#Breastfeeding and returning to work

[basicperfectionist]

Dont save money! Dont make spending plans! Your car can sense it and it WILL give you issues or break if you do!!

[satansdarlin]

Royal flush

Gambit/Remy LeBeau x Fem!Reader

NSFW tags: Oral fem receiving, breeding kink, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

Minors DNI

Word count: 3126

Not beta read so excuse any grammar mistakes

Written because of an idea from- @fandomzwriterk 💜

If you liked this check of my masterlist or put in a request if they are open

Remy was like a dog caged as he watched his loving partner bouncing Jean and Scott's son on her leg as she chatted to Jean. Why did she have to look so good just doing something like bouncing a baby? He loved her, he really did. But seeing her so close with another family just... irked  him. Jealousy wasn’t a normal thing for him. But (Y/N) just looked so damn happy. He was trying not to watch, but... he couldn’t stop himself. He leaned against the wall and just... watched her. It wasn't like he was jealous of Scott or Jean for spending time with her. No, in fact it was a far different reason. He was jealous because.. it should be him and (Y/N) doing that with a kid. Gah, he was getting worked up just imagining it. Imagining her all big and pregnant with his kid, her glowing that special way only pregnant women did. Holding their kid, being a perfect mom. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts as he continued to stare.

She glanced up feeling his stare and gave him a soft smile. He was surprised that she caught him staring. He was usually better at going unnoticed. He returned her smile, albeit a bit sheepishly. Damn, he felt a bit like a middle schooler, being caught staring at his crush. He didn't need to feel sheepish he internally reminded himself they had been together for so long and his ring was decorating her finger now. Kids wasn't something they had talked about yet both anxious about the idea of having children. Being mutants and still having to fight back against the anti-mutant campaign was hard enough imagining having a little bundle of joy that was also a mutant? Terrifying. But... the thought was intoxicating. Just imagining her belly swollen with their kid. Merde, he was getting worked up by this whole chain of thought. He couldn’t help but imagine her being all motherly, holding a baby, breastfeeding. His baby. He shook his head again, trying to clear his thoughts.

She passed the baby back to Jean and made her way over to her husband.  "You've been starin pretty hard" she spoke in a teasing tone. He couldn’t resist returning the teasing tone. 

“Well, can you blame me, baby?” He eyed her up and down again, almost salivating. “You’re lookin’ pretty damn good tonight.”

She glanced down at herself in slight confusion. She was just wearing one of his older shirts and some jeans. A completely casual attire.  "You're just easily impressed, hun”

He laughed. “You’re wearing my shirt. You know how much I like seein’ you in my shirt.” He reached out, grabbing her hips and pulling her close against him. “Besides, even if you were wearin’ a potato sack, you’d still look damn good.”

She snorted a bit and kissed his cheek not minding how his scruff scratched a her lips.  "You're actin off baby. Somethin up?”

He let out a hum, pulling her in closer so she was against his chest and he could wrap his arms around her. “Just watchin’ you with the kid got me a bit worked up.” Understatement, he thought.

She looked up at him with a sense of understanding.  "Yeah? Kids huh?" She didn't sound judgemental or opposed but rather curious. 

He leaned down, resting his forehead against hers. “Yeah. They ain’t ever really been a though in my mind. But…” Damn it, he was going to have to say it out loud. “Watchin’ you with that kid… I couldn’t help but imagine you with our kid. Bein’ all… motherly. I like how you looked.”

She hummed softly at this her eyes scanning over his black and red ones. "Well i think it's only natural. We been married for a while now." She spoke gently 

He nodded, unable to deny it. “We’ve been together for a while… and yet… a baby’s never been a thought in our minds, not really. I mean, are we really prepared to be parents?” He was being honest, despite how excited he was to see the sight of his wife with a baby in her arms.

"Well.. we could start preparing if you are wanting to take that step" she gently ran her hands over his shoulders. 

His heart skipped a beat. Here she was, not outright refusing the idea, but actually considering it and preparing to talk about it. “Are you wanting this?” He had to make sure, had to make sure she didn’t just agree because it made him happy.

"Baby I've been thinkin we would have adorable kids the moment we met" she giggled softly

He chuckled, pulling her flush against him. “Damn right they’d be adorable.” He leaned down, kissing right below her ear. “Can you imagine it? Little brats runnin’ around, wreakin’ havoc?”

She hummed softly. "Oh it'd be terrible" she teased as she felt one of his hands press against her stomach absent mindedly.

He let his hand roam, imagining the flat stomach swelling with pregnancy. “You know they’d take after you. Get your cute little nose and eyes.”

"Bet they'd get your hair." She hummed running her hand through his hair to emphasize her point. 

He chuckled, enjoying the feel of her fingers running through his hair. “They’d get your temper, too. I’d almost feel bad for ‘em.” He teased her.

She rolled her eyes and her gaze trailed over her lover. "Wanna get out of here?" She spoke in a hushed tone with a quirk of her lips into a smirk

He chuckled, already knowing what she had in mind. “Thought you’d never ask.” He pressed his hips against hers, already feeling himself getting aroused by just being this close to her.

That's how they ended up back in their shared home. Clothes decorating the floor from the front door to their bedroom. The bed creaking and headboard being muffled by the pillow stuffed behind it. She was clawing at his hair as he held his post between her legs lapping at her like a starved man.

He was damn near worshiping her, holding her tight and not letting her get away. “God, sweetheart, you taste so good,” he groaned, lapping at her like she was the source of his life essence.

She was whimpering and mewling as she fisted the sheets like they were a life line. She gripped onto his hair with her other hand gently tugging as he drug his tongue across her sensitive flesh. 

He was absolutely loving the sounds she was making. He knew exactly how sensitive she was, and he knew every single trick of his tongue to drive her crazy with pleasure. He was taking his time with her, enjoying every single second, savoring how good she felt and tasted.

She gasped out, her back arching like a cat as he pushed two fingers into her. He curled his fingers inside of her, knowing exactly how to draw out that pleasure and drive her absolutely wild. “You like that, sweetheart?” He teased her, his breathing a bit labored from his own aroused state.

She nodded desperately. "Yes rem love it feels so good" she whined out in that breathy needy tone he loved to hear her speak in. A tone reserved for his ears only. 

Damn, he loved how desperate she was. How needy she was. She was his, and his alone, and he’d make sure she knew that. “I’ll make ya feel so good, baby,” he murmured, latching his lips around the sensitive flesh and sucking.

Both hands went to the sheets clawing at the silk fabrics and the plush mattress underneath. 

He groaned against her, the sounds she was making and how desperate she was getting was driving him wild. He wanted to taste every inch of her, touch every single spot that would make her cry out with pleasure. He was completely intoxicated by her, like a drug he couldn’t get enough of.

The feeling of his vibrations against her made her mewl out loudly. "fuck!" Her words sent a jolt of satisfaction through him, making him smirk against her flesh. 

“That’s it… let me hear how good I make you feel, baby.” He curled his fingers again, knowing exactly how to draw out more desperate mewls from her.

She gasped out her hips pushing up against his arm holding them down. "Close" she squeaked out in a desperate mewl.

He could feel her getting closer, could feel her getting tighter and tighter around his fingers. He wanted to bring her over the edge, wanted to hear her come completely undone with ecstasy. “Come on, baby.” He pressed down on her hip harder, still relentlessly working her towards that sweet release. “Come for me,” he murmured against her, using every trick he knew to send her careening over the edge. “I wanna hear how good you feel.”

She cried out and her muscles contracted as she came undone. Her back bucked, her entire body trembling and twitching with the intensity of her orgasm. She was completely and utterly helpless under his touch. “R-remy….!”

He groaned against her as her body trembled and shook with pleasure. He wasn’t finished yet, though. He wanted to wring out every single bit of ecstasy from her that he could. “That’s it, sweetheart, let me make you feel good,” he murmured, his fingers working her through her orgasm and overstimulating her.

Her hands, shaking from the force of her orgasm, gripped his hair pulling him away letting out a breathy chuckle hearing him whine. "Baby I'd rather get on to the main course”

He groaned as he felt her grip his hair, preventing him from continuing his ministrations. When he heard her chuckling, he let out a whine, still wanting to taste her and bring her to climax once more. But hearing her wanting the main course stirred his excitement. “You sure you don’t want another?” He smirked, his usual overconfidence on display.

"This time I wanna finish around something bigger than your fingers" she wiped his face for him wiping off the left over arousal from her. He hummed, letting his tongue run over his lips to taste her again. 

“Such an impatient wife,” he teased her, wiping his chin on the back of his hand. “You want me that badly?” He asked, already knowing exactly what her answer would be.

"You know I do, baby." She inched her legs up over his hips. Now that wouldn't do. If he wanted to properly breed her those thighs needed to be up on his shoulders.

He chuckled, moving forward and pushing her thighs up until they were resting on his shoulders, allowing him to press even closer. “Naughty thing.” He teased her, pressing his hips against hers and letting her feel how hard he was for her. “You’re pretty much begging for it now.”

"Don't make me beg baby. I just want to make you daddy" she purred up at him. She knew damn well how weak that made him. He absolutely loved hearing her call him that, and she knew exactly how to use it to her advantage. His heart was pounding in his chest, his brain already filled with the image of her with a baby in her arms, calling him daddy. 

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, his grip on her thighs tightening. He leaned back, resting on his knees and keeping her legs up on his shoulders.  “You really want a baby that much, huh?” He asked, taking in how she looked underneath him, just at his mercy. 

"I want your baby, remy" she gazed up at him. 

Hearing her say that shot a wave of intense possessiveness through him. “You want my baby?” He repeated back to her, almost like he was processing the words himself. “You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.” He ran his hands up to her hips, holding her in his tight grip. He pushed the tip of him into her, teasing her a bit but it was hell to not just immediately slam in. He teased them both by just barely pushing the tip inside, driving himself absolutely insane. “God, you feel so good, sweetheart,” he groaned, his eyes locked on her face as he teased her. “You want it all, don’t you?”

"Yes, baby. Please give it to me remy" she whined softly already too desperate to play their usual game of cat and mouse. 

He couldn’t resist listening to her desperate whines and pleading. “Anything you want, baby.” He leaned down, pressing as deep inside of her as he could. “You gotta tell me if this gets uncomfortable,” he told her, wanting to keep her completely comfortable and safe.

"Shut up and fill me up, Mon cher" she hissed back already too impatient to be waiting any longer.  He chuckled at her impatience, but he wasn’t going to torture either of them any longer.

 “Alright, I’ll shut up and give you exactly what you want, sweetheart.” He pulled back slowly, only to snap his hips forward and fill her completely.

 They quickly dissolved into a panting mess as the bed shook with every thrust. He was glad they had moved out of their old apartment cause they would definitely gotten a noise complaint. He was mumbling French curses between English praises, his cajun accent dripping off his tongue like it was honey. The sounds of the bed creaking, the sound of his voice cursing, and the sound of her moans filled his ears. He was absolutely drunk off of her, completely intoxicated by how she felt and how she sounded. The French slipped out before he could even realize it, his usual filter completely off. She was absolutely living for it. She loved when he would talk dirty to her in his accent and that doubled down when he spit out French like it was nothing. 

Every single time he cursed in French, her reaction would drive his excitement higher and higher. “Vous sentez si bien, mon amour,” he panted to her, pressing even deeper inside of her with every thrust. “You’re mine, sweetheart. All mine.”

"Yours" she mewled back as his tip kissed her womb with every thrust. She was clawing at the sheets like a cat in heat crying out like one too. 

He could already feel his thrusts getting a bit sloppy and desperate, his hands gripping her hips so tight he was going to leave bruises. “That’s it baby,” he growled out, losing himself more and more with every minute. “God, you don’t know how good you feel.”

She was mind dumb as what felt like her third maybe fourth orgasm rippled through her. Just like he liked her. Her climax made him shiver, feeling her walls tighten around him and send waves of ecstasy through him. “You look so beautiful when you cum for me, baby,” he groaned out, his hips still bucking against hers. “You’re gonna make me cum too if you’re not careful,” he tried to tease her, but his voice came out as a desperate, strained whisper. 

"Give it to me" she spoke through slurred words filled with pleasure and mewls. "Make me a mama" 

“God, you’re driving me crazy, sweetheart.” His words came out in a breathless hiss, trying his best to hold himself back from falling over that edge. “Beg for it.” He was cocky, he loved to hear her beg for him like that. He wanted to hear how desperate she was.

"Please remy need it! Wanna be swollen with you! Want your baby" she whined out between moans and biting her lip as her eyes rolled up into the back of her skull.

“Damn near gonna be on my knees with hearing you like that,” he groaned, giving into her words. “God, you want me to fill you up?” He knew the answer already, but he couldn’t resist asking. He wanted to hear her say it.

"Yes yes yes,” the mantra fell from her lips like a depraved woman. She practically was. The idea of her handsome husband filling her up till there was no other way she couldn't be pregnant was appealing.

He was far from being able to hold back any longer. Her words were pushing him faster and faster to the edge, driving him more and more wild. “You’re gonna have it, baby,” he panted out. “Gonna make you a mama.”

His hips snapped into hers with a force he didn't even know he was capable of. His grip on her thighs was tight enough he knew there'd be bruises later. He was desperate, completely lost in how she felt, how she sounded, how she looked underneath him with his hands holding her down. The thought of the possessive marks he was leaving on her skin only fueled his need for more. “Christ, sweetheart, I’m gonna-” he started to warn her.

She mewled out as she felt him jerk forward spurts filling her up completely even spilling out onto the sheets below them. 

He gave a guttural moan as his orgasm hit him like a freight train. “Oh God,” he panted as his hips gave little, shallow thrusts with each pulse of pleasure. “Fill you up so good,” he groaned. 

He collapsed against her, letting go of her thighs and wrapping his arms around her. He was panting against her chest, trying his best to catch his breath from how hard he had just come. “You’re going to drive me into early cardio arrest,” he chuckled weakly.

She was coming down from it herself panting as she patted his sweaty shoulder. "Love you too babe”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss between her breasts. “Love you more,” he mumbled against her skin, his brain still a little sluggish as he recovered his brain power.

When he rolled off of her finally and she cuddled up into his side not even bothering to change the sheets yet both of their legs feeling like jelly. He pulled her close against his chest, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin against her forehead. He was completely and utterly satiated at the moment, already feeling the fatigue of exertion setting in and his eyelids growing heavy.

"Think it will take?" She hummed tiredly back at him.

“It better,” he chuckled, already knowing damn well that it would work. He ran his fingers through her hair, still damp with sweat. “If you’re not pregnant after this, you’ll break my heart.”

"We will just keep trying won't we then?" She teased back.

“Damn right we will,” he said, already planning out how soon he could go again without collapsing. “Keep trying until you’re round and swollen with my baby, sweetheart.”

[honestsycrets]

starved | [miguel o'hara x reader]

❛ pairing | new papi!miguel x new mami!reader

❛ type | oneshot: explicit content

❛ summary | peter says he's sex-starved. he isn't. he's just... adjusting to less time with his wife.

❛ tags | breastfeeding miguel, lactation kink, slight pregnancy kink, touch starved, pissy miguel, spanish is not translated, mention of violence, some cursing, f!reader.

❛ sy’s notes | written as per poll request! thank you everyone who voted.

Miguel likes to work.

Or, he thinks he likes to work.

The fate of the multiverse and all that boring ass bullshit. Peter has heard it all, twice, thrice over. What he knows is what he sees. What he sees is an overworked man running through anomaly files, sending out orders, and not spending time where it really mattered.

“Is that who I think it is?” Peter’s annoying ass house slippers flapped over the ground by Miguel’s feet. Peter’s hands rubbed together, sparking little bursts of heat between his palms. “It is! Mireya!”

Mireya, the newest addition to his small family. She was nestled comfortably in the crook of one of Miguel’s muscular arms as if it were the safest place in the entire world, suckling on what was left of a bottle of breastmilk. Miguel turned to place the empty bottle down on his desk. Peter followed, peeping over Miguel’s arm at her. Despite Miguel’s reservations, her bright brown eyes bored Peter with interest. She cooed at him. “Can I hold her? Let me hold her, it’ll be great! Aw look, she has curls.”

“My daughter isn’t your doll.”

“Look how pretty, she’s just like her mami. All sunshine and dimples and--,” Peter reached forward, easing his scrawny hands under her plush little arms and picking her up. Miguel’s hands fell onto his hips, shifting weight from one foot to the other, glancing down at his feet expectantly. “You know, for a new dad, you’re grumpier than usual.”

“Peter.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he bobbed back and forth, spinning in a circle. She giggled the kind of laugh that was all sugar, making Peter grin even harder. “I mean, wasn’t Mireya your idea? Are you-- y’know?”

“Y’know?”

“Sex starved,” Peter whispered like it was a great, terrible secret. As if in this vast space of silence, someone might catch his words and convict him because of them. Miguel’s half-lidded eyes slid against one another, held for a second, then spread open in an annoyed flick. He fluttered his gloved fingers at Peter to hand Mireya over.

“I’m just saying if you need a night alo--”

“I don’t. I’m not sex-starved.”

He waved him off. His eyes fell on his daughter, boring back up at him with those beautiful eyes he had waited so long to see. He shifted his weight from one leg to another, lulling her back into her late-night slumber, cradled against his chest.

Sex starved, he said. What a shocking joke.

His room was no place for a child. It was perpetually dark, dimmed for his sensitive eyes. So, at the end of the day, Miguel had your room to return to. A real home, one with more than a ratty run-down chair and a lifetime of regrets. A home that he couldn't make alone. Miguel pressed past the bedroom door where he found you overcome by sleep. Just like Mireya in his arms.

He turned his gaze down to Mireya once more, her soft and squishy body a vision of peace. Tiny fists balled up over her belly as she slept in her soft velvet onesie. The whole world in his hands: the start of a happy little family. Only right now, it didn’t feel so happy. Those were the cycles, the push and pull of life.

Tonight would prove to be another silent night with his thoughts. His chest swelled with a rush of air, bunching up his shoulders as he moved to the adjoining room to set Mireya into her warm crib. Torn from his warmth, her palms stretched out, ready to wail. Miguel placed his hand along the wooden rail, his stomach flopping into throbbing anxiety in his stomach. She could wake you up. "Shh," he set his finger in her tiny palm. Mireya’s small hands rested listlessly around her head. The wail never came.

“Mi vida,” your sleepy voice fell over his ears, a gentle caress. He longed to hear it from your lips again. “Is she already asleep?”

“Sí--” he glanced over his shoulder, catching just a sight of one of his favourite little slips. Dusty rose with delicate lace details. He studied the edge of the gown, flowing over your thick thighs as you walked. Shock.

“You look beautiful." You looked down at your soft belly, a mincing smile pulling at your lips. He knew you were nervous, the way your hands obscured your plush belly. Mesmerized, his finger fell away from Mireya's soft grip. Peter's words echoed in his mind, a deep annoyance. It made his skin crawl, this growing annoyance in the acknowledgment that he had no sex in weeks, months. He took a step forward.

“I hope she doesn’t sleep through the night. My breasts are full,” Your fingers skimmed the taut skin. The glint of your wedding band invited him forward as if… you should be his tonight. You were his wife-- and though he didn't expect you to give him relief, he missed you. Miguel dipped his head, stroking the sore muscles of his neck.

Are you, y'know, sex-starved?

“When does she ever..." he couldn't help from saying. He grazed his fingertips over the swollen skin of your breasts, glancing from the skin to your deep, shy eyes. His breath thinned, realizing that you were disengaging, too scared to look him in the eye.

“She does, Miggy,” you breathed. His jaw worked, annoyed. “Lately. You’d know if you came home at night.”

If it was lately, he had no knowledge of it. Every lab screen he pulled up, every status report from Lyla, and every silent night in the lab, obsessing over how his little girl was doing-- he missed it. He should be coming in more often, crossing the threshold of work to family life. His hand cupped the underside of your breast. You winced, embarrassment working on your face. You pushed his hand away, likely feeling exposed by his touch on your tender skin.

“Does it hurt?” He leaned down, mingling his smoky, musky scent with your delicate one. He leaned in to place a soft, open-mouthed kiss along your neck, the warm pulse of your skin against his plump lips.

“Miggy, you’ll wake her up.”

Your fingers laced in his before you pulled him out of the room with a click of the door. He settled his hand on the middle of the door, sliding his hand up your waist, the soft fabric crinkling over the movement. He glimpsed a look at your soft panties cupping your round ass. “Miggy, I… I can’t. I’m tired.”

Of course, you were tired-- He underestimated how much work you took on in her care. He willed the wisps of his desire to snuff out. The distant flicker of hope followed promptly after. Maybe, one day, you would want him again. It wasn't today.

“Ya veo,” he suppressed his frustrated growl, wrinkling his forehead. “Another time.”

It wasn't the next day. Or the one after that. Or the one after that.

The anomaly whirled along a cobblestone street, exploding in a cloud of dust and stone. Its many black dipped hands flickered, dulling into little more than a negligible tremor of their limbs. Everyone else noticed the complacency that came with loss of consciousness. Miguel did not.

Miguel sauntered forward, dragged it by its muddy boots out from the crumbly remnants of the wall, and whirled it into another. It wasn't moving. It was done, tired, exhausted. He didn't care, his large hand encompassing its tendril hair and smashing it over the dusty floor. A violent crack, crack, crack of its head scratched his inert need to destroy something, anything, anyone. It fell from his hands with a slump. Miguel spat a bit of blood to the side, his cheek chewed raw under the tension of the moment.

“You need to take Peter up on that offer.”

Miguel stretched his neck one way. Then the other.

“We’ve been over this,” Miguel grumbled, hiking the pummeled body over his shoulder. It gushed blood, streaming into a diluted pink with the downpour of rain. A simple contusion, Miguel said. It was just a contusion. And a concussion. Maybe a gash or two. It would heal if the thing woke up. “I don’t need help.”

“You thrashed it, whatever it was,” Jess said pointedly. Miguel’s finger ran across his watch. The air was stale without an acknowledgment of Miguel’s churning temper, growing into a churning tempest by the passing minute. He stared long and hard through his mask. She drew out the silence as she waited for his response.

“It’s a contusion.”

The portal whirled to life before them in a slurry of vivid color, an unforgiving abyss. Jess slumped her bike with weight on one thigh, hand on her belly. The longer Miguel stared at her, so full and pregnant, the more he was reminded of you. He pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no use-- he saw visages of you everywhere he looked.

“Doesn’t look like any head contusion I’ve seen,” Gwen slid into the portal. His lip curled, annoyed by the obvious objection to what he was saying. If they would let it go-- he could go on about his life, wait for this obsession with his sex life to abate. Wait for you to come back to him.

“You can’t keep taking out your—“

“I am not sex-starved!”

“Convincing.” Jess sped into the portal.

Miguel soothed the stress out of his forehead, opening and closing his palm, a current of energy coursing through his palms. They picked— and they picked— and they picked at him. At some point, he was bound to explode. He only hoped you wouldn't be in his way when it happened. He whipped the anomaly through the portal and followed after.

On the other side of the portal, there was Peter— again. Cooing with his hands on his daughter— again. His dark mask faded away, his suit wicking water off his frame. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he located you beside Jess and Gwen. You nudged its crumpled body with your shoe. He didn’t often feel ashamed of his actions. Usually, they were necessary. Something was wrong, your face pinched and curled in disgust. He felt the string of your disapproval pulling through his arms, a slight, incriminating tremor flickering through his finger. He willed it away.

“What did you do to this poor thing?” you turned to Jess, a click-click-click off your tongue. He’d hardly call it poor. “It’s overkill.”

“Girl, ask your husband,” Jess folded her arms, reclining on her bike.

“Mi Miggy?” you went to him. You leaned over, pecking his cheek with a terribly insulting kiss, tickling his jawline. He swallowed. Blinked. Then frowned and brushed off your fingers, finding the care misplaced. You could care for an anomaly but didn't care to ask him how he felt. What he needed. Your voice wilted that sunshine quality, dropping almost to a whisper. “¿Qué te pasa, Miggy?”

“Nothing.”

“Miguel--"

“I said nothing!” He knelt down, grasping its ankle and dragging it down the long, drab hall that stored a variety of anomalies. A line of blood soaked the floor, swerving after his rumbling steps. You took a step forward, snatching his wrist between your fingers. He whirled around, a tremble on his lips firmed out into an unforgiving glare. You let up the pressure on his wrist, allowing him to spin his hand free. “Déjame en paz! There is nothing shocking wrong!”

