#When the odds where fully against him.

[i-bring-crack]

A–Aventio TGCF idea?? Wherein Civil God Veritas Ratio meets the infamous Ghost King Aventurine during his first mission cuz cuz like— The "live for me" paralels?!? The one who has all the luck partner as well?!? The villain who was actually not the Villain this whole time!?!? The loving humanity a little too much it causes their downfall !?!?!?

Rant AU in the tags proceed with caution

[maskedbyghost]

arranged marriage with simon. yes i am talking about this again.

simon doesn’t talk much about the marriage at first, but his actions say it all. he insists on carrying your bags, walking on the outside of the sidewalk, and making sure you eat enough during missions. you don't ask him why, but it's clear he's claiming the role of protector, even if this was supposed to be temporary.

he won’t admit it, but simon begins to get used to the little domestic routines. you cooking dinner, him taking care of repairs around the house. it feels too natural, and although he never says anything, he’s already mentally putting the two of you into that “forever” category.

the first time you mention needing space or wanting to stay in a separate room, simon just gives you a look. "what do you mean, separate? we’re married." he’s not joking either. to him, this isn’t a temporary arrangement anymore. if you try to argue, he’ll just pull you close and mutter in your ear, "ring’s on your finger. means you’re mine." and that’s the end of the conversation.

he starts doing small things for you that a husband would—restocking your favorite snacks, making sure your gun is cleaned before missions, and slipping extra blankets on your side of the bed when it’s cold.

after some time, he’s not shy about touching you anymore—brushing a hand against your arm, holding you a little too close when you’re out in public. the more time passes, the more his touches become possessive, like he’s reminding you who you belong to now.

simon is up early, always. you’ll wake up to the smell of coffee, and he’ll have a cup ready for you without asking. if you take your time getting out of bed, he’ll mutter, "c’mon, mrs. riley. don’t make me drag you out." but there’s always a smile on his face.

when you share a bed, simon always pulls you into him at night. no matter how much space you take up at first, by morning, you’re wrapped up in his arms. if you stir in your sleep or seem restless, he’ll murmur, "got you, lovie," without fully waking up, his grip tightening as if to remind you he’s there, keeping you safe.

simon doesn’t open up easily, but after a particularly intense moment, he’ll lean in close, his forehead resting against yours, and he’ll whisper, "don’t care if it was for a mission or not. you’re the only one for me now." it’s not a grand declaration, but the sincerity in his voice makes your heart race.

simon will leave subtle marks of possession on you—his dog tags hanging around your neck, his scent clinging to your clothes, and his bite marks on your skin after an especially heated night. "need everyone to know who you belong to," he’ll growl against your skin, his lips trailing kisses down your neck.

he also has an odd obsession with your wedding ring. he’ll turn it on your finger, kissing it softly whenever you’re close. if you ever take it off for some reason, his brow furrows, and he’ll slip it back on. "keep it on, yeah?" his voice is low, almost pleading. "means something to me."

after a particularly dangerous mission where you were almost hurt, simon corners you in the hallway, eyes filled with emotion. "you’re not leaving me," he growls, pinning you against the wall. "ever. understand?" it’s a statement, a vow, and in that moment, you know you’re his forever, and he’s yours.

when you’re lying in bed together, his arms wrapped around you, simon will sometimes whisper, "mine," into your hair. it’s soft, almost inaudible, but you feel it in your bones. he needs the reminder just as much as you do—that you’re his, and he’s never letting you go.

[misswynters]

short drabble

Ekko and heimerdinger are being nerdy while you sleep

requested. by anon

There was always a soft hum of machinery that filled the air in Heimerdinger’s workshop. And with that accompanied by the occasional clink of tools and the professor’s enthusiastic ramblings. The workshop had an oddly calming atmosphere, a mix of glowing gadgets, bubbling contraptions, and the gentle warmth of lamp-lit light. It was perfect for dozing off, especially after a long day of following Ekko around Zaun.

You were sprawled out on the old, lumpy couch tucked in a corner of the workshop, your head cushioned by one of Ekko’s jackets that you’d claimed for yourself. Curled up against your side was your pet, a small, scrappy Zaunite fox. Its fur was a mix of gray and russet, with glowing green streaks running along its ears and tail. Ekko had found it injured near one of the Sump scrapers, and after some patching up, it had attached itself to you like glue.

Ekko called it “Scraps” (because of course he would), and Scraps was now peacefully snoozing, just like you.

Across the room, Ekko and Heimerdinger were huddled around one of the professor’s latest inventions, discussing something that involved words you didn’t fully understand.

“…but if you accelerate the core’s energy output without stabilizing the oscillation, it’ll implode,” Ekko said, gesturing animatedly at the device.

Heimerdinger adjusted his tiny glasses, nodding. “Precisely! Which is why you must ensure the harmonic calibrations are synced—ah, but don’t forget to account for temporal distortions.”

As the professor continued explaining, Ekko’s focus wavered. His gaze drifted toward the couch where you were sleeping, your form softly rising and falling with each breath. Scraps twitched its glowing tail but stayed nestled close to you.

A small smile crept onto Ekko’s face. You looked so peaceful, completely at odds with the chaos that usually surrounded you both in Zaun. Your hand was loosely tangled in Scraps’ fur, your other arm tucked under your cheek.

He didn’t notice the professor had stopped talking until Heimerdinger’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Ah, young love,” Heimerdinger said, his tone tinged with teasing amusement.

Ekko snapped his head back toward him, blinking. “Huh? What’re you talking about?”

Heimerdinger chuckled, folding his hands behind his back. “There’s no use denying it, dear boy. The way you’re looking at them, it’s rather endearing, really.”

Ekko’s ears burned. “I wasn’t—I mean, I was just—” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re asleep, alright? That’s all.”

Heimerdinger hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Still, allow me to impart some wisdom, as one who has witnessed countless romances blossom and wither over the centuries.”

“Oh no,” Ekko muttered, groaning.

Ignoring him, Heimerdinger continued, his voice taking on the tone of a well-meaning but meddling elder. “When courting a significant other, one must always show respect, patience, and attentiveness. Flowers are an excellent gesture, but so is active listening. Communication, you see, is the foundation of—”

“Professor,” Ekko interrupted, exasperated. “I don’t think you understand. We’re not—”

“Young people these days,” Heimerdinger said with a dramatic shake of his head, cutting him off. “Always so quick to dismiss advice. But mark my words: treat them well, or you’ll regret it!”

Before Ekko could retort, Scraps stirred, lifting its head with a sleepy yawn. The movement must’ve disturbed you because you shifted slightly, blinking groggily as the sound of their voices filtered through your half asleep haze.

“Mm… what’s going on?” you mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. Scraps hopped off the couch and stretched before circling back to your lap.

Ekko winced, shooting you an apologetic look. “Sorry, Firefly,” he said softly, using the nickname he’d given you. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Firefly—because you were always a little light in Zaun’s darkness, buzzing around him with endless energy.

You shook your head, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips. “It’s fine,” you murmured, scratching Scraps behind the ears. “What were you guys talking about?”

Heimerdinger perked up. “Oh, nothing of consequence!” he said cheerfully, though his smirk told a different story. “Merely enlightening young Ekko on the art of courtship.”

You blinked, then glanced at Ekko, who looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “Courtship?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t start,” Ekko muttered, shooting Heimerdinger a look.

The professor chuckled, his ears twitching. “Ah, youth. So easily embarrassed.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Ekko’s expression, your earlier grogginess fading. “Well, did you learn anything useful?” you teased.

Ekko rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

He reached out, ruffling your hair gently before pulling his hand back. “For real, though. Sorry we woke you up. Want me to walk you home?”

You shook your head, leaning back against the couch. “Nah, I’m good here. I like listening to you two talk.”

Heimerdinger beamed. “A kindred spirit indeed! Intellectual discourse is a joy to behold, is it not?”

Ekko groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “And now you’ve encouraged him. Great.”

You just laughed again, feeling the warmth of the moment settle around you. Scraps let out a contented sigh, curling up in your lap, and Ekko plopped down on the couch beside you. His hand found yours, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go, his usual ease returning.

The three of you stayed in the workshop, for endless hours as the two nerds worked on their projects. Whereas you cheered them on at the sidelines with cute ol’ Scraps to keep you company. Especially when they would talk about all the science lingo that you did not understand. Even though ekko would sometimes explain it in more simpler terms. It didn’t quite go through your head. Needlessly to say you enjoyed the days you would spend at the workshop.

taglist. @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @thesevi0lentdelights

banner. @anitalenia

[tojisun]

!! fem reader; soft and tender sex :((

simon and the way he worships you — how he trails kisses from your shins to your knees; then nuzzling the inside of your thighs, leaving shallow bites that make your breath hitch, before dimpling the meat of your hips with his hands.

simon and the way he adores you — slow caresses of his fingers on your hardened clit, his thumb gentle against the sensitive nub, before slipping two of his lubed fingers inside your slicked pussy.

he breathes in sharply just as you gasp at the stretch, his eyes alight with his own desire, and greedy as they take in the image that you make: whimpering and squirming, your hands fisting the sheets as your head thrashes from where it lies on simon’s lap. your legs squeeze close at every dizzying slide but simon is quick to prop them open with his free hand, his palm pushing down at the fat of your thigh with a gentle beckoning.

“you feel good, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice so soft it’s almost devoured by your mewls.

“yes,” you hiccup, blinking your eyes open to meet his. it is awkward as you’re seeing him upside-down but you do not mistake the tenderness in the way simon’s gazing at you.

simon’s looking at you like you are the loveliest thing that ever happened to him and you feel it in his touch; in the way he crooks his fingers when you softly begged, “there, please? s’good there, si.”

his lips wobble and you really, really want to kiss him. and so you ask him just that, your hands loosening their hold on the quilt to caress his bulk—the soft pads of your fingertips tracing the lines of simon’s nerves as they map up his arms. he is so big, his arms are so long, that you couldn’t fully touch them all, but that is alright because simon’s already bowing down to meet your lips.

the kiss feels odd as his lips slot against your own in an opposite angle, still, you tremble at the gentleness of it all.

he sucks on your lower lip and you lick into his mouth, bumping against his tongue. the first touch makes you moan at the same time that simon’s fingers begin fucking you again, and you squeal, your back lifting up from the bed only to be pressed down again by simon’s weight.

he pops off from kissing you with a chuckle. “shh, sweet girl,” he murmurs. “i’ve got you.”

simon and the way he reveres you — how he clings to you just as tight when you tell him you’re cumming.

“so good f’r me,” simon gasps out. “so beautiful. so perfect — look at me, sweet one. look at me- ah,” his eyes crinkle when he smiles. “there she is, my beloved.”

it’s that which pushes you to your orgasm, your heels digging into simon’s back as your head drops into the pillows with a cry. simon follows, folding his body against yours to trace kisses on the column of your throat and you keep cumming, gushing at the intensity of it all.

so good! so good!

[kitscutie]

hi! i saw your post about snow omg, can i request a coriolanus x mentor!reader where she’s similar to like clemensia but she’s more close to corio and they have a secret relationship? thank you in advance if you do this rq! love ur tsitp writings sm 🥹

snow and roses: part I (coriolanus snow x fem!reader)

pairing: coriolanus snow x reader

warnings: none!

summary: you and coriolanus have been dating in secret for months, all it takes is one songbird for everything to come into the light.

a/n: first time writing for snow and I'm very excited about it! I've always loved the hunger games and this movie was insane in the best way so please enjoy! I will be making this a series and this is only part one so stay tuned for the rest!

word count: 2.2k

join my taglist here.

"You're going to get it Coryo, don't stress." You soothed the boy as you sat next to him. It was barely even six in the morning and the pair of you had woken up, well he had woken up and you with him as he blatantly needed your support, desperate for the Plinth Prize.

You didn't need the prize, already coming from a wealthy Capitol family and yet you felt the same hope that he would win as you would for yourself, stomach twisting into knots at the thought.

"There's good candidates Y/N, it feels as if the odds are already stacked against me." He sighed, leaning over as he sat so his elbows rested on his knees, head in his hands.

"The odds are in your favour Coryo, you're special. Different." With that he looked at you, a small smile gracing his pale lips. He leaned up kissing you gently, fully embracing the special moment before he got up from his place next to you.

"I'll see you at the Academy?" He asked, knowing you had to leave quickly back to your own house in order to change but also in order to avoid the suspicions of your own family who had no idea of your relationship with Snow.

"Of course." You replied, also standing up and pulling on last nights clothes as you left.

You studied the dark an empty halls of his house, ensuring Grandma'am was nowhere to be seen before you quickly walked to the door, exiting un-noticed until Tigris came around the corner, seemingly equally in a rush and holding a shirt you knew must be for Coriolanus.

"Oh, hello Y/N." She smirked as you both stopped, unsure how to approach the conversation. She was one of the only people who knew something was going on between the pair of you and still she wasn't quite sure what it was.

"Hi Tigris. You look lovely today." You said quietly, feeling like a scolded child even though you hadn't done anything wrong.

"Well if you're here I can only assume Coryo is awake, I'll see you again I assume?" She replied.

"Yes and yes." You answered awkwardly before hurrying away once again, letting out a sigh of relief as you heard her enter the house. You could only hope she wouldn't mention your interaction to Coriolanus.

You walked into the Academy at the same time as you did everyday, conveniently when Coriolanus would also show up.

"Coryo!" You yelled, spotting him across the room. He turned his head to you as though it was a surprise to see you, it wasn't.

"Y/N. What a pleasure." He smiled with his typical Snow charm, allowing you to link your arm with his.

"How are you feeling?" You asked him, thumb gently rubbing his bicep through his shirt. You rounded the corner past the food and yet you both avoided it for different reasons. You having already been fed by your family and their lavish lifestyle and he too nervous to even look at it.

"Never felt better." He replied with false confidence but no one else around you had to know that.

"Snow always lands on top." You teased as you entered the hall, spotting your friends if that's what you could call them stood in the centre of it all, as they usually did, talking about everyone around them no doubt.

"Y/N and Coriolanus, finally some real competition has arrived." Said Arachne, a glass in her hand and a smirk on her face as she always seemed to appear in public.

"Be humble now Arachne, you never know who will be chosen." You smiled, turning on your Capitol attitude in order to fit in. You were Capitol born and raised but your family taught you to be humble and kind. It was clear this wasn't common among parents here.

"Have you tried this lamb? It's scandalous." Said Felix, it made you chuckle how he used such a word to describe food.

"Only the vulgar eat with their fingers Felix, daddy not teach you table manners?" Snarled Festus, it was as though there was always a secret competition between the two of them, never quite made clear, never making sense.

"Maybe he would've if he wasn't so busy running the country. Hey they called us here for the Plinth prize right? 'Cause I heard Doctor Gaul's in the building." Felix changed the subject, knowing he had won. It was impossible to lose as the President's son you supposed.

You hadn't noticed but now Felix had mentioned it you took in the strange atmosphere, tense and mystery lingering in the air. "That is peculiar." You said, holding onto Coryo's bicep tighter subconsciously.

"Plinth. Look at his spawn. Who would've thought you could buy your way into the Academy." Felix once again snarled, he was always filled with such anger though it seemed todays anxiety only heightened this.

"Well you can't buy class. Did you see his mothers outfit? Sorry his Ma's." Festus joked, seemingly over his small tiff with Felix.

"Dress a turnip in a ball gown and it'll still beg to be mashed." Said Coriolanus, playing into their pompous ways. You knew he didn't agree, not really.

"Don't do that we all know you like him." Arachne spat with her spider like venom, raising her eyebrows at Coriolanus.

"I don't like him Arachne, I tolerate him. He's district." Said Coriolanus and he seemed pleased with his answer as you felt him relax under your touch. You however did like Sejanus and weren't afraid to show it.

"If I hear one more time how immoral these Hunger Games are I'll put him in the arena mys- Sejanus. You made it to the Reaping for once." Festus cut himself off, caught by Sejanus himself.

"And you made it to graduation Festus, we're both shocked." Sejanus replied and you couldn't help but snicker, hiding it as you realised no one else shared the same reaction. "Y/N, always a pleasure." He smiled at you politely. You couldn't help but note the way Coryo's jaw clenched, neck twitching as he looked at you to gaze your reaction.

"As are you Sejanus." You nodded. Arachne scoffed quickly mentioning the only thing she really cared about, the prize.

"Spill it, who won the prize." She asked.

"Well, no I'm not gonna ruin my father's big day. No one here actually likes him, but they do love his money." He once again hit back at the group around him, you felt sorry for the boy. Alone in a room full of people. "You know what that's like don't you Arachne?" He dug the hole deeper and you internally smirked, grateful someone was brave enough to stand up to a powerful woman like Arachne.

As the Captiol's anthem began to play you made your way to your seats, sat next to Coriolanus you placed a kiss on his cheek and whispered 'good luck' in his ear, though you didn't really think he needed it.

Doctor Gaul's chuckle resounded around the room in a menacing echo that always managed to make you shrink into your seat.

She commended you all for being star students before untroducing the creator of the games: Casca Highbottom.

He went on to tell you all that today was not the day the prize would be given out but instead there would be one more task to challenge you all and gage your true worth. Everyone seemed confused but not Sejanus.

"What's going on?" You whispered to Coriolanus. He sensed your anxiety placing a calming hand on your knee but gave you no other response which reassured you that you had not been left completely in the dark.

"The Plinth prize will no longer be determined by who was the best grades. But by who is the best mentor in the Hunger Games." With that there was outrage, to you it was dehumanizing for the tributes, 'mentored' by people their own age but for the others they only seemed to care whether they were given someone strong or weak. A 'runt' in Arachne's words.

The reaping commenced and you couldn't help but wish to be anywhere but here. You didn't want to do this, you didn't need the money yet you were forced to have another's life in your hands.

You got a small girl from 8 named Wovey, seeing her face on the big screen left you determined, determined to help her in anyway you could on the path to being a victor. Even if that meant Coryo may lose the prize.

Snow's tribute left the room in horror, her stage presence and brutality sent shivers down your spine, though you supposed that the outer Districts had it harder and that sort of survival must be built into her.

Standing up on shaky legs you grabbed Coriolanus up from his chair and outside of the room, you needed fresh air and you needed to talk to him about what you were about to face, arguably harder than any other test the Capitol could give you.

