#I will eat his words and never forget their savor

[watermelonlovershigh]

can you please write something about reader maybe finding harry's stash of sex toys. maybe he uses them during solo play but she doesn't know about that because they're new to dating and he hasn't shared that with her because he's scared she'll judge him. but when she finds them she has a million thoughts running in her head. not knowing if they were for him or if he uses them on other people. with a cute ending of her being super cool with him using sex toys and doesn't judge him.

Finding Harry's Secret Stash of Sex Toys (SMUT)

AN: love, love, love this idea! it was fun to write. i may, key word, MAY write a part 2 to this. no promises though. keep in mind any mentions of sexuality is purely fictional and not real. hope you all enjoy and don't forget to leave your feedback.

This story contains: periods, mentions of sex toys, sex, confrontation, anxiety, comfort, mentions of sexuality, fluff

{ boyfriend!harry - softrry - au!harry - bi!harry }

word count- 1,744

While searching Harry's bathroom drawers for a period product, you discover his stash of sex toys. After waiting about a week, you confront him with all the questions you have about your discovery.

You and Harry have been together for nearly two months. During this time, you've become well-acquainted with each other; however, they're still certain things that you don't know about one another. This isn't due to any effort in hiding information, but rather because those specific matters haven't yet been relevant in any of your discussions.

------------------------------

It's a Friday night, and you're at Harry's house for the evening. He had purchased a pizza, and the two of you were comfortably seated in his living room, savoring the pizza and sipping on wine. About an hour after eating, while watching a film, you excuse yourself to the bathroom. In the bathroom, you realize your periods started and you didn't have any period products with you.

Knowing Harry is a mature adult, you promptly step out of his downstairs bathroom and make your way back to the living room to ask if he by chance had anything for you to use. Otherwise, you'll have to go to the twenty-four hour shop down the street. "Um Harry, do you have a pad or tampon I could use? I’ve just started my period and forgot to bring anything." You linger there, feeling somewhat awkward as you await his answer.

Harry turns to you and replies with a gentle smile, "Yeah, of course. You can go to my bathroom upstairs and look in one of the drawers by the sink. I generally keep period products there for when I have female visitors." God created men, and then he created Harry as an apology, you conclude. He's so fucking thoughtful.

With a sigh of relief, you respond, "Thank you. I'll be quick." You hurry up the stairs and proceed to his bathroom with urgency, fully aware that you're currently free bleeding. Upon entering, you close the door and search through the drawers of his vanity to locate the pads and tampons.

The first drawer you open is filled with floss picks and an electric razor. The second drawer holds additional rolls of toilet paper. However, as you open the third drawer, you're met with an unexpected sight that leaves you speechless. You were hoping to find something to assist your period, but instead, you come across a selection of dildos and butt plugs. When you finally open the fourth drawer, you let out a sigh of relief upon finding the items you'd been searching for.

You take a tampon out and make your way to the toilet to insert it. After you're done, you wash your hands and let your thoughts return to the drawer that's filled with sex toys. Harry has never mentioned having any of these types of items. Despite the many times you've had sex, he's never proposed the idea of incorporating sex toys into the mix. Perhaps, he uses them for his own pleasure, or he might enjoy using them on partners. But if that's the case, why hasn't he brought that idea up to you before?

You make your way out of the bathroom before Harry has time to become concerned and head downstairs to resume the movie together. Upon your return to his side, he asks, "Is everythin' alright?" You had a weird expression on your face that he couldn't quite place.

Trying to play off what you've just seen, you reply, "Yep, yeah, I'm fine. Let's finish the film."

For the remainder of the night, you don't bring up what you discovered in his bathroom drawer, but it never leaves your mind. If anything, you're just curious as to why he has those items. You would never judge his reasoning.

------------------------------

A week has passed since that evening you discovered Harry's drawer containing phallic-shaped items and butt plugs. You've been looking for the right moment to bring it up, which has now finally presented itself.

Currently, you're in Harry's bed, having sex. He's on top of you, pounding you into the mattress, while your hands rest on his perfectly round bum. As he begins to thrust more vigorously, your hands slowly slide closer to his crack, and when you accidentally graze his sensitive hole, Harry almost collapses on top of you.

Seeing how much pleasure it caused him, you do it again, this time with purpose. "Oh fuck!" Harry curses as you rub your fingers over his puckered rim.

Taking a deep breath, you bravely ask, "Yeah, does that feel good? Like having your tight hole played with?"

With his forehead resting against your neck, Harry affirms with a nod and softly murmurs, "uh-hu." He only confesses this because it's clear that you're open to touching him there; otherwise, he would've refrained from sharing such information due to his fear of being judged.

Eventually, you get lost in your own pleasure and forget about touching his bum. That is, until you're laid lax on the bed, muscles weak from your orgasm, with Harry laying on top of you. As you both try and catch your breaths, you bite the bullet and ask the question that's been on your mind all week.

"So.... does those toys you have in your bathroom drawer have anything to do with you liking your ass played with?" You really hope your question doesn't come off as rude or too invasive. You're genuinely curious.

Harry's body goes rigid at your question. Then he sits up slightly, looking down at you with confusion. "What?"

With a hint of anxiety in your voice, you explain, "Um, it's just, the other night, while I was looking for a tampon in your bathroom, I opened the wrong drawer and discovered several dildos and butt plugs. I was just wondering whether those items were for your personal use or you use them on other people. But just so you know, I'm not judging you in any way, just curious is all."

Harry falls back down and buries his face in your warm skin, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over him at your accidental discovery of his sex toys. He usually stores them in his closet, but after cleaning them the other day, he had set them in the drawer to dry.

In truth, Harry does enjoy anal play. Ever since he began puberty and started to explore his body, he discovered the pleasurable sensations that can come from anal stimulation. A few years later, he recognized his bisexuality, which, although not directly connected to his enjoyment of anal play, is certainly a positive in the situation.

Unfortunately, he's only had a handful of male partners. Therefore, when he's not able to experience penetration from a real cock, he frequently utilizes one of the dildos he's purchased for himself.

When he was with women, Harry typically didn't mention his liking for having his ass played with, out of concern for being judged. There were a few instances in the past where they'd end up finding out, leading to a mix of reactions—some supportive and others quite judgmental. So, he opted to keep that aspect of himself hidden and relied on his toys for when he craved anal.

Now that you're aware of his secret, he's filled with dread at the thought of your rejection. Yet, he reckons that if you willingly touched his bum during sex, that implies you're not completely against it.

With his warm breath against your neck, Harry reveals, "Um..... yes, they're mine. When I was a teenager, I realized I enjoyed havin' my bum touched. I usually keep it to myself 'cause I've been judged for it before. So....... that's why I tend to use my toys when I am alone. Sorry for not tellin' you."

The quiver in his voice stirs a sadness within you. Him revealing his anxiety about your potential judgment and the criticisms he's endured in the past breaks your heart. You tenderly hold his face and elevate his chin so he can meet your eyes. "Harry, sweetheart, I would never think less of you for liking that. I suspect many men would enjoy anal if they gave it a chance."

You take a deep breath and continue, "I do have a question, though." Harry nods for you to go ahead, so you proceed to ask, "Have you ever used your toys with your girlfriends before? Like, have they used them on you?" If he's open to the idea, you would definitely be eager to make use of his toys on him. The image of fucking him anally with one of his dildos arouses you more than you care to admit.

"There've been one or two times I shared my likin' of anal with ex's who were particularly kind and acceptin', which I appreciated. But in most cases, my partners didn't last long enough after discoverin' my interest in anal play to allow the use of toys during sex. S'also why I keep my sexuality a secret. 'Cause people can be so judgemental."

"Sexuality?" you question cautiously, allowing Harry to explain at his own pace.

"Um yeah, think I was sixteen when I realized I liked boys and girls. So I reckon m' bisexual. But I've only had two male partners. S'why I have so many toys. But I wouldn't say my sexuality has anythin' to do with my likin' for anal, just a bonus I suppose."

You hold Harry tightly in your arms, hoping to express your appreciation for his courage in confiding in you. It's clear that he feels a sense of safety in doing so.

You become aware of his current vulnerability; he's still without clothes, his soft cock positioned between your legs, your bare body surrounding him. The love you feel for Harry is so big that you struggle to find the right words. You also refrain from voicing it aloud out of fear that it may be too early in your relationship to utter such sentiments. So instead, you mummer against his ear, "Thank you for telling me, Harry."

He's on the verge of tears due to your exceptional acceptance. Harry has long struggled to find a girlfriend who fully acknowledges his sexuality and kinks. In his past relationships with boyfriends, he was often judged for his enjoyment of hetero sex, while his experiences with girlfriends led to criticism for his interest in gay sex. This constant judgment made him feel as though he could never succeed in love. However, with you by his side, there's a chance that you'll offer him the love and acceptance that he's been longing for.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

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My Masterlist Masterpost

[herbofgraceandpeace]

in the summer of 2023 I read Tam Lin by Pamela Dean and fell completely in love with the book and the legend. This deserves a much longer post, but I only mention it to say that I am finally reading another one of her books, The Secret Country. I finally folded and got it from my library cause Libby didn’t have it.

So far it’s been very different from Tam Lin (as expected), but holy cow, her WRITING STYLE. It’s so dramatic in an elegant and controlled way. I aspire. I expire (from the awesomeness).

BUT. The real point of this ridiculous post is that in the chapter I’ve just been reading, there was two phrases that caught my attention as sounding familiar. The first one—“this bodes some strange eruption to our state”— immediately sounded Shakespearean in every way. It’s in freaking iambic pentameter for one thing! But I simply resolved to look it up later (guessing it was probably from Lear) and moved on until I was stopped by the second quote—“a hit, a very palpable hit”—which, like, you guys. PLEASE. it’s so obviously Shakespeare!!!! (I know I’ve probably come across it in Sayers, if not in something else? I think she may have quoted it in Tam Lin as well.) So I looked up both quotes, and THEY’RE BOTH FROM HAMLET. Y’ALL.

dunno why this makes me so crazy, but I just adore recognizing Shakespeare quotes in the wild. His words are so potent in our memories.

[pixii33]

┊ㅤㅤㅤㅤ┊ㅤㅤㅤㅤ┊ㅤㅤㅤㅤ┊ㅤㅤㅤㅤ┊ㅤ┊ㅤㅤㅤㅤ┊ㅤㅤㅤ ♡ㅤㅤㅤ ┊ㅤㅤㅤㅤ┊ㅤ┊ㅤㅤㅤㅤ♡ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ♡ㅤㅤㅤ ┊ㅤ♡ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ♡ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

𝑌𝐴𝑁𝐷𝐸𝑅𝐸 𝐵𝑈𝐿𝐿𝑌 who's obsessed with your pussy ⁺��⁸

Yandere bully who is so mean to you in public, constantly teasing and making you cry, taunting you in front of everyone, pushing your buttons just to see you break. "What's wrong, baby? Gonna cry again?" He grins, acting like the bitch he's known to be. But in private, he's on his knees, your obedient pet, begging to please you however you want.

Yandere bully who's addicted to you, desperate for your approval. He'll do anything to have you, anything to make you cum, anything to feel like he's worthy of your attention -even if it means pushing you to the brink of pleasure every chance he gets.

Yandere bully who gets you alone any chance he gets and makes you cum over and over again, his cruel exterior gone as he worships you with his mouth and hands. "You're so fucking beautiful when you cum for me. 'Il do anything for you, baby." His fingers don't stop, even when you're shaking, his lips constantly moving over your sensitive skin, drawing out orgasm after orgasm until you can't take it anymore.

Yandere bully who loves catching you off guard when you're trying to study, slipping under the table and spreading your legs without a word. His fingers slip inside you while his tongue circles your clit, licking and sucking on it like he can't get enough. You try to concentrate, but it's impossible, and he knows it. "Come on, baby, keep studying while I make you feel good." He smirks against you, watching you fall apart as he fingers you under the desk.

Yandere bully who loves to suck on his lollipop in front of you, popping it in and out of his mouth with a teasing grin, only to push it inside your pussy without warning. "How's that feel, baby? Bet you never thought this sweet thing could fuck you, huh?" He moves it in and out, his eyes locked on your expression as he watches you struggle. And when he's done, he pulls it out, licks it clean, and goes right back to sucking on it like nothing happened, savoring your taste mixed with the candy.

Yandere bully who acts like he's in control, always smug and cruel with the things he says, but the moment you're soaking wet and he's got his mouth on you, it's like he's a different person. "Fuck, I can't get enough of this. You taste so good, baby... I need more, please."

Yandere bully who moans like he's the one getting head whenever he's between your legs, his voice breaking as he eat you out. He can't help the sounds slipping out of his mouth, so lost in the taste of you that he's grinding himself against the mattress. "Fuck, baby... you taste so fucking good. I'm gonna lose it.." The pleasure in his voice is unreal, like he's the one being pleasured.

Yandere bully who gets absolutely lost between your legs, so pussy-drunk he forgets everything else around him. His mouth is buried between your thighs, licking and kissing like he's been deprived of it for days. He's groaning into you, the wet sounds echoing as he slurps up everything you give him, completely obsessed.

Yandere bully who talks directly to your pussy like it's a person, his voice low and ragged, whispering how good it is, how perfect it feels for him. "Fuck, baby, you're so fucking sweet.. So good for me. God, I'm never letting you go." He kisses it like it's his lips, muttering praises to it while his tongue laps you up.

Yandere bully who gets so messy and sloppy, his face drenched with your slick, but he doesn't care. The more you give him, the more he wants, making filthy, lewd noises as he fuck you with his tongue. "Shit... I can't get enough. I need more, more of you." He's never satisfied, his fingers spreading you open just so he can see how you pulse for him.

Yandere bully who doesn't just lick, he makes love to your pussy with his mouth, slow at first, dragging his tongue in long strokes like he's savoring every taste. Then he's frantic, desperate, his lips locking around your clit, sucking so hard you can't hold back your moans, and he loves it. "Fuck, baby, you're so wet for me. Keep making those sounds, I'm fucking addicted to this."

Yandere bully who can't keep his hands off, always pinching and smacking your pussy between sloppy licks, just to watch it bounce and twitch under his touch. "God, I love seeing you like this, so swollen and needy for me." He'd smack it again, the sound so lewd it makes you blush.

Yandere bully who loves to spits on your pussy, his eyes dark with lust as he watches his saliva drip onto you before diving in with his tongue. "Look at this, baby. So fucking messy for me, just how I like it." He grins, dragging his tongue through the wetness and your slick, slurping noisily like he's savoring every second of it.

Yandere bully who bites your pussy just to see your reaction, his teeth grazing over your swollen lips, nipping at your sensitive skin. "Come on, baby, don't squirm. You know you love it when I get a little rough with you." His voice is low, teasing, as he watches your body jerk at the sensation. He alternates between soft kisses and sharp bites, pushing your limits.

Yandere bully who buries his face deeper, tongue pushing into you as far as it can go while his nose grinds against your clit. He groans with each taste, like he's drowning in pleasure just from having you on his lips. "You're so fucking perfect. I could eat this forever:" His words are so slurred and desperate, like he's too far gone to think straight anymore.

Yandere bully who tells you he loves you for the first time when you squirt into his mouth, the taste driving him so insane that the confession slips out before he can stop it. "Fuck... I love you. I fucking love you." His voice is hoarse, and he's groaning like he's the one cumming, licking up every drop you give him as his face gets soaked in your release. He's a mess, panting, eyes wide as the reality of what he just said settles in, but he doesn't take it back.

Yandere bully who gets so overwhelmed eating you out that he cums in his pants without even touching himself, his body shaking with how much he's lost in it. He's a mess, his cock twitching in his soaked boxers while he keeps his mouth on you. "Oh god.. fuck.. I'm cumming... I can't- shit-"And even after he cums, he still doesn't stop, licking up every drop of you like it's his lifeline.

Yandere bully who grinds himself against the bed, getting off just by eating you out, humping the mattress as he moans into you, obsessed with how you taste and feel. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum just like this... you're too fucking good. I can't take it..."

Yandere bully who stays between your legs even after you're spent, lazily licking and kissing, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. "l'm not done... Stay still..." His voice is low, almost hoarse, as he presses one last kiss against your pussy, so utterly drunk on it that he can't stop himself.

Yandere bully who takes so many pictures of your pussy that his phone is filled with them. He's got one as his lock screen, grinning every time he unlocks his phone and sees it there. "God, you're so fucking pretty. I can't get enough." He pulls out his phone to take even more photos when you're spread out for him, snapping pictures while muttering to himself about how perfect you look. He's gross, but he doesn't care-he's obsessed with having every part of you to himself.

Yandere bully who wants to shave you himself, his hands steady as he moves the razor over your skin, but it always ends the same way-with him making you cum so hard that your pussy is swollen and puffy by the time he's done. "You look so cute like this... all swollen for me." His fingers trace over your sensitive skin, teasing you even more, knowing you're already overstimulated. He never stops until you've cum over and over again, leaving you a trembling, swollen mess.

Yandere bully who isn't satisfied until he's made you cum more times than you can count, watching you shake and scream, completely addicted to the way your body reacts. "Look at you.. all mine. No one else gets to touch you like this. Only me." He's possessive, obsessed, and so pussy-drunk that he's practically begging for more, even when you can't take it anymore.

Yandere bully who cries when you cum on his tongue, so overwhelmed by how sweet you taste that tears well up in his eyes. He's moaning and sobbing, his face soaked with a mixture of your wetness and his tears. "You're so fucking sweet.. so perfect... fuck, I can't take it..."He presses his face deeper into you, tongue flicking desperately, crying with how much he loves the way you feel.

Yandere bully who steals your dirty panties every chance he gets, slipping them into his pocket when you're not looking. He hides them away just so he can sniff and lick them later, getting off to your scent like a total pervert. "God, you smell so fucking good.. I can't stop thinking about İt." He presses the fabric to his nose, groaning as he grinds against the bed, cumming hard while licking your panties, completely high.

Yandere bully who can be the meanest, most disgusting version of himself, using your body for his pleasure, but you can feel the way he's addicted to you, how much he needs to please you. It's a twisted game between love and hate-he's cruel, mean, but the moment he's got his hands on you, he can't stop himself from worshipping you in the most filthy, desperate ways possible.

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[calypso-rt]

5 LIL' THINGS

Rafe does as your bf...

-> Rafe x F!Reader

intro

There were a lot of things people said about Rafe Cameron.

Most of them weren’t nice.

Words like reckless, selfish, and volatile were tossed around with such regularity you’d think they were stitched into his DNA.

And maybe some of that was true. He could be a pain in the ass, even on a good day. But then there were the other things.

The things no one talked about.

Like how he’d tilt his head just slightly when he was pretending not to care but actually cared more than he’d ever admit. Or how he’d mutter something sarcastic to cover up the fact that his eyes softened whenever he looked at you. The kind of things that didn’t make headlines but stayed tucked away in stolen moments and quiet gestures.

Because Rafe Cameron wasn’t a perfect boyfriend. But if you paid attention, he was so much better than perfect.

He was Rafe.

And sometimes, that meant big, messy declarations of love. But most of the time? It was the little things. The ones that slipped through the cracks but left their mark anyway. The kind of things you couldn’t forget, even if you tried.

1 | Midnight Runs for Ice Cream

It started as an offhand comment. You were sprawled on the couch, half-asleep, mumbling something about how a bowl of chocolate ice cream would fix everything wrong with the world. You didn’t expect Rafe to hear it, let alone act on it.

But twenty minutes later, he was pulling up in his truck, headlights slicing through the darkness outside your window.

“Get in,” he called, leaning out of the driver’s side with his trademark smirk. His hair was messy like he’d just rolled out of bed, and his hoodie hung loosely on his frame, but there was something about the way he looked at you: like he’d move mountains just because you said you were craving dessert.

You didn’t need convincing.

In the car, it took all of five minutes for an argument to break out over toppings.

“Hot fudge is the only acceptable option,” you insisted, crossing your arms dramatically.

Rafe scoffed, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Please. Caramel’s where it’s at. You just don’t have taste.”

“Oh, I have taste,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes. “You’re the one with the palate of a toddler.”

He glanced over, his smirk widening. “Toddler, huh? That’s bold coming from someone who’s about to order sprinkles.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off. “And don’t even bother denying it. I already know exactly what you’re getting.”

The audacity.

“You don’t know me, Cameron.”

“Sure I do.” His voice was low, teasing. “Chocolate ice cream, hot fudge, and a mountain of sprinkles.”

And, annoyingly, he was right.

By the time you got back to your place, the ice cream was already melting, but neither of you cared. You leaned against the counter, savoring each bite like it was heaven in a cup. Meanwhile, Rafe stayed perched a few feet away, one hip propped against the edge, arms crossed casually.

He wasn’t eating anything. He never did. But his eyes lingered on you, soft and warm in a way that felt unguarded, like the weight of the world didn’t matter for a little while.

“Why are you staring?” you asked, raising a brow.

“I’m not,” he muttered, looking away, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a grin.

But he was.

And even though he’d deny it later, you knew that Rafe loved these moments.

Just you, the quiet, and the faint hum of the world outside.

2 | Personal Handyman

It was a lazy afternoon when you casually mentioned the faucet in the kitchen was leaking again. You didn’t think much of it. It was a small problem, something you’d fix when you got around to it. It wasn’t worth stressing over.

But apparently, Rafe thought otherwise.

You were in the living room when you heard the sound of his truck pulling up outside. A moment later, there was a knock at the door, followed by the familiar voice of Rafe Cameron calling your name, low and a little rough.

When you opened the door, he was standing there, toolbox in hand, looking like he’d just walked off a worksite.

“Uh… what are you doing here?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Fixing your sink,” he said matter-of-factly, brushing past you and making his way to the kitchen without waiting for permission.

“Rafe, I didn’t-”

He cut you off with a wave of his hand. “You mentioned it. I’ll take care of it.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the way he just acted, like it was no big deal. But you knew better.

Rafe wasn’t exactly Handy Manny. But for some reason, when it came to you, he’d drop whatever he was doing and show up, ready to tackle whatever needed fixing.

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching as he knelt down by the sink, inspecting the faucet like he actually knew what he was doing. It was kind of endearing, watching him concentrate.

He grumbled to himself, clearly getting frustrated as he fumbled with the wrench. “This thing’s not going in right…”

You couldn’t resist. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

He shot you a glare over his shoulder. “I’m fine.”

It took him a bit longer than expected, a few more muttered curses under his breath, but eventually, the leak stopped. He leaned back, wiping his hands on a rag, a proud look on his face.

“Done,” he said, standing up and brushing the dust off his jeans.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, I didn’t think you were the handyman type.”

“I’m not,” he admitted, smirking, wiping his hands one last time. “But I’ll do it for you.”

It wasn’t the words that made your heart skip a beat, it was the sincerity behind them. Because Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy who did things for anyone else. But for you?

Anything.

3 | The Protector

The bonfire crackled, flames dancing in the cool evening air, throwing long shadows across the beach as the sound of waves crashed softly in the background.

Everyone was spread out in small groups, drinks in hand, laughing, talking, and basking in the glow of the fire. It was one of those nights where everyone felt a little too wild, a little too free, but you felt calm. Like this was exactly where you were meant to be.

Except... Rafe had been watching you.

Not in the creepy, overbearing way, but in the subtle, Rafe kind of way. He was always nearby, his eyes scanning the crowd, just making sure no one got too close. He made sure you had a drink in your hand, not too much, just enough so you didn’t have to worry about someone else trying to buy you one.

He had a sixth sense for noticing when someone came too close to your space, his jaw tightening just slightly as he made his way over to draw you into a conversation, his hand resting at the small of your back like a silent warning to anyone who might have been eyeing you.

“Got everything you need?” he’d ask, his voice low and steady, as he plopped down next to you.

You grinned, giving him an exaggerated wink. “Yeah, I'm good. Thanks for being my personal bodyguard tonight.”

His lips quirked up at the corner, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. "I’m always looking out for you." The words felt like more than just an empty promise. They were a truth, simple but intense in the way only Rafe could be.

As the night stretched on, the bonfire began to fade. The crackling wood sounded more like a whisper now, the heat slipping away into the cool night air. You were just about to get up to grab more firewood when you felt a familiar weight settle over your shoulders.

Rafe’s hoodie. You didn’t even have to ask.

You didn’t even notice he’d stood up, not until he returned, draping the fabric over you in one smooth motion. “Don’t want you getting cold,” he muttered, his hands lingering on your shoulders for a second too long, like he was debating whether he should say more. But then he was back to his spot, his eyes scanning the beach again, always on alert, always looking out for you.

"Thanks," you murmured, pulling the hoodie tighter around your frame, the faint scent of his cologne making you smile.

"Anytime," he replied, his voice low, but it was the kind of ‘anytime’ that meant forever.

And that’s exactly how it felt. Forever.

4 | Has Your Back

It was supposed to be a simple night out.

A few drinks, some laughs, the usual. Dinner at a local spot with Rafe and his friends, the kind of casual evening that would slip by unnoticed in the grand scheme of things. But then, Ruthie opened her mouth.

"Honestly," she started, swirling her drink around nonchalantly, "I don't get it. How'd someone like Rafe end up with you?"

The words stung, and you could feel your cheeks flush. Ruthie had that uncanny ability to hit below the belt without even trying. You shot her a sharp look, about to respond, but before you could, Rafe’s demeanor shifted.

One moment he was laughing, holding court with the guys, the next he was leaning in with an icy calmness that made the air around him tighten. His hand shot out, resting protectively on the back of your chair, his body angling just enough to block Ruthie’s view of you.

"Watch it, Ruth," he said, his voice low, but there was an edge to it. "You might wanna take that back before you piss me off."

You could feel his gaze, intense and unwavering, but there was something else behind it. A playful edge that suggested he wasn’t taking Ruthie’s words too seriously, just looking out for you. You swallowed the heat that had risen in your chest, deciding to hold your ground and respond on your own terms.

"I'm not some charity case, Ruth," you shot back, keeping your tone even but firm. "If you’ve got a problem, maybe we can talk about it later."

Rafe’s lips twitched into a barely there smile as he let you handle it. He wasn’t going to fight your battles for you, but the way he hovered, close enough to let everyone know he was ready if things escalated, was enough to settle the tension.

"And just so you know," Rafe added, looking directly at Ruthie with a mockingly sweet tone, "you can keep your thoughts to yourself. I like her just the way she is."

There was a beat of silence, and Ruthie’s eyes narrowed, but she backed off, giving you a pointed look before taking another sip of her drink.

The night resumed, but you could feel Rafe's hand on your back as he leaned into you, giving your shoulder a quick squeeze.

Later, as you and Rafe walked out of the restaurant, he nudged you with a softer grin. "You handled Ruthie pretty well," he said, his voice a little quieter than usual. "Impressive."

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by his sincerity. "You think so?"

Rafe nodded, his gaze softening. "Yeah. She can be a lot, but you didn't back down. I respect that."

You smiled, feeling a warmth you weren’t expecting. "Thanks, Rafe."

He pulled you a little closer, his arm around your shoulders. "Anytime. I’ve got your back." And in that moment, it was clear.

His admiration for you was genuine, and he'd always be there, quietly protective in his own way.

5 | More Than Words

After a long, draining day, you stumbled through the front door, exhaustion weighing heavily on you. The world felt too loud, too overwhelming, and you just wanted to escape for a while.

To your surprise, Rafe was already on the couch, his laptop resting in his lap as he looked up at you, eyes softening the second he saw how tired you were.

Without a word, he set the laptop aside, his usual cocky demeanor gone. He just knew.

He didn’t ask what was wrong.

He didn’t need to.

Moving toward you, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you onto the couch, guiding you gently between his legs, holding you like you were the most fragile thing in the world.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. His hand softly brushed through your hair, the quiet comfort of his touch calming the chaos of your mind. He didn’t need to say anything; his presence was enough.

"Hey," his voice was quiet, soft against your ear. "I know today was tough."

You nodded, leaning your head against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. He didn’t try to fix anything. He just held you, grounding you with his steady presence. His fingers found yours, the simple act of holding your hand more meaningful than any words could be.

In the silence, you realized something: with all the messiness inside him, all the brokenness he carried, Rafe knew how to find peace in moments like this.

And in this small, quiet space, you found it too.

Wrapped in his arms, the weight of the world seemed a little less heavy.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough.

