#but only a small amount of it is ready to be shared

[saynotononsense]

The Sun Will Rise Again

Helllloooo, I couldn't get the mental picture of Dad!Robby baby wearing out of my head so that's where part of this fic came from 🤷🏻‍♀️ I guess you could also call this an expansion for the My Girls fic.

Enjoy!

This one is: Dr. Michael Robinavitch x Wife!Mom!Dr!Reader ft. Miriam fluffffff with hospital stuff thrown in for good measure

CW: mentions of vomit, blood, alluding to child dying, most likely medical inaccuracies, etc. (I'm not a doctor, I just go here)

🌸🌞🌸🌞🌸🌞🌸🌞🌸🌞🌸🌞🌸🌞🌸🌞🌸🌞🌸🌞🌸🌞🌸

The day had started out hopeful, the sun beginning to crest over your neighbourhood, filling your kitchen with pale golden light as you fixed yours and Robby’s coffee. The house was quiet, Miriam was asleep in the bed next to Robby, cuddled into his chest after you had fed her earlier. You savoured these moments, where you were able to just exist. No patients, no coworkers, your time not taken up by the regular day to day house duties, and the cries of mama, mama, mama. 

It was the last shift in a ten day stretch in the ED, covering for a couple other doctors that had gotten food poisoning going to a sketchy restaurant near the hospital, and then your regular hours on top of that. Needless to say, you. Were. Tired. Dropping Miriam off at your parents earlier in the week had been a challenge, as you had only started leaving her there recently. Robby only going to pick her up the night before since his days off started before yours. And even though you worked closely with your husband nearly every day, you missed Robby. Just being beside him and not having to talk shop would be maybe enough to get you through the day but those moments were few and far between lately. 

You left your backpack and go mug on the entryway table before grabbing Robby’s coffee and going into your shared bedroom. The sight you were met with made you want to change back into Robby’s your comfiest clothes, call the hospital to skip your shift, and crawl back into bed. Robby had shifted onto his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other arm cradling Miriam close. Her little hand curled around the Star of David chain he wore day in and day out, her small snores matching Robby’s. You took a quick photo with your phone, making a mental note to send it to him later, and placed his coffee on his nightstand. 

“I’m heading out now,” You whispered, lightly touching Robby’s shoulder before pressing a kiss beside his mouth. He stirred, groaning quietly, 

“Mm, okay, I’ll see you when you get back,” his eyes only opening a crack. Miriam stayed asleep, tugging Robby’s chain closer to her cheek. 

“I love you.”

“Love you too, baby,” was all you got before Robby fell back asleep. You closed the bedroom door behind you, leaving two pieces of your heart behind. Only 12 more hours to go. 

Hour One

Your shift began with rounds, and a quick debrief with Dr. Shen before taking over the reins of the department. 

“Alrighty, there’s severe road rash in North 3, stabbing victim waiting for OR in South 15, a questionable object inside of a bodily cavity in East 10, and chairs packed to overflowing with food poisoning victims from that Pittsburgh Food Festival,” Shen rolled through the board, completely unfazed by the amount of retching noises coming from the room behind him. 

“That one is particularly loud, but almost ready for discharge,” Shen promised. 

“You better hope so, I don’t know how much of that I can manage today,” You replied, cringing when another incredibly loud retch came, followed by a feeble cry of, “Nurse? Nurse?”

Perlah got up from the nurses station and went to check on the patient, entering the room and behind the curtain only to quickly turn around and exit. 

“Dr. Robinavitch, I think you need to come and check this one.” Her tone was light, but the look in her eyes said otherwise. Shen clapped you on the shoulder,

“And with that? I’m out! Hope you have a quiet shift.” He walked off towards the staff lockers, throwing a casual wave behind him. You made eye contact with Perlah,

“Fucking Shen.”

Hour Ten

True to Shen’s wish, you did not have a quiet day, not that you had helped it pass by watching the clock when you had a spare second to come up for air. Between the food poisoning victims, dehydrated elderly patients from a local walking group, two brawls that had to be handled by security in chairs, and five different patients with broken bones thrown in for good effect, you were ready to be finished. In a brief moment you had to chart some notes for a patient, your phone buzzed quietly in your pocket. Giving the ED a quick scan for any ongoing crises you checked your phone,

Message from: Robby 

Miriam says Hi mommy!

And the picture attached made your heart twinge, it was a selfie of Robby with Miriam strapped to his chest in the baby carrier, big goofy grins on both of their faces. They were outside, likely going on a walk in the neighbourhood and counting the puppies that Miriam loved.  The dark smudges under Robby’s eyes had faded a little with rest, and the twinkle in his eye was back. It was almost miraculous how a day spent with your daughter could bring the life back into his eyes. 

Message to: Robby

Hi my loves! Mommy misses you both so much 🩷

From: Robby

Hope your shift has been easy, I made your favourite for supper so I hope you don’t have any hot dates lined up

To: Robby

The only hot date I have is with a shower and my bed 😉😇

From: Robby

Only if I can join you 😏

Your text exchange was cut short with the call out from Dana, 

“EMS is five minutes out, MVA, three vics coming in. One paediatric.” 

“Alright everyone, lets prep Trauma One and Two and have the OR on standby!” You clapped your hands together, calm settling over your demeanour. Only two more hours left. 

Hour Eleven and a Half

The shrill beep of the heart monitor was the only sound that was heard in Trauma Two. Stunned nurses and students watched your face for what to do next. A twelve year old boy lay on the table in front of you, unresponsive. 

“Someone turn the alarm off. Time of death 6:38pm.” Was all you could manage to get out. You and your team worked so hard to get the boy stable enough for OR, just to have him code right before handing him to the surgical team. The alarm stopped leaving the room in a silence heavier than a tonne of bricks. You turned to the room, 

“Clean the room up, I’m going to find the parents.” 

Hour Twelve

After one of the heaviest conversations of the day, a debrief with your staff, and a quick patient briefing with Jack, you were wrapping your shift up. Cries of the grief stricken mother and father still rang in your ears. The straps of your backpack dug into your shoulders while you walked out the front doors with Dana,

“Any plans for your days off, kid?” Dana asked, nudging you with her shoulder. You tried to laugh, but it came out a little tight. 

“Other than snuggle with Miriam and absolutely destroy whatever Robby made for supper? Not a thing. What about you?” 

“That sounds great. I have a nice bottle of red and a FaceTime with my daughter waiting for me when I get home.’

You both walked in silence for a little bit, splitting ways once you got to your respective vehicles. The drive went by quick, and soon enough you were pulling into your driveway. With each step you took towards the house, you could feel the day slipping further into past memory. 

—

The house was low-lit and cozy when you came in, toys were scattered around the living room and a stack of dishes in the drying rack. A couple of your favourite scented candles were lit on the stove next to a note.

My love, 

Supper is in the microwave for you. 

Come find us when you’re finished. 

- R

You ignored the food to follow the giggles you could hear from the hall bathroom. Robby had started Miriam’s bedtime routine with her bath, the front of his shirt was soaked with the water she was splashing over the edge of the tub. Miriam caught your eye over his shoulder and began babbling, 

“Ma, ma, ma, ma!” 

Robby turned to look behind him, his eyes softening when they landed on you. 

“Hi, baby.” He said, “Good shift?”

You nodded slowly, 

“It was a shift from hell, but I’m glad I’m home now.”

You could feel his gaze trying to piece together what may have happened over the twelve plus hours you were apart from each other. You came to kneel beside him, smoothing your hand over Miriam’s hair. She leaned into your touch and Robby bumped his knee to yours, 

“Do you need to talk about it?”

“Maybe tomorrow? I just need you and Miri right now.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” He leaned in and gave you a kiss. 

“You better,” You kissed him again, “I’m gonna go shower.”

“Good idea,” Robby agreed. 

“Hey!” You laughed, and splashed water at him.

—

The post shower steam spilled into yours and Robby’s room, filling it with the scent of your vanilla body wash that you only used when you weren’t on rotation. Robby had finished with Miriam’s bath and had her snuggled up in the bed next to him, reading her a book. You had pulled on pyjamas and crawled into bed side them both. Miriam turned over to face you, little hands patting your shirt. As you fed her to sleep, Robby tucked the book he was reading Miriam away and rolled to face the two of you, his hand tracing your hip.

“God, I’m so lucky to have the two of you,” he whispered. You took his hand from where it rested on your side and brought it to your lips. Pressing a kiss to his palm, you whispered back,

“I feel the same way.”

The day you had was hellish, but at least the sun will rise again tomorrow, bringing the hope you needed to continue on together.

[anjelicawrites]

Days back home

Paring: John Price x wife!reader Synopsis: your husband John is finally back from deployment.

Warnings: angsty sex, P in V sex, cuddling, idiots in love, domestic John, kissing, handjob, crying, a bit of daddy kink, John is bad at compartimentalizing, John doesn’t know how to relax.

A/N: reader is AFAB, they/them pronouns used when needed.

You hear the rustling of pots and pans from the bedroom. Still half asleep you grab the cricket bat hiding under the bed, thinking Intruders! Before you realize how silly the idea is: are those intruders going to make themselves breakfast while ransacking your home?

Still brandishing the bat, just in case, you make your way downstairs, trying to be as silent as possible in your socks; with your shoulder you open the door connecting the corridor to the kitchen, just a crack, to check who’s at home with you, only to see the back of John’s body, clad in a green T-shirt and jeans, his ridiculous hat forgotten on one of the chairs; he’s making his ‘I’m back home pancakes’ while listening to the radio, the kettle already on the stove.

NSFW and 18+ only please!

“So, this is how I am welcomed back home?” He quips.

You have married the biggest idiot on earth and you wouldn't change him for the whole world.

You abandon the bat next to the door and leap to hug him from behind, smelling him in, feeling his hard body against your own, after too long.

He smells fresh, you know he has had a shower before driving back to you, because he doesn’t want to soil your shared sanctuary with his work; he still berates himself that he and his team had crashed your practice and that those were the circumstances he’s met you.

“You know me, I’m always ready.” You answer, taking another whiff from him, your hands sneaking to his front. “Welcome home my love, I think I will have to have words to whomever is in charge of the rations you eat: you’ve lost weight baby, I will need to fatten you up once again.”

He laughs, under your hands his muscles rip.

“I don’t think Major Williams would survive that.”

Swiftly he deposits another pancake on the pile standing on his left. Before he can pour some more batter on the pan, you lift your arm to his nose.

“Do I still smell like barn? I was on call and was out most of the night. I did take a shower but all I can smell is wet hay.”

His right hand wounds around your wrist, warm and calloused against your soft skin, to keep you still as his nose is filled by the sweet scent of honey; this is an inside jokes of yours, that he sticks to the neutral smell of his army mandated soap, whilst you try every different shower gel you can get your hands on, with various results. This time is nice, he likes how honey complements your natural scent, other times not so much, like the body wash that was supposed to be lemon, but smelled like dish soap, or the obnoxious candy one that’s still hiding somewhere in the guests’ bathroom.

“Any adorable litter of kittens?”

“No, twin calves, pretty fast and incredibly both born alive, and one of the Jenkins’ sheep that kept me up all night. I got into bed a couple of hours ago.”

John turns in your embrace, his big hands finding home on your hips.

“My capable vet, looking after all creatures, great and small.”

“Very funny, mister, I’m in a puddle of laughter.”

But there is a smile on your face that echoes his own: you have missed him, and the small quips you share.

It’s still too cold to eat breakfast in the garden, but there’s enough light that it bathes you both as you two sit at the table by the windows, your legs on his thighs, his hand caressing your calves in between bites as you both demolish the astounding amount of pancakes John has made.

“Go back to bed, love.” He tells you. “I napped on my way back. I’ll do a couple of chores around the house.”

You look at him, taking him in: he’s not antsy, but he’s thrumming with all the nervous energy from combat that needs to be released. There isn’t much to do around the house, but this wouldn't stop John from picking up random jobs, or even call at work to see if he’s needed back at the base, until you know he will simply crash and burn, utterly spent and miserable.

“I don’t think so, mister.”

Neither of you wear the wedding rings usually. You work with animals all day and for John is more of a security breach issue, the chance for someone who doesn’t belong to the small circle of people he trusts, to know about you.

For this reason you’re the ring bearer, keeping your engagement and both wedding rings on a thin, long chain usually worn under your clothes; the other tradition that marks John’s return home is you two exchanging them again.

You have to fiddle with the clasp for a moment, before you can release everything on the table, in between tea mugs and plates.

Your rings look so small in John’s thick fingers. Carefully he picks the engagement one, inherited by the male firstborn in his family to pass down the first son and slips it on your extended ring finger; a smile crinkles the sides of his eyes when you put his ring on his finger, stating your claim once again. He’s so used to be Captain Price that he forgets he has space where he is allowed to simply be John, your husband who has missed you dearly and who wants to make sure you will always have everything you desire.

“The house is fine.” You say with a smile. “The random dead light will not kill us all. Same goes with whatever is going on at the base: you and the boys did your job, now it’s time for others to do theirs. Come to bed with me, I have missed sleeping in your arms.”

John’s body is tired, the small nap on the flight back has barely scratched the sleep deprivation of the last weeks, but his brain is still running, still analyzing all the information harvested, still valuating all the plans he’s come up with, still trying to answer the age old question: will he be able to do better next time?

“I would like my husband back.” Your free hand finds his to squeeze his roughened palm.

“He’s here.”

“In body. Where is his mind though?”

He knows you’re right. When he’s out on the field, or simply at the base, it’s easy to let go of his civilian life; he can’t say the same when he’s home, his brain doesn’t compartmentalize the way it should.

“Not here.”

He pulls on your arm until you sit on his knees, your head on his shoulder, staring at him with half lidded eyes filled with love.

You’re full and nuzzle your face against his chest when he tries to feed you some more, mumbling ‘your loss’ at your refusal: you’re just happy that he’s back, unscathed and that you can have this slow morning where life isn’t intruding and you two can be fools in love.

You fall asleep like this, lulled by the sun shining through the windows and John’s comforting smell, his warmth creating a safe cocoon where you can huddle.

You don’t feel his kiss on the top of your head, nor the silent way he carries you bridal style up the stairs to your shared bedroom, where he deposits you on the unmade bed, careful to cover you with the light duvet; he stares at you and the way you curl on his side of the bed, in your sleep you’re still seeking his scent, even though the pillow must have lost it.

The weight of the chores he knows are waiting for him around the house is pushing him to go downstairs and busy himself, making sure you have nothing to do today and tomorrow; it’s the way he’s been raised, in a house where being lazy was never an option.

Life with you is different, it clashes, sometimes, with his training and his upbringing, with whom he’s become, with his heart missing you, his skin hurting now that it’s not in contact with yours: so easily you break him down and reshape him in the man you love.

He doesn’t jostle your body when he slides under the duvet and arranges your limbs so that you’re hugging him and your face sits against the hollow of his throat, your breath a soft tickle against the sensitive skin there.

A smile finds its way on his face when you wriggle closer to him, almost as if you want to meld your body to his and he hugs your tighter, until there’s no space left between you two, only the cotton of the sleep clothes you’re both wearing.

When he wakes up you’re staring, owlishly, at him: you must have awoken not too long ago.

“I need to do something.” You mumble.

Before he can answer, you wriggle in his embrace to kiss the freckle on his nose, then you nod to yourself, proud.

“I missed doing this.” Your face finds home against the hollow of his throat, again.

His arms curl tighter around you, his nose in your hair to smell the familiar scent of your shampoo.

“I love you.”

His heart still misses a beat when he says those words.

Before you, he had never had the courage to say it out loud to a partner, you have unlocked that in him, not sappiness, but honesty.

The two of you spend the afternoon pottering about the house, him changing a couple of light bulbs and writing down the grocery shop list for tomorrow, before you entice him to lay on the sofa with you.

“You don’t have to earn your down time, you know?”

“I do.” Not exactly a lie, but he’s an old dog still trying to learn new tricks.

“Just saying.”

He moves the two of you around so that you’re laying with your back against his chest so that he can read the book you two have started before his deployment; nothing too high stakes or complicated, a simple story with simple threads he can pick up after a couple of sentences.

“Shall we go to the farmer’s market tomorrow? After we go grocery shopping? Alfred is going to be there with his honey.”

Alfred being your mentor, the vet who had founded the practice you now own who, at the ripe old age of eighty years old, had finally decided to retire and follow his new calling: beekeeping.

“Sounds lovely.”

John likes the old man, he’s straightforward and with a dry sense of humor that reminds John of the captains he had served under when he was a lieutenant.

Seven pages down and a couple of chuckles on your part, you close the book to stare at him.

“I think there’s something going on between my vet tech, Johnny and Simon. Don’t laugh!”

“It wouldn't surprise me. Those two are a package deal, or are each other’s ‘Your friend Steve’”

“You should have told me! I had to ask my vet tech because I felt there was something fishy going on!”

“You didn’t!”

“I did. Asked if the men knew about one another and got lectured about polyamory!”

John’s body is wracked by laughter, so much so that he ignores you trying to elbow him to make him stop.

“It’s not funny John!” He keeps laughing. “You’re horrible!”

His arms lock around you as soon as you try to stand up.

“Where do you think you’re going?” There’s a huskiness in his voice that travels deliciously down your spine.

“Away from my unsupportive husband!” You whine.

His right hand travels leisurely down your body, until he can grab the fat of your thigh to spread you open.

“I think we can reach an agreement, you and I. A way for me to show you how sorry I feel.”

His thick fingers tease the hollow of your thigh, right next where your panties are.

“You should show me, as a proof of your good will.”

His warm lips kiss your neck as his fingers deftly slide under the damp cotton of your knickers.

“As you wish” he growls.

Sleeping back home the first few days is a matter adjusting himself back around you and the quiet of the neck of the woods where you two live: waking up when there’s too much silence or when your body moves next to his, opening one eye, hand ready to grab a weapon that’s not there, only to stop himself before waking you up. There are nightmares, sometimes, that propel him up with a scream locked behind his teeth and his fists ready to strike; those are the nights when he feels remorse at disturbing you with the horrors he carries within himself, those monsters he doesn’t want to bring home to you, but which manage to slither their way inside, scattered away by your hands on his skin and your voice telling him to follow you to the kitchen, that you’re going to make him a nice cup of war milk with honey.

This time there’s no nightmares, only the silence waking him up and the moonlight illuminating your body huddled under the duvet: it’s a warm spring, for the UK, but the nights still carry the chill of winter with them. Without disturbing you, he kisses your exposed shoulder and pulls the covers tighter around your frame, before hugging you as tight as possible, his nose buried in your hair.

Slowly you two approach this new day, your lips on his neck and his hands under your pajamas until his need, and yours, burns too bright to control and he slips inside of you, moaning against your naked chest when your muscles rip around his cock.

He luxuriates in your warmth, when you lock your legs around his waist and tell him not to move, to stay where he is, that you need to feel him. It could be hours when you beg him to move, slow pushed and pulls that bring you to an orgasms that leaves marks down his back, your cunt wounding so tightly around his cock that he spills with a shout.

It’s almost lunch time when you two arrive at the farmer’s market. To John’s dismay you had to use your old truck, the one everyone in the area can recognize, but the road has too many holes for the suspensions of his car to survive.

There’s always a bit of uneasiness on his part, whenever he is out and about with you: he’s trained to look for danger, even when there’s none and his body misses the weight of his weapons, the security they bring him, even more so now that he’s with you, out in the open, where anyone could attack you.

Not that it would happen, being alert is part of who he has become, a nagging guarding dog he can’t put to sleep.

“You happy?” You ask, arms wrapped around his, big smile on your face even though you can feel some lingering stiffness in his body.

“Yes, love.”

He has two jars of honey in a small bag dangling from his fingers, both gifts from Albert who has refused any sort of payment and has roped you two into going to dinner to his place one of these days.

He’s not lying to you when he says that he’s happy. Today the sun is shining, warm against the button down shirt he’s wearing, a trusted beanie to protect his head and you by his side in a nice dress, busy pointing the stalls you want to browse: despite all the food in the trunk, he knows you’ll buy more, just so you can spoil him and fatten him up a little bit, with the excuse that’s homemade and the ingredients are all healthy.

By the time you two walk back to the car, you both are saddled with too many bags and yet he had to convince you to stop buying food, and plants for the garden.

“Do you want to go and eat lunch at that cafe on the river?” He asks after he’s secured all your purchases.

“Are you happy to go?”

You don’t want to push him, you’re well aware that he needs some time away from the crowds to re calibrate; that your man will always be alert is something you have learn to accept, but you could feel him tense up a little too much by the time you were done with the last stall.

“I am.”

Then again, he’s not lying. The guard dog in him still has its bristles up, but John doesn’t want to waste a beautiful day such as today, barricaded at home, not when you look so happy and full of life.

He thoroughly knackered by the time you two make it back home and start putting away everything you have bought. The big lunch doesn’t help with the drowsiness he feels, paired with the sun and the general tiredness left by the last deployment, he’s ready to go lay on the sofa and just watch something inane on the telly, at least for tonight.

He shivers when your hands find their way under his shirt, your body plastered against his.

You follow the shape of his abdominal muscles, more prominent now that he’s lost the body fat you adore so much. Before him, you believed a defined six-pack meant strength, now you know that muscles born from exercise and not aesthetic, come with a healthy dose of body fat, to which you’re now addicted.

“I need you, John.” You purr, kissing his shoulder.

“I’m here.” His voice is gravelly now that your fingers are deftly opening the buttons of his jeans. “Christ love!”

“Let me take care of you.”

Your hand is gently fondling his cock and balls and he’s already a goner: anything you ask you shall receive.

You maneuver his big body to the sofa, where you sit him between your splayed legs, only then you free is half hard cock from the confines of his briefs.

You take your time with him, helping his erection to grow gently, with slow, long strokes from his base to the flared tip, fondling his heavy balls with your free hand, your teeth worrying the soft skin of his nape.

He’s so warm under your skin, his manhood leaking precome steadily on your fingers, his moans music to your ears now that you’re stroking him faster and faster, his strong hips pumping steadily to follow the punishing rhythm you’re imposed him.

“Love!” He groans, after a vicious stroke. “I’m…”

“Come for me John. Make a mess.”

He tenses in your arms, heels digging in the plush carpet as pleasure builds and builds in his gut, his nerves screaming with it, his hands grabbing at your skin desperately, leaving bruises he will kiss, scratching and kneading, moans and curses spilling until pleasure overtakes him, his seed splashing against his belly and your fingers.

“I love you so much, John.” You murmur, helping him ride the last shock waves of his orgasm, milking his cock until his hand grabs your wrist.

He’s panting in your arms, body still shivering, heart beating violently in his chest: you’re going to be the death of him.

His head turns when he hears you licking your fingers and palm clean from his seed, your lips sinfully sucking on your fingers with filthy moans that go straight to his cock.

“Take your clothes off.” He growls.

“Yes, daddy.” You giggle, sliding from behind his burly body.

You make a short work of the dress and your underwear, standing naked in front of him; you feel a special kind of pleasure at being naked while he’s still dressed, long legs spread and arms on the backrest.

He’s devouring you with his eyes, hunger burning wildly now that he’s taken the edge off.

He doesn’t have to ask you to kneel, you do it as if it’s your natural state to be between his legs, tongue busy with cleaning him, kissing his hardening length into fullness again, throat open to receive him.

“Come up here.”

His hand in your hair pulls you up, until you straddle him, wet cunt enveloping his erection.

“I need to feel you.” You beg, drunk already on the pleasure of his head sliding against your swollen clit. “So bad daddy please!”

He has to manhandle your squirming hips until he can impale your body on his cock, molding your hungry cunt around himself, until he can bottom out inside of you, him grunting and you keening like a wounded beast.

“Don’t” You beg when he pushes inside of you. “Let me feel you, please.”

His hands travel to your face, his roughened palms cupping your cheeks to stare into your eyes.

“You tell me when you want me to move, love. Shh, don’t fret. Shh, I’m here.”

His thick arms curl around your trembling body, his lips on the crown of your head to soothe you before you wound yourself up too much.

His voice is deep and calming, like liquor pouring down your throat. It cancels all your needs, your fears of the past weeks; only the gravelly nonsense he’s murmuring in your ear has a place to exist in this bubble, the calloused skin of his hands on the silk of your back tethering you back to him, to the present, where his lips find your collarbone to kiss and nibble and lick, to mark you as his.

“I missed you.”

Tears flow down your cheeks, you’re raw nerves now that your body has wrestled control away from your brain and has thrown to the wind all the reassurances you kept repeating to yourself while John was away.

“I’m here.” He murmurs against your skin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“John!”

Your hands find his short hair to pull his head back and slant your lips on his, the kiss desperate and deep, filthy and wet with the salt of your tears.

On him you grind, his fingers tight on the fat of your hips to help you move, faster and faster against his body, clit brushing against the thick air around his base, choking on your words with every clench of your cunt around his cock.

“There! There!” You scream. “Please!”

You fuck yourself on him as if possessed, his cock head presses against your G spot relentlessly, pushing and pushing, throwing you into the depths of pleasure when your body stiffens in his embrace, muscles wounding so tightly around his cock that he comes inside of you, thick sprouts against your battered walls, until he’s spent inside of you.

You’re still trembling in his arms, wet face hidden in the curve of his neck; he doesn’t force you to look at him, he shifts your bodies so that he can hold you tighter, grounding you back into yourself.

“You with me?”

Your try to burrow closer to him, to breathe him in until all you can feel is him.

“Yes.” Your voice sounds small and muffled. “I don’t know what happened. That wasn’t the direction I had in mind.”

He kisses the crown of your head again, until you sit back on his thighs and he can see your wet face.

“I have no idea of what has gotten into me. I was scared, all of a sudden, afraid you would disappear.” You bite your lower lip, face turning to the side. “Jesus John, I’m so stupid!”

“No, you’re not!”

His hands are on your face again, sure they wipe away your tears while guilt nags at him.

When he was on his own it was easier to leave, sometimes for months, he didn’t have someone to go back to, someone who had to bear the weight of his deployment as well; he comes back saddled with all he has to do to keep this world safe, but you have to deal with his absence and what it does to yourself.

Swiftly, without jostling you off your perch, he removes his shirt to wrestle you into it, hoping his smell would help you settle.

“Have you been going to the meetings for the spouses?”

You know what he’s talking about, those hours spent with other wives and husbands and partners of deployed soldiers, simply opening up about your complicated feelings and nagging fears when your loved ones are away.

“I have been going, and it helped. I just…”

Your eyes land on his dog tags half hidden by the furry hair on his chest: all his basic information are there, but he’s so much more than that.

“Let’s get you a shower.”

You know John is strong, that his muscles aren’t for show, but you can’t help the yelp that leaves your lips when he stands up with your legs around his waist and your arms by his neck.

“John! You back!”

“My back has never been better, love.” He winks.

His chest hair are so soft against your front, his hands so strong and secure under your arse; you giggle a little when his fingers start massaging your cheeks, kneading the fat with a pleased hum.

He sits you on the small space next to the sink to open the water in the shower and then he disappears, leaving you questioning what the hell is your husband doing.

He pops back keeping one hand behind his back and motions you to stay silent when you try to ask him what is going on.

“Do you trust me?”

Oh, you shouldn’t fall for the amused glint in his eyes and the way his crow’s feet show, now that he’s smiling.