"Slow down Y/N, I can hardly keep up." He said, words laced with worry.

"I don't believe I can do this Coryo, did you see my tribute? She's hardly eligible for school never mind to be put into an arena where she's going to be killed. She's only a child." You paced while he leant against a pillar, beginning to eat some food he a had smuggled from the buffet table.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice Y/N." He tried to help but only made it worse as you realised you were trapped in yet another one of the Capitol's games. He seemingly realised this. "Hey, hey. If there as anyone in that room who would get that tribute, I'm glad it was you. Arachne would've given up on her by now. With you she has a fighter. A chance at surviving." He said while grabbing your wrists to stop your pacing.

"It's not that simple Coryo-" You tried but he cut you off.

"It is Y/N." He said sternly and you understood what he meant. It was either play into their games or become apart of them, no other choice. "You're a born winner Y/N, give her some of it hm?" He stared down at you as he spoke and his blue eyes while at times piercing sucked you in, heart rate lowering almost immediatley.

"Okay." You said.

"Okay." He smiled, reaching a hand around your neck to bring you into a kiss. It started off slow and caring though quickly intensified as he turned you both around so now you leant against the pillar instead of him.

His hand tightened around your neck, not enough to actually cut off air but just enough to make you feel dizzy as he pushed his body further into yours, keeping you against the cold cement and trapped in his arms.

Your mouths clashed together intensely, tongues colliding in a rhythm you though you would only ever be able to find with him in this lifetime. He was your everything, your light in a blizzard.

"Ahem." Coughed Casca, drawing the two of you away from each other with baited breaths and rosy cheeks. "Just like your father, yes we were best friends. Once." He said, and with that it felt like you weren't even in the room.

"Tell me Mr Snow, what are your plans after these games?" Casca asked.

"I hope to go onto the university sir, naturally." Coriolanus answered, pulling his waistcoat straight where it had been wrinkled by your tight grip.

"And if you fail to win the Plinth Prize, what then?" Asked Casca, it suddenly became clear to you that he knew something, just what he knew you were unsure of.

"We'd pay the tuition of course." He scoffed, insulted at Casca's insinuation even if it was true.

"Look at you, in your makeshift shirt and too tight shoes. Trying desperately to fit in when I know the Snow's don't have a pot to piss in." Casca said. You felt your own heart drop and so you couldn't imagine how Coriolanus felt, the insult to his pride was one you knew he wouldn't take well and so you grabbed his hand subtly, hiding it behind your back as to not show any sign of weakness to Casca.

"Goodluck with that poor little Songbird." He said, and with that he left. Leaving you to do damage control.

"Ignore him Coryo, he's trying to get into your head." You reassured him, moving a Snow white hair from his face. His jaw looked similar to the way it did earlier when Sejanus had so much as acknowledged your presence.

"He's right Y/N. From the moment my father died I lost. The odds were never in my favour." He spat out, though his actions didn't match his words as he gently removed your hand from his hair before beginning his exit of the Academy. "Come on now Y/N, I've got a songbird to catch." He said sarcastically.

You sped after him hoping Casca's words hadn't knocked him too much, after all, Snow lands on top and he wouldn't be the one to change that.

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am, @riordanness, @suvgs, @charmed-asylum

[nottsangel]

— artrick and camgirl!reader ੈ♡˳

moodboard

it began as just a quick way to make some extra money during college and nothing more than that. you were a bit apprehensive at first, aware of the risks and consequences of someone finding you, but eventually, you started to find joy in it, especially because you received a lot of attention— even more than the other girls on the same website. people, who where mostly older men, started to like you, and money began to pour in like never before. but no matter what, you had to keep it a secret from everyone.

yet, patrick who scours the whole internet for porn that matches his specific taste, managed to unexpectedly find you while you were live. he almost couldn’t believe his eyes— his best friend, with her legs spread wide as she touched herself and loud moans escaped her mouth. and god, the way you moaned sounded so angelic, with your pretty, soft lips parted in ecstasy. he simply had no other choice— he had to tell art.

“i swear to god patrick, i don’t wanna see those golden shower porn videos again.” “just, trust me, you’re gonna wanna see this.” patrick insisted as he opened his laptop. he glanced at the time. 10 pm. that was usually when you came online on thursdays, because yes, patrick had already watched you so many days in a row, he memorised your streaming schedule. “who are these girls?” art questioned with a raised brow, puzzled as to why patrick would show him random camgirls, until he noticed he noticed you— fully naked while you held a vibrator against your swollen clit, causing his eyes to widen as he leaned closer to the laptop screen. “holy… fuck.” “yup. i know.”

and that’s how it all began. now, every day right before you would come online, patrick and art would sit impatiently next to each other on the bed, eagerly waiting for you to go live. “you think she’ll use that pink dildo again?” art asked patrick with clammy hands resting on his knees. “god, i hope so. that one’s my favourite.” and when you finally appeared on screen, a smirk spread simultaneously across both boys’ faces as they stared mesmerised at the screen, quickly adjusting their positions as their pants grew uncomfortably tight.

it was somewhat odd— it almost felt like video calling with you, as if you were touching yourself just for them, until they were hit with the harsh reality of the comments and countless men thirsting over you. the wave of comments flooding in during your streams, especially when you would interact with them, evoked a complex mix of emotions in patrick and art. they were consumed by jealousy— they wanted you for themselves, and they hated the fact that others could see what they saw. “jesus, these men are fucking desperate.” art exclaimed while reading the quick-paced comments with an unamused face. patrick shook his head in disapproval as he let out a chuckle. “i bet they’re all jerking off while watching her, fucking creeps.”

and ultimately… they found themselves becoming what they once criticised the most, as they’re now shoulder to shoulder in art’s stanford dorm room, hands tightly wrapped around their throbbing erections as they pumped it quickly. “this, uhm… this isn’t weird, right?” art questioned, his breaths coming in quick pants as your moans echoed through the shitty speakers of his cheap laptop. “no, no… i mean, we’re looking at her, right? nothing weird about that.” patrick reassured art as his eyes stayed fixed on your movements, and art nodded in agreement.

and even now, as they masturbated not only on their own to you but together, while watching you strip and bring yourself to your orgasms over and over again, they still hung out with you as usual. you noticed a change in their behaviour though— you couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, but they seemed more, nervous around you. you brushed it off quickly though, thinking it was just you. but little did you know they were indeed nervous to be around you now, as their eyes scanned every inch of your body covered in clothing, knowing that they had seen all of it— all of you, naked.

“do you… do you think we should tell her? that we know?” patrick asked art as they were once again, sitting in art’s dorm room, their hands lazily pumping their cocks. soft fucks and oh my gods slipped from your lips and resonated through the room along with the buzzing sound of your rose toy, which was the usual on fridays. “i mean, yeah, we should, eventually. maybe… uhm, next week… or something.” “yeah, yeah. next week.”

ੈ♡˳

🏷️ tags: @maizweig @swamp-box @oceandriveab @starkeysprincess @unhingedbanks @imawhoreforu @mcugirl @skylerwhitwyo @maybankswifey @hearts-4-kai @takaosin @imbabycowboy @badesire @parkerloves @diorrfairy @jizzlle

[mythblossoms]

to come home

pairing: zayne x gn!reader

content: fluff and comfort, soft yearning, kissing, suggestive if you squint?, lighthearted, established relationship, unedited

a/n: i just think zayne deserves a quiet life where he can be the little spoon ♡ coming back to writing after so long is scary but hi ♡

wc: 1.1k

It’s 11:01, the harsh blue glow of his computer screen illuminates his office, and Zayne is thinking of the comfort of home. 

Not the physical structure - all concrete and glass, hard walls enclosed around structured spaces that begged for routine, but the warmth that often resided within.

You, curled up on the couch, book in hand and eyes slowly skimming through the words. You, perched on the counter top, sipping a sweet latte and sighing contently. You, watering the plants on his windowsill and whispering little words of encouragement. You, a warm sun that cast light into every room you stepped into, leaving the space a little darker, colder when you left. 

It’s 11:05, as Zayne stares at the remnants of a hazelnut latte sitting on the corner of his desk - delivered to him by you several hours earlier. A drawing of a little snowman poking its head over the sleeve of the cup. A small dose of warmth in an otherwise blurry day. He missed you. Not that you hadn’t seen each other, but this was different. Rushed, fleeting moments existed — small, sweet treats that left behind a craving. Truthfully, he didn’t think he could ever be fully satisfied, not when the treat was gone but the sweetness still lingered on his tongue.

It’s 11:15, and the soft ping of his phone is notifying him of messages from you with hidden notes tucked tenderly between the letters.

- ping

Have you eaten yet? (I miss you, take care of yourself)

- ping

Let me know when you’re on your way! (I care about you, please come back safely)

He had grown accustomed to these secret words and meanings interwoven into the space that was you and him. With each message, his heart ached a bit more. 

It’s 11:27, and the lights of Zayne’s office are off. A cup with a snowman drawing is gently placed in a waste bin. His bag and coat are missing from the coat rack by the door and he’s driving to his home. 

It’s interesting how home can be anything. Home can be a house, the things gathered to create a space that belongs to the person living there. It can be a family or a person, the people who hold the hearts of their loved ones close. How odd that Zayne never thought of home before you. 

Seeing you silhouetted in the ambient light, his cardigan draped on your figure - too big in the shoulders, too long for your frame - the smell of mint tea hanging in the air — this is what it meant to be home. His heart swelled as you turned, that bright smile welcoming him home. 

“I see someone has found a sweater to their liking.” 

“Yep,” you quipped, hugging the cardigan closer to your body. “I think it likes me more than its current owner. It wants to live with its friends back in my closet.” 

Zayne smiled slightly, stepping into the warm kitchen as you placed two mugs on the counter. “Is that so? Well, I suppose I shouldn’t keep it from its true desire.” 

His arms circled around your waist, pulling you back securely against him. He tucked his head into the crook of your neck - settling into the warmth and pressing one soft kiss onto the collarbone peeking out from the collar of the cardigan. A contented sigh leaving your lips as you leaned into him, cupping the warm mug in your hands. 

“Thank you for this,” he murmured, attempting to stitch every unspoken feeling along those four words. ‘Can we stay like this a little longer?’ ‘I want to be with you - always.’ ‘You’re home to me.’ You had a way of weaving these declarations tenderly into your actions and words. Zayne hoped, by closing his eyes, by holding you closer, these unsaid words would flow to you. 

Gently, you turned in his arm to face him, one hand still clasped around your mug. You gazed up at him, placing your other hand on his chest, feeling the warmth there. “I’m glad you’re home,” you whispered. No hidden meanings - stated so honestly as you smiled. 

Zayne took the mug from your hand, setting it on the counter behind you, and dropped his forehead to yours. “If I can be a bit…selfish,” he breathed, ghosting his lips over yours. “There’s one more thing I would ask for.” His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing against your cheeks, and guided your lips to his. Slowly, his lips moved against yours. His hands, cool on your warm face, moved down your shoulders, dipping underneath the oversized cardigan and caressing your waist. Each movement intentional, as if his fingers had memorized the curve of your body - the feeling of you under his hands grounding him. 

Again, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing slowly as he released the kiss. His eyes locked on yours, dazed, as his hands tightly held your waist. Words were no longer needed, every movement proclaiming every feeling Zayne had tried to contain. He leaned down to grasp your waist, lifting you onto the counter. 

“Oh-”, you mumbled as you felt the cup behind you. “Your tea!” 

“Tea,” he said, pressing another kiss to your jaw, “can wait. Right now - I just need you.” His voice was soft as he slowly trailed his lips up your jawline, punctuating each sentence with a light kiss. 

Zayne was always so patient, quiet in a collected way. Need was a new word - and your heart ached as his hands pressed in your lower back. Your arms found their way up around his neck, running your fingers up and through his hair. “I’m here,” you whispered, pressing light kisses up his jawline to the shell of his ear. “You have me.” 

Zayne took a deep, controlled breath as he ran his hands up your spine, fingers tracing the arch of your back. “I like it when you’re here,” he murmured. His lips found yours again, savoring the way they melded together — relishing in the small sounds you made as he deepened the kiss and held you as though you were keeping him afloat. 

He hesitated again, his eyes still closed and hands still pressed against your back. “It would be even better, if you were here all the time.” He chanced a look at you then, barely opening his eyes. 

And you were smiling at him, pulling him closer still and cupping his face in your hands. “Is this your subtle way of asking if I would like to move in?” Your lips, still pink from the previous kisses, pressed one small kiss to the tip of his nose - an unspoken answer of ‘I want to be with you all the time too.’

Zayne looked down, the corners of his mouth slightly turning up. “How else will I retrieve all my missing sweaters?” He hooked his hands under your thighs, lifting you off the counter. “I think I’ll start with this one.” 

Your warm laughter filled the air as he carried you to his room, the mint teas left to cool on the counter.

[written-and-readen]

The Odds Are Slim But Never Zero Part 2

Jing Yuan, Sunday, Gallagher x fem!reader (separate)

Part 1 (Dan Heng, Luka, Blade)

Summary: Someone walks in on you

Warnings: nsfw (18+), penetrative sex (Jing Yuan, Sunday), fingering (Jing Yuan, Gallagher), public sex (Gallagher, the bar is empty but still), getting caught

a/n: Sunday has been acquired. He’s so pretty. I have some other writing ideas for him but his character is hard for me so who knows.

Jing Yuan

Jing Yuan is irresistible. It’s so, so hard to say no to him, which is probably how you ended up here. His hands have slowly slipped off each of your garments one by one as rays of early morning sun flood into the bedroom.

“Beautiful as always.” His voice is still laced with the remnants of sleep as he roams your body.

“And you’re eager.” You gasp when his hand comes up around your breast, giving it a light squeeze. It’s not enough to distract you from his erection poking your thigh though. “Really eager.”

“I’d like to think of it as appreciating my dear wife as often as possible.” Your back arches when two fingers push into your pussy. Your whines become the only sound in the room as starts up a steady rhythm of pumping in and out of you. You don’t think to warn him when you’re close. He can always tell without you having to say a word. Few things evade the Divine Foresight’s notice after all.

“Jing Yuan!” You cry out. He responds by pressing kisses to your shoulder while you fall apart on his fingers.

“Will you allow me to take care of my little problem?” He says after you shift around to face him.

“I think ‘little’ is poor word choice.” You pull him into a kiss, mumbling against his lips as he moves on top of you. Jing Yuan chuckles, leaning into your kiss. He throws the sheets aside, fully exposing every inch of you to his golden eyes. He pulls his cock out, poking the tip at your entrance before looking you in the eye.

“Ready?” The careful consideration of his words somehow makes you fall in love with him all over again.

“As I’ll ever be,” You reply, breath stolen the moment you get out the last word by his length pushing into you. Your hands grip white hair as you lose yourself in the pleasure, feeling your husband litter kisses around your collarbone.

“General!” You’re snapped from your trance by the door being bursting open by a Cloud Knight. Jing Yuan is swift to grab the sheets to block you from anyone’s view but his own.

“What is it?” You recognize his voice take on the decisive tone fit for a general.

“U-Uh, Lieutenant Yanqing wanted to let you know that he’s resolved the recent incident involving the missing cycranes. The culprit has been sent to the Realm Keeping Commission.” You commend him for keeping a mostly calm front aside from a few stutters here and there to give away his embarrassment.

“Thank you for the news.” Your husband doesn’t even have to verbally dismiss the knight before you hear his retreating footsteps and the door close.

“You need to tell the boy he can just write up a report in the future.” Your voice keens when Jing Yuan moves again, reminding you of his cock still buried inside you.

“He means well.” His tone softens to the one reserved only for you as his hands find a place on your hips once more. “Now where were we?” Jing Yuan is insatiable, but so hard to say no to.

Sunday

“Give me a minute,” Sunday says through gritted teeth. He’s currently bottomed out in your pussy trying not to cum right then and there. The way your walls perfectly hug his cock has him lost in you.

“Take your time.” You brush his bangs out of his eyes while giving him the sweetest look, and Sunday thinks he’s going to die. Then, there’s the way you suddenly tighten around him. It has his forehead falling into the crook of your neck.

You never imagined someone as composed as Sunday could be like this. Your hands run through his hair, and you try not to get poked by his halo as you wait for him to gather himself. The way he fills you up certainly has you wanting him to start moving, but his comfort comes first. You have to at least let him think he’s in control.

Your eyes are drawn by the door to your room sliding open. It’s Himeko and Welt, probably checking in on how the newest passenger is doing. Himeko’s eyes widen upon meeting yours, but she sends you a soft smile that makes your cheeks burn. You silently wave a hand to send them away, but Welt is already closing the door.

“What was that?” Sunday lifts his head at the sound of the door.

“Nothing!” You reach both hands up to cradle his face. “Just keep your eyes on me.”

Yeah, Sunday’s sure you’ll be the death of him.

Gallagher

It’s so hot as your lips move against Gallagher’s. Your body feels like it’s on fire, the heat frying your brain so you can barely process anything other than him. Rough hands sneak under your shirt and skirt, holding you right where he wants you.

The two of you were supposed to be closing up Dreamjolt Hostelry for the night after Siobhan left, but one kiss led to another which led to Gallagher hoisting you onto the counter, positioning himself between your legs as you made out. You gasped when one of his hands travelled to rub you through your panties.

“Here?” You murmured nervously, pulling away from him for a second.

“I can finish up here and then we’ll head back to Dreamflux Reef if you want.” That distance in comparison to the proximity of his fingers to your sex right now had you crashing your lips back against his.

“Feeling risky today?” He chuckled at your sudden boldness.

“Just make it quick.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Gallagher tugs your panties down your legs before pocketing them. He warms you up with one finger, then adds another for a minute before three fingers are fucking you mercilessly. You lay your forehead on his shoulder, your ability to sit up straight melting away as the heat from your core spreads through your whole body.

“You couldn’t keep it in your pants until you got out of here?” A new heat rises to your cheeks as both you and Gallagher turn to see Siobhan, catching you both red handed with a look of disbelief. “I’m never forgetting my phone here ever again. You guys owe me lunch after this. Make that lunch for the rest of the week.” She sighs, leaving before either of you can get a word out, but the shock certainly hasn’t left.

