#Strategies for peaceful sleep | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bi-writes · 3 months ago

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sweet as simon's sugar-mommy <3 (18+) PREVIOUS

you trace a line down the side of his mask. he looks so peaceful when he sleeps, and he sleeps like a rock with you. snores all thick and low. you needed a nap after work, and you just curled up right here on the couch, and he just followed your lead. now it's dinner time, and you're hungry, but you don't want to wake him when he looks so cute.

as your hand falls over his lower stomach, you're reminded he's not so cute everywhere. nope, not cute...but delicious.

you wake him up with soft kisses to his cheek. you tease the band of his sweats, smoothing a palm over his happy little trail, and when he blinks his eyes open and turns his head towards you, you pucker your lips and slide a hand between his thick thighs.

"can i?" you purr, and simon sighs deeply. his blushes always show on his chest, pale skin burning a little pinker, and you giggle when he nudges his nose against yours.

it's heaven with you. you look so cute. bobbing your head, pretty lips wrapped around his cock, suckling on his tip all sloppy and wet. you pay special attention to the underside of him, wrapping your hand around the tip and tugging gently until he spurts hot cum onto your tongue.

it's all worth it when he cups your face to kiss you and you feel the sting of the ring he's wearing, white gold band on his thick finger on his left hand⏤just where it's meant to be.

you sit like that beside him at the dinner table, same smile on your face as you load his plate with veggies (you need more greens, baby) that you did putting his dick into your mouth not even an hour earlier.

he takes you to work now. you hate the manner in which he does, that obnoxious motorcycle that makes way too much noise, but you couldn't help yourself when his birthday came around. you saw the helmet in the boxes when he finally moved in (just until you get back on your feet, yeah?), and you woke him up that morning naked with the keys to the bike between your teeth.

if you fucked him with the helmet on later that day, too, well...no one had to know about that.

he's getting better at receiving your gifts. at first, you had to pretend they weren't gifts. when he came out of the shower, you'd hand him some new clothes, or he'd touch something on the shelf at the shops, and somehow he'd find it in the bags once you got back home. he learned slowly that giving him things was your love language; the shine in your eyes when you saw him using something you gave him made him warm all over.

you're still getting him used to baths, too. your bathroom has a magnificent tub--white porcelain, wide and large, jets, gold detailing. the first time you tried to get him to take a bath, he couldn't find it in himself to sit still like that and relax. he doesn't know how to relax.

your new strategy seems to work, though. you kick off your heels from work. simon's in the living room, his tools laid out on the coffee table. there's a disassembled handgun there, and he's oiling up one of the chambers when you lean over the couch and wrap your arms around his big shoulders. you kiss the side of his mask, watching him, getting a little too distracted watching a thick finger push into the cylinder slowly to clean it.

"hey, hot stuff," you coo in his ear. he grunts, looking away, but you hear the heavy swallow in his throat as he tries to be anything but bashful. "i'm exhausted. gonna get in the bath. wanna join me?"

simon doesn't say anything at first. he's still feeling it out, the relaxing part, but when he turns to look at you, you're unbuttoning your blouse and shimmying out of your work skirt. both fall at your feet, and when you unclasp your bra and toss it, the drop of your tits is enough to have him on his feet and following you into the bathroom.

simon always gets in first. he settles with his back against the far side, and then you get in. you make a show of bending over to sit, and simon snarls a little when he's facing the curve of your ass for just a beat too long. you lean back against his chest, letting the warm water and bubbles cover you both. his arms circle around your middle, and you close your eyes once the water has settled.

"feel nice?" you mumble. simon just shrugs, and you turn over a little until your chin rests on his shoulder. you cup the back of his neck, scratching as his cropped blonde hair with your nails, and he hums a little. your new manicure is simon-approved, it seems, and he leans into your hand as you drag the tips of your nails across his head and soothe him that way. "you deserve it, baby."

it's hard for him to hear it, but you try to say it anyways. there's good days and bad days. some days, it's failed cake recipes and good takeout and hours spent on the couch watching movies. he'll be smiling all day, enjoying the quiet and peace of his new life, and then you'll make love and take a long walk and sleep in the next morning.

other days, the pain in his back seems to hit him tenfold. the spasm in his knee acts up, and he'll falter a little, and he'll look ashamed when he has to take a seat, even if it means sliding down the nearest wall until he's sitting on the floor and cupping under his knee with a hiss. those days, you see a little less of simon riley, and a little more of something else. he looks defeated. you know he must feel useless. his body betrays him, but his mind knows better, and you know it kills him inside because he'll spend the rest of the day quiet and in another headspace.

it doesn't matter how much of himself he is that day. simon deserves it, you know he does. he deserves good food and expensive wine and nice things. he deserves hot baths and hydrating moisturizers and as much chocolate as he can stomach. he deserves messy kisses and more than one orgasm, and if you can give him even a fraction of it, it's money and time and love well-spent. simon has always been dealt the worst hand⏤he's earned this life of luxury.

"my..." simon clears his throat as you sit in his lap at your vanity, draping a cool face mask over his face. you're listening still, just concentrating on smoothing the edges of the face mask over his nose and along his cheeks, massaging the excess product into his neck. "my team is gonna be around next week. goin' to the pub. if..." simon swallows, and you meet his eyes. "if y'd like t'come..."

you smile a little.

"is this...your little task force?" you tease, and simon just purses his lips.

"just...they want t'meet you."

you put your hands on his shoulders, giggling. he looks so cute with the face mask on, and he's even cuter when he's being shy. those eyes are deadly--a killer's eyes, you know this deep down, but simon will never scare you. he's your big, soft teddy bear, and he sleeps in thousand thread-count cotton sheets now.

"you told them about me?"

he gives you that dead stare, but all it does is make you laugh. you scoop out a generous amount of body butter from a container on your vanity and start to massage it into his shoulders.

"you are so adorable, simon," you murmur, watching and feeling as the tension in his shoulders starts to melt under your warm touch. already, your fingers are working the knots out of his neck, and he leans towards you as they touch a particularly tender area. "right there, baby? oh..."

the conversation quiets. you're much too busy concentrating on pampering your sweet lieutenant.

simon's never been nervous seeing his team before, but he's also been out of service for more than a year now.

they have experiences without him now. life or death situations that they've survived together, without him. jokes and hours spent sleeping on dirt floors, places they've seen and people they've met, and simon's been here, sleeping in a king bed and learning about how much better his skin feels now that he uses that hyaluronic acid serum you gave him a few weeks ago.

he's got a ring on his finger now. there's a credit card in his new wallet (no more velcro, baby) that he doesn't pay for, and even his mask looks different now that you insist on daily rotations of them and frequent washes.

he's a pampered fucking prince, and he doesn't know whether they will laugh at him or not be able to recognize him.

which is worse?

they look the same. his captain still looks like a tired bear, and he still wears that awful hat. johnny still has a giggly grin on his face. kyle still is the one to retrieve the drinks so he can try and talk up some bird that he'll definitely take home later.

they still leave the spot closest to the corner with the wall to his back open for him.

"where's the missus?" john asks. he's nursing a warm drink, ice long melted, and simon scratches the back of his neck.

"workin'. she'll be 'ere soon."

you're on the phone when you walk in. hair clipped up out of your face, perfectly manicured hands holding the phone to your ear as you make your way inside. you walk very assertively, expensive purse over your shoulder, and johnny leans back to look you up and down as you finally come into view. you're wearing a perfectly tailored work suit, blazer over your forearm as you talk animatedly.

your eyes light up when you see simon. you wave at him, blowing him a kiss, and simon shuffles in his seat a little.

"bloody hell," kyle mutters, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "tha' her?"

"tha's her."

you get to the table just as a server brings drinks. he sets down the beers for the sergeants, another whiskey for their captain, but you put the phone aside as you pick up the bourbon and take a whiff of it.

"what is this?" you ask.

"bourbon."

you raise a brow. "really?" you laugh a little. "that's bottom shelf, honey. open up a good bottle, and⏤i'm sure he asked for it on the rocks, did you ask for it on the rocks, baby?"

"he did," johnny grins, and you smile at the server.

"and bring it on the rocks."

you tuck a few notes into the server's shirt pocket and look at captain price expectantly.

"you gonna move, captain, so i can sit next to my fiancé, or should i sit in your lap?" you raise a brow. "great to meet you, by the way. i've heard so much about you."

john chuckles, slipping out of the booth, and you hop up onto it after him. you cup simon's masked face and kiss him softly over it, rubbing a thumb under his eye.

"you alright?" you coo, and simon just nods. "you ate dinner, right? it looks like you didn't eat dinner⏤" the server comes back with the bourbon, on ice, and you hold up a finger, "⏤do you have a menu? you know what, it doesn't matter, just bring us some fish and chips. whatever you have."

johnny can't wipe the smile off his face. he nudges kyle with his elbow, looking at him with wiggly eyebrows, and kyle just chuckles.

you pick up simon's bourbon and take a sip of it, humming low.

"finally. some good fucking liquor."

you pass it to him with a wink before turning back to his team.

"alright, what did i miss?" you ask. you put your phone on silent, sticking it back into your purse, and you assume a relaxed place there in the booth, nails scratching along the back of simon's balaclava as you pay attention to the conversation. simon nearly purrs as you scratch him, leaning into your hand as his eyes flutter a little.

you are enchanting. johnny's enamored with the way you pay such attention to simon even when you're enraptured in conversation. you always keep a hand on him somehow, always showing him you're actively thinking about him with your fingers rubbing circles in the back of his hand or smoothing a touch over his head or leaning your cheek against his shoulder. always touching, always soothing him, always checking in even without words.

kyle notices the way simon is so relaxed. his shoulders are low, his eyes are lidded, and he doesn't fidget like he normally does. he's just leaning into you, completely at ease.

john adores the way you take charge. you always have an answer to everything, and you know exactly what you want. from just the drink you order to the way you talk about your new life, there is nothing timid or questioning about how you feel, about yourself or simon.

where you live? you have places in manchester and london, you come back and forth. are you really getting married? you've never been more sure about anything in your entire life. is simon really that pretty under the mask? he'd be in more magazines if he was out of your bed more often, probably.

on the way out, you pay the tab. you slide a heavy credit card over the table, and you don't even look at the receipt, just sign it quick and take simon's hand when you get outside, waiting for your car.

"you're always welcome at our place," you tell them, smiling wide. "got plenty of guest rooms, don't we, simon?"

"plenty," he echoes, and simon opens the car door for you when it pulls up to the curb. "give me a minute, love."

you duck your head and slide inside, and simon turns back to his team, shrugging his shoulders as he looks at them.

"so?"

"mighty fine, LT," johnny grins.

that's all he really needed to hear.

his belly and his heart are equally full when you ride him that night. he's naked on your bed except for his mask, tattooed arm anchored around your waist as you throw it back, pussy squeezing his cock as your thighs meet his all languid and heavy. your mouth is open, hot breaths leaving you as your dig your nails into his shoulders, and he grunts as he feels his balls tighten up every time you gasp his name.

"what would i do without you?" you whine, and simon grips your ass tight with the other hand, shaking his head.

"i should be askin' tha'."

"n-no," you kiss him, tongue wet against his, and he groans into your mouth as you wiggle your hips, until his cock nudges against your cervix, and you can feel him in your stomach. "i need you, simon. i need you⏤"

"bloody fuckin' hell⏤"

"you deserve it," you babble, fisting the sheets beside his head. you move your hips quicker, cupping his cheeks, and the part of his face that you can see flushes pink at your words. "deserve m-more, simon, y-you deserve⏤"

your breath gets knocked out of you when he flips you onto your back. ankles hanging off his shoulders, back bowed, mouth fallen open, you melt right into the sheets as simon fucks you straight into them. he's so heavy, a big weight pushing him even deeper, and the angle has your toes in a tight curl as he throws you over a cliff's edge as his pelvis stimulates your clit just enough, right there, just like that⏤

his cum between your thighs is warm. you bite your lip when you feel his thick fingers cup your pussy, sliding through your folds before he pushes two fingers into you, soft and slow. you whine from the overstimulation, but your hips push into his hand anyway.

"you spoil me," simon mutters in your ear.

"how's that?" you whisper, nudging your nose against his. he props himself up on his elbow, pushing his fingers into you to the last knuckle. your legs shake a little, and your back arches again, pebbled nipples pressing against his taut chest as you give into him.

"olways givin' me wot i want," simon hisses. "olways sayin' yes ta me. keepin' me fat 'n happy...think i don't know wot y'r doin'?"

you giggle, touching his lips. he's fighting a smile, dark eyes trained on your own, and you trace his bottom lip as he pulls his fingers out and swipes an eager tongue over them.

you pinch his hard jaw between a few fingers and bring him closer. when you kiss, he relaxes, and the thought of simon having just another good night's sleep in your big, comfy bed makes your heart clench.

seeing his team tonight made you think, and while it hurts to admit it, you are happy simon will never go back with them. he'll never join them again. he'll always be here, his head on your silk pillow. he'll always be home, eating good food, getting the attention and the care he so desperately needs.

what he's so desperately owed.

simon would've died for king and country, and they don't deserve it. they can't have him.

he's mine.

"thanking you for your service is all, lieutenant."

it's the truth, even if he doesn't want to hear it. he's warranted this kind of life, even if he doesn't believe it, even if he rejects the soft hands and the comfy cushions and the filling food. simon is an abused dog; he's not violent to his core, he isn't a biter or a fighter by nature, but when you are forced into a corner for all your life, it's the only thing you understand⏤it's all you know.

you don't want that kind of life for him. you don't think it was the one meant for him. simon's been looking over his shoulder for his entire life, but it's over now.

it's time for him to lay his head down. it's time for him to rest.

"do you miss it?" you ask. you know he's not asleep; his heartbeat hammers under your ear, and even though it's dark in the room, you know he must be looking at you. you can feel his eyes, even though you can't see them on you.

do you miss them? do you wish you were there and not here? is there a part of you still stuck there, finger on the trigger, mind over matter, life in-between death?

"no."

simon tells you this with ease. his voice doesn't waver. his hand anchors itself to your back, where you know it will stay⏤where you know it will be tonight and even into the morning.

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mde-creative-video · 2 years ago

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Improving Sleep: Tips for Better Sleep Quality and Sleep Hygiene

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kidsinnowadays · 2 years ago

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The Ultimate Guide to Peaceful Nights: 6 Pro Tips for Crafting Your Ideal Bedtime Routine

Learn how to create the perfect bedtime routine for peaceful nights and better sleep. This post shares 6 top techniques for winding down, reducing stress, and getting quality rest. #BedtimeRoutine #ParentingTips #PeacefulNights #SleepWell

Getting enough high-quality sleep is essential for our health and wellbeing. However, many of us struggle to wind down and fall asleep at night. Establishing a consistent bedtime routine can help signal to our brains and bodies that it’s time to relax and prepare for rest. An effective bedtime routine helps us mentally detach from the stresses of the day, lower our heart rate and core body…

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#Bedtime routine for relaxation #Crafting your ideal bedtime routine #Creating a peaceful bedtime routine #Establishing a bedtime ritual #Ideal bedtime routine for restful sleep #Peaceful nights with a bedtime routine #Pro tips for bedtime routine #Sleep tips for better nights #Sleep-enhancing strategies #Ultimate guide to peaceful nights

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pitlanepeach · 13 days ago

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Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Two

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, strong language, negative self-talk, therapy, LandoLOG format, some time skips.

Notes — The championship tension is rising you guys. I’m literally on the beach in a bikini rn btw (not to brag :p)

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peach x

Chapter Twenty-Two (Turkey — Saudi Arabia)

The flight to Istanbul was quiet.

Lando had fallen asleep somewhere over central Europe, curled against the window with his hoodie pulled up over his head. Amelia sat stiffly in her seat, notebook open on her lap, a pen twirling between her fingers. She wasn’t writing anything, though. She was thinking.

About him. About all of it.

Turkey could be a reset, if they let it. She’d witnessed McLaren spend the last week doing damage control after Sochi; shifting the narrative away from Lando’s heartbreak, framing the race as a learning experience instead of a failure.

He’d said all the right things publicly. But privately…

Privately, Lando was still carrying it like a fresh wound.

He hated himself for it. No—no, hated was too strong. Lando didn’t hate himself. Not exactly. But he turned all his sharpest knives inward when something went wrong. A relentless critic, a perfectionist with nowhere to put all that anger but his own reflection.

Amelia had seen it happen before, smaller instances, little mistakes. But Sochi had been the biggest yet. His shot at his first win, taken away by rain and a split-second decision that nobody should have been expected to make in the heat of that moment.

And, of course, he blamed himself for all of it.

She felt a little nauseous as she watched him sleep, peaceful for the first time in days. She let the pen fall to her notebook and turned her head, staring out at the endless stretch of clouds.

Maybe she should have seen this coming. Maybe she should have pushed harder, weeks ago, months ago. Every driver had their pressure points. Their ways of coping. Max raged. Daniel laughed. Fernando withdrew.

But Lando? Lando just punished himself. Quietly. Slowly.

She thought about how he’d been that night in Italy. How he’d tried to smile when she called it a perfect drive. How he’d apologised to her — her, like she was the one who’d lost something — and how it had taken everything in her not to cry when he’d finally let her hold him, sagging against her like he had no energy left to even stand.

It wasn’t sustainable. She knew that. He couldn’t keep treating himself like this.

And maybe it wasn’t her place — he had a sports psychologist, didn’t he? Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be her responsibility as his girlfriend. But… she loved him. And if she couldn’t stop the rain, or change the strategy calls, or rewrite the outcome of Sochi, maybe she could at least help him carry the consequences of it.

She thumbed her phone open, scrolled to her calendar. Her therapist offered virtual sessions and she’d been meaning to book a new one anyway. It would be a bit messy, timing-wise, with the media schedule and free practice, but—

“Whatcha doing, baby?” His voice was rough with sleep. Amelia jumped slightly, and turned to find Lando blinking blearily at her, his hair a mess under the hood.

“Nothing,” she said instinctively, then sighed. “Booking something.”

He leaned over to see her phone, squinting slightly at the brightness. “Therapy?”

She nodded, slipping the phone back into her lap. “Yeah.”

He was silent for a second, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “You alright?”

It was such a Lando thing to ask — genuine concern, even half-asleep, even after everything.

She smiled a little sadly. “I’m fine,” she said. “It’s for you.”

He froze, hand half-raised toward his coffee. Slowly, he looked over at her, brow furrowed. “Me?”

“Yes.” She affirmed.

His mouth opened, then shut. He flopped back against the headrest, pulling his hood tighter over his head like he could hide from the conversation.

Amelia didn’t let him. “Lando,” she sighed. “I’m not going to… force you into It or anything. I know you have your own therapist and stuff, but—” She paused, searching for the words. “I think the way that you handle your bad days is really unhealthy.”

Lando just stared at the seat in front of him, jaw tight.

“Obviously, you’re allowed to be upset,” she continued, with a nod. “And you’re allowed to be mad. But you punish yourself for things that are out of your control. That’s not healthy. And according to my therapist, it’s not normal.”

He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

“I’m not saying you’re broken. Or that you need fixing. You’re—" she paused again, voice softening. "You’re you. And I love you. Exactly as you are.”

That got his attention. He turned his head slightly, just enough that she could see the faint, startled look in his eyes.

“But loving you also means wanting you to stop hurting yourself every time something goes wrong," she finished.

Silence stretched between them.

Amelia forced herself to sit back, giving him space to think, even if every instinct screamed at her to fill the silence.

After what felt like forever, Lando let out a slow breath. “I don’t need therapy.”

Yeah. She expected that. She didn’t flinch.

“Maybe,” she said. “But you should go anyway.”

He looked at her again, properly this time, and whatever snarky retort he’d been planning died in his throat. He saw it on her face, how serious she was. How scared, even, in that quiet way she tried not to show anyone.

Finally, Lando shifted, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His voice was quieter now. “Would it… make things easier for you? If I went?”

Amelia blinked, surprised by the shift. “This isn’t about me.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “But it is, a bit. Isn’t it?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached over, covering his hand with hers. “It would help both of us,” she said simply. “I feel anxious because I’m constantly worried that you’re not okay. That’s all.”

He stared at their joined hands for a moment, then gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.“Alright,” he said, voice hoarse. “I’ll do it. One session.”

Relief flooded through her so fast she had to blink back sudden, unexpected tears.

“Good,” she nodded, trying for lightness. “I would probably have tricked you into it, if you’d said no.”

He huffed a laugh, half-way between exasperated and genuinely amused. “You’re scary when you’re determined, you know that?”

“Hm.” She hummed, with a shrug.

He smiled, a real one this time, soft and a little sheepish, and sat back, closing his eyes again.

Amelia picked up her pen once more and tapped it against her notebook. The seatbelt light pinged above them as they started their descent into Istanbul. Below the clouds, she could see the sprawling city, the Bosphorus shimmering like a ribbon of silver in the afternoon sun.

They had a long weekend ahead of them. FP1, FP2, media obligations, the race itself. More pressure, more chances for things to go wrong.

Amelia tucked her notebook away, fastened her seatbelt, and glanced at Lando.

Already asleep again. Perfect in so many ways — still a little broken in places.

But hers.

—

They landed just after sunrise.

The sky outside was a muted gray, the roads slick with overnight rain. The air smelled wet.

The hotel was clean and quiet, the lobby still half-asleep when Lando’s team pushed their cases inside. Amelia barely remembered the check-in; she stood back and let them handle it, her mind somewhere else entirely. Half on the weekend ahead, half on the looming therapy call they’d scheduled for later that day.

Their room was beautiful, more of a suite.

“You want to go get breakfast, baby?” Lando asked.

She nodded. "Yeah. Before I crawl into bed and sleep for sixteen hours.”

He huffed a soft laugh and then reached out to grab her hand, entwining their fingers together.

They headed down to the hotel restaurant, one of those sterile, modern spaces that looked the same in every city, and found Daniel already there, sitting at a table by the window, sunglasses shoved into his messy curls even though it was still grey outside.

He grinned wide when he spotted them, lifting his coffee in greeting. "Look what the cat dragged in."

Amelia dropped into one of the seats across from him with a sigh. "You're very awake.”

Daniel smirked. Shrugged. "Slept the whole flight. Like a professional sloth."

Lando slid into the seat beside her, slouching low.

Daniel raised an eyebrow, glancing between them. "You two look like you’re about to get executed."

Amelia made a face at him before squinting at the menu. “Why would that happen? We’re not criminals.”

Lando pulled a face, raking a hand through his hair.

Daniel leaned in slightly, his tone dropping to something between a whisper and a bad stage voice. “Are the children grouchy?” He teased.

Neither of them answered, but the silence was confirmation enough. Daniel just nodded. Then he poured them both coffee from the jug without asking and passed the mugs over like offerings.

“Oh. I need sugar,” Amelia told him, but still accepted the cup.

“Of course you do,” Daniel said with a grin, reaching around to grab one of the sugar packets from the table behind them and then flicking it at her.

Amelia made a low, unimpressed sound and ripped her croissant in half. Then she picked up the sugar packet and put it into her coffee — because she was exhausted, and she needed caffeine immediately.

They ordered, pastries, eggs, endless rounds of coffee, and Daniel, kept things light. He told stories about the last media day disaster, about how a cameraman tripped over his own feet trying to get a slow-mo shot of Lando walking.

Amelia let herself laugh, cramming a bite of croissant into her mouth.

At one point, Daniel leaned back in his chair, looked at Lando with a cocked brow. "You reckon the new floor’s gonna hold up? Heard the lads were still tweaking it yesterday."

Lando shifted properly for the first time, straightening a little. "It should. They made the sidepod adjustment less aggressive, apparently. Should give us a bit more stability through Turn 8 than we had on the sim. Hope so, anyway. It was fucking awful.”

Daniel nodded in grim agreement. "Still reckon it’s gonna slide like shit if it rains."

Lando grimaced. "Yeah, well." He shrugged.

Amelia glanced at him, worrying her bottom lip.

Daniel rallied on, looping easily back into real shop talk. They started debating tire pressures for the cooler temperatures forecasted for qualifying, and Amelia sat there, chewing and sipping and letting their voices wash over her. Jumping in every now and then when Lando fumbled a technical term or Daniel started talking about "vibes" instead of tangible data.

"You two are hopeless," she muttered at one point, half under her breath.

Daniel leaned over and bumped her shoulder with his own. “Yeah, but we’re your hopeless idiots, ay?”

She didn’t smile, exactly, too tired for that, but her mouth twitched a little. She liked Daniel. He was fun, easygoing, a genuinely talented driver.

Her mind flickered, unbidden, to Oscar — to all the promises Alpine were making, all the big words about his future. In a way, she hoped they would follow through, give him the seat he deserved and the platform to build something extraordinary.

And in another, more selfish way, she hoped they wouldn’t.

When the breakfast plates were empty and the coffee was long gone, Daniel gave Lando a long look across the table.

"You’ll smash it, mate," he said. No jokes, no grin this time. Just honest, quiet faith.

Amelia felt her chest ache a little at the way Lando ducked his head, like he didn’t believe it yet.

Like he wasn’t sure he deserved to.

Daniel clapped him on the shoulder, light but firm. "You’ve got this."

They said goodbye, promises to catch up before FP1 tossed into the air between them, and Amelia followed Lando out of the restaurant, the cool hotel air whispering around them.

Upstairs, in the quiet of their hotel room, the nerves started creeping back in. Amelia pulled her laptop out, her fingers steady even as her stomach twisted.

"You okay?" Lando asked, standing awkwardly near the window, arms crossed.

She looked at him, at the tired set of his mouth, the way his eyes flicked to the laptop like it was a threat.

"Yeah," she said.

Because she was tired, but she wasn’t scared.

Not anymore.

"Come here," she added, patting the couch beside her.

He sat down, careful like he thought he might break something.

She touched his cheek, running the tip of her nail across his cheekbone. “I love you.” She promised.

—

The call connected with a faint chime, and the therapist’s calm, smiling face appeared on Amelia’s laptop screen.

Lando shifted beside her on the hotel room couch, visibly tense, one knee bouncing in a restless rhythm. Amelia resisted the urge to pin it down with her hand. She wanted him here because he wanted to be, not because he felt caged. She understood the difference all too well.

