#a vow without honor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starmocha · 5 months ago

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Oh oh oh since we're sharing pregnant mc hcs, how about one where they got a bit carried away, they did it, she got pregnant, he "died", by some miracle she didn't lose the baby, she's an excellent, doting, badass mom. then when he comes back he finds the love of his life with a little 1 year old baby girl that could be considered mc's perfect clone except for the eyes. the eyes are his. IMAGINE THE ANGST THE HURT THE TEARS THE LOVEEEEE!!!!!

🫵 are you guys using my Caleb-addled brain to sneak around my “I don’t take requests” condition. /lh 😔 this is who I am now, I guess. I see Caleb, I cave… 🥺

Endless Summer

It was an ambush, another attempt on his life.

It was the thirteenth time in three months, as a matter of fact. Caleb had thwarted all of the previous attempts with ease, always on guard, untrusting of those who claimed to have vowed their loyalty to him as their colonel.

As you learned, you couldn’t trust anyone in Skyhaven, much less the Farspace Fleet. Dark secrets surrounded this seemingly elite entity and though it appeared like the place ran like a machine with perfect precision and efficiency, there was still an insidious side that Caleb refused to let you see.

It wasn’t just his life they were after. They were after yours as well, using you as the ultimate pawn to get to him. Little do they suspect, while you may be his greatest weakness, you were also his strength, his sole reason to persevere.

This was to be a fatal lesson for many to learn.

It was supposed to be a celebratory banquet, thrown in honor of the Farspace Fleet’s Colonel’s latest achievements. There were no deceptions by the hosts, but a traitorous group seized this opportunity to trap the young colonel and all doors within the banquet halls locked, keeping many of the guests hostages in the process.

Within the center of the room, Caleb calmly eyed all of the familiar faces that loomed overhead on the second floor as all around, innocent guests rushed to the exits, banging and screaming for help. He tried to push you away, get you to safety.

They were after him, after all. You didn’t need to be in the crossfires.

You didn’t have time to react, hearing that first gunshot that led the way for the onslaught of bullets.

Something in Caleb snapped that night. The barrage of bullets that came at him and you from all directions would have taken down anyone, but they all froze midair only because of his Evol freezing them in their track and keeping them suspended as if time had frozen at this very moment. He soon, however, learned it was merely a distraction.

Ca…leb…

The moment he saw the crimson blood seeping from your side, that knife pulled out quickly, and you were falling, eyes closing, as he ran toward you yelling your name. His Evol flared out of control, the gravity in the room suddenly immensely heavy, as dozens of men were pulled to their knees in futile struggles.

Open your eyes, he pleaded, his uniform soaked with your blood. His face twisted in pain, a million thoughts rushing through his mind, all of the memories of the past resurfaced in quick successions. All of those years of smiles and laughter that transitioned to pain and distrust only to slowly return to some semblances of the past were now coming to an end before his very eyes. He couldn’t lose you like this, not when he had promised that he would make things right again, to be the man that you deserved. Please…please…

You struggled to breathe, the pain unlike anything you had experienced in your life. As he watched you teetered closer to death, he was filled with wrath, an anger that could not be calmed by any forces in this world.

Caleb held his hand out, and a gun laying on the floor levitated before it rushed into his grip from across the room, and without a thought or any remorse or even hesitancy, he fired bullet after bullet into each man’s head, a clean shot straight through the center, not flinching even as the surrounding guests screamed and huddled to the floor, covering their ears from that violent, horrid sound.

When the last traitor fell, Caleb dropped the gun with a clatter, and his arms wrapped entirely around you, pulling you closer to his body for warmth. Your breathing had weakened even more, but he could still save you. He hadn’t failed you. Not yet, not ever. You were going to live. He would make sure of it.

Even if he now realized you were safer away from him.

Colonel Caleb, you had only slept for four hours last night, the robotic voice of an OTTO said with some semblance of concern in its artificial vocal. It levitated after its owner as the young colonel adjusted his uniform. The robot continued, explaining, An adult man of your age requires ei—

“I’ve slept enough,” he interrupted firmly, ignoring the robot, whose monitor quickly displayed a digitalized look of concern. Caleb had thought often of shutting down the robot and dismantling it, but he could never carry through, remembering that he had purchased this robot for you.

In this cold, monotonous so-called-home of his in Skyhaven, Caleb had few things that reminded him of you. A few plushies you two had won together sat on his living room couch, some snapshots you two had taken together at a photobooth, and perhaps a few furniture pieces you had ordered to be sent directly to his home. You had been in the process of bringing warmth and life into this place when everything came to an abrupt stop.

If he hadn’t taken you to that banquet that night nearly two years ago, Caleb wondered how things would have played out. You wouldn’t have gotten injured that night, but he feared perhaps it would just delay that same outcome. That night, he found himself at a fork in the road, forced to make a decision that would change the course of both of your lives.

Keep you by his side, where he had foolishly believed you would always be safe under his protection, or, let you go, let you believe that whatever had happened that night, he was the one who had died, finally taken away by Death himself. It was better to let you believe he had actually died this time, to keep you from searching for him, to keep you far away from Skyhaven—to keep you from him.

Since that night almost two years ago, Caleb’s nightmares had worsened. He relived the dreadful night, but he had also had other terrifying dreams so horrendous, he would wake up screaming in cold sweats, completely disoriented, unsure if he was trapped within another layer of the nightmare, or if he was truly awake.

“She’s safe, she’s safe,” he would often mutter to himself, an attempt to convince himself that he had made the right choice, that setting you free was the only way he could keep you safe. As long as you lived, he would bear the weight of his sacrifice, even if it meant never seeing you ever again.

It was sunny in Linkon, not a cloud in the sky, and the weather warm and inviting, but to Caleb, it was a place he had forbidden himself from ever stepping foot in again, out of fear that your paths would cross. In all of those times since he had distanced himself from you, allowed you to believe he was dead, he had managed to avoid any reason to step foot in the place that was once his home.

When his adjutant, Liam, had informed Caleb that his schedule required him to attend a conference meeting in Linkon, the young colonel stiffened, the atmosphere in the room stifling almost as if he was using his Evol. He suppressed his initial instinct to yell, knowing Liam was well aware of Caleb’s situation and had in the past made the necessary arrangements to prevent him from having any reason to step foot in that city.

It seemed he couldn’t stay away from Linkon forever, so he resigned to this situation, still remaining vigilant in his stance. Linkon was a big city, and there was no reason for your paths to cross. He would make do with this troublesome situation for the time being.

Now, Caleb had intended to return to Skyhaven the moment the meeting ended, and yet, against his better judgment, he found himself wandering down familiar streets, lost in memories of happier times. As he walked, before his eyes, he saw the silhouettes of him and you as children running down the street after school to your favorite little vintage grocery store.

Caleb, you dummy, you can’t use your Evol!

Don’t blame my Evol because you can’t run fast on those short legs, pipsqueak!

Caleb chuckled. He couldn’t help it. The memories of those years seemed so much more carefree. He often wished to go back to that time when the only things that weighed on yours and his shoulders were school or silly childish arguments.

As he approached the old grocery store, closed just a few years prior, he was surprised to learn that it was now under new ownership. The familiar place of his childhood was now a small trendy café, popular with college students and young couples.

To his astonishment—and, perhaps, also relief—the vibrant hydrangea garden in the back remained. Bushes of the white, blue, and pink flowers bloomed in the garden, showing that its new owner took well care of the plants. They looked like the hydrangeas of his childhood, of those long summer afternoons that never seemed to end as he and you made this place just another secret hideout only you two would ever know. As he walked down a beaten path, distracted, he was stirred out of his nostalgic thoughts when he felt something bumped into his leg. He peered down, surprised to see a little girl in a light orange dress, the same color as the sunset he used to see in his airplane when he was a pilot, was clinging to his leg. He looked around, not seeing any adult in sight to indicate they were the child’s guardian.

He furrowed his brows, a little in annoyance, as he was not prepared to suddenly be grappled with the responsibility of a lost child. He knelt down lower, and immediately, he startled as he took in the little girl’s appearance, a near perfect carbon copy of you, but the eyes—he stared into sweet little violet eyes that mirrored his own, seeing his shocked face reflected in these orbs. The girl looked up at him with curiosity, the wind swaying her short bob while a little yellow chunky cartoon airplane hairclip held her side bangs in place.

Suddenly, she started tearing up, breaking Caleb out of his trance and for the first time in a while, he felt panicked, unsure of what to do. The girl started to cry and Caleb immediately lifted her up, her head resting onto his shoulder as he rubbed her back and soothed her.

He shushed her gently, his caregiver instinct reignited after years of dormancy. “Why are you crying, sweetheart?” he asked her gently, his soothing voice a complete opposite to the tone he used as colonel.

The girl sobbed. She looked so young, Caleb realized, surmising that she probably had barely started learning to speak.

“Are you lost?” he asked in that same tender tone despite knowing the child would be unable to answer him. He continued, “You miss your mommy, don’t you?”

He rubbed her back again, wondering with trepidation if this child’s mother was who he thought it would be. For just a second, his heart stopped when he felt the little girl gripping the fabric of his uniform with her small hands. Quickly, he recomposed himself.

“It’s alright,” he whispered, his hand smoothed the back of her hair. “Let’s go look for your Mommy, alright?”

“Ma...ma…” the girl struggled to say. She rubbed her face against Caleb’s shoulder, and he smiled gently, unbothered that his once pristine uniform was now covered in a child’s snot.

“Okay, mama,” he repeated, “I’ll help you find your mama, sweetheart.”

When he was just about to turn around to head back to the café, he froze again, hearing a familiar voice he hadn’t heard in years. He could feel his heart beating against his chest, actually feeling every heavy thump as the seconds passed and the voice grew closer, a name cried out—the little girl’s.

The child in his arms wriggled, and cried louder, seeing her mother over Caleb’s shoulder. “Mama! Mama!”

Stiffly, Caleb knelt lower and gently set the girl down to her feet, barely registering as the child toddled passed him to her mother.

A completely different feminine voice called out, angry. “Were you trying to kidnap a child in broad dayli—”

Caleb stood up and turned around, his face pale.

“Cale…Caleb?” You stared in shock, feeling like you were seeing his ghost again. Again.

“Mama…Mama…!” Your daughter nuzzled her face against your chest as you held her. You broke out of your trance and instantly redirected your attention to your child. You quickly soothed her, well aware that Caleb’s eyes were locked on you, his face just as shocked as yours but for entirely different reasons. Once the little girl calmed down you passed her off to your companion, saying, “Tara, take her back to the café.”

Tara looked at you worriedly, her eyes darting to Caleb with suspicion. One look into Caleb’s eyes, seeing that same, perfect shade of purple, and the young woman quickly understood the situation. She nodded quietly and took the girl from you. “Come on, sweetie, auntie Tara is going to buy you a cupcake, okay?”

You waited until Tara and your daughter were out of sight. You couldn’t look at him. You wanted to look at him, to make sure your eyes were not deceiving you, to make sure that this was not an illusion, not a cruel, mocking figment of your imagination. But you couldn’t. You felt cowardly in that instance, being afraid of the truth. Afraid of his reaction. Of everything.

“You were…you were pregnant?” he questioned, feeling a wave of guilt washed over him.

Just hearing those words made you realized this was him. This was Caleb, the man you thought was taken away from you. Again.

Suddenly, you broke down crying and you looked up at him with tears running down your cheeks.

“Caleb, you dummy,” you sobbed, “You fucking dummy!”

He gasped, unprepared when you rushed at him and started beating his chest half-heartedly with your small fists as you continued to sob and curse him over and over again. He let you carry out your anger, let you punished him as you saw fit in this moment, but when the punches weakened, he gently grabbed your wrists, lowering them to your sides before his arms wrapped around you in comfort, his apologies immediate.

“Yeah,” he agreed in that ever familiar soft and gentle tone reserved only for you, “I am a fucking dummy.”

You sniffled against his chest, gripping tightly the lapel of his coat.

The afternoon passed slowly, initially tensed and awkward, but eventually all of the missing pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and you both struggled to come to terms with the picture of the missing years. You peered at the man to your side, seeing Caleb hunched over, his cap in his lap, looking much like a sinner struggling to come to terms with his wrongs.

“You didn’t know,” you whispered after a while, wanting to break this stifling silence. You reached for his arm, but he tensed before his shoulders slumped again.

“That’s no excuse,” he said, looking up at you. He started to reach for your cheek, hesitating at the last second, as if he was afraid that you would recoil from his touch. He started to pull back but you grabbed at his hand, guiding it to your cheek. He stared in shock as you nuzzled your face against his palm, and you gazed at him with glistened eyes.

“You’re not allowed to die again,” you scolded him. “Promise me that.”

He nodded numbly, his voice clear and steady. “I promise,” he said, repeating in a more hushed, firm tone, “I promise.”

He leaned forward, guiding your lips to his, his words still repeating in between breath. You let him drown you in his kisses, let yourself dizzied and relent to his feverish promises. When your lips parted, just a few centimeters, his warm breath grazed over your trembling lips before he pressed another kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I... will you…”

You looked up, seeing the struggles in his violet eyes. He appeared to hesitate again, unsure of what right he had to seek your forgiveness, wondering if he was overstepping the boundary between the two of you.

You gently coaxed him, seeing relief washed over his guilty features. “Will I what?”

“Will you…let me make things right?” he asked, “Let me…earn your forgiveness. I…please…”

He almost wanted to say, I can’t lose you again but the words died at his lips. He, of all people, had no rights to utter such words in your presence. He looked so defeated, beaten down to the point he no longer recognized himself anymore.

You took his hand, just like you always seemed to do, and you pulled him to his feet, to his surprise. He gazed at you questionably, his heart stopping at your words.

“Caleb,” you said his name so sweetly, “I want you to meet…our daughter.”

The summer air was warm even as the sky darkened, and stars after stars appeared above to illuminate the world below. The gentle breeze ruffled Caleb’s hair as he stared down at the sleeping girl in his arms. Maybe it was because she was still so young and impressionable, or perhaps she could already sense who he was to her, but the girl clung to him immediately, already feeling safe and protected in his presence.

His heart felt heavy, overwhelmed by guilt, a feeling of failure, and also of self-loathing, but as he gazed down at his daughter, another feeling stirred, just as intense but much more forgiving. He didn’t think he could feel such love as he did now as he peered down at the sleeping girl, nuzzled against him on his lap, peacefully slumbering away.

He wondered what she was dreaming of as he admired how much she resembled her mother. Hesitantly, he let his finger caressed her cheek, in complete, silent awe at how soft and delicate her skin was. He was almost afraid of hurting her, feeling a need to protect her just as he protected her mother. He looked up at you, his cheeks and ears reddening when he realized you had been laughing at his expense.

“It’s alright,” you told him amid your giggles.

“You’re laughing at me.”

“You deserve it, you big dummy.”

He let out a huff, in mock annoyance, but he agreed with you. “Alright,” he conceded, “I deserve it.”

“Do you want to begin your path to seeking forgiveness from us?” you asked him, a playful, teasing lilt in your voice, unmissed by Caleb as he raised a brow in curiosity.

“Just like that?” he questioned, confused by your leniency with him.

You nodded. “You still love me, right?”

“I’ve never stopped,” he said, his solemn words had you blushing against your better judgment, your heart quickening when he looked at you so lovelorn. You quickly composed yourself, returning to your mischievousness from seconds ago.

“You love her, right?” you asked, your eyes shifting to your sleeping daughter in his arms.

He sighed, mesmerized. “So much already,” he whispered, and again, you found yourself softening, touched by his sincerity.

“Okay, we’ll forgive you,” you answered, catching Caleb’s attention as he looked at you almost bemused by your easygoing attitude. “First step.”

“Which is?”

“You have to make us your specialty,” you said, laughing at Caleb’s look of complete bewilderment unfit for a colonel of his status. Clearly, you had blindsided him completely with this first condition. You clarified with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes, “You have to make your braised chicken wings.”

He stared at you as if not comprehending your words. You laughed and leaned closer to him, your head resting on his shoulder. “I ate a lot of braised chicken wings while pregnant,” you said, reminiscing to that lonely period in your life without his presence. You reached over and brushed your daughter’s flyaway hair out of her face, continuing softly, “But they weren’t as good as yours.”

Caleb let out a huff of breath, a soft, resigned laugh as he readjusted his arm, letting it wrapped around you as he pulled you closer into his embrace. He leaned over and kissed the top of your head. “Okay,” he answered, “I take it she also likes braised chicken wings then?”

You leaned into him, nodding once. “She’ll love yours more,” you said, and then looked up, your heart quickening again as you gazed into his beautiful violet eyes, grateful that your daughter had chosen to inherit this sole feature from her father. Breathlessly, you uttered softly, your words for his ears only, “She’ll love you.”

“And you?” he whispered back, that same hesitancy still prominent in his tone. He looked at you expectantly as he asked, “Do you still love me?”

“I’ve never stopped,” you echoed his words back to him, continuing in that same hushed tone, “I’ll always love my dummy Caleb.”

“Alright,” he said, his voice resigned, holding you just a bit tighter, as if he was afraid this was a cruel, taunting dream he would wake up from.

As Caleb watched your eyes closed, he looked down, eyes darting from you to his daughter, and he wondered if he deserved any of this. In the warm summer night, surrounded by the blossoming blue and pink and white hydrangeas, he silently apologized for his mistakes, promising that for the remainder of his life, he would become a better man, deserving of both of you.

Just like the little boy from long ago, once he had made a promise to you, he would never break it.

He swore it on his life.

#x — 💌#anonymous #love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace x reader #caleb x reader #love and deepspace fanfiction #lads scenarios #caleb angst #caleb fluff #on the plus side #yayyyyyy i get to use my colonel caleb endless summer cap <3333 #i hope i am not giving ppl expectations or the impression that i will write all caleb headcanons/scenarios that come in .___.#but i also wonder if i am lying to myself and i will do just that #because #i love him so much pls love him too ;-;

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creationcitystreet-em · 1 year ago

Text

And if I could turn back the clock

I'd make sure the light defeated the dark

I'd spend every hour, of every day

Keeping you safe

I'd climb every mountain

And swim every ocean

Just to be with you

And fix what I've broken

Oh, 'cause I need you to see

That you are the reason

- “You Are The Reason” by Calum Scott

#a vow without honor #myra stark #Jaime Lannister #myra and jaime #jaime lannister x myra stark #game of thrones fic #game of thrones #jamyra #calum scott #you are the reason

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cbeargyu · 2 days ago

Text

跡継ぎの妻 – the heir’s wife

summary: you marry a stranger in silk—his lips stained with blood and tradition. what starts as a marriage of convenience between a yakuza heir and a public figure spirals into something neither of you were prepared for: protection that tastes like devotion, duty twisted with longing, and kisses that come too late to be innocent. in a world where bullets speak louder than hearts, love might be the most dangerous vow of all.

pairing: yakuza heir!yuta x model fem!reader

genre: mafia/yakuza au, arranged marriage, slow burn, angst, romance, family legacy, redemption arc, forbidden desire, emotional healing, found family, power couple dynamic, smut-heavy, character-driven.

warnings: blood, gun use, mentions of injury, dom/sub dynamics, power play, mature themes, violence, blood, weapons, grief, guilt, trauma processing, complex power dynamics, yakuza activity, arranged marriage, emotional manipulation, emotional dependency, toxic loyalty, gender roles, tattoos/irezumi, canon-typical violence, knife imagery, psychological tension, mention of lingerie photos, political manipulation, clan dynamics, betrayal, male dominance themes (non-toxic), smut in later chapters.

wc: 12,1k

notes: hellooo!! i'm so excited because i seriously loved the idea for this fic and i spent two whole days writing it nonstop hahaha💀 i have to confess that the story had so much potential that i ended up preparing a second chapter and an epilogue🥹 also, i'm taking the chance to celebrate hitting 1k followers!!🥳🎉 i'll be posting them soon so stay tuned!! leave a comment if you want to be added to the taglist 👇 thank you all so, so much for your support, i seriously adore you 😭🫶🏻 thank you for loving and enjoying my fics, i put so much love into them for you and it makes me so happy to know that you like them 🩷🩷

part ii. epilogue

taglist: special dedication to this anon.

