#I can’t look these people in the eye ever again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dazevi · 22 hours ago

Note

vi x reader angst where reader and vi had something before lockup (maybe reader was desperately looking for her/a body for years and never got with anyone else because they loved vi). first time they see vi again, they’re kissing cait. vi has to make a choice (mayhaps someone tells vi how much, how long and how deep reader still loves vi)

SORRY THIS ASK IS LONG BUT NO ONE WRITES VI X CAIT X READER ANSGT AND IM FEENING FOR ITTTT CA

I’VE LOVED YOU FOR SO LONG | vi x fem!reader, angst, squint of fluff, wc: 10k | masterlist

content warnings: not much! angst!!!, brief caitvi, childhood friend!vi, firelight kinda!reader, tiny mention of blood, bit of an open ending, uhhhhh ….

note: sorry this took so long but i hope u like it! (struggled a bit with the ending so i left it kind of open and hopeful :P

Growing up in the Lanes was never easy. The air was always thick wit smog and desperation. But somehow, in the middle of all the grime, there were moments of light—moments that felt almost normal… sweet, even.

For Vi, those moments often came when she was with you.

You were the kind of person who seemed to radiate something soft, something pure, even in a place as unforgiving as here. You were always helping someone—patching up a scraped knee, sharing what little food you had, or offering a warm smile that could ease even the sharpest edges of the Lanes’ harsh reality. Vi, on the other hand, was tough as nails, like she always was. But when it came to you, that toughness often cracked, revealing a gentler side that few people ever got to see.

You met when you were both kids, barely old enough to understand the full weight of the world you were born into. Vi had just finished scrapping with a group of older kids who had tried to steal a loaf of bread from Powder. Her knuckles were bloody, and her lip was split, but she wore her bruises with pride as she swaggered down the street.

Then she saw you—someone small and delicate crouched beside a stray cat with a limp, gently wrapping its leg with a strip of cloth you’d torn from your own sleeve. Vi had stopped in her tracks, her usual bravado faltering as she watched you work with such careful concentration. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen anyone show that kind of… tenderness.

“Hey,” she had said, her voice rough but curious, “what’re you doing?”

You looked up at her, your eyes wide and a little startled, but then you smiled. “Helping,” you said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

From that moment on, Vi couldn’t seem to stay away from you.

She’d show up wherever you were, always with some excuse—she was just passing through, or she needed your help with something, or she was making sure no one was giving you trouble. In truth, she just liked being around you. You didn’t flinch when she got into fights, didn’t scold her for her temper or her stubbornness. Instead, you had this way of looking at her, like you could see past all of that to the person she really was. And Vi, who had always felt like she had to be tough to survive and protect her family, found herself wanting to be softer when she was with you.

The two of you became inseparable, spending your days exploring the winding alleys and hidden corners of the Lanes. Vi would teach you how to throw a punch, insisting that you needed to know how to defend yourself. You’d laugh as she guided your fists, her hands warm and steady against yours, though she always ended up pulling her punches when it came to sparring.

“Can’t risk messing up that pretty face of yours,” she’d tease, though her voice would always carry a hint of something serious, like the idea of you getting hurt was unbearable to her.

“You’re an idiot,” you’d say back.

And she’d laugh, nudging you playfully against your shoulder, her all ears red as she looked at you, “But I’m your idiot.”

You, in turn, taught Vi the value of kindness, though you didn’t do it with words. You did it with your actions—with the way you’d stop to help a stranger, even when you didn’t have much to give, or the way you’d bandage up Vi’s cuts and bruises after a fight, your touch so gentle it made her chest ache. She’d sit there, watching you work, and wonder how someone like you could exist in a place like this.

And it also helped that Powder adored you too.

She’d often tag along on your adventures with her wide-eyed curiosity. You had a way of making her feel seen, of treating her like she was just as capable and important as the rest of you, and that meant the world to her. Vi loved watching the two of you together, the way you’d laugh and tease each other, the way you’d patiently explain things to Powder when she didn’t understand. It made Vi’s dreams of a better life feel almost tangible, like maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something more than survival.

And then there were the jobs… or whatever she could get from Ekko.

They were never easy—running contraband, sneaking into places she had no business being. Vi loved the adrenaline of it, the thrill of a plan coming together, but there was always a part of her that thought about you while she was out there. She’d see something—a trinket, a piece of candy, a flower growing stubbornly in the cracks of the pavement—and she’d think of you.

She started bringing things back for you, little gifts she’d pretend didn’t mean anything. The first time, it was a shiny button she found while breaking into a some storage room. It was small and completely useless, but it was the kind of thing she thought you’d like. She tossed it to you when she came back, trying to act casual.

“Found this,” she said, her voice gruff. “Figured you could use it for… I don’t know, something.”

You’d looked at her, a little confused at first, but when you smiled and said, “Thanks, Vi,” she felt something warm settle in her chest.

After that, it became a habit.

She’d bring you scraps of fabric, little bits of wire and string, or a half-broken gadget Powder thought she could fix up for you. Once, she brought you a single daisy she’d found growing in a crack on the edge of the Lanes. She’d nearly crushed it during the job, and when she handed it to you, she was so embarrassed she couldn’t meet your eyes.

“It’s just a flower,” she mumbled, scratching the back of her neck. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

But you always did. Vi would pretend it didn’t matter, but her ears would turn red, and she’d fumble with excuses about why she’d brought you something in the first place.

She didn’t know how to say what she was feeling, didn’t even fully understand it herself. All she knew was that you made the Lanes feel a little less bleak, a little less hopeless.

And as the years passed, the your relationship with Vi only grew stronger. There were always moments when the certain feelings between you became almost impossible to ignore—like the time you patched her up after a particularly nasty fight, your fingers lingering on her cheek as you wiped away the blood, telling her firmly to always be careful, as your eyes search hers. Or the time she caught you staring at her with that soft look in your eyes and she felt her cheeks flush, her confidence faltering as she looked away, muttering something about how you shouldn’t look at her like that. You’d raise an eyebrow in response, then just laugh softly.

But neither of you ever said anything outright. Instead, you found comfort in the smaller things—stolen glances, the way your hands would brush against each other as you walked side by side, the way Vi’s walls would melt away when it was just the two of you.

You were more than just a friend. You were her safe place, her reminder that there was still good in the world, even in the darkest corners of the Lanes. And for you, she was your protector, your anchor, the person who made you feel like maybe you weren’t as fragile as the world wanted you to believe.

But the Lanes always had a way of taking everything good and twisting it into something painful.

The night everything went to shit was the last time life in the Lanes felt even remotely bearable. It had been tense from the start. Vander was gone, taken by Silco, and Vi’s face was set in that grim determination she always wore when she was trying to be strong for everyone else. You knew she was scared, no matter how much she tried to hide it.

You were in the back room of the Last Drop, pacing. Vi had told you to stay put, her voice sharper than usual, her gaze practically boring a hole through you.

“Don’t follow us,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Just… stay here. Look after Powder, okay? I can’t worry about you and her while we’re out there.”

You wanted to argue, to tell her you could help, that you weren’t as fragile as she thought you were. But the look in her eyes stopped you. So, you nodded, biting back the words you wanted to say, and watched her leave with Mylo and Claggor.

Powder sat on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, clutching one of her gadgets like it was a lifeline. She kept glancing at the door like she was expecting Vi to come back at any moment, triumphant and unscathed.

But you both knew better.

The hours dragged on, the silence between you and Powder filled only with the occasional sound of glass breaking in the distance or the low hum of Zaun’s underbelly. You tried to keep your hands busy, cleaning up the room, organizing scraps of whatever was lying around. Anything to stop your mind from racing. Powder didn’t really say much; she just watched you with wide, anxious eyes, her fingers fidgeting with the gears of her monkey bomb.

Eventually, exhaustion began to creep in. You figured you were working too much. You remembered Vi’s words in your head, telling you that she’s always careful, that she’ll always come back to you. And you tried to stay awake, tried to keep an eye on Powder like Vi had asked, but your body betrayed you.

Powder had been quiet the whole night, but as you drifted off, she glanced at you. She hated being left behind, hated the way Vi always told her to stay because she wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t capable enough. She wanted to prove herself, to show that she could help, that she could save them. And with you asleep, curled up in Vi’s bed, she saw her chance. Quietly, Powder slipped off the couch, grabbing her monkey bomb and a bag of supplies. She hesitated for a moment, looking back at you. She didn’t want to leave you, but she couldn’t sit there and do nothing.

Not when Vi needed her.

She crept out of the room, careful not to make a sound, and disappeared into the shadows.

The first thing you noticed as you stirred was the faint, low rumble of something distant but violent—a sound that felt like it rattled through the very walls of the Last Drop. You blinked, eyes fluttering slowly as you pushed yourself up. The second explosion was sharper, louder, and your heart leaped in your chest. It was a sound that didn’t belong to the Lanes.

Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light of the room. Everything felt too still now, too quiet, except for the faint aftershock of what you had just heard. You rubbed at your face, trying to shake off the grogginess, and then you noticed it—bright, electric blue sparks flickering in the distance, visible through the small, grimy window. Your stomach dropped as a sense of dread washed over you. Your breaths came quicker now, shallow and uneven, as you sat up fully, scanning the room.

“Powder?” you called out softly, your voice hoarse from sleep.

You looked around, the familiar clutter of the space offering no sign of her.

“Powder?” you called again, louder this time, but the silence that followed made your chest tighten.

You stumbled to your feet, nearly tripping over a discarded piece of scrap on the floor. Your eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign that she was still there—a glimpse of her small frame huddled in the corner, the sound of her fidgeting with one of her gadgets.

But there was nothing.

The couch where she’d been sitting earlier was empty, the blanket you’d draped over her crumpled and abandoned. The faint smell of oil and metal lingered in the air, but it was missing the warmth of her presence.

“No, no, no,” you muttered under your breath, your mind racing as you pieced together what must have happened.

You remembered the way she had been clutching that monkey bomb earlier, the way her eyes had flickered with something desperate and restless.

She left.

Your knees nearly buckled as you made your way to the window, pressing your palms against the cold glass. The sparks of blue still flickered in the distance, bright against the dark, polluted haze of the Lanes. The explosions hadn’t stopped, and now there were faint trails of smoke rising into the air.

“Powder,” you whispered, the weight of her name heavy on your tongue.

She had gone after Vi, you were sure of it. The thought hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless. She was out there—your sweet, fragile Powder—in the middle of whatever chaos was unfolding.

And Vi… Vi had told you both to stay behind.

Now, you were running as fast as you could.

And when you got there, everything was on fire.

Buildings were crumbling under the weight of the flames, black smoke billowing into the sky and choking the air around you. The heat was suffocating, stinging your eyes and making it hard to breathe. You stood there, frozen, your wide eyes scanning the devastation. The ground was stained with dark, wet streaks that gleamed in the firelight—blood. It was everywhere, smeared across the cobblestones, trailing through the debris, pooling in some places as if marking the spots where someone had fallen.

But there were no bodies.

No sign of Vi. No Mylo. No Claggor. No Powder. Just… nothing.

Your chest heaved as you tried to take it all in, your mind struggling to make sense of the chaos. The silence was deafening, broken only by the relentless crackle of flames and the occasional groan of a collapsing structure. You called out for them. You spent hours waiting, searching and trying.

But, there were no voices, no footsteps, no cries for help.

Just emptiness.

Nothing.

The days blurred into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years. Time moved forward, but you stayed stuck in the same moment—the night everything fell apart. The fire, the blood on the streets, the faces of everyone you loved burned into your memory like scars you couldn’t erase. It didn’t matter how much time passed. You never stopped seeing them. Never stopped feeling the weight of their absence.

Life in the Undercity didn’t wait for grief. It didn’t give you the chance to sit still and process the ache in your chest or the emptiness that had swallowed your world whole. The streets you grew up on were darker now, quieter, yet somehow more dangerous. Shimmer twisted its way into every crack and corner, poisoning the air you breathed.

You still had Ekko. He stuck close, as much as he could, and you were grateful for him in ways you couldn’t put into words. But even with him around, the loneliness lingered anyway.

Nights were the worst. The silence of your small, dimly lit room pressed down on you, and your mind replayed every memory of Vi, Powder, Mylo, and Claggor. Sometimes, you could almost hear their laughter echoing in the distance.

Almost.

You never stopped looking for her.

At first, it was constant. Every waking moment you scoured the streets, searching for any trace of her. You asked anyone who would listen if they’d seen her, but no one had. Not a single person could tell you where she had gone or what had happened to her. Some said she was dead. Others said she’d been taken topside, to Piltover’s dungeons. You didn’t know which was worse.

You looked for Powder, too. Sometimes, you felt like you’d seen traces of her somewhere, certain colors she liked, drawings on the wall… It was like she was there, but she wasn’t… like she didn’t want to be found.

And years passed, but the hope never left you. Not fully. Even when the streets seemed colder, even when Ekko begged you to stop putting yourself in danger, you kept searching. You’d walk the streets at night, hood pulled tight over your head, hoping to catch a glimpse of her pink hair or hear her sharp voice in the crowd. Every time you saw a tall figure in the shadows, your heart would leap, only to sink seconds later when it wasn’t her.

You wondered, sometimes, if she was looking for you too. If she was out there somewhere, wondering what had happened to you. If she missed you the way you missed her. Those thoughts were the only thing that kept you going on the hardest days.

The Undercity changed around you. The shimmer trade grew stronger, its effects spreading like a disease. People you’d known your whole life turned hollow, their eyes glassy, their voices slurred. Survival became harder with each passing day. But even as the world around you crumbled, you held onto the memory of Vi.

Her voice. Her laugh. The way she used to look at you when she thought you weren’t paying attention, as if you were something more than just a friend. The way she used to bring you small, silly things from her jobs—half the time things she swore she’d found by accident, even though you knew better.

You missed her so much it hurt.

Then, one night, Ekko came to visit you.

He had news about Powder.

He’d seen her, he said. And it didn’t make sense at first.

He sat across from you in the dim, flickering light of the small hideout you’d both retreated to. His voice was almost hesitant, but heavy with something you couldn’t quite name. Regret? Anger? Grief? Maybe all three, twisted together in a way that made him seem older than he was, like the years had weighed heavier on him than they should have.

You were hunched over, elbows resting on your knees, your face buried in your hands. It had been another fruitless day, searching for a ghost you weren’t sure even existed anymore. Your body ached, your head throbbed, and the emptiness in your chest felt like it might swallow you whole.

And then Ekko said it—he said her name.

“Powder… she’s not the same anymore.”

At first, you thought he meant something else. Maybe she’d grown up like the rest of you, toughened by the streets and the weight of survival. Maybe he’d seen her, and she was angry, distant, bitter about the past. You could’ve handled that. You could’ve understood that.

But that wasn’t what he meant.

“She goes by Jinx now.”

You lifted your head slowly, confusion knitting your brow. “What are you talking about?”

Your voice was sharp, tinged with a nervous laugh that didn’t quite land.

“Powder wouldn’t call herself that. That’s not… that’s not her.”

Ekko’s gaze didn’t waver. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, his expression hard but laced with pain. “It is her. She’s with Silco now.”

The words hit you like a blow to the chest. “No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “She wouldn’t—she’d never—”

“She’s different, (Y/n).” His voice cracked, just barely, but enough to make you flinch. “She’s not the kid we knew. Silco got in her head, twisted her up. She’s… dangerous now.”

You sat back, your body rigid, your mind spinning. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Powder was sweet, shy, maybe a little clumsy, but always full of love and hope. Powder adored you. Powder idolized Vi. She’d never turn into someone like… like that.

“Where did you hear this?” you demanded, your voice low but trembling. “Who told you?”

“I saw her,” Ekko said flatly. “It’s her, (Y/n). She’s been running with Silco’s people for years. She’s the one behind half the chaos in the Lanes right now. You’ve heard about the explosions, the heists—the people disappearing. That’s Jinx.”

He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening.

“That’s Powder.”

You stared at him, the words refusing to sink in. It felt like someone had ripped the ground out from under you, leaving you floundering in freefall.

“You’re wrong,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Powder wouldn’t… she wouldn’t do that.”

“I wish I was wrong,” Ekko muttered, his voice thick with bitterness. “But I’m not. She’s gone. The Powder we knew—she’s gone.”

“No,” you snapped, louder this time, anger rising to the surface as your chest tightened with panic. “She’s not gone. She’s just… confused, or scared, or… something. She wouldn’t just…”

Ekko’s face softened, but his eyes were filled with sadness. “I thought the same thing when I first saw her. I wanted to believe she could still come back, that maybe I could fix it. But she’s too far gone. Silco’s got his hooks right into her. She’s not the kid we grew up with anymore. She’s…”

He paused, the words catching in his throat.

“She’s dangerous.”

You shook your head again, your hands trembling as you pressed them against your thighs. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Powder was your friend, your family. She was bright and sweet and full of so much love. She wasn’t… she wasn’t a monster.

The thoughts clung to you every night. Powder—Jinx—had become someone unrecognizable, and you couldn’t stop the questions from flooding your mind. What would Vi think if she knew? Would she be disappointed in you for not doing more, for not stopping Powder before it was too late? Would she think you’d failed her?

Vi. Her name echoed in your mind. You missed her in a way that was so all-encompassing it became a part of you. You missed the way she used to tease you, the way she’d smirk like she had the world figured out, even when she didn’t. You missed patching her up after a fight. You missed how she’d smile at you, telling you that things to brighten your day. You missed everything.

It was only recently that you realized why the ache felt so sharp, so endless. You loved her. You’d loved her for years, even if you hadn’t admitted it to yourself until now. It was why you couldn’t let her go, why no one else had ever been able to fill the void she left behind.

People had tried. There were a few who flirted with you, a few who asked you to dinner or drinks. But you’d always brushed them off, always found an excuse. None of them were her. None of them had her fire, her strength, the way she made you feel seen and safe all at once.

The years hadn’t been kind to you, but you’d done your best to survive, to keep going even when it felt like the world was crumbling around you. You’d thrown yourself into helping Ekko and the Firelights, finding purpose in their mission even when you felt lost.

You patched them up when they were injured, your hands steady as you cleaned wounds and wrapped bandages. You shared what little food you had, sometimes going without so they wouldn’t have to. You became someone they could rely on, even if you didn’t always feel strong yourself.

But that strength went away a couple months later—the day you saw her again. It was something you didn’t prepare yourself for. You hadn’t expected it at all.

The sunlight filtering through the cracks of the hideout’s makeshift roof caught on the edges of your hair as you worked, pulling ripe fruits and vegetables from the small garden that the Firelights had nurtured in secret. The air was damp but fresh, filled with the earthy scent of soil and the faint hum of life. You liked working in the garden—it gave you a moment of peace, a small break from the weight of everything outside.

When you were done, your hands were covered in dirt, and a bead of sweat traced its way down your temple. You wiped your brow with the back of your arm, sighing softly. A few of the others nodded at you in thanks as they carried the baskets of food away. You stayed behind, crouched by the water pump, scrubbing the grime from your hands and under your nails.

The cool water washed over your skin, and for a moment, you let yourself pause, closing your eyes as the sound of the stream drowned out your thoughts. But it didn’t last long. The quiet never did.

Once you were cleaned up, you shook off the weariness and decided to find Ekko. You’d been meaning to talk to him about something—or maybe you just wanted to hear a familiar voice. The hideout could feel suffocating at times, even though it was a sanctuary for many. Ekko had a way of cutting through it, reminding you that there was still something worth fighting for.

But as you made your way through the winding halls of the hideout, you stopped short, your breath catching in your throat.

In one of the side rooms, barely lit by the faint glow of sunlight filtering through the cracks, you saw them.

A girl with blue hair stood close to another figure, her delicate fingers brushing against the cheek of the person in front of her. You couldn’t make out their faces at first, your mind taking an extra second to register what you were seeing. But then the pink hair caught the light, vibrant even in the dim room, and your chest tightened.

Vi.

Your Vi.

And she wasn’t alone.

The blue-haired girl leaned in, her lips brushing against Vi’s in a kiss so soft, so tender, that it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Vi didn’t pull away, her hand resting gently on the girl’s waist, her shoulders relaxing in a way you hadn’t seen in years.

You froze, rooted to the spot, your feet unwilling to carry you forward—or away. Your mind raced, a thousand thoughts clamoring for attention, but none of them loud enough to break through the sudden ache in your chest.

She was here. She was alive. But she wasn’t yours.

You didn’t know whether to cry out, to step into the room and demand an explanation, or to turn and run before they could see you. You wanted to be happy that she was safe, but all you could feel was the slow, creeping weight of heartbreak as it settled over you.

Because in that moment, it was clear—Vi wasn’t yours to miss. Not anymore.

“You have some explaining to do.” The words feel foreign on your tongue, but they spill out before you can stop them.

You stand at the threshold of Ekko’s lab, chest heaving, heart racing in disbelief. The image of Vi with another woman—kissing her, holding her—flashes in your mind and it’s all too much.

Ekko stands abruptly, looking as startled as you feel. His eyes widen, and his hand instinctively scratches at the back of his neck, a nervous tick you’ve known him to do since you were kids.

“I—I was gonna tell you today,” he stammers, voice cracking slightly as he fumbles for his words. “We just got her last night… when we ambushed Jinx…”

Your breath catches, a knot of frustration and hurt tightening in your chest. “You ambushed Jinx? And now you’re bringing Vi back in like this? Without telling me?”

The words come out harsher than you intend, but it doesn’t matter right now. Your mind is spiraling.

Ekko holds up his hands, trying to calm you, his gaze softening. “I was going to tell you! I just… After everything with Jinx… I didn’t know if she was someone I could trust yet.”

His words hit you like a slap, and for the first time since you walked in here, a part of you slows down. After everything that happened, Vi could very well be someone you couldn’t trust. Someone who might have changed in ways you couldn’t understand. It stings to admit, but the doubt starts to creep in. You know Ekko—his loyalty runs deep, but he’s also careful. He always has been. You take a step back, your fists uncurling as you exhale sharply.

You swallow your frustration and let the silence settle between you, the weight of his words pressing down on you. Can we trust her?

The question hangs in the air, unspoken but felt, before you finally speak it.

“So… can we?” Your voice is quieter now, more hesitant. You want to hear reassurance, but you’re not sure if it’ll come.

Ekko doesn’t answer immediately. He exhales, a long, drawn-out sigh that betrays a weariness you hadn’t noticed before. When he finally looks up at you, his gaze holds something you hadn’t expected—a tenderness, a vulnerability. His lips curl into a small, almost wistful smile, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s seeing something you can’t.

“I think so,” he says softly, his voice quiet but steady. “I think we can.”

You sigh, blinking a few tears away.

“Who’s that… that girl she’s with?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper, though your heart is pounding in your chest.

You keep your eyes on the floor, unwilling to meet Ekko’s gaze, because the truth feels like it might crush you. The girl you’ve loved for as long as you can remember, is with someone else now. And it’s hard to wrap your mind around it, let alone confront it head-on.

Ekko’s silence stretches out for a moment, the room growing thick with the tension that neither of you knows how to ease. But then, slowly, his eyes soften, and you can hear the careful way he breathes in, like he’s about to tell you something heavy. His voice is gentle when he speaks, like he’s trying to cushion the blow without sugarcoating it.

“Her name’s Caitlyn,” Ekko says, and there’s a noticeable pause before he continues, as though he’s gathering his thoughts, picking out the right words. “She’s… She’s an enforcer, but…she’s different. I don’t think she’s on Silco’s side.”

Your stomach tightens at the mention of Caitlyn’s name, and you can feel a bitter knot in your throat.You finally glance up at Ekko, your eyes searching his face, desperate for any trace of what this means.

“Are they…?”

Ekko looks at you for a long, quiet moment, like he’s weighing your reaction against his own thoughts. He doesn’t look at you with pity, though; there’s no judgment in his gaze. Just understanding.

“I don’t know,” he admits, his voice low. “But I think Vi’s been through a lot. And Caitlyn… I don’t know what they have, but I can’t pretend I understand it. I’m still trying to figure out where Vi stands with all of this… All I know is Vi wants her sister back.”

You can’t look at Ekko anymore. The pain of it is too much, a heavy weight that presses down on you like the sky is collapsing. You back away, trying to swallow the lump in your throat, your hands trembling slightly.

“I thought… I thought she’d come back for me, for us,” you say softly, almost to yourself. The bitterness in your voice is unmistakable.

Ekko doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but you can feel the weight of his sympathy.

Finally, he speaks again, his voice quieter, softer. “I don’t think she’s forgotten you. I think she’s just trying to figure out everything for herself… Besides, she was… actually wondering if you were still around.”

“She was?” Your voice is quieter than you intended, almost shaky as you try to grasp what he just said.

Ekko nods, though his face is filled with something close to guilt, like he knows how this news might break you. “Yeah. She asked about you when she came in… said she didn’t know what happened to you after… everything.”

You let out a shaky sigh, your chest tightening at his words. The weight of it presses down on you, sinking deep.

“Where has she been… all this time?” The question slips out quietly before you can stop it.

Ekko hesitates, his eyes softening as he looks at you. There’s a long pause before he finally answers, each word like a slow puncture to your heart. “Stillwater.”

The name hits you like a punch to the gut. You freeze, unable to process at first, the words echoing in your mind, bouncing off the walls of your skull. It’s a place that steals everything from you, even the will to remember who you were before. Your throat tightens, and for a moment, you can’t breathe.

Vi… Vi was there?

The thought twists something deep inside you, like a sharp ache that spreads through your chest and down into your stomach. It felt impossible to imagine Vi—your Vi—there. The strong, fearless girl you grew up with, the one who fought for every scrap of life she could hold onto. The thought of her, trapped in that hellhole, stripped of the fire that had always burned in her… it’s unbearable.

“You should… probably be talking to her about all of this.”

You freeze at Ekko’s words, your heart pounding in your chest. The thought of speaking to her again, of standing face to face with her after all these years, makes your blood run cold. Your chest tightens, and suddenly, breathing feels like a chore.

“I…” You try to speak, but the words get stuck in your throat.

What could you say to her? After all this time? The distance between you both feels impossibly wide now, like a canyon you’ll never be able to cross. The thought of seeing her, of facing the reality of what’s changed, of all the years that slipped through your fingers—it paralyzes you. You want to see her. You want to run to her and hold her, tell her everything you’ve kept locked away for so long, but you can’t shake the feeling that you’re not ready for that.

Your hands are shaking now, and you clutch at the edge of the table for support, your palms slick with sweat.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” you say.

Your voice cracks under the weight of your own fear. The thought of facing Vi, of seeing her and realizing how much has changed, of feeling the space that’s grown between you both—it feels impossible.

Ekko watches you, his expression softening with understanding, but there’s something else in his eyes, something unreadable.

“I get it,” he says quietly, taking a step closer to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to rush into anything. I know you’ve been carrying this around for a long time.”

But the truth is, you don’t just carry the weight of all that time apart—you carry the weight of your own fear. Fear that she’ll see you as a stranger. Fear that you won’t know how to talk to her anymore. Fear that everything that once felt so easy between you and Vi will have changed beyond recognition. The thought of her not loving you anymore, or of you not being able to love her the same way, makes your stomach churn.

You bite your lip, unable to finish the thought, as your mind races in a thousand different directions.

“Does she know I’m here?”

Ekko’s gaze shifts, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He looks like he’s struggling with something, something he doesn’t want to say, but he knows he has to. He shifts on his feet, a sigh escaping him as he scratches the back of his neck again, the tension in his posture telling you more than his words ever could.

“I… I told her you’re around,” Ekko finally says, his voice soft but weighed with caution. “Not here exactly, though. I wanted to warn you before…”

Before everything changes.

But a knock at the door stills the air in the room. It’s sharp, sudden, and it cuts through the heavy silence that’s settled between you. You don’t move at first and Ekko hesitates for a moment, then turns, just as the door creaks open.

And then, there she is.

You freeze, unable to breathe, unable to move as your eyes lock onto hers. It’s like the whole world stops for a moment—your heart, your thoughts, everything. She’s standing there, in the doorway, her eyes wide as they sweep over you. It’s as if she’s seeing you for the first time, like she can’t quite believe you’re here. That you’re real.

Her gaze flickers across you—your eyes, your face, the way you’ve changed over the years. You can see the shock in her features, the way her breath catches for a split second before she can speak.

“(Y/n),” she whispers, her voice raw, as if the sound of your name in her mouth is a shock to her as much as it is to you.

There’s a long pause. Neither of you move, neither of you speak, as if neither of you knows how to start, what to say. Vi stands there, her eyes fixed on you, and you can see the wheels turning behind her expression. She doesn’t look the same as the girl you once knew, but her eyes—those blue eyes—are still the same, full of emotions you can’t quite place.

Vi’s eyes trail down your form, and you can see her struggling to hide the way her gaze softens as she takes in how you’ve grown, how you’ve changed. You’re different now—more than just the girl she once knew in the Lanes—but somehow, at the same time, you’re still the same person. The one who was always kind, always caring. The one who had a heart too big for the world they were in.

You watch as her eyes linger on you, not saying a word, just staring. A small breath escapes her lips, like she’s struggling to hold back some emotion, some surge of feelings that are too heavy for her to put into words. She opens her mouth to speak, but then closes it again, like the words are stuck inside her.

“I, um… I have work to do, Ekko.” Your voice cracks, and you can feel the tears stinging at the back of your eyes.

You tear your gaze away from Vi, your heart pounding in your chest as if it’s trying to break free. The weight of everything, of all the lost time, of everything you thought you had buried, feels like it’s crashing down on you in waves.

You can’t look at her anymore. Not like this. Not when everything in you is screaming to hold her, to ask her why she left, to beg her to stay. But you can’t. Not yet. Not when the hurt is still so raw.

You turn quickly, brushing past Vi with a sharp movement, your steps frantic, but trying to remain composed. Your heart races in your chest as you feel the heat of her eyes on your back, but you don’t look back. You can’t. The moment you do, you’re afraid you’ll break, and you can’t afford to break now.

The door slams shut behind you, and you can hear the soft echo of your hurried footsteps fading as you walk away. You don’t look up, don’t let yourself feel the weight of the emptiness in the room, even though you know it’s all there.

But you’re not ready. Not yet.

Ekko watches the door for a moment, his gaze thoughtful and a little sad. He doesn’t say anything, knowing that nothing he could say will ease the tension in the room.

Vi stands there, still frozen, her mind processing everything all at once. The way you walked out, the way you didn’t look back, how quickly you shut yourself off. She swallows hard, as if trying to force her emotions to settle. But they don’t. They’re all tangled up in her chest. She wants to go after you. She wants to explain.

“(Y/n)…” Vi whispers the name, barely above a breath, as if saying it out loud will somehow make it real, bring back the girl she thought she had lost forever. “She’s… grown.”

“We all have.”

His eyes flicker to Vi, his expression unreadable. He takes a deep breath, trying to find the right words, but nothing feels quite right. He knows how this is going to land—knows it’s going to hurt, even though he wishes it didn’t have to be this way.

“I think she saw you and Caitlyn,” he says quietly. “Together, I mean.”

Vi’s body stiffens at the mention of Caitlyn’s name, her eyes snapping to Ekko in disbelief. The shock is instant, followed by a sharp pang of guilt that twists in her chest. Her mind races, trying to make sense of the situation—of the way you had looked at her, of how you had walked out without saying anything more, as if something between the two of you had shattered. And now this. She opens her mouth to speak, but the words get stuck, tangled in her throat.

Ekko slumps back in his chair, his fingers tapping restlessly against the worn surface of his desk. He doesn’t know what to say to either of them. His gaze remains fixed on Vi, her posture still stiff, eyes distant.

“She thinks you’re together…” Ekko looks at Vi with curiosity. “Are you?”

Vi’s heart stutters in her chest, and she looks away quickly, swallowing hard.

“No,” she answers, almost too quickly. “No, we’re not together.”

Her voice wavers slightly, the truth of her feelings suddenly coming to the surface, uninvited but undeniable. Caitlyn is kind and gentle, but it’s never been like that with her. She only met her this week. Vi doesn’t know what it is, but it’s not love—not like what she’s felt, and still feels, for you.

The kiss was… a moment of comfort, of trying to hold onto something familiar in a world that’s changed beyond recognition. It meant nothing. Or at least, it shouldn’t have meant anything. But now, knowing that you’d seen it, knowing that it might hurt you—it stings. And it stings more than she’s willing to admit.

Ekko watches her for a moment and sighs. He knows Vi well enough to see that flicker of something in her eyes, that far-off look, the hesitation that’s always there when she’s thinking about you.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” he mutters, “But you do need to talk to her.”

Vi nods slowly, her gaze flicking toward the door again.

“Yeah,” she says quietly, almost as if to herself. “I know. I just… I don’t know what to say. It’s been so long, Ekko.”

Ekko exhales sharply, leaning back in his chair. “She looked for you, you know. She hasn’t stopped. And she’s been alone for a long time too, Vi. She deserves to hear it.”

Vi doesn’t respond. The words hit her harder than she’s willing to admit. She knows Ekko’s right, but the fear of rejection still clings to her like a shadow. She’s afraid of what will happen if she faces you, afraid of seeing that disappointment in your eyes, hearing the anger in your voice. Afraid that even if she tries, it won’t be enough.

She takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settling in her chest.

“I’ll go find her.”

The climb to the top of the tree feels longer than it should, but Vi knows she’s stalling. Her hands grip the wooden edges tighter than they need to as she hauls herself up, each rung feeling like a step closer to a moment she’s not sure she’s ready for. Ekko’s words still echo in her head—She’s probably already up there, and needs the space, but… she deserves to hear from you.

And now, standing at the edge of the makeshift platform high above the Firelights’ hideout, Vi spots you. You’re sitting near the edge, your legs dangling over, one hand resting loosely on the ground for balance. The jukebox below hums softly, sending the faint notes of a melancholy tune drifting up through the cool night air. The lights of the community twinkle far beneath you, and the laughter and chatter of the people below seem like they belong to another world entirely.

Vi freezes for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. You haven’t noticed her yet, and she’s glad for it because it gives her time to take you in.

It’s been years since she’s seen you like this—quiet, lost in your own world. There’s something familiar in the way you tilt your head as you gaze out at the lights below, something achingly reminiscent of the person she remembers from all those years ago. She can’t help but wonder if you’re still the same in other ways, too. If you still laugh at dumb jokes, or hum to yourself when you’re deep in thought. If you still carry that kindness in your heart, despite everything the world’s thrown at you.

But there’s also something different, something that makes her chest ache. You look older. Wiser, maybe. More beautiful than she remembers, though she feels like that’s impossible, because she’s always thought you were the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

God, you’re beautiful. The thought hits her so suddenly that it makes her chest ache. It’s not just the way you look, though that alone would be enough to leave her speechless. It’s everything about you—the way you seem so untouchable and yet so heartbreakingly human all at once. She feels like a fool for standing here and staring, but for the life of her, she can’t seem to look away.

And then there’s the way the moonlight catches on your face, illuminating the faint shimmer of unshed tears in your eyes. Vi doesn’t even need to see your expression to know what you’re feeling.

For a long moment, she just stands there, unsure of what to do or say. She wants to run to you, to pull you into her arms and tell you she’s sorry, that she’s here, that she’s not going anywhere this time. But she knows it’s not that simple. It’s never that simple.

Finally, she takes a hesitant step forward, her boots making a soft thud against the wooden planks. You stiffen slightly, your head turning just enough to catch her in your peripheral vision. You don’t say anything, but the way your shoulders tense tells her you’ve already guessed it’s her.

Vi hesitates again, her heart pounding in her chest as she moves to sit beside you. She doesn’t get too close, leaving enough space between you that you won’t feel trapped, but close enough that she can see the way your fingers grip the edge of the platform like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

For a few seconds, the silence between you is unbearable. Vi glances at you from the corner of her eye, her mouth opening as if to speak, but the words don’t come. She’s never been good at this—talking about feelings, finding the right thing to say.

But as she watches you, she knows she has to try.

“Nice spot you’ve got here,” she says, her voice softer than she intended. “It’s quiet… Beats the chaos down there.”

It’s not much, and she knows it. She winces at how lame she sounds, but she’s not sure she trusts herself to say anything more. She’s afraid if she does, it’ll all come tumbling out—the guilt, the regret, the years of wondering what could’ve been if she hadn’t been taken, if she’d fought harder, if she’d found a way back sooner.

You don’t respond right away, and she can’t tell if it’s because you’re ignoring her or because you just don’t know what to say either. She glances at you again, her eyes lingering on the curve of your jaw, the way your lashes cast faint shadows against your cheeks.

You’re so close, but it feels like there’s an entire world between you.

When you finally do speak, your voice is so soft, almost drowned out by the music drifting up from below. “It’s always been my place to think. To get away… I have Ekko to thank for it.”

