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The One He Couldn’t Let Go | LN4

💋 summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N never meant to fall for Lando Norris—the F1 driver with a reputation for flings and flirtations. For nine long months, she kept him at arm’s length, refusing his gifts, dodging his calls, and shielding herself behind sarcasm and silence. But his persistence never wavered. Caught between desire and fear, she struggles to believe a man like him could ever want a woman like her—normal, guarded, imperfect. When jealousy explodes into confrontation and passion gives way to vulnerability, their complicated history threatens to burn everything down… unless she’s brave enough to let herself be loved.

💋 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

💋 word count ━━━━━━━ 13.5k

💋 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, cum on tits

Based on this request.

At an intimidating height, near the top floors, a single unit’s lights glowed brightly against the dark evening. From the outside, one could only imagine the warmth within. Inside that apartment, Y/N stood in her living room, peering down at the cityscape far below.

She could see the flickering reflections of the streetlights dancing on the surface of the river. Her viewpoint was dizzying—a perk of her two-bedroom high-rise apartment. The interior was spacious, the open-plan living room flowing seamlessly into a modern kitchen with sleek countertops and minimalist furniture. The day’s accumulation of tasks was scattered across the dining table: her laptop, paperwork, and a half-finished mug of tea gone cold. An ornate, ribbon-tied bouquet of roses lay beside them.

“Ugh, more flowers,” she whispered under her breath, exhaling sharply. Her gaze traveled over the bouquet’s petals—deep red roses, crisp white lilies, and interspersed baby’s breath that made the arrangement especially lush. A small note card, signed in neat black ink: “Thinking of you. – Lando.”

She bristled. The feeling she experienced in that moment was a heady mix of exasperation, longing, and a strange sense of fear. Nine months of this. Nine months of politely trying to push him away while her heart hammered at every mention of his name. Nine months of hearing that cheerful British accent teasing her, flirting with her, and sending her extravagant gifts without any sign of slowing down. She absently traced the note with her fingertips, fighting the ridiculous urge to crush it in her hand. She couldn’t deny that she adored the gestures. There was no point lying to herself: she loved feeling special. She loved that he singled her out in a world where, by all rights, he should have been so unattainable. And yet…

She let the note slip from her fingers. It fluttered onto the dining table, half-crumpled but still readable. She stared at it, teeth sinking into her lower lip as a swirl of anger and inexplicable yearning circled her mind. She had been fighting this conflict from the moment they met. He was everything she’d sworn to avoid—playboy, stereotypical heartbreaker, and a well-known athlete. The mix of what if and impossible tormented her. She hated how she found him compelling. She hated how his presence filled her with light, yet she simultaneously feared the darkness in his history.

She turned, her hair swishing across her shoulders, and walked into the open-concept kitchen. Flicking on the kettle for fresh tea, she tried to focus on the mundane hum. She pressed a palm against the marbled counter, her mind drifting back, inevitably, to the time they first met.

—

Nine Months Ago

Y/N had just finished her 9-to-5 shift at her first “big girl” job—a role she was both good at and, admittedly, a little bored with. But that day, her friend Pietra had managed to coax her into joining a small get-together in Soho.

“Come on,” Pietra had insisted. “You need to meet my friends; they’re loads of fun. You need a break from that strict schedule of yours.”

“What do you mean by ‘my schedule’? It’s a normal job, Pietra,” Y/N had grumbled, but a hint of a smile tugged at her lips. She was shy and often fiercely protective of her boundaries, but she still went where her close friends urged her to go. After all, she didn’t have that many friends —just a small circle. Reluctantly, she tagged along.

The venue was a warm, tucked-away lounge bar. Fairy lights dangled from the ceiling, music bumped softly, and the chatter of patrons created a pleasant hum. That was when she first saw him—Lando Norris—glancing her way from a group of people near the back. She recognized him instantly: the messy curls of his hair, the bright, mischievous eyes, that athletic build dressed in a stylish black jacket. She was aware of his presence in the sense that one is aware of a flame in a darkened room; he seemed to radiate an effortless energy.

She remembered the moment heat bloomed in her cheeks. She’d heard of Lando Norris—the famed McLaren driver, the rumored playboy. He wasn’t just attractive; he was enthralling, like a magnet pulling the air from her lungs.

When Pietra introduced them, he was polite but also alarmingly direct. He locked eyes with Y/N, grin spreading on his face as though he’d discovered some precious secret that nobody else had.

“So you’re Y/N,” he had said, leaning in close enough that his breath was warm against her cheek. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

She tried to laugh it off, stammering that she was pretty boring—just a regular girl working a 9-5. He didn’t buy that for a second. He teased her. For the entire evening, he barely left her side. His hand lingered at her lower back each time he guided her to the bar to get drinks. Their conversation was laced with playful banter, her attempts to protect herself with sarcasm, and his unwavering interest, as though enthralled by every small detail of her life. He asked about her hobbies, her taste in music. She, in return, found it difficult to breathe under that intense stare. When the evening ended, Y/N left with a phone number in her contacts that she didn’t entirely know what to do with.

That was how it began.

—

Present Day

The kettle beeped, snapping Y/N out of her trance. She hastily poured water into a fresh mug, wincing slightly when a bit of boiling water splashed and burned her skin. She muttered a quick curse under her breath. The small pain was a reminder that she was here, grounded, in her apartment, in her life. Not in that memory of meeting Lando.

He was still the same. From that first moment, he made it exceptionally clear—painfully clear—that he wanted her. She’d tried ignoring him, tried politely brushing off his invites to fancy dinners or events, tried refusing his extravagant gifts of designer shoes and dresses. It only fueled him. She never quite told him no in harsh terms; she wanted to, but she could never muster it. A part of her liked that attention. Another part was terrified.

Leaving her mug on the counter, she wandered back into the living area. She paused at the floor-to-ceiling windows again, half expecting to see some reflection that would reveal the tumult swirling in her mind. Instead, she watched the gleaming lights of the city. She pulled her plush cardigan tighter around herself. Her body was warm but her insides felt cold with confusion, with a nagging, pulsing ache for something she didn’t think she could ever have or deserve.

Even though she was young, she sometimes felt older than her years. She had standards for the kind of man she could actually see herself with—someone who shared her goals. Stability. Honesty. In her mind, Lando was the polar opposite. He was glamorous, chaotic. He was rumored to have slept with countless women. And if even half those rumors were true, that was more than enough for her to keep him at arm’s length. She wasn’t a prude, but she saw that kind of behavior as a lack of self-control. She hated the thought of being just another notch on his bedpost—another fleeting woman he’d meet in a club and forget by morning.

Her phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with a text. She recognized the name, and her pulse pounded.

Lando: “Did you get my flowers?”

She stared at the screen, sipping her tea. Her immediate reaction was to ignore him. But, ignoring him never worked. Not fully.

She typed, paused, deleted. Eventually, she settled on: “Yes, you didn’t have to.”

A bubble popped up almost immediately, showing he was typing.

Lando: “But I wanted to.”

She clenched her jaw. If only desire were enough for her to trust him—to let herself want him the way she truly did. Glancing at her reflection in the window, she tried to see the woman Lando claimed to adore. She wanted to be confident, but she rarely was—at least not around him. The idea of him comparing her to the typical bikini-clad models on his Instagram feed made her break out in anxiety. And yet, he was so persistent. Why couldn’t he be the typical player who moved on easily?

Shaking her head, she texted: “I appreciate them, but I don’t want you wasting your money.”

Lando: “I’ll always do it if it makes you smile. Are you free tomorrow night? I’m in London again.”

Her heart stuttered. It always did. That unwavering determination in him. He came to London so often for business, for sponsor commitments, for friends, for his family. He always tried to see her. She wanted to see him, but fear overshadowed her longing.

She typed back a response she’d practiced often: “I’m not sure. I might be busy.”

Another immediate reply. “You’re always busy. Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll be waiting.”

His words were simple, but they carried weight. “I’ll be waiting.” She couldn’t help but replay that phrase in her head, as though he were whispering it against her ear.

—

The Next Day

Y/N was perched on her living room couch, phone in hand, finishing up a Zoom call for work. Her legs were curled beneath her, and a loose T-shirt paired with leggings—her usual weekend attire—clung lightly to her form. She was comfortable, or at least she should have been, but she felt on edge.

Once she clicked off the call, she exhaled a sigh of relief. It was a Saturday, and though she was often used to the standard “9 to 5, Monday to Friday,” there were occasional weekend tasks that cropped up. She scrolled absentmindedly through her phone, ignoring the swirl of posts about Lando on social media. His fans loved him, especially the female fans. Photos of him with random women at clubs made their rounds more times than she could count. Even though it was rumored that he’d calmed down in recent years, the scars of rumor still trailed him. She’d read the gossip about how he used to message unknown girls, strangers, looking for a quick fling whenever he was traveling for races. The idea of it made her stomach twist with disgust and jealousy.

A ping from her group chat with Pietra and a few other friends lit the screen.

Pietra: “We’re meeting for coffee near Tower Bridge. Lando’s coming too. Wanna join?”

The moment she saw Lando’s name, a spike of adrenaline made her drop her phone. It tumbled to the carpet. She picked it up swiftly, chewing her lip. Her heart hammered. She had two choices: go and endure the swirl of tension, or avoid him again. She typed, paused, frowned, then typed again.

Y/N: “Sure, I could use some air. I’ll be there.”

She braced herself. No matter how much she denied it, she craved his presence like a moth to a flame.

–

It was late morning, and the area around Tower Bridge buzzed with tourists. Y/N arrived at the spot Pietra had texted her earlier.

She spotted Pietra first, already waving in her direction. Y/N forced a small smile and walked over to the group, her stomach tightening with nerves and anticipation. Off to the side, hands tucked into his pockets, stood Lando. He wore a casual black hoodie and jeans, his curls slightly messy, the corners of his mouth lifting the moment his eyes landed on her.

“You came,” he said softly, stepping forward. His voice carried that blend of relief and excitement that sent her heart into overdrive.

“Yeah. I was free,” she answered, trying to keep her tone neutral. She sensed his gaze trailing over her, as if he were filing away the details of her attire, her mood, the subtle flush in her cheeks. An invisible current of tension seemed to crackle between them.

Pietra cleared her throat. “Should we order?”

Lando tore his gaze away from Y/N and nodded, “Sure.” But she felt the way his eyes flicked back to her, how he lingered near her side when they moved to the counter. Despite her best efforts not to, her awareness of him was total.

They settled at a table outdoors, bright umbrellas casting soft shade over the group. The friend group chatted easily, laughter flowing between sips of coffee and bites of pastry. Y/N remained a little tense, contributing here and there, sipping her latte slowly as she listened.

Yet…he seemed utterly entranced. He spoke to everyone, but his attention always gravitated back to her. Whenever he cracked a joke, his eyes sought her reaction first. Whenever he shifted in his seat, his leg brushed against hers. Her pulse jumped each time. She tried to keep her breathing steady, tried to keep any sign of giddiness off her face.

Eventually, Pietra, Max, and the others peeled off to stroll down the riverwalk. Y/N was left sipping the last of her latte beside Lando, who silently took the seat across from her. The noise of the surrounding tourists faded into the background as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the small table.

“You’ve been ignoring my calls again,” he said, not accusing but definitely not thrilled.

She stiffened. “I’ve been busy.”

“Uh-huh,” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “Too busy to text back?”

“Sometimes,” she replied coldly. Her tone was sharper than she’d intended. A flicker of hurt skimmed across his face, quickly replaced by a careful mask of neutrality.

“I—” he began, then paused, searching for words. “I just… I still want to see you. I was thinking maybe dinner tonight, or we could do something else if you don’t like fancy dinners—”

She cut him off, voice low and tight with barely contained frustration. “Why don’t you give up?”

The faintest flicker of anger ignited in his eyes. “Why would I do that?”

“Because,” she hissed, suddenly aware of her own rising irritation, “it’s pointless. All these months, me pushing you away—none of it has made you stop. And I—God, Lando, I don’t do…casual flings. So if that’s what you’re after, just quit.”

He stared at her as though she’d slapped him. He blinked, expression twisting in something halfway between confusion and raw frustration. “You think that’s all I want?”

She set her cup down with more force than necessary. “That’s all you ever had with all those other girls, wasn’t it?” She intended the words as a challenge, but they came out drenched in resentment and, worse, hurt. It was her deepest fear, the one that tormented her in quiet hours: that he would treat her the same as everyone else.

His jaw clenched. “Stop believing everything you read. I know I’ve… I’ve not been a saint in the past. But I never cheated on anyone. And as for random flings—fine, that was years ago, when I was still trying to figure myself out. I’m not proud of it. But I’m not that person anymore.”

She folded her arms, refusing to meet his eyes. “People don’t just change overnight, Lando.”

He exhaled sharply. “I’m not asking you to trust me blindly. I’m just… I’m just trying to show you that I want you. God, you make me want things I’ve never wanted with anyone else. Does that really mean nothing to you?”

It felt like a lightning bolt of adrenaline speared through her. Her mind screamed that he was telling the truth, that there was sincerity in his voice that melted her guard. But the other half of her mind whirled with all the old rumors, all her insecurities, all the nights she’d lain in bed, scrolling through social media, seeing him partying in clubs with women who pressed themselves against him. Cheating rumors. Her chest constricted.

She stood abruptly, trying to keep her tone cold. “I told you. I don’t do casual. And I don’t think you’d give me anything else.”

His anger flared. He shot to his feet, almost toppling the chair behind him. A few people glanced their way. Leaning in close, he said, voice pitched low, “Stop deciding who I am before you even give me a chance.”

The rawness in his voice nearly undid her. Pain laced through her chest. She wanted to just fold into him, bury her face in his shoulder, pretend those years of rumors didn’t exist. But she couldn’t. “I’m sorry,” she managed, stepping back. “I can’t.”

She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving the half-full cup and his stony gaze behind. Her pulse thundered the entire time she headed home, the world blurring around the edges, tears prickling her eyes in a dizzying swirl of guilt and fear.

–

That evening, Y/N was sprawled on her couch, aimlessly flipping channels on the TV while her thoughts spiraled. She replayed that confrontation with Lando by the café at least a dozen times, dissecting every line, every half-hidden tremor of emotion in his voice. The regret was strong. She truly liked him—liked him to a painful degree. She yearned for him so badly she almost found it difficult to breathe. And yet, she was terrified. The idea of trusting him, and having it all fall apart, shook her to her core.

Her phone pinged once more.

Unknown Number: “Hey, it’s Damien. Pietra gave me your number. She mentioned you might be up for a date sometime?”

Y/N jolted upright, reading the text with surprise. She vaguely recalled Pietra mentioning a coworker’s friend who was single and looking to meet new people. She’d brushed it off at the time. But now, the idea of distracting herself from Lando’s incessant presence held a strong appeal. Maybe this was the way to break the cycle of longing.

Y/N: “Hi Damien, yes, Pietra told me about you. I’m free tomorrow if you want to meet?”

She hit send before she could second-guess herself. Letting out a breath, she pulled a blanket around her. This was what she needed, right? A normal guy, with no baggage, no string of humiliating rumors trailing him. She forced herself to ignore the pang of guilt in her stomach, that unshakable sense of betrayal for wanting to see someone else even though she was in no official relationship with Lando. She tried to rationalize it: Lando was the one who was truly unattainable, not her. The heart has to protect itself somehow.

It was the next day—a Sunday, bleak clouds gathering overhead. The wind rattled the windows of her high-rise. Y/N was in the middle of a laundry marathon, folding clothes in her living room, the TV chattering about random gossip in the background. A ring from the door buzzer startled her. She peeked at the digital display to see who it was. Her breath caught when she recognized the curly-haired figure looking resolutely into the camera. Lando.

Her first thought was to ignore him. But a burst of adrenaline had her pressing the intercom. “What do you want?” she asked, voice muffled by the speaker.

He looked up at the camera. She saw from the slight droop in his shoulders that he was determined but…vulnerable. His voice came through, a bit crackly. “I need to see you. Please.”

Her heart hammered. With a heavy exhale, she pressed the button to unlock the main door. She might regret it. But she needed closure, or something. She left the front door of her apartment ajar. Moments later, he stepped in, carrying a bouquet of pink peonies this time—her actual favorite. She’d offhandedly mentioned her love of peonies weeks ago. She swallowed the knot forming in her throat.

“You have to stop with the flowers,” she said by way of greeting.

He set them on a nearby shelf, ignoring her complaint. “I’m not apologizing for sending you flowers. It’s the least I can do for you.”

She stood there, arms crossing over her chest, vaguely aware of how her T-shirt and leggings did nothing to hide the shape of her hips and legs. She felt vulnerable letting him see her like this, so casual and undone. But he didn’t seem to notice anything but her eyes. Stepping closer, he spoke in a quiet, tense voice.

“Look,” he began, “I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean to snap. I just—seeing how you look at me, like I’m the worst person in the world, it kills me. You never give me the benefit of the doubt.”

Her throat tightened. Anger, guilt, and longing all warred within her. “You haven’t exactly proven me wrong. Every time I check social media, there’s a rumor, or a photo—”

His eyes blazed. “That’s not me anymore. Do you know how old some of those photos are? You think I’m hooking up with random girls at clubs while trying to chase you for nine months? I have no idea how to prove I’m not lying except to say it outright: I’m not sleeping around. I’m not cheating. I don’t want to be with them, I want to be with you.”

The sincerity in his voice was so intense it shook her defenses. “But I can’t just…unhear the rumors. You had that reputation for so long, Lando.”

He drew in a breath, his frustration palpable. “I know. But people change. I’m not going to apologize forever for my past mistakes. I’ll own them. And you can ask me anything. Let me show you who I am now.”

Her eyes darted to the side. She felt the press of her own heartbeat rattling through her ears. When she didn’t answer, he took a bold step forward, bridging the small distance between them. His gaze flicked down, glimpsing the way her full hips curved into her waist. She saw that flicker of admiration in his eyes. She braced herself, expecting a sexual comment, but it never came. Instead, he reached out carefully, like he was half afraid she would flinch.

He gently touched the side of her face, fingertips grazing her cheek. The warmth of his touch sent a sizzling jolt through her. She swallowed, her throat dry, every nerve in her body going taut.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low and rough, “you’ve got to give me a chance.”

Her walls trembled. She wanted to push him away, but the swirl of desire in her belly was strong, overwhelming. She found herself leaning in slightly, like a magnet.

“God, you’re such a jerk sometimes,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, though it lacked conviction. Anger and longing clashed in her tone.

His lips quirked into a small, bittersweet smile. “But you still like me,” he murmured. It wasn’t a question.

A heartbeat passed—then another. Before she knew it, his mouth was on hers, the kiss hard and urgent. She gasped, her body stiffening in shock before melting into him. The laundry in her arms tumbled to the floor. His hand cupped her cheek, drawing her closer, and she tilted her head, letting him deepen the kiss. The taste of his mouth—coffee and mint—erased every rational thought in her head for a thrilling, reckless moment.

Her arms found their way around his shoulders. His hand slipped from her cheek down to the small of her back, pressing her into him. She felt the warmth of his body, the electric tension that had brewed for months now set free. His chest rose and fell rapidly against hers.

But then, like a jolt of lightning, the fear snapped back into her. She broke the kiss, pushing him away with trembling hands. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and he stood there, panting.

“Shit,” she mumbled, stumbling a step back. “I can’t do this.”

“Y/N,” he said, voice husky. “Don’t—”

She shook her head. She couldn’t even form words. She just fled to the door and swung it open, voice trembling, “You should leave.”

He hesitated, heartbreak flickering in his eyes, but he eventually stepped out. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, she felt tears welling, unstoppable. She sank to the floor, burying her face in her hands.

–

In the days that followed, Y/N avoided every text and call from Lando. She even avoided Pietra’s invites, terrified he might show up. She drowned herself in work, volunteering for extra tasks at the office. She took long shifts, poured over spreadsheets, answered emails into the late hours of the night. She hammered her free time with exercise. She tried everything to chase the memory of his kiss away. She was furious at herself for letting it happen, furious at the swirl of contradictory emotions she couldn’t control.

She told herself that was it. She couldn’t let it happen again.

But deep down, she knew she was lying. The way his lips felt on hers haunted her. She replayed the second their mouths connected, how her heart soared with a new kind of adrenaline. The crash afterward was brutal, leaving her feeling hollow.

–

One week later, Y/N found herself in a quiet, upscale restaurant near Covent Garden, fidgeting with her napkin. Damien sat across from her, a kind smile on his face, conversation polite and gentle. He was the epitome of normal—a stable job in finance, an easy sense of humor, no swirling rumors or paparazzi following him. She forced herself to pay attention to him and not think about Lando.

But every time she noticed Damien’s neat, short hair and pressed collared shirt, she missed Lando’s messy curls and casual hoodies. Every time Damien asked a sweet, thoughtful question, she imagined Lando’s witty, borderline-arrogant grin. This was torture in a different sense. She forced herself to laugh at Damien’s jokes, but the laughter sounded hollow to her own ears.

“So,” Damien said, leaning forward. “Tell me more about your job, about you. Pietra said you moved here?”

She nodded. “Yes, over 5 years ago. I, well, my life is pretty routine. Wake up, commute, work, come home. Maybe watch Netflix or read. Nothing exciting.” She tried to laugh it off.

Damien smiled. “Routine isn’t bad. I like reliable people.”

She forced a polite smile back. She was about to respond when she felt a distinct presence behind her. That comforting sense of tension that always accompanied… him. Slowly, she turned her head. Her heart lurched in her chest. Standing near the entrance to the restaurant, accompanied by two of his mates, was Lando. The world seemed to stutter for a second. He was scanning the room—probably looking for a table or maybe meeting someone. And then he saw her.

His entire posture stiffened. Their eyes locked, the swirl of unspoken emotion instantly thickening the air. She felt a spike of panic. She prayed he wouldn’t come over, wouldn’t make a scene. Yet part of her wanted him to. Maybe because she longed to see him again.

He shot her a look that asked a thousand questions. She could almost read the accusation in his gaze. She averted her eyes, turning back to Damien, whose brow furrowed with confusion as he followed the direction of her gaze to see Lando.

“Oh,” Damien said, not quite sure what was happening. “Is that a friend of yours?”

She cleared her throat. “Sort of. We… we move in the same circle,” she lied, or half-lied. “Let’s just ignore him.” She forced a laugh.

But ignoring Lando Norris was impossible. Out of the corner of her vision, she watched him murmur something to his friends and stride purposefully toward her table. Her stomach dropped. Damien noticed her sudden tension.

“Y/N? You okay?”

She tried to smile, but the attempt was pitiful. Before she could speak, Lando stood at the edge of their table, hands in his pockets, face set in a carefully neutral mask. She heard the quickness of his breath, saw the faint flush in his cheeks that told her he was not calm at all.

“Hey,” he said, voice clipped. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Damien, noticing the tension, stood from his seat politely and offered his hand. “Hello, I’m Damien. I’m Y/N’s—”

“Friend,” she interjected too quickly, her cheeks blazing. She avoided Lando’s gaze, focusing on her water glass.

Damien hesitated, confusion scrawled on his features. “Yes, well, friend for now.”

Lando’s jaw ticked, and he slid his eyes to Y/N. She could feel the wave of anger rolling off him. A tight, forced smile appeared on his face as he took Damien’s hand, giving it a quick shake. “Lando. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Damien replied, though he seemed unsure about the whole situation.

Her heart hammered so loud she was surprised they couldn’t hear it. Lando parted his lips, hesitated, then said in a low voice, “Hope you both enjoy your meal.” He turned to her, eyes burning with unspoken frustration. “We’ll catch up another time, yeah?”

She nodded stiffly, feeling her throat constrict. “Sure,” she managed. Then he was gone, joining his friends at a table across the restaurant. The man was too well-known to cause a scene in a public place with prying eyes, but the tension was thick enough to slice through with a knife.

Damien slowly sank back into his seat, giving her a concerned glance. “Is everything okay? You two seemed…tense.”

She forced another laugh that sounded high-pitched and desperate to her own ears. “We have a bit of a… complicated history.” She tried to wave it off, picking up the menu. But her eyes couldn’t seem to stop flicking to the side, drawn to the figure of Lando, who was now sitting with his friends at a table partially in view. She felt him glancing at her. The weight of that gaze pinned her down. Her appetite vanished.

Over the course of dinner, she tried to maintain a steady conversation with Damien. She forced herself to nod politely at whatever he was saying, some anecdote about a recent trip to Ireland. She tried to laugh when appropriate. But her mind was wholly consumed by Lando. The tightness of her chest only worsened each time she felt his eyes on her.

Finally, Damien noticed her distraction. He followed her gaze, turning to see Lando, who was tapping his foot impatiently beneath his table, occasionally whispering to his two friends. One friend seemed to be trying to calm him down. Y/N swallowed, bracing herself as she realized that every fiber of her being was screaming at her. This was too intense, too complicated, too painful. She was trying so hard to maintain composure.

Damien, clearing his throat, leaned forward, voice gentle. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you and…that guy, but if you need to talk about it, I’m here to listen. I like you. I’d like to keep seeing you. But if your heart’s somewhere else—”

She flinched. “It’s not. I… Lando and I aren’t dating. It’s complicated. But I’m here on this date with you,” she said, trying to cling to normalcy.

Damien offered a sad smile. “Yeah. But I’m not blind to the tension.” He gestured softly toward Lando. “If you have unresolved feelings with him, you need to figure that out, Y/N. It’s not fair to either of us otherwise.”

She nodded, feeling tears prickling. She didn’t want to break down in front of a near stranger. “You’re right,” she said, voice cracking. “I’m sorry.”

Damien’s gaze was kind. “No worries. Let’s just finish dinner. We can talk afterwards.”

She offered him a grateful half-smile. As she forced down a few bites of her meal, she avoided looking at Lando. But near the end, she heard a scraping of chairs. He and his friends were leaving. Unable to control herself, she glanced up to catch him staring at her with an expression of stony, confused anger. It shot a pang of guilt straight through her. Then, without a word, he walked out. The door swung behind him, leaving her with an ache deep in her gut.

–

It was later that night, and Y/N was beyond exhausted—physically from the clack of her heels on concrete all evening, and emotionally from the drain of a lukewarm date. She’d said goodbye to Damien just outside her building, gently declining his request for a second date. Although she’d been polite, her thoughts had circled only one person the entire evening. Her heart grew heavier with every step she took toward the large glass doors of her high-rise. The cold night air bit at her cheeks, and she wanted nothing more than to escape into the warmth of her living room.

As she neared the entrance, punching in the code to unlock the main doors, a figure shifted in the shadows beside one of the pillars. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she nearly dropped her keys. She drew in a sharp breath.

From the darkness, Lando stepped out, leaning heavily against the glass. There was a ferocity in his gaze she’d never quite seen before. His arms were folded over his chest, but the tension rippling through his shoulders was almost visible. He looked like he was fighting a battle just to keep himself from exploding.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” she blurted, voice shaky with a mix of adrenaline and nerves. A dozen alarm bells rang in her head—she’d never seen him look this furious, this…possessive.

He didn’t move from his spot. “Sorry,” he muttered, but there was nothing apologetic in his tone. “I knew you’d be home eventually.”

She tried to brush past him into the lobby, pressing the key fob firmly against the reader. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, forcing as much calm as she could muster. The glass doors slid open with a hiss, revealing the polished marble of the foyer.

He followed her inside, shoulders practically quivering with restrained anger. “We need to talk.”

The intensity in his eyes made her throat tighten. She hugged her arms around herself. “About what?” she spat, stepping toward the elevator. She was angry—angry with him for continuing to show up unannounced, angry with herself for the guilt she carried. She jabbed the elevator button, watching the numbers tick down from the top floor. “I have nothing to say to you.”

He slid into the elevator with her right as the doors closed, leaving them trapped in that small space. She felt his presence like static electricity, filling the air. If jealousy were a fire, he’d be an inferno right now—scorching everything in reach.

He turned, chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself. “About you going on a date with some other guy, when you damn well know there’s something between us.”

His voice was low, dangerous. She’d never heard such palpable fury from him. It made her heart pound wildly. She scoffed, fixing her gaze on the metallic elevator doors. “You and I have nothing,” she said icily, though her voice quivered at the end. “I’ve told you a thousand times: it wouldn’t work. But you refuse to back off. So yes, Lando, I went on a date.”

His eyes blazed as though her words poured fuel on his rage. His hand twitched at his side—she half-expected him to slam his fist against the elevator wall. “Why?” he growled, struggling to keep his volume low. “Because you think he’ll be more stable? Because you think I can’t be serious about you? That I can’t commit? Or because you wanted to hurt me, rub it in my face that you can walk away any time you want?”

She whipped her head around, eyes blazing with her own anger. “Don’t twist my intentions,” she snapped. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just—I don’t think you can give me what I need. You’re Lando Norris, the guy plastered all over social media with a harem of women. Even if half of it isn’t true, how am I supposed to know which half?”

The elevator dinged, but it felt more like a bomb dropping. When the doors slid open to her floor, she stormed out into the hallway, rummaging through her purse for her keys. He followed closely on her heels, the anger rolling off him like crashing waves.

She finally snagged the key, her entire body trembling with the aftershocks of their argument. “Just go home, Lando,” she muttered, not daring to look at him. She was terrified of what she might see there—hurt, or worse, a brokenness that mirrored her own.

“Not until we settle this,” he hissed. Before she could argue, he stepped in front of her door, effectively blocking it. She stared at his chest for a second, realizing she had to physically push him aside if she wanted to run. The tension in the air was suffocating.

With a furious huff, she shoved the key into the lock and shouldered past him. He slipped inside right behind her. The door slammed shut, and an uneasy silence filled the dimly lit entryway of her apartment. The glow of the city outside cast faint patterns on the wall, but the atmosphere felt like a tinderbox seconds from erupting.

“Fine,” she bit out, tossing her bag onto the kitchen counter with a little too much force. “Talk.”

He ran both hands through his hair, pacing like a caged animal, that wild, jealous energy crackling around him. “You keep spitting out all these reasons you can’t be with me,” he began, voice trembling with a mixture of rage and desperation. “All these rumors—you act like I’m the same reckless kid I was years ago. But I’m not.”

