#christmas tree still empty

[bealittlesblog]

7 days till Santa arrives 🥺🥺🥺

[weeping-vintage-toes]

Walked into my room for the first time in a week and started crying. I don't really like my house. :(

[carlyraejepsans]

oh this is so exciting it's just like being a kid on St Lucy's eve again

[hyukascampfire]

GIFT WRAPPING ﹒ ､､ c.sb

it’s a shame that soobin has to work on christmas eve, but coming home to a fire-toasted home and his little family is enough to make up for it. ˒´-

꣑ ࣪˒ 〈 🌰 〉 ･ 3.4k

ρairings ˒ husband!soobin x reader

ɠ ; smut ˒ fluff

ωarnings ˒ breeding kink, soobin rlly wants to get reader pregnant, lactation kink, general smut, traditional roles, tradwife reader, whiny soobin, breast fondling, mentions of balls cause i know how some people feel abt that, they’re both whiny for each other, soobin’s big, and lmk if i missed anything!

✎୭ ashlynn's note this one’s at the request of my lovely @biteyoubiteme! i love you baby, and could not thank u more for giving me this gift. this was the best gift i could’ve gotten for christmas >.<‘ but yes, since we are always giggling over dad!txt, this one i dedicate to u!!!

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

The best thing you’ve heard today is the jingling of keys at the front door.  

Soobin comes through the door with heavy, tired eyes. When the kids come tumbling down the hallway for him, they soften into something warm. Lifting one to pepper kisses over her face, and listening to the other tattle about something that’d happened earlier, his mouth tugs into a gentle smile. 

Dusting powdered sugar off your hands, you wait your turn. The scene falls over you like a dryer-warmed blanket. All you three had done today was wait for him to come home. When finally it’s you that he turns to, your heart flickers. 

The Christmas tree is up and in a stand, but it’s bare. You didn’t want to decorate it without him, as much as he told you he wouldn’t mind if you and the kids did. It’s not every Christmas eve that he works, but he’d been scheduled this year. You’d spent the whole day rolling out dough and slipping the kids some, even though you knew the sugar would wind them up, just to make the house feel less empty. 

And, wind them up it did. You took them outside, bundled up in thick cashmeres and puffy jackets, at one point, hoping they might work some of it out in the fluffy snow that’d fallen fresh on yesterday. It hadn’t worked, but watching them with pink cheeks and giggling was worth the while. Then, the three of you drug snow-wetted feet indoors to defrost, tugging off layers to accept the tingle of warm air against your numb skin. 

You wish he was there, too, though. 

Soobin reaches up to pull his tie loose from his neck as he comes to give you your greetings. He just manages to get it loose before taking your lips against his. 

With his hands steadying you by the hips and the counter at your back, you sigh out a soft breath. Your lips speak of your longing—the both of you. Slow and intimate tugging of lips and soothing, your lashes dust against your cheeks. He tastes like some peppermint candy he’d probably picked up on the way out of the office. Fingers still a bit cold from outside, he brings one hand up and cups your cheek, brushing a thumb up and down the flushed skin there.  

He smiles against your mouth and parts from you only to sprinkle sugary kisses over your face. They fall everywhere: a few over your cheeks, one just beside your mouth, and the last to your forehead. He cups your cheeks through each. When he pulls back and you think he’s done, he steals a quick peck for good measure. His hot-chocolate eyes catch yours once he’s done for real, nose crinkling. 

“Hi, baby,” he says. Your heart sings listening to his smooth timbre. It resonates through you and brushes down every last frayed nerve. “How did home treat you?” 

You reach behind yourself to tug your apron off. It’s a mess of flour and stray buttercream icing. “It’s Christmas eve,” you tell him. That’s answer enough. “How was work? Did you have a good day?” you say, smoothing your hands over the knitted sweater you’d swiped from his drawer. “We missed you.” 

His chest is like home against your back as he wraps you up in his frame. “Doesn’t matter; I’m home now. It’s a good day.” He murmurs his words into your hair. “Mmm. You smell good. Are all these cookies for me?” 

“You know who they’re for,” you say. The smile on your mouth is light and fluffy, like whipped cream. Sweet. You’d waited all day for this—for him. 

His arms encompass you, wrapped across your front like ribbons over a present. You can hear the lazy smile in his words.  “Were you baking all day waiting for me, beautiful?” 

With the weight and warmth of him against you, you let your head fall back on his chest. You hum. “I missed you so bad,” you say. 

“I know,” he says. Pressing a toasty kiss right into your neck where it’s bared to him, he adds, “I missed you too. Wish I was able to spend the whole day with you guys, not paperwork. But, it’s okay. I had my pretty wife here waiting for me.” Toward the tail-end, he hangs sweet suggestion over his words. 

Your cheeks go pink. Maybe you’ve got the heater up too high. It’s not usually this hard waiting for him to get home from work. You’ll usually be busy with your own stuff, so that time passes you by fast enough. And then, he’ll come home all tired, and you’ll finally get the kids to sleep and he’ll make slow, sweet love to you, and then the whole household goes quiet as you all knock out. But today... you found yourself missing him more. On Christmas eve, you’re all supposed to be together; spending the day sprawled over the couch with intertwined limbs and running through Christmas classics with bellies full of hot chocolate and candy canes.  

But, he’s here now. That’s all you can ask for. A full, content home. 

“The kids want to do the tree,” you say, curling your fingers over the warm skin of his forearm where he’s bunched the cuffs of his button-up to his elbows. “They waited very patiently all day.” You drag the word all out, because really... it’d felt just as long to you. Usually, you’d have had your tree up and laced with twinkling lights and ornaments two weeks ago, but you really wanted to wait until you could do it all together. 

“Well,” he says, leaving you with one last nip to the column of your neck before dragging himself off you. You miss the security of his arms almost pathetically quick. “Let’s get it decorated, then. Wouldn’t want to make you guys wait any longer.” 

Soobin departs to find the tubs of Christmas stuff, and you go to pull the kids from their playing. 

You can hardly help the excited little smile that finds its way to your mouth as you do. 

❅

The lights on the tree wink at you, a cozy warm white like ice crystals among green pine needles. Its branches dip under the weight of heavier bulbs. Starry silver and Santa red, and even those assorted ornaments that you’d let the kids pick out, shimmer in the low light. It’s serene and familiar, like the Christmases that you can only relive through orange, flickering memories of better times. Your chest aches in the good way, looking at it. 

All of you had put your touch to it, but mostly, you’d sat back and watched them all work, committing it to memory so that it might never go spotty—so that you can remember it years down the road, and use it like a dose of soothing balm when you no longer have this.

Now, you and Soobin just sit and admire it. In true Christmas fashion, you two had to wrangle the kids to bed. You raised your brows at them and warned them with the same old things you’d heard on Christmas night: Santa doesn’t stop by the houses of kids who don’t sleep, and he especially doesn’t stop for kids that don’t listen to their parents. That got them, warm in their jammies, dragging their feet to bed. Reluctantly, yes. But it did the job, and now it’s just you two.  

Your stomach does an excited flip as, in between his mindless smoothing over your skin, Soobin toys with the waistband of your plaid pajamas. Lifting your head from his chest, you look up at him. 

“Baby,” he says, taking that hand up and under your shirt. Running the warm, calloused tips of his fingers up the plane of your belly and then just under your breast, he says, “I missed you...” 

Sweet and slow, a familiar hunger kindles between your thighs just at the way he says it. You know when your doting husband needs you. Your heart tugs toward him—you need him just the same. Surrounded by the home you’ve made together, made lovely by the scent of Christmas, and in his safe arms, all you want is him. 

You tug yourself up from him and the cushions, sliding yourself over his lap so that your two thighs part around his waist and your heat meets his bulge. He’s hardened there already, strained against the fabric and hard against your clothed cunt even through the layers. Sucking in a breath, he supports the small of your back with two sturdy arms. 

“Missed you too, Binnie,” you mumble into his neck. You’d said it a few times already, but you think it still isn’t enough to convey what you feel. His hands come down to cup your ass, digging divots into it and pressing you into soft grinds down onto him a few times. Your skin prickles wherever he goes. 

When his hands find their way back to the elastic band of your bottoms, you lift your hips and let him tug them off you. It’s an awkward position, and you have to lend him a little help with those and your panties with a snort. He presses his forehead into your shoulder, laughing too. 

At a brush of your bare cunt against his cock as he frees it, stood proud between the space of you and against your belly, your smile gives way to soft gasp. The tip of him weeps with pearly beads from the slit. He takes it into his hand taps it against your bud a few times, his free hand at your back, and relishes in the twitching of your hips above him.  

With the warmth of his cock lined up with you, he pushes some of your hair out of your face and says, “Hate having to wait all day to see my pretty girl...” His chocolate eyes dart up and down between the sight of you just about to join bodies and your face. 

Sinking down on him, letting yourself feel every inch of him anew, you hum agreement. You nestle him all the way down until the tip of him brushes just before the end of your depth, and then you give your hips a few rolls to let your insides adjust to his cock. Soobin’s big—no matter how many times you take him, it’s still a stretch. He doesn’t mind the wait; he sits patiently for you to adjust each time, running his hands up and down your hips just to touch you. 

You dig your knees into the cushions and lift yourself off his cock. You let him slip all the way up until the flared tip of him threatens to pop out, letting the moment linger there for a moment before dropping back down on him. His shoulders take the blunt of your weight as you fuck yourself up and down him. “I...wish you didn’t have to work that stupid job...” Your voice permeates the air, above the crackle of the fireplace and the soft smacks of your skin against his.  

His fingers dig into the soft curve of your waist where your shirt bunches. Each time you push yourself up, he helps, the corded muscles of his forearms twisting. It’s an intimate dance that the two of you have practiced and mastered, knowing when to give and to take without even the need for words. “I know,” he says, his voice taut. “But... I’m here now, baby. I’m here now. I’ll give you anything you want.” 

Your chest feels full at that. You know he means it; he works so hard for you all. The couch cushions are abrasive against your knees, and your thighs burn with a terrible ache, but all that matters in this moment is how he sucks his lips into his mouth and lets his head fall back into the cushion at his back. He rocks his hips up to try and meet you. Each time you bring yourself down on him in a way that has his brow twitching or eyes screwing shut, you aim to find it again—in all of it, you hope he feels you thanking him. 

Lifting his head, he tugs your shirt up to watch your tits bounce along with you. Taking his palm over one, he says, “Fuck—miss when these were all full of milk. All heavy for me...” His thumb rolls a pert nipple. Shuddering around a chill, your chest jumps against his hand.  

Rather than controlled drags up and down his cock, you devolve into frantic rutting hips and whines. Each roll—back, forth, and in messy circles—nudges his twitching cock right up against that weak spot. Flame rolls in your belly and your thighs.  

When you’d been pregnant, your tits had swollen up to produce milk, and they’d never gone back down. Maybe a bit, but never back to what they’d been before pregnancy. Soobin loved it. Not that he hadn’t been content with your breasts before, but you think it was more that he was fascinated that it was him who did that to you. That he had filled you with his cum, and got you round and pregnant. When you’d first started leaking, it wasn’t even you who’d realized. You had been stood in the kitchen with a flimsy grey shirt tugged over your body. When you looked up to see what your husband was up to, his eyes were all glazed over and heavy on your chest, where your shirt had gone dark and wet around your nipples. Before you could hurry off with reddened cheeks to change, he’d pinned you against the counter by the hips to suckle the mess up himself. 

“Baby,” he says, voice coming from his throat a hoarse plead, “Beautiful, please, can you give me something for Christmas? Just one thing?” 

Hair on your neck damp, you nod frantically. Around his waist, your thighs twitch with exertion and each blazing brush of his cockhead against your gummy walls. You’d give him anything; you’d already grown two children for him. 

“You—gonna let me put another in you? Can I please get you all pregnant again?” he grits out, his hair falling out from its styling and over his rose-dusted cheeks. He looks at you heavy-lidded.  

Your cunt squeezes him, an answer before you can even form the words. It does a number on you, the way he says it. Because really, you do think that to Soobin, the greatest gift you could give him is to carry his children and to just continue to love him. It’s no different for you; you want nothing more. “Yes, please... I’ll give you as many as...you want, please, just...” 

The entirety of your pleading is not even out of your mouth before he’s pressing a strong arm across your back and laying you under him. The cushions accept your back lovingly. 

Soobin takes a moment to situate you two. He drags you down by the hips, closer to him, tugs your shirt fully off to let it flutter to the floor elsewhere, tugging his own off in the same fashion, and he pushes your mess of hair out of your face so that he can better see you. And then, melding the bare, warmed skin of your soft chest to his own hard one, he rolls his cock up into you. 

It’s slow and tender, like promises of love baked into each grind. He makes love to you in the form of open-mouthed kisses and puffs of breath fanning out over your skin when a deeper thrust has both of you shaken-limbed. In your ears, hot, he whispers filthy nothings. 

“Gonna knock my pretty girl up again,” he pants. “Want—you to go around wearing me, big and round. My wife. You look so pretty pregnant... Fuck..” The skin of his chest brushes up against your hardened nipple each time he fucks himself up to you, his hands everywhere as he can’t find where he wants to hold you most. Eventually, he settles on linking his fingers with yours above your head with one hand, and the other splayed over your belly. Right where your belly might be swollen, were you pregnant once more. “Right here... can’t wait—h-oh, shit. Do you want that, baby? Want to give me another?” 

Chest and belly tight, you can only manage a squeak and a nod. Through bleary eyes, you take in his face. The soft and masculine angles of his cheeks and jaw, his sweet brown eyes, his pinched brows... and all you feel is safe. Safe in his arms, safe in his love. His body cages you against the cushion, slung over you and delivering languid strokes, but you don’t feel trapped. Not one bit. In his arms, you feel untouchable. Secure beyond a doubt. 

Nowhere else, with nobody else, would you rather build a family. 

“Soobin, please,” you whine, welcome tears prickling at the corners of your eyes like snowmelt. “Want it so bad... I want it so bad....” Wrapping your legs around his waist, digging your heels into his lower spine, you urge him deeper.  

“Okay,” he says. The smacking of your skin punctures the serene air as he picks up the pace. He lets his head fall into your shoulder, stunted breaths falling out as his belly tenses. “Okay, love. Gonna fuck you full of my cum, n’ keep it in there so I know it takes... shit, gonna give you my cum now, okay?” 

Face screwed up, you try and roll yourself to meet him, to chase the tightness in your own belly, but he’s got you. With a few more hot stripes of his tongue over your tits and over your neck, and a few frantic nudges right into that spot he’s so familiar with, you go still and then break into full-body shakes. You press your mouth into his shoulder to obscure the sharp, sweet cry that comes rushing out along with your orgasm, worried about waking your sleeping kids. Your thighs twitch and shudder around him, some deep and innate part of your brain taking over through the fog to make sure he cums well and right into you. Fingers and toes curling and splaying through it, you allow yourself to fully feel the sweetness his cock gifts you with.  

You don’t doubt that he’ll get you pregnant, cumming in you. Soobin’s seed is heavy and potent. He could knock you up whenever he pleased; the last two times he’d done it, you were surprised how easily it took. Your insides twist up around him harder. 

“Fuck,” he half growls, half whines. “Fuck, fuck... Love you, baby... Love you so much...” 

He holds you to the couch, fucking you into it as his heavy balls smack against your bottom. And then, spewing murmured expletives and taking your face into a big hand of his to press frantic kisses to your cheek, his hips stutter. 

As promised, he spills his cum right into you, right where he knows it’ll reach your womb and give you just what you want. It’s hot and thick against your gummy walls. He holds you through it, taking your hips in kneading hands to hold you still. When you think he’s done rolling his hips up into you to shoot more ribbons, he grinds harder.  

Soobin slumps over you, finally stilling. He does not pull out, nor unplug you, though. He wants to make sure his cum stays right where he wants it. His heart thunders a lovely song against your chest, and yours his. He runs long fingers through your hair mindlessly, the both of you basking in the slow fire as it burns through your veins and leaves you lazy. 

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he mumbles. 

Heart fuller, you hold him closer. “We have so much wrapping to do...” you mumble, trying to blink away your content sleepiness.  

He pushes himself off you just to say, “Don’t remind me.” His weight cradles you once more, running appreciative fingertips over your thighs as he says, “Just a little more.” 

Who are you to deny him that? You cherish the lines of his face, all soft in the yellowish glow of the tree’s light. Here, in his arms, you let yourself forget about that and anything else but the simple love buzzing in the air. 

“Just a little more,” you agree.  

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

✎୭ ashlynn's note ZOOWEE MAMA!! soobin come over here, let’s recreate this for christmas! pls!

﹙📋﹚ @hmusunoo , @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @joycelyjjj , @sunoolver , @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @apeachty , @fandomtrashsblog , @bewitchless , @yezzns2 , @hhoneyhan , @ethystclove , @darkdayelixer , @calumcxke , @biteyoubiteme , @bamgeutsz , @soobabby , @little-shiny-starr , @bambammtori , @bunniebun-posted , @heeambi , @bunnisoobin , @hwanghyunjinismybae , @bakugosbottombitch , if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[writerpeach]

The Naughty List

IVE Jang Wonyoung x An Yujin x m!reader

8500 words

Part 7 of IVED Vanilla Latte

The cafeteria is oddly barren at lunchtime. Christmas lights are everywhere, and all the clichés apply—decorated trees, stockings hung along the wall, tinsel wrapped around the columns. Holiday music plays over the speakers, but it's easy enough to tune out when you have the company of your roommates.

Wonyoung finishes up her pastry, taking one more sip of coffee as she wipes the corners of her lips with a napkin. Nearly satisfied, she pops open a compact mirror to check her face, and a faint touch-up of lip gloss finishes it off, lips plump and pink once she closes the little case and drops it in her purse. 

"All set."

Yujin laughs in amusement, wondering how one person can spend so much effort on a quick touch-up, as if she'll simply melt if her appearance is nothing less than immaculate. It's not like Yujin doesn't have her own fastidious routine, especially with her makeup, but nobody takes it to such extreme measures like the tall beauty with pouty lips right across the table.

Wonyoung runs fingers through her hair while she stands up from the table to stretch, grabbing her purse and tightening the scarf wrapped around her slender neck. You follow their lead as they bundle up and toss their empty containers into the trash, Yujin still clutching the remainder of her drink, while Wonyoung drops an absurd amount of cash into the tip jar before the three of you make your exit. 

Winter never seems to let up—snow covers the ground everywhere, leaving a crunch under your boot with every step. Not that it’s an issue when you have these two keeping you plenty warm. 

Yujin is on your left, Wonyoung on your right, both with their arms hooked around yours, clinging possessively as they pull you closer, leaving your attention constantly torn between the two. But you couldn’t be happier, sandwiched in the middle—Yujin, with her thigh-high boots and that ridiculously short skirt, as if pants are a foreign concept; and Wonyoung, in her leather skirt and leggings combo that makes her look absolutely delectable.

It draws plenty of stares, of course, because why wouldn't it as you walk through campus, arm in arm, attracting attention in whatever direction the three of you pass. But it’s no concern really. 

"So, daddy—" Wonyoung cuts the silence and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, leaning in closer while also holding on a bit tighter. "Finals are done and Christmas is right around the corner. Any idea what you're gonna ask Santa for this year?"

It's cute hearing the innocence in her voice, and watching her eyes light up with curiosity. "Think I have everything I need right here. You two spoil me enough as it is."

Yujin giggles softly, fluttering her long lashes as she kisses your cheek. "Don’t think that’s possible. Still, I think we'll have the perfect gift waiting for you under the tree, daddy."

That could mean anything—which excites as much as it frightens you, but Yujin's devious smile gives little to no indication. Not even Wonyoung's telling expression gives much of an idea. But you're not left in your thoughts long, distracted when Yujin stops in her tracks, gathering up some snow with a bright look on her face and packing it into a little ball.

"W-wait," Wonyoung pauses momentarily, her whole body coming to an immediate halt, the realization sinking in when Yujin reveals the tiny snowball between her delicate fingertips. "Yujin, don't you dare—"

The throw isn't quite clean, only half connected as the snowball grazes Wonyoung's shoulder and falls short, yet Yujin's smile spreads, excited by the way it explodes. That's all the confirmation she needs to reach down and do it again.

"H-hey, no—d-don't even think—" Wonyoung's fumbling around while frantically trying to decide on how to react and whether to run, blocking herself behind you as a human shield. 

"Hiding behind daddy? That's not very fair, princess."

"Neither is throwing fucking snowballs! I haven't gotten snow on me in years, I don't like being cold!"

"What, scared it'll ruin your five thousand dollar shoes?" A second snowball hits before Wonyoung can respond, the white snow spreading all over her little leather skirt. 

You don't exactly have a say in any of this when Wonyoung takes you hostage, burying her face in your back while clinging to your waist, as if that offers protection against Yujin's clear intentions. Before you can get out any word of protest, Yujin lands a perfectly clean shot against the side of your face, laughing uncontrollably.

Wonyoung doesn't even give you a chance to defend yourself, climbing straight up on your back like her life depends on it, arms around your neck to cling tight. 

"Daddy, get her!" 

No chance to hesitate when you’re forced to carry Wonyoung’s weight without warning. And now you're really at a disadvantage with this girl on your back, hardly able to defend yourself when it comes to Yujin's next barrage of snowballs, taking each one directly in the face. Somehow, you manage to scoop up enough snow to throw a few yourself, one of them finally landing a hit when Yujin doubles back to take cover, giggling mischievously in triumph. 

That's when you lower Wonyoung down onto the ground, needing an even playing field so you can get your payback. She's not exactly happy as anticipated, pouting the second her feet touch the snowy ground. That pout doesn’t linger, however, left alone, defenseless against Yujin's assault. Rather quickly, it devolves to scrambling to the nearest cover behind one of the benches when she realizes there's no more safety net.

And then it's a warzone—snowballs gathered up and launched at Yujin without yield, while you try desperately to block the return fire. 

Yujin's much more athletic and quicker on her feet, dodging almost effortlessly, her long legs allowing her to find cover so easily. You've taken more than your share of snowballs, most to the face, meanwhile, Wonyoung isn't even trying, just cowering behind the bench and waiting for this storm to pass.

You abandon your current position for a better vantage point, and then there's this same thought clicking at the same moment when you fire a direct shot toward Yujin's tight ass as she passes between some trees. It explodes beautifully and catches her so off guard, and then you're locking eyes, in unison, with the same devilish intentions in mind, an unspoken alliance forming. And there's no better target in sight—

Yujin darts towards the direction of Wonyoung, and you gather up the biggest snowball you can manage before putting the plan into motion—an ambush, taking each side to corner her before she has time to realize the trap. It's perfect execution, both snowballs finding their mark in succession, one hitting Wonyoung square in the face from behind, the other from the front by Yujin.

Wonyoung looks betrayed as she just stands there with a look of disbelief, cheeks flushed red from the cold while you block off any retreat, ensuring there’s nowhere to run to avoid what's coming. 

And the only answer to this is, well, nothing, surprisingly—just Wonyoung standing in place, snowball after snowball raining down from each direction to that beautiful visage, enduring it while frozen like a statue, silent and unsure how to react to this sudden double-team.

So much for that touch-up earlier. 

"Daddy, you jerk! You can't—" Wonyoung cries out, with this cute little stomp as she shields her face with her arms. You can't stop laughing and neither can Yujin as the assault continues, with an endless supply of ammo at the ready.

But you know that look, the silent fury hidden behind her pouting facade, the way her gaze stays fixated. Wonyoung has never been one to handle defeat too well. Never been one to take anything lying down. Left with no other option but to launch herself at you, she tackles you into the soft snow as you fall flat, completely unprepared to have her entire weight collapse on you.

That fury ignites, Wonyoung grabbing handfuls of snow, not even bothering to form a ball as she throws it, pelting your face. She doesn't let up one bit, almost cackling while she keeps you pinned down with an unreal amount of strength for such a small frame, finding satisfaction from each handful thrown.

"I can't believe you both turned on me," Wonyoung says with a frown, gathering up a fresh handful of snow that you block in self-defense.

"Come on, princess," Yujin says in the distance, joining in now that the danger's passed, collapsing down next to the both of you in the snow. "There are no rules when it comes to snowball fights. And our bratty little princess is such an easy target."

Wonyoung can’t help but sulk as Yujin helps brush some of the snow from her hair—and just like that, it becomes an unfair team-up, the two of them pinning you down, completely outnumbered. But there's no more powder being tossed, only kisses landing on your cheek while you three share this respite in the snow.

"Princess looks good covered in snow, don't you think, daddy?"

Almost forgetting her previous frustration, Wonyoung sighs, kissing your nose as that pout remains. "I look good covered in a lot of things, especially white."

Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, and Yujin can only smile when Wonyoung leans over to lock lips, the pair falling back into an eager kiss that's all tongue and wandering hands.

"We should get daddy somewhere warm before he catches a cold," Yujin suggests between these wet kisses and cute giggles. Given how much snow you’re surrounded by, you can't disagree, although you're sure if either one decided to have their way with you right then and there, you'd hardly fight it. "No better time to use the hot tub, don't you think, princess?" 

Wonyoung pauses, stopping midway with her lips inches from Yujin. "Hot tub and daddy's cock, that sounds perfect." 

You’re more than ready to follow anywhere as they hoist you out of the snow, eager to get out of the cold and get warmed up. 

❄ ❄

Wonyoung is the first to drop into the warm, bubbling water, exchanging snow-covered clothes for a tiny red string bikini that leaves so little to the imagination. The hot tub feels heavenly in the cold when you lower in after, watching the way she leans back against the tub while pulling her hair free from a messy bun. Those dark locks cascade freely over her shoulders, head tilted back in relaxation as the water bubbles around her. 

"Mm, this feels amazing," Wonyoung murmurs, eyes fluttering as she submerges a bit deeper. You can’t disagree one bit, how this covered little patio gives a great view of campus while shielding from the cold that continues to fall, surrounded by hedges and a tall wooden fence—a secluded oasis of perfect privacy.

That's Yujin's cue—the sliding glass door opens when she arrives, not empty-handed either as she holds up a bottle of wine and three glasses. Her bikini is equally stunning, a bold black piece that is far from modest. Her curvy hips fill the fabric so well that it barely conceals anything—not her incredible thighs, nor that wonderfully full ass of hers.

"Brought a little Christmas present," Yujin says, smiling as she makes her way across the wooden deck, giving you plenty of time to admire her sinful body before she slips into the bubbling water to take the spot beside Wonyoung. 

It's all so surreal, spending a snowy, cold Christmas Eve in this hot tub, sitting back in the water, right across from heaven itself. Yujin's staring with that gleam in her eye, smiling so suggestively while pouring a rather generous amount of wine, holding out each glass for you to take. 

With a generous sip, Wonyoung's glossy lips stain the rim a pretty pink, nearly draining the contents before setting it down. Yujin does the same, although she's much more reserved, swirling the rich, red liquid around the glass before indulging in a taste of her own.

You’re not even going to attempt not to stare, eyeing both girls shamelessly—how Wonyoung's bikini top looks like a nuisance, the thin strings almost begging to be ripped right off, Yujin equally so. 

Wine downed, all it takes is one little look between Yujin and Wonyoung before a silent plan forms into motion. Yujin takes another sip of wine and gazes longingly, bringing the sole of her foot against your bulge, teasing you as she curls her toes, stroking up and down again until you throb.

"Daddy's a little excited to see our new bikinis," Yujin murmurs with her glass poised beneath her lips, taking another drink, never breaking eye contact. "Isn't that right?"

"I think we're more excited to take them off for him," Wonyoung adds, taking the glass from Yujin to gulp the rest of the wine as she joins in the teasing, and together, the two of them stroke the outline of your swelling cock through your swimming trunks. You groan out almost involuntarily, already feeling that need building as your shaft continues to strain against the fabric, growing harder with every second they toy with you.

"So hard for us already," Yujin giggles, keeping the attention on your cock with her toes rubbing at the tip and slowly downward again, drinking more wine while she strokes you.

Their toes tease and toy with you, as if your trunks aren't a barrier, managing to work you up—not even removing the offending item of clothing, just having their fun beneath the surface of the hot water while you try your hardest not to moan too desperately. 

"Let us take care of you, daddy…let us milk every last drop out,” Wonyoung says, almost pleading. 

Wonyoung licks her glossy lips, her toes squeezing tight, the head of your cock nestled between her big toe and next, massaging you nice and slow. With you throbbing with need, it's only a moment later the pair waste no time in yanking your swim trunks down, throwing the soaked article out of the hot tub and leaving you completely exposed.

You couldn't hope for anything better when Wonyoung scoots in closer and together with Yujin you're treated to this double-team, as they stroke in unison—fingers interlocked and tight, squeezing and twisting around your cock together in an all too familiar, synchronized fashion. 

"F-fuck—god, that feels so fucking good," you gasp, tilting your head back in pleasure, every motion those delicate fingers make along your cock so calculated, every stroke and squeeze just right. You can't hold back your pleasure—your body's all too responsive to their teasing, helpless against the pair working in tandem, up and down your swollen length, making you throb so intensely with every little movement their slender fingers make. 

All you can really do is give yourself a little distraction, untying the strings to Wonyoung's bikini free while she leans over and dips her tongue into your mouth, doing the same for Yujin next.

Tossing aside each discarded article of wet clothing, the bikinis get lost beneath the churning, bubbly water as your hands wander all along their perfect bodies, feeling their smooth, soft skin, gliding across each tight tummy, up to those perfect tits that you squeeze at, their nipples so stiff when you roll them beneath your thumbs. 

"Like that, daddy? When we stroke your cock like this?" Yujin purrs, like the groans you let out aren't enough of an answer, your hands playing with their tits just as greedily while the pressure builds between your legs. “We weren't kidding, we really are going to milk you. So just relax.” 

Not like you could do anything but that if you tried. 

Yujin leans closer in and smiles, dragging her tongue along your neck, planting slow kisses. And maybe they're taking their sweet time to show off their skill—how Yujin uses her thumb to smear precum along the tip of your cockhead, how Wonyoung plays with your balls, cupping them in her hands and squeezing gently to feel their fullness. 

"All we want for Christmas is to make you feel good, daddy. To make you cum as much as you want," Yujin says so seductively, kissing down your jawline until she nuzzles into your neck and teases over one of your nipples. "Let us spoil you even more than usual."

So hard to concentrate with all this bliss, and yet it's nearly impossible to not give in, knowing these two girls won't stop until there isn't anything left in your balls. They switch it up at a moment’s notice, Wonyoung working your shaft with her masterful fingers, Yujin preoccupied teasing your sensitive balls, drawing patterns with the tips of her painted fingernails. You’re just doing as instructed, sitting back and relaxing while they touch and tease you, finding new ways to drag every hint of pleasure out of your body. 

"This is my favorite part," Wonyoung muses. Her gaze is fixated entirely on your face as her hand works magic around the base of your cock, letting Yujin focus on your swollen cockhead, stroking fervently, so focused on bringing you as much ecstasy as possible, pumping without relent. 

"Princess," Yujin shifts around in the water, giving your balls a heavy squeeze that rips a moan from your throat. "Every part's your favorite."

"Yeah, and? Not my fault this cock is perfect in every way. Maybe I like seeing the way daddy's face is whenever he's about to explode..."

