#evenings are hard. especially since husband is exhausted too.

[itstheghostofmypast]

Baby Steps

Domestic AU Choi San x (F)Reader

Summary: He wanted to be better- no- the best man you had ever seen.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.5 K

Est. Read Time: 12 min

Warnings: Toxic Father, Abandonment Issues

Rating: PG-17

Type: One-shot

Networks: @k-labels

Banner: @cafekitsune

A/N: GUESS WHO'S BACK!?

“I like it.” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest, staring at your husband who was standing there in all his suited glory, all tired and exhausted from a hard day's work, his not so narrow shoulders barely fitting in the small doorframe of your even smaller washroom as he sighed at your persistent banter.

“It's the disco ball isn't it.”

“Of course it's the disco ball!”

That confession and a little pout was all it had taken for the two of you to move from your extremely cramped studio apartment to a slightly better and bigger studio apartment, with more sunlight and surface area- taking with you, your mismatched furniture, potted plants and your LED monitor screen the two of you used as a TV. The two or you had spent your entire Saturday morning moving into and unpacking, setting things where they belonged in your new little home.

“See.” You huffed, landing on your back with a light thump on the mattress next to your worn out mountainous man, staring up at the ceiling, smiling when you felt him lace his fingers with yours.

“All I see is that we finally have a decent sized fridge.”

You smiled at his statement and sat on your elbows, staring at the monitor screen, “Oh~ it'll rain tomorrow!” You exclaimed, ignoring the way he groaned in response, turning to the other side, holding his ground when you pulled on his shoulder to face you, “Shall we have some soup tomorrow!? I'll bring the ingredients on my way back! OooooOo we could make this noodle soup recipe I found!”

San closed his eyes and stood his ground, resisting against your will for him to lay on your back, he just needed a 15 minute nap to recharge, but he had a feeling he was not going to blessed with it, not because of your constant yapping, no he liked your yapping, it rang like the little bells you'd here when Tinkerbell spoke, it was the bubbling guilt within him that had kept him up all night, had him sigh in defeat when you had rested you head against his chest, wrapping your limbs around him, had him frowning while packing, had him zoning out while he drove the two of you to your new home. To be fair, he should have told you but- SMACK

He winced at the smack, his shoulder aching, as the skin of his exposed shoulder stung because of the impact, causing him to sigh in defeat as he closed his eyes to rest for a few minutes. He felt the bed shake as you stood up, your grumbling voice tickling his ears as he rubbed his bare shoulder, wondering if you were upset with him for it too. You had to be, right? Any sane person would be mad at spending their biggest bonus on a rent deposit, something a man usually takes care of, it's not that you had said this to him, no, you'd never say anything like this, but it was true, it was a man’s job to provide, that's what he had promised when he had gotten down on one knee, to protect you, cherish you and give you a perfect life, comfortable life that you had always deserved. It's something he had promised you to make sure you didn't have to live the same life your mother did.

All your life you had seen your mother working, at least that's what you remembered. The memory of your father was a blur, and if you had a say yourself, you'd say your brain had deleted the file. There was no need to remember a man who had chosen his mistress over his wife, especially because his mistress was having a son. So, since that unfortunate night, you had seen your mother work tirelessly, to give you a good life, now, that did not involve luxuries, but she strongly endorsed a good education, healthy meals and a roof over your head.

There were moments in your life where you'd barely see that poor woman, who was busy doing odd jobs after her shift would end at her day job, from bagging groceries to baby sitting to making lunch meals for offices to even working in your school cafeteria part time- did you get bullied for that? Yes, you did, though all that had done was push you to study harder, work harder, and to end up earning a life that would allow your mother to quit all her jobs and then you'd be the one providing for her, giving her a comfortable life.

The moment you had confessed that to Choi San he was whipped, on the floor, down right rolling on the ground for you- the only problem was, that you had told him this as soon as you had rejected his offer on a date, ensuring that you respect him as a colleague and telling him how you do believe that he is a great person, but that you had no time or interest in men, given the lack of existence of a male figure in your and the dire need to give your honest, hardworking and loving mother the life she deserved. Fortunately for you, fate had sent your way a God sent blessing, one who effortlessly had worked day and night to gain your approval, from showing you how your father was not what a “true man” was supposed to be, to lending you a hand once and a while- and let's not talk about how he had to earn your mother's approval.

Whether you'd like to admit it or not, gaining her approval was not as difficult as you had believed it to be, as you had wanted it to be. In fact, the moment Choi San had brought you home, all soaked to the bone and shivering- your bus had broken down and you had to run home, ironically he lived in the same direction- holding you close as the two of you waited for your mother to open the apartment door, you had begun to realise how you had lost this battle, especially when you noticed the way your mother had invited him into your place of residence, urging that he too should stay for warm soup- and even though you had tried to protest, something that had San almost leaping out the window (mind you, only because he wanted to do nothing but make you feel comfortable, and if his absence did so, then he would disappear like Houdini). That night, as you lay next to your mother in your shared bed in your cramped small studio, she had nagged you for the first time, and for the first time you were jealous, especially when she had said, “He's a good boy, no, a good man.” How dare she pay more attention to him than you? She had even ended up giving her portion of rice for him, because he was a “big man”- the hell did that mean?

At the end though, two years in, when you were ever so close to giving up, the people in your team burdening you with their work had you wondering if this was your fate because you were poor, you met the warm embrace of a sun-kissed, mountainous being, one who held you close, letting you silently cry as he whispered in your hair, ever so gently, enough to have you gripping onto him tighter than you could ever imagine, “Let me help you…we can do this together.” Since then, the two of you had been an unbreakable force, especially at work, and let's just say when your mother came to know about him wanting to marry you a year ago, she had urged him to “DO IT TONIGHT!” The poor lad had to convince the potential future version of his wife, “Mother, please, I can't force her yet, after the project.” True to his word, after the project, the man had gotten down on one knee and slipped that ring on your finger faster than you could say yes.

Six months, it had been six months and here he was, having you spend your bonus on your new apartment. If only he had worked harder, done more over time work, maybe taken up another job, where he could work a few hours in the night, he could've done this himself, he could have let you save the money, or spend it on something you like or spend it on your mother, he could have set a better example-

“San?”

He flinched at the closeness of your voice, sighing when felt the tip of your finger gently push between his brows, “Why is my big man frowning in his sleep?”

Huh?

Slowly yawning he sat up, stretching his arms over his head, not noticing how you were smiling at him, he looked just like a cat sometimes. Turning his head to face you, he saw you walk back into the open kitchen, picking up a pot and placing it on the small dining table, “Come on, I made soup, even made side dishes, replenish your strength my little soldier!” Your cherry like voice calming his nerves as he quietly nodded and sat down, staring at the food before blinking up at you, “How…long was I asleep for?”

“Hmmm…I think an hour or so…but you were knocked out cold!” You exclaimed, “I dropped a pan and you didn't wake up.” Your smile faltered when you didn't get a reaction out of him, only to look at him staring at the plate in front of him, was he upset? He had seemed a bit down since yesterday, maybe he was tired, but then again, he'd been agitated ever since you had convinced him to move. Maybe he didn't want to move? Maybe he thought you were taking charge? Maybe he didn't like that- no man likes a woman taking decisions, so why would he-

“I'm sorry.”

Your thought halted at his words, eyes meeting his guilt ridden ones, what was he guilty of? He slowly reached over for your hand, having you sit on the stool that was closer to his chair, as he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb before bringing it to his lips, pressing his warm lips against your skin, whispering, “You do so much for me…I can't thank you enough,” you felt something warm blossom within you at his words as you whispered his name, only for him to continue. San reached for your other hand, now holding your smaller hands in his, though he still chose not to make eye contact, “I'm sorry you had to…pay the deposit with your bonus…it's my job, I promised to give you a comfortable life, to give you everything, and not only are you still working but you had to invest in our move. I know,” taking a deep breath he finally looked at you with a sombre expression, one that had your heart break, you never wanted him to feel this way, “I know, you say you don't mind but, I would rather have you save, or spend on your mother- I'm going to apply at the store nearby for a night shift, I can go there after work, and a morning shift for the weekends, an extra cash flow will-”

“You will do no such thing!” You snatched your hands out of his and frowned, ignoring his gasp as you scoffed, “You think I'd rather have a few extra dimes than be able to spend time with you? What are you stupid or dumb?”

“Both of those words usually mean the same thing, love.”

“That's what you got from what I just said!?” You huffed, gripping him by the front of his vest as you leaned closer to frown at him, “I don't like men, I really don't, you on the other hand just piss me off and I still love you for some ungodly reason! Do you realise I spent my bonus here because I wanted to? Because I wanted to start a happy life with you? Didn't you say we're in this together?”

His hands gently gripped your shoulders before pushing you to sit straight, not letting go of you even when you let go of him, he felt his heart leap with joy at your words, “I just…don't you think you could have spent it on yourself or your mom? I know I said we're in this together…we really are but I-”

“You're not my father, Choi San.”

His breath hitched at your statement, fingers digging into your shoulders by reflex, unsure of what to say at the confession.

“You're not like the man who abandoned me because he wanted a son, you're not like the man who was too busy living another life to even turn to look at the one he had left halfway through…each day I wake up in your arms, grateful to have found someone who puts me before himself, someone who cares about my mother, someone who wants to keep me happy, someone who treats me like an equal.”

You felt his hold on you relax at that, smiling softly at him as you leaned closer, cupping his face to have him look at you before gently brushing your lips against his, “My mother wanted to move back to the countryside, she's happy there, she knows I'm happy with you, I send her enough each month to know she's living the life she deserves…we visit her on weekends, don't we?” he nodded in your hold, his own hands now gripping your waist like you were a piece of him- which you were.

“I spent my money knowing it was a good investment, I did the math Sannie,” You smiled before leaning even closer, “You.Can.Spend.On.A.New.Mattress.” Punctuating each word with a kiss you pulled back, and moved to the chair, leaving your husband sitting there a blushing mess as you began to eat, “Let's get rid of the old thing. Need a new one…” you said before taking a bite nodding towards his food as you swallowed, “Can't give her grandkids with a busted mattress.”

From the tip of his toes to the top of his head the man felt like he was on fire. Did he know that you two were not going to have kids anytime soon? Yes, he did. Did the thought of having a family with you excite him? Yes, it brought him pure joy, enough to have him smiling like an idiot, as he started to eat like the hungry boy he was, not before putting his extra serving of rice on your side, “Eat up, love, gotta keep you strong and healthy for the future baby Chois.”

“Calm down big boy, we aren't having them anytime soon.” You snorted, as you smiled at the thought of your own little family, wondering if your kids would be as hyper as him, or as calm as you- either way, that was for later, for now, you needed to work harder, get a bigger apartment, save up and so much more, and just the thought of it had you frowning for a moment only to lock your eyes with your husband who gave you that boyish smile calming your nerves,

“I know, baby steps, baby steps, one day we change the mattress, get a bigger apartment and then before ya know it, we get our own dozen babies.”

“Sure Mr.Choi, whatever makes you sleep at night.”

[koling2345]

Retired Simon| NSFW

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

Retired! Simon who: Signed the papers to retire as soon as your daughter was born. He wouldn't risk his daughter growing up without a father and you becoming a widow. Never.

Retired! Simon who: Got a job in construction, it was nothing much, quite simple compared to what he'd already had in the army. What he had to do was more related to manual labor. Which he was already used to.

Retired! Simon who: Always came home at six, all tired and sweaty from an exhausting day's work. Working as a construction helper wasn't easy, but for someone who had already worked in much worse situations, it seemed like a piece of cake.

Retired! Simon who: Loved the feeling of coming home, and seeing you and his daughter waiting for him, you with a smile on your face, and the little girl speaking some gibberish, and making loud noises when she saw her father. It was a little piece of heaven on earth.

Retired! Simon who: Was crazy about your food, there was nothing better than coming home and smelling the food you made, it made his stomach rumble. That's why you always made extra food, because he ate like an elephant, literally, you could fill his plate, and he would repeat it. He just loved your food.

Retired! Simon who: Didn't take long to acquire a sweet tooth, your desserts just ruined him. Even if he ate more than enough at dinner, there was always more room for whatever dessert you made. Cake? Oh, he'd eat half the cake in one day, especially if you put icing on it. From time to time, he would eat your sweets and steal your chocolate from the fridge. So it was no surprise when you shouted 'Simon Riley' around the house. He already knew the crime he'd committed, and he wasn't the least bit sorry.

Retired! Simon who: Absolutely adored coming home to hear your little girl talking, she still struggled to pronounce the right words, but Simon made an effort to understand the little princess, even if she said silly childish things. Since she was always complaining about how tiring her day was, that she did a lot of things. She'd only put her toys back in the toy box.

Retired! Simon who: Loved it when you'd bring him lunch at work, it was a good excuse to chat with you during his break. As well as stealing a few kisses from you. Sometimes even something more.

Retired! Simon who: No matter how tired he was, he always put your little girl to sleep, telling her her favorite princess story, watching as she slowly fell asleep. Every time Simon saw his daughter sleeping so peacefully, he felt his heart flutter. It was a view he would never be tired of.

Retired! Simon who: Helped you with the housework, hated you being overwhelmed, so he washed the dinner dishes, put the clothes in the wash, prepared a bath for you. He himself would rather die of exhaustion than see you doing too many chores. He was your husband, so he always helped you. He always put you first, even if he arrived completely exhausted. It was nothing much, just him being a descent husband, as you deserved.

Retired! Simon who: Sometimes he came home so tired, all he wanted was a good head, his body was so sore, all he wanted was to sit on the sofa and let you do the work, getting down on your knees and deep- throat him. Just the way he loved it, his cock shoved into your mouth, the tip of it hitting the back of your throat, while you looked up at him, eyes filling with tears, you obeyed his words of encouragement, always taking him deeper. Until you choked, and he pushed deep into your throat.

Retired! Simon who: Always gave you rewards after a well-delivered oral, this consisted of waking you up with him right between your legs, head buried between your thighs while he lapped you up. Sucking your clit really hard, just to hear you wake up, moaning and whimpering that you were sensitive. Not that he was going to stop, because he was working on you even more.

Retired! Simon who: Loved the lazy sex sessions in the morning, he loved seeing you all sensitive and sly, taking his cock so well, even though you were drunk with sleep. Sometimes he'd just turn you over and put his cock in your sopping cunt, because he knew you were always ready for him. You were made for him, after all.

Retired! Simon who: Was a complete slut for you, could never keep his hands off you, sometimes even at work he would ask for photos, so he could jerk off and relieve a little of his stress. And he would definitely fuck you hard when he got home.

Retired! Simon who: Also loved having romantic sex with you, having you on his lap while you rode his cock, slowly, at your own pace. His hands on your hips while the two of you kissed, whispering sweet nothings to each other. He liked it so much, he couldn't feel your pussy clenching around his girth, he'd come just like that. Your fault for doing it so well.

Retired! Simon who: Never thought he wanted to have a big family, until you got pregnant. After your first child, he certainly wanted more, of course, if you wanted them too. And given the countless times he's taken you around the house, it wouldn't be a surprise if you turned up pregnant once again.

Retired! Simon who: Wouldn't trade anything, absolutely anything, for his family. As much as he loved his old job, nothing was better than coming home, warm food, a sweet little girl, and a beautiful wife, that was priceless. And he'd be crazy to let that go.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

Hi guys! Sorry for disappearing, I'm just posting to let you know I'm alive. If I manage to post anything in the next few days, it's scheduled, I won't be able to answer comments or questions, I'm in my college exam week 😐. I'm totally cooked🫠, so I should only be around for the next week! I'm not ignoring anyone, I promise to reply as soon as I can 🫶🏻

[princessbellecerise]

Morning Desires

Summary ✩ The beauty of Targaryen men is often said to be irresistible, and Jacaerys is no exception. After waking up early one morning, you find that you cannot, in fact, resist your gorgeous husband

Warnings ✩ Morning sex, smut, slight somnophilia, creampie, husband!Jace, blowjob, 18+

The sun was shining brightly when you woke up that morning, soft golden light pouring in through the windows and casting an almost ethereal glow over you and your husband.

When you opened your eyes, you were amazed to see how beautiful he looked sleeping so peacefully next to you. The morning sun shined down on him, making him look like one of those ancient Valerian gods that he spent so much time studying.

His brown hair was swept across his face, his pink lips parted. Soft snores could be heard falling from his lips and you giggled as he mumbled in his sleep.

Truly, you did not think you had ever seen a more gorgeous sight. It was rare that you got see Jacaerys so relaxed, so carefree. He usually spent his days and nights stressed about whatever the state the realm was in. Seeing him at peace was a sight that you drunk in greedily, brushing some of his curls from his face before sighing.

You did not wish to wake him, but an idea suddenly formed in your head and it left your core aching with desire.

It had been two weeks since you and Jacaerys had been intimate, and the feeling of his manhood pressed against your thigh, hard as a rock, reminded you just how much you missed your husband.

Before this stupid conflict in the Riverlands had broken out, Jace used to take you every night that he could. You would spend hours wrapped in each other’s embrace, soft words and gentle touches exchanged. You missed the feel of your husband. Now that he had been coming to bed so late, he was usually too exhausted for any activity other than sleep.

Today was actually one of the rare days that you had even woken up in the same bed as him, and though you felt terrible about it, the urge to feel him inside of you again was just too great to resist.

Lust had its grip on you this morning and you were not strong enough to deny it. Especially not when Jacaerys looked so delicious beside you.

You’d apologize later for disturbing his sleep, but right now, you needed your husband.

Gently, you positioned yourself so that you leaned over him, peppering soft kisses along his jaw and using a hand to trail up his thigh.

Jacaerys in his sleep shivered as you found one of his weak spots, sucking at the delicate skin and making sure to leave a mark. Redness spread over the several spots that your lips visited, licking and biting as you pleased while Jacaerys squirmed underneath you.

He still had not woken up, but his body was so used to your touch that he was involuntarily reacting to it. Several times did his hips buck into thin air, his cock growing harder the lower you kissed and the higher your hand went.

You smiled softly to yourself as he began to moan in his sleep, obviously feeling the way your lips had attached themselves to his chest.

You teased him by taking one of his nipples into your mouth, biting it like he does to you. For a few seconds, you sucked on it, leaving a love bite on his chest before moving on.

By the time you found yourself kissing his stomach, Jacaerys finally began to stir beneath you. His eyes fluttered open as you traced your tongue just above his hips, holding them down as your hand grasped his manhood.

He groaned, obviously awake now, and the sound prompted you to look up at him just as your lips found his cock.

You smiled deviously at your husband as he looked down at you with wide eyes, having the pleasure of seeing his pretty face just before you took him into your mouth.

“Fuck!”

Immediately, Jace’s hand reached down to tangle itself in your hair. Wasting no time, your husband guided you down on him, losing his breath as you managed to take his entire length.

You had done this many times before, so it was easy to open your throat, breathing through your nose so you wouldn’t choke. Using your spit, you eased your lips up and down his cock, your cheeks hallowing to give him more pleasure.

You were careful not to go too fast, but just enough to have him at your mercy. Jacaerys moaned and whispered sweet praises as you sucked his cock; ones that had your core throbbing with desire. A familiar wetness pooled between your thighs, your arousal burning hotter and hotter.

The sounds that your husband started to make only fueled your desperation further, and they indicated that he was almost near his peak. You did not want him to come; not yet since you still ached with the desire to satisfy your own needs. So, before he could reach his release and end your morning fun, you quickly pulled away and straddled him.

A desperate whine left Jace’s throat at the sudden loss of pleasure, but it was quickly replaced by a broken moan when you sank yourself onto his cock.

Together, you nearly collapsed at the feeling of being connected again. After two weeks, your cunt had desperately missed him and you could tell that Jacaerys felt the same.

Tenderly, he held onto your hips and threw his head back as you rode him. The morning light continued to shine down on him, bathing him in rich, golden light. It highlighted the sweat that had began to coat his face, his eyes looking like pools of honey as he kept your gaze.

Softly, Jacaerys pulled you down to meet his lips, capturing you in a passionate, fiery kiss.

Your moans were swallowed by his mouth as your tongues met, tasting the sweetness of one another and relishing in it.

As his cock slid in and out of your cunt, you felt a familiar pinch in your core that had you clenching around him. Jacaerys groaned as you began to bounce faster on his cock, releasing your lips so that he could watch you come undone. He held your hips steady and guided you into a pace that satisfied you both, your bodies so intertwined to the point where your release matched his.

Under a spell of desire, sleep, and desperation, your husband let out a groan as he shuddered underneath you. The last threads holding back his peak snapped, and you could feel his seed coating your walls as he let go.

Likewise, Jacaerys could feel your legs shaking as you clenched down on him and moaned. After so long, your release washed over you and clouded your senses, the pleasure almost as blinding as the light. To Jacaerys, it accentuated your features, making you look like a goddess as you came.

With your lips parted and your head thrown back in ecstasy, you looked like the absolute epitome of beauty. The kind of beauty that women envied and men worshiped.

Jacaerys swore that there was never a man as lucky as he was in that moment, staring at you with love and adoration as you collapsed next to him.

For a few moments, neither of you said anything. As the sun rose around you, lighting the room with a soft yellow glow, you took a minute to admire each other. It had been quite some time since you’d gotten a proper look at your husband, but honestly he was just as breathtaking as you remembered him.

“Sȳz tubis, issa jorrāelagon,” You told him softly, practicing the High Valyrian you had been studying.

Jace often teased you that your pronunciation sounded just as bad as his once had. Before he had become King, he had the hardest time memorizing what the letters sounded like. Apparently, your Valyrian wasn’t as good as you thought it was but there was no teasing from him this morning.

No jests. Jacaerys only wore a proud smile on his lips as he stroked your cheek, leaning in to plant a kiss on your soft skin before chuckling.

“Well, good morning to you too, my love.”

[talaok]

The sweetest remedy

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!pregnant!reader

summary: Joel has a bad day at work, but you know how to make him forget all about it

warnings: Joel is very much in love with his pregnant wife, a bunch of fluff, smut| oral sex (f receiving), Joel takes care of himself but you still swallow, fluffy smut, Joel being the pussy eating king that he is

"what's wrong?"

He'd taken one step into the house and you could already tell something was off

His forehead was creased with lines of annoyance and exhaustion, and by the way he was discarding his boots and jacket you knew he was pissed.

You were on the couch, your body turned towards the entrance, towards him, the tv muted behind you

"nothin'" he grumbled, setting his keys on the counter

"baby" you cooed, pouting softly "c'mere"

And of course, he did

Seeing you was all that made him survive these types of shitty days at work

Especially when he knew you'd be waiting for him in those flimsy summer dresses you loved to wear in the summer,

and especially since he'd gotten your belly to swell with the gift of a child.

You were five months in, and he fell in love with you all over again every time he looked at you

He had you straddling his lap the moment he sat down, his hands on your waist and his eyes all over you.

"tell me what's wrong," you asked again

You hated seeing him all troubled, he deserved nothing but happiness this man of yours, 

because that's what he brought to you every single day

He sighed, before nodding slowly

"it's jus' the guys at work babygirl," he said "nothin' you gotta worry about"

you didn't pay attention to the last part

"What did they do this time?" you asked, softly caressing his chest to try and soothe him

"one of 'em didn't show" he grunted, the palms of his rough hands starting their journey from your pregnant belly to your butt and thighs

"Again?" you raised your eyebrows, annoyed too now "I don't understand why you don't just fire them and get new guys"

The first little smile since he first came home tugged at his lips

"what a coldhearted little boss you'd make" he joked, smirking softly.

