#the warmth of winter series | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starmapz · 3 months ago

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what you know - ch4: served || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. mutual pining. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic (attacks). mentions of difficulty eating. vomit. tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 12k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

When Sukuna was in the sixth grade, he read A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket for a project. He doesn’t remember the plot, the characters, nor any details of real importance about the series, but he knows one thing for sure.

The title could describe how his day unfolded.

Nothing is particularly out of place throughout his morning. He wakes up to the sound of his alarm, blearily rubbing his eyes as he gets out of bed for an early morning workout. He throws his airpods in and turns on his workout playlist as he lifts weights and hops on his treadmill before taking a cold shower to rouse himself from the clutches of drowsiness.

He wakes up the kids, helping Yuji get ready while he multitasks making oatmeal for breakfast and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for their lunches, which he tosses into their Pokemon lunch bags alongside some snacks. Mornings like these are like clockwork for him, simple and predictable, just how he prefers. No surprises.

With the first snow of the season chilling the air, he bundles both kids up in winter gear and grabs his heavy coat before walking them to school. He sets his alarm for their pickup, allowing him just enough time to get to his final class of the day, albeit a little bit late. Nothing new about that, though. As long as he isn’t late for your presentation, that’s all that matters. It’s the one thing he’s keeping at the front of his mind so as not to disappoint you.

He’s not sure why it matters so much, but like an itch he can’t scratch, the thought won’t go away. Ever-present and the only thing at the forefront of his mind since he accepted the presentation on your behalf. He’s not foolish enough to think that there’s any world in which you want to present at all, even though he knows you wouldn’t say no to the extra credit, and he could use it too.

He blinks snow away from his lashes, letting it melt from the warmth of his cheeks as his gaze sticks to the ground before him. His fingers fumble with the metal lighter in his pocket as he walks. He’s had it for a long time, evidence of how worn it is carved into the steel, but he’d sooner pull it apart and put it back together himself than get rid of it if it failed.

As he reaches the campus with time to spare, he spots one of your friends outside the building to his next class. He recognizes the blonde immediately, the one you sit next to at lunch, though he doesn’t recall his name. He knows they share an Accounting class, though him and Sukuna have never interacted beyond brief glances.

Keeping his distance from the blonde, Sukuna pulls out a cigarette as his thoughts are once again back on you, and all he can do is pray the nicotine dulls the feeling of his heart palpitating just at the thought of you like some pathetic teenager. The smoke billows and wisps in the air, more evident than usual in the cold, and he relishes in its brief reprieve from his thoughts.

It’s lust.

It’s nothing more than a reminder that he needs to find an excuse for his neighbour to watch his brothers so he can attend one of Gojo’s shitty frat parties and get laid.

With a glance at his watch, he stubs out his cigarette and trudges past the blonde without a glance. He makes his way to his usual seat isolated from the rest of the students in the corner closest to the door in case he needs to leave. Flipping his laptop open, he waits for the old computer to boot up so he can put together a semblance of an outline to work off of for the presentation at the end of the day.

It’s then that his misfortune begins.

His eyes flicker down to a notification in his email inbox and he sighs at the sight of the contact, his boss at the warehouse looking for him to fill a shift. Right now. He could accept the shift, miss European History, get off in time to pick up his brothers, bring them home, shower, and make it to Art History albeit a few minutes later than he’d intended. That wouldn’t be a big deal, you wouldn’t present at the beginning of class. It would also give him enough money to begin looking at Christmas gifts for the brats, which is an appealing idea…

He accepts the shift, and slips out towards the end of class. The shift isn’t unlike any other, nothing that would make anyone think this day is worse than any other. Sure, he stepped in a deep pile of snow on his way back from his shift and his ankle damn near froze and his socks are wet, but he’ll live. Not the end of the world.

He clocks out and picks up his brothers without a hitch, getting back with enough time to quickly shower the remnants of his shift from his skin and toss on a black hoodie with a Deftones logo across the front, and a pair of black jeans that were strewn over the back of his desk chair. His neighbor would be over any minute and he could head to class, only a few minutes late. An exhausting start to his day, but not bad.

A knock at the door sounds, and Sukuna’s brow furrows. Since when does his neighbor knock? He gave her a key for a reason.

“Choso! Grab that!” He calls as he throws his laptop and textbooks into his backpack, sure the sitter just forgot her keys despite being literally across the hall.

With a sigh, Sukuna casts a glance back at his room to see if he’s forgotten anything, when Choso peeks his head through a crack in the door. “Kuna? Someone’s asking for you.”

The tattooed man’s brow furrows further as he throws his backpack over one shoulder and follows after his little brother, who had shut the door on the person upon realizing it wasn’t their neighbor. The little boy stands a small ways back as Sukuna opens the door.

A man dressed in a long, deep gray peacoat with neatly styled hair stands at the door. Something akin to shock flickers in the man’s gaze at the sight of Sukuna, but it hardens as he addresses him.

“I’m looking for Ryomen Sukuna.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrow, his posture straightening. “What do you want?”

“Can you confirm you’re Ryomen Sukuna?” The man doubles down, keeping his expression indifferent.

With a scowl, Sukuna nods. “Yeah, I’m Sukuna. What do you want?” There’s more bite this time as Sukuna repeats his question.

“Excellent. I am here to serve you with legal documents. Please ensure that you attend your court hearing on March 23rd. By accepting these documents, you have been officially notified. Should you decline them, I am still obligated to make a note of this interaction.”

“The fuck?” Sukuna snatches the manilla envelope from the man’s hands, ripping it open and pulling the documents out. His eyes scan the words on the document, widening in disbelief. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

–

If Sukuna were a better man, he would have put your presentation in his calendar. He would have made an alarm. He would have sent you an email. Anything to let you know he was occupied. If he was a better man, he wouldn’t have torn his court documents in two. The ripped paper is hardly any concern when the handle on his door fell to the ground with a clank with the force he used to shut the door. At least one of those could be fixed with tape.

If Sukuna was a better man, he would have noticed his mistake before it got dark out.

With his head in his hands, he stares out the window by the table at the back of his apartment, brimming with anger when it all comes back to him.

The fucking presentation.

He wants to tell himself that he shouldn’t care, that you’re just a nuisance that wormed your way into his life and his mind. He wants to tell himself that you don’t matter and that he should forget about you like he had tried to last week, and accept that like everyone else in his life, he let you down.

But when he envisions your genuinely nervous expression at the thought of presenting even with him, his blood runs cold at the thought of you presenting without him.

He balls his hand into a fist, trembling from the sheer force of strength he puts into flexing his muscles.

“Fuck!” He hisses, slamming his palm down onto the table as he pushes himself up, sending ripped paper tumbling to the floor. His chair scrapes loudly across the scuffed hardwood of the dining space as he rushes to the door, pausing for only a moment at the sight of the handle he’d barely managed to screw loosely back into place. His jaw tightens as he grabs his keys and coat, tugging the door open a bit too hard as he hears the handle fall to the ground with a metallic thud inside the apartment.

As if he wasn’t already frustrated enough, this only serves to piss him off further. He considers himself lucky (if it can even be called that at this point) that his neighbor is still willing to watch his brothers (with a warning about the door handle) after the irritated dismissal he’d thrown her way earlier, but he’ll fix that bridge later.

There’s a more important one on his mind right now.

He’s not sure why he runs to campus first. Of course you won’t be there. Of course the professor won’t be in class, with the lecture hall closed and locked.

He tries the door again, as though a second tug at the handle might turn back time to three hours ago when he should have been here, but it’s nothing but wishful thinking. With his hand still on the unmoving handle, he slams his head against the door.

“Fuck!” With his brothers no longer around to hear, the curse escapes him in a furious roar. Whatever anger had been simmering at the surface for hours now bubbles over and explodes. In a flurry of frustration and pent up emotions, he reaches into his pocket and tosses the first thing that hits his fingers.

His lighter collides with the wall with a dull thud, falling in two pieces to the ground across the hall as a small dent is left in its wake in the drywall.

Sukuna’s hands rake through his hair, his teeth gritted as he inhales sharply, grappling with the weight of his emotions. He stumbles back until his back collides with the wall behind him, sliding down it with his head in his hands. He’s not sure how long he sits there before the sound of the cold wind whipping at the door outside brings him back to the present.

Running a hand over his face again, he grits his teeth as he stares across the hall at the lighter on the floor and frowns. Pushing himself to his feet, he crouches in front of it as he gathers the lid, hinge, and body, smoothing his thumb over the engraved name of his father on the steel.

Looks like he’ll be learning to fix a lighter sooner than he thought. Shoving it back into his pocket, he pulls his hood up over his head and makes his way back out into the cold. It’s well into the evening now, the cold snowflakes a sharp contrast to his warm skin as the night temperature falls well below that of the early morning.

His gaze rakes the empty Friday night campus. Distant laughter outside one of the bars on campus is all that disrupts the drone of wind and distant cars. You’re gonna be pissed. You have every right to be pissed, and he knows it, but for some god forsaken reason that Sukuna can’t make sense of, he can’t leave this be. He doesn’t want the image of your fearful expression as you present alone to be the only thing that comes to mind when he thinks of you.

Would it be stupid of him to show up at your door? He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t know what the protocol is for shit like this because this doesn’t happen to people like him. Sukuna’s only long-lasting friendship is with Uraume, who knows him well enough to know not to hold his fuck-ups against him. It’s a miracle they’re still friends, if he’s honest with himself. Of course, he has other people he hangs around with here and there, but no one close enough to bother himself with matters like this.

Fiddling with the broken lighter in his pocket, he sets off towards your place, bussing to the nearest stop as he makes his way there from memory. He buzzes your apartment, staring at the ground as the machine rings several times, before it eventually hangs up.

No.

He hits the button for your apartment once more, but you still don’t answer. You’re not home.

“Fuck,” he mutters, the remnants of his anger fizzling out into concern and something that twists in his gut- dread. The day has worn him down so much he has half a mind to wait for you to come home and try to talk to you, but with his mind and body as drained as he is, he doesn’t think he’ll make it home if he doesn’t leave now. That’s not even taking the cold into consideration.

Trudging back to the bus stop, he slides down against the bench and stares up at the sky. The stars are barely visible, but a few still shine brightly enough to be seen over the glow of the city lights. Like everyone else, he took Astronomy as an elective just for the credits, and he remembers that the stars that don’t flicker are planets. He wonders if the one he’s staring at is Jupiter, or maybe Venus.

He wonders if you like looking at the stars.

Sukuna leans forward with his head in his hands. He’s fucked, he’s so fucked. How many ‘unfortunate events’ do those kids go through in that stupid book? How many more can he take?

He swallows hard, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette and balancing it between his lips, reaching in again for his lighter. Although the cap isn’t attached, he hopes it still turns. To his relief, it produces a flame and he sets the broken cap over it to put it out, replacing the pieces into his pocket as he waits for the bus. The nicotine does very little to help dull the edge of his stress.

The ride home is quiet, save for the rumbling of the bus’ engine and the tapping of someone’s foot at the front of the vehicle. It’s not long before Sukuna’s back in his apartment with a screwdriver in-hand as he holds the doorknob back in place while screwing it back in. Its hold on the wooden frame is loose at best given just how badly he’d jostled it earlier and Sukuna has to turn to super glue to keep it in place.

Putting the kids to bed is a mechanical and empty action, one that he tries with every fiber of his being to hide from them. They’re smart kids, he knows they’ve already figured out something is up, but Sukuna needs to keep up appearances and make it seem as though nothing is wrong.

With the kids in bed, he sits at his desk with his laptop, his fingers hovering over your email thread. ‘sorry’, he types out, before hitting backspace. ‘howd the presentation go?’, he then types out, but that’s just about the worst thing he thinks he could send. ‘can we talk?’ he tries next, staring at the screen. He rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger before typing and hitting send before he can overthink his words.

[email protected] - Friday, 10:02 PM hey. let me know if you get this. i owe you.

Shutting his laptop, he leans over his desk, his chin propped up on his forearms.

His mind is plagued with thoughts that make it feel as though a dagger is being plunged straight into his chest, each one twisting and dragging it through his body. He wants to fight back, he wants to fight back so violently that he draws blood, but there’s no one on the receiving end of his anger but the world itself.

He grits his teeth, exerting enough strength that he knows his jaw will be sore tomorrow. Every muscle in his body already aches, why not add another one? With a sigh, he finds it in him to sit back up, staring helplessly at the ceiling.

When Sukuna was in second grade, he read Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst. He doesn’t remember what that one was about either, but that one could be the title for his day as well.

–

You blink up at the ceiling the Saturday following your shitty presentation, emotionally drained. Though Nanami had proposed to take you for breakfast… or lunch or dinner, he had allowed you to decline this time, unlike on Friday. You’re no less thankful for him being there for you, but all you really want to do is take some time for yourself.

Pushing yourself out of bed to make tea, you stare out at the snowscape outside your window, glad you’re staying inside as you’re able to bundle yourself up in blankets. You pick up your laptop, setting it on your lap in front of you as you browse movies, looking for something that appeals to you.

Your email inbox number rises as you peruse streaming services, though you don’t bother to look at it. You’re not awaiting any emails. That is, until it’s rising steadily as you’re watching it.

You know who’s blowing up your inbox. It’s not the latest deals from the ramen store down the street, or Netflix requesting to change your password.

It’s the one person you don’t want to talk to.

Your mouse hovers over the ‘x’, your finger not even an inch away from clicking. Yet some sort of bitter curiosity gets the better of you as you click on your inbox.

Seven emails, huh?

You sigh as you stare at the emails. He’s replying to the thread of your last exchanges, so you can’t see a preview of what he’s written.

“Is it so wrong of me to be disappointed?” You remember asking Nanami last night, stirring the straw in your milkshake mindlessly.

He sits up in his seat. “He made you a promise, no? You have every right to be upset.”

You glance up at him. His sharp mahogany eyes are unreadable, but you can sense his sympathy for you through his actions.

You’re silent, absorbing his words as you return to mindlessly stirring your milkshake. The chatter around you is dull in comparison to the loud thoughts of inadequacy digging their filthy claws into your mind.

“I made a fool of myself.”

“No one will remember by Monday,” Nanami tries to reassure you, but it falls on deaf ears.

“I think I said that to myself after Prom.”

Nanami’s lips press together in a tight-lipped frown. “We were kids, back then. All of us, all of them. Things will be different this time around.”

“Do you believe that, or are you just saying that to reassure me?” You ask with a dry laugh, a nervous reaction to his sympathy.

Kento frowns, leaning forward. “I believe it with my entire being,” he replies firmly, ending his statement with your name. You glance up at him again, observing the way his jaw tenses when he sees your puffy cheeks and reddened eyes. “Don’t let this keep you from being you.”

You stare back down at the strawberry milkshake. It’s melting so steadily it’s hardly a shake anymore, it’s closer to strawberry milk.

“You know what the worst part of this whole thing is?”

“What’s that?”

“Well-” you laugh bitterly, “- I can't decide what's worse; That I’m actually still worried about him for some reason or that I ever believed him to begin with.”

Nanami’s gaze flickers away from you as he leans forwards over the table. He contemplates his words carefully, mindful of your obvious feelings for the burly man. “You don't deserve to contemplate that over someone.”

“What am I supposed to contemplate, then?” You chuckle wryly, finally taking a sip of your milkshake. It’s definitely just strawberry milk now. At least it’s not lukewarm yet.

“Did you see the latest episode of ‘Love is Blind’?”

You set your milkshake down with a clink. “Did you?”

“Well… No, but I heard Shoko and Haibara speaking about it at lunch.”

You crack a smile. It’s half-hearted and doesn't reach your eyes, but he senses your amusement anyways and returns your smile.

Now, staring at your unopened emails from Sukuna, Nanami’s words continue to echo in your mind.

“You don't deserve to contemplate that over someone.”

So why are you struggling to return to Netflix? You should just watch a movie and forget about him. If his words meant anything, he would have shown up when you needed him. He wouldn’t have made promises he couldn’t keep.

Sighing, you will yourself to click away and keep your mind off of him as you peruse movies on Netflix. Mindlessly scrolling through each category, it’s by the third one that it occurs to you that you haven’t actually been paying attention to your options, your thoughts occupied by the one man you’re trying to avoid.

After showing you his words mean nothing, why are you still so stuck to him like glue? Staring into your mug of tea, you frown when the answers to your problems aren’t swirling within the warm drink.

Against your better judgment, you take a sip of your tea and click on his emails.

[email protected] - Friday, 10:02 PM hey. let me know if you get this. i owe you.

Frustration stirs within you. He knew damn well that you would be upset with him for not showing up and the best he can do is an ‘I owe you’?

[email protected] - Saturday, 7:23 AM cmon just let me know youre seeing this

[email protected] - Saturday, 7:28 AM fuck, i know i

[email protected] - Saturday, 7:29 AM shit. hit send too early. i know i fucked up but give me a chance to explain

[email protected] - Saturday, 7:33 AM please.

The sight of his plea staring back at you feels like a mockery. Burying your face in your hands, you groan loudly to yourself, as though it might help you make sense of your emotions. Sukuna doesn’t plead with people, he’s made that much clear. Everything with him happens on his terms and is purely transactional, so what’s changed to have him suddenly begging for your attention without asking for anything in return?

Some delusional part of you wants to believe that whatever he wants from you is more than just free babysitting services but he’s given you no reason to believe otherwise.

[email protected] - Saturday, 8:41 AM ill make it up to you. idk how but fuck

You know he’s serious when his email ends with your name. Not Prom Queen, not some nickname that borderlines on flirty, but your given name.

Your mouse hovers over the reply button, thoughts racing through your mind. What if there was an emergency? What if he needs help? What if the boys are in trouble?

No, if something was wrong he wouldn’t be rambling over email. Nothing is wrong, Sukuna is just an asshole, and maybe you need to remind yourself of that. Maybe you’re too kind, maybe you give others the benefit of the doubt too often when they don’t deserve it. Maybe the rumors about Sukuna were always true. Maybe Gojo is right about him.

With frustration fueling your movements, you close the emails and shut the tab. He doesn’t deserve your time and you’ll be damned if you let him ruin your weekend with his incessant messages.

Returning to Netflix, you finally settle on a romantic comedy you’ve been meaning to watch and get back to your (somewhat cold) tea.

–

After a relaxing Saturday spent by yourself and a rejuvenating Sunday spent alongside Shoko, who convinced you (again) to forget about Sukuna, you feel miles better than you did on Friday.

Shoko was ready to put up a fight with your former project partner when you told her what had happened. Now that classes had ended for the semester and you only found yourself on campus to make use of the library, the extra free time only fueled her fire. Nanami, usually cool and composed, was no better when the two of you joined him in the library.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, shooting a glance at Shoko who he’s certain had heard about what went down.

“I’m okay. Thanks, Nanamin,” you shoot him a smile. Though you do seem more at ease than Friday, it’s clear that your anxiety and frustration runs deeper than simply being disappointed. You’re heartbroken. Shoko and Kento would have to be fools not to see the heart eyes you’d had for the History major.

“If you need anything from me, please feel free to ask,” he offers.

“Anything at all,” Shoko tacks on to his statement.

A smile pulls at your lips, even as you find yourself sighing. “Can both of you stop trying to fight him? I’m okay now, really.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that I would fight him-” Nanami begins, interrupted by Shoko.

“I was.”

You can’t help a laugh at her confidence and the grimace that Nanami dons at the sound of said confidence. Regardless, you’re thankful for their support, even if Shoko’s just a bit too eager to teach Sukuna a lesson.

You all fall into easy silence as you study individual subjects, simply enjoying being in the presence of your friends. The morning is quiet and still in the library outside of the sounds of pencils and pens scratching over paper and textbook pages turning. Only a few other students made their way to campus on the first official day of break aside from you, Kento, and Shoko.

Your focus wanes quickly as you find your thoughts wandering, something that’s been commonplace when you find yourself stuck in your own head. Your thoughts roam back to Sukuna’s emails, to his mention of wanting to explain what happened. Had something happened?

You shake your head, trying to remind yourself he’s not worth your time of day and you have no reason to trust his words.

The morning drags on as you struggle to focus on your studies and the moment the clock strikes noon, you’re immediately packing up and dragging your friends to the lunch hall, desperate for the reprieve from your hopeless thoughts.

“I think I’m fucked for my Bio exam,” Shoko sighs as you take a seat at your usual table in the empty hall.

“Perhaps if you had spent more time in your lectures and less time smoking outside my Accounting class, you wouldn’t feel that way,” Kento bites back, earning a laugh from you. He may be aloof and calm, but sometimes you forget just how sassy the blonde can be when he wants to be.

“Shit, that was your Accounting class?”

“Mhm.”

“Motherfucker,” Shoko mutters under her breath, looking off to the side when something catches her eye and she sits up straight suddenly. Both you and Kento take notice of her weird behaviour and go to follow her line of sight, turning your gaze over your shoulder until you’re eye to eye with none other than the cause of all your problems.

Sukuna’s chest rises and falls unevenly, as though he ran to the lunch hall in an effort to find you, his usual aloof expression long gone and replaced with something you’ve never seen on him before- regret. He’s in a black winter coat, his hands fiddling with something in his pocket as he stands there as though he’s debating what he wants to do.

Your heart clenches, your chest feeling heavy all of a sudden. All you can do is freeze, staring uncertainly at him as your body flips between a morbid curiosity to know what happened and the sparks of anger that you feel for him putting you through something you made clear you didn’t want to do.

Finally making up his mind, he crosses the lunch hall to you, only to be met with Nanami taking a stand in front of you. Kento is a tall man, though you would never know when he stands between you and Sukuna. Even with the horribly obvious disadvantage between them, there’s something heartwarming about Kento putting himself between you.

Sukuna’s gaze hardens, his jaw tightening at the sight of Kento. He opens his mouth to say something, but Shoko speaks up first.

“Leave, Sukuna.”

Your lips purse as you glance between Shoko and Kento. It’s sweet, really, of them to try to spare your feelings and fend for you, but you can do it yourself.

“Ken, Sho. I can handle this.” Your smile does little to convince either of them, but with a frown, Nanami sits down. With a resounding sigh, you’re able to finally get a good look at Sukuna.

You’re used to him looking tired, you’re more than used to him looking downright exhausted, but the expression he wears now isn’t exhaustion. His muscles are tense, eyes flickering between your friends before they land on you and it’s only then that his distress becomes apparent. He’s doing what he can to hide it, but his facade of indifference is already cracked, falling apart at the seams.

Your heart twists at the sight as you wrestle with your anger and concern, deciding finally to put yourself first for once. Something Sukuna is clearly incapable of.

“I don’t want to see you, Sukuna.” Your voice is firm and even, and you’re grateful you’re able to keep up the hardened shell you’ve built up over the weekend. He doesn’t deserve your tears or your anxiety.

“I know. You can tell me to fuck off and I’ll listen, but first you gotta give me a chance to explain,” his voice is raspy, evidence of some sort of strain, and you wonder whether he’s been crying or yelling, or maybe he’s been smoking more than usual. Conceivably all three.

You grimace, staring at the wall as you contemplate his words. “You promise you’ll leave me alone after?”

“Anything.”

He’s so quick to respond that it tugs at your heart strings. Why is everything about this interaction so unfamiliar? Where’s the Sukuna you know? Even as he had begun to open up over the last month, you’d never seen him like this. His hand is still fidgeting with something in his pocket, the faint sounds of metal scraping ringing out from his pocket, he keeps shooting glances back at your friends, and his usual air of confidence has fizzled out to nothing.

Then there’s his appearance. His hair is disheveled, pushed back and sticking out on all sides as though he’s been running his hand non-stop through it. His face is gaunt from a lack of sleep based on the dark circles under his eyes and his jaw has been clenched since the moment he arrived. In fact, that might be the only part of this encounter that is familiar, he looks about as angry as usual.

“Fine,” you sigh after a moment, observing the way he exhales in relief.

“Come with me?” He asks, nodding his head towards the door.

Kento and Shoko exchange an uncertain glance as you turn back towards the table and grab your coat and pack your backpack again.

“Call us if you need anything,” Kento speaks up, loud enough for Sukuna to hear as the two men throw scowls at one another. Sukuna knows he’s in the wrong, but he still doesn’t care for this protective behaviour Ken, as you called him, is throwing his way. You’re more than capable of taking care of yourself.

“Thanks, Kento,” you whisper with a dry attempt at a smile.

With one final challenging stare at the blonde, Sukuna turns to lead the way as you pull your coat on and follow him out into the cold. The snow has been piling up over the weekend, crunching beneath your feet and allowing the cold to seep into you, chilling you straight to your bones. You zip your jacket up further, wrapping your arms around yourself as you follow after Sukuna.

He glances back at you, at the way you’re obviously cold and struggling to keep in step with him given the height of the snow banks he’s trudging through. He diverts his path until you’re both in a spot that’s been cleared and you’re able to steadily keep pace with him, although you still keep a small distance back.

The air between you is heavy with unspoken words, and Sukuna knows he’ll deserve everything you throw his way, though it doesn’t make him anymore eager to get to his destination and keep his mouth shut.

“Where are we going?” Your voice is meek, and those sharp crimson irises observe you quietly from ahead for a moment before he replies.

“For lunch.”

“Oh, I actually brought my own lun-” Your words die in your throat at the sight of his brow twitching as he stares back at you. “Okay.”

You just need to grin and bear it through the next twenty or so minutes, and then you can ask him never to bother you again.

Keeping your eyes on the snow as it kicks up with each step, you’re silent for the remainder of your walk. You keep yourself a few feet back at all times, only catching up once he finally reaches his destination and holds the door as he waits for you to catch up. You pause at the entrance of the building, finding a cafe sign hung above the door.

With a nearly inaudible ‘thanks’, you slip past Sukuna into the building. You both pull your hoods down as you take a look around the cafe. Although it’s only a few blocks from the college, you’ve never been inside.

The interior is decorated in warm orange hues with deep wooden floors and plants lining the walls. There’s shelves from floor to ceiling filled with loaves of bread and a display at the front filled with pastries. Two menus hang above the back of the counter with sandwiches, soups, and salads, alongside cozy looking drink options. You make your way up to the counter slowly, followed closely by Sukuna.

“Get whatever you want,” he grumbles in a tone that would make anyone else think he’s frustrated with you, but it lacks the usual growl that would give that indication.

“Hm? Are you sure?” You ask uncertainly, knowing his financial situation all too well.

He nods. Luckily for Sukuna, he took an extra shift and he thanks whatever god will listen that he did and he can afford to buy you lunch. He owes you more than just food, but it’s a start and he hopes he can convince you to give him a chance to prove himself.

He brings a hand up to scratch his chin, the first signs of stubble poking through his skin and faintly visible around his jaw. It’s a good look on him although he clearly just hasn’t had time or bothered to shave.

“What’s good here?” You query, doing whatever you can to ease the discomfort between you, even though you want to tear into him for what he did.

“Ya haven’t been here?” He quirks a brow questioningly. You’re so close to the college he assumed you would have been. “I like the chicken and beef barley soups. The deli sandwich is good too,” he shrugs.

After a moment, you settle on a small soup and a grilled cheese, letting your attention wander to the plants as you wait for the food while Sukuna pays. Neither of you dare to interrupt the tense understanding keeping both of you from saying something you may regret, allowing the silence to suffocate you.

Even once your lunch is ready and the two of you find a quiet seat in the back corner of the cafe, it does nothing to ease the growing anger threatening to boil over as this frustrating man can’t even so much as apologize.

“How’s your food?”

You drop your spoon into the bowl. It clatters against the edge with a sound that startles the poor employee behind the counter, but your attention is stuck on the man in front of you. The stupid man who can’t bother to start with the one thing you truly want from him.

“You know I’m not happy with you, right?”

His gaze flickers between the spoon and your eyes, which are filled with a blazing fire he’s never seen from you before. He sighs, setting his own spoon down as he sits up. “Figured as much when you didn’t email me.”

“Oh, not emailing you back was what tipped you off that I might be upset? Not-”

“I know, I know.” He’s strangely somber as he accepts the way you’re tearing into him. “I didn’t mean to miss the presentation.” He hunches forward over the table on his forearms, his shoulders tense. There’s no subtle cocky bravado behind his demeanor as there usually is, he’s simply… here, listening intently.

