Summary: Having Jung Wooyoung as an older brother means constantly being dragged into terrible setups and blind dates, but after one particularly disastrous attempt, he finally starts noticing the quiet connection growing between you and Yeosang — and for once, his matchmaking might actually work.
Word count: 1,720
———————————————
Having Jung Wooyoung as an older brother was exhausting.
You loved him — of course you did. He was loud in every possible way, the type of person who filled every room before he even walked into it properly. He was affectionate to the point of suffocation, dramatic over the smallest things, and fiercely protective in a way that somehow managed to feel both comforting and deeply irritating at the same time.
And unfortunately for you, Wooyoung had decided somewhere along the way that his personal life mission was to make sure you didn’t stay single.
“You’re single,” he’d say casually, slinging an arm around your shoulders like he was about to deliver life-changing wisdom. “I’m fixing that.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” you’d reply every single time.
He never listened.
At first, it had almost been funny.
Almost.
There was the backup dancer who spent an entire dinner explaining his protein intake schedule in graphic detail while flexing his arms every few minutes. Another time, Wooyoung introduced you to an idol trainee who kept calling you noona despite the fact that you were literally born three months apart. Then there was the stylist’s cousin who accidentally brought his mother to coffee because she “didn’t want him travelling alone.”
That one had nearly sent you into cardiac arrest.
Every setup ended the same way: you embarrassed beyond belief, Wooyoung completely unapologetic, and the rest of ATEEZ witnessing the chaos like it was their own personal variety show.
———————————————
“This is harassment,” you told him one evening after escaping yet another terrible blind date.
Wooyoung gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “This is love.”
“This is a cry for help.”
San had nearly fallen off the sofa laughing.
———————————————
Despite all of it, though, you tolerated him. Mostly because beneath all the chaos, Wooyoung genuinely believed he was helping. He hated the idea of you being lonely, even if you kept insisting you weren’t.
And honestly… you were used to being overlooked romantically anyway.
You weren’t the type people noticed immediately.
You weren’t loud like Wooyoung or effortlessly charming like some of the people around him. You didn’t flirt naturally. You didn’t know how to command attention in a room.
You liked quieter things.
Soft conversations late at night. Sitting comfortably beside someone without feeling pressured to fill every silence. Sharing snacks. Listening more than speaking. Watching people carefully and remembering little things about them that everyone else forgot.
You smiled more than you talked.
And maybe because of that, Wooyoung had never really paid attention to what you actually liked.
Or who you liked.
———————————————
Until one particular afternoon.
After another disastrous setup — this time involving a DJ who insisted everyone call him “DJ Wolf” unironically — you ended up at the members’ practice room while they rehearsed.
The familiar sound of music echoed through the room as you sat cross-legged near the mirrors, quietly unpacking the snacks you’d brought. You liked being there during practices sometimes. Even if nobody was talking to you directly, the energy was comforting. Familiar.
Wooyoung eventually collapsed beside you in a sweaty heap, dramatically throwing himself onto the floor.
“Okay,” he announced breathlessly, “DJ Wolf was not that bad.”
You stared at him flatly. “He asked me what my favourite club was.”
“And?”
“I said ‘the book club.’”
Wooyoung barked out a laugh so suddenly he nearly choked.
“You did not.”
“I did.”
He shook his head, grinning. “That’s on him, then.”
You smiled despite yourself and reached into the bag beside you.
“Yeosang,” you called softly, “I got the honey butter chips you like.”
Across the room, Yeosang paused mid-stretch.
“…You did?”
His voice was quieter than everyone else’s usually was. Soft and careful.
You nodded, holding the bag out toward him.
“For you.”
Yeosang walked over slowly, almost cautiously, and sat down across from you. Not too close. Never too close. His fingers brushed yours for only a second while taking the chips, but you still noticed how warm his hands were.
And you definitely noticed the way his ears immediately turned pink.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
You smiled softly at him. “You’re welcome.”
Wooyoung, who had originally been focused entirely on stealing snacks from your bag, slowly looked between the two of you.
Then narrowed his eyes.
Interesting.
The rest of practice only made things worse — or better, depending on how you looked at it.
Yeosang kept drifting toward where you sat during breaks without seeming to realize he was doing it. Every time you spoke, his attention immediately shifted toward you like it happened instinctively.
At one point, you quietly teased him about his concentration face while dancing.
To everyone’s shock, Yeosang laughed.
Not the polite little smile he usually gave people.
An actual laugh.
Soft and warm and real, shoulders shaking slightly while his eyes crinkled at the corners.
Wooyoung stared at him in horror.
Because Yeosang almost never laughed like that around people outside the members.
And then he noticed something even more terrifying.
The way you looked at Yeosang afterward.
Gentle. Fond. Lingering just a second too long.
Oh.
Oh no.
———————————————
That night, Wooyoung cornered San and Yunho in the kitchen like a man uncovering government conspiracies.
“You’ve noticed it too, right?” he whispered urgently.
San blinked at him while eating cereal straight from the box. “Noticed what?”
“My sister,” Wooyoung hissed. “And Yeosang.”
Yunho looked confused for exactly two seconds before realization crossed his face.
“They talk with their eyes,” Yunho replied seriously.
San nodded. “It’s honestly kind of poetic.”
Wooyoung groaned loudly, dragging his hands down his face.
“I’ve spent MONTHS trying to set her up with random men when the answer was literally right there.”
San patted his shoulder sympathetically. “To be fair, your methods were deeply concerning.”
“I need to fix this.”
Yunho immediately pointed a warning finger at him. “Please don’t traumatize them.”
Wooyoung straightened up confidently. “I can be subtle.”
Both of them stared at him in silence.
Then San laughed so hard he nearly dropped the cereal box.
———————————————
A few days later, Wooyoung announced there would be a “casual group hangout.”
That alone should’ve worried you.
“You’re coming with us later,” he told you while leaning against your bedroom door.
“Where?”
“Out.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Don’t be difficult.”
You narrowed your eyes suspiciously but agreed anyway.
———————————————
When you arrived at the café Wooyoung had texted you, though, your steps slowed immediately.
Because standing outside alone was Yeosang.
His hands were shoved nervously into the pockets of his hoodie, and the moment he spotted you, his eyes widened slightly.
“Oh,” he said softly. “Hi.”
Your heart fluttered embarrassingly fast.
“…Hi.”
You looked around.
“No one else is here?”
As if summoned by fear itself, Wooyoung suddenly appeared across the street beside San, waving aggressively.
“We’ll meet you later!” he shouted.
“Wooyoung—”
Too late.
He was already dragging a laughing San away down the sidewalk.
Silence settled between you and Yeosang.
Then, after a painfully awkward pause, you looked at him carefully.
“Did… did we just get set up?”
Yeosang rubbed the back of his neck, ears turning pink again.
“…I think so.”
You stared at each other for another second before unexpectedly laughing.
Not because it was funny, exactly.
More because somehow, for the first time in Wooyoung’s matchmaking history, this didn’t feel horrible.
It felt… nice.
You glanced toward the café doors.
“Do you still want to go in?”
Yeosang looked at you for a moment before nodding.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”
And somehow, the date ended up being perfect in the simplest way possible.
No flashy plans. No awkward forced flirting. No trying too hard.
Just comfort.
You sat together in the warm café for hours, talking more easily than either of you expected. You discovered how many little things you had in common — your love for quiet places, late-night walks, soft music playing in the background while doing nothing important.
Yeosang listened carefully whenever you spoke, like every word mattered enough to remember later. And when he talked, you found yourself listening just as closely.
You learned he noticed little things too.
The way you stirred your drink absentmindedly while thinking. The fact you always pushed marshmallows to the side of hot chocolate because you liked eating them separately.
No one ever noticed things like that.
But he did.
At some point, you wandered into the tiny bookstore beside the café, slowly walking between crowded shelves together.
You paused near a display table, fingertips brushing across book spines while Yeosang quietly followed beside you.
When you glanced up, you caught him already looking at you.
“You look happy,” he said softly.
The honesty in his voice caught you off guard.
“I am,” you admitted quietly.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then Yeosang hesitated before carefully reaching toward you, fingers barely brushing the sleeve of your cardigan.
“Can I…” He swallowed nervously. “Can I hold your hand?”
Your chest tightened instantly.
Not because the question was dramatic.
But because it wasn’t.
Because he asked so gently, like your answer genuinely mattered.
You smiled before holding your hand out toward him.
“Yes.”
Yeosang’s fingers slipped carefully between yours, warm and steady despite how nervous he looked.
And somehow, standing there in the middle of a tiny bookstore holding hands with him felt more romantic than every elaborate setup Wooyoung had ever forced you into combined.
By the end of the night, both of you were smiling in that uncontrollable, quiet way people do when they know something important has shifted.
———————————————
Outside the café, Yeosang looked at you shyly.
“This was…” He paused. “Really nice.”
You laughed softly. “It was the best date I’ve ever been on.”
His smile widened instantly — small, but bright enough to make your heart ache a little.
“Me too.”
Across the street, hidden very badly behind a lamp post, Wooyoung watched with tears in his eyes.
Beside him, San sighed.
“For once,” he admitted, “you didn’t mess it up.”
Wooyoung wiped an imaginary tear from his cheek dramatically.
"Where is my niece?" Iroh asks Zuko as he enters his study. He nods slightly at the attendants who bow in greeting. "There’s a new tea shop that opened in the city and I was hoping she'd accompany me."
"She may be feeding the turtle ducks," Zuko replies, reading through some documents. "And she won't be able to go with you today, she promised her afternoon and evening to me."
Iroh raises a brow, noting how Zuko's voice turned slightly childish. It reminds him of back when Zuko was young and a little possessive over the turtle ducks. He'd not allow anyone else near them, only his mother and very rarely, himself.
It's funny to see it now on an adult Zuko, who's a little—very—possessive over his wife and her time.
Iroh contemplates teasing his nephew about it.
"Oh?" He says. "But it'll only be for an hour or so and I know she's been excited to visit this place."
Zuko huffs. "I know. She's been talking about it since you told her." He sighs, lowering the paper in his hands so he can give his uncle his full attention. "You know I love that you and her are close. But let's be realistic, uncle. Your outings last longer than an hour and I probably won't see her until it's time for bed."
"I wouldn't keep her out that long."
Zuko stares at him.
"I promise!" Iroh laughs, amused by his nephew's disgruntled expression. "And you know there's a solution for this."
"And what's that?" Zuko asks, eyeing him warily.
"You can come with us."
"You know I can't," Zuko says, gesturing to all the work before him. "I have a meeting in the early afternoon followed by my counsel and—"
The doors to his study open, revealing a smiling you. Iroh smiles back, casting a glance at Zuko who immediately melts at the sight of you. Oh, he remembers what that was like—being that deeply in love.
"Hey," you greet happily, moving towards Iroh first who accepts the hug you give him. Then you're onto Zuko who stands and reaches for you, his arms locking around your waist as you lean into him, pressing a soft kiss against his scar. "How are my two favourite people doing?"
"Well," Zuko starts. "We were just—"
"—about to head out to the new tea shop that just opened," Iroh interrupts smoothly, ignoring the bewildered look on his nephew's face. "We were coming to look for you right now, actually."
"Oh really?" You ask, brightening up beautifully and turning your sunshine smile to Zuko. "You're coming with us? That's so exciting! We can spend the afternoon together."
"I—" Zuko looks towards Iroh, helpless, as his uncle grins. "I...yes, I'm coming with you."
"Wonderful!" You kiss his scar again and Zuko's melting again. "Let me just go and freshen up a little then we can go."
"We'll be here," Iroh replies, waving as you practically skip out of the room. Then he turns to Zuko. "Well, that was easy, wasn't it?"
"You've got to stop doing that," Zuko bemoans but there's an obvious upward curve to his lips.
𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: frat!Rafe Cameron x innocent Pogue!reader
𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: dark, dubcon, unhinged inner monolog from rafe, misogynistic rhetoric, classist rhetoric (in the context of kooks, pogues etc), daddy kink, innocence kink, loss of virginity, smut (oral + p in v), oral (female receiving, fingering, MAJORR size kink, spanking, daddy issues, condescension, babying, dirty talk, swearing, very unbalanced power dynamic, which rafe gets off on, slut-shaming, derogatory name calling, manipulation, college au, reader is a freshman and rafe is a senior, 18+ only, mdni
𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: Rafe bets his friends he can fuck you in one week.
𝘼/𝙉: It's here! The full fic. Word count: 23k. Please let me know what you think - reblogs and feedback mean the world to me. Read the warnings before you read, and enjoy!
“Her.”
Rafe looks over at the Pogue girl Topper’s nodding at and smirks. “Been there, done that. Pick a different one.”
Topper scoffs, “She literally moved here last week.”
“And?”
“OK… What about her?” He brazenly points at a leggy blonde that stands out in her group of Pogues.
“Last weekend at the beach party you threw. She gives good head.”
“Jesus Christ dude, is there anyone left??”
Rafe chuckles, leaning back and stretching his legs out while his friends stare at him in disbelief. He sometimes wonders if they know how stupid they look. Like followers. His followers. Hanging on to his every word, oohing and aahing at whatever he did. Making him feel like he was a God among men. Which he may as well be, considering that’s how most people at this college looked at him.
That’s why he loved fucking the Pogue girls. Almost exclusively. There was something about the power imbalance. Most of them came from poor families, looked at Rafe like he was a God. It didn’t take much for them to spread their legs for him, impressed by his power, turned on by his wealth. Hell, even the Kook girls were the same. But Rafe hardly ever took them home. They were spoiled sluts who hung around the country club wasting their lives and spending their daddies” money. Yeah, they didn’t pique his interest at all. Not as much as the Pogue girls who worked at the country club. In their little housekeeping outfits, deliberately teasing him in the hopes he’d take one of them home.
Yeah. It was safe to say Rafe Cameron had a type.
“Well, what about that one?”
Rafe rolls his eyes, about to say that yes, he had indeed fucked whatever girl Topper was pointing at this time. Because he’d fucked all of them. Because of who he was. Because of what he was capable of. Because of the family he came from. Because of what being a mere notch on Rafe Cameron’s bedpost meant to every single slut he’d ran through.
Except he doesn’t. Because Topper is pointing at you. And he’s never seen you before in his life.
You look so out of place, despite the fact you’re with a group of Pogues. And he knows you’re a Pogue. Like a shark with blood and a predator with its prey, he can always tell. And yet you stand awkwardly on the outskirts of the group, smiling yet not quite participating in whatever conversation is going on. You push your glasses up, straighten your skirt, pretend to look for something in your book bag. You’re shy. Self-conscious. Insecure. Rafe smiles.
“Who is she?”
“Aha! You haven’t slept with her!” Topper cheers like he’s won the fucking lottery. Sometimes Rafe wonders why he’s friends with him.
“Who is she?” He repeats like he hasn’t even heard him.
“She’s the new chick,” Kelce says, “except she’s not exactly new in town.”
“I heard she was home-schooled,” Topper snickers, “That’s why she’s fucking weird and has no friends. Even the Pogues don’t want her.”
Rafe observes you some more. Watches the bright smile on your face, how you try to chime in to whatever conversation the girls around you are having. They nod at you politely yet dismissively. They’re not your friends. As Topper said, you don’t have any.
Insecure. Weak. Vulnerable.
He licks his lips.
“How long?”
“Huh?”
He runs a hand through his hair impatiently, “How long do you wanna bet it takes me to get her into bed?” He nods in your direction.
Topper raises an eyebrow.
“You can’t be serious, man. She looks like she doesn’t even know what sex means.”
Kelce laughs, “She looks like she can’t even say it. Like she spells it out every time, s-e-x.”
They’re right. You look very innocent, but all that does is incense him. Rafe’s used to easy sluts who spread their legs after one drink or a ride on his motorbike. But you. He can tell you’d be harder to crack. But there’s something so fucking hot about how naive you look. How shy and sweet you are. How ruined he could leave you. Splayed out on his bike, legs quivering, all sweaty limbs and shy pants after he’s done having his way with you—
“How long?” He repeats, not in the mood to waste time and already getting hard picturing innocent little you with your tiny skirt flipped up and his head buried between those soft thighs, your sweet little confused cries because no one’s ever touched you like that, and—
“A week.”
“Mm?”
“A week to fuck her. With proof.”
Rafe stands up and stretches, licking his lips as he watches you retreat to a small bench, getting your little book out and burying your nose in it.
“That’s too easy. What do I get when I do it?”
“If you do it, you can decide what you get then. But as I said before, we’d need proof.” Kelce says.
“Yeah, proof,” Topper echoes, a glint in his eye as he looks over at you, “Pictures.”
Rafe shrugs, already kind of bored, “Sure.” He’d taken plenty of pictures of his conquests in the past. Him and his boys had a group chat where they shared that kind of shit. And the idea of taking pictures of you in such a vulnerable position gets him harder than anything. Sweet little freshman baby fucked dumb by the big bad senior, posing for pictures afterwards all teary-eyed but submissive. They all got submissive for him, even after he was done using them.
You flip a page, completely engrossed in your book and looking every bit the naive baby he’s imagining you as. A little lamb who has no idea she was in the presence of a fucking lion. And he bets you’re a virgin. Homeschooled with no friends? Forget virgin, you probably haven’t even had your first kiss. And that gets him so fucking horny, right there in the middle of the campus courtyard. The idea that you’re so pure, so untouched. So happy, so unassuming. A little fucking baby.
He’d have fun ruining you.
***
“You sure do love reading, don’t you?”
It’s the following day when Rafe finds you sitting by yourself in the corner of the library, with nothing but your book to keep you company.
You jump like a little mouse, pushing your glasses up your nose and gulping up at him, fear briefly flitting across your face before you force a small smile. And he likes his girls jumpy, he likes them slightly afraid of him. He knows he has that effect on people in general, but he wonders who’s told you about him.
“Sorry, were you — uh — were you talking to me?”
Rafe smirks, “Yes. Who else would I be talking to?”
“Oh, uh, I’m not sure…”
“It was a rhetorical question.”
“Oh, of course,” you look embarrassed, and he watches you squirm under his gaze for a good few seconds. “I… um…”
“You find books more interesting than people?”
“Huh?”
He chuckles, pulling up a chair next to you, noting how your eyes widen as he takes a seat, “Why are you always reading?”
“I don’t know, I guess I just like to read,” you shrug.
“You sure do.” He wonders if he could get you to read your precious book out loud while he went down on you, licked your virgin cunt while you cried because it felt too good. And then he’d spank you if you stopped or messed up a word, and like a stupid dumb fucking baby, you’d sniffle and wail through each paragraph, hold back your moans while he went to town on your little pussy till you wet yourself, and he’d suck your—
“Are you making fun of me?”
You pose the question so innocently— hell, you practically whisper it, and it knocks Rafe straight out of his daydream to find you blinking up at him with Bambi eyes.
“What?”
You bite your lip, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m not so good at understanding if someone’s joking or not. I’m not… uh… I’m not used to being around so many people, and it makes me nervous and I can’t tell if someone’s being genuine or if they’re making fun of me.”
“You were homeschooled, huh?” Rafe stares at you intently, noting how you play with your hair nervously, and your fingers tap against the hard cover of your book. How you can barely make eye contact with him for longer than a few seconds.
“Yes. My mom taught me and my older brothers.”
Rafe nods, taking his time to answer. He looks at you some more, enjoying how it makes you uncomfortable. You fidget nervously, and it amuses him every time you peek up to meet his gaze before a look of alarm crosses your face and you divert your eyes down to your book once more.
“You’re a shy little thing, aren’t you?” He says finally, chuckling at the embarrassed look on your face.
“I… I guess. I do want to make friends but it’s pretty overwhelming.”
“I’ll be your friend.”
He does a good job of hiding his predatory, wolfish smile. And he wonders if you can see the glint in his eye as he mentally undresses you. You look so small and weak, especially compared to him. Gullible too. Too innocent for your own good, the way you gape up at him as if he’s offered you gold on a platter. It makes him want to stroke your soft cheek, pat it and tell you what a good little girl you are. For being so naive.
You shake your head as if trying to straighten out your thoughts. He can tell, he has that effect on women too.
“Oh, you don’t have to, I uh—”
“Rafe Cameron?! In the library?!” An annoying, high-pitched voice shrieks, making you jump as it cuts you off mid-sentence.
It’s a kook girl. A cheerleader. Rafe can’t be fucked to remember her name but he’s sure he’s hooked up with her. She’s one of those ones, the ones that hang out at the country club and try to catch his eye. One of the desperate sluts who thinks if she spreads her legs enough times for him, that he’ll make her his girlfriend or some stupid shit like that.
“Rafe, what are you doing here?” The cheerleader sidles up to him, her hand on his chest and batting her lashes in his direction in some pathetic form of seduction. She ignores you, and you shrink into yourself, hastily burying your face in your book.
“What do you want?” He asks, not quite as interested in her answer as he is in continuing to stare at you. How you try to act like you don’t care, but he knows you’re hurt from being ignored, from being treated like you’re invisible.
“Nothing. Just wondering what you’re up to.” But she flashes him her fuck me eyes, her nails scraping suggestively against his chest. Rafe yawns, considering it. He has time before his next class (not that he could be fucked to turn up to class half the time) and his dick’s hard from talking to you. And since you probably don’t even know what the word blowjob means…
“Go in there,” he nods at one of the private study rooms in the far end of the library, and the fucking slut nearly trips as she scrambles to obey him. Rafe takes his time, stretching his legs before slowly getting up.
You peek up from your book, “Are you guys gonna go study in there?”
He could’ve bust a nut then and there from how fucking innocent you sound. Batting your little eyelashes at him like you’re trying to seduce him without even realising it. He knows he’ll be thinking about you, weepy and on your knees, while the kook girl blows him. Fuck, and if he plays his cards right, he’d have you by the end of the week. And he always plays his cards right.
“You could call it studying.”
You nod, “OK, well, goodbye then.” You look back down at your book, but risk a glance up at him again, which he finds very amusing.
“What’s your name, homeschool?”
You tell him.
He sounds it out, before shooting you one last smile, “Well, I’ll see you soon. Won’t I?”
You give him a puzzled look, but it’s replaced by your usual wide-eyed Bambi stare when he pats your hand, his thumb lingering, stroking your skin. He wonders if you’ve ever even touched someone of the opposite sex before. Judging by how your breath hitches softly, he doubts it.
Fuck. He can’t wait to ruin you. Play the slow game and enjoy that sweet virgin snatch before any other man ever could.
That’s what he’s thinking of when he’s got the cheerleader on her knees in front of him. That sweet little look on your face, the look of curiosity mixed with shyness and that little hint of indignation. Fuck, he wants to ruin you. And he would. With proof.
***
Day two. Rafe finds you walking down the hallway, your books clutched to your chest and eyes trained to the floor. Cutest little skirt making your perky ass pop, winking at him enticingly with every step as if you’re deliberately seducing him. Makes him want to slap your cute little ass, reprimand you for teasing him and half the men on campus without even realising it. He wonders what you’d say if he just did it. Spanked you in front of everyone. You’d probably start blubbering like a little baby. He has to forcibly stop picturing it before he gets uncomfortably hard.
You’re alone. As usual.
“Hey, homeschool,” he falls into step beside you, eyebrow raising in amusement when you don’t slow down nor look at him.
“Oh, h-hello, Rafe.”
“What’re you up to today?”
“Nothing, just going to my next lecture.”
He grabs your wrist, watching as your breath hitches, and yet you still don’t look at him. Damn, what had gotten Bambi so scared?
“You’ve got time to talk to me, don’t you?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. And you know it, judging by how you swallow harshly.
“I’m so sorry, I don’t want to be late—” You attempt to tug your little hand out of his grasp but you’re so small and weak that it barely has any effect.
“C’mon, homeschool. That’s no way to treat your one and only friend.”
He’s walks you into a corner, and he likes how you gape at the wall before turning and looking up at him. He’s so much taller than you, bigger than you in every single way.
“Rafe, I…” you sigh, shifting from one foot to the other, “My friends said some things…”
“Friends?” You don’t have any.
“Some of the girls I know. They saw us talking yesterday at the library and they…” you sigh, “They said you were probably just playing a joke on me.”
Fuckin’ jealous pogue bitches.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes. They said there’s no way you’d talk to me for any other reason apart from as a joke. And they…” you bite your lip, looking so cutely distraught and it goes straight to his dick. “They said some other things… about you.”
Of course they fuckin’ did. Always talking behind his back, but never to his goddamned face. Nothing but a bunch of jealous, gold-digging whores.
He doesn’t say anything, just merely looks at you as if he expects you to tell him. And he knows you will. You’re too innocent to keep secrets.
“They said that you… that you’re scary sometimes.”
Rafe remains impassive, waiting for you to continue.
“That you… that you pick on a lot of us Pogues. E-Especially the boys. That you and your friends bully them.”
He snorts. Bully. What a juvenile word. Sure, he pushed the dipshit Pogues around here and there. They deserved it for all the trouble they ran around town causing, disrupting the natural order of shit. And he could fuck their girls better than they ever could. Especially that fuckin’ idiot JJ Maybank…
“They also said that… never mind.” Again, you try to tug away from him but to no avail.
“Tell me.” He likes how you struggle under his scrutinising gaze.
“It’s… it’s not appropriate.”
“Say it. Now.”
You lower your voice, “They said you like to use the girls. The pogue girls. Th-That you have a kink for them.”
The scandalous words have hardly left your mouth before you duck your head down as if embarrassed. God, you were so fucking innocent. Rafe wonders how he should play this.
“Huh. Is that so?”
“Y-Yeah. One of the girls I talk to… She said that you…” you swallow, biting your lip, “that you’ve been with her and all her friends too. That you tell them all the same thing but it’s always a lie and you just end up using them.”
Rafe nods, “Hmm.”
“I’m sorry, Rafe, but I don’t think we should—“
“That’s funny. I thought you were smart. You know, with all your books and the glasses and shit.”
You blink, “What?”
He shrugs, “I didn’t think you’d go ahead and pass judgement on someone without even getting to know them first.”
“It’s not that–”
“I mean, here I am, wanting to be friends with you. And I’ve been nothin’ but nice, haven’t I?”
He’s still got you backed into a corner, and he watches as you flinch when he emphasises his words. He knows people get intimidated by his intensity, but there’s nothing he hates more than people talking shit behind his back. Especially low-life Pogues. And he likes how scared you look right now, pouty lips all downturned and alarm in your eyes.
“I asked you a question, homeschool.”
“Yes, you’ve been nothing but nice! It’s just, I heard all these things, and–”
“And you chose to believe them.” He steps back abruptly, “I’ll see you around, I guess.”
He walks away, about to count to three in his head but you beat the count before he can even begin.
“Rafe, wait! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to judge you.”
He stops, allows you to catch up.
“You’re right, I…I shouldn’t listen to other people.”
“You shouldn’t.” Rafe agrees, easily taking your heavy textbooks from where you’ve been balancing them in your arms. You gape, but he just continues smoothly: “Where’s your next class?”
You tell him, “But you don’t have to walk with me or anything–”
“I’m your friend, homeschool. That’s what friends do.”
*
Day 3. You’re eating your lunch on a bench outside all by yourself. Rafe’s heading to his car with his friends. They usually cut classes most days to hit the beach or the country club. Rafe doesn’t see the point of college anyways, not when he was poised to inherit all of his father’s businesses, money and property. And with the ideas he had, he’d expand tenfold on whatever Ward was doing now, make a shit ton more money than his old man ever did. That would show him…
”How’s the bet coming along, Rafe?” Topper asks.
“Wait till the end of the week.” Is all Rafe says. He doesn’t need to give progress reports to his dumb fuck ass follower friends.
“That means he’s nowhere near cracking that virgin pussy.” Kelce chuckles. “No worries, brother. She looks like she’s got a stick up her ass anyways. Not loose like the rest of the Pogue whores.”
He ignores them as they laugh. But they’re right. You’re not like the rest of the Pogue girls. They’d grown up wild, promiscuous, loose. Trained to catch the attention of a rich Kook like himself, filled with self-serving motivations to marry into money. But he can already tell you’re different. With your cute little outfits and respectful, quiet demeanour. You look like you’d fit in where he was from.
Too bad he was only going to fuck you before discarding you like he did the rest of them.
“I’ll catch you guys later.” He says, making a beeline for you.
“Hey,” he chucks you under the chin, smirking when you jump.
“Oh, hey Rafe.” You look beyond his shoulder, “Your friends are all leaving.”
“Yeah. The waves are good this time of day.”
You gape, “But don’t you have classes?”
He takes a seat next to you, making sure to stretch out while you shrink into yourself. Still so nervous around him. He snickers, “You gonna tell on us?”
You look aghast, “No! I would never–”
“I’m just kidding, homeschool.”
“Oh,” you look embarrassed, “Sorry. Sometimes I–”
“Can’t tell if someone’s joking or not,” Rafe completes, “I remember. I’ll be more straight up with you.”
You nod, and he can tell you’re trying to think of something else to say. But you’re too nervous, too awkward. And so you just bury your head in your book again, all while he watches you. You’ve got a bottle of apple juice and a half-eaten sandwich of some kind on the table next to you. Cut up into little triangles. He bets you’ve done it yourself. Fuckin’ cute.
“You dress cute.” He says, and again, widened Bambi eyes stare up at him. He chuckles, “You know, the little skirts and plaid and shit. It’s cute.”
“Thank you.”
“You do it on purpose?” He can’t help but ask, because he wonders if a part of you knows what you’re doing. Knows you’re dressing like a sexy little angel out of his wettest dreams. All little and cute and innocent, so much smaller than him. Weak. All pastel and pretty, like you’d look so fucking sexy on the back of his bike. On his arm. On his dick.
“I don’t know what you mean by that,” you say, sounding every bit as innocent as you look. Damn, homeschool must’ve done a number on you. But he likes how sheltered you sound. It gets him so fucking hard, and a part of him almost feels sorry for how primed you are to be taken advantage of. “I wear my mom’s old clothes, or stuff I find in the charity shops.”
He’d had maids and housekeepers who shopped in places like that. He remembers him and his siblings giving them their old clothes once they’d grown out of them.
He nods, “You look pretty.”
Your breath hitches, and you really don’t know how to respond to that, because you slam your book shut and stand up, “I, uh, I have to go. I don’t want to be late for my next class.”
He watches you leave, distracted by your ass again but not enough to miss the little smile that quirks on your lips as you bid him farewell and walk away.
*
On day 4, Rafe walks up behind you in the busy hallway, pressing his huge hand on your lower back and pushing you into another secluded corner. He smirks when you squeak, but he likes how easily he can push you around because of how weak and small you are.
“Hey.” He told himself he’d take it slow (well, as slow as he could take it in the span of one week) and yet he can’t help but press into you a little bit. It’s innocuous enough, but your eyes widen as per usual, and the feel of your hot little body against his much larger one is enough to give him a boner. It’s how he could easily push you into an empty lecture hall and have his way with you if he so wanted to. Sure, you’d cry and resist at first, but they all gave in in the end. And if someone caught them, he’d pay them off.
Rafe Cameron owned the world. Nothing could stop him.
“Hello, Rafe.” You breathe, and he loves how his name sounds when you say it. He imagines you moaning it when he has you on his lap, pressing you down on his dick while you cry and whimper because it’s too much, it’s too big. But your greedy little virgin pussy would take every inch of his fat dick, and he’d do all the work, of course. You’d be too busy crying, and he’d bounce you up and down on his dick while you grabbed at his arms, his hair, his face. He’d tell you to scrape your nails down his back, leave a fucking mark or two so daddy could remember you.
“Come for a drive with me? I’ll buy you lunch.”
Despite your shyness, a fire flashes in your eyes, “I can buy my own lunch!”
He raises an eyebrow. As if on cue, you lower your gaze.
“Sorry, I mean… thank you for your offer, Rafe. But I can buy my own lunch.”
Surprisingly though, you agree to the drive. And he still has his hand pressed against your back, guiding you out to where his car’s parked. You ogle at it, probably never having seen anything as expensive. He wonders if your family even owns a car, or if you even know how to drive. It would be hot if you didn’t, it made you look even more helpless. In need of someone like him to protect you, take care of you. Someone powerful and wealthy like himself.
“Wow, I’ve never been on this side of the island before!” You say, oohing and aahing as you stare out the window. Rafe’s never seen anyone so easily excited by the neighbourhood he’d grown so used to. But he supposes the mansions, sports cars, country clubs and private beaches would be impressive to anyone who hadn’t grown up with easy access to all of that.
“No?”
“No, but my brother’s friend works there, I think.” You point to the vast golf course at the back end of one of the clubs. “He says the tips are really good.”
Rafe frowns. You were talking to other men? No, not you. You were too sweet, too innocent. He was sure he was the only man you spoke to. Or even if you were speaking to others, he doubts a golf caddy pathetically running after balls would be much competition. And yet, he bristles, wanting to change the subject.
“Do you have a job?” Rafe asks.
You shake your head, “No. I sometimes tutor some kids in the neighbourhood but nothing permanent. I’d love to have a part-time job with proper wages like the country club or library or something, but my family’s kind of protective of me.”
“Mm?” He’s deliberately being quiet, wanting to hear you talk, wanting to learn more about you.
“Yeah. That’s why I was homeschooled. My mom’s scared someone’s gonna take advantage of me.” You pause, before giggling, “It took a lot to convince her to let me apply for colleges, but I think she’s finally starting to see me as an adult who can make my own decisions and protect myself.”
The irony isn’t lost on Rafe, but he finds himself leaning closer. You have this way of talking, so soft and breathy, yet energetic and full of life at the same time. Like you’re a storybook character, like you’re someone out of this world. Like an angel dropped down from heaven and sent just for him. You’re his type to a tee. God, he wants to fuck you so bad.
“What would your mom say if she knew you were out with me?” His hand creeps up to rest on your knee. You’re wearing jeans, which he doesn’t approve of but he decides to give you a pass since it’s windy today.
You don’t notice his touch anyways; you’re too busy pondering over his question. But there’s a glint in your eye, “Sh-She wouldn’t approve. But that’s only ‘cause she doesn’t know you.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, his thumb rubbing circles against the denim of your jeans. “And you do?”
You swallow, finally realising he’s got his hand on you. Surprisingly, you don’t move. It’s almost like you’re frozen, those big fuck me Bambi eyes making a comeback, “Uh…I…We’re friends, aren’t we?”
He smirks, “Yeah. Friends.” His hand creeps up higher, stroking your thigh softly, wishing you were wearing one of your little skirts so he could feel your bare skin. But it’s thrilling anyways, touching your quivering body while you’re defenceless inside his car. He could lock the doors and have his way with you right now. Hell, people outside would get quite the show but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s fucked in public.
Poor little you. Losing your virginity in the front seat of his car. He’d drag you into his lap, bounce you up and down on his cock. But not before making you beg for it first. And you’d cry so fucking bad, because it would hurt. Because he’d promise he’d be gentle but he knows himself, he knows he’d lose control like he always did. Fuck you so goddamned hard, he’d have to lay you down in the backseat afterwards because you wouldn’t be able to stop shaking. Then drive you back to his house, carry you into his bed and have his way with you again. And again. And again.
“Rafe?”
“Yes?”
“You’re not hanging out with me because you feel sorry for me, are you?”
That grabs his attention, “Why would you think that?”
You shrug, “No reason. I just… Well, you have so many friends. I guess I don’t quite understand why you’re hanging out with me.”
“I like you.” He shifts even closer, his hand steadily stroking your leg while you remain stiff, “Do you like me?”
“H-Huh?”
“You heard me, homeschool.” And yet he knows you’re distracted by his fingers tracing shapes on your thigh. Not random shapes, though. It’s his initials. Over and over again. R.C., he wonders if you can tell.
“I, uh, y-ye–” You’re having trouble getting your words out, and it amuses him. He can see you visibly shaking, and he wonders if it’s out of fear or anticipation. Or both. He leans down, bringing his face close to yours.
“I didn’t quite get that.” He licks his lips at how weak and intimidated you look. “Say it again.”
It’s an order, and you clear your throat, shake your head as if to clear your thoughts.
“Yes,” you whisper, as if it’s something scandalous, “Y-Yes, I like you.”
He pulls back abruptly, leaving you gaping at him.
“Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”
He buys you a panini from a little artisan bakery, with a strawberry iced tea and a packet of chocolate hearts with a cherry cream filling. You protest at first, unzipping your bag to pay for yourself, but he’d sooner roll over and die than let a woman pay for anything.
“Toss me one,” he says, and you throw a little cherry-filled truffle at him. He catches it between his teeth, and your eyes light up, clearly impressed.
“Wow, that was cool!”
“C’mere, you’ve got a little something…” He grabs your chin gently, pulling you forward before rubbing his thumb against the side of your lip, wiping away a bit of chocolate. “Messy girl.”
Your breath hitches, but you stay still for him like a good little girl. His thumb lingers, and he wants to press it into your mouth, make you suck the chocolate off it. Then tell you he had something else for you to suck on. Push you down and make you warm his cock with your mouth while he drove you back to campus. One hand on the steering wheel, the other pressing your head down, making you take his big cock despite you whimpering and panicking because you can’t breathe.
He rubs your lower lip with his thumb for a moment before pulling away. You clear your throat, snapping out of whatever reverie you’ve been in, straighten up against the seat and put your seatbelt on. You still look like you’re in a daze, however, and he wonders if you’re wet from him wiping your face clean.
“I-uh-we should head back please, if that’s okay?” you say, voice slightly shaky as you avoid eye contact with him. “I don’t want to miss my afternoon class.”
He grins, “You a teacher’s pet?”
That makes you smile, and you shrug shyly. It almost enamours him.
He gets you back to campus on time, and you give him a little wave before you jump out of his car and walk inside. And god, it’s insane how hot you are. Even in your jeans, which have cute little embroidered flowers on the butt. Makes your ass look insane. Like it’s begging to be grabbed, smacked, fucked.
He breathes out heavily through his nose, slumping back against his seat. His dick is uncomfortably hard. God, you didn’t even realise how much you’d teased him tonight. Sitting tight and pretty in the passenger seat of his car, so quiet and pretty. So innocently impressed by Figure 8, and by him. How shy you’d been when you’d admitted that you liked him…
He gets his phone out, blindly texting one of the desperate girls on his phone. He needs a release. And he’d be thinking of you the whole time.
*
On day 5, Rafe tells you to give him your number. From his peripheral, he can see a bunch of Pogues whispering and watching while he takes your phone and puts his number in.
“Have your little friends been talking more shit about me?”
You flinch. He can’t help the intensity of his tone sometimes, and he’s noticed you never swear and, like a jumpy little mouse, probably feel intimidated when he does.
“No, I haven’t really spoken to them in a while.”
Rafe grins, “Yeah?”
“Yes. I’ve been busy with schoolwork.”
He saves his number on your phone before pressing it into your back pocket for you. You gape, eyes darting around to see if anyone saw. He wonders just how prim and proper you are, and how quickly he could get you to come undone once he got you comfortable and behind closed doors.
“You’re not too busy to text me, right?”
You smile, looking down and fidgeting with your binder. He notices you’ve got little stickers on it, like cupcakes and hearts and shit. What a fuckin’ baby.
“Text you? I don’t really– I have to a test tomorrow that I need to study for.”
But he knows you’ll text him. They always did. You weren’t any different.
“What are you smiling at?” Kelce asks, pulling up beside him as Rafe watches you head into your next class.
Immediately, he straightens his face, “Nothing man.”
“You falling for that homeschool freak Pogue?”
He snorts, “You wish. I have standards.”
“You sure about that?”
He whips his head sharply to stare down at his friend, “You want me to repeat myself?”
Rafe doesn’t miss the flicker of fear in Kelce’s eyes. They’d never admit it, but he knows his friends are afraid of him. Of his mood swings, his unpredictability. He doesn’t care. In fact, he prefers it this way. They weren’t like him, they were weak-minded, beneath him. He kept them around because of semantics, because of who their parents were and who his dad was. And because they proved to be minorly useful sometimes when he needed help to get shit done.
All the girls he’d been with had been afraid of him too. When he fucked them, he often lost control. But it turned him on, how they’d swallow their fear in case they offended him, or set him off. Once, he’d fucked a girl who just wouldn’t stop shaking. Sure, he’d showed her his gun right before he’d bent her over, but it was her problem if she was frightened by something as mundane as that.
You weren’t scared of him. Yet. Intimidated, sure. But he’d kept that side of him well under wraps when it came to you. You were too sweet, too pure. And you were a good girl, incapable of crossing him in any form. He didn’t have to scare you to get what he wanted from you. No, you’d give it to him, like the good little girl you were. Naïve, innocent little girl.
*
Rafe: Hey.
Y/N: Hi, Rafe. How are you?
He finds himself smiling at his screen. There’s a party going on downstairs, but Rafe couldn’t care less. It’s the same thing every other night. His friends showing up at his house and bringing along a whole entourage of people he doesn’t give a fuck about. Sarah used to do it a lot before she moved out, invite her fuck ass Pogue friend group into his house as if they were ever welcome there.
Rafe didn’t want any Pogues inside his house. Unless they were girls that he intended to sleep with. But he appreciated it when they showed themselves out once he was done using them.
Rafe: What are you up to?
A minute passes by, then another one. Fuck, he hates that you’re making him wait. What a fuckin’ tease. He wonders for the hundredth time if you’re doing it on purpose. No, not you. You’re too innocent.
Y/N: Nothing, I just finished cleaning my room. Wbu?
It’s insane how the visual of that gets his dick hard in less than a second. The thought of you doing something as domestic as cleaning. The good little college girl, who went home straight after school and spent her evenings dusting and vacuuming or whatever it was that cleaning entailed. Unlike the Kook sluts his friends were probably fucking downstairs. They were pathetic party girls who’d easily spread their legs for a line or two.