Mireya cried. So did you.

The admittance that Peter was right wasn’t one that Miguel was about to make openly.

Although he showed up that night, as you informally requested, the night proceeded awkwardly. There was no talk over dinner, not as he watched you feed his little girl, swaying by the window of the enormous city below. As you gazed into the sea of twinkling lights, Miguel came up behind you. His palms encompassed your slight shoulders, moist against your exposed shoulders. His naked chest grazed your back.

"Are you going to apologize?"

Why should he have to? If anyone listened to what he was saying-- he wouldn't be in this mess. Still, Miguel steeled his face. He placed a mincing kiss on the top of your head. His voice thinned out, barely a feather on his lips.

"I snapped."

"You did a lot more than that. You scared her."

You let him sit with his regret until you fell asleep. He debated returning to the lab or his room to try again tomorrow. But he knew his wife. You were attentive to everything that he did. You might take it as a sign of his disinterest. After minutes turned to hours, he breached the door and slid into your bed when he was sure you were asleep.

When his eyes coursed over your figure, he realized all he missed. It was too long since he felt the warmth of a real kiss. Not the brief pecks on his lips as he rushed out the door to help Jess or Gwen or any other number of spiders demanding his attention. He missed the warmth in your eyes, the way they turn into crescents with a happy smile or jaunty laugh. He longed for that sensation of your fingers combing through his hair, taking your time and curling his fluffy hair behind his ear, eyes trained on his alone in a sea of spiders. That… sensation of being the only one that you wanted.

Mireya was that for you now. He longed for it every time he came into the room, seeing you sway with his child in your arms, cradled against your breast, feeding her into a restful sleep. What he thought was a mere seed of jealousy turned out to be a terrible beast, tendrils of resentment that you can’t see what he needs. He needs you. And it isn’t his beautiful Mireya’s fault, no. It’s his.

Instead, he lay there with his palm wretched around his cock, soaked in the artificial lubricant, throbbing into his hand. He remembered his words that night. A begrudging -- Mami, give me a baby-- and how well you took him. Your body seemed to know what he wanted, swelling with his child after a few weeks. He buckled into his palm, cranking around the base and swirling up to his leaking tip, bubbling with his need. He circled his finger over the head, swiping the fluid away.

“What are you thinking about?”

Miguel paused, sweat crept down his thick throat over his broad chest. He shuddered under the weight of your silken words. His hand coiled around his cock in one more jerk, somehow accepting that he had been caught.

“Are you thinking about me? Or is there someone else?”

"Someone else?" he breathed. His lips dropped into a frown, agitation simmering to a boil. It cooled when you looked at him-- but really looked at him. The bed shifted under your weight, ruffling pillows aside. You hoisted your legs over his body, pushing his cock against your soft vulva and his stomach, breasts pushing into his face. So close that Miguel inhaled the uniquely sweet smell of your milk obscured by thin lace.

“Why would I have anyone else?” he asked, his chest distantly aching. His gaze tracked from one breast to the other. He stole a glimpse at your face, stricken with shyness. The slight pout of your lips, eyes refusing contact. “Do you even want me?”

Undoubtedly yes.

“You don’t come to see me. You don't fuck me. You don't even--"

"You're always tired."

"But you could wake me.”

“Could I? To deny me again?” It hadn’t meant to come out so passive-aggressive, but with the natural inflections in his voice, he knew you could read him like a book.

“Oh, papi," not that soft voice. He might hope again. "I always want you.“

Hmpf. Debatable.

“Even when you’re jerking off in my bed. Or couch.” You slid your pink tongue along your lower lip, guiding your body against his. The wet draw of your juices over his dick drew his sharp scarlet eyes to the sight, knocking your stiff clit with his dick. For a moment, his words failed. He should have known you would watch him.

“Is that why you're so... angry? Because of me?" He made a small noise, barely a huff. You drew his hands to your full breasts, obscured by a thin layer of fabric. This time, he smothered a groan in his chest. How pathetic, he thought, to be moaning from something as simple as your firm breasts back in his hands. What was he-- twelve? "Have I been neglecting you, Miguel O’Hara?”

“Yes-- you've neglected me,” he murmured, dragging the lace underneath each breast, knocked together by the straps of the fabric. He melded your breasts again between his hands, massaging the sore skin. His thumps flickered over your nipples, stiffening them into peaks. With a small pinch to your breasts, milk dribbled over his fingertips.

"I won't do it again," he wondered if you missed his touch by the full, grateful hum of your lips, your palms disappearing into his dark hair. You coursed along his dick again, eliciting another piteous noise of longing from his throat. "I promise."

“Hm," was the only agreement. "What a mess,” he teased, not bothering to look at you. It had the desired effect, your shoulders shyly bunching up, the cute pout of your lips, warmth in your cheeks, quivering eyes. He loved it when you looked so fucking shy, so vulnerable, and all for him. "You're leaking all over my hand."

“I’m-- sorry,” you flushed, “It… happens.”

“Mhm, you're full,” Miguel flicked his pink tongue along your stiff, fat nipple, drawing it into his mouth with a suckle. Sweet milk soothed his tongue. He hungrily drank it up, shifting his other hand back to angle his cock at the entrance of your core. A hand left his thick locks and jerked to his broad shoulder, stabilizing your hips down to sink onto him. Blood welled to the surface with your claws scratching piteously along his sunkissed skin. With a bit of resistance, he slid perfectly into your body, just like he always did. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips against your breast. It was somehow different-- the tug and stretch of his cock-- as he fucked the mother of his child. Maybe it was all in his head. “Shock, you’re gorgeous on my dick.”

“Miggy--”

He shifted to the other breast, his hands nearly stapled on your hips, encouraging you to do the work. Your warm milk slid into his mouth, down his starved throat. The pleasure of knowing he was draining you of your milk was tempered with the ever-present fact that soon, you’d have his spunk in your belly again. Your hips flushed, drawing around in quick circles, flushed with his pelvis. Small waves of pleasure grew in your belly. Your stiff clit glided against his skin, again, and again with the undulations of his hips. You felt pinned between his mouth and dick, restricted in movement, but all his, devoured by his need.

“Come here, mi hermosura,” Miguel released your breast from those lush lips, sliding his tongue along his lips to catch the remnants of your sweet milk. He slid down along the pillows, flushing your chest to his, and propped his legs slightly for a better angle. His muscular arms wound around your back, cock pumping into you with renewed vigor. He knocked against your cervix in this position, holding you fast and tight in his arms. You nestled against his sweaty chest, accepting his thrusts so well.

“Miggy-- I’m not-- on anything.”

“You're breastfeeding, close enough,” he mused in your ear as though it were a joke.

You might have argued with him if you weren’t so blinded by that fantastic juddering of his hips. As it were, pleasure rocked all thoughts of birth control out of your mind. Miggy, an ever-present lover, groaned as he held out through your orgasm milking and soaking his swollen dick in your cum. Not a moment later, Miguel forced a long stroke of his dick inside your cunt, reaching his climax buried deep in your tremoring walls. You squeezed him tight, milking him dry of his orgasm until it all faded into fuzzy pleasure. You sighed as his arms loosened, warm and full of Miguel after so long. His soft dick slipped free, cum oozing onto his thighs, but he couldn’t be bothered to deal with the mess.

He set a kiss on the top of your head, then your forehead, and eventually snatched your lips in a warm kiss. You could taste the sweetness of your milk on his tongue and flushed. Your head dropped down on his chest, listening for the gentle whining of your daughter. It was silent but for the intermingling of your heaving breaths.

After all the issues: the disappointment, the fighting with Peter and Jess, Miguel couldn’t help but chuckle. All it took was jerking off in your bed. He should have known-- you never did like to be left out on his fun. You were always a jealous lover, even at the threat of his own hand.

“Hm? Why are you laughing?”

“Peter said I was sex-starved."

“Well," you glistened a smile, kissing along his jaw. He huffed. "He wasn't wrong."

[pathologicalreid]

separation anxiety | S.R.

spencer's first case back from paternity leave involves children, so a concerned party reaches out to you for help

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: mom!reader, dad!spencer, vaguely described breastfeeding, word count: 1.28k a/n: this is technically the reid family from cryptic, but you don't have to read cryptic in order to understand this fic.

Your book rested in your lap as you pinched the thin paper of the novel between your index finger and your thumb. You had one foot on the ground, and the other was on the bottom of your daughter’s stroller, effectively rocking the stroller in two-four time so the infant would stay asleep.

Just because the A-Team wasn’t around didn’t mean there weren’t people working in the BAU. A crying baby would certainly disrupt the workflow in the bullpen – even if the baby belonged to a member of the BAU. Although, you had already fed her – mostly covered – at Spencer’s desk, so maybe you were past the point of no return.

You and baby Nellie had just been staring at each other at home – she was doing tummy time – when your phone went off. A mysterious text from Derek Morgan had popped up on your phone screen.

Derek Morgan: Got a sec?

It wasn’t that you and Derek never texted, it’s just that it was usually under the realm of “on my way” messages and, more recently, baby pictures, but you usually communicated indirectly using a massive group chat that was created by none other than Penelope Garcia.

So, when you answered and he asked if you’d be able to meet the team when they arrived at Quantico, you hesitantly said yes. He explained more once they were on the jet, the case that they had been on involved young children, and there was a little girl that had struck a particular chord with your boyfriend – who was on his first case back from paternity leave.

Eleanor was three months old, and you weren’t sure who’d have a harder time being away from one another – her or Spencer. You hadn’t considered how Spencer would feel when confronted with a case involving children now that he was a father. Quite frankly, you had hoped that he would’ve had more time before he needed to face a situation like that.

You waited, still using your foot to rock Nell’s stroller as the cover diffused the fluorescent light, you could hear her moving now, likely having woken up from her nap, but if she wasn’t crying, you saw no reason to stop her from playing with the colorful toys that dangled above her.

Sighing, you peered up from your book to see the elevator opening on the sixth floor, revealing the team behind the steel doors. Morgan clocked you first, winking as he passed through the glass doors to the bullpen.

Spencer hadn’t noticed the two of you yet, so you slowly opened the cover of the stroller and picked your daughter up, holding her gently to your chest. The infant fussed a bit while she was being moved, effectively gaining the attention of her father, whose face lit up at the sight of his family waiting for him at his desk.

Pushing past the rest of the team, who had also noticed the small being in the room by this point, Spencer approached his desk, haphazardly dropping his bag on the metal surface before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. Before even bothering to separate your lips, he was taking the baby from your arms.

“Hey,” he murmured, pulling away from you slowly as he secured the baby in his arms, bending his neck to place his lips on the crown of Nell’s head, “I missed you, angel girl.” His voice was gentle as you looked on fondly, she reached out a small hand and gripped the collar of his shirt. “How are you?” He asked, turning his attention back onto you.

You smiled at the two of them, using a cloth to wipe the drool from her chin before Spencer took it from you, deftly draping it over his shoulder in case he needed it shortly. “Good,” you answered, “tired,” you added.

Across the bullpen, Emily waved at Eleanor, grinning broadly as she walked over to her desk with JJ. To her enjoyment, the baby responded by letting out a coo and smiling before turning her attention to her dad, nuzzling her face in his chest, “Did I miss anything?”

Raising your eyebrows, you shrugged, leaning back and sitting on Spencer’s desk, “She pushed herself up on her arms yesterday.” It wasn’t a massive milestone – you were still grateful that Spencer had been present for her first real smile.

“Oh, yeah?” He responded, proudly looking down at his daughter, who had moved on from nuzzling and was now trying to see just how much of her hand she could fit in her mouth. “Did you know that babies usually go through a sleep regression right before they learn a new skill?” He asked, directing the question at Nell, “That must be why your mama looks so tired.”

You waved him off, crossing your arms in front of your stomach, “She’s lucky she’s so cute.”

The familiar click-clack of heels notified you that Penelope Garcia had made it to the party, likely signaled by another member of the team, “The cutest little girl in the world!”

Even though every member of the team had held your daughter at one point or another, you weren’t entirely comfortable with her being handed off like a hot potato. This, combined with Spencer’s aversion to germs, led to an unspoken rule: wait until one of her parents offered to let you hold her.

“Did you want to take her for a bit?” You offered, looking over at Spencer as you did. He needed time with her, it wasn’t your intention to deprive him of that, but you needed to check in with him without the distraction of the baby. Handing her off, you spoke up, “Watch your earrings,” you tapped on your earlobe, “She will grab them.”

As Garcia held the baby, she made her way around the bullpen, allowing Eleanor to make grabby hands at everyone and everything.

Keeping an arm around his waist, you looked up at your boyfriend, “Are you alright?” You asked, keeping your voice low as there was no sense in airing your concerns to the now bustling office.

Spencer’s smile faltered ever so slightly, “They were just kids. There have been kids before, but now…”

“Now you’re a dad,” you finished for him. “It’s not just something that you could see happening to someone else; it’s something you could see happening to yourself.” Pinching his side slightly, you smirked at him knowingly, “You know, your levels of empathy and sensitivity increase when you become a parent. Your brain adjusts to make yourself a better parent.”

Rolling his eyes slightly, Spencer raised his eyebrows at you, “You know, I vaguely remember telling you something very similar last week when you were crying at an ASPCA commercial.”

You reached up to ruffle his hair, “Nice try at sarcasm, babe, but you and I both know you never vaguely remember anything.”

“How did you know to come here? That I’d need to see her?” Spencer asked, watching as Penelope continued to parade around the BAU, now taking her up the stairs and through the roundtable room. “Was it a mother’s intuition?” He suggested, taking up a lighter tone.

Turning around, your eyes followed Garcia as she walked with Eleanor, “I was contacted by a concerned party.”

Spencer followed your gaze, “I’ll thank Garcia when she gives our baby back.”

You hummed, “Actually, it was Derek, he-“ Your voice cut off abruptly, “Oh, Penny, I told you she’d grab them!” You called from Spencer’s desk, but Garcia was already on her way to return Eleanor, holding one hand to her ear as she handed the baby back to Spencer.

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Hungry

Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

Summary: Miguel has a lactation kink.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: Smut, lactation kink, p in v, umm I think that's it. 18+ MDNI.

Disclaimer: never been pregnant, don't know how it works entirely. Just enjoy lol Not beta-read. Also, Miguel being a father warms my heart <3

...

It'd never crossed his mind before. After all, your milk was for the baby. 

Diego nursed from you well, his tiny lips latching onto your swollen nipple with little guidance. You held him close and kissed his brow while you sang to him softly. Now and then you'd hiss, your pretty face pinched from the inevitable pain of breastfeeding. 

Miguel watched you both with a full heart—watched how you cradled his milk-drunk son against your swollen breasts lovingly before putting him down for a nap.

And when he couldn't rip his eyes away from the swell of your chest (or how your nipples continued to drip tiny pearls), he thought nothing of it.

...

"Does it hurt?" He asked in the quietness of your bedroom, his toned arm thrown around your shoulders, holding you close.

Diego began to fidget where he was nestled comfortably on his father's bare chest, his wrinkled face blooming red before a cry ripped from his tiny body. 

"Does what hurt?" You asked in return, gently cooing down at the wailing infant, scooping him gingerly in your arms.

Miguel motioned toward your engorged breasts, his eyes lingering over the damp spots forming over your fitted t-shirt, your nipples leaking through the white cotton fabric.

"Sometimes," you sighed as soon as Diego latched on, "when he doesn't drink enough or bites too hard." 

Miguel studied his son as he drank his fill; until his little eyes fluttered with sleep and his milk-covered lips fell away from your chest. 

A bead of milk formed over your swollen nipple and before it ran down the roundness of your breast, Miguel caught it with the pad of his finger, swiping it up gently and placing it in his mouth.

He hummed in surprise, looking down at your flushed face and doe eyes. 

"What's it taste like?" You whispered curiously, watching Miguel lap at his finger like a cat.

He closed his eyes, savoring the flavor on his tongue before he grunted.

"Sweet."

...

“Lemme help you,” he muttered to you one night, watching you wince and groan while you palmed your full breasts. Diego had drank himself to sleep, leaving your tits full still, straining for release. “You’re in pain.” 

You worried your lip, leaning your head back against the headboard. “The breast pump is in the—”

“No,” he said, “not like that.” He carefully positioned himself between your legs, gently lifting your shirt to reveal your swollen tits, nipples hardening immediately. 

“Miguel—”

“Shh, amor.”

He took a breast in hand, squeezing softly and watching the tiny stream of white pour from your nipple before wrapping his lips around the bud and giving a gentle suck. The sweetness of your milk invaded his senses as he drank from you, his eyes fluttering.

You moaned above him, your fingers threading messily in his hair. 

He palmed your other breast, squeezing enough to let your milk pour over his hands and down his wrist, making a mess of you. His cock was straining against his briefs as he rutted into the mattress for some fiction.

“M-Miguel,” you sighed, ignoring the dampness that pooled over your skin and under you.

“Feels good?” He murmured over your damp skin, his lips covered in milk. He tugged gently on your nipple, giving it a few kitten licks before turning his attention to your other breast, quickly suckling down more of your milk. 

You didn’t answer him—couldn’t—but he knew the answer.

You’d fallen asleep shortly after Miguel had cleaned you up, cradling you in his arms. 

But he was far from satiated.

...

When he could finally put his cock in you, he made sure your pussy was nice and wet for him. 

He’d suck on your tits till you were leaking from both your nipples and between your legs before stuffing you good, your milk pouring over his lips and down his chin. Whatever escaped his mouth would be slurped off your smooth skin, his tongue dragging between your breasts as you covered his cock in your juices.

But you preferred to ride him recently. Miguel didn't mind. He wanted you to take your pleasure from him in the most comfortable way possible for you. He knew he was big, knew his cock was a challenge for you, even more so post-pregnancy, but you knew how to manage him.

Whenever you rode him it was in the kitchen. He’d sit on a chair with your body draped over his and you’d bounce on his cock at your leisure. A baby monitor would be placed on the table, always knocked over in your mission of conquering Miguel's lap.

Tonight was no different. Miguel wanted you.

Your cunt swallowed him perfectly, his cock cushioned within your swollen, warm walls.

Your breasts, bare from any restraints, bounced in his face with every swirl of your hips. They were enticing, your puffy nipples beading with the sweet milk he loved. 

Miguel grunted, grabbing them in his large hands and gently squeezing. Milk began to pour over his hands in thin white streams, seeping through his knuckles and down the expanse of your body. His mouth immediately sucked your nipples in quick succession, and you moaned as the soreness mixed with the pleasure of his cock ramming into you deep.

When you came it was with a loud cry. Miguel immediately latched off your tit, kissing you to silence your cries as you covered him completely in your juices. You could taste the sweetness of your milk on his tongue as he kissed you with fervor, effectively silencing you. 

He gave one final thrust into your tight heat before his hips stilled, groaning in your mouth as he came. By the end of it, you were both covered in spit, milk, and cum, panting against each other. 

Moments later, Diego demanded attention, his cries crackling through the baby monitor. You gently hissed as you pulled off Miguel's large cock, his spend and yours sliding down your thighs and dripping over his lap. 

“Your son is always hungry,” Miguel complained, his hands moving up to thumb at your sore nipples. You scoffed, snatching your robe off the table where Miguel had carelessly tossed it aside, placing it over your shoulders.

“Yeah,” you grinned, swiping a bead of your milk off Miguel’s lower lips, “just like his father."

[pirateprincessblog]

let me help

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: after giving birth and getting bored at home, you come back to work. nothing has changed, except the pair of eyes that look at you in a different light in the corner of the room. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: choi jongho x f!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: singlemother!reader, pervy!jongho, needy!reader, dom!jongho 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: milf!reader, breastplay, oral fixation, breastfeeding (LIKE TWO DROPS BEAR WITH ME), dry humping

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none? 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: this was so NOT inspired by a crazy reddit post i saw on tiktok lmao, also reader is not necessarily big boobed just imagine whatever u want

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

***

being pregnant is hard. giving birth is harder. raising an actual pocket sized human was supposed to be the hardest. yet there she is, your own child, sleeping in her crib without a single care in the world. it's been weeks since you gave birth now, and you don't know what you're doing right, but this baby might be the calmest baby in the world. almost always asleep, and when awake, laughing her ass off until she tires herself to sleep again.

frankly, you are bored. you were ready for crying, screaming, projectile fluids, messes, and whatnot. however, this child appears to be toying with you. it laughs in your face, almost as if mocking you for having to stay at home. besides sleeping, she eats quite well. your breasts are beginning to feel sensitive, but you're not complaining just yet, in case it gets worse.

"mom, i want to-" you start speaking one day, switching channels on the tv as the baby naps on your chest.

"hush! you're gonna wake her up!" the woman on the other couch whisper-yells at you.

"you did not just say that. she's passed out, look at her!" you gently pat her back, seeking a reaction. but when she only exhales in her sleep, you look at your mother with a raised eyebrow. "see? like a little drunkie."

"fine, fine. whatever. what did you want to say?"

"i want to go back to work."

"absolutely not."

"why not?!"

"you just had a baby!"

"yeah, weeks ago!"

the woman sighs, slapping her hands on her thighs in disbelief. "are you crazy?"

rolling your eyes, you sit up straight, picking the baby up and placing her on the blanket on the couch. she yawns in her sleep, and her small hands reach out to search for anything to grab on for comfort. she finds the ends of your sleeves, squeezing the fabric between her chubby fingers before dozing off again.

"mom, i honestly don't know what to do with myself anymore. i cleaned the house so many times for the past few weeks, as if i committed a crime and am trying to erase all the evidence. i have no desire for any hobbies or sports, i just want to go back to work. could you watch her for a few hours every now and then? it's not like it's every day."

just in time, your father enters the living room. seeing that he has helped himself to a bottle of beer your ex has left in the basement, you can't help but laugh.

"what is it?" he asks, noticing the difference in the energy of the room.

"your daughter wants to go back to work."

"oh, my! congratulati-"

"no! you're not supposed to be on her side." your mother slaps his shoulder, causing him to frown at her and gently push her off with that same shoulder.

"come on, mary. she's gonna die of boredom. besides, i'm sure she can adjust her schedule and shorten her working hours?"

you nod, feeling grateful that at least someone understands you. you don't give your mother a chance to protest, you wouldn't listen to her anyway. your fingers are already dialing the company, notifying them of your return.

***

your makeup and hair station awaits you just like you left it: the silly polaroids still taped on the corners of it, along with random bows and flowers. a small bouquet of fresh flowers awaits you, with an attached note and a baby store gift card.

𝓽𝓸 𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓯𝓪𝓿𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮 𝓼𝓽𝔂𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽, 𝔀𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾!

𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓯𝓪𝓿𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮 𝓬𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓼,

𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓮𝔃

soon after, you are bombarded with hugs and questions, first from the members then the staff.

"wow, i can't believe a whole baby came out of you! that's so weird."

wooyoung earns himself a smack to the back of his head for that, hongjoong and seonghwa looking at him disapprovingly. "you can't say that, you dumbass."

"what? that's incredible! did it hurt?"

"wooyoung, don't be so-"

"oh, it's fine. let him ask." you come to his defense. "it did hurt, like a bitch. my ex had a big head, you figure out the rest."

the rest of the day goes fast, boys enjoying asking you questions and telling you about what you've missed, and you happily answering those questions and praising them for their progress. one person doesn't speak to you, and instead chooses to sit in the corner of the room, scrolling on his phone. jongho has barely looked at you after giving you a hug and congratulating you, opting for silence instead of engaging in the conversation. you don't talk to him, instead giving him peace.

was he angry that you left? especially during an important time, when they grew as a group and needed as much help as possible? after all, you weren't only their stylist, you were there when they needed help, comforting and whatnot. you're probably the only one who knew of their crushes, secret short relationships and struggles. and you've all kept it that way for a long time, and they still trust you. not once have you betrayed their trust, and being older than them, it makes it easier for them to lay all their concerns in you.

you're sad that you weren't there to experience coachella with them, but they made sure to show you picture and videos, even gave you mingi's bucket hat that had an autograph of other coachella performers on it.

"oh, i can't take this." you try declining, shoving the hat back in mingi's hands.

