#she's such a joy i just cherish her!!!!!!

[faebled-stories]

A Journey to Belong

Kinkvember Day 26: Collaring

LOONA/Lossemble Kim Hyunjin x Male reader

AN: Woke up this morning to see an anon sharing a picture that was absolutely perfect. I'm a little gutted I didn't think to use it first, but I'm swapping out the original because it fits so well. Shoutout to that anon!

Hyunjin used to wear her collar with pride. To her, it was more than just an accessory; it was a quiet proclamation of something deeper, something grounding. The soft leather always warmed against her skin, like a second pulse in tune with her own. She would touch it absentmindedly, her fingers brushing its edge when she was lost in thought or overwhelmed by emotion. It wasn’t just a tether—it was comfort, a mark of belonging, a secret she carried that only the two of you truly understood.

Sometimes, you’d catch her tracing its curve, her lips curling into a playful, knowing smile. She seemed to radiate joy in those moments, a quiet confidence that reflected her connection to you. When she laughed, her head tilted just enough for the light to catch its polished surface, creating a subtle gleam that felt like it winked just for you. That collar wasn’t just part of her identity—it was part of yours. A symbol that carried the weight of something words couldn’t touch, a connection that went deeper than mere appearance.

In the past, she treated it with reverence. Her hands would move with care as she adjusted it in the morning, her fingers slow and deliberate, as if the act were a ritual. When you fastened it around her neck, her posture straightened, her shoulders set, as though she were bearing the weight of something noble, something cherished. But lately, that reverence had begun to fade.

The world had grown heavier on her shoulders, its quiet burdens pressing into her with relentless persistence. It dulled the gleam in her eyes, dimming the light that once made them shine like distant stars. She moved slower now, less deliberate, her rhythm disrupted by the constant push and pull of responsibilities she could never quite shake. You saw it in the way her hand brushed the collar less often, in the way it hung around her neck without the same meaning. It had begun to feel like an afterthought—a once-sacred symbol reduced to just another thing she wore.

The rituals that once anchored her, those small acts that reminded her of who she was and what she meant to you, had grown scarce. The quiet moments where meaning was woven, thread by thread, had been replaced by silence. It wasn’t just the collar losing its weight—it was the spaces between you that felt heavier now, filled with an unspoken distance that you couldn’t quite bridge.

That evening, the house was quiet. The golden hues of sunset filtered through the curtains, pooling in soft puddles of light on the wooden floor. You stood in the bedroom doorway, your shadow stretching long across the room as you watched her. She was tucking her legs beneath the blanket, her movements slow, tired. Normally, this hour was sacred. She would kneel beside the bed, her posture straight, her head bowed, her breaths even as she let the weight of the day melt away. It was a small ritual that belonged to the two of you, a moment of balance in a chaotic world.

But tonight, she simply climbed into bed. Brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face, her expression was one of quiet resignation, as though that ritual were nothing more than a faint memory.

“Hyunjin,” you said softly, your voice steady but questioning.

She glanced up at you, her eyes heavy with exhaustion, faint shadows beneath them betraying just how long the day had been. “Hmm?”

“Your ritual,” you reminded her gently, careful to keep your tone light.

“Oh,” she murmured, shifting slightly as she pulled the blanket higher over her shoulders. “I’ll skip it tonight. I’m tired.”

The word hung in the air between you, cold and unyielding. It felt like the first crack in something you’d thought was unshakable. You wanted to press her, to remind her that it wasn’t just a routine but a connection—a space for her, for you, for what you’d built together. But something fragile lingered in her gaze, a weariness that ran deeper than physical fatigue. She looked like a bird perched precariously on a wire, ready to take flight at the slightest movement.

So instead, you nodded and stepped away, the sound of your footsteps fading into the quiet of the house. Still, the tightness in your chest lingered, an ache settling deep as you heard the soft creak of the bed springs signaling her restless sleep.

-----

A couple of mornings later, sunlight poured through the kitchen window, a golden warmth spilling across the tiled floor. Faint motes of dust swirled lazily in the still air, catching the light. The soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound breaking the silence. You stood at the counter, the warmth of your coffee mug grounding you, your gaze fixed on the corner of the room.

It was the spot you’d asked her to clear days ago. Yet, it remained untouched, the clutter seeming to expand every time you looked at it. Books with dog-eared pages teetered in uneven stacks, half-empty mugs marked with faint coffee rings sat beside plates with crumbs still clinging to them. Papers—some folded, some crumpled—spilled across the surface, as though she’d abandoned them mid-thought. It wasn’t just a mess; it was her mess. Her habits left to fester, her tasks left undone, her things bleeding into the shared space as if their importance extended only as far as her immediate need for them.

You took a slow sip of your coffee, the bitter warmth grounding you as irritation flickered faintly in your chest. Turning toward the sound of soft footsteps, you saw Hyunjin shuffle into the room. Her hair was loosely gathered in a bun, messy strands framing her face, and her phone cast a pale glow across her features. Her thumb moved idly, scrolling with an almost hypnotic focus that made the rest of the world feel distant.

Without looking up, she moved toward the counter, her movements slow and distracted. You waited, letting the silence stretch for a moment, then finally spoke. “Hyunjin, why haven’t you cleaned the corner yet?”

She paused mid-step, her thumb hovering over her phone. For a fleeting second, she looked genuinely confused, like she wasn’t sure what you were talking about. Her eyes followed yours to the mess, and recognition flickered faintly across her face.

“Oh,” she said lightly, her tone casual, as if the neglected corner was an afterthought. “I haven't gotten to it yet.”

You set your coffee mug down carefully, keeping your voice calm but deliberate. “You didn’t get to it?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her tone dismissive, already brushing off the moment. “I’ll do it later. It’s not a big deal.”

Her hand waved vaguely toward the clutter, and she didn’t even glance up from her phone. Her thumb resumed its slow scrolling, her focus absorbed once again by the screen in her hand. The dismissiveness in her words stung more than you expected. It wasn’t the mess itself—it was the meaning behind it, the erosion of care, the growing distance her casual attitude revealed.

“Hyunjin,” you said, your voice tightening slightly. “When I ask you to do something, I expect it to be done.”

She didn’t even glance up, her gaze fixed firmly on her phone. “Okay, okay,” she mumbled, the words quick, automatic, more reflex than acknowledgment. As she turned slightly, she muttered under her breath, “Jeez.”

The word was quiet but sharp enough to cut. It hung in the air, a small jab that carried a weight far heavier than the sound should have. Your jaw tightened, the flicker of irritation blooming into something harder to ignore.

The warmth of the sunlight streaming through the window felt out of place now, incongruous against the tension crackling in the air. The room, once a peaceful haven, suddenly felt heavier. The silence was no longer soothing but charged with something unspoken. You turned back to the window, gripping your coffee mug a little tighter as you stared out at the trees swaying gently in the breeze.

It wasn’t about the mess, not really. It was about what it represented—the slow, creeping disconnection that seemed to settle in the spaces between these moments. You wondered how something so small, so seemingly insignificant, could feel so monumental. But the distance was there, undeniable, growing wider with every careless dismissal, every idle word. You stared out at the golden light playing across the trees and wondered when things had started to slip away.

-----

That evening, the restaurant was softly lit, the golden glow of candles casting flickering shadows across the table. The low hum of conversation mixed with the gentle clinking of silverware, creating an atmosphere that felt both intimate and alive. You and Hyunjin sat among her friends—Go Won, Yeojin, Hyeju, and Vivi—whose chatter flowed easily, punctuated by bursts of laughter that seemed to brighten the room. The five of them shared an easy rhythm, their teasing and playful banter weaving a language they all seemed to instinctively understand.

Hyunjin looked radiant tonight, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the room and the laughter bubbling from her lips. She leaned forward as Yeojin said something outrageous, her eyes crinkling with genuine amusement, her smile wide and uninhibited. It was the kind of joy that drew you in, making the rest of the room blur around her. For a moment, you let yourself get lost in it, in the way her laughter lit up the space between you, in the quiet pride of seeing her so at ease.

Then, Go Won leaned forward, her grin mischievous, her tone teasing. “So,” she said, drawing out the word, her eyes glinting with barely contained glee, “is it true that Hyunjin’s partner is, like, totally in charge?”

Yeojin giggled, her eyes darting between you and Hyunjin, while Hyeju smirked knowingly. Vivi, who had been sipping her wine, set her glass down delicately and raised a curious eyebrow, her lips curving into a subtle smile. Their teasing filled the air with an electric anticipation, the kind that came before someone said something bold. All eyes turned to Hyunjin, waiting for her response.

Hyunjin laughed, but it wasn’t the soft, genuine sound you’d heard moments before. This laugh was sharp, cutting, her tone tinged with something defensive. “Yeah, right,” she said, flipping her hair with an exaggerated flourish. “He thinks he’s in charge? Oh please.”

The table erupted in laughter. Go Won clapped her hands while Yeojin practically doubled over, her giggles carrying across the room. Even Hyeju, who often played it cool, cracked a grin. Vivi, ever poised, hid her smirk behind her hand, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. You smiled along, but it felt stiff, a hollow gesture as her words sank in.

Beneath the table, you reached for her hand, a subtle gesture meant to ground the moment, to remind her of the connection that should have been there. But her hand shifted slightly, pulling away as if she hadn’t noticed—or perhaps as if she had and didn’t care.

“Hyunjin,” you said softly, leaning toward her so your words wouldn’t carry to the others. Your tone wasn’t angry, but there was a question in it—a quiet nudge toward something unspoken.

For a fleeting moment, her smile faltered. She glanced at you, her eyes flickering with something—hesitation, regret, a sliver of guilt—but it disappeared as quickly as it came. “What?” she said, her voice light, brushing off the moment. “It’s just a joke.”

Her words hit harder than you expected, their casual dismissal cutting deeper than they should have. The conversation rolled forward without missing a beat, the others picking up where they’d left off. Vivi leaned toward Go Won, quietly asking a question that made her laugh, her soft voice adding to the warm hum of the room. Hyunjin, meanwhile, turned back to Hyeju, her smile slipping back into place. On the surface, everything seemed normal, her laughter blending seamlessly into the rhythm of her friends’ banter.

But beneath that surface, her thoughts tumbled. She told herself it wasn’t a big deal—that it was better this way, keeping things light, keeping her independence in view for others to see. They didn’t need to understand everything. They didn’t need to see what happened between the two of you, the private bond that defined her. That was hers to guard. And yet, as she laughed, the thought settled heavily in her chest, an unease she couldn’t quite push away.

You leaned back slightly, withdrawing into the golden light of the restaurant. The room around you was alive with warmth and conversation, but it felt distant, as though it belonged to another world entirely. You watched her across the table, the way she tilted her head toward Hyeju, sharing a private joke, the corners of her lips lifting just enough. It should have been enough to warm you, but instead, a quiet ache gnawed at the space between you.

There was a disconnect now, sharp and unyielding, like an invisible chasm that had opened in the space of a few words. It wasn’t the laughter or even the teasing that stung. It was the way she pulled away—the way her words had drawn a line that neither the candlelight nor the soft hum of the restaurant could cross. The warmth of the evening felt muted, its glow unable to soften the weight of the unspoken distance. You sat back in silence, watching her laugh and smile, and wondered when the connection you shared had started to feel like a memory rather than something real.

The days had begun to blur together, the weight of unspoken tension threading through the quiet of the house. Little moments that once felt warm now felt distant, replaced by a growing disconnect that neither of you had yet acknowledged aloud. You found yourself noticing the small things more—the sound of her keys dropping onto the counter, the way her shoes landed haphazardly by the door, as if she no longer cared where they fell. It was as if the rhythm you once shared had gone slightly out of sync, a subtle discord that lingered in every interaction.

This evening was no different. The house was still, the muted hum of life outside barely audible through the windows. You sat on the couch, a reading lamp casting a soft glow over the book in your hands, the quiet, a fragile balm you hadn’t realized you needed. The words on the page barely registered, your mind wandering to the space between you and Hyunjin, to the way things had begun to fray. You turned the page absently, your focus more on the soft creak of the house settling than on the story in front of you.

The sudden slam of the front door shattered the stillness, the sharp crack slicing through the quiet like a thunderclap. Hyunjin stormed in, her movements hurried and agitated. Her bag slipped off her shoulder and hit the floor with a heavy thud, the sound reverberating in the space like a dropped weight. It landed crumpled and forgotten, a statement as loud as the door she had slammed behind her.

Tension radiated off her in waves, her presence electric, charged with barely contained frustration. She moved with a restlessness that seemed to fill the room, suffocating in its intensity. Her breathing was uneven, her fingers twitching as they reached up to push her hair back from her face, her movements sharp and unrelenting.

From your spot on the couch, you looked up, your grip tightening slightly on the book as the soft light from the lamp illuminated your face. You studied her, taking in the way she paced slightly, her gaze flickering over the space like she was searching for something to anchor her. The energy she brought into the room was undeniable, sharp and restless like the air before a downpour.

“Rough day?” you asked, your voice neutral, carefully measured as you closed the book and set it aside on the small table next to you.

“Don’t start,” she snapped, her voice taut and edged with irritation, each syllable cutting through the stillness like a blade. She kicked her shoes off with thoughtless movements, one landing askew near the door while the other slid across the hardwood with a soft scrape. Without so much as a glance in your direction, she headed toward the kitchen, her movements brisk and full of a frustration she seemed unable to contain.

You rose from the couch, moving calmly in her wake, each step deliberate and unhurried. The tension radiating from her seemed to fill the air, but you kept your own energy steady, refusing to be drawn into the storm she was carrying. “I’m not starting anything,” you said, your voice low and even. “I’m asking.”

“Then don’t!” she said, whirling around to face you, the sharpness in her tone reverberating between you. Her eyes burned with an emotion that went beyond anger—it was raw, layered with exhaustion and something deeper, something tangled and unspoken that caught you off guard. “God, you’re always hovering. Can’t you just give me some space?”

Her words lingered in the air like smoke, acrid and stinging. They cut through the fragile quiet that had filled the house before she arrived, leaving it broken and jagged in her wake. Her shoulders rose and fell with shallow breaths, her chest heaving slightly as though even the act of speaking had pulled something out of her. You took a small step closer, your movements measured, keeping your gaze steady as you tried to read the tension in her stance. Her posture was tight, defensive, her arms twitching slightly as though she wanted to cross them but couldn’t quite commit to the action.

“Hyunjin, come here,” you said softly. Your voice was calm but firm, a quiet invitation edged with a gravity that couldn’t be ignored. It wasn’t loud, but it carried weight, a steady anchor in the turbulence that crackled in the space between you.

Her jaw tightened, her teeth pressing together as she hesitated. For a moment, her arms wrapped around her chest defensively, her body closing off. Her eyes flickered with something between defiance and vulnerability—an emotion she seemed desperate to mask. “What now?” she muttered, her tone laced with sarcasm and exhaustion. “Another lecture? Another rule I’ve broken?”

You let the words hang in the air for a moment, refusing to take the bait. “Come here. Now,” you said again, sharper this time. The calm authority in your voice sliced cleanly through her deflection, leaving no room for argument.

Her body stiffened, her lips parting as if to fire back a retort, but the words caught in her throat. She froze, her arms tightening against her chest as she stared at you, her expression caught somewhere between rebellion and hesitation. The air between you felt impossibly heavy, thick with the weight of all the things left unsaid. Her defiance was still there, simmering just below the surface, but quieter now, edged with uncertainty.

Slowly, deliberately, you reached for the collar around her neck. The movement was calm, but its intent was unmistakable. Her breath hitched audibly, her eyes widening as your fingers brushed the soft leather, warm from her skin. The cool buckle under your touch seemed to amplify the tension, vibrating in the charged silence.

Her reaction was immediate. Her hands shot up, grasping yours with sudden urgency. Her palms pressed against the backs of your hands, trembling slightly as though to stop you—or at least to understand. The contact struck you both, heavier than the action itself, more intimate than any argument could ever be.

Her fingers curled lightly against yours, delicate but insistent, as if trying to cling to something intangible. She didn’t speak, but her eyes searched yours, wide and pleading. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, but the emotion in her gaze spoke louder than any words she could muster.

The buckle clicked open, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet. Her hands lingered on yours for a moment, trembling as though reluctant to let go. When the leather slipped free from her neck, her hands fell away slowly, brushing over her collarbone as if trying to feel the weight that was no longer there.

Her gaze darted downward, her expression shifting between shock and raw vulnerability. “What—what are you doing?” she stammered, her voice faltering, unsteady. Her fingers rose instinctively to the bare skin of her neck, searching for the familiar presence of the collar, now conspicuously absent.

You held the collar in your hands for a moment, its weight feeling heavier than it had ever been. The leather seemed darker under the dim light, more imposing in its absence from her neck. Without a word, you turned and walked toward the mantle, your footsteps deliberate, every step sinking into the silence like a nail into wood.

Carefully, almost ceremoniously, you placed the collar on the mantle. Its dark band stood out starkly against the pale wood, a silent reminder of what it represented. You let your hand linger for a moment before stepping back and turning to face her again.

“If you can’t respect what this collar means,” you said, your voice steady and measured, “then you don’t deserve to wear it.”

Her breath hitched audibly, sharp and hollow in the heavy silence. For a moment, she stared at you, her lips parting as if to argue, but no words came. Her shoulders sagged slightly, and she looked away, her hands twitching at her sides. Then, her gaze snapped back, flickering with faint resistance, though it was muted—more defense than defiance.

“That’s not—” she began, but her voice faltered, the words tapering off. She looked down, her fingers brushing her neck as though searching for the familiar weight that was no longer there. Her jaw tightened, and her voice came softer, almost subdued. “You’re… overthinking this,” she muttered. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

You stayed silent, your gaze steady, letting her words linger in the charged air. She shifted uncomfortably under your scrutiny, her hands falling away from her neck as she glanced toward the collar resting on the mantle. The sight of it made her flinch, her shoulders drawing inward, but she refused to let herself stay vulnerable for long.

“Whatever…It’s just a stupid collar,” she said finally, the words tumbling out too quickly, too defensively, as though trying to shield herself from the enormity of the moment.

Your expression didn’t waver, your silence speaking louder than any response could. Her dismissive tone lingered in the air, but it felt brittle, as though it could shatter under the weight of her unspoken emotions. The room settled into an oppressive stillness, the warmth of the house replaced by a cold tension that neither of you could escape.

Her gaze flicked back to you for a fleeting moment before dropping to the floor. She stood frozen, her fingers twitching at her sides, her vulnerability laid bare despite her words. And as the silence deepened, you wondered if she truly believed what she had just said—or if it was simply easier to say than to confront what the collar, and everything it represented, meant to her.

-----

The absence of the collar should have been no big deal. That’s what Hyunjin told herself that first night, staring at the faint shadows cast by the moonlight on the ceiling. The glow of the streetlights outside spilled through the curtains, painting shifting shapes that danced with the breeze. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, the cool air brushing against her bare neck—a subtle but insistent reminder of what wasn’t there. She pulled the blanket higher around her shoulders, seeking warmth, but it didn’t help. No matter how tightly she cocooned herself, the emptiness followed her, clinging like a shadow she couldn’t shake.

Her fingers fidgeted at her sides, brushing against her throat as though searching for something that wasn’t there. Each time they met bare skin, a pang of frustration mingled with something deeper—something she refused to name—flared in her chest. She shifted onto her side, then her back again, the rustle of the sheets doing little to calm the restless energy coiling within her. The room felt colder, quieter than it should have been, the stillness pressing down on her like a weight.

“It’s just a strip of leather,” she whispered into the dark, her voice barely audible. The words felt hollow even as they left her lips, a weak attempt to convince herself of something she didn’t truly believe. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Saying it aloud should have helped. It should have silenced the thoughts, dulled the ache in her chest. But the words dissolved into the silence, weightless and meaningless, leaving behind only a sharper awareness of the void they couldn’t fill. She turned her face into the pillow, her fingers clutching the blanket as though holding onto something tangible could ground her. But even that felt futile, like trying to grasp smoke.

Sleep, when it finally came, was fractured and uneasy. Flickering images and sensations haunted her dreams, vague and ungraspable. The sound of your voice lingered in her subconscious—steady, grounding, sure. The firm yet comforting pressure of your hands left an imprint that refused to fade. And the collar—it haunted her, its weight vivid in her dreams, so real she could almost feel it pressing against her skin.

She woke several times throughout the night, her body restless, the blanket tangled around her legs. Each time, her hand instinctively reached for her neck, her fingers brushing the bare skin as though to confirm what her mind already knew. The absence felt like an accusation, a silent reminder of what she had dismissed too easily. By the time the faint light of dawn seeped through the curtains, her body was drained, but her thoughts were relentless, circling the same question: Why did it feel like so much more than just a collar?

-----

By the third day, the weight of the collar’s absence had become unbearable. The void it left consumed her thoughts, gnawing at her relentlessly, each quiet moment amplifying the ache. The collar sat on the mantle in the bedroom, unmoving yet commanding, its polished leather gleaming faintly in the soft light of flickering candles. It seemed so small, so unassuming, yet its presence loomed large, dominating not just the room but her every thought.

At first, she avoided looking at it directly, telling herself it didn’t matter, that it was better to stay busy and keep her focus elsewhere. But the effort was futile. Her eyes betrayed her, flickering back to it again and again, her chest tightening with each glance. The ache inside her grew sharper, more insistent. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her fingers twitching at her sides as though resisting the urge to reach out. It wasn’t just the object that unsettled her—it was the creeping realization of what it symbolized: trust, connection, submission, and the bond she had taken for granted.

She tried to leave the room, to find distraction in other parts of the house, but the bedroom pulled at her like a tide. Each step away felt heavier, harder, until she couldn’t bring herself to leave at all. By midmorning, she was back, sitting on the edge of the bed, her gaze fixed on the mantle. Hours stretched long and quiet around her as she lingered, her presence a silent acknowledgment of the tension she couldn’t escape.

By evening, Hyunjin’s resolve had crumbled entirely. She remained in the bedroom, the air thick with the faint scent of mint and the lingering trace of your cologne. The room seemed heavier than usual, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting for her to face what she had been avoiding all day.

Her gaze locked on the mantle once again, drawn to the collar as if by an invisible force. Its polished leather caught the flickering candlelight, the buckle gleaming faintly like a distant beacon. Her chest tightened with every passing second as she stared, her reflection faintly visible in the metal, distorted and fragile. Her breath grew shallow, her thoughts swirling into a chaotic storm of guilt, longing, and determination.

Unable to stand the weight of it any longer, she slowly sank to her knees. The wooden floor felt cold against her skin, grounding her trembling body as she settled into position. Her hands rested lightly on her thighs, but her fingers quivered, unable to stay still. She bowed her head, her breath uneven, as though the very act of submission was drawing the truth out of her.

The room pressed down on her in its quiet stillness. Each flicker of candlelight seemed to illuminate the depths of her turmoil, the flames dancing in time with the raw emotion that churned within her.

Her heart pounded steadily in her chest, her body aching from the strain of holding the position, but she refused to move. The act of kneeling felt like the only thing tethering her, a physical manifestation of the submission she had neglected.

She whispered to herself, soft and uncertain, the words carried by the silence. “It wasn’t just a stupid collar. It never was.”

The admission felt raw, vulnerable, but the weight of it didn’t lift. Her breaths came shallow and uneven as the minutes ticked by. Her muscles burned, her knees aching against the hard floor, but she stayed resolute, unwilling to let the discomfort deter her. This was where she belonged—waiting, asking without words for the chance to prove herself.

When the sound of the front door opening echoed through the quiet house, her heart leapt in her chest. Her body stiffened, the faint creak of your footsteps growing louder as you moved closer. She didn’t dare lift her head, the air around her thickening with anticipation. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her thighs, her breath catching as your familiar presence filled the doorway.

You stopped, your shadow falling over her as you took in the scene: Hyunjin kneeling at the foot of the mantle, her head bowed, her form trembling slightly with emotion. The flickering candlelight cast soft shadows across her figure, accentuating the strain in her shoulders, the tension in her hands. She didn’t look up, but the weight of your gaze pressed into her like a tangible force.

“Hyunjin,” you said, your voice low and steady, cutting through the quiet like a blade.

Her head lifted slightly at the sound of your voice, her eyes wide and glistening as they met yours. “Sir,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I… I know I wasn’t called here. But I needed to be here.”

You studied her, your expression unreadable, and she hurried to continue, her words spilling out in a rush. “I’ve been so foolish,” she admitted, her voice cracking slightly. “I thought I could brush it off, that it didn’t matter. But I was wrong. So wrong.”

Her fingers twitched against her thighs, her entire body trembling as she spoke. “I’ve learned… that submission isn’t automatic. It’s not something I can take for granted or expect without effort. It’s something I have to give—fully, every day. And I failed to do that, Sir. I failed to value you, to trust you, and to honor what this collar represents.”

Her voice broke, a sob catching in her throat. “I thought I could handle its absence. That it wouldn’t affect me. But it does, Sir. It does more than I ever imagined. Without it… without you, I feel so lost.”

Her head dipped lower, tears spilling over as her breath hitched audibly. “Please, Sir,” she whispered, desperation threading through every syllable. “I don’t deserve it yet, but I want to. I want to earn it back. I’ll do anything. Just… just let me prove myself.”

“Words are easy, Hyunjin,” you said, your tone calm but unyielding. “They don’t mean as much as action.”

Her breath hitched, and she quickly looked up, her wide eyes searching your face for any hint of mercy. “Please, Sir,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’ll show you. I’ll prove it. Just… please, let me earn it back.”

“You’ve been working hard,” you acknowledged, stepping closer, the collar still in your hands. “But hard work isn’t enough. What makes you think you deserve this again?”

Her lips parted, trembling as she struggled to find the words. “Because I—I know what I lost,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “I know what it means now, Sir. I’ll do anything to earn it back. Please, don’t keep it from me.”

