seen from Malaysia
seen from Japan
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Iceland
seen from Japan
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Japan
seen from Malaysia
seen from Japan
seen from Denmark
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from Laos
seen from Japan
seen from Belgium
seen from United States
married life suits them so much
I'm actually addicted to zosan send help
Hey, could you do lando x reader where they're on holiday, and they have their own private beach, and they spend basically the whole day enjoying alone time, and it's around sunset or golden hour time, and they get touchy with each other, and it leads into just smut, and they end up just doing it under the sky
- well, dear anon, I had too much fun with this, loved the whole setting too much, and somehow the whole thing turned into baby making... so I hope you don't have a problem with that, if yes, let me know and as compensation, I'll write something else for u without stuff like this!<3 hope you'll like it, tho! -
you + waves = peace
pairing: lando norris x f!reader
contains/warnings: heavy smut, baby making (sorry), breeding kink (also sorry), soft dom! lando, p in v, unprotected sex (but I mean, trying for that baby..), creampie, reader is spoiled by lando in every way, wife and husband relationship, freshly married couple, fingering, oral (f! receiving), dirty talk, emotional sex, basically just smut smut smut with plot.
summary: a perfect holiday with your husband turns into so much more, and a romantic evening at the beach turns into him giving you a baby.
word count: 28k~
minors DNI
masterlist
enjoy! ;)
the gentle sea breeze drifting across the balcony of your spacious villa in milos was fresh enough to relax every muscle in your body, the weather warming, and simply just perfect, with just the right amount of heat radiating off the shining sun from above. you were seated on an outdoor sofa, light, cream coloured, matching the varnished wooden tiles under your feet. your skin shivered a little from the light wind as lando was slowly massaging sunscreen in your back and shoulders.
( ˘ ૩˘)He is happy( ˘Ɛ ˘)
Lingering...| Zayne Li
Pairing: Zayne Li x Non!Mc ♥ Summary: What seemed like a long-awaited and well-deserved vacation with your husband, Zayne, and his colleague Greyson and his wife turns into a tense situation between you and your husband on the very first day, after you run into Mc (Mcee), who was also vacationing at the resort with her friends, Tara and Simone, and who has an accident during a hike in the mountains. In other words, you try to help Zayne as he tends to Mcee’s injury, but you don’t seem to be much of an assistant while he’s worried for his old love. Tags: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Non!Mc W.C: 5.1 K Warnings: Mention of injuries, accident, blood and injuries Open on Ao3 - pt 2
The loud bang on the door—as if it had been rammed rather than simply knocked on—wasn’t what scared you; it was that heart-wrenching crying and wailing that made your skin crawl and your heart skip a beat as you ran to open the front door, your hands trembling and a look of terror and concern on your face.
As you opened the door, it swung forcefully toward you, causing you to flinch instinctively before it slammed into your face; moving with instinctive speed, Zayne rushed through the doorway, carrying Mcee in his arms and walking briskly, almost jogging, down the hallway beyond the living room, toward the bedrooms, disappearing around the right-hand turn that you knew led to your room. Shocked and completely unaware of what was happening, you tried to close the door to go after them when a hand blocked your way, preventing you from closing it. Greyson appeared from behind, with a complex expression, rapid breathing, and his glasses slightly askew, likely from having run to the cabin. You quickly opened the door wide to let him in and wasted no time asking for an explanation.
“Greyson, what’s going on?” you asked, frightened, scanning his face for answers as you closed the door.
“Mcee had an accident on the mountain,” he said hurriedly. “Which room did they go to?”
“The main one,” you hurried to say. “Follow me.” You wiped the sweat from your nervous hands on the apron you were wearing as you began to make your way across the room; the gasps of anguish and pain grew closer and louder, sending shivers down your spine and making your heart race.
When you reached the room, you froze in the doorway. Mcee lay on the bed, her head buried in the pillow, her face twisted with pain and her eyes closed, while her hands clutched the sheets, seeking some comfort to give her the strength to endure the pain in her left leg, which was bleeding uncontrollably, soaking the fabric of her gray sweatpants. Zayne was leaning over her legs at the foot of the bed, trying to fold back the damp fabric of her pants to examine the wound beneath. Greyson, seeing that you had stopped there, quickly walked past you to approach Zayne and help him.