@beestvng @bamtor1sss

osaka, japan — summer, 1995.

the streets of osaka never slept. even at midnight, they pulsed with a quiet rhythm — the flicker of neon lights, the hum of motorcycles in alleyways, the unspoken codes exchanged between men in tailored suits with tattoos hidden beneath white shirts. it was a city built on layers of tradition and violence, elegance and blood.

at the heart of it all stood nakamoto yuta.

he wasn’t supposed to be the head of the kansai syndicate. not yet. at twenty-eight, he was too young, too bold, too unpredictable in the eyes of the elders. but when his uncle — the revered oyabun — was assassinated in a dispute gone wrong, the family needed a name to rally behind. yuta had the bloodline. the legacy. and the audacity to wear the crown before it was polished for him.

his rise had been swift and ruthless.

they called him "the camellia snake" — beautiful, dangerous, impossible to read. he smiled with his mouth, not with his eyes. where his uncle led with honor and hierarchy, yuta ruled with precision and power. under him, the organization evolved. businesses bloomed. territories expanded. and those who doubted him learned to fear him.

but fear didn’t keep the police away.

by march, a whisper reached his ear: one of his shell companies — a modeling agency, ironically — had been flagged for financial inconsistencies. anonymous money transfers. duplicate bank accounts. income without origin. nothing damning yet, but close. too close. if the audit moved forward, questions would come. and yuta, for all his brilliance, had no clean answers.

the police weren’t idiots. they’d been watching. too young, too rich, too many homes, too many cars, too many women. they knew. they just needed a crack in the mirror.

“get married,” takuya said.

his second-in-command. older, level-headed. loyal since the days they’d fought with knives in parking lots. “marry a girl with a clean record. a civilian. preferably someone local. someone easy to explain.”

yuta stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “you want me to lie to the japanese government?”

takuya lit a cigarette, eyes narrowing through the smoke. “you’ve lied to worse.”

“i can handle this,” yuta muttered. “negotiate. bribe. threaten. same as always.”

but takuya didn’t flinch. “not this time. they’re smarter. they want to bury you, yuta. not just investigate you. a wife changes the story. you become a man protecting a family, not a criminal building an empire.”

he hated how logical it sounded.

it wasn’t about love. it wasn’t even about appearances. it was about strategy — the illusion of normalcy. the illusion that nakamoto yuta, feared oyabun of the kansai underground, was just a young man in love with his wife, running a few successful businesses to keep food on the table.

he refused, at first. of course he did. he didn’t do relationships, let alone legal ones. but then came the call — a low-level member, breathless, talking about his cousin. “she’s perfect,” he said. “twenty-three. a model. new in the industry. she needs exposure. you need a wife. she’ll agree if you ask.”

yuta didn’t answer. not immediately.

but that night, alone in his penthouse, staring out at the osaka skyline, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

a marriage of convenience. temporary. strategic. two strangers helping each other survive.

he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious.

he’d be lying if he said the idea didn’t thrill him.

the studio smells like cigarettes and desperation masked with luxury perfume — the kind of place that pretends to be high fashion but rots from the inside. you’re standing in the middle of it, arms crossed over the thin silk robe they threw on you, jaw set like stone, fire smoldering in your eyes.

“i said no,” you bite, voice sharp enough to draw blood. “i’m not posing in fucking lingerie.”

people freeze. assistants pause mid-step, makeup artists exchange wary glances, and the photographer pretends to adjust his lens to avoid the tension thickening the air like fog. but they’re all waiting — for your manager to handle you.

hitoshi exhales the way someone does when they’re trying not to scream. “we already talked about this,” he says, trying to keep his voice level. “it’s just lace. it’s not porn.”

you arch an eyebrow, slow, deliberate — the kind of look that used to make men melt and now makes them pray. “lace?” you echo with venom. “what part of ‘lace’ makes it okay to be half-naked on a cheap set so some sweaty assholes can jerk off to the catalog later?”

he flinches. good. but he doesn’t back down — you’ll give him that. he’s known you long enough to know you’re a storm, but he still walks into the rain.

“you signed a contract,” he reminds you, the words clipped and quiet. “we don’t have the money for legal shit, y/n. not now.”

you hate him for being right. hate the pit in your stomach, the taste of swallowing your pride. but most of all, you hate this world — the one where your beauty opens doors only to lead you into cages. you clench your jaw until it aches.

“fine,” you snap. “but if i see one of those photos on some sleazy magazine, i swear to god, hitoshi, i’ll make sure everyone in that room regrets being born.”

no one dares to breathe.

fifteen minutes later, you’re on set in nothing but black lace and stockings. your heels click against the floor as you move — slow, poised, deadly. you don’t pose, you dominate. your eyes burn through the camera lens like a challenge. they want sexy? they’ll get it. but not soft. not sweet. nothing about you is for free.

the next set is red. sheer bra, matching panties, white heels. you hate it. hate the way they look at you like you're a product. hate the heat under your skin that isn’t from the lights. you don’t even know where these photos will end up. probably sold to men with thick wallets and no self-control. the thought makes your stomach twist.

by the time you leave, your throat’s dry, your body aches, and your pride feels scraped raw. you slam the door of hitoshi’s beat-up toyota and fold your arms, staring out the window like it owes you something.

he doesn’t say anything. he knows better.

you came to osaka with nothing but a suitcase and fire in your blood. your parents were farmers in a dead-end village near nara — small, quiet, and too slow for someone like you. you always knew you were different. prettier. sharper. when the boys confessed their love at school, when the village chose you for beauty pageants, when you learned that your smile could buy things, you understood one thing: you were made for more.

so you left. for the city. for a future with lights and power and your name in people’s mouths. you stayed with your aunt — kind, clueless — and her son riku, who was trouble dressed in denim and secondhand cologne. only twenty-one and already tangled in shadows.

you never asked where the bruises on his knuckles came from. didn’t ask about the money he brought home, or the whispers on the phone late at night. his life wasn’t yours.

but that night changed everything.

you’d just slipped under your futon, the smell of setting powder and studio sweat still clinging to your hair. your body ached. your pride ached worse. you weren’t even sure what this was all for anymore — modeling? fame? the slow grind of selling yourself in pieces?

the knock at your door startled you.

sharp. insistent. not loud, but not calm either.

you sat up, frowning, crawling over to the sliding door and opening it just enough to peek out.

riku stood there. panting. pale. eyes wild.

“we need to talk,” he said.

your spine stiffened. you stared him down, unimpressed.

“what did you do?”

“nothing,” he lied too quickly. “just... just hear me out, okay?”

you didn’t move. your body was still. cold. waiting.

“someone wants to meet you,” he continued. “it’s important. serious. could change everything.”

you narrowed your eyes. “if this is about some fucking hostess job, i swear to god—”

“it’s not that,” he snapped. “this is... different. big. maybe dangerous.”

your stomach turned. not from fear — you don’t do fear — but from something colder. something real.

you didn’t say yes. not yet. but something shifted that night. something irreversible.

and you knew, deep down, that whatever was coming… it wouldn’t be something you could control.

not this time.

the room smelled of smoke, incense, and old leather — thick with heat from the summer bleeding through the cracked windowpanes. the shoji doors were shut, sealing the quiet inside, broken only by the soft sound of ice shifting in a glass and the subtle drag of a lighter sparking flame.

takuya stood with arms crossed, the rigid set of his shoulders mirrored in the furrow of his brow. yuta sat behind a lacquered black desk, half-shadowed by the golden glow of the hanging lamp above him. his red hair, slightly tousled, shimmered in the dim light — a harsh contrast to the dark ink crawling up his neck and arms, vanishing beneath the crisp sleeves of his black silk shirt, buttoned down just enough to glimpse the coils of dragons etched across his collarbones.

“we’re being watched,” takuya said, low and direct. “again.”

yuta didn’t look surprised. he never did.

he reached for the sake bottle near his elbow, poured into the small cup with graceful fingers tattooed in black kanji. the designs slithered with meaning, oaths made in blood. he drank slowly, as if considering the weight of every word that came next.

“and your genius solution,” he said, voice rough but eerily calm, “is for me to get married.”

before takuya could answer, riku stepped forward, his palms already sweating, his jacket too big, like a boy playing adult. he held something clutched in both hands — crumpled magazine pages, ripped roughly at the edges.

“not just anyone,” riku said, unfolding them with exaggerated care. “her.”

he laid them on the desk like an offering. photos of you — stretched in lace, seductive, sharp-eyed and radiant. black set first, your gaze commanding, then red — a different flavor of temptation. hair voluminous and curled, thighs wrapped in stockings, eyes cold and untouched. it wasn’t just sex appeal. it was danger wrapped in satin.

takuya blinked, barely disguising his surprise. he leaned forward slightly to examine the photos.

“where did you get these?” he asked.

“they’re from a catalog,” riku admitted, his voice too eager. “she just shot them a week ago. she’s my cousin. moved here from a town near nara, lives with my mom and me. she’s... she’s the most beautiful girl back home. people used to say she was blessed by the fox spirits. twenty-three, smart, proud... she’s probably still a virgin.”

yuta’s head turned — slow, deliberate.

his eyes, dark as a crow’s wing and twice as sharp, pinned riku like a nail to the floor.

“probably?” he echoed, voice like a blade.

riku swallowed, color draining from his face. “i... i just meant she’s not... she’s not like the others. she’s not easy.”

“watch your mouth,” yuta said, softly, but it landed heavier than a gunshot. riku bowed his head.

takuya cleared his throat and straightened his spine.

“i don’t think this is a joke,” he said. “the tip came from above the osaka division. someone’s pulling strings beyond our usual channels. if they open a formal audit, we’re fucked. this girl — a marriage — it makes you untouchable. at least for now. appearances matter. even in this world.”

yuta didn’t answer right away. he leaned back, eyes never leaving the photos, but unreadable behind the icy calm he wore like a second skin. the only movement was his thumb running across the edge of the page — just once — over the curve of your hip.

“and if she doesn’t agree?” he asked.

“she will,” riku blurted, then shrank under takuya’s glare. “i mean... she doesn’t know yet. but she will. she’s ambitious. proud as hell, yeah, but smart. she’ll see the opportunity.”

yuta tilted his head slightly.

“opportunity,” he repeated.

there was a silence then — long and thick. the kind that made men sweat and regret.

outside, a cicada screamed in the heat.

finally, yuta reached again for the sake. filled the cup. brought it to his lips.

“bring her tomorrow,” he said, setting it down. “at dusk.”

he looked up then — first at takuya, then at riku.

“and tell her to wear white.”

takuya nodded once. riku, visibly relieved, almost stumbled backward in his rush to bow.

as they left the room, the door sliding shut behind them, yuta looked back down at the photo still sitting on his desk. his fingers hovered over the image of you — red lace, pale thigh, that scowl on your face like you were ready to burn the world if it ever tried to touch you the wrong way.

he smiled — slow, dangerous.

“white,” he murmured to no one, then leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as if trying to see the shape of fate through the plaster cracks.

the car wasn’t riku’s.

you knew it the second you saw it — black, polished, long, too luxurious for someone who still owed his mother rent. it looked like something out of a movie, the kind where people died halfway through and the boss never smiled.

you frowned as you slid into the passenger seat, the leather cold against your thighs, the hem of your short white dress riding up just enough to make you tug it down with nervous fingers.

“riku,” you asked, casting him a sidelong glance, “whose car is this?”

he didn’t meet your eyes. just gripped the wheel tighter, the metal of his cheap watch catching the evening sun.

“i’ll explain when we get there,” he said.

“you sound like someone in trouble.”

he didn’t laugh. that was your first clue.

the streets blurred past — familiar for a while, then increasingly foreign. houses turned to alleys, alleys to shadowed roads, until you found yourselves in a part of town you'd never even noticed on the map. old-fashioned, silent, wealthy in the kind of way that kept its secrets buried deep.

“ever heard of the nakamotos?” riku asked, voice low.

you shook your head. “no. who are they?”

he exhaled, like the name alone weighed something in his lungs.

“they’re... old blood. powerful. my uncle used to say they ran osaka before politicians even had names. people think they’re just a legend. but they’re not.”

“you’re talking about the mafia.”

“i’m talking about something older than that,” he corrected. “this isn’t like the shit you see in movies. they don’t wear suits and flash money in clubs. they wear silence. control. fear.”

you opened your mouth to ask him what the hell you were doing here when the car slowed.

he turned into a narrow stone path, flanked by perfectly trimmed hedges and lanterns that hadn’t lit up yet. at the end stood a traditional japanese house — wide, quiet, beautiful... and terrifying. the kind of place that wasn’t a home, but a domain.

the wooden gates opened without a word. two men stood guard — massive, bald, shirtless under their haori coats, with black ink swirling over their arms like sacred maps. their eyes followed the car without blinking.

your stomach tightened.

you knew those tattoos. old-style irezumi. yakuza.

riku parked, shifted the car into neutral. before you could ask anything, the door beside you swung open and his hand wrapped around your arm.

“come on,” he said, voice softer now. “and... don’t say anything unless spoken to.”

you stumbled out, the white heels you’d chosen digging slightly into the stone pathway before he hissed, “shoes off.”

quickly, you slipped them off, your bare feet meeting the cool wood of the engawa. your dress clung to your skin — tight, delicate, lace-trimmed with a little bow between your breasts. thin straps barely held it up, and the ruffled hem danced halfway down your thighs. it wasn’t the kind of thing you wore to meet strangers. especially not dangerous ones.

especially not him.

your curls spilled down your shoulders like a waterfall, wild and untamed. you felt their eyes on you — the men lounging inside, smoking in silence, watching you pass like a prize being paraded.

riku walked ahead, brought you before a closed shoji door, and then — without a word — dropped to his knees.

you blinked. “riku—”

he grabbed your wrist and tugged you down beside him.

“kneel,” he whispered.

your heart thudded hard as your knees touched the tatami.

the air inside felt heavier. sacred. strange.

riku cleared his throat. “nakamoto-san... i’ve brought her.”

a pause.

then a voice — low, smooth, commanding.

“enter.”

the doors slid open.

and there he was.

seated cross-legged behind a desk, bathed in golden light, red hair glinting like fire under the lamp. tattoos peeked out from the open collar of his black shirt, curling over the base of his throat like serpents. his eyes were the first thing you noticed — black, deep, emotionless. like looking into the sea at midnight.

he didn’t stand. didn’t smile. didn’t offer a single greeting.

he just looked at you.

like you were something being weighed.

and you — still on your knees, barefoot, trembling slightly in your white nightdress — felt it.

something shift.

like the world you knew had just ended at the doorstep, and whatever lay beyond was his to shape.

the room was quiet.

no clocks ticking, no voices murmuring beyond the walls. just the sound of your own breathing, unsteady and too loud in your ears, and the faint crackle of incense burning somewhere in the corner — sandalwood, rich and smoky.

he hadn’t said anything.

yuta sat there like a statue carved from shadow and fire, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to the elbows, revealing more of that swirling ink that marked him as untouchable. the tattoos weren’t flashy; they were traditional — dragons and chrysanthemums, waves crashing across his forearms like they were alive. his hair, a deep blood-red, was slicked back slightly, letting you see the clean, sharp line of his jaw, the slight scar on his brow, the disinterest in his eyes.

he looked at you like a man who didn’t waste time.

like someone used to getting exactly what he wanted.

and right now, his eyes were on you.

you sat on your knees, legs folded neatly under you just like riku had instructed. your white dress — thin, ribbed cotton that hugged your curves — felt suddenly far too revealing. the lace along the neckline dipped just low enough to expose a teasing amount of cleavage, delicate and feminine. a tiny satin bow rested between your breasts, and the hem of the dress stopped a few inches below your hips, ruffled and sheer at the edge. the room was warm, but your skin prickled.

your golden choker gleamed in the soft light, a simple band resting at the base of your throat like a brand.

and yuta noticed.

his gaze flicked to it, then back to your eyes.

you swallowed hard.

“you wore white,” he finally said, voice quiet but firm — the kind that made people listen the first time. “good.”

you glanced at riku, who kept his head bowed.

“stand,” yuta said.

your breath caught.

he wasn’t talking to riku.

you.

he meant you.

with shaky hands, you rose slowly, careful not to trip over the hem. your bare feet touched the cool tatami as you stood in front of him — exposed, nervous, but refusing to shrink.

yuta’s eyes roamed, slow and unapologetic. he took his time, letting the silence stretch as his gaze slid down your body — over the slope of your shoulders, the soft lines of your thighs, the little tremble in your fingers.

when his eyes finally returned to yours, something shifted in them. barely.

interest.

“turn around,” he said.

your cheeks flushed, but you obeyed.

you turned — slowly — letting him see the dip of your back, the way the thin straps clung to your skin, the curve of your ass under the short white dress. the silence behind you was heavy, and though he said nothing, you could feel his stare like heat down your spine.

then:

“enough.”

you turned back, your eyes meeting his once more. his expression hadn’t changed. unreadable. unreadable and yet so incredibly present, like he was already taking possession of something without needing to lift a finger.

“how old are you?” he asked.

“twenty-three,” you replied quietly.

his gaze narrowed slightly.

“virgin?”

your heart dropped. riku visibly tensed beside you, but didn’t say a word.

you didn’t answer.

yuta arched a brow.

“i asked you a question.”

you hesitated, voice barely above a whisper.

“yes.”

a pause.

yuta leaned back slightly in his chair, his fingers wrapping around a ceramic cup of sake, lifting it to his lips. he drank slowly. thoughtfully. then set it down with a soft clink.

“good,” he murmured.

you didn’t know what that meant.

but you could feel it — your fate shifting under your feet.

“leave us,” he said.

just as riku began to bow his head to excuse himself, yuta raised his hand with a single flick of his fingers.

“call takuya,” he said, not taking his eyes off you.

riku froze for a second — like he’d forgotten something crucial. “yes, sir,” he mumbled, then bowed quickly and disappeared behind the sliding door.

and now you were alone.

alone with nakamoto yuta.

his eyes were darker now, more focused. he didn’t smile. didn’t move.

“come closer,” he said.

and something in you — something curious, frightened, and strangely drawn — obeyed.

as soon as the door slid shut behind riku, you exhaled, but it came out shaky — barely holding together the storm brewing inside you.

you turned toward yuta, cheeks burning. “what the hell was that question?” you blurted, voice tight and sharp, almost cracking.

he didn’t flinch.

he didn’t apologize either.

he simply looked at you like he was watching a child throw a harmless tantrum.

“i needed to know,” he said coolly, fingers tapping once against the rim of his sake cup. “that information changes things.”

your eyebrows shot up. “changes what?”

“your value,” he said, flat and emotionless.

the words hit you like a slap.

you blinked at him, stunned. “i’m not... some kind of—”

“i didn’t say you were,” he interrupted, still calm. still infuriatingly unbothered. “but where you’re going, who you’ll be playing... details matter.”

you pressed your lips together, heart pounding. his gaze was steady, unwavering. there was no cruelty in his tone — but also no softness. just facts. just business.

like you were already part of the machine.

“you’re here for a reason,” he said, sitting forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, gaze locked on yours. “riku says you’re smart. obedient. pretty enough to catch a man’s attention, but not enough to be seen as a threat.”

you almost flinched again. almost.

he noticed.

“don’t take it personally,” he added. “the role needs someone forgettable. invisible, at first glance. someone no one would look at twice — until it’s too late.”

you didn’t know if that was a compliment or an insult.

you were still kneeling, toes curled into the tatami, your white satin dress clinging lightly to your thighs. the hem brushed against your skin every time you shifted, your bare shoulders cold beneath the dim lantern light. the gold choker around your neck felt heavier now, like a chain instead of an accessory.

you finally turned to look at him. “are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

yuta leaned back in his seat, the tattoos along his forearms catching the light where the sleeves of his dark yukata had slipped. he looked at you like he was reading something only he could see.

“there’s pressure from the police. not just local. national,” he said. “they’re watching us. they want to bring me down.”

you blinked. “so... what does that have to do with me?”

his voice didn’t change. still cold. still even.

“if i marry a civilian woman — someone clean, untouched by our business — it changes the narrative. i stop being the yakuza heir. i become a husband. a man trying to build a quiet life.”

you stared at him.

“you want to marry me.”

“i need to,” he corrected.

“and you expect me to just—”

before you could reply, a soft knock echoed from the other side of the room.

“enter,” yuta called.

the sliding door opened quietly, and in stepped a man in his mid-thirties, sharp as a blade in both posture and gaze. he wore a dark suit with no tie, and even though his arms were hidden, you could still feel the same kind of power rolling off him as the men outside.

“this is takuya,” yuta said without looking at him. “the one who came up with the plan.”

takuya bowed briefly, his eyes scanning you once. no reaction. just cold calculation.

“pleasure,” he said flatly, then got straight to it. “we're currently facing heat from law enforcement. not just the division — higher up. there's a task force building a case. they’re using the press, community outreach, whatever they can. they want to paint yakuza like common criminals. it’s not just raids anymore. they’re aiming for image. public perception.”

you swallowed.

takuya continued, unfazed. “they need something scandalous to latch onto. something to justify pushing deeper. but if we give them a distraction — a different narrative — the pressure dies.”

he looked you in the eye now.