You took another step forward, looming over her. The weight of your presence made her lower her head again, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. “Anything?” you asked, your tone steady but sharp. “Because this collar isn’t just about obedience. It’s about trust. Commitment. Do you even understand what those mean?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said quickly, her voice rising in desperation. “I understand now, I swear. I didn’t before, but I do now. Please… let me prove it to you.”

Her hands twitched against her thighs, instinctively wanting to reach for you but staying frozen in place. The room fell silent again, the tension thick as her pleas hung in the air. You stayed quiet, letting her squirm under the weight of your gaze. Her breathing grew more frantic, her fingers curling into fists as her composure began to crack.

“Sir,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m begging you. Please… I need it.”

You crouched in front of her, the collar dangling from your fingers. Her eyes locked onto it instantly, her breath catching as if the air had been knocked from her lungs. But you didn’t move to put it on her. Instead, you leaned closer, your voice a low murmur. “Needing it isn’t enough. You’ll have to earn it, Hyunjin. Through action, not words. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said, her voice trembling but resolute. “I’ll do anything. I’ll prove myself.”

“Then keep proving it,” you replied, your tone firm as you straightened again. Her body tensed, and for a moment, she thought you were going to walk away. The thought must have terrified her, because she moved without thinking, her hands clasping around your ankle.

“Please, Sir,” she begged again, her voice raw with emotion. “Please… I’m sorry for taking it for granted. I’ll never do it again, I swear. Just give me a chance.”

You watched her for another long moment, letting her desperation sink in. Finally, you knelt again, holding the collar at eye level. Her eyes widened, hope flickering across her face, but she stayed still, trembling as you leaned in.

“This collar is not just a decoration,” you said, your voice low but deliberate. “It is a gift. A privilege. And for it to stay on, you’ll need to show me that you understand that.”

Her breath hitched as you moved closer, the collar brushing against her neck. Slowly, with deliberate care, you fastened it around her throat. The soft click of the buckle echoed in the room, final and absolute, like a vow being made. Her chest rose sharply as the familiar weight settled back into place, grounding her once again.

Her fingers twitched again, instinctively wanting to reach for it, but she stopped herself. You tilted her chin up with a single finger, your gaze locking onto hers.

“To keep this collar,” you said, your tone soft but firm, “you will face tests. Challenges that show me you’re worthy of wearing it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly parted, and her wide eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Thank you, Sir. I won’t let you down. I promise.”

You let your hand linger on her chin for a moment longer before releasing her, your gaze steady as you straightened to your full height. Towering over her, your presence filled the space, commanding without a single word. She remained kneeling, her hands resting on her thighs, her posture perfect but trembling slightly as the weight of the moment settled over her.

“Good,” you said, your voice steady, firm. “Because this is your second chance. Don’t waste it.”

She swallowed hard, her breath shallow, her gaze flickering between your face and the collar now secure around her neck. The room seemed to hold its breath, the tension shifting into something heavier, warmer, charged with the quiet promise of something restored.

Slowly, you leaned down, your hand brushing her cheek as your lips met hers. The kiss began tentative, a gentle press of lips, testing the waters of the bond you were rebuilding. But it deepened quickly, fueled by the unspoken emotions of the past week. Her hands, still trembling, reached for your shoulders, clutching at you as though afraid you might pull away.

Your hand found the collar, your fingers curling around the leather as you tugged gently, pulling her closer. The sensation sent a visible shiver down her spine, her breath catching in her throat.

“You’ve missed this, haven’t you?” you murmured against her lips, your voice low and knowing.

“Yes,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “So much, Sir.”

A faint smile played across your lips as your grip on the collar tightened slightly, guiding her as the kiss deepened. The heat between you grew steadily, the air thick with the mingling scents of mint and her rising need. She pressed closer to you, her hands sliding down your chest, fingers clutching at your shirt as if anchoring herself in your presence. Each touch, each movement was an affirmation of the connection you had rebuilt, the trust slowly returning.

Her body leaned into yours instinctively, the energy between you palpable. You pulled back just enough to let her feel the tension lingering in the space between your bodies. Your hand, still curled around the collar, applied the slightest pressure, keeping her gaze locked on yours.

“Then show me ,” you said softly, your voice steady, deliberate.

Her breath hitched, her hands falling back to her thighs as she lowered her gaze slightly, the flush on her cheeks deepening. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice filled with reverence. The atmosphere between you was electric, charged with anticipation as she prepared to prove herself once more, piece by piece, rebuilding what had been fractured.

Hyunjin nodded, her body visibly tense with anticipation. Her fingers moved with care, unfastening the button on your pants and sliding the zipper down. The soft sound of fabric shifting against the leather chair seemed deafening in the silence. Her breath hitched as she tugged your pants and boxers down, her cheeks flushed as you were exposed to her fully.

Her wide eyes flickered upward, a mix of nervousness and need shining in them as she hesitated for a moment. You didn’t speak, letting her feel the weight of the moment, your hand moving to rest lightly on her head. That gentle guidance was all she needed to lean forward, her lips parting as she placed a soft, tentative kiss at the base of your length. Her warm breath brushed against you as she began, her tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path upward.

Her movements grew more confident as she worked, her lips wrapping around you, taking you deeper with each pass. The soft moans that escaped her vibrated against your skin, the sound sending a jolt of heat through your body. You threaded your fingers into her hair, your grip firm but not harsh, guiding her pace as she moved with increasing fervor.

“Good girl,” you murmured, your voice low and approving. She responded immediately, her pace quickening, her tongue and lips working in perfect harmony. But just as the tension in the room began to build, you tightened your grip in her hair, pulling her back sharply.

“Stop,” you said firmly.

Her lips slipped off you with an audible pop, her eyes snapping up to meet yours, wide and questioning. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, her hands still resting lightly on your thighs as she froze in place. The sight of her—lips glistening, cheeks flushed, her pupils blown wide with desire—sent a wave of satisfaction through you, but you held your expression steady.

“Look at it,” you commanded, your voice calm but unyielding. “Just look.”

She swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to your length. Her hands twitched against your thighs, her lips parting slightly as she stared, her breathing ragged. The heat between you was palpable, thick in the air as the seconds stretched on.

“Sir,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Not yet,” you replied, your tone firm. “You’ll wait until I say.”

Her fingers dug slightly into your thighs, her need evident in the way her body shifted, her legs pressing together subtly. The denial was working—her arousal was unmistakable, her lips trembling as she obeyed, her gaze fixed on you.

“Resume,” you said after a long moment, your hand loosening its grip on her hair.

She dove back eagerly, her mouth enveloping you with renewed fervor. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, her movements quicker, more precise. The warmth of her mouth, the slickness of her tongue, and the soft, muffled sounds she made sent sparks of pleasure through you.

Just as her pace became frantic, you tugged on her hair again, pulling her back abruptly. Her head tilted up, her lips red and swollen, her eyes glassy with desperation. A soft whimper escaped her as she looked at you, her need etched into every line of her face.

“Stop,” you said again, your voice sharp.

“Sir,” she whimpered, her voice breaking. “Please.”

You tilted your head slightly, observing her with quiet intensity. “Please, what?”

“Let me continue,” she begged, her voice trembling. “I need to, Sir. I need to.”

Your lips curled into a faint smile as you leaned forward slightly, your thumb brushing over her swollen lower lip. “You’ll wait,” you said, your tone commanding. “Until I’m ready.”

Her body visibly trembled, her arousal spilling over into every movement. Her thighs pressed together tighter, her hands clutching at the fabric of your pants as if anchoring herself. She was desperate, her need growing with every second you held her back.

Finally, you tugged her closer pulling her head down slightly. “Resume,” you said, your voice low and rough.

She whimpered softly, the sound drenched in need, her lips parting as she immediately obeyed. Her mouth found you again, her movements feverish, as if every second away had only amplified her desperation. Her tongue glided along your length with reverence, each flick and swirl precise, her lips sealing around you as her moans vibrated against your skin. Her soft, muffled sounds filled the room, fueling the intensity of the moment. Her submission was complete, every movement a display of her devotion and longing to please.

The tension inside you built higher with every stroke, every delicate movement of her lips, her frantic need feeding your own growing pleasure. Her breath came in quick huffs through her nose as she worked, her hands lightly gripping your thighs for stability. She was utterly lost in the moment, her entire focus on serving you, and it was intoxicating.

With a firm tug on the collar, you pulled her head back once more, her lips slipping off you with a soft, breathy whine of frustration. Her wide, pleading eyes locked onto yours, her need written plainly on her flushed face. Her breaths came in shallow, desperate gasps, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself.

"Strip," you ordered, your voice steady and commanding.

Her trembling hands immediately moved to obey, her fingers fumbling slightly in her haste as she shed her clothes. The fabric slid from her body, pooling on the floor as she stood before you, bare and vulnerable. Her skin glowed in the flickering candlelight, every curve and line of her body laid out for your gaze. She shivered, a mix of anticipation and arousal coursing through her, but she didn’t waver, her eyes cast downward in submission.

“Now, get on the bed,” you said, your tone leaving no room for hesitation. “On all fours.”

She scrambled to comply, her movements quick but deliberate, the urgency in her actions undeniable. The mattress dipped slightly beneath her as she positioned herself, her knees sinking into the plush surface. Her back arched instinctively, her head bowing submissively, her hands gripping the sheets tightly as if anchoring herself. Her breath hitched audibly as you stepped behind her, the leash in your hand taut, its tension a constant reminder of your control.

Reaching for the leash attachment on the bedside table, you let the quiet sound of metal against wood fill the room. Her body tensed at the faint clink, her breath catching as she froze in place, her anticipation palpable. The polished attachment glinted in the candlelight as you clicked it into place on her collar, the sound sharp and commanding. A tremor ran through her as the leash went taut, and you gave it a testing tug, pulling her head back slightly.

“You’ve done well,” you murmured, your free hand trailing over the curve of her spine, feeling the way her body shivered beneath your touch. “But I’m not done testing you yet.”

Her whimper was soft, her voice barely audible over the quiet tension in the room. Her hips shifted instinctively, pressing back slightly, seeking more of your touch as though her body had a will of its own. The leash in your hand grew taut as you pulled her back, her movement halted with deliberate precision. A shiver ran through her, and the small sound that escaped her lips was almost a plea, fragile and raw.

You smirked at her eagerness, letting your hand slide to her hips, gripping them firmly to keep her still. “Desperate already?” you murmured, your tone edged with amusement. The heat of your palm against her skin only heightened the tension, her trembling body betraying the effort it took to remain obedient.

Slowly, you teased her, letting the tip of you brush against her entrance, the barest touch enough to make her tense and gasp. Her thighs quivered, her breath catching audibly as her body trembled with restrained anticipation. Her need was palpable, her entire form aching for more, yet she remained frozen, holding herself steady with a visible effort that only deepened your satisfaction.

“Patience,” you said sharply, your voice slicing through her whimper. The leash tightened slightly, a reminder of your control. “You’ll take what I give you. Nothing more.”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice shaky yet obedient, her words punctuated by shallow, unsteady breaths.

You pressed forward just enough to enter her, your movements slow and deliberate, the sensation electric as her body responded instantly. Her muscles clenched tightly around you, a soft, broken cry escaping her lips as her fingers curled into the sheets. Her need was overwhelming, radiating from her trembling frame, yet she didn’t move, her submission absolute even as her desire consumed her.

“Don’t move,” you commanded, your tone low but firm.

“Yes, Sir,” she gasped, her voice filled with effort as she fought to remain still. Her fingers dug deeper into the sheets, her knuckles white as her body vibrated with barely restrained longing. Every breath was a struggle, her soft whimpers growing louder as you stayed motionless, letting the weight of the stillness press down on her.

But then, instinct betrayed her. Her hips shifted ever so slightly, seeking more of you, her desperation winning out for a fleeting moment. The rustle of the leash was sharp as you pulled it taut, her head jerking back as your hand came down sharply on her ass with a loud, resounding smack. She yelped, the sound a mix of pain and pleasure, her body jolting forward even as she froze in realization.

“What did I say?” you growled, your voice low and commanding, the leash a firm tether in your hand.

“Not to move,” she whimpered, her voice trembling with both need and apology.

“Then don’t,” you snapped, your tone sharp, leaving no room for argument.

“Yes, Sir,” she replied quickly, her words laced with desperation as she braced herself, her hands gripping the sheets tighter.

Leaning forward, you pressed in further, filling her slowly, deliberately, her sharp gasp echoing in the room as her body quivered around you. Her whimpers grew louder, her breaths shallow and uneven as her restraint began to unravel. The tension between you was palpable, the air charged with her aching desire and your unyielding control.

Again, she moved—a tiny, involuntary tilt of her hips, but it was enough. Without hesitation, you tugged the leash sharply, pulling her head back as your hand came down on her other cheek with another sharp smack. Her cry was louder this time, her body jolting beneath you as the sting radiated across her skin.

“You’ll wait until I allow it,” you said, your voice a growl. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice breaking, her body trembling as she tried to steady herself.

The leash tightened in your hand as you leaned over her, your lips brushing against her ear. “Good girl,” you murmured, the words low and deliberate, sending a shiver down her spine. “Now, let’s see if you can do better.”

You stayed still inside her, savoring the way her body clenched around you, her desperation growing with each passing second. Her soft, broken whimpers filled the room, every sound a testament to her struggle and her need. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the sheets, her entire body trembling with the effort to obey.

When she moved again—a subtle, instinctive tilt of her hips—you didn’t hesitate. The leash tightened sharply, pulling her head back as your hand came down once more with a sharp smack. The sound reverberated through the room, her cry echoing louder, her body jolting before falling still.

“Again?” you growled, your tone low and dangerous. “Have you not learned?”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” she whimpered, her voice cracking, her words tumbling out quickly. “I’ll be good. I’ll be still.”

“Prove it,” you said sharply, your grip on the leash firm, holding her exactly where you wanted her. “Show me you deserve this.”

She nodded frantically, her breaths coming in soft, broken gasps as she fought to hold herself steady. Her body quivered beneath you, every inch of her radiating need, but she didn’t move again. The leash in your hand was a constant reminder of her submission, the tension pulling her further into the moment as her fingers gripped the sheets tightly, her knuckles white.

You pressed into her fully, slow and deliberate, filling her completely. Her sharp gasp echoed in the room, her body instinctively clenching around you as she felt the stretch of you inside her. But you didn’t move. You held her there, buried deep, the weight of the stillness pressing down on her.

“Do you want me to move?” you asked, your voice low, calm, and teasing.

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. “Please.”

You stayed perfectly still as the tension built between you. Without warning, you twitched inside her, the subtle movement making her entire body jolt. A broken whimper spilled from her lips, her thighs trembling as she clenched around you again, her breath shaky.

“Is that what you wanted?” you asked, your tone almost mocking.

“More,” she whimpered, her voice cracking. “Please, Sir. Give me more.”

Another twitch. Her cry was louder this time, her back arching slightly as the sensation rippled through her. Her hands clutched at the sheets, her entire body quivering with desperation.

“Why should be so generous?” you murmured, your voice calm, almost curious. “Have you earned it?”

“I—I’ll earn it,” she stammered, her words tumbling out in a breathless rush. “Please, Sir, I’ll do anything. I’m sorry. Please.”

You leaned over her slightly, the leash in your hand taut as your free hand slid down her back, your touch soft, teasing. “Anything?” you asked, your lips brushing against her ear.

“Yes,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “Anything.”

Her body tensed as she waited, anticipation written in every trembling muscle. Then, you twitched again, the small, deliberate movement sending another jolt of sensation through her. Her cry was a mix of frustration and arousal, her thighs pressing together as she fought to stay still.

“Please,” she begged, her voice raw and desperate. “Please, Sir, I’ll be good. I won’t move. Just—please.”

Her desire was palpable, her submission complete as body trembled beneath you. You stayed still for a long moment, letting her desperation simmer, the leash pulling her head back slightly as a reminder of your control.

Finally, you pulled back all the way, the cool air brushing between you as her breath hitched, her body trembling with anticipation. Her hands gripped the sheets tighter, her entire form taut, waiting for your next move. Without warning, you thrust into her fully, your entire length filling her in one deliberate motion. A loud cry escaped her lips, raw and unrestrained, her body clenching tightly around you in response. But she stayed completely still, every muscle tense, holding herself in perfect submission despite the overwhelming sensation.

You stayed there, buried deep inside her, your hand trailing down her back in a slow, soothing motion. Her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, her entire body trembling with the effort to hold herself still. “Good girl,” you murmured, your voice low and warm, laced with pride. “You listened this time.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she whispered, her voice trembling but steady, filled with quiet gratitude. Her submission radiated from every inch of her body, her fingers gripping the sheets so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Slowly, you pulled back again, her breath catching as she braced herself. Then, without warning, you thrust into her a second time, your motion smooth and deliberate, your entire length filling her completely. Her cry was louder this time, her voice breaking as her body clenched around you again. But once more, she didn’t move. She held herself perfectly still, her submission unwavering, her breath shaky as she fought the overwhelming sensations.

The leash in your hand stayed taut, keeping her aligned with your control, her body bent to your will. You leaned forward slightly, your breath warm against the back of her neck as you murmured, “That’s what I wanted to see. You’re doing so well.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper, trembling with relief and pride.

This time, you began to move, your pace slow and deliberate, the shift a clear and deliberate reward for her obedience. The relief in her voice was almost tangible, her muffled cries spilling out with each thrust, each sound a testament to the weight lifted from her desperation. Her body responded instinctively, perfectly aligned with your rhythm, the curve of her back arching as though offering herself entirely to you.

The leather leash in your hand stayed taut, a constant tether to her submission, its tension drawing her further into the moment. Each measured thrust pressed her hips forward, only for her to press back with a growing urgency, her movements eager yet restrained, still seeking your permission in every motion. The slick heat of her enveloped you completely, her body clinging with a fervent need that made the air between you crackle with intensity.

Her cries grew louder, each sound a mix of pleasure and surrender, her voice rising in raw emotion with every deliberate thrust. Your grip on the leash tightened, and you pulled her head back sharply, eliciting a sharp gasp from her lips. Her neck arched beautifully, her vulnerability on full display as she submitted to the pull of the leather.

In a fluid motion, you wrapped the supple leash around her head, positioning it snugly between her lips. The soft leather pressed firmly into her mouth, transforming her cries into muffled, broken sounds of pleasure and need. The gagged whimpers and desperate breaths filled the room, blending with the rhythmic sound of your movements. Her body trembled beneath you, every shudder and quiver a display of her surrender, her raw need laid bare.

"This," you murmured, your voice low and edged with a commanding roughness as you leaned in, your lips grazing the delicate curve of her ear. "This is who you truly are," you continued, your breath warm against her skin, each word sinking into her like a brand. "Your best self," you whispered, the possessiveness in your tone undeniable, each syllable deliberate, drawing her deeper into the moment. "Completely mine."

Her muffled response was unintelligible but filled with emotion, her entire body reacting to the weight of your claim. Her hands gripped the sheets with white-knuckled intensity, her nails scraping against the fabric as her body buckled beneath the steady, purposeful rhythm you set. The leather pressed into her lips, the tension in the leash anchoring her fully in the moment, as if nothing else in the world existed except your control and her submission.

Her cries reached a fever pitch as you slowed abruptly, pressing deep inside her and holding completely still. The sudden lack of motion made her freeze, her muffled whines of frustration breaking the quiet tension in the room. She clenched around you instinctively, her body desperate for the friction and release that had been so cruelly denied. Her desperation filled the air, thick and electric, as she quivered beneath you.

“You don’t get to cum until I give you permission,” you growled, your voice low and commanding. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whimpered, her voice shaky, her words muffled by the leash pressing against her lips. Her hands gripped the sheets tightly, her knuckles white as she fought to obey, every fiber of her being screaming for relief. Her body trembled violently, her thighs quivering as she remained perfectly still, holding herself together only through sheer willpower.

You began to move again, deliberately slow, each thrust measured and purposeful. Her muffled cries grew louder, her hips instinctively pressing back into you, desperate to match your rhythm, to take more of you. But each time her movements matched yours, you slowed again, the leash taut in your hand a constant reminder of her place.

"Patience," you said sharply, landing a firm slap on her ass. The sound echoed in the room, followed by a sharp gasp as she jolted slightly under your touch. Her body trembled, the sting blooming across her skin as a mix of pain and pleasure heightened her arousal.

You smirked at her reaction and spanked her again, your hand coming down with enough force to draw a muffled cry from her lips. Her muscles tightened around you, her body reacting instinctively as her breath hitched. “You take what I give you, nothing more, nothing less” you ordered, your voice a low growl. 

She nodded frantically, her breaths ragged as her body trembled with the effort to obey. Her submission sent a thrill through you, and you rewarded her with another deliberate spank, your palm landing squarely on her other cheek. Her cry was louder this time, her body jolting forward as the sensation spread through her.

“Good girl,” you murmured, your tone approving but firm. “I can feel how much you want it. Is this all it takes to make you fall apart?”

Her muffled cries grew more frantic as you thrust into her again, slow but deep, her body tensing with every motion. The deliberate pace was maddening, designed to keep her on edge without letting her tip over. You spanked her once more, the sound of the impact followed by a sharp whimper that was pure need.

Then, leaning over her, you tugged the leash tighter, tilting her head back. Your breath was warm against her ear as you growled, “Where do you deserve my cum?”

Her muffled response was immediate, frantic. “Inside, Sir,” she gasped, her voice trembling as her hips instinctively pressed back against you. “Please, Sir, inside. Fill me.”

You smirked, leaning closer, your voice low and teasing as you asked, “Do you think you’ve earned that?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whimpered, her voice cracking with desperation. “I’ll be good—I’ll do anything. Please, Sir, I need it.”

You spanked her again, the sharp smack drawing a broken cry from her lips. Her body jolted, her thighs trembling as she clenched tightly around you. “Then beg for it,” you commanded, your voice thick with authority.

“Please, Sir,” she sobbed, her voice trembling with emotion as she broke completely. “Please let me have it. I’ll do anything—I’m yours. Please let me feel it.”

Tightening your grip on the leash, you thrust into her slowly, deeply, savoring the way her body trembled beneath you. “Good girl,” you murmured, your voice a low rumble against her ear. “You’ve earned it.”

Your pace quickened, each thrust deliberate and deep as the tension between you reached its peak. Her muffled cries turned to sobs of relief and pleasure, her body responding instinctively as she gave herself over completely. The connection between you was electric, her submission feeding your control as the leash stayed taut in your hand, keeping her exactly where you wanted her.

Leaning closer, your voice dropping to a low growl. “Who do you belong to?” you demanded, the authority in your tone leaving no room for hesitation.

“You, Sir,” she gasped, her voice trembling but resolute, her entire body arching under your control.

You thrust harder, making her cry out as you repeated, “Say it again.”

“You, Sir! Only you!” she sobbed, her voice raw with submission as her body shuddered.

"Good," you murmured, your voice thick with satisfaction as you leaned in closer, tightening your grip on the leash-turned-gag. The leather pressed snugly between her lips, muffling her cries as her body quivered beneath you. "Never forget it."

You didn’t give her time to respond. Your hips began to move with unrelenting purpose, each thrust harder and deeper than the last. The room was filled with the rhythmic sound of your movements and her muffled cries, raw and desperate, vibrating through the leather gag. Her body arched beneath you, trembling with the effort to hold herself steady, her fingers clutching the sheets so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Her thighs quivered as she clenched around you, her body reacting instinctively to your relentless pace. Each sharp motion drew another muffled moan from her lips, her cries growing higher, more frantic, as her body teetered closer to the edge. The leash stayed taut in your hand, pulling her head back just enough to keep her perfectly aligned to your will.

Her entire form shook beneath you, her body taut with tension as the heat between you built to a fever pitch. Her muffled sounds became a pleading melody, her desperation spilling out with every motion as her submission deepened. You could feel the way she clenched tighter, her body begging for permission even without words, every inch of her crying out for release.

You pulled the leash back, the leather taut between your fingers, leaning into her ear as your voice dropped to a sharp, commanding growl. “Now. Cum for me.”

Her release was immediate, her body convulsing beneath you as a muffled scream tore from her lips, raw and unrestrained. Her walls clenched tightly around you, the intensity of her climax gripping you like a vice, pulling a guttural groan from your throat. Her limbs shook uncontrollably, her strength failing as her muscles gave out. Her body became weightless against the collar, her submission leaving her completely at your mercy.

The leash in your hand became a lifeline, pulling her back as her head tilted, her breath hitching in sobbing gasps. Each wave of her release rolled through her, leaving her trembling and arching into you, her body unable to do anything but feel. Her fingers clawed weakly at the sheets before falling away entirely, her arms limp, her legs shaking so violently they could no longer support her weight.

You didn’t let up, your thrusts deep and deliberate, each motion designed to draw every ounce of her climax from her quivering body. Her walls pulsed around you, the sensation almost too much as she squeezed tighter with every tremor, her body desperately holding onto you. The heat of her, the way her back arched instinctively, and the desperate, muffled cries that spilled from her lips pushed you closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” you growled, your voice low and rough, satisfaction lacing every word as her sobs softened, her trembling body still clenched tightly around you. Leaning over her, your breath brushed her ear, sending a shiver through her overstimulated form. “Take it all.”

Her submission fueled your own release, the way she surrendered entirely to the moment, her body collapsing beneath you. You thrust into her one final time, burying yourself as deep as possible as the pleasure surged through you, your groan low and primal as your release hit. The sensation of filling her completely, the warmth of it spreading between you, sent another shockwave through her. Her body tensed again, her climax reigniting in perfect rhythm with yours, her walls tightening and pulsing as if to draw every drop from you.

Her muffled cries broke into breathless sobs, her body trembling violently as the overwhelming sensation left her utterly undone. The collar pressed firmly against her neck, grounding her even as her limbs refused to obey her, her submission total. Each pulse of your release seemed to extend her own, the shared intensity forging a connection so powerful it felt as though the air around you crackled with it.

