𝓜.𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗒.

it was barely a whisper, half-muffled against his shoulder, but the second it left your lips everything stopped.

lewis froze mid-thrust.

you felt it instantly. the way his cock twitched hard inside you, the sudden stillness of his body, the way his breath caught like you’d punched the air out of him. his grip on your hip tightened, fingers digging in almost painfully, and for one terrifying heartbeat you thought you’d ruined it. 

but then his eyes meet yours.

dark. pupils blown wide, lips parted. he looked stunned but hungry. like something inside him had just snapped awake.

“what did you just call me?” his voice was low, rougher than usual, the kind of tone he only used when he was right on the edge of control.

you swallowed, cheeks burning, suddenly shy despite the fact that he was still buried to the hilt inside you. 

“i'm sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking a little. “i didn’t— i— i don't—”

“no.” the word came out rough. “say it again.”

your breath hitched.

he leaned closer, forehead resting against yours, voice dropping even quieter. “please, sweetie. say it again.”

the plea did something to you. made your stomach flip, made heat pool low again. you bit your lip, hesitant but you couldn't ignore the way he was looking at you. you’d just handed him something he didn’t know he was starving for.

“sir,” you tried again, softer this time, testing it.

he groaned, actually groaned, and dropped his forehead to yours, hips jerking forward once, involuntarily, like he couldn’t help it.

“fuck,” he breathed. “say it again.”

you hesitated for half a second, then curled your fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

“sir,” you said, clearer now, letting the word drip like honey. “please.”

that did it.

lewis made a sound you’d never heard from him before. half growl, half plea, and then he was moving again, harder, deeper, like a switch had flipped. like every thrust was chasing the sound of that word. his grip on your thigh tightened, fingers pressing bruises you’d feel tomorrow.

“fuck. again,” he murmured against your mouth, not quite a demand but close. “keep saying it.”

“sir,” you gasped as he angled just right, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. “sir— fuck. oh, god— please, sir—”

he cursed under his breath, pace picking up, the headboard tapping the wall in a steady rhythm now. “good girl,” he rasped. “just like that.”

every time it left your lips he rewarded you. another deep grind, a kiss that stole your air, his hand slipping between your bodies to circle where you were most sensitive. you were trembling, unraveling, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered.

“sir— please—”

he groaned your name like a prayer, hips snapping harder. “you’re gonna make me come just hearing you say it,” he admitted, voice wrecked. “fuck, sweetie…. keep going.”

and you did. over and over, until the word lost its shape and became nothing but need, until he was shuddering above you, spilling inside with a broken moan, until you followed right after, crying it one last time as your body locked around him.

after, he didn’t pull out right away. he stayed there, breathing hard against your neck, lips brushing your skin in soft, reverent kisses.

“you’re gonna kill me with that one day,” he murmured, voice hoarse and smiling.

you smiled against his shoulder, still flushed. “i didn't know you would like it that much. i've been dying to say it.”

he huffed a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

it was barely a whisper, half-muffled against his shoulder, but the second it left your lips everything stopped.

lewis froze mid-thrust.

you felt it instantly. the way his cock twitched hard inside you, the sudden stillness of his body, the way his breath caught like you’d punched the air out of him. his grip on your hip tightened, fingers digging in almost painfully, and for one terrifying heartbeat you thought you’d ruined it. 

but then his eyes meet yours.

dark. pupils blown wide, lips parted. he looked stunned but hungry. like something inside him had just snapped awake.

“what did you just call me?” his voice was low, rougher than usual, the kind of tone he only used when he was right on the edge of control.

you swallowed, cheeks burning, suddenly shy despite the fact that he was still buried to the hilt inside you. 

“i'm sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking a little. “i didn’t— i— i don't—”

“no.” the word came out rough. “say it again.”

your breath hitched.

he leaned closer, forehead resting against yours, voice dropping even quieter. “please, sweetie. say it again.”

the plea did something to you. made your stomach flip, made heat pool low again. you bit your lip, hesitant but you couldn't ignore the way he was looking at you. you’d just handed him something he didn’t know he was starving for.

“sir,” you tried again, softer this time, testing it.

he groaned, actually groaned, and dropped his forehead to yours, hips jerking forward once, involuntarily, like he couldn’t help it.

“fuck,” he breathed. “say it again.”

you hesitated for half a second, then curled your fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

“sir,” you said, clearer now, letting the word drip like honey. “please.”

that did it.

lewis made a sound you’d never heard from him before. half growl, half plea, and then he was moving again, harder, deeper, like a switch had flipped. like every thrust was chasing the sound of that word. his grip on your thigh tightened, fingers pressing bruises you’d feel tomorrow.

“fuck. again,” he murmured against your mouth, not quite a demand but close. “keep saying it.”

“sir,” you gasped as he angled just right, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. “sir— fuck. oh, god— please, sir—”

he cursed under his breath, pace picking up, the headboard tapping the wall in a steady rhythm now. “good girl,” he rasped. “just like that.”

every time it left your lips he rewarded you. another deep grind, a kiss that stole your air, his hand slipping between your bodies to circle where you were most sensitive. you were trembling, unraveling, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered.

“sir— please—”

he groaned your name like a prayer, hips snapping harder. “you’re gonna make me come just hearing you say it,” he admitted, voice wrecked. “fuck, sweetie…. keep going.”

and you did. over and over, until the word lost its shape and became nothing but need, until he was shuddering above you, spilling inside with a broken moan, until you followed right after, crying it one last time as your body locked around him.

after, he didn’t pull out right away. he stayed there, breathing hard against your neck, lips brushing your skin in soft, reverent kisses.

“you’re gonna kill me with that one day,” he murmured, voice hoarse and smiling.

you smiled against his shoulder, still flushed. “i didn't know you would like it that much. i've been dying to say it.”

he huffed a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

He’d been convinced to go to a club in Monaco by his mates, after the insistent badgering that came after a grueling race weekend when they all needed to blow off steam. The air inside pulsed with bass-heavy beats, strobe lights slicing through the haze of perfume and sweat. Lewis wasn’t in the mood, not really, nursing an alcohol free drink at the bar, his mind still revving from the track. But then, amid the swirl of bodies and laughter, he spotted you before any of his friends did. You moved like liquid fire, your two-piece ensemble clinging to your glowing skin under the neon flashes. The long, skin-tight skirt hugged your hips in a way that made his pulse quicken, accentuating every sway as if daring the world to look away. The bandeau top barely covered anything, a teasing whisper of fabric that left far too much—and yet not enough—to the imagination. He’d seen a lot of beautiful women in his time, models and actresses who turned heads for a living, but there was an instant, visceral reaction to you that he hadn’t felt in years. A pull, magnetic and unrelenting. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. And when you spun, shaking your ass to the music with effortless confidence, Lewis had to clench his jaw, force his gaze to the floor, just to stop the physical reaction stirring in his jeans. God, even now, weeks later, the memory alone had him shifting uncomfortably in his seat, hand twitching toward his waistband before he caught himself. Again.

You’d taken him back to yours that night, and you’d blown his mind in ways he couldn’t shake. He remembered it in flashes. Hot, insistent fragments that haunted him during long flights or quiet hotel nights. The way your nails raked down his back, leaving trails of fire he could still feel phantom echoes of. Your breathy sighs against his ear, turning into demands that made his blood roar. How you arched beneath him, taking control even when he thought he had it, your body moving like it was made for sin, for him. The taste of your skin, salty and sweet under his tongue, and the way you clenched around him, pulling him deeper until he lost himself entirely. It wasn’t just sex; it was a revelation, addictive and raw, leaving him spent and starving for more in the same breath. He’d replayed it a hundred times since, each recollection threatening to unravel his composure, forcing him to grip the edge of the sink or bite back a groan in the shower. It was supposed to be a one night thing. But being wrapped around your finger didn’t come close to how he'd felt when he left. He was ensnared, body and soul.

But you? You didn’t want anything to do with him afterward. You actually woke up, fierce eyes narrowing at him like he’d torched your entire world, and snapped, “What the fuck are you still doing in my bed?” No morning after glow, no lingering softness. You refused to kiss him in the morning, dodging his lean-in with a smirk that was equal parts amusement and dismissal. Lewis had found it hilarious as much as it pissed him off, how you could unravel him so completely one night and treat him like an afterthought the next. He’d offered to take you out for brunch, suggested a drive along the coast in his favorite car, even floated the idea of tickets to the next Grand Prix, front-row access to his world. Fuck, he’d have flown you anywhere if you’d given him half a glance.

But no. You’d shut it all down with cool indifference, like he was just another guy, another fleeting thrill in your unapologetically busy life. He’d practically had to beg for your number in your DMs the same day, sliding in with a charm he rarely deployed so desperately. And even then, your response had been curt, almost bored.

Since then, he’d had limited contact—sporadic texts that you answered when it suited you, leaving him hanging more often than not. You posted all the time, though. Stories that popped up like temptations on his feed: you in barely-there outfits, laughing with friends, or posing with a sultry gaze that made his phone feel too hot in his hand. Always teasing, always sexy, always driving him fucking mad. He’d scroll through them in private moments, jaw tight, fighting the urge to relieve the ache you stirred without even trying. Because to you, the night meant nothing. You were a strong independent woman, owning every room, every night, while he was left obsessing over the scraps he could get from your insta feed.

Tonight, however, you’d posted a story that snapped his restraint like a frayed rope. Skin-tight dress hugging your curves like a second skin, cleavage on full, unapologetic display, hair pulled back in a sleek updo that exposed the elegant line of your neck—the very one he’d been dreaming about running his tongue along again, tasting the pulse that thrummed there. He was done with his pride, done pretending he wasn’t utterly captivated. He didn’t care that you’d left his text on read three days ago, a casual inquiry about your week that hung unanswered like a taunt. He’d sent a reply to your story between the second and third time he’d viewed it, fingers flying over the screen before he could second guess himself.

lewishamilton: Where are you? lewishamilton: I’m back in Monaco. yourusername: i’m out lewishamilton: Let me pick you up later then, beautiful. yourusername: no? i have plans, obviously. that’s why i’m dressed up. lewishamilton: So you are in Monaco then? I can pick you up from wherever your plans are. yourusername: you are relentless lewishamilton: Is that a yes then? yourusername: it's a maybe. depends on how much you're willing to beg. lewishamilton: Beg? For you? I'd do worse. Tell me where, and I'll be there.  yourusername: you're really not getting it. i'm at a bar, living my life. why should i ditch for you? lewishamilton: Because you know it'll be better than whatever's there. Because I've been thinking about that night constantly. yourusername: cute. but flattery's cheap. lewishamilton: Not flattery. Truth. Come on, beautiful. One drink. My place. Or yours. I don't care. Just say yes. yourusername: fine. pick me up from le bar américain in an hour. don't be late, or i'm gone. lewishamilton: I'll be there in 45.

True to his word, Lewis was outside in the back of a blacked-out car, idling like a predator in the shadows of the night. His driver stood sentinel, opening the door with a nod as you approached, ushering you into the plush leather sanctuary of the backseat.

His hand found its way to your thigh the minute you'd settled, a warm, possessive claim that sent a subtle thrill racing up your spine despite yourself. His other hand reached across, fingers brushing yours as he fastened your seatbelt with deliberate care. Such a gentleman, even in his desperation.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes and lifted your head to glance at him. He looked gorgeous, if you were honest with yourself, devastatingly so. Black tailored trousers that hugged his frame just right, a black knitted vest that bared his sculpted arms, ink swirling across his glowing, golden-brown skin. The entire car smelled of him too, an intoxicating blend of oud and amber and something smoky, wrapping around you like an unspoken invitation. He smirked as he caught your eyes flickering over him, the knowing curve of his lips betraying how much he relished your appraisal.

His hand gently squeezed your thigh as he spoke, voice low and laced with a gravelly edge that seemed to pull at something deep inside you. “You leave me on read for days on purpose? Playing your silly little games with me, huh?”

You grinned at him, eyes defiant and sparkling under the dim interior lights. “Look who’s still here anyway. Lewis Hamilton as my Uber driver. Cute.”

“Fucking Uber driver,” he huffed, biting his lip to stop himself from grinning straight back at you, though the amusement danced in his gaze. “I’m not even the one driving.”

“Same difference.”

“I really don’t think it is, sweetie.” He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear, thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin. “But if it gets you in my car, I’ll play along.”

The drive back to his place was swift, the Monaco streets blurring into a neon haze under the cover of night. You asked about his last few weeks and he returned the question, his voice a low rumble over the hum of the engine. All small talk, really, a thin veil over the tension coiling between you. You caught him shifting in his seat more than once, subtle adjustments to conceal the evidence of his arousal, already straining against the confines of his trousers. It made you smirk inwardly.

You stepped into his apartment, the door clicking shut behind you. You barely glanced around at the sleek lines of modern luxury, the floor-to-ceiling windows framing the glittering harbor below—none of it mattered. Not when his eyes were on you like that, hungry and reverent. He dropped to one knee without a word, his fingers deft as they slipped your heels from your feet, the cool air kissing your arches in relief. When he glanced up, meeting your gaze from that knelt position, something electric sparked in the air. His dark eyes held yours, vulnerable yet fierce, and you knew exactly what you wanted from him tonight: surrender, wrapped in that intoxicating obsession of his. You cupped his jaw, your thumb grazing along the coarse line of his beard, feeling the subtle tremor beneath your touch. You could've sworn his eyes glazed over, a haze of submissive desire clouding that sharp focus he prided himself on.

He rose fluidly once your heels were set aside, his hand finding the small of your back in a guiding press that sent warmth blooming through your skin. Leading you toward the kitchen, he murmured, “Do you want anything to drink? I have—”

“I’m not here to drink.”

He froze mid-stride, his eyebrows arching just a little as he absorbed your words, a nod following like an afterthought. “Right, yeah. Of course.”

The air thickened then, a charged silence stretching as you turned to face him fully, your back against the cool marble counter. He stepped closer, crowding your space with his athletic frame, trying to reclaim the upper hand. The dominant pull he wielded so effortlessly in every other arena didn’t work on you, though. His hands braced on either side of you, trapping you in the best way, his breath mingling with yours as he leaned in, lips hovering just out of reach. “You think you can just show up and call the shots, beautiful?” he teased, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He traced a finger down your arm, slow and deliberate, as if testing the waters, asserting control with every inch. “I’ve been waiting for this. For you. Let me show you how it’s done.”

But you weren’t one to yield so easily. Your hand slid up his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heart beneath the knit fabric, and you pushed back just enough to create space, your eyes locking with his in a challenge that made his smirk falter. “Oh, you think you’re in charge here?” you murmured, your voice a silken taunt, fingers trailing lower to brush the waistband of his trousers, grazing the hardness there with featherlight pressure. He sucked in a breath, his grip on the counter tightening. You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “Beg for it first. Show me how bad you want me to let you.”

He held out for barely a second longer, jaw clenched, the dominant instinct warring with the craving you’d ignited. But then his resolve cracked, a low groan escaping him as he pressed his forehead to yours, hands sliding to your hips in a plea rather than a command. “Fuck, you’re killing me,” he admitted, voice rough with need. And just like that, he relented, the fight draining from him in favour of surrender.

You ran your thumb along his bottom lip, flushed and pink, parting it slightly as his eyes searched your face, desperate for the next move.

“You want kisses, baby?”

He nodded, no hesitation now, his pride scattered like confetti on the floor.

“How bad?”

“Really fucking bad, beautiful.” His words came out breathless, and you felt the thrill of victory hum through you as you finally closed the distance, claiming what was already yours.

You kissed him fiercely, all tongue and teeth, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. His hands were everywhere at once—groping, squeezing, mapping every curve like he was committing you to memory all over again. He moaned into your mouth like a man starved, deep and guttural, his hips pressing up against you in soft, slow movements that dragged even more desperate sounds from his throat. He was grinding against you like a teenager, his hard length straining through his trousers, seeking friction with a need that bordered on pathetic. And you loved it, the way you could reduce him to this—Lewis Hamilton, the seven-time world champion, reduced to whimpers and pleas just for you.

“Bedroom.”

Lewis nodded without breaking the kiss, his breath ragged as he pulled you back with him toward the dimly lit space, navigating the hallway on instinct alone, your bodies bumping against walls in their haste.

“Take this off.”

His hands flew to the hem of his knitted vest, yanking it over his head in one fluid motion, revealing the taut planes of his chest, intricate tattoos winding over sweat-slicked skin. He stood there for a second, chest heaving, eyes devouring you like you were a goddess descended. Then his fingers were on you, reverent and frantic, peeling away your dress with trembling care. “Fuck, beautiful,” he murmured, voice thick with awe as the fabric pooled at your feet. “You’re perfect—been thinking about you every day since last time. Every fucking night, replaying it all, your skin, your taste... can’t get you out of my head.” He dropped to his knees again, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your thighs, your hips, working your panties down with a worshipful slowness. His free hand wrapped around his length, stroking himself a few times through his trousers, a low groan escaping as he did, like even that brief relief was torture without you around him. “You drive me insane, you know? So fucking obsessed with you...”

He rose, guiding you to the bed with that same possessive hand on your back, but once you were sprawled beneath him, his control frayed. He groaned loud and raw when his fingers found you soaked, sliding through your folds with a reverence that made your breath hitch. His mouth latched onto your nipple, tongue swirling, teasing, as he murmured against your skin like he was the one getting pleasured. “Ohhhh my god—” The words dissolved into a hiss as he curled his fingers inside you, deliberate and deep, hooking just right to pull a gasp from your lips. He worked you like that for what felt like eternity, his thumb circling your clit, eyes locked on your face to drink in every reaction, every flutter.

But you could feel his impatience mirroring your own, the way his free hand fumbled with his belt, shedding his trousers and boxers in a hurried tangle at the foot of the bed, his length springing free—thick, veined, and already weeping at the tip. He kicked them aside without a second glance, too consumed by you to care.

You let him take the lead at first, surrendering to missionary with him above you, his body a solid weight pressing you into the mattress. He looked so pretty when you were looking up at him. He thrust slow and deep, trying to assert the dominance he craved, his hands pinning your wrists lightly, lips brushing your ear with whispered praises. “That’s it, beautiful, feel how hard I am for you?... take me...good girl.” But even then, it was futile control slipping through his fingers like sand, his rhythm faltering whenever you clenched around him, drawing out needy whimpers that only fuelled your fire.

The shift came seamlessly, you pushing him onto his back and straddling him, sinking down with a roll of your hips that made his eyes roll back. “Feels so fucking good, baby,” he gasped, hands gripping your thighs hard enough to bruise, his voice breaking on the words as you set the pace, riding him with unhurried confidence that left his abs tensing beneath you. You took your time, grinding down in languid circles, feeling him throb inside you, his breaths coming faster, more erratic. He was losing it already, obsession shining in his gaze as he watched you move, utterly captivated. But you wanted more, wanted to push him further, to mark this moment with the kind of raw dominance that would linger in his memories. To remind him why he craved you so badly, why he couldn't stay away.

“Open.”

“Wha—”

You tightened your grip on his jaw, not enough to hurt, but enough to silence him mid-word, your fingers digging into the sharp line of his beard. “Open your mouth, Lewis.”

Between the way your breasts bounced in his face, the obscene wet sounds of you clenching around him, filling the room like a filthy symphony, Lewis could do nothing but obey. His braids splayed across the pillow, darkened brown eyes wide and dazed with pleasure, pupils blown as he parted his lips, tongue peeking out in anticipation.

You leaned down, letting your spit fall from your mouth into his, a slow, deliberate drop that landed with precision. It was a filthy claim, an intimate power play that stripped away any last pretense of his control, making him surrender fully to you in an instant. You’d never heard a man make a sound like he did then…a choked, desperate whine that vibrated through his chest, his hips bucking up involuntarily, as if the act alone was enough to send him hurtling over the edge.

“Jesus fuck— I’m gonna come…”

You froze your movements, stilling completely atop him, watching the frustration twist his features. “No you’re not, baby.”

He choked on a moan, eyes clamping shut as he fought it off, body trembling beneath you. “Uh huh… no–no I'm not.” His voice was wrecked, pleading, every muscle taut with the effort of holding back.

You started slowly again, easing into the rhythm with deliberate rolls of your hips, drawing out a low, guttural moan from deep in his chest. Your hand cupped his cheek, thumb soothing just under his eye, tracing the faint dampness there from his earlier strain. “That’s it… you hold off till I tell you to, don’t you? Doing so good for me, Lewis.”

He nodded, his breath hitching as another moan escaped him, raw and unrestrained. “Yes, gorgeous—fuck, yes. I’ll wait for you to tell me when to come. You feel so fucking good, squeezing around me like that... please, don’t stop.”

You smiled, a wicked curve of your lips, and leaned down to kiss him, your mouths crashing together in a messy tangle of tongues and shared breaths. He kissed back with desperation, his hands roaming up your back, fingers digging in as if anchoring himself to you. A soft whimper vibrated from your throat into his mouth, the pleasure building in your core with each grind, your own arousal slick and insistent. “Mmm, you taste so good baby,” you murmured against his lips, pulling back just enough to watch his face contort in bliss.

But you weren’t done toying with him. Not yet. With a fluid grace, you shifted positions, turning away from him as he propped himself up against the headboard, his legs spreading wide in silent invitation, his chest rising and falling with anticipation. You faced away, hooking your legs under his thighs for perfect leverage, leaning forward just enough to arch your back and give him the view he craved—the hypnotic bounce of your ass as you sank down onto him again, taking him deep. Your bodies locked together in a tangle that let you control every descent, every grind, the angle hitting just right to make him hit the best spot every single time.

Lewis groaned loud and long, his hands immediately finding your hips, thumbs pressing into the dimples at the base of your spine. “Oh god, beautiful—look at you... that ass, fuck, it’s perfect. Been dreaming about this view, about feeling you like this again.” His eyes flickered from the real-life spectacle to the mirror opposite his bed, where he could drink in all of you: your breasts glistening with sweat, the flush creeping over your skin, the fierce concentration in your eyes as you rode him, your own moans spilling out unrestrained. “You’re so wet, so fucking tight... driving me crazy. Please, keep going—feels too good, baby.”

You edged him relentlessly, building the pace with teasing undulations, only to slow or still at the brink, pulling back just as his moans turned frantic. His breaths came in ragged gasps, body slick with sweat, every muscle trembling under your command. “Please, beautiful—fuck, I need it so bad,” he begged, voice cracking, his hands clutching at your hips in desperation, nails biting into your skin. “You’re... so fucking good, I can’t—ahh, yes, just like that.” Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, not quite falling, but hovering there as the pleasure bordered on exquisite pain, his obsession laid bare in every whimper, every praise. “You’re everything, baby—ruining me, and I love it. Don’t know how I survived without this... without you.” He was babbling now and it was driving you insane.

Your own pleasure mounted with each denial you gave him, a coil tightening low in your belly, your moans mingling with his. “Lewis... you feel so good stretching me out. Keep talking like that—it’s so hot, baby.” You glanced at the mirror, catching his reflection behind you, the way his gaze worshiped you, and it sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

One more denial, his head thrown back against the headboard with a broken plea—“God, please, I’ll do anything—let me come, beautiful, need to fill you up”—and then you gave in, riding harder, faster, the room filling with the slap of skin and your shared gasps. You chased your own release as much as his, grinding down with abandon, your moans turning to keening cries. “Yes, Lewis—right there, fuck, you’re so deep... gonna come all over this dick.” You both shattered at the same time, his deep groan melting with your shattered cry, bodies locked in a final, shuddering wave. He spilled inside you with a reverence that felt almost holy, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close as the aftershocks rippled through, moans fading to contented sighs. “So perfect... my beautiful girl,” he whispered, nuzzling into your back, his obsession only deepening in the quiet that followed. 

