Welcome To My Dream Box!

you never came as far as to this part of the continent, seeing no point in traveling far away to a place where there's nothing but trees and rocks; a nature that'll stay there, unchanging.

‘forest of limitlessness’ is what people have called through ages, decades away before you're born. and there's two kinds of reasons behind the chosen name. a name that no souls dare to question because, well, it's befitting.

the first rule that lies behind the name of the forest is the very truth of how it’s almost impossible to find the end of the forest when you're walking through it, endless. as if you're walking through a maze, you can't seem to find a way that'll lead you out of it.

it's something that's important to remember before anyone decides they're going to the forest. after all, you might get lost.

lost, unless the incarnation itself paves the way. the people who have gone there said that the moon incarnation whispers the wind to guide the people to where the light stays or it could be anything. a kindness shown in the surroundings of trees that's enveloping every space there is.

from what the elders of the kingdom said, it's said that people whose heart is a mist of dark clouds, having ill intention, will be lost in the forest as the light way to protect lives of ones that are worth more than one soul with ill.

every soul that is lost there is said to be shattered into pieces and find ways to another life, rewriting the fate that was set from them. in other ways, no one really knows what happened to the lost souls.

the other reason is the very truth that the moon incarnation grants any wishes that the people longed for. whatever they have in mind, it shall be turned into reality. everyone who came shall utter their limitless wish and let the moon incarnation do their part.

after all, the moon incarnation is a god.

you decided to go through all the hassle there is to see the light, wanting to pray and make a wish for a peaceful soul that's slowly but surely cracking under pressure; asking for a blessing.

it's only a matter of time before you shatter with this life of yours that keeps wishing for your downfall. so, you need the blessing of the god, the light for you to be able to continue this journey of yours.

when you finally reach the front of the forest, you're greeted by a mist. it's like a gate to the forest where the moon incarnation resides. your finger touch the mist before it split into two, paving a way for you to walk through.

may the god see your soul as pure as possible.

you step into the forest, then. the mist immediately tangled with one another, again, when you walked past them. you didn't pay attention to that, eyes zeroed on the sight before you.

a normal forest it is. nothing more, nothing less.

this is only the start though. you haven't walked through it. and oh dear god, you suddenly fear being one of the many lost souls that are roaming around aimlessly.

every step you take feels like a nail on the tongue, it's heavy. not to mention, you're using your armor throughout the journey. both as your way of protection and to be used to any obstacle that might be heading your way in the impending war.

sounds of armor are echoing through the forest, filling the silence with nothing but sounds of iron clashing against one another. and it was then, after countless steps, when a flicker of light greets your eyes.

fireflies.

it's staring at you before it flies away towards the other side of the forest, making you blink in confusion. however, you choose to follow it. as someone said, anything could be the sign of the light ways of telling you that you're welcomed. that's why you choose to take a step and trail behind the fireflies.

because indeed, you're one of the chosen ones. more than that, in any ways that may exist.

you follow the fireflies to the deepest part of the forest, all the things that's surrounding you are moving in a way that's welcoming. the leaves, branches, grass, flowers, rocks; everything seems to be curating a gentle melody to your ears, enveloping you with belonging.

each step you take, a new animal seems to peek amongst the trees— carefully examine the human that the incarnation has allowed to enter the divine hearth of the forest.

in the corner of your eyes, there's a deer that's staring at you with their doe eyes. the deer blink a few times at the sight of you, sending a shiver through your spine. it's eerie, in a way. they're looking straight to your soul.

all the animals a human can think of are in your view, showing their presence slowly but surely. and you couldn't help but get entrance by the sight of these animals gathering in one place, living in the part of the forest that is only the chosen one able to enter.

the sense of familiarity tugging your heart with a warm that you've long forgotten due to the fear of the impending war. you, who've been nothing but a walking shell of what you used to be, in this moment, feels that you're regressing to the younger you whose life was a field of blooming flowers.

in the distance, your ears catch the sounds of water flowing. a trickle of a drop clashing and emerging into one is feeling your senses. your heart beats faster at the way it's wrapping you in a nostalgic feeling.

finally, after the walk that seems like there's no end to it, the fireflies that have been guiding you throughout the forest fly away, far from you. and the sight that greets you? a waterfall.

a waterfall that's as blue as the sky before the whole kingdom turned into an ocean of fears and smells of death.

your breath was stolen from your lungs the moment your eyes trail around the surroundings of the waterfall. if the walk to the divine hearth of the forest was as beautiful as the imaginary heaven you've always painted on your mind, the sight in front of you is a trillion times better than it.

everything looks as if it's a place that shouldn't have existed in this world full of ash, scatter of blood, and pain overall. it's too much of an enchanting place to stand on this earth.

the trees, grass, bushes are emerald green. a color you've learned in books, a color you thought is impossible to exist. the flowers, every kind that may exist, are blooming vibrantly; the scent of sweetness and nature enveloping you. the rocks are shining, too. it's gleaming in a way that has you questioning if it's really a rock.

nothing is what you're used to.

you couldn't help but wondering if this is all just a silly dream of yours. a wish come true as a gift from the moon incarnation, from your whisper of prayers on hoping for one minute of solitude.

it could be true.

however, the stinging pain of falling from hitting the log you passed by on your way to the forest is still as vivid as the sight in front of you. this isn't a dream. after all, you could feel your feet trembling after the long walk here.

a deer shows its presence to you when you turn around, hearing sounds of shifting from behind. it's the same one that was staring at you as you made your way here.

the sound of the deer soles against the grass scratches a part of your brain and you couldn't help the step you take towards it. erasing the distance between the two of you as your gaze roams around the deer that's now only arm reach.

you let out a startled gasp when the deer pushes you gently with its horn, making you walk backwards before plopping down on a nearby rock. it was supposed to hurt you, logically, being pushed down to a solid surface like a rock— but it didn't.

because logic doesn't apply here.

not in the comfort home of the moon incarnation, a god, even in whatever forms it might take. humans, animals— it could be anything.

“... don't tell me,” you whisper to yourself, into the air. when the possibility of the deer in front of you being the moon incarnation flashes through your mind, fear washes over you.

a soft chuckle, angelic as well as it's smoky. something that you haven't exactly heard before in your lifetime, bouncing around the space. wrapping the whole divine hearth in a warm blanket. it sends a thrill through you.

when you turn around, the sight that greets you is a man, standing some steps away. he's standing there with the warmest smile you've been given for the longest time, glowing brighter than the moon you saw before entering the forest.

he's the moon incarnation, the light.

you stand up abruptly, your iron armor making a sound of clashes at the sudden movement. no words came from between your lips, though. you were too lost in the scenery of your surroundings, then you got hit with a soft blow at the appearance of the man that could lighten up your life.

it's not even ‘could’, actually. at this single moment, this second shared between you two— he's really lighting up your life just by presence alone.

“to what reason am i being graced by your company here, dear knighttess?" he spoke.

oh, he sounded like home. the voice of the man standing before you sounds like the most delightful melody ever written, carefully threaded for the souls as pure as white to hear, with warm love.

a loss of words is the state you're currently in. years of learning the alphabet, tracing the letters as a way to be engraved in your brain, repeating the same thing for days seems thrown out to the trash bin at the sight of him.

you understand now the reasons people always seem to never know what words to use when it comes to describe him, the moon incarnation.

divine, is far too much of an understatement. ethereal, are lacking a hint of something to fully grasp the being in front of you— any kind of word that crosses your mind sounds like a mocking endearment to him.

“i, i’m … thank you for allowing me to enter this part of the forest … um, you ….” you paused midways.

what should you refer to him as? how are you supposed to know how to call a god who's in raw flesh right in front of you?

the man let out a laugh at the sight of your flustered state, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “you may call me satoru, knightess. and what shall i call you, pray tell?”

oh, dear heaven.

you didn't quite catch his eyes earlier. but now that your gaze is settled on the ones that are boring into yours, you couldn't help the feeling that a part of you is melting into a puddle, boneless and unable to move; nothing.

well, to be fair, you're nothing compared to a god. how could you ever compete with a being whose existence is the sole reason why you exist in the first place?

he takes a step closer to you, eyes taking in the sight of the knightesses who've spent a long journey, facing countless obstacles to reach the limitless forest which is far from the kingdom that he guesses she's from.

one heck of a ride, is what a human told him many years ago.

you clears your throat when he gestures to you to take a seat on the stone that the deer pushes you to. you nod your head stiffly before slowly lowering yourself, feeling unsure on how to communicate with a being that's far on a different level from you.

“thank you, satoru.” your voice came in a whisper, full of uncertainty. “you may call me knightess, if that's what you're most fond of.”

he hummed softly at your words as he took a seat on the stone beside you, gaze falling to the waterfall that's in the center of this forest. “then, knightess, may i be told what brings you to this forest?”

blinding. the man is blinding and he's sitting beside you. well, for some reason—that you're sure happen because of him—it didn't hurt you, in any way. he's shining, but somehow you're able to tolerate and adjust the light that's radiated from him.

if it isn't by his kindness, you would've gone blind the moment he came into sight. you really are losing your brain cells when satoru, the moon incarnation, the god, makes its presence known to you.

“... i came to ask for a blessing,” you answer, glancing at the man whose gaze is zeroed on the view in front of you two. not that you can blame him, the scenery is like a painting by the greatest painter to have ever existed. this space is the painter's canvas, a truly magnificent piece of work.

although, technically, satoru lives in this part of the forest divine hearth. this is his home; a place where he spends the eternal life of his.

“a blessing, you say …” he muttered. a minute of silence filled the air between the two of you before he spoke again. “i shall give you the blessing you've worked hard to achieve for. in return, would you accompany me for a talk?”

talk. the moon incarnation is asking you to engage in a conversation with him? a god is requesting something from … you.

you blink once. twice.

it's quite an odd request coming from a being that can alter the world, but in a sense it does makes sense. as a god, he has no one but himself. nature and all that comes with it aren't enough to fulfill the aching void inside him. the exact one that's gnawing at him when he thinks of the life outside this forest.

not that any soul should know of the fact that the one they came for a blessing is craving for an interaction— it's not befitting his status, his sole purpose of existence.

the god is drowning in loneliness.

“... i suppose i can do that, satoru,” you reply to him after a while.

his, supposedly, name sounds foreign rolling off your tongue like an ancient language yet to be found. however, your pair of ears can catch the way it's threaded into a prayer to the air the moment it leaves between your lips.

the wind around you is blowing—kissing your skin—as his name dances along the breeze that's coating you in this feeling of familiarity and deeper to the sense of coming home that you felt earlier.

satoru's head turned to you, then. a soft, warm smile plastered on his lips. “thank you. i shall make it worth your time.”

oh, you already have, you thought to yourself.

“how's the world outside of the forest?” he asked you, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

now, you paused at the question. shouldn't he, as the god, know of what's happening all around the world? he's the one being above anything that exists in this world. both breathing and what not. he has the privilege of seeing what happened in the past, present, and future; the question doesn't suit him.

you pressed your lips into a thin line, mind wandering here and there to arrange an answer that doesn't pry into the mind of a god. it already feels odd enough to sit next to someone who should be anything but beside you.

much to your demise, one of the nature of humans that's hard to brush off is wanting to know more than they should. forcing both eyes and ears to gather things for the sake of satisfaction, for themselves.

curiosity, to be precise.

“shouldn't that be something you're able to … privy?” your brows furrowing, not knowing the word to choose in this situation.

the man's smile faltered. he didn't think that question would leave your mouth. then again, he shouldn't have underestimated the basic pinnacle of humans that made them, them.

satoru ponder your question for a while before letting out a sigh, his head turning to face the waterfall again. “... it's a headache.”

… a headache?

he glances at you, chuckling when he takes in the bewildered and confused expression that painted your face. your eyes are sparkling with the need of wanting to learn more, unraveling the truth there's to know about the man sitting beside you in the forest that's more than your mind may depict, can portray.

“the limitless knowledge of humans and this universe can send me into a spiral of headache,” he continues. satoru's gaze roamed around the sight of the forest behold just for them to see. “although i am what you may call a god. incarnation, in whatever form there is, is the weaker state of me.”

as you listen to his explanation, you can hear the faint hint of loneliness in the back of his voice that's crawling itself out. although, it stops halfway out of fear of being seen. after all, vulnerability isn't something that goes well with a being that's immortal.

so, even god can fear something, you think.

“... does it ever get lonely here?” you asked, changing your attention to the way the tree leaves brushing against one another. creating a sound of ruffles in a soothing way.

the man beside you stood up, he paved his way towards the edge of the ground, close to the plunge pool. “what do you think, knightess? would you be drenched by loneliness if we were to switch places?”

his words tugged something inside you. it seems like he pulls a string that you never know is there. or maybe one that you never wanted to acknowledge in fear of feeling like a failure of a knight.

dread.

being one of the small number of female knights is something you're very proud of. it's a dominated male part of the world. the work as a knight is one that people would argue isn't befitting a female. the road is full of blood, sweat, regrets, betrayal, tears; all what many see isn't for females to pursue.

the feeling of dread from being alone doesn't stand side-by-side with what it takes as a knight. any knight should throw kinds of emotion to exist for them to be able to walk this earth with nothing to hold them back.

it's the very reason you always try to push away the feeling of dread whenever it washes you as you stand frozen while the thought of what's to come flashes your mind; the countless nights you spend wide awake staring at the ceiling; the days you find yourself staring into the endless horizons.

you're afraid someone knows this part of you and declared that you aren't one for the title as a knight. fear of someone saying that you're a soul who steals a place for someone out there who deserves it more than you. caging a soul that meant to be free.

silence, once again, shared between the two of you. each one battling with the turmoil inside them. it stays like that for a while before you stand up and strode to his side, kneeling on the ground as your knees pressed against the grass to touch the water and splash it around.

“they said that water holds memories.”

he didn't answer immediately, mind repeating your words a few times before he spoke. “everything holds memories, not only water. both living things and non-living things.”

“... like the mirror my mother passed to me which she inherited from my grandmother?” you look up at him.

the man smiled hearing what you said, feeling a sense of pride that you caught on to what he meant by saying that. “precisely. this very grass you walk on remembers the shape of the feet or footwear of every existence that have brushed against it.”

“what's with the sudden talk about memories, knightess? are you recalling some?” he asked you. his gaze darting to you who's kneeling beside him, hand fiddling with the water.

“i'm a quite nostalgic person.”

satoru's brows raised at your statement. a word that very much matches a human whose time is limited in this world, the other side of a coin to him whose lifetime is limitless.

it struck him, again.

he sometimes forgets that the people who visit this forest have only a little amount of time to spend compared to him who has walked this ground longer than he remembers. the life of your kind is fickle and fragile. satoru is the opposite of that.

like a fire torch, if your kind—a red, orangish fire—were to go against a storm, it'll be in the blink of an eye before it dies down.

satoru's fire is as blue as the shade of the waterfall in the center of this forest. as bright and clear as the sky during a warm, beautiful sunny day. as deep as his eyes that hold the beginning and the end of this world.

the hottest flame to exist, the hardest to put out.

“what's your most … favorite memories, if you don't mind sharing with me?” satoru reply after a while.

you blink a few times at the question, seemingly taken aback by how heavy the question is. and without you having time to stop and prepare yourself, a flood of memories came crashing down to you like waves washing the shore.

every memory that had come to life at some point in this life of yours had you rendered speechless, frozen in place. it's like someone forcefully trying to pull pictures out of your mind, your head starting to feel dizzy at the intensity.

it's like a share of your memory is an offering for him. another thing to give him beside your time in return for the blessing you had asked for.

“... it was when i'm younger, satoru.” you paused for a minute as your mind portrayed the memory you're recalling. “the time when the field was still blooming, covered with all kinds of flowers. now it's just a field of nothing.”