"Hi, Amelia. Hi, Lando," the therapist said warmly. "It’s great to see you both."

Amelia gave a small nod. Lando mumbled something that sounded vaguely like 'hi,' his hands twisting the hem of his hoodie.

The therapist didn’t even blink. She just carried on, patient and calm, the way she always was, the perfect kind of voice that never tried too hard, never felt fake.

“So, Lando, I know Amelia and I have spoken a few times before," she started, smiling lightly, "but since this is your first session with me, why don't we start simple?"

Lando swallowed, clearly uncomfortable under the attention. Amelia watched him out of the corner of her eye, the set of his shoulders too rigid, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

He had been the one to ask, awkwardly, sheepishly, if she would sit with him during his appointment. "Just for the first one," he’d said in the back of the car, on their way from the airport to the hotel. "It’ll be easier if you’re there, I think.”

Amelia had agreed immediately. Of course she had. He never asked for help, so it would have been ridiculous to deny him when he finally did.

"I guess... yeah," Lando said now, rubbing the back of his neck. "Simple’s good."

The therapist smiled, like she could see exactly how hard he was trying. "Perfect. So, how are you feeling today, Lando?"

There was a beat. Lando’s fingers dug harder into the fabric of his hoodie.

Amelia gave him a sidelong glance, deliberate but light. You can say anything, she thought, and it won’t change anything between us.

"Stupid," Lando muttered finally, voice barely above a whisper. "For… this."

The therapist’s face stayed soft. She shook her head gently. "There’s nothing stupid about needing support. Especially in a profession as demanding as yours."

Amelia’s jaw tensed before she spoke. "And for the record," she added bluntly, "you’re not stupid. You’re stubborn. There’s a difference."

Lando cracked a tiny, unwilling smile at that. His knee stopped bouncing.

"Thanks," he said, his voice rough but real.

The therapist nodded, almost like she’d expected Amelia’s bluntness to land exactly where she intended it to.

"Let’s not worry about being perfect or saying the ‘right’ thing today," she said easily. "This is about learning to notice what’s actually going on in your head, not what you think you're supposed to feel."

Lando seemed to digest that for a moment, eyes lowered.

Amelia leaned back against the couch, crossing her arms. She could feel how tightly wound he was, even from here, but he was trying.

God, he was trying.

"I’m fine at first," Lando said eventually, voice gaining steadiness. “Start of the weekend. I’m excited, full of adrenaline, feel like I can handle anything that’s thrown at me. Then... when I mess up, or when it feels like I’ve messed up, I can’t let go of it. I just keep thinking about it. Over and over." His voice had gone tight around the edges. Shame bleeding out before he could catch it.

Amelia exhaled slowly through her nose. She knew that loop well. It was like picking at a wound because the hurt felt more familiar than the healing.

"You’re allowed to be upset when things go wrong," the therapist said. "What we’re trying to avoid is punishing yourself for being human."

"Feels like weakness," Lando admitted.

Amelia pursed her lips. “It’s not.” She couldn’t help herself, she had to say it, had to be the one to remind him that for what felt like the fiftieth time in a week.

Lando glanced at her. The smallest flicker of something crossed his face, gratitude, maybe. Or just… fondness.

The session continued, the conversation meandering through the tight, uncomfortable spaces of Lando’s self-criticism. He was careful at first, tentative, like every word was being weighed before it could leave his mouth. But he didn’t shut down. He didn’t pull away.

When the therapist wrapped up, reminding them both that progress wasn't linear and perfection wasn’t the goal, Amelia felt something unfamiliar settle in her chest.

It was hope. Not the kind she usually reserved for numbers and data sheets and strategy calls. A different kind. Messier. Stronger.

Lando closed the laptop and they sat in silence for a beat.

Then he shifted closer to her, bumping his shoulder into hers.

"Sorry for being such a mess.” He mumbled.

Amelia shuffled into his lap, pressing into him, holding him. Letting him hold her. Feeling him all but melt under the weight of her body on-top of his. “Don’t say sorry. I’m a mess too, just in a different way.”

He pressed his face into her hair. "New race weekend," he said after a while, like he was reminding himself. "Fresh start."

"Fresh start," she nodded. "And if it falls apart again, we deal with it in a healthy way. No more being cruel to yourself. I won’t let it happen.”

Simple. Blunt. True.

Lando just held her tighter.

—

Amelia walked into the garage, eyes scanning the team members packing up, her mind already calculating the race data from the day. The weekend had been hard on everyone; a bitter P2 finish when they had walked into the race with their eyes on another victory.

Max was more than just disappointed. He looked drained, eyes slitted, jaw tight.

She found him in the corner, leaning against the wall. He didn't notice her approach, his mind still somewhere out on the track, lost in his thoughts.

“Hey,” she said, stepping into his line of sight. His eyes lifted to meet hers, but there was nothing but weariness in them. "You okay?”

He scoffed. "No. Not good. You saw it out there." His hands clenched at his sides. "I'm losing this fucking championship, Amelia. There's no way I can catch up now."

“That’s not true. You absolutely can catch up. Look at the numbers. You can still win. The gap isn’t as big as you think." She told him. Then she took a deep breath and started ticking off the facts, breaking it down as methodically as she always did. “We’ve got multiple race weekends left. You’re behind, but the points difference isn’t insurmountable. If you keep executing like you did earlier today, you’ll close the gap. It’s about consistency, and you’ve got that in spades. But if you lose hope now, start being sad instead of angry, you’ll just be handing it over to him.”

“I’m making too many mistakes.” He snapped.

She nodded slowly. “Yes, because you’re pushing the car to the limit. And that’s what makes you better than the rest.”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond, his eyes still on the floor, processing. But eventually, he let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just... I need to figure it out. I need to get my head straight.”

She nodded.

“Thanks” he said quietly.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Amelia told him. “Become a world championship first. Then you can thank me.”

Max’s lips twitched into a half-smile.

—

LandoLOG #4 | Let’s Do This

Uploaded on 23rd November, 2021

[LANDO POV — United States GP]

The vlog kicks off with a zoom-in of Lando’s car in the McLaren garage—mechanics adjusting the setup, wheels spinning. The camera quickly cuts to Daniel, arms spread wide, shouting, “Yee-haw!” in a loud, exaggerated cowboy voice.

[Cold cut to Amelia]

She’s sitting in McLaren hospitality, not a hint of amusement on her face. Wearing a MV33 bomber jacket and an orange LN4 McLaren cap.

Lando’s voice breaks in.

“Alright, guys, let’s focus. Car’s feeling good. I’m feeling good. Let’s do this.”

The camera flicks to Lando walking toward the garage in his race suit. Amelia’s in the Red Bull pit area, her eyes scanning her iPad. The paddock is alive, cars roaring, crew members buzzing with activity. Amelia briefly looks up, catching Lando’s gaze. He gives a thumbs-up.

[Race Prep - Qualifying]

The camera cuts to the grid. Lando’s helmet’s on now, and the camera stays focused as the mechanics buzz around him. He’s laser-focused, blocking out the noise.

Post-Qualifying

[Cut to Lando walking back to the garage]

He’s clearly frustrated. The camera follows him as he flips it on, his voice flat. “Well, that was... not great. P5. We had the pace, but something didn’t click in that last sector. Not happy, but we move on.”

[Hotel Room - Post-Qualifying]

The scene shifts to the hotel room. Lando paces, clearly agitated, while Amelia sits on the bed, working through her iPad, a stim toy in hand. Her focus is intense, but her voice cuts through as she speaks to him.

“It’s that stupid second sector. Everyone struggled with that last corner exit, even Max.”

Lando sighs, sitting next to her. “Yeah, I know. Just... frustrating.” He leans back, rubbing his face in frustration.

Later, it cuts to them at dinner. Amelia’s holding the camera, directing it at Lando.

“Tell them what you did,” she teases.

Lando groans, rolling his eyes. “Baby…”

“He accidentally ordered fish,” she laughs, shaking the camera slightly.

Lando glares but can’t suppress a soft, grimacing smile.

[Race Highlights - United States GP]

Quick cuts of Lando on the track. His car weaves through traffic, taking tight corners with precision. Amelia’s briefly shown on the pit wall, her concentration clear as she analyses Max's data.

[Post-Race]

The camera cuts back to the McLaren garage. Lando’s sitting with a towel draped over his shoulders, sweat dripping from his face. The garage is slowly clearing out. He looks exhausted but calm now.

“P5. Could’ve been better, but we’ll take it. At least we got points.” His voice lacks excitement.

Amelia walks in, standing beside him. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he smiles at the camera.

Text Overlay: Rest & Recharge

[Home in Monaco]

The video cuts to a scene of them in their Monaco apartment. Lando lounges on the couch, editing footage on his laptop, scrolling through social media. Amelia’s curled up with a blanket beside him, clearly content.

Lando’s voice is laid-back as he talks to the camera. “I didn’t get any sleep last night. So, today’s all about being lazy. Gonna order food, maybe watch a movie, just rest up a bit.”

Amelia looks at him, smiling over the camera. “We’re couch potatoes today — Lan, did I use that right?”

[LANDO POV — Mexican GP]

Lando’s walking down the pit lane with Daniel. The stadium section is packed with fans, the energy palpable. Lando’s voice comes through, upbeat despite the tension.

“Mexico’s always crazy, but I’m feeling good today. The car’s fast, the atmosphere’s unreal. Let’s see what we can do in qualifying.”

[Race Highlights - Mexican GP]

Cut to race footage; Lando pushing his car, making overtakes, keeping up the fight. In the background, Amelia’s pacing, muttering to herself as she goes over Max's data. When Max crosses the line, she beams, her focus momentarily shifting away. Jon, with the camera, catches the moment and gives her a thumbs-up.

[Post-Race - Mexican GP]

Post-race, Lando and Daniel are standing by their cars. Both are sweaty, but there’s a sense of satisfaction. Lando wipes his face, and speaks to the camera.

“Well, that was solid. P4. Not ideal, but we’re getting closer.”

Amelia walks over. When she sees Lando, she smiles. The couple share a quick, tight hug. She pecks him on the cheek, leaving a smudge of lipgloss.

[LANDO POV — Brazilian GP]

Cut to Lando prepping for the Brazilian GP, checking tire pressures, walking through the garage, the atmosphere high-energy. Lando’s pumped, the mood light.

Back at the hotel, Lando turns the camera to Amelia. “Here’s my girl, she’s got everything under control. Smartest person in the world.” He grins at the camera.

Amelia rolls her eyes, her cheeks flushing with a slight embarrassment. “Stop it.”

[LANDO POV — Qatar GP]

The camera shifts. The vibe’s different now. Lando’s face is tense, his jaw tight. The camera cuts to him on the grid, helmet in hand, his expression serious.

“Pressure’s on for everyone today,” his voice is calm but serious.

Amelia’s voice enters the background. “It’s going to be tricky with this heat.” She sounds calm, steady as always, but her tone holds a layer of underlying tension.

[Race Clips - Qatar GP]

Quick cuts show Lando on track, his car weaving through the desert-like circuit, gaining positions, making calculated moves.

[Post-Race - Qatar GP]

Lando stands in front of his car, towel over his shoulders, his expression hard. “P4. Could’ve been better, but... yeah. Good enough for today.” He’s not unhappy, but it’s clear this was not the result he hoped for.

The camera cuts to Lando and Amelia in their hotel room. Amelia’s curled up on his chest, a soft, intimate moment. There’s a quiet sense of exhaustion between them, but also a quiet understanding.

Text Overlay: Now onto the final stretch.

—

Amelia sat in the strategy room in Saudi Arabia, her posture stiff, hands resting on the table, but her mind was miles away. The hum of the room buzzed around her—the quiet chatter of engineers, the occasional rustle of papers, the sharp clicks of a laptop. Jos sat at the head of the table, his eyes fixed on the data, while the rest of the team worked in focused silence. But Amelia felt herself barely holding it together.

Her fingers curled around her stim toy, hidden just beneath the table. It had become a constant companion lately, grounding her when her thoughts raced and anxiety crept in. Every squeeze calmed her pulse, but it did little to ease the storm inside.

The pressure was building—the championship was coming down to the final two races of the season. Amelia’s focus was entirely on Max. The weight of it all was overwhelming.

Her gaze flicked to him. Max sat a few seats away, leaning back in his chair with an air of calm that seemed unaffected by the chaos around them. When their eyes met, the quiet reassurance in his gaze helped her center herself.

"Amelia," GP’s voice broke through her thoughts, sharp and focused. "We’re ready for your input on strategy. We’ve gone over the options, but I want to hear what you think."

Her heart skipped, but she steadied herself. "Right," she said, her voice firm, though tinged with strain. Her pulse quickened again, the stress creeping up her spine, but she gripped the stim toy harder, focusing on its calming pressure.

Max, noticing the shift in her demeanour, gave her a small, reassuring nod. A silent reminder to breathe. The tension in her chest eased.

She turned back to the board, her mind sharpening. Focus on the data. Focus on Max. He can win this. As she assessed the tire strategies, weather forecasts, and available options, the path forward became clearer. This was the moment to make it count.

"I think we should risk the undercut," Amelia said, her voice steady now. Confidence surged through her. "If Max pushes on the in-lap, we can leapfrog the others. The tire wear will be crucial in the second half, and we need to capitalise on that."

Christian leaned forward, studying the data on the screen. "You’re confident?"

"Yes," Amelia replied without hesitation. "It’s our best shot at maximum points."

Max’s gaze stayed on her, unwavering, as the room hummed with quiet agreement. The strategy was beginning to take shape. Despite the nerves twisting inside her, Amelia’s mind had snapped into focus.

When the meeting wrapped up, Max was the first to approach. He didn’t say anything immediately, just walked up beside her, his presence a quiet comfort.

"You did well," he said quietly, his voice warm. "You’ve been incredible this year. I wouldn’t be this close without you." He nudged her lightly, his smile small but genuine.

Amelia let out a slow breath, leaning into his touch. "I want this for you so badly, Max," she admitted, her voice thick with emotion.

Max’s expression softened. He crouched beside her, his voice dropping to something more intimate, just between the two of them. “Okay. I need to say this. Amelia, if it doesn’t happen, if I somehow mess this up... don’t blame yourself, alright? You’ve given me a championship-winning car. You’ve made me a better driver. That doesn’t change just because I—" He paused, looking for the right words. "—don’t win it."

She shook her head, a firm resolve settling in. "You will win it," she told him, her voice unwavering.

Max smiled at her, though it wasn’t his usual grin. He was just as nervous, just as desperate. "Yeah. Okay. Want to go find Lando?" he asked, his voice soft.

Amelia nodded, grateful for the shift in focus. "Let’s go."

—

Jos slammed his headset onto the table as Max crossed the line in second.

Lewis had beaten him.

But still, the fight wasn’t over.

It was official now — Max and Lewis would enter the final race of the season dead even on points.

Winner takes all.

The garage buzzed with tension, but Amelia sat frozen, the noise around her fading into a dull roar.

She squeezed her stim toy so tightly her knuckles turned white, forcing herself to take five slow, deliberate breaths.

There was no margin for error anymore.

They had one more chance.

NEXT CHAPTER

585 notes · View notes

natsaffection · 1 month ago

Text

Redline. (Bonus 3) | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!Racing!Driver!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), crash, blood, broken bone (detailed), panic attack

Word count: 8,1k

A/N: There’s no tissue emoji, so I’m just using this one instead: 🧻

The first rays of morning light spilled through the sleek, minimalist bedroom, painting the polished surfaces in soft hues of gold. Natasha was already awake, her gaze fixed on her laptop screen as her fingers danced over the keyboard. Notes, timings, strategies, all meticulously checked and double-checked, as she always did on race days. It was her ritual, her way of ensuring everything went flawlessly.

But even while immersed in her work, her eyes flickered toward the bed, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. You were still tangled in the blankets, one arm flung over a pillow, your hair a beautiful mess against the white sheets. The peaceful rise and fall of your chest was one of Natasha’s favorite things to watch.

Natasha pushed away from her desk, stretching slightly before walking over to the bed. She perched on the edge, her fingers delicately sweeping a stray lock of hair from your cheek.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Natasha murmured, her voice a soft blend of fondness and amusement. “It’s almost time to get ready.”

A sleepy groan escaped your lips, your eyes squeezing shut tighter as if to keep the morning at bay. “Five more minutes…” you mumbled, your voice muffled by the pillow.

Natasha chuckled, the sound low and rich. “You say that every morning, and somehow it always ends up being twenty.”

You cracked open one eye, your lips curving into a lazy grin. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Am I?” Natasha quirked a brow. “If you don’t get up soon, you’ll be the one explaining to the fans why their favorite driver was late.”

That got your attention. Your eyes fluttered open fully, the warmth of sleep slowly giving way to the familiar rush of excitement. Today was another race, another chance to prove yourself, not only to the world but to yourself.

“Fine, fine, I’m up.” You sat up, rubbing your eyes before glancing at Natasha with a sleepy smile. “You’re already in boss mode, huh?”

“Someone has to keep you in line.” Natasha replied with a smirk, but the glint in her eyes was nothing but adoring. “Now, I made you coffee. It’s waiting in the kitchen. I’ll get your things ready.”

“Have I mentioned you’re amazing?” You stretched your arms above your head, the early morning light catching your features in a way that made Natasha’s heart skip a beat.

“Once or twice.” Natasha’s voice softened, her hand resting on your shoulder. “But I like hearing it.”

You reached up and captured Natasha’s hand, bringing it to your lips for a gentle kiss. “Well, you are. Absolutely amazing.”

Natasha’s cheeks flushed, but her composure never wavered. “And you’re a dork. Now, get moving. We have a race to win.”

Within thirty minutes, you were showered, dressed, and already buzzing with pre-race energy. Natasha was all precision and efficiency, double-checking every little detail before you left.

The drive to the racetrack was relaxed, filled with quiet conversation and the comfortable silence that only comes from years of understanding. Your fingers laced through Natasha’s as she drove with her usual cool confidence, the city blurring past the windows.

“Ready to meet your fans?” Natasha asked, glancing sideways at you.

A grin spread across your face. “Always.”

The moment you arrived at the paddock, you could hear the hum of excitement from the fans gathered just beyond the barriers. As you stepped out of the car, the familiar chants of your name echoed through the air.

“Y/N! Y/N! Over here!”

You beamed, your nerves melting away under the warmth of the crowd’s enthusiasm. Natasha watched from a few steps behind, arms crossed, her expression softening as she saw you stop to sign autographs, exchange kind words, and take selfies with your adoring fans.

Natasha joined you by the barrier. A few fans squealed, not just for the famous driver but for the woman standing at your side.

“Alright, alright.” Natasha said with a half-smirk, “You’ve had your fun. Let’s get you to the garage before you start signing every piece of merchandise in this city.”

You laughed, but Natasha could see the energy it gave you. You were glowing. And today, Natasha would do everything to make sure your star kept shining.

The energy in the paddock was electric, the kind of buzz that seeped into your veins and made you feel alive. Natasha guided you through the usual pre-race routine like clockwork, her presence as steady as ever. But there was a warmth to her efficiency that only you could feel. A care threaded between every checklist and instruction.

As you made your way to the garage, you glanced over at Natasha, your fingers twitching slightly with pre-race nerves. Natasha caught the movement instantly. “Cold feet?” she asked, one eyebrow arching in concern.

“Just the good kind of nerves..” you replied, offering a crooked smile. “The ‘I’m ready to crush this’ kind.”

“Good.” Natasha nodded, her eyes scanning the garage as you entered. Technicians hustled around you, final checks and adjustments happening in a blur of motion.

The minutes ticked by as you completed your pre-race rituals, your muscles thrumming with the familiar cocktail of nerves and excitement. As the call came for drivers to take their places, Natasha walked alongside you to the car.

You slid into the driver’s seat, your hands instinctively reaching for the steering wheel as you settled in. Natasha leaned over the side of the car, her gaze locking with yours. “Remember, no heroics. Just smooth and clean. You’ve got this.”

“Got it, boss.” You winked, your cheeky grin making Natasha roll her eyes, though her expression softened with pride.

The engines roared to life all around you, but your focus remained on Natasha until the last possible moment, the warmth of her touch lingering long after she stepped away.

The race began with a thunderous surge of power, tires squealing against the track as you pushed your car to its limits.

The race was going perfectly. Almost too perfectly. Your grip on the steering wheel was firm but relaxed, your breathing steady, your focus unshakable. The crowd’s roar was a distant echo, dulled by the padded embrace of your helmet. Lap after lap, the world narrowed to nothing but the track before you and Natasha’s calm, measured voice in your ear.

“Just a few more laps, Y/n. You’re holding the lead beautifully.” Natasha praised, her tone laced with that signature coolness but layered with something deeper. Pride. Relief. Love.

You grinned despite yourself, eyes flickering briefly to the rearview mirror. The pack was behind you, clawing at your shadow, but your speed was unmatchable today. You were flying.

Then, out of nowhere, chaos erupted. A sharp, metallic scream tore through your headset, the sound of metal against metal. Tires shrieking. Engines spluttering into desperate, dying growls.

“Car pileup! Sector 3! Repeat, multiple cars down!” The voice from Race Control was pure panic, barely able to keep its terror in check.

Your stomach twisted. Your eyes snapped to the bend ahead. It was supposed to be an easy maneuver, just a clean sweep around the corner before the long straight. But the corner wasn’t clear.

Smoke billowed, thick and acrid, curling into the sky like dark fingers clawing upward. Amidst the haze, the glint of wreckage shone with a wicked brightness, metal torn and twisted like paper. Two cars tangled together, blocking the track almost completely.

“Oh, shit…” Your voice came out cracked and trembling, your foot already slamming on the brakes. But there was no time.

No way to avoid it.

“Y/n, slow down! Pull to the left!” Natasha’s voice cut through your ear, sharp and desperate, the cool edge of her usual calm utterly shattered. “Y/n, now!”

You tried. God, you tried. The wheel jerked beneath your hands as you swerved left, but another car had already collided with the wreckage, spinning out of control and slamming into your side. The crash happened so fast, it was nothing more than a nightmare stitched from metal and fire.

The sound of steel shrieking against steel filled your ears, your body thrown forward as your car skidded violently against another. Pain flared across your ribs, your shoulder slamming into the frame, your head knocking against the padded helmet hard enough to leave your vision blurred.

Then, just darkness.

The crash happened so fast, it was nothing more than a nightmare stitched from metal and fire. Meanwhile, in the control room, Natasha was frozen. Her fingers dug into the edge of the console, knuckles white, her eyes glued to the live feed that displayed nothing but a burning mess of wreckage and smoke.

Around her, the other team managers were reacting, shouting commands, issuing urgent instructions, some already sprinting toward the exit. But Natasha couldn’t move. She was locked in place by the overwhelming dread that had wrapped itself around her like ice.

“Romanoff! What the hell are you doing just standing there? Move!” A voice snapped her out of the icy paralysis gripping her. A hand on her shoulder was rough, shaking her out of her trance. She could barely see him through the haze of panic clouding her vision, but his eyes were sharp and urgent.

“I-” Natasha choked on her words, her voice cracking. Her mind was torn between the control room’s blinking screens and the burning wreckage outside.

“She’s out there..” she rasped, her voice thick and guttural.

“I know.” The men replied, his jaw clenched. “And so is my driver. We’re going to find them. Now, get in the damn car.”

Natasha barely registered the way Daniel’s fingers curled around her arm, dragging her toward the emergency exit. The world around her was a blur of frantic shouts and blaring alarms. All she could hear was the faint, distorted echo of your last words over the headset.

She felt like she was choking. The memory of your grin, your careless confidence, your unwavering faith in her guidance, all of it tore through her with the cruelty of broken glass.

They reached Daniel’s car, the bright red vehicle roaring to life the moment he turned the key. Natasha threw herself into the passenger seat, her hands trembling uncontrollably.

“Buckle up.” He snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. But Natasha barely heard him. Her thoughts were a tangled mess, each one worse than the last.

What if it’s worse this time? What if your car is nothing but wreckage, your body broken beyond recognition? She swallowed thickly, her nails digging into her own palms until pain flared in her hands. “Drive faster..”

“I’m going as fast as I can without crashing us both..” He shot back, his eyes locked on the road as the car shot down the access lane toward the accident site.

The air between them was electric with urgency, the silence filled with the muffled rumble of engines and the distant screams of the crowd. The crash had spread like wildfire, multiple cars caught in the violent mess of twisted metal and scorched asphalt.

“Natasha.” Daniel’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. His eyes flicked toward her, his own panic tightly controlled, channeled into cold determination. “We’ll find them. Y/ns strong. She’s a fighter. You of all people should know that.”

Natasha clenched her jaw, her lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s the problem.” she whispered. “She’s been fighting her whole damn life. And if it’s bad this time…if it’s worse…”

The wreckages came into view, a horrifying sprawl of debris and smoke. Cars were scattered across the track, crumpled like toys thrown aside by an angry child. Marshals were already swarming the area, trying to contain the chaos, but there was nothing contained about the devastation before them.

Daniel slammed the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt. The instant they stopped, Natasha was out of the passenger seat, her feet pounding against the asphalt as she ran toward the destruction.

They split up, their desperation spurring them in opposite directions, both of them scanning the wreckage with feverish intensity.

The smoke was thick, burning her throat, her lungs. She stumbled over a shattered piece of debris, her legs threatening to buckle under her. But she kept going. Because she couldn’t stop. Because you were out here. And Natasha was not going to leave you alone.

Her voice tore from her throat as she called out, her screams swallowed by the chaos around her. Her eyes scanned the mess of broken vehicles and frantic medics, her throat raw from shouting your name. The world was a blur of flashing lights, shouting officials, and the terrifying echo of her own heartbeat.

And then, through the haze of smoke, she saw it. Your car. It was half-crushed against another, the nose twisted, panels ripped apart like some brutal sculpture. But even more incredible was what Natasha saw beside it.

You.

Natasha’s breath seized in her throat as she saw the way your body sagged between the medics’ arms, your head lolling forward like you could barely hold it up. The paramedics were lowering you carefully to the ground, their words a mess of urgent commands and rehearsed reassurances.

