#and i hope you one day meet someone who gives you that warm feeling inside
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stylesonfilms ¡ 2 days ago
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the days are long, the days are hard [h.s]
word count: 4.5k
after a long, excruciating week at work packed with bad news, all you want is your husband, harry.
(inspired by one of my moots that has had a rough few days, hope this brings some comfort!)
warnings: none, just fluff!
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Your week started off rough—rougher than most, in fact. The kind of week that clings to your chest like damp fabric, making it hard to breathe and even harder to find the energy to push through.
Monday was everything you’d expect a Monday to be: sluggish, jarring, and unforgiving. Getting back into the groove of things at the office after a much-needed holiday break felt like trying to climb uphill in heels on black ice. Your inbox was flooded, your calendar double-booked, and your brain resistant to the demands of corporate life. The fluorescent lighting overhead seemed brighter than usual, glaring down at you as though it wanted to mock your every misstep.
By Tuesday, the headache that had been brewing since the start of the week blossomed into a full-on throbbing migraine. You powered through with your phone glued to your ear, making calls and leaving voicemails to important individuals who somehow never seemed available. The phone grew slick in your clammy hands, and you found yourself gripping it tighter as though that would keep it from slipping away along with your patience.
Wednesday hit like a freight train. You walked into the office, already dreading the growing to-do list, only to be blindsided by the news that you’d be giving not one, but two speeches at back-to-back meetings. Meetings that you didn’t even know existed until that very moment. You had smiled through clenched teeth and nodded at your boss, silently berating yourself for not anticipating this kind of curveball. The weight of your own expectations pressed heavily on your shoulders, making the simple act of breathing feel like a chore.
Meanwhile, Harry was a ghost in the rhythm of your week. He left before the sun rose, his coffee cup rinsed and drying in the sink by the time you wandered into the kitchen each morning. By the time he returned home, long after the sky had surrendered to darkness, you’d already have dinner waiting—his plate warm, yours half-empty. Conversations were quick and superficial, exchanges of how-was-your-day glossed over in favor of tired smiles and heavy eyelids.
Friday arrived, and with it, the chaos of the city seemed to mirror the storm inside you. Your phone buzzed incessantly in your purse, vibrating against the side of your hip as you weaved through the swarm of New Yorkers hustling to get wherever they needed to be. The cold January air stung your cheeks, and the weight of your tote bag dug into your shoulder as you dodged elbows and briefcases. You muttered an apology to someone who bumped into you, though you couldn’t bring yourself to look up from the sidewalk until you reached the revolving doors of your building.
Once inside, you let out a sharp exhale, your breath fogging up the glass as you took a moment to compose yourself. Tugging at your blazer, you smoothed it over your pencil skirt before running your fingers through your hair, trying to tame the frizz that had been building from the morning’s commute. Your heels clicked sharply against the marble floors as you made your way to the elevator, the sound echoing faintly in the open lobby.
“Hi, Martha!” you chirped at the receptionist, flashing her a smile that felt paper-thin.
“Morning! Good luck today!” she called back cheerfully, though her voice felt like it was coming from underwater.
You loved her, truly. She was one of the few people in the office whose presence didn’t add to your stress, but today, you could barely muster the energy to respond with more than a quick wave. Your nerves had been stretched to the breaking point, and your usual confidence felt like it had been replaced by quicksand.
If it had been any other day, Harry would’ve held you the night before, grounding you in the warmth of his arms as he peppered light kisses across your face. He would’ve whispered words of reassurance into your temple, his voice low and steady as he reminded you of just how capable you were. His hands would have found the curve of your back, his thumb tracing soothing circles into your skin until your worries melted into the sheets.
But last night, you hadn’t let him in. Despite his gentle prodding and his furrowed brows that silently begged you to confide in him, you had brushed him off with excuses of being overtired. You’d told him about your unreasonable bosses, blaming your frustration on the endless pile of work. He didn’t believe you—Harry never did when it came to half-truths. He knew you too well.
He’d pressed his lips into a thin line, his silence carrying the weight of his concern, but he had let it go, probably sensing you didn’t have the energy to delve into your worries. And maybe you should have let him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to add to the weight he was already carrying. With two employees down at his job, he’d been shouldering triple the workload, yet he still came home each night with that same lopsided smile.
You thought about the time, three years ago, when you asked him how he managed to leave the stress of work at the door. His answer had been so simple, yet it had stayed with you ever since.
“Because,” he’d said, pulling you into his arms, “at the end of the day, no matter how bad it gets, I get to come home to you. And that makes everything else feel small.”
The memory brought a faint smile to your lips, even as you stepped into the elevator and prepared yourself for another long day.
You sighed as the elevator dinged softly, floor by floor, the sound seeming to echo in the confined space. It was a rhythmic, monotonous chime, yet it only heightened your sense of dread. Fishing your phone out of your purse, you let the leather strap slide from your shoulder and settle in the crook of your arm. The screen lit up immediately, bathing your face in a cold glow, and a notification blinked persistently at the top. A voicemail.
Your stomach tightened when you saw the name attached: Martin Mayer-Harvey. The name alone carried weight—a man whose influence stretched across six major publishing branches, a figure both revered and feared in the industry. His voice had been a beacon of hope during your one-on-one interview, one you had approached with equal parts trepidation and determination.
Harry had been ecstatic when you first told him about the opportunity. He’d grinned so wide his dimples had cut deep into his cheeks, his enthusiasm bubbling over as he pulled you into a celebratory hug. “This is it,” he’d said, his hands cradling your face. “This is the door opening for you, babe. And you’re going to crush it.” He’d even gone the extra mile to send recommendations on your behalf, his faith in you unwavering.
But now, standing alone in the elevator, the air felt thick with foreboding. With a swipe of your thumb, you tapped the notification, bringing the phone to your ear as you turned the volume up. Another ding. Another floor.
The voicemail played, Martin’s voice smooth and clinical, like velvet stretched too thin.
“Mrs. Y/N, thank you for your time and the professionalism you demonstrated during your interview. I regret to inform you that you have not been selected as an employee for this upcoming year. Nothing personal, it just comes down to the finer things—successes and ethics, and all. Thanks again. Your time was appreciated.”
The words hit you like a gut punch. Your stomach churned, a nauseating wave rolling over you as your breath caught in your throat. Not selected. You repeated the phrase in your mind, the syllables heavy and jagged, cutting deeper with every repetition. Successes and ethics? What did that even mean? Was he saying you weren’t accomplished enough? That you lacked whatever intangible quality he deemed essential?
You swallowed hard, but the lump in your throat refused to go away. When you’d shaken his hand after the interview, his words had brimmed with promise, his smile so genuine you’d dared to believe the position was yours. Yet now, the sterile tone of his voicemail made you feel like just another name crossed off a list.
The elevator dinged again, jolting you out of your spiraling thoughts as the doors slid open with an indifferent hum. The bright fluorescent lights of the seventh floor spilled in, harsh and unforgiving, making you squint as you stepped out into the long hallway. Blinking rapidly, you shoved your phone back into your purse, gripping the strap tightly as if it could somehow anchor you.
Your heels clicked against the polished tiles, the sound sharp and deliberate as you forced yourself to move forward. The walls, painted a dull beige, seemed to close in on you with every step, the air growing heavier as you approached your office.
When you finally stepped inside, the familiar scent of stale coffee and printer ink greeted you, a small comfort in an otherwise dismal moment. Dropping your purse onto the desk with a dull thud, you leaned against the wooden frame, your fingers curling around its edge as if it could keep you upright. Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths as you closed your eyes, willing yourself to regain control.
The weight of disappointment pressed down on you, a suffocating heaviness that made your fingers tremble as they tightened around the wood. You hated this job. Loathed it, really. What had once been a golden opportunity now felt like a gilded cage. Five years of grunt work had left you disillusioned, the spark of ambition dimmed by endless busywork and little recognition. You had learned, yes, but at what cost?
Your thoughts were interrupted by the creak of the door swinging open, followed by a brisk knock. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
“Let’s go,” your boss grunted, his voice clipped and devoid of warmth. A briefcase dangled from his hand as he nodded toward the hallway. “You’ve got work to do.”
The meetings were as grueling as you’d anticipated. Standing in front of the room, under the scrutinizing gaze of your colleagues, felt like being trapped under a spotlight. The projector whirred faintly as you fumbled with the remote, your palms damp as you flipped through slide after slide. Words stumbled out of your mouth, tangling together as your nerves got the better of you. Every time you glanced at the room, the blank faces staring back only made your stomach twist further.
You kept replaying Martin’s voicemail in your head, the words looping like a broken record, distracting you at every turn. The disappointment, the humiliation—it all burned, settling low in your gut like a stone.
By the time the meetings ended, you could barely muster the energy to exchange handshakes, your smiles forced and brittle as you bid everyone a good day.
You checked the dainty watch on your wrist—a delicate silver piece Harry had gifted you on your one-year anniversary. It read 5:30. You sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you snapped your case closed on the meeting table.
“What happened out there?” your boss asked, his tone sharp and unimpressed. His gaze swept over you, narrowing slightly as though he could see every crack in your armor. “I thought you were prepared.”
You gave me just under two damn days, you thought bitterly, though the words never left your lips.
Instead, you offered a tight-lipped apology. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I let myself get distracted.”
Your boss lingered for a moment, his eyes scanning your face before letting out a quiet “hm.” He turned on his heel and left without another word.
The breath you’d been holding escaped in a shuddering sigh. The weight of the day bore down on you, your muscles aching under the strain. All you wanted was to go home. To take a long, scalding shower and let the steam wash away the tension clinging to your skin. To crawl into bed, pull the covers over your head, and pretend for a moment that the world wasn’t so heavy.
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The hot water cascaded over your skin in steady rivulets, steaming against the cool tiles and filling the bathroom with a dense, comforting warmth. Each droplet hit your shoulders and back with a soothing rhythm, dissolving the tension knotted in your muscles from the week’s troubles. You leaned forward slightly, pressing your palms against the wet shower wall, letting the stream ripple through the strands of your hair and drip down to your toes. The scent of pomegranate and shea butter from the body scrub filled the air, sweet and creamy, wrapping around you like a gentle embrace.
You had gotten home just over half an hour ago. The house had been quiet, the kind of stillness that usually greeted you on Fridays. Harry’s car was absent from the driveway, as expected—he always stayed late at the end of the week, wrapping up whatever loose ends needed his attention. The emptiness of the house had been neither comforting nor unsettling; it simply was. You’d set your bag on the kitchen counter, slipped off your heels, and headed straight for the shower, bypassing the bedroom entirely.
Your clothes lay in a careless heap on the tiled floor, a small pile of the day’s exhaustion. You’d scrubbed at your scalp with your fingernails, washing your hair thoroughly not once, but twice, as if doing so could cleanse not just the grime of the day, but also the weight pressing on your mind. You busied yourself with every task you could—shaving over every inch of skin, exfoliating with the grainy scrub until your arms and legs felt soft and raw, then lathering up with the matching body wash, its silky foam sliding over your skin before being washed away in swirling streams.
When the water finally stopped, you stood for a moment in the silence, the air heavy with steam and the faint aroma of your products. You wrung out your hair with practiced motions, droplets splattering onto the shower floor as you reached for the towel. With a flick of your wrist, you flipped your hair forward and wrapped it into the plush fabric, the soft pink standing out against the misty haze. Another towel—this one a little coarser—was pulled from the rack, and you pressed it to your damp skin, blotting and drying before wrapping it securely around your body.
The bathroom was your sanctuary for the next hour. You took your time moving through your routine, dabbing on lotions and serums, brushing out your hair, and slipping into a pair of soft, oversized pajamas. The familiar scents of lavender and coconut oil mingled with the lingering steam, grounding you as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Your heart still carried the same heaviness it had since hearing the voicemail, a quiet ache nestled in your chest. But now, it felt distant—muted, like background noise to the slow hum of your movements.
By the time you left the bathroom, the house felt cooler, the air outside the warmth of the shower almost brisk against your skin. You padded down the hallway barefoot, the soft patter of your steps swallowed by the carpet. The living room was dimly lit, the glow from the TV casting flickering shadows against the walls. You curled up on the couch under the throw blanket, its weight comforting as it settled over you. Your comfort show played softly in the background, the familiar voices blending seamlessly into the quiet. A well-loved book rested by your side, its pages slightly worn, ready to pull you in if you felt like retreating further into your own world.
Around seven PM, the sound of the front door opening broke the silence. The subtle click of the latch, followed by the rhythmic clack of Harry’s work shoes against the hardwood floor, was a melody you didn’t realize you’d been waiting for. His keys jingled briefly before landing with a soft clink in the bowl by the door, and the heavier thud of his briefcase settling onto the dining table made your heart lighten just a little.
Relief bubbled in your chest, warm and effervescent, as you shifted under the blanket. Your arm hooked around the back of the couch, your head tilting to look over your shoulder as Harry rounded the corner. The sight of him brought an instant smile to your face.
He was still in his work suit, the sharp lines of his dark grey blazer and slacks softened by the slight dishevelment that came with a long day. The plain black button-up underneath was unbuttoned at the collar, and the sleeves were cuffed up just enough to reveal his wrists. His hair was slightly mussed, a few strands falling across his forehead.
His lips curved into a familiar, easy smile when he saw you, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he lifted a bag of takeout into the air. “I brought takeout,” he said, his voice warm and teasing as he walked over to you. “Figured tonight was one of those nights.”
Your chest swelled with gratitude— he knew you so well. He always had.
You murmured a quiet thank you, your voice soft and a little worn, and let out a contented sigh as he sank onto the couch beside you. His arms wrapped snugly around you, pulling you close as the weight of the day melted away. You leaned into him, your head resting against his chest as his familiar scent— something clean, woodsy, and uniquely him— enveloped you. His nose brushed against your damp hair, and the warmth of his presence grounded you in a way nothing else could.
For the first time all day, you felt like you could finally exhale.
“You smell good, baby.” Harry’s voice was a soft murmur, his accent thick and lingering in the air like honey, each word wrapped in warmth. His large hands splayed across your back, their weight grounding you as they roamed gently over the sleek fabric of your pajama set. His touch was tender, deliberate, as though he was trying to smooth away the burdens of your day. You melted into him, your arms winding around his torso, clinging to him like he was your lifeline. The familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around you, blending seamlessly with the faint aroma of soap lingering on your own skin.
Your face nestled into the crook of his neck, the warmth of his body radiating into yours as you fluttered your eyes shut. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath your cheek, his heartbeat a gentle, soothing rhythm that seemed to lull your own into sync. Being here, in his arms, felt like finally exhaling after holding your breath all day.
Harry’s lips pressed into a small frown, the pinch of his brows betraying his concern. His hands, broad and steady, paused on your back, giving your shoulders a reassuring squeeze before he pulled back slightly to study you. One hand slid beneath your chin, his touch feather-light but firm, guiding your gaze up to meet his.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked softly, his green eyes searching yours with an intensity that felt like he was looking straight into your soul. His voice was gentle, but the concern etched into his expression made your chest tighten. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone in a slow, comforting stroke, its warmth grounding you even as you struggled to hold his gaze.
You let out a small, weary sigh. “Meetings,” you mumbled, though even to your own ears, the excuse sounded thin. Still, you nuzzled into his touch, seeking comfort as your words trailed off.
Harry’s hand cradled your jaw now, his thumb continuing its soothing path along your skin. His other hand found its way to your bare thigh, his palm warm and steady as it swept up and down, brushing lightly under the hem of your sleep shorts. His touch was instinctive, effortless, but it carried with it a deep well of care that threatened to unravel you.
“You don’t get this worn and torn over meetings, love,” he said quietly, his voice like a low hum of thunder, steady and grounding. “Is there something else?” His green eyes held yours, steady and unyielding, like a comforting fire that wouldn’t burn but would warm you to your core.
Your lips parted, but the words caught in your throat. You sighed again, this time deeper, your shoulders slumping under the weight of it all. His hands never wavered— one cupping your face, the other continuing its soothing rhythm against your thigh.
Finally, you spoke, your voice trembling with a mix of sadness and resignation. “That job at Mayer-Harvey completely fell through,” you admitted, your breath hitching as the words spilled out. “He said... he said I wasn’t qualified enough, not accomplished enough, just… not enough.” The words felt heavier the more you said them, the ache in your chest twisting a little tighter.
Harry’s frown deepened, the lines on his face etched with quiet frustration— not at you, but at the world that had made you feel this way. His thumb stilled for a moment before resuming its gentle sweep across your cheek. When your gaze dropped to your hands, which were busy fiddling with the edge of his blazer, he tipped your chin back up with tender insistence.
“Baby, you know that’s not true, right?” His voice was firm but still soft, his words laced with conviction. “None of it. He doesn’t know an ounce of what he’s talking about.”
You shook your head slightly, your brows furrowing. “H, he owns six different branches. I would say he—.”
“No.” Harry’s voice interrupted gently but firmly, his head shaking in disagreement. “Just because he owns them doesn’t mean he knows how to work them. I can guarantee you, in two months, he’ll realize just how badly he messed up by letting you go. He’ll regret it, love, because no one brings what you do to the table.”
Your lips wavered into a faint pout, sadness glazing over your eyes as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat. “I just… I have to keep looking, I guess. Maybe I wasn’t meant to work there anyway.”
“But you damn sure wanted it,” Harry said, his voice softening, though the conviction in his tone remained. His hand on your thigh paused to squeeze lightly before resuming its gentle strokes. “And you deserved it. Y/N, I’ve seen your work. I’ve seen how dedicated you are, how much effort you put in, even when it’s for a company that doesn’t deserve you. And I know,” he paused, leaning a little closer, his eyes locking onto yours, “I know you’d pack a bigger punch for a company that’s actually worth it.”
His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, slowly loosening the knot of doubt and hurt in your chest. Maybe he was right.
You nodded slowly, your fingers tracing the lapel of his blazer as you whispered, “I really wanted it, H.”
“I know, baby.” His voice was soft, his lips brushing against your forehead in a kiss that was as much a promise as it was an act of comfort. He kissed the bridge of your nose next, lingering there for a moment. “But don’t worry, darling. We’ll find you something better— something that deserves you. And listen, if you want to leave that job now, I’d be more than happy to support us. All I want is to take care of my girl. That’s it.”
Harry’s hands framed your face, his thumbs stroking softly against your cheeks as he looked at you with an intensity that made you feel seen in a way no one else could make you feel. Then, slowly, he leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss so gentle, so tender, that it made your heart swell and your worries ebb away.
With Harry by your side, it didn’t matter what the world threw at you. His unwavering support, his patience, his love— it was all you needed.
“Now c’mon,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to press another kiss to your forehead. “Let’s have dinner, yeah?”
You spent that night cooped up under his arm, the fabric of his suit soft but slightly wrinkled from your cuddling. Neither of you cared. All that mattered was the comfort of being close, the way his steady heartbeat became your lullaby as the hours ticked by. The movie played quietly in the background, but neither of you was paying much attention. Harry’s fingers absentmindedly traced little patterns along your arm, while you nestled deeper into his side, letting his warmth soak into your skin.
When dinner was done and the plates had been set aside, Harry stood, stretching dramatically before grinning down at you. “Don’t move a muscle,” he teased, his green eyes crinkling with affection as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head.
He took care of the cleanup, tossing the trash and rinsing the dishes with that same effortless grace he did everything else. You watched him from the couch, your heart swelling as he moved around the room, sleeves rolled up, that signature Harry charm shining through even in the simplest of acts. He looked over his shoulder to catch you staring, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips. “What’re you looking at, huh?”
“You,” you said softly, your voice carrying a warmth that made his smile widen.
“Good answer,” he chuckled, before walking over and scooping you up effortlessly. You let out a small squeal, laughing as he carried you bridal style toward the bedroom. “C’mon, love. Time for a proper cuddle.”
Once in bed, Harry wrapped you up in his arms as if he never wanted to let go. The suit jacket had long been tossed to the side, but his tie still hung loosely around his neck, a detail that made you smile. His hand found its way to your hair, fingers combing through the strands with a tenderness that melted away the last of your worries.
“By the way,” he murmured, his voice soft and low, “I took the next few days off.”
You pulled back slightly, looking up at him in surprise. “You did?”
“Mmhm,” he confirmed, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. “Figured my girl needed me more than work did. And honestly, I needed this too. Just you and me for the weekend. Sound good?”
You nodded, your smile spreading as you snuggled closer, your hand resting against his chest. “Sounds perfect.”
Harry’s arms tightened around you, his lips brushing against your temple. “Good. Because I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
And as you drifted off to sleep in his embrace, the weight of the world seemed to disappear, replaced by the quiet, unshakable love that only he could give.
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terrific-togekiss ¡ 1 year ago
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I love how this goes hand in hand with another post I found.
Always doing anything BUT treating toxic women as abusers worth every callout and no defense.
Men who admit when they’re sad and let you hold them are so strong and absolute treasures.
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bisexualiteaa ¡ 9 months ago
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actually dying for a cooper howard x vaultie!reader smut where they have some slow burn longing steaminess, but coop thinks she’s too good for him UNTIL she comes in contact with a sex pollen-esque chem and he finally gives in to save her 🥵 please work your magic and elaborate however you want
A Flame in Your Heart
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Cooper Howard x Fem Reader (SMUT!!)
CW: NSFW like absolutely filthy y’all, you’ve been warned. 💀 unprotected sex, irradiated cream pie, p in v, p0rn w/ plot, slow burn, flirting, cursing, perverted thoughts, dub-con (because of chem usage though consent is asked and given!) rough sex, dirty talk, choking, praise kink, degradation, squirting, mention of fingering, FEELINGS!! Slight deviation from TV series, possible grammar/spelling mistakes, cooper starts off mean but slowly warms up to reader
AN: I absolutely LOVED this request! I was up all night writing down all my ideas and spent all this morning perfecting it, and this has to be my longest one yet! I thank you for your patience anon and my lovely readers as I finally post this! Hope you enjoy and that I have done your ask justice! ❤️
Life outside of the vault was difficult to say the least. You felt hunger and dehydration in ways you’d never experienced before, going out of your way to do desperate things you would normally never do in order to get said food and water. The heat was unbearable, every stretch of land you walked across had a danger lurking around every corner, and worst of all, you’d never felt so alone. You weren’t sure what it was about you, maybe it was because you were new to the surface, maybe it was your nearly perfect skin, but everyone seemed to stare or glare at you when you would walk through. It wasn’t until you’d passed through Filly, meeting Ma June that you realized people didn’t take kindly to people like you. “Vaulties” she called them, an audible disdain in her tone, making you look down to remember you were in your blue and gold Vault-Tec suit. “I’ll be going then, have a nice day!” You said skiddishly, offering her a kind smile before turning and exiting the shop. You just wanted to make friends, why was that so hard up here? So when your eyes set on a man clad in classic Wild West cowboy clothes, watching smoke settle after a stand off, you weren’t sure why but you knew that was who you needed on your side in this world. Before you knew it, your feet were already moving and mouth speaking to him, grabbing his attention.
“I ain’t no charity case sweetheart, I don’t take on strays” The ghoul spoke, his southern drawl making him even more memorable than the marred texture of his skin. You looked to the dog that trailed not far behind him as he walked, changing its pace to keep up with the man. “The dog there with you tells me otherwise” you quipped. “Ain’t my dog” he responded harshly as he continued walking. “I can make it worth your while!” You yelled, making him stop in his tracks for a moment, a scary sight at first before you worked up the nerve to come closer once he turned back to you. “And how you suppose you’d do that?” He asked, and at first you didn’t know what to say, the words leaving your mouth before you could really think of a good enough reason. Did nobody like company anymore these days? “Well…I can be your scavenger! Pretty good at collecting stuff” you offered, shaking your bag and making things rattle around inside to prove it, making him give a huff of a chuckle. “‘f I wanted a pack mule I’d‘ve found a brahman” he shot you down. “Okay, then I can be good company to talk to!” You offered. “They make radios for when I want to listen to someone yack” he shut down once again. “I’m a good cook! Even with shitty supplies, I can make a stew that’d put a smile even on the meanest son of a gun’s face” you said, hopeful that he’d at least take you for something, but you had a feeling he’d probably turn you down again. “Iguana on a stick’s just fine” he said, though he had to admit the stew sounded good. Reminded him of home before all this wasteland bullshit. “Oh, umm…” you said awkwardly, your tone growing quiet and my how it put a sad look in your eyes. The evil part of him liked it, seeing your sweet innocent face all downturned but the part that was still human deep down, the part that hardly ever saw the light of day anymore, had half a mind to let you.
“Got a lotta nerve walkin’ up t’ me, girly. If you somehow been lucky enough that you ain’t met dangerous yet, you’re lookin’ at someone who could put you down before you’d even mutter your last words” he threatened, motioning to the double barreled shotgun in his hands. “I know, I saw it first hand. You hold yourself well, I envy that. I’m new to all of this and just really want someone who can help me hold my own the same way” you explained. “Look, I know I don’t look like much but please just give me a chance” you begged, looking up at him with a fighting spirit in your eyes that he had to admit, he was pretty impressed in seeing in a vaultie. “You help me, I help you, however that ends up being” you offered, standing strong on this and damn if he didn’t see a little bit of himself in you at that. He gave a sigh, tilting his head down before shaking it, not believing himself for the words he was about to say. “Alright, but the minute you start draggin’ you’re out, got me?” He said, and he hated the way his cold heart seemed to pump a little faster upon seeing your eyes light up with joy and a smile stretch to your face. “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!” You said, opening your arms up to hug him but being met with the barrel of his gun poking your stomach to keep space between you. “I don’t do hugs” he spoke gruffly, making you back up enough to where he’d drop the gun back to his side. “R-Right…sorry” you apologized, embarrassment washing over you but still glad to finally have someone in your company. “C’mon, I ain’t got all day now” he said, motioning you to start walking, so you joined him.