"sure you can. just take it."

after going back and forth with him, you finally give up, taking the hat and placing it on the corner of the mirror, as if it was wearing it. one by one, they are done with their preparations and leave the room. there's still time until the show, yet the screaming outside is so loud one would think the boys went out already. jongho stays sitting on the couch, not giving you any attention. it gives you time to adjust your bra, your sensitive nipples rubbing against the fabric and giving you a hard time. you wish you could just take it off, but with your luck, you would lactate all over the place.

having a sundress on doesn't make it any easier, your flesh painfully starting to poke out of it. not only did you not fix the situation, you also caused them to become swollen and painful. you sigh, defeated. the only thing left to do is finish jongho quickly and go home. maybe your mother was right. what were you thinking, wearing the dress anyway? guess those oversized clothes during your pregnancy grew onto you. before, you wouldn't be caught dead in a hoodie or a simple t-shirt outside of your home.

"jjong?" you call once you prepare the station for him. when he doesn't reply, your raise your head to look at him through the mirror, and find him already staring at you. "jongho?"

he jolts, cheeks painted pink. "yes?"

"will you come over so i can finish you?"

"yeah, sure."

the young man sits in the chair, squirming for the most of the time. everything seems to go smoothly, until you have to get closer to do his eye makeup. just a hint of eyeliner and eyeshadow seems to be taking ages now, with jongho shuffling and blinking for a worrying amount of time.

"jongho, sweetheart, i need you to stay still if you want to be out of here soon."

by the time he listens, the liquid liner has dried off on the brush, and you turn around to reach into the black bottle to reapply it. a sharp pain goes through one of your breasts, causing you to yelp and drop the brush and spill the bottle all over the counter. jongho opens his eyes, then sits up straight, worry painted on his features.

"are you okay?"

"yeah, just- give me a second."

you hold onto your breasts, back turned to him. still in pain, you don't care if he sees what you're doing. all you want is for it to stop.

"does it... hurt?" he asks carefully, peeking at you through the mirror.

you hum, gently squeezing them in hopes to relieve it.

"can i help in any way?"

"no, there's not much you can do. unless you want to be breastfed so my milk ducts get unclogged." you laugh awkwardly, eyes still fixed on the mess you've created on the counter.

when you don't hear any laughing from his side, you turn around, only to find him dead serious. you stutter, embarrassment flooding your cheeks as you realize you can't really joke about these things with them. after all, they are your clients.

"sorry, didn't mean to make you uncomfort-"

"i'll do it."

at that moment, the door opens, san poking his head through. "hey dude, there's like only a handful of snacks left for you, you better hurry up."

"it's fine." jongho replies, as calm as ever.

you still stand there, processing what he said. san shrugs, then the door closes again, and the man in front of you has his full attention on you.

"will that help relieve the pain?"

"i mean- i- i usually just breastfeed my daughter and it goes away. i could try pumping-"

"i'll help." he is persistent, still maintaining a poker face. it makes you lower your gaze, eyes fixed on his hands resting in his lap. he makes it so difficult to read his emotions.

"jongho, you- you can't be saying stuff like that."

you've never stuttered like this in front of anyone. not even your ex husband had you feeling this nervous under his gaze, not at the beginning of your relationship, not at the end. not ever. yet choi jongho looks at you so intensely, making your cheeks hot and your brain a mess.

"let me just finish you off quickly and then i can go home and solve the issue."

the man sits there for a few seconds, biting the inside of his cheek. he looks at your hands, still cupping your breasts, and without a word leaves his chair.

"wait, where are you-"

he locks the door, then tries it a few times to make sure nobody can get in. you stand still, afraid to move or say anything. not until he does something. he seems to take a few moments to think about the situation he has created. he said it so causally. just what was going on in his mind?

is the new state you're in doing something to him? is that why he was refusing to interact with you?

"jongho, just get back in the chair so you can be a free man. come on."

"no. i want to help."

"fine. what, do you want me to just whip out my tits and let you do whatever to them?" you roll your eyes, avoiding to look at him.

you miss the way he smirks, and only look at him once he sits back on the chair in front of you. you yelp, hands flying to his shoulders as he pulls you to sit on his lap. there is more than just wanting to help, you're sure of it now.

his fingers toy with the outline of your sundress, knuckles caressing the swollen flesh along the way. you can't help but shiver, hands still firmly planted on his shoulders.

"sit," he orders quietly, once he notices you're hovering over his lap. when you fail to listen, he pushes you down, right on his hard crotch. "may i?"

you nod, hurriedly, as if he will change his mind if you take too long. you haven't been touched, not even by yourself, for months. ever since your husband left you, right at the beginning of your pregnancy, you were constantly nervous, sick, and whatnot. pleasure was the last thing on your mind. and even though jongho is trying to do a nice thing, your brain cannot help but think of it as a sexual interaction.

which is why you are dripping already, his fingers barely touching you as he unties the little bow that holds the front of the sundress together. he looks at your plain white bra, and both of your realize just how perfect of a choice you made for today. in hooks in the front, and it takes jongho less than a second to unhook it with a single hand.

your swollen breasts now freely spill from the loose fabric, freeing your sensitive and swollen nipples that are begging for release. the dark haired man cups them, gently kneading as if he does that every day. he doesn't squeeze them, and you are thankful that he knows what he is doing. and impressed.

his thumbs swipe over your nipples, and a hiss escapes your mouth.

"hurts?"

you nod, face twisting with pain as he tests the waters and tries various motions on them.

"they're... bigger." he comments.

"yeah... i'm quite sad i don't get to keep them."

he chuckles, and so do you, finally feeling a little relaxed. nothing about your current state should make you relaxed. you should be jumping off that chair, finish his look at go home. not...  subconsciously dry hump him.

"you know, i thought my crush on you would go away when you got married. it didn't. i thought it would go away when you got pregnant. it didn't. i thought it would for sure go away when you gave birth. and guess what? it only got worse."

with your jaw dropped, all you can do is stare at him. so there was a hidden motive after all.

"i'm going to put it in my mouth now. is that okay?"

"jongho, none of this is okay." you say, your brain working against your heart. and your pussy.

"it's fine. i'm just helping you. that's all."

"yeah, well, putting my nipple in your mouth isn't what one might consider help- oh!" he swipes his tongue over the hardened nipple, finally making you shut up.

his hand cups your breast, gently squeezing it before he attaches his lips to it. your hands instinctively grab at his hair, almost shoving his head into your chest. he chuckles, enjoying how desperate you are when he hasn't done anything properly yet.

your hips grind on his, and you aren't aware of it until the surface beneath you gets harder and harder. jongho grunts against your chest when you roll your hips properly, and it makes you stop. you try pushing him away, ready to start apologizing over and over again. but jongho simply lets go of your breasts, only to put his hands on your ass and help you roll your hips again.

his lips finally start sucking on the tense bud, causing you to yelp in pain. he squeezes your ass, as a way to comfort you. his tongue swipes over your nipple every now and then between sucking, just to soothe you. one hand cups your breast again, gently squeezing it in hopes that it will help.

this time, he is the one to yelp. you look down, embarrassment flooding your cheeks once again. your fingers have tangled themselves in his dark locks, accidentally pulling a bit harder and causing him pain.

"it's alright," he assures, smiling at you. "should i continue?"

"yes, please."

he wraps his lips around the nipple once again, sucking softly. the sight has your panties drenched; your client sitting on your chair, sucking on your tit, while you hold onto him for dear life and grind on him. the rough fabric of his jeans, combined with the fabric of your underwear, deliciously rubs against your clit, causing the pleasure to start building up in your lower stomach. you've almost forgotten about the pain, jongho's now swollen lips kissing and tugging at both of your nipples, and your crotch getting all the attention.

you no longer care about being quiet, moans and gasps shamelessly multiplying and getting louder, hips working relentlessly and fingers tugging his hair. never getting this close before, you force yourself to stop and pull away from him.

"what, what is it?" he asks, shiny eyes looking up at you.

"nothing, i-" you look down, picking the hem of your dress up and revealing a wet spot on his crotch. "i'm going to... you know."

it feels illegal to say the word.

"cum?" he finishes for you.

"yes."

"why did you stop?"

you sigh. your hands caress his cheeks and hair, fixing his messy state. "it's been a while. i don't want to cum with my clothes on. on my client's lap."

jongho takes a moment to think. you find out that it is not a good thing to let him do that. he picks you up, carrying you all the way to the couch where he sat. you find yourself laying on the soft surface, while jongho places a pillow under your head, and one under your lower back.

"can you hold this here for me?" he scrunches the ends of your dress under your chest, and you listen. "do you feel any better?"

"i mean... it's still clogged. maybe try a little harder?"

he takes it as a challenge, almost jumping on you like a starved animal. your hands now grip at the fabric on his back, nails digging into it. he doesn't protest, instead burying his head further into your chest and leaving a few feathery kisses before he takes your breast in his mouth again. just as you asked, he sucks harder. it hurts, more than before. your moans turn into whines and almost sobs, fingers hopelessly clawing at his back but not yet asking him to stop. tears threaten to spill down your cheeks, and you can barely contain them.

the man uses his hand to massage the other breast, caressing it, and the other to spread your legs so he can fit between them better. instead of going back to cup the breast he is currently working on, he slides it up your thigh, all the was to the outline of your panties. he pushes them aside, then gently brings his fingers to your folds.

"you don't- ah!" he finds your clit, giving it an experimental rub, "you don't have to do that."

"i want to." he mumbles, voice lower and raspier than you've ever heard from him before. sensing that you have stopped breathing for a second, jongho looks up at you, mouth still wrapped around your sensitive bud. he only raises and eyebrow and smirks against you, before continuing his actions, eyes not once leaving yours.

you weren't a fan of keeping your eyes open during sexual encounters. your husband didn't care. but this? jongho seems to be aware of the power his stare holds, mostly because his fingers effortlessly slip past your folds and inside your aching hole. you can't find it in yourself to look away, too lost in the way his lips look on you, and his body fits between your legs.

"harder-" you whine. "suck harder."

he hums, sucking harder and harder, while his fingers slowly start abusing your hole. he graces you with deep strokes, knuckles disappearing inside of you and fingers scissoring. the room is filled with squelching, kissing and sucking noises, along with your shallow breathing and a few moans and yelps. his thumb finds your clit once again, rubbing it as he continues fingering you. a tingling sensation appears in your lower stomach again, this time faster and stronger.

"jjong-" you gasp, liquid spilling from your breast and in his mouth. "fuck!"

he turns to the other one, repeating the process, all while his hand inches you closer and closer to the release you haven't tasted in months. white liquid drips down both of your breasts, nipples now more tense than ever.

he grunts along with you, grinding his hips on your leg. the man doesn't waste a single moment before licking away all the liquid that decorates your shaking body. the sight sends you over the edge, along with his fingers in your hole and his soft panting.

with your head thrown back over the edge of the couch, you find your body twitching as waves of pleasure wash over your body. even after jongho is done cleaning your mess that he caused, you have trouble catching your breath and calming yourself.

"hey, hey. i got you." he speaks softly, cupping your face.

he looks at you with different eyes now; soft and caring. a complete opposite of the lustful and intense one you just saw moments ago.

"feeling better?"

you nod, gulping. "i- thank you?"

he laughs, then plants a kiss on your forehead. "thank you."

"what for?"

"for making my fantasy come true."

"you're crazy," you laugh.

"for you, yes. now, let me help you get cleaned and dressed, so i can feel like i have shred of dignity before i ask you out."

"i- oh. but wait, what about you? did you...?"

he stands up, giving you space to stretch your limbs. he reveals a wet patch on his crotch, and not the one you made. "yeah... no sane man could survive this without cumming in his pants. you can't blame me."

[queenimmadolla]

𝐍𝐨 𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐬

Summary: Eddie being sleep deprived because his three month-old baby won't go down for a nap.

A quick little blurb that's been bothering me since last night so I just had to jot it down. More of Eddie and Penny here.

“C’mon, sweet pea. You’re killin me.”

  Eddie sighed, placing his three month-old on her back, alongside him on the bed. 

  Just as she had the last seven times he’d tried to lay her down, his baby began grunting, straining herself as she attempted to sit up on her own, neck muscles working overtime. She wouldn’t be able to sit up, of course. Still smaller than his forearm, Penny was much too little, nor did she have that kind of control over her body, but still she tried, wrinkly fingers curling into fists, face darkening as she trembled and her upper half tensed.

  She could hurt herself, though. So once more, Eddie sighed, carefully lifting her up and settling her on his upper torso, her little head bobbing clumsily in the crook of his neck as she continued to grunt and squeak.

  Penny wasn’t supposed to be awake, she was fighting sleep and doing so fiercely. Twenty-seven minutes past her nap time and she was trying to stare at the world around her in wonder rather than rest as she should so she wouldn’t be up through the night and keeping the two of you up. But this was now Penny’s world. And they were just living in it and caring for her, completely at her mercy.

  He’d set the sleepmosphere; turned off the lights, closed his blinds, and was playing a lullaby that came from the giant baby monitor that stayed above her crib. Plus, his little baby had a plump tummy full of breastmilk and no gas to upset her. Eddie had rocked her until she got quiet, but everytime he so much as peaked around to see if her big brown eyes were open, they were. Wide open and flickering to everything in the room, little mouth parted in awe. She even had the audacity to struggle against his hand, cradling the back of her soft and dainty head.

  Penny was getting stronger and stronger every day.

  “Okay, why don’t we make a deal? You go to sleep right now, and I’ll convince your mom to up the ounces of your bottles and distract her with conversation when she’s breastfeeding you. Look at that, you’d get more food and more rest. It’s a win-win because then you wouldn’t be screeching at daddy in the middle of the night while he’s sleep deprived and warming up a bottle for you.”

  And when he felt his baby’s bobble head whack into the side of his neck, “That’s unnecessary. I made you a fair offer with no cons on your part—violence is not the answer.”

  He waited a beat, eyes staring at the wall as he became overly aware of the bags under his eyes, the exhaustion that had settled over him that he’d since learned to run on. Eddie had reached the manic state already, now it was just acceptance.

  Penny let out a particularly protesting squeak, loud and demanding as she seemed to finally run out of strength, face rubbing into his collar bone until she could replenish it and lift her head again.

  “Fine. You win. Just know, when I’m old and senile and you’ll have to change my diapers, I will be returning the favor.”

[best-of-yandere]

NSFT DC Cockwarming and Lactation Kink Headcanons

NO MINORS, 18+ ONLY

tw: yandere, public sex, dub-con somnophila, food tampering

Cockwarming ft. Bruce, Dick, Tim, Clark

Bruce: he’d have you warm him while he’s on the batcomputer (facing towards him so that you can’t see the horrors on the screen). His biggest motivation for doing this is so he doesn’t lose himself in his research and the crimes on the screen; you clenching around him brings him back to you, and thus himself.

He’d also want to try it in his office during boring phone calls/meetings. He’ll be in a conference call with some nobody shareholders, while you’re twitching around him. It’ll inevitably turn into him fucking you over his desk trying so hard to keep his voice level (and you quiet) while you’re creaming around him.

Dick: he’s always active, always moving around, but being buried inside you gives him a chance to relax for once…although it always turns into more. Him humping you and cumming over and over until he’s finally exhausted and truly allows himself to relax and stay still. At least until he falls asleep, still buried in you, then his wet dreams (about you) take over and he’s humping you in his sleep. He just can’t get enough of you, even when he’s unconscious.

Tim: this boy is exhausted – yet he refuses to go to sleep, kept too busy by paperwork or cases. Unless, of course, you lull him to sleep with your warmth. It’s the best way to bribe him to go to bed, by spreading your legs and and easing him inside, cuddling with him, your face in his neck and his cock in your pussy. He’ll stay in there as long as he can before the inevitable emergency rises him from his slumber.

Clark: he’d be into cockwarming due to not having a refractory period. When you’re exhausted but he’s still ready to go he can just let your post-orgasm clenching bring him to the edge and past it again. He stays inside you during the night, only separating from your warmth when he has to go to work/patrol.

Lactation kink with Damian, Bruce, Jason, and Tim

Damian: he’s obviously got a breeding kink, and lactation ties into that. It means he’s been successful and you body is providing the means to nourish the child you’ve made together. But he starts thinking that if it could nourish a baby, why not him as well? Used to his breeding kink, the agreement to let him have a taste comes easy. And once he does, he can’t stop. It’s a part of YOU inside him, feeding him, giving him strength. He’s insatiable, which means he’ll just have to keep you pregnant (and as a consequence, never be able to leave him).

Bruce & Jason: both would be into breastfeeding for the same reason – comfort. They’ve both been through a lot of trauma and loss, haunted by horrors that give them nightmares, keeping them up at night. Suckling on their darlings’ breasts and drinking your milk (something that is made to give life, not take it) brings an instinctual comfort that helps lull them back to sleep in your arms.

Tim: his way of indulging in your milk is different than the rest of his family. He’ll have you pump it so he can put it in his coffee, cereal, and any food you make him, sometimes just drinking it plain in a glass. He thinks it’s romantic; you giving a part of yourself to him, him making it a part of himself. You creating something that gives life, giving it to him, to feed and nourish him. And of course, he’ll return the favor by sneaking some of his “milk” into what you consume; he’s just a romantic like that.

[backwzzds]

ೃ⁀➷ domesticity, könig

könig got off to watching you be a mother.

könig hated to admit it. the way he inevitably got turned on whenever he came home from long missions. the way whenever he’d walk through the front door of your home, muddy and dirty boots immediately being taken off by the welcome mat so he didn’t stain the innocence of your home with his trauma and duties from work—the bludge in his pants grew at the sight of how you lived such a domestic life.

he was sure his view was a sight that nearly every man wished for at some point in their life. he felt blessed. blessed that no one else at his base had the privilege to come home to this. with you holding a chubby baby full of fiery strawberry blonde curls—undoubtedly belonging to him—on your wide hips, so full from giving birth no more than two years ago.

your daughter was a bit on the paler side despite having beautiful brown skin, and you always wondered if your genes even fucking tried to show out for you when creating her. she looked and acted so much like her father, the only way to probe that she was yours were your shared lips and her having your hair texture. everything else belonged to könig.

“papa wird bald zu hause sein, kleine liebe,” you reassure your daughter of her father’s return home soon as she began to grow cranky, a daily sign of her missing him. you had just finished breastfeeding her, and that was evident in the way the majority of your tits stuck out like a sore thumb from one of your man’s thin wife beater shirts. hey, you were home alone with nothing but pretty trees and bush surrounding you.

könig couldn’t help but smile at the back of your head as you hummed her a little song as you stirred your pot of food. the way your braids were tied down in a bright pink bonnet, the way the fat of your grown woman body hung out of your booty shorts that did nothing to hide the swallow of your ass, and how your white painted toes filled themselves in your fur slippers. the primal hormones in him filled with testosterone practically rushed to the blood of his dick as he watched you dance around the kitchen with your pretty baby.

this how you got pregnant in the first place.

every day he was grateful he decided to snatch you up and take you back to his home country with him. the way you adapted to his culture the way he did yours—you made sure to teach your baby her two native languages, english and german.

no one knew where you were, and könig liked it that way. you three could play house in peace for the next few months, at least until his next deployment. it was the safest option for you. to take you both out the states where his personal life could possibly be exploited.

no one knew where in austria exactly könig was from, making it harder for anyone to possibly track down his pretty little family. you were able to work in peace without having to worry about someone finding about your husband’s real job and eventually figuring out where your daughter went to daycare. it was peaceful for you in austria. as far as the neighbors knew, your husband was in the military occasionally on long deployment missions.

not exactly a lie.

he was never 100% at ease leaving his two girls anywhere, but he knew that if you were at least living in a place that he knew like the back of his fucking hand, his anxiety would calm down just a bit while on missions.

you fall completely deaf to the sound around you as your daughter babbles in your ear while you cooked. the delicious aroma of your wonderful food fills your husband’s nostrils as he finally decides its time for him to finally come out the shadows.

your baby continued to babble things in german-english as you began to plate food only for yourself like you’d done for the past six months, completely unbeknownst to the masculine presence behind you.

“my pretty wife always manages to make such delicious meals,” the hoarse voice manages to startle you to the point where you drop your pot spoon on the floor. “been starved for a plate, lover.”

your daughter turns her head before you do, and immediately fights to be put down from your arms. at the sight of her father, she gives a bright two-toothed grin and opens her arms. “daddy daddy!”

könig wastes no time in ripping off his mask and plastering a big kiss on his baby’s cheeks. “meine hübsche prinzessin,” he greets, engulfing “been a good girl for mommy, yeah?” the ice blue eyes question as they falter over to you. you’re still standing in shock that könig chuckles at the innocence on your face. the same one he’s been in love with for years now.

he didn’t blame you though, you didn’t expect him back for at least another two months.

könig wastes no time in walking over to you, and of course the first place his hands touch are your wide hips. his pink lips smash onto your brown ones and he wastes no time in engulfing all of you into him.

he doesn’t miss the way that small tears fill his shirt. he knows you’ve been alone in a secluded area, in an almost foreign place where you hardly knew anyone. he knew how lonely you must of felt having to do all this by yourself. he was here for you now.

god, he missed you. his good, pretty little wife.

[jakexneytiri]

Hi, idk if ur still taking requests or not, but if u are, could u plz do a Dad Neteyam fic where reader breastfeeds their newborn for the first time in front of him

love ur work btw 💕

lots of breastfeeding requests 👁👄👁 what are you guys trying to say LOL (i’m jk hehe ofc i can. and thank you!! 💞)

⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰

you’re roused awake from the sounds of your son crying, along with a hand shaking your arm. you blink rapidly, as the blobs in front of you come into focus.

mo’at, who is shaking you, along with neytiri, neteyam, and your newborn. you sit up slowly, wincing as the pain in between your legs returns. it’s dull, but enough where you could feel it. neteyam’s ears fold back, guilt pooling in his stomach as he painfully watches.

giving birth hit you like a ton of bricks. it was painful, excruciating, and almost unbearable at times. you fell asleep moments after, exhaustion taking over your body. this is the first you’ve been awake since, neteyam letting you sleep for as long as you needed. he is sitting next to you, your son cradled in his arms ever so carefully.

“it is time, child.” mo’at’s voice is calm, as she motions for neteyam to hand your son off to you.

neteyam gives you an apologetic look, whispering “i’m so sorry, my love. he is hungry, grandmother says he should feed now. i’m so sorry, you can rest again right after.” he kisses your forehead, gently handing your son to you.

his small sobs broke your heart, you wanted-no, needed to help him. and fast.

you push the feathers that cover your nipple aside, exposing your left breast. a cloudy, milky substance is leaking from it, dripping down your chest. the sight takes you by surprise for a moment, it all felt…real. how you were a mother now, producing her own milk. it gave you a sense of pride, being able to provide.

neytiri’s voice snaps you away from your thoughts, as her hand carefully cradles your son’s head. “like this, y/n. hold him here,” she says, shifting your son’s head to rest in the fold of your arm. “and guide him, here.” she motions to your chest, supporting your arm as you bring your son’s head closer to your nipple.

his cries cease, when a droplet of milk falls on his tiny lips. his head turns, trying to find the source. you carefully guide his lips to your nipple, as his small lips wrap around it, immediately suckling.

a surge of concern washes over you, causing your eyes to water. you look up at your mother in law, asking “i-is this right? am i doing it right?”

neytiri smiles down at you, brushing your hair back for you. “yes, my sweet child. just like that.”

neteyam’s hand caresses your back, gently rubbing your shoulder. his eyes are wet, too. the sight was overwhelming for the both of you. officially parents, watching your son feed for the first time.

neytiri guides neteyam’s hand to support the arm cradling your son’s head. you look up at your mate, tears overflowing and spilling onto your cheeks. “he’s- he’s feeding, i’m feeding him!” you whisper, a smile spreading across your cheeks.

neteyam smiles back, leaning in to kiss your tears away. “i know, i know. you’re doing so well, my love. i’m so proud of you.”

[allywthsr]

MAKING ORNAMENTS | (l.norris)

summary: you and your kids make ornaments, lando is a supportive dad

wordcount: 1.2k words

pairing: dad!landonorris x fem!reader

warnings: kids

notes: I want Lando to take care of my kids 🥺

advent calendar

You sat with Lando and your two kids, Louis and Sofia around the table, craft items in front of you. Louis was three years and little Sofia was just half a year old, she currently lay in Lando’s arms, while he was feeding her. She latched just fine at the beginning, but two weeks ago she started to refuse your breasts and only wanted to be fed by the bottle, it wasn’t your ideal breastfeeding ending, but if she felt more comfortable with the bottle, you weren’t one to deny her that.