“Do you have your medical bag?” was all Zayne said, without taking his eyes off the bleeding leg.
“It’s in my room; I’ll go get it,” Greyson said before turning on his heel and leaving the room; soon you heard the front door close behind him. You approached the bed, not really knowing how to help. You looked at Mcee’s pained expression and felt a tightness in your chest; she was suffering, and you didn’t know how to ease her pain. You took her hand in yours and gave it an encouraging squeeze.
“Mcee, everything will be okay, honey. Zayne will take care of it,” you told her as you used your free hand to brush the strands of hair that had stuck to her face from sweat out of her eyes. “What should I do, Zayne?” you asked, looking at him. He didn’t return your gaze; he was still trying to lift the fabric of her pants without touching the wound.
“Scissors,” he said simply. You let go of Mcee’s hand as you looked around. It had been your room for just over five or six hours; you didn’t really know where everything was. You hadn’t had much time to go through the drawers or look around in general. In fact, your things were still in your suitcase by the window, in a corner of the room. You rushed to the nearest dresser, opening the drawers and frantically searching through them, leaving them open as you went. There was no time to put everything back. Nothing.
You rushed to the bathroom, checking the drawers of the organizer between the sink and the bathtub, then the cabinet next to the shower. Nothing. No scissors in sight. You left the bathroom, crossing the room, your nerves on edge, with Mcee’s panting serving as a reminder that you had to hurry; you ran through the hallway and the living room until you reached the kitchen, where finally a pair of scissors came into view in one of the utensil drawers; you ran back to the bedroom, leaving your slippers scattered along the way, since they were getting in the way and wouldn’t let you run fast.
“Here,” you said as you handed him the scissors with trembling hands.
“Cut the pants; I’ll hold the leg,” Zayne instructed in a monotone voice, but you knew your husband—you could sense the irritation hidden behind the monotony of his tone. You slipped your fingers into the holes of the scissors and, with one hand, grabbed the fabric of the pants—damp and cold against your fingertips—gently pulling it up slightly to make room for the blade to cut; with a trembling hand and afraid of accidentally cutting Mcee, you guided the scissors and made the first cut down the center of the pants; when you went to make the second cut higher up, irritated by your slowness and caution, Zayne snatched the scissors from your hands with such speed that your fingers nearly got caught in them, grazing your skin and burning slightly from the friction. “I’ll do it; hold her leg.”
This time, nerves weren’t the only thing you felt; a sense of anguish and guilt settled in your chest as you held Mcee’s ankle to keep her from moving her leg and allowing Zayne to hurt her with the scissors. You had failed in your attempt to help, and the cost of your slowness and fear was the pain Mcee continued to feel.
Once the wound was freed from the fabric, you could finally see what was causing Mcee so much pain: a cut ran across her calf, stretching from her ankle bone down to at least halfway down her calf muscle. The cut looked deep—or so you could tell from the amount of blood gushing out of it, soaking through the fabric of her pants and the bedspread. Your expression twisted, feeling empathy for the pain that must have been involved; your stomach turned because it was the first time you’d faced such a sight—not so much because of the amount of blood, but because of how critical the situation looked. It was undoubtedly an experience no gory movie could have prepared you for. Your hands were still shaking as you breathed more heavily, taking deep breaths while trying to ease the discomfort in your stomach, praying that your bile wouldn’t rise—this wasn’t the time to get weak and throw up in a corner when there was a poor girl suffering and needing her pain to stop as quickly as possible.
Zayne turned toward you, cutting the tie on your apron with the scissors—without asking permission or uttering a word of warning—to use it as a tourniquet a few inches below Mcee’s knee.
“Get me the first-aid kit from the bathroom, there must be some gauze in there.” he said as he tied a tight knot in the tourniquet. You released Mcee’s ankle, wiped your hands on the apron hanging over your shoulders—now loose since one of the waist ties was missing—and ran back to the bathroom, to the cabinet you’d left open, grabbing the first-aid kit to run back to Zayne.