He calls you, losing patience with this texting bullshit. He runs a hand through his hair impatiently when you don’t immediately pick up, huffing and gulping down the remaining whiskey in his glass. Slamming it down on his desk when you still don’t pick up. Fucking tease. He grabs a baggie from one of the drawers, prepares a neat line; despite promising himself he wouldn’t do it tonight. Fuck that. Ten seconds have passed; you still haven’t picked up. He snorts it quickly, about to throw his phone out the fucking window, except you choose that moment to pick up.
“H-Hello?”
“Hi,” he sounds slightly breathless, but who the fuck cared. He refills his glass with more whiskey, taking a sip to calm himself down. “Took your time to pick up, huh?”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” you say hastily, “I got distracted.”
He feels a sudden surge of jealousy so violent, he doesn’t know how to act for a moment. Distracted by fucking what?
“The lights went out, so I had to go reset them,” you explain, and he barks out a laugh. Jesus fucking Christ.
“Y-You sound kinda breathless, Rafe,” you say, “Is everything okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be okay?” He downs his drink and sets it aside before his hand slips down. God, you sound so hot. All breathy and innocent, even just over the phone. “Tell me what you were doing.”
A pause, and then you force out a chuckle, “I told you, I just finished cleaning.”
“What like vacuuming and shit?”
“Yes.”
Over the years, Rafe had slept with a number of maids Ward had hired on multiple occasions. He’d fucked Wheezie’s babysitter a few years ago, the housekeeper too. His father had a knack for hiring hot Pogue girls, and maybe that’s where Rafe’s kink for them started.
He could imagine you working for him – he’d make you wear the sexiest little barely-there maid outfit. You wouldn’t question it because you were too innocent. With your little feather duster, trying to clean except you’d be too small to reach certain areas. Fuck, he wouldn’t last five seconds in the same room as you. And he wouldn’t have to because you’d be his hired help, his property. He’d have you bent over his desk, fuck you so hard till you couldn’t stop shaking, till you were crying like a baby and apologising for not focusing on cleaning all while he carried you up to his bedroom. Locked you up in there so nobody else could see you. His girl. All his.
“Uh, Rafe?”
“I wanted to talk to you,” he says.
A pause.
“Really?” You clear your throat, “Where are you? I can hear music.”
“Shit, yeah. Like, there’s a party or whatever going on downstairs. My friends came over unannounced.”
“Oh.” He can sense a level of dejection in your tone. He bets you’re thinking about it, thinking how it’s just a reminder that he has his own group of Kook friends. And you’d never be one of them. You’d never truly fit in. You were either one or the other. Hell, Sarah had proven that when she’d transitioned into the slums. But maybe there was a way to bring you into his world, a way that would stick.
He has to forcibly shake his head to remind himself you’re just part of a stupid bet.
“I’d rather speak to you than them.”
“That’s not true, Rafe.”
“I like how you say my name.” He’s palming his dick now, knowing he’s treading over the line and could easily scare you off now if he’s not careful. But fuck being careful. He’s never really been careful before in his life. He hasn’t had to be. “An’ I’m serious. I told you, I like you.”
“Rafe, I… I just can’t shake the feeling that–”
“That what?” He spits into his palm before resuming touching himself. And shit, he doesn’t know if it’s the drugs or if it’s really just the sound of your voice that’s got him so goddamned horny. He wonders if you’ve ever touched yourself before. If you even knew how to.
“That you’re just playing a big joke on me. I mean, even the people from the Cut think I’m this weird, homeschooled freak.” You laugh, but he can tell you don’t find it funny, “It’s just hard to believe that you’d want to be my friend.”
“They think I’m a freak too,” he says, being honest for once. “Only difference is they don’t talk shit about me because they know I’d kill them.”
“You’re funny, Rafe.”
You’re too innocent to realise he’s not kidding. Not in the least.
“And if anyone says anything about you, I’ll kill them too. I’m serious.” Fuck, he feels like his dick’s gonna goddamn explode. The thought of protecting you like that, like he was responsible for you. Like you were all cute and helpless and he was the one taking care of shit, the one protecting you. That’s all he’s done his whole life, take care of shit and get shit done. And nobody’s ever fucking appreciated him for it.
“Well, thank you, Rafe. I’ve never had anyone stick up for me like that.”
He likes how you keep saying his name now that he’s told you he likes it when you say it. Means you’d be real good at taking instructions. He can imagine telling you what to do when he finally has you in his bed. Order you to get on your hands and knees. Then he’d spread your cute little ass, eat you from the back while you moaned his name over and over, thanking him for taking care of you, weeping how much you appreciate him, how much he means to you. How much you need him.
“A-Are you still there?”
“Shit, yeah. Yeah, I am.” His dick’s red and painfully hard, and he’s still trying to pump it steadily but now he’s imagining your tight little virgin cunt wrapped around it. Soft like velvet, warm and wet. Pulsating around him. Never had even a finger up there but you’d take his big dick, because he owned you, because he was your protector, because you were too weak and helpless without him, and–
“Could you, uh, fuck, say my name again,” he orders you, not caring in the least if he scares you off.
“Rafe?”
He cums into his fist like a goddamned teenage boy, biting down to keep from making any noise. God fucking dammit, you’d listened again. What a good fucking girl. He wants to tell you that, tell you how good you were for him just now, how obedient and submissive you were without even realising it.
“If you’re busy, it’s okay and you can go,” you say softly.
“No, wait…” he clears this throat, grabbing a bunch of tissues from his desk. He can’t believe you hadn’t caught on to him jacking off. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
“Do you want to come over tomorrow? To hang out?”
“Like, uh, at your house?”
“Yeah.” He needs you in private, needs you on his turf where he can control just about everything. God, was it even about the bet anymore? Or just this newfound fucking irrevocable need to fuck you just for his own personal satisfaction? Maybe both.
“I don’t know, I’ve never been to a guy’s house before.”
That just makes him even more determined to be your first.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun. We can go after your classes finish or whatever, and I’ll drive you home afterwards.”
“Rafe…”
He shuts his eyes for a moment, savouring the sound of your voice. He wonders if he can get you to call him daddy. God fucking dammit, just the idea of that was getting him hard again.
“Look, we’ll order some food, watch TV. Whatever you want. It’ll be fun. And it’s what friends do.”
That last part gets to you. He can tell. He knows how badly you want to have friends. He knows you’ve never had any. Not good, permanent ones like you saw in movies and TV shows. Hell, Rafe’s not sure he himself has real friends. But he doesn’t care. The idea of friendship means nothing to him. He’s best when he’s on his own because nobody else could be trusted. But what is important is having a girl like you in his bed. A girl like you who looks up to him with shining eyes, like he’s your goddamned entire world. A girl he plucked up from poverty and saved, and you’d appreciate him more than anyone in his dumb fucking family ever did.
“Say yes,” he all but orders you, but he already knows the answer before you say it.
“O-Okay, yeah. Yes, that sounds like fun. I’d love to come.”
*
“What do you mean you’re not coming?” Topper frowns, crossing his arms over his chest, “You were supposed to bring the, you know…”
Rafe rolls his eyes, wondering why he’s friends with a fucking loser who can’t even say the word coke. That’s why nobody on the goddamned island wanted to sell to Topper. Hell, even Barry refused to.
“I have plans.” Rafe answers, checking his watch for the tenth time. Your final class of the day was due to end any minute now, and he couldn’t wait to get you into his house.
“What plans? You were gonna help me with Sarah tonight.” Topper was a whiny fucking bitch, but even Rafe had to admit he was a better fit for his sister than that lowlife John B.
“I’m not helping you with shit, man.” He mutters disinterestedly, although he had promised a few nights ago that he’d help him. He’d been high as a fucking kite, though. So it didn’t exactly count. “Look, she’ll get bored eventually when she realises his broke ass can’t provide shit for her. Then she’ll come crawling back.”
Topper shakes his head, “No, Sarah’s not materialistic like that.”
Rafe smirks, “You don’t know her.”
“Well, speaking of broke, how’s it going with that homeschool girl? You guys sure seem to be hanging out a lot.”
“Do you have brain damage, Topper?”
“What?”
Rafe corners his friend against a wall, relishing the immediate fear in his eyes, “I seem to remember you placing a bet a week ago.”
“Well, yeah, but –”
“So why the fuck,” he hits the locker lightly behind Topper’s head, “are you asking me about hanging out with her a lot?”
“Chill, dude. It’s just,” he looks hesitant, scared as he’s barely able to make eye contact, “It’s okay if you like her, you know?”
Rafe feels a wave of emotion, something he can’t quite pinpoint. And that makes him mad, because what the fuck was he feeling? He has to clench his fists by his side to stop from slapping the taste out of Topper’s mouth. Why did him bringing you up irritate him so much? Jesus, reign it the fuck in.
He takes a deep breath and steps back, forcing a chuckle, “You think I’m gonna slum it like that?”
Topper grins nervously, as if Rafe hadn’t had him pinned against a locker like a little bitch just a second ago. He straightens up, “I mean, it’s not exactly a secret what your type is.”
Rafe laughs, and Topper relaxes and joins in after a moment or two. That’s when Rafe slams him against the locker again.
“Get it through your thick fucking skull, Topper. I may fuck a Pogue but I’d never date one. Got that?”
“Yes, okay, Jesus Christ, man.” Topper pushes Rafe off him and backs off, “Do whatever the fuck you want.”
That’s when Rafe starts laughing again. “I will, pussy.”
Topper fucks off after that. Sometimes, Rafe wonders what his deal is. He acted up in front of the rest of the group, then tried to act all sensitive and understanding in private. Like Rafe had time for that shit. And how dare Topper insinuate that Rafe had feelings for you? Hell would freeze over before he ever caught feelings for a Pogue.
He realises a bunch of people are staring at him. Goddamit. Fuck all of them. When he was younger, Ward had sent him to see a therapist once a week. He’d quit going once he’d realised it was everyone else who was the problem, and not him. But one thing the shrink had taught him that had stuck was to breathe slowly and count to ten whenever he felt angry or overwhelmed.
That’s what he’s doing when you arrive.
“Hey, Rafe. I’m sorry I’m late. The professor held me back.”
“Why?” He barks out before he can contain himself. He’s already on edge, and now some dumbass professor is keeping you back in class because you undoubtedly get his old, shrivelled dick hard and you’re too innocent to even realise it.
You blink, “He really liked the essay I submitted last week. He even said he wants to use it as an example for his other classes!”
“That’s great,” Rafe plasters a smile on his face but he’s only half listening, “Let’s go.”
He calms down some as he guides you out of the hallway and toward the parking lot. He almost grabs your hand when it gets a bit too crowded, but remembers himself just in time. He couldn’t be caught holding hands with a Pogue. It was too intimate, and like he’d said to Topper, he’d never let it get to that point with a Pogue. Instead, he places his hand on your lower back and pushes you forward. You smile at him, and it goes straight to his… well, not his dick, surprisingly. But it goes somewhere within him, and he feels it again. Something he doesn’t really recognise or know how to deal with. So he forcibly pushes it back inside himself.
“You look cute,” he says once he’s got you outside and there’s more room to breathe. You look like an angel in the afternoon sunlight, dressed in the cutest little sundress he’s ever seen. It’s this pinkish-orange, like the colour of the sunset, and you’ve got matching ribbons in your hair. Like you’ve really made an effort to get all dressed up just to go to his house.
“Thanks,” you look down as if you’re embarrassed, like you don’t know how to take a compliment, “It’s my mom’s dress.”
“It’s really pretty,” he says softly, before clearing his throat and looking away.
He gets you to his car, lifting you up by your waist and helping you into it. And that turns him on so much, how small and sweet you look. Like a little fairy in his arms. None of the other girls were like you. Not at all. He wonders what you’re wearing underneath, and feels his cock thicken in his slacks with anticipation when he realises he was probably going to find out today.
You don’t say anything when he pulls up into the driveway of his house. Ward had fucked off on some business trip and taken Wheezie and Rose with him so he had the place to himself. That’s how he liked it best, it gave him space to think and breathe without the constant noise of his family. Well, Wheezie was an exception. He didn’t mind her too much.
“Wait here,” he says, getting out the car and walking around to open the door for you. You allow him to lift you out again, this time your hands landing on his shoulders. And it’s fucking insane how that tiny, voluntary touch does things to him that no other girl has ever done before.
Now, he doesn’t think twice before grabbing your hand and pulling you down to the large, ornate wooden double doors. You’re distracted anyways, eyes wide as saucers as you ogle the mansion that Rafe’s never thought twice about. But he reckons it’s a step or two above whatever shacks the people from the Cut lived in, so he allows you to remain silent and let it sink in.
Finally, you exhale slowly, “This is… uh… wow. I can’t believe there’s people in this world who live like this.”
Rafe smirks, squeezing your hand, “Yeah. Do you want a drink?”
He leads you to the bar in the corner of the living room, again lifting you up and placing you on one of the stools. You giggle, “I can climb on myself, you know.”
“Yeah? You seem to like it when I pick you up, though.”
He winks, and notes how you duck your head and smile shyly, your hands wringing together on your lap like you’re nervous. God, you were so fucking cute.
“What’s your usual drink of choice?” He asks, going behind the island to inspect the liquor. His friends had gone through a lot of it at the party the night before, but the house help had restocked everything this morning.
You blink, “Um, water?”
He stifles a laugh, pouring himself his usual whiskey with ice, “You’re a good girl, huh?”
“I tried some of my mom’s wine once but it tasted horrible,” you shrug, “I don’t know why people like it so much.”
“Try this.” He pours you a Peach Schnapps with lemonade and ice, “It’s sweet like you.”
You hesitate, but end up taking it. And he watches as you take a tentative sip, and he knows you like it because you take another one. And then another. He can’t help but feel proud for introducing you to your first alcoholic drink.
“You’re not as bad as people say you are,” you say out of nowhere, and his expression immediately sours.
“People have been talking about me to you?”
“No, it’s just the stuff I’ve heard. Like what I told you before. But it can’t be true, because you’re so nice to me so it just doesn’t add up.”
He grips his glass tight, about to lose it because yet again people were talking shit about him behind his back and never to his fucking face. Because they were all a bunch of pussies who knew he’d beat the shit out of them or kill them if they said anything to his face. But then you speak again.
“Do you always drink after school?”
“Huh?”
“Like, alcohol. Do you drink a lot? Like every day?”
“No.” He lies. “Only sometimes.”
He takes you out to the patio, where the sun is shining and you look so fucking pretty in your little sundress. Like you fit right into his world, next to the pool with a drink in your hand, sat next to him and looking at him with sparkling eyes as if he was your god. He wonders if you’ve naturally grown more comfortable with him through the course of the week, or if it’s just the alcohol. Probably the alcohol, since no one was ever really comfortable around him.
Either way, he puts his hand on your leg just like he had a few days ago in his car. Your breath hitches, but you don’t make a move to stop him. Instead, you opt to take another sip of your drink, and he wonders if he can get you drunk tonight. Shit, did he even want to? It was no fun fucking a drunk girl.
“Tell me more about you,” he strokes the soft skin of your bare thigh, feeling your goosebumps underneath the pads of his fingers. “You ever had a boyfriend or anything?”
Your eyes widen, “No. I, uh, you don’t tend to meet any guys when you’re homeschooled.” Embarrassed, you giggle before looking away. He reaches out, grabbing your chin lightly and making you look at him again. Fuck, your lips were so sexy. So pouty and perfect, begging to be kissed. “What about…what about you? Have you had any girlfriends?”
He shrugs, “A few.”
You nod, “Of course you have. That was a stupid question. Sorry, I forget not everyone’s as far behind in life as I am.”
“You’re not far behind.” He says, although you are and he prefers it that way.
“I am. Every other girl my age has had all the experiences you’re supposed to have. Drinking, partying, boys, all of it.” You sigh, “Sometimes I feel like I’m so far behind that I’ll never catch up.”
Rafe inches his hand upwards, till he reaches the hem of your dress halfway up your thigh. He plays with the fabric, and he can tell you’re acutely aware of what he’s doing. You don’t make a move to stop him, but you do press your legs together.
“There’s still plenty of time to catch up,” he says softly, “I can help you.”
You smile up at him, holding up your drink, “You already have. I’d never drank with friends before now.”
“Congratulations,” he says, clinking his glass with yours, “To one of many firsts.”
He downs his drink and so do you, and he’s quick to get a refill for both of you. He’s guessing you’re a lightweight, and again the thought of getting you drunk crosses his mind. But that would be way too easy.
“I’m capping you after this one,” he says, handing you your second Peach Schnapps.
You giggle, “Are you gonna cap yourself too?”
“No.” He chucks you under the chin again, “But, see, I’m not a baby.”
“Hey!”
He kisses you. And shit, he hadn’t planned on catching you so off-guard. Hell, he’s caught himself off-guard. But he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help how kissable your lips looked, all pouty and bitten. And you taste like cherry lip gloss mixed with peaches and lemonade, and you’re so pliant underneath him, and he’s kissed a shit ton of girls but it’s never felt like this.
You pull away with a start, shocked as you stare up at him. Breathing hard and biting your goddamned lips before they turn into the shape of an o.
“I’m sorry,” Rafe says, although he’s not, “I’ve been wanting to do that since the day I first saw you.”
Your breathing is shallow, and with a shaky hand you put your glass down on the crystal table in front of you. “I’ve never, uh, I’ve never kissed anyone before.”
“Well, it’s easy. I could show you.”
You swallow, “I don’t want this to be like, a pity thing.”
Rafe exhales slowly, “You’re here in front of me in this tiny fuckin” dress, acting all cute and innocent and you think I want to kiss you out of pity?”
Your jaw drops, “Hey, it’s not tiny!”
He kisses you again. And sure, maybe he should’ve asked permission since it’s, well, your first kiss. But frankly he’s never had to ask permission to do anything in his entire life, and he wasn’t about to start now. The way he sees it, you wouldn’t have worn a slutty dress and agreed to come to his house if you didn’t want him to make a move on you.
Again, you pull away, “Rafe, I– don’t… I don’t know how to kiss, I’m sorry–”
He cups your face in his hands, pulling you closer and pressing his lips against yours again. Just to feel your soft, quivering lips against his confident ones. He kisses you once, twice, three times. Coaxing you to open your mouth, to let him in. Fuck, a part of him just wants to shove his tongue down your fucking throat, show you what it means to really be kissed. But he’s already pushing his luck right now.
“I’ll teach you,” he says, “But you need to do exactly what I say, okay?”
He can’t believe his goddamned luck when you nod. God, you were just so fucking hot, prancing around his house in your little dress, all impressed by his riches and shit, drinking your drink he made you like a good little girl, and now here you were, agreeing to whatever he said.
He taps his leg, “Get on my lap.”
Your eyes nearly bug out of your head, “Wh-What?”
Rafe smirks, “Didn’t you just agree to do exactly what I say?”
He’s surprised with the amount of patience he has with you. If you were another girl, he’d have thrown your ass out to the curb for asking too many annoying questions. Or bent you over, shoved your face into a pillow to shut you up and had his way with you. God knew he’d done that more times than he could count over the years. He was aware of how much bigger and stronger he was than you and every other girl, and that fact turned him on more than anything. The fact that he could, if he wanted to, completely take advantage of you however he wanted. And all you’d be able to do is cry and beg him to stop, which would just turn him on more.
“I did, I’m sorry, but I don’t–”
Easily, he grabs your hips and lifts you up onto his lap, makes you straddle him with one leg on either side of him. Your dress is just about long enough to still cover your modesty, but now he’s acutely aware of your panty-covered pussy just inches away from reach. Fuck, he wonders what kind of panties you’re wearing, and if you’d let him look…
“There. Comfy?”
“Well, I guess, but…”
He pulls you into another kiss, this time catching you mid-sentence so he’s able to slip his tongue into your mouth. And you’re so fucking shy, just rigid while he explores your mouth. But he doesn’t mind. You taste so fucking sweet, and it’s getting him so hard, knowing he’s the first man you’ve let touch you like this, kiss you like this.
He can feel your breath hitch as he strokes your face, his thumbs running across your cheeks before his hand tangles into your hair. He yanks you closer, grazing his teeth against your plump bottom lip. You gasp, and he chuckles into your open mouth. His tongue plays with yours, coaxing you to kiss him back, but not really caring too much if you don’t.
And god, he wants to thrust up into you so bad. You’re sitting right on top of his fucking hard dick, and you don’t even seem to realise it. In fact, you shift around, that cute little peachy ass rubbing against his boner, and he wonders if you even know what a boner is.
When you pull away this time, your eyes are bright and excited. And he loves how he’s kissed the gloss off your lips, and how he can still taste you on his tongue.
“Wow, that was…” you giggle, breathless yet excited from finally having your first kiss, “I don’t have anything to compare it to, but that was good!”
Rafe has to crack a smile at your innocence, and his hand lands on your bare thigh, tracing his initials on it again, “Yeah? You like kissing me?”
“I…um… yeah I do,” you say shyly, before closing your eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, “Could we uh, could we try again? Could I try?”
Well, shit. He’s never devoted this much time and energy into just kissing a girl, but his dick grows even harder at how you’ve plucked up the courage to ask him that. And so he simply nods and sits back, lets you figure out what it is you want to do.
Your cute little hands hold on to his broad shoulders shyly. And you lean up, fluttering your eyes closed like it’s some kind of fairytale for you and you’re the little princess kissing her prince charming. It’s part enamouring, part pathetic. But Rafe feels it again, that unfamiliar feeling bubbling up in his chest. He shakes out of it, focusing on your plump lips that hesitantly press against yours.
He sits still; lets you explore his mouth. Your tongue pokes out, swipes against his. And the feeling goes straight to his dick. And then he’s kissing you back, because he doesn’t have the goddamned willpower to just sit there and do nothing. There’s an animal inside of him and you’ve awoken it, more than any drug or alcohol ever could.
And he gets rougher, biting your lip till you gasp into his mouth. His hands slip up and down your bare arms before he takes your hand, squeezes it before pressing it down on his chest, wanting you to touch him, feel how much bigger he is than you.
“Good girl,” he mutters when you don’t move your hand, and then he fingers the hem of your dress. “Gonna let me touch you a little bit?”
“Rafe, maybe not too much–”
“C’mon, princess, you have to touch while you’re making out, right? That’s lesson number two.” He distracts you with another rough kiss, grabbing your jaw and squeezing while he brings you closer to his mouth. Kissing down your jaw and neck before returning to your lips, smirking when you squeak out a little involuntary moan. That’s when he slips his hand up your dress and cups your ass. Perfect little handful of your bubble butt, and he gives it a little squeeze to test the waters. You’re too distracted with kissing him, and so he squeezes harder. God, so fuckin’ soft and pliable, just like how he’d imagined.
“Nice ass,” he murmurs against your lips, and that’s what jolts you out of it. He curses inwardly when you pull away, pushing against his chest when he doesn’t immediately stop. And a part of him knows how easy it would be to just pin you down on this fucking sofa and have his way with you. Tell you how it’s your fault for wearing this fucking dress, your fault for seducing him in his own home, acting so sexy and innocent and getting him so riled up. Teasing him with your shy little kisses and squeaks till he had no choice but to hold you down and fuck you.
“I’m sorry,” you say as you slide off his lap, straightening your dress, “I just… I got overwhelmed.”
He blinks, and he’s this close to pulling you back on top of him, telling you he didn’t give you permission to stop, that you had to listen to him because this was his house and he’d been kind enough to invite you over. And he could make you feel so good, if you just stopped being a goddamned little prude.
Instead, he forces a smile, “You’re a pretty good kisser for someone who claims she’s never done it before.”
You beam, relaxing immediately, “Oh, you’re just saying that. I bet I was really bad.”
“My memory’s kinda foggy, I think you’re gonna have to remind me,” he pulls you back into him, and you giggle as he presses light kisses on your lips, his arm going around your shoulders while your hands tangle into his hair.
It doesn’t go any further than that, though. You stop him when he tries to touch you again, and a part of him wants to slam his fist down on the glass patio table in frustration. And yet, something stops him from just overpowering you and taking what he wants. No, that would be too easy. He’s about to crack you, he can tell from the way you look at him with those big eyes, now full of trust and comfort. He just needs more time.
Too bad he only had one day left to complete the goddamned bet.
“You should come over again,” he says when he’s done up your seatbelt for you in his car. He finds he likes doing all that shit – opening the door for you, lifting you into your seat, clicking your seatbelt into place, all of it. A stark difference from other girls, where often he’s tossed their clothes at them and motioned for them to leave after he’s done hooking up with them.
“That sounds nice,” you say, waiting for him to come round and get into the driver’s seat, “And I told you; you don’t have to drive me all the way home. I could’ve just got the bus.”
He blinks. He didn’t realise buses even functioned in Figure 8, but either way, he can’t have you on a public bus. Especially not in that dress, where every man would be leering at you and you’d be none the wiser about it. The control freak in him is itching to be let out, to tell you exactly what you were and weren’t allowed to wear in public, tell you how you weren’t allowed to speak to any men except him. And you weren’t allowed to argue or contest any of this, because he was in charge of you now, and–
“No buses,” he says firmly, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh as he drives, “Anyways, come over again tomorrow. We can go in the pool or whatever.”
He feels you go rigid, “Th-The pool?”
He glances at you, “Yeah. It’ll be fun.”
You laugh nervously, “Uh, I’m not too great with water. I don’t really swim or anything.”
Rafe has to do a double-take, “You realise you live on an island?”
Even he knew that every child born in Kildare could swim before they could even walk. It’s just the way it was. They were surrounded by water. Rafe doesn’t even remember learning how to swim; it was almost like he knew how to do it by default.
“I know how to swim, I just don’t like water,” you say, and there’s something off about your tone. Something he can’t pinpoint, but you turn to the side and look out the window. Silent for the rest of the drive. Rafe doesn’t push it, although your odd behaviour has piqued his curiosity.
It’s only when he’s pulling up into the pitiful dirt road of a street where your house is situated that you clear your throat.
“Look, Rafe, you’re my friend now. And I don’t really like keeping secrets from you. I’m sorry I was so quiet just now.”
Cute. He likes how much you apologise to him. It shows how respectful you are, how much you respected him as an authority figure.
“That’s okay,” he says.
You take a deep breath, “I used to go out in the water a lot when I was younger. With my dad. He had a boat, and I would help him. But…”
Your voice trails off for a moment. Rafe thinks he knows where this is going, and a part of him is touched you’d share something like this with him. A tiny, obscure part of him, that is. He can’t help but squeeze your leg reassuringly, and you clear your throat again and blink several times. Like you’re trying not to cry. And Rafe’s never had the patience for emotional chicks, but it’s different with you.
You force out a little laugh, “I don’t want to go into details. But one time we were out pretty far, and the weather was bad. Like, really bad. The waves were rough and…” You swallow, looking down into your lap and wringing your hands together, your chest rising and falling rapidly, “And… Well, I was fine but… my dad…”
Shaking your head, you don’t say anymore. You don’t have to. Your eyes are wet and glistening, the muscles in your face working overtime to stop the tears from coming out. He parks the car in front of your house, turning to face you. He’s never been in a situation like this before, and he’s not sure how to act.
Fiercely, you wipe away the one or two rogue tears that have escaped down your cheeks, “It happened so long ago, I barely remember it. But I’ve been scared of the water ever since.”
He nods, “It’s just you and your mom now?”
“Yes. And my brothers. But they’re always working, so it’s just me and her. That’s why she’s so protective of me… I, uh, I don’t have a dad anymore.”
Rafe knows what it’s like to lose a parent, but he can’t fathom ever talking about it or voicing his feelings on it or some shit like that. His loser therapist had tried to get him to talk about his mother, but he hadn’t. He couldn’t. It was just muscle memory at this point, to force any thoughts of her straight out of his mind. It was easier that way. And now, it was like he could barely remember her. And he hated it, but it made it easier too.
He’s never been good at comforting anyone else. And a part of him is glad you’re not sobbing your eyes out right now, because he’s not sure how he’d handle that. So he’s happy when you clear your throat again and smile up at him.
“I’m not sure why I told you that, I’ve never had a friend to tell that to before. I guess I just feel comfortable with you, Rafe.”
What the hell had he done to make you so trusting of him in the span of less than a week? God, you were like an innocent little angel, sitting in his car all tiny and vulnerable. Making him feel like a goddamned fucking monster for the thoughts he had towards you, what he planned to do with you. Suddenly, the bet feels so stupid and insignificant. God, this was why Rafe didn’t speak to the women he fucked. They went all emotional on him, and now he wasn’t sure how to act.
“I feel comfortable around you too,” he says carefully. He’s never been great with his words, but he grabs your hands that continue to wring nervously together. His big, warm hand dwarfing your tiny ones, and he realises you’re shaking. And there’s a part of him that wants to protect you against everything. Take you back to his place, lock you up in his room so he could keep an eye on you and keep you away from anything and anyone who could ever hurt you and make you cry.
Even if the only person who could hurt you the most right now is Rafe himself.
You leave after that, thanking him again and again for giving you a lift home. He wants to walk you to your door, but you run off quickly, and his mind’s too distracted to follow you. He drives off once he sees you’ve safely closed your front door behind you, his mind moving a million miles per minute.
Jesus Christ, why’d you have to go and open up to him like that? This would be so much fucking easier if you hadn’t done that. He hates that he should know better, that he knows that he should leave you alone. You were too innocent, too vulnerable for his bullshit; to be caught in the middle of some dumbass bet he’d made with his friends. God dammit, he hates himself for agreeing to that stupid bet, seems so fucking juvenile looking back. Wished he’d picked a different girl at the very least, someone not as lovely a you.
Most of all, he hates himself because he knows that despite everything he’s just found out about you, he still has every intention of fucking you. Daddy issues and a phobia of water. It was almost like fate was handing you to him on a silver platter. He had to fuck you. He’d figure out the rest later.
*
Kelce: One day left, loverboy.
Topper: Can’t wait to see the pictures.
Rafe mutes the groupchat before throwing his phone aside. He’d goddamn throttle his friends if they were in front of him right now. Sometimes, he gets these violent tendencies. He doesn’t really know what to make of them except it feels good to have some kind of release. Usually that comes in the form of pushing around a sorry ass Pogue, but that option’s not really available right now.
Instead, he searches blindly for the coke he’s stashed in his bedside drawer. Again, he’d promised himself he’d cut down, but this was just to take the edge off. It didn’t count. Not really.
He wonders what you’d think if you knew how often he took drugs. Well, you wouldn’t because he’d keep you well away from that part of his life. Even when he made you his girlfriend, he’d keep you separate from all the partying. And he’d never allow you to even look at any type of Class A drug. And who knows, maybe he’d become better for you, maybe he’d go stone cold sober if you wanted him to.
That makes him laugh. Going sober for a Pogue. It was insane of him to even consider it.
Again, he has to remind himself to take his emotions out of it. All you were was a stupid Pogue, and a part of a bet he was going to goddamned fulfil. And he wouldn’t allow himself to think anything more of it. He may have had a momentary lapse of judgement yesterday, but today was a new day, the last day of the week he had to fuck you.
How? He wasn’t too sure. Reports of a storm meant you couldn’t come to his house again like how he’d planned. Even now, Rafe could hear the harrowing winds outside. Like a goddamned cyclone. And the rain pelting down unforgivingly, and the distant roar of the sea, waves crashing like they’d taken on a life of their own.
The weather on the island was usually all sunshine, but once in a blue moon a storm would hit like now. Residents were always told to wait it out and stay inside. For Rafe, that meant copious amounts of drugs and alcohol. Sometimes a girl or two to keep him company. But the idea of fucking anyone that isn’t you right now makes him sick.
He thinks about texting you, but what would be the goddamned point? If he couldn’t physically be with you today? He knows the weak, pussy part of his mind just wants to talk to you in whatever form he can. But he needs to bury that bullshit down deep inside him and never back, and–
His phone vibrates. It’s you. And he hates how he feels his heart jump to his fucking throat. You’ve called him all on your own, which means you were thinking about him like how he was thinking about you.
“Rafe?” You sound sexy like you always do, all breathy and weak and needy. A bit panicked too.
“Hey,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, “What’s up?”
“Hey, calm down.” Rafe barely recognises the gentle quality of his voice as he straightens up, “What’s wrong, princess?”
“I’m scared.”
You say it so softly, with an air of embarrassment and shame, that at first he doesn’t quite get what you’re saying. But then he does, and something kicks in inside him. This innate need to protect you. You sound so small and needy on the phone, and you called him. You need him.
“What happened? Did someone hurt you?”
“No, no. Oh, Rafe, it’s the storm. It keeps getting worse.”
He chuckles in relief that you weren’t in any immediate danger, “Well, shit. Yeah. Looks pretty wild, huh?”
“I hate it,” you whimper softly, “and I’m sorry I called. But my mom’s stuck at work, and my brothers are crashing somewhere else. So it’s just me, and, and…”
“Hey, calm down. It’s okay, you’ll be okay.” He’s never had to comfort anyone before, but it comes naturally with you. “As long as you stay inside, the storm should pass. Just watch TV or something.”
“The lights are gonna go off any second,” you sniffle, “They always do when the weather gets bad.”
They did? Rafe never noticed shit like that. Then again, he doubts you had the luxury of backup generators where you lived. He pauses.
“Gimme twenty minutes. I’ll come over.”
“No!” You say quickly, “Rafe, it’s too dangerous.”
He snorts. He’d been in far more dangerous situations than a little bad weather. But the less you knew about that, the better. “I think I’ll be okay, princess.”
“B-But we’re not allowed out. You’ll get a fine.”
Rafe can’t count on one hand how many times he’d been fined by the dumbass police on this goddamned island over some petty bullshit reason or another. A fine meant nothing to someone with money. He was above the law, and most people on this island knew it.
“Stay put. I’ll see you soon.”
Rafe actually enjoys driving in the storm. The roads are deserted, and he can speed without worrying about anything else. And he does speed, and he runs more than one red light too. Gets to your house quicker than he thought he would. Past all the other tiny shacks all boarded up because they weren’t built well enough to withstand the storm.
“Rafe! You came!”
You sound like a fucking needy little baby, but something pulls at his heart when you hug him harder than you ever have before. And you’re so small, on your tippy toes so your arms reach around his neck. Automatically, his arms wind around your waist and he holds you close, and he can feel you trembling, your face buried in his chest as you hold on to him tightly.
“Yeah. Roads were empty. Didn’t take long.” He mutters, looking around the inside of your house. Pitiful. And pitch black, because you were right, the power had gone out. He hates that you live here. You’d fit in so much better at Tannyhill, in a pretty pink silk dressing gown and dripping with diamonds he’d buy for you. And you’d be so thankful for him, tell everyone that he saved you, how well he took care of you. How he gave you everything you could ever want, and how much you appreciated him.
At that moment, a clap of thunder makes you jump and squeal. Quickly, you pull him inside and shut the door. That’s when he notices that you’re crying.
“Hey, it’s okay. C’mere.” He pulls you into another hug, and he’s never seen another human being look so scared, so vulnerable. It makes him feel so powerful, like the man he knew you needed. “You’re safe now, I’m here.”
It feels natural, his lips pressing a kiss into your hairline. Like you’re his little baby, like he’s been trusted with something so precious and now he has to protect you. And you’re too scared to be your usual jumpy self, and you just snuggle closer into him. A flash of lightning lights up the whole room, the storm relentless against the weak confines of this sorry excuse of a house.
“Maybe we should head back to mine.” He suggests, but you whimper again.
“No, no, we can’t go out there. It’s not safe. Rafe, please.”
He doesn’t think he’s ever seen another human being so scared before. Not even when he was fucking that one girl after he’d showed her his gun. Even now, he consciously tucks his gun further down the waistband of his chinos. Of course he’d brought it with him, he wasn’t going to enter the Cut without a piece on him.
“Okay, okay. We’ll stay here. When’s your mom coming home?”
“Not till tomorrow once the storm’s died down.”
He licks his lips. It was too good to be true.
You’re still holding on to him as you lead him into your bedroom. He wonders why you’d take him straight there, but he guesses it’s your safe place. And you’ve got candles lit up, and they brighten the room enough for him to notice how small it is. The size of a shoebox, with a single bed covered in pink sheets and a bunch of stuffed animals.
Despite everything, his dick hardens.
“You’re a really good friend, Rafe.” You say honestly, “Nobody else would’ve come over like this.”
He shrugs, sitting on the edge of your bed and patting the mattress next to him. It’s not even his house and yet he feels like he needs to take control. And you obey, taking a seat next to him. But you’re preoccupied with your own fear, doing that thing where you fidget with your hands in your lap.
“I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.”
You look up at him with wide eyes, biting your lip like you can’t quite believe what he’s said, “I-I’m not special, Rafe, I–”
You’re cut off by another clap of thunder, this one so loud it makes the whole house shake. You scream bloody murder, and honestly, if you were anyone else Rafe would’ve laughed. But it’s you, and so he just watches. It’s fascinating, the way you clutch onto him like he’s your saviour, and he wonders just how this opportunity had basically just fallen into his lap.
He pulls you into his lap, knowing you won’t protest. Not in the state you’re in. You’re wearing a pair of black leggings and a little white tank top. No bra, because he can feel your nipples, hard and poking out from the fabric of your top. He can feel them against his chest as he hugs you again, and he can also feel you shifting on top of him. Your peachy little ass rubbing against his dick like you’re a fucking tease except he knows you’re none the wiser, that you have no idea the effect you have on him.
He’s so turned on, it feels like he might explode.
“I’m sorry,” you apologise for the umpteenth time, “It’s just so scary. Wh-What if the storm gets worse, Rafe?”
“It probably will,” he says, feeling slightly wicked. He holds you tighter against him, wanting to feel the brush of your breasts against his chest again. Fuck, he wants to cop a feel so bad. “They were saying something about a severe weather warning on the news. Not like anything we’ve ever seen before.”
“Noooo,” you moan like a goddamned baby, cuddling into him even more.
“It’s okay,” he says, running his hand up and down your back, “You ever, uh, you ever think of distracting yourself from the storm?”
You hiccup and blink up at him with wet eyes, “Nothing works, Rafe.”
He smirks, “I could distract you.”
“H-How?”
He runs his thumb over your lips. They’re wet with your salty tears, and yet like muscle memory, you part them for him. You watch him in wonder, your breathing shallow as he pushes his thumb into your mouth, his other hand holding you in place by your hip.
“Suck.” He instructs gently, and your eyes are as big as saucers. But in your frightened, vulnerable state, you obey immediately. And it feels like he’ll bust a nut right there, watching as you suck his thumb on command like a little fucking baby. Like he’s your daddy.
“Good girl,” he says, stroking your hair out of your face so he can watch you better. “Now listen to me, I can help you. I can distract you so that you forget all about the storm. Do you want that?”
You nod slowly, almost like you’re entranced by him. Not that he needs the green light from you, but it’s hot to see you agree so easily to whatever he’s saying. Fuck, you really were just like an angel fallen straight from heaven and into his lap. Perfect for him in every single way. So soft, so impressionable. Completely untouched. Ready to be ruined.
“That’s good,” he mutters vaguely, thinking of everything he was going to do to you. He takes his thumb out of your mouth, noticing how you pout involuntarily, like you’d gotten used to the feeling of sucking on it. Fuck, he could give you something else to suck on. “Give me a kiss.”
“H-Huh–”
“Do it. Just like how I taught you yesterday. You remember our lesson, don’t you?”
You nod, “Yeah, but will that really work? I mean–”
It’s like God himself is on Rafe’s side because there’s a loud boom of thunder at that exact moment. And you jump in his lap, tears welling in your eyes. Your chest rises up and down, and you bite your lip again, your gaze zeroing in on his mouth. Slowly, you lean up, shyly pressing your lips on his. But there’s a desperation to it, and Rafe’s returning kiss completely envelopes you whole.
He makes out with you for a while, smirking through your little pants and moans mixed with a whimper every time the weather gets especially brutal outside. He’s never been with such a goddamned scaredy cat baby before in his entire life, and it turns him on beyond belief. In the state you’re in, he could get you to do anything.
Rafe’s hands slip up to grab your little top, tugging it upwards. And this time, he almost loses it in frustration when again, you stop him.
“Rafe, Rafe no stop.” You push his hands off, straightening your top back over your midriff. “Couldn’t we just… just kiss?”
He presses his lips together in a thin line, “You trust me?”
“Of course, I just don’t know if I want to–”
“Look, didn’t I say I would distract you? I mean, shit, I could just leave.”
Your jaw drops, a flash of fear glimmering in your eyes. Instinctively, you grab onto his bicep with your tiny hands, a pleading look on your face, “No, don’t!”
He smirks, “I won’t leave. But you need to trust me to do what I need to do to distract you. Because the storm’s just gonna get worse.” He grabs your chin when you avert your gaze, forcing you to look at him, “Hey, c’mon. Who has more experience with this shit, you or me?”
“Y-You.”
“Yeah. And who’s older?”
“You are.”
“That’s right. Which means you need to trust me to make these kinds of decisions, because I know what’s best for you. That’s why you called me over, right?”
You don’t say anything, but this time when he tries to take your top off, you don’t protest. And Jesus fucking Christ, he was right. You’re not even wearing a bra, almost like you were deliberately trying to seduce him. Acting like a whiny little damsel in distress, pulling him into your pitiful little pink room, all candlelit and shit, on your little bed with your stuffed fucking animals.
Your nipples are hard, and he can’t help but cup your breasts. They’re so tender, so soft just like you. He’d imagined this exact moment many times over the course of the week whilst he’d jacked off to you, but nothing could compare to now. The way you tremble beneath his touch, knowing no one’s ever touched you like this before. He squeezes gently, watching how your breath hitches.
He’s overcome with animalistic instinct in just a second, and leans down to take your breast into his mouth. Sucks your nipple sweetly, before biting down. You cry out, arching your back so prettily, feeding him more of your nipple as you push it into his mouth. He bets you probably don’t even understand why it feels so good, having never been touched like this ever before.
He pinches your other nipple and you gasp. He smirks and does it again, looking up at you to see you gazing imploringly down at him.
“Th-That hurts,” you say pitifully.