He caught his breath slowly, peppering kisses along your shoulders. The discipline he’d spent his whole life mastering was gone, shattered somewhere between your thighs and the way you’d made him beg. He knew he’d never be the same again. He was undone, and already craving more.

tags: @70srogertaylor @forzalewis44xo @mikaissance @saintslewis @liveloungeharry @knowinglewis @thegirlinblackgreensilver @palefacestudentlove @nebulastar @rem455 @vintagesoul-01 @sw33t-cupid

Li Li ❤️: Hi baby, I miss you already how’s work xxx You: Wow Liyah, you learned how to type and spell really quickly!!! Li Li ❤️: I told you I was putting my phone away. I am a man of my word. You: Lewis stop texting me off my daughter’s iPad and get your phone you silly man xx Li Li ❤️: First of all, this is OUR daughter’s iPad. Li Li ❤️: Second of all, you are distracting me from my commitment to being fully present. You: Lewis. Li Li ❤️: Fine. Thanks to you Aaliyah can now read that mommy thinks daddy is stupid. You: I did not say stupid, I called you silly 😭 Li Li ❤️: I’m joking. I don’t think she can read that yet anyway. Li Li ❤️: Pretty sure she can spell Daddy though. Li Li ❤️: Can I call you? I miss you. xxx

Lewis was endlessly grateful for you. You followed him to races when you could and shaped your own career so it could mostly be done remotely. You were an architect, a good one, the kind clients trusted with entire buildings and reputations. When you gave birth to Aaliyah it helped even more, because no matter where Lewis was in the world, she always had you steady and present. He carried guilt for the moments he missed, for the firsts he only saw through a screen, but you never let it grow. You never once made him feel like he was failing.

Summer break was when you locked in. It had been an agreement long before Aaliyah, before the wedding, before the rings and the house and the shared surname. Four weeks where you focused fully on your career. You timed your biggest projects so that construction phases, client presentations and site sign offs landed within that window, meaning you could give them your undivided attention while Lewis took over at home.

Daddy duty was Lewis’s favourite job title. Driving came second the minute his baby girl, Li Li as he affectionately called her, was born. If he was away he was on FaceTime constantly. Walking through the paddock, he had his phone angled low so he could see her toothy grin smiling back at him. The second he stepped into his driver’s room and had a spare moment, he was calling. Every mealtime she had, he was there on the screen unless he was physically strapped into the cockpit of his car.

“Watcha got, Liyah?” he would beam, watching you gently gather her curls back so they wouldn’t fall into her plate.

“Mama made me ‘paghetti,” she would giggle, waving her fork dangerously close to your phone so he could see.

His eyes would crinkle with adoration. “Oh wow, Li Li. Mama’s spoiling you, huh? You gonna eat it all up for Mommy, yeah?”

“Yes Daddy. Eat it all,” she would declare proudly.

He stayed on the call while you both ate, chatting about nothing and everything. He told you he loved you. Told her he loved her. Told you both he missed you at least a dozen times each call, and somehow meant it more every single time. When he finally came home he insisted on tucking Aaliyah into bed despite the jet lag. Most nights you would find him fast asleep in her tiny single bed, folded around her protectively, her little princess night light still glowing pink above them.

This morning, though, was different from normal.

It was your first day back in the office in months. You had been remotely leading the design of a new workspace development in London, months of concept design, planning applications, client revisions, structural coordination and endless video calls. Today was your first on site coordination meeting with the contractors and consultants. You were up at five, showered, dressed, packing your bag with drawings and your laptop while Lewis lay on his front, starfished across the bed like he had no responsibilities in the world.

“Hey,” you whispered, rubbing slow circles over his bare back.

He hummed and cracked one eye open. “Hi, baby.”

“I’ve got to leave in twenty. Liyah normally wakes up about six thirty.”

“I know. I set an alarm so I’d be up before her, sweetie,” he murmured, already reaching for your hand so he could press a sleepy kiss to your knuckles.

You studied him for a second. He never complained. Never hesitated. No matter how late he had been up the night before, no matter how heavy the travel or training sat in his bones, if it involved you or Aaliyah he was up.

You smiled softly, eyes adoring. “Okay, good.”

“You don’t have to worry. Go do your thing. Daddy daycare is back in business, yeah?” he grinned, pushing himself up so the sheets pooled low around his waist.

You laughed quietly and leaned down to kiss him. He hummed into your mouth, warm and lazy. “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet, love.”

“Don’t care. Have a good day. Text me if you need me, okay?” you smiled, stealing one more kiss before stepping back into the morning rush.

He watched you leave, propped up against the headboard, eyes soft. He felt it every time you walked out the door like that, focused and capable and brilliant. Fiercely proud. So in love it made his chest ache. He lay back on your pillow after you were gone, breathing in your shampoo, smiling to himself like a man who could not believe you were his.

Lewis eventually dragged himself out of bed, lingering on your side for a little too long before showering and dressing. He was brushing his teeth when he heard it. A small, sleepy voice from down the hall.

“Mama?”

He froze for half a second, toothbrush still in his mouth, then opened the bathroom door.

Aaliyah stood there in the hallway, curls flattened on one side, one tiny hand pressed against your bedroom door like she was debating whether to push it open. Her pyjamas were twisted, eyes still heavy with sleep.

When she spotted him her whole face woke up.

“Daddy!” Her voice lit up as she waddled toward him as fast as her little legs would allow, arms already stretching out. He quickly spat toothpaste into the sink before she reached him.

“Good morning, Liyah,” he laughed softly, scooping her up in one arm. She tucked herself into his chest immediately, cheek pressed to his shoulder, warm and trusting and so unbelievably gentle it undid him every time.

“You remember Mommy’s at work this week, yeah?” he said quietly, rubbing a hand up and down her back. “So it’s just you and Daddy until she gets home later.”

“I forgot,” she mumbled a little sadly into his skin, thumb creeping toward her mouth before she stopped herself. You had been working on that. He felt a rush of pride at her stopping it all by herself. It was a comfort thing, she did it most when Lewis was away, or in this case, when she was already missing you. He kissed her hair. “That’s okay. We all forget things, baby. Mama will be back tonight.”

Aaliyah had always been soft like you. Even at three she felt things deeply. If someone on a cartoon cried, she cried. If he looked tired, she noticed. She would pat his cheek and say, “You okay, Daddy?” in her tiny serious voice that made him feel both seen and completely overwhelmed with love. He carried her into the kitchen like she was something precious.

“Alright,” he said, setting her on the counter. “What are we thinking for breakfast?”

“Pancakes,” she answered instantly, as if there had ever been another option.

“Obviously,” he agreed excitedly.

He cooked while she narrated absolutely everything he did. When he handed her the first one shaped vaguely like a heart she gasped like he had performed a magic trick.

Between bites, he planned their day out loud.

“We can go to the park. We can watch Moana. We can maybe get ice cream if Daddy feels generous…”

“Moana! Moana!” she squealed, bouncing in her seat.

“Yeah?” he chuckled, eyebrows raising at her dramatic excitement.

“Park and Moana with Daddy!”

“Best day ever then,” he decided with a grin.

After breakfast he helped her brush her teeth, guiding her small hand with the toothbrush when she got distracted halfway through by her own reflection.

Then it was outfit time.

“It’s a bit cold out, baby. You like the yellow cardigan?” he asked, holding it up.

Aaliyah furrowed her eyebrows like he had just presented her with a life altering decision. “Does Daddy like it?”

His chest tightened, she always seeked his approval like that.

“I like it, yeah,” he smiled.

“Okay then.”

That was it. If Daddy liked it, it was settled.

They moved to the bathroom counter and he lifted her up to sit in front of the mirror. He dampened her curls slightly and warmed a small amount of curl cream between his hands, just like you had shown him.

“Okay, Liyah. Head up for Daddy.”

She tilted her chin obediently, smiling at him through the mirror.

He worked slowly, carefully separating her curls with patient fingers. He was still learning how to braid her little curls. You were better at it, faster, neater. But he treated her hair like something sacred. Gentle hands. No tugging. Constant quiet commentary.

“Tell me if I’m pulling, yeah?”

“You not,” she said proudly.

When he finished, he leaned down so their faces were level in the mirror and gently tilted her chin toward her reflection.

“Who’s that?”

She grinned. “Me.”

“And who are you?”

“I’m Aaliyah.”

“And what are you?”

“I’m kind!”

Lewis nodded, proud that kind was always the thing he said first. “What else?”

“I’m brave… and I’m gentle in a good way.”

“That’s right, Li Li. And what can you do?”

“Anything I put my mind to!”

Lewis’s smile softened in a way that always felt a little helpless, like she had just handed him his own heart and trusted him not to drop it. He leaned down and kissed her temple, lingering there, breathing her in.

“That’s right, baby. And what do you always have to remember?”

She looked at herself in the mirror, small hands planted on the counter, braids bouncing slightly as she straightened her shoulders.

“Mommy and Daddy love me so, so much.”

He nodded slowly, eyes warmer than he could ever expeess. “More than anything in the whole world.”

Aaliyah turned then and pressed a messy, enthusiastic kiss to his cheek. It landed half on his jaw, half near his ear, but he reacted like she had just given him the greatest gift imaginable.

“You know what else you have to remember, Liyah?” he whispered, lowering his voice like he was about to reveal a state secret.

Her eyes widened immediately. “What, Daddy?”

He leaned closer, brushing his nose against her cheek.

“That you,” he paused dramatically, “are the prettiest girl in the whole world.”

He scooped her up and spun her around, her giggles filling the bathroom, high and bright and completely unfiltered.

“Prettier than Mommy?” she asked suddenly, very serious now, tiny hands gripping his shoulders as he set her back down.

Lewis stilled, trying to figure out the best answer to that question.

He bent down a little so they were eye level, his tone gentle but certain. “Mommy is the prettiest woman in the whole world. And you are the prettiest girl in the whole world.”

She considered that carefully, brows furrowing in deep thought.

“So we both win?”

He laughed softly. “Yeah, baby. You both win.”

Satisfied, she wrapped her arms around his neck again, resting her head against him like that settled it. Lewis, holding his soft, sweet, emotionally intelligent little girl, thought that he was the luckiest man in the universe to have them both. 

She ran him round to exhaustion at the park. Swings, then the slide, then straight back to the swings again. A very serious game of tag where she insisted on making up new rules every thirty seconds. Pretending to be fairies. Then princesses. Then fairy princesses. At one point she demanded to climb a tree and looked personally offended when he told her she was three.

It was a long, long afternoon. But a great one.

By the time he bundled her back into the car, sticky with melted ice cream and armed with what felt like an entire packet of baby wipes, she was fading fast. Her curls were frizzy from running around, her cardigan grass stained at the elbows, cheeks pink from the sun and exertion.

Overtired. Dangerously overtired.

“Moana,” she demanded the second they stepped through the front door, little eyebrows knitting together like this was a contractual obligation.

“I know, I know,” he chuckled, kicking the door shut behind them. “But we gotta get you into some comfy clothes first, yeah? You’re all muddy, Li Li.”

Her bottom lip pushed out immediately. It trembled. The warning sign. He recognised it too late.

“Oh,” he said slowly, already smiling because he knew what was coming, “I think somebody needs an N-A-P.”

Her eyes narrowed at him, she was too smart for her own good.

He held his arms out anyway. “C’mere.”

She allowed herself to be scooped up, but dramatically. He lifted her against his chest and she folded into him, head tucking into the curve of his shoulder like she had been personally wronged by the world.

He rubbed slow circles over her back. “Okay. How about this? We have a lollipop. Then we get you changed. Then we watch Moana.”

There was a long pause.

“…Okay,” she muttered into his shirt.

He handed her the lollipop once they were in the kitchen and turned for half a second to grab her water bottle. That was his mistake. He heard it before he saw it. The small, deliberate clatter of something hitting tile. Lewis turned slowly. The lollipop lay on the floor. Aaliyah’s face was scrunched, arms crossed tightly over her chest, eyes glossy but defiant.

It took everything in him not to laugh.

He pressed his lips together and crouched down to her level instead. “Did you drop your lollipop?”

Silence. She continued to strop, refusing to look at him.

He kept his voice calm, gentle but firm. “Did you drop it on purpose, Li Li?”

A tiny sniffle was her only response.

He tilted his head slightly, trying to catch her eye. “Hey. Talk to Daddy.”

Her chin wobbled. “It’s not fair.”

Ah. There it was.

“What’s not fair, baby?”

“You said Moana,” she whispered, like he had betrayed her.

His heart squeezed. She felt everything so deeply, even something as small as a five minute delay.

“I did say Moana,” he nodded. “And we are gonna watch Moana. But first we get clean and comfy. That’s not Daddy being mean. That’s Daddy taking care of you.”

Her eyes flicked to the fallen lollipop.

He followed her gaze. “Now,” he said softly, “we don’t throw things when we’re upset, yeah?”

Another sniff in response. Smaller this time.

“You can tell me you’re feeling angry with Daddy. You can tell me you’re tired. But we don’t waste perfectly good lollipops.”

That got the tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth as she nodded.

He opened his arms again. “Come on, Liyah. Let me give you a cuddle, Daddy doesn’t like seeing you upset.”

She stepped into them this time without protest, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I’m tired,” she admitted quietly.

“I know,” he murmured into her hair. “Big day at the park. You ran Daddy into the ground.”

A small giggle escaped her despite herself.

He kissed her temple. “We’ll get you changed. Then we’ll cuddle on the sofa and watch Moana. Deal?”

“…Deal.”

As he carried her upstairs, mud, tears and all, he thought again that nothing in the world felt more important than getting this right.

By the time you walked through the door at six thirty, your head was pounding, your shoulders tight from hours hunched over drawings and site plans, and all you could think about was your bed.

You barely had time to close the door before you heard them. Music drifting from the kitchen. Aaliyah’s high giggles. The steady clatter of pans. Home.

You stepped into the kitchen and Aaliyah spotted you first.

“Mommy!”

She launched herself at you at full speed, nearly colliding with your knees. You dropped your bag just in time to catch her, crouching to wrap your arms around her small frame.

“Hi, my angel,” you breathed, pressing your lips into her curls. She smelled like sunshine and syrup and outside.

“I went park! And ice cream! And I ran so fast!” she rushed out, words tumbling over each other.

“I can tell,” you smiled tiredly, kissing her cheek. “You look like you had the best day.”

From the stove, Lewis turned at the sound of your voice. His entire expression changed.

He took you in in one glance. The slight slump in your posture. The faint crease between your brows. The way you were smiling for Aaliyah but your eyes were tired. He turned the heat down immediately and crossed the kitchen.

“Hey,” he said softly, like he was approaching something delicate.

You barely had time to stand before he was in front of you. One hand came to your waist, the other cupped the side of your face. He kissed your forehead first. Slow and intentional, grounding you back into your home.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your skin.

You exhaled without meaning to.

“You look beautiful,” he added quietly, thumb brushing beneath your eye. “Long day?”

You nodded. “Really long.”

His expression softened even more, if that was possible. “Go take a minute. I’ve got everything here.”

Aaliyah tightened her grip around your leg. “Mommy come watch Moana?”

Lewis glanced down gently. “Baby, give Mommy some space, okay?” he called softly as Aaliyah tried to follow you toward the bathroom. She had clearly missed you, that much was obvious.

Aaliyah stopped mid step and turned back to him, a small furrow between her brows. “Okay… I just wanted to ask a question.”

Lewis crouched to her level, smile warm and patient. “I know you did. And she wants to hear it. But let’s give her a moment first, yeah?”

Her bottom lip poked out slightly.

He brushed a curl off her cheek, trying his best to explain. “You know how sometimes you go to your room and you don’t want to be bothered? And we give you your space?”

“Uh huhhh,” she nodded slowly.

“I think everybody needs that sometimes. Even Mommy. Especially after a big work day. What do you think?”

She considered that very seriously. You could almost see the empathy working its way through her.

Aaliyah gives him another nod. “Okay.” Her eyes flicker to you as if to check you’re okay, you reach for her little hand. 

“That’s my girl,” he said gently, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

You squeezed her hand before slipping into the bathroom, catching Lewis’s eye for half a second. You tried to convey your love, gratitude, exhaustion, all in one look and little smile. He was so perfect in moments like this. 

He picked Aaliyah up and set her on the counter beside him while he stirred whatever smelled delicious on the stove.

“She’s tired,” he said quietly, mostly to himself.

“Mommy tired?” Aaliyah asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “But we’re gonna take care of her, aren’t we?”

Aaliyah’s chest puffed out a little. “Yes.”

He handed her a wooden spoon to “help” stir and kept one arm loosely around her middle so she wouldn’t tip forward.

After a few minutes she wriggled down to colour at the table, humming to herself. Lewis watched her for a second, then glanced toward the hallway where you had disappeared. He was always torn in moments like this. Between finishing dinner perfectly. Between making sure Aaliyah felt seen. Between going to check on you. 

“Li Li,” he called gently, “you don’t wanna help Daddy anymore?”

“No!” she shouted back without even looking up.

He snorted a quiet laugh. “Fair enough.”

“I’m very busy right now, Daddy, sorry!” she added, deeply serious.

“No worries, baby!” he grinned, shaking his head.

She was so grown up. So soft, so yours. 

He carried on making dinner, giving you the space you clearly needed, though his eyes kept drifting to Aaliyah at the table, tongue poking out slightly as she concentrated on colouring inside the lines.

About ten minutes passed. The house had settled into that soft early evening rhythm, music low in the background, the smell of garlic and onions filling the kitchen.

“Fridge needs reorganising,” Lewis hummed absently as he opened it, shifting a carton of milk to reach for something at the back.

“I can do it,” you said automatically, appearing from the hallway.

He glanced over his shoulder just in time for you to wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing a kiss to his shoulder through his T-shirt.

He smiled instantly, one hand coming back to squeeze your wrist. “No, baby. Give yourself a breather. It doesn’t need to be done tonight, does it?”

“You’re right, I guess.” You rested your cheek between his shoulder blades. “I just like being busy, you know that.”

He turned in your arms then, hands settling at your waist. His expression softened, thumb brushing lightly over your hip.

“You don’t need to be busy all the time,” he said gently. “Go upstairs. Get changed. Take an hour to yourself. I’ve got Li Li. I can shout you when dinner’s done, my love.”

You hesitated, opening your mouth to argue but he pecked your lips to keep you quiet.

“You’ve had a long day, beautiful,” he added quietly. “You’ve got enough going on without reorganising the bloody fridge as well.”

He leaned down and kissed you properly this time, slow and reassuring, his hand slipping down to give your hip a playful squeeze that made you laugh softly against his mouth.

“Told you,” he murmured, forehead resting briefly against yours. “I’ve got everything under control, sweetie. Go decompress for me, yeah?”

You studied him for a second, the steadiness in his eyes, the way he meant every word.

“Okay,” you smiled, kissing him once more before heading upstairs.

He watched you go until you disappeared from sight.

Then he turned back to the stove, adjusting the heat, stirring the sauce, checking the oven. He grabbed plates from the cupboard one handed while keeping an ear out for Aaliyah. He wiped down the counter. Put the stray crayons back into their tin. Checked the fridge again and decided it could absolutely wait.

“Moana again?” he called over to the table.

“Yes!” she chirped.

He laughed and put it back on for the second time that day, balancing the remote in one hand while flipping something in the pan with the other. He moved through the kitchen with easy competence, used to multitasking, used to being needed in three directions at once.

“Liyah, where you going, baby?”

He glanced up just in time to see her halfway onto the first stair, moving quietly like she thought she was being subtle. She froze instantly, one foot lifted mid step, eyes wide.

He folded his arms, pretending to be suspicious. “I think you’re trying to go upstairs to Mommy.”

She blinked at him.

“But,” he continued dramatically, tilting his head, “I want you here with me.”

Her attention shifted immediately. “Why?”

“Because,” he said, crouching down slightly, “I like my best helper. And my best helper is trying to escape to Mommy when I need her most.”

That worked. She giggled and scampered back toward him.

He caught her around the waist and pulled her in close, cupping her little face in his hands, voice going exaggeratedly high just to make her laugh.

“Yeah? You staying with me because you love me? You love Daddy lots?”

“Yes!” she squealed, wriggling in his grip. “Love Daddy lots!”

“How much is lots?” he demanded.

She stretched her arms out as far as they would go. “This much!”

He pretended to stagger back from the force of it. “Whoa. That’s a lot of love.”

Then, softer, he pulled her against his chest and kissed the top of her head.

“I love you more than all the pasta in this kitchen,” he murmured.

She gasped. “That’s so many.”

“Exactly.”

You ate dinner together at the table, Aaliyah wedged proudly between you both like she was the centre of the universe, which to Lewis she absolutely was.

She told you about the park three separate times, each version more dramatic than the last. Demonstrated how fast she ran. Explained in great detail how Daddy almost lost at tag.

“I did not almost lose,” Lewis protested mildly, reaching across you to steal a piece of your garlic bread.

“You did,” Aaliyah insisted, completely confident. “I’m speedy like daddy.”

You laughed for the first time all day, properly laughed, and Lewis felt the tension leave your shoulders just a little more.

After dinner the three of you moved through the bedtime routine together. Pyjamas. Teeth. One more story than necessary. Aaliyah insisted you both read a page. Lewis did the voices. You stroked her curls back from her forehead.

When he tucked her in, she grabbed both of your hands.

“Best day ever,” she mumbled sleepily.

Lewis leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Good. That was the plan.”

You brushed your thumb over her cheek. “Sleep tight, angel.”

She was asleep within minutes.

Back downstairs, Lewis gently pointed you toward the sofa.

“Sit,” he instructed lightly.

“I can help,” you tried.

“You absolutely cannot,” he replied, already gathering plates. “Doctor’s orders. Sofa. Blanket. No arguments.”

You rolled your eyes but obeyed, curling up under the throw. He moved around the kitchen quietly, rinsing plates, loading the dishwasher, wiping counters, packing away leftovers. Every so often he glanced toward the living room.

You were still upright. Then you weren’t.

By the time he finished and walked in, you were asleep. Head lolled slightly to the side, blanket tucked beneath your chin, one hand still loosely curled like you had meant to stay awake. His heart did the familiar, overwhelming surge it did whenever he saw you looking so peaceful.

He crouched in front of you first, brushing his knuckles softly along your cheek. “Baby,” he whispered, though he didn’t try very hard to wake you.

You stirred faintly but didn’t open your eyes. He slid one arm behind your back, the other beneath your knees, and lifted you carefully. You barely reacted, instinctively settling against his chest, trusting him completely even half asleep.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured.

He carried you upstairs slowly, mindful of every step. In the bathroom he set you gently on the counter and kept one hand steady at your waist so you wouldn’t fall off.

“Teeth,” he whispered softly.

You blinked awake just enough to cooperate, leaning into him while he handed you your toothbrush. He brushed your hair back from your face while you cleaned your teeth, smiling faintly at how compliant you were in your exhaustion.

He wiped your face with a warm cloth, gentle as he had been with Aaliyah earlier. Cleanser. Serums. Moisturiser. The small ritual you usually did yourself. He paid attention when you talked about it, and remembered the order.

“You’re doing too much,” you murmured sleepily.

“I like doing too much for you,” he replied quietly.

He kissed your forehead gently, then your nose and lips.

“You worked hard today,” he said softly. “Big adjustment from doing it remotely, babe. I’m proud of you.”

You hummed in response, leaning into his chest again.

He helped you change, guided you toward bed, pulled the duvet back and eased you down onto the pillows. You curled onto your side immediately.

He stood there for a moment just looking at you. He loved helping you like this. Loved that you let him. Loved that in a world where he was constantly in control, constantly expected to perform and win and lead, this was something simple and steady. Taking care of you. Taking care of the family you had built together.

He climbed in beside you and pulled you close. Even half asleep, you shifted toward him.