Shaking your head, you chew on your lip as you do what you can to subdue your anger. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to miss our other meetings too, but you really had me thinking this time was different.”

“C’mon, those other times weren’t a big deal,” he gruffs, his forearms visibly bulging as he flexes the muscles. He’s doing his best to keep his frustration at bay.

“No, they weren’t. But this time, you signed me up for public speaking. I told you I didn’t want to do it. I even trusted you with my insecurities, and I thought because of that, this time would be different.” You swallow hard, shaking your head as you fight back tears. “But your word doesn’t mean anything, does it?”

“That’s-” His hand balls into a fist as he growls out the beginning of a sentence, but the sharp look you give him has him re-thinking his words. His hand relaxes, his fingers tapping on the table as he diverts his attention to a plant on the wall. “That’s not fair,” he manages, strained.

“How is that not fair? You told me you would handle it and you knew how I felt about presenting. How is that fair to me?” Your voice is low, somewhere between a whisper and a yell as you try to keep your voice down and more importantly even despite the tears pricking at your eyes.

Sukuna adjusts the way he’s sitting, his hunger subsiding at the sight of your growing frustration with him. “It’s… not fair to you.” All he can do is agree, because he knows he deserves this.

“So why couldn’t you grow a pair and at least warn me you wouldn’t be there? I could have prepared something at least!” You make a motion in the air with your hand in disbelief as your rage grows.

Sukuna’s jaw tightens as memories of why he missed the presentation flood his mind and god how he wants to walk out right now and not worry about you or your feelings, or hurting you, but that would be too simple for Sukuna’s life. No, whatever force of nature Sukuna had angered wanted him to suffer, wanted him to sit here and listen to your agony, pinned to the seat by his reverence for you.

He drags his hands over his face, shaking his head like a dog in an effort to come to his senses and come up with something to say.

His silence is somehow worse than his usual devil-may-care attitude. At least you know how to handle his arrogance and anger. His silence only serves to further the insult of his behavior. “You really have nothing to say about all of this?”

Sukuna has a million things to say, but his thoughts are so disorganized he doesn’t know how to make sense of what he wants to say. What needs to be said. He should have taken more time to come to terms with the gravity of the situation he’d gotten himself into, but he couldn’t bear the idea that you would be living with the thought that Sukuna had abandoned you. Yet he’s here now, with you, to disprove that and he doesn’t know what he can do to fix things with you. One misstep and he digs a deeper grave than the one he’s sitting in already.

That’s the thing about you. You’re the sun, able to brighten any room you walk into with so much as a smile, and Sukuna isn’t even the moon by comparison. He’s a distant star, flickering on the horizon but always outshone by those brighter. Even knowing this, he so selfishly doesn’t want to let you go. He hardly understands it himself, but he finds himself smiling more around you and that alone is worth the effort on his part.

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out a pathetic excuse for an apology, one that he knows won’t put out the fires he’s started, but it’s the best he can manage in his disheveled state.

You shut your eyes, letting out a long, dragging sigh. When you open them, you’re staring down at your reflection in your soup bowl, distorted by floating noodles. It’s a genuine apology, a rarity when it comes to him, but he’s lost your trust and good will. Of course there’s a part of you that wants to give him the benefit of the doubt, but he’s not giving you any reason to believe his words, let alone a reason to leave you sputtering over words at the front of your class last week.

Kento’s right. You don’t deserve to be constantly guessing, even if it tugs at your already fragile heart. Why did it have to be him that your heart decided to fixate on?

“I don’t know how I expected this to go, but I guess I should have known this would happen,” you mumble, getting to your feet and grabbing your coat. You need to leave now before you second-guess yourself.

“Wait-! Fuck…” Sukuna’s on his feet in an instant, unable to look you in the eye as he reaches for your wrist, staring at the point where your skin connects like it’s burning him.

“Shit, just…” He hesitates, his jaw tightening. “Gimme a moment.” He doesn’t dare let you go out of fear you’ll leave, his other hand dipping into his pocket as he fiddles with his broken lighter again.

It takes him a moment to gather himself but finally he finds his footing.

“Look, I owe you. I know I fuckin’ owe you, okay? It was a piece of shit move.” He finally meets your gaze, his resolve hardening. “I shoulda been there, I- I got caught up with something. I didn’t mean to miss it and I-” he hesitates, “- I’m beggin’ you to trust me.”

“Why should I trust you? You’ve never given me any reason to. This is just a shitty excuse to use me as a free babysitter again,” you shrug, trying to use reason so as not to fall for the excuses he’s sputtering that your heart so desperately wants to cling to.

His face contorts in disbelief. “Why the fuck would I care about that?”

“If that’s not what this is about, then what is it about? Because if you cared about me at all, you would have been there.”

“Fuck- No- That’s not-” He huffs, his anger threatening to boil over. Running his spare hand through his hair, he grumbles another curse under his breath. “Prom Queen-”

“Don’t call me that.” He knows that’s the cause of your humiliation in the first place, to bring it up right now is downright cruel.

“- Somethin’ happened- with the kids. I didn’t forget. I wanted to be there, I swear on my life that something came up.”

You pause, contemplating his words as he finally gives you some semblance of a reason for his absence, and it’s the exact reason you’d expressed to Kento that had you still worried over the man’s dumb ass. An emergency, a reason to be worried about him, even if he didn’t deserve that kindness from you.

“What happened?” You ask cautiously, sitting back down. Sukuna breathes out a sigh of relief and releases your wrist when you sit back down with him.

“It’s nothin’ I can’t handle, but I need you to believe me. I don’t care that you were babysitting the brats. And that wasn’t free anyway.”

It was, but you’ll let that slide.

Your brow furrows. “What is this about then? Since when do you care about anyone other than your brothers or yourself?”

“Christ, I’m not heartless,” he mutters, shutting his mouth when you shoot him a glare. Yeah, he deserves that. “I care. I do care.” He runs his tongue over his lower lip.

“You didn’t seem to care when you didn’t talk to me for a week and a half straight.”

“I thought we already established that I was a dick for that,” he grumbles, frowning.

“That was when this was a one-time thing. Twice, Sukuna? Really? How am I supposed to trust you when you pulled the same stunt again so soon?” You grimace, quietly observing the way his finger is tapping the table in sync with his leg shaking. At the very least, he doesn’t seem to be lying.

“I don’t expect you to, just give me a chance. Gimme a chance to prove I mean it.”

Kento would kill you for even entertaining the thought, yet… you can’t help it.

“Can you at least tell me what happened?”

Sukuna sighs, leaning back and crossing his arms. If ever there was a time to tell you what happened, it should be now. But Sukuna can’t bear the thought of bogging down your life with more issues than what he’s already thrust upon you. “I don’t want you involved in it.”

“You’re not doing yourself any favors by not telling me.”

“I know,” he frowns, “but I don’t want you involved. It’s messy and complicated and I know you and I know you like to stick your nose in my fuckin’ business,” he scowls at the thought.

“You could at least be nice to me since you’re trying to apologize.” You grimace, exasperated with the attitude he’s throwing your way. You’re tired of his bullshit and who can blame you?

“Right. Sorry. I’m an asshole.” He sees the gears turning in your mind. “I’m a dick,” he tries to appeal to you. Had he blinked, he could have missed the way your lips twitched at the corners into the smallest hint of a smile. “Just give me one chance.”

You stare down at your soup, which is surely cold by now, scrutinizing him as you think things through. Your silence is nothing short of miserable for Sukuna, but he’ll give you all the time in the world if he can have your kindness for one more second.

It’s that same kindness that you just know Shoko and Kento are going to absolutely kill you for as you let out a prolonged sigh after weighing your options. “One chance, Sukuna. One.” Maybe you’re naive for it, but you want to believe that whatever reason he had is a good one.

To your surprise, there’s no irritated grumble or begrudging sigh from him. No notes of disapproval. He simply nods.

“And you have to help me study.”

“Deal.”

“Oh! And you have to come eat lunch with me on campus again.”

His lip curls up in distaste. “Your friends don’t like me.”

“They’ll come around,” you shrug. “Oh! And-”

“Alright, alright. Don’t push your luck, woman,” Sukuna grumbles, leaning on his fist. You giggle at him and although he knows things aren’t back to normal, it’s a start. He’s not stupid enough to think he’s fixed everything right away, but even if it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, he’s thrilled to at least see that you’re smiling.

That smile that’s like the sun.

The rest of lunch is quieter than usual, the regular cadence of your conversations never fully returning.

“How are Choso and Yuji? Is everything alright now?”

The burly man’s eyes seem to dull at the question as they stay fixed on the soup he’s eating. “They’ll be fine.”

His reaction is anything but reassuring. He doesn’t seem nearly as sure of himself as usual, choosing instead to push the question aside. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Fuck, is he ever difficult sometimes.

“You know, if we’re gonna try to be friends, I’d appreciate it if you gave me something to work with here,” you offer a wry smile, your best attempt at lightening the air. He shoots you a glance, spooning more soup into his mouth as he leans on his palm against the table.

“It’s been a shitty weekend,” he answers. Well, that doesn’t really give you anything to work with, but at least he’s being honest with you. You fall silent again, the steady clinking of spoons against porcelain and the buzzing of a lunch rush behind you seeming to fall to the wayside in favor of a quiet understanding that things aren’t quite back to normal.

“Am I allowed to ask how the presentation went or would I be digging my own grave?” Sukuna asks over a spoonful of soup after an extended silence.

“I humiliated myself, what do you want me to say?”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” he tries to reassure you, though it comes across empty.

You’re reminded of the laughter and judgmental glares, setting your spoon down as the reigns of anxiety stir in your stomach at the thought.

“I’m sorry, Pr-” he hesitates, his jaw tightening as the new meaning of his go-to nickname sinks in. “- Princess. I hope you at least took credit for my bullshit.”

“I did.”

Sukuna offers a proud smile. “Good girl.”

You blink down at your soup as your stomach does a backflip and your cheeks heat up, and all you can do is pray that he hasn’t noticed the effect that his words had on you.

It’s not long before you’ve both finished your meals over relative silence. “Um- thanks for lunch.”

“Yeah. No problem,” Sukuna gruffs.

“I should go.”

“Let me walk you back,” he insists, as though the uneasy silence wasn’t enough for him. With a lopsided smile, you grab both of your trays and dispose of the trash before you find yourself back out in the cold again.

Sukuna mindlessly fiddles with the lighter in his pocket again, a reminder that he needs to figure out how to put it back together, much like his friendship with you, if he can even call it that.

In an effort to mend things, you turn towards him as you wait to cross the street, smiling shyly. “You know, I do appreciate the effort, Sukuna. I honestly didn’t think you’d really bother trying.”

He scowls. “Sometimes you’re too honest.” He sighs, but he can’t be too upset when you’re giggling again, even if it’s at his expense. “But, that’s fai- shit!” He cuts himself off, whipping his hand from his pocket in a flash as he pats his jacket down.

Your lips are pursed as you watch him, puzzled by what he’s doing. That is, until a puff of smoke leaves his pocket. You blink at him.

“Did you just…”

“Shut up.”

“Light yourself on fire?”

“I said shut up,” he hisses, his cheeks reddening. He’ll blame the cold if you ask, but he’s embarrassed beyond belief, his cool exterior crumbling as he somehow managed to spark a flame in his own damn pocket.

You bite down hard on your lip in an effort to stop yourself from laughing.

“Don’t. Don’t fucking laugh.” He snarls, flashing you a glare.

But being told not to do something only makes it that much harder.

“You’re-” A laugh bubbles between your words and you do your best to swallow it. “You’re okay right?” You strain through your barely-contained chortles.

With a peek into his pocket, he pulls out the lighter, lid, and hinge pin, tossing them into the opposite pocket as he pats down his coat once more. “Yeah, seems fine now.”

Well if he’s fine- you absolutely double over in laughter, unable to bear holding it in any longer.

“Oh, laugh it up, short stuff,” he grumbles, dusting whatever ashes had clung to his skin off onto his jeans. He grits his teeth as he watches you double over at his expense, his cheeks no less red than they were a minute ago as the crimson glow spreads to his ears.

At least this time he can blame the cold, or the fire.

Not that you’d believe him.

As your giggles finally subside, Sukuna’s able to relax more than he has since Friday at the sight of your eyes crinkling at the corners in genuine happiness. Maybe embarrassing himself in front of you isn’t so bad, if it brings back a semblance of the connection he’d been chasing since he found you in the lunch hall.

Wiping tears from the corners of your eyes, you tilt your head. Cute. “How did that even happen? Don’t lighters have like a- a-” you wrack your brain, turning your attention to the overcast sky. “Like a safety or something?”

Sukuna digs a hand into his pocket that isn’t singed, holding the base of his lighter out to you. “It might have, but it’s broken.”

Curiously, you run your hand over the broken hinge, flipping the lighter over. The name ‘Itadori’ is carved in cursive across the back.

“Itadori?”

Sukuna hums. “My dad.”

Your face softens. “I think it can be fixed.” You hold it back out to him and he tucks it back in place.

“Maybe.”

Now that Sukuna’s not literally on fire, you’re able to cross the street and head back to the library where you’re sure you’ll find Kento and Shoko.

“Are you gonna join us?”

“Another time. I gotta take care of some shit.”

“Thanks for lunch. See you around, Sukuna.”

Before you can turn away, his fingers brush your wrist, as if he’s hesitant to stop you.

“Thank you,” he breathes quietly.

You smile.

–

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Sho, please, you weren’t there!” You try to insist.

“Girl. I’m begging you, you’re better than him.”

To nobody’s shock or awe, Shoko and Kento are equally as unimpressed that you’ve given Sukuna another chance. It comes from a place of concern, of course, but they insist you’re letting him walk all over you.

“There was an emergency with-” you cut yourself off with a glance at Nanami. You suppose you can’t go airing out Sukuna’s personal business to him given that he doesn’t know about the kids. “There was a family emergency,” you insist, “it was an accident.”

“You believe that bullshit?” Shoko’s whipping an unlit cigarette through the air like it’s a sword and it’s you she’s aiming to strike.

“I don’t think it’s bullshit,” you mumble.

With a sullen sigh, Kento finally speaks up in an unimpressed tone. “Had we not just discussed that you deserve better?”

You wince, his words searing. “He made a mistake. Accidents happen, Ken.”

“Hell of an accident,” Shoko shakes her head. “You’re actually hopeless.”

Pouting, you look to Kento for backup, but he doesn’t seem to be in agreement either.

“Give him a break,” you whine, “he literally lit himself on fire today.”

There’s a collective hum of confusion from both of your friends.

“He was messing with a lighter in his pocket and he accidentally lit his pocket on fire,” you grin.

Shoko scoffs. “That’s almost impressive, between the safety and the lack of oxygen in his pocket.”

“Well, the safety was broken,” you reason.

“Hah. Dumbass,” she snorts, exchanging a glance with Nanami. “Just… be careful with him, okay? He’s got a short fuse and a whole boatload of baggage that you and your scholarship don’t need to be involved in.”

“Don’t let him step on you,” Kento pleads in a tone unfamiliar to you.

Your brow furrows as you observe him, but his expression is aloof as ever. “I know, I know. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

–

It’s cold as you slip into the lobby of Sukuna’s building the following evening. You’d re-opened your email tab the previous night to find a message from him.

[email protected] - Monday, 8:58 PM busy tomorrow? kids wanna see ya

[email protected] - Monday, 9:39 PM Just the kids want to see me? ;)

[email protected] - Monday, 9:47 PM you coming or not

You could envision his scowl from behind the screen as you teased him, a stupid smile on your face at the thought of it. Things may not be back to normal, but your heart certainly isn’t aware of that as it palpitates at every thought of him.

Now, as you make your way up to his apartment with your GameCube, you don't really know what to expect.

The moment you crack the door to his apartment, you’re bombarded by Yuji in a tight hug as he’s practically leaping into your arms in utter excitement. Caught off-guard, you barely manage to catch him as he excitedly chants your name.

“We missed you!” He grins as you let him up onto your shoulders, ruffling Choso’s hair while he calmly smiles in greeting.

“That’s enough,Yu,” Sukuna mutters from the stove. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans, that same painfully tight black tank top from last week and a red plaid shirt that hangs loosely from his shoulders. A pair of wireless black headphones sits atop his head, but he pulls them down around his neck as you enter the apartment.

Yuji pouts as he begins to clamber down from your shoulders, landing with a thump! back on the floor before hopping over to the TV again.

Bringing you around the kids is likely a part of Sukuna’s scheme to bring things back to normal, now that you’re seeing him again. Kids are smart, too smart at times and they would know if something is wrong.

The apartment is warm in contrast to the cold winter evening, the smell of fried chicken wafting through the air. You bound up to Sukuna, peeking around his side. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

He clicks his tongue. “D’you think I feed them takeout for every meal?” He arches a brow as he looks over his shoulder at you.

“Maybe,” you simper, looking over the ingredients. There’s a rice cooker with a steadily descending clock and he’s frying up some chicken. “Katsu?”

“Mm.”

“It smells great!” You grin, turning back to give Sukuna space to cook as you head back towards Choso and Yuji. “So, I hear you two missed me?” You chide, your heart filled with warmth when Yuji eagerly nods and launches into a story from school that he’d been wanting to tell you since last week. You listen attentively and his eyes shine when you laugh along with him.

“Give her some space, brat. Come grab plates,” Sukuna instructs calmly, once Yuji’s story is over. He’s more at ease than he has been in a while, and even with the weight of everything going on in his life piled on his shoulders, he feels the familiar pull of your gravity keeping him grounded.

Like some sort of drug, you just seem to relieve his tension merely with your presence. You really are like the sun, warming his skin and lulling his worries to a dull buzz.

As Yuji excitedly runs over to Sukuna in the kitchen, Choso gingerly approaches you. “Thanks for coming.” His tone suggests he knows a portion of what happened between you and Sukuna and he’s grateful you’d give his idiot older brother another chance. Smart kid, just like you thought.

You return his smile. “How’ve you been, Cho?”

“I’m good. Um-” his gaze flickers briefly to the back of the apartment where Sukuna has his arms crossed over his chest as he watches Yuji set the table, handing the little boy three four plates. Choso’s voice lowers as he continues. “I think something’s wrong. Um- with Kuna.”

You tilt your head, following the little boy’s gaze. Sukuna doesn’t seem much different from any other time you’ve seen him. His skin is still somewhat gaunt, but he looks better than yesterday, no longer under duress. “What do you mean?” You prod softly.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, perplexing you. “Someone came to the house on Friday,” he tells you. Your lips purse at the realization that Friday was your presentation. Maybe his reason for missing your presentation is bigger than he’s letting on. “He seemed mad at them and then he was gone most of the night.”

“He seems fine now,” you comment, but you don’t know Sukuna well enough to know who could have angered him at the door. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m sure your brother’s fine. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Choso nods, sunken eyes following Yuji’s movements as he places napkins around the table. It’s not long before you’re all seated with a plate of chicken katsu curry.

“Thanks, Kuna!” Yuji cheers gleefully, digging in immediately. His mild expression cracks as he picks up his utensils, eyes flickering around the table to his two little brothers before landing on you. He may only hum in response to Yuji, but you see the subtle gleam in his eye, along with something else that you can’t quite identify. Sadness?

Choso’s words echo in your mind, but you can’t find any other sign of anything being wrong. You settle on keeping an eye on him, smiling gratefully at him for making you dinner. The meal is filled with Yuji’s imaginative rambles as he shares stories from school and stories that may only be about forty percent true. Kids, right? Either way, you laugh along and grin at him.

“You know,” you begin once all of your plates are clean, “if you go check my backpack, I brought something for you guys.”

Like cartoon characters, both kids’ eyes widen and they bolt off towards the living room, two bundles of thrilled laughter as their full attention turns towards the GameCube tucked into your bag.

As you join Sukuna with two empty plates where he’s cleaning up in the kitchen, he casts a glance at you. “You’re too good to them.”

Placing your hands on the counter beside him, you shrug. “I just like spoiling them.”

“I see that. They ask about you a lot.” Your heart swells. You’re not a grinch, but you think your heart grew three sizes just now.

“I think they get it from you,” you tease, poking his bicep. He scowls down at you, rolling his shoulder as though it’ll rebuke your teasing.

“They didn’t,” he grumbles, turning towards the sink and flipping on the tap to run water over the plates.

You follow his movement, leaning against the counter beside him. “Is that why you’re being so grumpy about it? Because they don’t get it from you?” You grin, giving him a bright smile.

Sukuna’s lips curl into a devious smirk and before you know it, he lifts his hand from the running water and flicks it at your face. His smile widens to a grin when you jump, squealing in shock.

“Sukunaaa!” You cry, wiping the water from your cheeks and forehead with the back of your hand.

He chuckles, making a point of letting the water run over his hand again as he shoots you a sly smirk.

“Don’t you dare,” you hiss, brow furrowed. But when has Sukuna ever listened?

He subtly flicks more water at you, chuckling when you swat his bicep and go to join his little brothers on the couch with a pout that’s just too cute. Both kids move to the floor as the familiar sounds of Kirby Air Ride fill the room and Sukuna joins you on the couch, sitting just close enough that his knee brushes your leg.

“You’re studying English Lit, yeah?”

You nod, shuffling slightly closer to Sukuna to hear him over the TV. “Yeah, this is my last year. I’m hoping I can line something up in the next couple of months.”

“What do you wanna do?” He queries, leaning towards you just enough to give you the impression he’s seeking your warmth.

“A book editor!” You grin, eyes shining.

He lifts a brow. “You wanna read half-baked books for a livin’?”

You can’t help but laugh. “Sure, something like that.”

Amused, Sukuna smiles, relaxing into the couch.

“Have you thought more about what you want to do?” You ask cautiously, tilting your head as you prod at Sukuna’s reinforced walls.

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “No,” he grumbles, pulling his gaze down to his lap. Before you can push him any further, he glances at his watch and gets to his feet. “Be right back.”

You purse your lips as he hurries out of the room as though he has something to do. Sighing, you grab your bag that’s sitting on the floor by Choso, dragging it to your feet in search of the gum that you know is buried somewhere in its depths. You offer some to both of the boys before tossing your bag aside when something grabs your attention.

A torn piece of paper is on the ground at your feet, it must have slid out from under the couch when you had pulled your bag to your feet. That’s not all that unusual given all three of them are students, but the logo on the paper catches your eye.

Decorated in greens, you recognize the bold logo of a law office on the other side of town. A crease forms in your brow as you stare at the logo, but the paper has been torn in a way that all you can really see is the logo and that it addresses Ryomen Sukuna.

Could that have been Sukuna’s dad? No, that wouldn’t make sense if his lighter belonged to his father and ‘Itadori’ is engraved into its side. It had to be Sukuna himself. You suppose you’ve never actually heard anyone refer to him by another name, but the name is fitting somehow, even if he chooses not to use it.

The sound of footsteps alerts you to Sukuna’s return and you tuck the paper back where it belongs, or at least where you found it. The nosey and concerned part of you wants to prod, especially given the apprehension Choso expressed to you earlier, but you know better than to push Sukuna’s limits.

Sukuna rounds the corner with tense shoulders, tilting his neck to either side as he cracks it.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, just didn’t wanna hear you nagging about what I wanna do.” There’s a little more fire behind his words than usual and you sense that this is not the time to be asking why in the hell there’s legal papers torn up under his couch like a rabid mutt got a hold of them.

“A little dramatic, don’t you-”

“Be nice, Kuna!” Yuji yells suddenly, pausing his game.

Sukuna’s jaw slacks in disbelief at his little brother. “Pay attention to your game, brat,” he hisses.

“No! You’re gonna scare her off again! Meanie!”

“That’s it-” With a gleam in his eye, Sukuna lunges forward and tosses Yuji over his shoulder. He’s met with thunderous giggles as the little boy kicks and wriggles in an attempt to escape from his older brother. “You know what happens to kids who get in their older brother’s way?”

“NOOoooO!” Yuji cries out between giggles as he pushes his absolute hardest against the mass of muscles that is Sukuna. Choso is quietly laughing as he watches Sukuna toss his brother onto the couch, albeit gently. “No no no nononono!” Yuji puts his hands up in an attempt to block Sukuna, who pretends to sit on his brother, though you can see he’s not putting his full weight on poor little Yuji.

Putting only an ounce of his weight on his little brother, he slyly grins at you as you laugh along with the siblings, your eyes shining. He may be just about the most hardened and irritated (or maybe irritat-ing) man you’ve ever met, but it’s clear just how much he loves his brothers, even if he could use some time away from them.

“Kunaaaaaa!!” Yuji cries, weakly pushing against him.

“D’ya hear that? Almost sounds like my little brother, except it can’t be because he was a little shit,” Sukuna snorts, only to be met with giggles. You bring a hand up to your mouth as you laugh along with the poor little boy.

“Let me gooooooo!!”

“You done bein’ a brat?”

“Yesss I promise, yesss!!”

Sukuna stands up as Yuji dramatically rolls off the couch, feigning being dead. Sukuna plops back down beside you and runs a hand through his locks, mirth swirling in those striking crimson irises of his.

“You’re still a meanie,” Yuji sticks his tongue out at Sukuna, a mischievous gleam in his eye as he scoots closer to the TV, but Sukuna only rolls his eyes this time. “Don’t scare her.”

“If your brother keeps tutoring me, I’ll be back before you know it,” you reassure the young boy who grins brightly before his attention turns back to the TV. “Speaking of which, I should get going. My final project for Women’s Lit is due tomorrow at midnight.”

You begin gathering your things, pausing as you realize you would have to unplug the GameCube to pack up all of your things, so you settle on pretending to forget it, hoping that Sukuna isn’t paying attention, his eyes locked on the TV.

Checking to make sure you have your phone, wallet, and keys, you cast one last glance at the corner of the piece of paper beneath the couch that’s just barely sticking out, debating doing some snooping later.

To your delight as the boys hug you goodbye and Sukuna follows you to the door, he either forgets about the gaming console or lets it slide this time, leaning against the door frame.

“You make a mean chicken katsu,” you beam, “thanks again for dinner.”

“Mm. Thanks for the second chance.”

Your smile softens.

“I got work at one on Thursday. You up to watch the kids? If you drop by earlier, we can study beforehand.” He leans his head down to your level, the warmth of his breath fanning your face as he can’t resist flustering you at least once each time you visit. “And y’know, you never did get to tell me the third thing I owe ya,” he hums, his voice low and sultry.

Your breath hitches at the implication behind his tone and before you know it, you’re stumbling back away from his close proximity, fumbling for the button for the elevator as the rickety old door slides open with a jarring screech.

“See you on- uh- Thursday.”

“See you then,” he chuckles.

This man will be the absolute death of you.

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❦ a/n ; hiii loves! i hope you all enjoyed <33 very angst heavy chapter, i'm sorry :((( i absolutely adored writing sukuna's horrible day, the poor guy. i also had to consult my friend who's a lawyer on how one gets served documents, what a confusing process and i'm sure she was even more confused why i was asking her LMAO.

anywayyy i just wanted to say that the comments and tags and asks you guys have been sending in seriously make my day and i'm so here for it. thank you all so much for all the love and support <33 as always, it's super appreciated <33

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prael · 2 months ago

Text

Day 5: Comfort

Newjeans Hanni x male reader smut

words: 9,650 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

Spotting a face in a crowd is like watching lightning. There's a moment that captivates you and then it disappears. You're not even sure where to look for it. It happens in an instant, but when that instant is over, you're not sure if it ever really happened at all.

That is life with Hanni.

She might well be sitting here now, on your couch, with her knees pressed against her chest and a mug of hot cocoa in her hands, but in another moment she will be gone and you will be alone again. The warmth of her body will linger on the cushions beside you. You will press your hand into it, but it will fade. And then there will only be her image in your mind and the memory of her voice.

She is always so busy, and you are always waiting.

"I need a break," she says, and this time, her voice is not in the past, but in the present.

You blink, pulled from your thoughts, and look up at her. She's watching you, her dark eyes soft. She's smiling. You don't know how long you've been staring into space. "Sorry," you say, "what?"

Hanni laughs softly, reaching out and taking your hand. Her skin is soft, unblemished, and her nails manicured. Her fingers are slim and dainty, but there's a surprising strength in them. "I said I need a break," she says, and then she squeezes your hand. "So let's go somewhere."