“We should leave,” you both agree in unison. Gallagher lifts you off the counter, licking up some of your juices from his fingers after slipping them out.

“Sweeter than a dream.” He smiles at your flushed face before grabbing a dish rag to get rid of any incriminating evidence. The two of you make quick work of closing the place down with Gallagher eventually locking the door. You wrap your arms around his own as you leave.

“Are you going to give me back my panties yet?”

“Why would I? That saves us one step when we get back home.”

[ipseitydelrey]

your lips, my lips ☆ s. reid

ship sub!spencer reid x fem!reader

content/warnings smutty smut (mdni 18+), mutual masturbation, mommy kink, accidental voyeurism, he sounds like a slut you can’t blame yourself

word count 2.5k

summary after spencer returns home early from a case, you come back home after work to find him in an incredibly compromised position.

a/n ignore the accidental hiatus, but hi !! im probably not going to be able to post at all in may bc im going to be in europe for the entire month. i’m posting this before going in a cave so…enjoy this as a treat!

To put it briefly, Spencer was…awkward.

That’s not to discredit him, though. You can tell that he loves the team and you (especially you). Although he’s less awkward around people he trusts and has known for longer, he still can’t really speak up for what he wants.

And the poor boy is just so touch starved. It’s clear he’s practically clueless when it comes to other forms of intimacy aside from sympathetic hugs to friends or victims in a case. Hell, it even took a month since you started dating for Spencer to be comfortable huddling next to you on the couch; it took even longer for him to be fine with sharing the same bed.

You had barely done anything sexual yet. The closest you had probably gotten to something intimate like that with him was him involuntarily jutting his hips up into your ass when you were making out on the couch. You had hoped that he would continue to do that, especially with how you could feel his hardness pressing up against your core, but he got so flustered and started stammering out high-pitched apologies before moving away and retreating into the bathroom. You imagined that he probably took care of it, but knowing him, maybe he doesn’t jerk off.

You went with that assumption for a while since you — and especially him — hadn’t initiated anything potentially steamy. For him, makeout sessions were enough and although you wanted more, you were okay with indulging in him. You figured that with how touch starved he was, you should take it slow before moving on.

You got to leave work early, and you’re usually glad when that happens but today you’re especially happy because Spencer had just gotten back from a successful case a couple hours ago. When he landed, he immediately texted you, letting you know where he was. When you left your workplace, you had forgotten to text him that you’ll be home earlier than expected, but you’re sure that he wouldn’t mind.

After all, he’s probably just as excited to see you, if not more.

You don’t call out to him when you unlock and open the apartment door; he should hear that you’re home with the locking of the door and the tossing of the keys, as well as the rustle of your coat as you take it off and hang it up.

It’s quiet, but that isn’t really saying anything since it usually is. But you’d figured that he’d meet you at the doorway, which he didn’t.

Odd.

You’re just about to call out to him when you hear a peculiar and out-of-place sound: a moan.

Although it startles you a bit, you think that it was probably the neighbours; that doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense consdiering it’s coming from inside the apartment, but it’s more believable than…

Then you hear another one, and this time you can finally pinpoint its location. It sounds like it’s coming from the bedroom. Spencer? It’s not impossible, but you had just figured that he wouldn’t be the type to pleasure himself, especially with those sorts of reactions.

You slowly make your way towards the room in question, seeing that the door is slightly ajar, leaving a sliver for you to peer in.

What you find is a heavenly sight: Spencer, fully unclothed, splayed across the bed with his length in his fist. His pace is slow, but it’s still enough for him to whimper and moan quite audibly. His other hand is gripping tightly onto the sheets as his head pushes back against a pillow.

It’s perverted, but you feel as if you can’t tear yourself away from watching. At this point, you start to wonder if he knows you’re here or if he even heard you come into the apartment. You struggle to keep quiet as your panties grow damp, and you end up biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning at the sight.

The sound of his fist moving up and down his leaking cock is lewd, his precum dribbling down and even slightly coating his hand.

“o-oh m-mommy—” Him saying that is your breaking point, and you push the door open and enter the room.

He finally notices you and he pulls the sheets he was just grasping onto for dear life up to cover his throbbing dick. You were expecting him to do that; although what he was just doing was insanely hot, he’s still shy, even around you.

He looks away from you, clearly embarrassed he was caught. “Uh, I was— I— ah…” he attempts to explain himself but it leads nowhere. “I-I’m sorry,” he whispers, sounding defeated.

“Why are you sorry?” It’s not a needed question; you know exactly why he thinks so. You move to sit on the edge of the bed as he moves away, still having the sheets pulled up to cover himself. He stammers, but no words come out. He’s so flustered and red in his cheeks, you fear he’s about to pop.

He squirms in his position slightly while a tiny noise that you can barely hear escapes from his lips. A noise of discomfort, you recognize quickly, but you’re not sure if it’s because you just caught him in a private moment or if it’s because his cock is starting to get achy from the lack of stimulation.

“Baby,” you say in a more serious tone, leaning into the notion of his fantasy of you as his mommy, “why are you sorry?”

You stare at him, though you wish he could return your gaze. “Y-You probably feel…uncomfortable b-because—”

Softly, you shush him, holding a finger up against his lips, and you smile. “I’m not uncomfortable,” you assure him.

“You’re not?” he asks, his words vibrating against your index.

You shake your head as you pull your finger away from his lips, instead moving to grab his chin with a soft grip. His cheeks squish against your fingers softly, making his lips look even more plush and kissable. You push your lips against his gently, though it’s obvious that he’s eager from the way he pushes against your mouth to chase the kiss.

The way he whines when you pull away from him is so cute, you feel as if you want to give in to his need to have you closer to him. But he can tell that you want to do something else to satisfy him, so Spencer quiets down. Your hand, however, remains firmly yet softly gripping his jaw.

You look down at the sheets covering his lower half, his erection not-so-subtlety poking the thin fabric, and you glance back up at him. “Do you want me to…” you trail off before looking down at his boner again.

In all honesty, it takes Spencer a good second or two before he gets what you meant by that offer. “U-uh, well, ah…” he stutters. You’re not exactly sure what he wants and frankly neither is he. Based on his previous experiences with intimacy, you decide to not give him a blowjob, or even a handjob.

You both sit there in silence; you can practically cut the tension in the room with a knife. As you think of what to do — since you don’t just want to ignore it, nor do you want to leave him unsatisfied and awkward — Spencer squirms uncomfortably, shifting ever so slightly. His thighs accidentally clench together, squeezing his erection under the blanket, causing him to whimper softly. He silently hopes that you didn’t catch that noise he made, but you did…and it gave you an idea; one that will satisfy both of your urges.

“Do you wanna keep going?” You ask. He would probably much rather do this himself, although you don’t know how he would feel if he were to masturbate right in front of you.

He hesitates for a second, but he does nod shyly. You notice how he’s not meeting your gaze with his own, avoiding eye contact almost entirely. Instead, he’s looking in the direction of your waist.

Without informing him, you stand up and your hands quickly find their way to the buttons on your pants undoing them. Spencer watches with an air of anticipation and slight anxiety as you pull your pants down, a bit hastily and it definitely shows just how eager you are at this moment. Your underwear is certainly damp with how much this situation has you turned on and he can see it clearly too. You couldn’t pinpoint his expression as he sees the wetness, whether he’s nervous or intrigued, until you see him lick his lips — a motion that he only does when he’s excited.

At last, you peel off your soaked panties, but you keep your eyes on his face, wanting to see his reaction at seeing you half-naked. Sure, he’s seen you in your bra and panties before, but that was never sexual and only when you were changing clothes in front of him. He’s always looked away, the gentleman that he is, but he couldn’t resist taking a peek or two at your near-unclothed state. Just like how now, where he can see your bare pussy, glistening and wet, he just can’t resist staring.

He doesn’t mind it; no, not at all. In fact, it’s just making him even more excited, to the point where he slightly pulls down the sheets that are covering his dick — not enough to actually show his arousal, but enough to clearly see his happy trail, which has you salivating.

You get back on the bed, not bothering to take your shirt off as well. You just want to get started already, but you think it would be better if you know he’s comfortable with this whole situation first.

“Is this okay?” you ask, alluding to your nakedness as your thighs are slightly spread, giving him a nice view of your cunt.

He swallows and nods feverishly as his gaze continues to bore into your pussy; all of his attention seems to be focused there, which amuses you.

Deciding to take the initiative, your hand makes its way towards your core. You dip the tips of your fingers in your wet folds, collecting some of the slick and bringing it up to your clit, where you start to gently rub it in small and slow circles.

You hear Spencer’s breath hitch as you do this. It’s like you’re subtly encouraging him to do the same thing and start masturbating again, which is exactly what you’re going for.

He ends up pulling the covers off his pelvis completely, allowing you to see his cock-filled hand. You bite your lip at the sight of him starting to slowly stroke his length again, although timidly, as if he’s being judged. You’re not doing that, of course; you wouldn’t dare judge him for doing something so pleasing in front of you.

He keeps avoiding your gaze so you lean forward as you continue to massage your clit gently and you bring your other hand to tilt his head up by his chin to look at you. The eye contact you both have now is both awkward yet erotic. You’re not really doing anything with each other, you’re just two people touching themselves in front of the other.

A couple minutes into this shared experience, Spencer is starting to get more confident and less self-conscious. His strokes are getting longer and faster, making him produce more noises from his throat; mostly small whimpers with the occasional moan but by god, those small moans just get you going. You end up quickening your pace too and you let yourself make tiny whines too.

Eventually, your fingers move from your clit and back down to your folds, where you insert a finger into your cunt. The sound that falls from your lips after you do so is more motivation for Spencer to speed up again. You thrust your finger in and out at the same pace as his hand and you’re sure you both are imagining something more intimate at this point.

You add a second finger and then later on a third and now, a few minutes later, you’re both moving in sync and moaning up a storm. His moans are louder though, but you don’t mind at all. They just give you more reason to speed up and keep going.

Nearing the end, you’re wondering who’s going to cum first. It wouldn’t be a surprise if Spencer did so before you since he’s been jerking off for longer than you have but with the way the pleasure is building up in your stomach, you’re not entirely sure anymore; your mind is just focused on the intense pleasure and nothing else.

“O-oh god…” you hear him whine. Now you know who is going to finish first.

“You gonna cum, baby?” It takes you some effort to ask that question, especially since for the past ten or so minutes, you’ve just been touching yourselves without even talking.

“Mhm,” he hums in response as he nods. His hand is going at such a quick pace that you can clearly hear how his precum-coated palm is moving up and down his cock. “S’much, I…”

“It’s okay, honey,” you stammer out. Then, in your pleasure-fueled haze, an idea forms in your head. “You can cum. Cum for mommy~”

The use of that nickname for you really gets him going and he can no longer hold himself back. “M-mommy!” he cries out with a gasp for air as cum spurts out of the tip of his cock. He lets his head hang back and his eyelids flutter as his orgasm hits him and it’s beautiful for you to watch. It only motivates you to speed up even more, wanting to reach your peak as fast as possible. You probably shouldn’t rush it to savor the moment but in this case, rushing is fine to you.

After his intense orgasm, Spencer watches with bated breath as you cum. Your hips rock forward, practically riding your own fingers while your back arches and your murmurs grow incoherent. If he wasn’t tired, Spencer is pretty sure that he would be turned on again immediately just from watching you finger yourself. He is almost positive that you’re thinking of riding him instead of your fingers, and he would be correct in that assessment.

The pleasure slowly dissipates until you’re left with the incredibly awkward feeling of having just jerked off in front of your boyfriend. Both of you aren’t really sure what to say or what to do considering this was technically your first shared sexual experience since you had started dating.

“Um—” “So—” you both say at the same time. You don’t know how to move forward in a gracious manner, so you shyly get off the bed and put your underwear and pants back on. He still sits in the bedsheets, which are slightly damp from the sweat accumulated from the experience.

He moves towards the edge of the bed — towards you — and sits up straight, trying not to feel embarrassed that he’s still naked. And even though he felt uncomfortable about being touched while nude prior, he plants his lips on yours.

You weren’t expecting this but it’s a welcome surprise, as you chase his kiss with all the energy you have left; which isn’t a lot, but is enough. He breaks from the kiss, but leaves his forehead against yours as he looks at you like a dog.

“Thank you, mommy.”

hopefully it wasn’t that bad <3 join the taglist

[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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[cheriladycl01]

Kinktober 18/10/2024 Max Verstappen - Mutual Masturbation

Plot: You and Max too tired to actually do anything, decide that mutual masturbation is the way to go after a tricky race weekend.

Warnings: Kinktober, SMUT, mutual masturbation, fingering, handjob, 18+ Minors DNI

You and Max were a very clingy couple, it was rarer to see you not at a race weekend than to see you at one. You were always there supporting Max and cheering him on, and for the most part you guys had loads of energy interacting with fans and being helpful to the team.

However triple-headers normally took it out of you both, especially ones where it was far travel in between and maybe some time zone difference.

But you always supported Max.

You were there though his highest highs and his lowest lows and that just so happened to be today. A very low low. It was Max worst performance in his career. There wasn’t great communication, the car didn’t feel right and Max had struggled the whole race, not moving up any places from his Qualifying Result of P11.

He’d gotten no points, and ended up behind Yuki Tsunoda who’d defended from him brilliantly for the entire race.

When Max came out, after driving the car for 2 hours and all of the media commitments and team jobs he had to conduct afterwards you both got on his private jet pretty done with the day.

You got home to Monaco, and you were both really silent which was kinda rare for Max. Despite what most people think this man can talk for hours, especially to you when you are such a good listening and love the sound of his husky and burnt sort of voice when he spoke both English and Dutch.

You guys had a routine that was never changed no matter how tired you guys were once you got back from a race weekend.

Step one: Get the cases into the house.

Step two Part A: Max separates clean from dirty into piles

Step two Part B: You take the shoes and toiletries and dish them out to where they need to go.

Step three Part A: Max puts a wash on

Step three Part B: You take the clean clothes up and hang them in the wardrobe or fold into draws.

Step four Part A: Max hoovers, Jimmy and Sassy, and then your British Shorthair Lila have all been there moulting in the summer heat.

Step four Part B: You wash out the cat bowls and place down new food

Step five: Make dinner together

And that was how you always did it. You always each took those chores and got on with them. Usually you spoke to each other across the apartment while you were doing it but this time a comfortable silence was with you apart from the cat interruptions every now and then.

After that you guys let the dishes in the sink before alternating showering and getting ready for bed. You both climbed into the fresh bed with the nice sheets rather than the hotel sheets that regardless of the hotel rating always seemed to make you feel kind of odd.

Usually at this stage Max would turn on a film before fucking you into the bed, you clutching into the pillow that your face is smushed against while he thrusts in and out of you deeply.

But tonight with how silent the pair of you were it was obvious neither of you had the energy to fully commit to that.

“Schatz…” he says softly and you look away from the film he’d just put on opposite you bed, a classic you’d watched many times that was sort of just background noise.

“Mmmmmm? What is it?” You smile at him kindly, pulling the quilt up around you some more.

“Well, I just thought that maybe we could relieve some tension” he says still just as softly, a quiet hint to his voice. You almost groan not having the energy to get in top and ride him, which usually happened after these race weekends as his legs, back and arms were physically just as tired as his mind was.

“Argh baby not tonight … I know usually I’m more energetic but I can’t tonight” you say looking at him with a guilty look and he turns away with a flushed and embarrassed look on his face.

“Oh- okay” he says nodding and tucking the cover over him.

You guys sit and watch the film, you lean into him his arm loosely coming behind you as you naturally pulls yourself in closer to him. After the day of silence it was nice just embracing one another in bed.

“Hey I’m sorry I just have no energy tonight it’s not you” you say reaching out to hold his hand that’s above the blanket but knock against something hard causing him to moan out.

You lightly pull the covers away seeing him rock solid underneath. He tries to pull the covers back up, but your grip is strong.

“Max baby why didn’t you say” you try to stifle your laugh.

“Because your not in the mood and we’re both too tired” he sighs pressing his legs together and trying to alleviate the growing need down low.

“How about something else baby, it won’t take up too much energy from either of us” you whisper helping him pull his boxers down seeing his whole dick spring up and slap his bear stomach. He moans as the cold air hits him and you use your hand going up and down.

“Ah ah ah” he moans.

“Now you take over baby” you say and he does taking himself in his hand. Your hand goes into your underwear teasing your clit the way you knew you liked. Your fingers rub against that nub and you moan.

“Fuck Max” you moan and look to your left to look at him only to see him already looking at you. His eyes travel from your eyes down to where your fingers enter your dripping wet core.

You reach out a hand as you hear the fapping sound that Max is making with his fist tightening around his length and going quicker the more you moan.

“So pretty Schatz, fuck lemme see pull them panties off” he groans and you do as your told pulling them off and chucking them to the end of the bed. You spread your legs show Max your fingers thrusting in and out, a scissoring motion as you feel the spongey wall. You free hand reaches out gripping Max thighs as your mouth drops open, you repeating his name as you can feel the coil build up further and further.

His free hand reaches down and starts to rub circles on your clit as he tightens his grip on his own dick going faster than before.

“Fuck Schatz, such a good idea” he moans as before you know it he’s cumming, the stream hitting his lower stomach as his hips lightly lurch up. You cum shortly after him, the release making you relax back into the pillows.

“I think that should be our new go too” he groans, taking tissue from the bedside table cleaning himself up.

“When we’re tired?” You ask with a nod.

“Whenever, that was really hot” he smiles before pulling you into a kiss.

Taglist:

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[cupidbedsy]

୨୧ only one i want ; lh43

➪ summary: instead of celebrating the devils' win, y/n spends the night out staring down luke and the girl he's talking to. he takes her home, reassuring her that she's the one he wants, no one else.

➪ warnings: reader is jealous and insecure, luke being uncomfortable around a girl?

➪ word count: 1.6k

➪ file type: hurt/comfort fic

➪ cupid's notes: this started off as a luke and sab thought and then i really just wanted to write a fic about it instead of an au fic, so here this is. i will most likely still post the luke and sab version too!