You rolled your eyes, biting down a grin of your own

"you know I'm right"

He pushed you even closer to him before responding, wanting to feel more of you, all of you

"I know you are babygirl" he nodded, his forehead to yours now "but you know how I am... I know these guy's stories and evrythin'- I jus' don't have it in me"

Ah that's right

Who could have ever expected such a rough and tough exterior to be hiding such a softie

"you're too nice for your own good, Miller" You couldn't help but smile, softly kissing his cheek

He only grunted in response, losing himself in the scent and feel of you

"'m gonna have a talk with him Monday, I'll see what he has to say for himself"

You nodded, watching him closely

"that's a good idea" you murmured as you let him guide your mouth to his, impatiently kissing you as he'd dreamed of doing since he took the first step out of the house this morning.

You let him taste you, his tongue in your mouth and his beard against your skin, until you both needed air and had to lean away

But something seemed still off, usually, he only needed to feel your lips on his to forget all about his day, but today... today that little shadow in his eyes was still lurking in his iris

"baby" you pouted, your hands reaching for his cheeks to gently take his face in your hands "what can I do to make you feel better?"

And in retrospect, you didn't even know why you asked,

Your husband might have been a gentleman and a hard worker and everything else in this entire world... but he still was just a man.

A man that happened to love the taste of his wife more than anything on this earth

Which is why he didn't waste a moment before murmuring

"y'know what I need babydoll"

God but the way his voice always dropped an octave and that sweet southern drawl got more noticeable every time he needed you was more than enough to impregnate you all over again

"you're insatiable, Miller" you shook your head, laughing that light laugh of yours that made him feel summer breeze and sunshine all over him even on the coldest day of winter

But he didn't laugh, oh no, Joel Miller didn't laugh, he only looked at you, admired you, as you made your decision

"alright" you smiled, getting off his lap with a low groan, before laying on the couch, propping a pillow on the armrest so you could set your head on it to not have your belly cover the best part of the show, which of course, was your husband between your thighs.

just like he was now.

Good Christ and heaven all tougher did he look fucking hot like that,

his eyes fixed on your clothed core, his pupils big and dark with lust, his hands gripping the outside of your legs, his breathing almost as quick as yours...

His eyes found yours as his nose plummeted to your core, his nostrils flaring as he did what would make any woman self-conscious,( that was of course, if they weren't married to such a depraved and pussy obsessed man), he smelled you, he smelled you like you would with a good meal before devouring it, the tip of his nose ever so gently rubbing against your clit in the process.

You whimpered like you always did, and, like he always did, he only continued with his torture.

His tongue felt good even though the soaked material

"Joel" you whined now, as he licked slowly and thoroughly,

He resisted the urge to make you come like that, although he'd proved times and times before that he very well could,

he only stopped when there wasn't a spot on your underwear that wasn't drenched, and your chest was rising and falling faster than the speed of light

That, only that, was when his fingers reached for the fabric covering your core and pulled it to the side, his eyes falling to the work of art between your legs

he didn't say anything, he couldn't, he only groaned before he was devouring you whole

"oh my f-" you cried, your back arching from the couch as his hand seeped underneath your dress to get to your belly, his eyes finding yours again "f-fucking god baby"

He groaned again, his tongue drinking up everything you gave him, swirling over your clit over and over again, getting you utterly desperate just to tease you and fall to your hole, threatening to enter and forcing a gasp out of your mouth

your thighs squeezed around his head just like he liked it, robbing him of almost all oxygen as he buried his whole face into your weeping cunt.

"Joel- baby- p-please"

but he was back at sucking your clit, and all the words in your vocabulary got replaced by mindless, animalistic moans as one of your hands shot to his hair, gripping his hazel locks tightly as your hips started grinding onto his face, his nose, his mustache, his everything

And fuck if he didn't love it, if he didn't live to see you use him for your own pleasure, drenching his face and the couch beneath you with all your sweet juices as you whimpered and moaned what alternated between curses and his name with that irresistible desperate voice of yours.

Yeah, there was nothing that could ever beat this,

the feeling that he got every time you came apart like this was something that could have only been described as a glimpse of heaven, with the angels singing and everything too.

"f-fuck" he knew that high pitch cry, oh he knew it really fucking well "baby I-"

And you didn't even have to tell him, he already knew.

He continued feasting on your pussy, letting you chase your own high, and before you knew it, your head was thrown back and a wildfire of pleasure spread through your whole body, from your toes to the ends of your fucking hair.

You would have guessed you'd just run a marathon by how fast your heart was beating

"you're the most gorgeous woman on this planet" Joel murmured more to himself as he kissed the inside of your thigh, sending a shiver down your spine, before crawling up to ghost your lips "with the sweetest fuking pussy too"

You could only let out a silly laugh before he kissed you, letting you have a taste of that sweetness.

But when you didn't feel him grind what you knew must have been a rock hard erection underneath his jeans, on your core like he usually did, you frowned, as you watched him sit up instead

"baby?" your forehead creased even more in puzzlement once you watched him undo his zipper and pull out his aching cock, not looking even remotely interested in making a move to position himself at your entrance

"what are you doing?" you finally asked, sitting up too now

He wrapped a hand around his dick as he answered

"You're still sore from this mornin'"

What does that have to do with anything?

"but-"

He shook his head, watching you closely with that honest care that he only showed you "no but" he declared "I don't wanna hurt you babygirl"

And although you would have liked to argue, you knew that since you'd gotten pregnant, his protective side had somehow gotten even more hard-headed, and changing his mind was damn near impossible, which is why what you did instead, was change the tactic

"I still have hands... or a mouth, you know?" you cocked an eyebrow, eyeing his manhood

You didn't miss the way his member twitched ever so little at the proposal,

but then again, he had always refused you going down on him since the pregnancy, not because he didn't want to, fuck- god only knew the unspeakable things he'd do to let that pretty mouth of yours take care of him, no, the reason was he simply didn't want you to go through all that just for him, for his insignificant pleasure.

"All you gotta do is just sit there and look pretty, sugar" he murmured, finally starting to stroke himself, groaning lowly as he did

Your breathing faltered at the image, his large hands fisting his cock hard, stroking up and down in a way that looked incredibly natural and incredibly intimate at the same time.

And even if he'd ignored your proposal, you couldn't help but smile before pressing a kiss to his neck, right where his pulse was fighting against his skin.

And while you did that, now softly peking every inch of skin not covered by his shirt, you started undoing the straps of your dress, letting them fall down with the top of it once you were done

"like this?" you asked, biting down a smirk as Joel let out a desperate moan at the image before him.

God your tits looked even fucking better now, so full, so soft, so- so fucking perfect

"sweet Jesus" he groaned, his eyes panning between your mouth and your boobs as his strokes got faster, more desperate

You felt his hand sneak up your body and finding your tits, grabbing at them softly, gently caressing each one with all the care and amazement in the word, until he was whispering, begging "fucking-come here" and pulled your mouth to his, leaving a wet, filthy kiss on your lips as he continued palming your front.

the sound from his work on his dick was obscene, but neither of you cared, especially when the words coming out of your mouth happened to be even obscene.

"You're close?" you asked, feeling his heavy breath fanning over your mouth

"yeah doll"

You kissed him again quickly before speaking

"come inside my mouth baby"

Again, Joel Miller might have been as incredible as you wanted... but he still remained only a man,

a man who had to fight with everything he had in himself not to bust his load right there

"Good fucking Christ-" he groaned, closing his eyes as he threw his head back "fuck me"

"I would if you'd let me" you joked, placing another kiss beneath his ear

He laughed softly, opening his eyes to find yours "you want me to come in your mouth sugar?"

"yes" you nodded without missing a beat "I need it" you cooed, stroking his beard as his breathing became more and more uneven, his cock on the verge of exploding

"I need you to fill me up baby, if not my pussy, my throat at least"

"fuck"

you always knew what to say to get him going

"fucking- damnit" he groaned, tugging hurriedly at his cock as he ordered you to "don't move- open your mouth" until he was kneeling beside you on the couch, grunting and moaning soft curses or that's it-good girl, looking down lovingly at you till his warm seed was filling your whole mouth.

It took him a moment to come back to life, to the real word, but before he knew it, you were kissing as he held you close to his chest.

"Feeling better?" you finally asked

"I don't even remember what I was mad about babydoll"

[iid-smile]

disturbed sleep | sugar cubes — nanami.k

synopsis: your daughter wakes the two of you up in the middle of the night and kento goes to sort things out.

content: fem!reader x husband!nanami, he calls you dear, brief mentions of a daughter, him being caring and considerate <3

wailing in the middle of the night — it's loud, and it's your daughter.

before you could roll over onto your back, your eyes crack open enough to see kento was already sat up. "is she crying again?" you whisper.

a low groan comes from him as he rubs his eyes. "i guess so. i managed to stop it earlier before it would wake you up but..." his words trail off. "i'll sort her out. you stay in bed, okay?"

the sheets shift down to your legs you as you prop yourself up on your hands. in the corner of your eye, you manage to catch a glimpse of his digital clock; three in the morning. your eyebrows furrow as you speak. "i don't mind helping—"

by then, he was already putting on his slippers and robe to layer up against the cold. "relax. i already let you handle dinner and cleaning up today, you need some rest. as long as she didn't wet the bed, i'll be fine."

you'd rather not insist, especially since you've barely gotten any shuteye so far tonight. "come back soon..." was your quiet, mumbled response.

you can't see it too well, but you can definitely hear the fond smile in his voice. "don't worry about me." he soothes your worries and presses a kiss on your forehead while carefully laying you back down.

at least an hour passes.

odd... kento always returns as quick as possible. you're close to getting up to check on him, but the bedroom door opens, and his footsteps walking into the room follows.

you flip over to face him as he gets into bed. "what happened?"

kento can only sigh deeply, pulling you into his embrace. "she wet the bed..." the exhaustion in his voice is clear.

you giggle. "exactly what you didn't want?"

"exactly what i didn't want. i changed the sheets and she's fast asleep again." as usual, he's warm, and you find yourself trying to snuggle impossibly closer to him. "get some rest, dear."

half of you wanted to hear that, the other half of you didn't. there's never been a 50/50 split when it comes to housework because he's constantly doing things for you, even if you didn't ask. he could come back home from two hours overtime and still urge that he should put your daughter to bed, clean up her toys, wash the dishes, anything that you planned on doing yourself.

you should at least make an effort... "the sheets—"

on this rare occasion, he interrupts you. "i'll wash them first thing in the morning."

he's so perfect. a perfect husband, a perfect father, a perfect man overall. how the hell is he in love with you? the smug grin growing on your face was now irreversible, but quickly switches to a hard to hide smile when you feel a hand on your lower back. warm, as always.

another night where you get to doze off in his arms. "i can't sleep without you, just so you know." you subconsciously admit, your eyelids growing too heavy to keep open.

a light chuckle leaves his lips as he teases you back. "are you trying to make me feel guilty?"

for a moment, you thought of a playful response, but the fear of him taking it even a little seriously and making even more time for you than necessary was too strong to overcome. "you've got responsibilities. i can't blame you." too tired... "i love you, kento."

"i love you too, [name]"

a/n: need him to cuddle me to sleep 😴

[anika-ann]

Sweet and Ours, Tonight - S.R.

Type: one-shot, established relationship, domestic... filth

Pairing: Steve Rogers x wife!reader   Word Count: 5,8k

Summary:  You and Steve had a long, long week.

You both deserve a reward. Perhaps an evening with undivided attention to each other... and maybe to end the endless week with a bang.

The thing is, Steve has no idea about what’s awaiting him at home. Yet, you have a feeling he will like it - and he'll be happy to show you.

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, praise kink, slight authority kink, soft dom/sub elements (with a tad dominant Steve), a sprinkle of possessiveness, potential blasphemy, lingerie kink, marriage kink (if that's a thing), mention of (tender) hair pulling, mention of semi-public sex if you squint really hard, language, FLOOF

A/N: At the time of Cum Together: Community Revival Extravaganza  hosted by @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420, there were two potential stories on my mind – the soulmate AU one, which I ended up writing, and this one, which fulfils multiple prompts from the list (see the end). The extravaganza is long over – but hopefully, you’ll enjoy 💕

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @saradika; enjoy, but it's smut y'all - read at your own risk and responsibility

Setting the half-full glass of water on the counter, you smiled to yourself as you heard the keys rattle in the lock. The sound meant one of your favourite things in the world: Steve was home.

‘Home’ was your spacious shared apartment near the new upstate Avengers facility, one you and Steve had chosen not because the large complex hadn’t included living quarters, but because you had wanted a place that was truly your own.

On days like this, you were more grateful for that decision than ever. Here, the work and the weight you carried from it could be left at the doorstep, and you could enter a truly safe space, shielded by your love from the outside world. World which could be loud, overwhelming, and at times, evil.

Today, it meant that Steve would try to leave behind the exhaustion and frustration of a week-long conference of the United Nations and adjoined organisations. You, you had left behind the very same sentiments lacing the endless week of extra shifts. Sometimes it felt like the work was never done; be it patching up international relations or patching up the dumbass of the day. Be it dealing with diplomats who barely even listened, let alone acted on their empty promises; or be it repairing damage to human body made by another supposedly human being, battling to keep alive agents who not so rarely held zero regard for their own safety in the process of saving the very world for whose safety Steve was advocating in DC. You wondered where the agents could have possibly got the inspiration for their reckless behaviour – but that was not the kind of thoughts you wanted to entertain tonight, especially since you knew the answer all too well.

Tonight, you wanted to cherish your husband’s company.

You had missed Steve; even when swamped with work, you both took care to stay in contact, confiding one another on as much of your longing for each other’s company as on feeling drained.

You were glad for having had enough wits to plan ahead and be able to come home before him.

It had been no surprise to you that Steve had called you that he was about to arrive home as scheduled, but crankier than planned despite finally leaving the self-contained self-important jerks behind. The relief in his voice had been palpable; and his voice had only grown warmer when he learned you were to already wait for him at home. Your lips had twitched at the guttural sigh he released upon learning, whispering he was really happy to hear that; as were you to hear that he was coming home in one piece, which was unfortunately not a rule.

He loved you, he had said too. So damn much.

You had told him the same, wondering if that was what would leave his lips when he’d see you. Especially since he had no idea what coming his way, should he want it.

The lock barely clicked open and you were already on your way. A rapid carpet-muted staccato of your heels welcomed Steve as he entered, his curiosity clearly piqued in an instant.

He had but a second to take in your appearance – the bloody red pumps, the peek of nude nylons, the beige trench coat reaching just above your knees, your simple but effective hairdo and make-up, dominated by berry-red lipstick – or get his suitcase through the doors and close them. Before he could say as much as hi, you were already cupping his face and kissing him softly, for once not having to stand on your tiptoes too high.

There was a significant part of you which was dangerously close to jumping on him with enough force to slam him against the door and pour all your enthusiasm at seeing him into the kiss. It had taken all your willpower not to do so since your body throbbed with the need – but you didn’t want him to feel ambushed, unsure about his mood. So you revelled in the precious opportunity to touch him, in the feel of the figurative and literal warmth he was radiating, in the taste of his lips you had missed so viscerally; and with the minute mental capacity left, you tried your best to read his reaction.

It would be a shame for your plan and efforts to go to waste; but the last thing you’d want was to push thoroughly exhausted Steve who’d just want some peace into something he’d… be willing but not excited to do.

Your worries were fruitless, however. Steve’s hands came to life immediately, one reaching for your waist, the other to cradle your cheek. His lips responded in kind, even as his smile tasted of surprise. The tension you had got a brief glimpse of melted away from his shoulders, fingertips caressing your skin, nose gently nudging yours as your lips parted, forehead to forehead.

“Hi,” you breathed out contentedly, feeling the tension leaving you as well, warmth spreading through every vein and nerve in your body at Steve’s gentle chuckle instead.

“Hi, love.”

“Welcome home.”

His smile was as nothing short of blinding when he retreated just a bit to look at you and grace you with a shining gaze roaming your face, as if taking in every feature, every line, every arch, every last eyelash for the first time. Your heart thump-thumped in your chest happily as your hands slid to his neck, unable to tear your gaze away from the beautiful image he made.

A man with love.

Your man.

Your husband.

Your extremely handsome husband; every suit, be it a formal wear or his tactical one, accentuated his wide shoulders and sharply cut jaw you couldn’t but run your fingertips over, marvelling at the pure delight in his face.

“I feel very much welcomed, sweetheart,” he assured you, squeezing your waist. Despite being clearly exhausted, his smile was radiant; until it fell a fraction. “Are you going out?”

Your heart hummed with a soft ache; it was impossible to miss his effort not to look disappointed as not to make you feel guilty for having a social life outside your marriage, even if rather inconveniently timed. Bless his good, good heart.

You shook your head with your smile lingering, barely hiding a smirk. “I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Rogers.”

His expression perked up again, his arm sneaking further around your waist as he observed you with playful curiosity. “Oh? Are we going out? Did you plan something, Mrs. Rogers?”

To highlight his indulgence in calling you that – and god knew hearing him say that still sent butterflies to your stomach even after months of that being a reality – his hand moved from your cheek to take you left hand, fingers interlacing; your wedding bands made a soft clinking noise as they met, Steve’s gaze flickering to their combined light with such undiluted joy in that little action you couldn’t but brush your lips over his again, something deep inside you trembling and preening at once.

Your husband.

“Would it be a bad thing? If I did plan something?” you asked, part coy, part genuine. “It’s okay if you’re not in mood for that.”

Steve only smiled wider, dropping a kiss to your knuckles and then your lips, before pulling back just a fraction. He observed you silently and almost absently, yet seemingly with mission-level intent. 

The silence stretched as you awaited his answer, encouraging him – and yourself, because the silence was growing louder with every beat of your heart – with a suddenly unsure smile.

“Steve? Love?”

He blinked, shaking his head lightly. Before you could feel your stomach drop in disappointment at this being his answer, he spoke up.

“Sorry, you… you look beautiful. Got a little distracted here.”

Your belly did a funny flip-flop that had no right to be so deep within; but this gorgeous man had no right to be so perfect either. And you loved him for it.

“I don’t mind going out or staying,” he said softly. “I’m honestly just glad to be home. With you. That’s my favourite thing in the world. Being with you… here, in the home we made together.”

Tremble. Something within you trembled and it was almost comical how those words shook and soothed your soul, a sharp contrast to how very non-poetic your intention to seduce his body was. But that was how you seduced each other the first time and did so over and over again; body, mind and soul alike, tipping the scales in favour of one and then the other and back as the situation allowed.

It was your turn to blink now, fighting the burn of tears in your eyes, threatening to spill at the profound sincerity in Steve’s voice and the adoration in his beautiful blues; they turned all the prettier as a spark of mischief lit them up and he stepped back, releasing you from his warm embrace.

“But, since you got all dolled-up and clearly made plans, it would be a waste. Want to tell me what my orders are, ma’am?”

Excitement lighting up your nerves anew, you stepped back with a hum.

“Well… actually, I made plans to stay in…” Steve’s eyebrow arched a bit, but something beautifully dark flashed in his eyes – a mute understanding that whatever you had planned, you had dolled up for him. For him and him only. “And since you said those people there were all talk, no listening, no action… I thought that maybe you’d a like a change of scenery.”

As you took another step back further into the apartment, Steve discarded his shoes in a lightning speed, his gaze never leaving your face, hanging on your lips for every syllable. 

You bit back a satisfied smile, something hot stirring in your belly. “That maybe, you’d like someone who can listen very well, and is willing to… act? Would you like to tell me my orders, Captain?”

His gaze went to roam – from the top to bottom, drinking in your attire, a perfect trap you had set for both of you to tangle in. The tall red heels. The coat for him to untie. The nylons – which Steve at this point must have understood were, in fact, thigh-highs, perhaps strapped to a garter belt. The hair. That lipstick. That damn lipstick that turned his eyes a shade darker and hungrier, his voice dropping two octaves.

“Is that what you want, sweetheart?”

You raised a challenging brow, a coy smile adorning your red red lips as you toyed with the hem of your coat; Steve knew you well-enough by now to know that you wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble if you hadn’t wanted that. You wanted.

You wanted him, with every fibre of your being, lit alive and reborn divine under his searing hot gaze. You longed to be his, however he pleased. To please him however you could.

At last, he got the message. He seemed to very much revel in that message, in fact.

“Let’s go to the bedroom then.”

He led you by the hand, even though you both knew the way and had walked it many times before, even when blinded by desire, with lips never parting, frantic stumbles and wandering impatient hands. Tonight, there was no rush; steps deliberately slow, you followed his lead, standing still by the doorway when he let go of your hand in favour of stripping his suit jacket as soon as you entered.

Your eyes followed his every move, indulging in the sight of his muscles rippling under the smooth fabric of his white shirt; indulging in the shudder of realization running down his body, coming after his brief confusion of finding you obediently exactly where he had left you.

You barely bit back a smirk at the way his breath hitched.

“Alrighte,” he breathed out as he walked to the foot of the bed, turning his back to it to look at you.

You had never had a man to look at you like that before; his gaze was like the most delicious shockwave igniting every cell in your body with desire and pride.

His. You were your own woman, but goddamn, were you his.

“Alright. Come here, sweetheart.”

You did. Hooked on his burning gaze as he seemed hypnotized by your every step, by every inch erased between you, you walked to him, only stopping when he settled his wide palm over your hip, his other hand soon joining on the other side.

For a moment, he simply observed you, your parted lips, your eyes blown wide, just as aroused by the dynamics as he was. Then, a warm yet mischievous smile lifted the corners of his lips, hands squeezing your hips.

You weren’t sure what you had expected – a kiss, a toss on the bed, his hands ripping the fabric, all things you had encountered and more – but of all options, he chose the one your mind had not offered at the moment. His hands slid lower, inch by inch as he kneeled in front of you, sitting back on his heels, the heat of his skin seeping into yours the second his palms slipped past the edge of the fabric of your coat.

Sensual. Steve was most definitely in mood for sensual tonight and you were not going to complain if for nothing else than for having trouble breathing as his fingertips traced the thin ankle strap of your shoe, warm fingers delicately circling your ankle, cupping your calf, sneaking past your knee to spread over the back of your thigh, inching your legs apart so he could move the coat out of the way and press a lingering kiss to your where the lace of your thigh-high met bare skin of your inner thigh.

Your breath hitched in your throat when his free hand reached for the loose knot on your coat, dextrous fingers undoing it with ease and tugging, all while his lips brushed over your sensitive skin higher and higher towards the apex of your thigh.

“Take it off, love,” he whispered into your heat, tugging at the hem of your coat, the index finger of his other hand slipping under the strap of your garter belt, nosing along your inner thigh and inhaling deeply.

A shudder ran down your spine at the huskiness of his voice, leaving you with no space to even consider embarrassment at your husband’s need to drown himself in the scent of your arousal; you busied yourself with stripping the coat in five seconds flat and dropping it on the floor, rewarded by his warm breathy chuckle.