She pressed her arms tighter around herself, trying to combat the swirl of adrenaline. “How am I supposed to believe that?” she demanded, voice cracking. “The cheating rumors. The flings. The endless girls in your DMs. You want to stand there and tell me it’s all lies?”

He let out a harsh bark of laughter, frustration strangling the sound. “Not all lies. But the cheating—yes, those were lies. The hooking up—fine, it happened, but not when I had a girlfriend. I was lonely and stupid, and yeah, I messed around. But not anymore.” His fists clenched at his sides, as though the words themselves hurt coming out. “Ever since you walked into my life, I’ve done nothing but try to show you that I’ve changed. I’ve never cheated on you, never even let myself think of anyone else. But you don’t see that, do you? Because you’d rather believe I’m—”

She cut him off with a bitter laugh, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “Don’t turn this on me. I’ve watched pictures of you partying with girls, read about all the nights you went clubbing while your ex was nowhere to be found. How do I know you won’t do that to me, too?”

His eyes flared with hurt. He drew in a ragged breath, then pounded his fist once, softly yet furiously, against the side of her sofa. “Stop. Stop punishing me for something I didn’t do. You want to know the truth? I hated those rumors. I hated that I didn’t do enough to shut them down. But I was too caught up in my life—racing, traveling, trying to please everyone. I can’t change that now. But I would never treat you like that.”

She sniffed, tears brimming, voice wavering. “Then how do I know—”

“You don’t,” he interrupted, voice cracking on the edges. “You either trust me or you don’t.”

For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other. Her tears clung to her lashes, and the anguish in his expression was brutal. The space between them thrummed with pent-up longing and towering anger, their conflicting emotions practically vibrating in the dimly lit living room.

“That’s the problem,” she whispered finally, wiping at her eyes. “I’m scared. You’re Lando Norris. You could have anyone, and—God, look at me. I’m never going to be those girls. Never. I can’t compete with them.”

He laughed again, but it was devoid of humor, laced with sarcasm and heartbreak. “Compete with them? Compete for what? They mean nothing to me, Y/N. Nothing. Half the pictures you see are just me stuck in a club for a sponsor event or forced to smile next to models at a photoshoot. Do you think I’m sending them designer shoes or spending every spare moment trying to figure out how to get them to give me a chance?”

She closed her eyes, tears leaking down her cheeks. She hated feeling weak in front of him, but the swirl of rage and longing was too strong to contain. “You could just be infatuated. Maybe I’m the new chase, that’s all.”

Something inside him snapped at those words. He let out a sharp expletive, stepping forward, crowding her against the back of the couch. His eyes burned, voice trembling with an anger that threatened to boil over. “You really think so little of me? You think I’d be standing here like a bloody idiot, night after night, sending you flowers and calling you, chasing you across the city—just because I’m bored? How can you not see how furious it makes me, seeing you with someone else, even the idea of someone else, when I’ve done nothing but try to show you that you’re the only one I want?”

She flinched at the raw intensity in his voice. Her heart thundered, torn between fear and a twisted sense of relief that at least he cared this much. “I just—” she started, but her words failed her.

He grabbed her wrist, not painfully, but firmly enough that she couldn’t ignore him. “Do you have any idea how jealous I was tonight?” he practically snarled. “I’ve been pacing around your building, counting the hours, imagining you laughing with him, letting him touch you the way I want to—” His voice broke off, a tremor running through his shoulders. “It drove me insane.”

She swallowed hard, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Why?” she rasped. “Why do you even care?”

“Why?” he echoed. He let out a ragged breath, finally loosening his hold on her. His gaze flicked over her face, taking in every tear, every shaky breath. “Because I—” He closed his eyes, trembling. “Because I’m falling in love with you, Y/N. And it’s driving me out of my mind that you can’t see that.”

It was more of a confession than she’d ever expected, especially with so much anger behind it. She felt her whole world tilt. Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her heart hammered an erratic beat.

He stared at her, eyes a storm of rage and vulnerability. “So go ahead,” he said, voice cracking. “Yell at me. Tell me you don’t believe me. Tell me all the reasons we won’t work. But don’t you dare say I don’t care. Because I do. Too damn much.”

She choked back a sob, clinging to the edge of the couch for support. “Lando—”

He moved closer, so close she felt the heat radiating from him, the raw tension. In the hush of the apartment, their frantic breaths seemed deafening. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners. She didn’t know if it was the weight of his words or the sheer presence of him that shattered her defenses, but something inside her cracked wide open.

He brought a hand up, shaking slightly, and brushed the tears from her cheek. His touch was unexpectedly gentle given the fury in his eyes. “For God’s sake,” he muttered, voice tight, “just let me in. Let me show you.”

Her tears flowed freely now, a twisted mix of heartbreak and an ache for him she could no longer deny. Her lips trembled, trying to form a response, but all that came was a shaky sob. His breath hitched as if her pain sliced right through him. Suddenly, he couldn’t hold back; he looped an arm around her waist and yanked her against his chest, cradling her as if she might shatter. She stiffened at first, the shock of his physical closeness overwhelming. But then her fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, and she buried her face there, letting the dam break.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered fiercely into her hair. His voice still vibrated with anger, but it was undercut by raw desperation. “I’m so fucking jealous I can’t think straight, but I— I don’t want to lose you.”

She cried against him, letting the emotions flood her. Her tears soaked into his clothes. Her body shook as she let out all the doubts, the insecurities, the fear of being betrayed or left behind. He just held her, pressing rough kisses into her hair, letting his own ragged breaths warm the top of her head.

After what felt like an eternity, she pulled back enough to look up at him. His eyes were bloodshot with pent-up emotion. She could still sense the roiling jealousy and frustration coursing through him like a living thing.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked. “I’m sorry for always pushing you away. I’m sorry for—”

He silenced her with a searing kiss, lips crashing onto hers in a fierce, desperate claim. She gasped, momentarily stunned by the sheer force of it. Then a molten wave of longing shot through her, and she melted into him. Her arms came up around his neck, tangling in his messy curls. She sensed all that anger still there, fueling each press of his mouth, each frantic swipe of his tongue. But underneath it was something deeper—love, need, a yearning she recognized in herself.

He broke away only to rasp, “Don’t. Don’t apologize. Just—don’t run. Not anymore.”

She answered by pulling him back in, their kiss turning hot and frantic. Her tears mixed with the taste of his mouth, and she felt his hands roam over her waist, her hips, dragging her impossibly close. She moaned against his lips, the press of their bodies kindling an urgency that had been building for months.

Their breaths grew ragged as he maneuvered her backward until her knees hit the couch. She sank onto it, drawing him with her. He stared down at her, chest heaving, eyes heavy-lidded with desire—and still, that anger flickered at the edges. But now, his fury morphed into a desperate need to claim her, to prove himself in a way words never could.

“Tell me you want this,” he demanded, voice throaty and laced with jealousy so thick it almost hurt. “Tell me you want me, not him, not anyone else. Me.”

She cupped his face between her trembling hands. “God, Lando…I do,” she whispered, tears still wet on her cheeks. “It’s always been you.”

That was all he needed. His mouth crashed onto hers once more, their kisses feverish and unrestrained. She tugged at his hoodie, pulling it up until he helped yank it over his head. Her fingers immediately splayed across the warm skin of his back, feeling the tense muscles there. He groaned at her touch, sliding a hand under her blouse to stroke the small of her back, his calloused fingertips igniting every nerve ending.

Their kiss turned hungrier, the taste of him filling her senses. She arched against him, pressing her hips up into his. His lips trailed fiery kisses along her jaw, dipping to her neck, where he bit down softly, making her gasp. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.

His voice shook against her skin. “I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else,” he confessed, jealousy clinging to every syllable. “It drives me mad.”

Her breath hitched. Somehow, hearing how worked up he was, how all-consuming his feelings were, stoked her own desire. “I’m sorry,” she managed again, though it came out in a ragged whisper. “I’m— God, I’m sorry.”

He answered with another bruising kiss, leaving no space for apologies. His hand slid higher under her blouse, caressing the curve of her waist, tracing the outline of her ribcage. Her body quivered, half from the adrenaline spike, half from the sudden waves of pleasure.

Time blurred as they gave in to months of tension. She’d dreamed of this, yearned for it. But never had she imagined the raw intensity—especially not with him practically shaking from jealousy and fear of losing her. Every whispered plea, every frantic movement, carried that undercurrent of anger and heartbreak that now fed straight into a spiraling passion.

Lando’s lips claimed hers with a ferocity that left her breathless, his hands gripping her hips as if she might vanish if he loosened his hold. The taste of him was intoxicating—spiced with desperation, laced with a jealousy she could feel vibrating through every inch of his body. He pulled back only to trail kisses across her face—her cheeks, her jawline, her neck—each one a searing mark of his obsession. His mouth was everywhere, and she could barely think, let alone resist.

“Lando,” she gasped, her voice trembling as his lips brushed the sensitive spot beneath her ear. His breath hitched, and she felt the tension in his shoulders, the restrained fury and longing that had been building for months.

“I’ve waited too long for this,” he growled against her skin, his hands sliding up her sides to grip the hem of her blouse. With a sharp tug, he pulled it over her head, leaving her in nothing but her bra. The cool air hit her skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze as he took her in.

His hands slid over her shoulders, down her arms, then back up to cup her face. He kissed her again, softer this time, but no less urgent. His thumbs brushed her cheeks, wiping away the remnants of her tears. “You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent. “I can’t believe I almost lost you.”

Her breath caught as he moved lower, his lips brushing her collarbone, her shoulders, every inch of her exposed skin. His hands fumbled with the clasp of her bra, and she arched into him, her heart pounding as the fabric fell away. The moment her breasts were bare, his eyes darkened with hunger.

“God, I’ve dreamed about this,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. His hands cupped her, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, and she couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped her lips. He smiled—a wicked, possessive thing—before lowering his head to take one into his mouth.

The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. His tongue swirled around her nipple, teasing and sucking, and she tangled her fingers in his curls, pulling him closer. He groaned against her skin, the sound vibrating through her chest, and she felt her hips arch involuntarily.

“Lando,” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper. “Please.”

He pulled back just enough to look up at her, his lips swollen, his eyes blazing. “Tell me you’re mine,” he demanded, his voice rough. “Tell me no one else gets to touch you like this.”

She could barely think, let alone form words, but she managed to nod, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “I’m yours,” she whispered. “Only yours.”

That was all he needed. He dove back in, his mouth claiming her other breast with the same intensity. His hands roamed over her body, exploring every curve, every inch of skin as if he were memorizing her. She writhed beneath him, her moans filling the room, her hands clutching at his back as if he were the only thing keeping her grounded.

He shifted, his lips trailing down her sternum, over her ribs, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His hands squeezed her hips, fingers digging into her skin, and she whimpered, the sound desperate and needy.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe. He kissed her stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel, and she gasped, her back arching off the couch. His hands slid up her sides, tracing the curve of her waist, before finally cupping her breasts again.

He leaned up, his lips claiming hers in a searing kiss, and she could taste herself on his tongue—sweet, addictive. His hands kneaded her breasts, his thumbs brushing her nipples, and she moaned into his mouth, her hips grinding against his.

“I’ve been imagining this for so long,” he confessed, pulling back just enough to speak. His breath was warm against her skin, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire. “Every night, I’ve dreamed about touching you like this. About feeling you beneath me. About making you moan my name.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she tugged him closer, her lips capturing his in a desperate kiss. He groaned, his hands sliding down her body to grip her hips, pulling her flush against him. She could feel the hardness of him through his jeans, and she whimpered, the sound muffled against his lips.

“Lando,” she gasped, breaking the kiss. Her hands slid down his chest, fumbling with the button of his jeans. He watched her, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his eyes filled with need.

“Wait,” he growled, catching her hands in his. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Before she could protest, he pushed her back against the couch, his lips trailing down her body once more. He kissed her breasts, her stomach, her hips, and she squirmed beneath him, her hands tangling in his hair as he reached for the waistband of her jeans. His hands were impatient, fingers fumbling with the button and zipper, and she let out a shaky laugh, half from nerves, half from the sheer intensity of his focus.

“Lando,” she breathed, her voice trembling as he tugged the denim down her hips. He kissed her exposed skin, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just above the edge of her panties, and she gasped, her back arching off the couch. Her jeans pooled at her ankles, and he pulled them off in one swift motion, tossing them aside without a second thought.

Her legs were bare now, her body trembling beneath his gaze. He looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered, his eyes filled with a hunger that made her heart race. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “Every inch of you.”

Her hands clenched in his hair, tugging him closer as he kissed his way back up her body. His lips found hers again, the kiss bruising, desperate, and she moaned into his mouth, her hips lifting off the couch in search of friction. He groaned, his fingers digging into her hips as he held her still, his lips moving to her neck, her collarbone, her breasts.

“Lando,” she gasped, her voice breaking as his teeth grazed her nipple. He chuckled, the sound low and satisfied, before pulling back to look at her.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he promised, his eyes blazing with intent. She shivered, her body already a trembling mess beneath him, and he smirked, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs. “Not even close.”

“Lando,” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “Please.”

He looked up at her, his eyes blazing, and he didn’t say a word. Instead, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties and pulled them down, leaving her completely bare. Her breath hitched as he stared at her, his gaze raking over her body with a hunger that made her heart race.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice low and reverent. “Every inch of you.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing the inside of her thigh, and she tensed, her hands clutching the couch cushions. His breath was warm against her skin, and she whimpered, her hips lifting off the couch in a silent plea.

“Lando,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “Please.”

He didn’t make her wait. His mouth claimed her in one swift movement, and she cried out, her back arching off the couch. His tongue swirled around her, teasing and tasting, and she tangled her hands in his hair, pulling him closer.

“Oh, God,” she moaned, her hips grinding against his face. “Lando, please.”

Lando’s mouth was relentless, his tongue tracing every inch of her with a hunger that left her trembling. She could feel the slick heat of him working her, his tongue lapping at her entrance, teasing her with slow, deliberate strokes that made her toes curl. “Oh, God, Lando,” she gasped, her hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer as if she could fuse him to her. His lips wrapped around her clit, sucking gently at first, then harder, and she let out a strangled cry, her hips lifting off the couch. The sensation was electric, like a current running straight to her core, and she could feel herself getting wetter, her body responding to every flick of his tongue.

“You taste so fucking good,” he growled against her skin, his voice rough and raw. “I’ve been dreaming about this—about how sweet you’d feel, how tight you’d be.” His tongue swirled around her clit, teasing her mercilessly, and she moaned, the sound ragged and desperate. He pulled back just enough to look up at her, his eyes blazing with a mix of lust and something deeper, something possessive. “I could spend hours here,” he muttered, his breath hot against her skin. “Just tasting you, learning every inch of you. You’re fucking addictive.”

She whimpered, her body quivering as he dove back in, his tongue working her with a skill that left her mind blank. He added two fingers, sliding them inside her with a groan, and she cried out, her pussy clenching around him. “Jesus, you’re so tight,” he murmured, his fingers curling inside her, hitting that spot that made her see stars. “And so fucking wet—God, you’re perfect.” He pumped his fingers slowly, drawing out every gasp, every moan, and she could feel herself spiraling toward the edge. “That’s it, baby,” he encouraged, his voice low and husky. “Let me hear you. Let me know how good I’m making you feel.”

She couldn’t hold back the sounds escaping her lips—moans, whimpers, his name repeated like a prayer. His tongue flicked over her clit, alternating between gentle licks and firm pressure, and she felt her legs quake, her body tightening like a coiled spring. “Lando, I—” she choked out, her voice breaking as the pleasure built to unbearable levels. “I’m so close—please.”

He didn’t let up, his mouth and fingers working in perfect harmony, driving her higher and higher until she shattered. Her orgasm hit her like a wave, crashing over her with a force that left her gasping for air, her pussy clenching around his fingers as she rode out the intensity. He didn’t stop, his tongue coaxing every last tremor from her body, his lips pressing soft, reverent kisses to her inner thighs as she came down from the high.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice thick with admiration. He leaned up, kissing her stomach, her chest, her lips, and she could taste herself on his tongue—sweet, intoxicating. “I’m never going to get enough of you,” he confessed, his hands roaming her body, memorizing her curves. “Your pussy, your taste, the way you moan my name—it’s all fucking perfect. You’re mine, Y/N. All mine.”

She nodded, too dazed to speak, her body still humming with pleasure. He kissed her again, slow and deep, and she melted into him, her hands tangling in his hair. He pulled back just enough to smirk at her, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “And I’m just getting started.”

Lando’s hands slid under her back, his strong arms lifting her effortlessly as if she weighed nothing. She gasped, her arms instinctively looping around his neck as he stood, cradling her against his chest. Her body felt weightless, her mind still hazy from the intensity of what he’d just done to her. He carried her through the dimly lit apartment, his steps purposeful and steady, never once breaking his gaze from hers. There was something possessive in his expression, something that made her heart race even faster.

When they reached her bedroom, he gently lowered her onto the bed, her body sinking into the softness of the mattress. She was completely bare now, her skin glowing faintly in the moonlight streaming through the windows. Her pussy was still sensitive, still throbbing from the way he’d made her come, and she could feel the slickness between her thighs as she lay there, her legs slightly parted—an unspoken invitation.

Lando stood at the edge of the bed, his eyes raking over her with a hunger that made her shiver. His fingers gripped the hem of his hoodie, and he yanked it over his head in one swift motion, revealing his toned chest and the faint trail of hair that led down to the waistband of his jeans. She bit her lip, her gaze tracing the lines of his body, the way his muscles flexed as he moved.

He wasted no time, his hands quickly undoing the button of his jeans, the zipper sliding down with a soft hiss. He kicked them off, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, the fabric barely containing the hardness straining against it. Her breath hitched as she took him in, the reality of what was about to happen finally sinking in.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and rough as he stepped closer to the bed. His hands slid up her thighs, his touch sending shivers through her. “I’ve been imagining this for so long—having you like this, seeing you laid out for me, completely mine.” He leaned down, his lips brushing her inner thigh, and she whimpered, her body arching toward him.

“Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Please…”

He smirked, that wicked, possessive smile she was starting to love—and fear—as he straightened. “Patience, love,” he said, his voice teasing. “I’m not done with you yet.” His hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer to the edge of the bed, and she felt the warmth of his body as he leaned over her, his breath hot against her skin. “You’re mine now, Y/N. All mine.”

Lando’s fingers traced the curve of her hip, his eyes filled with a possessive hunger that made her shiver. His breath was hot against her skin as he leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear. “Tell me how you want me, Y/N,” he growled, his voice low and rough with desire. “Tell me what you need from me.”

Her breath hitched, her body trembling beneath his touch. She could feel the slick heat between her thighs, the ache for him almost unbearable. “You can do whatever you want with me, Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. “Just—please. Fuck me. However you want. I just need you inside me.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. “Desperate for me, huh?” he teased, his fingers sliding up her thigh, tracing the sensitive skin there. “You’ve been dreaming about this, haven’t you? About me fucking you, making you mine.”

She whimpered, her hips lifting off the bed in a silent plea. “Yes,” she gasped, her hands clutching the sheets. “I need you, Lando. Please.”

He smirked, that wicked, possessive smile she was starting to love—and fear—as he straightened. Slowly, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, his eyes never leaving hers. The fabric slid down his hips, and her breath caught in her throat. He was bigger than she expected, his cock thick and hard, straining toward her. Her mouth watered at the sight, her body growing even wetter as she imagined how he would feel inside her.

“Lando,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “I want to suck you. Let me—”

He cut her off with a firm shake of his head, his hand catching her chin and tilting her face up to his. “Not tonight, love,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Tonight’s about you. About worshiping you. About finally having you in the way I’ve been dreaming of for so long.” He leaned down, his lips brushing hers in a searing kiss. “You can suck me off another time. Right now, I need to be inside you. Right now, I need to see my dick sliding in and out of that pretty pussy of yours.”

Her breath hitched, her body trembling with anticipation. His words alone were enough to make her throb, but the way he looked at her—like she was the only thing that mattered—made her heart race even faster. She nodded, her legs falling open wider in an unspoken invitation.

Lando groaned, his hand sliding down to grip his cock, stroking himself once as he positioned himself between her thighs. “You’re mine now, Y/N,” he growled, his voice thick with possession. “All mine.”

Lando’s grip on her hips tightened as he lined himself up, the thick head of his cock brushing against her slick entrance. She gasped, her body instinctively arching toward his, desperate for more. Her pussy felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending alive and screaming for him. The way he stretched her was exquisite—a perfect mix of pleasure and a hint of pain that made her grind her hips against his, silently begging him to go deeper. She could feel every ridge, every vein of his cock as he pushed inside her, inch by torturously slow inch, filling her in a way that made her head spin. Her pussy clenched around him, as if it didn’t want to let him go, and she let out a whimper that was half pleasure, half desperation.

For Lando, it was like sliding into heaven. Her pussy was so fucking tight, gripping him like a velvet glove, and the heat of her was enough to make him see stars. He groaned, low and guttural, as he felt her walls flutter around him, her body adjusting to his size. “Fuck, Y/N,” he growled, his voice rough with need. “You’re so goddamn perfect. Your pussy feels like it was made for me.” He leaned down, capturing her lips in a fierce kiss, swallowing her moans as he pushed deeper. He could feel her nails digging into his back, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, and he knew she was just as desperate as he was.

He started to move, pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in hard but slow, dragging the movement to prolong the unbearable pleasure. Her moans filled the room, a symphony of bliss that drove him wild. One of his hands held her hip, keeping her steady, while the other rested on the bed, his elbow bent to hold his weight above her. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, her fingers tangling in his curls as she clung to him, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Lando couldn’t get enough of her. He kissed her neck, her shoulders, her collarbone—every inch of skin he could reach. His lips traced a fiery path across her body, leaving marks that claimed her as his. “You’re mine,” he whispered against her skin, his voice thick with possession. “Every part of you. Your pussy, your moans, these fucking perfect tits—all fucking mine.” He pulled back just enough to look down at where their bodies were joined, his cock glistening with her arousal as he slid in and out of her. The sight was obscene, and it made his groin tighten with need. “Fuck, look at you,” he groaned. “Look how fucking wet you are for me. Your pussy’s sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”

She cried out as he thrust deeper, her hips lifting to meet his, eager for more. The friction was almost too much, every drag of his cock inside her sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. She could feel him in places she’d never felt anyone before, his length filling her completely, and the thought alone made her pussy clench around him. “Lando,” she whimpered, her voice breaking. “You feel so good. So fucking good. Don’t stop—please, don’t stop.”

He growled, his thrusts becoming harder, more deliberate, as if he was trying to imprint himself on her very soul. “I’m not stopping,” he promised, his voice rough with lust. “Not until you’re screaming my name, until you’re so fucking full of me you can’t think of anyone else.” His hand slid up from her hip to cup her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple, and she moaned, her back arching off the bed.

Her hips pressed against his, her eagerness driving him wild. He couldn’t believe how responsive she was, how perfectly she matched his rhythm, as if their bodies were made for each other. “You’re so fucking eager for me,” he muttered, his eyes blazing with need. “I love it. I love how much you fucking want me.” His lips crashed onto hers, their breaths mingling, and she could taste herself on his tongue, sweet and addictive.

Their movements grew frantic, desperate—a symphony of skin against skin, breathless moans, and the wet sound of their bodies colliding. She could feel it building, the tight coil in her core winding tighter and tighter until it threatened to snap. Her pussy clenched around him, the sensations overwhelming—every inch of him filling her, stretching her, making her feel impossibly full. The friction was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body, and she could tell from the erratic rhythm of his thrusts that he was close too.

“Please, Lando,” she begged, her voice trembling with desperation. “Come with me. Let me feel you.”

He groaned, his forehead resting against hers as his hips stuttered. “Fuck, baby, come on my cock,” he panted, his voice rough with need. “I want to feel you clench around me. Let go for me.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, her pussy contracting around him in waves of pure ecstasy. It felt like fire and ice all at once—her body trembling, her vision blurring as she cried out his name. Her pussy pulsed around his cock, milking him, and the sensation was so intense she could barely breathe.

For Lando, it was heaven. Her tight, wet walls clenched around him in the most perfect rhythm, fluttering and gripping him like she never wanted to let go. He groaned, low and guttural, as he felt her orgasm ripple through her body, each contraction pulling him closer to the edge. “Fuck, Y/N,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “Your pussy feels too fucking good. I can’t hold back much longer.”

“Where do you want it, baby?” he panted, his thrusts slowing but still deep, still deliberate. “Tell me where you want me to cum.”

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with desire, and licked her lips. “On my tits,” she whispered, her voice sultry and low. “Cover them. Make a mess of me.”

His eyes widened, his jaw tightening as he tried to hold back. Her tits—god, her perfect tits—had been his obsession for so long, and the thought of covering them with his cum nearly made him lose it. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna make me lose it,” he panted, staring down at her chest like it was sacred.

She smirked, her confidence growing as she saw the way he looked at her. “You love my tits that much?” she teased, pushing them together with her hands. Her fingers kneaded the soft flesh, her nipples hard and begging for attention. “Come on, then—mark them. Make them yours.”

Lando groaned, his cock twitching inside her at the sight. Her tits were perfection—full, soft, and begging for his cum. He couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled out of her slowly, his cock slick with her arousal, and she whimpered at the loss of him. Her pussy felt empty, aching, but the sight of him stroking himself above her made her throb all over again.

She watched, mesmerized, as he gripped his cock, his hand moving up and down in long, deliberate strokes. Her tits were pushed together now, her hands cupping them, her fingers teasing her nipples. She loved the sight of him—his face flushed, his jaw tight as he fought for control. “Look at me, Lando,” she urged, her voice low and sultry. “You love these tits so much? Then come on them.”

He groaned, his hand moving faster, his eyes locked on her chest. “You’re so fucking perfect like this,” he said through gritted teeth. “Tits pushed up for me… fuck.”

She licked her lips, her eyes full of desire. “I want it all, Lando,” she urged, her voice trembling with need. “Cover me with it—don’t hold back.”

He groaned, his hand moving urgently over his cock as he felt his orgasm building. “You’re all mine,” he growled, his voice thick with possession. “These tits are mine. I’m gonna mark them, Y/N. I’m gonna make sure everyone knows they belong to me.”

She licked her lips, her fingers teasing her nipples as she watched him. “Stroke it for me… faster. Let go. I want every drop. Cover me, Lando. Make me yours.”

Her words were the final push he needed. With a strangled moan, he came, thick ropes of cum spurting onto her tits, coating them in his release. His hand moved furiously over his cock, milking every last drop as he stared down at her, his chest heaving.

For Y/N, the sight was intoxicating. Watching him cum on her tits, seeing the way his face twisted in pleasure, the way his body trembled as he let go—it was almost as good as the orgasm he’d just given her. She felt his cum splattering against her skin, warm and sticky, and she couldn’t help but moan at the sensation. “God, Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You’re so fucking hot like this.”

For Lando, the moment was unreal. The sight of his cum streaked across her tits, the way she looked up at him with those hungry eyes—it was enough to make his knees weak. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathed, his voice rough with awe. “I could watch this all day.”

She smirked, her fingers trailing through the sticky warmth of his cum on her chest. With deliberate slowness, she dipped a single finger into the mess, coating it in his release. Her eyes never left his as she brought her finger to her lips, her tongue darting out to taste him. The salty tang of his cum hit her senses, and she moaned softly, her lips curling into a wicked smile as she sucked the finger clean. His cock still rested in his hand, twitching at the sight of her, and she could see the hunger in his eyes—raw, untamed, and absolutely desperate for her.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, her voice low and dripping with desire.

His breath hitched, his body already responding to her command. He leaned down without hesitation, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. Their mouths collided with a hunger that left her dizzy, and she could feel the sticky remnants of his release still on her fingers as she tangled her hand in his hair, pulling him closer. His tongue slid into her mouth, and she moaned, the taste of herself mixed with him—salty, intoxicating—sending a shiver down her spine.

“You taste so fucking good,” he growled against her lips, his voice rough with need. His hands slid up her sides, fingers digging into her skin as if he couldn’t get enough of her. “You’re mine, Y/N. All mine.”

She whimpered into his mouth, her body still trembling from the intensity of their connection. Her hips shifted slightly beneath him, and she could feel the heat of his arousal radiating off him, igniting her own desire all over again.

When he finally broke the kiss, they were both breathless, their foreheads pressed together as they tried to steady themselves. “Stay here,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with something that made her heart race. He kissed her once more, quick and possessive, before pulling away.

She watched him as he disappeared into the bathroom, her chest still glistening with his release. The sight of his cum streaked across her tits made her cheeks flush, but the warmth in her chest outweighed any lingering embarrassment. He returned moments later with a warm, damp towel in hand, his eyes softening as he knelt beside the bed.

“Let me clean you up,” he said, his voice gentle but no less possessive. She nodded, her breath catching as he pressed the towel to her skin, the warmth soothing the sticky mess he’d left behind. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were savoring every moment of this intimacy. His eyes never left her face, and she felt her heart swell at the tenderness in his gaze.

When he was done, he tossed the towel aside and crawled back into bed, pulling her into his arms. Her body melted against his, the warmth of his skin a comforting contrast to the cool air of the room. She rested her head on his chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over his skin as their breathing slowly synced.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer, and she felt a wave of contentment wash over her. “Mine,” he added, his tone possessive but soft, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“Yours,” she whispered back, her voice barely audible. She closed her eyes, letting the rhythm of his heartbeat lull her into a sense of peace. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt safe, cherished, and utterly claimed.

They lay there, tangled together, the hum of the city outside a distant reminder of the world beyond their little bubble. For now, it was just the two of them, and she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Neither spoke for a while, the room thick with the mingled scents of sweat and relief. The adrenaline that had fueled their passion was giving way to a wave of emotions—vulnerability, uncertainty, a fragile sense of hope. Finally, Lando spoke, voice hoarse.

“Y/N?”

She peeked up at him, flushed. She wasn’t used to such intense intimacy, but she nestled against his warmth. “Yeah?”

He swallowed. “I… I don’t regret this. But I need you to know: I’m not just here for one night. I want you in every sense of the word. I’m serious.”

Her chest clenched with emotion. She ran a hand along his jawline, stubble prickling her fingers. “I’m scared,” she confessed quietly. “But… I want you, too. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

His gaze softened. “Then let’s try. Let me show you I can be the man you need. I’ll prove it however long it takes.”

