#I can’t wait to wake up and read more | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

meowdei · 4 months ago

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i adore you (can’t you see you’re meant for me?) — ft. sylus

sylus likes to sleep late in the mornings, and you like to admire him. the two are just a series of steps that bring you to where you are now: on top of him

word count. ❤︎ 4.7k words — it’s literally all pure filth with no plot idk what to say atp

before you read. ❤︎ female reader ; established relationship ; sleepy sylus ; banter and teasing ; reader rides his abs (do not look at me) ; praise kink (it goes both ways tbh) ; blow jobs ; cum eating ; reader has an obsession with his veins (it is her not me okay?) ; sylus wraps his hand around her throat (but no choking) ; body worship + one clit kiss ; nipple play ; morning sex ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; do not be fooled it is all pretty soft i promise

commentary. ❤︎ i am new to this game and i haven’t gotten too far go easy on me for this one :( i dedicate this to all my sylus loving nonnies in my inbox thanks for helping me figure out this game LOL. and kass. ily kass

Sylus sleeps more when the sun is out than when it’s not. You don’t mind it so much—not when the view is what it is.

(He’s pretty, and so is the sun. The two combined make for an even prettier picture. You think, if you weigh your options, there are certainly worse things out there than sitting beside your sleeping boyfriend and waiting for him to wake up.)

It’s hard to keep your hands to yourself, though. His hair is too tempting not to brush away from his face. And while your hand is right there, it’s a little impossible not to cup his cheek for a moment. And, well, if you’re already touching him, you might as well let your hand slide down to his chest and rub circles against the skin. He leans into your touch subconsciously anyway—it’s not hurting him. It’s helping.

(You like telling yourself plenty of things to justify your hand and his skin having an early morning rendezvous.)

“Bored, sweetie?” His voice is always deeper when laced with sleep than it usually tends to be. You stiffen, moving to pull your hand away, an apology already prepared on your lips for waking him when he catches your wrist, eyes still closed. “I didn’t say to stop, did I?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you huff, letting him guide your hand back to his bare chest. It rises and falls slowly, so warm and firm under your palm that it’s a little dizzying.

“Am I?” He cracks an eye open, “I was just enjoying a little tenderness. I wonder why I can’t ever seem to receive something so sweet when I’m awake.”

“Precisely this reason,” you say flatly. He raises a smug brow. Just to humor him, you add, “Your ego can’t handle it when you’re awake.”

“What, that you find me too irresistible not to touch?”

“Sylus, go back to sleep,” you grumble, shuffling away from him with a face that feels unbearably hot under his half-lidded gaze. “You’re easier to get along with that way.”

“I don’t know,” he all but purrs. In a swift motion—swift enough that you let out a shrill squeal—his hand tugs at your arm and pulls you close enough that he can hoist your body to sit on his lower belly. “We get along pretty well when we’re wide awake, don’t you think?”

His hand hikes up your (well, technically his) shirt and rests on your hip, nothing but the thin fabric of your panties separating you from him as you’re seated on top of him. You shiver lightly when his thumb caresses your hip bone, a satisfied hum pulling from his throat at the feeling of goosebumps rising against your skin.

“Sylus,” you breathe, squirming over him—but you can’t say much else because you cut yourself off with a soft gasp when you hear the distinct sound of something tearing.

Fabric.

More specifically, your fabric. Your underwear—which was a rather nice pair too, you think woefully—is torn into two pieces, one held in Sylus’s hand like some form of victory, while the other falls against his belly with nothing holding it together around your hips.

You blink. He gives you a large Cheshire grin.

“Sorry, sweetie,” he says, not so apologetically, “They were just in the way.”

“I liked those!” You hiss, glaring at him, “They were nice!”

“What, you don’t think I can buy you more? I could buy them faster than I could rip them, I’m sure.”

You have your doubts about that last part—but it’s still persuasive enough that you’re no longer as mad as you were just a moment ago. But you’re still petulant, pouting as you huff, “You ruin everything.”

“Mmh,” he hums, closing his eyes, voice still a low drawl from sleep as he says, “Are you sure? Because I can feel you dripping already, sweetheart.”

Shame floods your system quickly, but lust is faster. Stronger, too, perhaps—because you don’t have it in you to be ashamed for too long before you grow impatient. With a deeper pout, you press your hands against his chest, leaning lower until your mouth hovers over his.

“Can you blame me?” You breathe against his lips. “Just look at you.”

He stiffens. Just barely, of course. Just enough that you can hardly even detect it, but you do. You do because you know him. And you know that when Sylus teases, it’s really just to deflect from his need to shift the attention to yours—like he doesn’t want you just as bad. Like he’s not just as hard as you are wet in his boxers. Like he doesn’t need to feel you just as badly as you need to feel him.

But he likes to keep the upper hand. It starts with two hands on your hips, firmly squeezing them before slowly rocking them against his abs. Your bare cunt (courtesy of him destroying a perfectly good pair of panties) glides along the ridges and indents of his muscle. Very well-defined ridges and indents of muscle, too. You tense, letting out a shaky gasp as your clit rubs against his hard-planed physique.

“If you like it so much, why stop at just a look?” He chuckles, “You’re more than welcome to feel, too, sweetheart.”

He’s so sickeningly proud of himself, you can’t help but think bitterly as soon as your hips start grinding against him of their own accord. He’s so pleased and amused and deeply content with the sight of you falling apart over him. His eyes are hungry, and they don’t stray away from you for a single second. They don’t miss a single twist in your expression, nor do they have the decency not to stare shamelessly at the image of where your pussy meets his midsection, where your slick pools and coats his skin and makes it glisten as you make a mess on him.

He hums, large hands leaving your waist buried in their frames as they guide you at a slow, steady pace. “Bet that feels good, doesn’t it?” He grins—and oh, he’s aggravatingly happy as he laughs breathlessly, “You look like you’re about to fall apart. Don’t worry, I’m right here. You can’t fall far.”

You would say something smart if you could. Maybe even reach back and palm over his crotch that’s rudely tight against his boxers. But you can’t. Not when your clit rubs against his warm, heated skin and leaves jolts along your spine. All you can manage is a pathetic, “S-Sylus, please—”

“Oh? Please what? Please more?” He coos.

Something of a dull ache builds into this deep, throbbing need to feel your walls hug around something. To constrict around and latch onto something warm and big and full—something like him. Something like the way he fucks you into the mattress and makes you feel like he’s so deep in you, you can feel him in your throat.

That’s what you want—but of course, you’re naive if you think that’s what he’ll give. For now, at least. For now, he’ll tease, and tease, and tease until he can watch you crumble just the way he wants to witness. And you’re close to that, too—you know it, and so does he. He can tell by the way your wetness drips onto him in a messy pool, making your cunt drag against him easier, smoother. He can tell because he can all but feel the quiver of your walls clenching around nothing, empty and desperate for some sort of building friction. And he can especially tell because of your face—that devastating look on your face when you’re so close to the edge you can just practically cling to it with the tips of your fingers as it dangles teasingly in front of you.

“More,” you plead, “Want you. Want to feel you.”

“Oh, but you’re almost there,” he says in faux sympathy, soothing you with a sleepy, smug little grin. “Surely, you can take it just like this, can’t you? You’re better than that—I know you are.”

His words take you to the edge. You plummet off of it, in fact, practically collapsing against his chest as he holds you upright with a firm, strong grip and guides you through your orgasm. You gush around nothing, making a wet, sticky mess on his skin as you cum against him, grinding your clit as much as you can along every indent along his hard, built muscle.

“Sylus,” you whimper, “oh—f-fuck.” Your body quivers for a few more moments before you slump against him, burying your nose into his neck. “You’re despicable,” you bite the skin lightly.

He laughs. It’s low from the sleep that’s still clinging to his voice but boyish enough that your heart skips a beat. “Am I? You seemed to enjoy it.”

You shuffle to curl into him more, but your leg brushes against the bulge in his underwear—a small, barely-there sound pulls from his throat. Something caught between a gasp and a moan that makes you pause before you grin against the crook of his neck.

“Guess I should pay you back, hm?”

He watches, pupils dilated and eyes half-lidded as you pull away and kiss from his collarbone to his pecs. A rise of goosebumps litters his skin, too—just like they did on your skin earlier. You silently revel in that victory, making your way lower, lower, lower. But it’s painfully, obnoxiously, ridiculously slow.

“Don’t be a tease, sweetie,” he hisses, grunting as you kiss down his torso, the well-defined muscle of his abs flexing under every touch of your lips.

“Who, me?” You blink, batting your lashes sweetly, “Oh, I’d never, baby.”

Your lips graze over the skin that’s still marked with your essence as you kiss and suck along his torso, a trail of marks left in your wake and declaring him yours. You can taste yourself from just a few moments ago—the moments when you rocked your hips into him and fell apart, when he held you through it with a sleepy smirk. The image of his smug face makes you glance up at him with a flustered look, and almost as if he already knows, his gaze is on you. Waiting. Smug here in person just as much as he was in your memories.

“What a naughty thing,” he drawls, teasing glint in his eyes. “Did you get a taste of yourself? I’m sure now you have an idea of why I find it so…addictive, don’t you?”

He’s filthy. Cocky, too. And more often than not, he’s absurdly prepared with smart comments. Just to even the playing field a little, you decide he could use a little relentless teasing of his own.

“Oh, I can think of a thing or two just as addictive,” you smile innocently—and just like that, you lean in to kiss against a pale, blue line across his porcelain skin, pulling away to admire the veins that mark his body. Something in you aches for him all over again—something that you don’t like to admit happens from just the sight of something like his veins. But you pay careful attention to them anyway, leaning down and pressing soft, feather-like kisses against his lower belly, feeling him stiffen tightly underneath you as his breath gets labored and slightly erratic.

He’s impatient. You glance down at him, cock hard and strained against his boxers, the beginnings of a wet patch dampening the skin from pre cum dribbling from his tip. You almost feel bad.

Almost.

“Don’t you ever get tired of your games?” He grits, involuntarily twitching his hips to chase some friction.

“I could ask you the same question,” you snort.

“Yet, it seems I’m always the one spoiling you,” he retorts.

There’s some bit of merit to that, you suppose. So you give in, humming as you kiss along his v-line, one finger looping under his waistband while giving a small tug downwards. He lifts his hips instantly, letting you pull off the offensive piece of clothing that separates him from your touch.

It’s flushed, his cock. Swollen, flushed with a pretty rosy shade at the tip, and glistening with leaking pre cum. You lean and give the thick vein along the underside a series of kisses tracing upwards before pressing a delicate one to his tip. He groans, and his cock twitches at the contact, his eyes fluttering closed as he bites his lip.

“Pretty,” you observe, smiling softly at the sight of him.

He scoffs, lips almost a pout as they curl into a frown. “Then do something about it,” he insists.

You think you’ve sufficiently teased him enough, so you do—you take him into your mouth slowly, inch by inch, as your tongue and the wet heat of your mouth envelop him and make him tense for a moment before his body goes slack. A deep, throaty groan rings through the room, the sound making something do a flip in your lower belly.

“Fuck,” he whispers, breathing heavily. “You…you’re so good at this.”

The praise does something to you that you’re not proud of. Some flash of an ache deep in your core that you don’t want to focus on, so you pay closer attention to him instead. Your tongue swirls over his tip as your head bobs up, tracing down that pretty vein of his as you take him down your throat once more. What you can’t fit in your mouth—because there is enough of him that you can’t fit in your mouth—you pump with your fist, wrapped around the base of his shaft.

Sylus has a lot of veins. You admire them long enough to know them all by heart. The ones along his hands that you love to trace when you hold them in yours. The ones along his arm that you love to eye when he’s working out. The ones along his abdomen that you trace every once in a while with the tip of your finger when you have him to yourself in private. And the long, pretty one along this inner thigh—the one you see only when you’re like this: between his spread-out legs with your mouth around his cock.

Your free hand moves to lay over this thigh, gently rubbing into the skin as if to anchor him as he throws his head back and groans. Your eyes are trained on him, staring up at the twists of pleasure in his expression and the crinkles in his eyes as he closes them tightly and moans. But you don’t have to look at your hand to know your thumb is tracing along that vein. You know it better than you know yourself, you think—his body is so easy to memorize. So easy to get to know and keep ingrained in your brain forever.

His thigh flexes under your touch, and you hum around him, the vibrations around his length making his breath hitch as he curses under his breath.

You pull away with nothing but a string of saliva connecting you to him, his eyes glancing down at you sharply for the interruption. But you smile, equal parts soft and equal parts smug. Gently, you press a wet kiss to his thigh, right over the same pale blue line you traced just moments ago, as you murmur, “You’re so pretty. You know that?”

“I’m flattered,” he says tightly, warily staring down at you with hungry, desperate eyes. “I’m sure you can save the flattery for later, though, can’t you?”

“But what if you think I’m just using you for your body?” You gasp dramatically, “Can’t have that, you know. I have to appreciate you more.”

“Teasing can easily be reciprocated, you know, sweetheart,” he grits, “Or have you forgotten that so quickly?”

“Oh, I’m aware. I’ll take my chances.” Your lips trail up his thigh until it reaches the base of his cock. You press another kiss against it, murmuring a quiet, “I love you.”

His cock twitches—it’s like it responds to every soft word of affection and every littlest bit of praise. For all the denying and for all the impatience, too, Sylus loves the attention. Thrives under it, even—it does something to his ego that you know you probably shouldn’t help stroke, but you can’t help it.

You press one more kiss to his swollen tip before murmuring, “Mine,” and then you take him down your throat once more—faster this time. Your head bobs up and down his length, lips wrapped around him as you swallow every now and then.

His hand flies to his hair, tugging at the soft, silvery strands as he groans deeply, hips pushing up to meet your pace and thrust deeper into your mouth.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he hisses, “Just like that, sweetheart—shit.”

He spills down your throat not too long after. Warm, sticky ropes of cum that paint your mouth with every twitch of his cock, filling you enough that some spills from the corner of your mouth, dripping along your face and collecting at your chin. You swallow what you can, working him through his orgasm, listening to the sweet, lust-hazed sounds he makes as pleasure burns through every nerve of his body.

He slumps back when he’s finished, panting with an arm over his eyes while you wipe your chin and swallow before climbing up his body and slumping on top of him. He wraps an arm around your waist instantly, humming lowly as his large, warm hand rubs into your lower back.

“Had your fun?” He raises a brow.

You grin cheekily, kissing his jaw as you murmur, “I think you had more fun than me, but what do I know?”

He chuckles. It’s low, and the sound vibrates through his chest so that you can feel it under you. There’s a small bead of sweat along his temple, and his face is flushed a soft shade of scarlet that you admire—it brings out the deep crimson of his eyes even more from here.

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper.

“How many times will you remind me of that?” He asks, bringing a hand to your chin, tilting your face up, and inspecting you carefully. “You’re making me feel bad. I haven’t reminded you how stunning you are nearly enough times.”

“You could always start now,” you wink, “It’s never too late.” He laughs again. Deep, genuine, soft. Sylus is a lot of things. You think your favorite is in love.

“Do I really have to remind you?” He whispers, voice husky as he slowly shifts your body to lay under his, flipping you over as he hovers over you. “You don’t already know how beautiful you are—how you drive me insane?”

“A reminder wouldn’t hurt,” you blink innocently. “What if you’re secretly getting tired of me?”

His eyes flash with something dangerous at that. You only meant it as a joke, of course—he loves deeply. So deeply, you don’t think you’d escape him even if you wanted to. (Not that you do, of course. You’re quite happy knowing your place is beside him.) You know he’s never tired of you—quite the opposite, in fact.

But you like teasing him. Getting under his skin enough that his hand moves to your throat and wraps around it firmly—not quite tight enough to block your air flow, but enough to serve as a light warning.

“You think I would get tired of you?” He challenges. Offended. In disbelief. “Tired of this?”

Just like that, the familiar sound of fabric tearing rings through your ears again. It’s a sound you seem to be getting more and more used to the longer you date Sylus. And yet, every time, it pulls the same sound of disbelief from your throat as you gasp at his audacity. But before you can speak, before you can scold him for ripping your (his) favorite shirt straight off of your body, his hands curve around your tits, molding against them perfectly as if they were made to cup them. His thumbs roll over your nipples, humming in approval as you whine softly at the feeling.

“Sylus,” you pant. (Regretfully, you think that’s the only collection of syllables you can manage anymore on this fine morning.) “W-wait—”

“Wait?” He pretends to gasp in shock, “But we’re just getting started. I was just about to show you all my favorite parts of you—they never get old. Would you like to see?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he leans down, latching his lips around one pebbled nipple, sucking and nipping lightly at it as his thumb rolls over and pinches the other one. Your back arches into his touch, a soft moan spilling from your lips as he grins against your chest.

“Here’s a favorite, for starters,” he murmurs. “And here—” he kisses along your belly and makes his way to your hip bone, biting lightly at the flesh and making your breath hitch, “—this is certainly a memorable place too, isn’t it? Can’t keep my hands off of it.”

Finally, his hands slowly pull your legs apart, exposing the wet, dripping mess that is your cunt, folds puffy and waiting for him. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your clit, smiling at the small whimper you let out from the sensitive touch before he says through a low, breathy whisper, “This, however…this has to be my favorite part of all.”

“Okay,” you whine, pulling at his arms with a plea, “I get it, okay? I need it, please.”

“Well then,” he huffs out a soft laugh, “Who am I to deny?”