As the last tremors of your climax subsided, you stayed buried inside her, the weight of your body pressing her into the mattress. The leash remained taut in your hand, a steady reminder of her surrender, the collar snug against her flushed skin. Her body slowly relaxed, her trembling subsiding into soft, uneven breaths, her whimpers barely audible as her submission became absolute.

You leaned down, your lips brushing softly against the back of her neck, your breath warm and soothing as it ghosted over her flushed skin. “Good girl,” you murmured, your voice low and filled with satisfaction. “You took it so well.” The heat between you lingered, a tangible reminder of the bond you had just reaffirmed, the connection pulsing in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Her voice was a trembling whisper, filled with gratitude and exhaustion. “Thank you, Sir.”

You loosened your grip on the leash slightly, one hand sliding soothingly along her back as her breathing steadied. The quiet weight of the shared moment settled over both of you, a tangible understanding of control, devotion, and the bond that held you together. Her body relaxed beneath you, pliant and trusting, the tension of the night ebbing away.

As you moved to release the binding and settle beside her, she surprised you. Slowly, shakily, she pushed herself up, her limbs trembling with effort, and turned to face you. Her knees met the floor, her movements reverent despite her exhaustion. She knelt there, her gaze steady but soft, shining with unspoken emotion as she clasped her hands lightly in front of her.

“Thank you, Sir,” she said, her voice wavering but firm, her head bowing slightly in deference. “Thank you for giving me another chance. I promise I’ll never take it for granted again.”

The sincerity in her tone struck something deep within you, her submission layered with gratitude and determination. You reached out, cupping her face gently in your hand, tilting her chin so her eyes met yours. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you, the depth of her devotion reflected back in her gaze.

“I believe you,” you said softly, your thumb brushing over her cheek as her eyes glistened with unspoken emotion. “And I’ll hold you to that promise.”

The connection between you was palpable, the quiet intimacy of the moment settling like a balm over the intensity of everything that had come before. As she knelt there, a renewed sense of trust and devotion radiating from her, you felt the unbreakable bond between you solidify once more.

You reached down, your fingers brushing lightly against her chin as you guided her off her knees. Her body moved with a hesitant grace, her legs trembling slightly from the intensity of the moment. She followed your lead without question, her wide eyes flicking up to meet yours, silently searching for reassurance as you helped her onto the bed. The mattress dipped beneath her weight as she settled, her hands clutching the sheets tightly, knuckles whitening as though anchoring herself.

When you reached toward the collar around her neck, her breath hitched audibly, her entire body going rigid beneath your touch. “Sir…” she whispered, her voice trembling with uncertainty. “Please… don’t take it off. I’ll do better, I promise.”

Her plea was laced with desperation, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as her gaze darted between your hands and your face, searching for any hint of mercy. A small, involuntary shiver ran through her, and her fingers twitched against the sheets, her need to hold onto the collar palpable.

You paused deliberately, your hand still resting against the cool leather. Leaning closer, you met her panicked gaze, your voice calm but firm, the tone leaving no room for argument. “This isn’t punishment,” you said, your breath warm as it ghosted over her cheek. “You’ve earned it back, but I need to take care of you first.”

The words hung in the air, steady and unyielding, and her resolve cracked just slightly. She nodded, swallowing hard, the submission in her posture softening into trust as she tilted her head, baring her neck for you. Even as she complied, her lips parted as though she wanted to speak again, but no words came. Her breathing quickened as the soft click of the buckle echoed in the room, impossibly loud against the quiet backdrop. You slipped the collar off carefully, her skin faintly red where the leather had rested. The collar felt heavier in your hand than usual as you set it on the bedside table, its presence a silent promise.

Her gaze followed the collar until it was out of sight, her trembling form still taut with unspoken emotion. Before she could voice any of it, you leaned in, your lips brushing against the now-bare skin of her neck. The first kiss was featherlight, your breath warm and soothing against her flushed skin, a deliberate reassurance. Her body shivered beneath you, a soft, involuntary sound escaping her lips as you began to trail kisses along the delicate curve of her neck.

Each kiss was purposeful, slow and deliberate, leaving a path of heat in their wake. You felt her breath catch, the tension in her shoulders melting under the tender press of your lips. When you reached the sensitive spot beneath her ear, you lingered, your teeth grazing her skin gently before sucking just enough to leave a faint mark. Her gasp was sharp, her hands tightening their grip on the sheets as a visible shudder ran through her.

“These,” you murmured against her skin, your voice low and possessive, “will be your substitute until tomorrow. A reminder of who you belong to.”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, trembling with emotion. Her body sank deeper into the bed as you continued, your mouth leaving faint marks that dotted her neck like a constellation of your claim. Each kiss was deliberate, your teeth grazing her skin just enough to send another wave of sensation coursing through her. By the time you finished, her breaths were shallow, her body completely relaxed, her submission absolute.

Satisfied, you reached for the lotion on the bedside table, the faint scent of vanilla filling the air as you warmed it between your palms. “Lift your chin,” you instructed gently, your tone soft but commanding. She obeyed instantly, her head tilting back to expose the expanse of her neck, her trust in you evident in the way she remained perfectly still.

The cool lotion met her heated skin, and she shivered under your touch, the contrast heightening her awareness of the care you were giving her. Your fingers moved slowly, deliberately, smoothing the lotion over the faint redness left by the collar. Each stroke was tender, soothing, a tactile affirmation of her worth and your devotion.

When you finished, you leaned in one last time, pressing a soft kiss to the base of her neck. “Tomorrow,” you promised, your voice steady, carrying the weight of your conviction. “You’ll wear it again.”

Her voice broke slightly as she whispered, “Thank you, Sir.”

You stayed close, your hands resting lightly on her shoulders as her breathing steadied. The room settled into a quiet hum of intimacy, the bond between you unspoken but profound. The collar rested nearby, waiting for its return, but the marks you left on her skin and the care you had shown were enough to remind her of everything she had earned.

[str4ngr]

working. [ nanami kento ]

cw: none, fluff, white-collar worker nanami, no canon do not SPEAK of canon to me. fem! reader. not proofread. notes: guys this is a little long.

nanami accepted that most likely, work would be his eternity. working for a pension, wages that refused to be more than just enough for his month, dealing with a whining, nagging boss. nanami knew that he was nothing more than a ragdoll to the system in which he enlisted himself, helpless to the washing, merciless crashes of the white-collar workforce.

nanami accepted the routine of apartment to work to apartment. home, work, home. work, work, work. for whatever reason, a man who's gall to break routine was near zero, did just so, taking a detour to a shop a co-worker mentioned. as a connoisseur, that was his reasonably made excuse, he had to try the new bakery. it was an interesting choice of hobby—breads, baking, the whole lot, really—for someone who barely took any time for himself. but who wouldn't want to try the new bakery, a hole-in-the-wall-esque setting with dainty decoration, dainty music to match, and a not-so dainty, in terms of volume, baker at the front.

her smiles brightened the small shop, her laughter making his lips twitch. she bounced around her pride and joy, happily explaining all kinds of pastries, loafs, and how each is made. her nimble hands delicately wrapped each of his orders, always to-go, engaging in conversation he wouldn't usually care to give thought to.

but her voice echoed in his mind, his lips pursing together as she made some comment that made his chest rumble. nanami remembered her name, noticed when her nails changed colors, when her voice was a little slower than yesterday.

yesterday?

yesterday. a man of routines is a man of routines. of course, now you were a part of it. now, dropping by after work, picking up bread or pastries he didn't really need because he can't eat so many carbs without falling ill, watching you smile when he made a joke drier than the shahara desert—he couldn't help but show up, like an obligation he loved to attend.

nanami enjoyed the way your head perked up at the familiar sound of his shoes against the tile floors, like a song to a bird. nanami enjoyed how you always had his order packed earlier because, "kento," he especially cherished, if you will, how his first name sounded on your tongue, "you're always punctual!" and he was, for you. for you because when he was on time, that meant your conversations would last longer. about work, about news, about weather, about nothing.

soon, his routine changed again. it's been changing quite often in the past couple months, hasn't it? so has yours. now, you saw him after work, blouse still lightly dusted in flour. he was kind enough to brush it off for you, his warmth seeping through the cotton of your shirt. you walked together, the evening sun still glowing hot, and even though it was summer now, it's like his touch was hypnotic. even when his touch had only lingered for a moment, it was the only thing you could feel.

his smiles were so gentle, like a breeze, wisping across the gorgeous features of his face, crinkling his eyes, the apples of his cheeks slightly rounding, his teeth reflecting the light. you chased after his laughter light a dog without a leash, a sound—not noise—you never wanted to stop hearing. and although he wasn't much of a talker, oh when he did? his voice was like soft butter and rich cocoa, guiding your being through his words with is deep tone and slow tempo. nanami's voice felt like a sirens song so utterly impossible to ignore: infatuating.

nanami hoped that this routine would stay, no more work, work, work. something brighter, your entrancing smile, your playful laughter. something softer, like the taste of your pastries, or the scent of your perfume. something like you.

notes: yeah, im coping, so what? lowkey don't like this but yk what i do like? nanami kento!!!

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

nobody here even knows about tippy from under the vines and that breaks my heart

[abby420]

tik tok removed one of my most viewed/most liked edits i am going feral i am foaming at the mouth i am unbelievably pissed right now tik tok is so FUCKING ANNOYINH FUCK YOU WARNER MEDIA COPYRIGHT CLAIMING ONE OF MY FINEST WORKS OF ART

[guubiiz]

trein...

[criticalsucc]

there is a lot of joy to be had in being polyamorous. but i want to talk about the specific joys derived from being with someone who is poly.

it's in the knowledge that to them, you are important enough that they continue to choose you even when they have chosen others as well. it's in the knowing that your love calls to them so strongly that they feel it even when they have the love of another.

she is free to love however and whoever her heart desires. i do not tie her down (well, not in that way lol). i do not limit her, i do not restrict her, i do not contain her. she can and does find love in others. but i am important enough to her that she is always going to come back to me. it's not just a hope, a maybe, it's woven into the very fabric of the relationship. i am not less significant because i am one of a few, i feel like i am actually more significant because of it. my love is so unique and valuable that she has to have it, even when she is getting so much love already. that feeling is so powerful to me.

when a wildcat chooses to lie down peacefully in your lap, even when you give her the freedom to run, that is a gift. you have been chosen for the safety and comfort you provide. that is not diminished by the cat finding shelter elsewhere, that is enhanced by it. you are one of her favorite spots to lie down and rest. cherish that feeling.

[justyoursicanon]

So from what I heard, Wade wanted a family with Vanessa right? A baby?? A family of his own??

He would definitely treat Mary Puppins as his own actual biological daughter even though she's a deadpool, but she's the closest thing he has to an actual baby

And and Wade was no doubt happy for Laura that she has a Logan, not hers, but a Logan that she'll love and cherish all the same as her father

And Logan slowly opening himself to her and taking the parental role and treating her like she was always his own daughter

But oh my God IMAGINE PLEASE IMAGINE how HAPPY he would be when Laura refers to him as papa one day

Wade would always hang out and treat Laura like the questionable Uncle, and leaving the "father-bonding-and-other-fatherly-things" to Logan

But then one night, after she comes over for dinner and hangs out with them and now she has to return back to the X-Mansion she goes:

"Thanks for letting me come over agajn guys. Goodnight, love you Dad, love you Papi." And shuts the door and Wade almost trips over Mary Puppins.

"That's a little odd, baby peanut mentioned you twice. Must be really tired after tonight."

"Papi is you, bub."

He slowly turns to Logan, refusing to believe it

Before quietly and brokenly asking with so much joy

"I'm a dad?"

And if he cried that night, then that'll just be between him, Logan and Mary Puppins until Wade starts telling anyone and everyone that he's a step father and proceeds to prove how much of a great step father he can be

[jezebelblues]

home | h.s

requested!! thank u anon, i hope u can enjoy :)

summary: the entirety of y/n’s pregnancy with their son, atlas. [nov’18–may’19]

cw: unexpected pregnancy, labor + labor pains, fem!reader. i think that’s it!!

word count: approx 12.3k

| hope yall don’t mind that i included louis in this. i miss him fr. also, thank u again anon <3 hope this wasn’t too long

Life had slowed, but only just—somehow still breezy with that undercurrent of momentum that carried him from One Direction fevered heights, to the steady rhythm of his own solo journey. Fame was no stranger, but this? These moments were the ones he cherished most. He glanced at his wife, her eyes twinkling as she sat with their son. The simple joy of this evening reminded him of how far they had come. The quiet, intimate wedding in Holmes Chapel five years ago, the shockwaves it sent through the internet because they had managed to keep it so private, and then, only a year later, the unexpected news that YN was pregnant with Atlas.

He could still remember the exact moment he found out about their little surprise, how the world had seemed to tilt on its axis when she told him. It had been unplanned, a complete shock, but one that had filled him with a profound sense of love and responsibility.

Five years ago felt like a lifetime ago, yet it also felt like yesterday.

Five Years Earlier – November first, Holmes Chapel

The cold was sharp outside, but the small cottage Harry and YN had rented for the holiday season felt warm, cozy even. A fire crackled softly in the fireplace, and YN sat curled up on the couch, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. Outside, a gentle snow, the first of the season, had started to fall, covering the village in a blanket of white.

Harry had been out all day, helping his mother with some last-minute holiday preparations. The quiet of the house felt calming to YN, but there was something on her mind, something that had been gnawing at her for the past month. Her period was late—later than it had ever been.

She had noticed other small things too. A slight queasiness in the mornings that she initially brushed off as stress from the hectic, upcoming holiday season. But now, as she sat there, the weight of realization started to sink in. She might be pregnant.

Her heart pounded as she thought about it. They hadn’t planned for this. They had only been married for about a year, and though they had talked about children, it had always been a vague, distant future sort of conversation. But now, the possibility was staring her in the face, and she wasn’t sure how Harry would react.

Would he be excited? Nervous? Overwhelmed?

She glanced at her phone, considering whether to text him and ask him to pick up a pregnancy test on his way home. No, that felt too impersonal.

She had paced the empty hallways of the cottage, occasionally texting her husband back or scrolling through instagram. She knew Harry like the back of her hand, he wouldn’t be upset—perhaps a bit overwhelmed, but upset? No, from the years they’ve known each other, he loved children. She couldn’t count on her fingers the amount of dance sessions, hide and go seeks, and cartoon watching she’d walk in on when he was with the children of his family or friends. And from the discussions they’ve shared of their own future children, she knew he’d be ecstatic—she just didn’t think it’d be so soon.

A few hours later, the front door creaked open, and Harry’s voice echoed through the small cottage. “Lovey, y’here? S’cold as hell out there.”

She stood, wrapping Harry’s sweater tighter around her frame, trying to keep her nerves in check as she walked towards him. He looked so carefree, a light dusting of snow in his hair, his cheeks rosy from the cold, a grin already stretching across his face when he saw her.

“Got y’favorite mince pies from the bakery,” he announced, holding up a small paper bag as he walked towards her. “Mum says we need to fatten you up f’the winter.”

YN laughed softly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She could feel the words bubbling up in her throat, but she didn’t know how to say them. Instead, she took the bag from him and set it on the counter.

He began to shuffle around the kitchen, searching the cupboards for a few glasses. He absentmindedly hummed a tune his wife didn’t quite recognize as he floated toward the freezer, pulling out a frosted glass bottle of rum with a smile. “Mum said she would’ve made it herself but–” He laughed, shaking his head as he set the bottle down on the counter with a heavy clank. “She’s decorating the house. Looks like autumn threw up in there.”

YN only responded in a gentle chuckle, one that made him look up with his eyebrows furrowed. Harry frowned, immediately noticing the shift in her demeanor. He paused, his eyes scanning her face with concern. “Everything alright, sweet girl?”

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice. Her eyes burrowed into his, shifting gaze from one eye to the other. Her lips parted, unsure of how to form the words that sat heavily in her throat. She exhaled, managing a smile as she shook her head. “Just a bit tired, thats all.”

She couldn’t tell him until she was sure. If he were to be overjoyed, she didn’t want to get his hopes up on the off-chance she wasn’t pregnant.

Harry paused for a moment, not fully convinced, but he didn’t want to push. If something was wrong, she’d tell him when she felt ready. So, he only smiled back as he unscrewed the rum and poured into the square glasses. He looked at her expectantly as he raised his eyebrows, bringing her a glass.

She stared at it as if it would jump out at her, her reflection waning in the amber liquid. She pulled her lips between her teeth, shaking her head as her cheeks flushed. “Not feeling it tonight.”

At that point, Harry knew something was wrong. He furrowed his eyebrows, setting her—well, what was supposed to be hers—drink on the counter before he took a sip of his. “You sure y’alright?”

She brushed it off with a laugh, stepping toward him as he remained leaning against the counter. YN pressed a gentle kiss on his rum-slicked lips, cold to the touch. “You worry too much.”

He wrapped his arm around her head, pulling her into his chest with a sigh. “Rightfully so, m’love. Stubborn as a mule, you are.”

She scoffed, though only humor was laced in her tone. She pushed back from him, folding her arms over her chest with a feigned frown.

“What?” He smiled, taking another sip. “Should be titled an archeologist the way I dig for your heart.”

“Oh shut it, Styles. You’ve done no such thing.”

He laughed, placing his glass on the counter behind him and gently holding onto the edges. “You’re only proving my point, lovey.”

She rolled her eyes, flicking his chest before she began to step off toward the bedroom. YN looked over her shoulder expectantly with a sly smile. “You’re not gonna join me?”

She didn’t need to ask him twice.

He tugged his shirt off, tossing it aside as his wife’s laughter echoed down the hallway. She darted toward their bedroom, her giggles trailing behind her like music. Grabbing his glass from the counter and kicking off his shoes, he chased after her, a wide, mischievous grin lighting up his face.

There was a gloomy, gray sky the next morning, the kind where the clouds stretched thick across the sky, holding back any hint of sun. YN had woken up before dawn with a gnawing queasiness—a feeling that had been creeping up more often lately. She pressed her hand to her stomach, trying to calm the discomfort.

She reached into the plastic bag, pulling out the small pregnancy test she ordered from doordash before the sun rose. She had tipped the dasher generously before staring at it in the restroom for what felt like hours. Her mind buzzed, unsteady with thoughts she couldn’t quite wrangle. The idea of being pregnant had only crossed her mind like a shooting star. She was nervous. They were still basking in the simplicity of their life, the unexpected quiet of their year-old marriage. This hadn’t been in the plan.

But here she was, two minutes ticking by like hours as she stared at the test resting on the edge of the sink.

And then, there it was.

Two blue lines.

Her heart raced, a mix of emotions she could barely process flooded her chest. She didn’t know what she was supposed to feel—excitement, worry, fear? It was all tangled together in a knot she didn’t have the strength to untangle. She felt a hint of guilt wash over her; how could she feel uncertain about something so beautiful? But it was real, and she knew it. This was so real.

She sank to the edge of the clawfoot tub in the small bathroom, hugging her arms around herself. She let herself sit there for a while, just breathing in and out, letting the realization wash over her like waves on a shore, eroding her hesitation bit by bit. Eventually, she felt a warmth begin to spread, a tentative but growing love, a sense that maybe, just maybe, this was meant to be.

Oh, god—but Harry.

Mere discussions about a hazy future never felt so prophetic.

Footsteps on the old wooden floor outside the bathroom brought her back to reality. Harry’s voice called from the kitchen, warm and sleepy, a mug clinking on the counter. “Love, you up?”

Her stomach twisted again, this time more with nerves than nausea. She took a deep breath, tucking the test in her hand and opening the door. As she stepped out, she found her husband leaning against the counter, his hair tousled from sleep, a soft smile on his face as he sipped from his mug.

“Couldn’t fall back asleep,” she murmured, her voice just above a whisper.

Harry raised an eyebrow, setting down his mug as he studied her face, his expression shifting to one of gentle concern. ”You’ve been off since yesterday, please, just tell me what’s wrong?”

YN took a breath, feeling the weight of the words she was about to speak. She crossed the small space between them, the floorboards creaking softly under her bare feet. Her hands trembled as she reached for his, and he immediately stilled, sensing her unease.

“Don’t freak out, okay?“ She said, her voice breaking ever so slightly.

Harry’s gaze softened, his fingers curling around hers. “Alright,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles. “Swear it.”

She swallowed, her eyes dropping to where their hands joined, and finally, she managed to say it. “I’m–” she sighed, “I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air between them, and she felt his hand go still, his thumb pausing mid-stroke. She dared a glance up at his face, and in his eyes, she saw the shock she’d been expecting. His mouth opened slightly, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

It was the longest silence she’d ever felt.

And then, slowly, a smile began to break across his face, soft at first, hesitant, but growing. His eyes sparkled with something she hadn’t expected—something gentle and pure, and so, so warm. “You’re… serious?”

She nodded, a soft laugh escaping her lips, a mix of nerves and relief. “Yeah. I know it’s not what we planned, and I—”

Harry pulled her into his arms, wrapping her up tightly as if he never wanted to let go. She felt his heartbeat racing against her cheek, felt the slight tremor in his breath as he held her.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes glassy with emotion. “This is… I mean, I wasn’t expecting this, but…” He paused, his voice catching. “But, YN, this—this is everything.”

A smile broke across her face, the warmth in her chest growing, all her fears melting as she looked up at him. “Are you sure?”

Harry laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his thumb lingering on her cheek. “I’m sure.” His eyes held hers, full of something she could only describe as love beyond anything she’d known before. “I mean, look at us. We’ve done everything backwards and upside down, haven’t we?” He chuckled, his dimples deepening. “Why not this too?”

They laughed together, and in that moment, all her worries felt so small, so distant. Harry pressed his forehead against hers, his hands holding her gently. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered. “We’re going to be parents?”

YN nodded, her own laughter mingling with tears she hadn’t realized were there. “I guess we are.”

Harry wrapped her up again, his arms strong and sure around her. “Our little family.” He looked around, a spark of excitement lighting his gaze. “The start of everything, right here.”

They stood there, wrapped up in each other, in the quiet of the small cottage, a peacefulness settling over them. The morning light had started to creep in through the windows, casting a soft glow over them, and for a moment, the world felt perfectly still.

But as the initial excitement settled, the reality of the situation hit her hard. Morning sickness, which was more like all day sickness for YN, kicked in with a vengeance. She wondered what crime she may have committed in a past life to deserve such a karma.

She spent most of her mornings hunched over the toilet, her stomach in knots, while Harry hovered nearby, rubbing her back and murmuring soothing words. “It’ll pass, baby.” He would say, though there was a flicker of worry in his eyes every time she retched.

The first trimester was rough. YN felt exhausted all the time, her body aching and her emotions all over the place. There were days when she could barely keep food down, and the nausea was so overwhelming that she couldn’t even stand the smell of Harry’s cologne.

But through it all, he was a constant source of support. He made her ginger tea in the mornings, rubbed her feet when they swelled, and stayed up late with her on the nights when she couldn’t sleep. He even held her hair back during the worst bouts of sickness, never once complaining or losing his patience.

Still, telling their friends and family was daunting. Anne had been thrilled, of course, immediately launching into grandma mode, talking about knitting booties and baby blankets. But YN worried about telling the public. Harry had always been fiercely protective of their privacy, and the idea of sharing something so intimate with the world felt overwhelming.

“I don’t want people to think anything bad of me.” She admitted to him one night as they lay in bed. She had spent the entire day feeling nauseous, and her nerves were frayed.

Harry propped himself up on one elbow, looking at her with a gentle smile. “No one’s going to think like that, baby.. And if they do, then screw ‘em. This is our family. No one else’s.”

His words, simple as they were, helped ease some of the anxiety gnawing at her. They would announce it when they were ready, and in the meantime, they would enjoy these private, intimate moments together.

A few weeks later, when YN was finally starting to feel a little better, they gathered their closest friends and family to tell them the news. Harry’s friend’s were among the first to know. They had gathered at their place in London, a casual get-together that didn’t feel too obvious or formal.

Jeff had been the first to catch on, his brow furrowing as he noticed YN sipping ginger ale instead of her usual glass of wine on occasions like these. “Wait a minute…” he began, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he glanced between them. Oh God, you’re pregnant aren’t you?”

The room fell silent for a moment as Harry and YN exchanged a glance, a grin tugging at Harry’s lips. “Surprise!”

The room erupted into chaos. Mitch nearly fell out of his chair, laughing and shouting congratulations at the same time. Pauli looked like he might cry, and Sarah immediately started teasing Harry about how he’d better get used to sleepless nights.

“You two are gonna be knackered for the next eighteen years,” she quipped, though there was a deep affection in her eyes as she clapped Harry on the back. “But you’ll be great parents. I know it.”

As the weeks continued to pass and YN’s belly began to show, Harry’s excitement seemed to grow right along with it. He took over more and more of the household chores, practically hovering over her with a devotion that was both endearing and—just occasionally—a little over the top. But that was Harry; he never did anything halfway, and preparing to become a dad was no exception.

One evening, after a long day, they lay in bed, YN nestled against Harry’s chest as he rested a hand on her belly. His fingers traced slow, absentminded circles over her small bump, his gaze softening as he looked down at her.

“Have y’thought about names?” he asked quietly, voice almost a murmur. There was a trace of wonder in his eyes, as if he were asking the question for the first time.

She smiled, shrugging lightly. The idea of names had been floating around in her mind for a while, but nothing had quite felt right yet. “Mm, I’ve got a few in mind,” she said with a teasing glint in her eye. “Think I’m just gonna call ’em Fetus for now.”

Harry let out a laugh, his face lighting up as he shook his head. “Poor kid,” he said, voice full of warmth. He shifted lower, pressing a soft kiss to her belly. “Fetus Styles,” he whispered against her skin, his lips brushing her gently, sending a spark of laughter through her.