© cupidbedsy ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

Something about her made her stomach burn with an unfamiliar degree of jealousy, making her mind race with insecurities. They were out at a bar, some of the team, her, some of the other wags, and Luke. It was supposed to be a fun time, celebrating the Devils’ win, but the only fun she seemed to have was when she could tear her eyes away from where Luke was talking to a girl she didn’t know.

Usually, it wouldn’t have bothered her, him talking to a girl, but something about her made her feel uneasy. Something about the way she spoke with her hands, the smile she had on her face, the unmistakable sparkle in her eye, made her fight the urge to roll her eyes and cover herself up. 

She watched as Luke replied to whatever she had said before she was pulled out of her thoughts, “What’re you guys doing for Christmas?”

Y/n’s eyes flickered over to Nicole’s, the jealousy and annoyance present in her tone, “I don’t know.”

Nicole’s eyes widened at the sound of her voice and y/n winced at the action, murmuring a ‘sorry’. She glanced over at Luke and the girl again before redirecting her gaze back to the woman, “Just- have an odd feeling.”

She followed her line of sight, her eyes landing on Luke and the other girl as well, “Oh.”

“It’s okay, I trust him. I just-“

“I get it,” Nicole shook her head, “Gut feelings.”

ﾟ+*:୨୧:*﹤

Luke could feel her stare on him the whole night, it was undeniable. He was trying to half-ass this conversation with the girl in front of him, nothing about it was interesting but he didn’t want to be rude. So he sucked it up, giving her a tight-lipped smile as she continued to ramble on about why she moved to New Jersey. 

Honestly, Luke was surprised she hadn’t made her way over by him yet, stealing glances at her to see if he could see if something was wrong. Her eyes weren’t shining as they usually were, narrowed into a glare as she continued to watch the two of them. But the next time he looked her way, she was chatting to Nicole and he was grateful that she was now distracted. 

He was able to remove himself from the conversation he wasn’t actively participating in a few minutes later, walking towards the table where she sat. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her temple, “Hey.”

He frowned when she barely so much as batted an eye up at him, continuing her conversation with Nicole. He squeezed her shoulder softly in an attempt to gain her attention, “Baby.”

This time, his eyes lit up as hers met his before responding to whatever question she was asked. He sighed, simply pulling out the empty chair beside her, taking a seat, and keeping his arm around her shoulders. Once the girl walked away, he leaned into her side, whispering in her ear, “You wanna go home?”

That caught her attention, looking at him fully as she nodded. He tangled his fingers in her hair, bringing her closer so he could leave a kiss on her head. He grabbed her coat, helping her put it on after they stood up, gripping her bag as they said goodbye to their friends. 

Once they stepped outside, Luke tucked her into his large frame, adding an extra layer of warmth against the chill of the New Jersey air. She didn’t say anything, keeping her eyes forward as they walked towards his car. Now it wasn’t so much of the jealousy seeping into her mind but her lack of self-confidence. 

She pulled her jacket tighter around her to cover herself up from anyone’s gaze more than to keep the cold from reaching her. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything, tightening his hold on her as they approached the car. 

He opened the door for her, helping her settle into the seat before circling the car, climbing into the driver’s seat, and starting the car. The drive was silent, Luke’s hand resting comfortably on her thigh without any protest from y/n, only removing it to take turns.

ﾟ+*:୨୧:*﹤

When they reached their apartment, y/n hopped out of the car with ease, walking into the apartment briskly to get out of the cold. Luke followed after her, locking the door and pulling out the keys for the door as he did so. They were quiet in the elevator as well, y/n fidgeting with her fingers on the ride up to their floor. 

She was quick to shrug her jacket off as they entered the apartment, hanging it on the coat rack and making her way to their bedroom to change. Luke stayed in the living room, allowing her time to collect her thoughts and calm herself down like he knew she needed to do. 

She changed into one of his t-shirts, letting out a sigh of relief once the fabric reached her mid-thigh. She slid on a pair of her sleep shorts, crawled into bed, and curled up in the sheets. Tears burned in her eyes as she thought about the events that happened not even thirty minutes ago, burying her head into the pillow and squeezing her eyes shut.

She shouldn’t have been this upset by her boyfriend talking to some girl, he was allowed to do that, just like she was allowed to talk to guys, and she scolded herself for the many excuses her brain came up with. She closed her eyes tighter in the hope sleep would take over her and Luke wouldn’t come in and make her talk about how she was feeling or what happened at the bar.

However, her luck seemed to fail her when she heard the door opening and his footsteps on the floor. She imagined him walking over, keeping her eyes closed to keep herself from looking at him. She felt the bed dip, her curiosity getting the best of her as her eyes fluttered open, immediately landing on Luke’s face, a small smile gracing his lips.

He reached out, running a hand through her hair, stopping once he got the ends to twist them around his fingers. He didn’t say anything, just repeating his actions over and over. It was a few minutes later when he peeled the covers back, eyes roaming over her face for any sight of sadness or being uncomfortable. 

When he found the slightest bit of unhappiness in her eyes, he pulled her into his lap, her legs coming to rest on either side of him. He reached his hand up, brushing a stray piece of hair out of her face, tucking it gently behind her ear and giving her a soft smile, “What’s going on in that mind of yours, gorgeous?”

Y/n didn’t say anything, simply shrugging as she tried to push everything she was feeling down and her thoughts to the back of her mind. He frowned at her nonverbal response, hands coming to rest on her thighs, thumbs moving in small circles with a slight pressure. 

He leaned his head forward, resting his forehead against hers, He let out a small sigh before speaking, “Talk to me, pretty girl. We both know it’s not good for you to keep your emotions bottled up, especially when it’s something like this.”

She bit her lip and he sighed again, removing one of his hands from her thigh to tug her lip free from in between her teeth, pecking her lips before he placed his hand back to where it originally was. He continued his previous movements, hands subconsciously moving further up her leg in the process.

“Just- got jealous.”

He smirked, “Well I know that.” His face softened again once he saw the small flicker of annoyance in her eyes, “You’re the only one I want, sweet girl. No one else could ever compare to you.”

“But-”

“No, you’re the only one for me. Nothing is going to change that, yeah?”

She gave in, feeling the tension release from her body as Luke pulled her closer, her head resting against his shoulder as she buried her head into the crook of his neck. He placed a kiss on her head, hands still moving up and down against her thighs. 

“You look good in my shirt.” He teased softly, gripping the hem of the shirt and tugging on it, “Should wear it more often.”

“I wear it every night to bed,” she argued back, voice muffled. 

He shrugged, her head moving at the motion. She pulled back and looked at him, smiling for the first time since they left the arena. He grinned back at her, hand coming up to tangle in her hair again, bringing her close so he could kiss her. 

She let out a small squeak in surprise but melted in the kiss shortly afterward, her arms wrapping around his neck. His other hand snaked around her waist, pulling her even closer to him. She pulled away, forehead against his as she attempted to catch her breath. 

“You better now, pretty girl?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s get you to bed then, probably wore yourself out with all those useless thoughts.”

He lifted her off her lap, laying her back down and crawling underneath the comforters next to her. His arm circled her waist again, pulling her flush against his chest, kissing her head again, “Night, baby. Love you so much, never gonna let you go.”

She blushed, burying her head further into his chest, “Love you too.”

꒰ NEW JERSEY DEVILS TAGLIST ꒱

@toasttt11 @chiblackhawks @nicole01-23 @auriesphantom @pucks-goals-penalties @dancerbailey3 @rowdyluv @petite-potato4 @thehuggybearslover @absolutelyhugh3s @kei943 @dyslecticdutchman @this-ass-is-eikonic @delilaahh9 @winterbarnesblog

LH43 MASTERLIST ; NHL MASTERLIST

TAGLIST ; NAVIGATION

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 6

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, you get your very own samantha from her (2013) lol, time skips as a plot device!, this has an arc i promise, if anybody here plays disco elysium you’ll find that i took concepts of “the pale” as inspo at some points in this chapter lmao A/N: Oof this one’s a little longer than any of the previous chapters. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3 (and just a heads up, this might be the last chapter I post before I kick it off for the holidays. advance happy holidays! if you guys celebrate that sort of thing.) 

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt 6

There’s a quiet stillness brought by the morning after that makes the problems of a heavier night seem like a fairly distant memory. 

For at least a few minutes past the moment you blink away the stubborn grit in your eyes—you don’t remember the last time you’ve been this well-rested in ages—you lie, listless, on the soft powder-blue bedding of your twin-size mattress, watching specks of dander and dust drift from the amber sunlight that filters through the cracked panes of the casement window. 

It floats aimlessly; unhurried. Much like you.

The echo of last night’s events return to you in sporadic flashes—fragmented and unsteady. The whispered exchanges, the playful banter between you and your unlikely conversation partner play back in your mind, like some half-finished supercut. 

And the more you recall, the more awake you feel, chipping away the last traces of daytime lethargy weighing you down. 

“So, what happens now?”

The sound of a car backfiring breaks through from the outside, like a starting pistol signalling the beginning of another day. A familiar, heavy weight presses against your side, and you thread your fingers through the scraggly fur of the purring feline who’s taken the empty space on your left, just above the covers. 

You breathe in deeply, closing your eyes. 

“I wish I had an answer—I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

You realize how many questions still linger, a lot more left unanswered. Far more than what you were able to glean, at least. From what little you’ve learned, an entirely new moral dilemma emerges—one you never imagined you'd have to contend with. 

There’s a lot of things you’ve never expected to happen. Yet here you are. 

“Seems we’re at an impasse.” 

It’s an odd thing in itself. You keep waiting for the disbelief to catch up, for a shred of sanity to surface and make you reject the situation you’ve found yourself entangled in. You should be feeling the same, pesky feelings that pulled you sharply out of your flight of fancy last night; a sense of trepidation for what lies ahead in this tenuous game of two. 

But instead, you’re here. Now fully awake, and already looking forward to the day with wary acceptance. Looking forward to resuming where you’ve left off with that charming anomaly who’s upended your world, and left you suspended in an exhilarating limbo of uncertainty and excitement.

“...Indeed.”

You crave it—like the first stirrings of a neophyte druggie teetering on the edge of an irreversible habit. 

You need another hit. 

“Why the long face, little dove?”

Because if desire could manifest into being, it would’ve been Sylus. 

“We can figure this out together, can’t we?” 

You pick up your phone. 

––––

“You’re here? Make yourself at home.” 

You look at him, deadpan. He looks back at you serenely. 

Your voice takes on a dry monotone when you respond, “Keep talking like that, I’m about to cum.” 

There’s a shocked silence; then––

Sylus barks out a surprised laugh, immediately breaking character. 

You snort. “Good morning to you too, I guess.” 

He meets your gaze with a look of scandalized amusement, his smile wide enough to flash teeth. 

"Good morning, indeed."

––––

You two fall into a natural rhythm even before the day comes to a close. Perceptive as he is, Sylus hasn’t let you linger in the unease left over from last night any longer than necessary—which to say, should be left buried and forgotten, past its provenance. 

“So you could, like–hypothetically, top up my ascension materials… indefinitely?” There’s a manic shine to your eyes when you confront him back at the home screen, gleeful and triumphant after you boost almost all the 5-star cards you have of him up to max level. “Like an infinite glitch?” 

He’s content to just simply listen to your excited chatter from his languid perch on the seat, one palm resting against the side of his face as he watches you—half-lidded and relaxed. Utterly entertained by your antics.

The slight twitching of his mouth, the subtle tilt of his head… each minute shift in his expression makes a whole world of difference from the version you’ve known him longest—almost a lifetime ago. 

Now he acts so human, so alive, that it’s almost unreal. 

(It’s almost imperceptible, but you swear the air also feels different; like the pixelated space around him is bending, stretching, to accommodate this newer him.) 

“Sure,” he shrugs, lips quirking up into a half-smile as he notices the deep crease forming between your brows. 

He knows the question you’re about to ask—curious thing that you are.

“How, though? Like, what are ‘materials’ to you?” You make air quotes with your fingers, making you appear all the more endearing to him look at, in your process to make sense of a world that’s unfamiliar to you.

“Think of it as upgrades,” Sylus explains patiently. “You place the order to modify the equipment I use, in whichever situation calls for it.”

“And Memory Cards?”

“... A video reel, maybe. Or a restricted case file—locked until you’ve got enough to trade for the information you want.”

“And I suppose the dealer in question here is you?”

He arches an eyebrow. “Who else?”

“Huh,” you say, considering. “So, Deepspace Trials. That’s something you do on the daily? Because I… make you?”

“More or less.”

“And you never thought to question that?” 

“Mm, maybe I’ll start charging for my services this time around.”

You roll your eyes, already accepting his analogy for what it is. “Oh, please. With the amount of money I’ve spent on this game, consider yourself paid in full.” 

––––

You were right about your earlier prediction—this new Sylus in combat mode is something else. 

For starters, he’s a lot chattier.

“Ouch, kitten– don’t charge in like that.”

“Why are you using a sword? Don’t you like the guns I’ve given you specifically for this?” 

“What are you waiting for? Make her resonate with me now.” 

And, instead of sticking to his lines and responding to whatever the MC’s programmed to say during battle, he focuses on whatever you’re fussing over—no matter how… moronic it is.

“Ah, fuck! I hate that spinning thing!” 

“Move, then. Let me handle it.” 

“Block it, block it!”

“I would, if you weren’t halfway across the field. Stick closer to your partner next time, yeah?” 

He doesn’t say any of his usual lines. Nothing from his scripted prompts. When all Wanderers are defeated, there’s no post-battle banter between him and the MC. 

“Goddamn, you’re strong!” You whoop giddily, completely energized by straight winning almost twelve Orbit trials in a row. I guess that’s what a fully awakened Solar pair gets you, huh? 

Sylus lets out a chuckle, infected by your enthusiasm. He doesn’t sound the least bit winded, despite all the damned fighting you’ve put him through.

“We make a good team,” he allows. And because he likes the little nose scrunch you do when you’re annoyed— “Although your dodging really needs more practice, sweetie.” 

Before you could think of a comeback, the pop-up window for the next stage comes up. Ass.

––––

Come Monday morning and you’re once again swamped with work. 

You barely have enough time to scrounge something up for lunch—if it weren’t for the persistent reminders from Sylus, chiming in every five minutes once the digital clock on your phone had hit eleven-thirty, you’d probably skip eating altogether.

And make something else than just boiling a pot of instant ramen, sweetheart. You’re on track for an early grave at this rate. 

“I could… add an egg?” You suggest, unsure. “Maybe cut up some tofu, make it gourmet?”  

He doesn’t even dignify the egg suggestion with a response. Tofu’s a good start. Now, what else do you have in your pantry that has nutritional value? 

“I despise that,” you mutter, but start rifling through the cupboards anyway. 

After amassing enough ingredients—or what looks more like a sad pile—that might, with some effort, turn into something healthier than your usual go-to fix, you start Googling recipes online.

‘tofu easy lunch recipe’

‘10 mins tofu recipes’   

‘begginer recipe using tofu frozen dory mixed veg—’ Ping!

… Really, kitten? 

You don’t even have to see him to know he’s giving you that look, the one that’s practically dripping with judgment over your dubious life choices. 

(You know it all too well. Personally, in fact. You see it on some relatives' faces at the family get-togethers you’re always required to attend.) 

Great. Heat creeps up your face as you mumble defensively, “Stop. Not everyone’s a culinary genius, okay?”

After that, he lets you be – something you’re thankful for, really. He’s being too distracting anyway. 

Swallowing down the–stubborn and suffocating–embarrassment that's now stuck in your throat, you keep scrolling through Tasty dot co, praying you can whip up something edible with what (little) you have. You’re fully aware that you’re a grown-ass woman who can’t manage a basic life skill and that you’re probably about to burn down your kitchen—

Another notification pops up.

Pull up your tabs, sweetie. I think you’ll find something there that we could put together easily.

Confused, you do as he says. Sure enough, four tofu-related recipes are neatly grouped together in your Chrome browser, ready to be tried and tested.  

Your eyes widen. “Wait—you did this? How?”

He doesn’t answer your question. He does, however, offer: Want me to coach you through it? Cooking’s more fun done with a partner, I’d say. 

-

-

In the end, you manage to make something that tasted way better than you thought you could do by yourself. You have him to thank for that.

“You happy with it?” Sylus asks, grinning at the satisfied look on your face.

“Mhm!” you hum around a mouthful of food. “Fanks, Sy.”

“Anytime, darling.”

––––

“Do you really have to call me ‘kitten’? You sound like a Discord mod.” 

Sylus has no idea what a Discord mod is, but judging by the contempt in your voice, it’s clear that you’re not giving him a compliment.

"What do you prefer, then? Princess? Poppet? Sweet thing?" He pauses, tilting his head. "Baby?"

You blush and look away. "... Ugh, whatever. Kitten's fine."

––––

Your routine with Sylus settles into a seamless, effortless flow as the days go by; it’s almost second nature, talking to him. So much so that you’d think nothing could faze you anymore.

Well. Almost nothing. 

A message bubble from an unknown number appears on your lock screen: Hi, sweetheart. X

You almost ignore it—brushing it off as some dumb prank from a bored rando—when, not even five seconds later, another text pops up. 

+0063-XXXXXX: Its Sylus.

… Huh? 

“Is someone fucking with me right now, or…” 

+0063-XXXXXX: Nobodys ‘fucking with you,’ kitten. 

Then–

+0063-XXXXXX: Send a reply so I can see how it shows up on my end.

Your jaw drops. “Holy shit—you can text?? How are you doing that?” and, “Did you just cuss...?” 

+0063-XXXXXX: 👍

+0063-XXXXXX: And Ill let you know if you text me the question 🙄

So you do. You tack on a now spill?? at the end for good measure. 

You watch the “typing…” bubble appear, holding your breath.

+0063-XXXXXX: Its a complex mix of technical code and harnessing the energy from a dormant protofield Ive discovered, just south of Vagrants Land.  

+0063-XXXXXX: The energy I got from it felt different somehow from your normal protofield. I figured I could put it to good use. 

+0063-XXXXXX: Oddly enough, theres an… indescribable effect to oneself when youre nearing the centre of disturbance, shall we say. 