You don't have to think about it. "Where do you want to go?"

"I don't know," Hanni says, and her smile grows wider. "Anywhere."

Anywhere.

The thing about the coast, the beach, the sea, is that it really goes well with sunshine and especially poorly with the winter. There is something about the ocean and the beach in the winter that is a bit depressing, and yet at the same time, that makes it feel more comfortable, more like you can imagine it as your own. You can walk on the beach without the crowds of summer. The waves are high, the water is cold, the sand is wet and hard, and the wind is sharp and biting, but there's a sense of adventure to it.

"It just doesn't seem to end," Hanni is explaining as you walk side-by-side, wrapped in padded coats and gloves, with thick hats and boots, "It just never seems to stop. It just keeps going. It's the same thing every single day. I wake up. I go to work. I do what I'm supposed to do. I go home. I sleep. I do it again the next day."

You nod, though you can't even pretend to understand it.

"Do you want to know what the worst part is?" she asks.

You nod again. "Of course," you say.

"The worst part is that I'm not even unhappy," Hanni says, looking at you with a smile that bears mixed emotions, "I love it. I just want something more."

"I think that's normal," you say. "It's like how when you finish a book, or a movie, or a TV series, you're sad that it's over, but you're happy that you finished it, and then you start thinking about what to watch next, or what to read next. It's like that."

You wonder if that makes sense.

Hanni nods slowly, and thoughtfully, as though she's taking the time to consider your words. "Yeah," she agrees, and then she laughs, "but sometimes I don't know if I want to finish the book. Sometimes I just want to skip to the end, so I can see what happens, you know?"

You don't. Maybe it's because life is much simpler outside of the spotlight. You don't have to wonder what happens next. What happens next is the same as what always happens. Work. Salary. Bills. Responsibility. It's the same thing, over and over again.

Actually, the only days you get to break the mould, are the days that Hanni is there with you. That is what happens next.

You don't tell her that. You don't think she would be all that impressed with your answer, given what she had said. So you don't say anything at all.

Vacationing in temperatures nearing freezing is hard, and the later it gets, the harder it becomes. Yet, the sky is so clear that the stars shine like a million little diamonds, and the moon hangs low and fat in the sky, casting a pale silver light over everything. In that, there's unmatched beauty. On this rooftop cafe, you can almost see the universe in full.

It took a little convincing for the owner downstairs to even open the roof. He called you a few variations of insane for not wanting to cosy up inside the warmth of the cafe. But you, and Hanni, are nothing if not determined. So here you are, on the roof, on the balcony, looking at the sky, at the stars, and the moon. It's a beautiful night, and there's no better place to be on earth.

"I like this," Hanni says, leaning into your side. "You're always good at coming up with ideas."

"I don't know if this is really an idea," you say with a laugh. "It's just sitting on a roof."

"Yeah, but that's the best part. It's just sitting on a roof." Hanni looks at you, her dark eyes glittering in the moonlight. "It's not fancy. It's not expensive. It's just us, on a roof."

"Okay, that's a fair point," you say, and then you laugh again.

You look out over the city, at the twinkling lights, at the stars, at the moon. You take a deep breath of cool air and let it fill your lungs.

"Hey," Hanni says, "I have a question."

You glance back at her. "Shoot."

"Why are we friends?" she asks.

"Wow, deep question," you joke, trying to lighten the mood, but Hanni doesn't laugh. "Um," you say, "Well, I mean, we grew up together, didn't we?"

"Yeah, but we're not kids anymore," she says. "We're adults now. We have lives. Jobs. Responsibilities. I'm an idol and I disappear for months on end. And when I come back, I always just drop in on you and expect you to be there for me, and you are. Every time. Why is that?"

"I don't know," you admit. "I guess I just... I just like you. I always have."

"You don't get sick of me?"

You shrug. "Sometimes, when you do that thing where you hum real loud, I want to strangle you."

It brings about a shared laugh. That right there; if you capture that moment and bottle it, you would present it to her as the reason. Because no matter how long she's gone, and no matter what happens, when she's here and you are laughing together, it feels like home. You don't need to be anywhere or do anything in particular. It's enough just to be.

Hanni shuffles closer, leaning further into your side. "You're my best friend, you know that?"

You nod, your heart swelling. "Yeah," you say, your voice quiet, "I know."

You've always been a sucker for romance, but you also recognise that the real world doesn't work that way. Romance is the domain of fiction, of books, of movies, of the stage, of the screen. In the real world, things are messy and complicated and sometimes they don't work out. And that's okay. It's not a tragedy. It's not the end of the world. It's just the way things are.

It's why you can spend time with a girl who's beautiful and talented and smart and funny, without getting caught up in the fantasy that she's going to fall in love with you and sweep you off your feet and carry you into the sunset, or whatever. You've seen enough romantic comedies to know how those stories go, and you know how they end. In the real world, the best you can hope for is friendship, and even that is something to be grateful for. Especially when it's Hanni.

"Which book is that?" Hanni asks as she steps out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and followed by a plume of steam. Her hair hangs wet and heavy around her shoulders, dripping onto the floor. The hotel room is nice, but it's nothing too fancy. You're sure Hanni is used to better.

You look at her for a moment, then close the book in your lap. It's in these pages, that those romance stories play out, or so you tell yourself. "It's nothing," you say. "Just some trashy novel."

She sits on the edge of the bed, her eyes on you. "Is it any good?" she asks. You're not sure if she's interested or just making conversation, but you answer anyway.

"I mean, it's not great literature or anything," you say, "but it's entertaining enough."

"I wouldn't have taken you for the type of person to read romance. I remember you being obsessed with... um... Who was that one author? Michael Connely? It was all detectives and crime."

"Guilty pleasure, I guess."

"What's it about?" Hanni asks. "The book."

You glance down at the cover, which shows a young woman in a flowing dress standing on a cliff, overlooking the sea. The title is in a fancy script, and the author's name is printed beneath it. You shrug. "It's about a girl who's an artist, and she meets this guy, and they have this whirlwind romance."

"And then they get married and have kids and live happily ever after?"

You laugh softly. "No, not quite," you say. "They have a lot of sex, but then they fight all the time and it's messy and dramatic."

"Then what?"

"I don't know, I haven't finished it yet."

"I bet they get back together," she says. "That's always how these things end, right? They have a big fight and then they get back together and it's all sunshine and rainbows."

"I don't know," you say. "Maybe. Probably. It's fiction."

Hanni laughs, shaking her head. "You're so cynical."

"I'm not cynical," you protest. "I'm just realistic."

"Right, right, of course." She stands, moving to the bag of clothes at the foot of the bed, and begins to rummage through it. She pulls out a pair of shorts and a top. "I'm going to get dressed," she says, and then she disappears into the bathroom again, closing the door behind her.

When she emerges, she's wearing a pair of tight black shorts that hug her hips and a white tank top that clings to her curves. Her hair is still damp, and it falls around her shoulders in dark waves. She looks good, and you can't help but admire her. She's beautiful.

You can tell she's aware of the attention, but she ignores it, instead flopping onto the bed beside you and letting out a sigh. "What are we going to do tomorrow?" she asks.

"I was thinking we could just drive up the coast," you suggest. "Maybe stop off in some of the little towns along the way, and see if there's anything interesting."

"Sounds good," she says, and then she rolls onto her side, her head propped up on her hand, looking at you. "You know, you're the first person I thought of when I said I needed a break."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I don't know why, but I just knew that if I could get away with anyone, it would be you."

"Thanks," you say. You're not sure how to respond to that, but it makes you feel warm inside. "I'm glad I could help."

The small towns are wholly uninteresting, but Hanni seems to find something to enjoy in every one of them. There is something about seeing the world through her eyes that makes even the most mundane things seem magical. A little store selling handmade trinkets and cheap souvenirs becomes a treasure trove of hidden gems. An old man playing guitar in the park becomes a musician worth listening to. An old, crumbling building becomes a palace of mystery and intrigue. The world comes alive when Hanni is around, and you can't help but be swept up in it.

You're on the last leg now, and you agreed to drive her home. It's late in the afternoon, the sun is low in the sky, and the horizon is a watercolour painting of pinks, oranges, and purples. It's a beautiful sight, and it makes you think of the painting that Hanni bought earlier. You're not sure what she saw in it, but she seemed to love it, and that's all that matters. She's asleep beside you, her head resting against the window, her breathing slow and steady. She's exhausted, and you don't blame her. She's been going non-stop for the past few days, and you're glad that she finally has a chance to rest.

You pull up outside her place and gently shake her awake. She stirs and blinks up at you, her eyes still heavy with sleep, and she smiles. "Hey," she murmurs, and her voice is soft and husky.

"Hey," you say. "We're here. You're home."

Hanni sits up, rubbing her eyes and stretching. "Already?" she asks. "I didn't mean to sleep the whole way."

"It's okay," you assure her. "Part of taking a break is getting some rest."

She nods, but she doesn't look happy. "I know, but I feel like I missed out on something." She looks at you. "Thank you for driving me home. I'm sorry for being such a pain in the ass."

"It's okay," you assure her. "You're always a pain in the ass. I'm used to it by now."

She laughs, but there's a tinge of sadness to it. "Yeah," she says, and then she glances away. Her voice is soft and hesitant. "Are you going to come inside?"

"I can help you with your bag."

"I was thinking more than just that." Her eyes meet yours. "Stay for a bit. I don't want to say goodbye just yet."

"I don't want to intrude," you tell her, knowing that there are four other girls in her place and it's their place as much as it is Hanni's. "Besides, it's getting late."

She reaches over and takes your hand, holding it tightly. "Please."

"Okay," you say, and you can't help but smile at her. "I'll stay for a bit."

It's the first time you've seen the inside of this place, but it's a lot nicer than your little apartment. It's spacious and modern, with a large kitchen and a living room that opens onto a balcony with a view of the city. It's the sort of place you would never be able to afford, but Hanni seems to fit in here perfectly.

There's a girl sprawled out on the couch, eyes closed, earbuds in her ears. You recognize her, from posters and interviews and magazine covers, and music videos. Her name is Minji, and she's got long, dark hair that falls in waves down her back. She's tall and pretty, with a slim build and a face that's both elegant and expressive. She looks like a model, but she's also an idol, a singer, and a dancer. It's a little intimidating.

"Better not wake her," Hanni says. "She gets cranky when she's tired."

You nod. "Right."

"Come on, let's go to my room. We can talk there."

You follow her down a hallway and into a bedroom that's big and bright, with a view of the city. It's tastefully decorated, with a bed that's bigger than yours, a dresser that's bigger than yours, and a desk that's bigger than yours. Everything is bigger here, and you can't help but feel a little out of place.

"I like it in here," you say. "It's nice."

"Thanks," she says, dropping a bag in the corner and you follow her by placing the two you were carrying.

There's a faint sound coming through the wall. Music that you can't quite make out, but it sounds upbeat and peppy. You can hear the bass thumping, and the occasional high-pitched voice singing along.

"That's Dani," Hanni says, sitting on the edge of the bed. "She's always playing music. It drives Minji nuts."

You laugh, leaning against the dresser. "It's kind of cute."

"Yeah, it is. She's a sweetheart." Hanni leans back on her hands, looking at you. "I can't believe this is the first time you've seen where I live."

"It's a nice place," you say. "I'm sure you're comfortable here."

"It's not bad." She shrugs. "It's not really mine, though. I mean, it is, but it's also not. You know what I mean?"

You don't, but you nod anyway.

Hanni sighs, running a hand through her hair. "You should visit more," Hanni says while taking off her jacket, reducing her clothing back down to just that tight white tank top now that she's back in the warmth of her room.

You can't help but look at her, admiring the way her body moves, the way her skin glows in the light. You can't help but want to touch her, to feel her warmth. "I don't know," you say. "I would be kind of out of place."

"You wouldn't be," she says, and her voice is firm. "I miss you."

"I miss you too," you say, and it's true. You miss her all the time, even when she's right here in front of you. You miss her smile, her laugh, her scent.

She looks up at you, her eyes wide and searching. "Do you think about me when I'm gone?" she asks.

"Of course," you say, and you can't help but smile. "All the time."

She smiles, and it's like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. "Good." She stands, walking over to you, and you can smell her shampoo, her perfume, her skin. She reaches out, touching your face, running her fingers over your cheek. "I'm glad," she whispers, and then she leans in and presses her lips to yours.

It's a gentle kiss, soft and sweet, and it lingers for a moment before she pulls away. You're frozen in this moment, unable to think, unable to speak, unable to breathe. You're not sure what just happened, or why it happened, or what it means, or what you should do next.

"I'm sorry," she says, stepping back. "I shouldn't have done that."

"It's okay," you say, and it is. It truly is. You don't know why, but it is. You want to kiss her again, to hold her close, to feel her warmth.

"I just... I don't know," she says. "I've been thinking about it for a while, and I just... I don't know."

"It's okay," you say again, and you reach out and take her hand, holding it tight. You look into her eyes. "I'm glad you did."

She looks up at you, and her eyes are wide and searching. "Really?"

"Really." You squeeze her hand. "I'm glad."

"Good," she whispers, and then she leans in again and kisses you. This time, you kiss her back. You wrap your arms around her, pulling her close, holding her tight. You can feel her heart beating against your chest, and it's a steady, reassuring rhythm. She tastes of strawberry lip gloss and you can't get enough of it.

You've known Hanni for years, and you've been friends for years, and you've been best friends for years. But it's never been like this. It's never been this close, this intimate, this real. You've never been able to touch her like this, to kiss her like this, to hold her like this. And it feels amazing.

You're not sure how long you stand there, kissing, holding each other, but eventually you break apart and look at each other, smiling.

"What are we doing?" she asks, her voice low and husky.

"I don't know," you admit. "But I like it."

"Me too." She smiles, and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. "Can I tell you something? It's been on my mind for two days now."

You nod, and she takes a deep breath before continuing.

"I've been thinking about you a lot lately," she says. "A lot. I mean, I've always thought about you, but now it's different. Now it's like I can't stop thinking about you. Well, I can, but not for long."

She's stumbling over her words, and you can't help but find it cute. You reach up and brush a strand of hair out of her face, and she smiles at you.

"I don't know what it means," she says. "I'm not sure if I want it to mean anything. I'm not sure if I'm ready for it to mean anything. I'm not sure if I'm even ready to think about what it might mean." She laughs, and it's a nervous laugh, and you can tell she's struggling to find the right words. "I guess I'm just saying that I'm not sure what I want, but I know that I want to be with you. And I'm not sure if that makes any sense, but it's how I feel."

"It makes perfect sense," you say, and you mean it. You know exactly what she means. You've felt the same way.

"I'm scared," she says. "This feeling is new. It's exciting. But it's scary, too. I'm not sure what to do. I don't want to ruin our friendship. But at the same time, I want more. I want to be with you. And I don't know how to do that."

"It's okay," you tell her. "We'll figure it out together."

She smiles, and it's a shy smile, but it's genuine. "So you're not going to run away?" she asks.

"No," you say. "No, I'm not."

"Good," she says. "Because I don't think I could handle that."

You laugh, and she laughs with you, and it's the most natural thing in the world. You can feel the tension between you start to ease, and you relax into each other, holding each other close. You kiss her again, and this time it's a little less hesitant, a little less unsure. You kiss her, and you let yourself fall into her, and you let yourself forget about everything else, and you let yourself just enjoy the moment. You kiss her, and you feel her arms wrap around you, and you feel her body press against yours, and you feel her warmth, and her softness, and her strength. You kiss her, and you feel your heart race, and you feel your blood rush, and you feel your skin flush, and you feel your head spin.

And when you finally break away, breathless and dizzy, she's looking at you with a mixture of wonder and desire and something else that you can't quite put your finger on. But it's a good look. It's a look that makes you feel happy, and excited, and scared, and alive.

"So what now?" you ask.

"I don't know," she says. "I've never done this before."

"Neither have I," you admit.

"Well, uh..." she trails off, looking away. "I guess we can just keep doing what we're doing, but like, over there." She points to her bed, and you can't help but chuckle.

"I like that idea," you say, before pulling off your jacket.

"Woah, what are you—?"

"It's just my jacket, I'm not..."

You both laugh and Hanni does that thing where she covers her face with her palms and shakes her head.

"Okay, I'm an idiot," she says, before throwing herself backwards onto her bed.

You approach her, but you're still nervous. You place a knee on the bed, move closer to her, and lean over her. She looks up at you, and her eyes are wide and bright, and full of emotion. You lean down and kiss her, and this time, there's no hesitation, no fear, no doubt. This time, it's a kiss of passion.

You sink into her as the kiss deepens, and you feel her hands on your back, pulling you closer, pressing you against her. You feel her tongue slide against yours, and then you taste her mouth, and it's a taste that you want more of. You taste her, and you smell her, and you feel her.

All you can do is what comes naturally, so next you're moving your hand from the bed and onto her hip, and slowly moving it along her waist, sliding it under her top. Her body tenses slightly as the palm of your hand touches her soft, warm skin.

"Are you okay?" you ask between kisses.

"Yes," she says, and the look in her eyes tells you the same. "Don't stop."

So you don't. You keep kissing her, touching her and exploring her. Your hand moves up her side, feeling the curve of her waist, and the rise of her ribcage. You brush the edge of her bra and hesitate, but then her hand reaches for yours and guides it under the fabric. You feel her breast against your palm, soft and warm and firm, and you feel her nipple, hard and erect, and you feel her tremble beneath you.

"You're beautiful," you whisper to her.

She blushes and smiles before you slip your tongue against hers again.

You never allowed yourself to appreciate Hanni for her beauty. It's not like you were blind to it. It's just that you didn't let yourself see it. Maybe deep down you knew that if you did, you wouldn't be able to look at her as just a friend anymore. So you suppressed that part of yourself. But now, with her lying here beneath you, you can't help but appreciate not only how pretty she is, but just how hot her body is, especially as your hands explore her. She's toned, but soft, and you can't get enough of her.

Her own hands are busy, too. They're running up and down your back, and then they're slipping under your shirt, and you can feel her nails scratching lightly against your skin.

"Can we take off our tops?" she asks suddenly, breaking the kiss. The question is kind of awkward, you both feel this, there's this shared twinge of embarrassment that you can sense in each other. It's not romantic, it's not sexy, it's just a bit silly.

"Sure," you say, and you sit up and pull your shirt over your head. You look down at her and suddenly feel so exposed, even if she is the one in tight shorts and her legs on either side of your hips, you're the one that's topless.

Hanni sits up too, and pulls her top off, revealing her light blue bra. She's moving a little erratic as she reaches behind her back, so much so that she fumbles the clasp twice before unfastening it. She lets the straps slide down her arms and throws it aside, quickly crossing her arms over her chest. Her face is a deep red.

She's embarrassed. You've never seen her like this before. You've seen her nervous, shy, even scared, but never embarrassed. And it's adorable. You're sitting just a few inches from each other, yet she's still looking down and to the side.

"Hey," you whisper, and then she looks at you. "You're beautiful."

She smiles and uncrosses her arms, and your eyes move down from her face to her breasts. You've seen her in a bra, but not like this. Never this close, never bare, never with the intention of touching them.

So, you do. You place your hand on one of her tits, and then she's leaning into you and you're kissing again. She fits so perfectly into your hand, and you can't resist gently massaging it. Instinct takes over. You're not thinking anymore, you're just doing what feels right. So you break the kiss and move your head down to her other breast. You start kissing around her nipple, and then you take it in your mouth, and you hear her moan. It's a sound that sends shivers down your spine, and then she's tangling her fingers in your hair, pressing your face into her chest.

You spend some time like this, alternating between her two breasts, licking, sucking, and nibbling on her nipples. It's a little clumsy, and you don't really know what you're doing, so you just follow what her soft little moans tell you. You love the feel of her tits against your face, the taste of her skin, the sound of her breathing.

And then she's pulling you back up and kissing you, and you're lost in the sensation of her lips on yours, her tongue on yours, her body against yours. You can feel her heart beating, and it's beating fast.

"You're so hot," you whisper, and she smiles and blushes.

"So are you," she says, and then she's pushing you down onto the bed, rolling on top of you. She kisses you again, and then she's kissing your neck, your collarbone, your chest. She's kissing her way down your body, and you're not sure what to do, so you just lie there and let her explore. You become more aware of your own body, and the sensation of her wet kisses against your skin. You become more aware of the discomfort between your legs. It's only now, in this moment of respite from kissing her lips and her tits, that you realise she must have felt it. The whole time. Since you started kissing her, and you laid yourself against her. She must have felt the bulge in your pants pressing against her crotch. You're mortified. You can't even look at her, you just stare up at the ceiling with an embarrassed smile on your face.

"Hey," she whispers, and you look down at her. She's kneeling between your legs, looking up at you. Her eyes are wide and bright, and she has a big goofy grin on her face. She looks so cute. "Did I do this?"

She's not looking at you. You follow her gaze down to the bulge in your pants.

"Uhhh..." you're not sure what to say. "Yes. Probably. I think so. I'm sorry."

She giggles, a mischievous grin forming on her lips. "It's okay," she says. "It's nice. I, uh, I like it."

You laugh nervously, and she laughs with you, and then she's unbuttoning your pants, and you're not sure what's happening. You feel like you should say something, but you can't think of anything, so you just lie there and let her do it. You lift your hips so she can pull down your jeans and underwear in one motion. Although you can't bring yourself to look down, the feeling of being exposed is overwhelming. You stare at the white paint on the ceiling as if it's the most interesting thing in the world.

"I've never done this before," she says. "I mean, I've seen one before. On TV, or in a movie, or something. But I've never... I don't really know what to do."

"It's okay," you say, your voice shaky, and you almost don't recognise it. "You don't have to—" Your breath hitches in your throat as you feel her fingers touch you.

"I want to," she whispers, and then she's gripping your shaft in her hand, and you can feel her fingers wrapping around it.

You're hard, and she's touching you, and it feels incredible. It feels incredible and wrong and exciting and scary and confusing and perfect and you can't think straight.

"Is this okay?" she asks, and her voice is soft and hesitant.

"Yes," you reply, and you can't keep the desire out of your voice.

She starts to stroke you slowly, and you can feel her fingers moving up and down your length, and it feels so good. Her touch is so delicate, so gentle, so loving, so careful, and you can't get enough of it.

You can't help but look down at her now. She's staring at you with a mixture of fascination and desire, and you can see the way her eyes move as she takes in every inch of you. That's Hanni, right there, and you can't believe that she's doing this to you.

"I've never seen one this close before," she whispers, and then she's leaning in, and you feel her breath on you. "I didn't realise it would be so warm. Or that it would feel so... alive."

She's still holding you, and you're still looking at her, and then she's looking up at you, and your eyes meet. Her expression is a mix of curiosity and lust. It's an expression that sends a shiver down your spine.

She kisses the tip. It's a gentle kiss, and it sends a jolt of pleasure through you. She looks up at you again, and there's a smile on her lips.

"Do you like that?"

"Yes," you breathe, and you're surprised by the huskiness in your voice.

"Good." She kisses you again, and then she's running her tongue over the tip. "It tastes funny," Hanni laughs gently and smiles. "I don't know if I like it yet, but I think I do."

She licks you again, and then she's kissing you, and then she's licking you, and then suddenly she's doing both. Her lips part in one of her kisses and she takes the head into her mouth so her tongue can work uninterrupted. She's licking around the head, and then she's taking you deeper, and you can feel her tongue exploring your shaft. It's incredible. It's unlike anything you've ever felt before. You've seen this before, on screen, or in magazines, or whatever, but nothing could have prepared you for the sensation of having her mouth around you.

"Oh god," you groan. "Hanni..."

It's all encouragement for her. A signal to her unsure mind that yes, this is exactly what you want and it feels as good as anything that you could have imagined. You're already sensitive, so every little movement of her tongue sends a shockwave of pleasure through you. You can't keep your eyes off her, watching her lips slide down your shaft, her tongue flicking at the head, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks you, her eyes looking up at you, checking that what she's doing is right.

She's breathing heavily from her nose, and the hot hair is kissing your skin. You can't believe you're seeing her like this, that this is the girl you grew up with.

"Hanni..."

She doesn't respond. She's too focused on the task at hand, on making you feel good. And she's doing a good job of it. A very good job of it.

"Hanni..."

Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and she stops moving her head. "Is something wrong?" she asks, her voice muffled by your cock. She pulls her head back, letting you slip out of her mouth, and a string of saliva connects the tip to her lower lip.

"No, no, no," you say quickly, "nothing's wrong. I just... I don't think I'm going to last much longer." You're embarrassed. You've never been in a situation like this before, and you're not sure what to expect, or what you're supposed to do. But you know that you're close to cumming, and you don't want to do it in her mouth.

"That's okay, just don't let the other girls hear us," she says, and then she's smiling at you, and then she's taking you in her mouth again, and then she's moving her head up and down, and then you're watching her cheeks hollow as she sucks you. Tongue running patterns over the underside of your length, you can't take much more.

"Oh god, Hanni, I'm going to—"

She doesn't stop. She doesn't slow down. She doesn't even flinch. She just keeps going, and you can't hold back any longer. You can feel the orgasm building inside you, and you can't stop it, and you don't want to, and you're not sure if you should, and you're not sure what to do, and—

You cum, and it's the most intense orgasm of your life. You can't help but cry out in pleasure, and you feel your hips buck involuntarily, and you feel her tongue continue to lap at the head as your cum spills out of her mouth. She doesn't pull back, she doesn't stop, she doesn't do anything to stop you from cumming in her mouth, she just keeps going, and you can feel her swallowing some of it. Some pools on your skin.

"Oh god," you say, and your voice is a whimper, and you're still trembling with pleasure.

Hanni pulls away and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She looks up at you, and there's a mischievous grin on her face.

"Wow," she says, and then she's giggling. "I wasn't expecting that!"

"Are you okay?" you ask, and your voice is shaky.

"I'm good." She smiles and crawls up so she can rest her head on your shoulder, half draping her body over yours, your bare skin touching. She kisses your neck, her breath tickles your skin. You put an arm around her, holding her close. "I didn't know that would be so fun. Can I do it again?"

"Not right now," you say through strained breath. "Maybe later."

"Okay." She's looking up at you, and she has that same goofy grin on her face. "Was that okay? I've never done it before."

"It was more than okay," you say, and you can hear the awe in your own voice. "That was incredible."

"Really?" She sounds pleased with herself. "I wasn't sure what I was doing."

"It was perfect," you say, and then you kiss her forehead, and then you kiss her lips, and then you're lost in the sensation of her body pressed against yours. You can't believe that you're here, that you're doing this, that you're with her.

"I'm glad," she murmurs, and then she's looking at you again. "So, what now?"

"Can I try?" you ask. "With you, I mean. Can I... use my mouth on you?"

"You don't have to," she says quickly, but then her voice trails off. She seems unsure.

"I want to," you say. "If you want me to."

Her smile is wide and her eyes are bright. "I do," she says. She kisses you on the lips, and then she's rolling onto her back.

You lean over her, and your hands are shaking, and your heart is racing, and you're not sure what to do, or where to start, or if you're going to be any good at this, but you want to try. You want to make her feel as good as she made you feel. You want to taste her, to explore her with your tongue, to learn what makes her moan, what makes her gasp, what makes her squirm. You want to make her feel as good as you do.

So you start where you began earlier, at her chest, and you spend some time just appreciating them. Kissing them. Running your tongue over her nipples. Squeezing. Massaging. Listening to her breathing change.

"I love these," you mutter. "They're beautiful. You're beautiful."

Hanni doesn't respond with much more than a pleasured hum, but she doesn't need to. You can tell she's enjoying this, enjoying the attention. And it's a good thing too, because you have no intention of stopping. Not until she tells you to, at least. You keep kissing and licking and sucking her nipples, and you can feel her arching her back, pressing herself into your mouth, and you can hear her breath growing heavier, and her heart races.

Hanni gives a deep, full-bodied moan, the loudest she has so far. You take it as a signal to descend, and you trail kisses over her stomach, which makes her giggle and squirm. You feel the heat radiating off her body. Her scent is strong—intoxicatingly so.

