When I was a young boy, my father took me into the city to see a marching band. He said, “Son, when you grow up, would you be the savior of the broken, the beaten, and the damned?”
he's told you this many times now, but you often brush off the firelord's ask as fleeting desire. perhaps a new fetish - the thought of seeing you knocked up and so evidently claimed by him that any time you'd leave his chambers, people would see you as his, pregnant and swollen with his child.
you didn't take him seriously at all, until he dragged you away from his council room where you'd been seated next to him the whole time, giving him such sweet, pure little looks and rubbing his thigh dangerously close to his cock, all while murmuring praises whenever he proposed a strong idea. such words could've also been used in bed, as you'd been saying things like;
"so good, zuko."
"well done, my prince."
among other words in that sultry voice of yours.
now he has you folded up in his huge bed, pushing your legs wide open as far as they'll go as he pounds his achingly swollen cock into your chubby pussy with the sole goal of pumping you full of his babies.
you cry out and dig your nails into his strong shoulders, wondering what's come into your loving husband. how he's gone from lovemaking to fucking you raw into the mattress, aiming the thick head of his cock straight for your womb and kissing your cervix each time he bottoms out.
"didn't fuck- take me seriously at all." he grunts, watching juices spill out of you as he keeps aiming his long, curved cock straight for your womb, dragging his engorged shaft along your softened sweet spots each time. it makes your toes curl and your nails cut into his flesh as pleasure overwhelms you. "i told you i wanted to get you fuckin' pregnant, and you thought i was joking. what makes you think i'd ever joke about something like that?"
"zuko!" you call his name between garbled moans, your head tipping back into the pillow when he pushes his cock flat into your cervix yet again, slowing his thrusts just enough to hit it gently, not to hurt, but to deliver a fucking message. he tuts at your whining and lets out a soft hiss as you rake your nails down his skin. the pain does not deter him at all, only encouraging to pound your puffy cunt harder.
he grabs handfuls of your tits, squeezing and rubbing his skilled fingers along your budding nipples until they're hard and stout, his tongue licking over his lips hungrily as he imagines how they'll dribble with milk once you're thoroughly bred. he leans down and pushes your breasts together so he can suck both nipples into his mouth at once, tasting the sweetness of your skin and sweat for now and fixating on how much sweeter you'll taste with milk pouring into his mouth.
he plans to fuck your cunt as long as he can while you're pregnant, too.
the new angle has his cock spearing into you impossibly deeper, and as a reaction, your pussy flutters around him, milking his cock greedily and trying to wring the cum straight out of him. one more squeeze of your velvety walls around his dick has his cock swelling up, and with a loud groan into your tits, he spills a hot, thick, heavy load right into your womb, fucking you through it in hopes that this round of cum will surely get you pregnant.
The morning sunlight seeped through the curtains, painting the room with a soft, golden glow. You were wrapped up in Noah's arms, your bodies entwined under the covers as if the world outside didn't exist. He was still half-asleep, his face buried in the pillow, his breathing slow and steady.
You took the opportunity to study him quietly. His dark hair was a mess, falling over his forehead in soft waves, and his lips were slightly parted as he slept. You reached out, brushing your fingers gently over his cheek.
The faint freckles that dusted his face were barely visible in the dim light of the bedroom, but you knew they were there.
You loved his freckles. Loved how they became more visible when he spent time outside, when the sunlight kissed his skin just right.
It was one of the many little things about him that you adored, and every time he hid away indoors for days on end, you found yourself missing them.
You ran your fingers down the bridge of his nose, smiling softly to yourself as you watched him stir.
"Noah…" you whispered, your voice soft but insistent.
He grunted in response, his eyes still closed. "Hmm?"
"You need to get out in the sun more."
That got him. He cracked one eye open, squinting at you through the hazy light. "What?" His voice was rough with sleep, confusion evident in his tone. "Why would I need to do that?"
You pressed a quick kiss to his shoulder before resting your chin on his chest, staring up at him with a pout. "Because when you do, your freckles show up more, and I love them. I can barely see them now."
He blinked at you, still half asleep but clearly trying to process what you were saying. “Freckles?” he asked, a sleepy smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Yes,” you said with a huff, trying to keep your voice serious but failing miserably as you giggled a little. “Your freckles are pretty, Noah. And I’m being deprived of them.”
He closed his eyes again, this time grinning as he rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m serious,” you insisted, sitting up now, the blankets falling down to your waist as you stared at him with mock frustration. “You’ve been cooped up inside for days—writing, recording, doing your broody music stuff—and I barely get to see them. You need sunlight for them to come out more, and I miss them.”
Noah opened one eye again, peering up at you with an amused smirk. “So, let me get this straight… you want me to go outside and just… sit in the sun so my freckles pop out more?”
You nodded, leaning down to poke his nose lightly. “Yes, exactly that.”
He shook his head, letting out a soft chuckle as he pulled you back down onto his chest. “You’re lucky you’re cute, because that is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I’m not being absurd,” you protested, though your tone was light as you snuggled back into him, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “Your freckles are pretty, and I want to see them. Is that so much to ask?”