“a field of memories.”

you open your mouth before letting a soft chuckle. right, everything holds memories. the ground of the field remembers the way your little feet roamed around it. the wind there still whispers away the sound of your laughter during those days— it's never really lost.

“what about yours, satoru? are there any memories from this long lasting journey of yours that stand out from others?”

it was a question that seemed impossible to answer. satoru has breathed the air of this earth as long as it has existed. the man has seen, heard, smells of anything that is known to humans. yet for whatever reason, there's a memory that's deeply ingrained in him, he can't seem to cast away.

his feet tapped against the grass as his mind traveled to the memory. “once there's a grandma who came to visit me.”

a granny? some old woman visits him? going through the obstacles of the path to this forest?

“i was shocked when the breeze announced her arrival to me. this place is quite far from places where human resides,” he said. a warm smile tugging his lips as the memory plays like a moving pictures.

you listen to him intently. satoru's tone of voice changed into something of fondness, like when you first set foot into this enchanting forest.

“her soul was the purest one i’ve seen after a while that time. she was beaming with happiness and excitement. apparently, she greets every animal that comes into her view.”

satoru laugh echoes throughout the forest after finishing the sentence. the memory has a special place in his heart, it seems. he's shining even brighter than he already is.

and oh, may whoever is listening save you.

because the moment you hear his laugh that's heavy with warmth, the way he shines as he speaks of a fond memory— you think that you're falling for a being who you know better than to place feelings for. satoru is a moon incarnation, a god. the two of you live in a different world.

your world has already been filled with nothing but pain and craving for a better life. you don't need the feeling of yearning for someone you couldn't have, you shouldn't fall for. you don't have the energy to walk through another torturous path of your life that you helplessly stumble into.

“the animals were delighted. they didn't stop talking about her months after she left. grandma left quite an impression on them.” satoru takes a quick glance at you, his eyes trailing down on you from the top of your head. “she came to ask for a blessing for her grandchild that's about to be born.”

satoru's heart beat faster. a tad quicker. the second he locked eyes with you, he felt his heart beating rapidly. it's enough to make it feel like it's going to burst out of his heart.

you're staring at him like he's the sole reason why you're here, your existence. there's stars in your eyes. sparkling in a way that makes satoru's heart ache and longed for your presence some days after.

he takes a deep breath before exhaling, continuing from where he left off. “it was her first grandchild. she wanted to make sure that her first grandchild had the blessing of the moon.”

“that's very thoughtful of her,” you whisper.

“indeed … i heard from the wind that she spent the rest of her life surrounded with love.” he then quickly shifted his attention to the trees surrounding them.

satoru clears his throat. he turns around and stroll to the entrance of where you came from. “you should leave, knightess. it's never a great thing to stay here longer than an hour.”

your brows furrow in confusion at the sudden change of topic. though it's quickly forgotten the moment he mentioned an hour. it barely feels like half an hour, what does he mean by that?

the man didn't look at you, his eyes set on the entrance. “time works differently here. you shall not stay longer.”

at his words, you quickly stand up. your armors rattling at the abrupt action, causing a slight alteration from the calm and peaceful that's wrapping the forest.

it didn't take long before you stood before him, mind still reeling from how fast it had been and the conversation that was far from finished. it was only the starting line between the two of you.

although maybe, maybe it's better to bid your farewell now before you lose your mind and fall deeper to the warm light that he has shown you. the two of you aren't meant to stand by each other. it's an unwritten rule in this world.

while you're trying to gather your mind, he reaches for your right hand, making you startle and look at him.

his hair, whiter than anything you've seen, the true embodiment of the color white are on your view as he leans in to place a chaste kiss against your hand. it wasn't just a mere one kiss that he graced you with.

satoru's lips pressed softly against your skin as he mumbled words you couldn't catch. the kisses he sent you away with are on the back of your hand, your knuckles, your fingers, your palm— he kissed every part of you that there's to lay his lips on.

and you, on the receiving end, are standing frozen. the intimacy of the moment had you in shambles. every fiber in you screaming at the contact of his lips against your skin. the blood that streams through you suddenly feels as warm as the honeycomb your mother just harvested before you left.

before you're able to say anything else, the grass had already pulled you away from him. it's a gentle push, but still able to leave you letting go a gasp of shock. everything was moving too quickly, you couldn't comprehend a single thing that's happening.

you tried to look over your shoulder, but the breeze was blowing to your face. obstructing your sight as the hair covers your eyes. when your hair is finally out of your view, the entrance is gone.

satoru are nowhere in sight.

and you're left heartbroken, unable to bid him farewell and take a last look at him. you were taken away from the right of memorizing his face so you could engrave it to your soul, to make sure you remember how he looks when you're asked to paint a picture of him on someone's mind.

unfortunately, he didn't let you. satoru didn't give you any chance to grief the feeling that was just starting to bloom for him even by a second of the time that passed here. you're shattered on the ground, passing that phase of cracking slowly but surely, because even something as small as that— he didn't let you embrace it.

the man on the other hand is down on his knees. eyes wide as his body trembles while nature wrapped itself around him, transferring a sense of comfort. the water splashes on him, the grass is clinging to his body, the animals—deer, butterfly, rabbits—nuzzle themselves against him, the wind kisses his skin tenderly.

why, anyone might ask?

satoru, the moon incarnation, the light, the god had found himself entranced by a human he shouldn't have. he had defied the rules of the universe; no god shall fall for any being.

there's no part of life where an eternal life can stand alongside a human whose life is always on the line. and even nature can feel how his heart is cracking.

he's doomed.

and he shall pay the price of the longing that came second after second, minutes after minutes, hours after hours, days after days, weeks after weeks, months after months, years after years, decade after decade, centuries after centuries— for the very truth that time doesn't really exist in his world.

while you, another soul amongst trillions, will live in the gaps of his mind and fill him with emptiness where there's no end. even when he already tried to disintegrate you into the air, telling the breeze to whisk you afar, you're left somewhere in his life.

because his mind chose to erase a little part of his long lasting life that has you in it. satoru doesn't want to live in misery and losing his identity as the god who lost his light when he's the light itself.

it couldn't happen.

then, before he even recalls and realizes it, you're nothing but a fractured memory in the moon incarnation—a god—mind. leaving nature and iron of your armor as the only thing left as the witness of the short moment shared between you two, the only thing that remembers.

after all, just like what the man had said: everything holds memories.

taglist. @besidesjustmyamour @killakuna @sytorusdoll @1stmagnoila @vegasbabyyyy @mariteez @violetpurplez @scaraslover @ritsatoru [open]

Ever since you and Bob broke up, you’d been trying your best not to visibly mope too much. It had been almost three months since the breakup, and it was easy to avoid Bob when you went on missions and he stayed behind at the Watchtower. You did everything you could to throw yourself into work and volunteer for missions with barely any breaks in between to avoid the pain of seeing him. 

Everything was going to plan until Bucky put his foot down after you almost got shot in your exhaustion. Luckily, John had gotten there just in time, but it was a closer call than any of your teammates were comfortable with. 

So, for the last week, you’d been locked in your room to avoid Bob. You tried desperately not to run into him, only using common areas when you knew he was scheduled for training. 

That was how Ava and Yelena got the idea to have one of their famous Thunderbolts—you never did quite feel like the “New Avengers” label fit you, much preferring your inside joke team name—girls’ nights out. 

And boy, were they regretting that now. 

You were something of a dark horse when it came to alcohol tolerance. 

At first, Yelena and Ava were blown away by your ability to throw back drinks. For the first hour, Yelena was banging on the bar top and yelling for you to chug while Ava cupped her hands around her mouth and cheered. During the second hour, you hit the dance floor, closed your eyes, and let your hips sway with the pulsating beat of the 2000s dance track playing. 

It was the third hour when all your drinks caught up with you. 

You were delightfully sweet when you were drunk; they had to give you that. 

Even though you were leaning against the bar, blinking slowly at your friends, you had a honeyed smile on your lips. Your already short dress was riding up your thighs as you slumped on a bar stool, and the eyeliner Yelena had carefully applied for you at the start of the night was smudged at the corners.

The nightclub had already started winding down. The dance floor that was buzzing only half an hour ago was now a cluster of stragglers clinging to the last songs. You could taste salt on your lips, from sweat or the rim of some forgotten glass. 

“Yelena, your hair looks soooo good slicked back,” you said, just slightly slurring your words. Yelena, whose love language was exchanging insults and making fun of you, stared back emotionlessly. “Like—like a sexy seal. Ava, tell her she’s a sexy seal.” 

“Yes,” Ava deadpanned. “She is a very attractive aquatic mammal. Happy?” 

You laughed, delighted. “See? You get it. Yelena’s the prettiest seal in the sea. If seals wore blue eyeliner and were trained to kill.” 

You blinked slowly. The lights in the room had gone softer, pink, purple, and blue lights smearing at the edges like a watercolour painting. Your body was slow to obey you, limbs heavy and skin hot, a pleasant hum under your skin where alcohol loosened your nerves. 

Yelena snorted, then sighed as she watched you wobble on your stool. “Okay, dorogaya, time to go,” she declared. In your inebriated state, you had no idea this was the fifth time she’d said this. “Drink’s empty, party’s over. Up you get.” 

You pouted, clutching your glass protectively. It was empty, save for some ice left behind, condensation wetting your fingers. “Noooo, I’m not leaving until Bob gets here!” 

Rubbing her forehead, Ava tried not to lose her temper. “Bob didn’t come out with us tonight,” she reminded you. “He’s back at the Watchtower.” 

You leaned across the bar top, whispering like you were telling them a secret. “Liar. He never misses girls’ night out!” 

Yelena rolled her eyes, muttering, “I am not paid enough for this.” Then, more gently, she tried to urge you out of your stool. “Come on, you’ll see him tomorrow.” 

You shook your head furiously, words dragging together. “Nooo, I need him now! I miss him. I love you both sooo much, but you’re not Bob. Nobody’s Bob but Bob.” You pointed very seriously at Ava, who blinked like she wasn’t sure how to answer.

“True,” is what she went with. “I’m not Bob.” Then, below her breath, Ava muttered, “Who’d want to be from Florida?” 

You giggled, throwing your arms around her anyway. “But you’re my best ghosty-shadow girl. I love you.” Ava had to admit that it was nice to get a hug. If there was one thing the Thunderbolts were starved of, it was physical affection, but you gave it out freely and happily. “But I need Bob to take me home.” 

Yelena lowered her voice while you nuzzled Ava’s shoulder. “She’s going to break him in half,” she declared. Even though he was the one who broke up with you, everyone knew it absolutely destroyed him. “He’s just barely standing, and now this?” 

The pinched expression on Ava’s face suggested she agreed. “I don’t like it either. But she’s not going to move for anyone else. She’ll stand here all night long, hoping Bob will show up.” 

You lifted your head suddenly, eyes bright and wet. “Did I ever tell you? Bob makes the best midnight snack noodles.” A faraway, glazed-over shine filled your irises. “He always stirs them with chopsticks because he thinks it makes the soup tastier.” Your voice grew tender. As your eyelids grew heavy, each blink lasted a second longer than the last. “Nobody makes noodles like Bob…” 

Yelena tried not to let the stab in her chest show on her face. “You are killing me.” 

You perked back up, grabbing Yelena’s hand and kissing it. “But youuu, you’re the absolute best. You’re my girl forever, Lena. Even if you make me drink water when I don’t want to.” 

Taking the opportunity, Ava suggested, “Maybe drink some now? Before you declare your love for the bartender.” 

You gasped, genuinely scandalised, clutching a non-existent string of pearls. “I would never! Only Bob.” Your gaze fell to the bartender, eyes narrowing as you studied him. “…Also, maybe the bartender a little bit. He gave me free fries.”

Yelena muttered something under her breath in Russian, and Ava was glad she didn’t understand the profanity. “She is impossible,” Yelena complained. 

“She went all krav maga on my arse when I tried to drag her out,” Ava reminded her flatly. “I vote we surrender and text him.”

You were the most experienced out of the three of them at hand-to-hand combat, and you nearly tossed Ava over your shoulder the first time she tried to help you out the door. Even drunk, you weren’t going to let anyone carry you anywhere. 

Yelena pinched the bridge of her nose. “He’ll come. And then what? We get front row tickets to his heartbreak?” 

“Better than a broken wrist,” Ava retorted, but she didn’t look happy about it.  

You leaned across the bar again, all wide-eyed with sincerity. Some of your body glitter was smudged across your cheek. “You guys always take care of me. You’re my family.” Your voice wobbled, suddenly heavy with emotion. “But I just— I need him, okay?”

Yelena shut her eyes, inhaling sharply. “Text him the code,” she told Ava. “Before she starts crying.” 

Ava, who was already pulling out her phone, muttered, “He’s going to kill us for letting her get this drunk.” 

“At least we’ll leave in one piece,” Yelena said.

AVA: code safety net. she’s fine, just refuses to leave the club without you.

When you and Bob first started dating, he set up what he called a “safety net” with the rest of the team. If anyone sent him a code safety net, he’d come running. The idea was that it was for non-emergencies, moments when you needed him but couldn’t ask him yourself. 

The last time anyone sent him that code was over four months ago, when you were still his girlfriend. 

Now, Bob sat on the edge of his bed, tugging his sneakers on one at a time. Getting that code used to mean rolling out of bed, grumbling half-heartedly to himself about how you’d gotten yourself into trouble, and loving that it was his responsibility to come and help you. 

Reading the code word now felt like stepping into dangerous territory. Bob didn’t know if he was allowed to be the person who came to your aid now that you’d broken up. 

When he got the text, he’d already had the messages app open, scrolling through an endless exchange of texts between the two of you. He knew he shouldn’t have reread them again, but it was like pressing on a bruise to see if it still hurt.

Spoiler alert: it did. A lot.

Even months after the breakup, letting you go was something Bob hadn’t quite figured out how to do, no matter how hard he tried. 

He had to remind himself that he had reasons to break up with you; good reasons. Bob reminded himself of these reasons constantly, just to stop himself from taking it all back. 

At the end of the day, it wasn’t fair of him to drag you into his mess. He was still trying to learn what it meant to be Sentry, still doing his best to tame the thing inside him that one day might crack open and release Void into the world again. He couldn’t risk that, not with you sleeping beside him every night. 

Whether he was Bob, Sentry, or Void, he would burn the world down if he ever hurt you. 

And then there was his sobriety. Even in the best of times, it was a fragile, fickle thing. Bob had been in and out of programmes enough to know how it worked: no new relationships for at least a year, not until his feet were steady under him. He had broken that rule the moment he kissed you, but he couldn’t let his feelings for you be the reason he fell apart this time. 

You were the right person at the worst possible time. 

Bob knew meeting you was the kind of kismet people only got once in your life, and that’s if they’re lucky. He never considered himself particularly lucky, so he’d held on tight when he first found you. 

Bob wondered now if that made it worse. Now that you were broken up, he knew exactly what he was missing. 

When he arrived, the club was almost empty. The music was quiet, a few people were slouched against the walls outside, and the bouncer didn’t bother checking his ID when he walked in. 

The smell hit him first. The scent of cheap spirits was soaked into the bones of the club, leaving the floor sticky and tacky beneath his shoes. Even though nobody was smoking, cigarette smoke clung to the walls, making his throat tighten. The air was heavy with memories Bob didn’t particularly want to relive. 

He’d never been much of a drinker, but chemicals were chemicals, and his body recognised the promise of it even if his mind didn’t want it. 

Bob’s mouth went dry, a phantom bitterness gathering at the back of his tongue. His thumb rubbed compulsively across the ridge of his palm, a nervous tick he’d barely registered unless you pointed it out to him. 