Your words are simple, but they carry so much weight, and Vi feels the knot in her chest tighten. She wonders what you’ve been thinking about up here all this time. If you’ve been thinking about her. If you’ve been wondering where she’s been, what she’s been doing, why she never came back.

“I can see why,” Vi says, trying to keep her tone light even though her heart is pounding. “It’s got a hell of a view.”

She means the lights, of course, the way they twinkle below like stars scattered across the ground. But as she says it, she realizes she’s not looking at the lights at all. She’s looking at you.

You finally turn to look at her, and the look in your eyes nearly breaks her. There’s so much there—pain, anger, sadness—but there’s something else, too. Something softer. Something she doesn’t think she deserves but hopes for anyway.

“I didn’t think you’d come up here,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Vi looks at you, her throat tight, and she wishes she had the courage to tell you the truth. That she’s here because she couldn’t stay away. That she misses you.

Instead, she just nods, her voice low and a little rough when she finally speaks. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to.”

You look away again, your gaze returning to the lights below, and Vi knows she should say more, but she’s afraid. Afraid of making things worse. Afraid of losing whatever small chance she might have left to fix things.

She looks at you softly, “How have you been?”

You don’t answer right away.

The silence lingers. Vi shifts slightly, her body aching to close the distance, to somehow make things right, but she doesn’t move.

Then, it’s you who breaks the quiet after a short while, your voice soft and tentative, almost as if speaking too loudly might shatter the everything around you.

“It’s hard to think about you in prison,” you say, the words stumbling out of you before you can stop them.

Vi stiffens at the mention of it. Her chest tightens, as though she’s been struck, but she doesn’t look at you, doesn’t dare.

“I know it must’ve been hard,” you continue, your gaze still locked on the flickering lights below. “Being in there… for so long. I can’t even imagine how it felt. It must’ve been… suffocating.”

Vi can hear the way you say it, that compassion in your voice that makes her want to crumble. You’ve always been so gentle, even when the world around you was anything but.

The memories are sharp, jagged shards of regret that pierce her chest whenever she lets herself think about it. The days in that cold, lonely cell feel like a lifetime ago, but the scars—physical and emotional—are still fresh. The world had felt like a cruel, unyielding force back then. Every day in prison, every blow to her body, every quiet, restless night, had worn away the person she used to be. She couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be carefree or loved.

“I was so… lost,” Vi mutters quietly, her voice rough from the weight of years. “I spent so long… thinking about all of you, of Powder… of the mistakes I made. If i had just… If I hadn’t stepped away for one moment, maybe I would’ve still been here… Here with Powder…. Here with you.”

You glance at her then, just a flicker of movement, your eyes soft with something like pity—but more than that, something else that Vi doesn’t have the courage to name. She knows you see her now, not the image of the girl who left, but the one who came back. The one who is trying—trying, at least—not to destroy everything around her with the weight of her mistakes.

Vi’s voice breaks the silence again, this time with something raw in it, something almost painful. She shifts slightly, her hand twitching by her side, wanting to reach out but holding herself back.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you while I was in there,” she says quietly, her eyes searching your face for any sign of recognition. “The thought of you… It helped get through most of my nights. I tried to dream of you... tried to imagine what you were doing, where you were… how you’ve grown... how much prettier you probably got. I kept telling myself, ’Maybe when I get out, maybe when I find a way out, I’ll find you again.’”

She stops, her gaze falling to the ground between you both as if ashamed to even say it aloud, as if admitting the depth of her thoughts all these years will somehow make them real. But it’s there, the longing she’s buried in the back of her mind, too painful to confront but too strong to ignore.

Vi continues, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “I wondered if you thought of me, if you looked for me. If you still cared… if I even mattered to you anymore.”

You stay silent as she speaks, your chest tight with something you can’t explain. The words sting in a way you’re not prepared for, like a wound reopened, and yet there’s something strangely soothing about them, too. The fact that Vi—after everything, after all this time—had thought of you… It almost doesn’t seem real.

But you say nothing, your gaze fixed ahead, unable to meet her eyes. You wonder if it’s better this way. If silence is all you have left to offer her now. Maybe it’s easier to listen than to speak, to keep everything bottled up inside where it won’t spill over and make a mess of things.

Vi takes a deep breath, her eyes shifting between the two of you, silently asking for something, anything that might make her feel less alone in this moment. But you don’t give her the answer she’s hoping for.

For a long while, neither of you speaks. The wind brushes past you, making the leaves rustle in the trees around the hideout. Below is quiet, almost peaceful, and the sound of distant voices and music fades into the background.

Vi watches you carefully, her eyes searching for something in yours, but she doesn’t push. She knows better than that. She knows that the years have changed you, just as much as they’ve changed her. She knows she can’t expect you to just forget everything, to instantly trust her again. But she hopes, more than anything, that there’s still something left between you both, something that could grow again.

“I saw you with her,” you say. “Ekko said her name is Caitlyn.”

Vi’s eyes widen at the mention of Caitlyn, her heart stopping for just a moment. The words seem to hang in the air between you both, heavy and charged. She opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out at first, as if the truth of its too much to swallow.

You feel her hesitation, the way she tenses, and it hits you in a way you weren’t prepared for. It feels like a sharp, cold pang in your chest. There’s a rawness in your voice that you didn’t even realize was there.

The way you say it feels like it cuts through the silence between you both. Vi looks at you then, eyes wide, searching, but she doesn’t speak. She knows she owes you an answer, but what answer could she give you? How could she explain everything that’s happened in the time between your separation and now?

After what feels like an eternity, Vi swallows hard, her throat tight. She looks away, her hands fidgeting at her sides.

“It’s not what you think,” she says softly, almost too quietly, the words coming out slow and hesitant. “I… I didn’t want it. She was just… trying to comfort me.”

Vi’s mind drifts back to Caitlyn, and she can’t help but sigh. She thinks Caitlyn’s a good person—for someone from topside. There’s a softness to her, a kindness that reminds Vi of the people she used to know back when things were simpler, when she wasn’t caught between the rubble of the Lanes and the ghosts of her past. But despite Caitlyn’s goodness, Vi knows one thing, something deep in her heart that she can’t escape: no one could ever be you.

No one could replace you. The girl she grew up with, the girl she used to dream about, the girl who haunted her thoughts long after she had fallen asleep. Vi’s chest tightens at the thought. The kiss with Caitlyn, the one you saw—it’s nothing more than a hollow moment, something that never should’ve happened. She wanted it to be you.

Vi shudders slightly. The kiss, the way Caitlyn’s lips felt against hers, it was nothing like the memories of you. Nothing like the way your hand used to fit in hers, how your laugh could fill a room with warmth, how you made her feel like she was worth something. Caitlyn could never make her feel the same way you made me feel, could never replace the way you made her feel alive, like everything in her life had a purpose.

“I couldn’t…” Vi murmurs to herself quietly. “I couldn’t feel that for anyone except you.”

Her hand slowly reaches out, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as they brush against yours. Her touch is gentle, careful, despite the roughness of her calloused palms, worn from years of fighting, of surviving. She holds your hand like she’s afraid you’ll slip away, like if she lets go, you’ll disappear, and she’ll be left with nothing but the echoes of a time she can never get back.

Your eyes instinctively shift to your hands, the same hands you once held as children. You remember how easy it was, how natural it felt when you were younger, sitting side by side in the dirt or on the roof of the Last Drop, fingers intertwined like nothing could ever pull you apart. Back then, it felt like the world was small, and nothing could hurt you as long as you were together.

But now—now, everything has changed.

Her fingers curl around yours, and the warmth of her touch sends a wave of memories flooding back—soft laughter, secret glances, the way her eyes would linger on you when she thought you weren’t looking. You blink, trying to keep the rush of emotions in check, but it’s hard when every inch of you feels like it’s trembling.

Vi’s eyes flicker to the ground below for a moment, her cheeks suddenly flushed, the soft red hue creeping up to her ears. It was that same familiar blush that’d show during the times she’d gift you a tiny present from those adventurous jobs she was in. She’s so close now, you can hear her breath hitch slightly as if she’s gathering the courage to speak words that she’s kept locked away for far too long.

“I’ve always loved you, you know,” she said finally. “I never got the chance to tell you…”

The words tumble from her mouth, quiet and unsteady, but every one of them feels like it’s been etched into her soul for years. She looks up at you, the faint redness still coloring her face as she holds your hand.

“I’d really like to make for the time I lost with you.”

The noise from the jukebox below, faint music playing through the speakers, the distant chatter of the Firelights—it all fades away, drowned out by the thundering silence between you both. You stare at her, your heart racing, a million thoughts running through your mind, but none of them can fully process the weight of what she’s just said. You feel the tears burn at the back of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. You just stare at her—really look at her—like you haven’t in years.

Vi’s ears are bright red now, her gaze flicking away nervously. She’s never been good with things like this, always hiding behind her strength, her toughness.

And now, it’s all laid out in front of you.

She’s always loved you.

You swallow hard, your hand squeezing hers as you finally manage to find your voice, even though it feels as if it’s been taken from you for so long. You’re not sure if you want to speak, if you’re ready to speak, but it doesn’t matter.

A single tear slips down your cheek, catching in the moonlight that spills across the roof. You huff, your breath shaky, and quickly turn your head, trying to wipe it away before Vi can see.

But you’re not quick enough.

Vi’s blue eyes are already on you, her gaze soft, understanding, and something deeper, something tender that makes your heart ache even more. She doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you quietly, her thumb gently brushing over your knuckles as she holds your hand tighter.

The silence stretches between the two of you, but it doesn’t feel heavy. It feels like the beginning of something, something you both need but are too afraid to admit.

“You’re such an idiot,” you murmur, your voice unsteady as you try to hide the way your chest tightens.

You shake your head, still unable to fully meet her gaze, the words leaving your mouth before you can stop them. The sting of the tear on your cheek fades as you try to swallow down the lump in your throat, but it’s useless.

Vi’s lips twitch, just a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She’s always known how to make you smile, even when everything else around you seemed to be falling apart. Now, it’s the same thing. She’s still that person who knows how to make your heart feel lighter, even in times like this.

“I know.”

Her voice is soft, almost teasing, but there’s no mockery in it, only the acceptance of your words—because she’s heard them before. She’s known, deep down, that you always thought she was an idiot, that she was reckless, that she made mistakes.

But none of that mattered.

She’s always loved you. And you’ve always known it, even if you didn’t want to admit it at first.

She scoots closer to you, the space between you shrinking as she leans in, her body warm against yours. You can feel the weight of her presence beside you, the soft strength that always made you feel safe. Her hand tightens around yours, pulling it into her lap, and you let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes as if you can’t bear to look at her yet.

But her touch reminds you of who you were before everything fell apart, before the years, the distance, and the pain.

“I know,” she repeats softly, her smile growing. She brings your hand up to her lips, softly pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, the red still staining her ears as she nudges you with her shoulder.

“But I’m your idiot.”

And you want to laugh, want to smile and tease her like you used to, but instead, you just sit there. Just breathe.

Vi is here. She’s real. And she’s never stopped loving you.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re ready to love her back the way she’s always wanted you to.

ty for reading! | masterlist

#b’s writings #vi <3 #vi x reader #vi arcane #arcane #arcane x reader #league of legends #fanfic

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jburrgf · 17 hours ago

Text

About You — The Series.

“Do you think I have forgotten about you?”

◦pairing: ¡lsu joe burrow! x ¡ex situashionship reader!

◦summary: second change trope, college relationships, slow burn love, right person wrong time.

◦description: you and joe had a thing months before, but the things ended in a bad way. now, you see yourself stuck in something that requires you to be close to him every single day.

◦playlist: About You, Love Me Like You Do, Like Real People Do, I Bet You Think About Me, Called You Again, Tolerate It, ImGonnaGetYouBack, Clean

PART ONE: CLEAN.

There are certain moments in life that seem impossible to forget. The second I walked onto LSU’s campus, I knew my life was about to change. But not just because of the classes, the social scene, or the crazy football culture.

When I started in LSU, it was supposed to be a clean slate. A chance to focus on my career path and prove to myself that I could thrive in a bigger pond, surrounded by people just as driven as me. Advertising and Public Relations wasn’t just a degree—it was a strategy. A way to blend my creative instincts with a business-minded edge.

What I didn’t expect was LSU’s football program to be the centerpiece of everything.

LSU football wasn’t just a sport. It was culture, identity, and religion rolled into one. By my second semester, I was interning with the athletic department, brainstorming marketing campaigns and filming promos for the team. I was good at what I did—so good that I convinced myself it didn’t bother me when my work bled into my personal life.

Everything started to go wrong when I met him. Tall, blond, American aesthetic, and so, but so kind. That was Joe Burrow, the youngest transferred from Ohio State to the south. New just like me.

Joe was Joe —calm, collected, and infuriatingly charming. He wasn’t flashy like some of the other players, but the air shifted when he walked into a room. Everyone noticed him. And the first time we crossed paths, I did too.

We met my junior year at a party, back when he was just Joe—a talented quarterback with a quiet intensity and a way of looking at you like he could see straight through every mask you’d ever worn. I hadn’t planned on noticing him, but it was impossible not to.

And since then, I'm haunted by his face, his smile, his smell, his body. Every little thing that made him Joe, it was inside my head like a bad song that you can’t stop singing. I didn’t want that, not in the beginning.

And now, I'm running from him like the plague. Every place he might be, I'm not going. Every little encounter or party, or dinner, or what else, I wasn’t going.

It was a party I didn’t want to go to. Maddie had been bothering me for weeks to go to this party, and honestly, I didn't feel like going. Simply no desire.

"I'm serious, Y/N. You work too hard," Maddie, my best friend at LSU, said to me. We had just left one of our classes together, and were walking around the campus, heading towards Maddie's car. "You're missing the entire college experience."

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m here to build my career, not get drunk at frat houses.”

“Even Beyoncé has to relax,” she shot back. “I’m picking you up at eight, tomorro, no excuses. But now, we’re going to Malone’s.”

[…]

I didn’t want to be here.

Malone’s was Maddie’s favorite spot, a college-town bar where everyone gathered on weekends to drink, laugh, and pretend their responsibilities didn’t exist. It was the kind of place where the sticky floors were part of the charm, and you couldn’t walk two feet without bumping into someone you knew. Normally, I’d avoid it like the plague—especially on a night like tonight, when Maddie’s sole mission was to convince me to go to that stupid party tomorrow.

“You’re being dramatic,” Maddie said as I slid into the booth across from her, the sound of the bar’s chatter and faint music drowning out half her words. “It’s just one party. What’s the worst that could happen?”

I rolled my eyes, pulling my coat tighter around me despite the warmth of the bar. “You say that like you don’t know me. I don’t do frat parties, Maddie. I don’t want to spend my Saturday night elbow-to-elbow with drunk people I barely know.”

“That’s the fun of it,” she countered, her grin far too smug for my liking.

“You’re impossible,” I muttered, reaching for the drink she’d already ordered for me.

“I’m persistent,” she corrected. “And don’t think I didn't notice that you didn’t actually say no.”

I groaned, leaning back in the booth. Maddie had been trying to drag me to this party for days, claiming it was some can’t-miss event that would somehow make my life infinitely better. I wasn’t convinced, but I’d stopped arguing because, frankly, I didn’t have the energy.

I was checking on the bar from above my shoulders when It happened.

Joe Burrow.

The last person I ever expected to see here, especially tonight.

My chest tightened the moment I spotted him standing by the dartboard, his tall frame impossible to miss, his blond hair was slightly disheveled, and the faint scruff on his jaw made him look older than he had when we’d last spoken. Joe was dressed casually, jeans and a hoodie, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world, and was laughing at something one of his friends said, the sound cutting through the low hum of the bar like a knife.It wasn’t just the way he carried himself or the fact that he was Joe Burrow—LSU’s star quarterback—but the way my body reacted, as if it had its own memory of him.

I hadn’t seen him in months—not since we’d ended things without really ending them. And now, seeing him here, so casually present in my space, felt like a slap to the face. Work Out from J Cole was playing, and everything felt like a movie scene.

It wasn’t like we had history. At least not in the way most people assumed. We barely knew each other. But there had been that one night at a party a while back, and another one after a game, and another one at our friends house, and another one… and the tension between us had never fully died down. I could still remember the way his eyes had felt on me, like he was measuring me in some silent way I didn’t know how to interpret.

“Y/N.” Maddie’s voice snapped me out of my daze. She followed my line of sight and groaned. “Oh no.”

I shook my head, panic setting in. “I can’t do this.”

“You don’t even know if he saw you.”

“I’m not sticking around to find out,” I said, already sliding out of the booth.

“Y/N—”

But I was gone, weaving through the crowd toward the back hallway where the bathrooms were. I needed to breathe, to get away from the overwhelming weight of his presence.

The bathroom at Malone’s was about as glamorous as you’d expect—a narrow space with flickering fluorescent lights and graffiti scrawled across the stalls. I locked myself in one of the stalls, leaning back against the door as I tried to steady my breathing.

Of all the places to run into Joe, it had to be here.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t thought about him. I had—more than I cared to admit. But thinking about him was one thing. Seeing him, knowing he was just a few feet away, was something else entirely.

I couldn’t face him. Not now, not here.

The bathroom was quiet, the kind of eerie stillness that felt out of place in the chaos of Malone’s. I leaned against the sink, staring at my reflection in the smudged mirror.

“Get it together,” I whispered to myself, taking a deep breath.

I didn’t even know why I was reacting like this. It wasn’t like we were still together. We weren’t anything anymore. And yet, the sight of him had thrown me completely off balance, dredging up feelings I thought I’d buried a long time ago.

But I couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever, either.

I opened the bathroom door and nearly walked straight into him.

Joe was leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom, his arms crossed over his chest and his gaze fixed squarely on me.

I froze, my heart hammering in my chest.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low and steady, a hint of amusement curling at the edges.

Nope.

Without a second thought, I ducked back into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, and I bit my lip to keep from screaming. What the hell was I supposed to do now?

I paced the small space, my mind racing. He’d seen me, which meant he was waiting for me. I couldn’t hide in here forever, but the thought of facing him felt impossible.

Eventually, I forced myself to take a deep breath and opened the door again.

Joe was gone.

Relief flooded through me as I stepped out into the hallway, my eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of him. But instead of Joe, my attention was drawn to a small slip of paper pinned to the corkboard on the wall next to the bathroom.

It wasn’t there before.

Curious, I stepped closer and pulled it free. The handwriting was unmistakable—slanted and bold, with a certain sharpness to the letters that felt uniquely him.

“Go to the party tomorrow. Please.”

I stared at the note, my heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.

My fingers tightened around the paper as Maddie appeared at the end of the hallway, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“What’s that?” she asked, gesturing to the note.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, shoving it into my pocket.

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “Ready to head back? I don’t think Joe’s here anymore.”

I nodded, though my mind was miles away.

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe I would go. Maybe I wouldn’t.

But one thing was for sure: Joe Burrow had just made sure I wouldn’t forget this night.

——————————————

hey guys! this is the beginning of my Love Tropes Series. The first part, About You, it’s going to be launched in four parts! stay tuned :)

#joe burrow #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow fan fic #joeburrow #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow x reader #bengals #joe burrow angst #joeburrowtiktok #joe shiesty

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holylulusworld · 1 day ago

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Gap Filler (1)

Summary: Lack of communication leads to fallout.

Pairing: Walter Marshall x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, Walter being a douche, break-up, mentions of break-ups

A/N: A short drabble miniseries.

Rachel is back. She wants to try again. You repeat every single word Walter said to you again and again until he grabs you by your arms to shake you.

“Why now? I thought we were fine, and the next step was to… You trail off and shake your head as you try to fathom that Walter is about to end what you built.

Until a few moments ago, you believed Walter and you were going steady. You spent the last thirteen months believing he felt the same way. Last week, you overheard a conversation and believed he was going to ask you to move in with him.

You got your hopes high only to look at your shattered heart lying on the ground. Literally—you dropped the cake in the shape of a heart you baked for Walter.

“You need to calm down,” Walter huffs. “Fuck, I thought this was only a colleague-with-benefits kind of arrangement! I never wanted this to go on for so long. I should’ve ended things much sooner.”

“Colleagues with benefits kind of—what?” Your eyes widen and you gape up at Walter. This can’t be real. While you were in a relationship, Walter only wanted to have sex.

“We both got tipsy at that party, and things happened,” Walter continues, shattering your heart. “I thought you knew what this was, Y/N.”

“Walter, we were dating for thirteen months! This is not a one-time thing or shit. You bought me flowers for Valentine’s Day, and we made plans for Christmas and the future!”

“You made plans,” he says, a little too harsh. You flinch and immediately push against his chest to get him off you. “I never said I’d join you on your planned activities.”

“Activities…” You sniffle. “I planned Christmas for us, and you call it activities? We were together for thirteen months, and you call it a one-night stand.”

“Christ, Y/N! After Rachel left, I was down. You were all too willing to fill the gap she left.”

You visibly flinch at his words. “I was a gap filler,” you murmur more to yourself than Walter. All the time you spent together meant so much to you, and Walter simply wanted to get off and fill a gap. “A gap filler…”

Walter watches you step back and shake your head as he reaches out for you. Tears run down your cheeks, but you couldn’t care less. The man you love with all your heart reduced you to a body he could use to stuff with his cock. “Wow, I don’t think any other guy ever hurt me as much as you did.”

You chuckle humorlessly as he tries to talk you into sitting down and talking things out.

“Go ahead,” you stubbornly say. “Get back together with the woman leaving you for a job. A job, Walter! She didn’t even have the decency to tell you to your face. She broke up with you via voicemail.” You snicker as his face falls. “She must be so in love with you!”

Turning on your heels, you don’t look back. If you do, you’ll break down and cry.

“We are going to miss you,” your supervisor says. You got the offer for a better position weeks ago but didn’t answer. Believing that your relationship with Walter is developing, you didn’t think about the better position. Moving far away from the man you love wasn’t an option.

“I must go,” you repeat the mantra you practiced for over a week. Avoiding getting anywhere near Walter helped too. “The offer was too good.”

You lie; your supervisor can see it in your eyes. She has known you for years and heard that Rachel will return to your department at the beginning of the next year.

She’s one of the few people knowing about your relationship with Walter and assumes your goodbye has something to do with her return. “You’ll always have your place here if you decide to come back.”

“I know, and thank you for it,” you say, voice saddening. You loved working with your team. Walter made it impossible for you to stay and live your life unbothered by his blooming relationship with his ex.

“Is this an early Christmas party?” Walter gruffly asks your supervisor. She organized a farewell party for you. You took the rest of the year off to pack up your life and leave town to start anew somewhere far away from Walter.

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” She replies, anger in her eyes. “Y/N is leaving. She took the job offer and quit. A shame. She was one of our best technicians. I wonder what made her change her mind. She already refused to take the job offer.”

She walks off, smirking as Walter frantically runs his fingers through his hair. He believed you took the job offer months ago. His face falls as he watches you stand in a corner, shying away from everyone once again. Just like in the beginning, before he made a move.

His gaze fixated on you, he ignores everyone else who is staring at him. Walter wrings his hands, wondering if he should talk to you. The decision is taken from him when you walk out of the room without looking back. You’re done here and don’t want anyone else to pity you.

Walter searches for any trace of you at your office. He opens drawers, huffing as there is nothing left of you. He sits on your chair and frowns deeply.

For weeks, he was hurting. Walter believed you wanted to leave him, just like Rachel before you, for a job. He did the only thing to prevent his heart from breaking. Walter broke your heart first.

Now that he found out the truth, he feels like a monster. He looks at the trash can under your desk, filled with the remnants of your work here.

Walter fishes a plastic stick out of the trash can, immediately sucking in a breath as his eyes drop to the word on the test. “Pregnant…”

Tags in reblog.

#walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #walter marshall x you #x reader #angst #tw: pregnancy #walter marshall x y/n #Gap filler (1)

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jiraisupportgroup · 19 hours ago

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Important Update:

It has been brought to my attention by several people that there was / is a blog that is impersonating me and posting very hateful & harmful things aimed at the jiraiblr community. This blog had a username very similar to this one (jiraiisupportgroup and then jiiraisupportgroup both with double “i”s at different points in the username) they copied my profile picture, header image, blog description, pinned post(?), and even went as far as to copy anonymous asks I have been sent and send them to themselves to reply to to create confusion and trick people into thinking that blog was me.

In light of this I want to make a few things clear:

- This blog is a side blog. It cannot follow you, it cannot like posts, and it cannot send asks. All of those things would instead link to my main blog. If any blog that looks like this one ever follows you, likes one of your posts, or sends you an ask please block them immediately.

- If this blog does get terminated for whatever reason, any back-up blogs to replace this one will be made as another side blog. So please know this warning to block any blog that looks like this one if they follow you, like one of your posts, or send you an ask will never change.

- In the event that this blog is ever terminated, the first few posts of any replacement blog will be proof that it is actually me. What this details I am not entire sure of at this exact moment, and likely will not share to avoid the case of another disgusting copy-cat.

I want to give so much thanks to @bpdgrrrl1312 @bl0odied-kittypaw @criminaldoenjangjjigae @twistedsweetheart @sakiyaki-sashimi @oneeyawn @jiraikasa-kun as well as any others I may have missed (and all the anons who contacted me) for bringing this first of all to my attention, but more importantly to everyone’s attention. Thank you all so much for spreading awareness about this impersonator, and for helping distance myself from the horrible horrible things this person was saying.

As far as I can tell at the moment it appears that the blog is deleted? (Can anyone help me confirm?) But I will keep an eye and ear out to make sure, and update everyone if they pop up again. Thank you all so much for reporting this blog while I was not online for the night T-T not only for myself but also for the jiraiblr community as a whole.

It really hurts my heart and sickens me to know that someone impersonated my blog to spew hatred and vitriol. I did not get to see a majority of the things the blog did post (I saw screenshots of maybe 2 or 3 of the posts), so I can’t even imagine what else they were saying (especially to get banned so quickly because tumblr typically does not ban accounts very fast).

If this blog targeted you or even if you had the misfortune of seeing this blog, I am so deeply sorry. Please know that no matter what this person may have said you are loved, you are important, you are valid, and you deserve to be safe and feel welcome. I truly believe that, and I am so sorry that anyone tried to make you feel otherwise.

I am sending all of you so much love and as much support as I can ♡ I know many of us are stressed going into holiday season and this whole situation did not help with that. From what I can gather you all handled it quite well and for that I am so so appreciative. ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ love all of you so much and I am sending everyone the warmest wishes and happiest days I possibly can ♡ ♡ ♡

#please forgive me as I mass tag because I just want people to know T-T #important #update #!!!#psa #jiraiblr #landmineblr #jiraiblogging #landmineblogging #jirai #landmine #landmine type #lifestyle landmine #lifestyle jirai

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madamechrissy · 8 hours ago

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♔ Silent Serenades ♔

♔ An arranged Marriage with Duke Gojo ♔

♔ Pairings: Duke Satoru Gojo x Duchess Reader

♔ Content/Warnings: Explicit sexual content, dirty talk, breeding kink, spitting, Satoru calls reader 'slut during sex, some nipple biting, cum play, mostly cute and fluffy (believe it or NOT) Oral (f recieving) mentions of jealousy and past angst

♔ Word count: this chap: 11.2k

♔ Summary: you are the diamond of the season, he is the charming Duke, it’s the marriage of the decade. Prominent families joining, and it so happens that Duke Gojo is gorgeous. But, he doesn't want you at all, leaving you a crying mess on your wedding night, alone. Now you're trapped in a loveless arranged marriage that destroys you from within. Royal AU, Cruel Duke Gojo x reader. OOC Set in 1800s England. Gojo is awful in this. You'll hate Satoru, warning you now. HEAVY angst Basically- Gojo is a royal dick and doesn't wanna marry you

A/N- I go into Gojo's pov but don't divide them! I hope the style if that is okay. <3 Comments and Reblogs vert=y appreciated if you enjoy

Part Thirteen ♔ Masterlist ♔ Playlist

Part Fourteen - The King's Ball

“Fuck this.” Satoru grumbles, you’re arm in arm with him as you both are descending the grand steps down into the opulent ballroom. You giggle a bit behind your white silk glove, he smirks at you.

“Fuck this indeed.” You agree softly, he leans down then, lips just a breath from yours.

“I love that dirty mouth of yours.”

“Mmm, do you now?” Your eyes meet.

“Should I show you how much?” He whispers, and for a moment it’s as if everything in the grand room fades but him.

It’s just you and your Duke, cussing about the party ahead of you, his gaze and words making you flush under the glimmering chandeliers above, highlighting the silver glint of your dress, and the bright white suit Satoru wears tonight. He takes one of your gloved hands, pressing a kiss to the back of it, you exhale when his lips are hovering just above yours.

��You’d kiss me on the lips, in front of all these people?” You tease, he chuckles then, cupping your face.

“I’d do a lot more than that, bury my face under your skirts. Ah, look at you, thoughts driving you to blush?” You take a breath and look around, seeing hundreds of eyes on both of you.

“They’re talking about us, Toru.” He peeks and waves a hand dismissively, setting to walk with you again.

“Saying how beautiful you are.”

“How handsome you are.”

“We’ve gotten sappy, haven’t we?” You grin.

“Positively smushy.” Now Satoru grins.

“Smushy!? Is that a word?”

“It is indeed! Oh Satoru I just want to keep this happiness, not…” You trail off as you both start to greet people now, and you see her, Adelia.

Many people look back and forth from you to her, and now you know a lot more, more than you ever wished to. Satoru feels you tense next to him, a calming hand on the small of your back, fingers brushing up and down. He’s disgusted seeing her, how one person can look like you but be fucking horrible is still unknown to him, but now you have figured it out.

Adelia is your cousin, thank god she’s not a sister, Satoru had a panic attack when you had done some digging. She is your mother’s little sister’s child, one that they had sent off to Scotland, and no one heard of again essentially. Adelia making her own way here is through her own feats, it seemed she did not even come to England until she was an adult.

So you are… related.

You had a feeling of course, it was too uncanny not to, but hearing it from your staff, a staff that basically raised you, cinched it all in. Of course they had been sworn to secrecy, but they had no problem telling you once you explained your situation. It is better than what you thought, what if she was a sister, you felt sick just thinking of that, this was quite tangled enough.

“I still can’t believe it all.” Satoru says, shaking his head. “Oh if I just met you first, you know it would have saved many, many problems.”

“I was rather young then, hmm? How long ago was it?”

“It was a good six years ago when I met her. I suppose you are a little younger than me, am I an old lecher to you!?” He teases, acting affronted.

“Shut it, you're twenty seven, you’re not much older. You still look like a college boy in leading strings.”

“Take that back, insolent little brat.”

“Make me.” You stick your tongue out at him, making his blue eyes glitter, when he looks over your shoulder now and pauses, scowling, his entire mood shifts then as you feel a gaze burning your back. “On no, what is it?”

You look behind you then, to see the King headed straight towards you, him and Adelia challenging the fresh new bliss Satoru and you have is brutal to handle. Every time you think that Satoru and you are so happy finally, there is Nanami in the street seeing you both, there’s one of Satoru’s exes, but now it’s a King, who oddly has his sights on you.

And your…. cousin… ugh.

“Look at you.” King Sukuna’s husky voice says your name softly over the music floating around you all, a cacophony of whispers, giggles, music and heels on the floor. And not only that, but he says your first name, making Satoru positively seethe behind you.

“Your Majesty.” You greet cooly.

“Aren’t you the prettiest thing here.” He murmurs, eyes raking and taking far too many liberties. He then takes your gloved hand and kisses it.

“Certainly not, your Majesty. But thank you.” You politely curtsey, people onlook with little smiles, at the diamond of the season and the King with his attentions on her, you hear their whispers and feel their gazes.

Even married women could not necessarily turn a King down, it was notoriously known, many Kings could have whomever they wanted, and the men had to handle it, even a powerful man such as Duke Gojo. However, you still cannot fathom why he wants to go so far, he is certainly attractive, and a King.

What is he playing at?

“May I have the honor of a dance, Duchess?” He murmurs, eyes glinting a crimson as he smirks on his tanned face, wearing an opulent velvet brocade tonight, he certainly was swooned over.

You look at Satoru, there’s nothing you both can do outwardly, he gives you a little nod, hands clenched into fists at his sides, as he watches the King of England take his wife onto the dance floor. He snatches up two glasses of champagne from a butler walking, downing them in two gulps, looking at his surprised face, his mouth dropped open to Satoru’s amusement.

“Fuck something stronger, please. I know the King has to have some good whiskey” Satoru then hands him several notes, and the butler nods eagerly.

“Right away, your Grace!” He runs off, and soon Satoru is given a glass of whiskey, he sighs, sipping it and watching you over the crystal glass.

“Keep em coming.” The butler bobs his head eagerly.

Satoru is watching you twirl in King Sukuna’s arms, Sukuna’s big hand taking over your little back, pressing you far too close, his other hand encapsulating yours, he’s grinning lewdly down at you, you’re maintaining a smile for appearances. Satoru can tell, it’s not a true smile, something he sees so much more these days, something that captures his heart and soul.

Seeing you smile so sleepy at him in the morning, when you’re in his arms. It’s the sweetest thing in the world, your little giggles when he kisses on your neck, your sassy grin when you find some new ticklish spot of his, and torture him then with your discovery. You are so very beautiful when you truly smile, how it brightens the entire room.

This is that ‘perfect Duchess smile’ of yours.

Satoru falls deeper every fucking day for you, so deep it aches, gnawing at his stomach at the thought of ever losing you, he feels he does not even deserve you, and that at any point you’ll come to your senses. He has just started to get comfortable with the thought that you chose him, when the King and Adelia have come to fuck with both of you.

“Speak of the witch.” He grumbles, when she steps up to him, hand on his shoulder, he shrugs it off.

“Care for a dance, your Grace?” She rolls the words off her tongue, shifting her hips from side to side and batting her lashes.

Satoru scoffs. “Oh, fuck no.”

She glares up at him, it’s nothing like your glare, that feisty little way you set your chin, purse your lips, how your pretty eyes narrow and you decimate him the way only you can. No, this is just her… being Adelia, being the woman who destroyed him, made him so afraid to be vulnerable with you, so sure you’d rip his heart out, especially once he started feeling so much.

He knew it that night of the masquerade, seeing you with your baker… or as his still sore ribs remind him… boxer boyfriend you had. Seeing him touch you, it had awakened something insane in him that night, when he’d been with you in the hallway, when he’d pressed against you, held you and fucking cried, and you had cried right with him, hadn’t you?

You both knew then, that there was something there with you both, something he was destroying completely before it could even begin, and pushing you to help him destroy it. When he’d begged to taste you again, fuck he was pathetic for you, but you’d let him. Though when he’d truly drunk you up in that carriage, after that night at your parents?

You ended him.

He’s so enamored with you dancing, with aching to punch a damn King in the face, he can blissfully ignore this pest of a woman next to him. Satoru sees him dip you over his arm, watches the hair you have coiled in those pretty little ringlets fall over his arm, he swoops you low and then picks you back up in his arms, spinning you slowly to the awws of the room.

Satoru wants to rip his fucking hands off.

“You’re still here?” Satoru finally acknowledges the annoying pest next to him, she pouts up at him, batting long lashes.

“You do know he can have her if he wants?”

“What do you care? And she doesn’t want to.”

“You’ve always been foolish, Satoru. But you know, sometimes I think to myself, I should have only been with you.” Satoru glares down at her now, raising a thing white brow, looking at the spitting image of you trying to fuck with him.

“Shouldn’t have fucked my dad, or all the other men?” She has enough grace to look down for a moment, before stepping closer.

“I’ll explain more if we were to have a moment alone, about your father, about everything.”

“I have no desire to be near you. Go find some dick to hop on, you were quite good at that I suppose. She is much better though.”

“You’re petty and lying, as if her prissy ass is some wild thing in the bedroom, can she even handle how freaky you are?”

Satoru snorts. “I’m exceedingly pleased with her. You’re mad you did not get any of that wealth from your mother, a noble, aren’t you?” She gasps, and he chuckles. “Yes we know, you’re her cousin.”

“How on-”

“Will you go?” Satoru watches as the dance ends, and the King is leading you away from the crowd, his eyes narrow as you look back over your shoulders at them both.

“Oh look, a private moment with the King. And… well Satoru, he is quite skilled in the bed, not as eager as you though, something to be said for that.” Satoru grips her wrist now, as she has a hand on his arm, she gasps just a bit.

“I assure you I’m no virgin any longer, as you enjoyed bragging to my wife, as if she cares.”

“Odd one cousin took your virginity, and you took hers.” Satoru tenses then, and Adelia laughs, a nasty little laugh. “Oh you didn’t! Oh poor Satoru, you’re just not her first pick are you?”

