#and ask her in the voice of an excited child

[yuyusshinelight]

Dad thoughts feat ATEEZ: I want a brother/sister

♪ This post is about how I think they would be as parents; just that, some thoughts. This does NOT represent any of Ateez's members in any way.

♪ English is not my first language so sorry if there's any mistake.

Vocabulary just in case someone doesn't know:

y/s/n — your son's name

y/d/n — your daughter's name

Byeol — star

Jagi — sweetheart, darling, etc...

Note: Hi my shining stars! Here I come with a new scenario for our boys being dads because I know how much you like those parenting headcanons. I hope you like it and enjoy your reading. Love you all!!!

SEONGHWA

Seonghwa and your daughter were peacefully building their Lego sets together when the older Park decided to have a conversation about that not too little issue you had commented to him when he had arrived at home "I have heard that you want a little sibling, byeol" and the little girl only nodded, not stopping her really important task of mistakenly making the base of the moon on which his half-finished Sanrio doll should lie "And can daddy know why you want a little brother or sister?".

Seonghwa was clearly trying to get your daughter to tell him the same thing you had told him that afternoon without asking her directly. The way you looked at the ground with a soft pout when you told him that your little star had been sad lately for being only child had him worried about the issue being more serious than he though at first.

"I don't like to be alone" At that confession Seonghwa's heart stopped. Perhaps you two had made her feel lonely without realizing it? "But you have mommy and daddy, my love".

"It's not the same... We can't stay together all the time" The sadness with which his beloved daughter said that felt like the most hurtful stab directly into his heart, it even made Seonghwa hate his work for a moment "Daddy and mommy would like to be with you all the time, baby, but—".

"But you can't, I know..." For how his baby had finished his sentence, Seonghwa couldn't help but feel worse, her small but heartbreaking pout could be perfectly appreciated in her sweet voice.

Something in his head snapped.

In the gentlest way he could, the man took his daughter from her seat to put her on his lap and give her that so needed hug he was craving for "Don't you worry, byeol, mommy and daddy will bring you a little brother or sister, okay?" The speed at which her head turned to look him directly in the eyes even scared the poor man with the possibility of a sudden dizziness or some blow to his little girl from such an action but all his worries erased as fast as your daughter moved her head seconds before thanks to the way in which her eyes shone brighter than ever, holding the galaxy itself in those small orbs exactly like his own "Really? It's a promise?".

The excitement on the little girl's face brought out the most tender and sincere smile from Seonghwa who didn't last long to rub his nose against hers, showering her soft cheeks with many kisses "It's a promise, my byeol".

And maybe he should have talked about the sibling thing with you before promising it to your daughter but, let's not lie, Seonghwa knew you better than yourself; the moment he said yes to his daughter he was already counting on you to be more than okay with having a second child. In fact, you were the one who laid Seonghwa on your shared bed after making sure that your child was peacefully asleep on her own to ride him like never before until he decided to change positions to bury himself even deeper inside you. It wasn't in his plans to break the promise he made to his little star so he fucked you until he left your belly nicely swollen with his seed.

Neither of you could deny anything to your little four-year-old walking smile.

HONGJOONG

"I want a little sister" said your three-year-old son as he perched himself in his father's work chair, a phrase that made Hongjoong drop whatever he was with that same moment and look at the kid "What? Why all of a sudden?".

"My best friend just had one and she's very cute" The way in which his baby waddled slowly without letting go of the chair, with that rascally face inherited from him himself, looking at him expectantly for an affirmative answer, brought out of Hongjoong his most genuine smile "Well, yes. Babies are really cute" he said, ruffling his hair before picking him up and sitting the child on his lap "but that's not a reason to have one, love".

For how the minor gasped dramatically while frowning, there was no doubt that that response had even offended him. This little boy's reactions were so comically unique that Hongjoong's stomach even hurt from laughing on many occasions.

"But I want one!" The child said as if it was the most prevalent reason to have a baby, and Hongjoong was about to talk but the appearance of his favorite girl stopped him "I think I have something to say in all this no?" You said, entering the room until you were standing next to your husband, something that didn't last long because said husband didn't like the idea of not having you closer so he sat you on his free leg; and it's not like you were going to complain, in fact, you hugged him "It's my belly the one that's going to hold that little sister for nine months".

"How?" As soon as he asked, both parents' eyes widened. You should have assumed he would ask, but hey, it's not like you mind talking about it, not like Hongjoong apparently "How what, baby?" He acted dumb, clearly not wanting to have that conversation now, too young his son to talk about anything of that "How will the baby get into mommy's tummy?" But this little curious boy wasn't about to leave the topic for Hongjoong's misfortune, who even let out an accidental "Oh shit".

It had to be said that Hongjoong didn't expect that he should have to answer this question at this point of his short life as a father, nor did he expect that too adorable "Oh shit" from the kid either. Word that clearly set off your alarms as a mother "No, baby. Don't say that" You corrected him, booping his nose and waiting for the child to ask why he couldn't say it if his dad could but you were surprised with that too cute "Okay mommy".

Both you and Hongjoong were about to die of love.

"That's my good boy" Hongjoong said, ruffling his hair one more time and giving him a kiss on the head "So are you going to bring me a little sister yes or not?" You both looked at each other, not knowing exactly what to say, until Hongjoong decided to leave the answer hanging in the air "We'll see" to which your son answered with an unfortunate unexpected "Fuck".

"HONGJOONG" Was the first thing that crossed your mind, yelling at the surprised man that was now looking at you "I DIDN'T EVEN SAY THAT" But then he stopped, thinking for a moment "Well maybe he has learned it from me, yes..." And your son nodding only made you look even worse at your husband "Don't say that either, okay baby?" And with that your baby boy covered his mouth with his two little hands and nod one more time, making you both laugh.

YUNHO

It was a peaceful night at Jeong's residence until your eldest son ended with said peace after all those failed attempts to play with his little sister who was only dedicated to watch him move while eating her tiny fist so calmly in her baby-hammock.

"I want another brother or sister!" Your son screamed, running towards his father's open legs to hide his head in his crotch and hold on to his legs. Sudden blow to his private parts that made Yunho complain and you chuckled softly under your breath so as not to be discovered by your husband who was already looking at you with half-closed eyes and shaking his head despite being laughing too.

"Why do you say that, baby?" You asked after you managed to calm your laughter "Because Y/D/N never plays with me!" Your son screamed again, readjusting his posture while firming his grip without separating an inch from his father "It's that?" Yunho asked between laughs, stroking his little head after hearing his son complain in a sort of shouted sob "I mean, if you want another sibling daddy will give you one".

"Tch, Yunho" His first name, not jagi. Bad moment to put on display his pleaser nature, man "But you have to ask mommy too" And you nodded, he was safe "So... you want another sibling to play with because your sister can't, baby?" And your son nodded without taking his head off his father's body "But you have to know that if we give you a new brother or sister, they couldn't play with you either" And that's the moment your son lifted his head, looking at you directly with a mix of horror and surprise, as if what you had said was the strangest thing ever "Why?".

"Because they would be even smaller than Y/D/N".

"More?!" He was silent for a moment after both Yunho and you nodded, seeming to be reconsidering what you had just revealed to him, when he suddenly separated from Yunho completely, crossing his arms and giving you both his back angrily "I don't want another sibling then".

"Oh no, my third baby" Jeong senior said dramatically, he even put his hands on his chest where his heart was pretending to be hurt "Yunho" you said in a warning tone, taking your son in your arms to hug him, accommodating you two in the couch under the warmth of your favorite blanket "Oh, come on. Three kids sounds nice, don't you think?".

"Y/D/N is only seven months old, let me enjoy life without kicks that burst my ribs a little longer" You couldn't see it because you were too busy kissing your son but you already knew that Yunho was smiling for how happy he sounded saying "A little longer? Is that a yes to a third baby?" Which only confirmed to you that Yunho was indeed looking forward to having a third. And one thing you were never good at since you started dating him was saying no to him when he looked so adorably excited about something "It's a 'maybe when my ribs return to their natural position because your daughter opened them for kicking them so many times' ".

"We're having a third" Yunho said victoriously with that goofy smile that you fell in love with at first sight and that, to this day, was still one of your many weak points.

YEOSANG

"Daddy" your daughter said in the softest voice you could have ever heard in your life. You couldn't see her because you were at the laundry room while your husband and daughter were doing an afternoon snack but you could even swear that she was playing with her little fingers nervously for the tone she used. That was one of her gestures when she was about to ask for something "Tell me, darling" Yeosang sounded as cute as your daughter which made you smile foolishly, nothing could please you more than the fact that the two loves of your life were so much alike "Can I have a sibling, please?".

That question surely made you slow down the speed at which you were doing the laundry, as if that would help you to hear better. It was a topic Yeosang and you talked about a few months ago, both thinking that it would be nice to have a second child not only because you two think that having siblings is so beneficial for a kid, but because you both were attracted by the idea of expanding your family. Another living proof of your love for each other.

But those were your reasons to want another baby, what would your daughter's reasons be? You were curious about them. Just like Yeosang.

"Of course, darling. But can daddy know why you ask?" The tenderness with which your husband was handling this conversation, like every conversation he had with your daughter, was so heartwarming. You could die of a sweet high "I want a sibling to be my best friend forever" and your daughter was about to finish what her father had started.

Not being able to be a mere listener anymore, you put the small skirt you had in your hands back in the laundry basket to go out to the kitchen, finding the lovely picture of your daughter sitting at the counter next to your husband, helping him prepare a bowl of fruit for the three of you to enjoy together.

"Have you heard it, Y/N-ah?" Yeosang said, looking at you with a cute smile that made his dimples stand out. He looked so innocent that made your heart beat in happiness "That's why I'm here, jagi" you approached them, taking your daughter's cheeks between your hands "To tell our baby that mommy and daddy will try to give her a sibling as soon as possible" and then you showered your little girl with lots of kisses to which she replied more than delighted just to join forces you both a few seconds later to shower Yeosang with kisses as well. Something the male was more than happy to accept.

SAN

When your older daughter asked in the middle of the dinner for another sibling you choked with your water to which San quickly reacted by patting you gently on the back, a situation that seemed very funny to the youngest of the three children who couldn't stop laughing at mommy's coughing fit. Whoever was not amused at all was your middle child, and it was not surprising after how much she cried and threw a tantrum when San and you told her that she was going to be big sister.

"Another one?!" She looked at her parents with a mixture of fear, surprise and rejection in her eyes that threatened to burst into tears if you gave her an affirmative answer. She looked so affected that she even worried you both. San couldn't see his kid like that "No, baby" he answered with so much tenderness, hugging the kid and giving her a soft kiss on her forehead before looking at you and asking "No?".

Who knows, maybe you were expecting a fourth child and he didn't know it.

But you shook your head what made your older daughter cross her arms and openly complain about not having a fourth sibling to which your second daughter yelled a not too nice "Three are fine!" Frowning and getting up from her seat to climb onto her father's lap so he could hold her as she wanted, searching for his comfort "But I want another brother!" The eldest answered in the same way her sister had spoken. The girls' tone only hinted at an impending fight between them, something that neither San nor you wanted obviously so San immediately cut them off with a serious "Enough girls".

San hated to use a severe tone with his children but he hated even more the idea of having a fight between his daughters when it was supposed to be a nice and lovely dinner in family. Much worse if the fight was going to be about whether or not to have another member in your family.

"What have we said about raising our voices in a bad way?" He said with seriousness, which made both kids look down with a pout "Sorry..." Both girls said at unison, now looking up at their father before looking at the other, your middle child climbing off San's lap to hug her older sister as an apology. Both had been taught to apologise to each other with a hug to make amends.

And after seeing that your daughters were fine again you decided to settle the dispute "About the sibling thing" both girls had their attention on you now "Daddy and mommy think that three kids are enough, by the moment" which made your second daughter smile unconsciously while your eldest pouted "But that doesn't mean that we won't bring you another sibling in the future" this time your second daughter was the one not looking so pleased while the eldest was smiling.

From the way they both nodded you knew they were content but not satisfied with that. You had given birth to them and raised them, you knew absolutely every single one of their gestures and what they meant. But hey, the discussion was over and you could go back to dinner in peace.

MINGI

"I like this one" Your son said, pointing to a photo in which both children were curled up in their father's arms, the three of them sleeping on the couch comfortably, Mingi hadn't even changed his clothes; one of your favorite pictures in fact, just looking at it almost brought tears to your eyes "In this one dad had just arrived from a tour. You refused to leave his arms even for a single second".

"How old were we?" This one was your daughter "Seven months" Mingi answered, smiling at the memory of how his babies received him that day with their little arms raised, calling him between really cute babblings while they moved nervously in their mother's arms "Such cute babies we were and I don't remember that" Your daughter said dramatically "We need a baby in this house".

"Wait, what?" You looked between your kids and Mingi, who was as surprised as you from hearing that, getting even more surprised when your son agreed with his sister "Right! If we have a little brother or sister they will look as cute as us!".

"Woo, woo, woo. Slow down you two" Mingi tried to calm his already excited twins but it didn't work at all "And why a little brother or a little sister when we can have both?" Your daughter ignored him to continue her talk with her brother, you could almost swear that her eyes were shining. But here dad came to try to calm the situation a second time after seeing the way in which your eyes widened "I told you to slow down, neither your mom nor I have said that we are going to bring you a sibling".

"But daddy! We lost each other as a baby!" Your son exclaimed dramatically as if it was the worst thing ever, with his hands on his father's cheeks and his head tilted back to add more drama "We want to have a baby at home" your daughter pouted sadly with a frown and, before Mingi had the opportunity to reply to that you suddenly said "Well, they really seem very excited about the idea of being big bother and sister, daddy" looking at him with a knowing smile. Apparently he had misinterpreted that expression of yours from a few seconds ago.

The fact is that Mingi had caught your message but, with both children staring at him expectantly, he couldn't do anything but respond to you with one look that only you could interpret: tomorrow you weren't going to be able to get out of bed. But that was only for you, obviously, the answer for your twins was "Then it seems to me that the family is going to grow, mommy " For which your living room ended up filled with euphoric shouts from your kids.

WOOYOUNG

"Babe, come here!" Wooyoung screamed from the kitchen and a lot of horrible things crossed your mind, since your son had been burned until he had cut one of his fingers "What happens?! I swear to god that if my baby is missing just one finger I'll—".

"None of that, I have everything under control here. Just listen to what our baby has to tell you" and with that all your attention went to your three year old boy who was jumping in the stool he was standing on to help his dad with dinner "I want a little sister!" And at such a revelation you could only blink several times, looking between father and son in silence until, after blinking a few more times, you said a simple "A sister".