[jeonginslefthand]

More please ♡🩸

Pairing: Vampire!BangChan x Reader Genre: Suggestive (18+. minors/ageless blogs do not interact <3)/Thriller Word count: 2.0k+ Summary: You caught Chan in the middle of his midnight activities, marking the start of an unexpected relationship.  Warnings: Kidnapping mentioned, force feeding, grinding, biting, blood (lots of it), implications of depression A/N: Railway MV has made me feral and I had an idea. Also hope writing this will cure my writer's block for the San series cause I'm struggling rn. This is more of a drabble and [mostly] proofread. Hope y'all enjoy 🫶 Stray kids masterlist

~~~

“I need more~”

It hurts when Chan bites into your neck. You expected some pain, but not a pain like this. It stings and there’s an ache you can’t begin to describe. But it feels somewhat arousing. Chan on top breathing heavily as he is sucking the life out of you makes you feel something in your core. You forget for a moment that his teeth are sunk in your veins as the agonizing pain turns into pleasure. 

It’s hard to say how you got here in the first place. You and Chan had been acquainted since he moved to your neighborhood a few years ago. Nothing he did ever tipped you off that he could be hiding this secret. And Chan had been careful to keep this secret too. Surviving off animal blood, only feasting on human flesh when he needs to. He was sure he would never get caught. Until last night when you decided to take the shortcut path on your nightly walk and stumbled upon the area where Chan does his bidding. You were frozen in fear unsure what to do as Chan looked at you. So he did what any vampire in hiding would. He took you back to his hideout away from the world until he could figure out his next move. 

And here you are, under him as he’s making up for his interrupted midnight snack. By now he feels he sufficiently made up for the interruption and slowly removes his teeth from your neck. You feel that stinging pain again and feel a bit faintish. You see out the corner of your eye blood dripping from the two fresh holes. Gross yet arousing at the same time. Chan notices and licks up the excess blood as if he wants to savor your taste. You feel another jolt of pain, but Chan massaging the area with his tongue helps to ease the pain and turns it into more pleasure. 

“Your blood tastes so sweet~” Chan growls as he licks the remaining blood and pulls away from you. “I swear I could drink this forever.” 

It sure felt like he was going on forever. You even forgot that he did kidnap you and that the bodies of his previous victims surrounded you. Coming back to reality the fear returns to you wondering if that is your fate. 

“C-Chan… I promise I won’t tell anyone about this. A-and you can have all the blood you want just please let me go.” You mutter out on the verge of tears. 

“Oh I will have all the blood I want, 'cause you’re not leaving here,” Chan responds smiling, baring his sharp teeth now covered in blood. You flinch for a moment thinking he’s going back in for seconds. Chan notices and chuckles in response. 

“Don’t worry dear, I won’t hurt you more than I need to. It would be a shame if you died on me.”

~~~

Despite the situation, Chan is pretty gentle with you. Aside from the blood-sucking sessions, he makes sure you’re well taken care of. You find out that the place you’ve been taken to was a castle, somewhere far off in the mountains. You slowly fall in love with the gothic architecture exploring a new room each day. You even have your room, decorated head to toe in the dark gothic aesthetic with a soft queen-sized bed made just for you. 

Chan cooks for you every night. At first, you refused to eat the meals, still in fear of what he could do and barely working up an appetite. After a few days of the act, Chan got annoyed and one day took matters into his own hands. 

“Come on sweetie, if you don’t eat your blood won’t pump properly and you’ll be weak.” Chan calmly says as he forces a piece of chicken into your mouth. You try your hardest to resist but his vampire strength overpowers you. Tears well up in your eyes and fall on your plate. You want to spit the chicken out but you can’t bring yourself to it as Chan stares at you intensely, wiping the tears away from your cheek. 

“Aww don’t cry. It’s okay, you’re okay. The chicken tastes good right?” Chan coos and you nod in response. 

“Good. Then swallow~” Chan commands.

You hesitate for a moment but reluctantly swallow. The chicken wasn’t bad, but you still feel a lump in your throat. You want your body to reject the food so badly but you also hadn’t eaten for days and knew that eventually you would have to give in. 

Chan feeds you the rest of the chicken and side dishes. This was the only way you were going to eat for that night, still in fear that he could do much worse. After that day you stopped refusing to eat knowing that Chan wouldn’t hesitate to force-feed you again. You two started having somewhat normal dinners. Chan would talk about his day and sometimes the drama going on at his day job and you would talk about the room you explored that day and your thoughts. Sometimes he would talk about his past life, his experiences, and what it was like being the way he is. These deeper talks made you more intrigued about him. He was slowly peeling back layers revealing his true nature, showing there was some humanity left in those eyes. 

~~~ 

Of course, Chan would still get a taste of your blood now and then. Biting in the same spot, careful not to take too much that you faint, but enough to keep him satisfied for a few weeks. You got used to the pain and a part of you almost looked forward to these sessions. The pure ecstasy you felt with Chan on top and pressed against you as you were helpless under him, you almost didn’t want him to stop. You wanted more from him. 

One time you decided to make a bold request to Chan at dinner.

“I want you to suck my blood tonight,” you stated clearly. Chan nearly chokes on his food shocked that you’re taking the initiative this time. 

“Y/N, I appreciate the offer and you know I would love that. But I’m fine it’s only been a week.” Chan responds.  

“But I want you to! I need that feeling of you sinking your teeth into me. It’s addicting and I want more of it!” 

Chan gets up and walks over to your seat and leans towards you. 

“I have a better idea sweetie~,” Chan says. 

“And what is that?” you respond, desperate for him to do something. Anything.

Chan leans in closer and presses his lips into yours. You don’t hesitate to reciprocate kissing him back. The same feeling of desire is felt between both of you, but more intense than when Chan is stealing your blood. Eventually, you stand up and push him on the table (well, more like he lets you) kissing him deeper and with a passion you’ve never felt. The air feels warm around you, savoring Chan’s taste while your mind’s on cloud 9. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t fantasized about this. Wondering what his lips would feel like in other areas of your body besides the sensitive vein of your neck. 

The burning desire in your core doesn’t settle down and you instinctively grind on Chan’s thigh to get some kind of relief. Chan doesn’t notice drunk on his desire for you, but eventually, he pulls away and places his hands on your hips. 

“Feeling a bit needy today I see~” Chan teases. 

“Oh you have no idea,” you say shakily, catching your breath.

Chan starts to respond with a witty joke but you sink back into his lips before he responds. You kiss him harder than the first time and the desire builds up in your core harder. The room feels it’s on fire as you and Chan feel each other’s hot breaths and as you continue to grind his thigh. Chan gets so lost in your soft moans that he doesn’t notice his fangs grazing your bottom lip. He presses on your lips harder and his fangs accidentally sink into your lip as you yelp in pain. Shocked by your scream, Chan quickly pulls away from you, but also accidentally knocks over a plate in the process remember that the two of you were making out on the dinner table. 

“Oh my god Y/N I’m so sorry!” Chan says concerned, caressing your lip. The blood quickly drips down from your mouth covering the lower half of your face. 

“Chan I’m fine! It didn’t hurt but it was shocking. Maybe… warn me next time,” you respond with a witty tone. 

“Funny. But still, don’t want you to lose too much blood.” Chan leans towards your lips again and starts licking up the blood starting from your chin and ending with your bottom lip. He passionately licks every last drop like it’s the last he’ll ever get your blood. 

“Say… why don’t we continue this somewhere else,” Chan suggests as he pulls away from you. You look at him hazy with lust and out of the corner of your eye notice a certain desire growing in his pants.

“I think that’s a great idea love~”     

~~~

After that erotic night, it felt like time slowed down living with Chan. You’ve lost count of how long you’ve been here. Maybe a couple of months? A little under a year? In your mind, you knew you had to go back to your old life, back to your friends and family. They have probably been looking for you. But in your heart, you didn’t care. Nothing in your life mattered anymore except Chan and his twisted love for you. You would give anything to be with him, to stay with him forever. 

One night as the two of you cuddled in bed, you suddenly brought up another proposition. 

“Channie, do you think you can… turn me into a vampire?” you ask suddenly. 

“W-what?!” Chan says, taken aback. 

“I-It’s just an idea. I’ve seen it done a lot in vampire shows. But knowing what I know about you now I don’t know how accurate that is. And I realize that you’re the only one I want to be with for a long time and it would suck dying knowing you would still live on forever…” 

Chan is silent processing your request. You give him some time and then follow up with your statement.

“It’s okay if you can’t and I’m probably overthinking this. That’s so far ahead of us and I’m happy spending whatever time we have. I just love you so much and—”

“No no, I can turn you. It’s possible but… are you sure you want this?” Chan says cutting you off. “It’s a dangerous path to take. The constant bloodlust is not easy to control. And there are many days that there will be a numbing feeling you can’t get rid of. Constantly feeling empty and at some point feeling like life isn’t worth it is not something I want for you.”

“I don’t care if I spend the rest of my days hating the world. As long as I’m with you I won’t feel empty. Doesn’t matter if that’s 10 years or the next 1000 years, life with you will always have meaning!” 

Another moment of silence passes and Chan pulls you into his chest. He starts stroking your hair as he responds.

“There’s no talking you out of this is there?” Chan sighs. 

You giggle into his chest. “I’d do anything to be with you for as long as I can!~” 

Chan kisses your forehead. “Then, enjoy your last night being human love~”