When you reach the waistband of her tight black shorts, you pause for a moment, and then you hook your fingers under the elastic and pull them down. You're not even sure what to expect underneath, but whatever you had in your mind, the reality is so much better. Her black panties are lacy, and they hug her body perfectly, accentuating every curve, every dip, every contour. They're so sexy, so beautiful, that you can't help but stare. Your mouth hangs open and you can feel your dick stirring back to life already. You can't believe that you're here, that you're seeing her like this.

You take time to admire her. Her thighs and her hips and the delicate apex underneath the wet panties. Then you look up her body, taking in the way her wide hips give way to the curve of her waist, the way her breasts rise and fall with each breath, the way her hair frames her face, the way her eyes shine in the dim light, and they stare at you, accompanying her smile.

"What are you thinking?" she asks, and her voice is barely a whisper. "I know that face. You always have that look on your face when you're thinking about something."

"You're the most beautiful girl in the world," you say, and you mean it, and you're not sure why you've never told her before.

Her smile widens and she laughs, covering her face. "You're so cheesy," she says, but you can tell that she likes it, that she appreciates it, that she loves it.

"Can't help it," you say, and then you lean down and kiss her stomach again, the muscles tense under your lips, and her breath catches. You kiss your way down to the edge of her panties, and then you pause.

"Is this okay?" you ask, and you're not sure why, but you feel like you need her permission, even having come this far.

"More than okay," she replies, and her voice is soft and breathy, and full of desire.

You smile, and then you kiss the edge of her panties again, and then you start to pull them down. You can feel the fabric stick to her skin as you peel them off her body, revealing her pussy. The sight of it takes your breath away, and you can't help but stare. It's beautiful, of course, but it's also more than that. It's Hanni. It's the most intimate part of her body, the most vulnerable, the most sensitive, the most private, and it's right there in front of you, and she's permitting you to touch it, to taste it, to explore it. She trusts you.

You place your palms on her thighs and spread her legs. You move your head between them and you plant the most delicate of kisses on her wet skin. Her body twitches. Another kiss, and another, and another, and you can feel her legs tremble. You can feel her body tense.

"You're so wet," you say, and you can't keep the awe out of your voice. You can feel her juices on your lips, and you lick them off, tasting her for the first time. It's sweet yet musky, and it's a taste that you want more of. You lick her now, a few tentative ones over her lips and then one from bottom to top, ending at her clit. She reacts more to that last one. So that's the spot, then. You repeat that pattern a few times.

"Oh god, that feels so good," Hanni moans, her head tilting back and her eyes closing.

"I can do better," you whisper, and then you focus on the peak of your previous licks, pushing your tongue between her lips where she's most sensitive. Hanni gasps, her hips bucking involuntarily, and her thighs tense, her hands gripping the bedsheets, and she's so responsive, so sensitive, so receptive to your touch, that you can't help but smile. You keep licking, flicking your tongue over her clit, teasing it, circling it, and you can feel her thighs tremble, her hips rock, and her breathing grows heavier and heavier.

"Oh, oh, oh," she murmurs, and her voice is a whimper, and it's so cute, and so sexy, that you can't help but moan into her pussy, the vibrations sending shivers through her body, and she whimpers again.

Now it's your turn to lock your lips against her, enclosing around her sensitive nub. You suckle on her clit, running your tongue over it, and she's rocking her hips against every movement of your tongue. It's the sexiest thing you've ever heard. All the gasps, whimpers, and moans. You could listen to it all day.

In a moment of realisation, you worry if the others can hear it. If they're in their own rooms, then probably not, but you know that at least one of them is asleep in the living room. Your head is buried in your best friend's pussy. What if someone knocks on her door? How would you explain this? What if—

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," Hanni cries and her voice is louder than before, and you can hear the desperation in her tone, and you can feel her body tensing, her back arching, and her hands gripping the sheets tighter and tighter. "Don't stop, don't stop," she moans.

Her thighs clasp around your head and all your worries about being caught are washed away with a new fear. You're trapped between her thighs. Your head is being crushed by the muscles you were just admiring. You're going to die here, between her legs. It's a pretty good way to go, though, so you accept it. At least you got to eat her out.

But then, as suddenly as it came, the pressure is released. Her legs go limp, and her body sags, and her breathing slows, and her hands relax, and she's lying there, panting, and trembling, and whimpering.

"Holy shit," she whispers, and her voice is hoarse, and you can't help but feel a sense of pride. You made her cum. You made her cum hard. "That was amazing," she whines. "I didn't know it would feel that good."

You smile, and you kiss her pussy, and then her inner thigh, and then the crease of her hip, and then you move up her body, kissing her stomach, and her breasts, and her neck, and finally you reach her lips. You kiss her, and she kisses you back, and then you're both laughing, giggling, and smiling, and holding each other close.

"That was incredible," she says, and her voice is soft and breathy, and she's looking up at you with wide, sparkling eyes. She kisses you again, and then you're lost in the sensation of her body pressed against yours.

"I didn't know it would be that good," you admit. "I thought it would be nice, but not like that."

"Me neither," she whispers, and she's looking at you with a mixture of awe and adoration. "I've never felt anything like that before."

You smile, and you kiss her again, and then you're both lying there, holding each other, basking in the afterglow.

"So," she says, after a few moments. "I don't want this to be over. I want to keep feeling like this."

"What do you mean?"

She smiles, and her eyes are full of mischief. "You know what I mean."

"Are you sure?" you ask, and you can't keep the excitement out of your voice.

"Yes," she whispers, and her voice is soft and breathy, and full of desire. "I've been thinking about it for a while. There's, uh, things in the top drawer."

"Things?"

"Just open it, dummy," she laughs, and you do. Inside, there's a sealed pack of condoms. You pick it up, and you can feel your heart racing, and you can feel the blood rushing to your cock, and you can feel the excitement building inside you. You turn back to her, and she's looking at you with a mixture of love and lust. Her eyes are full of anticipation, and she's biting her lip.

"You've thought a lot about this, haven't you?" you ask, and you can't help but grin. "You've had these just waiting here?"

She blushes and looks away, but then she looks back at you and smiles shyly. "Maybe."

You take one out and kneel back on the bed, between Hanni's spread legs. You know what to do. Simple. But the way that Hanni is looking at you, with a mixture of anticipation and excitement, is making it difficult to focus, and your hands are shaking.

You manage it, though. You roll the condom down your shaft and look at her. Her smile is wide and bright, and you can't help but smile back. She reaches for you and pulls you down on top of her.

"I can't believe we're doing this," you say.

"Me neither," she giggles, and then you're kissing again, and it's a hungry kiss, full of passion and desire. You feel her hand move between you and take hold of your cock, and you feel her guide it to her entrance, and then you're both pressing forward. The kisses are replaced by shared gasps, and your forehead comes to rest against hers. She's so warm, so wet, and so tight, that you have to pause for a moment, just to catch your breath, and she does the same, her eyes closed, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Are you okay?"

She nods quickly and then tells you, "Keep going."

So you do. You push forward, slowly, carefully, and she takes you, inch by inch, until you're fully inside her, and you're both breathing heavily, and you're both trembling, and you're both holding onto each other, and it feels incredible.

"Wow," she whispers, and her voice is a whimper, and you can't help but smile.

"Yeah," you breathe, and you're smiling too, and then you're both sharing a laugh. "Doesn't it hurt? I thought it was supposed to—"

"A little, but don't worry," she tells you. "I'll let you know if it gets too much. Just... take it slow, okay?"

"Okay," you say, and then you start to move, slowly, and carefully, and her body responds to every movement, every thrust, every inch. Her hips rock against yours, and her hands grip your back, and her nails dig into your skin, and her lips press against your neck. She's so unbelievably tight.

"Hanni," you whisper, and your voice is a low growl, and you can't help but groan as you feel her muscles clench around your cock.

"Don't stop," she whines, and her voice is a needy whimper, her body is pressing against yours, and her legs are wrapping around your hips, pulling you closer, keeping you deep inside of her.

You pick up speed, but not too fast. You don't want this to end, you never want this to end, but you can't help yourself. It feels so good. It feels so right. It feels perfect. It feels like everything you've ever wanted.

"Oh god," you groan, and you plant your hand against her—half on her thigh, half on her ass. You grasp her soft flesh as you try to bury yourself deeper. Her body tenses in response. She likes it. "You're amazing."

"Mmm... more..." she moans, and you can't help but smile.

You start to thrust harder, faster, and her hips start to rock against yours, and you're both lost in the sensation. Breathless whimpers are broken by raw moans, which you try to stifle with kisses so no one can hear you, and then you're both lost in the rhythm, the back and forth, the ebb and flow. You're both in sync, both moving together, and it's the most beautiful thing in the world. You can feel the pressure building inside you, and you can feel her body tensing, and her breathing quickening, and you're both so close.

Hanni brings her hands to your head, running her fingers into your hair and pulling your ear to her mouth. She lets out a moan right into it, before telling you, "Take it off." You're not sure it's a good idea, but she's insistent. "I want to feel you. All of you. Please. Take it off."

"Hanni... I don't think—"

You're cut off by her moving her hands to your shoulders and pushing you onto your back. Hanni leans over you and looks down at your throbbing cock. "Let's do it properly." She reaches down and rolls the rubber off your shaft, leaving it bare. Your stomach clenches in a mix of excitement and fear. She throws the condom aside and then she climbs on top of you, straddling your waist, and her pussy hovers above your cock.

"Hanni, we shouldn't—" you start, but she cuts you off again. She takes hold of your shaft and rubs the tip of your cock along her wet folds. Her juices coat your cock. Her warm pussy teases the tip. Your eyes roll back in your head.

"It's okay," she whispers, and then she pushes your tip inside her, and she gasps, and you moan, and then she's sinking onto you, and you're sliding up inside her, and you're both breathing heavily, and you're both moaning, and you're both lost in the sensation.

"Oh god," you moan, and you can't help but grab her hips and pull her down, and you can't help but thrust up into her. You're bare. You're inside her, skin-to-skin, and it's the most incredible thing you've ever felt. The way she rocks her hips drives you insane. She's so warm, so wet, and so tight, that you're not sure how long you can last.

"Don't cum," she whispers, and her voice is a needy whimper, and she's looking down at you with wide, pleading eyes. "Not yet."

"I'm not sure I can—"

"You have to," she says, and she's looking down at you with desperate eyes, and you can't help but nod. "Please," she says, and she's grinding her hips against you, and she's riding you, and she's fucking herself with your cock, and she's moaning, and whimpering, and gasping, and you're both lost in the sensation.

"I'm close," you warn her. "I can't—"

"Wait for me," she whines, and you can feel her body start to tense, and you can feel her walls clench around your cock, and you can feel her start to tremble. "I'm—"

With a loud moan, her body tenses and cuts her words off. Her pussy clenches, and her hands grip your chest, nails digging into your skin, and her eyes squeeze shut. Her whole body quivers as her orgasm washes over her, and you can't help but thrust up into her, pushing yourself as deep as you can go. She cries out in pleasure, and you feel a heat in the pit of your stomach.

You thought nothing would be as intense as when you burst into Hanni's mouth, yet just half an hour later, you realise that was nothing compared to this. The rush is so powerful, so overwhelming, that it almost knocks the wind out of you. You can't breathe, you can't think, and you can't stop the flood of cum that's filling her. You can feel it, and she can feel it, and it's so hot, and so thick, and so wet, that you can't help but groan.

Pulsing and throbbing inside her, Hanni keeps riding you, her hips rolling, her thighs trembling and her cute little tits bouncing. Your cum spills out of her, and the mess is pooling beneath you both. It's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. You can't help but smile as you watch her. She's so perfect, so beautiful, and you're inside her—the reason she's cumming.

She collapses on top of you, her head on your shoulder, and her body limp. She's breathing heavily, and you're both covered in a sheen of sweat. You wrap your arms around her and hold her close, and she does the same, her fingers running through your hair, and she's kissing your neck, and your cheek, and your lips. You kiss her back, and it's a soft, gentle kiss, full of love, affection, and gratitude.

"I can't believe we just did that."

You can feel her smile against your skin. "I can't believe I let you cum in me," she giggles. "It felt so good, though." She lifts herself up and looks down at you, her smile wide and her eyes sparkling. "Did I do okay?"

"You were incredible," you say, and you mean it.

"Maybe next time we could—"

"Next time?" you ask, making sure you heard her right.

"Yes," she says, and her voice is soft and shy, and she's looking at you with a mixture of love and lust. "I want to do that again. And again. And again."

"Me too," you say, and you can't help but smile.

She's asleep. You're lying in her bed, watching her. She's so beautiful, and you can't stop looking at her. You can't stop thinking about her. About what you've done. You're not sure how you're going to get to sleep. She's snuggled up to you, her head resting on your shoulder, and her legs tangled with yours. Her breathing is slow and steady. She's peaceful, and you're so happy. You can't remember the last time you were this happy.

You can't remember the last time you felt so content. It's strange. It's like you've been living your life in a fog. You've been drifting, and you've been lost, and you've been searching for something, but Hanni has been right here. She was right in front of you, all along.

You just didn't realise it, until now.

#Hanni smut #Newjeans smut #male reader #kpop smut #m reader #Hanni x reader #praelmas #smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction

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nhlclover · 2 months ago

Text

CHRISTMAS MORNING JACK HUGHES

— event masterlist !

pairing: fem!reader x jack hughes

summary: a cozy christmas morning unfolds for yours and jacks family.

warnings: established relationship + family, you and jack having two kids, brief mention (blink and you miss it) of sex, kissing

wc: 2.59k

notes: final fic of my twelve days of christmas series!! so normally i don't like writing dad fics but this was too cute to not write and i got a little carried away with the world building lol

The first whispers of daylight nudged at the frost-tinged windows, and the faint glow of a winter sunrise spilled into the corners of your bedroom. Sleep was elusive for you and Jack last night. The excitement of Christmas kept your two little ones wide awake, and it took a while to finally coax them into bed. Once they were peacefully asleep, you and Jack spent the next hour arranging presents under the tree, carefully crafting the illusion that Santa had visited your living room in the quiet hours of the night.

The dim light of dawn filtered in, teasing the edges of consciousness. Everything was peacefully silent… until it wasn’t. A cacophony of squeals and laughter accompanies the patter of small feet that gets louder and louder. Before you can even form a coherent thought, the sound of your bedroom door bursting open and hitting the wall pierces the quiet, followed by two bodies hurtling onto the bed with unbridled glee.

“Santa came! Santa came!” Ellie’s voice, sharp and jubilant, rings out like a bell, while Grayson’s higher-pitched laughter trails behind her declaration. Their small hands tug at the covers, and with them, any last shred of warmth and sleep you hoped to cling to.

Jack stirred beside you, his groggy groan muffled by a pillow he had instinctively tried to use as a shield. You glanced at the side table, the digital clock reading 7:28. You squint against the dim light and see Elliott bouncing on her knees, her strawberry-blonde curls wild from sleep, her eyes wide with the wonder of a five-year-old on Christmas morning. Beside her, Grayson is less coordinated but no less enthusiastic, flopping down on Jack’s chest before scrambling up again to pull at his arm.

“Up, Daddy!” Grayson exclaims, his chubby toddler hands gripping Jack’s wrist as if sheer determination will pull his father from the depths of exhaustion.

Jack tossed the pillow shielding his face to the side, turning towards you. His hair tousled in a way that made him look effortlessly boyish despite the years. Jack’s voice, thick with sleep but carrying a soft smile, rumbled through the early-morning chaos. “You hear that? Santa came,” he murmured, his breath warm against your temple.

“Mommy, you have to come see!” Ellie insisted, her excitement bubbling over as she crawled up the bed, clambering over your body. She leaned perilously close to your face, her freckled nose inches from yours. “There’s a HUGE one under the tree! It’s got a gold bow and red wrapping and I think it’s for me!”

Grayson, not to be outdone, shifted his efforts from Jack to you. He pulled the duvet off of your torso, the air outside the bed’s cocoon biting against your skin where the covers had been yanked away. “Come, Mommy, hurry!” His blue eyes, so much like Jack’s, sparkled with the kind of joy that only a three-year-old could summon.

You sighed, a mixture of amusement and resignation, and began to prop yourself up on your elbows. Jack, catching the motion out of the corner of his eye, placed a hand lightly on your shoulder, his warm fingertips a contrast to cold air outside the bed. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice still heavy with sleep but carrying an undercurrent of tenderness. “You stay, I’ll get the coffee going. You can take your time.”

The thought was tempting, but Ellie’s insistent tugging had grown more urgent. “Mommy, pleeease! You have to see it! Santa ate all the cookies, and—” she paused for dramatic effect, her eyes widening. “—there are glittery reindeer footprints on the rug!”

“Okay, okay,” Jack said, his tone halfway between indulgence and resignation. “How about a deal? You two go check under the tree — make sure Santa didn’t leave anything behind — and I’ll start making breakfast.” He glanced at you, his blue eyes soft with a silent promise of a few stolen moments of peace. “Mommy will be right behind you. Deal?”

Elliott pouted for half a second before nodding solemnly, the gravity of the proposal weighing on her like a proper contract. “Deal! Come on, Gray!” She scrambled off the bed with impressive speed, dragging her brother by the hand as they bolted for the door, their laughter echoing down the hall.

The sudden quiet was almost deafening. Jack sighed, rubbing a hand across his stubbled jaw as he glanced at you, a slow smile spreading across his face. “That bought us, what — five minutes?” he joked, leaving the warmth of the bed with a reluctant groan. The sheets slipped away to reveal the lean, sleep-warm lines of his torso.

Your gaze lingered on him as he stretched, his movements slow and fluid, the soft light tracing the sharp lines of his shoulders and the taut planes of his back. There was something about the unguarded ease of mornings like these — the way his hair stuck up slightly at odd angles, the curve of his mouth as he let out a contented sigh, and the way his skin held the remnants of sleep’s warmth.

Jack reached for the pair of sweats draped over the chair by the window, the muscles in his arms shifting as he stepped into them. You felt a familiar tug in your chest, that quiet, magnetic pull of affection mixed with admiration. It wasn’t just his physicality, though that certainly caught your attention—it was the unassuming way he carried himself, the effortlessness with which he balanced the roles of husband and father, and somehow still managed to look like a scene from a romantic film first thing in the morning.

As he tossed on a hoodie, Jack caught you watching, a corner of his mouth quirking into a knowing smile as he brushed a hand through his hair.

“See something you like?” he teased, his voice low and playful.

You rolled your eyes, though the curve of your lips betrayed you. “Just wondering how you manage to look that good on no sleep,” you said, your tone light but honest.

He chuckled, crossing the room to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a heartbeat. “Must be a Christmas miracle.” he joked.

Jack crossed the room, shutting the door softly behind him. You sank back into the pillows for a moment, listening to the distant sound of childish giggles and screeches as your kids no doubt were scanning the bags and boxes to figure out which gifts were for them. The corner of your lips lifted as you pictured the scene awaiting you—a tree lit with soft, golden lights, stockings bursting with trinkets, and two wide-eyed children tearing into the carefully wrapped gifts with all the patience of a wild storm.

Pulling yourself from the cozy embrace of the duvet, you slipped your legs over the side of the bed, toes brushing against the cool hardwood. You reached for the flannel Christmas pajamas Jack had tugged off you last night in a quiet moment of intimacy when the house finally stilled, the soft fabric a buffer against the morning chill. You padded to the bathroom, running a brush through your hair until it framed your face in somewhat manageable waves. A quick splash of water on your face, teeth brushed, and you were as ready as you could be for the whirlwind downstairs.

The air smelled faintly of coffee as you descended the stairs, the creak of the wooden steps masked by the symphony of excited whispers and the occasional shriek of joy. Peering into the living room, you caught sight of Elliott and Grayson darting around the tree like two joyful fireflies, their small hands flipping over tags on the presents.

“Gray! This one says ‘To Grayson, Love Santa!’” Ellie shouted, holding up a package wrapped in bright red paper adorned with tiny reindeer.

Grayson’s eyes widened as he reached for it, though Jack, stepping in with his mug of coffee, quickly intercepted. “Not yet, buddy. Stockings first. Rules are rules.”

He glanced up as you entered, his face softening into that effortless smile you loved so much. “Just in time, your mugs on the counter.”

You swiped the mug from the island, indulging in the bitterness. “Mommy, hurry!” Ellie called from the living room, already tugging at the corner of her stocking. Grayson was next to her, arms deep in his own stocking, pulling out a small car with a delighted squeal.

You joined them, sitting cross-legged on the floor as you helped the kids unpack their stockings. Small toys, chocolates, and even a few practical gifts — like socks — were met with equal excitement.

After stockings, you and Jack quickly whipped up pancakes, eggs, and bacon while the kids played with the toys they’d received in their stockings. At the table, the kids barely sat still, vibrating with excitement as they ate just enough to be excused. The table was cleared quickly, plates rinsed and stacked, and then it was time for the main event.

You and Jack settled onto the couch, mugs in hand, as Elliott and Grayson dove headfirst into the pile of presents under the tree. Wrapping paper flew in all directions, accompanied by shrieks of joy as each wish list item was uncovered. A Barbie dreamhouse for Ellie. A set of dinosaur figurines for Grayson. A remote-controlled car. A glittery art kit. You and Jack exchanged amused glances, your hearts full as you watched their unfiltered joy.

Jack leaned close, his arm brushing against yours as he whispered, “This is my favorite part.”

“Mine too,” you replied softly, watching the kids with a warmth that spread through your chest.

After what felt like hours of watching the kids revel in their treasures, Jack stood and walked over to the tree. He crouched down, sifting through the remaining gifts before pulling out a small box wrapped in silver paper. Turning to you with a boyish grin, he said, “This one’s for you. From me.”

You raised an eyebrow, setting your coffee aside as you accepted the box. “Is this something I can open in front of the kids?” you teased, giving him a playful smirk.

Jack laughed, shaking his head. “Yes, you can open it in front of the kids. I promise.”

The kids crowded around you, their faces alight with curiosity. You peeled back the paper, revealing a plain black jewelry box. Your heart skipped as you flipped it open — only to reveal not a necklace or earrings, but a single car key. Your eyes widened, disbelief etched across your face as you glanced from the key to Jack. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” Jack said, his grin widening as he motioned towards the front door. “Go look in the driveway.”

The kids were on their feet before you, racing to the door with cries of “What is it? What is it?” trailing behind them. You followed, your heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and disbelief. You slipped on your uggs, opened the door and stepped on the porch, the cold morning air rushing against your cheeks, though you didn’t really notice.

Because there, in your driveway, was a brand-new Cadillac Escalade parked in the driveway, its polished black exterior gleaming in the sunlight. A massive red bow sat proudly on the hood, the ribbon fluttering slightly in the breeze.

You froze, your brain struggling to process what your eyes were telling you. Jack was at your side now, his hands resting casually in his pockets, his expression one of quiet pride. “Jack,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper, “did you seriously buy me a new car?”

He grinned, his gaze steady. “You were due for an upgrade. And you deserve the best, always.”

You turned to him, your heart so full it threatened to burst. “I — Jack, this is too much. It’s gorgeous.”

He shrugged, his tone light. “It’s got room for the kids, especially since they’re growing and Ellie just started hockey… And, y’know…” He paused, his eyes sparkling with a teasing glint. “Extra space. In case we want to expand the roster.”

The implication hung in the crisp air for a moment before you burst into laughter, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re welcome,” he replied, leaning in to kiss your temple.

Jack intercepted both Ellie and Grayson before they ran out in their socks, helping them into their winter boots. The kids’ squeals of excitement broke the moment as they darted down the steps of the porch toward the car, their tiny boots crunching against the frost-dusted driveway.

Ellie, impatient as ever, tugged at the door handle but stopped short when she realized it was locked. “Mommy, you have the key!” she hollered, hopping up and down in place.

You hurried down the steps, the car key still clutched in your hand. With a click of the key fob, the Escalade’s lights flashed and the doors unlocked. Ellie let out a triumphant cheer, yanking the door open with all the strength her five-year-old frame could muster. “It’s HUGE!” she exclaimed, climbing inside and sprawling across the back seat.

Grayson toddled after her, his shorter legs struggling to hoist him into the car. Jack reached down and gave him a boost, settling him beside Ellie.

Jack turned to you with a raised brow. “What do you think? Roomy enough?” His tone was casual, but you could see the hope in his expression, the eagerness to hear your thoughts.

You took a slow step forward, running your hand over the smooth, glossy paint. “Jack… it’s incredible. I don’t even know what to say.”

“Say you love it,” he replied, leaning casually against the car with his hands tucked into his hoodie pocket. His smile was easy, but there was a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes that told you how much thought he’d put into this moment.

“I love it,” you said, your voice soft with sincerity. “But I love you more.”

His smile deepened, and he pulled you into a quick hug, his arms warm and steady around you. “Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Ellie’s voice interrupted the moment as she leaned into the front of the car. “Daddy! It has a screen! And buttons!” She pointed to the touch screen in the center console, her small fingers hovering over it like it was a treasure chest of untold riches. “Can I push one?”

“Not yet, El,” Jack said with a laugh. “Let’s figure out what they do first, okay?”

Grayson clambered into the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. “I drive!” he announced, his voice filled with authority.

“Oh no you don’t, buddy,” you said, opening the driver's seat door and scooping him up before he could start pressing buttons. He giggled as you twirled him in the air, placing him in the back beside Ellie.

Jack leaned against the car, watching the kids explore with the fascination only children could bring to something new. “I can already see this thing covered in crumbs and sticky fingerprints by the end of the week,” he joked, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You laughed, leaning into him. “Probably.”

Jack wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you both watched the kids giggle and chatter excitedly. The car was beautiful, but it was this moment — the shared joy, the love that radiated from your little family — that made it priceless.

You turned to Jack, resting a hand against his chest. “You spoil me, you know that?”

“Just giving you what you deserve,” he replied, his voice soft with affection.

“Careful,” you teased, “you’re setting the bar pretty high for next Christmas.”

Jack grinned, leaning in to press a soft but loving kiss to your lips. “Good thing I like a challenge.”

#jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagine #new jersey devils #jh86 #`✦ˑ ✒️ 𓂃⊹ my works #clover's twelve days of christmas!

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v6quewrlds · 4 months ago

Text

❝ last to know, a. svechnikov. ❞ ‎ ‎ ┉

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: it's always nice to hear about the canes' team bonding activities. but when andrei comes home with a november challenge, you know the only solution is to kill seth jarvis.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: yay first svechy fic. hope y'all know that's my baby boy. it's me and google translate against the world <3 this is day one of my no nut november series.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, established relationship, jarvy's an idiot, andrei gets a little grumpy, google translated russian, andrei calls reader kisa (kitten), moya lyubov (my love), and malishka (baby), bratty!reader, dom!svech at the end, choking, oral (fem receiving), fingering, squirting.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: andrei svechnikov x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 5.3k.

The evening air was cool, hinting at the early arrival of winter. Inside the cozy apartment, the smell of onions and garlic sizzling in olive oil filled the kitchen. You wore a simple pair of black leggings and an oversized t-shirt as you chopped vegetables for the stir-fry. Your hands moved with precision, each chop echoing in the quiet space. Andrei stood towering over the stove, carefully tossing the chicken in the makeshift wok. His muscular arms flexed with the motion, and you couldn’t help but sneak glances at his broad back.

Andrei caught you staring and winked playfully. "What are you looking at, kisa?" he asked in his deep, accented voice. You rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance, but a smirk danced on your lips.

"Just making sure you don’t burn our dinner," you quipped, tossing a pepper slice in his direction. He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. The two of you had been living together for six months now, and your playful back-and-forth banter was as much a part of your daily routine as your career obligations.

"You know I'm better in kitchen than on ice," he said, a smug smile playing on his lips.

You scoffed, throwing a handful of sliced mushrooms into the pan with a dramatic flair. "Right, is that why I've had to clean burnt pans more times in the last six months than I have my entire life?"

Andrei shrugged, his smile growing wider. "You know I'm just teasing, moya lyubov." He reached over and pinched your side gently, making you squeal and swat his hand away. The stress of the day had dissipated, replaced by the warmth of your easy banter. The two of you worked in a harmonious dance, you adding the final touches to the meal while Andrei plated your dinner. You sat down at the small kitchen table, the TV playing highlights from the latest Hurricanes game in the background.