She closed her eyes, soaking in the moment, in the warmth of his embrace. The city lights shimmered outside, as if reflecting her tumultuous inner world. In that moment, though, she let herself believe in the possibility, let the anger and hurt recede in the face of the closeness they’d found.

The hours after their passionate collision were a storm of emotions. She felt a ripple of self-consciousness, but he only looked at her with the same unguarded admiration as before, as though he couldn’t believe she was real.

In the faint glow of the bedside lamp, she saw him glancing around her bedroom—how neatly organized it was, how it contrasted with the chaos they’d just unleashed in the living room. He let out a soft chuckle, leaning back against the pillows.

“You have no idea how many nights I’ve dreamed about just being near you,” he said quietly.

She swallowed a lump of emotion, sinking onto the mattress beside him. “Why me?” she whispered, the familiar insecurity creeping back. “You could have anyone.”

He caught her chin gently, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You keep saying that, but the truth is, not everyone is you. I’ve met countless people. You’re different. It’s in the way you carry yourself, the way you see the world, the way you call me out on my bullshit. And… I can’t even describe it. I just know I want no one else.”

She felt tears threaten again, but they were tears of a tender ache this time, not the angry sting of earlier. “I guess… I need to learn how to trust that.”

He nodded, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Let me earn that trust.”

She scooted closer, letting her head rest on his shoulder. She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of him lull her into a sense of security she’d never quite felt before. Deep down, she knew they had miles to go—her fears about his reputation, her wariness about the future, and the question of whether he would eventually tire of her or not. But for now, she let herself savor this fleeting peace, the sense of belonging in his arms.

Because after nine months of running, she was finally letting herself be caught.

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specsthesecond · 9 months ago

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Imagine being a nymph

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖡼.𖧧𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖧧.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖡼𖧧𖥧𖡼.𖥧𖧧.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

You exist somewhere in between being older than most living things but young in comparison to the ancient forest you reside in. You laze all day on lush moss and wander through thick meadows in the evening.

You spend most of your time with your fellow nymphs and the Satyrs, who also inhabit the forest. You join the satyrs in their festive orgies, their never ending debauchery and stamina is always entertaining. The satyrs are very close with the nymphs, both being able to keep up with the others insatiable apatites. They often invite you to praise their god in the only way they know how; sex, parties, wine and more sex. No matter what season, weather or time of day the forest is always filled with the pleasured sounds of your shared revelry.

You have your fun luring Human adventurers away from their parties, giving them little glances of your body behind thick trees. Humans also like it when you pretend to not notice them when they "accidentally stumble" across you sitting in your meadow. Either way when you have them to yourself it's always a fun arrangement. They always seem enraptured by you, all you have to do is bat your eyelashes and they come to you like they're locked in a trance. Always so hesitant at first like their dirty mortal hands shouldn't touch something as divine as your skin, you dispel those thoughts very quickly.

Sometimes the nomadic Centaurs travel through the forest, the nymphs and satyrs are always more than happy to welcome them into their home. The centaurs are proud creatures so you have to flirt a little harder than you do with humans or satyrs but traveling for months with no relief is so burdensome and why deny the cute nymph offering exactly the relief you need? When the huge man-beast eventually grumbles some admission of interest you waste no time bending over, hands on the lush forest floor, presenting your ass for the centaur to completely ruin on his massive horse cock.

The occasional traveling Orc camp will pop up now and then, that's always exciting. Orcs are very simple creatures and require little to no coaxing. You can usually just skip into the orc camp and plop yourself down on the nearest burly green hunk. They may be confused at first but a sultry look and a well placed hand will have them grinning from ear to ear, already half chubbed. It's a good idea to try and find the chief or clan leader as they might announce to the whole camp that they've found a useful fuck toy for the night. You might spend the day getting pounded by orc after orc until the late hours of the night. The only trace you'll leave behind for them when they wake is a trail of flowers and a few puddles of cum.

Goblins are similar to orcs but even more insatiable. Walking into a goblin camp in all your beautiful naked nymph glory will get you jumped and fucked within seconds. The small creatures don't care much at all for civility or decorum, they see a pretty thing like you walk into their camp and they're already scrambling and fighting each other for a hole. Not that they have any problems with sharing, during these particular nights there's always multiple goblin cocks being stuffed into all your holes, fitting in as many as they possibly can. They fuck till they drop, literally thrusting into your cum soaked holes till they pass out on the grassy floor.

Elves however, are another story. Elves never lose their composure, always so regal. When they travel through the forest they let the nymphs trail along with them, if only because this is your home they're walking through. You've only fucked elves very few times. The first being a noblewoman who weaved flowers in your soft hair while stealing glances at your naked body. You pleasured her in her tent one night, lapping at her pretty pussy as she gave you quiet but generous praises while gently stroking your hair. There was also the respected guard captain who you caught pleasuring himself by the river, he seemed very grateful for your assistance, fucking you ragged like he hadn't touched another person in centuries.

If you're lucky you may stumble upon the Minotaur that lives in the forest. You and the other nymphs like to play this game where you tease and taunt the Minotaur until he chases one of you down and fucks you into the dirt. It's not clear if getting caught means you win or lose but the other nymphs will sit around you, pet the minatour and coo at you as you get ferociously fucked by the beast until it fills your belly with it's seed. You're almost unconscious when the minatour is done but that won't stop the other nymphs from licking up the monsters cum from your abused hole while trying to coax the Minotaur into another round.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖡼.𖧧𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖧧.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖡼𖧧𖥧𖡼.𖥧𖧧.

#posting alot as an apology for being gone haha 😅#well alot for me at least #monster fucker #monster x reader #monster x human #exophelia #monster fucking #monster lover #terato #terat0philliac #minatour x reader #orc x reader #elf #centaur #minatour #gn!reader

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madamechrissy · 8 months ago

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Silent Serenades

♔ An arranged Marriage with Duke Gojo ♔

♔ Pairings: Satoru Gojo x you

♔ Warnings: Mentions of sex, infidelity, Cruelty from Duke Gojo. OOC. So much ANGST. Gojo is TERRIBLE you're warned

♔ Word count this chap: 2.4k

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

♔ Playlist - ♔ Masterlist

part one

The grand hall of the Gojo manor was adorned with elegant flowers, a mix of blue and white lilies, strewn amongst the endless aisles of those gathered to watch you marry the Duke Gojo. Yes, you were arranged to marry Satoru Gojo, the most eligible bachelor there was, your parents had set this up, the match of the season, as you are the daughter of a most prominent Earl.

As you step up slowly, your beautiful white beaded gown clinging to you, there are whispers of your beauty. You were the jewel of the season, the ton had declared it so, yet there was one man who clearly disagreed, and that’s the white haired, blue eyed Duke you’re headed straight for.

The soft glow of the lights above, glittering chandeliers, are flickering against the ivory walls, as a cacophony of murmurs and music fill the area, mixing with your racing heart. You had dreamed of this day with Duke Gojo, for his charm and handsome looks had captivated you from the moment you met. He’d been so different, when you were courting, putting on his show.

But just an hour ago, right before you were to be wed, as you were walking through the beautiful gardens, lush and green, admiring the statues, you heard it, moaning.

****

“Oh, your grace, yes, there! Mmn!” You had paused, your heart in your throat as you walked by Duke Satoru Gojo, donned in his elegant white wedding suit, with his hand between one of the servant’s legs, kissing down her neck.

You stumble back in shock, smacking into a statue in your haste and huffing as you trip, catching their attention. The servant gasps, running off, her maid dress swishing, but Satoru wipes his full lips, glaring over at you. Your breasts heave up and down with the effort it takes to breathe, your corset is suddenly so tight that it is strangling you.

“What on earth are you doing here?” He demands, running a hand through his tousled white hair, his deep voice so… cruel? You gulp, looking down shyly.

“I was checking the gardens… I…” You look up at him then, at those cold blue eyes that you found so beautiful, as he’s adjusting his jacket over his lithe body. “What were you doing?”

He scoffs then, stepping closer, leaning down as he towers over you, he was taller than any man you’d seen nearly, and what once was charming was intimidating. “Just because we’re forced to marry, does not mean I will not continue to do as I please.”

You gasp again, at his twisted smirk. “I am so confused, your grace, I had thought we had at least a friendly connection, that could perhaps grow-”

Satoru Gojo places his big hands on your shoulders then, laughing, and it’s got such malice behind it, that it hurts to hear even. “I have absolutely no interest in you, I guess now is the time to make it clear.”

Your heart sinks, as your eyes fill with tears, looking down, away from his cruel gaze. “I don’t understand, I thought you said I was beautiful-”

“Everyone says that, don’t they? Everyone in the bloody ton sings your praises, the diamond, the crowned jewel, the greatest catch, even for a Duke. But guess what?” He tilts your chin up with two long fingers, and watches tears make your eyes glassy. “You’re not who I want, you could never be.”

You choke back a cry, blinking rapidly as you try to speak. “So what, you want the servant?”

He chuckles darkly. “I want anyone but you. And I’ll have them, any time I want, and you’ll endure it, because that’s what this is. A false partnership, forced on me.”

“It was forced on me too!” You smack at his hand then, scowling, earning more of his laughter, sharp white teeth glinting.

“Do stop lying, my Lady, you surely always wanted to marry me. Marry the Duke. But go ahead and pretend.”

“As if women have a choice.” You speak through gritted teeth, and now he’s scowling at you.

“Everyone wants me.”

“Well guess what, everyone wants me too.”

His white lashes lower over those cerulean eyes. “Not I. Never would. You’re nothing to me.” Satoru speaks softly, like a fucking caress, and you turn on your heel and run.

****

But still, the ceremony must continue. As you step forward, the murmurs of the crowd fade into the background. You could feel the weight of his presence beside you when you step up next to him, but the warmth you had once hoped for with Satoru had turned cold. He’s looking at you with clear disinterest in his perfect features as the priest says your vows.

When the moment came and he leaned down to kiss you, your first kiss you have ever had, it was merely an icy brush of lips, that left you feeling hollow. Before he slid a disinterested gaze back to the room. As the ceremony goes on, and friends and family congratulate you both, he plays his part, the elegant Duke, so charming and witty. So gorgeous that everyone loves him.

You play your part, the beautiful belle of the ball, the dainty little lady that had just become a Duchess. You’d prepared your whole life to be a wife, and you’d dreamed of the charming Duke since you were naught but a child, and now? When you think about it, the walls close in, everything is too noisy, and the weight of his words and actions kill you.

You watch as he dances with every woman there is, as he starts to drink and act brazen, foolish, but you must hold it together, it is your duty, is it not?

When a tall, handsome man with long dark hair comes, bowing to you, you recognize him as Duke Gojo’s best friend, Lord Suguru Geto. He is a prominent Earl, and one that you had become quite friendly with, for once he had courted you, however your family had pushed and pushed for the Duke. Now, as he holds his hand out, his chocolate eyes glimmering, you cling to his hand like a lifeline.

“You’re a vision, my Lady. May I have a dance? I’ve noticed you’ve been quite a wallflower.” He says softly, and you nod, your gloved hand clutching his tightly.

“I should love to, my Lord. And thank you.” He smiles, and takes you to the floor, where you all dance elegantly, to the soft quadrille playing. People watch and many smile, as you both were skilled dancers.

“I’m very sad that you’re taken, I wish I could say otherwise. But I do wish you the best, even if I’m so very selfish.” Lord Suguru says softly, and you tense a bit, making his cheeks flush. “I should not say such things. I’m sure Duke Gojo will be a very good husband to you.”

You scoff, before covering it up, clearing your throat. “I am sure he will be, thank you Lord Suguru.” You feel it then, Duke Gojo’s blue eyes, staring daggers at you both as you’re in Lord Suguru’s arms, making you shiver.

Suguru smirks a bit. “Ah, he seems possessive of his new bride, as he should be, you’re the most beautiful bride there could be.”

Possessive, ha!

You want to scream, you want to cry, as you remember him up that maid’s skirts, blatant, even now he’s dancing with some woman who’s whispering in his ear. “Thank you, you’re too kind though, my Lord. I surely am not.”

“You absolutely are.” He smiles down, and his smile is so soft, so sincere, then you wish that you never got stuck in this. That you could be with someone who looks at you like this, not like how Duke Gojo glares like he just despises you.

****

Soon, it’s the night of your wedding, and you’re wearing a pretty silk nightgown, it’s sheer and white and nearly see through, along with white garters and stockings with little bows on them. You’re brushing your hair nervously in the gilded mirror, the silver brush making crackling sounds along with the fire that blazes in your new chambers, surely fit for a queen.

But why do you feel so depressed here?

The door opens, and you jerk, to see Duke Satoru Gojo, shirtless and merely wearing sleep trousers, you’ve never seen a naked man, and you can’t help but stare. Every inch of him is chiseled to perfection, his pale skin glistening like marble, the fire casting shadows on every worked muscle. You gulp, struggling to hide the flush of your cheeks, looking down.

“Have you never seen a man?” You shake your head, as he walks to you now, dominating, looming over you. “You’re afraid.”

“Y-yes. I know what is expected of a wedding night.” You whisper, earning a snicker of laughter.

“Stand up. Let me see you.” You do as he says, trembling legs standing as you set your brush next to its matching silver comb and mirror. They were your treasured gifts from your mother.

Your eyes look up to him, as he runs his fingers down the edges of the thin satin straps, as he then slides his fingers down your curve of your breasts, making your nipples taut, goosebumps raising. There is some odd feeling in your core. The Duke smirks as they show, and you feel so embarrassed you can’t even think, hating your body’s wicked reactions to him.

“I bet everyone has always told you how beautiful you are. How perfect you are. Haven’t they, Duchess.” You nervously bite a lip, as he walks around you in a slow circle, taking you in like a predator. “You have the perfect hips for child bearing they all say, you have the tiniest waist, so fashionable. You have such delicate features too, don’t you, and such lovely hair.”

He runs his hands through it, as he’s behind you, then he pulls your hair, making you cry out. “What do you care, I’m of no interest.” You bite out, making him chuckle, his hot breath tickling your ear.

“Perfect body, perfect face, perfect posture… oh, perfect speech, and you’re talented at everything aren’t you? Piano forte, singing, dancing… bet you’re trained to be the perfect wife too.”

“What does any of that matter? I am not perfect at everything.”

“That’s what everyone tells you, don’t they?” You look down, as he lets your hair go, letting you exhale before he’s back in front of you. “Don’t look so afraid, Duchess.” That word from his lips is like a curse word, he spits it out.

“Just get it done, I don’t want it anymore than you.” You say with a scowl, sliding down your straps then, making him tense, his eyes flicker for just a moment, before he shoves them back up.

“You’re so desperate, you think I want you at all? In any way?” You can only take so much, now you’re close to sobbing, and tears trickle down your cheeks, making the Duke’s lips quirk up, as he brushes one away with a long finger. “You crying, my lady? That won’t do. You have to be a good Duchess.”

“We must consummate the marriage, have heirs, just get it done. I don’t want this to go on longer than it must.”

“I have no intentions of consummating anything.” You blink in confusion, looking up, and you’re far too close, you can feel his body heat, but inside Satoru Gojo is cold, so cold you’re freezing to death.

“But, the marriage…”

“I’ll not lay with you. I will lay with who I wish to, you’ll be my wife in all the ways you’re supposed to be, but not that. Did you want my cock so desperately? Aw… you poor thing. Crying over it.” His mocking tone infuriates you as he brushes a finger over your cheek.

You smack his hand now, glaring. “Oh, so then I’m free? To be with whoever I want, hmm?”

Satoru scowls, twisting his pretty features. gripping your wrist with a brutal grasp in a big hand, making you wince. “Excuse me? You’re not the man here, you’re the woman, the wife.”

“Then I’ll get an annulment, let you marry who you wish-”

“You’ll stay my wife.”

“Then I’ll do just as you, except I won’t rut in the gardens like a pig.” Satoru slaps your cheek then, and you gasp as it stings you, looking up at him with shocked, pained eyes, and for a moment his thin white brows go together, and he opens his pink lips, as if to speak, then shuts them.

“I didn’t… I…”

You haul back and smack him as hard as you can, you smack the Duke right in his pretty face, making him glare now, trembling with rage. “Excuse the impropriety, but fuck you, Duke Gojo.”

“You wish I would fuck you, but I’ll never want you. Why would I?” He keeps staring at your cheek now, frowning, but then going back to glaring at you, and you smirk as you see the hand print you left on his own, raised and pink.

“Good, I don’t want you either. Go have your fun, Duke, never worry, I’ll keep up appearances. I have been trained, as you said.” You turn away then, your heart thudding in your chest, your tears threatening to burst from your eyes.

“You enjoy the lie, you know you want it, it’s why your nipples were rock hard. I bet you’re wet too.” He’s sliding his hands down your hips, far too close, and you jerk away quickly, earning his anger.

“I don’t even know what that means, but I do not want you, so never fear, I will never, ever try.” He pauses at that, white lashes blinking.

“You’ve not even had a talk about sex, and yet you meant to consummate the marriage?”

“What does it matter? We’ll have no children, and not lay in bed together. If that’s what you wish.”

His jaw locks. “It is.”

“Then leave.”

It’s as if he expected you to beg him, to want him, as if he expected you to fall to his feet. But you will not waiver, though his words and looks are so painful, though the world is shattering around you, you’re stubborn enough to not show him, to not reveal the truth. He’d just use it as a weakness.

“Enjoy the wedding night, Duchess.” He says finally, leaving with a slam that echoes in your chambers, and you sink to the hardwood floor, sobbing, hugging your knees and burying your face in your folded arms.

Your wedding night, alone, married to a man that hates you. A man that will never want you, that will lay with others, and you’re just going to be stuck, playing your role, aren’t you? The loneliness sinks in, the hopelessness, until you sob yourself to sleep right there on the cold hard floor, as cold as Duke Gojo.

Part 2 here!

1K notes · View notes

r0ugesun · 10 months ago

Text

running with the wolves

Beta read by my wife @moonstruksandco ( ˘ ³˘)˘ᵋ ˘ )♥

Synopsis: Cregan Stark, the formidable Lord of Winterfell, eagerly awaits the arrival of his new betrothed, y/n, who has bewitched him since childhood. As winter sets in, he hopes to transform their arranged marriage into a union of love. However, y/n arrives with her own doubts, unsure if she can return his deep affection. Will their marriage blossom into love, or remain a cold duty? Cregan is determined to show her that their bond can be more than just an obligation on their wedding night.

Warnings: 18+ slow burn, smut, arranged marriage, loss of virginity, p in v sex (unprotected), breeding kink, rough sex, oral sex(both f/m receiving) missionary, mating press, doggy style lots of cum (I think all stark men cum bucket loads)

8k+ words likes and reblogs are highly appreciated ෆ/⟳ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

(Authors note: omg hayy I don’t know that much about Yorkshire accents aside from ackley bridge so I’m sorry in advanced if it’s not right :>)

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The wind howled through the ancient halls of Winterfell, carrying with it the biting chill of the northern winter. Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North, stood by the great hearth in the main hall, his keen grey eyes fixed on the entrance. The time had come for the arrival of his new betrothed, y/n, the most beautiful amongst house Tyrell.

From the moment he first saw her, Cregan had been captivated. Even as a young lad, her grace and elegance had set her apart. Now, as a grown woman, she was even more bewitching, and Cregan's heart swelled with a mix of anticipation and determination. He was resolved to turn their arranged marriage into a union of love.

As Cregan stood by the hearth, he watched the window, the snowflakes drifting lazily to the ground, a distant memory surfaced, warm and vivid against the icy present. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to be transported back to a time when he was just a young lad of twelve, visiting Highgarden with his family.

He remembered the journey vividly, how different the South had seemed compared to the North. The air was warmer, the colors more vibrant. He had wandered through the lush gardens, marveling at the flowers and plants that couldn’t survive the harsh winters of Winterfell. It was in those gardens that he first saw her.

Y/n had been around his age, a vision of beauty even then. She sat on a stone bench, engrossed in a book, her expression serene and detached. Her hair, shining in the sunlight, cascaded down her shoulders, and her delicate features were framed by the backdrop of blooming flowers. She seemed almost like a fairytale princess, so enchanting that he could scarcely believe she was real.

Without even realizing it his feet began to move on their own, he was like a moth being drawn to the flame that was her. As he approached her, His heart pounded in his chest, an unfamiliar but exhilarating feeling. She glanced up briefly from her book as he neared, her eyes meeting his for just a moment before returning to her reading.

“H-Hello” he said, trying to muster as much confidence as he could. “What are yeh reading?”

She responded without looking up this time, her voice calm and distant. “Hmm a collection of poems” she replied. “Do you like poetry?”

Cregan, caught off guard, nodded. “Aye. Though I don’t read much of it.”

She patted the space beside her, still not lifting her gaze from the pages. “You can sit if you want.”

He sat down slowly, feeling a strange sense of destiny in that moment. She continued to read aloud, her voice weaving the words into a tapestry of emotion and beauty. He listened, captivated not by the poetry but by her otherworldliness her grace, and the way she brought the words to life. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, completely in star struck, while she remained indifferent, too engrossed in her book to notice his adoration.

That was the last time they spoke just a few exchange of words. The rest of his visit to Highgarden was spent with his father and training with Y/N’s brothers and learning the ways of a lord, much to his chagrin. But whenever he could, he would steal glances at her from a window while she read in the garden, and across from her at dinner, for which his mother often scolded him.

"Cregan, it's impolite to stare" his mother whispered sharply during dinner one evening, nudging his foot under the table.

He tore his eyes away from y/n, his cheeks burning and crimson red. "I weren’t starin’, Mother.”

“Yeh most certainly were” she replied, her tone firm. “It’s not appropriate. Focus on yer meal.”

“But she’s… she’s so…”

“Enchantin’?” his mother finished for him, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Aye, she is. But yeh must remember yer manners, lad. Staring is unbecoming of a young lord.”

Cregan sighed, casting one last, fleeting glance at y/n, who was still in her own little world not casting a single glance his way. “Aye, mother….”

Despite his mother’s admonitions, his fascination with Y/N only grew, even as she remained blissfully unaware of his admiration.

Cregan opened his eyes, the memory fading as the cold reality of Winterfell settled back in. He sighed, turning away from the window. Some things, he mused, never truly changed.

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In the dimly lit carriage, y/n huddled under the blankets, trying to stave off the biting cold that seemed to seep through the very fabric of her clothes. Her mother sat beside her, wrapped in her own covers and trying to offer some semblance of warmth and comfort. The carriage jolted over the rough, snow covered road, and every bump made her shiver more.

Her brothers, true to their duty, were outside braving the harsh northern winter with their horses, though y/n could scarcely imagine how they managed. She, however, had the luxury of being confined to the carriage, a prisoner of her own anxieties and fears.

The stories she’d heard about Cregan Stark haunted her thoughts. The gruff warden of the north with a claymore sword so heavy it was said to be the size of a small man. To her, the very idea of marrying such a man was nightmarish. She couldn't remember much about him from his family’s previous visit to Highgarden all those years ago, but the tales of his fierceness and the imposing aura of the North made her dread the moment she would finally meet him.

The carriage seemed to creak with the weight of her mother's discontent. Her mother’s complaints, murmured under her breath but audible enough for y/n to hear, were laced with disdain. “I cannot believe we’ve had to send our only daughter off to marry a Stark”

“Their way of life, covered in stinking animal pelts, living amongst brutes who value strength over grace. It’s hardly the life for a Tyrell.” She said with disgust.

Her father’s stern gaze flicked towards her mother, his patience evidently wearing thin. "We’ve discussed this, Eliza. The match is made, and it’s for the good of House Tyrell. Stop lamenting what cannot be undone."

To him, this marriage was merely a strategic move, a means to secure more power for Highgarden. His daughter's feelings were of no consequence, his focus was solely on the political gain.

“Do you have to be so callous?” her mother’s voice broke through the gloom. “She is our daughter.”

Her father’s gaze remained unyielding. “The alliance with the Starks is necessary for the gain of our house. Y/n is to be a dutiful wife to a powerful lord it’s what she was raised for, if she does her duty right she’ll bear him many children further securing our power”

As her father’s harsh words continued to echo in her ears, y/n’s anger flared. She straightened up, glaring at him . “If you wanted to gift Cregan a broodmare, you should’ve gotten him one of the whores you visit in the brothels” she spat out, her voice trembling with defiance.

mother’s gasp of shock was barely audible over the creaking of the carriage. Her father’s eyes were wild, a hot fury flashing in them. Before y/n could react, his hand shot out, delivering a hard, stinging slap across her face. The sharp force of it made her head snap to the side, and she recoiled, stunned by the sudden violence.

“How dare you!” her father’s voice roared with anger.

y/n’s mother was frozen, her hand going to her mouth in shock. She looked at her husband with a mixture of horror and helplessness. “Henry, please—”

“Be silent!” he snapped, cutting her off. “I will not tolerate such insolence!“

He turned his icy gaze back to y/n, his face a mask of unrelenting severity. “You are about to become the wife of a powerful man. you are fortunate that I secured this arrangement, otherwise you would just end up being Cregans whore in some brothel anyway.”

Y/n’s heart sank as she heard the finality in his cruel words. She knew better than to argue with him—his decisions were made with an iron will that left no room for dissent.

as the carriage continued its slow journey through the snow, y/n's thoughts were plagued with anxiety and uncertainty. The grandeur of Winterfell loomed ahead, and with it, the reality of her new life as Cregan Stark’s bride. She could only hope that, amidst the cold and the gruffness of her new home, she might find a way to endure this new chapter of her life.

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As Cregan stood by the hearth, still lost in his own thoughts, the door swung open with a crash and his friends burst in, laughter and shouts echoing through the great hall.

“Cregan, ye dog! Heard the news, did we!” Jorah boomed, striding up to him and clapping him on the back with such force it nearly sent him stumbling forward.

“Aye, lad, congratulations!” Gendry called out, raising his tankard high. “A Tyrell, no less! Must’ve done somethin’ right to be landin’ a lass like that.”

Cregan, smiling, shook his head as he tried to make sense of the sudden uproar. “Cheers, lads. Bit early for a celebratory drink, ain’t it?”

Bram, always one for a jest, stepped forward with a grin. “Well, Cregan, we heard she’s real beauty, fairest in all the Seven Kingdoms. Quite the catch for a dog like you. Ain’t right, really, a face like hers and a face like yours.”

Cregan raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips. “Oh, is that so? And what about ye lot, then? All of ye been lookin’ in the mirror lately?”

The room erupted in laughter, and Bram waved a dismissive hand. “Aye, we might be a rough lot, but at least we ain’t got to worry ‘bout our faces bein’ compared to a rose.”

Robb, always quick with a quip, leaned in with a wink. “Might be true she’ll forget all ‘bout yer ugly mug once she gets a look at what’s really under yer tunic. you’ve got more to offer than just yer sorry looks.”

Cregan’s cheeks flushed slightly, but he laughed along, trying to maintain his composure. “Ah, so ye’re sayin’ it’s all in the size of me… character, is it?”

“Aye, that’s right!” Robb said with a grin. “Best thing about ye, Cregan, is that even if your face don’t make the cut, yer other qualities surely will.”

Cregan shook his head, laughing despite himself. “Well, if it’s me ‘other qualities’ that’ll win her over, then I reckon I’d best be makin’ sure she gets a good look at all of ‘em.”

Jorah slapped him on the back again, nearly sending him reeling. “Look at ye, all flustered! Never thought I’d see the day. Don’t worry, lad. What lass wouldn’t want a strong Northman?”

“Aye, just keep it down a bit, or you’ll have me blushing so hard I’ll be usin’ me face as a lantern” Cregan said, his grin widening.

The friends continued their banter, the atmosphere warm with camaraderie and laughter. As they raised their mugs in a final toast, Cregan felt a renewed sense of anticipation and affection for the future, no matter the teasing jabs from his mates.

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The room was alive with laughter and chatter as Cregan and his friends carried on with their banter. Jorah was in the middle of a lively tale from a recent hunt, while Robb and Gendry argued over the best way to handle a particularly stubborn horse.

The door creaked open, and in walked Lady Gilliane Glover and Lord Rickon Stark, their presence immediately silencing the room. Lady Gilliane, a woman of dignified grace, and Lord Rickon, tall and commanding, made their way over to their son.

“Cregan, me lad!” Lady Gilliane called out, her voice warm but authoritative. “Got a bit o’ news for ye.”

Cregan turned, a smile fading as he saw his parents. He stood, brushing his hands on his tunic. “Mother, Father, what brings ye here?”

Lord Rickon gave a nod, his face a mix of seriousness and pride. “Your brother spotted Y/N’s carriage on the road. They’ll be arrivin’ soon.”

The room quieted, the friends sensing the shift in the mood. Jorah nudged Cregan with a grin. “Looks like the real fun’s about to start, eh?”

Lady Gilliane gave a small, amused smile. “Aye, that’s right. Thought ye’d want to know. They’ll be here within the hour, so best be ready.”

Cregan’s heart raced, and he glanced at his friends, trying to mask his nerves. “Well, no time like the present, I suppose. Best get meself sorted.”

Lord Rickon placed a reassuring hand on Cregan’s shoulder. “Remember, lad, first impressions count. Show her what a proper Stark man ye are.”

“Aye, Father,” Cregan said, nodding. He turned to his friends with a determined look. “Ye lot best behave yerselves when she arrives. Don’t be givin’ her any more trouble than need be.”

The friends raised their mugs, grinning. “Aye, aye, Cregan! We’ll be on our best behavior,” Robb said, winking.

Lady Gilliane’s gaze softened as she looked at her son. “We’ll leave ye to it, then. Just remember, Cregan, she’ll be as nervous as ye, if not more. Show her the warmth of the North.”

As Lady Gilliane and Lord Rickon exited the hall, Cregan took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The anticipation of meeting Y/N was building with every tick of the clock, and he knew the coming hours would be crucial.

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Y/n sat in the carriage, the stark contrast between the verdant landscapes of Highgarden and the harsh, icy expanse of Winterfell weighing heavily on her. The snow-clad scenery outside felt alien and unwelcoming compared to the lush greenery she had left behind. Each jolt of the carriage seemed to deepen her sense of displacement.

Her mother’s hand, warm and steady, was a source of comfort amid her growing anxiety. Y/N clung to it, drawing solace from its presence as she tried to quell her rising fears.