You fall asleep into Chan’s arm as he drifts off to sleep. Who knew what the next years would look like for the two of you? You dream of all the potential adventures you two would go on, the lives you would live. It would be chaotic and messy, but that didn’t matter to you. In the end, you can call the man you once feared yours and you were his. And you couldn’t want anything more.

~~~

If you liked this leave a like, reblog, and/or comment! I appreciate it and thanks for reading!

[seospicybin]

TOO CROWDED.

Lee Know x reader. (s,f)

Chapters: Wrong crowd / In the crowd / Crowded

Synopsis: Years of marriage haven’t fully prepared Minho for the arrival of a new family member or the changes that come with his growing family. As he navigates these new challenges, he realizes that love and family are constantly evolving in ways he never expected. (19,3k words)

Author's note: To the Crowd enthusiasts, thank you for patiently waiting & hope you enjoy this one too ♡

It’s Saturday, yet Minho wakes up early as usual, his internal clock refusing to let him sleep past 5:30 a.m.

The first thing he does is shift closer to your side of the bed, slipping his arm around you and gently pulling you into his embrace. His lips press a soft kiss to your cheek, careful not to wake you. You deserve more sleep. For a moment, he enjoys the warmth of your body against his, spooning you, before placing another kiss on your bare shoulder and quietly slipping out of bed.

Next, he pads across the hall to your daughter’s room, slowly pushing the door open. Peeking inside, he smiles when he sees Byeol still fast asleep, clutching her blanket tightly. The sight of her peaceful face always fills him with a deep sense of contentment—knowing she feels safe and loved. He brushes a gentle hand over her cheek, then quietly leaves, letting her sleep a little longer.

Minho heads downstairs to the kitchen. As the coffee brews, he washes up, brushes his teeth, and makes his way to the rooftop to water the potted plants. Returning to the kitchen, he pours himself a cup of coffee and settles at the dining table, handling bills and a few business emails.

By 7:00 a.m., he’s pulling ingredients from the fridge to prepare breakfast, not forgetting to pack a lunchbox for Byeol. Halfway through stirring pancake batter, he catches sight of you wandering into the kitchen, your hair a tousled mess and a sleepy smile on your lips.

"Morning," you mumble, slipping your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your face against his back. You cling to him for a while as he works over the stove, only moving to kiss his cheek before grabbing his mug and refilling it with more coffee for yourself.

Minho glances at the clock, then at you. "Enjoying your coffee?"

"Mmhmm," you murmur, savoring the warm drink.

"Can you go wake up our daughter?" he asks, focused on flipping a pancake.

"I thought we're cool parents," You groan playfully, holding your mug. "It’s Saturday. Let her sleep!"

"Today’s the school trip." He reminds you.

"Oh, shit!" you grumble, setting down your coffee. You tie your robe and shoot him a quick grin. "Wish me luck!"

Minho smiles as you head to Byeol’s room, knowing it won’t be hard to wake her. She’s been talking about the trip all week, and sure enough, it takes you less than five minutes to have her running to the kitchen for breakfast.

"Here’s your delinquent daughter, sir," you joke, pulling out a chair for her.

Minho places the last pancake on the growing stack. He brings the plate over to the table, feigning seriousness as he addresses Byeol. "Young lady, you’re sentenced to live with us until you're of age and eat all these pancakes without any maple syrup or strawberries."

Byeol doesn’t even blink at her father’s odd sense of humor. She knows exactly what it means: they’re out of her favorite toppings.

"How about bananas?" she asks innocently.

"We’re out of bananas!" you call from behind the counter, pouring yourself more coffee.

Minho pats his daughter’s shoulder. "Tough luck."

But you come to the rescue, placing a bowl of blueberries and whipped cream next to her plate. "We’ve got these, though."

Byeol beams, picking up her fork. "Thanks, Mommy."

It’s never a competition between you two when it comes to earning Byeol’s affection, but with work keeping you busy most of the time, Minho likes creating little moments where she can bond with you. It’s just another way he shows how much he loves his two girls.

Minho points his spatula at you, narrowing his eyes. "I’ll let you have this win."

You make a face at him, and he turns away to hide his laughter.

The morning quickly becomes hectic as you both scramble to get Byeol ready for her school trip. Minho helps her pack while you diligently apply sunscreen to her.

"We’re not going to the beach. Why do I need sunblock?" Byeol complains.

"Because I don’t want you coming home looking like a blob of slime," you reply without missing a beat, finishing her legs. "Do you want to be a blob of slime?"

"No," she mutters while giggling.

"Good!" You adjust her socks and tighten her shoelaces, then let her go.

Dropping Byeol off at school is usually stressful—other moms often stare at him—but with you by his side, he feels more relaxed.

The parking lot is packed as parents say goodbye to their kids. Minho carries Byeol’s backpack while you walk hand in hand with her. When it’s time for the trip, you kneel down to Byeol’s level, fussing over her ponytail and clothes, unable to help yourself.

"Be good, okay?" you say softly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "Listen to Miss Sara, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask."

"Okay, Mommy," Byeol nods.

You pull her into a hug, holding on like you’re sending her off to war rather than a school trip.

"Don’t forget to drink water, eat your lunch, and—"

"I’ll be okay, Mommy," Byeol assures you with a smile.

You sigh, reluctantly letting her go. "And have fun!"

Minho chuckles quietly at how grown-up your six-year-old is acting. He bends down, hugging her and planting a quick kiss on her cheek.

"We’ll pick you up later," he reminds her.

"Yes, Daddy."

After a quick wave, Byeol boards the bus. You both stand watching until the bus pulls away, your hand slipping into Minho’s as you turn to head back to the car.

"It’s a beautiful day," you sigh contentedly, gazing up at the sky. "And we have the whole afternoon to ourselves."

He grins, watching how relaxed you suddenly look. "What do you want to do?"

You swing his hand playfully, thinking. "How about we grab some take-out and have a picnic?"

"Sounds good," Minho says, unlocking the car.

"We can get your favorite pudding for dessert," you add, already planning the afternoon.

As you buckle your seatbelt, you turn to him, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Or…"

"Or what?"

You place your hand on his knee and grin. "Or we stay home and make babies?"

Minho raises an eyebrow at the sudden suggestion, amused but not surprised. He doesn’t mind the idea at all, but with how nice the weather is, staying inside seems like a waste.

You squeeze his knee gently. "So? What’s it going to be?"

Minho glances between you and the road ahead, the decision already made. He pulls the car onto the street, heading in the direction of home.

-

Everyone in the parlor has asked for the weekend off to enjoy the summer, so Minho granted it, leaving the parlor downstairs closed until Tuesday.

This also means you and Minho have the whole building to yourselves and you obviously going to make the most of this rare moment. You push him onto the sofa, straddling him without hesitation, your mouth crashing against his. Your body moves on its own, hands frantically unbuttoning his shirt while your hips grind against his crotch. Your lips continuously press against his, breath heavy and hungry.

He holds you close, one hand resting on the small of your back while the other tangles in your hair, fisting it as he tilts your head to the side, giving him access to your neck.

“Honey, not a hickey, please?” you mutter breathlessly as his teeth graze your skin.

He drags his lips up to your ear, playfully biting at it. “Why not? You look good with one,” he teases, his words punctuated by a wet kiss on your jaw.

“We still have to pick up your daughter later,” you remind him, not wanting to give the other parents something to gossip about.

“Afraid they’ll be jealous of you?” he murmurs.

“You think you’re that hot, huh?”

His hand slips beneath your dress, fingers teasing your clothed sex, tracing over your clit. The pressure makes you gasp as he rubs slow, deliberate circles. His smirk is devilish, eyes dark with lust.

“I know I am,” he says confidently.

You can’t deny the heat pooling inside you as his fingers work their magic. “Honey…” you whine, though you don’t truly mind.

Suddenly, he shifts, gently lifting you off his lap and laying you down on the sofa. His shirt falls to the floor, exposing his toned chest. With a heated gaze, he pushes the hem of your dress up, tugging at the waistband of your underwear. He pulls it down slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving yours. He parts your legs with his hands, lowering himself between your thighs without a word. His mouth trails wet kisses down the inside of your thigh before he dives in, pressing his mouth to your wetness.

A whimper escapes your lips as his tongue expertly teases you. You can’t help but close your eyes, overwhelmed by the sensation as he takes his time savoring every inch of you. Occasionally, you glance down to see his head buried between your legs, his tattooed arms wrapped around your thighs. The sight alone sends waves of arousal through you.

“Honey, oh…” you moan as he sucks on your clit, your body trembling with need.

Minho lifts his head, his mouth glistening with your essence. He flicks his tongue against your sensitive clit, his dark eyes watching your every reaction.

“Oh, God…” you moan loudly, unafraid, knowing you’re alone in the house.

His lips close around your clit once more, sucking gently as he slides two fingers inside you. The dual sensations have you gasping, eyes rolling back as your grip on the sofa tightens.

“Oh, honey… that feels so good,” you mutter breathlessly, barely able to think as pleasure overwhelms you.

Your noises only encourage him, his mouth and fingers working in perfect harmony, pushing you closer to your high. Your hands tug at his hair, legs trembling as he holds them open, keeping you steady as he pushes you toward the edge.

It doesn’t take long until you cum against his mouth, your body trembling as Minho eagerly drinks in your release. His tongue moves with precision, lapping up every drop of your essence as you ride out your climax, the sensation overwhelming in the best way. He doesn’t shy away, savoring you completely as you come undone beneath him.

Breathless, you feel the need to return the favor. Without a word, you push him back slightly and reach for his shirt. You peel it off, revealing his inked body, each line and curve of the tattoos forever captivating you. Your lips trail over his skin, kissing his chest, neck, and down to the waistband of his jeans, inhaling his natural, intoxicating scent along the way.

Dropping to your knees, you deftly undo the button and fly of his jeans, the sound of the zipper cutting through the quiet room. His growing arousal is clear as you take his hardening length from its confines. You wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly while locking eyes with him, savoring the way his breath hitches in anticipation.

Minho leans back into the sofa, head resting against the cushions as his body relaxes into your touch. He gives you all the room you need, a silent invitation to take control. You waste no time, your mouth closing around his length, warm and wet as you begin to pleasure him.

His hand gently moves to your hair, brushing it out of the way as he watches you intently. "Keep going, honey," he murmurs, his voice soft yet commanding, his thumb brushing your cheek affectionately as you take him deeper.

Your lips glide smoothly along his shaft, your hand stroking the base while your mouth works the rest. His quiet moans and gasps fuel your movements, encouraging you as you bring him closer to the edge. You feel him tense beneath you, his release fast approaching.

Moments later, his body shudders, and he spills into your mouth, his cum spilling onto your tongue. A few drops land on your lips and chin, painting your skin. Minho gazes down at you, his dark eyes full of desire as if admiring his handiwork.

"I know it’s a lot, but I want you to swallow it for me, honey," he whispers, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw.

Obediently, you close your mouth and swallow, your throat working to take him in. You open your mouth again afterward, showing him that you’ve done as he asked, a mischievous glint in your eye.

A satisfied smirk plays at the corner of his lips, and he pulls you up to straddle him once more. His hands find your waist, holding you firmly as he leans in, pressing his lips to yours. He kisses you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth as if he can taste himself on you.

For a while, the two of you simply sit there, your bodies pressed together, enjoying the rare and uninterrupted intimacy. There's no rush, no need for words—just the quiet, perfect moment shared between you.

This moment here is yours and yours only.

-

To cool down from the heat of the day, you grab two cans of cold beer from the fridge and hand one to Minho before plopping down beside him on the sofa. Without a word, you take his arm and drape it over your shoulder, snuggling in as close as possible. His presence is comforting, and today, you crave it more than usual.

“To making babies!” you chime, raising your can.

“To making babies!” Minho echoes, clinking his beer can against yours. You both take hearty gulps, the cold liquid instantly refreshing as it runs down your throats.

For months now, you and Minho have been trying to have another child, but despite your best efforts, the results haven't come. You both decided to stop stressing about it and just enjoy the process. And right now, enjoying the process is exactly what’s on your mind.

You softly trace the line of his jaw with your fingertips, feeling the light stubble there. “This mouth still knows how to make me feel good,” you mutter, your words laced with affection.

Minho smirks faintly at your compliment. “This mouth always takes me well,” he teases back, making you laugh softly.

You smile, leaning into him. “I think we’ve been working really well on this baby-making thing.”

“We make a great team,” he remarks, his hand snaking around your neck as he pulls you toward him, placing a kiss on your lips. His lips are warm, a reminder of the connection you both share.

“But honey…” he murmurs as he pulls back just enough to gaze at you, “We haven’t even started making babies yet.”

You narrow your eyes at him, catching onto the playful glint in his gaze. “Oh, yeah, you’re right.”

What happened earlier was just the warm-up, the teasing foreplay. The real fun, the true attempt, is still ahead. You take the can from his hand and place it on the coffee table, along with yours, before climbing onto his lap. Your arms loop around his neck as you straddle him, the closeness already setting your skin on fire.

Minho’s hands are quick to move, his fingers finding the zipper at the back of your dress. He tugs it down, the soft sound of it parting filling the quiet space. You help by pulling the dress over your head, tossing it onto the floor before pressing your body against his, skin to skin.

His lips capture yours in a slow, deep kiss, one that sends shivers down your spine. His hands roam your body, one sliding down your back until he reaches the curve of your rear, giving it a firm squeeze. You melt into his touch, sighing against his mouth.

“Let’s make cute babies, mmh?” you whisper, your lips brushing his before kissing him again.

“Yeah, let's make another little shit,” he jokes, a playful grin on his face as his hand lands a firm slap on your ass.

“Honey!” you shriek, though your sly smile gives away how much you’re enjoying it.

Maybe it’s the rare freedom of having the house to yourselves that makes Minho loosen up more than usual. He’s rougher, more intense, and you don’t hold back from showing how much you love every moment. Your moans fill the room as he thrusts into you, deep and purposeful, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you.

But then he slows down, deliberately pulling back just as you’re nearing your release, letting the tension slip away. He’s done it more than twice now, and it’s starting to drive you crazy.

“Minho, quit playing,” you grumble, gripping his shoulder, your frustration clear as your body aches for release.

“What?” he asks, playing dumb, a smirk plastered on his angular face.

“We have to pick up Byeol soon,” you remind him, your voice breathless. “We can’t be late.”

“Don’t worry, honey,” he reassures you, his words followed by a hasty kiss as he continues thrusting into you. “We’ll finish just in time.”

Minho always has his way, and you know it’s impossible to stop him when he wants something—especially this.

-

Later that night, you stand in the kitchen, watching the microwave hum as it cooks the popcorn. Your eyes drift toward the living room, where Minho and Byeol are sitting on the sofa, engrossed in a movie. Byeol, as animated as ever, is eagerly explaining something about the plot to her dad, her little hands moving in excitement.

It’s such a simple, everyday sight, yet it fills you with a deep sense of contentment. You can’t help but smile. Moments like this remind you of how lucky you are to have this life. But at the same time, a small voice inside asks: Do I really deserve all of this?

The microwave beeps, snapping you out of your thoughts. You grab the bowl you’ve prepared and carefully rip open the package, letting the freshly popped kernels spill into it. The warm, buttery scent fills the air as you carry the bowl to the living room.

You place the bowl of popcorn on Byeol’s lap, earning a sweet, “Thank you, mommy,” from her.

“You’re very welcome, honey,” you reply, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head before settling down next to Minho.

One arm wraps around his back as you nestle closer, resting your chin on his shoulder. You’ve always loved the way his tattoos curve along his neck, but what you love even more is kissing him there. So you do, placing a soft, lingering kiss on his skin, breathing in his familiar scent.

“How do you do it, honey?” you ask in a low voice.

Minho slightly turns his head, meeting your gaze as his hand moves to rest on top of yours, which lies comfortably on his chest. “What?”

“Act like you didn’t rearrange my guts hours ago on this very sofa?” you tease, a playful giggle escaping your lips.

He narrows his eyes at you, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. You can tell that the memory of your earlier activities is playing through his mind just like it is in yours. Instead of answering, he leans in and kisses you, his tongue sneaking past your lips in a move that’s definitely risky considering Byeol is just a few feet away. But Minho loves to push boundaries, and you love him for it.

Just as the kiss deepens, Byeol speaks up, her voice pulling you both back to reality. “Mommy, you have to watch this!” she pouts, her tone full of urgency. “This is the best part!”

You break the kiss with a soft laugh, one of those inevitable interruptions that come with being parents. You grab a handful of popcorn and turn your attention to the screen. “Okay, okay, Mommy’s watching,” you promise, your voice light as Minho keeps his hand laced with yours on his chest.

In moments like these, you realize something important: whether or not you ever have another child, you’re already blessed. Byeol is everything you could have ever asked for, and Minho—he’s been more than a great partner. He’s been a wonderful father and an unwavering source of love. Your marriage has been nothing short of bliss, and every day with them feels like a gift.

This is your family. Your little slice of forever. And you love them more than words can ever express.

-

It’s another day in Minho’s life, waking up early as usual. He stretches with a groan, then instinctively scoots closer to your side of the bed. His arm snakes around you, and he places a soft kiss on your neck, but something feels off.

Frowning, he props himself up on one elbow and gently moves the hair away from your face. The sheen of sweat on your forehead makes his concern grow. Minho presses the back of his hand to your neck, confirming what he fears—you’re burning up with a fever.

In an instant, he’s out of bed, hurrying to the medicine cabinet to grab the thermometer. When he returns, he presses the tip to your ear, waiting until the beep confirms it—you definitely have a fever.

“Honey,” he calls softly, his voice laced with worry as you shift under the covers. “You’re burning up.”

Your eyes flutter open, wincing as though it’s painful to wake. “I don’t feel well,” you croak.

“I’m going to get you some aspirin, okay?” Minho says, already half-jogging back to the cabinet, grabbing both the medicine and a glass of water.

He helps you sit up, watching closely as you take the aspirin and wash it down with a big gulp of water. Gently, he tucks you back into bed, pulling the blanket up to your chest.

“You’re not going to work today, okay?” Minho says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You nod weakly, your eyes already closing as you curl up, trying to get more rest.

Minho sighs, hating to see you like this. Looking so pale and fragile, it makes him feel helpless. But all he can do is be there for you.

“Just rest, mmh?” he murmurs softly, patting your head tenderly. He fixes the blanket again before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. As he closes the door, he hopes you’ll get the peace and rest you need.

His morning routine is thrown off, but he shifts focus, knowing he needs to get Byeol ready for school. He moves through the kitchen, preparing breakfast and her lunchbox, making sure everything’s packed and ready.

“Where’s mommy?” Byeol asks, noticing the absence at the breakfast table.

“Mommy’s not feeling well,” Minho explains, making a mental note to call your assistant and inform them that you won’t be able to work today.

“Mommy is sick?” Byeol’s face is full of concern, even with her mouth full of food.

“Yes, honey.” Minho places the lid on her lunchbox and tucks it into her bag.

Before leaving, Byeol insists on checking on you. She tiptoes into the bedroom, softly resting her head on your arm and placing a kiss on your hand, even though you’re fast asleep.

“Bye, bye, mommy,” she whispers. “Get well soon!”

If only you could see it, you’d know how much your little girl cherishes and loves you.

Minho follows suit, bending down to kiss your head. “I’ll be back soon, honey,” he whispers.

The whole morning passes while you sleep, and by the time Minho returns from his work downstairs, he finds you sitting up in bed, talking on the phone, probably informing the office about your sick day. He checks your temperature once more, relieved to find that the fever is starting to subside. Sitting next to you, he feels your head rest on his shoulder the moment you hang up the call.

“Feeling better?” he asks softly.

“Still feel like shit,” you mutter bluntly.

“You haven’t eaten anything,” Minho gently scolds. “Want me to make you something?”

You nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck, taking a moment to think. “You know, I suddenly crave your fried rice.”

“Fried rice?” He raises an eyebrow, expecting you to want soup or something light.

“Mm-hmm,” you confirm, “and make it a little spicy.”

“Spicy fried rice?” Minho asks, slightly surprised, considering your low spice tolerance.

“Yes,” you insist, and he can’t help but smile.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles, giving in easily. He lingers a little longer, enjoying your warmth as you snuggle into him.

As he cooks in the kitchen, Minho is surprised when he sees you walking out of the bedroom. Slowly, you make your way to the sofa in the living room.

“I was about to bring it to you in bed,” he says, pouring the freshly made fried rice onto a plate.

“It’s okay,” you wave him off, sitting down with a sigh. “I needed to go to the bathroom anyway.”

He brings the food over, along with another aspirin and a glass of water. Sitting beside you, he watches as you take your first bite.

“Oh, God! This is so good,” you gush, as though tasting his fried rice for the first time.

“It’s not too spicy?”

“Actually, it’s not spicy enough,” you tease, which makes him laugh since he knows how low your spice tolerance usually is.

Time passes quickly, and soon, it’s almost time to pick up Byeol from school.

“Don’t forget to take your medicine after,” Minho reminds, kissing your head before standing up.

“Honey,” you call sweetly.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask for more fried rice before you leave?” You flash him a playful grin.

How could he say no to that? “Of course, honey.”

When Byeol arrives home, she runs straight to you, burying her face in your chest, clearly happy to see you looking a little better.

“Mommy, don’t be sick!” she mumbles with such concern, it tugs at your heart.

“It’s just a fever, honey. Mommy will be okay,” you assure her, rubbing her back softly.

Minho watches the scene, understanding just how much you mean to Byeol and how much it affects you to see her worry. He heads back to the kitchen, preparing some snacks for her before his next appointment at the parlor.

“Take care of mommy while Daddy’s working, okay?” he says, giving Byeol a little responsibility.

Two hours later, Minho returns to find the two of you still in the living room. Byeol is busy working on her homework while you’ve fallen asleep on the sofa.

“Shh... mommy’s sleeping,” Byeol whispers as soon as she notices him approaching, her finger pressed to her lips.

Minho steps back with his hands raised. “Okay, sorry,” he whispers with a chuckle.

Still speaking in a hushed tone, Minho asks, “What do you want for dinner?”

Byeol thinks hard, a hand under her chin just like you do when making decisions. “Hmm... soup dumplings?”

Minho smiles. “Okay, soup dumplings it is.”

“Can Mommy eat soup dumplings when she’s sick?” Byeol asks, her thoughtfulness touching his heart.

“I think so. Mommy would love them,” he assures her.

Byeol smiles, content with the answer, before returning to her homework.

As Minho watches the two of you, he feels that familiar sense of determination. There’s nothing he loves more than taking care of his girls, but seeing one of you get sick? That part he hates. And it only makes him more resolved to do everything he can to keep you both safe and happy.

-

The next morning, it’s as if the fever never happened. You wake up a little later than Minho, feeling refreshed after a shower and getting dressed for work. There's a bounce in your step as you head to the kitchen, the scent of coffee drawing you in.

"How do you feel?" Minho asks as you nonchalantly steal his mug and take a sip of his coffee.

"I feel good," you reply with a smile, leaning in to press a lingering kiss on his lips before heading off to Byeol’s room.

You help your daughter get ready, brushing her hair and helping her pick out clothes. Together, you return to the dining table, where Byeol beams up at Minho, already dressed and ready for school.

"This looks delicious, daddy!" she chirps, eyeing the breakfast spread.

"Then you'll have no problem finishing it, right?" Minho teases, earning a giggle from her.

He serves you a fresh plate and pours another cup of coffee before sitting down for a quiet breakfast together. You take your first bite of scrambled eggs, but something’s off. Almost immediately, you feel your stomach turn, and you slap a hand over your mouth, quickly excusing yourself to the bathroom.

"Is mommy sick again?" Byeol asks, her voice tinged with concern.

"Daddy will check on mommy," Minho reassures her, getting up to follow you.

He finds you bent over the sink, splashing water into your mouth, trying to calm the nausea. Worry flickers across his face as he steps inside.

"Honey, are you okay?" he asks gently, handing you a towel.

You nod, still rinsing your mouth, though the nausea lingers. "I’m fine," you manage, though the look in his eyes tells you he’s not convinced.

You snort, spitting water into the sink as a small smile breaks through. He rubs soothing circles on your back, but the concern doesn’t leave his face.

"You didn’t have any trouble swallowing the other day," he jokes, his voice low and teasing.

"Maybe you should take another day off work," he suggests.

"I’m okay," you say, more to convince yourself than him.

"You sure?"

"I’m sure," you nod, smiling faintly.

Still not entirely convinced, he squeezes your shoulder. "I’ll drive you to work today."

You stay in the bathroom for a moment longer, trying to shake off the odd feeling, while Minho returns to Byeol, who’s nearly finished her breakfast. He packs her lunch, sliding it into her school bag just as you call for him from the bedroom.

"Minho…" Your voice trembles slightly, and he’s at your side in seconds, worry clouding his eyes.

"What’s going on?" he asks, noticing the strange look on your face.

You raise your hand, holding something small and unmistakable—a pregnancy test. "I’m pregnant," you announce, the words filled with joy as a slow smile spreads across your face.

This is the moment you've both been waiting for, what you’ve been hoping would happen after months of trying. You should be celebrating together, but as the realization sinks in, you notice something shift in Minho’s expression. There’s happiness there, but it’s shadowed by something else—uncertainty, perhaps—and it’s enough to make your smile falter.

You look away, turning to Byeol instead. "Mommy is having another baby," you say, keeping your tone light and cheerful.

Byeol looks as confused as Minho, though hers is an innocent curiosity. "Is it a boy or a girl?"

"Mommy doesn’t know yet," you chuckle softly, kneeling beside her. "But you’re going to be a big sister."

"Who’s going to be a big sister?" Felix’s voice echoes from the doorway. You turn, spotting him leaning against the frame, his eyes bright with curiosity.

It’s a conversation you know will be public knowledge soon enough, so you smile and tell him, "Byeol is going to be a big sister."

Felix gasps, his eyes going wide. "Oh! You’re pregnant?" he asks, just to make sure he’s hearing correctly.

"Yes," you nod.

"Oh my gosh! Congratulations!" Felix exclaims, immediately pulling you into a hug. Heis genuinely thrilled, his excitement infectious, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy it. But in the back of your mind, the comparison stings—this was the reaction you had hoped for from Minho.

A deafening silence fills the car on the ride to work, an unspoken tension hanging heavy between you and Minho. After dropping off Byeol at school, neither of you speaks, and the quiet lingers, almost suffocating. It's only when the car pulls up outside your office building that you finally break it.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face him. “Minho,” you say softly, your voice carrying a weight that makes him immediately focus. He lets go of the steering wheel, giving you his full attention.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to work without us talking about it,” you admit, addressing the elephant in the room. Your fingers find his, loosely lacing them together. “You can tell me what’s really going on.”

Minho shifts, clearly aware that his earlier reaction might have come across the wrong way. He takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “It’s not that I’m not happy,” he starts, his voice quiet, “I’m just… worried.”

Your brows furrow, and he continues, his eyes softening as he speaks. “You remember when you gave birth to Byeol? You went through so much pain, and… you lost a lot of blood.”

The memory seems to weigh heavily on him, and you can almost see it playing out in his mind as he talks. “Seeing you sick is enough to make me worry, but I can’t bear the thought of you going through that again.”

For a split second, he lets down his guard, allowing you to glimpse the deeper, more fragile part of him. The part that cares for you more than anything else in the world.

“Oh, honey…” you sigh, the sadness in your voice mixing with a fond smile as you lean closer. “You just love me so much, don’t you?”

Minho shrugs in that nonchalant way he does, trying to play it off like it’s no big deal. But you can see through it.

You chuckle softly, squeezing his hand tighter. “Honestly, I’m scared too,” you confess. “But I’m not when I’m with you.” You rest your head on his shoulder, breathing in deeply, letting the warmth of the moment settle between you both. “With you, I feel like I can do anything.”

You shift slightly, meeting his gaze with a smile that’s full of reassurance and love. It’s a smile that tells him you’re ready for this, that you both are.

Minho looks at you for a moment, then, unable to help himself, he jokes, "When it comes down to you or the child, just know… I’ll choose to adopt Felix."

Your eyes widen in playful disbelief, pretending to stammer, "Uh... okay?" before you both break into laughter.

He cups your face gently, his thumb brushing your cheek as he pulls you in for a kiss. It’s not just any kiss—it lingers, slow and deep, conveying all the love he has for you, the excitement that’s starting to bubble beneath the surface now that his fears are laid bare.

When the kiss ends, you whisper, “Just close your eyes, Minho and I'll tell you when the scary part is over.”

And for the first time since the news, Minho lets go of the weight on his chest. He chooses to believe in the good things, in the joy that’s coming, and almost can’t believe it—his family is getting bigger.

-

Four months have passed, and your baby bump has grown. Minho can't help but admire how your pencil skirt hugs your figure, accentuating the curve of your belly. It’s a constant reminder to him that you’re carrying his child, and the thought stirs something primal in him. Moreover, you’ve been carrying the pregnancy well, glowing with that unmistakable maternal aura that only makes him fall for you more. But beyond admiration, it also ignites a deeper, more physical desire in him.

The rooftop of the tattoo parlor, where the Oddinary crew often gathers, is buzzing with laughter as they celebrate Yoon’s birthday. Pizza boxes and cans of beer are scattered around, though you and Byeol stick to bottles of juice.

"This is from us," Minho says casually, handing Yoon the gift as if it's no big deal.

Yoon lights up as she accepts it. "Thank you so much!"

"Happy birthday, Yoon!" you add with a smile, comfortably sitting on Minho’s lap.

"Can I open it?" Yoon asks, her excitement barely contained.

"Go ahead!" you encourage. "We hope you like it."

Yoon eagerly tears through the wrapping, revealing a brand-new iPad. Her old one had seen better days, and she’d often complained about needing a new one for her tattoo designs now that she was taking on more clients. Her eyes widen, and she clutches it close to her chest. "Oh, thank you! I really needed this."

Felix, with Byeol on his lap, glances over with a playful pout. "You guys didn’t get me that game console when I asked it as a birthday gift," he mutters.

"That’s because you already play too many video games," you scold, slipping effortlessly into a motherly tone.

Felix turns to Minho for support. "Hyung?"

Minho grins. "I’m afraid she’s right."

Felix lets out a dramatic groan, "Not fair!"

Meanwhile, Sujin hands Yoon a necklace, adding to her growing collection as she likes to stack multiple necklaces around her neck on daily basis.

"So, where are we going out tonight?" she asks, likely already texting her husband with plans.

Minho shakes his head, his decision firm. "I’m sitting this one out tonight."

"Why?" Yoon asks, her brows knitting together.

Minho retrieves his wallet from his back pocket and hands Yoon a credit card. "You all have fun. It’s on me."

Yoon pretends to consider. "Great! I’ll use this to pay my phone bills then," she jokes, holding the card with both hands.

Sujin steps in with a playful roll of her eyes, taking the card from Yoon. "Don’t worry, I’ll keep everyone in check."

After tucking Byeol into bed, Minho joins you in the bedroom. He finds you in the bathroom, already dressed for bed, applying lotion to your arms as part of your nightly skincare routine. Without a word, he slips behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as his hands rest gently on your baby bump.

"You know, I don’t mind if you went out tonight," you say, catching his gaze in the mirror. "Or any night, really."

Minho nuzzles his face into your neck, inhaling the soothing scent of your skin. "It’s okay. I have something better to do anyway," he replies, his voice low.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips as you lean into his touch. "And what’s that?" you ask, already knowing the answer.

His lips brush against your neck as he murmurs, "You."

For the last few months, Minho has been cautious, knowing it wasn't safe to be intimate in the early stages of your pregnancy. But tonight, the careful distance he’s kept melts away. He needs you, craves you.

Later, you lie at the edge of the bed, propped on your elbows, your eyes locked on him with the same hunger that burns in his. Minho stands, positioned between your legs, moving with slow, deliberate care. His hands are planted on either side of your waist, and he leans down, pressing soft, heated kisses on your skin.

"Honey…" you moan, your voice a breathless whisper as his lips trail over your neck.

You tilt your head, seeking his mouth, and he gives in, kissing you with an intensity that feels like a lifeline. His movements are measured, filled with restraint and passion, but you can feel him starting to lose control, both of you teetering on the edge.

"I’m so close," you whimper, your hand gripping his arm tightly.

Minho threads his fingers through yours, his voice a soft promise. "I’ll give it to you, honey," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin.

With one last push, the tension between you snaps, and Minho groans deeply as he releases, filling you completely. His lips find yours in a deep, breathless kiss, his body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure.

As you both lie together afterward, the room quiet except for the sound of your breathing, Minho pulls you close, his hand resting tenderly on your belly. He peppers your skin with soft, fluttering kisses, his heart full, his love for you overwhelming.

"I love you," he whispers, the words carrying a weight that fills the room.

You smile, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. "I love you."

And that’s how Minho ends his day—wrapped up in you, content and at peace, his heart overflowing with love for the family you’re growing together.

-