The rest of your work week spiralled. Site delays. Client changes. Late coordination calls that should have been emails. Each night you walked through the door a little later than the one before, heels in your hand, apology already sitting on your tongue.

Some nights you made it just in time for the end of Aaliyah’s bedtime story. Some nights you missed it entirely.

Lewis never let you see the disappointment on his face, because there wasn’t any. Only concern. Only the quiet calculation of how to make this easier for you.

He filled the days with little adventures so Aaliyah wouldn’t feel the shift too sharply. Library trips. A very serious baking attempt that left flour in places flour should never be. A picnic in the living room when it rained. He sent you pictures constantly.

Aaliyah holding up a lopsided cupcake.  Aaliyah asleep in the car, mouth open. Aaliyah whispering, “Send this to Mommy.”

When you came home late and exhausted, he would already have her bathed, lotioned, curls wrapped neatly for bed. She was asleep, most of the time. You would slip into her room quietly, kneeling beside her bed just to watch her chest rise and fall. To smooth your hand over her hair.

Lewis would stand behind you, hands resting on your shoulders, thumbs moving slowly in calming circles.

“She asked about you,” he would whisper. “Told her Mommy’s building something important.”

Guilt would flicker across your face and he would catch it instantly.

“She knows Mommy’s working hard,” he murmured one night, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head. “Just like she knows I work hard when I’m away.”

You swallowed, the guilt still there, she was so used to you being the constant presence with how often Lewis was away.

“She’s okay, baby,” he promised gently. “I promise.”

And he meant it. Because during the day, when Aaliyah would pause mid colouring and ask, “Mommy at work?”

He would kneel in front of her.

“Yeah. Mommy’s being amazing.”

Aaliyah would nod very seriously. “We be quiet when she comes home.”

“Yeah,” he’d smile. “We take care of her.”

So when you finally collapsed onto the sofa one evening, eyes glassy and shoulders tight, Aaliyah climbed up beside you without a word. She pressed her small hand to your cheek the way she had seen Lewis do.

“You tired?” she asked softly.

You nodded, throat tight.

“It’s okay,” she said, with all the certainty in the world. “Daddy say you working hard.”

Across the room, Lewis watched the two of you. Watched his daughter mirror his tenderness, mirror your compassion. Watched you melt into it.

He crossed over and wrapped an arm around both of you. His girls. And if he worried, he carried it quietly. In the way he watched you a little closer. In the way he made sure your water bottle was always filled. In the way he never let a single day end without reminding you that you were doing enough. That you were more than enough for both of them..

By Friday, Lewis had decided you needed an evening. Not just an early night. Not just an extra hour on the sofa. An entire evening. Quiet and uninterrupted, just you and him.

He stepped into the garden that morning with his phone and called his dad.

“Alright, Dad.”

“Hi, Lewis. Are you okay, mate?”

“Yeah. Just wondering if you and Linda would mind having Liyah for the night.”

There was absolutely no hesitation.

“Oh! Of course, of course,” his dad replied immediately. “Linda bought her a new Moana T shirt yesterday. Wouldn’t stop talking about it. Said it’s ‘official Nana business.’”

Lewis laughed under his breath. “Course she did.”

“We’ll spoil her rotten, don’t you worry. Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Lewis said softly, glancing back through the kitchen window where you were packing your bag for work. “Just… Y/n’s had a big week. Thought I’d give her a proper break, make sure she’s okay. We’ll pick Liyah up tomorrow morning if that’s okay.”

There was a pause on the other end, warm and understanding.

“Of course it is,” his dad said quietly, “you're a good man, Lew.”

After breakfast, Lewis lifted Aaliyah into his lap while she was still chewing the last bite of her toast.

“Li Li,” he began casually, brushing crumbs from her pyjamas. “How do you feel about a special sleepover with Nana and Grandad tonight?”

Her entire face lit up.

“Really?!” she gasped.

“Really.”

“With Moana?”

He grinned, God this child's obsession with Moana. “Yeah, Grandad will put on his Maui voice and everything, Liyah.”

She clapped her hands once, pure excitement. Then she paused, head tilting slightly.

“Why?”

Lewis smoothed a curl back from her forehead. “Well… Mommy’s had a very big week.”

Aaliyah’s expression shifted instantly, softened in the same way Lewis’s did when he thought about you.

“She tired?”

“Yeah,” he nodded gently. “A little. So Daddy’s gonna make sure she rests tonight, okay?”

Aaliyah looked down at her hands for a second, thinking the way she always did when something felt important.

“We be extra good?” she asked.

He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. “Yeah, baby. We be extra good.”

She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Okay.”

He held her close for a moment longer than necessary.

“Plus,” he added lightly, “Nana gives better snacks than Daddy.”

She gasped in delighted excitement.

The car ride to his Dad’s house was filled with excited chatter at first. Her little trainers kicked against the back of his seat as she talked about which toys she was bringing.

Then, halfway there, she went quiet.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Mommy sad?”

The question was small and careful in the way that made his chest tighten. Lewis glanced at her in the rear view mirror. She was looking out the window, but he could see it in her face. The concern. The empathy that came so naturally to her.

“No, baby. No,” he said softly. “Mommy’s not sad. She’s just busy. Sometimes grown ups get tired when they work very hard.”

Aaliyah nodded slowly.

“Like you when you race?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he smiled faintly. “Like that.”

She seemed to accept that.

“I draw her picture,” she decided after a moment.

“That would make her really happy.”

She kicked her feet again, more gently this time.

“I tell Nana Mommy working very hard,” she added seriously.

“You do that,” Lewis said, his chest warm. “Mommy’s building big things. We’re very proud of her.”

Aaliyah smiled to herself, satisfied.

“And Daddy?”

“Hmm?”

“You love Mommy lots?”

He didn’t hesitate. “More than anything.”

She grinned. “Me too.”

Lewis drove the rest of the way with one hand resting lightly on the steering wheel, the other reaching back at the red light just so she could hook her tiny finger around his. His soft girl. Taking care of her Mommy already.

You step through the door a little after seven, the quiet of the house hitting you before anything else. No small feet thundering down the hall. No “Mommy!” bursting out the second the latch clicks. Just soft light spilling from the kitchen, the low hum of jazz curling through the air, and that smell—warm, layered, comforting—like someone took every good memory you’ve ever had of home and distilled it into dinner.

Your bag slides off your shoulder almost without thought. Heels clatter to the floor beside it. You pause, listening. Nothing. The absence of Aaliyah’s usual chaos makes your stomach twist. You know that twist. It’s the same one that’s lived under your ribs all week: the quiet panic that you’re missing too much, that she’s starting to notice you being gone, that you’re the one who’s supposed to be steady and you haven’t been here. 

“Lewis?”

He appears in the doorway like he’s been waiting for exactly that sound, your voice, small and uncertain. Tea towel slung over one shoulder, sleeves pushed up, hair still a little damp from a shower you didn’t hear. Grey T-shirt. Black joggers. Bare feet against the hardwood. He looks soft in every line of him, and the sight of it makes something in your chest unclench a little automatically.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says, voice pitched low, the way he speaks when it’s only the two of you and the world is finally quiet enough to hear each other breathe.

You don’t move, tilting your head, eyebrows furrowing. “Where’s Liyah?”

He crosses to you in seconds, noting the concern in your voice, his hands finding your waist like they always do. He pulls you in until your forehead rests against the warm hollow of his throat. Cedar and clean cotton and the faintest trace of rosemary from whatever he’s been cooking. You close your eyes and let yourself lean.

“She’s with Dad and Linda,” he murmurs into your hair. “Sleepover. Moana, cookies, probably building a blanket fort as we speak. Nana already sent me three photos of her in a new Moana T-shirt.”

His words are so gentle, but they don’t stop the guilt rising in your stomach. 

“I didn’t see her today,” you whisper. “She probably waited for me. She always waits—”

“Hey.” One hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck, his thumb brushing slowly along the nape of your neck. “She didn’t wait sad. She was excited. Helped me pack her little overnight bag, told me exactly which stuffed animal had to come—‘the bunny with the pink bow because she’s brave like Mommy.’ Drew you something too and demanded I stay at my dad’s until she finished it so I could bring it home. It’s on the fridge. She said, ‘Tell Mommy Daddy taking care of her tonight.’”

Your throat closes up. You blink against the sudden heat behind your eyes.

Lewis eases back just enough to see your face, both hands framing it now, gentle as he thumbs the faint shadows under your eyes. “Look at me, love.”

You do.

“You’re not letting her down.” His voice is steady, quiet, certain in that way that always makes you believe him even when you can’t quite believe yourself. “She knows you’re building something huge. She’s proud. She told me today, very seriously, that when you come home tired, we have to be extra gentle. That’s what she said. ‘Extra gentle.’ Three years old and already trying to parent us both.”

A small, broken laugh escapes you despite everything.

He smiles small, crooked, so fond it hurts. “She’s okay. More than okay. And tonight? Tonight is for you.” He presses his lips to your forehead, lingering there like he’s pouring reassurance straight into your skin. “No bedtime routine. No tiny demands. Just us. Just quiet. Just me making sure you remember you don’t have to hold everything alone.”

He kisses your temple next. The bridge of your nose. The corner of your mouth. Soft. Slow. Like he has all the time in the world.

“Come here,” he says quietly, lacing his fingers through yours. “Let me show you.”

He leads you into the kitchen and your breath leaves you in a soft rush.

Everything gleams. Counters wiped to a shine, sink empty, the fridge door closed neatly for once, no magnets askew, Aaliyah’s drawings neatly organised. Candles everywhere: slim tapers on the dining table, tea lights scattered along the island. The table is set for two—your favourite plates, the linen napkins you keep for special nights, a low vase of roses he must have picked up on his way back form dropping Aaliyah off. Jazz curls from the speaker, low and warm.

You can see the oven baking something, some Asparagus on low on the stove.

You turn to him, eyes wide. “You did all of this? How did you have time? We have cleaners, Lew. You didn’t need to–”

He lifts one shoulder, almost shy. “Wanted it to feel right when you walked in. Like coming home should feel. Like you can finally let your shoulders drop. It gave me something to do today anyway. I just thought you deserved it after the week you’ve had.”

Tears burn your eyes again, you are overwhelmed with gratitude and love. The guilt is still there, but it’s loosening, unraveling thread by thread under the weight of his quiet care.

“Lewis…”

He steps in close, arms wrapping around you from behind so you’re both facing the candlelit table. His chin settles on your shoulder, voice a warm murmur against your ear. “Dinner’s ready when you are. But first, go upstairs. Shower if you want. Change into those soft pyjamas you love. Take your time. I’ve got the plates in the warmer. I’ve got everything.”

You turn in his hold, hands sliding up to rest over his heart. “You cleaned the whole house.”

“Every inch,” he grins, looking far too proud of himself. “Even reorganised the fridge.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I fucking hate that fridge,” you murmur.

He snorts, eyes crinkling. “Yeah, well, it was giving me attitude too. Had to show it who’s boss. Alphabetised the condiments. Lined up the oat milk like soldiers. It’s basically military-grade organisation now. You’re welcome, love.”

You giggle, brushing your nose against his. “You are the best man I’ve ever met. Best husband. The love of my life. Reorganising the fridge absolutely counts as foreplay in my book.”

He raises an eyebrow, smirk slow and dangerous. “Does it now?”

You just grin up at him, thumb tracing along his jaw. God, you loved him. More than you ever thought possible

He kisses you then, slow and deep,  The kind of kiss that says I’ve been waiting for this all day. His hands stay steady at your waist, thumbs moving in lazy circles, grounding you. When he pulls back, he brushes his nose along yours.

“Go on, baby,” he murmurs. “Let me spoil you a little.”

You nod, heart too full for more words, and let him nudge you toward the stairs.

At the bottom step you pause, glance back. He’s already at the stove, adjusting the heat under the asparagus with the same focused tenderness he gives everything he loves: you, Aaliyah, this life you’ve built. Candles flicker. The house smells like comfort and him and the promise of a night with no interruptions. You climb the stairs slowly, the knot in your chest finally starting to loosen. (finish here if u don’t want smut hehehe <3)

An hour and a half later the candles downstairs have burned to soft stubs, wax pooling in lazy golden rings, and the kitchen is quiet except for the low hum of the dishwasher Lewis had loaded while you finished the last of your wine. Dinner had stretched slow and perfect. His eyes never leaving your face, the mashed potatoes melting on your tongue, his thumb brushing garlic from the corner of your mouth before he sucked it clean with a slow, deliberate look that made heat curl low in your belly even then. You’d laughed until your sides ached, fed each other bites between stories, let the conversation drift lazy and intimate the way it only does when there’s nowhere else to be.

Now he’s leading you upstairs, fingers laced through yours, thumb stroking slow over your knuckles like he can’t bear to stop touching you. The bedroom is dim, only the warm spill of light from the en-suite. He’s already drawn the bath. Jacuzzi tub, steam rising in soft curls scented with lavender and eucalyptus. Bubbles crest the surface like foam on a wave.

He stops you in the doorway, turns you to face him, eyes dark and soft.

“Arms up, love,” he says quietly.

You lift them without a word. He peels your shirt away slow, fingertips grazing your ribs as the fabric slips over your head. Bra next, hooks undone with easy fingers, straps sliding down your arms, his palms cupping your breasts for one brief, warm second before he lets go. Trousers pool at your ankles; he kneels to help you step free, presses a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh that makes your breath catch. Underwear last, slid down your legs with the same careful attention.

He stands again, brushing his lips over your collarbone. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, like it’s the simplest truth he knows.

You reach for the hem of his T-shirt, tugging lightly. “Your turn.”

He smiles, and lets you pull it over his head. Broad shoulders, lean muscle, the familiar map of tattoos you’ve traced a thousand times. Joggers next; he shoves them down with his boxers in one easy motion, kicking them aside. He’s hard already just from the sight of you, thick and flushed against his stomach, but he doesn’t rush anything. He takes your hand again and leads you to the tub.

He steps in first, water sloshing gently around his calves, then holds out both hands for you. You sink down between his legs, back to his chest, the heat of the water and the heat of his skin enveloping you. His arms come around you immediately, one hand splayed wide over your stomach, the other resting light on your thigh. For long minutes it’s just breathing. His heartbeat steady against your spine, the low hum of the jets, steam curling around you both.

He kisses the side of your neck. Your shoulder. The sensitive spot behind your ear.

“You carried so much this week,” he whispers, lips brushing damp skin. “Let me carry you now.”

His hands move to your shoulders then, thumbs finding the knots that live there like old friends. He works them out in slow, patient circles, pressing just hard enough to make you sigh. You tip your head back against his shoulder.

“God, that feels good,” you breathe.

“Yeah?” His voice is low, pleased. “Tell me where else, baby.”

You reach back, guiding one of his hands lower, over your collarbone, down to cup your breast. “Here.”

He smile softly against your ear, thumb brushing your nipple in slow, teasing strokes. “Greedy girl,” he murmurs, affectionate. “Already aching for more?”

You arch into his touch. “Always for you.”

His other hand drifts down, over your ribs and your waist, until it settles between your thighs. Palm warm, fingers resting light against your folds.

“Open wider for me,” he says, voice gentle. “Let me feel how much you need me, beautiful.”

You part your legs, knees falling against his thighs. His fingers slide through you, gentle, exploratory, finding you slick and ready. He hums low in his throat, the sound vibrating through your back.

“Fuck sweetie,” he whispers. “Soaking for me already. Been thinking about this pussy all night…how tight you get, how you flutter when I curl my fingers just right.”

Two fingers slip inside, slow and sure, curling toward that spot that makes your hips jerk. You gasp, hand flying back to grip his thigh.

“There,” you manage. “Right there.”

He strokes that place again, thumb finding your clit in slow, firm circles. “Like that? Gonna come on my fingers for me, yeah? Gonna let me feel you squeeze my fingers while I tell you how much I fucking love watching you fall apart.”

You rock into his hand, water lapping around you both. “Lewis—please—”

“Please what, baby?” His lips brush your ear, voice dark and loving. “Tell me. Use your words.”

“Faster,” you breathe. “Don’t stop.”

He obeys, thumb pressing harder on your clit, fingers thrusting deeper, curling on every upstroke. His free hand stays at your breast, rolling your nipple between finger and thumb in time with his rhythm.

“That’s my gorgeous girl,” he praises, filthy and tender, softly kidding your neck. “Taking it so well. Look at you, shaking already. Gonna come so pretty for me, aren’t you? Gonna soak my hand while I whisper how much I worship this body. How much I worship you. How I’d spend every second of every day making you come if you let me.”

Pleasure crashes through you in waves, your back arching hard against his chest, thighs trembling as you clench around his fingers. You cry out his name and he holds you through it, slowing but never stopping, drawing every last tremor until you’re limp against him, breath ragged.

He kisses your temple, your cheek, your shoulder.

“Good girl. Did so good letting go for me,” he murmurs, softer now. “My beautiful wife.”

You feel the aching length of him, pressed thick against the small of your back, but his arms only tighten around you. He doesn't move to relieve himself, his focus is fully on you. One hand strokes your side, soothing. The other threads gently through your wet hair. “I’ve got you,” he whispers. “All night. Whenever you’re ready for more. Just stay here for now and breathe with me, baby. Relax for me.”

You turn your head, find his mouth in a slow, lazy kiss. “I love you,” you murmur against his lips.

He smiles into the kiss, thumb brushing your cheek. “I love you more. Always.”

After a while, he lifts you from the bath like you weigh nothing. His strong arms under your thighs, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, water dripping in slow trails down both your bodies. His mouth finds yours before your feet even touch the tiles: deep, hungry, but still so gentle, tongue sliding against yours in lazy strokes that make your head spin. He carries you straight to the bedroom, the cool air kissing your wet skin, raising goosebumps that his warm hands smooth away instantly.

He sets your feet gently on the rug beside the bed, keeps one arm looped around your waist to steady you, and reaches for the thick, warm towels he’d left folded on the chair earlier.

“Hold still, beautiful” he murmurs, voice soft against your temple.

He dries you first, slow and thorough: the towel pats gently along your arms, your shoulders, down the curve of your back, over the swell of your hips. He kneels to dry your legs, careful between your thighs, wiping away bathwater with the same reverence he’d used to touch you in the tub. Then he stands again, dries your hair enough that it won’t soak the pillows, presses a kiss to your forehead as he works.

When you’re mostly dry he takes the second towel to himself. Quick swipes over his chest, arms, legs, before reaching for the bottle of your favourite moisturiser on the nightstand. He warms a generous amount between his palms, then smooths it over your skin in long, soothing strokes: calves, thighs, the soft plane of your stomach, up to your breasts and shoulders, every pass of his hands gentle, like he’s painting care into every inch of you. You sigh under his hands, leaning into the touch, and he smiles as he finishes with your arms and neck.

He does the same for himself, quick and efficient, then finally guides you to the bed. Lowers you onto your back like you’re something precious, follows you down without breaking eye contact. His weight settles between your thighs, heavy and perfect, dick thick and hard against your stomach. You feel every inch of him pulsing with how badly he wants you, but he doesn’t rush.

He pulls back enough to look at you. Eyes dar and reverent, so full of adoration you feel like the only woman in the world. His thumb brushes your cheek.

“Missed this,” he murmurs, voice rough with everything he’s holding back. “Missed seeing you under me. All spread out and all mine.”

You reach up, fingers threading through his damp braids, tugging lightly. “Need you so bad, Lewis.”

He exhales a shaky laugh against your mouth. “Patience, baby. Gonna make it good for you. Gonna make it last.”

He kisses down your throat, slow open-mouthed presses, teeth grazing just enough to make you arch. His hands map your body like he’s relearning every curve, palms sliding over your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they pebble tight, then lower, over the soft plane of your stomach, hips, thighs. He hooks your legs over his elbows, spreading you wide, settling between them so he notches right at your entrance. Hot, blunt, teasing without pushing in.

“Look at me,” he says softly.

Your eyes flutter open. He’s watching you like you hung the moon.

“You get to let go for me tonight, yeah?” His voice has turned to velvet, filthy-sweet. “No holding back. No quiet little whimpers. Be as loud as you want. Scream if you need to. It’s just us. Just you and me and this big empty house.”

You nod, breath hitching. “I want to be loud for you.”

“Good girl.” He kisses you again, deep and caliming, then presses forward slow.

The stretch is exquisite. Thick, hot, filling you inch by inch until he’s seated fully, hips flush to yours, both of you groaning into each other’s mouths. He stills there, buried deep, forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in.

“Fuck,” he whispers, wrecked. “You feel like heaven. Every single time.”

You clench around him on purpose, just to hear the way his breath stutters.

“Baby—” His hips roll once, shallow. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Then move,” you whisper back, nails digging into his shoulders. “Fuck me, show me how much you missed me.”

He does. Slow at first. Long, deliberate drags out and deep, measured thrusts back in, every stroke hitting the spot that makes you cry out. His hands cradle your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks, eyes locked on yours like he can’t bear to look away. Missionary with Lewis always stole the air from your lungs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes between kisses. “Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Most beautiful mama.”

The word hits you low and sweet. Your legs tighten around him.

“Say it again,” you gasp.

He smiles, soft, filthy, devoted, and leans down until his lips brush your ear.

“My beautiful mama,” he moans, voice cracking on the words as he thrusts deeper. “Carrying our girl. Giving me everything. Fuck—look at you taking me so well. So perfect.”

You arch, moaning loud and completely unrestrained the way he asked. The sound echoes off the walls, raw and needy, and it makes him shudder above you.

“That’s it,” he praises, pace picking up just enough to make the headboard tap softly. “Let me hear you. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

“Lewis—” His name comes out broken, desperate. “Harder. Please.”

He gives it to you deeper, firmer, hips snapping with controlled power that still feels like worship. One hand slides down between you, fingers finding your clit, circling in tight, steady strokes that match his rhythm.

“You gonna come for me again?” he whispers, lips brushing yours. “Gonna come all over my cock while I’m buried inside you?”

“Yes—God, yes—”

He kisses you messily, open-mouthed and wet, then pulls back enough to watch your face again. Your lips are parted, eyes half lidded, and he has to slow down so he doesn't finish right then and there.

“You gonna let me give you more babies?” He whispers, the words are rough but reverent, filthy in the softest way. “Fill you up again? Watch you grow another one of our babies?”

The image crashes through you, his hands on your belly, his mouth on your skin, another tiny heartbeat under your heart, and it tips you over.

You come hard, back bowing, thighs shaking, a loud cry tearing from your throat as you pulse around him, clenching tight, milking him deep. He groans your name like it's the only word he knows, thrusts turning erratic, chasing his own edge but still so focused on you.

“That’s my girl,” he pants, voice wrecked. “Coming so pretty for me. Fuck—look at you. My beautiful wife. You feel so fucking good.”

He follows a  second later with deep, grinding thrusts as he spills inside you, hot and endless, moaning low and broken against your neck. “Love you—fuck, I love you so much—”

He collapses over you, careful not to crush you, forehead pressed to yours, both of you trembling through the aftershocks. He keeps twitching inside you, softening slowly, but he doesn’t pull out right away. Just stays buried, hips rocking in tiny, lazy circles like he never wants to leave.

You wrap your arms around his neck, legs still hooked around him, holding him close.

He eases out eventually with a soft groan from both of you, the loss making you shiver. He kisses you once more slowly, then settles beside you, pulling the duvet over your still-damp bodies. He tucks you against his chest, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other hand finding yours under the covers, fingers lacing tight.

The room is quiet now except for your shared breathing, the faint hum of the house settling around you. His thumb strokes slow over your knuckles.

“The most beautiful mama,” he says again, softer this time, lips brushing your temple. “Gonna keep you full of me forever if you let me.”

You smile against his skin, sleepy and sated and so loved it aches. “I might let you.”