He’s level with you before you can blink—mouth on yours with a heavy, heated kiss that sends your brain into a fogged state as you kiss back. All you can register is soft flesh, pressure against your mouth, the taste of his tongue on yours, and hot and heavy breath seeping into your lungs while he inhales yours. It’s slow, the way he kisses you—but still undeniably needy. He chases after your mouth as soon as you pull away to breathe, a soft gasp pushing past his throat at the loss of contact. As if it might kill him. As if he might die without your breath down his throat, keeping him alive.

“Do you want it, sweetheart?” He breathes erratically, “Because I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

“I want it,” you practically beg, “I want you.”

He’s hard again—stiff between his legs and throbbing at your words enough that his cock does a little jerk on its own, like it’s responding to you itself. He drags it along your entrance, rolling slow circles against your folds and coating his tip in your slick, earning a sharp inhale from you as he groans at the teasing friction against the head of his cock.

“I always want you,” he breathes.

He pushes past your folds as he speaks the words against your mouth, letting you swallow up the low moan he lets out as your walls wrap around him little by little. It’s painstakingly slow. Inch after inch after inch until the blunt head of his length presses deep into you, nudging against a soft, sensitive spot in your walls that makes your whole body react with a quiver. He curves into you perfectly, thick and deep and so, so full.

“Ready?” He smiles tenderly, gripping the fat of your thighs and hooking them around his waist, leaning to kiss one of your knees as you melt into the mattress and nod.

“Please,” you whine, “Need it—need you.”

There’s a sharp thrust of his hips at that—he pulls out until he’s almost completely left your warm cunt before slamming back in past your folds, pressing mercilessly against your sensitive spot. It’s partly because he has your body memorized but mainly because his body is practically made to mold into you. It’s like he fits you perfectly, curves into the shape of your body like the shape of his was hand-made to pair with yours.

When Sylus fucks you is when you see past his exterior the most. When his eyes hold the most emotion, staring at you like he can’t believe you’re his. When his hands shake for once because he doesn’t know if he deserves the weight of you in his hold. When his breath is the most labored and uncontrolled because you steal every breath from his lungs, and selflessly, he gives up air for you. When sweat coats his skin and makes his hair cling to his forehead because when he loves you is when his body is most responsive, most affected.

When Sylus fucks you is when you love yourself most. Because how could you not when he pays such close attention to you? Thumb finding your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles just the way he knows drives you crazy, watching your face closely for every reaction? How could you not when close is not nearly close enough, when he presses his chest against yours and buries his face into your neck to all but melt under your skin? It makes you feel desirable. Beautiful. Lovable.

So easy to want.

So easy to lose control to.

So easy to need.

“You feel that, don’t you?” He mumbles, panting harshly as he grunts when you squeeze around him at the sound of his labored voice. “Feel me? How badly I need you? How crazy you drive me? Feel how hard I am for you? Don’t tell me you think I’d ever get tired of that.”

“I know,” you whine, “I know, I know, baby—I promise.”

You let out a small squeal when he angles your leg higher, thrusting deeper into your cunt, pressing harshly where you need him most with his tip in a dizzyingly punishing pace and a harshly rough deepness that makes your vision blur. Almost go blank, even.

“Tell me you love me,” he demands.

“I love you!”

“Tell me you need me,” he adds, so selfish and needy for your approval. To know you’re nothing without him like he’s nothing without you.

“N-need…fuck, I need you,” you stumble over your words as your orgasm comes closer and closer, creeping up on you enough that you can’t catch your breath fast enough to keep up with him.

“Tell me you’re mine.” This time, it comes out as almost a plea.

“Yours,” you sob, body on the precipice of breaking all over again, “Yours, yours, yours.”

You cum as soon as you say it. Harder than maybe ever—it’s like being reminded that you’re his makes your body react tenfold. You fall apart with a shrill cry of his name, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a bruising kiss as your nails press indents into his skin.

He groans in pleasure at the slight pain, melting against your lips, an open-mouthed, wet kiss working him up to his own orgasm. His first one was a slow build-up—but this one happens quickly, coming out of nowhere and hitting him full force, his hips stuttering for a moment and losing rhythm as he sloppily thrusts into you.

Yours. Yours. Yours.

Your voice rings in his ears, aiding him through his pleasure as he fucks his thick, sticky release deep into your folds, sharp thrusts that match the harsh twitching of his cock.

“Ngh,” he grunts, “Sh-shit, sweetheart.”

Finally, when you’re both done, breaths frenzied and harsh as you try to make up for the lost air in your lungs, he slumps over your body and hides his face into the crook of your neck, practically purring as your shaky hand buries into his sweaty locks and strokes the soft, silvery strands.

It’s quiet, just the sound of your breathing eventually shifting from heavy to slowed as you finally catch it, the quivering of your body dissipating, too. Your fingers journey their way from his scalp to the back of his neck, lightly making a feather-soft trail along his bare back as he shivers from the touch.

“Don’t fall asleep after I showed you a good time,” you pout, “It’s rude.”

“You were the one that woke me for a good time,” he mumbles, amused. “That’s equally as rude.”

“I did not,” you huff, “You were the one who escalated it. I just wanted a peaceful morning.”

“I don’t know,” he grins against your skin, pressing a chaste, warm peck where it's closest to his lips, “I’m feeling pretty at peace, wouldn’t you agree?”

so uh..........basically i got the card where u measured him for clothes and i saw a vein in his abs and lost my mind. so. here is the product of that. i REFUSE to be told this is not a completely totally normal reaction. thank you!

#meowdei.writing #meowdei.longfics #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #sylus smut #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace x reader #lds x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #lnds x reader #love and deepspace smut #lds smut #lads smut #l&ds smut #lnds smut #l&ds sylus

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xo100 · 4 months ago

Note

Hi! Could I ask Lando with pregnant reader. Like maybe her getting dizzy bc of all the paparazzis and fans surrounding. Maybe angsty. Dunno if you'll like the idea, but I honestly love ur work soo much

Our little miracle - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary/request: request by anon as you can read above this!

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1244

*:･ﾟ A/N: first of all I want to say sorry for not being so active lately! I’ve been busy with school and work, I didn’t had any time to write! Second I want to say thank you so much anon! I hope you like this story too! If not let me known!

masterlist / community / request

౨ৎ

The late morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, warming the bedroom and casting soft golden streaks on the walls. The gentle hum of the city outside was barely audible over the rhythmic sound of Lando’s breathing beside you. His arm was slung lazily over your waist, his warmth seeping into your skin like a comforting blanket.

You blinked sleepily, turning your head to look at him. His face was still soft with sleep, his hair a wild mess of curls that begged to be smoothed down. He looked so peaceful like this, so completely at ease, and it made your heart ache in the best way.

“Caught you staring,” he mumbled, his voice raspy as his lips curled into a sleepy grin.

“I wasn’t staring,” you lied, your cheeks heating up.

“Sure,” he teased, his eyes still closed. “You’ve been staring at me every morning for the past five years. It’s okay, I’m used to it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “Good morning, Lando.”

“Morning,” he said, finally opening his eyes. They were warm and bright, like pools of melted chocolate, and they crinkled at the corners as he smiled at you. “Guess what day it is?”

You blinked, still half-asleep. “Uh… Saturday?”

“Baby shopping day,” he announced, his grin widening.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “You’re more excited about this than I am.”

“Of course I am!” he said, propping himself up on one elbow. “We’re picking out stuff for our baby. This is a big deal.”

It was a big deal. After months of trying—months of hope and heartbreak—you were finally here. Fourteen weeks pregnant, your little miracle growing inside you. It still didn’t feel real sometimes, like you were dreaming and could wake up at any moment.

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” you said softly, your hand resting on your small but growing bump.

“It’s happening,” Lando said, covering your hand with his. His eyes softened as he looked at you, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “And I can’t wait to spoil both of you today.”

---

The car ride into the city was filled with laughter and teasing. Lando, as usual, couldn’t resist cracking jokes, trying to lighten the nerves you hadn’t even realized you were feeling.

“Okay, but hear me out,” he said, glancing at you with a mischievous grin. “What if we name the baby after a car? Like… Ferrari Norris. Or McLaren Norris. That’s got a nice ring to it, right?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Absolutely not. Our child is not going to be named after a car brand.”

“Fine,” he said, pretending to pout. “But if they grow up to be a racer, I’m taking full credit for the inspiration.”

The boutique Lando had chosen was tucked away in a quieter part of the city, its window displays filled with pastel-colored baby clothes and wooden toys. The moment you stepped inside, you were greeted by the soft scent of lavender and the faint sound of a lullaby playing over the speakers.

Lando’s eyes lit up as he took in the rows of tiny clothes and baby accessories. “This is it,” he said, grabbing your hand. “This is where we find all the cool stuff.”

You spent the next hour wandering the store, debating over cribs and strollers, laughing as Lando tried to convince you that the baby absolutely needed a mini Formula 1 onesie.

“Come on,” he said, holding it up with a grin. “How cute would they look in this?”

“They’d look adorable,” you admitted, “but they’ll probably outgrow it in a month.”

“Worth it,” he said, tossing it into the shopping basket.

You couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. Seeing him like this—so excited, so ready to dive headfirst into parenthood—made your heart swell with love.

---

By the time you left the store, the sun had climbed higher in the sky, and the streets were bustling with activity. Lando carried the shopping bags in one hand, his other arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders.

You didn’t notice the paparazzi at first.

It started with a few flashes, the sudden brightness making you blink. Then came the voices—shouting questions and calling Lando’s name.

“Lando! Over here!” “How’s the season going?” “Is it true you’re expecting?”

The crowd seemed to grow out of nowhere, fans and photographers swarming around you. The noise was overwhelming, a cacophony of voices and camera clicks that made your head spin.

“Lando,” you said softly, gripping his arm.

He turned to you immediately, his eyes scanning your face. “Hey, are you okay?”

You tried to nod, but the dizziness was already setting in. The flashes, the shouting, the crush of bodies—it was too much.

“I don’t feel…” Your voice trailed off as your vision blurred.

Lando didn’t hesitate. Dropping the shopping bags, he wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you steady. “Alright, that’s enough!” he snapped, his voice sharp and commanding. “Back off! She’s pregnant. Give her some space!”

The crowd faltered, the realization rippling through them. But Lando didn’t wait for them to comply. He guided you away from the chaos, his body shielding yours as he led you down a quieter side street.

“Breathe, love,” he said softly, stopping to face you. His hands cupped your cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall. “In and out. I’ve got you.”

You nodded, focusing on his voice, his touch. The dizziness slowly faded, replaced by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your palm.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, guilt creeping in. “I ruined our day.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Lando said, his tone gentle but firm. “You and the baby come first. Always.”

You managed a weak smile. “Even over baby sneakers?”

“Even over baby sneakers,” he said, grinning. “But just barely.”

---

Back at home, the chaos of the day felt like a distant memory. Lando had insisted on ordering takeout, claiming that you deserved to be spoiled after the ordeal.

As you sat on the couch, surrounded by the shopping bags you’d managed to bring home, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace. Lando was in the kitchen, humming softly as he poured you a glass of water.

“Here you go,” he said, handing it to you before sitting down beside you. His hand immediately found its way to your stomach, resting there gently.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

“I’m okay,” you said, covering his hand with yours. “Thanks to you.”

He smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. “I can’t wait to meet them,” he said quietly, his voice filled with wonder.

“Me too,” you whispered, leaning into him.

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the only sounds the faint hum of the city outside and the occasional rustle of the shopping bags.

“You know,” Lando said after a moment, “I meant what I said earlier. You and the baby come first. Always.”

You turned to look at him, your heart swelling with love. “I know,” you said. “And I love you for it.”

“I love you too,” he said, his eyes shining with emotion. “More than anything.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the room in a warm, golden glow, you realized that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you and Lando would face them together.

And that was all that mattered.

౨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know!

*:･ﾟtags; @gridprincess-04 , @justaf1girl

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bloomseishiro · 11 days ago

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THE NOT SO SILENT TREATMENT — ITOSHI RIN

౨ৎ — you always text him updates about your day. but today, rin notices his notifications from you are lacking… he’s definitely not worried. not at all.

itoshi rin x reader. fluff, established relationship, pro soccer player!rin, rin is overthinking ;p that silly goose, reader referred to as beautiful + princess, does this count as clingy rin???, did i mention fluff :>

word count. 1.4k

Itoshi Rin hates when you give him the silent treatment.

He’s never noticed, nor cared, when others act quiet around him or ignore him, but the moment you don’t send him any text updates about your day at work, he grows worried.

It’s become routine for Rin to check his phone during breaks, smiling to himself as he read about whatever shenanigans you’ve been up to while working or running errands. But today, he checks his phone only to see zero notifications. At least, from you. He doesn’t care enough to acknowledge the others.

He places his phone back down, feeling slightly unsettled.

It might’ve been different if he hasn’t been away from Japan for over a week now, but the limited communication was really getting to him. Rin doesn’t think of himself as a physical touch guy, but the longer he’s away from you, the more he realizes he’s wrong.

“What’s with the long face?” Nanase asks as he peeks his head into the locker room.

“Nothing,” is Rin’s simple response.

Nanase raises his eyebrow questioningly but shrugs anyway, grabbing a clean face towel from his duffle bag and heading back to the field.

Once Rin is alone again, he sighs.

Could it be you are finally fed up with his infrequent responses? He reads all your messages, and he replies verbally once he gets the chance to call you, but he doesn’t text back much.

Worse, could it be that you are fed up with this bothersome, semi-long distance relationship? At home, the two of you have an apartment together. You furnished the place together (meaning you picked out all the furniture, then had Rin build it all himself), bought matching cookware, and even forced Rin to go to one art class so the two of you could make a painting and hang it on the wall. Everything is easy when he’s in Japan.

But during his frequent travels, you two are separated by both distance and timezones. A part of Rin wishes you could join him more often during away games, but a larger part of him is proud that you have your own passions and ambitions in your career, even if that means you can’t take as much time away as he would like.

Would it be only natural for you to grow restless of this type of relationship? Is that why you aren’t messaging?

Rin groans, slapping his hand to his forehead and trying to snap out of his useless spiraling.

He has a practice match to win. This can be worried about later.

The rest of the game passes by in a blur. His anxiety and frustration manifests into an even more aggressive playstyle than normal. The other team can’t keep up with the sudden change in pace, and Rin’s team wins. Not that he is surprised. Of course he would win.

By the time he next checks his phone, he still sees no new messages from you.

He frowns.

It’s about 4 p.m. where he is, meaning it’s around midnight for you. Surely, before bed you would have at least sent a goodnight text.

With a gnawing pit in his stomach, Rin doesn’t bother to wait until he gets to his hotel room to call you. The moment he enters his rental car, he dials your number for a video call.

You pick up on the third ring.

Rin’s shoulders suddenly feel less tense.

“Oh, my gosh,” you say, voice muffled with all the movement happening. Rin peers at his screen. The video of you is dark, but he can make out the fact that you are getting out of your car. “Today was absolutely crazy! I only got home just now. It’s so late! I’m so hungry but I need to get ready for bed and wake up early tomorrow. Ugh!” You sigh as you unlock the door to your apartment. “How are you, babe? Did practice go well? I missed you.”

After going all day without hearing from you, those three simple words brought a sense of contentment to him. Still, he remains cautious.

“You haven’t messaged me all day,” he states, voice neutral. “Is everything okay?”

The lights flicker on and he finally gets a clear view of your face. Your eyes look tired, but your smile is soft and cheerful.

“I’m a bit exhausted from today,” you admit sheepishly. “I slept through my alarm in the morning and I was so late to work, I couldn’t even text you good morning! Then, I ran over a nail! A fucking nail. Like, are you kidding me? Then, I had to go to a car shop since my tire popped, but they said they don’t have my tires in stock! So, they told me to go to another dealership down the street. By then I was so late for work I had to drop off my car, run to the nearest station, then go to work because I have a stupid project that the boss told me is due tomorrow morning for absolutely no reason whatsoever! So I had to stay late to finish up. Then, when I was finally able to leave, I have to take the train to the car dealership and pay way too much money to have them replace my tires. I was finally on my way home when my mom called and asked me to pick something up for her and she kept me for hours! Basically, I’m so tired and sleepy and what the fuck in the air was today?”

You gasp for breath once you finish talking, plopping down onto the couch dramatically.

“I want to sleep but I’m too tired to get ready,” you whine, lower lip jutting out in a pout. “I wish you were here to help.”

“I wish I were there, too,” says Rin, staring hopelessly through the screen. Even tired after a long day, he thinks you look beautiful. “Sounds like your day was busy.”

You nod in despair. “Yeah, I barely even got to go on my phone. I had, like, zero downtime today. It felt so weird not being able to text you,” you say sadly, a frown on your face. “I miss you, Rin.”

He exhales through his nose, closing his eyes and laughing at himself for his stupidity from earlier. Of course, you didn’t text him because you were busy. It’s not because you got cold-feet, or because you were re-thinking this relationship. You were simply busy. Maybe if he weren’t an idiot, he would’ve come to that conclusion sooner.

“Rin?” you ask hesitantly, worried after not hearing a reply.

He blinks, turning his attention back to you. “I miss you, princess. I fly back tomorrow. Finally.”

Your eyes, once tired, are now filled with excitement as you beam. “I know! I marked it on my calendar. I asked to leave work early so I can greet you right when you return!”

The sound of your happiness feels like a familiar embrace and Rin can’t help but smile, though faint. “I’ll look for you when I land then.”

“Can I make a giant sign with your name on it?”

He snorts in amusement. “And when will you have time to do that before tomorrow? How about you get some sleep instead?”

You pout, but a yawn overcomes you as the exhaustion hits.

Rin lifts his brow as if to say, “See?”

“Coffee exists,” you mumble. “I have poster paper and some markers—”

“Y/N,” he says, deadpan. “It’s late there. Get some rest. Please.”