“John…”

“Close your eyes.”

You don’t know what his plan is, what you’re certain is that he’s trying to cheer you up and your heart is swelling with all the love you feel for him.

You feel and hear his hands rucking the shirt off your body, his fingers steady around one arm to help you navigate the small space to the warm stream.

“Are you going to join me?”

“Just a second, love.”

More rustling as you imagine him getting rid of his remaining clothes; he groans when the warm water hits his skin, the sound so low and primal flies to your cunt.

Then you smell it.

Too sugary, so sweet your nose tickles with it.

“You’re going to stink like that for days!”

John smiles.

“And so will you.”

The blasted shower gel banished to the guest’s bathroom!

John is happy to smell like a full bakery just to make you laugh has you hug him and cover his face with kisses.

“You’re so silly, John!”

“And yours. Never forget that.”

[deadhands69]

A New End: Aftermath

Tomura Shigaraki x Reader

This series contains: gn/afab reader, angst, violence, mentions of blood/injuries, cussing, smut, spoilers.

previous - this is the epilogue

[series masterlist]

|\/\/\| aftermath |/\/\/|

Past a very traditional monastery, through a sea of maple trees, and up a winding dirt road is a cabin. It’s not a big cabin, nor is there anything that stands out about it to most people, but it’s been a great home to you in the time since you moved here late last spring. A lot of work went into making it livable. Surprising no one, you and Tomura were both more than okay with that. 

It’s been seven months to the day since the league’s last mission together. Since then, the two of you have been out here in the forest. Sure, you could have stayed with the PLF but you craved a change in scenery. 

Everyone did.

Now, your life is pretty simple. Conveniently, the monastery nearby’s culture is prevalent throughout the area, meaning that the people who move here don’t tend to focus much on current affairs or the media. It also helps that Tomura’s eyes have darkened slightly, making him a bit less recognizable if he’s wearing a mask. You didn’t know that was possible, but he says they were a lot darker and grey when he was a child so it’s not surprising to him that they would change again. When you mentioned that you wish you could see what he looked like as a kid, he got confused and just said to imagine him but small with darker hair and eyes. You still wish there was a picture though. 

While the two of you haven't abandoned the mission to take down hero society, you’ve taken a backseat to leading it as new faces join the fight. There’s still work to be done, there always will be. But you’re not alone in it now.

A few days a week, you walk down the hill to work part-time at a teahouse in town. Since your face was never shared on the news, it made sense for you to be the one to leave the house more. It’s a slow life, but it’s nice. Relatively predictable. You’re never waiting for something drastic to happen out of nowhere anymore. 

Today, you got off work a bit early and began your walk back home. Reaching the bottom of the hill, you check the wooden mailbox at the start of the street. There’s a postcard and one of the newspapers Tomura has delivered daily. On the front of the postcard is a photo of a beach on Miyajima island. 

After leaving the PLF, each of you were given a small amount of money as a thank you for your work and payment for the last mission. It’s allowed you to survive for a while. Twice and Compress pooled theirs, finding it easier to travel with someone else to share rooms with. They’re good travel buddies with similarities that make it work: both are extroverts. Additionally, both are also working to be more comfortable without their masks in order to blend in. From what you’ve heard, it took Twice much longer to get used to it and he still refuses to sleep without one. Currently, he’s down to only a hat and surgical mask in public which is a huge step for him. Both are able to move freely through Japan as long as they’re careful, given that only photos of their masked faces were ever shared with the public. They send postcards with little updates every once in a while.

Today’s says, “wish you were here” in nice handwriting with “losers!” scribbled on the bottom. You’ll put it up before Tomura sees the message so he doesn’t decay it like the last one. The picture looks nice.

Continuing up the dirt road, the trees turn from yellowing green to a deeper red the further up you go. Eventually, you make your turn in what feels fully like autumn. You walk past a huge mound, leftover from the last time Gigantomachia checked in. He comes by every month or so, depending on the weather. Machia still doesn’t know of All For One’s passing and you’ve all decided that’s for the best, none of you are sure how he’d react. 

By the time you reach the cabin, your shoulders hurt and you’re ready to sit down. Even if it’s been over half a year since the injury, sometimes your neck still aches – especially when the weather changes. But that, combined with your quirk, has given you the fun new ability to predict the weather.

It’ll rain later today.

You walk under the wild camellias growing over your doorway and make your way inside. Your rice cooker sings from the kitchen to your left as you slide off your shoes at the door. Tomura has just finished studying for the day. His long white hair is tied in a bun on top of his head with a few strands falling in front of his face. You hug him, leaving the newspaper by his laptop.

Publicly, he’s been using his birth name, Tenko, to attend school online. His goal is to become a game developer and make a game based on all of your experiences. Given the popularity of the league from Spinner’s book, it’s not the worst idea.

Spinner is thriving. His book came out a month ago and is selling out faster than stores can keep it on the shelf. It’s also gained attention for the ever present discrimination issues faced by people with heteromorphic quirks. His agent has received a lot of interest in book signings but for obvious reasons (warrants), he's had to decline them all. Spinner has, however, done a few online Q&As.

After buying a house and new gaming system, there wasn’t much else that he wanted. So, nearly all of the money he’s made has gone into starting an organization to combat prejudice in more rural areas. While he can’t be on the grounds in person, he has plans to hire one of the students from UA to work with him as soon as he graduates. 

He and Tomura still play together a few nights a week, both got online switch memberships to make that easier. Tomura is catching back up again now that he’s getting used to the prosthetic fingers (although, he just thinks Spinner is going easy on him.)

The front page of the newspaper has a huge photo featuring a few of the students you recognize from your last mission. You read it over his shoulder:

A new branch of UA high has opened, focusing on quirk counseling. The program aims to help those with quirks that are difficult to control or come with unexpected complications. Based on leaked evidence earlier this year, it is estimated that 57% of the cases heroes responded to in the past year could have been prevented with such a program, and the issue is only projected to grow over time–

“Toga’s working on that. It's part of her community service, sounds like she loves it,” you share, having talked to her yesterday. “She's made friends and everything.” 

Toga, still being a minor, turned herself in for a lighter sentence. She was heavily praised for “doing the right thing” by the public, but you think it had more to do with her hero girlfriend than anything else. 

“How was your day,” you ask Tomura, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you rest your cheek on the side of his head. 

“Good, mostly just school,” he mumbles, opening his laptop. “And Eri emailed.”

When she left with Aizawa, Eri’s backpack contained an envelope with email addresses to contact each of you. It also contained the location of the doctor’s lab and everything any of you knew on how to gain entry. This led to the arrest of the doctor which halted nomu production and other quirk related crimes. It also allowed them to find research that allowed for the (incomplete, but notable) reversal of nomu creation. Kurogiri was able to regain some of his previous characteristics, enough to eventually be allowed out of custody. He still asks about Tomura though.

With that information and everything that came from it, Aizawa was grateful enough to let Eri keep in touch.

Occasionally.

At a distance. 

It’s best for all of you that way. For added safety, Tomura insists you all only send her return mail through a proxy, what with the living-with-heroes and all.

She mostly talks with Spinner, still sending him photos of every good grade she gets and sharing her progress in the games they played together. It was a hard adjustment for him when she left, but being able to stay in contact and see how well she’s doing softened the blow a bit. 

Tomura turns the page. The top of the obituaries page reads, Former Number One Hero Passes Away in Tokyo Hospital.

“We should call and check on Dabi,” you say casually, looking over the article.

“And what, congratulate him? He won’t answer. He’s probably out celebrating,” Tomura replies before turning to another page.

When Endeavor sustained massive burns and was hospitalized, Dabi went to visit him. He’s not entirely sure why, mostly to vent to a captive audience he told himself. Through this, Dabi, who now goes by Touya again, his mom, and his siblings have made up. Kind of. It’s a slow and difficult process but they’ve been working through it. He moved in with his mom and sister a month ago. He and his youngest brother, have spent some time together as well - meeting every other week for soba.

As predicted, a few drops of rain patter on the rooftop. You make yourself a cup of tea and stand in front of the window to watch the clouds roll in. 

It’s beautiful in a way you never thought you could have. The skyline isn’t leveled, the trees aren’t even cut back. 

Every day you and Tomura get a little bit closer to destroying the effects of that house and everything associated with it, at least what’s left in him. It’s not easy, but it’s your life and you wouldn’t trade it for anyone else’s.

Afterall, you were promised a future and every day you're working to make it one you want.

a new end masterlist - bnha masterlist

if you read this far, thank you!!!! I've been working on this for a year and it was rewritten three times so it's crazy to finally share the end of it! thanks again if you made it here!

Taglist: @tomuratoucher @aryuunachigiri @shigarakislaughter @foxyboy0 @multifandomidk 

@dance-with-me-in-hell @minniessskii @vaval3ntin @ykyouluvme  @lou-the-naga-queen

@dummi666 @lotus-flower420 @nonominchan @softnfuzzy @mysticalhills 

@reireitaka @crwavee @baby-pink-flowers @drlucichen @frieren-imposter

@kitkat13001 @kennys-partner @amira-44820 @its-evee16  @lou-the-naga-queen

@multifandomidk @love-for-yoosung-kim @linaaeatsfamilies

[5tarryknight]

Keeping a sketchbook again has been such a boon to my creativity and skills! I can feel my sense of 3D space slowly get stronger. Today’s sketches are of Zaire and two AUs of my newest boy, Vex, who I’m excited to share more about soon. ^^

[rafesangelita]

♡ it’s that time of year again, and kook!sweetheart!reader is here and ready to kiss for charity in her annual kissing booth! however, rafe is first in line.. and a peck on the cheek is not the only thing he’s interested in

warnings: s1!rafe, flirty banter, dirty talk, heavy petting, fingering, overstimulation, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, oral (m. receiving), hair pulling, multiple orgasms

a/n: now presenting… ‘KISSING BOOTH’ 🤍 i was so obsessed with this idea, i had came up with it last year but decided i should wait for valentine’s day to write it, so to say it’s been a long time coming is an understatement! i’m so excited for this valentine’s day celebration, i hope you all will love it <3

link: VALENTINE’S DAY CELEBRATION ໒꒰ྀི｡- ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

wc: 1.5k

“wow, it looks like cupid threw up in here.” you smiled at the familiar voice, your best friend rolling her eyes when she saw the way your cheeks heated at rafe’s teasing words. while she thought rafe was annoying and insufferable, you absolutely adored him, always laughing at his lame jokes and letting him hold you close at parties as if to let everyone know that you were off limits. “you don’t like the way i decorated the booth?” you pouted up at him as he leaned over the front counter, a smug grin gracing his features. “yeah, it’s cute..” he trailed off, “but are you really gonna kiss some random assholes for a fuckin’ dollar?”

you sighed, pointing towards the tip jar. “it’s for charity, rafe.. and i’m not really ‘kissing’ anyone, i’m barely grazing their cheek!” rafe scoffed before studying you for a moment. you were such a pretty thing, the idea of some losers waiting in line to get something as little as a peck from you made his blood boil. “how much money do you have to make today?” he was fishing in his pocket for his wallet before you even answered. “i would like to make at least three hundred dollars.” you watched him curiously as he managed to get some crisp bills out of the expensive leather.

“i’ll do you one better, and give you five hundred dollars to ditch this joint right now.” you blinked, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. “are you serious?” he dropped the money in the jar that you decorated with pink heart-shaped stickers and red rhinestones. “yeah, but i don’t just want a kiss..” he leaned down to whisper in your ear, “i’d rather see those pretty, sparkly lips wrapped around my cock instead, yeah?” you felt butterflies flutter in your tummy, your needy gaze meeting his own. “come on, baby.” he took your hand in his, his thumb rubbing into your skin.

swallowing thickly, you glanced over at your bestie. “i can’t leave her to do this all by herself..” just as you were going to apologize and tell him maybe another time, she took the money out of the jar and placed it into an envelope. “i’m gonna go turn this money in to the charity organizers and close up shop, ‘looks like the boys of kildare will have to be kissed by someone else today.” you giggled, motioning for rafe to come inside once your friend left. he wasted no time, locking the wooden door shut as you closed the window, moving the silky red curtain over the glass.

rafe’s hands were palming the soft flesh of your ass in an instant, his large hands shamelessly flipping up your skirt to get a better grip on your skin. despite the small amount of pain he drew from squeezing you so hard, you still moaned blissfully when he took you in a sloppy kiss, his tongue wetting your bottom lip in the process. “you’re so sweet, y’know that? letting me have my way with you like this.” without warning, rafe took ahold of your thighs before hiking you up onto the counter. “i’ve been wanting to know how you taste for so long..” he groaned, both of you moaning as he rubbed you through your panties.

moving your hands to run down his chest, you and rafe shared a look before he slowly peeled back the pink lace. “all i gotta do is chat you up, and you’re already soaked like this?” he laughed incredulously, “fuck, you’re just dying for it.” you couldn’t help but whimper when he gathered the pool of slick between your folds, circling your clit slow and hard before popping his digits into his mouth. “rafe!” you’re shocked but so turned on at the same time, the look of pure disbelief on your face making him smile in amusement. “as much as i’d love to eat this sweet pussy, i need to feel you wrapped around me even more.”

fingertips hooking in the waistband of your panties, rafe slid the material down your legs before placing them in his pocket. “i’m keeping these for later, ‘that alright?” you nodded frantically, spreading your thighs open for him before he stroked your glossy slit. “m’gonna stretch you out just right..” you gasped, your eyebrows knitting together as he slowly inserted his middle finger. “shit, you’re so tight.” he smiled down at you, watching as you struggled to keep your eyes open. “if you think this is a stretch, just wait til’ i have my cock inside of you.”

rafe was knuckle deep at this point, your pretty moans giving him all the encouragement he needed to insert another finger. “oh, god!” your heel clad feet began shaking when his palm met your swollen clit, the pressure making you keen. rafe fisted your ponytail, pulling your head down so you could watch him curl his digits in order to hit that soft, gummy spot inside of you. your top was out of place, your tits threatening to spill out of your bra as rafe used his free hand to keep your chin pointed down. the closer you got to your orgasm, the more you tried to pull away from him, the intensity of your climax already coiling tight in your tummy.

rafe let go of your hair and pinned you down by your hip as he pushed you over the edge, the band in your stomach finally snapping as you came undone. you cried out, your nails raking down his forearm as he hissed at the stinging sensation. “you’re doing so fucking good, holy shit!” he cursed, the sound of your slick juices making your cheeks heat. you shook and writhed beneath him, your heart beating in your ears as you felt the pure unadulterated pleasure wrack through your system. surely, it couldn’t get better than this.. right?

wrong.

rafe wasn’t lying when he said the stretch from his fingers was nothing compared to the stretch of his cock, the tip of his length now kissing your poor cervix with each thrust. “t-too much! rafe, slow down!” he ignored your pleas, instead taking your arms and pinning them to your back so you couldn’t push against his abs anymore. you swore if it wasn’t for him holding your leg up, you would’ve fallen to the ground already. “ah, nah you got it, pretty girl.” he leaned down, pressing kisses to your shoulder. “this is all you, sweetheart, you’re sucking me in like a fucking vice.” he panted.

rafe was close, but he meant what he said earlier— he needed to see you on your knees for him, he needed to see those swollen lips wrapped around his cock just like how he’s imagined for so long. just when rafe felt like he was going to fill up your cunt, he pulled out, quickly pushing you to the floor so he could use your throat instead. you’ve given him complete control, and the power to throw you around as he got you on your knees, kicking your thighs apart so he could see the mess you made between your legs. rafe nearly came when he saw you open your mouth so willingly for him, almost like it was your instinct to take him whole.

taking the hem of his shirt between his teeth, rafe kept the cotton material out of the way as he slid between your lips with ease. you were so warm and so wet, and just so, so, so pretty with your mouth full, he took a breath before tugging at the roots of your hair. “make me fuckin’ cum,” your eyes widened slightly when he whimpered, the sound making you take him even further until your nose was nudging at his base, “oh, what the fuck, what the fuck—” he was done for as soon as you swallowed around him, your eyes watering with tears as you felt the warm ropes of his seed paint your throat.

rafe kept your head in place, his jaw slack as he emptied himself inside of you. it wasn’t until you tapped on his leg that he pulled you off, a strangled gasp leaving your lips as you finally sucked in a breath. he felt dazed, just the same way you did. “damn, sweetheart, should i bribe you more often?” you laughed, accepting the hand he held out for you. standing up on shaky legs, rafe got his shorts on, helping you readjust your clothing shortly after. “you don’t have to bribe me..” despite just doing the most filthiest things you’ve ever done, you still couldn’t help but feel shy underneath the intensity of his stare.

rafe kissed you, taking your hand in his before placing another kiss to your knuckles. “come on,” he poked his head out of the booth to make sure no one was around, “let’s get you back to my place, i need to get my head between those thighs like asap.”

[babeyun]

the same heart ☆ n.r

synopsis: navigating the beginning of your first relationship is proving to be most heartwarming, including the list of firsts - particularly, your first kiss. genre: established relationship au, slight angst, fluff. pairing: boyfriend!riki x fem!reader word count: 4.2k rating: pg-15. warnings: swearing, use of petnames (baby, pretty, pretty girl, babe, etc.), that's about it LOL. listen to: those eyes - new west ; yellow - coldplay ; heart - dawn ; sparks - coldplay ; i adore you, dear - dwen author's note: as per usual, we've got another birthday fic! figuring out what to write took me a few moments but i will always pull through. happiest birthday to our riki! i love you, little guy.

Things between you and your boyfriend were slightly awkward.

Granted, you'd only made it official a week and a half ago – but something about the way he didn't hold your hand made you feel a bit confused. The way he never got too close if you were over at his dorm for a movie night, the way he'd hug you loosely as he dropped you off at home after a date or just dropping by to check on you. The way he'd gently reject your advances at public affection, opting to smile apologetically as he ruffled your hair.

The way he hadn't kissed you yet, despite the amount of time you spent together, the many dates and what he thought were his unnoticed longing glances.

You were truly in no rush. You knew that this was something new for the two of you, the first relationship either of you had ever been in. You met a year ago, at a record shop shortly after your eighteenth birthday. He may not be into prolonged skinship or public displays of affection, but he flirted with you like it was nobody's business. He poked fun at you as you blushed at his compliments, eager to make you smile and eventually, you allowed his charms to make him a little spot in your heart.

So despite not being outwardly physically affectionate, he had a way with words that made your cheeks hot and your chest flutter. He never stopped flirting with you, even during the many dates he took you on – even with the onlookers, he never minded. Murmurs of pretty girl and gorgeous as he directed your attention to things or simply didn't feel like calling your name, careful maneuvers through crowded areas with his hand ghosting over the small of your back, playful pinches to your cheeks.

Your first date had been very different than you'd expected – the two of you simply perused a farmers market that was a few miles out of the city. He bought you flowers and lunch, and the two of you got to know each other better over stalls upon stalls of jewelry and fine linens, fresh fruit and chopped vegetables ready to be juiced. You'd fully expected him to want to kiss you as he dropped you home, but he only blushed as you made the move. His fingers pinched to your cheek as he stopped you with a soft shake of his head.

"Next time, promise." Next time lingered with a bit of tension, that date being the Christmas light show that came to town every year. He bought the tickets, he picked you up. The two of you opted to share a hot cocoa after seeing how big the cups were, and your lipstick stained his lips a muted berry color. You took pictures at a few trees, and this was the date that soft-launched your flourishing relationship on social media – him posting a picture of you staring at a pink tree with white lights and you posting a picture of a Polaroid a vendor took of you for a dollar.

But still, even after several perfect opportunities, there was no kiss. He dropped you off at home, letting you know he had a good time and wanted to see you again before the year ended. You nodded, and lingered at your door with a pointed look. He bid you a goodnight and you disappointedly said it back, slinking into your house with a dejected look.

The next date was unfortunately after the New Year – you'd gotten sick and he felt awful, stopping by several times to bring you soup and cold medicine. Your mother met him then, and told you that he'd make a great boyfriend – you'd huffed in response, muttering that he didn't even want to hold your hand. Your mother sighed and told you those things took time, to be patient, to be understanding. You slept on it, knowing it would be worth the wait but still feeling a bit undesired.

The date after your cold subsided was one inside – bowling and arcade games. You beat him by a landslide, your last roll a perfect strike. He complained the entire time the two of you wandered around the rest of the arcade, and only stopped when you pulled him into a photo booth. Your poses were of a shy couple just learning to be together, and you were honest with him – you wanted to kiss in one of the pictures. He looked hesitant, offering an alternative almost immediately and you reluctantly agreed – the last photo being of him kissing your cheek gently. He dropped you off that night with another press of his lips to your warmed skin, and a warm apology that you accepted quietly.

You felt your heart warm when you saw the photo strip hanging from his rearview mirror the next time he picked you up, a hole punched in the white border and a soft pink string looped through it. So much so, that you let it go. You stopped asking, but he continued to press gentle kisses to your cheeks and forehead throughout the rest of your dates, accumulating to almost eighty dates within eleven months – you never went more than four days without seeing him in some way or another.

And yet, despite the flirty words, his touch remained reserved. Through eleven months, he swiped your hair out of your face, he continued to pinch your cheeks between his fingers. He kissed your cheeks occasionally, usually on the drop-off or spontaneously every once in a while. He upgraded slowly to ruffling your hair, tying your shoelaces, zipping up your coat. He was sweet, attentive, coy and he made it known he was deeply interested in you.

It'd been almost a year to the date of meeting when he asked you to be his girlfriend during the first snow of the season. The two of you had snuck out to a park late that night, and he was admiring the way you hung upside down from the monkey bars, before he offered to help you get down. You agreed, asking if he'd be willing to get something warm. 

You wound up in a little hole-in-the-wall ramen shop the two of you had gone to during one of your first dates. You recounted it, remembering how you'd burned your tongue on the broth and he'd sprinkled sugar in your mouth, stating he'd seen it somewhere. It hadn't worked but it was funny and you shared a laugh, when he cleared his throat and said he had something serious to tell you.

"Are you okay?" Your worried tone startled him, the way your brows tugged down and your eyes grew filled with concern. He nodded quickly, "I'm fine, I just…sorry, this is hard for me." "It's okay. I'm here." You reached for his hand, but quickly retracted it. He shook his head, reaching for your hands and running his thumbs over your knuckles. "I really, really like you, Y/N." Oh no, you'd thought. He's going to dump me and we're not even together.

The very thought had made your eyes well with tears, his silence deafening as he stared at your hands. You wore a ring he'd bought you at a fair on one of your dates, the dragon egg-like stone shimmering in the low light of the shop when he finally looked back at you. His eyes widened at the sight of you blinking back tears, his hands quickly moving to cradle your face.

"Oh baby, don't cry. What's wrong?" His concern only made your heart sink deeper, the pet name he'd never used before flying over your head as your fingers circled his wrists, the metal of his watch cold against your fingertips. 

"If you're going to dump me–"

"Dump you? No, no, pretty. I wanted to make this official, I just…I'm sorry, I'm so bad at this–"

Your cheeks heated beneath his fingers, your tears blurring your vision as you looked at him. You blinked, a few tears sliding down your face as he tried to wipe them away. 

"You what?" He sighed, his cheeks coated in a bright pink blush as he cleared his throat. "I…want to be your boyfriend." You only looked at him, before letting out a shaky breath. "You are bad at this."

"Is that a no?" He asked meekly, and you swatted at his arms. "You're so bad at asking things! I'm crying, Riki!" "Baby, I'm sorry!" He laughed softly, holding your wrists in his hands. "I didn't know how to ask and I was too nervous to ask Jake. He's too involved in our relationship as it is." Riki rolled his eyes as you registered the pet name, your lip jutting out in a pout as you whined. "You called me baby."

His eyes widened, then narrowed as he thought about it. "Haven't I been calling you that? I swear I have."

You scoffed, "Must've been one of your other girls." He smirked, "Which one?" He didn't manage to dodge the soft smack you landed on his thigh, a pout on his lips as he rubbed his leg. "You want to be my boyfriend but you talk about other girls, we both know I'm the only one hitting your line up." "All the more reason to let me be your boyfriend! C'mon, pretty! I'll be the best boyfriend ever, I'll even buy your mom flowers like I did that one time when she was sick!" He folded his hands together as if praying, making you snort as you wiped your face of stray tears. "What took you so long?" He huffed, "I just wanted to make sure you wanted to be with me. Every time I see you I feel like I'm about to throw up." "Riki…did you just call me ugly?" You chided, and his eyes widened as he shook his head quickly, his hands cradling your face. "What? No! You're the prettiest girl ever, please–" "Calm down, you big baby. I guess you can be my boyfriend." You rolled your eyes, and his eyes widened as he leaned closer into your space. "Really?!" "Yes, really." 

The night ended with him walking you home, practically vibrating out of his own skin as he held your hand tightly the entire way. It'd given you a lot of comfort, but you didn't mention it as he dropped you off at home, your mother waiting on the porch with her robe on and an angry look on her face. She ushered you inside and you were grounded for three days before she decided it wasn't the worst thing in the world – specifically when Riki appeared with the biggest bouquet of flowers you'd ever seen and the softest pout known to man.

She allowed him in and you had a movie night in your bedroom, before he promptly kissed your cheek goodnight and went home. 

Fast forward a few days, the Christmas light show was back in town for the year. Riki bought the tickets, picked you up and you shared yet another comically large cup of hot cocoa, your lipstick a wine red this year. He held your hand gently, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your skin as he held you close to him. You scoured the different figurines this year, your eyes caught by the enormous lovebird display – two swans made by champagne-colored lights and formed into a heart by their necks.

You lingered a bit at it, letting go of Riki's hand to get a closer look. He took a few photos discreetly, before eventually joining your side and moving your hair carefully out of your face. "Something on your mind, baby?" He asked gently, tucking his hands into his coat pockets. You shook your head, smiling at him softly. "It's silly." "Mmh, nothing is silly if you're thinking so hard about it. Talk to me, pretty." He taps your temple, and you shrug. "It's okay. I'm in no rush." "No rush to what? Stop being so cryptic, you know it freaks me out. It's like you're plotting something." He pinches your cheek between his knuckles softly, and you roll your eyes as you swat his hand away. "You know, it's been almost a year since we met and you still haven't kissed me?" He doesn't meet your eyes as you say this, opting to look at the swans in front of you. "Mmh." He nods, before looking at his feet, nudging a bit of gravel with the tip of his boot. You calmly loop your arm with his, sliding your hand into his pocket and intertwining your fingers. He glances down at you, a soft blush on his cheeks that you want to attribute to the biting wind. "Why?" You ask, and he tongues his cheek before shrugging. "It makes me nervous, I guess." "Nervous?" Your voice is an echo of him, albeit slightly concerned. "Yeah. You make me nervous. I literally almost threw up the night I asked you to be my girlfriend." "Correction, you asked to be my boyfriend." You say pointedly, and he scoffs. "Me being your boyfriend makes you my girlfriend." "You sure like calling me your girlfriend, huh?" Your arm nudges him, and he huffs in embarrassment, looking away. You lean your head on his shoulder, staring back up at the swans. A cliché example of lovers, you know, but a lovely one nonetheless. 

"You know I don't mind waiting, right? I'm sure we will eventually." You murmur, and he sighs.