Her smile never faltered, fingers combing through his curls as he settled his head on her bump, gazing up at her through his lashes. He held her gaze for a moment, then suddenly broke into a grin, blowing raspberries onto her belly with glint in his eye.

She laughed, Harry faltering into her growing tummy as his phone began to ting with a mess of texts. He grabbed his phone that lay upon his wife’s thighs, sitting up beside her against the headboard with a wide smile as the phone illuminated his face.

She knit her eyebrows together, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Who has you smiling?”

He unlocked his phone, “Lou. I told him I had to talk to him tonight.”

She laughed as Harry clicked on the contact, pressing the facetime icon as the ringing filled the air. “It’s what..?” She trailed off, flickering her eyes in thought. “Noon in LA? Surprised he’s even up.”

After a beat, the screen flashed to life, and there he was—Louis, bleary-eyed, half-sprawled across his couch, nursing a mug of tea. He squinted at the screen, a smirk forming as he took them both in.

“Bloody ‘ell, look at you two all cozy!” He drawled, taking a sip. “Thought I was interrupting somethin’.” He chuckled, giving them a teasing wink.

Harry rolled his eyes, holding the phone between them. “Shut up. We’re just havin’ a quiet night in.” He glanced over at YN, then back at the screen, his grin a little wider. “‘Nd I needed to talk t’you, yeah?”

Louis’s smirk softened, curiosity lighting up his expression. “Right. What’s this then?”

He took a quick breath, almost unable to keep the smile off his face as he turned the phone back to YN, who gave Louis a warm smile before glancing at Harry. He squeezed her shoulder, then looked back to the screen, letting the words tumble out. “We’re havin’ a baby!”

For a moment, Louis just stared, the mug paused halfway to his lips as he absorbed the words. His mouth broke into a grin, and he let out a laugh. “Oi, you’re pullin�� my leg!” He leaned closer, shaking his head. “Wait, wait, you’re serious, aren’t ya?”

“Dead serious,” YN said, her voice gentle as she leaned in closer to Harry. “We’ve known for a few weeks now, but wanted to tell you ourselves.”

He sat up straighter, rubbing a hand over his face as he took it in, his grin somehow widening. “Jesus, Haz. A dad,” he mused, a playful sparkle in his eye. “I mean, didn’t see this comin’ back when you were too busy worryin’ about a pair of blue suede shoes to think about nappies.”

Harry let out a laugh, playfully nudging YN. “See, I’m just followin’ y’example, mate.”

Louis snorted, giving a mock scowl. “Better be—Freddie’s halfway to graduating high school it feels like. You’ve got some catchin’ up to do.” He settled back into the couch, softening as he looked at them both. “But seriously, this is brilliant, you two. Gonna make one hell of a mum and dad, aren’t ya?”

Harry glanced over at YN, his gaze lingering, soft and full of a quiet pride. “Hope so,” he said, smiling down at her before turning back to Louis. “Just been… sittin’ with it. So many things I wanna teach ’em, y’know?”

“Best get started on that lullaby playlist, then,” Lou teased, though there was warmth in his tone. “Bet you’re already plannin’ that first guitar lesson.”

YN laughed, rubbing a hand over her belly. “It’s just been a whirlwind, honestly. We haven’t even found out the gender yet.”

Louis grinned, raising an eyebrow. “Surprise ’n all? Makes it even better. Though if y’need tips on anythin’, I’ve got all the dad tricks—like what not to say when they’re askin’ questions in front of their mum.”

“Great,” Harry chuckled. “Start a whole book for me, will ya?”

Lou winked, lifting his mug. “Already makin’ notes. First chapter’s on nappies and the art of avoidin’ baby food on your shirt.” Then, his expression softened as he leaned closer. “Nah, for real. Couldn’t be happier for you two. And for that kid, too. Already got the best start with you both.”

Harry swallowed, his hand finding YN’s, giving it a gentle squeeze as he held his friend’s gaze through the screen. “Means a lot, you’ll be his grumpy, old uncle, yeah?”

Louis grinned, nodding with a playful glint in his eye. “Best be—I’ll have ’em singin’ the chorus to No Control by the time I’m done. YN, darling, don’t you worry—I’ll keep him in line.”

YN chuckled, leaning her head on Harry’s shoulder. “I’ll hold you to that, Lou.”

“Damn right you will,” Louis shot back, settling back against his couch, eyes full of pride and a mischievous excitement. “And when I’m back over, s’gonna be you two doin’ the nappies, while I teach that kid how to annoy his dad.”

Harry feigned a groan, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Cheers, mate.” Louis raised his mug, a glimmer of something genuine in his gaze. “Can’t wait. Love you both, yeah?”

Harry grinned, feeling the weight of Louis’s words. “Love you, too, Lou. Cheers.”

And as they hung up, YN nestled closer, both of them feeling the joy of sharing their secret with someone who’d been there for it all.

A few months had passed, and YN was officially eighteen weeks pregnant. The kitchen was quiet, filled with the warm scent of vanilla as Harry carefully set a single white cupcake on the counter. He’d insisted on something private, just the two of them. No big reveal party or confetti—just a simple cupcake with the surprise hidden inside. YN stood beside him, hands resting on her bump, a grin tugging at her lips as she watched him fuss over it.

“You’re really gonna make me cry over a cupcake, aren’t you?” she teased, nudging him lightly.

Harry’s eyes sparkled as he looked over at her, dimples deepening. “Just y’wait.” He handed her the small knife, his fingers brushing hers, and his voice softened. “Ready?”

She nodded, her heartbeat picking up as she sliced through the cupcake. Slowly, she pulled the two halves apart, then stared down at the filling inside.

Bright green.

For a moment, they both froze, staring down in complete confusion. Harry tilted his head, mouth slightly open, brow furrowed as he looked at her, then back at the cupcake. “Uh… m’pretty sure green wasn’t one of the options.”

YN snorted, a laugh bubbling out as she lifted the cupcake up to inspect it. “Maybe they’re tellin’ us we’re having a little Niall?”

Harry’s eyes crinkled as he burst into laughter, clutching his chest. “God help us if there’s a little Irish guitar player in there.”

She grinned, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. “You think they’ll come out singin’ ‘Mull of Kintyre’?”

Harry laughed, covering his face with his hand. “First words’ll be potato, just y’watch.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “This is what we get for trustin’ a bloody cupcake.”

She rolled her eyes, reaching for her bag on the counter. “Should’ve gone with the doctor’s letter instead of dessert.” After a moment of rummaging, she triumphantly held up the small, folded envelope, smiling. “Alright, now you ready?”

Harry nodded, moving closer, his hand resting gently over hers as she slowly unfolded the paper. They both took a breath, glancing at each other before reading the bold, printed words inside.

Right underneath a blurry ultrasound picture printed onto the visit summary, there it was written.

Fetal sex: Male

For a heartbeat, they both just stared at the words, the realization washing over them like a warm tide.

“A little boy,” Harry murmured, his voice filled with awe as he shook his head in disbelief. “We’re gonna have a son.”

YN’s eyes sparkled as she looked at him, a wide smile breaking across her face. “A son,” she repeated softly, her hand covering his on her belly. Already, she could see him—a little boy with Harry’s eyes, his laughter, his kindness.

Harry swallowed, his own eyes misty as he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, then resting his against hers. “Think we’re ready for him?”

She let out a soft laugh, brushing away a tear. “Not even close,” she whispered, her fingers lacing with his over her belly. “But I think we’ll do just fine.”

It was mid February by this point, a few weeks after celebrating Harry’s twenty-fifth birthday. The air had a sharp chill, and YN readjusted Harry’s oversized hoodie that hung off her growing frame, something that hid her bump well. They were dressed comfy and warm, Harry in a pair of sunnies with his hoodie pulled over his head. She nestled closer into her husband as they walked through the quiet side streets of London. They’d just finished lunch at their favorite café, savoring the rare chance to slip out together unnoticed. She pulled the hoodie over her head as a gust of wind brushed by.

“Wish we had days like this more often,” Harry murmured, his fingers lacing through hers as they made their way back to the car. “Just us, y’know?”

She smiled, leaning into him. “You mean just the two of us and fetus?”

Harry squeaked out a laugh that sounded like the ones from his early days in the x-factor, squeezing her hand. “Right, fetus. Can’t forget our little tagalong now.”

But as they turned onto the next street, something shifted—a distant hum of voices, then a sharp click of a camera. Before they could react, the quiet street filled with flashes, and a group of paparazzi materialized around them, spilling onto the sidewalk.

It wasn’t a swarm, just about five or so that were tipped off about Harry walking about the city in a pair of sunnies, as if that could keep him hidden.

“Harry! Harry! Just one photo!” A bald man shouted, pushing forward. The camera flashes came in rapid succession, blinding in the midday light.

He immediately shifted, drawing YN closer to his side, his hand protectively resting into her waist as he tried to steer her forward. “Alright, mate, that’s close enough,” he called out, his voice tense but calm.

“Harry, are the rumors true?” another voice shouted, barely inches from them, more cameras held up like a barrier.

“Just please let us through, yeah?” Harry’s voice was firmer now, his hand moving to shield YN’s face, pressing her into his chest as the crowd closed in tighter.

A jostle from the side sent her stumbling, and Harry’s arm tightened around her, his jaw clenched. “Hey, enough!” he barked, his voice sharper than she’d ever heard it. He guided her forward, his body acting as a buffer as he tried to clear a path.

“Just one shot, Harry!” a paparazzo persisted, his lens pointed squarely at YN, his hand cupping her cheek as he pressed her face further into his chest, her heart pounding as she held onto Harry.

He shot a glare of his shoulder, jaw clenched as he remained silent, maneuvering his wife past the cameras, his hand never leaving her. He kept his eyes trained ahead as he led her through the last stretch to his car.

Finally reaching the door, he opened it for her, a quick but steady gesture, ushering her in and following right after. The cameras pressed in one last time as he shut the door firmly, finally sealing them off from the swarm outside.

Inside, the car was quiet, insulated from the chaos that still buzzed outside, windows tinted as legally possible. YN let out a shaky breath, her hands in her hoodie pocket as she glanced over at Harry. His face was flushed, a mix of worry and lingering frustration in his eyes.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice gentler now, his hand pulling hers out of the pocket, thumb brushing over her knuckles as he studied her face.

She nodded with a faint smile, trying to steady herself. “Not our first rodeo, H.” She tried to joke. And it was true, it surely wasn’t the first time they’ve been bombarded by paps. YN wasn’t famous prior to meeting Harry, a smart girl as beautiful as she, he simply couldn’t ignore.

She was a friend of Anne’s best friend’s daughter, bumping into each other at a family gathering in 2014, immediately becoming close friends. He offered her a ride home that night, and when she thanked him profusely and offered to give him gas money, he knew then and there he was going to fall in love with this woman.

Fans and paps galore started delving into her life in late 2015, when a grainy picture of them kissing at a bar after a London show exploded on twitter. Since then, she always known about the lack of privacy in Harry’s life. And honestly, she’s still trying to adjust to it.

He exhaled, his fingers tightening around hers. “Hate that they got that close to you. Wish they’d just..” He trailed off, clenching his jaw as he glanced out the window, his gaze hardening when he saw the cameras still lingering in the distance.

She squeezed his hand, her voice soft. “It’s alright, baby. I’m alright.” She could see the tension in his shoulders slowly easing, though he still held her hand as if anchoring himself. “They don’t know, and that’s okay for now. It’s just us, remember?”

Harry nodded as he pulled from the curb, driving down the narrow street toward the red light. He turned back to her, his green eyes softening, and he nodded slowly. “Just us. Right.” His shoulders relaxed a little more, a trace of a smile returning to his face as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead while the light was still red.

But before he could pull away, she let out a small gasp, eyes widening as she felt a firm, insistent little nudge low on her belly. She looked up at him, her own hand moving instinctively to her bump.

Green illuminated over them, a honking echoing from behind as he froze in concern. “What?” He breathed, turning a corner to head to the grocery store in the distance, seeking a temporary refuge in the parking lot. He glanced between YN and the road, heart beating in his ears. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He raised his voice, though it wasn’t out of anger, just an anxiety that threatened to boil over.

She shook her head, her face breaking into a soft smile. “Nothing’s wrong, Harry. He just kicked.”

Harry’s eyes lit up instantly, his frustration melting away as he stared at her, a grin forming slowly. “He did?”

She nodded, pulling his hand to her belly as he parked. “Right here. Just now.”

He held his breath, his palm pressed against her bump, waiting. And there it was again—a tiny but unmistakable kick, nudging firmly against his hand.

Harry’s face broke into a radiant smile, his whole expression softening with awe. “Oi, there’s my little striker,” he mused, his voice thick with affection as he looked down at her belly. “We’ll have you in a Man United kit before you’re out of nappies, won’t we?”

She laughed, his words melting away the last traces of tension from the encounter outside. “Getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren’t you? Picking his team and all?”

He grinned, his eyes crinkling with pure excitement. “No chance he’ll be an Arsenal player.. First kicks mean we’ve got a future midfielder on our hands, yeah?” He grinned, “Dads gonna make sure y’got the right colors on you, bub.”

YN couldn’t help but laugh, her heart swelling as she watched the joy take over his face. She reached up, tucking a curl behind his ear, her fingers lingering against his cheek. “He’s already got you wrapped around his tiny little foot.”

Harry chuckled, leaning in to kiss her, his hand still resting against her belly, feeling another small nudge. “S’pose I’ll let him get away with it. Just this once.”

*

March arrived in a blink.

It was early, the kind of early that still belonged to the night, when Harry’s phone buzzed on the bedside table. The world outside was still draped in darkness, the streets silent, as if London itself hadn’t quite woken up. Harry stirred, slowly pulled from the depths of sleep by the vibration of his phone. He squinted in the dim light, his vision blurry, barely able to make out the name on the screen. Jeff.

With a quiet sigh, Harry picked up the phone, pressing it to his ear and trying to shake off the last bits of sleep that clung to him. He glanced over to YN, who lay nestled beside him, her breathing soft and even, lost in a peaceful slumber. Gently, he reached out and brushed his fingers along her cheek, a tired but adoring smile tugging at his lips. She stirred slightly, her head nuzzling into his hand, and he felt a warmth rise in his chest. Moments like this felt sacred, untouched by the outside world.

But then Jeff’s voice broke through the stillness, sharp and apologetic.

“Harry,” Jeff said, his tone low and serious, as if he wished he were calling for any other reason. “Listen, I hate to do this to you, but we’ve got a situation.”

Harry straightened, a cold feeling settling in his stomach. “What is it, mate?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, unwilling to wake YN just yet. He kept his hand on her cheek, his thumb brushing gently along her skin, grounding himself as he listened.

“There’s a magazine,” Jeff continued with a hesitant sigh. “They got photos of you and YN leaving the clinic yesterday after the ultrasound. They’re planning to release them tomorrow—noon sharp.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Harry’s jaw tightened after he took a shaky breath, his eyes falling back on YN, still blissfully asleep. They’d planned everything so carefully, wanting to share the news of their son on their own terms. They’d waited for the perfect moment, wanting to protect this piece of their life from the relentless intrusion of the outside world. And now, it was slipping out of their hands.

“Tomorrow?” he murmured, his heart pounding. He felt a surge of anger rising, and he closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. Jeff waited in silence on the other end of the line, letting him process the news.

“Yeah,” Jeff said softly. “I wanted to give you a heads-up. Figured you’d want to tell people yourselves, do it in a way that feels right.”

Harry nodded, even though Jeff couldn’t see him, his fingers still resting on YN’s cheek, feeling the soft warmth of her skin. “Thanks, Jeff,” he finally whispered, his voice tight. “I’ll–erm–we’ll figure it out.”

He ended the call and placed the phone back on the table, his shoulders slumping as he tried to process what to do next. He looked down at YN, her face peaceful in the darkness, and he felt a pang of guilt at the thought of waking her. She deserved this moment of rest, free from worry and the weight of the world pressing in on them. But he knew he couldn’t keep this from her. Not when it was about their son.

Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his hand moving to cradle her cheek as he murmured softly, “Baby, wake up.”

She stirred, her brows knitting together as she blinked up at him, still half-asleep, a faint smile gracing her lips as she registered his face. “H?” she whispered, her voice groggy and warm. “What time is it?”

“Too early,” he murmured, his own voice weighed down by the news he had to deliver. “Sorry t’wake you, but there’s something we need t‘talk about.”

Her eyes focused, a flicker of concern replacing the drowsiness as she sat up a bit, her hand resting on his. “What’s wrong?”

Harry took a deep breath, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “It’s the pictures,” he paused with a sigh, “from yesterday, after our appointment. Paparazzi took photos, and they’re planning to release them by noon tomorrow.”

The weight of his words settled over her, and she let out a quiet sigh, her gaze dropping to the bed. They’d known this was a possibility—their lives were never entirely private—but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. She leaned into his touch, her fingers lacing through his as they both sat there in the stillness of the early morning, grappling with the realization that their hand was being forced.

“What do we do?” she asked softly, looking up at him with a mixture of worry and sadness.

Harry’s hand moved to hold hers, his grip gentle but steady. “We tell everyone ourselves. Today. We’ll release it before they can, on our own terms.” He paused, his voice softening. “It’s not what we planned, but, at least we can still share him with the world our way.”

YN gave him a small nod, her eyes meeting his with a quiet resilience. They both knew they didn’t have any other choice. She leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as they took a moment to steady themselves, finding strength in each other.

“Okay,” she murmured after a beat. “I trust you.”

They spent the next hour in the quiet sanctuary of their bedroom, talking about how to share the news. Eventually, Harry decided on something simple, something that would feel personal without giving too much away. He reached for his phone and opened the photo gallery, scrolling until he found the ultrasound image from their last appointment. It was a grainy black-and-white shot, but to him, it was beautiful—a glimpse of their son, small and precious, already loved beyond measure.

He glanced at YN, who gave him a reassuring nod, and then he took a deep breath, opening Instagram. With his fingers hovering over the screen, he crafted the caption, choosing each word carefully, his heart pounding in his chest.

I’ve been waiting to share this part of our journey with you all for a while now. YN and I are expecting a son, and we couldn’t be happier to welcome him into the world soon. Thank you for your love and support—can’t wait for you to meet him.

Love, H

He read it over, then looked at YN, who leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder. She gave him a small smile, her fingers brushing his arm. “It’s perfect, baby”

With a final deep breath, he hit post, setting the phone down and letting out a long, steadying exhale. They sat there in the quiet of their room, wrapped up in each other as the reality of what they’d just done settled over them. This was the first time they were sharing their son with the world, and it felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

Within moments, notifications began to flood in, messages of excitement, love, and support from fans around the world who had been waiting eagerly for news like this. Harry glanced at YN, his hand finding hers once more as he gave her a small, relieved smile.

”Cats out’v the bag.” He laughed softly.

She leaned into him, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “They love you, H. They’ll love him, too.” She reassured.

As the sun finally began to rise outside their window, casting a gentle warmth over the room, Harry held her close, feeling a sense of peace he hadn’t expected. Despite the forced timing, despite the circumstances, they had done this together. And from this moment on, they would continue this journ, hand in hand, as a family.

Weeks passed by, and it another chilly March evening, and soft candlelight flickered in the bathroom, casting a warm glow over the walls as steam rose lazily from the tub. The couple sat tucked into the water, surrounded by a mountain of bubbles that floated between them. The bathroom was cozy as Harry’s arms wrapped around her from behind, she leaned back against his chest, her bump nestled between them.

He’d insisted on running the bath for her, adding just the right amount of lavender oil to soothe her muscles, and now they were enveloped in that warm, calming scent, the soft sounds of water lapping around them. Harry’s hands rested gently on her belly, his fingers tracing light circles over the stretched skin as he hummed contentedly, clearly lost in thought.

After a few minutes of quiet, he dipped his head to press a kiss to her shoulder, murmuring, “You know, we haven’t really settled on a name yet.”

YN grinned, biting back a laugh. "Sure we have. Fetus Styles—don’t you remember?”

Harry groaned dramatically, his head falling back against the tub. "God help this boy."

She chuckled, turning her head to look at him. "Fine, fine. So, what do you have in mind, love?"

Harry hummed thoughtfully, his fingers still tracing light circles over her bump. "I dunno. Something that isn’t Fetus or something basic, like David.”

"Otis?" she suggested with a playful smirk. She knew he hated the name.

He snorted, his chest vibrating against her back, shaking his head. "Baby, Otis is the name of that big slobbery dog at the park. Our son deserves better than being named after a drool machine."

She playfully splashed a few bubbles toward him, her laughter filling the room.. "Alright, alright. So, we're vetoing Otis and Fetus, oh wise one.”

“Good,” he said, lowering his head ever so slightly and nibbling her shoulders gently. “So, what else is on your list, then?”

She leaned her head back against his shoulder, looking up at the ceiling as she tried to recall some of the names she’d been turning over in her mind. “I do like Ezra.”

“Ezra,” he repeated, as if tasting the sound of it. “It’s alright. But it sounds like he’d be in a jazz band or something.”

“Maybe he’ll be in a jazz band,” she countered, grinning as she nudged his arm. “A little musician just like his dad.”

Harry hummed, his fingers lightly drumming a rhythm against her belly. “Alright, fair point. Ezra can be a maybe. What else?”

She let out a thoughtful hum, swirling her hand through the bubbles. “What about August?”

“August’s alright I guess,” he said slowly, tilting his head as he considered it. “But I don’t know. August Styles..feels like he’d be a mischievous little troublemaker.”

“Like his dad, you mean?” she teased, glancing up at him with a knowing smile.

He grinned, shrugging. “If he takes after me, he’ll definitely be one,” he admitted, pressing a kiss to her temple. “But I dunno. Still doesn’t feel quite right. But I do like the idea of an A name.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, each of them lost in their thoughts as the water lapped softly around them. Harry’s hands moved back to her belly, his touch gentle and reverent, as if he were trying to connect with their son through the warm water and the growing curve of her bump. She closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the warmth of the bath and the feeling of his arms around her.

After a while, Harry spoke again, his voice soft and thoughtful. “What about Atlas?”

YN opened her eyes, blinking up at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “Atlas?”

“Yeah.” He shifted slightly, his hand still resting on her belly as he looked at her, his eyes warm. “It’s strong, y’know? Unique. I like the idea of him having a name that feels like he could carry the world if he wanted to.”

YN let the name settle, repeating it to herself, and feeling it take root, becoming more than just a word. “Atlas Styles,” she said softly, letting the sound roll off her tongue. “It fits him, I think. Strong like his kicks.” She giggled.

Harry’s face lit up as he grinned down at her, his dimples deepening, a twinkle of something unspoken sparking in his eyes. “Exactly,” he murmured, trailing a hand gently over her bump. “Atlas Styles. Got the name of a proper legend already. Manchester United should be countin’ themselves lucky.”

YN laughed again, rolling her eyes as she turned to face him. “Oh, really? Our boy is still going to save Manchester United, is he?”

“Obviously,” Harry said, his grin widening. “Just imagine it—Atlas Styles, midfield maestro, dominating the pitch. The crowd chanting his name.” He mimics the sound of a roaring crowd in a hush, “‘Atlas! Atlas!” He chanted in a whisper, “United will have never seen anything like him. They’d be winning the league every season with a name like that.”

She shook her head, fighting a laugh as she slipped a few bubbles onto his nose. “Right, because he won’t be busy enough carrying the world. He’ll just take Manchester United on his back too?”

Harry shrugged, brushing the bubbles away with a look of mock seriousness. “Our little Atlas can handle it all. With a name like that, he’ll be unstoppable.” He leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “But, if he’s not into football, I s’pose that’s alright too.”

YN smiled, squeezing his hand, warmth spreading through her as she thought of their little Atlas and all the dreams they had for him—footballer or not, world-bearer or not, he would be loved beyond measure.

*

The rain pattered softly against the window as April rolled in, casting a gentle gray light over the nursery. YN stood by the door, watching Harry wrestle with the crib pieces scattered across the floor. She cradled her belly, which had grown significantly in the last month. Her due date was set for mid-May, only a few weeks away, and she could feel the weight of their son settling lower, as if he, too, was getting ready for the journey ahead.

Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, brow furrowed in intense concentration as he squinted at the instruction manual. The crib, which he had eagerly declared would be a breeze to assemble, now looked more like puzzle pieces that lay scattered around him, screws and wooden slats in disarray, as he muttered under his breath.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help?” YN asked with a soft grin, leaning against the doorway as she watched him struggle.

He looked up, shooting her a playful glare. “I’ve got it, thanks,” he insisted, though he seemed far from convinced himself. He twisted a screwdriver, only for the wood to creak ominously in protest. Harry’s cheeks flushed, and YN bit her lip, stifling a laugh.

“Sure you do,” she teased, crossing her arms over her bump. “Maybe our son will be crawling by the time you figure that out.”

Harry chuckled, dropping the screwdriver with a resigned sigh. “Alright, alright,” he said, running a hand through his curls as he gave her a dramatic pout. “Go on, laugh at the man trying his best to be a good dad. Just what I need, huh?”

She laughed, stepping into the room to get a closer look at his progress—or lack thereof. “You’re doing great, honey,” she said, her tone light. “Maybe just… not great at building cribs?”

He rolled his eyes, but the hint of a grin played at the corners of his mouth. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to argue,” he mumbled. Then, before she could respond, he reached out, gently tugging her down to sit beside him.

“Hey!” she gasped, though she let him guide her down, leaning into his arms. Her back rested against his chest, and Harry wrapped his arms around her middle, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

He maneuvered her gently onto the carpet, hovering over as his hands resting on either side of her, leaning close, his face only inches from hers, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe I should distract you so y’can’t mock me,” he murmured, his voice teasing.

Before she could respond, he started peppering her face with kisses—one on her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her chin. She squealed, laughing as he continued, his lips brushing against her skin, his stubble tickling her and sending her into a fit of giggles.