He laughs at that, quiet and warm and so unbelievably happy, and kisses you slow, like there’s all the time in the world. Because tonight, there is, and he intends to use it worshipping you.

tags!! <3 : @70srogertaylor @forzalewis44xo @mikaissance @saintslewis @liveloungeharry @knowinglewis @thegirlinblackgreensilver @palefacestudentlove @nebulastar @rem455 @misolii @dewylewis44 @iamquiantrelle @determinednot2fall

extra a/n: can u tell im ovulating. fucking SCREAMING at the concept of him being a girl dad i can't ughhhhh

Lewis wasn’t much of a morning person.

Not in the off-season. Not when the world was cold and quiet, and his bed was oh so warm. Not when there were no alarms to beat, no calls to return, no circuits to fly to. Not when snow dusted the windows and the only sound in this room was the soft, rhythmic breath of the woman in his arms.

Especially not on his birthday.

A week after New Year’s, marking another trip around the sun, he’d let himself be slow. Let himself stretch out the hours, let the morning come to him instead of chasing it, especially when you were beside him, curled up close, legs tangled with his, skin bare under one of his shirts.

An oversized, charcoal grey Tommy Hilfiger t-shirt, with a tiger printed on its front, and the hem bunched high over your hips. You always stole it, and he always let you, because he knew you loved how soft it was, how it still smelled faintly like him, how it swallowed you whole when you got cold at night. 

He’d once asked you why you never just wore one of your little sleep tops that he loved seeing you in, the ones that clung to the curve of your waist, and gave him just enough cleavage for his eyes to linger on. You’d told him his clothes were just comfier, and you loved having that additional piece of him wrapped around you.

Still, he remembered the nights when you did wear those singlets, how your breasts would spill out of them in sleep, one strap sliding down your shoulder, the hem riding up just enough to make his breath catch.

But this? This was better.

This was you, tangled in cotton, your hair messy, cheek pressed to the pillow. Lips slightly parted, just a little fuller in the mornings. Your breaths coming slow and steady, soft little exhales that ghosted through the quiet like a melody he never got tired of hearing.

His arm was draped over your waist, and his chest curved against your back, body fitted to yours like you were carved from the same shape. When his eyes fluttered open, still half-caught in a dream, the first thing he saw was you.

The gentle curl of your body under the thin fabric, the way the shirt had ridden up, baring the curve of your ass to him, the silky skin of your thighs tangled in the sheets. The slope of your neck, the flutter of your eyelashes shying behind your cheekbone.

God, you were beautiful.

You always looked beautiful to him, but especially like this. Before the world around you woke up, before makeup, meetings, and real life returned. When it was just him, you and the warmth of sleep resting sweetly between the lines of your body. The lovely scent of your lotion in the sheets, your warmth all over him.

He loved you more in the mornings than he could ever say. Loved you in the quiet, in the way you trusted him completely, even in sleep. In the way your body leaned into his like you belonged there.

He hadn’t realized, until right then, how exactly this matched the way he’d dreamed of waking up today.

With you, with nothing else to do. No one else to be, just this.

Then, your breathing changed ever so slightly, and you stirred in your sleep.

You were still floating somewhere beneath the surface, warm, weightless, lulled by the steady rhythm of Lewis’ breath behind you. You hadn’t opened your eyes yet, but you could feel him.

His chest, solid against your spine, bare and always just a little too hot, as if he ran a degree warmer than the rest of the world. His arm was heavy around your waist, hand resting low, fingers brushing just beneath your belly button. His breath was slow and shallow, fanning softly against the back of your neck, raising a trail of goosebumps with every exhale.

You could smell his skin, too. That familiar mix of his favourite body wash, sleep, and cotton sheets, clean but lived-in. He smelled like home.

There was also the way he felt behind you.

Hard.

Thick and already hot against the swell of your ass, tucked right into the curve of you. You shifted slightly, and the slow rub of his length through the cleft of your thighs made your stomach flutter.

You bit down gently on your lip, heat stirring in your belly, with a silent twinge between your legs.

You weren’t trying to start anything.

You just wanted more of him. Just wanted to be closer, to lean into the safety of his chest. To savor the feeling of being wrapped up in his body, your breath syncing with his. You wanted to stay in this moment a little longer.

You tilted your hips back a bit more, and felt his breath catch behind you.

His voice was rough, groggy, still wrapped in sleep. “Love…” 

You hummed quietly in response, cheek still buried in the pillow, eyelashes fluttering as your body stilled in that half-asleep daze. 

Then, his fingers began to move, slowly exploring in a soft trickle of touch down your skin, like rain tracing a glass window. His hand shifted beneath the hem of the shirt, dragging up over your stomach, until his palm brushed beneath your breast, just a featherlight tease at first, but enough to make your breath stutter.

You were completely, and utterly in love with him.

Not just like this, though, fuck, you loved him like this too, but all the time. In every way.

You loved how he always pulled you closer in his sleep, even before you did. How he’d always fill your water bottle before bed, and kiss your forehead every morning like it was part of your routine. How he touched you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held, even when he wasn’t gentle.

You loved him in the quiet, in the mess, in every possible moment.

And right now, you loved the way his thumb was circling delicately over your nipple, coaxing it to a peak under his touch. The way his breath grew heavier and hotter against your skin. The way he pressed his lips to your neck like he couldn’t help himself. When your back arched subtly in response, he smiled against your skin.

“Sensitive this morning,” he murmured, his lips brushing another kiss below your ear. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Your thighs pressed together in a futile attempt to ground yourself, but he chuckled gently and slid his hand down.

“Mmm,” you hummed, your lips barely parting, eyes still half closed. “It’s the way you touch me.”

“Yeah?” His voice vibrated softly at your back.

His fingers drifted lower, tracing the dip of your navel, the soft skin of your lower belly. You were already squirming, even before he reached where you wanted him most, the ache already pulsing there, hotter and wetter than you expected. 

He knew it too, he always did. The pads of his fingers slipped between your thighs, teasing you open, and stroking gently through the slick that had gathered there. You whimpered quietly, and he exhaled sharply against your neck. You were so wet, soft, and ready for him.

“Fuck, baby…” His voice broke on a low groan. “You’re soaked.”

Your breath trembled, and you tilted your hips towards his hand, needing more of him. He took his time like he always did in the mornings. He liked to explore, to linger, to build you up for as long as he could.

The pads of his fingers traced down the centre of your slick folds, and moved in slow, teasing  circles over your clit, until your hips started to move, desperate for more friction. You couldn’t help it, every pass of his fingers over your clit made your legs twitch, your breath skip, and your heart tumble in your chest. You buried your face in the pillow, trying to muffle the broken sounds in your throat.

He kept moving in featherlight motions, your core pulsing around nothing. His other arm wrapped tighter around your waist, holding you close against him.

“You like that?” he whispered, fingers stroking through the slick with precision. 

Your answer came out as a soft, breathy little moan that trembled against the pillow as you nodded. Your body was already answering for you anyway, hips rolling back instinctively, chasing his touch.

You felt the subtle curve of his smile pressed to the side of your neck, the warm puff of air that followed as he exhaled slowly, as though he was savouring the sound you made. His chest was still firm and solid at your back, radiating heat through you, and every time he breathed, you felt it ripple along your spine.

His fingers dipped lower, sliding between your folds again at a leisurely pace. He traced you like he had nowhere else to be, as if this was exactly how he wanted to start his birthday. The pads of his fingers were warm, slightly rough in the way that made your nerves light up, and when he brushed your clit again, your thighs trembled.

You pressed your lips together, trying not to whine.

“So good for me, my love,” he soothed, kissing just beneath your ear, teeth grazing lightly before his lips soothed it. 

You let out a quiet, helpless sound, breath catching as his touch grew firmer. The way he touched you in the mornings always felt different, more intimate somehow, as if there was no barrier between thought and feeling yet, no armour. Just the sensation of him.

Then, he slid a finger inside you slowly, carefully, and you gasped, the feeling overwhelming in your morning sensitivity, your walls fluttering around him immediately. He let you open around him gradually, adding another finger only when your hips tilted back in silent permission. The stretch burned just a little in the most delicious way, and you whimpered as he curled his fingers inside you, finding that spot that made your breath stutter every single time.

Your hand fisted in the sheets, your voice only a weak whisper. “Lewis…”

Your whole body felt tuned to him, every nerve ending humming, every sound in the room fading out except for the quiet slide of skin against skin and the soft, wet sounds of his fingers moving inside you. His other arm tightened around your waist, holding you close like he didn’t want even an inch of space between you.

“Fuck, I missed this. Can’t wait to be inside you,” he rasped, his hips pressing close where you could feel the thick throb of his dick against your thigh.

You were already so shamelessly wet for him, slick gathering and spreading with every slow thrust of his fingers, while his thumb continued to brush your clit. The sensation built quickly, and you could feel yourself starting to unravel, the ache in your belly tightening into something sharper.

It wasn’t long before your peak hit you in a sudden, breathless rush. Your thighs trembled, your back arching as you pressed helplessly into his hand, a soft, broken moan slipping free before you could stop it. He eased you through it, mumbling praise against your neck while your body pulsed around his fingers.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered. “So beautiful.”

You sagged back against him, chest heaving, and your head spinning slightly as the aftershocks rolled through you. For a moment, all you could do was breathe, feel the warmth of his body, the steady thrum of his heart behind you, his fingers lingering gently like he didn’t want to rush you out of it.

You weren’t done though, and neither was he.

He pulled his hand away slowly, fingers gliding from between your thighs with a slick drag that made your muscles twitch. Then, you felt the blunt heat of his dick sliding against your folds, so thick and ready, catching at your entrance.

You arched back into him, breath hitching as he guided himself in, inch by inch. The stretch was deep and full, slow enough to make you gasp again, your body already tender and wet from how he’d touched you. You felt every ridge, every twitch, as he sank all the way in, filling you until your hips met and he was buried to the hilt.

“Shit,” he groaned, forehead resting between your shoulder blades. “You feel unreal. Gripping me so tight already.”

Lewis remained still for a moment, breathing you in, letting your body settle around him, stretched tight and warm. His lips pressed down your neck, both arms wrapped around you like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go. His dick throbbed inside you, your body stretching around him in a way that felt unbearable, yet perfect, all at once.

You could feel everything.

The heat of him, pressed tight to your back. The damp of his breath where it kissed the skin behind your ear. Sweat was already starting to pearl at his temples despite the chill in the air. You felt every breath he took, every small tremor in his muscles as he held himself still. You felt impossibly full, your body tender from sleep, your walls snug around him, your chest aching in the best way. 

He felt your hips gave the faintest shift, in an unconscious roll of need, before he began to move.

The first thrust dragged through every nerve ending, making your breath catch in your throat. The second made your lips part around a quiet moan, while he third had your hand reaching down, fingers blindly searching for his, and he caught them without hesitation, lacing his with yours over your stomach.

His hips rocked against yours in slow strokes, gliding through your core with a warm, wet sound that echoed in the room. Your lips parted around another moan, and your other hand flew to the sheets again, gripping them tight.

But Lewis heard it, and he knew the sound that was about to follow. So before it could escape, his hand slid up, his palm covering your mouth with gentle pressure, to muffle the sounds.

“Shhh,” he hushed you sweetly, lips brushing your temple. “Need you to be quiet for me, love.”

Your eyes fluttered shut under the warmth of his hand against your mouth, the weight of him inside you, the impossibility of staying silent while your body screamed.

Your hips moved against his, shifting back to meet each thrust desperately. You could feel the tension coiling again in your belly, faster this time, sharper, and he could feel it too. You whimpered against his palm, helpless to stop the sounds this time.

His lips grazed your jaw. “That’s it, baby. Let me feel you.”

His thrusts stayed slow yet deep, angled just right, his dick dragging over every sensitive nerve inside you. The sound of your slick folds, the wet slap of skin, his low groans, it all pressed in, and the heat built fast again.

Your head tilted back against his shoulder, clutching his fingers tighter, a soft, involuntary cry muffled under the warmth of his palm at how sensitive you still were, every drag of him heightened inside you.

“I love you,” you gasped softly into his hand, lips brushing his skin.

He groaned deep at that, nose buried in your neck. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me. Every time. Every time, you feel like fucking heaven.”

Your moan was almost silent, just breath and desperation, but you didn’t stop moving. The friction burned through your belly in careful, consuming waves. You could feel how hard he was deep inside you, how thick and perfect, how your body clung to him like you were made for each other.

He shifted the angle of his hips, hitting deeper, heavier, the slow grind of his pelvis brushing your ass with each thrust. His hand slid up to cup your breast again, thumb teasing over your nipple in lazy circles.

The heat kept building, sharp, sticky and rising fast. You couldn’t stop your hips from meeting his now, the soft clapping of skin growing louder, wetter. Every motion pushed you closer, the tension in your belly tightening, trembling.

“Just like that.” Lewis’ voice was ragged and low. “Just like that, baby. Want to feel you come all over my dick.”

You felt your body winding up in response, muscles clenching, the edge right there waiting for you.

Your moan was muffled completely this time, swallowed by his hand just as waves of pleasure crashed through you breathlessly, coursing through every nerve, your body trembling from the inside out. He held you close, still moving, coaxing it out of you with careful strokes, hips stuttering now as your walls fluttered around him.

Lewis didn’t last much longer.

Not with the way you clenched around him, so tight, so hot, soaked and trembling with your climax. Your ass pressed back against him like you couldn’t get close enough, as though your body was begging him not to stop. You barely had time to recover before you felt the pace of his thrusts falter, his hips pressed flush to your ass, buried as deep as he could go. His dick throbbed, pulsing thick warmth into you as he exhaled raggedly against your neck, your name broken on his lips.

His body curled around you as he filled you in long, pulsing waves, thick pearly ropes coating you from the inside. The warmth spread through you slowly, and your thighs trembled again at the sensation of it. He buried his face in your neck again, the room still echoing with the sound of breath and snow and hearts beating too loud.

He didn’t move for a long time, staying inside you, with his arms wound securely around your waist, the rise and fall of his chest syncing slowly with yours. Your skin was dampened with sweat, the room thick with warmth, musk and a silence that only followed an intimacy that left you trembling, not just from pleasure, but from the ache of loving someone so deeply, it lived in every part of you.

His warm and steady breath was soft at the back of your neck. You could feel the faint throb of him still inside you, your body soft around the thickness of him, a fullness that made you want to never move again. His hand traced absent shapes on your skin, fingertips skimming the curve of your hip, then back again delicately.

He kissed your shoulder, then your neck, slow, open-mouthed, as though he wanted to leave the shape of him branded into your skin. Outside the room, the house was waking up. You could hear faint movement downstairs, a laugh, the distant creak of the oven door, paws scuffling across the hardwood.

“I should get up,” you sighed contently, shifting where you laid.

“Don’t go,” he murmured into your shoulder, lips brushing your skin.

“I have to,” you whispered, your voice still heavy with sleep and sweetness. “Your mum’s already in the kitchen. I told her I’d help with the pancakes.”

He groaned, nuzzling into your hair. “Can’t believe I have to share you on my birthday.”

“Do you want your pancakes, or not, birthday boy?” You teased, glancing back over your shoulder at him.

He huffed a soft breath against your cheek, his arm tightening around your waist. “I want you, not pancakes.”

You smiled, reaching a hand back to brush back his braids that had flopped forward in his sleep. “You already got me.”

“Not enough,” he grumbled, brushing his nose along your jaw. “Might need a second round.”

You let out a quiet laugh, your body still deliciously sore in the best way. “If you come again, you’re going to pass out and sleep through your entire birthday.”

“Mmm.” He shrugged, pressing small pecks down your neck. “Worth it.”

“Everyone’s waiting for you downstairs, you know. They’ve probably got balloons, candles, all those gifts waiting.”

“Even more reason to stay here.”

You tilted your head back enough for him to catch the glint in your eye with a sweet grin. “Besides, you’re forty one now, old man. You need your energy.”

Lewis let out a wounded groan, burying his face in your neck as though you’d physically harmed him. “That’s foul. On my birthday?”

“I’m sorry, baby. You walked right into it,” you laughed softly, planting a kiss on his temple.

“I should punish you for that,” he muttered, nipping at your shoulder.

“I’m sure you will,” you giggled, but your breath caught faintly at the warmth of his mouth, the twitch of him still buried deep inside you.

Then, your smile faltered slightly, from the thought of having to move. The ache between your thighs had settled into tenderness, and you could still feel him inside you, warm, full and fading. You wanted to stay like this, wanted to keep him like this forever, but his special day was waiting.

You inhaled, then exhaled slowly, and braced a hand against the mattress.

“Okay,” you whispered, shifting carefully forward. “Easy…”

He held his breath as you moved, easing him out with a slow, slick slide, and you both sighed quietly at the same time at the loss. Your core clenched instinctively at the emptiness, and his hand found your lower back again like he couldn’t let you go just yet.

You turned to face him, hair messy, eyes soft and half-lidded. You leaned in, brushing the tip of your nose against his, before meeting his warm, full lips with your own. He kissed you back as if he was trying to hold onto the moment, like his body would forget how to breathe without your mouth on his.

“Happy birthday, baby.” You smiled against his lips as they swept together gently.

His eyes fluttered open when you pulled away slightly, and he stared at you like he wanted to ingrain everything about this moment into his memory. From the curve of your mouth, to the adoration in your gaze, the way his shirt hung off your shoulders like it belonged to you more than it ever had to him.

You gave him one more soft look, thumb brushing the edge of his cheek, before you kissed his lips again. “I’ll be right back.”

Then, without another word, you slipped out of the sheets and moved toward the ensuite, his shirt skimming the backs of your thighs, your hair messy, and your steps slightly wobbly from everything he’d just given you.

The door clicked shut behind you, and he remained on the bed. He let his head fall back onto the pillow, eyes fixed on the ceiling for a second before they drifted to the door again.

A moment later, it creaked open enough for you to peek your head out, completely bare now, your skin glowing, and your smile sleepy and knowing.

You looked at him like he was your whole world, and his heart fucking jumped.

Because you were his.

His girl. His home. His morning and his future.

His family was downstairs. The smell of pancakes was already floating through the hallway. Laughter echoed softly from the kitchen. And for the first time in a while, everything he needed was under one roof.

You glanced back at him one more time, grinning invitingly over your shoulder as you disappeared back into the ensuite.

Lewis melted into the mattress, hand resting on the spot where you’d just been, his chest aching in the best way. He couldn’t stop himself from missing you already. The bed suddenly felt too big without your body curled against his.

The sound of the shower started, water splashing gently against tile, echoing faintly through the door you'd just closed. Steam curled into the morning air like a whisper, and he could already picture you in there, with your head tilted back, lips parted, water trailing down the skin he’d just been trailing his fingertips over.

He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over his face. The sheets still smelled like you, his skin still did too.

He lay there for another breath…maybe two.

Then, he tossed the covers back.

The floor was cold beneath his feet, and made his way towards the ensuite, where the door was still ajar, just a crack.

He slipped inside, pulled by the only thing he’d ever wish for again.

Because this was what birthdays were meant to feel like.

Soft, slow, and full of love.

You hadn’t expected anything tonight.

Not anymore.

The Uber ride home blurred past with streaks of colourful city lights painting the tinted windows. One of your high heels had already been kicked off, resting sideways on the leather seat beside your thigh, and your perfume still clung faintly to your skin, mixing with the warm vanilla of your body lotion. The hem of your dress stuck stubbornly to your thighs, where sweat and glitter mingled in the shallow hollows of your skin, and your phone buzzed twice in your hand. You didn’t look though, there was no point.

Lewis wasn’t coming.

You’d known the moment his voice crackled through the phone two nights ago, across continents and time zones, worn thin by guilt. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I tried everything.”

You were curled under the covers then, face pressed to the pillow he always used when he was home, bare legs warmed in sheets that still smelled like him. You could picture him too clearly, with his hoodie tugged over his head, palm pressed to his mouth as he paced the hotel room floor, the crease between his brows deepening with every word.

“I just wanted to be there to celebrate you. I hate that I can’t be there.”

“I know,” you whispered back, brushing a thumb along the stitched seam of the pillowcase like it might hold you together. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t, but you said it anyway. You knew what his life was like, you always had. You knew what you’d signed up for the moment you’d said yes to the first date.

“I was gonna bring those chocolates you like,” he added, his smooth voice dipping lower. “And that cake. The one with the little strawberries on top, remember?”

Your breath caught, blinking away the sting in your eyes, the softest smile pulling at your lips. He’d remembered it.

“It’s fine, baby. I understand,” you replied, keeping your voice light. “I’ll be out with the girls anyway. They’ve got something ridiculous planned.”

He smiled at that, you could hear it in the gentle lift in his tone. “Good, let them spoil you. Have a few drinks or something, you can use my card for the whole tab. Then, when I'm home, I swear I’ll make it up to you.”

He meant it, and so did you when you’d said it was okay, but the truth was, you would’ve traded every bar, every bottle pop, every shout of “birthday girl!” just to have him barefoot in your kitchen, icing cake with those stupidly expensive rings still on his fingers.

You tried not to dwell on it though. You tried to lose yourself in the chaos of blasting music, perfume in the air, and lip liners passed between clutch bags. You’d been halfway into a drink when your best friend leaned halfway out the car window, hair flying, voice tearing through the air as she screamed.

“IT’S MY BEST FRIEND’S BIRTHDAY, BITCHES!”

You’d squealed, curling in on yourself, laughing so hard you’d nearly cried as strangers on the footpath turned to stare. For a moment, it felt like enough, as though the ache in your chest might stay quiet for the night.

Now though…

It was late, quiet. A silence that only exists in the hour after the night has died, but before the morning begins. You tiptoed barefoot down the hallway of your apartment building, your heels swinging from one hand, your bag loose in the other.

Your dress, once crisp and perfect, was now creased at the hips, askew at the shoulders. Your throat felt dry, your makeup still clung to your cheekbones, but your eyelashes felt heavy, as if they were also tired of pretending tonight.

There was a hollowness to your steps, a strange, numb feeling, as though the day had happened, but you had hardly touched it. It had passed through you without leaving anything behind.

You paused at your door, fumbling in your bag for your keys. They clinked gently, your knuckles brushing the paint of the doorframe as you leaned in. You were tired, ready to wash away the night and let it melt into the dark.

You slid the key into the lock, still not expecting anything.

You stepped inside slowly, the door clicking shut behind you with a soft thud, and the quiet swallowed you whole. There were no shoes by the mat, no TV playing in the background, no keys in the tray. The emptiness you’d been expecting to return home to.

Except…not quite. There was a familiar scent in the air.

It was sweet and familiar, like candle wax, vanilla, maybe a trace of woodsmoke. The air felt warm, as though the space had been waiting for you. You took one slow step forward, then another, your fingers still wrapped around the strap of your bag like you needed something to ground you.

Your bare feet brushed the edge of the rug as you walked through the apartment. Then, your eyes landed on it, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

Your apartment had been transformed. Every surface glowed, bathed in the amber flicker of candlelight. Tea lights lined the kitchen counter and danced along the edge of the dining table. Tall pillar candles flickered gently on the window ledge, their golden glow spilling onto the glass like moonlight melting across the surface. Shadows stretched and swayed with each flame, wrapping the space in a warmth that felt beautiful and cozy.

Music played softly from the speaker in the corner, a soft tune with warm vocals flowing around the room. Your heart ached with a sweetness you hadn’t been prepared for.

There was a cake on the table, perfectly iced, with piped cream swirls and sugared strawberries nestled along the top. It was a cake you’d mentioned once, offhandedly, in a memory about childhood birthdays. It looked just like the one you’d described. Small, round, and beautiful.