"Yes!" Your eldest son said really excited, jumping even higher in his spot to which Wooyoung already had his arm around him but without touching him, just as a precautionary measure to prevent his son from falling "I already have a brother, I want a sister now".

Without a doubt, you thought it was quite cute the way he had said it, swaying his little body from side to side with those bright little eyes, but you couldn't help but to look up at the smiling father, looking for an answer "Do you have anything to do with this, love?" And Wooyoung shoke his head, not stopping smiling even for a second "It's all Y/S/N idea. But I also think that it's time to have a girl, babe".

And, to say the truth, the idea of having a girl was quite tempting, even more so when you had been thinking the same thing for a while. Having two children was fantastic as well as exhausting, you were more than sure that having one more could only double the happiness but also the exhaustion. And that was a sacrifice you were willing to do for sure.

"And you? Do you want a sister too?" You asked your second son who you were carrying in your arm, the baby smiling at you the very next moment his big shining eyes met yours which made you smile too "Okay then. Let's see if we can bring you a little sister" You finally said, both your eldest son and your husband screamed with excitement "But you have to know that it may not be a girl but another boy".

"We can always try again, love, don't worry about that" Wooyoung said nonchalantly, winking at you with a big smile to which your son exclaimed an excited "Yes!" Happy with the thought that one way or another he was going to have a little sister "Why did I already expect it..." You shook your head but not in a bad mood, you were also laughing at how predictable Wooyoung and your son were to you.

JONGHO

"Go, go. Ask daddy, my love" Jongho heard you say to your son distantly, you were at the bathroom giving your kid a shower while he was resting on the sofa after having set the table for dinner. Then, the sound of tiny quick steps made him turn off his phone, waiting for his son to appear in front of him just to be surprised by the kid poking his little head out on the side "Hi, baby" Said Jongho, waiting patiently for his son to tell him whatever he had to tell him "I want a brother!".

One, two, three blinks from the surprised father. Not even a hi. His son went straight to the point. The child was certainly clear about his priorities.

Well, such a question demanded seriousness so Jongho leaned closer to the armrest to close distance with his son, resting one arm and intertwining his hands "Daddy and mommy have to talk about it first but tell me, why you want a sibling?".

He had heard multiple reasons why a child might want a sibling. Some quite cute, some quite funny, and with the witty answers your son had for everything, Jongho was especially curious about this one. What a surprise he got when he heard your little boy say "All my friends are from the school or the park, if I have a sibling I will have a friend at home too!".

It was certainly something totally unexpected for Jongho. Although the thought of his son indirectly telling him that he felt lonely at home worried him for a moment, the sight of the smiling kid quickly dispelled all those worries. His little boy just wanted a playmate at home like he had at school and in the park.

"Fine. We'll see if we give you a sibling, okay?" Your son nodded enthusiastically at his father before going to the dining table, leaving both Jongho and you alone in the living room "That was a maybe for a second baby?" You asked him with something like hope shining in your eyes and that was when Jongho remembered hearing you say how much you wanted a second child when you were on the phone, talking to a friend.

If both his son and wife wanted to expand the family, he only could please them so, standing up from his seat, Jongho approached you, stopping in front of you with both hands in the pockets of his trousers "We'll see. We can try as many times as you want but I don't control biology, jagi" and he left you there with a blush on your cheeks, clearly having taken the hint in his words, going to the dining table too with a big smile on his lips.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

To go with the latest Fred fic you wrote - them finding out they’re having triplets?

A/n: Fred deserved this life 👏

Fred Weasley had never known a love so consuming until he became a father. Hell he never thought he would even get a chance of this life after the Battle of Hogwarts.

But.

Standing over the cribs, watching his three tiny miracles sleep soundly, he still couldn’t believe it.

Three.

Three beautiful, perfect, red-haired babies.

His triplets.

His and your triplets.

Fred exhaled softly, his chest tightening with overwhelming love and awe. Their little faces were peaceful, their tiny hands occasionally twitching in sleep, their chests rising and falling in the most delicate rhythm.

As he reached down, gently brushing his knuckle over one of their soft little cheeks, a flood of memories came rushing back.

The day they found out had been—well—chaotic.

Fred had walked into St. Mungo’s with you, excited but nervous, absolutely ready to hear about his future child. His arm wrapped protectively around your waist. He watched as you sat down on the examination chair, watched as she applied jelly to your belly.

One child.

That’s what he’d been expecting. One. Singular. A baby.

Then, the Healer had smiled far too brightly as they examined the scan.

“Congratulations, you two! You’re having—”

A Pause.

Fred had felt his stomach drop at the pause. Why was there a pause? His smile faltering on his lips as he squeezed your hand.

The Healer had turned to you both, beaming.

“Triplets!”

Then Silence.

Fred’s brain short-circuited. A strangled sound escaping his lips.

You, who had been clutching his hand, froze completely.

Then....

“Sorry—what?” Fred had asked, blinking rapidly.

“Triplets!” the Healer repeated cheerfully, pointing at the image. “See? Three little heartbeats, all strong and healthy!” Her fingers pointing to each little blob on the screen.

Fred had made another strangled noise, his grip tightening on your hand. He could feel his knees almost buckle out from under him.

You, on the other hand, had just stared at the screen, your eyes comically wide.

“Fred,” you had whispered, your voice shockingly calm.

“Yes, love?”

“We are having three babies.”

Fred had nodded dumbly a little "hmmh" leaving his lips.

You had continued staring.

Then, suddenly, had burst into tears.

Fred had panicked instantly.

“Oh, bloody hell! love—are you okay?”

You had just nodded between sobs, gripping his hand so tightly his fingers had turned white.

“There’s three of them, Fred!” You had wailed, shaking slightly.

Fred had absolutely no idea if you were crying because you were happy, overwhelmed, or just spiraling into hormonal shock.

So naturally, he had done what any loving, supportive husband would do.

He had fainted.

Right there.

In the bloody Healer’s office.

Fred smirked to himself, watching the babies twitch in their sleep.

When he had woken up, flat on the Healer’s floor, you had been hovering over him, still crying but also laughing hysterically.

“You—you fainted?” she had choked out between sniffles.

Fred had blinked up at you, still woozy. “You cried first!”

You had snorted, wiping your eyes. “I was emotional!”

Fred had groaned, covering his face. “We are so doomed.”

And yet—here they were.

Surviving.

Thriving.

And most important of all.

Raising their three little miracles together.

Fred smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the forehead of his daughter, then his two sons.

He turned, glancing at you, who was curled up on the nearby chair, dozing lightly.

His heart swelled.

Reaching over, he brushed a stray curl from your face, his thumb tracing your cheek lovingly.

Then, looking back at their sleeping babies, he whispered, so softly it was barely audible—

“Best surprise of my life.”

[mattatouilletkachuk]

#6 with Quinn? I imagine it similar to him reacting to the exploding golf ball with the whole exasperated “that’s gotta count for something. He does something big but mundane (such as carrying your groceries for you or something) and is just tired or exasperated in saying it :)

A Disastrous Decoration || Chaos With Quinn

Prompt: 6. “i think i deserve a kiss.”

WC: 1.3k

A/N: I’m so excited! I haven’t gotten a Quinn request yet! So I’m going to make this a part of The Hockey Babies Au & Chaos With Quinn.

💕 Sunny’s Season of Love 💕

Whoever it was that claimed that making cupcakes for the whole of the preschool classes would be easier than other jobs was simply lying. You were sweating and huffing and puffing as you pulled the third tray of cupcakes out of the over and placing the, on the granite counter top. Without closing the oven door you placed two more trays into the oven and started the timer again.

Your young daughter watched your every move, or, more so, watched every single cupcake that came out of the oven. The small cakes were all vanilla as Miss. Kathleen suggested. No kid in Oliver's class had a nut allergy nor did the kids in the other preschool classes, but in her own words "it was better safe than sorry."

For days on end, you and Quinn had to hear about the Valentines Days Party that the entire preschool was throwing. You were happy that your oldest child was happy but when he came home with a paper asking all parents and caretakers to join in and hep with the party, your own excitement had waned a bit. You were the one to take Oliver to school, and your daughter to her tumble bug classes, and at the end of the day you either picked Quinn up from practice or stayed to watch his games, and on top of all of that, you helped a small mom and pop business in Vancouver in all aspects so they wouldn't have to close down.

The next day, while the kids were out of the house and it was just you and your fiance you had come up with a plan. You would ask Miss. Kathleen for an easier way to help and if there wasn't an easier job, well then, you would work on the cupcakes together,

Despite her small stature and seemingly kind nature, your son's preschool teacher was not one to budge. Most jobs were already taken and one of the few parents that could afford to buy all of the supplies to bake and decorate over one hundred cupcakes it would be you and Quinn,

That's how you ended up here. Sweating and mixing a new bunch of vanilla cupcakes as your two-year-old watched you like a starved dog. Quinn was out getting icing, edible glitter,candy rings and other things to decorate the cupcakes as you were at home in the middle of a staring contest with your child.

"Do you plan on staring at me the entire time, dear?" you asked,leaning your back against the counter behind you. You rubbed your swollen belly, not yet noticeable if you were wearing an oversized hoodie, but noticeable enough that those closest to you knew that you were pregnant with your third child.

"Can I have a cupcake?" her voice was high and sweet and it was hard not to give in. She was only 1-years-old turning 2-years-old soon, and while she was sneaky she was sweeter than the small cakes on the table.

"If you keep behaving, even after daddy gets homes, you can have a pretty decorated one." you smiled as her face lit up. She nodded in agreement and mimed zipping her mouth so she wouldn't say another word.

It was when you took out the last tray of cupcakes out of the oven that Quinn came through the front door. Your heart swelled at the sight of him. He walked in with all of the grocery bags. He had several in his hands and others draped on his arms and two between his teeth, If there was one things Quinn hated it was making two trips back to the car whilst it was cold outside.

You greeted him as he placed the groceries on the ground. He kissed your cheek, wet and cold, and you tried not to squeal. His smirk told you he knew what he was doing but turned from you and went to grab his little girl as she squealed happily as her dad threw her high up into the air. Eventually he settled her in his arms and brushed her curly dark hair out of her face as he questioned conspiratorially, as if you couldn't hear him him, " were you a good girl for your mommy?"

she nodded quickly, her hair getting in the way of her eyes again.

"If I asked her would she the same thing?"

Yes!" She yelped happily. "Mommy even said that if I kept being good I could have a cupcake when the two of you are down,"

Quinn hummed and pursed his lips as if he were actually thinking about it, You would have paid more attention but at just that moment the baby inside you kicked gently. You knew better than to get Quinn's attention. It was too soon to feel the baby kick from outside just yet. You would just be getting him excited for no reason.

Quinn placed your little girl back down on her island chair and placed a bag of googly eyes in front of hers. Her eyes rounded excitedly whilst yours rounded in horror "Quinn-"

"hold on I have a plan!'" He said as he pulled other items from the bags, You looked at all the supplies, confused. "Lady Bugs!"

"We'll decorate them as lady bugs because hearts are just so over done." He pointed at you, "you'll do the base, The brown underneath and i'll do the red wings and you" he said in a funny voice as he tickled his little girl, "will add the googly eyes and after all of that. mom will add the little hearts for the spots."

you placed your hands on your hips and sighed. "It's a cute design Q, but this is gonna be a mess."

He smiled that wonderful smile at you, the one that could make you do anything and said, "in that case, at least we'll have plenty of happy memories.

"What about Ollie? He'd want to help!" your sweet girl chimed in.

"Oliver is at Garland's house playing with Quint. I'm sure we'll be forgiven when we give him a few cupcakes."

"Otay…"

With the final confirmation of your almost toddler, you all started to decorate.

Ollie came home just as the three of you were finishing "decorating". Some of them had turned out well, but most of them were either entirely red, entirely brown, or had five eyes. After all of the hard work you thought you would have been upset but you couldn't stop laughing every time you looked down at the deformed cupcakes. You and Quinn each took one and you split one for each of your children, and despite the look of them, they were tasty.

Covering your mouth you looked at your boyfriend, a smile on your lips and a mischievous twinkle in your eyes. "I think we should have simply done hearts,"

Quinn nodded and laughed loudly. "I tried, though."

You sighed happily. The soft contentment in your chest took over as you nodded and said, "yeah, you did."

He placed his cupcake down and leaned towards you like an over excited middle school boy, "I think that means I deserve a kiss."

You pretended to think for a moment, "I think your right."

You said this before leaning in and kissing his chastely, His lips were sugary and you were sure your were too. It didn't take long for Quinn to place a sticky hand on your neck and one on your curving waist to pull you closer and to deepen the kiss, There was no protest from you but just as his tongue touched your a choir of 'eewwww" came from your two children.

You both pulled away and laughed softly. Quinn whispered in your ear before going to put the cupcakes away for tomorrow "little cock block”s

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Marriage Problems Chapter 1

Summary: They’ve been married for 19 years, their 20th anniversary coming up soon.  Older, busier, and stuck on the repeat of their daily lives, Y/N and Bucky are struggling.  Their marriage is good, but feeling rocky the last few years as they’ve settled into this stage of their lives.  Can they get their spark back?  Or is it better to do the unthinkable, and move on without each other?

Warnings:  language, forced kiss, eventual smut

Next chapter

“Come on kids, let’s go!” Y/N shouted, filling up lunch boxes and plating breakfasts.

The pounding of feet on the stairs and the ever-present sound of raised, upset voices filled the kitchen as they all thundered in.

“Just leave me alone!” the oldest, Becca, yelled at the second, Winnie.

“All I asked was to borrow your cardigan,” Winnie scoffed, then turned to Y/N.  “Mama, why can’t I borrow her cardigan?”

“‘Cause it’s not yours,” Y/N huffed, putting down the plates on the table then turning to grab glasses for their orange juice.  “Respect the no.”

“Yeah, respect he no, butthead,” Becca smirked.

“Don’t call your sister a butthead,” Y/N said loudly, bringing over the glasses and filling them up.  

“Mama, I don’t want eggs and toast,” the youngest, James, whined as he sat at the table, scowling at the plate of food.

“Well then get up earlier to make your own breakfast next time,” Y/N sighed, turning away from the table to load their lunch boxes into their backpacks.  “Hurry up and eat, the bus will be here soon.”

“But I haven’t brushed my teeth yet!” James said incredulously.  Y/N looked at him like he’d grown a second head, and he quickly started eating.  “I’ll eat fast and go do it,” he said quickly to appease her.