“Harry!” she gasped between breaths, her hands on his shoulders as she tried to squirm away. “You’re ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous?” he repeated, grinning as he planted a kiss just above her lips. “Maybe. But it’s working, isn’t it?”

She gave him a playful shove, but he only laughed, pulling her closer as he trailed his kisses down to her neck, the weight of him comforting as he hovered over her, his hands gentle on her sides. Finally, when her laughter had softened, he leaned back just enough to look into her eyes, his gaze warm and full of affection.

God, how he loved her.

After a moment, he brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, his thumb lingering on her cheek. “Alright,” he said with a sigh, glancing over at the mess of crib parts. “Maybe I could use those hands of yours.”

YN smiled, brushing her hand down his chest. “Hm,” she hummed, “where?”

“Oi!” The brunette giggled, swatting her wandering hand away as he sat up, shifting to be beside her. “Wicked woman, you are. Get to work.”

She huffed, although there was no anger residing in her. Maybe an ache between her thighs, but that’s something she could sort out with her husband later. She sat up, sitting cross legged beside Harry as he reached for the instruction manual.

The two of them sat side by side on the nursery floor, her hand resting over his as they sorted through the crib parts. Harry studied the instructions once more, pointing out the next few steps with a renewed confidence that was helped by her steady presence beside him. YN held the pieces steady while Harry carefully tightened each screw, the two of them working together, their laughter filling the room whenever something went slightly wrong.

Finally, after some teamwork, a bit of trial and error, and more than a few shared smiles, they placed the last piece into place, and the crib stood finished in front of them. They both sat back, admiring their handiwork, their hands intertwined as they took in the sight of the nursery coming together, piece by piece.

Harry looked over at YN, his gaze soft as he took in her face, still flushed from laughter. “Not bad for a couple of first-timers, huh?”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, holding her hands out in front of them and wiggling her fingers. “Thanks to these.”

He snorted, gently taking her chin in his grasp to force her to look at him. “Shut up and kiss me.”

As time passed by quicker than ever, spring took the city by full force, it was finally May. Flowers bloomed in their garden, trees shook with the delicate breeze of a looming summer. The sun fell behind the hills later and later, still offering a golden glow as they ate dinner.

A gentle rain drummed against the windows as YN and Harry shared a cozy dinner on the sofa, the warm light of a movie and fading sunlight flickering across their faces. They were nestled together, plates balanced on laps (and bump) as they laughed at an old comedy. Outside, the world felt comfortably distant. Everything about this moment felt ordinary, like the calm before a long-anticipated storm.

But YN hadn’t been entirely honest with Harry tonight. She had felt a dull ache creeping into her lower back and belly since late afternoon, a sensation she had brushed off as yet another round of Braxton Hicks contractions. Her OB had warned her that false alarms would be common in these final weeks, and she’d already had a few where they’d rushed to the hospital only to be sent back home. So tonight, she’d told herself that it was nothing—just her body practicing, nothing more. But as they watched the movie, she found herself shifting uncomfortably, her breaths deepening whenever another wave rolled through her.

The contractions had grown stronger as they ate, each one hitting her lower back with a dull, throbbing ache before tightening sharply across her belly. She bit her lip, forcing a smile whenever Harry glanced her way, trying to play it off. But she couldn’t ignore the way her body tensed or the cold bead of sweat she felt on her brow as she worked to stay composed.

As they finished their dinner, Harry stretched and stood, gathering their plates with a grin. “Think I’ll wash these up. You just sit there and relax, yeah?”

She smiled, nodding as he carried their dishes into the kitchen. He hummed softly to himself as he washed the plates, oblivious to the intensity of the pain building within her. She took a deep breath, gripping the edge of the sofa as a new wave hit, this one sharper than before, radiating from her lower back and spreading between her hips, each pulse making her muscles contract and tighten. She fought to keep her breathing steady, her mind racing as she tried to convince herself it was nothing.

But then, as she watched Harry rinse a glass, her vision blurred with another wave of pain—deeper, sharper, as if her body was tightening from the inside out. Her breath hitched, and this time she couldn’t hide the small gasp that escaped her. She braced herself against the sofa, her fingers digging into the fabric as she fought to breathe through it.

Harry looked over, his brow furrowing as he noticed the tension on her face. He set the glass down in the sink, wiping his hands on a towel as he stepped back into the living room. “Love?” he asked, a hint of worry creeping into his voice. “You alright?”

She forced a smile, trying to play it off, but her voice came out strained. “I’m fine. Just–“ She grunted, “Braxton Hicks, I think.” But even as she spoke, it was like an aftershock of an earthquake, stealing her breath, the pain sharper than before. Her hand flew to her belly, fingers pressing down instinctively, and she had to close her eyes, focusing all her energy on breathing through it.

Harry’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he knelt beside her, his hand moving to rest on her knee. “That doesn’t look like Braxton Hicks,” he said gently, his voice laced with concern. “How long’s this been going on?”

She hesitated, looking down as she tried to keep her breathing composed. “Since– since earlier this afternoon,” she admitted, wincing as the pain reached its peak, leaving her feeling helpless and raw. “I thought it was nothing, really. But it’s–I dunno– it’s getting worse.”

Harry’s face shifted from concern to something closer to alarm. He was quiet for a moment, clearly trying to process her words, before his gaze softened, and he slid his hand to hers, squeezing it gently. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice steadying. “We’re not going to take any chances.”

YN nodded, relief flooding her at the calm resolve in his voice, but as she tried to stand, another contraction gripped her—this time harder than any before. It started as a dull ache that quickly sharpened into an almost searing pressure, as though her whole belly was clenching in waves she couldn’t control. She gasped, her knees buckling slightly as she clutched Harry’s arm.

Harry’s eyes widened as he caught her, his face shifting into a worried frown. “It’s happening, isn’t it?” he whispered, almost to himself, before shaking off the shock and focusing on her. He wrapped an arm around her, guiding her back down to the sofa with a gentle firmness. “We’re going t’breathe through this one, yeah? Just like we practiced.”

She clung to his hand, squeezing hard as she fought to steady her breathing, but the pain was relentless, each wave feeling sharper than the last. Her body felt like it was working against her, every muscle tightening until she was gasping, unable to fully catch her breath. She buried her face against his shoulder, her voice a shaky whisper. “H, this hurts more than I thought it would.”

He brushed a hand through her hair, his voice soft but unwavering as he held her close. “I know, baby. You’re doing so well. Just focus on breathing, alright? I’ve got you.”

As the contraction faded, she managed to catch her breath, slumping slightly against him, feeling a mix of exhaustion and dread for what was coming next. She felt his hand at the small of her back, steadying her, and she was grateful for the warmth of his touch, the calm he radiated even as she could see the worry flickering in his eyes.

“We’re calling the OB,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “This doesn’t feel like false labor, does it?”

She shook her head, unable to deny the reality that had settled in. “No..I think this is real.”

Harry’s face softened, a mix of pride and worry as he watched her breathe through everything. When the pain passed, he took her face in his hands, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice steady. “We’re going to get you through this, love. One breath at a time.”

With that, he stood, reaching for his phone and dialing their OB, staying right by her side as the call connected. He answered each of the doctor’s questions carefully, glancing at YN between each answer, his hand never leaving hers. After a few minutes, he hung up and turned back to her, a mixture of excitement and resolve in his gaze.

“She says it sounds like early labor,” he told her softly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “We’re going t’the hospital. Just you and me, hm?”

YN nodded, taking a steadying breath as she leaned into him, his strength anchoring her. With Harry’s arms wrapped around her, she knew that she had everything she needed to get through this.

The rain had softened to a gentle drizzle as Harry helped YN into the car, settling her carefully into the passenger seat, his hands gentle but steady. Her breaths were deep and focused, each one an effort to keep herself calm as the contractions continued, not close enough to urge a rush but strong enough to leave her nerves buzzing with anticipation. Harry buckled her in, his gaze warm and reassuring as he brushed his hand over her shoulder.

“You’re doing great, sweet girl,” he hummed, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Next stop, hospital. Just you, me, and our little Atlas.”

YN managed a faint smile, squeezing his hand as he lingered beside her for a moment before closing the door and sliding into the driver’s seat. The car pulled away from their quiet street, its headlights cutting through the misty drizzle, as they made their way into the city. She leaned her head back against the seat, focusing on the rhythm of the rain tapping against the windows, letting the steady sound settle her mind.

As they drove, Harry glanced over at her frequently, his hand occasionally drifting from the wheel to hold hers. “Let me know if you need anything, yeah?” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Or if I need to pull over. Anything at all.”

He rambled when he was nervous.

YN nodded, keeping her eyes closed, breathing slowly. Another contraction started, gripping her with that same deep ache that radiated from her back to her belly. She clenched his hand, squeezing as she focused on her breathing, her fingers white-knuckling against his. It was painful, but she willed herself to relax, to breathe through the intensity, letting her breath match the gentle rhythm of the rain.

Harry squeezed her hand back, his thumb tracing small circles on her skin. “Out of all women in the world who gave birth, you’re the most beautiful.” He smiled warily. His stupid compliment even made him want to smack himself upside the head. But he looked at his wife expectantly.

When the contraction passed, she released a shaky breath. Part of her wanted to shoot daggers into him with a glare, but looking at that goofy smile she fell in love with, the way his cheeks flushed pink and eyes looked unsure, she couldn’t. She mustered out a weak, breathy laugh.”Shut up.” She whispered.

They reached the hospital, and Harry pulled up to the lot, parking the car before rushing around to help her out. He wrapped an arm around her, guiding her through the automatic doors, his gaze steady and protective as he led her to the reception desk. The lobby was quiet, lit by soft fluorescent lights that made the polished floors gleam. Harry gently rubbed her back as they reached the counter, where a man with glasses and a walkie looked up with a polite smile.

“Hi,” Harry said, his voice calm but firm, “we’re here for an admission. Our OB requested it.” He grinned lightly, seeking to be polite despite his nerves. He gave his wife’s name through his smile.

The receptionist nodded, typing something into the computer before glancing back at YN, who was gripping Harry’s hand, her face pale and tense. After a moment, the man looked up. “Alright, we have you here. Just a moment.”

He picked up the phone, speaking briefly with someone before hanging up and nodding toward them. “Patient transport is on the way. We’ll get you into a wheelchair and up to the maternity ward to get settled.”

Harry thanked him, his hand resting on the small of her back, he murmured, “y’doing so well, my sweet girl.”

She leaned into him, exhaling a shaky breath as another mild contraction started to creep in, but before she could fully brace herself, a transport worker arrived with a wheelchair.

Harry helped her ease down into it, kneeling beside her and brushing his thumb over her hand. She looked down at him, her expression a mix of pain and determination. “I’m alright,” she whispered, her words braver than she felt.

He met her gaze, his eyes full of pride and unwavering support. “I know you are,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before he stood and walked beside her as they made their way to the elevator. The ride up was quiet, each floor lighting up in sequence as they ascended to the maternity ward, and she found herself counting each breath, each second, each floor, until they finally reached the unit.

Once inside the labor and delivery ward, they were greeted by a nurse who led them into a dimly lit room that felt strangely peaceful, its walls painted a soft pink, the lights warm and low. The nurse introduced herself, her voice calm and soothing as she helped YN settle onto the bed, helping her into a hospital gown before taking her vital signs and asking a series of questions, jotting down notes while Harry sat by her side, holding her hand.

“Let’s get you as comfortable as we can,” the nurse said gently, adjusting the bed’s settings. “Now, you’re still in early labor, so we’re going to monitor you closely, but it could be a while yet.”

YN nodded, feeling both grateful and anxious at the prospect of waiting. The contractions continued, rolling in like waves, growing in intensity but not yet regular enough to signal active labor. Each one required her full focus; she found herself closing her eyes, breathing deeply as she squeezed Harry’s hand, centering herself with each wave of pain.

Hours passed, the pain deepening with each contraction as her body adjusted, stretching and preparing for the arrival of their son. The nurse checked in periodically, taking notes, adjusting her position, and checking her dilation with gentle reassurance, but progress was slow. The contractions were more frequent now, each one a sharp, relentless pressure that seemed to radiate from deep within her, pulling her to the very edge of her endurance.

Harry never left her side, his hand a steady anchor as he held hers, his voice low and soothing, guiding her through each breath. “I love you,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers as they breathed together. “Just a bit longer, yeah? You got it.”

At one point, the pain became so overwhelming that she couldn’t bear to sit still. Harry helped her stand, wrapping his arms around her as she leaned into him, her face pressed against his chest. Her arms draped over his shoulders, clinging to him as she rocked back and forth, swaying through each contraction, finding relief in the gentle rhythm. He whispered words of encouragement, his hands rubbing her back as she trembled against him, each wave of pain stealing her breath and leaving her gasping.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice a steady hum that she latched onto, focusing on the warmth of his words as the pain pulsed through her. “Just lean on me. I’ve got you.”

She clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as the pain reached a peak, her knees weakening under the weight of it. But Harry held her up, his arms strong and steady, supporting her fully as she swayed, letting the movement carry her through each contraction. She pressed her forehead into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek, grounding her, keeping her anchored in the storm of pain.

When the nurse checked again, the news was disheartening—only a few more centimeters dilated. YN felt exhaustion beginning to creep in, the hours of labor sapping her strength, but Harry was there, brushing damp strands of hair from her face, whispering soft reassurances as she closed her eyes, her head resting against his shoulder.

As the hours ticked by, the contractions grew sharper, more intense, each one like a wave crashing against her, forcing her to draw deeper into herself just to withstand the pain. Harry eased her back onto the bed, pulling a mask toward her face, releasing a gas that would help the pain. Her mind blurred under the relentless rhythm of labor. Yet, every time she opened her eyes, he was there—his gaze steady, his hand in hers, his words like an anchor.

She held the mask to her face with her other hand, breathing it in deeply. As backward as it sounded, even laboring and pushing out a baby, the thought of a seven inch needle being put into her spine scared her even more. The thought of an epidural was tempting, being numbed from the waist down—but it made her stomach churn with anxiety, too. She had enough of that already, so she stuck to the gas.

YN lifted the gas from her nose, staring at Harry through half lidded eyes. “Can’t wait to have sex with you in six weeks.” She mumbled, her voice hazy.

Harry eased the mask back onto her, his cheeks growing red from her clouded words. He let out a breathy laugh, “Okay, one step at a time, hm?”

At last, as dawn began to break outside, the sunlight bleak, barely there. The nurse’s expression shifted as she checked YN’s progress. She smiled, looking up with gentle relief. “We’re almost there,” she said softly. “Just a little bit longer.”

Harry’s face lit up, his eyes shining as he looked down at YN, his voice soft and full of pride. He pressed a kiss to her sweaty forehead, brushing strands of her hair back. “Hear that? Final stretch, baby.”

YN nodded, too exhausted to respond, but the warmth in his eyes gave her the strength to keep going. With every ounce of willpower she had left, she faced the final contractions, the pain almost blinding but her determination carrying her through, and Harry’s voice guiding her every step of the way.

Once she was ten centimeters, a team rushed in. Two nurses and the OB. Her legs were placed into stirrups, her gown bunched up over her tummy.

It was the longest, most intense thirteen hours of her life, but as she felt the final waves of pain, the medical staff guided her through the last moments, she clung to Harry, his hand a lifeline, his presence a comfort that wrapped around her like a shield. And with one last surge, a cry filled the room, and she knew it was all worth it.

“Oh.” She whimpered, her own cry emitting from her as her son was placed onto her bare chest for the first time. A nurse wiped him down as he wriggled against YN, Harry leaning down by her shoulder, staring in awe.

That was his boy, his son. A piece of him and the love of his life brought forth into the world. He wouldn’t be able to explain the feeling he felt as he flickered his gaze between his wife’s and Atlas’s.

Sparse stands of brown locks sat atop his head, a color matching his fathers. He gently placed his hand atop it, his thumb rubbing against his forehead as the little boy continued to cry.

His eyes resembled his mothers, as did his nose. But everything else? That was all Harry. He cooed at him, whispering soft nothings to to his baby boy before the nurse approached him with medical scissors. “Would you like to cut the cord, dad?”

Dad.

Butterflies surged through his tummy.

He drew a deep breath, looking at YN for silent encouragement, to which she only smiled at him. Her husband, the father of her son.

He gently grabbed the scissors from the nurse, hesitantly approaching where he was told to cut. He looked at his Atlas who seemed to calm down a bit, slowly coming to terms with being brought out into the world. He steadied himself, and then with a delicate snip, he cut the cord.

As he handed them back to the nurse, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the enormity of the moment settling over him. He looked down at the two he loved most in the world, lightly grasping onto his little feet and silently counting his tiny toes.

“Sit.” YN softly ordered, holding the boy against her chest with one hand and patting the small spot beside her with the other.

He nodded slowly, easing himself down into the spot after lowering the right side bar so he’d fit. He leaned against YN, his feet still upon the floor.

The baby was swaddled into a pale blue blanket before she handed him over to Harry, his heart melting instantly. He cradled him against his chest, tucking his head down to place delicate kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose. “I love you so much.” He whispered, hesitantly ripping his gaze away from his son onto his wife.

His lip quivered as he placed a kiss against her sweaty hair, “Thank you so much.” His voice was delicate, a murmur. “I owe you everything.”

This was all he needed. His heart swelled with a love so profound, it felt almost overwhelming, as if the sheer depth of it might consume him. It was a love that stretched beyond anything he’d known, powerful enough to break him apart and put him back together all at once. But he embraced it, letting it fill every part of him, savoring each precious drop. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt exactly where he was meant to be.

This was home.

[irndad]

won't you be my sunshine-a.h.

a/n: runner!hotch x sunshine!reader !! sooooo fluffy, first hotch fic of mine so be gentle with me! lots of pining and happy end <3 happy to continue with these two in an au!

Aaron Hotchner is not a particularly emotive man. 

This is a skill he has honed, a cherished quality that was not born of luck or of natural ability, but a skill that he has honed down to a fine tip point. He needs to be, in this job. It’s cost him things, of course, but for the most part, Aaron is happy with his choices. He takes a firm line with people he works with, and does not always let up in his personal life.

The only time this sometimes causes a hitch, is in his romantic life.

Which isn’t to say that he has one. 

There is a woman who reads in the park every morning. Aaron affectionately thinks of this bench as her bench, as it is marked by wisterias and hyacinths on either end of it. It’s something of a ritual, after his runs, that they talk. 

It’s fun. He doesn’t have a lot of space for fun. He’d collapsed on the bench one day after siphoning his anger at a particular case into a difficult run. He’d crashed onto the bench, sweaty and exhausted and hadn’t even seen her there. Which is a bit impressive, as she’s hard to miss the sight of. It is also in equal measure embarrassing. It’s not every day you collapse in front of a gorgeous woman, disturbing her from what is likely a lovely afternoon in the park.

That’s how it started, anyway. She doesn’t run, so each break is punctuated by her company. He’s actually not sure if they’re flirting. He’s not very good at that- the last time he has to he was 17 and so full of unearned confidence, he lucked into a partnership. 

Now, he’s a bit older and a lot more scarred. She’s younger than him, not by much. She laughs with her whole chest at his dry, glib humor- and this is something Aaron had forgotten. The joy of a beautiful, wonderful woman’s company beside you. 

He feels a little out of place next to her. Romance is not something he does. Ever thought he’d do again, really. That’s not to say that this is romance. Their romance is almost entirely hypothetical. He thinks of her at work, which is a monumental development in and of itself. 

“So, how was the paperwork? I know you’ve been taking a little more on since your colleague had a baby. It’s so kind of you to do it.” She asks him on a beautiful August morning. 

He fights off a blush that she remembers what he’s done for JJ. He’s not big on mentioning his own good deeds. Aaron believes that this would cancel it out. Still, her praise is a warm balm to the exhaustion that plagues him. It’s hedonistic, the way he wants her to say more about him. He wonders absentmindedly if she knew everything about him that’s hard to love, she’d still paint him with such a light and warm glance. She’s bright enough, he’s tempted to tell her everything about him just because she asks. 

“It was…alright. My team is excellent. I’m lucky to work with people like them, it makes the process better. I couldn’t ask for more.”

She giggles a little at this, and there’s that roar of affection. 

He feels a sense of ease around her, one that is suspicious for him. He tries not to romanticize, but this connection is hard not to. She’s beautiful- this is obvious to anyone who meets her, a simple truth of her. But Aaron is trained to notice things little factors that show the truth of someone. 

He likes to watch her- it’s a pleasant thing, getting to be in her presence. It’s a little addicting, the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like all of the things he knows to be true of himself- his relative failures, the closed-off nature of his demeanor- are things that not only can be overlooked, but don’t seem to be in her line of sight at all. It’s an honor, to have her doe eyes rake over the sight of him, to meet him with gentle conversation. 

He tries not to notice that she is gorgeous. Aaron has been around beautiful women, of course- this is not something that should surprise him. But there’s something effervescent about her, something that his him wondering if it’s possible that she might feel the same way about him. He knows that he used to be a more attractive man, but now. Well, he’s a bit bruised, both metaphorically and physically. 

It feels odd to even think of this happening. She’s just got a warm, sweet tone and he replays what it’s like when she greets him. She smiles her brilliant grin and sometimes hugs him. It’s embarrassing how much he likes the feeling of it- soft curves against hard muscle and scarred skin. She always smells wonderful, and he wonders how nice it would be to have more of this. 

“I like your new shirt, by the way.” She smiles at him, and his heart jumps. It feels juvenile, but- she’s wearing a new lipstick, it seems. Her beautiful pout looks awfully tempting. 

“I like the lip color,” he tries to compliment back amenably, but that doesn’t stick. Instead, it comes out too earnest. He’s hyper aware of the fact that she’s right by him. She flushes, and Aaron feels a surge of pride. 

“Thank you,” she says, voice softer and flattered, and isn’t that a pretty sound? He’d love to do that for her, make her feel seen, make her feel like she’s as beautiful as she is, “I thought you might like it.”

It’s her directiveness that breaks the seal, he supposes looking back. Because she wore the lipstick for him. That’s just about the only thing it can mean, and he is struck with a particularly sensory fantasy of what it would be like to slot his mouth against hers- he gets the feeling it might be worth it even if he gets the color on his mouth. 

He’s a gentleman, though, he decides after a decidedly ungentlemanly amount of time spend staring at the gorgeous curve of her lips. 

“Would you want to get dinner with me?” He hears himself say it before he’s processed it, and then it’s out into the world. His heart is hammering and he’s blaming on the run, when god, it’s absolutely about how breathtaking she looks, the sunlight reflecting off her hair like a halo. When she beams back at him, she looks particularly angelic. 

It’s then, she leans over and kisses him on the cheek. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

(Months later, when she is sitting on his kitchen counter and he is standing between her legs, gazing down at her with unabated fondness because he is entitled to that, he reflects on this moment and thinks god, how lucky am I, that I ran past that bench?) 

[idkyetxoxo]

Cregan Stark - Devotion

Summary - Cregan's obsession with his wife is obvious, constantly showering her with affection and praise, making sure she always feels his unwavering devotion. Even amidst the grandeur of her brother's wedding, he struggles to restrain himself, after all, she is his, forever and always.

Pairing - Cregan Stark x Strong reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2302

Masterlist for Cregan • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"You look absolutely beautiful," he murmured, his breath warm against my cheek as his face hovered inches from mine. I smiled, a faint blush spreading across my cheeks at his intimate compliment. 

His arms wrapped around me from behind, the touch both reassuring and affectionate.

I was dressed in a delicate grey gown, chosen for its simplicity and ease of travel. It was perfect for our journey to Dragonstone, where we were to attend the wedding of my brother Jace and his betrothed, Baela. 

Despite its understated elegance, the dress shimmered subtly, catching the light as I moved.

"I've been told," I whispered, leaning back to place a soft kiss on his cheek. 

Cregan was never shy with his affections, always finding ways to remind me daily of how much he cherished me. His compliments were a constant comfort, his words a balm to my heart.

"Now, come," I said, slipping my hand into his. "We must hurry. I do not wish to delay our travels any longer." The excitement in my voice was palpable, a mixture of anticipation and eagerness to reunite with my family.

The journey, which usually took around a month had been shortened to just under three weeks, thanks to my fervent eagerness to reach Dragonstone. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the rugged coastline, Dragonstone emerged from the mist like a majestic sentinel. The castle's towering spires and weathered stone walls loomed against the fading light, blurred into a series of excited memories as we approached.

As we finally arrived, the sight of my mother waiting for us was like a beacon. Her face lit up with the brightest smile, a warmth that instantly melted away any lingering fatigue from our travels.

"Your Grace," I greeted, my own smile matching hers.

"Come here," she whispered, her arms opening wide. 

She enfolded me in a long, tender hug, holding me as if she could keep me forever. When she finally drew back, her hands gently cupped my face, her touch a soothing balm.

"I have missed you dearly," she said, her voice a soft murmur that wrapped around my heart like a comforting embrace.

Her gaze softened as she placed a gentle hand on my stomach, a radiant smile lighting up her face. 

"You're going to be an incredible mother," she murmured, her words brimming with affection. I smiled widely in response, the news still fresh in my mind. The maester in Winterfell had said I was barely a moon along, now, after our journey, it was almost two moons.

Jace was next. As I moved towards him, he pulled me into a hug so tight that I could hardly breathe.

"I trust you would like your sister and niece or nephew alive?" I joked, my voice muffled against his shoulder. 

He chuckled, loosening his grip with a sheepish grin as his eyes wandered to my still-hidden belly, where the babe was growing though not yet visible.

Turning to Baela, I found her beaming at me with a warmth that matched her smile. "The beautiful bride," I murmured, drawing her into a hug as well. 

"Where are the little ones?" I asked, glancing around for my younger brothers, eager to see them.

