through her orgasm when Jensen wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked hard. The stimulation threw her over the edge with Danneel, and she gasped for air. As the orgasm crashed over her, she felt Jensen tense, and she knew from that and the groan against her flesh that he had reached his peak as well.

Once she felt like she could move again, Y/N moved off of Jensen and fell to one side while Danneel did on his other side. The afterglow of their shared ecstasy enveloped them, a gentle warmth spreading through their bodies as the intensity of their climax subsided. Danneel sighed contentedly, her voice a soft murmur as she whispered Y/N's name. Jensen's breath, still slightly ragged, brushed against Y/N's hip, a testament to the depth of their shared pleasure.

A little while later, the rumpled sheets cradled their intertwined bodies, a silent testament to the passionate hours they had shared. The air, still thick with the lingering scent of their shared pleasure, hummed with a quiet contentment. Y/N, nestled between Jensen and Danneel, felt a sense of profound peace, a warmth that settled deep in her bones. Jensen’s arm was draped possessively across her waist, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her skin, while Danneel’s head rested on her shoulder, her breath warm against her neck.

Danneel exhaled softly, her fingers dancing lightly along the curve of Y/N's hip. "Wow," she whispered, awe-tinting her tone, "that was... something else. I’ve never felt anything like this before." Her voice trailed off, the wonder in her words hanging in the air. "Seriously."

Jensen's reply came as a low, steady murmur, his voice a tender caress against Y/N's hair. "It's beyond compare," he said, his gaze locking with Y/N's, radiating warmth. "I don't think I've ever felt this deeply connected to anyone—aside from Dee, of course."

Danneel smiled a soft, genuine expression that reached her eyes. "Me neither," she admitted, her fingers intertwining with Jensen's, her thumb gently stroking the back of his hand. "There's something…different about this. Something special."

A comfortable silence settled over them, a shared understanding that words couldn't quite capture the depth of their connection. But the silence couldn't erase the reality of their lives, the geographical distances that threatened to pull them apart.

"So," Danneel began, her voice laced with a hint of melancholy, "what happens now?" She lifted her head, her gaze searching theirs. "Because I don’t know about Jay, but I don’t want this to be a one-time thing."

Jensen sighed, his gaze drifting towards the ceiling, then back to them. "That's the million-dollar question, isn't it?" He turned back to them, his expression serious. "It’s not like our lives are ordinary to begin with. Dee and I know that making long-distance work is hard."

“But we’ve made it work,” Danneel stated, her hand moving to rest on Y/N’s thigh. “We squeeze visits in with filming and con schedules, Skype calls, and texts in between.” 

"It would be difficult," Jensen admitted, "but not impossible." He paused, his eyes searching theirs, a flicker of vulnerability in their depths. "Do we…want it to be possible?"

A shared look passed between the three of them, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken feelings that lingered in the air, a sense of something profound that had blossomed between them.

"I do," Y/N said, her voice firm, her eyes locking with Danneel’s. "I don't want this to be a one-time thing."

"When Jensen and I talked about the possibility of this, of having another woman in our bed, I thought it would just be sex. But this…" She trailed off, her gaze sweeping over them both. "This is more. I feel…something. Something real."

"Agreed," Jensen said, his gaze unwavering, his hand gently squeezing Y/N’s. "But we have to be realistic. This…arrangement, whatever it is, has to stay between us."

"Of course," Y/N said, nodding, her voice soft but firm. "We know the implications. With you and Danneel…"

"It's complicated," Danneel finished, her voice laced with a hint of resignation but also a quiet determination. "But we'll figure it out. We have to. Because I don’t want to lose this."

"We will," Jensen said, his voice filled with a quiet determination. He pulled them closer, his arms wrapping around them both, a silent promise of their shared future. "We'll find a way."

They lay there for a long time, their bodies intertwined, their minds filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty, but also a quiet excitement for what their future could hold. The road ahead was uncertain and fraught with challenges, but the connection they shared was undeniable, a beacon of light in the complexities of their lives. They would find a way; they had to, for the feeling was too strong to ignore.

Author's note: So this wraps up their time at Comic Con. I have ideas for continuing where you see their relationship develop (with a little less smut). If you are interested, let me know! And please like, reblog, or tag someone who would enjoy reading this.

[theroyalhouseofwindenburg]

Jane

Even as a child, Princess Jane never asked, she expected. As the youngest daughter of King Wilhelm IV and Queen Margaery, she was the court’s darling, spoiled and worshipped, she was showered with treasures by nobles, all eager to win her favor. It was clear from the beginning that Jane would not be a mere ornament of courtly life.

Though Prince Alvin sat the throne as regent, it was Jane, and her son Richard who ruled. With the Privy Council at their back and the Church in their pocket, they shaped the realm as they pleased, using the prince as their pawn.

Entertainment was constant, opulence unrestrained. Jane and Richard held court from beside the throne, unmoved by the jester’s antics, their authority palpable. Feasts followed, often banquets lit by candlelight, the air thick with laughter and power.

It was a warm spring day at Windenburg Castle. Sunlight filtered through the heavy velvet curtains, casting a soft glow over Princess Jane’s chamber. Seated before her mirror, she sat perfectly still as her mistress adjusted the golden-trimmed escoffion upon her head.

“You know,” Jane said with a smirk, “Cordelia wore a similar shade once, but on her, it looked more like a sickness than silk.”