As you ate, your conversation turned to the upcoming team events. Andrei mentioned the Thanksgiving gathering at the captain’s place at the end of the month with a hint of excitement in his voice. "You could not go last year but you will love it, kisa. It's going to be so much fun."

You nodded, swirling your fork through the noodles on your plate. "I’m looking forward to it. But some of the girls were talking about a challenge you guys are doing?" you asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Andrei's face grew slightly red as he took a sip of his water, avoiding eye contact.

"Is just something...stupid," he mumbled. "Some of the guys on the team are trying to not...you know."

Your eyes narrowed, your curiosity piqued. "What do you mean, 'not'?"

Andrei sighed, setting down his fork. "They're doing a thing called 'No Nut November'. It's where you...try, um, not to climax for the whole month."

Your mouth dropped open. "Are you serious?" you exclaimed. "Why on earth would you agree to that?"

Andrei shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. "Just ispytaniye, you know? The guys talked to me," he said, his English faltering slightly in his bashfulness. "But it is okay. We have fun."

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You knew Andrei had a competitive streak, but this was ridiculous. "So, what, you're just going to ignore me for a whole month for a challenge?" you said, trying to keep the annoyance from your voice.

Andrei looked at you with those puppy dog eyes you had come to love. "Nyet, kisa, it's not like that. We can still...you know, do everything else."

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Everything else?" you questioned. "So, you want to be abstinent for a month because of some dumb bet?"

Andrei looked at you sheepishly. "It is not a bet," he clarified. "Team bonding. Like when we go dry January."

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. "Yeah, but you hate those challenges," you pointed out. "What's the deal with this one?"

Andrei sighed, his shoulders dropping.

"Honey, tell me who put you up to this," you pressed, your voice filled with a mix of amusement and annoyance.

He took a deep breath before admitting, "Jarvy." Your eyes widened with understanding. You were going to kill Seth Jarvis.

You put down your fork and leaned back in your chair. "Why didn't you tell me it was him? Is he bothering you?" you said, your voice filled with the mock concern of a mother tending to her distressed toddler.

Andrei's cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of red as he groaned at your tone. "He just was talking, and I thought...I could do it," he said, his voice trailing off.

You studied him for a moment, your expression unreadable. "Alright, fine. You can do your 'No Nut November' thing," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "But you're not getting off that easy."

Andrei looked up, hope flickering in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Your smirk grew more mischievous. "I mean, I'll make sure you really feel like you're participating in this challenge," you said, your voice low and filled with a hint of laughter. Andrei's eyes widened slightly as you pushed your chair back and stood up from the table.

For the next few days, you made it your personal mission to test Andrei's resolve. You wore outfits that you knew would drive him wild, your short shorts and tight tops leaving little to the imagination. You would strut around your apartment, hips swaying with each step, eyes sparkling with amusement at his obvious discomfort. Andrei tried to resist, his eyes darting away whenever you caught him looking, but you could see his jaw clench and his fists tighten.

One evening, after a particularly tiring day of teasing, you lay on the couch with a knowing smirk, your legs crossed and your fingers tracing circles on your bare thigh. Andrei sat in the chair opposite you, his eyes glued to the TV but his mind clearly elsewhere. He cleared his throat, trying to ease the tension that hung in the air like a thick fog.

"Kisa, why do you do this to me?" he murmured, his voice deep with frustration.

Your smirk grew wider as you shrugged. "Just trying to make sure you're really committed to this whole 'challenge,'" you said, emphasizing the last word. You leaned back, your fingers continuing their torturous dance. Andrei's eyes followed the movement, his own eyes darkening with desire.

The tension between the two of you grew palpable. Andrei shifted in his chair, his discomfort clear. "You're being mean, kisa," he said, his voice thick. You sat up, placing your hand on his knee.

"I know, I know," you said, your voice softening with faux understanding. "But think of the prize at the end. You'll have earned it." Andrei groaned, his eyes pleading.

You stood up, your hand sliding over his thigh. "Come on, baby, let's go to bed." You could feel his resistance wavering, and you reveled in the power you held over him.

Andrei's eyes snapped to yours, and for a moment, you thought you had won. But then he leaned back and took a deep breath, his Russian stubbornness shining through. "No, kisa. I finish what I start."

Your smirk faded, replaced with a look of determination. "Fine," you said, your voice a purr. "But I won’t make this easy for you, Andrei."

The next two weeks were a battle of wills. Every move you made was calculated to push Andrei to his breaking point. You would lean over to grab something, giving him a perfect view of your cleavage. You would sit on his lap while you watched movies, your body warm and inviting against his. And each time he'd try to make a move, you would push him away, reminding him of his commitment to the challenge. Andrei's patience grew thinner with every passing day, his eyes darkening with need whenever you were near.

The day of the Thanksgiving gathering finally arrived. Andrei was on edge, his usual stoic, confident demeanor cracking under the pressure of his raging hormones. The two of you arrived at Jordan Staal’s home, the aroma of roasting turkey and sweet potatoes greeting all the guests at the door. You looked stunning in a carefully selected silk dress, your confidence deepening when you saw the other wives and girlfriends' reactions to your attire. You knew Andrei would struggle all night, and you were more than ready to watch him squirm.

As you mingled, the conversation inevitably turned to No Nut November. The other wives and girlfriends laughed at the idea, sharing stories of their partners' failed attempts. Andrei's teammates exchanged knowing glances, and you felt a twinge of annoyance that you were the butt of their private joke. But you held your tongue, smiling sweetly as you listened to their banter.

“You look good, girl.” Gianna, one of the player’s girlfriends, whispered to you with a knowing smile as she passed by with a tray of drinks. The room was filled with the sounds of laughter and the clinking of silverware as everyone stood around in anticipation of the dinner.

“I can’t believe he’s still holding out on you, sweetie. Most of the guys gave up by week two,” one of the wives named Melissa said with a wink.

You couldn’t help but feel a smug sense of pride at the thought of Andrei’s tortured self-control. You took a sip of your wine, watching as he talked with Jordan and his wife, Heather, his eyes occasionally straying to you. You knew he was desperate for release, and you were enjoying every second of his torment.

As the evening progressed, Andrei's touches grew bolder, his hands lingering a little longer on your waist or brushing against your thigh. You would look up at him with a knowing smile, watching him bite back his desire. When you were alone in the kitchen for a brief moment, Andrei leaned down and whispered in your ear, "Kisa, I need you. Let's go home."

Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you leaned back into his touch, your voice a seductive murmur. "But the party's just getting started," you teased. "You're not giving up now, are you?"

Andrei's grip tightened on the countertop, his knuckles white. "I can't...not with you looking so sexy," he admitted, his accent thickening with his arousal. Taking a brief moment to take in his surroundings, Andrei bent down to whisper his plea in Russian into your ear, hoping that the language barrier would shield your conversation from prying eyes and ears.

“Da, ya ponimayu, Andrei,” you whispered back your understanding in what little Russian you knew off the top of your head, your voice dripping with sweetness. “But you need to be stronger than this. Think of the victory you’ll feel when you win the challenge.”

You stepped back, placing the platter of food you had been holding onto the counter with a gentle clink, leaving his hand hovering in the air between you. Andrei’s frustration was palpable, but you felt a thrill of power knowing you had him right where you wanted him.

The dinner was a blur of flavors and forced small talk as Andrei’s eyes followed you around the room. You could feel his gaze on you, his need for you almost tangible. You were enjoying your victory, watching him squirm, his self-control hanging by a thread. As the night went on, the tension grew thicker than the gravy on the turkey.

The two of you found yourselves standing at the edge of the living room, the TV playing a football game neither of you was particularly interested in. Seth Jarvis strolled over, a smug grin plastered on his face. "How's it going, buddy?" he asked, slapping Andrei on the back.

Andrei gritted his teeth. "It's...going," he said through clenched teeth.

Jarvy chuckled. "You know, I didn't think you had it in you. We thought you’d tap out by week one." He winked at you, drawing an eye roll out of you. Andrei's jaw tightened, but before he could say anything, Jarvy cut in again. “We actually bet on it. I lost like a hundred bucks, Svechy. You’re a beast, man."

Andrei's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'we'? Who else is not doing this?"

Jarvy's smirk grew wider. "Well, most of us stopped after the first week. We decided to test how long it would take for you to catch on," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Your mouth fell open as you threw your head back and laughed, the sound echoing through the room. Andrei's face went red with a mix of embarrassment and anger.

"You asshole," he groaned, visibly annoyed but trying to hold back his self-deprecating laughter. "Why did you not tell me?"

Jarvy shrugged, his grin unabated. "It's not fun if you know, right?" He clapped Andrei on the shoulder before walking away, leaving the Russian standing in stunned silence.

You couldn't help but continue to laugh, the tension of the past few weeks finally breaking. You stepped closer to Andrei, your eyes gleaming with mirth. "So, you've been suffering for nothing?"

Andrei's eyes searched yours, a mix of relief and annoyance swirling in their depths. "It will be worth it," he murmured, pulling you into a tight embrace. You could feel his heart racing against your chest, and you knew that the challenge had pushed him to his limits.

“Maybe this will be a good thing after all,” you whispered into Andrei’s ear, your voice filled with amusement as you wrapped your arms around his waist. You felt his body relax slightly against you, his grip on you tightening for a brief moment before loosening.

Andrei leaned down and kissed your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “Ya budu zhdat’,” he murmured in Russian, his voice thick with need. You giggled, feeling his hard chest against yours.

“You’ll have to wait a little longer, my love,” you said, pulling away with a mischievous smile.

Andrei sighed, his grip on your hips loosening slightly. “You are cruel, kisa,” he said, his eyes still dark with desire. You knew you had won this round, but you couldn’t resist pushing him just a little further. You pushed yourself off the wall, stalking back to the group of wives and girlfriends.

The rest of the night was a blur of laughter and food. The tension between you and Andrei had dissipated slightly, replaced with a newfound excitement. As the guests began to leave, Andrei’s hand found yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gentle rhythm that sent shivers down your spine. You knew what was coming, and you were more than ready.

As you two said your goodbyes to Heather and Jordan, Andrei's grip tightened, pulling you closer. His eyes were dark with desire, and you felt your body responding, your core heating with anticipation. You walked to the car in silence, the crunch of gravel beneath your feet the only sound between the two of you.

The drive home was tense, the air in the car thick with unspoken words. Andrei's eyes never left the road, but you could feel his need for you in every tense line of his body. You leaned over and placed your hand on his thigh, your thumb stroking the fabric of his dress pants. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t move away.

When you arrived at your apartment, Andrei practically dragged you inside, the door slamming shut behind you. He slammed you against the door, his mouth claiming yours in a fiery kiss that left you both gasping for air. You moaned, your hands fisting his hair as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

Andrei’s hands roamed your body, desperate to feel every inch of you. He slid the silk dress up your thighs, his rough palms grazing your soft skin. Your breath hitched as his thumb brushed against the lace of your panties.

"Now, kisa?" he growled, his voice a mix of need and frustration. You could feel his arousal pressing against you, and you knew you couldn't wait any longer either.

With a sly smile, you whispered, "Alright, let's go to the bedroom."

Your passionate kisses didn't stop as you stumbled down the hallway, Andrei’s hands moving to peel off your dress, his desire unbridled. As you reached the bedroom, the dress fell to the floor in a puddle of silk, revealing your barely-there lingerie. Your heart raced, your body craving his touch.

Andrei laid you on the bed, his eyes dark with want. His fingers traced the outline of your bra, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. He leaned down, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered in Russian, his voice deep and demanding. Your back arched, your eyes closing in pleasure as you felt his mouth replace his hands.

He kissed a path down your body, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your stomach before he reached the apex of your thighs. You could feel the wetness pooling between your legs, your body begging for his touch. Andrei didn’t disappoint, his mouth closing over your clit through your sheer panties, his tongue flicking and teasing until you were moaning his name.

Your hands were in his hair, guiding him, urging him on as he devoured you. You could feel the warmth of his breath, the softness of his lips, and the roughness of his prickly stubble. Your legs trembled, and you knew you were close to the edge. But Andrei had other plans. He pulled away, his eyes smoldering as he removed your underwear, tossing it aside.

“I want to see you come apart for me, kisa,” he murmured in your ear, his voice thick with lust. “My way of saying sorry.”

Your eyes flew open, meeting his intense gaze. You could feel his hands on your thighs, spreading your legs wider, exposing you to his hungry eyes. Andrei leaned down, his mouth replacing his thumb, his tongue delving deep into your folds. Your grip on the bedsheets tightened as waves of pleasure crashed over you, your body responding to his every touch.

Andrei took his time, savoring every gasp and moan that escaped your lips. His tongue danced around your clit, flicking and swirling, driving you closer to the brink of orgasm. Your hips bucked against his face, your legs tightening around his head, urging him to never stop. The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breaths, the smell of your desire thick in the air.

“Dai, Andrei, please,” you begged, your voice a breathless whisper. Your body was a tight coil, wound up by the masterful way he teased you. Andrei chuckled darkly, his eyes glued to your glistening pussy as he added a finger to the mix, sliding it in and out of you with a rhythm that matched his tongue.

Your eyes rolled back, and you bit your lip to keep from screaming out. His finger curled inside you, finding your sweet spot, and you could feel the orgasm building, ready to crash down on you like a wave. Andrei’s other hand found your breast, squeezing and playing with your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure to your core.

With a final, desperate plea, you came, your body shaking with the intensity of your climax. Andrei didn’t stop, his tongue and finger working in unison until you were nothing but a trembling mess beneath him.

Pulling away, he gave you a satisfied smirk, his eyes gleaming with triumph. Russian rolled off his tongue, “Ya zastavil tebya zhdat' slishkom dolgo, moy milyy kotenok, hmm?” He licked his lips, savoring your taste.

You could only nod, catching the phrase ‘made you wait too long’ and ‘kitten’, your breathing still erratic. Andrei leaned down and kissed you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours, sharing the flavor of your desire. You felt his erection pressing into your thigh, and you reached down to stroke him, your hand wrapping around his thick length.

He groaned into your mouth, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. "Malishka," he murmured, his voice strained. He pushed your hand away, standing up to remove his own clothes. His pants hit the floor, revealing his boxer briefs, the outline of his hard cock clear. He stepped out of them, standing before you naked and proud.

You took in the sight of him, your eyes lingering on his toned abs, the V that dipped down to his shaft, the heavy erection that stood tall between his legs. You licked your lips, feeling your arousal spike again. Andrei climbed onto the bed, his movements swift and purposeful.

He positioned himself between your legs, his cock poised at your entrance. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of you, spread out before him, your chest heaving with every breath, your skin flushed from the orgasm he’d just given you. He leaned down, whispering something in Russian that you didn’t understand, but the way his voice vibrated against your skin sent shivers down your spine.

Andrei slid into you with a groan, his thickness stretching you deliciously. Your nails dug into the bed, your body arching to meet his, your eyes boring into his. He began to move, his strokes deep and measured, each one pushing you closer to another peak.

“Andrei, faster,” you panted, your eyes fluttering shut. You felt his hand wrap around your throat, gently squeezing as his other hand found your clit, his thumb pressing down firmly.

"Open your eyes, kisa," he ordered, his voice gruff with need. Your eyes snapped open, locking onto his as he began to thrust harder, his hips moving with a fierce rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart. His thumb on your clit grew more insistent, the pressure just right to send you spiraling toward another orgasm.

Andrei’s grip on your throat tightened slightly, his eyes focused on yours as he whispered, “You want me to make you feel good, malishka?”

Your eyes widened, the dominance in his voice sending a thrill through you. You nodded, your body already obeying his command. He picked up his pace, his strokes growing more erratic as his own climax approached. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, your muscles clenching around him, your walls contracting as you fought for release.

Andrei’s thumb played with your clit with renewed vigor, his hips slamming into you as he claimed your mouth in a bruising kiss. You could feel his cock swell even further, the pink, angry head brushing against your g-spot with every thrust. The hand on your throat tightened, cutting off your air, and making you lightheaded with desire.

He growled in approval, his own climax still a ways off. Andrei’s strokes grew erratic, his movements more primal as he chased his release. Your eyes remained locked with his, the connection between the two of you intense and unbreakable. You could feel the sweat trickling down your spine, your body begging for more, even as you trembled from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

With a sudden movement, Andrei pulled out of you, flipping you onto your stomach with surprising agility. You yelped in surprise, but before you could protest, you felt the head of his cock nudge against your slick entrance from behind. "Andrei," you whined, your voice a mix of pleasure and frustration.

He chuckled darkly. "You want more, kisa?" He didn’t wait for a response before slamming back into you, his hips slapping against your ass. Your moan was muffled by the pillow Andrei had buried your face into. The angle was new, the sensations overwhelming. Each thrust hit deeper than before, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Your hands strained against the pillow, pushing yourself back to meet him as he claimed you from behind. You could feel the heat of Andrei’s body surrounding you, his muscles flexing and releasing as he moved in a punishing rhythm. His grip on your hips was firm, guiding your body to his will, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered words that only added to the erotic symphony of your lovemaking.

"Do you want to touch me? Do you want to feel how hard I am for you?" Andrei’s voice was a gruff whisper in your ear as he pounded into you, his hand reaching around to stroke your clit again. You nodded frantically, your voice lost in the pillow.

"Vpered, prodolzhat'," Andrei hummed over you, giving you the permission you craved to reach out and feel his skin on yours.

You reached behind yourself, your hand finding his forearm, the muscles tight with effort. Your fingertips danced along the slick skin, feeling the power in every flex of his bicep as he pounded into you. The sensation of his cock filling you from this angle was exquisite, and you could feel your body responding, already building towards another peak.

Impatient, Andrei yanked you up by your arms, so you were on your knees, your breasts bouncing with each thrust. You moaned, your hands reaching back to grip his hips, your nails digging into his skin. He groaned, his movements growing more urgent. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, a testament to your passion.

"Harder," you gasped, your body begging for more. Andrei obliged, his strokes growing rougher, his grip on your hips tightening. You could feel his cock swell even further, his balls slapping against your clit with each powerful thrust. Your body was on fire, your orgasm building again.

Andrei leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth at your ear. "Khoroshiy?" he murmured in Russian, his voice sending shivers down your spine as he asked if you were good. You nodded, your body tightening as you approached the edge once more, unable to form words to respond to him.

He whispered something else you couldn’t process, and you felt him shift his angle, his cock brushing against that sensitive spot deep within you. A whiny moan escaped your lips, and your head fell back against your boyfriend's shoulder. Andrei’s breath grew ragged, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm that had your toes curling.

"Come for me," he demanded, his fingers trailing up to your throat once more. The gentle pressure was enough to send you spiraling over the edge, your body convulsing around his. Your scream of pleasure was broken as it fought its way through your constricted airway. Your soul practically left your body, the orgasm so intense it was almost painful. You could feel the fluid leaving your body, dampening the sheets as droplets landed on Andrei who simply grunted, his strokes never slowing.

"Andrei," you panted, your voice hoarse from screaming. He leaned down, kissing the side of your neck, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. "Ya lyublyu tebya, kisa," he murmured, his voice thick with passion.

"Love you," you hummed, your words faltering as you came down from your orgasm.

You felt his thumb tracing lazy circles against your pulse point. His other hand found your clit, his movements precise and demanding. Your body responded instantly, your hips bucking back to meet his. You could feel him smiling against your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

When you finally came back to Earth, you could feel Andrew’s cum sticking to your thighs. You collapsed onto the bed with a sigh, your legs quivering, your breathing ragged. "I didn’t even realize you came too," you murmured, turning to look at him over your shoulder.

Andrei pulled out, his cock glistening with your combined juices. He didn’t bother to cover himself as he stumbled over to the bathroom to clean up. When he returned, he was still hard, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his aroused state. You had never seen him like this before, so raw and needy. It was both interesting and exhilarating.

He climbed back onto the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He reached out, his hand grabbing the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads were touching. His voice was low and gruff as he whispered, "You think this is funny?"

Your smile grew wider, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "A little," you admitted. Andrei’s grip tightened, but you didn’t flinch, your own desire sparking for a brief second as you felt his length finally begin to soften against your leg.

"Legs," Andrei hummed, instructing you to open up so he could clean you up. You giggled, your cheeks flushed with pleasure and a hint of embarrassment, spreading your legs wider for him. His gentle touch and the cool cloth against your sensitive skin were a cool relief from the fiery passion you had just shared. He took his time, wiping away every trace of your lovemaking, his focus on taking care of you in the aftermath of your passion.

Once you were cleaned up, Andrei lay beside you, pulling you into his arms. His chest was still heaving, his heart racing from the intensity of your encounter. Your eyes drifted shut, a contented sigh escaping your lips as you felt the warmth of his body envelop you. His hand caressed your back, his thumb making soothing circles that had you melting into him.

The two of you lay there, basking in the afterglow, your skin sticky with sweat, the scent of sex heavy in the air. Andrei’s arm was wrapped around your waist, his leg thrown over yours in a possessive manner. You felt his breath against your neck, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. It was moments like these you cherished, the quiet moments after passion had taken over, when your bodies were still joined, your hearts beating as one.

“Why did you do this to me?” Andrei’s voice was a mix of playfulness and exasperation. You chuckled, turning your head to look at him.

“Me? Do this to you?” you replied, feigned innocence in your tone. You wiggled closer, your eyes sparkling to match the cheeky smile that graced your face. “You’re the one who started this whole 'No Nut November' thing. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t forgetting how good we are together.”

Andrei sighed, his hand tightening briefly around your waist before he leaned in to kiss your forehead. “I never forget, kisa,” he murmured, his voice thick with appreciation. You felt a warmth spread through you, his pet name for you a sweet reminder of his affection. You snuggled closer, enjoying the feeling of his arms around you.

For a moment, you lay in silence, the only sound the distant murmur of the Raleigh nightlife. Then Andrei spoke up, his tone more serious. “No more challenges for me.”

You raised an eyebrow, looking at him with a hint of skepticism. “What about your pride, Svech?” you teased, using his nickname.

“You are my pride, kisa,” he replied, his eyes never leaving yours. There was a vulnerability in his gaze that you hadn’t seen before, and it made your heart race.

You leaned up on your elbow, studying his face. “Really?” you whispered, your voice filled with wonder. Andrei nodded, his thumb brushing over your full bottom lip.

“You win, kisa. I can’t resist you, and I don’t want to.” His eyes searched yours, a silent promise in their depths. You felt your heart swell, the love you felt for him overwhelming you. You leaned in, your lips pressing to his in a gentle kiss. It was filled with all the love and passion you felt for this man who had stumbled into your life and turned it upside down in the best way possible.

Andrei’s arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, and deepening the kiss. His tongue slipped into your mouth, dancing with yours in a silent apology for his earlier stubbornness. You melted into the embrace, your bodies still humming together from the show of your love.

#&. cassie writes.#&. nnn masterlist.#andrei svechnikov #andrei svechnikov x reader #andrei svechnikov smut #carolina hurricanes #nhl imagine #nhl smut #hockey smut #x black reader #black!reader #black!oc #x black fem reader #black!fem!reader #nhl fic

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hanafubukki · 1 year ago

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Happy Birthday Malleus Draconia 💚💕

Summary: You kidnap Malleus Draconia.

Sebek knew it would be a tiring day when he saw a letter placed on his wardrobe table.

It had decorative little crocodiles and squirrels all over with his name written in your writing.

He could already feel a headache incoming.

He’ll wonder how you snuck into his room to place said letter later, he was more interested in the message you had to say.

“Dear Knight,

Your Lord has been kidnapped. He is mine for the day.

Mwah~

YN”

Sebek rushed out of his room, running to the Diasomnia waiting room where his lord would sit and enjoy tea at this time.

…only to be met with a giggling Lilia and a napping Silver.

“YN!”

“Did you have to tease Sebek?”

“It’s all in good fun Tsunotaro.”

“I see.”

While Malleus ponders your answer, you plopped down right next to him on the couch.

“What does this…kidnapping entail?”

You could tell Malleus was humoring you. He found this whole situation funny and yet intriguing.

“For you? Just sit there look pretty and enjoy all the snacks, games, and movies I have.”

Malleus laughed lowly, “YN, I do have duties to fulfill. I can’t just sit here.”

You shrugged, “One day without work won’t bring down your dorm. Besides, all work and no play make dragons go cranky.”

Malleus laughed freely and you joined him this time, “Is that so? Then I shall join in this activity with you.”

You laid the nearby comforter over you and Malleus before starting your T.V.

It would be a good day; you would make sure of it.

“This warrior does not speak?”

“Kind of. He talks he’s just not voice acted, but he does make sounds when you attack with him.”

“Interesting. A silent and courageous warrior who will save his kingdom and the princess.”

“Reminds you of someone?”

“This Link reminds me of Silver. They share many similar qualities.”

You joked, “Are you the princess then?”

“I am a prince, am I not?” Malleus replied, before softly continuing, “and Silver has saved me, from myself.”

You bumped your shoulder with his, “That’s love for you.”

“Yes, it is.”

“That crocodile and that pirate…”

“Funny, isn’t it?”

“Yes, especially as Kingscholar dressed as one during Halloween.”

“Does the crocodile remind you of Sebek?”

The glint in Malleus' eyes answered your question.

You can only imagine Sebek's reaction if he knew, “Well with the way Sebek is always barking at Leona, I can't blame you for thinking it.”

Ah, you were going to hold this over Sebek's head forever.

“Those fairies should have never been given the child.”

“Yeah…”

“They haven’t properly fed her, even Lilia knew to feed a baby!”

“Yeah.”

“She almost fell off the cliff!”

“I know. They suck.”

You tugged at Malleus’ hair, “At least she had someone to take care of her, two of them in fact.”

Malleus calmed down knowing exactly to whom you referred, “Yes, those days were filled with laughter and warmth even amidst the chaos. How…nostalgic.”

Malleus leaned towards you; a mischievous glint in his eyes, it reminded you of a certain pink-streaked fae, “Want to hear an embarrassing story grandmother told me about Lilia?”

“Yes! I’m all ears!”

You watched as Tsunotaro enjoyed Toothless and Hiccup's adventures.

You knew he would like this series.

You wondered how Sam had the trilogy.

…you would question him thoroughly later.

You were content to watch Tsunotaro be happy.

His family is never far from his thoughts as he is never far from theirs.

You felt happy to be part of his family.

“YN, is there a reason to why we are making cupcakes this late at night?”

He didn’t know.

You hid your smile as you put the tray of goodies into the oven.

Malleus must have enjoyed his day if he forgot why tonight would be special.

“Anytime is a good time for cupcakes, just like how you can have ice cream even during winter.”

“I thought it was easier for human’s teeth to decay due to late night sugary treats?”

“We’ll be fine! Just make sure to brush your teeth and don’t tell Trey -senpai.”

You went over to the nearby drawer. The confetti poppers were there as planned, just a few more minutes before the time came, so you snuck them into your pocket discreetly.

“Let’s go play more Zelda.”

You and Malleus moved towards the lounge; you eyed the hallway clock on the way.

Less than a minute.

You took out the poppers from your pocket.

“Malleus?”

“Yes?”

You pulled the poppers out just as he entered the ramshackle lounge.

3…2…1

“Happy Birthday (Lord) Malleus!”

Malleus was shocked as confetti rained on him from all sides.

Lilia, Silver, Sebek, and you surrounded him as the day turned over.

His surprised face broke into a wide smile before an unrestrained joyous laughter filled the lounge.

What a beautiful start to today.

The day Malleus Draconia was born.

A day filled with endless love.

Happy Birthday Malleus.

Resounded affectionately in all the hearts of everyone present.

May you always be filled with happiness and love.

Bonus:

Silver came to you as you watch Lilia bear hug Malleus. It was funny how someone so petite wrapped all four limbs on someone so tall.

Silver hesitated.

You knew.

“He baked a cake, didn’t he?”

Silver sighed, “Yes. We tried to stop him.”

You laughed and shook your head.

“It’s okay. Toxic waste it might be, but it is something Lilia made with him in mind. Malleus will love it nonetheless.”

You bumped shoulders with Silver, whispering, “We made cupcakes.”

Silver’s grateful smile had you hugging him.