Your travels with him certainly weren’t at all what you were expecting them to be. From being used as bait, to being tied up with rope most of the time you’d traveled together, or being sent in as his scavenger, you weren’t prepared for a lot of the reality you faced with being up on the surface. Most nights made you question why you’d ever left the comfort of the vault, why you’d abandoned a trusty food supply, regulated temperatures, a safe place to sleep that wasn’t riddled with radroaches or had the likely hood of waking up to a raider with a knife at your throat for no reason. Then you would remember the experiment in your vault, why you left that awful place for arguably a worse reality on the surface but at least you had freedom. Out here you were free to say what you want, do what you want, consume what you want so long as you could defend yourself incase that supply wasn’t unclaimed. You’d gotten pretty handy with a gun in the most recent weeks. Cooper, you learned one night was his name, using empty glass bottles as targets to help teach you accuracy and how to hit things from a longer range. In exchange, you came a little more useful than he had first thought. You had some useful stuff on you for trade like chems, ammo and food, were a good extra bag to hold stuff in, and you were a better cook than you’d talked about. Sure you had a tendency to talk too much, and you weren’t great with a gun, but you were getting there.
“Might I suggest takin’ them clothes instead of wearin’ that suit?” He said, making you look at him weird for suggesting you strip a dead raider of their clothes. “Why would I do that…?” You asked, genuinely confused and not sure what he was implying either, he was a hard man to predict. “Because, people see that shit and get real mad. People up here don’t like vaulties or the ones that run ‘em” he said and it made sense, it helped you understand why you kept getting evil glares each time someone would look at you or talk to you. You figured he knew best, so you took the shirt and pants from one of the female raiders, tucking them into your bag to change into at a better time. He gave a chuckle watching you do so, apologizing to the dead body profusely as you took their clothes and whatever valuables they had on them for the betterment of your own survival. You were still so naive, part of him was hoping he could slowly start to break and corrupt your way of thinking, but that was a thought for another time.
Before you knew it, night finally began to fall. The sun setting across the horizon gave the air less of a hot, harsh bite as the temperature began to cool rapidly across the sands of the Mojave. All you managed to grab was a pair of beat up, old jeans and a tank top, so as soon as the sun set, the chill set in. As you both set up camp for the night just outside of an abandoned rest stop, you started a fire to cook some of that stew you talked about being good at. He had to admit, it was pretty damn good, likely the best thing he’s had since before the bombs went off. Though even the kindling fire couldn’t manage to chase the chill away, watching you run your hands up and down your arms to try and warm up some by it. He felt a slight pang in his heart, watching you shiver like that, how your eyes lit up by the blaze of the fire and your hair seemed to be tousled just right. You were pretty, too pretty to be trekking this wasteland, and certainly too pretty to be trekking it with him of all people as your company. Even he had a heart still, as cold as it was, so out of kindness he shrugged his duster from his shoulders, draping it around you. You looked at the fabric pooled around you, pulling it over you better before looking to him as he sat down across from you again. “Ain’t no use if the cold gets ya” he said, making you smile appreciatively at him as you realized what he did. “Thank you” you replied, a slight blush fanning to your cheeks as the chattering of your teeth finally died down and you grew warmer. It smelled like him, sure it had splatters of old dried blood and was rather worn, but it had that gunpowder and smoke smell to it that you associated with him. “Don’t say I never did nothin’ for ya” he replied, trying to sound cold but it didn’t come off that way, making you chuckle. “What do I owe you?” You asked, making him fall silent for a moment as he pondered the answer to your question. He looked you over for a second before tipping his hat down to cover his face a bit, the signal that he was about to try and get some sleep. “Just keep watch for a bit, I’ll be up in a few hours” he responded, and while it wasn’t what you were expecting, you’d take it.
He was startled awake a couple hours later when he heard a commotion, you yelling at someone telling them to back off that this place had been claimed. The raider you were up against didn’t seem to like that very much, claiming that wasn’t how it worked up here. The altercation took a turn for the worst when the man reached for his gun but you were quick to fire and kill him before he could let out a shot. A shaky feeling set in your hands and a horrified expression across your face at the realization that you just killed someone. Cooper, who was certainly wide awake now, was rather impressed by your quick timing and precision, coming up behind you to lay a gloved hand to your shoulder. “Well would ya look at that, looks like them lessons been payin’ off after all. How’s it feel?” He asked, looking down at you as you stared at the gun in your hands. “He was yelling at me but…he was aiming at you. I don’t really know what came over me, I didn’t like that he was going to shoot you so I just…I killed him” you said, recounting the encounter to him as if he hadn’t seen it himself. He didn’t really know what to think in that moment as you explained how your mind worked, he was proud for sure at your show of improvement with a gun, yet also touched at the same time. No one ever really looked out for him since he started his bounty hunting, he was a well hated man by many but you defended him without really any reason to. You’d just learned his name not but two weeks ago, and before that he was dragging you around with rope yet you still defended him, had you two really gotten closer in the time that’s passed since? He wasn’t sure, but it was something he could mull over while you were sleeping. “Get some rest vaultie, sun’ll be up soon” he said, knowing you likely wouldn’t get much sleep with the adrenaline still coursing through you, but it was at least worth a try, you two had a long day ahead of you.
When you woke up that next morning, things felt a little different between you two. You weren’t some annoying little dog following him anymore, you were an equal. He no longer looked at you and treated you like you were lower than him as you both set out across the wastelands, he had respect for you. Hell, he even started talking with you now when you were out traveling which was almost unbelievable. You learned through those conversations that he used to be an actor in Wild West themed films, explaining his outfit, and that he was married before the bombs dropped. You of course told him bits and pieces about yourself in exchange, after all it only felt fair but it was also nice to just finally talk to someone after all this time.
When night time fell again you two sat enjoying a meal by the fire together, only rather than across from each other, he sat next to you, making a blush come to your face as you’d smiled sweetly at him. “Glad to know I don’t have germs anymore” you said jokingly, making him chuckle. “Give an old man some credit. It ain’t exactly all peaches and marmalade out here darlin’, even cute can be deadly” he said, the nickname and him calling you cute sending a deeper blush to your cheeks despite knowing it’s just how he spoke. Whether it was the lack of contact with other people for so long, or just his charm you couldn’t quite tell, but it always seemed to have an effect on you. “Just teasin’ you, I get it. I’d tie me up and use me for bait too if I’d been doing this as long as you have. It’s a shit hole out here” you said, making him look at you as you dropped the first curse word he’s ever heard from you. “Well I’ll be damned, either I’m a bad influence or you’re finally growin’ outta that naive shell there, vaultie” Cooper replied, making you laugh as you saw a smirk stretch to his thin, marred lips, the first one you’d seen in a while that wasn’t brought on by drugs, chems or that first sip of a good bottle of alcohol. “Probably both” you quipped, making him chuckle. “Yeah, probably. Been told I ain’t easy to stomach” he said, making you hum. “You’re alright in my book, Coop” you replied with a sweet, genuine smile that matched your tone and was that butterflies you felt in your stomach? Did you just call him Coop? No ones called him that in ages, why did it make his heart start to flutter a bit? “You ain’t so bad yourself, vaultie” he responded, still affording you that small smile before turning back to his food. “Keep making food this good and I just might have to keep you around” he joked, making you giggle and break the slightly tense silence. “It’s not much but I certainly try. I’ll definitely make sure to stay good at it, I like traveling with you” you said, unintentionally coming off flirtatious and fuck there it goes again, that feeling in his chest and his stomach like he needed to hit his inhaler but he felt great. What were you doing to him?
“Hey, if it isn’t too much can I ask you a sort of…personal question?” You asked, holding the beat up bowl in your hands as you looked over at him. This was normally the part where he would say no, absolutely not, he wasn’t here to be questioned on his personal matters. Yet, with you, it was different. Ever since last night he hasn’t been so on edge with you, it was like he’d warmed up to you. “Depends on what you’re askin’ there, sweetheart” he said, the nickname once again making you blush. “Do you…miss them? Your wife and daughter?” You asked, not sure if it was a good subject or good question to ask but after finding out, you were genuinely curious. He looked down at his bowl again, thinking of the proper response to your question. The old him would have been defensive, told you it was none of your business, but now? He wasn’t sure. “Ain’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about ‘em. About the way I ran out on ‘em when them bombs dropped” he answered, making you give him a sad look as genuine guilt filled his tone. This was the most honest and open he’s been with you this whole time. “I feel guilty. Not sure if I feel guilty for runnin’ out and leavin’ ‘em behind or guilty for the way I ran out, been tryin’ t’ figure that out for quite a while now and I still ain’t sure” he added, and you sympathized with that. Everyone has regrets, things they’ve done in the past that they aren’t proud of, people up here were no different in that aspect. “Well, in the short time I’ve gotten to know you, I’ve come to understand that everything you do has a valid reason behind it. So even if you feel it was a shitty thing to do, you obviously had a reason for doing so. No one can blame you for trusting your gut, and I don’t think you should blame yourself for doing so” you responded, your hand falling to his as a comforting gesture, your words ringing in his head almost as if you’d opened something in his mind, something he’d never really gave himself to think about before. He looked down at your hand that rested on his, noticing the way you didn’t flinch away from him like others did, the way you were brave enough to walk up to him, talk to him, *trust* him when he made it very clear that you shouldn’t. It was smaller than his, softer for sure, but warm all the same, then he looked up to see that caring look in your eyes and smile on your face that told him that you cared. “Guess you’re right, still wonder sometimes if it was the right choice to make” he replied. “I understand. Everyone has regrets, we all look at the past and hold at least something that we’ve done before in regret, it’s what makes us human” you said, making him give a huff as a chuckle. “You got anybody?” He asked, making you look down as you moved your feet along the dirt. “An ex-husband, but not anyone I really care about, no. My parents passed a few years before the bombings and he and I split up when I caught him cheating on me with some other woman in the vault..” you explained, not sure why it hurt you to tell the tale still, but you felt it was only fair considering what you’d asked of him to share. “Sorry t’ hear that” Cooper said, making you chuckle weakly, a somber look coming to your face that made his heart wrench. “I haven’t exactly been in love since, and considering he and I split up just a little over ten years ago, really says something I guess, huh?” You asked, trying to laugh to bring up the mood, knowing you sounded pathetic. “He was the fool, not you darlin’. He was the one skippin’ out on one hell of a woman” Cooper said, making you look to him and blush a bit as you gave a chuckle at his response.
“Thanks” you replied appreciatively and with a smile before casting your gaze down to see your hands were still connected and it left you blushing harder with embarrassment, you’d been holding his hand this entire time without realizing it. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable if I have I-“ “relax vaultie” he cut you off, pushing your hand back down onto his to assure you that he was far from uncomfortable. “It’s…rather nice actually” he admitted, making you feel relieved but your heart fluttered in your chest from it. A thick tension soon began to set in between you both after that night, something of an unspoken, kindling romance beginning to develop. “Then there it can stay” you said, making him smile softly at you, tipping his hat at you as a silent thank you.
Months passed on like this, where you’d spend the days scavenging, picking the land for its resources you could find and hunting bounties by day, then spending your nights by a fire growing closer and closer with every passing day. Through your shared meals, jokes, deep conversations, and plenty of near death experiences, you started to notice your fondness of the ghoul you traveled with. The way you’d hang onto his words with that southern accent that seemed to pull at your heart strings, or the way you’d go out of your way to stand between him and a stray bullet. You’d helped him on more than one occasion in getting out of a sticky spot, or getting him the stuff he needed to keep from turning feral. In return, he started to notice he was feeling the same towards you. There was this sudden need to keep you safe, to do nicer things for you, to speak better towards you, even flirt with you at times. Some nights there’d be so much tension in the air, it’s a miracle you haven’t jumped each other yet. Though in his eyes, as much as his heart yearned for you, he knew you were too good for him. You’d been hurt before, and he had a reputation for hurting people, feeling undeserving of even just the sweet smiles and company you afford him even now. You didn’t need someone like him, you needed a good man, someone who didn’t kill for a living, someone who could treat you right, someone who didn’t look the way he did. You were soft and warm, he was rough and cold, though he supposed that’s where the term “opposites attract” came from. So even when he was a whole bottle deep, he was sure to hold his tongue to a certain point.
Some of those nights around the fire were spent sober, others not so much, and this night happened to be one of those nights spent under the influence. You two had stumbled across a mini-mart, doing your best to out run the radstorm that had been trailing you guys for hours, coming in just to find whatever supplies you could to make it through the next week and possibly hunker down for the night. So imagine your surprise when you seemed to have found the largest chem stache you’d both ever laid eyes on. “Coop! Come here, you gotta see this” you said, making him run towards you to make sure you weren’t hurt or in trouble. His nerves were eased once he saw you, fully intact. “Tell me I’m not seeing shit” you said, pointing to all of the supplies sitting in a box on the table, joined by other supplies around it. You both looked at each other in complete and utter disbelief, this would keep you stocked for months, maybe even a whole year if you conserved it well. “Well ain’t that just the prettiest fuckin’ sight” he said. There was no way a horde of chems this large and this valuable was just completely unprotected you reasoned, so you routed around the place, scoping out for any raiders, straggling traders or ferals who happened to still be around. It was as if heaven was shining down on you both as you found no one around, seemed like no one had been here for days. So you did the most logical thing anyone would do in this situation. Stuff each of your bags to the brim of drugs of all varieties! Seeing as you had food, chems and even some clean water and alcohol lying around, Cooper locked and barricaded the door shut, proposing it could be a good spot to sleep for the night. With a radstorm approaching, it was best to have a roof over your heads to keep out the rain and potential radiation sickness that came with it. “This is the closest fuckin’ thing to a slice of heaven I’ve seen in ages” he said, aside from you is what played in his mind but he couldn’t speak that out loud, no matter how much he wanted to. “You said it!” you replied, and it’s even better with you here you thought, but thought it best to keep it to yourself. He plopped down on the couch, kicking his feet up to rest on the small table that seemed to be in shambles, enjoying a tape that was playing on the TV that he was surprised to still see functioning. “Holy shit, this thing still works?” You asked, amazed to see working technology out in the wastelands, sitting next to him as you watched it with him. He gave a smirk at your reaction, thinking it was cute the way your eyes would light up when you got all excited over something. Deep down it made him want to give you everything you laid eyes on like that just to see it pointed towards him. “Guess so” he replied, enjoying your excitement only to see you turn and look his way, which was his signal to stop staring holes into you before he gets caught. “I dunno about you baby doll, but I ain’t about to spend tonight sober with this stache sittin’ here ‘n front of us” he said, making you laugh as he routed through all the different drugs and chems til he found what he was looking for.
In the process of searching through it all, a small metal box fell to the floor at your feet. It looked like a box of mentats only the design was different, instead of the characteristic green and white box was a red one covered with hearts labeled DN-Chem. You supposed the worst that could happen was turn into the man sitting next to you, which you figured wasn’t the worst fate to succumb to all things considered, so you went against all better judgement and said fuck it, popping two of the mentat like chems and chasing it with the vodka he’d found to wait for it to take effect. “The hell is DN?” He asked, looking at the box, wondering what it was you took. “Don’t know, guess we’ll find out here soon because I took two” you said, taking another sip from the bottle of vodka he passed your way, and he gave a chuckle as you handed it back to him. “You come a mighty long way, little lady” he commented before setting the metal pill box down. He took the bottle from you, taking a swig, then placing one of the small viles into his inhaler before taking a hit of it then lying back, breathing a sigh of relief as it and the alcohol entered his system like the perfect remedy to any ailment. As about a half an hour rolled by, you waited for the high to set in but it never came, instead you were just getting hot, like really hot. There weren’t any windows open, and it was night time so you shouldn’t be this uncomfortably hot for how it was but you felt like you were on fire. “Shit, it’s hot as hell in here…” you complained, shaking off your jacket that you’d picked off of some raider a few weeks back, making him look to you curiously. “Lightweight” he quipped, making you chuckle. “Accept I don’t feel anything, I just feel hot” you said, making him hum with intrigue before turning back to the TV. “Give it some time, you’re new to all this. ‘m sure your body is wonderin’ what the hell you just put in it” he said, and he had a good point, maybe it was just a side effect of not doing them so often compared to his every day use.
As time went on, you began to notice the way your eyes couldn’t help but be glued to him, more specifically glued to the way his legs were now spread as he sat back. You wondered to yourself what he looked like beneath all that cowboy get up, what his reaction would be like to see you getting on your knees for him and slotting yourself between his spread legs. You shook your head to try and rid yourself of such inappropriate thoughts, but what you couldn’t stop no matter how hard you tried was the feeling of arousal beginning to pool in your panties. Sure he flirted with you every now and again, but you doubt he felt towards you the same way you did for him. To him you were sure you were likely more akin to a pet than a friend, useful and nice to have around, but not anything further. At least so you thought. You’d rather hoped you were wrong in assuming so, that maybe he saw you the same way you saw him. You bit your lip as you tried bouncing your leg to relieve the ache between your thighs, a light pink dusting your face and neck even up to the tips of your ears, but nothing worked. Even as you closed your eyes, all you could picture was you laid out on the couch beneath him, or bent over it with him behind you, or you riding him on it. “Been awful quiet. You doin’ alright over there, sweetheart?” Cooper asked you, and the audible whimper you let out from the nickname left you completely embarrassed. You clasped a hand over your mouth, god you were horrified but he gave a grin and a chuckle in response. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me all the sudden. I feel so…weird?” you said, unsure if that was really the proper word to explain it but it was the only way you could really word it off the top of your head with how much your brain felt as if it was turning to mush. “Ya took some chems, it’s gonna feel a bit fuzzy” he said, trying to assure you that feeling a little funny was normal, but this? This didn’t feel normal, not even for a chem high. You tried your best to swallow harshly, doing everything you could to try and relieve the dry ache you felt in your throat at the moment upon looking at him. You grabbed the bottle of vodka, taking a few sips but even that couldn’t grant you bliss from it. The throbbing in your core was driving you absolutely insane. You swore up and down that it was like you could feel your heartbeat in your chest, stomach, and in your cunt all at the same time. “No, this is different…I don’t think what I took was a normal chem, Coop…” you said, trying not to panic at the effects that were setting in but god you felt like you were absolutely feral. He turned to look at you, watching as you clamped your thighs together and the red that fell over your face. “I feel like an animal in heat” you said bluntly, making him go into a near coughing fit as you took him off guard. However that piqued his interest enough to pick up the little metal box again to see what it was you took. “I ain’t ever heard of a chem that does that, was that DN shit the only stuff you took?” He asked, growing slightly concerned for you and whether he had a possible horde of laced chems, or just an extremely horny woman on his hands. Speaking of hands, you were lost in thought staring at them, at the way they gripped the couch like you wanted him to grip your thighs, at the way they looked in those leather gloves he always wore. You wondered how it would feel wrapped around your throat, or how it would feel if his fingers were buried deep inside of you. Shit. This was getting out of control.
“Hey, ya with me still?” He asked, snapping to try and get your attention back on the matter at hand, making you shake your head yes as you broke from your perverted thoughts. “Is that DN shit the only thing you took?” He asked again, making you shake your head yes once more, because you knew damn well your voice was going to betray you the moment you tried to speak. That had to be it, it was the only thing that was different out of it all and the only thing he’d never heard of before. He knew it wasn’t the vodka either because he was drinking it with you, so if it was affecting you, it would have affected him and it hadn’t.
It took him a minute to put two and two together before he finally realized the abbreviations stood for Date Night, reading the instructions and effects on the inside of the tin’s lid. “Shit..” he said as he read it, realizing this was a hand made thing thrown into the bunch by whoever was running this place. “Did you read the lid before you popped them pills?” He asked, making you go wide eyed. As if this couldn’t get any fucking worse, this shit show could have been avoided had you just read the inside of the lid. “There was instructions?? Oh my god…what the fuck did I take?” You asked, concerned for yourself and the tone he had while reading it. “Somethin’ that the creator of it called Date Night. Looks like it’s a…well looks like it’s a handmade sex chem” he said, making you cover your face with your hands out of sheer embarrassment, you’d never wanted to die out in a radstorm more than you did right now. “Please tell me you’re fucking joking, cooper…” you whined, watching him read it more. “How much of it did you take?” He asked, almost scared to know and you were scared to know why. “Two?” You replied, making him whistle at that as he read it. “Fuckin’ hell sugar..” he said through a chuckle, and that nickname made a shiver run through you, sending electric bolts straight to your throbbing cunt. You did your best to bite back the whimper. “You’re only s’possed take one, and with you bein’ new t’ all this, I wouldn’t have taken more than half” he said, making you just wish you could just dig a hole and die in it already. “Fuck me…wait, shit! N-Not literally fuck me I- well I mean I’d like if you did but…FUCK! Forgive me Cooper, I’m so sorry, I can hardly think straight” you said, making him chuckle. “Well sweetheart, I think you and I both know there’s only one good fix for this situation” he said, making you whimper pathetically at the thought, your thighs squeezing together even more as you tried to fight to stay sane. Your eyes cast downwards to his lap once more, seeing the tent forming in his pants, clearly you weren’t the only one all worked up here. “I don’t want to make you feel like you have to, Coop. I can run off and take care of myself if it makes you uncomfort-“ you rambled but before you could finish, his hand cupped the side of your face, pulling you in for a long awaited kiss. You moaned into it without meaning to, feeling the way your body immediately relaxed upon wrapping your arms around him with no hesitation as the sweet innocent kiss turned passionate and dirty rather quickly.
“I won’t lie t’ you, doin’ this with you has passed my mind more times than I’d care to admit, but I don’t wanna cross that line unless you really want this” he said, looking into your eyes and making sure that this was truly what you wanted, that you felt the same way he did. “Coop, I know I’m under the influence of whatever the fuck this drug is, but trust me when I say, I’d be just as good with it sober. Been thinking about it for probably just as long as you have, if I’m honest with you. I want this, I want you and right now I want you so fucking bad that I might lose my mind if you don’t fuck me” you answered bluntly, taking him by surprise at just the sheer amount of absolute filth that left your otherwise innocent mouth, making him chuckle at your use of curse words and how desperate you were for him. “That so sugar?” He asked with a grin, enjoying teasing you at your neediest moments, including now. “God yes, Cooper please..” you begged, nearly moaning in reply and he’d spent time mulling over it before, denying himself the chance but just as the chem stache was a pot of gold, he took this as one of the best opportunities being placed in his lap by whatever higher power existed out there, making him waste no time in kissing you once more. “Good, because I don’t think I’d be able to hold myself back once we’ve started” he said, and the idea made you moan. “Don’t want you to hold back, want all of you” you said, and your wish was his command.
By the time your brain could finally catch up with you again, your clothes were strewn out all around you, your tank top hanging over the back of the couch, your jeans thrown haphazardly on the arm rest behind you, his pants on the floor, his hat on the table and shirt and duster having fallen somewhere behind the couch. By now, you’d already cum on his fingers twice, and on his cock once, this was your fourth round and this shit still had you on fire. “Yes!! Oh fuck, Cooper!” you moaned as your legs wrapped around his hips, keeping him as close to you as you could get, your fingers digging crescent shapes and puffy red lines into his back that unfortunately he knew wouldn’t stay long thanks to his ability to heal stupidly fast. “Doin’ so good for me, baby doll. Look so pretty like this for me, all splayed out like a needy little whore” he praised and degraded through his groans, making you moan and roll your eyes into the back of your head at the praise mixed with degradation as his cock was drilling deep inside you like tonight was all you guys had. “Yeah, you like that, huh sweet thing? Like it when I tell you how good it feels and call you names?” He asked, making you nod your head yes because there wasn’t a single thought in that brain of yours other than his name, which you spoke like a mantra. “Never knew such a sweet lil’ thing like you would be such a dirty little minx. Fuck…enough to make a man like me go feral, ya know that?” he said, making you giggle as you moved his free hand up to your throat, urging him to choke you, and he groaned at the sight. Your kiss swollen lips all puffy and shining with spit, your cheeks dusted a constant pink that grew darker anytime his cock brushed that spot deep inside that made you cling to him, your eyes half lidded, looking up at him like he was your savior. It made him absolutely rock hard knowing you’d pick him over anyone else in this god forsaken wasteland. “My, you are just a little freak, ain’t you? Oh we are gonna have fun together, you and me honey” he promised, squeezing your throat tight enough to restrict your airflow but not enough to hurt or cause any damage. Just enough to get that puddle of a brain of yours all fuzzy as you got closer to your fourth orgasm of the night. “Cooper…’m so close, so close please!!” You begged, feeling the heavy drag of his cock as he pounded into you, leaving you damn near screaming as it nudged your cervix and that spongy little bundle of nerves deep inside. “Go on honey, I gotchya. Let go for me, wanna see those pretty faces and hear those pretty noises you make” he said, angling his hips just right to hit that spot over and over again. “Oh fuck, oh fuck I’m gonna cum again, I-“ you warned before your moans rose in pitch as your walls clamped around him, gushing on his cock as your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Your body arched off the couch, stars filling your vision for a moment as you felt your release gush out and coat your inner thighs, screaming his name like it was your only chance at salvation. “Well ain’t I just the damn luckiest man in the wastelands right now, got me a pretty little vaultie and she’s a gusher” he said, making you whimper at his teasing but judging by the way he emptied himself inside you for the second time, you took it as a sign that he liked that about you. “Holy shit, I-I didn’t know I could do that” you said, thoroughly shocked with what your brain and body were doing as they almost seemed to almost be working against each other. “Do it again for me” he said, grabbing you and moving you both to where you were straddling him this time. His hands rested on your hips, helping guide you as you speared yourself on his dick with ease from how absolutely soaked you were, making you both throw your head back and moan. “Now that’s a damn good sight” he said, making you lean in to kiss him once more as his hands helped you start and keep a steady rhythm with your hips. It was definitely going to be a long night, but one you two have been needing for months, maybe even longer.