Lando stared down at her with a big smile, still in a dream that she was here and he was able to protect her, his little princess. Not that he wasn’t protective over Louis, but he was a little boy, he was headstrong and already stood up for himself. Sofias' hand was wrapped around Lando’s thumb and he left kisses every now and then on her forehead, smelling that baby smell each time, she smiled up at him, clearly happy that he was feeding her.

But back why you were sitting around the table with the family, you wanted to make Christmas ornaments and presents. You found some cute stuff online and wanted to try it out with your kids.

The one you liked the most was an ornament diy, you needed to take a bit of clay and form it into a flat round shape and press the kids‘ hand in the clay, afterwards, you needed to make a little hole at the top, where you could later put a thread through and hang it on the Christmas tree. So you got to work, rolling around the clay with your hand to warm it up a little. You pressed it on the table, that you covered with cling film, so it wouldn’t get dirty, and tried to flatten it, while keeping the round shape.

Louis wasn’t as happy with the idea of having to do crafts, he liked to play with his toy cars or stack his Lego Duplo on top of each other, the only crafty thing he liked was Play-Doh, it was rare that he wanted to draw.

When the clay was flattened enough and you made two of them, you ushered Louis to come to you, he climbed down his kiddy chair and you lifted him on your lap, ”Louis, do you want to press your hand in the clay? We then have your handprint on it.“

He looked at you with big eyes, ”Mama, why?“

Lando chuckled while Sofia was almost finished with her bottle.

”We then can hang it on our tree, as an ornament.“

”Why?“

By now Lando was laughing, Louis had his questioning phase at the moment, everything was questioned and he had to know the answer.

”Because it’s pretty and a good memory.“

He nodded and held out his hand to you, you gently grabbed his arm and pressed his hand into the clay, with your other hand you pressed his fingers more into the clay, making sure his handprint was fully on there.

Lifting his hand, you gasped at the handprint, it was perfect, ”Look, Louis! Your handprint, what do you think?“

”It’s pretty mummy, daddy, look!“

Lando got up with the empty bottle and Sofia and came around, so he was able to look at the handprint.

”Louis, you did so good! It’s beautiful.“

He brought the bottle to the kitchen and turned Sofia around so he could burp her, he came back and caressed Louis‘ head.

”Louis, do we want to do that again? It’s for Nana and Papa, so they have one as well for their tree.“

He nodded and held his already dirty hand to you again. You repeated the step you did a few seconds ago, and when he lifted his hand, the three of you gasped.

”Mummy! My hand.“

”Pretty, isn’t it? Should we go and wash your hands?“

Louis nodded and you lifted him off your lap and sat him on the floor where he started to run to the bathroom. Quickly you left a kiss on your daughter's cheek and went after your son, to help him wash his hands. Once his hands were clean and you returned to the table with Louis, Lando, and Sofia waiting for you two, Sofia was burped and ready for her turn, not that she knew what was happening soon.

”Look, Louis, I will make a hole in the clay and once it’s dry, we can hang it on our Christmas tree. Do you want to watch your sister do the same?“

He excitedly nodded and sat on his kiddy chair again, playing with a few cars while you made the holes in the clay. Sofia was getting fuzzy, Lando tried to calm her by bouncing her up and down, but she was not having it.

”Daddy, do you want me to talk to Sof?“

He was so mature for his age and already the best big brother ever, he knew when Sofia was fuzzy, not a lot helped, she mostly wanted to be held and played with. Lando nodded and lowered Sofia, so Louis was able to look at her while standing up.

”Sof, you can stop crying, it’s not scary, and when it’s finished we have a pretty-looking ornament, you don’t need to cry.“

You teared up at what Louis was saying, he was truly the best big brother ever, protecting his sister at all costs and trying to cheer her up. He kissed her cheek and Lando gave Sofia to you, so you could get over with the clay part pretty quickly. While Louis was calming her down, you already made two round shapes, the only thing that was missing was her handprint.

You positioned her so that you could press her hand in the clay, Lando helped you with gently adding pressure on her hand to get her handprint on there. When you lifted her hand, and the print was beautiful, you immediately pressed her hand against the other clay, Lando repeating the same as he did with the other one.

Louis squealed when he saw her handprints and Lando took her to the bathroom, where he cleaned Sofia's hands.

You moved the clays to a safe spot where they could dry, and Louis couldn’t reach them.

”Mummy, when’s daddy coming back? I want to play with him.“

”Soon baby, he’s putting Sof down for a nap, did you like crafting? We can do it every year and see your hands grow!“

”Yes, mummy, but I can go play now?“

You chuckled and nodded, when Lando came back and kissed your cheek, you told him that Louis was waiting for him in the living room.

”I love you, and our kids so much.“

[planet-marz1]

Our Little Sheep

Summary: You and Joel celebrate christmas with your many children Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Word Count: ~4.1k

Tags/Warnings:18+MDNI no use of y/n, implied age gap(not specified), reader is able to get pregnant, jackson!joel, peepaw!joel(really peepaw), mentions of pregnancy, brief mentions of childbirth (nothing graphic), brief mentions of breastfeeding (again, nothing graphic) Lots of fluff & cuteness, Joel being a cute girl dad™, this seems like it should be a crackfic, but I promise It's so wholesome

A/N: Ok so this fic idea was born out of my cold medicine induced haze, so bear with me here guys. It's just a silly little fic, not meant to be taken seriously at all, and It's the most fun I've had writing in a bit, so I hope you enjoy reading! Just a little clarity here, the kids' ages range from 0 to 9. I know it gets all confusing here, so I am welcome to provide any further clarity if anyone needs it! A huge thank you to @catchallfangirl for helping with the naming of all of these gremlins & with the constant encouragement ❤️ Thank you to @fhatbhabie for beta reading!

lovely dividers by @pamasaur

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You open your eyes slightly, squinting them. Joel sleeps peacefully next to you, his breaths even and steady. Burrowing yourself further under the blankets, you scoot closer to him, your head on his chest and intertwining your legs with his. You run your fingers through the curls of his now, fully gray hair.

Slight whines start to fill the room, and you lift your head up and glance over your shoulder to peek into the bassinet next to your side of the bed. Joel had been up with the baby all night after you two had finished wrapping up the gifts for the other kids. So, you groggily sit up in bed, reaching over to pick up the tiny little infant.

“Shhh, It’s alright, little one.” You whisper quietly, trying to calm him. After a few attempts to shush him, it’s still not working. He’s probably hungry, you figure. Lifting your shirt, you help him latch onto your breast, and he finally calms. You sigh quietly with relief. It’s all a part of the process, you try to remind yourself. Little baby Joelseph had only been born a few weeks ago. No, his name isn’t actually Joelseph. Simply a nickname given to him by his many older sisters when you had been pregnant with him. It started as a cute joke, but sure enough he came into the world, and no one was able to call him by his proper name. Named after his father, but considering the chaos of your family, the nickname is simply just another thing that you don’t bother to fight to keep the peace in the house.

The early hours of the morning are usually the small period of time when the house is completely silent. Every other waking minute is filled with the sounds of the kids, either giggling, or fighting with each other over something. Though, silence isn’t always a good thing. You’ll never forget the time the kids got into the kitchen cupboards and practically wreaked havoc in the kitchen while you were outside tending to the sheep.

Sure enough, you hear the trampling of footsteps coming down the hallway. No matter how chaotic it may be, this is your favorite part of the day. Getting to start each day greeted by all of your beautiful children, reminding you of why you are so lucky. You softly graze your fingers over the baby’s hair.

“I think your sisters are here, little guy,” You chuckle softly. The doorknob jiggles a bit. Before all of your daughters begin to spill into your bedroom, all eleven of them. Yes, eleven. You and Joel had, admittedly, gotten out of control in that department.

You and Joel had met when he had returned to Jackson in the spring with Ellie in tow. It had been an immediate connection, quite literally. Hooking up one night in the bathroom of the Tipsy Bison, which is what led to your firstborn, Emilie. The pregnancy had come as a shock, but you and Joel were excited nonetheless.

A chorus of variations of “Mom,” or “Mommy,” begin to fill the room, and you try to shush the girls, reminding them of their little brother. “Ok, girls, I know that you’re excited to get downstairs to all of your gifts, but you’ve got to settle down a bit, alright?” You whisper gently. Finally, they all nod in understanding. The calm is short-lived, though. Jane and Jules, the cutest, but menacing pair of instigators, hop on to your bed, shaking Joel’s shoulder, trying to wake their father.

They were your fourth pregnancy, which was by far the most difficult one you had ever experienced. Constant discomfort, and sleepless nights from the relentless kicking and movement from them. It wasn’t the first time you had been pregnant with twins, but It had gone nothing like you had expected it to.

Joel, though typically a light sleeper, is particularly hard to wake after a night with no sleep, hence why you’d opted on letting him sleep in. The two of them, each on one side of him, lean in close to his face, leaving little room for personal space. “Daddy.” Jules says quietly, Jane keeping a close watch.

Joel peeks one eye open, a bit startled at first at the heavy breathing from the two girls so close to his face, but the confused expression on his face is quickly replaced by a tired grin. As soon as all the girls spot that their father has woken up, they all pile onto your bed, excitedly squealing and giggling. Luckily, little baby Joelseph had already been lulled into a deep sleep after he finished nursing. Even if he hadn’t, you're pretty sure the few short weeks he’s been in the world, he’s already used to the constant noise and chaos from his older sisters.

Joel sits up on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and tries to wrap his arm as many of them as humanly possible.

“When can we open our presents, daddy?” Tiny little Aurora questions impatiently. This is the first year she’s been able to fully understand the concept of Christmas, and all the gift giving. So, understandably, she is ecstatic for all the festivities of the day. She crawls into his lap, after attempting to clamber over all of her sisters in the way. Joel scratches at the scruff of his beard, and lifts her into his lap.

“How about we all eat breakfast first, sweetheart, then you all can tear into your gifts.” He says lowly, his voice still laced with sleep. “Sound like a plan?” He asks. The girls all nod in agreement.

You slowly stand up from the bed, still cradling baby Joelseph in your arms. Walking towards the door, you gesture for the girls to do the same. They all climb off of the bed, and without fail, the house is once again filled with chaos. All eleven of them racing out of your bedroom, and down the staircase to the kitchen.

Joel meets you by the doorway, placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Well hello, sleepyhead.” You tease him. “Sleep well?”

“Just like usual, darling.” He kisses you again, this time placing kisses all over your face, and down your neck, before you place your hand gently on his chest stopping him from going any further.

“Not so fast, old man.” you chuckle softly. “We don’t need another one of these.” you say, gesturing down to the baby bundled up in your arms.

“One more wouldn’t hurt, huh?” He teases, and you just shake your head. 

“You say that because you aren’t the one who has to push them out.”

“We should probably get downstairs before they get into stuff that they shouldn’t be” You murmur, and Joel quietly nods in agreement.

The warmth of the morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room as you make your way into the dining room. Joel follows you, his hand brushing against the small of your back.

You and Joel enter the dining room, and expectedly the room is already filled with screaming and chaos. Alive with the energy of your daughters, and the two mischievous kittens, Ginny and Joel, weaving in and out of the chaos. 

Emilie, your oldest, is trying to settle an argument between Lacy and Lily, your first set of twins. Nothing new in your household, nearly every morning, no matter how many times you have to tell them that every seat is the same, the kids insist on fighting on who sits where, who sits next to whom. It’s exhausting, but you can’t help but smile at the chaos unfolding before you-it’s simply the routine of your everyday life.

Emilie, with her stern expression, finally manages to resolve the seating dispute between Lacy and Lily. You glance at Joel, and he chuckles, a knowing look passing between you. The girls quickly settle into their chairs, the anticipation of Christmas morning evident in their sparkling eyes. As you take your seat at the head of the table, Joel sits beside you, and the cacophony gradually subsides. Little Aurora, perched on Joel’s lap, swings her legs excitedly, eager to dive into the festivities.

“Alright, everyone, let’s dig in!” you announce with a smile, and the room erupts in cheers. The aroma of the freshly cooked breakfast wafts through the air as the kids eagerly serve themselves.

Emilie diligently helps the younger ones with their breakfast. She occasionally steals glances at the pile of gifts under the Christmas tree, anticipation gleaming in her eyes.

Lacy and Lily are engaged in animated conversation, their excitement palpable. Daisy can’t stop giggling at something Theo whispered in her ear. The second set of twins, Jane and Jules, sit side by side, already plotting mischief as they eye the presents.

Willow, with her big curious eyes, is inspecting her plate with utmost concentration, trying to decide which part of her breakfast to tackle first.

In the midst of the laughter and chatter, you catch Joel’s eye. There’s a shared understanding between you, a silent acknowledgement of the beautiful chaos that is your family. His gaze is filled with gratitude, and you can’t help but feel the same.

As the kids enjoy their breakfast, you steal a moment with Joel. “Can you believe how fast they're growing?” you murmur, your eyes dancing with a mixture of love and exhaustion.

Joel leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Feels like just yesterday we were sneaking around the Tipsy Bison.”

You laugh, the memory of that fateful night vivid in your mind. “Look where it led us.”

Kylie babbles incoherently as she attempts to mimic her older siblings. Aurora still sits on Joel’s lap, her eyes wide with wonder as she takes in the festive scene, and Joel aids her with her breakfast.

Maggie sits contentedly in her high chair, fingers sticky with syrup, as she munches on a piece of a pancake you’ve carefully cut up into small pieces for her.

The kids, fueled by excitement and sugar, chatter animatedly about their plans for the day. You and Joel exchange glances, both silently reveling in the joy of parenthood. The journey hasn’t been easy, but moments like these make it all worthwhile.

As breakfast winds down, you glance at Joel, both of you silently agreeing it’s time for the much-anticipated event of the morning.

The living room is now adorned with brightly wrapped gifts, a colorful display of the love and thoughtfulness you and Joel put into each one. The kids finish their breakfast, their eyes darting eagerly between the tree and the presents.

“Alright, kiddos, let the unwrapping begin!” Joel declares, and the room explodes with excitement. Each of their little faces lighting up with joy. 

“Okay, kiddos, let’s see what Santa brought us this year!” Joel exclaims, and the room erupts in cheers. The kids, now fueled by excitement from their furry friends and a hearty breakfast, rush to the tree, each claiming a spot around the mountain of gifts.

Emily takes charge, distributing gifts to each of her siblings with precision. Paper tears and laughter fill the air as each child discovers the treasures hidden beneath the wrapping.

Lacy and Lily eagerly tear into their presents, sharing excited glances when they unveil matching toys. Daisy clutches a doll close to her heart, and Jane and Jules giggle in delight at the surprise in their packages.

Theo, wide-eyed, unwraps a superhero action figure, and Willow discovers a fluffy stuffed animal that instantly becomes her new best friend. Kylie is overjoyed with a set of building blocks, her imagination already running wild.

Aurora claps her hands in glee as she unwraps a musical toy, and Maggie, though more interested in the wrapping paper than the actual gifts, coos happily.

Daisy twirls with a new dress, her face glowing with delight. “I’m going to wear this everyday!”

Aurora, surrounded by a pile of toys, claps her hands and points excitedly. “Look, Daddy, Mommy, so many toys!” Maggie, with a new plush toy in her tiny hands, giggles with joy. The room is filled with laughter and chatter as the kids excitedly showcase their new treasures.

Jane and Jules squeal in delight as they discover Joel curled up in the tangle of discarded wrapping paper, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. Willow, with her big curious eyes, watches the kittens in fascination, occasionally reaching out to stroke their fur. Kylie bursts into giggles as Ginny playfully bats at a shiny ribbon. Aurora claps her hands in delight at the sight of the playful duo. Maggie points with chubby fingers, her face lighting up with a smile as Joel gracefully leaps onto the back of the couch.

Joel catches your eye, and you share a moment of warmth as you witness the joy on your children’s faces.

“Looks like our little fur balls are the stars of the show today.” He chuckles.

Watching as the kittens continue their playful antics. The room is filled with laughter, shouts of excitement, and the crinkling of wrapping paper.

As the chaos subsides, you lean into Joel, watching the kids with a contented smile. “Merry Christmas, Joel.” He whispers back the same sentiment, wrapping his arm around you, anchoring you in the midst of the joyful storm that is your family.

The room buzzes with the joyous laughter of your children, the kittens weaving throughout the living room. As the kids continue to show off their presents, Ginny and Joel curiously inspect the colorful array of toys and trinkets scattered across the room.

Emilie, your eldest, sits by your side, flipping through her new sketchbook. “Mom, look at this! It’s perfect for my drawings. Thank you, Santa!”

Lacy and Lily, wearing their matching necklaces, approach Joel with enthusiasm. “Dad, Dad! Can Joel play with us too?” they ask, extending an invitation for the adventurous kitten to join in on their imaginative play.

Daisy twirls around in her new dress, and with a dramatic flair, she curtsies. “I’m a princess, just like in the stories!”

Jane and Jules, holding their new board game, insist on a family game night. Jules, gives you a confused look, glancing from the box, and then back up at you. “What is Boggle anyway?” 

“It’s just a word game, sweetheart, definitely an easy game to beat your dad at.” you laugh softly, shooting Joel a teasing grin.

Willow proudly shows you the fluffy stuffed animal she received. “Look Mom, It’s Fluffy! Daddy, feel how soft!” She grabs his hand to place it on the stuffed animal, and Joel enthusiastically plays along with her.

Kylie, engrossed in building her tower with the new blocks, beams with accomplishment. “It’s bigger than me, Mommy!” You smile at her gently, and give her compliments on her tower building skills.

Maggie, in her own little world, squeezes her plush toy and gurgles happily. The kittens, sensing the playful atmosphere, join in on the fun, batting at the discarded ribbons and chasing each other around the room.

Joel, still basking in the warmth of the family scene, leans over to you. “Seems like Santa knew exactly what they wanted.”

You nod, a content smile playing on your lips, ‘And the best part is seeing their faces light up with joy.”

The room is filled with laughter, the sound of wrapping paper being crinkled, and the occasional meow from Ginny and Joel. The chaos is harmonious, a melody of love and togetherness that defines your family.

The kids, their excitement undeterred, start brainstorming plans for the day–games to play, stories to tell, and perhaps a snowball fight if the weather permits. As the festivities continue, you can’t help but feel grateful for the love and warmth that fills your home–a treasure more precious than any gift under the tree.

As the kids reveled in the excitement of unwrapping their Christmas gifts, their attention turned to the chalkboard on the mantle–a poignant memorial to their older sister, Sarah. The room hushed momentarily as the children exchanged thoughtful glances, understanding the significance of the chalkboard.

The kids had put together some artwork and drawings the night before. They gather around the chalkboard, placing their artwork in front of it, creating a beautiful display of love and remembrance. The room, now adorned with their heartfelt tributes, felt infused with a sense of warmth and connection to Sarah’s memory.

Joel, watching from a distance, can't help but be moved by the sincerity and creativity of his children. The simple act of setting their drawings in front of the chalkboard transformed the mantle into a gallery of love—a tangible expression of the enduring impact Sarah's memory had on their hearts.

As the morning continued, the drawings stood as cherished tokens—a beautiful reminder that, even in the midst of joyous celebrations, the love for their sister would always hold a special place in the family's heart.

You nudge Joel gently, catching his attention. “Any Idea when Ellie, Dina, and JJ are planning to arrive?”

Joel looks thoughtful for a moment, his eyes scanning the room to make sure all the kids are engaged in their newfound treasures. “They’re aiming to get here just in time for lunch. Should be any moment now.”

Excitement lights up on your face at the news. “The kids are going to be over the moon to see them again, and It wouldn’t be Christmas without them.”

Joel nods in agreement, a fond smile playing on his lips. “Ellie’s always been good at timing. They’ll be here soon.”

As if on cue, a gentle knock at the door catches your attention. You glance at Joel, both of you sharing a knowing smile. The anticipation in the room heightens as the kids, sensing something special, look toward the door with wide eyes. Moments later, the front door bursts open, and the lively chatter of Ellie and Dina fills the air. The children squeal in delight, dropping their toys and rushing toward the doorway. Ellie enters first, holding JJ’s hand, Dina follows closely behind with a warm grin on her face.

The kids shout at them in unison, enveloping the new arrivals in a sea of hugs and excitement. You and Joel stand back, watching the heartwarming reunion unfold.

Ellie, catching your eye, gives you a knowing nod. “Merry Christmas!” she says as she greets you and Joel. You welcome them with open arms, a surge of joy filling your heart. “We’re so glad you’re here.”

As the laughter and joyful chaos continue to fill the room, you can’t help but marvel at the beautiful tapestry of your family, woven together by love, shared moments, and the bonds that withstand the test of time.

Amidst the joyful commotion, you navigate through the sea of excited children, still cradling little Joelseph in your arms. Joel joins you, and together you watch as Ellie, Dina, and JJ immerse themselves in the holiday cheer.

Ellie, after receiving an enthusiastic welcome from the kids, approaches you with a playful grin.

“How’s the newest little troublemaker doing?” she asks, casting an affectionate glance at Joelseph.

You chuckle, gently rocking the sleeping baby in your arms. “He’s been an angel all morning, surprisingly.” you yawn, tiredly.

Dina joins the conversation, “He’s gotten so big since we last saw him. Mind if we steal him for a bit?”

You nod with a smile, carefully passing Joelseph over to Dina. The little one stirs for a moment, but settles back into a peaceful slumber in Dina’s arms. “He’s all yours.’

The room continues to buzz with giggles and Ellie, Dina, and JJ become a seamless part of the festivities. The kids eagerly show them their new toys, and soon, the kittens, Ginny and Joel join the playful parade.

As the day unfolds, the house becomes a vibrant canvas, painted with the hues of love and togetherness. Joel, now with Aurora on his shoulders, navigates through the lively crowd. You find a quiet moment with Ellie, who is holding Joelseph with a tender smile.

“He’s adorable,” Ellie remarks, her eyes filled with a mix of nostalgia and affection. “Feels like just yesterday you were dealing with my teenage antics.”

You laugh, remembering those not-so-distant days. “Time flies, doesn’t it? Now look at us, and you, with a little family of your own.”

Ellie glances around the room, the sparkle of the holiday lights reflecting in her eyes. “Couldn’t ask for a better way to spend Christmas. And look at Joel, still being the heart and soul of this chaos.”

You follow her gaze to Joel, who is now surrounded by a group of kids, listening intently to one of Jane and Jules’ stories. The love in his eyes is evident as he shares in their laughter and mischief.

Ellie looks back at you, a soft smile playing on her lips. “You both did an amazing job. I’m proud to be part of this.”

And in that moment, as the laughter and warmth of your family envelop you, you couldn’t agree more. This Christmas, with all its magic, has woven another chapter into the rich tapestry of your lives–a chapter filled with love, laughter, and the cherished moments that make your family truly extraordinary.

As the festivities continue, Ellie, still cradling Joelseph, couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease Joel. With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she approaches Joel, who’s now attempting to disentangle himself from a knot of kids.

“Hey, old man,” Ellie quips, giving Joel a playful nudge. “You holding up okay with all these little rascals running around?”

Joel chuckles, a playful glint in his eyes. “Someone’s gotta keep ‘em in check. You’ll find out soon enough, Ellie. Parenthood’s no joke.”

Ellie raises an eyebrow, her gaze shifting to Joelseph. “You’re the expert now, huh? It took you guys long enough to figure out the secret recipe for a baby boy.”

Joel grumbles and feigns offense. “Well, it’s not like we had a manual.”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “Says the guy who needed a football team's worth of daughters before finally getting a son.”

You join in on the banter, giving Joel an amused smile. “Took a bit of trial and error, but look at our charming little Joelseph now.”

Ellie leans in, bouncing the baby gently in her arms. “Not bad for an old guy, huh, kiddo?” she cooed, earning a content gurgle from the baby.

As the day of joyful chaos begin to wind down, the once lively house now settles into a more serene atmosphere. The twinkling lights of the Christmas tree cast a gentle glow over the living room as the laughter of the children gradually transforms into quiet giggles and yawns.

You and Joel, tired but content, herd the kids upstairs for their bedtime routine. The kittens, Ginny and Joel, follow along, their playful antics slowing down as they, too, sensing the impending calm.

“Alright kiddos, time for bed.” Joel announces, his tone gentle but firm as he ushers the kids into their respective rooms.

The procession of bedtime rituals unfold–one by one, teeth are brushed, pajamas are put on, and stories are read. The younger ones nestle into their beds, eyelids growing heavy with the sweet fatigue of a day filled with excitement.