“Yeah, but you like it, don’t you?” He takes your hands in his, bringing them up to his hair. Like a good little girl, you get the message. Your hands fist into his hair as he continues to play with your tits, licking and sucking all over them, pushing them together, biting your nipples and sucking the sensitive skin around them, wanting to leave his mark everywhere.
“Rafe, I, that… oh… oh my–”
“Stand up, baby.”
You squeak at the pet-name that falls so naturally from his lips, and he can tell you like being called that. It’s from the way your eyes widen, and how you scramble to obey. God, you were a little tease but you took instructions so fucking well.
You stand between his legs, and it gets him so fucking hard that you’re still barely eye level with him even when he’s sat down.
“Take your leggings off.”
You open your mouth to argue, but this time he just flashes you a look and you’re quick to shut the fuck up. That, and he distracts you with his hands running up and down your sides, squeezing your waist, then your hip. Finally landing on your ass with a light slap as if to tell you not to keep him waiting.
You push your leggings down and step out of them, till you’re standing between his legs in just your pink flowery panties and nothing else. And he feels a hunger he’s never ever felt before, looking down at you ravenously as if you’re a piece of meat and he’s a goddamned starved lion. A part of him just wants to grab you and stick his cock inside you while you scream and thrash and beg him to stop while you secretly enjoy it and cum again and again.
“Turn around,” Rafe says slowly, because despite his animalistic thoughts, he wants to savour this. And you do, letting him see your sexy butt adorned in just your panties. He hooks his thumb under the elastic, snapping it against your skin and laughing crudely when you yelp. “God, you’ve got such a perfect ass. I knew that since the moment I saw you.”
“Wh-What?”
“You heard me. You’re always wearing the cutest little outfits, like you were showing it off just for me.” He grabs your left ass cheek, squeezing it hard while you moan in pain or pleasure, right now he doesn’t really give much of a fuck. His other hand palms his cock through his pants at the sight.
“I wasn’t!” You say indignantly, as if he’s accused you of the absolute worst. “I wasn’t showing off, Rafe!”
“Sure you weren’t,” he snorts, “Now bend over, lemme see it better.”
He can’t believe it when you don’t hesitate this time, almost like you’re seeking his approval. Like you’re under some kind of submissive spell now, making everything even easier for him. You bend over, and your cute little ass is directly in his face. He pushes your panties to the side, gives the soft flesh a feather-light kiss before spanking you again. You yelp all cutely, but stay in position for him. What a good fucking girl.
“Stand up straight, look at me again.”
You turn back around, biting your lip as you look at him anxiously. Around you, the whole room seems to vibrate as another boom of thunder strikes. You make a noise in your throat, before grabbing onto his bicep again. You keep doing that, and it makes him feel strong, big, important. Like you’re a little baby seeking protection from her daddy.
“I’m gonna take your panties off now, okay?” He doesn’t know why he tells you before he does it, but he watches as you relax. There’s a war going on behind your eyes, he can tell. He knows part of you is liking how he’s making you feel, and part of you is desperate to distract yourself from the storm, and it’s battling the part of you that wants to keep your modesty, the part that knows this is a bad idea, that itching fear that he’s not a good guy, that he’s taking advantage of you.
Slowly, he slips your panties down your shaking legs, and you keep holding on to his arm like you’re scared to let go. Like the storm would come and get you the moment you stopped holding him like a little baby. He lets you, liking how weak you feel against him.
And then you’re completely naked in front of him, stepping shyly out of your panties that are left on the floor in a heap along with the rest of your clothes. And he’s still fully dressed, and that juxtaposition turns him on beyond belief. He can smell your pussy, and it’s driving him crazy. Makes him want to just pin you down and have his way with you. It incenses him in a way he’s never really experiences before.
His hands grab your hips, yanking you closer. He feels a wave of impatience, pushing you down till you’re sitting on the bed. He gets up, pushing your legs apart with one of his own. You gasp, and he sinks down to his knees, pressing a soft kiss to the skin just below your belly button.
“It’s time for lesson number three, baby,” Rafe murmurs softly, “this is how I’m gonna distract you, okay? Shit, I’m gonna make you feel so good, you’ll forget all about the storm. You gonna let me do that?”
You swallow, “H-How, Rafe?”
God, you were absolutely clueless. Made him feel like a fucking monster for taking advantage of you like this. But he liked it, liked how good and sweet and innocent you were, even now when he had you naked on your pretty princess bed with your legs spread for him.
“I’m gonna kiss you down here for a while, alright baby?”
“Down there?” You suck in your breath prettily, as if the very idea of that sounds so insane to you. God fucking dammit, just how much had your mother sheltered you?
Instead of explaining further, Rafe spreads your folds with two of his fingers, smirking when he sees you glistening and wet. And God, what a pretty and perfect pussy you had, all slippery and wet, like it was begging to be fucked. And even now, as you sit there breathing heavily, your pussy seems to get wetter just by him spreading it. You’re leaking down onto your pretty pink sheets, and it’s all because he’s merely touched you there.
You’ve gone silent, the storm seemingly already forgotten as you just watch him. Your chest rises up and down, and it’s like every other part of you is frozen in place. In awe, until he notices a slight movement in your pelvis. Involuntarily, you hump the air, like your poor pussy is begging for some type of contact or friction. He smirks.
“You have an accident, princess?”
You look absolutely aghast, “No!”
Rafe leans forward, inhaling deeply. And you smell so goddamned sweet, and he can’t wait any longer. He lays his tongue flat against your virgin cunt, and he can feel you throbbing with anticipation. He licks upwards, and you grab onto his hair, tugging hard as you yelp.
“Oh my God–”
He looks up, “Not God, baby. Just me.” Absentmindedly, he flicks your clit with his thumb and your entire body jerks. He chuckles, “And there’s another thing I’m going to need you to do.”
“What?”
“You’re going to call me daddy while I eat your cunt, okay?”
For the fifth time this evening, your jaw drops, and you gaze down at him in indignance, “What? But Rafe, you’re not my–”
“Your daddy? I mean, you do want me to take care of you, don’t you?” He smiles when you don’t immediately respond, “That’s why you called me today. Because you felt unsafe, like how you’ve felt your whole life ever since you lost your real daddy, isn’t that right?”
He half expects you to shove him off you, scream, lose it, slap him, kick him out of your house for going there, for trying to take advantage of your obvious daddy issues. But it’s like you’re in a trance, and he keeps going, “You want someone to take control, to reassure you that everything’s gonna be okay. That’s why you’ve let me take care of you this whole week, right? Because you need me, you like how I make you feel.”
He softly strokes your bare thighs, noticing that you’re shaking under his touch. And you look like you’re about to cry, in your most vulnerable state in front of him. And yet he keeps going, his voice like a calm lull, almost hypnotic with how you look at him with your huge, unblinking eyes.
“I can be your new daddy, princess. You’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”
Rafe doesn’t wait for your response. Instead, he grips your thighs harder, spreading them as far as they’ll go. He spits on your mound, watching his saliva drip down to your pussy. You’re watching too, with stricken, hooded eyes. Like you’re frozen in time and space, and he’s the only constant.
Leaning forward, he envelopes your clit between his lips, giving it a harsh suck. Your entire body convulses, and you moan the loudest he’s ever heard you. Thunder claps at the same time, but you’re louder than it, and your hands grab on to his hair, and you press your cunt into his face, practically smothering him but he fucking loves it.
“Tell daddy to lick your cunt,” he orders, his voice deeper and lower than it’s ever been, and a slight threat in his tone, “say it, or else I’ll stop everything.”
“L-Lick it, please,” you beg so prettily, keeping your voice barely above a whisper. Rafe sits back, looking at you expectantly till you make the prettiest little noise of impatience. You shoot him a pleading look of desperation, but he doesn’t let up. You cry out, gripping his hair harder before ducking your head in shame, “P-Please, okay? Please lick my cunt, daddy.”
Rafe could’ve orgasmed right there at the sound of your sweet, delicate voice pleading with him, finally addressing him as daddy. Instead, he sucks hard on your sensitive, engorged clit, and you scream bloody murder. He snickers against your soaking folds, grabbing your thrashing hips, stilling them slightly but allowing you to rock them against his face till it’s shining with your wetness.
“Messy little girl,” he mutters, “excited, aren’t you? Never had this virgin pussy eaten, huh?” he grows sloppy, messy with his licks. Tonguing your sensitive nub till you’re a writhing mess above him, incoherent little gasps and moans tumbling out of your mouth as you continue to hump against his face because you’re a goddamned virgin who doesn’t know how to act because you’re feeling so good.
Rafe’s practically making out with your pussy, and he’s never enjoyed going down on a girl as much as he is right now. It’s how responsive you are, it’s how this is all so new to you so you don’t even know nor care to hold anything back. You’re rubbing your pussy on his face like all you can think of is how good he’s making you feel. And he fucks you with his tongue, unable to quite believe how sweet you taste. Like an angel, his angel. All his.
“It’s…It’s too much, Rafe!” you cry out, and yet you’re rolling your hips with abandon, riding his tongue while he sucks and licks you out like he’s starved.
“You can take it,” his voice is muffled, and you try to wrap your thighs around his head except his grip on them is too strong. It’ll leave bruises in the shape of his fingers all over your soft skin, but he likes that. He wants to bruise you, mark you, make you his in every way possible. So next time when you wore a slutty little sundress, every goddamned man on this island would know you’re taken. Fuck, he’d get his name tattooed on your goddamned pussy, and–
You cum, squeaking so prettily he wants to bottle up the sound and keep it safe in his memories forever. Your first orgasm, and all it took was a couple of minutes of him eating your cunt. And your muscles squeeze around his tongue, and you cry and moan like you don’t even know what’s happening. Your grab at his hair, pulling so hard because you’ve probably never felt like this before.
And Rafe doesn’t stop, his tongue swirling circles while you hump and grind against his mouth, riding out your orgasm, moaning his name over and over again. Outside, the weather gets worse, and at one point he notes the whole room shakes as if the goddamned roof’s about to blow off. You don’t give a fuck though, and he doesn’t either.
“Oh, Rafe, oh, oh oh, it’s too much!”
Now, you’re trying to push him off you, but selfishly he keeps tongue-fucking you. His thumb rubs your engorged, sensitive clit. He knows it’s too much for you, but he’s too fucking turned on to stop.
“C’mon, baby. Don’t be like that. Lemme give you another one.”
“No, I-I can’t, I, oh fuck!”
He slaps your clit, and a squelching sound fills the room. You gasp, and he just snickers, having entirely too much fun with you. And again, you twitch your hips, inadvertently pushing your cunt into his face again. You’re out of breath and sensitive from your first orgasm, and yet your greedy little pussy wants to give him another one.
“You like it when your daddy slaps your cunt?”
You’re such a shy little thing, gaping at him as if he’s said the most insidious thing on earth. And yet, your cunt squeezes around his tongue, and he you up as you continue to leak into his mouth. He looks up at you, “Tell me you like it.”
“I, uh, I like it, uh… daddy, oh gosh!”
It takes just one more spank and you come undone, cumming all over his face and he licks you throughout. Long, languid stripes of his tongue flat against your wet folds, then he switches to fucking you with it, and your fuckhole’s so goddamned tight, his tongue barely even fits a little bit, but it doesn’t stop him. He’s got one hand slipped down his pants, jacking off because this is the hottest thing in the world he’s ever witnessed. Innocent little baby crying after orgasming from getting her pussy spanked by her daddy.
He feels like a lion closing in on the fucking lamb, forgetting himself for a second as he gets up. Aggressively pushing you down till you’re lying flat on the bed, surrounded by your stupid stuffed animals. In a second, he’s on top of you, breathing hard like a man possessed. God fuck, all he had to do was shove it inside you, hold you down and tell you to take it. Maybe press his hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming too loud. Not that it mattered. Nobody could save you from him tonight.
But you blink up at him so prettily, so unaware of his intentions, your eyelashes wet with tears. Your lips bitten and pouty, face shiny with sweat. Your hands grab his arms again, squeezing like you’ve grown used to doing.
“R-Rafe, that was… wow.” You say breathlessly, so blissfully innocent, not realising at all that he’s moments away from holding you down and fucking you, that he’s planning how he’ll do it in his head this very moment. “I never… I never thought it could feel that good.”
Rafe finds himself feeling that again, that weird feeling that kept bubbling up inside his chest from time to time whenever he was with you. He still doesn’t have a name for it; he can’t even properly describe it. But looking down at you now, watching you stare up at him with those shining eyes of yours. All he can do is push a piece of your hair out of your face, and smile slowly down at you.
“What do you even know about sex, baby?” He breathes, his face so close to yours.
“Oh, well, uh… Not that much. I mean obviously I know how it works. I just… I didn’t know you could call someone da– that.”
He smirks, tapping your cheek condescendingly, “You mean daddy?”
You look embarrassed, “Yeah.”
“I need you to keep calling me that, okay?” Rafe says gently, “It’s completely normal and I told you I’d take care of you from now on. You want that, don’t you?”
Again, he nudges at your lips with his thumb, making you suck it. Which you do, and the feeling goes straight to his dick. He wants to fuck you while you suck his thumb, gently rock his hips into you, your tight pussy squeezing his huge cock while you whimper around his thumb, sucking it while you cried and just took it, took whatever he gave you and then said thank you, daddy like the good little girl you were.
He starts kissing you again, unable to help it. And your response is so enthusiastic, he feels like he might explode. You’re getting more confident with all the kissing stuff, and Rafe likes that it’s all because of him.
“You ready for the next lesson, baby?” He asks between kisses, his hands everywhere all over your naked body. Squeezing your breasts, playing with your ass. Loving that you’re naked beneath him and so willingly too.
You swallow harshly, “I don’t think I’m ready–Oh!”
He takes your hand, pressing it inside his slacks. Right on his hard, throbbing dick. And fuck, it feels so small, so weak against his pulsating cock. He bites his lip hard to keep from thrusting into your hand.
“Take it out.”
“N-No!”
He exhales loudly through his nose, holding your hand tight against him when you try to snatch it away. “Baby, what did I tell you about doing what I say?”
“I-I know but… but I’m scared.”
“It’s okay to be scared,” he says, “but you need to do this, alright? Didn’t I make you feel good just now?”
“Well, yes, but–”
“So just trust me. I’ll make you feel good again, okay baby?” He kisses you lightly once, twice, three times till you smile, “You’ve been such a good girl tonight. So brave for me....”
You hiccup, looking up at him with those goddamned saucer-like eyes again, “R-Really?”
He strokes your cheek, innately aware of your hand relaxing against his cock, “Yes. Such a brave, good girl. You forgot all about the storm outside, didn’t you?”
As if on cue, you whimper and cuddle into him more. He smiles like a goddamned wolf, feeling evil yet desperate at the same time, “Call me daddy again, princess.”
You don’t even fucking hesitate, “d-daddy, I–”
“Take daddy’s cock out, baby. It’ll distract you, I promise.”
You do exactly what he says, and he helps you. He can’t help but hiss when you free his dick from the confines of his slacks, and you gasp too, dropping it immediately when you see it.
“Shit, gimme your hand,” he murmurs, and he doesn’t wait this time. Snatching your hand in his, he spits down into your palm before pressing it on his dick. “Stroke it.”
You pull back, “I don’t know how, I don’t–”
“Do it or I’ll leave right the fuck now.”
In your helpless daze, you whimper before placing your hand back on his dick. And it’s so red, about ready to explode the moment you touch him. He exhales slowly, and it feels so fucking good, and he covers your hand with his, guiding it, making you stroke him up and down.
“That’s so good, baby. You’re so good.”
“I am?”
“Shit, yeah, just keep doing that. You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” He notes how you grow more confident, rubbing his dick and jacking him off like a good little girl. His hand leaves yours, instead cupping your face as he pulls you in for another kiss. He can’t help kissing you, you taste so fucking sweet and it’s insane because he’s never particularly enjoyed kissing anyone this much before. But he loves kissing you, leading you through it, guiding you. Loves how responsive you are, loves how you listen to him even when you feel all scared and hesitant. As if you know that at the end of the day, he was the one with all the power, the one in charge. The only one who knew how to take care of you.
“You ever seen a cock before this, princess?” He asks crudely between kisses.
Your eyes widen, “N-No, Rafe– I mean, uh, daddy.”
“No? Good girl. That’s so fuckin’ hot.” He bites your pouty bottom lip, and you gasp, squeezing his dick in your hand and it makes him moan straight into your fucking mouth. What a naughty girl.
“It’s, uh, it’s so big,” you say quietly, so quietly that Rafe almost doesn’t catch it. But he does, and he smiles, pulling back slightly.
“Yeah?”
Shyly, you duck your head, “Yeah, daddy.”
God, you were so fucking irresistible. He couldn’t take it anymore. He takes your hand, which was still steadily pumping his dick, and holds it tightly. Holds both your hands by your sides as he nudges your legs apart again, and watches as you take a deep breath, as if you know what’s coming.
Lowly, he whistles at how wet you are, your juices having leaked down to stain your pink sheets again. Rafe’s never had a virgin before but he knows how eager they are, how easily turned on they get. He can imagine how slippery wet and snug your snatch would be around his dick. Now, he swipes a finger down your slit, gathering your wetness while you squirm under him.
“Aww, look how excited your pussy is, princess.” He snickers, bringing his finger up to your lips, smearing them with your wetness, getting it all over your face too till it shines and you’re all messy. “Tell me, what’s got her so wet?”
‘I don’t know.”
SMACK.
Rafe finds he quite enjoys slapping your cunt, especially when it’s so wet and throbbing. You cry out, quivering and shaking underneath him. He flashes you a look, “Answer the question.”
“You,” you breathe, blinking up at him, “You, daddy.”
“Yeah? I get your pussy wet?” He’s working himself up, his dick nudging against your folds and he doesn’t know why he doesn’t just shove it in there. “Tell me why.”
You moan pleadingly, “R-Rafe, please!”
“When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer it properly,” he says, enjoying himself a bit too much. It was payback for all the times you’d teased him without even realising it this past week. Flaunting your sexy little body, blinking up at him with those fuck me eyes, as if you were just begging for it in your own little innocent way.
You swallow harshly, and despite everything he can see you thinking carefully, as if you want to give him a real proper answer to impress him. Cute.
“I, uh, I like how big you are,” you stutter slowly, “you-you’re a lot bigger than me.”
He grins wolfishly, pushing his hair out of his face before pressing a greedy kiss to your lips, which you respond to fervently. But he pulls away all too quickly, looking down at you as if he expects you to continue.
“I like how strong you are,” you’re looking anywhere but at his face, he guesses because you’re too shy. He sponges kisses down your jaw, your neck, down to your chest. Kisses all over your tits, presses them together and licks them, bites at your nipples while you moan between your words. “You make me feel safe, daddy.”
Rafe pauses, and it’s there again. That stupid fucking feeling that he doesn’t understand, nor does he care to understand it right now. Nobody’s ever felt safe with him before. Everyone’s always been afraid of him or hated him or screwed him over because they didn’t trust him. No one’s ever looked at him how you’re looking at him and it makes him feel things he’s never felt before.
But he shoves those feelings straight back down, clears his throat before pressing his finger down between your folds. You shiver and moan, hips bucking up before he pins them in place. He tries pushing his pointer finger inside you, but is met with resistance despite how soaking wet you are. Fuck.
“Tightest pussy I ever had,” he mutters, “but she’ll take daddy’s dick, won’t she?”
It’s more of a statement than a question, and he ignores your soft cries as he forces his finger up your cunt. Till it’s finally knuckle-deep, and he bets you can feel the cool silver of his ring against your warmth. And your pussy’s so fucking snug, gripping his finger like a vice, and even he has to wonder how he’d possibly fit his big dick inside you.
“So full,” you breathe, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. But he shuts you up soon enough when he starts fingering you. One singular finger, because that’s all that fits. But he moves it in and out, curving upwards till you moan, thrusting your hips in rhythm like you can’t even help it.
“Gonna add another one, okay baby?”
‘W-Won’t fit, daddy.”
“Shh, yes it will. Daddy’s gonna make it fit.”
Rafe makes it fit. He has to hold you down while you cry like a baby, but soon he’s got his index and middle finger shoved inside you, finger-fucking your tight, virgin cunt while his hard dick slaps against his stomach, and he’s so fucking turned on. More than he’s ever been in his whole life.
“How’s that feel, baby?” He murmurs into your ear, nibbling at it, licking inside it and making you jump. And fuck, you’re so jumpy, and he has to keep you pinned down while he fingers you, and a sick part of him wonders if he’s drawn blood already.
“H-Hurts,” you whimper like the goddamned little cry-baby you are. “R-Rafe please slow down.”
“Come on, don’t tell me to slow down,” he continues pumping his thick fingers up your slippery wetness, feeling like you’re swallowing them up whole every time, “Not when you’re drippin’ all over your sheets like a little–”
“But it hurts!”
“That’s okay, it’s supposed to hurt,” he explains slowly, like you’re dumb, “it’s because you’ve never done this before, so that’s why I gotta stretch you out like this first, okay?”
A lone tear meanders down your cheek, “I-I don’t think it’s gonna fit, Rafe.”
“I made ‘em fit, didn’t I?”
“Nooo, you’re, uh, I mean your…” You sniffle helplessly, a wild look in your eye that looks half scared, half confused as he bets your body’s starting to betray you.
Rafe feels a smile creep up on his face, “You already thinkin’ about my cock, sweetheart? How it’s gonna feel when it’s up your virgin cunt?”
You shake your head vehemently, but you’re a little angel slut because your hips are bucking up to meet his fingers. “Rafe, no. Your f-fingers, they’re already too much, I don’t think I can take…”
“Didn’t I just tell you I’d make it fit?”
You grip his arm tightly, pleadingly “Y-You’re too big, I-I don’t think I can handle anymore…Oh fuck!”
He knows he’s hit that spot inside you because your whole back arches, and you let out the hottest moan he’s ever fucking heard in his life. Complete abandon, head thrown back, digging your nails so hard into his arm that he’s sure you’ve broken through his skin.
“That’s right, baby girl. Just fuckin’ take it,” he mutters, increasing his pace, wondering if he can fit a third finger in. “Fuck, you’re so good, baby. Taking your daddy’s fingers like a champ. God, look at your little virgin cunt, swallowing ‘em up like a greedy little slut. Didn’t think you’d turn out to be so fuckin’ slutty, baby.”
You clench around him, moaning his name and he can’t believe how much his dirty talk is having an effect on you. His thumb rubs at your clit while he continues to finger fuck you, wanting to draw another orgasm out of you because you’re so fucking gorgeous when you cum, and he wants you to make a mess all over his fingers before he finally takes you with his cock.
“Too much, too much, oh, oh, oh,” you’re half delirious, humping against his fingers, letting him fuck you with them, and he knows you must feel so full. And it feels like heaven for him, being inside you (even if it is just with his fingers). You feel so soft, so wet, so warm. Your muscles tensing and relaxing around him as he builds you up.
“Take it,” Rafe repeats, “bet it’s never felt this good huh? You ever finger yourself, baby girl? Touch yourself late at night when you think everyone else’s asleep?”
You gasp at his words, but he feels you clench around his digits.
“Mmm, not such a good little girl after all, huh? Fingering yourself when you think your mommy’s asleep,” he grins wickedly at the horrified look on your face, increasing pace, “but it’s never enough, is it? Your fingers aren’t as big as mine, so you could never make yourself cum.” He laughs, “this whole time, all you needed was a man like me to take care of you. Say it, say you need me. Say it.”
“N-Need you!” You cry out, delicious tears streaking your face, “I need you, daddy. I-I…Oh fuck, please! Please, I don’t… I just… I–“
You squirt all over his hand. And it’s insane; Rafe’s never seen anything like it before. He gazes in wonder, caught off-guard for once. You completely come undone, crying and panting his name, rocking your hips against his hand as you ride out your third orgasm of the night. And who knew it would take just a little bit of dirty talk to get you to squirt? God, you were so fucking hot, so full of surprises. So perfect for him, it was unbelievable.
“Good girl,” he strokes your head like you’re his little pet, taking his wet fingers and pressing them into your mouth, and you’re so hot when you automatically suck on them. “Such a good girl, baby. That was so fuckin’ sexy.”
All you do is clutch at him and cry, so spent and overstimulated from your orgasm. Rafe licks his lips, feeling both protective yet predatory at the same time. You’re at your weakest, most vulnerable state. Outside, thunder and lightning strike over and over again as if they were paid to do so, and the room lights up and goes dark, it shakes and shudders, and the winds howl like a pack of possessed wolves. And yet you look so pretty in the dim glow of the candlelight.
It's the perfect night for you to get ruined. His perfect little baby. Pristine and innocent and at his mercy.
Rafe’s cock is so hard it hurts, throbbing as he grabs it by the base, pumps it as he hovers over you. On his knees while you lie beneath him, looking so deliciously scared. He presses his whole length against your stomach, and watches your eyes almost bulge out of your head. He knows he’s big, but compared to your tiny frame, he’s massive. And he gets off on that, gets off on how much bigger he is than you. He smears his precum against your stomach, smirking as he watches you swallow and try to be brave.
“Listen to me,” he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes, “You like my cock, baby? You like looking at it, huh?”
The way you lick your lips gives it away, and he laughs cruelly, tapping your cheek like you’re his little pet. “Say it, then. Say you like it. Beg me to put it inside you. C’mon, baby, look at your pussy, she’s crying for it. Beg me.”
He knows you’re at war with yourself, and you shake your head tearfully, opening your mouth to speak. But a clap of thunder sounds just then, so loud it makes the whole room shake. You cry out so pitifully, it makes his heart throb a little. You grab at him, and he falls down on top of you, kissing you, kissing your salty sweet lips and your tears. Kissing you all over while your desperate hands tangle into his hair.
That’s when he nudges the tip of his dick against your folds. And it already feels like fucking heaven, your wet warmth practically begging him to shove it inside you. He presses his tip on your puffy, sensitive clit and you jump, your eyes widening and then you push at his chest.
“R-Rafe, please, I don’t think–”
“Shh, c’mon, baby. Let daddy fuck you,” Rafe urges softly against your lips, “gonna make you feel so good again, mhm?”
“Nooo…”
He tries to ignore your soft cries, the way your palms press weakly against his chest.
“Shit, just relax,” he coaxes, knowing he could just hold you down and force it in, and yet…
He kisses you, tasting salt on your lips. You try to kiss him back, but he can feel you gulping for breath. He can feel your heart hammering against your chest. He can feel your limbs pushing at his body, but he’s just so much fucking bigger than you that it doesn’t even make a difference, and yet…
“Rafe, I… please…”
“Baby…”
His dick feels like it’s going to explode, and he runs it up and down your soaking slit, and you moan. And your face looks turned on beyond belief, and yet scared at the same time. Nervous, frightened, vulnerable. It’s a heady mix, and he doesn’t know what to do, and–
“Please, Rafe. I’m not ready, I-I can’t, Rafe. Please…”
“Fuck.”
Something comes over him, and Rafe feels it again. That bubbling, intense feeling inside his chest. Like a rush of an emotion he doesn’t know if he’ll ever understand. All he knows is he can’t, he fucking can’t. You’re so sweet, so kind, pure like a flower and he just can’t bring himself to pluck it. Tear it apart. Ruin it like how he ruined everything else he touched.
He rolls over, lying beside you while you quiver next to him. Both breathing hard. And outside, the wind howls and howls almost like it’s mocking him. Laughing at him for being a goddamned pussy. And there’s another clap of thunder, and he hears you crying softly.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Rafe finds himself gathering you in his arms, holding you against his chest, “Hey, look, don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”
“I-I thought I could but…” you hiccup between your tears, and your eyes look like there are a thousand stars shining wetly inside them, and he knows he’s never seen anything so beautiful. “I’m sorry, I thought I could do it, I thought–”
“It’s okay,” he repeats, cupping your face and making you look at him, his thumbs swiping away your tears, “Don’t cry, okay? Shit, it’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”
“Y-You’re not mad?”
He strokes up and down your back, soothing you while he wonders whether he is. But the only thing he feels right now is this strange, innate need to protect you. To reassure you. Hold your quivering body close till you stopped shaking. It’s insane, because he doesn’t feel like himself, because he’s never felt this before. It’s alien. Completely, utterly fucking alien.
“No,” he answers quietly, pressing a kiss to your hairline, “No, I’m not mad.”
“You pr-promise?”
“I promise.”
He feels like a different person as he tucks his dick back into his slacks. Like someone else, like someone he doesn’t recognise. But it feels so natural, holding you so close that your heartbeat feels like his. And the storm outside feels like a million miles away. Like it’s just you and him on a different planet and nothing else exists, nothing else means anything except you.
You fall asleep in his arms, spent after everything. And Rafe doesn’t even feel frustrated in that moment, because all he can focus on is how peaceful you look. Your tears dried on your cheeks, your chest rising and falling rhythmically. You trusted him with everything. And it made him feel like someone important.
The wind laughs and laughs all night.
*
The morning is calm, tranquil. Almost like the storm never even was. And Rafe wakes up well rested, with you cuddled on his chest, his arm around you and his thumb in your mouth. The room dappled in sunlight, the candles all blown out or melted away.
Slowly, he detangles from you, making sure not to wake you up. You look so peaceful, so innocent. So soft and pretty, in your little shack of a house on the Cut. He frowns as he looks around. In the morning light, your room looks even more pitiful. It’s clean, and you’ve made it pretty with notes and posters and fairy lights. But he can see the paint peeling off the walls, the fact it’s smaller than his closet back home.
Rafe can’t believe he’s woken up on this side of the island.
He has the sudden urge to leave. To run. Hastily, he types out a text to you.
Rafe: Hey. I thought I’d leave in case your mom came home and saw us. Didn’t want to wake you. Talk to you later.
He has to get home. Gather his thoughts. Recalibrate. Think about what the fuck came over him last night, when he’d had you right where he fucking wanted you. And then he’d pussied out of it. Rafe Cameron never pussied out of anything.
What the fuck did that mean?
His gaze shifts to you again, so pretty and sound asleep. Naked because you’d so willingly shed your clothes for him, spread your legs for him. And he could have had you. Hell, he could have you right now. Force himself into you while you were still asleep, and you’d wake up crying and sobbing, all confused and sleepy while he held you down and ordered you to just take it.
That’s what he should’ve done last night. So then what the fuck had stopped him?
Now, he lightly runs his fingers over your bare thigh, humming lightly at how smooth you feel. So soft, like an angel. A powerful, almost all-consuming feeling overtakes him. A wave of possessiveness coursing through him like a tidal wave of dark poison. You were his. All his. He could do what he pleased with you. Your body was his. You’d all but served it to him on a silver platter last night, in your pathetic little room with the candles.
Rafe feels like he’s having an out of body experience. He gets his phone out, ignoring any small, decent part of him that was sending warning signals to his brain. You were his. He had every right to do this.
Silently, he takes the pictures. And a sick part of him gets off on it, gets off on the fact you’re asleep and none the wiser to what’s happening. But this was the least you could do, you’d left him hanging last night. After he’d been so patient, so understanding. Fuck that. Why had he been like that? Like he was weak?
“You make me feel safe, daddy.”
Your words from last night ring in his ears, bouncing around in his brain till it gets too much, till they start to echo and get louder and louder. Till he feels the urge to punch the shit out of your bedroom wall. It was all too much. He had to get out of here.
He tucks his phone into his pocket, pushes the cotton covers up till your chin, and then leaves without looking back.
*
“There he is! The loverboy himself!”
His friends gather around him the next morning like he’s the second coming of Christ himself.
“How was she, Rafe?” one of them slaps him on the back, “That is, if you fucked her.”
“Yeah.” Kelce stands in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at Rafe expectantly. They all are. “Did you fuck her?”
Rafe scoffs, “Is that even a question.”
He’d waited all day yesterday for you to respond to his text. Like a pussy ass little bitch, he’d waited for you to say something. Growing angrier and more paranoid by the second when you didn’t. Staring at the pictures he’d taken of you like a man possessed, his thumb hovering over the delete button a handful of times before he’d thrown his phone angrily across the room. Hating how you were making him wait. Hating how his heart had leapt up to his fucking throat when you finally had replied: I’m so sorry for being such a scaredy cat yesterday. Thank you for coming over.
He'd discovered something then. He was obsessed with you. And he hated it.
“Pictures or it didn’t happen,” Kelce grins, cutting straight to the chase. Next to him, Rafe sees Topper’s eyes light with interest, as well as the others too. Fucking desperate losers, trying to catch a glimpse of something that belonged to him. Because they’d never get to see you like that, ever. No one else would. He’d make sure of that.
“It did happen.” Rafe says calmly, “Like I said it would.”
“Okay well, that’s great brother but we’re gonna need proof.” One of the clowns pipes up.
“You don’t need shit,” He shoots back.
“You didn’t take pictures?” Topper asks.
Rafe runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I did.”
“Then show us. That was the deal.”
He wants to beat the shit out of all of them for daring to ask to see intimate pictures of you. As if you were anything like the other whores he’d fucked in the past, the type of stupid girls him and his friends used every week. You were different, and you were his, and they had no fucking business looking at what was his.
“Look. I don’t give a shit if you don’t believe me.” He mutters, completely over the dumb ass bet and over his friends too. They’d forget about it by tomorrow, ready to become his willing followers once more. They always did.
“C’mon man, you can’t bring our hopes up like that. Either you never fucked her or,” Kelce’s eyes glint when it registers, “Or you’ve gone soft for her. You’ve–”
Rafe grabs him roughly by the collar, a sudden anger coursing through him like he’s been electrocuted. “Listen, you fucking moron. Don’t ever insinuate I’ve gone soft for a goddamned Pogue.”
He spits that last word out like it’s venom, and yet he tried to ignore how hollow it feels. When he realises people are staring, he quietly lets go, smoothing Kelce’s shirt while his friends stare at him fearfully in that way he’s grown used to people looking at him.
“I fucked her,” Rafe says plainly, his tone switching from aggressive to calm in a split second, almost like he’s slipped on a mask, “I fucked her just like I’ve fucked every other Pogue bitch who’s thrown herself at me before her. And it wasn’t anything special. She acts all innocent, but it was easy to get her to spread her legs for me just like I told you it would be.”
He hears a thud, and then a little gasp behind him. So soft, it barely registers. Except it does, and he turns around.
And immediately locks eyes with you.
And then it feels like it’s just him and you. And nobody else is there. And there’s no sound, like both of you have stopped breathing. You stand there, frozen, stricken. Your books on the ground in front of you. Only a few steps behind him, well within earshot. And he sees something break in your expression, porcelain features twisting in hurt, shock, dismay, disbelief.
“Oh shit,” Topper mutters from somewhere behind him. A few of his friends snicker, but Rafe can’t hear them. No, he’s frozen, staring at you as if he can’t quite believe it. And he sees the tears welling in your eyes.
A little broken sob falls from your lips, and then you turn and run. And Rafe wants to chase after you but it’s like he’s frozen in time and space. Watching you run off while he just stands there.
Stands and watches as you run away from him, your hands reaching up blindly to wipe at your face. And that feeling returns tenfold. That feeling that Rafe can’t quite put his finger on, that feeling which he wants to push back down because it suffocates him, and he doesn’t understand it. The feeling consumes him from the inside out, till he feels like he can’t breathe.
And he just stands there and watches until you’re gone.
𝘼/𝙉: OOF. Okay, I finally posted it! Please let me know what your thoughts! Literally any reaction, predictions, favourite parts etc. All of it, ANY of it would be so appreciated! Also please forgive any spelling or grammatical errors. Here's some questions in case you want to answer them (you don't have to!! you can comment/reblog whatever you want, i just always post questions at the end of my fics)
Does Rafe genuinely care for reader?
Should reader forgive Rafe?
Favourite scene/part?
Anyways, that's it. Now I'll anxiously wait to see what you guys think. PLEASE PLEASE consider reblogging this fic if you plan on liking it and want me to continue it. Thanks so much for all your support when I posted the sneak peek. I hope this lived up to your expectations! <3
❝we had our downs but we had way more ups,let's make love❞
pairing — firelord zuko! x fem!earthbender!reader
synopsis — who was surprised when you and zuko were the first in the gaang to get pregnant?
content — fem!reader, mature content (17+), suggestive themes, pregnancy, mention of sex, no actual plot really, indulgent fic, takes place seven years before the legend of aang (which takes placed 12 years after ATLA) so Zuko is 22 and Reader is 21, no use of yn, not proofread
author's note — I didn't watch the leaks yet just clips and if I do I'll still be watching the movie to support the animators
The Princess of the Fire Nation, though she often felt that, as the wife of the Fire Lord, she deserved a far grander title, sat before her vanity, studying her reflection. One by one, she had dismissed her maids, choosing instead to prepare for bed on her own. In truth, the new trending fragrance they all insisted on wearing had begun to make her nauseous.
Though, lately, everything seemed to make her sick.
“Aang sent a letter.”
She hadn’t even heard him enter.
Slowly, she turned to face her husband, a faint crease forming between her brows. “My love, you spend all day in council, and the first thing you do after not seeing me for hours is talk more about the council?” she teased lightly, though there was a hint of tiredness beneath it. She turned back to the mirror, picking up her hairbrush and dragging it gently through her hair.
“Well, love, this isn’t about the council. Technically,” he replied, stepping further into the room. “It’s about Aang. He needs our help.”
“Our help?” She turned again, confusion softening her features as she rose from the vanity. Her green satin nightgown draped elegantly over her figure, the gold stitching catching the candlelight with every movement. The most prominent change, however, was the gentle, undeniable curve of her stomach.
“You knocked me up, dummy,” she teased, a small smile tugging at her lips as she approached him. Her hands slid to his shoulders, then to the ties of his robes, beginning to loosen them with practiced ease. “Or did you forget already?”
He laughed softly, the sound low and fond, allowing her to help him out of his robes as the fabric slipped from his shoulders.
“How could I forget?” he murmured, turning toward her.
His gaze drifted over her slowly, appreciatively, before settling on the curve of her stomach. His hands followed, almost instinctively, coming to rest there, warm, steady, protective. His thumbs brushed gentle circles over the satin, as if he could feel something deeper beneath it.
“When you carry the future of the Fire Nation inside you?” he said quietly, his voice softening. “A little piece of me…”
His eyes lifted to meet hers, something tender and unguarded flickering there.
“And all of you.”
She hummed softly, rising onto her tiptoes as her arms slipped around his neck, drawing him down to her. Her lips met his in a gentle, fleeting kiss, soft, familiar, almost teasing.
But when she tried to pull away, he didn’t let her.
His hand tightened at her waist, the other still resting protectively against her stomach as he followed her retreat, capturing her lips again before the distance could grow. Even as her heels lowered back to the floor, he bent with her, closing the space she had tried to create.
This time the kiss deepened, slower, warmer, lingering in a way that stole the breath from her lungs. It wasn’t hurried, but it wasn’t soft either; it carried weight, intention, something unspoken between them.
His thumb brushed lightly against her side as he tilted his head, pressing closer, as if memorizing her. The world beyond them seemed to fade, the council, the letter, everything, leaving only the quiet crackle of candlelight and the steady rhythm of shared breath.
When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far, just enough for their foreheads to rest together, his lips still ghosting over hers, reluctant to let her go.
“I can’t get you pregnant again, can I? Double pregnant,” he teased, a grin tugging at his lips.
She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head at him. “Oh, you’ve certainly tried,” she replied, her voice laced with amusement. Her hand lingered briefly against his chest before she stepped back, just enough to create space between them. “But don’t try again, I need this thing out of me first.” "I don't know if I love you referring to our child as a thing."
She separated from him fully then, turning slightly as if to busy herself, though she didn’t miss the way his shoulders subtly slumped at the loss of contact. The warmth between them lingered in the space she left behind, unspoken but felt.
Her fingers adjusted the sleeve of her gown absentmindedly, her expression softening for just a moment before she glanced back at him over her shoulder. There was still a hint of her earlier smile there, though now tempered with curiosity.
“Now,” she said, more gently this time, “tell me what Aang wants.”
"That can wait for the morning." He mumbled, his eyes never leaving her lips as he pulled her back into another kiss.
“A village?”
Zuko sighed, steadying Appa’s harness as he helped his wife climb aboard. “Why would he possibly want us to go to a random village?” And why would he say pack a coat? We're going to a mountain aren't we?" she huffed, gripping the edge before finally pulling herself over with a bit more effort than she liked. "I hate mountains."
He lingered below for a moment, looking up at her, concern etched into his features. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to go? You can stay—I’ll be back in a couple days.”
She leaned over the edge slightly, brows knitting. “Aang needs the second-best earthbender with him, Zuko. I’m not disabled—”
She winced mid-sentence, her hand instinctively going to her stomach before she turned toward Toph. “Sorry.”
Toph shrugged easily. “Hey, I’m just glad you finally admitted I’m the better earthbender.”
“I give you your flowers when they’re due,” she shot back with a small smile.
Toph grinned, but it slowly faltered, her head tilting slightly as if listening to something no one else could hear. "Your heart must be beating really fast." "Is it?" The princess quirked her head confused. "Why else am I hearing two heartbeats coming from you?”
Katara gasped, her hands flying together in delight. “Oh my gosh, you’re pregnant! I thought your coat was just oddly bulky but you're pregnant! Oh my Gosh!" she exclaimed, immediately rushing forward to wrap the Fire Princess in a tight hug. “I thought they were just rumors, because surely you and Zuko would’ve told us!”
The princess blinked, caught off guard, before her gaze slid over to her husband, who was just now hauling himself rather ungracefully into Appa’s saddle.
“Zuko,” she said slowly, one brow arching, “I thought you told them.”
Zuko froze mid-step, staring back at her blankly. “I thought you did.”
There was a beat.
“Oh my gosh.”
“I mean, it was only a matter of time,” Katara chimed in, smiling knowingly. “You two have never exactly been subtle. And Zuko practically insisted on marrying you the moment he could.”
Toph snorted, crossing her arms. “Yeah, honestly? I’m surprised it took this long. Thought for sure you’d have a whole lineup of heirs by now if Zuko could keep his hands to himself for more than, what? two minutes?”