“a marriage,” he said. “to a local girl. innocent. untouched by crime. beautiful, with roots in a quiet town. the kind of story the papers love. the kind of woman that turns a red-haired, tattooed leader into a ‘reformed’ man.”

your heart skipped a beat.

“you want me to marry him?”

yuta’s silence confirmed it before either of them spoke.

“the marriage will be legal,” he said, bluntly. “we’re filing the papers through a lawyer we trust. it’ll hold weight. that’s the point.”

your breath caught.

“we need legitimacy,” takuya went on. “you’re the key to that. the girl from the countryside. beautiful. clean. no record. no history. the media will eat it up — especially when they realize you’re marrying someone like him.”

you looked down, at your dress — soft white, with lace trim over the chest and a satin bow between your breasts. the kind of thing that screamed innocence. riku had made you wear it. said it was yuta’s favorite color on women.

your cheeks burned.

“and what do i get?”

“money, comfort, protection,” takuya said immediately. “you’ll live in comfort. you’ll be kept safe. no one will touch you. not the police. not enemies. not even our own men without permission.”

his gaze hardened. “money. more than your village’s mayor makes in a year. and attention. the kind you can use.”

you glanced at yuta, who was watching you with unreadable eyes. the flames of the oil lamp caught the glint of the gold chain around your neck and the soft shine of your white satin dress, making you look even more delicate — and out of place.

you were barefoot, knees pressing into the tatami, curls spilling down your back like ink on silk.

“so... i’m supposed to pretend to be your wife,” you said, eyes locked on yuta now. “while you do what, exactly?”

he finally spoke again.

“live,” he said. “lead. and make them believe i’ve changed.”

you weren’t sure if it was insane or brilliant.

but deep down, something about the idea — the promise of safety, of being wanted in such a specific, strategic way — pulled at a place inside you that you weren’t ready to name yet.

you didn’t look at takuya when he bowed out, only waited until the door slid shut behind him. silence fell again, thick like smoke in your lungs. you hated it — being spoken about like an asset. like a pawn on some expensive chessboard. like a clean little civilian girl they could dress in white and parade in front of the press.

you crossed your arms.

“you’re a fucking piece of work,” you said, eyes locked on him. “you don’t even ask. you just... tell me i’m getting married. to you. like i’m supposed to be flattered.”

yuta tilted his head. his eyes — those cruel, unreadable eyes — didn’t move from yours.

“if you weren’t angry,” he said slowly, “i’d be disappointed.”

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“it means i don’t need a quiet, obedient wife,” he said. “i need someone with fire. someone who doesn’t flinch when men like me enter a room.”

you scoffed. “so you want a wife or a weapon?”

he smirked — just barely. almost not at all.

“both.”

you stood, not bothering to hide the defiance in your posture. your dress flowed around your legs as you stepped closer, barefoot, jaw tight.

“i come from a farm in fucking wakayama,” you snapped. “my parents grow vegetables and wake up before the sun. i crawled out of that life by sheer force of will. i didn’t come to osaka to be anyone’s doll.”

he watched you with an unnerving calm. your temper didn’t faze him. if anything, he seemed... intrigued.

“then don’t be a doll,” he said. “be the woman who stood next to the devil and didn’t blink.”

your chest rose and fell. the white choker around your neck suddenly felt suffocating.

“and what do you get out of this?” you asked. “besides a pretty distraction.”

“peace,” he replied, finishing his sake. “for now.”

you stared at him, still furious — but your fury no longer felt out of place. it felt... necessary. expected. wanted.

he stood slowly, and you couldn’t help but notice the curve of muscle beneath the dark fabric of his yukata, the tattoos peeking out over his chest and wrists like whispered warnings. like stories he didn’t need to tell with words.

he came closer, and stopped just short of your space.

“tomorrow,” he said. “we’ll register the marriage. we’ll make it real.”

your heart thudded — not with fear, but with something heavier. something hotter.

“wear white again.”

“you’re a controlling asshole,” you muttered.

he leaned in, just enough that you could feel the ghost of his breath against your temple.

“good. you’re learning.”

you didn't sleep the night before.

not from fear — you weren’t some trembling girl marrying her first crush. it was the sheer weight of it. the permanence. the fact that when you woke up the next morning, you would legally belong to the red-haired devil with tattoos snaking across his chest. the one who barely flinched when you cussed at him, who told you to wear white like it was some kind of silent power game.

riku arrived at dawn in a black car — another luxurious model that reeked of expensive leather and cigarettes. in the back seat was a garment bag, pristine and white, and a lacquered box wrapped in silk.

“these are from yuta,” he said, handing both over carefully. “he said to wear the western one for the ceremony.”

you pulled the zipper down.

the wedding gown inside looked like it had stepped out of a bridal magazine. dramatic off-the-shoulder puffed sleeves, a sweetheart neckline, pearl buttons down the back, and a full, billowing skirt that would swallow your legs whole. the lace was delicate, vintage, almost royal. your fingers hesitated at the embroidery.

“jesus christ,” you muttered. “this must’ve cost a fortune.”

“probably did.” riku rubbed the back of his neck. “he doesn’t half-ass anything.”

you didn’t respond, only moved to open the silk-wrapped box next. inside: a traditional shiromuku kimono — heavy white silk with detailed cranes and chrysanthemums embroidered in silver thread. beneath it, folded with exact care, was a note in black ink.

you’ll wear this tonight. we need photos for the papers. — n. yuta

you rolled your eyes and slammed the lid shut.

the ceremony was held at a historic ryotei garden estate outside osaka. the kind of place used for tea ceremonies and old-money weddings. white lanterns floated on the koi pond, and flower arrangements shaped like clouds lined the stone walkway leading to the altar.

your heels clicked sharply against the path, dress trailing behind like a whisper. makeup perfect, lashes heavy, lips painted a soft cherry red. around your neck, a thin golden choker — delicate, expensive-looking, chosen by someone with taste. your hair was still curled and loose, spilling down your back in waves like the night before.

you held your head high. eyes straight ahead.

the photographers swarmed the entrance. local reporters lined the gate. and there he was — standing at the altar in a black montsuki haori, crimson hair tied loosely back, tattoos just barely visible where the robe dipped at the collar. yuta nakamoto looked like a villain out of a storybook. untouched. untouchable.

you stopped beside him, and only nodded once.

he didn’t smile. didn’t blink.

only said, “you look beautiful,” without moving his lips too much.

“you better,” you muttered, “after dropping this much cash.”

the ceremony was both legal and traditional. papers signed first, in front of witnesses — then the vows, recited with low, steady voices. you said them with a precision that almost sounded sarcastic. yuta repeated his in a tone that made the back of your neck tingle. like he was promising more than the words on the paper.

when the priest announced the kiss, you almost flinched. but the cameras were already flashing.

you turned.

you placed a hand on his chest.

and you pulled him in — slow, confident, unflinching. lips pressed to his with calculated pressure, just enough to look like passion, just enough to keep your pride intact.

he didn’t pull away. his mouth stayed still for a second longer than necessary. enough to make you feel heat bloom low in your stomach.

you stepped back first. wiped the edge of your lip with a fingertip. smirked like a queen who always won.

the reporters clapped. someone whistled. riku looked like he wanted to throw up.

you didn’t look at yuta again until after the ceremony, when he leaned in close during the photo op and said under his breath, “i knew you’d make it look good.”

you didn’t answer.

but part of you hated how your heartbeat stuttered anyway.

the reception was held back at the traditional house — the one you'd visited with riku only the day before. everything felt familiar, but colder now. more official. more yours.

the room smelled of sake, tobacco, and incense. a soft string quartet played somewhere in the background, a luxury reserved only for special occasions in this part of the country. long tables were filled with men in black suits, most of them tattooed beneath the fabric, their voices low and respectful. the atmosphere wasn’t celebratory — it was ceremonial. serious. like the birth of a deal.

you sat beside yuta on a low wooden bench, legs tucked beneath your heavy white kimono, the weight of the fabric grounding you. yuta had changed into a darker formal haori — simple, elegant, his hair still tied back, a few strands falling around his face. you tried not to glance at him too often. he didn’t speak much, only nodded at greetings, poured you a cup of tea when the cameras weren’t looking.

the group photo was taken near the engawa, under a blossom tree, everyone lined up behind you both — riku awkwardly stiff behind you, takuya beside him with arms crossed, unreadable. yuta’s hand rested lightly on your knee for the shot. your posture was perfect. expression unreadable.

then came the second photo — just the two of you. you stood side by side on the engawa, backs straight. he tilted his head just slightly toward you, eyes calm. you didn’t lean into him. not yet. but your hands brushed once.

you hated that your skin remembered it.

later that night, in the room they had prepared for you both — a wide, clean space with tatami floors and a low table still holding untouched tea — you sat at the edge of the futon, kimono folded neatly beside you, hair pinned up. your western dress had been carefully stored away. the silence stretched between you and yuta like a tight wire.

he stood by the window, back to you, sleeves rolled up slightly to reveal part of the ink on his forearm.

“you should tell your parents,” he said suddenly, voice calm. “so they don’t hear it from someone else.”

you blinked. “i will. but it’s not that easy.”

he turned slightly toward you. “why not?”

you gave him a tight smile. “you forget where i’m from, city boy. that town barely has working lights. my parents don’t have a landline.”

he paused. then, slowly, walked to a small desk in the corner and pulled out a set of paper, brush, and ink.

“write a letter. i’ll send someone to deliver it in person.”

that startled you more than anything.

“…seriously?”

“i don’t joke about family,” he said, gaze steady. “especially now.”

you didn’t know what to say to that. instead, you took the paper and sat cross-legged to write. your fingers trembled slightly at the start, but you found the words. told them you were safe. told them you were married. left out the politics.

you left out the man standing by the window again, quiet as a ghost.

after you sealed the envelope, yuta finally stepped closer. but he didn’t reach for you. didn’t touch you.

“you’ll sleep here,” he said, voice low. “i’ll take the room next door. just for tonight.”

you looked up at him, surprised.

“what, not going to consummate the deal?” you asked dryly.

his mouth twitched. not quite a smile. “you’re not a deal.”

you held his gaze a second too long. then turned away.

“…thanks,” you muttered.

he paused by the door, then added, “you looked strong today. people noticed.”

you snorted. “damn right they did.”

he left without another word.

you lay back, eyes wide open. married. protected. still you.

and for some reason, that scared you more than anything else.

you woke up to the smell of garlic and soy sauce.

it was a gentle aroma, not overwhelming, but enough to stir you from sleep as sunlight trickled through the wooden blinds. you stretched beneath the soft, white sheets, the unfamiliar futon beneath you barely creaking. your limbs were heavy with yesterday’s weight — the ceremony, the stares, the quiet glances exchanged in front of too many eyes.

slipping out of bed, you pulled the red silk robe from the edge of the futon, tying it lazily around your waist. it clung to you with that subtle sheen, smooth against your bare legs. your hair, still slightly tousled from sleep, was swept into a loose bun, a few strands curling at your nape. barefoot, you padded quietly down the hallway.

you found the chef in the kitchen — a tall, polite man with graying hair tied at the nape. he bowed when he saw you.

“good morning, miss. breakfast will be ready shortly.”

you blinked at the formality, then cleared your throat. “where’s yuta?”

he didn’t look up from the pot he was stirring. “the young master is in his office.”

of course he is.

you murmured a quiet thank you before turning and making your way down the same corridor from last night — where yuta had disappeared into quiet work and you had gone to bed alone.

you knocked once. no answer. you slid the door open.

yuta was seated behind a long wooden desk, papers laid out in front of him, a cigarette resting on a small tray by his elbow. he glanced up when he saw you — and something in his gaze caught, like a moment of surprise he didn’t know how to mask.

you were barely dressed for conversation. the robe hugged your waist too perfectly, a flash of your leg peeking out as you shifted your weight. your lashes curled softly above your half-lidded stare, arms crossed beneath your chest. you didn’t try to hide how comfortable you looked. or how dangerous that made you seem.

“i need to make a call,” you said simply. “it’s important.”

he nodded once, motioning toward the landline on the sideboard.

“go ahead.”

you paused. “can i have privacy?”

that earned you a look — half amusement, half disbelief. then, without a word, he stood and walked past you, sliding the door closed behind him.

as soon as the click echoed in the room, you exhaled. you opened the small leather agenda you always kept in your bag — fingers flipping to the back page where hitoshi’s number was scribbled in your handwriting.

you dialed. it rang twice.

“y/n?”

his voice was frantic, breathless. “where the hell have you been? i’ve been trying to reach you for days—i even came by your aunt's house. it’s empty. what the fuck is going on?”

you bit your lip. “…i got married.”

silence.

then—

“WHAT?”

you pulled the phone slightly away from your ear.

“what do you mean married? married to who?! when? are you even—y/n, are you conscious of what you’re doing?! you have a career, a whole future about to start. you can't just—”

you cut him off gently. “look at the news, hitoshi. or tomorrow’s papers. the answer’s there.”

“but—why?!”

you leaned against the wall, voice calm. “because it was necessary.”

he was pacing. you could hear it in the rhythm of his breath. “y/n, you have contracts. endorsement deals pending. you know what the clauses say—you’re supposed to be single.”

you sighed. “don’t worry about the money. that’s not a problem anymore.”

his voice dropped. “what does that even mean?”

you didn’t answer that.

instead, you softened. “i’ll explain in person. let’s meet soon, yeah?”

after a beat, he agreed. you hung up quietly.

then, without turning, you said, “you can come back in.”

the door slid open slowly.

yuta stepped inside, eyes lingering on your silhouette — the curve of your hip, the smooth dip of your shoulder beneath the robe. your nails, painted white, contrasted sharply with the red fabric as you crossed your arms. you looked the part now. a dangerous, elegant wife. someone who belonged in a room like this — and maybe even someone who could command it.

his voice was lower this time. unreadable.

“who’s hitoshi?”

you raised an eyebrow. “what, jealous already?”

his jaw tightened. “just answer.”

“he’s my manager,” you said firmly. “and i needed to let him know about this situation.”

“you seemed close.”

“don’t start,” you warned, stepping forward, your tone sharp, impatient. “not everyone in my life is someone you need to size up. especially not him.”

he stared at you a moment longer.

and then, quietly — like it surprised even him — he said,

“…you look like you were made for this.”

you didn’t reply.

but you didn’t look away either.

you ate breakfast with your legs crossed under the wooden table, the silk of your red robe brushing softly against your thighs. the chef had prepared grilled fish, miso soup, rice, and a delicate tamagoyaki roll — a traditional spread that felt both luxurious and grounded, like something too refined for a newlywed girl still adjusting to this new life. you picked at your food in silence while the staff moved quietly around you.

yuta joined you ten minutes later, dressed in a dark pinstriped yukata, his sleeves loose, the scent of cologne and cigarettes lingering faintly as he sat across from you. he didn’t say much. didn’t need to. the silence between you wasn’t cold — not quite — but it felt suspended, like a string pulled tight between two people who hadn’t decided what this thing between them was going to be.

you finished eating first. he watched you dab at your lips with the napkin, watched the subtle way you moved, always confident, always so sure of your space in the room. you weren’t the type to wilt, not even under a house full of men who whispered your name like a warning.

“i’ll be in my office,” he murmured as he stood.

you only nodded.

the days passed with a strange kind of rhythm. mornings were quiet — breakfast, then long hours where you wandered the compound’s grounds or stayed in your room, reading, journaling, waiting. there were training sessions in the garden, men bowing to yuta like he was a god, and you saw it clearly now — what kind of man he really was. the way they followed him. the way even takuya never questioned a command. you were living in the center of something vast and ancient and quietly violent, and yet… you didn’t feel afraid.

not really.

yuta treated you with distance, but not cruelty. he gave you space, but not indifference. and in the quiet moments — a shared glance at dinner, the brush of his fingers when handing you a cup of tea — there was something else, something harder to define. tension, yes. desire, maybe. but also… possession. like he was slowly convincing himself that you weren’t just here for the show.

you noticed it most when riku came to inform you of your meeting with hitoshi.

“i’ll drive you there,” he said, pulling keys from his coat pocket. he led you outside to where a glossy black toyota century sat gleaming beneath the trees — a 1994 model, clearly imported with care. it looked like power and old money. when the door opened for you, you slipped inside with practiced ease, dressed in a simple black fitted skirt and a white blouse, minimal makeup, but still polished.

yuta stood on the porch, arms crossed, watching.

“she said he’s her manager,” takuya said from behind him, tone casual. he was smoking again, the end of the cigarette glowing orange in the dusk. “why are you so tense?”

yuta didn’t answer at first. his gaze stayed locked on the vehicle, unmoving.

takuya smirked. “don’t tell me it’s jealousy. i thought this was just a business arrangement.”

yuta’s jaw flexed.

“it’s not that.”

“hm,” takuya exhaled. “then what is it?”

“i’m a man,” yuta said simply, his voice low and firm. “and she belongs to me now. any man would hate the idea of someone else touching what’s his.”

takuya gave a short, quiet laugh. “you’re not very good at pretending, you know.”

the car pulled away.

inside, you kept your eyes forward, legs crossed, fingers resting lightly on the leather seat.

“are you nervous?” riku asked, his voice softer than usual.

“no,” you said simply. “but he might be.”

the meeting spot was a quiet café tucked in a side street near the train station. it was almost empty — just a few people scattered inside. you stepped out of the car and walked in like you owned the place.

hitoshi stood as soon as he saw you.

his expression was pure disbelief.

you sat down without a word.

“…you really went and did it,” he said eventually. “you married someone. just like that.”

“i told you,” you said, tilting your head. “you could’ve checked the papers.”

“oh, i did. believe me, i did.” he ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. “but nothing in those headlines explains why. or who. they only say that you married into the nakamoto family, and if you think i don’t know what that means—”

“you’re overreacting.”

“am i?” he leaned forward. “y/n, do you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into? these men aren’t just businessmen. they’re criminals. this… this is dangerous.”

you met his gaze evenly.

“i’m safe.”

he scoffed. “he’s got you brainwashed already.”

“hitoshi—”

“no,” he cut in. “you can’t just throw your career away for this. you had a film audition next month. a music contract on the table. i worked for those.”

your voice dropped. “i didn’t ask you to.”

his face froze.

you leaned back slowly, expression unreadable.

“you’re good at your job,” you said, eyes narrowing slightly. “but you don’t own me.”

he stared at you. your tone was cool, sharp, like a blade wrapped in silk. it was the version of you he rarely saw — the version you hid beneath stage smiles and rehearsed charm. the version that came out when you were pushed.

he sat back.

“…so, what now?” he asked. “you going to disappear into his shadow forever?”

you smiled faintly.

“i don’t disappear, hitoshi.”

he watched you for a long moment.

“…i want you to be happy,” he said finally, quieter now. “but i just hope you know what the hell you’re doing.”

“i do.”

he nodded.

then, reluctantly, “i’ll wait for you to call.”

you stood, and he didn’t try to follow.

when you returned to the car, riku opened the door for you again. the ride back was silent. you stared out the window, your reflection ghosting across the glass.

yuta was waiting when you arrived.

he didn’t speak right away.

but his eyes moved slowly over your figure — your blouse now slightly unbuttoned from the heat, the black skirt hugging your hips, your heels clicking softly against the wooden floor as you stepped inside. your hair was tied in a neat twist. you looked untouched. but not untouchable.

“how was it?” he asked at last.

“expected,” you said.

he didn’t respond.

so you turned, arms crossed, leveling him with a look.

“don’t look at me like that.”

his brow lifted. “like what?”

“like you think he’s more than what he is.”

“and what is he?”

you tilted your chin.

“not your problem.”

the corner of his mouth twitched. not quite a smile. not quite anything.

he stepped forward until you could smell his cologne again, feel the weight of his presence wrapping around you like gravity. you didn’t move.

“you’re mine,” he said simply, his voice low, almost soft. “whatever this started as… it doesn’t change that.”

you met his eyes without flinching.

“then act like it.”

you stepped past him, your heels clicking down the hallway like a challenge.

he watched you go — and for the first time in days, he didn’t know whether to follow or fall harder.

the soft knock on the door came just as you were adjusting the strap of your black dress in front of the mirror. the fabric clung to your body like it had been molded for you, emphasizing every curve, every subtle sway of your hips. lips painted red, a delicate gold chain around your neck, hair styled effortlessly to frame your cheekbones—you were the picture of elegance. the kind of elegance that didn't ask for attention, but demanded it nonetheless. when you opened the door, yuta stood there, his dark eyes sweeping over you with an unreadable expression. the faintest smirk curled on his lips.

“you’re ready,” he said, his voice deep, smooth like aged whiskey.

you nodded. “always.”

it was the first time you stood beside him like that—visibly, publicly, as his wife. the police visit had been scheduled days ago, supposedly a routine check. they had heard whispers, rumors about illegal movement, weapons, maybe more. but when the door opened to reveal you—immaculate, poised, clean as paper—their tone shifted. and when they saw the documents, the legal marriage certificate, your name listed as the new owner of multiple boutiques and cosmetic shops around the city, they exchanged glances.