You sigh, but nod in agreement. “Okay, baby. I’ll rest now, but I’ll see you tomorrow. I miss you a lot.”

He feels his cheeks heat up. “I miss you, too. A lot.”

“Can we cuddle all day when you get back?”

“Isn’t that always the plan?” he says dryly, but the corner of his lip quirks up into a smile. “Yes.”

“Yay!” you cheer, waving goodbye through the phone screen. “Love you! Good night!”

His phone grows dim once you hang up, but he feels like a weight has been taken off his chest knowing you weren’t ignoring him.

Now, Rin can’t wait for the flight so he can come home soon.

#bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #bllk x you #blue lock x you #rin x you #rin itoshi x you #rin itoshi fluff #itoshi rin x you #bllk fluff #rin fluff #itoshi rin fluff #blue lock oneshots #blue lock #bllk #bllk fanfic #blue lock fluff

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gojorgeous · 1 year ago

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arranged marriage! gojo heacanons

pairing: gojo x fem!reader synopsis: just some headcanons about arranged marriage gojo! headcanons do follow a linear plot content: MDNI (18+ONLY), nsfw & sfw content, arranged marriage, p->v, oral (fem!receiving), pregnancy, breeding, not proofread because i'm lazy!!! a/n: i had a request to do a sort of expansion/sequel/prequel (?) on my business or pleasure fic, so... this is that. enjoy! and remember AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!! divider credit to: @cafekitsune wc: 2k (that's so much headcanon lmao)

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who reluctantly agrees to an arranged marriage when the clan decides it’s time to secure the lineage and make a new heir.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose jaw nearly drops when he sees you for the first time as you’re walking down the aisle. No way you’re that hot…

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s practically rocking on his feet waiting for the minister to give him permission to kiss you.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who drags said kiss on a little (a lot) longer than he needed to and spends the rest of the night wishing he’d dragged it on even longer.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s actually really pissed that there are so many damned guests at his wedding. All of them want to talk to him when all he really wants to do is talk to you!!!

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who only gets about three words into you the whole night and feels like pouting every time someone pulls him away from your arm.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who finally relaxes a bit when the party’s over and he finally gets you alone.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who has a hard time keeping his hands to himself on the drive home.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who can’t help but stare at your lips as you answer his silly little questions about your favorite color and your favorite food.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who has to restrain himself from literally pulling you out of the car and up to his penthouse.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who suddenly finds himself a little nervous when he finally has you to himself. It’s his wedding night and he has to please his wife, right?

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who revels in tearing away your dress until he sees the lacy little white set you have on underneath.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who pins your wrists to the bed just so he can admire the way you look beneath him.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who nearly comes with no warning the first time he hears you moan his name. He decides it’s his sole purpose in life to make you moan like that as much as possible.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who is somehow both gentle and rough, who peppers you with kisses but rocks into you so good he has you seeing stars.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who thinks he ascends when you come around his cock and then ascends again when he remembers he married you and gets to see it for the rest of his life.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who makes sure to cum inside you and give you every last drop. After all, you have to make a new little Gojo heir, right?

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who holds you tightly to his chest until you drift off to sleep with your head atop his heart.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who takes the next two hours to be able to fall asleep himself, too hyped up on all the endorphins he’s feeling.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose brow furrows and stomach drops when he wakes the next morning to you not in his arms.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who scours the house for you and finds you in the living room reading, already having been up for hours.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose heart fractures a little bit when you greet him soooooo formally and tell him that there’s some breakfast in the fridge.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who spends far too long in the shower, letting the water run over him and trying to figure out where he went wrong.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who comes to the conclusion that he just needs to win you over a little more slowly, who smiles and thinks he knows exactly how to do it.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who finds you still reading on the couch and tells you to get ready to go out– you’re going shopping.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who takes you to every designer shop he can think of and buys everything your eyes so much as graze over. Even if you tell him you don’t want it– he doesn’t care. You’re getting it.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose heart flutters in his chest when you smile at a pretty little necklace he buys you. It’s not the most expensive thing he’s bought you by far, but it makes you the happiest nonetheless.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s confused as to why you keep thanking him so profusely on the way home. His money is your money now… do you not know that?

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who makes a stop at the bank on the way home and gets you a flashy black credit card with your name (and new last name hehe) printed at the bottom. He loves the way your eyes widen and your lips part when he tells you there’s no limit.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who asks you what you want to do that night. Fly to Paris for dinner? Pack for a vacation to Bali? Maybe just a fancy meal at Tokyo’s most exclusive restaurant? He’s shocked when you say you’d prefer takeout and a movie on the couch, but all too happy to oblige.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who orders half the menu at your favorite ramen restaurant that he’s never heard of.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose eyes go wide when he takes the first bite and tells you it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who stares at your lips when you laugh and ask him, “really? The best?”

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s suddenly tugging your skirt down your thighs and burying his face between your legs. He takes one long lick and moans, saying that the ramen is now only second-best.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who thinks he could fuck you for hours on his couch, but stops after just a few rounds. He doesn’t want to tire his little baby out.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who savors the way you let him hold you after sex. Why couldn’t he hold you like this all day? So what if you’d just met– you’re his wife???

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who buries his face in your neck to memorize the moment, dreading the second you pull away from him.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who almost protests when you wrap a blanket around your body and pad off, saying you’re going to take a shower.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who debates cornering you in the bathroom for another round, if only so he can hold you again, but thinks better of it and cleans up your forgotten ramen instead.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who is completely exasperated when you never return to finish the movie. He finds you sitting in your shared bed, reading again.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose heart drops when you only look up long enough to give him a small smile instead of tumbling straight into his arms.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who finds himself once again in the shower contemplating his existence.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who decides he’ll win you over one way or another, even if it takes longer than he originally intended…

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who climbs into bed next to you and slings an arm around your waist casually, like his heart isn’t hammering in his chest when he buries his face in his pillow.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who doesn’t truly fall asleep until you turn off your bedside lamp and lie down beside him. His heart does little skips when you don’t wiggle out from under his arm.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who wakes first in the morning this time to find you curled so tightly into his chest he’s sure his pounding heart is going to wake you.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose eyes turn into little hearts when you wake blushing after you realize how closely you’ve curled into him.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who tells you it’s okay and pulls you back into him and smirks when you can't see his face.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who spends the next few weeks buying you every knick and knack, every snack and meal, and bending you every surface in the house.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose eyes light up whenever he sees you wearing that little necklace he bought you on that very first shopping trip.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who buys you another necklace… this one with his initials dangling from the chain.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who makes you ride him so he can see his letters swaying from your neck as you come on his cock.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who spends every waking moment with you on his mind, who gets in a sticky situation while fighting more than once because he’s waiting for you to text him back or remembering all the nasty things he did to you last night.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who finally takes a look at the pages of those books you like so much and realizes the pure filth his dirty little wife reads right beside him every night.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s not angry or put off, but rather excited. He uses it as a manual the next he has you under him and when he repeats a line verbatim from your book he laughs so loud at your shocked little blush that he’s sure you’re both getting a noise complaint in the morning.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who makes every effort to find out what you like (beyond reading smut) and buys you front row tickets to a concert for a band that you both happen to love.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who finds out your favorite movie series and takes three (unapproved) days off of work just to have a marathon with you.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who is having his morning coffee (full of cream and sugar and caramel sauce, of course) when you make your way into the kitchen with your lip pulled between your teeth.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose eyes blow wide when he sees a stick with two little pink lines and realizes he’s managed to knock you up on the first try.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who simply has to have you right then and there, bending you over the counter and groaning your name when he slides inside your cunt. He’s gentler this time, though. Can’t be too rough when his wife is pregnant, right?

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who goes overboard with his excitement and buys a new car the same day he finds out you’re pregnant. It’s practically a tank with all its safety features. He says you’re only allowed in that specific vehicle for the foreseeable future. Get used to it.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s all over you now. Whatever restraint he had before is gone now that you’re carrying his baby. He touches you… everywhere. All the time. It’s like it pains him to not have at least a smidgen of his skin on yours.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who keeps trying to win you over in the following weeks. He needs you. Not just your body, but your mind and your soul, too!

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who just lets it slip that he loves you when he’s balls deep in your cunt. Doesn’t even get embarrassed or flustered about it, just keeps pounding into you and whining about how much he loves you over and over again while he’s filling you up.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who lets the floodgates open after that. He tells you he loves you at every opportunity. It gets to the point where those three little words don’t even fluster you anymore, but you haven’t said them back. Not yet.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who waits patiently. He knows he’s getting to you, little by little. He’s sure he’ll hear you say it back soon.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s blindsided despite having convinced himself he’d be able to play it cool. He’s got you on the couch, wrapped up in his arms with his head on your tummy (he gets to hold you as much as he wants now hehe). You’re braiding his hair when you tell him that you love him.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who flushes the deepest shade of pink you’ve ever seen and pulls down his blindfold like he needs to see you say it again.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who begs to hear it again and again and again until he’s smiling so wide it's literally blinding.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who thinks his arranged marriage was definitely the best thing to ever happen to him <3

taglist (DM me to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina

please consider leaving a comment, sending an ask, or reblogging! interacting with authors is the best way to support them! thanks for reading ♡

#bree’s fics #jjk #jjk smut #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #gojo #gojo smut #gojo headcanons #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jujustu kaisen

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animamii · 3 months ago

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letter from lockedup!Toji that goes along with this drabble ‎♡‧₊˚

...Beautiful, I just want you to know; you're my favorite girl...

— Beautiful~~Snoop dogg + Pharrel

‎

Hey, princess.

Got your letter today. Been reading it over and over, like I always do. I swear, these pages are the only thing keeping me sane in here. When everything else in this place feels like it’s closing in, I got your words, your handwriting, the way I can almost hear your voice saying all this to me. It keeps me steady. Keeps me from losing my head.

And that picture you sent? Fuck. You tryin’ to kill me in here? I swear, if these walls weren’t in the way, I’d be home already. You look good, baby. Too good. Almost makes me mad that other people get to see you like this when I can’t. But I know you’re mine. Always have been. Always will be.

You don’t even gotta try, and you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Sitting there, all sweet, all perfect. Makes me crazy knowing I can’t reach out and touch you, pull you into me, feel your skin, hear you laugh in my ear. It ain’t fair. But I guess nothing ever has been for me. Except you. You’re the one thing in this world that ever felt like it was mine. I don’t say this enough, probably don’t say half the shit you deserve to hear, but I need you to know that. You ain’t just my girl. You’re my peace, my home, the only thing I’ve ever been afraid to lose. And that’s saying something.

I laughed when I read about Megumi and his damn ramen obsession. Stubborn little punk. I wonder where he gets it from. (Yeah, yeah, don’t say shit—I know.) Tell him I said to listen to his stepma, eat a real meal, and quit acting like he doesn’t miss me. I know how he is. Pretends he don’t care, but I bet if I walked through that door tomorrow, he’d be the first one running to me. He won’t say it, but you can see it in his eyes. Just like his old man. Make sure he’s eating real food, alright? He might act like he don’t care, but I know he listens to you. Probably more than he ever listened to me.

And you. You better be taking care of yourself too. Are you sleeping? Eating? Taking care of yourself? I know how you get—running around, worrying about everyone else, not stopping to breathe. You always got so much to worry about, but you forget you’re supposed to take care of you too. I don’t wanna hear that you’re running on empty, staying up too late, stressing yourself out. You always act tough, but I know you, baby. I know when you’re holding too much inside. I know when you need me. And I swear to you, I’m coming back.

You tell me you’ll wait. That you don’t care how long it takes. But, baby, I care. Every second in here is a goddamn eternity. Every night I go to sleep thinking about you, and every morning I wake up counting down the days until I can get back to you. And I will. No matter what I gotta do, no matter how long it takes, I will get home to you.And when I do? You better be ready. Because I’m never letting you out of my sight again. You hear me? You’re stuck with me, forever.

Wait for me just a little longer. I love you. More than I’ll ever be able to put into words.

Toji

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venomvalley · 4 months ago

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FEED ME!

PART III: MILK AND COOKIES ↬ sevika x pregnant!reader | 4.7k words

SUMMARY: The third trimester.

TAGS: 18+ (oral and fingering, both receiving). fluff. happy ending.

NOTES: this is the last chapter and im so sad about it. already working on an epilogue i love these two so bad

-> READ ON AO3 | 1 / 2 / SERIES MASTERLIST

Sevika is officially at a loss. She's never experienced this kind of… affection before, and maybe it’s a pregnancy thing, but you just won’t leave her alone. Constantly touching her, talking to her, following her around both the apartment and the streets like you can't bear to be apart.

It's weird. Terrifying, as much as she hates to admit it. Because she actually likes it. Has gotten a taste of what she's been missing, and she can't get enough.

Her favorite moments are when you join her in bed, all sleepy and grumbling. Smelling like her soap, wearing her clothes, laying in her sheets. Hers. Hers.

She's never been able to say that.

You curl up against her side as best as your belly allows, cheek atop her shoulder, arm slung across her chest to play with her hair. She purrs like a cat, turns her head to give you better access to the strands that have grown a bit too long for her liking.

“Found a midwife while I was out yesterday,” she says. “She's probably delivered half the babies in the Undercity.”

You exhale a soft breath. “That's a relief.”

“We’re going tomorrow.”

The hand in her hair moves to shift her head toward you, touch light against the curve of her jaw.

Your eyes mist over with tears, and your chin dimples as you peer up at her. “Thank you, Sevika. I mean it. I'm grateful.”

She nods, leans forward to rest her lips against your forehead. “I know.”

You sleep in late the next morning, a new routine you’ve picked up over that last couple of weeks. Late enough that she has to wake you up for your unofficial appointment, and you sulk in bed for the better part of twenty minutes before finally getting up to start the day.

After a long walk, you reach the building belonging to the midwife. The woman that waves you inside oozes experience with her curly grey hair and deep-set wrinkles. A pillar of the community according to the women she spoke with (Sevika had to make sure that she would take good care of you, after all). Brought into the world half the kids walking around the Undercity. Stern but loving.

“It’s nice to meet you, dear. I’m Lyra.”

You smile in return and give her your own name, accepting the arm that the woman offers to help you onto the stoop.

Lyra orders Sevika to wait outside, says the exam shouldn’t take long. It makes her skin itch, the thought of leaving you alone with this stranger, but you give her one final, reassuring smile, and she knows she’s outnumbered.

Fine. She can wait. But she doesn’t have to be happy about it.

She spends her time smoking cigarettes and people-watching. The streets are busy this time of day, families passing through, couples holding hands. A father carries his daughter on his shoulders, her tiny hands curled beneath his chin, and she thinks of her old man. If he’d see the person she became and look upon her with pride. Maybe he’d tell her that he didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about, that his grief over losing her mother and brother corrupted him. That he fucked up big time with raising her the way he did.

As a teenager she was rebellious, desperate to free herself from under his thumb. Got into the wrong crowd more times than she can count. An unfortunate side effect of anger and impulse—a dangerous recipe she’s relieved she grew out of.

For the longest time, she was left with that anger. It never failed her, never broke her heart, never left her behind. It was safe.

Your presence hasn’t fixed everything in her life, but it’s softened her edges. Cured the loneliness that added fuel to the fire. And every day that passes means one less day she might have with you. She knows the kid is due soon, a month at most.

She can’t lose you like she lost her mother. But she’s in too deep to back out. Couldn’t if she tried.

Still, the thought terrifies her.

And although she’s never considered herself a good candidate for parenthood, for building a family in general, she’s accepted that she now has a kid to raise. A less scary prospect when it’s you she’s raising it—her—with. You’ll be a great mom, already are despite the circumstances.

When the front door creaks open, she shoves away from the wall and stamps out her cigarette, waving the smoke away (even though she stands at the corner of the building).

You step out with a wide smile and a new canvas bag looped around your arm, waving goodbye to Lyra. When the door closes, you spot her immediately, reaching for her hand as she walks over.

“How was it?” she asks, leading you out into the street.

“Good. Baby’s healthy, and she thinks I have a few weeks before I give birth.” Your unoccupied hand reaches around to rub at your back. “Praise Janna, ‘cause this kid’s getting heavy.”

“I’ll rub your back when we get home.” A second-nature offer, instinct at this point.

“Oh!” You squeeze at her hand, take a step in front of her to say, “Can we get some more sweetbread while we’re out? I’ve been craving some all day.”

Your eyes shimmer at the mention, and she fully expects you to start drooling at any moment.

“Yeah, we can.”

An expression of relief paints your face, and she can’t help the smile that stretches her lips. “I absolutely love you right now.”

Her heart explodes inside her chest. She wonders how deeply you meant it, then decides that she’d rather not find out. Better to exist within the realm of her own fantasy for a little while longer.

The kid’s due any day now, and you’re ready to lose your mind. She’s given more massages in the last few weeks than she ever has in her life. Every day introduces another thing for you to cry over. Sleeping is difficult, as is every other task.

But today, she touches your stomach for the first time. Lays a hand against the taut skin and registers the flutter of… something beneath her palm.

“Feel that? She’s kicking the shit out of me.”

She looks up at you with a raised brow. “Takes after her mom.” Says it just to watch you giggle and roll your eyes.

“I’m not that bad.”

“You have a lot more room than she does.”

This is her life now. A realization that catches her off-guard, stops her in her tracks, and your hand reaches over to comb through her hair as her entire world falls apart. Like her center of gravity has shifted—like there’s no gravity at all anymore.

“Hey. You okay?”

She looks up at you, brows furrowed in thought. “Yeah.”

Everything has changed, and soon, things will change even more. She’s already bribed a handful of lackeys to do her jobs the next few weeks, and she’s lost sight of the main goal. Can’t really pinpoint when the switch happened.