As you check on each child, offering goodnight kisses and tucking them in, Joel moves gracefully through the house, turning off the twinkling lights and closing curtains. The house seems to exhale, the echoes of joyous laughter replaced by the hushed whispers of bedtime.

In the quiet moments between putting the kids to bed, you found Joel in the hallway, sharing a look of satisfaction passing between you. The day had been a whirlwind of love and joy, and now the peaceful hush settles over the house like a comforting blanket.

“Another Christmas for the books,” Joel remarks, his voice low.

You nod, a smile playing on your lips. “And many more to come, I hope.”

The two of you continue the nightly routine, gently closing doors and ensuring the house was ready for the calm of night. The soft glow of the light spilling from your bedroom illuminates your path as you and Joel make your way into the room, where little Joelseph lay sleeping in his bassinet.

Joel pauses by the doorway, his eyes fondly watching the baby. “He’s been the best gift, hasn’t he?”

You nod, a warmth settling in your heart. “The best, indeed.”

The day had been a symphony of chaos and joy, a beautiful crescendo that had now found its resolution in the quietude of the evening. As you and Joel retire to your room, you can’t help but reflect on the blessings of family, love, and the precious moments that make Christmas truly magical.

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[bellaxgiornata]

Cabbage & Tears

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Mom!Reader Word Count: 2.3k [Collection Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: breastfeeding, postpartum hormones, emotional hurt/comfort, and a little sweet Matty fluff

Summary: For the past week since Matt and you had both been home with your newborn, you've been struggling with the initial drop in your hormones post-birth and breastfeeding. But tonight you finally hit a new low while Matt is out.

a/n: I'm attempting to keep these "blurbs" (I know, this one is more of the length of a one shot) as realistic to postpartum and pregnancy experiences as possible. Also, Matt was too perfect for this idea with his senses. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Collection Tag List: @danzer8705 @glowstick-lesbian @flowher @geminadeckerwritesstuff @shiorimakibawrites @beezusvreeland @ebathory997 @maryyymothhh @4happilyeverafter @sleepysleepymom @kezibear @charmedkim @midnightramble @carolinaxvz @1988-fiend @marcysbear

Sliding the bedroom door shut carefully after yourself, you held your breath in anticipation of the oncoming high-pitched wails from behind the solid wood door. It had become quite the familiar sound in the apartment over the past week now ever since you and Matt had brought your baby boy home from the hospital.

Standing entirely still at the door for a good few seconds, you continued to hold your breath, your hands still grasping the door handle in case you needed to head back into the bedroom to comfort your week old newborn. It was a long moment before you dared to finally take a breath in, the tension leaving your muscles when the apartment wasn't suddenly filled with the sound of a newborn crying again. Releasing a sigh of relief, you were satisfied that you'd finally managed to get the baby down to sleep for a bit tonight. 

Hands falling away from the door, you glanced down at your chest. Your breasts were sore and engorged, pain radiating through them as they sat confined in your nursing bra. For the past two days you had been struggling with the increased milk production that your son's recent cluster feeding had brought on. Now the next chore you needed to tackle on your list since you finally had a free moment was to unclog the milk ducts that you swore were leading you straight towards mastitis. From what you'd read about the infection online, and from how you'd been feeling further run down since you'd woken this morning, you figured you were already teetering dangerously on the cusp of it.

Slowly shuffling your way towards the kitchen on bare feet in the silent apartment, the light from the billboard across the street illuminating the space in tones of purple, you felt a wave of unprompted sadness wash over you. Truthfully you'd had these random moments of feeling absolutely miserable ever since giving birth, even if you were still overwhelmingly happy and in love with Matt and your new little addition. But now you weren't sleeping well through the night with the baby here, even if Matt was awake helping you as much as he could. And the over-the-counter medication that you were able to take only mildly helped to relieve the pain you were still experiencing in the aftermath of childbirth. Not to mention, having to wear the equivalent of a diaper afterwards in front of Matt had only made you feel worse about yourself and your changed body.

You knew all the crying you'd been doing lately was due to the significant drop in your hormones that you'd been warned about. The ones that made you an emotional mess far more than you'd ever been on just your period alone. You'd spent most of yesterday at home with the baby just periodically sobbing while Matt was at the office, and more than half the time you were aware the tears were unnecessary. You hadn't wanted Matt to know that you'd been crying at home though, so you'd done your best to fight the melancholic feelings back once it neared time for him to return from work that evening. If he somehow had picked up on the fact that you'd been crying with his heightened senses, he hadn't said anything. 

You had been determined not to bother him with your problems–something you'd been doing ever since you'd first found out that you were pregnant. Your problems just seemed trivial in comparison to what he was dealing with at the law firm and as Daredevil. So you kept pretending like you were fine, pulling out your usual tricks to keep Matt's senses from detecting any lies. Which was why you'd practically urged him to go out again tonight. You knew there was something big going on in the city and he was clearly itching to deal with it, and you had wanted some time alone to stop pretending that you were fine–and so you could deal with your clogged milk ducts while crying in peace. So you’d promised him that you had no issue watching the baby for a few hours more by yourself while he went out. 

And now that you were really alone, you felt the tears coming again as you stopped in the kitchen. Opening the fridge door, you carefully bent down towards the vegetable drawer and tried to ignore the pain shooting through your body at the movement. Reaching your hand into the drawer, you pulled out the produce bag which contained a fresh head of cabbage. 

Gently closing the fridge door with the produce bag in hand, a few tears slipping out of your eyes and trailing warm tracks down your cheeks, you brought the cabbage over to the counter by the sink. Feeling pathetic with what you were about to do as the tears began to pick up their pace, you began to tear a few leaves from off the head of cabbage. Switching on the nearby faucet, you rinsed them briefly under cold water as a choked sob fell out of you. 

You'd already tried many things for the clogged ducts by now, most of which seemed to prove fruitless. Warm compresses, hand expression, steamy showers, bags of ice on your chest throughout the day. You'd even desperately grabbed your vibrator and used it to massage your breasts in the hopes of breaking the clog and finding relief after some tips you'd read online, but nothing had really worked. Now you were so desperate that you'd had a head of cabbage delivered to the apartment this evening–which had woken the baby as he'd just been about to fall asleep on you an hour ago–to try what amounted to an old wives tale. But you were desperate for relief, so here you were willing to stuff leaves of cold, damp cabbage into your nursing bra.

As you stood by the sink adjusting the leaves in your bra, you felt like you'd hit a new low. The tears continued to fall despite the comforting chill of the cabbage that was reducing the burning ache of your breasts. With a sigh you readjusted your shirt before putting the rest of the head of cabbage back into the produce bag. 

Turning and heading back over to the fridge, you placed the bag back into the vegetable drawer just as the sound of the roof access door opened in the other room. The unmistakable heavy footfalls of Matt's boots had your eyelids slowly lowering, a soft sigh escaping you. You'd hoped he would be out for a bit longer still, not wanting him to witness you like this right now. 

“Sweetheart?” Matt called out, his booted feet making their way down the stairs to the living room. “Is something wrong?”

Inhaling a deep breath in, you willed the tears to stop as you closed the fridge door. Wiping the back of your hand across your damp cheeks, you shook your head and tried your best to smile.

“Just tired, Matty,” you answered him. “And I've got a bad headache. You know, from the lack of sleep.”

As you made your way out of the kitchen and over towards the living room, you saw the way Matt’s head curiously canted to the side at your response. The billboard across the street was casting a yellow glow over him as he removed the horned cowl from his head, his sweat-dampened hair clinging to his forehead. 

“So was your night successful?” you asked him, hoping to change the subject.

“Yeah, it was,” he answered off-handedly. “Why have you been crying, sweetheart?”

“Oh, I–I wasn't. Not really,” you said before you could stop yourself. Catching the way the corners of his lips curved downwards, you realized he'd probably caught the lie in your words. “I mean, it was just rough getting him to sleep again tonight,” you backtracked quickly. “And you know–crazy hormones and all.”

Matt tossed his cowl onto the coffee table, his eyes narrowing curiously as they studied you. It didn't escape your notice how he was focused on your chest, clearly listening to your heartbeat and your body. Crossing your arms over yourself, you mentally prepared for the expected onslaught of questions as he made his way towards you. 

You expected him to probe further about the scent of your fresh tears in the apartment, or the skip in your heartbeat when you'd answered him. Maybe even the waver in your voice that you weren't convinced you'd successfully hidden this time. But what you hadn't expected was the way he'd stopped a foot away from you, his nose twitching as he visibly sniffed the air before pulling a face.

“Sweetheart,” he began slowly, his face twisted in distaste, “why do I smell…cabbage?”

It was impossible for you to control your reaction to his question. Your face immediately scrunched up, tears once more filling your eyes and spilling hot and warm down your cheeks. You felt a surge of sadness hit you hard as you abruptly crumpled in half, a sob flying out of you that you tried to muffle behind your hands.

Matt darted forward instinctively the moment you'd moved. His hands grasped tight onto your shoulders, keeping you upright as a look of concern drew itself across his face. His eyes were frantically scanning around you, darting over your face and then jumping down towards your body. 

“Hey, what's wrong? What's going on?” he asked. 

You could hear the strain in his tone as he clearly struggled to remain calm. Eyes snapping shut as the tears continued to race down your cheeks, you shook your head as Matt pulled you tight into his chest. Turning your face, you buried it against the strange material of his red suit, your arms wrapping back around yourself in a tight hug.

“It's me,” you croaked out. “I smell like cabbage.”

Matt's hands, which had soothingly been running up and down your back, briefly paused at what you'd said. You didn't dare move your face from where it was pressed against his chest, too embarrassed to see the expression on his face.

“I…don't understand,” he replied carefully.

Trying to fight back a sob, you answered him, your voice muffled by his suit. “I have some clogged ducts,” you began. “From the cluster feeding. Nothing is–is clearing them. Pretty sure there's an infection starting now.” You paused, exhaling a shaky breath. “I've tried everything. Everything recommended online except–except stuffing stupid cabbage in my bra.”

Your voice broke on the last few words, cracking as more tears spilled faster from your eyes. Unwrapping your arms from your chest, your hands clutched pathetically at Matt’s suit, your body aching from the flu-like symptoms you'd already begun experiencing.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Matt murmured tenderly, his arms wrapping tighter around you. “No wonder it feels like your body is warmer tonight. You've got the beginning of a fever, don't you?”

You nodded wordlessly, your eyes still closed as you clung to him for comfort. Though even you could smell the scent of cabbage filling your nose as you did, the scent of it making you feel even more pathetic.

“Why didn't you say anything?” Matt asked gently “I could have stayed home. Tried to help you or even just watched the little nugget so you could take care of yourself.”

Face still hidden against Matt, you shrugged. “Because it's stupid in comparison to what you're dealing with,” you muttered. “And I thought I could handle it.”

“You have the beginning of an infection,” he countered softly, his hands still making soothing patterns on your back. “That's not stupid, sweetheart.”

“I feel awful,” you whispered into his chest. “Feels like I'm sick.”

Matt sighed, his arms still firmly holding you to himself. Lowering his head, you felt him press his nose into your hair before affectionately placing a kiss to the top of your head.

“I can tell,” he told you. “Your body is definitely fighting off an infection. Why don't you get into bed and I'll find a way to help you once I get out of the suit?” 

Reluctantly releasing your arms from around Matt, you leaned back and examined the serious expression on his face. His arms were still loosely holding your waist, his eyes focused around your heart as he waited for an answer. 

“Are you sure you want me to get in the bed? I'll most likely make it smell like cabbage,” you pointed out, half-joking but half-serious. “Knowing you, you'd probably smell it for weeks.”

Matt chuckled before gesturing his head over his shoulder towards the bedroom. “Yes, go on, sweetheart, I'm sure. You could make the bed smell like rotten eggs for all I care if it would help you. Now go,” he pressed, lightly pushing you towards the bedroom. “Go get in bed and let me take care of you for once. And if our little nugget wakes up, I'll take care of him, too. You need some rest.”

A small smile slipped onto your face as you nodded. “Thanks, Matty,” you murmured. 

“Don't thank me, angel,” he replied. “We're in this together, right? You, me, and the little nugget you’ve got sleeping soundly in there.”

“Right,” you agreed softly.

Matt released his hold on you slowly before you began making your way around him and towards the bedroom. As you neared the door, you heard the familiar sounds of Matt beginning to slip out of his suit and you found yourself grateful that he'd come home when he had to help you. Even if you felt absolutely foolish with cabbage currently stuffed in your bra, because you had a feeling this would be a moment you both looked back on and laughed about in the future. 

[flowerandblood]

The dearest embrace (AE)

Alternative Ending of The sofest whisper Oneshot

[ Aemond • Targaryen x servant! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, angst, smut, breeding and breastfeeding kink, miscarriage, murder, violence ]

[ description: Aemond manages to escape the clutches of death and defeats his uncle in a battle in the skies. He hopes to find his servant there when he returns to Harrenhal, but she has, on his advice, fled. Although he tries, he cannot forget the night he spent with her, a night that was to be the last of her life, and he decides that he will not rest until he finds her. Obsessive, possessive, dark Aemond. ]

The first oneshot ends as it does in canon - Aemond's death during the battle with Daemon. However, I thought it would be interesting to present how I would imagine their fate if he managed to survive. If you thought the first ending was perfect and that an additional story would ruin the story for you, just don't read it.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

____

He survived.

Although it was he who was to die, Daemon fell into the abyss.

The gods flipped a coin again and this time showed him mercy.

He wasn't sure how he felt when he returned to Harrenhal, when Alys threw herself around his neck with a sob, ready to forgive him for what he had done the night before, ready to accept him deep inside her again, thinking only that he was back.

He, however, instead immediately went to his chamber hoping that he would still find her there, that she had not managed to escape, that she believed he would survive.

That she was waiting for him.

He walked into his chamber and saw emptiness – the only trace of what they had done was a bloody sheet, gone was the bag of coins he had left for her on the table.

She ran away.

Smart girl.

He avoided Alys, saying he needed to rest in solitude and write a letter in peace to his brother-king informing him of his victory.

The truth, however, was that after what he had endured with her that night, after the mesmerising kind of tenderness, intimacy and closeness he had experienced with her convinced he was going to die, his rapprochements with Alys appeared to him as purely animalistic, aggressive, empty.

He spent the next few days thinking about where she might have escaped to as his men searched for her, but to no avail.

He was furious.

He wanted her.

He needed her.

To Alys' despair, he returned to King's Landing unable to endure her constant efforts to gain his attention again, to win his heart back.

It was too late.

It was too late the very moment he saw her in his chamber for the first time.

After convincing him with a few gold coins, one of the innkeepers admitted that he had recently hired a young girl matching his description and that she had rented one of the rooms from him.

His envoy had only managed to find her trail after two months of his constant agony, rage and despair, during which he continually imagined the events of that night.

The way his fingers had driven into her soft flesh, what sweet sounds of pleasure and despair had risen from her throat as thrust after thrust he had taken away her maidenhood.

He set off there immediately on horseback together with some of his guards, without informing either his brother or his mother, disguised in a long grey cloak, a hood over his head so as not to attract anyone's attention with his long white hair.

He stepped into the inn late in the evening, when there were plenty of people there to disappear into the crowd, and felt a painfully strong thump of his heart when he saw her behind the counter – her hair was entwined in a long braid, droplets of sweat from exertion on her face and a calm, warm smile, her slightly rounded abdomen girded with an apron.

She was carrying his child under her heart.

He stared at her from a distance completely frozen, unable to look away, thinking of only one thing.

He walked slowly towards her and she took a step back, terrified, not knowing what to do, how to behave, a man in armour shouted to her impatiently to pour him more beer.

She noticed out of the corner of her eye that someone had walked inside and glanced in their direction. He saw her freeze and turn pale, her eyes big, her mouth parted wide in disbelief.

He saw everything in her gaze: fear, joy, disbelief, longing, pain, grief.

"− yes, my Lord −" She mumbled, saying something quickly to the older man who stood beside her. He glanced worriedly in his direction as she spoke to him, then nodded and moved towards the man who was raising his empty tankard into the air.

She walked out to him, wiping her hands on her apron in a nervous gesture, trembling all over, her breathing ragged and uneven, her lips quivering as she spoke to him in a whisper.

"− Your Grace, I −"

"I want to speak with you. Alone."

She nodded, swallowing loudly, and indicated with a hand gesture for him to follow her up the stairs to the inn floor. She pulled a key from the pocket of her bottom gown and slipped it into one of the doors, then opened it.

He walked behind her into a tiny, modest room with one small bed, a table, a chair and a wooden wardrobe. She walked quickly over to the candle and lit it so they wouldn't be standing in complete darkness.

He closed the door behind him and pulled his cloak off his head, never taking his eye off her.

She was exactly as he remembered her.

He could see that her condition was getting worse, the shock beginning to subside with the realisation that he was really standing in front of her, that he had found her.

She moved towards her wardrobe as if she remembered something and from under a pile of blankets pulled out the same bag of coins he had given her. He furrowed his brow as she approached him with it, holding out her hand.

"I spent very little, just on travel, food and rent here the first few nights." She explained in a trembling voice, as soft and warm as he remembered. He pressed his lips together at her words.

"This is your money. It belongs to you." He replied dryly, feeling insulted at the thought that she thought he had gone to so much trouble for a few golden coins.

She swallowed loudly, putting the bag down and looked away, unable to bear his burning gaze.

"Aren't you going to say anything? Aren't you glad I survived?" He asked with a pain and disappointment that surprised him, as if he expected her to throw herself into his arms with tears.

She looked at him with those big, warm eyes of hers, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lips trembled at his words. She pressed her hands against her stomach – for a moment she looked as if she was choking, tear after tear began to run down her cheeks red with emotion.

"What I am feeling now I can only reveal to the gods in my prayers. In the same ones in which I begged them to spare your life." She choked out finally, and he swallowed loudly, feeling a squeeze in his throat and chest, his hands clenched into fists.

"Is that my child?" He asked, a grimace of pain passed across her face – she covered her face with her hand as if she didn't believe this was really happening.

"− please − have mercy −" She mumbled and he approached her with a sudden, aggressive step, towering over her. She drew in the air loudly, looking at him terrified, his hand tightened on her hair not allowing her to turn her face away.

"Don't you feel anything at the sight of me? At the memory of me deep inside you? Hm? It means nothing to you?" He asked coldly, her eyes hot, warm tears running down her cheeks and dripping onto the exposed skin of his wrist, her body twitching in convulsions.

He kissed her, kissed her as if she were a spring of water and he hadn't drunk in months, as if she were a warm bed and he hadn't been able to rest for many nights, as if she were a soothing whisper when all he could hear in his head was a thousand screams.

His tongue slid between her lips in a lingering, deep kiss, her startled, stifled moan caught in her throat, his hand holding her in a steel grip, refusing to let her move away.

He hummed low under his breath, satisfied when he felt her lips part invitingly, brushing his thirsty, longing-filled skin – they embraced at last and pressed against each other like a pair of lovers, her rounded belly pressed against his body.

He took her with gentle, steady, deep thrusts on her bed, lying behind her, panting loudly along with her, the wooden frame creaking each time he stretched her wonderfully tight insides again and again with his painfully hard cock, swollen with yearning.

"− did you long for it? − did you dream of me coming back and doing it to you again? − of my cock deep inside you? −" He gasped out, tightening his hand on her plushy hip.

She mewled softly, her fingers clenched on his arm with which he embraced her waist, his nose pressed against the hollow of her neck, inhaling the scent of her sweat, their bodies, hot and sticky with exertion, slapping against themselves with each of his thrusts.

"− yes − gods, yes −" She mumbled, tears of pain, longing, terror and joy running down her fair, hot, soft cheeks, her thighs spread wide in a gesture of complete submission, allowing him to slam into her as deeply as he wanted.

"− you did so well − already carrying my child − I'm going to put another and another inside you − hm? − my sweet little girl −" He breathed out into her ear and she came hard at his words, moaning and sobbing, her fleshy, hot muscles began to clench on him greedily in pleasure, squeezing his seed out of him. He closed his eyes in pleasure, his naked, sweaty chest pressed against the skin of her back.

"− that's it − don't waste even a drop − yes, just like that −" He murmured in delight, thrusts of his length pushing his spend as deep inside her as possible.

They lay breathing loudly, embracing each other, their bodies entwined together with their hands and legs, his cheek pressed against hers, his soft manhood still deep inside her hot body.

They were one.

"Return with me to the Red Keep." He whispered.

She trembled all over and swallowed loudly, her whole body tensing in terror. He felt it and placed a soft, light kiss on her bare shoulder.

She was a free woman.

He could not take her against her will.

"I will only bring you dishonour and shame." She mumbled through her tears and he chuckled low, stroking the bare skin of her slightly rounded belly with his fingers.

"I am a kinslayer. You are incapable of bringing me greater dishonour than that which I have brought upon myself."

His mother took his decision with fury. What he was doing was against their faith and beliefs, against good customs. She spoke to him about marriage, about the disgrace to his future wife. He laughed at his words.

"What self-respecting lady would marry a kinslayer? I have no desire to push my child inside a woman who feels nothing but disgust for me, mother. I cast Daemon down from the heavens, I won the war for us. This is what I demand in return."

He assigned her a chamber in a seldom-visited part of the keep, hiding her like his secret treasure, watching her abdomen swell from his heritage, from his seed.

He cherished her character, the fact that she understood their situation and that it would never change, that she would never become his wife, that their children would be bastards, that the kingdom would call their relationship sinful and ungodly.

He made sure that the other servants did not get the idea of hurting or poisoning her as a gesture of jealousy or honour, and promised that if anything happened to her, each of them would lose an eye.

They knew he wasn't lying.

Although the news of Alys' pregnancy broke him down at first, he later came to terms with it, however, it was seeing his servant with a stomach swollen from his child that brought him some kind of satisfaction and contentment.

When he visited her he would watch her lying on her bed in her nightgown, sitting in his chair, one of her hands stroking her belly, the other holding the book she was reading to him.

This was their ritual, their time of intellectual intimacy.

He felt some kind of pride hearing how fluently she read, almost no longer making mistakes.

She shuddered suddenly, pausing and looked down at her rounded abdomen with a smile.

"− our child is wriggling − someone here was intrigued by the story −" She said with the warmth, joy and lightness characteristic of her. He hummed under his breath, squinting his eyebrows in satisfaction.

Then he undid the buckles of his black tunic, untied his breeches and lay down behind her, putting his arms around her, her hands immediately on his, a murmur of comfort, contentment and security emanating from her breasts.

He usually took her before she went to sleep, sinking between her thighs with a sigh of delight, wonderfully squeezed on all sides. He forced his way into herwith his always ready, hard erection, which she welcomed inside her with the patience of a saint, moaning sweetly in his arms, her moisture slick against his thighs each time his naked body slapped against her sticky buttocks again.

He felt a sense of peace.

She did not demand anything from him.

She didn't ask him uncomfortable questions.

She didn't get upset when he couldn't spend time with her, taking handfuls of what he gave her.

For the first time in his life, he finally felt like he was enough for someone.

Her understanding, her humility, her patience, her warmth and joy at every moment they spent together filled his chest with a warm feeling he didn't want to feel.

The only thing she feared was that Alys would try to poison or hurt her. He hadn't visited her since he brought this innocent creature to the Red Keep, filling her to the brim with his seed almost every night.

He guessed that she already knew that she was expecting his child. He ordered his servants to try her food and drink before giving her anything, two of his trusted guards watching her chambers in his absence on his command.

Eventually, however, he received a letter from Harrenhal that Alys had given birth to his son and that her condition was good. He welcomed this news and, albeit reluctantly, decided to travel to Harrenhal to greet his offspring.

He had informed her of this the day before, lying in bed with her, taking an unruly strand of curls from her warm face, raspy with exertion after he had came deep inside her.

"I have to leave for a few days." He said briefly and matter-of-factly, not wanting to get into the subject.

He saw in her gaze that she understood at once what he meant, her eyebrows arched in pain. She nodded, in her eyes both regret and understanding at the same time.

She said nothing.

She knew that she had no right to demand anything from him.

However, he allowed her to snuggle into him, giving her comfort in his arms, enveloping her into his embrace, creating a fortress out of his body in which she could hide.

When he arrived in Harrenhal Alys greeted him with his son in her arms. He kissed her forehead and looked at the white-haired infant with satisfaction, expressing his sincere joy that the child was healthy and that she had survived the birth without complications.