“mrs. nakamoto?” the inspector had asked, uncertain, skeptical even.

you nodded politely. “yes. is there a problem?”

he glanced at the paper again, then at yuta, who remained calm, arms crossed, watching the interaction in silence. eventually, they left. the marriage had erased all suspicion, at least for now. your spotless reputation had become a shield, and yuta had used it like a blade.

that night, as you stood alone on the engawa of the traditional house—the same one you were brought to the first time—watching the moon dip behind the clouds, something inside you felt hollow. it wasn’t about the marriage. it wasn’t about the danger. it was the way he hadn’t come home.

you didn’t want to admit it, but his absence gnawed at your nerves. the house felt too quiet, too still. the shadows stretched in strange ways. your heartbeat was louder than the wind rattling the trees. you remained near the front, robe tied tightly around your waist, sandal-clad feet tapping restlessly against the wooden floor.

a screech of tires shattered the silence.

your body tensed, instinctively stepping toward the door. “yuta?” you called out, voice unsure.

“don’t turn on the lights,” he growled from the darkness, his voice uneven. strained. almost guttural.

you froze, your breath caught. “what—what happened?”

his silhouette appeared under the dim light of the porch. he stumbled, one hand pressed hard to his side, the other braced against the wall. he was bleeding. thick, dark liquid was spreading across his shirt, staining it in ominous blotches.

“yuta—oh my god.” you rushed forward, catching him as he lost balance. your arms wrapped around him, struggling to hold up his weight. something warm and wet seeped through your robe, making your skin crawl.

“it’s fine—just... just a scratch,” he muttered, clearly lying.

“shut up,” you hissed. your fingers trembled as you pressed them against the open wound. blood poured out over your hands, slippery and terrifying. you couldn’t see clearly. your head spun. you were shaking, overwhelmed, but you weren’t going to let him die here.

you pulled off your robe, leaving yourself in nothing but your underwear, and pressed the fabric hard against his abdomen. “stay with me, do you hear me? stay the fuck with me.”

his eyes moved to you, barely focused. but they lingered. his bloodied fingers brushed your arm, slow, reverent. “you look like a damn goddess,” he whispered, his breath hitching.

“you’re delirious,” you snapped, voice cracking.

you bolted into his office, found the notebook with contacts, and dialed takuya with shaky fingers. “it’s bad,” you said as soon as he picked up. “he’s hurt—stabbed—bleeding. hurry, please.”

minutes later, engines roared into the driveway. several men stormed inside. one, enormous, bald and covered in tattoos, barked orders. “get him in the car. now!”

you stood frozen, blood staining your legs, your stomach, your hands. you hadn’t even realized you were crying until takuya’s hand cupped your shoulder. “he’s gonna be fine. it’s not his first time.”

your head snapped toward him, anger flashing through your tears. “what the fuck is that supposed to mean? like that makes it okay?”

he sighed. “you married a yakuza boss, sweetheart. this... this is the life.”

they carried yuta out on a stretcher, still conscious, his eyes locked on you until the car doors slammed shut.

you ran to your room, changed into the nearest jeans and a sweatshirt, your skin sticky, heart pounding, nerves frayed. you were supposed to be used to this. you weren’t. you never would be.

but you’d made a choice. and for better or worse, this was your world now.

“you’re not coming with us,” takuya said firmly, standing between you and the door like a wall. “we don’t know if it’s safe. the ones who did this could still be out there.”

you clenched your jaw. “i don’t care.”

he sighed, exasperated. “you should. if something happens to you, he’ll lose his fucking mind. he’s already half-dead—don’t give him another reason to bleed out.”

just then, another man stepped inside the house, tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a black coat soaked at the hem. his eyes flicked briefly to you—blood still crusted on your arms—before turning to takuya.

“send a team,” the man said coldly. “find the ones responsible. they laid hands on the boss—i want heads rolling before sunrise.”

your heart skipped. the temperature in the room dropped several degrees. these men didn’t play. and neither did you.

takuya stepped aside, distracted by his phone. in that split second, you slipped past him and out the door.

your legs carried you before your fear could stop you. you flagged the first car outside and ordered the driver to take you to the hospital. he hesitated at first, but the blood on your body, the tremble in your voice, and the fire in your eyes convinced him otherwise.

the ride felt endless. your thoughts spiraled. images of yuta, pale and breathless, leaning on you like he had nothing left to give. the way his blood soaked your robe. his whisper: you look like a damn goddess. you pressed your hand to your chest, trying to steady your breathing, but it only made you more aware of the ache blooming inside.

the hospital was surrounded—unmarked cars parked along the curb, men in black stationed near the entrance like statues. you walked past them, eyes forward, not daring to look weak. no one stopped you. maybe they recognized you. maybe they just knew better.

when you reached the emergency wing, takuya was already there. he turned sharply when he saw you, brows drawn tight.

“you don’t fucking listen.”

“and you don’t get to keep me away from him,” you snapped. “i’m his wife, remember?”

he hesitated.

“where is he?” you demanded.

after a long pause, he pointed down the hall.

room 304.

you stepped in quietly. the lights were dim, the room cold and too clean. yuta lay in the bed, shirtless, wrapped in gauze, an IV attached to his arm. bruises spread like ink under his skin, and the bandage around his abdomen was already faintly stained.

he looked up when he heard the door click. his lashes fluttered, expression softening as he saw you.

“you’re here.”

“of course i’m here,” you said, voice cracking. “i wasn’t going to let you go through this alone.”

his head rolled slightly on the pillow. “told you not to come.”

you approached slowly, sitting at the edge of the bed. your fingers brushed his, and his hand immediately gripped yours, tight, desperate.

“they’re looking for them,” you whispered. “the ones who did this.”

he hummed. “i figured.”

you stared at him, really stared. even beaten and bruised, he was still beautiful. painfully so. his lips were cracked, his hair damp with sweat, and yet when he looked at you like that—like you were the only light in the room—something shifted in your chest.

“you could’ve died,” you said, barely above a whisper.

“i didn’t.”

“you’re not invincible, yuta.”

his thumb traced your knuckle, slow and deliberate. “i’ve survived worse.”

“doesn’t mean i want to watch you do it again.”

he blinked slowly. “are you worried about me?”

you looked away, ashamed by how quickly your throat closed up. “of course i fucking am.”

a silence settled between you, charged and heavy. then, softly, he tugged your hand.

“come here.”

you hesitated, then shifted closer until you sat beside his torso. his free arm moved, gently pulling you down, guiding your head to his shoulder. you melted into him, careful of the bandages, heart thudding wildly in your chest.

“you smell like blood,” he murmured against your temple.

“your blood.”

he exhaled, a sound between a laugh and a groan. “you shouldn’t have come.”

“shut up,” you whispered. “i couldn’t stay away.”

his hand slid up your back, slow and warm, fingers curling lightly at the nape of your neck. it wasn’t sexual—not yet—but it was intimate in a way that made your skin burn.

“you’re shaking,” he said, voice low.

“i’m not,” you lied.

he tilted his head slightly, enough to catch your eyes. “you were scared.”

you didn’t deny it.

then, so softly you almost missed it, he said, “i’m sorry.”

it knocked the breath out of you. not just because it was rare, but because it sounded real. raw. like he meant it.

you buried your face in his neck, breathing in the scent of saline and blood and yuta. “just... don’t make me lose you.”

his fingers tightened against your spine. “you won’t.”

and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. you just lay there—his body battered, yours tense, your heartbeats syncing in the quiet. his touch grew bolder, fingertips tracing the line of your waist where the sweatshirt had ridden up. not enough to be indecent, just enough to remind you that you were both alive, still tethered to this moment.

his lips brushed your forehead.

“thank you,” he whispered. “for disobeying.”

the days passed slowly, quietly, like smoke curling in still air. yuta remained in the hospital, recovering from the attack—each morning his color improved, each night you still woke up drenched in cold sweat, the memory of his blood staining your hands refusing to leave you.

you visited him every day, sometimes for hours, sometimes just to bring him something sweet from the bakery he liked. he hated the hospital food. tastes like regret, he’d mumbled once, wincing at the scrambled eggs.

you would laugh. he liked hearing your laugh. said it sounded like it didn’t belong in a world like his. too soft. too clean.

on the third morning, you received a call from hitoshi.

“i know it’s sudden,” he said, voice crackling with low urgency, “but they need you for the ad. the set’s already built. we’re behind schedule.”

you hesitated, looking over your shoulder at the clock. 8:42 a.m. visiting hours started at nine.

“it’s the commercial,” he added, softer this time. “the one with the energy drink. the ‘neon burn’ campaign.”

you exhaled, one hand gripping the edge of the kitchen counter. “i’ll be there.”

the shoot was loud, hectic, and full of neon lighting. they’d dressed you in a vibrant 80s-inspired athletic bodysuit—electric purple, turquoise, and hot pink, with high-cut sides. mesh leggings hugged your thighs, and scrunched leg warmers clung to your ankles. your hair was teased and pinned high, lips painted with a glossy coral shade, eyes framed by metallic blue shadow.

it was absurd.

and yet you killed it.

even with your heart split in two, you danced, posed, ran down the fake gym set and delivered your lines with energy that felt impossible to fake. the crew clapped. the director smiled. hitoshi looked almost proud.

but you heard them. behind the camera, behind the mirrors.

isn’t that the girl who married a nakamoto?

she’s still working? i thought she’d go into hiding after that shooting...

you didn’t flinch. not once. your back stayed straight, chin tilted, eyes cold and far away. you��d learned that from yuta—how to carry chaos like it was perfume on your skin.

when the shoot wrapped, you slid into hitoshi’s car, pulling off your earrings and tossing them into your bag.

“take me to the hospital,” you said quietly.

he didn’t argue, but he didn’t hide the concern in his tone either.

“you keep walking into fire,” he muttered, one hand on the wheel. “one of these days, you’ll get burned.”

you turned to look out the window, slipping on your sunglasses. “then i guess i’ll burn.”

by the time you arrived at the hospital, the sun had reached its peak. you wore a soft beige set—trousers that hugged your hips, a cropped blazer, and low nude heels. your makeup was subtle, elegant, and your dark glasses concealed the weariness in your eyes.

no one stopped you. they knew you by now.

room 304.

you entered without knocking.

yuta was sitting up in bed, finishing the last bite of toast. he wore a plain black shirt, one of the ones you brought from home, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, bandages still visible underneath. he looked better. less pale. a little annoyed.

“what’s with the shades?” he asked, swallowing.

you took them off and placed them on the windowsill. “blinding lights. needed protection.”

he eyed you, amused. “you look like you walked out of a magazine.”

you shrugged. “it was the commercial shoot. energy drink. eighties gymcore fantasy.”

“so you wore... what, a fluorescent leotard?”

“and leg warmers. don’t forget the leg warmers.”

he smirked. “should’ve been there.”

you smiled faintly, then crossed the room, pulling the chair closer to his bed. he watched you in silence, a hand resting loosely on his stomach.

“you okay?” you asked softly.

“better,” he said. “doc says maybe two more days.”

you nodded, fingers curling slightly over your knees.

“you really went to work in the middle of all this?” he asked, voice low.

“i didn’t want to,” you admitted. “but i needed to remember i still exist outside of this. outside of... bleeding walls and bodyguards and hospital beds.”

he looked at you, really looked. something in his eyes flickered—guilt, maybe. or admiration.

“i heard the crew talking,” you continued. “they think i’m crazy. marrying into this family. being seen with your name wrapped around my finger.”

“they’re not wrong,” he muttered.

you reached into your purse, pulling out a folded napkin. “i brought you something.”

he raised an eyebrow.

you handed him a pastry, soft and still warm. almond filling. his favorite.

“see?” you said, a little teasing. “not a complete mistake.”

he chuckled, biting into it. his shoulders relaxed. for a moment, he looked like any other man—wounded but human, soft around the edges.

“i missed this,” he said suddenly, voice quieter. “us. when it’s... normal.”

“this isn’t normal,” you whispered, eyes flicking to the IV, to the faint red stains on the gauze at his waist.

“no,” he agreed. “but it’s ours.”

you felt something catch in your chest.

“you scared me, yuta,” you said. “that night. i thought—i thought you were going to die in my arms.”

he swallowed. “i know.”

you reached for his hand. he let you.

“and it made me realize... it’s not just about the blood. or the danger. it’s you. it’s always been you.”

he stared at you for a long time, as if trying to memorize your face in this moment—sunlight casting gold along your cheekbones, shadows pooling at your collarbone.

“you were shaking,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “you wrapped your robe around me like it was the only thing holding me together.”

“it was.”

he leaned forward, slow, careful. his face inches from yours.

“i’ve had men take bullets for me. i’ve had people beg to die in my name. but no one’s ever looked at me the way you did that night.”

you exhaled shakily, heart hammering.

“how did i look at you?” you asked.

“like i was worth saving.”

you swallowed hard.

his fingers slid under your chin, tilting your face toward him. you saw the softness in his gaze war with the fire in his touch, that unspoken hunger blooming between you like a bruise. his lips brushed yours—not quite a kiss, not yet—but the weight of it stole the air from your lungs.

“i’m not letting you go,” he whispered. “not now. not after that.”

you didn’t reply.

you didn’t need to.

you just leaned in, lips brushing his again, as if sealing a quiet, dangerous promise.

he came home just as the cicadas began their evening song, the sky burning orange behind the high walls of the estate.

the front gates creaked open, and the commands were already lined up along the stone path, kneeling, backs straight, heads bowed in perfect silence.

the black car door opened. yuta stepped out slowly, his movements still deliberate, recovering. he wore a dark yukata, fabric loose at the collar, bandages still hidden beneath the folds. the sound of his geta against the stone echoed like a heartbeat.

“welcome home, young master,” they murmured in unison.

one of the higher officers stepped forward. “the men who orchestrated the attack have been dealt with. the one responsible… was eliminated last night.”

yuta said nothing at first. his eyes closed, head dipping just slightly, as if acknowledging not just the words but the weight of everything they carried.

you watched from the genkan, leaning lightly against the doorframe, arms crossed. your orange summer dress caught the dying light, soft fabric clinging to the curve of your hips, fluttering just below your knees. your hair was down, loose and warm like the air, and you felt his gaze linger on you even through his exhaustion.

you didn’t say anything. neither did he.

you didn’t have to.

he passed by you slowly, the smell of sandalwood and blood and quiet victory still clinging to him.

the house returned to stillness once he disappeared down the hall toward his room.

later, you stood barefoot in the kitchen, elbows propped on the counter, chatting aimlessly with the chef. he was old, bored, fond of telling stories that made no sense and pretending to hate you even though you knew he liked your company.

“you’re hovering again,” he muttered, chopping scallions. “what, worried i’ll poison him?”

“i just want it done right.”

“it is done right.”

“then let me take it.”

“you don’t need to—”

“he’s my husband,” you said sharply, fingers curling around the edge of the counter. “i’ll take it.”

he blinked at you, then snorted. “possessive little thing.”

“i’m just not decorative,” you said, grabbing the tray.

on the wooden surface, you laid everything carefully: a bowl of miso soup, grilled fish, pickled vegetables, and a small porcelain cup of green tea. nothing too heavy—he still hadn’t regained all his strength. you added a folded cloth napkin and a pair of dark chopsticks.

the corridor was quiet when you made your way toward his room. the sliding door stood closed, warm light flickering through the paper panels. a couple of his men were stationed outside, standing stiff as statues. they glanced at you as you knelt gently before the door.

“yuta” you said softly. “i’m coming in.”

their eyes widened slightly—you hadn’t waited for permission.

inside, yuta sat reclined on his futon, his yukata slightly loosened, revealing the smooth, pale line of his collarbone. his head rested on his hand, elbow propped on a cushion. he was absently tossing a temari ball into the air and catching it with lazy precision, the silk threads glinting in the warm lamplight.

when you entered, he caught the ball midair and raised a brow.

“is this what i get for nearly dying?” he said, voice rough but amused. “a pretty wife and a home-cooked meal?”

you stood, holding the tray. “don’t get used to it.”

“but i like this version of you.”

“the barefoot maid version?”

“the worried wife version.”

you walked over and set the tray in front of him. “you’ll be serving yourself the moment you can stand without wobbling.”

he chuckled low in his chest. “you’re all thorns tonight.”

you sat beside him on the tatami, tucking your legs under your body. he reached for the bowl of soup, pausing to inhale the scent.

“this smells like my mother’s,” he murmured.

you looked over. “really?”

“mm. not exact. hers was saltier. but close enough that it stings.”

your voice softened. “was she strict?”

he took a sip of tea before answering. “no. not with me. she was tired by the time i came along. my sister got most of her anger. i got the leftovers.”

“you don’t talk about them much,” you said, careful not to pry.

he rested the cup on the tray. “there’s not much to say. my parents are gone. my sister left years ago. changed her name. ran away from the family.”

“where did she go?”

“fukushima, maybe. i’m not sure anymore. she hasn’t contacted me since…” he paused. “six years.”

you went quiet. the weight of that silence filled the room, not heavy—but sharp, like the moment before a storm.

“sorry,” you said. “i didn’t mean to—”

“it doesn’t matter,” he interrupted, glancing at you. “i don’t need her.”

he picked up a piece of fish, chewing slowly before he added, “i have you now.”

you looked at him. his voice wasn’t teasing. there was no smirk, no game behind his words. just truth.

you smiled, faint but genuine. “we’re not really a family though, are we?”

he didn’t flinch.

“maybe not yet,” he said. “but marriages evolve. even the fake ones.”

you scoffed lightly, looking away. “you really think this can become something real?”

he shrugged, finishing his tea. “i’ve seen stranger things.”

you let the quiet settle between you again. somewhere outside, a wind chime jingled in the warm breeze.

you stood, brushing your dress down over your thighs. “i’ll let you rest.”

“you could stay.”

you looked over your shoulder.

he wasn’t smiling now.

just watching you, the temari ball still between his fingers.

“stay,” he repeated, softer. “we don’t have to talk. just sit.”

you hesitated, then walked back and sat near his futon, close enough that his hand brushed against the hem of your dress.

he didn’t move it.

neither did you.

you stayed like that until the tea cooled, until his breath evened out into sleep, until you felt the strange ache of something tender begin to bloom—soft, patient, dangerous.

you didn’t dare give it a name.

not yet.

457 notes · View notes

scarletmika · 16 days ago

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Even More Cliché : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

PART TWO OF Cliché : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Summary: The Best Man and the Maid of Honor...you and Bob Floyd fell in love in the most cliché of ways, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Now, it's your turn to say 'I Do.'

Warnings: insane amounts of fluff, established relationship, language, Hangman is Hangman sometimes, female reader, reader is very creative and can dance, UCSD info might not be accurate I don't go there, suggestive and steamy but not explicit, language, probably incorrect descriptions of the Navy (my dad was a Marine, I'm doing my best lol), a part two that you'll def need to read part one to understand at times

Word Count: 14,328 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

"My Siren, my Ikea...my best friend...will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

It had only been a year since that fateful night of Natasha and Bradley’s wedding, but Bob Floyd had known before he’d even had the chance to kiss you that he wanted to marry you.

Smooth, comfortable, loving, there was no shortage of words Bob had to describe what getting to be with you, what getting to love you, was like. Good morning and good night texts that had him blushing at his phone, random little texts in the middle of the day, just to check in and make sure he was safe in the skies. Mornings where he stayed over at your place, or vice versa, were some of his favorites: to wake up with you curled around him, right where you belonged, just to haul yourselves out of bed 30 minutes later to dance around the kitchen making breakfast. Being with you was everything little Bob Floyd had once wished on a star for.

He’d already known he wanted to marry you right there in the middle of Natasha and Bradley’s vow ceremony. All it took was one month-long deployment, only 2 months after becoming official with you, to solidify it in his heart and his head. 30 days without you, only able to talk through emails, had him dragging Natasha off to the local jewelers the second they were back on the mainland to buy the ring.

It was fast, but Bob had never been more sure of anything in his life.

Now, here you stood in the Hard Deck surrounded by the pilots that had become family to you both, a year after he’d finally kissed you and confessed his love for the first time. Down on one knee in the same place he’d ever seen you for the first time, diamond ring sparkling in his hand as he looked up at you, your hands covering your mouth and tears already streaming down your cheeks as you nodded feverishly.

“Yes…Bob, yes!”

The cheers that rang out through the Hard Deck were familiar, the second engagement to happen here in just 2 short years, as Bob hadn’t wasted a second in sliding the ring onto your finger. 1.5 carats, oval cut, sitting on a gold band that wove like vines while holding smaller diamonds along it. Perfect, stunning, and everything Phoenix said you’d always dreamed of your engagement ring being.