Except she can: the moment you grabbed her hand that night in the alley—the moment you dug yourself a home in her heart.

But she has a plan. Set you up in a quaint house in the better part of the city, get in touch with some old friends that could hire you on for some money, and continue her duties as Silco’s right hand. It’s selfish of her, wanting the best of both worlds, but maybe there doesn’t have to be an either/or. Maybe she can have both.

Maybe her old man was wrong.

(Shit, she's turning into Vander—the Vander who prioritized his kids before the good of the Undercity.

If she starts considering deals with Enforcers, she might as well hang it up.)

A soft kiss to her forehead as she lays her cheek on your shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”

Nothing you need to concern yourself with.

She exhales a breath through her nose. “I’m not used to this. Being happy, I guess.”

“Me neither. It’s weird, isn’t it? The good kind.”

“We should move. Get a bigger place.”

“What, you don't like it here?”

The mocking grin you shoot her makes her lip curl. “No. I never have.”

You roll your eyes. “I was joking. I think it's a fantastic idea.”

“Later, then. After the kid comes.”

You press an open-mouthed kiss to her shoulder, snuggling closer into her side. “Fine by me.”

When she gets home the next day after a chaotic morning of running around the docks, she finds you in bed with a large book and a pen.

“So. I got this today.” You hold it up to show her the covering, the letters embroidered in the black fabric.

“You sure you’re supposed to be holding something that heavy?” she asks, brows lowered as she walks up to the bed with an outstretched hand.

Lips twisting into a frown, you pull the book to your chest. “Not the point. Look at the title.”

100 BABY NAMES AND THE MEANINGS BEHIND THEM.

She exhales a laugh. “Where the hell did you find that?”

“Tayla brought it by. Gave us some free cookies, too.”

“Really? I didn’t see any.”

You glance away from her, lowering the book to your lap. “I might’ve indulged a little bit, but to be fair, I didn’t know how long you’d be gone.”

Something warm swirls in her chest. Affection—an emotion she welcomes with a small smile. “I told you I’d be back today.”

She takes a seat next to you on the bed, peering over your shoulder to the page below. You’re on the letter S now, some names underlined in pen.

You blow out a breath, tilting your head back to rest on her shoulder. “I need your help picking a name.”

“I'm not the creative type.”

“You don't have to be. The list is right here.”

In truth, she doesn't want to choose. It's not her kid, not her future to determine.

“You're her mom,” she says, quiet, words stained with a sadness she didn't realize she even had.

You fall quiet for a moment, picking at a corner of the page with your thumb.

“If you want, and only if you want, you can be in her life, too—”

She says your name with a resigned sigh.

You turn to look at her, a hand braced against her thigh. A searing brand even through the fabric of her pants. “I know we haven't talked about it, but… I don't expect you to take care of me forever, especially since I'm gonna have a baby. I just—”

“Stop.”

She hasn't talked about it because it isn't a conversation she wants to have. Confronting the inevitable means moving forward, and she doesn't want to. She wants to live in her little bubble where the Big Bad is defeated and she might actually get a happy fucking ending.

“I'm serious. You've done enough for me. She's my responsibility, not yours, but—”

“You both are. End of story.”

“I wanna be more than your responsibility, Sevika.”

At the hurt look on your face, the prickling of tears in your eyes, she panics. Backtracks as quick as she can. “No, you are. I didn't mean it like that.”

“Then I want you in her life. Taking care of her, teaching her, loving her the way you do me.” You rest a hand on her cheek, smile sad and watery. “The way I do you.”

She doesn't know what to say. If she can even form words right now from the way her tongue hardens to stone inside her mouth. But her heart tenders, dissolves at your words.

You love her. You actually love her. Stupid, naïve, weak woman.

She kisses you, soft and sweet. Cradles the back of your neck in her palm like you're the only thing keeping her world glued together.

“You mean that,” she mutters, nose brushing against yours, lips a ghosting touch against your own.

“That I love you?” She nods, and you grin. “Have you met yourself? How the hell could I not?”

She exhales a laugh. Relief relaxes the pouch of her lungs—relief and something a lot more sickly.

Fear. Can't remember the last time she's been loved, been open to it. So far beyond possibility's reach she couldn't grasp it if she tried. For most of her years alive, she hasn't even wanted it. At its very core, love is what killed her mother and destroyed her father from the inside out. It makes you weak, stupid, impulsive. Irrational. A word that has no business in her vocabulary.

So why, then, does the word seem so appealing when it's you?

“I would like for this… thing between us to last a while. But I don't want you to feel pressured into it.” You shrug. “I come with a lot of baggage.”

She exhales through her nose. Says, “So do I.”

You roam your eyes over her face, a soft smile stretching your lips, before you plant the book in her lap. “Pick. I've already underlined the ones that interest me.”

“And if it's a boy?”

“It won't be. I'm telling you, I sense it. The baby whispers to me in my dreams.”

She actually laughs at that. “That another pregnancy thing?”

“Yep. Now pick. Don't make me tell you again.”

With a raise of her brows (you already have the mom voice down), she turns to the page. Runs her finger over each underlined name, testing them on her tongue, before landing on:

Stella — ‘star’

“This one.”

You peer down at the one she chose, cheek squished against her arm. “Why that one?”

She pulls a face. “Well…” It reminds her of how you've been the brightest thing in her life thus far, and if everything goes to plan, the kid won't be limited to the cage of the Undercity–she'll have the whole universe at her fingertips. “I like the sound of it.”

You nod, slow and thoughtful. “Stella… Ste…lla. Stella.” A tilt of your head. “I like it. It's pretty.”

So are you, she wants to say, but she stays silent.

You're ready to pop this kid out.

Lyra stopped by yesterday, examined you behind the locked door of the bedroom, and said that it was time. Suggested a more… unorthodox method to induce labor.

(”Sex is the most natural thing in the entire world,” she had said, turning to Sevika with both hands on her hips and a deep frown. “Why do you act so surprised, dear?”)

You're a lot less open to the idea, no matter how ready you are to be done with pregnancy.

“I just don't understand how you could want me,” spoken softly, melancholic.

Sat on the bed, Sevika soothes a palm over your thigh. “What do you mean?”

“I mean physically. ‘Cause of the…” You motion to your stomach, and she shushes you with a kiss.

“I don't care. You're more than that.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I want to help you.”

Your brows cant upward, a war waging in your brain as your eyes dart back and forth over her shoulder. “Are you sure you want to?”

“I'm sure.”

With a relieved breath, you nod your head. “Gods, please help me.”

Sevika is not soft, but she has to be with you. Wants to be.

You lay down in the sheets that smell so much like you and spend five minutes getting comfortable, fluffing the pillows behind you and removing clothes and adjusting your hips. You spread your legs and her first instinct is to bite, to scar the plump curve of your inner thigh, but she can't. Won't. Too much trust in the way your soft body blooms for her, fingers delicate on your full tits.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks. A loaded question—it isn't the act itself, but the person you've chosen for it. She wants to be seen as worthy after what you've been through.

“I've had the last ten minutes to change my mind,” you say, lips spreading into a dopey grin. “Need it so bad. Need you to help me.”

She closes her eyes, takes a steady breath at the sound of you so needy and sweet. Smooths a rough palm over the lower curve of your belly before pressing a kiss to your cunt. Already slick, puffy against her lips. Her tongue licks over your clit and you whine, fingers twisting around hers so tight the joints creak.

“Shit, that's—” You're cut off by a heavy sigh when she sucks the bundle of nerves into her mouth, soft and rhythmic, humming against you.

Best thing she's ever tasted, skin so soft under her hand, so wet she risks drowning. What a way to fucking go. You tilt your hips up to rut against her face, and she rides out your movements, offering up her tongue for you to grind against. Her hands move to your thighs but you bat her flesh one away.

“Fingers, Sev, please–need your—”

She's quick to split you open on two, groaning at the slick heat that sucks her in, at the way your shudder and keen high in your throat.

Between the rhythmic thrusting of her fingers and her tongue licking over your clit, it doesn't take much for you to cum. A surprisingly short time, in fact. Must have something to do with hormones, who fucking knows. It's hot. A beautiful thimg to watch—and feel, fuck—as you fall apart from just her fingers and tongue. Thighs tensing over her shoulders, insides fluttering, a hand fisted in her hair.

When you whine and shove at her head, she leans away with a long inhale of breath, sitting back to look at you still spread out beneath her, chest heaving, cunt plump and glistening. You've made a wet spot on the sheets under your ass.

You swallow with a click, arms stretching over your head. “Damn. Didn't realize how bad I needed that.”

She huffs out a laugh, wiping the lower half of her face off with her shirt (still can’t get over how wet you were; never seen anything like it in her life). “Glad I could help.”

“Your mouth should be illegal.”

She crawls up on the bed then settles in beside you as you lavish her with praise, basking in the afterglow with a hand in hers. Heat flushes up the back of her neck and courses down the length of her spine when you beg to kiss her, to taste yourself on her tongue.

You'll be the death of her.

She curls a hand over the back of your neck and slots her lips against yours, and immediately, you lick into her mouth. A moan vibrates your chest as you pull her closer, both arms wrapping around her neck.

“Can I return the favor?”

The question comes out of nowhere. By the steady rhythm of your breath, she thought you fell asleep ten minutes ago, but you're already rising to your knees to peer down at her with an expectant grin.

“That's not why I did it.”

“So I have to beg?”

A very nice thought. One she'd like to indulge in under different circumstances.

“How would you even—”

You roll your eyes. “For the love of Janna, I'm pregnant, not dying.” You scoot over to the side of the bed then grab one of the pillows you use to prop yourself up. “You can just lay on the edge of the bed, and I'll get on my knees in the floor.”

Well. You're more than willing, and she might actually combust if she doesn't cum soon. A win-win situation.

She takes a seat on the edge of the bed and helps you pull her briefs off.

When she spreads her legs, you tug your lower lip between your teeth, sweeping your eyes over her bare pussy. “I'm a little rusty, so you'll have to forgive me.”

She doesn't give a shit, will probably cum as soon as you get your mouth on her. And that's what she tells you.

With a teasing wriggle of your brows, you lean in, the flat of your tongue licking her from hole to clit. Her thighs twitch on either side of your shoulders, breath hissing through her teeth.

Shit, how long has it been since she—

“I don't have any other way to thank you for being so good to me,” you say, and her ears burn when you suck the lips of her pussy into your mouth. “This’ll have to do.”

She's nothing but a white-hot ball of need at this point. Heat broiling beneath her skin, coiling dangerously in the pit of her stomach.

You gaze up at her with low-lidded eyes as you swirl your tongue over her clit, watching her face twist up in pleasure.

Already, she's close. Thighs twitching, hips tilting up into your face. You circle two fingers over the entrance of her cunt, dipping in with a wet squelch.

When you lean away with a grin, she almost resorts to begging, and then you slide those fingers inside her, eyes locked onto the way she swallows you up.

“Fuck. You're so wet, Sev,” you pant, the thumb of your other hand raising to circle over her clit.

She knows. Shit, she knows—

“Please,” whispered under her breath.

Your soft gaze meets hers, and she's never felt so raw before. Flayed alive. Stripped down and vulnerable. The word means more than just begging. Sevika does not beg. Hasn't needed to in a very long time.

But she does for you.

“I know, baby.” You press a kiss to her puffy clit. “I'll take care of you.”

She will not cry. She absolutely will not fucking cry right now over some stupid little thing you said between her legs.

She collapses back against the bed and throws an arm over her face as you work her up to a quick orgasm with the steady rhythm of your fingers and tongue. She spreads her legs even wider when the coil in her belly snaps to keep from crushing your head between her thighs, and she grunts into the bend of her arm from how tight her limbs lock up.

It takes a good fifteen seconds before she can even breathe again, and she looks down the line of her body, flinching at the wet kiss you press to her stomach. Then another a little higher, and another, your chin sticky and slick as it glides over her skin.

“Thank you,” you say, reaching for her hand to help you climb on the bed and straddle her waist.

You're beautiful like this. Sated and sleepy and still so wet that your pussy leaves a puddle on her stomach. But the heated look you give her is a warning that you won’t be satisfied with just the one time.

Three rounds later—with you riding her face, and her leaned back against the wall, and you bent over the bed, and at one point you go to the kitchen for a snack and bend her over the counter, and then she fucks you in the shower when you’re supposed to bgetting clean—you’re both curled beneath the sheets, your belly pressing into her side, halfway between wake and sleep.

But something gnaws at her. Something she should've done months ago.

“I feel like shit. About… the way I talked to you when we first met.”

You sigh, and her heart begins to pound.

“Yeah, you were an asshole. A huge asshole.” At her guilty wince, you curl closer into her, cheek resting on her shoulder. Your hand soothes over the skin of her stomach. “But I get it now. You don't like to get close to people.”

“That's a nice way to put it.” She exhales a breath through her nose. Can't remember the last time she's tried to conjure up an apology. “I really am sorry, though. I want you to know that.”

You hum, voice thickening with the lull of sleep. “I appreciate it. Guess I knew there was more to you than what you show people.”

“Did the kid tell you that, too?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“You already did. Four times.”

You laugh, and her sky shines a little brighter.

Everything is good. Great, in fact. But that’s the thing. Good things are fleeting in her life. Something always comes along to fuck it up.

She just hopes that the good days last a little while longer this time.

Fresh out the womb, the girl already looks like you—the shape of your eyes, the curve of your lips, your fingers and toes. Chubby-cheeked, a head full of thick hair, eyes blinking the world into existence.

Sevika does not make life, she destroys it, and yet in the same hands that have killed many, she holds creation in its purest form. Her face is one of the first things this baby will ever see.

She wants to cry.

She thinks of her mom, dying alone on that cold floor, and her vision mists over. Not this time. She’s older now, stronger, more lucid to the world. She'll do right by you—both of you.

But she’s terrified. Doesn’t know if she has it in her.

A trembling hand curls over her wrist, and she looks over, greeted by the gentle curve of your smile.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” you whisper, voice dragged through the jagged rocks of the river.

All she can do is nod, a thumb soothing over the fine wisps of your daughter’s hair. Curious eyes peer up at her, squinting, wiggling tiny little fingers.

She’s never held a baby before. Always thought them too fragile, but Lyra insisted that if a baby can squeeze through a vagina, it can handle being held. It made her feel better, if a little flustered, and you had laughed yourself to tears at the look on her face.

But the woman had a point.

She won't touch her with her prosthetic, though. For all Lyra's talk about hardiness and resilience, that part of her has no business near such an innocent thing. It's seen and felt too much blood. Caused it.

You notice, though. Of course you do.

“We can put a sheet around it,” you say in an attempt to reassure her, trailing a finger over the metal. “It's gonna be hard to hold her with one hand.”

“I'll manage.”

You let it go, turning back to nurse your glass of water, and she's grateful. Wouldn't budge on this no matter how hard you try.

She holds the baby until she can't any longer, when it's time for her to feed and the room fills with fussing cries. Watches you for a long time, long enough for you to notice and look up at her with a smile, eyes turning to those crescent moons that she loves so much.

Loves. Huh.

Yeah, she—fuck, she loves you. The realization scares the shit out of her, but the sight of you cooing at your nursing baby (hers, too, if she wants it, and she doesn't think she's wanted anything more in all her life) makes the fear inconsequential.

Now, she just has to figure out where the hell to go from here. How to be what you need.

A new place is a good start. She did promise you, after all.

#fuck it posting it tonight #sevika x reader #sevika x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you #x reader #my fics #fic: feed me!#ns/ft

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bywons · 4 months ago

Text

WHEN HE WALKS IN, I AM LOVED 𖥔 HUSBAND!ENHYPEN HYUNG LINE

𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬──── 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒’𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽

❪ 𝖠𝖬𝖮𝖱𝖤 𝖬𝒾𝖮 ❫ ｡ 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽!𝖾𝗇𝗁𝖺 & 𝖿!𝗋 1682wc 𖥔 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 ── 𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 愛／ 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒

する ܃ they can slide in a diamond on my ring finger anytime :3 ( and then i wake up... )

reb𝑙ogs ꪆৎ 𝑓eedbacks

HUSBAND!HEESEUNG who comes home late at night— at that hour when the ongoing web series becomes background noise for you, and you feel your eyelids closing shut on the couch. “y/n?” his whisper is barely audible as he approaches your sleeping figure, heart wrenching as he sees you on the couch in that form, probably waiting for him. slowly, he lifts you up so as to not wake you, and carries you to the bedroom. heeseung carefully places you on the bed, tucking the blanket around you with practiced gentleness. his hand brushes a strand of hair from your face as he leans in, his lips ghosting over your forehead. “you make it hard not to love you even more,” he whispers to you, giggling, he finally presses one final kiss on your cheeks before entering the shower.

HUSBAND!HEESEUNG who nevers forgets to bring you flowers everyday. it varies everyday as well— sometimes it’s pink roses, or tulips or baby breaths or lilies. your beauty reminds you of flowers, and so you receive this gift from your lovely husband everyday. today it’s a bouquet of daisies, tied neatly with a pale yellow ribbon. he steps into the house with the bouquet behind his back, with a playful smile on his face. “for my pretty lady,” he brings the flowers forward to you, chuckling upon seeing your pleased expression. “you're too much sometimes,” you giggle, but the way your cheeks flush betrays how much you love it. heeseung grins, pulling you close. “too much? or just the right amount?”