He spotted you sitting on a bar stool beside an exhausted-looking Ava and Yelena, and the way your eyes lit up when you saw him made something in his chest shatter. In seconds, you were there, arms flung around Bob’s neck with the easy warmth of someone who didn’t remember they were supposed to keep their distance. 

“I knew you’d come,” you murmured so sweetly that he felt his knees buckle a little.

You smelled of his favourite perfume, sweat, and alcohol, and it was so dizzying that it was almost like another type of intoxication. Bob’s breath hitched. He nearly folded into you without thinking, fingers twitching with the urge to hold you before remembering he wasn’t supposed to anymore.

His heart pounded against his ribs, too fast, too loud, and he irrationally you’d hear it. He forced his muscles to stiffen, every nerve screaming at him to let you go while every neuron insisted he hold you like he wanted to. It was the most delicious sort of agony. 

Yelena and Ava’s eyes flicked his way, because of course they noticed his turmoil, so he took a heavy step back. Inside, everything screamed. Bob tried to mask his face in calmness, knowing his teammates could see right through his efforts. 

“Sorry about this,” Ava said, grimacing at the way you pressed your face into Bob’s neck. “We wouldn’t have dragged you out if we had any other choice.”

Nodding drily, Yelena added, “She refused to leave. We tried everything short of a tranquiliser dart.”

“I’ve never seen her like this,” Ava mused. Now that Bob was here, your shoulders had completely relaxed. “She said she’d only go home if you came.”

Forcing a smile, Bob waved away their concern. “S’alright. Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you texted.”

“Don’t you think Yelena looks like a sexy seal?” you asked excitedly. Bob wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but nodded anyway. 

As you babbled drunkenly about what you got up to that night, Ava and Yelena shared a weary look. “He says he’s glad,” Yelena mumbled, “But he looks like he swallowed glass.”

“Yeah. I noticed,” Ava agreed.

“You know I can hear you, right?” Bob cut in, brows pulled together, offended. “I’m fine.”

When you moved back just enough to peer at him with glossy, adoring eyes, Bob audibly gulped. “I missed you so much, Bobby,” you said sweetly. Your voice was a little husky and tired, and it made him shiver. 

Stiffening slightly, Bob gently patted your back with one hand. The other was still busy doing his usual nervous tick, rubbing his thumb across his palm. “Yeah, I—I missed you too,” he stammered, shooting Ava and Yelena a concerned look.

Yelena softened, her expression regretful. “She doesn’t remember,” she explained, cadence uncharacteristically tender.  

It felt as if someone had punched Bob in the gut. He couldn’t actually feel anyone’s punches with his impenetrable skin, but God did he remember what it was like. His breath gushed out of him all at once, and his organs felt like they were being crushed together. 

Incredulous, he looked at you with wide, questioning eyes. And there you were, grinning at him like you’d never broken up. “You look soooo good tonight, handsome,” you told him. The familiar nickname was like a second blow to his stomach. “D’you know that?”

Bob’s eyes darted to the others. “Uh…”

You frowned, unhooking your arms from his neck and catching his hand in yours. “You’re doing it again. The thumb thing,” you noted. “You only do that when you’re worried. What are you worried about, Bobby?”

He choked a laugh, trying to pull free gently. “Nothin’, sweetheart. I just— don’t worry about me.”

Suppressing a laugh, Ava commented, “She’s sharper drunk than half the team sober.”

Yelena was slightly less tactful; she didn’t even try to hide her smirk. “Only when it comes to Bob,” she sang. “A tragic gift.” 

“Very inconvenient,” Ava agreed. 

Still holding Bob’s hand, your voice wobbled a little. “You didn’t answer me. I missed you. Did you miss me?” Your head tilted as you took on a seductive tone that used to make Bob do whatever you wanted. “You do, right? You always do, especially at night…”

Heat curled low in Bob’s stomach, and you thought you might have caught a familiar glimmer of gold in his irises. “Of course I missed you,” he admitted hoarsely. 

You hummed happily, lacing your fingers together and resting your other hand on his solid chest. “Knew it. You always say as long as you miss me, you love me. You still love me, right?” 

Bob swallowed loudly. “You’ve… had a lot to drink tonight.”

You offered him a bright, tipsy laugh. “Only enough to tell the truth,” you teased. “You’re my Bobby. Always my Bobby.” 

When you leaned in and started pressing kisses to his neck, Bob jerked back, turning scarlet. He shot Ava and Yelena a look that said, For God’s sake, how much did you let her drink? 

“Don’t look at us,” Ava exclaimed defensively, hands up. “We tried cutting her off hours ago. She just kept sneaking off and getting more.”

“We told the bartender to deny her orders, but she caught the next guy once his shift ended,” Yelena added, straight-faced. “It’s a miracle she still has a functioning liver.”

Bob huffed out of breath, blowing the hair from his face. “Okay.” He started steering you toward the exit. “C’mon. Time to head home now, yeah? Fresh air’ll do you good.”

Dopily blinking at Bob, you smiled. “If you think so, Bobby.”

Yelena and Ava trailed behind, keeping an eye on you. As you stepped into the cool night, the music dulled behind you. You closed your eyes contentedly as the breeze soothed your warm skin. New York City air wasn’t exactly fresh, but Bob said it’d help, so you basked in it regardless.

“Easy now,” he said, holding you steady. “One foot at a time.” You nodded, clinging to his arm and taking careful steps. 

“She does exactly what he says,” Yelena said, partially impressed. “We spent almost an hour arguing with her to switch to water.”

“Tell me about it,” Ava groaned. “I nearly pulled my hair out.”

“I told them I wouldn’t go without you,” you told Bob sincerely. “I knew you’d come. You always come when I need you, and I really needed you tonight.”

All Bob could do was nod, smile, and try not hide how much his hands were shaking. It was ridiculous how he still remembered the sensation of your weight against him. Muscle memory was a cruel thing, and this one came with a sharp jab in his chest. 

“Yeah. I’m here,” was all he could say.

Warmth pooled under your skin, not from alcohol but from leaning against Bob. His skin was always hot, bleeding into you until you felt safe and cosy in his arms. 

You paused as Ava lifted a hand to flag down a cab. Bob could feel the burn of Yelena’s stare and pointedly ignored her. While you were the person who knew Bob best, Yelena was his best friend. The two of them were inextricably bonded after everything they’d gone through, and he knew he’d fall apart if he saw the pained sympathy on her face. 

“For the record, we did try everything,” Ava said as a nearby cab slowed to a stop beside them.

“At one point, she sat on the floor and said she lives in the club now. That was our breaking point,” Yelena added. She hurried to open the back door, watching Bob carefully manoeuvre you inside the cab. 

“Alright, careful now,” Bob warned, careful to put his hand out so you wouldn’t hit your head as you got in.

“Let’s go before she decides she’s staging another sit-in,” Ava sighed. She took the passenger seat, giving the cab driver the address for the Watchtower. 

The middle-aged man stared at her in shock, clearly recognising the address and the team in his car. Without making a big deal about it, he started the meter once Yelena slid into the last available seat in the back, shutting the door behind her. 

The cab rattled softly, city lights flickering across the windows. You were half-curled against Bob’s side, still talking despite your heavy eyelids. Yelena watched you with a conflicted frown.

“Knew you’d come for me, Bobby,” you murmured again. Your heartbeat slowed when your head tipped against his shoulder. “Always do.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” he assured you. The old anxiety ticks were back before he could stop them, thumb worrying the side of his index finger, shoulder giving the faintest twitch every time your hand shifted further up his thigh. “Let’s just get you home, alright?”

You smiled at him, eyes half-closed and gleaming with exhaustion. “Home’s wherever you are, silly.”

Bob felt his pulse jump in that ugly, uneven way it used to when he was strung out—except this was worse, because there was nothing to take the edge off. Just your eyes, devoted and pure, looking at him like he was still yours.

Noticing the shift towards the kind of honesty you wouldn’t be verbalising if you were sober, Yelena leaned forward a little. “You should rest,” she suggested. “Save the poetry for the morning.”

You giggled tiredly. “S’not poetry. S’the truth.” Your skin tingled deliciously where it touched Bob’s. It wasn’t sexual so much as the electrical spark of recognition, like your body was sighing in relief. “Missed you so much tonight, Bobby. Like my chest was hollow until I saw you walk in.” 

Ava turned from the passenger seat to glance at Yelena. 

Beside you, Bob stiffened. “You’ve, uh, you’ve had a long night,” he said, soft and strained. “Just close your eyes, yeah?”

You shook your head clumsily, words slurred but earnest. “Can’t. Gotta tell you.” You touched his chest softly, with all the care in the world. “For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not empty anymore,” you confessed. “And we’ve only been apart for a few hours. Isn’t that wild?”

Silence filled the cab. Even the driver flickered his eyes to the rear-view, then looked away.

Bob kept his jaw locked, molars grinding so hard he knew they’d crack if his body was still capable of breaking. It was better than letting his mouth soften, better than letting something slip that he couldn’t take back. There was a low, burning ache behind his sternum. Not sharp or panicked, but heavy, like his heart was collapsing in on itself.

Ava cleared her throat, trying to cut the tension. “Hey, maybe we all just… take a breather, yeah? Get some rest.”

You pouted, trying to keep your eyes open. “I love you. I always will.” Your laughter came out fond and warm, almost dreamy. “My Bobby…”

Bob looked stricken, eyes darting helplessly to Yelena. His thumb rubbed harder against his palm, and he was sure that if his skin could still chafe, it would have. Yelena shook her head slowly, silently urging him not to answer.

Still, there was an almost imperceptible shift toward you when you drifted off to sleep, his body betraying what he wouldn’t let himself admit aloud.

The worst of it was the relief. That tiny, treacherous thought whispering: you still loved him. You still wanted him. It made Bob light-headed, sick with hope he knew better than to trust. 

You can’t love me if you don’t remember why we ended things, he thought. You can’t. But God help me, I want to believe you.

Bob’s head tilted towards you as you dozed, the old instinct to shield you from the world kicking in even when he was supposed to have stopped. This was a masterclass in containment. He didn’t explode or crumble; he absorbed your confession, keeping it together while his heart split down the middle.

Bob effortlessly helped you out of the cab and up to your room in the Watchtower. It had taken a few months to get used to the newfound strength that came with the Sentry serum. But at least he wasn’t accidentally ripping doors off their hinges or breaking dishes when he picked them up anymore.

With uneven steps, he guided you into your room, setting you down on the bed. Seated, you blinked up at him, drowsy and smiling like he’d hung the stars. It was a look that was overfamiliar; an intimate expression he’d missed seeing.

“I’m not tired,” you mumbled, resisting his help.

“Love, you’re half asleep already,” Bob tried, coaxing but awkward. He gave a short, nervous laugh. “C’mon, let’s just get you sorted out.”

You squinted like he’d offended you. “Sorted? I don’t need sorting. I need… food.”

With a huff of laughter, he shook his head. “Face first. Food later. That’s—uh, that’s how it works. Pretty sure.” Then, mostly to himself: “If you’re still awake by then, which… yeah, probably not.”

Disappearing into the bathroom, Bob kept an ear out for any noises as he grabbed your makeup remover and wet a washcloth with warm water. He returned and crouched in front of you, carefully starting to wash your face for you. 

You leaned into the touch happily, taking the opportunity to admire your ex-boyfriend. “You always do it nicer than me,” you mumbled, grinning. “So good to me.”

Quietly, Bob admitted, “Old habit.”

You pouted playfully. “I love it when you take care of me,” you confessed. “I always think it’s so hot when you—”

“Okay, I think it’s time for pyjamas,” Bob blurted, pushing up to his feet a little too fast. He turned away, ears pink, and wondered briefly if his poor heart was as conflicted as his mind was tonight. “Don’t fall over, alright?”

After taking your favourite pair out from your dresser, Bob turned his back to you as you wriggled into your pyjamas. His back was unnaturally stiff, listening for the sound of you stumbling. When you flopped back against the pillows, hair mussed and smile loose, he finally glanced over.

“See?” you said proudly. “All sorted. I can sleep now.”

Relieved, Bob nodded. “Good.” He moved to tuck the blanket around you. 

You blinked up at him, suddenly urgent. “Wait,” you said, loud and high-pitched. “Snack!”

Bob sighed. “But—”

“No, Bob, listen,” you hurried, sitting back up with wide eyes. “If I don’t eat something right now I’ll die.” Your confession wobbled, tears starting to form as your eyes became glassy.

Oh boy. If there was one thing that was Bob’s Achilles heel, it was you crying.

There was something so heart-wrenching and wrong about seeing you in tears. The way your cheeks puffed up and your eyes widened, lips curving down into the most perfect frown, was enough for him to agree to do anything to make it stop.

“I’m so hungry now,” you whined, the first few tears cascading down your cheeks. Bob caught them without thinking, chest aching at the sight. He was torn between wanting to maintain some semblance of ex-appropriate boundaries and the dull twinge in his chest.

Eventually, his soft heart couldn’t take it any longer. “God, sweetheart,” he groaned. “You can’t do that. You know I’m useless when you cry.” He tried to laugh, but it came out as a thin sound.

You sniffled, only a touch dramatic. “You wouldn’t let me starve. You love me too much.”

He shut his eyes at that, steadying himself. “You don’t play fair,” he said under his breath.

Triumphantly, you offered Bob a teary smile. “So… snack?”

“Fine,” he agreed. “Yeah, okay. But you stay put, alright? Don’t you dare try and follow me.” Bob wasn’t sure what he’d do if you kept looking at him like you still loved him. “Just stay here.”

You huffed, visibly offended. “As if I’d follow you.”

Bob arched his brow. “You absolutely would.”

“Nu-uh!”

You padded into the kitchen after Bob, clutching the back of his sweatshirt like he’d disappear if you let go. He was resigned but soft with you, guiding you towards the counter. The fluorescents hummed overhead faintly. 

“Midnight feast!” you whisper-yelled excitedly, pumping your free fist in the air.

“It’s a quarter to two,” Bob corrected.

You gasped, delighted. “Even better,” you declared. 

Bob wasn’t sure what your metric was for deciding what time was better to have a snack, but he laughed anyway. He went through the fridge while you rummaged noisily through the pantry. 

Moments later, your tiny gasp of joy filled the kitchen. You held up two packets of noodles like they were a rare treasure. “Bob, noodles!” You held them out for him, already climbing onto the counter deftly. Even your drunken state couldn’t stop years of practised agility. “It’s perfect.”

Bob gave a half-laugh, shaking his head. “That’s… yeah, sure. Wild, right? Cosmic destiny.”

Midnight noodles were something of a weekly ritual when you were dating. You usually had dinner early with the rest of the team, then stayed up late chatting and cuddling. By the time the two of you were tired enough to sleep, you were hungry again. 

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t mock.”

He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh no, hey, I’m serious. I swear.”

Taking the packet from you before you tore it open with your teeth, Bob took out a saucepan and set the water to boil. You sat swinging your legs, watching him with lazy admiration. 

Bob’s shoulders hunched, stomach tightening each time you called out to him affectionately. His face was schooled into neutrality, but he didn’t know how much longer he could hold it. He was hyper-aware of your position in the room. If you swayed, even slightly, his whole body tensed in case he needed to catch you.

“You like this,” you mused, teasing him. A lazy, fizzy happiness bubbled in your chest. You couldn’t quite figure out why, but you felt truly happy for the first time in a long time. “Taking care of me.”

Bob ducked his head shyly. “I like when you’re not sad. Or mad at me. So,” he motioned awkwardly to the stove, “noodles.”

You nodded. “You’re good at making sure I’m not sad,” you said fondly. “Can’t ever feel sad around you.”

It was a compliment that meant more to him than you could imagine. 

Bob chuckled lowly. “No, I’m good at screwing stuff up, mostly. This is just hot water and noodles. Even I can’t—” he faltered, jaw tightening. “Well, I probably could mess it up.”