No one will get food poisoning today, not on your watch.

You hoped.

☺️🌺🌸💚

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goldsainz · 2 months ago

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# MV33 — DE WARMTE VAN KERSTMIS !

MASTERLIST !

SERIES MASTERLIST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ as christmas gift you give max the greatest news of all time.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ talks about pregnancy.

003. NOTE !

✯ last part of the christmas sries! i hope that you all had a wonderful christmas if you celebrate and if not that yiu had a lovely holiday season.

word count : 2,1k

The cabin was exactly what you had pictured when Max had suggested spending Christmas in the countryside—a perfect blend of rustic charm and homely warmth. The logs that made up its walls bore the weathered marks of many winters, and the large windows offered a picturesque view of the snow-covered landscape outside. Fluffy white flakes clung to the branches of towering evergreens, and a small wooden fence encircled the property, dusted in a glittering layer of snow that shimmered in the moonlight.

Inside, the warmth from the crackling fireplace wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, and soft candlelight flickered against the wooden beams above, casting gentle shadows that danced in the cozy room. The scent of traditional Dutch dishes such as the rich, hearty erwtensoep and the faint sweetness of freshly baked kerststol—wafted through the air, blending perfectly with the woodsy aroma of the fire. The table was set simply but beautifully, with rustic wooden plates and a centerpiece of evergreen sprigs and bright red berries.

As you and Max sat down to dinner, the quietness of the setting seemed to work its magic on him. His usually intense features, so accustomed to the pressures of his fast-paced life, softened under the golden glow of the firelight. His broad shoulders, so often tense from the weight of expectations, appeared to relax as he leaned back slightly in his chair.

“Is this what Christmas feels like for you?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence as you picked at a piece of the kerststol on your plate.

Max paused, glancing toward the fire as if gathering his thoughts. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a subtle but genuine expression that made your chest feel a little warmer. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low but certain. “Just simple. No noise, no chaos. Just... calm.”

He reached for his glass, taking a sip of the wine you had brought along, and you couldn’t help but study his face in the firelight. There was something unguarded about him in this moment, something rare and precious. It wasn’t often that he let himself slow down enough to simply be. Here, in this cabin away from the spotlight, you saw a version of Max that felt like a secret, shared only with you.

“You like that, don’t you?” you teased softly, a playful smile on your lips. “The calm.”

He gave a small shrug, though his smile lingered. “I don’t get it often,” he admitted, his tone carrying a weight of honesty that made your heart ache a little. “But, yeah. I like it.”

After dinner, you both settled by the fire, the flames casting a golden light over the room. Max handed you a steaming mug of hot chocolate, his fingers lingering against yours for a moment. You couldn’t help but notice how his usual seriousness seemed to melt away in this setting. He leaned back, one arm resting along the couch behind you, the other cradling his own mug.

As you chatted about everything from childhood Christmases to his latest racing season, you couldn’t help but marvel at how different Max seemed tonight. There was a quiet ease about him, a softness that emerged only when the weight of his fast-paced world was left behind. His laughter came more freely, a warm, low sound that resonated in the cozy space. His blue eyes glimmered with a rare kind of light, a mix of amusement and contentment that made your heart swell.

“You’re different tonight,” you teased, leaning into his side and nudging him gently.

“Different how?” he asked, one eyebrow arching slightly as he turned his head to look at you.

“Less grumpy,” you said with a cheeky grin.

That earned you a soft chuckle, his lips curving into a smirk. “Don’t get used to it,” he shot back, though the humor in his voice betrayed the truth—he liked this, too.

The fire crackled softly in the background, the warmth of it wrapping around both of you like a blanket. It felt like the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving only the two of you in this perfect little bubble. You could feel your heart beating a little faster, a mix of nervousness and excitement coursing through you as you thought about what you’d been holding onto all evening.

The moment felt perfect, and you decided it was time. Taking a steadying breath, you reached into your bag and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box. The sight of it in your hands caught Max’s attention, and his gaze shifted from your face to the gift with a spark of curiosity.

“For you,” you said softly, holding it out to him.

He hesitated for a moment, his brows knitting together in mild confusion, before he reached out to take it. “What’s this?” he asked, his voice a little wary but touched with genuine interest.

“You’ll see,” you replied, your heart thudding against your ribs as he began unwrapping the gift with careful fingers.

The paper fell away, revealing a small, folded baby shirt in soft white cotton. Across the front, in delicate letters, were the words: Future Verstappen Racer.

Max froze, his hands still holding the shirt as he stared at it. His eyes flickered with a mix of emotions—shock, realization, and something deep and unspoken that made his expression soften. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at the tiny shirt as though trying to fully grasp what it meant.

“You’re going to be a dad,” you whispered, breaking the silence. Your voice wavered slightly, the weight of the moment catching up to you.

Max finally looked up at you, his face still a mixture of awe and tenderness. “I... I don’t even know what to say,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. His fingers brushed over the fabric of the shirt as though it were the most fragile thing in the world.

A small, almost shy smile began to form on his lips. Setting the shirt gently on the table beside him, Max reached for your hands, pulling you closer. His thumbs brushed over your knuckles as he met your gaze with an intensity that made your breath catch. “You’ve just given me the best Christmas I could have ever imagined,” he murmured.

His hands moved to your face, cradling it gently as he leaned in. His lips brushed against yours in a kiss that was soft yet filled with the weight of everything he was feeling. The warmth of the fire seemed to pale in comparison to the warmth between the two of you in that moment.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with your own. Max stayed close, his eyes searching yours as though trying to memorize every detail of this moment. The firelight cast a soft glow across his face, accentuating the tenderness in his expression. Slowly, he reached out to set the baby shirt down carefully on the table beside him, handling it with the same reverence one might give a priceless treasure.

His hands found yours again, his fingers threading through yours as he looked at you with a rare vulnerability that made your heart ache. “I know I’m not good with words,” he began, his voice steady but soft, each syllable laced with sincerity. “But I wanted to give you something that reminds me of you. Something to show you how much you mean to me.”

You watched as he reached into his pocket, your curiosity piqued by the small object he pulled out. He opened his hand to reveal a delicate silver pendant, shaped like a racing helmet. Its surface gleamed in the firelight, and as he turned it slightly, you noticed the engraving on its side—the date you first met.

“I had it made for you,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. He placed the pendant in your hand, his fingers lingering against your palm. “So you always know you’re with me, no matter where I go. No matter how far.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as you stared down at the charm. The simplicity of it, paired with the thoughtfulness behind the gesture, struck a chord deep within you. It wasn’t just a gift; it was a piece of him, a reminder of the bond you shared and the love that had brought you both to this moment.

“You’re incredible,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire.

Max smiled—a small, soft smile that lit up his entire face. Without another word, he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours in a kiss that spoke of promises, love, and the unshakable connection between you. The warmth of the fire seemed to pale in comparison to the heat of his kiss, the way it melted away every worry and left only the two of you in the cocoon of the cabin.

When the kiss ended, Max rested his forehead against yours again, his hands cupping your face as though he never wanted to let go. His thumb brushed away a stray tear on your cheek, and he let out a soft laugh, almost as if he couldn’t believe how perfect this moment was.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice filled with emotion. “For this. For... everything. I didn’t think I could ever feel this happy.”

You smiled through your tears, leaning into his touch. “You make me happy too, Max. More than I can put into words.”

As the fire crackled softly, wrapping the room in its golden glow, you and Max stayed close, lost in the intimacy of the moment. His hands remained on your face, his thumbs gently brushing your cheeks, as though he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.

Outside, the snow fell steadily, blanketing the world in a serene hush, but inside, the warmth was almost tangible. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a sound that felt as comforting as the cozy cabin around you. Max’s arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer, his chin resting lightly on top of your head.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with emotion, “this is all I’ve ever wanted. A quiet moment like this, with you, where nothing else matters.”

Your lips curled into a smile as you tilted your head to look up at him. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted too.”

Max’s eyes softened, his gaze filled with a depth of emotion that left you breathless. “I used to think Christmas didn’t mean much,” he admitted. “It was just another day, really. But now, with you, it’s different. It feels... special.”

You reached up to cup his cheek, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “That’s because you are special, Max. To me, to us.” Your other hand moved instinctively to your belly, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed.

He placed his hand gently over yours, his thumb brushing over your fingers in a way that made your heart swell. “I’m going to do everything I can to be a good dad,” he said quietly, his tone full of determination. “And an even better partner to you.”

You leaned up to kiss him again, your lips meeting his in a tender, lingering embrace. The world outside seemed to fade away entirely, leaving only the warmth of the fire, the love in his eyes, and the quiet promise of the life you were building together.

Eventually, you both settled back on the couch, your legs tangled together as you curled up beneath a thick, knit blanket. The baby shirt and silver pendant sat on the table nearby, tiny symbols of the future you were so excited to share.

Max’s hand found yours once more, his fingers threading through yours as he held you close. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple.

“Merry Christmas, Max,” you replied, your voice filled with love.

The cabin grew quieter as the fire began to die down, leaving the room bathed in a soft, amber glow. Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in a peaceful silence. And in that moment, nestled together in the warmth of each other’s arms, you knew you’d never felt more at home.

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requiemforthepoets · 2 months ago

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señor ginger 𖦹 CS55

PAIRINGS: carlos sainz x female!reader

SUMMARY: just you, carlos, your daughter gabriela, and her señor ginger.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, named daughter, food (gingerbread cookies), typos, and few gramatical errors

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hiii. as you all know, i’m taking a break and been practicing to write in my own pace, but i can’t help but post something christmas related one shot! so this is the first one—a carlos one shot! also, i’m working on the my series as well, hoping that i get to finish and post a new part before 2025. i’ve been writing whenever i get ideas, but i’m taking my time as well so i can’t wait to post it soon. i’ve managed to write a few for lando, but i’m 50/50 about it lol. as for the requests, it will be vvvv slow but i’m working on it too. i hope you’ll enjoy this one!

The crisp Swiss air welcomed you as you strolled through the mall with Carlos, your fingers entwined with his. The polished floors reflected the warm glow of holiday lights, and soft carols played faintly in the background, adding to the cozy atmosphere. Ahead of you, Gabriela bounced with uncontainable energy, her little boots tapping against the tiles. Her curls bobbed with her movement, and every now and then she would turn to you both with a wide grin, her excitement evident in her sparkling eyes.

“Mamá! Papá! Look!” she exclaimed, pointing toward a quaint bakery adorned with festive decorations.

The window display showcased an array of intricately designed gingerbread men and tiny, colorful gingerbread houses, each one of them looking like they belonged in a fairytale. Without waiting for a response, Gabriela darted forward, her tiny hands pressed against the glass as she peered inside.

“Careful, cariño.” Carlos called out, voice laced with amusement and mild concern.

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, and you exchanged a knowing smile before following her. When you reached her, Gabriela spun around to face you, her cheeks flushed from all the excitement.

“Mamá! Papá! Can we buy one? Please?” she pleaded, her wide eyes impossible to resist.

“Okay, which one do you want, solntse?” you asked softly. She pressed a finger to her lips, scrutinizing the display with all the seriousness of a child making the most important decision of her life.

“That one!” she declared finally, pointing to a gingerbread man decorated with a bright red scarf and tiny buttons. “He’s the prettiest!” Carlos chuckled, stepping forward to open the bakery door for the two of you.

“Prettiest? You mean handsomest, no?” he teased, ruffling Gabriela’s hair as she followed you inside.

“No, Papa!” Gabriela giggled, shaking her head. “He’s pretty! Look at his scarf!” she insisted, her tone firm as she held her ground.

The warmth of the bakery enveloped you, carrying the scent of cinnamon and freshly baked bread. A friendly staff member approached with a bright smile.

“What a lovely family,” they said, their eyes softening when they looked at Gabriela. “And what a gorgeous little girl!”

Gabriela beamed at the compliment, standing a little taller, face pressed on the glass counter, her breath fogging the glass slightly as she examined the colorful array of gingerbread men.

“I want the gingerbread man with the red scarf, please!” she said confidently, pointing at her chosen treat.

The staff member chuckled, carefully retrieving the gingerbread man and wrapping it in delicate parchment paper. “Good choice! He’s one of our favorites too. Do you like gingerbread, sweetheart?”

Gabriela nodded enthusiastically. “Uh huh! He’s my new friend!”

“Such a little sweetheart,” the staff member cooed, her eyes twinkling as she looked at Gabriela. “Enjoy your gingerbread man, sweetheart.”

“Thank you!” Gabriela chirped, voice bright as she accepted the bag with both hands. She then turned back to you and threw her arms around you, hugging you tightly. “Merci, Mamá! Merci, Papá!”

“Okay, you’re welcome mi amor.” Carlos replied warmly, brushing a stray hair from her forehead. He stood and handed his card to the staff member, who smiled and nodded as she completed the transaction.

“Have a wonderful day!” the staff called as you exited the bakery, Gabriela skipping happily ahead of you with her prized gingerbread man in hand.

Outside, Gabriela twirled in delight, singing a little song she had improvised on the spot. “Gingy is my friend, gingy is so sweet, he has a red scarf, and shiny little feet!”

You and Carlos exchanged glances, both of you barely suppressing laughter as her song grew more elaborate.

“She’s quite a songwriter.” you said, leaning into Carlos as you walked side by side again.

“She’s something else.” Carlos murmured, slipping his arm around your waist.

“Well, she definitely takes after you.” you teased, earning a playful nudge from him.

Gabriela spun back towards you, holding the gingerbread man up as if introducing him to you both. “His name is Señor Ginger! Isn’t he cute, Mamá?”

“He’s adorable,” you agreed, crouching down to admire the little cookie. “And I think he’s lucky to have you.”

Gabriela beamed before running back to Carlos. “Papá, do you like Señor Ginger?”

Carlos scooped her up effortlessly, holding her close as she giggled. “I think Señor Ginger is the luckiest gingerbread man in the world,” he said with a grin. “But you know what’s even better than gingerbread?”

“What is it, Papá?” Gabriela asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

He leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “When Señor Ginger gets to meet a glass of milk.”

“Papá!” Gabriela’s laughter rang out again as she wrapped her arms around Carlos, her excitement bubbling over. “You’re very silly!”

Gabriela kept babbling about Señor Ginger with a mix of giggles and how he’s the best gingerbread man ever, her endless chatter filling up the air. Watching her with happiness, Carlos pressed a quick kiss to your temple.

“This is the best kind of day, no?” he murmured, eyes lingering on yours.

You smiled, your heart full. “It really is.”

Later that night, the dinner was peaceful. The soft hum of conversation between you and Carlos, and clinking of plates and silverware filling the air. Gabriela finished her meal faster than either of you, she pushed her plate away, and wiped her mouth with her napkin with a satisfied sigh, legs swinging beneath her chair. She then looked up at you with those wide, sparkling hazel eyes.

“Mamá,” she began sweetly, voice carrying a note of hope, “can I please eat my gingerbread man now?”

“Alright, but you have to be careful not to make a mess, okay?” you said as you stood up to retrieve the gingerbread man from the counter.

“Okay, Mamá!” Gabriela’s face lit up as she wriggled in her seat, eagerly waiting for her treat.

You returned with the carefully gingerbread man, sitting back down beside her as you carefully opened the festive packaging.

“Here you go,” you said as she squealed in delight, then the cookie on her plate, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Make sure you use your plate to catch the crumbs, so we don’t have any little ant trails later, alright?”

“Yes, Mamá. I promise!” she said, her tiny hands gently cradling the gingerbread man before taking her first excited bite.

You watched as she chewed happily, legs swinging under the table, and humming. Carlos leaned in, with his arms crossed on top of the table, his gaze fixed on Gabriela.

“Is it good, princesa?” he asked, voice soft and curious.

“Yes, Papá!” she nodded enthusiastically. “It’s a very yummy cookie!” Gabriela held up the gingerbread man proudly, but you couldn’t help noticing something.

“Solntse,” you said, trying to keep your voice light, “who are you eating?”

“My gingerbread man,” she said matter-of-factly, holding the cookie up for you to see. The head of the cookie was already missing, a clean bite taken out of it.

“Oh no! Señor Ginger!” you exclaimed dramatically, putting a hand over your mouth in mock surprise. “He doesn’t have a head anymore!”

Carlos, catching on to your game immediately, glanced at you with a knowing look, his lips twitching as he tried his best not to laugh. Gabriela looked down at her cookie, brows furrowing slightly as she began to process your words.

“Awe, bye bye Señor Ginger,” you continued, tone playful. “Señor Ginger doesn’t have his head anymore. Solntse, who ate Señor Ginger’s head?” you asked, voice filled with mock seriousness.

Gabriela’s lip began to tremble as she stared at the headless cookie in her hands. Her big, round hazel eyes started to glisten with unshed tears.

“Mamá…” she whispered, voice breaking. Carlos couldn’t hold back a quiet chuckle, shaking his head softly.

“Don’t cry, mi amor,” he said, leaning in closer to her. “It’s food, remember? Señor Ginger is supposed to be eaten.”

You leaned forward, voice gentle but teasing, asking her, “is the cookie good, solntse?”

She nodded slowly, lips still trembling as a tear slid down her cheek. Gabriela did not answer, she just bit into the cookie again, her small sniffles tugging at your heartstrings.

“Then why are you crying, mon chou?” you asked softly, reaching over to brush her cheek.

Gabriela didn’t respond, her eyes fixed on her plate as she took another careful bite, her little fingers clutching the gingerbread man tightly.

Carlos’ voice was soothing as he tried to comfort her. “Hey, it’s okay, mi amor. Señor Ginger is happy in your tummy now. He’ll give you lots of energy so you can play tomorrow, okay?” he wiped the tear mark stains on her cheeks. “No more crying, princesa.”

She sniffed again, glancing up at him with wide, watery eyes. Gabriela nodded, finally calming down enough to take another bite, though her pout remained.

“Can Mamá have a bite?” you asked as you leaned in, reaching a hand toward her plate.

“No!” she declared firmly as she pulled the cookie closer to her chest, eyes narrowing protectively.

Both you and Carlos burst into laughter, the sound echoing throughout the room and melting away Gabriela’s remaining tears.

“I guess Señor Ginger is all hers.” Carlos said, grinning at you as you shook your head in amusement.

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airybcby · 6 days ago

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જ⁀♡⊹｡° i grew up into something good

( michael kaiser x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — for my childhood friends to lovers series! ( please note: i read back through the manga and scoured the internet and couldn't find definite ages on kaiser's past- so i may have got it wrong !)

♡ word count — 1.1k

♡ content — michael kaiser x reader, fem! reader, TW! mentions of abuse ( both kaiser and reader ), SPOILERS! for kaiser's past, nickname 'liebe' used once, goes from ages 8 to 19, slight angst?, slight fluff, childhood friends to lovers

♡ synopsis — you were michael kaiser's god given solace, but were you enough to make him stay?

Snowflakes swirled in the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp, the cold gnawing at your exposed skin like a starving animal.

The bruises on your arms and legs throbbed, but they weren’t new. Pain had become as familiar to you as breathing, as inevitable as the cycle of being dragged down and getting back up again.

You walked through the slush-covered pavement barefoot, having been thrown out before you could grab your shoes. Your fingers curled into the sleeves of your too-thin sweater, trying to keep the warmth in, but it was no use.

The winter night bit into your bones, and your body trembled from more than just the cold.

And then you saw him.

A boy, barely eight years old, sitting alone on the rusted swings of the abandoned park down the street.

His lip was split, a bruise already darkening along his cheekbone, and his hands were stuffed into the pockets of a jacket too thin to fight off the winter wind.

His breath came in short, shallow puffs, and even from a distance, you could see the glint of unshed tears in his bright blue eyes.

For a long moment, you just stood there, watching. Because you knew.

You knew what he felt. The sting of rejection, the loneliness that pressed against your ribs like a crushing weight.

The pain of being born into a world that decided you were unwanted before you even had a chance to prove otherwise.

And somehow, he knew too.

“…Hey.” His voice cracked from the cold as you stepped closer, his head tilting slightly. His eyes flickered over your bruises, the red marks on your skin, the way you hugged yourself like you were trying to disappear.

Without a word, you sat on the swing next to him. The chains creaked under your weight, a sharp sound in the silence.

He didn’t ask where you came from. You didn’t ask why he was here.

You simply existed together. Two broken children, sitting in the dead of winter, finding warmth in each other’s presence.

That was the first night you met Michael Kaiser.

And from that night on, you were never apart.

At thirteen, the weight of your shared existence became heavier.

You had each other—that was all that mattered. In a world that had discarded you, the two of you had carved out a place where you could just be. Where the bruises didn’t matter, where the cruel words faded into nothing.

But the world was relentless.

You still had to go to school, while Kaiser roamed the streets, making money however he could, playing soccer like his life depended on it—because, in some ways, it did.

He lived without structure, without rules, without an escape plan. His future was a black void, stretching endlessly in every direction, and you were the only light in it.

“Why don’t you just quit?” he asked one afternoon, sitting on the rooftop of an old apartment building where you sometimes hid out together. A soccer ball sat beside him, spinning idly under his fingers. “School’s a waste of time, anyway.”

“I want to go to university, Micha.”

Something about the certainty in your voice made him pause. You had never sounded like that before—so sure, so determined.

He scoffed, leaning back on his hands. “More school? For what?”

You peeled off your blazer, revealing fresh bruises underneath.

He was the only one you ever let see them.

“I want to be a doctor,” you said simply. “To help people when they’re hurt.”

For the first time in his life, Kaiser felt small.

Because you believed in something. Because you had a dream. And as ridiculous as it was, as impossible as it seemed, he wanted to believe in something too.

It was in that moment that Michael Kaiser realized he loved you.

At fourteen, he kissed you for the first time.

It was his birthday.

To his father, it was just another year spent stuck with a child he never wanted.

To Kaiser, it was another step closer to getting away. One more year survived. One more year closer to freedom—or death. He hadn’t decided which yet.

To you, though, it was the day Michael Kaiser was born into this world. And for that, you were thankful.

You found him at the park, the same place where you had first met, holding a single bread roll with a candle stabbed into it.

You had stolen the candle—and maybe the lighter too—but that didn’t matter.

“What’s that for?” Kaiser asked, amused, as you plopped down next to him.

“I couldn’t find any cake,” you admitted sheepishly. “But you have to make a wish on your birthday. That’s how it works.”

Rolling his eyes, he blew out the candle, and you beamed.

“What’d you wish for?” you asked, voice full of childlike wonder.

Kaiser didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned forward, his breath warm against your lips, and kissed you.

It was soft, hesitant, uncertain. The first good thing he had ever been given in his life.

“What was the wish?” you whispered when he pulled away.

He looked at you, eyes burning with something you didn’t yet understand.

“That,” he murmured. “You. For you to be with me forever.”

At fifteen, he left.

Ray Dark came into his life like a promise, like a lifeline, like the devil disguised as salvation. He was everything Kaiser had ever wanted—a ticket out, a future worth something.

“This man is going to change my life,” Kaiser told you, voice filled with something close to hope.

You weren’t dating. Not really. But you had kissed each other more times than you could count, fallen asleep tangled together, breathed the same air as if it was the only thing keeping you alive.

And now, he was leaving.

“What about…” The words died in your throat.

What about me? you wanted to beg for an answer.

“What about what?” he pressed, tilting his head closer.

What about us? your heart screamed.

You swallowed hard. “Never mind.”

He sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Liebe, don’t cry,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’ll be back. I’d never leave you.”

He kissed you then—deeper, more meaningful than ever before. And the next morning, he was gone.

You waited. You waited for years.

At nineteen, you saw him again.

Not in person. On a television screen, in the common area of your dorm.

His hair was different—shorter, the ends dyed electric blue. A tattoo curled around his skin like a brand, like a reminder of who he had become.

He wasn’t the boy you knew anymore. He was Michael Kaiser, the star of Bastard München.

You stood frozen, staring, as the commentator sang his praises. The people around you cheered.

Tears slipped down your cheeks before you even realized they had started.

I’ll be back. I’d never leave you.

But he had.

And maybe you couldn’t even blame him.

Because Michael Kaiser had made it out. And he had left you behind in order to save himself.

And somehow, even after all these years—after all the promises and all the distance—you still weren’t sure whether that was something you could ever forgive.

do i dislike kaiser? sort of. is he still one of my favorite characters to write for? hell yeah.

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

#★ · airybcbyy #airy posts #bllk #blue lock #michael kaiser #kaiser #kaiser x reader #bllk x reader #bllk kaiser #bllk michael kaiser #blue lock x reader #blue lock kaiser #micheal kaiser #airy cries

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lnfours · 3 months ago

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focal point ☆ chapter 1 | l.n

summary: being an art student is all fun and games until you need someone to be a model for your final project, which just so happens to be a portrait painting. especially when the only person who’s available is your best friend’s obnoxious roommate.

warnings: art student!reader, best friend/college student!oscar, college student!lando, slight enemies to lovers!au, slight grumpy x sunshine, lando is the definition of cocky, reader and lando bicker like an old married couple and oscar is so sick of their shit.

jordans notes: hello everyone, and welcome to chapter 1 of ‘focal point’! i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it! as always, sending you all my love xx

series masterlist | listen to the playlist

“oscar, please,”

it was tuesday, the crisp fall air making you regret throwing on the thin sweater you had picked out this morning before your first lecture. wishing you had chosen the thicker one you had debated on throwing on beforehand. but it didn’t look as good with the pair of jeans you had picked out, and well, priorities.

oscar sighed, pressing the fob against the reader on the front door of his building. the same one you followed him to every tuesday and thursday afternoon after your shared class, a ritual that took place your second year. later on, you’d both hit the cafe on campus to study and do homework together, a nice little routine. the only routine that you really had in your otherwise chaotic, on campus life.

“i really wish i could, but i seriously can’t,” he said, holding the door open for you before you practically ran inside for warmth. winter was slowly approaching, and the cold settling in the air was its first sign of dominance.

“i’ll literally pay you.” you said, pressing the button for the third floor. the doors closed as oscar shook his head.

“i don’t want your money,” he let out a soft chuckle before the doors opened up to his floor, “like i said earlier, professor johnson is giving us projects and tests damn near every week. my econ professor just assigned us a group project that i have to get done in two weeks, on top of all of that, i have so much other work for my classes. i just seriously don’t have the time.”

the keys jingled into the lock to his on campus apartment, the door pushing open. you stepped inside the apartment that hadn’t changed much over the last 3 years you’ve known him. a very simple, boyish decor that was somehow still kept clean. you couldn’t recall a time where the apartment looked like it actually belonged to two college boys.

“but everyone else has said no already. you were my last hope,” you sighed, putting your bag down before flopping onto the couch.

“last hope for what? getting a guy to take you out? if so, that’s really, really sad.”

the british voice echoed through the room and instantly made you roll your eyes. lando norris, oscar’s incredibly obnoxious roommate. you had questioned oscar often on why he was friends with someone as annoying and so full of himself as lando, but whenever he was asked, oscar would simply just say ‘he’s not that bad’ and leave it at that.

however, you liked to disagree.

“what’re you doing here?”

“i live here,” he replied back, “shouldn’t i be asking you that question?”

“it’s tuesday,” you replied, and it looks could kill, he’d be dead in the kitchen instead of making whatever concoction you’re sure he’d try to convince you was good if you asked what it was.

“oh yeah, your little play date,” he said, mixing around the mystery contents in the bowl in his hand, “whatever it is, glad i’m out of it.”

“no one asked you to join us anyway.”

“it hasn’t even been five minutes,” oscar sighed, “both of you, just shut up.”

lando smirked at the expression on your face. one of complete dislike and pure hatred. you eyed him as he ate the granola and… is that an egg?

“i’m going to my room, you kids have fun with your... whatever it is you two do.”

you groaned once the brit was out of the room, “how do you live with him? genuinely asking.”

oscar shook his head, “maybe if you two tried to get along, you would see that he really isn’t that bad.”

“i think pigs would start flying if we ever got along.”

“a man can dream,” he sighed, “you ready? i’m in desperate need of caffeine, and maybe a cheese danish.”