“You have no idea of what you fucking speak of.” Satoru lets her wrist go, wondering where you are, he starts walking through the crowds of people, wishing he could shove everyone out of his way and not have to make stupid polite fucking conversation.

He trusts you, he does, but he doesn’t trust that King, you’re still young and sweet, and he does not want him manipulating you, pressuring you. Adelia trails behind him, he contemplates knocking her out, he’s not above it truly, but he holds himself in, walking by the crowned jewel room, seeing Sukuna behind you, his hands on your waist.

Adelia yanks him into the next room, shutting the door, and he finally snaps, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. “What the fuck is your end game here? How do you get a King to go along with it?”

“I love this rough side of you, Satoru.” She cooes, fingers trailing down his chest, he smacks them off, backing away, fury rising in his chest.

“I swear to god if you touch me once more, I am not yours to touch, or to manipulate anymore.” She shakes her head at him, sighing and slipping down her sleeves, then more, he stops her. “I have no interest in you.”

“None at all? Seems like you needed my copy to be satisfied.”

“She is everything you could never be.”

“And what is she doing in that room, Satoru, is he touching her?” She whispers, taking his hand as she slips her bodice so low her breasts are revealed, her nipples taut, he looks away at the ceiling, rage making him sick. “What would you do, if he fucked her, hmm?”

“I’d be fucking sick and furious, but I sure won’t be doing a goddamn thing with you, nor any woman.” He yanks his hand back, turning away. “Cover yourself up, stop embarrassing yourself, dear god.”

“Would you let her have her way with anyone?”

“She will not.”

“So explain the virginity?”

“As if it’s your business. Dear god you make a man want to slap you across a room, I hope you know I’m no gentleman.” He turns back, thankfully she’s covered up, her arms crossed. “Give it, what is your game?”

“Ever think I want you back, Satoru? Ever think that I regret everything?” She blinks back tears, he rolls his eyes, they’re unmoving and unbelievable.

“What do you suddenly wish to be my wife? You can never be, fuck you had your stupid chance then, I would have moved mountains for you.” The pain sets in, the torture she put him through. He’s just finally starting to feel like him again, like Satoru Gojo, after years and goddamn years of being a whore, a cruel man.

“Perhaps a mistress, anything to have you back Satoru.” He shoves her off him again, as she steps closer, putting her hands on his chest, looking at him with eyes that he thought he loved, but he feels nothing but contempt. “I miss you, truly miss you, miss everything you did to me, how I felt.”

She’s brushing her fingers across his cheek, making his skin crawl. “I’ll never have a mistress, and I’ll never leave her.”

“For what, what is so special about her? I expected you to jump on this, do you know how in love with me you were? I’ve never felt it since, and I never will again.” She’s crying now, and he cares not, he just wants to get you before Sukuna has hands on you, he does not know his motivations still.

“You will not feel love because you’re a horrible person. And guess what, Adelia?”

“Wh-what?”

“You made me just like you.” He whispers, hands in his pockets, bending down so that they are just an inch apart. “I was a horrible man, I was fucking women right in front of her, I was shit to her. Fuck I was perhaps worse than you, took all my anger out from being with you on her. She shouldn’t even talk to me, yet she chose me, and you nor anyone will ever make me fuck up again.”

She blinks a bit, taking a breath, looking away then. “Satoru I am sorry for what I did, your father promised me a place in society, it was something even you could not offer truly.”

Satoru laughs without humor. “Expect me to feel sorry for you?”

She gasps. “I was from no wealth like you, like your Duchess, despite being from nobility. I had nothing, I earned my place.”

“By sleeping with men? You did not earn a goddamn thing. She earns her place when she is by my side, helping villages, when she listens to me, when she was honest with me, when she gave me a chance I did not deserve. You have not earned anything you have, including whatever you’re doing with the King. You’re nothing Adelia, worse than nothing actually.”

She smacks him hard across the cheek then, the sound echoes in the room, Satoru does not flinch. “You’ve become so cruel, where is the sweet Satoru that I once knew!?”

Meanwhile

“This is the crown and scepter, go on, touch it.” Sukuna says, hard body behind yours, taking one of your hands and putting it on the shimmering gold crown, you hesitate, hating the nearness, hating that sad look you saw on Satoru’s face, making you worry for him and what Adelia would say.

Would she get to him again? Would he be able to stand firm and ignore the lies she spins? Those are your true worries, not if Satoru would stray, in your heart you know he would not, in your heart you know you are his, and he is yours. But you do know the effect and change she had on him in such a short time, and worry her poison will seep into his brain.

“These look heavy, your Majesty.” You manage to say, some small talk to perhaps ease the tension.

“Sukuna.” His voice is deep, his hands slipping against you.

“Your Majesty.” You turn and look up at him, he’s grinning looking wicked, fingers brushing up and down your bare arm. “You are too bold, even for a King.”

“I simply do not mince words, write stupid fucking poems, I say what I want, and I get everything I want.”

“Not me.”

“No?” You shake your head.

“I mean no disrespect, but my heart is spoken for.” He hums quietly, hands trailing up to your shoulders, the backs of his fingers against your collarbone, watching goosebumps rise at the contact.

“Your body is spoken for as well?” He asks huskily, eyeing your decolletage hungrily, your fists clench, breasts rising and falling as you struggle to maintain your composure.

“My body is indeed spoken for, your Majesty.” He smirks just a bit, another hand pressing against your waist, pulling you gently to him.

“Have a night with me, let me show you things your pretty boy Duke could never, I see it in you, the desire to be filled everywhere, hmm? Desire to have your pretty neck choked, have these bitten and bruised.” He dares to brush his fingers against your breasts. “Oh if you were mine you’d have so many marks you wouldn’t wear this, so sore you wouldn’t walk.”

He leans so close, his lips a breath from yours, you pull your head back, jaw setting. “Your Majesty, I’m afraid I have marks all over, just not where you can see. And the ones you could? I cover up.” You say with a pretty smile, he chuckles, tilting your chin up to look into his eyes.

“I see I read you well then, that fire in your eyes, bet you’re fucking insatiable.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes, his thumb brushes over your lower lip, making you want to recoil.

“I am indeed with my husband. Sukuna, can I be frank with you?”

“Ah, you say my name?”

“Listen, I get it, you’re handsome, you get what you want, you’re a King… hard to resist.”

He grins. “You think I’m handsome, huh?” He has a self satisfied smirk you try to not roll your eyes at.

“Oh god. Yes, of course you are, thus, you can have anyone you wish, including my cousin.”

“Ah, figured that out?”

“I did. And I know this is some game between you both, what has she done to make you try this hard at me? What agreement do you have?” You cross your arms, stepping back, and Sukuna laughs then, throwing his head back, booming laughter reigning in the empty room.

“She simply expressed wanting to try with your Duke again, I figured fuck it, some amusement because god the life of a King is so boring now. Oh to be a king in the war of the roses, or something better than this. Stupid balls and operas, and idle fucking gossip. I found the idea entertaining, so I brought her.”

You blink in confusion, it’s all for fun!? “So why me? Am I just some distraction so she can get Satoru?”

“No, actually. This is where you’re confused, Duchess.” He grabs you by your waist now, pulling you against him. “I am not trying to have you for some game with her, I saw you and just fucking wanted you. Badly, too.”

“Not for a game? I do not believe you.”

He shakes his head, gaze dropping you your lips, your hands go to his chest, pressing for him to back away, but he does not budge. “Do you really not know the effect you have? Did he do that much damage?”

You blink back tears then, looking away, Sukuna takes the opportunity to kiss down the side of your neck, hot messy kisses, you’re pushing at him but the man is made of brick it seems, casually holding you too close. His lips go up to your ear, hot breath tickling it, making you shiver.

“I heard the rumors, I must wonder how or why he wouldn’t want you, even if you look like her. Did he make you think so little of yourself?” You hate it, the memories he is stirring, the feelings he’s making you feel, when he takes your face so possessive in his big hand, while the other presses into your lower back.

“It is none of your business, Sukuna. None. What me and my husband went through is our business.” You hear your voice breaking, feeling such anger at how he can so easily bring those memories back.

Sukuna clicks his tongue, thumb brushing over your fluttering pulse, you can feel your chest tightening under the stress of it, of being against him, when all you want is Satoru, all you need is Satoru. You do not want to think of how cruel he was at the beginning, because those memories take you to a dark, dark place, one you never wish to visit again.

“I could make you feel so good, like you deserve. It’s not just your gorgeous little body or pretty face…” His hands trail lewdly down your curves, thumb brushing over your nipple, your hands clenched into fists, breath coming quicker. “It’s your fire, burning so hot, fuck I’d love to feel it.”

“Watch that you do not get burned by it.” You whisper in response, he smirks, so cocky and arrogant, you itch to smack him.

“I’d get burned if it meant a moment with you, and no I do not do this, and I do not do it as a game. Do you not wish to feel like a Queen?” He murmurs, you shake your head. “Oh no? Well, do you think he’ll resist her charms, stay so loyal?”

“If he does not I… I cannot think of that.” He’s playing you, making you think of things you want to shove down, you refuse to do so, shaking your head more firmly now. “I will not think of it.”

“Ah, so let me show you what you’re missing, then Duchess, so you know what you turn down.” He slams his lips against yours, you shove at him again, but he drags you against him, mouth hot and open, tongue trying to get past your sealed lips, pressing deeper until he’s reached his goal, moaning.

Sukuna’s kiss is brutal, passionate and fervent, his hands gripping your ass, dragging you against him. You take a breath, turning your head, for him to turn it back, eyes glinting in the dark, brows raised, his lips parted. You try to step back, but he’s kissing you again, hands sliding up your skirts, up your thighs, and you bite his lower lip then, shoving him.

He chuckles, looking at how hard you bit, lip bleeding just a drop, which he licks. “You are fiery, fuck do you not know what I’d do with you?” He cups your face again, you glare up at him, fucking furious.

“You won’t ever have me. Guess what, even a King does not get whatever he wants, hmm?” You say now, shoving at the brick wall of a man again, he shakes his head with a smirk.

“I can tell you’re excited, I can feel it, see it written all over you.”

“I am furious, is what I am. You will not touch me again.”

“Oh?” He brushes your hair back, and you do it then, you haul off and smack the king of fucking england right in his arrogant face.

Shit.

Meanwhile.

“You changed me with your games.” Satoru retorts to Adelia, just moments before. “Now go fuck off to France, or anywhere, as long as I don’t have to see you again.” Satoru hears a smack echo in the next room, smirking and wondering if his wife just hit the King of England. “That’s my girl.”

“Your girl!?”

Satoru strides past her, as you stride out on the King that you just slapped, and both of you see each other then, in the hall. His cheek reddened from Adelia, your hand stinging from smacking Sukuna, and you damn near burst into tears as you both look at each other. He’s breathing heavily, you’re breathing in short little pants, striding to each other then.

Satoru picks you up in his arms, hugging you so tightly, putting you down and cupping your face, studying you carefully, you feel so good in his arms. “Are you all right, baby?”

You nod quickly. “I may have smacked the King.”

He grins, melting you, but you see it too, the glimmer in his baby blues. “I heard, fuck that turned me on.”

You giggle, insanely, as King Sukuna and bitch A0delia watch you both. “You’re fucking insane, you know that?”

“You fucking love how insane I am, hmm?” You nod, and he’s looking at Sukuna now behind you, before seeing your lips, slightly swollen and reddened, then you see Adelia, her bodice slightly askew, sleeve completely down.

“Did she try to…”

“Did he kiss you!?”

You both nod at your simultaneous questions, then Satoru glares at King Sukuna, and you glare at Adelia, then you both look back at each other in a silent agreement, before you step over to Adelia, who surprisingly has dried tears on her cheeks as she looks at you. You cross your arms, shaking your head as you near her, and as Satoru nears the King.

“Leave him out of your games, he doesn't want you anymore.” Your words just anger her, she steps up to you, shoving at you, you laugh then, back-handing her right in the face as if on instinct.

“You bitch!”

Sukuna and Satoru grin at you, before Satoru scowls at him, and Adelia cups her face in shock. “Do not touch my husband again, is it clear, cousin?”

“You two psychos deserve each other.” She grumbles then, as Satoru shoves the King against a wall, hands on either side of him, Sukuna just smirks.

“Going to hit a King, pretty boy?”

“Pretty boy here would love to break every one of your fingers, one by one for touching her. You do not come near her again, I don’t care who you are. She is my wife. Mine.” Sukuna sighs, patting Satoru on the shoulder then, surprising all three of you in the empty hall.

“A hell of a wife you have. Don’t fuck that one up, because I think she kind of likes me.” You snort, shaking your head as Satoru steps back, glaring.

“I gave you no such impression.” He walks to you then, tilting up your chin and sighing.

“What a shame. These lips… ah well.” He saunters off, with Adelia shouting at him, waving her arms around.

“Her lips are better than mine!? Excuse me!” You and Satoru snort and shake your heads, he comes to hold you from behind, pressing you against him, kissing your cheek. You lean back against him.

“You think they are done?” You ask softly, he exhales, pulling you even closer, before turning you to him, walking forward until you’re pressed against the wall, hands pressing against your waist, hands you crave, hands you love.

“They better be. I’ll kiss every fucking memory of him out of your head.” You whine out softly, and Satoru kisses you boldly, right against that wall, cupping your face, kissing you over and over and over.

You get dizzy from it, from his nipping at your lips, from his tongue delving in your mouth, drinking your soft cries, your body reacts quickly, you feel that heat pool in your tummy, spreading between your thighs. Your own hands slide up to wrap around his neck, fingers interlocking as you tiptoe.

“I love you so much.” He whispers, desperately, you gulp, nodding quickly, uncaring if anyone saw you both.

You’re married, let them see.

“I love you, Satoru. Are you all right? Was she…”

“She means nothing. No one means fucking anything but you.” You’re melting now, as he’s shaking while he holds you, hand enwrapping in the back of your hair at the nape of your neck.

You drown in him, as your breaths mingle, as his forehead rests on yours, your eyes shut as you feel him, as the love hums through you, your entire being. “Satoru, I need you.” You whisper.

“I need you.” He hums softly. “I need out of this damned palace.”

“Let us leave.” Satoru and you rush through the ball, you’re both breathless by the time you await outside for your carriage, in the dark, chilly night you shiver just a bit, Satoru pulls you against him, warming you. “I’ll never let someone touch you.”

“I don’t want anyone to. I totally smacked him hard.”

“And you backhanded her.” You both laugh, you’re certainly both insane, aren’t you? But none of that matters, not when you have this, when you know you both can get through it all.

“My hand hurts.” He takes off your gloves then, kissing the back of your hands gently, smirking as he runs a thumb over the back of your knuckles.

“I bet it does. Tell me this wasn’t learned from the baker.”

“No! Self taught.” He snorts, and soon you’re both nestled against the carriage, and you’re pulled onto his lap, moaning as your lips meet again and again, he pulls back for a breath, as do you. “I’m so glad she did not get to you.”

“She tried her best. And you?” He asks, fingertips brushing up the line of your jaw delicately.

“He tried his best as well. Apparently, he was not part of her scheme truly? He just desired me and also wanted amusement.”

“Of course he desires you. Who doesn’t? Have to fight off a King, my best friend and a goddamn baker.” You giggle, shaking your head at him, smacking kisses along his flushed cheeks.

“Not your friend truly!”

“Mmm, debatable. Everyone wants you, but I have you.”

“Everyone wants you, Satoru. And yet I have you.”

He cups your face. “All I even fucking see is you.”

“Satoru…” You’re kissing him again, desperately, he kisses you senseless, you feel it, the desire spreading even more, wanting to be claimed by him, as he desires to mark you his.

“You’re all mine, Princess, hmm?” Satoru murmurs, slipping up your skirts, fingers darting across your garters delicately, you cry out softly, head falling back, hair falling as he starts pressing his lips against your throat.

“All yours- mmm!” Your hands enwrap in his silky hair as the carriage gently rocks you both, you feel his hard length pressing against your heat. His tongue trailing a line up a vein he sees on your throat, all the way up to your ear, his breath tickling you as you roll your hips.

His hands press into your hips, thumbs against your pelvis, pulling you even harder on him, you feel your cunt soaking his trousers, bare under your skirts, he feels himself stiffening painfully, straining against them. His tongue darts to trace your earlobe, he makes that little whimper sound as you roll on him, feeling your cunt soaking through.

“No one can ever have you, no one can take you from me.” Duke Gojo’s words are husky, desperate, one finger finding your clit and rolling in circles, your eyelashes flutter as your hips arch, his other hand cups your face. “No one.”

You’re looking at his glittering blue eyes in the dark carriage, hands slipping across his broad shoulders over his tail coat, staring into eyes you love, you adore. “No one can ever have me. It’s only you, Satoru.”

He moans now, slamming his lips on yours, the kiss is desperate and messy, much like the two of you together. You’re not perfect, far from it, you’re both a mess, you’re both as insane as this desire that pulls you, that irrevocably ties you together, as insane as the hungry kiss is. Your tongues are dripping saliva, your lips are bruising, your hands are everywhere.

You can never get enough of him.

He can never get enough of you.

“That’s it, Princess, cum for me.” He orders softly, in that husky fucking voice, and he drinks your cries when you start gushing where he’s flicking your clit faster and faster, shaking your head. He scowls. “You disobey me, hmm brat?”

“Wanna cum with you in me.” You murmur, he groans then, hastily pulling back, you eagerly help him undo his belt, unbutton his trousers, his cock springing free, you press your thumb against the slit that’s oozing pretty pearls of precum. “You’re so pretty Satoru.”

“You’re pretty, Duchess. Especially riding my cock.” He slides his tip against you while you brace yourself on his shoulders, he watches your brows go together, your mouth open in a little O, watches your eyes dilate. “Fuck you’re so pretty when you’re cock thirsty.”

“Cock thirsty!? You… know… I… please!” He smirks now, the little shithead you’re more used to, but there is something so different now.

You both are so in love you cannot see or think of anything but being together, and fuck if tonight hadn’t made you both crave it more. You, craving him to fill you up, and him, craving to pump himself in you, to leave you so full of him there’s nothing but him. But there is nothing but Satoru to you, his eyes hungrily watching you, while he’s pecking kisses on your breasts.

You’re sinking down on him, the stretch burning so delicious, the carriage jostles you just a bit, and you sink further than you intended, earning your gasp and his groan, he bites at your breasts, hands sinking you fully now. You don’t ever take this much so quickly, your velvety walls are spasming around his cock as you try to loosen up, he can’t take how tight you are.

“Can’t hold back, Princess, you feel too good.” He murmurs, apologetically, you just roll your hips, eating up those snowy lashes fluttering.

“Then don’t hold back, Duke.” He moans at that, lifting your hips and pounding up into your cunt now, you’re crying out so loud in the dark night, while you all head home slowly over cobblestone streets, and he’s pumping you so full. “Toru!”

“Pussy is fuckin made for me, hmm?” He’s mumbling, nonsensical, fucking up into you so hard, you’re trembling as you take him, feeling his tip bruise your cervix, and you’re close, so close.

You just nod weakly as he watches you, his eyes dark and hungry, as he guides your hips to move in time with his thrusts. The slap of skin on skin echoes in the enclosed space, mixed with your soft cries and his deep moans. One of Satoru’s hands moves to your neck, his thumb resting gently on your pulse point, feeling the rapid beat as he squeezes gently.

“Look at me when you cum for me, Duchess. I want to see those beautiful eyes roll back in pleasure, just for me.” His voice is a low growl, a quiet demand, you struggle to focus, feeling the pressure coil in your tummy.

You lock eyes with him, feeling the connection between you grow stronger with each passing second, the passion and the love that abounds and grows every day, somehow even the dirtiest words that spill from his mouth are sweet. Pretty little slut is sweet to your ears, the squishing of your wetness on his cock is beautiful especially when your husband looks at you like this.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave then, spreading all over your body, your cries echoing loudly while one of his hands squeezes your throat, watching you fall apart all over him. Your walls are convulsing around his cock, you’re barely able to hold yourself up anymore.

“Mine, mine, mine.” He grunts with every thrust, releasing your throat now, you nod quickly, gasping for a greedy breath.

“Y-yours.” You whisper, he needs it, and you need this, after everything to know who you belong to, and who he belongs to.

The grip on your hips tightening, his beautiful eyes never leaving yours, when you feel him thickening, hear the catch in his breath, the crease between his brows, you know he’s close. You press his back against the velvet carriage seat, taking a breath and rocking up and down his length again, he lets you take control, watching you hungrily.

“God, fucking look at you.” You feel your cheeks heat up at his praise, as his hands press against your stays, the fabric marking your skin, as he watches you with a lidded gaze.

“W-want you to cum for me, Toru. Please.” Your plea earns his lips slamming on yours, and he pins you down fully on his entire length, groaning into your mouth as he finds his release.

His hot spurts of cum fill you, and his throbbing cock edges you again, you’re falling with him, hopelessly into him in the little carriage, arms wrapping around your waist as he keeps pumping his cum deeper. You feel tears falling on your cheeks, legs shaking as you ride him slower and slower, as he fucks you both through the aftershocks and you’re both trembling messes.

“How are you so sexy? What you do to me?” He murmurs now, you giggle a bit, breathless, he eases out of your sore cunt, your cum and his dripping out of your little hole and onto him.

“What you do to me. Having me act so wanton and scandalous.” You tease, he chuckles a bit, sighing and cupping your face with two hands.

“Do you know what I wish, Duchess?”

“What is it, Satoru?” You both adjust yourselves somewhat, he turns you so you are sideways in his lap, pressing kisses all over your face.

“That we could redo our wedding. That I could… fix it.” You hear the emotions in his throat, you sigh, nodding then. “That you didn’t hate that night, that you weren’t crying on the fucking floor.”

“Satoru we are so far past it-”

“It does not matter, I will hate myself for it forever.”

You take his hand, pressing a kiss on the back of his knuckles, feeling emotions capture your heart. “We need not think on it, I do not hold any resentment any longer in my heart.”

“I want to do it over. I want a true wedding, I want a honeymoon… I want so much more for you than I gave.” You feel his heart racing under your palm as it rests on his chest over his dress shirt. You watch the man you adore have to handle what he has done, and all you can do is try to reassure him you do not hold anything against him, but he has to live with it.

“Do not endlessly punish yourself, I want us to be happy.” He exhales, shaking his head, hand stroking your back gently.

“This will help me, please agree to it.”

“Agree to what exactly, Satoru? What do you need?”

“I want to marry you because we want to, not because we were forced to, even though lord knows I couldn’t be happier I am with you. I want it for us, and us only. I want to carry you over that threshold, in my fucking arms. I want to make love to you on our wedding night, and have you fall asleep in my bed, and wake you up licking and kissing every inch.” His voice gets more hoarse with every word, and your heart is racing, your chest rising and falling with each breath.

“Satoru…”

“No, Princess, I need this. I need you to feel desired and loved like you were supposed to, like I should have.” He swipes tears that fall down your cheeks, you feel like you’re spinning, like you’re dizzy, like you’re in a dream.

“We have it now, I feel your love now. I feel it burning for me, as I burn for you, I feel you everywhere.” He gulps, adam’s apple bobbing.

“I know you do, but I need to show you what I should have given you, fuck what you deserve. You deserved to be happy that night, looking so beautiful, so hopeful just for me to crush you.” You’re sobbing now, as the pain sinks in, it’s almost as if you cannot imagine Satoru did it.

“I want to pretend it did not happen.” He shakes his head.

“It did happen, I did those things. I need to right them, to do it all over, to take you far the fuck away from here, somewhere beautiful, fuck you on every surface and feed you and pamper you. Like the Princess you are to me.” His words make you dizzy, images flitting your mind.

“You already make me feel that way, I swear you do.” You murmur, he takes your hand then, thumbing the pearls of the ring on your delicate finger.

“I want to marry you again, it can be just us two. But I want it, and I need it, to take you away and give you everything, to make it special for you. You deserve that and more. Let me show you my love, please, marry me because you want to, because I want you to. Because I love you so deeply it kills me, because I cannot imagine a life without you.”

“Oh, Satoru!” You are a sobbing mess now, kissing him over and over, nodding and sniffling as he holds you to him, so tightly you cannot breathe, you’re nodding weakly, and he’s smiling against your lips then.

“Will you marry me, Duchess? Truly marry me this time?” He whispers, you feel it, the love and devotion humming through every inch of your body.

“I will marry you, Duke Gojo.” He kisses you deeply, and soon the carriage comes to a halt, but you all stay there, laughing through your tears, he’s brushing your hair back, sighing and shaking his head.

“I do not deserve you.” You shake your head.

“You do deserve me, you deserve love, you deserve it all. You are not who you were, and you know I loved you even then.” You say, his full lips turn up at the corners as he gazes at you lovingly.

“I was an ass.” You giggle a bit, breathless.

“You still are a bit.”

“Excuse me?” He raises a brow, you keep giggle. “I’ll have to punish you for that. Oh, you’re far too excited.”

You bite your lip, hugging him and burying your face against his neck. “When is this wedding, hmm?”

“I will set to plan something very soon, I also will have us go to my estate in Scotland.”

“I’ve never been!”

“No? It’s beautiful. I’ll make everything right this time, I swear it.” You lean back, looking into his glistening eyes, feeling his breaths against your lips.

“We do not have to do this, but I also would love to. I have wondered, how would a true wedding night have been? If you were… my first. I wish so badly that things did not happen as they did, but then… were they meant to?”

“I was never meant to be so cruel.” He says, and you feel his anguish.

“I say let us not look upon the past, perhaps a new wedding would be a way for a fresh start. I daresay I’m rather excited.”

“God I love you.” You’re soon in his arms, he’s carrying you inside, kissing you over and over, the staff including Nan is smiling at you all as he carries you up the winding stairs. “I could hold you forever.”

“I could stay in your arms forever.” Satoru soon has you in a bath, he’s gently washing your hair, fingers pressing against your scalp, earning your sigh of happiness as he does. “Satoru…”

“Hmm?”

“I never want this to end. Us, together, so happy. Promise me, promise me nothing will tear us apart again.” You whisper, emotions making you choke up, he frowns then, cupping your face, seeing the tears glimmering as the hot water gently runs over your skin.

“Why are you saying this? Are you… do you doubt me because…” You hear the worry in his voice.

“No, no. I do not doubt you but I fear things. I fear it will all be over, and I love you so much I’ll be left with nothing.” His sweet touches and kisses melt you, you feel the anxiety lessen bit by bit.

“Breathe, please.” He orders softly, you take a breath, nodding carefully. “I will never leave you, I will never make such foolish mistakes again, I will be with you until I take my last breath, do you understand?”

You sob softly as you both kiss, as you turn and straddle him, and the water is sloshing around you both, your hands dripping down as you cup his face, as you slide your fingers through his wet, silky locks. Staring into a face that you adore, his intense gaze and tight grip reassuring you as his words sink in.

Until your last breath.

“I will be with you until then, I will be with you after, there is no me without you anymore.” He places his hand on your beating heart, feeling it flutter just for him, looking at your perfect breasts rising and falling, glistening from the water, making him so hungry again for you.

When isn’t he?

Your words of love melt him, but he’s also a man, and a man that is helpless and hopelessly turned on by his pretty wife. “Keep looking at me like that and I’m putting more cum in you.” You gasp, earning his chuckle. “You like that idea, hmm?”

“I’m sore, you fiend.”

“Your stamina…”

“Oh fuck you!” He sighs, tilting his head back as you study his perfect features, so happy for once everything else is just a whisper. “I love you.”

“And I, you.”

*****

One Week Later

The rays of sunlight flit in, you feel it, Satoru’s firm lips on your neck, his hand splaying your tummy, you whine out and arch your back, earning his groan. He presses you on your back then, kissing across your chest, down to your breasts, shifting your thin silk chemise down to lap at one of your sensitive nipples. You cry out at it, hands entwining in his hair.

“Oh, Satoru… mmm! They hurt.” He chuckles, nipping one, it hurts so much it feels good, then he’s turned his attention to the other, and you wince in slight pain again, they’re aching. “Ah!”

“Do they really hurt that badly? You’re not due for monthlies are you.” He keeps kissing down your body, slipping the chemise to reveal every little inch of you, as you gasp and arch your back.

“No, not for a week or so. It’s so strange… oh that feels so good, though, please…” You’re whining as he plays with them more, you could almost orgasm from just his touch on your nipples, cunt dripping wet. The silk moves gently across your skin, a whisper in the quiet morning.

The lights play on the planes of his face, the way his hair falls just so, the way his eyes lock on yours as he laps at your nipple again, in slow circles, one hand bracing himself as the other squishes a breast in his grip. It hurts again, you’re jerking just a bit at it, nipples pronounced and ready for him.

“Well I like this, you all sensitive.” He teases, grinning so sexy, you feel your cheeks heat up at it.

“You like to hurt me a bit, hmm?” You challenge, whispering, Satoru leans back down, sucking a peak into his mouth, harder, his cheeks hollowing as he does, you scream out at the sensation now, when his teeth press against your areola, and the sensations spread everywhere. “F-fuck, it h-hurts…”

“Good or bad, slutty Duchess?” He asks, going to your other peak, repeating the bite of his sharp teeth, making your tummy clench, you grind on his thigh eagerly. “Fuck feel how wet you are.”

You can’t speak, the pain and pleasure so blinding, he removes his mouth from where he’s sucked your nipple until it’s all puffy and glistening from his saliva, pressing his bare thigh up against you more. You’re dripping down his leg, clit so sensitive it rivals your nipples, he starts kissing lower now, your tummy, soft kisses at first then he’s biting you.

Across your ribs, the underside of your breasts, sucking and biting and lapping you up everywhere, making you a pathetic writhing mess for him. You’re so beautiful in the soft light of the morning, in his bed, covered in his marks, your eyes dilated in pleasure, lashes casting shadows on your precious face, a face he sees every time he shuts his eyes.

God he can’t wait to marry you, truly marry you.

He’s picturing doing this in Scotland now, perhaps on some rolling green hill, your legs spread and hair splayed on some plaid, fuck he’s so ready for it, he’s mostly got it planned out, he only hopes you’ll enjoy it, he hopes it’s something beautiful, like you deserve. He’s looking up at you as he glides your chemise down your body completely, leaving you bare for his eyes to feast on.

He drinks in every line and curve of your perfect body, your smooth skin that he presses his lips against, feeling every muscle tense as he kisses even lower, as his hands press into your hips. He inhales your sweet scent, teeth nibbling your inner thighs, enjoying the glittery bite marks he’s leaving like a trail.

Satoru gets down to your dripping wet lips of your pretty pussy, he teases his finger tip at your entrance, earning your little hole drooling all down his hand, he exhales at it. “I’ve barely touched her and she’s this wet?”

“Sensitive too.” You breathe out, every little breath of his makes you jerk, even his smirk against your thighs have you pouring out, honeyed arousal making your cunt glisten. “S-Satoru…”

“Need something, Princess?” He teases, smirking up at you, his blue eyes darkening when he presses a kiss against your clit, your body jerks as desire floods through you.

“Need you.” He moans, swiping his tongue up your slit, string of saliva and your slick dripping from his tongue, your hands enwrap in his silken white hair, crying out at the sensation. “Toru, need you in me.”

“In a minute, you taste so good. Fuck you’re dripping.” He huffs in wonder, looking at his fingers coated in you, rolling them together and then slipping two fingers in your soppy little cunt, the stretch and pressure so much you’re screaming now, as his fingers press on your spot. “That’s it, fucking feel you, s’wet for me, f-fuck.”

You hear it, his fingers playing you, you’re stupid wet it’s ridiculous, his free hand slips up to grip one of your breasts again, you’re arching up off the bed, whining out at how good it feels, his tongue swirling right along with his fingers pumping. It’s too much, you fall apart so easily for him, completely unraveling, as he drinks you up, slipping his fingers out.

You pulse around nothing when he sucks you off his fingers, white lashes fluttering, then he’s kissing you, you’re lapping your sweetness off him. In the quiet morning it’s you whining into his lips, when he flips you over, laying you on your tummy, prone over you now. You’re trembling as he wraps one hand around your throat, your eyes rolling back in your skull.

“S’good, T-Toru, ah!” Your head falls back, exposing more of your throat when his leaky tip is running his precum up and down your clit, you’re trembling as he holds you, his long fingers wrap around your throat fully.

“You love it, don’t you? Me choking your pretty neck.” He murmurs, you weakly nod, ass arching up enough to allow his tip to enter your cunt, bit by bit, sinking into your eager hole.

“I love it.” You whisper, he squeezes your throat tighter, breathy moan in your ear, fucking you so deep you feel him everywhere. “Ngh!”

You’re crying out as he begins fucking into you, one hand brutally squeezing your hip, the other, squeezing your throat, you’re fading so dizzy and weak for him, velvety walls fluttering around his length. Satoru feels you squeezing him like a fucking vise, you feel him so deep, in your tummy, everywhere. Satoru’s tip hits your cervix then, he rolls his hips, and you fall apart under him.

“Fucking feel you, god you’re so tight Princess.” Your answer is a whimper, cumming all over his length, dripping down on the sheets below. “So wet feel that cunt gripping me, f-fuck.”

Satoru’s voice is desperate, his hand squeezing even harder, your vision blackening and glitter sparkling your vision when he lets you go, turning your chin to him, lips slamming on yours. Your moans are drunk by him, he wraps an arm around your waist, dragging your hips back on his length again.

“Satoru!” You’re crying out his name, voice hoarse, he rolls his hips again, the ridge of his tip brushing on your spot, sending you fucking reeling again. Your cunt is so loud with how wet she is, skin smacking in the quiet of the morning.

“That’s it, lemme feel you, gonna fuck you s’good baby.” Satoru’s nipping on your ear, then your neck, bending over you, taking over your every sense. You gasp and cry out, while he picks up your hips, finger finding your clit and rolling. “There you go, slutty cunt pouring all over the bed, huh?”

“F-fuck you, Toru.” He chuckles before crying out, as you tighten your cunt up around him, laughing breathless when he whimpers. “Too tight?”

“Slutty brat.” He huffs, the words just urging you, when he’s flipped you to your back again, cock lining up with your entrance, shoving deep inside you again, you feel your body tingling fucking everywhere when you clamp down on him again, and he scowls at you. “Loosen up, fuck.”

“Hmm? Wh-what do you mean- ah!” Satoru sinks fully in, stuffing you so full, stretching you out while he squishes your breasts in his hand again, smiling fucking devious at you. “Ah! Fucking hurts!”

“Aw poor baby can’t take it?” He huffs, challenging you, your hips lift, and he uses the movement to pull almost all the way out.

“N-no!”

He grins, then thrusts inside to the hilt, your eyes roll back, and he’s grinning now, so smug. “So much for your talk, huh?”

You just whine, biting down on your lip, your body so sensitive now, the pleasure so intense you’re shaking, your nails digging into his shoulders, he snaps those slender hips forward, slapping his pelvis against yours, you feel it in your stomach, he’s fucking you so deep, feel him everywhere, inside you, around you. He moans and cups your face, bracing himself on his elbows.

“Gonna fuck your mind up, Duchess.” He huffs, eyes bright as his grin is psychotic, but it just makes you wetter, weaker for him. “All mine, every fucking bit of you, isn’t it?” You nod weakly, pussy aching already, but he’s clearly not done, not even close, fucking you into another orgasm that has you a mess.

“Y-yes, Toru. S’all yours.” Your words are slurred, when he’s easing back, tilting your mouth open, his saliva dripping in it. Your eyes cross as your tongue hangs out, opening for his spit, his drool, and you gasp when he slams his cock so deep, big hands pressing your thighs so far apart they ache.

Satoru wants to own you, every bit of you, looking down at the fucked out mess you are under him.

His perfect Duchess, his little princess has his spit in her open mouth, her dilated eyes keep crossing and rolling. He feels those walls clutching his cock, trying to milk him for everything he’s god, he has to pull back, gasping, he doesn’t want it to end yet, he needs his Princess a fucking mess.

Satoru pulls back, up on his knees, lifting your ass up to sink deep, your head pressing back into the pillows as you swallow his spit. “Can your pretty tits handle anything right now?”

“Th-they’re so s-sensitive- ah! B-but…. yes please.” He’s bent over you, his back arching up, tongue back on them, sucking them rough. Your hands sink into his skin on his back, nails pressing in, leaving marks while he slowly pumps into your cunt again and again.

“Perfect tits, fuckin perfect body.” You melt, blinking back tears, usually in the mornings it’s some lazy sex, him cuddling you, this is insane, this is after a fight sex, it’s after a night at the ball sex, that consuming mind fucking he’s doing, along with praising every bit of you. “Those eyes, fuck.”