In the middle of the night, Minho stirs from his sleep as he feels the bed shift. His eyes blink open just in time to see you slipping out of the bedroom. A wave of sleepiness pulls him to stay put, but curiosity wins over. He pushes himself out of bed and follows you.

Quietly stepping into the kitchen, Minho catches sight of you standing by the fridge, sniffing a jar of pickles. "What are you doing?" he asks, his eyes squinted in the dim light.

Startled, you nearly drop the jar, letting out a sigh of relief when you realize it’s just him. "Minho, can you not—" you begin, a little exasperated, but the words trail off.

Minho approaches, his footsteps soft, mindful not to wake Byeol, who’s fast asleep in her room. It’s not the first time he’s found you sneaking into the kitchen for a midnight snack, and he understands it. Pregnancy cravings don’t adhere to normal schedules.

"Are you hungry?" he asks gently, placing a hand on the small of your back.

"Yeah," you reply sheepishly, setting the pickles aside.

"What do you feel like eating?" Minho opens the fridge, glancing at the contents inside.

You scratch your chin, reminding him so much of Byeol when she’s deep in thought. Then, with a grin, you suggest, "Grilled cheese?"

As Minho works in the kitchen, keeping the noise to a minimum, you curl up on the sofa, munching on some of Byeol’s leftover snacks and catching up on your favorite show. It’s comforting, the familiar routine of it all, even at this hour.

Soon enough, Minho walks over with a plate in hand. You reach out eagerly, but the sandwich is still too hot to touch, causing you to hiss in surprise. "Honey, can you—" you begin to ask, but Minho, anticipating your next request, hands you a bottle of honey before you can finish the sentence.

"Thank you," you beam, wasting no time drizzling the honey over the grilled cheese.

Minho watches with a mixture of amusement and fondness. You didn’t have any unusual cravings during your first pregnancy, but this time around, honey seems to find its way onto everything—toast, fruit, milk, even pizza. It’s strange, but as long as you’re happy and eating, he’s not about to question it.

"Good?" he asks, eyes twinkling.

You nod, unable to answer with your mouth full of food. He can’t help but smile as he watches you enjoy every bite.

"Do you want me to make you another one?" he offers as you near the end of the sandwich.

"If I keep eating like this in the middle of the night, I’m going to get so big," you grumble, pausing to add more honey to the toast.

Minho tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Why is that a bad thing?" he asks, his voice soft. "That just means there’ll be more of you for me to hold."

His words make you smile, and with a playful glint in your eyes, you shove the last piece into your mouth. "In that case, I’ll take another one."

While waiting for the second grilled cheese, you switch up your approach, tearing it into pieces and dipping them in honey. Your attention shifts between the food and the TV, but then you suddenly blurt out, "We don’t know the baby’s gender yet, but I think we should have a pet name."

Minho chuckles. "Got any ideas?"

You pause for a moment before laughing at your own suggestion, "Honeypot?"

Minho grins, playing along. "How about ‘little shit’?"

You surprise him by laughing and agreeing, "I like that. Because he’s being a greedy little shit right now," you say affectionately, your hand resting on your baby bump.

Minho watches you with a warm smile, finding it adorable how you scold your bump with such endearment. It hits him, too—this little one is his little shit as well.

"We’ll have to be careful not to say that around Byeol though," you add with a grin.

-

Third trimester is where things get a little rough.

Your baby bump has grown even larger, and your protruding belly button makes it nearly impossible to find a comfortable sleeping position. Swollen ankles and feet, constant trips to the bathroom every hour or two, and an aching back keep you tossing and turning through the night. Worse, your body radiates heat, and Minho, sharing the bed with you, often wakes up drenched in sweat. But no matter how uncomfortable it gets for him, he knows you’ve got it much worse.

It’s the weekend, and Minho’s first thought is to let you and Byeol rest. He starts cooking breakfast a little later than usual, hoping you’ll get some extra sleep. The smell of food wafts through the apartment, and soon, you shuffle into the kitchen, sleepily rubbing your eyes.

"Morning," you mumble, slowly making your way to him, one hand supporting your belly as you lean in for a soft morning kiss.

"Morning," he replies, still whisking the batter for French toast.

"What’s for breakfast?" you ask, wrapping your arms around him from behind and resting your chin on his shoulder.

"French toast," Minho answers, focused on the task at hand.

"Yum!" you hum, your voice filled with satisfaction as you gently let go of him to patiently wait for breakfast on the dining table.

Sitting down, you grab your phone and begin to check work emails, your mind briefly occupied. As you concentrate on typing, a sudden sneeze bursts out of you.

"Oh?!" You gasp, feeling something unexpected. Your eyes widen, and you glance toward Minho. "I think I just pissed my pants."

Minho freezes, whisk in hand, turning to you with wide eyes. "Are you serious?"

"I don’t know," you laugh, frustration mixing with amusement. "I can't see it."

Your belly is too big to check on your own, so Minho walks over, pulling your chair back to give himself a better view. He bends down and takes a look.

"Nice!" he says, chuckling as he spots the wet patch on your shorts.

You narrow your eyes at him, clearly unamused. "You're having a good laugh, huh?"

Minho’s grin widens, unable to hold back the laughter. "Want me to help you clean up then?"

"Just hurry up with breakfast! I'm hungry!" you huff, half laughing, half exasperated, giving him a light push back toward the kitchen.

He turns back to the stove, still smiling as he flips the French toast, and a few minutes later, he places the plate in front of you. You can’t help but eye the delicious breakfast with anticipation.

Minho leans down and presses a quick kiss on the top of your head. "Eat well, pisspants," he teases, smirking.

You groan but can’t help smiling as you take a bite of the French toast. Even with the little mishap, moments like these make everything easier to handle—his teasing, his care, and the love that fills your home.

-

Minho only has one appointment today, and once he's done, he heads up to the third floor. He finds you napping on the sofa, the TV still on in the background. The sight makes him pause, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He knows better than to wake you—you’ve been struggling to sleep at night, and the rest is much needed.

Settling down beside you, Minho glances at the TV. It’s one of those shows you love, the kind that he could never get into, but he watches it anyway because you do. After two episodes, though, he starts to get bored. He leans closer, unable to resist the urge to press soft kisses against your cheek, then your forehead, and finally the tip of your nose.

"Honey, wake up," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he playfully tugs your nose between his lips.

You stir in your sleep, letting out a groggy groan as you weakly push at his head, trying to go back to sleep.

"Wake up," Minho tries again, this time burying his face into your neck and planting a series of ticklish kisses along your skin. "I’m bored."

"Go play with your daughter," you mumble, eyes still closed, your voice heavy with sleep.

"Your parents are taking her fishing, remember?" Minho reminds you, his tone soft but teasing. "You’re stuck with me."

The words sink in slowly, and you finally crack your eyes open, squinting up at him. "What do you want to do?" you ask, half curious, half resigned to whatever he’s planning.

Minho grins, shifting on the sofa to make himself more comfortable. "We can ride a roller coaster."

You chuckle, still drowsy. "I don’t think they let pregnant women ride roller coasters."

"Okay, fine. Haunted house?"

"Also, pregnant," you remind him, closing your eyes again.

He huffs, feigning frustration as he thinks. "How about a horror movie?"

You consider for a moment before mumbling, "Sure, put one on. I’ll watch it with you."

"No," he counters, shaking his head. "We’re not watching it here."

That gets your attention. You open one eye, giving him a suspicious look. "You want to go out and watch a horror movie?"

"Yup," Minho nods enthusiastically.

You sigh, staring at the ceiling as if contemplating how you ended up married to someone this persistent. "Fine, give me a minute to get ready."

The real reason Minho wanted to take you out wasn’t just boredom. He knew things would change soon, with a second child on the way, and he couldn’t remember the last time it was just the two of you. You deserved a break, and he wanted to give it to you, even if that meant taking you to see a horror movie you’d likely sleep through.

Later, after the movie, Minho waits outside the women’s restroom with your bag slung over his shoulder. When you emerge, you’re grumbling under your breath, your face scrunched up in discomfort.

"My feet," you mutter, pausing to adjust your swollen ankles in your shoes.

Minho glances down and sees how tight the shoes have become, your feet swollen from the pregnancy. Without missing a beat, he suggests, "Let’s get you a pair of sandals, yeah?"

You nod, grateful, as he leads you to a nearby shop. Inside, he doesn’t hesitate to kneel down, taking off your shoes and replacing them with a more comfortable pair of sandals. While he’s down there, he gently rubs your ankles, soothing the swelling.

"Better?" he asks, looking up at you with a smile.

"Much better, thank you," you sigh, relief washing over you as you take his hand, helping him to his feet.

On the way out of the store, you pause to admire a cardigan on display, your fingers brushing over the soft fabric. Minho notices, stepping beside you.

"You want that one too?" he asks, already reaching for his wallet.

You hesitate for a moment before slipping it off the hanger. "Does it look good on me?"

"I think it fits you well," he simply answers.

Minho buys it without a second thought, handing it over to you with a smile. He knows you can buy it for yourself, but he enjoys spoiling you in little ways when he can. It’s his way of showing his love, in gestures that remind him how lucky he is to have you.

As you both make your way to your favorite Italian restaurant, Minho buys a flower from an elderly lady selling them on the street. He hands it to you with a soft smile, the simple gesture making you raise an eyebrow.

"Okay, you can tell me now," you say, taking the flower but eyeing him suspiciously.

"What?" he laughs, feigning innocence.

"You know I wasn’t suspicious until you gave me flowers," you tease, poking at him with your free hand. "So what’s this all about?"

Minho grins, leaning back in his chair, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh. "I just felt bad for the elderly lady," he explains with a shrug.

You narrow your eyes, skeptical. "The last time you gave me flowers, you were apologizing for lying to me."

He chuckles, taking a sip of water as if stalling.

Leaning in, you lower your voice conspiratorially. "Did you sell the building to pay for your secret gambling debt?"

"No!" Minho laughs, shaking his head at your wild guess.

"Did you kill someone and need my help to bury the body?" you continue, your tone playful but serious.

His lips twitch into a smirk. "You’d help me bury the body?"

"Depends on who you killed," you joke, tearing a piece of bread and popping it into your mouth. "Whoever it was probably deserved it."

Minho’s laughter fades into a thoughtful smile. There was, in fact, something he needed to tell you, something he’s been holding back. After a moment, he clears his throat, turning more serious.

"You remember Hyunjin?" he asks.

You tilt your head. "The beautiful, tall guy with long dark hair and a rose tattoo on his finger?"

Minho narrows his eyes, pointing at your baby bump. "Be careful, you're already cheating on me with that little shit."

You laugh and put all of your attention on him, "Go on, what about Hyunjin?"

"He invited me to do a guest spot at his parlor," Minho says in a rush, blurting out the words.

You blink at him. "You want to do it?"

He nods slowly. "Yeah. I think it’d be... fun."

You smile softly, seeing how much he wants it. "Then you should do it."

Minho hesitates, his hand tightening slightly on your thigh. "But I can’t leave you. Not when you’re…"

"Yes, you can," you cut him off gently, placing your hand over his, "And you will."

"But I’ll be away for two weeks," he protests, his voice softening with worry.

"That’s fine. I’ll be on maternity leave anyway," you remind him, tearing another piece of bread. "It works out."

Minho stares at you for a moment, his heart swelling with gratitude and love. "You’re okay with it?" he asks, still unsure why he hesitated so much in the first place.

"Look, Minho," you begin, squeezing his hand, "You’ve done so much for me, for us. I want you to be able to do your thing too."

The simplicity of your words hits him harder than he expected. He looks at you, feeling overwhelmed with how lucky he is to have you as his partner, someone who understands him without him needing to explain. You give him the freedom to be his own person while still being a devoted father and husband.

"I don’t want you to hesitate to tell me the next time you have something you want to do, okay?" You add, your voice soft yet firm.

Minho nods, the smile that spreads across his face filled with love and gratitude. He leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

-

The apartment feels quieter than usual with Byeol spending the weekend with your parents. Despite the peace, a slight ache of longing tugs at your chest, so you call her to hear her voice. After a sweet chat, you hand the phone to Minho so she can talk with her dad.

“We’ll pick you up tomorrow, okay?” he says softly to your daughter. He smiles at something she says, his voice tender as he adds, “Sleep well. Goodnight!” He hangs up, and you sigh, shifting for what feels like the hundredth time beside him.

“The little shit won’t stop moving,” you mutter, rubbing your belly in frustration.

Minho puts your phone away and leans against the headboard, patting the space between his legs. “Come here.”

You shuffle over, leaning your back against his chest. His arms wrap around you, and his hands instantly find your swollen belly, rubbing gentle, soothing circles over it. His touch has always been your comfort.

“I think little shit can’t sleep because of the horror movie we watched earlier,” you murmur, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

He chuckles softly, his fingers tracing patterns beneath your camisole, feeling every tiny kick and movement. “No, I think little shit is just excited.”

The sensation of his hands on you, tender yet firm, is grounding. Slowly, the tension eases from your body. You melt into his warmth, your eyelids growing heavier with each caress. Minho presses a series of soft kisses along your temple, quiet and full of affection. His hand reaches for yours and he slips his fingers in between.

Knowing that he's noticing your swollen fingers, you say, "I need to take the wedding ring off."

Without saying anything, Minho takes it off for you and slightly struggling doing it. Once he successfully takes it off, he safely places the ring on the bedside table.

“How can I leave if you’re like this, mmh?” he whispers, his lips brushing your skin.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Minho," You smile sleepily, your eyes barely open. "I’ll be okay.”

"No, I mean, leaving you and you're not wearing the wedding ring..." he says with a playful smirk.

Your laugh vibrates through him, "I don’t think people would try to flirt with pregnant woman."

"I do," he shamelessly admits.

"That’s because you're deranged," you teasingly say and look over you shoulder at him, "my deranged husband."

His arms tighten around you, and though he knows you’re right, the thought of leaving still tugs at him. But as he feels you relax completely in his embrace, he remembers that if there's one thing he learned from years of being married to you is that you're stronger than you look.

-

It's 3 a.m., but Minho can’t bring himself to move. He lies there, watching you sleep peacefully beside him, your belly softly rising and falling with each breath. Part of him wishes he could stay, to spend the whole day with you. After a while, he reluctantly leans in, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to your cheek before carefully pulling himself away.

He slips out of bed, moving quietly around the room, trying not to disturb you. The first flight out of the city awaits, and he needs to be at the airport in less than an hour. Minho takes his suitcase downstairs, leaving it by the door before heading back upstairs for a proper goodbye.

He steps into Byeol’s room, pausing at the edge of her bed, watching her little form snuggled under the blankets. She looks so peaceful, and it tugs at his heart.

“Daddy will be back,” he whispers, brushing a few stray hairs off her forehead. Leaning down, he places a soft kiss there. “Love you, my little star.”

He makes a quiet exit from her room but freezes when he sees you standing in the doorway of your bedroom, your hands resting gently on your growing bump, a sleepy but warm smile on your face.

“You think you can get rid of me that easily, huh?” you tease, your voice low and playful.

Minho grins, walking over to meet you, and together, you head downstairs just as the taxi pulls up outside. The driver steps out to help with the luggage as Minho turns back to you, double-checking everything.

“Got your wallet? Flight tickets?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Got them,” he confirms, patting his jacket pocket.

“Are you sure you’re not forgetting anything?” You ask again.

There’s a sly smile on your lips, and Minho hesitates, trying to remember. You squint, holding up his phone that you’d swiped without him noticing. He smiles, taking it from you and tapping on the screen, only to see that you’ve changed his lock screen to a photo of you and Byeol.

“So you remember you’ve got a wife and a daughter waiting for you at home,” you say with a playful smirk.

Minho laughs, but when he unlocks the phone, he finds another surprise—a rather provocative picture of you, posing in a way that makes him flashing you a mischievous grin.

“Just a friendly reminder of what you’ll be losing if you even think about flirting with anyone,” you warn him, your tone teasing but with an edge of seriousness.

Minho tucks his phone away, stepping close to you, though your belly stops him from getting as close as he’d like. He places a hand tenderly on your bump, rubbing it in slow circles. “Keep this little shit inside until I get back, okay?”

You chuckle, your hand covering his. “I’ll try.”

His other hand cups your face, pulling you into a deep, lingering kiss. There’s something tender, something a little desperate about the way he holds you, as if this moment is too precious to let go.

“I love you,” he whispers between kisses, his voice low and full of feeling.

“I love you,” you murmur back, your smile soft against his lips, your forehead resting against his.

With a final kiss, Minho lets go, though his hand remains intertwined with yours. He traces his thumb across your cheek, as if memorizing your features one last time.

“Take care, and be back safely,” you say, your smile bittersweet.

He nods, but his legs feel heavy. This is the first time he’s leaving his family, and it’s harder than he anticipated. His body doesn’t want to move, like it’s rooted to the spot, not ready to let go.

“And don’t forget to enjoy yourself too, mmh?” you add with a warm smile.

Minho swallows the knot in his throat, forcing a smile. “I will.”

Finally, he turns toward the taxi, walking slowly as if each step pulls him further from you. He doesn’t look back—not yet—because he knows he’ll run straight back into your arms. Only when the taxi starts driving away does he glance back, watching you wave until he disappears down the street.

-

The red traffic light seems to stretch endlessly, making every minute feel like an hour. You glance over at the passenger seat, where the carefully packed dinner is growing colder by the second. As soon as the light turns green, you press down on the gas, navigating through the streets at the maximum speed allowed. There’s no time to waste, but you remind yourself that it’s better to make it home in one piece.

With a deep breath, you haul everything out of the car and begin your slow ascent up the stairs. Each step is a challenge with your swollen baby bump, and by the time you reach the third floor, you’re panting.

"Felix, I’m so sorry," you blurt out the moment you open the door to the apartment, "The traffic was horrible..." You trail off as you hurriedly place the bags on the dining table, relieved to finally be home.

The balance between work, pregnancy, and taking care of Byeol has become a juggling act without Minho around, and everyone in the parlor has been taking turns in helping you doing one of them.

As you catch your breath and turn towards the living room, you can’t help but chuckle at the sight before you. Byeol is perched on the couch, happily tying Felix’s long bleached hair into tiny ponytails, adding hairpins and colorful stickers to his face.

"It’s okay, we’re having fun," Felix says, staying as still as possible so Byeol can work on his hair. "Right, rockstar?"

"Mm-mmh," Byeol hums in agreement, her focus entirely on securing a final hairpin in place.

You laugh softly, “You two look like you’re having a blast.”

Once she finishes with Felix’s hair, Byeol runs over to you and hugs your waist, her small arms barely reaching around your bump. "Mommy’s home!" she giggles.

You smile down at her, stroking her hair gently. "Let’s have dinner first, alright? You must be hungry."

Her eyes light up as she eagerly asks, "What’s for dinner?"

"It’s your favorite—soup dumplings," you announce, watching her face brighten. "Go wash your hands first!"

Byeol scampers off to the sink as you turn back to Felix, who’s gently pulling the last hairpins out of his hair.

"Are you staying for dinner?" you ask while unpacking the food.

Felix shakes his head, running a hand through his now free-flowing hair. "I’ve actually got dinner plans with a friend, so I’ll head out."

"Sorry for keeping you," you say apologetically, glancing at the mess of stickers still plastered across his face. You step closer, helping him peel the last of them off.

Felix chuckles, grabbing his jacket. "It’s no problem, really."

"Byeol, say goodbye to Uncle Felix," you call as she finishes washing her hands.

"Thank you for playing with me, Uncle Felix," she says sweetly, running over to give him a hug.

"You’re very welcome, rockstar," Felix replies, hugging her back before standing up to give you a hug as well.

After he leaves, you feel the weight of the past week without Minho settle in. It’s been tough managing everything, but tomorrow marks the start of your maternity leave, and the relief is almost palpable.

"Have you done your homework?" you ask, wiping some leftover sauce from Byeol’s mouth as she finishes her dinner.

"Mommy, I don’t have school tomorrow," she giggles.

"Oh, right! Mommy forgot," you chuckle, realizing it’s school break. "Do you want to do something fun tomorrow?"

Byeol’s eyes widen with excitement. "Mommy’s not working?"

"Nope, no work!" you confirm with a smile.

Her face lights up even more. "I want to go to the aquarium!"

You pause, recalling that she’s already been there recently, but you quickly realize she’s asking for something more—time with you. With another baby on the way, your one-on-one moments with Byeol have been scarce.

"You know what? Tomorrow, we’ll go to the aquarium, and we’ll do whatever else you want. How does that sound?"

"Really, mommy?" she asks, her voice full of wonder.

"Really," you reply, smiling as you brush a hand over her hair.

The next morning, Byeol wakes up buzzing with excitement. She puts on her best clothes and even helps you pack a few things for the day. When you arrive at the parlor downstairs, Byeol is bursting with anticipation.

"Where are you going, superstar?" Sujin asks, opening her arms for a hug.

"I’m going to the aquarium with Mommy!" she declares proudly.

Sujin playfully pouts, "Can Auntie Sujin come too?"

"No," Byeol shakes her head, giggling as Sujin pretends to be offended.

Felix joins in, "What about me? Can I come?"

"No," Byeol repeats, still giggling. "It’s just me and Mommy!"

With everything packed and Byeol bubbling with excitement, you wave goodbye to the parlor crew and head out for a day that’s all about your little girl.

At the aquarium, Byeol is in awe of everything, dragging you from tank to tank, her tiny hand gripping yours as she points excitedly at the sea creatures. "Mommy, look!" she exclaims every few minutes, her eyes wide with wonder.

After hours of exploring, you stop for a quick lunch, letting Byeol take charge of ordering for both of you. She confidently hands over your credit card at the window, beaming with pride.

"So, what do you want to do next?" you ask between bites of fries.

She thinks for a moment before asking, "What about you, Mommy? What do you want to do?"

Caught off guard by her question, you blink a few times, then chuckle. "How about we get our nails done? Or we can watch a movie, or go shopping. What do you think?"

"I want to paint my nails too!" Byeol says, her enthusiasm never faltering.

You smile at the thought. "Alright, why don’t you pick the color, and we’ll have matching nails?"

No one knows your daughter best than you, she likes playing soccer instead of with her dolls, she always prefers to look scary for Halloween instead of dressed as princesses and recently, she mentioned that she wants to take a taekwondo class, you always thought she leans toward such things but you realize that there's so many sides of her that you just haven't discovered yet. A person can be so many things, there's no limit to what they like or what they interest in, for all you know, Byeol can be anything she wants.

Byeol takes the task seriously, carefully scanning the color options before choosing a vibrant purple. The two of you sit side by side at the salon, giggling as your nails are painted, Byeol opting for colorful flower designs on hers.

By the time dinner rolls around, you’re both exhausted but happy. As you head back home, Byeol suddenly dashes toward the elevator.

"Please hold the door! My mommy is pregnant, and she can’t walk fast!" she calls out to the person inside.

The lady smiles kindly and holds the door open. "What a thoughtful little girl you have," she says, patting Byeol’s head as you finally catch up.

"I’m lucky," you reply, pulling Byeol close as the two of you step inside.

As you reflect on the day, you can’t help but feel immense pride in your daughter. She’s growing up so fast, learning and becoming her own person in ways you hadn’t even noticed. You smile to yourself, knowing that no matter what, Byeol is already shaping up to be someone wonderful—someone strong, caring, and unafraid to try new things.

-

As you enter Byeol’s room, the weight of the day settles in, the ache in your feet reminding you of just how much you walked. Still, your little one inside won’t let you rest, kicking incessantly since you got home.

"Ready for bed, starshine?" you ask, watching Byeol eagerly climb under her covers.

"Yes, mommy," she replies, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

You wince slightly as you sit down beside her, gently tucking her in, and she notices immediately.

"Are you okay, mommy?" she asks, her voice full of concern.

"Mommy’s okay," you assure her with a smile. "The baby just keeps kicking."

Byeol, curious and excited, places her small hand on your belly, waiting. Her eyes widen when she feels a kick, and she grins up at you.

"So, did you have fun today?" you ask, softly brushing her hair back.

"I had so much fun!" she says, cuddling into your chest, her voice brimming with joy.

"We can do it again tomorrow," you say, leaning down to kiss her head.

"Mommy’s not working tomorrow?" she asks, her wide eyes hopeful.

"No, mommy is on maternity leave," you explain.

"What’s that?" she questions, her confusion evident.

"It means mommy doesn’t have to work until this baby pops out," you explain simply.

She brightly smiles when she hears it. She throws her arms around you and hugs you tightly as she says, "I love you, mommy."

Your heart shakes from hearing the earnestness in her words, you feel tears forming on the corner of your eyes. You blink them away and put on a smile as you say back, "And mommy loves you too."

You pull the blanket to cover her body and softly pat her head, "You must be tired. Let's get to sleep, yeah?"

She nods as drowsiness starts taking over her, "Goodnight, mommy."

"Goodnight, my shining star," you murmur with a lingering kiss on her forehead.

In your bedroom, you take a moment to sit on the bed and just process everything until you get overwhelmed by the emotions of the day. Tears prick at your eyes, but they’re a mix of joy, exhaustion, and love. Just as you start to wipe them away, the phone rings, and Minho’s name flashes on the screen. You quickly take a deep breath, not wanting to let him hear your tears, and answer the call.

"Hi, honey," you greet him with forced cheer.

"Hey, pisspants," he teases, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

"How are you?" you ask, smiling despite yourself.

"I’m surprisingly fine without you," he jokes, and you roll your eyes, "Byeol?"

"All tucked in, not a chance of escape," you say with a playful chuckle.

"And the little shit?" he asks, referring to the baby.

"Practicing kickboxing in here," you say, rubbing your belly as the baby kicks again as if on cue.

"How was your day?" you ask, settling deeper into the bed, "No, wait, unless you tattooed someone’s buttock, I don’t want to hear it," you add with a laugh.

"Sadly, no," Minho replies with a grin in his voice.

"Then ask about my day," you demand, feeling a little more playful.

"Okay, how was your day?" he caves, amused.

You launch into the story of your day, telling him every detail from the morning to the aquarium trip, to Byeol ordering food at the drive-thru, and you can hear his smile through the phone as he listens. He interjects every now and then, keeping up the light banter, and for a moment, it feels like he’s right there with you.

"That sounds fun. I’m jealous," he says when you finish.

"It was," you sigh happily.

It’s moments like these, his teasing, his calm presence, that you miss the most. Your chest tightens with the ache of missing him.

"I miss you," you admit quietly, the tears from earlier creeping back up your throat.

"I miss you too, honey," he says softly, and you can feel the sincerity in his voice.

Even though he’s miles away, in that moment, you feel connected to him, the distance fading as you share the quiet agony of longing for each other.

-

The moment Minho steps off the plane, the cool airport air hits him, a welcome contrast to the hours spent in the stale cabin. He rolls his stiff shoulders, grateful to be on solid ground. He pulls out his phone, ready to text you, expecting to wait for a ride.

But as he walks toward baggage claim, he stops in his tracks, his eyes widening. There, standing just past the barrier, are you and Byeol.

His heart stutters, caught between surprise and overwhelming joy. He wasn’t expecting you to come all this way, especially with your swollen belly and how much you’ve been juggling at home. But here you are, and you’ve brought Byeol, her small face lighting up the second she sees him.

"Daddy!" Byeol yells, her voice cutting through the hum of the crowd as she breaks into a run toward him.

Minho barely has time to drop his carry-on before she’s in his arms, her little body crashing into his with all the force her excitement can muster. He lifts her easily, despite the weariness from the long flight, her tiny arms wrapping tightly around his neck.

"Hi, honey," he murmurs, pressing his lips to her head, his heart swelling in his chest.

Then, his eyes lift to meet yours. You're standing there, smiling softly at him, looking beautiful and tired all at once, your hand resting on your rounded belly. The sight of you—the woman he loves, the mother of his child, the one carrying their second—hits him harder than he thought it would. Something about seeing his family, all here, waiting for him, fills his heart to the brim. His throat tightens, and before he can stop it, he feels the burn of tears behind his eyes.

"You came to pick me up?" His voice cracks, and he immediately feels a bit ridiculous, blinking away the moisture threatening to spill over.

You nod, your smile warm and knowing as you step closer. "We couldn’t wait to see you," you say softly, reaching up to place a hand on his cheek.

He closes his eyes at your touch, leaning into it, savoring the warmth of your skin against his. Byeol wriggles in his arms, pulling back to look at him with a beaming smile.

"We missed you, Daddy," she says, her bright eyes reflecting her joy.

"I missed you too, shining star," Minho says, his voice thick with emotion.

You step into his other side, wrapping your arms around both of them, and he feels it—the peace, the love, the sense of home that he’s been missing. His arms tighten around you both, holding onto the moment, grounding himself in the comfort of your presence.

It’s not just relief from the long trip or the exhaustion of work; it’s the realization of how much his heart aches when he’s away from you two. Being here, now, with his family, everything else fades.

"I’m home," he whispers, his voice barely audible above the hum of the airport.

"And we’re so glad you are," you reply, your lips brushing against his cheek as you pull him into a deeper embrace.

For a moment, he lets himself feel it all—the happiness, the gratitude, the love. His family, his home, right here in his arms.

-

Minho is finally home.

Everything feels familiar, but there’s an undeniable shift in the air. His eyes sweep across the apartment, noticing the small yet significant changes—there’s a crib in the corner of the bedroom now, baby clothes draped over the armchair, bottles, and toys beginning to clutter spaces that once held nothing but the quiet simplicity of your shared life. A reminder that soon, his family will grow by one more.

He makes his way into the bathroom where you're standing at the sink, gently rubbing cream on your face. He watches you through the mirror for a moment, taking in how radiant you look, despite the exhaustion he knows you've been feeling. You catch his gaze and smile softly.

"Getting bigger," Minho comments, his eyes tracing your reflection as he walks up behind you.

At first, you assume he's talking about your growing belly, especially with how close you are to your due date. But when his hands slide around your front, you burst into laughter as they make their way up to cup your breasts.

"Just how you like them, huh?" you tease, glancing at him in the mirror with a grin.

He smirks, placing a sweet kiss on your neck. "Always," he murmurs against your skin. But then, with a softer smile, his hands move down to your belly, cradling it from underneath, lifting it gently as though taking some of the weight off you.

You let out a small, relieved moan, closing your eyes as you lean back into him. "Why can't you do this for me every day?" you joke, though the gratitude in your voice is clear.

It’s been months of carrying this weight, of swollen feet and sleepless nights. And yet, somehow, in these small moments with him, it all feels worth it.

Minho presses his lips to your shoulder, lingering in the warmth of your skin. "I missed you," he whispers, but it’s not just missing you physically. There’s a depth to his words, like he’s been holding his breath, and now that he’s back, he can finally exhale.

His lips trail down to the crook of your neck, and before long, you find yourself in the bedroom, lying on your back, your head resting on the pillow as he hovers above you. His movements are gentle, careful, as he enters you. Not too deep, just enough to feel you, to remind himself of what it’s like to be with you this way.

You laugh softly, a contented sound that fills the room. "I can’t see it, but it feels so good," you say, your hands tracing the lines of his tattoos, the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers.

Minho smiles, his heart swelling at your touch, your voice. He moves slowly, cautiously, not wanting to push too far, not wanting to hurt you or the baby. His hands brace beside you, propped against the mattress, keeping himself steady.

Your hands find his face, pulling him down to kiss you, and he’s lost in the sensation of your lips against his, the sound of your quiet moans urging him on. He missed this — missed the intimacy, the connection, the feeling of being one with you.

"Honey," he breathes, his voice thick with longing. He presses his lips to your neck, your chest, savoring every inch of you.

You moan his name softly, your eyes half-lidded as you look up at him, and that’s all it takes for Minho to reach his release, his body tensing as he comes, his seed spilling inside you. He pulls out just a second too late, but he doesn’t care. In this moment, all that matters is you, the life you’ve built together, and the one growing between you.

His hand comes up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he leans down to kiss you deeply. When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless, your eyes locked on his. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze that surprises you, and it hits you just how much this moment means to him.

The weight of his emotions threatens to overwhelm him, but Minho lets it all out, lets himself feel it all as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice low and raw.

"I love you too," you reply, your voice filled with all the love you’ve carried for him through the years, through the ups and downs, the changes and the constants.

Tears slip down your cheeks as you kiss him again, both of you lost in the tenderness of the moment, the unspoken promise that no matter what, you’ll always have each other.

-

Minho doesn't have much to do around the house as you’ve already tackled most of the chores. He knows you like to keep yourself busy, but watching you move around, especially with the baby almost here, makes him a little anxious. Seeing you now, carrying a full laundry basket down the stairs, only increases his concern.

“Slow down, or you’re going to piss your pants again,” Minho teases, leaning against the doorframe.

You chuckle, setting the basket down on the carpet. “I’m doing alright, honey,” you assure him, lowering yourself onto the sofa with a small sigh.