She shook her head as she started cleaning the kitchen, the girls continuing to fight as another set of footsteps echoed down the stairs.  “Good morning my spawn,” Bucky called out to the kids as he swept through the kitchen.

“Morning Dad!” they all chimed in unison, before going back to their previous fighting.

He rounded the island and hesitantly walked up to Y/N, who barely glanced at him as she held out a lunch box and his usual breakfast in a bag to him, his regular coffee in a canister sitting on the island.  “Thanks,” he said quietly, taking them from her.  She didn’t say anything, continuing to clean the island of the crumbs and mess from breakfast.  “Uh, I’ll be back close to six today,” he said, trying to strike up a conversation.  “Got a big presentation that might take a while.  I’ll text you if anything changes.”

“Okay, good luck,” Y/N responded, still not looking at him.  

Bucky sighed quietly, then reached a hand out to touch her arm.  Y/N stopped, slowly looking up at him.  They stared at each other for a moment, their children’s voices interrupting the tense atmosphere as Bucky gave her a small smile.  He didn’t say anything further and leaned down to kiss her cheek lightly before pulling away.  “Alright, I’m out,” he announced, walking over to the kids, kissing each of them on top of their heads quickly before heading for the door to the garage.  “Love you!”

“Love you!” they all said back.  

Bucky glanced at Y/N one more time.  She didn’t look back at him, so he left.  On the drive to work he pondered over their relationship for what felt like the millionth time.  The first few years had been perfect.  They were each other’s ride or die, always in each other’s corner as ultimate support through the finishing school-early marriage-settling down in their jobs phase.  Then Y/N got pregnant with their first, and as excited as they were, it changed the dynamics quickly.  She had to cut back hours at work, which she wasn’t happy about since she loved her job, but did it with a smile to support their growing family.  

Then came the second child, then the third.  And they made the difficult decision for her to quit her job and be a stay at home parent.  Bucky was extremely appreciative of Y/N and all she had done for him and the kids through those years.  She was a great mother, and he helped as much as he could when he was home, but having the financial load put on his shoulders was a lot of pressure, and he had worked hard at his job over the years to get to where he was at now to provide them a comfortable living.  At some point along the way they’d gotten into a routine, and life was a little boring for a while.  Bucky expected this, after years of new beginnings and survival.  But what he didn’t expect was how the boredom and monotony would distance them from each other.  Once all the kids entered the adolescent years, suddenly it felt like they were strangers sleeping in the same bed.

Their sex life came to a screeching halt with how busy they were, the kids’ schedules getting jam packed with activities and events and Bucky’s job requiring more hours with the responsibilities he took on being a lead on his team.  Y/N was withdrawing, he could see and feel it.  But he didn’t know how to fix it.  He had tried scheduling dates more often, taking on more things at home to lighten her load, initiating sex even when he was exhausted.  But she had rebuffed his efforts, getting frustrated with him rather than engaging.  He was contemplating marriage counseling, but didn’t know how to bring it up to her, instead doing some research into their insurance options and the marriage counselors available in their area.

The worst part about it all was how much he missed her, and yet she was right there.  How could you miss someone when they’re literally still in your life within arm’s reach?  He shook his head, fighting off the rush of emotions as he pulled in to work.  He couldn’t stress over it now.  This presentation, if successful, could give him a big bonus that he was hoping to use to give Y/N a redo on their honeymoon for their anniversary, since they’d been a couple of poor college kids when they got married.  Maybe some time away for the two of them would rekindle some romance.  Nineteen years was a long time to be with someone, almost twenty with their anniversary coming up in a few months.  He wasn’t willing to give up.  But was she?

“Hey punk,” Steve greeted him.  

“‘Morning, jerk,” Bucky smirked at him, giving him a quick hug.  “Are we all ready?”

“I think so,” Steve said, glancing at the materials for the presentation on the table in front of them.  “I’ve been triple checking everything.  We should be ready to go.”  He looked at Bucky for a second before a small frown darkened his features.  “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, frowning back at him.  “Why?”

“Nothing, you just look…tired,” Steve observed, his eyes narrowing.  He looked around for any prying ears then leaned in closer.  “You and Y/N still having a hard time?”

Bucky sighed and looked away from his knowing gaze.  “Yeah,” he said quietly.  “I don’t wanna talk about it right now, Steve.  Let’s just focus on this, then we can talk about my marriage problems.”

“Who has marriage problems?” Peter asked.

“Jesus!  Parker, how do you just pop up out of nowhere?” Steve griped.

“I don’t,” Peter frowned.  “You just didn’t hear me come in.”

“Quit being snoopy,” Bucky chastised him.  “And it’s none of your business.”

Peter shrugged and walked around the table, looking over everything.  Steve looked back at Bucky and gave him a small, reassuring smile, then clapped his shoulder.  “It’ll be alright,” he said quietly, before turning back to the table and focusing on the presentation with Peter.

Bucky inhaled deeply, trying to relax.  It would be alright.  They’d figure it out and come back together…somehow.

[yanderecrazysie]

Our Song (Yandere Hitachiin Twins)

Requested on Quotev

Title: Our Song

Pairings: Kaoru Hitachiin x F! Reader; Hikaru Hitachiin x F! Reader

WARNINGS: yandere themes

“I think I have the wrong room.”

 You look around the room with a deadpan expression. You had picked music room 3 out as somewhere to practice your piano skills, but the room had clearly been taken over by a different club.

The rose petals came to rest around your feet and the blond boy looked completely shocked that you had not swooned at his presence. You studied the other boys’ expressions. The tall, dark-haired one seemed unsurprised that you had wandered into a music room expecting musical instruments. The small blonde and his taller companion nodded in acceptance.

But the two red-haired twins exchanged a look between themselves that you could not decipher. You remembered they were in your class but you couldn’t remember their names or any important information about them.

You turned to leave, but were surprised when hands closed around each of your arms. Startled, you looked up to see the twins had each grabbed hold of you. 

“Can I help you?” you asked coldly. The twins’ lips curled into big grins.

“So you’re the new girl who loves music, right?” one of them asked.

You were a little surprised that they knew you liked music, but you nodded, “I guess I am.”

You glanced at the two’s faces and frowned. Their grins were too wide, too excited. You barely knew them, but they looked at you as though they were a child who just found their favorite toy.

The tall blonde finally snapped out of his dramatic stupor, “Welcome to the Ouran Host Club! Surely you’ve heard of us?”

“No,” you said blankly, “I was looking for a piano.”

You tried to pull free of the twins but they didn’t let go. If anything, their grips became even tighter.

“Let’s show her around, Kaoru,” one of them suggested.

“We’ll give her the full experience, Hikaru,” the one named Kaoru agreed.

“I don’t care what kind of club this is,” you snapped, “I just want to practice my music in peace.”

The twins pouted. 

“We love music too, you know,” Hikaru said. Kaoru nodded eagerly.

“Then you’ll understand that I’m not going to waste my time here,” you replied coolly, “See you in class.” 

With that, you left the club room and headed for music room 2.

—--------------------------------------------------------

Music Room 2 was quiet, just what you were looking for before stumbling across that silly club. You let out a relieved sigh and walked over to the grand piano in the center of the room.

Finally, some peace and quiet!

You took a seat and placed your hands on the keyboard. This was what you loved most in the world- letting your fingers dance across the keys. A soft melody filled the empty room. 

Clapping emanated from the doorway and you stiffened, stopping mid-song.

“Beautiful,” a familiar voice said.

Kaoru and Hikaru leaned against the doorway, identical smirks plastered across their faces.

“What do you want?” you snapped.

“We just want to hear you play some more,” Kaoru said innocently.

Hikaru started humming and you immediately recognized the tune.

“How do you know that song?” you demanded.

Hikaru grinned widely, “It’s our song!”

“No, it’s my song,” you snapped, “How the hell did you hear it? I haven’t even played it at school yet.”

The twins exchanged looks and, in perfect unison, raised their arms in a shrug, “Who knows!”

You gritted your teeth, “Just leave, please.”

“But we don’t want to,” Hikaru said, approaching you from the left while Kaoru walked over from the right. In an instant, they were right next to you. They each placed a hand on your shoulders and leaned their faces closer to yours.

“What’s this song about?” Kaoru asked.

“About life,” you said evasively. 

Hikaru shook his head like a disappointed father, “Now, that’s not a real answer.”

Kaoru tilted his head, “It sounds more like a love song to me.”

Your fingers curled into fists at your side, “It’s not.”

“That’s a shame,” Hikaru said, tracing circles on your shoulder with his thumb, “We were hoping it was about us.”

You jerked your shoulder back, “Let go of me!”

They ignored you.

“Your music is so beautiful,” Hikaru said, “It really gets stuck in your head.”

You were surprised by the compliment, but before you could respond, Kaoru ruined it. 

“Just like you!”

You shook your head in annoyance, “Why don’t you leave me alone?”

“You’re our special little musician,” Hikaru said, “why would we leave you alone?”

“Our parents could pay you so much money if you’d only write a love song for us,” Kaoru tempted you, “You’d like that wouldn’t you? Since you’re a commoner.”

You gritted your teeth again. Money was probably your biggest weakness. You needed to earn enough to keep your family afloat, and your current part-time job wasn’t doing it.

“You’ll pay me to write a love song about you two?” you asked breathlessly, “And that’s it?”

The twins exchanged matching grins.

“Of course, you’ll have to make the music at our house,” Hikaru cooed.

“After all, we have better musical instruments than you do,” Kaoru finished the thought.

Blinded by riches in your mind’s eye, you agreed, never knowing that this was the biggest mistake of your life.

[xximmortalkissxx]

Be Welcome in the House of Fëanor

I came across a Fëanorians x Fem Reader (Platonic) fic request from @definitelynotaria and was already in a desperate need to write some major fluff after finishing the Silmarillion. The timing was perfection. 🥰

Summary: You are a young elven child, running wild and free in the Woods of Oromë, during the peaceful days of Valinor. While there, you befriend a young hunter and his delightful hound who introduce you to their rambunctious family.

*She/Her Pronouns / Elven Reader.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Laughter echoes through the Woods of Oromë as you run with wild abandon, each stride spritely and sure as your small feet meet soft grass and pillowy moss. Nessa of the Valar is with you, encouraging your every step and blessing you with enough of her swiftness and grace to keep pace with her.

As you deftly leap over a fallen log, the soft patter of hooves follows suit like the sound of acorns knocking in the breeze. You have traveled with Nessa long enough to predict the herd of deer trailing after you with graceful strides. 

Then suddenly, a horn bellows close by, shaking the earth under your feet..

Nessa holds her hand gently aloft, signaling for you to stop. As your feet skid to a halt beside her, the deer instantly scatter in all directions. Their quick reflexes were accustomed to the sound that heralded the arrival of the Vala Oromë and his hunting party.

As the Lord of Forests himself enters the clearing, tall and mighty, he regards you both with amusement glimmering in his piercing green eyes. At his side stands a young elven boy similar in age to you, his fair hair tousled from their hunt, gray eyes sharp with curiosity. A massive pup, all ears and paws, bounds at their heels barking with excitement.

“Sister,” Oromë greets, his deep voice like the rolling of thunder before a storm. “I see you've found a pupil of your own who delights in the splendor of these woods.”

“Dearest one,” Nessa places a gentle hand on your small shoulder. “This is my brother Oromë, and his young disciple, Turkafinwe son of Curufinwe.”

Celegorm puffs out his chest slightly at his introduction, though his expression quickly shifts to curiosity. His keen hunter’s gaze sweeps over you, amused by the way you barely keep still, even under such heavy scrutiny, shifting on the balls of your feet like a bird eager to take flight.

“And this,” Celegorm adds with a grin, resting a hand on the head of his hound, “is Huan,  the greatest hound in all of Valinor.”

You approach cautiously, crouching down and holding out a hand towards the gigantic puppy. He sniffs it with equal wariness before deciding you are friend rather than foe. With a happy yip, he licks between your fingers, making you giggle with delight.

“He is wonderful,” you say before looking up at Celegorm. “Is he fast?” You add with excitement ringing in your voice.

“Only the fastest…besides me, of course!” Celegorm boasts, crossing his arms with a satisfied smirk.

You let out a playful scoff, blowing a raspberry as you roll your eyes. “I'll believe it when I see it…”

“You think you can beat me in a race?” Celegorm asks, a competitive fire burning in his eyes.

Nessa places a hand over her lips to stifle a laugh, while Oromë merely watches with silent amusement.

You grin, your entire body shaking with anticipation. “Oh, I know I can!”

And with that, you both take off, the golden woods of Valinor once again ringing with laughter, the pounding of small feet, and the joyful barking of a hound who refuses to be left behind.

Pushing yourselves faster and faster, you both become little more than streaks weaving through the trees, your feet barely touching the earth as you run swift as arrows. 

“Too slow Noldo!” You call over your shoulder.

Celegorm grits his teeth, determined not to be bested—but just as he begins closing the gap, a blur of gray fur shoots past you both.

Huan.

The giant puppy darts from the underbrush with surprising speed and into your path with an excited bark, causing both you and Celegorm to skid to a halt and tumble head over heels into nearby bushes.

Spitting out some leaves, you laugh heartily at the sight of Huan pulling his young master out from the bush and licking his face ardently. 

“Huan!” Celegorm laughs, trying to push the excitable hound off of him. “No fair!”

“Looks like Huan wins,” you declare, picking yourself up and brushing the twigs and leaves from your clothes. 

“No, I think we need a rematch…” Celegorm grumbles, picking a large twig from his hair and chucking it for Huan to chase. 

Your stomach growls loudly in response and Celegrom raises an eyebrow and snorts.

“Hungry?”

“Starving!” You reply dramatically, rubbing your stomach in tiny circles. 

“You should come over to my house for dinner,” he suggests enthusiastically. 

“Your parents won’t mind?” you ask with a skeptical brow. 

Celegorm scoffs with a wave of his small hand. “I’m one of seven brothers, they won’t even notice!” 

“Alright, lead the way!” you reply and begin following your new friend and his faithful hound through the woods, with a lively spring in your step. 

There is a brief lull in conversation between you as you make your way through the woods, the tentative quiet of two new friends unsure of what to talk about next. 

“You’re one of the Vanyar aren’t you?” Celegorm asks, looking over his shoulder briefly as you both duck under a low branch.

“A Minyar, yeah.” You reply, gently correcting him with your preferred title. 

“My brother, Kanofinwe, is a really good singer. Can you sing? ” he asks, hopping on a low stone wall and walking along it with his arms outstretched. 

“Of course I can,” you chortle at his absurd question. “Listen to this!” 