“So good for me…” He looked up from his spot, caressing along the line of your panties, feasting his eyes on the delicate lace hugging your breasts, at the elaborate but feather-light pattern on your garter belt, at the barely-there panties covering your sex. The smoulder in his pupils as his gaze zeroed on his price was almost too much to bear. Whether you were shy or impatient, you couldn’t tell, but your chest was heaving with every breath, your back arching just a bit at the praise that stroked something deep within you. “My beautiful, irresistible wife…”

“Steve-“

He returned his attention to your thigh, sucking a lovebite just above the hem of your stocking, soothing the offended spot with a butterfly-soft kiss you couldn’t help but sigh his name at again.

He hooked his fingers at the front straps of your garter, urging you forward, closer, as he sat on the floor, back leaning against the foot of the bed, tilting his head back and resting in on the mattress; a content smile played on his lips as if it was the most comfortable spot in the apartment, his hands roaming appreciatively. Over the curve of your hip. Following the pattern of the lace. Along the straps, along the hem. But never, never where your need for him burned, soaking the excuse of underwear over your sex.

“Didn’t have such pretty view in D.C.,” he mused, gaze trailing over the thin fabric already shining with your arousal, trailing all over your body to your face, to your red lips painted just as you knew he loved them. “Never ceases to amaze me. Like a piece of art. So damn perfect… mine to touch.”

You didn’t have timefor body insecurities with Steve. Any imperfection you saw, it didn’t bother him; he’d kiss you everywhere, claiming and loving every piece of your body and soul and mind, as he hadn’t forgotten to mention when he proposed; and then followed up with proving the first part of his claim with intense but the softest damn loving.

The memory of him getting on one knee with a glimmer of tears in his eyes quickly dispersed when his maddeningly delicate touch finally brushed over your slit, your hips instinctively bucking forward; Steve instantly used the opportunity to spread his palms under your bottom, urging you closer and closer until the front of your thighs met the mattress, effectively caging him in, mouth not more than an inch from your mound. He smiled up at you wickedly, forefinger drawing nonsensical patterns over your clothed sex.

“Steve, love-“

You lost your voice when he guided your knee to prop on the mattress next to his head, a violent tug of desire gripping at your core at the implication of what he wanted – stirring as much want as insecurity and hesitance.

You voice was shaky as your gaze found his, the question on your lips so quiet he might miss it hadn’t it been for his enhanced hearing.

“Steve, are you… sure?”

One glance into his eyes told you was more than that.

And the mere thought of him doing what he was leading you towards felt like molten lava poured into your veins, nothing but smouldering heat left behind.

You had never done that. Not with him, not with anyone else.

It was true that Steve could get rather intense when it came to love making – or shameless fucking – but he always drew significant amount of his pleasure from your own. Your husband was but a giver, even as he always coaxed you to give it to him. He had sure been far from shy or prudish in the privacy of your quarters – or in certain cases no one must ever learn about, elsewhere – and he enjoyed all kinds of things, his mouth on you among them. You had explored together, dived into depths of pleasure you hadn’t thought were possible. But you hadn’t---not like this.

Not with you basically on top of his goddamn face.

“Are you?” he asked, pressing a brief kiss to the juncture of your thighs, looking at you from under his eyelashes with a challenge and a plea.

In your exploration, he had pushed your limits; but never you. He’d never do anything that seemed even tad too uncomfortable for you. As of consequence, there was virtually nothing you wouldn’t let him do, because you trusted him to stop at the first sign of your protest.

Okay. Okay. The utter wanton in his eyes shining through the sincerity was melting your brain. No choice to make.

You nodded, rewarded by a satisfied smirk that would have earned anyone else a smack to their face. But with Steve, there was something dangerously alluring about that instead; that smirk meant paradise aligning with hell awaiting you, whispered of you soon begging him – to stop or to continue, you’d never quite know yourself.

“Well then, remember you promised to listen… and do.”

Little shit, was as far as you got in your thoughts.

Because then he was wrapping a firm arm around your leg on the bed and pushing your panties aside and after a few teasingly careful licks, he began his feast like a starved man seated at the royal table.

Your hands found purchase on his hair and the bed, knees nearly buckling under the assault of pleasure, burning through your body like a wildfire. The way his wicked tongue played with you had you gasping his name in need bordering on desperation, chest tight as you were forgetting to breathe, core clenching so soon you couldn’t quite believe it as the tidal wave of bliss washed over you, hips rocking in aftershocks, knees eventually giving out.

It was only for a split second that you worried you might smother Steve or splatter ungracefully on the floor; because Steve had you. He always had you. His supersoldier part undeniable, he caught you, manipulating your body so he could cradle you protectively as you came from your high and literal height, holding you against his chest as you straddled him with seemingly boneless legs.

You were hyperaware of every bit of praise spilling from your lips, whispered to your skin warmly, but you couldn’t form words.

Not until his lips found yours, meeting in a soft kiss spiced with the tang of your essence, the most intimate kiss between lovers. He pushed the hair from your face tenderly, eyes both hungry and soft as if you weren’t soaking his dress pants where your core met his evident arousal and you weren’t both panting as if you had just run a marathon. His hand caressed up and down your spine, over and over, as if to ground you in reality.

A peck to your cheek. To your mouth. Your lips coming back to life at least, pressing to his jaw, to his smile.

“Could stay like this forever,” he whispered, nose trailing along your cheek, leaving a kiss under your ear, drawing a breathless chuckle from you. “With you in my arms, your taste on my lips, head swimming from your sweet perfume and everything that’s you… my wonderful wife… “

Blinking owlishly, you met his gaze as he cradled your cheek, hair a beautiful messy hallo from where you had tried to hold on when he was devouring you. His lips found yours again, a gentle murmur.

“You’re my everything, you know that?”

You did. By god you did. It was impossible not to, even as that fact was but a pure stroke of a miracle. He was your everything too. Your alfa and your omega. Your weakness and your strength. Your love, unshakable foundation even on days when everything including his own hands did shake. Your home, whenever you’d go.

You ran your fingers through his golden locks, expression nothing short of tender, touch nothing short of reverent – as one should be when in face of a miracle.

“And you’re my home,” you whispered back.

Seconds ticked by in soft silence, pleasure still tingling all over your body, but it was the overwhelming love and need in Steve’s gaze that consumed you completely.  

You didn’t dare to blink. You didn’t dare to breathe. You simply watched him living through a moment as precious to him as he was to you, electric tension rising and almost audibly crackling in the air.

And then he was gripping your nape, mouth claiming and devouring, one hand sliding under your bottom to lift you in a display of strength that never failed to make you dizzy and blinded you with desire unmatched despite having just come down from your high. You returned his kiss with the same fervour, hands grasping at his shirt, frantically searching for buttons to undo and then simply tugging hard until the thread gave out and sent the buttons flying, a nip of teeth to your lips accompanied with Steve’s dark chuckle like the sweetest song of victory.

He sat down at the bed with you still straddling him, helping you strip the shirt without your lips ever parting, his hands leaving you but for the fraction of second necessary to get rid of the fabric in your way and then you were both sighing in relief when your palms met the burning skin of his sculptured chest, his wide shoulders, his clenching abs.

“Need you,” you confessed as soon as you got to breathe in, back at his lips the very next second, Steve’s large palm kneading your bottom, hips thrusting into yours and eliciting a wanton moan from you both. “And I want you in my mouth-“

A delicious growl rumbled in is chest, fingers tangled in your hair pulling just a little, tipping your head back to give him access to leave a string of kisses down the column of your throat, the deliberately slow bucks of his hips into yours never ceasing.

“You’re a wicked little thing.”

You chuckled, a cheeky remark on your painfully free lips, the delightful friction between your bodies not nearly enough to sooth your thirst.

“You do say I’m wicked smart. Why this time?”

The nip of teeth on your collarbone and the way his fingers dug into your flesh had you barely stifle a gasp, but his answer was a reward for a work well-done.

“Goddamn you, woman, you know what you do to me, especially that lipstick-”

“I know what it does to you to see it smeared in certain places,” you breathed out, silenced by a bruising kiss to your lips and a light sting on the back of your thigh as Steve pulled at one of the strings of your garter and let it snap against your skin. Your wandering hands reached for his belt, almost tasting the salty tang of him already as you’d get on your knees for him.

“Wicked,” he grunted against your mouth, lifting his hips – with you still on top – to help you strip his pants, “I thought I was giving the orders tonight.”

“Oh you do, Captain,” you assured him, revelling a little too much at the twitch against your core as you blatantly used his title against him. “Just informing you I’m willing.”

“Driving me crazy. Want you to want me just as much, to need me-“

“I do. Need to taste you-”

“Jesus Christ-“ he choked out, releasing you so you could press one last thorough kiss to his mouth and then slide down to your knees, grateful for the soft carpet.

Ridding Steve of the last piece of clothing, you took great care to maintain eye-contact as you stroked him, feather-light, and licked at the tip. The breathy sound resembling your name that left his lips when you wrapped your lips around the head sent a jolt of heat down your spine, hot satisfaction pooling in your belly and making your heart thunder in your chest.

Nothing had ever made you feel more powerful and treasured than Steve looking at you with half-lidded eyes, groaning as you took him deeper and bobbed your head, closing your lips tight around him as you pulled back to smear as much of the sinful red colour down his cock, his hands gripping the sheets so hard the fabric might tear.

God, he was gorgeous; a wrecked angel-like figure made for worship and sin, they only deity you needed, sculpted to divine perfection.

His fingers tangled gently at your hair, only to twitch repeatedly as he was holding back the strength he wanted to use keep you right there, always making you want to swallow around him harder to make him lose that control; the curses, the deliciously prolonged fuuuck tasting like a victory, the fuck-- sweetheart, you feel like heaven a blessing that stirred pure lust deep within your core.

He was done for almost too soon; a little work, a hint of a sinful smile in the corner of your lips as you watched him lose layer after layer of control to reveal the primal drive that made him just as human as any. Once your hands joining your efforts, he was spilling down your throat, eyes squeezed shut in an image of absolute heavenly ruin.

You waited for him to flutter his eyes open; not having even gone soft in your mouth, you dragged your lips down his length to leave the last red and glossy mark, the string of blasphemy leaving his mouth telling you he didn’t give a damn thing about your tear-smeared mascara but cared a whole lot about the prettily ruined lipstick. When you licked your lips as if he had just given you your favourite treat, he practically dragged you back to his lap, seemingly torn between proposing all over again and lamenting you were going to be his death.

Yet, he kissed you tenderly like a precious porcelain doll and reached for the wet wipe in the nightstand drawer to gently clean the black smears down your cheek. The smudged lipstick he indulgently wiped with his thumb before his mouth slanted over yours again, the thrumming passion between you growing louder again; you were dripping down your thighs from the appreciative gaze and the taste of him alone and Steve was rarely ever sated with climaxing just once. Especially after a week apart.

With his most acute hunger sated, however, he took time to admire the view again, even with your shoes finally discarded, indulging in the delicate lace instead, in the warmth of your body, in your perfume and the scent of your skin. His voice dropped low in volume, intimate whispers of how he wanted to see you take him deep and make you his, fingers gently stretching you to accommodate his impressive size before he led you to sink down on his length at last, filling you up so deliciously and completely.

With bodies stilled, the time seemed to slow down too. Eyes blown wide and dark, but with a sweet curl to your lips as you tasted each other over and over again, you both revelled in the sensation of being connected; brushes of fingertips, kisses to your lips, to your neck, to your sternum and breasts; to his chest, to his shoulders, to his kiss-swollen lips, wherever you could reach.

“I missed you, sweetheart,” he confessed between encounters of lips, the softest voice with a husky aftertaste. “Missed this. Never going to another conference again.”

You almost chuckled at the unrealistic prospect, touched all the same.

“Missed you more… might go to a conference every once in a while. For science.”

Steve grunted in protest, palms framing your face as he observed with a slightly amused pout to his kiss-swollen lips.

“Hm. Sounds like your argument contradicts your hypothesis there, Doc.”

This time, you did chuckle a bit, raising an eyebrow even as you caressed his cheek, index finger tapping the pouty lower lip. “Well sue me, I’m a little dazed. I’m allowed. I finally have you for myself after a week, Steve.”

He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to the pad of your finger, something devilish flashing in his eyes.

“That you do. I’m all yours. My smart, beautiful wife…” he coaxed with a kiss, hand landing lightly on your waist, hips thrusting up to encourage you to roll yours. There was no need to do so twice. You rocked your pelvis, jaw falling slack at the delightful sensation. A single movement and pleasure was spreading to every nerve ending, coil in your belly forming; Steve responded in kind, urging you on to keep going and set a pace.

“So good to me, sweetheart… so precious.”

“That’s it. So damn gorgeous like that--- look at me, love.”

“Making me feel so good… love having you like this. Never gonna get enough of this, of you…”

Golden. You felt so damn golden under his touch, from inside out, caressed with every single appreciative word spilling from his lips so naturally.

God, you had needed that. You needed that more than you had realized, having pushed down all the unpleasant interactions that had piled up during the week, interactions that made you feel everything but good, precious, brilliant or gorgeous. With every word, Steve poured his faith and love into the cracks in your being and healed them, silencing every doubt, grounding you so profoundly in the pleasure you shared that every single cell in your body ignited with something divine. The coil in your belly was strung so tight you almost felt yourself falling, if you’d only--- if he’d-

“Steve, please, I need-“

“I know what you need, love. I’ve got you.”

Your climax erupted through your body with Steve’s mouth wrapped around your nipple, his dextrous fingers digging into your ass and playing with your clit.

He found his release as he kneeled behind you and caged you to his front, one hand around your throat to angle your head for a sloppy kiss, the other spread wide over your lower belly, sneaky fingertips having coaxed another Earth-shattering orgasm from you.

Somewhere along the way, your lacy attire had ended up in shreds where Steve pulled a little too hard; the remnants of garter belt and stockings were carefully stripped by Steve’s tender fingers as he cleaned you up with a warm cloth before covering you with several kisses and only then with the comforter.

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you to his side and simply holding you as close as humanly possible, living and revelling in the moment just until his stomach growled.

After a semi-serious joke about taking you as a dessert for the second time, you lazily ordered take-out for three since you had worked up an appetite, moving to the couch. A movie in the background, Steve shared some of the highlights and escapades of the past few days from the conference and DC – as much as he could anyway. In return, you shared your own – as much as you could anyway. When in each other’s embrace, the trouble seemed far away; and what had felt like a path to the next Armageddon suddenly appeared considerably more manageable.

You were practically asleep, half-sprawled over Steve’s chest, when he pressed another kiss to your scalp, this time lingering.

“I love you… and thank you. That truly was a nice welcome home,” he said, bringing a ghost of a tired smile to your lips.

“It’s our home, Steve… You should always feel welcome. Loved.”

“And I do. Coming home to you is the most precious thing,” he mused, caressing your hair when you snuggled impossibly closer to him, inhaling the comforting scent of all that was him. “But you walking the extra mile… that truly makes me the luckiest guy in the universe.”

You hummed, his words warming you more thoroughly than his body and the blanket combined. You pressed a kiss to his sternum over his sleepshirt.

“And I’m the luckiest woman. I love you, Steeeve… I’m sorry-”

His chest shook under your cheek softly as your confession turned into a yawn, but he took it as a sign. He half-carried you to the bathroom and carried you entirely by the time you were done with your nighttime routine.

You murmured another love you, sleep well as you laid your head on the pillow, cradled in Steve’s protective embrace, his words reaching your ears from a terrible, terrible distance, but tasted just as sweet as ever.

“I will, love. I most definitely will.”

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Aren't they just sweet? 🥺 Happy belated birthday, Stevie 💕 I hope you enjoyed - feedback is always welcomed💕

Prompts, as promised:

Pouncing on your partner as soon as they arrive home from a trip away

“My favourite thing in the world is being here with you.”

Kinks: praise, soft!dom, oral

Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go bath in holy water and pray to my muse that she'll let me write longfic too 🤭

[sanjisleggy]

let your husband help you (red-haired shanks x reader)

req: [...] with a fem!reader (if possible) that has wings and sometimes the wings with feathers require molting and there are areas that cannot be reached closer to the back and requires help to remove the loose feathers

a/n: (i am playing valorant as i write this help) ty for the request anon! :D the enthusiasm is very endearing ;;0;; hope you enjoy reading! also man i love writing for Shanks :3c

contents: a bit of angst (fem!reader is having a hard time), descriptions of itchiness and pain, comfort, fluff :D, a tad bit suggestive bc it’s Shanks

wc. 1.2k

wanna be on my taglist?

i.

these past few weeks have been torture. today especially so.

alone in your bedroom aboard the Red Force you writhe in itchiness and pain as your back aches in a way it hasn’t in a long time. lying face-down on your bed, you feel your wings twitch and tremble as you contort your arms to reach behind you as far as humanly possible; only to groan in defeat when the most you can do is brush the offending feathers with your fingertips.

for days now a small part of your brain has been nagging at you to go get Shanks for the sake of your poor back and wings but you’ve heard from your crewmates how busy he’s been so you’ve pushed the urge aside. now, though, the idea has forced its way to the forefront of your mind out of desperation, no doubt.

holding back a sob of frustration that threatens to make its way out of your throat, you nuzzle your face into your husband’s pillow, hoping that his scent can serve as a distraction of some kind. more than anything though, it simply acts as a poor placeholder for the real thing and only makes your aching heart (and wings) yearn for him even more.

“c’mon, (Y/N), don’t be shy,” his gentle voice called from outside the utility closet in which you’d chosen to hide–away from him. you felt your face heat up at Shanks’ persistence to help with something he wasn’t even totally aware of; he just knew you were in pain so he had to help.

“it’s okay, i can deal with it myself,” you lied, wincing when one of your wings brushed against a shelf behind you. most of the molting feathers had already been dealt with but your wings had grown a lot since the last time you molted and now they were far too big for your hands to reach. “just leave me alone.”

“if you don’t tell me what’s up, i’ll tell Rayleigh.”

“no!” you protested instantly. as much as you trusted the first mate of your crew with your life, this was far too embarrassing to get him involved. “if you tell anyone i’ll leave the crew, you asshole.”

you had meant it only as a false threat but the sudden silence told you Shanks took it a bit more seriously than you thought he would.

“okay, fine,” he replied and you could hear the pout on his face. “i just wanna help. there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. you know you can trust me to take care of you.”

a particularly sharp pain shoots through your spine from your right wing and the whine of discomfort slips past your lips before you can help yourself. too far gone to care about anyone hearing from outside your quarters, you let yourself sob aloud, the relief from crying doing little to ease your discomfort. 

the immense helplessness of your situation makes you realise how pampered you’ve been all these years. how lucky you are to have had such a loving friend-turned-lover who always took it upon himself to care for you. now here you are: alone in your bedroom, struggling with a task that you long should’ve learned how to deal with yourself.

you nearly give in to the urge to seek out the one person you trust to alleviate your pain but at this point, you’re too tired to even get off the bed. maybe it’s for the best, you wonder to yourself. your eyes flutter closed as you pull Shanks’ pillow a bit closer and bury your face deeper into it as you allow yourself to be lulled to sleep by your exhaustion, hoping that at least you can sleep away the next few hours of aches and itching.

ii.

letting out a sigh of relief, the one-armed Emperor takes his time returning to his ship after a grueling few weeks of settling disputes between several smaller pirate crews. normally such tasks would never take this long–hell, most of the time he didn’t even have to step in–but civilians’ lives were at stake so he had no choice.

now, as Shanks nears the dock and sees the Red Force coming into view, all he can think about is taking a nap with you. not only have his duties kept him away from you all day every day, he’d also been going to bed at ungodly hours, crawling under the sheets beside you long after you’ve fallen asleep. though he can’t wait to spend some quality time with you, he wants nothing more than to rest by your side with the knowledge that he’ll finally be able to wake up after you for once.

“hey Captain,” Benn calls out from aboard the deck once Shanks reaches speaking-distance. “i think (Y/N) needs your help.”

“see, what’d i say?” you could practically hear him smiling as he sat behind you, tenderly plucking out the final few loose feathers. “there’s no need to be shy around me.” Shanks tugged at a particularly stubborn feather and when it finally came loose, you couldn’t help the moan of relief that came out of your mouth.

you felt your cheeks rapidly heat up in shame as you buried your face in your hands, fully prepared for the boy to make fun of you. but it never came. instead, Shanks stayed quiet as he soothed the particular spot of skin with his fingers in a manner so tender you couldn’t believe it was him.

“there, all done,” he said. you were grateful but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn around and face him even though you knew you had to in order to thank him properly. 

as though sensing your dilemma, Shanks leaned forward to press his lips against your shoulder blade, right above where your wings sprouted from your back. it sent shivers down your spine and goosebumps appeared all over but you didn’t tell him to stop, if anything, you wanted him to continue.

you’re ripped out abruptly from your dream when the door of your quarters slams shut. from your face-down position in bed, you’re unable to see who it is but only one person in this world would be brave enough to make such an entrance.

“welcome back,” you groan, using your arms to push the upper half of your body off the mattress as you turn your head to glance over your shoulder.

“why didn’t you call for me?” your husband responds, tossing his cape onto the floor before rushing over to guide you back down into a resting position. Shanks pulls over two other more pillows and places them in a way he knows, from years of experience, makes you the most comfortable. “how long have your wings been molting?” 

there’s a slight hint of frustration in his voice but you know it’s not directed at you. it doesn’t make you feel any less guilty, though.

“it started… two weeks ago…” you mumble into Shanks’ pillow.

“you–” he cuts himself off with a deep sigh before he says anything impulsive. the Emperor understands you just didn’t want to disrupt his work and he appreciates the sentiment greatly, he’d just hoped that after all these years of marriage, you’d know how he’d do quite literally anything for you. this, he decides as his eyes scan your twitching wings and tangled feathers, is a conversation for another day though.

“poor thing,” Shanks coos instead, leaning down to press kisses all over the back of your neck and around your shoulder blades as he runs his hand down your side. you can feel his lips smile against your skin when your body shivers in response. “you must’ve been in so much pain, hmm? let your husband help you out.” 

—

taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots @appalost @hyper-fic-ation @dressycobra7 @38lyra38 @chaseyui

[marali-iin]

Hey! Would you mind writing a Hera x Male reader feat Jealous Zeus from BoZ?

Hey, yeah sure! I love seeing some Hera lovers on my request list, they're quite rare

(I ended up making it a little bit too gender neutral, my bad)

"He's jealous of you.."

Wasn't it only fair after all? It wasn't her intention at first, she was only pissed off on her husband as he made a fool off of her. Again

Why couldn't he just keep it in his pants?! It was so hard to just respect their marriage for once? Hera had recently found out about another one of Zeus's affairs, and it was maddening.

At first she lost her temper, she swore every curse on him for disrespecting her that way once again, but sooner than expected from her any drop of anger died quickly, replaced by the exhaustion of being in the same position as always. They both knew this wasn't the first time it happened, and only a fool would believe it would be the first time. She was tired of this, she was the goddess of marriage for Olympus's sake! And he couldn't even be decent for a single decade, it was a bastard child and an affair after another, and all she could do was punish the woman and her child, it was just a waste of time for everyone involved

But then there it was, a little distraction for her anger and betrayal. In one of her temples, a new worshipper, she had never heard that voice before, and the prayer was quite good. She decided to suck her anger for a moment and go down to one of her temples to see this new worshipper.