“We’re almost there, dear” her mother said softly, her voice a gentle balm against the cold atmosphere of the carriage. “Remember, we’re in this together.”

Y/n managed a small, appreciative smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you, Mother. It’s just… it’s so different from home.”

Her father, ever the pillar of stoicism, was peering out the window, his gaze fixed on the approaching Winterfell.

The carriage began to slow, the crunch of snow under the wheels signaling their arrival. As they came to a stop, y/n could see her father alighting first, his figure steady and authoritative as he approached Lord Rickon Stark.

“Lord Rickon” her father said, stepping forward with a formal nod. “It is a pleasure to see you again. Thank you for your gracious hospitality.”

Y/n and her mother remained in the carriage, the cold air seeping through the cracks in the doors. Her mother's hand squeezed hers gently, offering a fleeting moment of comfort in the face of her overwhelming anxiety.

"Mother" y/n whispered, her voice trembling. "What if I can't do this? I-I’m scared"

Her mother turned to her, eyes filled with sympathy and understanding. "Oh, my dear, I know it seems daunting. But you have a strength within you that you may not yet realize. You have always been resilient."

Tears welled up in y/n's eyes. "I feel so far from home. Everything here is so cold, so harsh."

Her mother reached up, brushing a tear from

y/n's cheek. "I know, darling. Highgarden's warmth and beauty are hard to leave behind. But you must remember, you have the ability to adapt and thrive. This place will feel like home in time."

Y/n nodded, trying to take comfort in her mother's words, but the knot in her stomach remained tight. "And what of Father? He seems so determined, but... he never cares for how I feel."

Her mother's expression darkened momentarily before she masked it with a gentle smile. "don't let him weigh you down. Focus on yourself and your own strength. You are here to build a new life, and I believe in you."

The carriage door opened, and the cold air rushed in, a stark reminder of the world awaiting her. Her father was already engaged in conversation with Lord Rickon Stark, their voices carrying a tone of formality and mutual respect.

"It's time" her mother said softly, giving y/n's hand one last reassuring squeeze. "Show them the grace and strength you possess. You are more than capable y/n."

With a deep breath, y/n steeled herself and stepped out of the carriage. The cold air bit at her skin, but she walked forward, her mother following closely behind.

Y/n's mother nudged her gently, drawing her attention away from the imposing figure of Lord Rickon. "Y/n, dear" she whispered, "Lord Cregan is approaching you."

Y/n's heart skipped a beat as she turned to see Cregan making his way towards her. He was even taller and more formidable than she remembered, his broad shoulders and strong build making him appear larger than life. She stiffened, her body tensing with apprehension.

Cregan's eyes, a deep and thoughtful blue, met hers as he stopped before her. He could see the trepidation in her gaze, the way her hands clutched the folds of her cloak. Despite the fear evident in her demeanor, she managed to muster a polite greeting.

"Lord Cregan" she said, her voice steady but tinged with a slight tremor. "It is an honor to be here."

Cregan offered a warm smile, though he felt a pang of hurt and self-consciousness at the sight of her fear. He noticed the redness around her eyes, the telltale signs that she had been crying. The realization made his heart ache—she was far from home, surrounded by strangers, and faced with the daunting prospect of marrying him, a man she barely remembered.

"Lady y/n" he responded, his voice gentle. "The honor is mine. Welcome to Winterfell."

Y/n nodded, her posture rigid. "Thank you, my lord."

He could see her struggling to maintain her composure, her attempts to be polite masking the underlying fear and uncertainty. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that she was safe here with him, but he knew his words might not carry much weight given the circumstances.

"Ye must be tired from yer journey" Cregan said, trying to ease the tension. "I hope the accommodations we’ve prepared for ye are to yer liking."

She glanced around, her eyes briefly meeting his before darting away. "I'm sure they will be, my lord. Thank you."

Cregan's heart softened at her evident discomfort. He could only imagine how overwhelming this experience must be for her—leaving the warmth and familiarity of Highgarden for the cold and formidable North, betrothed to an intimidating stranger.

"Please, if there is anything ye need, do not hesitate to ask," he added, his tone earnest. "I want ye to feel at home here."

Y/N nodded again, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you, Lord Cregan."

As the formalities continued, Cregan remained by her side, acutely aware of her apprehension. He could see the way she shivered slightly in the cold, her delicate frame dwarfed by the heavy cloak she wore. The vulnerability in her eyes struck a chord within him, igniting a protective instinct he hadn’t anticipated.

He knew it would take time for her to adjust, to feel comfortable in this new and unfamiliar place. And while her fear and anxiety might hurt him, he understood the reasons behind them. She was far from home, thrust into a situation beyond her control, and he was determined to show her that she had nothing to fear.

As the crowd began to disperse, Cregan leaned in slightly, his voice low and sincere. "I hope ye will come to find Winterfell as welcoming as Highgarden, Lady y/n. We Northerners may seem cold, but we are loyal and true. Ye have my word on that."

Y/n looked up at him, her eyes searching his for a moment before she nodded, a hint of hope mingling with her fear. "…I will do my best."

He smiled softly, hoping to convey his sincerity. "And I will do my best to make this place a home for ye."

With that, they parted, y/n retreating to her quarters with her mother while Cregan watched her go, a mix of emotions churning within him. He was determined to prove himself to her, to show her that beneath his intimidating exterior lay a heart of gold capable of warmth and compassion.

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The day of the wedding arrived, casting a serene hush over Winterfell. The godswood was adorned for the occasion, the ancient weirwood standing sentinel over the ceremony, its pale bark and blood-red leaves seeming to echo the gravity of the moment.

In her chambers, y/n adjusted her maiden’s cloak for the final time. The rich green of House Tyrell’s sigil contrasted sharply with the snowy landscape visible through the window. Her father, though distant and stern, was prepared to escort her. As they approached the godswood, y/n’s heart pounded in her chest, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on her.

Her father’s expression was somber, but he offered her a curt nod, signaling it was time. Together, they walked through the snow, the crunching of their footsteps the only sound breaking the silence. The guests had gathered, their breaths visible in the chill air, and they fell into a hushed reverence as y/n and her father approached the heart tree.

Cregan waited beneath the weirwood, his eyes fixed on the approaching bride. As she neared, his breath caught slightly, a mixture of awe and anticipation in his gaze. The grandeur of y/n’s beauty was amplified by the solemnity of the godswood, her presence seeming almost ethereal in the fading light.

When they reached the base of the tree, Cregan’s voice rang out clearly, cutting through the stillness. “Who comes? Who comes before the gods?”

Y/n’s father’s voice was steady as he replied,

“Y/n of House Tyrell comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?”

Cregan’s response was filled with a fervent resolve. “Me, Cregan of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell. I claim her. Who gives her?”

Y/n’s father turned to her, his voice formal but lacking warmth. “I, Henry of House Tyrell, her father, gives her.”

He then addressed y/n, his tone clipped. “Lady y/n, will you take this man?”

Y/n’s voice trembled slightly but was resolute. “I take this man.”

With the formalities completed, Cregan and y/n joined hands and knelt before the weirwood. They bowed their heads, submitting to the gods in silent prayer. The moment was charged with a profound intimacy, the ancient tree bearing witness to their vows.

After a few moments, Cregan gently removed

y/n’s maiden’s cloak, revealing the intricate embroidery of House Tyrell on her dress. With great care, he draped over her shoulders a new cloak—the sigil of House Stark now displayed proudly.

The crowd erupted into applause, their cheers ringing out as Cregan and y/n stood together. The ceremony was complete, the ancient bond of the godswood now symbolizing the beginning of their shared life.

As they walked back towards the castle, Cregan stole glances at y/n, his admiration and anticipation palpable. Despite the harshness of Winterfell’s climate and the gravity of their new life, the day had marked a hopeful new chapter for both of them.

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Y/n's heart pounded as Cregan guided her through the cold, imposing corridors of Winterfell. The castle's heavy stone walls seemed to close in on her, amplifying her sense of isolation. Cregan's presence beside her was both comforting and intimidating, she couldn’t shake the fear that gripped her heart.

They arrived at Cregan's chambers, where a warm fire crackled in the hearth, casting a soft, inviting glow. He gestured for her to enter first, and after a brief hesitation, she stepped inside.

"Please, make yerself comfortable," Cregan said, closing the door behind them. His northern accent was thick, adding a rugged charm to his words. "Would ye like somethin' to drink? A bit o' wine, mayhaps, to help ye warm up?"

Y/n nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, thank you."

Cregan poured a glass of wine and handed it to her, his gaze lingering on her as she took a small sip. He could see the tension in her posture and wanted to ease her fears, to show her that he was not the monster she imagined.

"Y/n," he began, his voice low and earnest, the thick accent wrapping each word in a soft embrace, "I know this must be overwhelmin'. I want ye to know that I understand yer fears, and I swear I’ll do everythin' in me power to make ye feel safe and cherished here."

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. "Thank you, my lord," she said, her voice quivering. "I… I don't know what to expect."

Cregan took a step closer, his gaze filled with a yearning that spoke of deep emotion. "Ye can call me Cregan" he said, the warmth in his northern accent making his words even more poignant. "And I need ye to hear me now, for it’s somethin’ I’ve carried with me for years. From the moment I first beheld ye, me heart was forever altered."

Y/n's breath hitched, her eyes searching his face for the truth behind his words. Cregan's expression was tender, his gaze reflecting a vulnerability she hadn’t expected. He took a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to bare his soul.

"I remember the first time I saw ye in the gardens of Highgarden," he said softly, his voice weaving a tapestry of emotion. "I was just a lad, new to the beauty of the south. Everythin’ around me was lush and vibrant, but when I saw ye, it was as if my world fell apart. Ye were like a vision of ethereal grace amidst the greenery. The flowers and the trees—they seemed mere shadows compared to ye. In that moment, it was clear that ye were the true beauty of the garden."

Y/n's eyes widened, and a flush of color spread across her cheeks. She could hardly breathe as she processed his confession. "Since then?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Cregan nodded, his gaze steady and full of longing. "Aye, since then. Ye were a beacon of light in me life, and that memory has lingered, burnin’ bright in me heart. I’ve longed to be near ye, not merely for the sake of duty, but because ye’ve ensnared my heart in a way no one else ever could."

Her heart fluttered wildly at his words, the warmth of the fire mingling with the warmth of his confession. She had always felt like a pawn in her father’s game, never imagining that someone like Cregan could see her so profoundly.

"I didn’t know" she said softly, her voice catching in her throat. "I thought... I thought you would be distant and cold."

Cregan's smile widened, his eyes soft with pure affection. "Aye the North may be cold, but my heart is only filled with warmth for ye. I want ye to see the real me, to know that I am here for ye with all that I am."

She looked into his eyes, seeing a depth of sincerity and yearning that shifted her perception. Perhaps this marriage could be more than a mere alliance. Maybe it could be the beginning of something profoundly beautiful.

"Thank you, Cregan…." she whispered, feeling a newfound sense of calm and hope. "I... I want to try."

Cregan’s smile was full of warmth and relief. "Tha’s all I ask, Y/n. We’ll take this one step at a time, together."

As they stood there, hand in hand, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, Y/n felt a spark of hope ignite in her heart, seeing Cregan in a new light.

Cregan's eyes never left Y/n's as he took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted this moment to be perfect, to reassure her of his intentions.

"Y/n" he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, "may I kiss ye?"

Y/n's breath hitched, her cheeks flushing scarlet. She hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod, her eyes never leaving his. "Yes, Cregan. You may."

Cregan moved closer, his hand gently cupping her cheeks as he leaned in. He pressed his lips to hers in a soft tender, almost hesitant kiss, his touch gentle and reassuring. Y/n responded, her initial nervousness melting away as she felt the warmth and sincerity in his kiss.

When he pulled back, he looked into her eyes, searching for any sign of discomfort. Seeing none, he smiled softly. "Ye're so beautiful, Y/n."

She blushed again, a shy smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you, Cregan."

He took her hand, leading her to the bed. As they stood beside it, he gently picked her up, cradling her in his arms. Y/n gasped softly, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carried her. He laid her down on the bed with the utmost care, as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

Cregan's gaze remained locked on Y/n’s face, his eyes filled with a deep, reverent admiration. He lowered himself beside her on the bed, his hand still cupping her cheek. “I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful” he whispered, his voice filled with awe. “I can’t believe yer finally mine. My wife.”

Y/n’s heart fluttered at the sincerity in his voice. The way he looked at her made her feel cherished, his admiration lighting a fire within her. Her apprehension melted away as she reached up, cupping his face in return. “And I’m grateful to be yours, Cregan.”

Their lips met again, this time with more fervor. The kiss deepened as Cregan’s hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. Y/n’s hands roamed over his shoulders, pulling him into the kiss with equal intensity. The warmth of his touch, combined with the gentle urgency of their embrace, made her feel as if she was floating.

Cregan’s breath mingled with hers as he pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers. “I’ve wanted this so much” he whispered. “I’ve wanted ye.”

Y/n’s eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze and the sincerity of his words. She felt a new, desperate longing surge within her, her body responding to his touch with an eagerness she hadn’t expected. “Please, Cregan” she breathed out, her voice trembling with emotion.

Their lips met again, each kiss more passionate than the last. The world outside seemed to fade away as they lost themselves in the moment, their breaths coming in sync as their yearning for each other deepened with every touch.

Cregan's kisses grew more intense, his touch transforming from gentle caresses to an urgent, burning desire. He pulled back just enough to look into Y/n's eyes, his own dark with passion. "I want to see all of ye, to feel ye" he said softly, his voice rough with need.

With deliberate care, he started to undress, his movements slow and deliberate. He tossed his cloak aside, revealing his strong muscular frame. Y/n's breath caught in her throat as she watched him, his hardened form visible through his small clothes, making her heart race with a mix of anticipation and nervous excitement.

Cregan's hands moved to his shirt, sliding it off with a practiced ease. His gaze remained locked on Y/n as he undressed, his eyes filled with a burning intensity. His hands lingered on the waistband of his smallclothes, his hardness evident and stirring a deep, aching longing within Y/n.

When he was finally freed his cock, Cregan approached Y/n with a tender but determined expression. He reached for her cloak, slipping it off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. His fingers moved deftly to her dress, his touch gentle but purposeful as he began to unlace it.

The fabric fell away, revealing her bare chest to his gaze. Cregan's breath caught at the sight, his eyes roaming over her exposed skin with a mixture of reverence and desire.

"Ye're stunning," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. "I want to cherish every part of ye."

Yn's skin tingled under his gaze, her heart pounding as she felt both exposed and cherished.

Cregan's hands continued their exploration, his touch both reverent and possessive. He leaned in to kiss her again, his lips trailing hot, desperate kisses across her neck and shoulders.

His hands roamed over her bare skin, his touch igniting a fierce desire within her. She gasped, her body arching into his touch, as he pressed her into the bed with a controlled but eager force. His kisses became more fervent, his hands gripping her waist as he explored her body with a possessive urgency.

"I've longed for this moment" Cregan said between kisses, his voice rough with need.

Yn responded with equal fervor, her hands gripping his shoulders as she kissed him back with a desperate passion. "Show me, Cregan" she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

"Show me how much you want me."

The room was filled with the sounds of their mingled breaths and wet sloppy kisses as they lost themselves in the moment. Cregan's touch was a blend of tenderness and raw desire, each movement and kiss building a profound connection that left them both breathless and yearning for more.

As the kiss deepened, Cregan's touch grew more urgent, his hands roaming over Y/n's body with increasing desperation. His kisses, once tender and exploratory, became more demanding, his breaths ragged as he tried to control his growing desire. Yet, despite the intensity of their embrace, Cregan seemed to hold back, his movements tinged with an inner struggle to remain gentle.

Y/n could sense his restraint and the tension in his body. She was overwhelmed by the fire burning within her, her own desire driving her to push past his tentative touches.

"Cregan" she gasped between kisses, her voice trembling with need. "I want you. I want you to claim me fully."

Cregan's breath hitched, his eyes dark with a mix of surprise and longing. "Y/n... I-I don't want to hurt ye" he murmured, his voice strained as he tried to keep his composure, he promised himself that he would be gentle, only touching her as if she were made of the most delicate glass and now he’d already been more rough than he intended.

But Y/n's voice was resolute, her gaze fixed on him with a desperate intensity. "No, Cregan. I want you to make me yours completely.” She whined, but she saw the look on his eyes he wouldn’t relent unless she pushed him towards his breaking point. “I want you to fuck a baby into me. I need you ple—“

Cregan didn't let you finish. His lips crashed against yours in a kiss that ignited a wildfire within. He held your face tenderly yet firmly, his touch a lifeline as you clung to him, desperate for more. His tongue explored the depths of your mouth, tasting every inch with a hunger that bordered on feral.

The clash of your teeth, the fervor of your kiss, it was a battle, a dance of dominance that you were willing to lose.

Cregan's tongue delved deeper, drawing a breathless moan from you. His scent enveloped you, intoxicating and heady, making your knees buckle with longing. It was as if the tether to your senses was fraying, leaving you to melt into a molten pool beneath his commanding presence.

The heat coursing through your body was a familiar sensation, yet it had never burned this intensely. It surged through you, tightening your nipples and pooling between your thighs, setting every nerve aflame.

Lost in the haze of his searing kisses, you scarcely noticed when he eased your back farther onto the bed, his body a solid, protective weight above you. Your eyes met, a silent conflagration passing between you, before he claimed your lips again with a gentler fervor, the same intensity simmering beneath the surface.

"Do you truly want this? With me?" Cregan's voice was a hushed murmur against your lips, a plea and a promise intertwined.

"Yes, husband" you breathed, the words a vow of your own.

His lips brushed your ear, his breath a tantalizing whisper that sent shivers cascading down your spine. "I am going to make love to ye now."

Your nipples hardened at his words, a raw moan of anticipation escaping your lips as he took in your form, the vulnerable softness of your skin a feast for his hungry gaze.

Cregan lowered his head, his lips tracing a path of fire down your neck, over your collarbone, each kiss a desperate silent vow. His hands followed, exploring, caressing, leaving no inch of you untouched.

"Yer exquisite" he murmured, his voice a reverent whisper against your skin. His touch was a balance of possession and adoration, a worship that left you breathless.

The cool air kissed your overheated skin as he continued to explore you, Every touch, every kiss, was a symphony of sensations, a crescendo of passion that left you aching for more.

his eyes drinking in the sight of you, slowly consumed with lust for him, with a reverence that made your heart stutter. "My wife" he whispered, the words a sacred incantation.

Cregan leaned in, capturing your lips once more in a kiss that was both fierce and possessive. His hands roamed your body with a fervent curiosity, memorizing every curve, every dip, leaving a trail of molten fire in their wake.

Your body responded to him, arching into his touch, a silent plea for more.

His kisses grew more insistent, his touch more demanding, as he made his way down your body. He worshipped you with every kiss, every caress, until you were trembling with need beneath him.

"Cregan," you breathed, your voice a soft plea.

His eyes met yours, dark and intense. "I'm here, Y/n" he murmured, his voice a soothing balm. "I'm here."

Cregan's gaze was fixed on your taut, aching nipples. He wasted no time, his heated mouth enveloping one of your tight, sensitive peaks. You gasped as your back arched in response, the initial shock of his touch quickly melting into a rhythm of pleasure.

Each time his cheeks hollowed as he suckled, your gasps turned to desperate pants, while his fingers teased the other abandoned nipple, pulling and twisting it gently.

Cregan's mouth pulling harder on your nipple, his tongue lavishing attention on the delicate bud. Every flick of his tongue sent waves of sensation through you, stirring a throbbing need between your legs.

The pulsing ache demanded more, and your hand, almost involuntarily, slipped between your thighs. The damp evidence of your desire left you breathless and mortified.

"Show me yer hand" Cregan's voice rumbled, his tone firm.

"It's... it's embarrassing-"

Without hesitation, Cregan parted your thighs and deftly removed your small clothes, leaving you exposed before him. His gaze settled on your glistening core, and a satisfied smile tugged at his lips.

"C-cregan!"

"Y/n" he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with a mix of adoration and hunger.

"Ye've got the prettiest little cunt."

his words made your entire face burn and turn a dark crimson. The raw honesty in his voice left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.

“D-don’t look so closely!”

Without wasting another moment, he lowered his head between your thighs, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh.

your body trembling with need. When his tongue finally made contact, a moan escaped your lips, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you.

Cregan's tongue moved with practiced skill, each stroke and flick sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. His lips latched onto your clit, sucking gently before releasing it with a soft pop, only to dive back in with renewed fervor.

The lewd slurping sounds filled the room, mixing with your breathless moans and the crackling of the fire.

Your thighs quivered, the sensation of his mouth on you pushing you closer to the edge. "Cregan" you gasped loudly, your voice shaking. "Please, don't stop."

He didn't need to be told twice. His tongue delved deeper, exploring every inch of your soaking wet cunt, his fingers joining in to tease and caress. The combined sensations were overwhelming, your body arching off the bed as you rode the waves of pleasure.

When you finally came, it was with a cry of his name, your body convulsing as the orgasm ripped through you. Cregan didn't relent though, his tongue continuing its relentless assault, lapping up your juices with a moan, prolonging your climax until you were a trembling, breathless mess.

Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening with your arousal, his eyes dark with desire.

He moved up your body, his hands bracing on either side of your head as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

You could taste yourself on his lips, the intimate act deepening the connection between you.

But it still wasn’t enough for you, gathering your courage, you whispered, "Cregan?"

His eyes opened, soft and warm as they met yours. "Aye, love?"

You bit your lip, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks. "Can I... can I touch you?"

A spark of interest flared in his eyes, and he propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you. "Touch me? Where?" He said teasingly.

You swallowed hard, your gaze dropping to where his cock lay, painfully hard and twitching. "There" you whined softly, reaching out tentatively.

Cregan's lips curved upwards. "Aye, love. Ye can touch me."

Your hand wrapped around his shaft, the heat of him searing your palm. You marveled at the feel of his skin, so smooth and yet so firm beneath your touch. Cregan's breath hitched, his muscles tensing as you explored him.

"Like this?" you asked, looking up at him for guidance.

He nodded, his voice rough with restraint.

"Aye, just like that. A bit firmer, love."

You tightened your grip slightly, your hand moving up and down his length in slow, deliberate strokes. The sight of him, so vulnerable and exposed, filled you with a heady sense of power and intimacy.

Cregan's hand covered yours, guiding your movements. "Tha's it, love. Yer doin' so well" he moaned, his voice laced with praise and pleasure.

As you continued to stroke him, you noticed a bead of precum forming at the tip. The sight of it, glistening and inviting, sparked a boldness within you. You couldn’t help yourself, you leaned forward, your tongue darting out to lick it away. Cregan groaned loudly, his hips bucking

involuntarily at the sensation.

"Fuck! Y/n" he gasped, his hand tightening around yours.

"Do that again."

You obliged, your tongue swirling around the thick head of his cock, tasting the salty essence of him. The act felt both daring and incredibly arousing, each lick eliciting a new sound of pleasure from Cregan.

Encouraged by his response, you took him deeper into your mouth, your lips closing around his shaft as you began to bob your head.

You were still unaccustomed to his size though, what you couldn’t fit in your mouth you stroked with your hand.

Cregan's hand tangled in your hair, guiding your movements as you pleasured him.

"Ye're so fuckin’ good to me, love" he groaned, his voice thick with need. "So perfect."

The praise spurred you on, your pace quickening as you took him deeper, your hand stroking the base of his cock in time with your movements. Cregan's breaths grew ragged, his body tense with the effort to hold back.

When he finally came, it was with a guttural moan, his release bursting in your mouth.

You swallowed eagerly, wanting to take all of him, to show him the same pleasure he had given you.

As you pulled back, you looked up at him, your eyes wide and full of adoration.

Cregan's chest heaved, his eyes glazed with satisfaction as he pulled you into his arms, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss.

But the night was far from over and the hunger in his eyes told you he was far from satisfied. You felt a renewed wave of desire wash over you, your body eager for more of him.

"Are ye ready for more, love?" he asked, his voice husky with desire. His hand trailed down your body, caressing your breasts and waist, finally coming to rest between your legs.

His fingers teased your wetness, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "Yer so wet for me."

You nodded, your breath hitching as he continued to stroke you. "Yes, Cregan. I want you. I want you to take me."

His eyes darkened with a primal need, and he positioned himself between your legs, spreading them wide. "I'll be gentle at first, love," he promised, guiding his cock to your entrance.

"But I won't be able to hold back for long."

You felt the tip of his cock pressing against you, and your heart raced with anticipation.

He pushed forward slowly, entering you with a smooth, deliberate motion. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and painful sting as he stretched you to accommodate his large size.

Cregan's eyes never left yours, his gaze filled with love and desire. "Yer so tight, love. So perfect" he groaned, pushing deeper until he was fully seated inside you.

The feeling of being completely filled by him was indescribable, a blend of fullness and heat that made you gasp. "Cregan," you moaned, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

He began to move, his thrusts slow and gentle at first, allowing you to adjust to the sensation. But as your moans grew louder and your hips began to move in time with his, his restraint faltered. His pace quickened, each thrust deeper and harder than the last.

"You feel so good, Y/n," he growled, his voice rough with need. "I can't hold back any longer."

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he pounded into you.

The force of his thrusts drove you higher, making the bed hit the walls roughly, a testament to how greedily he was fucking into you.

Cregan shifted his position, lifting your legs higher and pressing them against your chest. The new angle allowed him to penetrate you even deeper, and you screamed his name as he took you harder.

"That's it, love. Take all of my cock," he urged, his eyes locked on your face, watching your every reaction.

The pressure built within you, the pleasure mounting to an unbearable peak. With a final, powerful thrust, you shattered, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. Your body convulsed around him, gripping his cock as he continued to drive into you.

Cregan was relentless, his own release building. He flipped you onto your stomach, pulling you onto your hands and knees. He entered you from behind, his hands gripping your hips as he pounded into you with abandon.

"Fuck, Y/n" he groaned, his voice a rough whisper. "I'm gonna fill ye up. Every last drop."

Cregan's movements became more erratic as he neared his release, his breathing heavy and labored. You could feel the tension building within him, every muscle in his body coiling tighter and tighter. His thrusts grew deeper, more powerful, and you knew he was close.

With a final, powerful thrust, Cregan's hips stilled, pressing deep inside you. His entire body tensed, and he let out a loud, guttural groan, his face contorted in pleasure. You could feel the hot rush of his cum filling you, pulse after pulse, more than you had ever imagined. The sheer volume of it overwhelmed you, a torrent of heat flooding your insides.

"Fuck, Y/n," he groaned, his voice rough with satisfaction. "Take all of it. Every last drop."

He held himself inside you for a moment longer, his cock throbbing with each spurt of cum. Then, slowly, he began to pull out, the sensation almost too much to bear. As he withdrew, you felt a gush of his cum ooze out of you, warm and thick.

Cregan watched, mesmerized, as his release leaked from your entrance. The sight seemed to ignite something primal in him, and he quickly brought his fingers to your dripping core. He gently pushed two fingers inside you, making sure to plug the flow.

"Can't let it go to waste" he murmured, his voice a mix of possessiveness and tenderness. "Want every drop to stay inside ye."

His fingers moved within you, ensuring his cum was thoroughly spread.

You felt another wave of pleasure as he gently massaged your sensitive walls, the sensation of being so full and claimed by him overwhelming you. Cregan leaned down, kissing the small of your back, his breath warm against your skin. "Yer mine, Y/n. All mine," he whispered, his fingers still inside you, holding his seed in place.

You lay there, breathless and trembling, feeling utterly claimed and cherished by him.

Cregan slowly withdrew his fingers, ensuring that every drop of his cum remained inside you. He gently flipped you onto your back, his eyes filled with an intensity that made your heart race.

As he settled beside you, his strong arms wrapped around your body, pulling you close. His warmth enveloped you, a comforting contrast to the cool air of the room.

He pressed his lips to your forehead, a tender kiss that lingered. Then, he moved to your cheeks, planting soft, loving kisses on each one. His lips brushed your nose, and then he found your lips, kissing you with a gentleness that was almost reverent.

"Y/n" he murmured between kisses, his voice filled with emotion. "I'm so glad ye're mine."

You felt a swell of affection in your chest, the sweetness of his words and the tenderness of his touch filling you with a profound sense of belonging. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as he continued to kiss you.

Cregan's kisses were endless, each one a declaration of his love and devotion. He kissed your eyelids, your temples, your jawline, and your chin, his lips exploring every inch of your face with a loving intensity that made you feel cherished beyond measure.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "So perfect. I want to spend every moment of our lives together, showing ye how much I adore ye."

He held you tighter, his hands stroking your hair, your back, your sides. His touch was soothing, a balm to your still-racing heart.

The rough, demanding lover from moments ago was now a gentle giant, cradling you in his arms with infinite care.

Cregan pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "Are ye alright, love?" he asked, his voice soft with concern. "Did I hurt ye?"

You shook your head, smiling up at him. "No, Cregan. You were perfect. I'm more than alright."

His expression softened even further, a look of relief washing over his face. "Good," he whispered, pressing another kiss to your lips. "I'll always take care of ye, Y/n. Always."

You nestled closer to him, resting your head on his broad chest. The rhythmic beat of his heart was a comforting lullaby, and you felt a deep sense of contentment wash over you.

A red rose grew up out of ice frozen ground with no one around to see it. The thought lingered in your mind, a symbol of the unexpected beauty and love that had blossomed between you.

Cregan continued to kiss you, his lips never straying far from your skin, as he held you in a protective, loving embrace.

In that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. Cregan's sweet, endless kisses and his tender words were a promise of a future filled with love, passion, and unwavering devotion.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

2K notes · View notes

ijustmissyouraccenths · 5 months ago

Text

My Boss's Son

Y/N, an assistant to Anne Twist, forms an unexpected connection with her son, Harry, when he comes home for the holidays.

Word Count: 9,464

Content Warning: Mentions of alcohol, kissing.

Mostly fluff.

Part one of two.

The light filtered through the blinds, casting faint stripes of gold across the room. I blinked against the brightness, my eyes slowly adjusting as I stretched my arms out, feeling the tension in my muscles ease. A deep yawn escaped me, filling the quiet morning air. The world outside seemed to hum faintly, the distant chirping of birds blending with the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.