"I know, I'm sorry. I want to, I promise. I just…" 

You glance at him, the way he chews on his lip anxiously as he trails off makes your stomach sink. 

"I'm sorry for bringing it up, we don't have to keep talking about this." You pat his chest, an apologetic smile on your lips as he meets your eyes. They're serious, a look you'd only ever seen on him a few times. You drop your hand from his chest and he moves the two of you down the path.

You see a few more displays, taking pictures within all the decorated trees and once more paying the same vendor from last year for a Polaroid. You both smile and it goes into Riki's wallet. "For safekeeping," He'd whispered into your hair as he placed a soft kiss on the crown of your head.

The two of you wandered out of the show hand in hand, and Riki offers to stop somewhere for dinner before he drops you off at home. It's routine, the way he opens your door, the way he buckles your seatbelt in for you. The way he hands you the aux and you play jazz fusion, Tutu by Miles Davis filling his car the way it always has after a date.

"I've never kissed anyone." He murmurs as you reach the first stoplight out of the show. His fingers are wrapped loosely around the bottom of the steering wheel, and you nod, looking at him. "Me either, it's no big deal. We'll learn, when the time comes." "It's not that I don't want to. You know that, right?" His voice is shaky as he flicks on his turn signal, and you nod again. "I'm sure you want to, but there really is no rush. I'm not the only one who's waiting, you know? We went on eighty dates, Riki. We've got all the time in the world." Your fingers toy with his earrings, before you card your fingers through his hair. "It's just you and me, yeah?" "Yeah." He's quiet, and you know it's weighing on him as the two of you make the drive to your favorite diner. The two of you share an appetizer, his head resting on your shoulder as you talk about your new part-time job and how you'd miss popping by the record store to bring him lunch. He listened intently as the food came and went, only responding softly to any questions you asked him.

It weighed on you when he was quiet on the way to your house, and how softly he bid his goodbye with a kiss to your hairline and his arm around your shoulders. "Sleep well, baby." Your heart felt heavy in your chest as the next few days went by and he seemed distant. You both planned another date for the arcade, and agreed he'd pick you up after his shift at the record store. You dressed casually, one of his old t-shirts and a pair of black jeans. You wore heavy boots to brace the cold, and nearly tripped over your own feet when he knocked on your front door

"Coming!" You called, your mother poking her head out of the kitchen upon hearing you yell. "Leaving already, honey?" "Yeah, date night." You reply sheepishly, unlocking the door with fumbling fingers and your coat half off your body, and opening it to reveal your boyfriend holding yet another bouquet of flowers. Your eyes were wide, as you stopped pulling your coat on. "For my mom?" You nod, and he shakes his head.

"For you. I'm sorry for being distant these past few days, it wasn't my intention and I'm sure it made you feel some type of way. I should've spoken to you about my feelings, and I know flowers aren't nearly enough but I hope it's a start?" He said meekly, and you scoff out a soft laugh, nodding as you take the flowers.

"Riki, it's okay. I know it's a sensitive topic." You smile apologetically, taking the flowers and turning on your heel. "I'll put these in my room, I'll be right back. Come inside." He doesn't say anything, just gives you a curt nod as he steps inside your house, closing the door and greeting your mother warmly. You quickly walk up the stairs, taking the cellophane off the flowers and setting them carefully in the vase you had sitting on your dresser from past bouquets he'd given you. You'll fill them with water later, you think, as you barrel back down the stairs. You see your boyfriend deep in thought as he and your mother speak, and you don't eavesdrop as you clear your throat. She stops talking, before giving him a warm smile and bidding you a good date night. You thank her, tell her you'll be home before the streetlights come on and a quick love you, bye!

"Let's zip this up, don't want you to get sick." Riki doesn't let you off your porch without zipping your coat up, grabbing your hand as you both step off. "Do you think you'll kick my ass bowling this time, too?" "I'm sure of it." You grin.

And you do. You take the lead within three frames, your boyfriend clearly distracted as he watches you roll strike after strike. You play three full games, his pout only getting deeper and deeper as you win each one.

"This is so unfair, how'd you get so good anyway?" He pouts as he slides a few coins into an air hockey table, and you shrug as you score the first point within the first few seconds. He gapes, and you just laugh as he, once more, loses this game.

The night goes smoothly, both of you scoring your wins and cutting your losses sorely. You both make faces at each other the moment one of you loses, but all is fair in love and arcade games when the night ends in the photo booth, your legs across your boyfriend's lap as he rests his hands on your knees. You fix his hair out of his eyes, the shaggy bangs tickling the bridge of his nose as you coo.

"Okay, how does my hair look? Frizzy?" You run your fingers through it and he shakes his head, watching as you dig your lipstick out of your purse. It's another deep red, and he feels his stomach fill with butterflies as you wipe the corners of your lips. "You look pretty." "You always say that." You roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks heat as he smiles, softly flicking your nose. "You always look pretty, baby." You huff, facing the camera and tucking your hair behind your ears before clearing your throat. "Smile first, right? That's what we did last time." "Yeah, that's cool. We can do….the cat thing? For the second one." He holds his fingers in two upside-down Vs over his hair, and you laugh, nodding. "Sure, sure." The camera begins to count down as you press the red button, and you smile as it flashes the two of you. You both scrunch your noses, blinking rapidly as you maneuver your hands to fit in the frame for the fifteen seconds it gives you. "Smile, babe." You say through gritted teeth, and he does just that as the camera flashes again.

"Shit, what now? Uh…" "Kiss me." He whispers, and you nearly snap your neck to face him. "What?!" "Kiss me." His hand moves to cradle your cheek, and you grab his wrist, hearing the camera start counting from ten. "Are you sure? We don't have to–" "I've wanted to kiss you for a year. Kiss. Me." He insists, and your heads both turn as the camera boasts five…four…

"I'm nervous." You admit, and he nods. "Me too. Just trust me, baby." Three…two…

You both breathe in shakily, before softly connecting your lips as the camera flashes brightly. You don't move away as the camera begins its last countdown from fifteen, instead you lean your forehead against his. His eyes peer up at you, and you feel a giggle erupt through you as you press your lips all over his face in chaste kisses. His cheeks grow hot under your lips, and the camera only continues it's countdown as your lipstick stamps all over his rosy cheeks.

"Smile for the camera." He mumbles, pressing his lips to your cheek as the camera reaches two, and smiles bashfully as it flashes one last time. The two of you watch the two strips pop out, and you reach for them. You hand him his, your other hand softly stroking his cheek as you stare at the pictures.

"We're cute." You nod, and he only smiles sheepishly. "Yeah. Was it okay? The kiss, I mean?" "Yeah. And we have it now, forever." You smile as you tuck the photo strip into your purse. He nods, clearing his throat, hoping you don't feel the way his heart skips a beat at the sound of you subconsciously admitting to a forever with him. "So…dinner? On me." "Shit, you have lipstick all over your face." You wince, and he shrugs. "Call it a perk, I guess. You can kiss me again to make up for it." "You're not slick, you know." You roll your eyes as the two of you exit the booth, and you thumb at the lipstick on his nose, only successful in smearing it. "I'm serious, I'm only taking payment in kisses now. So…pay up." "Shut up." You press your lips to his chastely, before shoving your purse over your shoulder as he grabs your hand, making you face him as you tug on your coat. "Seriously, we can stop by a pharmacy and get something to wipe your face." "No, these are my battle scars. I fought relentlessly against my urge to kiss you for a year, I deserve to celebrate this win." He scoffs as he zips up your coat, and you only scoff out a laugh, slipping your fingers in his. "Whatever, loser." And you don't say anything else about it. Not when your waitress stares at him a little too hard as she takes your order, not when your mother gapes at him and you as he drops you off, and certainly not when he kisses you goodnight, a murmur of I'll see you later against your lips before you slip inside your house.

You flop onto your bed after your shower, assuming your boyfriend has long been asleep as you reminisce about the events of the day. Your stomach fills with butterflies as you cover your face with a squeal, reaching for your phone – only to see a notification that your boyfriend posted something on his Instagram.

You open it, seeing a slideshow of photos – one of you in front of the champagne swans at the light show earlier that month, one of the new photo strip hanging alongside the old one in his car, and one of you at the beginning of the entire ordeal. You're sitting at the farmers market, your eyes casted away from the camera as you blushed, likely at something Riki had said. You don't remember him taking that photo, but it doesn't matter as you listen carefully to the song he'd put over it – the melodic sound of Heart by Dawn.

You glance at the caption with a thundering heart, your eyes welling with tears as you read. @/nishimura05: two sides of the same heart, and mine that only beats for you. your patience is beyond me, but i am eternally grateful for the man you make me want to become. thinking of you, always.

BABEYUN © 2024. no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

[fushitoru]

chapter 10: the art gallery a bridgerton au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

genre/warnings ⸺ enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, suggestive, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly, all they do is bicker 💀, some historical inaccuracies, mentions of sex work

chapter summary ⸺ duke nanami suprises you with an inquiry, and the panic caused by it leads to an encounter with a very unexpected person (4.7k)

a/n she's a short one but i swear sm happened that im kind of surprised it was so short? mostly beta read (thank u to them as always), and i'll see u down below ~~~~

prev. the embers | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

Gentle Reader,

It seems that the next excursion polite society will be undertaking is at the art gallery, here in London itself. Filled with beautiful and evoking pieces, will it evoke affections and fuel potential matches? After all, it seems that the venue contains many hidden alcoves and hallways for potential confessions and intimate colloquies—so intimate that they are proposals.

One of these proposals this Author cannot help but speculate upon—that of Miss Itadori and Duke Nanami’s. After all, at every ball the fine lady and gentleman seem to be engaged in personal and amiable conversation; it appears clear to everyone in their surroundings that our season’s diamond has captured His Grace’s affections. But, dear reader, is this to amount to a future with wedding bells and blushing babes? Only time will tell; for now, your Author has no promises. After all, it seems that this season is sure to contain many surprises at every turn.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow across your bedroom. The scent of lavender lingered in the air, likely from the sachet Nobara had insisted on tucking into your dresser to “keep you from smelling like an old book.” She stood behind you now, deft hands working through your hair with practiced ease, twisting locks into an elegant style fit for the day’s engagements.

“I came across something interesting in my brother’s study last night,” Nobara said conversationally, sliding a pin into place. “A rather compelling critique on the landowning gentry—Reflections on the Inequity of Titles—have you read it?”

Your attention perked at the mention of the text. “Yes,” you said, your brows knitting as you searched your memory. “It argues against inherited privilege and the consolidation of power within a select few, does it not? I recall making notes on it.”

As you spoke, you shifted slightly in your seat, the urge to review your thoughts overtaking you. Almost without thinking, your hand reached toward the hidden compartment in the floorboards—a small, carefully loosened plank where you kept your private writings. Your commonplace diary contained notes on radical philosophies you could never openly share, and even—if you were to be honest with yourself—a few stray reflections on Gojo (before it all went askew) that you had not yet had the courage to confront.

While you rummaged through the possible planks to find the hollow one, Nobara remarked, “There have been whispers of you among the maids, as well.”

You paused, turning to look at her fully as she twiddled with the ends of your comb. “Well, what do they say?”

She paused for a brief moment, as if weighing the effect her words could have on you. However, your closest companion was not one to mince words—especially if they would end up as beneficial for you, no matter how harsh. “That you’ve recovered from Lord Gojo quite well, and that you as a duchess is on the horizon—not as Mrs. Gojo, but Mrs. Nanami.”

Oh. This was not the least bit surprising—even your mama had heard these rumors. Part of you was concerned as to how your mother had gotten ahold of these whispers, given that Sukuna had long forbade her to attend balls with you after her last…episode, but it seemed that your mama had jaundiced channels of retrieving information herself. That, or the Whistledown had reported on it, which you would be ignorant to, for you did not care for gossip lately.

You wave a hand, and soon find the hollow space in your floorboards. “Those rumors may be all just hearsay soon enough, I suppose.” Then, you pull the floorboard where your diary is supposed to reside. “After all, Christ knows my luck with the creatures called men—”

Your fingers brushed against empty space.

Your breath caught.

The floorboard was there. The hollow beneath it remained. But your diary—your most guarded possession—was gone.

A sharp jolt of panic shot through you. You froze, your heartbeat thundering in your ears as your stomach twisted. No, no—perhaps you had misplaced it? You tried to recall, but the memory eluded you, replaced by a rising dread that gripped your chest in an iron vice.

The last you remember of it was packing it so that you could take it to the Gojo manor. Did you use it there? You did. If you recall correctly, you had done so in Nobara’s company, where you were secretly observing Gojo’s show of archery to Yuji on the balcony. After that, it was all a blur.

“Everything alright?” Nobara asked, tugging your hair slightly as she adjusted the style.

You barely heard her, your hands still hovering near the empty space as if willing the book to reappear. You wracked your brain carefully, trying to will in a memory where you had, in fact, succeeded to retrieve it from the Gojo countryside residence. A moment where you had packed it or a recollection of picking it up from the balcony—

Just as your thoughts began to spiral, the door burst open.

“Oi Sister, are you ready yet?” Yuji’s voice rang through the room, cutting through your panic. He leaned against the doorway with a lazy grin, arms crossed over his chest. “You do know we have to pay a visit to the art gallery today, correct?”

You barely had time to compose yourself, forcing a steady breath as you pulled your hand away from the floor. Nobara swatted at Yuji with a hairbrush, scolding him for his lack of manners, but you could hardly focus on their banter.

Your diary was missing.

And someone had taken it.

The art gallery was abuzz with the murmurs of the ton, the usual symphony of rustling silk, polite laughter, and the occasional overzealous exclamation from an admirer who fancied themselves an aesthete. Candles flickered in their sconces, casting a warm, golden light over the oil paintings that lined the walls—portraits of long-dead nobility, pastoral scenes meant to evoke longing for a simpler time, and a few ambitious attempts at allegory that left much to be desired.

As you walked hand in hand with Nanami, the weight of his palm in yours both familiar and grounding, your mind wandered elsewhere—back to the morning, to the jolt of panic that had seized you when you realized your diary was missing.

It had been a frantic affair. Nobara had barely twisted the last pin into your hair when you had rushed to the hidden space beneath the floorboards, expecting to feel the familiar worn leather beneath your fingertips. But it was gone. The shock of it had knocked the breath from your lungs, sent your thoughts scattering into a storm of fragmented memories—where had you last seen it? Had you truly packed it? No, you had taken it with you to the Gojo estate, that much you knew. But had you brought it back? The certainty evaded you, slipping through your grasp like water.

Before you could dwell further, Yuji had appeared in the doorway, cheerfully oblivious to your distress as he urged you to hurry. 

Choso had been more perceptive, his dark eyes lingering on your face as the four of you were ushered into the carriage. "Something wrong?" he had asked, quiet and measured.

You had shaken your head. What were you to say? That your diary—your most personal possession, filled with your thoughts, your observations, your private musings—had vanished into thin air? That the last place you remembered having it was the very home of the man who vexed you most? The thought alone had made your stomach twist. So instead, you had murmured some excuse about being distracted, about having not yet woken fully, and let the conversation drift elsewhere as the carriage rattled down the cobbled streets toward the gallery.

Now, standing in the midst of polite society, surrounded by paintings and candlelight and the low hum of cultured voices, the unease still clung to you.

"It is a fine collection," Nanami remarked beside you, his gaze sweeping over a landscape of rolling hills. "Though I must say, the artist’s depiction of light is rather conventional. There is no true feeling to it, only a replication of what is expected."

You nodded, your agreement automatic. "Indeed. It lacks a certain… depth. The brushwork is delicate, but there is no challenge in it, no provocation of thought."

Nanami hummed in approval. "Precisely."

The conversation continued in this fashion—pleasant, agreeable, effortless. But with each passing moment, a strange disquiet settled over you. Your mind drifted, not toward the paintings, nor to the man at your side, but to something far removed from this genteel setting.

The diary.

You had searched again this morning before leaving, hands trembling as you sifted through your belongings, the panic curling in your stomach like a tightening noose. Yet it was not there. No matter how many times you retraced your steps, no matter how much you willed the memory to sharpen, the last certain recollection you had was of the Gojo estate—of the evening spent watching Satoru’s archery from the balcony, of penning your thoughts in the quiet company of Nobara. And after that? Nothing.

Had you left it behind? Had someone found it?

A fresh wave of unease coursed through you. If it had been discovered, if its contents had been read—

"Are you feeling unwell?"

Nanami’s voice pulled you back to the present. You turned to him, startled, and realized belatedly that you had grown silent. His brow was slightly furrowed, his concern subtle yet unmistakable.

"I—no," you hastily assured him, forcing a small smile. "Merely lost in thought, Your Grace."

His gaze lingered, as if gauging the truth of your words, before he continued, seemingly appeased. "I was saying," he began, as the two of you came to a stop before a grand painting of a woman reading by candlelight, "that I should like to spend my life in such quiet appreciation of art and literature. With a loving wife, of course, who shares the same sensibilities."

The words were spoken casually, but the weight of them struck you like a blow. You stiffened, the meaning settling into place a second too late.

“It is time the Nanami dukedom get its duchess,” he continues, seeming to pay no mind to how you’ve frozen like a deer hunted. He turns to you, looking to you with a twinkle in his eyes, one you could not read. “And I seem to have found a very…capable option.”

“I see,” you force out, swallowing nervously. 

“Indeed.” For a beat too long, Duke Nanami looks at you, but then says, “And I would suppose I’ve done my utmost to show what a dutiful, respectful husband I can be—after all, it is freedom that makes one prosper, not a gilded cage. 

"Furthermore, I have my fancy on someone who fits this description," he continued, his tone carefully measured. "But I am unsure if she would accept my proposal." He glanced at you then, his gaze steady. "Do you think she would?"

The air seemed to thin around you.

It would take a fool to miss what His Grace was implying—hand in hand, after you’ve both been courting each other for a week or so now, it is quite clear he’s using this to test the waters. To gauge your reaction.

The air in the gallery suddenly felt too thick, too heavy, pressing in from all sides. You had been aware, on some distant level, of Nanami’s affections. He had always been steady, always constant, always present. But to hear it spoken so plainly, so deliberately—it sent a sharp, startling panic through you.

Your thoughts scrambled, grasping for something—anything—to say. Did you want this? He was everything a woman could ask for in a husband. Kind. Thoughtful. Intelligent. A man of great integrity. There was nothing about him that should make you hesitate.

And yet, you were hesitating.

"I think…" Your voice was too thin, too unsteady. "I think she would have to ponder upon it. For marriage is no small covenant."

It was a poor deflection, and you knew it the moment the words left your lips. Nanami’s expression remained composed, but there was something in the silence that followed—something in the way his gaze lingered on you, as if seeing past your carefully chosen words.

You needed to leave.

"Would you excuse me for a moment?" you blurted out, taking a half-step back. "I—I believe I should like to get some air."

Nanami studied you for a fraction too long before inclining his head. "Of course."

You curtsied hastily, turning away before he could say anything else. The moment you stepped away from him, your breath came out in a shallow, uneven exhale. Marble walls, floors, and ornately framed pieces of art blurred together, dresses and suits melding together in the edges of your vision. 

You didn’t know why this reaction had seized you so violently, only that it had. And you had no answer for it. You stumbled your way, heart pounding as you sought a respite—then, pinpointing an empty hallway. 

As you made your way to the target space, you heard other voices calling out to you—some of them might even be your brothers’. However, you were in no headspace to offer coherence responses, not over the beating of your heart. 

When you finally arrived, you were relieved to find that the hallway was blissfully quiet. Away from the bustling crowd and the low hum of conversation, you finally allowed yourself to exhale, pressing a cool hand to your neck as if that alone could soothe the rapid beat of your pulse.

Nanami’s words still lingered in your mind, coiling around your thoughts like a vice. Do you think she will accept?

Your breath had caught before you could form a proper response. You should have expected it—Nanami was nothing if not deliberate, never speaking without intent—but somehow, the weight of it still unsettled you. It had been a question and yet not a question at all.

A proposal loomed on the horizon.

You turned, gaze sweeping the dimly lit corridor until it landed on a single painting near the end of the hall.

Unlike the grand, gilded masterpieces displayed in the main gallery, this one had been tucked away from the grandeur. It lacked the polish of a commissioned work, the smooth elegance of a court-approved artist. And yet, something about it pulled you in.

Your fingers skimmed over the folds of your gown as you steadied yourself, gaze flicking upward to the painting before you. It was unlike the others in the exhibition—less grand in scale, less ostentatious in its display of wealth or pedigree. There were no poised noblewomen adorned in lace, no battlefields drenched in glory, no sweeping landscapes inviting idle admiration. Instead, it was a quiet tableau: a man standing beneath a twilight sky, arm outstretched toward a woman who stood just beyond his reach. Her posture was composed, her hands clasped before her, the tilt of her chin ever so slightly downward. She was not running, not spurning him—but she was not reaching back either.

Your brow furrowed as you studied it further. It was not a painting that offered easy interpretation. Was it longing? Was it duty? Was it loss? The artist had chosen to render their expressions in subtlety, eschewing exaggerated pathos for something far more ambiguous. The man was reaching—but did he truly expect to grasp her hand? The woman was still—but did she wish to be? The tension between them sat heavy in the air, much like the one that had lingered in your own chest ever since—

Before you could ponder upon the painting for long, however, you heard footsteps. Approaching in the hallway, they echoed softly in quiet chamber—after all, it was only you and the person who was approaching, seeming to need a reprieve of their own as well in the hidden alcove. 

But you didn’t need to see the person to know who he was.

Soft, unhurried, yet a bit shaken. By now, you had grown familiar with the rhythm of his gait—the lazy confidence in his stride, the way his heels struck the floor just a bit too deliberately, as if he never truly moved without purpose, even when he pretended otherwise. Right now, they were a little bit too arrhythmical to truly match the attitude you were far too familiar with at the beginning of the season.

A prickle of awareness traced along your spine, your pulse betraying you with its quickened tempo. But you kept your eyes fixed forward, feigning complete absorption in the painting before you. It was not as if you were eager for company—not after the morning’s ordeal, not after Nanami’s near-proposal, not when your mind was already tangled enough without the added complication of Gojo Satoru.

Yet he did not call your name, nor did he demand your attention. He merely came to stand beside you, hands clasped lazily behind his back, exhaling softly as he, too, observed the artwork.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, with the same easy lilt he always carried, Gojo remarked, “This is quite the departure from the usual fare.”

You nodded, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your gloves. “Indeed.”

Silence stretched between you once more. He did not press you for further conversation, and for that, you were strangely grateful. It was unlike him, really—so rarely was he subdued, so rarely did he refrain from prodding and teasing and making his presence unbearably known. But here, in this dim-lit corridor, he was simply… standing beside you.

A quiet hum. The faintest shift of weight. You could feel him looking at you now, though you refused to meet his gaze, instead fixing your gaze on the painting, the frame, anything almost desperately to calm your racing heart before you could have an over-the-top ebullition once more, embarrassing yourself in front of him for the nth time this season. 

A brief silence settled, and then—

“Are you enjoying the gallery?”

The question was polite, normal, and unremarkable. You latched onto it like a lifeline.

“It’s a fine collection,” you replied, keeping your voice carefully measured. “Some works are predictable, but others are…” You gestured vaguely toward the piece in front of you. “Surprising.”

Gojo hummed in agreement, stepping closer—not intrusively, but just enough that you could catch the scent of tobacco leaves and something subtly sweet. “That’s one way to put it. Though I have to say, you look like you’re concentrating awfully hard.”

You blinked, glancing at him briefly before looking back at the painting. “It’s a rather curious piece.”

“That it is,” he agreed, hands tucked behind his back as he regarded it. “But, like I said, a bit dreary. The colors are not vibrant, and there is much to be desired in regards to their harmony.”

You almost smiled at that. “Not everything has to be grand and gilded to have meaning.”

“A fair point.”

Another pause.

“You came with your brothers, didn’t you?” he asked.

“I did,” you said, grateful for the change in topic. “They were speaking with some friends when I last saw them. And you?”

“Oh, you know how it is.” He waved a hand. “Came with Geto, ended up being dragged into conversation with half the room.”

You nodded, the corners of your lips tugging upward just slightly. “A best friend’s love, perhaps.”

“Perhaps.”

A comfortable silence fell over the both of you. At the opportunity given to you—of not having to fill the silence courteously with further small talk—you instead set aim on settling your heart. Pressing a hand to your bosom, you took in deep breaths until your frantic pulse became more regular. 

Finally, he spoke again. “It is rather unusual, though.”

You inhaled slowly. “How so?”

He tilted his head, considering. “Most paintings of this sort would either commit fully to tragedy or leave some feeble hope within the composition. But this—” He gestured lightly. “There is no resolution. No grand confession, no dramatic refusal. It simply is.”

You found yourself exhaling, your posture easing ever so slightly. “That is precisely what intrigues me.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “So we agree.”

You huffed softly. “A rare occurrence, indeed.”

Gojo chuckled at that, shifting his weight as he observed the painting anew. “Still,” he mused, “I do think the artist intends for us to sympathize with the man. See how he reaches? How he refuses to yield to their distance? A weaker man might call it tragic.”

Your brow arched slightly, turning your gaze toward him. “And what would a stronger man call it?”

Gojo hummed. “Hopeful.”

You studied him for a moment. Then, returning your attention to the painting, you shook your head. “I disagree.”

“Of course you do.”

“The woman is not simply distant—she is removed,” you continued, ignoring the teasing—softer than the one you recognize—edge to his voice. “She does not reach back, not because she is afraid or reluctant, but because she cannot. She is bound by something greater than yearning.”

Gojo exhaled sharply through his nose, his expression flickering with amusement. “You think it is duty, then?”

“What else could it be?”

His gaze lingered on the canvas, his smile fading just slightly. “Perhaps love.”

Something in your chest stilled.

Gojo let the words settle, slow and deliberate, before finally turning to face you fully. The candlelight cast his features in soft relief, catching on the silver embroidery of his waistcoat, the pale strands of his hair, the unmistakable glint in his eyes. “I find it rather grim—albeit in a different direction than of yours,” he remarked. “Rather than fear of what she cannot, it is better that love and duty do not coexist, for their amalgam can prove troublesome.”

You parted your lips, but hesitation stilled your tongue. Not because you lacked an answer, but because—for all your certainty earlier—you were no longer so sure.

A moment passed.

Finally, you exhaled, your posture softening by a fraction. “Perhaps,” you said, voice even, “we are simply of different minds.”

Gojo studied you for a beat longer before a slow, knowing smile curled at the corner of his lips. He inclined his head ever so slightly. “As we so often are.”

It was not a challenge. Not a victory.

Merely an understanding.

As you stood there, the conversation settling between you, you found yourself thinking—not just of the painting, not just of duty and love, but of him. Of what he had done for you. Of how, despite everything—despite his arrogance, his sharp tongue, the way he had needled and provoked you, the way he had wounded your pride in ways no one else ever had—he had still stood by you when it truly mattered. When the moment arrived, when the weight of the world bore down on you, he had not hesitated. He had not faltered.

It was no small thing.

Perhaps he was not someone you could court, not someone who fit the shape of the life you had imagined for yourself. Perhaps he was not someone you could love—not in the way you had once thought love should be. But he did not need to be an enemy.

Not anymore.