+0063-XXXXXX: I can only decrypt the waveforms by the rarefield border surrounding the AoR. Any further and Im afraid the adverse effects may do more harm than good.

+0063-XXXXXX: But if amplified, it seems responsive to the filament of what connects your signal from deep space to this planet.

+0063-XXXXXX: Who knew it could act as a transmitter to send you something as rudimentary as a telegraph? 

… Sometimes you forget how smart Sylus really is. 

You: that’s pretty amazing ?? wtf sylus  

+0063-XXXXXX: I get by OK. 

You could practically feel his smugness radiating from those four words. You scoff, shaking your head in a mix of awe and begrudging admiration.

He sends two more messages. 

+0063-XXXXXX: Im just glad we can communicate through other means, sweetie. 

Sy-Sy (??): Now save my number. Sy Sy will suffice 😉

––––

Since your latest discovery that Sylus can now text (!!), you’ve been talking to him outside the game non-stop. It’s like talking to a very active friend who never leaves you on read, and you couldn’t be more ecstatic. 

You: so no one else in ur universe knows anything abt ur situation?

You: no one else acting funny or sumn ? >.>

Sy-Sy (??): None that I know of, no. I prefer to keep it under wraps. 

Sy-Sy (??): Now that you mention it, Mephisto has been acting quite suspicious lately. 

You: ?? suspicious-suspicious or just reg suspicious??

Sy-Sy (??): Hes with his other crow friends now. They might be attempting a murder. 

You: ………. is that…. supposed 2 be a joke……….

Sy-Sy (??): Im running on 3 hours of sleep, give me a break.   

Sy-Sy (??): Also your textspeak is horrendous, sweetie. 

"Um, hello—?" 

Your gaze snaps back to the–very real, very present–person sitting across from you at the table, sporting box-dyed blue hair and a frown. You're at the Annex House; a sleek, new-age Japandi-style bar downtown, just an easy five stations away from your place. You both decided to try it for their infamous Rotten Apple cocktail and, of course, your weekly catch-up.

Khol, your friend of eight years since college, is currently giving you a mildly annoyed look.

Oops. 

They point at you accusingly while complaining, "Ugh, we don’t use our phones when we’re hanging out! That’s the rule!"

You smile at them, sheepish, pocketing your phone as discreetly as you could. “I know, I know. Sorry.” 

Then, puffing out your cheeks, you meekly ask, “You were talking about Anna...?”

They roll their eyes but go over the gossip a second time, much to your benefit. Phew.

Your phone vibrates. Twice. 

…

You sneak a quick, final peek.

Sy-Sy (??): Enjoy your night out, darling ❤️ 

Sy-Sy (??): You let me know when youre back home, OK? 

Biting back a grin, you send out one last text in reply. 

You: will do !:9 

Sy-Sy (??): Good girl. 

––––

"Um–so this is my cat, Maru," you say by way of introduction, holding the plump, orange tabby in front of your phone that’s propped up against a carton of Koko Krunch. There’s a slight struggle in lifting his left paw between your fingers to wave at the man on the other side of the screen. "Say hi, Maru."

“Hello, Maru,” Sylus greets amicably in return, watching the both of you with clear amusement in his eyes. “Care to tell me the origin of this proud beast?” 

You recount the story where you’ve first seen Maru five years ago, nothing more than a scraggly little runt at the time, hiding in the gap between a dumpster and the interstice of a cragged wall. You were walking home from a night out drinking with your uni buddies, when you heard the incessant meowing. 

It drew you in like a siren’s call. If the siren in question had the vocal prowess of a warbling whale on the brink of death.

Upon closer inspection, the grimy fluffball revealed a stubby, crooked tail and wide, beady eyes. In your alcohol-fueled haze, you briefly wondered if you were staring at a tiny ginger rat.

“Well, it’s definitely all cat,” your friend Bee declared by noon the following day, calmly retracting a scratched and bloodied hand from the disgruntled feline, which promptly hissed and darted right back under the bed.

You hummed in agreement, passing her a wad of tissue. 

"I couldn’t decide between Nospurratu and Catpin Meow," you say matter-of-factly, giving your capricious son a scritch under his chin. "Bee suggested I stick to something simpler, like Maru. Hence the name."

Your explanation is punctuated by an offended nip on your pointer finger. 

Sylus is covering his mouth, but nods solemnly. “I think Maru is a nice name.” 

There’s a moment where the two seem locked in a silent standoff, neither breaking eye contact nor making any sort of outward reaction. Just as you’re about to step in and interrupt the bizarre staring contest, Maru gives a slow, deliberate blink.

Sylus takes it as a sign of victory—or perhaps a ceremonial seal of approval.

 With a faint smirk on his lips, he offers the cat a bow in respect.

––––

You’ve practically emptied the entire arcade of plushies—enough to put it out of business if it were actually, you know, real—and you’re bored to tears. 

“Another round of Kitty Cards, perhaps?” Sylus suggests, but a single glance at your face is enough to let him know that you’d rather gnaw off your own hand. Or his. He might just let you.

Sighing dramatically, you complain about the limited playability of the “mini-games” in-game.

“There’s literally nothing else to do. Same old shit, over and over again.” There’s a pout on your face that Sylus wants to nibble on, not that you’re aware of the forming thoughts in his head. “No new banners. I’m stuck between Kitty Cards and the claw machines—I’m bored, Syyyyy,” you whine, stretching the last syllable for effect.  

To be fair, he has tried to make it a bit more challenging for you. He stopped fucking around during Kitty Cards—no more extra two cards in exchange for one of yours, no longer placing different colored kitties deliberately in the wrong cups. 

After six straight losses, your frustration is palpable. The fun is gone.

He makes audible commentaries during each of your six tries at the claw machine. Every time you manage to snag a plushie, he praises you for a job well done (It flusters you—not that he needs to know that). When your luck runs out and you grab onto nothing but air, he wryly points it out through some slight ribbing, but nothing that’s actually hurtful (This flusters you too—again, not that he needs to know any of this).   

There’s nothing else to do. It’s like you’ve exhausted all you could in this small, curated window of his that you’re privy to. If only there’s a way to leave the mini-games behind, to do something new, perhaps outside of what the game has to offer…

Oh, wait. 

“Hey, Sy,” you call the man to attention. “Wanna try something out?” 

-

-

You beat him at Words with Friends by a small margin.

“Ha! That’s thirty-nine points, buddy.” You crow proudly, after putting down Devotees in a straight column.

He eviscerates you at Zynga Poker. 

“... How are you so good at this??” 

“Comes with the package, sweetie,” he says with faux-modesty after revealing (yet another!!) full house, winking like he hasn’t just wiped the floor with you.

By the end of it, both of you are in high spirits—except, maybe, for your bruised ego.

––––

“Say my name, say my name… If no one is around you, say baby I love you…”

“It’s nice to know that we have another thing in common, little dove.”

 

It takes you a moment to process what he’s implying. 

You stop singing, affronted. “Wh—how dare you.” 

––––

“Are you having fun?” Sylus asks, his tone droll as he stands there, hands on his hips and a small scowl on his face. You’re too busy spinning him around, thoroughly entertained by the number of outfits and accessories you’ve forced upon your slightly reluctant model in the photoshoot that's currently taking place.

It’s more amusing, knowing that he’s fully-aware of what’s happening. And that you know he’s aware of what’s happening. 

He’s like your personal, sentient Ken doll—if Ken had ashy grey hair, red eyes, and a mercurial attitude.

“I am, actually,” you shoot back, grinning as you plop a tomato stuffie on top of his head. “Look, you two match!” 

He exhales a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

Not that it stops you. Fluffy bunny ears, a fish headband, an uncharacteristic halo—you’re relentless. “Hey, can you try a different pose?”

“That depends on the pose… and how nicely you ask.”

“Dear Sylus,” you sing, jutting your bottom lip forward and fluttering your eyelashes exaggeratedly, “could you please, pretty please, flip the camera off?”

He snorts but obliges, raising his hand to deliver the most effortlessly cool middle finger you’ve ever seen. “Happy?”

Woah. That’s… hot. “Oh! Uh. Yeah. Yeah, that’s—”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your reaction. You giggle nervously. “You look… hot.”

“Mm?” His smirk grows, teasing and predatory. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” you blurt out, but the pinking of your cheeks betrays you. He’s definitely enjoying this now.

“I could be convinced to do another one,” he murmurs, voice pitching a little lower.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to say the first thing that comes to mind. Stop, you whore. 

Your nerves get the best of you. Without thinking, you switch to putting the MC back on screen. 

Sylus blinks, red eyes narrowing as he looks at you, perplexed. 

“Uh,” you shift your gaze between her frozen stance and his idle figure. The sudden silence hangs a little heavy in the air. “Would–would you like to do poses? With her?”

He opens his mouth, an automatic response—but he stops, expression flickering into something unreadable. Confusion? Hesitation? 

His brows knit together, and for a short while, he just studies you, the space between you thick with unspoken questions. 

“Do you want me to?” he asks finally, his voice quieter, almost careful.

No–I don’t want you to— To pose with someone who looks so-–

perfectperfectperfect by your side—I only want to see you—

I want to see you––

Why do I care–?

I don’t care––I care, I care so much–– 

“Why not?” you choke out, the forced cheer in your voice grating even to your own ears. You shrug, nonchalant in all the ways you’re not. “I’ll dress her up real nice, and then—” You slap a pink bow onto his head. “You can try to keep up.” 

He doesn’t move, not paying the offending accessory any attention. His gaze is solely locked onto yours. 

I don’t care. I don’t. 

You take the first shot. 

____

“What’s the song you’re playing?”

You pause mid-mop, cocking your head to the side in slight surprise. 

“Uhh—Pedestal,” you answer unsurely. “By Portishead. You like it?” 

He hums, eyes glinting with interest. “I do. Play the rest.” 

And just like that, you’re introducing Sylus to modern twenty-first century music—and to Spotify.

____

From that point on, Sylus begins using your Spotify account to discover a whole new world of music—quite literally, in his case. Sometimes he steals the control from you, overriding what you’re currently listening to, just to hear the most random track play from your speakers.

In the middle of a mundane afternoon while you're completely locked in at work—hyperpop synths blaring in your ears—you’re suddenly jolted by the sound of heavy mandolins as an honest-to-god Russian military march blasts through your headphones, shattering your focus like a damn rhino in a china shop. 

And so with the level of patience that could put the Virgin Mary to shame, you painstakingly explain to your friend the courtesy of not stealing the proverbial AUX cord from the “driver,” especially when it’s their turn on the radio. 

The two of you reach a compromise, and thus the birth of your “shared” playlist. Sylus reluctantly agrees to explore on his own time—when you’re not using the app. Like when you’re busy with other things. Or when you're asleep. 

-

-

-

You wake up to the first strings of a Muse song. One of your favorites, in fact. 

Sy-Sy (??): Good morning, sweetie. 

Sy-Sy (??): Last night was enlightening. I have you to thank for that.

Sy-Sy (??): Oh, and I hope you could indulge me. I added some songs to our playlist. I think youll like them. We both seem to have a thing for alt-rock.

Sy-Sy (??): Give me time and Im sure Ill acquire a taste for electronic music too. Be patient. 

You huff out a laugh, lazily rolling over as you check your shared playlist. Sure enough, there’s twelve new songs on it.   

You: awe that’s great sy :)) and these songz r rly good !! u got sum of my faves here

You: based on what u like maybe u can try looking up sum david bowie, probz massive attack idk 

You: i’ll add stuff later for u to listen 2!!! <2

You: <3* 

Sy-Sy (??): Alright, sweetheart. I'm looking forward to it. 

Sy-Sy (??): ♥️

____

From the outside, the studio is just another unit among endless rows of dull grey—small and unassuming. Tucked away on the sixth floor of a nondescript building, it’s built as unremarkable as the rest.

Through a window stained with a mix of corrosive ochre and burnt sienna, there’s a quiet hum—the presence of something that wasn’t there a week ago. Life has shifted, ever so subtly, from an oppressive achroma to a much warmer vibrancy.  

There’s a faint hint of movement. Inside, the young woman wears an almost-permanent smile, her phone an extension of her hand as she taps away with no semblance of rhyme nor rhythm—only in a continuous staccato. Her eyes are locked on the screen, as if drawn by an invisible force.

It’s elusive; this connection—something beyond. Supranatural. It weaves through the room like whispered secrets shared in the dead of the night, beneath a city blanketed in deep ultramarine. Soft, like a wind brushing through a still everglade. 

The apartment, once steeped in a self-inflicted solitude—one that went by unnoticed for a long period of time—comes alive as an intangible presence fills its nooks and crannies with the steady warmth of companionship. There’s a gentle heat to the space now, like the glow of an invisible hearth. 

The flickering of the string lights, the muted laughter shared with a voice through the tinny speakers of a handheld device, a slight signal interference… all feel like the genesis of an impossible story.

Outside, the evening sky is fading into twilight.

And as one looks out onto the street below from the sixth floor window, it’s almost as if the world outside doesn’t quite matter anymore. 

Inside, the air is full of life, in ways it has never been. 

____

“Come to me, just in a dream

Come on and rescue me

Yes, I know I can be wrong

And maybe you’re too headstrong

Our love is––”

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @i2sannie @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @slyfoxtsu @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @tinyweebsstuff @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean

(if..... for some damn reason..... the tags still don't work i rly don't know what i'm doing wrong T_T i'm posting this from a macbook is that it, is the ghost of steve jobs fucking with me rn)

[jarofstyles]

Moonflower

Hi my lovelies! I’ve got a Witch H x Witch Y/N piece for you guys!! I hope you’ve enjoyed the spookier stuff, this one is filthy and sweet with a magical vibe 🔮

Check our out Patreon for early access and 200+ exclusive writings

WC- 5.8k

Warnings- magic, rituals, witch stuff, potions that effect arousal and that sort of thing, unprotected sex, spit play if you squint, soul ties, etc

She caught his eye across the fire.

He hung back at the tree line, as most of the men did. The dance dedicated to the moon goddess, Divine Feminine, was performed only by the women in the coven, but the full moon circle ritual was open to all. She should have known he would come crawling out of the shadows eventually.

Her heartbeat was thudding harder in her chest after finding the confirmation he was there. The relationship she shared with Harry had always been a complex one, but it was one she cherished nonetheless.

He tended to stick in his cottage with his books, his spells, the incantations muttered by his deep, raspy voice. A bit of a loner, he was, but a valuable asset to them all. While he wasn’t much for group activities, he was very active in the one-on-one space. specifically seeking Y/N out for potions, practicing with her and somehow finding his way between her thighs. She found herself waiting for those moments, eating them up each and every time. It seemed to get more frequent lately- not that she was complaining.

Harry made her nervous in a good way. He challenged her, made her a better witch. But he was a little hard to read at times. She wasn’t sure where she stood or what their relationship was. All the witch knew was that he had been seeking her out more often, finding his way to get his hands on her and excuses to talk to her whenever he could and she loved every little bit.

His eyes felt hotter than the flames licking the air, the music slowing as the sparks spit up into the sky. The offering was burning in the pit, and she could feel the magic in the air. It was only natural with a bunch of magically incline folks around.

That, and the fact that the women were all fully nude, and the heat of the fire could be felt on bare skin.

As the ritual came to an end, she ignored the feeling of his eyes on her- and the giddiness it was sending towards her stomach- as she stepped back towards her velvet ritual robe. He’d approach her. She could feel it.

Harry’s footsteps would have been almost silent if it hadn’t been for the crisp leaves on the ground for the season. It gave her a chance to know he was coming, though he knew she was aware his eyes were watching as she wrapped the velvet robe around her, the fabric soft and warm against her skin- though not as warm as it should be. His gaze lingered on the way the fabric draped over her curves, the way it pooled at her feet. He could almost smell the scent of her, the mix of chamomile, jasmine and something sweeter, more unique to her alone as he trailed closer to her.

The same song and dance, but it didn’t get old. Not to him. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, holding her gaze for a long moment before he stepped out of the shadows. "Y/N.”

“Harry.” The girl replied, tugging her hair over her shoulder, out from under the robe. The moon lit him from behind, the fire from the front. While people could call him a bit odd, perhaps a bit unfriendly, they couldn’t call him anything but handsome. The man was gorgeous, almost unfairly so. Sometimes she wondered if it was possible he had put an incantation on himself to appeal to her deepest rooted desires in attraction, but it wasn’t possible. At least from her knowledge. It wasn’t a love spell either, because the obsession wasn’t there- but the curiosity was. It always lingered.

Seemingly on both ends.

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight.” She tied the belt around the robe, crossing her arms over her chest. “You didn’t tell me when I went to borrow your book yesterday.”

"Didn't think it was necessary," Harry replied, his voice as smooth and dark as honey dripping off a spoon. He took a step closer to her, the fire casting the most alluring glow on her face. He could see the pulse at the base of her neck quickening, and he knew she wasn't as immune to him as she tried to portray. "Besides, I knew you'd be here. You always are."

“Well, it’s the most important ritual of the year for the women.” She gave him a look. “But you tend to avoid the more social situations. It’s like flipping a coin.” People did sometimes place bets but he didn’t need to know that. “Am I the reason you decided to haul yourself out of your little lair, then?”

Harry chuckled, the sound low and husky, sending a shiver through her despite her best efforts to subdue the reaction. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her skin. "Partially," he admitted, his gaze sticking to hers. "But mostly, I just wanted to see you dancing tonight." He stepped closer, his face inches from hers. "You look absolutely divine in the moonlight like that, Y/N."

Seeing her nude, free, moving around so passionately was beautiful. It was something he wanted to see again. She could be a goddess herself if she wanted to be. Sometimes he was highly aware she underestimated her beauty and her power, but this was one of the most glaring moments.

“You’ve seen me naked quite a few times.” She muttered, voice quiet as she raised a brow at him. If he felt the heat on her face she would blame the fire, or the dancing, but it was definitely from him. Y/N was rarely, if ever, flustered by a man- but he managed to be one of the only ones who had her feeling all out of sorts and blushy. “I’ll take it as a compliment, though. There were plenty of naked women here tonight. I’m sure you enjoyed it.”

Harry's lips curled into a smirk at her words, his eyes glinting with mischief and something darker, more primal. "But none of them are you." The witch murmured, his voice soft and intent. He reached out, his fingers trailing down her arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "I may have seen you naked before, but it never fails to take my breath away."