“You’re t-too much.” You manage, he chuckles, breathless, stroking a tear from your cheek, easing his pace finally.

“Sore, baby?” He’s smirking, teasing you.

“It’s so much. So big.” He moans at that. “Too deep, so full.”

“Yeah so full of me?” You nod weakly, his hand presses on the bulge he’s making in your tummy, fucking slower and slower, it’s so intimate and feels so good, you feel your skin slick with sweat now, feel yourself falling off the edge of the earth, clinging to the man that makes you descend into madness.

“Full, so full. You’re everywhere Toru.” Your eyes both lock then, you stare into those blue swirling storms, his pupils blown out, as he hovers over you, your leg over his arm now, leaky tip prodding your cervix. Your sensitive breasts are heaving with every breath you take, small and shaky.

“You’re everywhere, every time I close my eyes, or open them, I want to fucking see your pretty face, pretty body.” You do cry then, it’s too much. You feel so emotional lately, especially when the man you love is working you, is cupping your face, at one moment rough and brutal, at another so slow and sweet.

“Cum in me, please, Toru.” You beg, your voice a breathy cry.

His brows furrow together, his snowy lashes lowering, he moans then, capturing your lips in another breathtaking kiss. “Only if you cum first, want your slutty cunt to milk me dry.”

You whine out, when he slips his hand down, your foot is pressed against his shoulder, his strong muscles rolling when he fucks you hard now, and just like that, you’re coming again, your cunt tightening around his cock, your body writhing underneath him as you let out strangled cries. You feel the tears pouring from pleasure and the overwhelming person that is Satoru Gojo.

“There she is, fuck. Good little Princess.” He cooes, but you hear it, his hitch in his breath, the catch in his voice, he pumps quickly then, chasing his release, and then practically cries out in his own whimper when he starts cumming, kissing your neck then biting you as he rolls his hips.

“Toru- f-fuck!” You whine out, in between sobs, when his cum is pumping up into your pussy, filling you so fucking full.

“Gonna put so many babies in you, huh?” You weakly nod, tears sticky and hot on your cheeks, when he cups your face, his cock throbbing. “You’ll look so fucking beautiful full with me.”

“Toru you’re fucking my head up and it’s the morning.” You whisper, he chuckles then, swiping tears from your cheeks. “Psychotic Duke.”

“Slutty Duchess. Mmm.” You’re pulsing around him, you’re both so sensitive, when he eases out you tremble at it, your cunt dripping his cum out, so deliciously fucking sore. He shoves two fingers in your sloppy cunt then, and watches you writhe and your eyes flutter shut.

“Sadistic ass Duke.” You whine out, he laughs softly, kissing your forehead sweetly like he’s not fingering his cum back inside you.

“No, I just want you to be full of cum for tonight. Think I’ll need to put a few more in before this dance we’re going to.” You exhale, shaking your head, when he pumps again, the squishy mess of your cunt utterly lewd.

“A few more!?” You demand, narrowing your eyes, he grins.

“There she is, my mean little Duchess. Fucking love that look.”

“The ‘I’ll kill you’ look?”

“Oh yes. Mmm, don’t you want a baby anyway? How will you have one if you waste all my seed like this? Tsk tsk.” Satoru shoves his fingers so deep, you’re pulsing around his fingers again, feeling him harden against your inner thigh, cock sticky and hot.

“S’not how it works, you just love torturing me. Ngh!” He smiles against your lips, kissing you over and over.

“I do love to abuse your pretty cunt, watch that gorgeous face as I drive you fucking crazy.”

“Sadistic.”

“You’re masochistic.”

“To be with you? Yes.”

He glares now, and you’re giggling. “You little fucking brat.”

“What- ah!” Satoru’s smacked your pussy now, your thighs tremble.

“And you like it, don’t you?”

“Fuck you. Yes.” He snorts once more, kissing you as he hits your spot again, when suddenly your tummy tenses too much, and you wince a bit at it. “Satoru… it really is too much.”

“Are you too weak?” He taunts, but your tummy really hurts suddenly, you shake your head and he pulls back. “Too much, Princess?”

“N-no. Something… I feel…” You exhale, trying to breathe.

“Is it your asthma? I’ll fetch a doctor.” He says softly, the concern clear in his voice and on his features.

“No, Toru not at all. It’s… my tummy.” You wince again, turning away from him and exhaling. “It’s so tense and I feel almost sick.”

“Did I do too much?” You shake your head again, he kisses your bare shoulders, hands gently running along your back. “I don’t want you sick for the wedding.”

“I won’t be, promise. We have a week. Um, could you tell Nan to make me something to eat maybe? I feel hungry and sick?” He frowns, then nods, pecking a kiss on your forehead.

“I’ll go have her make something for you.” You smile gratefully, you both clean up, then you sit up in the bed, as the wave of nausea passes, you shake your hands and try to exhale, to focus.

Soon Nan is in your room, with your coffee and some delectable muffins, they look mouth watering then. She looks at you with a small smile. “Is everything alright Duchess?”

“I believe so. I got a little queasy, oh these look so delectable!” You inhale the muffin and smell the sugar and blueberry.

“Your favorite, Duchess. Now, take a bite.” You are starving, and nauseous, it’s an odd combination, but the food is helping somehow, coating your tummy as you nibble more and more.

“Nan, could I ask you something personal?” You murmur, as you practically devour the muffin and reach for another.

“Of course, my love. You have quite an appetite, it’s so nice to see.” You flush a bit.

“I do seem to be ravenous, hmm?” You lick sugar off a finger, sipping on the coffee now.

“It’s part of being a newlywed. Which… you will be again I see.”

Marrying Satoru.

Truly marrying him.

Yes, you all are together, but this? You cannot wait.

“Indeed, I agree. But Nan… it’s personal.” You whisper, leaning close, Nan bobs her head, leaning in. “My nipples hurt so bad, my breasts ache. I am a little worried because I’m not due for monthlies. Have you ever felt this?”

She pauses then, smiling, shaking her head. “I should have guessed.”

“Guessed what, Nan?” You tilt your head curiously, and she shocks you then, touching your tummy over your blue silk wrapper you’re wearing.

“You’re glowing, you have an appetite, your… ahem…” She eyes your bosoms, fuller than usual you notice. “They hurt. That’s all signs of being with child.”

You falter then, gasping, putting your hand on hers over your tummy. “W-with child? I… are you sure?”

Satoru walks in then, grinning at you both, before he sees her hand on your tummy, his eyes dart back and forth, where Nan is touching you. He gulps then, shaking his head, lips opening then closing, just to repeat the action, lashes blinking rapidly, as if he’s putting it all together.

You turn to him, taking his hand now. “Satoru, it's just a guess, we do not surely know yet… but…”

His mouth opens and closes once more, his eyelids lowered as they stare at where your tummy is, reaching out and touching it now, placing a hand over you. “Are you…”

You nod just a bit, feeling the swelling of happiness, along with some apprehension for how Satoru would feel. Was it just talk? Would this be too much for him? You all are just starting to have this uninterrupted bliss, this perfect morning, and though you want this so badly, you want him ready.

“Are you…” He keeps trailing off, stepping closer now, Nan watches you both with a little smile. “Pregnant?”

*********

(Image upload isn't working for me UGH so for now my crown dividers are not here)

A/N- This is very smushy and happy, yes I know this was angst but I write Happy Ever After stories only. I am working on Nanami's side story if you wish to be tagged in that plz lmk! Tysm for those who still read this, I know it's going LONG and it's a lot. I love you all bc this has become my favorite project I've written so far!

TagList: @kalopsia-flaneur @bunheadusa @7thsthings @disilluzions @antisocialinlw @Sukunassfinger @lelsforlino @heeknow @muvasuperior @prince-wyiilder @lavender-hvze @ssetsuka @labelt-san @sadmonke @philiatothephobia @ambiguouslady42 @stromynight @dreamygirli3 @jjknanamin @jazlenekasi @victoriaaaa00 @wuvnada @nanasukii28 @sw3etnena @dark-agate @tamaki-simp @yuuuumii @givluv2tyy @airandyeah @peppertoastuniverse @sw3etnena @chiyokoemilia @webshooterrr9 @miizuzu @thikcems @erensblackwife @murayamayoshiki-lovergurl @blue-musingss @huuuhwhaat @valleydoli @makingtimemine @saccharinesatoru @sunnyviewsblog @nanananananaiknow

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orangeblossomsintheair · 20 hours ago

Text

LIONHEART (1/2) – LN4

summary : lando’s anxious journey as a dad-to-be

wc : 11k

an : this fic is kind of the antithesis of my whole “casual blog” thing but we close our eyes!! not beta read and quite a mess. it’s also longer so i hope that’s okay :>

Lando had always been confident.

On the track, in the spotlight, with a helmet on his head and a steering wheel in his hands. But when you told him you were pregnant, all of that certainty evaporated in an instant.

He just stood there in the middle of your kitchen, staring at you as if you’d just announced you were moving to Mars.

“You’re joking,” he said after a beat, his voice higher than usual, almost squeaky.

“Why would I joke about this?” you replied, holding up the positive test, your own emotions a mix of excitement and nervousness.

He blinked, his aquamarine eyes wide with disbelief, before breaking into a grin so wide it could’ve lit up the whole room. “I’m going to be a dad?”

“Yes, Lando,” you said, trying not to laugh at how genuinely dumbfounded he looked.

“A dad?” he repeated, as though saying it louder would make it sink in faster.

“Yes, Lando,” you said again, this time laughing outright.

He crossed the room in two strides, pulling you into his arms and lifting you off your feet.

He spun you around with an uncontainable excitement, his hoodie brushing against your cheek as he held you tight.

“This is insane,” he mumbled into your hair. “We’re going to be parents!”

“Careful,” you said, swatting at him lightly as he set you down. “You don’t want to shake the baby loose already.”

“Oh, right,” he said, letting go and stepping back. His head jerked up as he processed your words, looking alarmed. “Wait, is that a thing? Can I- are you okay? Are we okay? Is the baby okay?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Lando, I found out like an hour ago. I’m pretty sure we’re fine.”

He paced the kitchen, running a hand through his curls as his grin came and went in waves. “A baby. We’re having a baby. Oh my God. Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?”

“I don’t know yet, Lando,” you said, sitting down on the couch to watch him spiral. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

“What if it’s twins?” he gasped, spinning around to face you. “Oh, I should call my mum. No, wait, too soon. We need to come up with a plan first. Have you eaten today? You need to eat. Should we go to a doctor? Ooh, they need to be a really good doctor if they’re handling my wife and baby. Should I buy baby books? Do people still read books, or do we just Google everything now?”

“Lando,” you said firmly, grabbing his hand to pull him to a stop. “Breathe.”

He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, nodding. “Right. Breathing. I can do that.”

He knelt down in front of you, his hands resting gently on your knees. “Sorry, I’m just… this is the biggest thing we’ve ever done.”

You smiled, brushing a curl out of his face. “It is. But we’ve got this, Lando.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against your belly, even though it wasn’t showing yet. “Hi in there,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with wonder. “I’m your dad. I can’t promise I’ll always know what I’m doing, but I promise I’m going to love you more than anything in the world.”

—-

Lando had always been a man of routine– wake up, train, meetings, practice, race, repeat.

But preparing to be a dad? That was a whole different kind of race.

“I need a list,” he muttered one evening, pacing the living room while you sat on the couch, trying not to laugh. “No, like, several lists. One for baby stuff, one for the hospital bag, one for- what else do we need? Is there a book about this? Should I read a book?”

“Lando,” you interrupted gently, “you’re spiraling again.”

“I’m not spiraling! I’m… planning,” he countered, though the way he was raking his hand through his curls said otherwise. “We have to be ready, love. What if the baby comes early? What if I’m away for a race?”

You set aside the baby name book you were half-heartedly skimming and grabbed his hand, pulling him to sit beside you. “We’ll figure it out, okay? You’re doing great.”

He groaned, slumping against the couch. “Am I, though? I can barely keep my plants alive. How am I supposed to keep a tiny human alive?”

“First of all, I’m the one who keeps your plants alive,” you teased, earning a weak laugh from him. “And second, you’re going to be an amazing dad. You care so much already. It’s sweet.”

“But what if I miss something important?” he said, turning to you with wide, anxious eyes. “Like the first kick, or the first cry, or- or- what if you need me and I’m halfway across the world?”

You reached up to smooth his curls, trying to ease his tension. “Lando, you’ve already done so much. The private suite, rearranging your travel schedule to be here for every appointment… You’re balancing everything perfectly.”

—-

The next weekend, Lando was halfway across the world for a race.

He had tried to keep his focus on the track, but his mind kept drifting back to you, sitting at home with your feet propped up, texting him updates about every little thing- what you were craving, how you were feeling, and whether the baby had started kicking.

During a rare free afternoon between practice sessions, he found himself wandering into a bookstore. He had no real plan, he just knew he wanted to learn everything there was to know about being a dad.

The parenting section was tucked in a quiet corner of the shop, and as he stood there surrounded by shelves filled with brightly colored covers promising to teach him how to raise a baby, the weight of it all started to settle in.

At first, Lando was focused, scanning the titles with a determined expression. “The New Dad’s Guide to Baby Basics,” “How to Survive Your Baby’s First Year,” “Sleep Training 101.”

He picked up a few books, flipping through them as if the answers to all his worries might jump out at him.

He grabbed his phone, quickly dialing you.

“Hey, love,” he said, his voice soft and warm. “Quick question- do you think the baby’s gonna like white noise machines? Because this one book says they’re a lifesaver, but another one says they’re not necessary. And then there’s this other chapter about swaddling- do you know how to swaddle? Because I don’t.”

You laughed softly on the other end of the line. “Lando, you’re overthinking again. We’ve got months to figure this all out.”

“I know,” he sighed, running a hand through his curls. “I just… I want to be good at this. I want to be ready.”

And then, as he stood there in the middle of the bookstore, holding a stack of baby books, it hit him.

He was going to be a dad.

The thought wasn’t new. It had been there since the day you told him you were pregnant. But standing there, picturing your little family and the tiny person who was going to look up to him, rely on him, need him… it was overwhelming in the best way.

“Lando?” you said gently, pulling him back to the moment. “You okay?”

“I just-” He laughed nervously. “It’s a lot, you know? I mean, I’m going to be someone’s dad. That’s huge. What if I mess up? I’m practically a child!”

“Yeah,” he said, though his voice cracked a little. He cleared his throat, his free hand gripping the book tightly.

You smiled, wishing you could hug him through the phone. “You won’t mess up. You’re already doing amazing, and the baby’s not even here yet. You care so much, Lando. That’s what matters.”

He took a deep breath, letting your words sink in. “Thanks, love. I just… I want to do this right. For you. For them.”

“You will,” you reassured him. “And for the record, I think the baby’s going to love white noise machines and your ridiculous dad jokes.”

Lando chuckled, the tension in his chest easing slightly. “You think? Because I’ve already got a few saved up. Want to hear one?”

“No,” you teased, laughing. “Save them for when the baby’s old enough to groan at them.”

He grinned, his confidence slowly returning as he balanced the books in his arms. “Okay, okay. I’ll wait. But just so you know, they’re gold.”

After that call, Lando left the store with an armful of books and a heart that was a little fuller, a little steadier.

But one thing he knew for sure- he couldn’t wait to meet the little person who was already changing his world.

He still had moments of doubt, of wondering if he was truly ready for this massive change in his life.

—-

Even as Lando threw himself into preparation mode with the same energy he brought to a race weekend, scouring books and online articles about parenting, he still often got hilariously sidetracked by baby-related gadgets and gear.

“Did you know they make mini race suits for babies?” he asked one night, sprawled across the couch with his phone in hand, his eyes wide with excitement.

You glanced up from your own book, raising an eyebrow. “Lando, the baby’s not even born yet. Don’t you think it’s a little early for racing gear?”

“But imagine the photos!” he argued, sitting up and holding his phone out toward you like it was the discovery of the century.

On the screen was a tiny race suit in McLaren orange. “Our kid’s first photo: full McLaren merch. It’ll be iconic!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Iconic or not, I think diapers are going to be a bigger priority than race suits.”

“Lando,” you said, trying to sound serious but failing as a smile tugged at your lips, “our baby isn’t going to be born straight into a Formula 1 garage.”

“Why not both?” he shot back with a grin, already scrolling to find more baby-sized racing gear.

“Oh my god, look at this! miniature headphones for the paddock! Our baby could be sitting in the garage, looking like a proper little team member.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Blasphemy! Of course they are. It’s practically tradition.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help feeling touched by his enthusiasm. He wasn’t just excited; he was genuinely looking forward to every part of being a dad, even the ridiculous ones.

That wasn’t to say there weren’t more.. unwise moments even with non-racing related baby items.

Like the time he came home from a race weekend with three identical diaper bags.

“Lando,” you said, holding one up. “Why do we need three of these?”

“They’re different brands,” he explained, looking genuinely confused as to why you were asking. “What if one of them is better? Or has more pockets?”

“Pockets?”

“Yeah! Babies need a lot of stuff, right? I saw a mom at the airport with one of these, and she looked like she had her life together. I want you to have your life together too.”

You burst out laughing, and he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Stop laughing! I’m trying to be prepared!”

“You’re overprepared,” you said, setting the bags down and walking over to wrap your arms around him. “But that’s why I love you.”

But it also wasn’t all fun and games.

Lando was determined to be as supportive as possible, especially when it came to your comfort. He took “protective husband” to a whole new level during your first trimester, hovering like an overzealous pit crew.

“Lando, I can still carry my own bag,” you told him one morning as he practically wrestled your tote out of your hands.

“Nope,” he said firmly, slinging it over his shoulder like it was his new personal mission. “You’re carrying our future world champion. I’ve got this.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s a tote bag, not a tire. I think I can manage.”

“Well, I’m not taking any chances,” he replied, puffing out his chest dramatically. “What kind of dad would I be if I let you strain yourself this early?”

“A sane one?” you teased.

He huffed, clutching the bag like it was a trophy. “I’ll ignore that slander. Now, where’s your water bottle? And your snacks? Have you eaten? Do you need to sit down?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Lando, I’m fine. You don’t need to act like I’m about to collapse any second.”

“Not on my watch,” he declared, marching ahead of you with your bag.

“Do you even know how many articles I’ve read about pregnancy? You’re supposed to avoid heavy lifting, stay hydrated, and-”

“-and avoid stress,” you interrupted, smirking. “Which you’re causing right now with all this hovering.”

“I’m helping,” he corrected, spinning around to face you with a determined look. “And besides, you’d thank me if you saw the kind of stuff I’ve been reading. Did you know some women crave chalk during pregnancy? Chalk! What if that happens to you? I need to be prepared!”

“Lando, I’m not craving chalk,” you said, trying not to laugh.

“Not yet,” he countered, narrowing his eyes like it was only a matter of time. “But when you do, I’ll be ready with… I don’t know, chalk alternatives or something.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing on your phone? Researching chalk alternatives?”

“Did you know we might need a whole new mattress? Pregnant people need optimal support. And I saw this thing about belly bands. Do you want one? I can order it right now. Oh! And don’t even get me started on prenatal yoga-”

“Among other things,” he said with a shrug, completely serious.

You reached out to grab his arm, laughing. “Okay, slow down, Mr. Norris. You’re going to give yourself a stress rash before we even get to the second trimester.”

He looked at you sheepishly, his determination softening into a shy smile. “I just… I want to do this right, you know? I’ve never done this before.”

You softened, cupping his cheek. “I know, love. And you’re doing amazing. But you don’t have to do everything perfectly. Just… be here. That’s all I need.”

His shoulders relaxed a little, and he leaned into your touch. “Okay,” he murmured.

Then, after a beat: “But I’m still carrying the bag.”

“Of course you are,” you said, shaking your head as he flashed you that trademark cheeky grin.

From then on, Lando took his role as your personal assistant very seriously. He stocked the fridge with all your favorite snacks, some of which you hadn’t even asked for.

“I saw this article about pickles and peanut butter,” he said one day, holding up a jar. “Do you think you’ll want to try it? Should I get bread?”

“You’re the one who’s going to end up eating it,” you teased.

And when it came to appointments, he was like a man on a mission. He set reminders, packed snacks for the waiting room, and even insisted on bringing a notebook to jot down questions.

“I don’t want to forget anything important,” he said, scribbling furiously while the doctor explained prenatal vitamins.

“You’re going to end up with a full-on pregnancy thesis,” you joked.

“Because I need to know everything.”

“Good,” he replied, deadpan.

He was equal parts adorable and exhausting, but one thing was clear: Lando was already the most devoted dad-to-be you could have asked for.

—-

He didn’t care what he had to move around, he was going to be there.

Lando insisted on attending every single doctor’s appointment, even if it meant rearranging his training schedule or skipping a media event.

Your husband had always been incredibly aware of his public image, and he knew his absence in a lot of McLaren PR videos was beginning to be noticed.

The whispers started subtly at first, just a few fans commenting on his social media posts, wondering why he wasn’t posting as frequently, why he wasn’t sharing his usual behind-the-scenes content.

Fans questioning his commitment to racing, accusing him of not showing up enough for the sport.

But over time, it started to get louder. On Twitter, the rumors spread like wildfire.

He couldn’t give a damn, to be honest.

He was fidgeting with the strap of his McLaren cap, spinning it around in his hands like it was the only thing grounding him.

“I don’t want to miss anything,” he told you one day as you both waited in the ultrasound room.

“What if they show us something important, like the baby’s heartbeat, and I’m not here? I’d never forgive myself.”

“You’ll see everything,” you assured him, lacing your fingers with his and giving his hand a squeeze. “I promise you won’t miss a thing.”

He exhaled deeply but didn’t stop fidgeting. “Do you think they’re okay? Like, really okay? What if the baby’s too small? What if-”

“Lando,” you interrupted gently, giving him a pointed look. “Breathe. Everything’s fine. You’re panicking for nothing.”

He let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry, I just... I’ve never been this nervous before. Not even before my first race.”

He leaned forward, his eyes glued to the screen, his hand clutching yours like it was a lifeline.

When the ultrasound tech finally entered the room and began the scan, Lando nearly jumped out of his seat.

“Alright,” the tech said with a kind smile, turning the screen toward you both. “Here’s your baby.”

Lando froze, his eyes wide as the faint image of your baby appeared on the monitor. “That’s… them?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“That’s them,” the tech confirmed, moving the wand slightly. “And if you look right here, you’ll see their heartbeat.”

She pointed to a tiny flicker on the screen, and Lando’s breath caught. “Is that… Is that their heart?”

“Yes,” she said warmly. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat.”

“Oh my God,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “That’s them. That’s our baby.”

Lando’s eyes immediately welled up with tears. He blinked rapidly, clearly trying to keep them from falling, but one slipped down his cheek anyway.

You reached up to wipe the tear from his cheek, your own eyes misty. “They’re perfect, aren’t they?”

Then he turned to you with the biggest grin you’d ever seen, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. “They’ve already got your heart, don’t they?”

“They are,” he said, his voice full of awe.

“And yours,” you added softly, squeezing his hand.

Lando laughed quietly, his free hand running through his hair. “This is insane. Like, actually insane. That’s a real human. Our human. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” you replied, smiling at him. “Just feel it.”

He nodded, his gaze drifting back to the screen. “They’re so small,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then he let out a shaky laugh.

“God, I hope they get your patience. And your smarts. And maybe your taste in music too, because mine’s questionable at best.”

“They’ll be a little bit of both of us,” you said. “The good and the bad.”

“And hopefully less of the bad,” he joked, his smile growing wider. “Although if they’re anything like me, they’ll probably be a little naughty regardless.”

He spent a few moments just staring in silent awe of the ultrasound before leaning over and pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?”

You nodded, resting your head against his shoulder. “More than okay, Lando. We’re going to be great.”

He asked the tech at least three times if he could get extra printouts of the ultrasound, and as soon as you left the room, he was texting the photo to his parents.

For the rest of the appointment, Lando couldn’t stop staring at the monitor.

“You won’t believe this,” he said excitedly as he hit send. “They’re already perfect. I mean, look at them!”

You laughed, shaking your head at his enthusiasm. “You’re going to be insufferable, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” he replied with a grin, slipping the ultrasound photo into his wallet like it was his most prized possession.

—-

His hands were a blur, adjusting every little decoration as if this one cake would determine the future of the entire Norris family.

Lando stood in the kitchen, pacing around the table with the cake in front of him.

He wiped his brow for what felt like the tenth time, clearly worked up.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Lando asked again, his voice laced with nerves, as he fiddled with the tiny blue and pink ribbons on top of the cake.

You raised an eyebrow, watching him with a grin. “Lando, it’s just cake. I don’t need a fireworks show or a parade. Just let me eat it. We’re finding out if we’re having a mini-me or mini-you today, not the cure for world hunger.”

He looked at you, eyes wide with mock concern. “I know! But this is important, okay? This cake isn’t just cake. It’s the cake that’s gonna reveal if our baby’s gonna have my style or your... I don’t know, your taste in TV shows.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, so my TV shows are the problem now? I seem to remember you binge-watching those ridiculous reality shows last week.”

Lando chuckled, adjusting the cake for the third time. “Fine. But I will not apologize for the occasional guilty pleasure, okay?”

His mom was practically jumping up and down, already holding a bottle of champagne in one hand.

Before you could fire back, there was a knock at the door, and Lando’s parents stormed in, as excited as ever, clearly eager to be part of the big reveal.

“Alright, alright, we ready for this?!” she practically shouted, already bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Lando, you didn’t mess up the cake, did you?”

Lando puffed out his chest, trying to seem cool, but you could tell he was as jittery as a kid before Christmas. “What do you think? I’m a pro. I’ve got this under control.”

His dad leaned in and clapped him on the back with a knowing look. “Sure, sure. It’s just cake, son. Don’t overthink it.”

“Easy for you to say!” Lando replied, rolling his eyes but clearly taking comfort in his dad’s easy confidence.

“Do I need to set up a tent or something for you? I can go grab the calm-down snacks,” his mom teased, already rifling through the bags of baby gifts she had brought with her.

He turned back to the cake, brushing his hands against his jeans as if trying to shake off his nerves. “Right. Big moment.”

Lando gave her a playful glare. “I’m fine, Mom. I’m just...you know, a little excited.”

You crossed your arms, trying to stifle your laughter at the drama of it all. “You know, you’re acting like you’re about to drive the final lap of a Grand Prix, not slice a cake, right?”

Lando shot you a look, half guilty, half defensive. “What do you mean? This is important, okay?”

“Yeah, because the world is watching,” you quipped, leaning against the counter with a grin.

“Absolutely! What if the cake doesn’t come out perfectly? What if it’s not the right color? What if-”

“Lando,” you interrupted with a chuckle, “I’m pretty sure it’ll be okay if it’s not perfect. It’s just a cake.”

He sighed dramatically. “You don’t get it. This is a moment. A huge one! I can’t mess this up.”

(Lando’s parents exchanged amused glances. “He’s got it bad, huh?” his dad whispered to his mom.

“Oh, you don’t even know,” she replied with a wink.)

“You’re really sure you’re not panicking?” you teased, nudging him, raising an eyebrow.

Lando flashed you a grin. “Nope. I’ve totally got it handled. This is the most important moment of our lives, and I’m... handling it.”

The cake, a simple vanilla sponge with soft pastel decorations, sat in front of you all like a ticking clock. Lando’s hands hovered above it, shaking slightly as he gripped the knife.

The room filled up with laughter and chatter as family and friends settled into their spots, everyone eager to be a part of the big moment.

You placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Lando, it’s going to be fine.”

He gave you a nervous smile. “Yeah, I know. I’m just- just a little excited.”

He cut the first slice carefully, holding his breath. His eyes darted between the cake and you, trying to gauge the moment, the color, the reaction.

“Is it-” Lando’s mom leaned forward, eager and almost bouncing in her seat. “Is it blue or pink?”

His hands trembled for a moment, and then, without warning, his lips curled into a grin so wide it could have lit up the whole room.

When Lando saw the blue filling spill out from the cake, it was like a switch flipped inside him.

He threw his arms up in the air, as if he’d just crossed the finish line, his chest puffing out like he’d just clinched a Grand Prix victory.

“I’ve got a son! A SON! I’m gonna be a dad to a little boy!” he exclaimed, his voice rising in a playful tone, as if he was addressing a crowd at a podium.

“YES!” he yelled, his voice carrying the excitement and relief of a race win. He even did a little fist pump, completely caught up in the moment, forgetting the cake still had to be served.

His family burst into laughter, but Lando didn't care. He was riding high on the adrenaline of the moment, his face flushed with joy. He turned to you, eyes wide and sparkling, as if the world had just handed him the greatest trophy imaginable.

“Lando, you’re not actually racing a Grand Prix right now,” you said, your laughter shaking your voice. “You don’t need to act like you just won Monaco!”

Lando paused for a split second, still grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Oh, but I am! This is my Monaco moment!”

—-

Before your son arrived, the two of you spent countless hours brainstorming names, debating, and laughing at your ideas, the excitement of becoming parents finally hitting both of you.

Lando, sprawled beside you with his laptop open, occasionally paused to glance at you, a goofy grin on his face.

You sat on the couch in the private suite, your legs curled up underneath you as you flicked through baby name books.

“You know what would be funny?” Lando said, his eyes lighting up. “If we named him after a race track. Like, Monaco or Spa.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused but skeptical. “Monaco? Really? We’re naming our kid after a place?”

Lando shrugged with a playful grin. “It’s iconic. Imagine saying, ‘This is my son, Spa Norris.’ Sounds like he’s destined to be a Formula 1 champion, right?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, that’s not going to fly. I’m not going to name our son after a race track, Lando.”

He pouted, pretending to be disappointed. “You’re no fun. I thought you’d be into it.”

You shot him a playful look. “Well, if you’re going to go that route, we might as well name him something like 'Aston' or 'Ferrari'.”

Lando dramatically gasped. “Ferrari Norris?” he echoed, as if he’d just had an epiphany. “That actually sounds pretty cool.” He immediately began typing it into his phone. “Imagine the headlines: ‘Little Ferrari Norris shows up at the karting track, stealing the show already.’”

You chuckled, giving him a teasing nudge. “Okay, okay. Let’s put a pin in that one, but seriously, we need something that isn’t a car or a race track. We need to think long-term. He’s not going to be five years old forever.”

Lando sat back, tapping his fingers on the side of his laptop, deep in thought. “How about Maximus? It sounds strong, right?”

You gave him a flat look. “You realize that would just end up as Max, and then we’d have to deal with every comparison to Verstappen and Max, right?”

Lando’s eyes widened slightly as you pointed out the potential issue. He paused, tapping his fingers on the laptop as he processed your words.

“Oh, right,” he said slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Maximus could be a disaster. Imagine our kid being called Max every time. He’ll spend his whole life being compared to Verstappen, and Max.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, not ideal. We’re already in the spotlight enough with you and everything, we don’t need to add fuel to the fire.”

Lando groaned, slouching slightly in his chair. “Okay, so no Maximus. What about... Thor? Sounds strong, right? A god or something.”

You blinked, trying to keep a straight face. “Lando, we're naming our kid, not preparing him for a Marvel movie.”

“I’m just saying,” he grinned, holding his hands up in mock defense. “Thor Norris. Sounds pretty cool, right? Imagine him on the playground.”

“Yeah, until he gets bullied for being named after a thunder god,” you replied with a teasing smile. “We want a name that’s strong, but also, you know, normal.”

Lando sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples. “Why is this so hard? This is supposed to be the fun part!”

“Because you're overthinking it,” you said, leaning over to ruffle his hair. “We don't need to make him sound like a superhero. We need something that suits him, something that feels right.”

Lando scrolled through a few more names on his phone. “What about Leo? You know, like the lion?”

You looked over at him, a thoughtful expression crossing your face. “Leo.. huh, I kind of like that.”

Lando met your gaze, his smile softening. “I do too. It feels strong. But it’s also… warm. I can imagine him growing up with that name.”

“I think that’s the one,” you said softly, your heart warming at the thought of it.

You smiled, already picturing your son, little Leo, chasing after you both in a go-kart, or laughing as he wore his tiny McLaren onesie.

Lando nodded, his voice quieter now. “Leo Norris. Yeah… I like it.”

A mix of excitement and nervous energy filled the air. But above it all, you both felt the quiet, comforting certainty that you’d chosen the right name.

You both sat there for a while, soaking in the reality that soon, you’d have a little one to love and raise.

“Leo Norris,” Lando repeated, his grin returning. “You’re going to be so cool, little guy.”

—-

By the time the baby’s due date was right around the corner, Lando had practically perfected the art of juggling his high-pressure career with impending fatherhood.

He FaceTimed you every chance he got during race weekends, even if it was just for a few minutes, to check in and ask how you and the baby were doing.

Every call was an opportunity for him to make silly faces at your growing belly, as if your unborn child could already understand what he was doing.

“How’s my little team doing today?” Lando asked, his face beaming from the screen, grinning like a kid with a secret.

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘little team’? It’s still just one person, you know.”

He paused, holding his hands up as though giving you a game plan. “It’s all about the future, babe. Right now, it’s just me and you, but soon, we’re gonna have our first real team member. And I’m gonna be the best team principal there ever was.” He winked, clearly enjoying the idea.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Uh-huh. Sure. First, you have to figure out how to change a diaper before you’re giving out performance reviews.”

Lando's grin faded slightly, and his expression became more serious. “I can change a tire under pressure, but... a diaper? You’re sure I’m gonna be okay with that?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You’ve changed car tires with a stopwatch ticking down. A diaper is like... one percent of the stress.”

Lando scratched his head, clearly still not totally convinced. “Yeah, but there’s a lot more wiggle with a baby than with a tire.”

You chuckled, hearing the nerves in his voice despite his usual cocky demeanor. “I’m sure you’ll manage. You’re gonna be a great dad. Besides, how bad can it be? Worst-case scenario, we just put him in a McLaren onesie and call it a day.”

Lando’s eyes lit up. “Wait, does McLaren make baby clothes?” he asked, suddenly distracted, pulling out his phone.

You sighed, trying not to laugh. “Focus, Lando, the baby comes first, not McLaren merch.”

He was too busy scrolling through his phone, searching for baby-sized McLaren gear. “Just imagine! Tiny little race suits! Our kid’s first proper race suit! It’ll be legendary*”

But he didn’t hear you.

You smirked. “Right, because that’s all a baby needs, to be decked out in McLaren gear. A future world champion and fashion icon.”

Lando nodded seriously, still scrolling. “Exactly. The sooner they start looking the part, the sooner they’ll feel the pressure to deliver.”

You shook your head, your lips curving into a smile. “You’re definitely going to spoil this kid rotten.”

“I’m just preparing them for greatness!” Lando declared, his voice mock-serious. “Besides, they’re going to have someone to look up to.”

You laughed, a soft teasing tone in your voice. “You mean you? The guy who keeps asking me if he’ll be cool enough for a toddler?”

Lando looked at you, eyebrows furrowing with mock panic. “I just want them to think I’m cool, okay? What if they’re disappointed? What if they grow up to think I’m just some guy who drives a car really fast and wears too many McLaren hats?”

You snorted, not even trying to hide your amusement. “Lando, you drive a Formula 1 car for a living. I think you’ll manage to impress a toddler.”

“Yeah, well, toddlers are tough critics,” he muttered, flopping back onto his bed. “What if they want a cooler dad? Like, what if they see some famous soccer player or something and think he’s way cooler than their dad?”

“Lando, the kid isn’t even born yet, and you’re already stressing about being the coolest parent?” You shook your head, trying to hold back laughter. “Relax. You’re gonna be the coolest dad, hands down.”

“You really think so?” Lando asked, his tone suddenly turning sincere, a soft smile curling his lips.

“Absolutely,” you replied, your voice full of confidence. “You’re gonna be amazing. And anyway, when they get older, they'll think you're the coolest just because you drive an F1 car. That’s literally a dream job for kids.”

Lando smiled at you through the screen, clearly reassured. “Alright, alright. I can live with that.” He paused for a moment, his

“I’m gonna train them up. Baby steps, right? First, it’s McLaren onesies. Then, they’ll be driving go-karts by five.”

—-

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “I think you’ve got a few years before that happens, buddy.”

You watched him from the couch, amused by how obviously he was working up the courage to say something.

Lando had been pacing the living room for what felt like hours, his hands in his hair and his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Finally, unable to take his fidgeting any longer, you set your book down and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Alright, spill it,” you said, crossing your arms.

He stopped pacing, turning to you with a sheepish grin. “Okay, don’t get mad, but… can I tell Carlos?”

You blinked at him, confused. “Tell Carlos what?”

