#is bill just messing around though?
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
themsource · 2 months ago
Text
7alt8 AU - Moments Like These
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Got asked by a friend what exactly Bill and Stan's relationship is like, and made this quick comic to show just how much Bill enjoys messing with Stan XD
Poor boyo has had to deal with stuff like this for 43 years LOL
57 notes · View notes
flufflecat · 4 months ago
Text
Another day, another suspiciously yellow and black animal showing up that i have named Bill.
Tumblr media
This poor injured swallowtail was in the backyard, so i offered him a variety of flowers then moved him to a safe spot since i cant really do more to help him. He kept trying to climb my arms, but i politely asked him not to try to crawl on my face and i think he agreed.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
When I was grabbing some flowers down the road, there was also a flock of goldfinches flitting around the thistles to add to my yellow-animals tally, but i couldn't get any good pics of them.
Between the goldfinches that have shown back up for the first time since june, this butterfly, and Bill the Caterpillar (who has since crawled off somewhere), I'm starting to debate whether spending the past 2 weeks joking about being possessed by bill cipher was a good idea.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Also i came face to face with a deer while out alone last night and i didn't like the way she took a step toward me when i held my hand out. She bowed to me so i bowed back and after about a minute of staring she decided to wander away.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
8 notes · View notes
3-aem · 2 years ago
Text
Taxes 🧍
21 notes · View notes
messrmoonyy · 9 months ago
Text
- The Forbidden Fruit
Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader
Tumblr media
Request- I NEED ARTHUR TO STEAL DUTCHS GIRL AND SHOW HER A REAL MANS LOVING. FILTHY PASSIONATE LOVING. WORK YOUR MAGIC
A/N- I got incredibly carried away with this. Is basically prawn with no plot honestly. And far softer smut than I think you intended it to be but. Here we are. Enjoy.
Warnings- 18+ | implied toxic relationship ( reader is in love with Dutch van der Linde what can you expect here ), smut: affair, Arthur being desperate to please!!!, fingering, oral ( reader receiving ) , unprotected p in v and he accidentally finishes inside oops, like the tiniest amount of cockwarming ( WC-8.9k )
AO3 | Masterlist - requests are open :)
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Arthur didn’t involve himself in Dutch’s relationships. He stayed polite to whatever young woman he had hanging off his arm at the time, but that was about it. He’d seen too many girls come and go- usually in floods of tears at being dismissed by the man that had seduced and charmed them into loving him. Just working his way through shiny new plaything to plaything, hiding his unending sorrow for Annabelle under the skirt of some new girl. 
Unfortunately you were no different. 
In your defence, he supposed, you had lasted far longer than the rest. The only real exception to that being the famed Annabelle herself. But as was almost inevitable, your time in the honeymoon phase was slowly crumbling down around you. 
Arthur did wonder if it was simply because of the current stress levels in camp. They had all been on the run for longer than he cared to try and count, but after the mess in Blackwater they had reached new heights of being hunted. It had never been this bad. Nothing had ever gone this wrong. Because before everything had gone to complete shit, he’d actually seemed quite taken with you. In truth Arthur actually had begun to consider the idea that Dutch really did love you. Had finally been able to move on from the weight on his heart of his dead lover. 
But no. 
Arthur was observing the same pattern as always, it had just taken far longer with you. And that just seemed to make it all the more cruel. 
He barely even looked at you most days now. Barely uttered a few words in return to any question you asked. 
And the arguing was growing ever more fierce. It was practically everyday. 
Arthur didn’t like it. Didn’t like the way Dutch treated you. Didn’t like the way Dutch was treating anyone lately. But you in particular had never been anything but nice to him, kind. Sweet. Incredibly naive but sweet. To Arthur too. Some of the girls Dutch had strung along had been vile, rude and entitled and stuck up. But you? You were a genuinely nice person it seemed. And maybe that was your greatest flaw, for someone like that did not belong with Dutch Van Der Linde. 
In fact Arthur had come to like you from a distance. The times he had spoken to you you had been interesting, intelligent. Far cleverer than him and he had always liked that in a woman if he was honest. 
But still you clung to Dutch. Though your patience with him of late seemed to finally be wearing thin. 
Dutch had never really been one to be ashamed or afraid of airing his dirty laundry within the gang. Whether that be packing on the PDA in camp in a way that often made Arthur want to vomit up his breakfast, or the even more puke inducing sounds of the two of you making up all night long. So arguing was no exception to that either. 
And today was no different. 