Next to it were wrapped boxes, stacked like steps on a staircase, each one perfectly tied with silk ribbon. Some big, some tiny, the paper smooth and pearlescent under the candlelight. They weren’t arranged for show, they’d been placed with intention, as if someone had taken their time to choose them, to think about what each one meant. You didn’t know what was inside, but your heart was already fluttering in your chest.

At the very top of the stack sat an envelope with your name inked across the front in his handwriting. Your fingers hovered above the envelope, trembling slightly. The edge of your nail caught the corner of the paper, but you didn’t lift it yet. Your throat was too tight, your breath coming in shallow, fluttering pulls, like your body couldn’t keep up with the moment. You felt full to the brim and hollow all at once, as if you were about to spill open.

However, before you could touch the card, before you could even exhale properly, you heard him.

“Baby.”

The voice behind you was low and warm, as if he hadn’t just arrived, but had been standing there for a while, waiting for you to see him.

You froze at the sound. Your breath caught in your throat, and the air around you shifted. The ribbon on the gift pile fluttered faintly in the draft. Tears sprang to your eyes before you could stop them as you turned slowly.

There he was. Home.

Lewis stood in the doorway to the hallway, dressed in soft grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips, the thick fabric clinging in all the right places. A fitted white shirt hugged his chest, the short sleeves sitting high enough to reveal the curve of his biceps, tattoos inked into golden skin that caught the candlelight like a work of art. His braids were tied back in a loose bun, a couple of them spilling down around his temples like they’d slipped free just to soften him.

It was his eyes though that made your heart race. Those deep brown eyes, lit with that quiet, disarming softness that only ever appeared when he looked at you like this, as though everything he’d been chasing, everything he’d missed, was standing right here in front of him.

Your lips parted on a shaky breath, but your body was faster than your voice. You rushed to him with no hesitation, with only the sound of your heart pounding in your ears and the rustle of your dress as you moved.

He caught you effortlessly like he always did, arms locking around your waist, pulling you tightly against him. You crashed into the solid heat of his chest, your face burying in the familiar scent of him, that woody spice in the faint trace of his cologne still lingering on his shirt. Your hands grasped into the cotton as if you were trying to prove to yourself that this was real.

His grip didn’t falter as he pressed his lips to your temple, and you trembled in his arms.

“I thought…” you breathed, the words catching as the tears slipped silently down your cheeks, “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he murmured, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other rubbing slow circles along your spine. “I wanted to surprise you.”

You pulled back to look at him, your eyes glassy, and your cheeks wet, your lips parted as if your heart was still searching for the words.

He looked at you as though you were made of starlight, like he was afraid to blink and miss the way your eyelashes sparkled with unshed emotion. 

Your lips wobbled into a small, shaky smile, before you leaned forward and pressed your mouth to his, overwhelmed and grateful. As though every minute without him had been building to this one moment of weightless, perfect quiet. Your fingers gripped his shirt, needing to be closer to him and keep him right there with you so he could never leave again. 

His hands slid up, cupping your face delicately, thumbs brushing tenderly beneath your eyes as his lips melted onto yours, moving in slow, needy sweeps and breathing you in.

Lewis kissed you like he’d crossed oceans just for this, and in a way, he had. Everything about him, the way he smelled, the familiar way he held you, the warmth of his skin and the solid press of his body, it all felt like home. Love in its purest form. A love that waits, a love that stays.

When you finally broke apart, breaths mingling, you whispered, “I missed you.”

His forehead pressed to yours, his voice was barely a murmur. “Happy birthday, my love.”

His hands stayed on you, one arm low around your waist, while the other still cupped your face as if he was afraid you might disappear if he let go too soon. His thumb brushed your cheekbone in a gentle sweep.

You sniffed once, smiling up at him, your fingers reaching for the back of his wrist and pressing a kiss to his palm.

“Thank you, baby,” you replied, your voice soft as you leaned in to kiss him again, slower this time.

When you moved back slightly to look at him, his lips were curved into that tender smile that always made your ribcage feel too small for the way your heart swelled at the sight of him, the dimple on his cheek revealing itself.

“I know you just got home.” He tapped his thumb lightly against your jaw, eyes tracing every line of your face like you were a work of art. “But…are you hungry?”

You breathed a tiny laugh, still pressed so close you could feel each word against your skin.

“A little, yeah.”

“Good.” He grinned, relief and affection threading through every syllable. “Because I’m starving.”

You blinked up at him, stomach flipping at the way he said it, as though he meant more than just food, like he’d been hungry for you too.

His hand slid from your cheek to your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

“I’ve got something ready for us, so why don’t you go put that dress on for me?” His voice dipped, almost playful, almost shy. 

Your breath caught at his words. That dress. The one hanging in the garment bag at the back of your closet, a dress you’d bought specifically for tonight, imagining his reaction, imagining his hands on your waist, imagining the way he’d look at you.

The dress you thought you wouldn’t get to wear because he wasn’t coming home. Your chest squeezed tight, a soft ache of sweetness spreading behind your ribs.

“You remembered,” you said quietly, your eyes warm.

“Of course I did.” He smoothed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, fingers tracing the shell of it delicately. “You bought it for your special day.”

“Okay,” you whispered, the word barely forming before you leaned in and pressed a final, slow, loving kiss to his mouth, your palm cradling his jaw, your thumb brushing the soft hairs of his beard.

He hummed against your lips, a low, content little sound that made everything inside you melt. 

Then you pulled away, still smiling like your heart was spilling over. “I’ll be right back.”

His eyes lingered on you as you stepped backwards, and you felt his gaze on your skin all the way down the hallway.

The bedroom lights were dimmed, a faint colourful pour of the city streetlights slipping through the curtains. The dress hung where you’d left it, the fabric catching a subtle flash of reflected light as you ran your fingers over the shape.

Your pulse was already fluttering in excitement, but your eyes drifted lower to the shopping bag tucked beside the dresser. In the bag, folded carefully, was a delicate, silky lingerie set that you’d bought impulsively, secretly, because you wanted tonight to feel special. You wanted yourself to feel extra pretty for him, especially when you knew he was going to make you feel like the only woman in the world tonight, as he often did. You hadn’t expected to wear it though, you thought it would sit in the drawer until next year.

But now, he was here, and your heart was racing in your chest like it had just remembered what hope felt like.

You slipped the garment bag from its hanger, laying the dress across the bed with a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding. Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached for the bag, pulling aside the tissue paper until the lingerie revealed itself. Soft lace, tiny satin bows, sheer in places that made your breath hitch.

Your reflection in the mirror looked almost shy, yet giddy inside. You stepped out of your clothes slowly, letting the moment feel real, letting the anticipation stir in your belly. The first brush of lace against your skin made your knees soften. The fabric hugged your hips perfectly, delicate, yet sexy at the same time. The bra lifted you just right, framing your chest in a way that made your lips part softly as you adjusted the straps.

You smoothed your hands down your sides, inhaling a shaky breath as you saw the full picture in the mirror, the lingerie, the glow of candles lingering from the hallway, the soft glow in your cheeks.

Lewis would lose his mind, and the thought of it sent a shiver straight through your spine. With your heart pounding, you slipped the dress over your head, the satin whispering down your body like a secret only you and the fabric shared.

It skimmed your curves, and hugged your waist, settling over your hips perfectly to enhance the curve of your backside. You touched the mirror once more, fingertips against your reflection as if you were preparing yourself, then reached for your perfume, misting your neck and wrists.

Your pulse fluttered beneath the scent. You weren’t just getting ready, you were walking back to your love. To your birthday surprise, and to the man who’d somehow turned one disappointing night into something magical already.

You took one last breath, then turned toward the hallway, ready to show him.

The hallway lights were low enough to guide your steps, while the rest of the apartment glowed, lit by scattered candles and the dim shimmer of dusk melting against the windows. Warmth spilled out from the open balcony doors ahead, a flicker of lantern light brushing the floors like the moonlight had come to greet you.

You smoothed your palms down the fabric of your dress, your heart thudding in your ears as you stepped into the glow of the living room.

You felt the air shift the second Lewis laid his eyes on you, as though an invisible thread had tugged tightly between you. His eyes sparkled as though he’d been waiting for this exact moment, but he wasn’t entirely sure it was real.

His full lips parted, breath catching faintly as his gaze dragged down the length of your figure, from the delicate straps on your shoulders, to the way the fabric kissed your waist, clinging just right over the curve of your hips.

You watched the muscles in his jaw flex, saw the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to touch you already.

“Damn…” His voice was rough and a little breathless, scraping the edge of awe. His mouth curved into a grin, before his teeth pulled at his lower lip. “Are we sure it’s not my birthday?”

His words pulled a breath of laughter from you, light and a little shaky as you moved toward him, drawn in like a tide. One hand found your waist as soon as you were close enough, the other sliding down your arm to catch your own hand. 

Lewis lifted your hand above your head, his fingers tightening as he moved it. “Turn for me.”

You twirled, slowly, letting him guide you, the hem of your dress whispering around your thighs. You felt the breeze kiss your legs as you turned, the coolness of the fabric brushing your skin, the secret of your lingerie hugging close beneath it all.

When you faced him again, he was shaking his head, his eyes drinking in every inch as though he was trying to burn you into his memory.

“You’re…so beautiful,” he exhaled, almost like it hurt, his throat working as he swallowed.

Your cheeks warmed at the way he was looking at you, and you reached for him without thinking, letting your hands settle over his chest. His heart was beating rapidly under your palms. You leaned forward and met your lips to his, and he responded immediately, pressing back against your mouth, then slower, deeper, until the world around you blurred away.

His hand found your jaw, thumb stroking gently along your cheek. You leaned into the touch instinctively, mouth still brushing his, your whole body warm with love.

“Come on,” he murmured against your lips. “Let’s celebrate first, before I take this dress off you.”

You let him lead you barefoot across the wood of the living room floor, past the flickering candles that lined the hallway, their golden flames swaying gently in the cross-breeze. The curtains at the far end of the room danced like they knew a secret, the evening air curled soft and cool against your skin as he pulled the balcony doors open.

Your breath left you in one slow, quiet exhale when you saw it. 

The balcony was glowing, tiny lights strung with gold wire and low-hanging promises shimmered above your heads like suspended fireflies. They flickered against the darkening sky, casting a warm, buttery glow over everything. At the center was a small round table, draped in pale linen, candlelight flickering low in a golden glass. Two chairs were placed at the table, one pulled out slightly, for you, and the other draped in the jacket you’d been stealing lately.

The scent of garlic and basil, along with a sweet, rich, spice floated through the air like it had been waiting for you to notice it. You stepped forward slowly, as if in a dream, and let your eyes trace the scene.

The spread was like something out of a dream. The pasta from your favorite trattoria in Rome, the one you’d raved about for weeks after your trip, plated in delicate ceramic. A fresh salad with jewel-colored tomatoes, cucumber ribbons, and that exact vinaigrette you used to order every Thursday from the café tucked behind your old apartment. Fresh beignets with a dusting of powdered sugar clinging to their paper wrap like snow, along with your favorite drink, chilled to perfection, condensation gliding slowly down the glass like it had been poured just before you walked in.

There were little handwritten labels tucked beside each plate, tiny hearts drawn next to the ones he knew were your favorites. Some of the letters tilted sideways, charmingly uneven, a familiar sign of his handwriting, and the effort in every stroke made your heart swell.

You blinked hard, trying to speak, to thank him, to comment on the perfection of the setup, but your throat burned with the effort.

Lewis stepped in behind you, arms sliding around your waist and tugging you back into his strong chest. He buried his face into your neck and pressed a light kiss to your skin, breathing in quietly as though you were the one who steadied him.

“I didn’t know if I’d make it in time, but I had to try,” he spoke softly against your skin, the low rasp of his voice running right down your spine.

You turned in his arms slowly to look at him. There was a softness in his face that made your knees weakened, all tender and boyish, as if he wasn’t just proud of what he’d done, but hopeful that you’d feel his love through his actions.

You reached up and touched his face gently, your thumbs brushing down his cheeks and around the shape of his neatly trimmed facial hair. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, like he needed the contact, the tension in his shoulders relaxing at your touch.

You couldn’t help yourself, so you kissed him again, grateful and trembling with how much you loved him. It tasted like every emotion you hadn’t spoken out loud.

“It’s perfect, baby,” you whispered, your voice barely holding steady as you pressed your mouth to his once more, where you felt his lips stretch into a proud smile.

Then, he placed a kiss on your forehead, lingering there quietly, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Only the sound of distant traffic below, the soft rustle of leaves, and the glow of a birthday built by someone who knew you better than anyone ever had.

Soon after, you’d taken your seat and began enjoying your meal. You hadn’t even realised how hungry you were until the first bite.

The pasta was warm and rich, clinging to the fork as you spun it through, the flavor so familiar it tugged at the sweet memories in your chest. You moaned quietly around it, a sound that made Lewis glance over with the faintest smirk, as though he’d been waiting for that exact reaction.

He reached for his own plate, twirling the pasta slowly, eyes still on you even as he took a bite,  like watching you enjoy it fed him just as much. The candle between you danced with the breeze, throwing golden light across his jaw, and all you could do was look at him. He was so soft in this moment, so handsome it made your chest ache at the sight of him.

You slipped a piece of garlic bread toward his mouth without thinking, and he leaned in to take it, lips brushing your fingers as he hummed in approval. The casual intimacy of it made your skin flush, your pulse skipping with the warmth under your skin.

He asked gently about your day, about the girls, the lunch you’d gone to, your best friend who had leaned out the window and screamed at a row of confused tourists about how good they looked. You laughed telling him about it, cheeks still warm from the memory, and he smiled through sips of his drink, head tilted as he listened intently, the look in his eyes making you feel as though you were the only person in the world.

He told you about the flight, how he barely made the takeoff, how his team had tried to convince him to postpone, but the second he saw your birthday marked on his calendar again, he knew. There was never any question, he had to be here.

The conversation drifted like a slow current, from memories of the past year to dreams for the one ahead. You spoke of things you wanted to do, places you’d like to go. He nodded along, absorbing every word, taking mental notes of which destinations to research for your next anniversary, eyes never straying far from yours.

At one point, he reached across the table to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingers trailing a little too slow along your jaw. You leaned into his touch, leaving a light kiss on his palm.

The food disappeared between you, bite by bite, passed back and forth with affection. The beignets followed, pulled apart with sugar-coated fingers and soft, sticky laughter, a powdered smudge at the corner of your lip that he leaned forward to kiss away. You melted into him then, your heart tight with how full you felt, not just from the food, but from his love.

At one point, without quite realising when, you rose from your seat and eased yourself onto his lap like you belonged there, which you did, you always had. You laid your arm long his broad shoulders, thumbing along the ends of his braids, while the other rested on his chest, occasionally rubbing up to his neck.

Lewis welcomed you instantly. One arm curved around your waist, the other resting across your thigh, his hand brushing over the bare skin where your dress had ridden up. You kissed him slowly between words, tasting the leftover sugar on his lips.

The conversation eventually dwindled to soft touches and shared glances.

His thumb traced small shapes against your hip through the fabric of your dress, your fingers threading into his braids above the nape of his neck. You rested your forehead against his and breathed him in, your entire body melting into the quiet joy of the moment. Of him, of all the ways he kept showing up for you, with intention, with love, with more thoughtfulness than your heart sometimes knew what to do with.

He whispered soft words about how beautiful you looked, how much he’d missed you, how lucky he felt, how every birthday with you made him believe more in the timing of things. You blinked away the glassiness in your eyes, a small lump forming in your throat from the adoration in his words.

Eventually, the plates were cleared, your glasses half-full, and your body warm and relaxed with love.

You didn’t want to move, you didn’t want to break the spell of being tucked into his lap, cheek resting on his shoulder while the night settled around you, but then his hand slid beneath your thighs, and you raised your head again to look at him.

"Time for your cake," he announced with a little smile, his thumb brushing the inside of your knee. "Let’s do it properly, yeah?"

Before you could rise, he slipped one arm beneath your back and the other beneath your knees, lifting you effortlessly into the air. You let out a tiny squeak of surprise, fingers clutching at his shirt as he carried you back inside bridal style, like something out of a movie. You felt the soft cotton of his hoodie under your palms, the low thud of his heart close to your own, and smiled into the curve of his neck.

The apartment was still warm and golden, every candle still flickering where he’d placed them, the soft scent of vanilla and spice lingering in the air. He set you down carefully near the kitchen nook, where the cake was waiting.

It was beautiful up close. Round, frosted in soft swirls of cream and delicate blush pink, with sugared strawberries nestled gently around the edges, some whole, others sliced enough to show their jewel-toned insides. Candles, with the exact number of your age, were perched delicately on top, unlit for now, their little wicks waiting patiently.

You reached out to touch Lewis’ back gently as he leaned forward and picked up the lighter. He struck the flame with care, shielding it from the air as he moved from the first candle to the second, a slow glow catching on each one until the cake shimmered in warm light.

When he turned, setting the lighter aside, his hand found your cheek without hesitation. He cradled your face like he always did when words fell short, as though he wanted to make sure you felt everything, even the things he couldn’t say.

His lips met yours again delicately, lingering long enough to slow time and suspend you in this moment for just a bit longer. When he pulled back, his sparkling brown eyes searched yours, and he began to sing softly.

His voice was smooth and quiet in the candlelight, brushing over the words like a lullaby. His gaze didn’t waver once. Every line was for you, every note wrapped around your heart and pressed under your skin with affection. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as he sang the last notes of the birthday song.

"Make a wish, baby," he whispered once he’d finished, gesturing towards your lit candles that had begun to melt.

The candles flickered between you, glowing and flickering softly, but the real light was in front of you. In his eyes, the way he watched you, like you were the moon and the stars themselves.

You didn’t need to wish. He was the wish. The love of your life, the man who knew your heart better than anyone, the one who always showed up. Who chose you, again and again, across time zones and any distance in the world. He was right here, loving you, on your birthday.

Your pulse stuttered, chest too full of love to speak, so you just smiled through it, cheeks damp with a couple of stray tears, and closed your eyes.

Then, you blew the candles out, and smoke floated into the air, disappearing lightly into the breeze coming from the window, and Lewis leaned in to kiss your temple, his hand still resting tenderly at your waist.

You cut the first slice carefully, just like you were told to, the knife he handed you gliding through soft sponge and thick swirls of cream, the ripe strawberries on top shifting slightly as the slice tilted onto the plate. You could feel Lewis’s gaze on you the whole time, buzzing with pride.

“Fuck, you’re so cute,” he grinned, lifting his phone. “Wait, hold it like that for me.”

You glanced over your shoulder, laughing as he snapped a picture of you mid-slice, still barefoot in your birthday dress, the golden candlelight catching the shine of your lips and the crinkle of joy in your eyes.

“I’m saving this. That’s all mine,” he added, lowering his phone, beaming at the photo.

You shook your head fondly and plated the slice with careful hands, then turned and held it out toward him, fork in hand, eyes twinkling. “Open up, babe.”

Lewis stepped in close, mouth already opening as he leaned in. You fed him slowly, letting the bite linger on the fork just a moment longer than necessary.

“Mmm,” he groaned softly, letting the cream melt in his mouth. “Damn, that’s good.”

“Yeah?” You asked, unable to contain your smile despite the ache in your cheeks.

He nodded and reached for the fork, loading it with a bite that was slightly too generous, a layer of sponge cake, icing and a chunk of strawberry seated precariously on the edge. “Your turn.”

You gave him a narrow look, eyeing the messy forkful. “That’s huge.”

He raised a brow, mischief laced in his tone while his lips tugged into a small smirk. “You can take it, birthday girl.”

Your breath caught, whether from the words or the look in his eyes, you weren’t sure, but you leaned in anyway, lips parting obediently as you tried to take the whole bite…and failed.

A smear of icing kissed the corner of your mouth, while a crumb flaked free and dusted your chin. You blinked, slightly cross-eyed from the effort, before slowly chewing the rest while Lewis stood there, grinning as though this had been his plan all along.

“Oh,” he chuckled teasingly, stepping closer, eyes flicking down to your lips. “Messy girl.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but didn’t get the chance.

He leaned in, a hand reaching around your waist as his mouth brushed against yours. His tongue caught the cream at the corner, soft and slow, a kiss disguised as clean-up. You melted instantly as his lips pressed to yours lingering, as if he could taste the sugar and your smile all at once, like this was the part he’d really been waiting for.

You pulled back with a soft breath, dizzy from how gently he loved you.

“Your fault,” you whispered, barely able to speak with how full your chest felt.

Without thinking, you reached for the fork, swiped it across the edge of the cake, and smeared the icing across his lower lip.

His eyes lit up playfully, but you didn’t give him a chance to gloat, you leaned in and kissed it off slowly, tongue brushing his bottom lip as your hand found the back of his neck. He made a soft sound in his throat, that low, pleased hum you loved, and kissed you back with heat that stirred in your lower abdomen.

You were still catching your breath from the kiss, when he dipped the fork again.

“Alright, one more,” he announced, scooping a generous bite from the cake.

You opened your mouth, lips parting for him with trust. He leaned in with that same teasing gleam in his eye, a man who knew exactly what he was doing, and fed it to you with care.

However, it wasn’t quite enough care, as when the fork nudged against your bottom lip, cream and sponge brushing your tongue, you felt the soft weight of the cake slipping. A piece of strawberry, slick with icing, dropped straight down.

You gasped as it landed just above your neckline, sticky and cool against your skin. Lewis paused, eyes following the trail of icing down your chest to where the strawberry had landed, and slowly setting the fork down.

“Oops.” His voice was low, velvet-dipped, full of mock-innocence.

You glanced down, heart thudding, the mess glistening pink and white against the warm swell of your chest.

His fingertips brushed over your sternum, feather light as he traced the line where your skin met the fabric of your dress. Then his mouth followed, wet and unbearably slow. He kissed the spot, making your breath catch, tongue flicking over the sugar-stained dip of your skin, and your fingers flew to the back of his neck like a reflex.

“Lewis,” you sighed, a little shaky at the tickle of his breath along your breast.

His hands found your hips, holding you in place as his lips moved higher. He kissed his way up to the hollow of your throat and lingered there, as though he could feel your pulse beneath his mouth, before moving up to press along your neck and under your ear. It wasn’t about the cake anymore, it hadn’t been since the moment you walked through the door and saw him standing there in sweatpants and love in his eyes.

You tilted his face back up to yours, your cheeks hot at the sensation of his mouth on your skin. A playful grin spread across his handsome face, making you giggle softly when he nudged his nose against yours, your skin still tingling from his touch.

“Alright, baby,” he murmured, his eyes sparkling with affection. “Before we get carried away, I’ve got something for you.”

Your eyebrows lifted as he stepped away over to the other side of the table, barefoot and cozy in those damn sweatpants that made your heart skip. He stopped in front of the stack of gifts, each box wrapped in delicate paper and ribbons, every edge neatly folded with care. 

You hadn’t really counted them before, you’d been too overwhelmed by the sight of it all. Yet now, as Lewis turned slightly to glance at the pile, a smile playing at his mouth, your eyes swept slowly across the stack, and counted without meaning to.

The number was exact, one gift for every year of your life, just like last year. You remembered that soft moment in your old apartment, where he’d done the same thing and, with a boyish grin, said it casually as he nudged the first box toward you:

"One for every year you’ve made this world better just by being in it, baby. That’s the rule now."

He’d said it like it wasn’t even a question, it was simply the truth, and clearly, he’d kept the tradition.

Lewis leaned forward and picked up the envelope with your name on it, the parchment smooth in the candlelight. He turned it over in his hand briefly, thumb brushing the edge as though he was debating whether to give it to you first or not, before placing it carefully on the table beside the cake.

Then, he reached for one of the boxes, the smallest one near the front, wrapped in pearlescent cream paper with a gold satin ribbon tied in a neat bow. “Let’s start with this one.”