Zuko nearly choked, his face flushing a deep, unmistakable red. “That’s— I—” He cleared his throat, straightening awkwardly as he avoided everyone’s eyes. “That’s not— we’re not—”
The princess, however, looked entirely unbothered.
In fact, she looked amused.
“Well,” she said lightly, smoothing a hand over her stomach as she glanced at him, “he does have a bit of a… lack of restraint.”
Zuko snapped his head toward her. “You’re not helping.”
Katara laughed, covering her mouth. “I mean, you can’t blame them. You’ve both been—” she hesitated, searching for a polite word before giving up, “—like that since the beginning.”
Toph grinned wider. “Please. ‘Like that’ is putting it nicely.”
“Toph,” Katara warned, though she was still smiling.
“What?” Toph shrugged. “I’m just saying—half the time, I didn’t even need my feet to know when they were in the same room. The tension alone was loud enough.”
The princess let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You’re all incredibly annoying.”
Zuko groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Can we please focus on the actual reason we’re here?”
“Oh, no, no,” Toph continued, clearly enjoying herself. “You deserve this. All those nights you two kept everyone awake—”
“Okay, that’s enough,” the princess cut in quickly, though a smile tugged at her lips. She glanced at Zuko, amused. “He can’t get any redder. He’s about to turn into a tomato.”
Zuko let out a quiet, embarrassed huff, but didn’t argue, instead shifting closer and settling against her side, seeking some sense of refuge.
She softened slightly at that, her expression gentler as she let him.
“Let’s just go get Sokka,” he muttered, still avoiding everyone’s gaze.
The princess had shrugged off her coat minutes into the trip. They weren’t even close to Aang yet, and the extra weight had her uncomfortably warm, a light sheen of sweat clinging to her skin. The shifting air currents around Appa did little to help.
Katara, however, had not left her alone once.
The questions came one after another, gentle but relentless, curiosity shining in her eyes.
“How far along are you?”
“Five months,” she answered, offering a tired but polite smile.
“What’s the gender?”
“No clue.”
“Any baby names lined up?”
“We’re trying for something that blends earth and fire,” she said, glancing briefly at Zuko, “but nothing’s stuck yet.”
Katara brightened. “That’s so sweet—”
“Are you going to have more?”
The princess didn’t even hesitate. “Have you met my husband?”
Katara blinked, then laughed, covering her mouth.
Zuko, meanwhile, coughed into his fist, his ears burning all over again.
Through it all, his hand never left her, resting protectively over her stomach, thumb brushing slow, absent circles as if grounding himself in her presence. Every so often, his grip would tighten slightly whenever Appa shifted, like he could somehow steady both her and the child at once.
“Careful,” he murmured under his breath at one point, guiding her subtly as the saddle dipped.
“I’m fine,” she replied, though she didn’t pull away from him.
By the time the icy waters and familiar structures of the Southern Water Tribe came into view, the air had grown colder, sharper against their skin. Snow dusted the ground below, and the distant figures of Water Tribe members began to gather, pointing up at Appa’s descending form.
They didn’t have to search long.
Sokka was already striding across the snow toward them, boots crunching loudly with each step, his grin widening the second he took them in.
“Well, well,” he called, arms spreading like he was welcoming honored guests. “Look who finally decided to show up. Took you two long enough.”
His gaze flicked between them, lingering, calculating, before it dropped.
Then paused.
“…Whoa.”
Zuko stiffened immediately. “Don’t.”
But Sokka was already circling them, slow and deliberate, like he was inspecting something fascinating. “No way. No way. You’re serious?”
The princess raised a brow, unimpressed. “Very.”
Sokka let out a low whistle, dragging a hand down his face before pointing straight at Zuko. “I mean, I knew you two had issues with personal space, but I didn’t think you’d go and make it this… I don't even know the word for it. You two are freaks."
Zuko groaned, already regretting coming. “Sokka.”
“What?” Sokka shrugged, smirk growing. “You expect me to ignore this? This isn't even groundbreaking it's just expected from you both knowing you. This is, this is what happens when you two get even five minutes alone, isn’t it?”
Toph let out a quiet snort.
Sokka leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make it worse. “Actually, scratch that. Five minutes is probably generous.”
Zuko made a strangled noise. “Okay.”
Katara slapped a hand over her face. “Sokka—”
“No, no, I’m just connecting the dots,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. “All those times you disappeared during meetings, all those ‘private discussions’ yeah, makes a lot more sense now.”
The princess tilted her head, completely unbothered. “You’re being very bold for someone standing this close to me.”
Sokka grinned. “I’m just impressed, honestly. You two had so much tension it was practically a natural disaster, and now—” he gestured vaguely toward her stomach, “—this is the aftermath. Surprised it took you this long."
Toph laughed outright at that.
Zuko looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.
Sokka wasn’t done.
“I mean seriously,” he added, folding his arms, “if this is what happens when the Fire Lord gets a little too… distracted, I’m shocked there’s not a second one already on the way.”
Zuko choked. “That’s enough.”
“Hey, I’m congratulating you!” Sokka shot back. “Just saying, next time, maybe let people know before you two go off and—”
“Sokka.”
“—expand the royal family.”
Katara shoved him lightly. “You’re unbelievable.”
“But not wrong,” he corrected smoothly.
The princess let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Unfortunately, he’s not entirely wrong.”
Zuko turned to her, betrayed. “You’re encouraging him.”
“We've been married for eleven months and I've been pregnant for five of them, you lack restraint Zuko” she stated bluntly, though her smile gave her away. He shook his head leaning close so only he could hear her. "Who suggested riding me in the throne ro-" "Okay hush now."
Sokka clapped his hands together once, satisfied. “Great. Now that we’ve established the Fire Lord has absolutely no self-control—”
“Sokka.”
“—can someone please tell me why Aang is dragging us to some random village?"
The teasing was warranted, deserved, even.
The Fire Nation had taken your father, your brother. Zuko’s redemption didn’t erase that. Not to you. He had hunted you, cornered you, forced you into survival more times than you could count. While the others learned to trust him, to laugh with him, to move on… you hadn’t. Not so easily.
So yeah, there had been tension.
A lot of it.
It just… hadn’t been resolved in a way anyone else approved of.
His lips brushed slowly along the inside of her thigh, unhurried, deliberate, testing, teasing. The touch alone was enough to pull a quiet, unwilling sound from her, her breath catching despite herself.
“Just do it already,” she muttered, more breath than voice, her fingers tightening against the sheets.
Zuko clicked his tongue softly, unfazed. Another kiss followed, closer this time, but still not quite where she wanted, where she needed.
“Not until you say please.”
Her head tipped back in frustration. “Why would I have to say please?” she shot back weakly. “You said you were atoning for everything your nation did. Consider this part of your apology.”
A quiet huff of amusement left him, warm against her skin. “I’ve been atoning for two months now,” he murmured, his voice low, almost thoughtful.
Another slow press of his lips, lingering.
“And yet,” he added, “every morning I wake up and you’ve already taken my portion of breakfast because, apparently, ‘murderers don’t deserve to eat.’”
She exhaled sharply, somewhere between a scoff and something softer. “Well, when the Fire Nation killed my family, I couldn’t afford breakfast—”
“I know.” His tone shifted immediately, the teasing giving way to something heavier, sincere. His hand stilled, grounding. “I know. And I’m sorry.”
There was a pause, the air between them tightening, thick with everything unsaid.
“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it,” he continued quietly. “For what I did… for what I stood for.”
His placed a long kiss to her core, a soft moan (against her will) escaped her lips.
“Let me try,” he said, voice gentler now. “Even if it’s not enough.”
“I’m glad you all could make it, this village needs our help with—” Aang began, pulling back from Katara mid-sentence.
His eyes flicked across the group.
Paused.
Then widened.
“…Are—did—?”
He leaned toward Katara, lowering his voice into what he clearly thought was a whisper. “Am I allowed to ask people if they’ve gained weight?”
Katara’s eyes widened. “No, Aang. We’ve been over this.”
Aang nodded quickly. “Right, right. No asking.”
“…They’re pregnant,” she added quietly.
Aang blinked.
Then looked back at them.
Then back at Katara.
“…Zuko’s pregnant too?”
Toph snorted.
Sokka immediately burst out laughing. “Yeah, yeah, Fire Lord had a lot to do with it actually.”
Zuko’s face flushed instantly. “That’s not—”
“I’m pregnant, Aang,” the princess cut in, voice flat.
“Oh!” Aang straightened immediately, relief flooding his face. “Oh, that makes way more sense.”
There was a beat.
“…Congratulations!” he added, a little too late but entirely sincere.
Then his expression shifted, concern creeping in.
“Wait, are you sure you should be here?” he asked, glancing between her and Zuko. “I mean, with everything going on… I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Zuko immediately nodded. “Exactly.”
She sighed.
“I’m pregnant, not made of glass,” she said, crossing her arms lightly. “I can still help.”
Toph smirked. “Told you.”
Katara smiled gently. “We’ll keep an eye on you. Just in case.”
Sokka grinned. “Yeah, someone has to make sure Zuko doesn’t give himself an aneurysm trying to watch after the princess.”
Zuko shot him a glare.
Aang hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I trust you. Just… be careful, alright?”
She gave a small, confident nod.
“Always.”
Aang clapped his hands together once, refocusing. “Right, so. The village has been dealing with a spirit. It’s been acting aggressively, and I think it’s tied to something in the mountain.”
The princess exhaled slowly. “…So you did drag us out here for a mountain.”
Aang winced. “Technically… yes.”
Zuko sighed. “Of course.”
Toph cracked her knuckles. “Good. I was getting bored.”
Sokka looked between them, grin already returning. “Alright, angry spirit, pregnant Fire-Earth Princess, and Zuko on edge. This should go great.”
She leaned slightly into Zuko’s side, her hand brushing his.
“Next time,” she murmured, “we ignore the letter and go to Ember Island."
He huffed softly. “…Agreed.”
love speaks! rushed and indulgent sorry i wish this was better but if i draft it it'll never get done. divider by @/cafekitsune
❝we had our downs but we had way more ups,let's make love❞
pairing — firelord zuko! x fem!earthbender!reader
synopsis — who was surprised when you and zuko were the first in the gaang to get pregnant?
content — fem!reader, mature content (17+), suggestive themes, pregnancy, mention of sex, no actual plot really, indulgent fic, takes place seven years before the legend of aang (which takes placed 12 years after ATLA) so Zuko is 22 and Reader is 21, no use of yn, not proofread
author's note — I didn't watch the leaks yet just clips and if I do I'll still be watching the movie to support the animators
The Princess of the Fire Nation, though she often felt that, as the wife of the Fire Lord, she deserved a far grander title, sat before her vanity, studying her reflection. One by one, she had dismissed her maids, choosing instead to prepare for bed on her own. In truth, the new trending fragrance they all insisted on wearing had begun to make her nauseous.
Though, lately, everything seemed to make her sick.
“Aang sent a letter.”
She hadn’t even heard him enter.
Slowly, she turned to face her husband, a faint crease forming between her brows. “My love, you spend all day in council, and the first thing you do after not seeing me for hours is talk more about the council?” she teased lightly, though there was a hint of tiredness beneath it. She turned back to the mirror, picking up her hairbrush and dragging it gently through her hair.
“Well, love, this isn’t about the council. Technically,” he replied, stepping further into the room. “It’s about Aang. He needs our help.”
“Our help?” She turned again, confusion softening her features as she rose from the vanity. Her green satin nightgown draped elegantly over her figure, the gold stitching catching the candlelight with every movement. The most prominent change, however, was the gentle, undeniable curve of her stomach.
“You knocked me up, dummy,” she teased, a small smile tugging at her lips as she approached him. Her hands slid to his shoulders, then to the ties of his robes, beginning to loosen them with practiced ease. “Or did you forget already?”
He laughed softly, the sound low and fond, allowing her to help him out of his robes as the fabric slipped from his shoulders.
“How could I forget?” he murmured, turning toward her.
His gaze drifted over her slowly, appreciatively, before settling on the curve of her stomach. His hands followed, almost instinctively, coming to rest there, warm, steady, protective. His thumbs brushed gentle circles over the satin, as if he could feel something deeper beneath it.
“When you carry the future of the Fire Nation inside you?” he said quietly, his voice softening. “A little piece of me…”
His eyes lifted to meet hers, something tender and unguarded flickering there.
“And all of you.”
She hummed softly, rising onto her tiptoes as her arms slipped around his neck, drawing him down to her. Her lips met his in a gentle, fleeting kiss, soft, familiar, almost teasing.
But when she tried to pull away, he didn’t let her.
His hand tightened at her waist, the other still resting protectively against her stomach as he followed her retreat, capturing her lips again before the distance could grow. Even as her heels lowered back to the floor, he bent with her, closing the space she had tried to create.
This time the kiss deepened, slower, warmer, lingering in a way that stole the breath from her lungs. It wasn’t hurried, but it wasn’t soft either; it carried weight, intention, something unspoken between them.
His thumb brushed lightly against her side as he tilted his head, pressing closer, as if memorizing her. The world beyond them seemed to fade, the council, the letter, everything, leaving only the quiet crackle of candlelight and the steady rhythm of shared breath.
When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far, just enough for their foreheads to rest together, his lips still ghosting over hers, reluctant to let her go.
“I can’t get you pregnant again, can I? Double pregnant,” he teased, a grin tugging at his lips.
She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head at him. “Oh, you’ve certainly tried,” she replied, her voice laced with amusement. Her hand lingered briefly against his chest before she stepped back, just enough to create space between them. “But don’t try again, I need this thing out of me first.” "I don't know if I love you referring to our child as a thing."
She separated from him fully then, turning slightly as if to busy herself, though she didn’t miss the way his shoulders subtly slumped at the loss of contact. The warmth between them lingered in the space she left behind, unspoken but felt.
Her fingers adjusted the sleeve of her gown absentmindedly, her expression softening for just a moment before she glanced back at him over her shoulder. There was still a hint of her earlier smile there, though now tempered with curiosity.
“Now,” she said, more gently this time, “tell me what Aang wants.”
"That can wait for the morning." He mumbled, his eyes never leaving her lips as he pulled her back into another kiss.
“A village?”
Zuko sighed, steadying Appa’s harness as he helped his wife climb aboard. “Why would he possibly want us to go to a random village?” And why would he say pack a coat? We're going to a mountain aren't we?" she huffed, gripping the edge before finally pulling herself over with a bit more effort than she liked. "I hate mountains."
He lingered below for a moment, looking up at her, concern etched into his features. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to go? You can stay—I’ll be back in a couple days.”
She leaned over the edge slightly, brows knitting. “Aang needs the second-best earthbender with him, Zuko. I’m not disabled—”
She winced mid-sentence, her hand instinctively going to her stomach before she turned toward Toph. “Sorry.”
Toph shrugged easily. “Hey, I’m just glad you finally admitted I’m the better earthbender.”
“I give you your flowers when they’re due,” she shot back with a small smile.
Toph grinned, but it slowly faltered, her head tilting slightly as if listening to something no one else could hear. "Your heart must be beating really fast." "Is it?" The princess quirked her head confused. "Why else am I hearing two heartbeats coming from you?”
Katara gasped, her hands flying together in delight. “Oh my gosh, you’re pregnant! I thought your coat was just oddly bulky but you're pregnant! Oh my Gosh!" she exclaimed, immediately rushing forward to wrap the Fire Princess in a tight hug. “I thought they were just rumors, because surely you and Zuko would’ve told us!”
The princess blinked, caught off guard, before her gaze slid over to her husband, who was just now hauling himself rather ungracefully into Appa’s saddle.
“Zuko,” she said slowly, one brow arching, “I thought you told them.”
Zuko froze mid-step, staring back at her blankly. “I thought you did.”
There was a beat.
“Oh my gosh.”
“I mean, it was only a matter of time,” Katara chimed in, smiling knowingly. “You two have never exactly been subtle. And Zuko practically insisted on marrying you the moment he could.”
Toph snorted, crossing her arms. “Yeah, honestly? I’m surprised it took this long. Thought for sure you’d have a whole lineup of heirs by now if Zuko could keep his hands to himself for more than, what? two minutes?”
Zuko nearly choked, his face flushing a deep, unmistakable red. “That’s— I—” He cleared his throat, straightening awkwardly as he avoided everyone’s eyes. “That’s not— we’re not—”
The princess, however, looked entirely unbothered.
In fact, she looked amused.
“Well,” she said lightly, smoothing a hand over her stomach as she glanced at him, “he does have a bit of a… lack of restraint.”
Zuko snapped his head toward her. “You’re not helping.”
Katara laughed, covering her mouth. “I mean, you can’t blame them. You’ve both been—” she hesitated, searching for a polite word before giving up, “—like that since the beginning.”
Toph grinned wider. “Please. ‘Like that’ is putting it nicely.”
“Toph,” Katara warned, though she was still smiling.
“What?” Toph shrugged. “I’m just saying—half the time, I didn’t even need my feet to know when they were in the same room. The tension alone was loud enough.”
The princess let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You’re all incredibly annoying.”
Zuko groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Can we please focus on the actual reason we’re here?”
“Oh, no, no,” Toph continued, clearly enjoying herself. “You deserve this. All those nights you two kept everyone awake—”
“Okay, that’s enough,” the princess cut in quickly, though a smile tugged at her lips. She glanced at Zuko, amused. “He can’t get any redder. He’s about to turn into a tomato.”
Zuko let out a quiet, embarrassed huff, but didn’t argue, instead shifting closer and settling against her side, seeking some sense of refuge.
She softened slightly at that, her expression gentler as she let him.
“Let’s just go get Sokka,” he muttered, still avoiding everyone’s gaze.
The princess had shrugged off her coat minutes into the trip. They weren’t even close to Aang yet, and the extra weight had her uncomfortably warm, a light sheen of sweat clinging to her skin. The shifting air currents around Appa did little to help.
Katara, however, had not left her alone once.
The questions came one after another, gentle but relentless, curiosity shining in her eyes.
“How far along are you?”
“Five months,” she answered, offering a tired but polite smile.
“What’s the gender?”
“No clue.”
“Any baby names lined up?”
“We’re trying for something that blends earth and fire,” she said, glancing briefly at Zuko, “but nothing’s stuck yet.”
Katara brightened. “That’s so sweet—”
“Are you going to have more?”
The princess didn’t even hesitate. “Have you met my husband?”
Katara blinked, then laughed, covering her mouth.
Zuko, meanwhile, coughed into his fist, his ears burning all over again.
Through it all, his hand never left her, resting protectively over her stomach, thumb brushing slow, absent circles as if grounding himself in her presence. Every so often, his grip would tighten slightly whenever Appa shifted, like he could somehow steady both her and the child at once.
“Careful,” he murmured under his breath at one point, guiding her subtly as the saddle dipped.
“I’m fine,” she replied, though she didn’t pull away from him.
By the time the icy waters and familiar structures of the Southern Water Tribe came into view, the air had grown colder, sharper against their skin. Snow dusted the ground below, and the distant figures of Water Tribe members began to gather, pointing up at Appa’s descending form.
They didn’t have to search long.
Sokka was already striding across the snow toward them, boots crunching loudly with each step, his grin widening the second he took them in.
“Well, well,” he called, arms spreading like he was welcoming honored guests. “Look who finally decided to show up. Took you two long enough.”
His gaze flicked between them, lingering, calculating, before it dropped.
Then paused.
“…Whoa.”
Zuko stiffened immediately. “Don’t.”
But Sokka was already circling them, slow and deliberate, like he was inspecting something fascinating. “No way. No way. You’re serious?”
The princess raised a brow, unimpressed. “Very.”
Sokka let out a low whistle, dragging a hand down his face before pointing straight at Zuko. “I mean, I knew you two had issues with personal space, but I didn’t think you’d go and make it this… I don't even know the word for it. You two are freaks."
Zuko groaned, already regretting coming. “Sokka.”
“What?” Sokka shrugged, smirk growing. “You expect me to ignore this? This isn't even groundbreaking it's just expected from you both knowing you. This is, this is what happens when you two get even five minutes alone, isn’t it?”
Toph let out a quiet snort.
Sokka leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make it worse. “Actually, scratch that. Five minutes is probably generous.”
Zuko made a strangled noise. “Okay.”
Katara slapped a hand over her face. “Sokka—”
“No, no, I’m just connecting the dots,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. “All those times you disappeared during meetings, all those ‘private discussions’ yeah, makes a lot more sense now.”
The princess tilted her head, completely unbothered. “You’re being very bold for someone standing this close to me.”
Sokka grinned. “I’m just impressed, honestly. You two had so much tension it was practically a natural disaster, and now—” he gestured vaguely toward her stomach, “—this is the aftermath. Surprised it took you this long."
Toph laughed outright at that.
Zuko looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.
Sokka wasn’t done.
“I mean seriously,” he added, folding his arms, “if this is what happens when the Fire Lord gets a little too… distracted, I’m shocked there’s not a second one already on the way.”
Zuko choked. “That’s enough.”
“Hey, I’m congratulating you!” Sokka shot back. “Just saying, next time, maybe let people know before you two go off and—”
“Sokka.”
“—expand the royal family.”
Katara shoved him lightly. “You’re unbelievable.”
“But not wrong,” he corrected smoothly.
The princess let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Unfortunately, he’s not entirely wrong.”
Zuko turned to her, betrayed. “You’re encouraging him.”
“We've been married for eleven months and I've been pregnant for five of them, you lack restraint Zuko” she stated bluntly, though her smile gave her away. He shook his head leaning close so only he could hear her. "Who suggested riding me in the throne ro-" "Okay hush now."
Sokka clapped his hands together once, satisfied. “Great. Now that we’ve established the Fire Lord has absolutely no self-control—”
“Sokka.”
“—can someone please tell me why Aang is dragging us to some random village?"
The teasing was warranted, deserved, even.
The Fire Nation had taken your father, your brother. Zuko’s redemption didn’t erase that. Not to you. He had hunted you, cornered you, forced you into survival more times than you could count. While the others learned to trust him, to laugh with him, to move on… you hadn’t. Not so easily.
So yeah, there had been tension.
A lot of it.
It just… hadn’t been resolved in a way anyone else approved of.
His lips brushed slowly along the inside of her thigh, unhurried, deliberate, testing, teasing. The touch alone was enough to pull a quiet, unwilling sound from her, her breath catching despite herself.
“Just do it already,” she muttered, more breath than voice, her fingers tightening against the sheets.
Zuko clicked his tongue softly, unfazed. Another kiss followed, closer this time, but still not quite where she wanted, where she needed.
“Not until you say please.”
Her head tipped back in frustration. “Why would I have to say please?” she shot back weakly. “You said you were atoning for everything your nation did. Consider this part of your apology.”
A quiet huff of amusement left him, warm against her skin. “I’ve been atoning for two months now,” he murmured, his voice low, almost thoughtful.
Another slow press of his lips, lingering.
“And yet,” he added, “every morning I wake up and you’ve already taken my portion of breakfast because, apparently, ‘murderers don’t deserve to eat.’”
She exhaled sharply, somewhere between a scoff and something softer. “Well, when the Fire Nation killed my family, I couldn’t afford breakfast—”
“I know.” His tone shifted immediately, the teasing giving way to something heavier, sincere. His hand stilled, grounding. “I know. And I’m sorry.”
There was a pause, the air between them tightening, thick with everything unsaid.
“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it,” he continued quietly. “For what I did… for what I stood for.”
His placed a long kiss to her core, a soft moan (against her will) escaped her lips.
“Let me try,” he said, voice gentler now. “Even if it’s not enough.”
“I’m glad you all could make it, this village needs our help with—” Aang began, pulling back from Katara mid-sentence.
His eyes flicked across the group.
Paused.
Then widened.
“…Are—did—?”
He leaned toward Katara, lowering his voice into what he clearly thought was a whisper. “Am I allowed to ask people if they’ve gained weight?”
Katara’s eyes widened. “No, Aang. We’ve been over this.”
Aang nodded quickly. “Right, right. No asking.”
“…They’re pregnant,” she added quietly.
Aang blinked.
Then looked back at them.
Then back at Katara.
“…Zuko’s pregnant too?”
Toph snorted.
Sokka immediately burst out laughing. “Yeah, yeah, Fire Lord had a lot to do with it actually.”
Zuko’s face flushed instantly. “That’s not—”
“I’m pregnant, Aang,” the princess cut in, voice flat.
“Oh!” Aang straightened immediately, relief flooding his face. “Oh, that makes way more sense.”
There was a beat.
“…Congratulations!” he added, a little too late but entirely sincere.
Then his expression shifted, concern creeping in.
“Wait, are you sure you should be here?” he asked, glancing between her and Zuko. “I mean, with everything going on… I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Zuko immediately nodded. “Exactly.”
She sighed.
“I’m pregnant, not made of glass,” she said, crossing her arms lightly. “I can still help.”
Toph smirked. “Told you.”
Katara smiled gently. “We’ll keep an eye on you. Just in case.”
Sokka grinned. “Yeah, someone has to make sure Zuko doesn’t give himself an aneurysm trying to watch after the princess.”
Zuko shot him a glare.
Aang hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I trust you. Just… be careful, alright?”
She gave a small, confident nod.
“Always.”
Aang clapped his hands together once, refocusing. “Right, so. The village has been dealing with a spirit. It’s been acting aggressively, and I think it’s tied to something in the mountain.”
The princess exhaled slowly. “…So you did drag us out here for a mountain.”
Aang winced. “Technically… yes.”
Zuko sighed. “Of course.”
Toph cracked her knuckles. “Good. I was getting bored.”
Sokka looked between them, grin already returning. “Alright, angry spirit, pregnant Fire-Earth Princess, and Zuko on edge. This should go great.”
She leaned slightly into Zuko’s side, her hand brushing his.
“Next time,” she murmured, “we ignore the letter and go to Ember Island."
He huffed softly. “…Agreed.”
love speaks! rushed and indulgent sorry i wish this was better but if i draft it it'll never get done. divider by @/cafekitsune
⤿ঌ 𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑺𝑪𝑬𝑵𝑻 — someone who glows with intense passion, brilliance, or joy, or conversely, someone burning with extreme rage.
⤿Content : Plot & build up. Pregnancy. Nudity. Wounds & bruises. Kissing. Suggestive. Intimacy. Heavily Implied sex. Fluff. Drizzle of angst. Scene inspired by Pursuit of Jade. The most self-indulgent a self-indulgent fic can get.
⤿Word count: 7.7k
⤿ Authors note: Sokka is vital to the plot of every fic! Zuko loose hair and back muscles when they're flexed *drools*. Last last thing, I suck at content/warning tags sorry ://
Once again... balance has been restored to the world, peace revived to the united republicans, and a dawn on the horizon to mark it's arrival.
But the suns awakening did not remove the cinder from the air nor the scorch of the city from below—a new day had not meant a forgotten yesterday—the damage was done and much was to be rebuilt.
Birdsong returned to the skies. And a memory stirred of all the mornings he had spent on the terrace overlooking the flourishing expanse of his nation, a whiff of cider musk breathing from his silk robes.
Zuko set aside much of his concerns for the time being and embraced the kindred fire of first light as they braved the clouds. He had not wanted to—he felt he did not deserve to—yet was unable to stop himself from succumbing to relief, for what a long arduous battle it had been.
"This marks another win for team Avatar!" Sokka exclaimed breathlessly as he landed unceremoniously beside Zuko. He threw his arm over the railed edge of Appa’s saddle and deflated from the aftershock of nearly free-falling to his death.
"And what exactly did you contribute?" Toph queried.
"O you know, brains and brawn. Saved yalls butts twice! Not forgetting how my spectacular no bending invention single-handedly restored peace and balance to the world"
"You think you could use that no bending skills to save me from the wrath of my wife?”
Silence.
Sokka's head whipped toward Zuko whose face had shifted in an instant from calm serenity to petrified realization.
“I didn’t tell her I was leaving,” he muttered under his breath, staring into the sun as if it might offer him mercy.
Toph chortled, “Goodluck with that”
Sokka furiously shook his head. “Don’t drag me into this”
Aang, perched atop Appa’s head, looked back, glad he had not been in Sokka’s—or, worse yet, Zuko’s—stead because he, like the rest, had known your fiery temperament and had been subjected to its terrifying nature before, close enough to understand it wasn’t just talk or a joke passed over lightly.
Even Katara who could silence a room with a glance had never made him feel quite like this: that uneasy awareness of having already chosen the wrong side of a coming conversation.
He swallowed, suddenly very aware of his torn clothes, and looked away from Zuko. He was taken back to that one time during a stealth mission when Sokka and Zuko’s simple bantering had turned a quiet mission into near disaster.
It was a few years after Firelord Ozai’s defeat, when the plans for Republic City were still ink on paper and the world was trying to stitch itself back together.
They ran on exhaustion more than certainty, moving between rebuilding efforts, negotiations, and the precarious work of keeping the nations—set in their ways of war—from tearing at each other again.
The group had split in two. Probably not the smartest of plans. Aang was to take Sokka and Zuko, stake out a camp, trace patrol patterns, count soldiers, gather whatever intel they could, and await the signal.
But with three hours gone and still no sign of movement, Zuko, who wasn’t even supposed to be there in the first place, shifted from stillness into irritation. And with Zuko, irritation never stayed small for long.
Sokka noticed, of course. And Sokka—well, Sokka had never met a tense situation he couldn’t make worse on purpose.
“We’ll age out here before we see a single soldier. Look, Zuko’s already balding,” Sokka said, poking at a branch at Zuko’s feet with his boomerang.
“If you would stop talking, we might actually hear something useful.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sokka shot back, louder, “I didn’t realize Fire lord grumpy here was conducting a listening ceremony.”
The air tightened.
Aang had glanced between them, already sensing the shift before either of them fully committed to it. “Guys... maybe—”
And just like that, their bickering grew harsher, loud enough to have alerted an unseen passing patrol. “It’s the Avatar!!”
“You guys did it again!” Aang snatched up his staff in one motion. Air lifted him upward as he rose above the bushes, frustration flashing across his face. “Every time you argue, someone shows up and I'm always the first one noticed!”
Troops had plunged from the canopy of trees, emerging one after the other from the dark crevices of the forest with no end in sight.
Aang landed to help Zuko and Sokka.
But they were steadily driven back into a position where the enemy had gained the upper hand.
Like fury incarnate, earth had suddenly surged up in twin walls from the ground, folding the attackers in and cutting off every escape, and then water followed—an erosion, swift and precise washed through the space, locking every step in place as it hardened around their feet.
Every threat was flattened in a single, controlled strike.
The chaos gone as quickly as it had escalated.
You stood there afterward with a flat, unreadable expression, sweat clad and breathing heavier from the strain of such coordinated yet strenuous bending, your disappointment settling over them like stone.
Aang visibly shivered, his body reacting as the memory surfaced.
He could still feel it: the pressure of your words pinning them in place more effectively than any Earth Kingdom soldier ever had.
Since then, he had avoided anything even remotely reckless within your orbit. If something looked like it might spiral, he was already halfway out of it.
If Sokka started arguing, Aang found air.
If Zuko started pacing, Aang found distance.
If a plan felt even slightly like it might become “that kind of situation again,” Aang was suddenly, urgently needed somewhere else. Anywhere else.
He let out a small breath, rubbing the back of his neck as if it could ease the memory away.
“Yeah,” he muttered to himself, glancing off toward the horizon. “Not doing that again.”
Katara had heard the whole thing.
She didn’t feel sorry for them. Not really. They made their choices, and choices had consequences, therefore they should own up to it. Simple as that. Still, there was something faintly amusing about the way they spoke of you, like your presence alone had rewritten the rules of survival.
Katara had seen real fury before. Water crashing, storms breaking, emotions spilling over in waves.
And you…you were rational. That was all.
You were control. And control when it turned toward them felt like standing still in deep water as the current decided where one would go.
You were calm, collected, even when you reprimanded them. Somehow, that was exactly what made it worse. Because you didn’t raise your voice. Like every situation wasn’t an emotional mess to be shouted through—but a problem to be solved, with consequences carefully considered.
She sighed, shaking her. “Deserved.”
Toph nodded in agreement. Boys were stupid. Brainless. Rash. They had tendency to ruin most of what they touched… and didn’t touch.
Sokka spoke first, very carefully. “She once looked at me like I had personally offended the concept of intelligence.”
“You did,” Toph and Zuko replied in unison.
Sokka glared.
“You’re all ridiculous.” Then, almost absently, Katara added, “She doesn’t scare me.”
“And me,” Toph raised her hand.
Aang blinked. “Really?”
Katara rested against Appa. “She’ll be angry—and it's within her right to be. You left without telling her.”
Zuko looked toward the horizon, where messengers and rumours always seemed to travel faster than wind.
“And after what just happened,” she added, quieter now, “news of the scale of the wreckage will reach her soon.”
Sokka patted Zuko’s shoulder with forced sympathy. “You're going to have to deal with this one yourself buddy”
Zuko’s expression didn’t change. “You’re coming with me.”
“Nope.” Sokka's leg hooked lazily over the other, letting the slight breeze catch him as if he had already emotionally checked out. “This is a royal problem. Fire Nation business. Husband wife stuff.”
Toph snorted, pointedly removed from the conversation in the exact way Sokka had hoped to be.
“Sokka”
“What Katara? I value my life.”
Aang shifted uncomfortably as Appa readied to land. “In her… condition. I don’t think she’s going to just—focus on one person.”
Zuko’s eye twitched. He clearly caught the implication, but swallowed it down with visible effort. “…You’re all coming,” he said flatly.
Sokka pointed at him. “That’s not how protection works!”
Appa touched down near the city center with a thud that rippled through the streets below.
“It's been a while. We could do with a visit” She smoothed a hand over Appa’s fur, a smile written across the corners of her mouth.
With Katara and Toph in agreement, the decision was already made.
Zuko would be returning home regardless, so his vote counted for nothing.
As for Aang and Sokka…they weren’t given a choice.
With much still to be done in the wake of the destruction left behind, Sokka suggested they remain in Republic City for the day, where they would clean up, rest, and handle a few lingering matters before setting out for the Fire Nation the following morning.
This time, his opinion had been heard and agreed upon.
Zuko was grateful, albeit hesitant. He told himself it was better to return home fully rested and composed than to arrive in torn clothes, injuries half-healed, and every weakness laid bare for scrutiny.
•.‿︵˖⤿🐦🔥 ঌ˖︵‿.•
Steam curled lazily along the stone walls.
Zuko submerged himself under the hot water longer than necessary. When he resurfaced, it ran over his shoulders, down his arms and chest as if it could rinse out more than just soot and sweat.
The day replayed itself in fragments. Then went further back to when his hope for redemption sparked and brought him to this point. Then even further back—deeper into the memories of his childhood when he'd been taught the history of his Nation, their climb to dominance and success…to the demise of the Air Nomad. Aang's people.
He exhaled slowly, tilting his head back against the tub, his arms resting along its curved edges.
His chest rose with the steam, then eased back down—steady as the flicker of candlelight in a still room.
“What troubles you, My Lord?”
A ghost of a touch brushed his shoulder where a deep incision had been healed to a dark bruise. Another sensation had followed shortly, a softer collision against his shoulder.
“Why? Do you plan on kissing my troubles away?”
He had found himself smiling.
“Oh, I can do a lot more than that…” you replied, voice warm with that familiar spark—the kind that didn’t burn outwards so much as it simply refused to go dim.
His hand had rested on your hip, fingers idly tugging at the absurd amount of layers in your dress as if grounding himself in something real.
“Thank you…”
“I haven’t even done anything yet,” you mused, tilting your head to capture his lips in a simple kiss before tucking his hair behind his ears.
But Zuko had meant it in all honesty. “For being here”
“Even when it got hard. Even when everything changed… when it was an upheaval and adjustment for you.”
You had become his calm, the push and pull of water, steadying him when everything else felt uncertain.
And yet, despite the water that flowed through your veins, making you strong, composed, and grounding, there was a fire breathed beneath it.
It was obvious in the way you moved through the world—quick to flare, quick to speak, quick to challenge anything that stirred too comfortably around you.
“Those eyes look as if they could do no wrong,” your finger traced the slope of his nose, slow and unhurried, like you had all the time in the world to map him out, to revitalize the memory of him.
It lingered there for just a moment too long—enough to blur the line between thought and touch—before drifting down, over the heat of his cheek, across his jaw to pinch his chin.
His breath caught, subtle but sharp.
He didn’t move at all, caught between the instinct to step back and the more dangerous urge to stay exactly where he was.
“But it’s not enough to get you out of trouble,”
His body jolted upright.
The bathwater around him swayed at the suddenness. The illusion broken instantly, like heat breaking through glass.
He dragged a hand down his face. Once. Firm.
Exhaustion. That was all it was. A tired mind pulling shapes out of absence just to fill the missing and overexertion and the hunger.
Nothing more.
He pushed up through the water, muscles tightening as cold air met damp skin. Heavy droplets clung to him, sliding slowly down his shoulders and legs, tracing paths to corners touched by your heat.
For a moment, he stood there letting the realization settle back into something he could control. Then he stepped out of the tub.
The towel came around his waist in practiced motion. Water hit tile in uneven rhythms behind him as he dried his hair, wringing it out before clipping it back and walking into the room he'd been given.
Soft bedding, muted light, walls too clean to feel familiar. Comfortable, but not home. Not anything that could anchor the feeling he’d just shaken off. He crossed it anyway.
He dressed in silence, awkwardly folding each movement into the next like he'd long forgotten how to do it himself.
By the time he lay down in bed, at last, the room was dark except for the faint spill of city light through the window.
Sleep didn’t come quickly, and so he stared at the ceiling, listening to the distant ensemble of Republic City—too alive to feel entirely restful. His mind drifted anyway: plans, routes, conversations yet to happen, versions of tomorrow that all ended in the same place.
Zuko closed his eyes. And eventually, after a long stretch of misery—sleep finally took him.
•.‿︵˖⤿🐦🔥 ঌ˖︵‿.•
The sun wasn’t even up yet. Sokka stared into oblivion with a bag slung under his arm, blinking slowly like sleep itself was personally refusing him entry.
Toph flicked a pebble at him. It struck him square in the forehead.
“OW—hey!” Sokka yelped, stumbling sideways and nearly taking himself out on a crate. “What was that for?!”
“Keeping you awake,” Toph said. “You were starting to look peaceful. It was disturbing.”
Zuko stepped past them, passing Aang the last of the supplies before climbing up onto Appa with the efficiency of someone ready to get back home.
“I feel like I should’ve been consulted on this,” Sokka muttered, rubbing his eyes.
Katara didn’t even turn around. “You were.”
“I would remember being consulted.”
“You were informed,” she corrected. “Then you complained.”
“I am not whining—this is strategic concern for my continued existence.”
Katara was unimpressed.
“I hate when the group consensus is ‘we suffer together.’”
“Oh, don’t be such a dramatic shrimp fry. You’re the only one acting like this is a funeral march.” Toph laid down and pulled a blanket over herself and lay down.
With the long journey ahead, she might as well catch up on sleep
“I’m not being dra—” he yawned mid-word, staggering slightly, “matic.”
“Sure.”
Aang tightened his cloak against the early morning chill. “Everyone ready?”
Zuko nodded. “Let’s go.”
“Appa, yip yip”
Appa shifted beneath them with a low rumble, then launched into the air.
︵ঌ︵
The flight home filled with an anticipation Zuko had yet to process.
It was not the first time he'd been away from you this long.
Between diplomatic missions, routine territory checks, and military assessments, distance had become a familiar part of his life. But this time was different.
This was the only time he had left without telling you where he was going. And that sat with him miserably.
There was much to think about—beyond the worry for you and his children. It was what lingered beneath that, something he had long claimed to have moved past. And yet, still kept him awake.
Years had passed. He had healed. He had… He had tempered those stubborn irrational flames that drove him. Gained loyal allies, true friendship, married the love of his life, named his first born through strength and legacy.
Why couldn’t he forget the years shaped by hate and obsession?
He had once believed capturing the Avatar would prove his worth. That it would earn back his father’s love, his respect. But somewhere along that path, his ambition had twisted—and the that which he hunted had turned, and hunted him in back.
His honour had never known the golden glory of which existed so strongly today, at the same time, his heart sunk unbearably beneath the guilt such honour carried.
As a full day passed since they left Republic City, Appa flew as though time itself were pressing forward.
Aang could feel the anticipation build in the air surrounding Zuko, he and his bison shared the same understanding—faster was better. The sooner they arrived, the sooner everything could finally settle.
With the second sunrise creeping over the horizon, Sokka and Toph snored their way through the early hours in complete disregard for dignity or altitude.
Katara and Aang sat closer together, speaking in low voices, their conversation soft enough to fade into the wind. Zuko remained near the edge of Appa’s saddle. He looked away from them.
He traced the familiar shapes of mountains and rivers as they passed beneath him, each landmark drawing him closer to home—closer to you, and he counted the minutes.
Quite literally.
Though how accurate he was, he couldn't tell. Only that home was getting closer.
When they crossed into Fire Nation territory, the land was scarred by craters of old destruction, softened now by layers of green grass and scattered wildflowers.
Time had not erased them—only made them appear less frightening.
Sokka stirred at last.
He sat up, squinting at the light. He took in his surroundings, let out a long yawn, then moved closer to Zuko who watched as shapes began to form in the distance.
The roads grew more ordered. The settlements more structured. A different world unfolding as they neared the capital.
“Amazing,” Sokka breathed, genuine admiration softening his voice.
Things had changed since he was last there.
Zuko felt pride swell in his chest. It had taken all of them… but most of all, it had taken you. The Fire Nation was no longer something to fear. It was thriving.
By the time they arrived at the palace, the sun was high overhead, drawn near its peak.
They were all momentarily pulled from their grievances, awestruck by the bright banners stretched across the streets below, and the sound of voices rising in organized waves—chants, cheers, a welcome that rolled through the capital.
Their arrival had been expected, it seemed. Likely your doing.