When you went to open it, Zayne pushed his way in, quickly unzipping it and starting to pull out the medical supplies inside in search of the gauze, which wasn’t enough given the size of Mcee’s wound.
“Get my handkerchief from my suitcase,” he said. You hurried to find his suitcase, spreading it out on the floor as you searched for his handkerchief; the only one you found quickly was the one you’d given him a month ago for your wedding anniversary. It was a shame to have to use it, but it had a better purpose to serve. “Bring me a basin of warm water and a washcloth.”
And so began yet another dash through the house, this time to the backyard where you remembered there was a medium-sized basin for washing clothes; with it tucked under your arm, you ran to the kitchen where you pulled a washcloth out of a drawer—one that looked new and hadn’t been used much. You set the basin on the sink, and while you waited for it to fill with warm water, you had to turn off the oven halfway through cooking your dinner, since you wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on it to make sure it didn’t burn later, thus saying goodbye to your tasty dinner.
When you entered the room again and approached Zayne, carefully setting the basin on the bed, he stopped applying pressure to Mcee’s wound.
“Clean her wound; I’ll go wash my hands,” he said, taking the mild soap from the first-aid kit and striding toward the bathroom. You took the cloth and, after wringing it out, brought it tremblingly close to the wound.
“It’s going to hurt, but hang in there a little longer, sweetheart,” you said to Mcee, trying to comfort her a little; her face was drenched in tears, and her eyes remained tightly shut, refusing to look at her own wound. You began to gently dab the damp cloth around the edge of the wound, being careful not to touch the cut directly. The blood seeped into the cloth, gradually revealing the reddish skin of Mcee’s leg.
“I’ll take over,” Zayne said once he was back by your side, taking the cloth from your hands to rinse it again in the basin. You took a few steps back so as not to get in his way—not knowing much else to do— you approached Mcee again, taking the corner of your apron to wipe the sweat from his face. “How long did the paramedics say it would take them to arrive?”
It was at that moment that you realized you’d made the worst possible mistake while administering first aid—you’d forgotten to call the ambulance. You watched him, horrified by your own carelessness.
“I forgot to call.”
“You didn’t call? We’re in the mountains—do you have any idea how long it’ll take them to get here? We’ve already wasted too much time.” His tone and expression made you tremble; it was the first time Zayne had directed such annoyance at you. Although his tone was barely a notch or two higher than his usual voice, it was that slight rasp in his throat that made you realize just how annoyed he really was; his sharp gaze fixed on you was an expression you’d only ever seen him make when reprimanding his subordinates for incompetence. Your heart seemed to pound in your ears as you fled in terror toward the living room in search of the landline.
Your vision felt blurry as you searched the nightstand in the living room for the emergency number card; your fingers trembled as you pressed the numbers firmly on the phone keypad. Your voice came out shaky and choked as you spoke to the emergency dispatcher and gave them the details of the accident, along with the address of the resort and the cabin where you were staying.
Once the call was over, you stood there frozen; you didn’t want to go back to the room.
Guilt was eating away at your brain, and your chest ached at the memory of Zayne’s expression. But Mcee didn’t deserve the pain you were feeling while you wallowed in self-pity over a scolding you deserved, so after taking a deep breath, you headed back toward the room, hearing the front door open as you walked down the hallway. Like a savior intervening at the last moment before an execution, Greyson burst through the door at full speed, his bag in hand.
“Don’t worry, I’ll help him; you go to the entrance and wait for the paramedics,” he said to calm you down when he reached you, his hand on your shoulder to comfort you, for he had seen your bloodied hands trembling in your lap.
“Thanks, Greyson,” you said as best you could; the lump in your throat barely let you speak.
You stood there in the hallway, your hands clutching the fabric of your apron—now too dirty to keep cooking in. You looked at your hands, damp with nervous sweat and with Mcee’s blood caked on them and beginning to dry around your wrist and surely under your nails, trembling with guilt.