I sat up, letting the covers slide off my shoulders. The room was still, yet alive with the promise of a new day. The faint aroma of coffee from the kitchen teased my senses, nudging me toward the day ahead. Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I let my toes press against the cool floor, a gentle reminder that today was mine to shape.

As I stood, a faint shadow danced across the wall—a tree branch swaying outside the window. Something about the movement caught my attention, a quiet insistence that the day held more than routine.

After finishing my coffee, I carried the empty mug to the sink, rinsing it absentmindedly as my thoughts drifted to the day ahead. The morning sunlight filtered through the kitchen window, filling the space with a soft, golden glow. I grabbed my phone from the counter and headed upstairs, each step creaking faintly underfoot.

Back in my room, I opened the closet door, revealing a neatly arranged array of clothes. My fingers brushed over the hangers as I flipped through the options—crisp blouses, tailored trousers, and a few statement pieces that Anne had complimented in the past. Getting dressed in the morning was never a struggle. My wardrobe was curated with care, blending professionalism with a touch of personality and casualness, just as my job required.

Working as a personal assistant to Anne Twist, a celebrated children's author based in the UK and mother to global superstar Harry Styles, came with its own unique blend of charm and challenge. Anne’s world was a whirlwind of creative projects, book signings, and interviews, and I was the one ensuring every detail went off without a hitch. It wasn’t just about organizing her calendar or prepping her notes—it was about anticipating her needs, often before she voiced them.

I finally settled on a simple navy blue dress with a subtle floral pattern, pairing it with a cardigan and comfortable flats. Anne had a penchant for warm, approachable styles herself, and I liked to reflect that in my own appearance. As I slipped on the outfit, I glanced at the framed photo on my dresser—a candid shot of Anne and me at a book launch, her arm draped over my shoulder, both of us laughing.

Today’s agenda was packed. A meeting with Anne's publisher, a conference call with a charity she supported, and later, a brainstorming session for her next book.I grabbed my bag and took one last look in the mirror. Polished yet approachable—that was the goal. Taking a deep breath, I smiled to myself.

The drive to Anne’s house was peaceful, the winding country roads lined with lush greenery and dappled sunlight. I rolled the window down just enough to let the cool morning air fill the car, carrying with it the faint scent of flowers and freshly cut grass. Anne’s home always felt like a retreat from the bustling world—a charming cottage with ivy climbing the walls and a garden that looked like it had been plucked straight from a fairytale.

As I pulled into the driveway, Anne was already at the door, her warm smile radiating the same comforting energy as her home. She waved enthusiastically, her auburn hair catching the sunlight.

“Y/N!” she called out, stepping onto the porch. “You’re right on time, as always. Come in, come in! I’ve just put the kettle on.”

I climbed out of the car, grabbing my bag from the passenger seat. “Morning, Anne!” I replied, smiling as I approached. Her energy was infectious, and it was impossible not to feel instantly at ease in her presence.

Anne pulled me into a quick hug as I reached the door. “It’s so good to see you. I hope the drive wasn’t too long. You know how these roads can be,” she said, ushering me inside.

The familiar scent of lavender and lemon greeted me as I stepped into the house. The kitchen table was already covered in papers—manuscript drafts, notes, and a plate of freshly baked scones. Anne was nothing if not prepared.

“I’ve got a lot to go over with you today,” she said, her tone cheerful but purposeful. “But first, tea. You can’t work properly without tea.”

I laughed, setting my bag down on a chair. “You know me too well, Anne. What’s on the agenda today?”

She poured steaming tea into two mismatched mugs, handing one to me. “Oh, the usual chaos,” she said with a wink. “We’ve got that call with the publisher at ten, and later I want to brainstorm ideas for the next book. Oh, and Harry might pop by later—he said he had something he wanted to drop off.”

I raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of the tea. “Harry’s stopping by? Should I be preparing for something out of the ordinary?”

Anne laughed, her eyes twinkling. “You never know with him, do you? But for now, let’s get through these notes. Come on, take a seat.”

I settled into the chair opposite her, notebook in hand, ready to dive into the day’s work.

As Anne and I worked through her notes, my mind kept drifting back to what she had said earlier. Harry might pop by. I hadn’t met him yet—despite working with Anne for nearly a year now. He was always away, either on tour or traveling, and our paths had never crossed. But today might change that.

“Anne,” I said hesitantly, setting down my pen, “so… about Harry. I guess I’m a little nervous to meet him.”

Anne looked up from her notes, her expression warm and understanding. “Nervous? Oh, Y/N, you’ve nothing to be nervous about! He’s a sweetheart. Truly.”

“I’m sure he is,” I replied with a nervous laugh. “But, I mean, he’s Harry Styles. He’s this global superstar, and I’m just… me. What if I say something awkward? Or trip over my words?”

Anne chuckled, setting her glasses on the table and leaning back in her chair. “Y/N, you have nothing to worry about. Harry’s as down-to-earth as they come. He’s more likely to be the one tripping over his words than you are.”

Her reassurance made me smile, but there was something in her tone—something playful—that piqued my curiosity. Before I could dwell on it, Anne leaned forward slightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Actually,” she said, a little more thoughtfully, “I think it’s good you two are finally meeting. I’ve always thought you and Harry would get along wonderfully.”

I raised an eyebrow, my cheeks warming slightly. “You do?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she said, nodding with certainty. “You both have such similar energies—kind, thoughtful, creative. And you both love to laugh. I can already picture the two of you chatting away like old friends.”

I laughed nervously, unsure how to respond. “Well, I guess we’ll see. No pressure, right?”

Anne smiled knowingly, taking a sip of her tea. “No pressure at all, my dear. But sometimes, the best connections happen when you least expect them.”

Her words lingered in the air as we returned to our work, but my mind couldn’t help wandering.

The day passed in a flurry of productivity. Anne and I tackled everything on the agenda—the publisher’s call went smoothly, the brainstorming session brought to life some fantastic ideas for her next book, and even the smallest tasks seemed to fall perfectly into place. By late afternoon, the papers on the kitchen table were neatly stacked, the mugs washed, and the scones just a crumb-filled memory.

As I started gathering my things to leave, Anne stopped me, her warm smile ever-present. “Y/N, don’t rush off just yet.”

I glanced at her, surprised. “Oh, I thought we were done for the day?”

“We are,” she said, placing a hand on my shoulder, her tone gentle and inviting. “But Harry should be here soon, and I think it would be lovely if you stayed for dinner. I’ve already got everything prepped, and I promise it’s nothing fancy—just a good, home-cooked meal. Besides, you’ve worked so hard today, and I’d love the company.”

I hesitated, glancing at the time. “Are you sure, Anne? I don’t want to intrude.”

Anne shook her head firmly, her expression softening in a way that reminded me of my own mother. “Y/N, you’re not intruding. You’re family—more than just an assistant to me. I don’t say that lightly.” She gave my arm a reassuring squeeze. “Now, stay. Let me spoil you a little.”

Her words warmed my heart, and I felt a lump rise in my throat. Anne had always treated me with such kindness, but hearing her say it so plainly made me feel truly appreciated. “Okay,” I said, smiling. “I’d love to stay.”

“Good,” Anne said, beaming. “You can help me set the table. And don’t worry, you’ll love Harry. He’s just like me, only taller and a bit scruffier.”

I laughed, the nervous flutter in my stomach returning. The idea of meeting Harry still felt slightly surreal, but Anne’s confidence that we’d get along eased my nerves—at least a little.

Together, we walked back to the house, chatting about everything from her garden to potential titles for her next book. Anne’s warmth and humor made the transition from work mode to relaxation seamless, and by the time we reached the cottage, I was already feeling at home.

As we stepped inside, Anne gestured toward the dining table. “You start on the plates, and I’ll grab the drinks. Harry should be here any minute now.”

I nodded, moving to set the table as instructed, but I couldn’t help the little flicker of excitement—and anxiety—that danced in my chest.

Moments later, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the house, followed by a familiar voice calling out.

“Mum? I’m here!” Harry’s voice carried easily, warm and slightly teasing.

Anne, busy at the counter pouring drinks, shouted back, “In the kitchen, love!”

I froze mid-step, clutching a plate in my hands. My pulse quickened as the reality of meeting Harry—Anne’s son and global superstar—hit me square in the chest. A part of me wanted to disappear into the background, but before I could even think to move, the sound of footsteps approached.

Then, there he was. Harry walked into the kitchen, his casual stride and easy grin instantly lighting up the room. He was dressed simply—jeans, a T-shirt, and a beanie pulled snugly over his brown curls—but his presence was anything but ordinary. His green eyes scanned the room before landing on me.

He stopped, his smile widening with playful confusion. “Well, you’re definitely not my mum.”

I blinked, caught off guard, before laughing nervously. “No, no, definitely not.”

Anne turned from the counter, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Y/N, meet my son, Harry. Harry, this is Y/N—my assistant, though I prefer to call her my second daughter.”

Harry’s expression softened, and he stepped forward, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. Mum’s told me loads about you.”

I set the plate down carefully before shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you too. She’s told me a lot about you as well.”

He raised an eyebrow, a glint of humor in his eyes. “All good things, I hope?”

“Of course,” I replied, feeling my nerves ease slightly under the weight of his charm. “She’s very proud of you.”

Harry shot Anne a look, his smile turning fond. “She’s not bad herself, is she?” Turning back to me, he added, “So, you’re the one keeping her so organized. Must be a full-time job.”

“It is,” I said with a small laugh. “But I love it.”

Anne interjected, carrying the drinks to the table. “All right, enough chatter. Harry, help Y/N finish setting the table. And no teasing—you’ll scare her off.”

Harry chuckled, grabbing a stack of silverware. “Scare her off? I’m charming, Mum.”

Anne gave him a knowing look but didn’t argue. As Harry handed me the silverware, his smile was soft, his teasing replaced by genuine warmth.

“Don’t let her boss you around too much,” he joked quietly, leaning in just enough for only me to hear. “But I’ll warn you, she’s usually right.”

As we worked together to set the table, Harry struck up a conversation, his natural curiosity evident in the way he asked questions.

“So, Y/N,” he began, placing the silverware neatly beside the plates, “Mum says you’ve been working with her for about a year now. But I’m curious—how’d you end up here? Not many people just casually relocate to the middle of England.”

I smiled, stacking the napkins as I spoke. “Well, I’m originally from New York, but I came to England a few years ago to study abroad. It was supposed to be temporary, but I ended up falling in love with the country. Anne and I met while I was finishing up my studies, and things just kind of fell into place.”

“New York to England, huh?” he said, his tone thoughtful. “That’s quite a leap. What made you want to stay? Was it the tea, the rain, or Mum’s scones?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Definitely not the rain. But honestly, I think it was the pace of life here. It’s different from New York—slower, in a good way. Plus, I felt like I’d found a second home when I started working with Anne. She’s been amazing.”

Harry glanced over at his mum, who was busy fiddling with the oven, her back turned to us. His expression softened. “Yeah, she has a way of making people feel that way, doesn’t she?”

“She really does,” I agreed, my voice warm. “She’s been more than a boss to me—more like family.”

Harry smiled, leaning casually against the edge of the table. “That sounds like her. She’s always taking people under her wing. So, what were you studying before you decided to make the big move?”

“English literature,” I said, straightening one of the forks. “I’ve always loved books and writing, so it just felt like the right path. Meeting Anne was kind of serendipitous. She needed an assistant around the same time I was trying to figure out what to do next, and the rest is history.”

Harry nodded, his interest clearly genuine. “That’s brilliant. Sounds like it was meant to be. And now you’re here, working with Mum, dealing with her endless sticky notes and brainstorm sessions. She ever drag you out to the garden for ‘creative inspiration’?”

I chuckled, nodding. “Oh, plenty of times. But I don’t mind—it’s always an adventure with her.”

Harry’s grin widened. “I can imagine. And do you still write yourself, or is it all Mum’s projects now?”

The question caught me off guard, and I hesitated for a moment. “I try to write when I can, but it’s mostly little things—nothing serious.”

“Well,” he said, his tone encouraging, “maybe one day I’ll get to read something of yours. If Mum’s spoken this highly of you, I bet it’s brilliant.”

His compliment made my cheeks flush slightly, but I managed a smile. “Maybe. But for now, I’m happy helping her bring her stories to life.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. “Fair enough. But don’t forget about your own stories, yeah? Something tells me they’re worth sharing.”

The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard, but before I could respond, Anne interrupted, calling us to the table.

“All right, you two, enough chatter! Dinner’s ready. Harry, stop hogging Y/N’s attention and help me bring the dishes out.”

Harry smirked but obeyed, shooting me a quick wink as he moved to help his mum. “Guess that’s my cue,” he said, grabbing the serving tray. “But I’m not done with my questions, Y/N. Consider this round one.”

I laughed softly, feeling a strange mix of nerves and excitement as I took my seat at the table. Round one, huh? This evening was shaping up to be much more interesting than I’d anticipated.

As Harry walked toward the kitchen to help his mom, I began fiddling with the edge of the napkin in front of me, still processing our earlier conversation. His natural charm and easygoing nature made him surprisingly approachable, and yet I couldn’t shake the nervous flutter in my stomach.

I was just settling into my seat when I heard his voice drift from the kitchen. It wasn’t loud, but the playful tone caught my attention.

“Mum,” he said, his voice carrying just enough for me to overhear, “you forgot to mention how pretty she is.”

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. My heart began to race as I tried to process what I’d just heard. Was he talking about me? It was hard to mistake the sincerity in his tone, even laced as it was with a hint of teasing.

Anne chuckled in response, her reply warm but matter-of-fact. “I didn’t think I needed to, love. I figured you’d see that for yourself.”

The sound of clinking dishes followed, but I couldn’t focus on anything else. My cheeks grew hot as I stared at the table, trying to act like I hadn’t heard a word.

What did that even mean? Was he just being nice? Or was there something more to his comment? The idea made my chest tighten, equal parts flattered and overwhelmed.

Moments later, Harry and Anne returned to the dining room, each carrying a dish. His expression was as casual and easy as ever, as if he hadn’t just said something that was now on a loop in my head. He caught my gaze briefly as he set down a bowl of roasted vegetables, flashing me a small, almost knowing smile before turning back to his mom.

“Right, all set?” Anne asked cheerfully, glancing between the two of us as she placed the final dish on the table. “Let’s dig in!”

I forced myself to smile, hoping it didn’t look too forced. “Smells amazing, Anne. Thank you.”

As dinner began, Harry struck up conversation again, his questions lighthearted and easy, but I couldn’t help noticing the occasional glance he sent my way. Maybe it was nothing—or maybe Anne had been right all along. Whatever it was, one thing was certain: this evening was turning out to be far more eventful than I had expected.

After everyone had eaten their fill and the plates were cleared, I stood to help Anne gather the dishes, but she waved me off with a smile.

“Sit and relax, Y/N. You’ve done enough today,” she said warmly. “But if Harry’s volunteering, I won’t say no to an extra pair of hands.”

“I’ll help too,” I insisted, ignoring her gentle protest as I followed Harry to the kitchen with a stack of plates.

Harry grabbed a dish towel, tossing it over his shoulder as he started rinsing the dishes. He glanced at me with a grin. “Looks like it’s just us now. I’ll try not to scare you off with my terrible washing-up skills.”

I laughed, rolling up my sleeves. “Don’t worry—I’m no professional either.”

As we worked side by side, the atmosphere felt lighter, more relaxed. Harry, ever curious, turned to me with a playful tilt of his head. “So, Y/N, I feel like I barely scratched the surface earlier. Let’s dig a little deeper. Do you have any pets?”

I smiled, handing him a clean plate to dry. “No pets, unfortunately. Growing up in New York, we didn’t really have the space for them. But I’ve always wanted a dog. What about you?”

He nodded, his grin widening. “Mum’s got a cat—Dusty. Though I think she likes Dusty more than me most days.”

I laughed at his self-deprecating humor. “I doubt that. Anne talks about you like you’re her pride and joy.”

“Good to know I’m still in her good books,” he teased, then shifted gears. “Okay, next question. Favorite movie?”

I bit my lip, thinking it over. “That’s a tough one. Probably Pride and Prejudice—the Keira Knightley version. I’ve seen it a hundred times, and it still makes me swoon. What about you?”

Harry pretended to look thoughtful. “Hmm, Pride and Prejudice is solid, but I might have to go with The Notebook. Classic romantic drama.”

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You’re full of surprises.”

“Am I?” he said with a playful wink, taking another dish from my hands. “Okay, next one: Favorite bar in London?”

“That’s easy,” I said, sliding another plate toward him. “The Churchill Arms. It’s so cozy and covered in flowers—it’s like stepping into a storybook. What about you?”

“Great choice,” he said, nodding approvingly. “For me, it’s The Spaniards Inn. Proper old-school vibe and great music.”

“I’ll have to check it out sometime,” I said, filing the recommendation away.

He paused, glancing over at me with a curious glint in his eye. “I could show you, if you’re up for it. You know, give you the full Harry Styles bar tour.”

The suggestion caught me off guard, but his smile was so genuine, it was impossible not to mirror it. “Maybe,” I said, trying to sound casual despite the warmth spreading in my chest. “If I can keep up.”

“Oh, I think you’ll manage,” he replied, his voice light and teasing as he placed the last clean plate on the rack. “But don’t think you’re off the hook just yet. I’ve got plenty more questions.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “Something tells me you’re not going to run out anytime soon.”

“Not a chance,” he said, his smile widening as he grabbed the dish towel to dry his hands. “You’re far too interesting for that.”

As the evening wound down, the cozy energy of Anne’s home lingered in the air. Harry leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, chatting with his mom while I finished drying the last of the dishes. His laugh filled the kitchen, warm and effortless, and I couldn’t help but glance his way more often than necessary.

But soon, it was time to leave. Harry had to fly out the next morning to start recording for his next project, and I knew my days ahead would be busy helping Anne finalize the manuscript for her latest book. It felt bittersweet—our paths had just crossed, and yet, they were already diverging.

As I grabbed my coat from the hook near the door, Harry walked over, slipping his hands into his pockets. “So,” he began, his voice casual but his eyes searching mine, “looks like it’ll be a bit before we see each other again.”

I nodded, smiling softly. “Yeah, sounds like you’ll be busy.”

“Same for you,” he said, tilting his head. “Mum keeps you running around, doesn’t she?”

I chuckled. “She does, but I don’t mind. She’s worth it.”

Harry’s smile turned a little softer at that. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Well, seeing as I’m about to disappear for a while, how about we exchange numbers? Just in case Mum ‘accidentally’ forgets to pass along messages.”

The suggestion caught me off guard, but I quickly recovered, pulling out my phone. “Sure,” I said, feeling a flutter of nerves as we traded numbers. His fingers brushed mine briefly as he handed my phone back, and I wondered if he felt the same quiet spark.

“Now you’ve got no excuse not to check out The Spaniards Inn,” he joked, his voice light but his eyes holding something a little more serious.

“Guess I don’t,” I said, smiling.

Anne appeared then, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “All right, you two, no plotting mischief without me,” she teased. “Harry, don’t keep Y/N standing here all night—she’s got work in the morning.”

Harry rolled his eyes playfully. “All right, all right. I’ll let her go. For now.”

We said our goodbyes, and as I walked out to my car, I couldn’t help but glance back. Harry stood in the doorway with Anne, waving, his easy smile still lingering even as I pulled away.

Weeks turned into months, and the holiday season crept closer. Between Anne’s projects and the quiet hum of my own life, I found myself thinking of Harry more than I cared to admit. We’d exchanged a few texts here and there—mostly casual check-ins or jokes—but nothing too deep. Still, every time my phone lit up with his name, it brought a smile to my face.

Then came Anne’s annual Christmas party. The cottage was aglow with warm lights, garlands, and a massive tree Anne had insisted on decorating herself. Guests milled about with glasses of mulled wine, laughter and conversation filling every corner.

I was in the kitchen, helping Anne plate some hors d'oeuvres, when a familiar voice made my heart skip.

“Surprise,” Harry said, leaning casually against the doorway, his signature grin firmly in place.

I turned, my breath catching slightly. He looked effortlessly stylish, dressed in a festive green sweater and black trousers, his hair tousled as though he hadn’t tried at all. “Harry,” I said, smiling. “I didn’t think you’d make it.”

“Neither did I,” he admitted, stepping further into the kitchen. “But I couldn’t miss Mum’s party—or the chance to see you again.”

Anne smirked knowingly, handing me the last platter before excusing herself with a suspiciously cheerful “I’ll leave you two to catch up.”

I rolled my eyes at her retreating figure but couldn’t suppress the warmth spreading through me. “So,” I said, turning back to Harry, “how’s recording going?”

“It’s good,” he said, his voice softening. “Busy, but good. Though I’ll admit, I’ve been looking forward to this party for weeks.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Because of the mulled wine?”

He grinned, his eyes meeting mine. “Something like that. But mostly because I knew you’d be here.”

The sincerity in his tone made my heart flip. I wasn’t sure what to say, but before I could respond, he gestured toward the door. “Shall we? I think Mum would kill me if I didn’t mingle.”

The party buzzed around us, but Harry and I had found a quieter corner of the living room, where the lights from the Christmas tree cast a soft glow. He handed me a glass of red wine, his fingers brushing mine briefly, and leaned casually against the wall beside me.

“So,” he said, swirling the wine in his glass, “tell me—what’s been the highlight of your year? And if you say one of Mum’s scone-baking experiments, I’ll know you’re lying.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Well, those have been a journey, but I think meeting her in the first place takes the top spot. It’s been a whirlwind, but a good one.”

He smiled, his gaze warm. “That’s a solid choice. I’d say meeting you is up there on my list too.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the subtle sincerity in his voice, but before I could respond, Gemma’s voice rang out across the room.

“Oi, Harry!” she called, her tone dripping with playful mischief. “Do you two know you’re standing under the mistletoe?”

My eyes shot upward instinctively, and sure enough, the little sprig of green was hanging above us, tied neatly with a red ribbon. My cheeks flushed as laughter rippled through the room. I turned back to Harry, who had the audacity to look completely shocked.

“Mistletoe?” he said, feigning innocence as his eyes darted upward. “Would you look at that? What a coincidence.”

I narrowed my eyes, catching the faintest flicker of amusement in his expression. “Coincidence, huh?” I asked, my tone skeptical.

Gemma smirked from across the room. “Well, rules are rules!”

The guests around us were clearly entertained, their chatter fading into encouraging murmurs. Harry turned back to me, his grin widening as he leaned in slightly, his voice low enough for only me to hear.

“Guess we’ve got to follow tradition,” he said, his tone teasing but his gaze steady. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint everyone.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, my heart pounding as he leaned closer. His lips brushed mine softly, the warmth of the moment washing over me despite the playful shouts and applause in the background. It was sweet, unhurried, and—dare I say—perfect.

When he pulled back, his grin was back in full force, but there was a softness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “Merry Christmas, Y/N,” he said, his voice just above a whisper.

“Merry Christmas,” I managed, my cheeks still flushed as the room erupted in laughter and cheers. Gemma gave us a knowing look, and Anne, from the kitchen, was clearly trying not to look too pleased with herself.

As the night went on, the party blurred into a haze of warmth and laughter, but that moment under the mistletoe stayed crystal clear in my mind.

The party continued, the festive atmosphere filling every corner of Anne’s home, but I couldn’t shake the giddy feeling in my chest. Every so often, I’d catch Harry glancing my way, and each time, his warm smile made my heart skip a beat. It felt as if the mistletoe moment had shifted something between us—something unspoken but undeniably present.

After the laughter and teasing died down, Harry and I found ourselves back in the cozy corner of the living room, wine glasses in hand. This time, the conversation felt lighter, more natural, as if the small barrier of formality had finally fallen away.

“So,” I teased, swirling my glass, “did you actually plan that mistletoe stunt, or was it pure luck?”

Harry smirked, not even bothering to deny it. “What can I say? I might have noticed where Mum hung it earlier and thought it’d be a good spot to stand. But in my defense,” he added, leaning in slightly, “I wasn’t sure you’d go along with it.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he said with a wink, his grin softening as he studied me. “But honestly, I’m glad it happened. I’ve been wanting to spend more time with you.”

His words caught me off guard, and I found myself searching his expression for any sign of teasing, but there was none—just quiet sincerity. “You have?” I asked, my voice quieter now.

“Of course,” he said, his tone genuine. “You’re… well, you’re amazing. Mum’s always going on about how much she adores you, and honestly, I get it. You’ve got this way about you—calm, funny, kind. It’s refreshing.”

I felt my cheeks heat under his gaze, unsure of how to respond. “Harry, that’s… really sweet of you to say.”

He shrugged, his smile turning a little sheepish. “Just being honest. And, well, I guess I should probably thank Mum for hiring you and convincing you to stay in England.”

I laughed softly, the nerves I’d felt earlier slowly fading. “She is very persuasive.”

“Isn’t she?” he said, laughing along. “So, what about you? Are you glad you stayed?”

I took a moment to think about his question, the warmth of the room and the sound of soft music in the background making the moment feel surreal. “I am,” I said finally, meeting his eyes. “I’ve built a life here I never expected, and it’s been… wonderful.”

Harry’s gaze softened, his smile easy but full of something deeper. “I’m glad to hear that. And, for what it’s worth, I hope I can be part of what makes it even better.”

Before I could respond, Anne appeared, beaming as she handed us a tray of leftover mince pies. “You two look cozy,” she said with a knowing smile, clearly pleased with herself. “Don’t let me interrupt, but someone has to make sure these don’t go uneaten.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Harry said, chuckling as he took the tray. As Anne walked away, he turned back to me, his smile lingering. “What do you say? Mince pie and more conversation?”

I nodded, feeling my heart flutter again. “I’d like that.”

And as the night wore on, surrounded by laughter and the glow of Christmas lights, I couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something special.

Guests filtered out one by one, their laughter and goodbyes echoing softly through Anne’s cozy home. I slipped into the hallway to grab my coat, the frosty chill of the night visible through the windows. Snow was falling in gentle flurries, blanketing the ground in a soft, sparkling white.

“Thanks for everything, Anne,” I said, hugging her tightly. “The party was wonderful, as always.”

Anne smiled, her arms warm and motherly around me. “It’s not the same without you, my dear. Stay safe getting home, all right?”

“I will,” I promised. “I’ll call an Uber.”

Before I could pull out my phone, Harry appeared, shrugging on his own coat. “Don’t bother with an Uber,” he said, his voice casual but insistent. “I’ll drive you.”

“Harry, you don’t have to do that,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s late, and it’s snowing—”

“All the more reason not to let you sit around waiting for a car,” he cut in, flashing me that easy smile. “Come on. Let me play chauffeur.”

Anne smirked knowingly from the doorway, but she said nothing, simply waving us off with a cheerful “Drive safe, you two!”

The snowflakes danced in the headlights as we drove through the quiet streets. The world outside felt still, the kind of calm that only came with late winter nights. Harry hummed softly along to the radio, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.

“So,” he said after a moment, glancing over at me, “did you have fun tonight?”

“I did,” I admitted, smiling. “Your mum really knows how to throw a party.”

“She does,” he agreed, grinning. “But I think the mistletoe was her favorite part.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m sure it was.”

We fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need filling. Then, as we turned a corner, Harry suddenly slowed the car, his eyes lighting up with recognition.

“That’s it,” he said, pointing to a warmly lit building just ahead. “That’s the bar I told you about—the one I wanted to take you to.”

I followed his gaze, taking in the charming old-fashioned pub with its twinkling lights and ivy-covered sign. “It looks amazing.”

“Good,” he said, shifting the car into park. “Because we’re making a pit stop.”

I blinked in surprise. “What? Now?”

“Now,” he said firmly, already unbuckling his seatbelt. He turned to me with a playful grin. “Come on. You’re not getting out of this one.”

Before I could protest, he was out of the car, circling around to my side to open the door. The cold air rushed in, but his outstretched hand and infectious enthusiasm warmed me more than my coat ever could. Smiling, I took his hand, letting him help me out of the car.

The snow crunched softly beneath our feet as Harry led me to the pub’s entrance. The wooden door creaked open, revealing a cozy interior filled with warm lighting, laughter, and the soft hum of music. He held the door for me, his eyes sparkling as he followed me inside.

“This,” he said as we found a quiet corner table, “is one of my favorite spots in the city. Figured it was about time I shared it with you.”

I smiled, taking in the quaint charm of the bar. “I’m glad you did.”

Harry leaned back, his grin softening as he looked at me. “So am I. Now, what are we drinking?”

I glanced at the menu briefly before setting it down with a grin. “I’ll start with a shot of Fireball,” I said, glancing at Harry for his reaction.

He raised an eyebrow, laughing. “Straight to Fireball, huh? You’re full of surprises.”

“What can I say? It’s festive,” I replied with a shrug. “What about you?”

“I’ll take a whiskey neat,” he said, flagging down the bartender.

As our drinks arrived, I picked up the small glass, holding it up in a toast. “To impromptu pit stops and good company.”

Harry clinked his glass against mine, his smile warm. “To that.”

I knocked back the shot, the cinnamon burn spreading warmly through my chest. Harry watched, clearly amused, before sipping his own drink. The atmosphere in the bar was cozy and alive, the soft murmur of conversations and the occasional burst of laughter adding to the charm.

After a few moments of quiet, Harry set his glass down, his fingers fidgeting with the rim. “Y/N,” he began, his tone more serious now, “I owe you an apology.”

I tilted my head, surprised. “For what?”

“For not texting much while I was recording,” he said, meeting my gaze. “It wasn’t because I didn’t want to. Quite the opposite, actually.”

I stayed silent, giving him space to continue.

“It’s just… I felt drawn to you, and I didn’t know how to handle it,” he admitted, his voice softer. “I didn’t want to make things harder for either of us if I couldn’t be around, or if our schedules didn’t line up. It felt unfair to pull you into something when I couldn’t guarantee how often we’d see each other.”

His honesty caught me off guard, but in the best way. I leaned forward slightly, my elbows resting on the table. “Harry, I get it. You’ve got a lot on your plate, and it’s not like I expect constant texts or updates. But… I appreciate you telling me that.”

He let out a small breath, his shoulders relaxing. “I just didn’t want you to think I wasn’t interested. Because I am. Very much.”