He ate supper with her, however, despite her pleas, he did not stay in bed with her.

He had no desire to do so.

"You are here in body, but not in heart." She said to him regretfully as he sat in a chair in front of her. He looked at her impassively, not knowing what he should reply to such a statement, or from her perspective, an accusation.

"I am performing my duty. Harrenhal is yours, and after your death it will fall to our son. You lack nothing. What more do you want from me, Alys?" He asked frustrated, and she furrowed her raven-black eyebrows, shaking her head.

"I want you. I've lost you." She said in pain, her green eyes red from tears she was holding back by force of her will. She walked towards him and kneeled in front of him, looking at him pleadingly, reaching with her hand to untie his breeches. He stroked her cheek.

"I'm not for sale." He said calmly, pushing her wrist away with a gentle flick of his hand, then slowly got up and walked out, leaving her with an expression of despair and shock on her face.

He had no intention of forcing himself into anything.

He had no intention of pretending.

He never promised her anything.

All he could think about was her sweet lips clenched around his fat cock, sucking it in a wonderfully unhurried, tender rhythm, each time bravely swallowing everything that spilled out of him, doing so with a surprisingly innocent, calm look on her face, drawing from his throat sounds he had never made before.

However, he wanted to be a good father and promised to visit his son once every few months, giving him his full attention.

He returned to King's Landing on Vhagar with a strange kind of relief, tired and discouraged, the stares and silence of Alys driving him mad.

He headed straight for her chamber, wanting to touch her, to smell her, to see her face unbidden by resentment, disappointment and regret.

When he opened the door she shuddered, lifting herself up on the bed, snapped out of a deep sleep. She rose from her place and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms.

He was relieved to snuggle his nose into her hair, embracing her warm, small body with his arms.

"I'm back."

He took her slowly, asking her how much she had missed him, whether she had obeyed and not touched herself in his absence as he had commanded.

"− I have obeyed you, my Prince − I swear −" She mumbled, her breasts bouncing gently with each of his slow, firm, deep thrusts, her hot muscles throbbing hungrily against him, wanting to keep him inside her, thirsty and yearning.

He hummed contentedly at her words, delighted by her obedience, by the fact that she always did everything to please him.

"− very well − my little girl deserves to be taken care of, hm? − to relieve her a little −" He murmured between tender kisses placed on her neck, his hands roaming over her breasts and belly, her skin wonderfully soft and warm, her scent filling his lungs, her fingers tightening on his arms.

"− yes − please −" She mewled, writhing before him, impatient, having not tasted fulfillment for days.

"− please, what? −" He growled out warningly, tightening his hand on her thigh, lifting it up slightly, sliding into her faster, more violently, her head tilted back.

"− please, my Prince − please, I have waited so patiently for this −" She whimpered, and he chuckled at her words, delighted by her desperation and helplessness.

"− indeed − you deserve a reward − that's right, there you go − good girl −" He praised her as she cried out feeling his hand between her thighs, his palms spread her moisture over her hot womanhood and began to rub her puffy bud with circular, sure strokes, drawing sweet, helpless sounds from her throat.

"− oh, gods − ah −" She mumbled unable to get any meaningful sentences out.

He leaned back pulling her with him, resting the weight of her body against him, gripping her jaw in his hand, the other caressing and teasing the spot of her greatest pleasure. He forced her to look down.

"− look how good you're taking me − how tight you are, how my cock is stretching your body − see? −" He breathed out into her ear and she nodded, moaning and sobbing, her hand rising and involuntarily gripping his hair, her hips responding to his every thrust, their bodies slapping against each other with a wet, loud smacks.

"− do you like this view? − hm? −" He asked in delight, and in response received her loud, pathetic whimper and a powerful orgasm that shook her body.

"− fuck −" He muttered, panting along with her, their bodies relaxed as they lay in a tight embrace, their legs and hands entwined together, his cheek pressed against her shoulder.

He moaned low, surprised, pressing his face against her neck, prolonging his pleasure with a few more desperate thrusts before he peaked inside her with a sigh of relief.

He wasn't sure he'd ever come so hard before.

By a hair's breadth, words would burst out of his mouth that he would later regret, that he would be ashamed of.

Never in his life would he admit out loud that he longed for her.

He licked his effort-dry lips and sighed quietly, closing his eyes, exhausted, falling asleep with her almost immediately, his lungs filling with her pleasant scent.

On the day of her delivery, he was restless, walking around his chamber waiting for any news. He prayed that she would survive, that the child would be healthy, that the gods would not punish them for his actions, for his sins.

When his servant told him that it was all over he waited impatiently until night fell, not wanting to stir up yet more gossip and commentary among the court, and headed to her chamber to visit her.

He felt an immense sense of relief when he saw her lying on her bed, already dressed in a new, clean nightgown, lying under fresh sheets, her hair loose, a dark-haired infant in her hands.

She was rocking their child with an expression of contentment and tenderness on her face from which he felt a squeeze in his chest.

When she heard him enter she lifted her gaze to him, a wide, sincere smile on her face, her eyes shining with happiness.

"Look, my Prince. I have never seen a more beautiful creature than your daughter." She said warmly, and he felt a tightening in his throat at her words, at the news that he had a daughter who could be as kind, warm and affectionate as her mother.

Her mother leaned over her and tenderly kissed her little forehead, humming contentedly.

He approached them slowly and stood over them with his hands folded behind his back, looking at the infant dressed in a long white robe.

His daughter had his eyes.

"She smells wonderful. It's almost addictive. What shall we name her, my Prince?" She asked quietly, lifting her soft, warm gaze to him, their daughter's tiny hand clenched on her finger.

He swallowed loudly, feeling that his throat was strangely constricted, something moving about the sight. He grunted quietly, thinking.

"Rhaenys." He said lowly, pressing his lips together, recalling a sentence in one of the books he was reading, dedicated to Aegon the Conqueror.

King Aegon the Conqueror was said to have married Princess Visenya out of duty, and Princess Rhaenys out of lust and love. For one night with Princess Visenya, he spent ten in his younger sister's bed.

She smiled and nodded, accepting his decision without a word of complaint, apparently deciding it was a nice name, kissing her little daughter's plump cheek.

He did not know why, but he could watch the interactions between her and their daughter for hours sitting in his chair.

Rhaenys appeared to be a cheerful child, babbling loudly, through her mother's incessant speaking to her she reacted vividly to her every move or facial expression, squirming and giggling, catching her feet in her tiny chubby hands, swinging from side to side.

He felt something when he looked at them – he knew it and it frightened him, but he also found some kind of comfort in it.

He could no longer spend a day without visiting them, he spent whole evenings in their company.

At night, when Rhaenys finally fell asleep in her mother's arms, her belly full of her milk, he gave his attention only to her.

He could not find them conversing much, if anything discussing what she was reading to him, however, the way they kissed, the way their lips found each other instantly as soon as he lay down beside her, the way their hands stroked their cheeks and hair made him feel a pleasant, light tickle in his abdomen.

He adored her body, the way it reacted to him. He adored the way she sounded, sweet and innocent, he adored the way she melted under his fingers as he forced his tongue deep inside her, rewarding her for her devotion, for her patience, for her forbearance, as he opened her wide with his cock, hard with desire, to fill her again with his seed.

Not even a few months had passed and she was expecting his child again.

He was paying great attention to her breasts, wonderfully full of milk, sucking her breastmilk from her nipples, sweet and warm, whimpering and panting along with her as she rode him.

"Leave something for our daughter, my Prince." She cooed with warm amusement, stroking his hair and hugging his head to her chest, coming with delight on his painfully hard cock as she listened to him swallow her milk greedily, unable to pull away, filling her with himself with a wonderful sigh of relief.

And then his worst nightmare came true.

Under the inattention of his guards, a strange man burst into her chamber with a dagger, lashing out at her. She struggled against him, but he covered her mouth, trying to cut her throat with his other hand – only the screaming and crying of their daughter brought the guards inside, who disarmed him.

He only managed to slit her arm and wrist, however, what was most frightening when he burst into her chamber, terrified, was the sea of blood between her thighs where she was lying, sobbing loudly.

Their child in her womb.

It was the first time he'd ever heard anyone make a sound like hers – she was wailing and howling as if she were an animal, and he felt as if someone was ripping his insides out from the inside.

He was afraid to touch her, afraid that he would hurt her even more, unable to find words of comfort either for himself or for her.

He sentenced the guards who had allowed this to happen to death despite his mother's pleas for him to show them mercy.

He himself had supervised the interrogation of the man who had been caught, wanting to draw out of him who had done it.

He insisted that he didn't know where he got the money from, that an intermediary had come to him, set him a task and told him he would be paid double if he managed to kill both the girl and their daughter.

More elaborate torture, however, refreshed his memory, one very important detail, the place from which that man had come.

"Harrenhal."

At first he wanted to burn Alys alive in the Vhagar's fire.

Later, however, he decided that he would show her mercy and sent his envoy to her, who after a few days reported to him that the matter had been resolved.

He wrote him that she had not defended herself against the cut of his dagger, as if reconciled to her fate.

He personally flew to take his son from Harrenhal, having no intention of leaving him in the care of strangers.

He was of his blood.

He was relieved that she was treating Vaemond as if he were her child, offering to look after both his children as they needed a mother in the same way. He agreed seeing how quickly his son bonded with her, how he lunged into her embrace reaching out his chubby arms to her, impatient.

He wasn't sure Alys had ever shown him as much tenderness, interest and care as she had. She sang to him and read to him, carried him in her arms for hours when he had a colic or cried.

His presence helped her deal with the grief and suffering of losing their child, her scars had healed, but he knew that, like the one on his face, they would remain on her body for life, reminding her of this event.

Precisely because she had been so caring towards him, his son and their daughter, during the night when he was reunited with her with his body he was even more tender to her, even more understanding, caressing her for hours with his tongue alone, teasing and sucking her bud, making her a babbling, helpless mess, ripping from her fulfilment after fulfilment.

When his brother decided to give him Dragonstone as a reward for his services he took her with him, not imagining that she should be anywhere else.

She wore the gowns he had given her, blue, with long sleeves reaching the ground, emphasising the wonderfully dark colour of her hair, eyebrows and eyelashes, sapphire necklaces around her neck.

Looking at her from the side, sitting on the stone floor, reading to his children at his feet, he thought that enough was enough.

That he would do it right.

He called the right man and told her to follow him into the night without asking where they were going or why.

They got out through a back passage to the seashore.

She did not understand what was happening, why he had said he would cut her lips and her hands, let alone why he had told her to do the same. She trembled with tears in her eyes as he cut her soft skin with the dragonglass, and he watched the sight as if enchanted, strangely calm.

He told her to drink their mingled blood from the goblet, so she did, terrified, touching him by the fact that, as usual, she obeyed him, full of trust.

He took the goblet from her and drank a deep sip from it himself, licking his lips, delighted by this sensation, this ritual that united them forever.

She looked at him questioningly as he handed the cup back to the man standing next to them, wanting to understand what had happened, why they were doing this, what purpose it would serve. He looked at her and for a moment he couldn't get anything out.

He was furious with himself, but he was emotional, his throat constricted.

"I just became your husband."

She looked at him in disbelief and laughed, thinking he was mocking her.

After a moment she made big eyes, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lower lip trembling.

"− please, my Prince, it's not funny −" She gasped regretfully.

He looked down at her with calm eyes, waiting for her to realise he wasn't joking.

If it didn't get to her then, she understood it when he pressed her face against the cold wall of the underpass under Dragonstone, pulling her skirt up, the space between her buttocks shiny and glistening from her juices. He slapped her there with his hand and she cried out loudly, clasping her hands on the stone wall, leaning forward.

"− my little wife is always so fucking wet − hm? − constantly asking for my cock −" He hummed, untying his breeches and lowering them quickly, with one, sure thrust, stretching her tight, hot walls to their limits, their loud moan echoing around them as he began to fuck her with brutal, deep stabs of his hips.

They had their wedding night long ago then, in Harrenhal.

Now he just wanted to fuck her.

"− happy now? −" He mocked and she nodded, all red and hot with emotion, her whole body trembling in convulsions.

He could feel by the way she clenched down on him that she was close to fulfilment and watched with delight as with each thrust his length stretched her tight, hot walls again and again.

"− I'll put my next child inside you − hm? −" He hissed, tightening his fingers more firmly on her hips, pumping his manhood even deeper into her, all the way to the end, her moans turned into mewling and whimpering.

"− you must secure my inheritance − as any − good − wife − would − do −" He growled, the last words uttered accompanied by determined, deep thrusts from which she almost screamed, her face wonderfully red and warm, stunned by the pleasure and this partly brutal, partly passion-filled sensation.

"− please − oh, gods −" She sobbed loudly, coming hard on his length with her mouth wide open, he sighed heavily tilting his head up, feeling her walls throbbing against him and he gave in, filling her at last with himself.

"− take it − take your husband's spend like a good wife − you'll give me many more children − fuck, yes −" He breathed out, looking down at her, holding her hips with his hands, feeling her slump to the ground otherwise.

She opened her eyelids and looked up at him with her hot gaze, the kind he adored most, and whispered the words that sent a shiver through him.

"Fill me again in your bed, my husband."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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[slyvieselkie]

Mother Dearest II

Warning: smut (its fucking nasty), stepcest, satosugu x reader, breastfeeding kink, mommy kink, dubcon, unprotected sex, minor deaths, yandere satosugu

Check out Part I and the masterlist for more!

Badump badump badump

Suguru could hear his own heartbeat as he walked down the hallway to that room. Eyes flickering around to see whether anyone could spot how tense and nervous he was. Why? Well, let's see.

Standing before the door, he hesitated to step in knowing that if he did...he wouldn't come out the same.

"Come in Sugu", a familiar voice called out.

With a gulp, he slid the door open and quickly shut it behind. Instantly, the pungent smell of sex filled his nose. The young boy became speechless at the sight in front of him, throat growing drier by the second.

Wide black eyes burned the magnificent view into his mind. The way Satoru hovered over you with a expression of euphoria, rutting his hips against yours like he had completely gone insane. You were below him, unable to do anything other than babble and soak up all of his roughness.

Suguru felt his pants grow tighter, felt his dick twitch, felt the urge to jump into the mess.

"Come, Suguru", just how the hell did he get here?

....

Everything began last week for Satoru.

As you began your second trimester, the white haired boy noticed the constant complain of aches and soreness. With shimmering eyes, Satoru offered to help you. You innocently agreed, beaming that he was taking everything so well. It started off as foot massages, the two of you lounging in the gardens while he worked his magic.

Sitting in the silence, rubbing out all of the tension in your sore feet, Satoru imagined that this was his happy family. That he was your loving husband, that you were carrying his precious children, that the two of you were Master and Madam Gojo. He watched you doze off, so adorable. Without his knowledge fingers began straying from their position and ghosting up your calves to twirl circles on your thighs. You shouldn't be so trusting, even if it was the man you considered your own son. Because in a blink of an eye he suckling on your inner thighs, ready to flee the moment you woke up...but you didn't. He was nowhere to be found by the time you opened your eyes.

A routine began much to your delight, and horror if you'd known. Satoru were lull you into a sleep and carry you back to your room, setting you down on the futon. He would just examine you for a bit, marveling your features and body before finally diving in. Mapping your body with his tongue and memorising your figure with his grasps. Sparkling eyes rolled back into his head as his face flushed pink, it was so much more than everything he had dreamt.

It was meant to be a slow introduction, he would take his time unveiling you and exploring your crevices. But the small sounds you made were siren calls to his ears, this was really your fault. Panting, the white haired boy ripped the fabrics keeping your bodies from touching. He shivered feeling your skin against his and groaned at the weight of your tits, pearly drops leaking down his shaking hands. While he nibbled on your nipples, swirling his tongue and pulling on the nub, a hand traveled down to your wetness.

"T-Toru?", there was a squeak.

It became a blur from there, Satoru really didn't know how and what point he was smothering his face with your pussy. Still grasping to comprehend the situation, you gurgled around his fingers and did your best to writhed around. Unfortunately that only worked in Satoru's favour as you helped mask his face in your juices.

----

Freshly out of the shower, Suguru returned to his room in pair of boxers. He instantly noticed the notifications coming from his phone, eyebrows furrowing at the videos Satoru were sending him. Clicking on the first one and immediately threw the phone away, frozen at the lewd noises coming out of it. Stunned, he picked it up again like the device was explosive. On his screen was you with your legs spread apart as familiar fingers coaxed the sweetest cries out of you.

"T-To-oh! Wah wait!", the latter hushed you and whispered, "Let go mama, I know you wanna. Wanna show Sugu how pretty you look when you gush on my fingers. She's so pretty, Sugu, you have to see it."

And you were, sobbing and trembling as your release escapes in gushes. Swearing, Satoru throws the phone away and Suguru's left with hearing the way he slurps all of it up. The video ends there and he's immediately clicking on the next now.

You've changed positions, straddling the boy with your back to the screen but the mirror on the side has the perfect angle of the other view. Satoru's letting out soft praises at the way you grind on top of him, rolling on his pelvis and making the most nasty squelches. You then twitch and whine at the feeling of a digit pressing against your other hole.

"I'm saving this one for you Suguru, won't even touch it so you can stretch her out yourself", a hoarse voice speaks.

The black haired boy grits his teeth and pumps his dick, relishing in the way he comes undone the same time as you do. There's more, so many more of Satoru creaming your insides and letting it leak out.

Satoru's on the other side, stroking your quivering body while he drinks water. Surely Suguru must've seen it now, he chugs down the last of the water bottle.

....

You turn to the newcomer with glassy eyes, brain all mushy from the past two days of constant sex. The last bit of your sanity wonders how Satoru's been keeping Ume and your husband away.

"S-Suguru?", you whisper and watch as he slowly walks over, unbuttoning his jacket.

The white haired boy pulled out grinning and nuzzles into his friend, before looking down at you with renewed hunger. Pleas leave your lips but it goes deaf on their ears as they sandwich you. You grip onto them, nails digging into their skin, a visualisation of you trying to hold onto the last bit of sanity.

The two boys you once considered your own drink up your milk as your walls flutter around their fingers. You came within minutes and hide in the crook of Suguru's neck. However they begin to move down and you watch them with wide pupils, they were making out with your pussy in the middle. Satoru and Suguru lock lips with your clit in the middle, connecting their tongues whilst gliding across your folds, and sharing spit to let it drip onto your puckered hole.

"P-please, hngh haa-this can't OH!"

Your voice cut away when Suguru inches into your hole, Satoru murmuring praises as he feels the entrance on the other side. The string holding everything back snaps and you curse clinging to them, squealing at their snappy thrusts. You encouraged them, slobbering your lips onto Satoru's and chanting Suguru's name. Victorious, the two boys lift you into the air and pound your holes like their lives depended on it.

They flip and fold you into different positions, tainting every inch of the room in clear streams and thick semen.

After countless rounds, Satoru finally steps away and pats Suguru's back, "Take care of her for me", before staggering to the bathroom.

The black haired boy lets out a deep moan as he fills you to the brim, "Y-Yeah~".

....

The next time the door is opened, it doesn't closes. Crystal eyes look inside to see you boneless in Suguru's grasp, accepting the sips of water from his lips.

Suguru notices him and looks up, "...That shirt wasn't red before."

His lips stretch and stretch into a grin, it's all Suguru needed to understand what happened. And he returns one of his own before cooing down at you whose brain had turned to mush. Unaware of the blazing fire tearing down the Gojo clan, the massacre shocking the world, and the announcement of your missing husband.

You had completely become his. His mother dearest and everything else.

....speechless. This is who I am now. Goodbye Lovelies ｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊

[kingofbodyrolls]

Friendcation (m) | myg | winter special

You’re in labor and live outside of the city, and it just happens to be Christmas time, there’s a lot of snow. Will you and Yoongi be able to make it to the hospital before your baby arrives?

OR– The one where Yoongi fucks you into labor and crashes the car 🙃 (It’s set about 2 years after friendcation ended) 🙂

→ Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female) → Other characters: Jimin 😇 + the rest of the gang makes an appearance at the end too 💜 → AUs: roadtrip!au, non idol!au, pregnancy!au, established relationship, married!au, mechanic!Yoongi, holiday!au. → Genres: slice of life, humor/crack, smut and fluff → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (This is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 → Word Count: 10.3K → Warnings (general) + triggers: sex while pregnant, minor car accident, a lot of crack and humor too, because otherwise it wouldn’t be friendcation. Slight angst. Possessive Yoongi. Jimin deserves a warning too 👀 (it’s always Jimin)! Giving birth in a car in a somewhat detailed description (without medical help). Breastfeeding a baby. A lot of kissing. → Warnings (explicit): smut in the form of unprotected sex, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, breast play, nipple play (with a little bit of lactation), flashing/exposure of vagina and boobs, comfort sex (Yoongi making sure OC is comfortable the whole time 🥺), strong orgasms, blood (because of childbirth, but barely mentioned). → Author’s note: this couple just wouldn’t leave me alone 😂 So here we are, with a winter special. I really hope you like it. It was so fun to write, I just love their relationship and then also with their friends, especially Jimin 🤭 I might do more specials through time, I don’t know. Don’t know if people are interested (but I’d probably write it anyway, lol). Like, we still don’t know how Yoongi proposed, their wedding, their honeymoon 👀 This has different povs, mainly Yoongi's, then Jimin's and reader's (I hope it isn't too confusing). Thank you so much – and thanks to all that likes, comments, reblogs, yeah, anything. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, it makes me so happy and a damn smiling fool 💜 → Read on AO3? [link] ✨

← previous | s.masterlist | m.masterlist | next →

He is used to it.

But ever since you became pregnant, it’s been getting worse.

Your sleep moaning, that is.

And it’s always turning him on.

His frustration simmers beneath the surface, fueled by the magnetic allure you effortlessly wield. Yet, with a single glance from you, his resolve melts away like butter on a warm summer day. This magnetic power you wield over him isn't a recent revelation; it's been your enchanting spell, cast long before that memorable camping trip more than a year ago.

Memories surge like a tidal wave, setting his irises ablaze with vivid snapshots of you both, entwined amidst the intimate cocoon of his van, sheets tangled in the echoes of passion.

Countless adventures and camping escapades have unfolded since that fateful journey with your friends, yet it's the kaleidoscope of memories created with you that he holds as precious treasures, each moment a vibrant gem in the tapestry of your relationship.

At last, his gaze shifts towards you, and he beholds the tranquility that graces your sleeping form, nestled beside him. There you lie, on your back nonetheless, which really mustn't be nice considering your big belly.

You’re almost nine months pregnant and the baby can come any minute, he knows.

You’d been trying to conceive for some time, a delightful excuse to have sex all the damn time–although, truth be told, he never needed one.

He feels his dick strain against the confines of his boxers and he wonders  whether to rouse you from slumber, it's not merely the urgency of his arousal but the genuine concern for your well-being—your supine position hindering blood flow and oxygen to the precious life within your belly. 

Thus, with a tender touch, he delicately stirs you from your peaceful slumber.

Initially met with silence, your slumbering form stirs slightly, emitting a soft murmur of both moans and snores.

A soft chuckle escapes him as he observes your endearing response, yet undeterred, he persists in gently prodding you.

In a hushed and tender tone, he attempts to reach out to you with a gentle “Babe,” his voice a delicate whisper, carrying the weight of affection.

As your head gracefully pivots towards him, your eyes, like delicate butterflies, flutter open in response to the gentle call. A soft smile graces his lips, a silent serenade to the gradual awakening of your consciousness.

As consciousness fully embraces you, your eyes roam the dimly lit room before finding solace in his gaze.”Why did you wake me? It’s the middle of the night…” you inquire, the bedroom's shadows bearing witness to the query that hangs in the air.

With a gentle yawn, you pivot your body, settling into the comforting curve of your side. In the quiet accomplishment of this subtle shift, one of his cherished missions finds completion.

In a tender tone infused with love, he begins, “You were sleeping on your back. It’s not good for the baby,” his words a gentle caress carrying the weight of concern for the precious life cradled within your belly.

A warmth infuses your smile as you meet his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of gratitude for the depth of his concern and the wellspring of love that envelops you both.

And with a playful chuckle lacing his words, he adds, “And you were moaning too.” Your laughter joins his, and you both know what this means.