You frowned at his characteristic self-deprecation. “Don’t be mean to Bob,” you scolded.

Bob raised an eyebrow, dropping the noodles in the boiling water. “Pretty sure I am Bob.”

“Exactly,” you huffed. “Don’t be mean to my Bob.”

He nearly dropped his chopsticks at that. Clearing his throat, Bob bought himself some time by stirring the soup base into the water. To himself, he mumbled, “Didn’t know I was still yours.”

You smiled, still oblivious to your break-up. “‘Course you are, Bobby. You’ll always be mine, and I’ll always be yours. That’s how the whole ‘forever’ thing works.”

Bob busied himself with the noodles, but when you started humming, he couldn’t stop glancing at you. You leaned your cheek against the cupboard beside you, watching him as if he’d strayed out of a dream. Reaching for him without thinking, you tugged carefully at Bob’s sleeve, pulling his free wrist closer.

“Miss you tonight,” you told him, longing to hold his hand.

Bob laughed softly, deflecting. “I’m right here.”

You shook your head stubbornly. “Not like that. Missed you in my bones, y’know?”

His chest squeezed. He cracked the chilli oil packet open to have an excuse to take his hand back. “Yeah, but you had your thing, right? Girls’ night. Shots. Dancing. Didn’t need me standing awkwardly in the corner.”

“Always need you,” you argued.

Bob’s hand tightened around the chopsticks. Still facing the stove, he begged, “Don’t say that.”

Your brows pulled together. “Why not?”

“‘Cause it’s— you’re drunk, okay?” It was tough to maintain a firm boundary and not get lost in how you treated him like he was still your boyfriend. “You say stuff like that—”

“Because it’s true,” you said happily. “You’re shy tonight. What’s the matter?”

“I’m,” he gestured at himself, voice breaking, “I’m Bob. I’m the guy who ruins every good thing he touches. And you’re…” he trailed off, swallowing hard. Bob couldn’t bring himself to say, You’re the last person I wanted to hurt.

You slid off the counter, stepping closer. Bob finally looked at you, wincing like it hurt to meet your eyes. For a second, all the noise in his body stopped—no fidgeting, no rambling. Just raw, aching stillness.

“You are something good, Bob,” you declared. It would have been sweet had your words not slurred together, reminding him of your tipsiness. 

Bob reached for the bowls and poured noodles and soup into them. “Okay, so, noodles—uh, one for you, one for me,” he rambled, passing you the bowl with a noticeably bigger portion.

Bob returned to your room, balancing a glass of water and some painkillers for the headache you were sure to have in the morning. You were curled beneath the duvet, hair a mess, cheeks warm, still blinking against the low light. The noodles had settled in your stomach without making you nauseous, which you were both grateful for. 

He set the glass on the bedside table, fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure if he should tuck you in or back away. “So,” he cleared his throat. Your eyes drifted up to his. They looked like the ocean during a storm, and you were transfixed. “There we are. One water, one magic pill. Not as fun as tequila, but you’ll thank me in the morning.”

You grinned sleepily. “You’re bossy.” You were comfortable in Bob’s presence, letting your guard down entirely.

He huffed a shy laugh. “M’not bossy, I’m being responsible. Someone’s gotta keep you from feeling rotten tomorrow.”

“Bossy,” you sang, pulling the duvet higher. Bob rolled his eyes fondly. He perched at the edge of the bed, hands clasped so tight in his lap his knuckles paled. You noticed. “Why do you look like you’re waiting for your turn at a job interview?”

Startled, Bob stammered, “Wh—what? I’m not— this is just how I sit.”

You giggled. “We’ve been dating for, like, nine months. I think I know how you sit.”

Bob bit his lip, glanced away, then reached down to straighten the corner of the duvet to keep his hands busy. “Just making sure you’re settled,” he said. “That’s all.”

You hummed, dubious. “You’re fussing. You only fuss when you’re nervous.”

His cheeks turned pink at that. “Maybe I’m always nervous around you,” he diverted your question. You blinked up at him, a little too fuzzy to catch the weight of it. “Right. You’re all tucked in. No more sneaking around for snacks, okay?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but a muffled sound at the door caught your attention. A soft little purr. Both your heads turned. “Apine!” you gasped, ecstatic to see Bucky’s feline companion entering your room.

The little white cat slipped in, tail high, and leapt onto the bed. You sat up straighter, arms out, laughing as Alpine bumped her head against your chin and curled beside you. Your smile spread wide and unguarded.

“Hi baby,” you cooed, stroking her head with the back of your hand. “I thought you didn’t love me anymore.”

“‘Course she does. She’s just picky.” Bob brushed a crease from your pillow, doing anything to stop himself from reaching for you.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you accused Alpine, speaking to her in a low, dulcet tone. You watched her with almost childlike delight, pressing your cheek against her. “For weeks and weeks. I thought I got on your bad side somehow. Like that time John accidentally stepped on your tail.”

Bob chuckled, but his hands twisted together in his lap. He bit at his lower lip. Watching Alpine’s purrs vibrate against your cheek made his chest split in two. He’d always been more of a dog person, but he did have a soft spot for Bucky’s cat. “I’m sure she just missed you.”

“Or you,” you argued. “You’re her second favourite, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know about that.”

“No, you are. Everyone knows it,” you insisted. “She follows you around like a shadow. You spoil her with treats when you think nobody’s looking.”

“I guess she likes me well enough,” Bob allowed. His hand hovered near Alpine’s back, then withdrew, retreating to his lap.

You giggled into Alpine’s fur, drunk and unbothered. But then the giggle faded, replaced by a sudden, sharp earnestness you couldn’t quite stop.

“But she hasn’t come near me for weeks,” you murmured, lips pressed to the soft patch between the feline’s ears. Your hand stilled on her fur. “Not since…”

The words trailed away. You didn’t know why. Some small, skittish part of you pulled back from finishing the thought.

Your smile slipped, slow and reluctant, like something precious sliding out of your grip. A heaviness pressed against your chest, cutting off the little bubble of warmth you’d been floating in all night long. You lifted your head, blinking at Bob. His face was flushed, eyes darting from you to Alpine to the headboard behind your shoulder.

Your stomach dipped, a cold wash chasing away the warmth of the alcohol. That’s it, isn’t it? The pieces slid into place with cruel precision, emerging from the alcohol-induced fog that kept them hidden all night long.

“She’s been with you,” you said, the words cracking open in your throat. “Because we—because we’re not…”

Bob froze, throat bobbing as it worked against words that wouldn’t form. “I—I—don’t…” He tried again, breath stuttering. “It’s not—”

The ache in your chest grew so quickly that it made your hands shake. You dragged trembling fingers down Alpine’s back, stroking her fur in desperate repetition, like you could keep yourself from fracturing if you just kept the motion steady.

Your voice spilled into the room in a whisper. “We’re not together anymore, are we?”

The words hurt more once spoken, like they’d hadn’t been true until you said them aloud. Tears pricked hot at the corners of your eyes. You blinked hard, but it only made them spill faster, streaking down your cheeks and landing in Alpine’s snowy fur.

“You broke up with me,” you recalled, your reply wavering in the middle of your sentence.

Bob looked ruined. His whole chest heaved, and for a moment, he just stared, caught in the wreckage. Hesitant and trembling, his hand pulled you gently, carefully into him. The dam broke when Bob wrapped his arms around you, turning your silent cries into sobs.

“Don’t—don’t cry. Please,” Bob begged, audibly torn. One hand rubbed your back in clumsy circles, while the other cupped your head, tender and desperate.

Your question came muffled against his shirt, small and devastating. “Why did you break up with me? I love you so much.”

Bob flinched like the words struck him, eyes squeezing shut. His hand kept caressing your back, not steady but frantic, trying to stop both of you from falling apart.

You pressed your face harder into his sweatshirt, tears hot and messy against the fabric. The sobs came out loud and hard, shaking your shoulders, then softened into smaller gasps and hiccups as the rhythm of Bob’s hand calmed you. 

He could feel how your remaining energy slowly burned itself out. First, your trembling quietened, then your hands loosening where they’d clutched his sweatshirt, then the weighted slump of your body. His arms tightened around you instinctively, holding you upright.

You gave a little sniff. “Don’t you love me?”

Every muscle in Bob’s body locked. His lips parted, but nothing came out at first; not with your breath warming his sweatshirt, not with the fragile pressure of you sinking so trustingly into him.

“I— Do I love you?” The words shuddered out of him, frayed at the edges. “Of course I do.”

But when he pulled back to see your face, your lashes were already lowered, breaths evening out, body soft in the safety of his arms. Your question had used up the last of your energy, and now you were asleep.

Bob’s chest throbbed with relief and grief all at once. You’ll never know, he thought. Not really. Not the way he wanted to tell you—awake, sober, with steady hands instead of shaking ones. He pressed his chin to the top of your head, shutting his eyes to stop his own tears from falling.

You woke to sunlight pressing against your eyelids, a dull yellow insistence that came from your curtains being open. Your head throbbed; not stabbing but heavy, like someone had stuffed your skull with cotton. Your mouth was dry, your tongue thick, every swallow tasting faintly of metal.

You blinked slowly, trying to piece the previous night together. What you remembered came in flashes: Ava’s laugh at the bar, Yelena making a face at the DJ, colourful lights blurring overhead. And then, nothing. Just a clean break in the reel, as though someone had pressed stop and forgotten to hit record again.

At least you were in your own bed, the duvet pulled up to your chin like your own personal fairy godmother helped you home. You couldn’t smell cheap takeaway on your clothes, which meant you’d dodged your usual post-club ritual of inhaling fries at three in the morning. 

Still, the gap in your memory made your stomach twist a little. Not in fear, you trusted Ava and Yelena too much for that, but embarrassment. A mortifying little voice in your head whispered that if you’d blacked out at the end of the night, you’d probably done or said something mortifying. 

You groaned and pressed the heel of your palm to your eyes. 

After taking the painkiller someone left for you on your bedside table, you shuffled into the kitchen looking for something to have eat. You didn’t care that your hair was mussed and you looked distinctly worse for wear; you just needed to get something into your stomach before the nausea took over. 

In the kitchen, Yelena and Ava were sitting at the table while John rifled through the pantry. Both of them look just as bad as you did. Yelena wore sunglasses even though you were indoors, and Ava still had eyeliner streaked across her face. You gratefully accepted a cup of coffee when Ava passed it to you. Collapsing into the chair beside her, you groaned quietly. 

“Okay,” you began, a little sheepish. “Don’t laugh. I don’t remember anything after the club last night.” Your friends shared a look that said they weren’t surprised. “I just wanted to say thanks for dragging me home and dealing with me.”

Yelena smirked. “Dragging is the right word. You fought like a feral raccoon.”

“We were two seconds away from calling animal control,” Ava chimed in, grinning.

If they were teasing you, then their hangovers weren’t that bad.

You groaned, burying your face in your arms. “I knew it. I’m the worst drunk.” When you looked up, you gave your friends your prettiest smile. “Sorry about that. How did you even get me into bed?” 

Yelena and Ava exchanged a quick look. 

Before you could prompt them further, John interrupted. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he screeched. You turned around just in time to see him slam the pantry doors shut, glaring at the three of you like you’d committed a horrible betrayal. “Who ate my noodles?” John demanded. 

All he got in return was three blank stares. 

“Pardon?” Ava asked, her tone suggesting she was already done with the conversation before it started.

“My last two packets of instant ramen,” John said, crossing his arms and glaring between you. You had to admit, as much as you all liked messing with him, he could be pretty intimidating when he wanted to be. “Been saving them all week, and what do I find? Empty shelf.”

Without missing a beat, Yelena said, “Maybe the universe is telling you to eat a vegetable.”

“The universe can shove it,” John deadpanned. “Someone in here’s a thief. And don’t act innocent! It’s been a while, but my noodles used to vanish every week like clockwork.” 

You froze with your coffee cup halfway to your lips. Your eyes snapped to Yelena and Ava, who were already looking at you, matching your wide-eyed look of surprise. 

“It was Bob,” you said quietly, almost accusing, once John gave up and started searching the fridge for something edible. “That’s how you got me to come home.”

Yelena sighed heavily, rubbing between her eyebrows like she was getting a headache. “We didn’t have a choice, you wouldn’t leave without him. Besides, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Wasn’t that bad?!” you exclaimed, not buying it for a single second. “I know exactly how unhinged I get when I’m drunk, and you let me spend the night with my ex-boyfriend?”

“You honestly didn’t do anything embarrassing,” Ava insisted. Then, she paused. “Well, I guess you did forget you were broken up and treated him like you were still together,” she admitted. You opened your mouth to keep yelling, so she hurriedly added, “But he was honestly fine with it!”

“He took it very well,” Yelena agreed. “It crushed his mind, body, and spirit. But he took it well.”

“Even if I was asking for him, I can’t believe you forced him to come,” you retorted.

Yelena gasped. “We did not force him!”

John, who was eavesdropping the entire time, cut in. “Wait, wait, hold up.” Your eyes drifted over to him. “Are we even allowed to call a code safety net if the two of them are broken up?”

You frowned. “Code what?” 

“Nicely done, Walker,” Yelena drawled sarcastically, pretending to applaud him. She was known to resort to his last name when he messed something up. Which, in her eyes, was often. “What is it about a secret code that you don’t understand?”

“What secret code?” you asked, already dreading the answer.

“Okay look,” Ava said, giving it to you straight. “When you and Bob started dating, he set up an emergency code called ‘safety net.’ If you were too far gone at the club, or if you needed him but were too scared to ask, we’d send him the code. He always came to help, no matter what.”

You swallowed, processing the news. “That’s…”

“Overly protective?” John teased, smirking a little. He didn’t mean it, of course. Nobody had called a code safety net more often than him. He just lived to tease you and was convinced you ate his noodles. 

“I was going to say romantic,” you corrected him, rolling your eyes.

“Don’t you think you’re a little too, I don’t know, divorced to be making comments?” Yelena added. 

“Jesus,” Walker muttered, holding his hands in defence and grumbling about ordering takeout instead. 

Once he was out of the kitchen, Ava smirked. “So, midnight noodles with Bob?”

“I have a big mouth when I’m drunk,” you grumbled, downing the rest of your coffee to soothe your dry throat. You’d never told them about you and Bob’s midnight noodles, so you knew you had your drunk self to thank for that one.

“Yeah, but it was cute,” Ava said, leaning back in her chair. “You looked very proud of your little tradition.”

Yelena snorted. “You made it sound like a sacred ritual.”

You pressed your lips together, staring at the empty mug in your hands. “But… why would he still come? Why would he—” You broke off, shaking your head. “He’s the one who ended things. If he doesn’t love me anymore, then why show up to help?”

For once, Ava didn’t have a snarky comment locked and loaded. She just tilted her head, eyes warming. “That sounds like a question for him,” she said.

Yelena nodded, elbowing you lightly. “Yeah. Don’t waste your breath on us. Go ask Bob. We’ll be here eating John’s backup noodles. I found them this morning and stashed them in my room.”

You stood outside Bob’s door longer than planned to. Long enough to wonder if the team could hear your pacing from the hall, long enough to almost turn back around. Twice. You even considered coming back tomorrow, but you knew your courage was dwindling fast. If you left now, you probably weren’t coming back. 

You held your breath as you knocked. From inside, you could hear Bob shuffling around before the door slowly cracked open. He blinked at you, hair a mess and t-shirt wrinkled like he’d been napping. For a stupid, dizzying second, the sight of him all domestic and soft punched through your ribs. You could still feel what it was like when you used to wake up in that bed with him.

Bob looked surprised to see you standing there, but not unhappy. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you echoed, hating how your throat tightened around the word. “Um. Can we talk?”