My cheeks warmed, and I took another sip of my drink to buy myself a moment. “Well, for what it’s worth, I thought about you too. A lot.”

His smile returned, soft and genuine, as he leaned forward. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said, laughing softly. “I just didn’t know if it was mutual or if I was imagining things.”

“You weren’t,” he said, his voice steady. “Not even for a second.”

The weight of his words settled between us, the unspoken feelings finally taking shape. The noise of the bar faded into the background as we held each other’s gaze, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

“Good,” I said finally, breaking the silence with a small smile. “Because I’m not imagining this either—this pit stop? Definitely worth it.”

He chuckled, raising his glass to me again. “Here’s to more pit stops, then.”

I clinked my glass against his, the warmth of the moment spreading through me.

Harry waved down the bartender and ordered himself one more drink, a smile playing on his lips as he looked over at me. “You go ahead, though—order another if you want. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get home safe.”

His words, coupled with the warmth in his voice, made me feel completely at ease. I grinned, raising my hand to flag the bartender. “All right, two more for me, then.”

As we chatted and finished our drinks, the conversation flowed effortlessly. Harry’s wit and charm kept me laughing, and I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so at ease with someone. When the bartender cleared away the empty glasses, Harry glanced at me with a teasing grin.

“Ready to call it a night, or do you want to take over the jukebox and turn this into a dance party?” he joked.

I laughed, shaking my head. “As tempting as that is, I think I’m ready to head home.”

He stood, offering his hand to help me up. “Then let’s get you back.”

The snow had lightened as we drove through the quiet streets, but it still sparkled in the streetlights, blanketing everything in a serene white glow. I leaned back in my seat, the warmth of the car lulling me into a calm state as I watched Harry. He looked focused yet relaxed, one hand on the steering wheel while the other rested casually on his lap.

After a moment, as if sensing my gaze, he reached over and placed a hand on my thigh. The gesture was simple, but it sent a warm jolt through me, grounding me in the moment. His touch was light, reassuring, and yet it carried a weight that made my heart race.

I looked at him, smiling softly. “You know, you’re really beautiful.”

He turned to glance at me briefly, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Beautiful, huh? Don’t let the lads hear you say that—they’ll never let me live it down.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m serious. You are. Inside and out.”

He chuckled softly, his thumb brushing against my leg in an almost absentminded motion. “Thanks, love. But you should know—it’s not every day I get called ‘beautiful.’ Pretty, maybe. Gorgeous, occasionally. But beautiful? That’s new.”

I laughed again, warmth blooming in my chest. “Well, you should hear it more often.”

He glanced at me again, his eyes soft and filled with something I couldn’t quite place. “I think I like hearing it from you the most.”

The car fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds the hum of the engine and the faint crackle of snow beneath the tires. I found myself wishing the drive could stretch on forever, the intimacy of the moment something I didn’t want to let go of.

When Harry pulled the car into the small lot outside my flat, he turned off the engine and stepped out, circling around to open my door before I could even reach for the handle. His gentlemanly gesture brought a small smile to my lips as I stepped out, the cold night air brushing against my cheeks.

“I’ll walk you up,” he said, his voice low and warm.

“You really don’t have to,” I started, but he shook his head, giving me a pointed look.

“Not up for debate,” he said, his grin softening any potential protest. “Come on.”

We walked together toward the building, the snow crunching softly beneath our feet. The tipsy warmth in my chest made everything feel slightly dreamlike—the glow of the streetlights, the way Harry’s shoulder brushed against mine, the sound of his laugh when I nearly slipped on a patch of ice but caught myself.

When we reached my door, I turned to thank him, but he stepped closer, his expression both amused and fond. “You’ve got a little something,” he said, reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered for a moment, his touch soft and deliberate.

The simple gesture made my heart flutter, and he noticed. His grin turned playful. “Still feeling a little tipsy, are we?”

“A little,” I admitted with a laugh, leaning back against the door for balance. “But I’m good. Thanks for making sure I got home.”

“Well, someone had to,” he teased, his voice light but his gaze steady. Then, after a pause, his tone softened. “I’m really glad we did this tonight.”

“Me too,” I said, my voice quieter now.

Harry stepped just a fraction closer, his hands resting lightly in his pockets. “You know,” he said, his voice dropping a little lower, “I’ve been thinking about that kiss earlier. I’d really like to kiss you again.”

His words sent a thrill through me, and without even stopping to think, I reached for his jacket, pulling him toward me. His hands instinctively found my waist, steadying me as I leaned up and pressed my lips to his.

This kiss wasn’t like the one under the mistletoe—this one was deeper, more purposeful. His lips moved with mine, warm and unhurried, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The cold air, the snow, the late hour—none of it mattered.

When we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested lightly against mine, his breath warm against my skin. “You’re full of surprises,” he murmured, his voice laced with both amusement and something deeper.

I smiled, my cheeks flushed from more than just the cold. “Goodnight, Harry,” I whispered, unlocking my door.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replied, his tone soft and lingering.

When I woke up the next morning, the soft light of a snowy winter day filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. My head felt light—not from drinking too much, but from the events of the night before. As I stretched and reached for my phone on the bedside table, a small smile spread across my face when I saw a text from Harry.

Harry: Morning, love. What are you doing for Christmas? Are you seeing your family?

I stared at the screen for a moment, my chest tightening slightly. My family was back in the States, and with everything going on, traveling wasn’t an option this year. I had already come to terms with spending Christmas alone. It wasn’t ideal, but it was fine—I’d planned a quiet day at home.

I typed out a response, my fingers hesitating briefly before hitting send.

Y/N: Good morning ☺️ No big plans—just staying home this year. My family’s in America, so it’ll be a solo Christmas. But I don’t mind.

Setting the phone down, I shuffled out of bed to start my morning routine. By the time I returned, Harry had replied.

Harry: Home alone? That doesn’t sit right with me. Come to ours—Mum would love to have you, and so would I.

The offer tugged at something in me, his kindness shining through even in a text. But as much as the idea of being surrounded by his family sounded wonderful, I didn’t want to intrude. Christmas was their time to be together, and I didn’t want to take away from that.

Y/N: That’s really sweet of you, but you should spend Christmas with your family. It’s their day with you, and I wouldn’t want to interrupt. I’ll be okay, I promise.

His response came quickly, and I could almost hear the concern in his tone.

Harry: You wouldn’t be interrupting. You’re part of the family now, you know.

I smiled at his words, warmth spreading through me, but I stayed firm in my decision.

Y/N: You’re lovely, but I’ll be fine. Thank you for the offer, though—it means a lot.

Harry: If you’re sure… but I’m still not entirely convinced you’re okay with it.

His care made my chest tighten, but I knew this was the right choice.

Y/N: I promise, I’m okay. Have a wonderful Christmas with your family.

As I set my phone down, I couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, knowing someone cared enough to ask. While Christmas would be quiet this year, the warmth from Harry’s offer lingered, making me feel less alone than I’d expected.

The day passed slowly, but pleasantly. I spent the morning baking cookies, letting the warm, sweet scent fill my flat. It was cozy, and for a while, I didn’t mind being alone. After tasting one (or three) cookies to make sure they turned out right, I curled up on the couch for a nap, letting the peaceful quiet of the day lull me to sleep.

When I woke, the snow outside had thickened, blanketing the world in a soft white hush. I made myself a cup of hot chocolate, grabbed a blanket, and put on a Christmas movie, letting the cheerful music and festive scenes brighten my evening.

I was halfway through the film, laughing softly at the antics on screen, when a sudden knock at the door startled me. My brow furrowed in confusion. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and my neighbors rarely stopped by unannounced.

I set down my mug, tightened the blanket around me, and went to the door. When I opened it, my mouth fell open in surprise. There, standing on my snowy doorstep, was Harry, grinning mischievously, a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Merry Christmas, love,” he said, his tone light. “Santa’s here, and he’s traded in the sleigh for a Mini Cooper.”

I blinked, too stunned to respond at first. Finally, I laughed, shaking my head. “Harry, what are you doing here? I thought you were spending the day with your family.”

He shrugged, his grin softening into something warmer. “I was. But it didn’t feel quite right, knowing you were here alone. So, I figured Santa could make one more stop.”

My heart swelled at his words, and I stepped aside to let him in, the cold air rushing in briefly before I closed the door behind him. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” I said, smiling.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he teased, slipping off his coat and placing the bag on the counter. “I brought some things—thought we could make Christmas a little less solo.”

I glanced at the bag, curious. “What’s in there?”

“Just a few essentials,” he said with mock seriousness, pulling out a bottle of wine, a small box wrapped in festive paper, and a Tupperware container. “Cookies from Mum. She insisted.”

I laughed, shaking my head as I watched him. “You really didn’t have to do this, Harry.”

“I know,” he said, meeting my eyes. “But I wanted to.”

The sincerity in his voice made my chest tighten, and I felt a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the cookies or the hot chocolate. Christmas, it seemed, had just gotten a whole lot better.

As Harry set the bag down on the counter, he pulled out a small, carefully wrapped box and handed it to me. The paper was simple but elegant, with a festive bow on top, and it made my heart flutter.

“What’s this?” I asked, looking between the gift and him, my brow furrowing in surprise. “Harry, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

He grinned, leaning casually against the counter. “I know I didn’t have to. But I wanted to. Go on—open it.”

I hesitated for a moment, my fingers brushing over the smooth wrapping paper. With a small smile, I carefully tore it open, revealing a beautiful hardback book with an embossed cover. My breath caught as I realized what it was.

A special edition of The Great Gatsby.

The gilded details on the cover shimmered in the soft light, and the pages had the kind of crispness that only came with a brand-new book. I traced the cover with my fingertips, momentarily speechless.

“You… remembered,” I said softly, looking up at him. “This is incredible, Harry.”

He smiled, his eyes warm and slightly amused. “Of course, I remembered. You told me it was your favorite. Plus, you lit up when you talked about it that night at Mum’s party. I figured it might be something you’d like.”

“Like?” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “I love it. This is… it’s perfect.”

Harry shrugged, though the grin on his face told me he was pleased. “Good. I wasn’t sure if you already had this edition, but I figured even if you did, a backup wouldn’t hurt.”

I hugged the book to my chest, still marveling at the thoughtfulness behind the gift. “Thank you, Harry. Really. This means so much.”

He stepped closer, his expression softening. “You’re welcome, love. Merry Christmas.”

For a moment, we just stood there, the cozy warmth of the room and the quiet snowfall outside wrapping around us like a blanket. I couldn’t help but feel that, somehow, this was exactly where I was meant to be.

I clutched The Great Gatsby to my chest, still basking in the warmth of Harry’s thoughtful gift, but a pang of guilt crept in as I realized I hadn’t gotten him anything in return.

“Harry,” I said, biting my lip. “This is so thoughtful, and I feel terrible—I didn’t get you anything.”

He shook his head, his grin easy and reassuring. “You don’t have to give me anything, Y/N. Seeing you smile like that is enough.”

Still, I wanted to do something for him, no matter how small. My eyes lit up as I remembered the cookies I’d made earlier. “Wait! I do have something.” I rushed over to the kitchen counter, grabbing the plate of freshly baked cookies. “Okay, maybe it’s not as fancy as a special edition book, but these are homemade, and I promise they’re pretty good.”

Harry’s eyes lit up as he took one from the plate. “Homemade cookies? Now, this is a proper Christmas gift.”

He bit into one, his expression immediately shifting into mock seriousness before he let out a low, exaggerated moan. “Oh, my God,” he said around the bite. “Y/N, this is… ridiculous. These are so good.”

I laughed, watching his dramatic reaction. “Are you being serious, or are you just trying to make me feel better?”

He swallowed the bite and held up the cookie like it was a rare treasure. “Dead serious. These are unreal. You’ve been hiding this talent from me? What else are you secretly amazing at?”

I rolled my eyes, unable to stop smiling. “They’re just cookies, Harry.”

“No, no,” he said, grabbing another one. “These aren’t just cookies. These are a masterpiece. Like, I’m calling Mum tomorrow and telling her to step up her game.”

I couldn’t help but laugh again, his infectious humor and over-the-top enthusiasm making the moment feel so much lighter. “Well, I’m glad you like them,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ll have to bake more if it means getting this kind of reaction out of you.”

Harry grinned, crumbs on his lips as he reached for yet another cookie. “Deal. But fair warning—I might show up at your door every time I get a craving now.”

“Good,” I said, surprising myself with the ease of my response. “You’re welcome anytime.”

He paused, his grin softening into something more genuine as he looked at me. “I might just take you up on that.”

The way he said it made my chest tighten in the best way, and as we stood there, sharing cookies and laughter, I couldn’t help but think that this Christmas, though unexpected, was quickly becoming one of my favorites.

As we stood there, the room cozy and filled with the faint smell of cookies, my eyes wandered to Harry. His sweater sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, leaving his tattoos exposed, a striking contrast to the softness of the moment. The intricate designs on his arms seemed even more captivating in the warm light of the flat, and I couldn’t help but notice the way they moved slightly as he reached for another cookie.

I felt a wave of warmth rush through me, one that had nothing to do with the heat of the oven still lingering in the air. My gaze flicked to his face, his lips curved into an easy smile as he chewed, oblivious to the way he had completely stolen my attention. Something about him—the way he looked at me, the way he was simply here—felt too perfect to ignore.

Before I could overthink it, I leaned forward, lightly pressing my lips to his. It was soft, almost tentative, but enough to make my heart race.

Harry froze for just a moment, clearly caught off guard, before he set the cookie down and reached for me, his hands resting gently on my waist. He pulled me closer, deepening the kiss with a passion that made my knees feel weak. His lips moved with mine, slow yet deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every second.

When we finally broke apart, I stayed close, my forehead resting lightly against his. His green eyes searched mine, his expression soft but tinged with a flicker of something playful.

“What are your plans for New Year’s?” he asked, his voice low and warm, his breath still mingling with mine.

The question caught me off guard, but I managed a small smile. “Nothing planned yet,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “Why?”

He grinned, his fingers brushing lightly against my sides. “Because I think we should make some cookies. Together.”

I felt my heart skip a beat, the thought of spending New Year’s with him lighting up something inside me I hadn’t expected. “I think I’d like that,” I said, my voice steady despite the nervous excitement building in my chest.

His grin softened, turning into something more sincere. “Good. Then it’s settled.”

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dckweed · 6 months ago

Text

ROSIE!, alpha!simon riley x omega reader

in which captain price sends alpha simon on a much needed vacation to his secluded countryside cabin, but leaves out a most important detail- he has a live in omega caretaker to care for his little cabin when he’s away! and she’s the prettiest, sweetest little thing that simon ever did see..

warnings: alpha/omega universe, mentions/depictions of abuse, smut, pregnancy, kind of forced proximity?, ill add as i go...please note that i know NOTHING about COD but i am in love with the 141 guys and this has been rotting in my brain.

this will be a series, as well as there will be side stories for gaz, soap and captain price!

part one: over the garden wall and to the stream to die

It was a pretty day, the sun shone brightly down on your typically pale skin, staining it a light shade of red (you’ll loathe yourself later for not wearing sunscreen, cheeks, neck and shoulders red despite your large gardening hat that you put on for shade), it twinged a bit, but you didn’t mind. You were enjoying the garden, it had become lush and full over the past couple of weeks, the sun (despite its wrath on your skin) feeding the various plants and bushes with its light, making everything vibrant and fragrant. You were making your own arrangement of flowers, picking up some yellow roses and a few pansies, in hopes that it would make the kitchen of the cabin all the more cheery for the guest that would be arriving that day.

You had received a message from your boss (for lack of a better word for the alpha that employed you to live in his home) the night before about an arrival, a guest come to lay low and spend the summer. You assume it’s another Alpha, one of the lot he had told you he worked with on his little task force and while it makes you nervous to be alone with an unmated Alpha that you don’t know, you know that John wouldn’t put you in any danger knowingly. With trust in the man that sent you a fat lump of money every other week, you had no qualms about welcoming the unnamed guest into the cabin.

You had already turned down the guest bed, fresh linen adorning the mattress, and tidied up the whole house, and you even had a plate of fresh cinnamon rolls baked from scratch sitting out on the small table in the kitchen and it wasn’t even noon yet. Anticipation was beginning to eat you alive, a nervousness settling into your muscles that just made you ache for something to keep you occupied (a trait that got you many a beating by your papa’s hands when you were growing up, his voice still in your head calling you an annoying runt as he took the belt to any part of you it would reach), you hum as you continue to work, the pale blue of your pretty little sundress getting dusted by dirt every time you crouched down, your bare knees covered in the black soil of the garden. You didn’t mind, you liked the way the sun felt on your skin and the ground beneath you, you went for so long without feeling either that you would embrace both happily without complaint.

Your bouquet was slowly becoming a large bunch, beautiful petals hanging over the edge of your little wicker basket that you brought along to carry the trimmings back inside in, not wanting to squish them in your hand the whole time, and you were just snipping through the last of a beautiful rose stem when you heard the garden gate squeak open, you pop your head above the bushes and look, eyes met immediately with a hulking form of an alpha, his forearms laden with a large duffle bag and a mask pulled over his eyes.

“Who the ‘ell are you?” They’re brown and beautiful and they’re narrowed at you, looking about you, deciding if you’re a threat or not. Just like the rest of his body, his voice is thick and strong and deep. It verberates in your brain, the sound of his voice rattling around in there. Your breath catches and your cheeks flush and you have to avert your eyes, the little wolf in your brain barking at the sight of this man standing before you in the garden.

‘He’s so strong, so pretty, look at him, look at him, look at him!’

“‘Ello?!” You jump, swallowing a thick lump in your throat, that nervousness in your body boiling up. The only thing that comes out at first is a squeak, and you close your eyes, cheeks flushing even farther. “You mute or somethin’ there Rosie?” A dig at the color of your cheeks you’re sure because there’s no way that he knew that that was what John and everyone else you’d ever met had taken to calling you if he didn’t know who you were.

“I-um-..” What was wrong with you? “I..live here..” That was it? That was all you could come up with? ‘Not even your fucking name?’

“Like ‘ell you do.” Your bottom lip quivered, the gruffness of his voice scarring you more than you already were. Your knees shook but you straightened yourself up otherwise, your fathers voice ringing in your head about how spineless you were.

“I do. I’m sure you’re the guest that Alpha John told me was coming, but he certainly didn’t mention how rude you were!” You huff, turning on your bare heel to stomp your way through the garden and back to the cabin, though you wanted nothing more than to climb over the garden wall and drown yourself in the stream not too far off from the house. Oh how badly you wanted to die from the embarrassment, but even more so you wanted to throw your bouquet of flowers to the ground and stamp on them, throw your fresh baked cinnamon rolls into the bin even, all of the things that you had done for the mans arrival to make the cabin nice and inviting and relaxing and all he could do upon meeting you was make fun of your reddened skin, flushed from embarrassment! Alpha’s could be brutes, you knew, but they didn’t have to be so rude!

‘Oh but cut him some slack, he’s so pretty, he looks tired..maybe he just needs a hot meal in his belly and his dick sucked..’ You gasp at the voice of your wolf, never had she been so crude! “No!” You shouted both in your mind and outloud, slamming your wicker basket down onto the wooden top of the island as you went about searching for the kitchen shears, not even bothering to listen to see if the man was following you. ‘Did you see how thick his thighs were? His arms? I bet he could hold us up with ease-’

There’s a shuffling of footsteps behind you and a clearing of a throat that interrupts your wolfs inner monologue. You turn around, not to acknowledge the Alpha standing in the doorway of the kitchen, the light of the sun shining brightly behind him through the open door, but to grab the fresh bunch of flowers you’d so graciously picked for the beast. They were beautiful, you didn’t have it in you to not trim up the stems and put them in a pretty vase.

You keep your eyes planted on the work at hand, trimming each stem one by one and setting it off to the side. He shuffles in that spot for a moment longer, but you don’t look at him like you know he wants. He huffs after a few more seconds and you hear his footsteps taking him up the stairs, the smell of him wafting so strongly through your nose as he passes by you to get to them that you have to grip the edge of the counter so tightly your knuckles turn white. Your wolf nearly taking control of you completely, wanting to follow him. She’s chanting in your head about his smell and how she just wants to drop to her knees for him, let him do whatever he so pleased as long as it made him happy.

She had felt that way about Alpha John at one point in time too, and just like that, you knew it would pass and she would calm down once she got used to his presence.

You would just have to ignore her until then. You were good at that, ignoring her. Your father had beat it into your head because you were an omega that you were nothing, that you didn’t even deserve a wolf, and you had believed him. Had ignored her and your natural instincts for more than half of your life, until John came along. Until he saved you. And now here you were, living in his home, making it nice and homey and putting meals on the table for a man whose name you didn’t even know.

Wasn’t that a funny thing?

Heavy footsteps echo above you as you work, and you begin humming, attempting to shut him and the annoying second voice out of your head. You take your time as you arranged the bundle of flowers, you had picked such a big bunch that you had enough for two full arrangements and you were just placing one of them in the middle of the round table that sat by the stairs in the kitchen when you heard his footsteps coming back down, a heavy pitter patter that sent your heart racing, but you were ready to face him now, to welcome him into the cabin. You suppose your wolf was right, he needed a hot meal, and who were you to turn away from cooking someone in need a good belly full of food?

He clears his throat again when he comes off the bottom step, from your peripheral you can tell that he’s fully facing you, large meaty hands on his thick, muscled hips. He wore a dark green tshirt that stretched so tightly over his muscly chest that you were sure it would rip, and it hung just barely above the waistline of his jeans, that fit him so snugly you weren’t sure how they hadn’t ripped already.

“Listen, lovie, s’pose I was a bit rude back there, yeah?” You say nothing, but look up at him fully now, making eye contact as your hands still fidget with the glass vase you had set so neatly in the middle of the table. “‘name’s Simon..I work with your Alpha..”

“S’not my Alpha.” You say pointedly, and under the mask he still wears you can tell a smile is spread across his face at your words. “And neither are you, so don’t go getting your hopes up. You’ll be keeping your big paws to yourself while you’re here, or i’ll be telling John.”

“Yes Ma’am.” He says, his body seeming to relax now that you’ve spoken a full sentence to him. “What can I call you?”

You sigh, cheeks heating. “Ironically, most people call me Rosie.” You say, turning away. You didn’t know what your actual name was, your father had never called you anything but Runt or Omega, and your siblings always followed in his suit. You were content to go by whatever John wanted to call you whenever he finally came to your rescue, who were you to argue with the man who had saved you?

“These for anyone?” He’s pointing to the plate of cinnamon rolls when you look over your shoulder, setting the second vase on the window above the kitchen sink.

“Help yourself.” Your voice is soft, gentle, a smile spreading when you begin to talk about the food you had made. “Made them from scratch, strawberry cream cheese icing and everything!”

He moans as he bites into them, and you’re sure he’s putting on a big show as a form of apology but either way it prickles you in the best way and puts a big happy grin on your face. “Jesus lovie,” He groans. “I’m gonna be fat by the time i leave, arent i?”

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #alpha simon riley #alpha simon riley smut #simon riley smut #john price #COD #141 #task force 141 #cod au

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hoe4hotchner · 7 months ago

Note

oooo can we see Aaron hotchner x very rich non bau fem!reader ?

Cornucopia | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader CW: Fluff.

WC: 0.4k

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the sprawling estate. The mansion, nestled between manicured gardens and rolling lawns, exuded an air of timeless elegance. Inside, the grand dining room was transformed into a setting that could only be described as enchanting.

You stood in the midst of it all, a vision of graceful precision. The promise you’d made to Hotch - keeping things simple - had not entirely been kept. The table was a masterpiece of floral arrangements and intricate decorations, a cornucopia of colors and textures that spoke of excess and a particular attention to detail.

The long dining table, draped in a pristine white linen tablecloth, was adorned with an elaborate centerpiece of cascading flowers. Hues of deep burgundy, vibrant pinks, and soft ivory intertwined with lush greenery, creating a stunning tableau that drew the eye.

Candles in crystal holders cast a soft, flickering light, adding a romantic glow to the room. Each place setting was carefully arranged with fine china, shining silverware, and crystal glasses that sparkled in the ambient light. The entire atmosphere was one of understated luxury, a reflection of your taste and wealth.

Hotch was dressed in a sharp dark suit that contrasted with the luxurious white surroundings, he was taking in the scene with a mixture of awe and amusement. He knew you had a predisposition for the dramatic when it came to entertaining, but this was something beyond even his expectations.

“Did you really need to go this far?” Hotch asked his tone light yet tinged with a hint of exasperation. He approached you with a teasing smile, his hand finding its way to the small of your back.

You laughed softly, adjusting a particularly stubborn flower that seemed to lean too much to one side. “I may have gotten carried away,” you admitted with a playful wink. “But it’s not every day we get to host the team at the mansion. I wanted to make it special... And maybe one up Dave.” You giggled.

Hotch shook his head, a fond smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I knew you’d make it beautiful,” he said, his gaze sweeping over the room with genuine admiration. “It’s just... I didn’t expect this much.”

“Well, I did promise to keep it simple,” you said, walking over to him and linking your arm with his. “But I couldn’t resist adding a few touches. It’s all in good fun.”

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xmintpiex · 2 months ago

Text

Tea Time Temptation

wc: 1517

You want your husband so bad..

content: 18+, mdni,nsfw, Katakuri x fem!reader, arranged marriage, sexual fantasizing, mentions of: masturbation, nipple play, vaginal fingering, size difference, inexperienced!reader, reader of noble birth, this is a little silly

Your husband is quiet, just like the rumors.

The dining room silent aside from the clinking of your silverware. Katakuri's massive, intimidating figure all the way at the other end of the too-long table, partially obstructed by the platters of pastries and sweets and fruits that decorated the table. Dressed in his dark leather, face partially obscured by that fur scarf he always insists on wearing. His crimson eyes focused only on the papers in front of him, whichever task Mama had tasked him with this time.

Your husband is not a dominating sexy beast in bed, unlike the rumors.

The rumors you and your friends had giggled and whispered about in the sunlit garden back home before you were sent here. Rumors you clung to the sleepless nights before your wedding, reaching for that naughty little book you kept hidden between your silk pillows, one hand sliding into your lacey drawers to cup your heat as you replaced the characters in that lewd book with you and your future husband. Eyes closed, your soft fingers turning into something longer and much thicker, exhilarating and unknown.

Unknown even now because you have yet to do anything in bed with your husband aside from sleep, despite being married for months. He didn't even eat in front of you. Doesn't even let you see the full shape of his face, the curves of his lips, the outline of his jaw.

You knew he didn't dislike you. He couldn't. Right?

You can already feel the familiar pout forming on your lips as you reach for your porcelain teacup, the one that was a wedding gift from one of your countless in-laws. Freshly poured with your favorite tea, brewed perfectly, much like how most of the food placed upon the table was tailored to your tastes, never lacking in quality. It made you feel a little better to know that he had set up this routine of afternoon tea together, made your heart all fuzzy that he remembered which flowers you preferred for the centerpiece, which flavors and textures not to have placed at the table.

Surely, you at least held a little place in his heart. He was always so considerate with you.

Although it still made you feel a bit sour, as this daily routine was his response to when you asked to be included at his daily merienda. The response to when you fluttered your lashes at him, placing a hand on his beefy, veiny arm, nearly throwing yourself into his lap as you told him you wanted to spend more time with him. Alone.

Your dream of a candlelit night, your silk nightgown torn and body ravaged with bliss from his mighty form was shattered as he suggested daily afternoon tea. (His hand gently encompassing your shoulder, barely touching, not exuding any effort as he kept you at arms length on the lush bedding of your marriage bed, voice quiet and solemn and gentle as he spoke.) Too considerate. You had almost considered taking off your nightgown yourself that night, baring your naked, soft skin before him and rubbing up against him like some cat in heat. But you weren't that salacious. Not that night.

But today…well…

Reaching for another pastry as your eyes flit back over his seated figure. The pen in his hand, the one you had bought him at the market, looking comically tiny between those thick, calloused fingers. At least you had this small victory of getting to see his bare hands, convincing him he didn't need to wear those leather gloves when at home. Nails short and well trimmed, the firm square shape of his fingertips. The gentle squish of his flesh against the dark pen, not too stiff.

So thick.

So big.

How easily they could encompass your breasts. A single one of his fingertips would so easily be able to cover your nipple. How would that calloused finger feel against it? Would he rub it gently until it pebbled under his touch? A soft swirl against your heated, tingling nipple, his deep, solemn voice against your ear, your neck.

Or would he twist and pinch? Pleasure blooming from delicious pain, his tongue running down your skin, a bite here and there, the mark of his teeth etched into your skin, your breast. His mouth unrelenting, ravenous against your hardened nipple.

How would those fingers feel against your hot folds? A rough finger pad on that little hidden pearl. Dipping down further, squelching against your slickness as a single burly finger finally delved into your tight, aching-

"Be careful with your tea, wife."

Katakuri's low voice nearly making you jump out of your chair. His crimson eyes now focused on you, particularly on how weak your grip had become on the handle of your tea cup.

Ah.

The heat of your face suddenly all encompassing, cheeks burning, throat dry as you carefully set your teacup back down on it's saucer. The clink of porcelain against porcelain a little too loud. A familiar wetness between your thighs.

"You always look out for me. Thank you, my darling."

Honest words paired with your shaky, well-intended smile, the corners of your lips still fighting against the heavy hotness of your cheeks. Hoping, like always, that your sincerity would keep his eyes on you a little longer. Hoping that your clear fondness would be met with something similar.

Just a little something. Something a little more meaningful than simple consideration. Words a little sweeter than normal, red eyes with palpable affection, his hand reaching for yours, a sweet kiss placed upon your li-

"As I've said before, there is no need for such words."

His words firm, voice a little hoarse as he clears his throat for some unknown reason, eyes going back to looking at the papers in front of him. The dining room silent yet again.

"…"

If only you had asked for iced tea today. Perhaps you could have spilled some on yourself. How perfectly it would have stained the light fabric you had decided to wear for this lovely warm day. Seep into the thin fabric, letting your skin, your breasts, your nipples appear like blooming flowers. A sweet, pitiful gasp on your lips, maybe a little insincere but still beckoning his attention. Leading his large hands to your soft, wet skin, asking him to help you. Your husband was so considerate, of course he would help.