HUSBAND!HEESEUNG who has made it a ritual to dance with you on the kitchen floors. he loves to just play jazz, pull you close and sway to the music with the love of his life. without a word, he gently takes the spoon from your hand, places it on the counter, and turns you around to face him. “what are you doing?” you ask, a laugh escaping as his hands slid to your waist. “dancing with my wife,” he says simply, pulling you closer. the cut tomatoes are long forgotten on the cutting board, as he stares into your eyes with utmost adoration and love. he finally leans in for a kiss, his softly lips touching yours and moving in sync with your dance and the music, his hands crep up and pull you closer by the waist, another hand cups your face as if he has no time. “you’re the best part of my day,” he whispers as he pulls back, out of breath but full of love for you.

HUSBAND!JONGSEONG who always makes sure that you’re pampered and spoiled by him— he wants his beautiful wife to have everything in this world. from designer brands to quality time, you just have to ask jongseong and he will have it by your feet. every day, jongseong made sure you never had to lift a finger for anything. when you mention wanting a new bag, a designer one, the next day, there it is—delivered right to your doorstep, with a sweet note attached: “for my beautiful wife, because you deserve the best.” but it isn't just about the material things. he often surprises you with romantic dinners, planning spontaneous getaways, and always carving out time from his busy schedule to spend with you. you never have to ask twice. he seems to read your mind, anticipating your every need.

HUSBAND!JONGSEONG who cooks your favourite meals for you. it’s a ritual for him to cook dinner right after he gets home, he can’t see his pretty wife overworking, besides, you love his cooking— and that's enough motivation for him to cook for you everyday. the aroma of your adored dish wafts from the kitchen as your husband appears from it soon, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up with him carrying the dish on a plate, a satisfied smile on his face. as soon as jongseong puts the plate down, you take a bite, your eyes lighting up at the familiar, comforting flavors. “it’s perfect!,” you said, voice muffled by the food. jongseong chuckles, wiping a bit of sauce from the corner of your lips with his thumb. “i learned from the best, you,” he sighs, kissing the corner of your lips.

HUSBAND!JONGSEONG who always creeps up behind you, wrapping his hands around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulders. it doesn’t matter if you’re busy with your work, if you’re baking a cake or if you’re simply standing by the window, jongseong loves back hugs, he enjoys the warmth of your body in this way. “you smell so good,” he says, burying his face in the nape of your neck while his hands snake in around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “it’s your perfume!” you sigh, lowly giggling as you return to your work on your laptop. a shiver runs down your spine as he snuggles in face further in, before lifting it to press kisses on your neck and shoulder. “it suits you best,” he hums.

HUSBAND!JAEYUN who listens intently to you, every word that occurs from your mouth, jaeyun is gulping those up. no matter if they’re the smallest rants about your day or the huge drama at your workplace, jaeyun always gets lost in your words and angelic face when you go on talking— he wishes you won’t stop so he can stare a little bit longer at you. “and then— jaeyun, are you even listening to me?” you sigh, plopping down beside him on the couch when you realise he hasn’t uttered a word since you started talking, he’s just staring at your face. “yeah, of course i am!” jaeyun defends himself, sitting up straight, “you said how your coworker had the audacity? well yeah, i hate her too,” he rolls his eyes in a playful manner, making you giggle and fall into his lap, and jaeyun immediately pulls you in, relishing the moment.

HUSBAND!JAEYUN who always notices the slightest shiver you make when the winter wind bites at your skin. you both stroll through the park, the cold air nipping at your cheeks. despite your thick scarf and gloves, you cant help but rub your arms for warmth. without a word, jaeyun stops, slipping off his coat. “jaeyun, you’ll freeze!” you protest as he drapes it over your shoulders. “i’d rather be cold than see you shiver,” he says softly, pulling the coat snug around you. his hands lingers on your arms, rubbing them gently to warm you further. your heart melts at the gesture, the oversized coat practically swallowing you whole. “you’re too sweet,” you murmur, leaning into his touch. jaeyun grins, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your nose. “only for my lovely wife.”

HUSBAND!JAEYUN who remembers the smallest details about you— to your regular coffee order to how much cheese you like in your toast, he treats everything about you like an important event. he never fails to flutter your heart when it comes to these, ever so alert about your habits. “i picked up your favorite chocolate chip cookies,” he says casually, holding out a plate to you. your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “how did you—” “i remember you told me last week how much you’ve been craving them,” he grins, watching you take a bite, your face lighting up at the taste. you smile, your heart swelling with affection. “you always know how to make me feel loved, jae.” he chuckles, sitting beside you and pulling you close. “it’s easy when someone as wonderful as you is in my life.”

HUSBAND!SUNGHOON who always offers to help you relax, by massaging your head or your legs. you deserve the ultimate care, and he’s more than willing to be a helping hand. you’re curled up on the couch, a sigh escaping your lips as you massage your sore feet, the exhaustion from work settling in. without a word, Sunghoon kneels in front of you, his hands gently taking your feet into his lap. “let me help,” he says softly, his voice calm and soothing. you lean back, surprised by his tenderness as he carefully starts massaging your feet, his touch firm but gentle. “i don’t deserve this,” you murmur, closing your eyes. “you do,” he replies, his hands moving expertly, kneading the tension out of your muscles. “you work so hard, and i want you to feel cared for.”

HUSBAND!SUNGHOON who instantly becomes a nurse when you’re sick. he’s in utmost tension and cancels all his meetings and makes sure everything at home is taken care of, from your medicine to the softest blankets, ensuring you’re always comfortable. throughout the day, sunghoon prepares warm soups with his own hands, making sure each one is exactly to your liking. he checks your temperature regularly, offering gentle reassurance whenever you feel a little colder than usual. sunghoon is always there to brush hair away from your face, hold your hand in his, presses kisses to your face and provide reassurance that everything is going to be just fine, as long as he is here.

HUSBAND!SUNGHOON who notices the smallest things that stress you out, like when your phone charger starts to fray or when your car tire looks a little low. one afternoon, you come home to find him tinkering with your phone charger, his focused expression making you smile. “hey, what are you up to?” you ask, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. he looks up, a soft grin on his face. “just fixing your charger. i know how annoying it can be when it stops working right when you need it.” you roll your eyes playfully. “you’re spoiling me, you know that?” sunghoon chuckles, setting the charger down once he's done. “anything for you. you work hard enough; let me take care of the small stuff.” you walk over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “i’m lucky to have you.” he smiles, pulling you into a hug. “and im lucky to take care of my wife.”

taglist────open tags in the reblogs ! network tag. @/k-labels @k-films @k-nets CLICK ME

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moonstruckme · 4 months ago

Note

Hello! I’m new to your blog and am in the middle of consuming all of it. I have to say EMT maurauders are my fav so far though! If you haven’t done it yet and if it’s not too much trouble, would you be willing to do something with EMT! Maurauders where reader gets a bad bloody nose in the middle of the night and can’t get it to stop on her own so she’s panicking and feels bad about waking up the boys who of course take care of you and make you go to the ER since it won’t stop?

Thank you ☺️ Keep up the amazing work, your writing is phenomenal, I can’t wait to read more 👏❤️

Thanks for requesting lovely <3

cw: blood, mention of hospital

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 986 words

You give yourself twenty more minutes before you wake James. Sidling up to his side of his bed like a child who’s had a nightmare, one hand pinching your nostrils shut and the other holding ice wrapped in a paper towel to your nose. You feel glad that it’s too dark to see all the red staining it.

James rouses with a reluctant throaty sound. He mumbles your name and takes your hand where it’s nudging his shoulder, content until the moment he feels the cold paper towel closed in your palm. His eyes peel open.

“Sorry,” you whisper. It feels paramount that he know waking him wasn’t your first choice. Of your boyfriends, though, James is the most likely to help you without making a fuss.

“What’s this?” In the dark, the cold hard thing in your hand is a mystery. James cups his hand around yours with a small frown.

“My nose won’t stop bleeding,” you explain.

His frown worsens. You feel bad.

But James has no resentment for your midnight ailment; only sympathy. “Yeah?” He feels blindly for his glasses on the nightstand. “Does it hurt?”

You slide them to his hand. “No,” you say.

“It just…just started?”

You should’ve taken him out of the room before telling him. Already, you can see Remus starting to wake, the covers on his side of the bed shifting.

“Yeah.” You lower your voice, though you know it’s pointless. “About a half hour ago.”

James is rubbing underneath his eyes drowsily, but at this, his brows draw together. “It’s been going since then?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“What’s going on?” Remus asks. His voice croaks a little, but aside from that he sounds more awake than James.

You wince. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, dove. What is it?”

“Her nose is bleeding,” James says through a great yawn. In between them, Sirius makes a half-asleep whining sound, but doesn’t move. “She says it has been for half an hour.”

Now Remus is frowning, too. “It woke you up?”

You hum, feeling your mouth pucker in distaste. “It got in my mouth.”

“Let’s see.” Without warning, James turns the lamp on. Both you and Remus rear back as if stricken, and Sirius’ head retreats beneath the covers seemingly by reflex. “Sorry, sorry,” James says, giving you soft eyes as he reaches for a box of tissues. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

You take his cue to let go of your nose. As soon as you release it, you know it starts bleeding again by the way James raises his tissues in a hurry.

“Christ,” he mumbles, moving them just slightly to see the damage. “This much since it started? Has it slowed at all?”

“I don’t think so,” you say, stuffy.

“How do you feel?” asks Remus. He’s sitting up now, bedsheets fallen around his waist and one hand resting on the lump that is Sirius. “Are you dizzy? Can you breathe alright?”

“Through my mouth, yeah.” James is still peering at your nose, and it’s making you shrink. He lets you take the wad of tissues from him. “I’m not dizzy.”

“Still…” Remus looks at James.

“Yeah.” James sits up the rest of the way, stretching. He lets out another yawn. “Let’s go.”

“Go to…” you hesitate, unsure “...hospital?”

James hums in the affirmative, squeezing your shoulder as he gets out of bed.

A moan of protest comes from behind him. You look to see Remus rubbing between Sirius’ shoulder blades, searching for his slippers on his side of the bed.

“Get up.”

“S’too early to be up,” Sirius whines.

Remus shushes him, at once chiding and soothing. “We’re bringing y/n to A&E.”

At this Sirius falls quiet. A moment later, his head picks up, puffy black hair and a furrowed brow. “What for?”

“My nose won’t stop bleeding,” you say meekly. “Sorry.”

“Angel,” James laughs, coming up from behind you to pass you some more tissues. He’s already dressed. “Stop being sorry. Did you plan this?”

“No,” you reply, softly.

“Right. As I thought.” He grins, planting a kiss on your cheek.

As usual, James has come awake remarkably quickly once he’s set his mind to it. Remus moves toward the closet a tad less energetically, and Sirius appears to have to claw his way out of bed.

He does it in your direction.

“You okay?” Sirius asks, studying you as he drags his legs over the edge of the mattress. “Does your head hurt?”

“I don’t think so.” His concerned gaze melts you to your core. You think you’d admit to anything if it got you a hug right now. “I’m just tired.”

Sirius cracks a smile, though his eyes are soft with pity. “Well, yeah, baby.” He stands, smushing a kiss into your hair. “It’s the dead of fucking night. Your nose is a real blight on us all.”

“Don’t talk about her nose that way.” James gives you the hug you wished for, strong arms wrapped around your middle. His chest is warm against your back. “Don’t listen to him, angel; he’s a prat when he’s tired.”

“It’s fine.” You lean back into James. “It is a blight on us tonight.”

“Precisely. You get it,” Sirius says, squinting his eyes at James. “I cherish her nose every other day, I’ll have you know.”

“Get dressed.” Remus emerges from the closet to give Sirius a gentle shove in that direction. He takes yet more tissues, passing them to you seemingly without noticing the handful you’ve already got from James. “Are you ready to go, dovey? Have everything you need?”

“What do I need?” you ask, worried.

“Nothing, sweetheart.” James drops his voice at the first sign of fright from you; Remus does the same, both of your boyfriends softening around the edges. “We’ll take care of it, yeah?” He starts taking tissues from you, shoving them into the pocket of his sweatpants. “We’ll take care of everything.”

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orangeblossomsintheair · 4 months ago

Text

LIONHEART (1/3) – 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?”

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

“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!”

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.

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

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

—-

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.”

“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.”

“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.”

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?”

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

“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-”

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.

“Good,” he replied, deadpan.

“Because I need to know everything.”

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.

—-

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

“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.”

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

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

“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.”

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.

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

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

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

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?”

“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.”

For the rest of the appointment, Lando couldn’t stop staring at the monitor.

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.

“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.

—-

Lando stood in the kitchen, pacing around the table with the cake in front of him.

His hands were a blur, adjusting every little decoration as if this one cake would determine the future of the entire Norris family.

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?”

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.

His mom was practically jumping up and down, already holding a bottle of champagne in one hand.

“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.

Lando gave her a playful glare. “I’m fine, Mom. I’m just...you know, a little excited.”

He turned back to the cake, brushing his hands against his jeans as if trying to shake off his nerves. “Right. Big moment.”

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 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.

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.

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?”

When Lando saw the blue filling spill out from the cake, it was like a switch flipped inside him.

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.

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.

“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.

“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.

“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.

You sat on the couch in the private suite, your legs curled up underneath you as you flicked through baby name books.

Lando, sprawled beside you with his laptop open, occasionally paused to glance at you, a goofy grin on his face.

“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.”

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.

“I think that’s the one,” you said softly, your heart warming at the thought of it.

Lando nodded, his voice quieter now. “Leo Norris. Yeah… I like it.”

You both sat there for a while, soaking in the reality that soon, you’d have a little one to love and raise.

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.

“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.”

But he didn’t hear you.

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*”

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.”

—-

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.

You watched him from the couch, amused by how obviously he was working up the courage to say something.

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.”

—-

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.

He’d pulled you aside earlier on, his brow furrowed in a mix of excitement and concern.

“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.”

You’d agreed, knowing his intention was to shield you from any unnecessary pressure.

So, you kept things under wraps, avoiding public appearances and letting Lando handle the media while you focused on your health and well-being.

But as your pregnancy progressed and your bump started to show, it became harder to stay out of the public eye.

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.

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.

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.

“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-” He paused, running his hands through his hair like he was about to pull it out.

“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?”

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.”

He looked at you like you’d just suggested the impossible.

“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!”

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.

“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.

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.

“Rumors?” Lando repeated, voice low but filled with frustration.

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.”

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?”

Lando’s eyes burned with a mixture of frustration and determination as he stood there, refusing to back down.

The crowd of reporters and cameras around him seemed to freeze for a moment, unsure of how to react to his sudden outburst.

“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.

—-

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 didn’t have a chance to misinterpret anything when you were bombarded by videos of Lando’s recent stunt by your friends and family.

You froze.

The sheer audacity of him, of his love for you, left you speechless for a moment.

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?

This was a whole other level. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, a combination of shock and amusement.

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.”

—-

When the end of the racing season finally rolled around, Lando could hardly contain his excitement.

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.

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.

For weeks leading up to the last race, Lando had been counting down the days.

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.

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.

“Babe!” he shouted, throwing his bag down with abandon, his voice practically singing with happiness.

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.

“I’m home, I’m home, I’m home!” he repeated, his grin so wide it almost seemed to stretch across his face.

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.

“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.

“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.”

—-

Lando stood in the middle of the nearly-finished nursery, hands on his hips, looking ridiculously proud of himself. The room was stunning.

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.

“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 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."

“You do realize you’ve spent more on this room than most people spend on their entire house, right?”

He shot you a mock-offended look. “Excuse me for wanting the best for our baby. It’s called quality assurance.”

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.”

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?”

“Investment,” he corrected, plopping down beside you with a satisfied sigh.

“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.”

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.”

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ohcaptains · 2 years ago

Text

𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬.

pairing. anakin skywalker x f!reader

synopsis. anakin finds loopholes in the jedi code.

warnings. 18+. this is sexually explicit, do not read this or interact with my blog if you’re a minor. do not copy my shit, i’ll find out. cock warming, p in v penetration but no movement. whimper-y anakin, if you move i'll leave the jedi order type beat.

an. just a little something i wrote for the kinktober i never did. I thought i'd post instead of letting it collect dust in my drafts. the prompt was cockwarming! hope i did anakin justice<3 pls comment & reblog.

You find him at the window.

Sitting, with his thighs open and chest bare, staring out into the abyss. The night glints at the beads of sweat sliding down his chest, and his fingers drum endlessly against his thighs.

He heard you wake up, so he’s expecting your company, and has leaned back against the chair – thin black gown falling open – ready for you to climb all over him.

It happens often.

It’s not uncommon to wake up without him.

Most nights, you startle out of your slumber – as if even asleep, you’d sensed a shift – and blink at the space on the mattress beside you.

Finding him was easy.

You pad through the living room and wordlessly reach him in his post-nightmare state. His hair is tousled, sculpted chest is slick with sweat -- there’s an energy vibrating off of him, and you can taste it in the air.

Stepping behind him, you gently run the tips of your fingers over his shoulders, and the whirlpool in Anakin’s belly settles for a second. When you move into frame, it’s gone completely, replaced by a warm heat that has roots. He breathes a smile.

“Like clockwork.”

You give him a sheepish grin in return and fiddle with the fabric of your small nightgown. There’s a moment where Anakin gets to look at you – all sleepy and cuddly – and he’s ready to escape with you off of this forsaken planet.

His will holds strong.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” he asks, raising a scarred brow, and despite your groggy state, you still manage to roll your eyes. Stepping closer, you use his broad shoulders as anchors to slip onto his lap.

“Don’t make that face,” Anakin hushes, and while you settle back onto his thighs, his metal hand comes up. He traces the line of your jaw, “You know I let you do what you want.”

His spare hand steadies your hips, and it’s still warm from his lightsaber. Calloused fingers run over your skin, reminding you of the fight that’s leaving scars – the war that’s brewing, both inside and outside of his mind.