Before you can start folding the laundry, Minho steps in and grabs the basket from you. “Nope. Not today,” he says, replacing the basket with a plate of sliced fruits. “Take a break. You can do the laundry later.”

You sigh in defeat but take the plate from him, nibbling on a piece of apple dipped in peanut butter. While you sit back and relax, Minho quickly handles the laundry, but when he returns, he catches you making another attempt to escape.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“I don’t want to piss my pants again,” you shout with a laugh, already halfway to the bathroom.

Minho shakes his head with a grin and waits in the living room until you come back. But when you return, your expression isn’t playful anymore—it’s tense, and there’s a weird look on your face.

"You didn’t make it to the bathroom right on time?" Minho jokes, trying to keep things light.

You sit slowly on the sofa and lean back, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I’m not sure… but I think… I just lost the mucus plug,” you say, biting your lip.

Minho feels the tension in his chest as your words sink in. Though he stays calm, he knows what this means. It’s one of the first signs that labor is near, and while he doesn’t want to alarm you, he’s on high alert now.

He moves closer, his hand gently resting on your belly. "Are you okay? Do you feel any pain?"

"My back is always in pain,” you answer with a sigh, “but I’m good for now."

"Should we get ready to go to the hospital?" Minho asks, his hand moving to rub your lower back in soothing circles.

“It could be a false alarm,” you say with a faint smile, “but just in case, yes.”

Minho nods, appreciating how calm you’re trying to stay. Luckily, thanks to your meticulous planning, the hospital bags were packed weeks ago. All he has to do is grab them from the closet and put them in the car.

"Do you want to go now?" he asks as he notices that you've been getting contractions.

You nod but don’t say anything, your expression showing you’re trying to breathe through the pain.

The drive to the hospital feels like an eternity, even though Minho is breaking every speed limit. He glances over at you, your hand resting protectively over your belly, your breathing uneven as you try to power through the contractions. He reaches out and takes your hand, squeezing it gently.

“We’re almost there,” he reassures you, his voice is calm but tight with worry.

Minutes later, you’re arrived at the hospital. Nurses are already waiting with a wheelchair, and Minho quickly helps you into it. His worry is more apparent on his face now.

"It’s going to be okay," you tell him as you squeeze his hand.

"I know," he says, flashing you a faint yet genuine smile.

Your journey through labor has begun, and Minho is right by your side, ready for whatever comes next.

-

After labor, you drift in and out of consciousness for what feels like hours. It isn’t until the nurse enters your room to check on you that you start to come around, your senses slowly gathering themselves.

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” the nurse apologizes softly, noticing your eyes flutter open.

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” you say with a weak but warm smile. Your body feels heavy, but there’s a lightness in your heart knowing what’s coming next.

Shortly after, they bring you a meal to help you regain some strength. Hospital food is always hit or miss—sometimes it’s surprisingly good, other times it’s bland. But today, the pudding is exactly what you need, a small but satisfying comfort.

Minho had to leave to handle a few things at home and will return soon with Byeol. For now, you’re alone, savoring the quiet until the nurse returns, this time pushing the bassinet small into the room. Your heart skips, and a soft smile pulls at your lips, knowing you’re about to meet your baby again.

When you first met your little one in the operating room, it had all been a blur—tears, sweat, and a whirlwind of pain. You hadn’t been able to focus through the intensity of it all. But now, as the nurse gently settles the bassinet beside your bed, the moment feels much more real.

“You might want to start with breastfeeding initiation,” the nurse suggests kindly, helping you get comfortable before carefully placing the baby in your arms.

“Thank you,” you mutter, your voice soft, eyes fixed on the tiny bundle in your arms. His little face is peaceful, his cheeks flushed and warm. As soon as the nurse leaves, it truly hits you: he’s yours. This little boy was inside of you just hours ago, and now, he’s here, cradled against your chest.

“So it’s you, huh?” you murmur in awe, brushing your finger along his tiny hand. “The one who’s been kickboxing inside mommy’s tummy?”

His tiny forehead crinkles, and your heart swells as a tear slips down your cheek. He’s so beautiful. Fragile, yet so full of life. You can’t stop smiling through the tears, utterly captivated by him. Then, he lets out a soft cry, his little face scrunching up. You remember what the nurse said about breastfeeding and shift him into position, unsure if you’re even producing milk yet.

It takes a moment, but he begins to nurse, and the world seems to still around you. You forgot how intimate this moment feels—how sacred it is to have your baby so close, sharing this connection. As he feeds, the overwhelming emotions settle deeper into your chest, filling you with love, gratitude, and an inexplicable sense of completeness.

Not long after, the quiet of the room is broken by a familiar voice.

“Mommy! Mommy!” Byeol calls, her excitement spilling into the room as she bursts through the door.

You glance up and see her little feet moving quickly toward you. “Oh, honey, you’re finally here!” you exclaim, a broad smile breaking across your face. “Mommy missed you.”

“I missed you too, Mommy!” Byeol beams up at you before holding up something in her hands—a small, stuffed bunny.

“What’s that?” you ask curiously, your heart swelling as Minho steps into the room behind her, his eyes locking onto yours. He’s holding your hand before you know it, the unspoken emotions passing between you as you both look down at the baby in your arms.

“This is for the baby!” Byeol announces proudly, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

“That’s so nice of you, honey,” you say, feeling tears prick your eyes again, this time from the tenderness of the moment. “Come sit next to Mommy.”

You shift over on the bed to make room for Byeol, and Minho helps her climb up. Once she’s seated beside you, her gaze locks onto her baby brother, her little hands twitching, eager but hesitant to touch him.

“He’s so tiny, Mommy,” she giggles, eyes wide with wonder.

“Do you want to hold him?” you ask softly.

Byeol glances at Minho as if seeking permission, then nods at you, her smile growing. Together, you and Minho help her hold the baby carefully, cradling his weight between her small arms and your supportive hands.

“Meet your little brother, Haneul,” you whisper, introducing the two of them for the very first time.

Byeol’s eyes light up as she gazes down at him, the gentle awe never leaving her face. After a moment, she bravely reaches out and pokes his chubby cheek. “He’s so squishy!” she declares, making you laugh softly.

“You can kiss him if you want,” you encourage.

Without hesitation, Byeol leans forward and plants a sweet kiss on Haneul’s cheek, giggling as she pulls back. “He’s so cute, Mommy,” she whispers, resting her head close to him, her protective little arms still cradling him carefully.

Your heart feels like it might burst at the sight of them together—your children. You squeeze Minho’s hand, overcome by the love you feel for your family. As you turn to look at him, tears glisten in your eyes, but they’re happy tears—grateful, joyful tears.

Minho smiles softly, a quiet understanding in his eyes. He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your head, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

In this moment, everything feels perfect. Your family has grown, and with this new little life, your world feels more whole than ever before.

-

For the rest of the day, both your families come to visit you at the hospital, offering congratulations and warmth to the new addition to your family. As the evening settles in, the Oddinary arrive, right after the tattoo parlor has closed for the day. Their familiar presence fills the room, bringing laughter, chatter, and of course, food. They even bring pizzas to celebrate the occasion.

As Sujin gently holds little Haneul in her arms, she studies him with an appraising look while Felix peers over her shoulder in awe.

“Babies are ugly, but this one…” Sujin starts, narrowing her eyes playfully as she shifts Haneul in her arms, “…this one is beautiful. Props to you, girl!” She flashes you a proud, almost approving smile.

“Thank you,” you manage to respond, cheeks flushed as you take another bite of pizza, appreciating the warmth of her compliment.

Minho, feeling somewhat left out, leans back in his chair and shoots Sujin a mock offended look. “No props to me?”

Sujin doesn’t miss a beat, throwing him a teasing glare. “She’s the one who carried him for nine months.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Which is kind of unfair,” you add. “I carried him for nine months, and he came out looking just like his dad.”

Minho had never been overly concerned with whether the baby was a boy or girl—he’d love them no matter what. But when he saw Haneul for the first time, he was struck by just how much the baby resembled him. It had been a delightful surprise, one he hadn’t expected but welcomed wholeheartedly.

Felix, ever curious, rubs a tattooed finger gently over Haneul’s cheek, marveling at how soft the baby’s skin is. But Haneul’s reaction is immediate—his tiny face scrunches up, and he starts to cry.

Felix’s eyes go wide in surprise, his hands freezing in place. “Why did you touch the baby with your greasy hands?” Sujin hisses at him, swatting at his arm.

“I— I didn’t mean to!” Felix stammers, holding up his hands in surrender, his face a mix of guilt and panic.

“It’s okay,” you laugh, waving off the commotion. “It’s about time I feed him anyway.” You finish your slice of pizza quickly and hold out your arms, signaling for Sujin to hand Haneul back to you.

Sujin carefully places the still-crying baby in your arms, and as you begin to unbutton the front of your shirt, everyone else takes it as their cue to leave the room.

“We’ll give you some privacy,” Sujin announces with a smirk before gathering the rest of the Oddinary. Felix, still looking slightly guilty, waves awkwardly as he trails behind the others.

Once Minho sent everyone off on their way, he takes a minute to call his parents to check on Byeol. She’ll be staying with them until you’re discharged from the hospital. When he returns, he’s greeted by the sight of you cradling Haneul in your arms, a soft, loving expression on your face. In this moment, with the room bathed in the gentle glow of the hospital lights, you look absolutely radiant to him. He’s struck by how serene and beautiful you seem, completely immersed in your maternal role.

Without a word, Minho moves to tidy up the room, throwing away the empty pizza boxes and soda cans before washing his hands. Then, he comes to sit beside you on the bed, leaning in to get a closer look at your son.

“He’s so beautiful,” you whisper, your eyes glancing up at Minho with a smile.

“He has your eyes, your lips…” you murmur as you gently caress Haneul’s cheek with your knuckle. You pause, then give his tiny nose a playful boop. “Even your nose.”

A wide smile spreads across your face as you bring Haneul a little closer, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “I think I’ve fallen in love…” you admit, your voice filled with quiet wonder.

Minho watches you closely, recognizing that you’ve been wearing that same smile ever since you first laid eyes on Haneul. He knows he feels the same, though he’s always been better at concealing his emotions. Still, he can’t hide the warmth that spreads through his chest as he watches you with your son.

Just then, Haneul begins to coo softly, his tiny hand rubbing at his face, his features scrunching up again as if he’s about to cry.

“You want Daddy, mmh?” you guess softly, glancing up at Minho before carefully handing Haneul over to him.

Minho quickly sits beside you, taking Haneul into his tattooed arms. It’s only the second time he’s held his son today, the first being the moment of skin-to-skin contact just after Haneul was born. As Minho holds him now, he’s struck again by how small and delicate the baby feels in his arms.

You wrap your arm around Minho’s waist, resting your chin gently on his shoulder. Together, you both gaze down at Haneul, your hearts overflowing with love and gratitude for this little life you’ve brought into the world.

You press a soft kiss to Minho’s neck and murmur, “We made that.”

Minho turns his head to look at you, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “We made it,” he echoes softly.

As Minho holds Haneul close, a sense of responsibility settles over him. The weight of being a father to two now, of being a husband and the head of a growing family—it all becomes real in this quiet moment. He knows that he must strive to be the best father, the best husband, the best version of himself for you, for Byeol, and now for Haneul. And as he looks back at you, the love he feels for you both is unmistakable, filling him with an unshakable sense of purpose.

-

It's another day in Minho’s life, except that his routine has shifted just a bit, revolving around the new addition to the family. For Minho to keep up with the tattoo parlor during the day, you insisted on taking care of baby Haneul during the night, allowing him the rest he needs. Yet, Minho can’t help but sacrifice some of his sleep to wake up earlier than usual, cherishing these moments with his newborn son.

As always, he begins his morning by cuddling up to you. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek before slowly slipping out of bed. His first stop is Haneul’s crib, where the baby sleeps soundly, his tiny mouth making faint sucking motions as if he’s dreaming of breastfeeding. Minho smiles at the sight—how peaceful, how precious.

After washing up, Minho moves to prepare a bath for Haneul. His hands, trained from years of precise work as a tattoo artist, move skillfully as he fills the tub. His calm and steady touch proves invaluable during moments like this. Even when Haneul wakes up, startled and crying from the disturbance, Minho remains calm.

"It’ll be done soon," Minho murmurs softly, his voice soothing as he bathes his son.

Once Haneul is clean and dressed, Minho already has a bottle of breastmilk prepared to settle him back down. He cradles him gently in his arms, swaying and lulling him back to sleep as he feeds, planting a gentle kiss on his son’s cheek. Soon enough, Haneul’s little eyes flutter closed again, and Minho carefully places him back into the crib, brushing a hand over his soft hair before moving on with his morning routine.

Minho heads to the kitchen, starting with a cup of coffee to fuel the rest of his tasks. He waters the plants, then begins cooking breakfast. His steady rhythm in the kitchen feels like second nature now—cooking for the family has become one of his favorite parts of the day. He doesn’t forget to prepare Byeol’s lunch either, tucking in a little note with a doodle like he always does.

Just as he’s finishing up, you emerge from the bedroom, looking sleepy but determined to join him for breakfast.

"You stopped asking what's for breakfast," Minho remarks with a smile as he plates the food, setting it on the table for you.

"At this point, I’ll just eat whatever you give me," you reply, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips.

Minho chuckles, leaning down to place a kiss on your temple. It’s these little moments, the small exchanges that feel so intimate and warm, that fill him with a sense of contentment.

Soon, Byeol comes bounding into the dining room, full of energy and eager to tell you both about her excitement for school. As she slides into her chair, she chatters on about her favorite subject and what she can’t wait to learn today. Minho listens, glancing over at you with a small smile, feeling like these moments of normalcy are truly where life happens.

When it’s time to leave for school, Byeol rushes over to give you a big hug and kiss before heading to Haneul’s crib to say her goodbyes to her little brother. Minho watches the scene with pride swelling in his chest. He’s always been amazed by how naturally Byeol has taken to being a big sister.

Minho doesn’t leave without his own goodbye. He pulls you close, pressing a quick but loving kiss to your lips.

“See you soon,” he murmurs softly, his forehead brushing against yours for a moment before he stands, guiding Byeol towards the door.

"Bye, bye, Mommy!" Byeol chirps, waving as Minho holds the door open for her.

"Have a great day at school, my shining star!" you call back, waving with a smile that’s tired but full of love.

As Minho buckles Byeol into the car and starts the drive to school, he finds himself reflecting on how different his life is now. It’s not the grand gestures or the monumental events that have shaped him, but rather the small, quiet moments like this—breakfast with his family, goodbyes before school, the peaceful early morning routine with his son.

These little slices of heaven, day after day, are what fill his heart with gratitude. And in these moments, he knows there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

-

Motherhood is exhausting.

It’s not just the lack of sleep or the endless list of physical discomforts. There’s the emotional rollercoaster no one warns you about—the way joy and sadness seem to come in waves, sometimes crashing over you when you least expect it. After Haneul was born, you were overwhelmed by the strangeness of no longer carrying him in your belly, missing the sensation of him kicking even as you held him in your arms. It’s a bittersweet adjustment.

But Minho makes it easier. He’s always there, making sure you never feel alone. He doesn't hover, but his presence is steady, and the little gestures of love—his way of checking in on you, or simply wrapping you up in his arms—give you a sense of comfort. Today is no different.

As you change your clothes, Minho catches you in the act, watching from the edge of the bed. You’re in the middle of swapping out a blouse, frustrated as your breast milk has leaked through again.

"You look good today," Minho says casually, a sly grin forming on his lips as he admires you.

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I smell like a mix of sweat, barf, and diaper disasters.”

His smirk is playful. “Exactly my type.”

You finish buttoning your blouse and turn to face him. Despite everything your body’s been through—stretch marks, swollen feet, exhaustion—he looks at you like he always has, with a mixture of admiration and affection that never wavers. It’s comforting.

"Come here," he beckons, arms outstretched in invitation.

You don’t need to be told twice. You move into his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he pulls you close. His lips find yours, a slow, affectionate kiss that lingers, melting away the day’s fatigue.

"I guess you also smell like desperation," Minho teases as he places a kiss on your neck, his voice a low murmur against your skin.

You gently slap his chest in protest, half-heartedly. "You’re so annoying."

He only smirks and kisses you again, this time more softly. It’s moments like these that remind you why he’s your partner through all of this—his humor, his warmth, his ability to make you feel like yourself even when motherhood makes you feel anything but.

"How about I make lunch?" he asks, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "What do you feel like?"

"Hmm... I’m starving," you sigh dramatically, leaning your head against his chest. "A big sandwich would be perfect."

"Big sandwich, got it," he replies with ease.

"And make sure you add lots of love." You laugh softly, trying to lighten the mood.

"Then it’s going to taste sour," he jokes, his hands sliding down to your waist.

You laugh, enjoying the easy banter. "I don’t mind that at all."

Minho kisses your cheek and makes a move to get up, but you tighten your arms around him, not ready to let him go just yet.

"No, stay," you whine, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. "Let’s stay like this for a bit longer."

He chuckles softly and gives in, holding you closer. His tattooed arms wrap securely around you, the warmth of his body grounding you as the two of you sit quietly in the calm of the moment.

-

It’s surprising how often your baby boy needs to be fed throughout the day. As Haneul stirs in the other room, his soft cries reach your ears, and you let out a tired sigh.

“Alright, alright, give mommy a second,” you murmur, hurriedly unbuttoning your shirt. “You’re just as impatient as your daddy, huh?”

Minho enters the room again, Byeol trailing close behind him. She immediately clambers onto the bed, settling next to you and watching her baby brother feed.

"Honey, do you mind if I go out for a bit?" Minho asks, grabbing his wallet from the bedside table.

"Where to?" you ask, opening your arm for Byeol to snuggle into.

"Need to grab something from the convenience store," he answers, pulling on his jacket.

"Okay," you say, a bit distracted by Haneul feeding.

"I won't be long," he assures you, walking over to plant a kiss on the top of your head and giving Byeol a quick tickle, which sends her into giggles.

Once Minho leaves, Byeol settles beside you, gently playing with Haneul’s tiny fingers.

“Mommy, the baby’s here now,” she says thoughtfully, her small fingers brushing over Haneul’s tiny hands. “Does that mean you’ll go back to work soon?”

“Well, yes,” you answer carefully, “but not too soon.”

She looks up at you with wide, curious eyes. “Can mommy stay home every day?”

Her innocent question tugs at your heart. You hadn’t realized how much she missed these moments with just the two of you. You blink away the sudden sting of tears and stroke her hair gently.

“There’s nothing I’d love more than staying home with you and your brother, but there are people out there who need mommy’s help,” you explain softly. “And if I can help them, I should, right?”

Byeol contemplates this for a moment, her young mind trying to understand the bigger picture. Finally, she nods. “Right.”

You lean in and press a soft kiss to her forehead as you say, “But no matter what, mommy will always be here—driving you to school, watching your soccer practices, getting burgers at the drive-thru, painting our nails together.”

She beams at that, her smile making your heart swell and you continue with the most important thing you want her to know, “And mommy will always love you. So much.”

“I love you too, mommy,” she whispers, resting her head against your chest.

You hold her close, savoring the tender moment. “You’ll always be mommy’s brightest star.”

When Byeol finally drifts to sleep beside you and Haneul’s feeding comes to an end, you find yourself unable to move without disturbing them. Minho comes back into the room, his smile softening when he sees you snuggled with both children.

“I’ll carry her to bed,” he whispers, gently lifting Byeol in his arms and carrying her off to her room.

Relieved, you carefully place Haneul in his crib, your body aching from the long day. As Minho returns, he notices you massaging the back of your neck and quickly steps behind you to help, his strong hands working out the tension in your shoulders.

“Honey, I know you’re tired, but...” he begins, his voice low and soft, “Can we talk for a few minutes?”

You tense at his words, immediately wondering if something’s wrong. “Depends on what you want to talk about,” you joke, trying to mask your unease. “Is it about a secret gambling debt or a dead body you keep in the trunk of your car?”

Minho laughs, burying his face in your neck. “Close, but not quite.”

Curious, you follow him to the kitchen, your tired mind racing with possibilities. It’s not until you see the cake sitting on the table that you realize—it’s his birthday. And you forgot.

"Oh no, it’s your birthday," you whisper, feeling a wave of guilt crash over you.

"It’s not yet," Minho reassures, pulling you into his arms. His smile is soft, teasing, but without any hint of disappointment.

You bury your face in his chest, tears of exhaustion and guilt welling up in your eyes. "I’m so sorry," you sob, embarrassed that you, of all people, forgot his birthday.

Minho holds you tight, his hands gently stroking your back. "There’s nothing to be sorry about, honey," he murmurs against your hair. "I just wanted to celebrate with you."

He tilts your chin up, wiping away your tears with his thumb. "Are you really going to cry on my birthday?" he asks with a playful smirk.

You sniffle, managing a small smile. "No."

Together, you light the candles, your heart swelling with gratitude for the way he handles moments like this—with patience, understanding, and love. When the clock strikes midnight, you cheerily announce, "It's officially your birthday!"

Minho closes his eyes and makes a wish, his hand still holding yours. After he blows out the candles, you wrap your arms around him in a tight hug.

"Happy birthday, honey," you say, planting a long, chaste kiss on his lips and when you pull back, you softly apologize, "I’m sorry I don’t have a gift for you, yet."

"You’ve given me more than I could ever ask for," Minho whispers, pulling you even closer.

His hands cup your face, and you can see the depth of his emotions in his eyes. "You gave me a family, two beautiful children... I can’t thank you enough for giving me this life."

His words are simple but filled with so much emotion that tears well up in your eyes again. You kiss him softly, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you—the love, the gratitude, the life you’ve built together.

"Oh, honey," you reply, your voice trembling as you cradle his face.

Minho kisses you again, slower this time, savoring every moment. "I promise I’ll always make you happy," he whispers, his forehead resting against yours.

"You already do, Minho," you whisper back. "Every single day."

His lips press against yours once more as he mutters, "I love you."

"I love you," you reply, your heart aching with happiness.

He kisses you again, the moment full of tenderness and gratitude but when he pulls back, he gives you a cheeky grin. “So... can I blow you next?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes at his predictable humor. “Be careful, or you’ll be a father of three on your next birthday.”

Minho smirks, pulling you closer. “I'm okay with that.”

As you hold him, encased in the warmth of his love, you realize once again that no matter how hard motherhood or life gets, you could only do this with him by your side. With Minho, you can weather any storm, face any challenge, and still feel like you’re the luckiest person in the world.

With him, you can do anything.

-

The parlor has just closed when the Oddinary guys barge in, loud and excited, with a birthday cake in hand. Minho knows he can’t stop them—even if he wanted to. Once they set their minds to something, there's no talking them out of it. After all, they’re his family, long before he made and built his own.

He sighs, watching as they gather in the living room, the cake’s candles glowing warmly. Felix takes charge, lighting them with a wide grin. Minho leans back on the sofa, not exactly thrilled to be the center of attention on a day he prefers to keep low-key. The only reason he even humored celebrating last night was because he didn’t want you to feel bad for almost forgetting.

You plop down next to him, startling him out of his thoughts. Without a word, you hand him a fresh bottle of beer, and he gladly accepts it, his arm naturally wrapping around you, pulling you close to his side.

The noise in the room fades into the background as you nestle against him, the warmth of your presence grounding him. Your eyes flick to Sujin, who’s sitting across from you, gently cradling baby Haneul in her arms. You smile softly, a thought forming in your mind.

“I don’t want to impose, but Sujin...” you begin, your tone casual yet filled with meaning. “I think you’re ready.”

Sujin’s brow furrows in confusion as she shifts Haneul slightly, the tattoo on her neck straining as she leans forward. “Ready for what?”

Minho chuckles lightly, his voice laced with amusement. “You know what she meant,” he quips, shooting a playful smirk at Sujin.

Her husband, seated beside her, grins. “As for me, I’m just waiting for her.”

Sujin’s head snaps toward him, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. A slow smile begins to bloom on her face, softening her features as she glances back down at Haneul.

Minho shifts his focus to his daughter, Byeol, who’s sitting on the carpeted floor, caught between Felix and Yoon as they try to win her over. These two are in an animated debate, vying for her favor.

“Do you like Auntie Yoon more or Uncle Felix more?” Yoon asks, her voice filled with childlike curiosity, blissfully unaware of the intensity behind the question.

Minho knows this is one of those questions none of them is ever truly prepared to hear the answer to.

Byeol giggles, taking her time as if she’s carefully considering her options. After a long minute, she finally answers, “Uncle Felix!”

“I knew it!” Felix cheers in triumph, throwing his arms around Byeol and pulling her onto his lap.

Yoon, feigning disbelief, shakes her head. “No, I think Byeol isn’t taking enough time to think. I demand a retake!”

Felix, quick to defend his newfound title, presses his hands over Byeol’s ears. “No, you’re just jealous. Boooo!” he teases, sticking his tongue out and making silly faces at Yoon.

Minho fights the urge to smile, watching them act childish as usual. This kind of chaos—this kind of love—is something he cherishes, even if he’d never admit it out loud. Then, he turns his head, his gaze falling on you.

You haven’t changed. Not really. But at the same time, you have. It’s something subtle, something only he can see. A kind of growth and quiet strength that has always been there but now shines even brighter.

Some things will never change, though. Like the way you’re his anchor, the force that holds him down and keeps him steady. You’re the source of his strength and his love, the one person he trusts with every part of himself—and he knows you feel the same about him. And best of all, you’ll always be his.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” you ask, sensing the intensity in his gaze.

The noise around them swirls, but for Minho, in this moment, it’s just the two of you. He shakes his head slightly, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips.

“Nothing,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips, letting the kiss convey what words can’t.

With the new addition to his family, the house feels crowded—maybe even too crowded. He glances around the room, taking in the sight of his daughter laughing with Felix and Yoon, his son sleeping peacefully in Sujin’s arms, and the people who have been by his side since the beginning. His home is growing. It’s crowded, noisy, chaotic—but it’s home.

For now, this is enough. This is everything. This is home.

-

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[marycorcaroli]

sanji & usopp as a pussy drunk boyfriends ♡

req: Those pussy drunk Zoro/Luffy blurbs were so fucking good omg!!! Could you do one with Sanj pleasei? He's PEAK character for this scenario!!

mary♡: thank you for sending me a request and thank you for the lovely words! 🍡💛 i decided to write this right away and not wait any longer, i also decided to include usopp here, hope you like it! also i apologize for my mistakes, english is not my first language 💌

sanji

sanji is so neat but too impatient when it comes to licking you. from the first time you met him he only dreamed of spreading your legs and doing everything he could to your clit, sanji imagined it night after night until the moment he could finally show you he would show you the most real orgasm with his tongue. he will start with something small, he will slowly kiss your wet folds while unbuckling his belt to touch his cock, sanji is so pathetic, you just let him lick you and he is ready to cum. when he does pull his cock out - you're dead. my boy, he grabs you firmly by the hips and literally glues you to his face, he burrows into you like he hasn't drank water in months, greedily kissing your cunnie, he starts whimpering from you and your moans, you're making him really pathetic. he tries to burrow as deep into you as he can to taste all of your flavor, his fingers rubbing your nipples as he waits for the moment of your squirt. he will speed up his tongue with every second, he won't let time just pass, sanji will make sure it's just him and his tongue in your head at the end.

"sanji, please, i-i'm-i'm coming now," blows his mind. he has waited so long for those words tears run down his cheeks, you are the most beautiful girl to him and now he is licking you. his legs start shaking and his whimpering doesn't stop until the next moment you scream "sanji!" squirting on his face. you blessed him with it, he felt like he hadn't felt yet n when thinking about it, sanji didn't notice how he was cumming all over your bed and you at the same time, you caught him in the most interesting role, without even touching him he cum from you and will do it again and again. he doesn't care how much you're trembling and your legs are woozy, he just can't get away from you, sanji swallows all your juices and smears the rest on his face and looks in the mirror to realize he's found paradise between your legs and won't leave until he faints.

usopp.

my sweet boy and my sunshine loves your cunnie so much. his tongue is so soft and nice, he will do the naughtiest things to you that you could never dream of. usopp is like a man who will dream about someone's pussy all the time, he won't hear conversations, he wants to lick you now and here. he will cry with happiness as soon as you let him get on his knees and lick you completely, he will be so happy that he will completely forget about tenderness and decency, he suddenly doesn't care, now, he only thinks about you, your moans and your already swollen clit. usopp has lost all other thoughts, he starts licking you in a second, you haven't had time to undress yet, but that's even better for him, he'll wet your panties with his drool and pornographic moans, and sniff the residue like he's sniffed something forbidden, something that will take him to the most obscene place in this universe. there is so much lust in him, usopp can't hear your moans anymore, he can hear your wet cunnie responding to him, the way your clit pulses when he touches it with his nose and the way your body twitches when he finds all your hot spots again. it's like usopp is in heat, he can't live without your juices and the opportunity to lick you anywhere, he'll get so cranky and beg you "no, please let me...i-i'll make you feel good, i beg you", it'll go on and on until you say yes and he'll stop. swallowing everything you give him and he still can't get enough, he literally wants to eat you to savor the taste of your cunt. his tongue won't stop surprising you with its skill, and his nose won't stop hitting you in the points where you need it. usopp is waiting for you to cum all over his face, the juices are running down his body and the lustful phrases keep coming out of his filthy mouth, he's covered in your cum, his body lost in the moment you cum and now he's waiting for you to get on all fours and let him eat your ass.

[rafesbabygirlx]

A Lot of Time has Passed | Part 6

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Season 4 Rafe x Maybank reader

Summary: Beginning at the time jump, the Pogues seemingly succeeded at something, Rafe is struggling with making amends and being a better person. JJs sister left the island after returning from South America. Returning after 18 months with a secret.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: smut (fingering, oral, p in v) brief mention of previous parental abuse (Luke vs reader) Ruthie

A few days have passed since Rafe asked you to move in with him, wanting to build a family together. You’re slowly settling into his home, but it still feels unfamiliar—a little too pristine, too luxurious. Even the refrigerator surprises you; you’ve never had one that fully worked. The light in yours at home always flickered, and the freezer had given up back when you were fifteen.

This place doesn’t feel like your home. It’s Rafe’s. You just happen to be living in it. Still, you’re happy. You have a little family now, and seeing Rafe with V brings a warmth that surprises you. He’s matured in a way you always believed he could. Even though he still carries a quiet sadness over his dad, there’s a sense of peace about him—a contentment. You feel a twinge of guilt, thinking about how Ward’s absence has released him from a shadow. Rafe is finally free of it.

He was once the guy constantly tormenting your brother, John B. and Pope, or recklessly sniffing lines off your bare skin behind the rundown shack at beach bonfires. But he was also the one who would drop everything when you’d turn up bruised and bleeding after run-ins with Luke. Even in the middle of a party. He’d insist you stay, taking care of you in ways you’d never thought he could. Now, it feels like you’re getting the version of Rafe you always dreamed about—someone who would stand by you, no matter the differences in your social circles or his friends’ opinions. Even Topper and Kelce, his closest friends, knew better than to tease you, respecting that you were off-limits. Almost everyone seemed to get it—except for one friend who never quite did.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

Today, the three of you spent the afternoon out by the pool. Rafe ordered lunch, and later, after you finally put V down for the night, hunger crept in again. But Rafe quickly learned that you’d always fuss over V before yourself when it came to eating. You’re in his massive kitchen, cleaning up, when you feel him approach from behind. His arms wrap around your waist, and he leans in, kissing the sensitive spot behind your ear. You tilt your head instinctively, giving him better access, and he smiles against your skin, savoring the invitation. Heat rises in you, and you press your thighs together, feeling your body react.

“Rafe, come on,” you say with a laugh, trying to keep your composure.

“Come on, what?” he murmurs. “You know you feel good, or you wouldn’t be…” His hand slides down, slipping past the fabric of your bikini, and finds the warmth between your thighs. “…this wet, baby.”

You shiver at the sensation, moaning as he explores.

With a teasing grin, you push him back and turn to face him. He closes the space again, trapping you between his arms braced on either side of you. “I was a little annoyed at first, but I like this,” he says, looking at you with that familiar intensity. “Now I get to see your face like this.” He brings his fingers to his mouth, savoring the taste of you. “Mmm, you’ve always been the sweetest girl.”