There were worse things in this world than an unbearable, impossible man who, despite it all, had proven himself in the ways that truly counted.

When Satoru had wandered into the hidden hallway to escape Suguru’s notorious actions, he had not expected to find you. But it seems that the day was full of surprises, for he hadn’t expected your sentiments and posture about him to have changed.

Gojo had expected a sharp tongue, a ready rebuttal, the usual resistance you always met him with. Instead, you spoke with a peculiar softness tonight, your responses thoughtful, your gaze lingering not on him, but on the painting before you. He had not expected you to be so—what was the word?—empathetic. You had a ready answer for everything, a thoughtfulness to your opinions that was neither contrived nor merely spoken to please. And so, he found himself asking more, pressing you for further insights, testing the depth of your knowledge not to challenge, but because he wanted to hear what you had to say. At first, when he had wandered in, you seemed completely distraught but had seemed to ease your way into comfort, even in his presence.

Curious thing, that.

“You truly have an answer for everything,” he murmured at one point, more to himself than to you.

You glanced at him sidelong, the corner of your lips tugging in what might have been amusement. “You say it as though it is a fault.”

He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “On the contrary, it is rather impressive.”

You inclined her head, not as a show of modesty but of simple acknowledgment. And for a brief moment, Satoru found himself simply… looking at you.

Your hair was finely arranged, swept up with delicate precision, though a few strands framed your face in an artful softness. The candlelight played upon the curve of your cheek, your lashes casting faint shadows upon your skin. Your dress—subtle in its elegance—complimented you in a way that felt effortless, the cut revealing just enough of the delicate arch of your throat, the slope of your shoulders, without ever breaching the realm of impropriety. You had always carried herself well, but there was something about you tonight, something that held his gaze longer than he intended.

He might have lingered longer still, might have remained entranced by the way the flickering light moved across your skin, had you not turned to him suddenly and called his name.

“My lord?”

He blinked, startled out of his reverie. “Hm?”

You studied him for a beat, her expression unreadable, before you simply exhaled and turned your gaze back to the painting. “I meant to thank you,” you said, voice quieter now. “For what you did last time.”

He knew what you referred to at once. The day he had defended you. The accusations that had been hurled at your feet, the venom spat in your direction—he had not tolerated it, would not have suffered it, no matter what might have stood between them.

Satoru felt the tips of his ears warm, though he smirked to deflect from it. “Ah. Well. It was merely a matter of preserving your honor.”

You turned to him fully now, your gaze steady. “You need not have done so.”

Satoru shrugged, though he found himself holding that gaze longer than he should have. “I could not stand to hear such things said of you.”

A quiet pause stretched between you both, and something in your expression shifted. A sort of understanding, perhaps. A recognition of something he could not yet name. He could not tell how long you both stood there like that, neither looking away, nor breaking the quiet that had settled so easily between you.

Then—

“Ah, here you are.”

Gojo turned sharply, his expression cooling the moment he recognized the voice.

Sukuna stood at the entrance of the hallway, his presence an unwelcome disruption to the delicate moment that had just transpired. His gaze flickered between you and Gojo, a slow, dangerous scowl settling over his features. “What the hell—”

You stiffened, immediately stepping away from Gojo, though his gaze remained steady on you. "Sukuna—"

"You’re with him?" he snapped, his tone sharp with outrage. His glare darted toward Satoru, seething. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Not here," you hissed under your breath, already moving toward him. "Let us leave, brother."

Sukuna's jaw tightened, but his glare burned hot as he pointed a warning finger at Satoru. It was almost comical how his figure seemed to be an impenetrable boulder as you—tiny in comparison to his frame—tried to shove him out to salvage whatever grace you could in your exist. “Lord Gojo, you—!”

But it was to no avail, for you had hastily quieted whatever ill reprimand Mister Sukuna Itadori had to throw towards him by shoving a hand over his mouth. Then, you grabbed his arm, practically dragging him away, as you cast one last, hurried glance at Gojo. "Good evening, my lord." And then you were gone, Sukuna stalking beside you, fuming, while Gojo remained behind, watching you disappear into the halls lined with art.

prev. the embers | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n is this....character development??

i hope this appeased anyone who was beginning to worry that miss itadori was a bit too antagonistic ... i have my beta readers to thank otherwise we never would've made it out the trenches

reader after nanami dropped the bomb on her

lowk i dont have much else to say but uhhh streets been saying there's gonna be another forced proximity library scene soon but how would i know what happens lolz

reblog and comment to lmk ur thoughts!

TAGLIST

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[svtiddiess]

Nom Nom

Synopsis: After what seems like years of asking, your boyfriend has finally allowed you to bite his tiddies.

Pairing: Seungcheol x afab!reader

Genre: suggestive, series, established relationship

Rating: suggestive/mature

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: biting, marking, nipple play, dry humping, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: This is kind of a continuation of the boyfriend texts post, but it's not really necessary to read it! It will help with some context though!

Thank you so much to @seokgyuu for beta reading!

Tagging @brownsugarbaybee as usual!

This feels very on-brand for me.

This is part of a series, read the whole series here!

Click here to join my taglist!

Read on ao3

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

You giggle to yourself as you enter your shared apartment. You can't believe Seungcheol actually agreed to it; after what seems like months of asking, he's finally agreed to let you bite his tiddies. Although you had to admit you were only joking when you asked him those 500 or so times, you were actually kind of excited to finally have this opportunity.

As you enter the living room, you find Seungcheol seated on the couch in an oversized hoodie with a pout plastered on his face. You look at him quizzically as you approach him.

"I thought I asked you to be prepped and ready on the bed," you huff, half-joking with him.

He looks up at you with wide eyes, his pout somehow deepening. "You were actually serious about that?" he asks, exasperated.

"Of course I was serious," you scoff. "When am I ever not serious?"

"Pretty much all the time," he huffs. You let out a small "hey" and playfully hit his shoulder.

"Now stop dilly-dallying and go lie down on the bed," you demand, crossing your arms. He lets out a whine and wraps his arms around your torso, snuggling his face into your abdomen.

"Princess," he whines, then looks up at you with puppy eyes. "Please don't do this to me," he pleads.

"Nope, not happening. No amount of whining and pouting is getting you out of this Cheollie. It's too late now. You already agreed to it," you look down at him and grin. He groans and hides his face in your abdomen.

"Now chop chop. Or else no kisses for a week," you state. His head jerks up, and his eyes widen.

"No kisses for a week?!" He exclaims.

"Princess, you can't do this to me!" He complains.

"I can and I will," you huff. "Now hurry up!"

With a final grumble, he reluctantly lets go of you and stands up.

"Please let Cheollie go," he pouts and cups your face.

"Cheollie is about to get his ass whooped if he doesn't get on the bed within the next five seconds," you sarcastically grin.

Shoulders slumping at his last ditch effort, he makes his way to the bedroom with you closely following behind.

He sits on the bed, fidgeting with his fingers while staring at the floor. You giggle at how shy he seems.

"Well, what're you waiting for? Strip," you smirk.

He looks at you with a pout, a blush dusting his cheeks as he slowly reaches for the hem of his hoodie. He slowly pulls off his hoodie and quickly covers his chest with his arms, causing you to laugh. Your boyfriend, who was usually dominant in bed, is now acting like a shy virgin; you can't help but laugh at his actions.

"Stop laughing," he whines, blushing harder.

"I can't help it," you giggle. "You're acting like I've never seen you naked before."

"Well, it feels weird, okay?" He grumbles with a pout.

You can't help but coo at him. You move to straddle his lap and cup his blushing face.

"I promise I'll be gentle. You can ask me to stop anytime," you whisper. You lean in to gently kiss him as reassurance that you won't do anything he's uncomfortable with.

"Now, lean against the headboard," you murmur. You get off his lap to allow him to lean against the headboard and get comfortable.

Once he's comfortable, you straddle his waist and start leaving wet kisses along his jaw, helping him relax. You smile to yourself when you feel him slowly relax under you.

Slowly making your way to his lips, you capture them into a passionate kiss, moaning at the feeling of his tongue against yours. You lightly grind against him, causing him to groan into your mouth.

You pull away from him, both of you panting. He looks incredible beneath you, his eyes dazed, lips swollen, and breathless. You shift to leave kisses down his neck, your teeth grazing against his skin.

You hear his breath hitch when you reach his chest. They feel so firm beneath you that you can’t resist moving your hands to squeeze them.

"Princess," he groans.

"God, I love how firm your chest feels," you whine, squeezing him harder.

You lean down to lick one of his nipples, causing him to shut his eyes and moan out loud.

"F-Fuck princess," he groans as you start sucking on the bud.

He throws his head back and shuts his eyes when he feels your teeth lightly digging into his skin. You start sucking on the bud, causing him to let out a string of curses. After finishing marking the bud, you move on to the other one, giving it equal attention. He lets out a loud groan when you pinch his puffed-up nipple. You feel his bulge growing as he ruts against you.

"Feel good Cheollie?" You purr after sitting up to look at him.

"Feels so good princess," he moans, eyes screwed shut.

You grin, then lean down to start marking his chest. He lets out a long groan and arches his back. Small pants and moans escape his lips as your marks get deeper and rougher. Blotches of red and purple slowly bloom across his chest, painting it with your mark. His hips jerk up, and a whimper escapes his lips when you bite down particularly hard.

Enjoying his reactions, you continue to abuse his chest, savouring every moment. You lean back to take a minute and cherish your work. You beam when you see his chest covered in bruises, bites, and saliva.

"Look at me Cheollie," you purr. He opens his eyes to look at you, his eyes blown out and a fucked out expression on his face.

"Are you alright baby?" You murmur, caressing his flushed cheeks. He nods breathlessly, the corner of his lips lifting up into a fucked out smile.

Just then, an idea strikes you, and you smirk before leaning in close to his ear.

"I'm going to mark you with my initials," you purr. "After all, an artist has to sign their painting to show who it belongs to, right baby?" You giggle. You feel his dick twitch at your words.

"You like that Cheollie? You like being marked by me?" You smirk. He lets out a soft whimper and grinds against you, causing you to let out a giggle.

"I am an artist, and you are my canvas baby," you whisper before shifting back to his chest.

You lean down and begin biting and sucking the skin, marking your initials into his left chest cause it's closer to his heart, making sure they take up most of the space. You have to show him and everyone else who belongs in his heart, of course. You hear him moan and groan under you, his hands on your hips to keep you steady. After embedding your initials into his skin, you sit up and admire your handiwork.

You look down and pout, still unsatisfied with your work, feeling like something was missing. That's when it hits you; you giggle as you lean back down to encapsulate your initials with a heart.

"Princess, what—" his question is abruptly cut off by a moan as you bite down harder than usual, silently asking him to simply let you do what you want.

You sit up after finishing the heart, finally satisfied with your work.

"So pretty Cheollie," you purr as you gently trace your fingers across your artwork. "I need to take a picture."

"A picture?" he asks, a puzzled expression crossing his face.

"Of course! I need to forever encapsulate my masterpiece after all," you giggle. You shift to reach for your phone on the side table, causing him to groan.

"Princess, you're killing me here," he mutters.

"Hush! I'm busy taking pretty pictures of my pretty man," you grin as you proceed to take multiple pictures of him.

Your words make him blush, and you squeal, thrilled that the pictures are turning out even better than you expected. He looks so pretty with your mark on him, his cheeks flushed red and his eyes dazed. You're definitely going to use them as your wallpaper for a while.

"Enough," he growls, snatching your phone and tossing it back onto the table. You let out a gasp when he suddenly flips you over, him now on top of you.

"I've let you have your fun, but now it's my turn."

[readwritealldayallnight]

Routines

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

wc: 1.4k words

warnings/tags: fluff, Simon worshipping reader, brief allusions to smut

credits to @lettaniko for the incredible Ghost art!!

“At that point I was about ready to fall asleep. I swear to you Si, these meetings are so pointless.” You state loud enough for him to hear you over the sound of the shower. Your eyes are closed, tilting your head back into the stream as you rinse off the final step of your weekly long shower routine, knowing Simon’s somewhere in the bathroom listening to you go through your day.

You’ve got your back turned to him so you can’t see him, but you picture him leaning against the sink, with his muscular arms bulging as they’re crossed in front of his wide chest. Or maybe he’s got his hands reaching back to grip the edge of the counter top.

He is facing the shower door after all. And though the water has fogged up the glass, his heavy gaze can still make out your bare, sultry figure moving only a few feet away from him.

He hums along in response to your ranting when appropriate, letting you know that he’s following along, as he always does. When he hears the sound of you shutting the water off, he can’t help the smirk that slides across his face. His favourite part is about to begin, after all.

Just as he does every time, Simon grabs a new fluffy towel off the rack, holding it open for you as you step out of the shower. Like a man on a mission, he diligently wraps the towel around your wet figure, pressing small kisses to the specks of water dotted across your shoulders.

“And you know it’s not like I’m not paying attention, but when we keep repeating the same stuff over and over-” you continue to explain to him as he slides his palm down to your waist, giving it a slight squeeze as he reaches over and grabs another towel, this time handing it to you.

“Jus’ say the word, lovie.” He informs you, taking a small step back to give you the space to flip your dripping hair up into the towel. “Told ya already, don’t needa be workin’ so much anymore.” Both towels now secure in place, he scoops you up by your hips, earning himself a sweet giggle from his birdie, gently placing you atop the counter. “Lemme take care of ya.”

“You always take care of me, Simon.” You correct him, reaching a hand up to lovingly run along his jawline, scratch along his neck and into the soft hairs at the base of his neck. He can’t fight the soft groan of pleasure that slips between his lips at the feeling of your hands on him. “Such good care. But I’d go crazy when you’re gone for more than like, two consecutive days. At least I get to talk to people at work…”

As you’re speaking to him, Simon’s hands are reaching out towards the products laid out atop the counter next to you. He starts with your favourite scented lotion, scooping himself a general amount before kneeling down before you.

His large calloused hands, which have seen more blood and violence that any man his age should, handle you with such reverence and utter care, you would think he was afraid of breaking you. Simon hasn’t always been the best at expressing his feelings towards you through words. He didn’t grow up in a home where words of affirmation were shared over meals, where affection flowed through one another seamlessly, where love was expressed regularly.

But he’s learning. For you, he’s learning. And what he cannot always show through words, he makes up for tenfold through his actions. You can feel the love Simon holds for you as he massages the lotion onto your feet, your ankles, calves, working his way up your limbs. All while listening to you drone on and on about whatever it is you want to tap his ear off about this time.

Always listening to you, hanging off of your every word as though it were invaluable scriptures, and not just complaints about your workplace. And he does it all with such patience and almost gratitude. Gratitude that week after week you allow him to be in your space, to witness you performing such mundane tasks, to partake in your sacred routine and to be a part of what makes you so soft, at least on the outside.

“Maybe a couple more years, eh? When you decide to stop getting shot at as a career,” you tease, earning you a slight smack against your thigh, where he’s now worked his way up to spreading your lotion, inching the towel up just high enough to reach your skin. “Maybe we’ll move somewhere quiet, find ourselves a cute little cottage, close enough that we can still get our favourite take-aways though, mind you.”

Having finished massaging nearly ever available inch of your lower half, Simon scoops up some more lotion, using his other hand to delicately peel away the towel wrapped around your chest. He offers you a glance, almost as if asking permission to remove the garment, as though he hasn’t seen and worshipped everything underneath it. As though this isn’t your routine every week. You give him a nod, and the towel slips off your figure, leaving you sitting bare in front of your mountain of a man.

“Hmm,” His hum is one of agreement. His hands have begun to massage your hands, your arms, working up to your shoulders and collarbones. “Sounds nice. Hop off for me, beautiful.” At his request, you slide yourself off the counter now firmly pressed between the sink and the 6’4” shadow that follows you everywhere. You slowly turn around so that your back is pressed to his front and you are both facing the mirror.

His hands begin to run along your tummy, massaging the soft flesh he finds there, before his digits make their way up to your waiting breasts. He takes his sweet, sweet time in worshipping your chest, his gaze never straying from your face in the mirror, watching for your every reaction as his fingers glide along your sensitive nipples.

“How many bedrooms are in this cottage, hm?” He ponders as his head drops forward to press a kiss to your temple. You can feel him hardening through his pants against your bare ass, and a thrill runs up your spine.

“Uh, at least two, I suppose? A guest room if ever the boys want to come and stay?” You reply, steadily losing your will to hold a normal conversation as his fingers become more insistent across your tits, his bulge pressing up against behind you.

“Where we putting all those babies I plan to fuck into you then, eh lovely?” He asks so casually, as though he was simply wondering where you’d place a too large piece of furniture. At the sound of your burst of laughter, Simon finds himself smiling wider. God, he’s always smiling around you isn’t he?

“Well,” you tell him, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “How’s about you start by putting said baby in me, and then we’ll figure out rooming situations.” You’re teasing him, but this isn’t the first time he’s brought up wanting to have kids with you. Just the idea of carrying his baby around, proof of the love you two have for one another, a human life you created together, has your knees going weak.

“Like I said, you just give me the word, love.” He finishes with a kiss to the other side of your head, deciding he’s given your breasts enough of a groping for now. He’s reaching for your skin care products next, nodding towards the counter for you to hop up once again.

And so the routine continues, Simon lovingly applies your serums and moisturizer to your face, tenderly brushing his fingers against each freckle, each beauty mark, each imperfection that he wishes to photograph in his memory forever. He’s combing out your damp locks, helping to apply any product you’re wanting to use in your hair as well. His hands are never not touching you, never not helping you in some way.

Finally, Simon is carrying you bridal style out of the bathroom, leading you towards his side of the closet, grabbing whichever one of his oversized t-shirts you point out, and helping you slip it on. When your head pokes through and your glowing eyes reach his once more, with a content smile stretch across your face, he reaches out with both palms to cradle the back of your neck, pulling you in for a sweet kiss, mindful of all the products he’s just applied to your skin.

He’s always taking care of you, your Simon.

[yandere-sins]

Imagine getting isekai’ed into otome game as a background character, watching the main character going down routes as you live your peaceful, mundane life, but you’ve unknowingly been going down a route as well, a route for a hidden character that you didn’t discover during your time playing the game.

That character being the reason the game has a dark content warning.

Gosh anon, that idea is so good!!!! I didn't know it would tickle all the right places in my brain, but when I started I couldn't stop lol. Love it, thank you for sending it in ♥

If this had one of these super long titles that are tmi it would be:

I got Isekai'ed into an Otome Game as a Background Character and now I Have to Finish It with the Secret Yandere Love Interest!!

»»———————— ♡ ————————««     

A serene smile spread over your lips as you watched the two lovebirds in the corner of your coffee shop.

Swirling the milk into a cup, it created a little white heart surrounded by foamy coffee, its aroma drifting into your nose. Had someone told you that the little things like a cup of coffee made with love and care were enough to give you the peace of mind you always wanted in your previous life, you would have laughed at them. For you, it had always been the hustle, the making money, finding a partner, and creating a family. Make everyone proud while being successful, whether it costs you nights of sleep or days without proper meals. But looking at yourself now, it all seemed so far away now, and you let out a content sigh before setting down the cup in front of the customer at the bar. 

"You seem happy today," your regular at the counter noted, picking up the cup and taking a moment to appreciate the aroma just like you had. A smile sneaked onto their lips, too, after they took a sip, and you couldn't help but feel your heart swell with pride and happiness when they gave you a satisfied nod. 

"I am! I'm really getting accustomed to my new life here, it's... been a while since I've been so content."

The truth behind everything that happened to you was something you couldn't speak about lightly. Not when it turned the life you knew upside down, leaving you to start over completely. One day you were an employee of a well-known company, responsible for sales and reports and everything stressful. And the next, you were in your favorite, cozy video game, running the coffee shop the main character liked to visit with all the romance options in the game.

Isekai was the genre that came to mind when you thought about your situation. Luckily you were spared the memories of your death in the real world, the circumstances blurry as you barely remembered going home late from work, only to wake up in this very different universe. Perhaps you were just comatose, and this was a dream. Still, by now, you had managed to slip into your role as the barista of the small coffee shop, a barely mentioned background character, just fine.

Your eyes jumped back to the couple in the corner, giggling and teasing each other over a group project, and you felt an immense relief you weren't reincarnated as the main protagonist and had to go through the years of studying and trying to establish connections with the love interests again. You already did that in your old life, and it wasn't as romantic and fun as the game made it out to be. You only played it because it got your mind off things, the art was pretty, and it had the exact amount of cozy time management you needed to relax. But living as the main character in it? No, thank you!

"Jealous?" your regular teased, and you chuckled, shaking your head. They tapped their—now empty—cup, and you took it from them, replacing it with some water until you had the next cup of coffee ready for them.

"I just think it's cute. I never had someone so interested in me they'd take me out for coffee and share their cake with me when I was younger."

Your words tasted a little bitter on your tongue. Still, you genuinely couldn't wish for anything but the main character's happiness. It was just the feeling of being loved, desired, and wanted that you missed, even though your new life was more than satisfactory despite you feeling a little lonely sometimes.

"Well, it's never too late to start," they chuckled, taking up their fork and cutting off the tip of their strawberry shortcake, including the big chunk of strawberry on top, picking it up and holding it out towards you. 

"Oh, I wouldn't dare--"

"I insist! As thanks for the amazing coffee every time I come here."

Nudging your lips with their fork, you let out an awkward chuckle. It was okay, right? They wouldn't sue you for eating the cake they paid for, would they? This was just a silly little game. What could go wrong with you accepting their kindness?

Opening your lips, you let them feed you the cake, taking a moment to let the sweet and fruity notes mix with the fluffy whip cream before you were sent straight to heaven. Not to toot your own horn, but your baking skills had improved so much since you started working at the shop. Who knew you had that in you?

Occupied with the moment of bliss as you let the cake flavor mix in your mouth, you hummed happily before devoting yourself back to making the coffee with a smile on your face. Unaware of your regular fixating on the fork you had just eaten from, staring at it like it was some strange artifact. Your phone dinged softly in its drawer, and you checked it briefly to see the notification pinging up, saying, "Achievement unlocked: Cake-Master - Provide the most delicious cake to your customers."

"Excuse me!" the main character called out to you, stepping up to the counter, and you directed your attention to her, ignoring the little game notification you've been receiving since starting your new life here, the love interest not far away before the two began fighting over who was going to pay the bill this time lovingly. Of course, the love interest won, but you wouldn't have expected it any other way. Seeing the blush on the main character's face after her romance option told her he'd "always take care" of her made you grin like a little fan, and you cheered them on in your head. 

By the time you returned to your regular, their knuckles had gone white with how hard they were gripping the fork in their hand, their eyes following the couple who was about to leave. For a moment, it made you wonder if they had a crush on either of them, their sweet interaction surely uncomfortable if that was the case. But you didn't remember there being a jealousy scene in the game. You'd know, almost playing it 100% before your death. There apparently was a secret route you never got but were trying your hardest to achieve. Now you were left to wonder what it entailed.

But the second you returned, they looked up at you, expression softening and the tension disappearing, and you chalked it up to having witnessed a cringe moment that they had gotten so awkward. "Thank you for the cake, that was really nice of you! Do you want another fork?" you asked and were met with a headshake and a smile. 

They quickly began eating their cake and complimenting your baking skills, stroking your growing ego when they rubbed their belly. 

"I never had a cake that good!" they proclaimed, and you laughed out loud, overjoyed that you had made them so happy. 

"Say..." they suddenly spoke up again, leaning on the counter and watching you with gentle eyes. Your heart set out for a second, tension rising as you didn't know what they were going to ask. Ever since you opened the coffee shop, the main character, love interests, and this regular had come by constantly. If you were honest, you enjoyed their visits more and more. Their presence felt like it belonged here with you, and you were a part of something bigger after all, washing away the small, lonely part of you. 

And maybe... just maybe... this was how your happy end would play out.

"Are you this nice to every customer?"

Halting your movements, you set aside the brew head that you used on the espresso machine, despite having to clean it, thinking about your answer for a moment. It was a strange question to ask someone who worked in customer service. Still, you appreciated your regular, so you didn't want to give them a snarky answer.

"Uhm, well, I am just trying to make everyone feel welcome! But of course, it's a bit different with my regulars! After all, they come here often, like a second family. So I guess I'm a bit nicer because you really get to know and appreciate these people that stay to chat and tell stories."

"I see," they muttered. "Family, huh..."

After that, you suddenly were swamped with sudden orders, excusing yourself to fulfill them, chatting and laughing with even the people that were just passing by. Maybe you really were just nice? Perhaps this new environment had made you more relaxed and gentle than the harsh world you lived in, and it was showing? But their question was shoved into the back of your mind as you kept fulfilling orders and earning your keep.

Once the rush was over, you returned to your regular, only to find their seat empty. Strange, you thought. You could have sworn that you felt their eyes on you the whole time you were away, but luckily, they didn't walk out on their tab, leaving the money and a folded-up napkin beneath their empty cup for you to find. You quickly stored away the bills, trusting your regular with knowing what they had to pay after so many weeks of the same order.

You were about to throw away their napkin when you noticed some red marks on them, unwrapping the paper to find a note scribbled in what you had to assume was ink. 

"You're so beautiful when you laugh."

The surprise wore off quite fast, and you smiled, thinking nothing of it but that it was a nice compliment from your regular. Still, you ended up throwing the napkin away—not knowing if it was dirty, after all—taking the coffee cup and plate to the sink to clean them, overseeing the red tip on the fork that was too dark to be from the strawberry.

The rest of your day was uneventful, and by the time you were closing, you were tired and ready to tug in for the night, wrapping up your business at the shop quickly before walking home. You didn't have a chance to look at your phone since you glanced at the achievement notification, so you took it out, startled when you saw a dozen new messages. 

Achievement unlocked: Happy new life - Be content with your new life

Achievement unlocked: A fork for two! - Share a fork with someone special

Achievement unlocked: Jealousy - Make someone special jealous

Achievement unlocked: Soothing - Calm someone special down with your presence

Achievement unlocked: Family - Have someone be moved by your words

Achievement unlocked: The nicest person in town - Be beloved by all, but especially by someone special

Achievement unlocked: Blood in the cup - Have someone hurt themselves at your coffee shop

Achievement unlocked: Wonder-Barista - Complete twenty orders in less than thirty minutes

Achievement unlocked: Strange compliment - Receive a compliment through unusual means

Achievement unlocked: Blooming infatuation - Have someone special fall in love with you

Achievement unlocked: Shop-Pro! - Close the shop twenty times after making a profit from your work

Achievement unlocked: Tired - Hard workers deserve to relax

You blinked a few times, surprised by what you were reading and a little weirded out by some of these achievements. They gave you some extra coins in your shop till and reputation with the townspeople, so you usually didn't mind them. But to say some of their descriptions were weird was an understatement. You couldn't even remember someone getting hurt at your workplace that day.

By the time you reached your apartment, you decided to ignore the strange notifications and just let the day come to an end with a hot bath and your favorite show. But you were startled when your phone suddenly began ringing loudly, even though you had turned off the sound back at the coffee shop after the first notification. The first messages that appeared before you were more achievements, and you stopped turning the key in your door as you read them.