She was at your side in an instant, her knees almost buckling with sheer relief and terror all tangled together. “Y/n. Hey. I’m here. I’m right here..”

Your eyes flickered open at the sound of her voice, dazed and unfocused. The dark glass of your helmet’s visor was cracked, splintered lines running through the surface like spiderwebs.

“Natasha..?” Your voice was barely a whisper, your lips chapped and trembling.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m here. You’re okay..” Natasha said, her voice tight and trembling. Her hand wrapped around your gloved fingers, gripping them like a lifeline.

The medics were already circling like vultures, one of them barking orders into a radio while the other started running through the protocol.

“We need to get her helmet off, check her breathing. Possible concussion. Someone get the stretcher ready!”

Natasha’s fingers tightened around your hand, her gaze locked on your face. “Stay with me, okay? You’re doing great. Just stay with me..”

The medic nearest to you was speaking calmly, his gloved hands gentle as he reached for your helmet. “Y/n, I need to take this off, okay? It’s going to hurt a bit, but you’ll be able to breathe better. Just stay still.”

You nodded, though the motion was clumsy, your head barely moving. “’Kay…Just…just don’t leave..” you slurred, your gaze sliding to Natasha’s face with a desperation that nearly broke her.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Natasha promised, her voice hoarse. “I’m right here. I’m not leaving you.”

The helmet came off with a sickening scrape of broken metal against skin. Natasha’s breath hitched as her eyes caught the glistening trail of blood running down your face from a vicious gash torn across your eyebrow. The cut was deep, the blood so dark it looked black against your skin.

Natasha’s gasp was almost a sob. “Oh God… Y/n…”

But your gaze was unfocused, your breathing shallow. “I…I’m fine. Just…just a little dizzy..”

The medic’s gloved hands were already pressing gently against your head, checking for fractures, murmuring reassurances you couldn’t hear. Natasha’s eyes traced every drop of blood, every twitch of pain on your face.

“Y/n, I need you to try and stay awake, alright?” the medic continued, his tone calm and firm. “Can you tell me where it hurts?”

Your voice was sluggish, your words slurred. “Uh…Head…and…foot. Really hurts..”

The medic’s eyes dropped to your leg, and Natasha followed his gaze. Then her stomach dropped to the ground.

Your right foot was twisted at a sickening angle, the racing boot visibly swollen. But worse than that, the thing that almost made Natasha vomit, was the jagged, broken bone protruding just above your ankle, blood pooling against the fabric.

“O-Oh God..” Natasha whispered, her voice barely more than a strangled breath. Her hand squeezed yours so tight she feared she’d break something.

“Dammit, we need to get her stabilized.” the medic barked, his voice now laced with something that sounded far too much like fear. “Get the stretcher over here, now!”

Your head was already turning, your glassy eyes trying to make sense of the panic around you.

“W-What’s… going on?” you slurred, your gaze starting to drop downward, toward the carnage of your own leg.

“Hey, hey.” Natasha’s voice was sharp, her free hand reaching to cup your face, gently turning your head back to meet her eyes. “Look at me. Just look at me, okay? Everything’s fine.”

“But…my foot…” your brows furrowed, your voice fractured by pain and confusion.

“It’s fine.” Natasha lied, her own voice shaking. “You’re going to be fine. Just keep your eyes on me. Don’t look down.”

The stretcher arrived, more hands pressing around you, securing your neck, your broken leg. Natasha hated the way they moved you, the way your face twisted in agony, the little gasps of pain you couldn’t quite suppress.

But even through the horror, your fingers clung to hers, your grip as tight as you could manage.

“N-Nat…?”

“I’m here.” Natasha’s voice was firm now, as solid as steel. “I’m not leaving you. Not for a second.”

They loaded you onto the stretcher, the medics shouting orders Natasha barely registered. Everything was a blur, but her gaze never left your face.

“Talk to her.” one of the medics said to Natasha, his tone harsh with urgency. “Keep her awake. We can’t risk her passing out before we assess the damage.”

“Y/n, sweetheart, listen to me.” Natasha said, her own panic buried deep beneath the surface of her voice. “You’re going to be okay. You’re too damn stubborn not to be, right?”

You tried to laugh, but it came out more like a shuddering gasp. “Y-Yeah…stubborn…that’s me…”

“Damn right.” Natasha’s thumb traced over your knuckles, her own hands slick with blood. “You’re not leaving me, you hear me? You’re staying right here with me.”

“’M not… leaving…” your words were fading, your eyelids drooping as shock and pain clawed away at your consciousness.

Natasha felt her own breathing hitch, her voice breaking. “Good. That’s good..”

As the medics lifted the stretcher and began moving it toward the waiting ambulance, Natasha followed, her hand locked around yours like a lifeline.

Minutes later, the ambulance tore through the streets like it was chasing time itself, sirens wailing into the sky, the city blurring into light and sound. Inside, Natasha sat wedged against the wall, one hand gripping the steel bar, the other never leaving yours.

Your eyes fluttered, trying and failing to stay open. Your skin had gone an ashen shade beneath the streaks of blood, your chest rising and falling in shallow, unsteady rhythm. Every time the medic adjusted your leg, you whimpered, barely a sound, but one that carved itself deep into Natasha’s chest like a knife.

“You’re okay.” Natasha whispered over and over, her voice cracking around the edges. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The moment they reached the emergency bay, the ambulance doors burst open. Lights flooded in, followed by the blur of movement , gurney wheels on concrete, shouting voices, cold air rushing through the gap before the building swallowed them whole.

“Female, 23, compound fracture to the right foot, deep laceration above the right eye, suspected concussion.” the paramedic rattled off as they passed the threshold of the hospital.

A woman stepped forward, tall, composed, sharp eyes framed by silvering curls tucked behind her ears.

“Get her into Room Five-” she ordered, but the moment her eyes fell on Natasha, her entire posture shifted. Her brows lifted slightly, the recognition instant.

“Get the VIP trauma room prepped now. Clear the hallway. Tell imaging to stand by.”

Natasha stayed right at your side as the gurney wheeled through wide corridors, glass doors flying open before them like water parting.

“Vitals are unstable.” one of the medics said. “BP’s dropping.”

Inside the trauma room, the chaos turned clinical. Machines hummed to life, IVs were connected, and gloves snapped into place.

The nurse stepped up beside and leaned over you with practiced precision. “My name is Helen. I’m going to check you, okay? Can you open your eyes for me?”

You blinked slowly, your gaze unfocused. “Mhmm…”

“Good. Stay with me.” Helen reached up and shone a penlight into your eyes. “Natasha, any known allergies?”

“No. No allergies..”

Helen nodded quickly. “What’s your full name?”

Your lips moved, the sound faint. “Y/n…L/n.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“’M…I was racing…”

“She’s lucid but foggy.” Helen muttered. “Pupils are sluggish. Concussion confirmed.” She gently wiped away blood from your temple, exposing the deep gash beneath. “We’ll stitch this after scans.”

Then a second nurse moved to the foot of the bed, starting to unwrap the temporary support on your leg. The second she shifted it, you jolted violently, a strangled cry escaping your throat.

“Careful!” Natasha snapped, stepping forward, her own panic flaring. “Her foot-”

The nurse paused, her expression grim. “Confirmed compound fracture. Bone’s fully through.”

“Prep for OR.” Helen said calmly.

But that calm shattered the second the word OR hit your ears. Your chest hitched. Your eyes widened. And just like that, the panic flooded in.

“No. No-no no no!” Your voice cracked as your hands reached for anything, the rail, the blanket, Natasha. “Not surgery, not again, please don’t- don’t-”

“She’s panicking..” Helen said immediately, eyes darting to the vitals monitor. The heart rate was skyrocketing.

Natasha, cupping your face. “It’s okay! It’s just a bone, baby. Bones heal, you hear me?”

“It is-” you sobbed, your voice breaking. “It’s happening again..I’m gonna be stuck- I won’t”

“You can, and you will, you hear me?” Natasha said, forcing her voice to be stronger than the tremble in her own heart. “It’s not your spine. It’s not your nerves. It’s one damn bone..”

You were trembling, head jerking side to side as if trying to run from the memory crawling up from your past.

“She has trauma from her last crash..” Natasha said, looking up at Helen. Helen’s jaw clenched, then her expression shifted. “Alright. I’ve got her.” She turned to the nurse by your feet. “Touch her toes.”

The nurse blinked. “What?”

“Touch her toes.” Helen repeated. “Y/n?” She turned back to you, voice soft now. “Can you feel this?”

The nurse pressed gently along the top of your foot, just above the exposed break.

You gasped but nodded. “Y-Yeah…I feel it..”

Helen leaned in, voice low and firm. “That means your nerves are fine. You’re not paralyzed. Your body’s okay. The surgery is to fix something fixable. We are not going to let this become what it was last time.”

Natasha watched as the words landed, saw the slow, shaky exhale leave your lungs. Your hand, still clinging to Natasha’s, loosened just slightly.

Helen stood, her eyes flicking over the vitals. The panic was still too high, pulse, blood pressure, breathing all elevated. Too dangerous for surgery in that state. She turned to Natasha quietly.

“She’s too wound up to go in like this.” Helen said under her breath. “We’re putting her under now. I’ll make the call.”

She gave a small nod to a nearby nurse, a younger man already prepping the IV line. He moved with practiced hands, drawing a small vial from his tray and inserting it into the port.

“It’s going to hit fast.” Helen said. Natasha knelt beside you again, brushing damp hair away from your pale forehead. “Hey, baby. They’re going to give you something to help you sleep now, okay? Just sleep. That’s all.”

You blinked slowly, tears still welling in your lashes. “You’ll be there…when I wake up?”

“I’ll be the first face you see.” Natasha whispered, kissing your temple. “I swear to you. I’m not going anywhere.”

The nurse pushed the medication in, and within seconds, your body began to still. Your breathing evened out slightly, your trembling stopped. Your eyes fluttered. “I love you…” you murmured, barely audible.

Natasha’s throat closed up. “I love you more.”

And then your eyes slipped shut. The panic was gone. Replaced by a terrifying, aching silence. Helen gave Natasha a nod. “You did good. Now let us take care of her.”

The stretcher rolled out, the surgical team falling into step. Natasha followed them to the doors of the OR, only stopping when Helen placed a firm hand on her arm.

“She’s in good hands now.” she said gently. “But you need to breathe. Sit. And wait. And when she wakes up, she’s going to need you.”

Natasha stood frozen as the doors swung closed. The surgical wing was too quiet. Too white. Too sterile. Too full of time that refused to move.

Natasha sat down on a hospital bench just outside the OR, elbows on her knees, fingers tangled in her hair. The double doors to the OR stayed shut, a glowing IN USE light above them. Mocking her.

She had tried to sit still. To breathe. But her leg was bouncing uncontrollably, and every minute that ticked by felt like someone carving another line into her spine. The guilt was crawling up her throat like bile. I promised her I’d protect her. She trusted me with everything.

“Natasha.”

She flinched, eyes snapping up. Yelena stood in front of her, pale and tight-jawed, still in her coat like she’d run straight from her apartment the moment she heard.

“You okay?” Yelena asked softly.

Natasha scoffed, a bitter sound. “She’s in there with a fucking broken foot and a head wound, and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

Yelena didn’t respond immediately. She just sat down beside her, shoulder brushing Natasha’s, grounding her like an anchor in a storm. Natasha swallowed hard. “It’s my fault.”

“No.” Yelena said firmly. “No, it’s not.”

“I put her back in the car! After everything she went through. After that crash. After her body was wrecked the first time. I pushed her. Because I missed the racer in her.” Her voice cracked. “Because I wanted to win..”

Yelena looked at her, eyes narrowed. “You didn’t force her to drive, Natasha. You believed in her when no one else did. That’s why she came back.”

Natasha looked away, lips pressed into a line. “And now she’s bleeding in an OR again. Screaming. Panicking. Because all I ever do is bring her back to the pain.”

There was a pause. Then Yelena sighed and dug into her coat pocket.

“I wasn’t gonna tell you yet..” she muttered, pulling out her phone. “But…they’re waiting for news. I called them.”

Natasha blinked. “Who?”

Yelena’s lips pressed together. “Her parents. They’re on the line.”

Silence. It was a full second before the weight of the words hit her like a wrecking ball. Natasha’s body went stiff. Her fingers curled in her lap. Her breath froze in her lungs.

Your parents.

“Oh god..” she whispered. “Yelena, what the hell am I supposed to say to them?”

Yelena’s voice softened. “You tell them the truth.”

“No. I- I can’t! I told them I’d keep her safe. I promised them..” Natasha’s voice cracked, her hands shaking again. “They trusted me. After the last time? They didn’t even want her back on the track. I had to fight for her, with them. And now she’s in a damn OR again and I—”

“Natasha.” Yelena turned to her, firm now. “They’re scared out of their minds. They need to hear from the one person Y/n trusts most.”

Natasha looked at the phone in Yelena’s hand like it was a bomb.

“She’s their daughter.”

“And she’s your everything.” Yelena said quietly. “So breathe. And talk to them.”

Natasha reached out with a trembling hand and took the phone. “Hi. This is… this is Natasha.” Her voice was hoarse.

There was a pause on the other end, and then a voice. Soft. Tight with worry. Your mother.

“Where is she? Is she okay? What happened? Natasha, w-what happened to our daughter? P-Please don’t say-”

Natasha’s throat closed up. Her free hand gripped the edge of the bench like she needed to hold on to reality. She tried to answer, but nothing came out at first. Not a word.

Then finally, broken and quiet, she whispered:

“I’m so sorry.”

Natasha’s hand shook as she held the phone to her ear, her voice cracking with every word.

“Yes. She’s in surgery..”

Pause. Natasha swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yes. A broken foot. And a concussion.”

Her gaze kept flicking toward the double doors of the OR, her eyes raw and burning from the unrelenting tears she refused to fully shed. The sterile lights above buzzed with cold indifference.

“She’s alive. The doctors..They’re doing everything they can.”

Her fingers clenched tighter around the phone, knuckles white.

“I-I’ll call you back when I know more, okay? I promise.” She clicked off, the phone slipping from her grip and landing heavily on the floor.

Yelena bent down, picking it up, her own expression unreadable. “I’ll let them know when she’s awake.”

“Thanks..”Natasha rasped. Her voice was shredded, hollow. Her entire body trembled with the effort of holding herself together.

Minutes turned to hours. The cold, merciless kind of waiting where every passing second felt like a punishment. Natasha’s mind kept churning over every horrific possibility. What if the concussion was worse than they thought? What if her leg was so damaged she could never drive again? What if she woke up and decided Natasha had pushed her too far this time? What if she never woke up?

The doors finally swung open with a soft whoosh. Natasha shot to her feet so fast her vision spun. A doctor stepped out, flanked by Helen. Both of them wore weary but steady expressions. Natasha’s stomach twisted. Her nails dug into her palms.

“Miss Romanoff?” the doctor began. His voice was calm, measured. She hated how clinical he sounded.

“Yes. I’m-” Her voice cracked, too sharp, too desperate. “Is she…is she okay?”

“The surgery went smoothly.” the doctor continued. “The bone was successfully reset and secured. The nerve function in her leg is undamaged, which means with proper rest and rehab, she will make a full recovery.”

The words crashed over Natasha like a tidal wave. A violent rush of relief so strong her legs nearly gave out beneath her.

“S-She’s okay?” Natasha breathed, her voice trembling.

“She’s stable.” the doctor confirmed, his gaze sympathetic now. “We’re moving her to recovery. She’ll be groggy when she wakes up, but she’s going to be fine.”

The tears Natasha had been holding back finally broke free, spilling down her cheeks unchecked. Her shoulders shook, her breathing turning into something ragged and uncontrollable.

“Thank you. Oh God, thank you…” Her hands flew to her face, trying and failing to hide the ugly sob that tore its way out of her throat.

Helen reached out and squeezed Natasha’s shoulder. “We’ll make sure no one bothers her while she recovers. I’ve already spoken to security. No paparazzi, no press. And if anyone tries, they’ll have to get through me.”

A wet, broken laugh slipped from Natasha’s lips. “Thank you. You don’t know…you don’t know how much this means.”

Helen’s smile was brief but genuine. “They’ll be bringing her out in a few minutes. She’s going to need rest, but you can be there when she wakes up.”

Natasha’s shoulders sagged with exhaustion. But beneath it, there was hope. Raw and fragile, but alive. She glanced over at Yelena, who had been standing just outside the doctor’s conversation, arms folded tightly across her chest. Their eyes met, and Yelena gave a short nod.

“See? She’s tough as hell.” Yelena said, her voice rough with emotion she wasn’t about to admit. “Just like you.”

Natasha didn’t have words. She just nodded.

When Helen patted her shoulder one last time and turned to leave, Natasha couldn’t help herself. She reached out and threw her arms around the nurse.

Helen stiffened, caught off guard, but only for a moment. Then her arms wrapped around Natasha, gentle and reassuring.

“She’s going to be fine.” Helen whispered, her voice low and steady. “And so are you.”

Natasha pulled back, wiping furiously at her eyes. “I just…thank you. Thank you for everything.”

The walls were a soft cream, the blinds drawn to shield from the press of evening light. The private VIP suite was spacious, silent, and most importantly: protected. No noise. No reporters. No cameras.

Just Natasha.

She sat in the chair beside the bed, elbows resting on her knees, fingers curled into her palms. Her heart still hadn’t stopped racing. The image of you, limp and bloodied on that stretcher, still looped in her mind like a cruel replay she couldn’t turn off.

Now, you lay before her. Wrapped in white hospital blankets, hooked up to monitors, your head gently bandaged. Your leg was elevated and braced in a temporary cast.

But you were breathing.

Natasha didn’t take her eyes off you for a second. A soft beep from the monitor spiked, just slightly. And then a subtle twitch in your fingers.

Natasha shot up from the chair, her heart lurching. “Y/n?” she whispered, stepping closer.

Another twitch, your head shifted faintly, your lips parting as your brows drew together in faint discomfort.

“Hey..” Natasha said softly, her fingers brushing your hand. Your eyes blinked open, slow, uneven. Cloudy from anesthesia. Your gaze was unfocused at first, drifting past Natasha like you weren’t really seeing her.

“Where…?” Your voice was raspy, so soft it was almost inaudible.

“You’re in the hospital..” Natasha murmured, her thumb stroking gently across the back of your hand. “You were in a crash. But you’re okay. You’re out of surgery. You’re safe now.”

You blinked again, your pupils beginning to center, focus returning in slow, heavy waves. You winced, your free hand moving slightly toward your head.

“Easy.” Natasha said quickly, gently taking your wrist. “You’ve got a concussion, and a cut above your eye. But you’re stable. They stitched you up.”

You blinked, your breathing beginning to pick up as awareness started setting in. “My leg…”

“It’s just broken.” Natasha said softly. “But the bone’s set. They fixed it in surgery. The nerves are intact, full feeling. You’re going to walk. Drive. Everything.”

There was a beat of silence, and then your eyes finally locked onto hers , really saw her. And the tears welled almost instantly.

Your fingers tightened weakly around hers. “You didn’t leave..”

“Never.” Natasha breathed. “I held your hand through the whole thing. And I’ll be right here for every step of what’s next.”

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes beginning to close again. “You’re warm…”

Natasha smiled gently, brushing the hair back from your bandaged brow. “That’s the morphine talking, baby..”

A small, dopey grin formed on your lips. “Good… I don’t wanna feel anything right now.”

“You don’t have to.” Natasha murmured. “You just sleep. I’ve got you.”

You blinked once more, and then slipped back into sleep, but this time, it was peaceful.

Natasha sat back down, still holding your hand. She wouldn’t be letting go anytime soon.

The early morning sunlight seeped through the blinds, a soft glow painting the hospital room in warm hues. It was quiet. Peaceful. Almost enough to trick Natasha into believing the nightmare was over.

Almost.

She hadn’t slept. Not really. She’d spent the night in the uncomfortable plastic chair beside your bed, her legs curled up, one hand still clutching yours like a lifeline. Every time you so much as twitched, Natasha’s eyes would snap open, her pulse spiking until the monitor’s steady beeping reassured her you were still okay.

But now, in the calm glow of morning, your eyes fluttered open again. Slowly. Blinking groggily against the light.

“Nat…?” Your voice was raspy, hoarse from disuse and the effects of anesthesia.

Natasha sat up straight, fingers lacing through yours. “I’m here.”

Your gaze slowly focused, your lips twitching into a weak, lopsided smile. “Still here…”

“Always.” Natasha said softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck..” Your brow furrowed, your hand drifting toward the bandage on your forehead. “My head feels… foggy.”

“You had a concussion.” Natasha explained, her thumb tracing calming circles on your palm. “You might feel a little fuzzy for a while.”

You nodded, your gaze sliding down the length of your body until it landed on your elevated leg. The bulky cast was awkward and ugly, but Natasha had never been so relieved to see something so damn unappealing.

“Leg’s broken?” you asked, your voice too casual, like you were trying to make the truth sound less real.

“Yeah.” Natasha’s voice was gentle. “Clean break, though. They fixed it up good. The nerves are fine. You’ll be walking in no time.”

You swallowed, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “So…not like last time?”

“Not like last time.” Natasha reassured, her voice steady and strong. “This one’s just a bone. It’ll heal.”

Your eyes glossed over with relief, the shaky exhale escaping your lips almost like a sob. “I really thought…I thought it was all happening again.”

Natasha’s chest tightened. “I know. And you pushed through it. You’re…You’re so damn brave.”

Your fingers tightened around hers. “I was a mess. Crying, panicking…that’s not brave..”

“Want me to argue?” Natasha’s voice cracked with a teary smile. “Because I will. And I’ll win.”

A half-laugh, half-sob slipped from your lips. “God, you’re stubborn.”

“And you love me for it.”

“Yeah. I do.”

Their fingers stayed entwined, the silence between them comfortable for a few precious moments. Natasha watched the way your breathing evened out, your expression softening into something like peace.

But before she could fully relax, the door creaked open. Natasha’s head snapped up, eyes blazing with protective wariness.

Yelena stepped in, her expression neutral but her eyes sharp as always. But she wasn’t alone.

Behind her were two familiar faces. Your parents. Natasha’s stomach clenched, guilt and terror slicing through her chest like a knife. But their eyes weren’t on her. They were on you.

“Y/n?” your mother’s voice cracked, the sound ragged with emotion.

Your eyes widened. “Mom? Dad?”

And then the tears came. From all of you. Natasha started to pull back, to give them space, but your hand tightened around hers, refusing to let her go.

But her gaze drifted to your parents, waiting for them to tell her off. To say this was her fault. That she’d broken you all over again. But instead, your mother walked over, reached out, and hugged Natasha. “Thank you…for being here for her.”

Natasha nearly collapsed from the sheer relief that tore through her. She glanced at Yelena, who gave her a subtle nod of approval. And somehow, that made the world seem just a little bit safer.

Your parents stayed for a while, their voices a soft blur of relief and love as they hugged you, whispered words of comfort, made promises of being there every step of your recovery. Natasha mostly stayed quiet, her fingers still wrapped around yours, never letting go.

Eventually, they slipped out for a much-needed break, some coffee, air, anything to relieve the ache of hours spent in panic. Yelena went with them, promising Natasha a few minutes alone with you.

Now, the room was quiet again. And your eyes found Natasha’s, searching for something unspoken.

“Everyone’s okay, right?” you asked, your voice still rough but stronger now. “The other drivers? From the crash?”

Natasha hesitated for a split second. “Yeah. Everyone made it out. Some got pretty banged up, broken ribs, concussions. But no deaths. They’re all alive.”

You let out a slow, shaky breath. “Thank God. That crash was…”

“Horrific.” Natasha finished for you, her gaze dropping to your hand in hers. “I saw it happen on the monitors. It was like…like a nightmare.”

“It was..” you admitted, your expression darkening. “Everything just…closed in. There was nowhere to go. Just metal and fire.”

Natasha’s thumb traced over your knuckles. “And you still fought your way out. You’re stronger than you think.”

“Not strong enough to keep my cool.” You laughed bitterly, your gaze slipping away. “I was a total wreck. If you hadn’t been there to talk me down, I don’t think I would’ve—”

“Stop.” Natasha’s voice was firm, cutting through the doubt like a knife. “You did everything right. You survived. You held on. And you’re here. That’s all that matters.”

Your eyes softened. “And you’re here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

A soft knock on the door pulled their attention. It swung open to reveal Helen, clipboard in hand, her expression calm but focused.

“Mind if I do a quick check-up?” Helen asked, her voice gentle. “I just need to make sure everything’s looking good.”

“Yeah, sure..” you mumbled, offering a weak smile.

Helen stepped in, eyes flicking between you and Natasha with that same warm but professional gaze. “Nice to see you looking a little less like roadkill.”

“That’s a real compliment right there..” you replied with a ghost of a grin.

“Hey, in here? That’s high praise.” Helen approached the bed, her eyes scanning the monitors before she leaned over to inspect the bandage on your forehead. “How’s your head feeling? Any dizziness? Nausea?”

“Uh…a little dizzy, but nothing terrible. Just… fuzzy.”

“That’s expected.” Helen said, her fingers carefully pressing around the bandage, checking for swelling. “The cut’s clean and stitched up well. We’ll keep an eye on the concussion, but I think you’re already doing better than most would.”

You managed a wry smile. “I guess I’m not most.”

Helen’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “No, you’re definitely not.”

She continued her examination, clicking her pen against her clipboard before moving toward your elevated leg. Her fingers traced gently along the edges of the cast, checking the exposed skin for circulation.

“Any pain? Tingling? Numbness?” Helen asked, all business now.

“Pain, yeah..” you admitted, your fingers twitching against Natasha’s hand. “But no tingling. I can…I can feel everything. Well, as much as you’d expect, I guess.”

“That’s excellent.” Helen nodded, glancing at the monitors again. “The break was nasty, but they did a damn good job putting you back together. You’ll be out of here sooner than you think.”

Your shoulders relaxed visibly. Natasha felt the tension drain out of her too, her chest loosening with every word Helen spoke.

