Zayne lay in bed, unable to sleep.
Not because of stress or work or nightmares—for once.
Because his wife looked like a doll beside him.
*She looks the same. In every lifetime, every timeline, every iteration of fate—she looks exactly like this. Peaceful. Innocent. Mine.*
*But in every other lifetime, I lost her. Over and over. The jasmine flowers in the Tower—each one a version of her that died while I watched, helpless.*
He pulled her closer to his chest, careful not to wake her.
*This lifetime has to be different. I've already broken the cycle by refusing to follow Astra's commands. By choosing her over duty. By loving her openly instead of from a distance.*
*But what if it's not enough? What if fate finds another way?*
His hand smoothed over her hair, so soft.
"I love everything about you," he whispered, knowing she couldn't hear. "The chaos. The sweetness. The innocent way you see the world. You make my never-ending winter feel like spring."
*Poetic. I'm being poetic at midnight over my sleeping wife. My colleagues would never believe this.*
Her eyes fluttered open slowly.
"Zayne?" she mumbled, nuzzling into his chest. "Why are you not sleeping yet?"
*Caught. Being sentimental. This is embarrassing.*
"Just thinking."
"About what?" She yawned adorably.
"About you."
She PERKED UP immediately, suddenly more awake. "Good things?!"
"Always good things, hamster."
* Even when you're destroying my kitchen or riding bicycles through hospitals or bringing squirrels to work. All good things.*
Then her hand moved lower, brushing against his pants.
"Is sunflower awake too?" she asked innocently.
*Of course she'd notice. Her chaos-detection skills extend to my anatomy.*
She poked. Once. Twice.
Poke poke.
He huffed a laugh, half-fond, half-exasperated.
* She's poking it like a science experiment. My wife treats my arousal like a curiosity to investigate.*
Instead of answering, he concentrated, creating another ice jasmine flower in his palm—this one smaller, more delicate.
Her eyes went WIDE, temporarily distracted. "Another one! So pretty!"
She giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck, the flower clutched carefully in one hand.
It was supposed to be innocent.
A sweet moment.
Then she asked: "Zayne... can I taste sunflower juice?"
...
* She wants. She wants to taste. My. The. She's asking to—*
"You want to what?" He needed clarification. Surely he misheard.
"The sunflower juice! From last time! I never tried it before. Is it sweet?"
*She's asking about semen. My semen. With the innocence of someone asking about fruit juice. This is. I'm going to hell. I'm definitely going to hell.*
"Nana, that's not... it's not for eating."
"But it comes out! Like juice!"
"It's not SWEET," he tried to explain, voice strained. "It's not like macarons or—"
"But I want to TRY!" She looked determined now. "For science! For education!"
* She's using MY terminology against me. 'For education.' This is psychological warfare.*
He studied her face—genuinely curious, not trying to be seductive, just wanting to know.
*She's going to be the death of me. A sweet, innocent death involving my complete moral collapse.*
"If you want to try," he said carefully, "I'll guide you. But you can stop anytime."
She nodded enthusiastically. "Okay! Teach me, Doctor!"
* She called me Doctor. During sex education. I'm going to HELL.*
He helped her move down the bed, positioning her between his legs as he sat up against the headboard.
She looked up at him with those big, curious eyes, and he nearly lost his resolve right there.
* Control. Maintain control. She's learning. This is educational. Very educational. Too educational.*
He freed himself from his pajama pants, already half-hard from her earlier poking.
She STARED. "It's bigger up close!"
* Commentary. She's providing live commentary on my anatomy. This is my life.*
"Wrap your hand around it," he instructed, voice rough. "Like before."
She did, her small hand barely wrapping all the way around. "Like this?"
"Yes. Now stroke—gently—up and down."
She followed instructions carefully, watching his face for reactions.
*She's studying me. Learning what I like. This is going to kill me. Death by enthusiastic wife.*
"Now," he continued, struggling to maintain his clinical voice, "if you want to use your mouth, start with the tip. Just—" he sucked in a breath as she immediately leaned forward, "—warning would be nice—"
Too late.
Her mouth closed around the head of his cock, warm and wet and EAGER.
"Fuck," he cursed, hand flying to her hair. "Nana—"
She SUCKED. Hard.
*TOO HARD. Too enthusiastic. Going to— can't—*
"Gentle," he gasped, guiding her head. "Not so strong—you'll hurt yourself—"
She pulled back, concerned. "Am I bad at it?"
"No, just—softer suction. And use your tongue."
She tried again, this time gentler, tongue exploring the head curiously.
*Better. Much better. Too good. She's learning too fast. Mina's influence. Definitely Mina's influence.*
He guided her hands to stroke what wouldn't fit in her mouth—which was most of it, given the size difference.