For a second, you thought he might say no. Then, he stepped back and opened the door wider. “Yeah. Sure. Come in.”

You crossed the threshold and realised you hadn’t prepared yourself for the wave of nostalgia that made your stomach clench. Bob’s room looked exactly the same as it had the last time you were in it. From the mug on his bedside table to the blanket you’d bought for him, half-folded on the bed.

It was all the same, except you didn’t live here anymore. Your fingers itched to straighten the blanket the way you always used to, so you folded them together like a penitent child.

You hovered awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure where to sit. Bob noticed and gestured toward the chair at his desk before sitting on the edge of his bed. It felt like he’d deliberately put distance between you. 

“So,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “What’s up?”

You smoothed your palms over your jeans. “I just— I wanted to check in. See how you’ve been.”

Bob’s brows lifted. “I’ve been… fine,” he said slowly. “Busy, I guess. You know how it is around here.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Of course. I get it.”

Before the awkward silence stretched further, he asked, “And you?” 

You blinked. “Me? Oh, you know. Same thing. Busy.”

“Right,” he replied. Bob didn’t point out that he knew Bucky had banned you from going on missions for two weeks, and refused to acknowledge how he’d accidentally broken the windows in the conference room when he found out you were almost shot. 

You nodded, exhaling through your nose as your fingers tightened on your lap. “Okay, so… Ava and Yelena told me about last night.” Bob’s eyes flicked up to yours wearily. 

“They said you came to pick me up,” you continued. “Brought me back. Stayed until I was asleep.” You shifted in the chair, the words scraping raw in your throat. “John mentioned something about missing noodles, so I assume you made those for me. Which I—I don’t remember at all.”

“I don’t know what I did,” you admitted, voice smaller than you intended. “I don’t know what I said. I just keep thinking— God, I must’ve been awful. Embarrassing. Ava said I forgot that we’d, y’know,” you gestured vaguely with your hands, referring to your breakup, “And I hate that I don’t even know what to apologise for.”

Something flickered across his face, not quite a wince, but close. Bob looked down at his hands, thumb dragging over his palm. “It wasn’t like that,” he said finally. “You weren’t being embarrassing. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You almost laughed at how gently he said it. “Then what was it like? Because right now, it feels like everybody knows something I don’t,” you revealed.

Bob hesitated, mouth opening and closing before anything came out. “You were drunk. People get drunk, they… say things. Do things.” His cheeks and ears flushed as he averted his eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” you pressed. “Why did you come when they texted? You could’ve ignored the code, or told Yelena to handle it, but you didn’t. Why?”

His jaw tightened. Truthfully, Bob had never considered the fact that you might find out about code safety net. When the two of you broke up, he assumed you’d never have a reason to hear about it. 

“Because it was you.” He said it like he expected a blowback, shoulders hunched just like when he’d first confessed his feelings for you.

You blinked at him, the honesty of it knocking you off balance. Bob seemed to realise what he’d admitted, because he immediately pushed on, fumbling. “I mean— I set that code up for a reason. Back then. You always knew exactly when I needed help, and I was never as good at figuring that stuff out, so I set up a code. Even last night, I couldn’t ignore it. That’s all.”

“That’s all?”

Bob nodded too quickly, eyes darting to the floor again. “That’s all.”

You studied him. Dating for almost nine months allowed you to mentally store something like a Bob Reynolds textbook. You could tell from the way his shoulders shook like he was bracing for impact that he wasn’t being entirely truthful. Then there was his nervous tick of rubbing his thumb across the ridge of his palm, and the way his legs couldn’t keep still. 

“You didn’t tell drunk-me we broke up,” you said after a beat. “You just let me think…” The words trailed, your breath catching at the memory you didn’t have. “Why would you do that?”

He shook his head, voice rough. “You were drunk. I wasn’t gonna hit you with reality in that state. Didn’t feel right, not when you were smiling for the first time in months.”

You sat back, staring at him like you were trying to piece together a puzzle with half the pieces missing. “So… you didn’t tell me because I was drunk. Because you wanted me to be happy.” Bob shifted awkwardly on the bed. “And because you knew I wasn’t saying anything I didn’t mean.”

His head jerked up to meet your eyes before he could stop himself. “You’re sure you don’t remember anything?”

You nodded. “Not a thing. But I can guess. If I thought we were still together, I would have trusted you with my most private thoughts. I would have poured my heart out without knowing what I was doing.”

Bob exhaled slowly. “End of the night, you figured it out. When Alpine came in, you looked at me like—” He broke off, jaw working. “You realised we weren’t together. It hit you, and—it tore you up.” His wince said the memory still hurt. “If I’d known telling you up front would’ve spared you that, I would have said something. But I didn’t know what to do. I just didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You wanted to spare me the pain,” you pressed. “Why? If you were just helping me out of an old obligation, why did it hurt you to see me upset?”

“Because I—” Bob cut himself off, breathing hard through his nose. Because I love you was dangerously close to the tip of his tongue. “Because it was hard. Anyone would’ve found it hard.” The excuse was weak, even to him.

You leaned forward, refusing to let him retreat. “I don’t care what anyone would’ve thought. I care what you thought. Why was it so hard for you?”

Finally, Bob dragged in a breath. “You think this is easy for me because I’m the one who ended things? Believe me, it hasn’t been easy.”

Your heart thudded hard in your chest, but you didn’t speak; you didn’t move.

“I broke up with you because, for once, I wanted to do the right thing,” Bob went on, words tumbling out like he was afraid he’d lose his nerve. “I had to focus on the depression, and the loneliness, and the never-ending void.” He rubbed his eyes. “I messed this stuff up so many times trying to get sober, and I can’t afford to do that with the Void and the Sentry hanging around. If I fall off again, it’s not just me who pays the price. I couldn’t drag you through that.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he pressed forward, too worked up to let himself be interrupted.

“I wanted you. God, I wanted you. And maybe that’s what made it worse. Because every time I looked at you I thought—what if I screw this up? I couldn’t live with myself if I did that.” Bob’s words caught, low and ragged. “So I let you go. Not because I wasn’t sure I loved you. It was just… bad timing.”

You sat frozen, his words blowing up everything you thought you’d known. You’d told yourself a hundred stories about why he’d walked away; boredom, fear, maybe even that he stopped loving you. But you’d never considered this. 

Bob scrubbed his hand over his face, then let it drop. “You know I’m sober,” he said. “And yeah, the serum means drugs don’t really… stick anymore. I can’t drink, can’t use, not in any way that matters. But sobriety isn’t just about not putting stuff in your body. It can make you screw up the people around you while you’re trying to get clean. I guess my fear of doing that to someone never really went away.”

He let out a shaky breath, eyes flicking up to gauge if you were still listening.

“Every program told me the same thing: don’t date in the first year. Because you’re too raw, too unsteady. You’ll lean on someone in ways that end up hurting them.” He shook his head. “And I thought if I wanted a real shot at keeping the Void under control, I had to treat it like I was back at square one. Like I was still in that first year.” His jaw flexed, guilty, pained. “But by then I’d already met you, and for once, I thought maybe I got lucky.”

He looked away. “But I couldn’t have it all. Not when I was still learning how not to let the Void bleed out, or not to let the Sentry serum break everything I touched.”

You let out a laugh, shaky and wet, dragging your hand across your cheek. “Do you have any idea what you’re telling me right now?” you whispered.

His brow furrowed, wary. “I’m telling you why I ended things.”

“No,” you said, tone firming. “You’re telling me you never stopped loving me.” You were startled by how steady the words sounded, considering how violently your pulse was hammering.

Bob’s mouth opened, then closed. He didn’t deny it. 

The months without him came crashing down: every long night staring at empty walls, every mission you buried yourself in, hoping exhaustion would trick you into not missing him. 

“I know exactly what I would have said to you last night if I thought we were still together,” you admitted. “I would’ve told you I love you. That I miss you so much it feels like part of me got ripped away.” You swallowed hard, blinking against the sting in your eyes. “I’ve been walking around trying to pretend that I didn’t search for you every second of the day.”

Bob’s silence should have scared you. Months ago, when it felt like you were on the verge of breaking up, it did. 

“Do you know what the worst part was?” you whispered. “Not knowing why you did it, or if I’d been wrong about you. I kept thinking—if you could walk away so easily, maybe you never loved me the way I loved you. And I hated myself for wanting you anyway.” Your chest rose and fell unevenly. “And now—” You broke off in a half-laugh, half-sob, “now that I know why you did it, it makes me love you even more.”

Bob’s hands twisted together in his lap, and then slowly stilled. “You know,” he said, voice quiet enough that it made you lean in to catch it, “it’s been a year.”

You blinked at him. “Since…?”

He glanced up hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure if saying it aloud might jinx it. “Since the last time the Void broke through. Since I—” Bob exhaled shakily. “Since I lost control like that. One year of doing everything right. No shortcuts, no lies, no risking it. Other than being with you, I guess.”

Your throat tightened. “You did it.”

“I did it,” Bob echoed, almost like he couldn’t believe it himself. “I didn’t think I could, but I did. And these last few months,” his eyes found yours, steady now, “I missed you so much.”

Something tugged at your gut. “Then why be with me at all, if you’d promised yourself a year?” The words came out softer than you meant, not accusing, but like you were afraid of the answer.

Bob’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Because I couldn’t let you go. You were the only thing that made me feel like I wasn’t just surviving that year, but actually living it. I thought—I thought I could hold both, you and the vow, but when it came down to it… I was terrified I’d break one, and I couldn’t risk it being you.”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself not to cry. “I missed you so much,” you said. “Nothing feels right without you.”

Bob swallowed, his gaze fixed on you. “You really think…” His words faltered, and then, barely above a whisper: “You really think you could take me back?”

You reached for him before you could second-guess it, your hand covering his. His fingers tensed, then relaxed, instinctively interlocking with yours.

Bob stared down at your joined hands, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I don’t deserve this,” he murmured. “You shouldn’t—”

“You don’t get to decide that for me,” you interrupted, quieter than you meant, but steady. “If anything, the fact that you were willing to give this up to get better proves that you deserve it.”

When he looked up at you again, there was something tender in his eyes. “I just don’t want to hurt you again.”

“You did hurt me,” you admitted, a small, almost rueful smile tugging at your mouth. “By keeping things from me. But we can work on that.”

For a long moment, he didn’t speak, just held your gaze like he was trying to capture the moment in a memory. Then, voice rough, Bob asked, “So what now?”

You squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth of it sink into you. “Now?” You drew in a shaky breath, lips trembling with something like a laugh. “Now we see if we can get it right this time.”

Then Bob leaned across to reach you, almost hesitant, like he was giving you one last chance to pull away. 

Your free hand caught his sweatshirt collar and pulled him in the rest of the way, and then his mouth was on yours. It was laughably familiar, the exact way you used to tug him down for a kiss when he was stalling, and you felt his breath hitch like he remembered that too.

It was the kind of kiss that came from months of restraint tearing loose all at once. His lips pressed hard to yours, hungry and desperate, like your bodies remembered what your minds had tried to forget.

You tasted salt—your tears, his, you couldn’t tell—and his hand slid to cradle your jaw, tilting your face so he could kiss you deeper. It was as if he’d been picturing this moment in his head and couldn’t risk losing a single detail now that it was real.

The tremor in his hands gave him away; Bob always shook when he was holding too much back, and you realised this was months of self-restraint crumbling. Your lungs burned with the need for air but your body refused to stop, greedy and starved, like you’d gone months without food and only he could satiate you again.

The heat of it built fast, familiar and overwhelming, like no time had passed at all. Bob’s mouth found yours with the kind of certainty that only comes from practice, from knowing exactly how to draw that sharp gasp from your lips, exactly how to make your knees weaken.

You broke apart just long enough to breathe, and he let out a ragged groan against your mouth. “I missed this,” Bob whispered, deep and wrecked like it always was after you kissed.

“Then don’t ever make us miss it again,” you said, and dragged him back into another kiss.

Bob’s breath shuddered against your mouth, his thumb tracing over your cheek to ground himself in you. “I love you,” he said, hoarse and certain, before kissing you again.

Your hands slid into his curls, tugging him closer, closer, until the chair scraped back against the floor. Bob didn’t care, didn’t even pause, just caught your waist and pulled you into his lap like he couldn’t bear a single inch of distance. Your knees sank into the mattress you used to sleep on every night, heat flooding your abdomen.

The sound he made when you settled against him was half growl, half plea, and it vibrated through you, low and devastating. His hands slid up your back, spanning your ribs, mapping you all over again with a reverence disguised as desperation.

“You feel exactly the same as I remember,” Bob rasped against your mouth, the words breaking on another groan as your fingers tugged his hair. “Except so much better than anything my mind made up.”

You kissed him instead of answering, teeth catching on his bottom lip. He cursed softly, lost to it. His hands moved restlessly—your hip, your thighs, your back—like he couldn’t decide where to touch you first. There was nothing careful in the way he kissed you. 

When you leaned back, Bob chased your lips. “I can’t stop,” he whined, trembling as his thumb stroked gently across your throat. “Tell me to stop and I will, but—God, I can’t—”

“Don’t stop,” you cut in, breathless, your lips bruising his as you spoke. “Don’t you dare.”

That was all it took. Bob surged up to kiss you again, all fire and urgency, one hand splayed across your back to keep your chest pressed against his. You could feel the frantic beat of his heart against yours. You gasped when your back hit the headboard, legs wrapped around his waist for stability. His mouth was already chasing the sound, devouring it. 

“Missed this—missed you—” Bob muttered between kisses, completely wrecked. His hands roamed, greedy and adoring all at once.

Your fingers hooked into the hem of his sweatshirt, aching for bare skin, tugging it half-way up before you even realised you’d done it. The noise he made when you touched him—strangled, helpless, carnal—shot straight through you like lightning. 

He broke the kiss only long enough to yank his shirt over his head, his chest heaving, eyes burning into yours. “Tell me this isn’t just me,” he rasped, already pulling you back in.

“It’s not,” you whispered. “I love you.” Then you kissed him as your hands traced over familiar lines of muscle, remembering exactly where to touch to make him shiver and groan.

Bob’s masterful composure broke. He fell back without warning, pliant and gasping underneath your fingers. Your knees dug into the mattress again, your hands bracing on either side of his head while his fingers disappeared underneath your t-shirt. You arched into him instinctively, his name breaking on your lips, and his grip on your hips tightened.

Bob knew exactly how to undo you, exactly where to linger, exactly how to make your breath stutter. And you knew him just as well; the way his hands trembled when you trailed kisses down his neck and across his collarbones said you hadn’t lost your hold on him either.

Every scrape of his stubble, every brush of his tongue, every shaky gasp between kisses was a reminder that Bob knew you inside and out.

And then you started laughing. Messy, breathless giggles that bubbled up between kisses when Bob fumbled with the button of your jeans and swore under his breath, when his nose bumped yours because neither of you could keep still.

You dropped your forehead against his shoulder, giggling helplessly. He smelled the same, soap and cedar and the faint tang that clung to him when he woke up, and it sent another wave of hysterical affection through you.

“We’re a disaster,” you teased, rolling over to lie on your back beside him.

“Speak for yourself,” Bob muttered, though his grin was hopelessly crooked, his chest still heaving. “I’m very smooth.”

You gave him a look, one brow arched. He sighed, sagging down beside you, reaching for your hand like it was the only thing tethering him. 

“Okay,” he admitted, eyes flicking away. “Maybe not smooth. More like… sandpaper. Or, uh, a car crash. The kind you can’t look away from because it’s that bad.”

You laughed again, louder this time, tugging him forward so you could kiss the corner of his mouth. “Bob.”

He glanced at you warily, self-deprecating humour still lingering in the downturn of his smile. “Yeah?”