“So…I’m not gonna be stuck in a bed for months again?” your voice was small, laced with a vulnerability that made Natasha’s heart twist.

Helen’s gaze softened. “No. You’re not. You’re going to heal. And once you’ve done the proper rehab, you’ll be walking again. Racing again, if that’s what you want.”

Your eyes flickered to Natasha’s, an unspoken question hanging between you. Natasha nodded, her grip tightening. “You’ve got this. And I’ll be there every step of the way.”

Helen straightened, tapping her clipboard lightly. “I’ll come back in a few hours for another check. Just get some rest and, for God’s sake, take it easy.”

You smirked, though your eyes still brimmed with exhaustion. “Yes, ma’am.”

Helen headed for the door but paused, looking back at Natasha. “And you. You should rest, too. You look worse than your patient.”

Natasha managed a shaky smile. “Not leaving her.”

“I figured.” Helen said, her own smile gentle. “But the offer stands.” With that, she disappeared down the hallway, leaving you and Natasha alone once more.

Hours later, Natasha’s legs felt heavier than concrete as she wandered through the hospital corridors. The bright lights, sterile air, and endless sea of white walls were all starting to blur together. But she needed to do something other than just sit by your bed and replay every horrific second of the crash over and over.

So she’d gone to fetch food. Something decent, not the bland garbage most hospitals served. Because you deserved better. Always.

The cafeteria was practically empty, just a few staff members drifting like ghosts through the aisles. Natasha grabbed a couple of pre-packaged sandwiches, bottled water, and fruit cups. Nothing glamorous, but it would do.

The walk back to your room was shorter than she expected, but when she turned the corner to the private suite, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Two interns were standing just outside the door, talking in low, excited voices. “Holy shit. That’s really her. Y/n. The Y/n.” The first one whispered, his voice barely restrained from outright squealing.

“I know, right?” The second intern shook her head, eyes practically sparkling. “She’s, like, legendary. After that last accident years ago? And then her comeback? It’s insane. And now she survived this? She’s got to be superhuman or something.”

“I would kill for a chance to talk to her. Even just an autograph.”

“Forget an autograph. Just seeing her — that’s like…damn. It’s like meeting a god.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened. Her eyes narrowed, gaze locking onto the interns like a hawk zeroing in on prey. She took a slow, deliberate step forward.

The interns saw her. And the joy drained from their faces like someone had flicked a switch.

“OO-h..” the male intern whispered, his eyes widening in terror. “That’s Natasha Romanoff…”

“No freaking way…” the girl muttered, her voice trembling.

Natasha’s eyes burned as she approached them. The sandwiches and drinks felt like dead weight in her hands. She didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. The look on her face was enough.

The interns immediately stammered out awkward apologies and practically sprinted down the hallway. Natasha’s gaze followed them until they disappeared around the corner. Only then did she let herself breathe.

She hated it. How the vultures were already circling. How they saw your pain as some kind of heroic legend instead of a goddamn near-death experience. How they would never understand what it was actually like.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped into the quiet safety of your room.

Your eyes were half-closed, but the second the door creaked, you blinked awake. And the lazy, knowing smile that spread across your lips nearly undid Natasha entirely.

“What’s got your murder face on?” you murmured, your voice a touch stronger now.

Natasha grumbled something incoherent and kicked the door shut behind her, the metal click a satisfying note of finality. “Just some idiots loitering around like they think this is some kind of theme park.”

“Fans?” you asked, smirking even as your eyelids drooped.

“Interns. But yeah, pretty much.” Natasha muttered, striding over to the bed and placing the plastic tray of food on the bed table. “I swear, they’ve got no boundaries. And if anyone else hovers near your door, I’m personally throwing them out the goddamn window.”

Your grin widened. “I love it when you get all protective. Makes me feel special..”

“Because you are special.” Natasha’s voice softened, and the tension in her shoulders finally eased. “And you’re still not eating this crap alone. I’m not getting scolded by you for making you eat hospital food again.”

“Oh nooo, can’t have that..” you joked, but your eyes shone with warmth.

Natasha slid the table closer to the bed, opening one of the sandwiches before nudging the fruit cup toward you. “Eat. And drink this water. No arguments.”

“Bossy.” you mumbled, but your fingers reached for the cup obediently.

Natasha’s gaze remained locked on you, tracing every detail of your face. The way your eyes still fluttered with fatigue, the way your lips twitched as you fought through the pain. It hurt to watch. But it was better than not seeing you at all.

Once she was convinced you had eaten at least a few bites of the food, Natasha leaned forward and gently tugged the sheets, sliding you slightly over on the mattress.

“What…what’re you doing?” you asked, your brows furrowing in confusion.

“Making room.” Natasha replied bluntly.

She kicked off her shoes, climbed onto the bed beside you, and settled herself down against the pillows. One arm curled protectively around your shoulders, pulling you gently against her own chest.

“You don’t have to-” you started.

“Shut up.” Natasha’s voice was soft, but the underlying force of it silenced you immediately. “You’re not getting rid of me. I’m staying right here. Whether you like it or not.”

You chuckled weakly. “Guess I don’t really have a choice, huh?”

“Nope.”

The warmth of your body against her own was more comforting than Natasha could have imagined. She felt the weight of exhaustion settle over her like a heavy blanket, tugging at her limbs and mind with quiet insistence.

“Nat?”

“Hm?” Natasha’s voice was already thick with sleep, her fingers gently stroking your arm.

“You’re the best.”

The only answer was a soft, barely audible snore. You smiled, your head nestled against Natasha’s shoulder, your own body easing into the kind of rest you hadn’t felt since the crash.

They were okay. Somehow, against all the odds, they were okay.

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov x reader #dom!natasha x reader #nat x reader #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov

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say-al0e · 9 months ago

Text

Hold Tight

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18. Minors, DNI!

Summary: Aemond has long sought comfort in the arms of the madame at his lowest. Now, he has what he's so long craved; a loving wife who is happy to indulge him. Warnings: Pregnant!Reader, lactation kink, PinV, mention of Luke's death and the war, mentions of the madame, Aemond's a little soft. If you notice anything else, let me know and I'll tag it! Pairing: Aemond x pregnant, wife!Reader Word Count: 7.6k HotD Taglist | HotD Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen knew the secrets of the Red Keep better than most.

As a child, he spent his days studying history and philosophy, learning the language of his ancestors or practicing with his blade, preparing himself for the future he knew awaited him. He kept to himself, tired easily of his brother’s torment and Helaena’s bugs - her riddles - and spent much of his idle time wandering the Keep.

Aegon was bold, slipping out of the gates with a command for the guard on watch to allow him and little regard for who knew. He used his power as the King’s eldest son, as the heir to the throne in the eyes of most, and came and went as he pleased. Helaena never left the Keep without supervision - never wanted to leave at all, really. And Aemond, as always, fell somewhere in between.

Many nights, when he found himself searching for sleep that refused to come, Aemond roamed the labyrinthine passages Maegor the Cruel left behind. He learned most of them, slipping in and out of the Keep as he pleased, and found the ones that he could someday use to his advantage.

Most apartments in the Keep contained an alternate entrance - or exit, if need be - that few knew existed. The royal apartments, he found, were most likely to contain them; Aegon’s, Helaena’s, his mother’s, his, yours.

Though, their existence was a secret he had yet to reveal to anyone, including you.

For as long as he could remember, Aemond made use of the passages. It was not often that he visited the city - he’d never been fond of it, never cared for the revelry in the same way Aegon did - nor did he spend much time by the water. The Keep was his home and where he felt safest. But he slipped from his room to the field where Vhagar resided from time to time, or to the Kingswood, just for a moment of peace.

However, after his thirteenth name day - and Aegon’s insistent ‘instruction’ - Aemond found himself returning to the city more than he ever had.

The unmarked door, one he’d grown to need and hate in equal measure, was his destination. It called to him, a siren song in the dead of night, on his darkest days and it seemed as if each day had grown darker than the last. The incident with Lucerys, the bitter sting of his mother’s wrath, the whispers beginning to fill the ears of all who might hear; every bit his fault, and every bit beckoning him closer to that door.

Aemond lingered there for a few long moments, moments he dared not count, as a war raged in his mind. Seconds could have passed, even hours, as he hid in the depths of the shadows. Many and more moons had passed since he last stepped foot into the city, since he last visited this place, but the song drew him closer.

There was comfort to be found inside, one he once craved so desperately, but he now knew better.

Love, affection, eluded him for so long that he saw this place - the woman inside, the gold he paid her - as his only option, the only chance to feel what others took for granted. A gentle hand, a soft word, a kind smile; he wanted little else and knew she would give it to him.

Inside those walls, the world ceased to exist. There would be no mention of his nephew, his brother, his wife. The woman inside would not ask, would not mention the whispers he knew she’d already heard, and would only listen to whatever he decided to share. There would be no strategy, no attempt to comfort him with words he knew she didn’t mean. Instead, she would hear him confess his gravest sins before attempting to comfort him with the warmth of her mouth around his cock, the pads of her fingers tracing the tense muscle of his shoulder when he curled into her after.

Spending the night there, in her arms - no matter how tempting - would only add to the oppressive weight already crushing his chest. It was a truth he’d come to learn now that he knew real love, true affection, a reality he’d faced.

Despite himself, the tricks his mind played, the comfort he found there had never been real. With his body curled into hers, her fingers carding through his hair and his breath shuddering as he finally allowed himself to feel, he willed it to be a true comfort. He once considered this place, her, the pinnacle of vulnerability, of safety, of comfort.

Now, he knew there was none to be found there.

There was nothing she could say, nothing she could give him, that would provide any comfort at all. The siren song had ended, faded into the din of the city surrounding him, and Aemond could hear a new call. This song was sweeter, gentler, had blown in on a strong wind and erased all other noise the moment he fell in love with you.

Though the marriage was one of convenience at first, an arrangement made by your father and Aemond’s grandsire - his hand for the full strength of your house, when the time came - it had grown into something more.

For much of his life, Aemond refused to entertain the idea that any marriage he found himself in would be one filled with love. Marriage was bound to duty, something done for the good of your house - the good of the realm, in his case - and love meant little. Most lords disliked their wives, took other women to bed at any given chance, and the wives often rejoiced as they were no longer forced to share a bed.

The most he’d ever hoped for was a wife he could tolerate.

Aemond shared little of his mother’s faith, even less of her devotion to prayer and piety, but he often found himself thanking the gods for bringing you to him.

Hidden in the Red Keep, very likely in his own bed as you’d taken to spending more nights with him than alone, he imagined you asleep beneath the soft linen. Very clearly, he could see the white of your nightgown - a beautiful, soft material he found himself clutching between calloused fingers as oft as you would allow, drifting to sleep with the feeling of it soothing his warm skin - as your head rested on his pillow in a desperate bid to surround yourself with his scent.

That image - the picture of you he now saw so clearly, stamped in place of the door he’d been staring at without really seeing - was enough to break the invisible bond that kept him cemented in place.

Without sparing the door another glance, Aemond turned and began his retreat to the Keep.

Each step through the city was quicker than the last, eager to return to the quiet of home - the solace that awaited him in his chambers. Aemond knew the route by heart now, could find his way back with his remaining eye closed, and breathed a sigh of relief as he wound through the hidden passages that lead back to his comfort.

The moment the door settled in place, clicked shut with a soft gust of cool air, Aemond crossed the expanse of the room carefully. His footsteps were light, a barely there sound in the quiet of the room, and he was glad for his caution as he perched on the arm of a chair. His gaze fell to the bed he’d grown so used to sleeping alone in and he felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth at the sight of another body making itself at home, directly in the middle of the mattress.

Just as he’d expected, you rested there comfortably. The white of your nightgown stood in stark contrast to the deep green of his sheets, a bright spot in the otherwise dim tapestry of his room - his life.

Aemond sat there for a few long moments, time beginning to slow as he drank in the sight of you. The Keep was quiet, save for the odd shuffle of guards or servants, and he could hear the soft sound of your breathing as you shifted.

Though you rested near the center of his bed, your head on his pillow and your hand outstretched - reaching for him, despite his absence - your brows furrowed with a discomfort he’d never seen. Beneath the soft bedding, he could see the curve of your body, resting on your side, and the shift of your hand as it lifted to cradle your stomach. The motion set him on edge, drew a sharp breath from him, and earned a fluttering of your lashes as some semblance of wakefulness returned to you.

“Aemond?” you questioned, voice still so soft despite the sleep clinging to you.

“Mm.” He hummed, voice equally soft in the dim light of the room - the lone candle you’d left burning, a beacon for him to find his way in the dark. There was little doubt where your thoughts had begun to drift, the questions you wanted to ask; where he’d gone, how he felt, what came next? But he could not yet describe his feelings in words.

Before you could so much as part your lips, he sighed. “I went to see about Vhagar.” The lie slipped from his lips easily, believable enough, and his eye fluttered shut in a sort of relief - or, perhaps, shame, guilt - when you made a sympathetic noise. “I did not mean to wake you.”

As he stood, fingers beginning to work at the buttons of his doublet, you hummed. “’Twas not you,” you informed him, a sigh of your own escaping as you sat up against the headboard. “Your babe is restless and will not allow me to find comfort.” Aemond watched for a moment, keen eye following every move you made, as your hand returned to your growing belly.

The babe you carried was now very visible, obvious to all who spared you a glance, and the sight was one that enraptured him and terrified him in equal measure. Aemond was a proud man, one who was eager to carry on the Targaryen line, but his family was not one of love. There was no comfort, no happiness, to be found in the Keep - none to be found in the arms of his mother, certainly not his father - and he often feared the same fate awaited his own children. But the soft smile that curved the plush of your lips each time you rested your hand on the swell of your belly and the delighted laughter you breathed each time one of Helaena’s babes brought you into their playtime served as another light, shining in the dark; a spot of hope that, perhaps, his children may know a love he never had.

Aemond’s eye finally lifted to yours, met your concerned glance with an even one of his own after a beat of silence that stretched on almost too long, before he shook his head. “My babe? I seem to recall that we both had a hand in his creation,” he reminded you, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he removed his breeches and stood in nothing but his small clothes.

“Mm, perhaps,” you hummed, though the glimmer in your eyes told him you remembered very well. “But her nocturnal nature is solely your own. At this hour, she is yours and yours alone,” you teased, smiling softly as he padded across the stone floor to make his way to bed.

“Still insistent our first babe will be a girl?”

“A mother knows,” you hummed, watching as he slipped into bed beside you. His violet eye raked over your form, still so easily visible in the dim light of the room, and you bit back a sigh as you reached for him. “Come here.”

With little coaxing, Aemond shifted closer to you. The shift of his body was easy, almost as natural as breathing now, and you hummed in encouragement as you pushed away the bedding to allow his head to settle on your plush thighs. His favored position was resting with his head on your chest, face tipped to the crook of your neck, but the swell of your belly and the sensitivity in your breasts left you both with little choice but to find an alternative.

The beat of his heart began to slow when your hand fell from your belly to his hair, fingers softly carding through the silver strands - now free of the tie he kept in it and the lace of his eyepatch. “What happened, my love?”

Silence settled thick over the room and he knew that you weren’t asking where he’d gone. Though you worried, his disappearance was of little concern to you in that moment. The truth would out eventually, he would admit his shame sooner rather than late - as he so often seemed to with you - but this question afforded him a bit more time.

This question was the one he dreaded, the one that truly meant; what happened that night with Lucerys?

“I sincerely regret that business with Luke,” he admitted, voice a whisper in the still of the room. “I… I was angry, but I only meant to scare him. I did not mean to end his life. But Vhagar, my temper; I lost control.” The confession, whispered to you in the only place he’d ever known true safety, felt like a weight off his chest. It left behind a crater, a chasm that he knew would be difficult to fill, but sharing the secret with you made it easier for him to draw his breath. It escaped as a soft sigh, a puff of air blown across your thighs - now exposed, fabric of your nightgown pushed out of the way to allow his own hand to fall to the plush of your thigh. “Aegon is shortsighted. He wishes to throw feasts, to celebrate bloodshed. Mother is angry because she knows what must come next. Peace is no longer an option.”

Aemond’s confession lingered in the air for a long moment. It reverberated in his ears, rang like the bells that tolled on the day of his father’s death, but you calmed the noise with a quiet sigh.

“I don’t believe peace was ever an option,” you confessed, carefully brushing silver strands away from his sapphire eye. “This war started long ago, before you or Aegon or Rhaenyra were even a thought. It will be convenient, for some, to blame you and Vhagar, but this began before you took the sky together. And someday, there will be none who remember what started it or why it was fought. History will only remember the bloodshed that we must now bear the brunt of.”

No response came to him, lost in the thoughts that swept through his mind like a raging storm, but he knew you didn’t expect one. The words were meant to be a balm, soothing the soul he bared only for you, and he took them as such as he allowed his eye to fall closed.

There was something to be said of routine, then, as you followed the familiar dance that started months ago.

Silence lingered for a beat, long enough for his breathing to even and your own to grow deeper - always so shallow now, he noticed, almost labored as your stomach grew ever rounder - before you spoke again.

“I spent the day with the twins,” you informed him, fingers still softly working through the strands of his hair. “Helaena wanted to take Dreamfyre out so I sat with them and we watched her fly. I think Jaehaerys will love being a dragonrider, like Helaena, but it seems Jaehaera has no interest.”

“And Maelor?”

Aemond’s question was reflexive, asked without thought, but you took a moment to consider it. “Too young to tell,” you decided, allowing your hand to drift to his cheek and brush the sharp line of his jaw. “He has no reaction to the stink of dragon, unlike his sister, but he may, later on. Aegon wishes to take him flying on Sunfyre but Helaena has forbidden it.” Another moment of quiet, then, before you hummed once more. “Has an egg been chosen for our babe’s cradle? Or do you wish our daughter to be like her father and claim a fearsome old beast?”

The reminder of the babe you swelled with drew a shuddering breath from him as Aemond struggled to keep the grasp he held on your thigh light. “Our son will have an egg,” he promised, “but they do not always hatch. He might try for one of the unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone. Vermithor is nearly as fearsome as Vhagar, nearly as old.”

‘If we can pry Dragonstone from Rhaenyra’s hands,’ went unsaid, though you both allowed the thought to cross your minds.

That thought did not linger, however, as you allowed your hand to drift from his cheek to his shoulder. Soft fingers caressed his skin, warm and strong, and Aemond relaxed into your touch. “How can I help you, my love? I mislike seeing you this way.”

More often than not these days, Aemond found himself here. Many and more nights had been spent curled into the curve of your body, his head resting against your skin as you stroked his hair and spoke softly to him, but they seemed to grow more frequent. Aemond knew that you were observant, that you’d realized he seemed to need your embrace more and more with each passing day, but even he could not articulate why.

Perhaps the weight of his inheritance had finally caught up to him. Or, perhaps it was the knowledge of all he’d done in preparation for his brother’s reign. He even considered it was the possibility that he found himself desiring his brother’s crown, the one Aegon had no desire for.

In truth, he knew that it was you.

The moment you joined hands, the moment you became his wife, Aemond began to feel the walls he’d spent so long building crumble around him. You chipped away at the slowly, almost imperceptibly, but they toppled all the same.

With every moment spent together, with every word of affection you shared or every soft brush of your fingertips across his skin, Aemond felt his world shifting.

Everything he’d ever considered important remained, still mired in the golden glory of his inheritance, only you now loomed over it all. All with the babe you now carried, his babe, alongside you.

“You are with child,” he whispered, shifting to lie on his back and glance up at you.

“I hadn’t noticed,” you returned, drily. When he fixed you with a look, violet eye unamused, you sighed. “I am with child,” you agreed, free hand falling to your belly as you stroked his hair once more. “Our child. That is what we wanted, is it not?”

“It is.” That was always the plan; get married, have children, carry on the Targaryen legacy. Only, the plan had never included losing his eye and spilling the first blood that began a war - killing a child, a nephew.

Aemond could not bring himself to say those words aloud, however, as your fingers carefully carded through his hair, he knew that you understood. There was a fear you both shared, one that had grown heavier since the incident with Lucerys, but he dared not speak it and neither did you. Losing a babe was something that frightened you both - him, nearly as much as losing you in the process - but he willed himself to push that concern to the back of his mind.

Instead, he searched desperately for a thought more pleasant.

Initially, when your betrothal was announced and preparations began for the wedding, he heard murmurs of those who pitied you. It was a shame, they all said, that such a pretty maiden - known for her kindness, her beauty, her wit - would be married to someone like him. He was, after all, noted for his sullen silence and impassive expression.

Everyone wondered how you might fare, locked away in the Keep as your husband-to-be rarely ventured outside its walls, just as Aemond wondered how he might tolerate a highborn lady who doubtlessly believed the whispers.

Those whispers had proven false - just as you’d proven that you never believed any of them.

Love, a curious thing he never hoped to find, bloomed between the two of you. It was not instant, as he learned you had hoped, but slow and cautious. Trust took time, vulnerability even more, but they came, eventually. And with them came a relationship that seemed to stun the whole of the realm into silence.

The pair of you were evenly matched: both highborn, well-educated and eager to continue learning; both fond of the quiet, though you had a natural charm and ability to pretend to enjoy banal chatter that he did not possess; both desperate for a love, a comfort, that you never found at home. There were many similarities, and more differences, but the love that bloomed brought you both a happiness you never knew possible.

And now, as you grew round with the evidence of your love, he discovered another feeling he never thought possible.

Aemond always found you beautiful - he agreed with the whispers of court, that you were much too beautiful to be chained to him for the rest of your life - and he spent the first few weeks of your courtship attempting to ignore his baser urges. There would be time enough for him to indulge in you, for him to see you as no other had ever seen you, but a desperate need for you began to take root then and had yet to release him from its iron grasp.

With every day that passed, Aemond wanted you even more.

Aegon often spoke of the joys of sex, the great pleasure he found in the Streets of Silk, and Aemond never quite believed him. The little experience he had - courtesy of his brother’s goading and gold coin - proved Aegon a liar. However, when Aemond found himself settled between your thighs, he finally believed his brother.

Now, there was little that settled him - anchored him to the moment and cleared his mind of all the noise - quite like losing himself in the throes of pleasure with you.

Since you began to swell with his child, your belly growing round and your tits beginning to spill from your gowns, Aemond found himself even more drawn to you - a feat he hadn’t believed possible. There was something so alluring about the sight of you, wandering the Keep dressed in the color of his house and bearing the most obvious sign that you were his, that it had begun growing maddening.

Luckily, you seemed to be just as desperate for him as he was for you.

The maesters assured you both that there was no harm to be done in satiating your urges and, though he was hesitant in the beginning, soon trusted they spoke nothing but the truth. Now, as he found himself eager for comfort - soft words, loving touches - he allowed himself to seek it in your embrace.

“Are you tired, ābrazyrys?” His question was soft, spoken into the silence that settled easily around you, and met with your hum.

“No.” It was a lie, he knew - could tell by the way your lashes fluttered and your fingers slowly brushed at his skin, the way your lips parted with badly concealed yawns - but you would not be swayed from allowing him whatever he wanted. “I’m here, my love,” you assured him, thumb caressing his cheek. “Take what you need.”

Aemond knew that your body was beginning to grow weary - he’d heard your whispered complaints to Helaena; how your back ached constantly, how your body felt heavier with every step, how even your softest gowns felt too rough on your sensitive skin - and nearly refused you as he had no desire to cause you pain. But the warmth of arousal had already entered his blood, burned beneath his skin, and the shift of your thighs beneath his head indicated that you felt it, too.

Rather than backing away, Aemond moved to sit up and crowded closer to you.

“Gevie,” he whispered, violet eye raking over your face as he lifted his hand to cup your cheek. “Issa gevie ābrazyrys.” Aemond pressed his mouth to yours, then, and you swore you felt his lips curve into a soft smile as you leaned into him.

Aemond had softened some, over the course of your marriage. Though he remained himself, steadfast and strong in who he had become, the edges grew a little more polished. His touch was gentler, his words softer, his kiss less rushed, and you appreciated the effort he’d taken as he tipped his head to deepen the kiss. His hand descended, brushed the soft material of your nightgown as his tongue traced the seam of your lips, and you released a contented sigh.

The large expanse of his hand fell to your ribcage, just beneath the swell of your breast, and though you knew it was coming, you still gasped as his thumb brushed a sensitive nipple.

“I’m alright,” you assured him, the moment he broke the kiss - before he could ask. Your hand lifted to his cheek, thumb brushing his warm skin as you offered him a smile. “Sensitive, is all. The maesters told me it’s normal,” you explained, watching as his gaze fell to your breasts. “They… they also said stimulation may help,” you continued, fingers returning to his hair as his violet eye returned to meet yours.

“Stimulation?”

Aemond knew he hadn’t been subtle in the attention he paid your swelling breasts, in the way his gaze fell to them every time he found you bare between his sheets, but his skin burned with an embarrassed warmth and an overwhelming lust as he realized what you were offering.

“Mm,” you hummed, not bothering to hide your actions as you lifted the skirt of your nightgown higher up your thighs. “I tried, with my fingers, the way they instructed to no avail. Perhaps you have another idea, my love?”

For a brief moment, Aemond felt his head begin to swim. His thoughts muddled, each one making less sense than the last, but they all seemed to lead in the same direction. It was a desire he’d never dared speak aloud, one he barely allowed himself to consider, but the rounder you grew with his seed - the heavier your breasts grew - the harder it became for him to forget.

Most nights, Aemond spent his time wrapped in your embrace. He enjoyed exploring your skin, mapping the soft expanse of your body with his hands and mouth, and had committed it all to memory. His words sometimes failed him, never quite capturing just how much you meant to him - just how deeply he loved you - but his touch never did. With a flick of his tongue or a brush of his fingers, with a snap of his hips or a soft press of his hand, he continued to find new ways to express himself. And when he’d gotten his fill of you, of hearing you cry his name and watching your body writhe with an exquisite pleasure only he could provide, he filled you with his seed before sometimes settling at your breast.

While he once feared you might find the act strange, that it might repulse you, you were eager to take him as he was. Any act that offered him comfort was one you allowed and the few times he curled into you, flushed body pressed to yours and mouth pressed to your breast, he felt nothing but your love.