In moments like this, though, there’s a subtle calm.

An impenetrable force that hums over the pair of you.

You lean into his palm and whisper, “Not everything.”

There’s a haunted edge to your gaze, and your words are loaded. Anakin knows what you mean, knows all the intricacies of your subtle dig, and yet, he still manages to smile.

Well, smirk.

“What do you want? Just say the word.”

You wouldn’t, and Anakin knows that. He’s caught your bluff, and you manage a bashful smile before gently leaning forward, dragging your hips against his lap.

Anakin’s cloth-covered thigh nestles against the thin fabric of your underwear. Your smile falters, lips parting. You push your forehead against his, and whisper, “If I say the words, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“I know,” he breathes, “I know.”

I want more.

A life together, not stolen moments when the sun is down.

An attachment. A bond.

But it’s forbidden.

It’s why it can’t go any further than this.

“What’d you dream about?” you wonder. Anakin pulls his eyes away from you, instead looking to where his thigh sits. The silence is your answer.

“I’ll still ask, even if you never tell.”

He takes hold of your bare thighs, rubbing his hands up and down, and you hum his name, reaching out to push his hair behind his ears.

“Pretty boy.”

“Stop it,” he huffs, cheeks reddening.

But how can you? When he’s all sharp lines and long hair. You run your hands up the bare panes of his muscular chest, feeling the deft of his muscles, and the dampness on his skin.

The air changes – hums electric – and it buzzes as you push his gown off his shoulders.

Carefully, you lean forward and place a chaste kiss against his collarbone.

“That’s better.”

Anakin hums a laugh. His hands snake around to your lower back, dig into the fat of your ass, and using the grip there, he gently rocks you forward once, forcing your clothed cunt to drag against his muscular thigh.

You whimper. It’s quiet, but Anakin can hear it, even if it’s muffled by his shoulder.

“’ S’what you came out here for, huh?” he whispers. The electric flooding through the walls hums, but the room is still eerily silent. Anakin’s voice is a roar.

You lick your lips and drag your face up to see him. “No,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss against his top lip, “I like being with you, even if we don’t do this.”

Anakin has to close his eyes. Words like those are fuel to the fire brimming in his chest, and it doesn’t help that you wrap your arms around his neck and fiddle with the tail end of his hair.

Arching your back, you slowly roll backwards, then forward, teasing the bulge between his legs.

Releasing a shaky breath, you repeat the motion, again, and again, near humping his leg.

A familiar ache begins to swell, coiling between your thighs and up into your belly. It makes you clench around nothing, and you mewl quietly, wishing for more – always wishing for more.

Still, you continue, slick pooling into your underwear and against his thigh.

Anakin can’t look at you. If he sees your face, his resolve will falter.

His nerves are shot. If he couldn’t feel how wet you are, he could smell it, and it makes a groan bristle behind his teeth.

He buries his head into the crook of your neck and busies himself with kissing at the soft shell of your throat, careful not to leave marks.

Once, you left a mouth-shaped mark against his stomach, and he looked at it every day for a week.

Caught himself with his top up in the mirror looking at the reflection, eyeing the way the mark sat on the firm lines of muscle, fading away with time.

A dark part of him wanted the mark on the slope of his neck.

“Wanna be inside of you.”

His admission rests heavily against your throat, and you’re thankful that he can’t see the way you clench your eyes closed.

Though, he does feel you tighten your grip on the back of his head. Feels you shift up against his thigh, and the warmth pooling in your underwear burns against him.

He can sense you’re hesitant.

“’ can be like last time. Just – Just --” he stutters, licking his lips and struggling to release the words from the back of his throat. Finally, he manages. “--Sit on it.”

“Anakin.”

He pulls away from your neck and looks up at you.

“We can use it as an exercise.”

A laugh bursts from your throat, “To test your will?”

He smiles, and because you have to, you push your cunt against his crotch, uttering, “Want me to make It difficult for you?” and white flashes through Anakin’s eyes.

He grabs your hips to steady you, tensely pushing his fingers into your skin.

“Hardest challenge I’ll ever encounter.”

“You eager to impress?”

He kisses your jaw, “Don’t I always?”

“Mm,” you hum, cradling his chin. You shift back so he can pull his trousers down, and when you take his cock in your hand, he melts. His commanding aura switches for a moment, and you watch Anakin still his breathing.

You push your underwear to the side, and as you lift yourself to sink onto him, Anakin breathes, “Just the tip – just a little bit, j-just—” and he chokes on his words, gasping as you brush the leaking head of his cock through your folds.

You halt. Whimper. Have to grip his shoulder to steady yourself, or you’ll push him inside of you all at once and hurt yourself.

You inhale steadily.

“Have to – have to go slow,” you spurt, trying to calm your tremors.

“It’s been a while since…”

You don’t have to finish your sentence. Anakin knows, and he feels a mix of pride and guilt. Only me, he thinks, and then, like a flash, only me, he swallows. And I can’t give her everything.

This. This is as far as it’ll go. He knows he’s pushing it. Knows that he’s come up with some convoluted rule to both have his cake and eat it too.

If he fucks you the way he wants to, he’ll fall in love with you. As if it hasn’t happened already.

Anakin has made lying to himself a speciality.

You push against him once more, and the tip of his cock nudges between your folds, forcing an ache to shoot through your clit and make you dizzy. You stop. Pause and curse yourself.

A slow burn builds in your thighs, and you clench down to try and mediate the burn. Anakin grunts.

“Maker,” he utters. “Sorry—” you splutter, sucking in a tight breath.

Anakin wraps his metal arm around the back of your hips, hoping to steady you. “Lemme,” he mumbles, and gently, he flexes his hips up, slowly feeding his cock into your soaked pussy.

Your lower abdomen immediately burns.

He’s being calm about it – using all his training – but there’s nothing calm about the words trickling out of his mouth.

“Oh stars,” he groans, voice wrecked, “You gonna take all of me, sweet girl? Gonna let me fill you up?”

When you finally sink to the hilt, your resolve snaps. The pair of you moan out in unison, loud and high-pitched.

Anakin buries his face in your chest, and the heat of his mouth against your breasts adds to the tension coiling in your belly.

“Don’t – don’t move,” he grunts, and you shake your head, “I won’t – I’ll come on your cock if I do,” and you don’t mean to say it like that, don’t mean for the words to come out like that, but you feel Anakin pulse from inside of you, warm and hard and wet.

He manages to laugh.

“Tryna kill me,” he shakily breathes, shaking his head. His wet lips brush against your breasts, and you want more – want all that he can give you – so you clutch the back of his head, pulling him closer, hoping he gets the message.

His wet kisses make your skin prickle.

You’re full up. Can feel him stretching you out, this feeling something that’s only happened a few times before.

“If you move,” Anakin begins, out of breath, “I’ll leave the Jedi order and spend my days inside of you.”

“Don’t t-tempt me.”

He laughs, and you accidentally clench around him, causing him to groan deep and long against your tits.

“If you do that again, I’ll come inside of you.”

You imagine it. Imagine him spilling out, the wet white of it dripping out of your cunt and back onto his cock, and the mere image of it has your clit throbbing.

Keep still. Don’t move.

But he wraps his tongue around your nipple and begins to suck.

You cry out, and all of your muscles tighten, forcing you to clench tight around his cock. Anakin jolts and whines your name against your tits.

“S’your fault,” you mewl, moaning. You hang your head back, “Stars, Anakin.”

“Try and stay still,” he mumbles, and you stutter a laugh, “Impossible.”

“It can’t be,” he responds, and while he speaks in jest, his words are sincere. The line between love and lust runs thin, and if Anakin is being honest with himself, it’s close to snapping.

#anakin skywalker #Anakin skywalker x reader #Anakin skywalker smut #Anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker imagine #hayden christensen #Star wars #darth vader #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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leejenowrld · 5 months ago

Text

my christmas love

pairing — dad! jung jaehyun x oc

word count — 5.8k

genre — smut, fluff, explicit sexual content, soft sex, dirty talk, praise, the softest dad! jaehyun ever. prepare for your cheeks to hurt due to how much you’re smiling

synopsis — it’s the early hours of christmas morning, the house still and quiet, your kids asleep down the hall, but you and jaehyun can’t resist each other. tangled in the sheets, the soft glow of christmas lights spilling through the window, he fucks you slow and deep, his hand over your mouth to stifle the moans threatening to slip free. every thrust is deliberate, every roll of his hips leaving you trembling as he whispers filthy promises into your ear—reminding you that you’re his, and on a morning meant for giving, he’s the only one who gets to have you like this.

[fic ml here]

The house feels different on Christmas morning, like it holds its breath in anticipation. Everything exists in a kind of suspended quiet—warm, still, waiting. The glow of the tree downstairs lingers through the dark, the faintest twinkle filtering up the staircase, the stockings hung neatly beneath it, already stuffed with small treasures you spent weeks collecting. And while the world outside feels cold, coated in frost and snowflakes clinging to windows, this house—your home—is filled with a kind of tender warmth, the kind that settles deep and lingers long after the gifts are unwrapped.

It’s always the same this time of year, a quiet joy that builds long before the morning itself: the late-night wrapping sessions, the secret whisper of scissors gliding through paper in the middle of the night, Jaehyun holding down tape with far more pride than precision, his brows furrowed as he muttered about “getting better at this next year.” You’d watched him with soft amusement, quietly fixing bows when he wasn’t looking, the two of you stealing lazy kisses between unwrapping rolls of ribbon.

This morning is no different, except now, Jaehyun lies beside you, the weight of his body warm and steady, his chest rising and falling in soft, even breaths. You can hear it faintly—the quiet creak of floorboards as one of your kids rolls over in bed, and it makes you smile, already able to picture them. The way their hair sticks up in sleepy disarray, their cheeks still flushed with sleep, small hands clutching their blankets as they dream of the morning to come. You’d tucked them in last night together, Jaehyun humming quietly as he bent low to kiss foreheads, his voice soft as he whispered promises of Santa, of surprises waiting under the tree.

Jaehyun as a father is something that still overwhelms you in ways you don’t know how to put into words. He’s steady and patient, always there to tie shoes or wipe away tears, to carry their small bodies on his back until his arms ache. He loves fiercely but quietly, always slipping small notes into lunchboxes or adjusting scarves so they don’t fall loose. You’ve caught him kneeling beside toy kitchens and dollhouses, pretending to drink invisible tea with a smile that makes your heart twist painfully in your chest. At night, when the world quiets, he reads stories aloud, his voice low and soothing, lulling your little ones to sleep while you watch from the doorway, overwhelmed by the kind of love you didn’t know could exist.

And Christmas—it’s Jaehyun’s favorite, something you didn’t expect when you first met him. He treats it like a sacred tradition, something delicate and worth protecting. He’s the one who insists on stringing lights across the house, who lifts your kids up on his shoulders so they can place the star at the top of the tree, who carefully leaves half-eaten cookies out so they’ll wake up believing, just a little longer, in magic. “They’re only small for a while,” he told you once, after you’d found him carefully rearranging their stockings for the third time. “I want them to remember this feeling forever.”

Now, curled beneath the blankets in the dim glow of morning, you feel him shift behind you, the warmth of his body wrapping around yours like a second skin. His arm slides tighter around your waist, his palm splayed wide over your stomach, fingers spreading like he’s trying to anchor you there, closer, closer still. He exhales softly, lips finding your bare shoulder with a tenderness that feels practiced, instinctive, like kissing you is as natural to him as breathing. His mouth lingers there, warm and lazy, the faintest brush of his nose tracing along your skin before he murmurs, “You’re awake,” the words low and rough with sleep, vibrating softly against you. His voice settles deep, threading through your bones, wrapping you in a warmth that feels heavier than the blankets, more intimate than the dark stillness of the room.

“Mm,” you hum, a small smile tugging at your lips as you press yourself closer into him, your body fitting against his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Just listening.”

He doesn’t ask what you’re listening to. He knows. The house holds its breath in the quiet, every second stretching thin and fragile. You’re listening for the soft shuffle of small feet across the hall, for the rustle of sheets being kicked off, for a cough or a sniffle or the creak of a door that would signal the end of this stolen moment. You’re listening to the absence of it, to the sweet silence of your children still lost in sleep, their steady breathing faint through the thin walls. It’s a habit you can’t shake, your ears always tuned to their presence, always one sound away from slipping back into mom-mode.

But Jaehyun can feel it—how half your attention lingers down the hall, how part of you teeters between surrendering to him and being ready to pull away. His smile presses into the curve of your neck, warm and knowing, as his hand slides slowly along your waist, fingers tracing aimless, feather-light patterns that make you shiver. “They’re gonna wake up soon,” he mutters, his voice a teasing rasp, though there’s a promise there too, soft but possessive.

“I know,” you whisper, tilting your head just slightly to give him more, your breath hitching as his lips trail higher, up the line of your neck to brush just beneath your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut, your body melting into the way he holds you, into the soft weight of him pressed against your back.

But Jaehyun doesn’t stop—he never does. His hand disappears beneath the sheets, slipping low to spread wide across your stomach, his touch heavier now, deliberate. He pulls you back against him, hips flush to yours, so close you can feel the heat of him, the unmistakable hardness pressing insistently against you. His breath fans warm over your ear, each word curling into you like smoke. “Not yet, though,” he murmurs, voice laced with that dark, lazy grin that always unravels you. “Right now, you’re mine.”

The edge of his teeth grazes your neck, deliberate and featherlight, just enough to make you shiver as the air leaves your lungs in a quiet, uneven breath. His hand dips lower, fingertips teasing circles along your skin, skimming the space where your waistband meets your hips, his touch unhurried but possessive, as if mapping every inch of you for himself. He doesn’t let you answer, doesn’t give you room to protest—he only lets the silence stretch thin, sharpening the tension in the dark until it hums between you like something alive.

The bed shifts beneath his weight as he moves on top of you, his chest brushing yours as he rises just enough to sit back on his heels, the blankets slipping from his shoulders in one slow sweep. The pale glow filtering through the window casts shadows across his bare skin, sharp lines where muscle flexes beneath the surface, his eyes dark as they sweep over you. Without a word, his hands find the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head in one fluid motion before he leans back down, his hands sliding beneath the fabric of your own top.

“Jae—” you whisper, the sound more breath than word, but he only silences you with the barest shake of his head, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he pushes your shirt up, his knuckles grazing your ribs, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“You sure they’ll stay asleep?” you murmur, your voice low, hesitant, the question pulled from you as his mouth finds the space just below your collarbone, warm and wet, leaving kisses that linger and heat your skin like a slow burn.

“Yeah,” Jaehyun murmurs against you, his voice dark and lazy, vibrating where his lips press against you. “If we stay quiet.”

“Jaehyun…”

“They slept past their bedtime yesterday,” he reminds you, his tone soft but teasing as his thumb drags along the sensitive curve of your waist. “Completely engrossed in all those Christmas movies. Trust me—” He presses a kiss between your breasts, his teeth grazing just enough to make your body arch faintly into him. “—they’ll be flat out until later.”

You hesitate for the barest moment, torn between the logic of it and the warmth already building low in your stomach, but Jaehyun looks up at you then, his gaze steady and heavy with intent, and something in your chest gives.

“Okay,” you whisper, the word slipping from you like surrender.

The grin that flickers across his face is quick and devastating, gone almost as soon as it appears as he leans in to kiss you—soft at first, like a test, his lips brushing against yours so gently it borders on teasing. But then you sigh into it, your arms winding around his neck, and Jaehyun deepens the kiss, his mouth claiming yours with something darker, more consuming. It lingers—unhurried and heavy with want—his tongue sweeping against yours as his weight presses you further into the mattress.

His hand finds your waist again, his palm sliding over the dip of your stomach to your hips, fingers digging into the bare skin there as he tugs you flush against him, letting you feel the hard press of him where he grinds against you through the thin barrier of fabric.

“Jaehyun, we can’t…” you whisper again, a half-hearted protest, the words shaky as his mouth trails down to your jaw, your neck, each kiss slower, wetter, leaving a heat in their wake that has your body squirming beneath him. “Our babies—”

He only grins against your skin, unbothered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “Then be quiet, baby. Don’t want to wake them up, do you?”

The words send a jolt through you, molten and sharp, sinking low and deep, until all you can do is cling to him as he rolls his hips against you, the movement purposeful enough to make you bite down on your lip to stifle the sound threatening to escape. Jaehyun pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze lingering on your face as his hand slips lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your clothes, dragging them down with slow, deliberate intent.

“You’re mine for now,” he whispers, his voice soft, but it carries weight, curling around you as he claims every inch of you with his touch, his gaze, his words. “Don’t think about anything else. Just me.”

Now, there’s nothing innocent about the way he presses into you, his bare chest flush against yours, pinning you into the mattress like he’s daring you to challenge him, to tell him to stop. The deliberate drag of his hips is slow and devastating, a rhythm that borders on cruel—each roll sinks him deeper, forcing you to take all of him, inch by inch, until you’re trembling beneath him, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in a desperate effort to keep the sounds inside.

The only light comes from the window, where the neighbors’ Christmas lights bleed through the curtains in soft, shifting patterns, painting streaks of gold and crimson across his shoulders, his damp hair clinging to his forehead. The bed creaks faintly, betraying each movement, the sound almost sinful in the stillness of the house. The sweat-slicked sheets are tangled around your thighs, twisting as your legs lock tighter around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him closer.

“Jaehyun!!!” you scream, the word dragged from your lips like a confession, a sound too raw, too loud for a house steeped in this kind of silence. It splits the air, reckless and dangerous, and for a moment, everything freezes.