“but i’m so comfortable right now,”

“i’ll buy your coffee if you get up.”

you grabbed your bag off the floor, springing up from the couch before making your way towards the front door, “okay, let’s go,”

“yeah, that’s what i thought.”

the sun had set by the time you made your way back to your own apartment. the warm shower you had took put your body at ease, relaxing your muscles after the long day that you had. you threw your towel into the laundry basket in the corner of the room as your phone lit up with a text message.

8889991034 heard you need help with a final project, and lucky for you, i have some free time on my hands 😌

you furrowed your eyebrows reading the text, typing back a response.

sorry, do i know you?

you don't have my number saved? honestly, not surprised, but damn.. i think we've hit a new low it's lando

yeah, absolutely NOT do me a favor, kiss my ass and lose my number 🙂

fine, i won’t help you then 🤷🏻‍♂️

first of all, jokes on you, i don't need your help. i've found someone else. second of all, don't act like you're trying to do me a solid. clearly there's something in it for you

you were lying. you hadn't found someone else, but the idea of having to spend time with lando was uninteresting in the slightest. you were almost positive that eating glass was more tempting then spending even just a minute with him.

i mean, yeah, the whole 'you scratch my back, i scratch yours' kinda thing look, i didn't want to go to oscar since he has enough on his plate, but i'm failing econ. i was hoping, since you're like a bookworm or whatever, you'd help tutor me if i helped you with your final project i mean, plus, who wouldn't want to paint this gorgeous face? 😏

you rolled your eyes, swiping from the text messages with lando before clicking on oscar's name on your screen. your fingers were moving a mile a minute, shaking your head as you pressed send.

sleep with one eye open, piastri.

your best friend was quick to read the message, sending back a reply that made you groan.

okay, but do you mind telling me what i did?

YOU GAVE LANDO MY NUMBER?!

uhm... 😅 coffee on me thursday?

i hate you.

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darklordofthesimp · 15 days ago

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Anything IX

The 9th instalment in the Anything-Verse

Main Masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8

Like the characters? Read their fics below!

Sunshine Masterlist || Saint Masterlist

Series Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

A/N: I'm back for good this time cos I bailed out of my trash job of 6 years hello mferssss

Warning: Graphic Language, Graphic description of violence

You’d been thinking about your past more often than usual, especially on the nights that you lay staring at your ceiling. Saint told you that it was a sign that you’d begun to move on. The villain that had consumed your thoughts was now a tentative ally and you’d been left with history seeping through the cracks.

You were almost grateful.

Almost.

You thought about your career before the incident, about the missions that went impossibly wrong. Death, grief, sorrow, hatred, and guilt, they weren’t things that you experienced alone. Shared pain eased the blow- you weren’t the only one suffering and, in a way, that provided comfort.

However, the mission that truly plagued you was a mission so highly classified that there were only four people who still knew of it. There were only four people who survived it.

“You and me, Birdy.

We’re dead.”

You sat up in your bed, mind kicking into overdrive. The dim light on your wrist indicated that it was well past midnight but your blood was electrified.

You’d been so preoccupied with what had happened to you that you’d stopped thinking about what you’d done. Why had someone tried to kill you, you had to have done something. You had to have known something.

“We’re dead.”

You pulled your duvet from your body, the cool air washing against your skin to make it prickle. Winter was, by far, the worst month to live on base. The heating units in your block were terrible and outdated with the empty promise of upgrades. You slid into your slippers and ventured into the hallway, palms rubbing up and down the length of your arms.

Your feet were on auto-pilot as they led you to the door of the last person you’d expect to seek out. There was no light seeping out from beneath cracks and you couldn’t hear a sound from inside. He might not have even been home, it was a Saturday night after all- no one was in. Not even Simon, and that was saying something.

You shifted your weight on your heels, wincing when the floorboard creaked under the pressure. It couldn’t hurt to knock. Or it could, you supposed. You had no idea why you were here, knocking on his door at 2am in the morning was unhinged behaviour.

You took a step back from the door, another creak betraying your position. This was a dumb idea. You could talk to him in the morning like a normal, functioning human being would.

The door swung open suddenly, forcing your heart into your throat.

König’s hulking silhouette filled the frame, shadowed and imposing. He barely fit through the door as he stepped into the corridor, the dim warmth of the ceiling fixtures washing over his figure.

You quickly realised that he’d been asleep as you took in his visage. Sleep tousled hair, a vulnerable gaze, König stood before you shirtless in long tracksuit pants. You forced your eyes to remain fixed to his face as he looked you up and down.

“Birdy?” He rasped, scrubbing his face lazily with one hand, the other resting on his hip. “Why are you lurking at my door?”

Indignant heat crawled from your neck and into your cheeks. “I wasn’t lurking, I was about to knock.”

König narrowed his eyes, silently telling you that he knew you were lying. You changed the topic, crossing your arms defensively.

“I just wanted to talk about something, I didn’t realise how late it was.” You cast a glance down the hall where you’d come from. “Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep, we can talk in the morning.”

As you turned to leave, hot with embarrassment, König sighed.

“Birdy.” He called.

You peeked at him tentatively from over your shoulder.

The man opened his door and gestured inside. Your breath hitched in your throat, the room behind him was dark. That jade gaze watched you tiredly but with intent. He wasn’t going anywhere with you, this time you would have to come to him.

“Are you sure?” You asked quietly.

You received a nod in reply.

With a sharp breath and squared shoulders, you wandered cautiously into the lion’s den. Your bare skin brushed against his waist as you passed him, sending a thrill down the length of your spine.

A floor lamp turned on behind you, flooding the room in a warm, sensual glow. You barely heard the door click shut, you were too busy taking in the room before you. It was nothing like you’d been expecting, furnished and decorated with a surprising attention to detail.

The room smelt lightly fragrant, as though incense was lit frequently enough to linger. You caught sight of candles on the desk to your left, ‘cedar wood and myrrh’. That would do it.

The corner of your lip quirked upward at his library/gaming corner. A dark wood shelving unit housed a plethora of his books and a gaming console, then a flat screen mounted in the centre. Bean bags were neatly organised atop a dark rug, you figured they would be more comfortable for him than an inevitably too small couch.

A game was still playing on the screen, the character standing inactive in their own world.

“Were you playing?” You turned to look at König, who seemed very suddenly uncomfortable.

“No,” he cleared his throat and cast his gaze to the floor. “No, I fell asleep while playing.”

Your eyes were drawn to the bed last.

“That’s a big bed.” You don’t know why you said it.

“I’m a big guy.” Was the reply.

The bed was tall, something you would have to climb onto if it were your own. There was a large, dark wooden headboard pressed against the back wall, framing the bed like it was the main feature of the room. Dark silk pillows adorned the matching silk bed sheets, and you could only imagine how comfortable they would be on your skin.

You turned to face König who had put a shirt on somewhere amidst your gawking at his home.

“I didn’t think your room would be so…” You trailed off, gesturing at the space around you.

“Delicate?” He offered, self deprecation ringing through his tone.

“Nice,” you finished. “I was going to say nice.”

A small smile finally graced his lips, the first one you’d seen all night. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d have thought he sounded self-conscious about the space he’d designed.

“I spend a lot of time here,” he shrugged as he offered you a beanbag. “I wanted it to be… nice.”

You took a seat, sighing as the tension in your body dissipated instantly. König stretched those long legs out as he got comfortable atop his own bag across from you.

“Why don’t you get out more, there’s plenty to do around here,” you mused.

König chuckled darkly, “people don’t like me very much around here, Birdy.”

The mood dampened at that, the energy in the room shifting. His green gaze had lost the softness that you’d almost grown accustomed to, becoming guarded instead. You wish you’d just held your tongue.

“What did you want to talk about?” König asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

You swallowed thickly, bracing yourself for another shift of his attitude- this time to anger. You weren’t afraid of his frustration, not anymore. God knows that you’d seen enough of it directed at you to know that you were physically safe. Despite that knowledge you still hated seeing it with every fiber of your being.

“I want to tell you about a mission I did a while back,” you said shakily. “Then I want you to help me figure out whether it might be connected to everything that’s… happened.”

König’s eyes narrowed, darting to the door and back. He stood to his feet quickly and you flinched as he brushed past you. You turned to look over your shoulder at him, surely he wasn’t walking out of his own room.

“I thought we agreed to drop it,” he growled beneath his breath and you weren’t sure whether he was talking to himself or you. He was rummaging through his desk irritatedly, muttering as he worked. “Of course you didn’t drop it. Why would you? Let’s all die together!”

Soft music began to play and you raised your eyebrows as he placed a speaker against the door.

“What, are you setting the mood?” You snarked, settling back into your bag as he returned to his. He shot you a withering glare.

“It’s so that no one hears us as you, once again, try to get us killed by talking about this on base.” He hissed, propping himself up.

You rolled your eyes at him but you knew he was right. It would be more suspicious if the both of you had gone on an excursion into town together, you’d have all eyes on you. There weren’t many places for you to approach him about information but it seems all the places you have were wrong.

“Tell me about the mission,” he sighed though his nose. The frown lines on his forehead softening as you nodded.

“This mission was, and is, highly classified. You cannot tell a soul about this.” You warned, watching him earnestly. It was König’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Yes, I will try my hardest to not tell all of my best friends in the 141.”

You shot him a withering glare.

“Fine,” he groaned. “Obviously I will not tell anybody, Birdy.”

You nodded, satisfied with his response, before launching into the details of the mission.

“Alpha 1-1 to Bravo 1, SITREP, over.”

“Bravo 1 in position, green status, over.”

“Bravo 1, maintain position. Payload incoming. Alpha 1-1 out.

You drew a deep breath, taking in the view a final time beyond the scope of your rifle. You’d perched up on the high ground, neatly hidden between wiry bushes and dirt mounds. The U.S forward operating base, its entrance, and the arterial road in, were all at your mercy.

Your mission was to provide cover for a high value payload and offer additional defense to the U.S FOB while it received. For a black bag operation it was deceptively simple. Then again, you had no idea what the payload was. You’d been told that the objective was to protect a Shadow Company squad while they “delivered the milk.”

You weren’t important enough to be privy to more than that.

A dust trail in the distance indicated the payload’s approach and you set to work. Thermal imaging provided you a clear picture of the incoming convoy as it cleared the crest. To your alarm there were only three vehicles before you, for such precious cargo you thought that there’d be a larger security detail.

There was a civilian blocking the route ahead of them that you’d raised concern about prior. U.S soldiers had been dispatched from the base to remove him but were thus far unsuccessful. Your stomach tightened as the convoy slowed to a halt 350 yards from your position.

As one of the Shadow members dismounted their vehicle you couldn’t shake your rising paranoia. You felt the hairs on your arms raise and your skin prickle- a sniper’s sixth sense. You turned your sights to the crest the convoy had appeared from.

There was something very, very wrong.

You watched the crest carefully, praying that you were paranoid.

But, you never were.

“Sierra 1, contact rear, near ambush!”

No sooner than the callout had left your lips, the incoming vehicles opened fire.

Chaos erupted the way it usually did in war. The screams, the callouts falling on deaf ears, the gunfire- it all blurred, really. The only thing you could truly hear was your own breath. Every inhale was steady and your heart followed in suit, a steadfast sniper was the most accurate.

And there was a reason that you were the best.

One by one they fell. Amidst the cloud of moon dust and the flurried movements you could see everything, and everyone, as clear as day. The floor was littered with bodies, men from both sides ironically meeting the same end.

A blinding flash forced your eyes shut as your scope lit up. The explosion rocked the earth beneath your stomach and you knew then that the fight was lost. An RPG blast had ended it all in an instant, obliterating the men you were protecting. Limbs, shrapnel, and wreckage were all that remained of Shadow Squad.

Your teeth were clenched tight enough to cramp your jaw. You couldn’t get a shot with the enemy operators hidden behind the cargo.

“Bravo 1, don’t let them take that fucking payload!”

Shepherd's voice was desperate, a growing hysteria that you’d never heard from him before.

“I don’t have a shot,” you ground out through your teeth.

Between Graves and Shepherd barking half-baked orders down the line, there was little coherency.

The mission objective was a monumental failure and an unjustifiable amount of lives had been lost that day, along with the payload. There was only one survivor of the ground assault, a blessing in itself. Dipaolo had been knocked unconscious in his vehicle after the RPG explosion and assumed dead by the enemy.

You had tried to talk to Dipaolo briefly while waiting for your transport home. He’d been mumbling to himself dazedly in the back corner of the medical room for hours when you approached him.

“Dipaolo?...” You trailed off. The man had lost his entire squad in one hit, he’d woken up to their blood on his face and their limbs scattered across the dirt. No amount of experience can give you the right words to say to a man like that.

His hazel gaze met yours, distant and tired.

“What have we done?” He whispered.

Your tongue dried in your mouth and you could only stare at him in response. You’d failed is what you’d done. You’d failed this man and his men and you couldn’t protect them.

“We’re so fucked,” he shook his head. “We are so fucked.”

“What-” you’d barely choked out the word before he grabbed your wrist roughly. You yelped as Dipaolo pulled you in close, the smell of sweat and blood on his skin. He reeked of death.

“Do you know what we’ve fucking done, Birdy?” The Shadow hissed through gritted teeth as you tugged uselessly against his grip. “Do you know what we just fucking gave them?”

“Let go,” you rasped. Panic began to rise in your chest when his gaze turned hysterical.

The door behind you flung open but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the man before you. His grip tightened as he flicked his sights to the medics entering the room.

“Do you know what we’ve done, Birdy? Do you know what we gave them?” His words blurred together desperately. “We’re fucked! You hear me?”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Relief flooded your chest as the returning medic inserted himself between you and the crumbling soldier. “Let’s just back up for a second.”

You ripped your arm from his grip and immediately turned to leave, your skin burning where you’d been detained. You tried to tune out Dipaolo's screams as you left the room but this wasn’t a battlefield and you had no rifle- you heard it all.

“We are dead!” The Shadow’s voice broke from behind you. “You and me, Birdy, we’re dead!”

König’s face was stony as he leaned back into his seat.

The silence following your story was heavy and your mouth was dry. You couldn’t remember the last time that you’d spoken so much in one sitting.

“Birdy,” König mused, “when was that mission?”

“A while back, a few months I’d say,” it was a rough estimate. “I’d have to check my dates.”

König shook his head, green eyes flashing with alarm. “How long did it happen before our… incident?”

You blinked slowly, taking in a deep breath. Your heart dropped to your stomach and it was as though König knew what you were going to say before you said it.

“It was the last mission I had…” you trailed off shakily. You felt like you were going to vomit.

König’s eyes hardened as he voiced the realization that you had both come to.

“It was the last mission you did before I was sent to kill you, Birdy.”

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bywons · 5 months ago

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YOU KEEP ME WARM ｡｡ stealing their hoodie

𝖫𝖠𝖢𝒪𝖭𝖨𝖢───when you are warmer & cuter in his hoodie

𝑜𝑓 ܃ enhypen x f!r O886 𝑤𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 headcannons bf!enha fluff ── 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 kissing, skinship ｡｡｡／ ( 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒 ) ｡

૮ ♡◞ ◟ ა this one was so cute to write. a shorter hc, but i really hope you will like it, mwah baby, have a good day ^^ 💌

reb𝑙ogs& ˊᗜˋ 𝑓eedbacks

LEE HEESEUNG gasps as soon as he enters the living room to witness his red hoodie being stolen by his dearest lover, you. he approaches your dozing figure, catching you off guard ad he wraps his arms around you all too sudden, pulling you into a series of kisses on your lips. “caught you red handed, you really thought you could get away with stealing my hoodie?” he murmurs, his voice full of affection. you blink up at him, startled but quickly melting into his embrace. he leans back just enough to meet your eyes, still smiling, “you look way too good in my clothes,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head, “i might just let you keep it.”

PARK JONGSEONG his heart swells with warmth as he watches you, your figure bundled up in his oversized hoodie, the sleeves slightly covering your hands. the winter fair buzzes with life around you, but all he can focus on is how adorable you look, probably so warm in his clothes. “are you comfortable?” he asks, slowly rubbing the small of your back in a soothing manner, guiding you through the crowd. “always, with you,” you smile, giving him a sweet kiss on the cheek which he quickly returns back to your forehead. giggling, he says, “i'm forever glad you're warm enough in my hoodie.”

SIM JAEYUN jake’s eyes light up as soon as he spots you across the street, wearing his favorite black hoodie. his grin widens as he jogs up to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. “you really know how to make anything look ten times cuter,” he teases, resting his chin on your shoulder. you giggle, leaning into his embrace as the two of you continue walking down the city street, hand in hand. “is it comfy?” Jake asks, giving your hand a little squeeze. “super comfy,” you reply, glancing at him with a playful smile. “i might never give it back.” jake chuckles softly, stopping in his tracks to press a quick kiss to your temple. “that's fine by me,” he murmurs, his voice warm with affection. “but don’t blame me if I steal it back when you’re not looking.” his eyes twinkle with mischief as you both continue your stroll.

PARK SUNGHOON freezes at the mesmerizing sight in the kitchen. his blue hoodie, loosely hugging your busy frame, making black coffee on the marble counter. you don't notice him at first, but when you do your heart skips a beat, as sunghoon slips his strong arms around around waist from the back, resting his chin on your shoulder. “hey, that’s mine,” sunghoon sighs, trying to keep his voice steady, though the soft blush on his cheeks betrays him. you turn, smiling, “you’re right, but i think it looks better on me.” he finally gives in to your antics, and giggled in response, pressing a soft kiss on your lips. “i can't lie, you look better in this.”

KIM SUNOO lets out an excited squeal the moment he sees you step out of your room wearing his pink hoodie. “oh my gosh, look at you!” he exclaims, rushing over to wrap you in a hug. you giggle, surprised by his reaction. “you’re the one who left it lying around,” you tease, but sunoo is too busy admiring how cute you look. “you’re literally the most adorable thing ever,” he says, his eyes shining with affection. he twirls you around, his smile never faltering. “you’re keeping that,” he says, not even giving you a chance to argue. he presses a kiss to your forehead, then adds with a playful grin, “we can even match next time.”

YANG JUNGWON spots you sitting by the window, wrapped in his gray hoodie, watching the rain pour down outside. he leans against the doorframe for a moment, just taking in how peaceful you look, the hoodie a bit too big on you but somehow perfect at the same time. “you look cozy,” jungwon sings, breaking the silence as he walks over. you turn, smiling as he sits down beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours. “i am, don't wanna take it off,” you reply, pulling the hoodie tighter around yourself. jungwon chuckles softly, reaching over to pull the hood over your head. “you’re adorable,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. you sigh, resting your head on his shoulder as the rain continues to fall. “guess this hoodie’s mine now,” you tease, and jungwon just grins, wrapping an arm around you. “only if i get to share it with you.”

NISHIMURA RIKI walks into the game room to find you sitting in front of the TV, wearing his favorite hoodie. his eyes widens in surprise before a mischievous smile creeps onto his face. “hey, that’s my hoodie!” he says, dramatically pointing at you. you look over your shoulder, smirking, “not anymore.” riki laughs, walking over and sitting beside you. “well, you look way cooler in it than i ever did,” he admits, leaning back and resting his arm around your shoulders. you grin, leaning into him as you focus on the game. “it’s super comfy,” you say. he nods, pulling you closer. “i'm not even mad. but you owe me a game,” he teases, kissing the top of your head.

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targaryenimagines · 7 months ago

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Twin Flames

Dark!Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 8,219

Summary: With your due date drawing nearer, you begin to wonder what sort of life you’re going to be bringing into the world; dealing with your constantly fluctuating emotions is easier than facing the thoughts that grace your mind during the midnight hours. You should have known it’d only be a matter of time before your dragon became aware.

Warning(s): G!P Daenerys, grief, self worth issues, allusions to sex, and descriptions of labor/childbirth (non-graphic).

Notes: This shifted around from what I had initially planned, but I can’t say that I’m upset with how it turned out! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it for you all! Thank you to @justyourwritter69 for the wonderful inspiration — it may not be exactly what you had been thinking of, but I hope you like it all the same!

Series Masterlist

Warm palms run up the sides of your heaving body — still coiled tightly from the last shockwaves of ecstasy passing through — pulling you ever closer, even as a light laugh is hidden in the crook of your neck, the large grin stretched across your wife’s lips being more than apparent when she nuzzles the sweaty expanse of skin.

“I have to admit,” Daenerys pants, pressing one last lingering kiss to the underside of your jaw, before pulling back to peer down at you: silvery-gold hair acting as a curtain, cutting off the rest of the world entirely. “You might be starting to wear me out, dearest one.”

You arch a brow, legs opening to allow for Daenerys to comfortably settle once more between them; the heat radiating from her back, when you stroke a gentle finger down the length of her spine, offering a sense of comfort that no quilt ever could. “I wasn’t aware that was a possibility,” you tease, a lightness to your tone that caused Daenerys’ own smile to grow that much more. “In fact, I believe it was you who kept me up all night in Meereen. Because, and I quote, you wanted to watch the sun set and rise while being inside of me.” A huff of laughter falls from your lips. “Where has that woman gone to?”

Violet eyes roll skyward, but the open fondness within her gaze, and the bone-deep adoration etched across her face, never wavers in the slightest. “She’s still here, ñuha perzys. Very much so.” As if to prove her point, Daenerys ruts softly against you; letting you feel the extent of the influence you had upon her body. “But I can’t do all of the things I wish to do to you. Not when you’re carrying such precious cargo.”

A brilliant grin stretches across your face at the reminder — even as one of Daenerys’ palms slides from its place on your hip to the growing swell of your abdomen.

Precious cargo, you muse, taking in the sight of your Khaleesi’s peaceful expression. Your twins.

It had come as quite a shock to you when you discovered that you could potentially be having twins from the Palace Healer; a wave of complex emotions crashing over you as Daenerys had puffed up at the thought. It’s a trait you couldn’t help but admire in your wife. You had only ever seen her truly shaken a few times in your long relationship, even when she was the young would-be conqueror trying to find her way in the world, she rarely ever allowed herself to fall.

So, while you were swept into the tide of varying emotions, Daenerys stood as a sturdy rock beside you, preening with pride and jubilation at the fact that she’d soon have two more children to love, to adore, to protect.

In a manner she wasn’t able to before. A thought that had caused a spike of pain to lance through your heart, squeezing at your lungs to stifle the air that your two children would never be able to breathe again; Viserion and Rhaegal were never far from your mind. The golden gleam of the sun hitting the Narrow Sea reminded you of the warmth within Viserion’s aureate gaze, the pristine white of your wedding dress reminiscent of his beautiful scales. Whereas the changing seasons, from the cold winter months to the tentative grasp of spring, brought with it the memory of Rhaegal’s emerald-hued wings stretched across you in a protective embrace, the rumbling of thunder on the horizon, as a summer storm rolled in, bringing back the resounding echoes of his fiery roar to the forefront of your memory.

You knew, deep within your heart, that as long as their memory lived on within you, within Daenerys, and the people that they had graced with their presence, they’d never be truly gone.

Even though you wanted nothing more than for them to be here: to see three shadows flying over King’s Landing, to hear their roars echo along with Drogon’s, to feel the warmth of their bond within your very soul.

Their absence, as your pregnancy delved into the final months, became more apparent with each passing moment. You wished, more than anything, that you could share the kindling of new life with your darling Prūmia and Bāne; knowing that Drogon, your Mīsio, would find comfort from them as well. Instead, he now carried the burden of being an elder brother completely alone.

What was once three, is now only one…

The dragon is supposed to have three heads, but what do you do when two have been ripped away?

If you couldn’t protect Viserion and Rhaegal, mystical beasts from the oldest tales of Westeros, descendants of the mighty creatures of Old Valyria, then how would you ever be able to do so for your twins?

How could you be a proper mother when you’ve already failed so greatly?

“Where have you gone in that beautiful head of yours?” The gentle question pulls you from your torrential thoughts, unfocused eyes snapping to look into a calming violet gaze. At the sight a small smile quirks Daenerys’ lips, but you can detect the worry glimmering just beneath the surface. “There you are.”

You muster up a small smile, knowing that it was lackluster by the way Daenerys' frown seems to grow. "Here I am," you joke. "I was just lost in my thoughts, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you worried."

"I will always worry about you," Daenerys replies. "As long as my enemies walk this world, and something can cause harm to you, then I will continue to be worried. That's what you do for the people you love."

"Really?" Silken skin meets your fingertips as you gently trace a line from high cheekbones, down to a sharp jawline, to full lips, and back again. "I wasn't aware I ranked so highly on your list of priorities, Khaleesi."

Violet eyes narrow at the blatant teasing. "I don't have a list of priorities." You almost laugh at the petulant pout that overtakes your wife's face. "It's true, beloved."

"I don't think that's true, Daenerys." You begin to count on your fingers. "You have the Seven Kingdoms. You have your armies. You have the whole mess with the Stark's. You have--"

Soft lips do a great job at shutting you up, an expert tongue acting in a great supporting role to make you boneless beneath the commanding form of your wife, as nimble fingers curl through the strands of your still sex-mussed hair. "Nothing," she whispers hotly against your mouth, warm breath still mingling with your own. "Will ever be more important than you. The Iron Throne means nothing to me if I don't have you by my side while I rule. My armies mean nothing if I do not have you to defend. This right here?" Daenerys rubs her nose against your own, smoothing a hand down the swell of your belly. "Our family that you've blessed me with, our son that's been ravenously waiting for his little siblings, is all that I could ever want. Nothing will ever be more of a priority to me than my family."

You allow your Khaleesi to hold you close for a moment, at peace within her strong embrace, but soon the need to rile her up once more overtakes you. "All of those things you just mentioned are priorities to you?" Daenerys hums in agreement, having shifted over onto her back to allow you a better position to rest upon her chest, slender fingers now gently carding through your hair to untangle some of the strands. "Wouldn't you call that a list, Khaleesi?"

Daenerys' answering chuckle rumbles through her beneath your ear, her fingers never halting in their soothing motion, as she pulls you impossibly closer to her lithe form. "No, I wouldn't call it a list. A list makes it sound militaristic, cold, unfeeling, and that's the exact opposite of how I feel." She peers down at you through dark lashes, full lips quirked in adoration. "I call it the very reason for my next breath, the reason that my heart will continue beating, and the sole purpose that I'll never lose my fire to continue fighting for a better future."

Silence falls then — both being soothed by the company of the other; you by the steady beat of Dany's heart beneath your ear and Daenerys by the heat of your body curled against her own. You could even feel yourself beginning to fall asleep, something you're hoping will last till morning, before a need fills you once more. This time, instead of being one to tease your dragon, it's one to reaffirm that her adoration, her love, was more than reciprocated.

"You're everything to me, Dany," you sigh, nuzzling into warm skin. "I just want you to know how much you mean to me."

"And you, my dearest flame, are the big house with the red door and the lemon tree." Her arms tighten around you, her last words whispered against the crown of your head as you drift off into sleep. "I'm no longer lost when I look back. You helped me accept my past, embrace my present, and look forward to my future."

It’s only hours later, when your wife is nestled closely to you, a lithe arm wrapped around your abdomen in a protective embrace, that you finally give up on your battle to find sleep. You had hoped, as you had the many nights prior, that Daenerys would tire you out to the point that you could fall into dreamless sleep from sheer exhaustion; something that typically worked.

But no one, not even your dragon, could maintain that level of vigor at night coupled with being Queen of Westeros during the day; although she made a valiant effort, certainly better than anyone else could hope to accomplish.

Refraining from making too much noise, even if it was to just sigh, you slowly edge your way from underneath your dragon's arm — something that's a lot easier in theory, even if you had been doing it more and more recently as sleep continued to elude you — almost panicking when Daenerys tightened her hold, grumbling something against the nape of your neck, before she slackened once more.

Slipping from the bed, after ensuring that Daenerys had truly fallen back asleep, you carefully maneuver around the room, slipping on a discarded tunic that you vaguely recall Daenerys wearing upon entering your shared chambers after dinner — having quickly shed her clothing to take a much-needed bath after the arduous day.

Following your usual route, you find yourself standing on the overhanging balcony that let you see King's Landing in its entirety as well as the harbor twinkling softly in the night. It's on nights like this, when the moon is bright and the stars are twinkling, that you have the most trouble falling asleep. On stormy, or simply overcast, nights you didn't ache deep within your bones, but when the world unveiled itself in its natural state of beauty?