It’s a good thing ghouls have remarkable recovery time, because in order to finally get you sated and back to normal, you both had to spend all night going at it. Granted, it was aided by the mix of pent up sexual tension and pent up sexual frustration, but it was dawn before you both had gotten to a point where you could even *try* and fall sleep. First few times was on the couch between missionary, doggy and you riding him, next was you bent over it, with your pretty legs spread and ass in the air for him. Then, you used the arm rest of the couch as a pillow beneath your hips as he stood up while you laid out on the couch. He liked that one a lot for the way your tits would bounce with each and every forceful thrust into you, jolting your body. After that, it was done standing up with your back pressed against a wall, your legs and arms wrapped around him to keep him deep inside of you and fill you til he had nothing left to give you. From that point on, the rest of the night was all a hormone-hazed blur, but you knew well that he took care of you. You woke up unbelievably sore, your joints aching in places that you had no idea could even ache, a swollen, angry throb between your legs for the harsh, almost punishing treatment to your pussy followed by bruises, bite marks, scratch marks, hand prints etc. littered your skin as you woke up curled into Cooper’s side. You gave a gravelly groan as the sun shone in your eyes through the windows, making him chuckle at the way you were such a ray of sunshine except in the morning. Coming to learn that you absolutely *hated* mornings. Though you suppose you started to enjoy them more since traveling with him. “Mornin’ sunshine” he said coyly, making you groan disapprovingly at the way the sun was in your eyes, making you hold your hand up to cast a shadow on your face and grant you some relief. “Morning” you answered, your voice hoarse and half gone from sleep and all your activities that transpired the previous night. “Ain’t that a pretty sight” he said, turning and seeing you curled up to him, naked, your hair all messy from sleep and the hickeys and bite marks littering your skin, making you chuckle. “Last night was definitely something, can’t believe you’ve been holding all *that* out on me” you joked, making him give a dry laugh. “Could say the same thing about you, sugar. Had no idea that mind a yours could be so filthy. You’re a wild thing to party with, lil’ lady” he teased, sliding his arm around you to keep you close, making you hum as you lay soft, appreciative kisses to his collarbone and chest. “You’re fun too, and thank you for taking care of me last night. I’m sorry that it ended up happening the way that it did, I wanted to work up the courage and tell you some other way, I really did, but I guess life had other plans” you said making him chuckle as he saw you blush when he kissed your head. “Drunk words are sober thoughts they say, so I’d say I made out pretty good. But don’t sweat it, not sure how I deserved someone as good as you, but it’s good to know I ain’t as hard to stomach as most people say” he said, pulling you in for a soft, heartfelt kiss. “I think you are just perfect, Cooper” you said, your hand resting on his scarred chest as you looked at him with that gaze he swore he’d do anything to see pointed his way.
“You really wanna be my girl?” He asked softly, sounding shocked and with some self doubt still lacing his tone, but he had to be sure this was what you wanted outside of the drug’s effects. He cared for you deeply, in a way that he hasn’t felt in a very long time, but maybe you were just the right person for him to finally open his heart up to. His question made you giggle as your heart fluttered in your chest with excitement. “I absolutely do, I meant it when I said it last night, I mean it just as much now. I think we’ve danced around it for long enough, don’t you?” you replied, making him smile the most genuinely happy smile you’ve seen him wear since you’d met. “Just checkin’” he said, before laying a sweet kiss to your lips, wishing every morning could be like this one. Maybe it could, now that you were here with him.
3K notes ¡ View notes
cloudzoro ¡ 4 months ago
Note
Girl, since you mention the OP dilfs, I would LOVE to see some headcanons or something about either how they flirt with you or when they realize they like you 👀👀👀
you can add who you like but I’m begging for Shanks and Mihawk ✨🧍🏽‍♀️
hi!!!!! I went with 'realising they like you, and I actually added most of the dilfs. hope you enjoy 🤤🙏
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Realising He's In Love | ♡
characters: beckman, buggy, crocodile, dragon, mihawk, shanks, smoker
cw: fem!reader, crocodile's is suggestive,
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Beckman
Beckman realises his love for you on a random cold morning.
It's a very rare calm day aboard the force. Beckman, sitting in a chair on the deck, listens to those of his crewmates who are awake this early, navigating around the ship. He hears your voice humming a pretty tune. He hears the clanking of pans in the background, giving away your location.
When he enters the kitchen, he sees you dancing around and helping yourselves to Lucky Roux's ingredients.
“Whatcha doing?” he asks. He laughs as you jump, startled by his interruption.
“It's kind of chilly out, and you were running a little cold this morning, so I'm making us some nice warm breakfast,” you say, adding ingredients to a pan. Your desire to take care of him warms him up enough already. He walks up to you and wraps his arms around your waist. He buries his face into your neck as he hums in response. The domesticity of it slaps him in the face. A warmth spreads through his body. He understands, in this moment, what it is to truly love someone, but he'll keep it as his little secret for a while longer
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Buggy
Everyone is so mean to him. All his life, he's been treated poorly. Then he meets you; you're a subordinate of Mihawk's that he's brought along to the cross guild. Mihawk is a solitary creature, so the fact he keeps you around must mean you hold some value to him. This fact scares Buggy; it makes him distrust you, even if you're so kind to him.
You talk to him gently, offer to pour him drinks when he stops by Mihawk's tent and patch him up when his two business partners beat him down. At first, he thinks you have alternative motives, that this is a ploy, and you're going to hurt him in some way. Then, he thinks you're patronising him and taking pity on his poor soul.
It takes Mihawk stomping his boot down a little too hard, which causes you to step in and beg your boss to back off, to make him realise you genuinely care about him. You standing up to Mihawk despite what repercussions it may have is the day he realises that he doesn't ever want you to leave.
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Crocodile
He's pretty into you from the beginning, but he doesn't fall quickly. You're a colleague, a hard worker, and he likes you. He takes you to many galas and events and proposes that the two of you should work together more often. That leads to the two of you being tangled in the sheets, and Crocodile makes it clear to you that this ‘relationship’ is sexual in nature and nothing more. You're fond of the man, but you keep your feelings to yourself. Until one night when he needs to take his stress out and finds himself unable to be rough with you.
He doesn't lay your back against his sheets, doesn't flip you onto your front and squish your head into the pillows. Instead, in a move that baffles you, he asks you for a kiss. You oblige, seated on his lap on a soft velvet sofa. His hook caresses your leg, keeping you pressed to him while his hands explore you. You gently ask if he's ok, careful not to anger the beast beneath you. He nods, moving his kisses down to your neck. He feels it in his heart, his chest crumbling from the inside as he bares it to you with every kiss placed on your skin.
He laughs at himself as he remembers telling you this was nothing more than sex. What a fool he was.
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Dragon
Dragon and you are dating, and you have been for a while. He's quite frankly terrified of love. He's been there once, and it didn't work out for him. He takes things slowly with you. Every late-night talk and comforting hug in the privacy of your room pulls his heart deeper and deeper.
He realises just how deeply in love he is when he sees you standing with Koala, giving her some advice. Your heart is what attracted him to you in the first place. Seeing you so readily help other people makes him realise just how strongly he feels about you. He more than loves you; he admires you. He approaches you as Koala leaves, looking much calmer than she did before.
“Is she ok?”
“She's fine, honey. Are you ok?” It's a simple question of concern, but it still has his heart squeezing in a way he's never felt before. He kisses you softly, hoping the action will convey his feelings properly.
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Mihawk
He's very straightforward and to the point. He knows what he wants. He realises he likes you pretty much immediately after meeting you.
The first time he meets your eyes from across the bar, he plans to take you back to your home, entertain you and leave you before you wake the next morning. Then he strikes up a conversation with you, and everything changes.
“Can I buy you another drink?” he asks, sliding into the seat next to you.
“Please don't, this cheap wine tastes like shit. I could probably use this as a truth serum against my enemies” You bite, smacking your lips together at the bitter taste. Something about your attitude lights a flame in Mihawk. He's found a kindred spirit in you. A fine woman with a fine taste. Now he's intrigued by you, suddenly struck with a desire to know more.
So he starts talking to you about wine. There's no flirtation in his words, no exaggerated flattery or innuendo. He asks about you, divulges very little about himself and then tells you he found you interesting. He asks if you'd like to go home with him and see his much more impressive collection of wine. Of course, you accept. He lets you break open a well-aged bottle, drinking happily with you.
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Shanks
Oh, he's pathetic, actually. Everyone else realises before he does. He denies it with every fibre of his being. You've known each other for a long time. Every time you touch him, talk back to him, even look at him, his heart stirs. He has to tell himself the tightening of his chest is just the drink catching up to him.
After a night of drinking and joking, you go off to bed. When you part with your captain, you're so drunk that you don't even realise what you're doing and press a goodnight kiss to his cheek. You cart yourself off to bed, tiredly waving at your crew. You go to sleep, completely oblivious to the fact that Shanks is currently turning the colour of his hair while Yasopp and Roux tease him for it. Beckman gives him a look that says, ‘I told you so’.
“I'm not in love with her”, he groans as he's hit with flashes of all the times you've made his heart skip a beat. “ I just think she's beautiful, smart, talented, fun and” he pauses his sentence when he realises he's rambling, rambling about you. “I'm in love with her,” he sighs, putting his head in hand. What kind of captain falls for his crewmate?
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Smoker
Smoker doesn't realise until it's almost too late. The two of you are co-workers and have known each other for years. While working together, an enemy you hadn't noticed takes a shot at you, and Smoker puts himself in the line of fire. The bullet hits his ribcage, and enough of the soldiers under his command help him away to be seen by a doctor.
Seeing that bullet fly towards you had every missed opportunity to kiss you, cycling through his brain. He moved to save you, knowing it would harm him because he realised at that moment he would rather die than spend a single minute without you. He needs you to eat, breathe and sleep. He convinced himself at one point that you two were just inseparable friends, but the singular bullet in his torso had the truth bleeding out of him.
When he wakes up from surgery, you're sat in his hospital room, asleep in a chair next to his bed. His busy heart relaxes, seeing you safe and sound. He considers the bullet a silent vow of protection. A vow he will never break.
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thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading. comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡
tag list: @bloodfixnd @sexysapphicshopowner @beachaddict48 @lem-hhn @quanxifangirl @mythicallystupid
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1K notes ¡ View notes
5sospenguinqueen ¡ 6 months ago
Text
American Boy | Logan Sargeant x Celeb! Reader
Summary: When Logan finds out this his celebrity crush’s celebrity crush is HIM!! He freaks out. Thankfully, the internet (and Oscar) manage to do most of the work for him. 
Warnings: Swearing. Fluff
Requested: No. I just love Logan Sargeant
I put an embarrassing amount of effort into this one, especially that letter. 2024 season
F1 Masterlist
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user1 girlies, who is this logan sargeant and how is he managing to make our girl smile like that 
→ user2 he’s an f1 driver. yn grew up watching f1 and is still a huge fan of it
→ user3 a vroom vroom guy! the shame 
user4 i can’t believe these came out in the same week??? 
→ user5 the universe is aligning 
user6 okay but i don’t think any of us would recover from them dating. they’re both so hot  liked by yn_official_ln
→ user7 omg omg omg she liked the tweet
→ user8 @/logansargeant look at this!! 
user9 okay but i really hope that somebody showed yn that episode of team torque because she loves f1 and i feel she would die
→ user10 babe, if logan is her celeb crush, what makes you think she hasn’t watched it herself? liked by yn_official_ln
user11 can we all take a moment to admire how calm yn was in her interview though. she admitted she’s had a crush on a guy since she was like 17 and didn’t even blush
user12 okay but yn’s liked tweets section is going to send logan into cardiac arrest
user13 @/logansargeant shoot your shot, dude! 
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yn_official_ln just posted
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liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri and others
yn_official_ln vroom vroom what an exciting day. a huge thank you to mclaren for inviting me into their garage. i can’t put into words how amazing it was to be inside an f1 garage, and the whole team were warm and welcoming.  (i’m still convinced these two are dating though???)
1,778 comments
user1 someone check on logan please? is he still alive?
→ user2 no because the way he just stopped dead in the middle of the paddock when he spotted her walking with oscar and lando
landonorris right, i’ve told you like 10x now. we are NOT a couple. he just looks at me that way 
→ oscarpiastri whoa, don’t act like you’ve not been caught giving me the goo goo eyes too
→ landonorris goo goo eyes? who taught you that!
→ yn_official_ln that would’ve been me when i was showing him the photo i took of you looking at him with goo goo eyes
→ landonorris i take it back. i don’t want you to come again next weekend
→ yn_official_ln but i already booked my ticket :( 
→ user3 i fear logan may have passed away
 williamsracing perhaps we could poach you into our garage next time? 
→ user4 logan ghost wrote this
→ yn_official_ln would i get an ls2 cap to go with it?
→ logansargeant you can have mine liked by yn_official_ln
→ user5 they interacted! 
→ alex_albon i’m hoping he won’t see this because it’s hidden within comments but logan won’t stop giggling at his phone 
danielricciardo it was so great to meet you. i didn’t know it was possible for one person to do so many different voices 
→ yn_official_ln give me time to watch some interviews and i bet i can do you by silverstone
→ danielricciardo i don’t think logan would appreciate that
→ yn_official_ln omg! no! not in that way! i think i’ve made it clear that aussie drivers aren’t my type 
→ arthur_leclerc what about monegasque?
→ yn_official_ln not american, not for me liked by logansargeant
→ user6 i love how bold she is! logan, go for it! She has literally announced to the entire world on multiple occasions that she’s into you 
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yn_official_ln just posted a new story
logansargeant just posted a new story
oscarpiastri just posted a new story
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yn_official_ln just posted
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liked by charles_leclerc, logansargeant and others
yn_official_ln exciting things coming soon 
1,650 comments
alex_albon i thought we were friends. you can tell me right? new movie? new album?
→ yn_official_ln as my friend, i can tell you that you already know
→ user7 new boyfriend
georgerussell63 what’s all this then
→ landonorris george admitting he’s not cool enough to be included in the inner circle 
→ yn_official_ln don’t pick on him. there’s pics of him looking like amelia airheart on the internet, he’s suffered enough
→ georgerussell63 @/logansargeant why do you like this one
charles_leclerc the news is that she’s an ambassador for lec ice cream
→ yn_official_ln deal but only if i can meet leo
user8 okay but all the f1 drivers being here makes me think something
→ user9 she’s been in the paddock and went to a few garages. i think she’s made friends with a lot of them
williamsracing just checking that we’re still on for sunday?
→ yn_official_ln like i would miss the british gp
→ lilymhe you’re going to be in silverstone? omg, i’m freaking out. alex, why didn’t you tell me! 
→ alex_albon yeah, she’s racing instead of me liked by logansargeant
user10 miss rabbit has fainted
francisca.cgomes i was not familiar with your game. i need you to kiss ME like that 
→ pierregasly pardon? you better not come anywhere near alpine on sunday 
→ alex_albon like logan would let her leave williams
user11 logan liking but not commenting? do we think he’s actually died upon seeing that yn has a boyfriend?
→ user12 hear me out. what if he’s the boyfriend
→ user13 babe, i think you’re as delusional as he was for thinking he had a chance. nobody has a shot with their celeb crush, even if you’re semi-famous yourself
→ yn_official_ln wait, so i don’t have a shot with my celeb crush either?
→ oscarpiastri i think your celeb crush would let you step on him if you asked 
→ user14 i love that the grid are exposing logan being down bad for our girl 
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logansargeant just posted
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liked by jensonbutton, arthur_leclerc and others
logansargeant silverstone complete. amazing support this weekend. and an amazing effort from the team
995 comments
user1 where can i get that jumper
→ yn_official_ln etsy x
→ user2 um, ma’am are you admitting that’s your jumper?
user3 i’m sorry but did anyone else see logan kissing someone who looked an awful lot like yn after he realised he was almost in the points???
→ user4 and we all know she was in the garage that weekend 
→ user5 fans caught video footage of her hugging him, and he just folded into her in shock, his helmet was still on and everything 
alex_albon i don’t think this counts as a soft launch after you were caught on camera in front of millions
→ logansargeant i’m trying my best, okay! 
→ yn_official_ln you’re doing amazing baby 
→ user6 miss yn, are you even trying to hide it
→ user7 she kissed him on live tv, i’m gonna go with no
→ yn_official_ln have you seen his face? you would too
→ logansargeant ☺️
lilymhe thank you for bringing my new best friend to silverstone
→ logansargeant you can’t have her
→ yn_official_ln i only came for you @/lilymhe
→ lilymhe you, me, run away into the sunset together?
→ alex_albon whoa, hold on a second
oscarpiastri mate please tell me you’re not attempting to soft launch
→ logansargeant it was the plan but somebody ignored the plan
→ yn_official_ln oops? it’s not my fault you’re too cute to ignore
yn_official_ln just posted
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liked by oscarpiastri, williamsracing and others
yn_official_ln somehow i managed to get a date with THE logan sargeant. i think i have ultimate rizz
1,839 comments
oscarpiastri no, you both just have a really good friend. you’re welcome
→ yn_official_ln whoa, i can get bitches on my own
→ logansargeant i can’t so thank you, oscar
→ mclaren i think you mean, thank you mclaren. we sent the letter 
logansargeant babe, you got more than a date
→ yn_official_ln you’re right. i’ve had six months worth <3
→ logansargeant and i look forward to even more
landonorris and it was all too much for little logan sargeant 
→ landonorris mate, why do your legs look so long
→ logansargeant @/yn_official_ln this is why i told you not to post that one 
→ yn_official_ln but you look so baby girl 
→ landonorris ha! 
alex_albon stop trying to make him look good at sports. i kicked his ass at table tennis
→ yn_official_ln yeah and i kicked yours. and stole your girl
→ lilymhe you tell him, boo! 
→ user8 yn really said don’t insult my princess
→ logansargeant she just called me her beautiful princess so thanks for that 
user9 when they say people died, and it’s a pic of logan sargeant kissing his celeb crush. i am people
→ yn_official_ln i also died because do you see how passionate this man is
→ user10 no need to rub it in (i love you)
danielricciardo i see a gentleman who respects a good hat
→ yn_official_ln he’s letting me live out my cowboy fantasies 
→ danielricciardo you know what they say, save a horse
→ yn_official_ln yeehaw!
→ logansargeant is this why pr are calling me?
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@rosecentury @peachiicherries
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delulustateofmind ¡ 13 days ago
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"It's All Your Fault, Isn't It?"
Yan! SatoSugu x Reader Sum: You've had the chances, why didn't you take them. In the end you'll always just lose the purest of love. Last part of: Can my friend join?, This is Love, Right? ** Can be read as standalone fics** TW: Yandere Behaviors (Obsession, Manipulation, etc), Death of Child Character, Blood, Toxic Relationship Dynamics, Depression, Dubcon, Lactation, Pregnancy themes, SatoSugu, Angst No Comfort. MDNI WC: 7.7k
A/n: I got supperrr stuck in the loop of editing, so I am just gonna post it, I feel like rereading it after the tenth time. I almost just pressed delete lol. :) enjoy!
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It’s all your fault, isn’t it?
You did this to yourself. You should have walked away when the chance was there, when the door was still open, even just a crack. You should have screamed, fought, run—anything to reclaim a sliver of your freedom.
But you didn’t.
You stayed.
Was it the security? The comfort of knowing you’d never struggle to pay bills or scramble to find work? Was it the way Satoru promised, over and over, that you’d never go unloved, never feel the ache of loneliness again?
Or was it something darker? Something you couldn’t quite admit to yourself?
You told yourself it was love. You told yourself you were lucky. How many women could say they had someone who’d give them the world? Someone who, with a flick of his wrist, could bend the rules of life itself to ensure you had everything you could ever need?
So, you stayed.
Even before Suguru became part of the equation, you stayed. You even stayed when Satoru would come home in the dead of night, his footsteps a faint echo through the silent halls before his hands found you. You’d stir from your sleep as he pulled your panties down with barely a word, his breath hot against your neck.
There was no tenderness in those moments, no love—just need. A raw, consuming need he claimed you had to fulfill. And you let him, didn’t you? You let him push inside you with barely any preparation, your body yielding to him because he knew it so well.
Satoru knew the places that made you crumble, the spots where your body quivered, the way your breath hitched when his fingers grazed just right. He knew you better than you knew yourself, didn’t he? His movements were deliberate, practiced, the wet noises filling the room a cruel testament to how thoroughly he’d mastered you.
You’d given him permission. He reminded you of that often, didn’t he? That you’d said yes. That he worked so hard, carried so much, and that this was his right. That he had needs only you could meet.
And you understood. You always understood.
After all, he was the strongest, wasn’t he?
So, you let him use you.
Like a doll.
You’d lay there, staring at the ceiling, as he buried himself to the hilt one last time, his loud groans of release cutting through the stillness. A pathetic little whimper followed, muffled by the darkness, as he spilled himself inside you. And then, as if the act meant nothing, he pressed a sweet kiss to your temple, murmured something soft and indistinct, and rolled over to his side of the bed.
You stayed there, silent and unmoving, the lingering heat of his body beside you doing nothing to warm the cold ache between your thighs.
That’s when the thought would creep in. A sick, unwelcome whisper:
You didn’t even climax.
You hated yourself for thinking it. For letting it matter.
But still, you stayed.
Was it fear that held you there? Or was it hope—a desperate, foolish hope that one-day things would change? That one day, every day would feel like those rare, sweet moments when he pressed teasing kisses against your lips before dragging you out to get sweets. That he’d touch you with love, with the tenderness he so effortlessly showed to others—when he wasn’t breaking them apart piece by piece with that same teasing grin.
And now, looking back, you can’t decide what’s worse: that you didn’t leave when you had the chance…
Or that part of you still doesn’t want to.
You stayed, even when the small arguments started. The little spats about wanting him to open up more, to share pieces of his life with you, the pieces he always kept hidden. Perhaps it was selfish—maybe even naïve—but you wanted to know why he loved you.
Really, truly loved you.
But you never asked.
You saved that question, tucking it away deep into your heart, right alongside the cracks that had already started forming. You told yourself it wasn’t the right time. That maybe he wasn’t ready. That you shouldn’t push. Instead, you focused on the good times, clinging to them like lifelines.
Because they were good, weren’t they?
What other guy would give you the world like Satoru did? What other guy would bring you flowers every week—a different color each time, sometimes traditional, sometimes exotic, but always beautiful? What other guy would shower you with affection so openly, so shamelessly, pressing kisses to your skin, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as though you were the only thing keeping him grounded?
Satoru had told you he loved you. And maybe he did—in a way that wasn’t entirely built on desire, the need to keep you within his grasp, or the insatiable craving to hold you close for the rest of your days.
That’s what you told yourself, anyway.
That’s why you stayed.
Even when Suguru came into the picture—when those dark, calculating eyes lingered on you just a moment too long when his quiet, honeyed words wove themselves into your life like threads binding you to a tapestry you couldn’t escape—you stayed.
You had the choice, didn’t you? You could have said no. You could have walked away.
But you didn’t.
You stayed, and now there was no one else to blame.
So, truly, it is all your fault.
However, your heart’s at fault too, isn’t it? For leaning into Suguru's touches, craving his warmth, even when you knew deep down that he was a cruel and awful man. A man who veiled his darkness in sweetness, wrapping it in gentle words and tender caresses that made you doubt your own truths. He was a master of contradiction—soft hands and sharp edges, honeyed lies hiding an iron grip.
You could have left.
You could have said no to the whole relationship, shut the door before it ever opened.
But you didn’t.
You stayed.
You told yourself that maybe this was the best you could hope for, the best kind of love someone like you deserved. Because it was love, wasn’t it? They loved you. Even if it was conditional. Even if you had to give and give, piece after piece of yourself, just to receive a sliver in return.
Love comes in many forms, after all. And this was love.
Or so you continued to convince yourself.
This is what you deserve. That you should have listened to your gut, back when every touch felt too heavy, too lingering, too much. Back when their words seemed to wrap around you like chains instead of promises. You should have left before the walls around you closed in. Before you realized that leaving wasn’t just difficult—it was dangerous.
You had your chances, didn’t you? If only you’d taken them.
You knew Satoru would tear the world apart to find you if you ran. He’d find you, no matter where you went, no matter how far. But… would he really?
If you’d left early enough, maybe it wouldn’t have been like this. Maybe it would have been nothing more than a bad breakup, a lesson in heartbreak you’d recover from in time. Maybe, if you’d left after Suguru’s return, Satoru would have leaned on him instead of spiraling further into obsession.
But you didn’t leave.
You stayed.
Such a stupid, stupid girl.
And yet…
It was never just about them, was it?
Because you craved love too, just as much as they did. You wanted it desperately—so much that you ignored the warnings in your heart, the creeping dread in your chest. You wanted to be loved, to feel wanted, to belong to someone in a way that was absolute, undeniable, and unshakable.
And that’s exactly what they gave you.
But love like that—it came with a cost.
And you paid for it in silence, in submission, in the pieces of yourself you’d never get back.
So now, here you are, locked away in the beautiful Gojo estate. A place so grand it should feel like a palace, yet it suffocates you like a gilded cage. Every corner gleams with wealth and power, every surface reflects the life you’re supposed to be grateful for.
The maids don’t meet your eyes.
To them, you aren’t Satoru’s wife. You aren��t a partner. You’re something lesser.
A pet.
Because you aren’t the one ensuring the estate runs smoothly while Satoru is away on his endless missions. That responsibility doesn’t fall to you—it belongs to Suguru, doesn’t it? He’s the one in charge. He holds the reins, commanding the household with a quiet authority that leaves no room for question.
And you?
You remain.
The pet. The wife. The child-bearer.
Barefoot and pregnant, with a swollen belly to show for it, you shuffle through the estate like a ghost. Your body aches, weighed down not just by the child growing inside you, but by the chains of a life you can’t escape.
Suguru sees to it that the estate runs like a well-oiled machine, all while maintaining his title as the second strongest. His responsibilities never seem to tire him, never seem to dull his devotion. If anything, they only make him more overbearing.
He adores pampering you.
He drapes you in the softest blankets, ensuring you’re always warm. He dresses you in the finest clothes, silks and satins that cling to your growing belly, showcasing the proof of your usefulness. He loves the way your independence has been stripped away, loves the way you’ve been forced to rely on him for everything.