And there you were, introduced to the temple by your mother, Hera was the goddess of family, protector of them, so your family had decided to worship her decades ago, and now it was your turn to join them. Yet it somehow felt weird, you felt your worshipping prayers were definitely heard, your offerings appreciated and you swore every time you left the temple, it was like someone was watching you, waiting for you to come back.

You were different from her husband, he was..a cheater, yet you seemed devotional to her, you appreciated what you had and respected your family. She was surprised you weren't married, because to her, you were the perfect spouse! Not that she should feel that way though... because unlike you she was married...but did he really deserve her loyalty?

"what do you think you're doing? Meeting with a mortal just for fun, you think I'm a fool?" It had been a while since this started going on, she hadn't taken revenge on his new mistress, and while Zeus was happy to know that, he was also aware it was unusual from Hera. She seemed too calm to be someone who got cheated on again, especially her, practically all Olympus realized this unusual behavior from her. The truth was, she got too engaged with her new favorite worshipper, these last weeks she decided to go down and show herself, have a conversation, she couldn't point out what it was that made her so calm whenever she heard your voice, so she felt so eager to know you in person. Of course, Zeus didn't take long to realize this either, and he knew infidelity when he saw it. "What is it? You're still mad at me, that's why you're doing this?"

"What I do with my temples and worshippers is none of your business. You have a lot of nerve to accuse me of cheating, being you after all. I bet you took advantage that I haven't punished your new whore, and have been seeking to see her again and again." The truth was, while she wouldn't call it 'cheating' she had grown quite fond of you, your interactions had been nothing but pleasant conversations. You listened to everything she said, cared about her, your voice was like hearing the most beautiful flow of the river pass by, stopping to softly kiss her worries away...the last part wasn't really a metaphor of any kind, you two did kiss once, under the soft moonlight that could reach the temple, it felt soft and full of love unlike her marriage. But she'd rather swallow all her feelings that admit them to Zeus, she wouldn't give him that.

But it was too obvious now, she was getting ready to see you, her hair carefully brushed and she was wearing her most beautiful jewelry and the most shining gemstones one could ever find. She looked happier just from the thought of getting away from Zeus and going down into your arms. Because tonight, you two would have your first official date.

"Now leave, I have better things to do than listening to your lying voice" She had no intentions on giving it to Zeus, to let him take away her little calm and happiness in this faulty marriage. As soon as she came back she'd murder that new affair partner of his, to lower his interest on her new favorite mortal

[desi2go]

Importance

pairings: dad!Chan x mom!reader

warnings: angst, fluff

summary: Having a child with an idol isn't easy...

author's note: I'm sorry that I couldn't post anything the last two weeks. But here I am with a new one!

Marriage wasn't easy. Especially when your beloved husband was an idol. The Bang Chan, leader of Stray Kids.

Between tours and busy schedules, there was little time for your relationship. But even though it was hard and you missed him like hell when he was gone for a long time, you still didn't regret to come to your best friend Changbin's party years ago. There, you had met him.

Well, he didn't see you and accidentally poured his drink over you. When your eyes met, he was fascinated by your breathtaking beauty. Maybe it was destiny back then. It felt surreal, like he was your soulmate. The missing piece in in your heart and life.

Apologetic, he bought you a drink and after a wonderful night together, asked for your number.

Soon, he took you out on a date and there followed a second and a third, becoming a huge part in your life.

Without noticing, time passed and Chan proposed to you.

You immediately said yes and became Mrs. Bang.

The second you were married, your family asked when you both would begin to try for a baby but Chan and you wanted to wait some time before thinking about an addition to your family.

You still were young and Stray kids took much time and you understood that. Your job was also one of your top priorities and wanted to earn more money.

But it seemed that the universe had other plans with you two. Seven months after the wedding you started feeling sick. At first you brushed it off and thought that it is just a stomach bug or the stress due to work.

As the lovely but overly concerned husband that he is, Chan took you too a doctor to get a check up. Even though you found it a little bit overdramatic, he still insisted and the reason why you felt nauseous was soon found. You were indeed pregnant and already two months into pregnancy.

Sure, it wasn't planned but you and Chan felt excited to have a small addition to the family. And sooner or later it would have happend anyways.

Chan promised that when the pregnancy was farther along, he would take some time off and help you. You agreed to that and decided to work some more months too before you need to go into maternity leave.

The months passed fast and soon, you welcomed your newest family member. A girl. A sweet girl with already some black locks on her head and the same brown eyes that you fell in love with.

Chan was over the moon. Even though during labour, he was terrified. Would he be a good dad? But all these thoughts washed away when he saw the beautiful angel you both had created with your undying love.

He was the first one to hold her as her crying filled the room. Exhausted, you observed the picture in front of you. Your husband with his precious daughter that already looked like a smaller copy of him.

He was told to undress his shirt and to lay the little bundle of joy against his bare chest to help her breath and keeping her warmth while the doctor checked on you because you had lost a lot of blood during birth.

The first weeks were exhausting. Your little girl, Nari, held both of you awake most of the night. Yourself needed to heal and time to recover from the labor, so you relied mostly on your husband who took such good care for his girl. Fortunately, he got some weeks off to settle into parenthood before going back to the boys even though they nearly saw each other every day.

Since you got home from the hospital, four days after birth, they visited you to meet their 'little sister' as they called Nari. Oh lord, they were so smitten. The only one that seems not so sure about that little human was Seungmin but when he thought that nobody would watch, you catched him drawing circles over Nari's hands, smiling when she wrapped her hand around one of his fingers.

When Chan went back, the house was suddenly so empty. After weeks of being together 24/7, the sudden quiet was unfamiliar. In the mornings, Chan was already out, you loved to lay on the couch, your daughter on your chest, snuggling close to you while sleeping.

When Chan came back home in the evening, he greeted you with a kiss and immediately ran off to his daughter to tell her about his day even though she was already sleeping. You loved to observe him while cooking. You loved this little family. It was something that you ever wanted.

You really loved Nari. But after the pregnancy and early motherhood, you needed some space for yourself. You would love to spend an evening with your girls. Just making yourself look pretty and have fun without watching over a child.

Especially since you almost never leave the house except for some stroller walks and buying errands.

You asked your husband if he comes home some hours earlier so that you could enjoy your night. Immediately, he agreed and you were so grateful that he understood you.

On that day, you took your time with getting ready while your daughter slept. You hoped that Chan would be home soon so that you would be on time since you hated being late.

Minutes passed as you sat on the couch waiting for him. Minutes turned into half an hour and you wrote your girls that you would run a little late today. They were understanding.

More minutes passed and you waited already for a whole hour. You tried to call him since he was always so focused on his work so that he sometimes forgets the time.

He didn't pick up and you were already half an hour late. Your girls were already seated in your restaurant, waiting for you to show up so that they could start ordering food.

Sighing, you texted then that you couldn't make it and they shouldn't wait up on you. Frustrated, you cleared your face from the make up that was hours worth of work.

You took off the new dress that you had bought. You were so excited to wear it because it made you feel so pretty again after the pregnancy made you look bloated and your belly was still not the same then before.

You didn't know if you felt rage, sadness or disappointment that you needed to stay home because of your husband.

It wouldn't be so bad if it was the first time after he got back to work. He used to come back at a normal time to have some time with you and the baby. But as the weeks passed, he stayed later and got up earlier so that you saw him just for some minutes per day.

It was like you were all on your own here in your home. You knew from the beginning that Stray kids was really important to him but after entering parenthood you had hoped that he wouldn't stay till past midnight in the company.

You heard the key unlocking the front door and your husband finally decided to come home after he had promised you that he would be here three hours ago. He greeted you with a small peck on the forehead as you waited for him in the living room.

He looked so calm while dropping his bag to the ground and sitting down on the couch.

"Why are you standing there honey?" He asked. You crossed your arms. He didn't even remembered that this was supposed to be your night out.

"Why are you so late?" You tried to remain calm since your daughter slept in the neighbouring room.

"I was working on the newest song for stray kids" he explained.

"Oh really? Because you said you would be here hours ago" you didn't want to pick a fight. You hated fighting with him. It made your heart clench but this night was important to you.

"I'm sorry honey. But I needed to get it done"

"Well, I had plans for the night, Chan."

"Really? I'm sorry honey. I forgot and this song was important"

"The song was important? My reservation with the girls was important to me" you said and couldn't hold the calm tone that you wanted.

"I already said I'm sorry, Y/n. I got caught up in work" He grew annoyed.

"Like always. You're always so late that I wonder if you even remember that you have a family at home" You knew you were mean and unfair but all these things were twirling around your head for days.

"Of course I remember! I'm sorry that I make money for us" he exclaimed sarcastically. His voice loud, nearly shouting.

These words hurt you. He knew damn well that you aren't dependent on his money and that you make good money as well. Even though you currently took a maternity leave.

"Fuck you, Chan. You aren't the only one working. I was asking you for just one thing. Just being home a little earlier so that I could have some time for myself." You said loudly, your voice cracking in the middle as some tears stung in your eyes.

"Y/n. I-" he tried but you stopped him.

"Nari is your child too. Currently, I'm the only one she sees whether it's in the morning or in the evening. And I'm tired. Tired of being the only one raising her."

You heard cries from the other room. You must have woken up your sleeping daughter. Sighing, you excited the room and headed to Nari without waiting for an answer.

Chan knew that he went too far and that he was more away than home. And it pained him to not spend so much time with his daughter. Slowly he followed you to your daughter's room.

It was dimly lit and you sat in the rocking chair next to her crib with Nari in your arms, rocking her. He hated seeing her in distress and guilt crept up. He was a terrible father and an even more terrible husband.

You felt Chan's hot gaze on you. You knew that the guilt ate him alive right now. He couldn't fool you. Therefore you knew him too well.

After placing Nari back into her crib, giving her a light kiss on her soft skin that smelled so sweet like a baby. Your baby.

Then, you took Chan's hand and lead you outside to the kitchen, farther away from your daughter.

He just followed you, deep in thoughts.

"Y/n, I'm so sorry. I should have come early. And I know that parenting a child alone is difficult. I didn't want to lash out on you like that. I know that the meeting with your friends was important to you" he said and caressed your hand.

"I'm sorry too. It's obvious that you try to be around Nari as long and often as you can."

"No, you were right. I need to be here more. Especially with you both. I shouldn't let work take over so much" he said and pulled you into his arms.

His arms circled around your waist while yours travelled upwards into his fluffy locks. Exhausted he let his head fall on your shoulder, all the tension leaving his body.

"I love you Chan" you whispered.

"I love you too. You and Nari are the most important things in my life"

[snoozify]

Me and My Husband PT3

Milf Abby x Suburban Wife Reader

Warning: Abuse, Sexism, Smut (in later part), cussing, homophobia, Men being Men, child abuse, happy ending, substance abuse, cheating.

A/N: This fic is based off the song Me and My Husband by the Queen Mitski. 16k words. Happy Valentines Day my gift from me to you (I posted it early)

tags: @glass-apothecary. @asothinking. @half-of-a-gay. @0h-basic. @antobooh. @soniiyi. @h0n3yf0rlif3. @vienwood. @icedsimpsayo. @0h-basic. @marsstupenditious. @femme-tobe. @thatgrlnany

P1 P2 PT3

Since that kiss in the pantry, everything between you and Abby had shifted in a way you couldn’t quite explain. It was subtle at first, a few extra glances, a lingering touch here and there, but it was enough to send your heart racing every time you saw her. You told yourself it was just a moment, a one-time thing—something driven by heat, by everything you’d been suppressing. But with each passing day, it became harder to deny that it was more than that.

Abby never pushed, never rushed you. She gave you the space you needed, always respecting your boundaries, even as your connection deepened. She’d always been thoughtful like that—tuned into you in a way that felt... different from what you were used to. You were used to being invisible to your husband, your needs always secondary, but Abby—Abby saw you. She didn’t just see the woman on the surface; she saw everything. And for the first time in so long, it felt like you mattered.

During the days when your husband was at work, Abby would show up at your door with Ezekiel in tow. At first, you hesitated, unsure if letting them in so often was a good idea, but the way she looked at you, with her quiet, steady understanding, made it hard to say no. And in truth, you were grateful. She would step in without you needing to ask, a quiet comfort in the chaos that was your life. While you scrambled to manage everything—dishes, laundry, endless piles of work—Abby would step in with that quiet strength of hers, taking care of the kids, ensuring they were fed and entertained, so you could catch your breath.

Abby’s presence became a small, bright light in your overwhelming days. You found solace in the way she would help you with Madison, Kimberly, Jayden and Nico, her steady hands helping with everything from changing diapers to feeding bottles to brushing little heads of hair. Ezekiel, with his quiet intelligence, would play quietly with the younger ones, offering Madison a hand when she needed it or sharing toys with Kimberly, always with that kind smile of his. They didn’t just become a presence in your home—they became a part of your rhythm, something you never thought you could have, especially with everything that had happened in your own family.

Abby didn’t just help with the kids, though. She took care of you, too, in a way you hadn’t realized you were craving. She would linger by your side when you felt the weight of everything on your shoulders, offering gentle reassurance, or simply holding your hand when you needed the comfort of another person. When you were exhausted from doing everything alone, she would make you tea, or simply sit beside you in the quiet, not asking for anything, just giving you the peace you hadn’t known you needed.

There were moments—small, fleeting moments—when you would catch yourself staring at Abby, heart full of gratitude and longing, wishing that everything could just fall into place. Wishing you could be the person she deserved without the constraints of your current life holding you back.

But every time you caught yourself, you’d pull away, guilt gnawing at the back of your mind. You were married. You had kids. You had responsibilities, and you couldn’t let your mind wander too far from the reality of it all. Abby never made you feel that pressure, though. She never forced you to make a decision, never demanded anything in return for her kindness. But you felt it—the quiet tension between the lines, the electricity building each time she came to your door, the way your heart would race when she smiled at you, when her fingers brushed against yours.

She wasn’t your escape, you reminded yourself. She was your ally, your friend, a support system in the chaos. But sometimes, when your kids were in bed and the house was quiet, you’d find yourself longing for more. Longing for the care and tenderness Abby offered without question, without hesitation. It made you wonder what it would be like to let go of all the walls you had built, to let yourself feel the freedom you hadn’t known since before you were married.

As the days turned into weeks, the boundary between what was right and what was beginning to feel so right blurred. You were falling for Abby, slowly but surely, in a way that felt both terrifying and liberating all at once. The way she made you feel cared for, seen, loved—without expecting anything in return—was something you hadn’t realized you’d been starved for, something that began to gnaw at your heart when you weren’t with her.

She was at your door every morning now, without fail. You had stopped asking for her help and had started welcoming it. It wasn’t just the kids she helped with, though that in itself was a godsend, but it was the way she made everything feel less lonely. The way her presence filled a space in your heart that you didn’t even realize was empty.

She steps inside, the door clicking shut behind her with a quiet finality. You had stopped locking it once your husband left for the day—an unspoken invitation for Abby to slip in seamlessly, filling the gaps where you were left to carry everything alone. She never questioned it, never made you feel like a burden for needing the help. She just showed up.

Trailing in behind her, Ezekiel clutches his dinosaur toy in one small hand, his other rubbing his tired eyes. The moment he spots Madison and the others, his posture shifts, his little feet already poised to run off and join them. But before he can, Abby places a gentle hand on his shoulder, her voice steady yet soft. “Say hello to Y/N first before you go play, Ezekiel.”

The boy halts mid-step, turning to face you with a sleepy grin. “Hi, Mrs. Y/N!” he says, his little wave filled with a warmth that tugs at something deep in your chest.

You manage a soft smile, waving back. “Hey, sweetheart.”

And just like that, he’s off, disappearing into the small chaos of childhood laughter filling the house. Abby watches him go for a moment before turning her attention back to you. Her expression shifts, that familiar warmth still present, but there’s something deeper beneath it, something searching. She leans back against the kitchen counter, arms crossing loosely over her chest as her gaze settles on you.

She smiles at you warm, effortless, like it costs her nothing at all. And you wish, God, you wish you could return it with the same ease. But the exhaustion, the weight of everything you carry, clings to you too tightly, wrapping around your ribs like a vice. The effort of trying to push it all aside, even for a second, feels impossible. So instead, you do what you always do—you move.

You step past her, reaching for the nearest task, something to keep your hands busy, something to focus on besides the way your chest feels too tight, besides the way she sees you.

But Abby doesn’t let you.

Her fingers curl gently around your wrist, her grip firm but careful, a tether pulling you back before you can disappear into routine again. You freeze, caught off guard, blinking up at her as she tilts her head slightly. Her brows knit together, concern etched into the softness of her expression.

"Y/N." Her voice is quiet, steady. "Smile."

The request is simple. Too simple. And yet, it knocks something loose in your chest.

You swallow, searching for some kind of defense, something that will make her let you go. "I smile," you argue weakly, but even you don’t believe it. Abby does. She always does. And she sees right through you. A quiet chuckle escapes her, something small and knowing. She shakes her head before stepping in closer, her presence grounding. "Not enough." The words settle in your chest, heavier than they should be. You open your mouth to protest, to tell her that you’re fine, that she doesn’t need to worry—but the words never come. Because before your mind can convince you to pull away, before you can second-guess it, you just… let go.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself a moment of relief. Just one.

You lean into her, resting your head against her chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath beneath you. It’s brief because it has to be, because the guilt is already creeping in but it’s enough. Enough to remind you that you are here. That you are not alone. Your voice is barely above a whisper when you finally speak. "Thank you for helping." You hesitate, gripping onto the fabric of her shirt for just a second before exhaling shakily. "I’ve never had this kind of help before."

Abby exhales softly, and without hesitation, her arms come around you, solid and sure, holding you like it’s second nature. She doesn’t tell you that you don’t need to thank her. She doesn’t try to convince you that you deserve more than this. She just holds you.

Pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head, she rubs slow, soothing circles into your back, her voice a quiet murmur against your hair.

"No need to thank me." A pause. A promise. "I got you."

You pull away from her warmth, but not before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. It’s quick, almost shy, but the way she doesn’t immediately pull back makes your heart skip. The feeling lingers on your lips as you turn back to the sink, letting the familiar sound of water running and dishes clinking settle your nerves. But Abby doesn’t leave. She stays there, still leaning against the counter, her eyes fixed on you.

"How about a little picnic?" she asks, her voice quiet and gentle, but there's a warmth in it that makes you stop what you're doing for a moment.

You don't answer right away, continuing to scrub a plate with more force than necessary. The weight of her gaze stays on you, waiting.

"Just me, you, and the kids," she continues, her voice a little closer now, nudging herself into your space. "A day outside, some fresh air. No chores, no responsibilities."

You let out a sigh, turning the faucet off and gripping the edge of the sink, trying to find some balance between the pull of her suggestion and the heaviness in your chest. "I don’t know, Abby. I have so much s—"

She cuts you off before you can finish, stepping in front of you. Her hands come to rest gently on your waist, firm yet soothing, grounding you as her touch sends a wave of warmth through your body. "Just one day," she says softly, her tone unwavering. "If you don’t like it, we never have to do it again."

You stare at her, lips parting as if to argue, but the words don’t come. Your eyes flicker to the floor, fighting the rush of conflicting emotions that pull at you. The weight of everything you’ve been carrying, the endless cycle of cleaning, cooking, meeting expectations that were never yours to meet. All of it feels suffocating at times, and the thought of just one day free of it, just one day to breathe, begins to soften the edge of your resistance.

Would it really hurt?

You glance up toward the stairs, hearing the faint sounds of your kids’ laughter echoing down. The joy in their voices is so simple, so pure, it tugs at your heart. You can almost see them outside, running across the yard with the sun warming their faces, their laughter filling the air. You imagine sitting beside Abby, no pressure, no responsibilities. Just a moment of peace.

Your throat tightens, the words almost caught in your chest, but you swallow them down and take a deep breath.

"Fine," you whisper, barely audible. Then, a little stronger, with more conviction, "Let’s do it."

Abby’s expression shifts, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across her face. She doesn’t say anything else. she brushes a strand of hair from your face, her fingers lingering at your cheek.

"You get the kids ready and grab a blanket," she murmurs. "I’ll handle everything else."

You nod, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips, something lighter blooming in your chest. For the first time in so long, you feel something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in what seems like forever—hope. A tiny spark of it, something you thought might have been lost.

As you walk past her toward the stairs, you can’t help but let that smile grow a little wider, allowing yourself to believe, just for today, that maybe you deserve a break. Maybe you deserve this.

Walking into the kids' room, you pause for a moment to take in the familiar chaos. Madison and Ezekiel are sitting cross-legged on the floor, engaged in some intense game that involves making up silly stories with their toys. Their laughter fills the air, a sound that always brings warmth to your heart. Kimberly, sitting nearby, watches them with wide, fascinated eyes, her attention completely captured by whatever game they’re playing. Jayden is sitting alone, chewing on one of his toys, his little face scrunched up in concentration. Nico, meanwhile, is sleeping soundly in his crib, his tiny chest rising and falling in a rhythmic pattern, so peaceful in his slumber that it almost seems like he’s untouched by the noise around him.

As soon as Madison catches sight of you walking in, she springs to her feet with an excited squeal. "Hi, Momma!" she chirps, her face lighting up like a little sunbeam. She waves her arms wildly as if she’s just spotted you after years apart, even though it’s only been a few hours since breakfast. You smile back at her, your chest swelling with affection as you make your way over to the closet to grab a blanket for the picnic.

But before you can even reach the shelf, Madison’s face suddenly shifts, her expression turning curious as she watches you. “What’s wrong, Momma? Where are we going?” she asks, tilting her head slightly. There’s an innocent concern in her voice, a sweetness that makes your heart ache. You stop in your tracks, kneeling down in front of her. Gently, you tuck a loose curl behind her ear and cradle her small face in your palm.

“Abby is taking us on a picnic,” you say softly, letting the words settle between you.

The second the words leave your mouth, Madison's face lights up like a Christmas tree. She shrieks with glee, her little hands flailing as she jumps up and down in excitement. The sound is almost too high-pitched, but it's full of joy, and it makes your heart flutter. Kimberly, always ready to follow her older sister's lead, claps her tiny hands together and bounces in place, giggling with the same unrestrained excitement.

Jayden, who’s been quietly playing on the floor, doesn’t join in the chorus of celebration, but his face breaks into a huge grin, and a soft giggle escapes him as he watches his sisters. The room is filled with the sound of their joy, and it makes you feel lighter just being surrounded by it.

Madison, still buzzing with energy, whirls around to grab Ezekiel’s hands. “Ezekiel! Your momma is taking us on a picnic!” she practically sings, her voice bubbling with pure happiness. Her enthusiasm is so contagious that you can’t help but smile, watching as Ezekiel giggles along with her. The sudden excitement, though, is enough to rouse Nico from his nap. The peaceful silence of his sleep is shattered by a sharp, startled cry. His little face scrunches up, and the high-pitched wail echoes through the room.

Madison freezes immediately, her bright smile fading into a look of guilt as she glances at you. Her eyes widen, and she takes a cautious step back, almost as if preparing for a scolding. “I’m sorry, Momma. I woke up Nico,” she whispers, her voice small and full of regret.