“I should have acted faster, more precisely…” you thought; a tear slid down your cheek, but you quickly wiped it away with the back of your forearm. You headed to the guest bathroom to wash your hands and splash water on your face. You scrubbed the blood off the apron roughly, hoping no stain would remain, though it would be useless—it couldn’t be returned in its current state; it was missing a tie, so you were sure the resort manager would make you pay for the damage, and that would cover the blanket in the master bedroom as well. “I hope I didn’t stain the sheets too,” you thought, trying to avoid thinking about the tragedy that had caused the damage to the blanket.
Once you were on the porch, feeling the icy mountain air stinging your eyes—sore from holding back tears—you felt like you could breathe again; you still felt a tightness in your chest, but now you could rest easier knowing that Zayne had an assistant up to the task to help him and ease Mcee’s pain.
‘Should I get back to support her?’ you were thinking, staring blankly at a large rock in the distance, when you heard hurried footsteps coming up the steps to the cabin’s porch. As you turned to see who it was, you came face to face with Greyson’s wife, who was rushing toward you.
“Greyson told me everything. Are you okay?”
“Me? Don’t you mean Mcee?” you asked, confused but slightly amused by the mix-up.
“No, you. You must have been so scared, poor thing” she said as she took your hands in hers, with an expression of pity and concern, but upon noticing your furrowed brow in confusion, she finally explained. “—I’ve never had to assist Greyson in an emergency, but I’ve imagined what it would be like several times—total chaos. I wouldn’t know what to do, or I’d mess everything up because I’d be so nervous. And don’t even get me started on seeing the wound—I’m sure I’d pass out. I’m just not cut out for that kind of thing. I can’t imagine how you must have felt.”
“I can’t deny that I was scared—pretty scared—and I made mistakes, but now Greyson is here to assist Zayne, so I’m more at ease.”
“Oh, poor thing,” she said as she came over to hug you. “Let’s leave it to the professionals; they deal with this kind of thing every day. Let’s go sit down,” she said as she walked over to the wooden bench by the door, pulling your hand so you’d follow her. “We have to wait for the paramedics, right?”
“Yes, though they’ll be a while; I just called them.”
“Just now?” she asked, frowning.
“Yeah… I forgot to do it earlier.” a look of surprise crossed the other girl’s face, and a quiet “oh” escaped her lips. You lowered your head in embarrassment; you knew you’d screwed up—big time.
“It’s okay, don’t worry. What did I tell you? I would have made mistakes too, and bigger ones than yours. Don’t worry.” She tried to comfort you.
“It’s not a minor mistake. Zayne got mad at me. I’m sure that if Mcee hadn’t been so consumed by her own grief, she would have been upset too.”
“Did he raise his voice at you?” she asked, surprised and worried at the same time. If there was one thing she knew about her husband’s colleague, it was that when it came to his wife, no mistake was worth raising his voice over; only his subordinates had felt the weight of his wrath. His wife was a complete exception to any sign of Dr. Zayne’s annoyance.
“He didn’t need to; his eyes were sharp enough.” You joked, but the tightness in your throat that you’d felt minutes earlier returned, stronger than before.
“I don’t even want to imagine that—Dr. Zayne intimidates me enough as it is; I don’t want to know what his expression must have been like,” she said, feigning a shudder. You laughed at her act, unaware that a single tear was slipping down your cheek; the young woman before you wore an expression of empathy and pity as she sat closer to embrace you. “Don’t cry… He’s the one who made the worst mistake. He’ll regret his audacity. Listen to me—I’m certain that’s how it’ll be. He’ll come running to throw himself at your feet and beg forgiveness for his bad behavior.” You laughed into her hair.
“Is that what you make Greyson do every time you fight?” you asked, amused.
“Mmh… Something like that.” she said, amused, as she rubbed your back.
“Do you hear that?” you said as you pulled away from her embrace, thinking you heard ambulance sirens. You got up from your seat and walked down the steps, reaching the gravel road and looking into the distance. When you spotted the ambulance coming up the hill, you raised your arms and signaled that the emergency was right there.