Every word from these girls' mouths only winds you up more and more, when their lips stay latched on your neck, where their teeth tease and kiss the sensitive skin. How Wonyoung gets such a tight grip with every twist of her wrist along your throbbing cock and never lets go, how they start alternating between themselves who takes over stroking and fondling your balls, working together, sometimes both hands on your shaft, sometimes playing with your balls.

You're every bit helpless, drowning in all the lust, cock throbbing with anticipation, ready to erupt all over those eager fingers, desperate to let go, to pump out everything you have stored in your heavy balls. And these two only seem to speed up when you're clearly ready to burst—Wonyoung working you faster than ever, hand pumping furiously while Yujin gets a nice handful of your balls, just fondling away with a few tugs here and there.

"Think daddy's almost there," Yujin says so matter-of-factly with this smugness in her voice and you know she’s not wrong—

You're reaching the edge and the feeling grows stronger by the second, not even thinking straight anymore. Every breath comes out shaky and frantic as you feel every little sensation, arms spread out along the ledge of the tub, biting your bottom lip to muffle a moan that doesn't quite work. 

"Daddy's gonna make such a huge mess. A big, thick load for us, right?” 

Those fingers from Wonyoung only move faster, hitting every single sweet spot on your shaft, and that's enough when Yujin cups your balls tight, working wonders and there's that edge right there, the sensation overflowing, your balls tightening, muscles tensed as you can no longer hold anything back—

"Shit, I-I'm gonna fucking—"

"Cum for us, daddy," they both whisper sweetly in unison, urging your orgasm out with their pleading stares. Then you’re groaning impossibly loud with their lips on either side of your neck, and finally blow your load when Yujin gives a squeeze to your balls just the right way—streams of hot white shooting under the water's surface from your throbbing cock as the relief hits all too fast. 

They make good on their promise to milk your release all out, Wonyoung squeezing your cockhead tight, thumb right there at the underside to make every shot feel better than the last, sticky and plentiful and all theirs. Meanwhile, Yujin's hot breath lingers in your ear the whole time, nibbling on your earlobe with this firm squeeze on your balls that seems to draw the rest out.

It's that moment of pure, utter euphoria that lasts longer than you're used to—thrusting your hips out of reflex, pumping out thick, creamy spurts all over their fingers, the duo draining your heavy balls and you think it might never end. 

"There's so fucking much," Wonyoung murmurs with glee, like she’s surprised when she’s mutually responsible for this release. Her fingers just keep milking your cock alongside Yujin, intent on dragging out every last drop your body can possibly offer. 

Even afterward, long after you've shot all the cum they can drain from you, there’s still a hand on your cock, one on your balls, both insistent on working every bit out they can as if you haven't let out enough. 

Between their soft hands on your sensitive cock and the bubbling jets of the hot tub, it’s more intoxicating than that expensive wine Yujin brought—they haven't gotten tired of jerking you off just yet, the water obscuring much of their activity below like they’re seeing whose name you'll groan more.

"Daddy always sounds so sexy when we make him cum," Yujin says all sultry in tone, dragging a single finger from your base, up and over that spot near the underside of your tip and keeping it there—rolling the pad of her fingertip in circles over the area where your cock seems most sensitive. “Hearing you let go... that's my favorite thing."

Before you can even catch a breath, Yujin is tilting your face towards hers, hungry lips crashing against yours, lost in this moment together, tasting the wine on her breath. 

And almost on cue, they let go of your cock and rise out of the water in unison, hopping onto the wooden deck with their dripping wet bodies. Your gaze travels all over, unable to make up your mind where to look—the way droplets trickle down Yujin's wet chest and over those pretty nipples so stiff as the frigid air caresses her skin. Or the way Wonyoung looks with that mess of wet hair cascading down over her shoulders, water clinging to her bare back and those supple ass cheeks her bikini bottom couldn't even hope to contain. 

Topless and soaking wet, the image is seared into your mind, and they don't bother putting anything on after drying off, not even bothered how the cold stings their naked flesh, and god, are you already aching to go again. 

When you step out and head back inside, there's a lingering pause—Yujin's the last one in before sliding the glass door shut, wrapping her arms around your chest from behind as she locks you into place. "We have one more present for you, daddy—right, princess?”

Her breath feels so hot, leaning against your body as her naked breasts press against your back. Wonyoung takes a sip of wine straight from the bottle before she puts it down on the kitchen counter. "Something like that." 

You can't ignore the mischievous smile they share as they head towards the stairwell in nothing but skimpy bikini bottoms. That look can't mean anything good—Wonyoung stays leaning on the banister, letting your eyes wander along her endless legs as she places a pretty pedicured foot on the second step.

The pose is intentional, allowing you to glimpse how tight and shapely that ass of hers is, how delicious her long legs look with that perfect figure accentuated in a red bikini, only making your cock pulse with need.

"How about you head upstairs in ten minutes, daddy?" Yujin suggests, untying a loose knot with her black bikini, the fabric loosening until it slips off her wide, curvy hips, falling on the floor as she starts descending the stairs. Now naked from head to toe, she takes her time up the stairs, enjoying your shameless ogling. 

No doubt she’s fully aware of how your eyes are glued to her every move, drawn to those sinful curves—from her bouncy, thick thighs to that irresistibly tempting ass that follows suit. Every inch of Yujin is a masterpiece put on display, all to make your cock throb harder with anticipation, bouncing her hair freely behind her shoulders, hips swaying all too hypnotically. 

Wonyoung mirrors those movements, throwing her bikini bottoms at you to catch, and the sight of each of them standing there naked, climbing up the steps right in front of you is too much temptation to take. 

Ten minutes is going to seem like an eternity. 

❄ ❄

The time goes by painfully slow. All that waiting, each minute taking longer than the last when you dip into the wine for something to occupy the time with. Who knows what these two are up to—

Hardly able to contain your eagerness any longer, you climb the steps after the promised ten minutes. Yujin's waiting right there in the doorway, standing completely naked and confident as ever with a devious look in her eye when you arrive.

"Took you long enough," she teases, grabbing your hand and leading the way inside the dark bedroom as she flicks the light switch on, illuminating the room with a soft glow. "Hope you're ready for your Christmas gift, daddy."

What Yujin steps aside to reveal is more than just a gift—Wonyoung all naked, tied up in your bed, and looking oh so vulnerable with her long arms above her head, slender wrists secured tight with red ribbons. The same treatment can be said for the rest of her delectable body, pale tits covered up in these festive ribbons all around that lead down to her flat stomach, so perfectly intricate and meticulously wrapped around her whole upper body. And the pattern doesn't end there, going even further, wrapping around those luscious legs of hers, bound together from her thighs down to her ankles, leaving her completely helpless and unable to move an inch.

Of all the things you expected this gift to be, this definitely wasn't on your radar—how all that red contrasts so perfectly against that milky white skin, a large bow right between her thighs covering just enough to tease. 

"Our little Christmas present. This pretty little slut all tied up just for daddy to unwrap," Yujin says, doing an exceptional job presenting Wonyoung. “Ready for daddy's big cock."

Your present has such a desperate look in her eyes, pretending to struggle with her restraints, the feel of ribbons on her naked body adding so much extra sensation. All for show, no doubt, because if there's anything Wonyoung loves more than being a brat, it's this—getting tied up and manhandled to your liking. 

"All yours, daddy." Yujin's voice has taken on this all too familiar sultry tone, smooth and breathy, practically an invitation on its own. "Have her any way you like. Use her like the good little fucktoy she is.” 

"Don't think I could ask for a better present.” 

That’s all you can manage to get out before Yujin dives into your lips with a rough kiss, tongue instantly invading your mouth, and Wonyoung can only stare helplessly from the bed while you devour one another. There's that greedy side Yujin lets out, nails digging into your skull as the kiss turns into something rougher, desperate, sloppy with saliva spilling down her lips and she shoves her tongue in further, getting a firm grip on your cock in the process. 

"P-please, daddy, need your cock—need it to ruin me so fucking bad. Want you to pound me like a fucking whore, daddy..."

Yujin gives a few full strokes to your cock that’s more than a little hard now, keeping you locked into the kiss while you moan into her mouth. "She's a little needy. Shoved a vibe in her while I was tying her up she's so fucking worked up for you. Made sure that pretty cunt got all nice and soaking wet.” 

"So thoughtful of you,” you say, stroking the back of Yujin's head as you gaze intently at Wonyoung on the bed, whimpering so pathetically as those bound thighs squeeze together, desperate for any friction.

"But before you do anything, daddy—let me warm your cock up just a little first. Our hungry little slut can wait a bit longer."

You don't even need to look over to know there's a pout forming when Yujin drops to her knees. Then there’s that warm fucking mouth sinking down, lips wrapped around your cock, sucking with such fervor from the very start. You can't help but groan deeply and Wonyoung has no choice but to watch from her helpless position.

All that warm saliva soaks every inch, like she can't get enough of your cock. Those soft lips glide along your length while Yujin bobs her head up and down—every motion filled with need, staring straight at you until she hits the base. 

"Shit, fucking hell, Yujin—" you mutter in amazement, because no matter how many times she gives these sloppy wet blowjobs, you can never quite get over how incredible that mouth is. How talented, how experienced she is at using every single tool in her arsenal, hands gripping tightly on your thighs to get every single inch down her throat, absolutely covered in messy warm saliva. 

Yujin doesn't even gag, slurping on your shaft and hollowing her cheeks, swallowing every last inch down until her lips press tight to your base, holding there as long as possible—

All that follows is a loud, lewd pop as Yujin withdraws entirely, lips now latched onto your heavy balls, giving them such a good slurp while stroking your cock that’s absolutely soaked with spit along the whole length. She makes such exaggerated slurps with those full lips around your sensitive sack, lips locked tight, humming deeply while keeping you in that intense gaze. The way she works your balls over with her tongue, rolling them so slowly, trapping them into her hot mouth has you raring to go. 

"Mm, your balls are so full and delicious, daddy,” Yujin breathes out, with a line of drool spilling from those gorgeous lips. "I could suck on them all fucking day, but you've got a needy little brat to breed."

One look over at your gift, so tempting, tied up, and tantalizing, and you have to agree, especially when the only thing you want is to ruin that warm, wet little cunt. There's no denying the effort Yujin's put into such sloppy sucking, getting your cock slick and primed to pump out another full load by the time you're done with your gift.

You don’t need to do anything else but climb the bed, unsure where to even start when Wonyoung is all wrapped up, every inch of that pale skin so flawless, all but begging for your touch. "Look at you, princess. You look so pretty like this, don't you think? All tied up and just for me."

"Daddy, please—" is all Wonyoung manages to get out, her whining interrupted as you place a finger on her pouting lips.

"Don't you worry, princess. I'm gonna use my Christmas gift just the way you deserve," you say, and loosen the red bow right between Wonyoung's thighs, not a bit surprised to find her dripping. She’s exactly how Yujin promised, looking so deliciously inviting and wet, the perfect place to bury your cock inside. "Your pretty cunt is gonna look so good pumped full of cum once I’m done with you.” 

"Yes daddy, make me your little cum dump. Use your gift and breed me until I'm leaking. I need you so bad..."

You decide to leave the ribbon around her tits for now, all that decorative red highlighting their shape, nipples no doubt just aching to be sucked and teased. The more your gaze lingers, the hungrier you become, taking a moment to enjoy the sight before you leave a trail of kisses all the way down.

And finally, when you've made your way to those bound-up thighs, you get a good grip on the ribbon with your teeth and tug. In one easy motion, you free that ribbon from those delicious legs and they spread apart on instinct—such a pretty sight to see that slick pussy just aching for your cock, perfectly wet and inviting. 

"So fucking beautiful," you say, and poor Wonyoung can't even touch herself like this. She’s so willingly at your mercy and can’t even show off her wetness to you like she usually does—but you'll get a good view from where you are, feel exactly how soaking wet she is when you slide right in. 

Reaching underneath, you get a good firm grip on her hips to pull her helpless body closer so you can tease her, sliding the head of your cock between those glistening lower lips. She’s all desperate when she groans, which only makes it more satisfying to watch her wriggle in these binds as you deny her the initial pleasure.

Before she can even open her mouth to complain, you're lifting her long, slender legs up in the air, resting them right on your shoulders, and getting a good look at where your cock is about to sink right in. Yujin appears right beside you then, kneeling on the bed, so very interested in witnessing you defiling this brat. 

"Hope you don't mind me watching you fill our present, daddy," Yujin says sweetly, planting a soft kiss on your cheek before shifting attention onto Wonyoung. 

"Not at all. Little slut loves an audience watching her get ruined. Isn't that right, princess?"

Wonyoung only manages to elicit a long whimper, face flushed a pretty shade of pink when your cock teases at her drenched entrance, a clear sign that yes, she does. Those legs rest nicely on your shoulders as you caress them, toes curling already from how close you are to being inside—and just like that, you give one pop of your hips, sinking deep, plunging the entirety of your length inside.

"Oh fuck, daddy!" she cries out as you fill her to the base with one rough thrust. "M-more, it's so good daddy, fill my pussy with your fucking cock, fill me so fucking good, ah—"

She’s so goddamn drenched that it’s impossible to do anything else. Her hot cunt swallows up your length right down to the very base as you bottom out with ease, impaling Wonyoung balls fucking deep without resistance. 

“Shit, princess—love your cunt, love how tight you are,” you growl out, and nothing else feels better than the pure heat and wetness that comes along with being inside Wonyoung. It’s heavenly, how she clenches around every throbbing inch, once you're hilted deep, determined to never let you out of that hot, velvety grip.

"Your pretty little pussy loves daddy's cock, doesn't it? Creaming all over him the second he fills you right up," Yujin purrs, getting such a good view from her position, how your cock impales that dripping cunt with so little effort. The fact that you haven't even really begun, only a single slow series of strokes so far, and she's already a soaked mess, squirming all around in these restraints, what's left of the ribbons clinging tight to that smooth porcelain flesh.

All this warm, slippery flesh that hugs your cock—Wonyoung is so fucking tight that it’s maddening. 

Despite getting railed good and often by the both of you, those velvety walls always clench up so impossibly tight around your shaft as it stretches her open, just like the first time. 

"Can’t imagine how tight you’re squeezing his huge cock, making daddy feel so damn good—princess must be so desperate to empty his balls straight into your womb. Is that what you want, baby? A nice, big, thick creampie, filling up this greedy little pussy?"

The lewd, depraved things that leave Yujin's lips are more than enough encouragement to keep this momentum building, pumping your cock in and out of Wonyoung’s wet heat like you belong there, buried all the way inside while those pale legs dangle from your shoulders.

"F-fuck, daddy, feels so good when you fuck me, when you're balls deep, so fucking deep—just ruin me, ruin daddy's pretty little slut, please…” 

So easy to oblige her when she’s begging like this, that you can’t help hugging those creamy long legs while you piston your hips at a merciless pace. So easy to see the desperation in her eyes, and the harder you move, the more erratic she gasps out while you ram your cock through all the wet flesh of her slick cunt, the sound of skin on skin echoing around the room. 

“God, princess—you feel so incredible,” you groan, hips relentless as you plunge so deep. Somewhere along the way, Yujin slides up next to Wonyoung, encouraging that stream of pathetic noises, each sweet moan punctuating your harsh thrusts.

"Just listen to her, daddy. Listen how she enjoys that big fucking cock rearranging her guts—pretty little whore is about to cum any second now, isn't she?" Yujin asks, her fingers dancing across Wonyoung's chest, tracing the intricate details of the red ribbons clinging tightly to her smooth, silky skin. "Wanna give her what she wants? Get this slut all folded up and maybe she'll cum a little faster for you?"

Without a doubt, you know Wonyoung would love nothing more than that, your cock just plunging inside, pounding deep inside over and over again—

So you do exactly what Yujin suggests, pushing both legs forward towards her head, until her knees almost hit her shoulders. Then you've got her all folded in half, the perfect position to hit even deeper, putting those flexible limbs to good use, arms still helplessly tied together. “D-daddy!” 

And that's when you give a rough slam back inside her dripping cunt, immediately having the intended effect when you bottom out so easily at such a different angle, your heavy balls slamming right up against her ass while you drive all those loud cries out of her mouth—

"D-daddy, fuck! So fucking deep, s-shit, you're gonna make me cum, oh please, g-gonna make me fucking cum!"

When her words devolve into desperate babbles, that's when you know you're doing something right. You’re driving every inch into her, leaving that cunt so impossibly slick when you pound into that flesh that grips without relent. 

"There you go, daddy, keep fucking her like that. Use this pretty little fuckdoll until she's gushing all over your huge cock," Yujin encourages from beside, turning all her focus now onto Wonyoung as she leans right in to wrap a hand around that pale throat, squeezing firmly, and fuck—

Wonyoung just falls apart. Then she's just whimpering, every sound she tries to make barely audible when she's cumming on your cock, eyes rolling to the back of her head. There's nothing more beautiful, listening to her broken moans, how she's downright sobbing from the pleasure, letting you ruin her as she drenches your entire cock, that climax flooding out like a broken fucking faucet and threatening to shove you right out. 

But instead, it just makes you pound into her that much harder, fucking her near delirious as she makes such a mess, gushing all over you while you keep pounding away until she's a shaking, trembling wreck.

"Look at our pretty present, cumming so fucking hard while you destroy that pussy," Yujin says, getting an even tighter grip around Wonyoung's neck, applying enough pressure to watch the girl's expression crumble. "That pussy is so good, isn't it? Wrapped around that big fucking cock of yours, must be so fucking desperate for your cum to be dumped inside.” 

She’s not even a little wrong, that wetness covering your whole length, your balls completely slick from just how Wonyoung absolutely floods out, and you’re not far behind.

"Princess, fuck—“you groan, pounding away into that dripping heat, this filthy squelch coming from between her legs growing even louder the longer you plunge deep. “Gonna fucking fill you right up, gonna breed you, empty everything inside this pretty fucking cunt." 

Wonyoung can't even form enough words to beg, hair matted all over her sweat-covered forehead, body going limp while you keep using her body like she’s built to be a toy. And then Yujin's suddenly there, right behind you, fingers cradling your balls so delicately while your cock pistons in and out of this heat—

"Can't wait to watch you breed this fucking cumslut. Want you to dump everything into her cunt, empty your balls, make her leak all of that thick creamy load everywhere," Yujin says, voice so sultry, hot breath all over you as those fingers squeeze so dangerously close. 

Unsurprisingly, Yujin doesn't stop there, fingers stimulating all sorts of sensitive areas, like she can feel everything that needs to be drained, each firm squeeze causing a jolt through your entire body. 

That hot breath moves away for only a fleeting moment, with Yujin abandoning her grasp on your balls while you keep those hips churning, sending a barrage of thrusts into that wet, hot vice of Wonyoung's pussy. And before you have time to miss Yujin’s touch, her tongue, slick and hot all at once starts teasing your ass, tongue prodding slowly and meticulously.

You can't even respond with anything but groans of appreciation, losing your train of thought each time Yujin gets her tongue buried so deep, taking such good care of you, urging you to blow your load inside Wonyoung. 

And god—that mouth does wonders as Yujin toys around the rim of your ass, making all sorts of sinful noises behind you. Through these intense licks, her hand works up a firm massage for those cum-filled balls, and you don't know which does more damage, or if it's simply a combination of both that sends you over the edge—but you can't resist anymore. 

"Breed me daddy, breed me so fucking full, need your hot fucking seed inside—p-please, please, cum in me. Want your hot fucking load in me, empty those huge fucking balls right in my little pussy, fuck, please please please—"

Hearing your helpless little gift so needy, pleading frantically for you to finish in her, mouth hanging open, with drool spilling down those red lips, that's what does you in. 

One final slam, balls deep into her tight, needy little pussy, and you don't waste a second unloading it all—pumping the biggest load, so fucking thick and heavy straight into her cunt. Each shot is so powerful, Yujin's tongue back in play, pressed right up against your asshole, making you groan even more while the palm of her hand gently massages and rolls your swollen, heavy balls around, coaxing every last drop from them to empty you completely. 

All that sticky warmth that empties endlessly into Wonyoung, painting the slick depths of her insides white—and it makes her squirt out even more, flooding all around your cum-coated length still buried deep inside as you fill her up, all the way to her womb. 

You’ve already unloaded so much inside, fucking it deeper until it's overflowing back out. Only when Yujin pulls her tongue from your ass do your thrusts finally stop, an absolute deluge of hot, thick seed that she's delighted to see leak out of Wonyoung when you gradually pull out. 

"Look at that," Yujin says with so much delight in her voice, getting an up-close view of the mess you've just made and having herself a taste. She laps it all right up with her eager tongue, slurping so loudly at the mix of your hot cum and that nectar from Wonyoung. “Dumped so fucking much into our little cumslut. Mm, fuck, that pussy must feel so full with daddy's hot load leaking out…” 

Between the panting, the heavy breaths, chest still heaving, Wonyoung gives a small little nod while you rest at the side of the bed, cock still glistening with a complete mess of your cum and hers. 

Yujin however, has all the energy in the world as she cleans up the aftermath, hands gripping so tightly onto Wonyoung’s milky thighs, face buried deep in between. She's every bit selfish, tongue dragging up to lick through those delicious cum-covered folds, so satisfied when she gathers up what leaks out. 

"Daddy’s cum tastes so fucking good when it's been pumped inside this needy slut," Yujin says, getting back to work sucking up the remnants of your huge dripping load. She's so ravenous when it comes to cleaning Wonyoung up, taking another indulgent lick right down the center, chin nearly glazed already. "So fucking messy too.”

For her part, all Wonyoung does is moan and whine as Yujin gives a few slaps to that already sensitive cunt, and you’re just watching all the wetness transfer from Wonyoung's heat into that eager mouth, who devours it all so happily. 

Were you not entirely exhausted, you'd be tempted to get right behind, slide into Yujin’s heavenly cunt, and empty whatever you have left into her next. Still might, but you're entirely useless at the moment, letting these two indulge themselves.

"Yujinnie—" Wonyoung whines, voice ragged from being thoroughly wrecked, but tone so very needy, as if begging for another release. And Yujin gets her lips sealed right on that engorged clit, giving exactly what Wonyoung desires. 

"Doesn't look like our present's tired yet. Should we untie her so she can empty your balls again? Maybe have her take your cock deep into that perfect ass while I ride your face? Sounds fun, doesn't it, daddy?"

Nothing sounds better. Maybe you don't need a respite just yet after all. 

❄ ❄

After round two (and then three and then four), a change of scenery is needed. So you all share a shower, change into comfy, festive pajamas, and head over to the spacious couch in the living room. The scent of pine permeates throughout the whole room, with this massive Christmas tree lit up with colorful lights the center of attention. 

There's no better time to indulge in the holiday spirit, lazing about on the couch where you find yourself pleasantly trapped between Yujin and Wonyoung, cuddling up alongside you for warmth while some cheesy Christmas movie plays in the background. 

The snow really starts coming down, heavier by the minute, enough that you'll be stuck inside—not that there's a reason to venture outdoors. Especially not when you have everything you could possibly want right here, hot cocoa, an excessive number of cookies, and the two prettiest girls on campus all over you.

"Merry Christmas, daddy," Yujin says seemingly out of nowhere, finding a nice spot to rest her head right upon your chest, playing with the pom-pom at the end of your hat. Not exactly what you pictured wearing for the entire night, but it's so impossible to say no to Yujin's requests, so you'll wear whatever she puts on you to keep that smile on her face.

"Merry Christmas, Yudolph.” You can hardly finish the sentence without laughing at that ridiculous headband, reindeer antlers looking so cute atop her pretty head.

"No fair, you can't just steal my nickname," Wonyoung complains from the other side, grabbing a cookie from the plate on the coffee table. She feeds you the first bite before shoving the rest into her mouth, so unprincess-like the way she scarfs the rest down. 

"Why not, princess? What's yours is mine, anyway," Yujin replies, planting a kiss right on your cheek as proof. Wonyoung hardly stays mad, too caught up in eating another cookie before wiping the crumbs away from her mouth. She's almost embarrassed by the kiss that Yujin then plants on the corner of her lip, quickly flustered and so out of character, even though Yujin has never been shy to hide her affection. 

"Daddy is all mine, so that means you are too, Yudolph," Wonyoung counters, planting a little kiss to both of your faces, getting cute giggles from Yujin in response.

"Wow, did our princess finally learn how to share?" you ask, poorly stifling a laugh. 

"Don't count on it," Yujin says rather bluntly, still bouncing your pom-pom around with her fingers. "Anyway, it's almost midnight. What did Santa bring us tonight?"

"Hmm, what did he bring us, what's in these gifts?" Wonyoung asks so innocently, looking at the assortment of presents sitting near the tree, like there's more than just the three of you in this room. "A brand-new sexy set of lingerie and heels for Yujinnie? Maybe that leather catsuit you were talking about the other day..."

Yujin gets this little smirk on her face when she hears Wonyoung mention such a thought.

"And what about me?" Wonyoung continues. "I hope Santa brought me more outfits, I could use a new dress and lots of cute skirts to model for daddy—" 

"I don't think the princess gets anything after being on the naughty list this year," you add, earning a very cute pout from Wonyoung. 

"Isn't that every year for her?" Yujin asks, chuckling because she knows how true it is, not that being a brat never stops her from taking such pride in it.

"Hey, I deserve a nice present too, after all the times I'm on my knees. Santa better reward me well this year," Wonyoung says, whining so dramatically.

"Doesn't he reward you enough? Filling you up every time you sit on his lap?" Yujin asks, rather rhetorically, and this conversation might be the end of you.

"As if I could ever get enough of daddy pulling my hair and spanking my ass red. I'm on the top of the naughty list for a reason." 

You have a very hard time not laughing at how utterly ridiculous and proud that statement is.

"Well, don't worry princess. We have something very special for you," Yujin reassures, giving her one more peck on the forehead. "So, wanna get Santa his gift? I think we've all been plenty naughty anyway,"

"Nuh-uh, I'm not moving an inch. Daddy's too warm and comfy for me to get up," Wonyoung says in protest, snuggling into the crook of your neck and wrapping her arms even tighter around your chest. Yujin can't exactly argue there, joining in to ensure you can't possibly move, trapping you so nicely between the both of them.

"Too warm and comfy," Yujin repeats, and you're more than content to never move from this spot ever again. It's the kind of warmth you never want to leave, especially not on a night as chilly as this one, the perfect excuse to spend hours cooped up by the fireplace together.

"Merry Christmas, daddy—" They both say in unison as the clock finally strikes midnight. "You're not going anywhere, we won't let you."

This is absolutely the best present you could ask for.

[lay-z]

inamorata | 1

Summary: Two retired veterans decide to adopt a domestic hybrid on a whim to bring some much needed light back into their dire lives.

Pairing: hybrid!Ghoap x fem!hybrid!Reader Warnings/Info: 18+ | Hybrid AU ft. black panther!Simon, grey wolf hybrid!Johnny, and maine coon cat!Reader. Despite ears, tails/feathers, and their adapted nature/instincts and personalities, hybrids have human features. | strangers to lovers; class differences; fantasy/fictional setting racism; hurt/comfort; humour; eventual heavy smut; dom/sub elements; fluff; cussing; angst (Mind the warnings for each chapter!)

Based on this idea 🖤

There is an atmosphere of departure around the common hazel just outside the fenced backyard.  

The pair of robins has found their ideal nesting spot in between the high branches of the early blossoming tree after days of scouting the pretty territory. As early as January they start to sprout, Nana had explained to you once, and it’s February now. While other trees around are still leafless and recovering from winter, the common hazel is turning colourful; working hard and earnest to change the lifeless scenery with its tiny deep green leaves and pale-yellow catkins hanging from the branches. 

And joining its effort, the common birds of the area are starting to build their nests, looking forward to spring with natural optimism; stacking sticks and stones and moss to build a home in harmonic teamwork. A home for their offspring to hatch and grow; hidden and protected from predators.  

A breeze makes the thinner branches and catkins sway while the reddish birds huddle together, seeking shelter in a notch of the trunk, puffing their plumage for warmth. Out of a hole at the base of the trunk, a hare pokes its head out, large ears perked. 

You wonder what the hare must’ve heard. You wonder if the breeze is cold, if it would nip at your exposed face and make your furry ears bristle. You wonder if the air smells fresh, perhaps flowery, though definitely exhilarating. And you wonder how the robins sound, if their lovely chirps would make your heart flutter with happiness and longing for more. 

Exhaling a soft, discouraged sigh, you continue to gaze out of the meagre overhead window, curled up on the metallic windowsill high up off the ground of your tiny enclosure; chin resting on your forearm while you clutch your long and cottony, golden tail to your chest, petting it self-soothingly while you try to get lost in your daydreams; drowning out the awful ambient noise of the hybrid shelter along with your terribly empty stomach and grief stricken heart. 

It’s gotten even more crowded after Christmas, now that given away hybrids have been returned to shelters, to the illegal breeders they were bought from, or simply dumped into the streets and on highways before they were snared and detained by the regulatory agency for homeless hybrids–the RAHH. Although the only “homeless” hybrids always only happen to be domestic. The lesser species, meant to serve and obey. 

The other female cat hybrid in this enclosure has been taken to the vet last night after her water broke, leaving you with the luxury to be alone in the tiny space, along with the puddle of amniotic fluids that no one has bothered to clean up yet, so you simply had to let it dry by itself as you lack any towels or blankets to spare for a proper cleanup, though the smell isn't half as bad as the general stench of this wretched place, and to your own horror, you’ve noticed that you’re starting to reek, too. Then again, you can only groom yourself limitedly without a clean source of water and a piece of soap.  

Then, a particularly loud wail from one of the younger dog hybrids in a kennel close by disturbs your thoughts, makes you flinch, and your fuzzy ears flatten anxiously as you peek over your shoulder just in time to watch one of the shelter workers unlock the gate to your enclosure. 

Your ears perk up again, tail twitching hopefully in your grasp as your eyes flicker to her–empty hands. No food. It’s been three days. Your stomach clenches and a wave of nausea threatens to overwhelm you at the prospect of going another day without a meal before something else catches your attention, something way more surprising–two large apex hybrids standing behind the worker, both oozing power and dominance. 

The shelter worker, a stern-looking woman with a tight bun and a clipboard, sighs impatiently as she spots you hiding higher up on the windowsill again. She's used to the skittishness and fear in the domestic hybrids under her care, but your avoidant and clever behaviour is getting on her nerves. Turning to the two apex hybrids, she gestures towards you. 

“This one seems fairly docile and well-behaved. A purebred cat hybrid, female, late 20 or early 30s, we’re not sure. She's healthy and not... uncooperative like some of the others, and it seems like she’s still a virgin.” The worker says, her voice devoid of any real concern or compassion. 

Your eyes widen slowly as the wolf hybrid enters your enclosure confidently, uncaring of the still drying puddle on the concrete floor. His bright gaze is fixated on you, neck craned to meet your fearful gaze with what you can only describe as a cheeky grin; his long grey tail swishes behind him slowly while you get lost in the cerulean colour of his eyes. Bright like the sky, promising freedom. His haircut looks funny. 

“Well, well, well... aren’t ye a bonnie wee thing,” he purrs, his Scottish brogue rumbling through his friendly words. His tail starts to wag as you shift your position, turning around fully and releasing your grasp on your tail to bend over the windowsill to get a better view. Your tail uncurls and stands up straight, its fluffy tip crooking like a question mark–showcasing your curiosity. Your nose twitches as you take a tentative sniff and catch the pleasant cologne on his tanned skin, mixed with his natural musk. 