Bob barely got to kiss you long enough, though to him, there was no such thing as a long enough time to kiss you. Natasha had already pulled you away, and just like you had at her own engagement party, there was no shortage of jumping and screaming in circles, especially when Penny and Amelia joined in, trying to get a look at the ring.

“Got to hand it to you, baby-on-board,” it was Hangman that saddled up to Bob’s side first, smirking down at him, but there was a fondness laced within it. “You did good, locking this one down.”

“Please,” Rooster scoffed, joining Bob’s other side with a grin, arm wrapped around his best friend’s shoulders. “He bought this ring over six months ago. If it were socially acceptable, they’d already be married with a whole brood of kids running around.”

Bob could only shake his head, fighting off the red rising in his cheeks at the thought of the pair of you with children. Nope, not an appropriate thought to be having in the middle of the Hard Deck at all.

The second Nat had let you go, you were slotted back into Bob’s arms, not that he had any qualms with it. Tucking you under his arm that was wrapped tight around your waist, your left hand resting right on his chest with the ring sparkling in the light, you both knew there was no better place to be than surrounded by your dearest friends.

“To the two of you and this next chapter,” Maverick was the one to start the toast, drinks passed around to the entire Dagger Squad, and you and Bob. Penny was tucked under his one arm, and Amelia at his other side, as he raised his glass to you both. “I think it’s time Bob got a callsign update, because our baby-on-board is getting married!”

Laughter, stories, and simply just a night together was the best way to spend the moments after your engagement, and that’s what they got. Bob watched from the sidelines as you won a game of pool against Hangman, who was now zero for 12 in pool games against you since meeting, high-fiving Payback, who you’d subbed in for to beat Jake. And every so often, Bob would watch as you looked down at the ring on your finger and smile, and he’d smile too.

The sun had set hours ago, the night winding to an end, when you’d caught Bob’s eye again after delivering a new round of shots to the pilots. He gestured toward the door that led out to the string-light lit back deck of the bar, overlooking the ocean, and you quickly nodded and followed your now fiancée outside.

Long before you, and even as he was falling in love with you, Bob Floyd had been an awkward man. He knew he was attractive, at least a little bit, but flirting and being overly forward had never come easily to him. With you, now, Bob was an entirely different man.

You both had barely been outside for a second before Bob had you pressed up against the railing of the deck, hands splayed across your hips and tugging you into him as his lips hungrily devoured yours as if he were a starved man. There wasn’t a single word of protest from you, not that he expected one, arms finding their usual position around his neck and fingers instantly carding into his hair as you kissed him back with the same passion.

“Well, hi there, Robbie,” a smile couldn’t help but stretch across his lips as a giggle fell from you as you spoke, his grip on your hips tightening as he stole another kiss from you.

“Hi to you, too, future Mrs. Floyd,”

“Hmmm,” you hummed, bumping your nose against his with a permanent smile etched onto your own lips. “Think we can skip the ‘future’ part and just make it happen?”

“Say the word, and we’ll be at the courthouse first thing in the morning, darling,”

You threw your head back laughing like a little kid for a moment before pulling yourself back up to look at Bob, who was only laughing. He watched you as you swatted him playfully on the shoulder, but there was no real bite to it.

“Don’t tempt me. No, we’re doing this right,” he nodded along with you, simply smiling just from watching you and holding you, squeezing your hips once more in his hands just to confirm that he wasn’t dreaming. You were his. “We’ve got to make the guest list, pick the venue, find vendors, I have to wedding dress shop- Bob, I’ve never even met your family!”

“I haven’t met yours either!” another laugh was shared between you both as Bob simply shrugged in response. “It’s fine, we’ll find time to get both the families down here to meet. They’ll love you, I swear it. My sister already does, and all you’ve done is FaceTime her.”

“That’s because I promised to call some friends and snag her some Broadway tickets,”

Bob shrugged once again, finding himself stuck just watching you, just looking at you. There was nothing left to memorize from looking at you; every piece of you had been committed to Bob’s memory from the first time he’d ever looked at you here in this very bar, but you were Bob’s favorite work of art to admire. Now, he gets to do it until the end of time.

“There’s one more thing we have to add to your list,” you hummed in question to his statement as Bob leaned into your hands as they tugged slightly on the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’ve got to move in with me.”

He watched as you seemed to pause, head tilting as you watched him in silence for a moment, trying to gauge the level of seriousness in his statement. Bob simply kept an innocent smile on his lips as he watched you.

“...Bob, what did you do?”

“Well,” the smile on his face was slowly forming into a smirk. “My lease ends at the end of this month, and I remembered there was that townhouse over in Mission Valley you fell in love with on Zillow the one night-”

“Robert Floyd, shut up, you did not-”

“It’s ours,” one of his hands left your waist as Bob curled it around your cheek, cradling it in his hand as his thumb swiped over the skin of your cheek delicately. “Well, technically mine since I signed the lease, but ours if you want to. I know I should’ve asked you first, but y-you fell in love with it on the app, the price was amazing, and it’s the perfect distance between UCSD and the Naval Station here on Coronado. And I know your lease was ending at the end of this month, too-”

You’d cut off his incessant rambling with a passionate kiss, hand tugging the back of his neck until his lips crashed into yours. Bob would never get over it, never get over the feel of simply kissing you and holding you, being the only one who would ever get to have you like this.

“Yes, a million times yes,” there was a smile on your lips as you spoke against his lips, and one spread across his own as well as he pulled you back in for yet another heated and feverish press of lips against lips. “Now, I know they’re all in there celebrating us, but can you do me a favor?”

“Anything you want, whenever you want-”

“Take me home and fuck your future wife, Bob Floyd,”

“...yes, ma’am,”

That night was how Bob found himself, barely two weeks later, standing in the living room of your brand-new townhouse. After seven grueling hours filled with the entire squad unloading, driving to reload, and unloading the rented out U-Haul over and over again, the furnishings between Bob’s old apartment and your own had finally been consolidated and brought to the appropriate rooms.

Hangman and Rooster had argued over the positioning of the living room couch until Phoenix had knocked her husband on the head, begrudgingly agreeing that Jake’s layout made more sense, before moving off to the rest of the heavy furniture. Maverick had used Coyote and Fanboy as his assistants, mounting the living room TV on the wall and setting up the internet throughout the home. Bob had only gotten glimpses of you throughout the last few hours as you passed by the kitchen in a hurry with Natasha, Penny, and Amelia hot on your heels, moving boxes of decorations throughout the home. He and Payback had been relegated to organizing the kitchen.

Now that he was getting a chance to stand in the living room, your living room together, Bob couldn’t help that he was getting slightly choked up. It was his couch in the living room, the one you both had so often fallen asleep on many times watching movies after long nights at the Hard Deck, but decorated with the multitudes of throw pillows and blankets from your apartment that Bob had a habit of stealing on cold nights. The bookshelves on either side of the expertly mounted TV were a combination of both of you, a mixture of your countless romance novels and the many astronomy books that Bob had since he was a child. A finished LEGO set of the Up house took up an entire shelf (something you’d insisted you build together after Bob cried one night watching the movie for the first time). Multiple bouquets of LEGO flowers decorated the other shelves (a staple item that Bob loved buying for you, seeing how much you adored flowers).

Countless photos sat on those shelves, too. Photos of you when you were younger, latched to Natasha’s side, beside pictures of a young Bob, taken from science fairs and even countless school dances. The side tables on either side of the couch held the photos of you and Bob: one of the entire wedding party at Natasha and Bradley’s wedding, one sneakily taken by Coyote of the two of you on Coronado Beach, and then a photostrip you’d both barely been able to keep your composure for during a trip to the San Diego Zoo. You’d thankfully listened to his one request, and that was to hang the photo of you at the Tony Awards red carpet (a photo that Bob adored and his sister was incredibly jealous of) years ago next to the frame holding the playbills of the numerous Broadway shows you’d been a part of.

It wasn’t just a place to live, it was a home. It was your home, together.

The second arms wrapped around his midsection, a head pressing against his shoulder blades, he knew it was you.

“It’s our home,” Bob turned in your arms to tug you into his chest instead, hands cradling your head as he pressed a kiss against your hairline.

“Yeah, yeah, it is,” you’d look up, chin on his chest, and pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as he laughed down at you. “Where are the others?”

“They’re making use of the fire pit in our backyard already. Bradley ordered pizza, said he and Nat would go pick it up along with some beers for a proper welcome party,”

“Not surprised,” he’d laughed again as you extracted yourself from his arms, walking around the living room and just silently observing the decorated space. “Though, I could think of a thousand better ways we could celebrate…alone.”

All this time later, Bob could still simply listen to you laugh on repeat. His grin never fell as you shot a look back at him, shaking your head with a tiny roll of your eyes.

“What happened to my awkward and charming WSO, huh?” you commented as you returned to his arms, Bob pulling you in and spinning you around for a moment as you laughed again. “You’re turning into a mini Hangman.”

“I resent that statement. If I ever get even close to Seresin levels of confidence, please whack me over the head,”

You shoved him off playfully with another eyeroll, stalking toward the dining room he’d yet to look at as you called over your shoulder.

“Oh yeah, my parents called earlier. They’re going to come visit next weekend, so I called your sister, and she’s going to bring your parents out that weekend too!”

That was news to Bob. His eyes grew wide as he hurriedly followed you in the direction of the dining room.

“We have a week to plan a literal engagement party?”

“Don’t worry,” you were sitting on top of the dining room table when Bob finally rounded the corner into the room. “Nat said she’d handle everything, we just have to let her ‘beautify’ this place as she sees fit.”

Whatever comment Bob had died in his throat as he looked at you, sitting on top of the dining room table with a teasing smile on your lips. It only clicked in his head when he finally looked down at the table itself, unable to control his laughter.

“Well, well, well…if it isn’t the ‘GRÖNSTA.’ My mortal enemy,” you shared in his laughter, arms finding their place around his neck as Bob slotted himself between your open legs, pulling you closer to him by the belt loops of your pants. He gave the table an affectionate pat before raising an eyebrow at you. “Thought we agreed we were keeping my table, not yours?”

“Didn’t feel right to abandon this one, honestly. It all started for me with dropping this table on you, after all,”

There had been so many moments over the course of being with you where Bob Floyd knew he was in love, that he would never be able to love someone else the way he loved you. There was the time he’d brought you lunch, weeks after making it official, during one of your classes where your students teased you endlessly until your cheeks were as red as the shirt you were wearing. Or the night when he’d woken up at almost 3 a.m. to see you sitting on the balcony of your apartment, wrapped in a blanket, just staring up at the stars until he’d joined you, naming off little constellations for the rest of the night.

He’d never forget the day before the team had left for deployment, how you’d been there to see them off. You’d held yourself together to hug Coyote, Hangman, Maverick, and the others, barely held yourself together for Bradley, and then started to break when you pulled Natasha into a hug neither of you wanted to let go of. Then, you had fully broken the second you were in his arms, muttering ‘I love you’ like a prayer and making him promise to come back. Bob knew then that, as long as he knew you were waiting for him, he’d find any way possible to come home. San Diego wasn’t home, you were.

“T-Thank you…for loving me,” the playful atmosphere in the room dissipated as Bob’s hands cupped your jawline, cradling the most precious thing he’d ever had in his hands. “For choosing me.”

“I didn’t choose you, Bob. I didn’t have to,” was your response. “From the moment I started to fall, there was never going to be another choice for me.”

Well, when you put your love so eloquently, what more can Bob do besides kiss you? Slow, but firm, full of every ounce of love he could muster in his body, and vice versa. Your teeth pulled at his bottom lip just barely, tongue ever so slightly brushing past his lips as your own lips swallowed the groan Bob let out without even realizing it. One of his hands immediately found your waist, pulling you straight to the edge of the table and flush against him as he-

“BOBBY, SIREN, IF YOU TWO ARE STARTING THE BABY MAKING PROCESS ALREADY, YOU BETTER GET THOSE CLOTHES ON-”

“Hangman, knock it off!”

What a strange, sometimes annoying, family you’d both gained with this eclectic group of pilots. But god, did you both adore them all, even in their most annoying moments.

Thankfully, they’d elected to leave the two of you alone for the entire week to…’settle in’ as they called it. Hangman had joked every morning for the entire week about Bob seeming ‘more sluggish’ or that he ‘looked a little sore,’ and the rest of the group had only laughed along with the comments. It didn’t help that Bob never denied them, only shook his head and turned his attention back to basic training.

The crew didn’t need to know that their ‘innocent baby-on-board’ was far from innocent when not in the public eye, or at least, when he was with you. You managed to make him throw every inhibition he had out the window, especially since that night of Rooster and Nat’s ceremony that was permanently burned into his brain forever.

Innocent…what was so innocent about how he’d claimed to you that one of the perks of moving in together meant christening every surface of your new home? You may not have believed him when he said ‘every surface,’ but by the time Friday rolled around and Natasha was running around your house preparing for the engagement party the following day, you knew never to underestimate how much your future husband wanted to worship you ever again.

“Zip me up?”

Now, if Bob ever said no to that request, he’d have to ask Rooster to personally bury him in the ground.

Natasha and Bradley were fussing around downstairs, ordering the rest of the squad to make sure everything was set up exactly as they’d planned for it to be. Poor Sydney, the receptionist from the college that you’d grown close to, was roped into the fray, too. All for good reasons, given that the Floyd family was seconds from arriving, as was your own.

You and Bob were in your bedroom (god, he was never going to get over saying that: YOUR bedroom, together), putting the finishing touches on your outfits.

A sleek, navy colored button down tucked into a pair of Bob’s nicest jeans, and topped off with the cowboy boots that he’d been wearing for years sitting right beneath the bottom edge of his jeans. Put together, fancier than anything he ever wore for work or even to the Hard Deck, but you were the vision in his eyes. The prettiest white, v-neck dress that hit just above your knees and showed just the appropriate amount of skin. Intricate pink flowers were woven into the bodice, sleeves fluttering down your shoulders and out around your elbows, with matching white pumps to pull it all together.

Radiant. Entrancing. Classy. Tasteful. The most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen, and you would soon be his forever. Bob would never stop thanking God for making this dream of his come true.

He didn’t answer you, just simply appeared behind you. His fingers delicately held the zipper on the back of your dress, dragging it up the back as his fingers just barely brushed over your spine. His eyes never left yours in the full-length mirror you both stood in front of, simply smiling as he watched a small shiver run through you at his touch. The second the dress was secured, Bob’s arms encircled your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, and you both heaved out a sigh, knowing what awaited you downstairs.

“Did we have to have an engagement party?”

“Yes, because you didn’t think ahead like Bradley and just get everyone at the Hard Deck to celebrate as you proposed,” he knew you were just joking around with him, but Bob still pinched your side for the comment, drawing a small laugh out of you. “I’m kidding! Yes, love, we have to have an engagement party. Your sister threatened that if our families didn’t meet, she’d personally ‘throw hands’ with me.”

“She would never hurt you, she knows I love you too much,” your head turned to look at Bob as he leaned in, stealing a sweet kiss from you that ended all too soon for his liking. It could’ve lasted just a tiny bit longer if not for the squealing of Natasha ringing through the house from the living room, drawing a laugh out of both of you. “Judging by Phoenix’s scream, I’m going to assume that means your family is here.”

“Yes, probably celebrating getting to see their ‘second daughter,’ as they’ve always called her,” laughter was shared once again as you spun in Bob’s arms, adjusting the collar of his shirt for him before stealing yet another kiss. “Let’s go get this show started, Lieutenant.”

Watching your parents excitedly embrace you as your mother gushed over the ring on your left hand, had Bob’s anxiety through the roof for the first time in days. He’d just barely said hello to them over FaceTimes over the past year, but that was the extent of it, and you hadn’t been back to visit your hometown since moving to San Diego. In short, their daughter had moved to San Diego, gotten a boyfriend within 6 months, and was now engaged and newly living with her fiancé, whom they had never met, barely a year later…Bob was on edge. And the ‘reassuring’ looks Bradley, Fanboy, and Hangman were shooting him across the living room were not doing anything to help him.

“Oh, is this my future son-in-law? Finally, I get to see this handsome pilot!” your mother’s demeanor, on the other hand, was enough to calm his nerves. You were the spitting image of her, same little wrinkle around your eyes as you smiled, that same award-winning smile that he adored, it was a gift in and of itself to meet the woman that had given him you. He easily let her pull him into a tight hug, not a single argument from him.

“Weapons Systems Officer, technically, but it’s a pleasure to finally meet you Mrs-”

“Absolutely not, you’re about to be my son,” yeah, you were your mother’s daughter in ways beyond just your looks. The stern, yet playful glint in the older woman’s eyes as she pulled away to point a finger at him reminded him so much of you, he couldn’t help but let his smile grow even larger. “Just call me Amy, and my husband here is William.”

William. Your father. That was what intimidated Bob the most, especially as the man simply grunted and stepped forward, holding out his hand. Bob swallowed the lump in his throat, taking your father’s hand in his own with a firm shake. Your dad only responded with another simple grunt and a nod, but when he glanced at you and the little thumbs up you gave him, he knew that was all the approval he needed.

“Hey, baby-on-board!” Hangman’s voice cut through the house, drawing the attention of everyone lingering around the living room toward the front door. “I found some Floyd stragglers outside the door, they belong to you?”

“Baby-on-board?” Bob had heard your father mumble to himself before Bob’s older sister was practically launching herself into her brother’s arms with a laugh.

“Alright, alright, Sophia, relax!” Bob laughed out, quickly able to separate his older sister from his arms, just for her to immediately hit him on the shoulder. “Hey-! What was that for?”

“For not letting me come here sooner and meet my future sister, optical wonder,” he rolled his eyes at the old nickname from their childhood, swatting her hands away as she tilted the glasses on his face. She let out a gasp, practically shoving him to the side, when she’d finally caught sight of you. “MY SISTER!”

Sometimes, he really wondered how they’d gotten such starkly different personalities. Bob liked to think that Sophia just sucked all the extrovertedness out of his mother when she was born that she’d left nothing over for him, leaving him the awkward, introverted man he was today. But he was thankful for her extrovertedness, as it seemed to immediately calm down whatever nerves you had as you tightly hugged his sister back as if you were childhood friends. In reality, your actual childhood best friend was currently hugging your parents as if they were her own.

“It’s so nice to finally see you outside of screens!” you’d laughed when Sophia finally let go of you enough to take a step back. “Oh, I called a friend from New York the other day! He said to let you know that whenever you plan that New York trip you want to take, he’ll hook you up with tickets for whatever show you want to see.”

“You know, if I didn’t already know my brother was so in love with you he’d cry if you ever left him, I’d marry you myself just for that. Now, you have to let me pick your brain later about what it was like to be in the original cast of The Great Gatsby…”

Bob could’ve watched the interaction for the rest of the night between you two and died happily—two of the most important women in his life, his sister and his future wife. But, alas, one of the OTHER most important women in his life was tugging him into a tight hug, tearing his eyes away from you.

“Oh, I’ve missed you so much, Robert,” his mother sounded as if she was crying as she hugged him tightly, and Bob didn’t hesitate to hug her back just as tightly. “You picked a good one with her, I can tell.”

“Thanks, ma. And yeah, I know, I’m not sure what I did to deserve her,” Bob said that sentiment often to himself, and he still couldn’t believe it. When she’d finally let go, his father had pulled him into a similarly tight hug with a pat on his back. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, bucko. Why don’t you introduce us so we can get this party started?”

Natasha and Bradley had managed to steal Sophia away after you’d introduced her to your own parents, promising to go and introduce her to the rest of the squad she’d heard so much about. So, when Bob turned with his parents, you were already waiting with a smile.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Floyd,” like your mother had with Bob, Bob’s mother was quick to bring you into a hug and wave off your comments.

“Please, just call me Carol Anne, darling. And this is my husband, Joseph,” you’d been passed off to Bob’s father for a hug as well, before Bob was quick to pull you back into his side, hand finding its place on your waist where it belonged. “Oh, you two just look so darn perfect together! Like it was meant to be. Just wait until I get a few drinks in me, I’ll be telling all your friends here stories about my little Robert. Did you know he tried to build a model volcano in the seventh grade once, and it exploded so badly they had to call the fire-”

“Please, any story but that one,” Bob groaned as your laughter filled the air, your hand similarly around his waist, giving him a squeeze in comfort. Your mother was the next to step up and laugh, gaining Bob’s parents' attention.

“You think Robert was bad? Natasha’s mother and I once had to go bail our girls out of getting expelled because they decided to try and hack their teacher’s computer to pull a prank on him!”