“The baby!” Lando blurted, throwing his hands in the air. “I swear I won’t say anything to anyone else, but I feel like I’m going to burst if I don’t tell someone. And Carlos, he’s my best mate in the paddock, you know? and I feel like I’m going to burst if I don’t tell someone. He’s good at keeping secrets! Remember when I told him about… well, you know…”

You smirked. “The time you accidentally spilled coffee all over Zak’s favorite race notes and blamed the wind?”

Lando groaned, running a hand through his curls. “Yes, that! He didn’t tell anyone!”

He leaned in closer, his big, pleading eyes locking onto yours. “Please, love. I need someone to talk to about this in the paddock. I promise it’ll stay between me and him. And you, of course. You’re the boss.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head with a smile.

“But adorable?” he pressed, grinning mischievously.

You laughed, shaking your head at his antics. “Alright, alright. You can tell Carlos. But only Carlos. If I see headlines about ‘Baby Norris’ next week, I’m blaming you.”

Lando let out a victorious whoop, throwing his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You won’t regret this, I promise! I’ll handle it perfectly.”

“Uh-huh,” you teased. “Just don’t come crying to me if he accidentally tells the entire grid.”

“He won’t!” Lando assured you, already pulling out his phone. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a Spaniard to swear into secrecy.”

—-

He’d pulled you aside earlier on, his brow furrowed in a mix of excitement and concern.

Lando, despite his enthusiasm around friends and family, had always been the type to keep his personal life as far away from the media as possible, especially when it came to you and your pregnancy.

“I just want to protect you from all that stress, love,” he’d said softly, his hands resting on your shoulders. “The media’s only gonna make everything harder. Let’s keep it to ourselves and family and friends until we’re ready.”

So, you kept things under wraps, avoiding public appearances and letting Lando handle the media while you focused on your health and well-being.

You’d agreed, knowing his intention was to shield you from any unnecessary pressure.

At first, you’d manage to sneak in a few appearances, sitting in the background, away from the cameras. But soon, you started pulling back even more, skipping races altogether. The tabloids, however, didn’t miss a beat.

But as your pregnancy progressed and your bump started to show, it became harder to stay out of the public eye.

You could practically see the frustration building in him. He was giving off full-on whiny vibes, and you couldn't help but smirk at how ridiculous the whole thing seemed.

Lando was pacing back and forth in your living room, muttering to himself as he read through the latest batch of articles about him and your supposed divorce.

“I swear, they’ve completely lost their minds!” Lando groaned, throwing his phone down onto the couch with a dramatic flair. “What do they mean we’re getting divorced? Have they seen you? Why would I ever, ever, let you go?”

You leaned back on the couch, trying to keep your composure as he began pacing again. “Lando, calm down. It’s just the media. They love making stuff up.”

“No, it’s not just the media!” he whined, stopping mid-pacing to stare at you. “This is serious! They think I’m out here with a divorce like that’s even a thing. I’m happily married! You’re at home growing our kid, not plotting some dramatic breakup!”

You tried to hold back your laugh, but Lando’s whining was getting funnier by the second. “Babe, seriously, it’s not the end of the world. You’re acting like the tabloids are going to come for us with pitchforks.”

“I’m just trying to figure out how they got this idea. I’m not... like, I’m not perfect, but come on! Look at you! You’re gorgeous, and we’re over here living our best life, why would I ever let you go?”

“I’m just-” He paused, running his hands through his hair like he was about to pull it out.

You grinned, giving him a teasing side-eye. “Aww, are you saying I’m too good for you?”

Lando froze, turning to you with wide eyes. “No! I mean, yes, but no!” He huffed dramatically, flopping down onto the couch next to you. “You’re perfect! You’re the perfect wife! And you’re the one who makes everything better, and now they’re out here saying I’m getting divorced? No! That’s not how this works!”

You reached over, resting your hand on his, trying to hold back your own laughter. “Lando, babe, it’s just rumors. People are bored. They don’t know anything, and they’re making stuff up. Just ignore it.”

“Ignore it? How am I supposed to ignore this? They’re making me look like the worst husband in the world! Divorce? I’ve been married for, like, what, five minutes? And now I’m already getting a bad rep? This is ridiculous!”

He looked at you like you’d just suggested the impossible.

You snorted, finally giving in to the humor of the situation. “Okay, okay, so how are you planning to fix it? Go out there and shout from the rooftops?”

Lando sighed heavily, clearly still upset. “I don’t know! Maybe I should just do an entire press conference. ‘Hello, everyone, just in case there was any doubt, I’m not divorced! I’m happily married! And I’m going home to my gorgeous wife and our baby, who will totally not grow up to be a Formula 1 driver, I promise.’”

You couldn’t stop laughing now. “Babe, just post a picture of us and say ‘Still happily married’ that’ll do the trick.”

Lando groaned in frustration. “But why do I have to do that? Why can’t people just know? It’s like they’ve forgotten what happiness looks like. They’re just out here making up stories!”

You patted his leg, smiling fondly at him. “You’re cute when you get worked up, you know that?”

He shot you a look. “I’m serious! This is outrageous. I swear, if I see one more headline about our ‘divorce,’ I’m gonna lose it.”

“Alright, alright,” you said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Calm down. It’s just noise. We know what’s real.”

Lando pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not a fan of this noise. It’s too much, and I just want to be left alone to focus on being an amazing husband and father. Is that too much to ask?”

You smiled, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “No, love. It’s not too much to ask. But maybe, just maybe, try to ignore the headlines for once?”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll try. But if they start talking about me again... I’m calling a press conference.”

—-

Lando had just finished a grueling race, his face flushed with exertion but still carrying that unmistakable grin.

He was on cloud nine, but he could already sense the usual flood of media around him. It was never just about the race with him, it was always about something else, something personal.

As he was making his way to the interview zone, one journalist, eager to get the scoop, stepped in front of him with a grin.

The media had taken their guesses and spun them into wild stories. He had kept quiet for as long as possible, but today, something inside him snapped.

“Lando, congratulations on the win! How’s everything going with your wife? We’ve heard a lot of speculation recently, some rumors flying around about your relationship. Can you clear that up for us?”

Lando froze mid-step, his brow furrowing. The questions about his relationship with you had been relentless recently, but this, this was the last straw.

He glanced over at his PR team, who were silently freaking out in the background, and then he turned back to the reporter, a small, sarcastic smirk pulling at his lips. “Yeah, here’s the thing.”

“Rumors?” Lando repeated, voice low but filled with frustration.

He paused, taking a deep breath. His hands were shaking from the adrenaline of the race, but his eyes were laser-focused on the reporter.

“Here’s the thing,” Lando said again, this time louder, looking directly into the camera, “I’m going to give a shout-out to my beautiful wife right now, and to hell with everyone else. To all the tabloids, the rumors, and the people making things up… fuck you. I love my wife. She’s amazing. We’re happy. Now, can we get back to the racing?”

The crowd of reporters and cameras around him seemed to freeze for a moment, unsure of how to react to his sudden outburst.

Lando’s eyes burned with a mixture of frustration and determination as he stood there, refusing to back down.

“Seriously,” he continued, his voice steadier now, but still tinged with that raw intensity, “I’ve kept quiet for as long as I can. I get it, you want the drama, you want the headlines.”

He glanced around at the sea of microphones pointed at him, his gaze intense. The silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the hum of distant chatter.

“But I’m here to race,” he added, his jaw clenched. “So, let me make it clear. My wife and I are doing great. I’m not hiding anything from anyone. The only thing I’m focused on is the fact that I just finished on a podium position, and that's what matters.”

For a moment, he allowed himself to breathe, his chest still rising and falling from the aftershocks of the race and the adrenaline of the moment.

The reporter, still holding the microphone, looked almost shocked by Lando’s outburst, but before they could get another word in, Lando raised his hand, cutting them off.

“I’ve had enough,” he said firmly. “So here’s the deal. To everyone who wants to keep spreading rumors or digging into our lives. Don’t. And to my wife, if you’re watching this, I love you. You’re incredible.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and then, with a final glance at the camera, Lando broke into a grin.

“And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a celebration to get to. See you at the next race.”

With that, he turned, walking away from the reporters, leaving them dumbfounded and speechless. His PR team scrambled behind him, clearly trying to catch up and figure out how to spin this into something less... explosive, but Lando wasn’t having it.

He was done with the noise, done with the rumors. And if the media wanted a story, they could have that one because he wasn’t hiding his love for you, and he wasn’t going to let anyone tell a different story.

Back in the paddock, as he made his way toward the celebration, he pulled out his phone, sending you a quick text: “Hey, I may have just lost my cool on live TV but don’t worry, it was for you. Love you always 🧡”

As soon as the text sent, Lando couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

—-

You didn’t have a chance to misinterpret anything when you were bombarded by videos of Lando’s recent stunt by your friends and family.

When you saw the text pop up on your phone, you blinked at it for a moment, reading it over a few times to make sure you weren’t misinterpreting things.

You froze.

The sheer audacity of him, of his love for you, left you speechless for a moment.

This was a whole other level. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, a combination of shock and amusement.

Of course, Lando had always been passionate, always been the kind of person who wasn’t afraid to stand up for what mattered to him. But this?

You immediately hit the video call button, your heart racing.

When his face appeared on the screen, he was still beaming with that grin he wore after a good race, sweaty, glowing, and impossibly handsome.

But then, his eyes widened when he saw the expression on your face.

“What?” he asked, still out of breath from the race, his grin fading a little. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You couldn’t help yourself. “Lando Norris,” you began, trying to keep your voice steady, “did you just… tell everyone to fuck off on live TV?!”

His eyes grew comically wide, and he immediately slapped a hand to his forehead, groaning dramatically as if he was ashamed of his actions. “I swear I didn’t mean to-”

“Oh, you didn’t mean to?!” you interrupted, laughing uncontrollably, clutching your stomach from how hard you were giggling. “Lando, that was literally a full-on ‘fuck you’ to the media! And you said it was for me?!”

He flushed, sheepish but still trying to hide his growing smile. “Look, okay, I was just- uh- tired of the rumors, alright? And when they asked about you- about us- I just kind of... lost it. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to make sure they all knew how much I love you. How happy we are.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, still laughing, wiping a tear from your eye. “You’re really doing a great job of showing that. It was the most Lando Norris thing you could’ve done!”

Lando leaned back against the wall, clearly embarrassed but still that familiar, playful Lando you knew and loved. “I didn’t think it’d go that far,” he muttered, but then his grin returned. “But you know what? Fuck it. They can say what they want.”

You let out a breath, finally calming down, though you were still grinning. “You are such a dork,” you said, shaking your head with affection. “But I love you for it. Seriously. I never thought I’d be watching you on TV yelling at the media like that.”

He puffed out his chest, doing a little dramatic bow. “What can I say? I’m just a man in love.”

“I’m starting to think you’re also a man who has no filter,” you teased, leaning in closer to the screen. “But I can’t deny, it’s kind of… hot.”

Lando’s cheeks flushed at that, and he let out a chuckle. “Oh, now you’re really making me blush. I can’t believe I just did that...”

“You definitely made a statement,” you said, the smile still playing on your lips. “The whole world now knows you’re not just a great driver- you're a very passionate husband, apparently. Also, good luck with your PR team after that one.”

“Oh, they’re probably freaking out right now,” Lando said with a knowing grin. “But hey, at least I got to make things clear.”

You paused for a moment, letting his words settle. “You know what, Lando? I really appreciate it. I know the media can be overwhelming, and I’m glad you’re doing what you can to protect us, even if it means embarrassing yourself a little. But just... maybe next time? You could, I don’t know, use a little less profanity?”

“Right,” he said, nodding seriously. “Next time, I’ll scream it in sign language. Less dramatic, more subtle.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart swelled with affection. “You’re impossible.”

“I know,” he grinned. “But I’m your impossible.”

—-

The grueling months of races, travel, and endless media commitments were finally over, and he was about to have a few weeks of uninterrupted time with you and the baby.

When the end of the racing season finally rolled around, Lando could hardly contain his excitement.

The weight of the season had been heavy, and now that it was over, he felt like he could breathe again, and it felt amazing.

The moment he heard the announcement that the season was officially over, his excitement bubbled over. He was practically buzzing with anticipation, his usual calm and collected persona giving way to a wide, ear-to-ear grin.

For weeks leading up to the last race, Lando had been counting down the days.

It was as if the pressure of racing and all the responsibilities had just melted away, and he was ready to dive straight into a new kind of excitement, one that involved a lot more time at home with you.

You were sitting on the couch, relaxing after your own busy day, scrolling through your phone, when you heard the familiar sound of

Lando’s boots hitting the floor. He was almost running, and his footsteps were light and fast, as if he couldn’t wait to see you.

Without a second thought, he rushed over to where you were sitting, scooping you up into his arms like you weighed nothing at all. He spun you around once, a burst of laughter escaping his lips.

“Babe!” he shouted, throwing his bag down with abandon, his voice practically singing with happiness.

“I’m home, I’m home, I’m home!” he repeated, his grin so wide it almost seemed to stretch across his face.

“I’m more than happy,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with joy. “I’m ecstatic. Finally, a break. No planes, no races, no media, just me, you, and... well, you know, our little one,” he added, glancing down at your belly with a soft smile.

You couldn’t help but laugh as his excitement flooded the room, feeling the warmth of his embrace. "Well, I can tell you’re happy about the season being over," you teased, giving him a playful look as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Sounds perfect,” you said, feeling the love in his words. “I think we both deserve a break.”

Lando nodded enthusiastically. “I can’t wait to just be home with you. I’ve missed so much of this year, and now I get to make up for it. I’ve got so many plans. We can do all the things we’ve been talking about, prepare the nursery, take walks together, have breakfast in bed, watch terrible movies... you know, all the usual relaxing stuff.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused by his enthusiasm. “Breakfast in bed every day, huh? That’s a bold claim.”

“I’m up for the challenge,” he grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m making the most of this time. No more rushing around, no more stress. Just time with you, our little one, and whatever chaos we manage to create together.”

He flopped down onto the couch beside you, pulling you in closer. His hand found its way to your growing belly, and he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he gently placed his hand there. “I’m so ready for this next chapter, you know? I know the last few months have been crazy, but this... this is going to be perfect.”

—-

Soft, neutral tones, sleek furniture that didn’t scream “baby” but still felt warm and inviting, and subtle touches of personality like a tiny McLaren-themed mobile hanging above the crib.

Lando stood in the middle of the nearly-finished nursery, hands on his hips, looking ridiculously proud of himself. The room was stunning.

“You know,” he said, turning to you with a grin, “I think I’ve outdone myself. Custom everything. No IKEA in sight. You’re welcome.”

“You do realize you’ve spent more on this room than most people spend on their entire house, right?”

You raised an eyebrow from where you were sitting on the plush nursery chair he’d insisted be upholstered with "only the softest fabric money can buy."

He scoffed, gesturing at the solid oak crib. “This bad boy? Handmade by some guy in Sweden who’s apparently a genius with wood. And the changing table? Designed by an actual ergonomist! No sore backs for us.”

He shot you a mock-offended look. “Excuse me for wanting the best for our baby. It’s called quality assurance.”

You tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t help laughing. “Lando, it’s a baby. They’re not going to care if their crib is custom-made or from IKEA. They’ll drool on it all the same.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Excuse me! Our baby deserves the best! The absolute best. I’m not about to put our kid in some flimsy crib where one tantrum could bring it down.”

“Pretty sure you’re the only one throwing tantrums right now,” you teased.

He ignored you, walking over to the rocking chair and giving it an experimental sway. “This chair, by the way? Perfect for late-night story time. I tested at least twenty before I found the one.”

“You sat in twenty rocking chairs?”

“Of course,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What if I’d chosen one that squeaked or wasn’t comfy enough for cuddles? I’m thinking ahead, love.”

“Thinking ahead is spending three months’ salary on a nursery?”

“And it’s not just the furniture. Look at the details. That mobile? Custom order. The wallpaper? Hand-painted by some artist in Italy. Even the shelves are organized by height so the books will be easier to grab when the baby’s older. I’m not messing around.”

“Investment,” he corrected, plopping down beside you with a satisfied sigh.

You shook your head, still smiling. “It’s beautiful, Lando. Really. You’ve done an amazing job.”

“Of course I have,” he said smugly, leaning back. But after a moment, his expression softened. “I just… I want everything to be perfect, you know? For them. For you. I want this room to feel safe and special and like… like a little haven.”

Your heart melted as you reached out to take his hand. “It already does, babe. It’s perfect because you made it with love.”

“Also with a ridiculous amount of money,” he added, flashing you a cheeky grin.

You laughed. “That, too.”

Lando leaned down to kiss your forehead, his voice full of affection. “Anything for you two. Now, all that’s left is to teach the baby to say ‘McLaren’ before anything else.”

You laughed, pulling back to give him a playful shove. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Fine,” he said with a wink. “Second word, then.”

—-

When the day finally came, Lando was fresh off a meeting with his team, when your water broke in the middle of your living room.

“Now?” he yelped, nearly dropping the cup of tea he’d just handed you. His wide, panicked eyes darted between you and the puddle forming at your feet. “It’s happening now?”

“Yes, Lando, now!” you snapped, clutching your belly as another contraction hit.

He spun in circles for a moment, muttering to himself, “Keys, keys, where did I- oh, my God, this is happening.”

“Lando!” you barked, cutting through his panic.

“Yes, yes! Okay! Keys! Bag! You!” He grabbed the hospital bag you’d packed weeks ago, slung it over one shoulder, then hesitated. “Wait, do you need me to carry you? Should I-”

“Just get me to the car!”

In record time, he managed to get you into the passenger seat, though not without fumbling with your seatbelt for what felt like an eternity.

“I race cars for a living,” he muttered to himself, hands trembling as he buckled you in. “Why is this harder than a pit stop?”

“Because a pit stop doesn’t scream at you every five minutes,” you shot back, gripping the door handle as another contraction rippled through your body.

---

At the hospital, Lando was a walking ball of nerves. He practically burst into the maternity ward, announcing to the nurses, “My wife’s having a baby! Right now! Like, right now!”

One of the nurses calmly guided you to a room, giving Lando a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “First-time dad?” she asked with a knowing smile.

“Is it that obvious?” he mumbled, following behind like a lost puppy.

Inside the delivery room, Lando couldn’t sit still. He paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair. “Are they supposed to take this long? Shouldn’t someone check on her again? Is she okay? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Lando,” you groaned through clenched teeth. “But if you don’t stop pacing, I might strangle you before this baby gets here.”

He froze mid-step, holding his hands up in surrender. “Right. No pacing. Got it. I’ll just... stand here.”

Once he could actually think past his panic, Lando immediately whipped out his phone, his fingers fumbling over the screen as he dialed his parents. The phone barely rang once before his mom answered.

“Lando? Everything okay?” her voice was calm but laced with concern, likely from the sheer urgency of his call.

“Mum! She’s in labor!” Lando practically shouted into the phone, his words tumbling out at record speed. “Like, actual labor. Right now. We’re at the hospital. It’s happening!”

“Oh, Lando, that’s wonderful!” his mom exclaimed, her tone immediately switching to excitement. “How is she? How are you?”

“She’s... well, she’s in labor!” Lando replied, running a hand through his already tousled curls. “I think she’s fine, but I don’t know! She might be mad at me for pacing too much. I stopped though. Well, sort of. Anyway, can you and Dad get here? Like, now?”

“We’re on our way, love,” she reassured him with a laugh.

By the time his parents arrived, just minutes later, Lando’s initial excitement had given way to full-blown panic. He was sitting in the corner of the room, staring at his hands, muttering under his breath.

“Do you think the baby will like me? What if they don’t like me? What if I’m a terrible dad? Oh my God, I forgot to pack snacks! What kind of dad forgets snacks?”

His parents stepped into the room, his mom taking one look at him and immediately placing a hand on his shoulder. “Lando, breathe,” she said gently, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

He jumped up at their arrival, waving his hands around. “I can’t breathe, Mum! Do you know how much responsibility this is? I’m going to be someone’s dad! What if I drop the baby? What if I don’t hold them right? Or they cry every time they see me? I-”

His dad cut him off with a firm but comforting hand on his back. “You’re going to be fine, son. You’ve got this.”

Lando looked over at you, lying on the hospital bed, still managing to roll your eyes at his dramatics despite the situation. “Does she think I’ve got this?” he asked, gesturing to you.

You groaned, partly from the contraction and partly from his antics. “Lando, if you don’t stop spiraling, I’ll personally make sure you get kicked out of this delivery room.”

His mom laughed, stepping closer to you. “She’s got it under control, doesn’t she?”

“She always does,” Lando muttered, his wide eyes darting between you and the monitors. “But what if I’m not ready, Mum?” he whispered, leaning closer to his mother as if it were a secret.

His mom reached up, brushing a curl from his forehead. “You’ll be ready when you see your baby for the first time, Lando. Trust me. You’ve already proven you’ll do whatever it takes to be a great dad. Now stop worrying and be there for your wife.”

Lando nodded, taking a deep breath and straightening up. Then he turned to you with newfound determination. “Okay. What do you need, love? Water? Ice chips? A—”

“A calm husband,” you interrupted, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Right,” he said, nodding rapidly. “Calm husband. Got it.”

And for the next two minutes, he actually managed to stay calm. Until the nurse walked in and said, “Alright, it’s time to push.”

Then all bets were off.

---

When your son (your son!) finally arrived after hours of labor, the world seemed to pause. Lando stood frozen as one of the nurses handed him the tiny, swaddled baby. His hands shook as he cradled Leo against his chest, staring down at him in awe.

His aquamarine eyes were wide as he stared down at the newborn. “Wow,” he whispered, his voice shaky. “He’s... so small. Like, really small. Are we sure he’s okay?”

“Lando, he’s a baby,” you said, exasperated but smiling, the exhaustion hitting you in waves. “They’re supposed to be small.”

“Yeah, but this small?” he asked, carefully holding Leo as if he were made of glass. He glanced at the nurse for reassurance. “Is this normal? What if I break him?”

The nurse chuckled. “You won’t, Mr. Norris. Just make sure to support his head, and you’ll be fine.”

“Support his head,” Lando repeated, adjusting his grip like he was handling the most fragile trophy in the world. Then he looked down at your son again, a mixture of awe and terror on his face. “Hey, little guy,” he murmured. “It’s, uh... it’s me. Your dad. I’m new at this, so, uh, go easy on me, yeah?”

You laughed softly, despite the ache in your body. “He’s not going to grade you, Lando.”

“Good, because I’m already giving myself a D+,” he muttered, carefully sitting beside you on the hospital bed.

Lando looked up at you, his eyes glassy. “You did so good,” he said softly. “So, so good. Thank you for... for him.”

As the tiny bundle in his arm let out a tiny whimper, Lando instinctively rocked him, whispering, “Shh, mate, it’s okay. Daddy’s got you.”

“You’re a natural,” the nurse commented, smiling as she adjusted your blankets.

“Really?” Lando glanced up, his grin sheepish but full of pride. “Because I feel like I’m one wrong move away from dropping him.”

“You won’t,” you reassured him, reaching out to touch his arm. “You’re already amazing.”

He smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “You’re the amazing one. I mean, you just made a person. How insane is that?”

As he sat beside you, still holding him as if he were the most precious thing in the world.

You rested your head against his shoulder, watching as he studied every tiny feature of Leo’s face. “He’s got my eyes,” he murmured, awed.

“And your gap-toothed smile too, probably,” you teased.

He chuckled, brushing a fingertip gently over Leo’s tiny hand. “That’s not a bad thing. He’ll be unstoppable. Just wait until he sees his first go-kart.”

#lando x y/n #lando x reader #lando norris #lando imagine #lando x you #ln4 x y/n #ln4 imagine #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 fic #ln4 x you #formula 1 x female reader #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #x reader

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fairyysoup · 1 day ago

Text

sever the blight

(steve's version) (repost)

pairing(s): werewolf!steve harrington x fem!aristocrat!reader

summary: Steve is your bodyguard. You are engaged to another man. It all seems very cut and dry until a fatal accident traps you alone with him on a full moon.

word count: 11.2k

cw: explicit, smut, monsterfucking!!!, loss of virginity, graphic depictions of violence, blood, gore, minor character death, animal death, horror elements, dark themes, historical au, fairy tale au, some sort of historical fantasy period, idk which one you tell me, forbidden romance, mutual pining, possessive behavior, misogynistic views on sex and marriage, animalistic behavior, marking, scenting, knotting, breeding kink, werewolf transformation, werewolf bites, again steve is a werewolf the reader is fucking a werewolf and all that entails, dead dove: do not eat

a/n: hiiiii this was originally posted in two separate parts, but as it was actually meant to be a one-shot when I started writing it, i've reposted it as one here. I'm sorry lol

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

"Fear and flee the wolf; for, worst of all, the wolf may be more than he seems." -Angela Carter, The Company of Wolves

“Please, don’t do this.”

The hum of crickets at twilight surrounds you as you step out of the inn, into warm summer air. The soft muslin of your underskirts turn heavy with the humidity, as you watch your governess, Miss Fontaine, charge ahead toward the carriage. Already prepared for your departure, the driver twitches his thumbs in anticipation.

You watch her turn to face the only other member of your traveling party with a perturbed sigh. “And lose more time? If we ride through the night we can make Kensworth by morning.”

You feel a heat on the back of your neck before you turn to see him emerge from the shadows, the deep green of his coat highlighting the little bit of jade in his hazel eyes. Steven. Steve. The huntsman. Your guard. You don’t know much about him, aside from that he’s from this region. He’d made his living as a huntsman before your father, favoring Steve for his discretion and propriety, hired him as a personal bodyguard. Your very own knight in shining armor, if you wanted to be romantic about it.

He’s the only man you’ve ever met who manages to make you nervous while simultaneously making you feel invariably safe. Like, as long as he’s around, you know that nothing will dare to hurt you. And nothing will make your heart race beneath your bodice quite the same as he does.

Still, months of his protection haven’t taught you anything about who he is, and it seems like he wants it that way. You know only the things that you’ve picked up by being around him- he prefers ale over wine, fiddles with his hair when he’s nervous, and he enjoys doing people favors. He has a goofy sense of humor. He’s kind, and gentle when he speaks.

Unless he’s arguing with your domineering governess. Like now, for instance.

“You don’t know these woods like I do,” he insists, his voice unnaturally low, nearly a growl as he looms over you on the doorstep of the inn. He stands too close to you, his eyes burning fire as he peers at Miss Fontaine, and then down at you, making your hands shake behind your skirts. His tone softens, “My lady, listen to me and wait for the night. Let the moon wane before we leave.”

You open and close your mouth, looking from Steve to Miss Fontaine. To his obvious annoyance, your governess is already shaking her head at you before he finishes talking. God, you wish you knew what to say to assuage them both. But, ultimately, the choice isn’t up to you. It never is.

“I can’t spare the time. The Duke will already be upset that I’m arriving late to my own wedding.” The words feel flat in your mouth, like a script written by someone else. Truly, you’re running late as it is, days late, all because an avalanche laid waste to the only route out of town, keeping you at your latest stop and delaying your journey beyond repair.

“Your fiancé won’t be happy to know you’re putting yourself at risk to make up for lost time.” Steve spits the word fiancé like a curse, like he’d rather not acknowledge the man’s existence at all. You let it slide; after all, you’re not particularly taken with the idea, either.

You haven’t met him- your fiancé. You know him even less than you know your faithful bodyguard. You only know his face from a painting you were gifted, and his name- not from any sort of correspondence, mind you, but because the betrothal is a big deal, considering he’s a duke. And that would make you, of a sort, a future duchess. Or so Miss Fontaine keeps reminding you.

She raises one petulant eyebrow, now, at your protector. “You’d have us force the Duke to wait at the altar?”

Steve’s eyes darken. “If he cares for the lady at all, he’ll be relieved to know that you did the pragmatic thing and waited to travel-”

“Don’t lecture me about pragmatism-”

“I’m trying to protect her!”

“Protect her, then!” Short of stamping your foot, there’s nothing you can do but stand by as they argue back and forth. “That is your job. Not presuming to call orders. You are a guard, not an advisor.”

Steve glowers at her, his big eyes glinting dangerously in the lamplight from the carriage. “You don’t know-”

“But you do, correct?” You stare up at Steve with wide eyes, while he cocks his head, looking at Miss Fontaine as if trying to find the best and fastest way to get rid of her. She snaps, “I’d expect a huntsman to know a thing or two about traveling in the woods at night.”

She doesn’t wait for his reply. She lifts her skirts and steps into the carriage without waiting for the driver’s hand, all but slamming the door behind her. That’s the end of that.

You move to follow her, but a hand brushes your own, behind your back. You nearly jump out of your own skin at the touch- your blood boils, and your stays grow heavy on your chest as your breath quickens. You rapidly turn to face him, before Miss Fontaine can look out the carriage window.

“Steven-”

“Miss, please, just listen to me.”

You’re struck by how soft Steve’s voice is when directed at you, compared to his snarling at Miss Fontaine. His hazel eyes are enough to make you melt, searching your face for understanding.

“The things that happen in these woods, on a full moon, it’s-” he drops his gaze to your clasped hands, and for a moment, you think he’s going to reach out and grab them. But he simply takes a deep breath, the red flush on his cheeks brightening as he looks back up to your face. His voice drops in register, so that only you can hear him say, “Please, honey, I’m begging- talk some sense to your governess. Going out there tonight, when the moon is full… it’s too dangerous. Believe me. Trust me.”

You take the opportunity to gaze up at him openly, like you’ve wanted to for all the months you’ve known him, but never got the chance to. It occurs to you to correct him on his impropriety, and to remind him that you’re betrothed. To a duke that you don’t want to marry.

You don’t correct him. Instead, you whisper, “I trust you, honey.” And when he blinks, his lashes kissing his cheeks like you so desperately want to, you add, “But you and I both know that if anyone actually listened to me, we wouldn’t be traveling at all. I’m sorry, Mr. Harrington. My hands are tied.”

Steve swallows, and you swear he looks like he’s going to cry, or do something desperate like drag you back inside with him. But he just nods, and when you turn to climb into the carriage, he nearly pushes the driver aside to offer you his hand, instead.

Your mind lingers on the touch of his hand even after you’ve settled into your seat, your fingers smoothing over your tingling palm distractedly. You watch through the window as Steve’s trousers tighten across his thighs when he mounts his horse. He gives the driver a furious look as the carriage kicks off.

And Miss Fontaine glares at you when you pretend you weren’t staring at the young huntsman.

“The Duke will be pleased to know that you’re doing everything you can to reach the destination promptly.”

You sigh, your elbow resting heavily against the windowsill of the carriage. The Duke, the Duke. Your future husband already has his clutches wrapped around you, squeezing until you can feel your ribs cracking and blood spilling from your mouth. Miss Fontaine seems to have no qualms about singing his praises for the entire duration of your midnight commute, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. You’ve never been able to sleep while traveling, the rocking of the carriage jostling you awake no matter how hard you try.

Your eyes fix outside, on the white mare keeping stride with the carriage. Steve’s face is partially lamplit from the lanterns beside the driver’s seat, a deep furrow to his brow as he stares off into the dark. He worries his bottom lip with his teeth, lost in thought.

You’d kill to know what’s going on inside his head. There have been times when you’ve thought of asking him what he thinks about this marriage- it’s entirely out of his place to voice his opinion, of course, but nights spent with him standing guard outside your bedchamber have made you curious. What he’s thinking, what he’s feeling, when your future is being decided for you. When you’re helpless to stop any of it, and the only thing he’s able to do is throw himself in front of any physical danger coming your way.

Your curiosity doesn’t form in a void, you know. You aren’t completely blind to his affections. Steve is protective of you to the point of possessiveness, always hovering close, intimidating anyone who so much as looks your way. Would-be suitors were chased off by your guard’s heavy, unblinking stare before the Duke wrote to your parents and asked for your hand. You think the only reason this marriage is happening at all is because your fiancé never had to be subject to Steve’s frightening scrutiny.

You don’t miss the way Steve brightens whenever you’re around, either. The way he smiles and indulges your conversation whenever he’s afforded it, going out of his way to make you laugh. Presenting you with bouquets of your favorite flowers, just because he saw them in the garden and knew you’d love them. He’s so sweet to you, and to no one else. At least, not in the same way. Not in a way that makes you doubt his affection for you, however subtle.

You wonder if he doubts your affection for him. You wonder if he can see it as easily as he can see a fawn meandering through the trees, in the path of one of his arrows. You’ve thought about it so often that it’s kept you up at night, when there’s no distraction that comes to make the thoughts of him disappear. When all you have are your own hands, and the knowledge of his presence just on the other side of your chamber door. If he listens very closely, Steve may be able to hear the wetness of your fingers as they slide between your legs, while you pretend that they’re his.

You wonder if he has heard it; there have been a few times when you weren’t certain, when he wouldn’t meet your eye in the morning after a particularly strong orgasm made you whimper a little too loudly. Maybe he knows, and he’s just more proper than you have the decency to be anymore.

But Steve couldn’t know about your dreams, when you’ve shut your eyes and fallen asleep - ones where your unconscious mind doesn’t fail to give you the closeness you crave from him. Ones where his forehead rests against yours lovingly, his breath ghosting across your lips as he rocks the bed with his thrusts. You aren’t making much noise in these dreams, but why would you, when the noises that he’s making are more beautiful than any you could come out with?

And what a pretty thing you are, whimpering Steve’s name as your hand scratches along the mattress to keep you anchored, the fingers of your other hand threaded in his hair, relief flooding your soul at being able to feel it in your grasp. You shiver, either from the intimacy of it or from the caresses of his tongue against your pulse, but it doesn’t make an ounce of a difference when you come apart on his cock, your head tilted back and exposing the column of your throat for his mouth as you thrash against him.

When his hips stutter, when he pulls you against his chest as the heat of his release blooms deep in your core, it’s with a groan of your true name onto your own tongue, to make sure you know how he’s made himself in the bed of your body. “You are mine now. My lady, not his. Never his.”

Waking from those dreams, after a while, hurts more than the idea of having them in the first place. Because you step out of your bedchamber to find Steve standing guard, smiling at you politely, properly, as the arbitrary rules that keep you apart dictate he should, and the cycle starts anew.

“Are you even listening?”

Your attention snaps back to Miss Fontaine, and her pinched, stony face. You were not, your mind tending to wander to him at the worst times. “I’m sorry?”

Miss Fontaine tsks, and you already know what’s coming. You take a deep breath in. “How do you expect to please a husband when you can’t even listen to me for more than a minute? Stop slouching, child.”

You straighten your spine even as you seethe. You’re a lady when it suits them to burden you with responsibility, and then you’re a child to be ordered around when you don’t please them. “I’m not a child.”

“Quite right, and you’re nearly too old to be a debutante. You’re well on your way to becoming a spinster if you don’t behave. Lord knows the Duke has his work cut out for him.”

It takes all your strength not to roll your eyes. Of course, you should be thankful that you’re being sold off like cattle to the highest bidder. No, the only bidder. It just so happens that he’s a higher ranking aristocrat than you. And, as Miss Fontaine loves to remind you, you should count yourself lucky that anyone showed interest in you at all.

Never mind that you could never have the one that matters most to you. He has to stand by and watch it happen.

Poor, stupid thing. You always want what you can’t have, don’t you?

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by the carriage lurching to a stop, the calls of ‘whoa!’ from the driver reaching you through the carved wood of the cabin. Miss Fontaine sighs and moves to open the window latch before Steve’s hand slams down abruptly on the glass.

“Stay,” he snarls at her, his eyes seeming to glow from the inside with a reflective green. Your breath stutters in your chest when he looks at you. The reflective pale green of a nocturnal creature seems to encompass his pupils for just a moment. “Don’t leave the carriage.”

You watch him dismount his horse. You’re craning your neck to try to keep your eye on him out the window, when Miss Fontaine grumbles, “That boy needs to learn some manner-”

You gasp loudly when something lurches the carriage sideways. You grab onto the edge of the seat as it lurches again, keeping your balance as the carriage threatens to topple. Miss Fontaine shrieks, thrown sideways towards the door.

You hear the cries of the driver, just past the wooden walls of the cabin, and you don’t have to have much imagination to conclude what’s happening to him. Your heart plummets, immediately thinking of Steve, out there doing who knows what, with whatever it is that’s making the noise.

“What on earth-” Miss Fontaine grabs onto the door handle as soon as you hear an infernal growling coming from outside.

“Don’t leave the carriage!” You yell, just as she throws open the door to do exactly that.

With one final jolt, the carriage flips.

Breathe in. Breathe out. When you open your eyes, you don’t know how much time has passed, if any at all. You think you may have fainted in the commotion- your head doesn’t feel hurt, but your hip has been bruised. It smarts as you try to push yourself up, where your legs are crushed up against the wall of the carriage. Groggily, you turn your head, and scream.