When did you become so dependent?
When did you start accepting his affection like a loyal dog, start leaning into the way his rough, calloused hands would trace the curve of your stomach? When did you start craving the way he’d gaze up at you with that lovesick smile, his voice low and honeyed as he murmured sweet words about the future?
“I hope the baby looks like Satoru,” he’d say, his eyes dark and soft as they met yours. Then, after a pause, “I hope it’s a girl.”
The words always made your chest tighten, made your stomach twist.
You know he must miss the twins.
It’s not just the weight of their absence—it’s the way he’s filled that void with this child, this unborn life. You can see it in the way he touches you, the way he watches you. He’s more excited about this pregnancy than you are.
And that’s the cruelest part, isn’t it?
Because to him, this isn’t just a child. It’s a legacy. A purpose.
To you?
It’s another chain.
And yet, you hate how loving he is. How he’s always there to hold your hair back when you’re bent over, heaving in the dead of night. How his large, warm hands find every knot in your aching limbs, massaging away the tension with a tenderness that makes your heartache.
It’s cruel, how gentle he can be. How he disarms you with care just when you think you might muster the strength to fight back.
There’s a constant mantra in your mind, a desperate hope that the baby won’t resemble either of them.
Because the thought of seeing their features reflected back at you stirs a fear too heavy to bear.
The thought of seeing their features reflected in those tiny, innocent eyes is terrifying. It brings the fear that every decision will feel like a mistake, that allowing any of this to happen will become an unbearable regret.
You tell yourself you hope, but it’s hard to ignore the possibility, isn’t it?
What if the child inherits Satoru’s piercing blue eyes—so crystalline they seem otherworldly, glowing even in the faintest light? The same eyes that burn and freeze you all at once, stripping you bare and exposing every secret, every hidden part of you.
Even his grin—boyish, sharp, too wide—lingers in your mind. A grin that could charm and cut in the same breath, leaving you unsure whether to lean closer or step away. What if that grin appeared on a smaller, softer face, just as devastating?
Or worse—what if the baby inherits Suguru’s gaze?
Those dark, soulful eyes that pull you in like the tide, gentle at first glance, inviting even, but hiding endless, churning storms beneath their surface. Eyes that promise escape is not an option. Unlike Satoru’s, Suguru’s smiles are quieter, softer—but no less dangerous. His smiles feel deliberate, like they’re slipping past every defense you didn’t even know you had.
Would the baby inherit Satoru’s arrogance? Suguru’s patience?
Or worse—would the child inherit both of their possessiveness?
The thought makes your skin crawl.
But the fear doesn’t end there.
Because it’s not just about the baby, is it?
It’s about you.
About how they’ve already carved themselves so deeply into your soul that you can’t even imagine a world without them. You hate that truth. Hate the way it festers inside you, a bitter root growing into every part of you.
You hate Satoru’s smirk when he strides into the estate after a mission, brushing off the exhaustion and blood as if it’s nothing. How he towers over you, his white hair catching the light in a way that seems almost ethereal, his fingers tilting your chin up with a mock tenderness that makes your breath catch.
You hate how he always knows exactly what to say to make you crumble, his voice dipping into that teasing lilt that makes your heart flutter in spite of yourself.
And Suguru—oh, you hate how he lingers. How his touch lingers. His hands are always warm, always deliberate, tracing paths across your skin as if he’s claiming you, piece by piece. Every stroke of his fingers feels like a silent reminder that you are his, that you belong to him. His voice, low and soothing, is a cruel contradiction—a balm against your nerves, even when his words are laced with quiet threats you pretend not to hear.
You hate them.
You hate the way they consume you, the way they’ve woven themselves into the fabric of your life so tightly that even your thoughts feel tangled in their presence.
And yet, as you sit in the vast, lonely expanse of the Gojo estate, the weight of your belly grounding you, you know the truth.
You’re not just afraid of the baby looking like them.
You’re afraid of what that child will mean.
Because if they look like Satoru, with his arrogance, his fire, his brilliance, how will you deny the pride swelling in your chest? How will you stop yourself from feeling that flicker of awe, even when you know you shouldn’t?
And if they look like Suguru, with his quiet strength, his steadfast devotion, how will you deny the love? How will you stop yourself from melting beneath those familiar eyes, from imagining them crinkling with joy or softening with affection?
You can’t.
And that's horrifying.
You won’t be able to ignore how Satoru has changed, how he’s become softer, more attentive in ways that make it harder to hold onto your resentment. How he lingers closer to you than he ever did before, as if the mere distance between you might undo something fragile inside him.
How he’s started resting his head in your lap as you sit together in the serene gardens, his white hair catching the sunlight like spun silk, almost ethereal. His long lashes cast soft shadows over his cheeks as his half-lidded gaze flickers up to meet yours, brimming with a tenderness you don’t know how to process.
He murmurs lazy words of affection, his voice low and warm, the kind of sweetness that drips like honey and sticks to your skin. His fingers trace absentminded circles on your thighs, soft patterns that feel far too intimate, far too easy.
And you hate how much you crave it.
You hate the way his presence soothes something raw inside you, even when you tell yourself it shouldn’t.
You hate how he’s begun helping you with the small, intimate things you wish you could keep to yourself. Like the unbearable ache in your swollen breasts, the pressure building so much it leaves you trembling, whimpering in pain. How he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even ask.
The way Satoru's lips wrap around you with loud, deliberate suckles, the sound echoing in the quiet as he eases the pressure with almost clinical precision. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t falter. His hands grip your hips to steady you, his thumbs pressing reassuring circles into your skin.
You hate the sound.
You hate the warmth of his breath against your skin, the way it prickles, a constant reminder of just how close he always is—too close.
When he’s finished, he pulls back with a satisfied hum, his lips brushing against your collarbone with a lingering kiss. His voice low, almost tender, as he murmurs, “I love this version of you.”
The words settle into you like stones. His lips, still soft from the milk, press against yours, and the faint sweetness lingers, almost cloying. Satoru murmurs more words—gentle, saccharine things that would feel kind if not for the way his hands start to roam as they wrap around your waist.
“How nurturing you’ve become,” he whispers, his tone carrying a dangerous sort of reverence.
That’s what he loves. That’s what he says.
And the way he looks at you when he says it—those bright blue eyes glinting with something dark, something that sinks its claws into you—makes your skin crawl. Because you know exactly what he means.
He doesn’t love the nurturing in and of itself. He loves how it ties you to him. How it binds you to this role, this life, this carefully constructed world where you are his and only his.
The version of you he loves is one that has no room for defiance, no space for resistance—only the space to give, to sacrifice, to bend under the weight of his love.
And that’s what makes it so much worse.
Because even as you hate it, even as your stomach churns and your skin prickles, there’s a part of you that leans into his touch. A part of you that longs for the softness, for the fleeting moments when it feels like love instead of control.
And you hate yourself for that, too
Because you know how it goes. You’ve seen it now. Lived it.
How one pregnancy ends and another begins.
The cycle repeated itself after your firstborn, didn’t it? Barely a year after you gave birth, they had you pregnant again. You didn’t even have time to recover, to heal, before they decided it was time for another.
But they love you, don’t they?
Satoru’s affection is impossible to miss—the way he grins at you, almost childlike, as he cups your face with hands that can destroy worlds but hold you as though you’re the most delicate thing he’s ever touched. How he showers you with gifts, flowers in every shade imaginable, rare treasures that sparkle as brightly as his endless energy.
How many times has he told you, in his low, teasing voice, “You’re my world, you know that? I could do anything, have anything—but none of it would matter without you.”
It sounds like love, doesn’t it?
And Suguru—Suguru loves you too, in his quiet, steady way. You see it in the way he watches you, his dark eyes softening when you enter the room, the weight of his gaze feels suffocating. He’s the one who stays calm when you cry, wrapping his arms around you and murmuring, “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. You don’t have to carry this alone.”
And you believe him, don’t you?
They love you. That’s why they insist on keeping you close. Why Satoru kisses your forehead every morning, why Suguru runs his fingers through your hair as he whispers sweet nothings you’re too exhausted to resist. That’s why they ensure you’re taken care of, why they never let you lift a finger, why they promise they’ll always protect you.
“You don’t have to do anything,” Satoru once said, kissing your swollen belly as he grinned up at you. “Just stay here with us. That’s all we need.”
“It’s not just for us,” Suguru added, his voice softer, more measured. “It’s for you too. We want you to feel safe. Loved.”
And in moments like that, when the weight of their words settles in your chest like a lullaby, you almost believe them.
You tell yourself that no one else would love you this much. No one else would care for you so completely, so unconditionally—because this is love, isn’t it?
The maids barely acknowledged your struggles. Their gazes were cold, dismissive, even as your body ached and your mind screamed for reprieve. They would gently pry your child from your arms with hushed whispers.
“You need more rest,” they’d say, their voices soft but unyielding. “We’ll take care of them. Don’t worry.”
And what could you do? You’d watch helplessly as they carried your baby away, leaving you empty-handed, empty-hearted. As if you were nothing more than a vessel, an incubator meant to bear and birth heirs for the Gojo family.
Your firstborn was a boy.
A son.
An heir.
He looked just like Satoru.
Those piercing blue eyes stared back at you from his tiny, cherubic face, wide and curious, already holding a glint of brilliance and confidence you couldn’t deny. His hair was the same stark white, impossibly soft beneath your trembling fingers as you brushed it back, memorizing every perfect strand. Even the little smirk he gave in his sleep mirrored Satoru’s—a playful, almost mocking curl at the corners of his mouth that made your heart ache with emotions you couldn’t unravel.
You loved him.
You hated that you loved him.
And when Suguru would cradle him in his arms, his dark eyes soft and filled with a devotion that seemed to crack the carefully constructed walls around your heart, you couldn’t deny the warmth blooming in your chest. He’d whisper promises to the child—vows of protection and guidance.
When Satoru would swoop in, effortlessly spinning the boy around with an energy that filled the room with light, the sound of your son’s uncontrollable laughter echoing like music, that warmth would return. It would swell in your chest, suffocating and undeniable, a cruel reminder of the chains you wore willingly and unwillingly all at once.
This is what they wanted, wasn’t it?
This is what they’d planned all along.
And now, with another child growing inside you, you realize something that terrifies you more than anything else.
You’re not sure if you stayed because you had no choice.
Or because you wanted to.
Again, it’s all your fault.
For trying to run, again.
For thinking, just for a moment, that you could escape them.
You were far too pregnant. Belly too far swollen, body heavy and slow, every step a reminder of how deeply tethered you were to this vast estate. But the thought wouldn’t leave your mind. The desperate hope of freedom burned too brightly, too wildly, even as your body betrayed you.
Even as you were dragged back to that sickening place, back to the people that you convinced yourself—desperately, foolishly—that this was love.
You’d screamed at Suguru, the words spilling out like a torrent you couldn’t stop. You told him the child was yours too, that you had the right to hold them, to sleep in the same room, to be more than a vessel. Your voice cracked, raw with frustration and desperation, as you hurled your defiance at him.
You remember the way his gaze darkened.
He didn’t yell. He didn’t snap. That wasn’t Suguru’s way.
Instead, he stepped closer, his movements slow, calculated, as though he were approaching a frightened animal. He tilted his head, his expression calm, disarming, the warmth in his dark eyes a stark contrast to the undercurrent of control they held.
“You’re upset,” he murmured, his voice soft, soothing. His hand reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears streaking your face. “And that’s okay. You’ve been through so much, haven’t you?”
The quiet warmth in Suguru's voice made it hard to breathe, made the frustration clawing at your throat turn to something else—something like shame.
“You need to calm down,” he continued, a warm calloused hand slipping down to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb pressing lightly against your pulse. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I don’t want you to hurt us.”
His words lingered, heavy with meaning, as he pulled you closer, his forehead pressing against yours.
“I know it’s hard,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “But I love you. We love you. Everything we do—everything I do—is for you.”
You wanted to push him away, to scream that it wasn’t love, that this wasn’t love. But as his arms wrapped around you, strong and unyielding, pulling you into his embrace as though Suguru could shield you from the very world they had trapped you in.
“You’re everything to me,” he murmured, soft lips brushing your temple. “Don’t you see that? You don’t need to run. You don’t need to be afraid. I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you.”
A voice that was so tender, so achingly sincere, that it almost broke you. Suguru's words were enough to extinguish the fire of defiance burning in your chest, to leave you standing there, trembling and helpless in his arms.
The maids saw it, didn’t they? They whispered about you, their quiet voices slipping through the halls like ghosts. They called you ungrateful. Sick. They said you didn’t understand how fortunate you were.
“You should be enjoying this,” they murmured, their words laced with thinly veiled judgment. “No responsibilities, no struggles. A carefree life. Everything is taken care of for you. What more could you want?”
What more could you want?
No choices.
That’s what they meant, wasn’t it? No choices. No freedom. No you.
Was something wrong with you? Maybe.
Maybe there was something wrong with wanting more. For wanting to feel like a person again, instead of a vessel, a doll, a beautifully dressed incubator meant to carry their legacy.
It really is all your fault, isn’t it?
Because when labor came, it dragged you into hell.
Thirty-three grueling hours. Each contraction ripped through your body like a punishment, an unrelenting reminder of every fleeting thought of rebellion, of every moment you dared to imagine a life beyond them.
The emergency c-section was chaos—a flurry of hands, sterile lights, and voices rising above the incessant ringing in your ears. You were losing too much blood. Fever scorched your skin, your body trembling as the edges of the world blurred, your thoughts slipping between consciousness and darkness.
You couldn’t make sense of what was happening. You weren’t even sure whose tears streaked your skin as they fell—were they yours? Satoru’s? Suguru’s?
You didn’t know.
You didn’t know what happened after that.
All you remember are the words.
Suguru’s voice, low and steady, cutting through the haze. He leaned close, his hand resting on your clammy cheek with an almost painful tenderness. His dark eyes bore into yours, soft yet heavy with something that made your stomach twist.
“You shouldn’t have run,” he whispered. His tone was calm, soothing even, but the edge beneath it was sharp enough to draw blood. “Look at what you’ve done to yourself. You should’ve listened.”
And for a long time, you didn’t have the strength to argue.
The days that followed blurred together. Feeling like a ghost in your body, too weak to move, too tired to speak. Satoru and Suguru hovered, their gazes flickering between concern and something you couldn't quite place. The maids continued to whisper on with their rumors, their eyes darting to you with pity or disdain, as though you’d done this to yourself.
In their eyes, you were lucky.
Lucky to have survived. Lucky to have them.
And lucky, in their eyes, to not have another pregnancy until your first two boys turned five.
Five years of peace. Or something that resembled it.
Five years of watching your sons grow, of hearing their first words, of feeling their small, warm arms wrap around you as they giggled into into your neck. Five years where it was almost believable that this was normal, where you could almost convince yourself this was love.
Because it did feel like love, didn’t it?
Until the day you overheard Suguru speaking to them.
His voice was hushed, but not hushed enough.
“Mommy is sick,” he said, tone calm and soothing like he was explaining a simple fact of life. “Sometimes she says things she doesn’t mean. Sometimes she gets confused. But that’s okay. We love her, don’t we?”
A pang sent through your chest, breath catching as you froze in the hallway. Those cruel words lies carved like knives, each one slicing deeper than the last.
He was planting seeds, wasn’t he?
Teaching them to see you the way he wanted them to see you. Fragile. Dependent. Broken.
However with fists clenched, nails pressing into palms with a sting sharp enough to ground the swirling emotions within. The urge to scream hovered at the edge, to cry and storm into the room, demanding explanations with the desperation of a cornered animal. Words burned on the tip of the tongue—protests that it wasn’t true, that sickness and confusion weren’t the chains binding this existence.
But what would they believe?
Suguru’s steady, patient voice, rich and even, always laced with quiet authority? The father whose dark eyes always seemed to understand everything, who carried himself with calm, unshakable control, even when his smiles didn’t quite reach his eyes?
Or you?
The mother who had tried to run, who had collapsed and bled and screamed, who had been scolded for her defiance. The one they saw as weak, frail, and ungrateful.
You wanted to run again. The thought burned in the back of your mind, relentless and wild.
But you didn’t.
You stayed.
Because, in the end, what choice did you really have?
But by the time your third child—a sweet boy who looked like a perfect blend of you and Suguru—turned three, the illusion of peace began to crack.
Suguru was already leaning close, his voice soft and coaxing as he murmured into your ear, “I think it’s time we try for a girl.”
Satoru, of course, was on board almost immediately.
After all, your third child was different. A nonsorcerer, just like you, showing none of the abilities your first two boys possessed. Those two had cried in the dead of night, their small voices trembling with fear as they described the horrors only they could see—things you couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
But that wasn’t why your husbands looked at Kiyoshi with quiet disapproval.
It wasn’t his lack of cursed energy that made them see him as an anomaly.
It was his heart.
From the moment Kiyoshi was placed in your arms, red-faced and wailing, he clung to you with a desperation that never faded. He didn’t want the maids to hold him, didn’t toddle after Suguru’s composed steps or reached for Satoru’s strong arms. He wanted you. Always you.
He was a mama’s boy through and through, and that was love.
A love so pure it felt like a lifeline in the suffocating world you’d been forced into.
While you loved your first two boys deeply—how could you not?—there was always a distance there, a reflection of the walls your husbands had built around you. The first two cuddled into your lap, their small hands clutching yours as they whispered things that broke you.
“Mommy, we want you to get better.” “We don’t like it when you yell at Daddy to let you leave.”
They were too young to understand, too innocent to see the chains tightening around you.
But Kiyoshi understood, in his own way. Even as a toddler, he refused to leave your side, refused to let the maids or his fathers pull him from your arms. He was always on your hip, his little hand clutching your clothes, his head resting against your chest.
“Kiyoshi,” Satoru had said once, his tone laced with false amusement, “means ‘pure sadness.’ Don’t you think that’s fitting?”
He smiled as if it were a joke, but you could hear the bitterness beneath it.
And maybe it was fitting.
Because Kiyoshi only stopped wailing when he was in your arms, as if he already knew the world outside of you was too cruel, too cold.
By the time he turned three, Kiyoshi would toddle after you in the gardens, small, sturdy legs working hard to keep up. His face—a blend of Suguru’s gentleness and your warmth—would brighten with the purest smile. When his eyes crinkled at the corners, just like yours, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell.
“Look, Mommy!” he’d say, holding up a flower he’d plucked from the garden, his tiny fingers dirt-stained and clumsy. “For you!”
You’d crouch down, brushing his dark hair back as you took the flower, your voice soft and tender in a way you hadn’t heard in years.
“Thank you, my sweet boy.”
And for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you.
Like you could breathe again.
But you knew better.
As the sound of approaching footsteps always shattered moments like these. Heavy and far too familiar. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Suguru.
His softspoken voice broke the fragile silence, calm and even, as always. “Kiyoshi,” he said, warm and affectionate, though laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “You’ve been keeping your mother all to yourself again, haven’t you?”
Kiyoshi stiffened at your side, the little hand tightening its grip on your kimono as he glanced nervously toward Suguru.
Suguru stepped closer and crouched down to Kiyoshi’s level, dark eyes softening as they met his son’s. “Come here, son,” he murmured, holding out a hand. His tone was gentle, coaxing, but there was an unspoken expectation beneath it. “Let Daddy hold you for a little while. I’ve missed you.”
But Kiyoshi didn’t move. His small fingers curled tighter into the fabric of your kimono, his face pressing into your side as though trying to make himself small, invisible.
Suguru’s gaze flicked to you, lips curling into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So shy,” he said softly, his voice carrying a note of amused affection. “But you don’t have to be, Kiyoshi. Daddy just wants to hold you. You know that, don’t you?”
You felt your heart clench, torn between the instinct to shield him and the weight of Suguru’s presence. The tenderness in his tone, in the way his hand remained outstretched, made it all the harder to breathe.
“Kiyoshi,” Suguru said again, his voice dipping into a firmer edge, calm but unyielding. “Come.”
Reluctantly, your little boy let go of you, his steps slow and hesitant as he moved toward his father. Suguru’s smile widened, soft and reassuring, as he scooped Kiyoshi up effortlessly, cradling him with a gentleness that felt too deliberate, too controlled.
“There’s my good boy,” he murmured, brushing Kiyoshi’s hair back with careful fingers. His touch lingered, as though committing the texture to memory. “You love your mommy very much, don’t you?”
Kiyoshi nodded silently, his small face burying itself in Suguru’s shoulder.
Suguru’s gaze lifted to meet yours, a gentle smile, his tone almost playful. “You’ve spoiled him,” he said, a note of amusement threading through his words. “He’s too attached.”
You opened your mouth to respond, to say something, but the words caught in your throat.
What could you say?
That you were the only warmth in a world that terrified him? That his attachment wasn’t a flaw, but a desperate grasp at something safe?
Satoru appeared not long after, his presence impossible to ignore as he strolled into the garden, hands in his pockets and a grin that seemed too bright for the moment. His eyes, however, betrayed something softer—something that lingered only when they landed on you.
“Kiyoshi giving you trouble again?” Satoru's voice came out light, tinged with curiosity.
“No trouble,” Suguru replied smoothly, a hand still resting on Kiyoshi’s small back. “Just a little too fond of his mother.”
Satoru chuckled, shaking his head as he moved closer. His cerulean gaze flicked briefly to Kiyoshi before returning to you, that playful grin softening as he moved to brush a kiss against your temple. “Well, can you blame him?” he murmured, his voice low, meant only for you. “You’re hard not to love.”
The warmth of his affection made your heart twist, and your stomach flutter. For a moment, it was easy to forget the way his words often carried double meanings, easy to believe he was simply being sweet.
He straightened, turning his attention back to Suguru with a teasing smile. “But we’ll fix that soon enough, won’t we?”
They didn’t mean to hurt him, you told yourself. They wouldn’t.
But you knew better.
Because Kiyoshi was different. He didn’t fit into their world the way your first two boys did. And in their eyes, difference was something to be controlled.
For now, they let him cling to you. They let him toddle after you in the garden, offering flowers and dirt-streaked smiles that made your heart ache with both love and dread. For now, they allowed him to stay close, to hold onto the warmth you gave him, to believe he was safe in your arms.
But you knew it was only a matter of time.
Because your sons didn’t belong to you. Not really. They never had.
And no matter how much you wanted to shield Kiyoshi, no matter how fiercely you loved him, you knew one simple, devastating truth:
They’d let you have this for now.
But they would take him, too.
Because, after all, it’s all your fault.
For fleeing in the middle of the night.
The day was supposed to be perfect—a rare moment where Satoru and Suguru had taken the older two boys to the school, their voices filled with excitement as they promised to teach them more about the world they were destined to inherit. Your sweet boys kissed you goodbye with a tenderness that felt almost cruel, leaving you behind with Kiyoshi in the quiet, sprawling estate.
You had been on your best behavior. Smiling more, laughing when Satoru teased you, letting Suguru hold you a little longer than usual. You’d made them believe you were finally settling, finally accepting your role in their carefully constructed world.
And it worked.
So when the sun set and the house fell silent, you made your move.
You bundled Kiyoshi up in the softest blanket you could find, the small body warm and sleepy against your chest. He stirred only slightly as you slipped out of the estate, his tiny hands clutching onto your clothes.
He didn’t cry.
He didn’t make a sound.
It was as if he understood. As if even at three years old, he knew that silence was the only thing keeping you safe.
He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his soft breaths warm against your skin, and you couldn’t help the tears that welled up in your eyes.
The highway stretched out before you, an endless black ribbon under the faint glow of the moon. The lights of the city sparkled in the distance, a beacon of hope, a promise of sanctuary.
You walked for miles, the cold night air biting at your skin, legs aching with every step. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Not with the faint echoes of paranoia whispering at the back of your mind.
Were they already looking for you? Did Satoru sense you slipping away even from miles away? Did Suguru wake in the middle of the night with the suffocating weight of intuition, already calling for their forces to track you down?
You didn’t know.
And you didn’t care.
The city limits were closer now, the glow of neon lights growing brighter, sharper. The faint hum of life and sound buzzed in the distance.
Kiyoshi stirred in your arms, his little head lifting just enough to peek out at the world around him. His dark eyes, so much like Suguru’s but filled with an innocence his father could no longer claim, glanced up at you with quiet curiosity.
“Mommy,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the soft hum of the wind.
You pressed a kiss to his forehead, your tears wetting his soft hair. “We’re almost there, my sweet boy,” you murmured, your voice trembling under the weight of hope and fear. “Just a little farther.”
Sanctuary was so close you could taste it.
But it’s all your fault, isn’t it?
Born a nonsorcerer.
Blind to the horrors that lurk unseen. Powerless to fight them off. Too weak to keep that sweet little boy safe.
You always imagined curses as massive, grotesque creatures—monsters so obvious that the very air would change in their presence. That the world would stop, that everything would smell of death and decay as they loomed closer.
But when a curse appears, nothing changes.
There’s no warning. No shift in the wind.
The only thing you feel is the sudden weight of your child going limp in your arms.
And then the blood.
And then the blood.
It coats the ground—dark and endless, pooling around your knees and seeping into the cracks of the earth. Sticky and warm, it clings to trembling hands, staining your kimono, your skin, your very soul.
You can’t move. Can’t breathe.
Your little boy—your Kiyoshi—lies limp in your arms, his small body growing colder with every agonizing second. Tiny fingers, once so eager to cling to you, now dangle lifelessly. His dark lashes rest softly against pale cheeks, unmoving.
He looks like he’s sleeping.
You tell yourself that, over and over, as if saying it enough times will somehow make it true. Shaking hands brush back his dark hair, trembling as you whisper his name. Softly at first, then louder, your voice splintering with every syllable.
“Kiyoshi… wake up, baby. Please.”
But nothing changes.
The world around you feels wrong—too quiet, too still. The city lights in the distance mock you, their glow a cruel reminder of the sanctuary you’d been so close to reaching. You’d promised him, hadn’t you? Promised that everything would be okay. That you’d make it there. That you’d keep him safe.