The other apex hybrid, a massive feline missing half an ear and wearing a black surgical mask, watches the exchange with a guarded expression. His dark tawny eyes, visible above the rim of his mask, are calculating as he assesses you. He takes a step closer and enters the enclosure as well, his broad shoulders and muscular build now crowding the small space while the shelter worker steps out into the corridor. 

“She’s feckin’ gorgeous, Simon,” the wolf hybrid says in awe, his eyes crinkling with mirth as he nudges the other one with his elbow while you duck your head at the compliment, a flush rising to your cheeks. “Looks jus’ like the pic on the website.” 

Simon glances up at you appraisingly; eyes gauging your body language while you tilt your head at the way he wears his sleek black tail tucked around his waist like a belt, still wondering what kind of hybrid he is.  

“Aye, she’s... a vision, and calm, too,” Simon agrees, and his voice catches you off guard–low and gravelly, bordering on a deep, soothing purr that leaves your fur bristling pleasantly. They’re both nice to look at. Strong. He glances over his shoulder at the shelter worker, who’s tapping her foot on the ground impatiently, clutching the clipboard to her chest. “This one will do. We’ll take ‘er.”  

Your breath hitches and your heartrate increases swiftly while your doe-eyes flicker between the apex predators, not quite processing what this means, though the wolf hybrid’s tail wags as he reaches a meaty hand out to you encouragingly. “Ye think it’ll work on her, Si? It certainly doesnae with ye,” he chuckles boyishly before flashing you a charming smile. “C’mon, bon–pspspspspspsps–” 

You tut, brows furrowing at the blatant insult before you glance at the other one, Simon, who simply shakes his head slowly, muttering: “Fuckin’ hell, Johnny.” There is no doubt he’s some sort of feline.  

Meanwhile, the shelter worker nods and makes a checkmark on her clipboard. “Very well, gentlemen. I’ll have her things and the necessary paperwork ready at the front desk in a minute.” 

“You’re... serious? You–You want me?” you ask in disbelief. It cannot be that easy. It cannot be that simple. And they cannot be serious about this. Your stomach growls as you push yourself up on the windowsill, waiting for confirmation while your tail flicks nervously. 

Johnny beams and reaches into the pocket of his hoodie, retrieving a bundle of black leather along with what looks like a chocolate bar. “Ye heard what Simon said, didn’t ye? Hard ta believe those pretty ears are deaf,” he snickers, fumbling with the items before holding a collar and candy up for you to see. A friendly offering, a mouth-watering temptation. You swallow hard and move to climb down from your safe haven, drawn in by the prospect of food, of getting out of this hellhole.

Behind him, Simon clasps a hand over Johnny’s shoulder, squeezing it some and making the shorter man’s tail wag again as dark eyes look up at you expectantly. “Come on down now, sweet’eart. Let’s get you home.” 

[moonlightwritingf1]

Worthy of You | LN4

❄️ summary ━━━━━━━ Lando rented a cabin in France for Christmas but couldn’t enjoy it when Y/N suddenly left. Desperate, he flew back to England, where she admitted overhearing his doubts about being worthy of her. Lando confessed his love, and Y/N revealed she felt the same but feared rejection.

❄️ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

❄️ word count ━━━━━━━ 4k

The cabin was nothing short of breathtaking. Nestled in the heart of the French Alps, it seemed straight out of a holiday movie—a sprawling chalet with rustic charm. The exterior was draped in a blanket of snow, the wooden beams of the house warmly contrasting the wintery landscape. Snow-dusted balconies framed sweeping views of the towering peaks outside, their jagged lines stark against the pale sky. Inside, the atmosphere was nothing less than luxurious: vaulted ceilings with exposed timber, a massive stone fireplace crackling with warmth, and furniture covered in soft faux fur throws. Twinkling fairy lights danced around the banisters, casting a soft glow, while the scent of fresh pine from the enormous Christmas tree filled the air, welcoming everyone into its festive embrace.

Lando had rented the cabin for the week leading up to Christmas, hoping to host a cozy retreat for his closest friends. It was supposed to be the perfect escape—a time to unwind, relax, and create new memories. But as he stood in the living room, with the warmth of the fire behind him and an unshakable emptiness in his chest, he felt anything but at ease.

Pacing back and forth, phone in hand, Lando’s jaw was tight with frustration. Y/N had left earlier that day, telling him that she needed to return to London for some "urgent" matter. The words didn’t sit right with him. Something was off, and he couldn’t quite shake the nagging feeling that she was hiding the real reason.

"She just... left," he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his messy curls.

"You’re going to wear a hole in the floor," Max commented from the couch, watching Lando with an amused, yet concerned, expression.

Lando didn’t respond, his eyes glued to his phone. He had already called Y/N three times and sent two messages, all without any reply. Max raised an eyebrow, leaning against the kitchen counter with a beer in hand.

"Still no word from her?" Max asked.

Lando shook his head, glancing at the phone in his hand as if it might magically ring with her name. "No. Nothing. She just said she had to leave and that was it."

Max frowned, clearly puzzled. "That doesn’t sound like her."

"Exactly," Lando agreed, frustration lacing his voice. "She was fine this morning—excited, helping decorate the tree and everything. Then out of nowhere, she says she has to go. It’s like she couldn’t wait to leave." He tossed his phone onto the coffee table with a huff, running a hand through his curls again.

Max shrugged, his expression neutral. "Maybe you should wait until she gets back to you instead of spiraling. She’s probably just busy."

But Lando wasn’t convinced. "I can’t wait. Something’s wrong. She looked at me before she left—like there was something she wanted to say but couldn’t. It’s not like her to just leave like that."

Max raised a brow, offering a pointed look. "You sure you didn’t say or do something to upset her?"

Lando scowled, shaking his head. "I didn’t even get a chance to talk to her. One minute everything’s fine, and the next... she’s gone."

Max didn’t press further. Instead, he simply sighed. "Well, maybe give her space. She’ll reach out when she’s ready."

But Lando couldn’t do that. He needed answers now. Without another word, he slipped out of the kitchen and onto the balcony, the chill of the evening air biting at his skin despite his thick coat. Leaning against the railing, he gazed out at the snow-covered mountains, his mind racing with unanswered questions. Y/N had been acting strange lately—distant, quieter than usual. The sudden departure was the final straw. Something didn’t add up.

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Y/N sat alone in her London flat, the flickering lights from her modest Christmas tree casting a soft, warm glow in the otherwise quiet room. Outside, the city streets were slick with rain, the muted sounds of traffic filling the silence. Her fingers curled around a steaming mug of tea, but she barely noticed the warmth.

Her phone sat on the coffee table, buzzing intermittently with Lando’s name lighting up the screen. Each time, her heart clenched, and each time, she couldn’t bring herself to pick it up.

She sipped her tea, trying to quiet the storm in her mind, but the memory of that morning wouldn’t leave her. She had been standing in the hallway of the cabin, a box of ornaments in her arms, when she overheard Lando and Max talking in the living room. The words they spoke felt like a punch to her gut.

"I don’t know what to do, mate," Lando’s voice was low, tense.

"What are you talking about?" Max had asked, clearly confused.

"It’s Y/N," Lando admitted, and hearing her name made Y/N freeze, her breath catching in her throat.

"What about her?"

Lando sighed deeply, and Y/N could almost hear the weight of his thoughts. "I care about her more than I should. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone. But I can’t tell her. She’d probably just laugh in my face or—worse—pity me."

Y/N’s heart twisted painfully in her chest.

"You really think she’d react like that?" Max asked, his voice skeptical.

‘’Wouldn’t you?" Lando responded bitterly. "She's amazing, Max. She deserves someone who's not... me. Someone who doesn’t come with all the problems of my life. I don’t know... it’s just complicated.’’

Y/N couldn’t bear it anymore. Hearing Lando doubt himself, and by extension, their connection, had hurt her more than she could explain. She dropped the box of ornaments where it stood and rushed to her room to pack her things, not bothering to tell anyone why she was leaving.

Now, in the solitude of her flat, Y/N replayed his words over and over, trying to make sense of her own emotions. Did she love him? She realized that the answer had been in her heart for months, but she’d been too afraid to face it.

Her phone buzzed again, pulling her from her thoughts. Lando’s name flashed across the screen once more. This time, her thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating before she tapped it.

She read his message: Please, Y/N. Just let me know you’re okay.

Her heart ached as the words weighed heavily on her. She typed a reply but paused, her fingers trembling. After a deep breath, she hit send:

Y/N: I’m fine. I just needed some time to think.

On the other end, Lando’s phone buzzed once more, and he lunged for it, his heart leaping when he saw her name appear.

"She responded," he said quietly to Max, who gave him an encouraging nod.

Lando opened the message and read it quickly, his brow furrowing with confusion. "She’s fine?" he muttered, feeling unconvinced by her words.

Max leaned over to glance at the screen. "Sounds like she just needs some space."

But Lando wasn’t satisfied. He typed back immediately: Think about what? Did I do something to upset you? Please, Y/N, talk to me.

Back in London, Y/N stared at his message, her chest tightening. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she wasn’t ready to confront her feelings—his or hers. She needed more time.

Lando opened his mouth to argue, but then stopped short. He had spent months hiding his feelings for Y/N, terrified of scaring her off, of ruining the connection they shared. But now, her sudden departure was making him question everything.

"Do you think she knows?" he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Max frowned. "Knows what?"

"How I feel about her," Lando admitted, his gaze shifting away as if he were ashamed.

Max studied him for a moment before shrugging. "If she does, she hasn’t said anything to me. But maybe that’s the problem—you’ve been waiting for her to figure it out instead of telling her."

Lando’s jaw tightened at the suggestion. "And if I tell her and she doesn’t feel the same?"

"Then at least you’ll know," Max said simply. "But honestly, I think you’re underestimating her."

The next day, Lando couldn’t take it anymore. The cabin, with all its festive decorations and roaring fire, felt too big and too empty without Y/N. With no more time to waste, he grabbed his coat and car keys.

"Where are you going?" Max asked, looking up from his phone.

"London," Lando replied with quiet determination.

It was late afternoon by the time Lando arrived at Y/N’s flat. The crisp winter air stung his skin as he knocked on her door, nervous energy bubbling inside him.

The door opened, and there she was—her expression a mix of surprise and apprehension.

"Lando," she said softly, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

"You didn’t answer my calls," he said, his voice tight with emotion. "I needed to see you. I needed to know why you left."

She stepped aside, allowing him to enter. The warmth of her flat enveloped him, the scent of cinnamon and pine filling the air. They stood in the living room, the silence between them thick with unspoken words.

"Y/N, talk to me," Lando urged. "Did I do something? Did I say something?"

Her eyes filled with tears, and her voice trembled as she finally spoke. "I heard you, Lando. At the cabin, talking to Max."

His heart sank. "You... heard me?"

She nodded, her voice breaking. "You said you cared about me but couldn’t tell me because you thought I wouldn’t feel the same. That it was too complicated."

Lando closed his eyes in anguish. "Y/N, I didn’t mean for you to hear that."

"But you meant it," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He stepped closer, his expression softening as he reached for her hands. "Of course I meant it. I care about you more than you know. But I didn’t say anything because I thought you’d pity me—or worse, push me away."

Y/N’s tears spilled over, and she wiped them away quickly. "Lando, I could never pity you. And I would never push you away."

His brows furrowed, searching her eyes for understanding. "Then why did you leave?"

"Because I didn’t know how to handle it," she admitted, her voice raw with emotion. "Hearing you doubt yourself—it scared me."

Lando gently took her hands in his, looking deeply into her eyes. "I’ve been scared, too. Scared of losing you, of ruining what we have. But I can’t keep hiding how I feel."

Her breath caught in her throat as his words sank in.

"I love you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I’ve loved you since the moment we met. And if you don’t feel the same, I’ll understand. But I couldn’t let you leave without telling you."

Tears streamed down her face as she looked up at him, her heart pounding. "I do feel the same," she whispered. "I’ve been in love with you, too. I just didn’t know how to say it."

A smile spread across his face as relief and joy flooded his chest. Without another word, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. "You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that."

She smiled through her tears, resting her forehead against his. "I’m sorry for running. I should’ve just talked to you."

Lando held Y/N close, his heart racing as if it were a race day. For months, he’d rehearsed this moment in his mind, but nothing could have prepared him for the overwhelming relief and joy that came with hearing her say she loved him too.

"You don’t have to apologize," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I should’ve told you how I felt sooner. I was just too much of a coward to risk losing you."

Y/N pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting his with a soft vulnerability. "You’re not a coward, Lando. You’ve been so patient with me, and I’m sorry if I ever made you think I didn’t care."

"You didn’t," he assured her. "I just... I got in my own head. I do that sometimes."

She smiled gently, the tension finally starting to ease. "We’re both pretty good at overthinking, huh?"

"Clearly," he replied with a chuckle, his thumb brushing against the back of her hand. "But maybe we can work on that together?"

Y/N nodded, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. "I’d like that."

The air between them shifted again, quieter now, but no less intense. Lando’s gaze flickered to her lips, and for a moment, he hesitated.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her response was immediate—a shy but confident nod as she leaned in. Their lips met, soft and tentative at first, but quickly deepened as weeks of unspoken feelings spilled into the kiss. Lando’s hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer, while Y/N’s fingers tangled in his curls.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, their foreheads resting together.

"That was worth the wait," Lando said, his voice tinged with humor and awe.

Y/N laughed softly, her cheeks still flushed. "Yeah, it was."

Lando glanced around her cozy flat, the Christmas lights casting a warm glow over everything. "As much as I love this place, it feels like we’re missing out on our cabin Christmas."

Y/N frowned slightly, guilt creeping back in. "I’m sorry for leaving. I ruined the trip for everyone."

"Hey," he said firmly, cupping her face with both hands. "Don’t do that. No one blames you, least of all me. Besides," he added with a teasing smirk, "I rented that ridiculously fancy cabin for selfish reasons."

Her brows furrowed. "Selfish reasons?"

"Yeah," he admitted, leaning in closer. "I was hoping I’d get some time alone with you."

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, and then she laughed, a sound that sent warmth flooding through him. "Well, I guess you got what you wanted in the end."

"Not quite everything," he said, his tone turning serious. "But I’m working on it."

By the following evening, they were back at the cabin. Y/N had been reluctant at first, but Lando insisted, saying he wanted to finish what they’d started.

As the car pulled up to the chalet, Y/N couldn’t help but gasp. Seeing it again, with its snow-covered roof and twinkling lights against the backdrop of the Alps, it felt like stepping into a postcard.

"It’s beautiful," she said softly.

Lando grinned as he grabbed their bags. "Wait until you see it at night."

Inside, the warmth of the fireplace welcomed them, and Y/N felt a wave of nostalgia for the short time she’d spent there.

"I didn’t unpack everything after you left," Lando admitted as he set her bag by the stairs. "Figured you’d be back."

Y/N turned to him, her heart aching at how much faith he’d had in her. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

"Never," he said simply, his eyes locking with hers.

They spent the evening decorating the tree, finishing what they’d started days ago. Lando playfully scolded Y/N for her questionable ornament placement, while she retaliated by draping tinsel over his head.

When the tree was finally done, they sat on the plush rug in front of the fire, a bottle of wine between them.

"This feels nice," Y/N said, her voice soft.

Lando leaned back on his hands, watching her intently. "It feels perfect."

Y/N glanced at him, her cheeks heating under his gaze. "You’re staring again."

"Can’t help it," he said with a small shrug. "You’re kind of my favorite thing to look at."

Her laughter was quiet but genuine. "You’re such a flirt."

"Only with you," he admitted, his tone earnest.

They fell into a comfortable silence, the crackling of the fire filling the space. Y/N sipped her wine, her mind wandering back to the moment she overheard him at the cabin.

"Lando?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"When you said it was complicated... What did you mean?"

He exhaled deeply, setting his glass down. "I meant that my life is messy. The travel, the attention, the pressure—it’s not easy, and I didn’t want to drag you into all of that if you weren’t ready. But I realized something after you left."

"What?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"That none of it matters if I don’t have you," he said, his eyes shining with sincerity. "You make everything better, Y/N. And I’m done letting fear get in the way of that."

Her chest tightened, and she reached out to take his hand. "I don’t care about the mess, Lando. I just want you."

His smile was soft but filled with relief. "You’ve got me, then."

And as the fire burned low and the snow fell gently outside, they sat together, finally at peace. For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

As the evening drew on, the crackling warmth from the fire grew more comforting, and the glow of the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree made the cabin feel like a perfect little world of their own. Lando and Y/N had fallen into a comfortable silence, the soft clink of their wine glasses and the occasional laugh over a shared memory keeping the air light.

Y/N leaned back against the soft rug, feeling the warmth of the fire seeping into her body, and caught herself glancing over at Lando. His attention was on the flames, but there was something different in his expression tonight—a vulnerability she hadn’t seen before. The weight of everything between them—the distance, the confusion, the undeniable connection—had been lifted, and what remained was something new. Something hopeful.

"Lando," she began, her voice just above a whisper, tentative, yet full of curiosity.

He turned toward her, his eyes still soft but intense, always making her heart beat a little faster. "Yeah?"

Y/N swallowed, the words feeling heavy on her tongue, unsure of how to articulate the depth of her thoughts. "I’ve been thinking about everything—the way things unfolded, the way I left, and how much I was running from us… from what was right in front of me."

Lando’s gaze softened even more, and he scooted closer to her, his hand brushing against hers before he stopped, as if asking for permission. She placed her hand in his, lacing their fingers together, the simple touch sending a jolt of warmth through her chest.

"You’re not the only one who was running," he murmured, his voice low and sincere. "I think I’ve been too scared of what we could be. Of messing it up. But now… with you here, everything feels right. And I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t."

Her heart fluttered at his words. "I was scared, too," she admitted softly, gazing into his eyes. "Scared that maybe I was just a distraction for you. That maybe I was too much for you, or that you wouldn’t feel the same. But I don’t want to feel like that anymore."

He smiled, and for the first time in a long time, it was a smile that reached his eyes—gentle, warm, full of promise. "I feel everything for you, Y/N. I just didn’t know how to show it. How to tell you, especially when I thought you might not feel the same."

Y/N looked down at their intertwined hands, feeling a tightness in her chest at the realization of just how much they had both been holding back. "I’m sorry for leaving like I did," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I shouldn’t have run away. I just… I was so overwhelmed."

Lando lifted her chin gently with his fingers, his touch tender as he urged her to meet his gaze. "You don’t need to apologize," he said softly. "What matters now is that we’re here. Together. And we don’t have to hide from what we feel anymore."

For a long moment, they just stared at each other, the air thick with the weight of everything they hadn’t said before. There was something sacred about this moment, as though time had slowed, giving them space to let everything they had kept buried come to the surface.

And then, without warning, Y/N felt the rush of emotions she had been holding back for so long. She leaned in slowly, her eyes never leaving his, as if testing the waters, seeing if he would pull away. But he didn’t. Instead, he met her halfway, their lips brushing in a tentative kiss that was soft but filled with an intensity neither of them had expected. It was the kind of kiss that spoke of years of friendship, years of longing, of waiting for the right moment.

But when their lips finally met, it felt like the world had shifted. It wasn’t just about a kiss. It was about all the unspoken words, all the time they had spent pretending they didn’t care, when all along, they had been waiting for this very moment. The kiss deepened, slow and desperate, as though they were both trying to make up for lost time, to erase the doubt and the distance they had allowed to grow between them.

When they pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, and neither of them spoke for a while. The only sound was the soft crackle of the fire and the distant howling of the wind outside.

"Everything feels different now," Y/N whispered, her voice full of wonder.

Lando’s lips quirked up in a gentle smile. "Different in a good way?"

She nodded, her fingers tracing the lines of his palm. "In a way that makes everything else feel unimportant. Like nothing else matters but us."

"Yeah," he agreed, the weight of the words settling in. "I’ve spent so much time thinking about the future, about racing, about everything else. But in this moment, with you… I know what really matters. It’s you."

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her chest, her heart swelling with affection. "I’ve been thinking the same thing," she said, her voice soft but steady. "I was scared. But now that we’re here, I’m not afraid anymore."

Lando tilted his head, studying her face with an intensity that sent a rush of heat through her. "So, no more running?"

She shook her head, her smile gentle but full of certainty. "No more running."

Lando leaned in again, his lips capturing hers in another kiss—this one slow, full of everything they had been holding back. There was a tenderness in it, a promise that they would take this slow, that they would learn to navigate whatever was to come together. But more than that, it was a kiss filled with the knowledge that they were finally on the same page, finally together in a way they had always been meant to be.

As they broke apart, Lando reached for the bottle of wine and poured them both another glass, the soft clink of the glasses a gentle reminder that they had come a long way.

Y/N glanced out the window at the snowflakes gently falling from the sky, each one unique and fleeting, just like the moment they were sharing. "It’s beautiful out there," she said softly.

Lando turned to look as well, and for a moment, they were silent again, watching the world outside. But then he turned back to her, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Not as beautiful as you, though," he said with a grin.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. "You’re such a flirt."

"Only with you," he replied, his voice low and teasing. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin. "And I always will be."

Her heart raced at his words, her body feeling alive with the anticipation of everything that was unfolding between them. She leaned into him again, her lips brushing his, more sure of herself now than she had ever been.

And for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to believe in the possibility of everything—the future, the love they had shared, and the love that was still waiting to be discovered between them.

[mortallydeepestobservation]

Glitter, glue, I love you

Summary: You and Namjoon have been married for quite some time, your relationship having only grown since you first met as bright-eyed students back in the day. Now, you're a passionate primary school teacher, and Namjoon is an inspiring college professor, both deeply invested in shaping young minds. This holiday season, after a long day at work, you find yourselves staying late to decorate your classroom. Namjoon, ever the considerate soul, swings by to pick you up, but of course, you take advantage of the opportunity and put him to work. As you hang twinkling lights and arrange paper snowflakes, the conversation takes a meaningful turn. In the midst of the holiday madness, you talk about your future, and the idea of starting a family emerges… Best Christmas gift ever. Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: Fluff and smut. Married couple Au. Rating: explicit. Minors do not interact. Warnings: this is honestly just a fluffy slice of life drabble. Namjoon is clumsy, and whipped. Spandex? drinking. Smut warnings: soft dom Namjoon, big cock Namjoon, oral (m and f receiving) praise, multiple positions, a little overstimulation, just a smidge of breeding kink. Word count: 14k Author’s note: Okay. I know I have an ongoing story, but I do this thing, where I get overwhelmed with life and just blurt out a whole drabble. Usually in those moments the story I’m already working on drives me insane, so I… do this. sorry?😊 thank you sweet sweet @callmenoona25 for accepting my... quirk when i just drop a whole new fic on your lap out of nowhere lol. Thank you @rpwprpwprpwprw For the perfectly aesthetic joonie photos!

(fun fact, i used to know a baby chicken little. He'd always break his glasses down the middle) Merry Christmas everyone!❄️🎄

Your new crafting scissors glided against the construction paper with ease. A flurry of cut-off bits, small pieces of colourful paper, glitter, pompoms, and anything else that merely resembled a Christmas theme littered your classroom floor.

A delightful chaos surrounded you—scraps of red, green, and gold paper mingled with stray stickers, twisted up pipe cleaners, and the occasional orphaned googly eye. It was a mess, the kind only a classroom holiday crafting session could conjure, and yet here you were, adding more to it.

The new scissors, sharp and precise, were a joy to wield, effortlessly turning construction paper into stars, trees, and snowflakes. You got so absorbed in your work that the mountain of scrap paper piling up next to your desk barely registered anymore.

The room was silent now. The kiddos had left hours ago, followed by a parent-teacher conference and a staff meeting to finalize plans for the upcoming Christmas holiday party. By the time you returned to your classroom, the exhaustion was bone-deep, and the sight of the disaster awaiting you made you groan.

But as you approached your desk and spotted a few abandoned crafts—a lopsided tree, a glue-smeared snowman—a spark of creativity flickered to life. The supplies were already out, and with autumn decorations still clinging to the walls, you figured you might as well get a head start on transforming the room into a winter wonderland before the weekend.

You lost yourself in the rhythm of cutting and crafting, glueing and arranging, the silence of the empty classroom wrapping around you like a warm blanket. It was practically the only moment during the long, exhausting day when you could to sit down and just let your thoughts wonder.

You were so focused that you didn’t notice the sun setting—or the faint creak of your classroom door opening.

“Mrs. Kim, it seems my wife forgot to come home today after class.”

You froze mid-snip, the scissors poised in your hand, a half-finished snowflake dangling from your grip. The familiar voice carried a teasing warmth that made your cheeks flush before you spun around in your chair, to catch a glimpse.

Standing in the doorway was you husband, Namjoon, leaning casually against the doorframe with that playful grin you loved (or occasionally cursed for how easily it could fluster you).

His tie was loosened, sleeves rolled up, and his coat draped over one arm, a telltale sign that he’d come straight from his own long day at work. Yet his smile was bright, his tired eyes twinkling with delight upon seeing you, like he was about to tell you the best pun he ever heard.

“You know, most people would’ve taken that parent-teacher meeting as their cue to call it a day,” he teased, crossing his arms. His gaze swept over the room, taking in the colourful chaos, before settling on you.

“Well,” you started, trying to sound casual as you placed your scissors on the desk and brushed the glitter from your hands, leaning back against the chair. “After that I also had a staff meeting.”

His grin widened. “Did you cut out the staff out of paper?”

You huffed at his playful remark, picking up a pompom from the desk and tossing it in his direction. The fluffy projectile sailed weakly through the air before plopping to the floor with an overly dramatic bounce, getting lost in the multicoloured mess on the ground. “Very funny, Mr. Kim,” you said, shaking your head as you reached for your scissors to finish the snowflake.

Namjoon laughed, stepping into the room, his footsteps soft against the glitter-dusted floor. “I prefer clever over funny.”

You mused, pretending to consider his suggestion. “I’ll agree when you grab some paper and make something clever yourself.”

Namjoon chuckled, shaking his head. “No way. I’m just here to admire the handiwork—And maybe rescue my wife before she buries herself in glitter.”

“Too late for that.” You laughed, showing him the underside of your hands, covered in an array of colourful plastic bits and flecks of glitter.

He laughed too, his warmth filling the classroom as he settled into a nearby chair. He watched you with quiet amusement as you snipped away the final pieces of the snowflake.

Once done, you brushed the remains off the desk with a casual sweep of your hand, letting the scraps fall to the already messy floor. Reaching for a spool of string, you began tying a loop to hang the snowflakes.

“You know,” you said, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, “I was just thinking I could use a tall, handsome man to help me hang these from the ceiling.”

His dimples deepened slightly as his lips curled into a smirk. “Should I fetch the principal for you?”

“God, no!” you exclaimed, shooting him a mock-horrified look.

Namjoon’s laughter echoed again, and he stood, taking off his coat and draping it over the back of your chair. “Fine. Lucky for you, I happen to know a tall, handsome man who’s free to lend a hand. On one condition.”

“And that is?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you handed him the snowflake.

“I get to take you out for dinner afterwards.”

“You hang up my décor and I don’t have to cook dinner?” you said with a grin, watching as he reached up to hang the snowflake with ease. “You’ve got yourself a deal, my love.”

Namjoon smirked as he hooked the snowflake onto the ceiling, his long fingers adjusting it so it hung perfectly. “Don’t get too excited. You’re paying, and I’m starving,” he added with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you handed him another snowflake. “Starving? You make it sound like you haven’t eaten all day.”

“I haven’t eaten enough,” he corrected, taking the snowflake and hanging it with the same care as the first. “Besides, all this helping is hard work. I’m burning calories just by existing in this glitter cloud.”

“Poor baby,” you teased, before standing up and stretching as much as possible, waiting for that satisfying pop that made your back come to life after sitting at your desk for hours.

While Namjoon made remarkable progress on the snowflakes, you retrieved your broom and vacuum cleaner, trying to salvage the floor and not declare war with the cleaning staff in the process.

Once it finally started looking like a classroom again—crayons arranged, glue sticks all capped and drawings proudly hung up on the walls —you fetched your seasonal décor box from the supply closet, gathering the autumn leaves and acorns as you went.

The sound of Namjoon’s soft humming filled the room as he continued to hang the rest of the snowflakes. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him, so effortlessly blending into your little world. His tall frame moving with ease as he reached up to secure another delicate snowflake.

“You’re really getting into this, aren’t you?” you teased, carefully arranging the autumn décor for storage.

“Just trying to make your life easier,” Namjoon replied, his voice warm. He stepped back to admire his work, hands on his hips like he’d just solved a complex philosophy problem.

You smiled, unrolling the fairy lights on your desk, silently thanking your teacher assistant for her knack for packing them neatly and knot-free.

“Think you can help me with this too?”

When you looked up, you noticed Namjoon standing next to the wall where your classroom photo was hung up. It was a large picture of you surrounded by your students, all laughing and holding colourful balloons.

The parents had given it to you as a gift on the first day of this school year, though it had been taken during the end-of-year celebration when your little first graders graduated.

Around the group photo, you’d carefully arranged individual pictures of each child, their names neatly written underneath and decorated with felt stickers.

Namjoon stood quietly, his eyes scanning the display with a soft smile tugging at his lips. His expression was a mix of pride and warmth, the kind that never failed to make your heart flutter.

“What’s baby Chicken Little up to?” he asked, glancing over at you, the playful nickname making you giggle.

Last year your heart had been stolen by a little boy named Minjun, who made it his yearlong mission to bring you a leaf or a flower every single day of school. His little backpack was almost as big as he was, and he’d always greet you with the brightest, most infectious smile when he walked through the door, before dropping the little plant on your desk and giving you an adorable bow.

You’d told Namjoon all about him at the end of each day, and when you proudly showed him the photo you’d snapped of Minjun on your phone, Namjoon cooed and playfully nicknamed him baby Chicken Little. All because of his “iconic green glasses,” which happened to bear an uncanny resemblance to the ones the animated character wore.

“He’s doing really well. A little genius when it comes to multiplications, although his calligraphy could use some work.”

Namjoon chuckled, his dimples making an appearance as he glanced back at Minjun’s photo. “Multiplications, huh? Guess he’s already ahead of the curve.”

You smiled fondly, scavenging through your storage boxes for the chalk markers. “He’s a sharp one. Always so curious. His mom says he’s been teaching his little sister how to count using her barbie dolls.

Namjoon’s expression softened further. “Sounds like a future teacher in the making.”

You giggle, “Only if he can pass your philosophy 101 class in college.”

“Oh, come on! You know I’m not as mean as you make me out to be.”

You raised an eyebrow, pausing your search for the chalk markers to give him a teasing look. “Not as mean? Should I remind you about that one student—what was his name? Jungkook? —who said your essay prompts were harder than his organic chemistry final?”

Namjoon groaned dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “That was one time! And he clearly didn’t read the syllabus.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, stifling a laugh as you finally found the markers, holding them up triumphantly. “I’m just saying, if Minjun wants to pass your class, he better start practicing his critical thinking skills now.”

Namjoon crossed his arms, feigning offense. “For the record, my students love me. I’m approachable, insightful, and, dare I say... inspiring.”

You watched as Namjoon gave you that challenging look, daring you to tease him further. But deep down, you knew 100% that he was right.