“Harry.” She warned softly, turning to the side. It was an open secret, really. People sort of knew that she and Harry fucked, considering she wasn’t able to be quiet when he did, but tonight was different. Tonight was a ritual night, and traditional rules didn’t go.

She knew what he was doing.

“If you wanted to fuck me tonight, you can just say that.” Soon, the forest would be filled with the sounds of pleasure. The people who wanted to go home would disperse and the others would strengthen their bond to the moon, elevating their power through their sexual energy.

Harry's eyes flashed with heat at her blunt words, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Oh, I want to do more than just fuck you tonight, Y/N," he said, his voice a dark purr. He pressed against her , one hand coming to rest on her hip as the other slid up to wrap around her throat, not squeezing, just...there. "I want to worship every inch of your body under the moonlight. But I meant what I said. Not tryin’ t’soften you up.”

Yes. He didn’t want anyone else to do this with Y/N. He wanted her.

“I have to ask, though… Did you bring any of that fun stuff we tried out last month with you?”

Y/N’s body felt a new level of warmth as he pulled her into his body, letting her head fall back to look at him. She knew exactly what he was talking about- and she did.

Realistically, she knew he was going to do this. She hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up, but this was the outcome she’d wanted. Packing the two pink vials into her robe pocket, she’d tried to manifest him showing up so he could be the one to take the potion with her and experience the pleasure she had put into it.

They’d played with it a few times, when she needed to experiment with it. The first time being before she sold it off, she needed to test the batch and… well, Harry was available, and it had been the start to their little arrangement.

“I do have it.” She pulled the vials out of her pocket, letting them clank in her palm. “Is that what you want to take tonight?”

Harry's eyes locked onto the vials, a predatory gleam appearing in their depths. He licked his lips slowly, deliberately. "Mmmm, you read my mind, gorgeous. S’almost like you knew I’d be here for you." His hand slid from her throat to tangle in her hair, tugging her head back further. "I thought you'd never ask." He plucked one of the vials from her palm, holding it up to the moonlight. “Open.”

With a wicked grin, Harry unstoppered the vial and brought it to her lips. Y/N parted her lips, and he slowly tipped the vial, pouring the shimmering, pink-hued potion into her mouth. A few drops spilled over, trailing down her chin and neck, glinting in the moonlight. "Swallow for me, Goddess. Take it down."

She tilted her head back further, her throat working as she swallowed the potion. Harry's eyes were riveted to the movement, his voice growing hoarse. "That's it, almost done with it. You take it so well. Open up for me again." He brought the vial back to her lips, repeating the motion until the vial was empty, the last few drops spilling over her chin and onto her bare breasts.

He tossed the empty vial aside, his focus solely on Y/N. His touch gentled, his fingers trailing down her neck and collarbone, smearing the spilled potion across her skin, letting the residual warm her and spread the sparkle over the expanse for him to lick up later. "You're gonna get messier before this night is over."

Harry took the second vial, his eyes never leaving hers. He brought it to his own lips, tilting his head back and draining it in one long pull. As he swallowed the last drop, a shudder ran through him, his pupils dilating with the rush. "Fuck, that's...intense." He licked his lips, tasting the lingering sweetness. "I can feel it already. My senses are heightened." His head tilted as he looked at her curiously. “Y’did some work on it and didn’t consult me? What a shame.” He clicked his tongue, taking hold of her hand, walking them further back into the trees. “C’mon.”

As they walked, Harry's hand tightened around hers, his grip firm as he squeezed their palms together. Pulling her along, his steps grew surer with each one as the potion took full effect, warming his blood further. The spot he led her to was somewhat secluded, the trees dense around them, moon filtering through the canopy above to cast dappled light upon their faces. He turned to her, his eyes gleaming with desire that had been heightened. The sounds of pleasure had already started out in the other parts of the forest, but he was focused on her as he muttered under his breath. She couldn’t quite make out what he said, but realized quickly as the long grass weaved together out of the thin air that he had cast an enchantment to make the ground softer for them.

Harry turned to face her fully, his expression one of raw, unbridled lust. The potion had ignited his desire to a fever pitch, but the full moon always did have an effect to elevate all emotions. "I can smell your arousal, feel the heat coming off your skin." He stepped closer, backing her up until her back hit a broad tree trunk. His hands found her hips, gripping them over the soft velvet as he pressed his body flush against hers. "I'm going to worship every inch of you tonight, little goddess."

Y/N's breath hitched as her back met the tree, her head tilting back to look up at him. Her body hummed with anticipation, the potion's effects already coursing through her too. Her own desire was amplified, her heart pounding in her chest. Her breath was coming in quick, shallow pants, breasts heaving against his chest. A soft moan escaped her as she squirmed against him, her hands reaching up to grip his broad shoulders.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her nails scraping against the skin as she held on for dear life as his pillowy lips pressed sloppy kisses down the expanse of her throat. The simplest action made her stomach churn in the best way, eyes fluttering shut as the tiniest wet drag of his tongue under her jaw had her keening. With a sigh, her head fell back against the tree trunk, the rough bark pressing into her scalp as she arched her back, pressing her breasts against his chest. a started squeak left her as he lifted her with no warning, but held no hesitation with legs wrapping around his waist, ankles locking at the small of his back as she tried to pull him even closer. Her mouth hung open, soft gasps and moans escaping in between desperate little pants.

Harry groaned against her throat, the vibrations rumbling through her as he licked a hot stripe up to her ear. "You taste divine. So fucking good." he growled, nipping at the lobe. His hands slid down to grip her thighs, squeezing the supple flesh as he ground his hips against hers. The heat of his arousal pressed insistently against her core, even through the fabric of his trousers. "It’s time to get this robe off. I want to see this beautiful skin in the moonlight, just for myself.”

With a flick of his wrist, the sash of her robe loosened, the fabric gaping open to reveal the curve of her breasts. A guttural groan left him as he pushed the garment off her shoulders, the material pooling at her waist where her legs were wrapped around him. His head ducked down, his mouth finding her breast, drawing her peaked bud between his lips. He sucked hard, pulling a cry from her.

The potion was a heating crescendo in his veins, every beat of his heart a pounding drum as it coursed through him. Every touch, every scent, every sound was magnified tenfold. The feel of her thighs wrapped around him was an exquisite torture, his body burning to be inside her. His skin was flushed, his breaths coming in deep, heavy inhalations as he tried to draw in more of her breast into his mouth.

His hands trembled as they roamed over her body, fingers digging into her possessively. The potency of the potion had his control slipping, his actions becoming more urgent, more demanding. Hips bucked against her, the hard ridge of his cock pressing against her core through his trousers. He growled against her skin, the sound primal as he fought to maintain his composure. "You're drivin’ me mad.” The husky groan was deep in his throat as fingertips ran up her thigh. Any chill from the night was forgotten as the magic in their veins warmed their blood, the sole focus being on exactly what was poured into the mixture- pleasure.

He took his time with her, his movements languid and deliberate. His hands caressed her skin like she was a precious artifact, thumbs brushing over her ribs before sliding up to cup her breasts. His mouth followed suit, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against her flesh, tongue lapping at her like she was the finest fruit he could have picked off the trees in her carefully cultivated yard.

Plucking her from the tree, he gently set her down in the plush grass bed he had conjured so he could worship her slowly, starting at her ankles. He kissed each one, then ran his fingers along her calves, behind her knees, up her thighs. He nuzzled the soft flesh of her belly, his hands skimming her hips and waist. He pressed his face between her breasts, inhaling deeply before placing a kiss to each one. “I’ve been waiting all month for this.” He admitted shamelessly, licking between her tits up towards her neck. The shiver ran through her body as he suckled on the skin at the center of her throat, making her breath hitch. “I think it’s time.”

Y/N felt like she was on fire, every nerve ending lit as his tongue ran over her skin. Her skin tingled every place he touched her, and even where he hadn't, as if his presence alone was enough to set her aflame. Her heart raced in her chest, fluttering like a bird in a cage as his hands and mouth roamed over her body. She could feel the heat pooling between her thighs, her core throbbing with a need that was almost painful. “Harry.” She breathed, fingers finding his hair. “You know better than to tease me this much when we’ve taken a vial…”

His chuckle against her neck was warm and low, the vibrations making her squirm. "I know, little goddess." He murmured, voice sultry. Green eyes darkened as he gazed at her. "But I wanted to savor you." To emphasize his point, he took his time again, trailing kisses down her collarbone, between her breasts, down her soft belly until he was kneeling between her thighs. “Is that so wrong?”

His fingers gently parted her, gaze fixed on her face as he slowly leaned down to taste her. She gasped, back arching as his hot mouth closed over her. His hands gripped her thighs, keeping them spread wide as he devoured her like a man starved. The magic had taken full effect, the only thing on their minds being what could get them closer, what could concoct the most pleasure. He was hungry for it, for her as he spread her open for him, letting the moonlight shadow his features as he looked up at her. The heat of his mouth was overwhelming, and she fisted her hands in his hair, hips bucking against his face. "Harry, do not tease me..." She growled. “You know what I like.”

“Shush, Goddess. I take care of you each time. I don’t want to hear your tongue unless it’s moaning or singing my name.” Dark eyes shot her a look of promise. Harry would take care of her. He always did.

His tongue delved deeper, flicking against her clit as he sucked gently. Adding a finger, he curled it to rub against that special spot inside her as he continued to lap at her pussy. The whine that left her throat was a reward, a pulse in his trousers as he stroked over it. The other hand came up to pinch her nipple, rolling it between his fingers as he worked her open with his mouth. The sound of his eating, the wet slurping noises, filled the night air as he feasted on her.

Her head fell back, a guttural moan escaping her lips as his fingers and tongue worked in tandem to drive her wild. Her hips undulated against his face, seeking more of that delicious friction. One hand fisted in his hair, holding him against her as if afraid he'd stop. The other tangled her fingers in the weaved grass, knuckles pale with how hard she was gripping. "Yes, right there..." She whimpered, thighs trembling around his head. “Your tongue is so good, your fingers- keep fucking me like that, Harry.”

He growled against her, the vibrations making her see stars along with the bright moon in the sky above her as he doubled his efforts. Two fingers pumped in and out of her slick hole, curling to hit that spot inside her. His tongue flicked rapidly over her clit, alternating between broad licks and soft suckling. The hand on her breast slid up to wrap around her throat, squeezing lightly. It was just enough pressure to make her feel owned, possessed by the man between her legs.

He pulled back, staring at her. His green eyes glinted hungrily in the dim moonlight, the mix of spit and her glistening on his chin. “I forgot about how much of a mess you make, little Goddess. I think we should add some more, no?” Harry rasped, pursing his lips to spit right over her cunt. The glob of saliva hit her swollen folds and slid downwards, causing her to shiver as she keened, the hand in his head pushing him towards her again. Leaning back down, his tongue lapped at her, spreading the mess as his digits pumped in and out.

His fingers crooked just right inside her, stroking along that sensitive bundle of nerves as his tongue focused on her clit. He could feel her tightening around his digits, her thighs quivering on either side of his head. "Cum for me, my goddess," Harry growled against her flesh, the vibrations pushing her closer to the edge. "Let me feel this sweet cunt spasm on my tongue so I can fuck you. The moon is so bright, I want you to look right at it as you cum for me.”

The words were her undoing. With a moan that echoed through the night, Y/N's back arched off the ground. Her inner walls clamped down on Harry's fingers, pulsing and squeezing as her orgasm ripped through her. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, her vision whiting out as she stared up at the moon. Harry swallowed her cries, his face buried in her cunt as he lapped up her cream.

The potion amplified her orgasm, making it feel like a tidal wave of warmth crashing over her. Each pulse of her pussy around Harry's fingers sent shockwaves through her entire body, making her toes curl and her back arch even further. The magic in the vial seemed to reach inside her and squeezed her for every drop of pleasure. It felt like her entire world had narrowed down to that one spot, her clit and Harry's fingers the only things that existed.

As her body finally stilled and her breathing attempted returning to normal, Harry slowly pulled his fingers out of her. He licked them clean, a smug smile on his face as he watched her sprawled out on the ground, boneless and sated. He stood up, his movements deliberate as he undid his belt and trousers, shoving them down to pool around his ankles. Her pleasure had always been his driving force, but making her orgasm like that was exactly the thing he needed. His cock had something to show for it, hard and ready, as he stepped out of his clothes.

Y/N sat up, recovering quickly from her intense orgasm- all thanks to the damn potion. It would need to be recreated exactly when she got back to her cottage, saved for occasions like this.

Thank the moon for magic.

She looked at Harry, a sly smile on her face as she reached out to tug him down to the grassy bed beside her. He landed with a soft thud, looking up at her with a raised eyebrow. "My turn." The witch purred, climbing on top of him and straddling his hips. She reached between them, wrapping her hand around his thick shaft and guiding it towards her pussy.

Harry let out a low groan as Y/N's hand squeezed around him, her fingers not quite meeting as she stroked him from root to tip. She positioned him at her entrance, her heat caressing the head of him as she slowly sank down, taking him deep inside her. His head fell back against the grass, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He could feel every inch of her as she took him in, her tight heat enveloping him.

The magic coursing through her made every sensation feel magnified and intense, and that was saying something considering sex with Harry without any influence was the best she had. The drag of Harry's prick against her sensitive walls was almost too much to bear. She could feel every ridge and vein, every twitch of him inside her. Her nerve endings were on fire, pleasure sparking through her with each movement. She threw her head back with a moan, her hips starting to roll, riding him with increasing fervor as the magic demanded more.

Watching her ride him, Harry couldn't keep the groan from leaving the back of his throat. Nothing in his life had been more beautiful, more sensual than the witch riding his cock, bathed in moonlight. She was gleaming, nearly glittering as her lust blown eyes peered down at him, nails digging into the inked chest with each roll of her hips. "By the moon, you're fucking beautiful," he rasped, his hands gripping her hips as she set the pace. "Look at you taking me so well, little goddess. You feel amazing." He murmured, his hips lifting to meet hers, driving himself deeper. "I could spend eternity inside you and it still wouldn't be enough. Perfect cunt swallowing me up, hot and precious. I wasn’t going to let you share it with anyone else tonight."

"You're mine," he hissed through gritted teeth as she swiveled her hips, grinding down on him. "No other man gets to feel this. Only me. Say it." His hands squeezed her backside, encouraging her to ride him harder as his own hips thrust up in a matching rhythm. "Say you're only mine, Y/N. Tell me this is just for me."

Their secret little rendezvous had been the best thing to happen to him. Everything he needed, really. Potion or not, his pull towards her was guided and stronger each cycle of the moon and he knew it meant she was his, somehow- some way. They kept it quiet though it was an open secret, but he didn’t want it to be any longer. He wanted the woman to be his.

"I'm yours, Harry. Only yours," Y/N gasped out, her nails raking down his chest as she rode him hard and fast. The magic made her words come true, like a vow sealed in starlight and shadow. "No one else could ever make me feel like this. You're the only one who knows how to touch me, how to make me come undone." Breaths came out in pants as she fucked herself on him, the vibration in her blood making her more desperate for it. She wanted him, wanted him to want her.

Harry's eyes gleamed with triumph and possessiveness as she declared herself his. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her down onto his chest as he took over the pace, thrusting up into her with deep, powerful strokes. The magic surged, amplifying every movement until it felt like he was fucking her soul, touching bits he had never even dreamt of before. "Swear by the moon. Tell her that you're mine." He growled, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "My little witch, my perfect little goddess- Swear yourself to me, tell the Moon that you’ve chosen your soul bond. I can not pretend the secret meetings are enough. This is all I crave, day in and day out." He pulled his face up to hers, meeting her eyes. “Proclaim it.”

"I... I choose you, Harry," Y/N stammered out, her voice hitching as he drove up into her, the hard ridges of his abs rubbing against her sensitive clit. "By the moon, I choose you. No other... only you. You're my soul bond, my moon and stars. I swear it." The magic thrummed through her veins, sealing her oath.

It all made sense now.

Harry's eyes flashed with dark fire as she swore herself to him. He crushed his mouth to hers, his kiss searing and dominating. His hands gripped her ass tightly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he powered into her, his pace growing harder, faster. He growled against her mouth, "Yes... My little goddess. Say it again. Tell me you're mine." The magic pulsed around them, mirroring the rhythm of their bodies.

"I'm yours, Harry," Y/N whimpered out between kisses, her voice breaking as the pleasure consumed her. "I'm yours, forever and always. Only yours." Her body began to shake, her orgasm building to a crescendo as he pounded into her. The moon hung low in the sky, watching over them as they made their sacred vow. Harry's thrusts became erratic, his own release looming as he heard her declare herself his.

"And I am yours, by the light of the moon," Harry declared, his voice flowing out into the night. "Y/N, my witch, my goddess, you are mine and I am yours, now and forever. By the power of the celestial bodies….” He panted, looking up at her with hooded eyes. “By the magic that binds us, I proclaim myself your soul bond, your half, your everything." It was too much. Feeling the beginnings of her orgasm, feeling the soul bond snap into place, finally getting the confirmation that she was his as much as he was hers, it was overwhelming. His body felt every bit of it, pleasure thrumming through him as he broke. Thrusting up into her one last time, he held himself deep as his orgasm ripped through him.

Harry's declaration pushed Y/N over the edge. She threw her head back, her long hair cascading down her back as she cried out his name as the feeling overtook her. Her cunt tightened around him, milking him for all he was worth as her body trembled with pleasure that was unheard of for her, even with the vials. This was something new, something raw and real and she hadn’t even anticipated it feeling this good. But perhaps it wasn’t just the potion, but the man she was with instead. Stars burst behind her eyes, and she could've sworn she heard the moon sing approval as their bond snapped into place, sealing them together.

Harry's arms pulled her down her as she convulsed on top of him, his own body shuddering with aftershocks, holding her to his body to soothe her. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his hot breath tickling her skin. "My Y/N." He murmured softly, his voice laced with a newfound sense of possession and an underpainting of love. "My moonlit obsession, my forever girl." He kissed her neck gently, his hands stroking her back soothingly.