"Inside, eagerly waiting to greet their older sister," Rhaenyra replied, linking her arm with mine. Her voice was filled with the same warmth that defined our family's gatherings.

I looked back at Cregan, who stood nearby, his face alight with the joy of the reunion. The sparkle in his eyes reflected the enchantment he felt witnessing these heartfelt moments. 

I beckoned him towards me with a smile, and he moved to my side, walking in step with me as we proceeded together.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

I thanked the handmaidens as they finished dressing me, their hands moving with practised grace as they adjusted the final details of my attire. The red and black beaded gown I wore was nothing short of ethereal. 

The delicate beadwork shimmered in the candlelight, and the sheer material, coupled with the plunging neckline, made me feel both beautiful and slightly hesitant. 

The gown was daring, exposing more skin than I was accustomed to, and the subtle curve of my barely visible bump was hidden beneath the fabric.

"Gods be good," a deep voice mumbled from behind me. I turned to find my husband standing in the doorway, his jaw dropped and his eyes wide as they roved over me.

"Is it okay?" I asked, my voice tinged with uncertainty. His silence stretched on, and I shifted nervously, my fingers playing with a strand of my hair before settling on my stomach.

"I know, I think it looks rather scandalous. Perhaps I should change," I rushed out, my insecurities bubbling to the surface. 

Before I could move, he closed the distance between us in quick strides, taking my hands in his.

"You, my sweet wife, are a vision," he began, his voice filled with awe. "The epitome of grace and beauty." His hands moved gently up and down my arms, his touch soothing my nerves. His fingers then traced the curve of my stomach with a tender reverence.

"I can already tell that our little one will be as beautiful as their mother," he added, his eyes soft with affection. 

I visibly relaxed under his tender attention.

"A true dragon, in dragon colours," he continued, his fingers brushing lightly down the exposed skin of my chest. The heat of his touch sent a shiver through me, and I felt my breath catch in my throat.

I grabbed his hand, interlacing my fingers with his. "We should really be off. I do not wish to miss a moment of the celebration," I said, my voice soft but firm. 

He exhaled deeply, stepping back as if he had to physically restrain himself from drawing me closer.

"Of course," he murmured, a mix of longing and admiration in his eyes. 

He offered his arm, and I took it, the touch of his hand a comforting anchor as we made our way towards the grand hall where the celebration awaited.

The wedding was grand, a magnificent celebration to commemorate the union of Jace and Baela. The air was thick with the mingling scents of fresh flowers and the rich aroma of roasted meats. Laughter and music swirled around us, a living, breathing entity that seemed to pulse with the energy of celebration.

The festivities stretched late into the night, with joy, melodies, and merriment filling every corner. 

Amidst the revelry, I noticed Cregan growing increasingly fidgety, his usual composed demeanour slipping.

As the musicians struck up a lively tune, we took to the dance floor. His hands gripped my waist firmly, and I wrapped mine around his neck, feeling the tension radiating from his body.

"Are you alright?" I asked, tilting my head slightly to catch his gaze. He took a deep breath, nodding, though his eyes betrayed his unease.

I placed a hand on his chest, furrowing my brows in concern. "Please tell me if something is bothering you," I urged softly, wanting to ease his distress.

He leaned closer, his voice low and intimate, sending a shiver down my spine. 

"I do not think I can restrain myself any longer," he confessed, his hands travelling up and down my sides with a possessive urgency.

"I need you," he murmured, his tone tinged with a desperate whine. "Please."

His words and the intensity of his touch sent a wave of heat pooling between my legs. I bit my lip, struggling to maintain my composure as my own desire mirrored his.

"Lead the way," I whispered, giving in to the need that coursed through me. A victorious glint sparked in his eyes as he stepped back, taking my hand and rushing us toward my chambers.

Once inside, the door barely closed behind us before Cregan's lips were on mine, his kiss urgent and demanding. His hands roamed over my body, pulling me closer as if he couldn't bear even a moment's distance between us.

My fingers tangled in his hair, matching his fervour as our bodies pressed together. The weight of the evening's formality melted away, leaving only the raw, unrestrained need we felt for each other. He backed me toward the bed, his lips never leaving mine, and we fell onto the soft covers in a tangle of limbs and desire.

"I've wanted you all night," he breathed against my neck, his voice a ragged whisper. "Seeing you in that gown, so beautiful, so perfect... I couldn't think of anything else."

"Now I want it off," he growled, tugging at the material. I laughed, gently pushing him back as I carefully slipped out of the dress, placing it aside with deliberate care.

"Have me then," I teased, my voice low and inviting, leaving myself naked and exposed before him.

"I will," he promised, his eyes burning with an intense desire. He quickly discarded his own clothes, his movements hurried and eager, not wanting to waste another moment.

I scooted back on the bed, watching as he knelt before me, his gaze locked onto mine with a fervour that made my heart race. His hands slid up my legs, the warmth of his touch igniting a fire within me.

"You're breathtaking," he murmured, his voice filled with awe as his fingers traced the curves of my body. "Every inch of you."

His words sent a flush of heat through me, and I arched into his touch, craving more. He leaned in, his lips finding mine in a searing kiss that left me breathless. His hands continued their exploration, each touch leaving a trail of burning desire in its wake.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer as our bodies pressed together.

"Cregan," I moaned softly as his lips travelled down my neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. 

"I need you," he whispered against my skin, his voice thick with desire. "I need all of you."

"Take me," I replied, my voice barely more than a breathy plea. "I'm yours."

My words were all the confirmation he needed. He adjusted himself, positioning his body above mine, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my heart race. 

Slowly, deliberately, he entered me, his movements controlled and purposeful. A soft groan escaped my lips as he filled me, the sensation overwhelming and intoxicating.

He started with a slow, measured rhythm, each thrust deliberate and deep. His eyes never left mine, the connection between us palpable and electric. I clung to him, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I arched my back, meeting each of his movements with my own. 

The pleasure built gradually, a slow burn that intensified with each passing moment.

As the heat between us grew, his pace began to quicken. His thrusts became more urgent, more desperate as if he couldn't get enough of me. The room was filled with the sounds of our lovemaking, soft moans, breathless gasps, and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

"Cregan," I moaned, my voice barely a whisper, filled with raw need.

His hand moved from my legs to the sensitive spot between us, his fingers finding my clit with practised ease. "Cum for me, princess," he groaned, his voice a deep, gravelly command.

The sensation of him inside me, the feel of his body moving against mine, combined with the skilled movement of his hand, sent electric shocks of pleasure through my entire being. 

My eyes rolled back, lost in the overwhelming ecstasy that built within me.

With a final, deliberate thrust, the cord in my stomach snapped. I cried out, the pleasure crashing over me like a tidal wave. My body convulsed, shuddering as the orgasm tore through me, his name a desperate plea on my lips. 

Cregan followed soon after, his own release leaving him breathless and trembling. 

As the waves of pleasure subsided, we lay together in the aftermath, our bodies still entwined, slick with sweat and the remnants of our passion. He held me close, his arms wrapped protectively around me as if he never wanted to let go.

"We should return," I said, attempting to pull myself away from Cregan's embrace. "Cregan, come on," I added, laughing as he finally relented.

He helped me get dressed, his hands lingering for a moment longer than necessary, savouring the feel of the gown's fabric against my skin. 

Once I was clothed, I smoothed down my hair, trying to make myself look presentable despite the flush in my cheeks and the sparkle in my eyes.

Hand in hand, we made our way back to the celebrations. The laughter and music seemed brighter, more vibrant, as if our shared moment had infused the celebration with a deeper sense of joy.

"There you are," Rhaenyra said, her eyes lighting up as she saw us approaching. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks, and I nervously giggled, trying my hardest to keep our recent activities a secret.

"I needed a moment to myself," I lied, patting my stomach and hoping my mother wouldn't notice the lingering flush on my face or the slight dishevelment of my hair. I settled into my seat, Cregan sitting close beside me.

My eyes met Cregan's, and he gave me a knowing smile, his hand finding mine under the table.

"Are you enjoying yourselves?" she asked, her gaze flicking between me and Cregan.

"Very much," Cregan replied, his voice warm and genuine. "It's a beautiful celebration."

My mother nodded, satisfied with his response. "It is," she agreed, her eyes softening as she looked at me. "I'm glad you're here."

I leaned into Cregan, feeling the warmth of his presence beside me. His eyes met mine, and a wide grin spread across his face.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice filled with a fierce tenderness that made my heart swell. "I will always love you."

"I love you too," I replied, my voice equally soft and sincere. "Forever and always."

A/n - Editing this rn and there was originally no pregnancy and then I had a very sudden impulse to add it could not tell you why lmaoo

[emotional-piece-of-meat]

Batkids + “I need my dad” moment 

When Dick has “I need my dad” moment, he goes straight to Bruce. No matter where he was, he'll find Bruce to hug him or to rest his head on his shoulder. He becomes uncharacteristically quiet, and Bruce holds back as tightly as Dick holds him.

Jason hates with burning passion having “I need my dad” moments because it makes him feel small. It reminds him of a little boy who wanted nothing more than protection and comfort from his dad. And Jason hates to remember that this boy is still here.

Cass, on the other hand, cherish her “I need my dad” moments. It overwhelms her with love and joy, because she finally has a parental figure she can trust. Cass bonks her head into him to show her love, and you better believe that Bruce gives her tons of forehead kisses after.

Tim was weird out by “I need my dad” moment when it happened for the first time. He never had a dad he could rely on, so he didn't know how to process this craving. He still doesn't, and to these days he feels that these moments do not belong to him.

Damian doesn't understand this whole "I need my dad" kind of thing. He feels it, sure, but he doesn't understand what it is. He's already out of touch with his emotions, this one is too complicated to analyze and as useless as other feelings in his opinion, so he ignores it as he usually does with the rest of them.

When Duke has "I need my dad" moment, he asks Bruce to visit the local psychiatric hospital with him, because he doesn't have the moral strength to do it alone. Although Duke loves his surrogate father, he truly does, sometimes he just needs his dad. 

Bonus:

When Bruce has "I need my dad" moment, he brings Alfred food and asks him to cook something. Because, growing up, Bruce often watched Alfred cooking and such a routine gives him a certain sense of comfort. 

[xo100]

Where only we exist - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: Lando Norris and his new wife, on their honeymoon, share a quiet dinner under the stars. In awe of her, he realizes that in this moment, nothing else matters but their love.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 664

*:･ﾟ A/N: it’s a little shorter then usual next ones will be normal again!

masterlist / community / request

౨ৎ

The golden hues of the setting sun draped themselves over the intimate rooftop restaurant where Lando Norris sat, entirely captivated. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, his wife, across the candlelit table, her face glowing under the delicate lights that hung from above. She was laughing at something he’d said, though truthfully, he hadn’t been paying attention to the words tumbling out of his mouth; he’d been watching her all night, marveling at how someone so breathtakingly beautiful was now his.

They’d agreed to keep things private when they started dating. A few shared glances in the paddock, maybe a quick smile or two for those who noticed, but most of their relationship was a secret, a hidden joy shared between the two of them. They loved it that way—their little world, untouched by cameras and prying eyes. And even now, on their honeymoon, they were cautious. They’d avoided the busy streets and larger restaurants, choosing this hidden gem above the city’s twinkling lights, hoping for a moment of peace.

But tonight, as she looked back at him with a little smile that had his heart flipping in his chest, Lando found himself caring less and less about keeping their secret.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling, her voice soft with that teasing lilt he loved so much.

“Like what?” he replied, feigning innocence, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him with a small grin. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands, watching her, still in awe.

“Like… I don’t know.” She lowered her gaze for a moment, looking almost shy, though she knew exactly what she was doing, her lips curling into a smile. “Like you’re completely in love or something.”

“Maybe I am,” he said without missing a beat, reaching across the table to lace his fingers with hers. There was a tenderness in his gaze, something deep and unspoken that had always been there but had only grown stronger since the moment he’d said, I do.

Her cheeks flushed under his stare, and she shook her head slightly, the tiniest laugh escaping her lips. “You’re making me blush, baby.”

“And you look stunning when you blush,” he replied, his voice a low murmur, almost as if it were a secret just between them.

They hadn’t been together long before they realized that what they shared was different. Genuine. Effortless. And despite the constant hustle and pressure of his world, she grounded him. With her, he felt safe. He felt home. So tonight, he let himself forget about the paparazzi who might be lurking down on the streets or the speculation that always seemed to follow them.

“Lan, they’re going to catch us if we’re not careful,” she reminded him gently, glancing over her shoulder, ever aware of the possibility of cameras.

“Let them,” he replied softly, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “Let them see how lucky I am. How I’m never letting you go.”

For a moment, the world melted away—the clinking of dishes, the distant hum of city traffic, even the thought of prying eyes. There was only the two of them, hand in hand, with Lando looking at her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

“I love you,” she whispered, barely audible over the soft jazz playing in the background. But he heard her, and that was enough.

He smiled, squeezing her hand as he leaned across the table, his eyes twinkling with that boyish charm that had first captured her heart. “I love you more. And no camera, no headline, and no crowd will ever change that.”

And as they sat there, sharing soft words and quiet glances, he was reminded of just how deeply he cherished every moment with her. The world outside could wait. Right now, all he cared about was her, and he was content to stay that way forever.

౨ৎ

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

[itsswritten]

wings

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader, IC (platonic) x reader

Word Count: 3.1K

Warnings: 18+, smut, P in V, lots of fluff

Summary: Who would've thought that your found family would be so captivated by your hidden wings? As they reminisce about their first glimpses of your ethereal secret, you realise just how cherished and adored you truly are.

Wings Universe - More from this world.

"I distinctly remember," Mor began, her voice filled with excitement, drawing not only your attention from the comforting cocoon of Azriel's arms, but also the rooms. She sat opposite you, a slight mischief twinkling in her eyes as she leaned forward.

You were all nestled in one of the many living rooms at the House of Wind. 

Under the flickering faelight, you sat beside Azriel– your mate. His large presence ever the comfort, as he enveloped you in his arms. His fingers, tracing intricate patterns through your hair, each touch sending ripples of relaxation through your body. 

If it weren't for the loudness of your friends and family, their remarks not failing to echo through the room, Azriel’s touch alone could have lulled you into a blissful slumber. 

"It was a surprise for sure," Feyre chimed in, a playful smirk dancing across her lips as she glanced over at your slightly confused expression. Sensing your distraction, Azriel reluctantly released his hold on you, joining the conversation with a gentle touch of his hand settling on the small of your back.

"My experience was quite a shock," Cassian added with a grin.

“Mine, I have to say is one I’d like to forget” Rhys grimaced as Feyre gave him an annoyed knowing look.

Amren, rolled her eyes at her family's theatrics. "You all make such a big deal out of everything," she remarked, her tone dry.

Your brows furrowed as you pieced together the fragments of the conversation, realisation dawning as Mor's words began to paint a vivid picture.

The topic of discussion? The first time they laid eyes on your beautiful wings.

 𓇢𓆸

Mor, Feyre and Nesta.

It was one of Feyre’s first nights out since welcoming Nyx into the world; she’d been dying for a night off. Craving the simple joys of the company of her girlfriends. Sensing her desperation for a night to let loose, you, Mor, and Nesta had taken it upon yourselves to orchestrate the perfect girls night out for your High Lady.

The night quickly unfolded into a flurry of laughter and dancing. Drinks were spilled, songs were sung. Rita’s being your chosen sanctuary for the night. You all let yourselves get lost in the music and infectious energy of the bar. Drinks were flowing freely, and the hours quickly slipped away like grains of sand in an hourglass.

It wasn’t until the sun had started to rise again that you all quickly realised you needed to get home. You’re not sure how in their drunken states, but Mor and Feyre had successfully managed to winnow you all back to River House, all collapsing in a giggling heap in the foyer.

A fit of laughter overtook the group as you stumbled and pushed, trying to untangle yourselves from one another. You managed to push yourself onto unsteady feet, only to trip over Nesta’s dress and stumble back onto Mor. With your balance faltering, a shimmer of magic danced through the air as your wings burst forth, a kaleidoscope of iridescent pink hues unfurling into the air. Your wings, delicate and light, burst with specs of fairy dust that glowed around you.

The room fell silent, the trio frozen in awe at the sight before them. Then, like a spell breaking, laughter bubbled forth, filling the space with joyous echoes. Mor's eyes sparkled with delight as she pulled you into an embrace, Feyre's lips curled into a grin, and even Nesta couldn't help but crack a smile.

"You sneaky thing," Mor teased, reaching out to brush her fingers against the delicate wings "Keeping such beauty hidden away."

“I bet Azriel loves keeping this side of you to himself,” Nesta purred, her voice laced with mischief as something provocative glinted in her eyes.

You responded with a playful stick-out of your tongue at Nesta, before turning your attention to Mor and Feyre, who were now a pair of mesmerised females, giggling like children as they reached out to touch this new part of their friend they had never seen before.

They had always known you had wings, from the type of fae you were, but you had always kept them hidden and they never dared to ask for you to reveal them.

"Hands off!" you exclaimed, your voice a blend of amusement and mock outrage as you swatted and smacked at their approaching fingers, the sound of laughter echoing through the halls.

Of course, they respectfully obeyed your wishes, but there was a warmth that filled their chests as you all stumbled arms wrapped around one another through the house, enjoying a new part of their friend that had been revealed.

 𓇢𓆸

Cassian.

Cassian's mischievous streak knew no bounds, especially when it came to playing pranks on you. He found something undeniably endearing about your reactions, and there was a certain satisfaction when he knew these teasing antics could also annoy Azriel too. 

On this particular day, you were busy in the kitchen, practising a cake recipe that Elain had shared with you. Determined to make the perfect cake for Azriel's upcoming birthday, you meticulously measured ingredients, oblivious to the looming presence of your giant friend.

Cassian's eyes twinkled with mischief as he saw his chance to play. With careful grace, he approached, holding his breath before unleashing his voice.

"BOO!" His voice boomed across the room, his figure looming over you with a triumphant grin.

Startled, you spun around in a flurry of flour, heart racing in your chest at the sudden noise. And then, in a moment of surprise, your magic wavered, and your wings unfurled in a burst of ethereal light.

The room fell silent as Cassian's eyes widened in disbelief, laughter fading into awe at the sight before him. "What in the Cauldron," he breathed, barely a whisper, his finger pointing at the delicate appendage. "What are those?"

You fluttered your wings away, annoyance evident in your voice as you retaliated with a playful toss of flour in his direction. "Cassian!" you exclaimed.

"YOU HAVE WINGS!" Cassian's excitement was palpable, his grin spreading from ear to ear.

"Of course I have wings, I'm a fairy," you retorted, arms outstretched in exasperation.

“AZRIEL…YOUR MATE HAS WINGS” he screamed knowing his vibrating voice would find his brother.

Azriel materialised from the shadows, concern evident in his eyes as he approached, brushing away the flour that had settled on your face. His expression shifted to admiration as he took in the sight of your wings shimmering behind you.

"Stop tormenting my mate, Cass," Azriel scolded gently, his protective instincts kicking in as he pulled you into a soft embrace, his lips pressing to the top of your head.

"She has wings!" Cassian exclaimed once more, disbelief colouring his tone. There was a touch of annoyance, as he realised he may have been the only one to not know this about you.

Cassian, like a moth attracted to a light, reached his giant hand out again wanting to get close to the wings that were so unlike his own.

"No touching" Azriel growled, his tone leaving no room for argument. Cassian withdrew his hand, a hint of disappointment flickering across his features as he chewed his lip in an attempt to avoid pouting.

"So does this mean... we can go flying together?" Cassian asked as the revelation came to his mind, excitement bubbling in his voice.

Your brow quirked slightly, a playful glint dancing in your eyes as a small smirk tugged at your lips. Cassian watched you carefully, anticipation written across his features, while Azriel pulled away knowingly.

You nodded slowly, a challenge evident in your gaze. "I’ll race ya," you declared, a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

With that, you pushed past Cassian and darted out of the room, your wings fluttering gracefully as you made your way to the nearest balcony. Without hesitation, you leaped off the edge and into the open air, the wind rushing past you as you soared into the night sky.

Cassian was quick to follow, a grin spreading across his face as he embraced the exhilarating freedom of flight. And not far behind him, Azriel joined the fray, his own wings beating with a steady rhythm as he soared through the air.

Together, you three took to the skies, weaving and darting through the night sky.

 𓇢𓆸

Rhys and Nyx.

“And stretch them out…That’s it my boy” Rhys spoke proudly as he watched his son in front of him stretch and extend his wings.

You had found yourself in the company of one of Rhys’ flying lessons, nestled on one of the chaise lounges on the balcony, a book in hand as you half-read, half-watched your High Lord teaching his son how to use his wings.

Nyx, though perhaps still a little too young to fly, was eager to learn. So desperate to be like his father and uncles. With Rhys' guidance, he tentatively stretched out his wings, mimicking his father's movements under the watchful gaze of the night sky.

Rhys, a picture of fatherly pride, stood by Nyx's side, his attention unwavering—until a sudden commotion from inside drew his focus for just a fleeting moment. In that brief lapse of attention, the sudden gust of wind caught Nyx and his perfectly poised wings off guard, sending him teetering towards the edge, a gasp escaping his lips.

Instinct surged through you like a bolt of lightning as your wings burst forth in a flurry of motion, carrying you across the expanse with a grace honed over centuries. With swift precision, you swooped in, catching Nyx in your embrace just as he hovered on the brink of danger.

Wide-eyed and breathless, Nyx looked up at you in awe, his innocent admiration pulling at the strings of your heart. "Pwetty," he murmured, his wonder mirrored in the glow of your own wings, illuminated by the moonlight.

You wasted no time in safely landing back onto the balcony, Rhys rushing to your side with bewilderment and shock etched on his features as a torrent of thank-yous spilled from his lips.

As Nyx pawed at your wings, you carefully fluttered them away from his reach, mindful of their delicate nature. Rhys, after the scare of what had just happened, or almost happened. Took a moment to truly appreciate the sight of your wings— beautiful and light, shimmering a pink glow that was a stark contrast to his own.

His relief was short-lived, however, as it became apparent that Feyre had witnessed the entire ordeal. With a swift scolding, she whisked Nyx from your arms, sending you a silent 'thank you' before retreating inside, cradling her son protectively.

"No flying lessons with Daddy from now on," Feyre scolded directly at her mate before she cooed at her son again. "What would we have done if Auntie Y/N hadn't been here?" she mused aloud, her words lingering in the night air.

Rhys glanced over at you, questions swirling in his head at how you had so quickly been there to rescue their son from danger. 

"They may be more delicate than your wings, but I am quicker, swifter, and more agile than you big Illyrian babies will ever be," you teased lightly, your words carrying a hint of playfulness.

"Thank the Cauldron you are," Rhys breathed with a soft smile, his eyes reflecting the depths of his gratitude. You gently patted his shoulder before ushering him inside.

 𓇢𓆸

Azriel.

“Gods you are beautiful” Azriel groaned, sweat beading down his temple as he looked at you. Your own eyes fluttering shut in pleasure as you continued to ride your mate.

You had both finally and officially accepted the mating bond, preparing Azriel’s favourite meal as a gesture of your acceptance. He had eagerly devoured the food, the golden thread connecting you both deeper and stronger than you ever thought possible.

You had felt his emotion rippling towards you that night. There was a sense of overwhelming gratitude, a deep-seated appreciation for finally having someone who understood him in ways no one else ever could. There was a feeling of relief, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, knowing that he had found someone who truly accepted him for who he was.

But above all, there was a profound sense of belonging—a feeling of being chosen, not just as a lover, but as a partner, a confidant, a soulmate.

As the night progressed, things escalated quickly. Your bodies entwined in a passionate frenzy. Finally, after months of yearning and longing, you found yourselves in each other's arms.

You straddled him, your breasts flushed against his hard chest, in an unbreakable embrace as his hands tightly gripped your lower back, moving with you as you rode out a dance of pleasure. His large wings stretched behind him, twitching slightly as a sign of his impending release.

"You feel so perfect, angel," he purred against your neck, peppering it with soft kisses before pulling away to watch your face.

Your features were contorted in a mix of pleasure and desire, moans escaping from your lips as you steadily climbed towards climax. His rhythm became deeper and more intense, bringing you closer to the edge.

"Azriel..." you moaned out his name, throwing your head back and arching your body as ecstasy coursed through you. 

“That’s it my love, that’s it…”

Azriel’s words got stuck in this throat as he watched you reach the peak of bliss, the air around you suddenly seemed to shimmer and a soft ethereal light enveloped your beings. Azriel's eyes widened in awe at the magnificent sight before him. Glowing iridescent wings sprouted from your back, their delicate pink hues dancing in the dim light of your chamber. They fluttered gently, casting a mesmerising glow that bathed both of you in a radiant aura of magic.

Filled with wonder and awe, he was sent over the edge, his own release filling you as he held the most ethereal being in his arms. 

"So beautiful..." Azriel breathed out, almost in disbelief as he couldn't fathom how you could be any more breathtaking than you already were. 

Your wings twitched and fluttered as you rode out the waves of pleasure, the intensity of the moment slowly subsiding as you rested your forehead against Azriel's, your breaths mingling in the intimate space between you. A blush crept across your cheeks as you realised what you had just revealed to him in your most vulnerable and intimate moment. The soft glow of your wings gradually settled, the dust they had created floating gently around the room like stardust.

"Azriel... I..." you began, your voice barely a whisper, emotions swirling within you like a tempest.

But before you could find the words to express the depth of your feelings, Azriel's firm yet gentle voice cut through the air, his eyes flickering with warmth and adoration as he spoke.

"Let me say it first," he insisted, his arms tightening around you in a comforting embrace. "You are my guiding light in the darkness, my entire soul's devotion...I..- I love you."

Your wings, now settled and slightly slumped with the weight of the moment, trembled at his words, the warmth in your chest swelling with each syllable he uttered. Tears welled in your eyes, reflecting the tear that had already spilled from Azriel's.