After all, he’d proudly told you about Jungkook— the ‘Muscle Bunny’—who, by the end of the year, would refuse to leave the classroom after lessons, just for a chance to talk with Namjoon about everything from philosophy to general life issues. (And on more than one occasion, you had to swing by the college to collect your husband, because they were both so emersed in the conversation.)

Sure, Jungkook may have started out as a bit of a tough nut, but by the end of the semester, he was one of Namjoon’s biggest fans.

You chuckled softly at the thought. Namjoon had a way of drawing people in, even the most unlikely candidates. It’s what made him such an outstanding teacher. And you couldn’t be happier that you managed to snatch him up before he even graduated with his teacher’s degree.

“I know you are.” You said honestly, watching his posture soften, his eyes almost twinkling with delight at the compliment.

Namjoon’s dimples deepened, and he turned back to look at the photos on the wall. A comforting silence falling over the classroom again as you started drawing with the chalk markers on the windows.

It was just as you were finishing the last details of the snowman that Namjoon spoke again, his voice steady but carrying a weight that immediately caught your attention.

“Do you think we’d make good parents?”

The question hung in the air, quiet and unexpected, causing you to freeze mid-stroke. Your hand suspended, the tip of the marker just inches away from the snowman’s little top hat. You hadn’t expected that. Namjoon had always been thoughtful, but this… this was something entirely different.

You turned slowly, finding him looking at you, his expression unreadable but soft. There was a quiet intensity in his eyes, as if he wasn’t sure why he asked the question, but was waiting for your answer nonetheless.

“Good parents?” you repeated, your voice quieter than usual, the weight of the question settling into your chest. It wasn’t just a casual inquiry—it felt loaded and significant. It felt like he was asking something deeper, something that might change your life in the very near future.

Namjoon seemed to notice the shift in the atmosphere, his gaze flickering to the floor for a moment before meeting your eyes again. His lips parted slightly, as if trying to find the right words, but instead, he stayed silent, letting the question linger.

You cleared your throat, your thoughts racing. Was he asking about parenting techniques? Was this a hypothetical question, or was there something more to it? You couldn’t quite tell. But the thought of it—of you and Namjoon as parents—flashed across your mind, and for a split second, you felt a warmth spread in your chest.

You’d talked about your future many times—even while you were still just dating—and you both agreed you wanted kids. But there was never a set timeline or a specific goal you wanted to reach before starting a family.

You took a slow breath, trying to gather your thoughts as the weight of the question settled in your mind. The idea of having a baby—it was something you’d talked about casually, even dreamt about in passing. But now, with his eyes on you, the conversation suddenly felt real, more tangible than it ever had before.

You finally put the chalk marker down on the desk, turning fully to face him. “You’ve asked me before about the future,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the rapid beating of your heart. “But this... this feels different. Are you asking because you’re actually thinking about it?”

Namjoon looked at you, his eyes soft but filled with a quiet intensity that made your cheeks heat up. “I mean-” he said after a beat, his voice almost uncertain. “I guess I’ve been thinking about it more lately, especially with everything we’ve built together. I don’t think we can get any more financially stable. And we’ve got a good thing, right? We work well as a team. I just... I wonder what it would be like to take that next step, with you.”

Your heart nearly exploded, a big grin spreading across your face that would certainly make your cheeks hurt if you kept it up. He had a way of making everything feel possible, of making you believe in the future even when you didn’t have all the answers. The thought of raising kids with him, of teaching them the way you both wanted to, filled you with an overwhelming sense of warmth and certainty.

“I think we’d be great,” you said, your voice full of honest affection. “We’d make an amazing team. I know we’ve got the love, the patience, and the understanding to do it.”

Namjoon’s eyes softened, and for a moment, he just looked at you, as if taking in your words, before a soft smile crept onto his face.

You knew you weren’t about to get a confirmation from him, not now at least. Namjoon needed to steep in his thoughts a bit more before he would finally and ultimately tell you he wants a baby.

Still, his smile lingered, and he slowly nodded, as if to affirm your words without needing to say anything else just yet.

The silence between you both felt comfortable, like a promise for the future—an unspoken understanding that this was a conversation that didn’t need to be rushed.

After a moment, he reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch soft but sure.

“I love you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you felt an overwhelming sense of warmth and peace settle in your chest. Even despite hearing those same exact words come out his mouth millions of times, they still wrapped around you like a protective embrace, making everything else, every worry, every unfinished plan and every glitter-littered snowflake fade into the background.

You leaned into his touch, savouring the moment. “I love you too,” you replied, your voice steady but filled with the same devotion that was in his eyes.

He placed a chaste kiss on your forehead, before glancing around the classroom, “What did you ask me to do?”

“Fairy lights, Joon.”

Namjoon chuckled softly at your reminder, his fingers still lingering on your cheek for a moment before he stepped back. “Right, right,” he said, shaking his head. “I got distracted from the important things.”

You watched him walk toward the desk to finish hanging the fairy lights, a warm smile tugging at your lips as you returned to your drawing. The weight of the earlier conversation still lingered in the air, but it left you with a spark of excitement.

As he carefully draped the lights along the chalkboard, you noticed how effortlessly he moved, how much care he put into making sure everything was perfect. You’d always admired that about him—his attention to detail, his quiet confidence in everything he did. And now, with every little task, you couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of certainty.

“Almost done,” Namjoon called out, glancing over his shoulder. You gave him a thumbs-up, your smile widening as he finished the last strand of lights.

The classroom now looked like a cozy little haven, with the soft glow of the fairy lights casting a gentle warmth over the space. Everything felt perfect.

 You capped your marker once the windows were done, and walked over to your desk to organize a little bit, putting away the potentially dangerous supplies, before closing the drawers and the boxes.

Namjoon stood beside you, his hands in his pockets as he admired the room. “It’s impressive, I’ll give you that. But it’s still missing one thing.”

You frowned, stopping mid-motion, to glance around. “What’s that?”

He reached down, gently tugging you to your feet and closing the last box for you. “Us. Out of here, enjoying a well-deserved dinner.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, grabbing his coat and your bag before stepping away from the desk. Namjoon fetched your coat from the hanger, draping it over your shoulders with a soft smile. He then took your hand, a firm but gentle hold, and started guiding you toward the door, almost certain that if he didn’t, you’d find something else to do.

As you walked together, you paused by to the classroom pet cage, drawn by the soft rustling inside. The little chinchilla scamped out of his enclosure and over to the bars, his nose twitching as he looked up at you with big, hopeful eyes.

“Did I tell you we need to take Professor Fluff this Christmas break?” You asked, grabbing a treat from the nearby jar and tossing it into the cage, watching as the chinchilla eagerly snatched it up and started nibbling on it.

Namjoon, holding the door open for you, tilted his head as you walked back to him.

“Wasn’t it Teacher Assistant Park’s turn?”

“She’s pregnant, Namjoonie. She can’t.”

You slipped your hand into his, smiling as his fingers intertwined with yours, leading you down the dimly lit school halls.

“She should be able to handle a chinchilla if she expects to take care of a baby.”

You giggle, shaking your head. “No, babe, it’s about allergies.”

Namjoon sighed dramatically but couldn’t fully hide his grin. “That settle it. Definitely getting you pregnant. Even if only for the perks —wife comes home on time, and I get to have her all to myself for the holidays.”

You blushed furiously at his comment, a big, droopy smile tugging on your lips.

“Oh, come on. How much time do you think Professor Fluff is going to keep me occupied?” you tease, bumping your shoulder against him as you walk.

Namjoon raised an eyebrow, playful glint in his eyes. “With what I have planned for you, more than I like.” he replied, pulling the door shut behind him as the two of you stepped out into the crisp evening air.

You laugh, your cheeks still warm from the blush he had put there. Namjoon's teasing always had a way of making your heart flutter, but this time, there was something deeper in his words—something that felt like it carried a promise.

“I swear, you really know how to keep me on my toes,” You glanced up at him, feeling the warmth of his touch on your hand as he guided you out into the crisp evening air.

He grinned, pulling you closer to him as you made your way to the car. “That's the idea. Keep you guessing, keep you interested.” He gave you a wink, the playful glint never leaving his eyes, even as he opened the driver’s door for you.

“I don’t think you need to work too hard at it. You're already the most interesting person I know.” You said when he settled into the passengers seat.

Namjoon's smile softened, and for a moment, you could see the sincerity behind his teasing demeanour.

“I like that you think that,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, as he slowly leaned over the console to catch your lips in a sweet kiss.

You melted into him, the soft press of his lips against yours lingering for just a moment longer than usual, making your heart race. It was the type of kiss that had you coming back for more, the kind that melted all your worries away, and made you feel like you two were the only ones in the world.

As he pulled away, he gave you a playful smile, his thumb gently brushing over your cheek. “Now please drive. I’m starving.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his sudden shift in tone, your heart still fluttering from the lingering kiss.

“Always about food with you,” you sigh, starting the engine and pulling out of the parking lot. “I guess I'll just have to accept that food is your first love.”

Namjoon raised an eyebrow, his expression turning mischievous. “Well, if food's my first love, you, my dear, are my favourite dessert.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at his words, a mix of amusement and affection swirling inside you, butterflies wreaking havoc in your stomach.

You glanced over at him, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “Is that so?” You said, your voice teasing as you focused on the road.

Namjoon's grin widened; his eyes gleaming. “Absolutely. You’re sweet, irresistible, and I could spend hours between your legs.”

A flush crept up your cheeks as your grip on the steering wheel tightened, the tension between you two shifting. His words hung in the air, teasing but also carrying an edge that made your pulse quicken.

“Keep talking like that and I'm taking you home,” you threatened.

Namjoon’s expression shifted in an instant from playful to mock-serious. “No, no,” he whined, leaning back into the seat with a dramatic sigh. “I promise I'll be good.”

You giggle. “What do you want to eat then?”

He lit up again, his mock seriousness giving way to his usual enthusiasm. “That little BBQ place that opened up down the street from us.”

“The one you haven’t stopped talking about since they put up the ‘coming soon’ sign?”

“That’s the one,” he admitted unabashedly, his grin growing wider “It’s fate. They opened just in time for us to have the perfect date.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you turned the car toward home. “I guess it is. But I’m parking at home and we can walk—that way, I can drink too.”

“Oh, is my baby planning to get wasted tonight?” he teased, his tone light and playful.

“No,” you chuckled, glancing at him with a smirk. “But I know for a fact you’re going to order that fancy whiskey you always get, and I don’t want to be stuck as the designated driver.”

Namjoon laughed, his deep dimpled grin lighting up his face. “Fair point. That whiskey is worth the walk. And hey, I’ll carry you home if you have one too many.”

You rolled your eyes, a fond smile on your lips. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. It hasn’t been such a bad week” you smile at him, “But I won’t say no to being spoiled by you a little.”

“Always,” he replied without missing a beat. “I’ll spoil you every chance I get.”

You couldn't help but grin at his words, the warmth in his voice making your blush reappear. There was something so comforting in the way he always knew how to make you feel special, how he was so genuine in every little thing he did for you.

“So, you’re paying tonight?”

“Nope,” he smiled, popping the p, and earning a heartfelt laughter from you.

As the two of you approached your home, you turned the car into the driveway, the familiar sight of your house welcoming you. Namjoon was already getting out of the car, his excitement for the evening palpable.

“Let me grab my bag, and we’ll head out,” you said, stepping out of the car and locking it. Namjoon waited by the gate, glancing around as the evening air started to cool, a few stray little snowflakes lazily drifting through the air. The stars above twinkled in the dark sky, and the soft hum of the city around you made it feel like the world had slowed down just for the two of you.

“Ready?” he asked as you approached him, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket.

“Let’s go,” you replied with a grin, your arm slipping through his. You walked down the quiet street together, the comfortable rhythm of your steps matching each other effortlessly.

The neighbourhood was peaceful, with only a few cars passing by, and the crisp air reddening the tip of your nose. As you reached the corner of the street, the warm glow of the BBQ restaurant came into view. The scent of grilled meat and spices filled the air, making your stomach rumble in anticipation, and reminding you your last meal was breakfast, many hours ago.

“There it is,” Namjoon said, his voice full of excitement. “I’ve been dreaming of this all week.”

You laughed, the sound easy and full of affection. “It’s definitely been a long time coming, huh?”

“Worth the wait,” he replied, grinning.

As you entered the restaurant, the cozy atmosphere wrapped around you, and the delicious smells only heightened your anticipation. Namjoon gave you a playful glance, watching as you all but jump with excitement, before leading you to a little booth. You, of course, slid in next to him, and cuddled up against his side as you waited for the waiter. Namjoon grinned as you cuddled up against his side, his arm naturally wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you a little closer. The booth was small, but cozy, and the warm lighting of the restaurant made it feel like a private little nook just for the two of you.

As you settled in, your gaze drifted to the menu, although, truthfully, you were more focused on the tall and handsome man next to you. His warm presence besides you, the way he always seemed to know exactly how to make you feel safe and cared for. The man who wanted a family with you, who would undoubtedly take perfect, tender care of your little human being, and who would hang out at the museum talk hours on end about his favourite pieces with the kiddo, like they could grasp every single concept. Before, undoubtedly trying to teach your baby the deepest philosophy concepts ever, and five different musical instruments all at once.

The waiter soon approached, and Namjoon, with his usual confidence, ordered for the both of you without missing a beat. He didn’t even need to ask what you wanted—he already knew. A small smile tugged at your lips as you watched him. He always did that, always taking care of things in his own calm, capable way. It was one of the many things you loved about him.

Once the drinks arrived—a neat whiskey bottle that you couldn’t remember the name of—you clinked your glasses together in a soft toast.

“To perfect dates,” Namjoon said with a glint in his eye, his voice warm and filled with affection as he held his glass up to yours.

“To many more to come,” you replied, your voice light but sincere, the sound of it carrying a promise in the air between you.

The glass met with a soft clink, and the warmth of the whiskey settled in your chest as you took your first sip, savouring the smooth, smoky flavour. Namjoon mirrored your actions, the ice in his glass gently clinking as he took a long sip, never breaking his gaze from you.

You smiled at him, the familiar tenderness filling your heart, a slow, easy feeling of contentment settling over you. There was something special about moments like this—about sharing time in each other’s presence, just the two of you, with no outside distractions.

It reminded you of your first few dates, back when you two were both overworked students with a seriously high number of sleepless nights, and a very poor diet consisting mostly of cola and noodles. Back when he was so nervous that he basically talked to himself the whole date, stumbling over his words in a rush to make the ‘conversation flow’, but still managing to make you laugh with his awkward charm. You didn’t tease him about it back then, how could you? When he’d look at you like you could single-handedly change the world with a flutter of your eyelashes.

And when you agreed to a second date, he gave you the biggest, cheesiest smile you ever saw, before accidentally bumping into you as he leaned down to kiss your cheek, somehow managing to smack you in the face with his forehead.

You froze for a second, both of you staring at each other in stunned silence, before he apologized in a flurry and left you alone and confused in front of your dorm room.

Imagine his surprise when you called him for details about the promised second date.

Even so, there was never a moment when Namjoon ever made you feel unsafe, or like he was going out with you just to make up for his awkwardness. No, despite his nervousness, he always made sure you felt valued, cherished, and like you were the most important person in the room. That was one of the things you’d grown to love about him. He was sincere in every gesture, every word, even when he felt uncertain about himself.

That second date he got to kiss you right.

You had both come a long way since then. The clumsy first kiss was just a part of the story now, a little cherished memory that always brought a warm smile to your lips whenever you thought about it. You’d grown together since that day, and with each date, each shared moment, your bond had only deepened.

Now, here you were, sitting next from him, your husband, in this cozy little restaurant, enjoying the warmth of the whiskey and the various dishes that the waiter brought out for you.

Everything felt right. There was no doubt in your mind that this, right here, was exactly where you were meant to be.

Namjoon caught your eye, a small, playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re smiling to yourself.”

“I’m happy,” you replied simply.

Namjoon softened, his eyes filled with warmth as he leaned in slightly, his voice lowering to a more intimate tone. “Me too,” he said, his words wrapping around your heart and making it jump in your chest. You quickly leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, giggling a bit when he let out a soft, surprised puff, his eyes widening slightly at the unexpected gesture. “What was that for?” he asked, his voice light with amusement but still smooth .

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, the devotion in your gaze unwavering. “For making me happy. And for hanging the snowflakes in my classroom.” You paused for a quick second, before smirking. “And for paying for dinner?”

Namjoon chuckled, his dimpled smile lighting up his face. “Nope.”

He laughed at your fake little pout, before holding out his chopsticks to you. “Here, try this.”

You opened your mouth wide, waiting for him to feed you the piece of beef he cooked, only for it to fall from his chopsticks and right on your button-down shirt.

You both froze for a moment, staring at the little piece of beef resting on your chest. Namjoon blinked, his eyes widening in disbelief before he broke into a fit of laughter, his deep voice filling the space between you two.

“Smooth,” you teased, raising an eyebrow as you reached for the beef and popped it into your mouth, before grabbing a napkin to wipe away the mess on your shirt.

“I'm so sorry,” Namjoon said, still laughing, but his voice filled with genuine concern. “I swear I aimed for your mouth.”

You dabbed the spot on your shirt, trying to suppress your own laughter. “That’s what he said.”

At that little comment he gave you a deep belly laugh, a hand covering his mouth, before grabbing another napkin for you.

“I’ll take it to the cleaners tomorrow. I’m sorry.” He still giggled like a little kid watching you try to rub the stain away.

You couldn't help but smile, your heart warm at the small, sweet gesture. “I think it’s fine,” you said, your voice softening as you met his eyes. “It's just a shirt. But it’s the thought that counts.”

Namjoon tilted his head, his dimpled grin returning. “I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, leaning in slightly, his voice lower and softer. “I swear.”

The temptation to flirt back tugged at you, but the urge to tease him was simply too strong to resist.

“You can start by not burning the rest of the meat on the grill.”

“Shit!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction as he whipped around to check the grill. The sizzling sound of beef filled the air, and he immediately sprang into action, grabbing the tongs and flipping the steaks with exaggerated haste.

“Shit, shit!” he muttered under his breath, his hands moving quickly but still a little too late to save the edges of the tender cuts from burning.

You couldn’t help but laugh, watching the frantic yet adorable way he tried to salvage the meal. "Maybe next time, don’t get so distracted by my chest," you teased, leaning back in your chair with a sly grin

“I swear I’m a better cook when I’m not trying to impress you.” he confessed with an embarrassed smile that made your heart pick up again.

“Why are you still trying to impress me? You’re already getting in my pants tonight.” You flutter your eyelashes up at him, leaning into his side.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered under his breath, focusing back on the grill with renewed determination.

You let out a laugh, unable to resist bugging him further. “Come on, Namjoonie, you don’t have to work this hard for me. I’m already sold. Burned beef and all.”

He shot you a quick look over his shoulder, his dimple making a reappearance as he smirked. “Oh, I know you’re sold. But I still have to keep my reputation intact. Can’t have you thinking you married a man who can’t even grill properly.”

You shrugged playfully. “I mean, I wasn’t exactly drawn to you for your cooking skills to begin with.”

Namjoon smirked, his eyes briefly flicking to yours with a teasing glint before he said, “Good. Then I guess my other skills will have to do now too.”

The innuendo wasn’t lost on you, and you raised an eyebrow, “Careful, Mr. Kim. You keep that up, and I’m taking you home.”

Namjoon’s laugh was loud and deep, echoing around the room as he handed you the piece of meat. “Eat first,” he said with mock seriousness, his tone firm but the amusement dancing in his eyes betrayed him. “And you’re getting dessert too.”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, smirking “You’re just going to eat half of whatever I pick, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” he admitted shamelessly, his grin widening in triumph, dropping some veggies on your plate too.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress your laugh as you reached for the menu. “Fine. Let’s get the profiteroles. They look amazing, and you can’t mess up sharing that.”

Namjoon arched a brow. “Are you implying I messed up sharing earlier?”

You shot him a pointed look, lips twitching with amusement. “There’s beef on my shirt, Namjoon.”

Namjoon paused mid-grin, glancing down at your chest, before letting out a sheepish laugh. “Okay, okay, point taken. No more distractions.” He turned back to the grill, but not without throwing you a cheeky wink first. “Although, just for the record, you’re quite distracting when you wear that skirt.”

You shook your head, still smiling. “I swear, you're impossible.”

Yet there wasn’t even a crumb of conviction in your tone.

The evening carried on naturally, the warmth of the alcohol and the steady rhythm of conversation made everything feel comfortable. The intimate little interludes— the flirting, teasing, the way his eyes never strayed far from you—kept the energy between you two charged. You weren’t sure whether it was the drinks, or Namjoon’s smile, or a mix of both, but you couldn’t deny the way everything felt amplified. You were tipsy, needy, and feeling more than a little flushed.

Namjoon noticed it before you did, that little shift in the air around you. He leaned in, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he casually placed his hand over thigh. “You’re looking a little red,” he remarked softly, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that made a shiver run down your spine.

You tried to laugh it off, shifting slightly in your seat. “I think I might’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

“Mm, I noticed,” he said, his voice smooth, low. He didn’t pull his hand away, but instead gave your leg a gentle squeeze, before moving his hand higher up edging the seam of your skirt, “You look adorable though.”

A soft heat spread through you, making your heart beat in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol. There was something in his gaze—something undeniably intense—that made the air between you feel thick. Like you could just eat him up, and he’d thank you.

“Do I need to carry you home?”

“No.” You swallowed, shifting your eyes away. “But you should stop looking at me like that. You’re making me blush.” You replied, trying to play it off, but your words felt like they were slipping from your lips a little too easily. You could feel his gaze on you, assessing, as if he knew exactly what you were trying to hide.

Namjoon’s gaze softened, and the corner of his mouth quirked up as he leaned in a fraction closer. His thumb gently stroked your skin, the simple touch sending a spark of heat straight to your core. “Am I?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that made your stomach twist in the most wonderful of ways.

You tried to steady your breath, but it felt impossible under the weight of his attention. “Yes.”

“Good,” he smirked.

“Namjoon,” you breathed, not sure whether it was a plea or a warning.

The playful banter felt more like a slow burn now, the kind that lingered in the spaces between your words and between your slowed movements.

 “Mm?”

“Please get the tab, so I can pay and we can go.”

Namjoon’s lips curled, his fingers still moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

“Impatient, baby?” He murmured, his voice deeper now, like he was savouring the effect he was having on you.

You nodded, the growing need clouding your thoughts. “Yes,” you whispered, barely audible. “I want to go home.”

He leaned in slightly, his face just inches from yours, and for a moment, everything else seemed to blur out of existence. His breath was warm against your skin, and the weight of his gaze made you feel both exposed and electrified. It didn’t even register that you were out in public anymore, or that there were other patrons around. The only thing on your mind was his dark eyes staring at you.

“Alright,” he said, his voice low and steady, his smirk never wavering. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

He slid his hand off your leg, but not without one last lingering touch—soft, deliberate, and devastating—leaving you absolutely wrecked as he leaned back to call the waiter.

(Of course, he didn’t even let you see the tab, snatching it up and paying for your meal without a second thought.)

Every movement of his was slow, measured, like he knew exactly where your limit was and he was drawing it all out with maddening precision. The air between you thickened with unspoken tension, humming in the spaces where his fingers lingered, where his gaze met yours.

And when he brushed your hair to the side to help you slip into your coat, his hand found the back of your neck, resting there for just a second longer than necessary—firm and warm, enough to leave your heart pounding and your mind spinning.

The moment the door of the restaurant swung open, a gust of cold air hit you, the crisp night biting at your skin. The alcohol in your blood dulled slightly, replaced by the clarity of the chill as you instinctively pulled your coat tighter around you. Yet, the thin fabric did little to shield you from the cold, the breeze slipping through the seams.

Namjoon was right beside you, his sharp eyes scanning the darkened street as if the cold didn’t faze him at all. With a glance your way, he stepped closer, shrugging his own coat higher on his shoulders before slipping his arm around you without hesitation. His hand rested lightly on your back, the weight of it both grounding and comforting.

His warmth beside you was enough to make the walk more bearable, and the anticipation bubbling inside you made it all worthwhile.

He turned to you, a slight smile on his lips. “Cold out here, huh?” he said, his breath visible in the night air, quickly leading you towards your home.

You nodded, pulling your scarf up a little higher to shield your face from the cold.

Without a word, Namjoon slid his arm around your shoulders, tucking you closer to his side. His touch was casual yet deliberate, like he didn’t need permission but still silently asked for it. The fabric of his coat was rough against your cheek, but his body heat bled through, chasing away the chill that had started to seep into your skin.

The street was quiet, the glow of streetlights casting long, soft shadows as you walked side by side. Those shy snowflakes from earlier now growing bolder, swirling down in earnest. They clung to your hair and coat, melting into tiny droplets against the warmth of your skin.

Namjoon’s hand shifted after a while, slipping down to find yours. Without hesitation, he slid both into the pocket of his coat, the gesture so natural and intimate that it made your stomach flutter anew. His thumb brushed over your knuckles absently, a small but steady movement that set your heart racing. Each step brought you closer together, your shoulders brushing now and then, as you neared your house.

His presence, the solid warmth of him beside you, was more than enough to keep the chill at bay.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice cutting through the crisp night air as he glanced over at you.

You nodded, your breath forming soft clouds in the cold. “Yeah. This is nice.”

Namjoon chuckled. “Nice? You’re freezing.”

“You’re hot.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them, accompanied by a fit of giggles that felt almost too loud in the still night. The alcohol still hummed faintly in your system, loosening your tongue, but it was worth it just to see Namjoon stutter, his eyebrows raising.

And then he laughed, full and rich, the sound reverberating through you. “Wow,” he murmured, shaking his head with an amused smile. His cheeks tinged pink—maybe from the cold, maybe not—as he reached into his other pocket, pulling out his set of keys.

“Smooth,” he teased, glancing sideways at you as he fiddled with them, making quick work of finding the right one. The lock clicked open, and he stepped aside to let you in first, the warmth of the indoors beckoning you like a sanctuary.

As you passed, he caught your arm gently, his fingers brushing along its length. His eyes met yours, a daring glint in them that suddenly made your heart pick up again.

It wouldn’t be the first time Namjoon pins you to the first flat surface as soon as you walked through the door, fucking every single sensible though out of your brain, and that idea sends a tingle of excitement coursing through your body. You smile up at him, leaning further into his touch.

But Namjoon is undeterred.

“Don’t make snow all over the place. I mopped yesterday.”

You tilted your head, a little indignant puff escaping your lips before you smirk, toeing off your snowy boots by the door. “You’re so sexy when you do chores.” You push your luck further, but your lovely husband can’t seem to pick up on it.

 “That’s it. No more drinks for you.”

“Mm, you love it,” you teased, stepping past him into the warmth of the hallway.

The cozy embrace of the house wrapped around you, softening the crisp chill that clung to your skin, inviting that sense of ease that only your home could bring. You made quick work of shedding your coat and boots, setting them neatly by the door before stretching your arms high above your head, a little moan escaping your lips as the tension of the day melted away.

Namjoon glanced over just in time to catch your little display, his eyes flickering with amusement—and something else. “Comfortable already?” he shrugged off his own coat and tossing it over a chair.

“Very,” you replied with a content sigh. Without much thought, you made your way to the living room and plopped down on the couch, curling up against the soft cushions.

Namjoon followed behind, shaking the snow from his hair before taking his seat right next to you. His long body settled into the couch with easy grace, his head leaning back against the cushions, eyes lazily studying you as you sink further into the couch.

The warmth of the room wrapped around you like a cozy blanket, combining perfectly with the comfortable silence that filled the air. You could feel the weight of the night slip away.

The alcohol was still buzzing lightly through your veins, making you feel a little lighter, more complacent.

Namjoon shifted slightly, his arm brushing against yours as his hand found its way to your thigh, his fingers resting there with an easy familiarity. The warmth of his palm seeped through the fabric of your skirt, and when he shifted again, his touch grew bolder, fingers tracing slow circles just above your knee.

The small touch made your heart pickup again, and you looked up at him, catching the softness in his expression as he glanced back at you.

“So tired,” he confessed, almost like it was a secret. The day had been long for both of you, and you had no doubt the holiday season weighed just as heavily on him. Sure, yours was filled with glittering snowflakes and loud kids singing out of tune Christmas carols, while his likely consisted of conference calls, paper grading and presentations, but fatigue didn’t discriminate.

Still, there was something about the evening, the silence between you two, that made it all feel worthwhile. The day was over, but the night had a way of stretching on, leaving just enough space for small moments like this. Because with Namjoon, there was always something that made the world feel quieter, easier. Like he was grounding you, helping you recharge in a way no one else could.

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed in response, your voice a little dreamy as you let your head fall to the side, leaning against his shoulder.

“You look tired too,” he said softly, his voice laced with tenderness, still his hand shifted to the inside of your thigh, fingers massaging your skin softly.

“I am,” you admitted with a small sigh, your body naturally melting into his touch as the knots in your muscles began to dissolve.

Yet, even as your body relaxed, a spark flickered deep in your belly—undeniable and growing—kindled by the deliberate care in his movements, each touch purposeful and impossible to ignore.

“But I’m also horny,” you tack on after a few seconds, your voice a little breathy, your eyes flicking up to meet his, watching for his reaction.

Namjoon’s hand stilled for a moment, the weight of your words sinking in. His gaze dropped briefly to where his fingers rested against your leg, then lifted to meet your eyes. His smile turned slow, deliberate, and his voice dropped an octave when he finally responded.

“Is my baby needy?”

You nodded slowly, feeling completely vulnerable under his deliberate admiration “Yeah,” you whispered, the word falling form your lips like a confession. “I want you.”

“You’re sure?” he asked, as if testing the waters, giving you a chance to pull back if you wanted to. But the way his eyes locked onto yours, the way his touch lingered now a little longer, a little rougher, said he wasn’t going anywhere unless you wanted him to.

Instead of answering, you shifted, turning around to straddle his hips, tugging your skirt higher in the process so you could sit comfortably on his lap.

“Always,” you muttered, your voice a breathy promise before closing the gap between you. You pressed your lips to his with fervour, cutting off the teasing words he was no doubt ready to deliver, swallowing them whole.

 Namjoon’s hands quickly went to your ass, pulling you impossibly closer, and you giggled when he squeezed at your flesh, then shifted like he sensed something unusual.

“What are you wearing?” Namjoon murmured against your mouth, his breath warm and pleasant. The low timbre of his voice made you giggle, the vibration of your laughter mingling with the tickle of his breath.

“Spandex,” you replied with a grin. “How do you think my butt looks so good in this skirt?” With a playful movement, you lifted the hem of your skirt just enough to show him. The spandex hugged your curves perfectly, a sly smirk plastered on your face.

Namjoon chuckled softly, his fingers brushing over the edge of the spandex before his hand returned to its frisky grip on your ass. His gaze lingered, warm and unguarded, as if memorizing every curve.

“Sexy,” he concluded. His other hand grabbing the edge of your shorts and letting it slap against your skin; the gesture drawing another burst of giggles from you.

“The sexiest,” you replied, your laughter dissolving into a grin as you shook your head. With an easy motion, you dropped your head onto his shoulder, muffling your laughter against his shirt.

It was ridiculous, you knew that—the whole moment—but there was something about the way he looked at you that made your heart swell. Like he found you beautiful even in the silliness, even in spandex.

You remained like that for a moment, enveloped in the comfort of his presence, the steady rhythm of his breathing syncing with your own. His hands continued their gentle kneading of your flesh, and you shifted your hips, pressing closer, feeling his hardness through your clothes.