He handed it to you with both hands, eyes lingering on yours, wanting to watch your reaction from the very first second. The box was cool beneath your fingers, the ribbon soft and slippery as you tugged it loose. The paper crinkled delicately when you peeled it away, heart skipping when you saw the familiar embossing of the Cartier logo pressed into the box.

You lifted the lid slowly, your breath catching in a gasp as the necklace revealed itself.

A single, brilliant diamond set into a fine white gold chain, glittering as if it had caught a star. Sleek, dainty, perfectly elegant. It looked strikingly similar to the one Lewis wore tucked beneath his shirt some days, the one you’d borrowed once on a sleepy morning after breakfast, letting it dangle over your collarbones as he kissed your bare shoulder from behind.

“Lewis…” you whispered, overwhelmed and in awe of the beautiful piece.

His gaze softened, hand brushing your arm while he watched you fondly. “Couldn’t stop thinking about how good mine looked on you, so I wanted to get you one of your own.”

You blinked against the sudden sting in your eyes. Lewis had always been kind and thoughtful, but his generosity was always amplified when it came to you. He loved to spoil you shamelessly, and in moments like this, when he’d take note of the little things like this, you never felt more seen, more loved.

He took the box back carefully, then stepped behind you as he picked the necklace out of the box. You gathered your hair with one hand, your skin tingling with anticipation as his fingers brushed the back of your neck.

The cool kiss of the chain made you shiver, and his touch lingered an extra moment before the clasp clicked shut. You felt his warm lips meet the skin of your shoulder, while his hands found your waist, turning you gently towards him.

Lewis’ eyes dropped to the diamond resting above the neckline of your dress, his lips parting just slightly, as though he couldn’t believe how perfect it looked. His fingertips adjusted it slightly along your throat, tracing down towards your neckline. His gaze swept back up to yours, filled with tenderness and swimming with love. “You wear it even better than me.”

Your breath wobbled out in a shaky laugh, fingers brushing the necklace where it lay warm now against your skin. Still, your gaze drifted back curiously to the envelope on the table, your name inked in that familiar, slightly slanted handwriting.

“Can I read it?” you asked softly, almost shy yourself now, as if peeling back the last layer of the night might reveal too much, make you feel too much. “Before I open the rest?”

Lewis’s expression flickered ever so slightly, but you caught in the faint lift of his eyebrow, and the bashful tug of a smile at one corner of his mouth as if he’d braced for you to ask but still wasn’t fully ready. He looked suddenly younger in the candlelight, boyishly nervous almost.

“Yeah,” he murmured, scratching lightly at the back of his neck, voice a little quieter than before. “Yeah, of course. Just…go easy on me, yeah?”

You smiled at that, your belly fluttering in anticipation as he stepped back to give you space. You reached for the envelope with care, your fingers brushing the edge like the paper softly. It felt thick beneath your fingertips, high-quality, smooth, like it was worth holding onto. You turned it over gently, sliding your finger beneath the sealed edge, and opened it with slow, steady movements.

Inside was a single folded sheet of cream-coloured paper, warm from the room’s heat, faintly textured beneath your fingertips. You unfolded it carefully to reveal his handwriting. You could’ve picked it out in a heartbeat.

Neat, slanted letters, mostly the same size, with the occasional gentle loop on some letters, but it was the uppercase letters that always gave him away, swirled with a little extra flair, like they were signing off on something. There were a couple of tiny spelling errors, things your eyes caught but your heart ignored, because they only made it more him. Because you knew he always second-guessed himself when it came to writing, but he’d still done this. For you.

Your thumb traced the edge of the page once, breathing in slowly as your eyes dropped to the first line, and you began to read.

‘To the love of my life,

Happy Birthday baby.

This is your day. I hope you feel just how deeply loved you are, not just by me, but by every soul lucky enough to know you.

You are the most beautiful soul I’ve ever known. You’ve changed my life in more ways than I could ever count.

You’ve given me a kind of love I didn’t know I needed. You’ve made space for me to be myself, and that’s something I’ll never take for granted.

You’ve taught me what it really means to love someone unconditionally.

You’ve shown me how to slow down, how to breathe, how to sit back and let someone take care of me for once.

You’ve given me peace and meaning. You’ve made every part of life better, the best days, and the hardest ones. The endless flights and long nights we’ve spent halfway across the world from each other.

I’m endlessly grateful for the day you were born.

I love everything about you. The way you always show up for the people around you. The way you hold the people you love. The way you carry so much in that beautiful heart of yours.

I love your laugh. I love the way you kiss me when I’m half asleep. I love the way you always remember everything I somehow forget. I love being held by you, and I love holding you even more.

I love every day we’ve spent together. Every joke, every fight we worked through, every quiet moment. Every adventure.

I can’t wait for all the ones still to come.

This year, I hope you feel celebrated and apprecaited.

I hope you know just how lucky I feel to wake up next to you.

You deserve the world, baby, and I promise to spend every day of my life trying to give it to you.

Happy birthday, my beautiful girl.

I love you more than you’ll ever know.

Yours always,

Lewis’

As you finished reading, a warm tear slid from your cheek down to your lip  salt mingling with the faint sweetness of cake still clinging there. The paper wavered in your hands, the candlelight blurring into soft gold halos across the page as your breath caught on a quiet, trembling inhale.

Your heart felt too full for your chest, swelling with emotion.

You pressed the letter gently to your chest, holding it there as if it could steady you, as if the physical weight of his words might somehow help you make sense of the tidal wave rising inside your ribcage. Your fingers curled over the edges lightly, your pulse fluttering beneath them.

You sensed Lewis move towards you in the way the air shifted slightly behind you, carrying his warmth, his faint cologne, that familiar woody scent lingering in his sweatpants and shirt, as his arms slid around you. One wrapped low across your waist, palm flattening over your stomach; the other came up slowly to cover your hand where it clutched the letter to your chest.

His strong chest pressed to your back, his breath warm as it exhaled into the curve where your neck met your shoulder. He tucked his chin lightly against you, holding you gently, protectively.

Your eyes squeezed shut, and another tear slipped free, gliding hot and slow down your cheek. You carefully placed the letter on the table in front of you, and turned in his arms before the emotion could swallow you entirely. Your hands reached for him immediately, one sliding up the side of his neck, the other clutching into his shirt.

Lewis’s brows pulled together when he saw your face, the wet lashes, the tremble in your mouth. Concern flickered across his expression, tenderness softening it just as quickly.

“Too much?” he asked quietly, searching your eyes, his thumb brushing the streak of a tear from your cheek.

“No,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you shook your head and leaned closer, your breath catching on his lips. “No, baby…it’s perfect.”

Then, you tugged him towards you and met his mouth with your own.

You kissed him as though you were pouring every beat of your heart into him, like the only way your lungs could work again was through him. Your lips pressed to his with a shaky urgency, wet from tears, yet soft with emotion. He responded instantly, hands moving up to cradle your face, his thumbs sweeping your cheeks gently as he kissed you back with a slow tenderness that melted you from the inside out.

Your tears smeared lightly against his skin, and Lewis didn’t pull back. Instead, he kissed them away, kissed the corner of your mouth, kissed the path a tear had taken down to your jawline, kissed you like the emotion spilling out of you was louder than any words that could be spoken.

“I love you,” you breathed against his lips, barely forming the words.

Lewis exhaled sharply, the sound low and full of feeling as he kissed you again harder and deeper, pulling you into him until your body met every inch of his. “I love you so much, sweetheart.”

His hands slid down to your waist, gripping softly, and guiding you closer. You felt the warmth of him everywhere, radiating from his chest through your dress, the soft friction of his sweatpants brushing your thighs, the faint tickle of his braids slipping loose near his cheek as he tilted his head to drag his tongue along yours. He kissed you with hunger, with devotion, with a deep love that made your knees soften and your breath tremble in your throat.

At one point he broke away just slightly, breathing hard, his lips still brushing yours.

“Baby…” he murmured, thumb tracing your damp cheekbone, “You’ve got more gifts. We should-”

“No,” you replied immediately, your fingers sliding into the back of his hair to pull him back into another kiss. “Later.”

He blinked, surprised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, kissing him again, slower, deeper. “You’re my gift.”

A low sound left him, almost a groan, maybe a laugh, warm and full of affection. His hands tightened at your waist, his lips pressing to yours again, needier this time. The kiss stole your breath and gave you something else in return, heat, sparks, that familiar ache blooming low in your belly.

Your dress was soft under his palms as he slid his hands down, fingers bunching the fabric lightly as he lifted you effortlessly by the hips. You let out a soft gasp as your bottom hit the cool edge of the dining table, still cluttered with candlelight, cake crumbs, and the ribbon from your gift. The slight shift of a plate rattled next to you, a small candle flame bending with the movement.

Lewis stepped between your parted knees immediately, his hands spreading warm across your thighs, thumbs brushing slow, teasing lines up toward the hem of your dress. His mouth trailed along your jawline, kissing the hollow beneath your ear, his breath warm and tinged with sugar from the cake.

You tilted your head back in response, fingers gripping the back of his neck to keep yourself upright. The table felt cool beneath your thighs; his palms sliding higher towards the lace underneath.

His mouth dragged lower down your throat, brushing the swell of your chest with his soft lips, the tickle of his breath chasing goosebumps across your skin. Your back arched and you didn’t even realise you’d shifted back until your thigh bumped the edge of the plate with the faintest clink, just a whisper of contact, but it was enough.

The plate tilted, and the slice of cake slid across the porcelain, a thick ribbon of pale icing meeting your bare skin with a cold, unexpected kiss.

You gasped at the sensation, the contrast making you jolt. Chilled frosting smeared across the outer curve of your thigh. Cool sugar clung to your warmth, softening instantly from the heat of your skin, and the feeling was dizzying. 

Before you could blink, Lewis’ gaze dropped, as if yanked there by gravity itself. His eyes traced the mess along your leg, and there was a primal shift in his expression. Then, he sank to his knees like a man being offered his last meal. 

“I’ve got it.” The sound of his voice was deeper now, roughened with hunger, and it made your thighs tense beneath his touch.

He leaned forward, and his mouth met your skin like it had been waiting for this exact moment. His tongue swept through the icing in one long stroke, hot and unbearably slow. He licked through the cream as though he wanted to taste every inch of you. He didn’t stop there, either,  he followed it with a kiss, then another, just beside it. His lips sank into your skin like he was memorising the taste, moving towards your inner thighs.

By the time he looked up at you, your heart was in your throat. Your hands trembled at your sides, heat pulsing low and deep, spreading through you in waves. You felt it in your chest, your spine, your belly, and especially between your legs.

He didn’t have to say anything, not with the way his pupils had grown wide, the way his jaw flexed, the way his hand tightened slightly at your hip like he was trying not to lose control.

You reached for the plate without a second thought when you saw the look on his face. A dollop of cream clung thick to your fingertips as you dipped into the edge of the slice again, before you brought it low between your thighs. You smeared it softly on the inside of your other leg, just above the knee at first, then higher, a curved streak of sugar against your skin.

The cold made you shiver again, but it was nothing compared to the burn of his gaze as he watched your fingers trail up, icing melting beneath your touch.

Lewis lifted his head slowly, as though he needed a breath before he completely unravelled. His palms slid further up your thighs, warming the places the icing had cooled, his thumbs tracing slow circles against your skin.

Then, he leaned in again. His mouth found the smeared streak on your inner thigh with a hunger that made your heart stutter. His tongue flattened against your skin, dragging through the sweetness in a long, intoxicating sweep that left nothing behind. You felt the vibration of a low groan spill from him as he tasted you, the sound rumbling against your leg and deep into your core.

He kissed higher, soft, and open‑mouthed just above the tender inside of your knee, tasting the last hint of sugar there.

Then, higher still, the warm pull of his lips smoothing over the curve of your thigh, his breath growing heavier as he moved closer to where you were already throbbing for him. Your fingers tangled into his braids almost without thought, your hips tilting forward, silently begging for him to keep going.

You felt every inhale he took, and every warm exhale blooming against your inner thigh as he leaned in again. His tongue traced up through the last thin streak of icing you’d smeared purposefully, until his mouth was kissing just shy of the place your lingerie hid everything.

Your thighs tightened instinctively, and his hands slid firm beneath them, holding you open, keeping you right where he wanted you. The heat building in your belly sharpened at the touch, at the way he handled you like you were precious, and you only wanted more.

Your hand drifted back toward the plate, and Lewis noticed instantly. He stilled as he watched you, his chest rising with deep, hungry breaths. You slipped your fingers into the thick icing again, gathering it slowly. His eyes grew darker as he watched the movement, tracking every inch of your hand until your fingertips lifted, glistening.

You parted your legs just a little further, and spread it along the delicate inner curve right at the edge of your core, where the lace of your lingerie kissed your body. The cold made you gasp and the anticipation made your pulse stumble even more.

Lewis’s hand clamped around your thigh, a reflex he didn’t bother to hide.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice so low it barely existed. “Come here. Come here, baby…”

He didn’t wait for permission, his hands slid beneath your thighs, pulling you to the very edge of the table with one smooth motion. Your breath punched out of you as your hips shifted, your dress hiking up around your waist, lace stretching tight over the slick heat gathering beneath it.

He exhaled as if he’d just been handed the thing he’d been craving all night. His thumbs hooked beneath the edges of your thighs, spreading you open gently but firmly, as though he needed to see every inch you were willing to offer him.

He leaned in slowly, his nose brushing the soft lace between your legs first, inhaling you, and the sound he made was almost pained.

Then his tongue pressed to the inside of your thigh, right at the edge of the icing you’d smeared. He licked upward agonisingly slow, tracing the sugary trail with a careful, hungry precision that had your fingers twisting tighter in his braids.

He kissed the last of the icing clean, lips sinking into your skin like he wanted to mark the spot. Then he looked up at you from between your legs, his voice a low, shaky rasp. “Open wider for me.”

You did instantly, your breath catching as your knees eased even further apart, your dress slipping higher, your heartbeat thundering in every limb.

Lewis’ warm hands slid along the inside of your thighs again, guiding you open until the lace framed everything he wanted. His thumbs stroked once at the edges of your lingerie, before he pushed the delicate fabric aside. The air hit you first, cool against your heat, then his breath followed.

“Look at you,” he whispered, as though he was looking at the one thing he’d dreamt about on every flight, on every lonely night away from you. 

You barely had time to take another breath, before he leaned forward and sealed his mouth to you. His lips closed around your slick core like he’d been starved, his tongue sweeping through your folds with a deep, perfect stroke that made your entire body jolt. A whimper slipped from your throat, and Lewis groaned into you like the sound was his reward.

His hands gripped your thighs firmly, keeping you exactly where he needed you. He licked again, slower this time, dragging the broad flat of his tongue up through your slick, tasting where the sugar ended and you began.

You trembled, fingers clutching at his braids, pulling him deeper, and he went willingly, eagerly humming deep in his chest as his mouth worked you open. Each kiss, each lick was purposeful, slow enough to undo you, deep enough to imprint itself into your bones, hungry enough to leave no question of what he wanted most tonight.

You, only you.

His tongue circled your clit in a slow, perfect drag that made your head drop back, a soft moan catching on your breath. He felt the way your thighs tightened around his head and answered with a sound that vibrated right through your core.

“Lewis-” you gasped, your voice trembling, hips lifting toward his mouth.

He didn’t pull back or slow down. Instead, he pushed the lace further aside, opening you completely to him, and lowered his mouth again, deeper and hungrier, tongue stroking, lips sealing, consuming you like your taste was the sweetest thing he’d had all night. He held you there, devouring you like this was the real birthday gift. The one he’d been waiting to give you since the moment he stepped off the plane.

His tongue pressed deeper, parting you with precision. He tasted you as though he’d missed you more than sleep, more than sanity, like he’d been dreaming of this exact moment, and now that he had you, spread open on the table with sugar on your skin and your legs shaking in his hands, he wasn’t letting go.

“Fuck…” His voice was muffled, buried between your thighs, his mouth still working you open. “You taste so good, baby. Always so good.”

You hummed in bliss, hips tilting into his face, and he groaned into you like he needed more. His grip tightened around your thighs, fingers digging in gently to keep you there as he dragged his tongue up again, teasing, circling your clit in the lightest, most maddening way. He followed with a sudden barrage of quick flicks that made you cry out.

“Baby, f-fuck…” the words tore from your throat weakly like a warning that you couldn’t hold yourself together much longer.

He groaned in response, the vibration of it shooting through your core like lightning. Then his mouth sealed over your clit. The suction was deep, steady, perfect, pulling everything inside you tightly, coiling, the kind that made your hands fist in his braids and your thighs clamp helplessly around his head. His tongue moved in slow, devastating circles while his fingers slid lower, gently teasing your entrance, slick and ready.

When he pushed a finger inside, you moaned instantly, the sound caught between pleasure and disbelief. He added a second a moment later, his fingers curling as he dipped them inside you, your head dropping back, mouth parting as he worked you up, the squelch of your slick loud in the silence

“Oh my-fuck…Lewis-”

“I know, baby. I know. You’re so close, my love,” he panted, lips still moving against you, eyes dark and wild as he looked up at you. 

The orgasm crested fast at his movements, stealing the breath from your lungs as your thighs trembled around his shoulders and your hips rocked against his mouth. You cried out, loud and desperate, as the wave of it surged through your entire body, through every nerve. Your hand tugged his braids, your back arched, and all you could feel was him, the heat of his mouth, the strong hold of his hands, the safe stretch of his body between your legs as he worshipped you through every pulse, every tremble, every raw, beautiful aftershock.

Lewis didn’t stop until your thighs were twitching and your hand gently pushed at his shoulder. Even then, he kissed the inside of your leg one more time, then another. A final one right over your fluttering pulse.

When he stood, his lips were glistening, his breath heavy, and his eyes drunk on you. You were floating, still catching your breath, still trembling from the strength of it. You smiled, dazed, warm, in love, and your eyes sparkled when they met his.

“My turn,” you breathed, licking your lips slowly and guiding him backwards with a little shove to the chest.

Lewis stumbled back into the chair behind him, stunned but laughing, his grin wide as he watched you slide off the table and onto his lap.

You straddled his lap slowly, knees pressing into either side of his thighs as your dress shifted, the fabric catching against his sweatpants in delicate rustles. Your thighs still trembled faintly, tingling from the aftershock of his mouth, but your hands were steady as they found his face.

You cupped his jaw with your palms, your thumbs sweeping the dampness from the corners of his mouth as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his, tasting the remnants of yourself on his tongue.

Lewis groaned against your mouth, the sound swallowed by your kiss, his hands instinctively grasping at your hips. His tongue flicked against yours, filthier, hungrier. Then, without warning, he caught your bottom lip between his teeth, biting just enough to make you gasp.

A light laugh spilled from you, the sound breathy and giddy, your nose brushing his as you pulled back slightly. "Cheeky.”

"You started it," he smirked, running his teeth over his lower lip, his hands smoothing over your thighs.

You reached for the hem of his shirt without breaking eye contact, fingers coiling into the fabric before tugging it slowly upward. Lewis lifted his arms wordlessly, his gaze dark and steady as you pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor.

The candlelight kissed every ridge of him, his chest, broad and golden, tattoos etched across his skin, glinting as he breathed. You let your palms glide over him slowly, fingertips tracing the line of ink along his collarbone, then down the center of his chest. He was so warm beneath your touch, solid and perfect, all yours.

Your lips twitched into a smile as you reached for the cake plate again. You plucked a single strawberry from the edge of the slice, its skin glistening with icing and soft juice. You brought it to your own mouth first, teeth sinking into the ripe flesh with a soft pop. Juice spilled onto your tongue, sweet and tangy.

Then, you leaned forward, holding the rest of the berry between your lips as you hovered just inches from his, where he met you halfway. He opened his mouth against yours, his teeth brushing the other end of the strawberry as the two of you bit down at the same time. The fruit split between your mouths, juice spilling onto his chin, all sticky and red. You grinned at the sight of it, licking the corner of your lips before leaning in again.

Your tongue traced the sweet, slow trickle down his chin, licking it off with agonising care along the line of his beard, then kissing your way from his jaw to his throat, your tongue flicking against the hollow where his pulse thudded.

He exhaled sharply, head tilting back as your kisses drifted lower, your lips finding the edge of his collarbone, then trailing down the center of his chest.

Your fingers dipped into the cake again, collecting a generous smear of icing. Without hesitation, you spread it across his chest in a slow, curved stroke, the white contrasting starkly against his skin.

His breath shuddered slightly at the coolness, but didn’t move, just watched you through heavy-lidded eyes, his jaw tense, his breath shallow. 

You met his gaze as you leaned in again and licked it off in a single, slow drag of your tongue across the icing on his chest, savoring the mix of sugar and him. You pressed a kiss to the spot after, then another, before licking the rest clean, like he had done to you.

You kissed lower sliding off his lap and following the faint trail of sweetness down the line of his abs, licking slowly between each ridge, tasting him like a second dessert. His skin was hot beneath your mouth, chest rising and falling faster now, his hands flexing in the air, where he didn’t know whether to pull you closer or just hold on.

Smearing more cream down the grooves of his abdomen, you followed with your tongue flicking just above his navel, then moved your lips along the deepest dip between his abs, and that’s when his hips twitched involuntarily. You followed with another streak of icing across the deep V of his hip, watching goosebumps ripple in your wake.

He swore under his breath, muscles flexing beneath you. “Fuck…that mouth.”

You leaned in and licked a stripe straight up the center of his abs, tongue dragging through the sweetness, warm and wet along his skin. His breath caught like it punched from his lungs.

You kissed lower, tracing the icing with your tongue, one stripe at a time, licking him clean until all that was left was heat and the faintest stickiness against your lips Your palm landed just below, right where the thick tension in his sweats made itself known, so stiff and hard for you, straining upward against the soft fabric. The moment your hand pressed down, his breath caught with a small gasp of your name.

His hands reached for you then, one finding your waist, the other tangling in your hair, fingers tightening enough to ground himself as you kissed lower, your thumb stroking along the waistband of his sweats.

You palmed him again, feeling how solid he was through the soft grey fabric. He groaned low, his grip in your hair tightening to keep himself from unraveling. You let him guide you back up, crawling over him slowly, breath hot as you kissed your way back up his torso, your thighs tightening around his hips as you straddled him once more. Your chest pressed against his, heat melting between you.

The second your lips found his again, it was like a blaze. He kissed you like he’d lost his mind, as though he couldn’t believe he was still allowed to have you like this, draped across his lap, sugar still clinging to your skin, and all of your love pouring out through every breath, every press of your mouth against his.

You kissed him until you couldn’t breathe, then, you sat back slightly, hands dropping low again, fingers toying with the waistband of his sweats.

You hooked your fingers into the fabric and slowly dragged the pants down, easing them over his hips, down his thighs, and all the way off, until he was bare beneath you, his length thick and heavy against his stomach, already leaking at the tip with a pearly bead.

Lewis leaned forward, catching your jaw with one hand, thumb brushing over your parted lips. “See what you do to me, baby? This is all for you.”

“All mine?” you whispered in reply, pressing a kiss to the pad of his thumb.

He nodded slowly, his brown eyes sparkling in the candlelight, the barest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Every fucking inch, sweetheart.”

That was all you needed to hear.

You rose up on his lap, the hem of your dress slipping higher, the satin bunching at your hips. One of the delicate straps had already fallen down your shoulder, and the other followed now, slipping low as you moved, revealing a teasing glimpse of the lace underneath, sheer and soft, enough to make his lips part with disbelief at such a beautiful vision.

Your fingers reached between your bodies, finding him easily, hot and solid against your palm, slick at the tip from how much he’d been holding back. You stroked him once, just to hear his breath catch again, and watch his jaw tighten.

The moment the head of his dick pressed to your entrance, you paused to watch him, to feel every stutter in his breath, every twitch in his thighs, every ounce of restraint that was ready to snap.