"I love you, Azriel," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "I am yours forever, in this life and the next."

Your lips found one another again, bodies and souls intertwining under the soft glow of your wings.

 𓇢𓆸

As your friends reminisced about the first time they saw your wings, Azriel, ever the gentleman, only vaguely danced around his recollection. He shared that it had been when you accepted the mating bond for him. The vague blush that covered your cheeks was enough to dissuade further inquiry from your friends.

"Am I the only one who didn't realise you had wings?" Cassian asked incredulously, only to be met with a pillow thrown by Mor.

"You really need to brush up on your Fae race history and anatomy if you didn’t know she had wings" she teased, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"I can’t believe it all had to be so dramatic though," Amren remarked. "I simply asked her to show me the first week we met, and she obliged."

You smiled nervously at Amren's confession, feeling the weight of your friends' stares.

"So you're saying we could have just asked all this time?" Feyre exclaimed.

You chuckled sheepishly. "I only hide them because they’re delicate... and you guys can be, well…"

"We can be what?" Mor's gaze teased as she leaned in closer.

Instinctively, you moved closer to Azriel for protection, but he seemed to find humour in the situation.

"Clumsy... not always spatially aware," you admitted with a sheepish grin.

"Is that so?" Cassian drawled, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he glanced at Mor.

"Show us your wings then," Nesta declared bluntly, slightly frustrated that Amren had gotten one up on her by simply asking you.

"No," you replied firmly, not wanting to suddenly bend to their will.

Cassian and Mor exchanged a knowing look, a mischievous plan forming between them. Without warning, they both lunged at you, their playful attack catching you off guard.

You cried out for Azriel's help, but to your dismay, he seemed to be thoroughly entertained by the spectacle unfolding before him. Cassian's firm grip on your wrists pulled you closer to him, while Mor's embrace from behind left you feeling both trapped and ticklish.

"Not spatially aware, huh?" Mor teased, her fingers jabbing playfully at your waist, eliciting a cascade of laughter from you.

Your please for assistance only seemed to amuse Azriel further, his smirk betraying the mischief dancing in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, my love,” he chuckled, his voice laced with mirth. “But the outcome of this is one you know I love seeing.”

Your friends playful assault only continued, your giggles filling the room. And in the midst of it all, your wings unfurled, revealing the delicate, pink membranes that had been the topic of conversation for the past hour.

They fluttered from your back, casting a glowing aura across the room and around you. They resembled delicate petals kissed by the soft hues of dawn, shimmering an iridescent pink that mesmerised anyone who laid eyes on them. 

“There she is…” Azriel murmered under his breath. A fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He could feel the pride filling his chest as he watched you, gazing at your beautiful wings in all their ethereal glory.

But it wasn’t just your mate gazing at your with love.

No, your family found themselves grinning ear to ear, looking at you with admiration as they watched you glow.

A glow they were forever grateful for.

a/n: not really my best work, but just some loveliness for you all to read! It was an idea I came up with that I instantly dumped on @illyrianbitch (as I always do) and she thought it was a sweet enough idea to write, so here it isssss!! Enjoy my loves <3

Hopefully will resume series writing soon - Lottie x

[theonottsbxtch]

FORGOTTEN BIRTHDAY | OP81

an: happy birthday @iimplicitt everyone go and wish her a happy birthday! this is a little piece for you that will make you sadder that you're not in a relationship with oscar but it's a gift from me to you, ily <3

wc: 3.5k

The morning sunlight seeped through the thin, linen curtains, casting soft patterns on the wall, and she stirred, blinking her eyes open as she felt the familiar warmth against her back. Oscar’s arm was wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, his steady breathing a gentle rhythm against her neck. She could feel his lips brushing soft, lazy kisses along her shoulder, the way he always did when he thought she was still asleep.

For a moment, she simply lay there, soaking in the quiet closeness of it all. The fresh scent of Oscar’s cologne and the warmth of his body made her feel safe, cherished. She allowed herself to close her eyes again, smile lingering on her lips as he tightened his hold just slightly, burying his face into her hair, his fingers gently tracing patterns along her arm.

It was her birthday.

She’d woken up with a flutter of excitement, the way she always had since she was a little girl. There was something magical, something undeniably special about the feeling of a day that was just yours. And now, waking up like this, wrapped up in the warmth and the love of someone who’d stolen her heart—that feeling should’ve been even stronger.

But as the minutes ticked by and he continued to kiss her in that quiet, thoughtful way he did each morning, not a single word was said.

Maybe he’s just distracted, she thought, feeling the slight tug of disappointment. After all, the season was coming to an end, and she knew how focused he got, especially in the days before a race. Formula 1 demanded so much of him, and she respected that. He’d been there for her in ways she hadn’t even dared to hope for, bringing more joy and care into her life than she could have ever asked for.

But... not even a whisper of "happy birthday"? Not a hint, not a knowing look in his eyes?

She felt him shift behind her, his hand slipping up to brush a strand of hair from her cheek, his thumb tracing her jawline with that same tender familiarity. His lips pressed gently against her neck, a sleepy hum in his throat. He felt so close, so utterly devoted, and yet...

He’s just busy, she told herself, letting out a soft sigh. It’s probably the last thing on his mind.

She sighed softly, stretching in his arms, and he pulled her a little closer, his lips brushing her forehead in that sleepy, casual way of his. His eyes were still half-closed, hair tousled, but there was a lazy smile on his face as he woke up with her.

“Morning,” Oscar murmured, voice rough with sleep, his thumb tracing slow circles along her hip.

“Morning,” she whispered back, trying to keep her tone as normal as possible. She didn’t want him to sense that she’d been holding her breath, waiting for him to say… well, something. A small “Happy Birthday, love,” maybe, or even just a knowing smile, some hint that he remembered. But he hadn’t. And it was clear now that he wouldn’t.

“So,” he yawned, shifting his legs under the blankets, “today’s kinda busy. Lando and I have this thing at the sponsor’s studio. Some shoot for a promo video, I think. They’re calling it an ‘inside look’ at race prep or something, but really it’s just us standing around talking, I’m pretty sure.” He chuckled, rubbing his eyes. “They’ve got us doing all this media stuff lately.”

“Oh, yeah?” she replied, forcing herself to smile. “You’ll be a natural.” She reached up to run her fingers through his hair, hoping he’d look at her, maybe even catch her eye and give her a hint that he hadn’t forgotten after all.

But Oscar only nodded, giving her a sleepy grin as he leaned back, stretching his arms above his head. “And you? Got a day at the office, right?” he asked casually, as though it was any other day of the year. “What’s on your agenda?”

She took a breath, trying to keep her voice light. “Yep, just the usual. A couple meetings, and I’ll probably have to cover for someone at the desk. I’ll be out by five.”

He nodded, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Sounds like a good day. We’ll both be back around the same time, then.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling faintly. “Guess so.”

She got out of bed, pulling her robe around herself and heading to the bathroom, where she stared at her reflection, trying to shove away the hollow feeling that was starting to settle in her chest. She should’ve been used to this by now, she told herself. Oscar’s schedule was demanding; he barely had time to stop and breathe some days, let alone keep track of something like a birthday. Besides, she knew he cared for her deeply—his warmth in the mornings, his texts at odd hours when he thought of her, all the small ways he showed her mattered so much more than one day of the year.

But as she brushed her teeth, tied her hair back, and headed into the wardrobe to pick out her work clothes, she couldn’t quite shake the disappointment. She wanted to laugh at herself for caring so much. It was just a birthday.

Yet the more she tried to pretend she was fine, the more her heart kept slipping. She threw on her blouse and slacks, fixing her makeup with hands that were just a little less steady than usual, and made her way back into the bedroom, where he was now scrolling through his phone, probably checking the texts from his manager.

“Have a good day, okay?” Oscar said as she slipped on her shoes. He gave her a small, warm smile as he leaned over, pressing one last kiss to her cheek, his hand resting on her shoulder as if to linger with her a moment longer.

“Yeah. You too,” she murmured, giving him a faint smile as she grabbed her bag, willing herself not to linger, not to let herself feel anything other than grateful for the morning they’d shared. She gave him one last glance, catching his gaze as he looked at her, that usual warmth in his eyes. And then she turned, heading out the door, whispering to herself that it didn’t matter. It wasn’t important.

The office was buzzing when she walked in. As soon as she stepped through the door, her coworkers greeted her with bright smiles, some even standing up from their desks to call out, "Happy birthday!" There was a small pile of gifts on her desk, wrapped in cheerful paper and bows, and a few balloons taped to her chair. She felt herself smiling genuinely for the first time that morning, warmth flooding her chest as she set her bag down.

“Oh my gosh, you guys,” she laughed, cheeks flushing as she picked up a card signed by everyone. “This is too much.”

“Nonsense!” her friend and desk-mate chimed in, appearing at her side with a cupcake topped with a single, brightly coloured candle. “You deserve all of this and more. We all know you make this place actually run.”

She chuckled, feeling the warmth and kindness radiating from the team. As she took in their gifts—a handmade scarf from the coworker who crocheted on her lunch breaks, a small box of her favourite teas, a lovely journal for her ever-growing stack of notes—she felt touched, genuinely happy. Her coworkers hadn’t forgotten; in fact, they’d gone out of their way to make her feel special.

But there was still that empty space in her chest. A quiet, lingering ache as she glanced at her phone, hoping to see a message pop up on her screen. Maybe Oscar would text her between shoots, or send her a voice message—just a quick “Happy birthday” or even a simple smiley face. Something that would tell her he’d thought of her.

Yet as the hours passed, her phone stayed stubbornly silent, aside from the usual work notifications and a few birthday messages from friends. She knew that he didn’t text much during the day, that his shoots and meetings usually stretched longer than he liked to admit. But part of her had hoped that, just today, he might make an exception.

At lunch, her friends surprised her with a small cake in the break room. They sang to her, a little off-key but with a lot of heart, and she found herself laughing along, feeling incredibly lucky to be surrounded by such warmth and care. She tried to push aside her thoughts of him, to keep her mind off the absence of his message. He’s busy, she told herself, taking a bite of cake as her friends chatted around her. It’s not a big deal.

Still, every time she felt her phone buzz in her bag, her heart leapt, just for a moment, and each time, she couldn’t help but feel the sting of disappointment as she realised it wasn’t Oscar. It was as if her heart was doing a balancing act, teetering between gratitude for the people around her and that quiet ache that her mind kept insisting wasn’t fair to feel.

As she stepped out of the office and into the cool evening air, she felt the weight of the day pressing down on her. She’d kept a brave face, laughed at all the right moments, and soaked up every bit of love her friends and coworkers had poured into her. But now, alone with her thoughts, she felt the ache returning, stronger than before. She wanted nothing more than to go home, slip into a hot bath, and just let herself feel it all—the disappointment, the loneliness, the hurt she’d been pretending wasn’t there.

As she walked up to her building, she noticed his car wasn’t parked out front. Somehow, that felt like a small blessing. She was grateful for a few quiet moments to herself, to feel everything she’d been holding back all day.

The apartment was dark and quiet when she stepped inside, the air still. She kicked off her shoes, leaving them haphazardly by the door, and shrugged her bag off her shoulder, not bothering to turn on any lights as she made her way down the hallway. She was so drained, and all she wanted was the familiar comfort of their room, a place where she could let her guard down completely.

When she pushed open the door to the bedroom, though, she stopped short.

There, spread across the bed, was a beautiful assortment of gifts wrapped in elegant, colourful paper, with a cluster of balloons tied to the foot of the bed. She blinked, her eyes taking in the soft glow of fairy lights that had been draped over the headboard. Each balloon had a photograph attached—moments from their time together, candid shots from races, vacations, cosy evenings at home. Her heart clenched at the sight, an overwhelming mix of disbelief and relief filling her chest.

And then, as if on cue, Oscar stepped out from the closet, a tiny cupcake in his hand, a single candle flickering on top. His face was lit by the candle’s glow, a quiet, tender smile on his lips as he looked at her, his eyes warm and full of a love that nearly undid her.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered, voice soft but full of so much feeling that it made her knees weak.

She stared at him, her eyes filling with tears as she let out a shaky laugh, feeling a rush of emotions she could barely contain. “I thought… I thought you forgot,” she managed, her voice breaking as she took a step toward him, her hands trembling. “I thought you were too busy, that… that you didn’t remember.”

Oscar’s face softened, and he closed the distance between them, setting the cupcake on the nightstand as he reached out to pull her into his arms. “Forget?” he murmured, holding her close, one hand coming up to stroke her hair as she let out a small, choked sob into his shoulder. “How could I ever forget your birthday? I’ve been planning this for weeks.”

She clung to him, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as she finally let the tears fall, letting herself feel everything she’d been holding back. He held her tightly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back, letting her release every ounce of doubt and hurt she’d felt throughout the day.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered between soft sobs. “I just… I thought maybe with everything going on, it slipped your mind. I didn’t want to feel that way, but I… I couldn’t help it.”

Oscar pulled back just enough to look at her, brushing away a tear from her cheek with his thumb, his gaze filled with understanding. “I get it,” he said gently. “I wanted it to be a surprise, to make it perfect. But if I’d known it would make you feel like this…” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering there as he held her close. “I would’ve done it differently.”

She shook her head, a tearful laugh escaping her. “No, this is perfect. It’s… it’s everything. I just didn’t expect it, and I guess I didn’t realise how much I wanted it.”

He smiled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You deserve to feel special today. Every day, really. I’m sorry if I made you feel otherwise.”

She smiled up at him, feeling the weight on her chest finally lifting as she took in the warmth in his eyes, the quiet thoughtfulness of every detail around them. Oscar reached over, picked up the cupcake, and held it between them, nodding toward the candle.

“Make a wish,” he murmured.

She looked at him, her heart swelling as she realised that her wish had already come true. But still, she closed her eyes, letting herself make a small, quiet wish before blowing out the candle.

When she opened her eyes, he was still looking at her, his own gaze soft and full of a promise she could feel without words.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing over the colourful wrapping paper, feeling almost shy with him watching her so intently. It was like every small, careful detail had been planned with her in mind, each gift waiting patiently for her to unwrap it.

The first package she reached for was a familiar shape—a shoebox. She unwrapped it slowly, her heart catching in her throat as she lifted the lid to reveal a pristine pair of black Dr. Martens. She laughed, a soft, delighted sound, running her fingers over the leather. “You remembered,” she murmured, looking up at him with a grateful smile. “I was saying just last week that mine were about ready to fall apart.”

“I know,” Oscar grinned, hands in his pockets as he watched her. “I was pretty sure you’d been trying to ignore the hole in the sole. Figured it was about time for an upgrade.”

She smiled, warmth spreading through her chest as she slipped the boots aside, reaching for the next gift. It was a neatly wrapped package, smaller and heavier, with an unmistakable shape. She tore away the paper, her breath catching when she saw the cover—the first book in her favourite series, one she’d read so many times that the copy on her shelf was practically falling apart. But as she opened the book, her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, her fingers tracing over the author’s signature scrawled inside the cover, a small message addressed just to her. She flipped through the rest of the books in the series, each one signed with a personal note. “How… how did you manage this?”

Oscar sat down beside her, looking a little smug but mostly just pleased with her reaction. “You’ve talked about those books more times than I can count,” he said with a small shrug. “I figured I’d reach out to the author’s team, see if I could make it happen. Took a little convincing, but… worth it, I think.”

She looked up at him, eyes shining with gratitude and awe, feeling like her heart might just burst. “It’s… it’s perfect,” she said softly, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

He smiled, brushing a thumb over her hand as she picked up the final box, smaller and elegantly wrapped in deep blue paper. She carefully peeled it open, lifting the lid to find a delicate necklace nestled inside. It was simple and beautiful—a silver pendant with both of their initials engraved on it, entwined together in a tiny, subtle script. Her heart swelled as she held it up, running her fingers over the cool metal.

As she admired it, he reached up and pulled something out from under his shirt—a matching necklace, with the same delicate initials. The pendant hung just over his heart, a quiet, constant reminder of her that he must have been wearing all day.

Her chest tightened, and she felt a tear slip down her cheek as she took it all in, the thoughtfulness, the care he’d put into every detail. She reached over, cupping his face with trembling hands as her voice broke.

“You wore it all day,” she whispered, her heart so full she could barely speak.

Oscar smiled, reaching up to cover her hand with his. “Of course I did. You’re with me everywhere I go,” he murmured, his voice soft. “No matter how crazy the schedule, or how many days I’m away… I wanted you to know that you’re always with me.”

She melted, letting herself fall into his embrace, her head tucked under his chin as he held her close. She felt like everything she’d worried about, every bit of doubt that had crept in throughout the day, had simply vanished, replaced by a love so real and constant she didn’t know how she could have ever doubted it.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her cheek.

He kissed the top of her head, his fingers threading gently through her hair. “I love you, too,” he said, holding her tightly, as if he’d never let her go. “Happy birthday, love.”

She pulled back from his embrace just enough to look up at him, her eyes shining with warmth and gratitude. Oscar met her gaze, his hand lifting to brush a stray tear from her cheek, his fingers lingering softly on her skin. And then, without a word, he leaned in, closing the distance between them as his lips met hers in a slow, tender kiss.

It was soft at first, a gentle, lingering touch filled with all the emotion of the night. But then his hand slid up to the back of her neck, pulling her just a little closer, and the kiss deepened, becoming something more—a quiet, passionate promise that said everything words couldn’t. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as she poured every bit of her love and gratitude into that moment, feeling his warmth surround her, grounding her in a way that only he could.

When they finally pulled back, breathless but smiling, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, pressing one last soft kiss to her forehead. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Let me run you a bath. You’ve had a long day, and you deserve to relax.”

But she shook her head, her hand slipping into his as she gave him a gentle smile. “No, not now,” she whispered, and he paused, a look of confusion crossing his face.

“Are you sure?” he asked, tilting his head, his thumb brushing the back of her hand.

She smiled softly, tugging him gently toward the bed. “I just want to cuddle,” she said, her voice a quiet, warm confession.

Understanding dawned in his eyes, and his expression softened as he nodded, his lips curving into a smile. Oscar climbed into bed with her, pulling the covers over them both as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. She snuggled into his chest, her head resting just over his heart, listening to its steady, comforting rhythm as his hands traced soft patterns along her back.

They lay together in the quiet, wrapped up in each other, their legs tangled and their breaths in sync. He held her with a gentle strength, his fingers weaving through her hair as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. It was perfect, this quiet intimacy, as they sank deeper into each other’s warmth, finding solace in the simple, tender closeness.

“I don’t need anything else,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his chest. “Just this.”

Oscar tightened his hold on her, his lips brushing her temple. “Then this is exactly what we’ll do,” he whispered.

the end.

[cxffecoupx]

cheol as a girl dad

girl dad! seungcheol fluff, a little smut (i tried) warnings: reader has a womb (obviously), mentions of pregnancy, body insecurity, sex (only a little) word count: 747 author's note: a little late but I had to do it for daddy cheol😔✊ very self-indulgent, not proof-read, made very hastily cause again, daddy cheol😔✊ hope you enjoy!! do lemme know what you think of it :) check out 'cheol as a boy dad' here.

girl dad! cheol who absolutely melts in the hospital room when he sees his baby girl. who combusts into a puddle when he gets to hold his beloved baby in his arms. who pats your head and kisses you in your tired, exhausted, post-delivery state, murmuring how proud he is of you and how thankful he is that you gave him his most precious baby.

girl dad! cheol who whenever she cries at night, calmly tells you to go back to sleep and rushes over. you think he's allowing you your rest, and while that's true, it's mostly cause he gets to spend more time with his baby.

girl dad! cheol who spends so much time with his baby, it's concerning. you end up wondering if you even exist, but the simple truth is he just can't get enough of his babygirl.

girl dad! cheol who you find making out with you at the most random of times. when you're in the kitchen, cooking dinner. when you're working from home. when you're folding your baby's clothes. you both end up all over yourselves, he's kissing every inch of your body. the same body you cried over during and after your pregnancy. the same body you'd end up being so insecure about, about the belly, the extra fat, the breasts and hips, the stretch marks and the mood swings.

he kisses you to make up for all the time you couldn't because you both were taking care of your beloved baby. he kisses you to let you know how much he still loves you. he kisses you to tell you how he still finds you attractive, even with the stretch marks and extra fat and the lot. he kisses you, and you feel every emotion and every message of his that's being communicated silently yet surely.

girl dad! cheol who loves and hates it when his little babygirl starts to grow. watching his daughter start crawling, then standing and later walking, it suddenly dawns on him that she's growing up fast and isn't his baby anymore. that doesn't stop him from smothering all his love though.

girl dad! cheol who loves loves LOVES to tie your child's hair in ribbons and dress her up in cute dresses and make her wear sparkly shoes. who accidentally ends up taking away from you the joy of dressing up your child, but you don't mind as long as you get to watch them giggling and joking during those times.

girl dad! cheol who comes up to you at the most randomest of days and continues to thank you for bringing into this world someone who he cherishes so much. and although he apologises for not spending as much time with you, he promises to make sure you realise that there's no one else he'd rather do all this with.

girl dad! cheol who cries when your daughter has to go to school for the first time. probably more than the girl herself. you end up having to kiss his pout away. whether things escalate from there is upto how he feels at the moment.

girl dad! cheol who fucks you dumb some nights, a desparate need to put another baby in you. he moans stupidly about how proud he is of your first pregnancy and how he'd love to see another one too. you definitely don't mind cause the sex is obviously too good.

girl dad! cheol who swears he heard his heart shatter when his babygirl tells him about her crush. sure he understands, but to realise that she now has another man in his life??? he's speechless (and dramatic).

but he's also the one who loves to hear the little tidbits and gossips about her school, and who gets giddy along with her when she tells him how her crush finally noticed her. he's also the one who buys a tub of icecream in the middle of the night, when she's heartbroken. her best friend and her protector, all in one.

girl dad! cheol who's happy whenever he thinks about his two favourite girls. who's thankful for all that him and you went through, and for his little bundle of joy, who made him a thousand times happier, if that was even possible. who's forever proud of you for your struggles and of your daughter for basically everything. who realises with every father's day wish by his daughter and his partner that he wouldn't have this any other way.

[faebled-stories]

In the Shadows of Fantasy

Kinkvember Day 2: Roleplay/CNC

Shin Ryujin x Male (????)

TW: Non-Con Themes (first time writing this sort of scenes.)

On a quiet evening in her snug apartment, the bustling world outside felt like a distant dream, imbued with an air of surreal calmness. The remnants of a vibrant day, filled with the excitement of promoting for ITZY, lingered faintly in her mind, but like a gentle tide, it was ebbing away, gradually replaced by the soothing hum of her sanctuary. After conquering the frenetic energy of rehearsals, interviews, and eager fans, Ryujin relished stepping across the threshold into her own little bubble of peace. The muted symphony of the city—a soft hum of distant honks and faintly echoing conversations—enveloped her, whispering tales of life outside while allowing her the comfort of solitude.

Her sanctuary was a refuge, a warm hug against the chill of the metropolitan hustle. As she entered her cozy space, the atmosphere exuded comfort; the soft, golden glow from carefully placed lamps created playful shadows that danced across the walls, turning the stark lines of her apartment into something softer, more inviting. The ambiance wrapped around her in layers of warmth, a stark contrast to the chaos of the outside world. As she sank onto her plush bed, enveloped in a knitted blanket, the remnants of the hot shower she had just indulged in lingered around her, a steamy embrace that melted away the exhaustion of her day. The warm water had worked wonders, loosening her tense muscles and leaving her in a state of relaxed bliss.

Wrapped in her silky pink pajamas—a delicate tapestry of fabric that brushed against her skin like a soft whisper—Ryujin felt a wave of relief wash over her. The delicate lace trim of her pajamas was not just an embellishment; it was a small act of indulgence, a reminder that even in a world that demanded strength and poise, the quiet luxuries of self-care were invaluable. Her long black hair, still damp and slightly tousled from the shower, had been pulled into a loose, messy bun, radiating an effortless elegance as if she were embodying the beauty of simplicity. In this personal space, Ryujin cherished the joy of authenticity, free from the public scrutiny that accompanied her life on stage.

Before fully sinking into the serene embrace of her evening rituals, Ryujin felt the familiar buzz of her phone. She reached for it, quickly thumbing through her messages. A smile tugged at her lips as she read through the lively chatter in her group chat with her bandmates. They were making plans for the night, a rare and precious opportunity to unwind amidst their demanding schedules. She quickly typed her response, crafting her words with care,

“Sorry, I can’t meet up later. I’ve already got plans for tonight.”

A wave of hesitation washed over her. It was true—she had plans, albeit not the kind that involved meeting friends for dinner or drinks. As she sent the message, a flutter of excitement coursed through her, igniting a spark of anticipation. The girls replied with understanding, their supportive words bringing a warmth to her heart. She locked her phone and tucked it beneath the comforting folds of her blanket, her pulse slowing as she glanced around her apartment. The gentle glow of candles flickered soothingly, the air thick with the aroma of serenity, a sharp contrast to the exhilarating chaos she had just left behind.

The scents of lavender and vanilla blended harmoniously, wrapping around her like an invisible shawl. A diffuser on her nightstand sent delicate puffs of lavender oil into the air, its calming properties weaving throughout the room, while a vanilla-scented candle flickered softly on the coffee table, casting moving shadows that danced playfully across the tidy space. Scattered around her were remnants of the day—magazines, photos, promotional flyers—tokens and trinkets of her fast-paced existence. Yet, in this tranquil sanctuary, they felt more like mementos of a bygone affair, whispering echoes of a vibrant life now tucked away as she embraced her present.