Namjoon let out a soft huff, and you lifted your head to meet his eyes, an impish glint in your own. With a wicked smile, you began moving your hips in slow, deliberate circles, grinding against him, enjoying the way he hardens beneath you. His hands tightened, pulling you closer, a soft moan escaping his lips as he let his head fall back against the couch.

“Ah, babe-” His voice was strained, thick with desire, the heat between you intensifying, his hips buckling up slightly.

Your hands wander up his chest, feeling the muscles tense and relax beneath his shirt. You can feel his heart racing, matching your own as you lose yourself in the rhythm you’d set. With a bit of fumbling, you managed to unbutton his shirt, watching as he shivered under the touch of your cold fingers as you chart his toned muscles.

“Fuck. Kiss me please,” he breathed out, his voice rough and needy.

Your mouth hovered just few inches away from his, the warmth of his wrapping around you like a cocoon. Close enough to count the moles and freckles that dotted his skin, to take in the slight stubble along his jaw. His breath mingled with yours, teasing your lips.

 Your gaze flickered down, lingering on his mouth for just a moment longer.

And then, you didn’t hesitate. Leaning in, your lips find his in a fervent kiss. His mouth moved with yours, tongues tangling as you explored him, your hands roaming the expanse of his now exposed chest. The kiss was all-consuming, filled with the passion that had been simmering between you since he stepped into your classroom earlier today.

Namjoon's hands are not idle either. They roam up your thighs, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, making you shiver. You can feel his arousal pressing against your core, and you grind against him, eliciting a low moan from him.

“You feel incredible,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands squeezing your thighs. “I want you so bad.”

His words send another wave of heat through you, and you deepen the kiss, your hands tangling in his hair. You can feel the tension building between you, your own arousal growing with every passing moment.

With a reluctant movement, you pull away to stand up, your skirt falling back down to your thighs as you stare down at him. Namjoon looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire, and you can't help but feel a thrill of excitement as you slowly, deliberately, begin to undress for him.

Pulling your button down over your head, you let it fall at his feet, watching the way his eyes barely flicker to it. Instead, Namjoon watches you, his breath quickening as you reveal more and more of your body to him.

You slip out of your skirt, tossing it aside as you stand before him in nothing but your spandex shorts and a lacy bra. His eyes rake over you, taking in every inch of your body with a hungry gaze.

“God, you're beautiful,” he breathes, his voice thick with longing, watching you kneel between his legs on the floor, your hands quickly moving to his belt to unbuckle it.

You take your time with it, savouring the way his breath hitches as you brush your fingers against his hardness. Once the belt is undone, you unbutton his pants and pull them down, taking his boxers with them. Namjoon lifts his hips to help, his gaze never leaving yours.

Now that he's fully exposed, you can't help but admire him; He's always been handsome, but in this moment, with desire burning in his eyes and his body tense with need, his unbuttoned shirt still clinging to his shoulders, he was downright irresistible.

You reach out, wrapping your hand around his cock, hard and ready, resting against his stomach, and he hisses in a deep breath, melting under your touch.

“Fuck.” His head falls back against the couch pillows, breaking eye contact once you wrap your lips against his dick, running your tongue over his leaking tip, swirling it and dipping it into the slit, enjoying the lewd sounds that escaped from his chest without abandon.

Emboldened, you keep taking him deeper in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and finding a steady rhythm that has him unravelling quickly. Your tongue rolling over his head every time you come back up.

Your hand starts working the part you can’t reach mirroring the rhythm you've set with your mouth, unleashing a flood of moans from him.

Namjoon’s hips buck, accidentally bumping the back of your throat, making you gag, and a quick, weak apology falls from his lips, although you feel like he doesn’t truly mean it, because he does it again right after.

 But you barely care, because his taut stomach clenches, showcasing his pretty abs, and the long, low sound he makes sends a new wave of wetness between your legs, urging you on. You were the one making him weak. You were pleasuring him in such a way that made him lose himself.

“Just like that, love.” He reaches out, his fingers tangling in your hair, not tugging at it, but guiding your movements, fucking your mouth. You keep up with him, your lips now redden, tongue rolling on the underside, and your chin covered in spit as you bob faster.

The room is filled with the wet vulgar sounds your mouth makes and his low groans, the air thick with desire and anticipation.

“Fuck. Babe, stop.” He whimpers, tugging at your hair. “I’m close. Don’t want to cum-”

Suddenly, Namjoon pulls you away, holding you just out of reach as his head falls back against the couch, a long miserable “Fuuuuuck,” filling the space between you, as if he’d just received the worst news ever.

You blink up at him, your mind scrambling to understand his sudden outburst. His gaze meets yours again, and the regret swimming in his eyes deepens your confusion.

“Fuck. I knew I forgot something.” He groaned, voice thick with frustration, his fingers releasing their hold on your hair.

Your hand stilled mid-movement, your head tilting slightly as you tried to make sense of his words.

“You… can’t get blowjobs?” you asked cautiously, your knees wobbling as you stood up, bracing yourself against his legs for stability.

“What? No,” he blurted, his brows furrowing in indignation. “I forgot to go to the store. We’re out of condoms.”

Namjoon looked utterly defeated, his hands reaching out instinctively to steady you. Yet, there was something almost comical in the way his lips formed the smallest of pouts.

You bit down hard on the wicked grin threatening to spread across your face. He was adorable—even now, red hard cock pulsing against his chiselled thighs, neck flushed red, chest rising and falling rapidly as his mind raced. Likely scolding himself for forgetting something so crucial.

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips, and again, you bury your face into his shoulder, leaning into him to press a kiss against his neck, drawing his gaze back to you. His thumbs began rubbing slow circles against your hips, grounding both of you as you whispered softly into his ear, “We could always go without.”

Namjoon froze. The suggestion sent a visible shiver through him, and his eyes widening slightly.

 For a moment, the room was silent save for the soft hum of the heater in the background, the suggestion hanging in the air between you like a loaded secret. His hands, still resting on your hips, tightened slightly as he stared at you, trying to gauge how serious you were—or how far he could let himself go without losing control.

“Are you serious?” his voice came out broken despite his best efforts, and you lean back to look at his face, your hands holding onto his shoulders.

“It would make a nice Christmas gift.” You admit, almost bashful, but maintaining eye contact.

“You’re not just saying that, are you?” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. The playful tension had melted away, replaced by something heavier, more profound.

You nodded slowly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Of course, not” you said softly, your voice trembling just a little. “I want that too. I want a family with you.”

His hand moved to your lower back, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t quite get enough of you.

Namjoon let out a soft, shaky breath, his forehead pressing lightly against yours. For a moment, he said nothing, his eyes closing as if to let your words sink in fully. When he opened them again, his gaze was filled with a depth of emotion that made your heart feel like it might burst.

“I really fucking love you.” He murmured, his hands settling more firmly on your hips, pulling you closer until there was barely any space left between you.

Your lips quirked into a small smile, your hands moving to cradle his face. “You better,” you whispered back. “I’m your wife, after all.”

Without warning, his arms tightened around you, and in one smooth motion, he stood up, lifting you effortlessly into his embrace.

You let out a startled gasp, your hands clutching his shoulders for balance.

“Namjoon!”

But he only laughed at your reaction, the sound of it lighting up his features as he carried you down the hallway with ease. His fingers pressed gently into your skin, steadying you, and even despite your mock annoyance, your heart still fluttered at the way he held you—like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“Don’t think being my wife means you can get away with teasing me like that,” he murmured. His steps were steady, purposeful, the warm glow of the bedroom lights spilling out into the hallway as he nudged the door open with his foot.

You grinned, brushing a soft kiss against his jaw. “Actually, I think it means exactly that.”

He shook his head, his lips curving into a smirk as he laid you down gently on the bed, his hands lingering as if reluctant to let you go, while your legs remained wrapped around his hips, his hard cock pressing against your thigh. His gaze roamed over you, warm and full of affection, but the spark of desire in his eyes was impossible to miss.

“You’re impossible,” he said, his voice low and teasing as he leaned over you, bracing himself with one arm while the other trailed down your side, sending a delicious shiver through you.

“You love it,” you replied, your tone just as playful as you tugged him closer.

Namjoon hummed, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that started sweet but quickly deepened, every touch and movement making you feel lighter, like you were floating.

His soft lips were moving yours and controlling the kiss, and you melted in his arms, letting him do anything he wanted. He pushed your lips open, and you willingly allowed his tongue to explore every inch of your mouth, moaning against him when he hooked it around your lip to softly bite on it.

His movements were slow and deliberate, as if savouring every second of the connection between you two. Your hands dropped down to his shoulders to push away his shirt, letting it fall off somewhere, and in response, Namjoon pressed against you further, pushing you into the mattress.

You can feel the weight of his body on you, every inch of him pressed against your curves, and you revel in the sensation, though it does very little to soothe the burning ache spreading through you. You try to arch your back, try to make your hips meet, desperate to feel more of him, but Namjoon keeps you pinned down. Your heart hammers against your ribcage, and you're lightheaded from the kiss, each one of his lingering touches drawing you deeper.

His hands move with purpose, gliding down your arm and leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake. Each touch feels purposeful, yet it only strokes the fire within you, the tension between you building with every measured caress.

Namjoon shifts, his lips abandoning yours to travel along your jaw and neck. Soft and warm, they graze your skin, leaving a searing path of heat that makes your breath hitch with every press of his mouth.

The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the warmth of his breath on your neck made your head spin, the room narrowing to just the two of you.

 You gasp when he nips at your neck, his lips a welcome contrast to the sting of his teeth. His hips rock against yours, and you moan at the feeling, even if it's just his length pressing against you, but at this point, you’d take anything to ease the lustful haze that clouded your mind.

“Joonie,” you whimper squeezing your thighs around his hips, “Please.”

You fought to keep your breathing steady, but it was a losing battle.

 “You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered against your skin, his voice soft like caramel, dripping with longing, his hands still caressing the sides of your body, stopping over your breasts, teasing your nipples through the lacy fabric of your bra.

You mewl, arching instinctively towards his touch. “Then show me,” you whispered back, your voice hushed, sounding so needy that you barely recognise it as your own.

His eyes shift to your face for a quick second, a big teasing smirk tugging on his lips.

“Mmm, I will.” He replies casually, before pinching your nipples through your bra. A little whimper falls from your lips as a jolt of pleasure shoots through you.

He tugs your bra down, letting your tits spill out, and with an almost primal movement, he takes a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while his hand continues to tease and pinch the other one. You gasp, throwing your head back, letting out soft moans as your fingers weave themselves into his hair, pulling him closer.

“God, you’re so hot,” he breaths against your chest, goosebumps erupting across your skin, before switching his attention to your other nipple.

You look down at him, your eyes heavy-lidded with desire. His hands slide down your body and you feel his fingers hook around the waistband of your spandex shorts, tugging them down your legs, leaving you completely bare and vulnerable before him.

He lifts his head from your breast, his lips red and slightly swollen, his gaze sweeping over you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. You feel a flicker of shyness wash over you, an instinctive reaction under his steady, adoring eyes. It isn’t that Namjoon ever made you feel uncomfortable—far from it. If anything, he had taught you more about how to love yourself than anyone else ever had.

But still, those small insecurities lingered, faint whispers at the back of your mind. The little things only you noticed, the things you thought didn’t measure up. You tried to push them away, focusing instead on the warmth in Namjoon’s gaze, the way his touch seemed to erase every doubt and hesitation.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice soft but brimming with conviction, like he couldn’t hold the words back even if he tried. His eyes traced every curve and detail, lingering as if memorizing you all over again. “Fuck, you’re going to kill me,” he whispered, the words tinged with awe before he leaned down to place slow, deliberate kisses along your ribs.

A shaky moan slipped from your lips, a sound of your clear frustration as his seemingly endless patience began to test your resolve. He chuckled softly against your hip, the vibration of it sending a wave of heat through you.

“Namjoon,” you breathed, your voice teetering on a plea, your fingers threading through his hair to tug gently.

His lips paused their trail, his gaze lifting to meet yours, mischief and adoration mingling in his dark eyes. “What is it, love?”

“Stop teasing,” you demanded, your tone shaky but resolute. “I swear to god-” but before you could finish your threat, Namjoon’s fingers swipe across your pussy, rendering you absolutely speechless.

“Holy fucking shit.” Namjoon breathed, the disbelief in his voice almost comical as his wide eyes flickered from your face to your cunt. “You’re dripping wet.” His fingers parted your lips, pulling them apart so he could see better. “Is the idea of me knocking you up turning you on this much?” His other hand joined in, both of them exploring your wetness, spreading it around. “Fuck.” He muttered, his fingers positioning at your entrance, sliding in and out of you easily.

You couldn't help but moan, your back arching as you pressed yourself into his touch. “Namjoon,” you sob, your voice filled with longing. “Please, just fuck me.”

“I will. I will,” he mumbles, moving lower to settle between your legs, spreading your thighs further apart, “After I get a taste.” He tacks on, quite proud of himself.

You couldn’t help but huff in frustration and desire as you felt his breath against your slick folds, ready to complain. But before you could get the words out, Namjoon quickly shuts you up, his mouth on you.

“Be good.” He warns, his tone firm but gentle, voice muffled against your pussy. As the words left his lips, his tongue darted out, tracing a line from your entrance all the way to your clit and then back down, causing you to shiver in pleasure. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you open for him as he explored every inch of you, his fingers moving in tandem with his lips.

“Joon,” you whimpered, your fingers tightening in his hair as you tried to control the rhythm, your hips trashing against his face. He chuckled against your skin, the vibrations sending another wave of heat through you, but his patience never wavered, even as your breaths became shorter and your whimpers turned into moans.

He slurped loudly, pressing his face in hard as he moved his lips and tongue expertly. You couldn’t help throwing your head back and moaning, the movement completely involuntary to you. His head moved around as he devoured you like a starving man, moaning to himself as he worked, his tongue lapping at your wetness, before coming back up to your clit and sucking hard, driving you crazy with the way his fingers moved and arched against your sweet spot.

“Namjoon!” Your eyes closed and you bit your lip, trying to muffle your moans, feeling the way his tongue swirled around your opening and licked up your wetness like he was savouring every drop of you.

He was worshipping you, consuming you like he’d been starving for you, growling whenever you pulled his hair too hard or moaned for him in a way he liked. Your back arched and you let yourself close your eyes, unable to stop yourself as your loud moans turned into gibberish, raising in pitch as he brought you right up to the edge.

His name was falling from your lips like a prayer, your hips bucking, thighs trembling and stomach clenched. You felt like you were about to explode, but he didn’t let up, not until you were unravelling against his touch. Your orgasm was so sudden, so violent and unexpected that you didn’t even get a chance to warn him, wave after wave of staggering pleasure washing over you, rendering you an absolute useless mess in his grasp.

 Namjoon didn't miss a beat, continuing his assault on your pussy as you came hard around him. Your muscles quivered and pulsed, and he groaned, the sound reverberating through you and adding to the intense pleasure crashing through your veins. And he didn't stop, his tongue and fingers working in tandem to wring every last ounce of pleasure from your body, his fingers pushing your release in his mouth.

As you slowly came down from your high, Namjoon gently kissed your inner thighs, his lips warm and soft against your sensitive skin. You could feel his proud smile against you, and you couldn't even find the energy to glare at him.

It wasn't until your breaths evened out and your body went limp that you finally managed to push him away, a satisfied smirk playing at his lips when he looked up at you.

“Feeling better, baby?” he asked, his voice twinged with amusement, although a little breathless.

You couldn't be bothered to reply, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. But you managed a small, satisfied smile, your eyes closed in contentment.

“I told you I would take care of you,” he murmured, his lips brushing softly against your hip. At that you chuckled, the sound light and airless, the remnants of pleasure still humming through your body like an electric current.

Namjoon began a slow ascend, pressing soft kisses against your skin as he went, each one making your breath hitch just a little more. When he finally reached your lips, his gaze was heavy with intent. He kissed you deeply, and the moment you tasted yourself on his tongue, a wave of heat crashed over you.

Your lips parted instinctively, drawing his tongue deeper as you sucked on it, the sensation unravelling something primal in your mind. A soft, desperate moan escaped against his mouth, your hands fisting into his hair as you clung to him, utterly consumed by him, by his mouth, by his hands against your hips. By Namjoon. Your husband.

“Ready for me to fuck you now, my love?” he asked, his voice low, a whisper against your lips, but one that sent a new wave of wetness to your core.

 You were too fucked out to form a coherent sentence, so your let your hand drop to hips and pull him closer, eager for him to take you.

You could feel his hard cock press against your entrance, and you couldn’t resist the temptation to glance down and watch as he positioned himself at your opening. A low moan falling from your lips as you waited for him to thrust inside you.

But instead, Namjoon teases you further, swiping his cock against your wet folds, driving you wild.

“C’mon love, don’t leave me hanging. Say something.” He chuckles, watching your expression carefully as he pushes the head of his cock against your clit, circling it.

That completely makes you snap, a flurry of uncoherent begging and threatening falling from your lips, filling the little space between your heavy breathing and his low chuckles.

“Please, please, please Namjoonie. Fuck me. Get me pregnant. God! Move! You always do this,” your head falls back against the pillow, tears prickling at the inside of your eyes, your fingernails digging in his skin. “Knock me up, please. Just fuck me. I’ll delete your homework gradings if you don’t.”

He bets you have almost no idea what you were spewing, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. Not when his heart swelled with love and desire at your words. He couldn’t resist you any longer. He presses the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you just for a second longer, before he finally pushes inside, agonizingly slow.

You gasp, your body trembling in his arms, feeling him fill you all the way to the brim. The feeling of him bare inside you, the warmth and the intimacy of it, is almost too much to bear. You can feel every inch of him, every ridge and vein. You feel every movement and every thrust as if it's the first time all over again. The sensation is so intense, so overwhelming, that you can't help but let out a series of weak, trembling moans every time he moves inside you.

“Holy fucking shit, you feel so fucking good.” Namjoon whimpered, his hips slapping against you, pulling almost all the way out before filling you up again, “Fuck, you're so tight. I can feel every inch of you, gripping me, love.”

The sound of your skin slapping fills the bedroom with his steady thrusts, punctuated by the occasional slap of his balls against your ass. You gasp, your orgasm building deep inside you. You can feel it coiling in your belly, ready to explode at any moment.

“Yes, yes, just like that, baby,” you moan, your hips moving in time with his.

“Shit love, look at that.” Namjoon presses a hand hard against your lower stomach, “Can you feel it?” he asked, his voice hoarse with desire. “Can you feel how deep I'm inside you, how close I am to filling you up?”

His words sent another wave of heat crashing over you, and you nodded eagerly, your breath hitching as you felt his hand press against your stomach. His cock, so deep  and snug in you that you can feel the bulge faintly against your abdomen as he moved.

You nodded frantically, your eyes wide as you felt him pulse inside you. The thought of him coming inside you, of him potentially getting you pregnant, only served to heighten your pleasure. You were so close, so unbearably close to the edge, and with each thrust, you felt yourself slipping closer and closer to the brink.

“Yes, yes, I can feel it,” you gasped, your hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. “Please, Namjoon, please fill me up. I want to feel you cum inside me, fill me up, I want to carry your baby.”

Namjoon's thrusts grew more desperate, spurred on by your pleas, more urgent as he chased his release, his grip on your hips tightening as he drove himself deeper and deeper inside you, hitting places you didn’t think possible.

You feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling with the effort of holding back.

“Don't stop,” you beg, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Don't you dare stop!”

But of course, ever the contrarian, Namjoon pulls out, making you scream in frustration. An elongated, miserable “Nooo,” falling from your lips, your body going limp, “God! Namjoon! I swear-” but he ignores you, flipping you over on your stomach.

You still angle your hips up in invitation, although angrily, your body trembling with anticipation and frustration. You’ve known your husband long enough to know how he liked to play, and how to play his games. You plant your knees on the mattress, lifting your ass higher in the air as your chest falls against the pillows, slowly swaying your hips for him.

 Namjoon takes a moment to appreciate the sight before him. Watching you offer yourself to him so willingly, so eagerly. He can’t resist your lure much longer. He positions himself behind you, his fingers tracing a path down your spine before grasping your hips firmly. You feel the head of his cock against your entrance once more, and you can't help the whimper that escapes your lips, as again, he swipes it against your clit before sinking into you.

This new position allows him to reach deeper somehow, and you can feel him hitting your sweet spot with every movement. Your fingers clench the sheets as he starts to thrust harder, his hips meeting your ass with a satisfying slap, and you push back against him, meeting him stroke for stroke, your pleasure mounting right back up, bringing you closer to the edge.

 Sweat starts to collect at your hairline, your breath hitching with each of his powerful thrusts.

“That's it, love. Take all of me,” Namjoon growls, his lips finding your neck as he continues to fuck into you. His hand snakes around to find your clit, and he starts rubbing slow circles around it, making your knees buckle under your own weight.

Your body trembles as he pushes you closer and closer to ecstasy. You can feel your orgasm building, the pressure coiling deep in your belly, ready to explode at any moment, with any one of his thrusts that hits right against your g-spot.

“Namjoon, I'm so close,” you gasp, your fingers gripping the sheets like a lifeline.

“I know, love. I can feel it. Let go, let me feel you come undone for me,” he whispers in your ear, his voice filled with need, his fingers flicking your clit softly, completely stealing the breath from your lungs. “Let me feel you clench around my cock baby.”

His words are your undoing. You cry out, dissolving into pleasure, everything around you cutting to white noise. Your elbows give way, and you collapse onto the mattress, completely boneless as he coaxes wave after wave of bliss from your trembling body.

His hands fly to your hips, holding you up for him as his thrusts grow more erratic, dragging out your orgasm and making you clench so hard against him that his movements stutters. You felt utterly weightless, as though your body had melted into the sheets, as if you had no strength left to hold yourself together.

“I’m so close,” Namjoon moaned your name, his sounds growing lounder and more uninhibited, as he relentlessly chased his own climax.

“Cum inside me,” you beg, egging him on. “Fill me up with your seed. Make a baby with me.”

His movements falter, his most base instincts taking over, and with one final, powerful thrust, he releases. Filling you up with his hot, sticky cum, you can feel it, coating your insides and leaking out. You clench around him, another orgasm, less intense but just as blissful as the first one washes over you.

The feeling of him coming inside you, the warmth and the intensity of it, is almost too much to bear. You can feel your heart racing, your entire body trembling with the aftershock. You can feel him still inside you, pulsing to the rhythm of his own release, and the sensation of it is just overwhelming.

“Fuck, love,” Namjoon whispers, his lips finding yours in a gentle kiss. “That was...incredible.”

You can only nod in agreement, your breathing still heavy and uneven. You can feel him softening inside you, but you don't want him to pull out. You want to stay like this forever, connected in the most intimate way possible, his full body weight on you.

But eventually, he does pull out, rolling onto his back beside you and you snuggle up against him, your head resting on his chest as you catch your breath. You can feel his heart racing, matching the rhythm of your own.

After a few moments of peaceful silence, broken only by your breathing, a soft, tired chuckle escaped your lips. You rested your chin on his chest, gazing up at him through fluttering eyelashes, a playful glint in your eyes.

“You have a breeding kink.” You state with a sly grin, your tone leaving no room for argument.

Namjoon huffs, his lips quirking into a faint smirk as he mutters, “Maybe.”

“Good,” you reply, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. “Means you’ll enjoy these next few months.”

He groans, running a hand through his hair as his gaze locks onto you, full of equal parts amusement and surrender.

“Fuck. You’ll be the death of me, woman.”

[jamminvroomvroom]

second time around.

ln x fem!reader

in which he’s quite desperate to have a second kid.

staying in my active era! there is honestly no excuse for this one, i just simply couldn’t help myself. it’s porn, yes, there is plot, but it’s just. porn.

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! where do i even begin? smut, more smut, breeding kink (kinda the whole point), choking, overstimulation, general sex acts, public sex, car sex, shower sex, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of the kid they already have, lando being a little shit, sex somewhere unhinged in the mtc, a brief moment of angst, dom!lando, rough sex? yeah.

3.9k words

take: 1

the season is coming to an end.

somewhere between italy and singapore lando decides he wants another kid.

it’s a warm day in the middle of september when he proposes the idea to you. you’re watching your daughter toddle around the garden, soaking up the last remnants of sunlight before the darkness of autumn encapsulates the warm beams until march.

she giggles, pushing her toys around in the grass. you let her play, lost in her own little world of wonder. lando turns to you, scanning your side profile, watching you watch the little girl. he’s awestruck, enamoured totally by the family he’s created, by the woman he loves. he doesn’t think, he just opens his mouth and let’s loose his big idea.

“want another one?” he cooes, sliding closer across the bench, until he’s nosing at your cheek. kisses are pressed to your puffy face. it’s still early.

at first you think he’s offering you another coffee, so you hold out your almost empty mug to him. you’d been nursing the drink, letting it go cold in the naturally cooler air. he laughs at you, and that’s when you clock what he’s actually asking.

you turn to him, facing each other now. lando looks excited. you wonder if you can find a way to mirror his expression.

“lando…” you start. his face drops at your tone, letting him down easy. “it’s not that i don’t want to, it’s just-“

“i’ll be home more. i’ve worked it all out. if we get to work now, baby will be here around the summer break.”

you mull over his words.

your first baby was a shock to you both, and you didn’t fancy doing that again. you loved lando with every fibre of your being, just as you did your daughter, but being away from him so much in the lead up to her arrival shot every one of your nerves to pieces.

but another baby would be on the agenda eventually - you both desperately wanted to add to your beautiful family - and you supposed that if he’d done the math…

“by get to work now, you mean…?” you cock an eyebrow at him. he lights up like the christmas tree you’d be putting up in a few months.

“she’s going down for her nap soon.” lando smirks, voice edged with that excitement once again.

-

his head is between your legs mere moments after he shuts your bedroom door.

you’d been waiting for him, stripped bare in anticipation. your baby girl would be down for a good few hours, more than enough time for him to draw out everything you had to offer and fill you back up.

his tongue runs over your flesh; he’s messy with it. you’re choking out whimpers as he licks and laps and tugs with his teeth. your pussy clenches around nothing and he notices, sliding his fingers all over where you ache. they’re quickly wet enough to slide inside of you, and he grinds them deep, luring traces of an orgasm into the pit of your belly. it’s familiar, the way he winds you up, and you want him like this every minute of the day.

“getting you ready, honey. gonna get you so fucking ready.” lando is slurring words into your cunt, letting them get lost to your sodden folds. you hear every word perfectly. they make you shake and shake until you’re undone.

when he looks up at you, his mouth is glistening. his fingers are, too. he hates wasting a drop of you, so he laps up the mess you’ve made while he shuffles up the bed. when he’s finally hovering over you, he’s desperate, but you’re worse. you could cry from the urge.

something carnal is taking place; he’s staring into your soul, finishing up the remnants of your taste, and you’re begging with your eyes, hands slinking all over your own body. you must be dripping by now. your body is restless and you raise your hips, inviting him close, deep.

when he thrusts into you, he’s pinning you down into your shared mattress. you’re completely at his mercy and he fucking loves it. you love it more. you go slack underneath him, and he starts a slow grind. he’s not thrusting, not yet, he’s just rolling into you, deeper, deeper, deeper. you feel the first tears threatening to fall. he feels so good, it’s unbearable.

he nudges at your most sensitive spot, over and over and over. you whine carnally and he swallows it, licking into your mouth. his curls tickle your forehead, you’re pressed so close together. he sees the pools in your eyes and then he looses it completely.

hand on your neck for leverage, he starts thrusting, harder and harder, faster than you can ever recall. he knows you can take it, knows how bad you want it, and that thought alone spurs him on. you have the same goals, the same shared instincts. you feel nothing but pure fucking bliss everywhere.

“you want me to fill you up? you want my baby, honey? want me buried nice and deep?” you hear him grunt, but he sounds so far away.

you are lost to the void when you come. you can’t even try and resist, not when you can hear how wet you are, not when you can hear the quiet whimpers he tries to fight at the way your pussy convulses around him. you cannot see anything but the stars in his eyes.

you go limp and he spills, fucking it even further into you. his eyes are trained on where you’re still joined, and where he’s still fucking you. you’d be screaming if not for the hand wrapped around your throat. the most delicious piece of jewellery you own.

lando needs to know he’s gone as deep as he can, that you’ve come as hard as he can make you. he feels unhinged when his fingers find your clit, switching between short spasms of his finger on the nub, and grinding down on it with his palm. you’re both overstimulated, soaked with sweat and other things. you’re gripping his cock so fucking tight that he can’t stop the rush of moans, your name mumbled like a prayer between expletives.

but still, he needs to know it’s deep enough.

an hour later, you can finally move, and you sink deep into the bath.

your head is on his chest, he washes you gently. you wonder if it’ll be a boy or a girl.

-

date night

almost a month passes. no sign of baby number two.

it’s fine, you tell yourself. you tell lando, too. all the more reason to keep practicing.

every opportunity he gets to bury himself to the hilt inside of you is a win in both of your books. he grabs every single one of those opportunities with both hands.

you’re dressed up nice for dinner, little black dress hugging you well. you watch the scenery flick past you. lando’s in the drivers seat, making small talk, his left hand heavy on your bare thigh. you’ve just dropped your daughter off with her grandparents, your mother hugging lando tight. he’d been gone a while.

fingers skim higher up your thigh. you want to let him carry on but this car is new, untainted by his adventurous personality and your willingness to comply. your legs snap shut and you watch him smirk out the corner of your eye.

“later.” you whisper.

his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel.

“i know. don’t you worry, honey.” he doesn’t sound convincing, no, he sounds like a man with a plan and you dread to think of what he has in store.

the restaurant is tiny. a hole in the wall. it’s intimate, exclusive, slightly extortionate, but lando likes to treat you. you order, and he behaves. you sip wine, and he behaves. you drag your heel up his leg, and still, he behaves. you know something is brewing behind those stormy eyes.

he launches his attack during dessert.

vanilla ice cream hits your tongue when he strikes, leaning back in his chair. his thick neck captures your attention, the dim light accentuating him just right.

“would your prefer we take this to the car or the bathroom? it’s pretty spacious back there, you know.”

lando speaks so casually, and slightly too loudly. your cheeks are aflame.

“lando!” you hiss in warning. you’re sputtering over his boldness, catching some ice cream with your tongue. he watches the way it moves over your lips intently.

“actually, as tempting as the bathroom is, we still need to break in the new car.” lando sounds like he’s talking about the weather, or a shopping list, not the location of your next sexcapade. you swear you see the old lady at the next table over wink at you. “your choice, honey.”

you’re staring daggers at him. he leans in closer, elbows resting on the table and a shit eating grin contorting his pretty face.

“i’ve been gone too long, i need to remember what that pussy feels like.” his voice has dropped an octave but it’s still too loud. you inadvertently grind against the chair. the candle on the table flickers from the force of the shaky breath your expel.

“if you shut up now, you can have me anywhere you want me.” you mumble, bringing your napkin to your lips. the ice cream is melting and you have more important things on your mind.

“i’ll have you anyway, honey. because no matter what happens, we’re gonna go back to the car and you’re gonna crawl into my lap, aren’t you? you’re not gonna be able to help it.” he keeps going and you want the ground to swallow you up. maybe you want to crawl over the table and jump on his lap right here. you fight every natural instinct.