As he swallowed, hesitant, you offered him a smile. “You will not harm me or the babe, my love,” you assured him, fingers caressing his jaw as they began to drift lower. “If anything, you will be helping me.” When he frowned, uncertain - disbelieving - you hummed. “Feel,” you instructed, reaching to guide the hand on your rib cage to your breast. It was engorged, heavy and warm in his palm, and you sighed as his thumb mindlessly brushed the nipple once more. “When the babe is born, she will have a nursemaid and I will be left with swollen, leaking tits.”

Aemond acted without thought in that moment and allowed himself to take what you offered so freely. His hands lifted to the straps of your thin nightgown and brushed them off your shoulders, giving him an opportunity to free you from the confines of the fabric.

Pregnancy had changed your body, in a way that terrified him at first - something so delicate now rested within you, a life he helped create - but now drove him to the brink of madness.

A searing warmth, all encompassing and hotter than any dragon fire, enveloped him. And a single glance at your face proved that you did, too. You felt the heat of him, the warmth of his palms - of his heavy gaze, his lithe body - and feared you were only moments from begging him to act when he took mercy on you. The gift you offered, the act you so willingly encouraged him to indulge in, was one he would never refuse.

His touch had never been exceedingly gentle, nor was it particularly hesitant. Aemond was a man assured, confident. There were moments he could be tender, even teasing, but none compared to the moment at hand.

The press of his hands to your sides, just beneath your rib cage, was soft. It was a featherlight pressure, one you feared you might not have felt were it not for the overwhelming sensitivity of your skin, and you sighed contentedly as your hand returned to the silver strands of his hair.

Slowly, and with a caution you’d never before seen in your husband, Aemond’s hands lifted.

Aemond was almost tentative, careful, in the way he touched you. His violet eye remained fixed on your face - watching, waiting for any hint of discomfort - and you offered him an encouraging smile as you leaned into his touch. “I am not fragile,” you reminded him, a small grin forming at the words he’d once used to declare his surprise at your steadfastness, your unwavering strength. “I will not break.”

A moment passed, in which you watched your husband gather himself, before his hands lifted to your breasts. He seemed to marvel at the weight of them, the warmth of your skin - usually so cool in the depths of his chambers - and hummed.

As he leaned in, gaze finally dipping to your breasts, you expected him to press his mouth to your skin - bury his face in the crook of your neck, press his lips to your collarbone and work his way down - but you were surprised when he tipped his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. Though he never left you wanting, never left you doubting his desire for you, this kiss stole your breath.

The kiss was unlike any other; fierce, passionate. It fanned the flames of desire already burning within you and turned it into an uncontrollable blaze. As eager as you always felt for his touch, the fierceness of his kiss left desperate tears pricking at the backs of your eyes.

Calloused hands - toughened by years of swordplay and dragon riding - began to explore in earnest.

Every press of his palm, every swipe of his fingers drew soft noises from your lips, cries that Aemond swallowed eagerly. He relished in them, in the noises only he managed to draw from you, and you felt the evidence of his pleasure press into your thigh.

For a moment, you wondered if he might refuse your offer. However, the thought disappeared with a swipe of his thumb over the sensitive skin of your nipple.

Aemond allowed you to break the kiss, lips parting in a sharp gasp, and wasted little time in pressing his mouth to the curve of your jaw. There seemed to be little hurry in his actions, the way he nipped and kissed the soft skin of your throat, but you could feel the tension in his corded muscles as he crowded into you. He seemed to be nearly vibrating with desire, a tremble that made you lightheaded - an awe that you could produce such a reaction in such a man - and you struggled to catch your breath as he began to descend.

There was a brief worry - a split second thought that never fully formed - that he might avoid your eye in the way he had the very first time, when there was no babe and no real reason to suckle at your breast. However, it was quickly driven away as your husband’s violet eye lifted to meet yours.

Soft kisses were pressed to your skin, across the tops of your breasts and between them - violet eye fluttering as he paused only to marvel at the newfound heat emanating from your skin.

“The maesters told me I would remain warm until the babe is here. They jest it is because I carry the blood of the dragon,” you informed him, hand falling to the back of his head to cradle him close. “I’m not sure I mind. But, tell me, husband; what do you think?”

Though your husband had always been a man of few words, he seemed lost in his own thoughts. The words you spoke meant little to him, it seemed, as he found himself capable of only a simple reply. “I shall keep you warm and full,” he promised.

Already, he could see you swollen with his seed - with the blood of the dragon - again and again. He would see you round with his babe as many times as you would allow and you could see the promise in his eye as he glanced up at you. “Perhaps it is good there will be a nursemaid, then,” you hummed, unable to bite back your grin as Aemond’s mouth pressed just beneath your breast. “So you may spend as much time at my breast as you’d like.”

In the moment, the present mattered little. All that had come to pass ceased to exist and all that might come felt good, sweet. In reality, the future seemed bleak, but in the moment, there was a future. And all either of you wanted was to pretend.

Without sparing another moment, Aemond’s lips wrapped around the sensitive nipple.

The warmth of his mouth, the swirl of his tongue, was cautious at first - desperate to keep from hurting you, to keep from causing any pain - and you hummed contentedly as his eye fluttered shut. Your fingers carded through his hair, touch as delicate as his own, as your free hand fell to his chest.

Aemond’s heart thrummed beneath your fingertips, the beat of it as erratic as you’d ever felt it, and you felt your own beat in time with his.

No part of you ever imagined you would find yourself here - in bed with your dragon rider, the fierce swordsman and Targaryen prince, suckling at your breast - but there was no dismay in it. The pair of you were two halves of a whole: him, desperate to be wanted, needed, loved; you, desperate to love, to want, to need. There was a balance, an equal give and take, that saw you both offering the other what they desired freely. You understood one another in a way no one ever had and you were grateful for that understanding as Aemond attempted to crowd closer.

“My sweet love,” you whispered, fingers brushing the silver strands from his cheek. “This is what we both needed,” you assured him, voice a quiet lilt in the dim of his chambers. “Feels so much better.”

A pleased hum - proud, soothed by your praise - escaped your husband as his free hand returned to your thigh. His fingers pressed into the plush skin, anchoring himself to you, and you sighed at the touch. His hand was so close to where you wanted him and you asked without sparing it a second thought.

“Aemond,” you whispered, hand reaching for his - fingers clasping around his wrist and dragging it higher. “Touch me, please. Need you.”

Calloused fingers slipped between your thighs, lips curving into a smile at how readily you parted for him. His touch paused only for a moment, as did the gentle pull of his lips at your breast, as he seemed to realize the state you were in.

Slick pooled between your thighs and Aemond readily gave you what you wanted. His fingers swiped through your arousal, gathering your slick, before his thumb found the all-too sensitive bundle of nerves.

The wet slip of his fingers was self-assured, an action he’d taken a thousand times before, and it seemed as if he knew your own body better than you did. Heat pooled in the pit of your stomach, filled your veins and blazed up your spine, as he rolled the numb beneath his thumb for a moment before abandoning it to press his fingers to your slick opening.

“You enjoy this,” he accused, finally allowing his violet eye to open as he released your nipple and urged you to turn so he could reach the other. “As much as I do,” he continued, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I do,” you promised, sigh escaping your lips as you felt his long fingers press into you - curling, parting, manipulating in the way only he knew. “I have never turned you away,” you reminded him, words ending in a breathless moan. “If you are as depraved as you imagine yourself, then consider me your equal.”

Aemond seemed pleased by your assertion, proud to have found a wife who not only indulged him, but understood him. And you were pleased, as he returned his mouth to your aching breast, that he trusted you enough to allow you this glimpse.

The press of his mouth to your breast was growing ever eager, desperate for whatever you could give him - and, as it turned out, was not much yet, though you knew he would patiently await the day it would be more. It was soothing, almost, in a way that eased the ache you’d begun growing weary of, and you parted your lips to thank him for it the moment his thumb pressed to your aching clit.

A keening moan escaped, a noise that might’ve brought an embarrassed heat to your skin in the beginning of your marriage, but such noises were familiar now and your husband reveled in them.

Some small part of you wondered if he meant to have you both finish this way, him with his mouth pressed to your breast and you with his fingers curling into your heat. Only, he gave you little time to wonder as he lifted his head to glance at you fully.

“I know your body aches,” he hummed, press of his fingers slowing - thumb stilling on your clit, earning a displeased whine. “Do you think you can take my cock, my love? I have no desire to cause you discomfort.”

“You will,” you huffed, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging - just slightly, “if you do not fuck me.”

Aemond laughed, then, a sound you imagined few others had ever heard, before pulling away from you. You whined at the loss of his touch, the emptiness that filled you and the cool that suddenly chilled you, before your attention was stolen. His lips wrapped around his fingers, capturing the taste of you on his tongue, and you swallowed hard to keep from lunging at him as he settled against the headboard himself.

“Come here,” he beckons, hand already reaching for you hip and hauling you onto his lap. “So fucking perfect.”

Before the babe, before your stomach began to swell, this was a rarity. Aemond preferred you beneath him, pressed into his mattress as he left you seeing stars, but he’d admitted he could see the beauty of the position you now found yourselves in.

As expected, the moment you settled atop him, his gaze returned to your breasts. “One may think you’d never seen tits before,” you teased, not bothering to hide your grin as Aemond rolled his eye. “I jest, my love,” you hummed, reaching out for him - encouraging him to return his mouth to your breast. “It helped,” you assured him. “They no longer ache as they did when I woke. Thank you.”

Aemond lifted a hand to the back of your neck, then, and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss. The kiss was more familiar, something you’d grown to expect - grown to love - and you felt yourself melting into it as he crowded you closer.

The swell of your belly made it difficult to press your body as close to his as you would’ve liked, as close as he would’ve liked - in the privacy of his chambers, beneath the sheets of his bed, Aemond liked you a close as he could have you - but it was enough. His hands explored your warm skin, slick beneath his fingers and no longer aching in the way you’d complained earlier, and you relaxed into his touch as his hand slipped between your spread thighs once more.

Though you expected his fingers to return to your center, Aemond’s hand fell to his cock. You breathed something akin to a sigh of relief as you felt the tip glide through your slick folds, catching on your aching clit and drawing another keening moan that he eagerly swallowed.

The head of his cock nudged your slick opening, nestled there as you rested on your knees, before he lifted his hand to your hip and pulled you down.

A familiar stretch, a familiar warmth, captured the whole of your attention as you sank down onto Aemond’s cock.

Every pulse of him, every twitch of his cock - every ridge, every vein - was heightened by your sensitivity and your eyes nearly rolled back as you sank onto him fully. He filled you wonderfully, perfectly, and reveled in you saying so. Only, he barely allowed you a moment at all to speak before his mouth returned to your breasts.

Each sensation was overwhelming in its own right, every touch more consuming than the last, but the combination of it all had you seeing stars.

The warmth of Aemond’s body pressed to yours, the way his muscles clenched as he rocked his hips up to meet yours, the insistent press of his hand - fingers dimpling your skin as he held you tight - was all magnified by the warmth of his lips pressed to your breast. Even as his hips snapped, pressing his cock in deeper, the press of his mouth remained soft.

Aemond was careful to keep from hurting you, despite his desire to devour you - clear in the lust darkening his violet eye - and you lifted a grateful and to his cheek.

“Feels so good,” you breathed, gaze meeting his. “You make me feel so good, my love.”

The praise he craved, the words he desperately needed to hear but would never ask for, earned you a sharp snap of his hips - driving him deeper, pressing you closer - and you gasped as his teeth carefully nipped at your sensitive nipple. He’d already taken what little your body had produced, would need to wait a little longer for more, but that did nothing to stop him from continuing to suckle at the soft skin as his thumb fell to your clit.

As he so often tried, your husband pressed you on to your pleasure first. His fingers, his mouth, his cock; all working together in an eager attempt to earn your blissful cries. That sharp violet eye watched your face, watched your lips part and your lashes flutter, and you could see the pride in his gaze as you began to quiver in his grasp.

When your release washed over you, heavy and so desperately needed, Aemond allowed himself to let go. He chased his own high for a moment, sinking into the pleasure of you - of your slick cunt, of your swollen breasts.

With a muffled noise, Aemond spilled into you - his spend filling you with a warmth you swore you would never tire of. It was accompanied by a soft gasp, a quiet noise that you wouldn’t have heard over your own heartbeat had you not been paying him such close attention, and you reached for his cheek with a soft smile.

Aemond easily lifted his head, his mouth meeting yours, and gave you the kiss you wanted. It was an assurance for you both, a gesture meant to calm - to serve as a reminder that you were bound, one - and ended with his forehead pressed to yours.

“All of this,” you whispered, the pair of you still struggling to catch your breath, “will end and we will carry on. And when our duty is done, we will be free to live our lives as we wish. You did not start this war, but you will finish it.”

“I will,” he promised, violet eye glimmering with an unscheduled tear as his hand fell to your swollen belly.

It was a promise he couldn’t make in good faith, nor one he could reasonably be expected to keep, but it was enough for the moment. The idea that this is what awaited him - this life, you - made him desperate. He wanted nothing more than to carry on, than to spend the rest of his life right here, and he would do anything in his power to make it happen.

And, if he could not spend the rest of his life here, he would perish in the pursuit.

____________________________________________________

Author's Note: Aemond just. Captivates me. How am I supposed to survive two years without more content?

Taglist: @anaya-rhys, @holypeacecrown, @marvelously-flawed, @travelingmypassion, @letsgotothehop, @reynacrawford, @liannafae, @ffsg0jo

#aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #aemond x you #hotd smut #hotd imagine #v's fics

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anakinca · 20 days ago

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Baby .... I want to read something like this where we have a picnic day with our beautiful general in a meadow with pretty flowers all around us. Anakin with his head in our lap as we stroke his wavy hair, put little flowers on him as he sleeps with a smile. A contrast of the strong general he usually is. 💗💗💗💗

It can be on Alderaan or Naboo wherever you prefer.

The reader can be a princess

—❝every star in the galaxy❞

anakin skywalker x reader

tw ; nothing, just pure fluff

a/n ; I FEEL LIKE I ALWAYS DISAPPEAR FOR MONTHS AND THEN REAPPEAR IM SO SORRY LMFAOAO 😭 i'm so sorry these requests are so delayed, i genuinely have been so busy and my writers block is so intense. BUT IM BACK, WRITING ALL REQUESTS, AND TAKING THEM AGAIN, SO MAKE SURE U SEND IN UR REQUESTS CUTIES. i hope you all enjoy this, angels <3

THE SUN WAS WARM ON NABOO THAT AFTERNOON—GENTLE AND GOLDEN. It was the kind that made you want to stretch out in a field and forget the rest of the galaxy existed. And, for once, Anakin had let you pull him away from everything. No comms, no strategy meetings, no troopers needing orders. Just you, him, your love, and the open meadow dotted with wildflowers.

The basket you packed was practically forgotten by now, just a few feet away, and half-emptied. Anakin had eaten exactly one pastry you made this morning before mumbling something about being tired and dropping straight into the grass with a groan. You’d tried not to laugh as he made himself comfortable, his head ending up in your lap like it belonged there.

Which, at this point, it does.

So many nights and days have been spent with his head on your lap, with your fingers carding gently through his hair. It's a solace of his he's never thought he'd ever get to experience. But, Force, he thanks the stars that he does.

It's what he looks forward to every time he gets to come back home to you. The feeling of your warm embrace and your touch, letting him know that he's finally safe.

Now he was dozing, one arm lazily wrapped around your lower back as you sit up in the grass, the other draped across his chest. His breathing was slow and even, and you could tell by the way his fingers twitched every now and then that he wasn’t fully asleep, but definitely far enough to let his eyes get the rest they desperately need.

You run your fingers through his soft, sandy curls, brushing them back from his forehead as the breeze rolled over the field. A soft smile pulled at the edges of your lips as you picked a few of the little flowers near your legs—daisies, mostly—and started tucking them gently into his hair. It was dumb. Silly. But he looked so peaceful like this, how could you resist?

And it definitely doesn't help how angelic he looks just about now. How could he ever be the one to call you an angel when he looks like this?

He mumbled something under his breath as you brushed a petal against his cheek, gently weaving them into his hair.

“Hm?” You hum questioningly, your thumb caressing his cheek gently.

“’S nothing,” he murmured, still barely awake. “Keep doing that.”

You bit back a smile, brushing your fingers through his hair again, this time more deliberately. He sighed so gently, the way it sounded so reverent in it's own way. Like it was the first time he’d let himself exhale all week.

It was a relieving contrast, seeing him like this. The man who usually stood so cocky and commanding, voice sharp and full of purpose, now curled into you like a tired little boy. His boots were off, his tunic soft and rumpled from where you’d tugged it earlier, teasing him for still dressing like he was about to lead his battalion into a war.

“You don’t look like a general right now,” you said softly, just thinking out loud as your fingers trace his every delicate feature.

One of his lids opened, letting you see one of those ocean eyes that hold so much depth to them, the very ones you fell so deeply in love with.

The way he looked up at you held so much passion, that it was hard to express, and it made your very heart tighten. How could a man love so deeply, that you can see it even with only one of his eyes?

The corners of his mouth twitch, opening both eyes now as his lashes flutter a little, trying to blink the drowsiness away. “Good.” He murmurs.

You blinked. “Good?” You ask, a small laugh in your voice.

Anakin shifted a little, turning his face so his cheek was pressed fully against your thigh, as that boyish grin you love so much appears on his face. “I don’t want to be a general when I’m with you.”

His tone hit you in a way you weren’t expecting. It's so gentle, honest. So utterly adoring.

You let yourself trace the edge of his jaw with your thumb, watching the way his eyes fluttered closed again, thick lashes resting. “Then what are you when you’re with me?”

He was quiet for a moment, taking in deep breaths as he relishes in the peace—the peace of you.

“Just… me.” He replies in a whisper.

While his words are so simple, you know him well enough to know how much meaning they really convey. And truly, he finds that he can just be when he's with you—that he can show his flaws and not be berated for them like he's been his whole life. That you'll love him despite it all, and that's everything to him.

Your heart did a little flip. You didn’t say anything, just leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple. He hummed in approval and relaxed even further, like he could melt right into you.

After a while, his voice floated up again, low and drowsy. “Are there flowers in my hair?”

“Maybe.”

He huffed, but there was no real protest. “You’re ridiculous.” He grins, though you know he doesn't mean it. If anything, he's enjoying this. A little too much at that.

“And you’re beautiful.” You giggle, twirling one of his curls around your pointer finger.

The sound is music to his ears, and it makes his grin only grow wider. He's really found his peace. What would he do without that melodic sound that keeps him tethered to this very ground?

“You’re making it really hard to go back to the Temple after this,” he said, voice barely above a whisper now.

You kissed the top of his head and smiled against his curls. “Good.” You whisper back, wanting to keep him here in your arms forever. He's always told you that's a dream of his, to be able to never leave your embrace.

It's moments like these that Anakin knows he's found his home in a person. He cherishes these memories with every piece of him, and enjoys them with every fragment of his heart.

How could he not? He's with the woman he loves more than every star in the galaxy combined, the one he holds so dearly. The one that he breathes the very air for, lives his life to see. Just your presence lights a flame in his heart he doesn't know if he deserves.

But you let him know he deserves it, you always do.

And under the blue Naboo sky, Anakin let himself rest—knowing he's safe, loved, and wrapped in a kind of peace he didn’t think he’d ever be able to have. Not in this life.

But somehow, with you, he's able to.

@thesassypadawan @anakinstwinklebunny @sydkneez @dessxoxsworld @nikiloveshayden @sweetcheesecakesblog @throughparisallthroughrome @fredswrite @divineani

let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the tag list, angels <3

#anakinca #angelreqs #anakin skywalker #hayden christensen #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen imagines #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin x reader #star wars anakin #star wars fanfiction #clay beresford #james kelly #star wars

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misspygmypie · 9 months ago

Text

Meet & Greet... and more? Pt. 2

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader Words: 2492 Click here for Part 1

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

It was a quiet evening at Lando’s apartment. The driver sat hunched over his laptop, his focus fixed on race strategies and upcoming circuits. His thoughts, though, were miles away from racing. They lingered on the Meet & Greet event from a few days ago, the moment he had met Y/N and her adorable 4-year-old son, Noah.

Lando had been smitten from the first minute he saw Y/N. Her genuine smile and the way she looked at Noah with such love had tugged at something deep inside him. He had given her his number with the hope that it would lead to something more, but as the days passed with no text or call, his hopes began to fade away.

Oscar had noticed the cloud hanging over Lando. During a break at the team headquarters he approached his team mate. “So, have you heard from Y/N yet?”

Lando’s eyes had lost their usual sparkle as he shook his head. “No, nothing. I’m starting to lose hope, to be honest. Maybe she just wasn’t interested.”

“You never know, mate,” Oscar had replied, “she might just be a bit shy or overwhelmed. Give it time.”

And so Lando had continued with his daily routine, a part of him still hoping, even if it was only a flicker. Then, on this particular evening, his phone buzzed, jolting him from his thoughts. It was a message from an unknown number and he frowned, unlocking the device and opening the text.

He glanced down, and his heart skipped a beat.

Y/N: Hi Lando, it’s Y/N from the Meet & Greet last week. I just wanted to say thank you again for the great time and the bear. Noah loves it and is always hugging it when he sleeps. Here’s a photo of him with his new best friend 😊

He looked at the photo and felt a huge smile instantly creeping on his face. Noah was nestled comfortably in his bed, the bear clutched tightly in his tiny arms. The sight of the peaceful sleeping child with the bear’s head peeking out from the covers made Lando’s heart melt.

He quickly started typing a response but paused, his fingers hovering over the screen. He wanted to convey how much it meant to him that Noah loved the gift but he also wanted to make sure his message came across just right. He was a professional at handling high-speed racing strategies, but this - this was a whole different kind of nerve-wracking.

Finally, he took a deep breath and typed:

Lando: Hey Y/N! Thank you for sending this, it’s absolutely adorable! I’m so happy Noah loves the bear and it was really great meeting you both. Is Noah usually this sweet when he’s sleeping or is he just showing off to his new bear? 😄 Hope you’re doing well!

He hit send and immediately felt a wave of nervous excitement. He glanced at the screen, replaying his message in his mind, hoping it didn’t sound too over the top or awkward. A few seconds later, he received a reply.

Y/N: Thanks, Lando! He’s usually a bit of a tornado during the day, so it’s nice to see him so peaceful at night 😄 We’re doing well and he keeps talking about meeting you. How about you? How’s everything going?

Lando’s smile widened and he felt a renewed sense of hope. They were actually starting a conversation and eagerly he tapped out a response with new found confidence:

Lando: Things are going great, thanks for asking! The racing is keeping me busy, but it’s always exciting. I’d love to hear more about what you and Noah have been up to?

As he hit send Lando leaned back in his chair, still smiling happily for the first time in days. The city lights outside seemed a little brighter and the race strategies on his laptop took a back seat for the rest of the night.

From that day on, each morning Lando would wake up and check his phone, eagerly scrolling through the messages from Y/N. Her texts were often filled with snippets of her and Noah’s daily life.

One morning, Y/N sent him a snapshot of herself and Noah at a local park. Y/N was smiling brightly, looking effortlessly beautiful in a casual, sunlit setting.

Y/N: Just a day out at the park with Noah. He’s been running around non-stop!

Lando stared at the photo, struck by how stunning Y/N looked. Her natural beauty and radiant smile had him feeling a bit flustered. How does she manage to look this beautiful all the time? he wondered. And how is someone like her still single?

As their conversations continued, Lando found himself constantly impressed by Y/N. Whether it was a candid shot of her cooking dinner, playing with Noah, or simply relaxing at home she always appeared effortlessly beautiful. Another day, Y/N sent him a photo of Noah proudly showing off his latest artwork: a crayon drawing of a race car.

Y/N: Noah wanted to send you a picture of his latest masterpiece. He says it’s a McLaren, but I think he might be a bit optimistic! 😄

Lando chuckled at the message and immediately typed back.

Lando: That’s fantastic! I love it. Noah’s got quite the artistic talent. I’ll have to show this to my team, they might want to hire him for some design work!

In return, Lando shared stories from his life at McLaren, often with a humorous twist.

Lando: So, yesterday I was running late for a meeting and accidentally wore mismatched socks. Of course, I didn’t realize until halfway through the day when one of the engineers pointed it out. They’ve been teasing me about it ever since!

She replied with a laughing emoji and a playful message:

Y/N: Sounds like you’re fitting right in with the team! At least it’s not as bad as the time I tried to make dinner and ended up with something that looked like a science experiment gone wrong. Noah still teases me about it!

Their exchange of stories and photos continued and Lando loved hearing about their adventures and looked forward to the new stories they’d share. Then, one afternoon, he decided it was time to suggest an in-person meeting. He drafted a message and it took him nearly two hours to actually send it off.

Lando: Hey Y/N! I’ve been thinking about how much I’ve enjoyed our conversations these past few weeks. It’s been great getting to know you and Noah better. I’ve got a weekend off coming up in three weeks and I was wondering if you’d be up for meeting in person. I could fly out and we could grab coffee or something. Let me know what you think!

When he got Y/N’s reply it made Lando’s day.

Y/N: Hi Lando! That sounds amazing. I’ve really enjoyed our chats too. Noah would be thrilled to meet you again and it would be great to catch up in person. Let’s definitely plan for that weekend. I’ll look forward to it!

Lando: Awesome! I’m really looking forward to it. I’ll keep you updated with my flight details as we get closer to the date. Can’t wait to see you both!

________

As he settled into his apartment after a long day of working out and preparations for the next race he couldn’t wait any longer to share his next idea with Y/N. Over the past few days he had been thinking about how much he wanted to see them much earlier and he was nervous to find out what Y/N would say.

Lando: Hey Y/N! I was thinking... instead of our planned coffee date, how about joining me at the next race? I’d love for you and Noah to come. What do you think?

He hesitated for a moment before hitting send, his heart racing. A few hours later, Y/N’s response appeared on his phone.