Your heart tugs at the sight of her concern, her big eyes filled with worry. You quickly shake your head and smile at her, reassuring her with a soft, gentle tone. “It’s okay, baby. It wasn’t your fault.” You walk over to Nico’s crib, your arms outstretched as you lean down to lift him. His tiny body is warm and soft against your chest, and as soon as he’s settled in your arms, his cries slowly start to fade, replaced by the quiet sniffs of a baby who just needed to feel the safety of your touch.

You sway gently, rocking him in your arms as his tiny hands grip onto your shirt, and the crying gradually gives way to a contented sigh. He’s calm now, his little body melting into yours as you continue to rock him back and forth, rubbing soothing circles on his back. You whisper quietly to him, “Shh, it’s okay, Nico. You’re alright.” Before you can say anything more, Abby’s voice breaks through the soft lull of the room, her familiar tone filling the space with its calm warmth.

“Everything okay?”

You hear Abby’s voice before you see her, soft but laced with concern. You turn, finding her standing in the doorway, her brows slightly furrowed as she looks between you and the now-settling Nico in your arms. The sight of her, the reassurance in her presence, does something to you—calms you in a way you didn’t even realize you needed.

Letting out a quiet breath, you give a small nod, still swaying gently with Nico in your arms. “Nico woke up,” you explain, your voice carrying the weight of your exhaustion, but there's also a tenderness in the way you speak about him.

Abby exhales, her shoulders relaxing as she steps fully into the room. “I got Jayden,” she says softly, her voice steady, as if this is just another part of her day. She moves toward Jayden, who’s sitting on the floor, his small hands reaching up toward her with innocent eagerness. Abby crouches beside him, her grin wide as she ruffles his curls with affection. She makes quick work of slipping his tiny sneakers on, the sound of the soft Velcro and the shuffle of his small feet filling the air.

Jayden kicks his legs, giggling uncontrollably as Abby’s fingers tickle his sides. "You ready for the best picnic ever, little man?" she asks, her voice low but playful, her eyes dancing with warmth. Jayden’s response is an enthusiastic nod, his little arms flailing as he lets out a delighted squeal, clearly thrilled by the idea of a picnic. Abby finishes tying his shoes, her hands nimble and sure as she adjusts the laces.

Watching the scene unfold, you feel something shift in your chest. The way Abby so naturally interacts with your children, like she’s been doing this for years, is a kind of magic you never thought you’d experience. She doesn’t just care for them—she connects with them. She’s part of the rhythm of your home, part of your family in a way that feels effortless, yet profound. For the first time in a long while, something inside you whispers that this—that this feeling—is what family is supposed to feel like.

Abby looks up at you then, her eyes meeting yours with an unreadable softness. She lifts Jayden effortlessly, settling him in her arms as he wraps his little hands around her neck. With a smile, she murmurs, “I got everything packed up in my truck.” Her words are casual, but there’s a depth to them, like she’s offering more than just a picnic—it’s an invitation to let go, to trust, to be.

As you walk down the stairs and out the door, a wave of anxiety crashes over you. What if your husband found out? What would happen if he came home early and saw an empty, uncleaned house? What if he walked in and found you, playing house with another woman? The fear bubbles up inside of you like a knot, and your feet freeze on the last step.

This wasn’t normal. You didn’t leave the house by yourself—not unless it was for church, the grocery store, or to drop the kids off at school. Every other moment, you were expected to be there, within these walls. You weren’t allowed to do anything else, to go anywhere else. And now... now, you were stepping outside, into something that felt like freedom, but freedom that came with its own set of consequences. This house had become a prison, and the world outside felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

Abby, oblivious to the storm of worry inside you, opens the door. The kids burst through, their laughter and giggles filling the air like a bright, blinding light. They’re carefree, already caught up in the magic of the moment. But you stand frozen, caught between wanting to join them and the weight of all the “what ifs” that suffocate you.

Abby notices your hesitation, and for the first time, she softens. She turns to you, her hand outstretched. "Come on, Y/N. It’s gonna be fun, trust me."

You hesitate, your breath shaky as you look at her, then at Nico in your arms, and then back at Abby. You want to say no, but something inside you just needs a break from the constant weight on your shoulders. After a long breath, you finally give in, your fingers brushing against hers as you take her hand. It’s simple, but it feels like a step toward something you didn’t realize you were craving.

Abby gently takes Nico from your arms, placing him in the car seat, then opens the door for you. “Don’t stress yourself,” she says softly, her voice a quiet anchor against the storm inside your mind. You let out a shaky breath as she closes the car door, and her calmness is a balm to your nerves. She moves quickly, buckling in Jayden and Kimberly before getting in herself.

With a rev of the engine, Abby turns to look in the rearview mirror at the kids. “Who’s ready for our picnic?” she asks, her voice light, almost teasing.

The kids burst into a roar of excitement, their collective joy ringing in the car like a symphony. You catch a glimpse of their faces in the mirror, their wide eyes filled with happiness, and you feel a small spark of warmth deep inside.

And then Abby drives off. The world outside the window blurs into motion, and for a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, today could be different.

The drive there was worlds apart from the usual tension-filled trips with your husband. Instead of the stifled silence or sharp words that often accompanied car rides, there was an easy comfort in the air. The kids were talking over each other, their excited voices filling the truck without any fear of being scolded for being too loud. Madison and Kimberly were laughing, whispering back and forth in their own little world, while Jayden, always the chatterbox, babbled about whatever his little mind had come up with that day. Nico, strapped in his car seat, cooed contentedly in the back, his small hands waving in the air as if he was just as excited as the rest of them.

But it wasn’t just your kids who were enjoying the freedom of this moment. Ezekiel, Abby’s son, was in the mix, happily playing with a small toy in his lap, making little noises of his own as he watched the world whiz by outside the window. His occasional giggle blended seamlessly with the rest of the chatter, as if he were always meant to be part of this lively atmosphere. Abby glanced back at him through the rearview mirror with a soft smile, checking on him in between moments of glancing at the road, a picture of calm assurance.

What really struck you was the absence of tension. Normally, your husband’s presence on these drives would make everything feel tight and stifled, his constant reminders to keep the kids quiet, to behave properly, hovering over every conversation. But here, with Abby behind the wheel, there was no need for that. She let the kids talk, laugh, and express themselves freely, her eyes occasionally flicking to them with a smile or a gentle word to encourage their joy.

As you glanced around, you realized something you hadn’t even thought about until now. This wasn’t just a break for you, escaping the weight of everything you carried at home. No, this was a break for your children too. They were allowed to be themselves in a way they rarely got to be allowed to talk loudly, laugh without restraint, and just be without worrying about causing any disruptions. Even Ezekiel seemed to thrive in this environment, his bright eyes alight with excitement, free from the pressure of expectations that often loomed over him at home.

And Abby, in her quiet way, had helped create this space. She hadn’t just made it about giving you a break—she had also made it about giving your children something they deserved: the ability to simply exist without the constant pressure of living up to someone else’s rules. With every gentle word she spoke to them, every kind glance she shared with Ezekiel, you realized how much of a gift this day was not just for you, but for all of you.

It was rare that you got to experience this kind of freedom, and even rarer for your children. But here, in this moment, there was nothing holding them back. They were happy, carefree, and so was Ezekiel. He was part of the group, fully included in the joy of the day, just as he should be. The weight of everything else—of your husband, of the expectations, of the pressure—faded away as you let yourself sink into this rare peace. It felt like a small victory, a chance to breathe that you’d almost forgotten you needed. And it wasn’t just yours—it was something you and Abby were offering to your children, to Ezekiel, and even to yourselves.

As Abby pulls up to the park, the engine hums to a stop, and she switches off the ignition. She turns to face the kids, her voice bright with excitement. "We’re here!" she announces. The moment the words leave her mouth, the kids erupt in a chorus of cheers, their voices blending together in a symphony of joy. They scramble to unbuckle their seatbelts, barely waiting for the car to come to a complete stop before they’re ready to burst out of the vehicle.

Abby chuckles, shaking her head at the flurry of energy, before she gets out and starts helping the kids with their seatbelts. You sit there for a moment, still in the car, the realization slowly settling in. You actually did it. You actually left the house. You didn't just think about it, didn't just imagine the freedom—you did it. A mix of relief and disbelief washes over you as you take in the moment. For so long, leaving the house had seemed like an impossible feat, something you weren’t allowed to do without consequences. But now, here you were, in the middle of it, feeling something you hadn’t felt in a long time: choice.

You take a deep breath, willing the unease to dissipate, before you finally open the door and step out of the car. Abby's already setting up the picnic blanket near a large maple tree, the basket she packed full of food resting beside it. You help her lay Nico down on the blanket, giving him a moment to squirm and explore in his own little way, his tiny hands reaching up at the sky, his eyes wide with wonder at the world around him.

Madison and Ezekiel immediately take off running, their laughter carrying through the air, the sounds of their joy so pure and unrestrained. Kimberly and Jayden, not to be left behind, follow as best they can, their little legs moving as fast as they can manage, the younger ones struggling to keep up with the older kids’ energy.

Abby sits down on the blanket next to you, her arms gently wrapping around you, pulling you closer. You lean into her, your head finding its place on her chest as the peaceful sounds of the park fill the space around you. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, the sun shining down through the leaves above, and the gentle rustling of the trees.

“You’re doing great,” Abby whispers softly, her voice steady and soothing. You let out a long breath, the weight of everything you've been carrying lightening just a little. You smile faintly, feeling her warmth, her solid presence beside you. You interlace your fingers with hers, the simple touch offering more comfort than you thought it would.

You turn your gaze to the kids, watching them chase each other through the grass, their faces alight with joy. Abby follows your gaze, her voice tender as she speaks. “Look at them, having fun.” She pauses for a moment, as if reflecting on the significance of it all. “Ezekiel told me he’s not so lonely anymore, not since he started playing with Madison and the others.” There’s a softness in her tone, a quiet pride, as she looks at you, her eyes warm and open.

You look up at her, your eyes meeting hers. Her gaze is gentle, filled with understanding, and for a brief moment, the world outside of this peaceful bubble you’ve created fades away. It’s just you and Abby, here with the kids, and something deep inside you shifts. Maybe it’s the way the sunlight dances on her hair, or how her hand feels in yours, but in this moment, you feel something that’s been missing for a long time a connection, a sense of belonging, not just for you but for your children as well.

You stay in the quiet of the moment, feeling the peaceful rhythm of your breath match Abby’s. The air feels different here—lighter, freer, almost like the weight of the world hasn’t quite found its way into the space you’ve carved out beneath this tree. You look at Abby again, her gaze still soft but purposeful as she watches the kids play.

Her hand gently squeezes yours, grounding you. “I’m glad we did this,” she says quietly, as though reading the quiet thoughts you hadn’t voiced. The kids are running in circles now, a blur of limbs and laughter. It’s the kind of joy that feels contagious, so unburdened and alive. You watch them for a moment, feeling a smile tug at your lips, a warmth spreading across your chest.

“I didn’t think I could,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper, your words directed more to yourself than to Abby. “I didn’t think I could get out. I never... I never really realized how much I needed to.”

Abby doesn’t answer right away, her attention still on the kids, but her grip on your hand tightens just slightly. It’s not forceful, just a reminder, as if telling you, I’m here. It’s all she needs to say, and you feel the truth of it settle into you. In that moment, you realize that this wasn’t just a picnic, or a break from the house, it was something far more important.

The fact that you could leave, that you could make a choice, felt like a small rebellion, a reclaiming of something you thought was lost. Abby’s right here beside you, a steady presence, and suddenly the heaviness you’ve carried for so long doesn’t seem so impossible to face.

You take in a slow, deliberate breath, the weight in your chest lifting just a little more. For the first time in a while, you feel like you’re not suffocating under the pressure of expectations—yours, your husband's, society’s.

“I don’t know how to thank you for this,” you say, voice cracking slightly, but the gratitude in your tone is undeniable. It’s a simple thing, really—just a day in the park, just a moment outside the walls of your house. But it’s more than that. It’s a chance to breathe again, to remember that there’s more to life than everything that’s been piled onto you. And Abby made it happen, without any fanfare or demand for recognition. She just... did it.

She smiles at you, that same calm smile that feels like a lifeline. “You don’t have to thank me, Y/N. Just... keep trusting me, okay?” There’s no rush in her voice, no pressure. Just an invitation, a quiet promise that she’s here for the long haul, ready to help you untangle whatever’s been holding you back.

You nod slowly, feeling the gravity of her words sink in. Trusting Abby feels easy in a way it never has with anyone else. The way she makes you feel like you matter, like your needs—your fears are valid, and worth addressing.

“I’ll try,” you say softly, squeezing her hand in return. Your gaze drifts back to the kids, who are now tumbling across the grass, laughing with abandon, their carefree spirits filling the space.

The day stretches before you, a soft, hopeful kind of promise, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to truly hope for more days like this—days when the weight feels lighter, when you can simply exist without the constant pressure of being everything for everyone.

Kimberly toddles over to Abby, her little feet kicking up bits of grass as she makes her way across the picnic blanket. She taps Abby’s shoulder with her tiny fingers, her face set with determination. Abby, who had been resting back on her hands, looks down at her with a curious smile.

“What is it, kiddo?” Abby asks, shifting so she’s sitting up straight.

Kimberly doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, she raises a small hand and points toward the picnic basket, her dark eyes expectant. Without a word, she clambers into Abby’s lap, settling against her like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Abby lets out a small chuckle, wrapping an arm around her instinctively to keep her steady.

“What are you after, huh?” Abby teases, her fingers brushing gently over Kimberly’s back. “You got something in mind?”

Kimberly’s little finger continues to point, unwavering. “Juice, Mom.”

Everything around you stills.

The laughter of the older kids playing in the distance dulls, the rustling of leaves in the gentle afternoon breeze fades, and all you can hear is the rapid pounding of your own heart.

You freeze, the motion of reaching for a napkin completely forgotten. Your gaze snaps to Kimberly, then to Abby, who has gone completely still beneath the weight of that single word.

Mom.

She called Abby Mom.

Abby’s lips part slightly, her blue eyes widening as she processes what just happened. Her grip on Kimberly tightens instinctively, protectively, but she doesn’t correct her. She doesn’t question it. Instead, she looks at you.

And you don’t know what to say.

Your mouth feels dry, your mind a mess of emotions you can’t even begin to untangle. Kimberly doesn’t seem to realize the significance of what she’s done—she just keeps looking at Abby expectantly, waiting for her juice like it was the most normal thing in the world to call her Mom.

Abby blinks, then clears her throat, her voice a little softer when she finally speaks. “Juice, huh?” She reaches over, pulling a small bottle from the basket before twisting off the cap and handing it to Kimberly.

The little girl beams, taking the juice with both hands and sipping happily. She wiggles a little deeper into Abby’s hold, completely oblivious to the way your entire world has just shifted.

Abby looks at you again, searching your face for a reaction, for permission, for something.

You don’t know how to respond.

Kimberly remains curled up in Abby’s lap, sipping her juice, blissfully unaware of the weight of her words. She called Abby Mom. And Abby… she didn’t correct her.

Abby shifts slightly, adjusting Kimberly so she’s more comfortable, but her eyes stay locked on you. There’s something careful, something almost hesitant in her expression when she finally speaks.

“I didn’t want to correct her,” she says quietly, watching you for any sign of discomfort.

You hold Nico close, his small, steady breaths against your neck grounding you. You should say something. Maybe correct Kimberly yourself. Maybe tell Abby that it was just a slip of the tongue, that it didn’t mean anything.

But that would be a lie.

You glance down at Kimberly, completely at ease in Abby’s arms, and then back up at Abby, who’s still waiting for your response. A part of you wants to dwell on it, overthink it, let the fear creep back in. But another part of you—the part that’s been longing for something safe, something real—pushes all that doubt aside.

You swallow, offering Abby a small, soft smile.

“It’s okay.”

Abby’s lips twitch into something like relief, and before either of you can say anything else, Madison’s voice cuts through the moment.

“Momma!”

She comes running over, her curls bouncing as she skids to a stop in front of you, practically vibrating with excitement. “Can you play in the water with me?” she asks, clasping her hands together, her wide, pleading eyes making it impossible to say no. Abby chuckles, giving Kimberly’s back a small rub before glancing at you. “Go,” she encourages. “I’ll keep an eye on Nico and Ms. Kimberly.” You hesitate for only a second before sighing, carefully setting Nico down on the blanket. The second you’re up, Madison grabs your hand, dragging you toward the lake.

“Come on, Momma!” she urges, her excitement contagious.

Jayden and Ezekiel are already in the water, splashing at each other, their laughter ringing through the air. As you step closer, you slip off your shoes, dipping your toes in first—only for a sharp chill to shoot up your legs.

“Oh-” You suck in a breath, shivering slightly before laughing. “It’s cold!”

Madison giggles at your reaction before spinning back toward Jayden and Ezekiel, kicking at the water and sending droplets flying in every direction. Jayden yelps, shrieking with laughter as he splashes back, while Ezekiel joins in with a mischievous grin.

You watch them, smiling as you move your feet in slow circles beneath the water, enjoying the rare feeling of peace. And then Madison suddenly stops. She turns toward you, her excitement dimming just a little, her voice softer now.

“Momma, I like Miss Anderson.”

You blink down at her, caught off guard. “You do?”

Madison nods, her curls bobbing with the motion. “She makes you smile,” she says simply. “And she makes us laugh.” Your heart clenches at her words, at the sincerity in her voice. Before you can respond, she hesitates, her little hands playing with the hem of her shirt. “I wish she could replace Daddy,” she murmurs, so quietly you almost don’t hear it.

Your breath catches.

Madison looks down, her fingers twisting together as her face falls. “I wish she could be our second mom,” she says, her voice just a whisper now. Then, as if she’s afraid she’s said something wrong, she finally looks back up at you, eyes glassy. “I don’t like Daddy, Momma. He makes you cry… and he’s rude.”

Your throat tightens.

She shouldn’t have to notice these things. She shouldn’t have to carry these thoughts in her little heart. You sink down to her level, your hands gently cupping her face as you take in the sadness in her eyes, the way her tiny body is tense, like she’s bracing herself.

Tears prick at your own eyes as you press a kiss to her forehead.

“Oh, baby,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

And then you pull her into your arms, holding her tight as she clings to you.

Madison buries her face into your shoulder, her small body trembling slightly as she clings to you. You stroke her curls gently, pressing another kiss to the top of her head as you blink away your own tears.

No child should have to feel this way. No child should have to wish for a different father, for a different life. You hold her tighter.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” you whisper again, voice thick with emotion.

Madison sniffles, her grip on you tightening before she finally pulls back, her big, brown eyes searching yours. “Are you mad at me?” she asks hesitantly, her voice so small.

Your heart shatters.

“Oh, sweetheart, no.” You shake your head quickly, cupping her face in your hands. “Never. You can always tell me how you feel, okay?” She nods, but you can see the uncertainty still lingering in her expression. You hate that she’s even questioning whether her feelings are allowed. You brush away a stray tear from her cheek before offering her a small smile. “You know what? I really like Miss Anderson too.”

Madison’s face lights up, her sadness momentarily forgotten. “You do?”

You nod, glancing over your shoulder toward Abby. She’s still sitting on the picnic blanket, holding Nico against her chest, his tiny body completely relaxed in her arms. Kimberly is beside her, contently sipping from her juice box while Abby absentmindedly runs her fingers through her curls.

It’s such a natural sight.

Like they belong there.

Like this is how things are supposed to be.

You turn back to Madison, brushing another curl behind her ear. “Yeah, baby. I really do.”

Madison beams before suddenly gasping, her eyes widening with excitement. “Can we tell her? Can we tell Miss Anderson we like her?”

You hesitate.

Not because you don’t want to tell Abby—God, you do—but because this is still so fragile. You’re still so scared.

But then you look at your daughter’s hopeful expression, and something inside you steels.

“Yeah,” you say softly, nodding. “We can tell her.”

Madison lets out a delighted squeal before grabbing your hand. “Come on, Momma! Let’s tell her now!” She tugs you toward the picnic blanket, her excitement contagious. You laugh softly, wiping away the last traces of your tears as you let her pull you forward.

As you approach, Abby looks up, a soft smile already on her lips. “You guys have fun?”

Madison nods enthusiastically, her curls bouncing as she shifts from foot to foot, barely able to contain her excitement. “Momma says she likes you!” she blurts out before you even have the chance to sit down.

Your entire body goes still.

Your breath catches in your throat as your wide eyes dart to your daughter, who is now grinning up at Abby like she just handed her the best news of her life. You swear you can hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, the weight of those words settling deep in your chest.

You glance at Abby hesitantly, afraid to see her reaction. Afraid that maybe she won’t feel the same. That maybe this moment—this thing between you—has all been in your head.

Abby raises an eyebrow, clearly amused as she leans back slightly, arms crossed over her chest. There’s a teasing glint in her eye, but beneath it, something else lingers. Something softer. Something hopeful.

“Oh yeah?” she muses, turning her attention to you.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling warm under the afternoon sun, though you know it has nothing to do with the weather. You can’t bring yourself to look at Madison anymore—her innocent excitement is too much—so you keep your focus on Abby instead.

“Yeah,” you murmur, voice quieter than you intended. “I do.”

The words come out almost like a confession, one you weren’t sure you were ready to say out loud. But now that they’re out there, hanging in the space between you, you realize how right they feel.

Something in Abby’s expression shifts. The teasing fades just enough to reveal the sincerity beneath it. And then she smiles.

Not just any smile—but that smile. The kind that reaches her eyes, the kind that makes her dimples appear, the kind that makes your heart stumble over itself in your chest.

“I like you too,” she says, her voice just as soft, just as certain.

And just like that, something settles in your chest. Something you didn’t even realize had been restless all this time.

Madison giggles, clapping her hands together like she’s just witnessed the best love story unfold right before her eyes. “I knew it!” she exclaims before skipping off toward Ezekiel, already eager to share the news. But you barely notice. Because Abby is still looking at you, that smile still lingering on her lips.

And for the first time in a long time, you believe it.

The drive home was quiet—not because of the words left lingering between you and Abby, but because the kids had all drifted into a deep, exhausted sleep, their tiny bodies worn out from the excitement of the day. The soft hum of the engine filled the silence, and for a moment, it almost felt like you were driving toward something good rather than away from it.

But then Abby’s truck slowed, the familiar sight of your house creeping into view, and your stomach twisted painfully.

The streetlight outside flickered, casting eerie shadows over the driveway, and as soon as the truck came to a stop, the weight of reality crashed down on you.

You didn’t want to go back.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your dress, your breath shaky as you stared at the house—the place that had felt less like a home and more like a cage for as long as you could remember. Today had been the first day in years that you’d felt truly free, the first day where laughter hadn’t been followed by fear, where your children could just be kids without walking on eggshells. And now, after just a few hours of warmth, of safety, of happiness, you had to step back inside and pretend none of it ever happened.

Pretend you weren’t suffocating.

Pretend you weren’t miserable.

Pretend you were someone you weren’t.

Abby must have sensed the shift in you because she didn’t move to turn off the truck just yet. Instead, she rested a hand on the gear shift, glancing at you carefully, her voice gentle when she finally spoke.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

Your throat tightened, and you forced yourself to look at her. The soft glow of the dashboard lights traced over her face, highlighting the quiet concern in her eyes, the silent promise in them.

For a moment, you let yourself imagine what it would be like if you didn’t have to go back. If you could just drive past this house and keep going—if you could give yourself and your kids a new life, one without fear.