“lando.” you try to scold him again but it comes out breathier, a feeble attempt at shutting him up. it’s hard to be convincing when you want nothing more than for him to bend you over in the middle of this restaurant.

“and after i’ve had you shaking on my lap, i’m gonna fill you up, yeah? you’ve been waiting for weeks, poor thing.”

you usher over the waiter, and ask for the bill.

-

he’s got you home in one piece and all the way up to the shower.

you’re still delirious from the car. he’s still dripping out of you.

he pushes you against the shower screen, your cheek resting on the fogged up plastic. the combination of yours and his first orgasm is enough to slick him up and he slides right back inside of you, as if he’d never left.

your head is spinning, car lights and nail prints in leather seats flashing through your mind.

he’d been right in the restaurant. you’d crawled straight into his lap and he’d been waiting, seat pushed back, cock slapping up against his tanned belly. he’d swiped his fingers through your folds, determining that you were wet enough already, and then you’d sunk straight down on him.

at first he’d just watched you lose control, bouncing and grinding and whining on his lap. you were growing tired when he stepped in, pushing you back against the steering wheel, the angle change making your eyes roll back. you came twice with his fingers on your clit and his other hand holding you down so he could grind up into you. he’d released deep into you, all you could do was shudder, collapsing into his chest.

now, he’s taking you again, the hot water cascading over you both. you’re almost limp, caught between the cold screen and his hot, restless body. this it was three weeks apart does to him, and the urge to claim every part of you is at the forefront of his mind.

you’re writhing. there’s no room to move; he’s pressed so tight against you, breathy moans sounding straight into your ear and you want him impossibly closer. you always missed him so much it hurt, but that pain had increased tenfold lately.

you try to roll your hips back into him, needing him deeper, somehow. you’re so wet and tight around him, and your attempt at moving on him has you clamping down on him.

lando whimpers when he lets go, marking you as his.

he washes your hair and you fall asleep together naked.

-

the fear

lando is due back from qatar.

any minute now, he’ll be walking through the door.

he’s taken a podium, so you are expecting somewhat high spirits, despite the slight issue that had been the sprint race.

a podium is a podium, you’d tried to tell him on the phone late on saturday night. you knew that a podium was never just a podium.

you’re cleaning the kitchen up, your sweet daughter tucked up tight in her bed upstairs. a random playlist is sounding from the speakers and you flit around in just his hoodie. it hits mid thigh and it’s keeping you shielded from the biting october air.

you hear keys in the lock somewhere in the distance. you grin stupidly. god, you always fucking miss him. you turn to face the doorway, eagerly anticipating his face, longing for one of his speciality hugs.

instead, a storm enters your kitchen in the form of your boyfriend.

you raise and eyebrow.

“lando?” you question.

your hips are in his hands before he can answer. he’s walking you backwards until the granite of the counter is digging into your lower back.

“turn around.” his voice is gravelly, commanding. you do as you’re told.

the hoodie is bunched around your waist, your panties are tugged to the side. you can hear the rustle of fabric, assuming he’s getting himself ready. two fingers gloss through your folds while he pushes you down, bending you over for him. he’s rubbing circles into your clit and you’re keening into his touch.

“you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” you manage to choke out. he grunts in response.

“just need to get inside you.” is all he replies. well, okay then.

lando rearranges you, hiking one of your knees up so that’s it’s resting on the countertop. your other foot barely touches the floor when he fucks into you, ruthless. you cry out, reaching blindly behind you for him. you graze his hip and he shivers, pushing into you even harder.

he’s frantic, messy with it, thumbing at your clit. there’s hardly any room to move his hand, so he’s grinding the pad of his thumb as best he can. the pressure builds in your belly embarrassingly fast. you love when he gets like this, but you will pry what’s wrong out of him later when he curls up into his chest.

“gonna give you another one. s’all i can think about. fucking you full.” he mutters. your back arches into him.

“please.” you whimper, slurred. it’s all you can think about too.

your plea ushers along his orgasm, and he drops his head against your back. you’re shaking when you finish; he stays buried deep for a moment, silence washing over you.

when he helps you stand up, he kisses you deep. he brushes the hair from your face, says hello properly.

“wanna go see her.” he mumbles.

-

when you finally manage to climb the stairs, you see straight into your daughters room.

lando is stood over her crib, watching her sleep in the lamp lit room. he’s cooing something to her that you can’t make out. your knees are weak at the sight. you want to fill this house with children that look like him and laugh the way he does.

he catches you watching, sending you a wink, a promise that he’ll meet you in bed. when he finally does, drawing back the sheets and dropping into bed beside you, he wraps himself around you instantly.

“talk to me.” you command, toying with his hair in a way that you know turns him into mush in your hands.

“can’t win a race, can’t give you another baby. just- fuck.” he sighs, voice so small. you tear up but you push that aside for now.

“stop, lando. don’t do this to yourself.” you try to sound firm, attentive.

“just- am i good to you? am i good to her?” he needs to hear you say it, that’s the only thing that will talk him down from this spiral. he’s exhausted, and this is often a consequence.

“sometimes i think you hung the stars in the sky.” you hum, kissing his forehead.

gentle snores lull you to sleep.

-

quickie

you go with him to austin.

it seemed logical, after the events of qatar. your daughter has been stolen away by lando’s dad, who is showing her the paddock and introducing her to mechanics. you watch on, momentarily, because then lando is stealing you away.

“haven’t you got fp3 in a minute?” you ask, coy smile on your face. he’s pulling your jeans down and kicking them away.

“this won’t take long.” he smirks.

you crave the upper hand for a change. his race suit is already undone, so you make your move. you tug down his fireproofs, taking his cock in your hands. he’s hard already, glistening for you. he groans, but doesn’t make you stop.

you’re watching him through your eyelashes, his head tipping back in pleasure. you work your hand around him, up and down, applying pressure at the base and around the tip. it’s flushed red, wet in your hand and he looks too pretty to stop. he can have you later, in your hotel room, you think. right now, you’re having him.

lando is panting, thrusting into your hand when he comes for you. you’re soaked through, and he can probably see the damp patch on the panties. his release hits your stomach, painting your flushed skin white. your eyes scan the room for something to clean yourself with, but he beats you to it.

thick fingers swipe through the mess he’s made. your panties are tugged to the side and then he’s fucking you with said fingers. you cannot produce a thought, mouth gaping open in the shape of an ‘o’. the sight before you has you gushing, and he uses that leverage to speed up.

“you think i’m gonna let it go go waste, honey? silly girl. pretty, pretty girl.” he mutters.

your hips are bucking into his hand when he pulls out of you, collecting more of him from your belly, and then he’s thrusting them in again. you tear up from the pleasure coursing through you, white hot. he’s crazy, you think, but he’s so fucking beautiful, teasing glint in his eye as he curls his fingers deeper.

“want it so bad, don’t you? gotta keep you full for me, don’t i?”

you’re sure you can be heard from the garage when your orgasm hits.

-

office party

a burnt orange dress clings to your hips and a curly haired man clings to your hand.

the mtc is lit up for another gala that you and lando have to attend. the season is over and they’ve had a great run, so a toast must be made to celebrate that.

you watch him get passed around the room between sponsors and other important people, proud of what he’s achieved. you hate sharing him, but it’s a necessary evil, so you drink champagne with oscar’s girlfriend, lily, and natalie pinkham.

when lando comes back to you, his PR smile is dropped and that genuine, boyish grin returns that you have so missed in his momentary absence. he introduces you to some people, proudly showing you off, sinking drinks as he does.

it’s nearing 10pm when his actions become questionable. his hand stays on your ass, his words whispered in your ear are filthy and his sly kisses on your neck stop being quite so sly.

you remove him from the main event, just for a moment, just to try and get him to compose himself before you jump him against one of the vintage racing cars. he sees this as an invitation, however, and then everything goes awry.

he’s dragging you into the lift, kissing you against the closed doors. when you stumble out a floor up, you can still hear the function in full swing. he’s pulling you down a hallway and into what you assume is an office. when he has you sat on a desk, you realise where you are.

“is this zak’s office?” your eyes pop out of your head, bewildered.

“maybe.” he shrugs. he’s smirking like a bastard.

“you’re insane.” you shake your head, standing from the desk, but his lips ghost your ear and you’re putty in his hands.

“you’re driving me insane. coming here in this tight fucking dress. can’t stop looking at you, thinking about this.” his hand rubs over your lower belly as he speaks, and then you’re back on the desk.

lando’s on his knees, peeling the silky material over your thighs until your barely there panties are in his face. he mouths over them briefly, and then they’re gone and his tongue is buried to the hilt in your cunt.

it doesn’t take him long to get you off, the alcohol and the thrill of being in the one place you should never have sex pushing you quickly towards your orgasm.

the glass wall of windows is too inviting for lando to pass up, so on shaky legs, you’re pressed up against them, looking out over the pond and the fairy lights when he pushes into you.

he’s kissing over your shoulder, your neck, holding your down on him while he thrusts up into you. you turn your head to kiss him, to let him swallow up your noises that could give you away.

“you’re so fucking good for me, honey. letting me have you here like this just so i can give you a baby.” he slurs against your lips, pussy drunk and ravenous.

he finds your clit, fast fingers making small swipes against it and you want to cry.

“gonna make this time count, yeah, honey? gonna keep it all inside of you until we get home?”

you try to nod, try to say something but you’re choking on air and dripping all over him. a couple more thrusts and you’re the perfect vessel for him to release into, throbbing and hot around his cock.

“beg for it, honey, come on. tell me how much you want it.” lando mumbles right in your ear.

“lando, please. please, please, please.” you whimper. “come for me, baby, need it inside of me.”

you leave the office a lot more composed than when you entered it. well, aside from the remnants of him that are running down your inner thighs.

-

a month later, lando’s laughing. he’s actually laughing, while you cringe, burying your blushing face in his chest.

you’re holding a pregnancy test in your hands, finally a positive one.

when you do the maths, you realise where baby norris was conceived, and you try and make him promise never to tell anyone that it was in his boss’s office.

“it’s a funny story.” he tells you. there are tears in his eyes.

“you’re so lucky i love you.” you roll your eyes. you are also dangerously close to crying.

but truthfully, you’re the lucky one. he carries you to bed that night, claiming that now you had a baby on board, you had to be careful!

you dream of him, that night. the man that hung the stars in the sky.

-

once again, idk what came over me i’m sorry lmfao

-

taglist

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removed any tags that weren’t working! lemme know if you wanna be added or removed <3

[parfaitblogs]

i have more than enough ❀ s. reid x reader

in which the holiday season is achingly difficult to get through, when you are spencer reid, who believes he is no longer allowed to enjoy them. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: hurt/comfort tags: established relationship. post prison!reid. word count: 2k a/n: and for my final act? the parfaitblogs special (post prison reid fic to a searows song). merry christmas from australia because it IS the 25th here!!! this is the end of my christmas advent calendar!! i had soo much fun writing these stories thank you to all that requested ♡

❄︎ advent calendar masterlist

He does not deserve a Christmas. 

Perhaps that is the only thing that runs through Spencer Reid's mind the second the Halloween decor filtered out of the stores, reindeer mugs entered them; while candy canes and Santa hats adorned every little item, and Christmas trees lit up every corner of every mall.

No matter what state he traveled to, he couldn't escape the festivities of the holiday season. He's pretty sure he's the only person who wants to. 

You waited for him. He feels immensely guilty for just how much waiting you've had to do all year. Waiting for him to go to trial, waiting for him to get out of prison, waiting for him to let you in again. 

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

You're waiting again. A Christmas tree that blandly sits empty and undecorated in the corner of your shared apartment; a Christmas roast you aren't sure if you'll even cook takes up too much space in your fridge; gingerbread cookies you promised your friends weeks ago remaining unbaked. 

He knew you were upset about it. His Christmas loving girlfriend forced to mute the celebrations of her favourite holiday because he couldn't find it in him to be excited about it. 

He didn't know how to fix it, really. 

You had tried everything to get him back into the Christmas spirit he's had for the past three years you've spent together. Baking with him, picking out the very Christmas tree that leaves the room smelling like a pine forest together, Christmas shopping for the presents he had no will to buy for his family and friends. 

Nothing had worked. 

"Spence?"

Sitting awkwardly at his — now — very minimally decorated desk, his head lifts from the papers in front of him, eyebrows frowning towards each other as his eyes land on you.

"Hi," he murmurs, putting the pen in his hand down in an effort to give you his full attention. He was getting better at that, these days. 

"I finished dinner," you tell him, fingers fidgeting with one another; a recent habit he had noticed you'd developed in the months between his arrest and release. "If you want to come eat."

He doesn't, but then again, he never does. And despite how awful he feels, he feels even more so for what he's putting you through, and the guilt that chews away at him is enough to will him to do small things — like eating — for you. 

"Yeah," he breathes out, and stands up from the desk, following you silently over to the meal sitting at the edge of the kitchen bench you had cooked for the two of you.

Silence overwhelmed you two as you ate, as it usually does. Sitting curled up beside one another on the couch, sharing a blanket and yet still feeling so distant from each other regardless. 

"Did you call your mom?" you ask him, and his fork pauses in the plate. 

Right. It's Christmas. The time for calling family members and sharing love for them during this supposed to be joyous time. 

"Not yet," he shakes his head. "I'll... get to it. Before Christmas is over."

"You have a week," you remind him, though it isn't to be passive aggressive at all. You genuinely wonder if he's forgotten the date of Christmas that has quickly crept up on you both.

"I know."

You stare silently at the coffee table after a short nod to his words, and you wrack your brain for things to say, just to keep him talking.

"Can I give you your gift before Christmas day?" 

He lifts his head, and you feel his eyes transfix on you.

"If you want."

You want him to want it too, but you aren't sure if that's a reasonable wish anymore. 

"I do," you nod, and quickly finish up your food, before you stand, and leave the room altogether. 

He places his plate next to yours on the coffee table — he'd remember to get to cleaning those later — just as you return, a square shaped brown paper gift in your hands, a purple ribbon tied in a bow around it. 

"You got me a square?" he asks you, and your heart warms at the teasing tone in his voice. He's trying. 

"Open it," you press, instinctively shaking his shoulder with both hands pressed up against it. 

"Okay, okay."

He's meticulous in pulling the plain wrapping paper off, and you almost want to open the gift for him. 

"Did you make this?" he asks you as he carefully pulls the square apart in front of your eyes, though he does already know the answer before you have a chance to start nodding your head. 

A Victorian Puzzle Purse situates delicately in his hands. Hands that pull it apart ever so slowly, taking note of every little drawn and painted detail on the paper, opening it up to a letter that he spent two minutes reading through — confirming that he was not only reading it once through. 

"Do you like it?" you ask him, almost hesitantly. 

"Victorian Puzzle Purse's were how lovers would communicate for Valentine's day," he says, instead of answering your question directly, as he neatly folds it back up into the intricate origami square it was originally when he pulled it out. "Sorry," he quickly adds, his eyes landing back on you. "That wasn't an answer. I do. I like it a lot."

"I know it isn't much, but I don't want to overwhelm you with gifts this Christmas. I'm honestly not even expecting anything big. We can just order food in and watch movies or something this year, if you'd prefer. You just have to promise me you'll at least let me put mistletoe up outside our bedroom, because it's kind of become tradition and... sorry."

He's staring at you, half dumbfounded, half in awe, as you realise you were rambling instead of sitting in the moment of him enjoying something seasonal, but you can't even find it within yourself to be frustrated at it. For he is letting a small smile grace his lips, and you're leaning forwards with a smile of your own, and for a second or more, he is not the shattered prison man, and you are not his distanced girlfriend. 

"You can put mistletoe outside our bedroom," he says, and you're breaking into an even wider grin.

"Really?"

"It's tradition."

You light up enough for there to be no need for a decorated Christmas tree in your apartment anymore, and you're threading your fingers through his hand to drag him up off the couch. 

Your gift to him remains on the coffee table as you lead him over to your bedroom door, prompting him to stay still, as you disappear to find the piece of familiar fake greenery. 

"Mistletoe!" you present it to him, and he takes it from you habitually, using the pin you also hand him and pinning it above your heads on the doorframe.

"I think we need to buy a new one," he says, hands dropping back by his side. His eyes are trained on you, but your own head is still tilted back, inspecting the faux plant. 

"I think we need to buy a real one," you answer conclusively, finally dropping your gaze to him. 

"Next year," he confirms. "Tradition complete?"

You shake your head. "The tradition ends with a kiss."

Hesitation follows your words, and you instantly regret them. 

It wasn't that you didn't kiss, or weren't intimate in any way. It's simply that it was on occasion now, and almost always motivated by something more important than a silly mistletoe tradition.

"It's okay," you cover your unwelcome disappointment with a smile. 

He ignores your reassurance. "It does end in a kiss, you're right."

"But we don't have to," you mumble.

"Yes," his hands encase your waist to do nothing more than to pull you closer to him. "We do."

"Not if you don't want to."

"Did I say that?"

You open your lips to respond, but the words die on your tongue. 

"What did I do to make you think I don't want to kiss you, angel?" he's frowning now, and you feel guilt settle in your chest. 

"Nothing, really. We just—um—don't kiss... as much. Anymore. Which is fine, by the way, and I can understand it. You're under no moral obligation to kiss me. Obviously."

His frown deepens. "I think we're experiencing a bout of miscommunication."

"What?"

"I thought you didn't want to kiss me," he explains, and suddenly, you're mirroring the confusion on his face. 

"Why would I not want to kiss you?" you ask him, incredulously. 

His shoulders slump at the question, and you force yourself not to fill the silence that follows.

"Prison," he replies, quietly. "I didn't think you'd really even want me once I got out of prison. You don't initiate anything anymore, either. I just assumed."

"I didn't initiate anything because I was waiting for you to initiate stuff."

"I can see that now."

"I didn't want to rush you," you tell him, as earnestly as possible. "I know prison was a lot, and you still haven't told me everything that happened, but I wanted you to not rush yourself. Or... us, I guess."

He swallows the lump of emotion that lodges in his throat. "I thought you were disappointed in me. Or—well, scared of me."

"No," your heart shatters, and you're sure he can hear it in your voice as your hands instantly cup his cheeks, fingers brushing over his cheekbones. "No, oh my God, Spencer."

"You shouldn't use the lord's name in vain. It's Christmas," he jokes, weakly. The smile you give him is weak, too.

"I was terrified for you. I was so worried about you in prison, and—and what they were doing to you in there. But never of you. Not a single part of me will ever be scared of you, sweet boy."

"I'm scared of me," he whispers, and his voice cracks in a way that has tears welling in your eyes. "I think differently, you know."

"And that automatically means I should be scared of you? Or makes you any less deserving of love?"

His silence is enough of a response. 

"I love you," you settle on telling him. "No matter what baggage you came back to me with. You deserve so much love, and I hate that you have been through so much. So much so that you believe yourself undeserving. You are not. You never will be. I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you, if I must. Or as long as you will let me."

"Forever," he replies, and you feel his hands close over your own on his face. "I will let you forever."

"Thank God. It'd be kind of embarrassing if I say all this and then you were to break up with me tomorrow," you say, and his cheeks stretch beneath your hands as he huffs a laugh.

"I won't break up with you."

"I wouldn't let you, anyways."

"Oh really?" his hands slide down to your waist once more. 

"Yeah," you confirm with a small nod, your own hands dropping to his neck, interlacing behind it, as you draw his head closer to yours. "You're stuck with me."

"I have not a word of complaint," he replies, and he's close enough that you feel the words tattoo your lips. "I love you."

And then he's kissing you, and there is an overwhelming amount of neglected feelings you had been missing poured into you, from his soul to yours. 

It was a kiss so unlike what you had grown used to in recent months. Fingers dug into your waist as a violent reminder of what you mean to him, and for the first time since May, you believed it. 

When he goes to pull away, you barely give him time to get air before you're chasing his lips again, and he tugs you impossibly closer with a laugh that vibrates against your face. 

You kiss him until your hands go numb behind his neck, and your legs begin to ache, and your waist is sure to have bruised in the shapes of his fingertips. Chest heaving and eyes full of more adoration than you think one human can have for another, you meet his gaze once more.

"Tradition complete."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[marvelwitchergilmore]

A Good Man

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> Logan Howlett is a good man. At least, that's what you keep telling him.

Disclaimer: 18+ MDNI. Smut. Steam (figuratively and literally), swearing. Logan is the good guy and you prove it to him. Fluff, cuteness, Logan in a flower crown, angst, happy ending, mentions of Halloween and Christmas. Descriptions of period pains, The Addams Family reruns. Again, MDNI. Not Proof Read.

For as long as you had known Logan, you had known he was a good man. 

It didn’t matter what other people said about him, or what he even said about himself. To you, he would always be a good man. 

And that was something you always tried to remind him of. 

The first time it happened, it had just rolled off the tongue. Of course, you knew you meant it and at the time, you didn’t notice the way Logan’s eyes told you the sad truth that he didn’t believe you. 

It had been one early October morning. You had spent most of the night staying up to cut out some felt and cardboard shapes for your classroom to decorate not only for the fall season but also for Halloween. 

You didn’t expect anyone else to be awake that early so when Logan walked into your classroom just ten minutes after you had returned back to your seat on the floor, practically drowning in Halloween cut-outs. 

“Here.”

Holding down the coffee holder, you were presented with the second cup in the holder, your name written on the side in Logan’s handwriting. 

Still waking up from three and a half hours sleep, you looked up a little shocked. But calmed the minute you saw his own tired smile looking back at you. “Go on.”

Taking the coffee cup from the holder, you brought it close to you, your hands enveloping the hot surface. One sniff and you knew what it was instantly. 

“Oh, my god. You are a saint, Logan.”

Logan couldn’t fully look at you, feeling a little heat on his cheeks. “Yeah, well…don’t mention it.”

He brought his own coffee to his lips as he placed the empty holder onto a nearby desk before walking around you and your sea of Halloween, placing one hand in his pocket as he nursed his coffee. 

“What are you doing?”

You looked around yourself after taking a sip of your drink. It was perfect. 

“Decorating.”

“Aren’t they meant to be on the walls instead of the floor?”

You nodded. “They will be…if I can get them finished in time.”

Logan took a scope of the decorations before taking off his leather jacket, folding it and throwing it over your desk chair. 

“What-What are you doing?”

Logan placed down his coffee on your desk before removing his second plaid shirt. “Helping. Here, you’re cold.”

Logan draped his shirt over your shoulders and you were instantly hit with his warmth and his scent that was still prominent on his jacket. 

“Thank you.”

Putting your arms through, you fastened a couple of buttons. Meanwhile, Logan pushed some of the decorations aside and sat adjacent to you. 

First he picked up an unorganised pile of themed worksheets, flipping through a couple of them. Tapping them down, you pulled your coffee away from your lips. “The paper cutter is-”

As you pointed to the desk behind him, Logan’s claws came out and he just shot you a smirk before swiping down the edges. You pulled back, eyes a little wider. “Or you could just do that.”

Logan let out a small chuckle before doing the same to the other three edges. 

For the smaller cut-outs, he did use the pair of scissors you gave him. 

“How did you know I was awake?” You asked Logan after a few minutes. 

“I didn’t. But I knew you had a late night. Figured coffee couldn’t hurt.”

You smiled, watching where your scissors were slowly going round the corners of the apple tree you were cutting. “You’re a good man, Logan. Not many people would be up this early and bring me coffee.”

A few hours later, everything was finished being cut and Logan leaned back on his hands as he sat on the floor. You were still in his shirt. Was it wrong for him to be admiring how better you looked in his clothes than he did?

“What do you think?”

Logan came back down to earth. “What?”

You rolled your eyes and laughed. “Come and help me.”

Logan got to his feet, dusting off his jeans before walking behind you. “Pass me that?”

Logan did so and stood at the bottom of the ladder, holding it steady. 

It wasn’t long before he himself was up another set of ladders, taking your instructions for how high to hold the bunting. 

“Little further.”

“Any higher and it’ll be in the ceiling.”

You laughed. “Okay, that's perfect.”

By the end of the day, everything was finished and set up ready for a new week. And every time you looked around your classroom and saw the identical looks of wonder and excitement in the kids' eyes, proved that you were right. 

Logan Howlett was a good man. 

Two weeks later, a knock came to your door. 

“Rogue? Is everything okay?”

She shook her head. “Sorta. Freya won’t let anyone brush her hair. She keeps saying it’s hurting her head.”

“Okay, I’m coming. Have you tried detangler spray?”

Rogue shook her head. “She won’t let anyone near her. It already took three of us to get her to shower.”

Finally getting to Rogue’s room, you knocked on the door. “Hey, Freya. What’s going on?”

“It really hurts.”

Rogue knelt beside you, in front of Freya. “Where does it hurt?”

Freya touched her head. “Here. It pulls really tight.”

“Okay.” You looked around. “Would it be okay if I put some magic spray on?”

“Magic spray?”

You nodded, nudging Rogue. Shuffling over, she grabbed the bottle from her desktop before handing it to you.  

“What does it do?”

“Well,” you looked for the nozzle before turning it around and gently picking up the ends of her hair to spray it. “It helps the brush run smoothly down-”

Freya started to panic. “No, no. No. No brush.”

“Freya-”

“What’s going on?”

From the door, Logan was standing leaning against its frame. 

“Freya’s hair sore.” You told him as he walked inside. “She won’t let anyone brush it.”

Logan slowly made his way inside. “Oh, no. That’s not good.”

Logan took a second before pulling his jeans a little to be able to crouch down. “I see Y/n’s already put some magic spray on it?” 

Freya nodded. “She said it’s going to help.”

Logan nodded, placing down the bottle you handed him. “Well, that’s true.”

“Will you let me try and brush it?” 

Freya debated the idea, fear still in her eyes before shaking her head. 

“Okay, that’s okay.” 

Then you had an idea. 

But Logan beat you to it. 

“Would it be okay if I tried?” Logan asked. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Freya, although still fearful, slowly handed Logan the brush she’d been holding in a death grip. 

“Come and sit over here, honey.” 

Freya stood up with Rogue’s help before Logan helped lift her onto the vanity stool and crouched behind her. 

“Promise you’ll be gentle?”

“I promise.”

“Pinky swear.”

Logan spotted you and Rogue through the glass for a second before looking back at Freya and linking his pinky with hers. 

It was the first time in a month Freya had sat down, quietly, and not cried or yelled out when someone was brushing her hair. 

By the time Logan had finished, he didn’t know what to do. So, quickly, Rogue came back to his side. “Is it okay if I put it into a braid?”

Freya nodded. “Thank you, Professor Logan.”

Logan gave her a small smile and handed her the brush. “Anytime, kiddo.”

Standing back beside you, your arms crossed your chest and you nudged Logan a tad. “You’re a good man, Logan. Thank you.”

Logan shrugged, putting his hands into his pockets. “She’s a good kid. They all go through this phase. Some are worse than others.”

You smiled at him before looking back to where Rogue was explaining something to Freya.

“Do you know how to do that?”

You looked up at Logan. “What? Braid hair?”

He nodded. 

“Yeah, why?”

He looked at you. “Could you…teach me?”

A slightly wider smile graced your face. “I’d be happy to.”

That was why a few hours later, Rogue was sitting in front of you, whilst Logan was sitting behind you, following along with how you were braiding Rogue’s hair. 

“How do you even learn how to do this?”

“It’s just like riding a bike, Logan. Once you know how to do it, you will never forget it.”

Logan grumbled and let your hair fall through his fingers. Meanwhile, you slowly tugged at Rogue’s fresh braid until it had come undone. 

“I’ll go slow. Just follow me. Split it into three.” 

Logan did that. 

“Take one outer section.”

Logan did that, too. 

“And pull it across the middle.” You move the original middle section to the side before taking the other outer section and pulling that across to create a new middle. 

“And you just keep repeating that until you get to the end of the hair, and finally, finish with a bobble.”

Logan had finally done it. It was loose, but he had done it. 

Rogue’s watch went off. “Shoot. I was meant to meet Bobby.”

“Go ahead, just don’t wreck the kitchen this time.”

Rogue smiled. “We’ll try not to.”

Closing the door behind her, Rogue left. 

You remained seated in front of Logan’s legs as he pulled the hair tie free and your braid fell out again. “Think you can do it on your own?”

Logan let out a breath and tried again. “Outer over middle?”

You nodded lightly. “And then the same on the other side. You’ll be doing french braids before you know it.”

“They can stay in France.” 

Logan continued to braid down your hair. It had been years since someone had played with your hair, and you found it comforting. Raking his fingers from the top of your head, he split it into sections once more and you felt yourself falling asleep. 

Less than a week later, you walked past the living room where you found Freya sat between Logan’s legs as he brushed and braided her hair. 

The next morning you woke up with a smile at the memory before being hit with a dull punch to your lower abdomen. 

You didn’t move for twenty minutes because every time you tried, it seemed to come back. But once it had finally passed, you forced yourself to sit up, your head feeling heavy before you looked at your bedsheets. 

“Of course.” 

For the next two days, all you wanted to do was crawl back into bed. Your period had decided to kick the shit out of you ever since it surprised you by coming a week earlier than expected. 

And by the time Logan found you, you were sitting uncomfortably in the television room, watching reruns of the Addams Family. 

“You look like hell.”

You gave a small sniff. “Feel like it, too.”

Logan pressed his hand to your head. “You’ve got a temperature.”

“It’s just hormones.”

Logan shook his head, pressing the back of his hand to your cheeks before pressing his fingers to your neck but you swatted him away. 

“No, it’s not.”

“Logan, I’m on my period. A week early.”

Logan nodded. “I know. That’s why I brought you this.”

In his hand, Logan handed you a fresh hot water bottle and a packet of chocolate. “Oh, my god,” you sighed. “You’re a saint.”

You could have cried. Maybe you were. 

You were in that much pain, you couldn’t exactly tell. 

Sitting beside you, Logan pulled a blanket over your bottom half as you held the hot water bottle against you and snuggled into his side. 

And for the next hour and a half, Logan stayed by your side, watching the Addams Family Show with you. Half way through, his hand absentmindedly stroked at your hair before he pulled you closer to him, allowing him to kiss the top of your head. 

“You are the greatest man who ever lived, Logan Howlett.” You told him before looking up at him. “I really mean that.”

“I’m sure you do, sweetheart.”

Then you saw it. 

Logan didn’t believe you. Sure, there was the smallest smile to his face, but you could see it in his eyes. He didn’t believe you. 

And that struck you to your core. 

“Logan, look at me.” Pressing your palm to his cheek, you turned his head. “I do mean it. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

Logan took a moment. Then he smiled. “Don’t mention it.”

And he kissed your head. 

Laying back down on his chest, you watch the rest of the episode whilst your insides started to feel like it was holding a hellhound in a cage that was scratching its way out of you. 

“You okay?”

With your eyes squeezed tight, you nodded. “Just cramps. They’re usually not this bad. Or at least this often.”

Logan nodded, his hand rubbing up and down your back. “What usually helps?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I usually ride it out. They come in waves.”

“What about painkillers?”

The sharpness finally left but the dullness stayed. “I like to see how high my pain threshold is.”

Logan groaned a little and rolled his eyes. “And you say I have a death wish.”

Taking your hand, Logan walked you towards the door, turning the TV off and throwing the remote back onto the sofa from the door. 

“Where are we going?”

“I’m running you a bath. I’ve heard they usually help.”