You lied.
“Kiyoshi,” you choke out again, pressing a desperate kiss to his cooling forehead. Hot tears streak down your face, wetting his soft hair as you clutch him tighter, as though you could anchor him to you—keep him here, with you.
A wail tears through the night, raw and broken, shattering the oppressive silence. The sound is unrecognizable, guttural and full of despair. It takes a moment before you realize it’s coming from you.
The blood stains everything—your hands, your clothes, the ground—but it’s the loss of his warmth that destroys you.
How did this happen?
Your mind races, replaying the moments in broken fragments. You’d been walking, your legs aching, his small body cradled against your chest. He’d been so quiet, so trusting, his head nuzzled into the crook of your neck.
You were almost there.
Then the air shifted—just slightly—a subtle wrongness you hadn’t noticed until it was too late.
You didn’t see it.
You didn’t even know it was there until his body jerked in your arms, a sharp, unnatural movement that stole his breath—and yours.
And then he went limp.
It doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense.
You rock him back and forth, tears falling freely, your voice hoarse as you beg him to wake up. Leaning to press your cheek against his, murmuring his name over and over, as if the sound alone could bring him back.
Because you failed him.
Because this is your fault.
Suguru’s arms wrap around you, their weight unbearable. His warmth presses against the chill of the night, suffocating in a way that makes the air harder to pull into your lungs. He cradles you like something precious, something fragile—like he cares, even as his words twist the knife deeper into your chest.
“We’ll take care of this, just like always,” he says, his voice soft, almost gentle. His lips brush against your hair, lingering, and the tenderness in the gesture makes your skin crawl. “You just need to stop fighting us. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
Satoru stood frozen, head bowed, white hair catching the faint glow of the city lights. Kiyoshi’s lifeless body was pressed tightly against him, his hands trembling ever so slightly as he held him close. For a moment, you thought you saw something crack in his expression—something raw, something human.
But it was gone just as quickly as it appeared.
When he finally turned his gaze to you, his blue eyes were as hollow as you’d ever seen them. “You shouldn’t have done this,” he said quietly, his voice devoid of its usual teasing lilt. “Why couldn’t you just stay?”
The question stabbed deeper than you thought possible, the shame and guilt coursing through you like poison.
Why couldn’t you just stay?
The image of Kiyoshi’s bright smile flashed, his tiny hands offering you flowers from the garden, his laugh ringing out like music in the suffocating silence of the estate. He’d been your light, your tether to something good.
And now he was gone.
Because of you.
You sagged further into Suguru’s hold, the fight draining out of you entirely. The tears wouldn’t stop, falling silently now, soaking into the front of Suguru’s shirt as he held you tighter.
“There, there,” he murmured, his hand stroking your hair in slow, deliberate motions. “That’s better. You don’t have to fight anymore. We’ll make it right.”
But there was no right in this.
The car waited nearby, its door open like an unspoken command. Suguru’s grip on you didn’t waver as he began guiding you toward it, his movements gentle but unrelenting. Satoru followed behind, cradling Kiyoshi’s small form like he was made of glass.
Your legs moved on instinct, numb and heavy, the metallic scent of blood lingering in the air.
The city lights grew fainter as the car doors shut behind you, locking you away from the world you’d been so close to reaching.
You told yourself you’d tried. That you’d done everything you could.
But deep down, you knew.
You’d never escape them.
And as Suguru’s fingers intertwined with yours, as Satoru’s empty gaze lingered on the horizon, you realized something that hollowed you out completely.
It wasn’t just that you had nothing left.
It was that you no longer cared to try.
It really was all your fault.
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blue-lights-to-dreams ¡ 1 month ago
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Golden Light // H.S.
synopsis: you go on a blind date with Harry at your best friend's insistence and enjoy it much more than you expected.
wc: 3.9k
a/n: i hope you guys enjoy this! i haven't written fic in a hot minute, so let me know what you think! this will likely have a part 2 where the exciting stuff happens, but writing even this much took me forever so i wanted to share before the Christmas mentions became irrelevant, lol!
The streets of New York City are beautiful this time of year. Christmas lights twinkle in nearly every retail storefront, some even including a dusting of ripped-up cotton balls and other snow-like materials. Just ignore the grey sludge coating the streets.
You were never one for holiday cheer, and today was no exception. Despite thinking the same of every single day, you’ve had what you would consider the longest day of your life. Your first meeting ran late by just a few minutes, but even this was enough to push your calendar so far off that you needed to reschedule your final call with the client you’d been waiting almost a month to meet with.
There was nothing more in this world you wanted to do than curl up in bed with a bottle of wine and a silk eye mask. But, here you were, trudging down the streets of New York City in your slightly uncomfortable heels, trying to dodge puddles, slush, and other mysterious substances on the sidewalk, on your way to a blind date. Emma had set you up with a friend of her boyfriend’s, and she’d made you promise you’d give him a chance.
Your last relationship had ended with a bang after you went to his apartment to surprise him after getting out of work early one afternoon, only to find him in bed with a blonde girl you never did learn the name of. 
You could easily find a man to wake up to the next morning, but after years of running your own business, it wasn’t as simple as walking into a bar to meet Mr. Right. You’d dated enough men with little ambition; you needed someone who had drive– had success.
All you knew about your date for the night was his name was Harry, he was a record executive, and, according to Emma, he was hot.
The pit in your stomach only grew as you approached Bella Napoli. It didn’t help you’d spent the last six blocks trying to lift your dress and nearly-floor-length coat high enough to keep it out of the puddles.
The little blue location dot on your maps app glided closer to the restaurant with each step you took, nearly there - mist ghosted over your nose with each exhale, doing nothing to keep it warm in the frigid weather of the city, and you couldn’t wait to get inside.
Finally, you spotted the marquee sign affixed to the small brick building half a block up, signaling the end of your journey. The glass-front double doors opened easily under your hasty pull, eager to feel the heat of the brick building’s furnace.
“Good evening, ma’am,” the hostess greeted from behind her podium. She appeared to be in her early twenties, with long blonde hair and prominent cheekbones.
“Good evening, I have a reservation under (Y/L/N),” you brushed stray snowflakes off of your wool coat. Emma had ensured she would let Harry know the reservation would be under your name, and you hoped she hadn’t forgotten.
“Ah, yes, table for two? Right this way.” The young woman stepped from behind the podium and began heading toward the main dining area. You followed her as she snaked around the tables full of affluently dressed couples and businessmen in suits, reaching a small archway leading into a more dimly-lit section of the restaurant. 
She led you to a booth in the corner with velvet seats and matching curtains, held open by small hooks on either side - out of sight from most of the other patrons in the section, who didn’t seem to be paying any mind to you anyway. A small candle sat between two menus, adjacent to a traditional silverware layout and an empty highball glass on either side of the booth.
You slid onto the bench facing the room’s entrance as the hostess filled each glass with ice water. She nodded as you thanked her and informed her a man by the name of Harry should be arriving soon to join you. Just in case Emma had forgotten.
The menu was short but obviously well-curated. The wine list was almost twice the length of the food menu - just how you liked it. You skimmed the offerings, deciding on a merlot of the second-highest price point. Your anxiety still made itself known in the way your stomach was twisting. You checked the time. It was 5:58 pm - still two minutes early. You hoped the wine would drown the butterflies (or maybe moths) in your stomach.
Your eyes returned to the restaurant’s food offerings but were again drawn upwards as another person sauntered into the secluded section of the restaurant. His pale grey, half-unbuttoned silk shirt settled just under the gold cross necklace grazing the indent between his pecs. A blazer of a much darker grey draped his shoulders, matching the straight-legged trousers just long enough to only allow the front of his patent-leather black loafers to peek out from under them. 
The air suddenly felt heavy, like you couldn’t get a breath in. Who is the lucky lady he’s here with tonight? Your eyes darted around the section, trying to find his date, but coming up empty. 
Shit, is this Harry?
Your fears are confirmed as you realize the hostess had entered the room a bit ahead of him and was leading him to your booth. The poor girl looked entirely flustered.
“Here you are, sir. Your waitress will be over shortly to grab your drink orders,” she squeaked, turning on her heels and scurrying away as quickly as possible.
You smiled at him as you shuffled out of the booth and rose to your feet, trying to seem much more confident than you were. You reached about the height of his shoulder in your heels.
“You must be (Y/N),” he spoke with a slight smile, glancing at your attire before returning his eyes to meet yours.
“That would be me. And you must be Harry.” You smiled back at him, subconsciously smoothing out the part of the dress resting on your hips.
Harry took a step toward you with arms extended, pulling you into an easy hug, His arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders and yours around his waist. He smelled like an intoxicating mix of vanilla, patchouli, and musk. Expensive. Even just brushing your fingers across his suit jacket as he pulled away, the feel of the fibers suggested it had also not been cheap.
“You look stunning. I love the color of your dress,” he complimented, pulling back slightly with his hand hovering over your waist. “It looks great on you.”
“Thank you, it was actually a gift from my mother.” Compliment-taking was not your forte.
“Well, she has great taste. Shall we?” He motioned toward the set table, waiting for you to take your seat before sliding into the bench on the opposite side. “Have you been here before?”
“I haven’t, but I’ve heard great things. Have you?” His ring-clad fingers picked up the beverage menu in front of him as you spoke.
“I have, it’s one of my favorites.” That must have been why he suggested it.
“Is the Merlot any good? That’s what I was thinking of ordering, but I’m open to suggestions.” You played with the seam of your dress under the table absentmindedly.
“Now that, I haven’t had. I’m more of a white wine guy myself. I’m a fan of the Riesling.”
“Really? My first guess would have been whiskey, honestly.” There exists a pattern in these kinds of men - they always drank some very expensive whiskey they needed to tell you all about, as if it didn’t taste like smoke-flavored lighter fluid.
“I tend to prefer a sweeter taste,” his eyebrows twitched as he raised the glass of water to his lips. You nodded before the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, taking time to browse the food menu.
It wasn’t very extensive, with a few choices to pick from each protein category. You settled on a grilled chicken tagliatelle with a cream sauce, hoping it would pair well with the wine.
“Hi, my name is Danielle and I’ll be taking care of you this evening,” a voice burst your bubble of concentration, “have we decided on what we’d like to drink?”
You recited your wine order first, with Harry following shortly after. The waitress jotted down your selections in her notepad before exiting the room with a promise to be back to take your food orders shortly.
“So, Emma said you work in marketing?” he spoke slowly. His accent was thick, only further drawing you into the conversation.
“PR, actually,” you replied, “I have my own firm, with a few employees. I love it.”
“That’s amazing,” he sounded sincere. “How long have you been in PR?”
“Almost a decade, but I’ve had the firm for a little over 3 years. At first, it was just myself operating out of my apartment, but we’ve been able to build up some clientele and move to an actual office space. Emma said you work for Atlas Sound, right?” you shifted the conversation away from yourself, curious about what exactly came with being a record executive.
“That’s right. I’m mostly in charge of production but I help out with some of the publishing aspects as well.”
“Ah, so no talent scouting? I was hoping this could be my big break…” you mused, narrowing your eyes at him. Harry chuckled, flashing the smile you’d found yourself dead set on seeing more of. 
“No, no, unfortunately, that’s not me, but I may know some people who could help. Let me guess, rap?”
You almost choked on the water you’d just taken a sip of, but managed to swallow it before the laugh burst from your throat. It caught you off guard - Harry honestly didn’t look like he would even know what rap is. A silly notion, given his career, but true anyway.
“You have a beautiful laugh,” Harry stated sincerely, and your heart just about stopped. 
Before you got the chance to respond, a full wine glass was placed in front of each of you. You hadn’t even noticed the waitress had come back. “Here are those drinks. Did we decide on what we’d like to eat? I can make some suggestions if you’re not sure what to get…”
It appeared as if she’d forgotten you were even in the room with the way she was staring directly at Harry. You couldn’t blame the girl - you’d been staring too - but she could definitely tell the two of you were on a date, so she could have at least been a little more subtle.
Harry smiled politely (and briefly) at her before turning his attention back to you to confirm you were ready to order. You both relayed your choices to the waitress, and you appreciated that Harry did not seem like he was interested in entertaining her advances.
“Anyways, where were we…” he smiled again, and your heart lurched.
Conversation flowed smoothly between the two of you, aided by the wine in your glasses. You found yourself getting less and less nervous about him not being the right fit, but more and more nervous you were somehow making a fool of yourself. 
The story of how one of your interns accidentally jammed the copier so badly you had to buy a completely new unit made Harry laugh loudly. It was one of many stories you had from your job that were definitely funnier in retrospect than they were as they happened. You were aware you’d talked a lot so far, but you couldn’t help it. The way Harry spoke was attractive, but the way he listened was even better. He seemed genuinely interested in the stories you told, maintaining eye contact, nodding in the right spots, and asking thoughtful follow-up questions. It had been a while since you’d had a date genuinely listen to you, and it was refreshing. 
He asked more about your job, and you found yourself telling him how as much as you like being “in charge” and able to have control over your firm, sometimes it was incredibly stressful, especially in emergencies. He could see the stress that followed you home every day seep back into your expression, despite you trying your best not to let it show.
His ring-clad hand slid across the table, fingers gently entwining with yours and giving them a quick squeeze.
“You know, I think you’re brave for taking that risk. You should be proud of what you’ve built.” The eye contact he made with you as he spoke was intense, with sincerity behind his words. His hand was warm, contrasting the cool feeling of the metal rings, and you subconsciously squeezed it back in an attempt to keep it where it was. Luckily, your hands stayed intertwined for another couple of minutes as you expressed your appreciation for his kindness and shifted the conversation back to his job until your food was in front of you.
The meals were delicious, just as Harry had promised. He’d ordered a mushroom risotto that looked delicious, and your pasta tasted perfect with the wine you’d chosen. Good job, self.
Soon, you found your plate nearly empty and your body warm from the alcohol. Your thoughts felt slightly fuzzy, and you caught yourself staring a little too long at the rings on Harry’s right hand, as well as the fingers adorning them. The muscles flexed as he moved his hands while speaking, and you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away. You knew how his hand felt in yours, but how would it feel touching your cheek, against your back, gripping your - 
“Did you save room for dessert? The tiramisu is incredible.” Harry’s voice broke your train of thought, and you quickly averted your eyes back to his. What seemed like a slight smirk played on his face, but you couldn’t tell if it was because he’d noticed the staring, or if the alcohol was just affecting him as well. You prayed for the latter.
“That sounds great, but I can probably only take a few bites. Would you want to share a piece?” you suggested, much too full for an entire dessert to yourself.
“I’d love to.” Harry absentmindedly tapped his fingers against the table in a rhythm you couldn’t place, not helping your attempts not to stare. “So, tell me more about that yoga class?”
The conversation flowed again, with Harry ordering dessert when the waitress stopped by. Of course, you were just as interested in his words as he was in yours, hanging on his every accented sentence. He was a captivating storyteller and his facial expressions were no different - you loved how his eyes lit up at the good parts and narrowed at the bad in the story. The slight scruff on his face complimented the way his mouth moved as it formed words, drawing you closer. How would they feel against your own lips, you wondered? 
You could hear the words he was saying, but you weren’t fully listening as he continued telling you about the time he got a little too drunk at a friend’s birthday party and ended up volunteering to give a speech he had in no way prepared for. It was a great story, very funny, but your mind was otherwise preoccupied. Wine always made you… flirty.
Soon, the tiramisu was in front of you. This, too, looked delicious - Harry was right again.
“Would you like the first bite?” He offered, picking up one of the small forks laid out on the plate and scooping a bite of the dessert onto it.
“Well, ladies first I suppose,” you joked. You parted your mouth slightly as you leaned forward, waiting for him to place the fork on your tongue. What you weren’t expecting was for his other hand to reach out and lightly grasp your jaw, thumb on your chin to hold your mouth farther open. A choked gasp escaped your lips at the same time the sweet cake hit your tongue, but you could barely taste it, too distracted by the skin contact. Again, his eyes didn’t leave yours as he allowed your mouth to close and pulled his hand away from your face.
“Well? How is it?” he asked, with a definite smirk this time. 
You tried to compose yourself before answering, swallowing the dessert and the lump that had formed in your throat. “It’s good… really good.” Your voice came out breathier than you intended, and you blinked heavily a couple of times, trying to kickstart the part of your brain that could think of anything except what you’d like to do with the gorgeous man sitting in front of you.
Harry took his own bite next, letting his eyes flutter shut as his mouth closed around the fork. His long eyelashes rested atop his strong cheekbones, the same ones you almost had to physically stop yourself from reaching over to brush your fingertips over. His lips were a stunning, dark shade of red, still slightly wet from the wine he’d been enjoying.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the bite, slightly brushing against the collar of his shirt. Seafoam green eyes made contact with yours as he opened them again, and a small smile graced his face as he realized you’d been watching him intently.
“You’re right, it is really good.” Your heart raced under the fervency of his gaze. He was staring into you like he wanted to read the thoughts echoing in your brain. “Would you like another bite?”
“Sure, but I can feed myself this one if you like,” you attempted to lighten the intense mood that had befallen your booth so you might actually be able to catch your breath,
“That won’t be necessary, I was quite enjoying myself,” Harry mused, refusing to break eye contact until you did. He scooped another bite onto the fork, reaching over to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear before resuming his grip on your jaw and returning the fork to your lips. He felt your jaw flex as you chewed and swallowed the bite, but didn’t take his hand off of your face. Instead, he brought his thumb back to your lips and brushed below them gently, careful not to smudge your lipstick. 
He brought his thumb back to his mouth and slowly closed his lips around the pad of it, a half-smile tugging at his lips at your bewildered expression. “Sorry, you had a little something there. I figured I’d get it for you.”
You nodded, taking a deep breath instead of attempting to utter a response.
He took another bite himself before offering you another, which you obliged with little hesitation.
“You know, Harry, you need to be careful feeding me like this or I’ll get used to it.” Another feeble attempt to ease the tension and stop acting like a flustered teenager.
“I wouldn’t mind that,” he murmured, voice sincere and slow, laced with something that sent a shiver down your spine, “if it means I keep getting to see your cheeks flush.”
He’d noticed how your body was responding to him, whether or not you tried to hide it. Your face burned again, sinking further into the booth behind you in slight embarrassment.
“Well, it doesn’t help that I’m on a date with an attractive man who’s feeding me tiramisu. I think that’s every woman’s dream.”
“So it’s working?” His face glowed in the candlelight, a smirk on his face but a subtle vulnerability behind his eyes.
You knew what he was implying, but wanted to regain some of the power you’d lost by being so flustered. “Maybe.”
“That’s not good enough for me. I need a yes.” He needed confirmation that you were on the same page.
“And what exactly am I saying yes to?” A sip of wine ran down your throat as you awaited his response.
“To letting me walk you home after this,” Harry stated bluntly, scanning your face for your reaction. You couldn’t help the way your face flushed, but you held your composure, leaning back casually against the booth behind you as you pretended to mull it over. You already knew what you wanted.
“Alright, Harry,” you smirked, bringing the wine glass to your lips once more, “let’s see where the night takes us.”
- - - - - - - - - - 
“God, it’s freezing out here,” you groaned, dodging patches of ice. You were nearly home, your apartment building visible up the street.
Harry had grabbed your hand under the guise of keeping it warm a few minutes ago, something you were grateful for now as you gripped it tightly, trying to navigate the snow-covered ground in heels with little traction. He’d offered to call an Uber, but you wanted some more time with him without a driver listening in on your conversation.
As you approached the building, your imagination ran with thoughts of getting him upstairs, into your apartment, into your living room… 
Before you could get too far, you were at the front door. Your free hand patted over the pockets of your jacket to ensure that you had your keys and found them in your left pocket.
“I had a great time with you tonight, Y/N,” Harry turned to face you, not letting go of your hand. “I’d love to do this again, sometime, if you’d be interested.”
A slight flush now graced his face, glancing at the ground as he awaited your response.
“I had a lovely time. I’d love to see you again,” you confirmed quickly, not letting him worry for too long.
He was beaming now, allowing you to admire his prominent dimples. Your heart skipped a beat and you couldn’t help but smile right back at the sight.
“There’s that beautiful smile again,” he quipped. His free hand reached for your jaw, cradling it again as you both continued to grin at each other for a few moments. A silence fell upon you again, and Harry’s eyes searched yours for a second before flickering to your lips, which had slowly returned to a resting state. As he moved his gaze back up, your eyes gleamed with the reflections of Christmas lights and were swimming with the need for more contact with him. He inhaled slowly, nervously, before exhaling sharply. “Can I kiss you?”
You nodded quickly, gripping his collar to pull him closer before his mouth met yours. Electricity sparked between the two of you, his luscious lips colliding with yours over and over again, like he couldn’t get enough of you. The kiss started slow, but quickly became deeper, more desperate, as he gripped your waist tightly and pulled you close to him. Your hands searched for solace, moving from his collar to his cheeks before lightly running through the hair at the back of his neck.
He tore his lips away from yours but didn’t stray far, pressing his forehead against yours as you both tried to catch your breath. You could see both of your small pants in the air as they fogged due to the cold. A small smile played on each of your lips, and you just knew your lipstick was half-gone because you could definitely see some of it on Harry.
“You know,” you pulled away, straightening your stance confidently, “I have a bottle of wine upstairs if you’d like to help me drink it.”
Harry grinned. “I would love to.”
part 2!
815 notes ¡ View notes
nosyp ¡ 25 days ago
Note
saw uu wrote for squid games and had to request !! could you pls write for hyun ju (player 120) x fem reader smut please 🙏🙏 just smth about it being reader’s first time and it’s soft and gentle ?? if ur okay w that ofc 💕
Hehe hi!! Yesyessss i'm okay w it... i just can't guarantee a good one 😔 but i hope u enjoy anyways <3
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Title = Healing Touch
Warning = smut🔞, cum eating, fingering, first time
Summary = After surviving Squid Game, you join a support group and meet Hyun Ju, a former contestant. As you grow closer, your connection deepens, leading to an intimate and healing moment between you both.
Word count = 1.3k
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It had been a few days since the whole ‘squid game’ incident and you’ve recently heard about a squid game survivor group. You overheard it when you were in the bar, apparently ever since the news came out about the whole operation, some past players came forward to help make a support group. And you decided to check it out. The process of joining wasn’t too difficult, all you had to do was fill in your name, age and player number. 
The address leads you to a small alleyway. It didn’t scream ‘trap’ or anything but a feeling of paranoia struck through you as you got closer to it. The shadows loomed, but soon you're greeted by warm light spilling from a cracked door.
Inside, the atmosphere is surprisingly warm despite the eerie nature of the situation. A few folding chairs, scattered papers, and anxious smiles from the other survivors set the tone. They welcomed you like an old friend, even if your paths never crossed during the games. When the session ended, everyone stood up and went different ways. 
And that’s when you spot Hyun Ju. You swore she was player… 120? 121? You didn’t remember but she was quite the player. She won several games, it was quite impressive… not quite… very actually.
She was still sitting on the chair, despite the session already ending. She was all by herself and her posture was relaxed yet guarded, as if she were still sizing up the room. Something about her aura drew you in, perhaps it was her strength, or maybe just the faint glimmer of vulnerability she couldn’t quite hide.
Deciding to take a chance, you crossed the room and greeted her.
“Hyun Ju, right? Player 120?” you asked, hesitating for just a moment. Calling her a random player number was a huge gamble, but you were quite sure it ended with a 0.
Her eyes flicked up to meet yours, her expression shifting from guarded to curious. “That’s me,” she said, her voice softer than you expected. “And you are?”
You introduced yourself, giving your name and player number. Her gaze lingered on you for a moment, as though she were trying to place you in her memory. Then, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
“I remember you,” she said. “You were… quiet. But you made it pretty far.”
You nodded, unsure whether to feel flattered or exposed. “Yeah, I guess I kept my head down. But you- you were incredible. You made everything look so easy.”
Hyun Ju chuckled, a sound that felt surprisingly warm in the somber atmosphere. “Easy? Trust me, it wasn’t. But thanks.”
An awkward silence hung between you for a moment before she gestured to the empty seat next to her. “You can sit, if you want. It’s nice to talk to someone who… gets it.”
You sat down, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. The conversation flowed naturally after that, starting with shared memories of the games and gradually moving to lighter topics. You found yourself laughing at her dry humor and sharp wit, feeling a connection form between you that you hadn’t expected.
As the meeting wound down, Hyun Ju glanced at you with a thoughtful expression. “Do you… want to grab a coffee or something? I could use some normalcy, and you seem like good company.”
Surprised but pleased, you nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
She smiled, and for the first time in days, you felt a spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, life after the games wouldn’t be so bad.
Then she suddenly brought up the topic about partners and lovers. 
“I-I actually… never had a serious relationship before,” you mention, making her perk up in surprise.
“Ehh?? Forreal?” she asks you.
“Y-yeah…” you answer.
“So… you’ve never… uhmm…?” she asks awkwardly, hand rubbing the back of her neck.
“No…” you respond, giving a light chuckle at the end in an attempt to save both of you from the awkwardness.
—
Honestly, you didn’t even know what happened but now… you were suddenly being pinned onto the wall by her. For a moment, everything froze in time. Hyun Ju's breath hovers near your skin while your heart pounded inside you as she loomed over you. The distance between you both feels electric, yet there’s a hesitance, like the air itself is waiting for something to happen.
Her hands are warm against your skin, a subtle pressure as they roam slowly over your body. Your pulse quickens, body reacting before your mind can even catch up. The proximity of her form, her breath, it’s overwhelming, and you can't help but lean into it, just slightly, as though wanting more.
Hyun Ju's voice is low, like she’s savoring the moment. "Are you sure you want this?" she asks, her lips dangerously close to your ear. Everything about her was so soft. She was so gentle with you, as if you’d break if she added just a bit more force.
There’s an unspoken understanding between you two now. Her fingers brush against your neck softly. Her lips hovering yours just a breath away, and for a moment, everything feels unreal. The world outside fades, leaving just the two of you in this… space together.