It's like having shards of glass travel down your throat every time you took a breath. Memories of nights underneath a different starry sky, in arid deserts and ancient cities, wherein Viserion and Rhaegal danced across the sky like they were trying to join the very stars themselves — always testing to see who could fly higher.

Looking up now, at the stars shining so brilliantly, you can't help but wonder if they were up there now? If they had finally made it in their pursuit to see who could make it to the top. You wonder if Viserion had saved a special spot for Rhaegal... You wonder if he was currently saving spots for you all...

Tears blur your vision, distorting the sky into a hazy blob of black and silver, and you hope, that wherever they may be now, that they were happy. That they were safe and loved in a way they always deserved to be treated.

Could they see you now?

Could they hear the way your heart cried out for them?

Did they know how much you missed them?

Did they know how much you love them still? How much you will always love them?

Did they know how much darker the world had become since their light was taken away?

"What are you doing out here, ñuha perzys?"

No, your mind cries out. Why tonight, of all nights, did she have to wake up?

"Beloved?"

You hesitated in turning to look at her, knowing that the moment you did you'd be caught, but the longer you waited, the longer you stalled, the more Daenerys would become agitated, her protective instincts flaring into life. There's no way for you to get out of this... Not without the conversation you've been desperately trying to avoid.

So, with a soft sigh, you turn to face the love of your life; being met with the adorably disgruntled form of Daenerys Targaryen: clad in only a rumpled robe that had been thrown across a vanity due to her haste to have you hours before.

"Dany."

Daenerys rarely had to ask you what was plaguing your mind when it became like this — her ability to read you like a book coming in handy — and, for a brief moment, you're glad that you won't have to explain it to her. Explain to her how much of a failure you felt like you were. How your fears of becoming a mother were amplified because you had failed so spectacularly before.

Violet eyes observe you for another moment, darkening with an untold emotion, before something seems to shift inside of her.

"Do you blame me?" The question is uttered softly, on a hesitant breath, that is the complete opposite of your veracious wife. "Do you?"

You shake your head. "Blame you for what, Dany?"

Please don't know, please don't know, please--

"Viserion and Rhaegal."

The mention of their names, coupled with the latent thoughts still swirling within the dark recesses of your mind, causes you to flinch, arms instinctively tightening around yourself in a protective hold. An action that Daenerys must have taken as a positive answer to her question; if the almost injured look that's now openly expressed across her beautiful face is anything to go by.

"We've had this discussion before, Daenerys," you murmur, not wishing to rehash harsh words and reopen still barely healed wounds. "I don't blame you for Viserion. Not anymore."

Daenerys winces at the reminder of what had occurred in Dragonstone all those moons ago. "But you did." It's not a question. There's no need for pleasant lies when in the face of your soulmate. "Who's to say that you don't again? I wouldn't blame you if you did. It was my fault to listen to my advisors instead of my instincts. It was my fault to agree to send Jon Snow beyond the Wall with Jorah. It was my decision to go after them completely alone. It was my own stupidity that led me to turn my back on everything that I learned, everything that I had become in order to get to where I am now." She steps closer to you, unshed tears causing violet eyes to shimmer like untouched amethysts in the argent light of the moon. "It was all because of me that Viserion was struck down in an icy hellscape. Where he was forced to become enslaved to that thing. It was because of me that our son, our youngest child, had his fire drowned by ice."

Your eyes shutter shut at the memories her words invoke. Flashes of icy blue eyes where there should have been gentle gold viciously cycle within your head as you try to forget the brokenly shattered form of your son that you had found after the Battle of Winterfell.

"Not to mention Rhaegal," Daenerys continues, angry spite, all of it directed at herself, hardening her tone. "If I had paid more attention, if I had kept him closer to me, if I had been more cognizant that Euron would have been lurking in the waters below, then he would still be with us. You wouldn't have had to watch as he fell from the sky, you wouldn't have been bathed red by specks of his blood, you wouldn't have had to use milk of the poppy or dreamwine in order to fall asleep because you had such bad nightmares. You wouldn't have suffered if it wasn't for me. Our children would still be alive if it wasn't for me."

Even if some of what she said held merit — others being beliefs you had held onto just to inflict pain onto her; not unlike the pain you had felt when dealing with the unending grief — you refused to let her drown within her pain, refuse to let Daenerys' light get snuffed out. Not when she had been your steady rock for so long, your guiding light to bring you home, the only reason you had been able to pull yourself from the dark abyss their deaths had caused.

"No," you rebuke, tone firm. "I don't blame you, Daenerys. The Night King killed Viserion. The Night King is the reason our beautiful boy was trapped in an unending purgatory instead of the peaceful death he deserved. Rhaegal—" Pausing, lips pressed into a thin line, you take a shuddering breath before pressing on. "We didn't see Euron's fleet either. We were all aware of the potential risks he posed, but none of us took the proper precautions. Rhaegal, what happened to him, and what occurred afterwards, wasn't solely on you, Dany. You were foolish, I won't pretend that you weren't, but you were trying to make too many people happy, trying so hard to be the ruler that they all wanted you to be, instead of being the queen you were always meant to be. You got lost, Dany, and while the price we paid was high, and I don't think the pain will ever fully disappear, I'm just happy you were able to find yourself in some manner in the end." You step closer to your darling dragon, pressing a reverent hand to a flushed cheek. "So, no, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, I don't blame you for the deaths of our children."

Daenerys simply stares at you for a moment, her gaze almost inscrutable, but you can see the light beginning to return, even as her lips downturn slightly. "Then why do you blame yourself?"

No answer is forthcoming even as a thousand more spring to mind.

How could I not be? I didn't speak up; I saw what was happening and didn't do anything. I wasn't the partner you deserved, Daenerys, not like the one you have been to me and, because of that, because I couldn't find it within myself to just fucking speak up, our sons were killed...

How could I not be responsible when I still remember the sounds of Viserion's distorted roar and Rhaegal's scream of agony?

How could I not be when I'm still haunted by their faces every damn day?

You know that you couldn't say any of those things — Daenerys would probably blow a fuse — but the look within your wife's gaze let you know that she wasn't going to let you off the hook quite yet.

"I don't know," you admit, shoulders slumping as you turn from her inquisitive stare. "I don't know. Are you happy?"

The warm presence of your wife settles before you, standing closer than she had since the entire discussion had begun. "Of course, I'm not happy. You're in pain." Slender fingers gently grasping your face to turn your head to look at her. "It's something I will never enjoy seeing, but I want you understand me when I say this." Daenerys' eyes sharpen, violet pools burning with an inner fire that bespoke of her bloodline. "You need to stop wondering what might have been. It's something I couldn't stop doing, something that I still struggle with on occasion, but it will only make it so that you miss what's happening now. Viserion and Rhaegal are gone, which is something that will never leave us, but to only carry the darkness around with us would be a disservice to the light they had brought into our lives. They're gone, but they'll never be forgotten, because we won't let that happen. So, please, don't blame yourself any longer for something you can't change. Not if you won't let me share that blame alongside you." She steps closer, always drawn like a moth to a flame when you're near. "I promised to protect you from everything when I took you as my wife, to love and hold you through any storm that may come, to weather any battle that'll mean you'll be okay. Even if that means contending with the beasts that lurk within your beautiful mind. I know it's hard, my beloved, but I can't stand not knowing when you're in pain. Not if there's something I can do about. So, please, don't shut me out even if you think you're protecting me by doing so."

You nod, heart twisting at her soulful plea. "I'll try."

Even if you don't know how you'll accomplish it...

"That's all I'll ever ask for."

There's a moment of silence — wherein only the world dares intertwine within the moment you were now sharing with your dragon — before Dany gently smiles at you, love and adoration etching themselves across her face in an open mural of her devotion towards you.

“Come back to bed.” Daenerys reaches out for you, her hands slightly chilled by the night air when your own slots perfectly in place. “You know how I hate the emptiness when you're not there.”

Fighting the urge to smile, you follow your wife back from the balcony into the spacious bedchamber you’ve made into your haven, and you're not surprised in the slightest when Daenerys flops down onto her back, arms wide open in a silent invitation for you to take your rightful place between them.

This time, when you fell into your dragon's embrace, the warmth of your bed surrounding you, though never standing a chance against the heat of your wife, you knew, in that moment, that you'd finally be able to sleep.

Even if it took a while for your mind to finally catch up with what your body needed.

You’re not sure when you had fallen asleep, but suddenly awakening, standing on a sunlit coast that was all too familiar, with the sound of sea birds and crashing waves surrounding you, gave you the impression that you had at some point.

Either that or you were finally going insane.

Turning in place, you take in the sights, the smells, and the sounds of a world that you hadn’t believed you’d ever return to; even if Essos was simply across the Narrow Sea, you don’t think you’d ever be able to see it the same way again. Not after everything that’s happened.

Still, even now, you couldn’t deny that the sight of the Great Pyramid, far off into the distance, didn’t elicit some bone-deep reaction within you. Memories of easier times flickering through your mind — even as the faces of the ones you lost threaten to overwhelm you — allowing for a small smile to stretch across your lips.

A smile that turns into a full blown grin the moment you crane your neck to look at the azure sky and see two familiar shapes circling overhead; Viserion and Rhaegal. Their wings beat rhythmically, creating a soft, soothing sound that echoes across the peaceful landscape as they begin to descend. The sight of them, at the ease in which they danced upon the wind, and around the other, brings a tug of longing to your heart; wishing, more than anything, that this wasn’t a dream. That you’d be able to see it when you awakened.

Landing with a soft thump, a small spray of golden sand showering over your feet, their massive forms tower over you, but you weren’t intimidated for a moment; not when they radiated an aura of warmth and familiarity.

Viserion approaches first, cream colored scales shimmering brilliantly in the sunlight, causing the golden accents to almost appear like flames, and nudges you gently with his snout, a gesture of recognition and affection. Pressing a hand to his cheek, almost crying at the feeling of his sun-soaked pebbled scales, you look into his gleaming golden eyes, a feeling of absolution settling over you as you realize that the icy blue wouldn’t be the last color you witnessed any longer.

Rhaegal, not to be outdone by his younger brother, soon approaches; emerald scales gleam like precious gems as the bronze hues brings with it the thought of your countless hours laying in a field watching him dip and dive in the wind. Tears, that had been gathering from the moment you saw your sons in the air, begin to fall down your cheeks, a sob being stifled in your throat, as you press your hands into both of their cheeks; wanting to be reassured that they were actually there. That they wouldn’t just vanish and leave you bereft once more.

“I miss you both so much,” you whisper, throat still tight from the efforts of keeping your sobs at bay. Their soft croons in response, large heads nuzzling closer to the warmth you provided, nearly being your undoing. “I’m sorry that I failed you. That I wasn’t able to protect you.”

They both let loose short rumbles in response; clearly not agreeing with your evaluation of your past deeds. Rhaegal nudges you with his head, forcing you to take a step back, as he and Viserion seem to have a silent conversation with the other. A sight that brings a small furrow to your brow, but you're not able to say, or do, anything before the world seems to tilt on its axis and everything blurs together. Your stomach lurching at the suddenness of solid ground, and a miasma of colors, as everything seems to settle once more.

Well... almost settled, you think, casting a quick glance to the world around you; noting, with a sinking feeling in your gut, that your sons were nowhere to be found, but that wasn't the only thing that had captured your attention.

Gone were the shrieking of the gulls, the warmth of the sand beneath your feet, the almost sweet scent upon the wind; now you stood at the precipice of a cliff you hadn’t been to since Daenerys had claimed King’s Landing — a place that’d forever haunt you.

Dragonstone…

The air is unusually still, carrying an otherworldly scent of sea salt and dragon fire. The sky above is a swirling canvas of deep purples and oranges, with stars twinkling faintly through the wisps of clouds; an almost dizzying shift from the golden sunlight, crystalline skies, and a warm ocean breeze.

Beneath your feet, waves crash against the rocks with an unparalleled intensity, sending sprays of foam into the air. You didn’t have to look behind you to know that the ancient castle was looming; towers reaching towards the sky as if to grasp what the owners had lost in the years since the dragons vanished.

Twin thumps, and rush of air that ruffles your hair, is all the warning you receive that your sons had arrived.

“Why are we here?”

You didn’t have the heart, or the strength of will, to ask all of the other questions plaguing your mind: Is this my punishment for failing you both? To be forever trapped in the place that I had last seen you? Happy. Whole. Together.

Viserion’s warm head bumps against your side, a small croon bubbling from deep within his throat; it was a sound he always used to make when he wished to go flying, or wanted you to scratch just a bit to the left, or simply because he wished for you attention, for your love.

You laugh wetly, fighting a losing battle in keeping your tears at bay. “I know you dragons are beasts that'll never be fully understood, but I’d like a straight answer at least once.”

None was forthcoming — not from Viserion, whose gentle gaze never wavered from where he had curled his neck around your body, nor from Rhaegal, who had decided to rest on the opposite side, bracketing you within their warmth, keeping you from the cold, harsh wind of the surf — but, in that moment, you realized all you needed to know.

It's a realization that barely registered before Viserion confirms it for you, pressing a warm snout against the clothed area of your abdomen — a place that had once been flat, now round with the promise of new life — and you feel your twins instantly react to his presence. A fact that causes Viserion to snort happily and for Rhaegal to finally raise his head to nuzzle closer; a position that you had been in numerous times before, wedged between your youngest boys while Drogon was off with Daenerys. The bittersweet twang that this moment causes makes you want to never leave, to never get up from the warmth that they had always provided.

Knowing, that when you woke up, you'd be without them once more.

Memories of the last time you had been on this cliff, watching the sun cast a miasma of colors across the Westerosi sky, as Dothraki and Unsullied soldiers worked on the sands far below, assault you in a vicious attack; echoes of Viserion's playful chortling as Rhaegal snarled in response to his brother's continued insistence to steal some of his food. A squabble the two had grown accustomed to having — one you had grown used to overseeing — that never escalated past the first few nips; wherein you'd finally step in and give Viserion the rest of whatever you had on hand.

You remember, with sharp clarity, the way the sun had cast an almost angelic aura within Viserion's kind eyes and the way in which it brought out the darker green hues within Rhaegal's hide.

You remember the serenity you had felt watching Drogon dip and weave across the bay, leaning up against Viserion's warm side with Rhaegal's large head nestled close to your lap.

You remember the sounds of raised voices, that you had previously ignored when they graced your ears through the whistling wind, growing closer; Tyrion's exasperation and Daenerys' calm nonchalance finally keying you into the severity of what was occurring.

You remember your own objections being raised when Daenerys had told you her plan — worry and fear nearly choking you. For her. For your children. For what it could mean for her men if something were to happen. For the future that you weren't ready to live without her in.

You remember the gentle kiss and promise that she had bestowed on you before mounting Drogon: "I will be back soon. You'll be cuddled up with our children and me before you know it."

You remember the warmth of Viserion's cheek as you caressed his pebbled scales, the way your hair blew back when Rhaegal huffed as you leant to kiss his nose, and the amused look within Drogon's crimson gaze when you scratched under his chin.

You remember the heavy feeling in your chest nearly crushing you as you watched all three, along with your Khaleesi, disappear into the horizon.

And, above it all, you remember the look within violet eyes upon Daenerys' return, her pleading words when you looked out into the bay expecting to see three forms but instead saw only two, the distance that had grown between you as you dealt with your grief, the pain that kept you up at night, the regret that hung over you for not speaking up, and that same weight bearing down onto you.

You can't even bear to look out towards the open water now where Rhaegal had fallen, where his emerald scales had been stained forever crimson, and the sounds of his cries still haunted your dreams; your darling boy, your Bāne, always so hotheaded, disappearing beneath frothing water... Simply gone before you could even blink.

Both gone before you could...

The sudden realization of why you're here, why Viserion and Rhaegal were nestled so close to you, finally clicked into place and, with that realization, your tears finally cascaded down your cheeks.

"To say goodbye." You look down into their eyes, one set gold and the other bronze, as tears continue to fall from your own. "That's why I'm here. You're letting me say goodbye."

Twin rumbles meet your declaration, large heads pushing closer as they gently nuzzle your growing stomach. A sight that you would do anything to see in real life — knowing, with everything you had, that they would have made the best big brothers. Smoothing a hand down Rhaegal's jaw, and then shifting to Viserion, you lean closer and allow yourself to be fully wrapped in their embrace.

"I wish that I could go back and hold you both a bit longer. Give you a bit more of the fish I had stolen from the kitchen. Stayed a little bit longer snuggled into your side as I read. I wish that I could get all those little moments back and hold them tightly, so I'd never lose them, never lose you." Rhaegal nudges your shoulder, causing a watery chuckle to escape from your lips. "But, above anything, I wish that I had been able to show you both how much I loved you as fiercely, and as loyally, as you loved me, because I would have died to protect you. I would have gladly sacrificed myself so you both could live."

Shifting back, you look at your darling boys, never letting your hands stray too far from the warmth of their scales. "I want you to know how much I love you, how much I will always love you, and that you'll never be far from my heart. No matter how much time passes, I will never forget either of you. I will never forget the moments we made together and the love you freely gave me. I will never forget what you both have done for me." You lightly place a kiss on both of their snouts. "Goodbye, my darling boys, for the next time I see you, I won't be leaving your sides ever again."

Viserion and Rhaegal press closer, their wings stretching out further to eclipse the very sky above you; casting the diluted light into a fractured array of bronze and gold coloring. The sight bringing you peace as the beginnings of the world starts to blur at the edge of your vision.

And, even as everything fades into grey around you — the twin gazes, one gold and the other bronze, act as a beacon of light to where you were meant to go.

Rain hammers against tall windows, accompanied by the occasional flash of lightning that illuminates the grand tapestries on the walls within the royal bedchamber; the air heavy with the scent of salt and sea, mingling with the sweet incense burned by the attending septas.

You don’t know what had caused you to feel the sudden urge to travel to Dragonstone, remnants of a hazy memory being your only clue; as you rarely left King’s Landing since the news of the impending heirs became public knowledge. Daenerys hadn’t been happy about the potential trip — the way in which she had grit her teeth almost made you believe she was about to spit fire — but something in your eyes must have given her the impression that you weren’t going to back down.

Her acceptance didn’t mean it was an easy trip — with Daenerys’ constant hovering, Drogon snapping at anyone that got too close, and Grey Worm almost stabbing three maids that had suddenly appeared to help you out of the days outfit, being the lightest of the events that had occurred — but the sight of the ancient castle, with its dark spires reaching out to seemingly conquer the sky itself, brought with it a wave of relief that nearly keeled you over; the pressure within your heart clicking into place, making everything right once more.

Everything had gone smoothly for the first five days of your spontaneous vacation, but things had almost imploded when Daenerys had been told, via a raven, her presence was needed in King’s Landing due to a few of the minor noble families stirring up trouble with the visiting dignitaries from Essos. You knew that your wife didn’t wish to leave you, not so late into your pregnancy, nor did your son, but escalating drama within King’s Landing — one Daenerys wanted you far away from — compelled her to shift from doting wife to Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

She had left the next morning, with a searing kiss pressed to your lips, arms wrapped tight around your form, and a whispered vow seemingly imprinted into your skin: “I will be back within the next two days, I swear it. Even if that means I have to kill every last person that would dare keep me from you.”

Which means it was only right that you’d go into labor on the end of the second day; a raging storm, the likes that hadn’t been seen since your darling wife had been born, crashing over Dragonstone.

“Daenerys still isn’t here?” You gasp, a strangled groan escaping you at the same time. “Shouldn’t she be here by now?”

Grey Worm stands by your side, his sharp features etched with concern. “No, Your Grace, but I know she’ll arrive soon. Even with this weather I’m certain the raven will have reached her by now. For the moment, until Her Majesty can be here, I implore you to focus on yourself.” His rough hand clutch yours, offering what little warmth and reassurance he can. “I’ll be by your side until then.”

The maester, with his wispy beard and trembling hands, no doubt aware of what would happen to him if something were to go wrong, moves between your legs, his voice steady despite the chaos outside. “Push now, gently,” he instructs, his soft tone a sharp contrast to the tempestuous night.

You follow his guidance, clutching at Grey Worm’s proffered hand, summoning every ounce of strength left within your body.

The ancient stones of Dragonstone seem to tremble in response to each clap of thunder, as if the very castle shared in your agony. Yet, amidst the roaring winds and pain — a single strike of clarity, not unlike the lightning streaking through the sky, hits you; a profound sense of determination racing through your haggard form, burrowing deep within your heart, to bring life into this world, despite the raging storm and the absence of your wife.

Gritting your teeth, an agonized cry tears itself from deep within your chest, as you push once more, only faintly hearing the guiding words of the maester.

And, just as another streak of lightning illuminated the sky, Daenerys stormed into the room, her presence commanding and urgent; violet eyes burning with residual fury at being held up, and silvery-gold hair slightly disheveled, betraying the haste in which she had arrived to Dragonstone.

Where she is, Drogon is sure to quickly follow, you think, warmth spreading through you at the sight of your wife and the knowledge your son was home. And, just as the thought crosses your mind, a familiar shadow casts itself over the room, thundering wing-beats being easily discernible from the crackling lightning. No matter how tired he may have been from his long journey, Drogon would stay outside until you brought the twins into this world; a thought that brings a wave of affection for your eldest crashing through you.

“I’m here,” Daenerys announced, voice strained in apology but her relief was palpable as she made her way to your side; taking the spot that Grey Worm had quickly vacated. Pressing a kiss to the hand clasped in hers, Daenerys brushes a sweat-soaked strand of hair from your overheated forehead. “I’m sorry I’m late. I wanted nothing more than to be back by your side the moment I left it.”

You’re only able to offer her a strained smile in response, another wave of pain shooting through you as the maester continues guiding the process along.

Daenerys, easily taking note of your state, turns wild eyes to the gathered servants. “How is she? How far along are we?” The strained quality of her voice, coupled with the vice grip she has upon your hand, gives you an easy understanding of where your wife’s mind had went; to the night of her own birth in this very castle — a night where Daenerys Targaryen was borne but Rhaella Targaryen ceased to exist. “Has there been any issues?”

“No, Your Majesty.” A midwife helpfully supplies, her presence near the bed signifying that you’d hopefully bringing one of your twins into the world soon. “Everything has gone well. Her Majesty has been doing well. There’s no cause for alarm.”

Daenerys, while still stiff, seemed to accept the response, her attention swiftly falling to you solely. “I’m right here, my beloved. I’m not going anywhere.”

Time seems to stretch into an eternity — you’re barely able to discern Daenerys gentle hold, and soothing words, from the maester that was still acting as a guiding light — and the pain is almost stifling until, with one final push, the first of your twins enters the world.

Exhausted, yet elated at the same time, you watch, through bleary eyes, as a midwife quickly takes the babe into her arms to clean, only giving you the barest glimpse of a tiny form before disappearing into the swarm of moving bodies.

But, however much your body may rebel at the thought, the labor wasn’t over yet; another wave of pain crashing over you, ensured that you understood that fact. With every bit of strength you had left in your body, while sweat beaded your brow, and your wife stayed steadily by your side, you give one final push and feel as your second child comes into the world; the same process quickly taking place as the babe was swept away to be seen to.

Twin cries soon fill the chamber in a harmonious display of new life — cutting through the fog that had fallen over your mind — a sound that brings tears to your eyes and a lightness to your chest, as if a weight had suddenly been lifted that you hadn’t even realized was there.

“Boys! You’ve had two beautiful boys, Your Majesty!” A portly midwife bustles towards you, a delicately small form cradled against her clothed chest. “Perfectly healthy.”

Your son is soon placed on your chest, skin to skin, and he’s soon joined by his brother; both babes swaddled but giving you a perfect view to see their beautiful faces. Looking up at your dragon, you can’t help the tears that stream down your face when you notice her own glistening upon porcelain skin.

“Two handsome princes,” you murmur, gently tracing a line down a chubby cheek. “I can’t believe we’re mothers, Dany.” Your eyes meet the violet gaze of your wife, happiness shared between you like the love that has bonded you for years. “After all this time, I can’t believe that I’m actually here.”

“I never wish to be anywhere else,” Daenerys replies, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple, smoothing a hand down your back. “I would do it all over again, go through all the pain and heart ache, if it meant that I could end up right back here with you, with our children.”

Angling your head, you huff out a light chuckle, taking note that Drogon had taken his leave to, no doubt, rest on the cliff side until he was allowed to meet his siblings in person; something you were excited to do, but your new position also allows you to get a better look at your Khaleesi for the first time; your brow furrowing in concern instantly.

“I thought I was supposed to be the only one covered in blood.” You tug at the crimson stained fabric of her ornate tunic. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m more than fine, dearest one,” Daenerys soothes, calmly smoothing a wild strand of hair back behind your ear. “I simply honored the promise I made to you upon my departure.”

Even if that means I have to kill every last person that would dare keep me from you.

Your eyes flutter shut, arms tightening ever-so-slightly around the twins. “Who did you kill, Dany?” Violet eyes, filled with open amusement, are the first thing you see when you collect yourself. “It wasn’t anyone that’d cause a war, is it?”

“As if any of the nobleman would dare test me,” she scoffs, clearly affronted at the mere insinuation. “I made it abundantly clear how foolish it’d be to keep me from arriving back at your side promptly, something that most of those imbeciles seemed to take as a challenge. A feat that became even more imbecilic when I had received the raven stating that you had gone into labor.”

“How many?”

“I don’t see why that would matter—”

“How many, Daenerys?” You interrupt, the sharpness within your gaze causing your wife to halt mid-sentence. “Don’t you dare lie to me either, I’ll find out sooner or later.”

Daenerys huffs. “A little over two dozen, I’d wager.” Her eyes roll skyward, as if she still couldn’t believe the audacity of the people who had stood between her and her family. ��However, as I was saying, I don’t see why that would matter. I did tell them to not get in my way, especially since I was already in a horrid mood having to deal with their foolishness to begin with, not to mention leaving your side, I simply ran out of the patience that had already been in short supply.”

“I don’t even wish to imagine what you would have done if you had missed the birth of our sons.”

Your wife tilts her head. “I would have killed them all, of course. Keeping me from you is a sin upon itself, but keeping me away so you go through something like this alone? Wherein anything could have happened to you?” Daenerys shakes her head at the mere notion. “There wouldn’t be any mercy left in my heart; for there can never be any remnants if someone dares affect you due to their actions.”

Despite yourself, and still wanting to know the finer details about who exactly she had killed, and what sort of mess you could expect upon your return to King’s Landing, you couldn’t help the affection that courses through your veins; Daenerys, for everything that she was, and everything she used to be, had always loved you. More than you think you deserve, in all honesty, but the clear dedication she had for you was never more apparent than in this moment.

So, for her, for everything that she has done, and will continue to do, in the name for her love towards you, you decide to drop the conversation for the moment. This wasn’t a time to get into a petty squabble with your wife; not when your sons slumbered peacefully against your chest.

Daenerys, clearly on the same wave of thought, runs a slender finger across the wisps of silvery-gold hair peeking out from underneath the cloth of the twin closest to her. “What shall we call them, ñuha perzys?”

You pause, ruminating over the variety of choices; Old Valyrian was an obvious choice, something strong to showcase the roots that your sons now held to the ancient world, but what names stuck out the most?

Suddenly, as if hit by a bolt of lightning, you realize the only choice of what they could be.

“I have the perfect names in mind, Dany.” Whispers of a phantom dream wisp through your mind, echoing deep within your heart and soul, your smile turning soft as you gently stroke the soft cheeks of your twins. “If you’ll allow me the honor of bestowing them?”

Daenerys’ beautiful smile in return, violet eyes glassy with unshed tears, is all you needed to see to understand that she was more than willing to grant you whatever you wished.

“I think I’ve always known. It’s just something I haven’t been able to see until now.” You lean against your wife, nestled safely underneath her arm, forever seeking the warmth she so effortlessly provided, as you spoke to the room at large: the surrounding midwives, a wizened maester, various servants, and your most loyal guards, all standing at attention. “I’d like you all to meet Prince Rhaegon and Prince Viseryn of House Targaryen.”

And, if you allowed yourself to believe, to listen close enough, through the crashing of the waves and the rage of the wind, as well as the cheering of the people within the room, you could just make out the twin sounds of answering roars from across the Narrow Sea.

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