They offered their waves in return, Sokka a little more enthusiastic once he realized this wasn’t a public execution.
Toph tilted her head. “What’s happening?”
“They’re cheering,” Aang said.
“Yeah, I got that. What does it look like?” she shot back dryly.
“Cheerful… alive,” Katara answered, an understatement to the welcome they received.
Appa stuck his landing with heavy force, wind rushing outward with a strong gust that sent he robes and banners snapping.
The members of court straightened immediately, then bowed in unison as their Fire lord stood to his full height.
And there he saw you. At the forefront, fury that rivalled his flames—no smile, no softness, nothing but your gaze focused squarely on him.
Zuko descended from Appa, his feet meeting cold concrete, his shoulders poised.
He approached.
Even with a scowl firm upon your face, you were—without question—the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"My love" his voice lowered, tone of command gone, replaced with reverence of worship.
Behind him, Katara felt her chest tighten just slightly, warmth blooming as she watched it unfold—this quiet, undeniable proof of how far he had come from the boy who once burned too quickly for his own good.
But all good things must meet reality eventually—or in this case, a wife reminding her husband he was still in trouble, and no victory or sweet tone would get him out of it.
“Welcome home, Fire lord Zuko”
His breath hitched for the smallest fraction of a second, not enough for anyone to call it out. Composure followed a half-beat late.
Behind you, his Advisor and Chamberlain stood rigid, guilt practically written into every wrinkle on their faces.
The court, usually so accustomed to political tension, held a bated breath for an entirely different reason now.
It wasn’t fear of their Fire Lord that alerted them, it was the controlled fury of their Lady that unleashed when she saw her husband.
"Do you care to explain yourself, or shall I have the divorce papers drafted?"
Zuko’s collar suddenly felt tighter than it had any right to be. The fabric pressed against his throat like it had shrunk in the heat of the moment. His posture stayed upright out of habit, but something in him had clearly faltered.
“Aang needed my help,”
The courtyard seemed to forget how to breathe.
The attendants stiffened altogether; one advisor’s scroll slipped slightly in his grip before he caught it too late, the rustle sounding far too loud.
Katara’s stifled her amusement while Sokka made a small, strangled noise like he was deciding whether to laugh or pray.
Toph smirked faintly, head tilted as if listening to the emotional damage in real time.
Even Aang, somewhere in the group, looked personally betrayed by his own name being used as justification.
And at the centre of it all, the air between you and Zuko sweltered.
"Is that an excuse I hear?”
“No—”
“Someone’s in trouble.” Sokka said with a grin that suggested he was enjoying this far too much.
It lasted exactly until Katara struck him lightly on the back of the head, silencing him mid-smirk.
“I was going to tell you—”
You side-stepped your husband mid-sentence. No hesitation.
They had all frozen, the Fire lord reduced not by battle, but by the displeasure of his wife.
“Katara”
Your voice noticeably changed first. The warmth returned like nothing had happened. Like it had all been folded away in an instant and replaced.
Katara didn’t hesitate as she crossed the space and pulled you into a tight embrace. Sisters through water, war, and everything that came after it.
Sokka, who had been raving in fear of your reaction was pulled into a hug too, which surprised him.
“Wow. Pregnancy has changed you" he said before he could stop himself.
Katara immediately pinched him.
“Battle wounds? No. More like survival wounds from you violent people.”
Sokka barely had time to finish before Katara pinched him again, harder this time.
“OW—okay, okay!” he yelped, recoiling and rubbing his arm. “I’m kidding! Mostly kidding!”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “It’s fine. Pregnancy has been messing with me, but I’m in a good mood.”
“You're lying” Toph chuckled.
“I'm trying to be in a good mood,” you corrected. “I haven't seen you guys in a while… A visit must've fell from your list of priorities”
Toph gestured to Appa. “Not all of us have a flying bison or a fleet of airships, you know.”
“Mhm.” You looked sideways. “Zuko won't have an airship for a while either.”
That earned a quiet exhale from him.
He stepped closer toward you, but you moved away anyway.
A beat passed. Then Aang stepped forward last, a smile that hadn't truly reached his eyes.
You embraced him tightly.
“You look worse for wear" you said.
“Getting better” he breathed out.
That seemed to ease something in you.
You stepped back, one hand resting over your stomach as your eyes moved across them—taking in all of them at once.
The whole mess. The whole family. Back in one place, even if briefly.
Above you, Momo suddenly darted in a tight circle, chittering excitedly around your head.
“Hello to you too, Momo,” you said, amused. “And Appa as well.”
You motioned once, and your lady servants quietly withdrew. “I've had someone prepare your rooms. I'm sure you'll want to rest. The kitchen has prepared a light meal—we can meet for dinner tonight”
Zuko exhaled halfway then stopped when you turned to him, and the breath he’d started to release stalled completely in his chest.
“And you…”
“The Avatar needed my help. I didn't know things would—”
“You had the whole court lie for you!”
A beat.
The officials shifted first. Then the attendants. Then the guards.
Zuko raised a hand.
The courtyard moved. Footsteps scattered and scrambled. Armor clinked. Doors shut too quickly.
“He lets them run but tells me to face my death with honour.” Sokka whispered to Toph.
“That makes you less of a coward.”
Katara didn’t hesitate when she grabbed Sokka by the ear and Toph by the forearm.
“Aang!” she called sharply.
Aang blinked then hurriedly followed, leaving you and your husband alone in the courtyard.
“Are you really mad?” He asked softly, catching your face and tilting so your eyes met his.
“Oh rest assured, Honourable Fire Lord—” you swat his hand away, “I am furious!”
You walked first. And he shadowed your every step.
No argument. No pride. Just footsteps behind you, matching your pace through the palace halls, through archway and past carved pillars.
When you finally reached the bedroom, the door shut behind him with a firm click.
You pulled the headpiece from your hair—the one he had given you—and set it down onto the vanity harder than necessary.
“I am not some weak women who can't handle knowing her husband is needed for some greater purpose,” you said. “I do not need constant coddling for every matter you think might cause even the slightest negative reaction. I will not fall apart and I will not beg you to stay when Aang needs you…
But I am your wife!”
His arm came around you carefully, folding over your swollen stomach first, grounding himself there as if that was the most honest place to start. His hold was warm, steady, deliberate.
"You are..." he affirmed with pride—with certainty, submission and subservience that wasn’t defeat but devotion.
He leaned his forehead briefly against your shoulder. “You are my wife. And I know that.”
You slapped his hand. It stung, but he just refolded then into place again.
“Let go”
“No”
You looked one sentence away from losing patience entirely. For a brief second, you even looked like you might hit him again.
Zuko, infuriatingly calm, smiled like he could read the thought forming. Then he pressed a light kiss to your shoulder, unbothered.
“I’ll let go if you stop being angry.”
“Not a chance”
You elbowed him in the gut, easily manoeuvring out of his hold, slower but no less familiar with the way your body had been trained to move.
“Feisty woman,” he rasped, hunched over.
He said your name. No answer. Repeated it again.
You slammed your hands down on the table. “What were you thinking!?”
“I'm sorry”
“You hear that, little one? That’s what we call a half-hearted apology. A lie. Your father pulled that one straight from his ass.”
He was sincere—not just because he knew he’d upset you, or because you deserved an apology, but because he knew better. He knew better… and still doubted himself.
“I am sorry… but I—”
“Left. You left. With lies. With people keeping me in the dark because you thought it was best.
Where is your honour in that, Zuko?”
Your voice cracked.
The baby, as if sensing your distress, delivered a series of sharp kicks to your abdomen. You pressed your palm over your stomach, trying to soothe the movement, but the ache lingered.
“What if you died? You would’ve left without a proper goodbye. I would’ve known nothing. Nothing.”
Zuko finally moved—like he was forcing himself not to recoil from the hurt in your voice. “…I didn’t think further than what had happened last time”
The memory surfaced, uninvited. A civil war breaking out across the Nation. Smoke on the horizon. Orders lost in the collision. And you—pregnant, close to term, already carrying more weight than anyone should have had to.
There had been a complication then. One that had nearly forced him into a choice that still didn’t feel real even years later—he was on the ground mid-battle when they told him. A decision he had never forgiven the world for making him consider.
So when Aang’s summons came—impossible to ignore—he had hesitated.
He had told himself he was protecting you by not telling you. By leaving quickly. By avoiding panic, avoiding stress, avoiding anything that might tilt the balance again.
But standing there now, watching your hands press into the table, watching the anger that came from love rather than distance, he understood what he had actually done.
He hadn’t protected you.
He had repeated the mistake in a different way.
His throat tightened.
“I thought—” he started, then stopped. Because there was no version of that sentence that didn’t fall apart halfway through.
“…I was wrong,” he said instead. “I should have told you. I should have trusted you with it.”
A pause.
“It was foolish to leave. It was even more foolish to think I could have the entire court lie to you… keep you in the dark until things blew over… I was foolish.”
"You were."
"I was…"
No deflection. No attempt to soften it.
You hated him. But you couldn't deny him. He had tried, but he was still only human. Human in his mistakes, human in the way he carried them, and human in the way he sometimes let fear speak louder than trust.
Neither of you moved. But then you stepped forward.
Zuko raised his arm, and you walked into his embrace, your forehead pressing into his chest as your breath caught like you’d been holding it in for too long.
“I’m here,” he murmured, meant only for you.
His hand brushed along your jaw as he leaned in—slow enough to give you time, to let you pull away if you wanted to.
You didn’t.
Your breath met his first. Then your lips.
Zuko left soft, lingering pecks along your bottom lip, unhurried, testing, like he was relearning something he had no right to rush.
Then, slowly, he deepened the kiss.
His hands came up to cradle your neck, warm. Always warm.
You swore he ran hotter than any fire bender alive. Not just heat, but presence.
Something constant, something that pressed into you without burning—unless you let it.
He was warmth in every sense of it. Like the thick summer air that clung to your skin, heavy and inescapable…
And like a fire in the dead of winter, steady, consuming, offering comfort the moment you stepped too close to the cold.
He stroked your earlobe while his other hand found the inner corner of your robe, easing it from your shoulder.
Zuko hummed, pleased by the way you inclined toward his touch.
But you sooner pulled away, telling him to go ahead to the bath chamber.
When you joined him, towel set aside, your fingers found his belt, undoing the knot with practiced ease.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
His eyes traced your every move while you carefully avoided his gaze.
You pushed his robes from his shoulders, letting the fabric fall away and onto your forearm.
Zuko he stepped back to remove his boots then the rest of his clothing, until nothing remained between him and you.
“Could you…” you gestured toward the water.
“Of course,” he mused.
Zuko lifted his hand, and with an effortless breath, flame sparked to life in his palm. The water responded instantly, steam rising in soft curls with a gentle hiss, the surface rippling before it settled.
You sat on the low stone slated edge of the bath as he lowered himself into the water.
“…You’re not joining me?” he asked.
“Waters too hot for me," you replied, reaching for a cloth.
You dipped it, then dragged it gently over his chest, over the bruises no water could heal.
Zuko had eased almost instantly under your care, the tension in his neck and shoulders unwinding as he rested his head against the stone.
His eyes closed, letting you take care of him.
︵ঌ︵
His face sank into the plush mattress, inhaling the faint trace of your scent that lingered in every crease of the sheets.
A low groan escaped him as his body finally registered how tired it was. His arms stretched out loosely, then went still, like even moving felt optional now.
“Where’s Atsumi?”
“Asleep. She’s been running a terrible fever.”
Half-lidded eyes shot open. Halfway through getting up, you pressed a hand firmly to his chest and pushed him back down.
Zuko's breath hitched.
“She hasn't slept well in two days. She needs rest…”
“Then I should—”
You didn’t let him.
“Carry on,” you said flatly.
Zuko exhaled through his nose, tension easing in reluctant stages. His shoulders sank back into the mattress, the fight draining out of him.
“She’s going to hate that I didn’t check on her immediately,” he muttered.
“I spent two nights consoling her cries all while dealing with this little Firestarter in my stomach kicking and acting up. You’re not going to wake her.”
He cupped your thigh as you came to straddle him, thumb rubbing circles.
“I should’ve been here,” he said quietly.
“You are here now.”
“That’s not the same.”
“No,” you agreed. “It’s not. But because of you, we're still here”
“…Is she really alright?”
“As alright as any child with your temperament could be” you said.
That earned the smallest, tired curve at the corner of his mouth.
“She’s more like you…”
She was. But she looked exactly like him.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” you replied softly, running your fingers through his hair… a little insecure of it.
Zuko kissed your clothed inner-thigh before he smoothly flipped your positions.
He lifted your leg to wrap around his waist, lowering you into the position he was just in. Then, like he couldn't help himself, he face invaded your personal space—no such thing existed between you.
A kiss to your cheek, your forehead, then the bridge of your nose. His hand found yours, fingers threading tightly with yours against the sheets before he raised them above your head.
“You have nothing to fear,” he whispered.
“Beside my husband sneaking off on suicide missions.”
“Aside from that…”
Zuko caressed the back of your hand, his touch slow and deliberate, before lifting your joined hands to his mouth.
Your leg tightened around his waist. He made a low sound in the back of his throat, half a grunt and half pleading. He looked at your through his eyelashes—in worship… with unveiled devotion.
You skimmed your fingers up the column of his throat—over the thick pulsing vein—pausing at his scar.
He went still as you kissed it.
The heat flourished in his cheeks, not just embarrassment or shyness, but something far more vulnerable—enough to bring him to tears.
He kissed you before they ever fell—before he could retreat into his pain instead of his heart.
•.‿︵˖⤿🐦🔥 ঌ˖︵‿.•
The last remnants of the day had begun to flee when you, flushed and exhausted, pulled yourself out from beneath the blanket and sank back onto your pillow. Zuko's insatiable hunger followed instinctively—too close, too heated.
You pushed at his shoulder before he could hover over you completely.
He laid a kiss onto you stomach, the gesture reverent. The baby kicked which warmed his heart.
Lowering himself until his ear rested against it, nuzzling his nose against the stretched skin.
Endearments whispered his love—the ache in your bones a testimony to it.
“We should get ready for dinner…” you mumbled weakly.
“Not obliged to attend,” Zuko replied, unmoving, still half-lounged against you like he had no intention of letting go.
“Courtesy…” You sat up.
He muttered something incomprehensible under his breath before sitting up properly, dragging a hand through his hair to reset himself into something resembling a Fire Lord again.
But the softness didn’t fully leave his face. Not when he stared at you.
You rolled your shoulder with a wince, working out the tension still lingering there.
Without a word, he crossed the space between you.
His silk robe draped over your shoulders, adjusted it gently, fingertips brushing briefly as he made sure it covered well.
“As you wish.”
And so he did.
From the bath to the cloth, from lifting you in and out and carrying you about, from laying out your dress and seeing you fit for the hall—Zuko had done it all.
By the time you entered the dining hall, the others were already seated.
Zuko led you in with your hand set light upon his forearm. His hair bound up neat and proud, the Fire Nation emblem set through it, gold catching the lamp-light and casting a warm gleam over the room’s high beams and carved stone.
You took the first step in. Then, just as you had almost reached the table, a small blur sprang from Aang’s lap and darted across the room in a flash of light and laughter.
Zuko dropped at once to one knee, swift as a striking hawk, and caught the child with ease before she could collide with his legs.
“Papa!” she cried, laughing so hard it came out like a squeal.
At the sound, Zuko’s heart was pried open with joy.
His arms closed around her small body without hesitation, his entire composure shifted in an instant to her father.
Katara’s face softened at once, and Aang watched her with a look that held both warmth and wonder. You saw it.
And you smiled just slightly as you took your seat.
Sokka, already halfway through pouring a drink, slid a glass toward you with exaggerated seriousness.
“For the Lady of the Fire Nation,” he said, trying—and failing—not to look smug about the chaos he was witnessing.
Zuko lifted her with ease as she tugged at his collar and pointed at nothing in particular with the absolute certainty of a child who believed everything belonged to her.
“I found him,” she announced proudly to no one and everyone.
“You always do,” Zuko said, almost amused, pressing a brief kiss to her hair.
Zuko sat beside you, his daughter in his lap. But she stayed no longer than a minute before she was up and dangling onto Sokka's shoulder.
With everyone seated and settled, though “settled” was a generous word for it. You began to eat.
Your daughter—who by all means should have been limp and fever stricken—had decided otherwise.
She clung to Sokka’s shoulder one moment, nearly toppling over into his plate of food the next. He yelped, simultaneously catching her and his plate.
“Hey, hey… tiny tyrant, sit down!”
But she had slipped from him like water, already darting after Momo, who chittered in alarm and delight as he took flight just out of her reach.
Aang winced. “Momo, don’t encourage her—!”
Too late.
She spun again, quick as a spark, and made her way to Toph’s side. A small hand reached. A piece of food vanished.
Toph didn’t even move.
“You’re lucky I like you,” she said, chewing slowly, though the faintest smirk tugged at her mouth.
Zuko watched her with a mix of disbelief and quiet awe, like he couldn’t quite decide whether to intervene or admire the sheer force of her will.
“She was sick?” he murmured under his breath.
You shrugged.
Atsumi, after several laps around the dining table, finally slowed and squeezed her way between Katara and Aang, picking up the little bison stuffed toy she had left in their care earlier.
Conversation had found its rhythm. Old friends catching up. Distant family telling tales.
You listened. You replied. You added where needed.
But eventually, almost without noticing, the conversation had deepened.
“…And the damage?” you asked.
Zuko’s hand stilled slightly beside yours.
Aang glanced up. Katara’s posture straightened just enough to be noticed. Even Sokka quieted, though he tried to hide it behind a bite of food.
“Later then,” you glanced at Zuko.
Sokka, ever the first to recover, leaned back on his hands. “Great. ‘Later.’”
Toph snorted. “You act like you’re the one in trouble.”
“I am in trouble,” Sokka shot back. “I was there. I participated. I enabled—”
“If anyone’s in trouble… it’s Zuko,”
Zuko shot her a look of warning immediately—but there was no real bite to it.
He was just grateful you were currently occupied with redirecting your daughter away from Momo’s tail before she discovered yet another way to test the limits of her mothers patience.
“…She shouldn’t have this much energy.”
You huffed, sitting down with her.
Aang smiled faintly at that. “I remember someone else who didn’t know when to stop.”
“…You chased me across the world.”
Zuko pursed his lips.
Sokka pointed between them. “Everyone here has a history of making questionable decisions but I’m always the liability?”
“You are the liability,” Toph said flatly.
“I am the glue of this group.”
“You’re the gum that gets stuck under my barefoot,” she shot back.
You and Katara shared a laugh.
“So what will happen now?” you asked, looking over your daughters head as she climbed into your lap without permission and then dove into her fathers lap when he sat.
He was breathing heavy.
Atsumi had made him chase her around the room, laughter echoing between the tables until even the guards had started pretending not to watch.
You argued it was dinner and he had already eaten half of his meal, but Zuko didn’t know how to say no to her—especially not when she looked at him like that.
Aang set his bowl down before answering, his tone thoughtful, already a step ahead in planning. “We’ll head back to Republic City. There’s still work to be done”
Sokka groaned softly. “Ah yes, more work. My favourite.”
“You don’t do the work,” Katara said.
“I supervise the work.”
“You eat during the work.”
“I fuel morale.”
Toph flicked a raisin at him.
Ignoring them, Aang concluded. “After that… I’ll be taking the new Acolytes to the place Sonan mentioned.”
Zuko glanced between them before speaking. “I can have airships prepared by morning, if you'd need it.”
Aang nodded in quiet appreciation. “That would help.”
Katara glanced at him. “You’re sure about this?”
“It’s time,” Aang said simply.
Zuko considered that. “Let me know what you need. Supplies. Support. Anything.”
Aang met his gaze and nodded once.
“I will.”
Eventually, you had the table cleared and replaced with light desserts and tea because no one seemed ready to head to bed yet. The atmosphere was warm. Unrushed. The company welcomed.
And in that small pocket of noise, you leaned slightly toward Zuko.
Your voice dropped—low enough that it belonged only to him.
“You should go with them.”
He stilled.
“You want me to leave again?” he asked quietly.
You smiled, faint yet certain. “I want you to see there’s still hope.”
Your words sunk in—finding places within his soul that had learned to never complain again. The past was not something he spoke of often, but it lived in him all the same.
The Fire Nation had taken everything from Aang’s… and even now, it still kept him up at night—haunting thoughts that never went away no matter how much time had passed or how much he had tried to make right what could be made right.
It was part of the reason he had moved so quickly when Aang’s message arrived.
And though he had not been the one to begin it, he had once chased its ending for all the wrong reasons.
That guilt had never quite left.
Your hand brushed lightly against his beneath the table.
“That isn’t yours to carry alone, nor is it his” you added, looking across the table.
Aang laughed boisterously at something Sokka had said.
“You think I can help with that?”
You didn’t hesitate.
“I know you can.”
Zuko’s eyes flicked toward him.
Toward the future being built in small, stubborn pieces.
“Uhm… guys— just letting you know… she's really hot," Sokka said, wide-eyed as she clung to him with alarming determination.
“Atsumi” Zuko called.
Her fever must be returning.
At once, she looked up. And just as quickly—faster than she ever listened to anyone else, faster than when you called—she broke away from Sokka and returned to her fathers side.
No hesitation. No protest.
“I’ll take her to get her medicine”
Zuko stood for the hundredth time that night.
He bent down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. There was still too much left unspoken behind his eyes, too many thoughts he hadn’t yet sorted into words.
He lifted your daughter carefully into his arms as if she were the most natural extension of himself.
Then he turned—already halfway gone in his mind. Tethered only by habit, by love, by everything he had built and still didn’t quite believe he deserved.
"stubborn as a mule" is what they described you growing up. how could he forget that the day he made you his, this stubborn wife of his will never let down his one silly mistake in life!
NOTES: SECOND PART he highkey looks like jinshi so guess where some inspo came from.. enemies to lovers, misunderstanding, funny (kinda LMAO), you both have a kid, it's quite sweet i think probably. hes cutiepie!, i cant remember which comic it was that showed what happened after the war ended but theres mentions of events from there!
PAIRING: FIRELORD!ZUKO X EARTH BENDER!READER
WORD COUNT: 4K
Your early days with your gang were rocky to say the least. Not just because of your bending, but your personality as well. To be clear, you had the best relationship with everyone! They adapted to your stubbornness, but that wasn't just what you had going for you; you were confident and always stood your ground. The only time you "crumbled" was when Zuko finally joined. At first, you didn't like him, no one really did honestly.
But when he finally proved his worth and showed kindness in his own ways, that's when it started. That's when your eyes always lingered towards him, even when you didn't want them to. Why? because you never ever wanted him to notice whatever feelings you had for him. For some reason, within the group, he was the one person who hung out with you the least.
You were closer in age to Katara, so being the only other female in the group with similarities is what made your bond so strong. Being the same bender as Toph, not to mention a slight similarity in personality, you both stood strong together. Sokka, well its Sokka.. But with his very charming personality, in his own way, he always placed a smile on your face. Aang, is Aang! Everyone always got along with him because of his carefree personality.
And Zuko? Well, he, for some reason, always avoided you. It wasn't like you did anything to him. You thought maybe because he noticed how different you acted with him, maybe your soft side took a toll on him, even though you barely showed it to him. You just wanted reasons to use to explain why he never looked in your direction.
You were never a jealous person, either. As time passed, he grew closer to the others, and you stood in the awkward light. The one time he went out with Katara, you knew it was important for both of them, not only to build their relationship but to learn about each other's pasts, but for the first time, you felt a weird feeling in your chest. You didn't hold any negative feelings for either of them, and to be honest, when they came back, you ran straight to Katara, a smile on your face as she mirrored it.
And as you turned to Zuko, he briefly looked at you before turning to Katara, then the others as they came up. Your smile then dropped. You watched as he interacted with the others, but not with you. Later that night, you decided to confront him. You made it into his tent, obviously scaring him.
You didn't "crumble" in front of him; in fact, you stood as the big boulder blocking him from leaving his tent, all with this stern expression on your face. Your eyes pierced through his slightly troubled own, as if he was finally caught in the lights.
"Is there anything you need?" He slightly muttered, looking up at you.
You, on the other hand, didn't waste any time; in fact, you headed straight to the point.
"Do you hate me?"
"What?" He blurted out.
Your arms folded, your eyebrows creased as you didn't accept his answer.
"Answer me."
.
.
He looked around for a bit, shutting his eyes and inhaling deep before exhaling. He opened his eyes and looked at you, dead in your eyes, and finally answered.
"Yes, I do."
Your expression didn't change, you didn't "crumble," but everything inside you did. Maybe that's why you didn't catch on that he didn't look at you with anger or disgust. But what your ears heard, it heard that instead.
When Zuko stared back at you, he didn't see anything change, which he wasn't hoping for. He has his own hidden feelings he wished to not shine light on, but he felt that after this night, there will be no light or feelings anymore.
After that night, you decided to never ever speak to him, look in his direction, or do anything with him. But what if the other asked as to why?
"Because he said he didn't like me."
As the years passed by, obviously, you all grew and finally ended the war. As celebrations began, you were called into an empty room. Your eyes lingered on this person with the audacity and saw none other than Zuko himself. Your relationship with him was already beyond repair, because you'll never let him get past you. Not after blatantly telling you off without a reason. So why now? You wanted him to start it, explain what he wanted to say so that you can go back with everyone, and forget this ever happened.
But his reasoning reminded you of why you even had this crush on him. He sat you down, yet avoided eye contact. He felt soft, in a way, compared to your demeanor. A sigh left his lips as he finally let his feelings out.
He explained that he didn't hate you; he never did. In fact, it was very much the opposite. He developed small feelings for you, but your strong-headed personality scared him a bit. It didn't fear him to the point of always avoiding you; it was one of the reasons why you pulled him in. It was the fact that he knew he had something going on with another back at home. He was scared that if you found out, your anger might grow, and not only would you hate him, but something more.
The night you cornered him, he didn't know what to say, how to explain anything, and the stern look you gave him caused him to blurt out the only thought in his head.
As you listened to his story, you understood everything he said, maybe felt the need to falter a bit, because you numbed the feeling you had towards him, but didn't get rid of it. You still liked him. But he has to work for it. Like he did with everyone else.
Fortunately, as he had to repair the fire nation, he wanted your help as there were colonies from the Earth Kingdom. So you decided to help, decided to stay with him for a bit, and that was his moment to finally build what he wanted with you. When everyone left, to help everyone from the aftermath of the war, no one knew you decided to join Zuko. No one knew that you both even had that chat to begin with.
You both came to an agreement that you will stay with him for a while, helping him rebuild his nation. You both had very different views: you wanted to help him genuinely, then go back to your kingdom, and Zuko wanted to fix your relationship. But he didn't know how much workload he would receive from fixing a kingdom.
Days passed by, and the morning sun rested on your bed as you stood by the window. You were getting ready for the day until some guards knocked on the door. Your neck turned in the direction, softly allowing them to enter.
"Good morning, ma'am, the Lord is calling you for a matter he needs assistance with." They stated.
A sigh left your lips as you nodded, walking out of the room with the guards guiding you. With Zuko in charge now, the people were left with mixed reactions; some were happy, some were not, which was understandable. But you've noticed that those who mostly favor Ozai the most as their Lord were slowly crossing that barrier of respect towards Zuko.
Your heels echoed through the halls, but halted when the giant doors of his office came into view.
"You can leave now, thank you." You ordered as you pushed open the door, leaving the guards behind.
Your eyes landed on the man seated behind the table, head in hand, but perked up at the sound of the door opening. His eyes softened a bit when it landed on you, but he quickly looked away as your strong gaze held long, going through him.
"You summoned me." You stated, walking up towards the table.
"I did, here, the plan I had before, I don't know what to do. Aang and I almost fought over it." He muttered, handing over some papers.
"Is it about the colonies?" You asked, as your eyes scanned the paper in your hand.
Your ears caught the squeak of his chair as he rose to take a short walk around.
"It is, they have been here for over a hundred years, some even have families here, but there are some that are mixed with the people here. It doesn't feel right to just remove them and separate their families." He explained, his voice sounding upset and lost.
You looked up, eyes following his every movement.
"You visited one of the colonies, yes?"
"I did."
"And what did you think of it?"
He stopped walking, turning to face you.
"At first, I was surprised. But as I saw more, I thought that if I tried to rip them apart, it would create more chaos than calm."
As the words left his lips, for this one time, your eyes soften.
"And I think that's right. You should tell Aang that, and come up with a new plan." You told him, placing the papers back onto his table.
"If that's all, I shall see myself out." And with that, your heel turned to leave, but his voice stopped you.
"I can see you out, actually, do you want to go.." Slowly, his words got softer, and you didn't hear the last part.
"Go where." It was meant to be a question, but your voice sounded too demanding, catching you off guard a bit.
The tone of voice caused a troubled "um" to leave his lips, but he still stood his ground.
"For a walk, we can go for a walk."
He changed his question to a statement. You would've called it a bold move if he didn't look like he was going to crumble under your presence.
You took a while to answer him, on purpose, of course, staring at him straight into his eyes, watching as he failed to maintain eye contact, but in the end, you agreed, waiting at the door for him to take the lead.
The walk was quiet; you both made it out of the palace, eyes now following your every move. You paid him a favor of starting a conversation; he's already going through so much.
"Have any plans for the colonies as yet?" You started, facing him as you both walked side by side.
"Huh? Oh. I think those who have been here for a while and have families shouldn't have to go."
"I agree."
"What about you?"
"Me what?" You asked.
"Are you going back as well?"
"Probably."
"..."
When you noticed you didn't get back a response, your eyes lingered on him for a bit before facing forward.
"I said probably, that isn't a yes or a no."
"You're right." He muttered.
His down demeanor made a small smile grow on your face. Teasing him became your new. The tension was broken by a random civilian who began to shout, pointing fingers at Zuko.
Another follower of Ozai, upset with the change Zuko's making. The nearby guards got into action, ready to take care of the man, but this was your first time witnessing it in person. You felt the need to put your word into this.
"Is there a reason why you were so moved by the previous Lord Ozai's ways? Please tell. Because from what I could tell, your little whining here clearly shows that you had little to no understanding of what would've happened if Ozai got his way. For once, people like you wouldn't have such a carefree life right now; rather, you would've been working until you dropped from exhaustion or be banished from doing something as little as watching him the wrong way. So I suggest you enjoy the sun that's beating on your back, or do you want to join him down in the dark cells?"
You knew your words had an effect on everyone around; they all looked around, mainly staring at you. But the civilian was lost for words. He wanted to bite back, but couldn't. In the end, you bid Zuko goodbye, told him to finish up the problem, and you went back.
What you didn't notice was his eyes lingering longer as you disappeared into the distance.
After that incident, you haven't really seen Zuko that much, but one thing that has changed is the looks you get either from the guards or random civilians passing by. It didn't bother you that much. What bothered you is that after Zuko cleared the colonies problems, you have yet to see or hear of him.
As of right now, you were seated by your vanity, brushing your hair for the night. It was late, and you had guards outside of your room, but they didn't bother you when you decided to go on with your plan. The thought of leaving your chambers in your nightwear didn't cross your mind; the guards had no say either when their eyes followed your every move.
You could only go so long without seeing him. As stern as you may be, you were confident in your feelings. You will stand tall and confidently express your feelings if you must. But here you are, inside his office, finding him fast asleep, head resting on the papers. Seeing him in this state, you finally noticed all the aspects you hadn't before. Of course, you both grew, but it was the first time you noticed how much longer his hair got. He seemed a lot bigger than before. Your hands hovered over his face, fingers gently moving his hair out of his eyes.
As much as you felt confident in your feelings, the soft side in you doesn't really want to show the affection you wanted to. So under the moonlight, as his eyes rested, you left the room to get your spare blanket, made it back into the office, and draped it over his back. You moved his hair out of his face, finger lingering a bit more on his cheek. A sigh left your lips as your eyes traveled to the stacks of papers he still had to get through. You confirmed the thought in your head to return in the morning to offer some help, but right now, you softly placed a kiss on his forehead, caressing it one last time before making your way out.
You heard a slight shuffle, turning in his direction. A small smirk formed.
"Sleep well, Firelord."
.
.
.
You made it back into your chambers, ready for bed, when the sounds of knocking stopped your tracks. Your eyes darted to the door, allowing entry. It caught you off guard when you saw none other than the man you left to rest.
"Did you come to tell me to sleep well?" You joked a bit, sitting on your bed.
Zuko stared back at you, pulling the blanket off his back, and walked up towards you. You didn't break eye contact, not once, but he didn't as well. This was a first. He came to a stop, looking down at you as you looked up. For a bit, it was like that, that is, until he stooped to your level, knees on the floor as he placed the blanket across your back instead. He rested on his knee, getting lower, and held your hand in his. He looked up at you, sweetness lingering in his eyes.
This, for once, was new to you. He wasn't this bold before. His stare held; he didn't break it, not once. So yours soften, intertwining your fingers with his.
"Do you have something to say?" You muttered softly.
"Did I earn you?"
"Hm?" Your eyebrows rose.
"I had to work for us, prove that I really want us. Did I do it?"
Your lips were slightly opened. It closed as you slightly nodded.
"You did, for a long while."
"Hm." He softly smiled. His eyes made it down to your lips, head tilted a bit as he leaned in, his eyes locked back with yours. Soon, your lips touched, and his hands roamed your frame, resting on your waist. Yours found his cheek, thumb caressing the soft skin. You won't say it, you never will. But it was indeed your stubbornness that held all this back, keeping all the pent-up affection. He broke for air, yet still close enough that you felt his breath brushing against your face.
You tilted his face up, finger pushing his chin. It traced along his face, playing in his hair. His face rested in your palm, looking up at you in adoration and love. Slowly, you removed your hand, forcing him to move his head. Instead, your hand found his from around your frame, standing as he followed behind. A small smirk formed on your face as you fell back onto the bed, a surprised sound leaving his lips as he fell on top of you.
His hands came in contact with the bed first, preventing you both from hitting your heads. But as his eyes linger, his head finally caught up with the position you place them in, he rushed to remove himself, but your hands locked him in place first.
"Wait!-"
"Do you want me to let go?"
Your question rang in his ear, repeating over and over in his head, and with a final sigh, he rested his head in your chest.
"No.. Not really.." He muttered before looking up at you, letting his hands roam your frame as you both felt the air shift. It got heavier, warmer, and everything fell into a blur.
In the morning, your cheek rested against his chest. The warmth of his bare chest is enough to keep you asleep, but the knocking on your door broke the trance. You rose from his chest, to find out that Zuko was already up, and his fingers were raking through your hair.
You felt his hand drop as he too rose.
Your eyes studied his frame, shoulder-length hair falling around him, as his muscles moved when he stretched.
"What is it?" He asked out loud to the guards outside.
"Oh, you're in there, my Lord. I'm sorry to bother."
That's when it hit him, mid-stretch, he stopped. His eyes landed on your frame, and then his cheeks got warmer.
"I think that knock was for me." You muttered, pulling the blanket around you.
"Yeah, I think it was.." He muttered, avoiding eye contact.
"I'd never think that they would ever get together.." Sokka muttered as a little girl pulled on his ponytail, small "ow's" leaving his lips as he battled her for his own hair.
Katara smiled at the scene before standing up to get the 2-year-old off her brother. She placed her on top of Appa as giggling escaped the toddler's lips. She found joy in his fur, dragging her hands all over his head.
"I hope she grows up like her momma." Toph joked, hinting at how you were back in the days.
"Zuko would have a rough time if she does," Aang muttered, watching her as she played in Appa's fur.
The sound of the door opening caught their attention as the girl looked up, and her smile grew.
"Papa!" She exclaimed, sliding off Appa, with Aang catching her, then letting her run up to her father. She crashed into his legs, looking up at him with glee.
Before Zuko could respond, the tug of his hair caused a yelp to escape his lips.
"What about mama dear?" You softly asked, stooping to her level.
A giggle escaped her lips as she ran towards you, right into your arms. They all stared at the family, some still baffled at the idea.
"I still couldn't believe it when I saw the letter, "You are invited to our wedding!" I DON'T RECALL ANY MENTIONS OF DATING?!"
"We are right here. I'm blind, not deaf."
Sokka glared at her as her eyes stared off into the unknown distance.
"Yeah, but that means they worked out whatever tension they had," Aang said, patting Zuko's shoulder.
"In bed.." A laugh left your lips as you heard what Toph muttered. Zuko sighed, hair falling over his face as his hands found it.
"Okay, guys, they're getting married soon, let's just celebrate, please.." Katara explained, as Toph sighed. The others agreed, and they all made it into the palace.
Your daughter decided to follow behind Zuko, no care in her head that he has work to do. She'll just help him.
You, on the other hand, lead the others to their room.
"So, in the end, you didn't go back home?" Aang asked.
You shook your head.
"I don't think I ever was planning to after he invited me to stay for a while." You explained.
"And when was this invitation?" Sokka asked, sticking his nose at you.
"At the celebration. Tea shop."
"Huh? WHAT?"
You glared at him for being so loud. A sigh left your soft lips as you let them roam the palace, slowly leaving the group as you venture for your family.
You made it into the throne room, seeing the old chamberlain leaving the room, a sour look still on his face. Your eyes followed his frame before falling onto the guards as they all bowed in your direction.
Your ears caught the sound of your very loud daughter "ordering" the men around. She sat on Zuko's lap while his eyebrows creased in concern, yet his face held a smile. When her eyes landed on you, the loudest "Mama!" echoed throughout the room.
You walked up to the duo, giving Zuko a small peck before patting your daughter's head.
"Are you done here?" You asked.
"Thanks to her, we ended early," Zuko muttered, looking down at the child.
A small "hm" left your lips as you told her, "good job". Zuko's eyebrow rose as he heard it, and he let your hand pull his as he held onto their daughter and rose from his chair.
You dragged them into your shared room, Zuko placing their daughter down as she roamed around. He, on the other hand, already made his way towards the vanity, staring at himself in the mirror as you came up behind. Your fingers dragged through his long hair, slightly pulling it down, forcing him to look up at you.
Your free hand rested on his cheek, fingers roaming, and your thumb rested on his bottom lip. Your hand that raked through his hair left the locs to get the brush, but less brushing was going to happen when you leaned down to connect lips.
You felt his smile form as he moved his head up more, his hands making it onto your face as he deepened the kiss more.
Unfortunately, you both have an unruly daughter who "thinks" she can bend by calling out the element and:
"Oof-"
A gasp left your lips as your eyes landed on the book that now rested on the floor, but for sure made contact with Zuko's head.
"Air bending!" She exclaimed with a pose.
"I think not." You stated, glaring at her, about to make your way towards her, until Zuko's hand rested on yours.
"It's okay.. I'm fine." He muttered, holding his face.
"Dear, you'll get a scar on the other side if she continues."
"Let's not overreact." He joked, looking up at you.
"Huh? I'm not. What if one day she does bend and it's fire, and then-"
"OKAY. Okay.." He muttered, looking away.
He then looked at his daughter as she ran up to him, giving him a sloppy kiss, where the book landed before picking up the same book.
"Sorry papa..!" She exclaimed, before running out of the room and off to who knows where. You both sighed as you shared a look.
"She said sorry." He softly said, shrugging his shoulder.
You stared down at him, with that one look he knew and loved. A troubled look made it onto his face as he looked away. That was when the smirk made it onto yours, as your fingers made it into his long locs, to tug at it.
You were supposed to tell him that night. You had practiced it a hundred times in your head, soft and careful and full of hope. But he didn’t even let you speak.
One fight. One sentence. One moment where everything broke. And just like that, you left.
Five years later, you come back with a life he knows nothing about. A daughter he has never met and a past that was never really over.
Pairing: Choi San x Reader (Y/N)
Tropes: idol au, secret child, second chance (but painful), lovers to strangers to…?, miscommunication (heavy), unresolved feelings, accidental reunion, angst with eventual healing
Genre: angst (primary), romance, drama, slice of life
Featuring: ATEEZ, Heewa (as mini San 🥲), original side character
Main Masterlist | Sans Masterlist
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
This is Part 1
She remembers the waiting more than anything else.
Not the fight. Not even the words that came later and carved themselves into her bones. It was the waiting that stayed with her. The kind that stretched time into something unbearable, where every second felt too loud, too slow, too aware of itself.
The apartment was too quiet.
It always was when he wasn’t there.
Y/N sat on the edge of the couch, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Fingers pressing into each other hard enough to hurt. She had been sitting like that for longer than she could tell. Minutes had stopped meaning anything. The only thing she could track was the ticking clock on the wall and the way her chest rose and fell a little too fast, a little too shallow.
She had tried to distract herself earlier.
Tried cleaning. Tried scrolling through her phone. Tried watching something meaningless just to fill the silence.
None of it worked.
Because everything kept coming back to the same thought.
I have to tell him.
Her hand moved almost unconsciously, resting lightly against her stomach. It wasn’t something visible. There was no difference from the outside. Nothing that would give it away.
But she knew.
And that was enough to change everything.
A week.
It had been one week since she found out.
Seven days of carrying something that felt too big for her alone. Seven days of rehearsing conversations in her head. Seven days of imagining his reaction, over and over again. Until every version blurred into something she could no longer trust.
At first, she had been scared.
Then overwhelmed.
Then… hopeful.
Because maybe this could fix things.
Maybe this would be the thing that pulled them back together. The thing that reminded him of who they used to be before everything became so complicated, so strained, so exhausting.
Before every conversation felt like it was one wrong word away from turning into a fight.
She exhaled slowly, closing her eyes for a moment.
Five years.
They had been together for five years.
Before the fame. Before the stage lights. Before anyone knew his name beyond a small circle of people who believed in him and his dream.
She had been there when it was just that. A dream.
Late nights in cramped rooms. Music playing too loudly through cheap speakers. Him pacing back and forth, frustrated and determined in the same breath. Her sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching him with quiet admiration as he tried to shape something out of nothing.
Back then, things had been simple.
Not easy, but simple.