“You’re always horny, Yoon.” you tease, your hands exploring the contours of his body with purpose. Swiftly finding the elastic of his boxers, you trace the outline of his dick with a deliberate touch, a dance of desire that unfolds seamlessly between you.

Your hand glides sensually over him, a teasing caress through the fabric of his boxers, and a guttural groan of pleasure escapes his lips.

He seizes your hand, bringing a pause to the tantalizing dance between you. “Do you want to, babe?” he inquires, his gaze a reflection of both restraint and anticipation, hanging on the unspoken words between you.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, your body and mind fully alive, the air already charged with the unmistakable electricity that Yoongi seems to effortlessly ignite within you. You’re already soaked in your panties, and with a whispered moan, you confess, “Yes, I need you Yoongi.”

Gently guiding your hand away from his cock, he inches closer, turning you to lay on your side facing away from him.

Swiftly seizing his pillow, he artfully tucks it beneath the gentle curve of your belly, sculpting a cocoon of support and comfort.

Nestling his head into the crook of your neck, he inhales deeply, savoring the heady and intoxicating essence that is uniquely yours. It's more than a fragrance; it's a potent elixir that courses through him, a sensory drug that elicits an involuntary response—a subtle, primal twitch in the fabric of boxers.

A low, guttural moan escapes his lips, intimately shared in the cocoon of your embrace, as he senses your shiver echo through his touch.His skilled hand embarks on a journey, tenderly caressing your breasts, lingering over the soft expanse of your tummy where the fluttering life within makes its presence known. As his exploration ventures lower, he cups your pussy outside your panties.

Your hips undulate into his dick, a rhythmic dance that draws an involuntary duet of pleasure-laden moans from both of you. His awareness sharpens, attuned to the undeniable evidence of your arousal. With a deliberate touch, he tugs your panties aside, revealing your drenched pussy.

Initiating a delicate exploration, he trails his fingertips along the contours of your folds, gathering the essence of your arousal before skillfully guiding a single digit into the velvety warmth of your desire.

With a rhythmic precision, he starts a sensual dance, his digit sliding in and out of your eager core. Each movement draws forth an increasing symphony of heavy pants, and he can already hear that you’re not gonna last long.

Adding another skilled finger, he intensifies the intimate pleasure, a seamless union of sensation as your bodies synchronize in a provocative dance. Your backside grinds into the rigid length of his desire, fueling his fervor to push the limits further. With an escalating pace, his fingers move within you, a crescendo of pleasure building with every adept stroke.

Breathless and on the precipice of ecstasy, you urgently plead, “I'm so close, Yoongi. Touch my clit instead,” your voice a desperate plea. He complies with a deft move, withdrawing his slickened fingers from the depths of your core to redirect their attention, skillfully navigating the peaks of your pussy with an intoxicating dance against your throbbing clit.

Yoongi has become attuned to the cadence of your breath, a masterful symphony that he has memorized like the back of his hand. In the harmonious rhythm, he discerns the telltale signs that you are on the precipice of ecstasy—so close that the intoxicating anticipation hangs in the air like an electric charge.

His fingers move in a tantalizing dance, tracing circles around your clit with an intimate familiarity. As he senses you teetering on the brink, your breaths hang heavy in the charged air, and the ethereal moans escape your lips like a whispered melody. In a bold move, he pinches your clit. Your body responds in an electric surge, tension radiating through every inch of your being, held in the exquisite grip of his deliberate touch.

Returning to the rhythmic circles on your clit, he guides you through the waves of your orgasm, a seismic tremor that reverberates through your being. Each stroke of his touch acts as a steady anchor, grounding you in the aftermath of what feels like an earth-shattering climax.

You gasp for air, your breaths coming in furious bursts, and in a voice drawn out with need, you moan his name—a melody of pleasure that lingers in the charged air between you.

“'Fuck!” escapes you in a guttural moan, your hands clenching into fists under the watchful gaze of his darkened, appreciative eyes. 

Withdrawing his hand from the depths of your core, he endeavors to temper the tempestuous movements coursing through you, a steadying touch anchoring your fervent reactions with a gentle grip on your hips. 

“'Damn. It's like the orgasm is lingering,” you confess in a strained voice, leaving Yoongi uncertain whether to interpret it as a blissful prolongation or a potential intensity that might overwhelm you. 

“What do you mean?” he inquires, his voice a warm breath against your neck.

“It's just... I can feel it all the way around my stomach,” you pant, the lingering sensations creating a unique symphony within you. “Ah, it's probably Braxton Hicks contractions, because of the orgasm,” you assert with a newfound certainty. In response, Yoongi hums in acknowledgment, his hand delicately finding its place on your belly, where he can feel the subtle tightness.

“Are you sure it’s just that?” he questions, his concern etched in the furrow of his brow. Yet, as your assurance unfolds, a palpable relaxation courses through the muscles of your belly. “Yeah, they're fading now,” you confirm.

“Yoongi, I need you inside me now,” you declare, your words a sultry plea as you sensually grind your ass into the rigid bulge within his boxers. 

With a sharp intake of breath, he hisses, seizing your hips in a possessive grip, molding you against the heat of his pelvis.

Effortlessly, he peels your panties down your thighs, and you willingly lift your legs to aid in their complete removal. As he holds the damp evidence of your arousal in his hand, a wicked glint in his eyes betrays the realization, damn they are soaked. Without a second thought, he discards them to the floor.

“'Is this position comfortable for you?” he tenderly inquires, a gentle concern threading through his words as he sheds his boxers. Adjusting his position, he moves slightly, aligning himself with the contours of your core from behind.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Lying down and approaching from behind, the fit feels unusually snug. Yoongi, with deliberate intent, spreads your ass cheeks, his hand tracing a teasing path before he strokes his arousal, the anticipation building. As he aligns with the entrance to your core, a slow and deliberate entrance ensues, eliciting a moan from you.

An almost primal growl escapes your lips as he sinks in, each agonizingly slow inch a delicious torment. It's not just amazing; it's an exquisite tightness that makes you acutely aware of his presence, as if you can feel him reverberating through every fiber of your being, from the deepest reaches of your pussy to the intimate confines of your uterus.

Yoongi indulges in a series of deliberate thrusts, each movement a slow dance that unveils the exquisite tightness enveloping him. With each rhythmic advance into your core, he keenly senses the escalating tension in your body.

“Yoon,” you pant, the syllables a breathless plea that lingers in the charged air. Yoongi, attuned to your every reaction, halts his movements, his hand tenderly caressing your cheek. “I can feel you everywhere inside, fuck.”

“Is it good, or should we stop?” he asks, a genuine concern etched across his features. His desire is not just for pleasure but for your comfort and satisfaction.

“No, it's good for now, but I'll let you know if it gets too intense, okay? Maybe we can change positions then?” you inquire, your voice a sultry whisper that hangs in the air. As you sensually grind your ass down into his pelvis, fucking yourself on his cock, a soft moan leaves your lips.

Yoongi releases a low, guttural moan against the sensitive skin of your neck, his reverberating pleasure mingling with lust between you. His hand journeys down the curve of your hips, gripping them with a possessive urgency. In this tactile exchange, he finds stability, a grounding force that allows him to drive into you once more, each thrust a testament to the fervor building between you.

As you surrender completely against him, a harmonious synchrony of pleasure unfolds. Sensing the shift, he accelerates his thrusts, a rhythmic dance that quickens the desire between you. 

Yoongi inhales deeply against the canvas of your neck, and in a sudden, electrifying twist, you feel the graze of his teeth. Your body shivers with anticipation, and then he descends, sinking his teeth into your neck. Not too forcefully, but with a compelling intensity that sends a jolt of electricity down your spine. Your body responds in kind, grinding against his, and a sinful moan escapes you.

Then, with a sensual grace, he traces the path where his teeth had left their mark, his tongue delicately caressing your neck before placing soft, lingering kisses. Your response is a sultry mewl, the audible manifestation of pleasure, and in the electric aftermath, you feel a surge of arousal saturate his dick.

Breathless and on the precipice of ecstasy, you gasp, “Yoongi, I'm—,” the words trailing off into a passionate pant as he skillfully drives into you, each thrust an artful symphony of pleasure that transcends language, leaving you teetering on the edge of bliss.

“Hmm?”

His grip on your hips tightens, and with each deeper thrust, the world around you seems to blur as you swear that, despite the physical limitations of the position, you can feel him everywhere. It's an overwhelming sensation, almost too much.

“I want to change positions,” you pant, and in an instant, Yoongi withdraws, his response swift and attentive. With a purposeful motion, he turns you around, orchestrating a seamless transition that repositions you to face him once again.

“What do you want to do?” he smiles, his gaze tender as he caresses your cheek with the gentle strokes of his long, slender fingers. In the delicate dance of his touch, you feel an overwhelming sense of love and appreciation.

“I want to ride you,” you confess, leaning in to capture his lips in a soft kiss. As you pull away, a playful smile dances across your face, your eyes reflecting a potent mix of love and lust.

“Fuck, yeah, babe,” he breathes in eager agreement, turning to lie on his back. As you discard the pillow he thoughtfully fetched for you, you proceed to shed your nightgown, leaving both of you completely bare.

With a graceful motion, you hike one leg over his body, settling into a commanding straddle. Your hand confidently takes hold of his dick, aligning it with the eager warmth of your pussy again. A smile plays on your lips as you gaze down at him, relishing the empowering intimacy of having him beneath you in this moment.

His smile mirrors the adoration and appreciation he feels as he takes in every incredible feature of yours. As you descend slowly onto his cock, your face flushes a subtle shade of red, your quivering lips betraying the intensity of your desire. Your nipples stand proudly, and your gracefully rounded belly hangs low, a testament to the life you’ve both created and soon to welcome into the world.

God he loves you. So fucking much. In his eyes, you’re a goddess.

As you lower yourself onto his dick, a duet of moans escapes both of you, the soft stretch heightening the sensory experience. The angle of this position enhances the feeling, and in the synchronized exchange of pleasure, you both revel in the palpable sensation that binds you together.

“Fuck, Yoon!” you pant, the breathless exclamation escaping your lips as you reach the apex of his pelvis, his cock filling you up completely. 

“'Ah! It's so much better like this,” you moan, the words dripping with satisfaction and pleasure as you take control, beginning to ride him with a rhythmic motion. 

Yoongi's hands find purchase on your hips, their firm grasp not only steadying you but becoming an integral part of the rhythmic dance as you bounce on his dick. 

It's undeniably exquisite, the sensation heightened by the captivating sight of you taking control, sending Yoongi into a feral state of desire. The raw power of your dominance, setting the pace and depth, fuels an irresistible fire within him. Your expressions—those eyes closing in lust, the whimpering pleas—seemingly unravel his restraint, threatening to push him over the edge. 

“You look so good, bouncing on my dick. Such a good girl,” he pants, the words imbued with a husky appreciation. His hands, slightly squeezing your hips, become a tactile affirmation, letting you know that every movement is not just good but exceptionally arousing. 

You keen in response to his praise, a melodious symphony of pleasure that resonates in the air. Empowered by the encouragement, you guide yourself down deeper, every movement an exquisite dance that intensifies the feeling of being incredibly full.

“Yoongi, I don't think I'm gonna last long,” you pant, the admission hanging in the air like an electrifying confession. Sensing the imminent climax, you slow your movements, the deliberate deceleration amplifying the anticipation.

“It’s fine,” he reassures you, “I’m not going to either.”

You chuckle at him, the sound a melodic blend of pleasure and fatigue as you continue to bounce on his arousal. “I'm also so damn tired. This is challenging with my belly being this big,”

“I can take over if you want—or we can try another position?” His offer is laced with genuine concern, a desire to ensure you don't strain or tire yourself unnecessarily. 

“No! I love this. I want to ride you,” you moan, the words a passionate declaration as you sink down on him once more. The anticipation of your impending orgasm begins to unfurl in the depths of your stomach.

“Yoongi—, I'm close,” you pant, the admission a breathless revelation as you continue to move at a languid pace, the enticing rhythm showcasing the delightful bounce of your tits with each motion.

He has always been captivated by the allure of your tits—a mesmerizing aspect of your physicality that leaves him in awe. A part of him remains undecided, caught in the delightful dilemma of whether he prefers your tits or your ass, a choice he'd willingly forego, harboring a fervent desire for both.

Your hands find purchase on his sculpted pectorals, seeking support as exhaustion sets in, causing your movements to slow, each languid motion bringing you closer to climax. His gaze lingers on your face, a canvas painted with the intensity of the moment—sweat glistening, mouth slightly agape, and eyebrows creased in ecstasy as you fervently ride him, lost in the rhythmic dance of pleasure.

He senses a primal twitch within as he stays deep within you, and his gaze traces a path down your neck where the evidence of his love bite remains visible. Continuing his journey, his eyes appreciate the sight of your wonderful, bouncy tits.

Withdrawing both of his hands from your hips, they now tenderly grasp both of your tits. “These are so wonderful, as is every part of you,” he murmurs in a voice laced with appreciation.

You feel the walls of your pussy contract in response to his words of praise, a cascading sensation that culminates in a soft moan, his name escaping your lips like a whispered melody. 

He caresses your tits, their softness, fullness, and weight filling his palms with a tangible desire. As his hands explore, he discovers your perked nipples, rolling them between his fingers in a delicate dance of pleasure.

“Yoongi!” A high-pitched moan escapes your lips, the fervent cry echoing in the charged atmosphere as you throw your head back, surrendering to the pleasure of sinking down on him once more. 

He luxuriates in the splendor of your beauty, every facet of your amazing body a source of enchantment. Everything about you accelerates the rhythm of his heart, the butterflies in his stomach multiplying with each passing moment. 

He gives a gentle tug on your nipple, sending a surge of sensations through your body like an electric current, a simultaneous feeling of warmth and chill enveloping you in a paradoxical embrace.

You sense a delightful tingling sensation rippling across your entire body, a prelude to an impending climax that hovers tantalizingly on the edge.

“Shit, Yoongi, I think I'm gonna come,” you moan, the admission carrying the weight of impending ecstasy.

He grunts in response, the primal sound echoing the urgency of his own impending release. “I'm close too.”

You start to sense a delightful tightness in your breasts, with Yoongi skillfully alternating between rolling your nipples, tugging, and pinching them. The exquisite play on your sensitive peaks sends shivers down your spine. Simultaneously, you become acutely aware of the wetness between your thighs, a slippery testament to the overwhelming arousal that courses through your body.

The sound of skin on skin slapping resonates through the air, a visceral percussion that punctuates the charged atmosphere. The noise sends a jolt through your body, causing your muscles to tense in response.

The tingling and prickling sensation in your breasts intensifies, creating a crescendo of arousal that surges through your body. Then, in a sudden release, you feel the pressure in them subside, a wave of pleasure ebbing away like a tide.

Yoongi watches in awe as a gush of milk shoots out of your tits, creating a mesmerizing display that soon turns into a sensuous drip. His finger skillfully rolls your nipples, the fluid covering them and your tits in a glistening sheen of your breastmilk. Fuck it’s hot. He feels his dick twitch again, as he keeps looking at your tits.

You sense a wetness on your breasts and instinctively glance down, only to be met with a wave of horror as you realize you've begun lactating. In an instant, you cover your bobs, a mix of shock and embarrassment washing over you. The sudden shift in your body leaves you feeling vulnerable and a bit grossed out.

“I'm so sorry,” you begin, breathless words escaping your lips as you continue to fuck yourself on his dick. 

“You don't have to be sorry, babe. It's natural and sexy,” he reassures you with a loving smile, a genuine attempt to dispel any insecurity. His eyes, filled with both warmth and desire, convey a message beyond words—that he not only doesn't mind but finds the situation undeniably hot. 

“Please let me touch them,” he pleads with a rare vulnerability in his usually composed demeanor. 

You take a moment to contemplate, acknowledging that while you might not find it as inherently sexy as he does, the arousal sparked by his desire for you is undeniably enticing. Embracing the vulnerability, you lean in and press your tits closer to his face, your tummy meeting his, as you concede with a whispered “okay.” 

You release your breasts from your grasp, and like a magnet seeking its counterpart, his hands find them once more. With deliberate tenderness, he begins to massage your tts, each slow and deliberate stroke creating ripples of pleasure that resonate through your body. 

As you move up and down on his length, the kaleidoscope of emotions—love, lust, and adoration—mirrored in Yoongi's eyes sends a shiver down your spine. In that charged moment, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze, you feel like you could die a happy woman. 

His fingers resume their dance, skillfully rolling your nipples and coating them with the warm fluid of your breast milk.

With a newfound determination, you pick up the pace, fervently chasing the brink of your orgasm. Yoongi, fully immersed in the moment, continues to fondle your tits with an affectionate touch.

“Ah! Yoongi, it's so good!” you moan with a symphony of pleasure as you lower yourself onto him, and in response, he tugs a little harder on your nipples.

“Fuck,” you pant, breathless, the sensation of being so thoroughly filled with desire and pleasure overwhelming your senses.

As your stomach tightens, the internal coil finally springs free, and you unleash your slick juices on his dick. A surge of ecstasy washes over you, rendering your vision blurry, a temporary blindness overcome by the intensity of pleasure. A strange ringing noise fills your ears, and your body collapses against Yoongi's in a state of blissful surrender.

With remarkable speed, he intercepts your naked form before it collides with him, his strong and firm hands seizing your hips to anchor you on top of him. 

You man fervently, the echoes of your climax still reverberating through your body. In the throes of your descent from ecstasy, a desperate plea escapes your lips, “Yoongi, please fcuk me.”

With a firm grip on your hips, he squeezes them again, initiating a rapid and relentless pace of thrusting into you. The urgency in his movements mirrors the crescendo of desire building within him as he fervently chases his own impending orgasm. 

Fuck, it was hot to witness you unravel in such ecstasy. The lingering sensation of your walls pulsating around his dick lingers, as if you're tightly embracing him, and he revels in it. Being inside you, outside you, every facet of connection with you fuels a deep and insatiable love within him. 

“Fuck, babe – you’re so tight!” he moans in pure delight. As you sit up, a newfound intensity in your movements, your hands find your tits, skillfully rolling your nipples, and a rivulet of breast milk drips out. Fuck. That will be his undoing.

“Ah, babe—,” he moans your name with a drawn-out, languid tone, his eyes unable to tear away from the sinful allure of your face and the captivating sight of your incredible tits. 

Inexplicably, your walls continue to throb around him, coaxing an unbridled release from him. A guttural moan of your name escapes his lips, a primal declaration of the intensity of the moment, synchronized with the eruption of his warm seed, cascading into the depths of your pulsating pussy. 

“Fuck!” he pants, his thrusts persisting a few times before he deftly lifts you, positioning you higher on his stomach. In the aftermath of shared ecstasy, both of you lost in the haze of pleasure, the residue of your combined orgasms coats and binds you together, a slick and intimate testament to the intensity of lust.

“Ah…” you moan, a sultry melody escaping your lips as you descend into Yoongi's embrace. Despite the undertones of desire that lace your voice, he can't help but wonder what might be amiss as he sees pain etched in your face.

“What’s wrong, babe?” he inquires, his gaze locking onto your lustful eyes as he seeks to unravel the secrets veiled behind their desire-laden depths.

“I think I’m still orgasming,” you pant, rising once more, “it’s like my body won’t stop.” A shared gaze lingers between you, uncertainty flickering in both your eyes as the lingering waves of pleasure blur the lines between ecstasy and the unknown.

“Is it good or bad though?” he probes, a furrow forming on his brow as he attempts to unravel the mystery. “It’s not bad, but my tummy feels so tight,” your hand guides his to the firmness, and indeed, it does feel tight.

“Hmmm…” he contemplates the peculiar situation, his curiosity piqued but not overly concerned. “I’ll grab some towels and clean us up. Let’s wait a moment to see if it subsides, alright?”

You nod at him, then gracefully ease down from his lap, sprawling on your side, the remnants of passion and desire lingering in the air as you continue to pant for the sweet breath of satisfaction.

Yoongi gracefully rises from the bed, navigating the darkness of the night with an innate sense of purpose. He effortlessly locates your bathroom, skillfully secures a handful of towels, and returns to your bedroom with a quiet assurance, the dim shadows highlighting his silhouette as he prepares to tend to your shared aftermath.

“Here—, I–” With a sudden urgency, he tosses the towels aside as his eyes widen at the sight of you. Your figure is curled in on itself, hands instinctively cradling your stomach, every muscle in your body taut and tense.

“Yoongi, I think I’m in labor,” you declare, the gravity of the moment reflected not just in your words but also in the silent agony etched across your face, a shared understanding mirrored in the intensity of his gaze.

And then it hits him like a tidal wave; the tightness in your tummy was contractions. A surge of realization floods over him—shit, it’s happening. You're having your baby. In the whirlwind of emotions, he battles to remain calm, to steady himself for the pivotal moments ahead.

“Okay. Let's time the contractions and then call the hospital, okay?” he says, a sense of urgency in his voice, frantically searching for his phone on the nightstand.

“Let me know the moment you sense the beginning of a contraction,” he instructs, poised to start the timer.

“Right now,” you gasp, clutching your stomach tightly. The sensation grips you, an intense pressure, especially at the apex, and then, moments later, it releases. “It’s gone now.”

“Almost a minute,” he observes, his tone laden with the realization that you're edging closer to the throes of labor.

“Describe them to me. Are they intense? The pain worries me, seeing you in discomfort tears me apart,” he inquires, genuine concern etched across his face as he tries to understand what you're going through.

“Just a hint of pain, nothing unbearable. I can handle it,” you reassure with a soft chuckle, a resilient spirit shining through despite the discomfort, and he finds solace in your strength.

“Let's keep an eye on the contractions for about an hour, and then we'll give the hospital a call,” he suggests, retrieving the towels scattered on the floor earlier with a sense of urgency.

“While we wait, let me take care of you,” he proposes, coming closer with a towel. Gently lifting one of your legs, he begins to clean you, erasing the traces of our orgasms.

Your body quivers in response to his tender touch, eliciting delicate moans that dance in the air.

“Fuck. I don’t know why, but it’s turning me on, Yoon.” You moan softly, unable to explain the unexpected arousal, but your body instinctively grinds against the towel, turning a simple act into a sensual dance of lust.

A playful chuckle escapes him as he tends to your aftermath, skillfully cleaning you up. Satisfied with the tender care he has given you, he proceeds to clean himself up. Together, you reclaim your clothing, sitting down in your bed anxiously waiting for your contractions to pick up. 

As the cadence of contractions quickens, Yoongi takes decisive action, reaching out to the hospital to announce the fact that you’re in labor. With a voice poised between urgency and excitement, he navigates the conversation, detailing the progression of your contractions over the past hour. He wants to know how you should proceed.

As anticipation swirls in the air like a palpable force, Yoongi's voice resonates with a newfound sense of joy. “They've given us the green light to drive to the hospital,” he announces, his eyes reflecting the shared excitement. As you both perch on the edge of the bed, he turns to you with a practical inquiry, “Where did you stash your hospital bag?”

Your gesture guides him to the dresser, and with a graceful sweep, Yoongi retrieves your carefully prepared hospital bag. His voice, a comforting melody, invites you to join him, “Come, we can go now.”

Guiding you with a gentle hand, Yoongi accompanies you to the entryway of your home, a silent pact of shared determination. The darkness outside, coupled with the December chill, calls for the practicality of boots and a warm coat.

Assertively reaching for Yoongi's car keys, you declare, “I can drive.” The shift in Yoongi's expression is so abrupt, it's as if you've caught a fleeting glimpse of a storm cloud on a clear day, the sour twist on his face a testament to the unexpectedness of your statement.

His voice takes on a stern edge, swiftly denying your attempt to take the wheel. Yoongi snatches the keys from your grasp, his firm tone leaving no room for negotiation. “It’s not safe for you to drive in the midst of contractions,” he insists, a protective glint in his eyes amplifying the weight of his concern.

“But it’s not that bad,” you argue, why, you don’t really know.

“Look, babe. I know you can do everything by yourself, you’re strong, and I love you for it. But you’re not driving the car,” he says with a tone that brooks no argument, a gentle firmness underlining his love and concern for your well-being.

As you both prepare and the keys find their place in Yoongi's firm grip, you swing the door wide open, only to be greeted by a blanket of white—the snow-draped landscape stretching across the grass, road, and your car. To top it off, gentle snowflakes dance down from the heavens. Fuck.

“Ugh, it’s going to take forever driving into the city in this weather,” you grumble, trudging your way towards the car through the dense, snow-laden path. The flakes fall thick and heavy, making it difficult to see ahead.