Miss Fontaine’s unblinking, glassy eyes stare lifelessly back at you. Half of her body has been crushed beneath the toppled carriage, having fallen as she tried to leave the carriage. Blood oozes slowly from her hairline, down across her cooling forehead.

Heaving unmeasured breaths, you raise your hand and push her face away from you. Her head bobs limply to the other side. You don’t want her staring at you still, in death, with that judgemental sneer etched on her face.

With a sob stuck in your throat, you turn your head and stare up at the window above you in the capsized carriage. You manage to sit up and unlatch the door above you, throwing it open like a trap door. Heaving yourself up through the opening is another challenge- even though your summer dress is comparatively light, pulling your skirts upwards and over the edge is difficult, and you end up barrel-rolling out of the opening more than anything.

You come crashing down on the opposite side of the carriage wall, the wheels bracketing you where you sit. The lanterns on the driver’s end have broken, oil pooling and creating a fire that’s rapidly growing the longer it sits. Beside you, Miss Fontaine’s legs stick out comically from beneath the structure like a pair of sticks. You reach over and throw her skirts back over them. For propriety, of course.

You hear rustling off to your left. Scrambling along the ground, dirt and pebbles press into your palms and scrape your knees. You peek around the carriage wheel to see what the cause of the commotion is.

In a ditch beside the road, Steve is wrestling with a… well. In the darkness it’s hard to make it out, but it’s some sort of wild cat. A cougar or a mountain lion, by the looks of it, and monstrously huge. No wonder why the carriage toppled; it has your guard pinned, dwarfing him and trying hard to bite at his throat.

You go to scream to draw the cat’s attention away from Steve, but before you can, Steve already has the cat by the jaws. His two big hands wrap around the wild cat’s upper and lower teeth, prying them open before they can bite down.

And he keeps prying, until the damned thing’s head rips apart in his hands.

You shriek. You can’t wrap your head around all the blood, pouring across his chest and face. Two pieces of a fleshy, gorey skull drop from his hands as he pushes himself up and flings the dead creature off of him. It flops limply to the ground, a pool of blood spilling from the torn remains of its head.

Steve stands tall, hulking and godly against the backdrop of night, and in the flickering light of the growing fire from the carriage, the blood on his mouth and chest glints wet and dark against his tan skin. You don’t know what happened to his riding coat- his white blouse is pasted to his skin, torn in places and gaping at the collar.

You remain, frozen in place, half-cowering behind the overturned carriage. The fire creeps ever closer to you, but you can’t find it in you to move.

You’re glad that he’s okay. At least, you think he is. He’s moving quickly and doesn’t seem to be injured, just… mad. His teeth look a lot sharper than they were before when he bares them. Your heart thuds in your chest, your hands clutching desperately at the corner of the carriage, and the most off-putting part of it all is that you’re not sure that it’s because you’re scared.

He could never scare you. Not your Steve.

“Steven?” Your voice sounds too small, high and girlish in your throat when you want to pretend that you’re being brave. That you’re unaffected by any of this. That you’re not… relieved that Miss Fontaine is unable to voice her disdain of everything you do, and of him.

The guilt you feel at that revelation is outweighed by the instant comfort of Steve’s eyes on you.

He lumbers toward you, eerily quiet and agile for how big he looks, how much of a beating he’d obviously taken. Dripping with blood that isn’t his, flesh from the creature he’d torn apart with his bare hands still clinging to his forearms and clothes.

“My lady, are you hurt?” He crouches before you with his palms upturned, allowing you to keep the carriage between you, as if you’re a prey animal capable of being frightened off.

“No.” Your battered hip throbs like it knows your lie and plans to expose it. “The driver-?”

“His wounds were too deep,” Steve says apprehensively, as if he’s worried he’ll scare you now. “Your governess?”

“Dead.” The word slams out of your throat and falls hard into the air between you. Steve’s brow furrows in a reluctant show of grief. Perhaps you should feel aggrieved as well, but as you search yourself for a show of tears, nothing comes. You don’t know why- perhaps from the shock of it. You weren’t particularly fond of your governess, but you never thought she’d die beside you. “The carriage… she didn’t listen to you.”

He couldn’t stop the scoff falling from his mouth if he tried. “Of course not.”

In the aftermath, everything is too quiet. There are no crickets chirping, no huffs of horses waiting to get on with the journey. The oil fire crackles dangerously behind you, but you’re too busy staring at him to care.

Your Steve. Your bodyguard, your huntsman, who can rip a wild animal in half with his bare hands. The light of the fire flickers in his eyes, a hint of that reflective green still glowing behind his pupils. You open your mouth to ask him about it, but before you can, he shuts his eyes and winces.

“I should go,” he grits out through clenched teeth, shaking his head roughly as if trying to rid himself of his thoughts- whatever they may be. “I should- I should go get help-”

“Are you- have you been hurt?”

“No- I-” he pauses distractedly, looking down at his hands. He clenches them quickly into fists, swallowing against a dry throat as he gets impossibly more agitated. “Not hurt, exactly… I shouldn’t- I need to go-”

“Steve,” you implore, and he whips his head up to give you a startled look when you lay your hand on his shoulder. You don’t know if it’s because of your touch, or if it’s because you didn’t call him Steven, as you usually have under the watchful eye of others. His skin burns feverishly through the thin linen of his blouse. “My god, you’re burning up-”

He flinches away like he’s frightened of your hand on him. “I’m not, I’m fine-”

“You are not fine-”

“You can’t come with me,” Steve snarls, his bloody hands wrapping around your wrists in a vise-like grip. You gasp when you feel his sharp nails dig into your skin, and he instantly softens- both his grip, and his expression. His beautiful eyes bore into yours with a new kind of urgency. “You need to stay here, with the carriage. And I- I’ll find someone-”

“You really think that’s wise?” you ask, staring levelly at him while he blinks dazedly down at your hands. His own completely encircle your wrists, his fingernails far longer and sharper than they ought to be.

You suck in a sharp breath when you see them, but you pull your eyes back to his face and ask him, “Do you really want to leave me alone here? After everything that’s happened?”

Steve’s chest puffs up with the ragged breath he takes, and his hands tighten possessively around your wrists. “No.”

“Right,” you say gently, twisting your wrists so that he loosens his hold. Your hands slip down into his, sticky blood transferring onto your skin all the way. You hardly feel it, with how badly his hands burn to the touch. “We stay together, now. Who knows how many more wildcats there might be?”

“I don’t think it’s them you need to worry about. I’m…” Steve trails off, staring into your eyes. Underneath the rage and the frustration he obviously has, he looks scared.

“You’re what, Steve?” You tilt your head, probably looking much coyer than you feel, with your heart beating loud in your chest. You try your best to be soothing, to be gentle with him even though you’ve seen how strong and violent he’s capable of being- you feel it drying on your own hands.

“I’m going to protect you. I would sooner kill anything that comes near you than see you harmed.” Steve clenches his jaw, his face contorting into a grimace. “My lady.”

“I know you will, honey.” Your thumb traces a little circle around the sharp tip of one of his pointed claws, glinting dangerously in the moonlight. Even if you can’t quite explain how, you know what they imply about your huntsman.

And yet, you like everything about them.

In the darkness, wild things stir. Every crackle of the leaves, every snap of a twig beyond the trees makes you jump. Your eyes search in the dark for the cause, and see nothing.

“What’s that?” you whisper, a frantic edge to your voice.

The forest quiets around you, until all you can hear is Steve’s breath against your ear.

“You have nothing to fear, my lady. Nothing in these woods will harm you while I’m here.” Still, your bodyguard’s hand on your waist tightens, pulling you further against the impossibly warm body beside you. The boldness of his touch makes you shiver.

You want to tell yourself that that’s true, but the longer you walk, the more it becomes clear that Steve is not doing well. The arm that isn’t wrapped around you clutches protectively across his middle, as though he’s trying to apply pressure to some unseen wound. Every so often, he hisses and doubles over in pain- and when you dig your heels into the ground and say, “Steven, you need to rest,” he snaps back, “No, I do not.”

You bicker like an old married couple until you inevitably throw your hands up in defeat. He’s not going to stop trailing through the woods, and you can’t stop him, nor will you turn back and leave him. You trust that he knows where he’s going, because he’s intimately familiar with this forest.

In spite of your frustration with him, you still cling to him, and he still holds you close. His body heat still burns you to your core. There’s a gaping hole within you that he needs to fill, if only he’d allow himself.

If your fiancé has coiled around you to squeeze your life from you, you think that Steve has managed to burrow deep into your chest, to keep you alive and warm. You’d like it if he stays there forever- even if he eats your heart in the process.

In the corner of your eye, you see Steve’s head tilt up, surveying the moon peeking out from behind the clouds. “We have two hours to get back to Havensfield.”

“What happens in two hours?”

Steve’s eyes flicker upwards again. Piercing green reflecting the light, shining like two iridescent jewels. You wonder if that’s why they’re hazel during the daylight. “The moon peaks in the sky.”

Your hand tightens where it rests on his waist, and you swear he gasps. “And then?”

Steve is quiet. His breathing is hard and labored as he stares directly forward. His skin shines with perspiration and blood from the creature that he killed in self defense. Though he’d wiped it from his face, it’s still fresh on his collar and chest, saturating his ripped blouse. You haven’t shown any disgust over it, merely acceptance, with your small hand curled around his damp sleeve. Your fingertips dig into his forearm and make him wince, considering how his mind is honing in on every small touch of your body to his.

You’re a lot easier to read than you think you are. Steve knows that you can tell what he is- to some extent, at least. You know that there’s some sort of transformation taking place, but you don’t seem to understand the real gravity of it. You don't seem scared about it.

That’s what worries Steve the most. You should be scared of him. You shouldn’t be holding onto him like you are, knowing what the raging animal writhing just below his skin wants to do to you. He wants to tell you to run; but then you won’t know where to go, and every beast loves a chase. It’s only a matter of time before his human faculties give out and his primal urges take over.

Sometimes Steve can manage to give into it, when he isn’t stressed. When there’s no real fear, aside from needing to be away from people for a few hours. Usually, by this time, he is alone in the trees, able to tear his clothes off and let his beast control him for however long it takes before the moon hits its peak. And then…

“How much do you know about lycanthropes?”

Steve sounds a lot calmer than he is. There’s a surging in his head, a mad rush to just let go. Stop fighting it. It’ll only be more painful if you do.

“Wolf-men?” There’s a smirk on your lips that makes the human part of him want to kiss the living daylights out of you. “Only what they tell you as a child. They look like men, but they’re not. Their life span is seven years, and if you burn their clothes it makes them stay a wolf forever. They can only be killed with silver. Once they get a taste for flesh, they eat nothing else.”

“Old wives’ tales,” he grunts. Mostly. “The clothes don’t make a difference. And we live just as long as any normal person.”

You blink at him. “We?”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs as another wave of pain slices through his gut, making him stagger. He loses his grip on you, collapsing clumsily to his knees as he rasps, “You’re smarter than that.”

“Steve!” Your hands wrap around his biceps as he gasps, and there’s a battle raging within him- to fling you away or to tackle you to the ground. He finds a midway point between the two where he pushes himself backwards to cling to the trunk of a tree.

“You need to get to town.” He doesn’t wait for you to object. He points a shaking hand in the direction of town. The sight of his own clawed finger aloft in the air makes him flush in embarrassment. You shouldn’t have to see him like this. “If you keep going straight through the trees you’ll reach Havensfield within the hour.”

“I’m not going,” you argue. He heaves a sigh through his nose, and you actually do stomp your foot this time. “Damn it, Steve, I’m not leaving you here!”

“You have to!” He shouts, pushing himself up to stand against the tree as he does. He looks defeated, agonized as he gazes at you pleadingly. “If you stay, you have no idea what I’ll do to you.”

“Will you kill me?”

“No.” He says it so quickly, he doesn’t even have to think about it. Because, you realize, he already has.

“Then I’m staying,” you tell him firmly. Steve opens his mouth to argue with you, and you shake your head at him. “That’s it, Steve. I’m staying here, and I’m not going.”

His voice cracks as he says, “I can’t fight it, honey.”

“Is that why it’s hurting you?” You ask him as it occurs to you. “Because you’re… you’re fighting it?”

Steve trembles when you touch him, a gentle hand on his arm that sends shivers up his spine. He nods. “It’s easier when I don’t.”

“Then don’t.”

He swallows loudly. “It’s- you don’t know what you’re asking-”

“Explain it to me,” you tell him quietly, as soothingly as you can. “Will it- is it not you? Is it something else that takes over? Is it going to harm you-”

“No,” Steve shakes his head vehemently, blinking fast. He’s sorting through his thoughts, finding it harder to cling to anything other than base desire the longer this goes on. “It’s… it’s me. I’m always here, always present. But the part of me that acts on morality is gone. There are no morals. I just act on impulse, for a while. And then… I transform. Physically.”

You nod slowly. “And that’s what happens at midnight.”

“That’s what happens,” he says, and cringes in pain. “Now you see why I didn’t want- why you should have stayed through the night. I would have- I’d be alone. I’d be back by morning. I always am.”

Your heart feels heavy with how much it aches for him. You recall the months that Steve has been employed by your father, and how he had conveniently been absent the night of the full moon. And you had never noticed, never made any sort of connection. There had never been anything to make you suspicious.

But after every night he was gone, he was always there in the morning. Punctual as anything, you could set a clock by him. You could open the door, and where once was a lady’s maid sitting outside your bedchamber, there would be Steve, holding a bouquet of flowers for you with an apologetic smile. You couldn’t place what the apology was for until now.

“Does my father know?”

“Only that I needed the night,” Steve says, panting. “Nothing more.”

“Did Miss Fontaine know?”

He laughs, and it sounds feeble in his chest. “You think she would have let me near you if she did?”

Your lips quirk up at the edges. “You’ve been keeping your tracks covered, Mr. Harrington.”

“Just trying to be careful.” Steve chuckles, sounding strained as his nails dig into the bark of the tree he clings to. “Always have to be careful with you, you have no idea…”

“And you’re afraid,” you inquire, “that if you act on your impulses, you’ll… hurt me?”

“Hurt you?” he echoes. The mere notion of it wounds him- he’s sure he looks offended when he faces you. “No, I’d sooner die. Harm you, yes. Defile you, absolutely. You’d be a wreck when I'm finished with you.”

Your face burns as you watch him double over again, clutching onto the tree like it’s his lifeline, and the sight of him in so much pain hurts you more than anything. More than the loss of your governess, and more than the invisible hold your fiancé has on you. “Stop fighting it.”

“I won’t- my lady, if I don’t try to fight it, I’ll-” Steve squeezes his eyes shut, resting his forehead against the trunk of the tree with a pathetic whimper. He murmurs weakly, “I can’t sacrifice your virtue for my own comfort.”

“My virtue?” You tilt your head with a teasing smile. “I’m not nearly as virtuous as I seem.”

“Yes, you love to test my will.” Steve’s dark eyes lock on yours as he turns his head. There’s a flash of warning in them. “It must be one of your favorite hobbies. My hearing is much better than you think.”

You stare at each other heavily. Shallow breaths get stuck in your throat, now that he’s confirmed what you expected all along. He heard you all those times, standing guard on the other side of the door as you lay alone in your room and touched yourself to the thought of him. The knowledge sets a blaze alight within you.

He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.

So, you’re at an impasse. He won’t set aside his chivalry. You won’t leave him here alone. All that’s left is to push and pull at each other until one of you gives, and you’ll be damned if it’s going to be you.

Steven: your huntsman, your bodyguard, your… lover. All these can be true if you just let it be.

You have nowhere left to go. No one else you want to turn to. If you make it to the town you’ll simply be foisted off to your fiancé, or returned to your parents, who will then turn around and give you over to the Duke. All roads lead to him, an inescapable fate that you’d been wishing for a chance to get away from.

So, you make a snap decision without considering the consequences- but really, what’s there to consider? This is the death of your previous life, one way or another.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks, even though he knows the answer, as he watches you begin to remove the pins that hold the bodice of your dress shut.

“I’m testing your will,” you tell him flatly.

“You can’t, you’re- you’re engaged.”

“You expect me to believe you really care about that?” Your linen bodice slides off of your shoulders to the ground, revealing your stays and the sleeves of your chemise. “Or am I so undesirable that you can’t bear the thought of seeing me naked?”

As you begin untying your skirts, Steve growls, “Stop it.”

“Or what?” Your overskirt falls to the ground, your petticoat standing out stark white against the backdrop of the forest. “It’s not like there’s anyone here to make me. Except for you.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for-”

“Oh, but I do.” You grin at him as your soft muslin petticoat flutters to the ground, and you stand before him in nothing but your undergarments. Stocking-clad legs disappear beneath your linen chemise, your stays pushing your breasts up and over your neckline with each passing breath. You watch Steve’s eyes predictably fall to them, wide with hunger. “Tick tock, Mr. Harrington. We have two hours, and I can’t undo these stays by mysel- OOMF-”

The wind knocks out of your lungs as you fall back onto the damp earth, pinned beneath an enormous body and held tight by sharp claws. You instinctively wriggle beneath him, but Steve’s large hands hold yours fast against the ground over your head.

A whimper leaves your throat, echoing the ones he’d been hearing all along from just beyond your door. You stare up into his eyes and they’re dark, no longer glowing but eclipsed by black pupils that seem to grow bigger as he watches you squirm beneath him. His face is so close, his breath tickles your skin, and you try to hold still even though every muscle in your body is screaming at you to roll your hips up into his.

“You are such. A fucking. Brat. You- you don’t know how much I have to hold myself back with you. If I don’t, I’ll destroy you. Do you understand?” His voice is at such a low register that it practically rumbles from his chest directly into yours, vibrating in your ribs. Your heart pounds, your thighs clamping down tight on either side of his hips because you don’t want him to move away. “I’m sworn to protect you. I’m trying to do the right thing.”

Between your legs, your muscles tense and release like they’re searching for something to grip onto. “So protect me,” you whisper. “Do us both a favor. Don’t let me go to him. Make me yours.”

He shakes his head, and his nose bumps against yours. “That wouldn’t be protecting you. They’d kill us.”

“Not if we’re already dead. They’ll never find us, they’ll think we died in the crash, or- or…” Frustrated, your hips squirm up against his, and he hisses when you brush the tent in his trousers. “Be selfish for once. Do what you will to me, Steve. Damn it, I want you to…”

You trail off, because Steve is already dipping his head to breathe in your scent, just along your pulse point. A gasp hitches in your throat as he moves downward, his lips dragging gently over the soft skin. The vibration of your moan rumbles against his mouth.

“This… this is a bad idea,” he mumbles, but his mind is already going fuzzy, reason becoming harder to grasp while instinct and desire takes over. He can feel himself drooling onto your skin. Your heaving chest becomes wet with his saliva the longer he lingers over it, mesmerized by the feel of your warmth on his lips.

“Do it. Take me, Steve,” you whine, lifting your leg until the linen of your chemise falls back to reveal soft skin, your inner thigh brushing his hip. “I want you. Please. Please, please.”

The scent of your arousal fills the air, earthy and sweet, and Steve’s will flounders and dissipates. There’s nothing that can stop him now. He’s done for. He sinks his claws into the quilting and linen at your chest, and he rips through your stays without warning.

A rush of breath fills your lungs at the sudden jolt of your stays snapping apart, and turns into a weak noise the moment his wet mouth closes over your exposed nipple. The warm summer night air hangs humid around you, making your skin stickier, sweatier. Steve inhales the natural perfume of your body, more powerful of an aphrodisiac than he’s ever experienced.

“You’re so soft,” Steve croons when you mewl at the scratch of his pointed canines. “My sweet girl, never had anyone kiss you like this, have you?”

“N-no, Steve.” You choke on your breath, your eyes rolling back in your skull as his large hand cups your breast and his claws prick at your skin. The pain and pleasure combine into an entirely new, indescribable feeling that swells beneath your ribs. “Only you.”

His tongue drags over your chest, tasting, savoring the exposed flesh that no one else has dared to touch. The feeling is warm and sweet, melted gold that drips through your skin down to the bone. “Is this what you wanted?”

“I- yes.” You give a muffled mewl in return when he sinks his teeth in, leaving an indent over your heart in the shape of his mouth. “God- you have such sharp teeth.”

“All the better to eat you with,” Steve rasps in reply, his breath fanning over your damp skin and making you struggle against his hold. He releases your wrists, claws digging into the earth instead as he moves down your body. “Always make such pretty sounds f’me- you don’t have to hide them now, you know. I want to hear them. Wanna hear what I do to you.”

Your hands lift to sink into his hair. Feather-soft locks spill over your knuckles, and it’s so tempting to just grab them and pull when he bites again, like he might try to leave a permanent mark there on your ribs for you to come back to later. You don’t think you’d mind it if he did. A possessive part of you wants him to leave his mark on you, so that no one else can doubt who you belong to.

Your hips lurch up to collide with his stomach. There’s nothing there to give you the friction you want, just a solid, hot body that in itself is an entirely new and erotic experience for you. If he notices how flustered it makes you, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps mouthing over your skin, your ribs and your stomach tenderized with love bites that ache the longer he lingers on them.

“I wanted this, too,” Steve says now, while his hands drift over the plane of your stomach and grab the tattered scraps of your clothes to rip them further. A perfect line splits down the weave of the fabric until you’re laid entirely bare before him. “You’ve no idea- whenever I hear you, whenever you taunt me. Want to tear you apart.”

His nose dips over your navel, down to the matted curls that he’s dreamed of, shrouding your sex and wet with your arousal. He breathes in deep. His mind is unable to sort through the waves of desire spinning through it, washing over him in burning rivulets that coalesce deep in his core.

Spit dribbles from his parted lips down to the folds of your pussy, making you flinch as the hot liquid drips across your sensitive flesh. Your hips buck, your cunt pulsing hotly in earnest for him to touch you, but he won’t. Or, he hasn’t. He’s lingering there with his nose pressed to your pubic bone, breathing in long, deep gulps of air that rattle in his throat. Pheromones and sex filling his lungs, clouding his mind.

“What’re you- oh.” Your lashes flutter as he nuzzles his head against your stomach, and slowly drags his cheek over your pelvis, your hip, your thigh. He nudges the top of your stockings with his nose, pulling the fabric back to reach more of your skin. You don’t even think he’s paying attention to the effect that it has on you. He’s somewhere else, lost in his own world as he marks you with his scent. Your cheeks burn at the thought.

“You’re mine now. Mine,” Steve states roughly, nipping at your inner thigh with his teeth as he echoes your dreams of him- the ones you’re sure he couldn’t know, unless being a lycanthrope also constitutes being a psychic. It makes you shudder. “You belong to me, yeah? It’s just you and me from now on. You and me.”

“Yours, Steve,” you repeat, and it makes your head spin. Your fingers sift through his hair, your bloodstained hands mirroring his own against your thighs in the dark. “I’ve always been yours.”

The warm brush of his tongue between your legs is enough to make you jump. Your moan sounds too loud, even to your own ears- so many nights you spent quietly whimpering into your own palm, and now you can’t be bothered to quiet the howl that breaks out of your throat. He takes to your cunt with long, wide strokes that practically burn with their heat.

“Oh- oh, Stevie, I-” you gasp when he growls against you, the vibration shocking you like lightning. “That’s so good.”

Some things you simply can’t replicate with your fingers, and the feeling of Steve’s mouth on you is one of them. He’s messy, drenching you in his saliva, and he’s wild, his tongue broad enough to somehow reach every bit of you.

You open your eyes long enough to glimpse his, and they’re black as the night around you, seeming to get darker the further he indulges his impulses. He squints, as though he’s teasing you, daring you to do something to make him stop.

“Don’t stop,” you whimper softly, letting your head fall back onto the damp earth.

It’s sinful, this feeling of flesh on flesh that should never rightfully meet. Everything is swollen and wet, relaxed and yet drawn so tight you could snap apart. Steve’s enormous hands grip into the fat at the top of your thighs, holding you apart no matter how much your legs try to close around his head. The wool of your stockings scrape blindly along his back when your feet kick and squirm, your calves thrown over his broad shoulders.

His tongue touches your clit, and you jolt. He hadn’t really been focusing on it, more interested in getting as much of your taste in his mouth as possible. But now he zeroes in on it, his tongue going hard and then soft, lapping over it in a soft back-and-forth. You chase him with your hips, riding his tongue and adding an extra layer of pleasure to what’s overloading your mind.

And there’s nothing in his head but primal lust, and the strength to take what he pleases. He wants everything that you can give. But Steve knows, back in the recesses of his mind where his morality has retreated to, that he’s still holding himself back. That he’s madly in love with you, so even the most animalistic part of him wants to taste every part of you, stake a claim to you, even if it means he has to take his time.

So, he licks long and slow through your folds, and you keen up towards the stars because nothing in this world feels quite like it. And it’s the most wretched and awful thing, the pride that swells in his chest when you cum, with your back arched and loud cries falling from your lips. Cries of Steve’s name.

You taste like heaven. He’d stay between your legs for eternity just to have you on his tongue. He comes up panting, mumbling praises that can hardly be made out over the purring in his throat.

“God, you’re lovely,” he says, climbing up your body and marking it with his dripping mouth. Steve aches for you- it’s not enough, not even close to what he wants to do to you. “So agreeable for me. Sweet little lamb. I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

A feeble whimper catches in your throat while your nails scratch at the fabric against his shoulders. Here you lay, completely naked for him, and he hasn’t even removed the tattered remains of his blouse. You don’t have it in you to ask him to, you just tear at the thin linen like it’ll magically disappear on its own.

He dips his head and lets you grip it in your fists, pulling the torn garment off so you can throw it as far away as you can. Steve’s skin burns to the touch, his freckled shoulders searing your fingers when you grab for him. The pelt of hair on his chest tickles your stomach, and you instinctively press further into him, wrapping your arms around his torso when his mouth reaches your throat.

You cling to him, shaking like a leaf. He warms you better than any fire could, laying his weight upon you. Your hands creep lower, stroking down the length of his spine to feel him shudder, his teeth grazing your pulse. He groans when your fingers dance across his lower back and beneath the waist of his trousers.

“Ohhhh god, I wanna do everything with you. Please.” You plant kisses along the side of his face, “God, I’m in love with you. I’m so in love with you, Steve, I-”

Steve turns his head and catches your lips with his, his tongue dipping into your mouth to taste you there, too. It’s a slow kiss, sensual, tender rather than fiery and rabid. You chase him when he pulls back to say, “I’m in love with you too, sweet girl. I’ll give you what you want.”

“I’m tired of waiting, Stevie,” you urge him gently, coaxing his trousers down over the curve of his ass. He snarls when you squeeze at the exposed flesh, his hips snapping forward to ram blindly into yours, his teeth nipping at your jaw. You’re becoming accustomed to the feeling of them on your skin. It delights you. “Let me have you or let me die, but do it now.”

Steve rears back, his bright white grin flashing in the moonlight. He stares you down with big eyes, glowing like cinders while he undresses himself indelicately- he tears through the buttons at his waist, rather than taking the time to undo them properly. Your eyes trace the stripe of hair running down the middle of his stomach, widening into the unruly patch that surrounds his cock.

A moment’s hesitation strikes into your limbs; you don’t see how it could possibly fit inside you. Steve is big all over, and you don’t know if it’s just a trick of the magic on this night or if he’s always like this, a permanent reflection of the beast within him. But his cock curves up toward his navel, thicker at the base than anywhere else, glistening velvety flesh appearing incredibly massive in the dark and blue moonglow. In spite of everything, your cunt pulses. Your body knows better than you, now.

You widen your legs for him.

You satisfy yourself that your work is done, it’ll take no more well-placed temptation and pleading to get him to use you how he wants- how you both want. Maybe in the morning he’ll regret it, when he has the mind to be a gentleman again, but you know with a thrill in the pit of your stomach that you won’t.

Steve’s clawed hands dig selfishly into your thighs, the points of them breaking the skin, and you yelp as he yanks you into his lap. Bent backwards over the thick, hairy expanses of his own thighs, your shoulders crush dead leaves on the ground.

“Feel that, sweet thing?” He asks, his voice resonating deep in his chest as the length of his cock drags heavily through your folds, the same path that his tongue had taken. You feel your pussy lips part around him. His cock gathers up the slickness of your arousal, his swollen head catching on your clit as he does. The lewd, sticky noise of it has your blood rushing hot beneath your skin. Your cunt pulses in warning, like you might cum just from this.

He hums deep within his chest. “Such a good girl, so wet for me. So desperate for my cock.”

The stretch sears when he enters you. You thrash in his hold, your hands clawing at the damp soil beneath you, but all you do is push him further in. Beyond the fullness, the pulsating ache and the pain of the intrusion, he hits something deep within you that makes you cry out, your muscles locking down tight around him.

“There you go, that’s it,” Steve coos, but there’s nothing gentle in his voice. He doesn’t know how to be sweet anymore. He rocks back and then pulls you down against his hips again, making you repeat that same feral cry. “Now you know how it feels to have a monster inside you.”

You don’t know how many minutes he spends there, just taking in your warmth and your wetness, tighter than sin as he rolls his hips. The sting soon fades into an aching pleasure that has you relishing the slow drag of his cock as it slides out of you and back in. It meets its end with the flush press of his hip bones to yours.

There’s a deep roiling in your gut that makes you keen loudly into the night, the sounds coming from your mouth entirely less than human. You find yourself meeting his thrusts with a desperate rock of your own hips, chasing that stirring within you.

“S-stevie-” you whine, your muddy hand reaching forward and clamping around his hairy forearm as he rolls his cock into you with a wild growl. You don’t really know what you were about to say- all rational thought escapes you when he picks up speed.

Steve chuckles above you, his dark eyes raptly watching your face as you lose more of your composure. He watches your jaw go slack, your brows tilted up in quiet desperation. Even if you can’t articulate it, he knows. “Feeling good, sweetheart?”

Your body feels like it’s on fire and he’s no better, scorching you from the inside out. Each push of his cock hits sharp heaven inside you, something you didn’t even know was possible and yet you craved it all the same.

“Mmm- I know you do,” he purrs, far too soft and quiet for the way that he’s fucking you, hard and fast, jolting you across the ground. He runs his nails slowly across your sensitive skin, letting your nipples catch on them with just enough pressure to make you squeal.

You gasp when he snatches you by the waist and yanks you up into his lap in one easy move. A loud moan punches from your lungs when he sits you fully down onto his cock. You take all of it at once, every last pulsating inch, while his mouth hovers a hair’s breadth away from yours.

Steve groans when he kisses you, soft lips to offset his sharp teeth, his strong arms pulling you against his body. The hair on his chest scrapes against your sensitive nipples, making you whimper into his mouth.

Your hands settle onto his shoulders, squeezing the hard muscle when you instinctively rock your hips against his. On shaky legs, you pick yourself up and roll your hips back down, delighting in the deep growl that comes from his chest.

“There you go- such a good fucking girl, ridin’ me like that.” A wide grin splits his handsome face as he guides you against him, his hands draped over your ass to drag you closer. “Just can’t help yourself, can you? Just wanna be full of me, is that it?”

Beyond able to answer him properly, you just nod. Your cunt throbs, tightening around him as you try to draw back- he groans so pretty, you slam yourself down onto him in desperation.

“FUCK!” He snarls rabidly, gripping you by the back of the neck. Steve gives in, jerking his hips to fuck up into you as hard as he can. Your head drops back, cradled by the curve of his forefinger and thumb as you cry out into the trees. His mouth finds your throat, bitten raw but still so pristine- more than the beast in him likes it to be.

He sucks hard on your pulse point, and you clamp down around his cock even harder. There’s a resounding wet noise kicking up from where you meet, loud and slick as it echoes between your sweaty bodies. With a broken noise in your throat, your weak hands squeeze at his shoulders for something to stabilize yourself with.

“Baby,” he warns, “you’re gonna make me cum if you keep-”

“I want it.” You don’t even let him finish his sentence, you’re so worked up. Your hips keep moving, desperately chasing your release even when his hands are tightening on you so hard they make you whine. “Give it to me, Stevie, please.”

You two create a vicious cycle- the harder you bring yourself down on him, the harder and faster he fucks up into you in retaliation. Your orgasm is so close that you can practically taste it. You don’t know which one of you is going to break first, but you know it’ll be devastating.

“M’gonna give it to you- shit- gonna fill this pretty pussy, you’ll be dripping my cum for days.” He curses furiously, a loud moan cutting from his lungs. His hair hangs over his eyes as he stares up into your face. A muscle in his jaw jumps. “Gonna fuck you so full of my kids, you’ll be so round- gonna give you my babies-”

You sob his name, drowning between the legs as your pussy clenches down around him. God, you don’t want it to end, but you can already feel it rearing up within you. You have to bite your lip against that simmering, violent ecstasy that’s welling up deep inside of you. His forehead drops to your shoulder.

“Fffffuck- M’gonna make you mine,” he pants into your skin again, his tongue laving across your pulse. This time, there’s an added weight to his words. “Want that, hm? Wanna be with me forever? Just like me?”

“Yes, Steve,” you cry, clinging onto him as you grind down on his cock, searing pleasure kicking up inside you at the thought. Your pussy pulses, and you give him a garbled noise of warning.

He nuzzles your jaw, and kisses you so sweetly beneath your ear that you think you imagine it. “It’ll hurt. Just for a minute. And then we can be together…”

Then, two things happen at once. Steve’s teeth sink into your shoulder hard, harder than he has yet. And that mounting ecstasy unleashes all its fury within you.

You cum screaming, from the pleasure tearing through you, and the pain only seeming to build into it- wild, animalistic sounds coming from your own throat. Your blood is in Steve’s mouth, your flesh torn against his teeth. He’s released something into your body that writhes and squirms, just below the surface. Just like what lives in him.

You claw at his back- your nails aren’t nearly as sharp as his, but you still manage to raise welts as your spasming cunt drenches his cock. It burns you alive. It eats away at you until there’s nothing left of you or your soul- just the feeble part of your brain that loves and feels him.

There’s a swelling deep within you, an anguished cry against your torn skin that you hardly register as his before you feel him cum, his cock pulsing hard within you. Steve presses up into you, slow and easy, holding you there against his hips with all the strength in his adrenaline pumped body.

Your head is spinning. You feel dizzy, and even then you can tell when you’re stuffed to the brim, the swelling becoming an overwhelming stretch again. You whimper into his neck, hoping that the inquisitive noise will convey your question, because you don’t trust yourself to be able to come up with the words to articulate it.

“Fuck- this is going to take a minute-” he groans when you squirm, his hands trying to hold you still. “It’s- it’s meant to keep you there- keep my cum in you.”

You harumph against his skin, your eyes rolling back into your head. You’re still twitching, still pulsing from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Even though the swelling of the knot at the base of his cock is bordering on overstimulating, you relish the closeness that it forces you to have with him now. That he has to stay here, inside you. That he has to hold you for a while, as his body readjusts to normalcy.

As you accept that there’s no going back now.

“I want to say that I’m sorry,” Steve murmurs, his voice rough and gravelly, still fussing over the bite on your shoulder. He runs his tongue over it- not necessarily trying to be erotic, but you think anything he does to your body comes off that way now. “But I wouldn’t mean it if I did.”

You hiss a little as the wound stings. “I’m not sorry.”

“You can’t get married to the Duke now, you know.” Steve pauses. “And, I suppose you can’t go back to your family either, so… I think it’s time you meet mine. Now that we’re mated.”

That makes you smile, a half-giggle falling from your lips. That’s probably as close to a proposal of marriage as you could hope for, right now. Your eyes fall shut, the slow stroking of his tongue over your wound and the strong heat of his body lulling you. “Am I gonna turn tonight?”

“No.” He shakes his head, nuzzling his nose against your neck. “Next month. It has to take, first. Get into your veins, make you suffer. Just the good stuff.”

“But you…”

“I’ve got an hour,” he says, and you feel him tilt his head up toward the sky.

You hum sleepily, letting yourself relax in his arms. They’re covered in more hair than they had been before- pretty much all of him is. Wherever it grows, it’s getting thicker and denser the closer it gets to midnight. “Stay with me.”

“I’ll be here,” Steve assures you, soothing your skin with kisses. “I’ll always be here. Forever.”

Things lose their clarity, your surroundings slowly slip away with your consciousness. You fall asleep against him, soothed by his warmth and the pace of his breath on your neck.

At some point, well after midnight, you rouse sleepily to find yourself curled up on a heap of torn clothes, between the paws of an enormous, brown-haired wolf.

You wake in the morning at the impact of a pile of cloth hitting you squarely in the chest.

You startle, coming up with a screech. Steve’s arm is around you- strong, muscular, and a lot less covered in hair than it had been the last time you’d seen it. He makes an inquisitive noise and sits up, naked as the day he was born, with leaves sticking out of his hair. He resembles Shakespeare’s Puck- streaked with dirt and grime, a bit of blood still matted in his chest hair, but the morning sun creates a golden halo around his head.