It didn’t take the paramedics long to load Mcee into the ambulance. After asking Zayne for details about the accident and thanking him and Greyson for the quick and expert care they’d given Mcee’s injury, they headed for the hospital in the town near the mountain, with Zayne accompanying them and leaving you there, promising to return as soon as he could and to call if anything happened.
“Do you want to stay at our cabin tonight?” Greyson asked, worried about how you might feel being alone at night in a new place.
“No, no, don’t worry, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure, honey?” asked Greyson’s wife, concern in her voice. “We could have dinner together and then enjoy a bonfire.”
“I’m sure. We can save that for tomorrow; I wouldn’t want Zayne to miss it,” you said with a smile to put their minds at ease.
After a few minutes of turning down various offers, they finally retired to their cabin, the one next door, and you were able to go back into yours, your skin prickling and rubbing your arms as the temperature had begun to drop along with the sun.
You walked into the bedroom, paused in the doorway, and looked at the bed. The bedspread still bore the imprint of Mcee’s body; a dampness from sweat and blood outlined the shape of her figure almost perfectly. The creases in the pillowcase revealed how tightly she had pressed her head against it, trying to muster strength and stay still. The basin was still at the foot of the bed; the water, now reddened, made it impossible to even make out the cloth that had been used lying at the bottom.
After letting out a sigh, you set to work cleaning up; the sooner you cleaned up the blood, the easier it would be to remove the stains. You set the basin on the floor, careful not to spill its contents, and after pulling out the blanket—surprised that it had absorbed all the blood and miraculously hadn’t let it stain the sheets as well—you headed to the bathtub to scrub it. After a few minutes of scrubbing, as you felt your hands burning slightly from the warm water and the chlorine chemicals, you finally stepped out of the bathroom, the blanket dripping a few drops of water onto the wooden floor—you hadn’t had the strength to wring it out completely— as you headed to the back door to hang it up. Since it was getting dark and dew would soon start to fall, there wasn’t much point in hanging it up at that moment, but you needed to get that blanket out of your room; you needed to clear your mind of the anxiety and fears that experience had caused you.
After drying the wet floor, cleaning the basin, making the bed with another clean blanket, and taking a shower, you still didn’t know what to do to keep your mind off the fact that Zayne had gone to the hospital and hadn’t called.
You knew you couldn’t be selfish; Mcee needed company, and who better than her own treating doctor?
But even so, you didn’t want to be distant from him, not when the situation between you had become so tense after the accident. You couldn’t stop thinking that you needed to apologize to both of them, that you should be with Mcee, supporting her… but after all, he was with her, so your presence would be nothing more than a hindrance, just as it had been a few minutes ago.
Kneeling in front of the oven, you looked at the baking sheet with vegetables and the chicken in the middle, wondering if your dinner had already gone bad or if it would still be just as tasty now that you’d put it back in to heat up—or rather, you were trying to finish cooking it.
The wait was going to be too much for your anxious heart, which just wanted to have the conversation you’d been putting off with your husband; deciding that staring at your phone waiting for a call wouldn’t do any good, you turned on the living room heater and sat on the couch in front of it to watch TV.
The first few minutes were torturous; your eyes automatically drifted toward your phone on the coffee table every time it lit up with a notification—no sign of Zayne—forcing you to rewind the movie you were supposed to be watching so you could understand what it was about, until eventually, between the warmth of the heater and the blanket at your feet, and the fact that you hadn’t picked such a bad movie after all, you were soon able to calm the anxiety in your heart, so that when you noticed Zayne’s missed call and the message he’d left you, it wasn’t until you were about to have dinner that you realized it.
♥Hubby♥: I’ll stay with Mcee for now; her friend is on her way to the hospital and will stay with her the night. She’s feeling better and should have no trouble recovering. I’ll fill you in on the details later. I might be home late, so don’t stay up waiting for me. Get some rest.