Y/N: Wow, Lando, that’s an incredible offer! I’m sure Noah would be thrilled to see the race but honestly, I’m not sure if we can afford the travel expenses right now. It’s a bit beyond our budget.

Lando’s heart sank a little but he was determined to make this work. He quickly typed back:

Lando: Please don’t worry about the cost, I’d really like to cover everything for you and Noah. It would mean a lot to me to have you both there. Just let me know if that works for you!

He felt hopeful. He wanted to ensure that money wasn’t an issue and that they could enjoy this experience without any worries. Minutes felt like hours as he waited for her response. Finally, Y/N’s reply came through:

Y/N: Lando, that’s so incredibly kind of you. I’m sure Noah will be ecstatic about this! I really appreciate your generosity and can’t believe how thoughtful you are. I’ll talk to him and start making arrangements. Thank you so much!

Lando’s smile grew wider as he read her message. He quickly responded:

Lando: I’m thrilled you’re excited! I’ll handle all the details, flights, hotel and race passes. I want to make sure everything is perfect for you both. I’ll send you all the information shortly. Can’t wait to see you again soon!

The next day he coordinated every detail meticulously, ensuring that everything was taken care of for their visit. He could hardly keep his excitement to himself and it didn’t take long for Oscar to notice the change in Lando’s mood.

The two drivers sat together in the lounge area, enjoying a rare moment of downtime between team talks. While Oscar sipped his coffee and flipped through a magazine Lando practically radiated with joy.

“Alright, spill it,” Oscar demanded, setting the magazine aside. “You’re practically glowing. What’s got you in such a good mood?”

Lando’s eyes sparkled as he looked at Oscar, clearly unable to keep his emotions contained. “So, Y/N and Noah, right?”

“What about them?”

“Well,” Lando said, practically bouncing in his seat, “I Invited them to the race next week.”

Oscar’s curiosity piqued. “And?”

“And,” Lando continued, “they are able to make it!”

Oscar’s smile widened. “That’s fantastic news,” he beamed at his friend and meant every word. Lando had been talking about them nonstop since the Meet & Greet and especially after Y/N had finally texted him back. Lando would update him on their texts and show him the pictures he would get.

Lando’s grin widened even further. “It means a lot to me that they’re coming out. I’m really looking forward to seeing them again and showing them around the paddock properly this time.”

“I’m really happy for you, mate, it sounds like it’s going to be a great weekend.”

“Thanks! I can’t wait to see them!”

________

Y/N looked out the kitchen window, a soft smile playing on her lips as she imagined Noah’s reaction. Noah was sprawled on the floor, concentrated on arranging his small collection of toy cars.

“Hey, Noah,” Y/N called out, trying to keep her voice casual while she bubbled with excitement. “Can you come over here for a minute?”

Noah set aside his cars and trotted over to his mom, his tiny sneakers scuffing against the kitchen tiles. “What is it, Mommy?”

Y/N knelt down so she was eye-to-eye with him. “Guess what? Lando invited us to the next race!”

“Really? We’re going to see Lando again?” Noah’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Yes” Y/N confirmed, her excitement barely contained. “We’re going to fly out to watch the race and spend some more time with Lando!”

Noah jumped up and down, his little fists pumping in the air. “This is the best day ever! Can I bring my toy cars to show Lando? And my Lando hat?”

“Of course you can bring your toy cars and I’m sure Lando will be thrilled to see your hat.”

Noah’s excitement was contagious. “Can we start packing now? I want to make sure we don’t forget anything!”

“Not just yet,” Y/N said, chuckling. “We still have a little bit of time before we leave. But we can start picking out your favorite race car pajamas and making a list of what to bring.”

Noah nodded vigorously. “I’m going to wear my pajamas every day until we go! And I’ll make a special drawing for Lando too. Can I put it in his car?”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea. I’m sure Lando will love it.”

As traveling day approached, excitement filled the air at Y/N’s home. Noah could hardly contain himself, racing around the house with his favorite race car pajamas and a carefully packed backpack full of toy cars and race-themed items. Y/N, on the other hand, was busy with last-minute preparations, ensuring everything was ready for their trip.

Finally Y/N stood in the hallway, surveying the scene: a large suitcase packed with essentials, Noah’s backpack and a neatly organized tote bag filled with snacks and travel necessities. The sight of it all made her smile, but she had one more thing to do before they left.

With a grin, Y/N picked up her phone and snapped a quick picture. In the photo, a Lando cap poked out of Noah’s backpack and next to it was a little sign that read “Ready for the race!” She made sure to include a glimpse of Noah’s favorite race car pajamas draped over one of the bags.

She typed out a quick message to Lando, her excitement evident in every word:

Y/N: We’re all packed and ready for the big race! 🏁 Noah is beyond excited and insisted on showing off his race car pajamas and Lando hat. We thought you might like to see how ready we are for the adventure. Y/N & Noah

With a satisfied smile Y/N hit send. She knew Lando was busy, but she hoped the photo would bring a smile to his face.

A few hours later, as Y/N and Noah were finishing their final preparations, Y/N’s phone buzzed with a new message. She picked it up and saw a reply from Lando, accompanied by a photo of his own.

Lando: Hey Y/N! Wow, you guys are definitely race-day ready! 😎 I love Noah’s hat and pajamas. Can’t wait to see you both. I’ve got a little surprise planned for Noah! See you soon!

Y/N showed the message to Noah, who was practically bouncing with excitement. “Look, Noah! Lando says he has a surprise for you!”

“A surprise?” the boy’s eyes widened. “What do you think it is, Mommy?”

Y/N shook her head with a smile. “I’m not sure, but I’m sure it will be something amazing!”

_________

Click here for Part 3

Tag: @barcelonaloverf1life @remmysthings

#ln4 x reader #lando imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando x reader #lando norris #lando fluff #lando fic #lando x y/n #lando norris x y/n #landonorris #f1 fic #f1 fanfic

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imagine-it-was-us · 2 months ago

Text

foreign language || Charles Leclerc

Inspiration: Nothing but thieves "Foreign language"

Author's note: My favorite part about writing these is entertaining different conflicts and perspectives of it. Especially when I cannot sleep and I challenge my husband with the ideas and everything turns into one big debate event. Props to him for helping with this one and still putting up with me 🤍

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Warnings: none. I'm not that type of girlie.

Summary: For years, they’ve built something quiet, something real – hidden away from the cameras, the headlines, the insatiable curiosity of the world. But secrecy comes at a cost, and the weight of it is starting to press down on them both. When a rare moment of peace forces them to confront the choices they’ve made, they find themselves standing at a crossroads.

Word count: 2.6k+

The warmth of the sun was pressing gently against his skin, the faint sound of waves rolling onto the shore blending into the rhythmic hum of the world around him. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths, matching the pace of the woman resting against him. He had her tucked into his side, her body draped across his like she belonged there. And she did. That much, he was sure of.

What he wasn’t sure of – what he sometimes struggled to wrap his head around – was how different their lives were. How different they had always been.

Right now, though, none of that mattered.

For a brief moment in time, they were untouchable. Not because of security teams or carefully placed PR statements, but because nobody here cared. People passed them by, offering little more than a glance, completely indifferent to the fact that one of the most recognizable faces in motorsport was lying on their beach, holding a woman whose name the public didn’t even know.

He exhaled slowly, a deep, satisfied sigh that came from someplace buried so deep inside him, he almost didn’t recognize it.

She shifted slightly against him, her voice smooth and unbothered as she asked:

“What’s the matter?”

She didn’t open her eyes, still basking in the sun, soaking in the kind of peace that came naturally to her but had to be constructed for him – pieced together through strategic social media posts and a carefully orchestrated timeline that placed him halfway across the continent.

“All is good,” he murmured, and even that was an admission, because he hadn’t known it was possible to feel this light. “I’m just enjoying this.”

And he was. But at the same time, he wasn’t.

Because he’d had to fight for this. For a single week of anonymity, he had to pull off a logistical stunt that rivaled the complexities of an F1 strategy call. Max had helped, of course – posing in a few group shots with him, editing time stamps, planting just enough digital breadcrumbs to keep the illusion alive. Meanwhile, he had snuck into a tiny, overlooked country in Eastern Europe, where cameras didn’t follow him, and fans didn’t chase him down the street.

And still, it wasn’t just the effort that sat heavy on his chest. It was the mere fact that this was necessary at all.

His life wasn’t built for peace. His life was a series of carefully calculated moves, a world where nothing went unnoticed, where one wrong word could create a week’s worth of headlines. He’d grown up in it, adapted to it. And while he wouldn’t say he chose it, it was the only way he knew how to exist.

Until he met her.

She had been the first person to show him something different.

He could still remember the first time he saw her, the way she barely even looked at him when she handed him his coffee. It was such a simple thing, but it stunned him. He wasn’t used to that. To being invisible. To being just another person in line.

And yet, he kept coming back, chasing something he didn’t even have a name for at the time. The quiet confidence, the way she moved through life without the need for validation or the weight of expectations. It was the absence of noise that made him lean in closer.

Eventually, he got through to her, broke down the walls she so carefully built. And as their connection grew, he expected that she would eventually step into his world. That she would want to. Yet, she never did.

Even now, nearly five years later, she remained tucked away in the spaces between his public life, choosing to exist in the shadows rather than the spotlight. And for all the love they shared, for all the ways they had built a life together, sometimes it frustrated him.

Of course, the people who mattered knew. Their families, their closest friends – those who had stood beside them long before the world ever cared about his name. The ones who saw beyond the headlines and the interviews, who understood that what they had was real, even if the world never got to witness it.

And those same people had become their quiet accomplices, helping them navigate this delicate, invisible dance. His family never slipped up in interviews, never let a misplaced word expose what he worked so hard to keep private. His friends, too, had learned to deflect, to keep her name away from questioning eyes. Even his team, the ones who spent nearly every waking moment with him – had learned the unspoken rule: she was his, but she wasn’t theirs to claim.

And yet, for all the secrecy, for all the careful maneuvering… their love had never felt hidden to the people who truly mattered. It was just protected.

But protection and freedom weren’t the same thing. And that was the battle he fought within himself, over and over again. Not because he wanted to parade her around like some kind of trophy. He simply was not that type of guy. But because hiding this part of his life had become suffocating. The weight of secrecy pressed on him in every interview, every event, every casual question about his personal life that forced him to bite his tongue or dance around the truth.

His fingers absently brushed over the sand beside him, the warmth of the sun clashing with the cool unease creeping up his spine.

“You’re still thinking about making this public now, don’t you?”

Her voice was calm, steady, like she already knew the answer. And of course, she did, cause this discussion would sometimes interrupt their daily program. Her eyes, open now, studied him intently, reading the silent tug-of-war happening inside his head.

His gaze flickered downward, landing on the delicate gold band on her ring finger. Minimalistic, understated. Just like the love they had built – real, solid, but never loud.

“You know I am,” he admitted. His voice was quiet, but certain. “But I would never push you into something you’re not ready for.”

She rolled onto her stomach, propping herself up just enough to study him more closely. Sunlight hit her skin, casting a glow across her features, but her expression remained unreadable. Thoughtful. Considering. This discussion wasn’t new. The conversation had snuck its way into their quiet moments before. It was never a demand, never a plea, just a lingering thought between them, waiting for a resolution.

And yet, every time it came up, she felt the same pull in opposite directions. She wanted to give him everything. But she also wanted to keep this one thing just for herself. Once it was out there, it wasn’t just theirs anymore. It would belong to the headlines, the speculations, the nameless voices picking apart every detail. It wasn’t the attention itself that scared her – it was the slow erosion of their bubble, the way something so intimate could turn into a conversation for the world to dissect.

But it had never been about her safety, not really. It had always been about his. He was the one whose life had been carefully curated, whose every move was subject to scrutiny. She was the ghost between the lines, the one thing he had kept untouched by the madness. And that had worked—because it had been on her terms. Now, though? Now he wanted something different.

If the rules of their world had to shift, then why should she be the only one adjusting? If he wanted to entertain the idea of change, then so would she.

She turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze. “Charles, quit F1.”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything. He knew better. He knew she would explain.

“It will take people a couple of years to forget you, don’t get me wrong,” she continued, her voice measured, unhurried. “You’ll be questioned endlessly about it, that’s for a fact. Every interview, every headline, it’ll be about why you left, if you’ll ever come back. But eventually, the headlines will die down.”

Her fingers idly traced patterns into the sand between them.

“There will be younger and quicker people on the grid who will outshine you. Drivers who will set new records, who will take over the narrative, who will become the new obsession. Once you step out of it, there will be less and less interest in you every day. And just like that… eventually, no one will truly care.”

The words settled between them, heavy yet spoken with complete neutrality. No expectation. No malice. Just the truth.

And it hit him in a way he wasn’t prepared for. Because she was right.

He had spent so many years believing that the world’s attention on him was unavoidable. That being watched, analyzed, followed was just part of him, an inescapable reality. But was it?

He had watched legends retire before. He had seen the frenzy that followed, the endless speculation, the “will he, won’t he” debates that flooded every media outlet. But then always someone new came along. And slowly, those names, those faces, the ones that once seemed untouchable… they faded.

He had seen it happen. He had never considered it happening to him.

And yet, she had laid it out so plainly. The alternative. A life where no one waited at hotel lobbies or airports. Where his words weren’t dissected, his expressions weren’t analyzed. Where he could just be.

The moment the words left her mouth, he felt the immediate instinct to deflect. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about it, but there was something deeply unsettling about confronting the possibility head-on.

“No, I couldn’t,” he said, shaking his head slightly, as if the idea alone was too absurd to entertain for long. “I like what I’m doing. Even though it tends to be bizarre.”

She didn’t argue. She didn’t push. She just looked at him with that same knowing expression, the one that told him she understood more than he ever had to say out loud.

“I know and that is why I would never force you to,” she said simply. Then, with a small smile, she added, “But I know what I’m doing, too.”

She shifted slightly, resting her chin on her folded arms as she continued. “I like admiring you and supporting you from afar. I love being in the crowd, looking at you, and knowing that the people around me couldn’t care less. That’s a kind of freedom I cherish. And I love my work too. You know, I studied hard for it. Being a cybersecurity specialist means I have to be the hardest person to track.”

She glanced down at her hand, twisting the ring slightly between her fingers, still getting used to the new title attached to it.

“I’m Charles Leclerc’s wife.” There was no bitterness in the way she said it, only quiet amusement. “My firewalls are already attacked as it is. I don’t want any more eyes on me.”

Her voice remained calm, steady. This wasn’t an argument. It wasn’t an attempt to change his mind or to make him choose. It was just perspective. The same way he had given her his.

He nodded, exhaling slowly, fingers tracing absent patterns in the sand.

“I understand it.”

She smiled softly, as if she already knew he would say that. But there was still more to say.

“And still,” she continued, “it’s my freedom on the chopping block each time. Not your career.”

There was no accusation in her voice, no resentment. Just truth. A truth he had never been able to fully grasp – not because he didn’t want to, but because he had never lived it.

He knew what it meant to be scrutinized, to have his every move dissected and analyzed. But she knew what it meant to fight for the right not to be seen. To be invisible by choice, because her work depended on it.

And that was the core of it, wasn’t it? They weren’t on opposite sides.

They were just speaking different languages. And he loved hearing her talk.

“I know that we’ve been so tired of this walking around on our tiptoes lately. And I know that you hate lying,” she murmured, exhaling slowly, eyes closing again as if to fully absorb the warmth of the sun against her skin. “So don’t.”

His brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

“Don’t hide the ring,” she continued. “Don’t deny the questions. Just… don’t entertain the idea.”

His lips twitched, barely holding back a smirk.

“First couple of months will be hell,” she admitted, voice carrying the weight of reality, but there was no hesitation in it. “And I’ll probably have to keep my distance just a little bit more. But just like with the ending of a career – once you stop talking about it, once you stop feeding into it… eventually, they’ll care less and less.” Her voice trailed off, as if the thought itself was settling into place even as she said it.

For a moment, there was only the sound of the waves, the faint chatter of distant voices, the occasional gust of wind brushing against them.

He turned his head toward her, watching the way her lips remained slightly parted, the way her fingers absentmindedly traced the curve of her ring. Their ring.

He let out a quiet chuckle, tilting his head back against the sand. “That might be the most diplomatic way you’ve ever told me I told you so.”

Throughout their relationship, she has told him multiple times that public attention fades when there’s nothing to feed it. She’s seen it happen, and she has lived her life accordingly, staying under the radar by not engaging with the spotlight in any way. Meanwhile, he has spent years under scrutiny, believing that any revelation about his private life would spiral into endless speculation, making it impossible to protect what they have.

She cracked one eye open, just enough to catch the teasing glint in his. “I’m just saying, if you’re so desperate to stop lying, you might as well try telling the watered-down version of the truth for once.”

He hummed, rolling onto his side so he could prop himself up on one elbow, looking down at her with an amused smile. “And this is you giving me permission?”

Her lips twitched, but she didn’t open her eyes. “I’m just giving you an option.”

For a second, he just looked at her, as if trying to make sure he had heard her right.

It wasn’t a grand gesture. It wasn’t an Instagram post or a joint red-carpet appearance. But to him, it was bigger than that. It was a permission. A quiet, unspoken acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, she trusted the world enough to know a piece of their truth.

The relief was instant, but more than that – it was joy. She wasn’t giving him everything. But she was giving him this. And for now, that was enough.

“I have to say,” he chuckled, a grin tugging at his lips, “I wasn’t expecting this kind of progress today.”

“Giving someone the right to claim your last name comes with its own advantages, but don’t get used to it.”

He laughed, light and easy, pressing a fleeting kiss to the top of her head before lying back down. The sun was warm, the air still, and for the first time in a long time, something inside of him felt lighter.

Maybe they weren’t speaking the same language just yet.

But at least now, they were meeting in the middle.

masterlist✨

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lev1hei1chou · 7 months ago

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Little Rival

Dad!Gojo x reader Genre: Fluff Synopsis: Gojo's biggest rival in getting your attention is his son Masterlist Requests open!

Gojo Satoru found himself locked in an unexpected battle. This time, his opponent was not a curse or a rival sorcerer, but his own infant son, Haru.

It started one sunny morning. Gojo, ever the loving husband, leaned in to kiss you, when Haru, nestled in your arms, suddenly grabbed your shirt and pulled you closer, glaring at his father with a look of pure defiance.

“Someone’s getting possessive,” Gojo chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Haru stuck his tongue out at his father, eliciting a laugh from you. “Oh, you’re just too cute!” you cooed, showering Haru with kisses.

Satoru's smile faltered. “Hey, what about me?” he pouted, trying to reclaim his wife’s attention.

But Haru was relentless. Every time Gojo made a move to hug or kiss you, Haru would wiggle his way between both of you, giggling victoriously. Gojo’s frustration grew as he watched his wife’s affection being monopolized by their little bundle of joy.

One evening, as you cuddled on the couch, Gojo attempted to steal a kiss. Just as your lips were about to touch, Haru let out a dramatic wail, clinging to you as if his world was ending.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you asked, your attention instantly shifting to Haru.

Gojo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Seriously, kid? Do you have some sort of radar for these moments?”

Haru’s response was to bury his face into your neck, casting a smug look at his father over your shoulder.

The weeks went by, and Gojo couldn’t help but notice Haru’s strategic interruptions. During your planned date nights, Haru would suddenly develop a mysterious cough or start crying uncontrollably.

“We can’t leave him like this,” you said, canceling your plans for the fourth time in a row.

Gojo’s jaw tightened. “Haru, buddy, you’re really killing my vibe here.”

Haru blinked innocently, but the glint of mischief in his eyes told a different story.

At this point, Gojo was determined to outsmart his pint-sized rival, and devised a new strategy. Spontaneous displays of affection. One afternoon, he swooped you into his arms, planting a firm kiss on your lips.

Haru, sensing the shift in attention, immediately started crying, looking pitifully at his mother.

“Oh no, not again,” you exclaimed, rushing to Haru’s side.

Gojo threw his hands up in exasperation. “Seriously, is this kid for real?”

Despite his frustration, Gojo couldn’t help but admire Haru’s determination. The baby had clearly taken it upon himself to be the sole recipient of your attention.

Whenever Gojo tried to steal a moment alone with his wife, Haru would do absolutely everything in his power—faking sickness, crying dramatically, and even physically pushing his father away.

One evening, you finally managed to get Haru to sleep. Quietly tiptoe-ing out of the nursery, you hoped to enjoy a quiet dinner together. But somehow as soon as you sat down, Haru’s piercing cry echoed through the house.

“I’ll get him,” you sighed, standing up.

Gojo grabbed your hand, and pulled you back gently. “Wait. Let’s give him a minute. He needs to learn that we need time together too.”

Nodding, you sat back down. Haru’s cries grew louder, and after a few moments, you couldn’t ignore it any longer.

“Okay, fine,” Gojo muttered, following you to the nursery, defeated.

Haru lay in his crib, red-faced and wailing. As soon as you picked him up, he stopped crying, flashing a triumphant smile at Gojo.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, crossing his arms.

As the days turned into weeks, Gojo’s determination to reclaim his wife’s attention only grew stronger. He tried everything—gifts, romantic gestures, even enlisting the help of his friends to babysit Haru. But the baby always seemed to find a way to intervene.

One night, Gojo tried to distract Haru with a new toy while you snuggled on the couch. Just as he thought he might have a moment of peace, the child tossed the toy aside and crawled over.

“Mommy!” he demanded, clambering onto your lap.

Satoru groaned, flopping back against the couch. “I give up. The kid’s unbeatable.”

You laughed, ruffling your husband's hair. “You’re both so silly. There’s enough of me to go around, you know.”

Gojo grumbled, but he couldn’t stay mad. Watching you with Haru, he felt his heart swell with love. Despite the constant interruptions, he knew the both of you were everything he's ever wanted.

Later that night, as you and Gojo lay in bed, Haru snuggled between both of you. Gojo reached over and squeezed your hand.

“I guess I can share,” he said with a smile.

Haru gurgled happily, and you leaned over to kiss Gojo softly. “Thank you, Satoru. You’re a great dad.”

Gojo sighed, resigned but content. “Yeah, yeah. But just wait until he enters elementary school. Then it’s my turn to have you all to myself.”

Haru, as if understanding his father’s words, stuck his tongue out one last time before drifting off to sleep, nestled safely between his parents.

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enha-stars · 1 year ago

Text

✧ Priorities (18+)

Pairing: non!idol jay x fem!reader (angst, smut)

Summary: Busy with a new client that could possibly bring in millions, Jongseong has been spending all of his time at the office. Y/n was okay with it until it had taken her husband completely away from her; seeing him only in passing for two weeks.

Warnings: 3rd pov, angst, hurt/comfort, swearing, crying, neglect, panic, mentions of divorce, SMUT, unprotected sex (don't.), oral (f), kissing, praise, hair pulling, happy ending, 12.4k

A heavy, spoiled scent fills the house as the clock ticks closer to midnight, time passing without any warning or consideration.

Unopened gifts and untouched food containers sit idly on the table, forgotten as they were abandoned hours ago. The candles have been put out and the small cake has been repackaged, quietly cooling in the fridge.

Balloons littered the living room, small pieces of confetti hid between the cracks. A once lively room was now cold, dim and lonely as the happiness in it left when the guests did.

At half past midnight, the front door clicks open and Jongseong walks into a quiet, somber home. Without turning on the lights, he quietly kicks off his shoes to the side and sets his briefcase on the ottoman bench against the door.

He sighs as the exhaustion of the day begins to weigh heavily on him, not having a moment's rest. He walks past the living room without a glance, ignoring the evidence of life the otherwise still house lacked.

As quietly as possible, he climbs the stairs to his shared bedroom. Part of him wishes she were up, greeting him at the door. He had missed her today but he knew she would be sleeping, snoring softly on his bed.

Pushing the door open, Jongseong smiles softly as his eyes land on her still body, her arms wrapped around his pillow. He stands at the doorway for a moment, just watching her. She looks soft, peaceful as she lies there.

What he doesn’t notice are the dried tear stains on her cheeks, eyes puffy and throat parched. As he changes and uses the bathroom, Y/n opens her eyes and stares at the bathroom door, eyes burning bright with anger and grief.

Quietly, she unwraps her arms around his pillow and places it beside hers, pushing it towards the other end of the bed. With a heavy heart, she turns to her other side, facing the wall. She shuts her eyes, praying that sleep comes to her kindly, needing it now more than ever.

Drying his hands, Jongseong walks back into the bedroom and slides into bed. She’s turned away from him but his mind is preoccupied with all the work he would have to complete in the morning. His mind races with game plans and strategies as he stares at the ceiling, wishing his mind would grant him one night of rest. He does not think about her because his mind is full of other, adamant thoughts.

Y/n stares at the wall, unblinking, as he thinks. She can feel them, all his racing thoughts suffocating the air in the room. She almost turns to face him, her desire to touch him stronger than the pain in her heart. He leans over and presses a kiss to her shoulder before he turns his back to her, falling asleep. She lets the warmth of his lips spread throughout her body, the ice from her joints slightly melting.

She makes no noise as tears stream down her face, wetting her soaked pillow. She has perfected the art of silent suffering, having been her only true companion in the last weeks.

She listens to him as his breath evens out and his quiet snores fill the silent room. Once his slumber deepens, she turns back to him, hands under her cheek as she stares at his back. Broad shoulders she hasn’t touched in days, hair she forgot the softness of, the slim of his waist she hasn’t held in a while.

This was the only time she had with him; in the quiet depths of the night, when he came home, she got to see him. She didn’t trace his back or breathe too close, just stared. She could have thrown her arm over his waist or moved closer, hoping his body heat warmed her, but she lay still.

Y/n was angry; no, she was livid. Anger coursed through her veins, and she dug her nails into her pillow. After a few seconds, her hands went limp. Running deeper than anger was misery, a feeling so distinct and yet so achingly familiar, she could almost taste it. It had consumed her, coated her skin, as it had become a reluctant friend.

The only emotion she could rely on these past three weeks; knowing that regardless of everything, it would greet her in bed and keep her company until she could no longer feel anything but.