Your eyes met his as you sank down slowly, inch by aching inch. Slick and tight, your walls stretched perfectly around him, easing him in until you were seated fully in his lap, your knees bracketing his hips, his length buried deep inside you.

He swore quietly, his hands flying back to your hips like he couldn’t help himself. His lips brushed yours as he held you close, pressing to the corner of your mouth as you adjusted slightly for your perfect angle.

You rocked your hips just once, testing the fit, the fullness, and it made both of you gasp, the sound tangled between your mouths.

“Gonna let me ride you, baby?” you asked with a whisper, pressing your palms to his chest to still him from moving.

He nodded, completely undone beneath you. “Anything you want, birthday girl.”

You started slowly, grinding your hips in slow, deep circles, feeling every drag of his dick through your folds, every pulse of him inside you. He filled you just right, stretching you in a way that made your whole body sing. You moaned softly, letting your head fall towards his, your hands finding his shoulders for balance as you rode him steadily, letting the friction build.

The straps of your dress had fallen completely now, your chest rising and falling with each bounce, the lace of your bra just barely holding in the curve of your breasts as you moved. The sight of you made him groan, his hands sliding up from your hips, then one rising to gently cup your breast through the lace.

You gasped when his thumb brushed your nipple, and his other hand grasped at your hip tighter. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he grunted out, his tongue circling around your nipple as he sucked gently. “What did I do to deserve you?”

You tugged at his braids lightly to pull him back, then leaned forward again, capturing his mouth with yours, your hips never breaking rhythm as you slammed down onto him over and over, the repeated sound of skin slapping filling the room. Your mouths moved together messily, your lips slightly fuller from how many times he’d claimed them tonight. Your breath stuttered as you bounced a little faster now, the angle hitting deeper while your clit rubbed against him, pressing right where you needed it most.

“Gonna come again for me?” he asked, breath warm in your ear as his hips rocked up in his seat, catching your rhythm.

You nodded, unable to form words, your movements growing more frantic now, chasing that high, using him to get there as you squeezed him tight. The sensation bloomed stronger from the friction, building higher and higher with every grind.

Lewis leaned in, his mouth finding your neck, trailing hot kisses up to the shell of your ear. “You’re doing so good, my love. I want to feel you come all over my dick.”

Shaky moans escaped your lips, the heat building impossibly fast now, your nails digging into his shoulders as your hips stuttered. “Lew…fuck, I-”

“Look at me, want to see your pretty face,” he commanded gently, and when your eyes met his again, when you saw the way he was looking at you, like you were everything he’d dreamed of and more, it tipped you straight over the edge.

Your body seized with pleasure, your hips grinding deep against him as bliss tingled through every nerve ending. Your thighs trembled, breath catching, mouth falling open in a moan that he kissed away, swallowing your cries as your walls clenched hard around him, soaking his length down to his balls.

He held you through it, letting you ride it out, every wave, every twitch. Your whole body trembled for a moment, and he was still rock hard inside you when you finished. You weren’t done yet though.

You leaned back, both hands reaching behind you to brace yourself on the edge of the dinner table, fingertips clutching around polished surfaces as your body arched, offering yourself up without shame. Your spine lengthened, head tilted back, your hair slightly tousled. Your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath, your bra loosened around your breasts, the candlelight casting a soft glow against the swell and glittering on the surface of your new necklace. Your lips were kiss-bitten, fuller from his kisses, your eyes heavy-lidded and glassy from pleasure. A view no man deserved.

“Fuck,” Lewis breathed in disbelief, as if he couldn’t help himself. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your pulse fluttered at the sincerity in his voice, filled with awe. His hands roamed up your waist, thumbs pressing into your skin like he needed to feel every inch of you. 

“You don’t even know what you do to me.” He shook his head, eyes trailing from your parted lips down to where your hips slowly began to rock against him again. “I’m so in love with you.”

You felt his adoration in every part of you, his need, the way his breath stuttered as you rolled your hips with intent, grinding down until he groaned low in his throat. The table beneath your palms trembled slightly with each movement, and still, you held his eyes like you were daring him not to fall apart for you.

He broke your gaze though, glancing down between you to watch the way he slipped in and out of you, your panties pushed further aside with each movement, a low growl in his throat as he swallowed. You followed, the sight of his thick length drawing a whimper from you, biting down on your lower lip when his thumb found your clit. 

Your body arched perfectly with each roll of your hips now, your moans breathier, needier, and all for him. His name spilled from your lips in broken, pretty little gasps, until your fingers scrambled for the edge of the table just to keep you upright.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, one hand bracing your back, the other circling slow and firm around the bundle of nerves at your core as you moved on him. “That’s it, baby. You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

All you could think, through the warmth building again between your thighs and the dizzy sweetness in your chest, was how deeply, wholly, fiercely he loved you, and how good it felt to be worshipped like this. 

It wasn’t long before the friction from his thumb, and the deep grind of him inside you pushed you to your peak, your head tipping back as a soft cry of pleasure left your lips. 

He caught you just as your body slackened in the aftershock, tugging you back to his chest, and your arms looped instinctively around his shoulders as he rose to full height, holding you carefully. Your legs wrapped around his waist with ease, bare thighs still trembling slightly, the heat between you still pulsing. The soft drag of his fingertips along your spine grounded you as he carried you from the dining chair, past the half-melted candles and forgotten cake, straight toward the bedroom.

There was no rush now, just the heavy air of desire, thick with emotion. He laid you down slowly, gently, like the world might stop if he let go too soon. The sheets were cool beneath your warmed skin, a soft contrast to the fever that still throbbed low in your belly. His gaze roamed over you, devouring and delicate all at once, like he couldn’t believe you were real, and his.

He stood between your parted knees, leaning down and brushing your hair back with both hands, his eyes sweeping over you with awe. 

“Stay just like that,” he murmured, hands gliding up along your thighs. “Want to look at you.”

His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your dress, and tugged it off your body like he was unwrapping a gift of his own. His eyes darkened with desire when he saw what you wore underneath in full view, the soft lace you’d chosen only for him.

“Fuck, I wish I could frame this,” he groaned, fingertips gliding along the inside of your thigh, then to the dip of your waist, up to your chest. “The way you look right now is just…unreal.”

You sat up slightly on your elbows as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the curve of your hip, another to the center of your stomach, then lower, until his mouth ghosted just over the delicate lace. He pulled your panties down with painstaking care and tossed them to the side like he couldn’t wait to forget they existed. Then, he crawled over you slowly, not between your legs this time, but alongside you, his body aligned beside yours as he drew you to lie back.

Instead of the usual rhythm, him over you, you beneath, he curled behind you, pulling your back to his chest in a warm cocoon of his strong arms. His mouth grazed the curve of your neck as one hand slid down your stomach, slow and deliberate, while the other cradled your jaw and turned your face toward him. 

His lips found yours again, exploring like you were a secret he was still discovering, and he had all night to map you.

“I missed having you in my arms,” he whispered into your mouth.

His fingers began to move, gentle, soft swirls through your folds, while he whispered how proud he was of you, how beautiful you looked all night, how this year was going to be everything you wanted and more.

“You deserve it all, baby.” He brushed your hair back as his fingers circled deeper. “Everything. The world, the stars. My whole fucking heart.”

Your head fell back against him, a soft cry breaking from your throat as he kissed your shoulder and pressed his hips flush to yours. When you reached back to touch him, his breath hitched, and he nuzzled closer.

He kissed you like he’d missed you for months instead of days, mouth hungry but sweet, tasting of sugar and the faintest echo of you. His tongue slid against yours, and you whimpered into his mouth, the kiss messy, greedy, filled with a desperate want only built from years of knowing every inch of each other, and still not getting enough.

You felt him twitch against your thigh, but he didn’t push for anything yet. Not until you finished again. His fingers continued to slip between your folds with a tantalising rhythm that made your hips roll into his hand. You broke the kiss with a gasp, one hand gripping the back of his neck, the other clutching his wrist as he worked you toward another release.

“That’s right, birthday girl. One more for me, you deserve it,” he murmured against your skin.

You were already unraveling, heat gathering again with dizzying speed. The way he looked at you, kissed your cheek between words, whispered your name, it was almost too much. Your nails dug into his arm as the wave hit you, stealing the breath from your lungs and arching your back. He swallowed your moan with his mouth, catching every trembling sound like a secret he’d keep forever.

Once your frantic breathing slowed, he eased out of the intimate tangle of limbs, lifting himself above you to look at you again. His gaze swept over your face, your chest, the straps of your lacy bra barely hanging on.

Lewis kissed his way down your sternum, fingers fiddling with the hooks of your bra at your back, tugging it off and baring you completely. 

He paused when he reached your navel, resting his cheek there for a second, wrapping both arms around your waist. “Just wanna hold you like this forever.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he shifted again, lips trailing lower, then back up as he aligned himself with you, settling between your legs. You opened easily for him, still slick and pulsing from the last climax.

When he slid in again, filling you with every inch, it felt like a sigh across your soul. Two halves of a heart, the deepest love you had ever experienced, all threading together to form this moment. 

He rolled his hips in slow strokes, pulling soft, shaky breaths from you with every movement. His arms cradled your body like you were the most precious thing he had ever held, his mouth never far from your skin, kissing your shoulder, your collarbone, the slope of your neck.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding him close to you. One arm draped over his back, nails digging into his muscles, while the other carded through his braids. He began to pick up pace, still gentle, still focused entirely on you. You were completely soaked between your legs, the slick squelch of every drag of his dick through you only adding fuel to the fire in your belly.

You pulled him closer, lips brushing against his cheek, your mouth right by his ear when you felt the familiar twitch inside you, his breath shaky with moans. “I love you so much, Lew…please come inside me.”

A soft groan tore from his throat, his hips faltering for just a moment before he steadied again, still deep, still smooth. His forehead dropped to yours, and he kissed you as you clenched around him again, ready to milk every bit of him. 

That was his undoing.

With a final few thrusts, Lewis buried himself as deep as he could, groaning your name against your lips as he filled you up with thick, creamy ropes, trembling above you, arms shaking, eyes shut tight like the moment would never end. His breath shuddered against your neck, hips twitching with every pulse of release as your slick core milked him.

Still, he didn’t pull away. He stayed inside, wrapped around you, breathing you in. His hands never left your skin, while his lips pressed kisses to your temple.

You stroked his back with slow, dreamy sweeps of your hand, the room thick with the scent of strawberries and love.

“Happy birthday, baby,” Lewis whispered again, his mouth mapping its way back to yours.

You smiled against his lips, your legs still curled around his hips. Neither of you moved to break the spell for a while. The candles still flickered in the other room, casting a golden glow across the hallway, and the world outside felt miles away.

“Thank you for everything, Lew. This might be the best one yet,” you replied softly, still slightly dazed as you traced your thumb along his facial hair.

He kissed the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the spot just below your ear. “It’s not over yet though.”

Your eyebrows lifted in amusement as you giggled when his breath tickled your skin. “Yeah?”

He pulled back to look at you, his eyes warm, and his heart shaped lips curved in that smile that always made your heart swell with love. “You’ve still got more gifts to open.”

You bit your lip, grinning now. “You mean the ones on the table, or…”

He dipped his head, kissed your neck again purposefully. “All of them, but maybe we can start with the smallest box. I don’t think you’ve seen that one yet.”

Your heart kicked harder in your chest, and he felt it as he smiled against your collarbone. 

When he finally pulled back to meet your gaze, still inside you, still tangled together, you could see in his eyes, that this night, this love, wasn’t done giving.

There would be more gifts to open, and more love to share, but one thing you knew for certain, was that he was the best gift of all.

you didn’t understand how lewis was able to sleep shirtless though. in a pair of boxers only, he was warm on these cold winter mornings. you smiled to yourself when his scent first, then his arms second enveloped you into a warm hug. burying your face in his neck you let out a gentle exhale. 

“morning…“ he whispered but you shook your head lightly, murmuring an almost incoherent no. earning a chuckle from him, his hands slide slowly under the fabric of his your shirt, as he presses a kiss to your forehead. it was finally winter break and you had the feeling that this years formula 1 season took forever. short mornings, rushed moments and long nights spend alone. and even if lewis was home he was busy with training and duties, leaving at ungodly times and coming back late when you were already asleep. 

but he had no choice than to listen to you when you threatened to chain him to the bed if he doesn’t stay in the mornings. so he was not only threatened by you (he loved it) but also lectured (he would never complain) about never needing an alarm clock but rather staying in bed all morning and cuddling. keeping the warm in as you had previously said.

so you did. relishing every morning, kissing and cuddling him ever since he came home. and if it wouldn't be actual chains, then he was safe to say your arms and legs did bound him under the blankets. he wouldn’t want it any other way. 

“you’re so warm…“ you hum, littering the softest kisses on his neck and jaw. lewis closed his eyes, realizing that he was in heaven the moment his angel had her hands all over him. sliding up his abs, over to his bare back your fingertips mapped out every muscle, every tattoo, every inch of soft skin. and you couldn’t get enough, taking your time to memorise it all. winter break would be over too soon anyway.

lewis hands trace along your spine under the shirt, around to your stomach and down to tease the waistband of your panties. you nibbled at the skin under his ear, giving him the silent go that made him smirk.

you two never needed as much as a few words and touches to know how the other felt. so he knew you were so ready to expand the lazy moment when his hand slid inside your panties to cup your bare pussy. a small gasp left your lips that had the blood rushing for him down south in no time. if not by the state of your core that was absolutely soaked already. 

“do i turn you on this much, my girl?“ he murmurs lowly in your ear, fingers parting your lower lips to gently circle your clit that has you bucking your hips into his touch. you only nod at his question, head too much in a fuzz already to comprehend a normal answer. not only were you wet for him, but absolutely greedy. who could blame you? you had missed him long enough. 

“such a good girl, hm? were you waiting for me with this sweet pussy?“ lewis slides two fingers inside you, curling them enough to make your stomach jump but not enough to reach your g spot. he loves playing with you. loves prolonging every feeling, every touch, every motion. "y-yes…“ you pant softly, "s-so much, lewis..“

his name so breathless on your lips has him tugging on his last restrains. he feels his dick twitch in his boxers, so ready to sink into your warmth he struggles to prolong the foreplay. but heavens heard his prayers long before you could, or so he believes when all you say is “please… i need you-“ figuring you’re growing just as impatient as he does. 

but he never picks up the pace. no, this morning is not about rushing. not about quick or hurried sex. it’s about you two. lewis pulls off your shirt before he frees himself from his boxers. your fingers working deftly to take of your soaked panties and having him roll you on your back. his lips melt into yours in a soft and gentle kiss while his hands grab onto the back of your thighs to pull you closer. 

the tip of his cock pressed against your entrance deliciously, but he lets it slide agonizingly slow through your wet folds. you bite his lower lip in a needy manner when he hits your clit repeatedly, making you restless on purpose. it feels like a lifetime until he finally pushes inside, filling you up so nicely, you are sure no one else has ever before. 

lewis groans softly, never ashamed of being vocal about how he feels about you. your wet warmth envelopes him in the most perfect way and has him moving slowly under the blanket. you wrap your arms around him, pulling him down for another kiss while feeling him stretch you with every slow thrust. grabbing your legs he wraps them around his waist, knowing if he could he would easily crawl under your skin. he would be closer to you, not only physically but mentally. whenever he could and while he picks up slowly and listens to those sweet noises you make for him, he realises he won’t last long.

"feels good, babygirl?“ he murmurs agains your lips, always encouraging you to be more vocal too, to make him hear who's making you like this “tell me how good you feel.“ you cup the back of his head, looking into those gentle brown eyes that promise you the world and more. you can safely say he is a pro in keeping you these promises. “so good, baby..“ you whimper softly when he hits your good spot repeatedly, feeling you clench around him like the good girl you are. 

“thats it, baby…“ he murmurs, burying his face in your neck to take in that sweet vanilla scent and something typical you. his warm hand wanders down to play with your clit, knowing you need that extra stimulation to let fully go. and while he plays you like he knows you the best, your body complies in no time. moans filling the fairy light lit bedroom when you arch your back and come so beautifully for him and him only. 

lewis can’t keep up much longer. wanting the experience to last but also to share the blissful high with you, he comes right after you, burying himself deep inside you, gently biting your shoulder. nails digging into his back as he rides out both of your orgasms with languid thrusts. leaning his forehead on yours you pant into each others mouths, making the moments last longer than time allows you to. 

“you deserve the sweetest pancakes with extra cream for this good morning fuck…“ you say with a small grin that has him mirror the expression immediately. a low chuckle rumbles through his chest, making goosebumps erupt your skin. he knows how much you love taking care of him and also how good your pancakes are. “trying to feed me calories?“ he teases, pressing a loving kiss to your lips “but only if we share“

a giggle leaves your lips, fingertips caressing his skin in the best way possible as he looks at the most magical gift in his life. you and your smile. and he wouldn’t want to trade these slow mornings for anything ever. staying in this bubble forever. “deal.“

❅*° ⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:

It was well into the night, maybe shortly past midnight, when she made her way onto the small balcony of her rundown apartment, eyes tired and heavy, yet not willing to stay closed. Immediately, she was met by the cold air, a stinging slap to her face. It nips at her skin, looking to break through and seep into her muscles, veins and lastly, her very bones. She didn't mind the harshness prickling against her nerves. She needed the distraction tonight.

A heavy sigh rips from the depths of her lungs, fingers reaching out to fumble for a cigarillo lying on the small, creaking metal table shoved against the railing. It was only there for that exact purpose: holding the packages of her cigars and cigarettes, an ashtray, and perhaps even a drink or two if she's feeling fancy. There was no reason for her to be on the balcony other than to have a calming smoke; no beautiful view waiting for her, no fresh air to catch either, not in the deepness of Zaun.

Flipping open the tin box, metal clattering against the table's surface, her fingers scoop in to lift one of her stress relievers out of its containment. Bringing it up to her lips, her hand reaches for a lighter, needing several tries to ignite a spark and correspondingly, her thin cigar. That simple action carries her mind back to you. You, who usually stumbled over their own feet to light it for her. 'Pretty women don't light their own cigarettes', you always said when she raised a questioning brow, that stupid, stupid grin adorning your lips whenever you did. You, who is currently warming her bed while she's out here, forcing stinging puffs of burning tobacco inside her lungs, only to gently blow them out with long exhales.

The smoke wafts past her lips, its tendrils twirling and swirling high into the sky, wanting to never be seen again as it becomes one with the fissures' polluted air. She felt the nightly tranquility weigh heavy on her shoulders, running thoughts nagging in the back of her mind. She should appreciate the quiet calm instead of bothering herself with these infuriating thoughts, yet her mind grants her no peace. The grip of her prosthetic grows tighter against the railing as she huffs, her lip scrunching up in frustration, quickly taking another drag of her cigar.

She stalls, holding the smoke deeply in her chest when she feels warm arms wrap around her waist, a face nestling between the hard planes of her shoulder blades.

Ba-dump.

Once she gets over the initial shock of your unexpected touch, she blows the smoke out slowly, watching as its wifts get carried through the winds.

"You should be in bed", she hums, feeling the nicotine take its course through her system. Her response was only to mask her own feelings, hoping to distract you from your initial mission. Always trying to divert the focus from herself.

"So should you...", you retort, your voice carrying the groggy roughness of leftover sleep, ".. You okay..?"

She huffs, puffing on her cigar.

"Never better", she mumbles sarcastically. It had always been easy for you to peek through her defenses, finding the smallest of cracks and managing to scratch them open with the very tips of your fingers; even if they did bleed in the end. Yet, every time you were close to reaching treasure, she seals the crumbling gaps with thicker concrete. She didn't understand why you kept on trying, kept on bothering to put up with her.

"A penny for your thoughts?", you murmur, nuzzling your nose against the crevice of her spine; a silent reassurance, urging her to open up.

"I'm fine", she sighs, flicking off the built up ashes. Her eyes trail down their path, seeing them disappear against the dirty cobblestone beneath her feet, beneath the balcony; they weren't worth a second glance. Couldn't even tell they had been there in the first place.

"You sure? Taking a lonely smoke in the middle of night doesn't exactly scream 'fine', you know..?", there's an empathetic smile on your face, trying to lighten the mood. She can hear it in the way you talk.

"Too much on your mind?"

"You could say that", she trails off thoughtfully, "It's not worth your time, no need to worry about it", there's a tiredness in her voice, a hint of self deprecation one could only catch if they really listened. Which you always did. Unfortunately for her.

"I worry about you"

Ba-dump

Protest laces your tone as you speak, ".. And if something's bothering you, then it must be important... Atleast to some degree.."

"It's not. Trust me, doll. I can handle a few stupid thoughts", you hear the way her voice changes subtly, forcing herself to sound less vulnerable, trying to once again build the wall higher around her heart; a prison for the lonely.

"But I do.. Because you're important to me.. And I care..", you reassure, trailing off. The unspoken; words she feared ever coming from your lips were left unsaid, but she knew they were there. Sitting on the tip of your tongue, itching to slip past the seal and bury deep inside her heart like barbed wire.

Your sigh is warm against her back when you realize she won't budge; she can feel it through the fabric of her shirt. She desperately fights off the crawling shiver threatening to run down her spine.

"You don't have to tell me.. But please just.. Remember that I'm here for you.. And whenever you need me, I'll happily lend an ear", your arms tighten around her waist, pulling her closer in comfort; wether it was for her's or your own, she's not quite sure. Regardless, she melts into your embrace, her muscles relaxing the tiniest bit. She's silent, no doubt contemplating your words. Cigarillo back at her lips, she closes her eyes, a heavy, smoky breath escaping her nostrils.

"I'm just.. Worrying over nothing, is all. Nothing severe", she murmurs, her metallic hand clanking against the railing when she let's go, instead bringing it to hold the cigar. The other one, her own, moves to rest over yours. She always prefered feeling you, your soft skin beneath hers. When in reality, she shouldn't. Shouldn't let you hold her so tenderly. Shouldn't reciprocate. It'll only be harder in the end. Companionship and romance aren't things that lasted in the dark pit that is the Underground. They wither, get stomped out and burned until the only thing that's left is the dismembered corpse of what could have been. That's how life was in this hell she called her home. She accepted it. Had to learn how to from an early age. Yet despite that, she couldn't help but hold her hand into the flame.

".. How about a massage?", she barely catches the sound of your voice, yet it still cuts through her racing mind.

"What?", she turns her head, looking down at you over her shoulder. You can't help but admire her from this angle, the faint, neon lights from the distance reflecting across her profile, her blue scars glowing. Greens, reds and purples catch against her skin, colors that all looked magnificient, in perfect contrast with the essence of her very being.

"I can massage you... Help you relax.. Get your mind off of things", you repeat, your hands travelling towards her hips, gently squeezing.

A small snort echoes through the night.

"Oh yeah? Pampering me now, are you?", she hums, taking one last drag of her cigar before stumping it out in the ashtray. She made it a habit ever since she noticed you picking up her thrown butts scattered across the floor one too many times. The same way she made it a habit of smoking on the balcony once she realized you couldn't breathe properly when she did it inside.

".. But I won't say no to that if you're offering".

She watches as that small smile forms on your face, standing on your toes to press a soft kiss against her cheek. You didn't have to, but knew it boosted her ego just a bit.

Ba-dump.

"Go make yourself comfortable in bed, I'll start heating up the oil", you pat her shoulders before the both of you part ways, her going back to bed while you grab the massaging oil from the bathroom. Filling a pot with water, you bring it to a soft boil before putting the container in to warm up.

Once you re-enter the bedroom, you find Sevika comfortably lying on her back, boxers the only thing adorning her scarred skin. Her right arm is tucked underneath her head, her prosthetic lying on the bedside table for easy access should she need it. Due to her lying position, her thighs appear even bigger than usual, excess flesh squished to the sides. They're spread the tiniest bit, enough to make your mind spiral as it immediately conjures the lewdest images of your head between them, squished to death as you lap at her cunt.