Achievement unlocked: Follower - Have someone special follow you home

Achievement unlocked: Welcome home! - Arrive at home, not alone

Achievement unlocked: Wherever you go, I'll be watching you - Ɨ ΔΜ ΔŁŴΔ¥Ş ŴΔŦĆĦƗŇǤ ¥ØỮ

Lifting your head, you looked around you, glancing over your shoulder and into the courtyard below. No one was out; everyone was at home eating dinner and occupied with their lives. Confused, you swiped all the notifications away before another pop-up appeared.

ALERT! You're about to enter X's route. Do you want to continue?

> Yes > No

Panicked at this point, you pressed "No," but nothing happened. You kept tapping it repeatedly, not understanding what was happening with your phone. But nothing changed, the notification staying in place. The sound of something breaking inside your apartment tore your focus away from your phone, startling you. 

You must have finally managed to close it, the pop-up disappearing just as you unlocked the door to your apartment, still having held on to the key when you were surprised by the sound. Darkness and silence greeted you from inside, everything seemingly normal.

Majorly confused, you shook your head, slowly entering the hallway leading inside. "Hello?" you called out, reaching for the light switch. The light flickered on, and... there was no one. Holding your breath, no sound reached your ears, and you groaned, realizing you got freaked out about... nothing. 

This wasn't some kind of horror game, and the story never had a murder-solving subplot. True, the ratings for it were kind of strange—it being rated as 18+ on the website—but seriously, what should happen in a cozy little city like the one the game played in? You didn't even think they had a police station here.

Pushing off your shoes as you shrugged off the weird feeling from before, you walked up the hallway to your living room, turning on the light before coming to an abrupt halt. There were broken pieces of glass underneath your living room window, but what really freaked you out came into view only when you lifted your head. You could look into the mirror of your cabinet door from your position, red marker dripping from it as if someone had hastily scribbled on it just seconds ago. You weren't sure it was a pen anymore, judging by its deep red color and the fluidity of it.

"𝘪 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺"

Your phone pinged.

Achievement unlocked: 

On the Highway to Hell - Unlock the secret route

[katz-rambles]

Aphrodisiac sex with Viktor has taken over my brain. So I'm gonna write about it 🤭.

My first Arcane fic!! Wooo!! I hope I wrote his character well!

(nsfw, fem!reader, use of aphrodisiacs, alcohol mentioned, masturbation, oral (fem and male receiving), dom-ish!reader, sub-dom!Viktor, Viktors a tease, friends to lovers?, I think this is it!)

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰

The night started out normal, enough. You went out with some friends for a nice girls night out filled with drinks and gossip, and it was an amazing night. You're relatively tipsy by the time everyone is ready to go home, it's about half past midnight, and the only thing you can think about is going to bed. That is until, about half way home. A sudden spark flows through your veins, creating a dull fog in your mind. Maybe you had a bit more to drink than you thought you did.

You've decided to walk a tad bit quicker to get home. A small apartment in the downtown of Piltover, it's a nice size and not too expensive, especially since you're sharing it, and the fact that there's only one bedroom inside just adds to the fact. You're just glad that Viktor doesn't mind sharing a bed.

You have to fumble with your keys for an embarrassing amount of time before you can actually unlock the door. It's silent inside the apartment, there's no sign that Viktor has already come home. Although, that wouldn't surprise you, ever since he and Jayce started to work on the Hextech, you've been seeing less and less of him in your shared apartment.

You push off a shower until the morning, it can wait a few more hours, it's too late. When you enter the bedroom, you almost scream when your eyes focus well enough to see someone sitting at the small desk in the room. So he is home, you rub your temples and sigh. He’s always staying up late. You don't want him to hurt his back, more than he already has, by being in such an awkward position all night. So you gently grab onto his shoulders to try and wake him up, his shirt has slipped and your palm rests on the bare skin, the warmth that comes from him could burn you. From such a simple touch that foggy haze fills your head once again, when Viktor is in a better position you'll get a drink of water. You tighten your grip on his shoulders and carefully shake him, a sad attempt to wake him. You would just carry him to the bed, you're strong enough, but you don't want to irritate his leg.

“Hey, Viktor.. are you awake?” You whisper, when you feel him stir. No response comes from him, but you're not going to give up any time soon. So this time you try a different method, you crouch beside him and lift up his head to try and see if he's awake, and he's not. Of course he's not. But you're determined to save his back from his hunched position. Each time you try something different and your hand makes contact with him, you can feel another spark flow through your veins and the foggy haze in your head gets stronger. Maybe this time you'll just splash him with ice cold water, but that'll probably give the poor thing a heart attack.

“Viktor, come on. You can't stay like this,” you groan and try to shake him awake, once again to no avail, and your feet are starting to ache from crouching in your heels for so long. At this point you're starting to give up, and you try to shake him one last time. Your hand rests on his waist this time, the other on his arm, you can feel the warmth of his body, along with his scent, a mix of oil, metal, and his shampoo that creates an intoxicating smell that you'll never get enough of now, from this position and, as much as you may hate to admit it, it sparks a dull throb in your core. “Vik.. please?” You shake him, trying to ignore the fire that's sparked inside of you, and this time he does wake up. A shallow gasp escapes from him as he pushes his head up and rubs the back of his neck. He lets out a low groan and looks over at you, the noise has you thinking about just how he would sound if you had your way with him.

This time it's his turn to shake you from your, not so innocent, thoughts, and he pushes himself up from the desk, now standing while you're still crouching. The position puts you at the perfect level that your thoughts start to wander again. “Just how much did you have to drink?” He chuckles as you stand yourself up, one of his hands reaches to press against your forehead, and it burns. You can't tell if it's him or you that's warmer, but the contact has a familiar pulse starting at your core. Just before he's able to say something you push his hand away from yourself. “Enough,” you reply, trying to shake the feeling away.

He scoffs and leans against the desk, and you can't deny how fucking hot he looks. His hair is messed up, his clothes have wrinkles in them, and his hands, god his hands, have traces of whatever he was using back at the lab on them.

You decide to take a shower now, maybe this way you can deal with the problem of your hormones raging like a horny teen. The warm water feels like it's been sent straight from heaven and down on your aching muscles, you can feel yourself relaxing under the water. You let your hand drift to your breasts and massage the flesh of one and then the other, feeling your nipples harden under your palm. Each touch you give yourself, you let yourself imagine that it's Viktor. You place your free hand over your mouth to silence your gasp when you push a finger inside your hole to find yourself dripping from such light touches. You curl your finger up to try and hit that one spongy spot inside you, and when you finally find it, you hope that your hand muffled the loud moan you let out. You slowly add another finger, wishing it was his instead of your own. You set a steady rhythm of your fingers, while grinding your swollen clit against your palm. You bit down on your hand in a sad attempt of silencing yourself, silently praying that the mix of your palm and the running water will be enough to not let your moans escape the bathroom. You start to speed up your fingers as you feel your orgasm get closer, desperately grinding against your palm for the friction you crave against your clit. Soon enough your orgasm crashes down on you, and you let out a loud moan. Now you're left panting from the aftershocks of your orgasm, yet even after that, the haze and pulse is still evident. Maybe you should just sleep it off.

The shower you had was relaxing and when you come out you find Viktor sitting up on the bed, with a book in hand. You crawl into bed beside him and lay your head onto the pillow, closing your eyes and relishing in the cold feeling of the fabric against your, still burning hot, skin. Even after a long shower the feeling hasn't stopped, and now being right beside Viktor, it's seemed to double. “Are you okay?” Viktor asks, when you lift your head up from the cold release of the pillow, all you can muster is a nod, if you open your mouth you're afraid you might just moan, you can feel his body heat from under the covers and his scent is evident in the bed. “I'm fine, Vik, think I just had a little too much to drink,” you laugh and rest your cheek on one of your arms, “but I'll be fine after a good sleep.”

Viktor sighs and lifts your face up, his hand holding your chin. He studies your face and you can feel your face heat up from his intense gaze. “Hmm, you don't seem fine. You're practically burning up,” he states. The way his accent sounds when he speaks has you clenching your thighs and hoping he doesn't see you doing so. He keeps your face in his hand for a few more seconds before he finally lets go, “maybe it was one of the drinks you had making you burn up.” He brushes some stray hairs out of your face and he shuffles so you're both laying down, he pulls your face closer to him and squints his eyes at you, before he can say anything else you pull him closer and kiss him, feeling his reciprocate the kiss just spurts you on more and you thread your fingers in his hair.

He rests a hand on the curve of your waist and when you feel it you pull away and feel yourself internally panic, “holy shit, I'm sorry. I have no fucking clue whats gotten into-” Before you're able to finish your scentance he pulls you back down and kisses you. His hand trails down your waist towards your thigh and he strokes the side of your thigh, occasionally giving the fat of your thigh a squeeze. “I told you. It was one of the drinks.” He mumbles against your lips and grabs your hip and pulls you closer, you take the hint and quickly climb on top of him, straddling his hips, and he groans when you grind down on his semi hard erection.

You pull away from his lips just long enough to tug his shirt off, quickly doing the same with your own, before connecting your lips again. You start to trail kisses down his jawline, towards his neck, leaving a kiss on his adams apple, and moving to the side of his neck to leave more kisses and occasional harsh sucks to form a mark, savouring the noises he lets out every time you do. Being careful to not hurt his leg, you move yourself down to trail your kisses lower and lower until you reach the hem of his pants. “May I?” You ask breathlessly and he chuckles, “you practically tore off my shirt, you think I'd say no now.” He scoffs, a teasing undertone to his words that causes the throb in your core to heighten. You pull down his pants and boxers to let him dick out, wrapping your hand around the base and giving him a few strokes before you wrap your mouth around the tip, licking up the bead of precum that's settled there. He groans and tangles his fingers in the strands of your hair, not pushing or pulling but just resting his hand there. You start to bob your head, making sure to tease the tip, relishing in the noises he's making, a mix of delicious groans and whimpers leave his lips and it spurs you on more. He thrusts his hips up and the tip hits the back of your throat causing you to gag around him, his fingers gently tug on your hair and when you look up at him he lets out a loud groan. You use one of your hands to reach down and rub your clit, matching the pace of your fingers with the pace of your head. He thrusts his hips up again, this time a little rougher, and you know he's getting close. You swirl your tongue around the tip and he pulls your head off him. “No, when I cum, it'll be inside you.” He says, and you whine at the loss of friction when you pull your hand away from your aching clit. He pulls you to him and kisses you, savouring the way you taste and groaning when he tastes himself on your lips. You pull your pants off and straddle his hips again, lifting yourself up and lining his cock up. You give him a few strokes and slowly start to sink down.

The stretch is delicious and you moan when you've lowered yourself all the way. He brings one of his hands to your thigh and rubs it, you place your hands on his chest and start to lift yourself up. You whimper as you do so, adjusting to the stretch. A few seconds of just having his tip inside you, you lower yourself back down and repeat, slowly getting faster and rougher with each bounce. Soon you're riding him, one of your hands is on his chest, supporting yourself and the other rests on Viktors hand that's squeezing your thigh. You speed up a bit more and he groans when he feels you clench around him, his head falls back onto the pillow. His hand leaves your thigh and he brings it up and starts expertly rubbing your clit, for a second you find yourself jealous of his experienced fingers.

“Viktor! Fuck.. please don't stop!” You moan and clench around him, his hips start to rut up to meet your bounces. You both know that you're close and you know you aren't going to last very long. Your moans start to become more frequent and at a higher pitch, one of your hands leaves red scratches down his chest as you feel your orgasm get closer. Your nails dig into his skin and you bury your face in his neck, biting down on the sensitive skin when your orgasm hits you, your pussy pulses around his cock and with a few more thrusts up he's cumming inside you, his muscles tensing and he's moaning.

You both lay with each other for a few seconds before Viktor speaks up, “do you feel better?” He chuckles when you nod, you're still panting and you rest your forehead against his, a sheen of sweat on you both. You whimper when you push yourself up and feel his softening cock slide out of you, the globs of cum that drip out of you make you whine. He grabs your hips and pulls your pussy closer to him. “I can't have you dripping on the bed, we just changed the sheets.” He groans and pulls you so you're sitting on his face, his tongue lapping at your folds and tracing your clit. You can feel the vibrations of him laughing when you squirm on top of him, his hands have a tight grip on your hips, ensuring you don't move too much. You thread your fingers in his hair, tugging on it as you start to grind your hips on his face. He ravages you, eating you out like a starved man. The curve of his nose bumps your swollen and sensitive clit deliciously and you pull on his hair at the feeling, when you do he groans into your pussy. He doesn't slow down or even hint at stopping as you can feel your third orgasm of the night creep up on you.

“Fuck! Viktor.. ‘m so close!” You whimper and grind your hips down on his face, the obscene slurping noises that come from him just fuel your arousal. You tighten your grip on his hair and your thighs tense around his face as your orgasm hits, your squirming as he helps you ride out your orgasm. He laps up all of your juices until you're trying to push yourself off from sensitivity. “There we go,” he sighs when you move off his face, he has a sheen of your arousal around his mouth and he licks his lips and smirks at you, “now you won't drip on the clean sheets.” You laugh and he pulls you closer to him, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you, you can taste yourself on his lips and it’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.

“How did you know it was the drink?” You ask him, feeling your eyelids grow heavy with each word that leaves your lips. “Aphrodisiac, it was easy enough to figure out when you came out of the shower. You're not as quiet as you think you are,” He smirks when you groan at him. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, one of his hands rubs your back, drawing random shapes and figures, and successfully lulling you to sleep.

[moonlightwritingf1]

Shattered Trust | LN4

𐙚 summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N discovers that she is pregnant with Lando's child. Instead of confiding in him about the unexpected news, she decides to keep her pregnancy a secret and, overwhelmed by fear and uncertainty about the future, she chooses to have an abortion without telling him. Eventually, Lando learns about her decision.

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

𐙚 word count ━━━━━━━ 7.3k

𐙚 warnings ━━━━━━━ pregnancy, abortion, angst

Based on this request.

It was a Friday evening when it happened: Y/N returned to her apartment, coat still damp from the drizzle, her heart racing with a nameless dread that had been building for days. Standing in the glow of the kitchen’s overhead lights, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the black glass of the microwave door. She set down her purse and a small paper bag—an banal bag to anyone else, but to her, it held a possible turning point for her entire life. Inside were two pregnancy tests.

She had worked her usual shift that day, trying in vain to ignore the persistent knot in her stomach and the unfamiliar heaviness in her limbs. Something felt off. She made small talk with colleagues, forced a few polite laughs, and drank coffee like her life depended on it, but nothing helped chase away that apprehension. So, during her short walk home, she had ducked into a pharmacy, heart pounding, and bought the tests. The moment she walked out, she wanted to turn back and return them, to pretend none of this was happening.

But it was.

Steadying herself against the kitchen counter, Y/N drew in slow, shaky breaths. Every mental pep talk she had rehearsed on the way home slipped away like leaves in a storm. Even though she and Lando had been together for two wonderful years—two years filled with laughter, shared secrets, and stolen glances—this was not what she wanted right now. Not what she had planned. She couldn’t be pregnant. Not at this point in her career.

In the small bathroom adjacent to her bedroom, she carefully unwrapped the first test. Her hands trembled. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, illuminating the pale tiles, her own frightened face in the mirror, sweat glistening on her brow.

She took the test, set it on the counter, and hovered over it like it might spark and burn. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she hoped she was overreacting. Perhaps her period was just late. Maybe it was stress. But the truth stared back in a painfully short amount of time: the telltale cross, positive.

It felt as though the world held its breath. She scrambled for the second test, praying the first was a fluke. But the second test told the same story: positive.

“No… oh God, no,” she whispered.

Her breath came in ragged gasps as she sank onto the cool tile floor, back pressing against the wall. The tests rolled away from her trembling hands. A wave of panic descended, bringing with it a vivid vision of an entirely different future—her career hopes overshadowed by an unplanned pregnancy. She closed her eyes, tears stinging, her mind a whirlwind of images: Lando’s laughter, Lando’s bright smile, and the way his eyes might light up at the idea of a baby. But in the next moment, her imagination shifted to her own tears, her own sense of being trapped, her career halted or derailed. She couldn’t do it. She felt certain she couldn’t.

That night, she barely moved from the bathroom floor. Eventually, she dragged herself to bed, the pregnancy tests stuffed into the little paper bag. She didn’t sleep; she just stared at the ceiling, numb, thoughts darting in every direction. When she finally drifted off, it was to restless half-dreams—nightmares of crying infants, undone deadlines, and a future she had never planned.

By Saturday morning, Y/N could think of only one way forward. She did not want this pregnancy. She wasn’t ready—not emotionally, not mentally, and certainly not in terms of her career. Lando’s always away, she reasoned. Even though he spent a lot of time in the UK, he still traveled constantly for Formula One, his life under perpetual media scrutiny. She felt certain the responsibility would fall entirely on her, and she wasn’t ready.

So, she decided: she would get an abortion, and she would never tell him. A trembling kind of finality sank into her veins as she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror that Saturday. She hoped her reflection might look resolute. Instead, she looked terrified.

She turned on the shower, letting scalding water cascade over her tense shoulders. She practiced what she might say if a coworker or friend asked about her weekend—little lines like I’m fine, just busy with some errands. A lie, but one she felt she had no choice but to tell.

The weekend dragged by in a haze of secrecy. She thought about calling her parents but dismissed the idea almost immediately; she didn’t want them to worry or, worse, to try to dissuade her. By Monday, her resolve had hardened.

During her lunch break at work, she locked herself in an empty conference room, phone in hand, voice shaking as she prayed no one was outside listening.

“Hello, yes, I’d like to book an appointment,” she whispered. The person on the other end asked for details: earliest availability, whether this was her first time. She swallowed hard at that question, her heart hammering as she confessed that yes, this was the first. They offered her a Wednesday slot.

She wrote down the clinic’s address and instructions on a sticky note, then tore the note to pieces in a wave of paranoia. She would memorize it. No evidence. She was certain Lando must never find out.

The rest of Monday passed in a blur. She forced her usual smiles, tried to gather her scattered thoughts in a marketing meeting, but her mind spun in circles around what was to come. By day’s end, she felt wrung out—physically and emotionally.

Wednesday dawned gray and drizzly, the sky mirroring Y/N’s mood. She had taken the day off, feigning sickness. It wasn’t entirely untrue; nausea churned in her stomach, her nerves coiled tighter than springs.

The clinic’s waiting room was smaller than she expected—quiet, almost too quiet. She filled out the forms with trembling hands, avoiding looking at the other women who were also waiting. Each had her own story, her own reasons, her own heartbreak.

When they called her name, she followed a nurse with shaky legs. The procedure itself was a blur of instructions, bright lights, and a suffocating mixture of relief and sudden, sharp sorrow. She told herself she was certain. She reminded herself that this was what she wanted. Still, flickers of doubt gnawed at the edges of her mind.

Afterward, the pain was more intense than she had braced for. Her lower abdomen cramped viciously. A nurse told her to rest, to avoid strenuous activity, and to call if anything seemed amiss. She forced a weak smile, nodding mechanically, all the while wanting nothing more than to disappear into her apartment.

She stumbled home, barely registering how she made it through the front door before collapsing onto her bed. The moment her body hit the mattress, a sharp, searing pain shot through her abdomen, making her curl in on herself instinctively. The cramps tore through her like knives, relentless and punishing, far worse than what the clinic had warned her about. She pressed her hands against her stomach, trying to breathe through the agony that wracked her body, waves of pain rolling over her in cruel succession.

But it wasn’t just the physical pain that consumed her. The emotional weight of it all settled heavily in her chest, raw and suffocating. Not because she regretted her decision—she didn’t. She knew with certainty that this was the right choice for her, for her future. But as she lay there, body trembling from exhaustion, the loneliness crept in like a shadow she couldn’t escape. She had done this alone. She had made this choice alone. And now, she had to suffer through the aftermath alone.

For a fleeting moment, she considered calling her mother, just to hear the soft, familiar voice that had once soothed her through scraped knees and sleepless nights. But she knew she couldn’t. She knew what her mother would say—how the disappointment would lace her tone, how she might try to convince her that she had made a mistake. And then there was Lando. She thought about what he might have done if she had told him. Would he have been angry? Hurt? Would he have begged her to reconsider? Or would he have just held her, wiped her tears away, told her that no matter what, he would be there?

But none of that mattered now. She had made her choice, and she refused to feel ashamed of it. She had been terrified that if she told anyone, they would criticize her, judge her, tell her she had done something wrong. And so she had kept it to herself. This was her burden. No one else could know. No one else should know.

Still, as she curled deeper into the blankets, pain wracking her body, she wished—just for a moment—that someone was there to hold her through it. But there was no one. So she gritted her teeth, wiped her tears, and endured the consequences.

Thursday and Friday, Y/N forced herself to return to work, ignoring the stabbing pains whenever she moved too quickly or twisted in her seat. She ran on frayed nerves and adrenaline, quietly popping painkillers to get through meetings. She told coworkers she had a lingering stomach bug, which explained her fatigue and occasional winces. Thankfully, they seemed to believe her.

All day Friday, she counted the hours until she could crawl under the covers and rest. But fate intervened. Late that afternoon, her phone chimed:

Lando: Hey, love, you busy tonight? I’m in London—surprise! I want to see you. Text me when you’re out of the office. x

Her stomach dropped. A flicker of warmth passed through her, a reminder of the comfort his presence usually brought. Then panic seized her. She didn’t know if she could hide her pain for an entire evening, and she certainly hadn’t expected him.

Still, she forced a casual tone in her reply:

Y/N: Surprise indeed. Sure, come over. We can have dinner in.

He replied with a string of heart emojis and “Can’t wait.” She took a shaky breath, promising herself she would manage.

By the time Y/N let Lando into her apartment, the sun was slipping behind the skyscrapers. He arrived with a casual jacket, jeans, and that familiar, excited glow on his face. In his hands was a plastic container that smelled richly of pesto and parmesan.

“Hey, baby,” he said gently, leaning in to press a warm kiss to her forehead. The instant his arms circled her waist, a twinge of pain shot through her abdomen, making her tense. He noticed.

“You okay?” he asked, concern evident in his voice as he pulled back to study her expression.

“Just a bit tired from work,” she answered, forcing a smile. “Long week.”

He nodded but still looked worried. “I brought dinner, so you don’t have to lift a finger. Just relax.” He held up the container. “My mum’s recipe—pasta with creamy pesto sauce. I promised you I’d learn how to make it one day, remember?”

The sincerity in his voice tugged at her heart. “That’s sweet. Thank you, Lando,” she murmured. A surge of guilt lanced through her—he had no idea that she’d had an abortion just two days before.

She led him to the small dining table near the windows. He portioned out the pasta, adding a sprinkle of grated cheese while she poured water into glasses. She tried to appear normal, but each time she shifted in her seat, her body reminded her of reality.

“You’re sure you’re all right?” Lando asked partway through the meal, setting his fork down. His concerned gaze roamed over her. “You look… stressed.”

“I’m fine. Really,” she lied, mustering another smile. “Just a lot going on at work.”

He exhaled, reaching across the table to take her hand. She flinched slightly; the brush of his thumb over her skin stirred a rush of conflicting emotions—remorse, sadness, love, and anxiety, all tangled together.

“Hey,” he said softly, “you can tell me anything, you know?”

Her throat tightened. “Of course,” she whispered, dropping her eyes to her plate. She couldn’t… not this. Not now.

They finished dinner in relative silence. When the plates were emptied, she rose to collect them, but Lando stopped her, moving them himself to the sink. “I’ll rinse off,” he insisted. “You go sit on the couch, okay? I’ll join you in a second.”

Relieved to have a moment alone, Y/N slipped onto the sofa, pressing a hand to her aching lower abdomen. She heard the sound of running water in the kitchen, the faint clink of dishes, and let her eyes drift shut.

Moments later, Lando dropped onto the cushion beside her. “Done,” he announced, a small grin lighting his features. He placed a hand on her thigh. “I missed you,” he confessed, voice low. “You’ve been distant. Hardly texted me all week.”

She offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I guess I’ve just been in my own head.”

His brow furrowed. “Right. Just promise me if something’s bothering you, you’ll tell me.” He paused, swallowing. “I love you, you know. I hate seeing you like this.”

His simple words—I love you—nearly undid her. Her eyes stung with tears, and she struggled to keep them at bay. If he only knew.

He noticed her reaction and tried to lighten the mood. “Wanna watch something in bed?” he asked. “Movie night?”

She nodded, her voice tight. “Sure.”

Hours later, having half-watched a comedy on Netflix, they decided to turn in for the night. Y/N, braced by painkillers, made her way to the bathroom first. As she washed her hands, she remembered the pregnancy tests.

A jolt of panic coursed through her. Oh, God. Where are they? She had thrown them in the bathroom trash, but had she fully disposed of them?

She left the sink running, peering into the small bin under the sink. It was mostly empty, just a tiny plastic bag and some balled-up tissues—except for that faint flash of white plastic. Damn it. She grabbed the bin, intending to quickly transfer its contents to a bigger trash bag in the kitchen, but she heard Lando’s footsteps approaching.

“Hey, babe,” he began, stepping into the doorway, “do you have any—?”

She froze, bin in hand, looking guilty. “Uh, nothing, sorry—”

He frowned, spotting the white plastic in the bin she held. In a disastrous stroke of timing, one test fell out, landing on the floor with a soft clink. Instantly, Lando recognized what it was. He bent to pick it up.

“What’s this?” he asked, curiosity turning to shock as he saw the tiny window indicating a plus sign. “Oh… Wait, is this—?”

His eyes snapped to her, excitement and confusion mingling in his expression. “You’re pregnant?” he murmured in disbelief. “Is that why you’ve been so… off all week? Why didn’t you tell me?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing emerged. He looked at her, a hundred emotions warring across his features—hope, wonder, fear. But he seemed happy, above all.

“Are we having a baby?” he asked, voice hushed.

Her mouth went dry. She could only shake her head. “No,” she managed hoarsely. “No, we’re not.”

He glanced at the test again. “But… it’s positive. I don’t understand.”

She swallowed hard. “It was positive,” she said, tears brimming in her eyes.

“It was?” His brow furrowed. “I still don’t—”

She realized there was no escape. The truth would come crashing down on them both. “Lando… I had an abortion,” she whispered, voice barely above a breath. “On Wednesday. It’s gone.”

Silence saturated the small space. Lando’s complexion went ashen, his jaw falling slack. Slowly, he set the test on the counter. His eyes, now shimmering with tears, lifted to her face.

“What?” he rasped, hardly able to form the words. “You were pregnant and… you…” He couldn’t finish. His breaths came in uneven gasps as disbelief gave way to deep, staggering hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her head dipped, shame burning in her cheeks. “I was scared,” she admitted, voice quivering. “I didn’t want it. I was terrified you’d try to force me to keep it.”

“Force you?” he repeated, stepping closer, heartbreak etched on every line of his face. “Why would you think that?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, tears rolling down her cheeks. “You love kids, Lando. You always say you can’t wait to be a dad. You get that look whenever you see children at the track. And I… I couldn’t do it. Not now. My career is just taking off, and you’re traveling so much. I felt like I had no choice.”

He let out a shaky exhale, rubbing a hand over his face. “I can’t believe you kept it from me,” he said, voice cracking. “We’ve been together two years. Did I ever make you think I’d force you to do something you didn’t want?”