But life wasn’t that simple.

You swallowed hard, pushing the fantasy aside before it could take root. With a deep breath, you reached for the door handle, steadying yourself. “I have to,” you whispered, more to yourself than to her.

Abby didn’t argue. She just exhaled slowly, nodding, but before you could step out, her fingers brushed over the back of your hand—a fleeting touch, but enough to ground you. “I’ll be here,” she murmured. “Whenever you need me.”

You didn’t trust yourself to respond. Instead, you gave her a small, wavering nod before finally opening the door, stepping back into the life you wished you could leave behind.

The house was eerily silent as you moved through the dimly lit hall, gently pulling the blankets up over each of your sleeping children. Their faces were peaceful, untouched by the fear and weight you carried, and for a moment, you just stood there, watching them.

Madison’s words echoed in your mind. I don’t like Daddy, Momma. He makes you cry.

You had tried so hard to shield them from this. You had done everything in your power to keep them safe, to keep him away from them when his temper flared. But was it enough? Had it ever been enough?

A deep sigh left your lips as you turned to leave the room, carefully easing the door shut behind you. But as soon as you stepped into the hallway, you heard it—the unmistakable sound of heavy, unsteady footsteps, the creak of the floorboards beneath his weight.

Your stomach dropped.

He was home.

The scent of alcohol hit you before you even saw him. And when you did—when he stepped out of the shadows, swaying slightly, his bloodshot eyes locking onto you—you knew this wasn’t going to end well.

“Where the hell have you been?” he slurred, his voice thick with drunken anger.

Your throat tightened. Did he know? Of course he did. He always knew.

“I was he—”

He lifted a hand suddenly, and before you could stop yourself, you flinched. A bitter smile twisted across his face at the reaction. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed. “Don’t lie to me.” Your mind raced for an answer, a way out, something to de-escalate before things turned worse. “I was here,” you said quickly. “Cleaning.”

It was a lie. A pathetic, obvious lie. But he was drunk—maybe he wouldn’t press it.

For a second, it seemed to work. His head tilted slightly as if considering your words, and then, just when you thought he might let it go, his expression twisted into something ugly. “Oh, okay,” he mocked, stepping back. But the momentary relief vanished as he suddenly whipped the glass bottle in his hand toward you. You barely had time to react before it shattered against the wall beside you, shards flying, the sharp scent of liquor filling the air.

Your breath caught in your throat as he stalked forward, his voice rising. “You think I’m stupid, Y/N? You think I don’t notice things?” His hands grabbed your arms, shaking you hard enough to make your head spin. “You don’t think I know you’ve been playing house with that—” He sneered, his grip tightening. “With that fucking dyke?”

Your heart pounded. He knew.

Tears pricked your eyes as he shoved you back, your spine hitting the wall with enough force to make you gasp. “You think I don’t see what’s going on?” he spat. “I saw her coming into my house. Rubbing all over my wife. Talking to my kids like she has any damn right—”

His voice blurred, rage twisting his words into something unintelligible. Your body was frozen, trapped between the wall and the fury in his eyes, as panic clawed its way up your throat.

His grip tightened on your arms, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. His breath was hot and reeked of alcohol, his words slurred but no less venomous. “You really thought I wouldn’t find out?” he sneered, shaking you again, your head snapping back against the wall. “Thought you could just run around behind my back like some cheap whore?”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but you forced yourself to stay still, to not give him a reaction that would make things worse. Stay calm. Stay quiet. Don’t provoke him.

“I wasn’t—”

His hand moved too fast for you to react, slamming against the wall beside your head with enough force to rattle the picture frames. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Y/N!” he roared.

You flinched, your body instinctively shrinking against the wall. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. The kids were asleep—God, please let them stay asleep.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin, the scent of whiskey clinging to him like a second skin. His voice dropped into a low, venomous whisper, each word laced with cruel amusement.

“You really think she’s gonna save you?” His lips curled, twisting into something sharp, something cruel. “You think she’s gonna take you away from me?”

His fingers twitched at his sides before he reached up, tracing a knuckle along your jaw in a mockery of affection. The touch was deceptively light, a sick contrast to the storm brewing in his eyes. Then, his expression darkened.

“You’re mine,” he hissed, his voice barely above a growl. “You. And those kids.”

He stepped closer, caging you in, making the walls feel smaller, the air thinner. His eyes bored into yours, daring you to contradict him, daring you to fight.

“You think that bitch is gonna take care of them? Think she’s gonna want you once she realizes you ain’t worth shit?”

Disgust curled in his tone, but there was something else beneath it—possession. A sick, twisted need to keep you exactly where he wanted you.

Then, before you could react, before you could so much as breathe, his hand lashed out. The impact was immediate, the sharp crack of skin against skin echoing through the room. The rings on his fingers bit into your cheek, amplifying the pain, sending a sharp, stinging heat spreading across your face.

He watched you, his breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling like a man who had convinced himself he had every right to do this.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmured, eyes dark and unforgiving. “Not you. Not them kids.”

Your head snapped to the side from the force of the slap, the taste of metal blooming in your mouth. The pain throbbed, sharp and searing, as the imprint of his rings dug into your skin. For a moment, the room blurred—your vision swimming, your breath caught somewhere between shock and something dangerously close to fury.

But you didn’t speak. You didn’t move.

His hand lingered at his side, fingers flexing, like he was considering doing it again. Like he wanted to.

He let out a slow, heavy breath, shaking his head as if you were the problem. As if you were the one who drove him to this. His lips curled into a sneer, his voice dipping into something almost mocking.

“See what you make me do?” He reached out, gripping your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him. His touch was rough, bruising, like he wanted to make sure you felt every bit of his control. “You belong to me. Ain’t no one coming to save you. No one’s gonna love you like I do.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a noose tightening around your throat.

Then, his gaze flickered, shifting toward the hallway—toward the room where the kids were. A slow, knowing smile crept onto his face, something dark gleaming behind his eyes.

“You wanna leave? You wanna take them?” His fingers dug into your jaw, enough to make your teeth clench. “Go ahead. Try it. See what happens.”

His grip loosened just enough for you to pull away, but you didn’t dare move, not yet.

He let out a low chuckle, stepping back with an air of arrogant ease, like he had all the time in the world. Like he had already won. The smirk on his face lingered as he turned, making his way up the stairs, his heavy footsteps disappearing into the bedroom.

The moment he was out of sight, your legs gave out beneath you, and you slid to the floor, your body curling inward as your hands instinctively cradled your swollen cheek. The sting was sharp, the metallic tang of blood coating your tongue. The pain was nothing new, but tonight—tonight, something cracked inside you.

Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over in hot, silent streams as you whispered to yourself, "I need to get out of here."

The thought turned into action before you could second-guess yourself. You pushed yourself up, wiping at your face, and stumbled toward your children's bedroom. The moment you stepped inside, your hands shook as you yanked an old suitcase from the closet, unzipping it with frantic urgency. You didn’t think—you just grabbed, stuffing clothes, shoes, anything your hands landed on.

Your mind reeled, flashes of the last five years playing in a relentless loop. The bruises. The gaslighting. The cheating. The nights spent crying yourself to sleep while he acted like nothing was wrong. The threats—God, the threats. Every time you tried to leave, he reminded you just how powerless you were. And for so long, you believed him.

Until Abby.

Abby, who looked at you like you were someone. Who made you feel like you were more than just a punching bag, more than just some broken woman too afraid to walk away.

Your breathing hitched, chest tightening until you were gasping for air. You pressed a trembling hand to your lips, trying to keep quiet, but the sound was enough to stir Madison. She blinked sleepily, rubbing her eyes as she sat up in bed.

"Momma?" Her small voice was thick with sleep. "What's wrong?"

You swallowed the sob clawing at your throat and crossed the room, kneeling beside her. Gently, you stroked her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Shh, baby," you whispered. "We need to go. Get your things, okay?"

She stared at you, her little face scrunching in confusion, but she nodded. No questions, no complaints—just trust.

One by one, you woke Kimberly and Jayden, telling them the same thing. Sleepy and confused, they obeyed, moving quickly but quietly, stuffing their backpacks with whatever they could grab. You moved to the crib, lifting Nico carefully into your arms. He whimpered, stirring slightly, but you rocked him, whispering soft reassurances until he settled back into sleep.

You listened, straining to hear any movement upstairs. The bathroom door was still shut. Good. Keep wasting time in there.

Turning back, you looked at your children—Madison, Kimberly, Jayden, and little Nico in your arms. They didn’t understand, not fully, but they trusted you. And they were ready. You inhaled deeply, steeling yourself. Then, carefully, you peeked into the hallway before stepping out into the living room. The front door loomed ahead, freedom just on the other side.

Your gaze dropped to your hand. The wedding ring glinted under the dim light, a symbol of promises long broken. A life you never wanted.

Your fingers trembled as you slid it off. It felt lighter than you expected, as if it had never truly belonged there in the first place. Without hesitation, you placed it on the table. A final goodbye.

With one last breath, you turned the knob and slipped out into the night.

Every step across the yard felt agonizingly slow, your pulse thundering in your ears. You kept looking back, expecting to see the door swing open, to hear his voice, to feel his hands dragging you back. But the house remained still.

Abby’s porch light flickered ahead, a beacon in the dark. You all but ran up the steps, your heart pounding as you knocked—once, twice, then harder. Your desperation bled into each bang against the wood.

"Come on, Abby," you whispered, voice shaking. "Please—please answer."

The porch light flickered on, and moments later, the door swung open. Abby stood there, her face groggy with sleep, confusion evident—until she saw the bags. The kids. You. Her smile faded. Her eyes darted to the bruise forming on your cheek, the raw redness where his rings had cut your skin. "I—I had nowhere else to go," you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. "He hit me. Please—please let me in."

Abby didn’t hesitate.

"Come inside," Abby said, her voice firm, steady—like an anchor in a storm you had been drowning in for years.

You stepped over the threshold, each footfall heavy with exhaustion, with fear, with the  unbearable weight of everything you had just done. The kids trailed behind you, their little hands clutching their bags, their tired eyes flickering with confusion and trust all at once.

Then the door shut.

The lock clicked into place, sealing you away from that house, from him.

Something inside you cracked.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, silent but relentless. Your body trembled, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, refusing to let you rest. You didn’t even realize you were swaying until Abby gently pried Nico from your arms.

"I got him," she murmured, her touch steady, reassuring. "Come on, let’s get them settled."

You nodded, but it felt mechanical—like you weren’t really there, just watching yourself move. Abby led the kids down the hall, her voice soft as she whispered to them, soothing their worries, making them feel safe.

Safe.

You stood there, frozen, as the reality of it all loomed over you. You had done it. You had left. But instead of relief, there was only a crushing hollowness, a weight pressing down on your chest so hard you thought it might break you. You moved on autopilot, sinking onto the couch. The second you sat down, the silence wrapped around you, deafening. Your hands clenched in your lap, fingernails digging into your palms as you stared ahead, unblinking.

You needed to cry, to let it all out, to sob until there was nothing left inside you—but the tears wouldn't come the way they should. You swallowed them down, forcing yourself to sit up straight. Stay strong. 

But strong for who, exactly?

You weren’t in that house anymore. You weren’t standing in front of him, pretending you weren’t scared. So why did you still feel like you had to hold yourself together? Footsteps padded back into the room, and then Abby was there, sinking down beside you. "I put the kids in the room with Ezekiel," she said softly, her voice warm, grounding. Before you could say anything, she pulled you into her arms. The warmth of her, the solidness of her presence, undid something in you. Your body sagged against hers, your face pressing into her shoulder as your breath hitched in uneven gasps.

"He—" your voice broke, and you swallowed hard before forcing it out. "He hit me, Abby. He found out—he knows about us."

Abby tensed for half a second, but then her arms tightened around you, her hand moving up to cradle the back of your head.

"Shh," she whispered, her voice steady. "You don’t have to think about that right now."

You wanted to fight it—to tell her that fear wasn’t something you could just shut off like a light. That the terror sitting in your chest, coiled tight like a spring, wouldn’t simply disappear because she said so.

But the way she held you—the quiet strength in her arms, the way her fingers traced soothing circles against your back—it was enough to make you want to believe her. Enough to make you sink just a little deeper into her warmth, even as your mind screamed at you to stay alert.

Then, gently, she pulled away.

She stood, her movements slow, deliberate, giving you time. Then she held out her hands. “Come with me.”

You hesitated.

She noticed.

Her gaze softened, but she didn’t waver. “Follow me.”

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling as you reached out and took hers. Her palms were warm, steady—nothing like the hands you were used to. The ones that hurt. The ones that tore you down piece by piece.

Abby gave your hands a light squeeze before leading you forward, turning off the living room lights as she went, plunging the space into darkness. You followed her down the hall, past the soft murmurs of your sleeping children, until she stopped at a door and pushed it open. The room inside was small but warm. A bed, neatly made. The kind of place meant for peace, for safety. “You’re tired,” she murmured, guiding you inside. “You need rest.”

That word—rest—felt like a foreign thing, something you weren’t allowed to have.

Rest. Rest. Rest.

Your mind repeated it like a warning. Like something dangerous. Because rest meant letting your guard down. It meant leaving yourself open. And the last time you did that, it nearly destroyed you.

But Abby—Abby—wasn’t him.

She had been patient, even when you pushed her away. Even when you swore you could handle this alone. And yet, here she was, standing beside you, still willing to hold you up when you weren’t sure you could stand on your own. She led you to the bed, sitting you down gently before settling beside you. Close, but not too close. Giving you space, but letting you know she was here.

“We’ll figure everything out tomorrow, okay?” she said softly.

Tomorrow.

A future. A choice. Something you never thought you’d have again.

Her fingers reached for your face, cradling your jaw as her thumb brushed lightly over the fresh bruise. You tensed at the touch, but she was careful—so careful—like she knew just how much you had already endured.

She did know.

And she wished she could have saved you sooner.

For so long, you had pushed her away, convinced yourself that she couldn’t be your way out. But now, sitting here, feeling the way her touch only soothed, never hurt, you realized something—she was never going to let you go again.

Not unless you wanted her to.

Abby leaned in slowly, hesitating, waiting—her breath ghosting over your lips, her body still, waiting for you to decide. She wasn’t talking. She wasn’t demanding.

She was giving you a choice.

“Do you trust me?” she whispered.

Your breath hitched.

For a moment, the fear clawed its way up your throat, choking you. But when you looked at her—the quiet patience in her eyes, the way she was holding herself back just for you—you felt something else, too.

Something softer.

Your hands found her face, fingers tracing the edges of her jaw, her cheekbones. Solid. Real. Safe.

“I always have,” you whispered.

The moment the words left your lips, she leaned in.

Her lips met yours in a way that felt nothing like the past.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t forceful. There was no pressure, no demand. Just warmth, just patience. Just her.

Her hands remained steady—one cupping your face, the other resting lightly on your waist, like she was afraid you’d break if she held on too tight. You melted into her, exhausted, overwhelmed, but for the first time in years, safe.

She pulled back first, her forehead pressing against yours as she exhaled, slow and steady. “We can stop,” she murmured, her voice gentle, careful. “You don’t have to—”

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, shaking your head.

Because if you stopped now, the fear might creep back in. The past might claw its way up your throat and pull you under again. But right now, in this moment, there was only her. Only this warmth, this safety, this impossible chance at something new.

She searched your face for hesitation, for regret, but when she found none, she nodded. “Okay,” she said softly. She didn’t kiss you again—not yet. Instead, she shifted, guiding you gently onto the bed. You tensed for half a second, old instincts screaming, but she just pulled the blanket over you, tucking you in with a tenderness that made your chest ache. She didn’t try to pull you close. Didn’t try to hold you down. She just sat beside you, watching, waiting.

And that was when it hit you—she wasn’t going anywhere.

Not tonight.

Not unless you told her to.

Your fingers curled around the sleeve of her shirt, gripping it lightly. “Stay?”

Her expression softened, and she nodded. “Of course.”

flinched, instinctively bracing for the criticism that never came.

But Abby—Abby wasn’t him.

Her hands were steady, warm as they traced over your skin, her touch reverent, careful. She didn’t rush, didn’t demand, didn’t make you feel less than. Instead, she looked at you like you were something to be worshipped, something sacred.

Her fingers brushed over your stomach, the soft lines of your body, the places you had learned to hate because he had made you hate them. But when Abby touched you, it wasn’t with judgment—it was with admiration. With something so tender it almost hurt.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” she murmured, her lips pressing against your shoulder, trailing warmth in their wake. “Not from me, baby.”

Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but you swallowed them down, focusing on the way she felt. The way she kissed down your body, taking her time, like she had all the patience in the world. Like she wanted you to unlearn every cruel word, every harsh touch, every moment of self-doubt he had left behind.

Her hands spread over your hips, holding you like you were something fragile, something precious. Her mouth followed, trailing heat and devotion over every inch of you. And when you finally looked down, meeting her gaze, there was nothing but love staring back at you.

Real, undeniable, unconditional love.

And for the first time in forever, you let yourself believe it.

She leaned down again, her lips meeting yours with more passion this time. The hesitation was gone—she had your permission now, and she intended to show you just how much she wanted this. Wanted you.

Her hands trailed down your body, slow, deliberate, never rushing. She never looked away, her gaze locked onto yours as if afraid that if she did, you might disappear. As if you were something fragile, something fleeting, and she wasn’t willing to risk losing you.

With agonizing patience, she slipped your shirt up, her fingers grazing your skin as she peeled the fabric away. Not once did she break eye contact, watching you as though she was memorizing you, as though she was trying to make sure you stayed here with her, in this moment, and not in the past.

Then, her lips followed where her hands had been. Soft, reverent kisses trailing down your body as she rid you of each layer, until there was nothing left between you and her.

You felt exposed. Vulnerable. And when her eyes roamed your bare form, drinking you in with something close to awe, you turned away, shame creeping in, clawing at your chest.

But then she smiled.

“God, you’re beautiful,” she whispered, her voice so full of sincerity it made your throat tighten.

You tried to smile back, but it didn’t come—not when the past still loomed over you like a shadow. Memories of your husband’s sharp words, the way he’d sneer whenever your body changed, how he made sure you knew every extra pound was a failure. And after Nico—after the sleepless nights, the exhaustion, the way your body no longer felt like your own—you never got the chance to change it.

But Abby didn’t care.

She had never cared.

“Let me take care of you, yeah?” she murmured, her lips brushing against your cheek.

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding, barely able to meet her gaze.

Her smile returned, warm and reassuring, before she kissed you again. This time, her hands followed—caressing, exploring, showing you with every touch that she wasn’t just here to take; she was here to worship.

Then, she shifted, adjusting you with ease until you were on her lap, your back pressed to her chest, her strong arms wrapped securely around your waist. You gasped at the sudden change, your body tensing instinctively, but she only held you steady, her grip firm yet patient.

“Just breathe,” she soothed, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

Her hands guided your face, tilting it towards the mirror in front of you.

And there you were.

Bare. Exposed. Ugly.

You turned away, your stomach twisting at the sight.

But Abby wouldn’t let you.

“Look at yourself,” she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear, her breath warm, grounding.

And then—she parted your legs.

Her hands, strong yet impossibly gentle, kept you steady as her fingers trailed lower, teasing, barely there, yet enough to send a shiver up your spine. The first brush of her fingertips against your clit was featherlight, a slow, deliberate stroke that had your breath catching in your throat.

Your fingers dug into her thighs, trying to ground yourself as pleasure coiled in your stomach, warm and insistent. But still, you turned away, unable to face your reflection, unable to see yourself the way she did.

Abby wasn’t having it.

“Watch,” she murmured, her voice low, coaxing, but firm.

She wasn’t asking.

She wanted you to see. To see the way you melted beneath her touch. To see how beautiful you were when you let go.

To see what she had always seen.

Her eyes never left your face as she kept working you, slow, careful, reverent. “You’re beautiful, Y/N,” she whispered, her lips brushing the shell of your ear, the words sinking deep, wrapping around the parts of you that had forgotten how to believe them.

Her fingers moved with agonizing precision, rubbing slow, purposeful circles over your clit, soft but insistent. In the mirror, she watched you—the way your body tensed, the way your thighs trembled, the way you fought the urge to pull away even as you craved more.

You groaned, torn between shying away and sinking into her completely. The contradiction warred inside you, but the need won.

“Abby,” you whimpered, your voice breaking on her name. “More—please.”

A pleased hum rumbled in her chest as she pressed a kiss to your shoulder, her lips warm and reassuring.

And then—she gave you what you asked for.

She pushed a finger inside, slow and steady, letting you feel every inch, every stretch. Your mouth parted in a shaky moan, your hands gripping her tighter as she filled you, her other hand never ceasing its soft, deliberate movements against your clit.

“Good girl,” she praised, her voice rough with something deeper, something primal. “Just like that.”

And this time—you didn’t look away.

Abby worked you open slowly, never rushing, never pushing more than you could take. She watched you in the mirror, her gaze locked onto your face, catching every twitch, every shudder, every unspoken plea for more.

Her finger curled inside you, searching, learning, until she found the spot that had you gasping, your head falling back against her shoulder. A smirk ghosted across her lips as she did it again, dragging her fingertip against that spot with precision, like she wanted to draw every sound from you, like she wanted to pull you apart piece by piece.

“Fuck, Abby—” You moaned, your hips rocking into her hand, needing more, needing everything.

“I know, baby,” she murmured against your neck, her breath hot, teasing, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you.

Her free hand slid up your stomach, fingers splaying over the softness there, holding you in place as she added another finger, stretching you, filling you, coaxing another desperate sound from your lips.

“Look at yourself,” she whispered again, her voice a mixture of command and praise. “Look how good you take me.”

You forced your eyes open, your gaze meeting hers in the mirror. The sight made your breath hitch—her strong arms wrapped around you, her hands working you apart, her expression so full of hunger and something deeper, something you weren’t sure you could name.

She looked at you like you were something to be worshipped.

Like you were something precious.

Your lips parted, a whimper slipping free as she fucked you with slow, deliberate strokes, her palm grinding against your clit just right. Your body tensed, the pressure building, every touch sending you higher, tightening the coil in your stomach.

“That’s it,” Abby praised, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re so good for me.”

You were close—so fucking close.

Your fingers clutched at her wrist, your thighs trembling as the pleasure threatened to consume you. Abby felt it, knew it, and instead of letting up, she pressed a kiss to the side of your jaw, whispering the words that finally unraveled you.

“Come for me, baby.”

And just like that—you did.

The pleasure crashed over you in waves, white-hot and overwhelming, leaving you gasping as your body locked up against hers. Abby held you through it, her hands steady, her lips whispering soft, reverent praises against your skin as you rode it out.

Only when the aftershocks left you boneless in her arms did she finally slow, her fingers slipping from you, her touch shifting from teasing to soothing.

She kissed your temple, her hands rubbing gentle circles over your stomach as she whispered, “You okay?”

You nodded weakly, still catching your breath, your body still thrumming from the intensity of it all.

Abby chuckled, low and warm, her breath brushing against your ear as she held you close. She pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder, then another, her lips trailing downward as she carefully eased you onto the bed. She moved with purpose—not just to take, but to give, to replace every memory of him with something new, something that belonged to only you and her.