You tilt your head slightly, your lips parted in silent invitation. She doesn’t hesitate, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that’s slow at first, but with the quiet promise of more to come.
Her hands tug at the hem of your shirt and her eyes look at yours, waiting for your permission. When you finally give her the affirming nod, she takes her time on pulling your clothes off, so as to not harm you. Finally, your pants are stripped off and she gives you a warning look.
“Please tell me if it hurts…” she says. You nod in response.
Her hands start to trail down… and down… until she reaches your folds. Gently, she shoves her index finger in ever so slowly. It was starting to feel agonising… you wanted her to go a bit faster but you just bit your tongue and let her do her thing.
She pumped her fingers in and out of you, coating her finger with your wetness. 
“P-Please…” you whimper, asking for more.
Her other hand then started roaming around your body more, the heat transferring to your skin. Your body was starting to feel hot… but not in a sick way… in a desperate way. Then, she slowly slipped another finger into you. 
“A-ahh! H-Hyun Ju…” you moan. “Mmmh…!”
She started going faster, but still not fast enough to hurt you. The friction made you so close. The feeling was painful, you just wanted to release that very moment. The way her skillful fingers thrusted in and out of you felt like ecstasy. Your hand covered your mouth to minimize the moans and you… released your first orgasm. Your cum covered her fingers and she brought it up to show you.
“I-I have tissues in my bag…” you said breathlessly.
“No need…” she says before licking off your fluids.
Then her hand gently cupped your cheek, fingers brushing softly over your cheek. Slowly, she leaned in, her forehead meeting yours in a tender, lingering touch. The contact was warm, grounding, as if she was seeking comfort in the closeness. 
Your breath started to steady in the quiet space between you. For a moment, everything else faded, nothing else mattered. The world, the noise, the tension and all that existed was the warmth of her skin and the weight of her hand on your cheek. The simple, intimate gesture felt like a promise, a silent understanding, deepening the connection between you.
669 notes ¡ View notes
pucksandpower ¡ 9 months ago
Text
Welcome to Miami
Lando Norris x Messi!Reader
Summary: a crazy weekend in Miami leaves Lando with his first Formula 1 win, one very pissed off football legend, and a baby-shaped surprise set to arrive in just about nine months
Warnings: 18+ content and unplanned pregnancy
Note: based on a request by @glitterquadricorn that I may have ended up going a little overboard with
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You wake up with a pounding headache, squinting against the bright sunlight streaming through the hotel room window. As you blink your eyes into focus, you realize you’re not in your own bed. The sheets are unfamiliar, the decor is generic and impersonal.
Panic starts to set in as you try to reconstruct the previous night’s events.
The space next to you is still warm, indented from where someone else was recently lying. You glance down at your lack of clothes and tousled hair. Yep, definitely had a one-night stand.
Wracking your brain, you vaguely recall meeting a charming stranger at the club, letting him buy you drinks until everything became a blur of flirtatious banter and wandering hands.
Your phone is on the nightstand and you grab it, hoping for some clues. A new contact catches your eye: “Lando 🍆”. You snort at the stupid name and obvious (if cringey) innuendo. At least he has a sense of humor.
You wonder what kind of guy calls himself Lando these days.
As you get dressed and leave the hotel, already trying to put the awkward walk of shame behind you, fragments of the night come back in flashes. Lando’s warm blue-green eyes crinkling at the corners when he laughed. His skilled hands roaming over your body. The way he whispered filthy praises in your ear between searing kisses.
You shiver, feeling an unexpected pang of disappointment that you’ll never see him again. But a one-night stand is just that — one night. No need to dwell on the best sex you’ve had in … well, maybe ever.
When you arrive home in the early afternoon, your dad greets you at the door with a knowing smirk.
“Have a good night, mija?” Leo teases, taking in your mussed appearance.
You roll your eyes, not wanting to give him any details. “It was fine.”
He chuckles. “If you say so. I’m just glad you’re home safe.”
Over the next few weeks, you put Lando out of your mind completely. Your life goes on as normal — training with the University of Miami’s football team, doing promotional appearances, and spending time with family and friends.
But then one morning about a month later, you wake up feeling nauseous. You brush it off as a stomach bug at first.
When the queasiness persists for several days along with strange cravings and bouts of fatigue, a nagging suspicion forms in your mind. You dig through your bathroom cabinets until you find an old pregnancy test leftover from a scare last year.
Your hands are shaking as you wait for the result. This can’t be happening. You were so careful with Lando, you’re almost certain … but maybe not careful enough.
The little plastic wand displays two solid pink lines. Positive.
“Oh shit,” you whisper, feeling like the ground has dropped out from underneath you.
How could you have been so stupid? Getting knocked up from a drunken one-night stand with a guy you can’t even remember properly. What are you going to do? How will you tell your parents? What about your athletic career?
A million thoughts race through your panic-stricken mind as you try to process this massive, life-altering situation. You want to call your best friend and cry, but you’re almost too overwhelmed to formulate words.
Part of you wants to be furious at Lando, that reckless idiot who came inside you so carelessly. But you know you’re just as much to blame. You obviously consented, you just can’t recollect the exact circumstances.
God, why did you let yourself get so sloppy drunk and make such terrible decisions?
You take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm yourself. Okay, first things first — you need to confirm this with a visit to the doctor. And if it’s still positive, you’ll have to figure out your next steps. Tell your family, decide whether to keep the baby or not. That’s still your choice, at least.
Your mind keeps drifting back to Lando, wishing you knew more about him than just a stupid contact name. Was that even his real name? What did he do for a living? Where was he from? Was he ready for the responsibility of being a father? Not that it mattered — you barely knew him. For all you knew, he could be married or secretly twisted.
No, you reason with yourself, trying to shut down that line of thinking, he seemed like a good guy. At least in the moment. Even through your tequila-soaked haze, you got a feeling of genuine warmth and kindness from him. Maybe you’re both just a couple of random people who made a reckless mistake after having too much fun together.
You take another breath and stand up, your mind made up. First, you’ll go to the doctor and get an official test. Then you’ll deal with everything else from there. There’s no use panicking until you confirm this is actually happening.
But deep down, you know this cheap little test is accurate. You’re pregnant with a virtual stranger’s baby. And in that moment, feeling so lost and overwhelmed and terrified, you can’t help but wonder — who the hell is Lando?
***
You sit on the couch, hands trembling as you clutch the results of your blood test. Tears stream down your face as the weight of the situation crushes down on you.
How could you have been so reckless? So stupid? You’re supposed to be a role model, setting an example for young girls. And now you’re pregnant from a one-night stand with some random guy.
The shame and fear swirl inside you until you can barely breathe. You need to tell your dad. He’ll be so disappointed in you. But you can’t keep this a secret, it will only get harder as your belly grows.
You hear the front door open and your dad’s familiar footsteps. Bracing yourself, you call out in a shaky voice, “Papa? Can you come here please?”
Leo wanders into the living room, his expression turning to immediate concern when he sees your tear-stained face. “Mija, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
You shake your head, bottom lip trembling as you try to find the words. “I … I’m pregnant,” you finally choke out.
His eyes go wide with shock. “Pregnant? How …” Realization dawns on his face. “Was this from that night you came home ...” He doesn’t need to finish the question.
You nod miserably, a fresh wave of tears falling. “I’m so sorry, Papa. I was drunk and stupid and … and I don’t even know who the father is, not really.” The words tumble out in a rush. “Just some guy I met at a club, his name was Lando or something. I barely remember anything!”
To your surprise, your dad’s expression softens into something like sympathy instead of the anger or disappointment you expected. He moves to sit beside you, wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders.
“Shh, it’s alright mija. I’m not happy about this situation, but I’m not angry at you either. We all make mistakes.” He pauses, seeming to think something over. “This Lando guy … was it around the time of the Miami Grand Prix in early May?”
You nod again, not understanding the connection. “I think so, why?”
A look of recognition crosses your dad’s face. “There’s a young driver in Formula 1. I’m a bit of a fan actually, been following his career when I have the chance. It’s not the most common name.”
Your breath catches in your throat as the pieces fall into place. The drunk recollections of warm color-changing eyes and a charming smile. The weird name followed by that stupid eggplant emoji in your contacts.
It all fits.
“Oh my god … you think the father is Lando Norris? Like, the Formula 1 driver?” Part of you wants to dismiss the idea as ridiculous, but another part feels an undeniable certainty that your dad has hit the nail on the head.
Leo nods firmly. “I think it’s highly likely. He was in Miami for the race that weekend. Reckless kid probably went out partying after finally managing to win.”
There’s a hard edge to your dad’s voice at that last part. You can’t really blame his protectiveness — finding out your daughter is pregnant from a one-night stand, especially with a relative celebrity, can’t be easy for any father.
“What am I going to do?” You whisper, scared all over again at the massive upheaval your life is facing.
But your dad just pulls you into a tighter hug, his touch reassuring and strong. “We’ll figure it out together, mija. Don’t worry. If this Lando character is the father, he’ll damn well take responsibility. I’ll make sure of it.”
You let out a shaky breath, letting your dad’s words soothe you. He’s right — you’re not in this alone. And if Lando Norris really is the father, well, he signed up for this whether he knew it or not.
“Thank you, Papa. I was so scared to tell you, but I shouldn’t have been. I’m lucky to have you.” You hug him fiercely, fresh tears spilling but this time born of reassurance instead of fear.
Leo just holds you close, his embrace full of fatherly love and protection. “Always, mija. I’ve got your back, no matter what. We’ll get through this together.”
After a few moments, he pulls back, his expression turning more stern. “And as for this Lando kid, he better step up and be a man about this situation. Because if he tries to abandon you or this baby ...” He lets the implied threat hang in the air.
You can’t help but give a watery laugh. “I have a feeling he won’t want to mess with you. Not if he knows what’s good for him.”
Your dad allows a small smile at that. “Smart boy. Now, do you have a way to contact him? I’m sure someone can get us his information if not.”
You think for a moment, then remember — your phone contacts. You grab your cell and pull up the fateful entry.
“Here, just this number with the stupid eggplant emoji.” Your cheeks flush a little as you say it.
Leo arches an eyebrow at that but doesn’t comment. Instead, he takes out his own phone and dials the number, his expression hardening with determination.
“Right, listen up, Lando Norris ...” he begins, leaving no room for argument.
You take a steadying breath as your dad starts laying down the law to the man who knocked up his precious daughter. For the first time since staring at those two pink lines, you feel a tiny kernel of hope taking root.
No matter what happens, you’re not alone in this. Your dad has your back, and Lando — well, Lando better prepare himself. Because when Leo Messi demands you take responsibility for your actions, you don’t dare say no.
***
Lando jolts awake to the harsh buzz of his phone vibrating against the nightstand. He blinks blearily at the harsh red numbers of the alarm clock — 2:51 am. Who the hell is calling at this ungodly hour?
He fumbles for the phone, squinting at the unknown number with a +1 country code. Probably a spam call from across the pond. He’s tempted to just silence it, but something makes him swipe to answer with a groggy “Hello?”
“Lando Norris?” The deep voice on the other end is vaguely familiar, but Lando can’t quite place it in his sleep-addled state.
“Yeah, this is him. Who’s this?” He tries and fails to smoother a huge yawn.
“This is Lionel Messi.”
Lando’s eyes shoot wide open, any lingering drowsiness evaporating like he’s been doused with ice water. Leo freaking Messi is on the phone with him? His brain scrambles to comprehend what’s happening.
“I … uh … Mr. Messi, sir. This is … I mean … wow. What an honor!” He cringes at his own stammering, feeling very much like a star-struck fanboy rather than a fellow professional athlete.
Messi’s voice remains calm but firm. “I’ll get right to the point. Do you remember a young woman you slept with recently? The night of the Miami Grand Prix a few months ago?”
Lando feels his stomach drop out. Suddenly this phone call is taking on a very different context than just a casual chat with a sports legend. He racks his brain, trying to recall the handful of women he’d casually hooked up with around that time.
There was that petite blonde from the club after sprint qualifying … no, she was just a make-out in the back alley behind the valet. The pair of Brazilian bombshell twins he’d brought back to his hotel room on Saturday … no, they made him get tested after that escapade just to be safe.
Then it clicks into place — the gorgeous young woman with a killer smile that he’d met at the LIV Nightclub afterparty. They had danced and drank together all night until everything descended into a sweaty, semi-public grope fest in one of the VIP booths before he convinced her to come back to his suite.
He remembers her gasping and whimpering his name as he pounded into her from behind. Remembers the way her nails raked down his back when he made her come apart with his tongue. Remembers being too drunk and worked up to put on a condom before sinking back into her tight, wet heat and ...
Oh shit.
“I … yes, sir. I think I know who you’re referring to,” Lando forces out, his mouth incredibly dry.
“Good. Then you’ll remember getting my daughter pregnant that night as well.”
Lando actually feels the blood drain from his face, a rushing sound filling his ears. He must have misheard, right? There’s no way Leo freaking Messi just said Lando got his daughter pregnant!
“I … I’m sorry … your what?” He sputters out dumbly.
Messi’s tone takes on a steely edge. “My daughter. The young woman you slept with, she’s my daughter. And now she’s pregnant with your child.”
The room starts to spin. Lando tries to force air into his lungs, feeling like he might actually pass out. “Oh my god, I … I had no idea! We were both so drunk, I never would have … oh fuck, I’m so sorry, sir!”
“Sorry doesn’t really fix this, does it?” Messi’s voice is like sharpened steel. “You got my little girl pregnant from some drunken fling and now she has to deal with all of this.”
“I … yes, you’re right. Completely right.” Lando presses trembling fingers to his throbbing temples. This can’t actually be happening, right? “What … what do you want me to do? I’ll do anything, whatever you need!”
There’s a weighted pause on the line before Messi speaks again, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“First, you’re going to meet with me and my daughter in person so we can discuss this situation. Then you’re going to take responsibility and be a part of this child’s life, understood? Step up and be a man about it.”
“Yes! Yes, absolutely, of course!” Lando is nearly shouting into the phone, desperation and panic clawing at his throat. “Whatever you want, sir. I’ll be there. Just tell me when and where.”
“Good. I’ll have my people set it up and send the details to your team.” There’s a hint of grudging approval in Messi’s voice now, like he’s satisfied Lando appears to be taking this seriously. “I suggest you get some sleep, you’re going to need it.”
The line goes dead before Lando can respond. He stares dumbly at the silent phone in his hand for several long moments, trying to process everything.
Leo Messi’s daughter.
Pregnant.
With his baby.
Holy shit, what has he done? What is he going to do? How did one reckless, drunken night blow up into such a massive catastrophe?
His head is spinning and he can feel his overtaxed body starting to shut down from the shock and stress of the harrowing phone call. He tries to take a deep breath, pushing away the panic and leaning back against the pillows.
Sleep. Right. He needs sleep if he has any hope of dealing with … with all of this. But how can he possibly rest now?
Lando’s eyes start to drift closed despite his whirling thoughts. His body has other plans, sucking him under into blessed unconsciousness as he slumps fully back onto the mattress.
The last thing he’s dimly aware of is his phone slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor, followed by his own body going entirely limp.
When Lando finally does manage to sleep, it’s to the terrifying vision of Leo Messi’s furious face snarling “you got my daughter pregnant” over and over again behind his closed eyelids.
***
The flight from Nice to Miami feels like it takes an eternity, but also happens in a terrifying blur. Lando can barely remember booking the first available ticket, throwing some clothes into an overnight bag, or making his way to the airport in a daze. He runs on autopilot, his mind spinning in frantic circles.
He got Leo Messi’s daughter pregnant. How is this his life?
A private chauffeur is waiting at the baggage claim when Lando deplanes in Miami, holding up a printed sign with his name. Of course Messi would have people to handle something like this.
Lando swallows hard and approaches the stern-faced driver. “I’m Lando Norris. Uh, Mr. Messi is expecting me?”
The chauffeur gives him an appraising look but doesn’t respond beyond a curt nod. He turns on his heel, expecting Lando to follow.
The drive to the Messis’ palatial Miami mansion is silent and tense. Lando fights the urge to fidget anxiously, his knee bouncing until he forces himself still.
Get it together, man. This is it.
All too soon, they’re pulling through an immaculate gate onto perfectly manicured grounds surrounding the huge home. Lando takes a steadying breath as the driver gets his bag from the trunk.
Then the front door is swinging open and there’s Leo Messi himself, looking as intimidating as Lando has ever seen the football icon. His expression is stony, jaw clenched tight as he measures Lando up.
Before Lando can even open his mouth, Messi beats him to it, tone leaving no room for argument.
“I don’t like you.”
The words are like a kick to the gut. Lando forces himself to hold the steely gaze, giving a small nod.
“I understand, sir. I’ve made a terrible mistake and you have every right to be angry with me. I’ll accept whatever consequences I have to.” His voice is strong, despite the way his heart is jack-hammering in his chest.
Messi holds the intense eye contact a moment more before giving a short nod of what might be begrudging respect. He turns and heads inside, clearly expecting Lando to follow.
The foyer opens into an elegant living room where a familiar woman is sitting on one of the plush couches.
You.
Lando’s breath catches in his throat as memories from that hazy night come rushing back. Your skin glowing with a thin sheen of sweat as you moved rhythmically to the music. Your throaty laugh and sparkling eyes as you flirted shamelessly over your fourth … no fifth … mojito. The velvet silk of your hair brushing his face as you ground down against his lap.
He swallows hard, trying not to stare. The situation is awkward enough without dwelling on the admittedly incredible sex that caused this whole mess. Though he can’t deny the sharp spike of pure physical want that hits his gut at the sight of you.
Your eyes are wide and nervous as you take him in. “Um … hi.”
“Hi,” he replies simply, feeling incredibly self-conscious under the weighty stare of your legendary father.
An agonizing beat of silence stretches between the three of you.
“Well?” Leo prompts impatiently, making you both jump. “You got my daughter pregnant. What do you plan to do about it?”
The blunt words make Lando’s face flush hot, but he forces himself to meet your father’s stern gaze head-on.
“Whatever I need to do, sir. I’ll take full responsibility. Financially, emotionally, being there for the child … anything you need from me.” He pauses, feeling heat creep up the back of his neck. “That is … if the mother wants me to be involved as well?”
He looks at you then, trying to convey his sincerity. Despite the casual nature of your hook-up, he meant what he said — he will step up and do the right thing for this kid.
His kid.
You seem to consider his words for a long moment before giving a small nod. “Yes … yes, I’d like you to be involved if you’re willing. This is as much my responsibility as yours. We … we can figure this out. Together?”
The uncertain note in your voice tugs at something in Lando’s chest. For all your father’s bluster, you just sound like a young woman in a scary, overwhelming situation. Just like him.
“Together,” he agrees firmly, returning your nod. “We’ll, ah, we’ll be good co-parents. For the baby.”
The words feel strange leaving his lips, but also fill him with a sense of resolve and determination.
Leo watches the exchange between you both like a hawk, his expression unreadable. When he speaks again, his words are measured but dismissive.
“Get it sorted out then. Find a way to make this work. I don’t care about the details as long as you two take care of my grandchild properly.”
With that, he gives a curt nod and turns to exit the room, leaving you and Lando to your own devices. The sudden lack of his intimidating presence seems to deflate the tension somewhat.
You let out a long, shaky breath, shooting Lando a wry look. “He’s … taking this about as well as could be expected, all things considered.”
Lando can’t help but huff out a surprised laugh at that, some of the nervous knot in his stomach loosening slightly. “Yeah, I’ll say. Your dad is legitimately terrifying, you know that?”
“Oh, I’m well aware,” you say with a small smile.
An odd sense of camaraderie falls over you both then — two young people bonding over how Lando quite literally knocked you up. It’s almost enough for him to relax a bit.
Then you glance down at your still-flat stomach and all humor drains away. “So … co-parents, huh? You really want to do this?”
Lando doesn’t even have to think about it. “Of course. It’s my kid too, yeah? My responsibility, like I said.” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s not exactly how I pictured becoming a father, but … I’m in this all the way. For the little one’s sake.”
Something in your expression softens at his words and a tiny smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Thank you, Lando. That … that really means a lot to hear.”
Before he can think better of it, Lando closes the distance between you and pulls you into an impulsive hug. You stiffen for just a moment before relaxing against him.
“Hey, we’re gonna be okay, you and me,” he murmurs as he holds you close. “We’ve got this, baby mama.”
You stiffen again and pull back sharply at the words, a look of mortification on your face. Lando frowns in confusion until a familiar gravelly voice cuts through the room.
“Lando Norris, I swear if you ever call my daughter that again, they’ll never find your body.”
Leo Messi is back, leveling Lando with a look that would liquefy steel. The driver nearly swallows his tongue, flushing scarlet.
“Y-yes, sir! Of course, sir! It, ah, it won’t happen again!” He stammers out, mentally making a note to permanently delete those words from his vocabulary.
Messi just grunts in response, apparently satisfied, before retreating from the room once more.
You’re staring at Lando with wide eyes and badly-suppressed laughter. He groans, dropping his face into his hands.
“Why did I say that? God, I’m an idiot.”
“It’s okay,” you assure him, that smile breaking free. “This is just … all a bit surreal, isn’t it?”
Lando peeks through his fingers to meet your gaze, unable to stop the rueful grin that spreads across his own face.
“Just a bit, yeah.” He drops his hands with a defeated chuckle. “But your dad’s right — we’ve got to take this seriously for the little one.”
You nod, smile fading into a look of grim determination. “We do. Which means you can’t call me baby mama if you actually want to stay alive to see your child.”
“Deal,” Lando agrees readily, feeling lighter than he has since your father first called to drop that bomb on him.
Maybe co-parenting won’t be easy, but somehow he gets the sense you two just might be able to figure it out. And with the entire weight of Leo freaking Messi’s protective rage motivating him, Lando is damn sure going to try his best.
***
Ten Months Later
The vibrant Miami sun beams down on you as you carefully lift Maia out of her stroller, cradling the bundle of joy in your arms. Your daughter’s wide, curious eyes dart around, taking in all the sights and sounds of the paddock for the first time.
“There they are! My two favorite girls,” Lando’s voice rings out as he jogs over, already wearing his team gear in preparation for the drivers parade. He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek before turning his attention to Maia. “And how’s my little princess doing today?”
Maia lets out a delighted squeal and you can’t help but smile at the pure adoration on Lando’s face as he gently brushes a finger over her chubby cheek. “She’s been an angel all morning. I think she knows this is a big day for her first race.”
“That’s my girl,” Lando grins. “Going to be a little racer before we know it.”
“Lando! There you are, mate.” The Aussie accent cuts through the paddock as Lando’s teammate bounds over. “I’ve been looking everywhere for … oh wow, is that her?”
Oscar’s eyes go wide as they land on Maia, taking in her tiny features with an almost comical look of awe. “She’s … she’s so small,” he says dumbly.
“What did you expect, she’s a baby,” Lando scoffs with a roll of his eyes, though his tone is good-natured. “Do you want to hold her?”
“Can I?” Oscar asks eagerly, bouncing on the balls of his feet like an overexcited puppy.
You laugh and carefully transfer Maia into Oscar’s waiting arms, guiding his hands to properly support her head. “Just watch the grabby hands. She’s got a pretty strong grip these days.”
Oscar nods rapidly, looking a bit intimidated as he gingerly cradles Maia against his chest. But the instant she lets out a little gurgling coo, his face splits into the biggest, most boyish grin you’ve ever seen.
“Hey there, little Norris,” he murmurs softly, instantly transfixed. “I’m your favorite Uncle Oscar.”
“Oi, who said you get to be the favorite uncle?” Another voice cuts in as Carlos saunters over, immediately zeroing in on the form in Oscar’s arms. “Is that her? Dios mio, she’s gorgeous!”
Without hesitation, Carlos plucks Maia right out of Oscar’s hold, completely ignoring the other driver’s sputtering. “Well hello there, princesa. Don’t worry, your Tío Carlos has got you.”
Maia blinks up at the new face peering down at her, tiny fists waving as if to grab at the Spaniard’s perfectly coiffed hair. Carlos simply grins and nuzzles his nose against her cheek, seemingly not caring one bit about any damage the squirming infant in his arms can do.
“Are you seeing this?” Lando mock-whispers to you, looping an arm around your waist and leaning in conspiratorially. “How are we supposed to get her back now?”
You stifle a giggle behind your hand, watching in amusement as Carlos and Oscar descend into bickering over who Maia’s favorite uncle will be — only to be interrupted as another figure appears beside them.
“What do we have here?” Daniel Ricciardo pipes up with a wide grin, hands shoved casually in his pockets. “Don’t tell me you two are fighting over babysitting duties already?”
“Something like that, mate,” Lando chuckles, reaching out to clap Daniel on the shoulder in greeting. “Up for putting your name in the hat too?”
“You know it!” Daniel agrees easily, quickly sidestepping Carlos to peer down at Maia with a wide smile. “Hey there, little monkey. Look at you all bright-eyed and curious.”
Amazingly, Maia seems entirely unperturbed by all the fussing going on around her. She simply blinks placidly up at each new face, soaking it all in like a tiny sponge. At one point, she even lets out a delighted squeal and flails her arms — prompting a fresh round of cooing from the three drivers clustered around her.
“Aw, I think she likes me best already,” Daniel declares with a wink, gently booping Maia’s button nose and making her giggle.
You shake your head in fond exasperation even as Lando tugs you tighter against his side, completely content to bask in the scene. That is, until Daniel’s next words nearly make you choke.
“So just how old is this little angel?” He asks idly, eyes still trained on Maia’s sweet face. “Four months now?”
“Three months and one week,” Lando answers automatically — only to tense a split second later, mouth falling open in realization. “Oh. Oh.”
The smug grin that slowly spreads across Daniel’s face is borderline devlish as it clicks into place for everyone exactly when Maia would have been … well, conceived. A heavy silence falls over the group, disturbed only by Maia’s happy gurgling as she remains oblivious to the sudden shift.