After a while, her eyes soon began to flutter, tired and exhausted. She pursed her lips before turning back to the wall, refusing to indulge her initial urges. She gripped her pillow tighter as she squeezed her eyes close, knowing the morning would be quiet, as all mornings had been for a while.

She felt herself drift off, submitting to well needed rest. Her eyes welcomed the darkness, having been abused all day. Her breathing turned soft and she rested her left hand on her heart, her ring on her heart.

Jongseong groans as he blinks, stretching the sleepiness out of his body. The early morning sun shone on his face and he grimaced, turning towards the other side of the bed, hand reaching out. His hand met with empty space; nothing but the cold mattress beside him. He opens one eye and frowns at the sight of being woken alone.

Rubbing his eyes, he shuffles out of bed and into the bathroom, readying himself mentally for the day. He showers and shaves, spending extra time on his hair before his towel clad body wanders into the closet. He has an important meeting today and must look his best. Blinking away his tiredness, he chooses his best suit.

He quietly hums as he clothes himself, mind busy with different strategies he would have to play in order to make his unofficial client official. For a month, his team has been trying to convince a wealthy investor to invest in their company. Having more than forty years in the business, the client is not an easy one. But, if he agrees, he could bring in millions.

This was the most important moment in Jongseong’s career. If he did this, as the lead, he would be promoted to Chief Operating Officer (COO).

If he did this, everything would have been worth it. All the schooling and rough hours, the days spent in the office on coffee and tangerines. He’d finally have everything he needed. Happiness was so close that he could taste it, an acquaintance on the verge of becoming a friend.

Fixing his tie, he made his way downstairs. The house was quiet, but it had been for a while. Only the birds wanted to sing so early in the morning and waking up at the brink of sunrise tampered with his mood; wanting nothing but silence until he reached his bustling office.

As he stepped off the last step, his eyes glanced over the living room; widening as he paused midstep, taking in the scattered balloons and gifts. He hadn’t seen any of this last night, and as far as he was concerned, it wasn’t his birthday.

He heard quiet shuffling in the kitchen and walked towards it, eyes still on the littered table and room. His gaze fell on her back, standing on the counter. The corners of his lips lifted into a brief smile before he walked to the sink, grabbing a glass.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

Her back went rigid as her hold on the knife loosened. Y/n didn’t turn to look at him or lift her head. She didn’t trust herself, not with the knife in her hand or the words pressing down on her tongue.

It wouldn’t matter, she decided. He would not notice. His eyes would meet hers briefly and even then, he wouldn’t see her. He wouldn’t kiss her, and he wouldn’t apologize. She knew all of this, having become accustomed to this new routine he had slowly forced her into.

“Morning,” she replied, making sure to keep her voice even. Any louder, and it would go hoarse, dry and cracking. She had stopped using it, conversing only when needed. The last time she tried using it, tried to make him understand, she was ignored. That was almost two weeks ago.

Jongseong leaned against the opposite counter as he sipped on his coffee, warm and ready for him. He scrolled through his emails and notifications before he glanced at the time. He would have to leave soon.

“Almost done?”

She pursed her lips and her nostrils flared. Instead of answering him, she put the lid on the container and put it in his lunch bag, zipping it up. She couldn’t feel his eyes on her, hating how she knew what that felt like.

She slides the bag across the counter, still refusing to look at him. She turns towards the fridge, using the large door as a shield. She slowly puts everything away, hoping he would leave as he normally did; quietly and quickly.

Instead, he pocketed his phone and picked up his lunch bag. “Whose birthday did you celebrate yesterday? A friend?”

She froze, her entire body stilling at his words. They floated around her head, burning her. She could feel the weight of them on her heart, a sudden wave of agony crashing down on her. Part of her knew. She knew that he had forgotten; that it had slipped his mind and he didn’t mean to forget. Y/n knew he wasn’t that cruel. But it didn’t make her feel better. Instead, all the anguish erupted and poured over her body.

As humanly as she could, she stood straighter and shut the fridge. She kept her back to him, knowing that if she did manage to get a glance at his brown eyes, she would crumble. She was barely holding on as it was.

“Mine.”

The word hung in the air, sucking out all the oxygen in the room. It cast a dark shadow over them, the sun hiding in its ignorance. She squeezes her eyes shut, gripping onto the marble counter for dear life. She would collapse, she knew it. Her legs shook and her heart beat too rapidly.

Jongseong stared at her back, his eyes widening by the second. At first, he hadn’t heard her. Then, when the word slipped into his mind, past the racing thoughts and outlines and emails, it rang in his ears. It jumped around in his mind, slamming against the walls of his skull as it grew heavier and heavier.

Blinking, he wet his suddenly dry lips. He didn’t move, not quite trusting himself. “No.” He said. “Your birthday is on the fifteenth.” Despite his strong voice, everything in him felt quiet.

“It’s the sixteenth today.”

This was the most she had said to him in days, finding it uncomfortably easy and incredibly difficult. Her voice was quiet, monotone. Not a single hint of emotion, not a twinge of personality.

No, he thought. I couldn’t have.

Jongseong shook his head, taking out his phone. He glanced at the date once, then twice. Then, he unlocked his phone and checked the calendar. His thumb hovered over her name, written on the date before. There were hearts beside her name, a note written beneath it; one that listed all the details he had prepared, the restaurant and gifts.

He could only stare at his phone in despair as he stopped breathing. It was strange, such a slow process that allowed no resistance. His palms began to sweat and his heart felt like it had been squeezed, as if it would burst out of his chest and stomped on.

“Go,” Y/n whispers. She could feel him unraveling behind her and as much as she wanted to dwell in it, she couldn’t find the energy to. She had dreamed about this day for the last couple of days, hoping he would come to his senses. But it didn’t feel as fulfilling as it did in her head.

“What?” Jongseong whispered, her voice piercing through his heart, tangling with his nerves. He didn’t realize how little of it he had heard recently. How could he have missed her birthday? The one day he was excited about every year; the one day he was extremely thankful for and planned months in advance for.

She swallowed, her grip on the counter loosening. Using all her strength, she slowly turned around and Jongseog held his breath, eyes wide. His eyes trailed her body, still rigid. His gaze landed on her face and he felt his heart stop beating. Her eyes were red, swollen and permanent tear stains painted on her cheeks.

She sighed before lifting her eyes, meeting his unnerving stare. She didn’t smile, and she didn’t frown. She simply stared at him, eyes almost hollow. Jongseong was almost sure that if he poked her, she would crumble right before her.

“You have a meeting. You’re late.” Her words pierced his skin, his insides bleeding. “Go.”

Without realizing it, he began to shake his head. He couldn’t breathe. His hands were shaking and the only thing on his mind was her as he tried to recall any recent memories he had; there were none.

“You mean…” He swallowed, shame pooling in his lungs as the dots in his mind connect. “I missed your birthday?” He stared at her, eyes begging. “I missed your birthday.”

Please, please don’t let it be true.

She nodded once, confirming his worst fears. “Yes.” Tears pricked her eyes and she bit the inside of her lip, hating that she still had tears to cry. She watched him, watched as her words sank in his bones, crawling between his joints and settling.

A tiny, miniscule part of her felt pleased; pleased that he was in pain, glad that his mind had cleared and discovered how horrible he had been. All she had wanted from him was time, some attention. And now, after her birthday had passed, she had gotten both.

“Y/n.” Jongseong swallowed, body shaking. His heart was breaking, it was shattering within him and he could only let it happen. Staring at her, he realized her heart had broken long ago.

He had done this, he reminded himself. He had done this.

She simply shook her head and pointed at the clock behind him. “If you leave now, you’ll make it to the meeting.”

“Will you stop talking about the meeting?” He raised his voice, needing to channel his emotions. His entire body shook as the reality of what he had done settled in. He hated the way she looked at him, indifferent and disappointed. Had he truly been so lost within himself? He couldn’t remember the last time he looked at her like this; all at once.

She simply stood there, back against the counter. Watching him fall apart gave her some strength, knowing she was finally being heard. It had taken two weeks, but she had done it. She had gotten through to him. He was listening.

“No,” she answered, voice stronger. “No. There is nothing else to talk about.” Her voice was sharper, angry.

Jongseong shook his head, trying to clear away her words and the haze in his head. “What are you–”

“For almost three weeks,” Y/n interrupted, “you have spoken of nothing but meetings and work. You’re never here, and when you are, you don’t speak of anything else.” She stood tall, eyes shining as she crossed her arms.

Jongseong stared at her, lips parted. His own eyes shined and his body wouldn’t stop shaking. A small part of him wanted to be angry too; he was working so hard, barely sleeping, slaving away at his job and there was no sympathy for him. But the better part of his heart, the part that she held, told him that it was no excuse; he had still missed her birthday.

Burning with anger, she steps forward. She has held back for days but no more. If Jongseong was going to stand there, then he would listen. She would stand her ground. Y/n couldn’t go on like this, she hated it.

“For weeks,” she began. “You have been coming home late. You don’t speak to me, you don’t touch me, you don’t acknowledge me. Everything has been about this client, everything has been about you; your job, your promotion, you, you, you.” She spat, rushing out her words.

“Do you know that I stay up for you every night?” Her eyes are burning now, and she lets the tears slip down her cheek. He watches it in torment, her words ripping his heart open. “And I get it,” she sighs. “I know. I know how hard you’re working and how important this is to you, but I’m important too. You come home exhausted and ignore me because I’m not a priority to you anymore.”

Jongseong is shaking his head, his words caught in his throat as his hands shake. He can’t breathe. He can’t see her properly, the tears in his eyes making everything blurry. This was his worst nightmare; something that used to keep him up at night, a constant fear in his head.

Her lips tremble and her persona breaks; weeks of neglect making her ache. She stares at him with the most heartbreaking look; red eyes brimmed with tears and wobbly lips, her shoulders shaking as all the pain she kept locked away resurfaced. He couldn’t handle it, couldn’t stand it.

His knees buckle and he grips the counter, holding on with his life. He still can’t breathe. Part of him thinks it’s his body’s way of punishing him, forbidding him from breathing the air she had grieved in.

Slowly, Jongseong swallows the lump in his throat and blinks. “Y/n,” he says. Her name is all he can say, all he wants to say. He only realizes now that her name tasted a bit foreign on his tongue.

“I’m so–” A familiar ringtone interrupts him, making him blink. He watches as her expression falls apart even further and she glances at his pocket, knowing she had lost. Reluctantly, he pulls out his phone and stares at his associate’s name. His thumb hovers over the bright red button but her words stop him from pressing it.

“Answer it,” she says. There is nothing but defeat in her tone, knowing she was competing in a losing game. Time had not stopped in the kitchen; even though it had for her. Y/n doesn’t wipe the tears off her face and it feels liberating, crying in front of him like this.

“Hello,” his voice cracks as he answers the phone. He barely listens to his associate’s rushed words, begging him to come to the office. All he can focus on is her. It’s a bit ironic, he thinks.

Jongseong ends the call without responding, having heard enough. He knows how important this meeting is, it’s all he’s been thinking about. That was the problem. He was the problem.

Jongseong parts his lips, needing to get his words out but she raises her hand and silences him, standing tall. She wants him to miss the meeting, to smash his work phone on the floor and look at her, pay attention to her, but she loves him too much to ask that of him. Looking at him now, she knew he would. He was finally looking at her the way she needed him too but she couldn’t have him sacrifice this.

“You need to go to this meeting, Jongseong.” He winces at the use of his full name. “There will be no point to any of this if you skip this meeting. What will it all be for, then?” She raises her eyebrow at him. “You tossed me aside for two weeks, what’s another day?.”

She walks towards him and picks up his lunch bag, shoving it into his chest. Surprised, he latches on to it, hoping his fingers would graze her skin but they don’t. She pulls away, afraid that if he touched her, she would forgive him in a heartbeat.

He stares at her, eyes wide and scared. She looks at him for a second, one quick second; and it’s enough to have her turning her head. She faces the sink as new, fresh tears pool in her eyes. She has never seen pain shine in anyone’s eyes the way it shined in his, not even her own.

“Y/n,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” His voice cracks and she knows he’s crying. She can feel it, the weight of his guilt making the room heavier. He steps towards her and his hand reaches out to her. She holds her breath as it hovers over her shoulder, knowing he had never once hesitated to touch her before this.

Jongseong retreats his hand in shame, unable to touch her. The fear of being pushed away is too strong. He knew he didn’t deserve to touch her, not after he had deprived her of it for so long. He bites his bottom lip. “Will you look at me?”

She nearly audibly sobs at his words; the heartbreak so intense it almost knocks her off her feet. She had repeated the same sentence to herself hundreds of times over the past few days, hoping that just once he would hear it in her eyes.

Heavily, she turns to face him. Even after anything, she can’t refuse him. She looks up at him, her heart feeling heavier than it ever had.

He looks at her, eyes glistening as he almost drops to his knees in forgiveness. He nods to himself, knowing he didn’t deserve her kindness. “I’m sorry.” The words hang between them. “I’ll be home right after the meeting. We’re going to talk. I’m going to apologize.” He squeezes his hands together, trying to prevent the shaking.

She stares at him, taking him all in. His hair is a bit longer than it usually is and his eyebags are darker than they should be. His shoulders are still broad but he looks weaker. The nights of takeout had taken a toll on him, she concludes. His suit is perfectly pressed and his tie is–

Without thinking, Y/n reaches for his tie. He can only watch with wide eyes as she straightens it for him. She doesn’t pay attention to the way her fingers tingle or the way her hands shake. She simply stares at the tie, knowing he had done his best but they were never perfect. Memories and emotions crash within her and she knows.

She knows she’ll wait for him, for his apology. She will hear him out because she loves him, because despite everything, she knows him better than she knows herself. And she knows she shouldn’t, that she should leave him and curse at him but she can’t. Because beneath her fingers, she can feel his body shaking. Y/n can hear his lagged breath, see the sorrow and distress in his eyes.

The one promise they had made the night of their wedding was that they would communicate. That they would listen to each other and work against the problem, never with the problem. The issue was that Jongseong wasn’t listening and he was the problem. But he was listening now, and she valued him and their marriage too much to pull away now. Y/n would have to be the bigger person but someone had to be.

She had dreamed about this; about his tears and his apology and her initial triumph dies, slowly leaking out her veins. All she wants is her husband back. She wants to be seen again, held tightly until all she could think about was his skin against hers and his heartbeat in tune with hers.

She releases his tie and looks up at him. He watches her, knowing that he deserved her refusal. He knew that if she shook her head, told him to not bother, he would have deserved it. He would fight it, fight for her, but he would understand.

“Okay.”

It’s a single word. Whispered so quietly that he barely heard it, but it was enough. A tear falls down his cheek and he nods, lips pursed. “Okay,” he repeats. Okay, okay, okay.

They stare at each other before she glances at the clock. She lightly shoves his shoulder and he tumbles back, eyes wide. His entire body is sensitive to her touch, keeling to bask in it.

“Go,” she says. “You’ll be late.”

He’s shaking his head before he can think. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” Y/n emphasizes. “It matters to me.”

At her words, he can only nod. He looks back at her once before he slips on his shoes. He looks back again as he shuts the front door. His eyes are still glossy but she can only focus on the attention she held, having had to beg for it before.

“I love you.”

She doesn’t have enough time to respond because he hurriedly closes the door, afraid of her response. She stands in the kitchen, staring at the door with wide eyes, a warmth spreading through her for the first time in days.

“I love you too,” she mumbles into the air.

Jongseong is not paying attention to the meeting. His eyes are on his file, the thick, massive file that he had compiled over the weeks, but his mind isn’t comprehending anything. He’s barely contributed to the meeting and when asked questions, his answers are short and precise.

He ignores the looks of his associates, his team. He’s done enough–sacrificed enough– for this. The rest is up to them. All his effort over the past month should make up for his lack of effort now. All they have to do is make sure the client signs the agreement. He’s sure they can do it. They have to. Because he can’t. All he can think about is her.

Her words. Her feelings. Her pain. Her suffering.

All those days his mind hadn’t spared her a single thought were catching up to him now. He couldn’t filter her out, his heart aching in his chest. He almost asked someone to reach into his chest to lift it for him, unable to carry the weight of it himself.

“Alright,” the client clapped his hands together. He smiles at everyone at the table, eyes lingering on Jongseong. “You’ve all convinced me. I like the numbers and I like the company.” The older man turns to Jongseong, speaking to him. “I appreciate the work ethic of the company.”

Jongseong smiles at the client as the words sink into his scattered mind until everything freezes. Jongseong’s eyes widened and he gaped at the older man, not willing to believe what he had heard. He has been in and out of the conversation, only catching the clients last words.

“You want to sign with us?” His words felt foreign on his tongue, a child-like hope in his eyes. His frown turns upwards into a wide smile when the client nods, pulling out a pen. The associates stare in astonishment, wondering if all the hard work they put in was finally paying off.

Hastily, Jongseong grabs the agreement from his pile and slides it to the client. He watches with curious, greedy eyes. His eyes don’t stray from the smooth movement of the pen, watching as the ink dried and his unofficial client became official.

The client stands up and the rest of the room stands with him, under a trance. He puts his hand out towards Jongseong and smiles softly, years of wisdom and knowing resting in the crinkles by his eyes. Jongseong shakes his hand, genuinely smiling for the first time since entering the building.

“You did good, kid.” The older man says. He squeezes Jongseong’s shoulder once. “Take a break.”

Jongseong can only swallow the lump in his throat and nod, fearing that his emotions from earlier would make an appearance. Before he could feel the wetness of his eyes, he grins at the man and straightens. “Thank you for choosing us. You’ve made a good choice and we will not let you down. Welcome to the family.”

The older man smiles and nods, waving to the rest of the associates before he walks out of the meeting room, fully aware that he just changed all their lives. Silence falls upon them as they stare at the singular contract in the middle of the table.

Jongseong can feel his heart constrict in his chest as he sighs out a miniscule breath of relief. Part of him knew that he should have been more excited, that everything he had been working towards had worked out.

But he wasn’t over the moon. All he wanted was to go home to her, to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness. He couldn’t have done any of this himself; couldn’t have done it without her lunches or her warm body next to his.

He couldn’t have done this alone. He didn’t want to do anything alone. He needs her, wants her so badly it almost drowns his lungs as he sits silently, ignoring all the ruckus around him. He drops his head into his hands, squeezing his eyes shut. The idea of coming home to an empty home, a house without her, makes him feel sick.

“Jongseong,” a familiar voice calls out to him. Jongseong raises his head and finds all the associates staring at him, some in amazement and others in confusion. “Why aren’t you jumping up and down in glee?” Jaeyun smirks before he focuses on the torment in his friend’s eyes, grin faltering.

Jongseong shakes his head, forcing a smile. He stands up and claps his hands together, making eye contact with everyone in the room. He bows his head and this time, his smile is genuine.

“Good job, everyone.” He focuses on the contract, unaware of the bashful looks his colleagues throw him. “You all worked so hard and spent so much time on this. Your efforts have been acknowledged.” He smiles at Jaeyun, hoping his friend would drop the concerned look. “You all did amazing and I am so glad and honoured to have worked with you all.”

At his words, someone begins clapping and the room erupts into cheers, a burden lifting off everyone’s chest as they clap each other on the shoulder and laugh. Jongseong smiles at the commotion before he steps away, grabbing the contract.

He almost slips out of the office but a gentle tug at his wrist stops him. He sighs before turning, making eye contact with Jaehyun. His friend gives him one look and it has his facade crumbling, all his emotions settling in his eyes.

“What is it, Jay? What’s going on?”

Jongseong shakes his head, unable to voice his thoughts. If he spoke about it, it would be real. It would re-confirm everything and he already couldn’t handle it. Jongseong wishes he had listened to Jaeyun all those times; when his friend begged him to go home and spend time with her.

“Nothing. I’m just tired,” he tries. He waves the contract in Jaeyun’s face. “I’m going to give this to Heeseung and then I’m going home.”

Jaeyun frowns and lets go of Jongseong’s wrist. Before he could say anything, Jongseong shakes his head again, his eyes pleading. “Drop it, okay? Tell the team I’ll take them all out very soon. Just, not tonight.”

Jaeyun purses his lips and nods, stepping back. He smiles softly at his friend and gives him a thumbs up. “Okay. I’ll tell them.” He nudges his head towards the door. “Get out of here.”

Jongseong smiles in gratitude before he pulls open the door, practically running out towards the CEO’s office. He smiles and nods as quickly as he can as he passes his fellow colleagues, but he stops for no one. Perhaps it was the look of determination mixed with heartache, but no one tried to strike up a conversation with him.

Breathing heavily, Jongseong knocks on the wide wooden doors before pulling them open. He steps into the huge room and slightly bows his head in greeting at the man who stood before him. Heeseung smiles widely at Jongseong, pleased and impressed.

“Jongseong,” he greets. He motions towards the seat in front of him. “Come, sit.”

Jongseong nods and wipes his free hand on his dress pants, suddenly nervous. He always was when he was in this room, afraid of messing up. He walks towards Heeseung and sits after the CEO makes himself comfortable.

Quietly, Jongseong slides the contract towards Heeseung. While he respected the man before him, he just wanted to go home. If he kept quiet, he’d be on his way.

Heeseung grabs the contract and stares at it, a soft permanent smile on his face as he reads it over. He had approved of it, but it was different now. It was signed. He sets the paper down and links his hands together as he stares at Jongseong.

“Good job,” he starts. “Truly. You’ve done some amazing work and I’m highly impressed.”

Jongseong smiles. “Thank you.”

Heeseung quirks his eyebrow before he leans back on his chair, fingers on his chin as he stares at Jongseong. The CEO knew Jongseong; knew how hard-working and dependable he was. He had seen it when they worked alongside each other and heard it when they didn’t.

“I’ll cut to the chase,” Heeseung says. He watches carefully as Jongseong sighs in relief. “I want to promote you. I’ve been watching you since you closed the Claeter deal and I know you’re the right man for the job.”

Jongseong can only stare at Heeseung. In the back of his mind, he knew. He knew that this was the inevitable next step; but hearing it outloud did not make it easier to accept. He had always been just an associate. And now, he would be more.

Heeseung smiles. “Jongseong, I want you to be my COO.” He leans forward, trying to gauge Jongseong’s reaction. The reaction always mattered. It would make or break it all.

Jongseong swallows, squeezing his eyes shut for a quick moment. Then, he simply nods and smiles. “Thank you.”

Heeseung grins, knowing he has chosen the right person. “We can talk about this tomorrow. I just wanted to make things clear between us. We can go through it all after your daily meetings.”

Jongseong purses his lips before he sits straighter, knowing he would have to set his priorities straight. He didn’t want a promotion unless he had her to share it with. It wouldn’t matter then.

“Actually,” he begins. Heseeung nods for him to continue, leaning back. “I was wondering if I could take tomorrow off. I understand that this is short notice, but I have something urgent and important to attend to.” Jongseong prides himself on keeping his voice steady.

Heeseung stares at him before raising an eyebrow. “I assume you’re also not accepting the position immediately, then?”

Jongseong shakes his head. “I would like to have a couple of days to think about it, if that’s alright. I am incredibly honoured and grateful, but I…”

Heeseung raises his hand, understanding. He, too, was once in Jongseong’s position. He had his own reservations and qualms. He could not fault him for it, in fact, he appreciated the honesty. He nods, already typing away at his laptop.

“I understand. I’ll have my secretary send you an outline of the position by tomorrow morning. Let me know by the end of the week and we can talk about it then.” He smiled and winked at Jongseong’s surprised look. “Go home early. Take a few days off. You deserve them.”

Jongseong ignores the tears that prick his eyes as he thanks the man before him. He smiles as he leaves the large office and smiles until he reaches his car. Then, his smile falls and the adrenaline and distractions that had consumed him vanishes. Standing in the parking lot, he clutches his chest.

Quietly, he unlocks his car and sits in the driver seat, gripping the steering wheel as his head falls against it. Now, he was alone with his thoughts. His horrible, sickening thoughts. He stares at his wedding ring as the turmoil in his stomach begins to turn into something vicious.

He throws his head back, groaning. He squeezes his eyes shut as images of her crying and heartbreaking face flashes through his mind. He had pushed them down before, but now they had pinned themselves to his subconscious.

He twirled the ring as bile bubbled in his stomach. What had he done? How could he have abandoned her the way he had? How did work of all things become everything to him? He had never been this foolish before; had the idea of a promotion really consumed him? Didn’t he already have everything with her? Didn’t she already bring him the most happiness?

Jongseong hadn’t realized that he had begun crying until he hiccups, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. He doesn’t understand how he could have forgotten her birthday. It was the best day of his life, the happiest moment in time because it was the day she was born. The love of his life. He had planned so much for it, and yet.

His sobs begin to grow louder as he thinks about her celebrating her birthday without him. He recalls the balloons and presents on the table, how he asked her if it was for a friend. Even if she managed to forgive him, he never would.

Jongseong wipes his eyes as he starts the car. He drives silently to her favourite bakery, picking up her favourite cake. He knows it won’t make up for anything, but he knows how she craved it every year. Even if she would no longer have him, she should at least have some sweets.

He drives to his favourite florist and listens in silence as they tell him that he would have to pay extra for not picking up his previous order. Without any argument, he pays the fee and buys her favourite flowers. She always looks forward to these ones specifically, loving the way they brightened their home in comparison to other, regular flowers.

He grips the steering wheel tightly as he drives home, his heart spilling out of him. He is scared, so utterly terrified. He’s never been more petrified in his life; not when he left his home as a teenager, not even when his mother slipped on the driveway. He had some control during those instances. But here, now, he was completely in the wrong.

He would be lucky if she was still home, ring on her finger.

Jongseong pulls into the driveway and sighs in relief when he spots her car, knowing she was still home. Her home. His home. Their home.

Y/n steps out of the shower, clutching her robe tightly around her. Shaking the water out of her hair, she quietly hums as she dries her body, slipping on one of Jongseong’s old shirts and sweatpants.

She hangs the robe back in the bathroom, brushing her hair and moisturizing her face. This shower felt different, it felt refreshing. There was some hope bubbling in her chest, knowing that she’d finally have a conversation with her husband. She glanced at the clock and sighed, knowing there was still a few hours before he came home; if he came home.