You clear your throat playfully and begin singing some practice vocal scales, slow and lilting, nothing too fancy. Pausing briefly, Celegrom narrows his eyes and opens his mouth to speak, but you hold up a finger in response. As you do, a choir of countless birds hidden among the trees join your song, repeating your scales precisely.

“Wow…” Celegorm marvels as his eyes survey the trees and you give an exaggerated bow. “Neat trick Songbird!” he teases playfully, hopping off the wall. “Come’on we’re almost there.” 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

The path to the grand estate wound through meticulously maintained trees, all in full bloom, their vibrant petals drifting playfully on the breeze. You skip along the smooth white stones that line the way, following close behind Celegorm and Huan, catching some of the petals as they float past. 

Nearing the ornate double doors, you hear a thunderous crash followed by heated voices and…music? Celegorm gives you a mischievous grin and opens the doors with a dramatic flourish. 

Inside, the home is stately but warm and decorated with breathtaking tapestries and lifelike sculptures. Your mouth immediately begins to water as the smells of honey roasted meat and freshly baked bread wafts by. Your reverie is quickly dashed, however, as the unrelenting sounds of a rowdy quarrel intensify, accompanied by a lively tune played on the harp. 

“He’s cheating! I know he’s cheating Nelyo!” A dark-haired boy shouts, his face burning red as he thrashes against the hold of an exceptionally lanky elven youth. 

“He’s clearly just trying to provoke you, Moryo…” Maedhros replies, giving an exasperated sigh, as he holds his younger brother back with ease.

“It’s not my fault you’re terrible at this game.” The smallest of the boys replies with a cheeky grin, placing the game board back on the table with meticulous care. 

“Kurvo…” Maedhros gives Curufin a withering look, then turns to the corner of the room where another elf sits steadily plucking a tune matching the turbulent energy of his siblings. “Would you mind terribly Kano?” 

“Hmm?” The music stops as Maglor looks up meeting his older brother’s pleading gaze. With a sigh, he changes the tune to something more tranquil. 

“If I let you go, do you promise not to murder Kurvo?” Maedhros asks Caranthir, loosening his hold marginally. 

“...Yes.” Caranthir replies through gritted teeth, glaring daggers at a chuckling Curufin. 

“You’re a terrible liar Moryo!” Celegorm hollers from the doorway, directing all the brothers' attention to you both. 

“Who do you have with you, Turko?” Curufin asks, his sharp eyes migrating from Celegorm to you, his interest peaked.

“Oh yeah, this is….um, Songbird.”

“Songbird?” Caranthir asks skeptically. 

“Typical Turko, did you even ask her name?” Maglor sighs with a playful smile. 

You giggle and introduce yourself properly with a respectful nod. 

“Please forgive my brother’s manners, our parents found him in the woods. Poor thing was raised by wild boar.” Maedhros teases, freeing Caranthir from his hold.

“Knock it off, Nelyo, I was not…” Celegorm huffs, crossing his arms. 

“Come’on, I’m sure dinner’s ready.” Maedhros ruffles Celegorm’s hair and leads you all towards the dining hall. 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

As you enter the grand hall, Celegorm, Curufin, and Caranthir rush forward, shoving each other to reach the table and the food first. 

“Boys! There’s plenty of food, no need to instigate a riot.” An elegant woman scolds from the end of the table. She is tall and lithe with beautiful red hair intricately braided with fine jewels. Her eyes are sharp as she watches her sons, but there is a glint of amusement as well.  Next to her are two tall enclosed chairs, each holding a pair of identical red-headed toddlers, squirming with delight as they chuck bits of food at each other. 

You take a seat between Caranthir and Celegorm, who is already stuffing his face with roasted meat, periodically exhaling forcefully to ease the burning sensation. 

“Turko, are you going to introduce your guest?” Nerdanel asks, her mouth quirking into a playful smile as she wipes one of the twins' mouths gently with a cloth. 

“Oh yeah! She’s a new friend I met in the woods today with Huan. Her name is, err- ” Celegorm chokes a little trying to swallow his food too quickly. 

Maehdros sighs and takes over introducing you to their mother. 

“Be welcome, we’re happy to have you. Please make yourself at home and excuse Turko’s table manners…he was raised by wild boar, you see.” Nerdanel scrunches her nose at Celegorm, who groans and throws his head back against the chair. 

“Amilyë…” 

Tucking into your food, you begin to feel more at ease and your posture relaxes completely. There is a notable warmth among the family surrounding you, full of spirited banter and easy laughter that feels utterly contagious. 

Just as Maglor finishes asking you your opinions on a notable Vanyar musician, the double doors at the other end of the dining hall swing open and a tall figure emerges, walking briskly with a measured gait to where Nerdanel is sitting. He leans over to kiss her, his intense gaze softening to tender adoration. 

“Apologies for my tardiness Arimelda, I was–”

“Consumed by your labors husband?”  Nerdanel interrupts, gently wiping a spot of soot from his cheek. He leans into her touch briefly with an amused smirk before turning his attention to the table, surveying his sons with a rare unguarded fondness. That was until his sharp gray eyes lock on you, and do a double take. 

“Wife, perhaps I was away at the forge too long… I don’t recall us having a daughter.” Fëanor teases, earning a playful swat from Nerdanel, who introduces you properly. 

“Welcome to the House of Fëanor child.” 

[okaysonny]

okkkayy, what if jake got his gf pregnant before marriage what would his mom’s reaction be + other big deal members 😶😶?? (love your fics btww!!!)

ACCIDENTAL PREGNANCY 😧 ╏ jake kim

a/n: unserious. and thanks anon!

you always use protection. plus, the pill is 99% effective at preventing this. and yet...

"...i'm pregnant"

★ jake stands there with a stupid look on his face because he's stupid.

★ to be honest, he doesn't want to bring a child into the world when he's leading big deal. jake wants to retire before even thinking about it. he loves you, but this isn't something he planned for.

★ has a serious discussion about the risks, making sure you understand the weight of the situation. still, he knows it's your choice in the end. once it's clear you want to keep the baby, jake respects your decision. he's the type to step up no matter what.

★ watches parenting videos at night while rubbing his temples.

★ tells minseon first 😬 this is the part that scares him the most.

★ his mom: pissed as hell 🤣

★ the second jake tells her, she puts out her cigarette with tight lips. he's already sweating.

"jake kim" "...yes, mother?" "are you telling me you got a girl pregnant before putting a ring on her finger?" "t-the thing is..." "like father, like son"

★ she’d ask all the hard questions: how are you going to raise a baby in this life? do you think this is fair to the child? are you ready for this kind of responsibility?

★ anddd i have a feeling that if you're from a 'normal' family, she'd have more reservations. not that minseon is classist, but y'know...

★ jake explains that you always did it safely, so the pregnancy wasn't from recklessness. he's aware of the risks, but it's your decision to keep the baby. he wants to step up and support you.

★ ...that does get her eyes to soften.

"well...in any case, i know you'll do a better job than your own father"

★ i think in canon right now, jake and his mother have a strained relationship. as far as we know, he only visits minseon when he needs something! 😅 + she resents that he supposedly hates his father...yet became a gangster like him and left her on her own...just like gapryong.

★ but minseon also knows that jake didn't inherit his womanizing side. she knows that he'll be a great father, even if he doesn't think so.

★ she may be tough, but deep down, she’s happy about a grandchild...even subtly offers to mind the baby if jake is too busy and you need a break.

★ she ends up cooking for you. the baby needs to be healthy.

now...he needs to tell big deal...

★ sinu would be so happy for jake. he cares about him like a younger brother, so once the initial shock settles, he’d smile and congratulate him properly.

but then it would hit him.

jake, who never seemed to care about relationships in the first place, is having a kid before him.

"god...yeonhui is gonna have a field day with this. you better start saving man. kids are expensive"

★ would yeonhui scare him as a joke? absolutely.

"sinu, what if i accidentally got pregnant? would you step up like jake?" "h-hold on..."

★ you already know jerry would do the absolute most 😭

★ immediately places a loyalty hand on jake's shoulder.

"boss…you’re going to be a father?" his voice is trembling, like jake just told him he's DYING. "i will lay down my life for this child. it is my duty as number 2" "jerry...i didn't even ask you to- are you crying?"

★ jerry starts researching baby vitamins + recommending parenting books. already thinking about making the child wear a tiny big deal jacket.

★ jason and brad feel like the same characters to me. i'm sorry. i guess jason is portrayed as more blunt and serious?

"jake...don't take this the wrong way, but i don't think you know anything about babies" "you don't think i know that, jason?"

★ the girls knit a baby blanket together :') and make one of those "we're so excited to meet you" videos.

★ jake would not half ass being a dad. he’d try his hardest to balance big deal and fatherhood, even though it won’t be easy. but the baby will be loved. from the parents, the girls and big deal.

bonus!

lineman leans back in his chair, surveying the small pile of cash on the table. "alright, i’m locking in my bet — it’s a boy"

lua scoffs. "nah, you’re wrong. it’s definitely a girl. and she’s gonna have him wrapped around her finger before she can talk"

lineman shakes his head. "a girl? we’d have to protect her from all the freaks in this city. a boy would be easier"

"a boy would be just as much trouble!" she rolls her eyes. "but imagine boss jake with a daughter. he’d be like, the ultimate girl dad"

"tch, we’ll see about that. alright, bets are at 50/50. let's see if anyone else wants to-"

"...guys" an all too familiar voice booms behind them.

lineman and lua turn to look at jerry like children caught with the cookie jar.

"you’re betting on boss jake’s child? his future offspring?" he shakes his head in disappointment. "this is incredibly inappropriate"

lineman and lua exchange a guilty glance.

lua has the courage to speak. "i mean…yeah, but—"

"shame on you two" jerry crosses his arms. "both of them deserve respect, not this gambling on their unborn child’s gender"

lineman suddenly has an idea. "so jerry...you must think it's a girl, right?"

jerry nods. "obviously. can't you see it? imagine her holding jake's pinkie with her tiny little hands"

lua smirks, catching lineman's drift as he discreetly slides a notepad to her. "so hypothetically...you'd place a bet on girl?"

he closes his eyes, lost in thought. "exactly. she’d teach him patience, unconditional love—"

lua nods, cutting him off as she jots notes down. "mhm. yeah. and how much are you putting down?"

jerry strokes his chin. "i'd say...30,000 won, easy-"

he blinks. "wait..."

jerry's jaw drops, the betrayal evident on his face. "you tricked me"

lineman grins, holding his hands up. "of course not. you just wanna see boss jake become a girl dad. that’s passion"

jerry opens his mouth to argue — then closes it. he shamefully places cash on the table.

"this stays between us" he whispers, glancing from side to side.

lua nods in satisfaction. "of course"

jason walks by, looking at the money on the table. "you guys are still on this? fine, put me down for a boy. 75,000 won"

˚⊱🪷⊰˚

jake blinks in disbelief when the truth gets exposed. "...you guys are betting? on my child?"

lineman, lua, and jason whistle, staring at the wall in fascination.

jake looks at jerry, expecting some shame.

jerry looks down, fiddling with his fingers. "...i was tricked"

divider: @thecutestgrotto

[atangledfate]

She still felt guilty about dumping like that on tangle. She still felt like she ruined the evening and brought the mood way down. Though Tangle's willingness to accept her failings, and flaws always amazed her. How could she love her when she was such a mess? She couldn't speak, she was socially inept, and her paranoia made her so suspicious of everything around her. How Tangle could see that and say she loved her was a mystery and yet--- She did and it was a soft comfort to know that Tangle loved her flaws and all.

She nodded her head to Tangle and yet she fidgeted and was clearly still dwelling on it. The fact she burst like that so easily, was more proof that she had bottled up so much over the years. Yet the subtle wagging of her tail was a tell tale sign that she very much approved of Tangle's words and appreciated them. Betrayed by the tail yet again, one day she'd get that under control--- But not today.

She wasn't sure if Blaze could help, after all her injury was so old now. Her fingers reaching up instinctively to trace those three long marks along her neck. A story she had yet to tell Tangle though anyone could see that it looked like a wild beast had attacked her. Not wild of course, mechanical and yet the damage was all the same. It robbed her of her once lovely voice--- now she couldn't howl at the moon, or say i love you. It was a deep scar not just physically but mentally.

✋Maybe, but its a very old injury... back then GUN doctors said there wasn't much they could do. ✋

She admitted with a slow somber motion of her hands. Showing that the memory was enough to bring her mood down sharply. Though she didn't like it, she wanted to be happy and smile. She ended up biting her lip as if the pain might make her smile but, of course it rarely did.

Yet her soft blue eyes parted and watching Tangle. The way she was so excited to travel. To explore a new world, to meet new people. That raw child like excitement always seemed to dig its claws into her. Break away that sadness and find a way to make her smile. It was soft and subtle and yet it was there.

Damn her... and her adorable face--- its why she chose to love her and no one else.

✋ Mmm, Ok we can ask... or maybe you should? I don't know the Princess well...✋

She signed with that soft little smile starting to creep onto her face with her tail wagging a bit more. She couldn't stay sad, not with the peppy lemur around. That happiness and excitement was infections wasn't it?

✋you and your spicy food ✋

She chuckled and shook her head, lord she was never going to get her sense of smell back at this rate. But it was adorable to watch, and she wouldn't deny her Lemur her personal enjoyment. Though she was very spice adverse--- mostly because of her overly sensitive nose... but she loved her enough to simply enjoy it as best she could. Even if she was a bit of a light weight when it came to spice... much to tangle's amusement!

She felt herself leaning into Tangle's arms feeling awful for dumping that on her. It just kind of came out and, now she was hiding her face in her hands feeling ashamed and a little bashful about it. For someone who could break your neck in 17 different ways she could be rather easily embarrassed. But she did feel a little ashamed for feeling that way. When tangle said it didn't make her a coward she shook her head no---but still had her face covered so it just came off as more cute then it did anything else. She hated herself for being this way, but was glad Tangle was there to hold and console her.

Yet Tangle had such a tender way of talking to her, and she made more sense then most. She felt her lean back and finally let her hands drop to her lap. Fidgeting in place she still felt weak and cowardly for not getting it done sooner. But maybe Tangle was right, maybe there were options she hadn't explored before. In truth she hadn't know to much about Blaze and the princess had mostly never spoken to her beyond a hello, or a respectful nod.

✋ Sorry, didn't mean to dump all that on you... ✋

She signed wanting to apologize to Tangle, who was always putting up with her crazy life. First with Mimic and the Cutters, then her life with Gun and more then any of that... her being mute was hard on everyone and she knew that. Hell she couldn't even hold a conversation with Rowan without a pad to write on.