He reacts before you can take another breath, his hand clamping over your mouth, fingers spread firm across your cheek, pressing you down, holding you still. He pauses, just long enough to meet your gaze, his weight anchoring you to the mattress as he looms above you. The gold and crimson light spilling through the window catches on his face, shadowing the sharpness of his jaw, the focus in his eyes—dark, unrelenting, like he’s daring you to make another sound.

“Don’t,” he murmurs, the single word falling low and measured, heavy with warning. His thumb brushes over your cheek, almost tender, a contrast to the authority in his voice. He leans closer, his mouth grazing your ear as he says, softer now but no less firm, “You’ll wake our babies.”

The words hit like a stone dropped into water, rippling through you, sharp and grounding. Our babies. Your chest rises in a shuddering breath beneath his weight, the sound muffled against his palm. The reminder of them—safe, sleeping, dreaming their little Christmas dreams just down the hall—only sharpens the tension that coils low in your stomach, the ache that pulses where Jaehyun fills you, so deep it feels impossible.

You can only gulp, eyes wide, breath hitching against his palm as he pushes forward again, slow and unrelenting. The stretch of him leaves you trembling, heels digging into the backs of his thighs in a silent plea for more. You don’t dare speak—you can’t—but Jaehyun sees it anyway, the need written across your face, in the way your fingers claw at his shoulders, your body arching into him despite the weight holding you down.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice barely a whisper, like he’s talking only to himself. “You feel that? The way I’m stretching you open?” He groans softly when you clench around him, his forehead dropping to yours, damp hair brushing your temple. “You like it, don’t you? When I take my time with you—when I make you feel everything.”

“Yeah,” you breathe, your voice low, thick with the same need that bleeds through his. “I love it.” Your nails drag slowly down his back, not enough to hurt, but enough to pull a sharp breath from his chest. “The way you fill me up—” your voice drops further, a quiet, deliberate murmur, your lips brushing his ear as you speak, “—the way you make me take all of you.”

A whimper slips past your lips, muffled against his hand, and Jaehyun grins, slow and wicked, like he’s winning something you didn’t realize you were fighting for. “I knew you would.” His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, smearing the dampness collecting there as his hips roll forward again, sinking him impossibly deeper, until there’s nowhere left for him to go. “You’re mine, baby. Doesn’t matter what day it is—Christmas morning, Easter, your fucking birthday—you belong to me.”

The words hit you like a spark, flaring deep inside you and leaving you breathless, your body shuddering beneath him. The kids. The house. The stillness. It all feels so far away when Jaehyun has you like this, caging you beneath him with his body, his voice, his touch. The deliberate drag of his cock against your walls is maddening, each thrust perfectly timed to pull you apart inch by inch, your quiet gasps swallowed by his palm.

The weight of his hips betrays the softness of his voice. He rolls forward, slow and deliberate, forcing his cock into you inch by inch, dragging out the stretch until it borders on unbearable. Your body trembles beneath him, the sheets twisted and damp beneath you, legs shaking as you hook your heels behind his thighs, trying to pull him closer.

“Impatient,” he mutters, the corner of his mouth tugging into a crooked grin as he watches you fight for control, every inch of your body clinging to him. “But you like it like this, don’t you? Slow.” He thrusts again, deep and precise, filling you so completely that your breath stutters against the palm of his hand. “Like I’ve got all the time in the world to fuck you open.”

The house is cloaked in a silence so fragile it feels like it might shatter at the slightest sound. The soft creak of the bed beneath you rises with every movement, every deliberate snap of his hips against yours. Beyond the window, the faint glow of Christmas lights from the house across the street spills into the room—red, gold, green—turning Jaehyun’s shoulders into something sculpted and painted, his damp skin catching the light in streaks of color.

The weight of him bears down on you like a force of nature, his forearm braced beside your head, veins flexing beneath his skin. He shifts, hand sliding from your cheek to brush a thumb along the corner of your mouth, smearing the dampness that lingers there. “So quiet now,” he breathes, though the cruel glint in his eye tells you he’s not satisfied. “You were whining a minute ago. Where’d that go, baby?”

He grinds his hips against you, pelvis catching against your clit in a slow, maddening rhythm that has you bucking beneath him, hands clawing at his back, his shoulders, anything you can reach. His hand tightens on your face, thumb pressing into your cheek until your eyes snap open, meeting his gaze.

“Good girl.” The words are a murmur, dark and warm, dragging over you like silk and fire. “Eyes on me when I’m talking to you.”

Your voice is a muffled sob against his palm as he thrusts harder, the sound of him fucking into you slick and obscene in the quiet room. His rhythm is relentless now—slow, yes, but unforgiving in its precision, each roll of his hips pressing you further into the mattress, each drag of his cock against your walls forcing a tremor to race through your body.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” Jaehyun’s voice is strained, barely more than a groan as he drops his head, forehead brushing yours. His hand moves down your body, fingers trailing across your skin until they find your clit, circling it with lazy, practiced pressure. The sudden contact makes your thighs clamp around his waist, your entire body jerking as the pleasure coils tighter in your stomach. “That’s it. There you are. I feel you, baby—clenching around me like you don’t want me to leave. You want more, don’t you?”

You nod frantically, tears welling in your eyes as you fight the overwhelming tension building inside you. It’s too much—his cock filling you with every brutal thrust, the pressure on your clit threatening to split you apart, the weight of his body pressing you into the bed until you can barely breathe. You try to speak, but all that escapes is a fractured, gasping whimper.

“Use your words,” Jaehyun mutters, his thumb still working slow circles against you, his pace unrelenting. “Tell me what you want. I know you can.”

“More,” you choke out, your voice cracking, raw and wrecked. “Please, Jaehyun.”

The sound he makes is low and guttural, like the words snap something inside him. “Fuck,” he growls, and his hand leaves your face to slip behind your knee, pulling your leg higher to spread you wider beneath him. The new angle has him sinking impossibly deeper, hitting a spot that makes your back arch and your fingers dig helplessly into his skin.

“That’s what you want, huh?” he taunts, though his voice shakes, strained at the edges as he fights for control. “You want me to ruin you? Want me to keep fucking you until you can’t take it anymore?”

“Yes,” you sob, the word barely more than a breath as the tension in your core tightens, tightens, tightens—your body trembling beneath him, every nerve pulled taut, the heat in your stomach coiling dangerously. You cling to him, fingers curling into the damp skin of his back, desperate for something to ground you. Jaehyun doesn’t relent, doesn’t waver; his movements are steady, deliberate, dragging you closer and closer to the edge without letting you fall.

Jaehyun leans down, lips brushing the corner of your mouth as his thumb presses harder against your clit, matching the relentless snap of his hips. “Cum for me,” he growls, his voice rough and low, his own restraint slipping as his thrusts grow erratic. “Cum on my cock, baby. Let me feel you.”

You shatter. The orgasm crashes through you with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs, your entire body locking up as white-hot pleasure pulses through you, wave after wave, leaving you gasping, writhing beneath him. You don’t know if you’re crying or moaning or screaming, but Jaehyun’s groan rips through the haze, his hips stuttering as he thrusts deep, burying himself inside you one last time as he follows you over the edge.

The room hangs heavy with the kind of stillness that feels earned—weighted, charged, intimate. Your breath mingles with his, shallow and uneven, the space between your bodies nonexistent as Jaehyun’s weight presses into you, skin damp and clinging to yours like it belongs there. His forehead drops to the crook of your neck, and you feel the tremor in him, the faint shudder that mirrors your own, his chest rising and falling against yours in sync.

“You good?” he rasps, voice rough and low, like it’s been dragged across gravel. The words are barely there, a whisper that seems to settle on your skin, warm and grounding.

You hum faintly, your lips parting on a breathless exhale as your hand drifts to the back of his neck, fingers threading slowly through the sweat-damp strands of his hair. The faintest noise escapes him—something between a sigh and a groan—as he melts further into you, his mouth brushing lazily along the slope of your shoulder, teeth grazing just enough to send a shiver through you.

The silence that follows isn’t empty. It’s heavy, comfortable, broken only by the faint crack of the heater warming the room and the quiet rhythm of your breathing as it begins to steady. The glow of the Christmas lights still bleeds through the window, streaks of red and gold spilling over the mess of sheets, over Jaehyun’s bare back, catching on the curve of your hip, your thighs tangled with his beneath the blankets.

He doesn’t move, his arm draped possessively across your waist, fingers tracing mindless patterns against your skin. There’s something grounding in it, the way his touch lingers—lazy but deliberate, like he refuses to let you slip away.

“Merry Christmas,” he mutters suddenly, the words mumbled into the crook of your neck, a teasing lilt curling at the edges of his voice.

You smile, slow and tired, your hand still buried in his hair as you press your lips to his temple, lingering there. “Merry Christmas, Jaehyun,” you whisper back, soft enough to match the glow of the room around you.

His grin widens against your skin, and there’s a new weight to the way he shifts, his hand drifting lower, fingers curving along the swell of your hip with intent that feels impossible to miss. “You know…” he drawls, his voice low, smooth, his lips grazing your jaw as he pulls you tighter against him, “…I think I still owe you one more present.”

“Jae—” you start, half a protest, half a breathless laugh, but he cuts you off with a roll of his hips, slow and teasing, leaving no doubt as to exactly what he means.

The moment shatters with the soft patter of tiny feet in the hall, quick and deliberate, growing louder as they near the bedroom door. You freeze beneath Jaehyun’s weight, the shared rhythm of your breaths slowing as you both listen, waiting. He doesn’t move yet, his chest still pressed to yours, the heavy warmth of him a quiet comfort.

And then—

“Mama! Daddy!”

Your son’s voice bursts through the quiet like a firework, bright and alive. The door swings open with an eager shove, crashing into the wall as he barrels into the room, a little storm of energy and wonder. He’s all tangled hair and oversized pajamas, the pants slipping slightly with every step, but he doesn’t care. “Santa came! He came!”

Before you can react, he’s already climbing up, hands and knees sinking into the mattress as he scrambles toward the middle of the bed. His small chest rises and falls in quick bursts, his face glowing with excitement, round eyes impossibly wide as though the magic of it all is too big to contain. “Santa came,” he repeats, breathless, his fists gripping the blanket near your waist as if he needs to hold onto something to keep from bursting.

Jaehyun stirs beside you, his arm sliding from your waist to prop himself up on an elbow. His hair is sticking up in every direction, but the slow smile that spreads across his face softens him, dimples carving deep into his cheeks as he looks at your son. “Santa came, huh?” he murmurs, his voice gravelly from sleep but threaded with warmth, like he can’t help but get caught in his son’s excitement.

“Yes!” your son shouts, nodding so fiercely he nearly topples over. “He left presents! I know it!”

Jaehyun’s grin widens, his expression lighting up in that easy way that always makes your chest tighten. “You’re sure?” he teases, sitting up a little further, his fingers ruffling the boy’s tangled hair. “You didn’t peek, did you?”

Your son freezes, the breath catching in his little chest, eyes going wide as though Jaehyun’s just accused him of something unforgivable. “No! I didn’t!” he insists, his voice rising an octave, equal parts indignant and scandalized. “Mama says Santa knows if you peek!”

“Smart mama,” Jaehyun murmurs, shooting you a playful glance before turning back to your son, his large hand cupping the back of the boy’s head as he gently tugs him closer. There’s no teasing in the way he pulls him in—just warmth, quiet and steady, as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to his temple. “I believe you, bud,” he whispers, his voice fond and so gentle it almost breaks you.

Your son melts into it, his earlier defensiveness slipping away as his small hands reach out, fisting lightly in Jaehyun’s shirt like he can’t get close enough. “I told sissy I didn’t peek,” he mumbles, softer now, the edge of his voice dipping into something sweet. “And I heard the reindeer, Daddy. I really did.”

But before Jaehyun can respond, there’s a softer sound—the faint shuffle of smaller feet. You look toward the doorway just in time to see your daughter trailing in after him, her stuffed bunny dangling from one hand, her movements slower, still heavy with sleep. She stops halfway into the room, her face a sleepy pout, cheeks flushed and eyes droopy as she blinks at the chaos.

“Daddy,” she mumbles, her voice small and scratchy. “Up.”

Jaehyun shifts instantly, a quiet laugh slipping from him as he stretches out an arm. “Oh, come here, baby girl,” he murmurs, his voice impossibly tender. She toddles toward him, her steps uneven, the soft bounce of her bunny against the floor following her every move. When she reaches the edge of the bed, Jaehyun scoops her up, his large hands cradling her small frame as though she’s made of glass.

“There’s my princess,” he whispers, pulling her into his chest. She melts against him immediately, thumb slipping into her mouth as she nestles her cheek against his shoulder, her bunny now squished between them. “You’re still sleepy, huh?” he coos softly, his hand stroking slow circles up and down her back.

“Bubba loud,” she mutters faintly, her brows furrowing as she glares sleepily at her brother, thumb still tucked into her mouth.

Jaehyun grins, glancing down at the small, sleepy bundle tucked against him, her bunny squished tightly between her arm and his chest. “Bubba’s just excited,” he murmurs, kissing her hair again, his lips lingering there. “It’s Christmas, baby girl.”

She hums softly, her thumb slipping from her mouth as she shifts closer, curling herself tighter into him. “Cwissmas,” she mumbles, the word slurred but content, her face tucked beneath Jaehyun’s chin like it’s where she belongs.

Jaehyun’s smile deepens, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest as he tilts his head just enough to look down at her, his lips brushing her hair. “Christmas,” he murmurs gently, drawing the word out slowly, coaxing her with the softness of his voice. “Say it with me, baby. Christmas.”

She stirs faintly, her thumb slipping from her mouth as she blinks up at him, her big eyes hazy with sleep. “Cwiss…mas,” she mumbles again, her tiny voice uncertain but determined, her brows knitting in concentration.

“There you go,” Jaehyun praises softly, his hand gliding up to cradle the back of her head as he kisses her temple. “Christmas. Perfect, just like you.”

Her face tucks back under his chin, satisfied now, her little fingers curling tighter into his shirt. Jaehyun holds her closer, his voice nothing but a whisper. “That’s my girl. My smart, perfect girl.”

Your son, sprawled dramatically across the bed now, sighs loudly in response. “Daddy, she doesn’t get it.”

“She gets it,” Jaehyun replies gently, shooting you a grin over his daughter’s head as he rocks her faintly, her bunny tucked under her chin. “She’s just enjoying her Christmas cuddles, aren’t you, baby?”

Your son groans again, his hands tugging insistently at the blankets as he looks up at you with big, pleading eyes. “Mama, come on. We gotta go see the tree!”

You laugh softly, reaching out to smooth a hand over his messy hair. “We’ll go in a minute, sweetheart,” you murmur, and he pouts dramatically, flopping halfway into your lap with a mumbled complaint.

“She’s right, though,” Jaehyun adds, his voice low and teasing as he adjusts your daughter more comfortably against his chest, her thumb still tucked in her mouth as she drifts closer to sleep. “Bubba is kind of loud this morning.”

“Am not!” your son protests, lifting his head to glare at his sister with all the outrage a four-year-old can manage. “I’m just excited!”

“Too loud,” your daughter insists sleepily, her words muffled against Jaehyun’s shirt.

Jaehyun chuckles, his thumb brushing over the soft curve of her cheek as his gaze lingers on her peaceful face. “She’s tired, bud,” he says softly, pulling your son closer with his free arm. “But you’re right—it is exciting. Santa must’ve known you were so good this year, huh?”

“Yeah!” your son exclaims, his pride returning full force as he grins up at Jaehyun, his legs sprawled across the bed like he owns it. “I heard the reindeer, Daddy. I told sissy they were on the roof!”

Your daughter stirs just enough to pull her thumb from her mouth, blinking slowly up at him. “No, Bubba,” she whispers solemnly. “Reindeer in sky.”

Jaehyun’s laughter is soft, low, as he kisses her hair again. “She’s got a point, bud,” he says, his voice full of fondness. “Reindeer do fly, after all.”

Your son opens his mouth to argue, but you cut him off with a kiss to his forehead, brushing your fingers through his wild hair. “Let’s just cuddle for a minute, baby,” you murmur, pulling him into the warmth of the blankets beside you. “Then we’ll see what Santa left, okay?”

Jaehyun shifts slightly, careful not to disturb the little girl nestled against his chest, her breaths slow and even. He tilts his head to look at your son, sprawled lazily across the bed, his earlier excitement melting into the soft, quiet glow of the moment. “Come here, bud,” Jaehyun murmurs, his voice soft, coaxing, as he stretches out his free arm.

Your son hesitates for a beat, his big, sleepy eyes flicking toward Jaehyun before a shy smile tugs at his lips. He pushes himself up clumsily, his small limbs still heavy with morning, and crawls over the sheets into Jaehyun’s waiting arms. Jaehyun gathers him close, folding him snug against his side with a kind of gentleness that makes your chest ache.

“There we go,” Jaehyun breathes, pressing his lips softly to the top of your son’s head, lingering there for a moment as though soaking in the weight of him, the warmth. “I missed my boy. You’re getting so big, you know that?”

Your son hums, his little hands curling into Jaehyun’s shirt as he nestles closer, his earlier energy fading into the pull of comfort and closeness. “Not that big, Daddy,” he mumbles, his voice muffled and small.

Jaehyun laughs quietly, the sound soft and affectionate, as he presses another kiss to your son’s hair, his thumb tracing lazy circles against his back. “Not yet,” he murmurs, his voice a quiet promise. “But don’t grow up too fast, okay? You’re still my little guy.”

Your son grins sleepily, his face half-hidden against Jaehyun’s chest as he whispers, “I won’t.”