"Like this?" she mumbled around him.
The vibration of her voice made him GROAN. "Yes. Exactly like that."
*I'm teaching my wife oral technique. With clinical instructions. While actively losing my mind. This is either the best or worst decision I've ever made.*
She found a rhythm—mouth on the tip, hands stroking the shaft. Clumsy but enthusiastic. Learning quickly.
Too quickly.
*She's going to make me—I'm going to—warning. Need to warn her.*
"Nana," he gasped, "I'm close—you should—"
She SUCKED harder instead of pulling away, clearly misunderstanding.
*Wrong interpretation. WRONG—*
He came with a groan, spilling into her mouth, hand tightening in her hair.
She made a SURPRISED sound, eyes going wide.
* She didn't expect. I didn't warn properly. She's going to—*
She pulled back, half the fluid still in her mouth, looking confused and slightly panicked.
*She doesn't know what to do. Swallow? Spit? This is. This is actually hilarious and I'm a terrible person for thinking that.*
She grabbed tissues from the nightstand, spitting half into it, swallowing the other half with a grimace.
"It's SALTY!" she announced, nose wrinkled. "Not sweet at all! You were right!"
*She's. She's reviewing it. Like a food critique. 'Salty, not sweet, would not recommend.' I'm LAUGHING.*
He couldn't help it—he LAUGHED. A genuine, chest-shaking laugh.
She looked OFFENDED. "Don't LAUGH! I tried!"
"I know," he managed between laughs, pulling her up into his arms. "You did very well. Especially for your first time."
"But it was SALTY and WEIRD TEXTURE—"
"That's normal. It's not meant to taste like dessert."
She pouted against his chest. "False advertising. 'Sunflower juice' sounds sweet."
*False advertising. She's accusing my bodily fluids of false advertising. This woman.*
"You named it sunflower juice. I never claimed it was sweet."
"You should have WARNED me better!"
"I tried. You were too enthusiastic."
She HUFFED, but snuggled closer. "Well... I'm glad I tried. For education."
* For education. She's categorizing fellatio as educational experience. This is somehow the most wholesome and inappropriate conversation simultaneously.*
He kissed the top of her head. "Thank you for trying. You don't have to do it again if you didn't like it."
"Hmm..." She considered. "Maybe I'll try again. To see if it tastes different next time."
*She's planning repeat experiments. Scientific method application. My wife is approaching oral sex like a research project. I'm. I'm fine with this.*
"Whenever you want, hamster."
She looked up at him, the ice jasmine flower still clutched in her other hand. "Zayne?"
"Mm?"
"Thank you for making spring happen."
...
*She heard. When I thought she was sleeping. She heard everything.*
His chest tightened. "You heard that?"
"Some of it. About winter and spring." She traced patterns on his chest. "I don't know what it means exactly, but... I'm happy I can be your spring."
* She doesn't know about the myths. The timelines. The Tower. The curse of loving her across lifetimes only to lose her every time. She just knows she makes me happy. And that's enough.*
"You're everything," he said quietly. "My spring, my summer, my entire world."
She BEAMED. "That's so ROMANTIC! Say more romantic things!"
"Absolutely not. I've used my yearly quota."
"ZAYNE!"
"Go to sleep, hamster. It's late."
"But I want MORE romance—"
He kissed her, effectively shutting her up, tasting salt and her and home.
When he pulled back, she was grinning. "That counts as romantic."
"Sleep."
"Fine." She yawned, settling against him. "But tomorrow you have to say romantic things again."
*She's negotiating for daily romance. This is. Actually reasonable. I can do that. For her.*
"Deal."
Within minutes, she was asleep, still holding the ice jasmine flower.
He watched her for a while longer, this chaotic, innocent, perfect woman who'd turned his endless winter into spring.
*This lifetime is different. I'll make sure of it. She won't die. She won't fade. She won't become another jasmine in the tower. This time, I keep her. Forever.*
*This is my promise. Across all timelines, all lifetimes, all versions of fate: she's mine to protect. Mine to love. Mine to keep.*
*And I'll burn the world down before I let fate take her from me again.*
He kissed her forehead one more time, then finally let himself sleep.
Meanwhile - Mr. Fluffytail's Tree
Mr. Fluffytail was awake, watching the window.
"They're doing human things again."
Mrs. Fluffytail yawned. "It's their nature. Let them be."
"Should we be concerned?"
"Only if she tries to bring MORE animals to the human healing building."
"...She's definitely going to do that."
"Then we'll deal with it tomorrow."
Fair point.
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🌻🌻🌻
To be continued.