Her hands, rough yet tender, mapped your body with slow, deliberate caresses, fingertips ghosting over your skin like she was memorizing every inch of you. She wasn’t rushing, wasn’t impatient—she was savoring you, worshipping you, as if she had all the time in the world.

Then, her lips followed.

She started at your collarbone, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against the sensitive skin before sucking lightly, just enough to leave a mark. A quiet, pleased hum vibrated against your skin when you gasped, your body arching into her.

She liked that.

Liked seeing the way you reacted, how your breathing changed, how your body responded to her.

She moved lower, pressing her mouth to the swell of your breast, her tongue flicking over your nipple before she sucked, slow and purposeful. The sensation sent heat curling in your stomach, a quiet moan slipping from your lips as your fingers found her short hair, tangling into the strands.

“Abby,” you breathed, barely more than a whisper.

She smirked against your skin, her mouth trailing downward, leaving a path of love bites along your ribs, your stomach, the soft flesh of your inner thighs. Each one was placed with intention, a silent claim, a way to erase every touch before her.

By the time she settled between your legs, you were already trembling.

You felt seen. Worshipped.

Her hands slid up your thighs, strong fingers spreading you open, her thumbs tracing soothing circles against your skin. She took a moment to just look at you—all of you—and when her eyes met yours again, they were dark, needy, full of something deeper than lust.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” she whispered, voice thick with reverence.

You turned your face away, heat creeping up your neck.

But she wasn’t having that.

“Hey,” she murmured, shifting up just enough to capture your lips again, slow and deep, her fingers tipping your chin so you’d look at her.

Her forehead pressed against yours, her breath mingling with yours. “I mean it,” she whispered. “I want you to believe it.”

You swallowed, your chest tightening. You wanted to—God, you wanted to. But the years of being picked apart, of feeling like your body wasn’t yours to love, still lingered in the back of your mind.

Abby knew that.

That’s why she took her time.

When she finally positioned herself between your legs, her slick heat pressing into yours, she didn’t take—she let you feel it first, the warm, slow friction of her against you, her body melting into yours. Your breath hitched, your fingers gripping her arms. She groaned at the contact, her grip tightening on your hips as she rolled her hips forward, grinding against you in the slowest, most agonizing rhythm imaginable. “Abby,” you whimpered, nails digging into her skin.

She shuddered at the sound of her name on your lips. “Feels good?” she rasped. You could only nod, your head falling back against the pillow as she rocked into you again, the delicious friction sending pleasure curling low in your stomach. She wasn’t rough—not this time. She was taking her time, watching every expression that flickered across your face, feeling every shudder, every twitch, like she wanted to engrave it into her memory.

Her hand slid up your body, fingers brushing over your stomach before reaching your chest, palming the soft flesh, teasing.

“Look at us,” she whispered.

You hesitated, knowing what she meant. Knowing that the mirror beside the bed reflected everything. You swallowed hard.

“I—”

She thrust forward, her slick clit grinding against yours, and you gasped, eyes fluttering open at the sensation.

“Look,” she urged again, her voice softer now, full of something almost pleading.

So, you did.

And what you saw nearly broke you.

The two of you, bodies intertwined, her broad form wrapped around you, her muscles flexing as she moved, her face twisted in pleasure—it was intimate, raw, something deeper than just sex.

You saw her.

You saw yourself.

And for the first time, you didn’t hate what you saw.

Abby caught your gaze in the reflection, her lips curling into a soft smile. “That’s my girl,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple as she rolled her hips again, coaxing another broken moan from your lips.

The pressure was building, tighter, hotter, deeper.

Her hand slid between your bodies, her fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow, torturous circles.

You whimpered, your body tensing, the pleasure too much, too good.

“That’s it, baby,” she whispered, kissing your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

Your body shattered.

The orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your breath stuttering, your body arching, your fingers digging into her back as you came, pleasure rolling through you in waves.

Abby followed soon after, her hips stuttering, a strangled moan slipping from her lips as she buried herself against you, her body shaking with her own release.

She held you through it. Kept moving, slow and gentle, until the pleasure faded into soft aftershocks. Until you were just breathing together, bodies tangled, lips barely brushing.

Then, silence.

Warm, safe, full.

Abby pressed one last kiss to your lips before tucking you against her chest, pulling the blanket over you both.

She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t have to.

Because when she whispered, “I love you,” into your hair, you already knew.

Abby’s arms stayed wrapped around you, her breath still uneven, chest rising and falling against your back. Her lips brushed against your hair, a soft, absentminded press—like she just needed to feel you there, grounded in her arms.

Neither of you spoke for a long time.

The room was quiet, save for the slowing rhythm of your breaths, the occasional sound of the sheets shifting as Abby traced slow, lazy circles on your stomach with her fingertips.

It was grounding. She was grounding.

You swallowed hard, the weight of everything settling in—what you had just shared, what it meant. How different it was from what you had known before.

How easy it would be to fall into the fear, to let the echoes of the past creep in, to tell yourself you didn’t deserve this.

But Abby wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Hey,” she murmured, her voice still thick from the pleasure, but softer now. She pressed another kiss to your shoulder, her lips lingering there. “You still with me?”

You nodded against her, blinking slowly. Yes. You were here. With her.

She hummed in response, pleased, her arms tightening slightly around you. “Good.”

You shifted slightly, turning onto your side to face her, your hands sliding up to her chest, feeling the steady thrum of her heartbeat beneath your palm. Her eyes softened when she met your gaze, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

You just looked at each other.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t afraid of being seen.

Abby’s thumb brushed against your cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You okay?” she asked gently, her voice careful, like she was ready to hold you together if you suddenly fell apart.

You could only nod, because yes, you were.

More than okay.

For the first time in years, you felt safe.

Abby exhaled softly, her forehead pressing against yours. “Good,” she whispered again. “Because I meant what I said, y’know.”

You swallowed. “About what?”

Her fingers traced absentminded patterns on your hip, her voice low but firm. “That you’re beautiful.”

A lump formed in your throat. You started to turn away, but Abby caught your chin, tilting your face back toward hers.

“Hey,” she murmured, her lips ghosting over yours. “I need you to hear me.”

You blinked up at her, your fingers tightening slightly against her skin.

She kissed you again, slow and reassuring, like she was trying to press the words into you. Like she wouldn’t stop until you believed them.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that—bodies pressed together, exchanging soft kisses, whispering against each other’s lips, holding each other in the dark.

But at some point, exhaustion settled in, your body melting further into hers. Abby pulled the blanket up around you both, her hand running soothingly along your back as you buried your face into the crook of her neck.

She pressed one last kiss to your temple, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time, you actually believed it.

Abby let you rest, truly rest—something she knew you hadn’t done in years. She handled everything, making sure you didn’t have to lift a finger.

When your husband came banging on her door the next morning, demanding to see his wife, Abby didn’t hesitate. She squared her shoulders, met his drunken rage with an unshaken stare, and sent him away without a second thought. She didn’t give him an inch, didn’t let him weasel his way back in with apologies or empty threats. And while he wasted himself away in whatever bar or gutter he crawled into, she went back to your house, collecting the last of your things—the clothes, the kids’ toys, the small pieces of your life you were finally taking back.

And the kids? She cared for them like they were her own. She made them breakfast, kept them entertained, ensured they never felt the weight of the storm you were escaping. Every now and then, she’d peek into the room where you slept, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, the way your brow would furrow even in sleep. She wanted to smooth away every crease, every shadow of pain he left behind. She would sit at the edge of the bed, just watching, wondering how someone as strong as you had been forced to endure so much. But now… now you were here. And she wasn’t going to let you slip away.

“Is Momma ever gonna wake up?”

Madison’s small voice pulled Abby from her thoughts. She looked down to see the little girl standing in the living room, watching her with wide, worried eyes.

Abby softened, offering a gentle smile. “Of course she will,” she reassured her, ruffling her curls. “And when she does, we’ll all go to the park. How does that sound?”

Madison nodded, but instead of running off to play, she hesitated. Her tiny fingers twisted in the hem of her shirt as she stared up at Abby, something uncertain in her expression.

“I don’t wanna see Daddy anymore,” she whispered, her voice small but firm. Her lower lip trembled as tears welled in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. “I want you to be my new dad. You make Momma happy. Please don’t leave us.”

Abby’s breath caught in her throat.

She had faced down men twice her size without blinking, fought through storms that had tried to break her—but nothing had ever shaken her quite like this.

Madison wasn’t just asking for comfort. She was asking for permanence. For security. For a love that didn’t come with pain.

Abby crouched down, gently wiping the tears from Madison’s cheeks. “Hey,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I promise.”

Madison sniffled, her little body trembling as she threw her arms around Abby’s neck, holding on like she never wanted to let go. Abby instinctively wrapped her arms around her, steadying the tiny girl against her chest. Madison clung to her, pressing her face into Abby’s shoulder, and in that moment, Abby could feel just how much this meant to her—how much she needed this.

Then, Madison pulled back just enough to meet Abby’s gaze, her eyes wide, uncertain, yet filled with so much hope. She hesitated for only a second before asking in the softest voice, “Can I call you Mom too?”

Abby’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected that—not so soon, not so openly. But the way Madison looked at her, like she was waiting for permission to love her, like she needed Abby to say it was okay, broke something inside her.

A slow, warm smile spread across Abby’s face as she gently cupped Madison’s cheek. “You and your siblings can call me whatever you want,” she murmured, her voice steady, filled with nothing but certainty.

Madison’s face lit up with pure joy, the weight she had been carrying lifting in an instant. Without hesitation, she leaned in and pressed a soft, grateful kiss to Abby’s cheek before giggling and darting off to play, her little curls bouncing with each step.

Before Abby could fully process the moment, a small tug at her pant leg made her glance down. Jayden stood there, his round eyes filled with curiosity, his tiny arms raised expectantly. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to.

Abby let out a soft chuckle, bending down to scoop him up with ease. He nestled against her without hesitation, resting his head on her shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. Abby held him close, her heart swelling as she realized—this wasn’t just a moment. This was the beginning of something bigger, something real.

Your eyes flutter open, disoriented for a moment as you take in your surroundings. The room is bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the walls. Panic sets in almost immediately. You overslept. Your heart lurches, and you scramble out of bed, fumbling for your robe as you rush to the door.

You forgot to clean. You forgot to take care of the kids. You forgot—

But as you step into the living room, reality doesn’t meet you with the usual weight of dread. There is no angry man waiting to bark orders, no overwhelming list of tasks you must complete to avoid his wrath. Instead, the space is filled with something else entirely—something you barely recognize.

Laughter. Warmth. Family.

Madison is the first to notice you, her eyes lighting up as she dashes toward you. “Momma’s up!” she exclaims, throwing her little arms around your waist. Before you can even react, Kimberly follows suit, wrapping herself around your leg, and even Ezekiel, usually more reserved, runs to you with a beaming smile.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, running your fingers through their hair as you hold them close. They’re safe. They’re happy. And then, your gaze drifts toward the kitchen.

Abby stands at the stove, effortlessly balancing a sleepy Jayden on her hip while stirring a pot with her free hand. In the corner, Nico babbles happily in a playpen, giggling at nothing in particular. The scene is so… normal. Domestic, even. It takes you a second to process that this is your life now—that you don’t have to be afraid anymore.

“Hello, sleeping beauty,” Abby teases, flashing you a small smile as she starts plating food.

You don’t say anything at first, just watching her—watching this. The way she moves with such ease, cooking for your kids, holding Jayden like he’s always been hers, making sure everyone is taken care of. It’s overwhelming in a way you can’t quite put into words.

You glance around, suddenly aware of the mess—scattered toys, little shoes abandoned by the door, a crayon rolling off the coffee table. Instinct kicks in before you can stop yourself, and you bend down to start picking them up.

But before you can get far, Abby is there, her hand gently stopping yours.

“No, no. I got it, okay? Just sit at the table,” she says firmly, her touch lingering on your wrist as she meets your gaze.

“But—”

She shakes her head, not letting you finish. “I’ll do all the heavy labor around here. You just rest, alright?” Her voice is so full of certainty, of care, that you don’t argue. Instead, you let her lead you to the table, where she carefully settles Nico and Jayden into their highchairs before bringing over the food.

“Mom, can I help?” Ezekiel pipes up, eager to be involved.

Abby grins and nods, handing him some utensils to place on the table. Madison, never one to be left out, rushes up next. “I wanna help too, Mom!” she announces proudly.

You smile

Dinner is a quiet kind of chaos—the good kind. The kind where there’s giggling between bites, where Kimberly insists on feeding Nico even though half of it ends up on his bib, Jayden eating the food in front of him, where Madison keeps trying to sneak extra pieces of food onto your plate, saying, “You need to eat more, Momma.”

Ezekiel talks about his favorite game, going into a detailed explanation that only a kid his age would find fascinating, and Abby listens—really listens—nodding along like his words are the most important thing in the world. It’s such a stark contrast from what you’re used to that your chest tightens.

For so long, dinner had been a silent affair, tense and suffocating. One wrong move, one misplaced word, and everything could go south in an instant. But here? Here, the air is light. The table is full of life.

Abby catches your gaze from across the table, and it’s like she sees every thought running through your head. She doesn’t say anything, just reaches over and places a hand on yours, her grip steady and grounding. You swallow past the lump in your throat and squeeze back.

After dinner, the kids insist on a movie night, and you don’t have the heart to say no. They pile onto the couch, dragging blankets and stuffed animals with them, making a mess of the living room that Abby just cleaned. But she doesn’t scold them—doesn’t care at all, really. She just chuckles and lets them bury her under the weight of small bodies and soft laughter.

You sit on the edge at first, hesitant, unsure of where you fit in this picture. But then Abby reaches for you, pulling you in, slotting you right against her side like you belong there.

And maybe you do.

Madison curls up in your lap, her tiny fingers gripping your shirt. Kimberly tucks herself against your arm. Ezekiel lays in Abby’s arm and  Jayden is already half-asleep on Abby’s chest, and Nico, bundled up in a blanket, rests peacefully in his playpen.

The movie plays in the background, but you barely register it. Instead, you focus on the warmth surrounding you, on the way Abby’s fingers trace absentminded circles against your arm, on the quiet, steady rhythm of her breathing.

You don’t realize how exhausted you still are until your eyelids grow heavy. The last thing you hear before drifting off is Madison’s sleepy whisper:

“Momma, can we stay here forever?”

And for the first time, you don’t have to lie.

"Yeah, baby," you murmur, your fingers gently threading through Madison's soft hair as you finally, finally let yourself rest. The weight that’s been hanging over you for so long, the constant worry, the need to always be on edge, melts away. “We’re not going anywhere.”

You turn to Abby, a smile creeping onto your face. It’s different now—real, unguarded, unbroken. She’s the woman who saved you, the woman who stayed, who didn’t give up on you even when you doubted yourself. The one who was patient when you couldn’t even recognize your own worth. The one who helped you find your courage.

"I love you, Abby," you say, your voice soft but full of everything you couldn't say before, leaning in to kiss her cheek. It’s not a desperate kiss, not a goodbye, but a promise, a pledge. A pledge that you’re here, with her, and you’re finally letting yourself believe it.

The truth hits you like a wave. You had dreams once. A childhood dream of being a ballerina—spinning, twirling, the spotlight shining down, your heart light and free. It was your escape, your sanity while living in a cage you built yourself, with him in the center of it. You clung to that dream because it was all you had, the only thing that kept you going when nothing else made sense.

But now... now you realize something you never truly understood before. You don’t need to be a ballerina to feel like you’re dancing anymore. You’ve already found something even better, something you never thought you’d deserve.

You’ve found a family. A family with laughter, with love, with chaos that doesn’t feel suffocating but freeing. A family that isn’t bound by broken promises or fake smiles. A family that isn’t based on fear, but on the kind of unconditional love you always thought was out of reach.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t need to pretend. You don’t need to hide the cracks or the bruises or the old scars. You can just be. You can just love. You can just exist.

And as you look at Abby, holding your kids close, the world outside seems so far away. It doesn’t matter anymore. This is your home. This is your family. This is the dream you never knew you needed.

You take a deep breath, your heart full to the brim, and you finally let yourself believe in the future.

"Thank you," you whisper under your breath, more to yourself than anyone else, but Abby hears it. Her eyes soften, and she squeezes your hand in reassurance.

"We’ve got this," she says, her smile lighting up the room.

And for the first time in so long, you believe her. You believe in the life ahead of you. You believe in the family that you never thought you could have.

You’ve found your peace. You’ve found your place. And nothing could ever take that away.

And so, you rest—because for the first time in your life, you finally can.

You made it to the end (I hope)! It's finally over. Thank you all so much for all the love and support throughout these last two parts. It really means the world to me, like truly. 🥹 This fic has been sitting in my drafts since 2023, and I was so scared to post it, but seeing how much people have enjoyed it makes me want to cry (just like I did while writing the ending). If anyone has any requests, don't hesitate to ask. Thank you all again for everything! © seulszn.

[sammylkcho]

"Seb, could you feed Pianter?" you asked your husband kindly. You were washing the dishes, so giving dinner to his beloved cat was now his task.

Sebastian hummed in agreement, opening one of the kitchen drawers to grab the can opener and make opening the cat food less of a hassle. He had bought it for you since it was hard for you to open cans, but even though it was easier for him, he liked using it because it made things quicker.

As he grabbed the can, he felt a sudden pinch in his chest—not something to worry about, but enough to give him a bad feeling. He brushed it off for now and carried on, though the uneasy feeling lingered.

The meows of the white cat with gray patches seemed to ease that bad feeling for a moment. He placed the food in Pianter’s bowl, and the cat started devouring it.

"Hey, you okay? You seem a bit distracted." You asked, resting your chin on his shoulder, his dark hair brushing against the tip of your nose.

"I'm just a bit tired. You woke me up way too early today." He teased, reminding you of the little moment from that morning—when you had kicked him while he tried to untangle your feet from the blankets. It was a comical scene, especially when you ended up falling to the floor.

"Mmph," you mumbled softly, not really knowing how to defend yourself.

He chuckled, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead before heading to the living room. You followed behind, chatting about whether to watch that new movie that had just come out or continue the series you had left on hold.

That bad feeling in his chest never truly left him, lingering into the next morning, leaving him with a sense of anxiety.

Sebastian opened his eyes slowly, feeling the tension in his arms from staying on high alert even while asleep. The trauma of being experimented on while unconscious was why he sometimes refused to sleep, so passing out from exhaustion was nothing new—it was the only way he could "make up" for the lost sleep.

He looked around and wasn’t surprised to see nothing had changed. He was still in his shop, the same hellish place he had been trapped in for so many years (who knows how many).

He had dreamed again about the day before his arrest. Again. His mind seemed to enjoy torturing him, reminding him that the pinch in his chest had been a warning of the hell that awaited him, far away from you.

divider by @/cafekitsune

[exorcqism]

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ﹆₊ 概要 ‧₊˚ hcs with ghostface!choso in an arranged marriage + mini scenario attached.

␥ tags. modern/horror AU, possible nsfw, female anatomy, smoking, blood, threatening. choso carries a knife as a comfort item. wc, 1.37K. dark mode recommended.

␥ note. so i combined my previous idea with a new one. i’ll eventually break them up so they’ll be two separate things. thank you @hwoarangs-gf for helping :D

﹅˚ ⸝⸝ 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎 ‧₊˚

your husband isn’t the sweetest guy around. to you or the people in public

he emphasizes that you’re only his and that since the two of you are bound together, there’s no backing out

he doesn’t talk a lot so when he does, his deep, soothing voice terrifies you and he laughs at you when you look like you’re about to shit yourself

very protective of you even though he seems pretty mean

tags. mean!choso, ghostface, arranged marriage

you couldn't exactly place your finger on how you got yourself into this situation. your wedding night was amazing and terrible at the same time. though, you weren't expecting to be marrying an infamous killer.

as your married life progresses, you start to notice your husband's behavior more closely. you realize that he can be quite rude to you and others without showing any remorse. it's especially noticeable when you go out in public together. he seems to be on high alert, constantly scanning the area and shooting hard glares at any man who shows even the slightest interest in you. at first, you find his possessiveness endearing, but as time goes on, it becomes suffocating. you feel like you're being watched all the time, and it's exhausting. eventually, it all comes crashing down, and you start to see his behavior in a different light.

"if he looked at you one more time, i swear i was gonna kill him." you hear choso growl under his breath, his grip tightening on your wrist as he hauls you out of the mall. the menacing tone of your husband's voice is unmistakable, sending a shiver down your spine. you could feel the tension radiating off of him, his anger palpable.

choso's possessiveness is on full display, and you know better than to question him in moments like these. as the both of you exit the mall, you can't help but wonder if you'll understand the man you were married to. the man who is both your protector and captor, all in one.

as you walked out of the mall, you couldn't help but notice how possessive choso was being. his behavior was a clear indication that he did not want anyone else to come near you, and you knew better than to challenge him during such moments. his grip on your hand was tight, and you could feel him pulling you closer to him as if he was trying to shield you from the world.

despite being married to him, you couldn't help but wonder if you would ever understand choso. he was a complex man- your protector and captor all at once. you knew he loved you deeply, but his overprotective nature made you feel suffocated at times. you wondered if there was a way to make him understand that you needed your freedom too.

as you walked beside him, lost in thought, you couldn't help but wonder if you would ever find a way to strike a balance in your relationship.

as you step through the front door of your home, choso immediately locks it behind you, securing the deadbolt with an audible click. the tension that's been building throughout the day hangs heavy in the air, making the silence between you both almost unbearable. choso drops your hand, stalking off to the living room without a word.

you stood there for a moment, hesitant, before following him. when you enter the room, you find choso staring out the window, his posture rigid and his expression unreadable.

after a long pause, you finally ask choso, "what did I do wrong?" your tone is slightly irritated and confused, as you try to understand why he appears so distant and cold. choso slowly turns to face you, his eyes fixed on yours. the air between you two is heavy as you wait for his response, wondering what could have caused this sudden change in his behavior.

"you didn't do anything wrong." he says, his voice low and emotionless. "but you need to understand that you're mine. no one else's. and i'll do whatever it takes to protect what's mine." his words are chilling, but there's something in his tone that makes your heart twist- a hint of vulnerability, a glimmer of the man he might be underneath the hardened exterior.

you take a deep breath, mustering up the courage to speak. "i'm yours, choso. but i'm not a possession. i'm your wife." your words hang in the air between the two of you, the silence deafening.

the tension between you remains, but choso's expression softens slightly, as if he's contemplating your words. he looks away, the silence stretching on for what feels like an eternity. finally, he speaks, his voice softer than before. "you're right," he trails off, unable to finish the sentence. his vulnerability is unexpected, and it takes you by surprise. you hesitate, unsure of how to respond, but you could feel your own walls lowering, the slightest bit of empathy creeping in.

the dynamic between you and choso is complicated, nuanced, and layered. it's clear that choso's possessiveness stems from something but you're not sure exactly what that source may be. after the confrontation, choso suddenly stalks off to his study, leaving you alone in the living room.

choso is deep in thought, poring over old books in his study when he hears a soft knock on the door. before he can respond, the door creaks open and you peer your head in, a playful smile dancing on your lips. "i know you're busy," you say, your voice light and teasing, "but i thought you might need a little bit of a distraction."

you enter the room, twirling a loose lock of hair around your finger. you knew what you were doing. choso's brow furrows, unsure of how to react to this unexpected change in your demeanor.

as he asks, "what are you doing?", his voice sounds tense and brusque. however, your smile only grows wider in response, indicating that you are either unfazed by his tone or perhaps even delighted by his attention.