“Well, well, well,” Daniel drawls, dark eyes dancing with mirth as he bounces Maia playfully in his arms. “I think someone got a little overexcited celebrating his win last year, didn’t he?”
The only response is a strangled squawk from Lando as his face flushes bright red — no doubt remembering exactly how the two of you celebrated his first time on top of the Formula 1 podium. Meanwhile, Carlos and Oscar openly gape at the revelation, eyes nearly bugging out of their skulls.
“Don’t you dare,” Lando manages to choke out, stabbing an accusatory finger in Daniel’s direction. “We are not having this conversation here.”
“Why not?” Daniel shrugs blithely, gently jostling Maia to the crook of his elbow in a way that has her giggling. “It’s a perfectly natural thing, nothing to be ashamed about. That must’ve been one hell of a victory lap!”
The innuendo hangs heavily in the air, made all the more mortifying by the lecherous waggle of Daniel’s eyebrows. Lando, meanwhile, looks like he’s two seconds away from spontaneously combusting on the spot.
“I’m going to kill you,” he mutters through gritted teeth, dragging a hand over his rapidly reddening face.
Before Daniel can respond with another quip, however, you quickly step in — scooping Maia out of his arms with a stern glare. “That’s enough of that, I think.”
Daniel wisely snaps his mouth shut at the warning in your tone, offering a cheeky salute instead. “I’ll lay off … for now.”
With a wink and a last jaunty grin towards a still-sputtering Lando, he bids the group farewell and heads off to prepare for the race. Oscar, seemingly remembering you’re all congregating in a very public place, manages to pick his jaw up off the ground long enough to clear his throat awkwardly.
“Right, well … I need to go, you know, do driver things,” he mumbles before beating a hasty retreat, stumbling over his own feet in his haste.
Carlos, for his part, has the audacity to start outright cackling the second Oscar is out of earshot.
“You never fail to entertain,” he manages between wheezing gasps, wiping away mirthful tears from the corners of his eyes.
Lando flushes even deeper, if possible, and shoots you a helpless look. You simply raise an eyebrow, letting him squirm for a moment before taking pity.
“Alright, that’s enough out of you,” you chide Carlos lightly, shifting Maia higher on your hip. “Unless you want to be the one explaining the birds and the bees to her when the time comes?”
That seems to sober Carlos up somewhat, his laughter trailing off into a few more chuckles as he waves a hand dismissively. “You wound me, amiga. As if I would corrupt the ears of such an innocent little one.”
You give him a pointed look and he holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m done.”
With a roguish wink, Carlos reaches out to gently pinch Maia’s cheek — earning a bright smile from the bubbly infant.
“You’ll learn soon enough that your papá can be un poco loco sometimes, princesa.”
“She really doesn’t need to learn that at all, thanks,” Lando grumbles, shooting his friend an exasperated glare.
You can’t help but shake your head fondly at the pair of them, even as Lando tucks you snugly against his side. For all their bickering, it’s abundantly clear just how enamored all the drivers are with Maia already.
The tender moment is interrupted, however, by a voice calling out for your boyfriend from across the paddock.
“Lando, we need you over in the garage. The parade will be starting any minute now,” a press officer arrives to herd him away.
Lando exhales a put-upon sigh, dropping a kiss to the top of Maia’s head before meeting your gaze apologetically. “Duty calls, I suppose. You’ll be okay here with my littlest fan club?”
You wave him off with a warm smile. “We’ll be fine. Just focus on having a good race, yeah? Maia and I will be cheering you on.”
The brilliant grin Lando flashes you is enough to make your heart flutter. “How could I do anything else with my two favorite cheerleaders?”
With one last lingering kiss, he tears himself away — offering a half-hearted wave to Carlos before disappearing through the paddock. An oddly serene quiet falls in his absence, the crowd breaking up to get settled before the race.
Carlos seems to sense your pensive mood, stepping up beside you to gently bump his shoulder against yours.
“You know, he really has changed since becoming a papá,” the older driver muses, casting a fond look down at Maia. “Far as I can tell, it’s done wonders for him.”
You smile softly, bouncing Maia gently as you watch Lando’s retreating back weave through the controlled chaos of the paddock. “He’s been … amazing. And he loves Maia more than life itself. My father complains that he has run out of things to threaten Lando over, which is the biggest compliment coming from him.”
Your daughter simply blinks at the two of you for a long moment before that sunny smile you’ve grown to adore stretches across her face, little fists waving happily in the air. You can’t help but chuckle at her antics, brushing a knuckle over her soft cheek.
As the bright Miami sun shines down and anticipation slowly builds in the background, you feel a surge of nearly overwhelming contentment. No matter what twists and turns life throws your way from here, you decide, you’ll always be able to find your way back to moments like this.
So much has changed in the course of a year, but you truly wouldn’t have it any other way.
Even if Lando still can’t quite look your father in the eye.
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jksprincess10 ¡ 5 months ago
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His hand so calloused from his pistol softly traces hearts on my face || Joel Miller x reader
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Summary: Tommy hires a new ranch hand behind Joel's back and he's not happy about it.
CW: jackson era, rancher!joel and helper!reader, mean!joel, perv!joel, unhinged and bold!reader, lots of banter, mentions of parent death, alcohol, masturbation, smut, dry humping, unprotected p in v, fingering, daddy kink, degradation kink, lots of pet names (baby, etc.), big cock joel miller, lots of dirty talk, some fluff and feelings, no y/n, multiple POVs. (2.8k words)
A/N: Special thanks to @fhatbhabiee for proofreading, @notjustjavierpena for the beautiful banner, @saradika-graphics for the dividers.
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“The hell is this?!” Joel’s fists are closed against his hips, his head cocked to the side as he looks at what Tommy has brought into his home, another lost sheep.
“This is your new helper.” His younger brother gestures towards you and you look at the older man, an eyebrow raised in defiance. It wasn’t the warm welcome you had expected. “Maria’s about to pop out any day now, so I hired someone to take my place in the ranch.”
“You think a lil’ girl can help me?” Joel looks down at you, his steel gaze analyzing your reaction. But Tommy cuts you off before you can say anything.
“Don’t be a sexist ol’ prick. She has experience and took care of animals in her previous community.”
“And I’m not a little girl.” You add, detaching every syllable. “Shall we try that again? You must be Joel.” You tell him your name, and he takes your extended hand in his calloused palm, squeezing it stronger than necessary.
“Nice to meet you.” He grumbles.
“So, where’s my room?”
“Your… room?” Joel asks, his murderous gaze pinning Tommy down.
“Listen, she just got here. It’s temporary. Give ‘er a room, feed her and she’ll work for you for free.”
“I sure fuckin’ hope so.” Joel mutters.
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How dare he bring this pretty young woman into his home without asking him before? The worst part is, you’re hard working. Every day, you get up at the crack of dawn to feed the cows and the sheep. You’re stronger than you look. And sometimes, you cook for him too, and he hates admitting that you’re good. You’re too fucking young, too fucking good looking and he shouldn’t be looking at you like that. He shouldn’t be fucking his fist every night since you arrived with your name dying on his chapped lips.
Joel joins you in the barn to see if you’re working well. You are, of course, milking one of the cows; your knees in the mud, pulling on the cow’s udders.
“When you’re done, put the milk into glass bottles and bring ‘em inside… We can trade ‘em.” Joel orders, then clears his throat. “D’ya… need anythin’?”
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When Joel doesn’t bark out orders, he’s silent. It’s the first time in a week he’s shown any care for your well-being.
“Hm… clothes for the cold months coming would be nice.” You finish milking the cow and get up. You look at your ruined pants and sigh. “Yeah… clothes would be nice.”
“Sure thing, kiddo.”
You cringe at the nickname. “Thanks, Joel. But stop calling me that.” You can’t look at him, and you simply pet the giant, but soft beast who moos in response. You chuckle and turn to Joel. You pretend for his sake that you don’t hear him on the other side of the wall every night, wet noises mixed with heavy pants. You pretend you don’t do the same. “I’m closer to 30 than to 20.” You watch as he swallows heavily.
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Still, 26 years is a big age gap, and Joel curses in his head as he hears you confirm your age.
“Right, but I’m 56. You’re jus’ a kid to me. I could be your dad.”
“I’m a woman. Treat me like one.” You respond firmly. He sees how worked up that gets you, how your body is facing him with your fists tight like you’re keeping yourself from hitting him.
Joel sighs and stays silent for too long, leaving with a last glance at you and another order. “Be ready in 10. We’re goin’ downtown to get you clothes. Be late, and I’ll go without ya.”
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You’re fuming, and you want to curse the man’s ancestors, but you stay silent, obedient. You pack the milk harvest of the day: 3 good bottles, that would only need to be filtered before consumption. You go into your room to put on your only clean pair of jeans, and join Joel at the front, where he’s stoically waiting, big, stupid strong arms crossed against his chest, the sleeves of his flannel pulling against his muscles. You stomp to him with a box of milk in hands, and he chuckles, the asshole chuckles –
“Listen, asshole – ” You push the box into his arms, and he takes it effortlessly, an amused grin on his face. “I don’t know if you’re just sexually constipated or what, if so, please for the love of God, get fucking laid, but you don’t have to be mean to me all the time. Just because I’m young or because you don’t want me here or…. You know what? I had a dad, he’s fucking dead. You’re not my father, move on. Treat me like a fucking person.”
One of his eyebrows lift, and he looks at you for a few seconds, before asking: “You done?”
“No. Tell me you’ll stop being an ass or I’ll go find someone more annoying than me to replace me.”
“Fine. I’ll treat you like a woman and a person.”
“Thank you for the bare fucking minimum. Let’s go, cowboy.” You say between your teeth.
Your walk from the ranch to downtown Jackson calms you down. Everyone else is too nice for you to stay mad.
“S’here.” He points at the storefront with a sign that reads clothing and repair services. You go in with him, a soft bell announcing new guests. There are a few racks with seasonal clothing, a few different sections clearly identified: for children, women and men. Joel brings the milk up to the counter and the owner gives him five coupons in exchange.
“You can get five things.” Joel tells you as he hands you the coupons.
“But…. Don’t you need anything?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Okay…”
You look around while Joel waits at the counter. You find two sweaters your size, two pairs of pants and some underwear (that were on “sale” for 3 for 1 coupon). You give your coupons to the owner, she counts your items and tells you that you’re good to go.
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Weeks pass, where Joel really tries to be nicer to you after your little meltdown. He doesn’t call you kiddo anymore – thank God – but you sometimes feel his gaze linger. You both try to stay away from each other – why would you fuck your new boss - because truth is, you find him very attractive despite his ill manners. But seeing Joel every day in the most domestic of settings lights something inside of you – a profound want and… affection.
In some rare occurrences, you have fun together. There are a few people in your backyard – Tommy, some townies you met through Joel, Ellie, Joel’s adoptive daughter who had moved away with her girlfriend. You’re settled around a bonfire to shield your bodies from the cold. Joel has a guitar on his lap, and his face has a pleasant glow from the beers you shared. You’re sitting between him and Tommy.
“Hope the old man’s treating you well.” Tommy jokes, a dig at his older brother.
“Surprisingly well. Well, after he stop treating me like a fucking kid.” You snort.
“Yeah, he tends to do that.” Ellie concedes.
“Stop talkin’ about me like I ain’t here.” Joel grumbles.
“You just had to be nicer.” You grimace.
“Had to see if you were a good worker ‘fore.”
“Am I?”
Your shoulders brush, and you smile innocently at him.
“Guess so.”
That’s the closest thing from a compliment you’d get.  You call it a night shortly after, but everyone seems determined to spend the night outside.
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You wake up in the middle of the night to a door closing, so you decide to get up for a glass of water. You pad silently on the cold wooden floor, only wearing your panties and an oversized long-sleeved shirt. You almost jump out of your skin when you see Joel sat on his favorite chair in the living room, knees spread like he owned the world. He had a half empty beer in hand.
“Didn’t mean to wake you up, sweetheart.” His voice is rough. He looks up at you, eyes tracing your curves through your shirt, focusing on your bare legs, on your nipples peaking through your shirt. You self-consciously wrapped your arms around your torso.
“S’okay…” You go into the kitchen to get a glass of water. You could still feel Joel’s gaze on you, since the house was open-floored.  “Hm, Joel?”  You suddenly felt bold, maybe it was the remaining alcohol in your system.
“Yeah?”
“Why do you masturbate every night when I’m right here?” You sip on your water as you walk back calmly to where Joel sat. “Why don’t you fuck me, huh?”
Joel’s face burns with shame, and you smile when you realize you were right.
“You’re way too young and pretty for me, darlin’.” He leaves his bottle on the table next to him, and he pinches the bridge with a long sigh. “And you’re workin’ for me.”
“Let me be clear, Joel.” Your glass joins his bottle, and you lean towards him, your legs between his, your arms around his neck. “I like you. I want you. Please. Let me have you.”
Joel’s breath comes out shaky, and his rough hands grab onto your shirt. “Tried so hard to make you hate me, so this wouldn’t happen.”
“You succeeded for a while.” You smile sweetly, your fingers treading in the curls on the back of his neck.  “You’re very hot, Mr. Miller. I won’t beg again.” Your breath fans his dry lips.
“Okay. Okay.” Joel pulls you down even more, and you’re almost falling on his lap as his lips crash on yours. It’s hungry and angry, desperate. He’s angry at himself, you know it, but you don’t want his shame. The older man tastes like beer and smells like fire. Your teeth pull on his bottom lip.
“I do the same thing, Joel. I fuck my fingers every night while I imagine yours.” You whisper against his lips after a chaste kiss to his swollen bottom lip.
Joel groans and drags you down. You sit comfortably on his lap, feeling the rough tent in his jeans.
“Le’me see you.” He sounds more confident now as he pulls on your hem and lift your shirt over your head. You like his heavy gaze on your breasts, his calloused fingers pulling on your nipples to make them harder. You sigh happily and thrust your hips against his hard cock. He feels so big, but you’re confident you could take all of him.
“Y’wanna rut against my cock like a bitch in heat, huh? Go ahead, sweet girl. Make yourself wet for daddy.”
You didn’t think Joel had such a dirty mouth on him, but you obey. You rub your wet panties against the large bump in his jeans. The rough texture of the used fabric pleases you, but you need more. You clumsily remove your panties and abandon them on the floor. Joel, in a trance, admires your pussy. His fingers barely touch you, and you’re already panting.
“S’all fo’ me, huh? D’you need help?”
You nod enthusiastically.
“Words, baby.” He pressed, his free hand holding your chin up.
“Touch me, daddy. Please.”
“Suddenly so polite and sweet.”  Two of Joel’s fingers circle your clit as you keep desperately moving your heat against his jeans, your mouth falling open in a silent moan. Pleasure builds rapidly in your core, and you’re thrusting your hips even harder, until you come in a moan.
“That’s it, that’s it.” He soothes. “C’me here.” He holds you in his arms strengthened by years of manual labor and lifts you up as he gets up. You wrap your legs around him. “M’not done with you, but I want you to be comfortable.”
He brings you to his bedroom, which you had never seen fully. Only glimpses here and there. Somehow, it felt more intimate. He drops your body on his large bed.
“How are you still wearing clothes?” You complain, and he chuckles.
“So eager, aren’t ya?” Joel starts undressing, still on his feet by the bed. He only leaves his boxers on, and you try to see him in the dark. You decide to rely on your touch instead, when he takes the spot between your legs. Your fingers trace his strong back, finding scars here and there. You kiss him, softly this time.
“Need to get you ready fo’ me,”
“Yes, please.”
His calloused hands spread your legs more, before he inserts one of his thick fingers in. You tighten around him, it already feels like he’s stretching you out.
“Relax baby.”
You breathe, in and out, slowly relaxing your walls at the same time.
“That’s it, le’me in.” He thrusts it in and out a few times, before adding another finger. He uses his thumb to caress your clit, soothing the pain through another wave of pleasure.
“F-Fuck, Joel. That’s so much.”
“I know baby, you’re doin’ so well. Jus’ let go.”
He fucks you hard and fast with his fingers, pressing on your swollen clit with his thumb. You’re moaning and thrashing through your second orgasm of the night, and Joel’s looking at you intently, his free hand caressing the lump in his boxers.
“Need to fuck ya now. Can you take it?” His fingers leave you empty, and he soothes you with a kiss on your forehead.
“Yes. Give it to me, please.”
He pulls down his boxers and throws them away. You watch in awe as his girth jumps out. He holds the base and swirls the fat head against your wetness, making you jump a little, still sensitive.
“So wet fo’ me.”
He aligns the head of his cock with your hole and pushes in slowly. You let out a breath after the big tip has breached your entrance.
“That’s only the tip. More?”
You nod your head a few times. “I want everything.”  You’re so scared this will be the only time you can have him like this, bare and desperate.
He thrusts in, feeding you his cock as slow as he can bear. You hold on to him.
“You’re so big, Joel.” You whine.
“I know baby I know.” Joel kisses you lazily and sensually, stopping his movements when his hips are flush with yours. He waits until you move on your own, and he thrusts in and out with your help, still slow and careful. Your eyes roll in the back of your head, you had never felt better in your life.
“Faster.”
He listens, snapping his hips faster and harsher, but he can’t seem to be able to fuck you as hard as he wants in this angle. He suddenly leaves you empty and grabs your hips to turn you around, your ass in the air.
He thrusts in before you’re even ready, and the angle is perfect.  He fucks you hard and fast, the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and your pants fill his bedroom. The line between pleasure and pain is so thin, but you love the way he lets himself go. His big balls hit your clit a few times, and you’re crying of pleasure. You hold on to his silky sheets and to the solid, wooden headboard as he pounds into you.
“Gimme ‘nother one, c’mon.” He urges you through gritted teeth. “Come on my cock.”
He slows down to catch his breath, fucking you deep and hard, and one of his hand sneaks to the front of your body, teasing your tits with expert hands. Your pleasure builds in your tummy, before the pressure releases, and you come hard around his cock.
“Atta girl.” He praises, breath heavy. You feel him move away, and you turn around just in time to see him pumping his cock a few times, until he comes in any piece of fabric he can find – which ends up being his boxers.
You lay down on his bed, all members spread as you catch your breath with a dumb smile on your lips. You couldn’t believe you were just fucked by Joel Miller.
“I never came so much in my life, God.” You whisper in amazement, a hand against your sweaty forehead.
Joel chuckles and you hear his steps moving away from the room, but he isn’t gone for too long. He comes back with a warm, wet cloth, which he uses to soothe your swollen pussy, and clean himself up. He climbs into bed with you, and you hope he doesn’t ask you to go back to your room. Ever.
You’re both laying on your side, facing each other. Joel lifts the blanket over you and lays his palm against your warm cheek.
“M’glad Tommy hired you behind my back.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Stay. I like you.”  He adds after clearing his throat. You smile and bring his palm to your lips to kiss it.
“I like you too. I won’t leave, if you want me to stay.” You assure him.
“Good.” He says as he closes his eyes.  “Sleep, you’re workin’ early tomorrow.”
“You’re the worst.” You mumble as he chuckles weakly.
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moonstruckme ¡ 3 months ago
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hello hello lovely! so the other day i donated blood for the first time and i felt perfectly fine the whole time but then like ten minutes after i threw up with like no warning?? (im fine now turns out i hadnt eaten enough during the day!!) but anyway i was wondering if you might please do a similar scenario with emt!marauders? doesnt have to be exact of course 💗 love you!
Oh I'm sorry that happened to you babe!! Thank you for requesting <3
cw: mention of past blood draw, nausea, lightheadedness
emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 798 words
You’re bent over so that your head is almost resting on your knees when a pair of shoes comes into your periphery. It seems they’ve sent someone to make sure you’re not going to pass out. 
You force yourself to sit up, every muscle in your body feeling strange and overwrought, and oh. It’s three someones. You’d worry your vision was tripling if they didn’t look each very distinct, save for their black EMT uniforms. 
The owner of the shoes you’d seen sits in the chair beside you, all brown eyes and kind, gentle features. “Hi,” he says, “I’m Remus. Are you the one who had trouble with the blood draw?” 
You sigh. “Yeah.” Give him a small smile you hope looks reassuring. “I’m fine, though. It passed quickly. I’m just waiting for the go-ahead to go home.” 
“You got sick?” A second paramedic asks you as he sits down on your other side. This one has glasses and thick, curly hair that falls just above his eyes. The third, with sleeves rolled up to display arms full of inky tattoos, leans against the wall across the hall from you. 
You’re not entirely sure which one of them to look at, but you decide upon the boy who’d asked the question. “Yeah?” 
His lips tilt with a sympathetic sort of smile. “Probably best not to be walking or driving anywhere while you’re feeling ill, love. Do you feel up to some crackers?” 
You take the package of saltines he offers you. Notice for the first time how badly your hands are shaking as you try to tear it open. He notices, too. 
“Here, I’ve got that.” He takes it back from you, ripping it open with one easy motion. As he holds it out for you, he says, “I’m James, that’s Sirius.” The tattooed paramedic shoots you a wink. 
“Nice to meet you,” you mumble. “Look, I’m really okay. They didn’t need to send three of you to check up on me.” 
Sirius laughs. “Don’t worry, babe, no one’s worried you’re going to have a seizure. We’re just a package deal.” 
“The staff is all busy with the blood drive,” offers Remus when you still look perplexed, “and we’re between calls. We just thought we’d sit with you on our break, if that’s alright.” 
“Oh.” You swallow a bite of cracker. “Yeah, okay. Thank you.” 
He gives you a soft smile. “How do you feel?” 
“I’m okay.” 
“You’re shaking down to your kneecaps,” Sirius says dryly.
“The nurse said you looked like you were going to faint after you got sick,” James tries in a lighter tone. “Do you still feel that way?” 
He keeps his eyes on yours, warm and gentle, as you chew the inside of your lip. “I don’t think so,” you say. “Just a bit weird, I guess.” 
“Weird how?” Sirius presses. 
You shrink some under his gaze, and Remus says sternly, “Sirius.” 
“You’re scaring her.” James’ hand lands on your thigh almost absentmindedly as he gives the other boy a faux glare. “Go get some juice. Begone.” 
Sirius huffs a laugh, pushing off from the wall. “Pricks,” he says as he goes. 
James turns back to you, smile turned up to full wattage. “Don’t mind him. What were you saying about how you feel weird?” 
“Just…mostly fine.” It’s impossible not to grow shy under the attention of the prettiest guys you think you’ve ever seen. Remus nods for you to continue. “A little bit nauseous, I guess, and shaky. Just…weird.” 
James makes a sympathetic sound, rubbing your thigh. The way you go shock still at the touch appears not to catch his notice. “Yeah, sounds like lightheadedness to me. S’alright, though, we’ll get you fixed up in a minute here.” 
Sirius saunters back in with a cup of orange juice. “Look,” he says as he hands it to you, “I even got her a straw to prove I’m not mean. See?” 
“I didn’t think you were being mean,” you say quietly.
Sirius grins. “No.” He chucks you gently under the chin. You shrink even further into your seat. You swear these boys are only making your trembling worse. “You never said a bad thing, gorgeous. It’s just these two, they love to tyrannize me.” 
“You could stand to be tyrannized from time to time,” says Remus. 
“Yeah,” James agrees heartily. “Keeps you from tyrannizing everyone else so much.” 
Their easy bantering brings a smile to your lips. Remus smiles back at you, nodding to your orange juice. “Take small sips of that,” he says. “Don’t drink too fast and stop if you start to feel sick again.” 
“Attagirl,” James encourages when you raise the straw to your lips obediently, rubbing your thigh again. 
They’re lucky the orange juice doesn’t come out your nose.
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joemama-2 ¡ 4 months ago
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this is not how you imagined your friday night would go.
you thought you’d be watching the stars by now after a nice dinner. maybe some compliments, maybe even a small kiss shared. or some held hands.
but no. because currently you’re seated on the expensive couch, eyes fixated on some random nature documentary because you don’t have the courage to face the six year old boy to your left and demand him to stop staring.
you like kids, but this one oddly makes you nervous, scared almost.
your date is in the bathroom taking way too long and you’re half tempted to up and leave. your posture is stiff, forcing yourself to find the screen interesting.
our of your peripheral, you can see the boy raise his spoonful of ice cream to his mouth, head tilting like you’re one of the animals being observed on the TV.
“are you the one he keeps talking about?”
confusion strikes you as you finally turn your head to face him. your titled head mirroring his own. “um…..i’m not sure.”
a part of you feels flattered by the sudden fact. is satoru really talking about you? but then an unsettling feeling takes place, one of hesitation and jealously. or is he talking about someone else?
“you have the black Cane Corso, right?”
ah, so it’s the former. you smile. “oh, yeah. that’s me.”
“what’s his name?” the little boy asks you, shifting his small body as the talk of dogs gains his attention by the second.
“sunny.”
his brows pinch together. “why sunny?”
“because he was a stray, i found him in a box on a very hot day.”
he hums and nods before asking yet another question. you forget how curious children can be. “is he nice?”
you chuckle. sunny has the stereotype of being aggressive due to his breed and size, but he’s anything but. he’s your gentle giant who gets scared of butterflies and plastic water bottles. “he’s really nice, he loves meeting new people and licking.”
you playfully stick your tongue out with a look of a faux grimace. this gets the small boy to crack a hint of a smile. it warms your heart almost instantly. “you like dogs?” you ask him, voice softening.
he nods automatically. “i really like dogs, i have two dogs. one is white and the other is black.”
“oh wow,” your eyebrows raise. “that’s so cool, are they big too?”
“mhm.” he nods.
you do a small look around. “where are they?”
he simply shrugs and answers, “they only come out sometimes.”
you want to ask what he means by that, but you figure satoru would best know. speaking of, he must be shitting a big one or he’s trying to calm his nerves inside that bathroom down the hall.
the little boy hesitates, like he wants to ask another question but isn’t sure if he should. you give him an encouraging nod and he sighs. “can you bring sunny next time?”