Before her mistress could respond, the chamber doors opened. Lady Philippa entered briskly, her expression tense, parchment clutched tightly in her hand.

“Your Grace,” she said, bowing her head slightly. “A letter from Tartosa. It bears your name.”

Jane took the parchment, the amusement still lingering in her expression. She broke the seal, eyes skimming the page, then froze.

The message was brief. Empress Mary of Tartosa, her elder sister, had passed.

The letter sank slightly in her hand. Jane’s breath hitched, and for a moment, the room seemed colder. She turned her face away, lifting a hand to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes.

“I’m the last,” she murmured. “The last of my siblings…”

In that moment, all vanity fell away, the light dimmer, as if grief had drawn the warmth from the air. Jane’s thoughts turned not to titles or courtly matters, but to blood. Those now buried.

And somewhere, behind the polished steel of her expression, was the shadow of another absence, her son. Locked away for nearly 7 years now. She had not spoken his name aloud in some time, but today, it echoed softly in her mind. one more piece of her family that might still be within her reach.

The following morning, The Princess visited The Tower of Windenburg. The guards had been discreetly paid off, and at her command, they led her through the winding stone corridors to a cell buried in shadow. The air was thick with damp and rot, the stench of death clung to the walls like mold.

Inside, the cell was cold and nearly silent. she heard the ragged breathing of a man curled in the far corner. He was gaunt, unwashed, his clothes little more than rags. For a moment, Jane did not recognize him.

But then he looked up.

A pair of hollow eyes met hers, and with a trembling voice he spoke “Mother?… is that you?”

Without hesitation, Jane stepped forward and knelt beside him, her voice firm but gentle as she reached for his hand.

“I never forgot you, Lorus,” she said quietly. “And I will not leave you here another day.”

With that, Jane rose, her expression unreadable but her grip steady as she helped Lorus to his feet. The warrant that once bound him to this place had already been reduced to ash the night before, burned in silence beneath the flicker of candlelight in her chamber. No trace of it remained.

With her son leaning against her, frail but alive, Jane led him out of the Tower of Windenburg. The guards looked away as they passed.

That same day, they returned him to Castle Landgraab, where his wife and children waited. No banners were raised, no horns were sounded, only the quiet joy of a family made whole again, and the steel resolve of a mother who had reclaimed what was hers.

That evening, Windenburg Castle’s great hall was filled with warmth and candlelight. The long banquet table overflowed with roasted pheasant, wheels of cheese, thick loaves of bread, spiced wine, and a grand boar’s head crowned with apples. Conversation buzzed low, spirits ran high, Princess Jane, draped in deep crimson, sat with the quiet authority of a queen without a crown, her gaze sweeping the hall as if it already belonged to her. Then, she cleared her throat gently.

“I do hope everyone’s enjoying themselves,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “Before the evening continues, I have a small announcement to share.”

The table quieted.

“With Lord Lorus’s warrant and record officially destroyed,” she continued, not bothering to stand, “he is once again eligible to stand in the royal line of succession.”

She sipped her wine, letting the silence stretch.

“This, of course, places him second—just behind Prince Alvin. And moves Richard… to third.”

A hush swept over the hall. Across from her, Richard blinked, stunned.

“This is the first I’m hearing of this,” he said, his voice low, sharp with disbelief.

Jane rested her head on her palm, her expression mild but her eyes cool.

“Laws are laws,” she said with a faint smirk. “I didn’t write the line of succession, I’m merely educated enough to know how it works.”

She glanced toward Lorus, offering him a faint, pleased smile. But the mood had shifted. The air was tight with unease.

Trying to lighten it, Jane looked back at Richard with a breezy shrug. “Besides, you’re Duke of Britechester by birth. You sit atop one of the greatest castles in the realm. Surely that’s nothing to pout over.”

Richard didn’t respond. He looked away, clearly embarrassed, his jaw clenched.

Alvin abruptly blew up, slamming his hands on the table with such force that the silver shook.

“You’ve been making decisions behind my back!”

All conversation stopped. Heads turned. The hall fell silent as the prince’s voice echoed off the stone walls. His face was flushed, his hands trembling with rage.

“You and Richard have been running the court like it’s yours!” he spat, glaring at Jane. “You never told me about Lorus, you didn’t ask, you didn’t consult me, you just went and did it!”

Jane blinked, caught off guard by the volume, but quickly recovered. She remained seated, regal and calm, her voice cool.

“Your Grace…”

“I’m the prince, heir, and regent of this realm,” he snapped, his voice cracking with frustration. “You think just because the King is gone, you can make decisions like he would have? That you understand his will better than I do?”

Jane slowly turned to him, expression calm, voice smooth—but laced with venom.

“Your Grace,” she said, “if I waited for you to act, we'd still be sitting in silence. Someone had to lead.”

Alvin dragged his fingers through his hair, then pressed them hard against his temples.

“I never approved Lorus’s release!” he hissed. “And I remember what The King said. He wanted him locked away. He said it was final, Lorus was dangerous, reckless, a threat to the realm!”

Jane straightened ever so slightly, her expression hardening.

“I am your father’s sister,” she said, coldly now. “I advised him in council before you could even read a map. And I know when a decision was made from fear, not reason. Lorus was condemned for politics, not crimes.”

Alvin didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He stared blankly at the table before him, the flickering candlelight dancing against the gold trim of his sleeves.

In that moment, he no longer saw his aunt as a guiding hand, or even a rival. He saw her for what she truly was. An enemy at court.