His gentle touches and murmured words slowly brought Y/N back down to earth, catching her soul before it went too far up to the stars. She sagged against him, her body heavy and sated, her limbs like jelly. He supported her weight effortlessly, his strong arms wrapped protectively around her. "Shh, it's alright, little goddess," he whispered, his voice a hushed rumble against her ear. "I've got you. You're safe.”

Y/N's body continued to tremble slightly in the aftermath, her heart racing. She clutched at Harry, her fingers digging into his shoulders as if he were the only solid thing in a world that had suddenly become liquid and shimmering around her. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, not from sadness but from the sheer overwhelming intensity of what she had just experienced.

Harry noticed her trembling and gently wiped away her tears with his thumbs, his touch infinitely tender. He began to press soft kisses all over her face - her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her chin, her tear-stained cheeks again. Each kiss was a silent promise, a whispered I love you against her skin. He murmured soothingly, "That's it, my love. Calm. You're alright. I've got you."

Y/N's bleary, tear-streaked smile was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen. It was a smile of pure trust, of complete surrender, of utter contentment. They’d been playing cat and mouse for far too long. This had always been their fate. She looked up at him with eyes that shone like the moon herself, her gaze filled with adoration as she looked down at him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she held him close as if she never wanted to let go, sagging into him as she trailed chaste kisses over his sweat damp neck.

Harry nuzzled into her touch, his eyes fluttering closed as she marked him with her gentle pecks. He turned his head, pulling hers up to capture her lips in a soft, sweet kiss. It was a far cry from the dominant, claiming kiss they had shared earlier. This was a promise, a declaration of love in its purest form. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers as he looked deep into her eyes. "We're bonded.”

Y/N's eyes widened at his words, a fresh wave of tears spilling down her cheeks, but this time they were tears of joy. She nodded, a shaky smile spreading across her face. "I felt it." she whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion. "It was like... like a piece of my soul clicking into place with yours." She placed a hand over his heart, feeling it beat in sync with her own.

For so long, they had danced around their feelings, afraid to voice them aloud, afraid to ruin the delicate balance of their dynamic. But the magic sent by the moon was meant to bring them together, to force them to confront the truth. And as they sat there, hearts pounding in sync, they both knew that there was no going back. They were meant to be, and the moon had spoken.

"No more dancing around, yeah?" Harry said softly, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. "No more tiptoeing, no more 'what ifs' and 'maybes'." He leaned in, kissing her deeply, pouring all his unspoken feelings into the kiss. When he pulled back, Y/N was breathless, her eyes dazed. "And I think it goes without saying… M’the only one you’ll be testing these potions with from now on.”

[casuallyanidiot]

Yandere deer Hybrid with a hunter darling.

Tw.Nsfw themes! Dead dove do not eat!

Kidnapping, death, Yandere, MDNI

He's so regal and princely, with auburn colored curls framing his face like ribbon would a doll. Ciervus is a proud one, and he doesn't shy away from it. He stands taller than his peers, and his winding horns only add to his already imposing stature. He's a catch by all means: strong and intimidating to the point where no predator would mess with him and his future doe.

No one except you at least.

Ciervus is absolutely fascinated. He knows you're not something he should trust, but you've got so many things about you that he just can't tear his eyes from. Your hands are rough from handling your rifle all day, everyday, and you've got this permanent frown on your grimed streaked face. How odd. He thinks you'd be a cute doe, if you weren't fully human that is. He can't blame you for that, but it is a bit frustrating. He has his pick of potential mates, and if you just had little fuzzy ears or shiny black hooves, then he's sure he could've had you squealing and under him a long time ago.

He stamps his feet in frustration as he watches you. There's something thrilling about watching you settled in the underbrush, pointing your weapon at those he would consider his people. Every few days or so, someone he grew up with, frolicking in the spring once long ago, would disappear with only a loud bang and a streak of blood to signal their fate.

He knows it's bad to even seek you out. He could die. You would have no reservations about killing him after all. But Ciervus can't help the way his loins grow warm when he catches your scent through the trees. Even when you've dragged off the body of another poor deer, he's crouched, pressing his nose into the earth where you had sat in wait only hours before. There's something primal in the way he huffs your lingering smell off of the scattered leaves and smushed grass.

He wishes that you would know he was here, so that he could woo you properly.

Ciervus approaches you one day, and in his hands are his shed horns.

You're apprehensive, to be certain, but you let him come close. He feels shivers run up his spine. He can feel your body heat as he leans in close and presses his gift into your hands. He doesn't know why for sure you hunt those like him, but he thinks the antlers might have to do with it. He doesn't care all that much. You can't shoot him from this angle, pressed up against your back with his teeth grazing over your skin. He can feel you freeze up, and he grins at the though that this might be the first time you've ever felt like prey out here in these woods.

He lets his hands wander, dipping down the curve of your waist. You smell like death, iron, and sulfur, like you're a devil haunting this place. He relishes your pounding heart, and his lips press into the thrumming pulse point. It's then he reaches back and presses his fallen antlers to you. He figures you should have them. They take a year to grow and fall off, and he's spent that time yearning for you. It's only fair that the human tangled in greenery is the one who gets it.

"You deserve these," He whispers and finally pulls back. You're too shocked to do anything but sit there with eyes almost as wide as his and watch as he disappears.

After that day Ciervus becomes more brazen. He starts to stalk after you. He knows that to you, he's just some weird fawn with a death wish. Maybe he is, but that doesn't mean he'll let you kill him so easily. He gives you so many reasons not to.

He knows that other deer trust him. He knows that to the other woodland critter, he's just an innocent face that is not to be messed with. In that sense, he knows he can be of use to you. For as much as he follows you, you now also follow him. It sends a thrill down his spine, knowing that the barrel of your rifle is trailed after him. If he was going to lose his life to anyone, he'd want it to be you and not some drooling, snarling creature that would tear his beautiful face into a bloody mess. But he wants more time with you, so he leads you to other hybrids.

A fox, a goose, a wolf, other deer, it doesn't matter. You learn quickly, and you know that where he goes, there's an easy catch.

You vanish into the dark tree line, a body dragged behind you, and each night he lets you leave. You always return for some reason or another, and he doesn't fear the lack of you. At least he doesn't until you're gone for over two weeks.

Ciervus is beside himself. It's the first time that he's been without you for this long, and he begins to wonder if you'll ever come back. He's especially volatile during then. He fights any other young buck that come near, his nostrils flaring and his little tail wagging in utter annoyance. He expands his territory in an attempt to see if you went anywhere else, if you finally decided you were done with him.

When you appear once more, face blank and unchanged, he decided he can no longer take it. You must think nothing of him. Truly what a little fool you are. You must learn. You have to understand how he feels, and that he will have you even if it kills him.

He doesn't lead you to another hybrid this time, and he feels his cock twitch when he sees the frustration on your face. Oh...you were looking for him. It's a gratifying notion, and he bites his plump lip in excitement. He lets you go about your normal routine, but this time when you start to take your hunt for the day and leave the woods, he follows.

He's never left the sanctity of the woods. Not once in his entire life. There's this twisted sort of pride that fills him knowing that he's doing this for you. And as he peers inside your little cabin nestled along the roadside, he knows that the only reason why he would be doing any of this is because you're going to be his mate.

Your home is filled with the smell of iron and chemicals that burn his nose, but he watches from your window as you wrap a stiffening body (A rabbit hybrid this time) in a tarp and wait for a rumbling truck to come and take it away. He can see you be vulnerable in a way you'd never been before. Your bulky hunting gear is off, and he can finally see just how little you are compared to him in all his hulking glory. His ears twitch. You really are just a little doe.

He waits for you to relax, sitting on your bed and yawning as you prepare to rest for the day. He strikes then, breaking your window and yanking you out with little regard for how the glass cuts into you on the way out. His lithe and bulging arms wrap tightly around your midriff and knock the air out of you. He smiled at the way you try to fight despite struggling to breathe. He croons and presses a kiss to your cheek. He suspected as much when he gave you his antlers, but you really aren't all that strong, are you? At least not enough to fight him off.

He shushes you and shoves two thick fingers into your mouth when you try to scream, and a wide, unnatural smile crosses his lovely face.

"Shhh, shh its okay- ow! Hnh, haha, I guess I deserved that. No more biting, okay little doe?" He murmurs as he pets your hair and drags you further into the forest. It's so dark, and he knows that your human eyes won't be able to see where he's taking you. He takes you to a little cave decorated all pretty with soft furs, flowers, and moss. He sets you down, thrashing and screeching, into a little nest he's made.

He knows you think you're strong, but he's going to make sure you know your place. You were never really meant to be a hunter, you were always meant to be the strong mate he deserved.

His large hand reaches down and finds your ankle, catching it from where you tried to kick his sides. His wide, dark eyes peer down at you, and he smiles. Oh he how he loves you, but you're far too stubborn. Even now you're clawing at his arms, and his face crinkles apologetically.

"Little doe, this is for your own good," He says with a firm tone. You part your lips to argue, but a sickening crunch reverberates throughout the cold, stone walls of the cave. You let out a bloodcurdling scream as your leg twitches in pain. He releases your now broken ankle, and he wipes away your tears as he puts extra padding around your wounded foot.

"There there, don't cry. Shhh, shhh you're okay. I'll take care of you," He soothes and presses you down. You're a little heap of sobs, and his heart squeezes painfully. "Don't worry, little doe. I'll be a good mate. I'll wait until you're allllllll better before I start trying to get you used to me down here," He says softly as he presses his hand to your clothed crotch. He feels you flinch away, and Cervius can only chuckle.

"I know, I know, we won't do that until you feel better," He assures you and presses his palm over your mouth to muffle the insults and screams that were trying to escape that pretty mouth of yours. He waits until you pass you before he finally relaxes and snuggles up against you.

He's finally caught you. His little doe. His prey.

Continuation here

[daryltwdixon]

Daryl x Reader

season 1 Daryl

MDNI: smut

inspo: @heathermason6060's inexperienced Daryl & this ao3 story

notes: I barely proofread this after my first reread sorry

Ever since you’d joined the group—a girl they found out in Atlanta around the same time they brought Rick back—you didn’t fully fit in with anyone. People never really knew how to talk to you, and every conversation anyone overheard was always short and clipped. Maybe you were shy, or maybe still getting over something lost when the world turned upside down. But Daryl watched you—always watching, weirdly drawn to you in a way that he couldn’t figure out.

That feeling, whatever it was, twisted his stomach every time he got close. He didn’t know what it was, only that he wanted to be near you, wanted to catch even the smallest glance or word. Hell, he didn’t even need to be close; the thought of you was enough to send his stomach into knots.

After a while, he even started to wonder what it’d be like to talk to you beyond the short words you’d exchanged about ammo or food or anything survival-related. He thought about what the hell he’d even say, what you might like to talk about, but every time he tried to picture it, he went blank. His older brother wasn’t exactly the type to teach him how to talk to women; Merle had his own ways that usually ended up with people pissed off or storming off, and Daryl wasn’t about to mess this up by being like that. He’d be careful. Real careful.

One night, the fire is burning low, and everyone else has already drifted to their tents. Daryl sits by the embers, debating whether he should finally head back to his tent now that he’s alone—just him and the dying fire. It feels odd not having Merle around to tell him where to be and when. He has to figure out what he actually wants to do instead of just being in the man’s shadow. Just as he’s about to call it a night, you appear from your tent, looking restless and rubbing at your eyes. When you notice him sitting alone, you pause, then make your way over to him and sit down—not across from him but, to his horror and excitement, right beside him on the log. His stomach lurches, something strange twisting as he glances at the way the moonlight catches the curve of your thigh, making him wonder—just for a second—what your skin might feel like beneath his fingers.

You sigh beside him. “Can’t sleep,” you mutter, groaning a little as you rub the heels of your hands into your eyes. When you drop them, you give him a tired, curious look. “What’re you still doin’ out here?”

Daryl swallows, caught off guard. You’ve never really talked to him directly before, and he peels his eyes away from your thigh, feeling his cheeks burn a little when he realizes you’ve caught him staring. He shrugs, muttering something about ‘keeping watch’ under his breath.

You just nod, and he figures the conversation is over. But then, you pull a near-empty pack of cigarettes from your back pocket and slip one between your lips, flashing a faint smile to yourself.

“Look what I found today,” you say casually, shaking the box, sparking his interest as you glance at him. “Still got that lighter?” You nod toward his jeans, and his hand shoots to his pocket, rubbing his clammy fingers against the fabric before pulling out his Zippo. He holds it up, flicking the fire to life, watching your lips purse as you pull the smoke from the cigarette into your mouth, igniting the small stick. He catches the faintest scent of you, something clean—crisp apples, maybe from the soap found on the run today—despite the dirt and sweat of this life. His hand shakes slightly as the flame catches, and the tip of your cigarette glows bright.

You pull back, taking a long drag and exhaling softly through your nose. “Thanks,” you say, the word quiet, almost lazy, savoring the feeling. You hold the pack out to him, and he hesitates for a second before taking one, avoiding the brush of your fingers.

He slips the cigarette between his lips and flicks the lighter again, but this time the spark sputters out before a flame can catch. He flicks it a few more times, his hand trembling harder now under your quiet gaze. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, trying again. Nothing.

“Here,” you say, your voice calm but amused as you gesture for him to lean in. “Hold still.”

Daryl freezes, the cigarette twitching slightly between his lips as he says, “What’re ya—”

“I won’t bite, Daryl,” you tease gently, cutting him off with a faint smirk. The way you say his name, soft and easy, sends a jolt through him, like you’ve said something far more intimate. His knees would probably buckle if he were standing, but he stays rooted to the spot, barely breathing as you scoot closer.

You bring your lit cigarette up to his, the glowing tip inches from his mouth. He leans in stiffly, his lips fidgeting as he tries to hold still, but his hands won’t stop trembling, and the two cigarettes don’t quite line up. You huff a soft laugh, shaking your head slightly.

“Hold on,” you murmur, and before he can say anything, your free hand comes up to steady his chin. His breath catches as your fingers brush against the stubble on his jaw, tilting his face just enough to keep him from moving any more. Your touch is light, careful, but it’s enough to make him go completely still, his heart hammering in his chest.

As he pulls the cigarette to life, your eyes catch his, and suddenly your hand feels like it’s on fire. You wrench it away as quickly as you can, your body leaning back with it. His gaze, still fixed on you, is wide and unguarded, staring at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. The embers of your cigarettes glow softly between you in the dark night air, catching in his wild blue irises, and for a moment, the world feels far too still.

You clear your throat, exhaling a stream of smoke. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you feel…” You trail off, uncertain of the right word. Uncomfortable? Creeped out?

Daryl doesn’t move. He keeps staring at you, the cigarette held tightly between his lips, as if he’s stunned. Then, he pulls in another breath, his mouth opening slightly, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. You catch the faintest flush rising along his neck, and you feel yourself brighten under his gaze as well.

“It’s fine,” he finally mutters, his voice rough and low, though now he’s avoiding your eyes, not quite meeting your gaze. He fumbles with the cigarette, taking another drag just to give himself something to do.

The tension between you lingers, the fire starting to die softly in the background, but neither of you speaks again. You lean back, pretending to focus on the stars, while he shifts uncomfortably beside you, his eyes darting between the fire and your profile.

Somewhere in the quiet, he exhales slowly, the smoke curling lazily in the moonlight, and though he doesn’t say it out loud, he knows he’s never going to forget the feeling of your fingers on his skin—or the way you’ve looked at him like he isn’t just another face in the group.

Daryl’s knee bounces restlessly as he tries to keep his eyes fixed on the embers of the fire in front of him. It’s too damn hard to focus with you sitting so close, your scent mingling with the smoke and pine in a way that makes his head spin. He doesn’t get why it’s so hard to sit still around you; he’s usually good at disappearing into the background, staying quiet. But with you here, just inches away, he feels like he has a spotlight on him.

“You’re quiet,” you say, your voice jolting him from his thoughts. “What’s on your mind, Dixon?”

His head jerks slightly at the sound of his name, and his lips twitch like he’s trying to come up with an answer. “Nothin’,” he mutters, glancing away quickly. “Just… thinkin’, I guess.”

You arch an eyebrow, leaning back slightly against the log. “Thinkin’ about what?”

He knows he should say something to brush you off, but his mind goes blank. The way you’re looking at him, like you’re waiting for him to crack—it makes him feel trapped and exposed all at once. Heat creeps up his neck even hotter, and he curses himself for it.

“Am I making you nervous, Daryl?” you tease, your voice soft but playful, and he hears the smirk in your tone.

He opens his mouth, then shuts it, looking down at his nails as if they might offer some kind of answer. “I just…” He pauses, breathing in sharply. “Ya make it hard to think straight.”

The words come out rough, almost like a confession he hadn’t meant to say out loud, and he feels his whole body tense, waiting for you to laugh, to pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you sit up, and he catches a faint smile on your lips.

“Yeah?” Your arms graze against each other as you lean forward, and he sucks in a sharp breath, trying to keep from shivering at the touch. “And why’s that?”

He clenches his jaw, his fingers twitching against his knee, and he’s got half a mind to just stand up and walk away, leave you here with your questions. But the other half of him is rooted in place, feeling like if he gets up and leaves, he’ll never get this chance again.

He doesn’t say anything, just shrugs and continues staring at you, his gaze flickering down to your lips for a fraction of a second before he catches himself and looks away. But in that brief glance, something shifts, and you suddenly realize…Daryl’s actually kinda… beautiful, and maybe it just took you being this close up to realize it fully. It wasn’t the obvious kind of beauty that shouts for attention—it was quieter, layered in ways that drew you in the longer you looked. The roughness of his features, the sharp angles of his jaw, and the slightly crooked bridge of his nose that was imperfectly charming. His eyes, a deep, piercing blue even in the low light, carried a depth, like he could unravel you with just one glance if he let himself.

And then there were the softer details—the curve of his lips, perpetually chapped from him always chewing them, but so inviting; the faint freckles scattered across his sun-kissed skin, like a map of every moment he’d spent under the open sky. There was a rugged cuteness in the way his hair fell across his forehead, messy and untamed, framing his face in a way that made you ache to reach out and brush it back. He was all contradictions—rough and tender, guarded and vulnerable—and somehow, that only made him more beautiful. He’s rough around the edges, sure, all grit and wary glances, but there’s something genuine about him that you haven’t seen in anyone else since the world fell apart.