“Morning, lovebirds.”

You don’t know what comes over you at the sound of the strange man’s voice, but you scramble so quickly that you practically barrel roll over Steve’s body. He grunts and moves to grab you, but you’re already plopping down on the other side of him and using his body as a shield.

Steve blinks hard against the white light of morning, and squints at the strange man who had thrown a stack of folded clothes at you. “Eddie?”

“In the flesh.” The man stands proudly, clad in a mishmash of old and new, very new, clothes. His dark hair hangs loose and unkempt around his face, which smiles prettily at Steve with a pair of enormous, pointed canines.

“What’re you doing here?”

Eddie snorts. “Did you somehow forget that we turn in these woods, too?” He shakes his head, tutting condescendingly. “Stevie boy, you’ve been away from home for too long.”

“No, I-” Steve stops. “Where’s Robin?”

“Still getting dressed. Which you should do, too. Glad I’m the one who found you, there’s some kind of uproar about the Duke of Hargrove’s lady-love going missing, and- oh. Wait.” Eddie crouches, his eyes peering over Steve’s shoulder at you. He grins in a way that tells you he already knows the answer when he asks, “That couldn’t have been you, could it?”

“Eddie, watch it,” Steve growls territorially, throwing his hand backwards as if to shield you further from him.

The man- Eddie- chuckles, and stands. “Well, I figured you’d want to introduce us. Seeing as how that pretty mark on her shoulder tells me she’s, ah…” he twirls his finger, clad in a large, silver ring in the air, “a part of the pack, now.”

Steve huffs a sigh, and lifts his hand. “My lady, allow me to introduce you to Edward Munson.” Eddie bows dramatically, smirking at you as Steve says, “He’s a member of my family.”

“The best member.”

“Debatable.”

“Wait-” you start, sitting up further, your gaze still trained on Eddie’s hand, and the ring he wears. “Is that… Miss Fontaine’s ring?”

Eddie pauses. “Oh, was that your carriage back there?”

Steve snarls, moving to jump up. You yank him back into place to shield your naked body as he growls, “Eddie I’m going to fucking kill you-”

You’re not that far ahead yet. “Does that mean the thing about silver killing us is an old wive’s tale, too?”

Eddie and Steve both pause, and look at you blankly. Then, Eddie laughs- a bone-deep, guttural laugh that sounds like a wolf’s howl.

“Better watch out, Harrington, she’s way quicker on the uptake than you were,” he chuckles. “She’s gonna fit right in.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #werewolf!steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #roses*

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robinsgrl · 2 days ago

Note

Ngl

I have 2 headcannons for how rafe and weird reader met

1 . She was actually a soloist in her school orchestra until she locked eyes with him and dropped her instrument (this us really funny to me)

2. She was dared by her friends (nerds) to walk up to the dude she's been crushing on and she drops the most nerdy ass pick up line (his friends were making fun of her but he took her number the next day)

STOOOOP THESE ARE SO CUTE. i can so see the second one happening. weird girl has had a distant crush on rafe but he’s such a popular troublemaker that she’s like…….. yeah no. but her little band geek friends dare her and she NEEEEVER backs down from a dare. he’s with topper and kelce and a few football jocks and she just sits across from him and she speaks out the foulest line ever.

the exact line?? is your father a thief because someone stole the stars and put them in your eyes??? he’s like… yo wtf he is……

weird girl definitely walks away after like it was no big deal while his friends bust out laughing that a band geek used such a cheesy line on him. now every time they see you and he’s with them they shove him and yell “look it’s your girlfriend”

i actually think it’s gonna take a while for them to talk again. he’s been watching her. noticing her. taking her in. she’s so confident for a band geek who’s always ridiculed but she never stops being weird not for one damn second.

THATS WHEN THE FIRST COMES IN

you start noticing him a lot more too. back when you were no one to him, you’d walk particular hallways to catch even a glimpse of him. now he’s everywhere and he’s just LOOKING at you. you can’t help it. you fumble around him. so during an important football game, the band has been practicing for weeks on end for their half time. and you have a little solo moment along with a few others who are really just there to be your backup. But all eyes are on you. The moment is yours. you’re doing so so so so well and you meet his eyes and he’s smiling like he’s proud or something and you lose your spot. You lose your tempo.

your team has never and will never let you live it down. but hey, rafe came up to you after the game, said you did well AND got his number?? so who really won? not your school football team that’s for sure. people think your slip up was the reason btw…….. they were doing so good the first half until you messed up. so yeah you’re the high school weird curse for that big game. but hey, you found the man you’re gonna marry so……..

#THIS WAS SO CUTE #OMGGGG I LOVE THEM #something about popular and not popular #really gets me #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron obx #obx x reader #outer banks #drew starkey #anon <3 #angels <3 #wrote this on my ten minute break lol #forgive me for any errors

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fluentmoviequoter · 2 days ago

Text

The Best Present

hot cocoa bar celebration🧤❄️🎄

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!(implied cop)!reader

Summary: You want to ask Tim to be your date to a Christmas party, but he's going with another woman. When you're caught under the mistletoe together, you give Tim more than a present.

Warnings/Word Count: fluff, brief angst. 1.2k+ words

“Tim!” you call as you exit the locker room. When he stops and turns toward you, you smile and ask, “Can we talk?”

Tim begins to nod but is interrupted by Angela reminding everyone of the Evers-Lopez Christmas party tonight. As she tells the surrounding officers about the gift exchange, food, and fun she and Wesley have planned, your eyes stray to Tim. It has taken over a week to convince yourself it isn’t a terrible idea, and now you’re ready to ask Tim to go with you to the party. Your fingers tap nervously against your hip, though you’re oblivious to Tim’s repeated glances at you.

“Who’s bringing a date?” Angela inquires. “I need to make sure we have enough food.”

“And mistletoe?” Nyla guesses.

“I don’t even know what that is,” Angela deflects. “Dates? Timothy?”

“Yeah, I’m bringing someone,” Tim answers.

Angela’s jaw drops as you and everyone else swing your head to look wide-eyed at him. She had been kidding when she called him out specifically and certainly didn’t expect him to say he had a date. Tim says her name and where they met, but you can’t hear anything over your heart pounding and a week’s worth of doubts swirling.

“You said you wanted to talk?” Tim remembers as the surprise diminishes and people begin leaving the station.

“Yeah…” you answer. “It can wait, though. Enjoy your date.”

You could’ve still asked him or told him the truth of what you wanted to talk about, but it’s easier this way. You’ll be at the same party. Tim with his date and you with what’s left of your Christmas cheer and a heart crushed like peppermint.

Tucked into a corner with one of Lucy’s Christmas cookies, you watch the party from a safe distance. Tim’s date is gorgeous, as you expected, and you fight to keep your attention away from them.

“Hey,” Lucy greets as she approaches your safe haven. You send her a close-lipped smile, and she lays her hand on your shoulder. “What’s up?”

“Nothing worth talking about,” you say. “These cookies are amazing by the way. Peppery ginger snaps, who knew?”

“My aunt. But, seriously, if you decide you want to talk, you know where to find me.”

“I do. Go enjoy the party.”

“As long as you do, too. I’m getting your gift during Dirty Santa and if Tim even thinks about stealing it, I’ll tell Angela about his bad attitude last week.”

“I think I’d like to see that.”

Lucy sends you a heart with her hands, and you finish the last bite of your cookie. Walking through Angela’s house to either get another or throw away your plate (you’ll decide when you get there), you keep your eyes down until your shoulder bumps into someone.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, looking up.

“You’re on a mission,” Tim muses. “There’s no more cookies, but if you’re nice to Nyla, she might tell you where she’s hiding them.”

“I could just get something else,” you murmur, thinking it would be easier to get someone else, but you want Tim.

“Uh, guys?” Nolan interrupts. “You’re under the mistletoe.”

Tim tips his head back and spots the green leaves hanging sneakily above a doorframe. You shake your head at Nolan, but he waves Angela over despite your protests.

“It’s tradition!” she argues. “You have to!”

“Yes!” Lucy agrees when she realizes where you are. “Kiss!”

Several of your friends cheer, and you shake your head again.

“Don’t be such a Scrooge!” Lucy tells Tim.

“I knew you were going to say that,” Tim complains.

“Tim, you’re here with a date,” you remind him softly.

Tim clicks his tongue, then raises his hands to the sides of your neck and jaw. “We have no choice,” he points out.

You let your eyes flutter shut as you lean in and kiss Tim. The noise of the party fades as you grip Tim’s waist and move with him. When Tim pulls back, you notice that the crowd beside you has dissipated.

“Where’s, uh…” you begin.

“My date?” Tim guesses with a barely contained smile.

“Yeah.”

“She left ten minutes in, decided this wasn’t her scene – her words.”

“How is a Christmas party not someone’s scene?”

Tim shrugs, and you apologize for his bad date.

“It worked out,” Tim replies.

“Gift time!” Angela yells from the living room.

You find a place on a small loveseat by Tim and watch as the white elephant gift exchange begins. After the moment beneath the mistletoe, a feeling of magic lingers within you. You must tell Tim about your feelings for this to go beyond Christmas.

“Don’t get attached to that,” Nolan says as Wesley opens an expensive tool set.

Laying your head on Tim’s shoulder, you don’t feel him freeze beneath you. He watches you laugh with his friends, content in an environment – his environment – when his date couldn’t even tolerate walking past the cookie table. As Tim relaxes, welcoming you into his space, and feels the same warmness he had while kissing you, he unknowingly gives you his heart. You give him yours in return, and it’s the best gift exchange you’ve ever participated in.

Lucy opens your gift and squeals before tucking it under her sweater.

“I’m stealing that, so make it a little easier to get to,” Tim warns her.

“No!” Lucy exclaims. “Angela, Tim yelled at me last week.”

“She can’t save you now,” Tim tells Lucy. “I need that one.”

“Why?” Angela asks, raising her eyebrows as she glances toward you.

“You’re a detective, Lopez, figure it out.”

“Let me give you a ride home?” Tim asks in your ear.

You nod and accept his hand as you stand. After receiving hugs and gifts from a few friends, you follow Tim outside, and a soft white powder falls from above to greet you.

“Is that what I think it is?” Tim whispers.

Extending your hand, you catch some on your fingers and raise it to your nose. “Only if you think it’s powdered sugar.”

“Chen!” Tim barks. “What are you doing?”

“What?” Lucy asks from behind him. “Is that snow?”

“It’s close enough!” Nyla answers.

“Nyla?” you ask, stepping out into the powdered sugar snow. “Wade?!”

Tim follows you onto the walkway. His eyes widen when he sees his watch commander perched on the roof and spreading fake snow through a sieve.

“Act like I’m not here,” James adds, pouring more sugar into his shaker.

Nyla rolls her eyes and looks at Tim to demand, “Just kiss her again and put us out of our misery before New Year’s.”

You don’t have time to question her command before Tim pulls you in. The door clicks closed as you taste the powdered sugar on Tim’s lips, and you smile against him as the fine confectioner’s treat covers your clothing.

“I was going to ask you to come with me,” you admit, leaning your forehead against Tim’s as his arms wrap around your waist. “Like a date.”

“Raincheck for New Year’s Eve?” Tim suggests.

“Will it be like this?”

“I hope not.”

Nyla scoffs, but you kiss Tim in the makeshift winter wonderland rather than replying. You have been in love with Tim Bradford for longer than the duration of this party, but learning that he loves you too is a Christmas present that will never be topped.

#fluentmoviequoter hot cocoa bar🧤❄️🎄#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford fic #tim bradford imagine #the rookie x reader #the rookie abc #fem!reader #hanna writes✯

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doiliedaze · 2 days ago

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Thin Ice: part one

Hockey! Vi x reader

Warnings: none in this part

Genre: fluff, angst

A/N: okay!! so this is my attempt in starting a series about hockey Vi based on this dream I had months and the Sailor Song by Gigi Perez and Moments by MOIO okay so wish me luck!! also none of my fics are truly edited I just re-read them till I can’t and pray my grammar is good. Reader is kinda naive/one track minded and very insecure in this. I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT HOCKEY SO BARE WITH ME!!

───────┈ · ·

I’ve been skating since I was a little girl. It was the only place I could call home. Skating was the only place I was finally the smartest and brightest in the room since I was perceived otherwise academically…and I do lack a bit in the common sense area.

They say there’s a zone we enter when we’re aligning our energy with the activity we love. My alignment is when I soar through the air, or just don’t fall flat on my ass. It was another one of those moments, heading to the rink when I was stopped.

“What are you doing here cupcake?”

When my eyes focus on her I was taken aback as I try to quickly study her. Why was my roommate here? “You know I practice here.” I state as I lace up.

She chuckled as she looks me up in down. I’m in a black bodysuit covered by a pink skirt and leg warmers over my matching pink skates, my coily hair put into a bun by a bow. “The practice is reserved for the hockey team. Did you not see the schedule posted outside?” She says with a small smile, I tilt my head “they changed the schedule?” Her smile flatters a bit and twitches as she points to the wall. I make an “o” shape with my mouth putting the pieces together. She pats my shoulders and skates away. In reparations of me fucking up I stay and watch.

Our college; Piltover university offers an array of extracurricular activities and in my three years of being here I’ve never known of this damn schedule changing!

Number 6, is an interesting player and my roommate. She brings an obvious aggression that the sport needs but she’s so swift and fast. I don’t know much about hockey but I do know she just scored so I might as well cheer for her right? Wrong! Getting stared at and the small but big enough snickers for me was enough to make me wanna to shrink and crawl into a hole and dissolve into a sunflower seed and sprout- well you get the point. This pushes me to attempt a swift exit.

When making my hurried exit she skates to the edge and whistles at me to get my attention. “Don’t leave, I appreciate having a personal cheerleader.” Her plump lips growing into a wolf-ish grin as she stares me down, always wanting a reaction. “Well I’m not a cheerleader I’m an ice skater! No disrespect to cheerleaders though I mean that takes a lot of courage, I know I could never-”

“It wasn’t a diss cupcake.” She stated before winking and skating away.

My face has never felt this hot before! Today is the day of utter shame and cruel unusual punishment. Now I have to figure out a new place to skate because I refuse to make the same mistake again…or read the time sheet next time who knows!

I make a routine out of avoiding the rink around 5-8 so I go during the wee hours of the morning. Kinda killing my sleeping schedule but hey pride am I right?

I don’t skate to be on a team, I prefer to be by myself and skate for me. It gets lonely sure but no one has ever supported me in doing this. All the slick comments of “oh why not be a majorette? On a step team? Why’d you stop stepping? You wanna be any race but black! Blah blah blah!” Don’t get me wrong those are beautiful activities in my culture but black girls can be everything and more at once. When I stepped it was fun and I could feel the unity but the feeling skating gave me made me feel like the most beautiful and the closest to my blackness. So when it came down to picking what I really wanted I chose skating, and been on my own since, because girls like me don’t belong here. Proving people wrong has been my biggest motivation, maybe I’m being a hard-ass but I don’t care; it feels good when I do in the end.

This routine I was practicing was more than difficult…axels hate me and I hate axels but I’m trying to land a quadruple axel.

My mind relaxes as my chest thumps, today feels like day…something I tell myself a lot. My momentum pushed as “Pearls” by Sade plays. I push off my left leg to project myself into the air. One…two…three…four-ish? My spin wasn’t complete and my landing was shaky, but I can try again. So I tried again and again! Frustrated I push myself, my skates cutting deep as I try to gain speed. Leaping into the air I spin one…two…three…four times! However I land flat on my ass. “Fuck!” I yell and i cover my face and I can’t control the wobble in my lip when I hear claps.

“And here I thought you were sneaking out to do something cool.” Vi states as she carefully glides over.

“I don’t need that right now.” I mutter, “company?” She lays on the ice with me.

Vi and I’s relationship is complicated. When we met in freshman year we hooked up then we ghosted each other. Sophomore year we both joined the literature club and gained a true friendship with a side of fucking whenever we’re both single. Now junior year I just feel distant with her.

She rubbed my cheek, “you don’t talk to me anymore.” I move from her touch…wishing I didn’t I know reaching out is hard for her. “I’m sorry”

“Don’t be sorry do better” she stood up shoving her hands in her pockets. “C’mon we’re going out.” I know not to argue so I oblige.

“The library?” I scoff in a whisper, “we are English majors.” She nudges me with her shoulder and I nudge her back.

We find a cozy nook and read our respective books. The two of us haven’t hung out in so long. I didn’t realize how much I missed her. I take her book. “Hey!” She reaches over me. Her pale blue eyes stare into my dark brown eyes. A soft blush spreads over her freckled cheeks and her eyebrows soften. “I miss you” we both whisper then laugh. Vi moves from me and takes my hand.

I’ve never been the type of person to be comfortable around others, wanting to be apart of a team but with Vi…I want to try everything.

───────┈ · ·

A/N: im so excited to start this series!! I wanted to challenge myself and I hope you guys enjoy <3

(Dividers by @dollywons)

#vi x reader #scared femme writes #dazeduties #vi x black reader #hockey!au #hockey! vi #ice skater! reader #black! reader #black femme #college! vi #yes vi would be an English or engineer major she’s smart

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cuubism · 2 days ago

Note

Can I pressure you to work on the 'having a job sucks ass' math AU fic?

yeah 😂 i started working on it when i was annoyed with my job. which is always

here's a snippet from earlier in the fic, because i think the later part i'm working on won't make a ton of sense out of context

[ make me work on one of my fics if you want ]

Dream shuts his laptop as Hob approaches. Oh, yeah. He was definitely waiting for Hob, specifically. Hob is getting the sense that he’s in trouble. And he’s not stupid. It’s not hard to guess what has Dream upset.

“Look,” he starts, “don’t even—”

“Hob Gadling,” Dream interrupts. Yep, that’s the trouble tone, the one Hob used to get when he did shit like giving himself a concussion playing pick up football on the quad. “It is ten p.m.”

“I own a watch too, Dream,” Hob says tiredly. Does Dream think he wants to be working this late? He’s just trying to stay employed.

Dream’s lips press into a thin line. And Hob knows him well enough, can read him well enough to recognize that what’s underneath the annoyance is concern. But what exactly does Dream expect him to do about it?

Hob sits down—more like collapses—into the armchair diagonal to where Dream is on the couch. God, what he really wants is to just fucking face plant into bed, not deal with this.

Christ. When did he start thinking about talking to Dream as dealing with?

Then again, this is less talking to Dream and more arguing with Dream, and he fucking hates doing that.

He scrubs his hands over his face. “It’s far away, alright?” he argues, though it sounds more like a whine. “It’s not like I can teleport.”

“It is not acceptable that they keep you so late,” Dream says. Then his tone softens. “I worry over your level of exhaustion. That is not even mentioning the commute.”

“Honestly, the commute’s not the worst part,” Hob says. “Gives me more time to get stuff done. Or fall asleep.”

Dream gives him a flat look. “Precisely.”

“I don’t want to hear judgment about work ethic from you of all people,” Hob snaps. God, he hates arguing with Dream, he hates it. It’s not like when they bicker. And it’s not like arguing with anyone else. The thought that Dream is upset with him is genuinely distressing.

“I think I of all people am uniquely qualified to give it,” Dream says.

He’s not wrong. Dream is a workaholic if ever there was one. It’s something Hob’s had to talk to him about in the past. Frequently, in the past, Hob was the one who was better about it.

It’s just that having this job is a level of relentless he couldn’t possibly have anticipated.

Hob can’t just quit though, even if he is overworked. It’s a good job, career-wise, and it pays really well, and he wants Dream to be able to keep his post-doc position without worrying about the salary because Dream is just quite frankly not cut out for anything where he isn’t able to work independently at least ninety percent of the time and Hob doesn’t want to see him suffer, and he wants them to be able to buy a house someday—

“Look,” he says, before Dream can suggest that he actually quit or something, “Dream, we’re making fucking bank, okay?”

Dream raises an eyebrow. “We are?”

“Yeah, we’re married, or did you forget?”

“It’s your money.”

“The joint bank account says otherwise. Half of it is yours.”

Dream frowns, then gets a wicked look in his eye. Oh no. “Does that entitle me to half of your suffering as well? Do I get half a say in whether it continues?”

“That’s not the point—”

“Are you going to watch me suffer half your exhaustion and do nothing about it?” Dream challenges, steamrolling right over him. He’s impossible to argue with when he really gets going. And great, now he’s employing that look. That pleading look that he knows Hob can’t say no to, eyes wide and helpless. “Will you leave me to my agonies?”

“Alright,” Hob says, pressing his hands to his eyes. “Enough. Stop joking around.”

“I’m quite serious. I don’t wish to see you suffer.” He crosses the room, kneels in front of Hob’s chair, and takes Hob’s hands, bringing them down from his face. “Your unintended comparison was more apt than you realize. When you prosper, I prosper. When you suffer, so equally do I.”

“Should have been a fucking poet instead of a mathematician, Dream,” Hob says. It shouldn’t come out as bitter as it does.

Except— “Maths is poetry,” he says, echoing it just as Dream says it, too. Hob had known he would.

It makes him smile, that he can predict Dream like that.

#hob's never beating the provider instinct #poor dream in this is like a neglected cat that just waits at the door like 🥺 all day while its person is gone #poor math idiots having to deal with adult problems. horrible #complex mathematics #my writing #ask #tj-dragonblade #is it 'maths is' or 'maths ARE'? is it plural

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kikyoupdates · 1 day ago

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For Tomorrow's Sake ⭑˚💫⭑ 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑔

various!jjk x f!reader

reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn

You never believed reincarnation was possible, least of all in the fictional world of Jujutsu Kaisen. However, from the moment you meet Gojo Satoru, it’s impossible to deny. Whether it’s a miracle or some kind of curse, you find yourself growing up alongside the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Unfortunately, you know what the future holds in store. You know exactly what kind of tragedies await. Perhaps that’s why you were brought into this world. If it means saving people from a gruesome fate, you’ll gladly suffer in their place. You’ll do whatever it takes. All for the sake of a better tomorrow.

previous | story masterlist | next

Toji finds himself at a loss for words.

Today, he made up his mind to pay a visit to the so-called 'strongest' sorcerer, Gojo Satoru. He wanted to witness the pinnacle of jujutsu for himself. To see, with his own eyes, what someone truly blessed—in all the ways he isn’t —can amount to.

Toji was already surprised that Satoru took note of him. Never in his life has anyone else been able to do that. It seems it really is true. That a mere child possesses power beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. However, right now, he’s surprised for a different reason entirely.

And of course, that reason is you .

Toji blinks. He can’t help but wonder if he must be imagining things. It wouldn’t make much sense otherwise. There’s no rational explanation for what’s happening. Did some strange little girl seriously just walk up to him and ask for his help?

“What,” Toji simply replies. It’s not even really a question. Rather, he’s in disbelief. And you’re still standing in front of him, looking up at him with hope and admiration.

To be honest, no one has ever looked at him that way.

“I want to become strong, just like you,” you repeat, and even now, your smile shows no signs of disappearing. “Since you don’t have any cursed energy, by any chance, do you… fight using cursed tools? Because I’d like to try learning how to use them as well. I’ve been looking for someone to help train me.”

Satoru gapes at you. “Uh, [Name]? What are you saying? You can’t just ask some random weirdo to train you! We don’t even know who he is!”

“It’s not nice to call people weirdos, Satoru. Especially when you barely know them.”

“Either way, he’s still a stranger! Why did you even walk up to him in the first place? You’re seriously crazy!”

Toji blinks yet again. Is this… some kind of joke? A comedy routine? Standing right in front of him is Gojo Satoru, hailed as the pride and joy of the jujutsu world. Even as young as he currently is, he can go head-to-head with the most formidable, elite sorcerers—and not only that, but he’d win .

A few moments ago, Toji felt a chill in the air, and it wasn’t due to the cold winter breeze. When Satoru turned towards him, with those eerie, piercing blue eyes of his, Toji immediately felt inferior. Even more so than he already did. He’s not the type to get intimidated, and yet, there was no denying the sheer pressure behind that young boy’s gaze.

Except now, that pressure is gone.

All Toji sees is two stupid, bickering kids.

“We’re leaving,” Satoru grits out. He glares pointedly up at Toji, still with his little arms wrapped around you, and the expression he makes is juvenile, or rather, childish . Because technically, he is a child.

Toji just stands there with a frown. He’s heard of Gojo Satoru, of course, but he has absolutely no idea who you’re supposed to be. A relative, perhaps? Or a friend? But you just said that you’re not strong. That’s why you want to get stronger. Would the Gojo Clan really permit their prized jewel to waste time frolicking with some talentless little brat?

“I can’t leave yet,” you insist. Satoru tries to pull you along, but you root your feet firmly into the ground, making it clear that you’re not going anywhere. Then you look back at Toji and smile once again. “What do you say, mister? Would you be willing to help train me? I’m [Name], by the way. What’s your name?”

“Stop it!” Satoru fumes. “You shouldn’t go around telling strangers your name!”

“But you already said my name earlier, and he obviously heard it. Silly Satoru. Always getting worked up for no reason. Don’t worry, I got this. Just watch and learn.”

You grin confidently, and Toji can’t help but marvel at your idiocy. Or perhaps it’s lunacy. Either way, it doesn’t make much of a difference.

“No,” he replies, watching as your expression drops. “Why should I train some brat I just met? You must have lived a very sheltered life until now, if you feel comfortable going around asking others for favors.”

Satoru furiously grinds his teeth together. “How dare you. You don’t know anything about her. Rotten old fart. [Name]’s life has been anything but sheltered. If you don’t shut up, I’ll kick your ass.”

“I’m nowhere near as old as you seem to think I am,” Toji scowls.

Whatever. He’s had enough foolishness for one day. He already did what he set out to do. He came here to steal a glimpse of Gojo Satoru, and all it did was sour his mood even more. He’s better off walking away before he loses his temper.

And so, he leaves. Or at least, he tries to.

You’ve grabbed onto his arm and are refusing to let go.

“Please at least hear me out, mister,” you insist. Toji stares down at you in stark disbelief, and meanwhile, Satoru outright gasps. Honestly, he kind of looks like he’s about to pass out. Your never-ending antics really aren’t good for his heart.

It’s absurd. Two little kids are basically playing tug-of-war at Toji’s expense. Of course, he could push you back with ease, although something tells him the strongest jujutsu sorcerer wouldn’t take too kindly to that. Which just makes it even more tempting, truthfully. Toji already resents the world of jujutsu as it is. Perhaps purposefully angering Gojo Satoru, even at the risk of his own life, might give him some relief.

He could do it. He could pick a fight if he really wanted to. Also, there’s no guarantee he’d lose. Maybe he should give it a try. If he were to somehow win against this spoiled brat who’s been blessed with everything he could ever dream of… maybe finally, the Zen’in Clan would acknowledge him.

The longer Toji stares into Satoru’s pale, blindingly blue eyes, the more he feels like testing his luck. The more he itches to bring the world of jujutsu sorcerers, and everything it stands for, crumbling into pieces.

But he doesn’t.

Your next words resonate with him more than he could ever have imagined.

“My family hated me because I was so weak,” you say, keeping your little hands tightly wrapped around Toji’s arm as you stare up at him, gaze solemn and determined. “They told me I was worthless, and that I would never amount to anything. My dad beat me really badly one day because he was so embarrassed of me. I’m sure it would have kept happening if Satoru hadn’t offered to let me live with him instead. I might not have zero cursed energy, like you, but I barely have enough to qualify as a sorcerer, and everyone always looks down on me for it. I think it’s unfair how some people get judged and cast aside, before they get the chance to prove themselves. Even if you don’t have any cursed energy, it’s obvious to me that you’re really strong. And it makes me feel like I could maybe be strong one day, too. I know it probably sounds like a hassle, but is there even a chance you might consider it? I could—oh, I know! I could pay you. Would you do it then? If I paid you enough?”

Yet again, Toji finds himself at a loss for words.

“Um… unfortunately, this is all I have on me right now.” You dig into your yukata and pull out a few wrapped candies, then gently place them into Toji’s open palm. He blinks, incredulous, as you smile once more. “I’ll pay you with real money, of course. Think of these candies as a promise, or like a down payment. I live with the Gojo Clan, and they’ve got a lot of money. If you agree to help train me, you might even become rich.”

Satoru’s jaw couldn’t possibly be hanging any lower. “[Name], what the hell? I just told you to leave this geezer alone, and now you’re saying you’re going to pay him?!”

“Well, I wouldn’t be the one paying, technically. Your relatives would.”

“And you’re just assuming they’ll go along with this?!”

“Maybe. If you do a good job of convincing them.”

You grin widely. Toji is quickly realizing that you’re a cheeky little brat, and apparently, even Gojo Satoru doesn’t quite know how to handle you. Not that it stops him from trying, though. Satoru grits his teeth as he struggles to pull you back. He must be consciously avoiding using his cursed energy, so as not to hurt you even a little. But without it, he’s physically no stronger than an ordinary seven-year-old kid. It also doesn’t help that you’ve latched onto Toji with seemingly all the strength you can muster.

God. This situation is so ridiculous, it’s almost laughable.

“I’m not going!” you insist, burying your face in the sleeves of Toji’s kimono as he sighs irritably. “You can’t make me, Satoru! I need to hear how this nice mister responds first! And even if he says no again, I’m going to stay here until I change his mind!”

Toji knits his brows together. “Aren’t you jumping to conclusions by assuming I’m nice?”

“Oh. Maybe. But I like to try and stay optimistic,” you beam.

“It’s called being dumb , not optimistic,” Satoru grimaces. “We seriously need to go , already! You’re taking things too far!”

He must have just mustered up the nerve to strengthen himself using cursed energy, because finally, he manages to pull you away from Toji. You stumble backwards, losing your balance in the process, but Satoru catches you in his arms and holds you tight, refusing to let you break free again.

Strange. Toji always imagined that the strongest would be elevated above everyone else, detached from reality, seemingly in a world of their own. Like some kind of deity, so to speak. At least, based on the way that everyone seems to worship him.

But he’s actually… surprisingly human. He has someone he cherishes deeply and strives to protect.

Toji isn’t quite sure whether that makes him feel better or worse.

“You’re awfully chatty, even for a kid,” Toji remarks. He stares down at the candies you just placed in his hand, but rather than handing them back to you or tossing them aside, he just shrugs and places them in his pocket. “You asked what my name was, didn’t you? It’s Zen’in Toji. You and that boy both belong to the Gojo Clan, so you must understand what this means. Our clans despise each other. Even if I agreed to help you, do you really think they would allow such a thing?”

Right. You remember that was briefly touched on in the series. It had something to do with the former clan heads having killed each other in the past. The Gojo Clan and the Zen’in Clan have some particularly bad blood between them.

Then again, the past is the past. What’s done is already done. There’s no point in worrying about something you can’t change.

You must constantly face forward, towards the future .

Toji can’t possibly understand it, and neither can Satoru, for that matter, but it’s okay. You’ve already decided that this will be your burden to bear. So, yeah. You could care less about a petty feud between clans. It’s nowhere near enough to deter you or keep you from accomplishing what you’ve set out to do.

“Yeah. I’ve heard about it. I know that the Gojo Clan and Zen’in Clan don’t like each other,” you say.

Toji nods. “Good. So, that means you understand how—”

“I don’t really care, though.”

“...what?”

“I don’t care,” you repeat, and Toji can’t help the way his eyes widen. “How is it my fault that something like that happened a long time ago? It’s not like I was involved. It’s not like any of the people still alive today were involved either. Honestly, most jujutsu sorcerers are stupid. They care about stupid things and look down on others just because they don’t align with what they think is right. They can be upset if they want to be. I’m not trying to become stronger because I want anyone’s approval. I’m doing it because it’s important to me. So that I can protect the people I care about and make a difference. Even if others still consider me to be weak, based on their first impression of me… it’s fine. Because I’ll know they’re wrong. And that’s enough.”

It really is absurd. What are you, six, seven years old? You’re just a kid. You’re supposed to be naive and ignorant to the harsh reality of the world.

Yet, ironically, you sound more mature and clear-minded than any of the shitty, elitist adults Toji has ever known.

This time, he really can’t help it.

He laughs.

“Haha… ha!” Toji throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut, as the laughter rumbles up from deep inside his belly. It’s honestly cathartic. He can’t remember the last time he laughed this hard. In fact, he can’t remember the last time he laughed at all .

Satoru pulls you even further back and shudders. “Ugh. This guy seriously gives me the creeps. [Name], I’m telling you, he’s bad news.”

“If he wanted to hurt me, I’m sure he would have already done it by now,” you shrug.

“What kind of reasoning is that…?”

“Ah, that’s funny,” Toji keeps on laughing. He pauses to wipe the small tears that have formed in his eyes, then grins. “I didn’t know kids could be so entertaining. You seem much smarter than I initially gave you credit for. You’re probably smarter than the entire Zen’in Clan. Those bastards can’t even tell the difference between a head and an ass.”

“Now he’s even comparing heads and asses,” Satoru whispers in your ear. “I’m starting to think he might be a pervert, too.”

Toji slowly turns away. “Don’t change your way of thinking. It’d be a shame. You’re right that jujutsu sorcerers are all a bunch of idiots. This whole world they’ve built up is a joke. Like you said, they refuse to acknowledge anything that doesn’t align with their own beliefs. They’re all pathetic, narrow-minded scum.”

Wow. Is Toji really venting to you right now? Meeting Satoru was one thing, but surely, you could never have been prepared for something like this .

It makes you happy, though. If it brings him even a little bit of relief, you’ll gladly listen to him complain, over and over again.

“Goodbye, strange little girl,” Toji chuckles. “[Name], you said? I’ll remember it. This day turned out to be unexpectedly amusing.”

“Oh. You’re leaving? But… you never answered my question,” you frown. “Will you help train me? Or at the very least, will you try to consider it?”

Toji is already walking away, waving you off with the back of his hand, and Satoru will be damned if he lets you chase after him again.

Still, all things considered, this encounter went a lot better than you thought it would. It was a long shot anyway. At least you tried.

What you don’t realize, however, is that Toji is still thinking of his meeting with you, even by the time he returns back to the Zen’in estate. He remembers your words from before, and as he passes by several clan members, somehow, their scornful looks don’t bother him quite as much as they used to.

It’s a momentary reprieve, but he’s grateful for it.

“Are you… Toji?”

Toji turns his head. He’s sitting out in the courtyard, and a child has just walked up to him. He seems to be having lots of encounters with children today, for whatever reason. Although this child isn’t entirely unfamiliar to him. He recognizes him based on his appearance. After all, he’s the one rumored to take over as the leader of the clan one day. The youngest son of Zen’in Naobito. Naoya.

Toji doesn’t bother responding. He just stares at him, with a sharp, unwavering gaze, and Naoya immediately freezes up.

Truth be told, Naoya came here to mock Toji. He planned on finally seeing for himself what the infamous man with no cursed energy was like. He wanted to get a glimpse of his sad, pitiful expression. To ridicule someone weaker than him.

Except Naoya can’t seem to do that, because just by looking at Toji, he can tell.

This man is strong .

Toji eventually turns away, still without uttering a single word, and Noaya watches as Toji pulls out the candies you handed him earlier. He stares at them, then chuckles. He isn’t unwrapping them to eat them or anything. It’s also strange that the coldness in his gaze has suddenly disappeared. His expression looks a bit more gentle now.

Naoya swallows the lump in his throat and awkwardly approaches. “Is that candy? Do you… like sweets?”

“Hm? No, not really.”

“Oh. Then what’s the candy for?”

Toji continues staring down at the palm of his hand. The silence feels unsettling to Naoya, especially because of the immense pressure Toji constantly exudes, but eventually, another chuckle can be heard.

“This isn’t just candy,” Toji muses. “It’s… a down payment.”

No matter how hard you try, there are bound to be some instances where things don’t work out the way you want them to.

Based on how Toji walked off without giving you a proper answer, naturally, you figure it’s a done deal. It’s disappointing, of course, because you dared to imagine a world in which Toji doesn’t go on to commit atrocities, but not everything can be changed. Not always.

You’re in for one hell of a surprise, though.

“...he’s here,” Satoru mumbles one day, seemingly out of nowhere. You watch as his eyes widen, and he turns his head towards the entrance of the estate. “That man we met a while ago. The one with no cursed energy. He’s here .”

“What?”

You can’t quite believe it—at least, not until you walk past all the buildings and see him with your own eyes.

Once again, Toji stands in front of you.

“Yay, Toji! You really came!”

Without even thinking twice, you run up to him and attempt to wrap your little arms around his broad frame. Toji stands there, looking slightly taken aback, but he doesn’t try to push you away, and that has to count for something, right?

Satoru, however, looks like he’s about to throw a fit.