—————————————————————
“when you said you were fostering, i assumed a pet or something. not an actual child.” you tell Satoru as he’s walking you to your apartment door.
the two of you stop in front and he takes this time to grin. “do i not look like a boy dad?”
your eyebrow raises with an unamused expression. “no, first off, you look like a girl dad. and second off, does he consider you his dad?”
“nah, not at all. more like an older brother if anything. or maybe that annoying uncle everyone hates.” he reaches forward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “did he like you?”
“i hope so.” your lips purse. “i wasn’t exactly ready to pitch myself as a good person tonight to some kid.”
satoru chuckles, thumb lingering on your cheek. “don’t need to pitch yourself, just be you and he’ll like you just as much as i do. well—actually—hopefully not as much. i’d hate to have competition.”
you can’t help but roll your eyes. “he did mention a next time, though. wants me to bring my dog.”
“you mean that oversized human on all fours?”
your hand collides with his shoulder. he laughs and intertwines your fingers with his. “kidding, kidding. don’t get violent, at least not now.”
leaning down, his lips kiss your forehead smoothly, they linger for a few seconds before he mutters against your skin. “his names megumi, i hope you’ll get along.”
your stomach flutters during this moment, relishing in the easy and comfortable intimacy. you nod and murmur back. “of course.”
he pulls back and smiles down at you. just as he’s about to speak another cheesy line, you beat him to it.
“so….you talk about me a lot?”
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ikkyfics ¡ 29 days ago
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Pleaseee Vampire James x pregnant reader?? A surprise dhampir babyyy
Just Mine
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Vampire!James x pregnant!reader
Summary: “Did you know I never imagined anything could be more beautiful than you?” he murmured, his blue eyes shining like sapphires in the silver light. “But here you are. You… carrying what we created together. A piece of me, inside you.” The reverence in his voice was almost devastating, each word laden with an intensity that seemed to heat even the air around them.
Warnings: blood (nothing serious) - a possessive James
A/N: anon, hope you like it <333 - have I mentioned how much I love vampires?
Masterlist
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The night seemed more alive to James, as if every shadow danced in celebration of the miracle you carried. The silver light of the moon entered through the window, bathing the scene in an ethereal, almost supernatural glow. He was there, lying beside you, one of his large, cold hands resting on your rounded belly. His long fingers moved gently, tracing slow circles over the fabric of your thin nightgown, as if engraving in his memory every curve that your pregnancy had shaped.
“You look beautiful like this, you know?” he murmured, his voice low and husky, carrying that tone that always made your skin tingle. His blue eyes shone intensely, fixed on you with a reverence that made your heart race. “So full of me... our life growing inside you.” He smiled, his white teeth standing out as his sharp fangs showed, a sensual and dangerous reminder of what he was.
“James,” you whispered, your voice slightly breaking with emotion. Your hand covered his over your belly, your fingers warming the cold skin that seemed to bring an inexplicable comfort. “You always say that. You always make me feel like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.”
“Because you are.” He leaned in, his black, rebellious hair falling forward as his lips found your belly, leaving a cold kiss there. His eyes lifted to meet yours again, the vibrant blue contrasting with the darkness of the room. “You and him... you’re everything. Every day that passes, I only become more certain of that.”
You laughed softly, the sound low and cozy, as your fingers slid to touch his face, tracing the perfect contour of his jaw. “And who takes care of you, James? I don’t want you to forget that... you’re mine too, you know?”
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if absorbing your words. When he opened them again, there was something even more intense there, something almost devastating in his devotion. “I’m yours. In every sense, forever. But taking care of you is what keeps me alive. Knowing you’re safe... knowing I can give you everything. That’s enough for me.”
He moved closer, pressing his forehead to yours. “You understand, don’t you? What you mean to me? My light in the darkness... my whole world. If I could, I would keep you here forever, where no one can touch you, where I know you’re protected.”
“I know, James,” you replied, your eyes filling with tears that he quickly wiped away with the tips of his fingers, gently. “And I trust you. With everything I am.”
There was something in the scent you now carried that drove him mad—something warm, sweet, full of promises and love. He often pressed his face into your neck, inhaling deeply, as if each breath were vital to him. And there was always that satisfied, possessive smile. “You have no idea how irresistible you are... how it feels knowing you belong to me, in every sense.”
“James,” you called him again, your voice soft but filled with conviction. “I’ll never belong to anyone but you. Not even before all this... before us. You know that, don’t you?”
He chuckled softly, his expression overflowing with pride and a joy that seemed impossible for someone like him, a creature made of darkness. “I know. And I swear I’ll spend every moment of our eternity reminding you of that.”
With that, he pulled you closer, enveloping you in an embrace that was both protective and intimate, while his hands gently caressed your belly once more. “Our son. My blood. Our eternity,” he whispered, and there was a promise in his voice that seemed to echo forever into the vastness of the night.
“Did you know I never imagined anything could be more beautiful than you?” he murmured, his blue eyes shining like sapphires in the silver light. “But here you are. You… carrying what we created together. A piece of me, inside you.” The reverence in his voice was almost devastating, each word laden with an intensity that seemed to heat even the air around them.
You smiled at him, your hand covering his. “It’s the most precious piece. I never thought I could feel so complete, James.” Your voice was soft but firm, full of sincerity.
He tilted his head, the smile taking on a more predatory edge, though still filled with tenderness. “And that’s exactly why you need to take care of yourself. You need to be strong. For you. For him.” The way he looked at you—as if you were all that existed in the world—made your heart leap.
Before you could respond, he gently pulled you closer, positioning you in his lap with an ease that betrayed his supernatural strength. His cold fingers caressed your face as he tilted his head to the side, his eyes fixed on yours. "It's time for you to feed." He didn't phrase it as a question, but rather as a statement, as if he already knew your body craved what only he could provide.
Your heart raced, not out of fear, but because of the familiar and inexplicable excitement these moments always brought. You didn't hesitate — you never did. Instead, you watched with palpable hunger as he raised his own wrist, the pale skin highlighting the veins. With a precise movement, he made a small cut, dark blood beginning to surface. The scent reached you almost instantly, rich, seductive, impossible to ignore.
You carefully held his wrist, but the urgency in your touch did not go unnoticed. He watched every movement, his blue eyes locked on you, glowing with something bordering on fascination. When your lips closed around the cut, he let out a low sigh, satisfied.
"Good girl," he murmured, his voice low and laden with a tone that made your skin tingle. His fingers moved to the base of your neck, his touch almost possessive as he kept you close. "That's it... that's right. You need this. You need me."
You couldn't deny it. You didn’t want to. The taste was indescribable, a mixture of need and pleasure, and the way he watched you only made the moment more intense. He encouraged you, whispering soft and seductive words, his hand now sliding to your back as he pulled you even closer.
"You're perfect like this, you know? So hungry for me... as it should be," he whispered against your hair, his voice deep and filled with an almost palpable satisfaction. The other cold, firm hand moved up to caress your belly again, his long fingers tracing slow, reverent circles on the stretched skin. "Everything about you is mine. It always has been." The low timbre of his words vibrated in the air, as possessive as it was passionate.
He tilted his head slightly, his blue eyes burning into you like two cold flames. Your heart, already racing from the intensity of the moment, beat even faster, and he could hear every pulse with supernatural clarity, like a song composed just for him. "I can hear it," he murmured, a smile forming on his lips, revealing the tip of his fangs. "Your heart. So fast. It's beating for me, isn't it?"
You couldn't answer, but the way your fingers tightened slightly around his wrist was enough. He laughed, a low sound, almost a purr, that seemed to reverberate through your body. "Ah, my sweet girl. So dependent on me... and I love it." The words came out laced with pride, but there was something deeper there — a fierce desire to protect you, to keep you always within his reach.
As you drank, he adjusted his position, pulling you even closer to his body. The way he held you was a perfect contrast between strength and care. His fingers, cold but comforting, slid down your back in slow caresses, while his other hand remained on your belly, as if needing to feel the life growing there to believe it was real. "My child," he murmured almost to himself, a glimmer of adoration in his eyes. "My blood. Our blood. You're giving me the greatest gift anyone could."
Minutes passed, but he showed no rush to stop. Every sound you made �� the soft sigh, the way you adjusted against him — seemed to fascinate him even more. He tilted his head, his lips brushing your temple lightly as he whispered, "That's it, love. Take as much as you need. You know I would never deny you anything."
Finally, when he realized you had fed enough, he gently pulled his wrist away, his blue eyes never leaving yours. "That's enough for now, my dear. You're strong, but you need balance," he said, his voice sounding like a mix of authority and affection.
Before you could protest, he raised his wrist and used his thumb to wipe the remnants of blood from the corner of your mouth. "So beautiful," he murmured, his eyes roaming your face with an intensity that was almost predatory. "Now... show me." He pressed his stained finger against your lips, a satisfied smile forming as you obeyed without hesitation, licking the traces as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Good girl," he said, the tone laden with pleasure as the smile on his lips widened, revealing his sharp fangs. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep kiss, as if he wanted to taste a bit of himself in you. When he pulled away, his eyes were shining with something almost dangerous. "You know I love this, don't you? This power... this submission. It's exactly where you belong."
You could barely find words, but he wasn't expecting any. He pulled you back into his arms, holding you against him as if he wanted the entire world to disappear. "Mine," he murmured, caressing your belly one last time. "My eternity. My perfection." And in that moment, you knew that, for him, nothing existed but you.
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hyunniesgirl ¡ 11 months ago
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Hei, may I ask Chan who’s obsessed with giving you hickeys?🙏🏻❤️
This ask was made so long ago, I'm not even sure if you still want it to be answered lmao. But that's me, I'm probably the slowest writer in the world. Not sure if this is what you wanted but this is what I came up with 😭 hope you like it, though.
My bestie @baby-yongbok wrote something in this format and I liked it, so I kinda tried it on here hehe
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Chan has been obsessed with you since the first time he laid eyes on you. The way your skin looks so soft, so beautiful, he just wants to mark you.
Chan sneaks looks at you every chance he gets and when you dress on something with a low cleavage he just goes crazy with the thought of sucking on your skin.
Chan cages you against the kitchen counter one day, hands gripping the wood with his hands on each side of your body. He smirks when you stare at him with huge doe eyes, not really trying to get away.
Chan gets closer, leaning his face so close to yours that your lips almost touch. He brushes his lips on yours, trailing down till his are right on your neck.
Chan hears you murmur "Fuck", trembling as soon as his lips meets your skin. He lands a kiss in there, forming an "O" with his mouth and sucking on your neck.
Chan has awakened something inside of him now, the way you gasp feeling his lips on your skin, the way your hands go right into his shoulders, digging the skin with your nails, the way the purple-ish tone shows up slowly. It all just makes him go crazy right then and there.
Chan can't control himself after that, when you're close to him your scent just pulls him in and his mouth starts to move on its own. He unconsciously trails wet kisses down your neck, feeling the sweetness of your skin.
Chan just listens to his desires, It's natural to him to just bite you, feeling your cold skin warming up on his lips.
Chan doesn't think It's just a question of loving the feeling of you squirming beneath him every time he gives you a hickey, it's the fact that he's marking you.
Chan loves to see the red marks turning purple and them fading away in bluish traces of his love bites on you. He loves to see you walking around covered in them, he loves when people notice it and joke about it with you, he loves to make new ones over the ones that are disappearing.
Chan loves when you argue with him because you have to wear turtle neck shirts or scarves to work to cover his feats, teasing you about not wanting to show that you have a territorial boyfriend.
Chan just wants everyone to know you already have someone, that you're his.
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ambivalence-is-me ¡ 2 months ago
Text
Your Power (3)
Pairing: Azriel x reader
Summary: You made it out of the meeting with Azriel and the Inner Circle. They wanted to work with you, but how was it going to work? It seemed impossible with the crush you seem to be developing on the Shadowsinger.
Word count: 2.2k
Warnings: none
A/N: This is 3 months late, I know I know. Forgive me but I haven't forgotten about this story! I'm hoping this month I can get more parts out so don't give up on me pls. Dont forget to comment and let me know what you think! Thank you for the feedback!
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A Remembrance Day... 
A day meant for remembering all of the lives that were lost to the war. Remember, honor and grieve for them. Five years too late but it was better than to continue like it never happened. 
Right?  
That was better than any idea you had. You just wanted it to be acknowledged, that a major event happened to a whole freaking city and left them, left you traumatized. And trauma needed to be acknowledged and healed, not shoved away.  
It was going to be a big day, major really. The idea is for every citizen of Velaris to attend and pay their respects. The logistics and details?  
‘’Gather people who will be willing to work for this. Create a team, have a meeting and lead them.’’  
Rhysand had said back at that cozy-not-formal-at-all room in the Library. Wait, did they expect you to do everything? It was their idea! They can’t just throw everything at you! Well, they can but... 
‘’We will be right there with you, every step of the way.’’ Feyre said, noticing the look on your face. She smiled ‘’Anything you need, you tell us, and we’ll get it done.’’ 
It made sense for you to be the one to gather the people. They didn’t know them, didn't know your neighbors, your co-workers, the old fae who owned a bakery down the street from you who also lost someone to the war, the people who made the city.. Velaris. But they knew you.  
‘’How am I supposed to convince them?  I’m so...awkward and I talk to much sometimes.’’ You expressed your worry to your sister-in-law the next morning after your encounter with the Inner Circle.  
She gave you a look in return that said ‘’only sometimes?’’ But she knew what you meant, it was a valid worry to have.  
‘’I doubt you would need to convince them, Y/N. We’re all on the same page here, if they see how much this means to you, they will join.’’ She gave you her best reassuring smile, her body language seemingly relaxed. She had no doubt that you were the perfect person for the job. And the Inner Circle knew it too.  
And they were right.  
On your way to work, you made some stops at some shops, talked to the owners and asked them to meet with you in two days' time at the Library. Some had looked skeptical but after telling them what it was about, they instantly agreed. The majority though, had agreed right away. It made you feel all warm and happy inside, to know they respected you enough to take you seriously for this. You only hoped it would continue to go smoothly.  
You opted not to mention that the high lord and high lady would be there. If some of them were anything like you, they would decline out of fear. Or maybe they wouldn't have, and it would have motivated them, who knows but you didn't mention their assistance and hope it didn't come and bite you in the ass.  
You did that for the rest of the day and when the sun started to go down, you closed the shop and made your way home. A sigh of relief leaving your lips that the day was almost over. You needed to seriously organize if you were going to juggle this event plus work plus your family all at the same time. Thinking about how you were going to do that, you failed to notice someone had joined your walk and was walking beside you.  
‘’You should really pay more attention to your surroundings’.  
The scream that left your mouth would’ve put a scared child to shame. You moved your hands frantically as if looking for something to hit or push, preferably the someone who had scared you. But it wasn't just anyone, no.. 
It was a 6’2ft tan, Illyrian warrior whose wings could easily hide someone, with the most beautiful hazel eyes that made you feel all sorts of things... like distress at the moment.  
Your heart was beating so fast you were sure he could hear it. You spoke before you could analyze what had just occurred. 
‘’What the heck is wrong with you?!’’  
He couldn't hide his amusement, a small smile on the corner of his mouth. His shadows flew circles around you as if they were too laughing at you. His response to your outburst was to raise an eyebrow.  
Which quickly made you stop your walking and realize that you had just screamed at the freaking Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court.  
Great. 
If he thought you had a death wish well, there was no way to prove him wrong.  
You shook your head and managed to get out a ‘’I-I’m sorry. I’m not actually implying there's something wrong with you! You just scared me, you appeared out of freaking nowhere, I didn't even hear you!’’.  
‘’I’m a spy, it's part of my job’’. 
Right yes, that made sense. What didn't make sense is why he was walking you home when you’ve seen him just the day before. Your thoughts went..there. 
Did they regret your alliance (if you could call it that) and now wanted to kill you? Perhaps the High Lord thought you would squeak to everyone how he had apologized and now wanted your head.  
‘’I’m not going to murder you, Y/N’’. If Azriel wouldn't have found the situation amusing, he would actually feel disappointed that you still managed to think they- he was going to hurt you.  
He said your name. Out loud. You couldn't remember him saying it out loud and Mother did you love the way it sounded coming from him. Gods, you felt pathetic.  
You exhaled. ‘’ I know that.’’ Clearing your throat and looking away from his pretty eyes, you asked him, trying to understand what was happening . ‘’What are you doing here?’’.  
He found that he didn't like when you weren't looking at him. He enjoyed observing your expressions and figuring out what you were thinking. Not that there was much to figure out since you were an open book. He slowly resumed the walk, waiting for you to catch up before replying.  
‘’Feyre sent me to check how it went with gathering the troops.’’  
A lie. Nor Feyre or Rhys had sent him but you didn't know that. You didn't need to know that he enjoyed your company, it was refreshing. He enjoyed that you didn't know anything about him except his title, enjoyed that you didn't even try to know his business and every step he took.  It was also great to be away from so many happy couples when he didn’t have that. And you didn’t either.  
Troops. He made it sound like you were going into battle, jeez.  
You were glad you weren't looking at him so he couldn't see the small quirk in your face that revealed you were hurt. It hurt you a little to know that he was only there with you because he was ordered to.  
Well, what other reason did he have? None, to you at least. Besides this ‘’job’’, there was nothing else you could offer him, nothing else that tied you together.  
‘’Right.’’ You cleared your throat once again and resumed walking with him next to you.  
‘’It went well. I think’’ You fidgeted with your fingers. ‘’The majority said they would go to the meeting. Not sure if all of them will help with anything but I’m hopeful they’ll at least attend.’’  
He nodded. ‘’Anyone we should be worried about?’’ 
The thought made you chuckle, and you looked at him. ‘’If you think an old baker with an affinity to touch everything is a threat, then yes. You should be worried.’’ You motioned to his siphons that seemed to glow exceptionally pretty against the light of the sunset. ‘’I would put those away just in case.’’  
The smile you gave him made him feel..things. Things he hadn’t felt since he lost his chance with a certain Archeron sister. Things that made him want to get you to smile like that again.  
‘’Noted.’’  
You nodded and looked away from him to pay attention to the street. Knowing your luck, you would trip over air and fall on your face in front of him. Thankfully that didn’t happen.  
You didn’t have a clue what was supposed to happen next to be frank. The conversation seemed to be over since you told him what he was there for.  
So, why did he continue to walk you home? You didn't know if he knew that was were you were headed but he still accompanied you for the rest of the walk.  
You wondered how it must've looked. A 5’5ft nervous, average looking female walking next to a 6’2ft handsome male with wings on the streets of Velaris. With the sun going down behind them. Did it look as silly as you felt?  
Nonetheless, you decided to stop questioning it because it only made your head hurt and spent the rest of the walk enjoying his quiet company and listening to the buzz of the streets around you. His silence wasn't uncomfortable, which surprised you. You often felt uncomfortable around people you didn't know and especially if they weren’t yapping your ear out like you would often do.  
No, you quite enjoyed the peace his silence provided. It was also different from the silence that often accompanied you in your office, if Sabrina wasn’t conversing with you about anything.  
This was...nice. You hoped he wasn’t feeling awkward.  
He wasn’t. Azriel was also enjoying it. Although secretly, he liked it more when you were talking to him. Which is why, once you’d made it to your house, he noticed the different house materials thrown around and asked.  
‘’Renovating?’’  
You cursed under your breath and sighed. Of course, he noticed the state of your messy house. Like you promised to yourself, you started working on the backyard finally and noticed you were missing stuff so you bought them and instead of placing it where it belongs in the backyard, you had thrown it in front of your front door (quite literally) because you were late to work.  
You had forgotten about it until now.  
‘’Umm, something like that?’’ You rushed to open your front door so you could push the materials inside. Something you should've done that morning in the first place.  
‘’I’m actually making this..thing. Like a patio? On my backyard. These are just some things I left here by accident.’’ You said while pushing some of it inside with your foot.  
Noticing how heavy a particular item was, Azriel picked it up and asked: ‘’Where to?’’.  
You only looked at him, flabbergasted, all words seem to fly over your head. ‘’Um--’’ 
He smiled internally, feeling glad he was able to make you feel whatever it was you felt. He raised an eyebrow, an amusing look in his eyes appearing once again.  
Right. ‘’Just-you can put it here in the living room, its fine.’’ You motioned inside and stepped away so he could walk in. Praying to the Mother that the inside of your house was decent. You couldn't remember if you had put away the clean clothes.. 
But he knew that’s not where the item was supposed to go so he suggested ‘’I can put it outside if it’s gonna be easier for you’’.  
And indeed, it would be easier for you but that would also entail having him walk all the way to your backyard which was an even bigger mess. Plus, it would mean a couple more minutes with him. Did you want that? 
Obviously. But you tried not to show it.  
‘’Um- sure. Yeah, thanks that would be great.’’  
And you would never forget the scene of him trying to walk through your house with his wings, not wanting to collide with anything.  
Trying to contain your amusement, you quickly stepped up and showed him the way to your backyard. Thankful he couldnt see your face.  
‘’Here it's fine.’’ 
You said once you made it outside to your yard. Motioning to the other supplies on the floor.  
He nodded and placed it next to them. He took a look around your backyard and gave you a single nod. ‘’Looks like a big project.’’  
‘’It is.’’ You nodded and also looked around. Your brother’s face and enthusiasm to be a part of it popped in your brain, dampening your mood for a second. 
Azriel saw it and he wanted to ask, really wanted to ask about the reason of your expression but held back. He didn't know you and you didn't know him. And he clearly made you nervous, so he wasn’t going to push it.  
At this point, you didn't know what else to do or say so you looked at him and said ‘’Well, thank you. Um- you can tell the High Lady that everyone will be there.’’ 
Accepting this as a goodbye, for now, he nodded and said ‘’Goodnight’’.  
And that was all you got before he disappeared. Literally.  
Eyebrows raised, widened eyes, you spinned and looked everywhere for him. He just...disappeared?  
Well, then.  
At least you made it. You actually managed a normal conversation with Azriel. Right? That was considered normal.  
If this interaction was a preview of what was to come, you needed to be prepared of anything and everything. Including your surroundings, clearly.  
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multific ¡ 1 month ago
Text
Simply Perfect
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Dimitri Kravinoff x Reader
Summary: Your first Christmas with him.
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The fire crackles softly, casting a warm, golden glow across the room.
Outside, it was a rainy day in London, but inside, it was just the two of you, wrapped in the spell of Christmas.
The tree twinkles with the lights you placed on it that morning, and the smell of pine and cinnamon fills the air.
Dimitri sits next to you on the couch, his hand resting lightly on your knee as you look at him with a smile.
He looks so handsome in this light.
Despite the luxury of the room, there’s something wonderfully simple about tonight, just the two of you, sharing this special moment.
He reaches under the tree, pulling out a velvet box.
“I hope you like it,” Dimitri says, his voice low and smooth, carrying a hint of suspense.
Your heart skips a beat as you take the small box from him.
He’s always thoughtful, but there’s something about his sincerity tonight that makes your chest tighten in a good way.
You open the box, and your breathing stops for a moment.
Inside is a necklace, a beautiful silver necklace with a pendant which has intricate design that gleams like starlight.
It’s the one you’ve admired for months, the one you thought was out of reach.
It was simply too expensive and too beautiful for you.
You’ve talked about it before, but you never expected him to buy it for you.
“Dimitri… it’s perfect,” you whisper, your fingers brushing over the delicate diamonds.
You meet his gaze, his eyes dark and warm with affection. He doesn’t say anything, but the way he looks at you tells you everything.
“I'm glad you like it,” he says, his voice a soft promise.
You get the necklace from the box and drape it around your neck.
Immediately, he stands up, reaches behind you, and fastens the clasp with fast fingers.
His fingers brush your skin, and for a moment, you feel just how cold they are.
He must have been nervous to give you this beautiful gift.
"I feel spoiled." you laugh a little.
"You should be spoiled, you deserve it, My Love."
You reach for the gift you’ve been hiding in the pillow behind you.
It’s not nearly as extravagant, but it’s from the heart.
You spent months trying to find the best gift.
“I’ve got something for you, too,” you say, your voice a little shaky as you hand him the box.
He looks at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to, and it is only fair because you also bought me something,” you reply, your heart beating faster, now you understand why his fingers were cold.
Dimitri unwraps the gift slowly.
When he finally opens it, inside is a leather-bound journal. You watch as he makes a confused face.
Then he decided to open it.
The first page: For every moment we’ve shared, and every one we still have to come.
His expression softens, the stoic façade he often wears slipping just a little. His eyes flicker to you, searching your face but you just smile and motion for him.
“It’s… it’s beautiful,” he says, his voice thick with meaning. “You know, I’ve never been someone who writes down my thoughts, but… maybe I’ll start.”
As he flicks through the pages he notices that you have also written some things in there.
It makes him smile. You are so thoughtful.
You reach for his hand, squeezing it gently.
“I thought it would be nice. To have something for only you. Write your thoughts down since it has been a tough year for you. I have put some of mine in there. Some might be... dirty.”
His eyes lit up as he quickly began his search through the pages.
You only laugh.
He closes it, his thumb brushing over the cover.
“I’ll treasure it.”
For a long while, neither of you speaks. You simply sit there, in the quiet warmth of your home, the sound of the fire crackling in the background and the soft hum of Christmas music playing from the speakers.
"This is the best Christmas you know?" he speaks. "I never really liked Christmas... with my father... but you changed my mind."
"I'm glad I was able to help you. And I really do love the necklace."
He leans in and you kiss him.
It is a slow and soft kiss.
The world outside may be cold, but here, in this perfect, intimate space, you have everything you need and want.
You rest your head against his shoulder, the necklace he gave you gleaming softly in the firelight, and Dimitri pulls you closer, his embrace wrapping you in both warmth and affection.
He reaches for the remote and turns the TV to search for your favourite Christmas movie.
It was simply perfect.
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A/N: Above photo is not mine! It's from Pinterest!
Taglist: 
@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou
@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief 
@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen @mel-vaz
~Masterlist~
ˇAO3ˇ
/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/
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