You didn’t know what to think or feel about that message; there was no “we need to talk when I get there,” which could be either a good or a bad sign. Maybe he was still upset, or maybe he wanted to apologize in person rather than over the phone, or maybe he thought you hadn’t answered his call because you were upset… Soon your head started to hurt again; you’d been mulling it over so much—both his message and what the right thing to reply would be—that you even lost your appetite.
I understand. Send her my regards and tell her I’ll come see her tomorrow. Dinner will be in the oven.
That was all you could come up with—a message that, in general, in another context, would have been something natural to say, but for some reason, perhaps just because of the bitterness you were feeling, it seemed so dry and cutting. Just as you finally decided to delete it, he replied.
♥Hubby♥: Mcee thanks you and wishes you good night.
And that was it.
There was no “good night” from him, no “see you later,” and even worse, no “I love you.”
Even more distressed than you had felt that afternoon, you decided to go to sleep; at least that way you could ignore those feelings. Curling up under the blankets, shivering at how cold the sheets felt, hugging the pillow to ease the loneliness you felt. It was your first night at the resort, the first night of your vacation with your husband, the first in almost a year and a half.
Your second vacation since your honeymoon—ruined. It wasn’t that you blamed Mcee, of course not; the poor girl hadn’t chosen that horrible accident, and her vacation had been ruined too. But the fact was that things with Zayne had gotten tense—and not because of some isolated incident, but because of Mcee.
She had always been a constant indirectly present in your relationship with Zayne. His childhood friend, his first love, and his patient. The person for whom he’d chosen his career and to whom he’d dedicated—and continued to dedicate—years of his life to research in order to save her. It’s not something he wouldn’t do for you too; he’d let you know that many times. But even so, it wasn’t the same…
A first love isn’t easy to forget; it will always be tucked away in a corner of your heart, cherished, dear to you. But you’d never know how Zayne felt about it, because, after all, he was your first love.
At some point, somewhere between sleep and a daydream, you felt movement on the bed, which woke you up. Amid so many wandering thoughts as you gazed at the window on the wall next to Zayne’s side of the bed, you had closed your eyes and fallen into a semi-lucid dream—too awake and thinking to be truly asleep, but unconscious enough not to notice when Zayne entered the room, and after changing his clothes and using the bathroom, slowly lay down beside you, careful not to wake you. Failing immediately.
“Mmh,” you groaned as you opened your eyes, blinking rapidly and rubbing them with one hand to relieve the burning sensation.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.” Zayne said in that velvety, whispering tone he always used at night when wishing you goodnight or in the mornings when he asked you to go back to sleep after he got up for work.
You watched him for a few seconds, and perhaps without realizing it, you frowned in annoyance before turning away to go back to sleep with your back to him, because Zayne’s relaxed expression subtly tightened, his lips pressed together for a few seconds, as he realized his suspicions were confirmed. His wife was angry with him, and with good reason.
Zayne sighed and moved closer to you, pressing his chest against your back and wrapping his arm around your waist, not letting you go.
“Honey, can we talk?” You kept your eyes closed and remained silent for a few more seconds. “I made a mistake—a serious one, a very serious one.” he continued, waiting for you to show him in some way that you were paying attention and not just sleeping.
“This afternoon, Mcee invited me to go for a hike in the mountains. I was discussing something related to work with Greyson at the time, so I turned down his offer. A few minutes later, I joined you in the kitchen. Then, when I suggested we take a walk around the complex, you refused because you didn’t want to ruin dinner, so I went alone. But as I was climbing the mountain, I started hearing cries for help. It was Mcee; she’d slipped on a rock and rolled a few meters down the edge of the trail. She’d hurt her leg, and she was bleeding so much that—by the time I reached the cabin with her in my arms— it already seemed too late, it felt like I’d wasted so much time. I was worried, scared for her well-being.”
‘Zayne setting aside his professional composure in emergencies when it comes to Mcee—what a surprise.’ you thought.
“I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. It was your first time handling an emergency; in fact, you did everything too well for how scared you were, and I really respect that—that despite your nerves and fear, you acted efficiently to help.”