✋Do you really think Blaze can help? ... my throat was so damaged as child, not even the GUN doctors could fix it. ✋

She smiled at Tangle's goofiness, and the way she promised to be with her. It wasn't saving the world, it wasn't fighting this was all very personal to her. Yet Tangle always managed to make her smile, and she reached up and touched her heart making the sign for ' i love you' to tangle. Her soft blue eyes visible as Tangle continued to help pull her out of her own little dark place.

Maybe... just maybe, one day soon--- she could finally tell her how much she meant to her.

[thatsladyfaggottoyou]

My James/Madeleine obsession is reaching. some weird new heights.

[genderqueerpond]

amyeleven fivenyssa crossover

[itsalwaysdark]

we had fun tho the whole family hung out and we did some sporclee and chronophoto and then globle me n lamp nd father did globle bc mein mamma went to sleep. yay :]

[khioneee]

tap out. pt ii.

warnings. mentions of death, emotional distress, grief and loss, pregnancy.

a few years later, another tap-out ceremony arrives, but this time, the air feels different—heavier, somber. simon’s been gone for over a year, his deployment unexpectedly extended due to an incident overseas. you’d been told he couldn’t come home for a while, but that didn’t make the waiting any easier.

today, you stand among families who aren’t just here to tap out their loved ones but to say goodbye to those who didn’t make it home. tears stream down faces as loved ones gather around caskets, grieving the soldiers they’d lost. the sight fills you with a mix of dread and relief, knowing simon is still out there, waiting.

simon stands in formation, rigid as always, but he has a sense for you. before you even appear in his line of sight, he knows you’re near. but imagine his surprise when he catches a glimpse of you in his peripheral vision, a small bundle wrapped securely in your arms.

his heart hammers in his chest, quickening as he realizes what this means. his breath catches, his eyes fixed on you as you approach. you look up at him, your eyes sparkling, a knowing smile on your face as you watch the subtle changes in his expression—the slight twitch of his eyebrows, the way his breathing picks up as it dawns on him.

both of you had been trying for a baby before he left, and now, standing before him, you hold that precious life in your arms. it had been a struggle going through pregnancy without him, feeling his absence during every kick and every sleepless night. but seeing him now, looking more than ready to meet your child, all the pain fades away, replaced by a joy so profound it fills every inch of you.

‘daddy’s home,’ you whisper softly, tilting the blanket so simon can see her tiny face, fast asleep, a perfect mirror of him in miniature. she’s got his nose, his quiet strength already etched into her tiny features.

with tears in your eyes, you reach up, your hand finding his cheek, tapping him out in the gentlest of touches.

the moment your hand connects, simon moves, breaking formation as he pulls both of you into his arms, holding you close as if he’ll never let go. his voice is thick with emotion, barely a whisper as he murmurs, ‘my loves.’

you knew your husband had a reputation in the military—a man as cold and unyielding as steel, a fortress no one could break. but as he held you and your newborn in his arms, that carefully built facade cracked, revealing a vulnerable side of him that only you ever saw. the tough soldier was gone, replaced by a man whose heart lay entirely with his family.

‘do you want to hold her?’ you ask softly, watching his eyes light up with a blend of surprise and joy.

‘her?’ he whispers, voice catching on the single word, as if it’s almost too much for him to believe.

you nod, smiling through a haze of happy tears. ‘her.’

with slow, reverent movements, you pass your daughter to him, watching as she looks impossibly tiny cradled in his strong arms. simon looks down at her with a mixture of wonder and fierce protectiveness, as though he’s already memorizing every detail of her face.

as if sensing her father’s gaze, the baby yawns, a soft little sound that makes simon’s eyes shine with awe. you catch the faintest smile pulling at his lips, a rare, tender expression that he reserves only for moments like this.

he leans down, pressing his lips gently to her forehead. ‘never gonna let anything happen to you,’ he murmurs, voice thick with love and quiet promise.

while simon was lost in his quiet moment with your daughter, a loud shout cut through the air, breaking the peaceful silence.

‘is that our baby i see?!’

simon’s head snapped up, his expression immediately shifting to something harder. he turned to see soap grinning widely, practically bouncing with excitement. with a sigh, simon reached over and smacked the back of soap’s head, though his movements were careful not to jostle the sleeping baby in his arms.

‘there’s people grieving, you idiot,’ simon muttered, but soap only snickered, completely unfazed.

‘and what do you mean, ‘our’? she’s y/n’s and mine. you’re not part of this relationship, mate,’ simon added, his tone dripping with mock irritation.

but soap, undeterred, just ignored him and held out his hands, wiggling his fingers in a display of exaggerated excitement. ‘oh, come on! let me hold our child!’

simon groaned, looking down at you with a glance that seemed to ask, ‘do i really have to put up with this?’ but he couldn’t hide the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as soap’s enthusiasm filled the air around you.

reluctantly, and with another sigh, simon finally leaned over, carefully passing your daughter to soap, though not without a low, ‘if you don’t keep her calm, you’re not holding her again.’

soap just grinned, taking her into his arms as if he’d won the lottery, cradling her gently and cooing softly.

soon after, the rest of task force 141 gathered around, drawn by the excitement, each member eager to catch a glimpse of the new addition to the family.

you and simon stood to the side, watching with cautious eyes as they took turns holding her, each one adopting a careful gentleness you wouldn’t have expected from hardened soldiers.

price held her with a proud grin, murmuring something about ‘training her to be the next captain,’ while gaz made her giggle softly with his gentle cooing. even the usually reserved roach softened as he held her, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

you glanced up at simon, watching his face as he stood beside you, arms crossed in a show of casual indifference.

but you knew him too well. beneath the mask of stoicism, there was something warmer, a subtle softness in his gaze as he watched his team, his family, sharing this moment with him. this gruff, unbreakable soldier, who had once thought he’d lost everything, had found a new family among them, one that shared in his joys and sorrows alike.

reaching over, you took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. he didn’t say anything, just gave your hand a quick squeeze in return, a quiet acknowledgment. but you could see it in his eyes, that gratitude for a family he never expected to find—a family that had now become part of yours.

[thesecondhandwoman]

can you make sevika having baby fever but is just so subtle about it because she doesnt want reader to find out? bonus if you'll also write about them finally having a baby in the end

BABY FEVER

Sevika x f!reader

Synopsis: Ever since you and Sevika had gone to the market and saw a small little bundle of joy, a tiny child, Sevika has been experiencing baby fever, but tried to hide as much as you tried to hide the fact you were pregnant.

Request: Anon 🤍

The bustling Undercity market was alive with energy, a chorus of voices rising and falling like a symphony Sevika had learned to navigate with ease. Stalls lined the cobblestone streets, hawking wares ranging from fresh produce to mechanical trinkets that sparked faintly in the dim light. You had begged her to accompany you here, and though Sevika wasn’t one to enjoy the chaos, she couldn’t deny you anything.

As you weaved through the crowd, her larger frame provided a shield against the jostling bodies. You stopped at a fruit stall, inspecting the goods and chatting with the vendor. Sevika stood close behind, her attention elsewhere—until she heard your soft, delighted laugh.

“Look at that baby, Sev!”

She followed your gaze and saw her: a chubby, gurgling baby nestled in her mother’s arms. The child cooed, her tiny hands reaching for her mother’s hair, and Sevika’s heart stuttered in her chest.

“She’s adorable,” you said, your voice tinged with that warm tone Sevika loved so much. You turned back to the vendor, but Sevika lingered, watching the baby with an intensity she couldn’t quite explain.

The rest of the day passed like any other, but something shifted in Sevika. She couldn’t stop thinking about the baby, the way you had looked at her with such soft admiration.

The change started subtly. Sevika wasn’t the kind of woman to wear her emotions on her sleeve, but she found herself lingering in certain moments more than usual. It began with your kitten, Smoky, a mischievous ball of gray fluff you’d taken in months ago.

“Sev, you’re spoiling her,” you teased one evening as Sevika sat on the couch, Smoky sprawled across her chest. She was gently stroking the kitten’s fur, her usual gruff expression softened into something unreadable.

“She likes it,” Sevika grunted, though her voice lacked its usual edge.

You tilted your head, watching her closely. Smoky purred loudly, oblivious to the unspoken shift between you and Sevika.

Then came the way she watched you, specifically your stomach. At first, you thought you were imagining it, but the lingering glances became impossible to ignore. She’d sit at the kitchen table, her eyes following you as you moved around the room, her gaze always flicking down to your midsection.

“Everything okay?” you asked one day, catching her in the act.

“Yeah,” she said quickly, looking away. “Just zoning out.”

Her tone was casual, but the faint blush dusting her cheeks told a different story.

Sevika also started spending more time near the market, a place she typically avoided unless absolutely necessary. She claimed it was for “supplies,” but you knew better. She’d linger by the square, watching the children playing with sticks and scraps, their laughter echoing through the streets.

What Sevika didn’t know was that you had a secret of your own. For weeks, you had been debating how to tell her, nervous and excited all at once. You were only a few months along, but the thought of becoming parents had filled you with a joy you couldn’t contain.

You noticed little changes in your body, like the way your clothes fit differently, the occasional bout of nausea that left you gripping the sink. Sevika, even as observant as she was, hadn’t seemed to catch on yet.

One afternoon, as you folded laundry in the bedroom, you found yourself holding one of Sevika’s shirts, her scent faint but familiar. You pressed it to your chest, imagining her holding your child, her strong arms cradling the tiny life you’d created together.

The thought had nearly brought tears to form in your eyes, and you knew it was time.

One evening, as you sat together in your small home, you decided it was time. Sevika was at the table, sharpening her prosthetic arm with practiced ease. Smoky was curled up in her usual spot by the fireplace.

“Sevika?” you called softly.

“Hm?” She didn’t look up, but her focus wavered, the sharpening tool pausing mid-stroke.

“I have something to tell you.”

Her brow furrowed, and she set the tool down, turning her full attention to you. “What’s up?”

You took a deep breath, your hands trembling slightly as you forced the words out of your mouth, “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, Sevika didn’t move. Her expression was unreadable, her dark eyes fixed on you as if trying to process your words. Then, slowly, her lips parted.

“You’re serious?” Her voice was quiet, almost disbelieving.

You nodded, a smile breaking across your face. “I found out a few weeks ago. I was waiting for the right time to tell you.”

Sevika stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. She crossed the room in two long strides and pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly.

“You’re amazing,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re so damn amazing.”

You laughed, tears welling in your eyes as you clung to her. “I was worried you’d be scared.”

“Scared?” She pulled back just enough to look at you, her hand resting gently on your stomach as tears began to form in her own eyes. “No. I’ve been thinking about this for weeks, since that day at the market. I just didn’t know how to bring it up.”

“You had baby fever?” you teased, your grin widening.

“Shut up,” Sevika muttered, though the corner of her mouth twitched into a smirk. “Fuck, baby, we are gonna be parents.”

Months passed in a blur of preparations and quiet excitement. Sevika was by your side through everything, her rough exterior melting away in private moments. She’d talk to your growing belly, her voice soft and full of wonder, and she never missed a single appointment.

When the day finally came, it was nothing short of chaos. The birth was long and grueling, but Sevika was there every step of the way, her strong hand gripping yours as you brought your child into the world.

“She’s beautiful,” Sevika whispered, her voice trembling as she cradled your newborn daughter in her arms. The baby yawned, her tiny fingers curling around Sevika’s prosthetic thumb, the sight nearly causing her to cry again.

You leaned against Sevika, exhausted but filled with a profound sense of love. “She looks like you.”

Sevika chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Lucky kid.”

As you both sat there, your little family finally complete, Sevika realized she had never been happier.

A/N: I’m sorry this is so short, but I absolutely loved writing this cute, fluffy request.

[bunnis-monsters]

Sacrificial Heifer

Bull Hybrids x Cow Hybrid!Reader

Commissioned by: @yuriohoe04

WC: 1k

A/N: Only 2 more slots for my commissions rn! Make sure to get them while you can. Once my comms are closed I won’t be opening them again until all my comms are finished ^^

Warnings: dubcon, breeding, lactation, pregnancy, gangbang

🥛 🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛

It had been a week since the farmer announced that you and your barn mates were ready to be bred for the first time.

At first, the lot of you were excited, some even ovulating and ready to breed. One of your friends had her tail lifted up, and it swayed softly as she sighed.

“Can’t you imagine it, being bred by a handsome bull? Do you think they’d want to settle and become mates?”

You rolled your eyes, swatting her thigh with your tail. “Not likely. Most bulls are just looking for a heifer to breed and toss aside for the next one. You’ll be lucky if they give you more than a few minutes of your time.”

An older cow had warned you many times that bulls liked to play with young heifers’ hearts, and that if you wanted to live a peaceful life on the farm, then you’d just breed and go about your day.

That’s what you told yourself out of fear of getting your heart broken… until the day finally came to breed.

All the other heifers were filling themselves up, brushing out their hair and tidying themselves up. The pheromones wafting through the barn were thick, almost stifling.

This all changed when the bulls walked in. They were big, bulky, and honestly? Terrifying.

They walked in with confidence, eyeing the new heifers with keen, sharp eyes that told you they were more than experienced when it came to breeding.

“Alright, who’s first?”

All the heifers shivered at the authoritative tone of voice. They had never been spoken to in such a way. The farmers they’ve had in the past had always been gentle, giving their bottoms hearty slaps as they herded them into the barn.

These bulls didn’t look like they even knew what the word gentle meant. They knew how to work with an inexperienced heifer, how to breed them into submission and stuff them full of cum.

You looked on with a mix of nervousness and curiosity. The bulls were definitely handsome, and despite their rough way of speaking, the way they tried their best to look a bit smaller told you that maybe they weren’t as bad as you had been told.

Before you could retreat to observe them from the back of the stall, you were shoved out into an open space, landing in the arms of one of the bulls.

“A volunteer. Cute one too.”

You yelped as your ass was groped, the bull squeezing it lightly before inspecting your face. “Little heifer, no need to be nervous. Gonna put a calf in you, alright?”

“Quite small, ain’t she?”

Another bull approached you from behind, lifting up your tail to get a better look at your fat ass. “Perfectly plump too. Got them child bearing hips… mmm…”

The feeling of a cock rubbing against your panties made your body freeze up. They both cooed at you, already able to sense your pheromones spiking. “Someone’s begging to be fucked silly, huh?”

One of the bulls traced circles over your clothed clit, laughing as you blubbered our half hearted pleas for them to let you go. “Hush, heifer. You’re soaking my hand, gotta breed that fat cunt of yours.”