Carol Anne Floyd had laughed loudly at that snippet of a story from your mother, Amy, while your father was passing off a beer to Joseph Floyd. The men shared a small nod, engaging in light small talk while your mothers became best friends almost instantly, leading their husbands through the house as they swapped stories back and forth.

With most everyone in attendance having migrated to the kitchen or the backyard, Bob and you were left in a comfortable silence for a moment, before you both turned your heads to look at each other.

“You and Phoenix almost got expelled?”

“You blew up a volcano?”

“Darling, that’s objectively not as bad as almost being expelled,” you could only laugh, leaning your forehead down on his collarbone as he pressed a firm kiss to the crown of your hand, hand gently rubbing at the back of your neck. “Hey, the worst part is over. They met and they like each other!”

You peeked your head up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“And they’re about to drink so much alcohol and tell so many embarrassing childhood stories that Hangman can hang over our heads AND Nat’s head for the rest of time,”

“...point taken, l-let’s go cut them off before they even start drinking,”

Cutting off the alcohol from them did nothing. By the end of the night, Hangman had so many stories of you both as children that you both knew you would never hear the end of it.

Those stories, though, were overshadowed the second you handed a soccer ball to Natasha in the middle of dinner in the backyard. She stared, confused, until she read the Sharpie writing on the side of the ball.

I’ll let you be my Maid of Honor, as long as you promise not to hurl one of these at my head at the wedding like you did in Kindergarten.

A sweet sentiment, and a cute idea, until Nat had almost hurled it through the glass of the window leading back into your home. Bob would have to remember to thank Coyote for the excellent diving save he made to protect your home that you’d barely been in for a week.

Natasha had sobbed, just like you had when she’d asked you the same question over a year prior, repeating the simple phrase of ‘yes’ until you assured her that you’d heard her the first time.

So, when Bob handed a pair of new aviators over to Bradley with a sticky note attached to them, it wasn’t shocking to Bob that his best friend managed to get choked up almost immediately, realizing what was happening.

You told me that the Best Man and the Maid of Honor are destined to fall in love…and you were right. I’d want no one else to be my Best Man on my special day.

It was an immediate yes, both men trying to hide their tears at the fact that they were able to be there for one another in this way. The tears didn’t stop, though, as Bob handed another pair of aviators over to Fanboy, asking him to be a Groomsman as well, which was met with another resounding ‘yes!’ from the man.

That was met with an ear-splitting scream from Sophia Floyd when you handed another soccer ball to her. She hadn’t even had to read the words, already tossing the soccer ball into the air (another thank you to Coyote for yet another stellar diving catch) and throwing her arms around you with cries of joy.

Natasha Trace-Bradshaw, Bradley Bradshaw, Mickey Garcia, and Sophia Floyd, the four who would get to stand by your sides on the greatest day of your lives.

Now, when you and Bob were the Best Man and the Maid of Honor, you had a lot on your plates. But being the Bride and Groom this go around? It started to sink in for you both just how much you really had to do in order to prepare an entire wedding.

“What if we just go back to your last idea and head down to the courthouse and make it official?”

Bob laughed from his place on the couch in your office, simply lounging back on it as he enjoyed the lunch he’d brought you both on another one of his rare days off. Hunched over your laptop, you shot him a look for his laughter, which only managed to get another small laugh out of him.

“Darling, you’re the one who said you wanted to do this right-”

“And I do want to do it right, but we’ve been looking for two months and haven’t found a venue that we like!”

The frustration was written clearly on your face as you huffed, turning your attention back to your laptop. Bob felt the frustration, too, it had been extremely difficult to pick a venue.

There was the pretty rooftop in La Jolla that was accentuated by the ocean in the background, but La Jolla just felt too local for both of you, like it was a safe option. Bob had joked multiple times that he only planned to get married once, so there was increased pressure to make sure the venue was everything you both wanted it to be.

There was a pretty ranch located outside of San Bernardino with views of the San Gorgonio Mountain in the distance. But, for as gorgeous as it had been on the walkthrough, it felt huge in a way that neither of you had liked.

For a moment, you’d both almost chosen the beach club located north of Los Angeles. Perfect views, gorgeous indoor venue, and the price hadn’t been half bad. But a single comment from Fanboy about how he’d love to play some dogfight football right where the ceremony would be held, Bob and you had quickly realized that giving any of your fighter pilot friends access to the beach would probably not end well.

“Come here,” Bob’s voice was gentle as he beckoned you over, and you hadn’t hesitated. His eyes tracked you as you closed the door of your office, flipping your sign to signal to your student that you were ‘out’ for the time being, before practically crawling into his outstretched arms.

Bob smiled to himself as you slotted like a puzzle piece into his side, leaning back against the armrest as you essentially lay half on top of him, leg slung over his own, and head nuzzled into his chest. He didn’t waste a second in letting his fingers tangle into your hair, nails gently scratching into your scalp as you hummed, letting the peaceful silence envelop you both for a moment.

“What was your dream wedding when you were little?” Bob glanced down at you questioningly as you broke the silence.

“My dream wedding?”

You nodded, shifting so your arms rested on his chest, chin sitting atop them so you could look at him. Bob let his hand travel down your back, resting along your hip with a squeeze and a soft caress of his thumb along the skin exposed at the end of your shirt.

“Yeah, your dream wedding. Come on, everyone has one. Natasha and I had Pinterest boards of ours, though I’m sure most guys weren’t that crazy about it,”

He’d laughed, silence settling over the office again as he was lost in thought, only the faint sound of your favorite playlist playing off your laptop in the background.

“This ranch back in Montana,” he’d spoken quietly after a moment, his other hand coming up to swipe a stray strand of hair out of your eyes as you watched him in silence, a tiny grin spreading across his face as he spoke. “Was in the Rockies, near Flathead Lake. I was there in high school, one of my older cousins was getting married. Said her vows right out in the field, next to this little pond, and the mountains behind her. But the reception was in this pretty barn, not too big but not too small, and I remember thinking…this is what I want. The beauty of nature that came with a ranch, with those warm, yellow string lights hung around the barn,”

One of your hands reached out for the one cradling your cheek now, as Bob watched you bring his palm to your lips, leaving a small kiss directly to the center with a smile.

“It sounds beautiful,”

“What about your dream?”

“I brought Nattie along to this wedding of a fellow castmate of mine back in New York years ago. It was over off the Long Island Sound, so they had plenty of money to blow on whatever they wanted,” soft laughter escaped you as you shook your head, and Bob only watched with a loving smile. “Anyway…it was at this gorgeous vineyard, but the best part was the house. It was just a house, set on this gorgeous vineyard. They got married right on the back deck, overlooking the vineyard, and we partied the night away inside the house. It was rustic, in a way, while still having this modern elegance. It was intimate in the best ways. Nat had to watch me update my entire ‘Dream Wedding’ Pinterest board the entire Uber ride back to our hotel that night.”

“So, what I’m hearing is we need to find a rustic-type house with an intimate feel on a ranch,” Bob let out a short chuckle as you playfully swatted at his chest. “I’m serious! There’s how many wedding venues that are scattered up and down the California coast? There has to be something close to that.”

Bob adjusted himself as you sat up, bringing him back up to rest against the back cushions of the couch as well, throwing your legs over his lap before bringing out your phone. He tucked you back into his side, hand coming down to rest over your jeans overtop of your calf as he kneaded circles into the muscle.

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to give it a look,”

There were ranches, alright, many of them. From San Diego to San Francisco, it seemed like there wasn’t a single stretch of a few miles without a ranch in the area. But it was in looking that both of your eyes landed on one ranch in particular, tucked just an hour North of North Island.

An old, Spanish-style ranch house, tucked on its own private ranch. Beautiful trees overhang the home, the ceremony area, and large expanses of flowers running up and down the sides of the houses, bringing a pop of color. A reception area decorated in those same warm, yellow string lights Bob had mentioned, and not to mention a view that encompassed everything beautiful about nature.

It only took one look between you both to know that this was the place. It also only took a single minute on the property, flanked by Bradley and Natasha for extra support, for all four of you to know it in your hearts: this was where you’d get married.

Bob thought back on that moment a lot in the coming weeks, of visiting the home he’d get to marry you at in a few months, for the first time. To watch you stand beside Phoenix in the same spot that a pastor would join you together forever, to know that someday soon, he’d see you standing there beside him in a white dress as he would inevitably cry over the sheer joy of knowing he was lucky enough to love you.

The younger version of himself was still pinching himself. To think that Bob Floyd, who’d grown up being labeled the little nerd among many of his classmates, who’d worked so hard to prove himself and better himself as he joined the Navy, who’d flown countless dangerous missions in his job, had somehow managed to get the girl.

The smile on Bob’s face was a permanent fixture when he was with you, as his fingertips just gently held tight to your own as he spun you around your living room. The coffee table had been pushed to the side, the remnants of dinner left discarded on the top of the little wooden table, as one of the songs Bob had coined as ‘your song’ (a staple on the playlist he’d made to always play in the car with you) played softly from the speakers.

For I can't help falling in love with you.

“I-I’ve been dying to ask,” Bob’s voice was low as he spun you back into his arms, hand not wrapped in your own finding its way to settle along your waist. “This song…was a bit of an ironic song to play when you were teaching me to dance that day. Was that on purpose?”

You’d laughed, leaning up to bump your nose along the edge of his own with a playful wink.

“I was maybe, sorta, subtly trying to make a point. Or plant a seed, whatever you want to think. But yes, definitely on purpose,”

“So I was just blind?” Bob joked as you giggled once more, stealing the glasses right off his face to slot onto your own, giggles only getting louder as he squinted his eyes to try and see you properly.

“You figured it out eventually. Though I still had to make the first move and tell you I was waiting for you to ask me out,”

Bob rolled his eyes, stealing back his glasses and slotting them back into place so he could see you properly again.

“I-I asked you to dance! Took a pep talk from the bride and groom, but I technically got the ball rolling that night,”

“Alright, I concede,” you’d thrown your hands up in fake surrender before Bob had stolen them into his own hands, tugging you back into his chest. “Speaking of our darling friends, they still won’t tell you what they have planned for our bach trip, will they?”

“Just that it’s combined like theirs was, but they’re being tight-lipped about it,”

“I’m hoping whatever it is, there will be a chance to get more blackmail on Seresin. Especially now that he knows all those stories about us,”

“See, I knew I loved you for a reason,”

Bob had terrible timing when it came to getting turned on, but there didn’t seem to be a single thing you could do that WOULDN’T turn him on at this point. But the teasing lit to your voice, that spark of mischievousness in your eyes, and that burning desire to make fun of Hangman any chance you could get was something he adored. That adoration, right now, was sending his mind on a trip of thoughts that included carrying you off to the bedroom and throwing you onto the bed, before dropping directly to his knees-

“Cabo San Lucas,”

If there was anything that could break Bob out of the horny, schoolboy thoughts invading his mind in that moment, it was that.

“Cabo-?”

“You left me in charge of the honeymoon choices, and I think I’ve decided on Cabo,” you quickly ran off from the room, coming back with a folder of printed off papers from the dining room as Bob just watched on with a little smile. “It’s relatively cheap compared to other places I’ve looked, and gorgeous. We can see the El Arco, those geological formations- we can even go whale watching! Not to mention the beach, there’s scuba diving, dining is all included with the suite and the flight is only two and a half hours, meaning we could leave right after the reception-”

Bob could’ve listened to you talk for hours on end, but kissing you sounded better. Truly, no matter what he was doing, kissing you was always the better option. He barely even had to look, snatching the papers from your hands and tossing them toward the chair in the corner of the living room. His large hands encircled your waist, sliding up under the edge of your shirt to ghost along the heated skin of your back and up your spine, pressing you into him as his lips slanted around your own, swallowing your words and the moan that followed them.

It was like lighting a spark when the two of you kissed, the way every anxiety and insecurity seemed to melt off of Bob Floyd in waves, replaced by an overwhelming sense of confidence rooted in love. You tried to speak, but his mouth pressed to yours harder, a feverish clashing of lips that conveyed every ounce of passion Bob carried in his body for you.

The backs of his knees hit the edge of the couch as he brought you down with him. But your time above him in the seat of control lasted for just a second before he had you pinned beneath him and the first few buttons of your blouse unbuttoned in less than a second. His eyes trailed over the flush of your skin, the redness that started in your cheeks and trailed down your neck, disappearing into the swell of your breasts and lower to places he’d seen more times than he could count, parts of your skin he’d worshipped for nights on end. Like a starved man, his lips attacked your neck, latching onto the spot just under your jaw that always drew such a delicious moan out of you. It only took a second for that moan to make it’s presence known, your body arching up into his as one of his hands found your hip, locking you to the cushions below you.

“I-If I’d known talking about Cabo, Mexico would-oh god-would get me this I-” the little breath you did have hitched, and Bob could hear your heart hammering out of your chest as his lips trailed their way down to your collarbone, leaving a mark just above the bone, before continuing their descent at a sinful pace. “I would have-Jesus Christ, Bob-I would’ve suggested it months ago…or every day.”

That elicited a laugh from him. That sense of humor that had gripped him from the moment you’d stepped into the Hard Deck so, so long ago, joking with him to take half the credit for keeping Natasha safe in the sky. Or the night you’d put Hangman in his place, the first time of many, asking Bob to be your partner in pool. God, that snarky little sense of humor you had, the very thing that could manage to break him out of every introverted thought he had and made him want to sing your praises in front of the world.

He’d pulled away from your skin, hovering over you. Breathless. Slightly sweaty. Flushed beyond belief, just as you were, and all he could do was smile down at you in a way that he could almost physically see the flutter that was sent through your chest.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” his words for airy as he looked down at you, almost in disbelief. “You said honeymoon and it just-it made it seem so real. I-It’s like I finally remembered…I get to marry you. I get to marry my best friend, and I-I get to do every day of the rest of my life with her by my side. Cabo-that’s great, whatever you want you can have, darling. I’d steal a jet and fly you halfway across the world if it made you smile.”

It was your turn to pull Bob down into a kiss, this one lighter, sweeter, but just as passionate in your own way.

“Well, in the wise words of my favorite singer…you knew what you wanted, Bob Floyd, and boy, you got her,”

You’d barely finished your words before laughing, Bob’s head falling against your chest with a tiny groan as he nipped at the exposed skin.

“Don’t ruin the moment with song lyrics,”

“Too perfect an opportunity, Robbie. Besides, you love me,”

Yes. Yes, he did.

Bradley and Natasha had managed to keep all the details of your joint bachelor and bachelorette trip under wraps, neither of you had a single inkling of what they had planned for everyone. But like they had for the Bradshaw trip, the couple had gathered you both in their car for the trip, while Hangman had been put in charge of picking up the stragglers (including Bob’s sister, who Bob had to warn Hangman a thousand times to please NOT flirt with, but he was only met with a fly wink).

“I don’t know if I’ve ever really thanked you, Floyd,” Natasha had said to him, somewhere about four hours into their drive. Bob was leaning against Rooster’s Bronco as the tank filled up at a rest stop along the highway, watching with a smile as you and his best friend argued over snacks through the windows of the gas station. He’d turned to look at Natasha, raising an eyebrow at the girl who he considered one of the four most important women in his life.

“For what?”

“Loving her the way you do,” Phoenix bumped her shoulder with his, chuckling at the blush that instantly formed on his cheeks. “For taking our advice at the reception, for just…being everything I’ve ever wanted for my best friend.”

A small smile crossed Bob’s lips as he bumped her shoulder back.

“Thanks for letting me love her,”

“Bob Floyd, even if I wanted to, there’s no stopping that girl once she wants something. And, boy, did she want you,”

Bradley and Natasha had forced the pair of you into blindfolds soon after getting back on the road, saying it was all in the name of surprise. That left he two of you pressed to each other’s side in the back of the Bronco, whispering your conversations to one another through the darkness of your blindfolds, Bob’s hand resting comfortably on the bare skin of your thigh as he rubbed small circles into the skin.

“Alright, alright, both of you just stand right here-”

“You know, ‘nix, they’d probably appreciate if you took the blindfolds off-”

“Seresin, no one asked you! Okay, both of you just stand still for a second,”

Neither you nor Bob moved, Bob’s hand wrapped around yours as your best friends positioned you in front of the Bronco. The air was hot, the sun beating down on you all, as you both waited slightly impatiently to see what they had planned.

“Alright, welcome to your trip!”

The second the blindfolds were off, Bob could instantly feel himself get choked up. And with one glance at you, he could see you struggling to do the same.

That gorgeous home, nestled in the desert by the Colorado River, sat before you all. It was just as stunning as the first time you’d seen it, when you’d been here on the same trip for Bradley and Natasha. Bob could only watch as your hand flew to your mouth, tears welling in your eyes as you turned to look at the grinning husband and wife standing in front of you both.

“What-how did-”

“On the last night here, we were sitting out on the deck looking up at the stars,” Natasha told you, tears evident in her own eyes, and Bob could remember the moment like it was yesterday in his head. The moment he’d realized he loved you. “We were sitting there, talking about anything and everything like we always do, and you dropped the bomb on me that you were in love with my back-seater.”

“And not even twenty minutes later,” Rooster chimed in, shooting a wink toward Bob. “It was you at my door telling me that you were in love with our little Siren over here.”

“Long story short, what I think the lovebirds are trying to say,” Hangman chimed in front the front door of the home, where he stood flanked by Coyote, Fanboy, Payback and Sophia, that typical Seresin smirk on his lips. “Is why not walk you two down memory lane and relive this moment? Don’t worry, the married couple over here planned some brand new activities for the week so that it doesn’t feel like deja vu.”

“And!” Fanboy chimed in, jabbing his thumb back toward the house. “We already claimed rooms and made sure to leave you guys in the same room as last time. You know, nostalgia purposes and whatnot.”

Bob made a mental note to himself to buy Rooster and Phoenix several rounds of beers next time they were all that the Hard Deck for the most thoughtful trip they could’ve possibly thought of. It really took all his self-control not to cry just at the thought that went into this for them.

“It really does look just like it did all that time ago,”

You were right, that bedroom where everything had changed for you both looked exactly the same. The same quilted comforter, the same curtains, and the same people, just not the same relationship they had the last time they were in here.

Bob barely let you put the bags in your arms down before his own arms were encircling your waist, head buried in your neck as you giggled, the air he blew into the nape of your neck tickling your skin.

“You know, t-that night I told you that you were my best friend…what I really wanted to do was tell you I loved you,”

You spun around, fingers splayed across the nape of his neck as you pulled him into a quick peck, one that he chased after in hopes of making it last longer.

“I know. I was really hoping you would,”

“I got there eventually,” he’d quipped, pressing a kiss to your temple as his fingers flexed along the small of your back. “There’s no more secrets left to keep this time, I can do and say what I want…I can fuck you in this room like I wanted to so long ago.”

That flash of heat, that burning desire, was evident in your eyes just at his words alone, just like he knew it was in his, too.

“Well, Lieutenant, I’m pretty sure we’re sharing a wall with Fanboy,” you quipped with a smirk overtaking your lips. “Do you think he’ll mind if we keep him awake like we did at the Lafayette-”

“I CAN HEAR YOU BOTH LOUD AND CLEAR, HANDS TO YOURSELVES YOU FILTHY ANIMALS!”

If the first week he’d spent in this house was full of memories he’d never forget, Bob wasn’t prepared for what their best friends had in store for them for their own party.

Two full days were spent on Lake Mead, one on the shore and another on a cruise around the lake. What Coyote was dubbing the ‘Second Annual Dogfight Chicken’ games had commenced almost immediately when you’d hit the beach, a grueling few rounds of knocking one another off each other’s shoulders. But for the second time, you and Bob had come out victorious, even if the others complained that you’d won twice in a row now (though that sneaky move on Hangman to attack the single spot you knew was ticklish to give you an opening to shove him off Rooster’s shoulders was dubbed the ‘play of the game’).

Bob hadn’t been as distracted by your thighs on either side of his head this time, or at least, not as distracted as he had been last time. Besides, he spent enough time buried between them whenever he could be.

The second day hand consisted of a day trip to see the Hoover Dam, something Bob sheepishly admitted was on his bucket list of places to see that they’d conveniently skipped over last time. His dream trip didn’t originally include Payback and Fanboy trying to argue if you could survive jumping over the edge of the dam, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world. The sunset cruise around the lake was the first time you’d all dressed up, and Bob groaned the second you’d put on the same slit dress you had worn to Vegas last time. Judging by the wink you’d sent his way, you knew exactly what that dress did to him, and you were doing it on purpose. It was all worth it for the free champagne shoveled your group's way by the entire staff of the cruise, the second it was announced that you were both engaged.

Las Vegas was a must, but this time it included an off-Broadway production of ‘Mamma Mia.’ A day and night well spent in Bob’s eyes, just to see the smile on your face as simply being around a stage, your hand excitedly grasping his and squeezing it throughout the performance, mouthing all of the words to yourself. Bob found himself watching you more than the musical that night, not that he’d complained.