“You’re fine,” you whispered, cupping his cheek, brushing your thumb over the stubble there. “More than fine. You’re the best thing I’ve ever let crash into me.”

You balk—what was that supposed to mean?

Geto huffs out in priggish laughter like he could read that exact sentiment on your face. Instead, turning back to the group surrounding you two, clutching feathered fans and flutes of champagne like it would hide the way they were listening in.

And oh, were they listening in.

The twirling couples on the dance floor were ebbing themselves closer and closer towards your corner of the gathering just to overhear. Dukes upon ladies upon elderly merchants were stuffing themselves behind the draperies and seasonal lilies - all to bear witness to your brush with him.

It was common knowledge among The Ton that the viscount of the Geto Estate and the viscountess of yours - well, you - would rather trek through mud than even bear to stand in the same room. Something about old family disputes and a few business dealings gone wrong - as long as you two didn’t have to speak to one another, then all was…tolerable.

Which was impossible when it just-so-happened that you both were debuting yourselves in the market for marriage this season.

Coincidentally. 

And it’s a wonder that you can stare up into his handsome face and not want to slap it. Scowling, “If you believe that for even one second I would consider being bedded by you-”

“Of course not.” The dark-haired man waves off, baritone lilting into that teasing purr it does whenever he knows he’s about to leave you seething. “The Ton might know me to be a rake, but not even I should fall so low.”

A few whispers pluck up, even louder than the orchestra. But you only raise a challenging brow, meeting Geto’s half-lidded gaze head-on. “Is that why you stare at me so?”

“Hm?” Geto tilts his head, and his long, long braid of inky hair sways behind him. Leaning in with an almost-believable look of confusion, “How so?”

“You’re aware how so, Lord Geto. You’re doing it at this very moment.”

“I fear I am befogged, My-”

Another step.

Out of pure pride, you physically stop yourself from taking a step back- “Not-”

Another. 

“My Lady.” 

And another. 

Geto Suguru was fully in your line of vision now, obscuring your sight of the wide-eyed aristocrats around you both. And you could hear your etiquette tutor screaming bad manners at you inside your head as you freeze, almost chest-to-chest with the most alluring bachelor of this soirée. Perhaps even this season, though the sane part of you would not admit that.

And you could take in each and every detail of him.

From the broad, towering stature of his body, fitting out his intricate black n’ gold suit so sensually, at least a head above most of the audience- to the strands of raven hair framing his cheekbones. He had plush lips that were so rude, and delicate features that might have been carved by the devil himself. You almost understood why it was claimed that several ladies fainted each time he stepped into a room.

Geto Suguru was beautiful.

And he was staring down at you like he knew of his effect, so close that you could count each inkling of grey in those amethyst irises.

“Enlighten me.” Geto hums, scorched breath heating your face. His tone dips low—“How do I look at you, pretty lady?”

You have to force your larynx to strangle out, “Like- like you wouldn’t mind if I boxed your ears for calling me that.”

He looks like he expected no less of you. “What a dangerous mouth.” And could not be any happier than he was now. Before you can even think, Geto sweeps your right hand into his and plants a second, soft kiss. “Yet, indeed I would not mind, My Lady.”

Somewhere behind you, you’re hearing a few elderly ladies laugh fondly, as if the pair of you were the sweetest courting couple. 

And Geto straightens his tall figure back, tipping his head in a bow. “I bid you the most excellent season.”

You narrow your stare, “And to you, Lord.” Under your breath- “Uncouth fellow.”

Under his- “Bluestocking.”

“Rake.”

“Prude.” 

“Cease it.”

He bats his lashes innocently, volume raising just a pitch. “May you find a husband just as…charming as you, pretty lady.”

You smile back, “And may you find any wife at all, Lord Geto.”

His dark brows raise, cheeks tinting red just slightly—before Geto waltzes back into some other corner of the heavily-decorated hallway - surely to sweet-talk more débutantes than he can possibly remember. 

You’re left, slightly breathless, as you turn back to your little group. Now tittering amongst themselves as the crowd begins to disperse, whispering. 

This season was undoubtedly in full swing.

“Well…” You’re starting, more to cut through their nonsensical rigmarole than anything. You tip back your glass of champagne in one gulp, “With that blessing, I believe it is certain that I shan’t find a husband this season.”

Oh, how mistaken you were.

.

.

.

Dearest gentle reader,

While you may have been reading Shakespeare’s ‘Romeo & Juliet’, the most fortunate Ton attending last night’s soirée were living in it. And where scandal waltzes, Viscount Geto Suguru is most sure to ask for a dance.

Handsome, alluring, and sly as a cat; this author’s reliable informants have whispered that only one feigns allergy to his lordship’s charms. Yes, gentle reader, our one and only headstrong viscountess found herself pulled into the midst of Lord Geto’s courtship, despite their famous family feud.

Those who happened upon the interaction shared sordid details of the blossoming couple’s plans to—forgive my forwardness—bed, and the viscount’s notorious flirtations. Gentlemen, this author kindly suggests that you surrender your bouquets, because witnesses claim that Viscount Geto was all the viscountess could speak of all night.

Of course, his lordship was no better with her. It leaves no question why both heads of estate have debuted in unison. 

I, for one, cannot contain myself at the thought of perhaps the most promising match of the season.

Yours Truly, 

Lady Whistledown.

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.

.

“Quite the news this fine day, don’t you think?”

“Of course you would be the type to read a washrag such as those papers.” You don’t greet Viscount Geto Suguru at the horse races, and he doesn’t seem inclined to greet you, either. “Does it help memorize your prospects?”

Whether it be out of pure petty regards, or the fact that the crowd surrounding you two was gawking at the conversation, you were unsure. And you find your fist clenching into the fabrics of your silken riding robes, realizing that so many onlookers had scrambled and piled to seat themselves next to you. And that left only one open seat - next to him.

With as much of a dignified huff as you can muster, you sit next to Geto and swear you hear a few gasps from behind. Training your eyes firmly on the ready line of horses ahead, perhaps if you pretended that he was a tree stump you were seated beside and nothing more-

“How should you know they’re washrags unless you’ve read them, too?”

Your head snaps towards Geto- only to find that he was already looking at you. Rosy lips curled till there was a dimple at the edge of his smirk, eyes twinkling. 

You sputter hotly- “Wh-what?”

He’s repeating, despite it behind a rhetorical question. “How should you know they’re washrags unless you’ve read them, too?” The viscount tips his high hat back so he can twist his features with mock curiosity, leaning in. “Does it help memorize my prospects, My Lady?”

“Your prospects are of no concern to me, Lord Geto.”

“Is that so?”

“My Estate was simply in uproar at my association with such an ignoramus fellow such as yourself, of course.” You’re looking down at him somehow, even though he managed to tower his frame above yours. Shoulders against shoulders. Scoffs against scoffs. “My poor ears had no choice but to be punished with those fibs this morning.”

And it was quite true…almost.

With the mantle of head falling on you, your family weren’t ones to question your choices in dalliances. No matter how…questionable.

So when you’d been delivered your copy of Lady Whistledown’s society papers, you’d expected to see yourself in it. Perhaps a line or two about the altercation with Geto - at most, a paragraph.

But finding the story spun to last the entirety of the scandal sheets left your poor Estate rumbling at the impact of your scream. Hell, one of your attendants had sent urgent summons for the palace healer - and your friend - Shoko.

Only for her to smack a cold washcloth over your forehead and threaten you to stop reading.

Too late; you’d already flipped through all there was to - and so had half the kingdom, certainly. You had not found yourself in the middle of Geto’s courtship, you had not talked about plans of bedding. 

And you had most definitely not spoken of him all night - it was miffed complaining! Only complaints! You two were far from the most promising match of the season. And at this rate, you would find yourself unwed and squabbling with a certain viscount till you were aged.

In fact, the reason you found yourself early at the horse races was for the sole purpose of forgetting that those papers ever existed - and Geto. 

Unfortunately for you, he seemingly had the very same idea. And here was the pretty, buttoned-up problem, startling you out of your whirlwind of thoughts with two fingertips tracing the shell of your ear.

Pointer and middle, tracing the shape like a frigid breeze. 

“Poor ears. Poor ears indeed.” Geto tuts, and you could catch the snicker threatening to break across his maw. “So it was merely a soirée tale that you were speaking of me all night, My Lady?”

Something at the pit of your stomach lurches, and your words come out higher than they usually were. “But of course. Surely you can’t be that involved with yourself to believe that you were all I could think of all night?” You’re sure that you’re being watched now, instead of the awaiting race.

And at his shrug you find yourself almost incredulous - almost wondering. “Why, then am I to believe that you spoke of me all night, like the papers claimed?”

Another infuriating shrug - and you don’t know whether it’s the mere action or the absence of an answer that leaves you biting back an audible groan. A strange part of you almost wanted to know. 

“Fear not, you will find out, I assure you.” Almost like he was reading your face, Viscount Geto glances at you - then back at the race. 

You hated to admit it, but he had chosen the perfect seat. It was in the very first row, with your line of vision optimally falling upon the kicking horses, readying for sprint. It was one that you would have chosen yourself - and, often, you did. Except for the days that Geto Suguru had arrived first to the races, and you had to situate yourself yards away, of course.

The dark-haired man stands up and continues, “In a bet.” 

“A bet? And I am to trust you?”

“Believe it to be but business.” Strong arm stretching out to point, you reluctantly follow his finger to the stark white stallion in the far corner of the starting line. Keen eyes yellowish, long mane coiled. “I wager that the Geto Estate’s Rainbow Dragon shall beat yours in this race. In the rare instance I lose, I shall share the answer you seek.”

You, of course, would never be left behind. And you stand up yourself, toe-to-toe.

You’re staring at your own estate’s horse - your short-haired, cream Manta Ray. It would be a close one. You’re feeling anticipation bubble up inside you as the announcer raises his pistol to the sky, finger tracing the trigger in a signal to start. “And if, heavens forbid, you win?”

Geto’s lips curl up in a smile. “The two of us shall cross that bridge when we come to it, pretty lady.”

.

.

.

Dearest gentle reader,

Yesterday’s races ended in a sweep-all for the Geto Estate’s Rainbow Dragon, as my avid horse-racing readers may already be aware. But like all good gossip of the season, it doesn’t simply end there!

Lord Geto Suguru was witnessed not only basking in the victory of his stallion - but also his latest blossoming courtship. The Ton was positively abuzz at the presence of the viscountess, and it is rumored that the very special pair were discussing the announcement of their engagement. Why, this author has her pen at the ready if the lord and lady wish for a certain set of papers to report on their romantic activities. 

However, some of my informants swear that the couple was seen in a muddy squabble towards the end of the race, and it is certain that agreeing upon wedding decorations is difficult for even the most fated of matches. Isn’t it a passion that just makes one swoon?

But patience is a virtue, dear reader. And, for now, we will have to wait to see this wedding come to fruition. 

Until then, I suggest you don your finest silks, tinker your most exquisite embroidery, and practise those curtsies - for this author has reason to believe that Her Majesty’s watchful eye will soon gaze at The Ton in search for her new Diamond of the season!

Yours Truly, 

Lady Whistledown.

.

.

.

It was not a bridge that should have been crossed.

It was a bridge that should have been deconstructed, made a mull, and absolutely burned. 

At least, Viscount Geto Suguru imagines that’s what you must have been pondering that day after the races. After all, there’s not much else that would provoke the notoriously level-headed viscountess into storming away so fast that you’d nearly planted right into a spectacular pool of mud.

(You had, in reality - and so had he, in his valiant attempts to save you. But there was a silent understanding between the both of you to pretend that didn’t quite happen, and that neither had been drenched in clumps of mud that day.)

But it was all to be blamed on his immediate request upon winning the wager, as if he had kept this in mind all along. His request: for you to join him at the upcoming Royal Diamond Ball. 

Join him.

Not simply as a reluctant acquaintance, not even as an unlikely cordial friend. But on Geto Suguru’s arm. 

But that was a week ago. And here you were. 

Your fingers quivering on his firm, bulging bicep through his velvet jacket. Being escorted inside the ball by the very man you’ve despised for so long.

It was gorgeous, and even more. Spirals of florals cascaded from each nook and cranny of the enormous chamber, lit with flickering candles that illuminated the ballroom like miniature suns. It was Spring, diamonds, and the thrill of heady romance. The dazzling silks of each débutante fought for attention - and yet, it was stolen instantly by you.

It was like the orchestra had suddenly drowned their music underwater the moment you two made your grand entrance; every dancing couple misstepped, every mouth gaped mid-sentence or mid-bite, every pair of eyes snapped to you.

You swear, by the far end of the royal ballroom, you could see Her Majesty the Queen straighten upon her throne to steal a closer look.

Fuck.

“Why, as expected, we’re all The Ton shall gossip about for weeks, My Lady.” Geto’s confident croon graces your ears, and he suavely leads you to one gilded corner.

Standing beside you, he bears no hesitation before leaning in- shoulders brushing shoulders, the viscount’s deep voice curling around your eardrums. Slow. Almost sensual. “You shine everyone else down, pretty lady.”

“Shamming it with flattery won’t win me over.” You’re massaging your temples, weary.

“I could never lie to you.”

It had been a week of this.

A week of having the notorious Geto Suguru make each of your attendants swoon with his mere presence inside your Estate. A week of him driving you positively crazed, teasing you with that coy mouth until you snapped. A week of him observing you, hard enough that once Geto had presented you with a dark blue satin gown for tonight, studded with tiny diamonds - it had your perfect measurements.

It was tailored to you, and it tailored him to you.

And he was proudly running his thumb down the sleek fabric of his waistcoat, the same shade as your dress. Long hair tied back, medals dazzling. “I believe I always have been honest with you, My Lady. In every instance but one.” Silently, he stares at the dancefloor behind him as the orchestra muses out a slow, romantic waltz. Then back at you, with an open palm and a deep bow- “May I have this dance?”

“You wish to dance with me?” Almost balking.

He pretends to give a sweeping look around the hall, “I see no other prettier lady, nor one I would like to dance with.”

“And I see no gentleman I wish to dance with. At all.”

“Oh, my apologies.” Geto edges closer, and you already know the next words to befall from his mouth won’t bode well for you. “I have failed to realize that you are frightened.”

Scoffing, “Frightened of dancing with you? Oh, please-” You’re carefully watching the playful raise of his dark eyebrows. The way his palm curls open in your direction ever-so-slightly - yet, still not completely, as if he was the one almost frightened. 

And you can only nod. “Fiend seize it- but only because it wouldn’t do well for you to go without dancing the entire night, your prospects shall be rather put off.”

“I am honored by your benevolence, My Lady.”

“Charmed.”

“Smitten.”

“Cease.”

Tentatively, you’re led to the middle of the ballroom.

Where Geto was slowly - almost agonizingly - stepping into your heated proximity. His near-trembling hand falls upon your waist, the other clasping your hands.

And, sweetly, you’re being twirled. Your feet instinctually find their rhythm with the lilting melody, forming little boxes as you’d been taught during dance classes upon classes - never touching, constantly orbiting each other.

“Curious.” You’re the first to speak, staring into Geto’s lowered, questioning eyes, “I believed you would be more…” Trailing off at the gentle, gentle drag of his hand down the back of your bodice. “-uncouth.”

He tugs you even closer, “Would you like me to be?”

“It would be better if we leave the scandals to the wed.” Squirming in his arms, you somehow manage to burrow yourself even deeper. And you can feel the whispers, the eyes-

“Should you wish us to be?”

Breath catching, “What?”