“They’re just freckles,” he muttered, his hand trailing lazily up and down your back.
“No, they’re your freckles,” you corrected, your voice softening as you pressed a kiss to his neck.
He paused for a moment, his fingers halting their movement on your back as he let your words sink in. Then, with a sigh, he tightened his arms around you, pulling you closer. “I guess I can’t argue with that, can I?”
“Nope,” you said, smiling into his skin. “You can’t.”
Noah let out a dramatic groan, but you could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke again. “Fine. I’ll go outside more. I’ll soak up some sunlight for you, just so you can see my stupid freckles better.”
You grinned, lifting your head to look at him. “They’re not stupid. They’re cute.”
He rolled his eyes, but there was a softness in the way he gazed at you, his expression relaxed and full of affection. “I still think it’s ridiculous, but if it makes you happy…”
“It does,” you confirmed, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on his lips. “It makes me really happy.”
His lips curled into a lazy smile as he kissed you back, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. “You’re lucky I love you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a playful mix of teasing and genuine affection.
“I know,” you whispered, resting your forehead against his for a moment. “And I love you too. And your freckles.”
Noah chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before leaning back into the pillows, his arms still wrapped around you. “Okay, okay. But let’s stay in bed for now. I’ll go outside later, I promise.”
“Deal,” you agreed, settling back into his embrace with a satisfied smile.
You lay there for a while longer, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you, your fingers tracing absentminded patterns on his skin. There was a comforting silence between you, the kind that came from being so at ease with each other.
Then, you spoke again.
"Promise?"
Noah kissed the top of your head, his voice softer now. “Yeah, yeah. You’ll get your freckles.”
Short little thing about noah finding some gray hair for the first time:
Nothing had prepared Noah for what he discovered in the bathroom mirror that morning.
You were still half-asleep when you heard him gasp. A sharp, horrified inhale that made you jolt up, thinking there was some kind of emergency.
"Are we out of coffee?" you groaned, rubbing your eyes.
Noah stood frozen in front of the bathroom mirror, gripping the sink like he'd just seen a ghost. He turned his head slightly, eyes wide, scanning his reflection like he was searching for some hidden message.
"Babe," he whispered dramatically.
That was never a good sign.
You dragged yourself over to him, peering blearily at his reflection. "What? What's wrong?"
He slowly lifted a shaking finger to his scalp. "Do you see that?"
You squinted. "See what?"
"Right there! On the side—it's… it's gray." His voice cracked on the last word, like he couldn’t even bear to say it out loud.
That woke you up.
You leaned in, fingers combing through the brown locks at his temple until—oh.
Oh.
There it was. A single silver thread standing out against his darker hair.
You bit your lip, trying very hard not to laugh. You failed immediately.
"Noooo," you wheezed, clutching the counter for support. "Oh my God, Noah, it's one hair."
He turned to you, betrayal written all over his face. "There’s more than one. Look, there’s another one over here!" He tilted his head, pointing at another barely-visible strand near his forehead.
You tried, you really did. But the sight of your six-foot-something, tattooed, metal frontman panicking over a couple of gray hairs was too much.
"I'm aging prematurely," he muttered.
"Oh yeah," you snorted, wiping tears from your eyes. "You're not even 30? Guess you only have a few good years left."
He turned back to the mirror, scowling at his reflection. "This is it. This is the beginning of the end. Next thing you know, I'll be complaining about my back and eating fiber supplements."
"You already complain about your back," you reminded him.
"That's because I'm too tall," he shot back. "Not age."
"Mmm-hmm," you hummed, stepping behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist. "And the fact that you moan like a grandpa every time you stand up?"
"That’s just habit," he grumbled.
You grinned, sliding a hand under his white t-shirt to caress his warm skin. "I think the gray is hot."
He turned his head slightly, eyeing you through the mirror. "You're just saying that."
"Nope."
You laughed as you moved in front of him and stood on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. "Would it make you feel better if I found a gray hair on me?"
His eyes lit up with the kind of hope only shared by people realizing they weren’t suffering alone. "Would you pluck one out just to make me feel better?"
"Absolutely not."
He groaned, sagging against you. "This is it. The downfall of Noah Sebastian. The decline of my youth."
"Baby, I hate to break it to you," you teased, nudging your nose against his jaw, "but I don’t think your fans are gonna riot if you start looking a little more like a silver fox."
He sighed, finally dropping the act just a little. "So you’re saying I’d still be hot?"
"The hottest," you confirmed.
His lips twitched into a smirk. "So if I go full silver in like… five years, you’re still sticking around?"
You grinned. "Oh, I'm definitely sticking around."
He finally turned to face you, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Good. Because if I’m going down, you’re going down with me. If I find one gray hair on you, I’m framing it."
"You are not—"
"Too late. It’s happening."
You groaned, but he just kissed the top of your head, grinning.
And just like that, maybr the crisis was over. For now.
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