You had vehemently tried to convince Hangman to go to another Magic Mike show, which ended in an embarrassing twenty minutes for the pilot as you showed Sophia Floyd every single video you’d taken as blackmail last time.

No matter what they’d done every day, between little hikes through scenic places like the Valley of Fire State Park, or even the days spent inside together, watching Coyote and Natasha almost fist fight over an intense game of Uno, were moments Bob would never forget. He’d cherish them forever, because you were wrapped under his arm for every single moment.

That’s where you found yourselves on your final night, on the deck of your rented home, sitting directly between Bob’s legs on top of the picnic table with a blanket wrapped tightly around you both, admiring the stars above you. And if you looked close enough with the naked eye, Bob swore you could see hints of the Northern Lights streaking through the light pollution-free night sky.

“When we get home, everything changes,” it was you who broke the comfortable silence between you both finally. “We’ll be in the home stretch. In just a matter of weeks, I’ll finally be Mrs. Floyd.”

God, he’d never get tired of hearing that, of imagining you with his name. He didn’t have to imagine it for much longer.

“You’re already Mrs. Floyd in my eyes, we just need the piece of paper that says you are,”

You’d laughed, like you did at all his jokes, swinging your legs over to the side so that you could sit sideways and see his face. Illuminated by just the moon, the stars, and the little porch light somewhere behind them, Bob wondered how it was possible you got more beautiful every time he looked at you.

“Everything will be confirmed, I’ll get my dress. Our families will all arrive, we’ll walk down the aisle and say ‘I Do’, then we’ll dance the night away before we jet set off to Cabo,” your head leaned against his shoulder, eyes never leaving his own as you spoke. “Then comes…the rest of it.”

“The rest of our lives,” Bob tacked on as you grinned back up at him.

“Full of bills, and I’m sure some petty arguments here and there,”

“Don’t forget babysitting our friends at the Hard Deck for eternity,”

“Hmmm…then there are kids,”

“Kids?” you’d had the conversation before, briefly in the past, so the little statement didn’t shock Bob. If anything, it sent that familiar flutter he’d felt for months as he was falling in love with you shooting through his ribcage. His eyes were locked on yours as your smile turned sheepish.

“Three, that’s my max,” your voice had become a whisper now, but still loud enough to be heard in the silence of the night surrounding you both. “Ideally, two girls and a boy. Not like we have much of a choice there.”

“Hmmm, then I hope the boy is older,” he’d shot back with a shy grin of his own, pressing a light kiss to your forehead. “Let him look after his little sisters. We have to throw in a dog, too.”

“But none of those little dog breeds,” you shook your head, lips eternally morphed into a smile. “No, we have to have a big dog. I love big dogs.”

“German Shepard, maybe a Golden Retriever,” Bob nodded along in agreement. “Have to get them at the same time we have the kids, that way they can grow up together. Watch them run around the backyard together, grow up being best friends.”

“Teach them responsibility young, make sure they grow up with a good head on their shoulders. Can’t have them turning into their Uncle Jake,” that brought a laugh out of both of you. But as the laughter dissipated, Bob could see the change in your eyes, the softness that seemed to enter them. “Our own little family.”

Bob could feel it, his own features soften, as his hand reached up to cup your cheek, ghosting his lips over yours in a kiss. His words came out in a whisper next, fanned over your lips.

“Our perfect little family,”

Neither of you were privy to the fact that the entire Dagger Squad was lurking through the glass sliding door, taking as many sneaky pictures as they could. Or of Sophia, crying into Hangman’s shoulder as she continuously murmured about how happy she was that her brother had found you.

Alas, peaceful moments such as a trip out to the desert would always have to come to an end. And with your peace coming to an end, the final wedding preparations were finally underway. And those final weeks were more stressful than any of the weeks that had come before.

The guest list was completely finalized, the caterers from the venue were notified of the number of guests, and the menu for the night was set in stone. The photographer had confirmed themselves for the day. The cake order was in, a split chocolate and vanilla tiered cake, since you and Bob were so indecisive on a flavor. The flowers were set, Natasha and Bradley had taken care of ensuring the decorations were all prepared with the venue, and they’d meticulously checked to ensure that your chosen wedding colors of various shades of blue were accurately represented. Everything was falling into place.

You’d flown back to your childhood home with Natasha to pick up your dress that you’d flown out and chosen months prior, while Natasha was picking up her own dress as well as Bob’s sister’s. Bob, of course, hadn’t seen the dress, but was informed by his mother and sister that they’d instantly cried the second you’d walked onto the platform in front of them in it. He knew that was an indication that there was no way he was getting out of crying at the altar.

It was the twenty-four hours leading up to the wedding when everything seemed to finally sink in.

The guests were all in town, the venue was set, and the entire Dagger Squad and your families were at your side at the venue the day before, as the manager ran you through the rehearsal.

You weren’t even in your dress when you walked down the aisle toward him, listening to the instructions that the manager was giving about how this would all go down. You were in jeans, a favorite pair of his that hugged you in every way that made him want to swoon, and an old t-shirt of his that he noticed you gravitated toward wearing in every anxious moment you had.

Bob would’ve married you right there in that outfit if the pastor had been there to perform the ceremony.

The venue walked you through where you’d exit, where the Dagger Squad would be able to perform the Arch of Swords, and through the seating for dinner and the reception. Pizza, cooked by the venue staff, was served to you all for the rehearsal dinner, while everyone laughed as Hangman and Coyote gave fake speeches, prepared just for the night.

Your hand had never left Bob’s, and Bob’s had never left yours. You were in sync with one another, and the anxiety radiating off of you both was clear as day.

It only grew worse when it was time to part ways, both of you agreeing to stick to tradition and spend the night before your wedding apart. Bradley and the boys waited across the driveway of the ranch for Bob, while Natasha and Sophia were waiting patiently by her car, everyone knowing you both deserved one last moment with each other before everything changed.

“The next time I see you…you’re going to become my wife,” Bob tried his best to keep his emotions in check, but he knew tears were forming in his eyes as he looked down at you, the most precious thing that had ever been his and would ever be his.

“And you’ll be becoming my husband,” you were doing a less fantastic job of keeping your emotions under wraps, silent tears streaming down your cheeks as you held Bob’s hands in your own, squeezing them as tightly as you could. “You’re my best friend, Bob Floyd…just don’t tell Nat that.”

He laughed, as did you; those familiar words he’d told you so long ago felt like a hug right now. You didn’t need to say ‘I love you’ in this moment, because that little line had said it all and more.

“You, Ikea, are my best friend too…just don’t tell Bradley,” a lump formed in his throat as you smiled up at him, words tumbling out of him before he could stop them. “You…you’re sure, r-right?”

Even in that moment, where you were professing your love to him in a way that only he could understand, Bob couldn’t stop his insecurities from talking to him, for taking the lead. You were a million miles out of his league; he’d known it from the moment he met you. It felt like imposter syndrome, knowing that he’d gotten this far, that you were just hours from being his forever.

You knew him, he knew you did. That’s why he knew you could see his anxiety talking, your hands coming up to cup his cheeks as you brought him down into a kiss that sucked the air straight out of his lungs.

“I wish I could accurately articulate to you how much I love you, but all I can say is…people spend their lives searching for exactly what I found in you,” you’d choked out through your own tears, wiping a stray one from his cheek as you spoke. “I have never been more sure of anything in my life, Robbie, than I am of loving you. I don’t think there’s a single thing that could stop me from walking down that aisle tomorrow.”

Bob didn’t waste a second before pulling you into another kiss, the salty taste of both of your tears on your lips as he tried to convey every ounce of love he carried in his body for you through that single kiss. It would never be enough, though; there’d never be anything he could do or say to accurately explain it to you.

“Alright, Prince Charming and Cinderella, the princess needs to run along before she turns into a pumpkin!” Hangman’s voice called out across the driveway, pulling you both away from one another. “Hell, baby-on-board, we aren’t currently being shipped off to war right now, it’s a night apart. She’ll be all yours after tomorrow!”

You both laughed, as did all of your friends, and you both knew it was time to go. With a finally whispered ‘I love you’ shared, Bob had rejoined the boys, and you had joined your bridesmaids, and the first domino was finally falling on the day you’d both been waiting for.

Bob Floyd didn’t find himself wearing his Navy dress whites often, but this was the most nervous he’d ever been while wearing them.

The Groom’s suite was just him, Rooster, Fanboy, and his father, but Bob still felt like he was suffocating as he adjusted his uniform, ensuring there wasn’t a single thing out of place. It was the only thing he could think to do, it was distracting him from the thought of you on the other side of the house, getting into your wedding dress with the help of your mother, his mother and sister, and Natasha.

Holy fuck, Bob Floyd was getting married.

“Alright, bucko, it’s almost time,”

Bob turned to his father, the easy smile that sat on his lips, and he finally let out the nervous breath that he seemed to be holding in the entire time.

“Dad…respectfully, how the hell did you get married to Mom?”

The older Floyd laughed, clapping a hand down on his son’s shoulder with a grin.

“Truthfully? I was as nervous as you were, until your uncle forced a shot down my throat. Even then, I was nervous until she was standing in front of me at the altar. Then…the nerves just melted away,”

“And I might have pretended to be nice and confident for you and Hangman,” Rooster chimed in as he slung an arm around Bob’s shoulders with a grin. “But god, I was trying not to shit myself. Had to remind myself that Nat would’ve killed me if I had.”

The three laughed before their gazes turned to Fanboy. He simply held his hands up in surrender.

“Don’t look at me, I don’t plan on doing this for a long time. Unless that cute friend of Siren’s from work, Sydney, is interested,”

Another round of laughter was shared, and that seemed to be all Bob needed to give the three standing around him a nod of his head.

“Alright…let’s do this,”

Bob’s anxiety was still at an all-time high as he stood at the altar, the rest of their squad sat in one of the front rows, directly next to Mav and Penny. His family sat directly before him on his side, while yours sat on your own side. Now, all Bob had to do was wait, and pray he could remain calm.

He wasn’t kept waiting long.

That familiar music he’d heard a thousand times, in real life and in movies, kicked in as the guests all rose to their feet. Bob’s hands wrung together before him as Fanboy in his dress whites and his sister in a gorgeous light blue gown took their first few steps down the aisle.

Bob couldn’t help but smile the second he saw the dresses. If there had been a single doubt in his head, it was gone now: the dresses almost matched his eyes perfectly.

Natasha and Rooster followed right behind them, bright smiles on their faces as they looked to Bob. Rooster and Fanboy quickly took their places beside him, patting him on the shoulder for confidence, as Natasha and Sophia took their places opposite the men.

Penny’s daughter, Amelia, led Bob’s little cousin down the aisle, both holding the little pad for the rings as well as throwing the petals down on the aisle to ensure his little cousin didn’t drop the rings. It garnered a laugh from the entire room as they took their places.

Then the music changed, and you stepped out on your father’s arm, and Bob couldn’t hold himself together.

He’d seen this exact dress, one saying under your ‘Dream Wedding’ Pinterest board, and he always thought you would be the most gorgeous thing to ever grace this earth in it. And he was proven right. A billowing white ball gown, a sweetheart neckline with little off-the-shoulder sleeves you’d gushed about on so many other dresses, and a veil that shimmered like it was made from stars hanging from the top of your head.

A smile meant just for him, and a single tear slipping down your cheek that your father was quick to wipe away.

The older man handed his daughter over to Bob without a single fight, just a smile and a nod, and suddenly Bob was standing face to face with the love of his life, and he couldn’t stop smiling. He’d barely heard a word the officiant had said the entire time, until you handed your bouquet off to Natasha and took Bob’s hands, preparing to recite the vows you’d written yourself over and over again.

“I moved to San Diego for a job, and it just so happened that my best friend came as a package deal with it. I have so many things to be thankful to this city for, but I will never be able to repay it for the fact that it gave me you,” you’d swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to contain yourself in order to move forward, while Bob was slowly falling apart before you. “I’d never thought I’d find what so many of my friends over the years had found, too engrossed in my work and what I loved doing. But then you, this six-foot, awkward Naval Weapons Systems Officer, stumbled into my life, and I dropped a table on you, and I knew I was a goner. I vow always to be your biggest supporter, to be the most loyal partner you could ever hope to have, and to spend the rest of my life making jabs at our friends at the Hard Deck in your honor. In every universe…I hope it’s you that I’m standing across from to make these vows.”

Bob didn’t hesitate to reach out and wipe a stray tear from your cheek, gaining a slight laugh out of you that he couldn’t help but smile at. But it was finally his turn to speak, and Bob’s nerves were back in full force.

“You…you gave a speech at Bradley and Natasha’s wedding, and at the end you said something that stuck with me: “They say love is just a friendship that caught on fire,’ and I swear you looked at me after you said it. It might’ve been meant for our best friends, but that was for us, too,” he wiped away another tear that escaped down your cheek, the room laughing at the action. “I told myself that schoolboy crush I’d managed to gain on my best friend’s childhood best friend was nothing…then you dropped that table on me. I have never been more thankful for Swedish furniture than I was that day, because that put us here now. I promise to support you in everything you could ever want, to love and cherish the ground you walk on day and in and day out, and to give you the life that you deserve more than anything. For so long, I had no idea what I needed in my life…then you showed up, and now I don’t know how to live in a world without you.”

The officiant’s words were a blur. Bob barely remembered uttering that familiar phrase: ‘With this ring, I thee wed,’ or that you’d said it back. He didn’t remember saying ‘I do,’ he barely registered the ring that now would forever sit on his left hand. There was only one thing he remembered.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride!”

Bob had barely waited for him to finish, his hand taking you by the waist and pulling you into a kiss that had the entire room erupting into cheers, the unmistakable crying of Natasha in the background that could be heard clear as day.

“Hi, husband,” you whispered against his lips, eyes half lidded as they looked up at him. Bob couldn’t help the way his own stretched into a smile, looking down at you as he pressed you back into the kiss for a moment.

“Hi, wife,”

“Ladies and gentlemen, I now present to you Mr. and Mrs. Robert Floyd!”

Surreal was the only word that Bob could use to describe the moment, and every moment after. It was like having an out-of-body experience as you’d walked under the Arch of Swords, as you’d been whisked off through the ranch with your wedding party in tow for an abundance of photos, the entire Dagger Squad dragging Maverick along for even more group photos. Bob’s eyes never left you, and not a single word needed to be said between either of you besides the smiles you shared.

They’d announced you both into the reception, and the hollering that Rooster and Hangman were doing had the entire room in laughter. Just like he had many, many months ago, Bob held his hand out to you, palm facing the sky, and you took it without a second thought, the music chosen for your first dance echoing around the trees of the outdoor reception air, lit by the warm, yellowed string lights all around you.

Watching in slow motion as you turn my way and say…take my breath away. My love, take my breath away.

The same song that had played that night, on a dance floor similar to this, where everything had taken its definitive turn. Where you’d confessed to each other, where months of pining had finally reached its pinnacle, and where your lives together had started.

Bradley and Natasha's joint speech wasn’t something either of you was expecting when you’d been sat for dinner among your friends and family, but it didn’t disappoint.

“I’ve had the privilege of being best friends with our lovely bride, our Siren, since I chucked a soccer ball at her head in Kindergarten,” Natasha started, giving an innocent shrug when the room laughed at the story. “And when I got reassigned to North Island, back to Top Gun, I was given Bob as my backseater, not knowing he’d become one of my best friends.”

“And truly, when I watched Bob give our buddy Jake the nickname of ‘Bagman’ during a training exercise, I knew he was going to be my best friend,” Rooster shot a wink toward the two of you, who laughed along with the rest of the room. “And it took introducing these two just once for my wife and I to go home and say…man, they’d be great together, wouldn’t they?”

“To be fair, I’d had an inkling for months about it,” Nat made sure to interject. “I remember showing her photos of our nerdy little WSO, and suddenly she was very interested in learning more about him. And anytime I show him a photo of the girl I call my sister, his skin flushed so red you probably couldn’t tell the difference between him and a tomato.”

Bob shook his head with a groan as the room laughed, dropping his forehead to your shoulder for a moment as you pressed a kiss to his temple before Bradley continued.

“So, my wonderful wife and I devised a plan. Throughout the entirety of our engagement and wedding planning, since these two already had to spend so much time together, we were going to force them to spend even MORE time together until they got together. Come to find out…we didn’t even need to meddle, they found one another without any help,”

“And we are…so happy that you found each other,” Natasha was trying to hold in a sob as Bob reached over, holding your hand tightly in his as you too tried not to cry. “You’re our best friends, and we knew that we were going to have high standards for whoever our best friends fell in love with. But you fell in love with each other-”

“And I’ve never seen two people deserve each other more than you both do,” Rooster interjected, shooting Bob a wink. “They do say that the Best Man and the Maid of Honor are destined to fall in love, and they were right this time.”

“We love you both, and we can’t wait to witness your lifetime of happiness together, wherever it takes you,”

Bob thought he’d cried all the tears he could seeing you walk down the aisle, but apparently, a sentimental speech from your best friends was enough to bring him another round of tears.

You’d eaten together, you’d laughed, and then you’d danced the night away with every person you both held near and dear to you surrounding you on the dance floor. Bob’s eyes never left you, he never left your side, so when you’d both snuck off the dance floor to grab another drink and Bob held out his hand for you to take, you didn’t waste a second in trusting him.

Like two teenagers sneaking around behind everyone’s backs, he’d led you through the twists and turns of the ranch until finally finding what he’d found the night before at the rehearsal dinner: the private deck, well enough away from the hustle and bustle of the dance floor and the bar, surrounded by flowers and even more warm lighting.

“Couldn’t wait to get out of there?” you’d teased as Bob turned back to look at you.

“No,” he shook his head, taking a step forward and taking your face in his palms. “Just couldn’t wait to do this.”

Intense. Passionate. Loving. Full of desire. There was no shortage of words that could be used to describe what Bob felt as his hands trailed down to your waist, clutching you to him as if you were the last bit of oxygen left in the world, his lips moving against yours as if he hadn’t just kissed you not so long ago at the altar, claiming you as his forever.

You weren’t any better than him, though, one hand curling into the hair at the nape of his neck and tugging on it, swallowing the groan Bob involuntarily let out with another kiss to his lips. Your lips, the nude lipstick sitting on top of them hanging by a thread from how passionately you kissed him, moving them down to his jaw, and leaving a lingering kiss just beneath his jawbone by the hollow of his throat, elicited yet another delicious groan from him that had you laughing.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Bob just barely managed to get out, breathless as he tugged your face back to look at him, an innocent smile on your kiss-bitten lips, and your teeth bit into your swollen bottom lip for a moment..

“Excuse me, you’re the one who dragged me out here to make out with me, Lieutenant!”

“Yeah, and I’m one more lip bite from you away from throwing you on top of that table over there and fucking you,”

Did Bob know where that sudden burst of confidence came from to utter something so sinful? Absolutely not, but that was just the effect that you always had on him—the effect you’d have on him for the rest of his life, now.

You’d only laughed, hands coming back to drag his face back to yours in another kiss. Softer. Gentler, but still just as passionate and full of love and desire as it had been moments ago. Then, you laughed, lips still pressed against Bob’s, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“What’s so funny?”

You pulled away, and Bob could’ve swooned just by the look in your eyes. The pure love that shone in them, the adoration, as you chose your next words carefully with a gentle smile.

“The Best Man and the Maid of Honor fell in love…and now they’re married. How did we possibly get even more cliché, Mr. Floyd?”

Bob smiled, and suddenly he was back in that room at the Lafayette, your naked body lying under him for the first time as he’d kissed you for the first time. And he’d loved you properly, like you deserved, for the first time.

And then, he spoke.

“Somehow, we did. But…I wouldn’t have it any other way, Mrs. Floyd,”

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holdingonforheaven · 7 months ago

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robin is incredibly underrated!! it's lyrically beautiful, and pulls on an emotional thread that so many songs don't (or can't). i see it on so many "ttpd is too long" cut lists, and it breaks my heart

just had a proper meltdown while listening to robin. what a fucking song so underrated.

#like tell me you've never loved a child without telling me #even if they're not yours #almost especially if they're not yours #being part of the “we” in “we all vowed to keep it” is a feeling unlike anything else #like no these kids are not mine (they're nieces or nephews or kids of friends or students i work with or the neighbors' kids or w/e)#but i am in on the conspiracy to help raise you #to give you a good childhood #and happy memories #to keep you safe #to help you learn resilience #and empathy #and kindness #and what to do when people in your future aren't empathetic or kind #and it is an honor #ugggghhhhh robin supremacy forever

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jibitzlesscrocs · 1 month ago

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chris sturniolo x reader

warning : suggestive information

referencing the wedding tiktok trend

wedding polaroids

in which, chris gets polaroids of his wife

After what felt like years of Pinterest boards, late-night planning calls, and a million shared photo albums, the day Chris and his fiancée, you — had been dreaming of finally arrived. The wedding was everything the two of you (mostly you) had envisioned: timeless, intimate, and dripping in elegance without being flashy. Just close friends, cherished family, soft music, and a setting kissed by nature.