Before you can respond, his hand finds you again, fingers slipping between your folds, sending a pulse through you that makes you forget about everything else.

Rafe’s fingers continue their soft, circular motion on your clit, adding just the right amount of pressure. He shifts slightly, teasing your entrance, and your knees threaten to give out. In one swift motion, he catches you with a strong arm and spins you around, lifting you effortlessly onto the kitchen island, his fingers never leaving you. You brace yourself on your elbows as he slips two fingers inside, moving them slowly while his other hand continues its steady rhythm on your clit. The only sounds escaping your lips are heavy pants and soft whimpers as your head falls back.

“Oh my god, Rafe…” you gasp.

“I know you like that,” he murmurs, his voice laced with satisfaction. “But how about this?” His fingers begin to pump faster, the rhythm more intense. “Lift your top, baby.” You do as he asks, and he leans over, taking one of your nipples into his mouth. The feeling is overwhelming, his hands and mouth working together, sending you into a daze. The pleasure builds, and you see nothing but white as your body gives in, your elbows buckling as you grip the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white.

Rafe drops to his knees, replacing his hand with his mouth on your clit, sucking with an intensity that makes your eyes water. His fingers quicken inside you, pressing that sweet spot deep within, and you instinctively press a hand to your stomach, trying to ease the mounting pressure.

“Rafe, I’m gonna… oh god, I’m gonna—” Your voice trembles as the sensation builds.

“Come for me, baby. Show me what a good girl you are.” His words and touch push you over the edge, and with a loud scream, you feel the release hit you in waves, leaving your body shuddering, your back arching off the cool countertop. He keeps moving, helping you ride out the full intensity of your orgasm.

When you finally open your eyes, you glance down to find Rafe grinning, his face and chest soaked. You blink, realizing you’d squirted, the intensity of it surprising you both. He chuckles, “That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Who knew I’d be waiting almost two years for this?”

You laugh, reaching for a dish towel to hand him.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

“You know, I was pretty satisfied just making you feel good, but after that…” He lifts you effortlessly again, pulling you close as you wrap your legs around his waist. He strides toward the front of the house, his focus solely on you, and starts heading upstairs, only for the front door to burst open. Startled, you both turn to see Topper, Ruthie, and Kelce standing in the entryway.

“Dinner and drinks are here!” Topper calls, arms loaded with paper bags.

“Topper, shut the hell up before I smack you quiet,” Rafe snaps, glancing upstairs. “My girl’s sleeping.”

“Whoa, sorry, man. Gonna take some time to get used to ‘Rafe The Dad Cameron,’” Topper teases, unable to resist. You’re reminded, for a moment, that being with Rafe also means dealing with his friends. Kelce is easy enough to tolerate, but Topper and Ruthie—with her sly remarks and his tendency toward arrogance—are another story.

You make your way back out to the patio, balancing plates and glasses as you try to push aside the hurt simmering inside. Just as you step through the door, Ruthie’s voice rings out, her words dripping with condescension.

“So, Rafe, you’re really just slumming it with another Pogue because she baby-trapped you?” She smirks, her gaze flicking to you through the glass sliding door with a pointed arrogance, as if daring you to react. Rafe lets out an annoyed sigh, his jaw clenching, but he says nothing, leaving her comment to linger in the air. A dull ache settles in your chest at his silence; you know how his friends can be, but it still stings when no one stands up for you.

Topper, sensing the tension, whispers urgently to Ruthie, “Ruthie, shut the hell up.”

She just shrugs, undeterred. “What, Top? It makes perfect sense. Why else would she be here? So she could live like this—in Rafe’s house. She’s lucky, honestly, that he’d even allow it. She probably just tricked him with the baby. It’s the only way someone like her gets this side of the island.” She laughs, a mocking lilt in her voice.

You take a steadying breath, deciding to let her words pass, at least for tonight. You stride over to the table and drop the plates with a loud thud, watching them clatter but somehow not break. Ruthie spends the next hour weaving insults into her stories, taking every opportunity to throw casual digs at you and where you’re from. The others just ignore her, and not a single person defends you. Finally, you quietly excuse yourself, slipping back inside the house to escape.

Lost in thought, you don’t notice the way Rafe’s anger is building. By the time you’ve left, it’s too late to hear him finally snap.

“Ruthie, do you ever shut the fuck up?” Rafe’s voice cuts through the chatter, low and seething.

She stares at him, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“I said, do you ever shut. the. fuck. up?” He leans forward, eyes locked on hers with a barely restrained fury. “You come into our home—our home—and you think you can talk down to her like that? You don’t know anything about us. We’ve got history, and you’ve been around for all of five minutes. If you think she’s with me for my money, you’re delusional. She never cared about any of that. She never sought out money from me, no matter what she was going through, ever. So why don’t you stop acting like the high-and-mighty spoiled brat you are? We all know the real reason you’re even with Topper, so don’t kid yourself.”

Ruthie’s face turns red as Rafe’s words land, her jaw dropping in shock.

Rafe stands up, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re gonna learn to respect her and my family if you ever want to come around here again. And I think it’s time for all of you to get the fuck out.”

Embarrassed, Topper grabs Ruthie by the arm, practically dragging her toward the door, with Kelce following closely behind, none of them daring to look back. They leave in silence, the house now calm again—but Rafe’s expression is anything but.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

Rafe quietly enters the bedroom, his heart sinking as he spots you curled up on your side of the bed, your body language shut off. He steps over and kneels down at the edge, his eyes searching your face, noticing the redness around your eyes and cheeks—clear signs that you’ve been crying.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he says, his voice soft and laced with regret. “You don’t deserve that. You’re… you’re special. Now and always.” His eyes are filled with sadness, and you can tell he’s frustrated with himself, knowing he should’ve said these things with you present.

“It’s okay,” you reply, your voice steady but quiet. “What can you do? It’s just… how it is.” You pause, then reach out, cupping his face with one hand, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palm. “But… you stood up for me, and that’s all I care about.” He doesn’t realize that your sad tears had turned into happy ones hearing him yell at Ruthie.

He furrows his brows, looking at you with surprise. “You heard?”

You nod, gesturing toward the open patio door. “I heard everything. Thank you.” Sitting up, you move closer to him, cupping his face with both hands. “Please, don’t ever think I’d manipulate you like that. I love you, Rafe. I love being here with you.”

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

His expression softens, and he reaches out, running his hands slowly up your thighs, his touch warm and grounding. “I’d never think that, not in a million years,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sincerity. His hands slide under the oversized shirt you borrowed from him, his palms warm against your skin as he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed. He places his chest on yours drawing you in as he kisses your neck, his lips lingering.

“How about we finish what we started, huh?” he whispers, and you feel a rush of excitement as you run your nails up his back, pressing yourself against him.

With an easy strength, he lifts you, yet again, and plops you back in the middle of the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He strips off his clothes as you pull his shirt off, leaving you bare and vulnerable, yet completely secure in his presence.

Rafe’s kisses trail up your legs, each one sending tingling warmth through you until he reaches the waistband of your underwear. His fingers hook onto the fabric, pulling it down with agonizing slowness, his gaze locked onto yours the whole time. Once free, he positions himself between your legs, leaning down until your lips crash together in a deep, needy kiss. As the kiss deepens, you reach down to guide him to you, breath hitching in anticipation.

“Eager, are we?” he teases, his voice a low rumble against your mouth.

“Please… I need you… now, Rafe,” you whisper, your voice barely a plea.

His eyes flash, and with a mischievous smirk, he replies, “As you wish, angel.” He thrusts into you in one swift motion, and you gasp, arching into him as the sensation overwhelms you. Unlike his usual intensity, his hips roll slowly, drawing out every pulse, every shiver, his rhythm tender and unhurried, savoring the connection.

It’s blissful, but your body craves more. “Harder, Rafe. Please,” you beg, voice breathy with need.

With a grin, he grants your request, his movements growing rougher and faster. He drives into you, hitting the perfect spot, his hips colliding against you with each thrust, his rhythm sending waves of pleasure through you. You moan, whimpers spilling from your lips as his movements intensify, his body pressing down against yours in a perfect alignment, his pelvic bone brushing deliciously over your clit with every thrust.

His hand reaches up, gently brushing the hair from your face before slipping his thumb to your lips. Instinctively, you take it into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, and he groans in satisfaction, eyes darkening as he watches you.

Rafe’s eyes are locked onto yours, his gaze intense as he watches the pleasure transform your face. “You take me so well,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I wish I never gave you up.”

You let out a soft laugh, still breathless. “Yeah, you’re really stupid for that.” He chuckles with you, the sound warm and familiar, before leaning down to capture your lips again, both of you panting softly into each other’s mouths.

“Rafe… I’m so close, I’m gonna come again,” you gasp, your body tensing as you near the edge. You clench around him, and he lets out a deep, throaty groan in response.

“Come for me, baby. I’m right behind you,” he whispers, his voice rough and low. A few more thrusts, and you unravel beneath him, the waves of pleasure crashing over you as you moan his name. He follows a moment later, his release shuddering through him as he buries himself deep inside you, his warmth filling you completely.

With a satisfied sigh, he collapses onto you, his weight comforting as he peppers gentle kisses along your cheek, lingering as if he never wants the moment to end. You cherish it not believing you’re finally at the point you quietly and secretly always wanted to be with Rafe. In just pure happiness.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

As the two of you lay tangled together on the bed, your head resting on Rafe’s chest while he brushes his fingers through your hair, he murmurs, “I know it’s a little late, but maybe we can get ready and head out for a bit.”

You look up at him, surprised. “Are we supposed to bring Vivienne along?”

He chuckles. “No, just us. I mentioned Vivienne to Topper’s cousin—she used to babysit Wheezie. I can see if she could come by and watch her for a few hours.”

You hesitate, considering what happened with Topper earlier. “I dunno, Rafe. Maybe I could call Sarah or Cleo instead?”

“Sarah? No way. Let’s just do this,” he insists. You’ve known Topper’s cousin as long as you’ve been with Rafe. She’s the one person who hung out with you at the Kook parties when the other girls looked at you like an outsider.

“Fine. Call her. I’m gonna jump in the shower.”

An hour later, Elaina arrives just as you finish getting ready. You hand her a list of everything she’ll need for Vivienne and say your goodbyes at the door. Rafe helps you into his truck, and you shoot him a look. “I’m serious, no more than two hours.”

“You got it, pretty. Just couldn’t wait to show you off.”

You head to the Island Club for drinks. Standing by a table, you watch Rafe as he orders at the bar. A blonde woman approaches him, placing a hand on his arm and leaning in closer than necessary. You can’t hear their conversation, but your brows furrow at her familiar touch.

When Rafe finally brings your drinks, the blonde is right behind him. “Y/N, this is Hollis Robinson. Hollis, this is Y/N Maybank, my girlfriend and mother of our daughter.” His words catch you off guard; he’d never called you his girlfriend before, let alone in such a grounded way.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” Hollis says, smiling. “You’re lucky to have someone like Rafe.”

“I’m the lucky one, believe me.” Rafe glances at you, and you catch the subtle pride in his eyes.

Hollis, however, keeps her gaze on him, lightly touching his arm again. “Well, you two have a good night. I’ll be seeing you, Rafe—hopefully with an answer next time.” She winks and walks away.

As you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, you turn to Rafe. “So, that’s your partner, huh?”

He smirks. “What, are you jealous?”

“Should I be?”

“Of Miss Cougar?” He grins, rolling his eyes. “Maybe you should be.”

You laugh, shoving him playfully, but he pulls you back in, planting kisses on your temple.

Later, as you sit with Rafe on the dock, watching the water shimmer under the lights of the Island Club, you can’t help but feel excited for more moments like this with him. Yet, in the back of your mind, Hollis and that mysterious deal linger.

Taglist-

@maybankslover @eringaitskill @luissa266 @lolll505 @dayyzlol @calaryssia @eg-dr3amer3 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @rafestar @bigbonenative @writtenbyhollywood @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @leilanizcals

[unintentionalseductress]

18 with Geto 🙏

-🎃

Pumpkin anon! I love it when I see my regular anons coming in. Hope you're liking everything so far! This is one of my favorite kinks/tropes. Suguru is around 28-ish here and reader is 18.

Age Gap

--------

You were the shy bride brought to him in hopes of forging an alliance. Sorcerers needed all the allies they can get. You had heard stories about him which sounded more like myths; of his powers, and the terrible goals he wished to achieve.

Which is why when you first met him you couldn't believe how normal he looked. Just an ordinary, albeit handsome, man. Nearly 10 years older than you. Just seeing him brought a blush on your face and you hopeed he was pleased with you.

The wedding happened without a glitch and soon you were in his bedroom, watching him lock the door. You felt very aware of your movements and nervousness kept making your stomach do flips. You'd had one lover before him and your experience was lackluster, carrying none of the passion or romance most young girls had hoped for.

Suguru removes his outer robes and hangs them over the back of a chair before sitting down on the bed and beckoning you to join him. You hesitate, then oblige, the mattress sinking under your weight, your body actely aware of the way his thigh brushed against yours. He reaches out to pull you against him and your heart hammers in your chest.

"You keep acting like something will crawl out from under the bed and eat you," he observes and you blush, shaking your head.

"Are you nervous about your first time? Are you a virgin?" Your eyes meet his keen brown ones and the truth comes tumbling out.

"No but I know what happens."

"Is it making you worry?"

"No, but I know it isn't anything special." His eyebrows raise at your comment.

"Not special?"

"Not at all. Our bodies join. Some movement happens. You release your seed and it's all over."

"My sweet wife." Suguru captures your chin in between his fingers and makes you look at him. The endearment causes your body to tingle. "Is that all you think happens?"

"I know that's all that happens. I've experienced it before."

"What sort of idiot did you waste your virginity on that you are so unenthused by the idea of sex?"

His question stuns you into silence before you mumble, "He was my classmate."

"Ah. Same age as you?" He doesn't let go of your chin. "Let me correct this impression. Your classmate is a young, inexperienced, pathetic little boy. Do you understand I'm different than that?" His thumb strokes your jaw. "I am not like your little classmate. I'm a man, your husband. I know exactly how to treat a delectable little thing like yourself. I know how to touch you."

His large hand rests on your waist, drawing patterns into your skin, making your breath catch. "I know how to kiss you." His lips move confidently, capturing yours in a passionate kiss that has your head reeling. "I know how to pleasure you and make you forget everything around you except for me. I know how to make love to you so intensely that you'll never remember what it was like before me."

His hands undress you sensually, taking his time to sip and sample every inch of you, your ear, your collarbone, your pert nipples, hardening under the soft lick of his tongue.

You moan, feeling the blood in your veins humming as he lays you back on the bed to pay attention to your drenched cunt.

"Look at that. Already so wet for me. Were you like this with your classmate?"

You shake your head no, unable to form words, aroused and feeling your clit throb with each passing second. He licks your folds, savoring the taste before finding your swollen bud and lapping at it, then running the tip of his tongue in figure 8 movements over it.

A mewl leaves you as your hips arch towards him, body quivering in ecstasy as the orgasm crashes in your being, fisting the sheets as you fall apart on his tongue.

Suguru doesn't waste a second and gently moves your legs apart, his tip probing your entrance until he surges forward, you feel your core splitting apart to accommodate him. His cock gives you the most delicious stretch and sits snugly inside you. You're weak from the pleasure of it all, unable to believe you had been blind to the pleasure of this act.

His hips thrust against yours as he moves inside and you whine your pleasure as he sets up a rhythm.

"I'm all there is. Only me. I'll fulfill all your desires. Just trust me hmm?" He nips your ear as he ruts into you. "The experience of an older man is just what you needed. Now show me how good you feel."

You throaw your head back, noises of pleasure escaping your throat before Suguru pulls you back towards him, his lips covering yours.

"Mine. My precious little doll."

His words echo sweetly in your ears as he gives all of himself to you, spilling his seed into your quivering walls.

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Slow.

gif by @arcanefox207 , I know it’s not Joel but it’s perfect for the mood ❤️

Pairing: Joel Miller x afab!reader, no context, no plot, just thoughts.

Words count: 484

Rating: NSFW, +18, MDNI.

Tags: smut, smut, smut, spit kink if you squint, no description of reader.

I don't even know what this is, it came out like a storm and I leave it here. English is not my first language but I hope it makes sense.

Thanks to anyone who will read!

Archive tags: @pedrostories ♥️

The way you love to fuck with Joel is slow.

Slow, because you don’t want to miss any shades in his eyes, pupils dilated and brown becoming an ink dark tone of raven.

Slow, because you don’t want to miss his mouth tugging into a smile when he runs his fingers on your arm, ups to your shoulders and at the nape of your neck.

Slow, because you don’t want to miss the sound of his breath becoming heavy with desire.

Slow, because you don’t want to miss that undertone of quiet belonging when he speaks your name.

Slow, because you want to remember every single movement of his velvety lips on your skin.

Slow, because you want to kiss him like his lips are your last meal before you leave, suck his bottom one, feel his spit slide into your mouth, savor his taste on your palate.

Slow, because you want to make sure to worship every single freckle and scar on his body, running your fingers and tongue over them. 

Slow, because you love to feel his fingertips tickling you.

Slow, because you love to be gently crushed by the weight of his body on yours.

Slow, because you love his tip nudging at your entrance, sweetly stretching you every second a little more.

Slow, because you know how precious is every involuntary twitch of his hips.

Slow, because you know that he loves your nails lightly scratching his back.

Slow, because you know how wonderful is to feel the steady pace of his thumb brushing over your clit while his other hand is on your breast, twisting and pulling one of your nipples, landing on it with his mouth when he can’t hold on anymore.

Slow, because you need to catch on every single grunt he emits feeling your skin on his.

Slow, because you need to listen carefully at every change in his voice, cracking, turning into a huskier, deeper, lustier incessant rumbling.

Slow, because you need to feel every single veins on his cock meeting your walls.

Slow, because you don’t want to forget his words while he talks you through it.

Slow, because you don’t want to forget the sensation to be his and only his.

Slow, because you don’t want to forget the way he looks at you when he eats you out, his head between you thighs, his tongue lapping at you like a man starved.

Slow, because you love the feeling of him thrusting into you like he always belonged there, in your warm and drenched nest.

Slow, because you love feeling his shaft throbbing and slapping into your cervix.

Slow, because you love hearing his whimpers reverberate in your ears as you wrap your fingers in his hair and pull it.

Slow, because the feeling of his spend filling your void, long thick stripes of cum painting you like a work of art hanging in a museum, is something to cherish.

Slow, because you don’t want for this to end. Never.

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Cravings

Summary: Spencer admires Reader while pregnant and in the depths of her cravings.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content warnings: Pregnancy, eating

Word count: 848

Spencer can’t pinpoint when he’s loved you the most. Hearing you groggy over the phone when he was on the jet heading home would’ve been the obvious moment, considering he blurted the three special words out in the middle of you talking about your upcoming work day. You and the team, who also witnessed it, were stunned into silence. But he still spoke to you after, whispering like he was alone the entire time.

Your wedding day would be another appropriate answer. He didn’t tear up as any groom would. No, he cried. His tears collected at the brim but took time to overflow, blurring his view of you gliding down the aisle with thoroughly-planned elegance. He had to block them to gather himself, as one would shield themselves from the sun.

But this moment tugs at his heart: when he opens the front door with the classic, “Honey, I’m home,” and you emerge from the bedroom with a swollen belly hidden under an old sweatshirt. The joy on your face is a moment he won’t forget. Granted, a portion of said joy might be thanks to the greasy bag and styrofoam cup he’s clutching desperately in one hand. Nevertheless, he savors the look and the feeling that must have felt similar to men who graced their families with bountiful hunting results.

Except in this case, the “bountiful hunting results” are chicken tenders with fries, extra honey mustard, and a large hot fudge sundae from your favorite restaurant that happens to be in the middle of nowhere and roughly 30 minutes away. But cravings are cravings, and they’ve been relentless throughout the second trimester. He’ll scope out the specific restaurants, local or corporate, if it makes you happy and appeases the baby girl (hopefully) inside you.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” A kiss on the cheek sufficed as you waddled toward the kitchen. You put the sundae in the freezer for now and barely waste time getting a plate and napkins, but it’s less to clean up. And less for Spencer to double-clean later.

Before you sit down, Spencer takes the plate from you, and he swears for a minute he saw motherly instincts kick in.

“You don’t have to eat at the table," he says. “Come on,” he tilts his head toward the couch as he walks, the obvious not mentioned.

“We don’t eat on the couch.” You reply.

He’s still walking.

“You don’t like it. Crumbs, lingering nastiness, and other science-y terms you’ve used.”

He puts the plate on the coffee table. “I’m willing to make exceptions. Plus, with a baby, mess is inevitable.” He leans down, revealing the breakfast tray he bought. You clearly never saw it before. Because the way your open mouth morphed into a smile, he would've thought he unintentionally did magic. He pulled out the small legs. “I figured it’s best to adjust slowly while I still can.”

You walk toward him, your hands resting on your belly. “But this is your couch.”

“In our apartment.” He takes a pillow and fluffs it, setting it against the arm. “Sit.”

You eventually comply. There’s still a look on your face, indicating second-guessing, like you’re somehow doing this without his knowledge. Meanwhile, the breakfast tray is in his hands, and he makes sure you’re settled. You lay across the couch.

Spencer puts down the tray, asking if you want a drink before devouring. You shake your head, eyes staring down at the fatty American dish in front of you. While you begin, he picks a vinyl from your shared collection. The one thing he won’t waver about is the classics.

As in classical music.

As in Mozart. Spencer has noticed your familiarity with the symphonies over the past six months. He loves it, regardless of whether it’s just because he’s insisted you listen to classical after you told him the news.

When the melody flows, Spencer finds a seat on the couch. You slide your feet toward you to make room. As soon as he sits down, he puts your legs in his lap, letting you stretch out again. His lips disappear into his mouth for a minute as he suppresses a giggle.

All the chicken was either swallowed or mush in your mouth and specks of salt littered your lips and hands along with honey mustard drippings. This. Spencer's in love again. As you suck the sauce off your own fingers like it’s the only sustenance you’ve had in days. The comfort he feels here, knowing the woman basically attacking her dinner will be the mother of his child. This is something even his three PhDs are unable to put into words.

“Do you want some help?” Spencer leans over, takes the napkins under the plate, and wipes the corners. You continue chewing, polite enough to keep your mouth closed and manage its volume. “There.” He puts the napkin down. And he looks at you, realizing just how much you've changed his life.

“What?” Your mouth is so full.

“Nothing.”

You swallow almost everything. “Something.”

He shrugs. “I just love you.”

[emmg]

Trivialities

rings the bell I have completed the filthy, smutty, absolutely plotless breeding kink one-shot that the Emmrook tag needs more of. May hell reserve me a throne.

Emmrich wants. He wants, but he doesn’t want to admit to wanting.

Rating: Explicit

Under the cut or on Ao3

Toodeloo~

She watches Emmrich crawl around on his hands and knees, her teeth sinking into her apple with a satisfying crunch. 

"Did I not caution you against chasing after Assan?" His voice emerges from somewhere beneath his desk, muffled and laden with mild exasperation. 

In the corner, Manfred hisses—a small, sheepish sound that seems to shrink him even further into the shadows. 

"I do not have an assortment of phalanges at my disposal," Emmrich continues, shifting lower, his voice growing tighter as he leans closer to the floor to fish under the desk. "At least," he adds, huffing as his hand gropes blindly, "none in stock that would suit your particular proportions." 

Another hiss—this one softer, forlorn. Manfred’s skull droops forward, a picture of contrition, if such a thing were possible. She bites back a snort, savoring the sight. 

With a sigh and a quiet, triumphant "A-ha," Emmrich sits back on his knees, holding two skeletal toes between his fingers. 

She tries, and fails, to piece together the connection between Manfred’s detached toes beneath Emmrich’s desk and whatever incident involved Assan. 

Manfred hisses again, brighter this time. 

"Don’t torment the child," she says, finishing her apple, tossing the core aside with an idle flick of her wrist. 

"Manfred is not a child," Emmrich protests, slowly rising to his full height and brushing off his knees. His finger points toward the poor creature, long and accusatory. "And he knows better. Off you go, my boy. I’ll see to these in the morning." 

Manfred hesitates, his sockets wide with something that might be pleading. 

"Lucanis is boiling coffee in the kitchen," she offers, raising her eyebrows conspiratorially. "Sooo much steam." 

A delighted hiss escapes, and Manfred scuttles out of the laboratory in a peculiar, gleeful waddle. 

"Oof," she says, watching the door swing shut. "Not much discipline there. Brats would eat you alive." 

Emmrich dismisses her with a wave, already pivoting toward the desk to pull open a drawer. From his breast pocket, he retrieves a handkerchief, unfolding it with care before wrapping the toes delicately within its folds. The bundle is tucked neatly into the drawer, which he slides shut with an air of finality. "Please," he says, "I am more than capable of managing children, thank you kindly." 

"Are you?" 

"Of course," he says, a touch too quickly. 

"Ah yes," she quips, "because the Grand Necropolis is simply teeming with children. How silly of me to forget such a perfectly normal detail." 

"There are… some, occasionally," he stammers, a faint crack in his usually polished delivery. 

She shrugs, one shoulder rolling. "If you say so. I just assumed you avoided them out of preference." 

A peculiar silence follows, taut yet not unkind. His gaze snaps toward her, brief and searching, before falling away again, as if it might find solace in the floorboards. When he finally speaks, his voice has softened, dipping into a quieter register. "Not out of choice, my darling," he murmurs. "Simply circumstance." 

Oh, she thinks, and again, oh, as something sharp and unexpected twists behind her ribs. Her eyes sting faintly, and for once, she feels the unwelcome prickle of remorse. Perhaps she’s growing a conscience, she muses bitterly, or at least the beginnings of one. Watching him now, as he continues to speak—his voice light, his words polite, as if nothing has shifted—she notes the faint slump of his shoulders, the thin veneer of ease stretched too tight over something raw.

She has mourned possibilities before, small, inconsequential what-ifs. But never anything as vast, as shattering, as this. He sinks into his chair, the grand throne of the room, resting his elbows on the arms and pressing his fingers to his temples. 

''Today has been a very long day,'' he says softly.

The apple’s last tartness clings to her tongue, bitter now. She swallows it down and moves to him. Lowering herself to her knees at his feet, she clasps her hands together atop his knee, forming a small, steady platform. She rests her chin there, tilting her head just so, her lashes fluttering as she peers at him through them. 

"Dear?" he asks, his tone weary but still holding a thread of curiosity. 

"Take off your pants," she says, her voice syrupy sweet, the smile she offers far too innocent to be trusted. 

His sigh is long and drawn, bordering on a groan. "How romantic," he says dryly. 

"Very," she answers, cheerful. "Hm?" 

He doesn’t move. Instead, his hand rises, a quiet counterpoint to her insistence. He traces the slope of her nose, lingering on the faint upturn at the tip, as though contemplating something entirely unrelated. When he finally speaks, his voice is gentle, but firm. "You do not need to do anything for me, darling," he says. "As I’ve mentioned, today has been particularly tiresome." 

"Hm," she hums again, unperturbed. "I have a pocket knife." 

His eyes narrow, suspicion sneaking through the exhaustion. "This is expensive fabric." 

"Lovely," she says brightly. "Then take them off." 

The command hardly leaves her lips before her hands move of their own accord, reaching for his belt. She doesn’t need to look. By now, her fingers know the notch he prefers, the button he always fastens. The movements are second nature, mechanical and swift, her fingertips tracing familiar grooves as though the leather and thread carry the weight of memory. 

She tugs the fabric down, just enough to bare him, enough to slide her cold palms against his thighs and press them there, skin to skin. He jolts at the contact, his breath catching, and she snickers softly as her palms begin to warm against his startled flesh. 

Once it's warmed up, she licks her palm, slicking it thoroughly before wrapping her hand firmly around him, her fingers gripping him with what she hopes is just the right amount of pressure as she begins stroking. The weight of him feels substantial in her hand, half-hard but responding immediately to her touch, twitching with each slow pass. Her knees protest the position, a dull ache spreading, but she ignores it, shifting her weight back slightly onto her ankles to ease the strain without losing her focus. 

When his cock pulses against her palm, she leans in, letting her lips brush over the flushed head before taking him into her mouth. He’s still soft enough to be pliable, but as her tongue swirls around him, tasting the salty bead that’s already gathered, she feels him swell and stiffen with each careful motion. She licks along the underside, tracing the vein there, her hand stroking the base as she takes him deeper, inch by inch, until her lips meet her fist. 

It’s an intimate sensation, feeling him come fully to life in her mouth, growing harder, heavier, the stretch of him against her cheeks making her hollow them further. Her tongue presses firmly against him as she sucks, pulling back just enough to tease the head with her lips before swallowing him again. The lewd sounds echoes in her skull, spurring her on as her free hand drifts to his thigh, fingers tracing light circles over his skin. 

When she finally pulls off, it’s slow and languid, a wet suctioning pop breaking the tension as his cock slips free from her lips. She lets it rest against her mouth, brushing her lips back and forth along the sensitive ridge, her breath hot against him. Her eyes flick up to meet his, her tongue darting out to flick against him again. 

As she speaks, the vibrations from her words hum against him, rippling through his cock, and she knows he feels it; sees it in the sharp intake of his breath, the shudder that runs through his body, the way his thigh tightens beneath her touch. It’s intoxicating, watching him respond so viscerally, and she imagines how much more she could pull from him. If she dug her nails into his thigh, just hard enough to mark him, dragged them down his skin to peel back a layer of flesh mixed with muscle, just one, just enough to peer beneath. 

"It’s almost a shame," she murmurs. 

"What is?" Emmrich asks, his voice strained. His cheeks are flushed a deep pink, and his gaze wavers, flickering between her hand wrapped firmly around him and the way her lips hover just shy of him, glistening with spit and filth. 

His hand rises to her face, brushing her cheek in a gentle stroke before moving upward, fingers threading into her hair. He pets her slowly, smoothing back the wild strands clinging to her sweat-slicked skin. She feels the static against her scalp, a faint crackling as strands cling to his fingers, then stick to his wrist, before snapping away with each pass. His thumb grazes her temple, ever soft, just as his hand keeps moving with quiet persistence, brushing her hair aside as if to clear his view. 

She doesn’t answer immediately, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip in a show of feigned thoughtfulness. Her gaze flicks up to meet his before she leans back in, her lips parting as she takes him into her mouth once more. Her tongue presses firmly along the underside of his cock, dragging slowly as she sucks him deeper. Her hand strokes what she can’t yet fit, her fingers curling tightly around his slick length, pumping him in time with the slow bob of her head. 

The heat of him fills her mouth, the stretch just this side of too much, but she doesn’t stop. Instead, she shifts, angling her head and relaxing her jaw as she pushes him further, past her molars, until the head of his cock nudges against her throat. She swallows instinctively, the tight contraction around him drawing a sharp groan from his lips. His fingers tighten in her hair, seizing in a way that’s no longer gentle. She feels the twitch of his hand, the slight forward push as if he wants to guide her down, bury himself deeper, to feel more of that constriction. 

And, oh, he seems to like that, the way his hips jerk just slightly forward, chasing the sensation. His breath hitches audibly, and she can feel the tremor that runs through him as he briefly lets his need overtake him, pressing her head down further for just a moment. Her throat tightens again, but the guttural sound he makes is worth it. 

Just as quickly, he catches himself, his grip loosening as his fingers relax in her hair, returning to the gentle petting from before. He strokes her scalp almost too quickly, as if the motion is meant to distract himself.  

There’s an unpolished quality to her technique, something crude in the way her hand grips him, sometimes too firm, other times not enough. Her pace wavers, alternating between confident strokes and hesitant experimentation. She’s aware of the occasional stumble, the uneven flow, or the unintended scrape of her teeth that makes him hiss softly. And she knows it might be too much at times, imperfect and messy, but he’s been nothing if not patient. 

Patient, like he was the very first time he parted her legs, his hands gentle even as she winced and bled under him. Patient as he coaxed her through the awkward, trembling motions of this wet, slick, and utterly shameless intimacy. Patient still, as she navigates her way through the ropes of mastering this act, finding a rhythm that is as much hers as it is his. 

"As I was saying," she resumes, breathless as she pulls back, her lips red, and draws in air through clenched teeth. "It's almost a shame you didn’t get to sow your wild oats." 