“F-forgive me-” And there’s something you can’t quite understand in his pupils as he looks away, though that only displays the burning rouge of Geto’s high cheekbones. “I jest-”

“You find amusement in enraging me, don’t think I haven’t noticed, Lord Geto.” His predatory eyes widen. You dare to tuck a palm onto his cheek and make him look at you, an action that sets the gallery alight with whispers. “But right now, I do not believe you jest. Or should the reputed rake of the season fear speaking his mind with a prospect?”

It was in the way his face was scarlet, in the thud-thud-thud of his heart beating through his chest. And in the way that you had made Geto Suguru of all people stutter.

The crowd bustles ever-closer, craning their bedazzled necks to spy a better look when Geto tucks his sizzling face into the crook of your neck. Whispering, “Of course I fear you.” Scandalous, and yet, neither of you could bring yourselves to care at this very moment. “Of course. Oh, you’re no prospect, you’re the bane of my existence.”

And then the viscount hums gutturally - drinking in your scent, your slight gasp. He lets it all out into the skin of your throat—“But no. No, I do not jest at all, My Lady.” 

.

.

.

Geto Suguru has been in love with you since the very moment he laid eyes on you.

All those years ago. Since the moment he’d attended the horse races as the all-new viscount of the Geto Estate- only to wind up seated next to you, the equally fresh viscountess who won the race that day and didn’t hesitate to goad in his face. To challenge him. To scoff at his flirtations.

But, right now, he believes himself to be almost as deeply in-love with the pretty, pretty wet noises he was pulling out of you.

“N-ngh, mmm, Lord Geto-” Skirts pooling around you. Thrown over the armrest of a couch in some hidden-away gazebo of the royal gardens. “Fuck!”

All Geto has to do is drag the rough, honed edge of his thumb between the swollen lips of your pussy before you’re gushing. The slimy stream of slick that makes the viscount lick his lips greedily, “You utter my last name even whence I’m between your legs, My Lady?”

Barely - just barely - you manage to raise your head mere inches off of the dampened cushion. 

Whirling it over your shoulder to where Geto was kneeled on the floor from behind, “W-would you rather I call you a hngh- ‘buzzard’ or a ‘chit’, then?”

“Now, isn’t that simply hurtful—” He’s crooning out, and something in his voice was dangerously husky. And the next few syllables escaping his smoky throat were barely even audible past the embarrassing squeeeelch of your thin undergarments being tugged to the side. Snapping the side of your thighs- “What do we say, hm?”

“S- oh! S-” Strangling out moans at the feeling of the chilly night air tickling your slope.

He’s edging even closer, tendrils of his breath heating up your wet pussy. He was so ravenous that specks of Geto’s dewy drool dripped down onto your legs. “Yeeees–?”

“Cease it!”

The very moment that response is being mumbled from your lips, Geto’s departing something from his - a large, sticky wad of spit that splashes between your sultry pussylips. He’s sticking a thumb between your folds and watching as his mess webs up your entrance.

“Forgive me, I must clean that mouth o’ yours up, pretty lady.” Before striking your cunt with yet another wet hit of saliva. “Again.” And another. “Again-”

You’re whimpering, spine arching into the perfect curvature on top of the loungechair. And Geto only swabs his thumb on the fleshy insides of your pussylips, teasingly. Grunting, “Such a wanton mouth on ya.”

“Please-” You could feel his flicking lips reaching closer, mere millimeters away just to make you sob in need. “Please- I only have so much patience-”

“I’m well aware-” And before you know it, your pussy’s being stained with another knotted glob of saliva. And as you moan, he’s snickering- “Consider that revenge for the harm you’ve done to my- oh, heart. And this…”

The way that he’s then easily sinking in nose-deep was just pure greed.

Raw, primal; the minute that Geto’s scratchy taste buds hit the front of your cunt, he’s slickly slipping and easing his tongue in everywhere. Anywhere. 

Poking n’ prodding. 

Lapping up every ounce of slick clinging to your pussy like he was a man dying of thirst- and he was addicted to your hot core. Oh, he was addicted. Your knees drag on the couch cushion once Geto takes ahold of your waist and hauls you deeper down onto his handsome face.

“Mmmm–” His glossy, puckered lips slurp at the wet folds of your pussy. You’re feeling the underside of his tongue slither down to flick at your clit and makes you drool - from both sets of lips. “She’s more hah- honest than you. Aren’t you, pretty lady?”

The straight line of his nose bridge tucks in even deeper, in such a lecherous way you feel so stuffed. “I-I’m not-”

“Not you.” And you could almost hear the roll of his hazed peripherals. 

The smug, sleazy grin across his face as Geto tickles your glistening hole with his tongue. You were clenching ‘round nothing, feeling such a delicious streeeetch once he’s pumping inside. Muffling out- “Her.”

And the Lord Geto Suguru that you knew was suave. He was smooth. 

But the man between your honeyed legs was simply messy– just thrust after aching thrust of his maw. Geto’s attractive jawline was stretched so wiiide open, damn near swallowing you whole. He flattens his tongue just to pry apart your walls - again.

And again. “Aren’t you?” And again. Letting off some of the most sinful noises that make your heart race, “Aren’t you, pretty lady?”

Calling your treacly pussy by that nickname that drove you wild. 

“Who’d have thought that you’d be oh- hiding suuuuuch a gorgeous, gorgeous lady under all that snark and mouth.” Almost grumbling at the fact that he wasn’t granted this chance earlier.

“Heavens- you’re f-fast-” And Geto’s rovering his gaped mouth all over, not leaving even an inch of your outer pussy. 

Mercilessly, he’s thrashing his textured tongue on the roof of your cunt and you have to throw your hand behind you and shove back at his forehead.

Unsure whether you wanted to hold him or push him away.

But you didn’t have to choose - Geto’s making the choice for you. 

In a swift instant, he’s fighting against your strength and gnawing down on the thin fabric of your underwear. Murmuring, “And- these-” Soon enough you’re hearing the sharp rip-rip-riiiip of him tearing your undergarments with his mouth. “-skirts.”

“Suguru–!” You’re trilling out, watching as Geto spits out the tattered remnants of your panties. 

Quickly, both his hands smear open your bloated pussylips. And he doesn’t waste a second - not even a nanosecond - before diving deeper. 

All bared open for him, he’s flopping out his lengthy tongue to soften up your tight hole. Making you feel his flicking, wet crown with thrust after thrust- “You’re so- soooo fucking wet.”

“You’re- hah!” Choking on both sobs n’ whines as his perky tastebuds sizzle against the sweet spots of your walls, Geto was fucking you with his tongue the way he was aching to with his cock. “-talking f-far more than you should, Lord Suguru.”

“And what shall you do about it, My Lady?”

He was about to find out.

Oh, he didn’t have a clue. 

The viscount was practically stunned as you immediately lurch your hips away, chasing your pussy with a pathetic whine.

But you’re holding firm- dragging him up by the intricate, posh lapels of his jacket. You’re helping Geto impatiently lay himself down on the couch, face straddled between your two thighs. Backwards.

So his mouth was hovering underneath your pussy, and yours was gulping impatiently as you struggled with the buckles of his dress pants. Such a lewd sixty-nine position that made him crane his head up n’ lick between your tender folds with a whimper, “Mmm, let me partake in my dessert at once, My Lady.”

“Patience is a virtue.” You tut, finally succeeding in undressing his lower half. And oh-

Oh, fuck.

You gape. 

Geto Suguru…was huge. 

About eight, perhaps even nine solid inches that throbbed even fatter the more intensely you were staring at him. Huge and pretty- the first thing you’re making out is the ruby-red cap of his shaft, glossy with a syrupy layer of precum. 

Your needy thumb wipes it off, only to have Geto’s leaky orifice weep out even more of his sticky sap. Drip-dripping down the ridges of his thick cock, travelling between his four prominent veins, disappearing into his slightly unruly tuft of jet black at the base. They looked like they’d positively ruin you from the inside out.

And Geto was bucking up like he wanted to do exactly that. 

“‘Nough-” He’s cutting himself off with a gasp, “Enough admirin’, fuck! Just- oh.”

So, so sensitive. You’re blowing your heated air down on the mushroomy tip of Geto’s erection, and watching as he sprays out in pre. 

Grinning, “Language. Seems like someone was on the verge of cumming in their pants, Lord Suguru.”

“I’ve fucked my fist raw to the image of your furious face at the- hngh, races that day, My Lady. Have mercy.” He’s babbling out, such pure honesty from just how pussydrunk he was. With your pussy mere millimeters away and dripping like a waterfall into his mouth.

The top of Geto’s tongue spanks down on your teary slope the very moment that he perks his hips up. Pre-glazed tip swabbing your lips like those shimmering lipstains you’ve seen some other nobles wear.

He feels the hot cavern of your mouth plop! down on the thickness of his cockhead and titters, “I should do well to wax that chatty mouth of yours shut, yes?”

The only response you can force your body to even do is to bully your hips down in a lewd attempt to suffocate the rude words spilling from Geto’s mouth.

Pushing down. Dragging your cunt sloppily. You think he might sputter, you think he might even choke out a slight protest- but what you certainly didn’t expect the viscount to do was to anchor your grinding hips with his two hands.

Shoving you deeper down his ajar maw. And you swear you feel him gasp out a little—“S-suffocate me.”

Groaning into the flared ridge of his dick, you’re swirlin’ your textured tongue around a few times. Before having done enough damage - because Geto was simply left rutting his hips primally. Unlatching, “Wh-what-”

“Suffocate me, My Lady.”

He doesn’t stutter, he doesn’t even set himself free for air—he’s only forking his tongue between that first rim of muscle. Licking up your walls, reaching for your heart. Again n’ again until it’s all loosened up enough for two of Geto’s slender, doughy fingertips to bludgeon against. 

Pap after slimy pap of his fingerpads, “Open up, pretty lady.” Wheezing against the outer part of your pussy, “Since you like- ngh- talkin’ so much- fuck! Open those pretty lips up for me, I beg.”

Sensually, ever-so-sensually, his knobbly digits are stirrin’ inside. 

He’s pricking his crowned fingers against each and every spot inside you, half-thrusting back just to fit even deeper. And it sounds out just deafening squelches.

Spurred on - you couldn’t fall behind to Viscount Geto. In a split-second, your lecherous tongue dangles out, tracing the pulsating veins simply covering his cock. 

The patterns of his length scrape spots inside of you that you weren’t even aware existed, and Geto didn’t have to fuck his mazing cock up into your mouth to have you choking. To have you cryin’ at the probe of his merciless cockhead. 

“H-hck!” Sobbing out, you’re suckin’ a few inches of his ramrod erection like your favorite ice cone. And he was just so big that the insides of your cheek streeetch out farther than you ever knew possible, “Two can play ngh- games like so.”

“Just like I claimed. How daaaangerous this unlady-like mouth of yours ngh- is.” As his middle and his ring finger pump into your velvety insides, Geto twists his thumb ‘round to press on your throbbing clit. 

All at the same time. 

Watching with a grin once you’re shrilling out in utter pleasure, white flashing behind your eyes. He’s spitting once more, letting a fragile string of spittle connect your cunt to each lick after lavish lick. You whine, “P-please, My Lord.”

Ah- 

Geto’s glassy eyes roll to the back of his skull. 

He keeps trying to breathe- but his body won’t even let him. Geto’s suffocating himself on your pussy, cock twitching right near the back of your throat.

You’re relaxing your neck to lodge him even deeper as you constantly moan and moan those very same words - My Lord - and he feels like he’s on the verge of fainting. Fast. 

He has to do something. Faster. 

Before you can brace yourself, the viscount swiftly slips off the family signet ring on his left hand. Pushing it onto the index finger of his right and bullying it between your folds.

Making sure that your cunt walls feel every frigid groove, “F-fuck! Feels good, huh?” At your dazed moans, “Accept my betrothal and I shall don more than one ring. And if you can- hah, take me on, pretty lady, you can take this-” He’s bucking up meaningfully, buttery tip bruising the roof of your mouth. Watching you flutter ‘round his ring, he can’t help but lap at your sloppy hole once more. “And then….fuck…”

And then he’s pumping his ravenous fingers inside even harder. Rough enough that the mountains of his knuckles sting, being slammed red on the folds of your pussy.

Geto’s cocktip pummels the soft back of your throat and you buck down in need- accidentally rovering his ringed fingers ever-deeper. Pushin’ his golden ring against the splotchy area of your g-spot, “O-oh my god, Suguru—”

“Th-there.” He’s breathing out, raggedly. Eyes widening. And as soon as Geto discovers your most favorite spot, he’s obsessed. “This is for the way you’ve been- been driving my screws loose for, ngh, years.”

He’s jerking his slick-soaked wrist into the perfect angle to swab your cute insides, you’re just crying out prettily after each scratch of his fingerpads. “This is for all the horse races I’ve oh- lost to you.” Pump after pump. He spits once more on your wettened pussy and growls, “And mm- this is for the way you make a fool of me, without even trying.”

“C-can’t help it-” Gurgling, the deepest corners of your throat were all flooded with the caramel salt taste of his precum. And yet, you were indignant despite the dizzying movements of his tongue.

Another slap of his scratchy underside, Geto was rovering his mouth so deep that you’re struck with the point of his chin. Almost punishing. “This is for how insatiable you leave me.”

“Please-” You’re jerking atop him at the flashes of bliss, hands struggling to cup his swollen balls. They’re so heavy in your palms as you massage, struggling out- “I believe I’m…”

“Ohhh— what’s that?” And it takes a few more squelching noises, a few more nods of Geto’s flushed face for you to realize that he wasn’t even talking to you. It was back to your sopping wet pussy, plugging each orifice up with both his fingers n’ his flicking tongue. “Yeah- yeah, and this is for how long you’ve held this pretty lady out from me.”

“Please-”

Three-more repeated slams, you’re pushed so close to the edge by now that even the slightest motion makes your pussy weep. Geto huffs at the pearly slick coating him, tongue gifting a fat thrust just to feel your cute clenches. “And this is for making me fall in, ngh, love.”

“I shan’t last-”

“Why don’t you apologize, viscountess Geto?”

You’re practically ripping yourself off of his strawberry-red tip, your maw stupidly opening ‘round a few wanton syllables- “I’m s-sor-”

And, in reality, Geto doesn’t let you apologize. Of course, he doesn’t let you. 

Why should he make you apologize for putting him in a position like this? One that was precisely where he carnally desired to be.

Your voice breaking mid-sentence, within a few seconds he’s forcing in a fourth finger and straightly rummaging your g-spot. Racing straight towards where your hot, puffy core needed him the most. And you’re feeling the four thud-thud-thud-thuds against your bundle of nerves, skirting down your slippery walls to reach for your womb.

It’s enough to push you over the edge, your abdomen bursting with white-hot pleasure. Babbling, “I’m orgas- oh, mm-” Body wrenching stupidly on top of his muscular core, “Cum—ing, My Lord.”

Your toes curl, mouth wafting down to the very tip-top of Geto’s veiny cock without even realizing. It’s as if your entire body was set alight with just how good you felt like this.

And he’s just so focused on fucking you through peak after peak. Mentally counting the seconds between each lurch of your hips, you’re riding his pretty face sloooooppily. 

So hypnotic that he barely even registers it once your swollen, puckered lips reach for the rock-hard tip of his shaft. Placing such a sweet, loving peck—“S-Sugu—”

The first thing you see is white- buzzing inside your vision after each bang of Geto’s fingerpads on your g-spot. And then the next creamy white you’re spotting is from the leaky end of his cock- spurt after spurt of ribbony cum.

The viscount completely drenches the lower half of your face, just from you kissin’ on him like that. Over and over- you half wonder whether it hurts for him to stuff out such sheer volumes. 

Thick, gooey clumps of seed stick to your lips, and Geto groans as he feels it splatter down onto his toned pelvis. Creating a little puddle that you’re smearing with your thumb, after his spraying cockhead was finished. You plop your glazed fingertip into your mouth and shoot Geto a look over your shoulder, “Wh-what was that about- hah, revenge, My Lord?”