She sobbed openly, tears glistening on her cheeks. “No… but I was scared. I thought you’d beg me or persuade me otherwise. And I wasn’t strong enough to say no if you did.”

The anger, heartbreak, and confusion on his face were almost tangible. He placed the test on the counter, turning back to her with tears rimming his eyes. “What was right for you…” he echoed bitterly. “So I didn’t even factor in?”

She tried to speak, but words stuck in her throat like stones. Finally, she managed to say, “That’s not fair. It’s my body, and I had to make a choice.”

He shut his eyes, tears spilling onto his cheeks. “Of course it’s your body,” he said, voice shaking. “But we’re together, aren’t we? You didn’t even give me a chance to be there for you, to help or… or just hold your hand.”

She choked out an apology. “I’m so sorry, Lando. I never wanted to hurt you. But I was so afraid of losing everything I’ve worked for. I panicked.”

He sank onto the edge of the bathtub, tears still falling freely. She had never seen him cry like this. “When did you find out?” he asked quietly.

“Last Friday,” she admitted. “I found out alone, here, after work. I called the clinic Monday and got an appointment for Wednesday. I was in so much pain afterward, and… I kept it from everyone. I didn’t want to risk anyone telling you.”

He let out a hollow breath. “Days… you spent days alone, in pain, not telling a soul.”

He buried his face in his hands, shoulders shuddering. Y/N felt her heart break at the sight. Ignoring her own discomfort, she knelt on the tiled floor and rested a trembling hand on his knee.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, voice raw. “I didn’t want to break your heart. I… I just couldn’t handle what a baby would mean right now.”

He lowered his hands, eyes red. “Afraid… were you afraid of me?” he asked, voice thick.

“I was afraid of letting both of us down,” she answered, tears hitching in her chest. “Afraid I couldn’t stand by my decision if you pleaded with me. I know you love me, but I felt cornered.”

He let out a shaky sigh, wiping his tears with frustration. “I thought we trusted each other,” he whispered. “We’re supposed to be a team. And now…” He trailed off, voice cracking. “I can’t explain how much it hurts to know you went through something so huge, so painful, alone.”

Her hand found his, and he didn’t pull away. “I know,” she murmured. “It wasn’t about distrusting you. I just… I didn’t trust myself.”

He inhaled sharply, tears still falling. “I’m sorry you felt that way,” he said brokenly. “But God, it hurts. We could have had a baby. And now… we don’t. And you never even told me.”

A fresh wave of guilt crushed her. She inched closer, wrapping her arms around him. He froze for a moment, then sagged into her embrace, the two of them sobbing against each other. The heartbreak was palpable, a heavy weight neither knew how to handle.

Eventually, they pulled away from one another, both of their faces streaked with tears and their eyes red from crying. Lando stood first, then gently helped Y/N to her feet. His voice was rough with emotion as he said, “Come on. You need to rest. We can’t just… stay on this bathroom floor all night.”

She nodded mutely, allowing him to guide her into the bedroom. He arranged the pillows so that she could sit back comfortably, then frowned at the harsh glow of the overhead lamp. With a few quick steps, he switched on the softer bedside light instead, filling the room with a gentler warmth.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Y/N could sense the storm of emotions roiling behind Lando’s eyes: hurt, anger, sorrow. Finally, he cleared his throat, his voice still trembling. “When exactly… did you do it?”

Her breath hitched. “Wednesday,” she confessed. “I pretended to be sick at work and went in the morning. I was home by noon, just… in pain.”

He nodded almost imperceptibly, eyes shutting as anguish pinched his features. “You came back… alone?” he echoed quietly. “No one knew? No one drove you?”

She shook her head, shame creeping over her. “I took a cab. I told no one,” she whispered.

Lando grimaced, running a hand over his face in an attempt to steady his breathing. “God,” he muttered, voice raw, “the thought of you going through that all alone—” His voice cracked, and he let out a shuddering exhale. “I would have been there for you. Even if I disagreed, even if we argued… I would have been there, if you’d just told me.”

Tears slid down Y/N’s cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Truly. I wish I could change it.”

He inhaled sharply, still fighting the turmoil in his chest. “I’m devastated,” he admitted, meeting her gaze. “Not because you chose to have an abortion—I get that it’s your body, your choice. What kills me is knowing you went through all that alone, and worse, that you thought so little of me that you believed I’d try to force you to keep the baby. That you hid this from me… It hurts more than anything.”

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes as she reached for his hand. “I was terrified,” she said brokenly. “I was worried about how it might affect your career, mine… everything. I thought if you knew, you’d beg me to keep it, and I wouldn’t be strong enough to say no. I never wanted to lose you or disappoint you.”

“F1 is huge,” Lando acknowledged softly, tears escaping down his cheeks. “But it’s not bigger than you—or the family I hope we can have someday. But only when you’re ready.” His voice trembled as he continued. “I’ve pictured marrying you, Y/N. I’ve thought about us having kids… not now, but eventually. I never—” He broke off, swallowing hard. “I never wanted you to think you couldn’t come to me. I never wanted you to go through something like this alone.”

A trembling breath escaped her. She blinked, her vision blurring with tears. “I didn’t know,” she admitted, voice cracking. 

Silence settled over them as each grappled with the weight of their mutual insecurities. At last, Lando reached out and brushed a tear from her cheek. “We both messed up,” he said thickly. “But please… don’t hide something like this from me again. I would have supported you, no matter your decision. I would have carried you out of that clinic myself if that’s what you needed.”

“I won’t,” she promised, tears spilling anew. Her voice wobbled as she added, “I’m so sorry I misjudged you.”

He leaned in, pulling her carefully into his arms. Even in his own pain, he was gentle, cradling the back of her head. She felt his heartbreak in every shaky breath, but she also felt his unwavering love.

“I’m so angry and sad,” he murmured into her hair. “But I love you. I can’t just leave you over this. I just… need time to process it.”

She pressed her face to his chest, her sobs muffled against his shirt. “If you need space,” she began, voice muffled, “I understand.”

Lando shook his head, resting his cheek against the top of her head. “I don’t want space. I just want to figure out how to move forward.” He pulled back enough to meet her gaze. “Are you still in pain?”

“A bit,” she admitted, wiping her cheeks. “Cramping.”

His face twisted with concern. “Let me get you something—a hot water bottle, painkillers?”

She offered him a watery smile. “A hot water bottle would help, yeah.”

He stood up, quickly returning with the hot water bottle and placing it gently over her lower abdomen. Then he climbed onto the bed beside her. She nestled against him, tears falling quietly as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“I love you,” he said again, his voice catching in his throat. “Even after all of this, even though I’m hurting. I don’t want to lose you.”

She looked up, eyes swimming with guilt and relief. “I love you too,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I broke your heart. If I could redo it… I’d tell you right away. But I still wouldn’t have kept the pregnancy,” she added, her voice trembling with a fresh wave of emotion. “I’m sorry that hurts you.”

His breath shuddered. “It does,” he admitted, “but I’d never want you forced into something you don’t want. I just wish I’d known. I wish you’d trusted me enough to let me be there for you.”

A tear rolled down her cheek, the regret so palpable she could barely speak. “Me too,” she whispered, taking his hand and squeezing it.

A lingering pause enveloped them. At last, Lando spoke, his voice quiet. “Do you still see a future for us? Maybe a family one day, when we’re both really ready for it?”

He looked at her with fragile hope, grief etched in every line of his face. Y/N felt her own tears threaten again. “I do,” she murmured. “Just… not right now.”

His shoulders slackened, a relieved breath escaping him. “Okay,” he said, voice unsteady. “That means a lot.”

They sat there, the bedside lamp casting a warm glow around them, an island of soft light in a sea of darkness. Eventually, she rested her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. She wondered if they could ever get back the easy laughter and carefree moments they once knew. But for now, she focused on the steady thump beneath her cheek—the sound of him staying, of him loving her through the pain.

And despite the sorrow, it was a comfort she clung to with all her heart.

Sleep was fitful for them both. The weight of everything that had been said, everything that had been revealed, settled over them like an unshakable fog. Around three in the morning, Y/N woke from a restless doze, her abdomen throbbing, cheeks still damp with tears. Lando’s arms were around her, holding her close even in sleep, though his grip occasionally tightened as if, even subconsciously, he was afraid of losing her.

She shifted slightly, wincing as another wave of pain rolled through her. The physical ache was still overwhelming, a sharp reminder of what her body had been through. But the emotional turmoil lingered too—the knowledge that she had believed, deep down, that Lando would have forced her to keep the baby if he had known.

As if sensing her discomfort, he stirred, blinking blearily before his gaze immediately found hers. He brushed a thumb across her damp cheek, voice still thick with sleep. “You okay?”

“It still hurts,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “All of it.”

He pressed a soft kiss to her temple, the gesture so heartbreakingly tender that it made her chest tighten. “I know,” he murmured. “I hate that you’re in pain. I hate that you thought you had to go through this alone. But I’m here. Let’s hold on to each other tonight.”

She nestled closer to him, craving the warmth of his presence, even as her heart ached with the realization that this—this moment of fragile vulnerability—was what she had feared. That he would love her despite it all. That he wouldn’t abandon her, no matter what.

His scent—soap, faint cologne, something unmistakably him—brought back memories of better days. Lazy weekends tangled up in his sheets. Impromptu dates that always ended in laughter. The way he would tease her, endlessly, just to see her roll her eyes and fight back with that fire he adored.

She clung to those memories, hoping they could anchor her through the storm still raging inside her.

They drifted in and out of sleep until the early light crept around the blinds. Y/N stirred, blinking up at the ceiling, only to realize Lando was already awake, watching her. His expression was unreadable, somewhere between sorrow and quiet determination.

She turned her face away, self-conscious, but he gently pulled her back, fingertips brushing her chin. “Hey,” he said softly, eyes searching hers. “I’ve got you.”

Her throat tightened. “I’m scared,” she confessed. “Scared you won’t look at me the same.”

Lando exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a brief moment as if the thought physically hurt him. When he opened them again, they were glassy with emotion. He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he pulled her even closer, his lips pressing to her forehead in a lingering, silent reassurance.

“I won’t lie,” he admitted, voice thick with emotion. “This changes things.”

Her breath hitched.

Not because she regretted what she had done—but because of how deeply she had misjudged him. Because she had truly believed he wouldn’t stand by her. Because she had been so convinced she was alone.

Lando pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his fingers threading through hers. “But not in the way you think,” he continued. “Not because of what you did. Not because you had an abortion.” His thumb brushed soothing circles over the back of her hand. “It changes things because now I know how much you believed I’d try to control you. That you thought I’d take away your choice.”

Tears burned at the edges of her eyes again.

He shook his head, jaw tightening. “That kills me, Y/N. But I need you to hear me when I say this—I will always support you. No matter what.”

She let out a trembling breath, the weight of his words settling into her bones.

“Together?” she whispered, clinging to that word like a lifeline.

His grip on her hand tightened. “Together,” he promised. And this time, she believed him.

That morning, Lando insisted on taking care of her. He moved cautiously, helping her to the bathroom, making sure she took her painkillers, and bringing her a warm drink. She managed a few bites of toast, and he hovered protectively until she was done.

They ended up on the couch, the morning sun spilling through the windows to illuminate the living room. The hum of traffic emphasised the tense quiet between them. Finally, Lando broke the silence, voice tentative.

“Do you think… we should talk to someone about this?” he asked. “A counselor or therapist, maybe. It feels like something too big to handle alone.”

She fiddled with the edge of a throw pillow. She had never considered counseling before, but the weight of her guilt, his grief, and their mutual pain felt overwhelming. “Maybe,” she agreed softly. “If you’re willing, we could look into it.”

He gave a small, sad smile. “I think it could help,” he said. Then he slid closer and took her hand in his. “I’m still so hurt,” he added, eyes fixed on the carpet. “I can’t pretend I’m not. But we can’t go back in time, and if we just shut down now, we’ll lose each other.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she smiled shakily at him. “I don’t want to lose you,” she said. “I love you so much.”

He was quiet for a long moment, then gently guided her head to rest on his shoulder. They sat like that, taking halting steps toward mending the rift. The grief lingered—a heavy companion in the room—but beneath it, there was love, fragile but steadfast.

Hours crept by in slow motion. Lando stayed nearby, drawing a bath for her, massaging her back when the cramps worsened, handing her tissues whenever tears struck without warning. She apologized again and again; he told her that he forgave her, but also that trust would take time to rebuild.

Occasionally, she caught him gazing at her with tears in his eyes, heartbreak flashing across his features at the thought of the baby he would never meet. Guilt nibbled at her each time, knowing she had kept him in the dark. And yet, he never lashed out in anger. He was gentle, if deeply wounded—proof of how deeply he cared for her. It humbled her and made her chest ache all at once.

By the time night fell again, Y/N was curled on the couch under a blanket, eyes hollow from crying. Lando had stepped away to the bathroom; when he returned, he settled next to her, exhaustion etched on his face.

“Remember when we used to talk about the future?” he asked quietly, eyes distant. “About traveling more, maybe living somewhere else, getting away from the city for a bit?”

She nodded, recalling those late-night talks and the sense of possibility they used to share—how different everything seemed now.

“I still want those things,” he said, turning toward her. “And I want them with you. But I need you to come to me with things—even if you think it’ll upset me or disappoint me.” A tremor of emotion caught in his throat. “I can’t handle being shut out again.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I promise,” she said, voice unsteady. “I promise I won’t ever hide something like this from you again.”

He studied her face for a moment, then nodded, a flicker of relief showing. “Good,” he whispered, slipping an arm around her waist.

She let her head rest on his shoulder, fresh tears slipping onto his shirt. This time, the crying felt like a release rather than a collapse. He stroked gentle circles on her back.

They stared out the window at the glow of the skyline. The silence between them was heavy but not hostile—more like two people trying to piece themselves back together after a storm.

A few minutes passed in silence, the soft hum of traffic below filling the quiet. Then, Y/N cleared her throat, turning to look at Lando with fresh tears gathering.

“I know I keep apologizing,” she began, voice trembling, “but I need you to know something important.”

He watched her intently, his own eyes rimmed with red. “What is it?” he asked softly.

She drew in a shaky breath. “I don’t regret having the abortion,” she said, her voice steady for the first time since this began. “I truly believe it was the right decision for me… for us… for now. And I’m so sorry if that hurts to hear.”

His face flickered with pain, but he gave a small shake of his head. “It doesn’t hurt to hear it,” he said, pressing his lips together. “I promise. I’m not… I’m not upset about the decision itself. I know it’s your body, your choice.”

The relief in her eyes was immediate, though guilt still lingered. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I needed to say that out loud.” Her gaze dropped to their joined hands. “But I’m devastated that I didn’t tell you as soon as I found out. The moment I took that test, I should have… I should have told you. I just—” She paused, swallowing hard. “I was so scared.”

He nodded, his grip on her fingers tightening briefly. “That’s what hurts the most,” he admitted, voice thick. “Not that you ended the pregnancy. But that you believed I’d try to make you keep it.” He exhaled shakily, the corners of his eyes glistening again. “It feels like you thought I’d trap you or force you. That you trusted me so little.”

Hearing the crack in his voice, Y/N felt fresh tears surge. “I didn’t want to think of you that way,” she whispered, “but I… let my fear win. I convinced myself that you’d beg me to keep it, and I wouldn’t be able to stand firm.” She shifted closer, her free hand moving to rest gently on his forearm. “Seeing you like this, knowing how much I hurt you by not telling you—” She broke off, choking on a sob. “I’m sorry, Lando. I’m so, so sorry.”

He swallowed, blinking against his own tears. “I’m hurt because it’s us. We’ve been together for two years, and I thought… I thought you knew me better than that. I would never have wanted to force you into anything, and I would have respected your decision from the start.” His voice wavered. “I would have been there in that clinic, waiting, holding your hand, driving you home. All of it. If only you’d told me.”

That last sentence sent a wave of guilt crashing over her. She leaned in, pressing her forehead against his shoulder as she cried silently. His arm came around her, holding her close.

When she finally lifted her head, her eyes were red, but there was a fierceness in her gaze. “I know,” she said, voice raw. “And I hate myself for letting fear overshadow everything else. For making you feel like I didn’t trust you.”

Lando eased back against the cushions, tugging her gently with him so that she rested against his side. “I understand why you were scared,” he murmured, staring at the city lights through the glass windows. “But it doesn’t make the hurt vanish. It’s going to take time.”

She nodded, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I know,” she whispered. “I’m prepared for that. I’ll do whatever it takes. I just want you to know I’m not… I’m not sitting here wishing I could go back and keep the pregnancy. I’m wishing I could go back and trust you enough to tell you from the start.”

His gaze slid toward her, sad and searching. “Thank you,” he said softly. “I need to hear that.”

She exhaled unsteadily, dropping her head against his shoulder. “You’re so hurt,” she murmured. “And every time I see it in your eyes… It breaks me. Because I’m the one who caused it.”

He pressed a tentative kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll heal,” he said. “We both will. But you have to promise me, from now on, you’ll come to me. Even if you think I’ll be angry, or disappointed, or anything else. Just… don’t shut me out.”

Her voice cracked when she answered, “I won’t. I swear. I’ve learned my lesson the hardest way possible.”

They stayed like that for several beats of silence, the city’s ambient glow lending a soft halo around them through the windows. After a while, Y/N shifted to look at him directly.

“Do you want anything?” she asked quietly. “Tea? Water? Another blanket?”

He half-smiled, a worn expression. “I think I could use some water, yeah.”

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before standing. Her steps were ginger; she was still sore, but the pain was easier to bear now that the guilt wasn’t crushing her every breath. In the kitchen, she filled a glass with water. She grabbed one for herself as well.

When she returned, Lando accepted it gratefully, taking a few careful sips. She settled back beside him, drawing a throw blanket over both of their laps.

“I promise,” she said suddenly, “I’ll never lie to you like this again, never keep something so big a secret.” Her voice trembled, but her eyes shone with conviction. “I know it won’t erase what I’ve done, but I need you to know that.”

He nodded, setting his half-finished glass on the coffee table. “I believe you,” he said, “but it’ll take time for that trust to feel… complete again.” He glanced at her worriedly, as though fearing his honesty might wound her further. “Are you okay hearing that?”

She swallowed, tears threatening once more. “Yes,” she said, forcing herself not to look away. “It’s what I deserve. I hurt you, and I can’t expect that to vanish overnight.” She paused, taking a ragged breath. “But I’ll do whatever it takes to show you I do trust you… that you are the most important person in my life.”

He gave a short, pained laugh. “Funny how we both felt we were doing what was best for each other—me wanting to be supportive no matter what, you wanting to protect my career and your own.” He shook his head. “But we ended up hurting each other more.”

She rested a hand against his cheek, wiping away the tears on his lashes with her thumb. “I’m done letting fear guide me,” she said. “I want us to heal, Lando.”

Silence fell again, broken only by the quiet city hum and their unsteady breathing. Finally, Lando sighed, releasing some of the tension in his shoulders. “Let’s talk about something—anything else—just for a minute,” he suggested, voice still laced with sadness but carrying a faint glimmer of hope. “Not to pretend this didn’t happen, but… I feel like I can’t breathe if we keep circling the same pain.”

She nodded, understanding. “Okay.”

They sat there for a moment, and she found herself hesitating. Then she mustered a small smile. “I had an idea for a holiday, before all this. Nothing extravagant—maybe just a road trip through the English countryside, or a quick hop somewhere in Europe for a weekend. To get away from the city stress.”

His expression softened. “I remember you mentioning wanting to see the Lake District again.”

She nodded, shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Yeah. Maybe we could go there. It’s calm… quiet. Might give us space to just be.”

He reached for her hand again, a gentler hold this time. “That actually sounds… perfect,” he admitted. “No pressure, no big crowds. Just us.”

They exchanged a tentative smile, the first real glimmer of something lighter passing between them since the revelation.

After a pause, Y/N brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For listening. For not walking away. For understanding that… I don’t regret the abortion. Only how I handled it with you.”

Lando studied her face for a moment, then lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss there. “I love you,” he said, his voice still heavy with emotion. “I wish this had never happened the way it did, but I’m still here. And I still want you… just you.”

She blinked back fresh tears, nodding. “I love you, too,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry I ever made you feel like I didn’t trust you. You’re the only person I’ve ever truly loved, and I hate that I made you doubt it.”

He squeezed her hand. “We’ll work through it,” he said quietly. “One day at a time. As long as we’re both honest from now on.”

She breathed out, her shoulders slumping in a mixture of exhaustion and relief. “Yes,” she agreed, letting her head fall onto his shoulder. “One day at a time.”

Outside the apartment windows, the city moved on as always—lights pulsing, cars streaming, life going on. But for the two of them, everything felt changed. They hadn’t escaped the storm entirely, but they had survived its fiercest gusts.

Wrapped in each other’s arms on that couch, they found a fragile peace—not because they had forgotten the pain, but because they had acknowledged it, felt it fully, and decided to keep moving forward together.

[hans-wh0re]

PRAISE ME, BABY

Synopsis: Jisung just can't act normal when you praise him. A.N: Idk how this turned out to be as it's been a while, so don't have high expectations lmao (i wanna kms).

Jisung prided himself on being a pretty calm guy. Sure, he got flustered easily, especially around his friends. But he considered himself to be pretty chill, all things considered. That is, until you came along.

He had known you for a while, you were one of his closest friends. You were always bubbly and outgoing, the life of any party, and always ready with a compliment or word of encouragement. He always appreciated your presence, but recently, he's been feeling a strange pull towards you, something he can’t quite place.

It all started with your voice. He swore he’d never been so attentive to his own name until you were the one calling him for a project. His stomach would twist, his palms would sweat, and the tips of his ears burned. At first, he figured it was just a passing thing, the nerves that everyone has when they begin a new friendship. He wanted to be your friend, and it only seemed right that the nervousness would wash away eventually. Yet weeks turned into months, and the only thing that faded was your shared space for the project.

And now, even though you’re done with the thing you were assigned together, you spend just as much time together as you did while working on the project.

The real problem began when you decided to tell him he’s good at things. Things he knew he was good at, but for some reason, meant so much more coming from you. A compliment on the new song he wrote? He nearly passed out. You telling him you thought his drawing was good? He felt like his skin would melt off. You telling him he was the best friend you could ever ask for? He was a goner. Completely gone.

It was starting to affect him in ways he couldn’t explain. He'd find himself thinking about you at the most random moments, his heart racing whenever you were near, and an insistent pull between his legs whenever you were even the slightest bit nice. And as much as he liked the feeling, he also hated it. He didn’t want you to know that he was so easily affected by you, that your kind words could turn him into a blushing mess. He wanted to be cool, to play it off, to pretend it didn’t bother him. But he just couldn’t.

Which brings him to now, in your living room, trying his best to focus on the statistics research you’ve assigned him.

“Jisung, can you check these numbers over one more time?” You ask from across the room, and he tenses at just the sound of your voice. He wants nothing more than to scream, to run into the bathroom and jerk off, to cry at the overwhelming amount of horniness you cause him.

He nods stiffly, pushing away from the small table with a gentle “mhmm” before leaning over to peer at the numbers on your laptop. His face burns hot as you lean closer to him, your shoulder brushing against his as you point out what he’s supposed to be looking for.

“Okay, so what you need to do is– oh! Good job! Thanks, Jisung!” You practically sing as you reach over to pat him on the head, and that sends him over the edge. His cock jumps in his pants, and he feels his face turn tomato red.

Your hand, still resting innocently on his head, feels like a fucking brand, searing through his hair, through his skull, straight down to the mess you’ve made of his insides. Good job. The two simplest words, uttered in your bright, infuriatingly cheerful voice, and he’s instantly, shamefully, rock hard.

He jerks back from the laptop, pulling away from your touch like it’s electrocuted him, though every nerve ending is screaming for more. His face is burning, radiating heat he’s sure you can feel even from a foot away. He can’t look at you. If he looks at you, sees that oblivious sunshine smile, he might actually combust. Or worse, grab you, shove you against the wall, and demand you say it again while he grinds his aching erection against you.

“Uh… yeah,” he manages to choke out, his voice cracking embarrassingly. He clears his throat, turning away, pretending to be intensely interested in a dust bunny near the leg of the table. Anything to avoid your gaze. Anything to hide the pathetic state you reduce him to with a casual pat on the head and a few kind words.

This is fucking pathetic. He hates this. Hates how easily you unravel him. Hates how that simple, genuine praise ignites something dark and needy deep inside him, something that feels distinctly wrong for a friendship. He shouldn’t be getting hard because you think he did a good job double-checking some stupid statistics. He shouldn’t be picturing the way your mouth would look wrapped around him while you told him how good he is, how much you need him.

But he is. Fuck, he is.

His hand instinctively drops to cover the embarrassing bulge straining against his zipper. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, trying to discreetly adjust himself, but it’s useless. He’s thick, throbbing, painfully aware of every beat of his pulse echoing between his legs. He needs release. He needs it now. Needs to lock himself in your bathroom, your scent probably clinging to the towels, and just fucking ruin himself thinking about you, whispering your praises back to himself like some kind of mantra while he pumps his fist raw.

“Jisung? You okay?” Your voice again, closer this time. Concerned. Fuck, why are you always so nice? Don’t you see what you’re doing to him? Or maybe… maybe you do? A tiny, insidious thought worms its way into his brain. Maybe this bubbly, outgoing act is just that – an act. Maybe you know exactly how much power your words hold over him. Maybe you like seeing him squirm.

The thought sends a fresh wave of heat through him, darker this time, mixed with a confusing flicker of anger. He forces himself to look up, meeting your earnest, slightly worried gaze. God, you’re so fucking pretty it hurts. Your eyes are wide, lips slightly parted, head tilted in that way that makes him want to either kiss you senseless or push you down onto the floor.

“Fine,” he bites out, the word harsher than intended. He sees you blink, taken aback by his tone. Good. Maybe if he’s an asshole, this feeling will stop. Maybe if he pushes you away, the relentless throb behind his fly will finally subside.

But then you offer him another smile, softer this time, understanding. “Okay,” you say gently. “Well, you did a really great job with this, Sungie. Seriously, I was totally stuck.” You even reach out, squeezing his arm briefly.

Sungie.

His breath catches. His cock gives another violent jump, straining against the denim, slick head weeping pre-cum he can suddenly, agonizingly feel dampening the inside of his boxers. The urge to groan, to grab your hand and press it against his hardness, to make you feel what you do to him, is overwhelming.

He stands abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. Your hand drops from his arm. He can’t stay here. Not another second.

“Gotta… uh… bathroom,” he mutters, already moving, practically fleeing towards the hallway, avoiding your confused expression.

He finds the door, shoulders his way inside, locking it behind him with trembling fingers. He leans his forehead against the cool wood, breathing hard, trying to regain control. The small space smells faintly of your cherry blossom body wash. Torture. Absolute fucking torture.

His eyes squeeze shut. Good job, Jisung. You’re the best, Sungie. Lifesaver. Your voice echoes in his head, sweet poison fueling the fire. He can almost hear you whispering other things. Filthy things. Telling him how good he feels inside you, how much you need his cock, how perfect he is while he pounds into you.

With a ragged groan, he rips his jeans open, yanking himself out. He’s dripping wet, painfully hard, veins standing out in sharp relief. He doesn’t bother with lube, doesn’t need it. He wraps his fist around his shaft, tight, punishing, and starts stroking, fast and frantic.