Above her, Emmrich frowns, brows knitting together. "Rook." 

"Have a few vigorous harvests," she continues, her grin unapologetically wicked.  

He exhales, long and slow. "I believe your metaphors require a touch more finesse, darling." 

"Pollinate a few flowers," she goes on, undeterred, her fingers stroking him faster now, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "Spread some fertilizer. You know, to take advantage of a fertile plot." 

His lips twitch, though his frown remains in place. "Rook—" 

"Plow the fields, till the soil," she interrupts, her thumb teasing over the sensitive tip of his cock with each pass. "Sow your seed far and wide. Make a bumper crop of—" 

"That’s quite enough," he says, his tone clipped but far from cold. 

She rolls her eyes. "Fine. Let’s try another. Play hide the eggplant until you’ve got a garden full of… succulent produce."

"Good gods, Rook," he mutters, his voice tightening as his hand briefly rakes through his hair. "Do you catalog these in secret, waiting for the most inopportune moment to unleash them?" 

"Not at all. They come naturally," she says cheerfully. "Shove the zucchini into the compost." 

"That one, in particular, manages to defy both logic and practical application, my dear." 

"Tenderize the meat for the stew. Lay some bricks, build a whole… legacy foundation." 

Emmrich groans, though it’s unclear whether it’s from her words or her hand. "Your creativity is boundless, if utterly unhinged," he sputters, though his cock twitches again in her grip. 

"Come on," she teases, leaning in closer, her lips brushing against him as she whispers, "Dip the ladle in the soup. Spread the batter until it’s… dripping off the edges. Fill the eclairs. Frost the—" 

"This is obscene," he cuts her off, and his voice cracks slightly as he does. 

"Obscenely good," she purrs, stroking him faster. "And you're still hard. Clearly I'm onto something."

"Unsurprising," he replies. "Your persistence is impossible to ignore." 

She pauses, her tongue darting out to taste him again, but instead of taking him back into her mouth, she sits back slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper that’s almost too soft to hear. "You should do that with me," she says, her words laced with heat. "Plant some tulips. Wiggle the worm in fresh dirt. Mix the genes cocktail for… posterity." 

For a moment, his jaw slackens, hanging loose in a way that almost defies anatomy, like a snake caught mid-unhinge, preparing to devour her whole—she, the hapless gerbil frozen in the scrutiny of his gaze. She half expects him to scold her, to find some refined, cutting retort, but then, instead, she feels it. The sharp twitch of his cock in her hand, pulsing hot and insistent against her palm. His breath, warm and ragged, fans over her face as he leans down. 

Before she can react, his arms hook firmly under hers as he hoists her, dragging her upward. The world tilts, and she’s pressed flush against his chest. His hands span her waist as he maneuvers her into his lap, pulling her down against him so that she can feel every inch of him pressed intimately against her. 

He kisses her with a roughness that feels displaced given who he is, who she knows him to be, his mouth landing on her jaw first, catching the edge of her skin as she instinctively tilts her head. She feels the blunt press of his teeth through his lips, the almost-bite making her pulse spike as she shifts, adjusting herself, offering him her mouth fully. He takes it greedily, his kiss deeper than she’s ever felt from him. It’s sloppy, wet, and just before he pulls away for a breath, she feels the drag of his tongue tracing the underside of her top teeth. 

"Did you know," he begins whispering. He doesn’t kiss her again, but the proximity of his mouth forces hers to move slightly with his, her lips following the enunciation of his words as though he’s speaking through her. "Healthy teeth and gums reflect impeccable nutrition, fastidious hygiene, and the absence of chronic ailments." 

His hand finds her chin as he tilts her head back just enough to part her lips further. "And yours, my darling," he asserts, "are pearly white. Perfectly straight. A testament to enviable care. Open up." Her jaw obeys without hesitation, her mouth widening as his smile flickers, quiet and satisfied. "My very good girl," he murmurs, briefly caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. 

His thumb slips inside, curving over the bottom of her lower teeth, not harshly but with enough force that she feels it distinctly, the pad of his finger dragging over the smooth enamel as though he’s inspecting her. He makes a contemplative sound before withdrawing, utterly unhurried, and smears the faint sheen of her saliva across her lips as if applying a balm. 

"Oh," she breathes, her tongue curling around the salt of his fingertip. She lets the taste linger, savoring it for just a moment before swallowing the sound. "I see." 

Her hands find his face in turn, cradling it as she cocks her head to better study him. Slowly, she begins to recognize the undercurrent of a very particular want behind his words. He’s already assembling the pieces, the blueprint unfolding behind his eyes. That earlier "oh" leaves her lips again, drawn out this time, deepened by the heat pooling in her belly. Her thighs clench involuntarily around him as she straddles him, leaning more heavily into his warmth. 

"Mm," she hums instead, dragging her own thumbs over his cheeks. "My teeth. Your eyes. Maybe even your hair?" She tilts her head, watching the way his expression changes, how the idea takes root, growing and twisting and morphing. 

She sees the image forming in his mind as surely as if it were projected onto the firelit walls, and the thought draws her tighter against him. He’s painting this child already, with scrupulous brushstrokes, and she can’t resist the urge to reach out and dip her own fingers into the paint. 

"Yours is so much lovelier," he objects softly, as though he is stating a fact rather than issuing a compliment. His fingers thread through her hair, combing through the strands. 

His grip tightens subtly, winding the pale locks around his hand, pulling her head back until her throat is exposed. 

"Yes," she agrees on a wheezing laugh. "It’s prettier than yours." 

"And your bone structure," he continues, his breath skimming over her throat, warming the damp sheen of sweat that glistens there. "So symmetrical. A marker of stability, of optimal development. Fewer genetic mutations. Fewer environmental insults." 

His fingers are explorers, prodding gently at the ridges of her skull as though mapping the contours of her being. "From your high cheekbones," he murmurs, his lips pressing a faint path along her jaw, "to the graceful curvature of your spine, the exquisite arch of your vertebrae." 

What strange and delicate alchemy they might achieve. A rib, his or hers, sawn off cleanly. A braid of her hair, severed at the base with exacting care, coiled like a dead snake. The color of his eyes, drawn drop by meticulous drop, an aqueous tincture suspended in a vial, as though the shade alone could beget sight. Her chipped tooth, still warm from the gum. His breath, captured, preserved. A ribbon of her blood, vivid as crushed pomegranate, soaking through the blank, pristine plane of possibility.  

His genius, wrenched untidily from his skull, whispered and cajoled into solidity, its formless brilliance molded into something tangible. Her arrogance, sly and sharp-edged, the necessary companion to his intellect; because genius, no matter how luminous, cannot thrive without the scaffolding of audacity. 

"Just like that?" she asks, as she realizes, belatedly, the rhythm of her body, grinding, rocking against him in an unthinking cadence. "We’ll make it happen just like that?" Her hand slips between them, closing around his cock once more, dragging her grip along its length. 

He hisses into her shoulder, his breath stuttering as his eyes flutter closed for a moment. "Perhaps," he manages, the word softened by a trace of breathlessness. His hips jerk against her hand, though the weight of her on top of him makes the motion shallow. "Or perhaps it will take time, and we will have to plan accordingly." 

"How so?" she murmurs, shifting her body until her legs frame his thigh, her core pressing firmly against it. She begins to move, her hips rolling, grinding against the muscle. The heat builds, and she feels herself grow wet, wetter still, the fabric of her smallclothes clinging slickly, uncomfortably, to her cunt with each rut. 

"Consistency," he stammers, his voice catching as his lips skim her throat, trembling against her skin. "I believe—consistency is key in such endeavors." 

"Yes," she agrees, eager and giddy. "Yes, and we’ll be so very, very consistent." 

She sighs, content, trying to press herself closer, to sink deeper into him, when his fingers, impatient and insistent, begin tapping against her hip. "Up, up, darling," he mumbles, already shifting beneath her. Before she can fully register the request, he’s moving, rising awkwardly even with her weight pressing down on him. She shuffles back as he stands, watching as he tucks himself back into his trousers. 

Silence falls, just a beat too long, teetering on the edge of discomfort. His gaze fixes on her, unblinking, and before she can ask why, his hands come to her face, cupping it gently. He moves her head—left, right, then left again—as though searching for something, some bizarre glimmer he’s convinced might vanish if he doesn’t check. Whatever it is, he seems satisfied. Or uncertain. Or both. 

One hand lingers, hovering near her temple. In her periphery, she sees his thumb curl inward, folding neatly into his palm before he snaps the tendon with a sharp crack. The sound echoes too close to her ear, and she exhales shakily, her breath hitching as a shiver crawls up her spine. 

Her mind flickers back to that thumb, the firm press of it inside her mouth, the slow drag across her teeth. A stray thought worms its way forward: would her teeth make the same sound if he pulled them free, one by one? Not with the detached efficiency of tools, no, but with his nails, working each loose with loving care. She imagines the roots, slick with blood, pooling in his palm, the faint wet patter as they fall, one after another, against the hard glint of his rings. 

He would soothe her after, murmuring, exquisite, my dear. His lips would find hers, kissing the ruined edge of her mouth. And then those teeth, her teeth, would cease to be hers entirely. He would polish them to an unearthly gleam, fracture them into malleable pieces, resetting them into new shapes; more rings for his fingers, perhaps, or small, intricate talismans. Artifacts of her, transfigured, as though she were nothing more than raw material awaiting his touch. And she is, isn't she? That's precisely what she is.

Emmrich tugs at her hands, and she follows without thought, stumbling once over the uneven edge of the rug, her laughter bubbling up. Always laughing—she cannot help it, just as he cannot help but lecture anytime an opportunity arises. Stupid, stupid girl she is around him, always, always laughing. Between them, there are words, or perhaps only the suggestion of words. She is certain she hears them, though they might be figments conjured by the rhythm of his steps, the insistence of his pull. Come, come, and yes, yes, whispered or merely imagined, drawing her toward his room the Lighthouse hides so well, the one tucked behind the great expanse of bookshelves.

She sits at the edge of his bed, her feet just brushing the floor, watching him as he looms above her. It clings to her, that gaze of his, like damp fabric, and she almost asks—what, what is it, why do you look at me like that—but before the words find their footing, he leans down. His lips touch hers, a fleeting, maddeningly sweet kiss, so brief it feels almost accidental. Then he straightens again, his hands moving to the buttons of his vest, as if the kiss had been nothing at all.

"Let me help," she offers, her hands already at his hips, tugging him closer. 

"I would be ever so grateful," Emmrich says. The vest, she notices, is already off, discarded as though it had never been there. His fingers are now working at his cufflinks with the precision of someone determined not to waste a moment. 

She grins. "Mm-hm." 

His trousers hang low on his hips, precarious and loose, and with a single tug, she sends them pooling around his ankles. His cock is firm in her grasp before they even hit the floor. Her fingers curl around him, stroking slowly as she watches his eyes flutter shut for just a moment. She shuffles closer to the edge of the bed, her knees brushing against his thighs, urging him to close the gap entirely. 

The sound he makes when she takes him into her mouth is anything but composed, a downright broken moan that tastes almost like a confession. The surprise of it fuels her, and she responds with one of her own, humming against him, the vibration sending a shudder through his body. Then, for one glorious moment, she feels it—his selfishness, finally set free, as his hand cradles the back of her head. He begins to move, his hips thrusting into the heat of her mouth. 

The thrusts are shallow at first, cautious, but soon greediness takes over, and he drives deeper, a little faster. His breath catches, then whistles through his teeth, his groan breaking into something softer, needier, a small, desperate whimper. His cock presses further, burrowing against the back of her throat, his motions growing more erratic. She tastes him, salt and heat, leaking onto her tongue, and her body tenses in response, her nails digging into his thighs for balance.  

He shivers, his body a taut line of tension, and for a moment, it seems as though he might lose himself entirely. Suddenly, his voice comes through, though she doesn't hear him at first. His hand softens, guiding her off him, though the drag of his cock across her chin leaves a wet, glistening trail. He is quick to wipe it away. 

"As lovely as this is," Emmrich says, his voice roughened to a rasp that forces him to clear his throat, coughing lightly into his shoulder, "and it is, immensely so, I would like to gently redirect your efforts. If you’re agreeable, of course." 

She snorts. "Oh, I’d be more than agreeable."

"Wonderful," he murmurs, smiling.

Her clothes are gone in a flurry, barely tossed aside before his mouth crashes onto hers, askew and hurried, his teeth grazing her lip, his tongue pressing insistently into her. 

He crawls between her legs, settling heavily, and, briefly, she feels the shadow of her sweet Emmrich, her careful Emmrich, always so tender with her, so indulgent. But his hands give him away, moving with a kind of fevered urgency, fingers roving over her breasts, down her abdomen, between her thighs. He cups her sex and exhales sharply into her neck when he finds her wet, the sound torn from his throat as though it surprises him as much as it does her. 

He doesn’t wait, doesn’t want to wait, or simply can't, and there’s something raw in the way his fingers tremble as he rubs her, his usual precision abandoned, his mind lost somewhere. She feels the heat of him, the head of his cock slick with moisture as it presses against her leg, insistently, clumsily. 

"Emmrich, Emmrich," she whispers, her lips brushing his ear. "How about you redirect your efforts, hm?" 

For a heartbeat, he stills, his body taut above her, and then his hand pulls away. She barely has time to register the loss before he grabs her knee, yanking it up and out, spreading her wide open for him. She yelps, then laughs; another breathless, ridiculous giggle, yet another in the long string of laughter she’s offered him today. It’s cut short as his cock drags through her folds, slick and hard, the blunt head catching against her entrance. Above her, his brow furrows, his jaw tight, and then he thrusts forward. 

Finally, finally, finally, he fills her. 

"Oh," she says, and the word tumbles out of her lips like a reflex, the only thing she seems capable of saying today, oh, oh, oh, punctuating her laughter and her gasps alike, as he begins to move. 

Hot, quick, deep. He fucks her like a man undone, and it is fucking, no gentleness in it, none of the patience he usually lavishes upon her. This is something else entirely, each thrust driving the air from her lungs in uneven bursts. 

"Consistency," she manages to choke out, her arms wrapping tightly around his back. "Didn’t you say something about consistency?" 

He moans against her neck before his lips detach, trailing downward. His mouth finds her nipple, closing over it with a heat that makes her back arch, his tongue circling lazily after a long, indulgent suck. "Consistency," he says, though it sounds more like a pant, a gasp forced through clenched teeth. "Always consistency. The foundation of excellence. I would have you in the morning, before the day begins, leaving you loose-limbed and full, a pillow beneath your hips." 

Their bodies stick together, sweat-slick, his skin peeling away from hers with a sound as sticky as honey, warm and cloying. She tastes it now, the salt of his sweat mingling with hers, dripping from her upper lip into her mouth. His hand moves blindly, curling beneath her knee to draw her leg up, folding it tight against her side. The shift in position makes her cunt clench around him, and he groans, deep and hoarse, his cock twitching against her inner walls. The stretch of him is maddening, matched only by the drag of his hips as the wiry hair at his base rubs against her clit with every thrust, every flush press of his body against hers. 

"And then," he says, his voice breaking even as he presses forward, "at dinner, I would offer you something sweet. Figs, honey, almonds. Foods to heat the blood, to make your body ready, to make it more—" he thrusts sharply, and she whines like some kind of animal, "—receptive." 

His mouth finds hers again, his words muffled against the slide of her tongue. "A drink," he whispers, his lips brushing hers, "of cinnamon, ginger, cloves." 

His thumb presses past her lips, pushing down on her tongue, flattening it with just enough force to almost make her gag. "And—and," he stammers, his voice breaking as his body shudders, the tremor running from his chest to his shoulders, "I would feed you dates, one by one, from my own mouth." 

He shifts, sitting up on his knees, his weight pressing into the bed as his thrusts quicken, growing erratic. His fingers dig into her hips, pulling her against him. His eyes flicker shut, his jaw tight, and she sees the tension rippling through him as he teeters on the edge. "And finally," he groans, "I would have you at night. Slowly, gently, while you’re half-asleep, sighing so sweetly in that way you do, my love. You would not have to lift a finger, I will take care of everything." 

His gaze drops, riveted to the place where his cock drives into her, disappearing between her folds again and again, glistening with slick. One hand moves to her lower belly, pressing down, and she gasps at the sensation, knowing he can feel himself inside her. That thought seems to unravel him. He collapses forward, his chest flush against hers, his face burying into the crook of her neck. His hips jerk once, twice, and then she feels it, the first hot gush of his release, flooding her as he shudders above her. He keeps moving, his thrusts shallow, even as his spend leaks from her, coating her thighs in proof. 

It takes him a long time, longer than before, to lift himself on trembling arms above her, but she doesn’t mind. Not the weight of his chest pressing too firmly against her small breasts, not the cooling sweat between them that begins to cling, itchy and uncomfortable. None of it matters. She kisses him wherever her lips can reach—his shoulder, his neck, the damp curve of his jaw—her fingers threading through his hair in repetitive strokes. Words trip from her lips, soft and disjointed, sounds more than sentences, but she thinks they’re something about how beautiful he is, how impossibly, unbearably beautiful. 

At last, Emmrich stirs, pushing himself upright and allowing her ribcage to rise freely once more. Slowly, he rolls off her, his movements reluctant, as though loath to abandon her warmth entirely. As his cock slips from her, softened now, she feels the wetness that follows, a viscous spill. 

His lips find her forehead, pressing there with a gentle insistence. His mouth is dry, faintly cracked—worry marks from her teeth, perhaps—and she feels the faint roughness with each kiss as he moves across her face, trailing affection in soft pecks. 

"Darling," he murmurs finally, the word brushing the space between the corner of her eye and the slope of her nose. "My beautiful darling." 

For a time, it is only this: the soft, delicious calm of him speaking to her. His voice meanders, touching on nothing of consequence, and she only catches fragments of it. But it doesn’t matter. Emmrich likes to talk, and she likes to listen. Understanding feels secondary; if the words matter, truly matter, he will shape them for her, take her hand and guide her through their labyrinth, plucking them off the pages of his thoughts, pressing them gently onto her tongue until she can taste their meaning. He is good like that. He cares. 

At some point, she notices her fingers have laced through his. She lifts his hand to examine it, turning it idly, her gaze snagging on the rings he always removes before bed. But not tonight. The gleam of gold is there, caught in the dim light, and it makes her smile, foolish and wide, as though she’s stumbled upon some great secret. He has forgotten. Or, more thrillingly, he has chosen not to care. Poor gold, she thinks, the silent witness to their debauchery. 

She presses a kiss to his hand, the cool metal brushing her lips, and without meaning to, asks, "What do you dream about?" 

The question hangs in the air, and for a moment, dread knocks at her skull, demanding to be let in. Before he can answer, she barrels forward, filling the space with her own voice, needing to stamp out the awkward, saccharine edge she suddenly feels, the absurd mushiness curling in her chest. 

"I dream of being rich," she blurts. They are like loose change, her stupid words, spilling from a pocket that's been slit at the seams by a thief. Her snort escapes first, blunt and ugly, followed by a laugh, both curling back on her, mocking not just the question but the fragile sentiment that dared to surface with it. 

Can she just stop fucking laughing, she wonders. Why is she always laughing, always, like some deranged, overwound automaton? Not an elegant, costly one, no, nothing like that. A cheap, broken thing, its key jammed tight, grinding out the same rasping, ungainly refrain over and over again. 

"Oh, simple things," Emmrich replies. He pauses for a moment, humming softly into the quiet. "A stroll through town with you. An evening in the countryside—" 

"I like the countryside," she interjects quickly. 

"Yes," he says, smiling faintly, "I thought you might. I do as well. Star-gazing over a fine drink. Making love to you under the stars in the next moment." He goes quiet for a single breath. "As I said, my dear, simple pleasures. Perhaps I’d take you to a jeweler," he continues, his tone lightening as he lifts her hand to his lips, nipping gently at her pinkie finger, the one sticking out from their entwined hands. 

Predictably, and to her own irritation, she laughs, a sharp burst of sound that only encourages him. "Cover you in gold," he muses, his voice warm with amusement, "to dissuade you from wandering into a dragon’s hoard. Again. And yes," he adds, chuckling softly himself, "I suppose in doing so, I’d make you rich. Two birds, one stone, as the saying goes. Two dreams for the price of one."

"You're a sentimentalist."

"So I have been told."

His hand glides over her hip, tracing idle paths up and down, aimless but soothing. For a while, she simply lets him roam, savoring the quiet between them. He disentangles their hands, his fingers slipping from the hollows between her knuckles one by one. She feels him push gently, rolling her onto her back, palm settling on her stomach before venturing lower. She parts her thighs without a thought, her body moving ahead of her mind, and a dizzy smile threatens to split her face. Oh, the sheer joy of it; she could smile herself silly, smile her way into an early grave.  

He dips into the slick mess between her legs, parting her folds but not yet pushing inside. Instead, he rocks his touch back and forth, teasing the edge of intrusion before retreating, his fingers pressing against her clit just long enough to blur sensation into numbness. Then he circles back, reigniting the pleasure in waves. She lifts one leg, angling to meet his rhythm, and hums, a soft sound of encouragement.  

"I shall never tire of how eager you are," he admits. When her eyes flutter open, she finds him watching her intently. Only when she meets his eyes does he let his own trail downward, tracing the flush spreading across her chest.  

"Just an opportunist," she breathes, her hips tilting, seeking the relief of his fingers, desperate to catch them, to pull them inside her where she aches for him most. But his touch remains tentative, merely skimming over her.  

"You need never wait for an opportunity with me."  

"Not you, no," she concedes, smiling just a little. "But..." Her gaze drops lower, to the glistening trail he is spreading further, the evidence of her desire, of him, spilling from her with every slow stroke of his hand. "Waste not, want not, or something like that, hmm?"  

His eyes follow hers, and she feels the moment he understands, feels it in the sharp twitch of his cock against her skin. The weight of it presses against her, hot and heavy, as his hand finally dips lower, and his fingers press into her.  

"Oh," he murmurs, but his voice is distant, his attention entirely on his fingers. Those long, deft fingers that abandon her briefly to caress the insides of her thighs. He gathers the seed that's leaked out of her, dragging it back up, spreading it over her folds, before pressing it back into her. Two fingers sink knuckle-deep, curling inside her as she sighs, her hips lifting eagerly to meet him. "Indeed," Emmrich whispers, and that single word—two simple syllables—lands like a punch, each one punctuated by the wet, obscene sound of her cunt clenching and spasming around him. "Let us be mindful."  

"Yes, yes," she echoes, her breath catching as her hips roll against his hand, angling herself perfectly so that his palm grinds against her clit with every movement. "With all that grey in your hair, who knows if you’ll keel over sooner rather than later. Gotta make the most of it."  

"Very amusing, Rook," he mutters, though his lips curl at the edges. His fingers don’t falter, still driving into her with a steady rhythm, fucking his seed back into her with every thrust. The wet, filthy sounds between them seem to grow louder, drowning out her teasing bullshit.  

"Your stamina’s not bad either," she pants, her tone breaking with a gasp as he curls his fingers just so. "Your hand's, I mean. For someone who probably remembers when the wheel was invented, at least."  

This earns an actual eye roll from Emmrich. He moves to tickle behind her knee, making her jolt. "Comedy gold, dearest," he deadpans.  

She huffs, unable to resist her own antics. "I’m just saying," she insists, giggling as her other leg shifts forward, trying to hook around his waist to pull him down on top of her. "Let me know if we need to stop for a water break. I know you need to stay hydrated at your age."  

Gently but firmly, he pushes her wandering leg away with a tut. "Behave," he chides, his free hand gripping her hip hard enough to leave the faintest imprint as he presses it down, keeping her spread wide for him. He pulls out of her for a moment to caress her thigh, then her lower belly, humming thoughtfully. "At any rate," he says, voice rich with dry humor, "I trust you won’t let me die of thirst."  

As if to underline his point, he leans down without warning, his lips brushing against her swollen, aching cunt. He drags his tongue up in one long, slow stroke, making her inhale sharply, before he pulls back just as casually and resumes his position on his haunches. His hand returns between her legs, seamlessly replacing his mouth, fingers plunging back inside her.  

A third finger joins the others, stretching her further, and her back arches off the bed. It’s not his cock—no, nothing is—but they are dexterous, caressing her from the inside, and she can’t hold back the moan that slithers from her throat. Her thighs tremble as she grabs his wrist, holding him there, grinding herself against his hand, desperate to chase the high building inside her.  

"There you go," he says, his gaze locked on the obscene mess between her legs, utterly entranced. How his fingers disappear inside of her, how it ought to be his cock, how it might be his cock soon enough, if the stirring interest she keeps feeling brush against her is any indicator. "There you go, darling, my darling. Oh, well done."  

She thinks it should embarrass her, how quickly she falls apart under his touch; her leg jerking violently, her nostrils flaring, her hand forcing his fingers deeper, harder, until she swears she can feel the faint scrape of his nails inside her. She can’t bear for him to stop, not until the wild pounding of her heart begins to subside, not until the pulsing deep inside her settles enough that it doesn’t feel like he could feel it there too, throbbing around his fingers. When at last her body stills, she releases his wrist, and his hand is his own again. 

He doesn’t pull away entirely. Instead, he drags his fingers through the evidence of her climax, spreading it across her skin in languid sweeps. From her stomach to the curve of her left breast, he paints her until his fingertips dry. Only then does he lean down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the center of her sternum before he turns his head, letting his cheek come to rest against the same spot. 

His breath ghosts warm over her skin, almost a lullaby. She tries to part her legs wider, inviting him back into her, but instead of moving he shakes his head, the motion rubbing his stubble faintly against her chest. 

"I believe," he murmurs, his tone heavy with drowsy amusement, "I might fall asleep." 

"Then do," she replies simply. 

Emmrich huffs, a short, wry sound. "Absolutely not," he haughtily objects. "You and I have never been more in need of a bath. Give me but a moment, my dear." 

He leaves her to draw said bath, and the sound of rushing water trickles into the edges of her awareness as she closes her eyes. Of course the Lighthouse would give him a tub, she thinks. Emmrich without his nightly ritual soak? Unimaginable. The salts, the oils, the soaps, his little arsenal of comforts.

Without it, he might very well crumble into dust. He already plays the tragic martyr every time they’re forced to spend more than a single night in Arlathan Forest. She can practically hear the sighs, the kvetching, see the subtle curl of his lip as the rest of them splash around in the river like heathens. How vulgar, his expression always seems to say, as though cleanliness not sanctioned by perfumed water is beneath him.

The memory makes her smile. She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes, hard enough to feel the pressure sink into her skull, hard enough to drown out even the sound of the bathwater. When she finally opens them again, fireworks of color burst and bloom in the darkness, like a garish encore to her thoughts, leaving her blind for a few seconds longer than feels reasonable. And he is there too, inviting her into the water.

She takes his hand, letting him pull her up and off the bed, her steps dragging as though weighted with some unseen anchor. The walk to the bath is short, mercifully so, as her body feels languid, loose, and tired in the way only moments of deep intimacy can summon. The water steams faintly, hotter than she likes, and she pauses on the edge before stepping in. It licks at her flesh, turning it an alarming, blotchy red that she knows will fade. 

Usually, she folds into him, her back pressed to his chest, her spine nestled against the softness of his skin. But tonight, something feels different. She wants to see him, to watch him. Slowly, she adjusts, settling into his lap, her legs draped over his, facing him instead. 

She gathers water in her palms and lets it spill over his hair, again and again. She knows it’s enough when the strands are slicked back, heavy and gleaming, ready for the lather of the soap he reserves for it. A rich, herbal thing that smells like damp forests and earth, one that never leaves her skin raw no matter how much she uses. Her hands work without thought, smoothing the lather between her palms before massaging it into his hair. 

Because she wants to talk. Needs to. But she can’t, not if her hands are still, not if there’s nothing to distract them. She doesn’t know how to begin. Doesn’t know how to say it, how to shape it, how to— 

She exhales. 

"Emmrich," she says, and immediately it’s as though she’s stepped outside herself, not seeing but hearing, listening from some distant corner. Her voice disgusts her; pathetic, thin, trembling with a kind of vulnerability that makes her stomach twist. She tries again. "The things that you want..." It falters, slips through her fingers. She tries again. "I mean, not the ones you told me about after I asked, the other things..." And even then, she can’t finish. 

Immediately, he lifts his hand, waving it in an airy, dismissive gesture, as if to brush away her worries before they can settle. His eyes crease at the corners, weary in a way that mirrors her own exhaustion. That same hand, mid-wave, finds its way to her hair, smoothing it down. 

"Fantasies, dear one, are precisely that—fantasies," he says. His palm cups the back of her head fully now, his fingers splaying, curling ever so slightly against her skull, until he gently guides her face toward him. His lips press to her forehead and he keeps them there for a long moment, breathing her in. 

"You dream of gold," he continues, his voice lilting, thoughtful, "but that does not mean you wish to be encased in it." There’s a faint sound as his lips part from her, a soft pull of air that seems to punctuate his thoughts. "Whimsy is a necessity, a salve for the spirit. I have envisioned myself in a thousand different lives, a million postures and possibilities, each one its own fleeting delight. And yet, none of them came to pass, nor did they need to. Dreams are dreams for a reason," he concludes, his other hand lifting to trace the curve of her cheek. "Because we are creatures who must dream and life, my darling, would be unbearably impoverished without them.'' 

Bullshit, she thinks. Pure, uncut crap. He can wrap it in poetry, layer it with pretty words and polished sentiment, but she knows a con when she sees one. She is one—a walking, breathing embodiment of artifice, having swindled men and women out of time, money, patience, and whatever else they held too loosely. She watches him now, smiling tiredly, stifling a yawn behind his hand, and the signs are all there. Emmrich wants. He wants, but he doesn’t want to admit to wanting.

She shakes her head. 

"When the gods are dead," she says eventually, "we’ll have this conversation again. The dreams you dream are far from trivial. You deserve them. And next time," she adds, cross, "you won’t feed me hogwash." 

His eyes widen, her name forming on his lips. "Rook—" 

"I didn’t say I don’t want the things you do," she interrupts, as her fingers begin moving, rewetting his hair where the soap has dried into brittle peaks. "Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. Maybe someday I’ll wake up and want them so badly I can’t think of anything else. Or maybe the very thought will make me sick." 

Her hands still for a moment, water trickling from her palms, before she shrugs. ''But right now?" she says, her tone shifting, lifting, shaping itself into something lighter, more playful. It has to be funny again; she has to be funny again, has to summon back her stupid laughter, her idiotic giggling, his soft, indulgent smiles. "Right now is obviously not the time. And frankly, every child within earshot already annoys me; I've got way too much on my plate."

''Yes,'' Emmrich drawls, ''I do recall the Minrathous... incident.''

"That kid deserved to be kicked in the teeth," she points out, defensive. "Honestly, he got off lightly. Besides, you didn’t exactly leap to object in the moment." 

"That’s because I did not anticipate you would, if you’ll pardon the vulgarity, flip off a child. I was, shall we say, momentarily struck speechless." 

''He spat on me, Emmrich. He. Spat. On. Me.''

He looks at her, one eyebrow arched, and she braces instinctively, ready for the lecture that is sure to follow. The carefully measured reprimand about setting an example, being better, Emmrich’s usual litany of moralistic platitudes. But instead his head tips back, and out comes a laugh. More of a bark than anything, uncharacteristically loud, the kind of laugh she’s only ever heard when the wine has loosened him too much to care. It ripples through him, shaking his shoulders, and when it finally ebbs, he rubs at his eyes, catching the faint shine of unshed tears on his fingertips. 

"Oh, my Rook," he says, his voice softened by the remnants of laughter still rumbling faintly in his chest. "My pretty, beloved thing." He pauses, his gaze locking onto hers with something that feels almost too raw to bear. "Forgive the selfishness," he requests, ''but how profoundly grateful I am that you once looked my way—and that you keep looking still." 

Words evade her, slippery as minnows in a dark pond, darting away before she can grasp them. They do not reside in her the way they do in him, coiled neatly, nestled against the plush warmth of his inner cheek, waiting to be shaped. Hers are buried somewhere deep and low. But perhaps she can press them into him instead, push their meaning into the pores of his skin, let them seep beneath the surface where he might understand without her needing to speak.  

She kisses his forehead first, the heat of it damp against her lips, a soft communion. Then his eyelids, fluttering faintly beneath her touch. His temple is salty with sweat, his cheekbones cold and sharp despite the heat of the water. Her lips rest there, pressing, inscribing, as if she can carve her thoughts into him, etch the unsayable into the planes of his face.  

He is pretty too. So unbearably pretty that it makes her chest ache. But not the kind of prettiness that lives in novels or in the polished symmetry of soft-featured men. His beauty is stark; all angles, shadow and bone. His silver hair catches the light in a way that gold never could. Gold, which is gaudy and loud, has never suited her. Silver, though, oh, silver is cooler, cleaner, the kind of thing that fits her—he fits her—like a finely wrought bangle clasped around her wrist.  