And he did. 

Even why you tried to say he didn’t, and you could do it yourself. 

“Sweetheart, you can barely walk.” Logan told you as he splashed the bubble bath through the water. “And I could smell you from down the hall. You need to wash your hair.”

That was how you found yourself sitting into a hot bath, covering yourself with bubbles as Logan came back inside. 

Quietly, he pulled a stool beside the bath as you pushed yourself to sit further forward. “Can you dip your head back?”

Slowly, you did so and it wasn’t long before Logan was running shampoo through your hair, softly scrubbing at your scalp. God, you never wanted to leave. 

Logan felt you relax against his touch, slowly leaning your head back when his palm brushed against your forehead. 

With a cup, Logan let the water fall through your hair, washing the suds away from your scalp, down your back and into the water. 

For both of you, everything felt…quiet. Calm. 

Intimate. 

“Thank you,” you broke the silence eventually. “This really helps.”

Logan pulled his gaze from your back and shoulders, forcing himself to look anywhere else but you. “Good. I’m…I’m glad.”

“Hey, Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“I meant it. What I said before.” You repeated it as you looked back at him. “You are a good man.”

Logan swallowed, avoiding your gaze to look at his hands for a second. “We don’t have to-”

You held onto his hands and he finally looked at you. “I mean it, Logan. You are a good man.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m not.”

“Why?”

His gaze flicked to your lips and back up to your eyes. You couldn’t deny you hadn’t thought about it as well. 

“Because a good man wouldn’t be thinking what I’m thinking right now.”

You felt yourself lean closer to him. “What are you thinking?”

Logan shook his head despite the fact he felt himself move closer to you, too. “You don’t want to know.”

Your own gaze flicked to his lips and back again. “I trust you, Logan. I want you to tell me what you’re thinking.”

Slowly you came to your knees and Logan’s eyes roamed over you, his breath shortening by the time he looked back to your eyes. 

Pulling his hands from yours, one began to brush the wet streaks of hair from your face and neck as the other found your waist and started moving lower towards your hip. 

Despite the hot bath, your skin flared in goosebumps at Logan’s touch, your own breath hitching in your chest. 

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want to kiss you,” Logan held before his palm spread wider on your hip. “I want to feel you.”

“Then do it.”

Logan didn’t need to be told twice. 

Pressing his lips to yours, it wasn’t long before his hands pulled you closer to him, your own hands pulling him in by his collar. You let his hands freely roam your body, before one slipped down and over your ass, hitching you up until your legs wrapped around his waist, a pile of water trailing after you both. 

Turning around, Logan set you down on the counter top, moving back a little before letting his lips make their way down your jaw, neck and chest. 

Cupping the back of his head, you whispered his name. And for a second he pulled away. His hand still by your waist, he leaned over and fumbled with the shower until it was finally spraying out. 

And whilst you waited for it to heat up, Logan put himself back on you. 

His hands were everywhere and it was driving you insane. And once he finally did something about it, you let out a little gasp. 

“Is this okay?”

A smile came to your face as you dipped your head forward, his lips pressing gentle kisses to the side of your neck. 

“More than okay.”

Curling his digits inside of you, you let out a breathy moan and jolted forward a little when his thumb began circling your clit, adding more pressure. 

You gasped. “Logan.”

“S’okay, Sweetheart.” His lips captured yours again as his other hand held you steady by your hair. “Just ride it out.”

Thrusting in and out of you, he continued to curl up inside of you. 

“M-more. Logan.” You moaned in pleasure, your pussy begging for him to circle your clit harder. “Please.”

Entering a third finger, Logan stretched you out as he felt your walls pulse against his fingers. 

“That’s it.” He spurred you on. 

You fell back against the wall as his hand left your head and came to your hip, pulling you closer to him and the edge whilst his fingers curled deeper inside of you. 

“That’s it.”

You gasped. “Keep-keep going. Don’t stop. Logan…”

Almost chanting his name as his mouth made its way down your collarbone, his tongue flicking over your nipple before sucking at the curve of your breast, you felt Logan apply more pressure around your clit, keeping a steady speed as he brushed in a circle. 

You gasped. “Logan, I’m gonna-”

You didn’t have time to finish your sentence as a moan of pleasure escaped from your throat before Logan’s own mouth caught it in his. 

Your breath heavy and your chest heaving to catch it, Logan swiped across your clit a few more times until you had fully finished. 

The steam was growing heavy around you both and once Logan had finally stripped down with your help, it wasn’t long before you found yourself pressed against the glass of the shower, Logan’s hand leaving a running print beside your head. 

He had been washing your body, his hand grazing the loofa over your skin, all the while he pushed the hair from the side of your neck and slowly pressed firm kisses down the length of your neck. 

Slowly, he turned you around before you found your back against the glass, his hand beside your head and his lips on yours once more. 

Mere seconds later, you hooked your leg around his hip and slowly guided himself into you. 

By the time morning finally broke through, you were fast asleep against Logan, miraculously still in the pyjamas you had put on after the best shower experience you had had in years. 

Dressed in his boxers, his legs were tangled with yours, his chest pressed firmly against your back. 

And by the time you woke up, you found two small braids at the side of your head and a note from Logan saying he’d be back later since Storm had dragged him into being the second chaperone for the field trip. 

One busy day and a broken down bus later, Logan finally got home and found you half asleep on the sofa you had been on the night before. 

“Hey,” you whispered, the light from the TV brightening you both for a moment before a laughing track played. “You’re back.”

“I’m back.” Logan whispered back before moving the blanket up a little to allow him to slide in beside you. 

“I missed you this morning.”

“I wouldn’t have left but Storm cornered me when I was making coffee.”

You smiled a little, wrapping your arms around him as he did you with you. “I figured.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.” Logan pressed his palm gently against your lower half, holding the small of your belly up a little bit which somehow relieved some of the pressure your uterus had been putting on you since mid-afternoon. 

“Want to head to bed?”

“Soon,” you told him. “I want to find out what happens?”

Logan smiled a little. “Haven’t you watched these before?”

“A dozen times, but I still love them.”

Around ten minutes before the episode finished, Logan felt you grow a little heavy beside him and when he looked down, he found you were fast asleep. He waited for the episode to finish before turning the TV off and bringing his hands under your legs and his arm around your back as he lifted you up. 

By the turn of the hour, you were cuddled back besides Logan, one of his hands at the bottom of your back, the other holding your knee in place over his middle. 

The next couple of months continued the same way. Often, you’d fall asleep or at the very least be half way there before Logan would carry you to bed. It seemed to change every couple of nights who’s room you’d sleep in. 

There were moments when Logan would wake up, roaring from the pain of memories. But he was finding them to be very few and far between ever since he started waking up next to you. 

By Christmas, you couldn’t have been more in love with Logan if you tried. And realising this fact hadn’t been from some grand romantic gesture that would be shown to be in the next Hollywood blockbuster. 

He had simply said that you needed to get some lights for the Christmas tree. 

With his arm around your waist, you looked up at Logan to find a look of confusion on his face. You could practically hear the cogs turning over in his head. 

“What? What is it?”

You looked back at the tree, expecting it to be housing a family of squirrels despite the fact it was artificial. 

Too many kids in the school had an allergy to pine trees. 

“We need some lights.”

Logan walked forward and straightened up the tree and you just stood…shocked. Your hands still clutching themselves in front of you, you felt your heart practically swell with excitement and…

Love. 

“What?” Logan looked at you from behind the tree. 

You broke out in a smile and shook your head. “Nothing. I’m just…excited. It’s officially Christmas.”

“We’re still in November.”

“Barely.” You protested. “And besides, who was the one who wanted to get the tree out of the attic?”

As your arms came around his neck, his arms came around your waist pulling you closer to him as he stepped out from behind the tree. 

“Okay, fine. You’ve got me there. But it’s only because I know Rogue will spend the next week badgering me to get it down.”

“You just keep telling yourself that,” you smiled before kissing him. “You might be a good man, Logan Howlett. But you are a terrible, terrible liar.”

A couple of weeks later, school had finally finished. The Winter exam season was finally over and grading the final paper, Logan threw it into the box before sealing the lid shut and carrying it to the other side of his room, shoving it into the bottom of his closet. 

Riddled with tiredness, Logan slumped down onto the edge of his bed rubbing his face just as you walked in. 

“Here you are.”

Logan looked up and graced you with a tired smile. “Close the door.”

You did so before walking over towards him where he placed his fingers through the belt loops of your jeans and pulled you closer until you were standing in between his legs. 

“Long day?” You asked him as he lay his head against your middle, letting your hands run through the back of his hair. 

“The longest. You?”

You let out a sigh. “Longer still. I think I need to teach a couple of handwriting classes. It’s not the marking that takes forever, it’s the reading. Have you finished?”

Logan looked up at you. “Just finished the last one.”

“I’ve still got a couple more on my desk.”

“They can wait until tomorrow.” Logan told you. “Let’s just take a break. Where are the others?”

“Down by the hill.” You nodded your head towards his window. “Storm’s making it a snow day for everyone. They should be gone for a couple hours.”

“Why didn’t you go with them?” Logan’s hands pushed your shirt up a little allowing him to feel your skin. 

“Because,” you smiled. “I wanted to see you.”

Logan smirked. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Logan pressed a small kiss to your belly. “Any other reason why?”

You shook your head, acting oblivious. “Not that I can think of.”

Logan pressed some more kisses across your middle whilst his hands started to unbutton your jeans to allow him more access. 

He heard you take in a breath and he smirked, feeling your hands rake through his hair, your nails scratching at his scalp before going down his neck. 

“Well, maybe I can think of one.”

Logan smirked. “If you’re thinking, I’m not doing my job properly.”

Continuing to press his kiss against you, Logan slowly pulled your jeans down your hips, over your ass and down your legs, being sure to press his kiss along your thighs as he brought himself to his knees. 

Trailing his hands up and down your legs as you stepped out of your jeans, Logan looked up at you. 

“Beautiful.”

You felt yourself blush at his words before he pressed a kiss against the inside of your thigh. 

“So beautiful.”

For a moment, you felt your knees go weak. 

Stumbling back a little, you gripped onto the edge of his desk. Slowly, his hand caressed your calf, bringing your leg up. Again, his hot breath trailed up the inside of your thigh, pressing chaste kisses against your skin as he made his way towards where your panties were still on. 

Taking his time with you, he pressed more kisses to your hip bone whilst his fingers toyed with the line of your underwear. 

Pulling each side down at a time, he kissed the soft skin under them before finally removing them all together. 

Finally, pressing kissed down the middle of your stomach as his hands played with your ass, he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, lifting you a little until you were balancing on the edge of his desk. 

“So wet already.”

His tongue was light at first, against your clit, coaxing it out of hiding until it was fully present for him. With his moans vibrating against your pussy, you gripped the back of his head. 

Gasping, you felt his tongue slip inside of you, tasting every last bit of you. 

Every now and again, his nose would bump against your clit leaving you wanting more, begging him to do more. 

Then he finally listened. 

Pushing a finger inside of you, he hooked it up before pulling back out, all too slowly for your liking. 

Logan looked up for a moment, watching your head fall back as he sucked at you and your own hand went under your top and you began playing with yourself. 

“M-more. Logan. Please.”

With a smirk, Logan added a second finger.

“Keep going,” you pleaded with him before letting out a gasping moan. “That’s- that’s- that’s it. Logan.”

If there was something Logan lived for, it was watching this. Watching your build up before your eventual release. The gasps and moans that escaped your throat, the slight scream you would give as he got you closer and closer to the edge. 

Logan’s jeans restricted him almost to the point of pleasure. “Fuck,” he groaned. 

Lapping you up, Logan was surrounded by your scent and taste. He thrusted faster hearing you go from slowly muttering his own word to almost screaming it. 

With his tongue circling your clit, he felt your walls tighten against his fingers, his hair being gripped by your hand and he finally got the full taste of you. 

Logan made you come twice more before the others got back; once more with his fingers, stretching you out as you lay against his bed, his mouth taking over the work of your hands, leaving them to roam free across him, and finally with you stuffed full of his cock, begging for more as he slowly built up to pounding into you, before flipping you both over, letting you ride him whilst one hand held you steady and the other drove you half to insanity as he played with your clit and his lips left his mark against every corner and curve of your skin. 

And once more after everyone had gone to bed. 

Feeling his chest against your back as you both walked into his room, one hand came up your shirt before the other went down your bed shorts, pulling your fresh panties to the side and circling and dipping into your some more. 

Before you knew it, both of your clothes were strewn across the room and Logan was flipping you over, lifting your ass, allowing his hand to leave its print before snaking around you, letting you beg into his pillows as he flicked at your clit. 

After Christmas, the months began bleeding into one and before you knew it, summer was just around the corner. 

Outside on the fresh grass, Logan was coaching the final baseball game of the day whilst you were with a couple of the kids, picking out fresh flowers from both the garden and the grass.

However, just before Logan was about to yell time on the game, you felt his arms come around your waist. 

He tied his jacket around your waist. “I’ll run you a bath later.”

Logan kissed the shell of your ear before running back across the field, calling time. 

Twenty minutes later, Logan was back at your side, kneeling in the grass with the rest of the kids, and at some point in time, you turned around to find Logan being told to sit still whilst Freya stood in front of him, Rogue sitting beside him taking pictures. 

When Freya moved out of the way, you saw what she had been doing. 

Walking over with a small laugh, you crouched by Freya’s side. 

“Well don’t you look cute.”

Logan tried his best to hide his smile but he couldn’t help it. You caught it anyway. 

“Freya made it for him,” Rogue told you before holding up her camera. “Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of pictures.”

Freya nodded proudly. “I found some more daisies by the fountain so I could make one for Professor Logan.”

And sure enough, there it was. A daisy chain flower crown around Logan’s head. 

“I made you one, too, Y/n.” Freya showed you as it hung delicately from her arm. “So now you can be matching.”

“Thank you, Freya.” You smiled widely. “Would you put it on for me?”

Freya gave a small smile and shook her head before holding her arm out to Logan. “I think Professor Logan should put it on.”

Logan looked at you and raised his eyebrows for a quick second before carefully removing the crown from around Freya’s arm. Quickly she stepped out of the way and sat in between Rogue’s legs. 

“Take some pictures.” Freya whispered to Rogue. 

With a soft smile, Logan got onto his knees as you fell to yours in front of him. He brushed a few stray hairs from your face before carefully placing the crown securely on your head. 

Logan smiled at you, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Beautiful.”

Rogue gave a small cough with a hidden smirk. It wasn’t uncommon for either you or Logan to get lost in the other's eyes when you were together. There could be thirty people in the room, but the minute you looked at each other, the rest of the world faded away. 

Snapping back into reality, Logan cleared his throat. “What do you think, kid?”

Freya rushed to Logan. “Hmm. It’s perfect!”

You smiled as Freya hugged you. “Thank you, Freya. It’s beautiful.”

“Hey, Freya? Want to take some more pictures?”

��Yes, please.” 

Rogue handed the camera over to her and helped her put it around her neck. “Be careful with it?”

“I promise.”

Rogue held out her pinky and Freya linked her with Rogue’s. 

“Come on, Ms Y/n. I want to show you something.”

“Okay,” you laughed. “I’m coming. Slow down, honey. Don’t fall.”

Rogue watched as Logan watched you and Freya run down the field towards the fountain to a small bed of flowers. 

“You really love her, don’t you?” Rogue asked, already knowing the answer. She looked away before she could see the slight flash of fear on Logan’s face. 

But it was true. 

He did love you. 

Truly loved you. 

And yet…he hadn’t told you yet. 

But you hadn’t told him. 

It had been almost nine months and neither of you had told the other you loved them. Of course, there had been unspoken moments. The slow, lazy mornings when his fingers would trace up and down your back before dipping under the covers pulling you closer to him. The quick goodbye’s between lunch breaks when you’d both rush off to teach your classes. The danger moments where it had almost been said, but the hesitation had been covered up by both of you. 

“It’s okay. Just tell me when you get back.” You’d tell each other. 

Only, you never did. 

You showed it. 

But never said it. 

And as Logan watched you with Freya, holding the butterfly on your finger as Freya worked the camera, snapping some pictures, Logan wondered if he would ever have the courage to tell you. And if that day ever came…would that be the day you leave him? Or worse, get hurt because of him?

You looked back at Logan for a moment as Freya took another picture. And he smiled back, giving you a small wave back. 

“I hope I have what you and Y/n have one day.”

Logan looked at Rogue. “I thought you’re with Bobby?”

Rogue smiled and looked down. “I am. We are. But I think it’ll take a while before he looks at me like how you look at her.”

Logan shook his head with a smile before standing. “Don’t doubt it, kid. He loves you. Anyone with eyes can see it. The same way anyone with eyes can see you eyeing him up from all the way over here.”

Rogue blushed before Logan lowered his hand down to help her up. “Well, it’s not like you two are the most subtle couple in the world. But do you really think so? About me and Bobby?”

“Look, kid. I’m no saint when it comes to advice, or love for that matter, but you just have to take each day as it comes. At the end of the day, if he’s still the one you want to talk to, even when you’re fighting with each other, you’re on a better path than most.”

“Isn’t it better not to fight?”

Logan shrugged. “Fighting is just a part of life, kid. But if ever lays a hand on you, he won’t be standing for very long.”

Rogue gave Logan a small smile. “Bobby’s not like that. And if he ever was, no one else would have to worry about what would happen to him. That I can handle on my own. But thanks anyway.”

Logan nodded and patted her shoulder before looking around. “I’ll be back soon. Keep an eye on Y/n for me?”

“I think she can look after herself,” Rogue nodded. “But sure. Hey, where are you going?”

“Nowhere important. I’ll be back soon.”

Taking the steps two at a time, Logan made his way inside the school.

Hours after the sun had set, you still hadn’t seen Logan since he crowned you with daisies. 

Then, taking a walk into his room, you looked out of his window and saw him sitting in the gardens. 

“Hey, what are you doing out here?”

Logan looked back, a little startled that someone else was out with him. “Nothing. Just…sitting here.”

“Mind if I join you?”

Logan shuffled up a little and you sat beside him. 

Logan was quiet. Usually he’d hold your hand or he’d put his arm around you. This time, he just looked out and away. 

“Is everything okay? I didn’t see you after the flower crowning ceremony.”

You looked up and found the flower crown peeking out from his hair. He still hadn’t taken it off. Or he’d forgotten it was there. 

Yours had been twisted into your hair by Rogue and Freya when it came loose during dinner. 

“I don’t know what we’re meant to be doing.”

You shrugged. “Right now, nothing. I thought we were just sitting here.”

“I’m not a good man, Y/n.”

You drew back a little. “Where is this coming from?”

Logan took a breath. “Rogue made me realise something today and I don’t know what I’m meant to do. I’m not a good man, Y/n. People I care about, people I lov-” 

Logan looked at you and the words faltered in his mouth. 

“They get hurt.” He finalised. “People get hurt because of me.”

“Logan-”

“Or by me. I’m not a good man.”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re a good man, Logan,” you finalised. 

“Please. Don’t say things that aren’t true.”

You were baffled. “Why wouldn’t it be true?”

“Because everyone I have ever cared for has gotten hurt or died. And I can’t put you through that. I can’t see you getting hurt because of me.”

You shook your head. “Logan, I’m not going to get hurt because of you.”

“Really? Because if you haven’t noticed, our lives aren’t exactly the most normal in the world.”

“Maybe not, but I’m enjoying my life so far.” You raised your voice a little as Logan stood up, beginning to pace. 

“I’m not good enough for you, Y/n. You deserve the good guy.”

“You are a good guy.” You stood, walking towards him. 

With his hands on his hips, Logan stopped pacing and you stopped walking, falling six feet short of him. “No, I’m not. People…people don’t take someone like me home. They don’t marry someone like me. They don’t end up with someone like me. You don’t want me.”

You took a step forward. “Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t. I’m not the good guy. The one you can take home.”

You took a breath. “Logan, I am home. And you are the good guy. You always have been. Whoever convinced you you’re not the good guy can fuck off. And nothing you say will convince me otherwise.”

Logan almost pleaded. “Why?”

Logan knew he didn’t have the best record when it came to those he loved, surviving past so many years of friendship with him. Leaning on over a hundred years, Logan had known loss in more ways than one. Why couldn’t you see that you could lose, too? That because of him, because fate seemed to have damned him to a life of forever losing those he loved, you would lose, too? Why couldn’t you see that by being with him, you were putting your own life on the line? 

“Because I love you, Logan!” 

Logan felt like he’d been kicked in the chest by a horse. “Nothing you or anyone else can say or do will ever convince me that you’re not the good guy. Because you are. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Hell, I’m seeing it right now.”

You gestured to his head. 

The Daisy Chain Flower Crown. 

He’d almost forgotten it was still on his head. 

“Logan, you have spent your entire life looking out for people.”

“They still get hurt.”

“Maybe,” you shrugged. “But that wasn’t your fault. Sometimes there is nothing any of us can do that will stop someone from getting hurt because sometimes that’s just how it’s meant to be. Sometimes we can learn from it, most of the time it’s just a shit part of life. Logan, you are a good guy. Better yet, you’re a good person. You always help when you can. You take care and look out for those you care about.”

You continued. “Whoever told you you’re not the good guy, they were wrong. Plain and simple. If you’re not the good guy, then who sits on a classroom floor at five in the morning cutting out decorations for somebody else's classroom? Who brings me coffee every morning, just how I like it? Who helps a little girl not be afraid of brushing her hair anymore? Who then asks to learn how to style hair so he can do it for her? Who helps set up a Christmas dance, and steps in to help the kids learn how to dance properly?”

That was something you remembered most often. Rogue and Bobby had been struggling to learn how to dance together, forever stepping on each other's toes. Until Logan had been through watching enough second-hand pain and stepped up. 

He had taken your hand in his, setting your book face down on the side table beneath the lamp and talked Rogue and Bobby through it. 

“Logan,” you whispered to him. “I don’t know how to dance.”

“Just follow my lead,” he whispered into your ear. 

You later found out, over a hot cup of tea, that he had learnt to properly dance when he was younger (at least, that’s what he figured from his muscle memory) but most of it came from when he had a short stint as a security guard at a retirement centre where some of the older women would ask him to dance with them before pushing him off to dance with their visiting granddaughters. 

Logan had led you effortlessly, leaving both Rogue and Bobby in shock. Parting from you, Logan helped Rogue learn first, it being clear she wasn’t a natural follower. And then he taught Bobby, making him copy his steps as he moved with an imaginary partner. 

“Who spends entire evenings sitting watching reruns of black and white TV shows with me, even if we’ve seen them a thousand times? Who spends more time holding doors open, grabbing things from the higher shelves, braiding kids' hair when they ask, helping Rogue learn how to bake properly without burning the kitchen down? You do. You do, Logan. Because that is who you are. You are the guy that, even hours later, still wears the flower crown in his hair because someone made it for him.”

You held your hands by his neck, making him look at you. 

“And that is why I love you.” 

His gaze finally zoned in on yours. 

“Because for all your gruffness, grunting and brooding, you are kind. And thoughtful. And considerate. And I don’t think you realise how good you truly are, Logan. I don’t care if you think I’m going to get hurt. What hurts me is you thinking you’re not good enough for me, because you are Logan. You are the guy I could only ever dream of finding, when I was a kid. And even then, I didn’t find you. You found me. Sitting on that hardwood floor in my classroom where you brought me my coffee and gave me your jacket to keep me warm. I love you, Logan Howlett. Nothing can ever change that for me.”

Finally kissing him, you felt every emotion pour not only from yourself but also from Logan. Your kisses bled from his lips, across his cheeks and finally to the side of his neck as his arms wrapped around you, holding you flush against him. 

He didn’t want to let go. 

With one hand in your hair and the other wrapped around your back, Logan pressed you even closer, taking in your scent with his. 

“I love you so much.”

Logan’s words vibrated through your entire system and for a moment, your heart relaxed. Pulling back a little so you could see his face, your thumbs brushed across his cheeks as his forehead pressed against yours. 

“You are my home, Logan. I love you. I always will.”

“I love you, too.”

“Never let me go.”

“Never.” 

Logan barely had time to get his words out before his mouth found yours for a second outpouring of emotion. 

Eventually, you both finally made it back upstairs where Logan helped you into a hot bath whilst the sound of old reruns came from your bedroom TV.

After that night, never a day went by where you didn’t tell each other you loved each other. Nor was there a day where Logan didn’t prove you wrong. He was the good guy. He was your home. 

And you loved him for it. 

And he loved you back, just as strongly. 

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Little One's || Damian Wayne ||

A/n: Dad Damian 🥹

Late evening in the Wayne penthouse, the living room is softly lit by the glow of the Christmas tree, its lights twinkling warmly still set up much to Damian's chargin. The remnants of the day’s activities are scattered around half-empty mugs of cocoa, toys strewn about, and a blanket crumpled on the couch. You are fast asleep, curled up under the blanket, your breathing slow and peaceful.The twins, however, are still awake, their quiet babbling filling the room as they play on the floor with their stuffed toys. Damian sits nearby in his favorite chair, keeping a watchful eye on them.

Shifting his body, Damian then looks over at you, his expression softening as he takes in the sight of your sleeping form. You look so peaceful, your hair falling over your shoulder, your hand resting on the edge of the blanket. He knows how much you've done today,how you always give you it all for your little family. A rare, small smile tugs at his lips as he thinks about how much you mean to him.

“Your mother,” he murmurs quietly to the twins, “is extraordinary.”

Leo, holding his toy truck, looks up at Damian with wide green eyes that mirror his father’s. Lila, clutching her bunny, toddles closer to Damian, babbling something unintelligible but sweet.

Damian leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watches them. “Come here, Lila,” he says softly, his voice gentle.

Lila waddles over, her bunny tucked under her arm, and raises her tiny hands to Damian. He scoops her up effortlessly, settling her on his lap. She rests her head against his chest, her little hand clutching his shirt. Damian presses a soft kiss to the top of her head, his eyes closing for a moment.

“You know,” he whispers, “you have your mother's smile. Her warmth.”

Lila looks up at him, giggling, her tiny fingers poking his chin. Damian chuckles quietly, a sound so rare it feels like the room itself pauses to listen. “Yes, you do,” he says, his tone affectionate. “And your brother…”

He looks over at Leo, who is now crawling toward him with the toy truck in hand. Damian reaches out, pulling Leo onto his lap alongside Lila. “You’re going to be just as strong and stubborn as your mother is. I can already tell.”

With both twins on his lap, Damian leans back slightly, letting them settle against him. Lila plays with the buttons on his shirt, while Leo examines his father’s hand, his small fingers tracing the faint scars there.

“You two have changed everything,” Damian says softly, his voice barely audible. “Before you, I didn’t think I could be this. A father. Someone you can rely on.”

Leo babbles something in response, his tiny voice breaking the quiet. Damian smiles faintly, his hand gently brushing through his son’s hair. “But I will be. For both of you. I’ll protect you, guide you, and make sure you never face the things I had to.”

He looks over at you again, his expression softening further. “Your mother taught me how to love, how to let my guard down. And because of her I have you.”

Lila yawns, her head resting against Damian’s chest, her bunny still clutched tightly in her hand. Leo mimics her, his eyes starting to droop as his small body relaxes against his father. Damian’s heart swells as he watches them, their tiny forms so peaceful and innocent.

“You’ll never know how much you mean to me,” he whispers, his voice full of emotion. “But I’ll spend every day making sure you feel it.”

A soft rustle from the couch draws Damian’s attention. You stir, your eyes fluttering open. You blink a few times before sitting up, your gaze landing on Damian and the twins. A sleepy smile graces your lips.

“Falling asleep without me, beloved?” Damian teases quietly, his tone warm.

Stretching on the couch, the blanket slipping from your shoulders. “It looks like I wasn’t the only one getting sleepy,” you said, nodding toward the twins.

“They’re finally settling down,” Damian replies, his voice soft. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Smiling you slipped off the couch then walked over to him,sitting beside him as you rested your head on his shoulder. “You’re amazing with them,” you whispers, your hand gently brushing over your daughter's Lila’s hair. “They’re so lucky to have you.”

Damian glances down at her, his expression tender. “I’m the lucky one.”

For a while, you two sit together, the twins snuggled in Damian’s lap and you leaning into his side. The room is filled with the quiet sounds of their breathing and the faint twinkle of the Christmas tree lights. It’s a moment of pure peace, a reminder of the love and warmth they’ve built together.

As Lila lets out a soft sigh in her sleep, Brooke smiles. “I love you, Damian.”

“I love you too, beloved,” Damian replies, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And thank you. For this. For them.”

[waitimcomingtoo]

Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: Peter is all on his own for Christmas and you both know why

Masterlist

Peter pulled out his chair and took a seat at his empty table.

In another life, you occupied the seat beside him and ate together while you chatted about your days or sat in comfortable silence.

Now, Peter came home to the same cold, empty apartment every day. The sound of your laughter or the smell of your cooking haunted the place and lingered to constantly reminder of what Peter let get away.

Peter pushed around his dinner with his fork. It had been a while since any reached his lips. He was busy thinking about the nights when you’d fallen asleep while you waiting for him to come home from patrol. You’d always leave his dinner in the microwave with a love note taped to the utensils you left out for him. There were no notes to greet him anymore and he was feeling especially sorry for himself about their absence that night. To interrupt Peter’s pity party came a phone call that he answered without looking at his phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi, honey.” Came a downcast female voice from the other side.

For a moment, the term of endearment made him grow hopeful that it was you who had called. He pulled his phone away from his ear and looked at the caller ID, making the hope leave as quickly as it came.

“Hi, May.” He sighed. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” She laughed in surprise. “You tell me. I feel like I haven’t spoken to you since there were still leaves on the trees.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I kept meaning to call.” Peter mumbled and looked out his window at the falling snow. It had been a minute since he picked up the phone.

“It’s all right. I’m just glad to get a hold of you now. How have you been?” May asked him.

Peter looked at the empty chair beside him again and sucked in a sharp breath.

“Fine.” He said after a minute. May was quiet for a minute and he could feel her dejection through the phone.

“I have to say, Peter, I’m a little disappointed that I haven’t heard from you in so long.” May admitted. “I finally got you on the phone and all you can tell me is you’re “fine”? Can I get anymore? What’s new in your life? What have you been up to?”

“I’m busy, May. I told you, I meant to call. But I have a lot on my plate right now. This is a really dangerous time of year.” Peter replied as he rubbed his tired eyes. He felt guilty for how little he reached out but that was currently buried under the anger he felt for her pointing it out.

“I know, I know.” She said quietly. “It gets really busy at the center around the holidays. But it only takes a few seconds to send a text.”

Peter could hear the sadness in her voice and let out a sigh. He let go of his anger for once and nodded his head.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I should’ve checked in more.” He mumbled as his eyes drifted to the empty chair beside him again. Your ghost materialized in front of him as his mind went back to December of last year.

last Christmas

“You should really call her.” You said when you saw Peter decline another phone call from May.

“I said I’d do it later tonight.” Peter grumbled before taking two bites out of the dinner you left out for him. You made a choice not to comment on his sharp tone because you could tell he was already upset over something.

“I know. But you said that the past two nights and you still haven’t done it. I stopped by the community center before to check in on her and she seemed really overwhelmed. I think a call from you would really cheer her up.” You said in a calm voice. Peter stopped eating and looked at you with annoyance.

“You stopped by the center? Why?”