Jaehyun doesn’t stop there. His gaze lifts to you, his free hand reaching out wordlessly, a silent invitation you can’t resist. He tugs you gently into his warmth, folding you into the space beside your son, his arms looping around the three of you like you’re the only thing in the world he wants to hold onto.

You sink into him easily, your head resting against his shoulder as his hand finds yours beneath the blankets, lacing your fingers together. His palm is warm, steady, grounding. Your son sighs softly, curling closer between you both, and your daughter shifts faintly against Jaehyun’s chest, her bunny still clutched tightly in one tiny hand.

Jaehyun presses a kiss to your temple, lingering there, his voice nothing but a murmur meant just for you. “My whole world,” he whispers, his thumb brushing faintly across your knuckles.

Your heart swells, your chest impossibly full as you close your eyes, letting yourself melt into the moment—this perfect stillness, this warmth wrapped in soft limbs and sleepy whispers.

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper, the words quiet and steady, brushing against his skin.

Jaehyun hums softly, his lips pressing another kiss to your hair. “Merry Christmas, baby,” he replies, his voice thick with love.

And for a moment, nothing else exists—the world outside fades, the morning light a gentle glow through the curtains. It’s just the four of you, tucked close in Jaehyun’s arms, held together by something deeper than words.

The presents can wait. The day can wait. This—this warmth, this love—is everything.

2K notes · View notes

reilemon · 1 year ago

Text

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊Cool Off₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

♡︎ pairing: Zayne x fem!reader

｡°⚠︎°｡MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY)｡°⚠︎°｡

♡︎ cw: unprotected sex (oops), office sex, semi-public sex, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, I think that's it?

♡︎ word count: 3.4k

♡︎ synopsis: what to do when you "accidentally" flash your doctor?

♡︎ a/n: I haven't written smut in like three years. So if you think my writing is cringe, just keep scrolling idk.

♡︎ special thanks to my beta reader ♡︎ @its-de ♡︎ for reading and helping me with this

banner by @cafekitsune

You finally have a day off and you want to use this free time to run errands. However, it's also a hot summer day and you need to dress accordingly. After cleaning your apartment and stocking up your fridge, you have -

meet up with your friend

shop for some new summer clothes and bed sheets

doctor’s appointment

You'd just skip the last one because you feel fine, even during the hot weather.

But you know damn well Dr Zayne will not be pleased with you if you do that. And he's not only your doctor now (and a childhood friend), but an actual friend who you spend most of your free time with. Circumstances of him being your assigned physician, some other stuff that happened in the last few months, brought you so much closer that you couldn't help but develop a huge crush on him. And how could you not when he's so kind, warm, attentive, always makes time for you, funny in his own way... you could spend the whole day thinking of all the stuff that makes you want to be more than friends.

Actually, you might be more than just friends. Lately, you’ve been going on a lot of “dates”; visiting festivals, trying new restaurants but also frequenting your favorite ones, dragging him to the arcade… he’s started insisting on being the one to drop you off at home after a night out. Just a couple of weeks ago when you were sick, he came to your place and took care of you. Both of you ended up falling asleep on your bed watching your comfort movie – actually, he wanted to read his book but ended up invested in the plot and eventually fell asleep before you, tired from his shift and nursing you back to health. You had enough strength to get up to pull out a freshly washed blanket from the closet and cover him. You lied back down, finding comfort in watching Zayne’s peaceful sleeping face. That’s how you fell asleep.

The next morning you found yourself waking up on Zayne’s chest, your form enveloping his. He was gently stroking your back, waiting for you to open your eyes. You don’t know whether you were the one that latched onto him during the night, or if he’s the one that pulled you in; nonetheless, it felt surreal to wake up like this. You looked up into his beautiful hazel green eyes, and you just shared a moment of pure intimacy. Then you got self-conscious of him having a close up of your morning face, which made you immediately jump from the bed and sprint to the bathroom. So, he did manage to nurse you back to health in one day.

You really wish he made the first move already. With all the stolen glances, lingering touches, cuddling, you genuinely think he feels the same way. But you are also his patient, so maybe he feels uncomfortable starting anything, like he’s crossing a boundary and abusing his position as your physician? Maybe he’s waiting for you to make the first move?

Or maybe you’re just delusional and ovulating.

Okay, back to the present. You’re not going to pass up the opportunity to see your crush (this is more than just a crush, honestly) and you add one more task to the list

get some dessert for Zayne

And you want to look cute for him, so you opt for your new backless summer dress.

☃︎⋆⁺₊☃︎⋆⁺₊☃︎⋆⁺₊

“Thank fuck, I look okay.” You murmur as you check yourself out in the mirror in the bathroom of Zayne's office.

It's just before 8pm, your scheduled checkup. Both of you were too busy to hang out for more than a week, and you can’t wait to see him. You took this opportunity to leave the heavy shopping bags on the sofa, the bag with dessert on his desk, and quickly freshen up in the bathroom. It was so hot today, still is, but thanks to the dress you didn't sweat that much.

You exit the bathroom the same time he enters the office. You catch how his usually stern gaze behind his glasses softens at the sight of you.

“Hey!” You don’t waste any time and shorten the distance between you, wrapping your arms around his neck giving him a peck on the cheek.

Zayne’s hands stiffly hover over your waist, stunned by the enthusiastic greeting. You always have a big smile on your face when you see him, but you’re only this forward when you have some alcohol in your system. He doesn’t smell it on your breath now though.

“Did you miss me that much, or are you trying to coax me to skip the check up?”

You pull away with a pout and a blush on your cheeks. Feeling a little embarrassed, you go and sit on a chair across his desk, steering the conversation towards the dessert you brought him.

With an entertained smirk, he sat on his chair and indulged in just chatting with you, and making plans for the evening. He feels at ease now that you’re here.

Zayne cuts the conversation short to take care of some paperwork, so you entertain yourself with your phone, checking what cafes are open. You sit there in silence, not wanting to disturb him. The room is air-conditioned and you would think you'd start to cool down, but it's impossible to do so when your crush is right across you. You try to focus on your phone but your eyes keep darting between the screen and Zayne’s handsome focused features…his hand holding the pen… his long fingers...

“You need to ask me something?” Zayne peers over his glasses.

Busted!

For like a hundredth time.

You fidget in your seat. “Um, no. I don’t wanna disturb you.”

He closes a file and puts papers aside. “I’m done. Go ahead.”

You make up how you wanted to ask him if he wanted to visit the café on your screen, only to for him to point out it’s closed when you show it to him. Not smooth at all.

You nervously scratch your back, and that when it hits you. You didn't wear a bra today!

In your defense, of course you're not going to wear a bra with the backless dress and when it's so hot outside, and it would be okay if this was just a hangout, but the main reason why you're here is because of the check up! Well, now you're getting even more flustered and you can feel nervous sweat forming everywhere. Great.

Zayne's voice fades into focus.

"Is everything okay?"

“Yeah, let’s just go find a cafe that’s nearby!” You prop yourself to sit up and make a run for it, but the seriousness in Zayne’s tone stops you.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

You wave your hand “I feel great, you don't need to -"

"That's good to hear." He humors you, setting the stethoscope around his neck, eyes not leaving yours.

You engage in a short staring contest, but you never win those with him. You hold back the bratty whine as you get up and walk towards the chair. Should you address this? What would be more awkward – saying that you don’t have a bra on or just slipping off the top of the dress, flashing him? But Zayne is a professional; he probably saw plenty of breasts from other patients and didn’t bat an eye. And maybe he even noticed that you’re braless.

You sit on the chair next to him and Zayne gives you an amused look. “Good girl.”

It was like a reflex - the moment you heard those words, your hands slipped off the top of your dress. Zayne pauses, his eyes locked at the sight before him. Oh shit, did you manage to make the situation awkward after all? Just when you wanted to open your mouth to say anything, he blinks and proceeds to do what he’s supposed to do. You suck in a breath when the icy cold stethoscope touches your chest spreading goosebumps across your skin, making your nipples hard. Zayne's eyes are focused somewhere to the side, but you can see light redness peppered on his cheeks. The two of you sit there in silence while he checks your heartbeat. You try to compose yourself, take slow breaths, but your heart is giving you away.

When he’s done, he takes off the instrument and places it on the table. He clears his throat “Nothing irregular, your heartbeat is a little faster, but the heat is probably to blame.”

Right, the heat.

You hope that the redness, still on his face, and his ears, is not from the sun.

Again, you have two choices – do you pull the top up and act like nothing happened, continue the same ‘will they, won’t they’ routine – or do you want to do something about this, take the first step and find out once and for all if this infatuation is one sided?

You take his hand, making him look at you, ‘Well, can you help me cool down, Doctor?’

Zayne eyes widen slightly, switching between your hand and your gaze, only guessing where you’re going with this.

You gently place his cold hand just above your left breast ‘Is this okay?’ you whisper.

Zayne’s irises are almost black from how dilated his pupils are. As he gazes into your doe eyes, the hand resting on your chest travels up across your skin and lands on the side of your neck. He takes off his glasses, leans towards you, his lips a breath away from yours, “You’re walking on thin ice, darling.”

He grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you into a searing kiss. Zayne is kissing you like a man starved, like he's been waiting for this for so long, afraid that this moment will slip away all too quickly. His other hand wraps tightly around your waist, pulling you closer, pressing your chests together, feeling each other’s heartbeats. You moan into the kiss, surprised by the intensity of it and the desperation of his embrace. His lips are so soft and tender, just like you imagined too many times. The hand on your waist travels up to grab your breast, the sensation of his big cold hand on your heated skin making you gasp against his lips. He seizes the moment to lick your bottom lip, then slipping his tongue, yours quickly meeting it.

Suddenly, both of his hands land on your shoulders pulling away.

He utters ‘fuck’ (this might be the first time hearing him say the f word, and you’re embarrassed how excited it made you.) He holds your chin with thumb and index finger, ‘Do you wish to continue?’

You utter ‘yes’ and grab him by the black necktie locking your lips again. His hands find the top of your thighs, then sneaking their way down to bunch up your dress over your knees.

“Hold onto me.” He murmurs between kisses, and you oblige, catching onto his shoulders. Zayne grabs you by the back of your soft thighs, lifting you from the chair and placing you on his desk, so effortlessly and swiftly, like you weigh nothing.

Your fingers comb through his soft, thick hair, relishing in the fact of being able to touch it like this. His hands cup your face, distancing his lips from yours. You expectantly look up to see his tender, yearning gaze. He looks like he’s about to say something, but then he kisses you again, this time softly, slowly deepening it, stealing your breath away. His soft lips move to kiss and nip at the side of your neck, his hands giving attention to your breasts again. He caresses both of them, and it doesn’t take long for one of his hands to be replaced by his lips. His hot tongue teases around the nipple. But when he starts sucking on it, while simultaneously playing with the other one with his fingers, a loud moan escapes your lips.

Zayne’s smirks against the sensitive nipple, “You need to stay quiet, darling.”

You were so dazed with lust that you completely forgot that there could be people outside his office. You bite your bottom lip and nod.

He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, one hand bunching up your dress more and resting on your hip, while the one on your nipple sneaks its way down, teasing the band of your underwear. You feel his fingers slide down, rubbing you over your soaked panties, making you move your hips, craving more friction.

“Fuck.” He breathes against your ear, “You’re already so wet for me.”

The fingers travel towards the band of your underwear and tug on it, and you lift your hips to let him slide it down your legs. Then he stashes your panties into the pocket of his pants.

He catches you by surprise when he kneels down in front of your cunt, your legs closing on reflex, but Zayne grabs your thighs before they could squish his head.

He gently strokes them, "Let me see you."

You’re hesitant about it, but you remember that you took extra steps when you freshened up in the bathroom. Slowly, you spread your legs, lifting your feet to rest on the edge of the desk. Cool air against your soaked pussy sends shivers all over your body.

His hands rest on the plush of your inner thighs. His eyes are mesmerized by the sight in front of him. You almost feel self-conscious by the close-up he’s getting.

"Zayne –" You squirm under his stare.

Snapping out of his daze, he meets your eyes "I’m sorry. You’re just so much more beautiful than I imagined."

Than he imagined? The statement makes your cheeks even deeper red, your pussy more wet and impatient.

Feeling impatient himself, Zayne starts by placing gentle kisses on your inner thigh. The hand on the opposite side follows the same trail, his slender fingers stopping to tease your wet folds, the contact making you gasp and involuntarily clench your thighs.

"Relax, angel." His breath fans over your pussy, not making it easier but you try anyway.

The digits slowly glide over the wetness, bathing in your juices. Your hips flinch as his fingertips lightly circle your clit, thighs trembling as digits are replaced with his hot tongue. It glides flat over your folds, stopping to circle the sensitive nub. The tip of the tongue flicks over it, circles it, again and again, your cunt dripping with both his saliva and your arousal. His middle finger slides in, ring finger shortly after, curling to reach and rub that delicate spot inside you; he sucks and licks your clit while finger fucking you, and your thighs are now shaking, toes curling, as intense waves of pleasure course through your body.

Your hold onto Zayne’s hair, and roll your hips in the same rhythm of his fingers, chasing your release, "Zayne… I’m gonna–"

He locks eyes with you and continues what he’s doing; you come shortly after, covering your mouth with your hand.

Zayne helps you come down from your high, places soft pecks on your thighs again and stands up, pulling you into another breathtaking kiss.

Your hands frantically find his belt and start unbuckling it.

Zayne breaks the kiss, ‘I don’t have any condoms here.’

You shrug ‘Just pull out.’

‘That’s not very respo – ‘

‘Well, you’re a doctor; you can prescribe me some plan b pills.’ you innocently flutter your lashes.

He chuckles and starts taking off his tie and shirt, and you take a moment to gaze at the strong, chiseled muscles of his torso, his arms and those shoulders. Zayne, amused at your dazed and shameless ogling of his shirtless physique, reaches down to unzip his pants, taking them and underwear off in the same go, his hard cock smacking against his shaved pelvis. You suck in a breath when your eyes land on it. He's long and thick, curved just right, tip glistening with so much precum. You hand wraps around it, stroking and feeling the pulsing veins under your touch.

Zayne’s breath hitches ‘Are you sure – fuck…’ He groans when you press his length against your slippery folds, teasingly moving your hips.

‘Yes… I need you.’

With those magic words, Zayne swipes all the papers off the table, grabs you behind the knees and lifts your legs further, and you lean back to rest on your elbows.

His dick strokes your slit, tip teasing the entrance, but you're so impatient.

'Zaynee-' you whine.

He closes his eyes, jaw clenched. Even though your ‘friend’ is the embodiment of calm and collected, right now he’s barely holding onto his composure. His flushed cheeks and red ears, ragged breathing are exposing how badly he wanted, needed, this and how he’s trying so hard not to cum right here before even slipping the tip in.

But he doesn’t want to wait any longer; with your needy whines spurring him on, he places his red cockhead against you, your drenched pussy making it easy to slide it in.

His leg muscles tremble, trying to restrain himself from bottoming out the same second; with shallow thrusts, he slowly slides it all the way in. He towers over you, one hand resting on the desk, the other cupping your face. His hips roll at languid pace, his hooded eyes never leaving your face, watching you adjust to his size.

As you get comfortable, you grab him by back of his neck “Faster, please…” You breathe. He leans down, locking your lips into a sloppy kiss.

He slowly picks up the pace, his hand starts playing with your nipples again, and now it's really hard keep your voice down. You keep breaking the kiss in desperate need to catch your breath, but moans escape your lips as well. Zayne grabs your upper arms and pushes you down further. His muscular torso pressed against yours, his pelvis rubbing against your clit.

“Zayne - I'm close”

“Try to stay quiet, angel.” he grunts, his eyes locked on your face, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He angles himself so his hand can reach down and rub your clit, and it’s too much for you - you cum a few seconds later and Zayne has to slip two fingers of his other hand into your mouth to keep you from screaming. You still whimper and moan over his fingers. He slows down to help you ride out the orgasm, and pulls out the fingers to kiss your lips.

'Is it okay to pick up the pace now? I'm so close.'

You only nod, unable to form any words. He plants a kiss on your temple and moves onto kissing and sucking your neck. Then he goes back to just looking at your face while he picks up the pace, your legs locking around his waist, pulling him even deeper. You bite your bottom lip, but at this point, you feel it's impossible to stay quiet. And now it's not only you who is making noise, but the desk, although sturdy, is starting to move and creak.

You gasp as he suddenly lifts you off the table with his big arms wrapped around your torso. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding onto him. His hands grabs your ass and starts moving your hips in unison with his, his throbbing dick thrusting so much deeper, all the juices leaking down his balls and onto the floor.

You latch your teeth onto his neck to keep yourself from screaming while he’s panting feverishly into your ear.

‘I’m gonna come soon –‘

You meet his gaze ‘Don’t pull out.’

His hips stutter at your words, eyes widening for a second. He curses under his breath and picks up the pace. You pull him into a sloppy kiss, lewd gasps and pants interrupting.

His hands squeezing your ass in a bruising grip, he grunts against your lips, and you feel intense throbbing of his cock; warm liquid filling you up, sending shivers all over your sweaty body.

His slow pumps let his thick cum drip out, making a mess of his pants and the floor. You can feel how fast his heart is beating against your chest. The two of you catch your breath as your lips share a languid kiss, enjoying the warmth of each other’s bodies.

After pulling out, Zayne sits you on his chair. He kneels in front of you, caresses your cheek, his eyes full of adoration. “I never thought our first time would look like this.”

You lean into his palm, looking at him with sweet innocent eyes, “Oh? What did you imagine then?”

“I can show you later.”

#my writing needs to be hornier #guess i'm back to writing #love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #zayne smut #love and deepspace smut #zayne x you #lads zayne

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