The lines by his eyes are her favorite part, she thinks. They betray him in ways nothing else does, giving him away when he’s surprised or angry or sad, and she treasures them for that, for their honesty. They are the marks of someone who feels deeply, someone who cares, someone who can be trusted with fragile things. Those lines soften him, make him approachable in a way no smooth, unmarked youth could ever manage. She could stare at them for hours, watching their tiny twitches and shifts, memorizing every single one.  

If there is a crime in the universe, it is that there is only one Emmrich Volkarin. It feels absurd that the world has been granted just one of him. Any child of his should look only like him. She should contribute nothing. No smudges, no imperfections, nothing to mar the clarity of his design. She is the inkblot at the end of a pristine manuscript, while he is the volume itself, bound in dark leather and gleaming gold leaf.  

How could eternity ever be long enough for someone like him? He deserves it, yes, deserves it entirely, but only the kind that cradles and preserves, the kind that shields instead of consumes. Not the ugly eternity of bone and ash, not the endless emptiness of lichdom. She cannot bear the thought of him reduced to such a thing, his beauty stripped away, his brilliance devoured by the erosion of time. That he doesn’t see it this way only deepens her frustration.  

Hand me a spoon, she muses, her imagined voice so calm, so terribly polite. Thank you, thank you, you are ever so kind.And with that same borrowed civility, she would take the utensil and gouge out her own eyes. She would pluck them from their sockets, let the blood spill down her cheeks, let the nerve endings dangle like roots freshly torn from soil. Not forever, no, not forever. Just long enough for him to borrow them, to press her ruined vision into his own skull and see what she sees.

He is so, so pretty, she thinks again, wrapped up in his polished clothes, perfumed and proper, and she wants to scream it into him, to shove it into his head. She would ruin herself for him, scrape her knees raw on the ground prostrating at his feet, would choke on his cock until she tasted him in her lungs. She would swallow him whole, his seed flooding her throat, coating her insides, until she was painted with him, an Emmrich-colored thing from the inside out. She would fuck him any way, every way he likes, let him break her apart and remake her, just to ensure he never doubted how utterly lovely he is.  

She doesn’t know how to say any of this, how to dislodge the words from the thicket of her chest and shape them into something he might understand. Instead, she presses her lips to his cheek and kisses him there. Again. Again. Again. Once, twice.  

"Pretty," she murmurs. Her lips brush the edge of his jaw, where the first hint of roughness begins to bloom. "You are so, so pretty."  

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (16) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. 

chapter summary: coriolanus gets to enjoy you.

word count: 1,725

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, smut, oral (f receiving), fluff, pet name (petal) 

Coriolanus picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and carried you to his room. Your room, he decided. To hell with these separate sleeping arrangements. He was not going to let you out of his sight ever again. All of this time apart only made you more anxious, made more uncertain of his feelings for you. If he had to be attached at your side for the rest of your life just to remind you that he cared for you, he would do it. He would do anything for your love. 

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. You kissed him harder, as if you could taste his love if you tried hard enough. “I love you than a thorn loves its rose.”

“Are you the thorn to my rose?”

“I am whatever you wish me to be.”

Coriolanus kicked the bedroom door behind him and carried you over to the bed. He set you down on the edge, then dropped to his knees. He reached up your skirt, grabbing the edge of one stocking and pulling it down, then the other. Your hand gripped his hair, pushing him closer to where you wanted him to be. 

“Patience, petal,” he laughed as he removed your underwear. “I want to enjoy this as much as you do.”

He pushed your skirts up, leaving you fully exposed to him. He had half a mind to rip the dress right off of you, but that could wait. He truly did want to enjoy this. You had finally opened up to him, told him your worries and your fears. Coriolanus wanted to reward you for that. Wanted to show you that all would be well if you trusted him. 

You let out a whine as he pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses up your beautiful, plush thighs. Ever since your wedding night, he had been craving your legs wrapped around his head. If you had continued to ice him out, he would have dropped to his knees and begged for your forgiveness in the only way he knew might get you to respond to him. This was better, though. For you to open yourself up to him. 

When he finally reached your core, he couldn’t hold back any longer. Coriolanus wrapped his lips around your clitoris, giving it a harsh suck. Your hips lifted off the bed, grinding down on his face. Your hand, still gripping his hair, tugged harshly on his roots. A moan escaped his lips. Oh, yes, this was exactly what Coriolanus wanted. His pretty little petal behaving so good for him, letting him worship you as if that was all he was made to do.

Coriolanus wrapped his arms around your hips, urging your legs to rest on his shoulders. He felt your ankles lock together, one of your heels digging into his back. Perfect. You were so perfect, so responsive to him. “I love you,” he said as if it were prayer before he pushed his tongue in. 

You were so fucking wet for him. He had barely done anything, and yet you were dripping. He collected your juices on his tongue, savoring the taste, committing it to memory. Though he planned to spend every night for the rest of his life between your legs, he never wanted to forget this. If he should ever lose his brilliant mind, if he should never be as intelligent as he is now, he wanted to remember what it felt like to eat your cunt like it was his favorite meal. 

“Coryo, ah—” you cried out, tugging harder on his hair. “Too much—”

No—not enough.

Your thighs trembled. You were so close. Coriolanus swiped his tongue along your clit, moaning as you closed your legs around his head, trapping him there as you chased your high. They only slackened after you came undone with a shout. He pulled away, pressing another kiss to your thigh, before sitting back, admiring the mess you had become. 

“I love you, petal,” he said.

You offered him a sleepy smile. “You keep saying that.”

“And I will keep saying it until you believe it.” Coriolanus crawled up your body. When he laid over you, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “And I will keep saying it long after.”

“I didn’t know you could be so sweet,” you confessed. 

Coriolanus huffed out a laugh, then kissed you again. “Only for you. Everyone else can think what they wish of me.”

You reached up, carding your fingers through his hair. His eyes fluttered shut. He loved how much you touched his hair. Could he make you play with it forever? What would his advisors think if he demanded you attend every meeting with him just so you could pet his hair? “You don’t mean that. You don’t become king by letting people think whatever of you.”

“No, you don’t become king like that. But when you are king…The only thing that could get you removed is doing a piss poor job. And we both know that I’m too brilliant for that.”

You giggled and pulled him down for another kiss. “So egotistical,” you tease.

“I’ve earned it. I have an intelligent, beautiful wife. I am clever. I am King. What else could a man dream of?”

You hum, sliding your hands down his chest. You pull at the end of his shirt, untucking it from his pants. Coriolanus’s brows pinch together. “I am sure you could dream of a few things.”

He says nothing, watching as you move to undo the buttons of his shirt. But when you move to push the fabric off his shoulders, he stops you. “What are you doing, petal?”

“I…Did you not do…that, because you wanted to make love?” you asked. 

Coriolanus shook his head. “I ate your cunt because I wanted to.” You looked away. He put two fingers under your chin, guiding your gaze back to him. “Were you only going to fuck me because you still think its your duty?”

You blinked up at him. “My mama said that a wife should make herself available for her husband.”

“That might be the case in her marriage, but it will not be in ours. I will only, as you say, make love to you if you want it as much as I do. I will not, I cannot, settle for anything less.”

“But, you’re a man.”

“So?”

“Aren’t men supposed to want these things?” you asked. “My mama said that men only care about their own pleasure. Why should it matter what I want?”

“Am I like other men, petal?”

“Well, no.”

“Then why should you think I would be like them in this regard?” Coriolanus paused. He sat up, resting on the backs of his legs. He took your hands, also pulling you into a sitting position. “Is this why you ran on our wedding night? Because you didn’t want me to force you?”

You looked away. He tried to chase after your gaze, but you were stubborn like an ox. “I didn’t know I could bleed from it. I thought…I thought laying with you had made me unable to discern pleasure from pain, and that terrified me.” 

“Oh, petal,” Coriolanus cooed. He pulled your head against his chest. You relaxed in his hold. “All women bleed from their first time. It has nothing to do with pain. Did I hurt you that night?”

“No.” Your voice was muffled against his chest. 

“I want you to tell me if I ever do. I only want to lay with you if you are enjoying it as much as I am. More than I am, preferably. ” Coriolanus titled your head up so that he may look into your eyes. “Do you understand? I…I will admit that I may have forced you into this marriage, to a degree, but I don’t want any part of your love, of your affection to be forced.”

Your eyes searched his. Oh, how he wished he could read your mind. He wished he could worm his way inside, figure out why you think the way you do. Had he not made his intentions with you clear? Had it not been so obvious that all Coriolanus wanted was your love? Perhaps he had spent too much time slithering his way to the top. Perhaps he forgot what it was like to show someone his hand. 

Coriolanus pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I love you, my pretty petal. You consume me. And I hope that, one day, I can consume you in the same way.”

You were silent for a long moment, your eyes still searching his. Were you trying to read his mind like he was for you? Were you trying to peel back the layers of his brain, trying to find some hidden deception? You wouldn’t. This was the most honest Coriolanus had been in a long time. “What if I told you, you already do?”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean, petal.”

“But I do mean it. You confuse my thoughts. I spend every moment trying to understand you. When I wake in the morning, I wonder how you’ll change my perception of you. When I go to bed, I let myself believe that you truly do love me. That it’s not all some façade you’ve crafted to marry a perfect Queen. When I dream, I let myself be that Queen.”

“Petal…”

“I don’t know that I can say I love you,” you admitted, “but you make me feel things I could never dream of feeling. You consume me. You say you burn for me…I don’t think I knew light until I began to know you, truly know you. If that’s love, I don’t know. But you have wormed your way inside me, and I don’t think I can ever let you out.”

Coriolanus combed his fingers through your hair. “Then don’t.”

You sucked in a breath, leaning into his hand. “I won’t, but only if you hold me.”

“Yeah?”

“I deprived you, us, of that on our wedding night. I don’t think I would like to do that again.”

“Whatever you wish for is yours.”

And as he laid back, and as you settled yourself in his arms, Coriolanus decided that this was the happiest he had ever been.

[capsicle-evans]

The Make Believe Ms Evans

Summary: A PR marriage between Y/N and Chris Evans has skyrocketed their careers but their sex lives has never been this low. Up until now.

Warnings: unprotected sex, swearing

Series Master Post

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

“What are you reading?” Chris raises one eyebrow, moving his attention away from Dodger to me.

“Nothin” I blush, sitting up in a straighter position.

“Sure and that’s why you’ve been whimpering and pressing your legs for the last 5 minutes” He rolls his eyes and before I can stop him, he snatches the book right out of my hands.

“Give it back, you dick” I try to retrieve it from his hands but he is so much stronger than me so he keeps me away with just one arm.

“Let’s see” He scans the pages as a grin spreads over his lips. “Oh we haven’t done that”

“Give me that” I manage to get my book back, giving him a dirty look before settling back down on the couch. “You are such a kid sometimes”

“Why are so so ashamed?” Chris frowns. “It’s not like we haven’t seen each other naked by now”

“I know” I blush as the mental picture of a naked Chris floods my mind. “It’s just… forget about it”

“Y/N” Chris’s frown deepens as he steps closer to me. “You have been eaten out, right?”

Why can the Earth just swallow me whole right now? Why must I go through this? I mean it’s not like it’s my fault, but still.

“Of course” I roll my eyes before placing the book over my face to block Chris stare. “Leave me alone”

I try to focus back on the story, the words of intimacy that lay before be sending warm waves through my body. I clench my thighs as the main character is being stimulated by her male counter part, her pussy being consumed by his mouth.

I jump a little in my spot when I feel a warm hand pushing up the hem of my dress. “What-?” I move my book away to look down where Chris lays in between my legs, his hands tugging at my underwear. I try to speak but the words get stuck at the back of my throat as my core gets exposed right on front of Chris’s face. “Chris” I try to grab his head to push him away but he shakes it off.

“Just relax” He looks up at me, his eyes turned a deep shade of stormy blue. “Read to me”

“What?” I pant as he connects his lips to my inner thigh. He points at my book with a little nod, darting his tongue out to taste the saltiness of my skin. “No, I want to-“

“Read to me or I’ll stop” He gives me a pointed look as he grabs both of my legs to drape them over his shoulders.

“Fine” I grunt before placing the book back in front of my face as Chris moves a couple of inches closer to my throbbing center. “I needed release” I start reading, feeling Chris’s breath fanning my pussy. “I needed Simon to let me reach it, but every time I got close, he’d pull away”

“I should do that with you” Chris grins against my skin before finally swiping his tongue between my folds. The new sensation pushes my legs together, smothering Chris closer to my pussy. “Keep reading, Y/N” Chris grunts against me before pulling my clit as he sucks on it.

“I can’t” I gasp as he spreads me open with his big hands. His tongue darts inside me forcing his chin to rub against me so his beard burns against my thighs. Chris looks up at me before removing his mouth from me.

“Be a fucking good girl and read” Chris bites into my thigh before reaching up to place the book back into my hands. “Or I won’t eat you, bunny”

The pet name makes me blush so I grab the book to hide my face. Smiling up, Chris moves back to his mission. This time he spreads my fold, my puss glistening and blushing under his gaze. A sudden embarrassment takes over me so I focus on the words in front of me. “His mouth is demanding and savoring my core” as I say this, Chris’s tongue tortures my clitoris, his fingers digging into my skin. I drop the book again so my hands can fly to his hair, digging in between his golden locks.

“The bo-“

“Shut up” I push his head against me, muffling his words. I can feel him grinning against me as he intensifies his swipes across my pussy, focusing on my clitoris every once in a while.

“Do you like this?” Chris’s raspy voice breaks through my moans. “God you make the best sounds”

“Chris” I moan his name as he starts fucking me with is tongue and his thumb massages my bud. “I’m so close”

“Yeah, cum over my tongue, bunny” Chris replaces his thumb with his lips and his index fingers starts fucking my pussy, thrusting hard into me. “I want to feel you clench around my finger”

I feel the pressure building, the need for release making me shudder against his touch. I pull on his hair, the waves of pleasure rising as he laps at my lips and when he adds a second finger, I’m a goner.

“Fuck fuck fuck” I pant, shaking under him as I my release rides away under his mouth. I’m trashing under him so Chris grabs my hips, pinning me down.

“God I want to be inside you” Chris holds himself up as he undoes his pants. His dick springs out, wanting to join the action.

“Please, Chris” I grab his white shirt, pulling him down to me. “Fuck me”

“Your wish is my command” He plants a quick kiss before plunging inside of me. “Damn, you feel so good around me. So tight and wet”

“You stretch me so good, Daddy” I moan out and suddenly Chris goes stiff over me. My hands fly to my mouth, realizing the words that just came out of me. “Shit sorry”

Chris eyes are almost black, his chest heaving and the vein on his neck pulsing. “Say it again”

Fuck. I grab his neck so our foreheads are touching. “Make me cum again, Daddy” I whine against his lips as his hand wraps around my neck, gripping just enough.

“You like that?” Chris starts entering me faster and harder, pressing down on my neck to gain stability. “Open up, baby girl”

His thumb tugs at my lips so I make an O shape with my mouth. Pulling me closer by the neck, Chris spits in my mouth. I lick my lips close and guide his face to the crook of my neck. “I’m so close, so close”

Chris bites into my collarbone as his hips roll faster before becoming sloppy and erratic. “I’m cummin, fuck” Chris moans hard as I feel him spilling inside of me.

His orgasm and moans send me over the edge once again. My nails ding into his back as the waves of pleasure consume my every senses.

Sex was always okay with my exes, my vibrator achieving more than they ever did. Until Chris. He fucks me up so good, I always end up wrecked, exhausted and destroyed.

Chris pulls out from inside of me but makes no intention of getting off me, his cum dripping along my thighs. “Move” I laugh as he rests his head over my boobs.

“Give me a minute, woman” He sasses me. “If I move, I might pass out”

“Ugh fine” I roll my eyes, throwing my arm over my face.

I can feel his chest rising and falling over mine, his shallow breaths colliding with my covered nipple. Too focused on his heaving chest, my eyes begin to drift off, my eyelids getting too heavy to keep them open. And the last thing I can remember is a sigh that passes through Chris’s lips.

***

My dry mouth slowly wakes me up, the urge for a glass of water strong in the back of my throat. My eyes flutter open and it takes me a couple of seconds to adjust to the darkness. I rub my eyes to remove the sleep that still holds on, the clock on the wall flashing 2:00 am. Fuck, last time I remember, it was 8:47 pm, right after Chris and I had dinner. Chris.

My head snaps to my chest as a golden mane rests peacefully over my chest. Chris is still deep into his sleep so I try not to wake him up but I need to get out of here. As a small woman, a very tall man laying over me is not really good for my blood flow. I can tell my legs are almost numb from being under him. I try to push him softly on his side so that I can roll away and leave him sleeping here.

“Mm” Chris purrs against my skin, his ocean eyes blinking open slowly.

“Sorry” I whisper, placing my hand over his shoulder blade. “I just need some water”

“Yeah sure” Chris straightens up and I can feel the stickiness he left behind over.

“Okay, and a shower as well” I laugh as I move towards the kitchen, Chris following close behind.

“And is there room for me?” He gives me puppy eyes as I fill my glass up with water.

“Hm that depends” I pretend to think as I bring the glass up to my lips. “Are you going to behave?”

Chris walks to stand behind me, his hands immediately reaching for my hips. He dips his head down to nuzzle my neck. “No, I won’t”

Chris pushes my hips back against his erection as his free hand takes purchase of my nipple. “You know what drives me crazy?”

“What?” I barely speak as his tongue savors the skin behind my ear.

“The way you look right after I’ve fucked you” His other hand hides under the hem of my shorts, softly massaging my entrance over my panties. “Your face right after your orgasm is so fucking hot, your mouth all swollen up and red and so so tempting”

“Chris” I gasp, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter as Chris’ index finger dips inside of me.

“Yes, how you moan my name also makes my pants explote” He adds a second finger in, forcing my head to fall back against his chest. “I also love it when you were sun dresses and you bend down and I get to look at your perfect ass”

With that, Chris slaps my butt cheek, sending shivers straight to my core. “You know how many times I touched myself with that imagine in my mind? How I pictured you riding me reverse cowgirl, your ass slamming against my skin?”

“I need you Chris” I manage to speak, my eyes closed as my hips follow the rhythm of his hand.

“Come here” Chris spins me around to pick me up. “Wrap your legs around me, bunny”

With me in his arms, Chris walks us to the shower in his bathroom. I take my time to ravage his neck with my mouth, earning moans and praises when I dig my teeth softly in his skin

“If you don’t stop, we are not gonna make it to the shower”

Chris puts me down so he can turn the water on and let if warm up to us. “Off with those clothes”

“So impatient” I grin, pulling down my shorts, revealing my damp red panties.

“You are so fucking hot” Chris admires me as I remove the rest of my clothes. “Really why didn’t we start this sooner?”

“Don’t know, but now we have all the time in the world” I pull him down by the neck to meet my lips. I grab the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head. His pants come off soon after and he guides me into the shower, the hot water steaming up the entire room.

“Come here” Chris hugs my waist and pulls me under the shower head, water splashing us.

“Last time I saw you here” I grin, gripping his arm muscles. “You were pleasuring yourself”

“Really?” He grins, blush straining his cheeks. “Do you want to know what I was thinking about?”

“What?” I bite my bottom lip.

“You in that pink night gown” Chris presses his hip against me, his tip tickling my belly. “And how much I wanted to take it off and fuck you so hard”

“Chris” I breath out, my pussy clenching at his words. “Show me”

***

“What the fuck?” A loud shrink wakes me up, making me jump on my spot. “WHAT THE FUCK?”

I look at the door when Polly and Claire have their mouths wide open and staring back at me.

“Can you two shut up?” I groan, letting by head fall back into the pillow.

“Please” Chris whines behind me and that’s when I realize what is happening.

I fell asleep on Chris’ bed. After sex. He is naked. I’m naked. Claire and Polly are here. Fuck.

“Like Hell” Claire replies to me. “Can you guys fucking explain?”

“Do you want me to explain to you how I fucked my wife?” Chris rolls his eyes as he pulls away from me, still holding on to the bed spread.

“I think I’m having a fucking seizure” Polly brings her hand up to her head. “I’m about to have an aneurysm”

“Stop being so dramatic” I roll my eyes, reaching for a towel thats on the floor near my side of the bed. “You guys should be delighted”

“With the two of you, we never know” Claire shakes her head before tossing Chris his pants from the floor. “Get ready. You’ll explain later. Your stylists are here to get you ready for the event”

Agh of course, the fundraiser for the Children’s Hospital.

“Fine, be down in five” I wave them off as I move pass them towards my room.

“No funny business” Polly points at the two of us.

“As if I last 5 minutes” I hear Chris reply and then a loud thud. Probably some shoe aimed towards Chris.

And the rest of the morning is spent with people running around doing my hair and makeup, Chris trying on different suits and Polly and Claire staring at us like we grew a second head.

I can tell they want to grill us with questions but every time they try to approach the subject, someone else walks into the room and they have to turn their attention to something else. It’s not until we are all seated at out assigned table at the event that Polly finally breaks the silence.

“So how long?” She asks us, her voice un almost a whisper to not gain any attention.

“The day after the premiere” Chris replies, bringing his whiskey up to his lips.

“Ok not that long then” Claire nods. “Should we be concern?”

“Because I’m having sex with my wife?” Chris asks and I almost choke on a piece of cheese. “No, I don’t think so”

“You guys hated each other less than two weeks ago” Claire places her hands on the table, leaning forward so that only us can hear. “If this goes wrong I can only imagine how hard it’s gonna be for us”

“Relax” I roll my eyes, leaning back into my chair. “We are adults, we know what we are doing”

“That does nothing to calm me” Polly shakes her head. “But if there’s one thing I know about you two is that you never make our jobs any easier”

“Can we please just drop it?” Chris sounds more irritated now. “We are married, as you have made emphasis on for the last four months, we are getting along. Leave it alone”

“Fine” Polly slumps back down on her chair. “I just don’t even have the energy for this”

“Great” Chris nods before turning to me. “I’m gonna go say hi to some friends, do you want to come?”

“No, it’s okay” I wave him off. “I actually wanna see the garden so I’ll go for a walk”

“I can join you if you want” Chris offers but I know he hasn’t seen his friends in a while.

“No, it’s okay” I smile at him. “I saw Ana de Armas a couple of minutes ago, I’ll ask her to keep me company” Ana and I became really good friends on set whenever I had to pay a visit to my beloved husband.

“Kay” Chris stands before placing a kiss on my cheek. “See ya in a bit”

I follow him until he disappears from my view and my eyes fall back to the two ladies in front of me. “Stop fucking staring”

“It’s just so fucking weird honestly” Polly shakes her head before bringing her glass of wine up to her lips. “I’m gonna need more of this honestly”

“Fine whatever, I’m gonna go for a walk” I grab my clutch and walk away from the table.

I look around the beautiful garden to decide what to do. I spot Ana deep in a conversation with someone so I decide better not to step into their conversation. I decide to check out the paintings that are being displayed for the fundraiser. Most of them are floral themed and filled with pastel colors and soft drawings.

“Do you like it?” A deep voice startles me as I’m gazing closely up at a painting. “Sorry didn’t mean to scare you”

“It’s okay” I wave him off before turning my attention back to the painting. “Yeah, it’s gorgeous”

“Good, cuz I painted it” He beams at me proudly. “Jaques, nice to meet you”

“Y/N, like wise” I extend my hand to shake it but he grabs it and brings it up to his lips. I pull it back quickly as I feel my cheeks go warm “You must be proud of your work”

“Very much so” He steps a bit closer to me. “And tell me Y/N, do you paint?”

“No no” I chuckle, grasping my glass of wine with both of my hands. “I always wanted to but never got around to doing something about it”

“What a shame” He gives me a side smile. “I’m pretty sure someone as beautiful as you would only creat art just as beautiful”

I feel myself physically cringing but I try not to be rude so I just smile.

“I could give you some lessons” He steps closer, his hand reaching for my elbow to pull me closer. “We could meet and I could show you everything you need”

Before I can open my mouth or step away from him, I feel a big hand wrap around my waist and pull me away hard until I’m pushed into someone’s chest. I look up to find Chris with his eyes set hard over Jaques. “Chris?” My voice comes out squeezed as he presses me against his side. Chris manages to peel his eyes away from Jaques to look down at me.

“Hi, Bunny” He winks down at me before leaning down to connect our lips in a kiss that anyone would consider inappropriate in public. He finally pulls away to look back to Jaques. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“No, I was just telling Y/N that I could give her some painting le-”

“Ms. Evans” Chris interrupts Jaques and I feel my cheeks burning but my pussy as well. Fuck who knew possessive Chris was such a turn on.

“What?” Jaques almost stumbles with his words.

“She is Ms. Evans to you” Chris makes emphasis on this by showing up his ring. “And about those painting classes, I don’t think they’ll be necessary. If she wants to we can get her another teacher. Now if you excuse us, my wife and I have somewhere to be”

Chris doesn’t even let Jaques form a reply before he is turning us away. “There was no need to be rude” I try to glare at Chris but his eyes look so stormed up that my words come out in breaths.

“There was no need for him to touch you” Chris guides me towards some stairs that lead to the foyer of the mansion where event is being held.

“Where are we going?” I frown when I notice Chris is moving us towards a hallway.

“To teach you some lessons, not painting ones” He pushes me into a room before locking the door behind us. “But a lesson nonetheless”

I moan as he pushes himself against me and his mouth takes over mine. “Chris, someone could hear us”

“Better, then”

***

“Look, our first sex scandal” I grin as I show Chris the pictures someone manage to snap of us going inside the manor and then walking back out with my hair a little undone and Chris’ shirt poorly button up.

“Claire and Polly must be thrilled” He grins as I flop down next to him on his bed.

“I think they actually were” I laugh as I show them the text that they sent me. “Everyone is talking about us and all those rumors of divorce seem to be a thing of the past”

“Good” Chris smiles down at me before looking down through my night gown at the hickey he left right over my left boob. “Sorry about that”

“It’s nothing” I wave him off. “I’m just wearing turtle necks until next week I guess”

“Uh, it’s a shame no one is going to see my work of art” He grins, pulling me by the waist so that I’m pressing up against him.

“Oh no mister” I laugh, pressing my hands against his chest to push back away from him but his grip is tighter. “I’m all sore, you need to let me rest”

“Fine” He rolls his eyes but he doesn’t let ho of me.

His blue eyes stare down into mine and suddenly I feel my throat dry up. His eyes flicker between mine and my lips before he leans in to touch my forehead with his.

“Chris” I breath out, my heart going a haywire as he nuzzles my nose with his. “I should probably go to my room”

“Y/N” Chris covers my neck softly with his hand to connect our lips for a brief kiss. “Stay”

“I have my room” I reach for his hand with mine but don’t pull away. “We have separate rooms for a reason”

“I don’t think I remember that reason anymore” He grins against my lips before moving his lips down to my neck. I expect him to tease me there but he just stays there and pulls me hard against his chest. “Stay”

“Okay”

***************************************************

Hi i know it’s been forever but I kinda got stuck. I have proofread it so sorry for the mistakes

@talesofadragon @patzammit @rainyhort10-blog @cutedisneygrl @creae7881 @edtomh @8crazy-freak8 @weirdpeoplecoolpeople @sarahdonald87 @mrsevans90

[niki-phoria]

jihoon my beloved <33

pairing: kdrama!sieun x gn!reader (implied masc reader; no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 635

includes: established relationship, affectionate reader, awkward sieun, maybe ooc siuen ?? he deserves a hug

a/n: been obsessed with him lately so i wrote this lol maybe i'll continue this/start taking reqs if ppl want it ?? I'VE NEVER WATCHED THE DRAMA BEFORE PLS DONT HATE ME IF THIS IS REALLY BAD LDSNDSKL

“sieun,” you smile, gently knocking your shoulder into his as a form of greeting. 

“y/n,” he greets curtly in response as you continue to follow him through the somewhat crowded hallway. sieun glances down momentarily when your hand brushes against his. an unfamiliar feeling of love and warmth crawls through him at the simple gesture despite affection only becoming more commonplace the longer your relationship continues on.

the heavy doors of byeoksan high school slam shut behind you as you continue to follow behind sieun. despite his seeming apathy, you know he appreciates the company. 

your footsteps remain in sync as sieun silently passes an earbud to you before a familiar melody reaches your ears. “your place?”

his only response comes in the form of a short hum in agreement. trees shade the path ahead as you make your way to the bus stop; waiting in silence together for a few minutes. you softly smile when sieun reaches over, intertwining your fingers together.

the duration of the bus ride and subsequent walk up to his apartment is spent in a comforting silence; besides the quiet music playing from sieun’s earbud still securely resting in your ear. his hand doesn’t leave yours until he reaches up to unlock the door. 

you slip off your shoes as soon as you walk inside, following the same routine you’ve had since sieun first agreed to begin studying with you: slip on your designated pair of slides, study with sieun for a few hours, eventually grow tired enough to force him to eat something, and end the day by falling asleep together curled up on the couch; savoring each moment of peace before you’re forced to get up again and repeat the process the next day.

you join sieun at his dining room table as he takes a textbook out of his bag. you slide into the chair across from him, pulling out your own work before handing the earbud back to him. 

the next hour is spent in a comfortable silence; the only sounds audible in sieun’s small apartment are the occasional frustrated sigh that escapes your lips and the rhythmic noise of his pencil scribbling against his notebook paper. 

you find yourself occasionally losing interest in your homework, instead passing the time by admiring your adoring boyfriend. it isn’t long before your staring catches sieun’s attention. his eyes widen and a small blush spreads up his neck to the tips of his ears, making you chuckle.

“sieun,” you smile. 

“y/n.” he refuses to glance up at you in fear of more teasing, though his efforts do little to prevent you from abandoning your assignment in favor of your boyfriend. you set your pencil aside as you reach over, brushing a stray strand of his fringe back into place. sieun’s blush deepens, now spreading across his cheeks to dust his face a light pink. wide eyes meet yours for a few more seconds before he looks back down at the open textbook in front of him. “you should get back to work.”

you stand up, walking around to sieun’s side of the table. he watches with wide eyes as you gently push his chair back before settling yourself in his lap. your knees rest on either side of his hips as your arms reach around his neck. “i could,” you murmur, leaning in closer to him. “but this is way more fun.”

you can nearly feel the heat radiating from sieun’s cheeks as you pull him into a sweet kiss. he hesitantly moves a hand up to brush a strand of hair out of your face before it finally settles on your cheek. you smile against his lips as sieun lets himself momentarily forget about his work; instead pulling you in for another, and another, and another.

[caribenakizu]

SUB DAN HENG PART TWO

Sub! Dan Heng x Fem! Reader (yes, I plan male version as well, but honestly, looking how long it took me to write and public this version, I don't know if it will work out [but I'll try])

WARNINGS: nsfw, sub! Dan Heng, slight mommy kink, oral sex (fem! Reader received), praise kink, cumming without touching and that's all I think? Hope I didn't forget about anything

God, you would never assumed that boy who spend so much time in the Archives would be so good with his tongue. Dan Heng was licking your pussy clean, moaning and whimpering, making so many cute sound... Yet he refused to let you go, holding you tight by your thigs, eating you like a starved man. His whole body was shaking, he didn't even knew, but he was bucking his hips aganist your bed.

"Mmmm" you almost purr, stroking and caressing his hair "That's a good boy" you praised him with a smirk on your face, knowing how your words would affect him.

He let out such a loud moan, oh god. Good thing that the wall of the Express were thick. You felt a bit pity for your co-passangers, but only for a minute. Dan Heng was too good, too cute, and too needy for you to ignore him.

"Mo-Mommy..." he whimpered as an answer to your praise, making you chuckle and caress his hair a bit.

"Hmm, I'm your Mommy now?" you chuckled, and Wrapped your legs around his head, locking him up between your thighs before he get a chance to move away "It's okay, I can be your Mommy. Just keep working with that tongue of yours... Mhm, just like that" sight lovely, arching your back "That's a good boy, Mommy's good little boy. Keep going baby, don't be shy. "

He let out such a loud moan, still giving you a sloppy cunnilingus, humping your sheets even faster. He squeezed your thighs, not stopping pleasuring you for even a minute, and the noises that were escaping his mouth were louder and louder. He was bucking his hips against your sheet so hard, that the entire bed was trembling, movements of his tongue became even more desperate and sloppy, if that was even possible.

He cummed. Just from eating you out and humping your bed. He loses control and his horns showed up as well as his pretty dragonish, blue tail.

"Good boy" you praise him again, caressing gently his hair "That's a goo-...Ah!" You let out quiet groan when his tongue started working on you again.

His tongue, god, his tongue. It changed as well, it was way more slimmer right now, but longer, and god, it felt so good...!

You couldn't help, but climax yourself not long after. He licked your pussy clean, savoring the taste of you, but his moves were visibly more calm and delicate now. You groaned a bit, grabbing his hair, his tongue was making you a bit overstimulated, but you just couldn't tell him to get off. Finally, he on his own decided that this is enough for one night, panting heavily he moved his head to your face to kiss you deeply. You could taste yourself on his tongue, but honestly? You didn't cared.

"Now" you mumbled softly, when he break off the kiss and started nuzzling his face in your neck, breathing your scent in "We're going to clean ourselves. This time for real"