Before long you were being hoisted up, a big fat cock pushing against your pussy. It was huge, and you were sure it would tear your body in two!

“Sure this little thing can take it?” another bull asked, this one playing with your clit as the other two bulls prepped your hole. “Smallest heifer in the herd I’ve seen so far…”

“She’ll take it.”

And with that, he rutted into you, stretching your fat pussy out as he bounced you on his cock. It was painful at first, tears prickling in the corners of your eyes, but your body was built for this. You were made to be bred by bulls, to get pregnant and produce milk and calves.

You felt your pussy gush as he fucked into you, biting into your shoulder. “That’s it, baby. Cream on my cock, lemme hear you cry out for me.”

You were passed around by the bulls, feeling so full and happy. As you were bent over and groped by another bull, you let out the prettiest of moans.

“God, that’s it, that’s a good heifer. Take my load, fuck…”

A bull took one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling as another mounted and bred you thoroughly. Before you were a virgin, and now you were being fucked by so many different cocks that you could barely think.

They rolled you onto your tummy, lifting your ass into the air and eating the cum out of your pussy, wanting to give you a nice and fresh creampie and hoping their’s would be the load to impregnate your fertile womb.

All the other heifer’s watched in awe and jealousy as the bulls kept their attention on you, unable to spare a second glance to the others. You were so cute, a small, chubby little heifer that was perfect for beating calves. How the hell were they supposed to breed anyone else when you were bouncing on their cocks?

By the end of the breeding session, your belly was distended, stuffed full of cum. None of the other heifers were bred because the bulls were way too busy doting on you after they all got a turn.

Now, as your belly began to swell with a calf and your tits got heavy and full, the bulls couldn’t help but cum all over and in you. Your pretty mouth and pussy was always keeping someone’s cock nice and warm.

Drinking milk from your fat and heavy tits was the best part of their day. They had to test your milk to make sure it was high quality… and they also just wanted to suck on your nipples.

After all, you were their perfect little breeding cow. None of the other heifers compared to you, none as sweet and soft and pretty. If anyone had a problem, they could take it up with the bulls.

You sat on your bed, being fed strawberries as your belly was massaged.

Maybe that older cow was wrong, because these bulls adored you with their entire heart… and you were excited to be thoroughly bred again once you gave birth.

You were a cow hybrid after all, and needed to produce lots of milk and calves. Being a breeding cow was your job…

And you were damn good at it.

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @buckoothecow @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143

[rie-092]

NOONA

[ yandere! beom taeha ]

summary: he is your clingy younger brother.

tw. stepcest ( pls don't proceed if you're uncomfortable with this kind of content, thank you! )

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣

taeha has always been the adorable little brother that you could ask for. he can still remember the first time the chairman introduced you and your mother. your adorable grin as you stood in front of him. so adorable, so excited to meet him.

he can still remember how you ramble about how your wish to have a little brother had finally fulfilled. because now, you have taeha!

at first, the main reason why he play the role of the perfect younger brother was because you look... interesting. and of course, he also wanted to see you broken and empty.

he admit it, he loves to spoil you with small gifts. it started with the drawings that he drew back when the two of you were still a child. then it became hand made gifts, then it became the expensive ones. he now become obsess to see you wearing the gifts that he gave you.

okay, what the hell? he doesn't know what is going on anymore. but he kept his cool. he needs to be calm, because you see— he doesn't want his carefully crafted facade to crumble into pieces.

he doesn't know why but he also likes the fact that you trusts him too much. when you got this little cute stalker, he can still remember how you tearfully asked him to walk you to school everyday and never leave him alone.

one day, while walking home with you. he glanced at the guy who kept following you since the two of you left the school. a small smirk formed on his lips, should he test you? see how will you react once you met this little cute stalker of yours?

just imagining your shaking hand reaching out for him and pulling him to a hug. your eyes full of fear and your shaking voice was enough to make him really excited. but fuck— the thought of someone touching you—? he fucking loathe that idea.

that's why he dealt with your little problem. but of course, he never told you that. he wanted his noona to be the same adorable older sister who loves to spoil her younger brother. even though someone died because of her.

this wasn't a game anymore. you were his just like how he was yours. and taeha will do everything— anything to keep it that way. even if it means to dirty his hands with blood. even if it means that he needs to deal with the chairman.

because after all— you were his adorable older sister.

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣

“you have no idea how much i've been holding back myself for you, noona.”

[rememberwren]

Skin Deep

Tattoo artist!Simon x fem!reader. Reader, looking to expand your horizons, you get your first tattoo from an enigmatic artist deemed “Ghost”. 8.4k. Features: soft!Simon who is bad at people-ing, vaginal sex, lots of nipples, like at least three nipples, poor writing, abrupt transitions, shy and awkward reader. Based on this post.

Sequel here.

-

“I bit the bullet!” you shout over the music, hand cupped around your friend’s ear to be better heard. She shrieks in delight at the sound of your voice, turning to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you close to her swaying body. Many eyes in the club follow her movements. She has always been the wild child to your wallflower, attracting attention wherever she goes.

“You bit what?” she shouts back, her breath like a mint julep. 

“The bullet,” you laugh. “I called that guy you recommended and set up an appointment. For the tattoo I wanted!” 

She stares at you blankly. Her silky little tank top is drooping off of one shoulder, so you reach out and tuck it back into place. The longer she stares, the more nervous you grow. She’d been so encouraging after your last boyfriend dumped you—encouraging you to step outside your comfort zone, to ‘make more mistakes’, to live life more fully. Now she’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head and it’s the one doing the talking. 

“What guy I recommended?” she asks. 

“Kevin!”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Not Kevin. Not Kevin. Why, Kevin?” 

You frown. “You said you went to Kevin.” 

“It wasn’t a recommendation, sweetie, if anything it was to caution you away from him! He’s a creep; there’s a reason why I never went back.” 

You deflate like a balloon, going limp and letting her drag you to the nearby free seats at the bar where you sit heavily. It’s not just the tattoo. It’s the icing on a shitcake of a day. 

A new song seamlessly starts, and the dancers nearby go wild with excitement. Your mood is the antithesis of the event; everyone seems to be having a great time except for you. Story of your life. 

“You conveniently left that out. Ugh. I’ll cancel it. What am I even fucking doing—thank you—” you accept the cup of ice water the bartender slides in front of you with a shy smile, sipping at it and keeping your hand curled over the top of it protectively. “—none of this is like me.” 

Your friend frowns. She steals your drink and sips at it. “You were the one who said you’d always wanted a tattoo. You’re an adult. These are exactly the kinds of decisions you’re old enough to make. Look, fuck Kevin. All my friends hate Kevin. I know another guy, and he’s highly recommended. Let me give you his number. Alright?” 

“Alright,” you sigh. You make a silent promise to yourself though: if it doesn’t work out with this next tattoo artist, then you won’t be getting one at all. You’ll take it as a sign from the universe to get back in your comfort zone and stay there, once and for all. 

-

What kind of a moniker is Ghost? you wonder to yourself as you skim the Instagram of the shop this Ghost owns. The profile picture is one of the building itself, and all of the pictures are of various inked body parts. Beautiful ones, admittedly. But no hint of the mysterious figure who owns the shop. There is a personal instagram linked @GHOST89 but it is private when you try to click on it. 

The phone number your friend gave you rings straight through to voicemail. You let out a shaky breath. Fuck, you hate voicemail. Talking to people was difficult enough; talking to people’s disembodied machines was even worse somehow. It isn’t until you’ve hung up after leaving your message that you realize you forgot to tell him your fucking name (genius!). Groaning, you contemplate dialing him back when the phone in your hand rings—and it’s him. 

“Hello?” 

“I’m free Wednesdays for consultations,” says a baritone voice from the other end of the line. 

Nice to talk to you too, you think dryly. Maybe this guy is as bad at the phone as you are. “I work Wednesdays. Are you free in the evenings?” 

He sighs, like this is going to be very strenuous for him. 

“Name a time. I’ll pencil you in. Half is due at the end of the consultation upon booking an appointment. Cash only,” he says. 

Jesus Christ, could he be anymore abrupt? While a tiny part of you is grateful that he isn’t trying to make small talk, a larger part is terrified that you’ve already made an impression so foul that it’s incurred his wrath. What other reason could he have for being so stilted? 

“Alright,” you answer cautiously. “How’s five?” 

“Five. Don’t be late.” 

He hangs up on you, leaving you wondering why every step outside your comfort zone must be so bloody far.

-

You arrive early to the consultation, only to find that the building itself—a tidy little brick two-floor, adorned with a sign that dubbed it SKIN DEEP tattoos & artisan piercings, which you recognize from Instagram—is locked. A note written in neat handwriting taped to the door declares NO WALK INS. Your palms are sweaty. You wipe them on your work slacks, but it doesn’t help. How are you supposed to get in? 

All at once a shadow appears on the other side of the door. The shadow is enormous: well above six feet tall, and broad shouldered. A black surgical mask is tucked up over his mouth and nose, which only adds to his intimidating aura. Judging by the impressive sleeve of tattoos he has, you imagine that this is the guy. 

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And Ghost. 

Dark brown eyes stare down at you when he opens the door, cocking a hip against the frame, staring at you. Waiting. 

Waiting for you to explain your presence, you realize. 

“I have a consultation,” you blurt out. “At…five?”

He opens the door wider to let you pass without a word. He’s so broad that you can smell him as you pass him: clean and masculine. The inside of the tattoo shop is bigger than it looks on the outside. There is a reception area with a desk and a computer and printer. The glossy wooden floors are polished to shine, leading to an open floor plan. There is a small sitting area with armchairs, a wide sofa, and a table on which rests two bottles of water, a notebook, and a steaming mug of liquid.

“Sit,” he says, his voice the same deep rumble you recognize from the phone. He chooses the chair beside the mug. His body is so goddamn long, his legs lean and thick all at once where he stretches them out in front of him. He reaches for the mug and takes a sip—of tea, judging by the smell. “Name?”

You tell him, perching yourself anxiously on the other chair. He glances up at you, eyes raking over your posture. Suddenly he tugs the mask down to rest beneath his chin, revealing a full, pale mouth. A straight, noble nose. A pink scar stretches across his lips and up towards his cheek. 

“The water is for you,” he says. 

“Oh!” You reach forward and take one bottle, breaking the seal. “Thank you.”

“This is your first tattoo.” 

“What gave me away?” you ask with a weak laugh. 

He doesn’t laugh. “Everything. Is someone putting you up to this? This smells like Soap.” 

“What? No, of course not. I want this, I’m just, I’m an anxious personality. I promise.” You hesitate and then add: “I probably smell like soap because I showered this morning.” 

His mouth twitches. He leans back in his seat and sucks on his teeth, and you get the distinct feeling that he is trying very hard not to laugh at you. Why had you mentioned to him that you showered? What was wrong with you? Just as you’re comprising a list of things, he picks up the pencil and the notebook, opening to a fresh page.

 He asks what you want and God, that’s a harder question. 

You do your best to express your idea, but your words feel halting and silly. His pencil scratches rapidly at the paper as he listens in total silence—pausing only once, when you say that you want this to be a sternum piece. Only then does his pencil seem to hover over the paper, his dark eyes seeking you out and pinning you in place on the armchair. 

He reaches for his tea to take a generous sip and then continues writing. 

He asks a few pointed, concise questions (and you’re just thrilled he was actually listening), following your answers up with more scribbling in his notebook. At length, he shuts the book. 

“I think I see the vision. Give me thirty to sketch something and we’ll see if you want to book an appointment. Something this size, on your sternum could take more than one session, depending on how well you sit. How do you take pain?” 

“I mean, it hurts?” you offer. 

He stares. “Two sessions. Let me sketch something. Drink your water.” 

You think that maybe he’ll move to another room to sketch, but he just flips to a clean page and begins to work right there (drawing the mask up over his nose and mouth again). With nothing else to do, you can’t help but watch him. 

He’s handsome, in an odd sort of way. His brow is a little too low, his gaze a little too intimidating to be considered conventionally attractive, but you find him fascinating to look at, especially when he is so clearly in the throes of something he enjoys doing. It’s almost like watching someone have sex. The thought makes your face go warm. You pick up your phone, determined not to look at him again. 

“Here.” 

You glance up from your mindless scrolling. What he shows you is a beautiful rendition of what you had expressed wanting. There are a few key differences, and he patiently explains why he made the decisions he did. He didn’t make the changes because he thought your idea was stupid. He made them so the image would better fit the contours of your body. He made them because the ink will spread over time, and he wants the look to stay clean. 

His thoughtfulness touches you. 

“I love it. I want it,” you say, enthusiasm getting the better of you. 

“This is just a first sketch,” he says dryly, making that warmth return to your face. “I’ll text you a few variations this week, and we can nail down the final piece. You want to book?” 

“Yes,” you say, nearly buzzing. “I really want to book.”

He’s expensive—but judging by the book of his artwork that is available for you to flip through at the front desk while he quotes you a price and writes you up a receipt, he is more than worth the money. Fuck, he’s got skill. You thought that maybe his art style was too dark for what you wanted, but you found that he was able to adapt styles nicely. You just hoped this tattoo wouldn’t bore him to death. 

“Thanks again for meeting with me,” you say as he sees you out. “I’ll be waiting for your text.” 

“You’ll get it.” He glances past you out the window. It’s dark. “Did you walk?” 

“No, my car is just there.”

“I’ll wait.” 

And he does. His figure darkens the doorway until you have shut your car and locked the doors, temporary insanity making you give him a short wave. He raises two fingers and then disappears. 

-

You didn’t tell me this guy was cute, you text to your friend. 

GHOST? Cute? I’ve never even seen his face lol. He’s always wearing one of his masks. 

You chew over this information. Yes he’d been wearing a mask, but he’d lowered it for you. Did that mean something? Did it mean something that you wanted it to mean something?  

Masks are cute, you say. 

Fuck the tattoo artist!!!! she says. Maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

You’re terrible. 

You’re…thinking about it. 

-

Two days later, you squint blearily into the darkness at your phone after it vibrates on your nightstand. The time reads twelve past one in the morning. It’s from GHOST. 

The two images he sends are beautiful; enough to rouse you straight from sleep into wakefulness. 

I love them both, you tell him. But the second one is amazing. I think that’s the one. 

Keep your appointment. Ten minutes later (after you have already fallen back to sleep) he sends: wear something appropriate.  

And fuck, you didn’t even think of that. 

-

“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself in the mirror, turning sideways to assess yourself. On the bed behind you are a series of button up shirts, all of which you have tried on at one point or another. 