Yoongi grumbles under his breath, popping the trunk to stow away your bag. With meticulous care, he ensures you've got everything essential for the journey. Satisfied, you both slide into the car, ready to face the challenges the snowy night has in store.

“It's going to be alright, babe,” he reassures you, his hand gently covering yours before tenderly moving to your belly. “Can't wait to finally meet you.” 

Yoongi is accustomed to navigating challenging weather conditions on the road, his driving skills unaffected by the snow. However, the incompetence of other drivers in snowy conditions infuriates him. Inside the cocoon of your car, he vents his frustration, unleashing a symphony of curses directed at everyone causing chaos on the wintry roads.

“Ease up on the road rage, Yoongi. I don't want our little one picking up a vocabulary lesson in expletives before they even arrive,” you chime in, settling deeper into the seat, your concern for the baby evident in your voice.

“Babe, seriously, who ventures out on the road without a clue about driving in the snow? And it's the crack of dawn—why is everyone suddenly on a snow-day adventure?” Yoongi grumbles in exasperation, his frustration bringing a smile to your face despite the situation.

“Have you forgotten it’s Christmas time?” you quip, chuckling as he gapes at you, realization dawning on him. Damn, he had indeed forgotten.

“We haven’t even reached the city yet and there’s already so many cars,” he complains some more, and you let him. His voice, a melody that always soothes, even in the midst of chaotic Christmas traffic.

“They’re going home to their families—, watch out!” you point at the car in front of you, its headlights blazing like a comet in the snowy morning, almost blinding in their intensity.

Yoongi's keen eyes caught sight of the car in the opposite lane, and it became painfully evident that the driver couldn't navigate the snowy roads to save their life. Inexplicably, this inept driver seemed to believe they owned the road, arrogantly straddling both lanes. Distinguishing one lane from another was challenging in the snowy chaos, but it wasn't rocket science either.

Yoongi skillfully swerves the car to the side, narrowly avoiding a collision with the vehicle in front. The abrupt move sends a rumble through the car as it navigates the bumpy terrain, plowing through a massive mound of snow hastily shoved to the side.

The car grinds to a halt, Yoongi unleashing a string of colorful curses directed at the absent driver. Now, you find yourselves stranded in the unforgiving grip of the snow.

His concerned gaze shifts to you, seeking reassurance. “Are you okay, babe?” he asks, and although you appear unharmed, your response carries the weight of the unexpected. “Yeah, I'm okay. Just a bit shaken.”

As he hums a soothing melody, his attempts to reassure you echo in the confined space, yet beneath the surface, he senses the gradual erosion of his own calm demeanor.

“That fucking jerk,” his frustration intensifies as he hisses about the reckless driver, but you, amidst the escalating contractions, offer soothing reassurance, masking the growing urgency within the car.

“I'll assess the damage outside, okay?” he proposes, seeking your consent. You nod, delving into your bag for a snack, a sudden wave of hunger overtaking you amid the unfolding situation.

Yoongi steps out into the freezing cold, the car's engine humming in the background. He surveys the vehicle, searching for any visible damage, but to his relief, nothing appears broken or in need of immediate repair.

The towering mound of snow engulfs the car, rendering the hood invisible. Yoongi, realizing the severity of the situation, understands that extricating the vehicle from this icy trap is no easy feat. The sheer depth of the snow suggests a challenging predicament, one that requires assistance. Knowing you're in no condition to lend a hand, he contemplates the help he'll need to navigate the car out of this wintry predicament.

He reenters the car, discovering you engrossed in a candy bar, and a hearty chuckle escapes his lips.

Between bites, you inquire, “I was hungry. How's the car?”

“It's stuck pretty bad in the snow pile. Can't get it out myself,” he begins, but you interrupt with a smile, “I can help you with that.”

“Have you forgotten that you're in labor?” he laughs, his voice raspy from the cold outside. “And you're not going out to shovel snow. We don't even have shovels,” he adds, sharing a hearty laugh with you.

“I thought you had all kinds of things in the car,” you chuckle, finishing your candy bar with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“Yeah, but not shovels,” his laughter resonates in the car, a contagious sound that brings a smile to your face.

“What are we gonna do then, just wait?” you inquire, a hint of worry coloring your voice as the realization dawns that you might not make it to the hospital in time.

“I’ll call Jimin and ask him to come help,” he declares, urgency in his tone as he swiftly pulls out his phone, dialing Jimin’s number with determination.

Even in the early morning hush, Jimin's phone vibrates, and he glances at the caller ID to find Yoongi's name flashing. It's an unusual call at this hour, sparking an immediate concern that propels him to answer without hesitation.

“Hey, Yoongi hyung, something wrong?” His voice, tinged with worry and genuine concern, breaks the silence of the room as he answers the call. He rises from the bed, instantly alert to the unusual urgency in Yoongi's early morning summons. 

“We had a car accident,” Yoongi's words hang heavy in the air, shattering the tranquility of the room. Jimin's reaction is immediate, a storm of worry and disbelief brewing within him. He erupts from the bed, shouting into the phone, “What??” The sheer concern in his voice mirrors the gravity of the situation.

Yoongi's reassurance echoes through the phone, a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. “It's minor, relax,” he utters, and the calmness in his voice acts as a lifeline, pulling him back from the edge of panic.

“A guy forced us off the road, and we ended up plowing into a massive snowbank. Now, the damn car's wedged in tight,” Yoongi recounts, frustration coloring his words. Jimin, attentive, absorbs the details. “Think you can come lend a hand? Bring some shovels. I'll shoot you our coordinates,” Yoongi requests, the urgency evident in his tone.

Jimin readily agrees to help, his concern palpable through the phone. However, he can't shake the worry as he inquires, “Are you guys okay? And ___? How's the baby?”

“Yeah, we're all fine,” Yoongi reassures, his voice a bit raspy. Jimin strains to catch some muffled sounds on the other end, unable to discern the details.

He glances at the dropped location on his phone, “I can be there in about 30 minutes,” he assures Yoongi, swiftly rising from his bed to grab some warm clothes.

“Thank you, Jimin.”

As the promised 30 minutes Jimin assured you passed an hour ago, he couldn't help but wonder if you were growing impatient with the prolonged wait.

Jimin spots your car on the roadside, its hazard lights casting an eerie glow, and he expertly maneuvers his own vehicle to a stop right behind yours.

He steps out, ready to retrieve tools from the trunk, but his attention is abruptly stolen by piercing screams emanating from your car. His muscles tense, and without a second thought, he dashes towards the source of the cries.

Why are you screaming? What's going on, and why are the windows so foggy?

With an overpowering urgency, he wrenches open the left door to the backseats, sending it flinging wide, the metallic screech echoing the urgency pulsing through his veins.

He hadn't anticipated the shocking scene that unfolded before him; there you were, legs pressed against the headrest on both the front and back seats, completely exposed from the waist down. He can clearly see your vagina. Fuck, your vagina is big—wait, something is coming out of it!

Yoongi catches Jimin unabashedly staring at your vagina, prompting an eye roll from him. What's with Jimin? Having already witnessed your tits and now your vagina, it annoys Yoongi to no end. He's possessive; the idea of others seeing you in such a vulnerable state doesn't sit well with him. Sharing is not his forte.

He hisses sharply, capturing Jimin's attention, all while the symphony of your agonized screams continues to pierce the air.

“Stop looking at her vagina, man! You’ve seen enough of her, Jimin,” Yoongi snaps, frustration dripping from his words as your writhing form remains nestled against his supporting frame.

Jimin's eyes widen in disbelief, his mouth agape at the unexpected scene. He quickly redirects his gaze to Yoongi, his expression a mix of shock and apology as he stammers, “I—I didn't mean to, Yoongi, I'm so sorry!”

You clutch your thighs tightly, a guttural scream escaping your lips as the contraction envelops you. Once it recedes, you direct an exasperated shout at Jimin, “Close the damn door! You’re letting all the cold air in.”

Jimin snaps out of his daze, berating himself for standing there like a fool. Swiftly, he slips into the driver's seat, positioning himself to face the backseats with a determined look on his face.

“How long has she been in labor?” Jimin queries Yoongi, who glances up from your panting form for a moment before responding, “A few hours, actually.”

“You could have mentioned that when you called!” Jimin hisses in frustration. Not that the information would have made a big difference, given that the snow was the primary cause of his tardiness.

“But that’s a long time. I can see the head coming out,” he informs, prompting both you and Yoongi to exchange amused eye rolls.

“Yeah, she's crowning,” Yoongi adds with a soft stroke to your cheeks, his touch a comforting anchor as you brace yourself for another contraction.

“What can I do to help? I don't think we can get the car ready in time to make it to the hospital,” Jimin inquires, his gaze shifting between you and Yoongi with a mix of concern and determination.

“I already realized I’m having this baby in the backseat of a fucking car. Serves me right — getting fucked in a car, giving birth in a car. I’ve come full circle!” you laugh hysterically between contractions, the situation not lost on you. Jimin shifts uncomfortably in the driver's seat, but Yoongi remains a steady rock, his presence grounding you amidst the chaos.

As Yoongi directs his attention to Jimin, he suggests, “Maybe you could call the hospital and check if they can send an ambulance our way, just in case. I haven't had a moment to make that call yet.” His fingers trace soothing circles on your thighs, a stark contrast to the urgency of your sudden need to push.

Jimin's face reflects genuine concern as he admits he's never witnessed someone in labor before, only having gleaned insights from movies. However, a memory surfaces—advice from Seokjin after his girlfriend gave birth. “You can try changing positions, something where gravity can aid the baby's descent,” he shares, a eureka moment breaking through the tension.

Following Jimin's suggestion, you and Yoongi exchange a glance filled with gratitude and amazement. Acting on the advice, you shift positions, moving to sit over the seats with your upper body draped across them, your face turned towards the back. The atmosphere is tense, yet the three of you share a determined resolve in the face of the unexpected delivery.

With Yoongi's steady support, you manage to assume a half-standing, half-seated position, your body poised for the imminent arrival of your baby. Meanwhile, the car fills with the sound of Jimin's urgent voice as he communicates with the hospital over the phone.

“They are sending an ambulance now,” he informs.

Gratitude colors Yoongi's urgent request, a plea wrapped in the intensity of the moment. “Thank you, Jimin. Could you come back here and lend a hand?” he implores, a mix of worry and determination in his voice, as you cling to the rhythm of your breaths, navigating the storm of contractions.

He teases with a nonchalant shrug, “I thought you didn't want me looking.” Yet, it's clear he's here to assist you; after all, you're his ride or die, and in this crucial moment, his quip holds a trace of underlying devotion and readiness to stand by your side.

In a playful retort, he asserts, “Bold of you to assume I wanted you to look at her vagina again. There are other ways to assist, you know. I'll keep vagina watch—she's my wife,” emphasizing the relationship he shares with you, as Jimin exits the car to join you in the backseat.

Your tired yet grateful gaze meets Jimin's as you acknowledge, “You were right, Jimin. This position is a game-changer. The pressure has eased up a bit.” Despite the sweat-soaked exhaustion etched on your face, a soft smile conveys your appreciation.

For a second, Jimin doesn’t know what to do – can he touch you? Where? How can he help?

“Fuck it hurts!” Agony courses through you, each breath a struggle as you arch your back, a desperate attempt to wrestle against the relentless ache.

As the waves of pain intensify, he instinctively rests his hand on the small of your back, gently tracing soothing circles. To his relief, he witnesses the tension in your body slowly surrender to the rhythmic comfort of his touch.

Summoning all his composure, Yoongi bravely steals a glance downward, discovering a tuft of hair signaling the imminent arrival. Damn. He knows he must remain composed, steady—for you.

“How did you go into labor anyway? How did the water break, was it like in the movies?” Jimin launches into a barrage of questions, his curiosity pouring out like an unbridled stream. You shoot a glare his way, practically hurling invisible daggers in his direction at the audacity of his inquiries.

His hands continue their soothing circles on your lower back as he asks, “What?” Yoongi resurfaces, his expression a blank canvas.

And suddenly, realization flashes across Jimin's face. “You totally fucked! And then she went into labor!” he exclaims, a mix of shock and amusement in his voice.

You hiss in pain, your fingers clenching the seat with a vice-like grip, the intensity of the moment etched in the white-knuckle grasp of your hands.

Both your expressions affirm Jimin's earlier assumption, a silent confirmation that lingers in the charged air of the confined space.

“Shit, I can’t do this,” you gasp, exhaustion etched across your face, your body seemingly on the brink of surrender.

“You're almost there, babe. It's safe to keep pushing,” Yoongi reassures you with a tender kiss on your cheek, but you push him away, a fiery glare in your gaze.

“This is all your fault. You and your damn big dick!” you scream at him, and he understands, recognizing it as your pain talking and not the real you. Jimin chuckles from beside you, and you turn to give him a death glare, saying, “Don’t act so innocent, Mr. ‘I think Yoongi likes you.’”

“But I was right. And now you're about to have his baby. It's going to be okay,” Jimin reassures you, his hand gently rubbing your back.

“Just relax,” Jimin adds.

“Easy for you to say; a baby isn't shooting out of your body,” you huff, the intensity of your anger subsiding.

“I know it hurts, babe. But focus on your breathing, and when you're ready, push with all you've got,” Yoongi encourages, leaning in to kiss you on the lips.

The kiss sends electric shivers down your spine, and strangely, it acts as a calming balm, making the pain feel somewhat more bearable.

When he pulls away, he notices the lingering frown on your face, and a sense of curiosity washes over him. “It was nice, Yoongi. I think it helps alleviate the pain,” you admit, your voice a mixture of exhaustion and appreciation.

“Kiss me again,” you pant, your desperation echoing in the quiet space of the car. Yoongi obliges, capturing your lips with a hunger that elicits a moan from deep within you. In that stolen moment, the world fades away, forgotten in the intoxicating blend of passion and the rhythmic circles Jimin traces on your back.

“Don’t mind me. But I think the baby is coming, I can see more of its head just from here,” he informs, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and amusement. Yoongi's gaze follows Jimin's, confirming the imminent arrival. 

He positions his hands underneath your core, preparing to catch your baby as soon as it emerges. Yet, your screams of pain prompt a plea, “Please distract me with kisses,” you cry out, your hands clenching around the seats in a desperate search for relief. 

Yoongi glances up at you, your pain evident, and the desperate desire for relief palpable in your eyes. However, he's torn between wanting to provide comfort and being there to catch and deliver your baby. A moment of realization dawns upon him – he can't be in two places at once, something Jimin seems to realize too.

Yoongi gazes at Jimin, a silent plea for guidance evident in his eyes, but Jimin, with a mischievous grin, utters, “You've got two choices, hyung – catch the baby or let me kiss your wife. What's it gonna be?”

Yoongi gapes at him, astounded by the audacity Jimin displays in even suggesting such a choice. He's acutely aware of his own possessiveness, and Jimin knows how much he fucking wants to deliver his own child. He’s caught between a rock and a hard place.

With a sense of urgency, you turn your head and implore, “Do something! I don't care who kisses me, just someone, please!” Your plea echoes with a mixture of sternness and desperation, the pain coursing through your entire body amplifying the need for any distraction.

Yoongi moves with unwavering determination, ascending once more. “Fine. Deliver the baby. You're going to be the godfather anyway,” he grumbles to Jimin, reaching your head and pressing his lips plush against yours. Instantly, you relax, a moan escaping in the midst of the chaos.

“I am?” Jimin questions, uncertainty lacing his voice. Yet, he positions his hands beneath your vagina, mirroring Yoongi's earlier gesture.

You eagerly press your lips to Yoongi's, seeking out his tongue in a passionate exchange, panting and moaning in response to the surge of arousal coursing through you. Amid the heated kiss, you offer affirmative murmurs to Jimin, your desires spoken through the intensity of the embrace with Yoongi.

“It's working, the baby is coming out,” Jimin exclaims with a mix of excitement and focus, his hands securing the baby's head with delicate precision to ensure a safe descent into the world.

Yoongi abandons your mouth, tracing a fiery path down to your neck, his lips leaving a trail of searing kisses and tantalizing bites. Your response is an involuntary groan, a symphony of pleasure escaping your lips, as you gasp out, “Fuuuck, Yoongi.”

“The head is completely out now!” Jimin’s voice breaks through the intense moment and in response, you instinctively grab Yoongi’s head, pulling him back up into a passionate kiss.

As your lips entwine in an ardently sensual dance, the symphony of pleasure resonates, eliciting increasingly fervent moans from you.

Breaking away, you gasp, “Fuck. Why does it feel like I’m coming?” Your breath comes in pants, and you sense a relieving tightness escaping your body.

Jimin swiftly takes charge, catching the remainder of your baby as it emerges, and Yoongi lends his support, ensuring Jimin's hands remain steady in the crucial moment.

The infant rests gently between your thighs in the hands of both Yoongi and Jimin, and as you gasp for air, you steal a glance downward. There, your precious baby lies, serene and silent. A moment of quietude settles in, and a disquieting realization begins to dawn upon you—silence, in this context, isn't the reassuring sound you anticipated.

Dread courses through you as you breathe heavily, realizing the absence of that expected newborn cry. Without hesitation, you extend your trembling arms, pulling your baby up against your chest in a desperate embrace.

An air of tension hangs heavy, mirrored in the anxious expressions on Jimin and Yoongi's faces, both men holding their breath, awaiting the sound that should signify life's beginning.

In an instinctual surge of emotion, you tear your shirt to shreds with one hand, cradling your newborn against your bare chest. Shock registers on both Jimin and Yoongi's faces as they witness this raw display of maternal instinct, captivated by the power and determination radiating from you.

As you gently rub the baby's back, waves of sadness wash over you, and tears stream down your face. In a choked voice, you express your fear, “This is why I should have delivered in the hospital. What if something happened to the baby and it's...gone?” The last part of the sentence catches in your throat, too emotional to articulate fully.

In the confined space of the car, you twist around, pressing your back against the seat as tears cascade down your cheeks. The anguish in your body is palpable, each sob causing a tremor that echoes the pain you're enduring.

In an instant, a second cry intertwines with yours, and you lower your gaze to behold your baby, tiny and fragile, yet alive. A surge of relief floods through every fiber of your being, mirrored in the eyes of the two men who exchange a profound, knowing glance.

Clutching your newborn close, you haven't even taken a moment to check the gender, but in this raw and tender moment, it hardly matters. All that echoes through your soul is the reassurance that everything is alright.

Overflowing with gratitude, your voice carries a symphony of love as your eyes dance between your husband and Jimin. “Thank you, both of you” you whisper, your heart swelling with the depth of the moment.

Yoongi whispers, his voice a tender melody, “You did incredible, babe,” as he leans in to press a gentle kiss against your cheek, his words echoing with admiration for your strength and resilience.

“No problem at all. You were amazing, ___,” Jimin commends, leaning back into the seat beside you, his hands stained with blood, that he wipes off on his pants.

“Jimin, could you check the trunk for some thermal blankets?” Yoongi requests, his gaze tenderly fixed on your baby, who has quieted down and now rests peacefully against your boobs—what he believes to be the most comforting place.

Jimin returns with a bundle of blankets, and Yoongi, with a sense of urgency, joins him in carefully wrapping you and the baby. The blankets cocoon you both, shielding you from the biting cold as you patiently await the arrival of the ambulance.

“Should we find anything to cut the cord with?” In a sudden burst of practicality, Jimin scans the car, his eyes searching for anything suitable to cut the cord.

“No, no. I've read that the baby can stay attached for hours and even days. So I'm fine waiting to do it in the hospital,” you say, your voice carrying a mixture of fatigue and overwhelming love. Your eyes remain fixed on your baby, and you don't glance at Jimin as you express your decision.

Then, a sensation grips your attention, warmth and thickness enveloping you between your legs. As you cast your gaze downward, the revelation dawns upon you – it's the placenta.

“You guys might need a new car,” Jimin breaks into laughter and Yoongi looks at him perplexed, before he scans the state of the car; it’s filled with blood, anatomic fluid and God knows what else. He reckons you’ll have to burn it, if it can’t be cleaned.

Half an hour post-delivery, the ambulance team arrives like guardian angels, swooping in to cradle you in their capable hands as they whisk you away to the sanctuary of the hospital.

Jimin swiftly summons roadside assistance, ensuring a caretaker for your stranded car, while he maneuvers his own vehicle through the snowy streets to the hospital.

Nestled in the hospital room, you're navigating the nuances of new motherhood. The compassionate nurses guide you through the art of breastfeeding, and you're determined to master this intimate dance with your newborn.

Beside you, Yoongi shares in the enchantment, both of you reveling in the miracle of your beautiful baby girl, awestruck at the realization that you've crafted this extraordinary little being together.

Gazing into his eyes, a kaleidoscope of love, affection, and adoration, he whispers, “I love you, babe,” before tenderly leaning in for a heartfelt kiss.

“I love you too, Yoongi.”

Jimin sweeps into the room, a harbinger of warmth and color, bearing a bouquet of your favorite purple flowers. Your heart flutters as you press a grateful kiss to his cheek, expressing your thanks.

Deep gratitude colors Yoongi's voice as he wraps Jimin in a tight embrace. “Seriously, Jimin, thank you for everything,” he murmurs, sincerity etched in his words. Jimin, with a warm smile, responds, “It's no problem. You're welcome.”

Clutching Jimin's hand, you squeeze it tightly, your eyes reflecting sincere appreciation. “No, thank you. I would never have made it without you,” you express, the gravity of your words resonating in the room.

You express your heartfelt appreciation, looking directly at Jimin as you speak. “You are my best, best friend, Jimin. I love you and thank you,” your words carrying the weight of genuine gratitude. Jimin meets your gaze with tenderness, carefully keeping his eyes on your face, mindful of not stepping on any toes with Yoongi, not that there's anything he should be worried about.

“She’s really cute—the baby, I mean,” Jimin throws his hands up in mock defense, unable to contain his admiration. His genuine enthusiasm shines through as he revels in the adorable sight of your newborn.

Yoongi begins with a playful smirk, “Relax, Jimin. You're allowed to call my wife cute and pretty, and occasionally sneak a glance at her assets if the situation calls for it; like a birth or a bra mishap—but nothing more.” He chuckles, wrapping up his words with a friendly hug, leaving Jimin with a mix of relief and amusement.

Jimin's laughter resonates in response, and just as the sound fills the room, the door swings open, ushering in the rest of your friends.

They flood the room with warm greetings, and your eyes quickly catch Jungkook, who enters with a whimsical unicorn plushie and a vibrant bouquet in shades of purple, pink, and blue.

“These are for you,” he beams, thrusting the bouquet towards Yoongi, who delicately places them on the table beside you.

“Congratulations,” the boys chime in unison, closing in to catch a glimpse of your precious little one.

You shift your baby in your arms, delicately adjusting your gown to reveal the other breast for feeding. With each nourishing moment, you sense post-contractions coursing through your body, a gentle reminder of your uterus gradually returning to its normal size.

Jungkook, Taehyung, and Namjoon inadvertently direct their gaze toward your breasts, drawing Yoongi’s attention. However, Seokjin interjects sternly, “Enough, guys. Show some respect. Quit staring at her breasts while she's feeding. You've seen other breasts before; let's not be rude.”

Jimin lets out a chuckle from his position beside you on the bed, quietly noting that the others should consider themselves lucky that Yoongi didn't snap at them for sneaking glances at your breasts.

“Starting today, a strict no-gazing policy is in effect for anyone trying to sneak a peek at my wife's breasts or her vagina,” Yoongi declares, shooting a pointed yet appreciative smile in Jimin's direction.

Confusion flickers across the faces of all the guys as their gazes shift between Jimin, Yoongi, and then you, signaling that something intriguing might have unfolded.

As their jaws drop in surprise, you casually spill the details, “He played a crucial role in delivering the baby and got an unexpected front-row view of my vagina in the process.”

Yoongi clenches his jaw, his gaze piercing through the room as he asserts, “Yes, that happened. Eyes off—especially you two,” he warns, shooting a stern look at Jungkook and Taehyung, who quickly avert their eyes.

Jungkook hesitantly clears his throat, his curiosity overcoming his apprehension, “___, what's that on your neck?”

A rosy hue tints your cheeks as you recall the passionate love bite that Yoongi left on your neck just before the chaotic journey into labor began, and you find yourself cursing your husband under your breath for the intimate moment that now decorates your skin.

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