His half-lidded pupils dilate, practically heart eyes by this point.

“I-I…”

Throat husky, voice botched. The suave, swift smooth-talker barely gets out two syllables before tearing off his coats, his layers. Swiftly wrenching you upwards onto his naked body: your back against his flexed abs. 

He was just Herculean, from the naturally chiselled ridges of his core, to the blush that was taking over his pecs. The long tendrils of his raven hair tickle your spine as you’re pinned backwards.

Geto’s hands twitch where they clung onto your waist- almost as if they were about to flip you over. To bend you down, down, down in half like he’s always wanted to.

But one look at your beautiful, shaken features and the viscount is sure he won’t last.

And he did want to make a good impression, after all. He could cum just from seeing your face too close up.

So Geto’s pryin’ apart your shaky legs with a swat of his palms, buttering up your soppy slit with the crowned edge of his shaft.

“O-oh.” Your mouth drops at the sheer size difference, you swear he must have swollen even bigger since pliably manhandling you into this position. Because the massive girth of Geto’s reddened, rock-hard cock was intimidating in comparison with the circumference of your slick hole.

As red as a few luscious strawberries, and just as plump.

His glistening cocktip slides down your folds, struggling to stuff himself between them - and you wonder whether you could even take him.

“Nonsense, pretty lady.” Did you dare utter that out loud? He spanks your sap-flooded cunt once with the curve of his length and makes you squirm. “You shall take it. You shall.” Unsure whether he was talking to you or your pussy. And yet, he sounds so reassuring. 

So breathy.

So ruined.

You’re swivelling your head behind to look at Geto, and his cock twitches at the eye contact- oh.

It’s only then that you realize it’s not high, needy reassurance seeping into Geto’s rough tone - it was primal need. And you can’t help but press back into his glissading pecs, cushioning his heated length with your thighs. “And what if I shan’t?”

Geto wheezes, “But-”

“Where are those lordly manners?”

Geto near-sobs, “Please!”

So complacent. There’s no other fight, you’re only gasping once two greedy palms wrench apart your thighs and immediately sinks his ravaging cock inside. 

And you ponder whether you might have to be the one begging for mercy at his sheer size. 

The globed, fleshy knob of Geto’s shaft unsticks your gummy walls, clinging onto him like bubblegum. You’re being molded to his very size without even trying - with only a few rapid, urgent half-thrusts just to fit inside. 

He wasn’t even pounding up into you properly, and yet the viscount already had you stupidly drooling with a few strokes. Pump after pump- he grips onto your thighs and glues you to his muscular body. 

“Please- p-please.” The haughty noble simply couldn’t stop, crushing you to him. Holding you still just to bump your entire body up with pressurized pumps. 

About two more inches of Geto’s veiny cock gets sucked up by your cunt and he finds his temples sweating. Dark brows scrunched, face flushed. “I desire to be- inside- all of it, haaah.” The overworked edge of his tongue darts out and tastes the tears trailing down your face, ones you didn’t even realize were there yet. “So- so incredibly. You don’t understand, I’ve a-always desired to be inside you like this, My Lady.”

And the line of Geto’s slit was so pretty when you gazed closely at it earlier, but right now it just felt so mean engraving up n’ down the roof of your cunt.

As if that wasn’t sinful enough, one of his palms unlatches from where he was spreading your unstable legs apart. Flattening on top of your tummy, and feeling for the proooobing push of his fat cock easing inside.

Geto presses down on that cylindrical outline with a groan, “I believe you’ve finally- hah, beaten me, viscountess.”

Although it certainly didn’t feel that way.

Geto Suguru had you cornered. All wrapped up in his big, beefy arms- you were seeing stars with every slight buck of his ravaging cock. 

Filling you up from the inside - and as if his staggering size wasn’t enough, cobwebs of precum n’ cum were sploshing around your innards by now. Filling up your tiniest crevices, his cockhead spears into you like a flashlight in search of your g-spot. In search of the bottom of your pussy. 

Twitching, leaking, blushing.

You’re reaching your hand out and half-blindly intertwining them with his. Squeezing- and that makes Geto flush.

It makes him instantly drill his toned hips upwards in a singular, rigid jackhammer. Geto immediately skids his plump cock against your sweetest spot, hard enough to make you bawl. Hard enough that the rickety lounge creaks in protest.

“I-I’ve sunken in…” He’s breathing, something airy in his tone. Something akin to disbelief. 

As if to make sure, your viscount rovers his length even deeper- feeling for that slimy trailway by pressing down on your stomach. Your toes curl, the dual pressure of both his palm and his girth making your mind spin. “I’ve really- really-”

“Yes- hck!”

He can’t even have you speak like this. Can’t even let you breathe.

The muscles of Geto’s hips strike your bottom with a stinging smack! of skin-on-skin - bottoming out. Ruggedly, he weeps out a generous few dollops of precum near your spongy cervix.

Probing in deep-

“H-heavens!” You think you’re seeing the pearly gates with his sloppy, driving cadence, “Why in the heavens are you this- oh, big?”

“I hear no word of her complaining.” Geto has the audacity to hover his plush lips near the shell of your ear and bite. He almost chuckles, “See? Honest.”

Purposefully, his ringed fingers drag on the perky nub of your clit. Toyin’ in sultry hearts like he yearned to hear those dewy squelches, like they were now his favorite song. 

Again and again. Geto’s trying to synchronize the bruising pumps of his cock with each swivel of his thumb. 

“Your walls cling onto me like they- hah, never wish to let go.” He’s whispering in your ear, snickering at the way your poor cunt was swallowing him up. Sucking him impatiently back in, he’s forced to fight back against your pretty pussy just to fuck you crazy. “Is this how you really- ngh, feel inside? Do you think she’s falling for me, My Lady?”

And the only thing you can do is clamp down your velvety walls until he whimpers—“Honest.”

Just then, Geto cranes his neck over- targeting the slippery slope of your cunt with a glittering stream of spit. Aim so precise from all those noble hunting trips, and yet, he’s making just enough of your mess that your inner thighs are left with a sheen of slobber. 

It startles you into a yelp, body restless. “I-in your most- ngh, fantastical- oh, dreams.” 

“Is that so—?” Something dark was crackling at the back of his throat, and it’s enough to make your hips falter in their bucking pursuit.

For a split-second- before Geto throws a forearm over your front and pins you to him. He was pounding you cleanly into midair by this point, stopping you from escaping. Stopping you from even thinking of running from the frenzied motions of his fingers.

Ruthlessly, he’s pinching your clit and slightly draaaagging. “Was it in my most hah, fantastical dreams that you would gaze upon me like that during every soirée?” 

You’re looking away, veins boiling with heat. “I-I have no notion of what you prattle on about-”

He cuts you off by letting go of that cute lil’ tummy bulge he was fucking into you, immediately gripping your throat and manhandling you into a kiss. 

The glossy edges of Geto’s lips suck on your whiny tongue, moaning. “Mmm, make no fuss, pretty lady. You and I are one- oh, fuck. I can barely even recollect how many shallow, strait-laced suitors I wished to brawl for simply looking your way-” 

And oh- oh, there was something in his tone that was jagged. Dark. Low.

“-for I was looking at you like that, too.”

You didn’t even think it was possible - but you feel him engorge even bigger from right inside of you. So swole, the curvy tip of Geto’s cock pokes into the entrance of your womb and makes you keen.

Hiccuping through tears, “Please- fuck.” You were drooling like a spring, every whipping lash of his erection against your g-spot made your taste buds sizzle. Humping back into him as if you were in heat- “Fuh-fuck! I didn’t know it could feel this- ngh, good.”

But the more, more, more you were grinding back into his racing tempo, the lazier he was dragging his cock down your cunt. 

Faster and slower.

Faster and sloooower, making you recount the pattern of his mazing veins. He’s sensually rubbin’ your g-spot raw, and it’s rendering Geto himself absolutely pussydrunk. “Were you aware that it makes me i-impossibly harder to have you blustering around me? To have you yell at me?”

And now he was fixated on a sloppy staccato.

Your toes curled after each pathway of his globular, glazed tip - from the very forefront of your hole to target your battered g-spot. And then allllll the way back to rest against the spongy platform of your cervix.

It was a voyage he was repeatedly thrusting over and over and over.

“To- to have you…” Still continuing on with his inebriated conversation, after every slimy clench you were blessing him with. “To have to pretend your eyes weren’t- oh, falling upon my lips each time we argued- it killed me, My Lady.” 

One of his rolling thumbs slips inside your damp hole like he was trying to pry you even wider open. Bottomed out and still rutting against the very back of your cunt- if Geto could bury himself even deeper then he already would have.

“Killed me to- to pretend I didn’t want to silence that gorgeous mouth right in front of The Ton, hah.” He almost giggles near the corner of your ear, writing his name on the very tip-top of your clit and feeling your body go limp at the sensation. “Killed me to not- mmm, really give them gossip for the entire season.”

Your head falls against his firm clavicle, the area of Geto’s pecs were so firm n’ cushy. Again and again, your poor lower half was a complete mess, flooding with heat. “S-Suguru- mmpf.”

Before he’s spitting straight between your unfastened mouth. 

“Forgive me, my mind is not at the place to- oh, handle that smart mouth.” Drag after drag. Your pretty, breaking tone was what was sure to have him shattering before you did - and he didn’t want that. Not at all. 

So concentrated on the gift of unravelling your honeyed pussy that Geto doesn’t even realize he’s said that out loud-

“Before me, hm?” Grinning behind you, his trembling hands are nothing against the gyrating bounces you start up. Fucking back into his spearheading cock, all you have to do to disarm his strong arms is to clench– and Geto was all yours.

All ruined.

You’re smugly declaring, “How about a- hah, a wager?”

Murky amethyst eyes widen, “A w-wager?”

“I wager I will make you orgasm first.” The filthy words are pouring out of your mouth before you can stop them, “In the instance I win, I- oh, claim the first row at the races for two months.”

“And in the instance I win…”

You’re peeking up in curiosity, “Yes–?”

But Geto only leans in, gravelly tone grating sexily against your ear. “You will remember it, I assure you.”

His long, silken hair was messy now- numerous Stygian strands plastering across his forehead, others, thrown over both your shoulders. And you can’t stop yourself from clawing behind and tugging- enough to make him groan.

Prolonged cockhead stirrin’ inside of you, he’s jostling you up, up, up–

Thwack! 

“Cum.”

Perhaps it’s the utterly lecherous feeling of Geto’s plump, heavy ballsack spanking your cunt. Perhaps it’s the way he pinches out your clit after drawing such a cute heart on top. Perhaps it’s just him- but you’re crashing into a high you weren’t even aware was simmering.

But as soon as it bursts - it’s fiery. It’s frying the ends of your nerves with pure bliss, it’s leaving your vision a kaleidoscope of tears. “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck, cumming—”

You can only hold onto Geto’s muscular frame for dear life and let him ride your own orgasm out.

Spitting through solid, rovering paps of his cock, “Hah! What did I- oh, it’s my victory lap, is it not?” Still milking himself in vicious jackhammers, Geto streams out yet another wad of saliva down onto your pussy to hear the wet noises as you cum.

To hear the way he was thoroughly dragging you through the bursts of your high. You claw onto the couch and shriek- “Inside, I beg of you- I wish to feel you- hngh, inside, My Lord.”

“P-pardon?” His voice breaks. Breathily disbelieving, the primal pumps of his prolonged inches only accelerates - as if Geto was aiming to fuck the answer out of you. Inside. Inside. 

In and out in and out in and- “I wish for it all here- inside.” You’re guiding his free hand to claw back down your front, feeling for that bump of his globular cock. Babbling against Geto’s mouth, it takes you no longer than a split-second to spit- “Always have, Suguru.”

And that’s enough for his weeping, rawly-red orifice to burst into the hardest orgasm of his entire life.

Geto doesn’t stop until he’s dragging himself dry on your walls. Filling your creamy cunt up with so many knotted ounces of seed that you can feel it slickly sliiiiiding down your walls. Trickling out from between your legs. 

You squeeze your thighs together and squeal at the hot glue of cum sticking them together, “Fuck- fuck! Just like that-”

“I’m s-so fond of you. I’m so in love…” You hear his confession whisper against your eardrums like the viscount had nothing more left to lose. 

You’re still tender, and each unsteady spurt of his cum sprayed inside makes your spine zap with something carnal. Your own high still a few tingles, you fist your fingers into his night-dark hair, pulling him in.

And something in his hoarse breath catches- and Geto finds himself biting his honed canines into the skin of your throat. 

Making you moan, head unfogging ever-so-slightly. “A-are you aware that we are still obliged to attend Her Highness’s ball, Lord Ge-”

“Suguru.”

“Lord Suguru?”

“No, nothing but Suguru.” He finishes off for you, finally finished marking after a few more bite-shaped indents of his teeth. He’s still sluggishly jerking his cock inside, completely splashing n’ trickling sap over your tender spots. “And are you aware that I have ha-hah! reaped the victory of our little oh, wager?”

Your mouth parts, “And is this what you wish for? To bite me?”

“Not at all.” Biting you a few more times after then, Geto finally angles his head to face you fully. To take you in. To memorize. To slip his drenched family signet ring onto your left ring finger. You’ve never heard him sound so sincere- “All I wish for is for you to marry me, My Lady.”

“Suguru…” You shiver, his overstimulated cock pulses at the sound of that. Rutting harder. “You don’t require a wager for me to marry you.” And it’s just astonishing how pretty he looks when he flushes. 

As he whines, you smile. “I shall do so anyway. And you can’t stop me now.”

Somewhere in the back of Geto’s mind, he knows there is much to plan - a proper engagement ring, first of all, with the biggest diamond of all the land, and then the family proceedings, The Ton announcement, the honeymoon. 

But, for now, Lord Geto Suguru is content curling up in your arms. “I should expect no less from you, viscountess Geto.”

And his ravenous hips are still squeezing against yours, still needy. 

Still feral.

You didn’t think you’d be escaping from him that easy, did you?

“Now, about my reward for that wager…”

.

.

.

Dearest gentle reader,

One might just ponder whether the speculations from last week’s royal gathering hid a divine ability to read the future. For the absence of both Lord Geto Suguru and his viscountess beau did little to quell the suspicions of a blossoming romance, particularly when neither party was in attendance once Her Majesty the queen announced our viscountess as the Diamond of the season.

And yet, my trusted sources fervently claim that the most scandalous noises were heard deep in the groves of the royal gardens where both disappeared.

But perhaps daring whispers are of no import - however, this author must note that both were observed meandering back late into the ball, guiltily satisfied, thoroughly marked in bites. Yes, of no import at all, certainly…

And I am delighted to share that this is not the mere extent of the romantic antics between our beloved viscount and viscountess.

Why, it is this author’s greatest honor to impart to you: the Diamond couple of Her Majesty’s Diamond Ball has officially announced their union with the most enormous diamond seen this season!

You have most certainly read that right, as Viscount and Viscountess Geto safely arrive from their voyages across the sea, The Ton may look forward to the wedding of the year. 

Cease those shattering hearts at once! Who would have imagined that the most charming, handsome bachelor would transform from ‘rake’ to ‘Romeo’—with a capital ‘R.’ Shakespeare should weep!

It is said that Lord Geto is positively enamored with his fiancée, and I personally hear from sources close to the happy couple that this romance had been blooming for a long time, for none other than each other. How delightful that it should blossom right for us to gossip about.

Now, I don’t know about you, dear readers, but this author will be hastening to the tailors at once - and I suggest you do, too. We have a wedding to attend!

Yours Truly, 

Lady Whistledown.

A/N. Also watched Superman and suddenly I believe in love again so here’s this.