“You are,” your friend agrees from where she lounges on your bed, scrolling on her phone. “Your tits are cute. Let Ghost see them.” 

The look you give her is the one the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ was modeled after, surely. She doesn’t even see it, so the effect is lost entirely. You turn your gaze back to the silicone nipple adhesive covers again, still stuck to their adhesive backing. You’ve already used one set of the pack of three, and they covered your nipple and areolas nicely, but still left you feeling so exposed. 

“Be glad you’re not going to creepy Kevin anymore,” your friend says.

“Very glad of it.” 

You felt reasonably safe with Ghost, but still a degree of embarrassment about your own body. Or perhaps that was too strong a word—it didn’t embarrass you, but it felt private. Baring your breasts to a near stranger (especially one you had a grudging attraction to) made your anxiety reach epic level proportions. 

“You should text him about it, see if he has any advice for you. He’s been doing this for years. I’m sure he’s seen it all,” she says—the first good idea she’s had all night, miles ahead of ‘Just let Ghost see your cute tits’. 

That night, you take her advice and text him, hoping you aren’t overstepping some weird artist-client boundary. 

I’m a little nervous.

You can cancel, is all he says. I’ll refund your money.

It’s not that. 

What is it? 

Not really accustomed to the nakedness tbh. There. You said it. Let him think you some prim priss; it was true. 

But all he said back was: how can I help?  

I don’t know, you admit. Then; sorry. I’m probably bothering you with this while you’re working. 

I’m not working. Five minutes later, when it seems as if you aren’t going to message back: I keep the shop closed to the public. One customer at a time: you. I’ll let my piercer know I’m with a client and not to walk in. I’ll keep you covered every moment I can. Better? 

Relief, warm and sweet curling low in your belly, you let him know: much better. 

-

You bring the pasties anyway. 

-

The day of your appointment, you are so nervous you are shaking. Now you know the truth behind the phrase ‘knees knocking together’, as you stand outside SKIN DEEP waiting for Ghost’s hulking figure to appear on the other side of the glass. 

When it does, he’s like a little punch to the gut. That black surgical mask is in place—typical for him, if your friend’s words are to be trusted—but his blond hair, cropped short to his scalp is riotous in a way that is adorably charming, like he hasn’t been able to keep his hands out of it. His black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, and his jeans fit him nicely around his thick thighs. 

You’re horrified to find that your attraction to him has grown. Exponentially. Your friend’s words echo in your mind—fuck the tattoo artist, maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

“Hi,” you squeak. 

Ghost raises both his brows. He opens the door wider for you to slip past him. Fuck he still smells good.

“I’m still nervous,” you blurt out, hoping that speaking the truth out loud will help you feel better. It doesn’t. 

“That’s normal. You can back out at any time, but the earlier the better. Come look at the image and tell me if it’s still what you want.”

It’s exactly what you want, and more. 

“It’s perfect. You’re very talented.” 

He huffs a little, like you shouldn’t have said such a thing. 

The chair is a great leather contraption which reclines comfortably once he’s gotten you in it (after making you use the restroom first, during which you took the time to splash water on your burning face and double check that your pasties were in place covering all the cutest bits according to your friend). Simon moves around you, making preparations with the ease of someone who has done this work for many years. 

You fight the arousal that blooms in your belly at the sight of him doing such benign things as washing his hands, putting on gloves, opening fresh needles, preparing little wells of ink and sticking them to the movable cart with Vaseline. There’s just something about a person who knows exactly what they’re doing and who is able to do it with efficacy.

“Ready?” he asks at length. 

You nod, hoping your nerves don’t show on your face. Steeling yourself, you unbutton the shirt you’re wearing. His eyes follow your hands, but there is a detached, clinical sort of expression in them. He’s not watching a strip tease, he’s looking at a canvas. 

Finally, you sit in front of him in only the pasties, the shirt lax around your shoulders, and your sweatpants, socked toes curling in anxiety in your shoes. Without missing a beat, he leans the chair all the way back. Then he opens a fresh disposable razor and shaves you. 

“Am I hairy?” you ask, resting your hands oh-so-casually over your breasts to keep them out of his way. 

“Yes,” he says. Then his eyes flicker to yours. “Everyone is. Everywhere. It’s normal.”

“I’m just teasing you.” 

“Didn’t think you had the breath in your body left to tease me,” he mutters, voice nearly lost behind his mask as he carefully works the razor across your skin removing the baby-fine hairs from beneath your breasts and across your sternum. “You’re nervous, I mean.” 

“Would you take the mask off?” you ask on a whim. It had helped last time, to see his face. 

“No,” he says. He adds: “Sorry. It’s more sanitary f’you if I keep it on.” 

You get the feeling that he really is sorry—and that’s well enough. Some of the anxiety in your belly fades away. He would take it off if he could. The most anxious part of the process (baring yourself to a stranger) has already passed. Maybe now you can begin to relax. 

After cleaning your skin, he carefully lays the stencil and has you stand up to look at it in the mirror and make sure the placement is correct and holy fucking shit. It’s sexy. You’ve always been attracted to tattoos, and fancied the idea of getting one on your sternum for far longer than you’d ever admitted to anyone, but seeing it come to life gives you a rush you hadn’t expected. You feel so…badass. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Very good,” you answer, sitting back down, hoping he ignores the way your breasts bounce a little as you do. He leans you back again and this time breaks out the needle gun.

But before he uses it on you, he carefully takes a clean towel and lays it over your left breast, covering the parts of you that are not nearest to his eyes. His gentleness and thoughtfulness go straight to your cunt. 

“Thank you,” you say softly. 

He just nods. The gun buzzes to life. “I’ll make a line and see how you feel. Last chance to back out without any souvenirs.” 

“I’m not backing out.” 

He clicks his tongue as if to say, It’s your funeral. Then he lays his hand on your sternum above your breasts, pinning you in place, and makes a gentle line. 

It burns more than you expected it to. There’s a sandpaper quality to it, almost like the rasping of a cat’s tongue. The pain is sharp and bright, but it isn’t overwhelming. In fact…a strange part of you sort of enjoys it. Maybe it’s the rush of endorphins. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Good,” you squeak. 

You hear his quiet laugh, no more than an exhale of breath.

“Let me know when you need to break.” 

You don’t know how you feel about the way he phrases that: when you need to break. He adjusts his mask a little, leans over you, and gets to work. Sometimes the needles pass over a place that is more sensitive than the others, making you flinch. He pauses when this happens, eyes flickering up to your own, making sure you are alright even though he can likely feel the pounding of your heart beneath his hand. That hand on your chest, wrist just brushing the top of your breast, is a solid warm weight that seems to tether you back down to the earth as he lines you. He is very careful not to brush against your breast when he wipes away the excess ink and traces of blood, but you feel hyper-attuned to how easy it would be for him if he wanted to. How huge his hand is compared to your tit. Beneath the pasties, your nipples ache with tension, a tension that is mirrored between your legs. 

“Alright. Break,” he says, abruptly turning the gun off. He covers your exposed breast with another towel. “Take ten.”

He disposes of his gloves and disappears behind a curtain in the back, leaving you throbbing between the legs. Worming your phone free from your pocket, you scroll aimlessly, hoping to calm your raging hormones. He returns right at the ten minute mark, just as his cellphone rings. He glances toward where it rests on the table, but makes no move to answer it. 

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, offering him an out.

“No,” he says. “I make everyone leave a message. Weeds out the cowards.”

It had almost weeded out you, you think about telling him, but in the end you decide against it. He gloves back up. 

“Good for more?”

And so it repeats. 

At one point, he runs into a patch of sensitive skin on your ribs just overlaying the bone. It has you sucking in a breath through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut. It’s too late to turn back now you tell yourself; the only way out is through. 

His thumb gently strokes your sternum. 

“It’s rough. You can take it,” he says, quiet and focused. The buzzing of the gun never ceases as he tries to make his work as quick as possible, his words a little distant and distracted. “Just keep breathing. That’s it. Good girl.”

Jesus. Did he not have any idea what those words could do to a girl? A groan escapes your lips, and he clearly mistakes it for pain, because his thumb strokes again the soft skin over your heart, just above the curve of your breast. 

“You can do it. Just a little longer for me, and we’ll break.”

“Hurts,” you breathe, flinching again. 

He hushes you, surprisingly tender. 

“This is the worst of it.” This time, his thumb does brush the edge of your breast, making you suck in a gasp. He recoils, hand lifting away from you and curling into a fist. He rests that against you instead, taking away any further hope that he might brush his fingertips against you. You make it through the rough patch with tears in your eyes but no worse for wear.  

“Break. Ten minutes,” he says again, already shredding his gloves and moving to disappear behind the curtain. 

You call out: “Hey, wait—I’d rather just get through it in one go if I can. If this really is the worst of it.” 

“I need breaks too,” he says stonily.

You duck your head, feeling silly. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He vanishes again. 

He is late to return to you. Only by five minutes or so, but noticeably for a man so usually punctual and so demanding of punctuality in you. His face is stoic—what bits of it you can see from behind the mask—as he washes his hands thoroughly and preps his work station again. 

This time his hand keeps a very respectable distance from your breasts—a fact which you both lament and appreciate all in one. He works with single-minded efficiency, giving you his entire focus. You break once more, but this time he breaks in the room with you, stretching out his back and neck (giving you a generous glimpse of his belly when his shirt rides up, exposing cut abs and a happy trail you’d give your life to follow). 

“I think we could do this in one sitting, if you have nowhere else to be,” he mutters at length. 

“Eager to be done?” you wonder. 

He stares at you, expression flat, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said. 

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you murmur, staring up at the bright adjustable light that he has positioned over you. You hope he mistakes that for the reason behind any mistiness in your eyes, his rudeness cutting you deeply. 

So the two of you push through later into the evening, until you are sweating at your temples and the base of your neck from the continuous pain for so long. At last he lays the last gradient for the shading, sprays you down, and wipes you clean so very gently. 

“Go take a look. I’m going to cover it up.” 

It’s beautiful. Stunning, even. You let your shirt gape closed and cover the pasties, revealing a broad glimpse of the sternum tattoo, and it is the sexiest you have ever felt. It almost makes your eyes burn anew.

“I love it,” you choke out. “Thank you.”

“Can I take a picture of it?” he asks. “For Instagram.” 

“Sure!” It will feel a little like being famous, you think, judging by how much notice each of the photos on his Instagram garners. He crouches down on the floor to be at the perfect height, reaches out and gently adjusts your shirt. Parts of the tattoo are covered—the very far edges—but you can’t deny how sexy it is. Maybe he feels the same way. 

After he takes the photo, he posts it and asks for your handle to tag you in it. Then he says: “Let me cover it up. Keep it covered overnight, but tomorrow let it breathe. Keep it clean. Don’t do anything stupid to it. Understand?” 

“I understand.”

“And if you have any questions—text me.” 

-

You get home to find that Ghost’s personal account has requested to follow you. Thrumming with nerves and excitement, you accept the request and send one of your own, spending the night scrolling through his Instagram (so, so carefully to avoid any incidental ‘likes’). Plenty of the photos are of his artwork, still. But there are ones of his dog: a German Shepherd that is thankfully much more photogenic than her surly owner. There are three or four photos featuring Ghost himself, and only one has his full face in the picture. You find yourself staring at his fixated expression for longer than is respectable. 

-

Three days later when you find yourself panicking, you don’t text him like he asked you to. You call. 

Your skin is peeling off. Peeling. Off. The sight of it makes your stomach roll. The entire tattoo is hot to the touch, and the skin around it feels warm as well. Flushed. Is it supposed to hurt this much? 

The internet doesn’t help. The peeling is normal, sure. But everything else is suggesting that your tattoo could be infected. What sort of ink did Ghost use? Was it reputable? What if the infection reaches your bloodstream? You were too young to die! Your anxiety spirals like a plane with one wing, trailing smoke as it soars straight down, determined to take you with it.   

With shaking hands, you don’t even think about texting Ghost. You go straight to calling him, tapping his number in your phone and pressing it to your ear, listening to the ring. 

He’s going to send you to voicemail, just like he does to everyone else—except he doesn’t. All the sudden there is glorious feedback from the other end: a cacophony of voices and laughter, clearly some sort of gathering. 

“Yes?” Ghost says into the phone, as if that’s a decent hello. 

“There’s something wrong with my tattoo!” you cry. 

“Wait—get out of my goddamn way.” There is rustling, and then the noise decreases substantially. You can almost see him standing outside whatever bar his friends have brought him to, mask down around his chin, hand over his other ear as he strains to listen to you. “Say it again. Now I can fucking hear you.”

“There’s. Something. Wrong,” you say through your teeth. “With my tattoo!”

“Well? What is it?”

“It’s falling off, for one!”

He snorts. “That’s normal. That's why you called?” 

“It’s all swollen and hot. And it hurts.” 

Now that shuts him up. He sighs a little, switches the phone from one ear to the other. “Hurts how bad?”

“Worse than getting it.” 

“Fuck me. Alright. Meet me at the shop in…twenty?” 

“Twenty minutes from now?” 

“From when else?” He hangs up. Man doesn’t know the meaning of the word goodbye. 

-

The night is cool. You don’t bother with a bra, not when it irritates your tattoo so much. Pulling your jacket closed more tightly around yourself, you walk from your parking spot along the street to the tattoo shop. 

Ghost stands outside at the curb. His figure is unmistakable. He is smoking, mask down, the lit end of his cigarette a burning ember that flares bright in the darkness. When he sees you coming, he crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and opens the door to the shop, which is still and dark. He flicks on a light switch as he goes, casting the place in a warm glow. 

He’s dressed in his usual dark jeans and an obscenely tight t-shirt, his sleeve of tattoos on display. He leaves the mask down. His eyes are on your tits—or resting where your tattoo is beneath your clothes. 

“Well. Sit. Show me.”

You sit in one of the armchairs, your shoulders rising in defensiveness. “What, just flash you?”

“Nothing I’ve never seen before.” 

Gritting your teeth, you begin unbuttoning your shirt until it gapes open. You cup your breasts with your hands, maintaining your modesty while putting the tattoo on full display. He narrows his eyes, leaning down. His fingers reach out, but then he thinks twice and washes his hands. 

“I was smoking,” he says when you roll your eyes in exasperation. 

“You’re worried about getting the chemicals on my skin but not in your lungs?”

“Fuck my lungs,” he mutters. His fingers hover over your tattoo. “Can I?”

You nod. His fingers are cool when they gently prod and ghost along the edges of the tattoo, feeling for the signature warmth of an infection. “Any fever?” he asks. 

“Not that I’ve noticed.” 