“Not enough, apparently.” You couldn’t help but whisper. Zayne remained silent for a few seconds, pondering your words and the annoyance in them, but he knew it hurt you more than actually annoyed you.
“No, that’s not it. I was the one who acted wrongly; I let my feelings control me and expected you to act with the same level of efficiency as my subordinates, which they achieved only through years of study and on-the-job training. You didn’t have to act like a professional, because you aren’t one, and yet you tried and you did it. You really wanted to help. And I appreciate that, just as much as Mcee does, if not more.” Zayne buried his face against the nape of your neck, inhaling your scent, so familiar, so comforting to him, clutching your waist more tightly, afraid that you might decide to break free from his grip and get out of bed.
“I really tried.” you whispered, your voice barely audible, causing something inside Zayne’s chest to snap.
“I know, honey. You did more than enough. I’m sorry.”
“I tried to be quick.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I was so scared, and just seeing her cry made me want to cry too.”
“I’m so sorry, my love” he said as he sat up on the bed, propping himself up on his forearm as he leaned over you, trying to see your face, to see if he’d made you cry again. He brought his hand from your waist to your chin and gently guided it so you’d look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry I was so rude. I swear it won’t happen again.”
You looked into his eyes, cautiously; they showed sincerity and regret.
You wanted to believe him, you really did. But it was about Mcee, and if there was one thing you knew after years of being with Zayne, it was that your husband would continue to cherish his old love until the end of his days, and you would have to live with the idea that his heart was shared.
“You’d better…” you said, resigned, knowing there was no point in expressing your true concerns to him; he would never see the situation the way you saw and felt it.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied with a gentle smile, as he leaned in to kiss you softly as an apology.
Mihawk x reader
“Kids grow up so fast…”
Sighing wistfully, you watched from the window as Perona carefully bandaged Zoro’s wounds. Mihawk’s training wasn’t gentle or easy; only someone with both a strong mind and spirit could see it through to the end. So far, Zoro hadn’t broken yet.
And judging by how much he’s been improving, you doubt he ever will.
Perona has been growing up too. She’s still the same loud girl who loves pink, but her skills as a nurse have improved; Zoro was no longer bandaged up like a mummified corpse. It was adorable to watch, though utterly ineffective. It took a lot of work to get her to give up her bad habits.
The thought made you smile with a strange tenderness. Neither of them was initially welcome when their presence in the castle was discovered. It had always been you and Mihawk and Mihawk and you, no one else, so the scandalous duo unsettled you at first. You were against their stay, bothered by how much your life would be affected, but for the first time Mihawk had accepted an apprentice— and you didn’t want to take that away from him.
“My love,” your husband began slowly, leaning against the wall near the window. His gaze first fell on those in the garden before turning to you, his crimson eyes glowed with a mixture of adoration and concern. “I’m afraid you’ve forgotten that the children you’re referring to are, in fact, both adults. Perona is older than Zoro.”
“And more importantly than that, they are not our children.”
A loud sigh escaped your lips at his statement. You knew that, of course you did, but it seems age has softened you, for the affection you felt for them was indeed unusual. Turning away from the window, you mimicked his relaxed pose; the only difference being your wide-open eyes watching him intently.
It was unsettling just how dazzling you found him even after so many years. His black hair slicked back, the well-groomed beard you took pride in trimming every morning. His chest slightly exposed by the open buttons—all that once drove you crazy continues to torment you. Without realizing, you stepped from the wall and walked toward him.
“I know,” you said in a low voice, as if someone other than him might hear you. And maybe they could, who knows what haunts that place? “It’s just that…well, I think I’ve accidentally grown attached to them.”
It didn’t take long for Mihawk to wrap his hands around your waist and pull you slowly toward him. Eager for his touch, you let yourself be led, more than happy to be held in his arms.
A slow kiss landed on your shoulder as your hands rested beneath his chest. The soft fabric of his shirt was a welcome distraction from the eyes watching you so intently.
“But you see,” you continued as you played with the white fabric. “they could very well feel like our children. Zoro is grumpy and fascinated by swords just like you, and Perona… well, she’s the kind of daughter a man like you would definitely have. Unfortunately, my dear, I can’t torment you all the time.”