“[Name]!” he fumes. “Why are you hugging that creepy old guy? It’s inappropriate! And besides, you should only be hugging me !”

Despite Satoru’s protests, you continue to cling to Toji, because even if he’ll never admit it, you know that he could really, really use a hug.

Satoru mashes his teeth together in frustration, and he even shakes his small fist in the air. Which is probably intended to be a warning, but he’s ridiculously cute, so it’s not too effective, in your opinion.

Naturally, all of this commotion draws other people towards the source, and soon, you find yourself surrounded by several Gojo clan members.

One of them gestures to you with a frown. “[Name]? Who is that man? Why did he just show up here all of a sudden?”

“You fool. Can’t you tell just by looking at him?” another clan member mutters in distaste. “He… has absolutely no cursed energy. And that scar across his lip. It must be him . The failure of the Zen’in Clan. Zen’in Toji.”

The atmosphere shifts all too suddenly. Everyone’s expressions are laden with disgust. Not only because of the general disdain sorcerers have towards those deemed as ‘weak’, but also due to the fact that he’s a Zen’in. In the eyes of the Gojo Clan, that’s the worst possible combination.

Toji chuckles as he pats you on the head. “Not quite the welcoming I was hoping for. It seems not everyone is as friendly as you are, [Name].”

Honestly, you can’t even really focus on the tension right now, because Toji just patted you on the head.

Hehe. I’m happy.

“State your business,” one of the clan members mutters. “You should know better than to show up unannounced.”

“Well, that’s rude. Especially when I’m here to do one of you a favor.” Everyone blinks, clearly in disbelief, as Toji peers down at you. “Right, [Name]? Didn’t you ask me to help train you before?”

“R-Really? You’ll… actually do it?”

You marvel at the sudden declaration. Of course, the clan members are becoming more infuriated by the second, and Satoru doesn’t look too happy about it either. He actually looks like he’s itching to kick Toji in the nuts.

A clan member steps forward, teeth bared. “Under no circumstances will a member of the Zen’in Clan have any part in—”

“Shut up,” Satoru glares. “Let [Name] speak. I want to hear what she has to say first.”

He turns back towards you, and even though he clearly has his doubts about Toji, for your sake, he might be willing to give him a chance.

“Well? Are you sure you really want this guy to train you? Does it have to be him?”

You look up at Toji. Admittedly, his character was far from innocent in the canon series. He chose to abandon his son and become an assassin. Nobody forced that life upon him. Ultimately, his demise was his own doing.

But it probably wouldn’t have happened if only he’d been accepted in the first place. If only he hadn’t been treated like an outcast and made to resent the world he grew up in.

Even though you might not succeed, you’re going to try and help him.

“Yes,” you nod emphatically, hugging Toji even tighter than before. “I don’t want anyone else to teach me. It has to be him.”

Satoru sighs. He wishes you didn’t have to make things so difficult. He’s never had a friend before, but ever since you stepped into his life, he’s been worrying about you practically nonstop. You’re honestly quite the hassle.

But then again, you’re worth it.

“And are you going to train her properly?” Satoru asks, now addressing Toji with a stern gaze. “I’m telling you right now, but you’re not allowed to hurt her. Not even a little bit. I’m going to be watching your training sessions to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. If at any point she’s in danger… I’ll seriously make sure you regret it.”

Toji shrugs. “Sure. It would be pretty pathetic if I didn’t know how to hold back against a little kid.”

Satoru stares at Toji for a while longer, eyes narrowed in scrutiny, but you’ve spent enough time with him by now to be able to read his expressions, and you can tell that he’s just about to give in.

Finally, he nods.

“Okay, then. You can train [Name]. I give you permission.”

Your eyes light up, and you even let out a squeal of delight as you excitedly jump in place, still clinging to Toji all the while. He obviously doesn’t react with the same kind of enthusiasm, but as he looks down at your tiny little frame, he finds a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Even if you’re just a little kid, it feels nice to finally be acknowledged by someone.

It would be great if you could just wrap this up on a high note, but of course, things are never that easy.

“Master Satoru,” one of the clan members gapes. “What in the world are you saying? We refuse to condone this. The nerve of this talentless Zen’in trash to even step foot here, let alone insert himself into your lives… it’s ludicrous. We simply won’t hear of it.”

You frown. “But I promised to pay Toji in exchange for him training me. Why is it such a big deal? Clans should be helping each other out, not hating each other. It would be way more productive if everyone cooperated. Isn’t our goal supposed to be getting rid of curses and keeping people safe?”

“You want to pay him? Absolutely not! How dare you even suggest such a thing!”

“Uh oh,” Toji chuckles, messily ruffling your hair. “It looks like they’re getting really angry now. I guess it’s a good thing I decided that I don’t actually need to be paid.”

You blink, incredulous. “You… don’t?”

“No. It’s fine. If doing this pisses off your clan, as well as those in the Zen’in Clan… that’s already more than enough for me.”

A prideful smirk sweeps across Toji’s face. It looks like he wants to stick it to the man, so to speak. He’d much rather get under the skin of those who’ve wronged him than have some extra cash to spend. Well, not that you care exactly what his motivations are. He’s agreed to help you, and that’s already more than enough.

One of the clan members takes a deep, shuddering breath, and in the next moment, you can tell that their cursed energy has spiked.

“ Leave ,” they demand. “This is your last chance. Otherwise, we’ll have no choice but to—”

“Didn’t I already tell you to shut up?”

It’s Satoru, of course. He’s staring at them with an irritable expression, and he even walks up to you and Toji and assumes a protective stance.

“[Name] says she wants this guy to train her, so he’s going to train her,” Satoru mutters. “I’m not too happy about it either, but this is what she’s decided, so I’m going to support her. If any of you have a problem with that, we can just leave. I’ll take [Name] far, far away from here and never come back. I’ll leave the Gojo Clan forever. Is that what you want?”

Neither of them respond, but you can tell that internally, they’re panicking. Sure enough, if Satoru really wanted to, he could overpower everyone here and do as he pleases. There’s no way to force him into anything. All of his diligence towards his training up until now… he’s been doing it out of a sense of obligation, not because he doesn’t have the strength to object. He’s been going along with everyone’s demands because he’s the strongest. Because the fate of the world hangs on his shoulders.

When it comes to you, however, he can be awfully selfish. And everyone in the Gojo Clan already knows that.

“...fine.”

Their faces are bitter, ashamed, and resentful, but nevertheless, they have no choice but to concede. The embarrassment of relying on a Zen’in Clan member is nothing compared to the risk of losing Gojo Satoru.

You smile yet again. So, it’s really happening. You’re not sure how, but you actually managed to pull it off.

From this moment onward, Toji is your mentor.

“I’ll do my best,” you beam, eyes brighter than ever. “I’ll train my butt off, and I promise I won’t ever complain, no matter how hard it gets. You’re going to be super impressed. Just wait and see!”

Perhaps this is nothing more than the silly, idealistic ramblings of an ignorant child. Children like to say all kinds of things, after all. They make big, grandiose promises that they can’t keep. And they constantly exaggerate, making their feats seem larger than life itself.

And yet, Toji feels inclined to believe you.

“Very well,” he chuckles fondly. “I’ll hold you to that, so show me. Show me… how you’re going to prove everyone wrong.”

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g1rld1ary · 1 day ago

Text

christmas eve - sirius black x fem!reader

wc: 2405

cw: pure fluff, swearing, you meet sirius' friends on Christmas eve

me: happy christmas eve chickens!!!! hope u r all staying safe and happy and enjoying the holidays!!!! xxxx

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

If you had been asked in school if you would ever fancy Sirius Black, you would have said never in a million years. Sirius Black was a loud-mouthed, annoying, entitled son of a bitch. However, many years later, you would only say your boyfriend was a son of a bitch — you hated that woman.

If either of your respective groups of friends had been asked the same question, you were sure they would have given identical answers. In school you were quiet, polite and stayed under the radar. And Sirius was, well, Sirius. There was no way the two of you would ever get along.

Admittedly, you still didn’t exactly look the pair. Sirius and his dark silky hair, electric silver eyes and intimidating worn leather jacket, and you with your muted colour palette and unassuming appearance. Yet, you thought you went together pretty well. Still, you could both understand that even time and maturity didn’t make your get together more expected. In fact, you were probably the last person the marauders expected to show up to their Christmas Eve dinner.

When Christmas Eve finally came, Sirius and James were busy setting up his and Lily's dining room for the perfect holiday event. Decked in horrendous matching Christmas jumpers with terrible puns stamped across the front, each boy broke into laughter whenever they caught a glimpse of the other’s across the table as they lay down the fancy cutlery. Remus and Lily, cooking in the other room, had opted for more neutral red and green jumpers as a tribute to the season.

“Come on, mate, we’re brothers yet you’ve kept this girl hidden for months now, can’t you just tell me?” James begged, arranging the centrepieces to be spaced how he knew Lily liked.

“Patience, Prongsy, you’ll meet her soon enough. Promise you’ll be nice to her?”

“When have I not been nice?” James cried, hands up in mock offence. Sirius just shook his head, turning to arrange some pillows.

James cast him an inquisitive look, protective wasn’t usually Sirius’ style, which meant that something about you was really different. He’d been considering that for a while, and his suspicions were only confirmed with every passing day.

There were three main reasons that James thought Sirius was (for lack of a better word) serious about you. Firstly, Sirius was healthier. With the family he was born with, it wasn’t surprising that Sirius had a host of trauma and mental health issues. And though he’d tried therapy and meds a handful of times the habit had never really stuck and he’d always had a level of discomfort in his own body. Lately, though, Sirius had seemed more relaxed and in control. James wasn’t stupid, he knew that a partner couldn’t fix anyone, but he was absolutely more inclined to approve of one who made his best friend feel like himself again.

Secondly, Sirius was more private. Sirius had always had an outrageous sense of humour, uninhibited when it came to sex jokes or sharing conquests. But recently James had noticed that while Sirius still made jokes they were aimed at other people, he’d almost completely stopped talking about his own sex life. Of course, when prompted he would boast about how sexy his girlfriend was and how incredible and active your sex life was, but it was never Sirius bringing it up, or making gross comments about your body and what you could do with it.

Finally, Sirius was gentle. He’d always been charming, but the unfiltered adoration in his eyes when he spoke about you took James aback — he’d never seen it in his brother before. It was so pure and well-intentioned that James knew in his core that Sirius was head over heels and the fall was not coming to an end any time soon.

As the clock ticked by the gang all trickled in, the dining room filling with warmth and laughter. At five minutes past nine, you rang the doorbell.

“Is this the girlfriend?” Lily clapped with delight, jumping up and down with Mary.

“I’ll let her in. Play nice,” Sirius said with a stern sweep of the room, satisfied when his friends all played along, nodding solemnly.

Standing on the Potter’s doorstep you were ball of anxiety. You hadn’t seen any of the marauders — apart from your boyfriend — since you finished school, taking a muggle job. Thankfully Sirius opened the door, greeting you with his toothy smile.

“Hi, lovely,” He said, engulfing you in a bear hug. You giggled, wrapping one arm around him, the other holding up a purple umbrella.

“Hi,” You smiled back, “Sorry I’m late, all the houses look the same.”

“What are you talking about? You’re right on time.” A lie, but a kind one so you let it be. You shook the water off your umbrella before stepping inside.

Safe in a warm home you leant up on your tiptoes to plant a kiss on Sirius’ lips as he slid the coat down your arms, hanging it up on a hook beside you. You were half-tempted to just stay in his arms for the rest of the night and abandon the dinner altogether, but you figured that wasn’t possible while you were inside someone else’s house. It seemed like Sirius had the same idea, pulling away with a groan.

“Come on, everyone’s waiting to meet you.” You followed him out of the entryway, calming yourself with a breath.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present my girlfriend.” Sirius revealed you dramatically as you waved shyly, shifting in your small brown heels.

“Uh, hey—”

“Holy shit, it’s you?” Marlene slammed her hand on the dining table. You jumped slightly, squinting to figure out what was going on. Your mouth dropped open as you connected the dots and looked up at Sirius.

“Do they not know we’re dating? Sirius!” You scolded him, smacking him on the bicep. Sirius floundered for a moment, struggling to summon the charm that usually got him out of trouble.

“In my defence,” He preached, “Would they have believed me?”

“I would not have,” Peter put in helpfully. You laughed, putting a hand to your forehead in exasperation.

“I guess I don’t blame you. It’s nice to see you, Peter, by the way. Long time no see, I’ve heard so much about you all.” The group all shared a look, something akin to guilt growing that they hadn’t seen someone they graduated with for years.

“And we know nothing about you,” Lily said with an expectant look to Sirius, “Since your boyfriend was so insistent on keeping you hidden away from us.” Sirius just shrugged, lifting his hands in surrender.

“Oh, baby, are you ashamed of me?” You teased with a dramatic pout.

“What’s there to be ashamed of? You’re perfect.” Sirius swooped down to press a kiss on your cheek. You grinned subconsciously as Mary and Marlene mirrored your expression. Sirius had dated a lot of people but they’d never seen him be so gentle.

“Is anyone else scared of Sirius being a normal human being?” James stage whispered and the others all agreed, joking at their friend’s expense.

“Enough gossiping about me you heathens, I’m helping Lily serve up some food. Right, Lils?” Sirius made a summoning motion and Lily followed him, a small smile still on her lips. He’d chosen wisely, Lily was the least likely to tear him to shreds about his behaviour.

You sat shyly on one of the couches in the Potter’s living room, studying your nails as you tried to come up with conversation.

“So, are you working, studying?” Remus asked kindly, putting you out of your awkward misery.

“How’d you and Padfoot meet — again?”

“How’d a twat like Pads score a girl like you?”

“I’m working, I run a muggle bookshop. Sirius came in one day by chance and just kept returning until eventually we started going out.”

“Sirius reading?” Mary asked incredulously, drawing laughter from you. You nodded happily, glad to talk about your boyfriend.

“Surprising I know, but he’s been really into it over the last few months!”

“Can I just defend myself and say that I was shopping for Remus’ birthday gift the first time,” Sirius popped his head through the door, “I didn’t start reading until I wanted to get her to like me.” You shook your head with a smile, rolling your eyes playfully.

“I was going to say I couldn’t imagine Sirius perusing a book store for fun, but it makes a lot more sense when you say it’s for a girl,” Marlene teased, popping up to help Sirius bring the dishes to the dining table.

“Hey! I’m an intellectual now, you arse.” Sirius pulled out your chair for you as the group migrated to the dining table.

“Yeah, okay, Padfoot,” Remus snorted and Sirius scoffed in false annoyance before you all fell silent, devouring the meal.

You ate and shared stories for hours and you felt strangely at home among the group. At some point Sirius, sitting beside you, threw an arm over your shoulder and you cuddled into his warmth.

You loved learning about the Marauders, you only remembered fragments from school since you were never close with any of them. James being an auror made perfect sense when you remembered his amazing DADA performances, and Remus becoming a teacher was a wonderful sequel to his long tutoring sessions in seventh year. Lily expecting a baby so young had shook up their home life but the house had clearly started getting child-ready even though it was months away. Regardless, the group welcomed you warmly and you felt immediately at home.

“I just can’t believe that you of all people are together. I mean after all this time, how you both were in school… what are the odds?” Peter asked, reaching over the table to take another scoop of vegetables. You bit your lip and tried to control the heat creeping up your neck.

“I think we balance each other out,” You reasoned, “Sirius is such a… distinct character that he needs someone boring like me to bring him down.”

“You, boring? You’re the daughter that everyone wants!” Marlene laughed, sipping a red wine.

“I couldn’t function without her.” Sirius laced your fingers together, gaze heavy on you. “She reminds me to take care of myself, go to bed before three A.M., and of course, is hot and sexy as fuck.” That was the Sirius his friends all knew, but the school-era immaturity was gone. No longer was it the ladies-man Sirius Black trying to get into someone’s pants, instead, it was Sirius making a dumb joke with someone he loved.

“Sirius!” You cried, covering your face with both hands, including the one Sirius had attached to yours. Times like these you could feel the differences between you — Sirius was known for his crude humour, you would never bring up how sexy you thought Sirius was, joke or not, especially not in front of people you didn’t really know.

The night progressed with more reminiscing and storytelling, and you listened enraptured as they told story after story of pranks and parties, a life you were unaware of being led right beside you at school. You all ended up tipsy, an embarrassing stack of empty wine bottles building up at the end of the table.

As you were told was a common occurrence, the group all decided to just stay over at the Potters, pulling out mattresses and spots on the sofa with practised speed. You took the place they gave you, grateful to still be welcome.

Swaddled in blankets, Sirius was the first asleep, dead to the world in a matter of moments. For someone who stayed up half the night, he really did pass out as soon as his head hit the pillow. Whenever he was with you, anyway.

Someone across the room called your name in a whisper, wand faintly illuminated. You sat up to look their way, finding the rest of Sirius’ friends looking at you.

“We just wanted to say we really like you, and we’re really happy for you and Padfoot, even if we were weird at the start,”” Mary said and you couldn’t contain your grin.

“And why weren’t we friends in school? We would’ve gotten along great,” Remus added, rubbing tired eyes.

“I would have been putting a target on my own back,” You confessed, “You were all in the same house, confident in yourselves and could defend yourself against the bullies. I was alone in my house and deeply insecure. Even if we were friends I would’ve gone back to my common room at the end of the day and been vulnerable. It was easier to just be alone.”

“You thought that through.” James nodded appreciatively but you just shrugged, a fact was a fact.

The conversation moved away from you for a while, whispers and stifled giggles bouncing across the room.

“You know that Sirius is in love with you, right?” James blurted out of nowhere, slapping a hand over his mouth.

“What?”

“Isn’t it obvious? He looks at you like he’s your whole world. He raves about you all the time; how great you are, how he’s so glad he met you. He’s my brother and I know him better than he knows himself; he’s mad for you.”

You took a moment to let that sink in. You hadn’t put too much thought into whether Sirius loved you, you’d always just been happy with the way they were going.

“Oh,” You hesitated. “I hadn’t considered that. Well, um, I should probably get to sleep, I have a lot of family to see tomorrow.” It was a poor excuse, you knew, but that was a big word.

You bade the group goodnight once more before snuggling into Sirius, and he instinctually wrapped his arm around your waist. As you drifted off to sleep, the thought crossed your mind that maybe, love wasn’t so out of the picture.

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cgogs · 13 hours ago

Text

all i wanted | c!dnf oneshot | 4k c!George breaks c!Dream out of prison and tries to fashion a normal life.

secret santa for @rglozwriter (happy holidays! i hope you enjoy!!)

George has never once in his whole life thought of himself as a hero. He could count on one hand, maybe two, the number of times he ever came close.

When he saved a little girl from the wolves. Oh, but he was rather little as well, and just as terribly afraid as her. So maybe it doesn’t count. When he restored clean water to a dirty river village— oh, he’d only broken the dam to help Dream, and that’s far too selfish in nature to be considered heroic. He hadn’t done it on purpose.

And that’s precisely the problem, George isn’t sure he’s done anyone any tremendous good on purpose, and furthermore out of the pure goodness of his heart. He doesn’t think that makes him a bad person, not everyone is meant to be a hero. Not everyone has the heart for it.

It was always Dream who was the hero. In all their childhood adventures, Dream was the one who would have them stop in their path to help the needy, the sick, the suffering. George was the one who would try and fail to get some sense through his head. It’s not that he’s a bad person, he just didn’t think they were in the means to be heroes, needy, starving, and sick as they were.

But Dream had a habit of being a hero, and it’s one that didn’t break until they settled down. Until they invited more people into their lives. George watched that heart of gold dull and hide itself away. The heroism didn’t leave, it just turned itself into something else. And it was unfortunate because no matter how much George protested his selflessness (because it was so often at the cost of his wellbeing and safety), it was something that he truly loved about him. His hero.

It’s half of why George doubts the reality of his situation. It can’t be. Because George would never claw his way through obsidian in the water like a half-drowned rat to save someone. He would never put his own neck on the line for someone else. He would never do something so stereotypically heroic, something straight out of a book.

He stares at Dream, sitting on the floor weaving a basket from flax and reeds.

Dream once called him a selfish damsel. It was a joke, but George didn’t think it was untrue. Well, the damsel part was untrue. Mostly. Maybe. Their scoreboard of saving each other is… uneven. Breaking Dream out of Pandora has to count for fifty tallies. George demands it.

George is in his weirdness again. The heavy state between sleeping and waking, where he doubts everything he sees. Dreaming, he dares to think. How many times has he dreamt about saving Dream? Saving Dream and convincing him to run away? Too many times. And he remembers the feeling of waking up after all too well. The heartache and disappointment and hatred for everything and everyone.

The memories of walking the halls of the prison seem so distant, filled with water and oil. They seem impossible.

Dream pinches himself and hisses, the half-done weave unfurling slightly as his hands recoil. He checks his fingers as if they were cut. George takes too long to react.

“Are you okay?” he says finally. Dream looks up at him, green eyes shining. He looks embarrassed.

“Yeah, no, yeah. I just cut myself a little.” Dream’s voice is soft and a little embarrassed in a way that makes George’s heart stop and start again. It peels one layer of fog off his mind. “Good morning. How long have you been standing there?”

Dream is nervous and awkward like a new roommate. It could be appropriate if they haven’t loved each other all their lives. Well, George never actually got confirmation if that’s wholly true. Dream could have stopped loving him for a little while there. But he’s at least mostly sure that Dream loves him now. Hopefully not just for saving him.

George blinks, looking around. His feet are deathly cold in the doorway. Dream sits in front of the fire weaving his basket, and the world outside is pure white with snow. George comes to sit with him, vision glossy, like the world was smeared with grease.

“I dunno,” he answers, too late, “I just woke up.”

Dream pulls the pile of flax and reeds and willow to the side to make space for him. George pulls his blanket further around himself, rubbing his eyes. He’s sitting on a couple crumbs of dried plants but he’s decided he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to move to fix it. Luckily for him, Dream notices and pulls the bent reed out from under him. George mumbles a gratitude.

“Are you okay?” Dream asks. He doesn’t cast his voice like he used to. He’s quiet these days.

“Uh… yeah.”

“Are you feeling weird? The soup?”

George laughs a little like it’s the first time he’s heard him call it that. All the memories come to him a few moments too late. Yes, right, this is a common occurrence. George’s smile drops in a way that’s too obvious. Dream frowns at him.

George is remembering himself. The heroics he thinks of as so alien aren’t quite so against his nature as he thought. It’s just that they only show their face if it’s for Dream. It doesn’t make him a hero, he’s still a selfish prick, but it means this is all a little more real than before. He’s remembering more and more as he wakes up, feeling more and more grounded.

“Do I need to, um… do anything for you?” Dream asks. George hates how he asks for things now. Like he isn’t sure how to be a person anymore. This time isn’t as bad as others, but sometimes just the questioning quirk of his voice will make him sad. “I can jog your memory again. Or I can get your journal–”

George replies too fast. “I don’t want you to get up.”

“Okay. Um… this is our house,”

“I know this is our house.” George rolls his eyes.

“Okay. How about you just ask me, then.” Dream picks his basket weave back up, setting to work tightening the braids that went loose while he wasn’t holding it down. George feels bad snapping at him, even if it wasn’t much. He rubs his knuckles on Dream’s wrist as an apology. The little nod he gets back means it was accepted. It’s always nice to know Dream still remembers their old rituals.

“I’m just, um… it doesn’t feel real.” George leans his head on the edge of the coffee table, the one Dream pushed up against the couch to make room for his weaving. George lets his eyes get lost in the braids and patterns, following the maze of reed. He thinks Dream must be planning to use it as a fish trap– he��s always been partial to pike. “I don’t remember how we got here.”

This must happen more often than George thinks, because all of the concern he was expecting is pushed to the back of Dream’s mind. He watches it happen.

“You broke me out of prison. We’re waiting out the winter until summer, and then deciding what we want to do.” Dream’s voice is a practiced calm, like reciting a textbook. “You want me to stay. I want to tie up loose ends.”

“Why are you here… if you don’t want to be here?”

“I can’t do anything in the state I’m in right now.” Dream almost-laughs, only letting out a small sardonic snicker. The details of his face and body finally load in George’s mind, suddenly, as if they only just now took form, and he feels so stupid for not noticing before. The skinniness of his body, the scars on his arms, the two prosthetic fingers. Having just woken up is the culprit, it dulls his senses and replaces them with delusions. Or maybe he’s simply gotten used to the way he looks, and his hindbrain took no issue. “And you keep my bedroom door bolted from the outside.”

“What? Is that true?”

Dream smiles at him. “No.”

“You’re an ass.”

“I know.”

“So– how? How did I get you out?” George tries to imagine it. Clad in shiny armor with a formidable weapon, a getaway horse and a real plan. It’s just not him, even if it was for Dream’s sake.

“I don’t know.” He says it in a way that suggests he wishes he did. “You were– weird. Like this. And sopping wet, and like… sleepwalking.”

“How long ago?”

“Um… it was when the trees were just starting to turn orange.”

He’s not good with time. George groans, rubbing his eyes still. His memories are slow to appear, but they do. It’s not cause for huge celebration. They fade in and reveal themselves at his prompting like the tide reveals the stones.

He looks around at their house, hidden somewhere deep in the tundra. Nobody for miles. He remembers Dream, in a state, hiding food and weapons in every nook and cranny he could finagle. He thinks of it as safe. Dream feels, to some degree, safe here. That makes George happy.

“I remember.” George nods.

“It’s not very complicated.”

“Everything with you is complicated.”

Dream rolls his eyes. He’s farther away from the fire than George– and then a memory hits him, one of Dream in that cell. Cowering from the heat, eyes big like dinner plates. He went off his head, if his memory serves. Begged him to leave: he couldn’t be here, he has to leave, he wasn’t real…

He remembers guiding him through the tunnels and corridors by the hand, leading in front and pulling him along. He was so skinny he weighed nearly nothing, and when he protested and tried to yank away, George was able to keep him in his grip. Which meant that there was something very very wrong with him.

Dream has asked him, over and over, how he’d managed to get in and out, and George has never been able to tell him. He still isn’t able. He truly doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s made it a habit to always get what he wants. Maybe something in the universe finally bowed to that will.

And in true fashion to tradition, when he got what he wanted, Dream was the one who had to figure out the logistics of their situation. What they were going to eat, where they were going to go. If you heard Dream tell it, you’d think George fainted or something as soon as they could look back over their shoulders and not see Pandora’s Vault any longer. But Dream just doesn’t remember the nitty gritty of it. George remembers holding him close to his chest while the sirens went off for hours, felt like days. They hid like foxes in a hole in the ground.

Dream is paranoid. He’s always been paranoid but it’s worse than ever. It’s not like George can blame him. It’s just different. And ‘different’ is neither bad nor good, but it certainly means ‘not the same.’

George knows he’s changed too. He doesn’t know the exact ways how, or if it’s anything like how Dream has changed, but he knows Dream isn’t the only one who’s different. They’ve been making it work, regardless.

Sometimes he catches Dream staring at him when he thinks he can’t see him, or when he thinks George is asleep. He looks at him with something sick– something so grateful and reverent it’s awful. A new cog in his hero– he’s been well trained by someone else. It makes him angry. Possessive in ways he’s too ashamed to let materialize. He can’t let himself feel good about the way Dream looks at him now.

Dream takes his new fish trap and gets them a pike and a rabbit. Presumably not caught with the fish trap. By the time he comes home, George is at his wits again. The journal helps, notes his fully-awake self writes for his sleepy-self so they’re both on the same page. It was Dream’s idea. They both have one– George isn’t proud of it, but he reads through Dream’s every time he leaves the house.

Today, he reads through Dream’s before he even cracks open his own. Dream writes about his week, the things he’s been eating and when. Sometimes George is blessed to read his own name.

george has been remembering easier lately. i should be waking him up earlier

The guilt from invading Dream’s privacy washes away when he opens his own journal and sees Dream’s annotated his latest entry in green ink. They’re equally in each other’s business, and that makes his day. The entry itself is mortifying, but George would be lying if he said he didn’t secretly wish Dream would read it and answer him.

I don’t know if we’re still together. don’t act like it because if he weirdchamps me again i’ll kill you

^ when did i weirdchamp you?

They eat fish together with nothing to talk about. Dream’s been doing better, too. With touch and being less… like he’s always in a crisis. They’re sleeping in the same bed again. Dream preferred the floor for a long time.

In the middle of the night George wakes slightly to the feeling of kisses being planted to the back of his neck, down his spine and over his shoulders. Dream pulls aside his shirt to reach his skin and everything. George smiles where he can’t see.

Since it’s winter, they don’t have a lot of vegetables. Sometimes Dream brings back a pumpkin from god knows where– George suspects Techno, but it’s not like Dream tells him anything. They have some berry bushes in the backyard, good for juice and pie.

Dream says he finds peace in hunting. George can’t imagine how, but he goes with him sometimes and it seems to be true. Maybe it’s easier for him to focus his thoughts. George isn’t sure. George is just a half-functioning damsel, after all. He’s useful for skill shots and skinning the rabbits, at least. It’s hard sometimes, sitting around and letting Dream do everything.

It’s how it used to be, but… well, it’s just different now. George frequently finds himself out of character. He wants to be useful– it seems like Dream has grown a love for useful things. He wants to be in that category. He wants to be all the things Dream loves and deems important. If only he’d let him in whatever hell he’s thrown himself into.

“I love you,” Dream says one night, in the hallowed hall they call their bedroom. Where the deepest secrets are confessed. It takes George by surprise, lungs and heart still racing. He’s not quite all-there after fooling around for so long. He blinks, processing the joy, the accomplishment– but also the exhaustion. He turns his head to look at Dream, hair messy, like gold threads on the pillows. “I’m sorry.”

“Why would you be sorry for that?”

He shrugs hopelessly. “I just think it puts you in a bad spot.”

“Ugh, I don’t care.” George rolls into his chest. It’s all too cold without him. “I want to be there. In the bad spot.”

An arm comes to wrap around his back and hold him close. A soft kiss is planted to his bruised mouth, already sore and bit from kissing all night. George is quickly becoming too sleepy to stay awake. Maybe Dream knows that, maybe he can feel the magic in the air when George starts to slip away. He presses his cold, cold hand to Dream’s heart. He wishes he could pull it out and keep it safe. Keep him.

“I wish you knew what was good for you.”

“I don’t have to. That’s your job.” George mumbles against his lips. Dream doesn’t kiss him again, lowering his head to let him rest. “I know what’s good for you.”

“Do you really think that?”

“I know that.”

As time passes and the worst of winter is over, George can’t help but pray for the frost to stay. In Dream’s journal, he writes about the steps he’ll take when he goes back home. He still calls it home. George’s eyes sting with tears as he closes it and tucks it away.

At dinner, George doesn’t sit. Dream doesn’t sit either, despite food already plated for him. He knows what it’s about.

“Are you really going to leave again?”

“...yes. When summer comes.”

George leans back against the counter. “Are you going to come back?”

“I want you to stay here. It’s, safe here.”

“But you won’t come back?”

Dream looks stressed almost instantly. George can’t bring himself to feel bad. His heart is too close to breaking, even though Dream never promised him anything, so it really isn’t fair to him.

“I won’t promise you anything. For your sake,” Dream runs a hand through his hair, and George scoffs, “But I want to come back. Until this is all over. And– and when it’s over, we can be together all the time!”

“Is that what you want?”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

George’s crossed arms fall to his sides. His mind is full of cotton. He pronounces his words emphatically. “I want to be what you want. If you’ll only come see me out of– pity, then don’t bother.”

“That’s not what I said,”

“You’re barely saying anything! Do you not feel like you owe me anything? I don’t– I won’t ask for a lot, I just, I just thought–”

“Okay, okay, George, please, just listen to me.” Dream is in his space now, which is unusual. It makes his spikes lower. Dream is trying. “I’ll– I’ll come see you. I promise.”

And there’s that look again. The one where his eyes train on George, hyper focused on his expression and body language. The one that feels like all the devotion and obedience in his body rise to the surface to prove that they’re still there. It makes his skin crawl.

“I just– I can’t have you involved. I can’t. I got a taste of it months ago and I can’t ever feel that way again.” Dream lowers himself. For a second George thinks he’s going to drop to his knees and the mere thought makes his stomach invert. But Dream’s posture only bends, eye to eye as he pleads with him. “You understand that, right? Please.”

“Dream, stop, I’m not– you’re not–”

In trouble, he wants to say. But as it stands, that isn’t true. Dream is very much in trouble with him. Should he change that? How can he reach inside himself to turn his heart off and talk to him like a normal person? Or should he accept the reverence, should he think it appropriate?

No, he shouldn’t. Because it isn’t his. This isn’t what he trained Dream to do. This isn’t anything like their old rituals. Or maybe it holds remnants, he can recognize some of it, but it’s become corrupted now. It’s not an affection he can accept, because it wasn’t written with him in mind. He’s not Dream’s authority. He may want Dream to obey him, bend to his will, but George knows the subtle differences between love and obedience.

“Dream. It’s okay. I just, I don’t…” He looks to the window, then to the floor, desperately avoiding his eyes. “I don’t want you to act like I don’t exist. Okay. That’s all I want.”

“I love you.” Dream says. “I just want to keep you safe.”

A subtle confession. Abandoning him was all in the name of keeping him safe. George almost laughs. It’s so stereotypically heroic, so self sacrificial. George should have ironed out the heroics in him when they were younger, when he still had the chance.

“We’re not good people.” George looks at him. “I wish you’d stop acting like it. You don’t have to go back. You don’t owe anything to anyone.”

“I owe everything to everyone.”

“And you want me to stay here. You’ll come by when you need a warm body, right?” He says it like it’s a deal he wouldn’t gladly accept.

“I will come by when I can. You know. When it’s safe. And we can do anything you want.”

“Don’t make it sound like– like I’m renting you!”

He steps on one of the hair triggers that rule over Dream’s frustration. George thinks it’s a victory. “How do you want it to sound? I’m really trying here!”

“I want it to sound like you actually want to be with me, you ass.”

“I do!” Dream says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it is, and George just can’t see it from this angle. “I have responsibilities that aren’t– negotiable.”

George doesn’t understand why he’s fighting this. Maybe he’s scared of what will happen if there’s no one around to wake him. Maybe he’s ambitious enough to think he can haggle a better deal. The strength it takes to fight with Dream is quickly leaving him. It’s a great arrangement. More than he could ask for just half a year ago. Something he clawed through obsidian to obtain.

He’s seen the leash prison put on him. He’s held it, even. Pulled on it, led Dream around with it. George has decided he doesn’t want it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it takes the words out of Dream’s mouth, whatever he was going to say. “You have no idea what it was like to be without you. I can’t do it again.”

“I promise–”

“I trust you.” George’s eyes are furrowed and serious. “But I can’t wait until it’s all over.”

If he can’t make Dream see how futile this all is, then it’s something he’ll have to discover himself. But George won’t wait another two years for it to happen.

It’s the spring after their winter together, and George hasn’t seen Dream in two months. He knows because he’s been tallying it in his journal, which has seen an uptick in use without a roommate.

Techno visited, once. Gave him supplies. They must be closer than they thought, George somewhere on the fringes of the tundra where the four seasons are allowed to exist– watered down as they are. It pissed him off more than it should have– of course Dream would send someone else before he came to do it himself.

Maybe he’s making a name for himself again. Maybe he’s in hot water and can’t come, or he’ll be followed. It’s not like George gets a lot of news out here. He’s slept through days straight, he’s sure of it.

He’s pouting at the ceiling, in the middle of some pessimistic bratty rant about his life when he hears that stupid knock Dream does on everything. It knocks the gloom straight out of his chest. He races down the stairs, everything in the world leagues and bounds less important than opening the door.

Dream stands in his mask, a light smattering of snow on his hood and cloak. George reaches to pull him in by the neck before Dream can even get a word out. A promise kept. He’s halfway through pulling his mask off when George jumps up to hug him. The force of it makes them both wobble.

“Are you real?” George asks in his shoulder. He almost doesn’t believe it. An armored hand rubs his back.

“Yeah,” Dream’s voice rumbles in his chest, vibrations sending through George’s bones. It’s his new favorite feeling.

George pulls away. He interrupted the de-masking process, so half his face is still covered. It looks stupid. It’s George’s new favorite thing.

George couldn’t care less about the gift. It's nice, and he'll use it every day, but all joys are overshadowed by the presence of the man in his home– even if covered in dirt and scorch marks as he is. If he could choose any gift, he’d wanted a burner comm that he would be allowed to message him from, but the quilt is nice. George leaves it folded on the kitchen table, all pleasantries said and done with. Yes, he loves it, it’s beautiful, I love the color green.

He pushes himself up to kiss him. He tastes like gunpowder and blood. It’s George’s new favorite taste.

#my fics #c!dnf

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