Unlike the others, he’s the only one who doesn’t bristle when you’re a little short with him, the only one who just lets you be, never pushing too hard, never asking for anything. You’d caught him glancing at you more than once, his cheeks turning red as he quickly looked away, and it had left you wondering what it’d be like to close the space between you, to see if he’d keep up that quiet shyness even if you got a little closer. So far, it seems he would.

Before you feel yourself hesitate, you lean in and press your lips to his. 

Whatever had come over you in that instant, Daryl has no idea. His mind reels at how you could possibly want this from him. People didn’t look at him like that. Hell, they barely looked at him at all unless they needed something. He isn’t the kind of man anyone leaned into, let alone kissed like this.

The kiss is soft, tentative, testing, but the moment your mouth meets his, it’s like something inside him snaps. He goes still, his breath catching, and for a second, you think he might run for the hills.

But instead, he kisses you back, a little clumsy, his lips pressing against yours like he’s not sure he’s doing it right. But you don’t pull away, don’t dare laugh, and slowly, he finds himself leaning into you, his hand rising to rest lightly on your leg, the touch electrifying your core. You make a soft noise against his lips, and it sends a shiver down his spine, his fingers tightening a bit where they’re touching you.

When he finally pulls back, his mind’s spinning, like he can’t quite wrap his head around what just happened. Your eyes meet his, and there’s this soft look on your face, like you’re amused and happy all at once.

“I… uh…” He stammers, his voice rough, and he feels his face burning.

“You maybe wanna mess around?” you ask, breathless, the words slipping out before you have time to second-guess yourself. There’s a growing need deep in your belly that you can’t ignore, a heat that’s been building ever since you noticed the way his eyes kept flicking to you, his gaze soft yet uncertain.

Daryl’s cuteness catches you off guard every time you look at him—especially now, with the moonlight casting shadows across his face, highlighting the angles of his jaw, the softness in his eyes, the way he almost looks like he doesn’t know he’s handsome. 

His eyes go wide, and for a moment, he just stares at you, like he's not sure he heard you right. He is absolutely sure you can hear his heart pounding against his ribs, the blood pumping harder in his veins as his mind short circuits. His mouth opens, then shuts again, and he looks away, eyes on the ground as his brows furrow. He pulls the cigarette to his lips again, smoke sucking in between his teeth before he exhales sharply. He quickly looks back up to you, your eager, warm face still waiting for his response. 

"Uh..." He clears his throat, the tips of his ears turning red. "You... you serious?"

You can't help but smile, the shyness in his voice only making him more endearing. "Only if you want to," you murmur, letting your fingers trail over his kneecap, feeling the way he tenses under your touch. "Could be fun. Don't have to overthink it."

Your body was practically begging him to jump your bones, but he doesn’t seem to realize that. Didn’t seem to know the signs of clear hunger and want and need. Your fingers brushing his leg itched to feel more, but you kept yourself still–careful with him. 

Daryl swallows and lets out a shaky breath, his hand trembling slightly as it pushes his cigarette into the earth, snuffing it out and unsure of what to do next. His eyes dart up to yours, and there's a vulnerability there as he nods, unable to form the words.

He brings his one shaking hand up to cup your jaw, the rough pads of his hands sparking at the feeling of how soft your skin is. You smile again, leaning into his touch, gently closing the space between you while still letting him decide if he wants to continue on.

He does. God, he does. But as he looks at you, there's a flicker of hesitation as he feels the supple skin of your face under his touch, and he's afraid of what you might think if you knew the truth. That he's never had anyone like this before, never been this close, never had anyone look at him with such open want. The only thing he knows about sex is what he's seen in crude memories from Merle's old tapes, scenes filled with empty noises and rough images that look nothing like this.

Nothing like the way you're watching him, with warmth and softness, not a hint of demand.

He brushes his lips against yours, tentative, as if testing his limits. He's nervous, so unsure, but you lean in a little more, feeling his hand tremble as he holds you close, his fingers curling gently around the curve of your jaw. When you let your tongue push out to graze his top lip, he goes utterly still, a shuddering breath escaping him as his restraint crumbles. He deepens the kiss with a sudden hunger, his grip steadying, his hand anchoring you in place, and you’re not sure if it’s to keep you from pulling away or to keep him from running for the hills.

You feel his heart pounding under your hands as you bring them up to rest against his chest, the beat wild and frantic. You fist your hands into the thin fabric, trying in vain to pull him closer, even if you want to let him set the pace. His movements are unpracticed, but there's an intensity in the way he touches you, like he's pouring everything he doesn't know into this moment. You can't help but smile against his lips, his eager, clumsy attempts endearing in a way that only makes you want him more.

His hands shift, and you feel his fingers press against your waist, steadying himself as he moves closer. He's beautiful like this, his strong arms flexing with the movement, shadows tracing along his muscles under the moonlight, and the warmth of his touch sends a surge of heat pooling low in your belly.

The kiss grows more heated, messy, with tongues and teeth clashing as he grows bolder. It’s a little clumsy, but you don’t care. There’s something intoxicating about the way he’s so eager, so intent on exploring your mouth, every hesitant touch of his tongue making you melt further into him. A soft moan slips from your throat when his tongue slides against yours, the sound spilling out before you can stop it.

The noise seems to snag something in him. His breath hitches sharply, and he pulls back, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His forehead rests against yours, warmth radiating between you, and his breaths are hot against your lips, still so close you can feel the faint tremble in him.

When he finally looks at you, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, the sight of him sends a shiver through you. His pupils are blown wide, dark and searching, his mouth slick with shared wetness, lips parted as if he’s about to say something but can’t find the words.

But it’s you who nearly undoes him. Your flushed cheeks, your lips wet and swollen, the half-lidded haze in your eyes—he almost busts right then and there, his previous semi now throbbing from your lips connecting with his. The realization hits him like a lightning strike: he made you look like this. He made you moan. And the thought that you’re enjoying this, maybe enjoying him just as much as he’s enjoying you, leaves his head spinning even more.

Your lips curve into a lazy, teasing smile as your hand finds the nape of his neck, fingers tugging gently at the short strands of his hair. “Let’s move to your tent, yeah?” you murmur, your voice soft but full of intention.

Daryl nods enthusiastically, and without hesitation, he jumps to his feet, his eagerness on full display. For a brief moment, you’re level with his lap, and your gaze flickers to the growing bulge beneath the zipper of his jeans. The sight makes your breath hitch, heat pooling low between your legs as you glance up at him, catching his gaze. He sees where your eyes went, and for the first time tonight, something unbidden sparks in his expression—an almost bold glint as he reaches down, taking your hand and pulling you up with surprising firmness.

You’re silently grateful for the distance Daryl and Merle always kept from the others, their tents off to the side, a little more secluded. You’d still need to be quiet, but at least there’d be no direct neighbors overhearing the sounds you were sure to make.

Inside his tent, the air feels warmer, heavier with anticipation. Daryl sits down quickly, his legs splayed in front of him, uncertainty flashing across his features. He looks at you like he’s bracing himself, his hands fidgeting at his sides, unsure of what comes next. The hesitation in his gaze makes you think this might…all be new to him. You can see the way his throat works as he swallows hard, the thought of what’s about to happen clearly overwhelming him.

You don’t let him overthink it. Your heart pounds as you climb into his lap, straddling him. The heat of his body, the hard line of him pressing against your core through his jeans—it all sends a jolt of need straight through you. Your hands fly to his shoulders for balance, and he groans softly at the friction, his fingers automatically finding your waist, gripping you tightly as if to keep you from pulling away.

The first slow roll of your hips makes his breath stutter, and when you rock against him again, the friction has you both gasping. He leans forward, capturing your lips in a messy, desperate kiss. His tongue is eager, pushing into your mouth like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you, the feel of you, and you let him, your hands threading into his hair. The pull of your fingers against his scalp makes him groan, the sound muffled against your lips as his hands tighten on your waist.

When you pull back, panting, you pause the sway of your hips just long enough to reach for the hem of your shirt. Daryl watches, wide-eyed, as you pull the fabric over your head and drop it to the side. His chest heaves as he stares at you, his gaze flicking between your face and your bare skin. Even though your bra is still on, it’s enough to make his brain stop working.

He doesn’t wait. His lips are on you immediately, pressing against the valley between your breasts, the space his hands haven’t dared to touch yet. His mouth is warm, tentative but eager, as he kisses along the curve of your ribs, moving wherever the fabric of your bra doesn’t block him. When his lips find the sensitive spot at the base of your neck, just where it meets your shoulder, you grind down against him, a soft moan slipping from your lips.

“Daryl,” you whimper, your voice barely above a breath. His lips pause, hovering against your skin as he murmurs against you.

“Yeah?” His voice is a rasp, raw and hoarse, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Please take off your clothes,” you whisper, your words trembling. You pull back slightly, giving him space, and he nods fervently, his hands fumbling to strip himself. His shirt comes off first, revealing the toned, scarred planes of his chest, and then he pushes his jeans down just far enough to free his cock, his hand fisting around himself in relief.

Your eyes drop instinctively, and when you see him, your breath catches. He’s big—almost too much—and you can’t help the way your mouth falls open, the sight making heat bloom through your body. When you finally meet his gaze again, his eyes are locked on you, dark with unspoken hunger. He doesn’t look at your face, though. His attention is fixed lower, on your chest, where your hands are already reaching behind you to unhook your bra.

“C’mere,” you beckon, laying back as you pull the rest of your clothes off. He uses one hand to push your legs apart, to settle himself between your thighs, but as he brings your legs apart, the glistening of your pussy stops him in his tracks. He’s overwhelmed with the primal instinct to bury himself in you one way or another, and he falls in a lying position between your legs, his arms wrapping around your thighs to bring your core to his mouth, his hot breath on your clenching lips. You lean up, propping yourself on your elbows as you watch him. You thought he was beautiful before but this…this view was breathtaking.

His eyes find yours, and he can’t even stop the groan that escapes him when his tongue attaches to your pussy. You throw your head back, a sigh slipping from you as he tries a lot of different menuevers, flattening his tongue and dragging it up and down, flicking it against the hole that he so badly wants to feel inside, but when he simply purses his lips and sucks on the engorged nub at the top of your folds, that’s when you fall from your elbows, and your loudest moan rocking through you. 

You can tell he’s more inexperienced than you expected, but it doesn’t matter to you, because once he got the hint, he went straight to exactly what you needed and craved. His lips were so surprisingly soft against you, his facial hair tickling the insides of your thighs as you clenched your legs around him. You rocked your hips into him, but you needed more. So much more.

You look back down at him then, your chest heaving as you bring your hand up to show him. "Please," you breathe, voice trembling with need. "Finger me–just like this." You curl a finger, then two, demonstrating the movement with a slow, deliberate ‘come-hither’ motion.

His blown-out blue eyes are locked on your hand, his breath catching before he brings his own between your legs. His fingers slip inside so easily, the hot wetness of your walls making him groan low in his throat. His cock twitches against the rough fabric of the tent underneath, but he doesn't touch himself—he's too focused on the way you react to him. When he adds another finger, curling them just as you showed him, your back arches violently, a ragged moan tearing from your throat. Your hand flies to his scalp, fingers digging into his hair, pulling as your hips buck against his mouth.

Daryl's groans grow louder, vibrating against you as his teeth graze your clit, sending shockwaves through your body. He doesn't hold back now-there's something primal in the way he devours you, the sounds he's making raw and desperate. His mouth works you relentlessly, tongue lapping and slurping at your slick heat, each growl reverberating through your core. He's losing himself in you, completely unguarded, no longer caring about keeping quiet or holding back.

The pressure building in your belly snaps all at once, and your vision floods with stars as the orgasm crashes through you. Your body locks into an arch, trembling as your jaw falls slack, a wordless cry spilling out of you. He doesn't stop, doesn't relent, even as you twitch and convulse beneath him. His mouth and fingers work you through your high, dragging every last wave of pleasure out of you until you're trembling from the overstimulation.

"O–okay, okay, okay," you gasp, your voice barely audible as you try to push him away, "you gotta stop, s’too much."

He slows his tongue, dragging his fingers out gently to settle your trembling limbs and presses soft kisses against your sensitive cunt before shifting up, laying himself over you. His arms cage you in on either side of your head, his face hovering close as his lips curve into a lazy smile. His arms tremble slightly, the strain of his own need barely contained, but he doesn't rush you. He just looks at you, drinking in the sight of what he's done to you-your flushed skin, mussed hair, and glassy, blown-out eyes. He searches your face, wondering if this was even real or if it was just a very, very vivid wet dream, and tomorrow he’d wake up to a mess in his pants.

But you lift your head just enough to capture his lips in a slow, heated kiss. He leans on one forearm beside your head, his other hand moving down to his cock, pumping it slowly, dragging the head of it through the slickness he created between your legs. The sensation pulls a soft whimper from you, your sensitive body twitching at the contact. His head falls into the crook of your neck, and you hear his breath stutter, thick and ragged, as he rubs himself against savoring the feeling. Before he follows that animal in him that needs to push into you, he picks his head up, eyes finding yours once again.

“Are—“ his voice breaks, thick with arousal but as he looks down at you, he wants to be sure. Needs to be, “are ya sure ya wanna—?”

“Daryl, if you don’t fuck me right now I might lose my goddamn mind,” you groan, your hands pulling at him in earnest.

A dark chuckle escapes him as he licks his lips and he guides himself into you, taking a moment to find your hole with his inexperienced aim. Your fingers trace over the valleys of his arms, hooking behind his head as you become impatient.

“Dare…” you whimper softly, rolling your hips in frustration as he keeps dragging the head of his cock along your folds.

Daryl’s brow furrows in concentration, his lips pressing into a tight line. You’re just about to reach down to help him when he finally catches the right angle. His breath hitches, his movements clumsy but determined as he pushes forward, the tip of his cock slipping into you.

His jaw goes slack almost instantly, a deep, shaky groan spilling from his throat. Nothing, absolutely fucking nothing he’d ever imagined—not his hand, not spit, not even the filthy images burned into his mind from Merle’s videos—could compare to this. The heat of you, the way your walls grip him, hot and wet and so perfect—it’s almost too much. His forehead drops to your shoulder, and he shudders against you as your back arches to meet him, adjusting to his size. He stays still, whether to let you adjust or to keep from losing himself, you’re not sure, but you’re grateful for the pause as your body stretches to accommodate him.

When you can’t wait any longer, you shift beneath him, rolling your hips slightly. The subtle movement makes him gasp sharply, his fingers tightening on your waist. His forehead presses harder against your shoulder, his breath ragged as he tries to keep control. He pulls back slowly, dragging his cock out of you inch by inch before pushing forward again, his thrusts tentative and uneven.

His groans are low and guttural, spilling out against your neck as he sets a slow, deliberate pace. Each movement sends sparks of pleasure shooting through you, and as you grip his shoulders tighter, he seems to take it as encouragement, his rhythm growing a little more confident with every roll of his hips. The way your body responds to him, the way you clutch at him like you don’t want him to stop—it’s overwhelming, almost too much for him to process. Your breath in his ear is hot and heavy, urging him to give you more, to go harder, faster, your begging almost throwing him off so much he nearly cums at the sound of your voice in his ear.

“Daryl, please–” you begin again, but his hand clamps over your mouth.

“Shut. Up.” he growls, squeezing his brows together, jaw tightening. The tension in his voice is raw, desperate. He’s holding on by a thread, trying to make this last, but your pleas are unraveling him too fast. In any other circumstance, you might’ve hit a man for talking to you like that. But the way Daryl is rutting into you, his movements so desperate and hungry, it only causes you to gush around him more. And it seems like he felt it, too.

“Yeah?” he breathes, “You like when I talk to you like that, you dirty whore?” he moans, guttural and breathy. You whimper against him, and he’s surprised the dirty talk even worked, only hearing it in some video he saw once. His mouth finds your neck, his teeth nipping and his lips pressing bruising kisses down your shoulder. One hand clamps tighter on your waist, his grip sure to leave marks, while his other remains firm over your mouth, stifling the moans spilling from you.

His thrusts turn harder, deeper, his hips driving into you with a roughness that has you gasping against his hand. He doesn’t realize how hard he’s biting and sucking on your skin, marking you in a way that will surely leave hickeys. You lift your hips with every push into you, his cock now overwhelmingly bottoming out into you every thrust, skin slapping and animalistic groans coming from both of you. 

When your hand drifts down between your bodies, he sits back on his heels, gripping your hips and pulling you with him to watch. His thrusts slow for a moment as his wide, awestruck eyes follow the trail of your fingers pinching your nipples, then slipping lower to rub your clit.

His jaw drops, his breath coming in sharp pants as he watches you. “Fuck,” he mutters, his voice hoarse and shaky, his pace faltering. The sight of you touching yourself while he’s inside you—while your body stretches to take him—is almost too much for him to handle. He’s never seen anything so fucking perfect, the way his cock slides in and out of you, your juices coating him as you continue to pleasure yourself. To pleasure yourself to the act of him fucking you. Him.

You pick up the pace of your fingers, circling your clit faster as his thrusts grow erratic, his control slipping. He shakes his head slightly, pulling your hand away and replacing it with his own. His rough fingers rub your clit in messy circles, and the look on his face—sweat beading on his forehead, his eyes dark and glassy with need—is enough to send you over the edge, writhing and arching and mewling in ecstasy. The way your walls tighten and flutter around him pulls a strangled sound from his throat. He stutters out one final thrust before following you, a high-pitched moan spilling from his lips as he collapses onto you. He buries his face in your neck again, his body shaking as he empties himself inside you, riding out the waves of his climax with unsteady thrusts. 

Your bodies stick together, sweat mingling as you both fight to catch your breath. He doesn’t move, his weight a comforting pressure as his lips brush lazily against your shoulder. You tilt your head, planting soft kisses along his jaw until you find his lips, kissing him gently, lazily.

“That was…” you breathe, your voice still uneven, “amazing.”

His half-hooded eyes meet yours, a small, almost bashful smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, your fingers brushing through his damp hair. “Hopefully not the first and last?”

“Definitely not,” he murmurs, his voice low but sure, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.