The theme? Subtle garden romance. Delicate strings of fairy lights twinkled above long wooden tables adorned with soft cream florals, sage green runners, and golden tableware. The venue was tucked away in the hills, just enough distance from the world to feel like your own little universe.

You wore a bridal gown that could only be described as ethereal — form-hugging, delicate lace, elegant with a hint of sultry — just enough to make Chris’s jaw drop when he saw you walk down the aisle. His own outfit was crisp and clean: a sleek black suit and tie, and hair falling just a little messy in the way you always said drove you wild.

The vows? Personal and tear-worthy. You both poured your hearts out in front of everyone, and when Chris slipped the ring on your finger, it felt like the world sighed in contentment. The kiss you shared — long, passionate, full of promise — sealed forever.

But of course, there was one tiny detail Chris didn’t know about…

A few weeks before the big day, you saw a TikTok trend that sparked a devious little idea. A playful challenge. You enlisted your bridesmaids, and together, you shot a few private Polaroids — sultry, cheeky little glimpses meant only for Chris. The plan: deliver them discreetly during the reception to see just how long your new husband could keep it together.

********

The reception was buzzing. Guests clinked champagne flutes, laughter danced through the air, and Chris looked like sin in human form — suit jacket off, sleeves rolled, a few buttons undone, collarbones peeking through. His hair was tousled and carefree, that post-ceremony glow making him look like something out of a romantic fever dream.

He was walking around, graciously accepting congratulations from relatives, when your maid of honor slipped the first Polaroid into his hand with a cheeky wink. Chris glanced at it—and froze.

There you were, wearing his favorite black bikini that barely covering anything, kneeling with your head tilted slightly, that soft pout on your lips. The lighting, the pose, the subtle glisten of your skin — it was art. His face flushed crimson instantly. Jaw slack, he pressed the photo to his chest like a lifeline and began scanning the room for you, eyes darting around until he spotted you casually chatting with his grandmother, all innocent and glowing.

He looked back at the photo again, his lips curling into a stunned, crooked grin, eyes full of disbelief and heated affection.

Next came dinner. You sat beside him, both of you enjoying your meal, smiling and toasting with everyone. Then another bridesmaid slid the second photo across the table under a napkin.

This time, it was you in his favorite oversized hoodie — nothing underneath. Your nipples teased through the thin fabric in the photo, and the knowing smirk on your lips said everything. Chris’s breath hitched. He coughed lightly, shoved the picture into his pocket, that seem to have gotten tighter. He ran a hand through his hair, cheeks tinted pink. You pretended not to notice, calmly eating your food, your hand resting on his thigh — supportive… or so he thought.

He leaned in slightly, gripping your thigh now with intention. “You’re evil,” he whispered, biting his lip, his voice shaky.

You just smirked and gave him a playful shrug, locking eyes with your girls across the table who were holding back giggles.

Then, moments before the first dance, the final photo arrived. This time, it was bold.

You sat with your legs spread, wearing his favorite black lace lingerie set — the one that made him lose his mind every single time. The photo angle was suggestive, intimate. One look and Chris’s pupils blew wide. He groaned under his breath, immediately slipping the Polaroid into his jacket. His hand found your waist and yanked you close with a possessiveness that made your breath catch.

As the soft opening chords of your first dance played, he held you tightly in front of him, body pressed flush to yours, angled just so that no one could notice… how much he was affected. You could feel it — thick, hard, and impossible to ignore, pressed right against your upper thigh.

“You have some nerve with those pics, baby…” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly in your ear. “You better know one thing.”

“What’s that?” you whispered back, trying to hide your fluttering heart and heated skin.

Chris leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re mine tonight. All night.”

You whimpered softly at his words, heart pounding as your fingers gripped the back of his neck, melting into his arms as you swayed together. The world around you blurred — just the two of you, in love, tipsy on champagne and each other.

Then came the kiss.

It wasn’t just a kiss — it was the kiss.

He dipped you slightly as the music swelled, his lips crashing onto yours in a searing, possessive, breathtaking kiss that left you trembling. Tongues tangled slowly, teasing, claiming. His hand tightened at your waist while yours threaded through his hair. The kiss was messy in the best way — a public declaration of the chaos and love brewing between you two.

And as promised, the two of you didn’t sleep at all that night.

The next morning, as sunlight poured through the honeymoon suite, your body ached in all the right ways, and walking? Well… let’s just say the only steps you took were straight back into bed with your husband grinning proudly behind you.

taglist : @courta13

MAI’S STORE

i love seeing this trend on tiktok AHAH lemme know what you think of thisssss

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daimus · 3 months ago

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honor bound

There is nothing you and Reo do that Nagi is not a part of.

wc — 3k

tags — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, fem reader, threesome, prince! Reo x princess! Reader x knight! Nagi

“You’re playing too rough,” Reo complains. “You’ll hurt her.”

Nagi rolls off you guiltily.

There’s dirt in your hair and an ugly, wet stain along the side of your favorite silk shoes. Something in your mouth tastes funnily like grass. When you spit it out, sure enough, little green blades fall from your lips, probably torn from the field when Nagi was roughhousing with you on the lawn. Still, mangled as your clothes are, when your mouth falls open, it’s not to cry as Reo is afraid you will.

Instead, bright laughter spills from you, climbing higher and higher until you’re breathless from it. Your chest aches and there are tears in your eyes. The two boys stare at you in fearful silence.

“I think you broke her,” Reo whispers. “Hurry, apologize.”

“Sorry,” Nagi says, still looking guilty. “Please forgive me.”

Reo pinches his side.

“Ow,” Nagi whines, batting his hand away. “My most gracious lady?”

He speaks with the clumsiness of someone reciting lines from a book. He’s only a squire, after all. Honor is as distant a concept to him as warfare. These are things to be studied, not put into practice.

This only sends you into further peals of laughter as Reo tries desperately to shush you. You’re breaking the rules after all. You’re not supposed to be out here, not supposed to be dirtying your clothes, and as a foreign princess destined to marry Prince Reo, definitely not supposed to be touching other men.

It’s a struggle to get you back into your quarters without anyone seeing - or, as the real problem turns out to be, hearing you. It’s like something has truly broken inside of you, a dam that kept you well mannered and poised in society. Now all you can do is giggle, thinking about the great fun you had rolling around in the grass, learning the sweaty, tiring joy all other children learned so young.

“Get her shoes off,” Reo hisses as he carefully wraps his clean handkerchief around your mouth. You don’t struggle, simply smiling up at him with trusting, joyous eyes.

He heard from some tutor or the other (he has many) that laughter is like a drug. He can see the way it acts on you now, careless and lackadaisical, allowing him to do as he pleases. His heart melts. He pats your cheek fondly. For the first time since you participated in the engagement ceremony, two solemn children pledging vows they didn’t understand, the realization that you will someday be his wife comes upon him.

“What are you doing?” Nagi hisses.

“We have to be quiet,” Reo says. He rolls his eyes at him. “Don’t be like that. Do you know how bad it would be if we were caught like this?”

“Yes, so why are you asking me to- Her ankles are bare, Reo.”

“I told you to get her shoes off,” Reo says. “Not be a pervert. If you have to do that without looking, then fine. Turn away. Just do it!”

Nagi grumbles to himself, but he never refuses Reo. You’ve learned that much in your short time with them.

“Spoiled thing,” Reo murmurs as he caresses your cheek, his other hand dipping behind your neck to undo the first of many buttons down your back. The voice in which he says it is strange, even to himself. He doesn’t recognize it. Dimly, he registers that the phrase comes from what he hears people say about him when he’s being particularly adorable.

He knows he’s being adorable. He wants them to say it. He suspects that you, also, know that you’re being adorable and wants him to say it.

But knowing the trick doesn’t take the delight out of it - still Reo feels drawn to you, down to the coquettish way you’re blinking your eyes at him, your lashes shaded in such a way as to make you appear sweet and demure.

Nagi stands, your shoes in one hand.

“Here,” Reo says, placing your hands on him. He raises you from your seat, leaning your weight against Nagi, who bears it as uncomplaining as if he were a coat rack or a wall. He’s through arguing with Reo.

Behind you, Reo pops open a row of buttons one by one down your spine. You shudder at each slackened clasp, feeling your dress slip looser and looser until it cascades down your body entirely. Reo drops to his knees to help you step out of the mass of your skirts, leaving you in nothing but a thin slip.

The sound of voices coming up the stairs startles Nagi, who grips you more securely.

“Time to go,” Reo says. “Tuck her into bed, Nagi.”

They’re an efficient team. Reo hides all the evidence as Nagi pulls the blankets around you.

There’s such a large army of ladies in waiting around you that it’s easy for miscommunication to inevitably force one of them to take credit for putting you to bed. They’ll lead themselves towards that conclusion without any help.

Reo leaves a soft kiss on your brow before he strides to the window and slips out of it. “Nagi, come,” he demands, dipping out of sight. The sounds of his climbing fade away quickly.

Ever obedient, Nagi follows suit. He slings his leg over the sash and drops off the side. Just his eyes and pale hair are visible above the windowsill now. A strand whips across his cheek in a sudden breeze. He stops for a moment, hesitating.

“You’re going to be okay?”

You don’t really understand him, but the tone is clear enough. His expression, searching, helps too. You can’t speak, so you smile and nod at him. He returns the look, soft eyed and gentle.

Then he’s gone.

Your room is too far up to hear, but you imagine the sound of feet pattering across grass, Reo’s hushed laughter and admonishment for Nagi to keep up.

You’ve always been Reo’s. As the second daughter of a third consort, you were promised to a foreign power to secure an alliance since before you were born. This is what you were made for.

After tonight, however, you belong to both of them.

Reo calls Nagi his guard, but he’s more of a lap dog, in your opinion. He’s terribly lazy, more content to lay his head in your lap under sunshine than fight in tourneys. He’s spoiled. It’s Reo’s fault.

He’s too indulgent of you both, his princess and his knight. His betrothed and his sworn brother in arms.

You’re grateful they’re so close. It made things easier for you.

When you first came to this country, no one spoke your language except Reo. He couldn’t be with you all the time, of course, being a king’s son with all of the accompanying responsibilities. It drove you to tears, being treated as this strange foreign princess in a land where no one seemed to even want to try to understand you.

Except Nagi, who seems to have accepted you as an extension of Reo.

“I’m surprised,” Reo remarks. “He doesn’t like most people.”

“You make him sound like a pet,” you laugh, testing the syllables of Reo’s language on your tongue. You’ve grew fluent quickly, thanks to constant practice, but it still requires some effort.

“Yeah, well,” Reo shrugs helplessly.

“Woof,” Nagi says, his voice flat. His head is hanging over Reo’s shoulder, half asleep. Reo turns to press a quick kiss to his white hair.

A steward, far off in the distance, is calling him. An expression of distaste crosses his face, no worse than the one that appears on Nagi’s own when he shrugs the other boy off.

“Nagi, stay,” Reo orders, as casually as breathing, when his guard tries to follow him. “I need you to watch over my betrothed.”

Nagi opens his eyes lazily. “Yes, Prince.”

He sits up, blinking and yawning. His hair is tousled. It lends him charm, making him look somewhat roguish.

“Since you’re up, why don’t we go to the kitchens? I want to see what they’re making for dinner.”

You have no such desires. Really, you want to provoke a reaction out of Nagi, and you get what you want.

“Hm,” he says, thoughtfully, like he’s really considering your proposal. “Nope.”

Then he drags you back down next to him, rolling you over in the grass like he did when you first met. It startles the same laugh out of you, childish though no longer a child, cheerful and warm. He rests his head on your stomach, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist, looking up at you with eyes hidden behind his bangs. You brush his hair away from his face to see him more clearly.

You know, to an extent, that this is unnatural, worse than wrong. No princess should be this familiar with a knight, even one sworn to her betrothed. Nagi is supposed to be safe and comfortable for this reason - decoration on the walls of the palace, unobtrusive and unassuming, a reminder of your protected status.

But you fall for it too hard, too easily. Unlike other men, Nagi registers absolutely zero threat in your eyes. It’s not a choice. You’re defenseless by default.

It doesn’t help that Reo finds it amusing to treat Nagi like your shared pet.

“What’s the harm,” he says, feeding Nagi off the same spoon he uses to feed you.

“He’s my knight, don’t mind it,” he says, when he has Nagi wait outside your door while you change to go for a stroll with him.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he says, dragging him along on all your dates. “You worry too much, my princess.”

You know in your gut that Reo’s wrong, that this isn’t normal, that other princesses don’t do this with their knights, but you give in. You also want him there, after all.

It’s driving you insane. Outside of the bubble of your little trio, the occasional odd glance and comment from a duchess or count will make you remember that it’s not you, everyone else also finds it weird. But when it’s just Nagi and Reo, it’s awkward that you’re the only one who feels strange about it.

“What’s wrong with it?” Reo shrugs. “Nagi’s my knight. He should always be with me. Unless you’re planning on assassinating me and running away with my crown?” He throws himself over you. “Oh, no, terrible princess from a far off land. Please don’t seduce me and steal my inheritance!”

“Tease,” you roll your eyes playfully. “If I wanted to kill you, I could’ve done it ages ago.”

He brings your knuckles to his lips. “I know, my dear. I trust you. As much as I trust Nagi.”

Nagi’s sprawled out at the foot of your bed again. You would think he was asleep but for the lazy patterns he’s tracing on your ankle. He got over his scandalized behavior fast. Reo had it trained out of him.

He lifts his head at his name. Reo makes a beckoning gesture and Nagi cuddles up to him, drapes himself over his lap even though he’s too big for it.

“See,” Reo coos. “Isn’t he sweet?”

“I do like Nagi, you know,” you feel strangely defensive.

Reo smiles at you. “I know.”

So Nagi continues shadowing the two of you everywhere.

And you do mean everywhere.

“Reo,” you whisper. “We’re- um. We’re in bed.” Your voice is strangled by embarrassment.

“You don’t want him here?”

Nagi makes a sound of complaint from where he’s sprawled at your feet.

“It’s not that, it’s just- Well, what will people say?”

“How will they know?” Reo brings your knuckles to his mouth. His lips follow up your arm to the inside of your elbow. Your shoulder. When he reaches your neck, you moan without meaning to.

His lips are warm, his tongue wet and firm. It shocks a noise out of you.

He laughs softly, pushing you down onto the sheets. “Princess,” he coos. “You make such delightful sounds.”

His weight on top of you is strangely comforting, pinning your legs against the soft fabric. He mouths against your neck again, leaving little bites and kisses. You whimper against your will, unable to control yourself. Heat pools in your stomach.

“Mm,” Reo hums. His nose brushes against your neck. “You smell so good.”

“I’m not wearing any perfume,” you confess.

“I like it better like this,” Reo says.

He steals the next words out of your mouth. He kisses you open mouthed, the sound of your lips working together loud in the echoing silence of your chambers.

You open your eyes to see Nagi watching you in the dark. His eyes are luminously bright, shining with interest as he watches Reo’s mouth press insistently against yours.

The more you let Reo get away with, the more he pushes. He’s not the type to be appeased, only spoiled with the knowledge that you won’t stop him.

You really shouldn’t be surprised when letting Reo clean you up after getting caught in the rain during one of your walks necessitates Nagi’s presence as well.

Reo undoes the laces of his pants first, letting them drop to the floor. His boots have been discarded already in some corner. Now he stands in his undershorts and a simple white shirt which he shrugs off with ease.

“You’re staring,” he says, without turning around. There’s suppressed laughter in his voice.

Embarrassed, you jolt into action, undoing the laces of your own clothes. It’s so much more complicated than Reo’s. You can’t reach your back to unbutton your dress, but you have bigger problems. 6’3” problems, to be exact.

Nagi’s slouching against the wall. The steam curls his already tousled hair, making it messier than it was. He’s dressed in a thin, now damp shirt. His sword is buckled haphazardly to his side. The heat must be oppressive, but he doesn’t say anything.

“He’s guarding us,” Reo says dismissively. “Come here, my sweet, let me help you.”

You should say no. You should ask Reo to send Nagi away. But somehow, you can’t bring yourself to.

You try to rationalize it. Reo is the future king. Surely, he knows what’s best.

But deep down, you know that you have no objections because of your own desires. You simply don’t want to send him away.

“So many buttons,” Reo murmurs. His breath ghosts over the back of your neck and you shiver. “Do you like making me work for my treats, my lady?”

You giggle and slap at him lightly.

“Come here, Nagi,” Reo commands. “Help me.”

Your breath catches in your throat and you stiffen.

Standing this close to him, is a reminder of how tall he is. Not just in stature, but presence. It’s easy to forget, considering how Reo indulges his laziness, but when he’s silently undoing your clothes, you remember all over again how strong he is. He could rip your dress right off of you and save you both the trouble. Your throat goes dry.

“Much easier,” Reo says cheerfully. His fingers dip under the collar of your dress and start tugging it off. “You don’t mind, do you, my dear? It’s just Nagi.”

Just Nagi, you remind yourself, as his eyes sweep your naked form. It’s alright. It’s just Nagi.

So why does he look so hungry?

Reo crowds against you from behind you, similarly undressed. He presses a kiss to the back of your neck.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says. “Don’t you think, Nagi?”

His guard nods silently. Then, he turns and walks out of the baths.

“Must’ve gotten too hot for him,” Reo says, unconcerned. “Here, the bath must be warm enough by now. Come in.”

There is nothing you and Reo do that Nagi is not a part of. He’s already slept in your bed, drawn your baths while you stood by naked. There seem to be no more boundaries left between you, or so you assume.

Reo can think of one.

“Kiss her,” Reo tells Nagi softly. It’s late at night, and the three of you are deep in glasses of wine and even headier conversation. Your fiancé looks irresistible across from you. His fine, aristocratic features make him look like a painting in candlelight.

Nagi leans over obediently. It’s a joke at first, kissing over Reo’s shoulder. It’s Nagi’s mouth but it’s Reo’s scent, woodsy and clean. You’re doing it because Reo asked you to. It’s just a silly little game.

Reo strokes your back soothingly as you whimper into Nagi’s mouth. He kisses like he’s claiming you. That’s the best way to describe it, the forceful nature of Nagi’s desire.

“He’s an animal, isn’t he?” He chuckles. “Be gentle with her. I always have to tell you to be less rough, Nagi.”

“Sorry.” His voice is scratchy.

“Here,” Reo suggests. “Let’s move onto the bed.”

He directs you like the master of a play, moving you as he sees most fit.

“Stick your tongue out,” Reo croons at you. “Let Nagi suck on it. He wants to.”

The way Nagi kisses you is sloppy. There’s spit everywhere, but the wet friction just makes it better. You squeeze your thighs together as he pants into your mouth, licking into it, sucking on your tongue. He’s no better, pumping his hips down into the mattress desperately with need.

“Go on,” Reo murmurs, stroking Nagi’s back. “There’s a good boy. Angle your head.”

“Princess, you’re drooling,” he laughs. “Or is that Nagi’s?”

“Nagi,” he says, his voice dripping with adoration. “You’re so excited.”

“Oh,” he notices your expression. You’re barely holding on. “Should I stop talking?”

You shake your head, unable to speak, and reach out to tangle your fingers in his. His expression melts into something soft and hungry, raw tenderness and want on his face. He leans over Nagi to press a chaste kiss against your lips.

“You’re all messy,” he chides without heat in it. A gentle hand swipes a trail of spit off your chin.

Nagi moans under him. “Reo, Reo,” his name a constant in his mouth. “Don’t stop.”

You look down to see Reo’s hand stroking Nagi over his pants, working him to a hardness - for you?

Reo nudges your head back up, his cheek pressed against yours. “What’s wrong?” He says. “You’re distracted.”

It’s so hard to focus when Nagi’s so vocal under the two of you. Your core throbs with heated desire.

“I know, I know,” Reo coos. “I’m being mean.”

His hands trail down your sides, barely brushing your skin. It’s almost ticklish, makes you shiver with anticipation for where he’ll touch you next. Nagi whimpers with the loss of his hand, but Reo doesn’t make him suffer for long.

“I shouldn’t keep you waiting.” He says to you, pushing your sticky thighs apart. “Nagi, come kiss your princess again.”

#sera writes #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi smut #mikage reo x reader #reo smut #blue lock x reader #blue lock smut

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