He needs friction. Needs pain to cut through the overwhelming pleasure-ache your praise causes. He imagines you kneeling right where he’s standing, eyes wide and adoring, chanting his praises while he fucks your pretty mouth raw. He imagines pinning you against this sink, lifting one of your legs, shoving into you while you gasp out how good he is, how perfect his cock feels splitting you open.

“Fuck… yes…” he pants, knuckles white, pumping harder, faster. He can feel the orgasm building, coiling tight and low in his gut, spurred on by the phantom echo of your voice telling him he’s good. He bites back a louder groan, thrusting his hips forward, fucking his own fist against the closed door. He pictures your face contorted in pleasure beneath him, screaming his name, telling him he’s the best you’ve ever had.

He’s close, so fucking close, vision swimming, when he hears it. A soft tapping on the door.

"Jisung? Are you… sure you’re okay? You sound kind of… strained."

Your voice. Right there. Concerned. Oblivious. Or maybe… not so oblivious?

Panic crashes through him, cold and sharp, momentarily dousing the heat. He freezes, hand clamped tight around his still-throbbing cock, slick with sweat and pre-cum. Did you hear him? Did you hear the harsh pants, the low groans, the frantic rhythm?

Fuck. He is so fucked!

A.N: This man makes me have urges i don't normally have like uhhh the things i wanna do to him! Also i have so many thoughts on how/where i want this to go from here, but m not sure! So this will stay like this until i settle on one ending. Sorry :(

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Medieval knight!Jason Todd who's a long-lost son of the Wayne earldom. He took up a crusade when he was younger but was believed to be dead. Only to reveal himself several years later during the swordsmanship tournament hosted by Wayne family. Just as Dick was lying in the sand coughing up blood next to his discarded sword, his unknown challenger took off his scarlet helmet and the entire court erupted in chaos.

That was years ago now. Since then, Sir Todd made amends with his family, but they are by no means close. Jason managed to gain a title and a fief on his own, independent of his family and he takes no small pride in that. These days he and his merry group of loyal warriors take up mercenary work and guardianship if the person has enough coin.

When the local baron hired him to be a personal guard for his daughter, Jason was sure that would be an easy job for a good amount of gold. The red knight soon found out that being your bodyguard is not as easy as he thought. You were quite the escape artist. Whenever a banquet or an audience was too boring for your liking, you simply vanished, and Jason had to search for you high and low to drag you back. It made him grind his jaw and caused his temper to flare more than once.

You were thrilled and appalled that someone spoke to you so crassly and brazenly. Other soldiers your father assigned to you treated you with the utmost respect and gave up after a few months. Not the red knight. He proved himself to be just as stubborn as you, if not more. At this point, it wasn't about money anymore. He just couldn't stand the thought of some spoiled daughter of a noble getting the better of him. Jason had no qualms about throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you back to the castle, while the plate of his armor dug uncomfortably into your stomach.

After six months of this, Jason was fed up with your nonsense and was ready to collect his gold and disappear for good. You were hiding from the baroness, some nonsense about dress fitting or a dance lesson. Jason was just returning from the training grounds when he saw you sitting on the ground near the barn, playing with a fresh litter of kittens. You knew the cat and the kittens well, and judging how other animals treated you it wasn't your first time there. You met his gaze and winked at him, placing a finger to your lips. Your first shared secret.

After that day, your personal guard Jason somehow became your partner in crime. He looked the other way sometimes or followed in a safe distance. You fascinated him, and somehow, before he even knew it, he started to fall for you. He wanted to deny it. Jason reminded himself time and time again why it was a horrible idea. However, he couldn't keep himself from falling more and more for you.

Another day, another one of your daring escapes. This time was, different, though. You took some of your belongings and your horse while leaving a letter to say your goodbyes. Jason did not care for exploring the feelings of absolute horror that grasped his heart at the thought of you disappearing from his life. He immediately set out to search for you. You couldn't escape too far and he knew where to go. He knew you better than anyone.

When he caught up with you, you were residing in a tavern in a small cozy village near the edge of your father's land. You were always annoyed and scathing whenever he came to bring you back home, but this time, you were just sad, almost tearful. Jason demanded an explanation for your unusual disappearance, and the one he received almost made him shatter the pitcher in his hand. The courting season was swiftly approaching.

He knew of your fear and unwillingness to get pawned off for alliance and title. He was also aware that your parents were adamant in marrying you off before grow out of marrigable age.

Which is why your loyal guardian made you an offer. You stay in the village for its upcoming festival, relishing in last days of freedom without responsibility, before returning home. This offer served not only you, but Jason as well. He wanted to revel in your presence before returning to your old life where he was the knight and you were the noble.

In hinsight, he should've realized that was a mistake, because in these last few days he became aware of how smitten he'd become. It was all too easy to forget his duties when you were pretending to be a simple village girl.

You peroused the stalls, gawking at everything you saw and chatting his ear off. He watched you trying to eat the commoner food with your bare hands, hilariously failing. When they arrived in the square where the dance was held, you haven't hesitated before grabbing his hand and pulling him for a dance. Jason wanted to protest, but your bright smile convinced him. He twirled you amongst the townsfolk before he noticed familiar faces heading your way. The baron's soldiers, no doubt they were looking for you.

Quicker than you could react, Jason pulled you into a darkened corner, covering your body with his, pressing your lips together. He kissed you until he knew the guards were gone. He pulled away to apologize but before he could say anything you grabbed him by the lapels of his cloak and pressed your lips together again. You kissed him with sweetness and desperation that stole breath from his lungs, and Jason had no choice but to melt into you. He wrapped his arms around you, pressing you impossibly close to him, your hands slipped from his cheeks to his hair.

He indulged little longer before letting voice of reason win, pulling away. Jason reminded you that you shouldn't be doing this, reminded you of your respective postitions. You didn't listened, instead, you uttered words Jason both wished and dreaded to hear.

You loved him.

He asked of you to never say these words to him again, and without another word he took your hand and led you back home as he tried to ignore your quiet sobs.

Despite your promises, he catches you trying to climb out over one of the garden walls during your courting ball. Jason wanted to strangle you, not that he enjoyed watching you dance with all those idiot nobles while all he wanted to do was to take you and carry you somewhere where there only be the two of you. This can't go on much longer, he has to end things tonight. Jason takes on a quest, to slay creatures in the southern forest. Surely you'll understand eventually...that the distance is good for both of you.

Months go by, and the pain the red knight felt when leaving you felt bearable. The other soldiers in his unit were curious as to why the infamous red knight left such prestigious position. Some speculated it was because the position was too peaceful and the dead son of Wayne was hungry for blood. If only they knew the true reason he left, but it was for the better. No one needs to know. One day, a messenger arrived, bearing a letter that stated there was an attack on the baron's family. The baron and his wife were badly injured and you were missing.

How was this possible?! You were supposed to be safe here! Without missing even a single second, Jason rode his horse tirelessly to the city. He will find you, and whoever took you will pay for every scratch he finds on you with their life. When he rescues you from your kidnappers, you're barely conscious. Gently, he pics up your weakened body and carefully carries you over the dead bodies lying everywhere. When he brings you back home, as he always done, he is adamant to never leave your side, no matter what takes. With heart full of determination, he asks, no, demands your hand in marriage. His name, his fief, his sword and his hearth, all of it is yours.

The baron is wise enough to give Sir Jason his blessings. After all, who's better for his daughter than a man who is able to set the world ablaze to safe her?

Art: Crown; Katerina Kirillova

Tags: @thinkingofausername, @fir3flytv, @ivysangel, @cherrrysstuff, @xxgoblin-dumplingxx, @mostly-imagines , @applejuicebegood

[lovesickhughes]

BUY ME PRESENTS — quinn hughes x reader

a/n: here is another fic for my holiday series ‘meet me under the mistletoe’!! this is actually my first ever quinn fic and i wrote it all in one sitting, and enjoyed every second of it! fun fact, this fic is actually inspired by my own parents’ proposal that i recently watched for the first time, and it was too adorable not to be inspired by it!! i hope you have enjoyed the series so far, and there is more to come! happy reading 

summary: christmas comes early, an unexpected gift from quinn changing your life in ways you could only ever have dreamed of

warnings: making out (a decent amount, but who wouldn’t want to make out with quinn), FLUFF 🥹

word count: 2.6k

series masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Christmas time with the Hughes was something you had quickly come to love and look forward to each year in the past four years of being with the Canucks’ captain, Quinn. The family made it their mission to make you feel as welcomed and accepted as possible, and there was never a doubt they treated you like their own daughter since beginning your relationship with Quinn. 

This year, with the Canucks schedule having a game two days before Christmas, Quinn and you had arranged to spend Christmas day at your shared Vancouver apartment before flying to Michigan to join the rest of his family at their lake house for the rest of the Christmas break before flying back home for the New Year’s Eve game a week later. That being said, this Christmas would be more special than the previous years, as it would be Quinn and your first Christmas spent together without being surrounded by either of your extended families. 

The anticipated holiday was two weeks away, and like every year before, you were finalizing all your planned gifts, only having to shop for a few more items before wrapping all of the presents you had purchased for Quinn, his family, your own family and your small circle of friends. 

Quinn had been awake before the sun had even risen, having an early morning practice with his team, before heading home for the rest of the Saturday to spend with you. The two of you had planned a few weeks back to spend today as time to shop for any last minute gifts you needed to give to your family and friends, and you both decided that after your errands had been run, you would spend the rest of the evening cuddled up on the couch watching your favourite Christmas classics with warm mugs of hot chocolate with candy canes dipped in the drink. 

While you were fast asleep, you felt the shift in the bed from behind you, indicating Quinn was up and getting ready to leave for practice. Half asleep, you heard him quietly rustle around for his clothes to be worn to practice, before you heard his feet pad against the wooden floors and the door of the ensuite bathroom quietly click shut. 

You rolled over in bed, pulling the cloud-like comforter over your shoulder and nuzzling farther into the comfortable mattress beneath you as your tired state still took over. 

It wasn’t long before Quinn had exited the bathroom, his feet softly thudding against the floor, getting louder as he approached your side of the bed and you instinctively felt his presence hover over you as you battled between your sleep-like state and waking up. 

You could hear Quinn’s soft breaths come close to your ear, as he placed a soft kiss against your temple, his hand coming up to brush your hair that was messily scattered on your face, out of the way to make you more comfortable. 

“I’ll see you later today, okay?” Quinn mumbled against your temple, placing another delicate kiss against your skin. The vibrations of his voice being sent through your skin and body made you stretch your limbs out in response as you slowly came to wake. 

You hummed in response, still too tired to put together any real words. 

“Love you, baby.” He said as he pulled away and began to walk towards the door to the master bedroom. 

“Mm, love you.” You mumbled against the side of your pillow, your face being squished against the silk material of your pillowcase. You heard Quinn chuckle to himself before exiting the room and heading towards the main area of your shared apartment, not long before hearing the sound of the front door shut as he headed out for the day. 

A few hours later, once feeling rested enough and cherishing the chance to sleep in on a Saturday, you began your day, putting together a breakfast meal and making a cup of coffee before planting yourself on the white couch in the living room, turning on the TV and watching the highlights of Friday night’s games. 

After you finished your meal and coffee, cleaned your dishes and changed for the day, you gathered your purse, keys and phone before slipping on your blundstone’s and rain coat, anticipating Vancouver’s rainy winters. 

You quickly made your way to the parkade of the apartment complex, before setting off to shop for a few more items you had on your list for a few of the other wives and girlfriends of the Canucks that you had come to be close friends with over the years.

Three hours had passed by the time you were heading back up to your apartment, multiple bags being hung on each of your arms. To say you didn’t go a little overboard on Christmas shopping would be an understatement; but you convinced yourself it was just your love language. 

You fumbled with your keys in your hand, sliding the key into the lock of the door before turning it and opening the door in a swift movement. Entering the apartment, you could hear the noise from the TV emitting in the house, indicating Quinn had made it home before you did. You thought to yourself, it was odd that he was home much earlier than his usual time when he had early morning practices. You checked your phone to see the time read that it was only 12:30pm; usually Quinn doesn’t get home closer to two o’clock. 

Furrowing your eyebrows you slipped off your shoes and walked quickly into the apartment, in search of your beloved brunette, only to find him in the kitchen, cooking some sort of lunch. 

“Hey, babe, I’m home,” you trailed off, squinting your eyes in confusion as he turned to you. Quinn quickly made his way to you, his arms slipping to your waist as he pulled you in for a kiss. 

Shocked at his affection, it took you a moment before you melted into the feeling of his lips against yours. It was a soft, but passionate kiss, Quinn’s hand coming up to cradle your jawline, he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing your lip, waiting for permission, which you quickly granted him as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. Your breath hitched, quickly dropping the bags that hung heavily on your arm as you then brought your own hands up to the nape of his neck, tangling your fingers in his luscious brown hair. Quinn’s hand that still rested on your hip gripped your side tighter, pulling your body in even closer to be flush against his own broad figure, and you tilted your head into the kiss, deepening it further. 

You pull away, a shocked expression written on your face, “why hello,” you chuckled, reaching to softly pinch his cheek. “You’re quite excited to see me.” You said as you grabbed the bags you had just placed to the ground, moving them over to the island counter and setting them on the surface. Quinn trailed behind, his hands finding your sides once again as his head fell into the crevice of your neck, inhaling your scent as his nose tickled your skin.

“Missed you this morning,” he mumbled, placing wet kissing against your skin. You turn around in his embrace to face him, pouting slightly in adoration. 

“So waking up next to me wasn’t enough?” You giggled in question.

“Oh, it was,” Quinn smirked, clearly showing he was deep in thought of waking up beside you, legs tangled together. 

You hum at his response, “that’s what I thought.” Letting out a quick giggle. 

Quinn resumed cooking his lunch while you took the gifts you had purchased to your room and put them in your closet alongside the other gifts you had purchased earlier in the month. 

Coming back down to the kitchen and living room, you grabbed a quick snack and water, placing yourself beside Quinn on one of the barstools that hid under the counter of the island. Pulling out your phone and scrolling through your notifications and feed, Quinn and you sat in a comfortable silence. That was one of the things you cherished about the relationship you had with Quinn; you were so comfortable with each other that there were moments in time where no words needed to be spoken, you were content with just being in the presence of each other. 

Quinn finished up his meal, placing his plate in the dishwasher and cleaning up any other messes around the kitchen, before he walked around the island to come back to being beside you, wrapping his arms around your torso from behind and tightly hugging you. 

You look up from your phone and turn your head to look at him, “you’re being awfully affectionate today,” you remarked, shining him a smile. Quinn shrugged his shoulder, continuing to hug you. “What are you up to?” 

“Nothing,” he replied, nuzzling his head into your shoulder. “C’mere.” He said as he stood up from hugging you, grabbing your hand and pulling you to your feet. He pulled you into his side and directed you to the living room, where the Christmas decorations Quinn and you had set up made the area feel as cozy and festive as you could imagine. 

Quinn guides you to the couch with a hand on the small of your back, and you plop down onto the cushion with him, his arm still wrapped around your shoulder as you snuggle into his side.

Quinn lifted his free hand to your chin, tilting your head to meet his lips, bringing you into a short, sweet kiss. When you pulled away, you had a squint in your eyes, trying to figure out why Quinn was being so affectionate towards you. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t typically affectionate, but his actions today, mirrored when he was scheming something. 

“What are you up to?” You press.

“Nothing,” he claimed as he paused quickly after, wanting to continue his sentence before cutting himself off.

“No, it’s not nothing,” you protest, “you’re hiding something.” You say as you point your finger at him. 

He sighs nervously, drawing confusion on your face at his quick demeanour change. 

“Well, you’re right, it’s not nothing,” he said, “I got you an early Christmas gift, okay?” He said nervously through a shaky breath. 

You giggle, “that’s it? You don’t have to be so nervous about that, my love.” You exclaimed, reaching to massage his shoulder. 

“That’s the thing,” He continued, making a pit form in your stomach; realizing he was indeed hiding something. “I wanted to do something special for you for this Christmas, and that’s why I suggested we spend Christmas day together, just the two of us, okay?” He reassured you, earning a slow nod in response from you for him to continue. “I just want you to know how much I love you, and how much you have changed my life for the better. Since we got together, you have completed me as a person, and I don’t know what I would do without you.” He exclaimed. Your eyes had now begun to fill with tears at his heartfelt compliment to you, and you scooted yourself closer to him, wrapping your own arms around him into a hug while still looking into his mesmerizing eyes. 

“Now, I want you to go and look for your gift, it’s in the tree.” He directed, nodding his head in the direction of where the Christmas tree was set up. “I can come with you if you want.” He quickly added, reassuring you of his support. 

You nervously nodded your head to have him join you and you both stood at the same time, cautiously walking over to the faux pine tree that had themed ornaments hung on its branches. Quinn placed a hand on the small of your back, slowly walking to the side of the tree closest to the windows in the living room of the apartment, and when you scanned the branches in search for your gift, your eyes abruptly stopped at what appeared to be a dark blue, velvet, ring-sized box. 

Your mouth fell agape in shock, and you frantically turned to Quinn who had a calm expression on his face, nodding at you to reach for the box and grab it. 

“I want you to open it.” He said quietly beside you, and so you reached into the tree, grabbing the small box and you nervously fumbled with it to open it, revealing a beautiful princess cut engagement ring. 

Immediately you let out a sob, your emotions being too extreme to be held back as you brought a hand up to cover your mouth. Quinn’s hand on your back, rubbed softly up and down against the fabric of your shirt, and he guided you to turn to him, delicately taking the box from you and falling to one knee. 

“Y/n, since the day that I met you; I knew that you were the one. And I know it sounds cheesy, but there is no other way I can put into words how much you mean to me and how special you are. You are my sun and lifeline. I cannot imagine a world where I didn’t have you in it, so I decided I needed to make myself a world where you’re always in it.” He spoke softly, choking on his own words, growing emotional at the moment you were sharing. 

“Will you do the honours of completing me, and will you marry me?” He asked proudly and you couldn’t even form words to give a response, all but nodding your head before falling to your knees and holding onto Quinn in a hug. 

“Is that a yes?” He asked, leaning his head back to try and find your face. 

You pull away from his shoulder, “God, yes.” You passionately exasperate in excitement. You pulled him into a sweet, long kiss, your wet cheeks from your tears falling onto his own, before Quinn pulled away to wipe your face, and looking down to the box he was still holding. 

“We gotta get this thing on your finger to solidify it,” He said softly, just so you could hear, “can’t have you slipping away anytime soon.” He chuckled. 

You smiled, looking down as Quinn took the diamond ring from its box and carefully slid it onto the fourth finger of your left hand, and you looked back up at him, meeting his eyes with a wide smile on both of your faces. 

“Never.” You confirmed as you smiled into a kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck as he pulled you by the waist to meet his figure. 

The kiss was filled with much more desperation than before, Quinn quickly taking control and he lifted you to your feet and guided you carefully back to the couch while keeping your lips connected. Your back fell softly against the cushion of the couch as you continued kissing Quinn, finally parting and looking at each other yet again, chests heaving up and down as you were out of breath from the heated moment. 

“I’m so glad you said yes,” Quinn said as he let out a breath. 

“You really think I would have said no?” You counter with a raise of your eyebrow. 

He chuckled at your rebuttal, shaking his head, “Nah, I knew you’d say yes.” He shrugged playfully as he leaned back in to kiss you again. 

Sitting back up, with your legs thrown over Quinn’s lap and his arm resting on your hip, you leaned your head against his shoulder. 

“I can’t believe we’re engaged now.” You smiled in disbelief, extending your hand out in front of you to admire the gorgeous ring now on your finger. 

“Me neither.” Quinn mumbled against the crown of your head, placing a kiss to your hair. 

“Best present ever.” You said to Quinn as you looked up to meet his eyes again, pushing yourself up slightly to kiss him. 

And Quinn truly was the best present you’d ever been given. 

[serpentandlily]

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny VI - Eris x Archeron!Reader

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny VI - Eris x Archeron!Reader

Summary: You find yourself ensnared by a sly, cunning fox. A very handsome, irritating one.

Warnings: smut (minors dni), fluff, angst, misogynistic language/beliefs, violence

A/n: I hope this part is good enough for you guys to forgive me for being a week late!

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Part VI

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To your disappointment, when you woke up the next morning, Eris was already gone—the sheets cold on his side. You let out a sigh and got up, blinking the sleep from your eyes. It was only then you realized Willow and Ivy were fretting around the bedroom, the wardrobe doors thrown open and piles of dresses on the floor.

“What on earth are you two doing?”

Your handmaidens jumped in shock at the sound of your voice before Ivy turned to face you. “Oh, Lady, you are awake! Lord Eris requested we pack an overnight bag for you.” 

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “For what?” 

They both shared a glance before shrugging but they couldn’t hide the smiles on their faces. “We can only guess, my Lady, but he did not tell us anything.” 

“Did he at least tell you where he’s taking me?” You sighed but they both shook their heads.

“No,” Willow grumbled, “Which is why we’re struggling to pack. We have no idea what you’ll need.”

But Ivy just smiled brightly. “We’ll just pack a bit of everything. That way you’ll be ready for whatever it is he wants.” 

The look in her eyes told you she knew exactly what Eris wanted and your cheeks turned red. You let out a huff of air before falling back down on your pillows. 

“Oh no, Lady, you mustn’t fall asleep again. We are to escort you to the stables in an hour's time. Willow will run you a bath.” 

You let Willow help you get ready, your mind on Eris and what he had in store for you. Willow dressed you in a long burgundy gown that had a corset styled bodice that clung to your frame and a flowy chiffon skirt. Tiny roses were embroidered along the lighter side panels of the skirt. 

Luckily, it wasn’t long before your handmaidens were presenting you to your mate who was waiting for you at the stables. 

Eris was staring at you with an intensity that had your face full of color. It wasn’t until the two of you were left alone that his infamous fox-like grin spread on his face. He was dressed finely in dark brown breeches with riding boots and a tunic embroidered with small leaves along the seams. 

“Would you like your own horse this time, bunny?”

Right, you did technically know how to ride a horse now. But you shook your head. “May I ride with you?”

“Who am I to deny a lady her request?” Eris purred, extending a hand out to you. Butterflies danced in your stomach as you took it, letting him pull you close so he could lift you onto Marigold, the horse. 

He strapped the overnight bag to the horse before he lifted himself up behind you, wrapping his arms around your body to take the reins in one hand and pulling you back against his chest with his other. Your cheeks turned pink and you let out a content sigh as the warmth from his body combatted the crisp morning air. 

Marigold started her trot into the woods and it was silent for a moment before you spoke. 

"Where are you taking me?"

"It's a surprise," Eris teased.

"I don't like surprises," you pouted.

"No?" Eris's breath tickled the tip of your ear. He moved your hair to one shoulder, granting him access to your throat. He pressed a kiss against the sensitive skin there causing a shiver to run down your spine. "Well, that's too bad, bunny. You're getting one." 

You were smiling without realizing it, so honed into the places Eris's body met yours. The morning birds were chirping, the leaves rustling in the chill autumn wind. It was enchanting. The Autumn woods were quickly becoming a sanctuary for you and your mate. You hadn't felt this happy in a long time. 

You asked Eris an endless amount of questions about the Autumn Court, his brothers and family, and his life during the horse ride to wherever he was taking you. The sun began to set, sending streaks of golden light through the openings in the leaves. It wasn’t until you saw smoke curling around the tops of the tree, that you realized you were nearing your destination. 

Soon, a small cottage nestled between the tall trees appeared. Moss and ivy clung to the outer walls, blending it into the earthy flora surrounding it. A path made of fallen leaves led towards the front door, flanked by wildflowers in various colors. The babbling of a creek met your ears as you squinting to see through the sunlight filtering in through the canopy of trees above. 

“What is this place?” You twisted your head to look up at Eris. 

“One of my personal residences,” Eris answered, staring wistfully ahead. “One few know about.” 

As you drew closer to the cottage, Eris guided Marigold to a stop. He slid off the back, keeping one hand lingering on your waist.

“And you're sharing it with me?” Another secret Eris was willingly divulging to you. He had no idea how much it meant to you. He gave you a charming grin as he helped you down. 

“There is nothing I wouldn’t share with you, bunny. What is mine is yours,” he said. He kissed the top of your head before guiding you into the cottage with a hand on your back. 

As you stepped over the threshold of the hidden cottage, the scent of aged timber and a faint hint of herbs and spices greeted you. A snap of Eris’s fingers had the wood in the fireplace coming to life. Furniture made from weathered oak and mahogany filled the room, now illuminated by the warm glow of a crackling fire in the stone hearth. A plush armchair was nestled beside the hearth, a stack of books on top of it.

In a corner of the room, a spiral staircase wound its way upwards, disappearing into the shadows above. An opening straight ahead showed a peek of a kitchen. You spun as you walked forward, taking it all in before turning back to find Eris staring at you with a small smile. 

“I come here when I need a break from my father and duties,” Eris said, surprising you once again with his candidness. “And I needed to come here today so I didn’t murder my brother for slipping that breeding tonic into your drink last night.” 

Your eyes widened. “Reid?” 

Eris nodded, his jaw clenching. “He claims he did it only to embarrass you a bit at dinner but then my mother sent you away. He says he had no idea that you’d run into those guards.” 

You rubbed your arm, looking down at the floor as the memories of last night flooded your mind. “And you believe him?” 

“I unfortunately do. That doesn’t mean he didn’t face any…consequences for his little prank,” Eris said as he walked towards you. He slipped two fingers under your chin and made you look at him. “But I want you to know, bunny, that nothing like that will ever happen to you again. Do you hear me? I will not let anything happen to you. I don’t care who I have to kill to ensure that.”

“But Eris—”

He placed a finger against your lips, silencing you. “No. No buts. I was blessed with the gift of fire and I will burn down this whole world with no remorse if that's what it takes to keep you safe. Do you understand?” You opened your mouth to rebuke his words but Eris shook his head. “I don’t want to hear any objections. They will change nothing. Just a simple yes or no, bunny. Do you understand?” 

You searched his amber eyes for something, not even knowing what you were looking for. But you knew what you found. A heavy resolve, a promise, a need to protect. And you realized in that moment that you felt all those things as well. You swallowed, audibly. 

“Yes,” you whispered. “I understand.” 

Eris grinned. “Good.”

“So, why have you brought me here, my Lord?” You asked in a teasing tone, lightening the mood. 

“I brought you here to have a break from the suffocating nature of my court,” Eris answered, guiding you further into the charming cottage. 

“Well, I appreciate your consideration, my Lord.”

“Oh, back to formalities, little bunny?” That fox-line grin bloomed on Eris’s face. “I thought we moved past that last night.” He stepped closer to you, brushing some of the hair away from your face. Your cheeks turned red again causing Eris to chuckle, “Oh don't look so embarrassed, bunny. You seemed to quite enjoy having my affections.” 

Butterflies danced in your stomach. His scent was too enticing, the power that seemed to burn all around him all encompassing. Your face was on fire, your heart too. But he was right. You had enjoyed last night. You had wanted his lips on you, his hands on your skin. That hadn't changed. Even now that the breeding tonic had worn off. That craving for his touch was still there. 