"just trying to lighten up the mood a little," you say, taking a step closer to him. "don't you think we could both use a little fun?"

just as you step closer, your playful expression falters as you spot the ominous items on choso's desk- a large knife gleaming in the dim light, its blade stained with what appears to be blood, and the haunting ghostface mask, its empty gaze staring back at you.

you feel a bit of fear seeping into your veins, replacing the lightheartedness from moments ago. "what's this?" you ask, your voice filled with curiosity now as you point to the objects.

choso's demeanor shifts, his gaze turning icy. "it's none of your business." he snaps, quickly covering the knife and mask with a stack of papers. "you shouldn't have come in here in the first place."

he rises up from his chair, his towering figure casting a shadow over you. "you saw too much." he says, a menacing edge to his voice. your eyes widen at the gravity of the situation. you stand there pleading for your life but choso's expression remains cold, his eyes fixed on yours. "i'm sorry, but i can't take the risk of you telling anyone."

choso takes a step towards you, his intentions clear. you let out a blood-curdling scream as you dart toward the door. your husband lunges after you, his knife glinting in the dim light.

your eyes snap open when you hear a familiar voice calling your name. quickly, your head shoots up from the man's lap you had been lying on. your eyes travel over to the tv when you notice that the classic slasher movie, "scream", just ended. only the credits are being shown on the screen.

as you sit up, choso looks at you with concern. "you okay? you look stressed and you were mumbling in your sleep," he says, his voice softer than usual. you quickly compose yourself, hoping to hide your unease.

"i'm fine, just a weird dream, you know?" you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. choso studies you for a moment, his expression just as unreadable as it was in your dream. "do you wanna talk about it?" he queries. you swiftly shake your head, not wanting to reveal anything.

"no, it's okay. really."

choso seems to accept your answer, though there's a hint of disappointment in his eyes. "alright," he says, "but know that i'm always here if you need me.'

he smiles softly, but you feel uneasy as your stomach starts to churn. the smile seems menacing, and you nod slowly to acknowledge him.

⠀© vmpiires | like, reblog & follow.

[twiisted-king]

♢ Spider-Man Noir BF HC’S ♢

➟ Spider-Man Noir / GN!Reader 🕸️

➟ SFW / NSFW

➟ TW : 1930’s Attitudes, The Great Depression, Injuries/Blood, Sexual Content, & Smoking.

————————————————————————

— Let’s set one thing straight, he is husband material.

— The moment y’all start dating is when he starts thinking of marriage. Obviously he’s from the 1930’s so he probably thinks more in terms of “ I Man, I Husband “. I don’t think it’s to the point of being toxic though :)

— Peter has a gun, yes a gun, that he is not afraid to use especially when it comes to you. He’s always clutching you close to him whenever y’all go outside and keeping a close eye on the environment around him. He already lost Uncle Ben, he is NOT losing you too.

— A total gentleman : flowers, taking your coat, kissing your hand, he goes the whole nine yards.

— It’s hard for him to just be comfortable sometimes. Experience the Great Depression and being Spider-Man has left him a nervous wreck who just can’t calm down. He’s always expecting the worse. In other words, please treat this man like he’s the best thing in the whole world, he needs it.

— A music lover who would be even more smitten if you danced with him. He’ll hum to the tune and spin you around the livingroom with this big, goofy smile on his face.

— Peter runs off of coffee, cigarettes, and adrenaline. He doesn’t have the easiest line of even as a civilian and often works late into the night. He’s always exhausted when he gets home and just wants to fall into bed beside you.

— Is pretty always big spoon. It’s just easier since he’s more then a likely taller than you plus he likes taking on the protector role.

— A decent chef. He can definitely make a mean dinner and has learned a few tips/tricks from Aunt May.

— Patch up his wounds! He’s a good patient who just sits there with this glint of admiration in his eyes as you clean up any blood or stitch close a deeper cut. He’ll absolutely tease you by asking if you can “ kiss it better “.

— He writes sappy poetry. It’s mostly just for kicks and giggles though he can definitely whip out something that really touches your heart. He gets flustered if you thank him for the poetry and just hides his red face behind his hat Jotaro style.

— Peter wants to eventually move away from New York to somewhere much quieter. He wants to marry you and have a big house. If you want kids that’s more than okay with him and if you don’t he’s content on settling for a dog. He absolutely loves dogs.

♢ NSFW ♢

— While not the most experienced person sexually he still knows how to have a good time.

— Peter’s libido isn’t the highest and sex is more of a celebratory/occasional thing. You got a job promotion? Cool! Peter wants to bang you on the couch until the walls are white and the multiverse rips apart.

— I think Peter definitely gets aroused a lot he just doesn’t act on his feelings. He doesn’t exactly have time to take an hour away for some much needed love making.

— But when he does get that hour away? Oh boy howdy prepare yourself.

— I already discussed that there is more than likely a height difference and he takes that to his advantage. It’s easy to just scoop you up no matter how heavy you are and have sex with you right against the kitchen wall.

— Like he’ll rip your clothes off in the heat of the moment then promise to buy your another shirt later.

— RIDE 👏🏻 THIS 👏🏻 MAN 👏🏻 - He doesn’t mind just kicking back and letting you take control for a bit. He lets out the hottest noises and when you’re thighs are aching from bouncing on him? He just manually fucks you on his cock all while telling you about how nice you feel tensing around him.

— No surface in your place is safe. Kitchen counter, bed, couch .. you’ve been banged on all of them.

— Wants to stuff you full of as much of his cum as possible. He’ll cum into over and over again until your stomach is bloated with his release.

— He’s big! It can be an adjustment taking his dick and he’s fully aware of his size. He’s always whispering encouragements to you, telling you about how good you look taking him like this. His balls are big too lmao.

[redheadspark]

Again

Summary - Azriel missed his wife, and he shows it.

Warnings - PURE SMUT! 18+ ONLY!

Author's Notes - As the warning state, this is pure smut! Short and fun to write, hope you enjoy ;)

“A-Az….Az I….mmph,”

“I know, baby.  Just let it happen for me,”

You sighed, and a gutter moan escaped your lips as hands were on your hips, gripping possessively as your thighs were burning and sweat was going on along your skin and from your pores. All you were feeling was the insane pleasure deep within you, coiling up too tight in your abdomen and spewing out to touch the tips of your fingers and toes as your eyes were closed in bliss.  Although you were feeling so tight in your stomach from how close you were to bursting, you were also shaking from how intense it was feeling.  

Rightfully so, since you have been on edge for what felt like hours.

“There you go, sweetheart.  Cauldron, you look fucking divine on top of me like this,”

You opened your eyes, shakily and with lust as you looked down at the being pinned under you, deep inside of you to make you feel so full and snug within your walls.  His wings sprawled out on either side of him, almost dangling off the bed with the sheets already skew on the ground along with some of the throw pillow.  His face was on you, etched with his own pleasure he was feeling and the most alluring smile on his lips.  Hazel eyes were bright and almost fully dilated, his dark hair tossed and messy from your fingers digging in the locks to be grounded, and slight hickies along his neck and collarbone nearly blended into his tan skin.

Azriel looked fucked out of his mind, but he looked too happy because of it.

Of course, you forgot how to get into his position in the first place.  You two were away from each other because of his Spymaster duties and your job in the Inner Circle as Fryer’s right-hand and personal treasurer.  It has been an exhausting few weeks you both were working hard and long hours, barely having time to be together since you two were newly mated two years prior.  It was the sacrifice in having these careers, you and Azriel knew that.  

But still, you missed his company and his touch on the lonelier nights when he was away.  There was no doubt Azriel was as great a lover as he was as your best friend and husband.  Even before you two were married, Azriel knew how to rock your world when you two fell in bed together.  There was always gossip about Illyrians and their wingspans.  You never paid attention to them too much, but of course the gossip of larger wingspans being equivalent to Illryian’s packages.  It made the far blush madly to think about, and you never had that in mind when you got together with Azriel and became mates with him.

Yet the rumors were proven right the first time you two fucked: he was an amazing lover.

The way his fingers would curl inside of you to make you arch off the bed, how his tongue would dive into your folds and inside of you to not just stretch you out but to have you writhe around in bed, he knew just what to do to make you scream out his name as if he was a God and you were worshipping him.  Not to mention when his cock was fully inside of you, perfect in size and girth as if It was designed to be snug along your inner walls.  Divinely made for you, just you, and every time you two had sex, it felt like the first time all over again.

Nothing was ever said outside your bedroom door of course, yet the others in the Inner Circle were just as curious and teasing after you and Azriel returned from your honeymoon.  Especially Cassian, who was winking at you and then elbowing Azriel’s side.

“Hopefully you were tame with your new wife, eh Az?” He teased, making you blush madly and Azriel glare at him.

This was no different, you two clawing at each other as soon as you could when you made it back home to your penthouse in the city.  Azriel wasted no time undressing you and giving you hickey after hickey on your neck as you threw off his leathers and belt that hung low on his hips.  It also all through the night, you were inwardly glad that your penthouse had no neighbors around to hear your vigorous activity.  Yet now it was 3 am, and you both going on round three as there was no sign of slowing down or losing momentum.  

“You still there, sweetheart?” Azriel asked as he was seeing you catch your breath, the pleasure was so close it was on your tongue as you nodded rapidly and hummed, “How close are you, baby?”

“S-s-o close….so c-close Az,” You whimpered, about to reach down to where you two were connected so you could touch your aching clit that was rubbing deliciously against Azriel’s rock-hard cock.  Azriel tutted, taking your hand away to lace your fingers and hold it against your stomach.  You full-on whined, yet he smiled and shook his head.

“That’s my job, remember?” He asked you coolly, his other hand reaching over to hover right in front of your clit, “You’re gonna cum from my touch, right there where you need it, okay?  Not me fucking you, not you rolling those glorious hips that I love, but me simply touching you right there, because I only can, got it?”

You gulped, nodded, and waited on bated breath for him to touch you.  He licked his lips, his thumb was so close, and yet he didn’t move, not just yet.  

Finally, after what seemed to be long seconds that would be torture, he rubbed his calloused thumb along your clit in small circles.  Within seconds, you came and moaned so loud in the bedroom it almost sounded like you were being tortured. 

Azriel was notorious for this, he knew just how to make you undone with his simple touches to longing gazes.  Maybe it was because he knew how to tap in the vulnerability of a person because of his Spymaster duties,  However, those were times of torture, not with you.  With you, he was gentle, never rough or too demanding.  But still, that simple touch along your skin or a simple growl in your ear, you would unravel so fast it was hard to catch up.  

This orgasm was cosmic, you shaking as you were still hovering and trying to ride it out for as long as you could.  But you felt it everywhere, along your skin and under your eyelids as you were gasping for air.  Your bones were feeling like jelly, almost willing your body to collapse on Azriel as he was watching you with utter amazement and awe.

“Fuck,” He growled, sitting up suddenly and making you moan some more as you were so sensitive at this point.  He wrapped you in his arms, kissing you all over as you were simply leaning against him and trying to come back to reality.  

“I will never get enough of you cumming like this,” He said into your hair as you hummed.  You shifted a bit, still feeling his rock-hard cock inside of your sensitive pussy.  As sensitive as you were, you felt his fingers guide along your lower back. He rolled his hips slightly, you moaning hotly as he nodded his head.

“I know, baby.  I got you,” He replied, almost reading your mind as to what you both needed   You’d let him since you trust him with your life and he would care with exceeded expectations.  He pulled out, you whimpering from the loss and also the relief as he moved you on the bed to be on your stomach.  The cool sheets under your bare body were calming, his calloused fingers dancing along your sweaty body to bring you some relief as he then pushed a pillow under your hips.  Gathering some of the juices from your pussy, he lathered his own cock up again as he was on his knees behind you.

“Az..” You mewled as he lifted your ass up a bit, he perched behind you to kiss along your spine and caresses your thighs.  

“Let me fill you up, please baby.  You feel so good around my cock that I need to unload in you, can I please?  It’ll be so good, I promise,” He growled along your spine, you simply nodded your head since you knew it would be so good.  No matter that you were bone tired, you experienced such an amazing orgasm that shook you to your core.  Azriel would never dare to continue unless you were willing to let him, waiting for your permission and consent.  Even in the heat of you two fucking, he always stopped and asked you, made sure you were okay.

You grew to love him all the more.

“I’ll take good care of you,” he soothed against your backside as you felt his cock’s tip right along your entrance.  Within a second, he slid right back into you, both of you moaning and sighing in both lust and relief at the same time.  Azriel braced your hips in a good grip, rolling his back as his wings stretched out behind him and his cock was once again snugging your walls.

“That’s a good girl,” he rumbled, making you cum at least two more times in that very position before he could finally release deep inside of you.  

[carisisrolledupsleeves]

could you do 112. "I don't feel like sleeping" + 114 "you won't be getting any sleep tonight" from the prompt list? pretty please I love your previous prompt!!

thank you and thank you for the request, i hope you enjoy :) this turned out to be kind of fluffy haha

It feels good to be home. As much as you loved every second of your one month long honeymoon in Italy, returning to the comforts of your own bed is just as exciting. You’re exhausted from the journey, even though you had spent most of it snoozing in your luxurious business class pod while Dominick had watched one movie after the other next to you. Even now he is wide awake, his hand dancing on the small of your back as he presses soft kisses onto your shoulder. 

‘Babe…’ you protest, having just closed your eyes after saying goodnight.

‘What?’ Sonny whispers, his breath on your skin sending shivers down your spine.

‘Aren’t you tired?’

‘A little. But I don’t feel like sleeping…’ you can hear the smile in his voice. 

You turn around to look at him - your gorgeous husband; and the fact that he just can’t seem to get enough of you just like you can’t get enough of him makes your heart flutter. Most of your honeymoon had been spent in bed, the rest of the time making out on the beach, making out in some alley while exploring the towns and cities you had visited, or feeding each other delicious Italian food. And you didn’t think it was possible to be even more attracted to him but ever since your wedding you seemed to have lost the physical ability to keep your hands to yourself whenever he was close. Now Dominick’s skin looks even more tan in the dim light of your bedroom and he seems to have the same thoughts running through his head, remembering all the things you have done, and wanting to continue exactly where you left off. That last night on the beach where no one could see you… 

You reach out to touch him, fingertips tracing up his arm to his collarbone, over his chest, following the trail of hair down his stomach and you can feel his muscles tense, as you scoot closer to him. Dominick’s mouth finds yours, a kiss so full of longing as though you are reunited after spending too much time apart. A moan escapes your lips as your half-naked bodies make contact under the sheets, and you can already feel him grow hard. Never in your life could you have imagined a man wanting you, needing you this much. You revel in the feeling of being loved by someone as beautiful as him, someone as thoughtful and warm, someone as smart and funny, someone as passionate and devoted. There aren’t enough adjectives in the world for him. And he is all yours. 

‘I love you.’ Dominick sighs, his lips wandering along your jaw, to your neck where he finds that spot just below your ear he knows is your favorite. 

‘I love you.’ you reply, and you feel that dampness spreading between your legs, fire already pooling low in your abdomen. 

His tongue flicks against your skin before sucking lightly, and you know he’s going to leave a mark but you don’t care. On the contrary, you love it. Especially when it’s time to return the favor, leaving scratches down his back, little bite marks all over his torso. It’s your way of saying ‘you’re mine’ and it drives him absolutely wild. 

‘Hmm, guess you won’t be getting any sleep tonight.’ you laugh, pushing him onto his back to climb on top of him.

Dominick gasps as he feels your wet center against his length and he bites his lip, his eyes sparkling with excitement. You feel like the sexiest woman on the planet with him. His hands reach under your lacy camisole, and you pull it off as he cups your breasts, squeezing gently and your nipples harden against his palms. 

‘Fuck, you are so beautiful. My beautiful wife.’ Dominick stares at you in awe and you blush, yes, you still blush every time. 

‘My beautiful husband.’ you lean down to kiss him hungrily, tongue slipping inside his mouth and you feel him tremble beneath you.

His arms wrap around you as he flips you onto your back, unleashing that feverish urgency between the two of you where you just can’t hold back any longer. Foreplay has never really been your strong suit, growing too impatient for each other within seconds of being alone. Dominick slips his hand between your legs, growling at your wetness as you arch your hips to welcome his touch. He pushes your panties down, and his lips are once again at your neck, starting a journey downwards. 

‘Sleep is so overrated.’ he mumbles as his tongue glides over your skin, his hands guiding the way to your breasts where his mouth closes over a nipple, his teeth softly grazing. 

Shockwaves run through your entire body as his fingers once again find your wet heat, caressing your folds, thumb brushing over your clit with just the right amount of pressure. You moan his name, and his mouth continues to wander until it joins his hand at your pussy, and you shudder as he spreads your legs to settle between them. He parts your lips and his tongue flicks over your clit making your eyes roll back in pleasure. 

‘Mhmm, does my baby like that?’ Dominick asks, looking up at you in a way that makes you want him even more, if that’s possible. 

You can only nod, and he keeps eye contact as he begins to lick your bud, lapping up your juices.

‘Your pussy tastes so fucking delicious.’ he sighs. Good God. He could probably make you come just by talking like this. 

But as much as you enjoy having him eat you out like you’re a thousand times tastier than the yummiest gelato, you need him. Inside you. It’s carnal, it’s desperate. He’s able to reduce you to your most animal instincts and he does it so well. 

‘Dominick, p-please.’ you beg but he doesn’t stop, sucking on your clit so expertly it makes your thighs shake already.

‘So impatient. What do you need, my love?’ He knows but he wants you to say it out loud.

‘I need you inside me. Now.’ you answer, and he raises his brow playfully. 

‘Funny how you wanted to go to sleep just a few minutes ago.’ he teases and you roll your eyes at him.

‘Dominick!’ 

He chuckles and kisses his way back up to your mouth and you push his underwear down, wrapping your legs around his waist and he doesn’t hesitate to push inside you. 

‘This what you wanted?’ Dominick breathes and you moan at the sensation of him filling you up.

‘Yes, baby. Always.’ you run your fingers up and down his muscular back as he starts to fuck you slowly, his lips meeting yours in a bruising kiss.

Fuck, you love how he splits you open, how tight he makes you feel as his cock stretches you; he feels so perfect inside of you. Your heels press into his lower back, encouraging him to fuck into you a little faster, a little harder, as you grind yourself onto him, and you can tell how crazy it’s driving him to see you lose all control. 

‘You feel so good, baby. I’ll never get enough of you.’ his arm tightens around you as he buries his face in your neck while his other hand reaches down to find your clit, beginning to rub circles there, knowing it will make you come in no time. 

You both have gotten so good at it; figuring out just what the other one wants and needs. When, where, how. This intimacy had been there from the first night you had spent together, and you had known he was the one right away. Now he makes you pant and moan in a way no man has ever managed before him, and you run your fingers through his hair, pulling softly in order to get his mouth from your neck back onto your lips. Dominick smiles into the kiss, his hips rolling against yours, bringing you closer and closer to the edge with each thrust of his cock, hitting your g spot at just the right angle. 

‘F-fuck yes, right there, oh GOD!’ you whimper, pressing your forehead against his as you grow more and more flushed, more and more frantic. 

‘Mmhmm you’re so hot, doll. All I wanna do is make you cum.’ Dominick purrs, his fingers applying more pressure on your swollen clit while pumping into you harder, your pussy clenching around him as he brings you closer and closer to your climax.

The muscles on his back begin to tense and you come hard just as he spills into you with a moan, and you’re seeing stars, writhing around him, his throbbing cock pulsing his release into you. And in this deafening pleasure one single thought enters your mind as he kisses you shakily. You can’t wait to have his babies. You can’t wait for him to get you pregnant. For some reason you have never thought about it so consciously until now. And while he continues to plunge into you, riding out his orgasm, you reach another peak, screaming his name.

[skyeslittlecorner]

Asmo's Selfie Reflections

First I'll have a little cry about the fact that there are no comics in the new cards. We've been robbed. Best part of the cards, along with the stories, is gone…

At least the prologue, with the presence of the kings and their right hands, was simply wonderful (Bael and his instant killing spree when he saw Beel <33)

I waited so long for Asmo that when he showed up it seemed unreal. He got everything. Most of my favorite physical features - checked. Glimmers of depth in behavior - checked. Being a dark and shady bitch - checked.

Plus, it's my personal thing, but seeing that nearly all my headcanons and assumptions for him matched reality made me squeal like a little girl.

Finally.

It doesn't surprise me at all that one of the the most powerful weapons of Hell is not so much physical, but mental force. Feelings that neither devils nor angels can resist. Love and desire have long been portrayed as some of the most powerful things, I have come across Greek motifs quite often, where the most powerful yet hidden gods were Eros or Aphrodite. As long as the spirit wants to fight, the body will follow, but without the spirit, what is left?

Especially since his order turns off your brain and tells you to follow, no matter how absurd it may be.

Asmo and his mind-fucks can help his own as well as his enemies. Especially since it seems that devils are quite traumatized after meeting him, and if they don't, they are locked up in Abbadon.

Although, it seems that he can control his abilities perfectly. He was able to blend in with the crowd and no one knew who he was.

Ahem I just have to stare at him every five seconds. My equivalent of breathing. And speaking of breathing…

*Grabs bottle of sanitizer and a mask* My dear, I know your (not)bathing routine and I still have pandemic supplies with me.

I love that the kings cover the entire spectrum of their specialties, especially the extremes. Satan is the avatar of anger, but he can keep his cool like no other when he needs to. Mammon is the avatar of greed, yet he is the most generous of demons. You get the idea. Same here, Asmo is both the lust and the love, the ultimate playboy and a loving husband.

And not only that, but complete lack of emotions and cold calculation too.

Oh yes, one of your sons is pretty famous, Vox Akuma as i heard. I really confused them when I saw Asmo for the first time-

Knowing how dark the rest of this is, I'm afraid of what you mean.

What follows is pure madness, and not really in a positive sense. Real madness and exhaustion. I had high hopes that he would take away any senses and twist in every direction, but he does it in such a beautiful way. And what's better, he loses himself too.

I only remember Satan, who at the end of Ch1 gave in to his anger so much that he almost killed Sitri and Ppyong. Asmo seems similar to me, completely lost in lust - only for a long time, without Mammon to calm him down, and without any scruples or limiting his power. If that's the case, then the devils of Abbadon must be damn strong. Crazy, but strong.

It's hard for me to describe anything after that, because it's hard for me to put six days into just a few words??? Literally. I have no idea how to describe it. I've read it a good few (a dozen) times and my brain turns off and goes into fangirl mode instead.

He seems as sweet as he is cold… which intrigues me even more, because so far he gives me the impression of a third party. He is not with the angels, and he is with the rest of the demons because it pays off for him.

At least one thing doesn't change.

Everyone loves to piss off Satan <3

I know that was a very polite analysis. That's not how I planned it, but just, just want to shove my phone into each of your hands and tell you to read it yourself because it's indescribable 😭

I already love this guy, and if he wants to sacrifice me in some twisted way, I'll even pour oil on myself to make the flames smell nice. Am I crazy? Yes. Am I ashamed? Absolutely not. Abbadon, here I come.