He used to come to her after long days and collapse beside her, head falling against her shoulder like he could finally breathe again.
He used to look at her like she was something steady in a world that never stopped moving.
And she had believed him when he said they would get through everything together.
She swallowed hard.
Because somewhere along the way, that changed.
The last year had been… different.
Not in one sudden, obvious way. It didn’t happen overnight. It was slower than that. Subtle enough that she hadn’t noticed at first. Or maybe she had, and she just didn’t want to admit it.
It started with small things.
Cancelled plans.
Late replies.
“I’m busy” turning into “I’ll call you later” turning into nothing at all.
She had told herself it was normal.
Of course it was. His life had changed. Everything had changed. He was working harder than ever, chasing something he had wanted for so long.
She wanted to be understanding.
She tried to be.
But understanding didn’t stop the feeling that had slowly settled into her chest.
The feeling of being… left behind.
It wasn’t just that he wasn’t there.
It was that when he was there, it didn’t feel the same anymore.
Conversations that used to flow easily now felt forced. Silences stretched too long. And when she tried to talk about it, really talk about it, it always ended the same way.
With both of them frustrated.
With both of them saying things they didn’t mean.
With both of them walking away feeling worse than before.
She shifted slightly on the couch, her gaze drifting toward the door.
He was late.
Again.
Her fingers tightened together.
She shouldn’t be surprised. She wasn’t. It had become something she expected now, even if a part of her still hoped, every time, that maybe today would be different.
That maybe today he would come home, see her, and just… be happy to see her.
She let out a quiet breath, leaning back slightly, her head resting against the couch.
Tonight will be different.
It had to be.
Because tonight, she wasn’t going to argue. She wasn’t going to bring up everything that had been building for months. She wasn’t going to let it turn into another exhausting cycle of raised voices and half-finished sentences.
She just needed to tell him.
That was all.
And then maybe… they could find their way back.
The sound of the door unlocking made her sit up immediately.
Her heart jumped, her body going tense without her meaning it to.
For a brief second, something soft flickered through her chest.
Relief.
He was home.
The door opened, and Choi San stepped inside.
He looked tired.
His shoulders were slightly slumped, movements slower than usual. His hair was still styled from whatever schedule he had just come from. But it was slightly messy now, like he had run his hands through it too many times. His eyes looked heavy, shadows faint beneath them.
He kicked off his shoes absentmindedly, stepping further into the apartment.
Then he saw her.
And everything shifted.
It was subtle, but she saw it immediately.
The way his posture stiffened.
The way his expression changed.
Not surprise.
Not relief.
Something else.
Something that made her chest tighten.
“Y/N?”
There was a pause.
She opened her mouth, a small, nervous smile forming on her lips.
“I was waiting for you.”
She tried to keep her voice soft. Careful. Like she was approaching something fragile.
For a split second, she thought maybe it would be okay.
Maybe...
He sighed.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Enough to make something in her stomach drop.
He ran a hand through his hair, eyes closing briefly as if he was already bracing himself.
“Can this not be another argument right now?”
The words landed before she could even process them.
Her smile faltered.
“What?”
“I just got back,” he continued, his voice tired, strained. “I had a long day. I really don’t have the energy for this tonight.”
For this.
She stared at him, something like disbelief flickering across her face.
“I didn’t even say anything yet.”
He let out a quiet, humorless breath, like that didn’t matter.
“Y/N, please. Every time we talk lately it turns into something.”
Something.
That was what it was to him now.
Not a conversation.
Not her feelings.
Just… something.
She felt her fingers curl slightly against her palms.
“I just wanted to talk to you.”
“And I’m telling you I’m tired.”
His tone wasn’t loud. That almost made it worse.
It was flat. Dismissive.
Like he had already decided how this was going to go before she even had a chance to say anything.
Her chest tightened.
“I’ve been waiting all day.”
“I didn’t ask you to wait.”
That one hit.
She blinked, taken aback for a moment, like she wasn’t sure if she had heard him right.
“I know you didn’t,” she said slowly. “I wanted to.”
“Then don’t get upset about it.”
Something cracked.
It was small.
But it was there.
“I’m not upset about waiting,” she said, her voice a little sharper now despite her effort to keep it steady. “I just… I wanted to see you.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
Because yes.
He was here.
But it didn’t feel like it.
The silence that followed was thick, uncomfortable.
He moved past her, dropping his bag onto the chair, rubbing his face with both hands like he was trying to shake off the day.
She watched him.
And suddenly, the words she had been holding onto all week felt… fragile.
Like they didn’t belong in this moment anymore.
But she couldn’t just not say them.
Not after everything.
“San…”
Her voice was softer now.
Careful again.
He stilled slightly at the sound of his name, but he didn’t turn around.
“What?”
There was something about the way he said it.
Short.
Impatient.
Like she was already asking for too much.
She swallowed.
“I need you to listen to me for a second.”
“I am listening.”
“You’re not even looking at me.”
He exhaled sharply, turning around then, his expression already edged with frustration.
“Okay. I’m looking. What is it?”
Her heart was beating too fast.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
She had imagined this moment so many times.
None of those versions looked like this.
She hesitated.
Just for a second.
And that was enough.
“Is this about me being busy again?” he asked, his voice tightening. “Because I already told you I can’t just drop everything...”
“It’s not just that,” she interrupted, a little more urgently than she meant to.
“Then what is it?” he shot back. “Because it’s always something lately.”
The words settled between them like something heavy.
Her breath caught.
Always something.
She looked at him, really looked at him, and for a moment, she didn’t recognize the way he was looking back at her.
Like this was a burden.
Like she was.
Her fingers trembled slightly where they rested in her lap.
“I’m not trying to start a fight.”
“It feels like you are.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why does it always end like this?”
“Because you don’t listen to me,” she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
Silence.
Sharp.
Immediate.
His expression hardened.
“I am listening.”
“You’re not hearing me.”
“What do you want me to hear?” he asked, his voice rising just slightly now. “That I’m not doing enough? That I’m not here enough? I know that already.”
“That’s not what I’m saying—”
“Then what are you saying?”
Her chest felt tight.
Too tight.
“I just feel like I don’t matter anymore.”
The words were quiet.
But they hit.
He stared at her.
For a second, something flickered in his eyes.
Something softer.
Something that almost looked like guilt.
And then it was gone.
Replaced by frustration.
“Why does it always come back to this?” he asked, running a hand through his hair again. “You know how much pressure I’m under right now. You know how hard this is.”
“I know,” she said quickly. “I’m not saying it’s not—”
“Then why can’t you just understand that I can’t always be here?”
“I’m not asking you to be here all the time!”
“Then what are you asking for?”
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Because suddenly, she didn’t know how to explain it in a way he would understand.
“I just… I miss you,” she said finally.
And for a moment, everything stilled.
But instead of softening, something in him seemed to snap.
“I’m right here.”
“No,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “You’re not.”
That did it.
Something in his expression shifted completely.
Frustration turning into something sharper.
“I don’t have the energy for this,” he said, his voice colder now. “I just got back, and this is the first thing you bring up?”
“I wasn’t trying to fight...”
“Then what is it?” he snapped, frustration finally breaking through. “Because it’s always the same lately. You’re upset, I’m not doing enough, I’m not here enough...”
“That’s not what I’m saying...”
“Then what are you saying?” he cut in, his voice sharper now, tiredness turning into something harsher. “Because I can’t keep dealing with you every time I come home.”
She froze slightly at that. “Dealing with me?”
“Yes,” he gestured vaguely toward her, his expression strained. “Your mood swings. One day you’re fine, the next you’re distant, then suddenly everything’s a problem again. I don’t know what you want from me.”
The words landed harder than he intended.
Her fingers tightened at her sides. “My mood swings?”
“I didn’t mean it like that...”
“But you said it.”
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I just...if you’re this unhappy with me all the time, then what are we even doing?”
She stared at him.
And then he said it.
Quiet, but clear.
“Maybe we should just break up.”
The words rang in the air.
Too loud.
Too harsh.
She flinched.
Just slightly.
But he saw it.
And for a split second, he hesitated.
But it was already too late.
Her eyes dropped for a moment, her breathing uneven.
And then she went quiet.
Not the kind of quiet they were used to.
Not the tense, waiting kind.
This was different.
Still.
Final.
She looked back up at him.
And something in her expression had changed.
“I see.”
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
He frowned slightly.
“What does that mean?”
She shook her head a little.
“Nothing.”
“That doesn’t sound like nothing.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s clearly not...”
“I said it’s fine.”
He stared at her.
Confused now.
Thrown off.
Because this wasn’t how it usually went.
She wasn’t arguing.
She wasn’t pushing back.
She wasn’t trying to make him understand.
She was just… stopping.
And that unsettled him more than anything else.
“Y/N…”
She stood up.
Her movements were quiet, controlled.
“I think you’re right.”
His brows furrowed.
“About what?”
She looked at him.
And for the first time, there was distance in her eyes.
Real distance.
“Maybe this isn’t working anymore.”
The words hit harder than anything else that had been said that night.
His expression shifted immediately.
“What?”
“I mean it,” she continued, her voice steady despite the way her chest felt like it was caving in. “I don’t think we’re good for each other right now.”
“Where is this coming from?” he asked, taking a step toward her. “We just...this is just another argument. We’ve had worse.”
“That’s the problem.”
“What?”
“We’ve had worse,” she repeated softly. “And we keep having worse.”
“That doesn’t mean we just...what are you saying right now?”
“I’m saying I think we should stop.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
“No.”
The word came out immediately.
Firm.
Shaken.
“No, we’re not doing that.”
She looked at him, something aching in her chest.
“I am.”
“Y/N—”
“I’m tired, San.”
Her voice cracked slightly on his name.
“I’m so tired of feeling like this.”
“We can fix this.”
“We’ve been saying that for a year.”
“That doesn’t mean we give up.”
“I’m not giving up,” she said quietly. “I’m letting go.”
He shook his head, stepping closer.
“No. No, you don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“You’re just upset right now. You know I didn't mean it.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why now?” he asked, his voice breaking slightly. “Why like this?”
Because you didn’t even let me speak.
Because I was going to tell you something that would’ve changed everything.
Because you already decided I was a problem before I could even open my mouth.
The words stayed in her throat.
She couldn’t say them.
Not anymore.
Because suddenly… they didn’t feel safe there.
“I just know I can’t keep doing this,” she said instead.
He stared at her like he didn’t recognize her.
“Don’t do this.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I am.”
“Y/N—”
“I’ll come back for the rest of my things later.”
And that was when it really hit him.
“You’re serious.”
She nodded.
And something in his chest dropped.
“No,” he said again, softer this time. “No, we’re not ending this over one fight.”
“It’s not one fight.”
“Then we’ll fix it.”
“We tried.”
“We can try again.”
She shook her head.
“I don’t have it in me anymore.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
“Then I’ll try harder,” he said quickly. “I will. I swear. Just...don’t do this. Don't leave me, please.”
Her eyes softened for a second.
Because part of her wanted to believe him.
Part of her always would.
But another part… the part that had been hurting for so long… knew better.
“I needed you to listen tonight,” she said quietly.
“I’m listening now.”
She smiled faintly.
“It’s too late.”
And then she turned away.
He reached for her.
“Y/N, wait—”
But she stepped back.
Just enough.
“I’m sorry.”
And then she walked past him.
Toward the door.
Toward the end of something that had once meant everything.
Her hand brushed against her stomach as she reached for the handle.
A small, instinctive movement.
One he didn’t notice.
She paused for just a second.
Just one.
And in that moment, she almost turned around.
Almost told him.
Almost gave him the chance to know.
But then his words echoed in her head.
I can’t keep doing this with you.
Her grip tightened.
And then she opened the door.
And left.
Without ever telling him… that he wasn’t just losing her.
The city felt different.
Y/N noticed it the moment she stepped out of the subway that morning, her daughter’s small hand wrapped tightly around her fingers. Seoul had always been loud, fast, restless in a way that never truly allowed anyone to stand still. Five years ago, it had swallowed her whole. Back then, it felt overwhelming, unpredictable, almost suffocating.
Now, it felt… steady.
Or maybe she was the one who had changed.
“Heewa, slow down.”
The little girl beside her was practically bouncing with excitement, her free hand swinging as she tried to keep up with her own enthusiasm more than with her mother’s pace.
“But we’re gonna be late,” Heewa insisted, her voice bright and slightly breathless as she half-skipped over a crack in the pavement.
“We’re not late,” Y/N replied, smiling despite herself. “We’re early.”
“That’s basically the same thing.”
Y/N let out a quiet laugh under her breath, shaking her head. “It really isn’t.”
Heewa huffed softly, though there was no real frustration behind it. Her attention was already drifting, dark eyes widening as she took in everything around her like it was all new, even though they had been walking this same route for two months now.
Two months.
It still felt strange to think about.
Two months since she moved back.
Two months since she stepped into a life that was entirely her own.
For years, she had stayed in her hometown, tucked away in something quieter, something safer. Living with her parents had been the right decision back then. She had needed the support, the stability, the extra set of hands when everything felt like too much.
Especially in the beginning.
Her grip on Heewa’s hand tightened slightly without her noticing.
Those first months had been the hardest.
Learning how to be a mother while still trying to hold herself together. Nights where sleep didn’t come, where the silence felt heavier than anything else. Days where she questioned every decision she had made.
And through all of it, one thought had lingered quietly in the background.
Should I have told him?
Even now, it still came back sometimes.
Uninvited. Unwanted.
She pushed it away like she always did.
Because no matter how much it lingered, the answer never really changed.
No.
It had been the best decision.
It had to be.
He was living a completely different life now.
A life that didn’t have space for something like this.
For her.
For… them.
Her gaze shifted slightly, settling on the little girl beside her.
Heewa was still talking, something about a new friend she hoped would be in her class today, her words spilling over each other in a way that made it hard to follow every detail.
Y/N listened anyway.
She always did.
Because this… this was her life now.
And despite everything, despite the past that still lingered at the edges of her thoughts, she had built something good.
Something steady.
Something real.
They reached the kindergarten a few minutes later, the familiar building coming into view. Bright colors, small decorations near the entrance, the sound of children already playing somewhere inside.
Heewa’s grip tightened excitedly.
“Can I go now?”
Y/N laughed softly. “You still have to say goodbye to me first.”
The girl turned to her immediately, her expression suddenly serious as she stepped closer. “Okay.”
Y/N crouched down in front of her, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her daughter’s face.
And for a moment, she just… looked at her.
It still caught her off guard sometimes.
How much Heewa looked like him.
It wasn’t just one feature.
It was everything.
The shape of her eyes. The way they curved slightly when she smiled. The dark color of them, bright and expressive in a way that felt so familiar it almost hurt.
Even the way she tilted her head sometimes, just slightly, when she was curious about something.
A small, unintentional mirror of someone she hadn’t seen in five years.
Y/N swallowed the thought before it could settle too deeply.
“You’re going to have fun today, okay?” she said gently.
Heewa nodded eagerly. “I will.”
“And you’ll listen to your teacher?”
“Yes.”
“And be nice to the other kids?”
“I’m always nice.”
Y/N raised a brow slightly. “Always?”
Heewa hesitated.
“…Most of the time.”
“That’s better.”
They both smiled.
Then Heewa leaned forward, wrapping her arms around Y/N’s neck in a quick, tight hug.
“I’ll tell you everything later,” she promised.
“I’m counting on it.”
The girl pulled back, already turning toward the entrance before Y/N could say anything else.
“Bye, Mama!”
“Bye, sweetheart.”
Y/N watched her go, the small figure disappearing inside with a burst of energy that made her chest feel warm.
And just a little heavy.
She stayed there for a moment longer than necessary.
Then she stood, exhaling quietly before turning away.
There was work to do.
And for the first time in a long time… she didn’t dread it.
The office was small.
That had been one of the reasons she felt comfortable accepting the job.
A small marketing firm, nothing too overwhelming, nothing too demanding in a way that would pull her back into the kind of life she had deliberately stepped away from.
It was enough.
Enough to give her structure. Enough to give her purpose.
Enough to remind her that she was more than just… surviving.
“Good morning.”
“Morning.”
She greeted her coworkers as she stepped inside, setting her bag down at her desk, already slipping into a routine that had become familiar over the past two months.
There was something grounding about it.
The quiet hum of computers. The low conversations. The soft clatter of keyboards.
It was simple.
And she liked that.
“Y/N.”
She looked up at the sound of her name, her boss standing near her desk with a folder in hand.
“Do you have a minute?”
“Of course.”
She stood, stepping closer as he handed her the file.
“We’ve got a new assignment,” he explained. “It’s a short-term campaign. Starts tomorrow.”
She nodded, flipping the folder open, scanning the first few pages.
“A brand collaboration?” she asked.
“Exactly. They want something fresh. A new angle. You’ll be working on the initial concept.”
“Got it.”
Her eyes moved over the details, taking in the scope of the project.
It wasn’t small.
But it wasn’t overwhelming either.
Just… interesting.
“A K-pop group?” she noted, glancing up briefly.
“Yeah. Probably not one of the huge ones, so don’t worry,” he added with a small smile. “We wouldn’t get that kind of contract anyway. We didn't get a lot information yet.”
She let out a quiet laugh.
“Right.”
That made sense.
This firm wasn’t big enough for something like that.
So there was no reason to worry.
No reason to overthink.
She looked back down at the file, her mind already shifting into focus.
“Alright,” she said, nodding slightly. “I’ll start working on some ideas today.”
“Perfect. I’ll check in later.”
He walked off, leaving her with the folder and a sense of something… new.
Excitement, maybe.
Or just… purpose.
She sat back down, opening her laptop, the familiar rhythm of work settling in quickly.
Ideas came easier than she expected.
She let herself get lost in it.
Concepts. Visual directions. Messaging angles.
Time passed without her noticing.
And for once, her mind didn’t drift back to the past.
Didn’t linger on things she couldn’t change.
It stayed here.
Present.
Focused.
Alive in a way that felt unfamiliar, but welcome.
Maybe this was what it felt like to move forward.
By the time she left work, the sky had already started to dim.
She checked the time as she stepped outside, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.
Right on schedule.
The walk to the kindergarten felt shorter this time.
Or maybe she was just more tired.
Either way, by the time she reached the familiar building, the last of the children were already being picked up.
She spotted Heewa almost immediately.
Sitting on a small bench near the entrance, legs swinging slightly as she waited.
The moment she saw Y/N, her face lit up.
“Mama!”
She jumped up, running toward her without hesitation.
Y/N barely had time to brace herself before she was wrapped in a hug.
“Hey,” she murmured softly, returning it just as tightly. “Did you have a good day?”
“The best day.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It is.”
Y/N smiled, pulling back slightly. “Tell me everything.”
And Heewa did.
The entire walk home.
Every detail.
Every new friend. Every game. Every small moment that felt important in her world.
Y/N listened.
She always did.
Because these were the moments she didn’t want to miss.
Dinner was simple.
Nothing complicated. Just something warm, something easy after a long day.
They sat across from each other at the small table in their apartment, the soft glow of the kitchen light filling the space.
Heewa swung her legs slightly under the chair, still talking between bites.
And for a while, everything felt… normal.
Comfortable.
Safe.
“Mama?”
Y/N looked up.
“Hmm?”
Heewa hesitated.
Just slightly.
“Do I have a dad? The other kids have one.”
The question was soft.
Careful.
But it landed harder than anything else that day.
Y/N’s hand stilled for a moment.
Just a moment.
Then she set her chopsticks down gently.
She had known this would come eventually.
It wasn’t the first time.
And it wouldn’t be the last.
She looked at her daughter.
Really looked at her.
At the familiar eyes. The familiar expression.
The quiet curiosity.
And something in her chest tightened.
“You do,” she said softly.
Heewa blinked. “Where is he?”
Y/N swallowed.
Carefully.
Choosing her words the way she always did.
“He lives far away.”
“Why?”
Because I left.
Because I didn’t tell him.
Because I thought it was the right thing to do.
“Because… our lives are different,” she said instead.
Heewa frowned slightly. “Does he know me?”
The question lingered.
Heavy.
Y/N felt something twist in her chest.
But her expression stayed gentle.
“He would like you very much,” she said quietly.
That wasn’t a lie.
It never was.
Heewa seemed to think about that, her expression softening slightly.
“Is he nice?”
Y/N smiled.
A real one this time.
“Yes,” she said. “He is.”
And that, more than anything, was the truth she held onto.
No matter what had happened.
No matter how things ended.
She would never take that away from him.
Or from her.
Heewa nodded slowly, satisfied enough with the answer for now.
“Okay.”
She went back to eating.
And the moment passed.
But Y/N stayed still for a second longer.
Her gaze drifting slightly.
Unfocused.
Because even after five years…
Some things never really left.
They just became quieter.
Easier to carry.
Until moments like this reminded her that they were still there.
Still waiting.
Still part of her.
She exhaled slowly.
Then picked up her chopsticks again.
“Eat your vegetables,” she said gently.
Heewa groaned dramatically.
And just like that life continued.
Morning came too fast.
Y/N barely noticed how her alarm blended into the quiet hum of the apartment, her body already used to waking before it even rang. For a moment, she just lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft breathing beside her.
Heewa had climbed into her bed sometime during the night.
She always did that on days when she had something exciting coming up.
Y/N turned her head slightly, watching the small rise and fall of her daughter’s chest, the way her hair was spread messily across the pillow. There was something grounding about moments like this. Something that made everything else feel… manageable.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” she murmured softly, brushing her fingers gently through Heewa’s hair.
A small groan.
“No…”
Y/N smiled faintly. “You said you wanted to be early again today.”
One eye opened.
“…I did?”
“You did.”
Heewa blinked slowly, then suddenly sat up, fully awake.
“I did!”
Y/N laughed quietly, pushing herself up as well. “Come on. Get ready.”
The morning passed in small, familiar steps.
Getting dressed. Packing her bag. Making sure she had everything she needed. Listening to Heewa talk about something that made very little sense this early in the morning, but still nodding along like it was the most important story in the world.
It was easy.
Simple.
And for the most part… peaceful.
The walk to the kindergarten felt lighter than the day before. Maybe because her mind was already half at work, running through ideas, plans, the outline of the presentation she had been building since yesterday.
She had stayed up a little later than usual, refining it.
Not because she had to.
Because she wanted to.
That still felt new.
At the entrance, Heewa turned to her, bouncing slightly on her heels.
“Can I show you my drawing later, Mama?”
“Of course,” Y/N said, crouching down in front of her. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“It’s really good.”
“I’m sure it is.”
A quick hug.
A bright smile.
And then she was gone again, disappearing into the building with the same energy as always.
Y/N watched her for a moment.
Then stood, exhaling quietly before turning away.
Work.
The office felt busier than usual.
Not in a loud way. Just… a little more focused. A little more alert.
She noticed it as soon as she stepped in.
Something about the energy had shifted.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
She greeted a few people as she walked to her desk, setting her bag down before pulling out the folder from yesterday.
The K-pop assignment.
Her eyes moved over the notes again, even though she already knew them.
She sat down, opening her laptop, going over her slides one last time.
Everything was ready.
Exactly how it should be.
“Big day?”
She looked up at the voice, blinking slightly.
Standing beside her desk was someone she hadn’t expected to see this early.
Kim Jisoo.
Not the one most people would think of.
Different department.
Different floor.
Someone who technically had no reason to be hovering around her desk this often.
“Something like that,” she replied, offering a small smile.
Jisoo leaned slightly against the edge of her desk, casual as always.
He was… attractive.
That was the simplest way to put it.
Sharp features, neatly styled hair, the kind of confidence that came naturally rather than forced. The kind that made people pay attention when he walked into a room.
He always dressed well.
Always spoke smoothly.
And he always… lingered.
“I heard you got the K-pop assignment,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “That’s a good one.”
“It seems interesting,” Y/N replied.
“That’s one way to put it.”
She raised a brow slightly. “You don’t think so?”
“I think it’s more than interesting,” he said with a small smile. “Especially for a smaller firm like ours.”
She shrugged lightly. “It’s still just work.”
“And you’re still taking it very seriously,” he noted.
“That’s my job.”
“And you’re good at it.”
She paused for a second.
“Thank you.”
There was a brief silence.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… there.
“I’m actually on that project too.”
Y/N blinked.
“You are?”
“Mm.” He nodded. “Different angle, but same campaign.”
She hadn’t expected that.
“Oh.”
“Surprised?”
“A little.”
“I’ll try not to be a distraction then.”
There was something in the way he said it.
Light.
Playful.
Familiar.
Y/N let out a small breath, shaking her head slightly. “I think I’ll manage.”
“I’m sure you will.”
Another pause.
“What time’s the meeting?”
“Ten.”
He checked his watch. “Perfect.”
She frowned slightly. “Perfect?”
“Gives me enough time to walk with you.”
She huffed quietly. “You don’t even know if I was planning to go now.”
“You were.”
“And how would you know that?”
“Because you’re prepared,” he said simply. “And people who are prepared don’t wait until the last minute.”
She stared at him for a second.
Then shook her head.
“…You’re not wrong.”
“I usually’m not.”
She rolled her eyes slightly, standing up, grabbing her folder.
“Come on then.”
He smiled.
The walk to the meeting room was short.
Too short, in a way.
Because Jisoo didn’t stop talking.
Not in an annoying way.
In a way that made the silence feel lighter.
Easier.
“So,” he said as they reached the door, glancing at her briefly. “You busy this weekend?”
Y/N paused slightly.
There it was.
She had expected it.
Eventually.
“I have a daughter,” she said carefully. “So… yes.”
“I know.”
That made her look at him.
“I still asked.”
She hesitated.
Because that wasn’t something she heard often.
Not like this.
Not… uncomplicated.
“We could work around that,” he added, pushing the door open slightly but not stepping in yet. “Coffee. Lunch. Something simple.”
Y/N studied him for a second.
He wasn’t pushy.
Wasn’t trying too hard.
Just… offering.
And for a moment, something in her chest shifted.
Because it had been a long time since she allowed herself to even consider something like this.
A long time since she thought about anything beyond work and Heewa.
“…Maybe,” she said slowly.
His expression brightened just slightly.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“I didn’t say yes.”
“You didn’t say no.”
She sighed quietly.
“…Fine. Maybe coffee.”
“That sounds like a yes.”
“It’s a maybe.”
“I’ll take it.”
She shook her head, a small smile slipping through despite herself.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Ready.”
And stepped inside.
The room was already occupied.
That was the first thing she noticed.
Several people seated.
Some she recognized.
Some she didn’t.
Her attention moved quickly, professionally, taking in the space, the setup.
She froze.
It happened in an instant.
Like the air had been knocked out of her lungs without warning.
Because sitting across the table was ATEEZ.
All of them.
Every single one.
And for a second, her mind refused to catch up.
Refused to process what she was seeing.
Because that didn’t make sense.
This wasn’t supposed to be...
Her grip on the folder tightened.
Her heartbeat loud.
Too loud.
His eyes met hers.
Choi San
Shock.
Pure, unfiltered shock.
It was written all over his face.
Not hidden.
Not controlled.
Just… there.
“Y/N?”
Her name.
Spoken like it had been pulled out of him without permission.
The room went quiet.
Too quiet.
Every head turned.
Every gaze shifting between them.
Y/N felt it.
All of it.
But she didn’t move.
Didn’t react.
Not the way she wanted to.
Because years of holding herself together didn’t just disappear in a moment.
She swallowed.
Forced her expression into something neutral.
Professional.
And stepped further into the room like nothing had happened.
“Good morning,” she said calmly.
Like her world hadn’t just tilted off ist axis.
Like she hadn’t spent five years building a life that didn’t include him.
Like he wasn’t sitting right there.
Staring at her like she had just walked out of a memory he never got to finish.
“Sorry for being late,” she continued, moving to the empty seat across from them.
Beside her, Jisoo had gone quiet.
San hadn’t.
“What are you doing here?”
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
Too direct.
Too personal.
Too much.
Y/N didn’t look at him immediately.
She set her folder down.
Opened it.
Adjusted her posture.
And only then ahe lifted her gaze.
Meeting his eyes with something controlled.
Something distant.
“I work here,” she said simply.
And the tension in the room shifted.
Subtle.
But noticeable.
Because this wasn’t just a normal meeting anymore.
This was something else.
Something none of them were prepared for.
San stared at her.
Still trying to process.
Still trying to understand.
And around him, the other members watched quietly.
Because they knew her too.
Knew exactly who she was.
And exactly what this meant.
And Y/N...she just sat there.
Back straight.
Hands steady.
Expression calm.
Like her heart wasn’t beating too fast.
Like her past hadn’t just walked back into her life without warning.
Like she hadn’t just agreed to coffee with someone else moments before stepping into a room she never thought she’d see again.
She inhaled slowly.
Then looked at the rest of the table.
“Shall we begin?”
And just like that, she forced the world to keep moving.
dennis with a gf who is super hot, dresses real slutty and confident all the time, the whole ED can't believe this shy country boy is with such a baddie, surely he doesn't know what to do with all that...
little do they know he loves to manhandle her in his bed. he's country strong from his days on the farm, he grew up so isolated he's never seen anyone as gorgeous as you. he loves to hold open your thighs and eat you out for hours, loves to worship your body and suck on your nipples, on his knees like he used to kneel in the confessional, except now he's confessing his devotion for you with his tongue on your soft skin
THIS IS LOWKEY MY FAV TROPE ANON CAN I KISS U?? kinda bimbo!reader??
everytime you visit dennis at work its treated like some kind of exhibit, you never interrupt his work you’d never dream of it! you simply bring him lunch on days where he needs it or dropping by to drop off a coffee.
the first time you walked in, mini skirt on shirt cut low and heels high. oversized bag on your shoulder jingling with every step due to your excessive amount of keychains that hang from it. everyone you passed turned to look at you. unfortunately you were a little lost huffing and looking around, the signs confusing you. as you stand there debating whether or not to just call him you feel a tap on your shoulder.
turning around you see a man, a tall one at that. clearly older than you, with soft brown eyes and hair to match that grays at the edges. a stethoscope hangs around his shoulders so you assume he’s a doctor. “hello? can I help you.” your voice is sweet and polite as you look up at the him. “I was just about to ask you that. you look a bit lost ma’am.” you smile heaving a relieved sigh “yes, I am this place is like a maze. do you know where the emergency department is? I’m looking for someone.” the man that you now know as dr. robby explains that he can take you there. you take mental note of him, having heard lots from dennis.
you fall into step beside him, explaining that you’re here to drop off something to your boyfriend. he hums as he listens leading you down winding hallways and around turns. eventually coming to the heart of the ED. as you walk in you feel eyes snap to you and you look up at robby a confused expression gracing your features. “does everybody here stare like that?” you point a long charmed nail in the direction of the people. robby huffs out a laugh “sometimes yeah.” you shrug and walk up to the nurses station leaning against it. lifting a heeled foot behind you letting your ankle swing. robby trails behind you and he himself is still reeling from your outfit choice. definitely revealing but it seems like you don’t even notice that fact. “so—“ he clears his throat “so who’s did you come to see?” you turn to him a smile on your glossy lips “his name is— denny!” you gasp, eyes catching on the man you cane here for as he rounds a corner with a young woman with dark hair.
dennis perks up at hearing your voice, face surprised as a grin breaks out on it. he turns to the woman saying an apology before rushing over. you squeal and meet him half way heels clicking on the tiled floors, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. his wrapping around your waist leaning in you press a sticky kiss to his cheek and his face is flushes in shades of pink. “baby, didn’t expect to see you here what are you..?”
“—wanted to suprise you denny! brought you lunch n everything, got a little lost on my way though. but dr. robby helped me!” all eyes are on the two of you a mass look of confusion on how this seemingly shy and timid boy from nowhere, pulled you. he looks over your shoulder at the older man who’s standing there all but stunned at the display before him. “thank you robby.” the man just nods.
you pull away from dennis and place and equally as sticky kiss to his lips. and he’s in heaven a dopey grin stuck on him as he gazes at you like you lit up the sun. “so yeah, I got you food but..since it took me so long to get here I gotta go now! my breaks almost over m’sorry baby.” your smile comes down to a solemn pout and dennis frowns “s’okay honey, still appreciate this. you’re such a sweetheart.” it’s his turn to kiss your cheek and it makes you giggle. before someone is clearing their throat behind you and to be expected it’s michael “sorry lovebirds but denny here needs to get back to work.”
at the nickname dennis grimaces and you suppress another laugh “I’ll get goin’ now babe, you’re still comin’ over tonight?” you flutter your lashes at him sweetly pressing your hands to his chest and he feels the warmth of your palms through his scrubs n it makes his knees weak. “course, I am. get back safe okay?.” adjusting your purse n handing him the overly cute lunch bag you packed, covered in sparkles and hearts. you give him one final kiss as you strut back out the way you came in.
and dennis sighs as you leave, the lunch pail in his hand a stark contrast to the sterile environment of the ED. you make him so happy and it’s clear as day.
then all at once he’s surrounded. trinity is in his face first “who was that” “—my, my girlfriend?” it comes out as a question his eyes darting around at his colleagues staring him down. princess and pearlah whispering amongst themselves.
then it’s mel “she’s really pretty, is she a model?” “no— well kinda?” after that it’s langdon “how much are you paying her?” “i’m not..i’m not paying her what?”
“people!”
michael’s voice is loud and authoritative “back, to work yeah? make yourselves useful.” the group dispersing in an instant but before dennis can scurry off his shoulder is caught in a strong grip as he’s pulled back by his attending “go eat and..wipe the lipstick off your face” before he’s shoving the young man off.
the rest of the day is filled with never ending questions on how’d they meet, does he treat her well, all the inquiries have his head spinning. he decides to just avoid talking about it tired of repeating himself. until he overhears mateo and donny chatting about it as he’s walking by, hearing his name he stills and listens in pretending to look at the blank chart in his hands.
“yeah no man he does not know what to do with all that.” “you got that right, as if, you seen that girl? damn still can’t believe that’s all his.” and while he’s happy others can see how beautiful you are. the doubt on his skills to please and provide for you frustrates him deeply and he carries that annoyance with him the rest of shift. his jaw tightens in slight anger, he knows he shouldn’t be upset because he knows better than anyone that he never leaves you unsatisfied inside or out of the bedroom but especially inside.
once it’s time for him to leave, body tired and aching all he looks forward to is you. how soft your skin is, how you always smell so good even without perfume, your sweet honeyed voice. the thoughts bring him comfort as he smiles to himself on the drive over to your place. thoughts drifting to the other activities he likes to do with you. ones where your legs are spread and he’s nose deep in your cunt, or when you’re bent over and he’s snapping his hips into you, but the second he almost misses a green light on occasion of his day dreaming .he’s washing those thoughts away with a flush on his face. as soon as he’s in your apartment he’s over come with the smell of you.
you greet him with w big smile like always, satin pjs on with a matching bonnet on your head. he’s melting into your arms the second you’re hugging him.
a big sigh leaves him, one he didn’t know he was holding. and you stroke your fingers through his hair scratching softly at his scalp. “long day cutie?” and he’s nodding softly into your shoulder shuddering happily at the feeling of your nails on his skin. before you can suggest you both take it easy tonight he’s lifting you up causing you to squeal. strong hands grip your thighs as he carries you off to your bedroom.
he’s giving your exposed collar bone small kisses as he walks in long strides. and you can’t help but giggle, he lays you down softly on your soft sheets before crawling onto of you and resting his full weight on top of your body. humming at your warmth and how comfy you are. you respond by wrapping your legs around his waist and looking up at him. his soft blue eyes gazing at you from between your breasts. “hey baby” he finally breathes, you press a soft kiss to his nose. “need some stress relief dr. whitaker?” voice low and sultry the title sending a shiver through him.
“mhm, always know just what I need sweetheart.” “it’s a talent of mine.”
before long you’re on your side one leg over his shoulder as he’s pressing soft kisses to your knee. the other leg on the bed and he’s driving his hips into you like he’s trying to prove something. and maybe he is.
this is lowkey bimbo!reader and I loveeeee that trope soooo feel free to send in more asks for that!!
furthering my 10000 kids cause dennis barely recognises a condom agenda !! after dennis' wife comes in to drop things off with that growing army of children robby tries to discreetly give him a stack of condoms like "i am begging you to use these you are on a med student budget" and dennis is like "why would i use these that's my wife we've never used these 🤨“
All together now
Dad!Dennis Whitaker x reader
Summary: in a apocalypse, if you and Dennis had to single-handedly repopulate the earth, it would be a pretty easy task
Word count: 800+
Tags: PRACTICE SAFE SEX IRL!, Dennis has no idea that’s a thing tho, pregnant reader
a/n: sorry those took so long to post! I promise that if you’ve sent a request I have started it, and am working on it (along with the other 1,000 ideas I come up with)
Dennis is a pretty decent guy.
Very committed.
Very very dependable.
All traits that a father would have!
But that doesn’t mean anyone is prepared for what they see when you come into the ED.
Visibly very pregnant. And with a army of children following you.
Your youngest kiddo is strapped to your chest in a carrier, head resting under your chin. Your middle child is secured safely in a back carrier, peeking over your shoulder. The oldest, who can’t be any older than four years old, is gripping your hand and looking around with wide curiosity.
Princess and pearls stop mid conversation.
“Who’s baby momma is that?” Trinity scoffs under her breath.
Dennis looks up.
When he sees you, his entire face softens instantly.
He stands up so fast that he almost trips on his own feet.
“Honey? Whatcha’ doing here?”
Before you can reply your oldest lets go of your hand and bolts toward him.
His son barrels towards him anyways. Dennis scoops him up, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“You being good for momma?”
“Yes! We saw a dog!”
“Wow, buddy!.”
“You left this” you say, handing him his lunch bag. “Again.”
He sighs with a slight embarrassed smile “Right.”
Frank steps closer, as if he’s making sure what he’s seeing isn’t a mirage.
“…Whitaker.”
Dennis looks up, still holding the oldest on his hip.
“Yeah?”
“How many kids do you have?”
“Three.”
“And one pending” Trinity mutters.
“When are ya due, sweetheart?” Dana asks softly
“Three months” you answer with a warm smile.
“You’re multiplying, huckleberry. You’re gonna have a whole bush of berries soon!” Trinity laughs.
The baby on your chest squirms, and Dennis immediately shifts into dad mode before he can say something about her snarky comment.
“Hang on.” he says gently, putting the oldest down so he can hold his youngest. “You want me to hold her?”
“Yes, please.”
He lifts her out carefully, supporting the baby’s head like it’s muscle memory and cradling her in his arms. She blinks up at him, any fussiness mitigated by the distraction that is grabbing his scrubs.
“Hey, baby girl.”
He sways instinctively. Rhythmically rocking on the balls of his feet.
Princess whispers says to Pearla, in a language you can’t understand.
Meanwhile, the child on your back is narrating loudly.
“Mommy big.”
“Yes…” you sigh fondly.
Dennis chuckles and reaches around to carefully tap the tiny feet sticking out of the carrier.
Robby crosses her arms. “Whitaker.”
“Yes?”
“You are aware children are expensive.”
“Yeah.”
“And that you’ll be paying back your student loans till you’re dead”
“Yeah.”
“And you’ve chosen to—what. Assemble a small soccer team?”
Dennis looks confused. “We like kids.”
Langdon lets out a short laugh. “Clearly.”
The oldest tugs on his scrubs. “Daddy, is this where the people with bobos come?”
“Yep” Dennis honestly. “But we help them.”
Javadi, who’s been watching this whole thing, leans towards Trinity. “He’s not even embarrassed?”
“He doesn’t know he should be.” She replies.
You step closer to Dennis, resting a hand on his arm.
“Anyways, we’ll get going” you say. “Just came here to drop that off.”
You take the baby back, settling her back down into the carrier to rest against your chest.
He bends down in front of the oldest again. “Okay. Listen to momma. No running around outside. That’s a rule.”
“I know!”
“And?”
“And…hold hands.”
“That’s right, bud.”
He presses a kisses to all of their foreheads.
Dennis rests a tentative hand on your stomach.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Any Braxton Hicks?”
“Dennis...”
“Just asking.”
Robbys just watching the two of you like it’s a live documentary for Pronatalism.
You kiss him. “Go save lives.”
He watches as you walk out, his children attached to you like marsupials.
Robby disappears for a few seconds before coming back to grab Dennis by the sleeve, and drag him towards the supply closet.
“What’s going on?”
Robby says nothing a shoves a stack of condoms into his hands.
“I am begging you, Robby whispers aggressively. “Use these.”
Dennis stares at them.
Turns them over.
Looks profoundly confused.
“…Why would I use these?”
Robbys takes a deep breath before responding, his hand sliding down his face. “Because. You are reproducing at an alarming rate.”
Dennis frowns. “That’s my wife.”
“Yes.” Robby says. “I’m aware.”
“We’ve never used these.” Dennis continues, still baffled. “Why would we start now?”
“Because you’re contributing to the overpopulation problem, kid.” Dana says, as she walks by.
Dennis tries to hand the condoms back to Robby.
Robby shoves them into Dennis’s scrub pocket.
“You don’t need to start a family lineage”
“That’s my wife” he just repeats.
Like thats a justifiable reason to have this many kids at his age.
And then he just walks back to where he was sitting at the nurses station previously.
Condoms already forgotten in his pocket.
Robby watches him go.
“…I’m scheduling him for a vasectomy consult.”
From across the nurses station, Dennis calls back “I can hear you.”
“GOOD.”
And somewhere outside, you’re wrangling three kids into car seats, a fourth kicking the shit out of you.
Inside?
Dennis goes back to saving lives.
Completely unbothered.
Completely in love.
And having absolutely zero plans of using those condoms.
♡ Summary: When a sudden medical emergency reveals a truth no one saw coming, you and Dennis are forced to face an unplanned miracle that reshapes your future. What begins in fear ends in found family, quiet faith, and the meaning of home.
♡ Contents: Established Relationship, Amish background, Surprise Pregnancy, Cryptic Pregnancy, Hospital Setting, Angst to Comfort, Found Family, Non-Graphic Childbirth, Happy Ending
“You feel more like home to me than any place I’ve ever been.”