Finally meeting his red eyes, Mihawk looked at you as if you were crazy. He may not be openly expressive, but his furrowed brows and twitching eyelid indicated just how absurd he found this situation. And you? Well, you did nothing but blink innocently with a slight smile on your lips.
“Frightening.” Mihawk finally managed to say. “Please don’t say things like that again. If we had children, they would be infinitely more polite and civilized, not rude or scandalous like the ones you speak of so affectionately. ”
You could certainly put an end to this delightful debate right now, but it’s strangely pleasant to hear your husband talk about what your hypothetical children would be like. It’s something you’ve never really given much thought to, honestly. Mihawk and you have been together for years, and never, not even for a single moment, have you felt that anything was missing—a child, to be more specific.
What you two had transcended the concept of “enough,” yet what harm would there be in indulging in an innocent family fantasy?
“How can you be so sure?” you teased Mihawk more, curious about what was going through his mind. “As far as we know, if we had children, they could very well turn out to be rude and scandalous just like the ones you speak of so coldly.”
“Never.” The answer was immediate, without any need for reflection. Mihawk was thoroughly convinced of his beliefs. “ They would be our children, raised and educated by us. You would guide them through the dark arts, and I would teach them the sword. ”
“We already do that with Zoro and Perona.”
“Perona doesn’t know how to wield a sword, and Zoro can barely read.”
“But she can read, and he can hold a sword.”
“Nothing more than a shared obligation; they’re here for a reason,” he muttered, beginning to grow annoyed at how easily you found similarities between them. “A child of ours would be gifted with both abilities, not just one.”
The hands on your waist moved upward until they found your arms, covered by the long lace sleeves that veiled your skin. Mihawk caressed the fabric slowly; there was no reason to rush when touching you. Every stroke, every touch, every squeeze filled with love and patience—he was in no hurry to adore you.
You fought the temptation to close your eyes when his lips found your arm. His kisses were always more than just a pleasure for you.
Pleased with the lovely husband you had, you watched patiently as Mihawk’s caresses slid down your arm until they found your hand. There, no fabric prevented you from feeling his warm lips and rough stubble dragging across your skin. A final, lingering kiss was left on your fingers.
“And they would look like you,” he said again in a low voice. “they would have the same eyes and the same hair, the same passion for the unthinkable and the damned. The same smile and the same heart...”
“Mihawk, my love,” the corners of your red lips slowly turned up; you wouldn’t be able to contain the delight that possessed you even if you wanted to. You too were not immune to certain romantic clichés—especially when they came from a man like him. “You speak as if this thought has haunted you for a long time”
“Perhaps it has.” With a knowing smile and an intense gaze, he dared to confess.
Sliding your hands down his neck, your fingers tangled in the black hair as you locked your eyes on his.
“Tell me,” you spoke again. “do you really want to conceive a child with me, bring another poor soul into this corrupt world, condemning them as we ourselves are condemned...”
Each word slipped out in a whisper, heavy with unspoken intent. Mihawk was drawn to the sound of your voice. His eyes followed the movement of your lips and, slowly, he brought his mouth closer to yours.
“Or are you just trying to stop me from talking about Zoro and Perona as our children?”
At this point, there was no longer any need for teasing or half-truths. In fact, there never had been for him; Mihawk knew exactly what he wanted now, and so did you.
His hands gripped your waist, pressing you to his body. So close—you could almost taste the wine on his lips, smelled steel on his skin.
He paused just a few inches from your mouth, whispering before claiming your lips.
“Both, my love...”
a/n: I plan to write a story in which Zoro and Perona are Mihawk and the Reader's children, inspired by the Addams Family, but my own version. but in the future!! anyway, i hope you liked it :)
Still choosing you. Still obsessed with you.
My best friend & my favorite view.
@thetropezes
#wlw #wlwcouple #couplegoals #blacklove #thetropezes
mac and dennis have magnets of their initials
this is disgusting.