“You feel warm, but I’ve felt warmer. I don’t think it’s infected. Have you tried icing it?”

“No,” you admit. 

“Ice will help. Just use something clean, for fuck’s sake.” As he speaks, his breath fans across your chest, making you shiver. He sees this, his eyes darkening. “When you called, I thought it was for me.”

“It was for you,” you say, brow furrowing. “Who else?”

He snorts, lips quirking. It tugs on the scar across his lips. “Forget it.” 

“Forget what?” 

“Talking about it goes against forgetting it.”

You groan, tossing up your hands. “You’re impossible.” 

He reaches out and jerks your shirt closed, hastily doing up a button. Your face burns as you do up the rest of the buttons—you end up having to backtrack and redo them because he was off by one. 

“Thank you for meeting me. I’m sorry it was for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he says. “And I wasn’t doing much.”

“You were with friends,” you insist.

His eyes narrow. “Who told you that?” 

“I saw it on your Instagram tonight.” 

“Nosey.” 

“I could buy you a drink sometime,” you offer after a lengthy pause, your heart pounding loud enough to fill the silence between you. Are you really doing this? Are you really asking him out?  “Make up for the ones I lost you tonight.” 

“Maybe.”

God, it’s like he’s not getting it. Maybe you need to be bolder. Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it? Your hands are shaking when they fall back to the buttons on your shirt. 

“Would you take one more look at my tattoo? Just to be…positive?”

He sighs and makes an impatient hand gesture. Your fingers fumble through the buttons again. You don’t cover yourself with your hands this time; just keep the halves of your shirt over your nipples. He dutifully exams the tattoo again, prodding gently, laying the flat of his fingers against it to feel the warmth it lets off. 

“Maybe you should look closer.” 

His eyes flicker up to yours. “Closer.”

Your mouth is dry. “Yeah.”

“Can’t get much closer than I am.” 

“You could—if you wanted to.” 

“If I—“ it hits him then. You can see it in the fractional widening of his eyes, the way his mouth parts softly in blatant surprise before he shuts it, dark eyes returning to your sternum. He says: “Closer.”

“Mhm.”

The back of his hand brushes against your breast, causing your breath to hitch. His thumb traces softly along the outline of the tattoo, following the path just beneath your shirt, nudging the fabric aside slowly, so slowly, until your breast is bare, nipple puckered and aching. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. His eyes flicker to yours as if to see if you really want this—and whatever he sees must reassure him, because then he is sweeping his fingertips along the bottom curve of your breast and taking it into his hand, his palm rasping gently over your nipple. All the breath rushes out of you. Your thighs clench together. Already you’re aching—have been since you saw his mouth around that cigarette on the street—but he moves with determined caution. His thumb finds your nipple and teases it, pulling a desperate little sound from the back of your throat. 

“Pretty little tits,” he says, his voice a warm, smoky rumble that goes straight to your core. He captures your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching softly. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand reaching out to brace yourself against his shoulder. He is solid and firm beneath your touch, unmoving and unmalleable. Your breasts have always been sensitive, but it feels like every touch is directly related to the feelings in your cunt. You find your back arching, hips searching for friction against the seat of the chair. 

“Be still,” he says firmly. Another pitiful sound slips past your throat. “Let me play with you.” 

“Please,” you gasp. “Play with me—even if that’s all you want—just don’t stop, please.” 

His mouth parts as he listens to you, his eyes so, so dark. The pupils have nearly swallowed his irises whole, until you can see yourself bare from the waist up in the reflection. He shakes his head a little. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I—“ your words are cut off with a gasp as he hauls you out of the chair by your wrist and onto his lap. He’s so thick thighed that it stretches you obscenely to have him between your legs. His hands tear the button-up off your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the floor, leaving you half naked. Dipping his head, he presses a heated kiss to the place on your sternum where he had rested his hand during the tattoo—and then trails wet kisses towards your left breast, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking with a decided softness. 

You let out an unflattering, choked groan, resting your weight heavily against him until you can feel the prominent bulge in his tight jeans. His hands find your ass and grip you tightly, working you back and forth, rubbing that bulge against your clothed sex. 

“Driving me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, opening his mouth to drag the sharp line of his teeth against the curve of one breast before switching to the other and flicking his tongue over your nipple. 

You gape at his admission. Had you been? He’d been so closed off and cool…though now that you thought back, maybe that was just his way of hiding it. Suddenly he grips the back of your neck, where your hairline ends, and pulls you to his mouth. He tastes faintly of smoke, even fainter of the drinks he had had earlier in the night, but it is an intoxicating mixture. Your tongues find a rhythm as your hips do the same, both of you fucking in every sense of the word except the literal kind. 

He takes one of your thighs and wedges it between his own, until you’re no longer grinding against his cock but instead his denim-clad thigh. “You the kind of girl who can cum like this? Just from this?” 

“Uh-huh,” you promise, head bobbing. 

He buries his face in your neck. “Good. I won’t last when I’ve got my cock in you. I’d like you to cum at least once before then.”

“Oh god,” you groan, gripping his shoulders fiercely as you begin a halting, stilted rhythm against his thigh. The denim is rough against your leggings. He feels all around you: his scent, his taste, his touch. When his hands find your hips to help you work yourself against him more smoothly, a sigh of gratitude fans from your lips. 

“What else do you need?” he asks. 

“My—touch me—“ He abandons your hips once you find a suitable rhythm. He finds your nipples again, teasing them with clever fingers. The stimulation has your peak approaching faster, building like a storm in your lower belly. 

Ghost leans back to look at you, eyes trailing over you from head to toe: your face burning with warmth, your breasts with peaked little nipples, your leggings nearly soaked through at the crotch with how wet you are. He shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

“Fucking perfect.” You bury your face in his neck, feeling a warmth inside your chest. He grips you by the neck again and tugs you back. “Look at me. Look at me.” 

You look at him for as long as you can, but when the band in your belly finally snaps, your eyes roll up and slip shut, your mouth drops open in a choked gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you shudder and shake in the throes of your pleasure. 

He leans down to kiss you through it, tongue teasing at your slack mouth. 

When he stands, he takes you with him, hauling you up until you wrap your shaking legs around his waist. It’s probably a good thing too. You aren’t sure you could walk otherwise. He carries you the few steps to the couch and lays you down, curling his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. You nod. He strips them off you, along with your flats, and your panties until you are naked as the day you were born.

Your thighs clamp together shyly. He lets them, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt off. Something catches your eye in the streetlights streaming in through the window: Ghost has one of his nipples pierced, a neat little barbell through the sensitive flesh. 

Fingers enter your vision—your own—reaching out on instinct. You hesitate, unsure if he is receptive, and a little afraid to hurt him. He’s so bloody tall, too…but he takes care of that himself by kneeling down by your side, his eyes cautious. Closer, you can see the scars: silvery in the moonlight, crisscrossing over his torso. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask, softly stroking your fingers beneath the pale pink skin of his areola. 

“No,” he says. You can feel the timber of his warm voice vibrating through his chest, up your fingers, straight to your pussy. “You can play with it.”

You shyly run your thumb over it the way he had yours. He sighs, breath fanning across your arm. His eyes go heavy-lidded, tongue flashing as he wets his lips. After a moment, you grow insecure and move your hands away from his nipple down to a scar that crosses his sternum. He lets you, very patient, like a dangerous creature withholding its bite. 

“You’re so—“ the words are whispered dreamily before you have any idea how you plan to finish the sentence. Flushing with embarrassed heat under his wary stare, you finish: “—hot.” 

He physically turns away, expression inscrutable. You can’t help but feel like you have said the wrong thing. He puts a hand on your belly, stroking the softness. “You broken, or can you take more?” 

“I want more.”

“Want my cock?” 

You nod, feeling like a bobble head. 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“I want your cock.”

His hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling it. Your eyes track the movement with hungry nerves. His hands put butterflies in your belly: thick palms with long, slender fingers, veins criss-crossing along the backs. An artist’s hands. He works his belt free with nimble grace and shucks down his jeans and underwear in one smooth movement, revealing his cock to your gaze and the light from the street lamps. 

He is huge here to match. Downright intimidating in length and girth, uncut with a nice curve toward his belly. He grips himself and gives a series of smooth strokes, the muscles in his abdomen flexing into sharp relief. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter. 

“No gods here,” he says, kneeling up on the couch. His hands part your thighs, and for a long time he just looks at you, that sensitive, swollen place between your legs. He stares so long that you nearly cover your face, embarrassed by whatever he is thinking. Then he touches you, and when he does, he touches you with surprising reverence. He touches you like you are art. 

“Can’t believe you let me ink you,” he mutters, stroking your vulva with his warm palm. His eyes are on the sternum piece now. “Practically let me carve my name into your skin. Anybody around here who sees it will know who did it. They’ll know who touched you.” 

“Good,” you breathe. 

His sigh is shaky. You’re learning his reactions, his very breaths. That shaky sigh means he’s pleased with you. You’ve said something right. 

He reaches down to his jeans on the floor and works a hand into his pocket, pulling free a condom. He hands it to you—for inspection, you realize, though you’ve had so few one night stands (try zero) that you’ve never had the need to inspect a condom before. The package is intact at least. There appears to be an expiration date which you squint at. All looks well. You hand it back to him and he tears it open, rolling it down his considerable length. 

Then he goes back to touching you. One hand braces himself against the back of the sofa so he can lean down to kiss you, tasting your mouth deeply. The other hand finds your entrance, circling it with a finger before slipping inside you all the way to the last knuckle. You are wet enough and relaxed enough that he slips in easily. 

“Relax…there you go. Let me in,” he says under his breath, working a second finger in beside the first. It is a bit of a stretch—he’s thick everywhere goddamn it—but it’s a good stretch, a much needed one. The third finger has you stiffening, whining at the pinch of pain. He slows his fingers and lets his thumb find your clit, muting the pain with little jolts of pleasure. 

“Ghost,” you groan, toes curling against the leather of the couch.

“I think you can take it,” he says, thumb so soft and insistent against that aching pearl of nerves. “But what do you think?” 

“Your cock—want it—please—“

“Alright,” he laughs, pulling his fingers free and wiping the wetness on his cock. “No need to beg.” 

He notches his cock against your entrance and slips inside you. Both of you inhale together, like on cue. Just the first few inches have you feeling full beyond your comfort zone, but he seems to understand in his silent, all-knowing way. He stills, working that free hand between you both to play with your clit until you’re clenching around him, body trying to pull him deeper. He slips further in and then reaches the end of what your body can take. You feel fucking stuffed, your hands shaking where you have gripped his naked shoulders, nails digging into his skin. 

His own breathing is ragged, pecs brushing your nipples with every inhale. The little bursts of pleasure help, until you find that your hips have grown restless, working back and forth as much as his substantial weight will allow when you’re pinned beneath it. 

“Stay still,” he mutters into the juncture of your neck. “Stay still or I’ll cum and this is all over.”

“Can’t,” you gasp, his revelation electrifying you. “Have to move, ‘m so full—“

“Fucking hell,” he groans. He pulls out, leaving you feeling gaped. “Roll onto your side.” 

He gives you instruction but isn’t shy about reaching out and physically arranging you until you are both spooning, your back to his chest. This time when he enters you, it is more shallow, and easier for him to reach around and play with your clit. 

You arch your back, seeking more of him, pressing your breast into his free palm. He plucks at the nipple, teeth nibbling at your throat. 

“Want you to cum again,” he says, stilling your movements so that you can’t fuck your self back against him. “Give me one more. Then it’s my turn.”

“Ghost—I can’t—“ you’ve never cum twice before. Not even with your favorite toys have you been able to scrounge together more than one illustrious orgasm. This knowledge and your expectation of his disappointment has you stiffening in his arms. 

“If you can’t, then don’t,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He keeps his fingers soft and insistent against you, and only after a few lengthy moments does he feel confident enough to work his hips against you too. He pulls out too far and his length drags across your labia, the head brushing where his fingers play with your clit. 

You give a sighing little moan. His head cocks; you aren’t the only one listening to sighs. Now when he gives those lazy, lackadaisical thrusts, his entire length just strokes the outside of your sex. 

“Oh fuck,” you whine, feeling that band in your belly begin pulling tight again. 

He hums behind you, a smug sound. 

“Not sure I want you to cum now,” he says. “Hold it. I’m thinking it over.” 

“Ghost!”

He laughs, honest to God laughs at you. Tears prick your eyes from the sheer need (and a bit from embarrassment) but his hips never cease nor slow their tireless thrusts against you, not even when you grow close enough to beg, close enough to plead. 

He loops his arm around your waist and pins you against him when you cum to keep you from rolling right off the couch, your body wracked with shivers and spasms. The warmth of your release washes over you from head to toe, and you are still basking in it when his cock finds your entrance again and enters you. 

The position keeps the penetration blissfully shallow (otherwise he might give your cervix a painful beating), but he still reaches new lengths inside you, filling spaces you didn’t know were empty. The shop is eerily quiet except for the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and the frequent breathy sounds his cock punches out of your lungs. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lets out a series of sounds that are toe-curling: deep groans and raspy curses, whispered praise and hisses through his teeth. His hand grips your hip tightly, leaving shadows the shape of his fingerprints on your skin as he fucks you. 

Sooner than you’d like—but he’d warned you, hadn’t he?—his thrusts grow sloppy, the sounds messy thanks to your wetness as he finds his release and moans it into the skin of your throat. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. And again: “Fuck, fuck. You broken?” 

“Yes.” 

He snorts. Then it turns into that laughter, warm and rumbling against your back. You smile where he can’t see. 

-

“Sorry about this,” he says as he ties the condom off and throws it away, naked as the day he was born. You’re still naked too, though much more shy, legs crossed demurely and arms wrapped around yourself. 

“Regretting it already?” 

“Yes,” he says. Then, when he sees the stricken look on your face, he adds: “Should have at least taken you to dinner first.” 

“Dinner?”

“You owe me drinks. I owe you dinner.” He finds his boxers in the darkness and slips back into them. Then, because the expression on your face still hasn’t relaxed, he says: “I don’t regret the sex. Do you?”

You shake your head. 

He scoffs a little. 

“I mean it,” you insist. You touch your tattoo. “I wanted it…the day you did—this.” 

He raises both brows at you, silently calling your bluff.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” you admitted sheepishly. 

“I jerked off in the back just from seeing half your tits,” he admits, slipping into his jeans now too. His mouth curls a little at the corner when he sees the way you gape at this news. “I was interested.” 

You laugh; you can’t help it. “Dinner, then? Or drinks?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “Alright. Get dressed.”