The quote had always resonated deeply within you. Home had never truly been a place, it had always been a person. You had found that home early, at the age of four, sitting on the old wooden pews of the church in Broken Bow, your feet barely brushing the floor, boredom weighing heavy in your chest. Your gaze had wandered over the congregation, familiar faces blending together, until it landed on a pair of blue eyes a few rows ahead of you, already watching.
Dennis Whitaker.
You hadn’t known his name then, only the strange certainty that settled in your small chest when your eyes met his. It had felt quiet but permanent, like a string of fate being tied between the two of you in that very moment.
Twelve years later, at seventeen, you’d tied a knot in that string for good, standing beside him as his wife, too young by the world’s standards, but never by your own.
You’d both grown up sheltered, surrounded entirely by your Amish community, never questioning that this was simply how life was meant to be lived.
You worked. You worshipped. You married.
The future was laid out neatly in front of you, and for a long time, you hadn’t known there could be anything else. Being allowed to study past the eighth grade already set you apart. Being academically gifted felt like both a blessing and a quiet burden. You and Dennis shared the same impossible dream, university, a life beyond Broken Bow, even as you knew what chasing it would cost.
So when you left for Pittsburgh after graduating high school, with little more than a few possessions and each other, it felt less like stepping forward and more like falling through the world. Your family cut ties, while Dennis only stayed superficially in touch with his. Everything you had known dissolved behind you. Nothing was as you’d been taught it would be.
You learned quickly that love alone didn’t pay bills. Being each other’s rock made the hardship bearable, but student life was still ruthless. Dennis pushed himself through medical school with relentless determination, while you worked your way into a public school classroom, standing in front of children who had never had to choose between faith and ambition. Still, the debt piled up, and the money never quite stretched far enough.
That was how you ended up living in the abandoned wing of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Quiet hallways, unused rooms, borrowed time. And that was how fate seemed to intervene once more, in the form of Trinity Santos, who found the two of you and, for reasons you’d never quite understand, chose kindness. She offered you a spare room in her apartment.
A moment that felt like another string of fate pulled tight. Another person that would become a home.
Six months later, life finally felt… steadier. You and Dennis were saving, planning, building something fragile but real. You were creating friendships, routines, a future that felt like it might actually hold.
You had no way of knowing just how completely that future was about to change.
The apartment is quiet, the type that settles deep into your bones. Only the steady sloshing of the washing machine and the low hum of the dishwasher fill the silence. You hum a song you used to sing in church back in Nebraska as you fold the warm, freshly dried laundry, muscle memory guiding your hands.
It's been an uneventful day so far. You'd come home from teaching at noon, and had started right away on household chores so everything would be tidy once Dennis and Trinity return from their shift at the ER.
But, then pain suddenly spears through you.
It comes sharp and sudden, like an arrow driven straight into your abdomen. Your knees buckle before you can even think, and you curl in on yourself, fingers scrabbling for the edge of the dryer to keep from collapsing.
“Oh—oh God.” you whisper, breathless.
You’ve never felt pain like this. It isn’t the dull ache you know from your period, isn’t something familiar and manageable. It’s cramping so intense it steals the air from your lungs, leaves you with nothing to do but fold inward and wait for it to pass.
Oh, it hurts.
With heavy, unsteady steps, you drag yourself down the short hallway to the bedroom you share with Dennis. You lower yourself into the chair by the desk, where a stack of tests still sits, untouched, waiting to be graded by tomorrow. Mocking. Patient. You swallow hard and blink rapidly, willing the sting behind your eyes to fade.
It’ll pass.
It has to.
It’s probably just your period, an especially bad cycle this month. It’s been irregular for a while now anyway. Spotting. Cramping. Little warning signs you’d brushed off as stress or hormones, things you never looked too closely at and never quite mentioned to Dennis. Old habits are hard to break. Being raised not to talk about periods at all, especially not with men, is one of them. And Dennis is busy. Exhausted. Too wrapped up in the hospital to notice subtle changes in your health, even if he wanted to.
You slump forward in the chair, bending over the desk, and reach for a red pen with trembling fingers. Maybe work will help. A distraction. Something orderly and familiar.
You start sorting the papers, telling yourself that if you can just focus, just for a few minutes, everything will settle back into place. Everything will be ok.
But the pain doesn’t fade the way you expect it to.
It loosens its grip just enough for you to breathe again, leaving behind a dull, aching pressure that settles low in your abdomen. You sag forward over the desk, forehead nearly touching the wood, counting slow breaths. One. Two. Three. Your hands are clammy, the red pen slipping in your fingers.
Maybe you were right. Maybe it is just a bad cycle.
Then it comes back.
Stronger this time. Deeper. A heavy cramp that coils tight inside you, squeezing until your vision blurs at the edges. You gasp, instinctively bracing your feet against the floor, shoulders tensing as if you could ride it out if you just stayed still long enough. The wave crests, holds, then finally ebbs, leaving you shaky and damp with sweat.
You glance at the clock without really knowing why. The seconds tick by, distorted, stretched thin.
When the next one hits, you barely manage not to cry out.
That’s when the unease settles in, quiet but insistent. This isn’t right. This isn’t something you can ignore and grade papers through. Your hands are trembling now as you fumble for your phone, thumb hovering over Dennis’s name for half a second before pressing call.
He answers on the second ring.
“Hey.” he says, voice warm, tired. “What’s up, baby?”
“I—” You break off as another cramp rolls through you, breath hitching. “I don’t feel good. My stomach really hurts.”
The shift in him is immediate. You can hear it even without seeing him.
“Okay.” he says, calm and steady. “Tell me more specifics. Where exactly does it hurt?”
“Low.” you manage, curling forward again. “Low in my abdomen. It—it comes and goes.”
“Alright. How strong would you say it is, on a scale of one to ten?”
You swallow, pressing a hand against your stomach as the pain tightens again, unforgiving. “Eight. Maybe nine when it’s bad.”
There’s a brief pause on the line, so short you might have imagined it.
“Do you have a fever? Nausea? Dizziness?”
“I feel kind of lightheaded.” you admit. “And sweaty.”
“Okay.” His voice stays even, reassuring. “I want you to come to the ER. It could be your appendix, and I don’t want you sitting at home with that. That'd be urgent.”
Relief flickers through you at the decisiveness. At him taking over. “Okay.”
“Can you get there safely?”
“Yes.” you say, even as another wave curls through you, forcing you to breathe shallowly until it passes.
“Good. I’m going to finish up here and meet you there, alright?”
“Alright.”
Only after he hangs up does the concern bleed through the edges of his calm, setting professionalism aside as he lets himself worry about you, before swallowing it all down with a deep, steadying breath and getting back to work.
As you brace yourself against the desk, waiting for the next cramp to hit, you realize with a quiet jolt that the pain seems to have a rhythm now. You try very hard not to think about that.
The bus ride blurs together in fragments, your fingers locked around the metal pole, the city swaying too much, each stop stretching endlessly as another cramp rolls through you. You breathe through them the only way you know how, shallow and controlled, forehead resting briefly against the cool glass of the window. Somehow, impossibly, you stay upright until the doors finally hiss open in front of the hospital.
Inside, everything moves quickly. You barely manage to say your name at reception before the pain spikes again, sharp enough to steal your breath and forces you to fold forward with a low, involuntary sound. That’s all it takes. A wheelchair is rolled out toward you. Hands steady your shoulders. Someone is already calling for triage as you’re wheeled out of the waiting room, its noise fading behind you.
The triage bay smells of antiseptic. It's too bright. Too white. You’re helped onto a bed, legs trembling as you curl slightly inward. A blood pressure cuff tightens around your arm.
“Deep breaths for me.” the nurse says gently. “I know it hurts. We’re going to take good care of you.”
Your vitals are taken one by one, heart rate fast, blood pressure elevated, temperature normal. Sweat beads along your hairline as another wave builds, forcing you to grip the edge of the mattress while you breathe through clenched teeth.
“It comes and goes?” the nurse asks.
“Yes." you manage. “In waves.”
“When was your last period?”
You hesitate. “I’m… not sure. It’s been irregular.”
She nods without judgment, scribbling something down. “Alright. We’re going to get a urine sample—standard procedure, okay?”
You nod, too tired to question it.
You're asked to change into a gown for further exam, then escorted to the bathroom to pee in a cup. It all feels so overwhelming, faintly humiliating.
When she leaves with the cup and returns a few minutes later, something about her expression has shifted. It’s careful now. Measured.
“Do you have someone we should notify?” she asks. “Family? A partner?”
“My husband.” you say quickly, another cramp curling tight inside you. “He works here. In the ER. Dennis Whitaker—he’s a resident.”
Relief flickers across her face. “Okay. We’ll let him know.”
The pain surges again before you can say anything else, stronger than before, ripping a cry from your throat despite your best efforts to stay quiet. The curtain is pulled back. The bed starts moving.
“Possible ectopic.” someone says nearby.
“Pain worsening.”
“Let’s get her to an ER bay.”
The word ectopic lands heavy and cold in your chest, fear blooming fast and unfamiliar. You don’t have time to ask what it means before the bed stops and hands are adjusting monitors, voices overlapping around you.
Then—
“I’m here.”
Dennis’s voice cuts through the noise like a lifeline. Your head turns sharply, tears blurring your vision as he steps into view. He looks pale beneath the harsh lights, concern etched deep into his face, but his eyes soften the moment they find yours.
“Hey.” he says quietly, moving to your side. “Hey, love.”
Relief crashes over you so hard it nearly hurts. Your fingers fumble for his, clutching onto his gloved hand like it’s the only solid thing left in the room.
“I’ve got you.” he murmurs, thumb brushing over your knuckles. Then, gently but firmly, he shifts into motion. “We’re going to take care of you.”
He glances up at one of the nurses. “Princess, can you hook her up to the monitor?”
She nods, already peeling back adhesive pads. Dennis turns back to you, voice low and steady.
“She’s just going to put some stickers on your chest so we can keep an eye on your heart, alright? You don’t have to do anything. Just breathe for me and try to stay calm.”
Cold fingers press briefly against your skin as the electrodes are placed. You flinch when another contraction hits, curling slightly inward.
“I know.” Dennis says softly, one hand warm and grounding at your shoulder. “I know it hurts. You’re doing really well.”
He reaches for your arm next, disinfecting it. “Okay—this is going to be a little pinch.”
You barely register the needle as it slides in, pain elsewhere demanding all your attention. Dennis tapes the IV down with careful, gentle movements, smoothing the edges as if he’s afraid even that might hurt you.
“There we go.” he says. “Now we can give you medication.”
His thumb lingers against your skin for a moment longer than necessary before he straightens, jaw tight. “They’re concerned it might be ectopic.” he explains quietly, meeting your eyes. “That’s when a pregnancy implants outside the uterus. We’re going to do an ultrasound to check, okay?”
The word pregnancy barely registers before the next wave hits, stronger, deeper, forcing a strangled sound from your throat. Dennis is instantly back at your side, grounding you through it, breathing slow and even so you can match him.
The ultrasound machine is rolled in. Gel spreads cold across your abdomen, making you gasp. The doctor presses the probe down, adjusting, frowning slightly.
Seconds pass.
Then—
“Wait.” Dennis says, voice barely above a whisper.
The image sharpens.
You don’t understand what you’re seeing at first. Shapes. Movement. Then a rhythm, fast, unmistakable.
“That’s… not ectopic.” the doctor says slowly.
Dennis’s breath leaves him in a shaky exhale. His grip tightens around your hand.
“Oh my God.” he murmurs.
“That’s a fetus.” the doctor continues. “And she’s contracting regularly.”
The room seems to tilt. You look at Dennis, searching his face, your voice barely more than air. “Dennis…?”
His eyes shine with shock, fear, and something overwhelming and unguarded as he leans closer, pressing his forehead briefly to yours.
“Love.” he whispers, voice breaking. “You’re... you're in labor.”
Another contraction crashes through you, undeniable now, and Dennis doesn’t let go, not for a second.
“I’m right here.” he says fiercely. “I’m not going anywhere.”
After that, everything blurs.
There are hands everywhere, voices layered over one another, the sharp sting of medication and then the way the pain shifts, still there, still immense, but dulled at the edges, like it’s happening to someone else. Time stops behaving normally. Minutes stretch. Then vanish.
Dennis stays with you through all of it.
You hear him more than you see him, his voice a steady thread you cling to as the world tilts and contracts around you. He tells you when to breathe, when to push, when to rest. He keeps one hand anchored in yours, the other warm and constant at your shoulder, as if he’s afraid you might drift away if he lets go.
You don’t remember when it ends.
Only that suddenly, impossibly, there is a sound.
Thin. Insistent. Alive.
“Oh.” Dennis breathes.
Your eyes flutter open properly then, the fog lifting just enough for you to see him as he turns back toward you, something small and pink cradled carefully in his arms. His hands are shaking.
“She’s… she’s small.” he says softly, wonder and disbelief threading through his voice.
He brings her closer, settling her against your chest with reverent care. Her skin is warm, impossibly real, her tiny fingers curling instinctively into the fabric of your gown. The weight of her knocks the breath from your lungs in an entirely different way.
There’s a baby on your chest.
Your baby.
You sob, the sound tearing out of you before you can stop it, forehead dropping forward as Dennis presses a kiss into your hair.
“It’s okay.” he murmurs, voice thick. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so good.”
He stays close, one hand resting over yours and hers together, the other smoothing slow, grounding strokes along your arm. When you finally find your voice, it breaks immediately.
“We don’t even have a bed for her.” you whisper, tears soaking into the thin hospital pillow. “Or a name.”
Dennis leans down until his face is level with yours, eyes soft and fierce all at once.
“That’s alright.” he says gently. “Don’t worry about that right now. We’ll figure it out. One step at a time.”
You sniff, nodding weakly, eyes never leaving the tiny rise and fall of her chest.
“She’s okay.” he continues quietly, slipping instinctively into explanation, into reassurance. “This happens sometimes... cryptic pregnancies. No symptoms, or symptoms that get mistaken for other things. Especially with stress, irregular cycles…” His thumb brushes over your knuckles. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
The door opens quietly.
“Well." Trinity says, voice pitched low but bright with awe. “I leave you two alone for one shift.”
You look up to find her hovering near the doorway, expression caught somewhere between shock, pride, and outright joy. She steps closer, peering down at the baby with something dangerously close to reverence.
“God.” she murmurs. “She’s perfect.”
Dennis lets out a shaky laugh. “Apparently you’re an aunt now.”
Trinity straightens immediately. “Excuse you.” she says. “I’m a godmother. I’ve decided.”
Despite everything, despite the fear, the exhaustion, the impossible reality settling into place, you laugh, soft and wet and disbelieving, as your daughter shifts against your chest.
After a flurry of checkups for both you and the baby, you’re finally brought upstairs to your own room. The noise fades, replaced by a hushed stillness that feels almost sacred. Dennis never leaves your side, his hand always wrapped around yours, grounding and warm.
The baby, your baby girl, you have to keep reminding yourself, has been dressed in a tiny onesie and a soft pink hat. She sleeps soundly now in the clear plastic crib beside your bed, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that feels impossible to look away from.
Dennis watches you watch her.
He wants to tell you how incredible you are. How impossibly proud he is. How overwhelming it feels to suddenly be a father, to have his entire world rearranged in the span of a few hours. But he knows those words would come too fast, too heavy.
So instead, he asks quietly, “How are you coping?”
Your gaze drifts from the crib back to him. He’s sitting in the chair on the other side of the bed, shoulders slumped with exhaustion, eyes soft and searching.
“Some pain.” you admit quietly. “But the medication’s helping. And I’m exhausted. And hungry.” You swallow. “And I can’t stop thinking about how… how I didn’t know. How I probably ate things I shouldn’t have and—”
Dennis is on his feet in an instant. He cups your cheeks in his calloused hands, thumbs brushing gently beneath your eyes.
“Shhh." he murmurs. “It’s okay.”
His forehead rests against yours as he speaks, voice low and steady. “My mind’s telling me the same things. That I should’ve known. That I would’ve, if I’d paid more attention. If I hadn’t been so buried in work.” He exhales softly. “But none of that changes what’s true right now.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you properly. “What I wanted to ask is… are you... okay with this? This isn’t what we planned. We wanted to wait. Until I’m finished with my studies... until... it's all stable.”
You nod slowly, eyes drifting back to the crib. She looks impossibly small. Peaceful. Real.
“Yeah." you say. “But… that’s just how it is now, isn’t it?” Your voice softens. “Maybe it’s fate.” You hesitate, then whisper, “Do you think we’ll be good parents?”
Dennis doesn’t hesitate.
“I know without a doubt that you’re already the best mom.” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.
You talk like that for a while, voices hushed. About what you’ll need. What you’ll figure out as you go. How terrifying and strange and oddly right this all feels, even though it wasn’t part of the plan.
A soft knock breaks the quiet.
A moment later, Trinity slips into the room, already smiling.
“Hey, roomies.” she says. “Can I take a proper look at my new roommate?”
She’s already crossing the room, peering down into the crib with unmistakable awe.
“Sure." Dennis says. “You can hold her, if you want.”
She doesn’t need to be told twice.
Trinity scoops the baby up with practiced ease, one arm supporting her head, the other cradling her tiny body. She rocks her gently, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Living with both of us was already more than we ever could’ve asked of you." you say quietly. “A debt we might never be able to repay. But a baby…”
“Oh, hush.” Trinity cuts in immediately. “I’m not making you move out.”
She glances over her shoulder at you. “I’ve gotten used to it. Besides, who’s going to cook dinner for me? Or meal prep? Or make that ridiculous sourdough that keeps me alive through twelve-hour shifts?”
“I could still make you bread.” you offer weakly. “Even if we didn’t live together.”
Trinity frowns. “You’re not leaving. End of discussion.” A beat. “I like having you two idiots around.” She looks back down at the baby, softening. “Three now, I guess.”
The baby squirms slightly in her arms, letting out a tiny sound, and the room feels warmer for it.
“The others asked when your baby shower will be." Trinity says after a long moment of silence, smiling at both of you while she still cradles your daughter.
“Baby shower?” you echo quietly.
You barely know what that is. Only fragments, really, over-the-top parties from social media, balloon arches and elaborate decorations, gender reveals that feel unnecessary now, almost funny. There’s no mystery left there. She’s here. She’s real.
“Yes.” Trinity says easily. “The whole staff downstairs wants to come. Gift you things. Honestly, we probably won’t even need to buy much ourselves.”
The word we hits you harder than anything else she’s said.
We.
She isn’t speaking as a bystander. She isn’t offering help from the outside. She’s placing herself firmly within the circle of this new, fragile little family. Your throat tightens.
“No...” you whisper, tears welling up. “That’s… that’s too much—”
“It’s exactly what all of us are willing to give.” Trinity cuts in gently, smiling. “And you don’t get to decide whether that’s too much.”
She adjusts the baby in her arms and continues, casual as if she’s listing groceries. “Anyway, Dana already called her husband, he’s bringing their old stroller that’s been sitting in their attic. I hope they clean it first. Can you imagine the spiders on that thing?” She wrinkles her nose. “And Princess raided the supply closet. Diapers. Onesies. A truly impressive haul.”
She keeps going, telling you how people you’ve grown quietly fond of over the past months, the nurses you brought home-cooked meals to, the residents you dropped off sandwiches and desserts for during long shifts, have come together without hesitation. How no one asked whether they should help. They just did.
You listen, stunned.
In this moment, it isn’t just one string of fate pulled taut. Not just your daughter bending reality into something new. It’s more than a dozen threads tightening all at once, each person stepping forward, ready to hold you up.
You’d always believed the community back in Nebraska was as close-knit as it could be, bonds forged beneath the roof of God, held together by tradition and obligation. But now, sitting in this quiet hospital room, surrounded by care freely given, you realize you were wrong.
This feels bigger.
People choosing you. Choosing to stay. Choosing to help, not because they have to, but because they want to.
And for the first time since everything changed, the future doesn’t feel so frightening after all.
A/N: This request was a very specific one, basically laid out from start to finish and I simply got to put it all into a proper story, and I quite enjoyed that progress.
I feel like I sat on this for too long tho, because I've really started to question myself on wether this is doing the request justice.
content: dennis and reader are married, she/her pronouns for reader, pet names (sweetheart, baby), dubious medical talk, cursing, reader took the Whitaker surname, no use of y/n, implied bisexual reader (bc im in love with dana)
word count: 5.3 k
summary: four times Dennis’ coworkers wanted to meet Dennis’ wife and the one time they did
notes: as a midwestern girlie myself, i would 100% bake for these people. like, they deserve it and food is THE love language of the midwest. ALSO yes i know that it should be dennis’s but i fucking hate the way that looks so you can read dennis’ instead (i am allowed to do this as a person whose name ends with an s)
line dividers from @hyuneskkami
1. Robby
Dennis Whitaker isn’t what most would consider a private person. His coworkers know about his brothers and his hometown and his nieces and nephews, he just never mentioned a love life of any kind. They had assumed it was because his love life didn’t exist. It’s typical with med students, focused on school and their internship. Too busy to find time for another person in their hectic lives. No one judged him. Really, they understood. Then, a few weeks after his graduation, Dennis walks into work with a gold band shining on his left ring finger.
Most of his coworkers didn’t even notice it at first. The ED is a place where people wear gloves more often than not. Bare hands are rarer than covered ones. Robby is the first one to spot it. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it, just shakes Dennis’ hand and shoots him a quiet congrats, kid. It’s not until Trinity spots the new jewelry that everyone finds out. Because Trinity Santos cannot keep her mouth shut to save her own life.
“You’re married!”
“Um, yeah?” Dennis rubs a hand across the back of his neck. He’s not sure if it’s always been a habit of his or if he picked it up from Robby. What he is sure of is that he hates the way every single doctor and nurse within earshot turns to study Dennis. Like he’s their newest toy. The grin on Princess’ face almost makes him wish he had stayed in bed with you this morning. (He wishes that every morning, though.)
“When did that happen?” It’s Mel’s voice this time. No judgement. No gleam in her eye. Just genuine curiosity that makes Dennis want to hug her.
“After I graduated. We, uh, we’ve been dating since high school.” And Dennis hates how much his voice shakes. He should be able to boast about you to anyone who will listen because you’re the most amazing person he knows. But his cheeks are hot and his throat feels just a little tight. Dennis can see Trinity open her mouth, no doubt about to make fun of him for marrying his high school sweetheart. Then Dana is stepping in front of him, shooing away nosy residents with a wave of her hand and a single noise. Robby’s hand is on her shoulder again.
“If you ever want to bring her with you after work, feel free.” Robby’s voice is soft and deep, a smile on his face that says nothing except pride. Dennis nods slowly and Robby squeezes his shoulder once before pulling back.
Dennis practically stumbles through the door. It’s late. A bit later than he wishes it was. The shift ran long because of a multi-vehicle crash on the highway. They didn’t lose anyone, but it was a hard-fought battle. Dennis can still smell blood in his nostrils.
“Denny? That you?” Your voice is like a balm on the exhausted open wound that is Dennis Whitaker. He makes his way toward the living room of your tiny shared apartment to see you sitting on the couch. The television plays some nature documentary that he’s sure you’re not watching. You look over the back of the couch and smile so warmly that Dennis thinks he might melt. “Welcome home, baby. Dinner is staying warm in the oven for you.”
“I love you so much.” He can’t help muttering as he leans down to press a kiss to the crown of your head. You just laugh, reaching back to pat his hip before pushing off the couch.
You follow Dennis into the kitchen, sitting at the rickety dining table with exactly two chairs at it. He pulls out the food you left in the oven, carrying it over to the table, just short of collapsing into the chair. You watch as he eats, crumbs falling back onto his plate, unable to hold back a smile. You’ve known the man for two decades and he still doesn’t know how to eat without making a mess.
“So…how did it go?” You reach out to run a finger over Dennis’ wedding band. The gold is scuffed and scratched in a few places. You bought your rings together at a thrift store, old and used but no less loved. He flips his hand over, intertwining your fingers.
“Trin was loud. But Robby said you’re invited to our after-work hangout. If you ever want to.” Dennis pauses, running his thumb over your knuckles with such gentle reverence you would think he’d studied you in undergrad instead of theology. “They, uh, they want to meet you.”
“Do you want me to meet them?” You ask quietly, keeping your eyes on Dennis’ hand in yours. He squeezes slightly and you already know the answer. As much as Dennis loves his coworkers, there’s something about you being his and only his. Not having to combine his home and work lives. It gives him an escape. You just squeeze back, finally meeting his eyes. “Wanna wait a little longer?”
“I’m sorry.” He leans down, pressing his forehead against your joined hands. You just smile, running your free hand through his curls. He lets out a breath you’re sure he hadn’t known he was holding. “You are the most amazing wife ever, Mrs. Whitaker.”
“And you are the best husband I could ever want, Dr. Whitaker.” You pull back, standing from the chair with a creak of the old wood. “Now, come on. Shower, then bed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
2. Dana
“What d’ya got there, kid?” Dana’s voice cuts through Dennis’ thoughts and he looks down at the large foil pan in his arms. Like, so big he needs both arms to carry it. He smiles that signature shaky smile and awkwardly readjusts the pan in his hold.
“Treats. From Mrs. Whitaker.” He can’t help the way he straightens up a bit when he says it. He loves that he gets to call you that now. Dennis told you at least five times the night before that you did not have to bake anything for his coworkers. You steadfastly ignored him as you carefully measured out the ingredients. He only stopped after five because you looked so cute with flour on your nose. Dennis peels back the lid to reveal chocolate and caramel and oats in some kind of layer bar, already cut and carefully arranged in the foil pan. Dennis doesn’t know what exactly went into them. He’s no chef. If it were up to him, Dennis would eat strictly fast food, takeout, and frozen dinners. “They’re carmelitas, I think?”
Dana reaches in and grabs one, taking a bite before Dennis can even say anything. She lets out a noise that Dennis really doesn’t want to hear from his coworker and shoves the rest of the square in her mouth.
“Whitaker, tell your wife that if she ever wants to divorce you, I am more than willing to take your place.” Dana mutters, grabbing another bar as she continues chewing. “Seriously, these things are gonna kill me and it’ll be worth it.”
“Aren’t you married?”
Dana just laughs, turning away without another word. Dennis can only shrug, continuing his journey to the staff break room to place the foil pan on the small counter by the fridge. He pulls the little paper sign you made out of his bag, placing it next to the tray before heading toward his locker.
It takes about thirty seconds for every single nurse and doctor in the Pitt to realize they’ve been offered a sweet treat. Even the night shift stops by the break room on their way out. Dennis personally gets pats on the back from Dr. Abbot and Robby and about ten other people who he’s not sure he’s ever met before today. It feels…nice? A bit strange, to be thanked and congratulated for something he didn’t even do.
The day is dreadfully slow. As much as Dennis hates the idea of people in pain, it's starting to grate at him by the end of the day. Only two ambulances came in, one of which was from the nearby old folk’s home. And most of the people in the waiting room either ate something bad and are overreacting or are straight-up rude. It’s trying, but Dennis supposes it’s better than losing patients.
By the time he finally makes it around to the break room at the end of the day, hoping for a bite of the sweet treat you made, only crumbs are left in the bottom of the foil pan. He smiles. Not the shaky one he gives when people ask him questions (even when he knows the answer), but something soft and solid. Mostly because he knows how happy you’ll be when you find out that the staff of the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center Emergency Department are, on most days, hungrier than a pack of wild hyenas.
“I think our grocery bills are about to go up.” Dennis murmurs against your head as he places his customary greeting kiss there. You look over the back of the couch to see him empty handed and you grin.
“Are you telling me I’m required to bake for your coworkers now?” You tease, turning to lean forward against the back of the couch. Dennis just raises a brow, grinning down at you. You two know each other better than you know yourselves some days. “I’m not complaining, baby. They can be my guinea pigs when I try new recipes. And you know me. I have no idea how to cook for less than twenty people.” Dennis laughs and you think it’s the most wonderful sound you’ll ever hear. “Plus, I’m not the one who pays for groceries.”
“About that—” Dennis tugs his phone out of his back pocket, clicking open the bank app. He grimaces at the Loans tab and focuses on his Checking. “I got my first paycheck. I thought I could help out with rent this month.”
You smile softly, reaching out to play with the longer curls at his nape. “Dennis, we agreed. I graduated and got a job so you could focus on your student loans. I pay rent and bills, you get groceries and my own resident fix-it man.” You press a kiss to his cheek.
“I want to help you out.”
“I know, baby. But I want to help you more.” Your eyes close as you tug Dennis’ forehead against yours. He hums out a long sigh and you laugh softly. He’ll bring it up again and it’ll go exactly the same. You think that’s okay if it means you get to hold him like this.
3. Trinity
Around an hour before his shift ends every day, Dennis starts counting down the minutes. It’s a bad habit. He knows. It disappoints him more often than not. When the shift handoff goes long or there’s some kind of last minute trauma. So, yeah, it’s a terrible habit to have. But he can’t help it. He’s not counting down until his shift ends. He’s counting down until he can see you again.
“Hey, Whitaker!” The voice that comes from behind Dennis is unmistakably Trinity’s. He’s honestly surprised she actually used his name. “The residents are going to the bar on Grant.”
“Uh, good for you?” Dennis murmurs, glancing back at the clock. 6:52. He’s probably only got thirty minutes before he can leave if handoff goes well. Not likely, but he can hope. That means no more than forty-five minutes until he can see you again. Dennis loves his job. He just hates how often it keeps the two of you apart.
“Huckleberry.” Dennis turns away from the clock, back to Trinity. She has the most unimpressed look on her face that Dennis has ever seen. “All the residents.” Dennis just tilts his head, nodding along slowly. Trinity sighs as he doesn’t answer and reaches out to grip his shoulders. “That includes you, Doc.”
She says it like it’s obvious, but Dennis hadn’t actually considered the idea that he would be invited along. That he would go. He sees these people almost every day for over twelve hours. Does he really want to spend even more time with them?
(Yes. Dennis loves the people he works with. It took Dennis almost ten years to feel as comfortable around you as he does around his coworkers friends. Probably something to do with trauma bonding in a place where horrid sights outnumber the people who can help them.)
“Oh. Uh, sorry. Can’t. My wife is expecting me at home.” Dennis says, maybe a bit too quickly. It sounds like an excuse even to his own ears and Trinity has never been one to give up.
“C’mon, invite Mrs. Huckleberry along then. I, for one, would love to meet the woman who agreed to marry you.” She grins, jabbing at Dennis’ ribs with her shockingly sharp elbows. He can’t help smiling.
“I know. I’m lucky.” Dennis looks back over at Trinity to see her pretending to gag, fist in front of her mouth. He rolls his eyes and swats at her arm. “You’re just jealous you don’t have a wife. Don’t worry, it only took me twenty years.”
“Twenty—I thought you were high school sweethearts.” Trinity stares at Dennis with wide eyes, brow furrowed tight as she looks him up and down.
“Well, yeah. But we’ve known each other since forever. I mean, there was only one school. And our year had a really small kindergarten class. It just…took me a while to finally ask her out.” Dennis smiles fondly at the memory. He had been continuously tripping over his words when you grabbed his—admittedly very sweaty—hands and said you’d love to go on a date with you, Dennis Whitaker. It was like his entire world paused for that single moment, captured in your warm gaze. Not that Dennis could ever tell Trinity that. She teased him enough already.
“Nevermind. I don’t want to meet her if this is what I have to put up with.” Trinity actually shoves at his face with her hands, groaning as he laughs.
“Do you really want to meet my coworkers?” Dennis asks, lights off as you both lay in bed. His warm chest is pressed against your back as he holds you against him. You always have trouble sleeping when he gets home late.
You shift, turning to face him. Light from the city outside your apartment illuminates his face. The window has curtains, Dennis just hasn’t gotten around to hanging them up yet. Always busy with work or spending time with you. Things that are more important than a piece of fabric. You don’t mind if it means you can see his face like this.
“I mean, you seem really close. And it’d be nice to put a face to a name.” You lift a hand, running your fingers through his curls. He showered when he got home and his hair is still wet. He’ll wake up later, complaining about the damp spot on his pillow and move even closer to share yours. You’ll pretend to be annoyed. “But if you’re not ready for that, I can wait.”
“God, I don’t deserve you.” Dennis’ voice vibrates against the back of your neck, humid breath warming the skin. He wraps his arms tighter around your waist, like you’ll disappear if he lets go. You let him, even though you would never leave. You think that even if Dennis tried to push you away, you would stay glued to his side. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. Those were the vows you made when you married Dennis Whitaker. You had been practicing them in your head for almost a decade.
“You’re stuck with me anyway, love.” You lift one of his hands to your lips, kissing the back softly. Sheets rustle as you tug them up over your shoulder. You press back against Dennis’ chest and hum softly. “Now go to sleep already.”
Dennis doesn’t say anything. Just pulls you impossibly closer and lets his eyes fall shut. Approximately three hours later, he shifts you both on the bed so his head rests on your pillow, murmuring something about how his pillow is wet. You pretend to be annoyed.
4. Mel
It’s a quiet day in the ED. Not that Dennis would ever say that out loud and risk incurring the wrath of whatever deity watches over the hospital. If any. So he keeps his mouth shut and focuses on the charts he’s been avoiding. Dennis prefers to chart by notepad, so he always ends up transcribing for hours on end. It’s a great way to practice his typing, he supposes.
“Hey, Whitaker?”
Dennis glances over to see Mel at the computer next to him, wringing her fingers nervously. He hums in reply, folding his notes away. Any excuse to avoid charting. His eyes feel like they’re about to slide out of their sockets.
“Why didn’t you tell any of us you were getting married?” Mel’s voice shakes slightly in that way Dennis has learned is low-level anxiety. The kind that builds the more you ignore it. In the half second before Dennis can speak, Mel is opening her mouth again, ears pink. “I just—I mean, we were all so surprised. And…well, I’ve never been to a wedding.” Dennis can’t help the tiny smile that grows on his lips, just barely quirking up. “Sorry, that was probably rude.”
“No, it’s just…” Dennis has to think for a moment. He loves you. He wants to show you off, let everyone know that you’ve already been snatched up. But, at the same time, he doesn’t want you to be connected to this part of his life. He doesn’t want the blood on his hands to stain his time with you. You’re his oasis from the world of antiseptic and death that he lives in every day. Compartmentalization, he’s heard it called before. It feels ugly to call it that. He doesn’t want to keep you hidden away in a box. But how the hell does he say that out loud? “Do you have someone that makes you just forget about all the bad things?”
The ED feels like it stops. Mel doesn’t answer for a moment, but her face is easy to read. She’s thinking about it. Like she wants to consider her answer before responding. Like it’s important. It makes something warm bloom in Dennis’ chest.
“Becca. My sister. She, uh, yeah.”
“My wife, uh,” Your name rolls off his lips and he realizes that Mel is the first person he’s said it to. It’s always been my wife or Mrs. Whitaker. To define you as an individual, not simply an extension of Dennis, loosens something in the tense muscles of his shoulders. “She’s like, a break from it all? I just guess I don’t want to expose her to all this, if that makes any sense.”
“It does.” Mel’s voice is soft as she rolls closer. Her hand hovers near Dennis’ arm like she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to touch him. Dennis leans to the side just enough to make contact and Mel’s hand presses against his bicep. “I understand.”
And it’s that easy.
The two don’t speak after that, silently typing away in a never-ending attempt to catch up with charting. Keys clack as doctors and nurses alike scurry by, busy with their own tasks and patients. It creates a pattern of background noise that lets Dennis fall into a rhythm in his charting. He glances over at Mel once. She smiles like she understands.
“I think you should meet my coworkers.”
He says it suddenly as you curl against him on the couch. The television buzzes quietly in the background, forgotten as you shift to look at your husband. (Oh god, he’s your husband. That fact still amazes you sometimes.)
“What?” Your voice wobbles a bit as you hold back a surprised laugh. Dennis moves underneath you, something nervous rumbling in his chest. You run a hand up his neck, carding your fingers through his curls. He leans into the touch “Hey, you mean that?”
“Yeah, I—” Dennis breaths in slowly and releases his breath with the same careful consideration. “Mel asked today. About why, y’know? I was explaining it to her and it felt…like an excuse? I don’t want to keep you in a box. Like I’m ashamed of you or something—”
“Den, Dennis. Look at me, baby.” You grab his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. His eyes shine wetly in the soft lamplight. The shadows on his face flicker as the TV continues to play, forgotten across the room. No matter how beautiful your husband may look in this moment, you hate to see him anything but happy. So you smile and press a soft kiss to one of his cheeks. “I know you’re not ashamed of me, Dennis.” You press a kiss to his other cheek. “And I get why you’re hesitating. It’s just been us since we moved here. It’s hard to change like that.” Another kiss, this one to his forehead. “But nothing will ever change that I am here and I’m not going anywhere.”
“You are the love and light of my life.” Dennis’ lips press to yours softly and you both laugh into it. This is exactly how you think it should always be. By Dennis Whitaker’s side, both of you smiling like idiots.
+ 1
Your phone rings while you’re at work. It’s not uncommon. What is strange is that it’s Dennis that’s calling you. He doesn’t call while you’re both at work, one of the many unspoken rules the two of you have. So when you see his smiling face light up your screen, you immediately answer it, panic growing in your chest.
“Denny? What’s up?” You try to keep your voice even, taking long, deep breaths.
“Mrs. Whitaker, this is Dr. Robinavitch at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. I’m calling about your husband.” The voice that comes through is deep and rough. A voice that wasn’t made for yelling but has adapted to it nonetheless. The panic writhes around in the pit of your stomach now, like a living thing.
“Is Dennis okay? Did something happen to him?”
“Whitaker is fine. He was hit by a gurney and fell. He hit his head on the floor and has a mild concussion. We’ll probably keep him overnight just to make sure there are no complications.” The voice is stern and straight to business, but there’s a softness to the edges of his words. You hear him sigh on the other end of the line. “Dennis will be fine.”
You take a deep breath. Then another. The phone digs into your fingers as you grip it tightly. You take another breath and force your fingers to relax. Dennis is fine. He’s okay. Breathe. “Can I come see him?”
“Of course.”
Dr. Robinavitch quickly gives you directions to the hospital, even telling you which parking lot is closest and would have the most parking this time of day. You jot it all down as he speaks, messy handwriting you probably won’t be able to decipher later. Not that you need to. You call a cab to pick you up. Dennis had to get to work early, so you let him take the shared car and you took the bus.
The line in the waiting room is long and the more you wait, the more panic grows up your throat. You scratch nervously at your neck as you glance around. It smells like metal. Red is everywhere. Drops on the floor from a kid with a bloody nose. Staining the towel of an older man as he holds it against his wrist. Blooming across a woman’s blouse as she cradles bruised knuckles. You look away. It’s not that you’re a stranger to blood, you just…prefer to be far away from it.
“How can I help you, hon?” You hear. The woman behind the glass looks you up and down once. Then again. Makes sense. You’re not obviously injured. You feel your cheeks heat.
“Hi. Um, I’m visiting a patient. Dennis Whitaker? He works here.”
“Mrs. Whitaker?” The woman brightens just slightly, the customer service mask slipping just enough for you to see a glint in her eye. It disappears just as quickly and she points toward the double doors. A young woman steps out, dark hair pulled back. “Santos! Mrs. Whitaker!”
Santos turns toward you immediately. Yeah, that’s definitely a glint. You suddenly know that this is Trinity. It’s the shirt under her scrubs that gives it away. Dennis has always liked that Trinity wears them. He always calls her in for pedes cases when Trinity’s shirt has a cartoon on it. Today you can see the tuft of Tweety Bird’s feathers atop his head.
“Mrs. Whitaker.” Trinity’s voice has a lilt to it that you recognize from Dennis’ brothers when they would tease the two of you. She seems to stalk closer and you meet her eyes slowly, anxiety still quietly simmering in your chest.
“You must be Trinity.” You hold your hand out for her to shake, offering up your first name. Trinity’s grip is solid, hard. Like she’s testing you. The thought makes you smile. Dennis’ oldest brother had done the same thing when the two of you announced your engagement. “Everyone keeps calling me Mrs. Whitaker. Must be confusing. You can use my first name.”
Trinity just shakes her head as she leads you toward the double doors. They buzz open as she scans her badge and it’s just as chaotic as it had been in the waiting room. More, even. Trinity swiftly guides you down a dizzying series of turns until you’re stopped in front of a room. You can feel eyes on you from the large desk in the middle of the open area. You try your best to ignore them, focusing on Trinity.
“That’s what Huckleberry calls you, so it stuck.” Trinity shrugs, pushing the door open. Another woman sits at his bedside, blonde hair braided back and glasses perched on the long ridge of his nose. Mel, maybe? Then, you turn back toward Trinity, one brow raised high.
“Huckleberry?”
“Hey, baby.” Dennis’ voice comes from the cot on the other side of the room. You immediately turn toward him, surprised at the slow thickness of his voice. Your name rolls off his tongue and it sounds so sweet that you’re almost embarrassed. This is a mild concussion?
“Hey, Den. How’re you feeling?” The woman in the seat next to Dennis’ bed stands, letting you sit. You read the nametag, Dr. Melissa King. She smiles wide and bright. The chair is plastic and probably designed to be uncomfortable, but as you grab Dennis’ hand and he smiles up at you, you know this is where you want to be.
“Been better. Why’re you here?” There’s a dinosaur bandage on his forehead, just above his brow bone. You reach up to soothe it softly, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to the shiny plastic. Dennis leans into it, giving you that familiar soft smile. You can’t help smoothing back his curls.
“Dr. Robinavitch called me. Said you fell.”
Dennis just hums. You glance around the room and realize it’s just the two of you. You’re not sure when Mel and Trinity left. You think you can remember seeing Mel drag the younger woman quietly out of the room. But as your gaze sweeps across the window, you can see a few people gathered around what seems to be the main desk. They occasionally glance over at the room. At you two.