But the last time you had tried that he had been a little too helpful. Preventing you from spilling even a drop. Sometimes this husband of yours was a little too attentive..

The glimmer of your silver fork under the ornate chandelier suddenly quite interesting. Perhaps it was time to be a little more bold. A little wanton.

"Be caref-"

Your husband's perfectly timed warning interrupted as you still tossed the fork beneath the table. Letting it thud against the plush carpet before you reacted.

"Oh no! My fork! I shall go fetch it, husband.." You gasp and pout dramatically, making sure to bat your lashes, maintaining eye contact, as you lower yourself beneath the lavish table, your hands and knees sinking into clean carpet. Your hand making contact with the silver utensil only to push it forward, crawling after it, letting it guide you to the other end of the table.

"S-stay over there!"

His voice suddenly shaky, the most strained you've ever heard it (aside from that time he had accidently held you in his sleep). Beneath the table you can see the tense grip of his hands on the wooden chair, thick legs rigid, as if he was petrified. Good.

"Oh my! This fork is so hard to find!" You exclaim a little too dramatically perhaps, but at this point you were so, so close to the dark fabric of his pants, crawling to that open spot between his legs.

Finally.

Your hand making firm contact against the black leather that clothed his thick thigh. Your face peeking up from under the table to settle quite closely against that particular area of thigh that led to his crotch, pressing your cheek against the smooth fabric.

His face a deep, dark red, shaky eyes trained only on your face. So vivid, so handsome. His hands trembling against the arms of his chair, the wood nearly cracking. That little cute sound of bewilderment muffled by his scarf, like that time you had managed to sneak a surprise kiss on his cheek. A sound you had dreamed of hearing again. Wondering what other sweet sounds you could discover. Your hand moving to that skull belt, seeing how far you could get this time.

He always let you kiss his cheek, hold his hand when you wanted to. Surely you could do more, right?

Your husband was so unlike the rumors. He was too kind. Maybe a little shy. Inexperienced, just like you. But that was okay, you didn't mind being the ravenous beast in this story.

Especially when he seemed to melt so easily under your touch, craved it as much as you did.

#katakuri x reader #charlotte katakuri x reader #katakuri charlotte x reader #one piece x reader #charlotte katakuri #xmintpiex work

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redisthenewblue · 18 days ago

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𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘—𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐃 𝐱 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

—

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟑: 𝐏𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

[Name] spun around before jumping into Idia's arms, their eyes shining with joy.

“Thank you! Thank you!” [Name] showered his face with sweet kisses, each touch sending delightful shivers through Idia, his yellow eyes widening in admiration. He melted under their affection, his blue fire hair flickering with a fervor that mirrored the passion in his heart.

“It’s nothing… anything for you,” Idia whispered, his cheeks turning a bright red as he was enveloped by his fiancé. He felt so utterly, hopelessly happy that [Name] had planned a picnic date in the park. While the thought of being outdoors usually triggered a wave of anxiety, for [Name]'s radiant happiness, he would face any discomfort, any sunbeam, any stray butterfly.

[Name] finally released him from their long embrace. “I’ll be right back! I just need to change!”

Idia watched [Name] glide across the floor in their royal blue pajamas, a soft sigh escaping his lips. His eyes followed their every movement, glowing with unwavering affection.

“Sevens,” he clutched his chest, suddenly aware of the rapid beat of his heart and the clamminess of his hands. “Oh, [Name], my beloved… I love them. More than all the data streams in the world.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Inside the greenhouse, the air was thick and sweet, a heavy floral scent that would typically send Idia into sensory overload, his internal processors buzzing with agitation. But with [Name] by his side, their presence a warm anchor in the fragrant chaos, even this felt… manageable.

Sunlight streamed through the glass, creating a steamy, vibrant world that contrasted sharply with his cool, controlled room. Yet his yellow gaze, usually flitting nervously, remained fixed on [Name]'s radiant form. He settled onto the edge of the woven picnic blanket they had cheerfully laid out, his long legs bent awkwardly, his blue fire hair casting playful shadows on the vibrant foliage. He wasn’t particularly fond of this… plant sanctuary, but being in the same oxygen-rich space as [Name] transformed even the most verdant hellscape into paradise.

“[Name],” Idia began, his voice a low murmur, infused with a tenderness he typically reserved for his most prized gaming consoles. “This is… quite a collection. You seem very comfortable here.” His yellow eyes followed the gentle curve of [Name]'s smile as they gestured at a particularly lush fern, its fronds unfurling like intricate green lace.

[Name] smiled, their face bright against the backdrop of blossoms, a sight that made Idia’s nonexistent heart ache with longing as they arranged a colorful spread of sandwiches and fruit. “It’s nice to be surrounded by life, don’t you think? A change from the usual digital glow.” They looked genuinely happy, and Idia found himself not merely appreciating their enthusiasm, but cherishing it, wanting to bottle it and keep it safe forever. “Besides,” they added, their tone softening as their eyes met his, “I wanted to do something… different for us.”

Idia’s gaze flickered to [Name], a hint of adoration softening his usually sharp features before he returned to observing the fascinating patterns on a nearby leaf, simply because it had caught [Name]'s attention moments before. “Different is… certainly accurate. You seem to know a lot about all of this.” He watched, captivated, as [Name] gently adjusted a delicate flower, their touch so tender it made his chest ache with longing he couldn’t quite express.

[Name] giggled, their warmth a pleasant contrast to the humid air, a sound that resonated deep within Idia, chasing away the usual static of his thoughts. They offered him a small sandwich. “It was a big part of my life growing up. My mother had an agriculture business. We cultivated all sorts of things.”

Idia accepted the sandwich, his fingers brushing against [Name]'s in a brief, electrifying contact that sent a jolt of pure joy through him. He took a bite, pondering their words with utmost seriousness. “Agriculture? So, less about optimizing network architecture and more about… soil composition?” He wasn’t being sarcastic; he was genuinely trying to understand this world that was so clearly important to his beloved.

“Exactly!” [Name]'s eyes sparkled, a radiant light that could outshine any monitor, making Idia’s breath catch in his throat. “Though there’s a surprising amount of strategy and problem-solving involved, just in a different domain. We had to manage resources, predict yields, deal with pests… it was a whole system.”

A comfortable silence enveloped them, punctuated by the gentle rustling of leaves and the soft buzz of insects, a silence that felt less like awkwardness and more like a shared tranquility in [Name]'s presence. [Name] didn’t push for constant chatter, seeming to instinctively understand Idia’s more introspective nature, their consideration deepening his affection. They simply enjoyed the shared space, and for Idia, being near [Name] was a symphony for his soul.

After a while, [Name] pointed to a cluster of delicate white flowers hanging like tiny bells. “These are lily of the valley. They smell beautiful, but they’re actually quite toxic.” Idia’s yellow gaze followed theirs, a spark of genuine interest igniting in his eyes, not due to the poison, but because it was something that had captured [Name]'s attention. “Poisonous, huh? Interesting. So something so seemingly delicate can have such a… potent effect.” For a moment, his usual guardedness seemed to melt away, replaced by a quiet fascination with anything that held [Name]'s interest.

They continued their quiet picnic, [Name] occasionally pointing out unique plants or explaining particular adaptations, their voice a sweet melody to Idia’s ears, while he offered thoughtful observations in return, his attempts to connect with [Name]'s passions clumsy yet heartfelt. It wasn’t a boisterous conversation, but a comfortable exchange, a quiet exploration of a world so different from his own, made beautiful simply by [Name]'s presence.

[Name] gestured to a vibrant purple flower with intricate patterns. “This is a passionflower. Look at the complexity of its structure. It’s almost like natural engineering.”

Idia leaned in, his eyes wide with fascination, not just at the flower, but at the way [Name]'s face lit up with enthusiasm. “You’re right. The arrangement of those filaments… it must be a master at attracting pollinators.” He found himself genuinely intrigued by the intricate design, a concept he hadn’t considered before, all because it was part of [Name]'s world.

“[Name],” he said, his voice a bit more engaged than before, the hair at the crown of his head turning slightly pink. “Your mother’s business… what exactly did it entail?” He felt a genuine curiosity about this unexpected piece of [Name]'s past, a world so different from the digital landscapes he usually inhabited. The idea of anything being important to [Name] instantly made it important to him.

“You mentioned your mother's agriculture business involved greenhouses and cultivation. Did you… do a lot of… outdoorsy things?”

[Name]'s eyes lit up, a wide, genuine smile spreading across their face, a smile that Idia treasured more than any rare loot drop. “Oh, absolutely! While I learned a lot about the controlled environments of the greenhouses, the real fun was outside. Our property backed onto these huge, sprawling meadows. In the spring, they were carpeted with wildflowers – blues, yellows, purples, all mixed together. It was breathtaking.”

They paused, their (e/c) gaze distant for a moment, as if reliving a cherished memory, a memory Idia longed to experience. “Evangeline, my personal maid, bless her patient soul, used to have a fit whenever I’d disappear into them. She’d always fret about me getting my dresses dirty or encountering some sort of… meadow creature.” [Name] chuckled, a sound that made Idia’s chest swell with affection. “But I loved it. Just running through the tall grass, feeling the wind in my hair… it was so freeing.” Idia listened, a faint smile playing on his lips, his eyes fixed on [Name]'s animated face.

He could picture it, a vibrant splash of color against a backdrop of green, [Name]'s figure a joyful silhouette against the horizon. Their hair flowing with the wind while their eyes sparkled with that same beautiful light that always captivated him. It was a stark contrast to the controlled, often predictable environments he preferred, yet through [Name]'s vivid description, it held an undeniable allure.

“And the waterfalls!” [Name] exclaimed, their voice gaining an even more enthusiastic lilt, a sound that was music to Idia’s ears. “There were these small waterfalls cascading down the rocks at the edge of our property, feeding into a little stream. On hot days, nothing beat wading into the cool water, feeling the spray on your face. Sometimes, if the water level was just right, I’d even try to jump behind the falls. Evangeline would practically have a heart attack!”

They laughed, a bright, unrestrained sound that echoed softly in the tranquil garden, a sound Idia wished he could record and listen to on repeat. “She’d chase after me, her skirts hiked up, yelling about the potential for slippery rocks and hidden dangers. I’m sure she aged ten years every summer because of my waterfall adventures.”

Idia found himself entranced, everything in the background fading away, leaving only [Name].

He’d seen [Name] laugh before, but witnessing them speak so fondly, with the brightest smile he’d ever seen, filled him with an overwhelming tenderness. “So, a bit of a… daredevil then?” he asked, amusement lacing his tone, his yellow eyes sparkling with adoration.

[Name] grinned mischievously, a look that Idia found utterly endearing. “Maybe a little. Life felt so much bigger and more exciting when I was exploring those meadows and splashing in those waterfalls. It was a different kind of learning than what happened in the greenhouses, but just as important, I think. It taught me about the raw, untamed beauty of the world.” They paused, their gaze softening, their eyes meeting Idia’s, and in that moment, he felt an inexplicable connection. “Though, looking back, I do feel a little bad for poor Evangeline. I put her through the wringer.”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Later, as they were leisurely finishing a thermos of iced tea, a gentle breeze swept through the greenhouse, showering them with delicate pink petals. One of these petals landed softly in Idia’s blue fire hair, creating a vibrant contrast against his flickering flames. He remained completely unaware of the floral addition, his yellow eyes focused intently on [Name].

Reaching out slowly, [Name] gently plucked the petal from his hair, their fingers moving almost reverently. When their eyes met, an unhurried connection blossomed between them, filled with a quiet intimacy and an acceptance that transcended their differences. For a moment longer than usual, Idia’s typically darting yellow eyes held a steady gaze, revealing a hint of softness and vulnerability, a reflection of his boundless love for [Name].

“[Name],” he said softly, his voice barely rising above the gentle hum of the ventilation, afraid to disrupt their shared moment. “This… this place… it’s… not as bad as I thought it would be.” A faint blush dusted his pale cheeks, a testament to the profound effect [Name] had on him. “And… the food you brought… it’s decent.” A warm smile graced [Name]'s lips, a smile that Idia cherished more than any digital masterpiece. “Decent from you is high praise, Idia.”

A small, almost shy smile flickered across Idia’s lips, a rare and precious sight. “Don’t get any ideas. But yeah… it’s… okay.” He hesitated, glancing down at his hands before meeting their gaze again, his blue fire hair dimming slightly as he gathered his courage. “Spending time with you… it’s… okay too.”

As they began to pack their things, their movements slow and deliberate, a comfortable silence enveloped them, filled with unspoken affection on Idia’s part. “Maybe… sometime… we could do something else… that’s not all… plant-y?” Idia suggested hesitantly, his yellow gaze fixed on the picnic basket as he carefully folded the blanket, wanting to prolong their time together.

[Name]'s smile softened, their eyes sparkling with warmth as they looked at him. “I’d like that very much, Idia. What did you have in mind?” A small, genuine smile finally broke through Idia’s usually guarded expression, brimming with hope and adoration. “Maybe that new movie everyone’s talking about? Or just… chilling at my place?”

As they stepped out of the fragrant warmth of the greenhouse, the outside air felt crisp in comparison. Idia maintained a comfortable distance, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanor, a newfound ease that hadn’t been there before, all thanks to [Name]'s gentle influence. For Idia, this quiet afternoon amidst blooming chaos was a significant step, a precious moment of connection in their unique, unfolding story.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” [Name] replied, their voice filled with tenderness that made Idia’s blue hair flicker with renewed warmth.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the manicured lawns of the park as [Name] and Idia strolled along a paved path. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves in the trees, carrying the sounds of children laughing and birds chirping—sounds that usually grated on Idia’s nerves but now served as a pleasant backdrop to being near [Name]. Surprisingly, Idia hadn’t voiced any major objections to this “outdoor perambulation,” as he dryly called it, though he kept a wary eye on a group of energetic squirrels darting across their path, a small price to pay for [Name]'s happiness.

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, their footsteps on the pavement blending with the soft sounds of the park around them. [Name] pointed out a vibrant patch of wildflowers blooming near a bench, their colors a striking contrast to the green grass.

“Those are pretty,” [Name] commented, pausing for a moment, their eyes sparkling with appreciation.

Idia glanced at them, maintaining a neutral expression, but his eyes held a flicker of interest simply because [Name] found them appealing. “They’re… colorful.” He didn’t elaborate, but the usual hint of dismissal was absent from his tone, replaced by a quiet acceptance of [Name]'s tastes.

Continuing their walk, they reached a small pond where a few ducks paddled lazily. [Name] stopped to watch them, a soft smile gracing their face—a sight that always filled Idia with a profound sense of peace.

“They seem pretty content,” [Name] mused gently. Idia observed the ducks for a moment, his usual guardedness softening as he considered anything that held [Name]'s attention. “I would hope they would. The most they need to worry about is hunting for food and not getting eaten.”

[Name] chuckled softly, radiating warmth towards him. “You always find a practical way to look at things, don’t you?” Idia shrugged, an almost shy smile touching his lips, directed solely at [Name]. “It’s a habit.”

They started walking again, the path winding through a grove of trees. Sunlight dappled through the leaves, creating shifting patterns on the ground. [Name] noticed Idia looking up at the canopy, a thoughtful expression on his face, his yellow eyes tracing the patterns of light and shadow. “It’s… quieter here,” Idia remarked, his voice softer than usual, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. “Less… chaotic.”

“Yeah,” [Name] agreed, their hand brushing lightly against his arm, a touch that sent a pleasant warmth through Idia. “It can be nice to just… be still for a bit, surrounded by nature.”

Idia didn’t respond immediately, but after a moment, he nodded slowly, his blue fire hair flickering gently in the dappled sunlight. “I suppose there’s a certain… lack of unnecessary stimuli.”

They reached a small bridge arching over a trickling stream. [Name] leaned against the railing, gazing down at the water. Idia stood beside them, his hands tucked into his pockets, his yellow eyes fixed on [Name]'s serene profile.

“You seem… more relaxed today,” [Name] observed gently, their gaze meeting his. Idia hesitated, then shrugged again, a slightly more open gesture this time, silently acknowledging the calming effect [Name] had on him. “No immediate deadlines or pressing concerns help lower my baseline level of anxiety.”

A comfortable silence settled between them once more, but this time it felt different. It wasn’t the awkward quiet of their initial moments in the greenhouse, but a shared stillness, a quiet understanding that transcended words. They stood side-by-side, watching the water flow beneath the bridge, the sounds of the park creating a gentle backdrop to their unspoken connection—a connection that, for Idia, was the most precious thing in the world.

As they began to walk back, the sun starting its descent in the sky and casting a warm golden glow over the park, [Name] noticed Idia looking around, his gaze lingering on the trees and open space, a hint of wonder in his usually guarded expression. “You know,” Idia said quietly, breaking the silence, his blue fire hair glowing softly in the fading light, “it’s… not entirely horrible being out here.” Although he didn’t sound overly enthusiastic, there was a genuine note in his voice that made [Name] smile, a testament to his willingness to step outside his comfort zone for them.

“I’m glad you think so, Idia,” [Name] replied. He didn’t meet their gaze, but there was a subtle softening in his posture, a hint of peace blooming in his expression, a peace that blossomed solely in [Name]'s presence.

As they continued their walk, hand in hand, the setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink. It felt like a small, quiet victory, a gentle step forward in their unique way of connecting. The park, with its simple beauty and unhurried pace, had provided them with a different kind of space, a space where even Idia could find unexpected calm, all because he was sharing it with the one he loved with every fiber of his being.

“Me too,” [Name] murmured, their hand finding Idia’s, their fingers interlacing gently. Idia’s eyes widened slightly at the unexpected contact, a soft gasp escaping his lips, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his grip tightened ever so slightly, a silent acknowledgment of the warmth spreading through him at their touch.

The setting sun cast a golden halo around [Name], making them appear even more ethereal in Idia’s adoring gaze. He knew, with a certainty that resonated deep within him, that any discomfort or fear of the outside world was worth enduring a thousand times over, just to share moments like these with [Name].

Their hand in his felt like the most precious thing in the world, the most vital connection he could ever hope for. As they walked on, hand in hand, Idia realized that even in the simplest moments, with [Name] by his side, life was an adventure worth exploring.

Taglist🤍: @glitterandgoldfinds@sherryclover@1abi@lizzzysimp@floathyblues@toxicm0cha@kazudare@boredselkie @strayharmony943 @fanlovedlt @lizatherobot @d1gital-data @gl00muraaii @savanaclaw1996 @namingcrisisagain @frostines-blog

Sorry for the late updates but I am happy to say that I now have a Co-author!! This means quicker updates(3–9 days)!! Redamancy will be updated later!! As always, TY for reading 🤗🤍

#twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst #twst wonderland #gender neutral reader #idia shroud #x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst wonderland x reader #Idia X reader #twst fluff #Persephone🌷Reader #Idia shroud x reader

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sofiasworld00 · 4 months ago

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A Birthday To Remember

Jude Bellingham x reader

Summary: on her birthday he surprises her with the trip of her dreams.

Warnings: fluff, some spice.

Word count: 5k (i think)

The day started with a sigh. Your eyes fluttered open to a pale wash of sunlight spilling into the room, the familiar warmth of the duvet cocooning you. It was your birthday. While the dozens of messages on your phone from friends and family made you smile, the absence of a specific text stung a little.

Jude.

He’d kissed you goodnight the previous evening, mumbling something about an early start for training. But there’d been no hint, no small indication that he’d remembered. You bit your lip, trying not to let disappointment creep in. Jude was busy—his world spun fast, and you were used to its demands. Yet, today of all days, you’d hoped for something.

With a sigh, you got up and began your day. Breakfast was simple, your favorite tea brewed just right, but you ate alone. The silence was punctuated only by the occasional ding of birthday messages, though none were from him. You told yourself you wouldn’t dwell on it. Jude had done so much for you in other ways—this wasn’t worth feeling upset over.

Then, just as you settled on the couch to scroll through Netflix, the front door creaked open.

You froze, heart skipping, as Jude stepped inside. His familiar frame filled the doorway, his dark curls slightly windswept and his cheeks flushed as though he’d been in a hurry. He wasn’t empty-handed—his arms were filled with a bouquet so large it looked like he’d bought out the entire florist. Roses, lilies, and delicate daisies overflowed from the arrangement, their fragrance reaching you even from across the room.

“Happy birthday, love,” he said, his voice warm and steady. A small grin tugged at his lips as he took in your shocked expression.

“Jude…” you breathed, setting your cup aside and standing. “What are you doing here? I thought you had training.”

“Training can wait,” he said, stepping closer. “You can’t.”

Your eyes softened, your lips trembling as you fought back tears. “I thought… I thought you forgot.”

He placed the bouquet gently on the table before cupping your face in his hands. “Forget you? Never,” he whispered, his voice tender. “Now, go pack your bags. We’re leaving in an hour.”

“Leaving? Where?” you asked, bewildered.

His grin turned mischievous. “It’s a surprise. Just trust me.”

Less than two hours later, you were boarding a private plane. Jude’s hand never left yours, his thumb tracing soothing circles against your skin. He was unusually quiet, his excitement evident in the sly glances he kept throwing your way.

The flight itself was an experience. The seats were plush, the service impeccable, and there was a chilled bottle of champagne waiting for you. Jude poured you a glass, toasting to your special day with a wink.

“To the love of my life,” he said, his voice full of affection.

By the time you landed, your curiosity had reached its peak. As you stepped off the plane, the view stole your breath. The island was a paradise—pristine beaches with soft white sand, crystal-clear waters shimmering under the sun, and lush greenery framing the horizon.

“Welcome to your birthday getaway,” Jude said, wrapping an arm around your waist.

The resort was secluded, with its own private villa perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Inside, the space was decorated with balloons, candles, and a birthday cake so intricate it looked almost too good to eat.

“Jude,” you said, your voice trembling. “This is incredible.”

He pulled you into his arms, his lips pressing softly against your forehead. “Nothing’s too much for you, babe. You deserve all of this and more.”

That evening, Jude had arranged a private dinner on the beach. Lanterns hung from the trees, casting a soft glow over the table set for two. The waves crashed gently in the background, the air filled with the faint scent of salt and flowers.

“You really went all out,” you said, your fingers brushing over the chilled stem of your wine glass.

“I wanted this to be perfect,” Jude said, his gaze fixed on you. “You’re perfect.”

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you averted your eyes with a shy smile. He always had a way of making you feel like the center of the universe. The meal was delicious, each course meticulously prepared, but it wasn’t the food that held your attention—it was him.

After dinner, you walked along the shore hand in hand. The moonlight bathed the world in silver, and the ocean sparkled like liquid diamonds. Jude stopped suddenly, pulling you close.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said, his voice low but steady. “You’re everything to me.”

Your heart swelled, the words wrapping around you like a warm embrace. “I love you too, Jude.”

Back at the villa, the atmosphere shifted. As soon as the door closed behind you, Jude’s hands found your waist, pulling you close. His lips brushed against yours, soft at first, then deeper, more insistent.

“I’ve been waiting all day for this,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

His fingers trailed up your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You tilted your head back as his lips moved to your neck, his kisses slow and deliberate. His hands slid to your hips, gripping you firmly as he pressed you against the cool glass of the sliding doors. The contrast between the cold glass and the heat of his body was dizzying.

“Jude…” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

He smiled against your skin, his breath warm as he whispered, “Say it again.”

“Jude,” you repeated, this time louder, the word carrying a mix of need and affection.

He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bedroom. The world outside faded, leaving only the two of you. His touch was tender but intense, his focus entirely on you. Every kiss, every caress was purposeful, as though he were committing every inch of you to memory.

The next morning, you woke to the sound of soft laughter. Jude was already by the pool, talking to a group of fans who had somehow spotted him despite the resort’s seclusion.

You watched from the terrace, your heart swelling as he posed for pictures and signed autographs, his humility shining through in every interaction. When he noticed you watching, he excused himself and walked back over, his smile apologetic.

“Sorry, love,” he said, sitting beside you. “I couldn’t say no.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” you said, leaning against him. “That’s one of the reasons I love you.”

The rest of the trip was a perfect balance of relaxation and adventure. You spent lazy mornings by the pool, Jude lounging beside you as he read or scrolled through his phone. Afternoons were for exploration—snorkeling in coral reefs, hiking to hidden waterfalls, or wandering through local markets.

Every evening ended the same way: the two of you tangled together on the terrace, a glass of wine in hand as the sun dipped below the horizon.

On your final night, Jude took your hand as you sat by the pool, the water shimmering in the moonlight.

“I want more moments like this,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Just you and me, away from everything. Nothing else matters as long as I have you.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you leaned into him. “You already have me, Jude. Always.”

As the trip came to an end, you couldn’t stop smiling. Jude had gone above and beyond to make your birthday unforgettable, and he’d succeeded in every way. On the flight home, you rested your head on his shoulder, his hand laced with yours.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “For everything.”

“Anything for you, love,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

And as the plane soared through the clouds, you knew that this was just the beginning of a lifetime of love and adventure.

please let me know if you want more of jude! and please send in requests because i have no imagination. thanks for reading!

#jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham x you

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blusmarty · 4 months ago

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Experience the refined beauty of nature with this hyper-realistic floral artwork featuring a central white bloom with velvety petals and a golden-yellow center. Surrounding the main flower are smaller blossoms, verdant leaves, and peach accents, arranged in a perfect symphony of elegance. The light, blurred background adds an ethereal touch, highlighting the intricate textures and details of this stunning composition. Perfect for art enthusiasts and lovers of natural beauty.

#white flower #hyper-realistic floral #golden center #lush green leaves #delicate petals #dreamy floral art #peach accents #ornamental design #ethereal atmosphere #botanical elegance #detailed close-up #floral arrangement.

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annewithaneofthegreengable · 8 days ago

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Summer Serendipity

Summary: It was the summer break between the races, and Oscar suddenly came across a travel magazine about a quiet town in Northern Ireland on the work desk of someone who had left it open when he was visiting McLaren’s HQ in Woking. Next thing, he was on his way to Belfast, with nothing much on his mind, no worries about the championship standings, the braking mode, the corners or chicanes,... Nothing, just him and his summer getaway in Belfast.

Meanwhile, Edith Ezra, a devoted single mother working at a quaint cafe in Belfast, cherishes her two children, Ivy and Eddie, above all else. Having faced the heartbreak of their father's abandonment, Edith has built a life centred around providing for her family and creating a sense of stability for her children.

When Oscar's path crosses with Edith's in Belfast, their worlds collide in unexpected ways. As Oscar finds himself drawn to the warmth and genuine kindness of Edith and her children, he begins to see a different side of life beyond the fast-paced world of racing.

The first true warmth of a new sunny day arrived with a surprising clarity, chasing away the drizzles and grey that lingered in Belfast the day before. The sun painted the city in gold, coaxing flowers into bloom along the footpaths. Edith took one look at the clear blue above her window and made a decision: today was a day for going out, maybe they could have a picnic since today is the twins’ day off too.

She packed a small picnic, cheese sandwiches, ham rolls, carrot sticks, sliced apples, and a tub of homemade flapjacks. Ivy insisted on bringing her favorite blanket, a faded tartan that had seen its share of childhood picnics. Eddie was in charge of juice boxes, which he nearly dropped twice on the walk down the stairs.

Oscar arrived at the café just as they were locking up. He wore a soft linen shirt, rolled at the sleeves, and sunglasses that made him look almost anonymous. There was a lightness to his step, a smile that came easily as Eddie launched himself into a rambling monologue about the “super secret picnic plan.”

“Serious business,” Oscar agreed, kneeling to help Eddie adjust his untied shoelace. “Can I be part of the mission?”

Ivy eyed him with mock suspicion. “Only if you carry the blanket.”

Oscar accepted the role with a solemn salute, and the four of them set off, laughter trailing behind them as they navigated the Saturday bustle.

Their destination was the Botanic Gardens, one of Edith’s favorite places in the city, lush, sprawling lawns, winding gravel paths, and the Victorian glasshouse that glimmered in the sunlight. They found a quiet patch beneath an enormous oak, just far enough from the playground for the children to run wild, but close enough for Edith to keep a watchful eye.

Oscar spread the blanket with exaggerated care, smoothing the corners as if it were a royal decree. Eddie and Ivy giggled, tumbling onto the tartan in a heap. Edith unpacked their food, arranging it with a mother’s neatness. For a moment, Oscar simply watched them, their easy affection, the way they fit together, the ordinary magic of a family at rest.

The meal was simple, but it tasted better than any fancy catering Oscar had ever had at a race weekend. Maybe it was the open air, or the way Edith laughed at Ivy’s jokes, or how Eddie’s sticky fingers kept finding their way into Oscar’s share of flapjacks. Maybe it was the freedom of not being watched, not being expected to perform.

After eating, the children coaxed Oscar into a game of hide-and-seek. Edith leaned back against the tree, her eyes following Oscar as he pretended to search and fail spectacularly, always just missing the children as they giggled from their too-obvious hiding places. He was utterly unselfconscious, letting himself be silly, letting the joy of the moment carry him.

When the adults finally convinced the children to take a break, they wandered through the gardens. Oscar pointed out the strange Australian plants in the Palm House, sharing stories of summers much hotter and drier than this gentle Irish day. Ivy asked endless questions, while Eddie clung to his mother’s hand, shy but fascinated.

They continued the afternoon at the playground, where Ivy challenged Oscar to a race across the monkey bars. Oscar obliged, flailing and nearly falling, earning shrieks of laughter from both children and even a rare, unguarded laugh from Edith. She was brighter today, Oscar noticed, her face relaxed, her posture open. She didn’t seem weighed down by worry or by the ghosts of the past.

As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the gardens, the air took on the faintest hint of chill. Ivy, usually indefatigable, let out a theatrical yawn. Eddie, perched contentedly on Oscar’s shoulders, was quieter now, his golden head resting sleepily against Oscar’s cap. Edith glanced at her phone, then at the sky, reluctant to let the magic of the day slip away just yet.

“Are you all hungry again?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

Ivy perked up immediately. “Can we have fish and chips?”

Oscar laughed. “You read my mind, Ivy. I was just thinking about dinner.”

Edith hesitated, feeling the familiar tug between frugality and the desire to treat her children. Oscar caught the fleeting doubt in her eyes.

“Let’s make it an adventure,” he said gently. “Do you know a good place?”