"I believe you made me a promise last night, my Lord," you replied with a slight smile, toying with the laces of his tunic. 

“I did,” Eris growled and took your hands in his. “I intend to keep it.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest. The look in his eyes caused another wave of desire to crash into you. Unfortunately, your stomach decided that was the time to make itself known. A small rumble sounded and you nearly cursed at it. But Eris chuckled and stepped away, to your disappointment. 

“Come, bunny, I had the cook prepare us a light dinner,” he said, leading you to the kitchen.

Dinner consisted of an array of cheeses and breads, along with dried fruits and nuts. You were glad it was so light because you had more of an appetite for the male sitting in front of you than the food on the table. The sentiment seemed shared considering the lingering touches and heated looks Eris had been sending you. By the end of dinner, he looked quite pleased with himself for riling you up, sitting in his chair like it was his personal throne. Eris waved a hand and the dishes and plates disappeared in a blink of an eye. 

You sat frozen in your chair as he eyed you, drinking the last of his wine from his goblet. His gaze was enough to set you on edge, predatory but it didn't frighten you in the slightest. In fact, it made you come alive. He set his glass down before standing, making you hop out of your chair. If you had it your way, he'd toss you over his shoulder again like he did the first time you'd met and carry you straight to the bedroom. But instead, he leaned against the kitchen cabinets and beckoned you to him.

You'd never felt more like a bunny than in this moment. Like a hare about to be caught in a trap. 

As you stepped close to him, he brushed the hair out of your face, hooking it behind your ears before taking your cheeks in his hands. His touch was so warm, so comforting. Who cares if this was a trap? If this was the fox you were to be ensnared by, then so be it. 

“I need you to understand something before we continue down a path I know I will never be able to return from, bunny,” Eris began, his amber eyes glowing in the candlelight. “Whatever happens tonight is your choice. If you want to go back to the manor, I will take you. If you just wish to sleep, that is what we will do. Anything you don't like, just say the word and I will stop without question. Do you understand?”

A moment of silence passed as you processed his words, the care he was spelling out for you. Your hand fell on his chest, lingering over his beating heart. One you now knew was good—at least for you. And you realized it was never the fox that had ensnared the bunny but rather, the other way around. 

Because this Eris, the one standing before you now, was entirely reserved for you and you only. 

“Eris,” you whispered.

“Yes.”

“Kiss me,” you breathed out. “Please.”

“You'll never have to beg me, bunny,” Eris purred before finally pressing his lips against yours. 

The kiss became heated fast, leading the two of you to stumble around the cottage until he was pushing you up the stairs. You giggled, taking your skirt in your hands to rush up the steps. You barely made it through the threshold of the bedroom door before you were grabbing Eris by the lapels of his shirt and pulling him into a frenzied kiss. He groaned, eagerly kissing you back as he kicked the door shut behind him. 

Your hands slid down to the buttons of his shirt, feeling his muscles tensing under your touch. But Eris pulled your hands away from him before breaking the kiss. You whined at the loss of contact, lips swollen and breasts heaving with pants. 

“Not so fast, bunny,” Eris said with a wave of his hand that had every single candle lighting in the room. 

You gasped as the room came to life, as the light illuminated the large four-poster bed covered in dark red, velvet sheets and fluffy pillows in all shades of Autumn. A small hearth warmed the room and textured fabrics hung from the ceiling embedded with faelights that gave the room a hazy and comforting atmosphere. 

“Come here,” Eris rasped, holding out his arm. 

Your heart fluttered as you took it, letting him draw you close. He spun you around and moved your hair to one shoulder before his hands drifted down to the laces on the back of your corset. His nimble fingers began to expertly unlace your corset while he pressed a kiss to your exposed shoulder. You let out a breath at the feeling of his warm, soft lips against your skin. 

You reached back to help him with the ties, too eager to wait, but he ripped your hands away. “Relax, little bunny,” Eris purred. “Let me do all the work.” 

Your heart started beating faster.

“Okay,” you whispered. 

Eris smirked against your skin, satisfied with the response.

He finished unlacing the corset and your dress dropped to the floor, pooling around your feet and leaving you in just your underthings. You were nearly shaking with anticipation, your breathing heavy as he lightly brushed his knuckles down your spine, causing you to shiver. 

Eris leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Get on the bed.” 

“I thought you were doing all the work,” you teased.

“You’re right,” Eris smiled before he picked you up by the hips and tossed you onto the bed as you squealed, letting you fall on the soft cushions. 

He prowled towards you with a grin, unlacing his own tunic and tugging it off. Your gaze fell to his chest, his muscled abs. Your breath caught in your throat. Eris already looked like a God but he was built like one too. 

Eris’s eyes roamed your body, his hands fisting like he was restraining himself.

You held your breath as he slowly hovered over you, his eyes searching yours for a moment until he found the certainty he was looking for. And then he kissed you again and your body came to life once more. Sparks skittered down your skin, crackling with energy.

He kissed his way down your jaw, your throat, all the way down until he was scraping his teeth against your pebbled nipple still hidden under your bra. You gasped before slapping a hand over your mouth. 

Eris’s eyes shot to yours and he growled, “My one and only rule tonight is that you let me hear those noises, bunny. Do you understand?”

You gulped and pulled your hand away from your mouth, nodding your head though your cheeks turned pink. 

“Good girl,” he purred before continuing on, leaving a trail of kisses down your exposed stomach until he pressed a kiss to the dampened spot on your panties, right between your legs. You breathed out his name, so on edge. 

“Gods,” Eris groaned. “You smell absolutely divine.” 

You might be a virgin but you weren’t completely naive when it came to sex. You had certainly read enough romance novels to prepare you for this moment. But you hadn’t expected to feel like this—to feel so utterly captivated by Eris, aching for his touch. 

“I want to see all of you, bunny,” Eris murmured, his amber eyes drinking you in. He toyed with the straps of your bra as he gave you his famous grin that made him look all the more fox-like considering the absolute hunger in his gaze. “May I?” 

“Yes,” you said, breathless with butterflies ravaging your stomach. The desire for your mate ate away any embarrassment you might’ve felt otherwise. 

His grin grew, his elongated canines exposed. Eris slowly pulled the straps of your bra down your arm, the silky fabric moving softly against your tingling skin. And then his hands were beneath you, arching you up slightly so he could unhook your bra. 

He gently pulled the garment off of you, tossing it to the floor. 

“Beautiful,” Eris groaned, his hard cock pressing against your thigh told you just how true that statement was to him. 

Shyness started to creep in and you quickly covered yourself with your arms, blushing bright red. Eris tsked and moved your arms away. “Don’t be shy, bunny. It’s just me and you here.” 

Just you and Eris. Just you and your mate. His words eased you and you felt your body soften underneath him. His large hands caressed you as he kissed his way down your neck until he finally took one of your breasts in his mouth. 

You hissed, your hands flying to tangle themselves in his hair. He grinned against your skin as he continued his ministrations, making you feel hot with need. You whimpered as his cock rubbed against you.

“Please, Eris,” you begged, not even sure what you wanted or needed. 

Eris sat up, his hands sliding to your waist. “Is my bunny ready for something more?” 

You nodded, eagerly, squirming under him. He hooked his fingers around your underwear. “Lift your hips for me, babygirl.” 

Your heart swooned at the new nickname. 

“Gods,” Eris groaned as he finally peeled off your final piece of clothing, baring you fully. “Gods, you are so beautiful.”

You felt…vulnerable as he drank in the sight of your bare body laid before him. Your toes curled at the predatory look in his eyes. Something about the dominance, the control he held over you in this moment made every rational thought leave your mind—his scent of crackling embers and cinnamon was intoxicating.

Eris leaned over you again to run his hands over every soft curve of your body. His hand drifted back between your legs, gently caressing your throbbing core. You whimpered, bucking up into his touch. 

Eris smirked against your lips. “Is my little bunny ready for me?” 

You swallowed harshly while nodding your head. 

He pressed a kiss to your neck before whispering, “I need your words, bunny.” 

“I’m ready, Eris,” you whimpered. “Please, don’t stop.” 

“I already told you that you’d never have to beg for me,” he murmured. He kissed his way down your neck, his body sliding down yours. Your brows furrowed in confusion. 

“What are you doing?” You didn’t want to wait any longer, already going crazy with want. But he didn’t stop. 

“Relax,” he purred. “Let me take care of you.” 

He pressed a kiss to your stomach. 

“My little bunny,” he murmured against your skin. 

Another kiss to the spot between your hips. “My babygirl.” 

And then he was kneeling on the floor, hooking his arms around your thighs and yanking you to the edge of the bed. You gasped, raising on your elbows to look at him. He kissed the back of your knee, tickling you, before he moved his way up your thigh, leaving love bites along your skin. 

“I need to taste you.” His voice was full of hunger, lust, as he left marks all along your thigh—sucking and biting the soft skin. 

You gasped as he ran his tongue up your slit, grasping the bedsheets in your fists. The books you read always made this act seem hot but feeling it was something else. Desire flooded you, leaving you panting for air. 

And then Eris was devouring you…devouring you like you were the sweetest fruit he’d ever tasted. You tossed your head back against the pillows, crying out his name in pleasure. 

“Eris,” you mewled. “Gods.”

Eris’s own hand slipped down to rub himself through his pants at the sound of your cries. His other hand rose, replacing his mouth to rub circles on your clit.

“I’ve got to get you ready for me, bunny,” he whispered, his finger toying at your entrance making you squirm with need. You weren’t sure what he meant by that until a single finger slowly slipped inside of you. 

You moaned at the feeling, your back bowing off the bed. Eris slowly pulled his finger out before thrusting it back in you. You couldn’t help your hips from grinding down in rhythm with his thrusts. 

“That’s it, babygirl,” he praised. He gave you a few more thrusts before he slowly started to add another finger. You hissed at the feeling of being stretched, sucking your breath in. “Breath, bunny. You’re doing so good.”

Another thrust had you finally relaxing, the slight pressure replaced with hot pleasure. You moaned his name as Eris continued to fuck you with his fingers, his mouth sucking on your clit again. He didn’t stop. Not even as your moans came out as pleas, as his name fell out of your lips over and over again while he pushed you over the edge, your vision going black with all the pleasure as you orgasmed. 

Still, he continued to devour you, causing you to writhe, overstimulated with pleasure. Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair, pulling slightly as you cried but Eris merely growled, “I’m not done yet, bunny.” 

You weren’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. You ultimately decided it was indeed a blessing as he brought you to your second orgasm with his tongue and fingers far more quickly than your first. You were gasping for air as he made his way back up the length of your body, smiling with satisfaction at how unraveled he had made you. You couldn’t help but grab Eris’s face in your hands, marveling at his striking and cruel beauty. 

“You’re never escaping me now, bunny,” he growled, running his nose up the column of your neck and groaning at your scent. “Now that I’ve got a taste of you, I’m never letting you go.”

“I don’t want you to,” you murmured, your heart beating in your chest. 

“Good,” he answered, kissing you and letting you taste yourself on his lips. His hand was back between your legs, stroking your still sensitive core. You moaned into his kiss, your hips thrusting up against him. 

He grinded his hips down, rubbing his hard cock against you and you gasped, breaking the kiss. The unbridled hunger in his gaze had your heart racing as he stared down at you. “Do you still want this, bunny?”

“Yes,” you whispered, quickly. You were sure you’d go insane if he didn’t fuck you at this point. He sat back on his haunches and began to unlace his pants. His hard cock sprung free from its constraints and your eyes widened as you glanced down at it.

Eris tossed his pants somewhere behind him, chuckling as he noticed you observing him. By feeling alone you’d known his dick was big but seeing it now, you felt slightly intimidated. You sat up a bit and reached a hand out, lightly stroking him with curiosity.

Eris groaned, his hips twitching into your touch. He gently pulled your hand away, resting over you with one arm next to your head. “You can explore later. I need you. I can’t wait any longer.” 

You nodded, swallowing with anticipation. He stared directly into your eyes as he guided himself towards your entrance, pausing one last time to allow you the chance to stop. But you placed a hand on his cheek and pulled him into a kiss instead. Eris kissed you, hungrily. His tongue parted your lips as he devoured you. He lined himself up before slowly starting to push into you. He wasn't even an inch in before he felt the resistance. He kept you locked in a kiss as he pushed farther in, stretching you out to the point of pain. 

You cringed slightly at the feeling, pulling away from his lips with a hiss. But the way Eris stared down at you with so much reverence and care comforted you. Still, you grimaced as the pain increased, as the stretching felt more like he was tearing you in half. 

You hissed again and Eris peppered kisses to your face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.” 

You shook your head, unable to tell him to stop apologizing. He grunted as you dug your nails into his biceps while he continued to thrust in slowly. “Fuck, bunny, you’re taking me so well.” 

His praise caused your heart to flutter, making you relax more until he was seated all the way. He groaned, glancing down at where both of your bodies were now connected. Your grip on his biceps were still tight as the pain started to soothe into a warmth that began to spread throughout your body. 

“Breath for me, babygirl,” Eris whispered, kissing your jaw. You nodded, eyes squeezing shut. You hadn’t even realized you’d been holding in your breath. The exhale of air from your lungs made your body soften fully and soon the pain was overwhelmed by the pleasure of having him inside of you. You moaned out his name, trying to let him know you were ready for more. 

“That’s it,” Eris groaned, feeling the tension leave. He slid out only a fraction before pushing back in—just enough to make you whimper. He brushed some of the damp hair from your forehead with a tenderness that had the bond in your chest aching. 

You were desperate for him to start moving and you realized he was waiting on some cue from you—some sign that you were ready for him. But talking felt impossible right now, your brain empty of all thoughts except a need for your mate. You lifted your hips, your breath catching with the movement. Eris grunted at the feeling of you around him. 

You breathed out his name again and that seemed to finally snap his restraint. Yet he was still gentle as he pulled all the way out of you before slowly thrusting back in. Your back arched at the new feeling. You finally released your grip on his biceps, stringing your arms around his neck instead. 

Eris began to move faster, deeper. One of his hands slid down your thigh, guiding you to hook it around his hips. The new angle caused him to hit a spot inside of you that had moans spilling from your lips. Eris kissed any part of you he had access to—your cheeks, your lips, your ears, your neck. His lips were hot, warming your skin as if you were standing next to an open flame. 

“So beautiful,” he whispered. “So beautiful.” 

His thrusts into you had you sliding against the silk sheets, had your breasts bouncing and your core throbbing around him with pleasure.

And he was watching you the whole time with a devotion that had you breathless. His whiskey amber eyes so focused on you and your pleasure, like it was all that mattered to him in this moment. His rhythm quickened, his strokes faster and faster as you spiraled underneath him—coming undone completely. 

It was overwhelming in the best possible way. Your bodies together as one. The feeling of the mating bond singing in your chest. The bliss of finally sharing yourself with someone you were falling in love with. Someone who held you like you were his entire world. Someone who saw all the unseen parts of you—the parts no one else had cared to look at. 

The culmination of everything had fire licking its way down your body, warmth spreading through your veins. Each thrust had a new wave of pleasure crashing into you. Each kiss had your heart beating to the tune of his. You were his in this moment—heart, mind, body and soul. And he was yours. Your fox. Your mate. Your Eris. 

Your vision went white as you toppled over the edge for a third time, screaming his name as you were consumed by his fire. Eris cursed as he rode out your orgasm, his pace growing sloppy as he lost himself in the feeling of you. He pounded into you, over and over again. You were mindless as you lightly grasped his cheeks, staring into his beautiful face—your body still in its state of bliss. 

“Mine,” he grunted. “You are mine.” 

“Yours,” you agreed. “And you belong to me.”

Those words had more of an effect on him than you could ever imagine. He groaned your name, his jaw tensing before he cried out and gave one final thrust inside of you that had the entire bed shaking. His forehead fell against yours as he climaxed, shuddering and panting for air. 

You stayed like that, wrapped up in each other for who knows how long. Just you and him. You and Eris. Nothing else mattered right now. Not his father or his court. Not your sisters or your mysterious powers. No conflict, no war, no pain. Nothing but the two of you and the eternal flame that connected your souls. 

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You should've known that the euphoria wouldn't last for long. The universe always had a way of making sure the highs were met with the lowest of lows. So when you returned to the Forest House with Eris the next day and were summoned immediately upon arrival to the throne room, you were not surprised. Still, a lead weight dropped in your stomach. Eris had staunchly tried to argue that you could remain within his chambers while he dealt with the matter but the guards had been adamant that the High lord had requested both of your presences. 

He held your hand tightly in his as you walked into the throne room together. Beron sat on his throne, Seraphina on her smaller chair to the side of him. Eris’s three brothers stood at the bottom of the dais—each of their faces unreadable. Reid’s face was covered in bruises and you winced, knowing it was your mate that was behind it. Still, you couldn’t find it in you to feel bad. Not after what he had done to you. 

Eris had glamoured your scents, not wanting to give his father any ammunition to use against you. The Gods knew how traditional the Autumn Court was. Beron would be displeased to know you had sex before your mating ceremony. Would likely use that as an excuse to do who knows what.

“Father,” Eris said, dipping his head in a faux show of respect. 

Beron glanced at his son before looking at you, expectantly. You dropped Eris’s hand and curtsied like you’d been taught. “High Lord.” It was enough to have him look away from you and back to his eldest son. 

“In the time you’ve been absent,” Beron started, holding his hands behind his back. “I’ve learned of a few…events that have transpired in this court. Namely the death of three of my best guards and the disfigurement of one of my sons.” 

Eris scoffed, straightening his cuffs. “Reid will heal.” 

You tensed, noting the anger in Beron’s eyes. 

“That may be so,” Beron replied. “But my guards will not.” 

“They deserved death for what they did,” Eris growled. “They attacked my mate.” 

“And by whose word is that?” Beron asked, his tone chilling. “Were there any witnesses of this alleged attack? Or did you simply take the word of a female over three trained, professional guards—guards who have protected you your entire life, son?” 

“I saw it with my own eyes,” Eris snarled, stepping forward. 

Beron merely tilted his head, staring down at his son. “Any other witnesses?”

“You don’t believe your own son?” Eris questioned, causing Beron’s eyes to narrow.

“Not when his actions seem far too…uncharacteristic,” Beron said. “You are not known to attack others, Eris. I expect far more restraint from my Heir. Now, answer my question. Are there any other witnesses?” 

Eris stood up straighter, unwilling to back down. You swallowed harshly, your eyes darting between Beron and your mate. “Her two handmaidens were witness as well.” 

Beron chuckled, mirthlessly. His dead eyes lacked any amusement. “Two lesser fae? As if they are known for speaking any truths. Please son, you humor me greatly.” 

“So you refuse to take me at my word,” Eris scowled. “Yet also refuse to hear from the two witnesses who saw the attack, as well. What is it you want?” 

Flames licked the shoulders of the High Lord, a show of his growing ire. “Watch your tone when talking to me, son. What I want is justice for the guards who have lost their life over something so…trivial.”

“Trivial?” Eris scoffed. “You think it’s trivial that they—”

Beron held up a hand, silencing his son. “I wasn’t finished. Do not interrupt me again or there will be far greater consequences.” 

Eris moved in front of you, blocking his father’s view. You were nearly shaking with dread, nausea swimming in your stomach. Where was Beron going with this?

“As I was saying,” Beron continued. “I seek justice for the guards who are now dead. Punishment for your mate’s lack of decorum that resulted in their actions which led to their deaths. For that, she shall receive ten lashes.” 

The room fell silent except for a small gasp that came from your lips. Ten lashes? Ten lashes all because his guards had attacked you? That was….that was insane! Your lip quivered. Eris glanced back at you for a second, his face pale before his expression hardened into rage. He turned back to his father, glaring.

“I am her mate,” Eris declared. “And according to Autumn law, allowed to take her punishment as mine.”

The fact that he wasn’t trying to argue with his father told you that it would probably be no use.  

“Is that what you want?” Beron looked pleased, as if he knew this would be the outcome to his sentencing. You felt ready to puke. How could a father be so eager to hurt his own son? Just how twisted was this male?

“Yes.” Eris’s voice didn’t waver or soften. 

“Eris,” you whispered in horror, stepping forward. You couldn’t let him do this—couldn’t let him get whipped on your behalf. Neither of you should be facing this punishment. It was both cruel and unjust. But if someone had to take it, it had to be you. 

Eris turned to look at you with a stern expression.

“Don’t speak,” he ordered, his voice so harsh you nearly flinched but you knew his anger was not directed at you. You knew he was just doing what he could to protect you. “Go to my chambers and stay there until either I or your handmaidens come to collect you.” 

“She is not going anywhere,” Beron spoke up. “You are allowed to take her punishment but she is ordered to stay and watch. She must understand what it means to be a part of this court. Must understand what her actions have caused.”

“Father,” Eris’s voice was slightly pleading for once but Beron held up his hand again.

“Another word and it will be fifteen lashes instead.” 

Eris’s shoulder fell and he quickly schooled himself, nodding. You took a sharp breath, your eyes welling with tears. You wanted to reach for him but two guards grabbed you by the upper arms and held you in place. You watched as Eris began to unbutton his shirt, tossing it to the ground before falling to his knees at the bottom of the dais. 

No.

This couldn’t be happening.

You were going to be sick. 

You choked in fear as Beron summoned a whip made of fire in his hands, coming to stand behind his son. You tried to break free from the guards’ hold but it was impossible. Tears slipped down your face.

“Don’t!” you cried out. “Please, don’t hurt him! I’ll take them. I’ll—”

“I said another word and it would be fifteen lashes instead of ten,” Beron growled, his cold eyes darting to you before they looked back down at his son. “Your mate just caused you another five lashes, Eris.” 

No. No. No.

Your eyes darted around the room, looking for someone who might put an end to this. Who might stop this. But it was Finn who caught your eyes and gave you a small shake of the head, his lips pressed in a fine line. You were heaving, horrified. You had made things so much worse already. So much worse. 

No one was coming to stop this. No one was coming to save Eris. No one ever had. 

You stood frozen as the first crack of the whip echoed through the big room, striking Eris’s back and ripping through his flesh. Your heart was pounding in your chest as the whip rose again, the flames dancing in a menacing way. Another strike had more tears blurring your vision. By the third strike, you had fallen to your knees, retching. 

You couldn’t even see Eris’s face, but you knew it was contorted in agony. You tried to send comfort down the mating bond, comfort and love and anything else, but it was met with a wall of flame that blocked you out. That only had more tears falling down your face. Even in his agonizing pain, Eris was still protecting you. 

Memories of last night flooded your mind. The joy, the elation, the love. The time spent together wrapped up in each other like nothing else mattered. The secrets the two of you had shared beneath the covers. How had you gone from that to this? 

Your heart shattered with each strike. Your soul was aching as you sat there, watching in horror as Eris’s blood began to pool on the tiled floor. You had caused this. This was all your fault. All Eris had done since the beginning was try to protect you. And this is how you had returned the favor. The worst part of it all was knowing he wouldn’t even blame you at all for this. Not even for the five extra lashes you had caused. 

By the seventh strike, your own pool of vomit lay around you. 

Eris didn’t even cry, barely moved at all. It was haunting and it made you realize that this was not the first time this had happened to him by a long shot. How many times had his father punished him like this in his lifetime? How many scars lingered underneath his skin—only hidden by the unnatural healing of the fae? By the fifteenth strike, you knew the answer to be far too many. 

The guards finally let you go once Beron had finished and left the throne room, taking his wife with him. You scrambled to your feet, darting towards Eris but Liam caught you by the arm with a grimace. “You won’t be able to carry him. Let us take him to his chambers.” 

You were forced to watch again as both Liam and Finn heaved Eris’s near unconscious form up between the two of them. You trailed behind them, tears soaking the collar of your dress. The walk to his chambers seemed to take an eternity. Eris groaned as they fumbled him through the door. 

“Get him to the bath,” Reid murmured, causing you to jump in shock. You hadn’t realized that even he had followed. 

You darted ahead of them, starting to fill the basin as they dragged your injured mate into the bathing chambers and slid him into the tub. Eris grunted in pain as the water splashed against his wounds, staining it red. You muffled your own cries with a hand. 

“Father won’t allow him to be seen by a healer,” Finn whispered to you. “Can you take care of him from here?” 

You nodded your head, speechless. 

“He has some cooling salve and bandages under the sink,” Finn said, nodding his head towards the sink. “Come find me if you need help.” 

The three brothers took their leave after that, leaving you alone with your mate. You pulled out all the supplies Finn had mentioned, falling to your knees next to the tub where Eris sat, his knees drawn to his chest and his head resting against them. 

“Eris,” you finally whispered, stroking his hair. “Eris, I am so, so sorry.” 

“S’not your fault,” he mumbled, tiredly. 

You wanted to scream. Wanted to cry and scream and rage. But it was more important to take care of him right now. So you slowly set to work, apologizing each time he flinched as you cleaned his wounds. Your heart ached as you helped him out of the bath once you were finished.

“Come on,” you murmured. “Let’s get you on the bed.”

You helped him strip off his wet pants and underwear before laying him down on the bed on his stomach. You pulled the sheets up to his waist, leaving his back untouched. You kneeled on the bed next to him, taking out the salve to start spreading it over the wounds. 

Eris let out a sigh as you started applying it and your heart cracked in your chest as he slowly drifted to sleep, his body finally giving out. You cried as you smeared the salve over the burns before bandaging them gently. Once you were done, your head dropped to his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried to his sleeping form. “I’m so sorry.” 

You don’t know how long you sat there, crying over him. But at some point, you finally sat up and wiped your face dry. Beron might’ve forbade any healer from helping Eris, but you had learned a thing or two from Elain about some plants that might help. Plants that the two of you used to mash into a paste and give to Feyre for all the blisters and calluses she would return home with when you were living in that small cottage. Plants that you knew you had seen during your ride in the forest with Eris. 

With that in mind, you gathered yourself before setting out to collect some, leaving Eris asleep on the bed for now. 

Luckily, you were able to sneak from the Forest House without anyone seeing you. You hid amongst the trees, plucking the plants and bundling them in your skirt. When you were confident that you had gathered enough, you started making your way back to the Forest House but you didn’t make it very far before you were interrupted. 

Shadows seemed to grow between the trees until a very familiar face stepped from them. You gasped in shock as Azriel materialized right before you, his hazel eyes staring directly at you. 

“Y/n,” he greeted, cooly, looking over your form like he was looking for any injuries before meeting your gaze again. 

“Az…Azriel? What are you doing here?”

“We’ve figured out a way to get you out of this mess,” he said, taking a step towards you. “Come, Feyre will explain to you once we’re home.” 

You mirrored his step backwards, eyes going wide. You didn’t want to go home…in fact, you knew in your heart that Velaris was no longer home to you. Home was…Home was Eris. You shook your head at him, trying to form the words to tell him you weren’t coming. 

“N-no,” you finally stuttered out. “I-I can’t go back. I don’t want—”

“Like I said—it will all be explained once we get back,” Azriel cut you off, moving quicker than you and grabbing your arm causing you to drop your skirt. All the plants you had gathered for Eris fell to the ground. “Let’s go.” 

And then you were engulfed in shadows, the Autumn Court disappearing from view. And all that was left in your place was a pile of healing plants for your injured mate—for Eris who would go on to wake up alone. 

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

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