Grabbing her phone, she makes her way downstairs to make herself a warm cup of tea, needing something to soothe her throat. She pauses mid step as she eyes the familiar shoes at the entrance, frowning when the briefcase she had seen only a few hours rested on the ottoman by the door.

Slowly, she steps off the last step and makes her way to the kitchen. Her entire body freezes when her eyes land on his rigid back, facing the living room where balloons and confetti still littered.

He hadn’t heard her walk down the stairs, his mind was preoccupied by the guilt in his chest. He wanted to destroy everything in front of him; knowing that she deserves something better than filthy old balloons. But he hadn’t even given her that; so he could not complain.

“Jongie?”

At her voice, her soft, confused voice, Jongseong slowly turned. The use of his nickname, a name only she called him, made his heart flutter in warmth. He looked up at her and almost sighed in relief; she looked so beautiful.

Y/n raises an eyebrow at him before her gaze falls on the flowers and cake in his hands. Her eyes soften and her frown lifts upwards, unable to stop it. She really did love these flowers, and she had truly missed the cake. At least, she decided, he knows.

Jongseong swallows the lump in his throat before releasing a quick breath. “Hi, pretty.”

She smiles and looks down, closing her eyes. It had been a while since he called her that, and it never failed to make her blush; even now, while she brimmed with anger. She was still angry, still hurt, but he was looking at her now and it almost made for the days he hadn’t.

“Hi,” she whispers. “Why are you back so early? What about the meeting?”

Jongseong wanted to shake his head, forbid any talk of work or the meeting. He just wanted to talk to her, about her, about them, but he knew he was in no position to make requests.

“Heeseung let me go early,” his lips wobbled. “He signed on.” His smile turned genuine for a moment, relief and excitement swirled in his eyes and her heart warmed. “He’s officially a client.”

Despite all the tension, all the emotions and the negativity, she couldn’t help but smile widely at him, pride swelling in her chest. She clapped her hands in excitement before grinning at him, nothing but delight in her eyes. “Jongie! That’s amazing!” She wrapped her arms around herself, stopping herself from hugging him. “I knew it was going to happen. And the promotion?” Y/n raised her eyebrow. “Did you get it?” Her smile widened when he nodded.

Jongseong smiled and his heart warmed at the pure glee in her eyes; his heart drowning in turmoil. She was angry at him, hurt by him, and yet she still prided him for his victories. He would never forgive himself; he would never ever let the guilt die.

“Thank you,” he said softly. He blinked once before he stepped towards her, forgetting all about work and the client. Right now, the only thing that mattered was her. The only thing he wanted to think about; wanted his mind to consume, was her.

He set the cake on the table and offered her the flowers, a remorseful frown on his lips as shame shined brightly in his eyes. “I’m sorry you’re getting these late.” She grabbed them, holding them tightly to her chest as she smelled them. “But I wanted you to have them. I know how much you like them.”

Y/n nodded, like she understood; and she did. All of her initial anger had lessened, a low simmer below the surface. She had thought about everything after he had left for work; what she wanted, what it all meant, and she decided that she wanted to get past it. She wanted to talk to him, to explain her feelings and how she felt, and then she wanted him to own up to it. She wanted her husband back, but she wanted him to be better.

“Thank you,” she replies, a soft smile on her lips. At the sight of it, Jongseong’s mouth goes dry.

Suddenly, he can’t breathe. Here she is, standing before him, beautiful and broken, and she’s thanking him. He feels sick, like everything inside him has turned green. He shakes his head, his eyes pleading. “Don’t– don’t. Don’t thank me. Not for this.”

He takes another step towards her and she basks in it. “You deserve this,” he begins, words trying to fall off his lips. “You deserve flowers everyday and your favourite cake and you deserve only the best.” He’s panting now, eyes wide. “I’m sorry I haven’t been that. I’m sorry I’ve been so selfish; so inexplicably horrible.”

She listens to him, clutching the flowers so hard that the stems bend. She feels the weight of it all in her heart, needing to sit. Quietly, she places the flowers on the table and grabs his hand. He only watches in surprise as she guides him to the living room, sitting on the sofa. He sits beside her, making sure to keep some space between them.

Jongseong sits there, palms sweaty as he eyes her. She’s sitting up straight, her own hands intertwined in her lap. Biting her bottom lip, she lets his heart slow down before she speaks.

Beautiful, he thinks. So beautiful.

She lets out a long breath before she looks up, her eyes watery. “Jongie,” she says. “I want to be honest with you. I want to explain to you how it felt; how useless and neglected I felt.”

Jongseong nods, his eyes watery as he drops his head in shame. “But,” she pauses. “I don’t want this to continue.”

At her words, Jongseong snaps his head up, eyes wide as his lips part. “You want a divorce?”

Y/n reels back, as if she’s been slapped. She stares at him, heart pounding. “What? Who said anything about a divorce?”

Jongseong blinks. “You… You just said you don’t want to continue this.” He motions between the both of them with his finger.

She shakes her head in panic, worried that her heart would beat out of her chest. “No! No. No,” she repeats. “That is not what I meant. I meant,” she licks her lips, “that I don’t want this to continue between us; the neglect and silence. I want to talk about it and I want to move past it.”

Jongseong visibly relaxes at her words, sighing as he drops his head into his hands. His entire body is shaking, and he wonders if it will ever get easier; if the guilt will ever subside.

“Okay.” He lifts his head. “I’m listening. I’m sorry I wasn’t listening before. I am now. From now on, I always will.”

“Jongie,” she leans forward. “Before we got married, you told me that I would always come before your work. You’ve always worked hard and I know how important your job is to you, but this client, this entire month, you turned into someone I didn’t recognize.”

Jongseong wants to drop his head. He wants to stare at the floor, but he refuses to be weak. He deserves to hear this, deserves to stare into her bright, shiny eyes as she tells him how she’s been feeling.

“In the last two weeks,” she continues, “you came home incredibly late and when you did, you didn’t spare me a single conversation. You barely ate any of the food I made and when I tried talking to you, you could only bring up work.” She wipes her eyes, tired of crying.

“I felt like shit,” Y/n whispers. “You were always tired and you stopped talking to me, always lost in your mind.” She squeezes her hands together, trying to find strength in herself. “I felt like for a while, nothing else was important to you. That I… I wasn’t important to you. That I wasn’t a priority.”

She blinked before she shuffled a bit closer to him, needing his warmth now that she could reach it. “I kept wondering if I was easy to discard,” she whispers. “Then, when you didn’t say anything to me on my birthday, didn’t surprise me or come home, I figured that I had truly lost to your client; to your job.”

She smiled at him softly, hating the wrinkles around his pursed lips and tense muscles. “I know work will always be important. You spent your entire life studying and working so hard to get where you are, and I am so proud of you; but you can’t just throw me aside when things get hectic at work. You can’t just ignore me and push me away when things get tense. You can’t pretend like I am some roommate you are barely tolerating because I am your wife. I will be treated as such.”

Jongseong was nodding along to her words, agreeing with every single one. He was such a fool, such an idiot. How could he have made someone as perfect and beautiful as her feel like this? He had promised her the day of the wedding that he would always treat her right; keep her happy, and he had failed.

“You’re right,” he started. “You’re my wife; the love of my life, and I should have treated you better. I honestly don’t even understand what came over me.” He reached for her hands and she joined him halfway, tangling their fingers together. “Work was and is really tough, but it’s no excuse to neglect you. I should have been better, kept my work life and private life separate.”

He squeezed her hands, staring into her eyes. “You are so important to me, Y/n. Everything I do is for you. I am so sorry that I let work take over everything. You are, and always will be my number one priority. I’m sorry that I made you doubt that.”

Y/n looks at him as her heart warms, feeling lighter than it had in days. She rubs her thumb over the skin of his wrist, lost in the feeling of touching his skin after so long.

“As the lead, there was a lot of pressure on me. There was also the promotion lingering in the back of my mind and I let it all consume my thoughts.” He swallowed. “I suppose I got so caught up with everything else that I let the one person I love most in this world down.”

He brings their joined hands to his chest, pulling her closer. “I am so sorry I forgot about your birthday. I promise you that I had so much planned but it completely slipped my mind. You deserve much better, but I am begging you to forgive me.”

He kisses her fingers, hoping it would not be the last time he would taste her skin. “You mean everything to me. You are everything to me. I promise I’ll be better. You are not easy to discard, my love.” He presses another soft kiss to her fingers. “You are so important to me and I love you so much. I was being an idiot; I am an idiot. I promise you,” he shuts his eyes, “I will never make you feel unloved and neglected again. I love you so much that sometimes it’s too much for me.”

She says nothing as she stares at him; at his eyes that are squeezed shut as he clutches their hands close to his heart. She sees her husband for the man he is; tender, loving, and so perfect. Y/n smiles before she leans forward and kisses his cheek, her lips lingering on his soft skin before she pulls away.

Jongseong’s eyes fly open and he stares at her. His lips part in surprise as his cheek tingles, a warmth he hadn’t felt all day spread through him, hope flickering in his chest like an old lightbulb.

“Okay. I understand,” she says. “I forgive you. I know this is not who you are, and that this client was truly important. I’ll have more birthdays.” She smiles at him, moving closer. “It won’t happen again.”

Still in awe, Jongseong nods. “Never again.” His heart is beating quickly and his eyes begin to water.

“Good,” she mumbles. “Then you’re forgiven.”

She grins at him as all the anger and pain dissipates; it lifts off her chest and wafts out of the room, leaving nothing but soft awkwardness in the air. Her heart feels fuller and lighter and she feels like she could cry, in happiness this time.

Jongseong is staring at her, hands trembling. Her words float around his head, and even when they settle, branding themselves in his skull, he still can’t believe them. Abruptly, he untangles their hands and drops his head into his hands, shoulders shaking as silent sobs pour out of him.

He didn’t deserve it, and yet she forgives him. His heart rattled in his chest and it felt lighter, the darkness seeping out of it.

Y/n freezes as she watches him cry, nothing but tenderness in her chest as she presses herself against him and wraps her around his shaking body. She rubs his back and holds him tight, knowing that her own tears are falling.

That’s how they stay for a bit; one of them crying uncontrollably and the other comforting, both interchanging as the sky darkens and all the emotions, all the negative and anxious emotions washed away.

Finally, their tears come to an end and she wipes Jongseong’s face as he wipes hers, a gentleness in their touch. She drops her hands as Jongseong cups her face, his thumbs brushing the skin under her eyes.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, transfixed by her. Her grip on his loosened tie tightens and she smiles at him. “Can I kiss you?”

She nods, weeks of neglect resurfacing as she shuffles onto his lap, wanting to be as close to him as she can be. With her legs on either side of him, she looks down at his glazed eyes and thinks she might pass away at the sheer intensity of his gaze.

Slowly, he cups her face again and pulls her face closer to his. They breathe the same air as her lips hover his and she almost begs him before he softly connects their lips. Their plush lips press against each other and it’s enough for her to sink into him.

One of his hands drops to her waist and one of her hands travels into his hair as the kiss deepens, their lips moving passionately against each other, tongues pressed together. The sound of their kissing echoes through the living room, a sound that the walls had missed and begun to crave.

Y/n pulls at his hair, tiling his face upwards as she kisses him messily, her tongue tracing his bottom lip. She grins as his eyes flutter shut and the warmth in her body travels to her core, the one part of her body that craved him.

Unable to help himself, Jongseong kisses her neck, sucking and biting. He had missed the taste of her skin and he sucks, needing her taste all over him. She throws her head back in pleasure, slowly grinding down on his lap. This was almost too much for her, but she would never ask to stop.

When his clothed bulge brushes against her clothed pussy, they both hiss and press their foreheads against each other, relishing in the arousal around them. His thumb rubs soft circles on her cheeks as she scratches the nape of his neck.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he whispers. “We can wait. Both of our emotions are high right now and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable later. We can wait.”

She smiles at him, her heart warm and content. She presses a soft kiss to the corner of his lips and his lips lift into a smile.

“I don’t want to wait, Jongie.” Y/n brushes her nose against his. “I want you right now.”

Jongseong looks up at her and squeezes her waist. “You’re sure?”

She nods and presses herself down on him, biting her bottom lip at the friction. “You have a lot of making up to do. I suggest you get started.”

Jongseong smiles, the corners of his lips lifting into a wider smirk. He couldn’t believe how he went so long without this; without her. He loved everything about her, missed everything about her. And she didn’t know it, but he would spend the rest of his life making it up to her.

He kisses her before he brings his other hand under her thigh and lifts her as he stands up. Surprised, she wraps his legs and arms around him, laughing when he grins at her. Holding her securely under her thighs, he slowly makes his way upstairs.

She presses soft kisses to his neck as he walks up the stairs, biting every time he squeezed the skin of her thighs. “I want it slow,” she whispers against his ear. She grins when he stills right in front of their door before kicking it open. “And raw.”

Jongseong chuckles at her words but he doesn’t find them funny. A warmth spread through him, a primal need washing over him. It had been too long, and even the thought of her walls around him was too much.

But tonight was not about him. It was about her. And he would give her everything he had.

Gently, he sits her down on their large bed, looking down at her with heated eyes. She stares up at him, ignoring the way his cock pressed against his dress pants. She was more focused on his eyes; beautiful and brown and ablaze.

Jongseong cups her chin and simply stares down at her, love swelling in his chest. He rubs her chin and leans down, pressing his lips on her forehead. At the softness of the gesture, her eyes shut and she releases a quick breath.

“Tonight is about you,” he says. “Tell me what you want, and it’s yours.” He pulls off his tie and starts to unbutton his shirt, staring directly into her eyes.

Her throat dries at his words, not used to having so much control. It made her clench her thighs together as she realized that Jongseong truly meant it; tonight was about her, only her.

Y/n watches with hungry eyes as he slips off his collar shirt, leaving his abs exposed as he slowly unbuttons his pants, still staring at her. Feeling mesmerized, she tugs off her shirt and smiles as his warm gaze immediately falls on her bare chest, forgetting to put on a bra after the shower.

She watches him carefully as he slowly pulls down his pants and kicks them off. He stands there in his boxers, bulge pressing against the fabric as he stares at her. She’s only focused on the lower half of him, her mind racing.

“Want me to help you, darling?”

He steps closer and raises his eyebrow in question. She simply nods, unable to speak. Her heart skips a beat as he links his thumb over the waistband of her sweatpants and panties and pulls them down. Unconsciously, she raises her hips and hisses as the cold air hits her pussy.

Jongseong pulls her pants off and lays them on the floor next to his dress pants. He lifts his gaze to hers before it travels down her body, starting at her neck to her chest and then to her pussy. He can only stare, mouth watering at the sight.

She reaches out to him and he steps closer. Y/n hooks her thumb on the waistband of his boxers and looks up at him. He smiles at her and pats her cheek. “Whatever you want, love.”

She pulls down slowly, enjoying the way his eyes flutter shut as the elastic rubs against his shaft. She drops his boxers and his cock springs free, almost hitting her nose. She stares at it, eyes wide. It had been a while and she had forgotten the size of it.

Hypnotized, she leans forward and presses a soft kiss to its pink head. Jongseong hisses and throws his head back, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Fuck,” he whispers.

She wraps her hand around it and he squeezes her shoulder, eyes alight as he stares down at her, biting his bottom lip. She squeezes once before she moves her hand up and down, using his precum to wet his dick. It becomes harder in her hand and she squeezes her thighs together.

Jongseong wraps his hand around her wrist and shakes his head. “Not today, darling.” He hisses when she squeezes him. “Tonight is about you. Don’t you want my tongue in you?”

She did, she really, really did. But she wanted this too. She had missed his cock, missed the way it tasted and the way he fell apart on her tongue.

“You said whatever I wanted. What if I want this?”

Jongseong smiled at her. “Don’t you want me to make you feel good? My cum in your pussy?”

His words make her dizzy and she nods, immediately letting his dick go. He grinned at her and she knew that even though she had control, he would always have power over her. She loved it, knowing that he was trying to make it all about her.

She shuffles backwards onto the bed, stopping only when she reaches the middle. She drops her head on his pillow and looks at him, spreading her legs. He watches her with dark eyes, standing at the foot of the bed. At the sight of her glistening pussy, he crawls onto the bed.

He rests between her legs and looks down at her, love and affection swelling in his eyes. She almost feels shy at his stare, the sudden urge to cover up became strong. Before she could coverself with her arms, he leans down and captures her lips in a heated gaze.

His arms are on either side of her head as he kisses her fiercely, his tongue licking at her lips before he sucks on her bottom lip. When he pulls away, she’s breathless and her lips are swollen and her eyes are so glassy.

“I missed you,” Y/n whispers. He kisses her again, pressing his lips eagerly against hers, trying to convey all his feelings through the kiss. Hoping she knew that she didn’t have to miss him anymore. He was right here, where he belonged.

“You taste good,” she mumbles, slightly out of breath.

He kisses her cheek and nose before he begins kissing down her body. He kisses her collar bones before moving to her chest. He kisses both breasts before he captures one nipple in his mouth, hand palming the other. She moans and pushes her head back further into the pillow, eyes shut. He releases that nipple before sucking on the other one, tongue swirling around the bud as he sucked and nipped.

Her hands travel up his back and into his hair as she pulls, her entire body feels sensitive. Her grip on his hair tightens as he kisses down her body until he reaches her thighs. He moves back, lying down between her spread legs as he kisses her inner thigh.

True to his nature, he teases her a bit. He lets his lips travel close to her dripping cunt but doesn’t give her the satisfaction. He feels a little bad, but he can’t help. The sight of her cunt dripping is enough to keep him busy.

“Jongie,” she whines. “Please.” Her breathy voice captivates him, and his eyes soften.

Immediately, Jongseongs stops kissing her inner thigh and shifts his face closer to her cunt, his nose brushing against her folds. She breathes sharply as his tongue gently pokes at her clit before he presses his lips against her cunt, breathing her in. “Taste and smells so good, darling.”

Her body jerks forward as he licks her slick from her dripping hole up to her clit, moaning as he laps up all her juices. She slides her hands into his hair as he begins to devour her, slurping and sucking on her cunt.

“Fuck,” Y/n breathes out as he slides his tongue in, pulling at his hair. He buries his face into her cunt, his tongue reaching deep within her. His nose brushes against her swollen folds and he hums into her as she begins grinding down on his face.

He pushes his nose and tongue as far as they can go, refusing to breathe. The grip she has on his hair is deadly, but he loves it. The pain is enough for him to rut against the mattress, his cock red and rock hard.

She moans as he pushes his tongue deeper within her, tilting his head. Her hips jerk forward as he sucks loudly. She wraps her legs around his head and he hums in approval, the sound vibrating against the walls of her pussy.

“I’m going to cum, Jongie.” She pants, pulling at his hair even harder.

Jongseong feels her clench around his tongue and when her body begins to shake, he uses one hand to hold her hips down, tongue pushing deeper.

She clenches her eyes shut as the build up snaps and she sobs out his name, shaking as her vision blurred with tears. She squeezes her thighs closer together as Jongseong continues to lick up her cum, the bottom half of his face shiny with her slick.

She screamed as his tongue kept pushing into her, lapping up all her juices as she rode out her orgasm on his face.

“Please, please,” she begged, overstimulated as he sucked her dry. “Jongie. Too much.”

Jongseong continues to lick from her entrance to her clit, lost in her. She tastes so good on his tongue and he has missed it so much. As she shakes, he begins to slow down his licking, trying to calm her down.

Her body slowly stops trembling as he presses soft kisses to her bare cunt, spreading her cum all over her thighs as he kisses her bottom half. She stares at him with hooded eyes, another build up right at the edge.

“You did so good, darling,” he whispers into her thighs. “Cummed so well. You taste amazing.”

She gasps and hisses, trying to catch her breath. He lifts his head and smiles at the fucked out look on her face, glad that even though it had been a while, no one could do what he could do.

Her hand is still in his hair and she tightens her grip before pulling him towards her, smashing their lips together. His breath hitches as she licks at his lips, moaning at the taste of herself on him. They kiss harshly, the taste of her cum on both their lips as their chests press together.

Y/n runs her hands up and down his back, nails lightly grazing his skin and he shudders into her, kissing her neck. He shifts a bit before his dick grazes her swollen folds and they both groan, her nails digging into his back.

“Fuck me,” she says. “Please, Jongie.”

“Still want it slow?” He bit her neck, smiling at the slightly discolored patch of skin.

“No,” she pants. “Fuck me hard. Hard and rough,” she kisses his jaw. “Just need you in me.” He presses a soft kiss to her lips and smiles when she giggles, a softness tearing through all the tension.

Jongseong lifts his head and presses his forehead against hers as he lines himself with her entrance, his dick wet and covered in her juices. They stare at each other as he pushes the tip in, watching her carefully as her eyes screw shut and her breathing quickens. He keeps the tip in as he presses feather-like kisses to her eyelids and cheeks.

She opens her eyes and gasps at the intensity in his; the way his eyes shone with love and apologies, his entire being at her disposal. Y/n smiles at him and pushes his chest firmly against hers. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” His voice is low and breathy as his lips hovers hers.

“Like you’re seeing me for the first time.”

Instead of answering, he captures her lips in a passionate kiss, lips moving feverishly as he tries to convey all his feelings in words. As she kisses him, she moves her lower half, trying to feel more.

Jongseong pulls away and stares at the string of spit that connects them, licking his lips as breaks it. “You’re everything to me,” he says. “Everything.”

She smiles at him and although his dick was inside her and they were both naked, he blushed. He felt his ears warm as she grins at him, her eyes shiny. “You’re everything to me,” she pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

They stare at each other as Jongseong rotates his hips once before he slowly pushes himself further into her soaking, tight cunt. He groans at the feeling of her gummy walls sucking him in, welcoming him home. Her breath hitches as she throws her head back.

“Fuck, darling,” he bites her bottom lip. “So fucking tight.”

Y/n digs her nails into his back as she squeezes her eyes shut, relishing in the thickness of his cock and how well it filled her up. She mumbled incoherent things as he bottomed out, his cock hitting places inside her she could never reach.

He rocks his hips against her spread legs, his dick slowly sliding in and out of her soaking cunt. He watches the way his cock disappears completely inside her, his balls hitting against her ass. Jongseong grunts when she squeezes around his cock, quiet mumblings about going faster, harder.

He smiles before he thrusts harder, his tip pressing against her cervix. Her eyes roll back as she digs her nails deeper into this back, leaving small red marks.

“So good,” she moans out. “Missed it so much.” Her eyes are watery and her jaw goes slack at the pleasure, his cock brushing against all her sweet spots. She whimpers when one of his hands brushes against her nipples, the feeling of his thumb rubbing against them had her seeing stars.

Jongseong lowers his head towards her neck and begins to trail soft bites along her shoulders as his hips move harshly against hers. “So good, pretty,” he praises. “Taking me so well.” The pleasure was getting to his head, overtaking his body as her moans mixed with his breathy ones, sweaty bodies rubbing against each other.

“G–gonna cum,” she stutters, eyes closing as his pace fastens and the bed creaks beneath her. “I’m so close, Jongie.” She sobs as he kisses her forehead. The feeling of pleasure made her dizzy as his building veins rubbed against her walls.

“Yeah?” His own euphoria bubbled and his vision blurred as he focused on the squelching sounds of his dick pounding into her dripping cunt. He brushed his lips against her forehead.

“Cum for me, darling. I got you.” He whispered, sweetly. “Let go. Let it all out.”

He continued to pound into her as she came undone under him, her release washing over her as her body went limp and her legs began to shake. Her vision went white as Jongseong mumbled sweet words, his hips slamming against hers.

Y/n squeezes her walls around him as she begins to cry, overstimulated as she still cums. At the feeling of her walls tightening, Jongseong releases a long breath as his hips stutter, his own cum pouring out of him.

“I love you,” he pants. “I love you. I love you. I love you so much.”

His warm cum fills her soaked pussy and he slowly rocks his hips back and forth, pumping his cum back into her. Her hands travel down his back until she pushes his lower back firmly into her, whimpering as his dick pushes the cum deep within her. She keeps her hands there despite crying at the sensitivity.

Jongseong presses open mouth kisses along her neck and jaw as he still cums, hissing when it all becomes too much for his dick. Her walls are still warm and sticky with their cum but he can’t stop fucking her. Her hands grip his ass as she forces him still, his cock deep within her.

“Too much,” she mumbles against his neck. “Too much.” When he tries to move, to pull out because of her words, she squeezes his ass tighter and shakes her head, still numb to her senses. “Don’t move,” she bites his neck.

Jongseong smiles dumbly as he cages her between his arms, letting his body completely cover hers as she keeps him inside her. “Did so amazing for me, love.” He kissed her cheek, his nose wiping a few tears. “Took my cum so well.”

Y/n simply nods against his neck, eyes still sewn shut as she savours the feeling of his dick inside her. Her pussy squeezes around his cock and she hisses at the feeling of being overstimulated.

Jongseong closes his eyes and breathes her in, his nose against her neck as he licks the skin under her ear, biting softly. He brings one hand up to face and brushes the hair behind her ear. She brings one hand up to her face and grabs his wrist. He watches her with wide eyes as she presses a soft kiss against his ring.

“I love you,” she whispers against his fingers. His heart skips a beat and he smiles.

His dick is still hard in her, pulsing as his cum drips out of her. He tries his best not to move, knowing that all she needed right now was the feeling of being full after having been empty for so long.

“Pretty,” he mumbles against her neck. “You okay? Want me to run you a bath?” He lifts his head and his heart warms at the fondness in her eyes as she looks at him, a soft smile on her plump lips.

“Not yet.” She squeezes his ass before she moves him, his dick slowly sliding in and out of her. He hisses at the feeling and looks down at her. “Need you again,” she smiles.

Jongseong smiles at her before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. He brushes his nose against hers and slowly lifts his body off her, putting his strength back in his legs as he slams into her without warning.

Y/n whimpers, nails digging further into his back as he slowly rocks his hips. He grins at her and decides that if fucking her silly is what she wants, then it’s what she’ll get.

“Whatever you want, darling.”

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