Edith thought for a moment, then smiled. “There’s a chippy near the river. It’s not fancy, but the kids love it.” She looked at him, a little shy. “Only if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Oscar replied, meaning it.

They gathered their things and made their way out of the park, hands linked in a chain, Ivy leading Edith, who held Eddie’s hand, and Oscar carrying the picnic basket. The city was alive with summer energy: couples strolling, children riding bikes, music drifting from open windows. The walk to the chip shop was leisurely, filled with stories and laughter, the twins peppering Oscar with questions about Australia “Are there really kangaroos everywhere?”, “Has he met sharks or crocodiles before?”, “Are the giant spiders real?” and “Have you ever driven a real fire truck?”.

The chip shop was just as Edith described: simple, bustling, redolent with the intoxicating aroma of frying fish with potatoes and vinegar. They found a table by the window, and Oscar insisted on ordering for everyone. He returned with steaming parcels of battered cod, crispy chips, alongside deep-fried fish with mushy peas, and a bottle of lemonade to share. The twins tore into the food with gusto, giggling over the fizz of the lemonade and the satisfying crunch of the chips. Edith, watching her children’s delight, looked younger, her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed with happiness.

Oscar found himself studying her in the golden light. There was a softness about her now, a warmth that seemed magnified in these ordinary moments. When she met his gaze, she smiled, and for a second, it felt like there was no one else in the world.

Conversation was easy, unhurried. Edith shared stories of her university days, of wild nights at the student union and getting lost on the way to lectures. Oscar recounted tales of his travels, carefully edited, of course, focusing on funny mishaps and odd meals abroad. He told them about when one of his co-workers just casually adopted him and then told him to call Leo, this co-worker’s “dog son”, brother. Ivy and Eddie were entranced, their laughter ringing out in the small shop.

After dinner, they walked slowly along the river, the city lights twinkling on the water. Eddie clung to Edith’s hand, while Ivy skipped between Oscar and her mother, singing a made-up song about “picnic days and fish & chip shop nights.” Oscar listened, his heart aching with a gentle, unfamiliar longing. It was when Edith suggested to give him

When they reached the café, Eddie was nearly asleep on his feet, and Ivy’s eyes were heavy with dreams. Edith unlocked the door and shepherded her children upstairs, pausing to turn back to Oscar. She lingered for a moment, as if wanting to say more.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, almost as faint as a whisper, “I can’t remember the last time we had a day like that.”

He smiled, feeling a fierce, protective fondness for her and the twins. “Me neither.”

For a moment, they simply stood there, the city quiet around them. Oscar felt the urge to say something more, about how much this meant, about how he was starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he could find a different kind of happiness here. But he held back, content to let the silence stretch between them, full of possibility.

“See you tomorrow at the cafe?” Edith asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he replied.

The following morning, Belfast was washed in that rare, dazzling sunlight that seemed to make the whole city shimmer. Oscar woke with a sense of contentment, the echoes of laughter from the previous night lingering in his mind. The memory of Edith’s smile, Ivy’s hand in his, the taste of chips and lemonade, all of it felt both real and impossibly precious.

He moved through the morning with a lightness he hadn’t known in years. He made tea, scribbled a few lines in his notebook, and looked out the window at the busy street below, feeling, if only for a fleeting moment, as if he belonged. His phone, long neglected and still on do-not-disturb mode, sat face down on the kitchen counter. For days, he had managed to forget it existed, but now, out of habit more than needed, he picked it up and thumbed it awake.

The screen lit up with a list of missed calls and messages. Team updates, media inquiries, some from his mum, a few from old school friends…but most persistent of all were the missed calls from Lando. His teammate, fellow driver, and, despite the rivalry, a friend who always knew when something was off.

Oscar stared at the notifications for a long minute, torn. The world he’d left behind was calling, and with it came everything he’d tried to escape: expectations, pressure, the relentless grind of being “Oscar Piastri, Formula 1 driver.” For a heartbeat, he considered ignoring it all again.

But Lando had never been one to let things go.

The phone vibrated in his hand. Lando’s name flashed across the screen. Oscar hesitated, then sighed, and finally answered.

“Oscar! Mate, you’re alive!” Lando’s voice was half-relieved, half-indignant, all rapid-fire energy. “Where the hell are you? No one can get a hold of you. Zak’s losing his mind. I thought you’d been kidnapped by Ferrari or something.”

Oscar laughed despite himself, the sound rusty. “I’m fine, Lando. I just… needed a break.”

“A break? To where? You didn’t even tell me. It’s like you have disappeared, no news, no updates, not even a glimpse of you through someone’s camera. People think you’ve gone off to meditate in the Pyrenees or something.”

Oscar scrubbed a hand over his face, guilt pricking at him. “Sorry, mate. I didn’t mean to worry anyone. I just needed to get away. Clear my head.”

There was a pause on the line, and Oscar could almost picture Lando’s familiar frown. “Look, I get it. Everyone’s under pressure. But you can’t go radio silent, man. People care about you. I care about you.”

Oscar felt the tightness in his chest ease a little. “Thanks, Lando. Really. I just… I needed to find out who I am without all of it, you know?”

Lando was quiet for a moment, then softer: “Yeah. I get that. But you don’t have to do it alone. Where are you, anyway?”

Oscar hesitated. A part of him wanted to keep this world, this sweet Belfast life, hidden, untouched by the noise and scrutiny of racing. But the loneliness in Lando’s voice tugged at him.

“I’m in Belfast,” he admitted. “Just… taking some time. Met some good people. It’s quiet here.”

Lando whistled. “Northern Ireland, eh? Didn’t have that on my bingo card. Are you coming back?”

“I don’t know when, but not now,” Oscar admitted, the truth heavy on his tongue. “I think I need a little more time. But I’m okay, Lando. Really.”

Lando’s laugh was wry. “You sound different. Happier, maybe. That’s good. Just promise you’ll check in? And, uh… don’t get too attached to the Guinness.”

Oscar grinned. “No promises.”

“You sounded different, Osc.”

“Different how?”

“Like you’re happier, maybe I should come to Belfast too.”

“I don’t think it suits you, Lando. You would feel too bored in your second hour here.”

“Challenge accepted, Osc.”

They talked for a while longer, the conversation meandering from racing gossip to old in-jokes, to a tentative, unspoken understanding that things might never be quite the same. When Oscar finally hung up, he felt a strange mix of relief and longing, grateful for the friend who cared enough to reach out, but also fiercely protective of the small, precious life he was having here.

He slipped his phone back into airplane mode, tucked it away, and got ready for the day. Downstairs, the café would be opening soon. Edith would be there, her hair shining in the morning light, her smile ready to welcome him home. And for now, that was enough.

As he stepped out into the sunlit street, Oscar realized that sometimes, the past doesn’t have to be an enemy. Sometimes, it’s just a reminder of how far you’ve come, and how much you have to lose.

He made his way to The Bean & Blossom, eager for the quiet comfort of Edith’s company and the cheerful chaos of the café. The bell on the door chimed as he entered, and he found Edith behind the counter, brow furrowed over her phone, Ivy and Eddie perched nearby with bowls of cereal. The twins greeted him with sleepy grins.

Edith looked up, her relief obvious. “Morning, Oscar. You’re just in time.” She held up her phone. “Angie, the part-timer, just called in sick. It’s just me and the kids today, and… well, the Sunday crowd’s no joke.”

Oscar didn’t hesitate. “Put me to work. I can take orders, clear tables, whatever you need.”

Ivy perked up. “Can Oscar make smoothies?”

Edith laughed, the tension easing from her shoulders. “If he can figure out the blender, he’s welcome to try.”

Oscar grinned, rolling up his sleeves. “Point me at the to-do list, boss.”

The first hour was a gentle warm-up: regulars trickled in for their usual scones and flat whites. Oscar, more used to the hum of engines than espresso machines, approached the counter with a mix of bravado and trepidation. Edith gave him a crash course on the till and the basics of the coffee machine.

“Steam wand on the left, milk jug here, and, careful, it bites if you’re not gentle,” she teased, demonstrating a perfect swirl of froth.

Oscar’s first attempt produced a cappuccino that was more foam than coffee. The customer, a wiry old man named Mr. McBride, sipped it, then winked. “Are you trying to drown me, lad, or just impress the boss?”

The regulars quickly caught on that Oscar was a rookie. Mrs. O’Malley, who always ordered the strongest black coffee, offered advice (“You need a heavier hand, love, don’t be afraid of the grind!”), while young Jamie tried to teach Oscar latte art, resulting in a bear-shaped blob that sent the entire counter into giggles.

Between spills, Oscar found a rhythm. He cleared tables, delivered pastries, and learned to decipher Edith’s handwritten order slips. The twins helped by ferrying napkins and stacking sugar packets, their pride in “helping Oscar” obvious. Edith darted between the kitchen and the front, her energy infectious, her laughter rising above the clatter.

At one point, Oscar dropped an entire tray of croissants. Flour dusted his hair and shirt, and Edith doubled over with laughter. He grinned, brushing crumbs from his shoulders. “I’m more of a hazard than a help, aren’t I?”

“You’re perfect,” Edith replied, eyes warm, “just maybe don’t quit your day job.”

As the lunch rush eased, Oscar found himself enjoying the simple cadence of café life: the regulars’ stories, the children’s laughter, the way Edith’s hand brushed his when they worked side by side. He felt, perhaps for the first time in months, useful in a way that had nothing to do with speed or fame. He was just Oscar, present and needed, part of something small but real.

After the last customer left, Edith flipped the sign to “Closed” and exhaled deeply. The kitchen was a mess, flour and coffee stains everywhere, but the atmosphere was jubilant, the air thick with accomplishment.

“Not bad for a first shift,” Edith said, handing Oscar a mug of tea. “You survived the coffee machine, the flour and Mrs. O’Malley’s critiques.”

Oscar raised his cup in salute. “I think I earned my stripes.”

The twins, sprawled on the sofa, demanded a reward for their hard work. Ivy piped up, “Mum, didn’t you say we could go see the giant’s footprints if we helped out?”

Edith smiled at Oscar, her cheeks pink. “We did make a promise. How about next Saturday, if the weather holds? We’ll make it a proper outing, The Dark Hedges, Carnlough Harbour, Cushendun Caves, and The Giant’s Causeway.”

Oscar felt warmth bloom in his chest. “It’s a date,” he said softly, meaning every word.

Edith’s eyes met his, holding his gaze for a long, sweet moment, the promise of more adventures, more ordinary magic, and maybe, just maybe, an unexpected kiss.

As they set about cleaning up together, Oscar realized that sometimes the best kind of belonging came not from winning, but from simply showing up, messy, earnest, and all in.

Taglist: @teamnovalak, @angelluv16, @frankiejo04, @manuztb, @httpsxnox @devilacot @maximuminfluencerstarlight @bee-the-loser

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cocoandthequill · 2 months ago

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High on Hate

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Reader, Enemies to lovers dynamic

Wc: 3,9K

Warnings: mutual bullying, swearing, smoking, jealousy, mentions of drugs, alcohol, mentions of killing, harassment, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, !switch! reader and leon, biting, spitting, a lil fluff at the end

Summary: As Ashley’s maid of honour reader has to spend a lot of time with someone she can’t stand. When it‘s time for the wedding a faithful moment might change the dynamic between her and Leon.

If you were asked to describe Leon Kennedy, you'd call him a pain in the ass—the kind of guy who made it his personal mission to irritate the hell out of you.

It didn’t help that he always walked around with that smug little smile, the one that just screamed, I’m better than all of you, like he was somehow superior to everyone in the room. And God, how he thrived on it. It was almost like he enjoyed getting under your skin, pushing all the right buttons until you were ready to snap. That cocky attitude, the way he’d drop a snarky remark just to watch you scramble for a comeback—it was as if he lived for the moment you’d roll your eyes and mutter something in frustration. It was infuriating.

And then, of course, there was the fact that he was Ashley’s brother-in-law, her fiancé Ryan’s older brother. That one small detail meant you were stuck dealing with him far more than you ever wanted to, especially now that you had the blessing—and curse—of being Ashley’s maid of honor.

As much as you loved Ash and were excited to be by her side on her big day, the thought of the wedding prep had you dreading one thing: Leon. You didn’t want to spend any more time in the same room as him, enduring his teasing and that smug smile every time he got under your skin. It was like he couldn’t help himself, always lurking in the background, waiting for a moment to rile you up.

One afternoon, as you and the bride-to-be were discussing flower arrangements for the wedding, Leon strolled in, settling into the armchair across from you. “What’s all this?” he asked, eyeing the floral designs. “Planning to suffocate the guests with all these flowers, or going for a ‘garden massacre’ vibe?”

You clenched your jaw, trying to stay calm. “We’re trying to make it personal, Lee,” Ashley said, her voice tight.

Leon smirked. “Cute, but maybe pick something that doesn’t scream ‘lack of style.’” He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with amusement.

Your patience snapped. “Maybe you should keep your opinions to yourself for once.”

He grinned wider. “Oh, I’m sure it’ll work out. At least I’m offering constructive criticism, sweetheart.” With a shrug, he added, “I’ll be here when the real planning starts.”

You forced a smile as he left, muttering under your breath, “And yet, you still manage to contribute nothing.” But of course the asshole didn’t hear this.

After months of planning, hard work, and arguing (mainly with the groom's obnoxious brother), it was finally the day of the wedding.

The venue was beautiful—set in a charming estate surrounded by lush gardens and towering trees. The ceremony area was perfect, with a white flower-draped arch under the open sky, rows of pristine white chairs, and the sweet scent of roses filling the air. It was the kind of place that made everything feel romantic and magical.

You and the girls had already been styled and were nearly ready to go; it was just Ashley now. As you walked downstairs, you noticed Leon standing near the entrance, greeting guests just like you. He was dressed to perfection in his suit, looking annoyingly smug as usual.

You couldn’t resist. "Where’s your date, Kennedy? Couldn’t find a girl that was willing to risk a headache at your company?" you teased, giving him a sly smile.

Leon raised an eyebrow, unfazed by your jab, but the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. "I’m not the one who needs a date to look good, sweetheart," he shot back, his grin widening. "But thanks for the offer."

You shot him a pointed look, but before you could respond, Leon’s eyes flicked down to your dress, his smirk growing."Nice dress, by the way," he said, dragging the words out. "Did you get it from your grandma’s collection of curtains?" His tone was dripping with mock sweetness.

You stiffened, fighting the urge to punch him in his stupidly handsome face. "Keep talking, Leon, and you’ll be wishing you hadn’t."

He let out a soft laugh, his eyes twinkling with mock innocence. "Wow, am I supposed to be scared now?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Should I start writing my will, or is it more of a 'wait until after the ceremony' situation?"

Not even five minutes into the ordeal, and the bastard was already making you want to strangle him in front of everybody.

Slowly, the guests arrived, settling into their assigned seats, their murmurs of excitement filling the brisk summer air. You and the bridesmaids made your way to the altar, each step echoing in the quiet space.

As your luck played out, it was Leon who stood by you, not just as a guest but as Ryan's brother and best man. His expression was serious now, unlike all the times you’d observed him before, as though he too was caught up in the weight of the moment.

Ryan, on the other hand, looked excited, almost nervous, his hands fidgeting slightly as he stood across from you. His gaze kept drifting toward the back of the venue, eagerly awaiting his bride’s entrance.

And there she was, Ashley, looking more beautiful than ever. The soft rustle of the breeze carried the sound of the music, and the guests, all seated in their chairs under the open sky, turned their attention to her as she made her way down the aisle. The light of the setting sun caught the delicate details of her dress, and her smile was bright enough to rival the afternoon sun. Ryan’s eyes locked onto her, his nervousness melting away into pure admiration.

You felt a small tear prick at your waterline, threatening to spill over. This was your best friend, the girl you’d grown up with, the sister you never had, walking toward a new chapter in her life. Watching her so radiant, so happy, it hit you harder than you expected.

It felt like just yesterday you were both dreaming about days like this, and now here she was, making it all real.

The reception was beautifully done, everything you planned turning out even better than expected. You had to admit, you were proud of everyone who helped bring it all together. The food was fantastic, the atmosphere warm and joyful, and it felt like everything fell into place perfectly. You were able to enjoy yourself, laughing and dancing with all your friends, celebrating with the newlyweds, and soaking in the happiness of the day.

You were on the dance floor with the girls, spinning and laughing to the music, when an older man you recognized as a pretty known politician approached you. It was no surprise that many prominent people had been invited; after all, Ashley’s father had been the president just a few years back. The man was impeccably dressed, his smile warm but professional. "May I have this dance?" he asked, his voice smooth.

A little surprised, you smiled politely and nodded, stepping into his arms. As you danced, the senator’s hand settled a little too low on your back, his fingers brushing the curve of your waist in a way that made you tense. You tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling creeping up your spine, but it was hard. He leaned in too close, speaking in a low voice, complimenting you on how stunning you looked tonight. His hand lingered, his touch too familiar, and you tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip, forcing you to stay closer.

Leon remained at his table, nursing a glass of whiskey as he engaged in light conversation with some of his friends and family. His eyes wandered around, not focused on anything in particular. Then he saw you, dancing with this guy.

His gaze sharpened, though his expression stayed neutral. He leaned back slightly in his chair, observing the two of you with a mix of curiosity and something more difficult to identify. His fingers tightened around his glass for a moment before he took another sip, though his thoughts seemed distant. The music in the background faded as his attention zeroed in, studying the way you moved with the guy.

You didn’t look like you really enjoyed the moment and he didn’t either. The way the old man’s grimy hands drifted over you made his blood run cold. His jaw clenched involuntarily. It wasn’t just the sight of you with someone else; it was the way he touched you, like you were his to claim. Leon could feel his patience wearing thin, his mind racing with a mix of anger and something darker.

He didn’t know why it bothered him so much, but it did.

Without thinking, he pushed himself up from the table, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. His eyes never left you as he made his way through the crowd, the music blurring around him. His steps quickened as he drew closer, he couldn’t let this go on any longer.

"Hey man, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna steal her from you for a second," Leon said, clapping the guy on the back a little too forcefully, his tone more blunt than necessary.

The senator shot him a confused look, clearly caught off guard, but before he could respond, Leon turned his attention to you.

"Actually, we weren’t d..." he began, but Leon cut him off with a sharp look, his patience running thin.

"The whiskey’s fine, but I’m sure you’re more interested in the oysters. You’re welcome to them," Leon dismissed him, his voice laced with a hint of sarcasm as he ignored the man entirely.

Leon then turned to you, his tone shifting. "So, what do you say, sweetheart? Want to dance?" He extended his hand to you, his gaze intense, waiting for your response.

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded, a small smile playing at the corner of your lips. Leon’s expression softened ever so slightly, and he took one of your small hands in his, placing his other hand on your waist. His grip was firm, but not overpowering, guiding you with ease.

The music faded into the background, the beat barely noticeable as the two of you moved together.

Thank you," you said, cringing internally, already bracing for his inevitable response.

"Princess Y/N, thanking me?" Leon gasped, raising an eyebrow in exaggerated disbelief. "Never thought I'd see the day."

His smirk widened as he leaned in just a bit closer, his voice dropping to a low, teasing tone. "Guess I must be doing something right."

You flashed him a grin, rolling your eyes dramatically. "Don’t get cocky, Kennedy," you shot back, your voice laced with playful sarcasm. "Something tells me you came rushing to save me because you couldn't stand the thought of someone else getting all my attention. Didn’t like seeing how his hands were all over me, huh?"

Leon’s expression wavered for a brief second before he regained his composure, a low laugh slipping from his lips. “Oh, come on, sweetheart. Jealousy’s not my style. You just looked like a mess, and I figured I’d be nice for a change and lend a hand to a damsel in distress.”

You raised an eyebrow, arms crossed as you looked up at him with a cool expression. “Nice try, Leon. You’re so full of yourself, it’s almost impressive. Just don’t get it twisted , we hate each other and you trying to be good for once isn’t going to make you seem like a saint.“

The man smirked, unfazed by your words. He leaned back slightly, his arms folding across his chest as he studied you with a mocking glint in his eyes. “Oh, I’m not trying to be a saint,” he replied, “I’m just doing what any decent person would do. But hey, keep telling yourself whatever helps you sleep at night, Y/N.”

You scoffed, pulling away from Leon. "I’m done with your childish antics. Enjoy the reception, and stop bothering me." Without waiting for a reply, you turned and walked away.

Leon couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride—he loved getting under your skin. It almost excited him, though he couldn’t deny that your smile, rare as it was when aimed at him, was captivating. Standing on the dancefloor, he couldn’t tear his eyes away, watching your figure fade into the crowd.

Had he imagined it, or were you swaying your hips just a little more than usual?

Fucking tease.

A few hours and several bottles of champagne later, the night was winding down. Most people had already gone to bed or left the property. It was three in the morning, yet your group—including the bridesmaids, Ash, Ryan, and a few of his friends—was still going strong.

You slipped away from the group, craving a moment of peace. Stepping outside, you made your way through the quiet night to the terrace. The cool air brushed against your skin as you leaned against the railing, your gaze drifting to the distant lights.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a tall figure a few feet away—broad shoulders, blonde hair. His suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up to reveal veiny, muscular forearms. Leon. You weren’t sure if he had noticed you, but your eyes lingered on him, unwilling to look away. You felt something pool in the pit of your stomach.

And then you saw it—the fucker was holding a blunt. You couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh, the sight of him so unexpected and out of place. Leon slowly turned, raising an eyebrow as he caught your gaze, a half-smirk playing on his lips.

"Aren’t you the one fighting crime, officer?" you teased, a grin spreading across your face.

Leon took a slow drag, his eyes locking with yours. "Well, can't really arrest myself now, can I?" he replied, before adding with a mischievous glint, "But I wouldn't mind arresting you."

You feigned a shocked look, a playful laugh escaping your lips. "Is that a threat or an offer?" you shot back, the tension between you thickening as you couldn't help but smile at his boldness.

The thought of him putting handcuffs on you briefly crossed your mind - for fuck‘s sake.

"Give me a hit!" you demanded, your tone playful yet firm.

Leon raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. Without a word, he stepped closer and pressed the blunt to your lips, gently guiding it into your mouth while taking your jaw in his calloused hand. "Jesus, sweetheart, couldn’t have asked nicer," he murmured, his voice low and amused as he watched you.

The way you inhaled the smoke, holding his gaze without flinching, stirred something deep inside Leon. His chest tightened, a burning feeling spreading through him. You were beautiful, effortlessly so, and in that moment, he couldn’t look away.

Slowly, you handed the blunt back to him, your fingers brushing against his. He didn’t pull away; instead, Leon took a step forward, backing you against the railing. And you didn’t stop him. You didn’t know if it was the champagne making you more than just tipsy, the weed, or the mix of both, but in that moment, you didn’t plan on leaving. You stayed, heart racing, fully aware of the heat building between you.

And then you did it. Taking another drag, you closed the small gap between the two of you, your breath mingling with his. You exhaled the smoke slowly, letting it drift into his awaiting mouth, your eyes locked on his the entire time. Leon’s blue orbs were dark now, lust evident in them. You slung your arms around his neck, bringing him even closer. An electric tension crackling between you as you both lingered in the shared space.

Leon inhaled the toxic substance greedily and brought his lips to yours hungrily.

This kiss was anything but sweet. It was filthy and desperate, tongues exploring another, teeth clashing against each other. Both battling for dominance. He pulled you even closer, grasping the back of your neck with one hand, his other on your waist, gripping tightly.

Leon didn’t care about being gentle with you, he was desperate and needed to feel something. To feel you. From the inside out.

Slowly, you broke apart, breathing shallowly. The blunt lay somewhere in the grass, completely forgotten. You had your hands on his broad chest, exploring the taut muscles underneath the thin layer of cotton. Slowly, you peered up at him from under your lashes, "Come to my room?“ you asked, though you both knew that this wasn’t a question. Leon didn’t hesitate for a second. You almost ran to the room, fumbling to find the key to unlock it. When you stepped inside, none of you had bothered to take off their shoes.

In an instant, Leon threw you on the bed and crawled on top of you. With both of his toned arms on either side of your head, he had you caged in, trapped. The man was lowering his lips to yours again. Then he started trailing kisses down your jaw, to your neck. "Fuck, sweetheart, you smell divine. Can’t wait to ruin you.“ he rasped against your skin, clearly at least as intoxicated as you. You could feel his hard-on, pressing against your clothed core. „God K-K-Kennedy, make yourself useful and do something about it.“ you mewled, desperate to feel something between your thighs. Leon pushed himself off you and hiked your dress up. Ever so the obedient man. He chuckled when he saw your lace panties "All this for me? Cute.“

"Shut up!“ you hissed, shoving his face to the spot you wanted it most.

He pushed your thighs apart, dragging his fingertips above the exposed skin, watching with a grin, as you wrothe beneath him impatiently. Then, he took ahold of one of your legs and draped your high-heeled foot above his shoulder. Slowly, the blonde started leaving small pecks from your ankle - placed on his broad front - to the length of your limb, reaching your inner thighs. Gradually he started biting into them, almost breaking the tender skin, causing you to shriek and moan from the pain and frustration, that was building up inside of you.

Afterwards, Leon started kissing and licking at your cunt, still clad in lace. He pulled your underwear up, watching amusedly as your puffy folds encased the delicate fabric. He ripped your panties off with his teeth and sneakily pocketed them in his suit pants.

Leon wanted a reminder of this shared moment, something real but almost unreal, with the woman he had come to hate so deeply over the years.

You were so needy and whiny already and he hasn’t even got to touch you. He began licking a long stripe up the length of your pussy, before sucking on your clit, letting it go with a pop. "Lord!“ you hissed, tangling your fingers in his messy hair and pushing him even deeper into your heat. "The most beautiful meal, sweetheart.“ Leon groaned against your core, his voice muffled by the puffy lips, his nose bumping against your sensitive pearl. He ate you out like a man starved. Every time you slightly squirmed, he would grip your thighs harshly, stopping you from trembling any further.

He added one hand, running it along your slit, carefully easing his index finger into your fluttering hole, while sucking and pulling on your clit with his teeth. You whined and clenched around him as Leon did so, which encouraged him to add another digit into you. Slowly, he stared thrusting in and out of your pussy, enjoying the squelching sounds of your wetness, making you scream his name, while tears were running down your flushed cheeks already "F-Fuckk, Leonnn, ffuuuck, I gotta-gotta pee.“, you screamed at him, in hopes of him stopping. But he didn’t, the man watched as he brought you to your high, a predatory glint in his blue orbs.

You shuddered, the sweet release you had chased, escaping your gaping hole as it catapulted you into another dimension."Dirty slut, look at the mess you made“, he said in a condescending, almost mocking tone as he roughly took your jaw in his large hands, turning your face to make you look around at the aftermath of your arousal. You both knew how much he enjoyed watching you squirt for him.

You slowly reached for the collar off his dress shirt, connecting his lips to yours, being able to taste yourself on Leon’s tongue now. Moaning into the kiss you started tearing his clothes off of him, throwing them somewhere in the room. The man pulled your dress over your head, smirking as your braless tits came into his view, bouncing slightly as you positioned yourself on his, still clothed, manhood. You began to grind on it, teasingly, making him groan needily, looking up at you with hooded eyes "Aghh, n-nneeed to fuck you noww, sweetheart.“ You palmed him through his boxers, noticing a stain of precum on the black fabric, "Ohh baby, you’re just so eager for me.“ you praised, teasing him. Slowly you lowered yourself between his beefy thighs and started giving his cock feather light kisses, eliciting even more desperate growls from your supposed nemesis. He looked down at you with pleading eyes, any remaining trace of smugness gone now. Leon stroked your hair with his hand, almost encouragingly, egging you on to go further.

You just stared up at him though, a mean smile on your full lips.

And before you knew it, he had manhandled you so you were positioned flat on your belly underneath him. Now on top of you again, his boxers off, Leon teased the tip of his dick between your puffy, pink folds, though not entering you yet. You turned your head, trying to sneak a look at his length, when he pushed your head into the mattress. "Look at who’s desperate now.“, he chuckled degradingly, almost sadistically. You could feel his hot breath on the back of your neck.

Slowly, he prodded at your entrance with his tip and without any warning he plunged himself into your pussy fully, a loud groan escaping him. "Leeeonn, oh g-god.“ you babbled, completely cockdrunk in an instant, not comprehending anything. He gave you almost no time to adjust, then he bottomed out completely, his heavy balls slapping against your sensitive clit. Leon took your jaw into his hand and made you gaze at him, keeping eye contact. While still ruthlessly pounding into you, he pried your mouth open with this thumb and spit into it, leaving a string of saliva that connected your lips to his swollen ones. "Swallow, slut.“ And you did, hungry for more, you kissed him again. Teeth clashing against each other from the force he was using to fuck into you. You could feel his tip, pressing against your favourite spot now, making you gasp out an array of profanities.

His other hand had found your needy clit and started rubbing it, pleasuring you even further. With his broad chest, still flush with your back, he left a trail of kisses and bites on your neck and shoulders. The room was filled with sounds of skin slapping against skin and both of your desperate moans and pants. "B-baby aaah, c-can’t last much longeer.“, Leon groaned into the crook of your neck, his tip kissing your cervix simultaneously.

Your fingers entwined on the sheets, you reached your high, at the same time. A shudder went through your whole body as the burning coil in your gut finally snapped, the sweet release coming to you.

His thrusts got sloppier and he spurted his hot sperm into your awaiting womb.

Afterwards Leon and you stayed like that for a bit, basking in the warmth and comfort of each other. He slowly pulled out of your warmth, making sure not to hurt your sore body.

The blonde-haired man started cleaning you up. Afterwards he got back into bed with you, cradling you against his broad chest. You were almost asleep when you mumbled, "I still hate you, Leon.“

He chuckled, his lips grazing the crown of your head as he whispered, "Funny, because I could’ve sworn you were about to say you love me, sweetheart.“

Y‘all I‘m sorry about any spelling errors, I didn’t proofread this thing bc I honestly think it’s not that good. Just had an idea and I wanted to write it down before I forgot. Also lmk if you would want to read more stuff with Leon bc I honestly just love him. For this story I imagined re4 Leon because it would match the storyline by age best but whatever suits you. Thank you for reading, xx

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