If you could paint realistically, you would capture the beauty of this moment in it's entirety; the way she lies before you making for the perfect muse. The way the low light of the bedside lamp casts breathtaking shadows across her muscles, contouring her in the best of ways. You have to actively stop yourself from drooling.

"Are you done oggling me?", there it is, that shit eating smirk you've grown to love so much, no matter how infuriating it can be at times. Your eyes roll on instinct, a grin of your own forming on your face.

"Oh hush. I can't be blamed when you're looking like that", a smile graces your lips, one entirely too intimate for her but her heart skips a beat anyways. You crawl onto the bed, one finger wedging between her thigh and the leg of her boxers. Pulling softly, you let the fabric snap back against her skin. Her eyebrow raises in response, challenging you to go further, watching as you position yourself over her.

She can see the mirth twinkling in your irises, no doubt conjuring plans on how to make her suffer.

Ba-dump

It only makes her heart beat quicker, rapidly hammering against the cage of her chest, wanting to be set free like a bird gazing at the ever growing horizon. She doesn't stop you when your head dips down to plant your first kiss against her collarbone. Breathing grows harder when your lips trail gently up her neck. She could feel their softness, the carefulness in your touch as if she was something fragile, something made to be broken. She wasn't. She was anything but that. Yet she enjoys it when your lips stream higher and higher, following along the reddened rivulet hidden underneath her skin until you reach the shell of her ear, lips threatening to fall off the cliff that is her jaw and she hopes you'll cling onto it.

She holds her breath when your lips wander along, tiptoeing against the line, never once losing your balance. But she fears. Fears you'll fall. Fears you'll drag her with you into the deep end, with no point of return. Once your lips finally meet hers, she realizes it is already far too late. She's drowning, air ripped from her lungs as her very being succumbes to your deadly touch; drowning in a sea that is entirely made of you. Your touch. Your smell. Your voice. Your taste. It's all you. And she fears it. Fears getting close to you. Fears that this will change. Fears this won't last.

She's afraid.

And she doesn't know how to swim back up to the surface as you drag her deeper and deeper into the dark abyss. But she's not complaining, quite the contrary. She's feeding into it, letting her body grow heavy as she let's you pull her under. She reaches out for you, pulling you closer as she craves more, addicted to the feeling of utter breathlessness and freedom, despite knowing she'll lock herself away the moment the touch of your lips passes. So she clings on, forcing you against her as your lips join and overlap like clashing waves.

She chases you once you pull away, like you're her only source of oxygen but when she grasps your lips are gone, she breathes in deeply. Eyes fluttering open, she finds your own already staring back at her, that stupid, stupid smile back on your face, taunting her with feelings she'd rather keep buried underneath harsh words and a tough exterior.

Ba-dump

She knew that there was something lingering between you two for quite some time now, something she didn't want to acknowledge, too afraid to do so. After all, she did invite you over to her apartment for the better quarter of a year now, to the point that you've basically movied in with her; your clothes strewn across chairs and the run down sofa she's been wanting to replace for a while now; replacing half of her wardrobe's contents with you; a second toothbrush occupying the small little cup on her bathroom's sink; her fridge filled with various kinds of fresh vegetables, fruits and self-made jams -the same way her stomach is filled to the brim with home cooked meals rather than random take-out.

She snaps out of her thoughts when your fingers tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, gently, warmly and she curses herself for leaning into the touch.

One last, chaste kiss against her lips and you pull away. She almost panics, but your hand gently pushes over her heart, keeping her still. If it weren't for your reassuring smile and devoted eyes staring down at her, she'd feel embarrassed with how rapidly her heart drums against your palm, wanting to nestle into the warmth of your skin.

"How about you turn around, hm? So I can start the massage", she blinks once, twice before your words finally register in her muddled brain and with a single nod of her head, she flips herself onto her stomach, needing a few tries until her chest lies comfortably against the mattress. Her eyes stare blankly onto the prosthetic to her left, lying abandoned on the bedside table as her cheek rests on her arm, impatiently waiting to finally feel your hands upon her skin.

Instead, she senses the way your eyes burn into it, mapping out each and every crevice of her body. She doesn't know wether to feel shy, small, cocky or ashamed. Maybe an unhealthy mix of all four.

"Thought you were gonna massage me, not drool all over", her voice is quiet, barely audible as she murmurs her words in a flimsy attempt of keeping her pride, dignity and a semblance of her usual bravado. Though it's only a mask; she feels anything but. Your giggle makes her want to bury her face in the pillow and pull you in for another kiss, simply to drown out the addictive sound.

"I'm sorry, honey, but you're absolutely stunning"

Ba-dump

She scoffs, frowning into space with.. Is that a pout?

It deepens when you seemingly laugh at her misery, but before she can react, you hook a leg over her hips to straddle her, your buttocks against hers. An involuntary sigh flows out of her nostrils. Having you close was always so calming, but so, so nerve-wracking all at once.

You open the container for the oil, the glass warm against your palms like a hot cup of coffee. Inside Sevika's head, the sound of the lid opening echoes as anticipation builds higher and higher. Dipping the tips of your fingers inside, you spread the slickness in the palms of your hands.

"Ready?", an affirmative hum is your only cue before you place your hands down on her.

As soon as they make contact with her back, her whole body melts into the mattress, her eyelids fluttering shut as she let's her trepidations and stress wash away. They glide firmly over her muscles, rubbing the oil deeply into her skin. You watch as her shoulders rise with every even breath, falling in slow exhales, and you can't help but note how etheral she looks like this. So at peace, in absolute bliss. It was a rare sight and you understood why, her life was in no way an easy one, but you wished you'd be able to see it more often. You promise yourself you'll make it better.

With wandering hands and eyes, you heed the details of her body before you, carving each and every one into the mental statue molded inside the depths of your mind. From the occasional moles scattered across her olive skin, up to her blueish-purple scars that reach all the way from her shoulder to her cheek. They glisten under the warm, dull light of the bedside lamp, twinkling like a night sky full of stars; an entire galaxy mapped out on her body.

Taking the opportunity, your eyes trace over her features: her beautiful grey eyes that always tell you exactly what she's thinking, giving you a window to look through her soul no matter how many curtains she uses to hide. They're closed, but the way her eyelashes are curled against her cheeks is equally breathtaking. Her dark lips, so perfectly kissable, adorned with those tiny splits of healed cuts from prior fights. Those lovely lips that hide the most adorable smile you've ever seen, with the cutest tooth gap enhancing her charm. Without realizing, your hands slow their movements before coming to a full stop against her shoulder blades.

Pure and utter adoration lies down to rest on your face, softening your features as you lean forward, pressing a tender peck against the apple of her cheek.

Ba-dump

Heat rises, travelling from her face down her neck. Her eyes peek open, flicking over her shoulder to look at you and she hates the sight before her.

Hates the way you gaze down at her in the most tender way she's ever experienced. Hates the way your smile makes her heart race to the point she's overwhelmed by breathless dizziness. Hates the way your hands feel against her skin, forcing these gooey, weak emotions inside her to rouse from their century long slumber. Hates the way she craves more despite knowing better.

Of course she's aware that your hands are slowing, coming to a stop as you're stuck in mesmerization; how could she not when their movement felt so heavenly against her sore spots and deep knots? Though she's unsure wether she should vocalise her discontent; after all, you have done so much for her already and in no way does she want to come across as ungrateful. But you did promise her a soothing massage. And this was in no way enough.

So without uttering any comands, she simply pushes her muscles back against your hands, urging you to keep going. With snorted laughter and a teasing quip her way, your hands continue their trip to bringing her pleasure.

"Anything for my sweet woman~", your voice sings, your words deepening that soft redness on her cheeks.

Ba-dump

She wasn't necessarily the possessive type, but sentences like these had a way of playing her heart strings like they hadn't been in years. She hated it. She absolutely despised it. It made her weak. It made you a liability. Yet she couldn't help but crave more, her greed knowing no bounds even in this.

Only that she couldn't win this fight; the fight she put up against her own heart whenever it starts skipping two beats around you. The fight she puts up whenever she catches her own breath hitching at the sight of you cooking behind her stove, waiting for her to come home as you cook a filling meal for her after a grueling day of work. The fight she puts up whenever she realizes she was growing softer, more vulnerable around you. She knew that. Knew she couldn't win. So for now, she figures indulging in it was for the best. Only that her heart is pounding so horribly against her ribcage, it was hard to ignore. So was the low burn starting to ignite in her abdomen when she let her thoughts drift. It was only a matter of time until they did, with how well you tend to her every need, every single time, every hour of the day, no matter how often she pushes you away.

The longer your fingers glide across her skin, the more loose her lips become; small sighs and hums and things that sound suspiciously like whimpers vibrating through her throat. Of course, you notice. Just as you notice the way her body grows restless beneath you; back arching against your touch, ass, with you on top, lifting up and back down with each movement of her thighs, no doubt rubbing them together, arm tensing against her pillow and pulling it closer to her flushed face.

The control you have over her, despite her refusal to admit to anything of the matter, leaves you grinning giddily, light-hearted perversion running through every vein of your body at the knowledge of having her fully wrapped around your pinky finger, desperate for the simplest of touches. She'd do anything for you without so much of a blink, just like you would do anything for her. You'd burn the whole world down if she asked you to.

Though these touches might not be as innocent as they had started off anymore.

So without much of a thought, you slip off your position on top of her, moving between her thighs, sitting on your haunches.

You focus on her lower back, thumbs pressing into those two, cute little dimples of venus. Fitting name, she looked like a sculpted god.

Occasionally, those exact thumbs catch underneath the waistband of her underwear, on accident, of course, and you revel in the way her breath stops momentarily before picking back up slightly more labored each time.

"stop teasing", her voice would sound warning if it weren't for the shudder accompanied by it, or the hoarse rasp coating each word.

"whatever do you mean?"

Despite your words, you never really seem to be able to tease her for long, caving at each little command like you were born to follow obediently. Maybe it was the constant stress you've been put under about being 'the perfect little kid' that had molded you into exactly that; someone with the constant need for instructions, searching for the simplest forms of validation. But you don't mind; you have long accepted the fact that you wanted to be obedient, just for her.

The tips of your fingers dip below her waistband, agonizingly slow when tugging the offending fabric down, down and down until they're thrown off to the side; out of sight, out of mind.

You bite your lip at the sight before you, fingers splaying out across the fat of her ass, squeezing and prodding and digging and squeezing until her shoulders were tense, thighs squeezed tightly and her face hidden in the pillow.

She was cute like this, all flustered. It was a sight you've got to see more and more often these past few weeks the longer you stayed close by her side. And you loved it, loved whenever she averted her gaze or burrowed her face in your neck in a futile attempt of hiding her bashfulness.

"stop", she scoffs, loving hating the way butterflies swirled in her stomach like she's some teenage girl. But you knew she didn't mean it; she was pressing her flesh against your hands. She was pressing her hips higher in hopes you'll catch the hint, burying your face where she needs it the most.

You did, of course, catch the hint, but played dumb for just a little while longer.

"what do you need, honey? I'm not a mind reader, you know...", she can hear the condescending lilt in your voice, feel the barely perceptible brush of your thumb over her humiliatingly wet folds and she almost gives herself whiplash with how quickly her head twists over her shoulder to shoot you a glare.

Her mouth opens to curse you out, tell you to 'fucking touch her' before she takes matters into her own hands, but her words quickly die on her tongue, replaced by the loudest moan she's ever let slip as your tongue dives forward, running from her thrumming clit up to her leaking hole.

Her face burns, quickly pushed back against her pillow, entirely too embarrassed at the almost pornographic noise escaping her lips.

Really, it wasn't that loud. It was moderate, but usually, she was more on the quieter side, the most she'd let slip were groans and grunts, maybe the occasional, quiet whimper. So a full blown moan was something new, something that exposed her in ways she didn't want to be.

So she hid her face against the sheets, each kiss and lick and suck of your lips across her cunt luring more noises to slip past her own, only partially muted by her self-made gag. Surely, you'd love to hear them to their full extent, but you also knew she needed this, needed something to ground herself with, to keep herself from getting too overwhelmed, so you accepted it.

Your movements were languid, tongue dragging and basking in the salty taste of her arousal, nose pressed against her until every other sense was drowned out. You could stay like this, between her thighs, all day, all night, 24/7; feeling her gush on your tongue, arousal dripping as it flowed freely from her hole. The exact place you're shoving your tongue into, wanting to taste more, and she whimpers at your desperation.

Her voice is a tad bit higher than usual, raspy with need as the noises stream past her lips like a river across its bank.

Wet muscle slithering back up through her folds, her hips move on their own accord, jumping when your lips wrapped around that sweet, sweet bundle of nerves, sucking harshly and shaking your head from side to side.

It doesn't take long until she's gasping, hand shooting out behind her to press your face further into her cunt, hips grinding, chasing a high so close she could taste it on her lips. Your neck and cheeks were growing clammy, arousal and spit smeared across your chin and nose. You couldn't move even if you wanted to, and it got you hooked almost immediately.

Your own abdomen throbbed with heat as she just used you, dragging herself against your face until her own desire was sated, thighs riddled with small tremors as her body convulsed, clenching around nothing as her orgasm crashed over her in shocking waves.

You gently lick up the added slick, sucking her clean until you finally depart yourself with a wet 'pop'.

She catches her breath, eyes closed and body relaxed. You tug on her shoulder, forcing her to turn onto her back.

Your kisses are sweet when you pepper them across her face, trying to get her back to earth. When her breathing has somewhat gone back to acceptable standards, you spoke up.

"can I wear the strap tonight?", your voice is gentle, tender, like you're speaking to a wounded animal, knowing she'll need a second before registering your words. But already, she knows she hates your tone of voice. Despises how much her heart desires it.

There's a short pause as she contemplates what to respond. Did she even want to let you take complete control tonight? Give herself to you in such an open, vulnerable way? Let you take the lead as she, what, laid back and did nothing? Janna, yes she did.

A huff.

"Do whatever you want..", a grumble, a begrudging attunement without having to distinctly voice it, without the added exposure of telling you exactly what she wants.

Your hands squeeze firmly just underneath the cheeks of her sculpted bottom, your nose wandering along her jaw.

"You know I won't take that as an answer, honey. You want me to or you don't. Either is fine, but you gotta let me know, otherwise I'm not doin' nothin'!", your grin against her cheek is burning, leaving a trail of reddened marks to travel over the bridge of her nose and down the side of her neck.

"You're insufferable..", she whispers, refusing to meet your gaze like her life depended on it, "... Put it on.."

There's that same mirth flashing through your eyes, teeth flashing mischievously through tautly pulled lips and for a second, she thinks she might regret her decision. That is until you actually fasten the harness around your hips, not without undressing yourself first. Her eyes are laser focused on the way the straps dig into your skin, your flesh bulging over them.

At this moment, she realizes she's never appreciated anything more than you, exactly like this, before. The way you look above her, honey-skinned in the golden glow of the bedside lamp, naked as the day you were born. The way her strap fits so snugly around your hips, the dildo resting neatly over her pubic mound -and she might think you look even better than her wearing it. The way you've been taking care of her all evening; from the dinner you made for her when she got home, to your fingers carding through her hair as you washed it thoroughly, because you knew she was too exhausted to lift her arm, and finally, your ever soft hands against her skin, in more ways than one.

And you'll continue taking care of her going onward from this moment.

All she has to do is sit back.. Let go.. And simply pass the reigns to you.

The day has left her drained already, the leaching work and onslaught of haunting thoughts enough to bring her guard down, enough to lean back and simply bask in the moment.

She'll manage. It should be easy. And if she gets overwhelmed, she can always just roll you over- not that she'll get overwhelmed, that's idiotic, she can handle it. She's Silco's right hand woman, dammit, she handles fights and meetings and bribes and errands with ease, so she can handle a bit of vulnerability, she will.

Her expression portrays her confliction, corner of her lip twitching upward in what seems to be disgust, though her eyes show the insecurity lying beneath.

She snaps out of her mental prison when your voice calls her name, smile compassionate, sweet, lov- don't you dare finish that thought.

"we don't have to. I can just.. Take it off and we'll call it a day", she wants this. She wants this. 'So open your damned mouth and say it-'

"Don't..", her voice is a meek murmur, lips formed in an almost huffy pout. Her expression is one you would expect a dishonored person to wear, someone who's got their whole pride and dignity stripped from them, eyes not hitting their target.

"tell me to continue and I will. Tell me to stop and I won't hesitate. This is all about you, honey. Just look at me and talk, yeah?", she fights against the grip of your hand against her jaw, but decides to give up and look at you none the less.

Why do you have to be so damn convincing?

"Just get on with it, will you? Unless you're getting cold feet?", her tone is mocking, challenging, desperately trying to keep up the confident, unbothered front.

With a roll of your eyes and a knowing grin, you grind -in this very moment your- strap against her folds, coating it's underside in her arousal. Her breath hitches. She's almost embarrassed at how wet she is. She blames it on the lingering of your spit. Yet she can't disguise the stumbling of her breath.

"You like that, huh?"

With no response, you simply thrust your hips once more, tip of the silicone catching against her clit in just the right ways. In response, her eyes flutter shut for just a moment before immediately locking with yours.

She's almost mesmerized by the sight of you, so beautifully woven into her life, and Janna, she shouldn't be so excited to let you fuck her.

But she is, so she watches with bated breath as you spit against your dick, smearing it across with your hand firmly wrapped around, the exact way you've done when she was the one wearing it.

You're infuriatingly careful when ligning yourself up, almost like you're scared of hurting her. How.. Pathetic..

Ba-dump

She watches carefully as your elbows place next to her head, your face breathtakingly close to hers as you push in. Her eyes flutter closed instinctively, head relaxing further into the pillows as she clenches tightly around the intrusion, and you swear you can feel it.

It's all a blur, really. Pleasure so good it has her arching into your touch until her chest is squished against yours. Your hand finds hers, fingers interlacing, squeezing her hand with a kind of possession that makes her heart soar. Her throat is dry, you can hear it in the way she swallows, your nose nudging along her cheek, her scars. Eyes closed, she gives herself fully to you, lips parted with ragged breaths as she meets every one of your thrusts with a grind of her own.

So really, it's no wonder that the words slip past your lips, barely audible if they hadn't been whispered right beside her ear.

Immediately, her body freezes, eyes shooting open as she stares off beside your head. She looks positively terrified, and it tucks at your heartstrings, hips stopping as soon as you feel her stiffening, trying to lock herself back up.

Her head turns to the side, eyes filling with unwanted tears, burning as she stops them from cascading down her cheeks. Your hands reach out for them instead.

"hey, hey... It's okay.. I shouldn't have dropped that on you..", you refuse to say you're sorry. After all, it was true and you didn't want her to think otherwise. You were sorry for dropping the l-bomb so suddenly, so intimately, without any trenches near for her to hide in, to save herself from the inevitable first blow. But you weren't at all sorry for loving her. Why would you be? Ever since she has taken you in, invited you to invade her private life, you have been so much happier than you have ever been before. She could be kind if she wanted to, showing that she cared in the simplest of ways without having to voice it. You couldn't help but dig deeper into that hole you've called affection, infatuation growing the longer you've decided to hold onto her, everything she was willing to give you, you ate it up like someone starved.

She's almost choking on her own tears and the sight breaks your heart.

"breathe, honey... I'm right here... And I'll stay here for as long as you want me to...", your voice carries that same careful and tender tone it always does, wiping the tears from the corner of her eyes before they can fall and she doesn't know wether to feel thankful or burst out sobbing, "We can stop, yeah? Wait, I'll.."

Before you can pull out of her, her ankle hooks around your waist, keeping you close.

With a warring mind and heavy heart, she held you there, needed you by her side, to soothe her pain the way you did to her wounds after careless fights. Yet she refused to look at you, still figuring out her own reaction.

Her heart soared at the admission all the while squeezing with an unimaginable pain, knowing all her efforts to prevent this have grown to be futile. But maybe, just maybe if she let you keep going, you'll stay. Like you said you would.. So she indulged in it, maybe one last time, and quietly, she whispers.

"Don't stop"

And you don't, hips slowly starting to move again, more carefully than before, eyes searching her expression for any sign of discomfort, any sign of her changing her mind. But she doesn't, refuses to if this might be her last chance of being intimate with you.

She was afraid. Afraid you wouldn't like what she's hidden beneath despite your reassurances trying to ease her over and over again. It was drilled into her very being ever since she was born. Weakness is a curse, took the people you cared about and sent them off to fight their own war, slaughtered by the cold hands of life. Vulnerability was weakness. Better not show it if you want to live. Best not feel it if you want to survive. Yet with every little bit of vulnerability she showed, you've never strayed; never berated her for feeling, never used it to make her pliable in your hands, never used it as a weapon against herself. You've encouraged it, kissed her messy thoughts better. So why was she still so afraid?

Her confliction was etched onto her face, carved into her complexion like an eternal inscription. So you speak up.

"Want me to tell you just what I love about you?", her breath catches, hitching in her throat at the sound of your panting, your hips picking up their pace, starting to move against hers a bit more desperately.

"I love your pretty nose, your for some reason always perfect-looking hair, your jaw, your tummy, your happy trail, your thighs..", you pause shortly as you notice the precarious expression gracing her features.

".. I love your crystal-grey eyes, because no matter how hard you try to hide behind that tough persona of yours, they always show me just what you're thinking, what you're feeling.. It really is true when people say eyes are the mirror into one's soul.. And yours are the prime example..

I love your full lips; they're so damn kissable.. The way they feel against me, in any way, makes me feel like they were made for that purpose only. No matter if it's my lips, my cheek, my forehead or somewhere else entirely, you make sure that I feel breathless wherever they trail"

Her doubt is settling on her chest, locking it closed and crushing her lungs as it slings its vines around her neck like a noose, tighter and tighter until her breath is cut short. The pressure weighs heavy, repressed tears flooding her eyes with each word muttered, spilling from your lips as a healing balm for her aching heart.

"I love your scars.. Every single one a testimony of the challenges you face everyday; the proof of your ambition, your willpower to fight and keep fighting for Zaun, your people -us. They glimmer like the stars hung above the sky. They're something to be proud of, something that makes you who you are. And I wouldn't have you any other way..

I love your faith in this city. How you give everything you have to do what's right. How you stay rooted to your beliefs.. And won't let anyone put you down. You're fighting for this.. Better and harder than anyone. 

I love how much you care, the way you show you care.. I love how despite everything life throws your way, you always find a way to keep going, you never give up..

I promise, you can be so proud of yourself, Sevika. I am so proud of you. Proud of calling you mine. It's an honor. And I love you"

With shaky breaths and a trembling hand, she grabs you by the back of your head, pulling you down to connect your lips in a soft kiss, filled with aversion and craving, reluctant surrender and reassurance, need and desperation; and for the very first time, she allows herself to admit it's love.

It's love when her legs hook around your waist, pulling you closer, flush against her so she's able to feel every press and rub and thrust to its fullest, indulging in what she's fought against for so long.

It's love when you focus solely on her, wiping the lonesome tears that slip from her eyes, replacing them with the residue of once-saliva-slicked lips.

It's love when you muffle her humiliatingly loud noises with breathtaking pecks, swallowing her sounds and saving them in the depths of your mind.

It's love when your hips speed up per request, when your thumb pushes against her clit because you know she's edging closer and closer.

It's love when she lets herself fall once more, body shuddering as she's blinded by her pleasure, though it might as well be the tears in her eyes.

It's love when you kiss her through it. When you praise her and tell her once more just how much she means to you.

It's love when you clean her up, letting her cuddle close when her mind has finally quieted down enough for her eyes to grow heavy.