“To eat with her. We usually take our lunch breaks at the same time so I-“

“I don’t need you to babysit my aunt, okay” He cut you off. “That just makes me look worse for not calling her.”

“Then call her.” You stayed calm even though his tone was hurting your feelings.

“I don’t need you to tell me when to call her. Why are you always on me about this?” He snapped and walked away from you.

“Because, Peter. You know how hard the holidays are for her without Ben and your dad. You are the only family she has right now. If you keep putting off calling her, your relationship isn’t going to last. And you aren’t really in a position to be losing family.” You said as you followed him. Peter stopped in his tracks and turned to looked at you.

“Are you seriously trying to guilt me into calling May by reminding me my parents are dead?” He asked you with hardened eyes that told you he was not about to listen to anything you were about to say.

“That’s not what I’m doing, Peter.” You sighed. “I’m just saying that you and her are each others only family and it’s important to keep your bond now that you’ve moved out.”

“I’ll call her when I want to call her, okay? The two of you are being so annoying about a damn phone call. You’re not my mother and neither is she so the both of you need to get off my back. Just stop being a bitch about it and…” Peter trailed off when he realized he’d gone too far and the look on your face told him exactly how the rest of the conversation was going to play out.

“Nice.” You smiled tightly and walked away. Peter followed after you as guilt for the entire conversation settled in.

“Where are you going?” He asked as you put your jacket on.

“I’m leaving.” You said without looking at him.

“To go where? It’s already dark outside. And you haven’t eaten yet.” He tried to reason with you as he followed you towards the door.

“I’m gonna eat with May. She usually always sets out an extra plate anyway.” You mumbled and grabbed your purse. Peter panicked and stepped in front of the door. He was worried that if you left right now, you’d never come back.

“Wait, honey, please. I’m sorry. I should never have used that word. Can we just talk?” He pleaded. You started into his eyes for a minute before shaking your head.

“I can’t talk to you.” You said as your eyes dropped to the floor.

“What do you mean?” He asked nervously.

“Because I don’t think you want to hear what I want to say. And that’s why you keep avoiding me.” You replied and looked him in the eyes. Peter felt his face grow hot. He didn’t realize you had noticed that. For the past month, he’d leave early in the morning to go to work and stay out all night on patrol. You only saw him when he stopped home to eat and even then, you barely got a word out of him.

“Well. I’m listening now. What do you have to say?” He asked, practically daring you to do it. He watched your eyes brim with tears as you gave him a shrug.

“That I want to breakup.” You said, taking all the air out of room.

“There you go.” He smiled sarcastically. “Was that so hard?”

“It was, actually. It was really hard to watch you change into this person. This person who calls me a bitch and ignores calls from the woman who practically raised him. And it really sucks that this is the way things ended because I liked you so much in the beginning. For the first three months, I was the happiest I’d been in my life. But everything is different now. I really thought I saw a future with you but if this is how it’s going to be then I’m out.”

“Baby, come on.” Peter whispered pleadingly. “Out? I had one rough week.”

“It’s been more than this week, Peter. You’ve been shutting me out all month. You’re never around anymore and when you are, it’s like I can feel in the air how annoying you find me. I feel like I’m going to get in trouble every time I speak. And it’s not just me. Your aunt-“

“Wait, you told May about this? We have one problem and you run and tell on me to my aunt?” Peters eyes narrowed as his remorse hardened into anger.

“I didn’t tell on you.” You said pointedly. “I just talked to her because I didn’t know what was going on with you and I figured she could help.”

“Well, what did she say?” He asked with his attitude in full effect once again. You stopped being angry for a moment and reached out to touch his face. Peter wanted to lean into your hand but he restrained himself.

“She said December is a really hard month for you.” You said quietly. Peters eyes welled up with hot tears and he looked away from you so that you wouldn’t see him crying.

“If you ever wanted to talk about your parents-“

“I don’t.” He cut you off. “Not with you. You don’t understand.”

“Peter-“ You began and tried to hug him. He stepped out of your arms and took a step back from you.

“No. If you want to break up, then let’s break up. It’s not like we were in love or anything.” He snapped, making your arms slowly drop to your side. In the four months you’d been dating, you hadn’t said it yet. But you felt it. You both felt it.

“Is that how you feel?” You asked him. Peter didn’t look at you but nodded his head.

“All right. Then I guess we agree. We’re broken up.” You said in a weak voice as you folded your arms. Peter said nothing and kept his eyes on the floor. You passed by him suddenly and went into a cabinet above the microwave that he couldn’t reach so he never used. Peter watched you curiously as you pulled out a small wrapped gift and handed it to him.

“What’s this?”

“Your gift. Merry Christmas, Peter.” You smiled quickly and went for the door again. An immense feeling of regret hit Peter at once and he gently took your arm. You looked him in the eyes and an apology almost escaped his lips but died in his throat.

“Merry Christmas.” Was all he could say.

“I’ll be at Mays. Don’t worry. I won’t tell her what you told me. You don’t need her to bitch at you too.” You said as you opened the door. You were about to walk out of it when you stopped and looked at him.

“Peter?”

“Yes?” He asked with hope that you’d run back into his arms and let him make things right.

“Please, don’t call.” You requested before walking out of his life.

“Peter? Are you there?” May asked on the phone, brining him back to present day. He wiped the tears that had fallen down his face and nodded his head.

“I’m still here, sorry. I’m sorry for all of it.” He said in a quiet voice.

“It’s all right.” She said sympathetically. “Listen Peter, I really have to get back to the center. Please call me more often. I miss you. And I’m always, always here for you, okay?”

“I miss you too, May. I’m sorry again. I love you.”

“I love you too, Peter. Goodnight.” She replied before hanging up. Peter was alone once again but this time, with a plan.

The next day, Peter walked into the Community Center where May worked with the intention of surprising her. He greeted a few faces he recognized before walking to Mays office.

“May? You in here?” Peter asked as he pushed open her door.

“Peter?” You asked, making him freeze at the sound of your voice. Your eyes met after a nearly a year of no contact. You were sitting at Mays desk with a laptop but quickly shut it and stood up. Time was strangely calm as you moved towards Peter. To his surprise, you pulled him into a hug.

“It’s good to see you.” You said as you rubbed small circles onto his back. Peter came unstuck finally and wrapped his arms around you. He really needed that hug. You laughed a little in surprise over how tightly he hugged you before pulling out of the hug.

“What are you doing here?” He asked as he stared your face in disbelief.

“Oh, um. I work here.” You smiled sheepishly. “I’ve been here about a year now. Did May not tell you that?”

“No. She didn’t mention it. But we don’t, uh, we don’t really talk much.” He admitted.

“Right. I remember.” You smiled tightly. “Well, she’s out right now helping to deliver some groceries. She should be back within the hour. Do you want to wait for her?”

“Yeah. I guess so. Where can I stay so I’m out of the way?” Peter asked and looked around. He felt embarrassed for how little he knew about the place his aunt put so much work into.

“I was actually about to go on my lunch break. You could hang in here if you want.” You told him as you got your food out of the refrigerator. You could feel his eyes on you and that he had something he wanted to say. He looked very timid and you had a feeling he was having trouble getting his words together.

“Can I…can I go with you?” He asked in a quiet voice. You smiled softly and nodded your head.

“Come on. Follow me.” You beckoned him with your finger and he quickly followed you. You brought him to the employee cafeteria and found a quiet corner all to yourselves. Peter watched in curious silence as you unpacked a lunch similar to the ones you used to make him.

“Have you eaten yet?” You asked and held out half of your sandwich. Peter shook his head but didn’t take the sandwich.

“I’m all right. You eat.” He replied. You shrugged and started to eat your lunch. Peter had a million things he wanted to say to you but no idea where to begin. You could tell he wanted to talk but you decided it wasn’t your job to lead him there. If he had something to say, he needed to say it.

“You, um, you look great by the way. I like the shorter hair. It’s very pretty.” Peter said without making eye contact. You smiled sadly at how shy he sounded and put your food down.

“Thank you. It’s easier to manage this way.” You said as you smoothed down your hair. “I’d return the compliment but you look like you haven’t slept since the last time I saw you.”

“I don’t think I have.” He laughed sadly and rubbed his eyes.

You sat in an awkward silence for a moment as neither of you knew where to take the conversation next. Peter was looking around the room until his eyes landed on you. They looked so remorseful and tired that you almost pulled him into another hug.

“So, what are you doing for the holidays?” You asked to break the silence.

“I’ll probably just stay home and keep my radio on. It’s a pretty busy night for crime.”

“I’ve heard. Lots of break ins. Usually at houses where a child has been left home alone.” You replied, making Peter crack the tiniest smile.

“Exactly. There’s these two guys I really need to keep an eye out for. They break into peoples houses and turn all the faucets on.” He played along.

“Oh no.” You clicked your tongue. “That sounds pretty serious.”

“It is. So I’ll be super busy that night.” He nodded. You both laughed lightly but still felt a little uneasy being around each other.

“So I take it you’re not gonna spend Christmas with May?” You asked in a more serious voice. Peter gave you a sad smile and shook his head.

“No. I don’t think so. I think I’m on my own this year.”

“Peter, you know she’d love to have you. No matter what your relationship looks like right now.” You assured him.

“I know. And that’s the toughest part. Knowing she’d welcome me with open arms despite how awful I’ve been to her. I live ten blocks away yet I can’t be bothered to see her more than a few times a year. She’s too forgiving. I don’t deserve it. Not right now, at least.”

He was talking about May, but what he said could also be applied to his relationship with you. The toughest part of sitting there and catching up was both of you knowing exactly why you weren’t celebrating one year of dating right now and getting ready for a second Christmas together.

You didn’t know what to say so you turned your face and pretended to look at a nearby calendar. He wasn’t exactly deserving of your forgiveness either, something you both knew as well. And yet, you were aching to give it to him.

“It’s okay.” He said to break the silence. “I think a Christmas on my own will serve me some good. I never liked the holidays anyway.”

“Right. I remember you being a bit of a Grinch. You never wanted to window shop or walk around to look at the lights. I never understood why.” You laughed softly. Peters eyes quickly found the ground and he felt them well up with tears.

“I’m, um, I’m really sorry. About last year, I mean.” He said in the smallest voice you’d ever heard from him.

“Peter, it’s fine. I didn’t mean to bring it up. We don’t have to talk about that.” You waved your hand.

“It’s not fine. I wish I explained myself better when I had the chance. You were so excited about spending Christmas together. I left our relationship on the line because I didn’t know how to communicate.”

“Well, I’m here now.” You said and put your hand over his. “What did you want to explain?”

Peter froze at the contact and slowly looked into your eyes. You gave him a sad smile and rubbed his hand with your thumb to let him know it was okay.

“When you ended things that day,” he began, “it came as such a surprise that I got mean and defensive instead of listening to you. I have spent every day since wishing I just shut up and heard you out instead of agreeing that we should break up. I wish I fought harder to save us.”

“I appreciate you saying that, Peter. I do. But I don’t really see how it was a surprise that I ended things. I mean, no offense, but don’t act like you were kind. We were practically living together yet barely speaking. Towards the end, I felt like I was just haunting your apartment and you were trying to sage the place to get rid of me.”

“I know. I know I really messed up. And I’m sorry it took you breaking up with me to realize how shitty I was to you. I don’t blame you for leaving. I just don’t know how you ever stayed.”

“Well, it wasn’t bad the whole time.” You told him. “The first three months were amazing. At your best, you were magic. I was completely enamored with you. That’s why I stayed. But then, I don’t know. Things were different. You changed so quickly. I went from falling in love to feeling like I was slowly dying in your apartment while I waited for you to come home from patrol each night.”

“That sounds miserable. Jesus. Why didn’t you break up with me sooner?” Peter wondered.

“Because I knew that wasn’t you.” You told him. “I could tell you were going through something. I just didn’t know what it was. And the hope that things would return to how they used to be kept me around.”

“And they never did. Instead, I called you a bitch and drove you to leave.” Peter sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. As he did this, he fully registered what you had said. You had just told him you were falling in love. The tips of his ears became hot and he rubbed his eyes quickly so you wouldn’t see that he was emotional.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for all of it. For everything I did and didn’t do. I would change so many things if I could go back.” Peter said as he stared blankly ahead. You gave his hand a gently squeeze, making him look at you.

“I know it’s none of my business anymore. But we’re here and I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to ask you again. Why do you hate December so much? What made you so angry that month?” You asked him. You could feel Peter tense up and he immediately stopped making eye contact with you. Instead, he stared at a Christmas tree in the corner of the room and let his eyes glaze over.

“It’s just…it’s a really hard month for me. I know that this is supposed to be the happiest time of the year but all it does is remind me of what I lost. I can’t see poinsettias without thinking of my mom. I can’t go into stores without thinking of my dad taking me to every jewelry store in New York to find a necklace that May would like. And every bakery I walk past makes me think of my uncle. All December does is remind me that everyone is gone now. I get so depressed that I push away the people I have left until it’s just me and my anger. I did it to you last year because I convinced myself that I was going to lose you anyway and now I’m doing it to May. And I don’t know how to stop.”

You and Peter sat in silence for a long time after that. Your lunch break had ended five minutes ago but you weren’t going anywhere. You looked each other in the eyes after a beat of silence and you reached forward to wipe tears from Peter’s face. His bottom lip started to tremble so you pulled him into a hug. You stayed like that in the calm silence of the room and just held each other.

“Well now I feel really bad for calling you a “grinch” a few minutes ago.” You said quietly. To your surprise, you felt Peter laugh as he pulled out of the hug.

“It’s okay. I am one. I literally punched a snowman yesterday on the sidewalk because it-“

Peter’s sentence was cut short by your lips meeting his. Once his initial shock wore off, he melted into you and kissed you back. He cupped your face with his cold hands and pulled you closer to him to make yo for lost time. You kissed him until you both couldn’t breathe and had to pull away.

“I think I just felt my heart grow three sizes.” Peter said breathlessly.

“Shut up.” You laughed. “I really need to get back to work now. Do you still live near that bodega with the good muffins?”

“I do. I ate a bran one this morning.” He told you.

“Okay, well that’s disgusting.” You grimaced. “But can I come over later so we can really talk?”

“I would love that.” Peter smiled and nodded his head.

“So would I. Come on. Walk me back to the office.” You said as you stood up and held out your hand. Peter eagerly took it and followed you back to the office. When you walked in, May was waiting for you.

“Oh. Peter!” She exclaimed and pulled him into a hug. “What a nice surprise. What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, May.” Peter said sheepishly. You watched them as the hug lingered as both of them desperately needed it.

“So, May, Peter was just telling me he didn’t have any Christmas plans.” You interjected.

“Well you’ll have to come over then.” May insisted. “It was just going to be me and Happy and you know I always make too much food. We’d love to have you.”

“Are you sure?” Peter hesitated. “I don’t want to impose.”

“Impose? You could never. It would mean the world to me to have you there. We can finally catch up.”

“He’ll be there.” You answered for Peter, knowing he was reluctant to let himself be forgiven.

“I’ll be there.” He echoed and gave May a smile. May smiled back and pulled him into another hug.

Peter left the center with a very different feeling in his chest than the one he arrived with. He was starting to feel whole again after feeling fragmented for the better part of a year now. Snow fell on his head as he walked to his apartment and he found himself enjoying the feeling of it.

When your shift ended, you arrived at Peter’s apartment promptly at 6 o’clock. He helped you out of your jacket and brought you to his couch, where you spent the next two hours catching each other up on the past year. As you spoke, you looked around his apartment to see if anything was different. Your eyes immediately gravitated towards a little Christmas tree in the corner of the room.

Peter had only one ornament hanging on his tree. Right in the center was a heart made out of air dry clay. The words “I love you” were painted on it in bright white letters. It was your gift to him the year before and the only reason he put up a tree that year. Without one, he would have nowhere to display the reminder that at one point in his life, he did something right.

“You hung up my ornament.” You said as you turned to him with a smile.

“Of course I did. It’s the best gift I’d ever received.” He told you.

“That ugly little clay thing was the best gift you’ve ever received?” You laughed in disbelief.

“Not the ornament itself. You telling me you loved me.” He said in a soft voice. You smiled sadly and nodded your head. Things were so different now from when you first made that ornament. You had made it to tell him you loved him for the first time but it ended up being how you told him goodbye.

“I felt it too, by the way.” Peter continued. “I know I never said it. And I definitely didn’t show it towards the end. But I loved you too.”

You looked at the ornament one more time before turned to Peter and wrapping your arms around his neck, taking him by surprise. He hesitantly rested his forehead against yours to be closer.

“If you’re about to tell me you want to try again, I don’t deserve it. I made you miserable.” Peter said with eyes full of remorse.

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “But what if I wanted to try again anyway?”

“Why would you do that? Why would you forgive me?”

“I don’t know. Would “tis the season” be an acceptable answer?” You asked, making Peter laugh softly.

“No. It would not.”

“I know you think you don’t deserve to try again.” You said. “But I feel like I understand you so much better now. And I know you know better now than to shut me out. We’ve different people than we were a year ago. Why not give us another shot?”

“I don’t know.” Peter sighed. “What if I hurt you again?”

“I know it’s a lot. Why don’t you think about it tonight and when you figure it out, you can call me?” You asked him.

Peter met your eyes and nodded his head, satisfied with that compromise. You stroked his cheek with your thumb before getting up off the couch. You slipped your jacket back on while he thought about everything you had talked about that day. Just as you were about to walk out his doo, you stepped back in.

“Peter?” You asked.

“Yeah?”

“Please, call me.” You asked him with sincerity. Peter smiled a little and nodded his head.

“I will.” He promised. You smiled in return and left his apartment.

You hadn’t made it to the lobby of his building before your phone rang in your pocket.

Tag List 🏷️ 🎄

@thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling

@whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings

@imyourliquor-youremypoison @andreasworlsboring101

@peterparkoure

@justcallmehitgirl @jackiehollanderr

@emmamarshmellow @unbelievableholland

@sovereignparker @every-marveler-ever @undiadeestos @eridanuswave

@solarxmoonchild @canyouevencauseicant

@quaksonhehe @lovelessdagger

@thesuitelifeofafangirl @marshxx @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie

@maybemona

@alexxcorona113 @lethal-wisdom

@pandaxnienke

 @officialsimppage @itsemohours

@tomholland85

@olixerwxxd @leilanixx

@whereismytelephone @so-very-asleep

@spideyspeaches @hihiweezing

@mathletemadison  

@dhtomholland @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @prancerrparkerr

@hallecarey1 @blackwidowisthebest @imawhoreforu

@ciarahollands

@nellabellaa @pinklxmonade-blog @boogywoogywoogy

[pathologicalreid]

milk and cookies | s.r.

in which you and Spencer try to bake gingerbread cookies with your daughter, the operative word being "try"

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: toddler tantrums, cookies, presents, christmas, talks about having another baby, it's not explicit but this is technically jareau!reader word count: 1.02k a/n: i put off doing my own christmas baking to write this so here we all are!! i hope you enjoy it!! now, i have pie to make and gifts to wrap!

In hindsight, you should’ve called it off the moment the bag of flour fell on the floor, but Mila had asked for gingerbread men. The last thing you were going to do was disappoint your daughter this close to Christmas.

You weren’t entirely sure she was going to like the taste of the cookies, but she hadn’t stopped asking about them since she saw them in one of her cartoons. At the very least, she’d enjoy decorating them, but you’d likely have to make some regular sugar cookies after this batch was done. Spencer was a fairly impressive chef, but he didn’t show the same aptitude when it came to baking, leaving you to take the lead.

Your focus on the baking and Spencer’s focus on you had left Mila unattended for just a moment too long, which led to the all-purpose flour on the ground. You assured Mila that it was fine while Spencer got the broom and dustpan. “We’ll still have enough, honey,” you consoled her, wiping away tears as quickly as they fell.

She reached out her arms, and with tears in her eyes and a pout on her face, you couldn’t deny her comfort as you picked her up from her stool and let her wipe her eyes on your sweater. “Cookie,” she whimpered softly, looking sadly at the empty countertop while Spencer rid the dustpan of flour. “Daddy, cookie,” she said mournfully, the kind of misery that could only be depicted by an almost three-year-old imagining a world without cookies.

“I know, princess. We’ll get you your cookies,” he told her, putting the broom back in the closet and rounding the counter to kiss her cheeks. The two of you had debated whether or not it would be okay to purchase a tin of gingerbread men, but a previous agreement to give your daughter nothing but the best holiday experiences led you to this point.

It certainly didn’t help that she was now old enough to understand what Christmas meant: presents and treats.

After her first year of life, you’d needed to put the kibosh on random gift-giving, particularly from Garcia. Though you still gratefully accepted Rosemary’s hand-me-downs from Matt and Kristy, Christmas and her birthday were the only times Mila was allowed to be spoiled. Of course, you and Spencer were more than willing to spoil her year-round.

The three of you resumed working through the dough, falling a bit short on the flour, but Spencer assured you it would be just fine. “What if they don’t turn out?” You asked, letting Spencer wrap his arms around your waist from behind as the two of you watched Mila twirling in her dress in the light emanating from the Christmas tree.

“Then you’ll insist on going back to the store to get the right ingredients,” Spencer whispered, swaying gently to the sound of the holiday music, a record gifted to you by Rossi when he insisted that you needed to raise Amelia with “real” music.

You hummed, “And how do you know that?”

“Because I know you,” Spencer reminded you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Do you think she’ll be okay knowing we didn’t get everything on her list?”

Your face warmed as you recognized the implication, “I think she was influenced into adding that to the list.” Turning around, Spencer kept his eyes on Mila while you looked up at him. Penelope had acted as the scribe for your daughter’s Christmas list. Naturally, the words ‘brother or sister’ were scrawled on the bottom of the list in glittery gel pen.

Spencer’s hands squeezed your waist gently, “Maybe next year?”

Before you had a chance to respond, a small voice rang out from the living room, “Mommy!”

You spun around, watching your toddler run to you, her two braids bounced on her shoulders as she skidded to a stop. “What is it, sweetheart?”

A shy smile spread on her face, putting her arms behind her back as she prepared herself to ask for something, “Peek?” She asked, pointing at the oven, which currently had your first batch of gingerbread women in it.

Nodding, you leaned over and turned on the oven light, letting your toddler gaze into the oven, startling you when she screamed at the sight of them.

Instinctively, Spencer reached down and scooped her off of the floor, resting her on his hip while you opened the oven to see the misshapen cookies. “Oh,” you said, the dough had spread out on the sheet, creating one slab of what was a sorry excuse for a cookie, “it’s okay, Mila.”

There must’ve been even less flour than you thought, and your daughter wasn’t standing for it, “They’re ugly!” Her exclamation took you by surprise, no more than the tears currently streaming down her face did. Gingerbread cookies were obviously not a welcome treat in your household, this is the second meltdown they’ve caused.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” you said, setting the cookie sheet on the range and setting a comforting hand on her back. You watched as she wiped her tears on Spencer’s shirt, “It’s okay, they’re just a little deformed.”

She turned back like she had an answer for you, but as soon as her eyes caught on the cookies, her face crumpled again. Somehow, your lack of flour had managed to completely devastate your two-year-old, and it was putting a pit in your chest. Spencer walked her into the living room, making sure the gingerbread blob was out of sight.

“Hey,” you whispered to her, tickling her side gently, “How about we make sugar cookies instead? Mommy’s really good at sugar cookies.”

Apprehensively, she nodded, balling up her tiny fists and rubbing at her eyes before reaching out for you. She rested her head on your chest, her eyes starting to shut as you swayed, “Ugly cookies,” she whispered.

What she couldn’t see was the smile that you and Spencer exchanged, holding in your laughter. While you understood that she was expressing her emotions the only way she knew, you couldn’t help but be amused at the phrase “ugly cookies.”

[nachrosas]

CHRISTMAS SURPRISE | s.reid x reader

summary: in which Spencer asks you an important question on christmas morning. pairing: spencer reid x reader content warnings: none, just pure fluff! word count: 849 a/n: night, night! posting this tonight because tomorrow i will be busy with work and christmas eve preparations! i had fun writing this one and i really hope you guys like it! feedback is always appreciated! also, my inbox is always open to chat (i love to talk and meet new people)! till the next one!

The pale light of Christmas morning flooded into the room through the slightly closed curtain gaps. The Christmas tree in the corner of the room blinked softly, each colorful twinkle reflecting off the delicate ornaments you had hung together weeks ago. The comforting scent of hot chocolate filled the air, mingling with the faint hint of cinnamon from the candles burning on the mantelpiece.

You were curled up on the sofa, a soft blanket wrapped around your shoulders, while Spencer was sitting next to you, legs crossed and a steaming mug between his hands. His glasses were a little crooked, and a messy lock of hair fell over his forehead, but he seemed oblivious, concentrating on something he was trying to hide behind his body.

“Is everything all right, Honey?” you asked, with a slight smile.

“It's just that you always look so beautiful in the morning,” he murmured with a shy smile, his eyes sparkling with something other than Christmas lights. Before you could reply, he bent down slightly to pick something up from the floor. “I have one last present for you.”

The way he held the small package wrapped in red and gold paper made your heart soar, but you tried to disguise your excitement, accepting the gift with slightly trembling hands.

“You'll like it, I think.” he said, looking away for a moment, but not before you noticed the blush that took over his cheeks.

You smiled suspiciously and began to undo the wrapping, just to tease him slowly. “Spencer Reid, what are you up to?”

He moved closer to you, trying to look relaxed. “Just… open it.” he mumbled, looking away again, but not without biting the corner of the underside.

When you removed the paper and opened the lid of the box, you found a small book, with a handmade cover and his unmistakable handwriting written in gold: Our Story. Your fingers gently brushed across the cover before opening the first page. A brief description accompanied by a photo of the first coffee you shared.

Each page was a journey through time — the first meeting, a lazy afternoon in the park, the trip that seemed to end in a huge disaster, but which turned out to be unforgettable. Some pages had little pressed flowers or funny notes next to the photos.

Your fingers slid along the edge of the last page of the book, curious to see how it would conclude the collection of memories that seemed so carefully crafted. When the page turned, the emptiness almost disconcerted you. There were no photos, just a single sentence written in his precise handwriting:

“Will you marry me?”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Your heart raced, and the words on the page began to jumble together, clouded by tears that you didn't even realize were there. When you finally managed to raise your eyes, Spencer was kneeling in front of you. The book still trembled slightly in his hands, but he looked like a statue of serenity. His eyes, however, betrayed his anxiety, shining with a mixture of nervousness and hope.

“I… didn't know how to say it perfectly.” he began, his voice low and charged with emotion. “So I thought the best way was to show you how much you mean to me, how every moment with you is a story I want to keep forever.”

He opened the small box he was holding, revealing a ring that glowed softly under the colored lights. “So, here I am. Do you want to be my next story? Will you marry me?”

You couldn't contain your emotional laughter, a sob escaping at the same time as a huge smile formed on your face. The book slipped from your hands onto the sofa as you leaned over to hug it, the words finally finding their way out.

“Yes.” you said, your voice laced with emotion. “Yes, Spencer, I want to marry you.”

His heart seemed to beat so loudly that you were sure he could hear it. Spencer was still kneeling in front of you, the ring gleaming on his trembling hand, and your eyes met his - hopeful, nervous, full of love. His fingers on yours were gentle, but you could feel the slight tremor as he made sure the ring fitted perfectly. 

When your eyes returned to him, Spencer was already getting up, pulling you close to him. “I still can't believe you said yes,” he murmured, a nervous smile forming on his lips.

“How could I say no?” you replied, before leaning in to kiss him.

The kiss was soft, sweet, and full of unspoken promises. The lights on the Christmas tree in front of you flashed, reflecting off the tears you hadn't yet wiped away and Spencer's eyes, which now shone as brightly as the ring on your hand.

When you separated, he leaned his forehead against yours, still holding your hands. “Merry Christmas, Sweetheart.” he whispered, his voice as soft as a secret.

“Merry Christmas,” you replied, smiling, knowing that this was the beginning of the best present of all.

[justluxy]

Freaky Boyfriend

Freaky Boyfriend x Bottom Male Reader

Where your boyfriend gets freaky at Christmas night

Tw: Gay smut, public kinda, nipple play, and fingering (english is my second language so feel free to correct me)

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Freaky BF↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ 1:35

Imagine it's Christmas and you're celebrating it at your boyfriend's house, eating, talking, and laughing with him and his family. Happily chatting and putting presents under the tree while it snowed outside

But then you feel a hand on your thigh under the table, it was your boyfriend. He looked at you with a smirk and said to you, "Let's go to my room, I need to do something~" then he excused himself from the table and took your hand to guide you to his room

When you guys get there he asked to sit down on his bed, then he sat next to you and started kissing you passionately while his hand was resting on your waist. Then he pushed you down softly and got on top of you, still kissing you

Then he started kissing your neck while he said softly, "You looked so irresistible there... I just wanted to take you and fuck you..." you blushed hard but you let him kiss you

Then he started taking your shirt off, "You're so beautiful...", he said kissing you while to with his hand he pinched your nipples while you moaned between kisses, "Shh... you gotta be silent... or do you want my family to hear how I make you mine baby?"

You shook your head while covered your mouth while he kissed your chest and tummy. Then he went lower to your pants and looked at you, his eyes asking for permission to take them off and you only nodded. He lowered your pants and chuckled as he saw the tent in your boxers

"You're excited aren't you?" He said while smirking while his finger pressed the tip of your cock, then he took off your underwear and started jerking you off while you moaned in your hand, not wanting to be heard

He continued to jerk you off, his hand faster and faster each time. You wanted to moan loud but you couldn't. Then you came in his hand while your breath was heavy. He smirked, "I love when you cum like this love... it makes me want to fuck you more~"

Then he turned you around, smirking as he saw your back and ass, while you were hiding your face of embarrassment. Then he spread your ass cheeks and said, "What a beautiful sight darling~" Then he took a bottle of lube from under his bed and poured a bit in his finger and introduced inside your hole

"Fuck baby... you're sooo tight... imma have fun tonight~" He said as he introduced his second finger, both hitting your prostate while you moaned in the pillow. Then he added a third finger, you wished you could moan but you couldn't

"I think that's enough" He said while pulling out his fingers making you whine as you felt empty. Then he poured a big amount of lube on his cock, stroking it a few times before introducing the tip in your hole and with just the tip, you were already a mess

Then he introduced it all in, the tip already hitting your prostate, "Fuck... I love this" he said while did slow thrusts, enjoying how your back arched with each thrust. Then he placed his hand on your hips to keep you in place

Then he pressed his chest against your back and nibbled in your ear. His thrust were hard and fast and you wished you could moan but you didn't want to get caught by your in laws. Then he started kissing your back and neck, gosh he loves you so much

Then he started playing with your nipples, he knows you're really sensitive, he knows you so welk, all your sensitive parts and he always do them while you only moan in the pillow and see stars of how amazing he is

He loves to fuck you in the doggy position, he loves seeing your ass when he thrusts into you and how you arch your back everytime he reaches your prostate. You could feel he was close and he realky wanted to cum inside of you but he controlled himself and pulled out, coming on your back while you pathetically came on his bedsheets

"God... that was amazing baby, let's get cleaned up and get back with my family" He said while reaching for a towel to clean both his mess and yours

"I forgot we are still here" you said while he cleaned your back. The rest of the night you were trying to act normak with his family, but your legs felt like jelly but you couldn't deny it, you enjoyed it