Ryujin let out a deep, contented sigh, surrendering fully to the plush comfort of her bed. As her mind wandered, she began to scroll through pictures from the day’s events—captured smiles and spontaneous laughter with her bandmates and the adoring fans who filled the venue with enthusiasm. The vivid memories—bright stage lights, pulsing music, and the electric energy of a crowd—swirled within her, a vibrant tapestry woven from moments of authenticity and connection. Yet, here, nestled in her softly lit living room, with the city humming a lullaby outside, she felt a reassuring sense of peace wash over her. This was her moment, a rare stillness amidst a world that rarely paused to breathe.

With her feet tucked comfortably beneath her, Ryujin relished every second of this quiet solitude. The world outside could wait; tonight, she would luxuriate in her own tranquility, enveloped by warmth, the scent of her favorite candles, and the knowledge that within the chaos of her life, she could carve out a corner meant solely for introspection and self-appreciation. Here, in her sanctuary, she could simply be Ryujin—the girl behind the stage lights, the one finding solace in the quiet power of her own company.

The tranquility of Ryujin's home was shattered by a sudden, deafening crash. The sound, akin to a gunshot, reverberated through the living room, its echoes bouncing off the walls and jolting the young idol from her peaceful reverie. The serene stillness of the dimly lit hallway before her was now a corridor of uncertainty, a pathway to an unknown danger that had so rudely intruded upon her sanctuary.

As the initial shock subsided, the pounding of heavy footsteps against the wooden floorboards sent waves of dread through Ryujin's petite frame. Each thud was a drumbeat of impending doom, the rhythm growing louder and more insistent as the source of the disturbance drew nearer. Her heart, a wild drum in her chest, pounded in sync with the advancing threat, the surge of adrenaline sharpening her senses to a painful acuity.

The darkness in the hallway seemed to deepen, and from its depths, a figure emerged—a menacing silhouette that moved with deliberate intent. Ryujin's instincts screamed for her to flee, but fear rooted her to the spot. Her attempt to cry out for help died in her throat, a silent scream that hung heavy in the air.

As the intruder drew closer, the dim light revealed his obscured features—a black ski mask concealed his identity, and his eyes, those piercing, manic eyes, gleamed with a dangerous intensity that sent shivers down Ryujin's spine. His presence was a palpable threat, a predator in her home, and she knew with a sinking certainty that her world was about to be upended.

With a roughness that took her breath away, the man seized Ryujin by the shoulders, his grip an iron vice that she couldn't break free from. He hoisted her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing, ignoring her frantic struggles and the blows she rained down upon his back. Her attempts to break free were met with a firm smack to her backside, a humiliating assertion of his control over her. His hands, now freed from the task of restraining her, roamed over her body with a sense of entitlement that made her blood run cold.

The journey down the hallway to her bedroom was a blur of panic and disbelief. Ryujin's mind raced, searching for a way to escape the nightmare that had ensnared her. But her efforts were in vain; the intruder's strength was overwhelming, and her bedroom—a space that had always been a haven—was now the stage for her terror.

Tossed onto the bed like a ragdoll, Ryujin's breath was knocked from her lungs. The bedframe creaked ominously under the sudden addition of weight, and she scrambled to regain her footing, to put distance between herself and the monster that loomed over her. But he was on her in an instant, his body pinning hers to the mattress with terrifying ease.

"Stop! Who are you? What are you doing?" Ryujin's voice was a tremulous whisper, laced with the kind of fear that claws at the throat and threatens to suffocate. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a prison, the air thick with the scent of her own fear and the sickening sweetness of the intruder's breath.

His response was a cruel laugh that seemed to mock her vulnerability, he silenced her attempts to scream. "Silence," he hissed, the command a low growl that filled the room and silenced the last of her protests. His hands, calloused and rough, tore at her clothing with a ferocity that left her exposed and shivering in the cool air.

Ryujin's heart pounded in her chest like a trapped animal desperate for escape as she lay there, her wrists firmly ensnared in the iron grip of her captor. His hands, large and unyielding, were like manacles, pinning her to the cold, unforgiving surface beneath her. Her struggles were futile, her strength no match for the brute force that held her captive.

Tears carved rivulets down her cheeks, each one a silent testament to her terror. Her voice, once strong and defiant, was now a mere whisper as she begged for mercy. "Please, don't do this," she pleaded, her words laced with desperation. But the intruder, his eyes darkened with a lust that brooked no room for compassion, was deaf to her entreaties. He was a man possessed, his mind clouded by a perverse obsession that had consumed him whole.

"You’re mine now," he declared, his voice a guttural growl that resonated with the promise of unspeakable acts. The words hung in the air like a specter, filling the room with a palpable sense of dread. Ryujin's body trembled, not just from the chill of the room, but from the deep-seated fear that gripped her soul. She knew that her life was hanging by a thread, and that the man above her was the only one who held the power to sever it.

His breath, hot and ragged, washed over her face as he leaned in closer, his intentions clear. Ryujin felt a wave of nausea rise within her as she realized the horror that was about to unfold. She closed her eyes, trying to transport herself to a safer place, a happier memory, but the reality of her situation was an unbreakable chain that tethered her to the present.

The intruder's hands roamed over her body with a sense of entitlement, each touch a violation, a desecration of her being. Ryujin's mind raced, searching for a way out, a miracle that would deliver her from this nightmare. But as she lay there, helpless and afraid, she knew that her fate was sealed. The only thing left to do was to endure, to survive by any means necessary, and to hope against hope that she would live to see another day.

The roughness of his hands scraped against her soft skin, leaving a trail of dread in their wake. Ryujin's heart pounded in her chest, a frantic drumbeat that echoed the turmoil in her mind. Each grope, each unwanted caress, sent shockwaves of revulsion through her. His touch was a violation, a harsh juxtaposition to the gentle caresses she had once known.

His fingers, unyielding and intrusive, pried at her most private sanctum, a sacred space now desecrated by his relentless, cruel exploration. The intimate touch that should have been filled with warmth and mutual desire was instead laced with a cold, brutal possessiveness. It was a reminder of her loss of control, her autonomy stripped away by force.

Ryujin felt her very essence recoil from the abomination of his touch. Her body, once a vessel of joy and pleasure, now served as a battleground, a site of abuse. With each passing moment, the vile invasion further tainted her, leaving her feeling irreparably soiled, her spirit crying out against the defilement of her temple.

In the depths of her being, Ryujin's mind railed against the horror, a silent scream reverberating through her consciousness. She clung to the fragments of her dignity, a desperate act of defiance against the physical and emotional ravaging of her person. With each heartbeat, she fought to preserve a piece of herself untouched by the brutality that surrounded her, a small flame of resistance flickering in the darkness of her ordeal.

His depraved taunts sliced through the air, each word a lash against her dignity. "God look at you getting wet, I knew you were a slut hiding as an idol," he sneered, his voice dripping with malicious glee. His words were not just spoken; they were a deliberate and cruel violation of her spirit, an attempt to strip her of her identity and reduce her to nothing more than an object of his twisted desires.

Ryujin's denials were fierce, yet they seemed to dissipate into the ether, unacknowledged and invalidated by the monster looming above her. She mustered all her strength to form coherent words through her sobs, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and outrage. "No, please, you're wrong!" she pleaded, her eyes wide with terror, reflecting the shattered remnants of her once untouchable world.

But her tearful pleas fell on deaf ears. The intruder reveled in her distress, feeding off it, his smirk growing ever wider as he watched her struggle against the nightmare he had forced upon her. With each passing moment, her torment seemed to intensify, a crescendo of emotional and psychological pain that threatened to consume her entirely.

The man who claimed to be her fan, who had morphed into her captor, traced the contours of her vulnerability with a touch that was both invasive and terrifying. With a single finger, he probed her innocence, curling it in a gesture that was as much a violation as it was a perverse display of control. Scooping the essence of her fear and arousal, he brought it to her tear-streaked face, a macabre exhibition to prove his twisted point. "See? Even when you deny it, you love it," he sneered, before indulging in the taste of her terror, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure as she watched, paralyzed by the moment, her struggles futile under his oppressive grip.

The chill of his words cut deeper than the physical intrusion. "I've been watching you for some time now, I even attended your fan meet," he growled into her ear, the proximity of his breath a violation in itself. "The way you spoke to me, I knew you wanted this, wanted me." His statement was a delusion, a fabrication born from his obsessive desire to possess her.

With no regard for her well being, he forced his three longest fingers into her, cruelly exploring her depths as she fought against the invasion, her legs flailing in a desperate attempt to deny him access. A swift, stinging slap to her thighs served as a harsh reminder of her helplessness, and he pinned her legs open with his knees, ensuring her resistance was crushed under his relentless assault.

His hands were unyielding, pistoning with a ferocity that ignored her pleas for mercy. The slickness of her own arousal betrayed her, fueling his relentless rhythm. Each thrust was a reminder of her captivity, each cry that tore from her throat a testament to her suffering. But Ryujin was not one to surrender easily. With a surge of adrenaline, she mustered the strength to fight back, freeing a leg and landing a kick that momentarily freed her from his grasp. The brief respite was a fleeting victory, as her attempt to escape was swiftly thwarted by his longer reach and quick reflexes.

"You never know when to quit, do you?" he taunted, a smirk playing at his lips. "I should have seen this coming; you were always so strong." His eyes gleamed with a dangerous mix of admiration and malice. "But that only makes it sweeter—knowing how satisfying it’ll be when I finally reduce you to nothing but a toy." His words, dripping with twisted admiration, laid bare the sinister depths of his obsession.

The room that was once a haven of tranquility and self-expression, a scene of unfathomable horror was unfolding. The room, bathed in the dim glow of a solitary lamp, bore witness to a transformation that would leave its occupant forever scarred. This was no longer a sanctuary; it was a site of a struggle that would test the very limits of human resilience.

The walls, once adorned with vibrant colors and personal mementos, now stood as silent sentinels to an act of domination. As the assailant's eyes swept across the room, they settled on an object that would chill the blood of any onlooker: a length of rope, its very presence an ominous harbinger of what was to come. The rope, an everyday item twisted into an instrument of torment, lay coiled and waiting—its innocent origins now a distant memory in the face of its dark new purpose.

With a grip born of malice, the assailant seized the rope, its fibers a cruel contrast to the softness of the skin it would soon bind. The victim, a soul whose light had drawn many, now found herself ensnared by the very space that once celebrated her essence. As she was dragged towards the bed, a symbol of comfort turned into an altar of suffering, the rope in the assailant's hand became a grim portent of her impending entrapment.

"What is this for? You're a kinky little bitch, huh?" he sneered, the words a vile distortion of intimacy. Ryujin's denial was written in the frantic shake of her head and the terror etched across her face. Her gaze flickered towards a drawer.

Noticing her glance, he leaned over and pulled it open, his expression twisting with dark amusement as he uncovered the hidden item. "Well, well," he murmured, lifting the rainbow-colored dildo wrapped in cloth. "Looks like you've got your secrets." His tone was laced with cruel satisfaction as he held her private joy aloft, a personal item now transformed into a weapon for her degradation.

In a swift and brutal motion, she was thrown onto the bed, the force of the action resurfacing memories of what happened just moments ago. The assailant, driven by a desire to dominate and degrade, secured her hands to the bedpost with ruthless efficiency. The rope dug into her flesh, each strand a thread in the tapestry of her suffering.

The decision to leave her legs untied was a calculated one, a means to leave her completely and utterly vulnerable. The sense of exposure was all-consuming, rendering her utterly defenseless against the violence that was to follow.

Ryujin, whose name evoked images of a fierce idol known for her strength, grace and power. Now found herself trapped in a human drama of the darkest kind. Her heart raced, a frantic drumbeat against the silence that enveloped the room. With each desperate pull against the restraints, her unyielded spirit shone through the darkness of her situation, a beacon of resistance that refused to be extinguished.

The moment of violation arrived with a swift and violent plunge, an act that would seek to strip away her sense of self. The toy, once a source of personal enjoyment, was now an extension of her assailant's twisted desires. Its rainbow markings, a grotesque contrast to the act they were now part of, stood in stark contrast to the vibrancy they were meant to represent.

The struggle was internal as much as it was physical. I can't… not like this she thought, but her body, a finely tuned instrument honed through years of dance and performance, betrayed her. A quiet gasp slipped out, her legs trembling as she fought to maintain a composure that was being systematically dismantled. The toy filled her in a way that was impossible to ignore, its movements an unwelcome rhythm dictated by hands that had no right to touch her.

Teetering on the edge of her endurance, her mind spun in a desperate search for an anchor—a lifeline to cling to amidst the relentless onslaught. But the man, a specter of menace was unrelenting, a manifestation of her deepest fears made flesh.

With each passing second, Ryujin felt the invisible grip of inevitability tighten around her. It's too much, she realized, the thought piercing through the haze of her resistance. And just as this realization coalesced into a stark acceptance, her body tensed, betraying her final shred of resistance. A soft cry, born of a place where strength and vulnerability intertwine, escaped her lips as she let go, surrendering to the overwhelming sensation that threatened to consume her whole.

The orgasm that followed was not just a physical response; it was a shattering of the self, a detonation that rippled through every fiber of her being. For a moment, everything else vanished—erased by the pulsating, all-consuming release she had tried so hard to deny. "No, no, not like this—" she gasped, but her plea was lost in the tempest that raged within. The orgasm crashed through her like a rogue wave, her entire body seizing with the sudden intensity, leaving her breathless and exposed.

Her legs shook violently, her control lost to the tide of pleasure that surged through her core in overwhelming pulses. Each throb was a testament to the power of her adversary, a man who watched with a dark satisfaction etched into the harsh lines of his face. His gaze was fixed on her, a predator savoring the sight of his prey coming undone in his arms.

Ryujin's body arched into the pleasure she had tried so hard to resist, her mind too clouded with sensation to mount any further defense. Her composure, once a fortress, lay in ruins, each shudder tearing away the last remnants of her armor. She was completely vulnerable, exposed to the cruel whims of her attacker, a man who seemed to revel in the unraveling of her defenses.

With her legs trembling and the last of her resistance shattered, her orgasm wracked her until there was nothing left to give. She lay there, spent, her breaths coming in shallow bursts as the aftershocks pulsed faintly through her limbs. He held her, still reveling in the sight of his idol succumbing so completely to the moment.

The assault on her dignity continued as he began to undo his pants, letting her glimpse his hardening cock—a sight that was both repulsive and terrifying. He repeated his previous actions, dipping his fingers and letting Ryujin see just how wet she was from being handled against her will. "Just accept it, Ryujin, you're a slut, a slut who loves to be ra-" His words were cut off as a glob of saliva hit his face. Her defiance was palpable, "how dare you say such things, let me go, you freak," she tried to intimidate him despite her position.

This only made the man chuckle, a sound that was incongruously light against the gravity of the situation. He wiped the spit from his face and, without warning, he slapped her pussy and suddenly inserted his full length into her throbbing folds. A sharp gasp escaping Ryujin's lips as her body adjusted to the sudden abuse. His pace was relentless, each movement rough and mechanical, offering no reprieve from the overwhelming sensation.

"Stop… please…" Ryujin whimpered, her voice barely audible as she fought to hold on, her body bucking beneath him as she tried in vain to push him away.

"You want this," he hissed in response, his hips slamming into hers. "You knew what would happen, all those times you were up on the stage, shaking your ass with nothing but shorts that didn’t even cover your ass, you know what you were doing, don’t pretend you didn’t."

The words sent a shudder through her. In the privacy of her home, the fear took hold—would anyone even know to come help her? She should've just gone with the ITZY girls, but this was what she had wanted, a moment to herself, a chance to stay home and relax. Now, her desire for solitude had backfired, trapping her in a nightmare. Her mind rebelled against the raw brutality of it, while her body betrayed her with its responses.

"I… I don’t…" Ryujin gasped, her voice trembling as his thrusts became more punishing, forcing her to feel every inch of him inside her. The sensation was overwhelming—pain and pleasure mixed into one confusing, intoxicating wave.

The man grunted, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "You will take it. You’ll take everything I give you." He forcefully grabbed her hair, using it as a handle as he thrusted harder into her. If she just slightly brought her eyes down, she would be able to see the assault happening to her precious core, a sight that would haunt her long after the physical scars had healed.

Tears of frustration and shame spilled down her cheeks as Ryujin struggled to process the overwhelming intensity. Each brutal thrust tore through her, making her feel both powerless and consumed. Her body quaked with each movement, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she fought the conflicting emotions warring inside her.

"Please… stop…" Ryujin whispered again, but the plea fell on deaf ears. Her body, traitorous in its response, began to react to his touch, a warmth pooling deep within her core, betraying the turmoil of her heart and mind.

This scene, fraught with a harrowing mix of fear and arousal, is not just a moment but a narrative that underscores the intricate and often misunderstood nature of human sexuality and consent. Her voice, barely a whisper, laced with a mixture of fear and desperation, "No… No… I can't cum like this, not again," underscores the internal conflict that many victims of sexual coercion face. The struggle within her was palpable, a conflict between the primal urges of her flesh and the clear boundaries she so desperately wanted to maintain.

Yet, her tormentor was relentless. "You can, and you will. You want it, your body craves it," he growled, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate within her, stirring feelings she wished would remain dormant. His words were not just a statement but a command, an assertion of control that left her feeling powerless and exposed.

The intensity of the situation was undeniable, pulling her closer to the edge despite the tears that streamed down her face. Each sob was a silent scream, a plea for mercy that went unheard. She hated how much her body had betrayed her, how it responded to the very touch that repulsed her mind. The paradox of pleasure and pain intertwined, creating a storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

Just as his brutal thrusts reached their peak, his voice broke through in a ragged growl. “Fuck, your tight pussy is making me cum. I’m gonna fill you up so well,” he groaned, his member starting to pulsate inside her.

Panicking, Ryujin tried one last time to regain control. “Please don’t—anything but that. I’ll swallow everything, please don’t cum in me. I need to keep my job, please!” Her voice was desperate, her pleas frantic. But he ignored her, too far gone, the sound of her cries only pushing him closer to his inevitable release.

With a final, forceful slam of his hips, he buried himself deep inside her. His body tensed, grunting as the rush of his climax took hold. Ryujin’s body, pushed to its breaking point, betrayed her in the worst way possible. A choked, involuntary cry escaped her lips as she felt a molten heat bubble up from her core. “No, no, no—I can’t cum like this, I can’t—OH FUCK! NO!” Her protest turned into a scream as an intense orgasm ripped through her, unstoppable, her body convulsing against her will..

Every nerve was on fire, her entire being wracked with sensation as her climax overtook her. She could feel him inside her, his length pulsing, pumping one wave of release after another, spilling every drop of his cum deep into her womb. It was too much, her body buckling as the pleasure overwhelmed her.

When it was over, she lay there trembling, her limbs weak and unsteady. Conflicting emotions tore at her—shame and disgust mingled with the unsettling, undeniable relief her body had experienced. She felt a profound sense of humiliation, haunted by the fact that even under such circumstances, her body had responded so intensely, climaxing harder than ever before.

Her breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps as she tried to make sense of the chaotic swirl of sensations and the hollow feeling left behind. Finally, his movements slowed and stopped, his weight pressing heavily into her, pinning her further into the bed. For a moment, the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing, thick with exhaustion, filling the air like an unwelcome reminder.

But then, something shifted. He slowly peeled himself away from her, his movements hesitant, as though the air had grown thick between them. She felt him exit her, and a cold breeze hit her core, leaving her to shiver and her pussy pulsing. He stood, silent, and as Ryujin looked up, she saw him reach for the mask he had been wearing. He pulled it off, the fabric falling to the floor.

Her gaze followed it, and then she looked up, meeting his eyes. Something in his expression made her heart lurch. It wasn’t anger or disgust that she felt now—it was guilt. Sympathy and regret welled up inside her, twisting her stomach.

You stood there, staring down at her with a look of conflict, your shoulders heavy as if the weight of the moment had just settled on you.

“Did you… like that?” you asked finally, your voice soft, uncertain, almost fragile.

Ryujin blinked, trying to sort through the storm of emotions inside her. She had liked it, loved it even—there was no denying the raw intensity of what had just happened. The power of the orgasm had been overwhelming, consuming her entirely. But seeing the guilt in your eyes now made her chest tighten. She hadn’t realized the toll it had taken on you.

“I did,” she admitted softly, sitting up and pulling the blanket around herself for comfort. “But… I didn’t think it would be like this for you. I thought you’d enjoy it too.”

Her voice was tender, her eyes searching for understanding. She hadn’t anticipated this outcome, hadn’t realized that what had been a moment of intense release for her had left you feeling something much different. The realization hit her hard, and suddenly the thrill of the moment faded, replaced by the weight of everything left unsaid between you.

You let out a slow breath, running a hand through your hair. “I thought I would enjoy it. But halfway through, it stopped feeling like an act. It felt… too real.” You shook your head, guilt flashing across your face. “I don’t want to hurt you, Ryujin. Even if it’s just role-play.”

Ryujin’s heart sank as she heard the strain in your voice. The plan she had been so excited about—the one she’d been texting you earlier, coordinating in secret—suddenly felt like a misstep. She had wanted to explore this fantasy together, to push your boundaries, but now she saw how deeply it had affected you.

Seeing your troubled expression, Ryujin immediately reached out and took your hand, squeezing it gently. “You didn’t hurt me, I promise,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth and reassurance. She shifted closer to you, her fingers brushing through your hair, trying to comfort you. “I trusted you completely, and you didn’t cross any lines. You gave me exactly what I wanted.”

Your eyes softened as you looked at her, but the weight of your emotions was still evident. “I just didn’t expect it to feel so real. Seeing you like that—so vulnerable—it scared me. I wasn’t sure if I should stop. I wanted to make you feel good, but then it felt like too much.”

Ryujin’s heart ached seeing the guilt and confusion in your eyes. She could sense how much you had been battling internally, pushing through the moment for her sake. Her fingers gently traced your jawline as she spoke. “I know it felt intense. I know it was a lot. But you did everything right. You didn’t hurt me. It’s okay to feel unsure sometimes—it means you care, it means you’re thinking of me. And I love that about you.”

She pressed her forehead against yours, her breath warm and steady as she tried to ease your anxiety. “I’m sorry if I pushed you too far,” she whispered, her hand gently squeezing your shoulder. “This is our time, not just my time. If it ever feels too real, or if you’re uncomfortable, we stop. That’s what the safe word is for, remember? We’re always in control together.”

You exhaled, your body relaxing a little as her words sank in. You knelt beside her on the bed, your hands resting on her thighs, drawing strength from her presence. “I didn’t want to ruin it for you,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. “You looked so caught up in it, and I didn’t want to let you down.”

Ryujin shook her head gently, her heart full of affection as she cupped your face in her hands. “You could never let me down. You did exactly what I asked of you, and you did it because you love me. That means more than anything. We tried something new together, and that’s what matters. The fact that you care enough to worry about me—that’s what makes this work.”

Your eyes filled with gratitude as you leaned into her touch, feeling the weight of your worry begin to lift. “I’m not mad,” Ryujin continued, her voice soothing as she spoke. “We don’t have to rush back into this. I know it was intense, and maybe we can try again in the future if we both feel ready. But not until you’re comfortable.”

You nodded, your forehead resting against hers. “Thank you… for understanding and for being patient with me. I really didn’t like seeing you cry, even if it was part of the role-play.”

Ryujin smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I know. I could feel it when you hesitated, but I also knew I was safe with you. You did everything right. It’s okay to take things slow next time. We’ll figure out what works for both of us.”

As she spoke, Ryujin wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close. She could feel the tension slowly ebbing away from your body, replaced by the quiet understanding that, while you hadn’t shared the exact same feelings during the moment, your love and trust remained strong.

“I love you,” Ryujin whispered into your ear, her voice steady and full of care. “We’ll always figure this out together. Don’t carry this weight by yourself.”

You hugged her tightly, your grip firm but tender. “I love you too. I just… I want to be what you need.”

Ryujin pulled back slightly, her eyes locking with yours. “You already are. Just by being here, by talking to me like this—you’re everything I need.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and Ryujin could see the relief wash over you, your shoulders relaxing as the guilt you’d been carrying finally started to dissolve.

You sat together, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the earlier intensity now softened by the quiet hum of the room. The air, still charged with the echoes of your shared vulnerability, gradually became a sanctuary of comfort. The rhythmic thrum of Ryujin’s heartbeat under your ear anchored you, a gentle reminder that in this moment, safety and love surrounded you.

The night hadn’t unfolded as either of you expected. While it was intended to push boundaries, it ended up brushing too close to an edge that felt unsettling. But here, in the quiet aftermath, the true strength of your bond revealed itself—not in flawless moments, but in facing the imperfect ones together.

Ryujin’s hand moved with a tender steadiness, fingers threading through your hair as she held you close. Her eyes, soft with understanding and glistening with unshed emotion, searched yours. The apology she whispered carried the weight of sincerity. “I’m sorry again for making you do something you weren’t comfortable doing,” she said, her voice low and earnest. The kiss she placed on your forehead lingered like a promise, warm and reassuring. “We should always both be enjoying it, okay?”

You felt a lump rise in your throat, a mixture of relief and gratitude. Her words resonated in the space between you, washing away the remnants of doubt that had lingered in the corners of your mind. You nodded, the gesture small but full of resolve. “Okay. If it ever feels like that again, I’ll tell you,” you said, your voice steadying as her hand tightened over yours.

A smile broke through the lingering tension on Ryujin’s face, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she nestled closer. The room felt warmer, filled not just with the heat of bodies, but with the shared understanding that mistakes were not failures—they were lessons. The moments of discomfort were laid to rest, and in their place grew something deeper: the affirmation that your love thrived not in perfection, but in how you navigated the imperfect.

Ryujin’s embrace became your refuge as the minutes passed, her breathing synchronizing with yours in a comforting rhythm. The world outside fell away, leaving only the steady beat of two hearts, learning and loving as one. Trust, communication, and care—these were the foundations of what you had. And in that moment, it felt like more than enough.