You can name some of them. The older blonde is obviously Dana. You look down at Dennis to see him following your line of sight. You grin. “Dana, right? I don’t know, Denny…I might just have to leave you if she asks.”
“Don’t even joke about that. She’d probably take you up on it.” You both laugh softly, Dennis squeezing your hand softly. The door clicks open quietly and an older man steps inside. He’s wearing glasses that you can only assume are readers with how far down his nose they are. “Dr. Robby.”
The man steps closer, tablet held under one arm as he looks Dennis over carefully. “Whitaker.” His voice is fond. Soft and warm like a parent. Or maybe just a teacher who cares too much. Robby turns toward you, holding out a hand. You stand and take it. “Mrs. Whitaker. Nice to finally meet you. Michael Robinavitch, we spoke on the phone.”
“You as well.” The chair is just as uncomfortable the second time you sit in it. “Thanks for watching out for Dennis. He’s told me all about you. Really admires you and the work you do.” Dennis groans on the bed, cheeks red. You grin, squeezing his hand tighter. Robby smiles as he watches the exchange. You don’t notice, too busy watching as Dennis tries to hide his face with a pillow. You pull it away before he can suffocate himself. “It’s the truth, Den. Did you want me to lie to your boss?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Robby smiles easily, typing something on the screen in his hands before turning back to Dennis. There it is again. That glint. “Ready for visitors, Whitaker?”
Dennis groans yet again.
The night is spent with you never leaving Dennis’ side. He groans and grumbles as his coworkers share embarrassing work stories with you that he had purposefully not shared. You respond in kind, telling them about his sweaty hands when he asked you out and how he somehow managed to get a calf to imprint on him. Dana proposes to you twice, grin sharp. You only blush a little.
You think you get it, why Dennis is already so close with these people. You loved Broken Bow. Still do. But the people there were always pretending to be perfect, putting up fronts so the neighbors wouldn’t know their dirty secrets. Here, in this hospital, everyone is just themselves. They laugh loudly, bully each other playfully, smile wide. You think you get it. Why Dennis has never brought up moving back to Nebraska. Why he wants to stay here. You do too. With him. With this new family the two of you have created.
“Hey, Mrs. Huckleberry. You’re comin’ with us next Tuesday. That place on Grant. Whitaker knows where it is.” Trinity says as she files out of the room. Something about patients and how every single doctor in the ED cannot be visiting with Dennis. It’s not a question. Not even a request. You laugh.
“Sure thing, Trin.”
Extra
“My sister just texted me. Her wedding is next September.” You mention casually. Dennis nods, pulling out his phone calendar and jotting down the dates he’ll need off. You grin as another text pops up. “She wants to know when you’re gonna put a ring on my finger.”
Dennis doesn’t even look up from his phone as he responds. “After I graduate. You should marry a doctor, not a med student.”
Your eyes widen just a fraction and you smile so sweetly it feels like your teeth are already rotting. You can’t help grabbing his hand and pressing a kiss to the rough palm.
“Yes.” You murmur against his palm. He tilts his head and you grin. “You can ask me again when you graduate, but I promise my answer will be the same. So, yes, Dennis Whitaker. I will marry you.”
His eyes widen and you laugh as his cheeks burn red. God, you love this man.
Summary: Hongjoong knew that this day would come, you had warned him plenty of times, he tried to shield his precious melody to the best of his ability. But he didn't think that the day would come so soon, the father and uncles were not ready.
Word count: 4K
story warning(s): jealous dad joongie (he goes through a crisis), teasing relationship between hongjoong and (y/n), suggestive at the end.
You parked your car outside of Hwayeon's school like you do every day, just 10 minutes before she was going to be dismissed. When she started kindergarten, Hongjoong had bought a car, insisting that his precious princess be ferried. He even wanted to get her a driver but you veto'd that.
And since you were only working part time from home now, your schedule was flexible enough to be able to pick her from school. Hongjoong would usually send her if he could.
"Here to pick up Kim Hwayeon." You told the administrator as you approached the front, nearing the time of Hwayeon's dismissal.
"Thanks, Mrs Kim." She smiled, ticking Hwayeon's name on the board.
"Mama!" You heard Hwayeon call out to you, running down the hall from her classroom. You grinned and waved to her, she was so cute when she smiled, having inherited her father's smile.
"Thank you, Ms Lee! Goodbye." Hwayeon waved and did a 90 degree bow to the administrator.
Of course, Hwayeon had great manners, she was raised by you, Hongjoong and 7 uncles who are particular about respect.
"Goodbye, Hwayeon. Have a nice weekend." She patted your daughter's head. You bent down and Hwayeon jumped into your arms to hug you tightly.
"My baby." You hugged her tightly before letting her go and standing up. Hwayeon held your hand and followed you to the car.
"Did you have a good day?" You asked as you strapped her down to her car seat. She nodded her head, reaching her hands out for you to hand her ddeongbyeoli plush and hugging it to her chest. You chuckled and kissed her head.
"Are you hungry, baby? I got some fruit for you to have until we get some lunch." You took out the prepared container of cut up fruit for her with a fork.
"Thank you, mama." She grinned. You stroked her head with a smile and went to the driver's seat.
"Shall we have dinner with the samchons tonight?" You looked at her through the rear view mirror as you drove.
"Yes!" She cheered loudly. Hwayeon loved her uncles a lot, she loved hanging out with them and soaking up all the attention they gave her. She was the captain's daughter after all.
After parking the car, Hwayeon held your hand and headed upstairs with you.
"There are some things I have to do so we'll have lunch at home today." You told her. Sometimes, you would take her out for lunch.
"Okay!" She grinned, she was more than happy to be home with all her toys. And usually, being at home meant that there would be TV time.
The moment you opened the door, Hwayeon removed her shoes, putting them at her designated slot and ran into the house. When you followed her in, you saw her backpack abandoned there.
"Baby, what did we say about leaving our bags around?" You called out to her. She came out from her bedroom.
"Oh no! Sorry, mama!" She giggled, taking her bag to the couch, knowing that you would sometimes go through her bag to check for notes from her teacher. After that, you brought her to the bathroom to give her a shower, wanting to be able to let her hair dry as she had her lunch.
"Close your eyes." You spoke gently as you carefully washed the shampoo out of her hair and she squeezed her eyes shut, covering her mouth to muffle her giggles.
Even if Hongjoong says that she's a little you, you always saw so much of Hongjoong in her.
"Let me know if you need help." You told her as you let her get changed on her own while you cleared the bathroom.
"Done!" She yelled.
"Good job, baby." You grabbed the comb and began to gently comb her hair. Once she was done, you brought her out to have her lunch. You grabbed the food from the warmer and plated it for her.
"Thank you for the food, mama." She chimed. You patted her head, grabbing her backpack before sitting across her.
"Mama, eating lunch?" She tilted her head.
"I already ate, baby. Thank you." You said, taking her water bottle and empty snack container out to put them into the sink to be washed later. Then you made sure everything was in order.
"What's this, baby? It's pretty." You grabbed a beaded bracelet out. It was white and pink alternating beads with a single heart bead.
"Oh! A present from Sunghoon. He made it." She explained. You knew Sunghoon, he was a boy in Hwayeon's class. They were good friends and Sunghoon always liked to stick to Hwayeon. Of course, Hongjoong does not know of Sunghoon's existence.
You were worried that the overprotective father and uncles may transfer Hwayeon out of the school if they were to find out. Plus, you thought it was cute.
"Teacher Park says he's a boyfriend." Hwayeon recounted with a nonchalant shrug, continuing to eat her food.
"Pffft!" You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up your throat. Oh, you were going to have a field day.
"Why you laugh, mama?"
"Nothing. I thought of something funny." You were thinking of something funny alright, one father and seven uncles gobsmacked when Hwayeon tells them about her new "boyfriend".
Looks like Hongjoong's fear was happening A LOT sooner than he thought. Since Hwayeon's gender was revealed, you teased him by reminding him of it constantly.
One day, Hwayeon will bring a partner back and marry the partner. And there's nothing Hongjoong can do to stop it.
"Do you like Sunghoon?" You asked her. Hwayeon tapped her chin to think then nodded her head.
"He always plays with me. And shares his toys. And when we eat gummies, he gives me the strawberry one." She grinned. You laughed along with her, handing her the bracelet to wear.
"You should wear this and show this to appa and all the samchons." You told her, obviously plotting something evil in your head. But being only an innocent child, Hwayeon thought that was an amazing idea and nodded her head excitedly, holding her hand out for you to slip it on her wrist.
You liked to mess with Hongjoong. His reactions were very amusing, especially when you tease him. He gets very whiny and pouty, which is why you constantly do it.
"Fits perfectly, baby. It's so pretty." You complimented, making her bashfully shy.
RINGGGGGG
"Speak of the devil." You muttered and answered the video call, propping up the phone against Hwayeon's waterbottle. Hongjoong's face came to view.
"What's up, grandpa?" You giggled, watching how the glasses sat low on his nose as he peeked over the tops of the frames to work.
"I didn't call to talk to you. I called to talk to my melody princess." Hongjoong rolled his eyes.
"Here, baby." You turned the camera to her.
"Appa! Studio time?" Hwayeon grinned. Just at that, you could hear Hongjoong's adoring chuckle come through. Really, everything that she did brought a smile to his face.
"Yes, it's currently studio time. How was school, melody?" Hongjoong asked. 'Studio time' was basically Hongjoong working.
"Good!" Hwayeon began to ramble about her school day and of course, Hongjoong patiently listened, reacting where necessary. He was such a great dad. As the call went on, you were relieved that she didn't mention the bracelet yet.
"Did mama tell you about dinner tonight? We're going out with the samchons." Hongjoong said once Hwayeon had finished telling him about her day at school.
"Yes! Samchons eat many many!" Hwayeon giggled.
"They do. You know samchon always eat a lot. And guess what, papa Hwa says he wants to bring melody for beef!" Hongjoong revealed.
"Yay! Meat! Did you hear mama?" Hwayeon cheered, turning to you, who was resting your head on your hand, listening to them. You nodded your head with a smile.
"Seonghwa spends too much on her food." You said. Hwayeon loved hanwoo, ever since Seonghwa took her.
"Do you want to be the one to try and stop him?" Hongjoong challenged. You let out a soft sigh, this girl was seriously spoiled by her uncles.
"Alright, we have to let appa go back to studio time." You cut them off, knowing Hongjoong will not go back to work.
"Aww, I don't want. You know, aegi, you should bring melody to the studio. She hasn't visited in a bit." Hongjoong suggested.
"Nice try. The only reason she hasn't been to the studio in so long is because when she's there, none of you work. Last time, you and Mingi played with her for hours and missed your deadline." You reminded, making Hongjoong groan. Hwayeon blinked, not really understanding what the both of you were saying.
"We'll see appa tonight, baby. With all the samchons." You told her, she'll listen to you. Hwayeon nodded obediently and waved to her dad, blowing him kisses.
"Alright. I love you so so so much, melody. I'll see you tonight." Hongjoong blew her many kisses too.
"Mmm, I'll see you tonight, Joongie." You said, taking the phone back from Hwayeon.
"You've been misbehaving too much, aegi." Hongjoong squinted his eyes at you. You grinned innocently, a playful glint in your eyes as you waved teasingly at him before hanging up.
"Okay! Now let's clean up." You put your phone aside, standing up. Hwayeon climbed down from her seat and grabbed her tray.
"Thank you." You received the plate and put it in the dishwasher.
"Want some juice?" You asked.
"Please!" She jumped up and down. You grabbed her cup and went to the fridge to pour her some. Ever the polite little girl, she thanked you as she took it to drink.
"Yummy!" She beamed. After her juice, she did some colouring to let her food digest before you laid her down for her nap.
"Byeoli." Hwayeon snuggled against ddeongbyeoli's head, yawning and rubbing her eyes tiredly. You gently pulled her arm away from her eyes, pulling the thin blanket over her body. You laid down beside her and patted her hip until she fell asleep.
As you stared at her sleep, you couldn't help but quietly gush over how cute she was. She sleeps with a small pout on her face, just like her father.
"They're gonna eat this up." You took a picture and sent it to the boys, who immediately rioted and argued over who loves her more...
Despite seeing her so often and spending so much time with her, they still always fawn over her.
"I love you so much." You whispered and planted a soft kiss on her forehead before going out to do your other chores, making sure the door was ajar in case Hwayeon woke up.
You were able to do a load of laundry and prepare Hwayeon's snacks for school before sitting down to answer some emails.
"Mama..." Hwayeon whined tiredly.
"Out here, baby." You called out to her from your spot on the sofa. You heard the pattering of her footsteps as she jogged over tiredly, dragging ddeongbyeoli by her ear.
"Mama." She croaked tiredly, climbing into your lap to cuddle with you. You put your laptop aside to let her sit on your lap.
"Ouuu, my baby." You rubbed her back, planting kisses on the top of her head. She rubbed her face against your chest, letting out little huffs and whines. You let her relax against you as you scrolled on your phone to give her time to wake up. She was still clingy to you and Hongjoong after waking up.
"Shall we go get ready to see appa and samchons?" You asked her, looking at the time, you didn't want to coax her back to sleep. She seemed to think for a bit before nodding her head.
With her in your arms, you brought her to the bathroom to freshen up. Then you let her pick her outfit.
"Whatever you want, baby." You sat behind her as she scanned her closet.
"Mama, help." She turned to you, whining. You figured she was still a little groggy from her nap so you helped, taking a sweater that Hongjoong bought and some leggings out.
"How about this? And you can wear your new jacket that Papa got you." You suggested.
"Okay." She nodded. With the cold weather, this outfit was perfect and she could wear the new items her father and godfather bought.
Yes, it was a Balmain sweater with a Barbour kids jackets... The two had a long lecture from you about how Hwayeon will outgrow these items very quickly.
"Pretty." You combed her hair.
Once she was done getting ready, she patiently waited for you to get ready. And you both wore matching boots.
"Okay, let's go see appa and the samchons." You put her in her car seat and drove to KQ since it was still really early. Hwayeon stuck by you obediently, hugging ddeongbyeoli in her free arm. The moment the guards saw you and Hwayeon, they let you through.
"Do you know which floor appa works on?" You bent down. She nodded and pressed the button to the floor where Hongjoong's studio was.
"Smartie." You patted her head, making her smile up at you.
But as the lift doors opened and you both stepped out, you ran into your first group of uncles.
"Samchons!" Hwayeon yelled loudly and ran forward. San was the first to bend down and engulf her in a big hug, making her giggle loudly. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he lifted her up.
"Hey, bun." Mingi smiled, turning his cheek for her to give him a peck. Just like the nickname 'melody', the nickname of 'bun' stayed.
"We were early for dinner so I thought we'd drop by here first." You chuckled, holding ddeongbyeoli for Hwayeon.
"Good idea because only Hwayeon can pull Hongjoong hyung out of the studio at this point." Yunho said, cradle holding Hwayeon and spinning around to make her laugh.
"Ever the workaholic." You sighed.
"Mmm, track submissions are around the corner." Yeosang reminded. You nodded, knowing the pressure Hongjoong puts on himself.
"What about the others? Are they still in practice?" You asked as all of you walked to the artist lounge together. Seems like your question was answered as Jongho emerged from one of the smaller rooms, having finished a vocal lesson.
"Seonghwa hyung and Wooyoung are in dance practice, which should end in 5 minutes." San said.
You texted Hongjoong to inform him that you and Hwayeon were already here, and in the artists' lounge with the others. Just in case he got worried as to where you were.
"Here, bun." Mingi broke off a piece of the cookie he was having and held it out in his palm for Hwayeon to take.
"Not too many snacks before dinner…" You reminded Mingi.
"That's correct. Do you know what we're having for dinner tonight?" Jongho leaned to ask Hwayeon as she sat perched in Yunho's lap.
"Hanwoo!" Hwayeon chirped.
"Aigo, our baby is so smart." San cooed, pinching her cheek. And the others nodded in agreement. Like you said, Hwayeon is Ateez's baby, they all raised her along with you and Hongjoong.
Wooyoung and Seonghwa strolled in, fresh out of their dance practice.
"Papa!" Seeing Seonghwa, Hwayeon crawled out of San's lap and ran to him. Seonghwa bent down to catch her in his arms.
"Ouh, my love. I missed you so much." Seonghwa hugged her tightly. As expected, Hwayeon was the most attached to Seonghwa. She never wanted to leave his side. Even as a baby, she would cry when he left her. Hwayeon wrapped her arms tightly around Seonghwa's neck, letting him lift her up.
"You look so pretty in this jacket, my love. My baby is always pretty." Seonghwa complimented.
"Papa bought it!" She reminded him with a grin.
"I know. I just knew you would look even prettier in it." He mirrored her grin, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. She hugged his neck, resting her chin on his shoulder.
Wooyoung popped up behind Seonghwa to wave at Hwayeon. She giggled and waved back, reaching a hand out to grab his hand.
You knew Wooyoung would have wanted to steal Hwayeon but if Seonghwa was holding her, no one could separate them.
"Where's Hongjoong hyung? Is he still in the studio?" Wooyoung asked. You nodded your head, holding ddeongbyeoli in your lap for Hwayeon until she wanted it back.
"Shall I bring princess to go get him?" Seonghwa offered.
"To be fair, we are early." You pointed out.
"So? The princess is here. She shouldn't be kept waiting." Jongho said, making the others nod in agreement. You laughed, waving Seonghwa off.
"Shall we go find appa?" Seonghwa asked. Hwayeon nodded and Seonghwa put her down, opting to hold her hand instead. They walked off together in the direction of Hongjoong's studio. You stayed behind with the others to chat.
"There!" Hwayeon ran forward, stopping in front of the door to Hongjoong's studio.
"Smart girl." Seonghwa patted her head and lifted her up for her to press the doorbell. The two waited for a few seconds before the door opened, revealing Hongjoong with headphones around his neck.
"Oh, melody. What are you doing here?" He blinked, surprised.
"Didn't (y/n) tell you that she was here with Hwayeon early?" Seonghwa asked. Hongjoong took his phone out.
"Oh, she did. I've had my headphones on so I didn't see my phone. Hi, melody." Hongjoong grinned, bending down to pull Hwayeon into his arms to hug her.
"Appa! Dinner!" She reminded.
"Yes, we're going for dinner soon. Are you excited to eat hanwoo?" Hongjoong asked. She nodded excitedly.
"Come in. Let me finish up and save my work." Hongjoong opened to door wider for her and Seonghwa to come in. They sat on the couch to wait for Hongjoong to be done.
"What's this, baby? It's so pretty." Seonghwa asked, noticing the bracelet on her wrist.
"Sunghoon made it for me! Is it pretty, papa? It has heart." Hwayeon said innocently, not knowing the chaos she was about to start. At her words, Hongjoong froze, abandoning his computer and turning around. Looking at Seonghwa's face, a small frown was starting to settle on his features as well.
"Sunghoon? Who is Sunghoon?" Hongjoong frowned.
"He is my friend! We go to school together and play together. He is very nice, he always let's me play with the toys. We also colour together." Hwayeon explained.
"He's a boy?" Seonghwa faced Hwayeon. He knew Sunghoon was a boy, by the name, but denial was starting to form.
"Yes! Teacher Park said that he is... my boyfriend."
That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Hongjoong's eyes widened, a vein popping at the side of his neck as he tried not to implode right there.
"We're going to find omma. Now." Hongjoong said seriously. Seonghwa nodded in agreement.
"Yes, omma said I should wear this. Because it's pretty!" Hwayeon added, obviously not seeing the dire situation right now.
"She did... did she...?" Hongjoong should have known this was your scheme all along. Hongjoong carried Hwayeon and went back down to find you with Seonghwa.
"Kim (y/n)." Hongjoong called the moment he entered.
"Oof, the government name. Well, it was nice knowing you, (y/n)." Wooyoung patted your shoulder.
"What?" You raised an eyebrow, standing up.
"WHO IS SUNGHOON?" Seonghwa couldn't help it, he burst out. At the mention of a boy's name, the other uncles stopped chatting, trying to figure out what was going out. That was when you realised that they probably saw the bracelet. Ah! It was a shame you missed it.
"Silly papa. I told you-"
"No, don't say it." Hongjoong covered Hwayeon's mouth.
"Oh, Hwayeon's boyfriend. He made her a pretty bracelet." You laughed. Hongjoong shot you the dirtiest look ever. If looks could kill, you would be 6 feet under by now.
"Boyfriend?! Oh, hell no!" San shot out of his seat. You turned to him with a look, reminding him of his language.
"Why didn't you stop this?!" Hongjoong asked, putting Hwayeon down just in case he shouted. He didn't want to scare her.
"It happened in school. Honestly, I think it's cute. He always sticks to her and they play well together. You know how much of a social butterfly she is." You shrugged.
"CUTE?! No, no boy is 'cute'. The only cute one is bun." Mingi shook his head in protest.
"I told you, you should have homeschooled her." Seonghwa said.
"Yes, we talked about this. NO BOYS! Ever. Hwayeon is not allowed to be around boys except us." Hongjoong told you.
"Guys, we can't homeschool her. She needs to build a good social circle and make all kinds of friends, which she has been doing Plus Sunghoon is a sweet kid and Hwayeon likes playing with him." You said. Yes, you shot down the homeschool idea because of their silly reason of not wanting her to make friends with boys.
"She doesn't know what she likes. Boys are cunning! They'll do anything to make you think they're nice and innocent." Yunho frowned and the others nodded.
"Guys, Sunghoon is a friend. They're kids." You reminded gently.
"Not anymore. They always start as friends, then they become best friends then they date then get married!" Hongjoong freaked.
"Yes, Sunghoon is my friend!" Hwayeon chimed in. She was so cute with that innocent smile on her face. Hongjoong cleared his throat and bent down.
"Melody. You have appa and samchons, you don't need to make friends with boys." Hongjoong spoke.
"Why?" She tilted her head.
"Because boys are icky! Don't you think they're icky?" Jongho asked, sitting on the floor so that he was also at a similar eye level to Hwayeon. Hwayeon tapped her chin to think about it.
"But not Sunghoon." She concluded.
"All boys are icky. You trust Papa, right? Papa knows best." Seonghwa asked. You facepalmed, they were so dramatic.
"You guys do know that she will date and get married one day, right?" You pointed out with a raised eyebrow. Suddenly, 8 pairs of eyes shot glares at you. How dare you bring that up and remind them of a reality that they will try their best to deny?
"No, she will stay with us forever. She doesn't need another man in her life." Yeosang declared. Hwayeon just blinked, not really understanding her words.
"What's bun's wrist size?" Mingi asked you, looking up from his phone. You looked over his shoulder to see his phone.
"She does not need a Tiffany & Co. bracelet!" You slapped his arm, seeing him scroll on the website.
"(y/n)'s right. Get her Graff. Prove that we're better." Wooyoung chimed in. While the boys were obviously trying to replace the bracelet Hwayeon gave her, she didn't need more branded goods.
"You guys are grown men competing with a kindergartener." You sighed, shaking your head.
"It's not a competition when he never had a chance to begin with." San said.
"I'm hungry, papa. We eat dinner now?" Hwayeon said to Seonghwa.
"Oh, my love. We will go to dinner now. Come on, let's go. Papa will buy you all the hanwoo you want to eat." Seonghwa said, lifting her up into his arms, heading towards the exit.
"Yeah, beat that, Sunghoon." Yunho scoffed. You walked behind the group, lingering at the back.
"No, Hongjoong. We are not homeschooling Hwayeon." You cut him off, seeing him open his mouth to say something to you.
"You really have been misbehaving, aegi. Even more than Hwayeon. Did you forget who you're messing with?" He raised his eyebrows, stopping you and pulling you against him with his arms around your waist. You wrapped your arms around his neck with a playful smirk on your face.
"Looks like you need a reminder. Tonight." Hongjoong leaned in to press his lips against yours.
micha was nearly one year old when her very existence explodes across the internet.
you'd both agreed to wait until then, until your little family was more secure, more comfortable in the new boundaries of life and the balance of an intense career. perhaps one year was too early, but a world tour was upcoming, pushing at the boundaries of Yeosang's mind because he absolutely did not want to go.
"I can't leave you both," he murmured.
"We can't go with you," you had reminded him, voice soft.
yeosang had watched you, cradling his baby girl close, looking all the more ethereal as a mother than he thought it was possible to look. the idea of leaving either of you, to have moments like this happen without him there to see it, made me feel sick.
so he spoke to Hongjoong, who like the leader that he was, spoke to the people who could do something about it.
he'd presented the idea at 'family dinner' as you had once teasingly called it. always in the shared dorm of Hongjoong and seonghwa, whether it was home cooked or take away, these times together had become weekly things. you appreciated more now that micha was around, that she would always be surrounded by love and family.
when hongjoong had brought the high chair a couple of months back, when micha was beginning to sit up and eat by herself, you had cried. Mingi had teased him about being sentimental and then they'd all sat around the disassembled parts, constructing it in the centre of the room like it was the most important thing they had to do that day.
your little family sits inside a slightly bigger family, micha making a mess of the noodles that wooyoung had prepared, completely unaware of the wide eyed expression you are shooting her father.
"tell the world? about cha?" you repeat it slowly, not quite sure if you'd heard it right.
"management agreed," Hongjoong explains carefully, "if you and sang are happy with it, PR will make a press release and the kang family is no longer a secret."
"we said we would, eventually," you mutters.
Yunho smiles at you brightly before his gaze drifts back to micha, affectionately cleaning her messy face despite the fact it wouldn't stay that way for long. "then you'd be able to come with us."
you give yeosang a long look. he flushes, scratches the back of his neck nervously, eyes darting from the ceiling and back again for a moment. then he slumps and offers you a shy smile.
"we'll be gone for so long," he admits, "I don't want - no, I can't go without you both."
it makes you feel warm, loved and terrified in equal measure. "Sangie..."
Of course, the others stepped in to help convince you.
"you'll be in the best hotels, close by to the concert halls," seonghwa assures.
"you'll be able to show cha-cha so many things about the world," Jongho adds.
"we'll look after her with you," wooyoung jumps in, "we'll take turns around schedules."
"I found some cute purple ear defenders," san says. "they have cat ears."
yeosang slips his hand around yours, warm and comforting. "please jagiya," he whispers, "come with us."
it is the honesty, the earnest desperateness that makes you crack. you squeeze Yeosang's fingers back. "okay," you agree, "okay. we'll come."
the room cheers and whoops, excitement feeding your own and squashing your nerves. Micha blinks, startled at her uncles, and then laughs her own happiness to see her favourite people so happy.
the announcement is made two months later. it took longer than you thought to go through the press release, to ensure the best time and media outlet for the first announcement to go through. yeosang did an interview with a smiley presenter and spoke softly about he loved his job but he loves his family too.
he talks about how he met you and how Micha was an absolute darling. he shares a family photo - the three of you pressed in close, cheek to cheek - that ends up plastered across every outlet and instagram when the story drops.
he posts a photo of his sleeping baby girl from a week before, with the caption 'my future is bright'.
the other boys post too, candid shots of micha listening to music in hongjoong's lap or being lifted up high above Mingi's head. Wooyoung posts a photo of her wearing an ateez shirt from their last tour and calls her his 'baby'. jongho posts a photo of her hand holding his and just called her 'his chacha'.
seonghwa shows her cubby cheeks covered in food, san with her sleeping on his sandeoki plushie and yunho puts a photo of micha and yeosang asleep, identical faces pouting as they slumbered.
sometimes you second guess yourself, wondering if this was the right thing for you, for your daughter. whether putting micha out there for the world to see is a selfish wish that would hurt her in the long run. you still aren't sure the best course of action.
but then you see yeosang speaking into the camera on live. he'd set himself up in the living room for his impromptu chat with his fans. he speaks so softly, conveys his excitement for the upcoming tour and that his days have been busy with preparation.
when micha is mentioned, you see the way his expression brightens, his face lighter, his smile softer.
"ah yes, the best thing i've ever made," he admits. "she's too much like me, I think, she's very quiet. but she looks like her mama. very beautiful. you want to see her? ah, wait, let me check -"
he checks with you first, waiting for permission. he'd refuse if you said so but you find yourself agreeing, just this once, just this time.
because there is something so gentle in how he gathers his daughter into his arms. yeosang cradles her close to his chest, turning her so she faces the camera with wide confused eyes, with a small 'ta-dah'.
"she'll turn one next month," he tells the world softly, "I can't believe its been a year since she arrived. I can't imagine my life without her. Mi-ah, say hello. annyeonghaesaeyo."
he holds her hand to help her wave. she blows a spit bubble.
yeosang presses a kiss to her pink cheek and she squeaks her joy, legs straightening, body tense with the big emotion.
he was right, you think. you can't imagine staying in this home just the two of you. you can't imagine micha being away from her dad or her uncles for any long period of time. she'd never been away from them before. she'd never not had the physical love of her family, and - if you had anything to say about - she never would.
a/n: second fic here, i really do like this one but it wasn’t working in my head so i’m really happy i got to finish it!! again please give any feedback or spellchecks if you have any it really does help
tags. reader isn’t present but almost like an entity. like you haunt the narrative- you’ll see. yeosang is very aloof and will try his hardest not to be. honestly yeosang mc. literally entirely fluff unless i don’t proofread my tags, use of y/n since the reader isn’t as present of a character we gotta know who we’re talking about. you are very famous and everyone is a fan of you but yeosang, it’s actually quite humorous. a singular mention of txt.
“Skater y/n l/n scouted for South Korea national team.”
“Next week Korea will welcome foreign born l/n to the ice this winter season for the Korea National team this Winter Olympic!”
“Does infamous skater y/n like K-pop? This and 12 other questions answered Friday night with…”
“Do you even actually watch any of these.” Yunho walks past Yeosang in the living room to the kitchen adjoining it. Yunho’s eyes scan over to the TV his eyes brightening at the glowing screen, now showing an ice skating routine. “Are you watching y/n right now?”
Yeosang looks puzzled at his roommate, only recently figuring out this person’s existence mere minutes ago but like clockwork he is again the last to learn about something. “Who is she?”
“What.” Yunho’s mouth was left slightly agape as he decides to not finish what he was going to do. (I mean is meal prep even that important?) He walks over and brings himself onto the couch next to Yeosang. “She’s one of- if not the most prolific skater of our generation, and she’s even a couple years younger than Jongho and that’s saying something.”
Yeosang’s mouth turns into an “o” to show his surprise. While celebrities exist every day (even he’s one if you’d like to call him that.) someone that has an entire country singing their praises must be amazing. “So they are coming to Korea?”
Once Yunho is satisfied with Yeosang’s new knowledge and understanding he then re-begins his trek for food. “If you thought us or even bigger idols going to the airport is bad just wait and see.” His remark comes as quick as his prepared meal goes into his bag. “I’m gonna get going to practice now. You still going with San later?” Once he hears a small hum of agreement from Yeosang the door closes with a small “Bye!” from Yunho. When Yeosang hears the door click seconds later and begins flipping through the channels again, this time with more purpose than before.
“Is y/n l/n coming to Korea the most anticipated event this year? More later at five.”
-
Yeosang finishes with his laces and raises his head to he hear the tune of a knock on the door. Standing up now, with shoes tied he opens the door to see San with the usual grin he keeps. “Hi Yeosangie, you ready to go to practice?”
The brightness of the smile almost blinds Yeosang as the happiness from his friend is always welcome but it’s almost as if he’s beaming today. “We happy for something?” The door closes behind him as they both enter the elevator at the end of the hall.
“Well I’m always happy to pick you up for practice.” The elevator chimes and San looks over to Yeosang’s flat face. He knows there’s more the answer and San’s brown nosing isn’t going to help. A sigh escapes San’s lips as he’s now left with a sulky pout. “Okay I lied, it’s not just you.”
“I could assume that.”
San takes the remark with stride as he continues. “It was just I was watching this cover, it was so beautiful it moved me to tears.” his hand over his heart in what Yeosang would assume is obviously a facetious expression but he knew San and this was just regular business.
Now Yeosang’s curiosity was peaked, San is very emotionally mature but the way he talks about this cover it seemed he was really changed by the piece. “It moved you to tears? What kind of cover was it?”
“You know that drama I’ve been watching? The one with the runaway scene- it has a part during the climax of the scene where the woman yells I love you and…” Oh it was this type of answer, an answer Yeosang can tune out the middle of it entirely. Yes, he has heard about this infamous drama from San (and Jongho surprisingly as he usually doesn’t talk about the dramas he is currently watching.) so him talking about the entire plot before they even got into the car and until they were already at the building is not something entirely to be surprised about. “So there was a skating cover of it and it got so viral both the actors posted it on their stories-”
San by instinct went to open the door for them but since Yeosang was in front him frozen he was jolted to a halt. San can only presume the prospect of the cover being skating gives the other man pause as it was the only new info that could've stopped him in his tracks. “What? Do you know y/n did the cover too?” San queries, quite surprised Yeosang showed interest but before he could get an answer out someone behind them interjected.
“Are you talking about y/n right now?”
“Wooyoung!” San called out, keeping the door open for him and Yeosang, which they both gladly took. (Yeosang more by force of Wooyoung pushing him through.)
“Why does everyone know who she is?” Yeosang couldn’t be more perplexed. He just learned about the skating scene in Korea mere hours ago but it’s already on his group’s mind and apparently the only thing they can talk about.
"It's honestly not as surprising as you make it out to be. You just haven't been up to date with anything ever." Now for anyone else saying that it would hurt Yeosang but Wooyoung knows him better than that. Also it is an obviously true statement, wether Yeosang likes it or not he really is the last to hear about things. "It's just," Wooyoung speaks up again, but whatever he had to say was cut off by San entering the practice room with a loud yell to signal the rest of the members that they are now here.
"You know we can see you enter right?" Hongjoong, sat at the desk in the room leisurely as they waited for the allotted time for practice. Seonghwa and Mingi sat on the floor, much too interested in their conversation to notice the others enter but Yunho and Jongho walk over to greet the three. Hongjoong sighs, now knowing the practice room won't be quiet again decides to gather them to at least socialize properly before dance practice starts. "Fine be loud, but I don't want any fooling around during practice." his eyes look to Wooyoung who seems to fake offense pretty well.
"Why are you only looking at me? San literally yelled the second he came into the room!"
San's head snaps to Wooyoung with a betrayed look painted all over his face as the two begin to bicker, and with them covering the entrance it gave Yeosang only a small slot of wiggle room to peacefully escape that situation.
Once he walks in it feels like he's a different man, noticing small conversations he would've never particularly pay attention to or even figuring out that all of them somehow include this skater now. It's all any of them can talk about and even peaking at Mingi's phone shows the same. The man on his phone notices another gaze on his screen, he moves to let Yeosang sit next to him. The video shows a celebrity at the airport, but unlike their experiences it feels like everything occurring is happening tenfold. Her face is covered by a jacket hoodie which Yeosang assumes she was gifted by the Olympic team’s sponsor. Though he was never one to notice someone in the limelight he can’t stop trying to glimpse a peak at anything. She was covered head to toe in winter apparel which makes sense since it is reasonable for the weather, but gloves inside? Though he understands the sentiment when the camera zooms out to the crowd. If you told him a city’s population was in the airport he’d believe you, and honestly even if he was curious about what the paparazzi had to ask he wouldn’t even be able to hear it from all the screaming.
“Looks insane right?” Mingi speaks up at the video ends, taking Yeosang out of his thoughts.
“Yeah, did this hype start recently?” Yeosang honestly wishes he didn’t ask. The look Mingi and Seonghwa give him should only be reserved for telling your kids their dog went to live on another farm.
“What do you want recently to mean here?” Mingi asks earning a hit on his back from Seonghwa who gives Yeosang a look of pity.
“We all watched the Preliminaries on New Years together, don’t you remember?”
“I thought we were just watching a movie.”
“We all wore the Olympic colors.”
“I thought you just liked me wearing black.”
“Wooyoung screamed in your ear ‘Let’s go Korea’ when she qualified and didn't stop until San had to physically remove him-”
“Okay that I remember.”
“Yeosang.” Hongjoong, who now entered the conversation stops in. “It’s good you're up to date with the most current events but we’re starting practice now.” Which only gains groans from the previously bickering two who now just began conversing a few seconds ago. They begrudgingly join the rest behind Yeosang, who is now looking not at himself in the mirror but almost through himself. He knows so little about the skater but just like everyone else in Korea he’s now well aware of them.
Days later Yeosang and Jongho find themselves walking to the convenience store under their apartment complex on snack duty for their weekly day off hang-out. Once they entered they stayed close and decided to peruse the aisles leisurely for the items giving Yeosang time to relax after the hectic week of apparently gaining consciousness. Well it would be relaxing if he wasn’t with any one of his members.
“Yeosang you seriously didn’t know anything about the Olympics? I thought I sent you that article.” Jongho teases the already beaten down Yeosang, who hasn't been able to catch a break all week. If he hadn’t noticed the infamous skater or asked those stupid questions he wouldn’t figure out how much everyone (and he means everyone) he knows talks about her. His family group chat or the the barista with her Olympic pin who was way too friendly to give up any information about the athlete. Even then he can’t think of a single person he works with that isn’t whispering about her in their “off time” either. Now Jongho is lowering himself to his members level and joining in on the bullying campaign.
“I did see the article you sent.” Yeosang begins, though Jongho looks at him gathering the drinks from the stores fridge and knows there's more to that statement. “I just didn’t read it, I mean how many people knew this year was the winter Olympics.” Which earns a loud laugh from Jongho, who is now holding the chips.
“That’ll be 34,000 won.” The tired cashier whose eyes are threatening to close with every stopped yawn.
Jongho takes the initiative to pay as Yeosang is now sulking and pouting like a hit puppy. “You mean the Olympics that happen every two years? Half of them being Winter Olympics?” He motions out Yeosang now being the second person this week to lead him around like he forgot how to use his legs.
They got to Yunho and his apartment quite quickly since he wasn't allow to move at his usual snail pace when not wanting to interact. The men crowded the tv not even paying the slightest attention to the two who so graciously got the snacks for the hangout but Jongho is the only one of the them who doesn’t seem to care and joins in. Yeosang at this point knows better than to ask and decide to sit with them and just look at what they all have their attention to. The only seat left was next to Hongjoong which he took and finally puts his gaze to the tv.
“Today on SportsK we have a very special guest, welcome y/l/n y/n!”
The tv transition and for the first time instead of hearing her praises he sees what she looks like and honestly her being the most beautiful person he laid his eyes on is the least appealing thing of the whole preformance. Seeing spins and jumps of the routine were amazing and for once he truly understood the captivating presence of her. Once the b-roll finishes it cuts to her skating over to the edge of the rink and beginning the interview.
“Hello! Thank you for showing us your routine and giving us time for an interview.”
“Ah it really was no trouble. When given the opportunity I really enjoy watching your channel…”
‘oh so that’s what she sounds like.’
Several minutes of just asking anything you could find on an online profile of her somehow has the group enthralled and Wooyoung is the most interested when the question of K-pop comes along. “You think she likes txt? She’d look great skating to thier songs.” he compliments to a hum of agreement from San.
“So the public wants to know, we got your playlist for your workouts and there’s a lot of K-pop. Do you have a favorite group.” At this point you had slipped on you jacket and joined the interviewer on an accompanying bench where your stuff was. You nod to the question a faint blush on your face from the cold is now covered by a warm smile.
“I really love Ateez-”
A cheer can be heard from the least likely person besides Yeosang being the person beside him. Hongjoong bashfully quiets himself only to have started Wooyoung on his normal escapades now talking about Yeonjun owing him money. San finally hushes him and now the eight are watching with batted breath for the next question.
“Well do you have a bias?” The interview queries, you give pause and pick up your duffle to show a small pale beige fluffy dog mascot keychain. The photocard next to it flips to a photo of a young man with mint hair.
“I'm a really big Yeosang fan, a huge Yeodoongie.”
Slowly but surely every single head turns to the man of the hour as he looks at the tv shocked. “You mean to tell me-”
“Wooyoung actually don’t start please.” San tries to calm him but now has Wooyoung in a grip to not jump the poor boy. Once properly calmed the others give Yeosang congrats for being the person on the most talked about athletes mind as of now. He slumps in the chair like he’s lived a hundred years in the past seven days. Someone whose name who couldn't even consider knowing before then is now suddenly all he can think about. Her impact on him in such little time rattles him and honestly hearing her admire him does something to his chest as he feels his heart thumping on his rib cage. The sound of ringing in his ears now silences the group and gives only room to hear the tv again.
“If there’s anything you’d like to say to Yeosang right now what would you say?”
It’s the last question and you turn to face the camera, your hand goes to adjust your hat as you then begin to speak for the last time this interview.
“Yeosang, if you watch this just know I love you.” Your gloved hand goes to your face as you blow a kiss to the screen.
The commercial break begins and the chaos now surrounds Yeosang but for a different reason as they try to wake him up from fainting abruptly, his face exploding with heat.
Summary: Spencer breaks the Magician’s Code for a very adorable exception.
Request: I think it would be so cute if Spencer showed Reader his rocket trick from S2 & how to do it and everyone’s confused bc he refuses to show anyone.
Couple: Spencer/Reader
Category: Fluff
Content Warning: None. It’s cute.
Word Count: 1.8k
MASTERLIST
Life at the BAU was somehow weirder than I’d expected. It wasn’t a bad thing, just a little different than what I’d prepared for. The woman I was replacing probably should’ve been the first sign.
I remembered the first time I walked into her office, noting the extensive number of stuffed animals and bright colors. It felt like I was walking into my old bedroom, not an office for a technical analyst who works for the FBI.
It was… quirky and comforting.
Those were two words that suited most of the goings-on at the office. None more so than the (other) resident genius, who I’d only recently discovered had been in jail a few years prior — not really sure how that happened. Wasn’t going to ask him about it just yet, though. Seemed like one of those close-friend conversations.
But since I needed to talk to him, and I had a tendency to blurt out completely inappropriate things whenever he was around (we call that mirroring), I needed something to talk about.
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