“ you barely even look at me! I’m right here! I always have been, I’ve always been such a good girl haven’t I? I do as you say. And look at how you repay me! “ Arthur sighed as he dropped a stack of bills into the box, successfully recovering yet another of Strauss’ debts for him. You were both screaming at each other again, the tent flaps pulled down as if that would over any form of soundproofing. It was the camp's regular ambience now it seemed. 
He did feel sorry for you, he really did. You’d left everything you had for Dutch. Some beautiful, intelligent, well spoken girl. Heiress to her daddy’s mining fortune up north, used to the finer things but seeking some adventure. And Dutch had offered you both. Drowned you in jewels and gifts- though unlike the ones you had once owned the ones he gave were not his to give- Shown you off like a shiny new toy on his arm. Expressly informed Miss Grimshaw that you were not to be lifting a finger, that you would not have to earn your keep with chores like the others. 
You earned your keep by looking beautiful beside him, by boosting his ego with your constant devotion to him, by letting Dutch use you for his own source of pleasure and by the sounds of things- that Arthur truly had no choice but to overhear- not getting very much back in return. 
“ You know I don’t think I’ve ever met a more selfish woman in my life! “ Arthur sighed and sat down on his cot, debating whether or not to make some attempt to get the sleep he had been planning the entire long journey back to Clemens Point. But his tent was but a stone's throw from Dutch’s. 
“ I have needs too Dutch Van Der Linde!” Everyone else in camp didn’t seem to mind it though, most of them preparing to settle in for the night. Whether that be passing out on their bedrolls or drinking by the fire. But Arthur wasn’t sure he could put up with another moment of the damn yelling. 
“ oh? You have needs? “ Dutch’s voice was condescending. Mocking “ I give you everything! You are acting like a spoiled child”
“ a child? A child!? “ Arthur stood back up again, deciding he’d fare better trying to sleep on the damn ground rather than next to the likes of you and Dutch. So he headed out towards the edge of camp, hiding himself in the woods by the water. He slumped down against a tree with a heavy sigh and wished he’d thought to pick up a bottle of beer on the way. 
But it was no matter. He was far enough away that he couldn’t hear the fighting anymore, but close enough that if he was needed anyone calling his name would be heard. 
He looked out across the water, enjoying his rare moment of peace. It was a clear night and a full moon, the reflection bouncing off the water in the most beautiful way. He pulled out his journal and started to sketch it, wishing he could capture its beauty better. 
‘ Dutch and the girl were arguing again. Got out of earshot for a bit to try catch some sleep. Thought the water and the moon looked mighty pretty ‘ 
He scrawled underneath when he was done, tucking it back into the satchel discarded at his side. Javier's guitar had silenced back in camp now and he figured everyone had gone off to bed. But he was quite content there by the water, so dropped his hat over his face and settled in to try and catch a few hours himself. 
He was just dozing off when he heard the sound of boots marching quickly through the undergrowth, snapping twigs as they went. And then the soft sound of someone mumbling to themselves. He silently hoped whoever it was would keep well away from him. But the boots grew nearer and came to a halt not so far away. The crackle of a match being lit and a heavy sigh. 
“ thinks he can talk to me like that? Bastard. Bastard he is. I’m a lady I deserve better than. Than that “ 
You. 
He cleared his throat lightly to inform you that he was there, but unfortunately still seemed to startle you. 
“ Christ! Gave me a damn heart attack Arthur “ he placed his hat down with his satchel with a sigh and looked up at you. In the light of the moon reflecting off the water he could see your cheeks were tear stained, the glow of the end of your cigarette illuminating your face further and showing your makeup in streaks. 
He couldn’t lie that it made his heart ache for you. He didn’t particularly have any solid feelings for you, but he did feel sorry for you. It was hard not to feel sorry for the woman seduced by Dutch. 
And you truly were a cut above the rest in his opinion. Beautiful as the early morning sun and, when you weren’t screaming at Dutch, as kind and warm as it too. But maybe that was fitting. Because much like the sun you could bask people in warmth, but burn them too. Beautiful and bright but scalding and he found he couldn’t look at you for too long, no matter how many times he wanted too. Simply blinding his eyes with your flaming beauty and having to turn away. 
But maybe he was just getting caught up in his metaphors. 
“ shouldn’t be out this far from camp “ you simply shrugged, taking another drag of your cigarette “ ain’t no one nice lingerin’ in woods at night miss” even if no Lemoyne raiders were sneaking around the trees, there were plenty of species of wildlife that would happily do a number on you. Chew off a leg or bite you with poison fangs. You didn’t know how to take care of yourself. You couldn’t handle a gun, didn’t have a single survival instinct in you. 
Dutch had quite made sure of that, he’d heard you ask once or twice. And had been denied. Charming you with some string of words about how you were far too delicate to be handling a gun. To leave it for the men. 
“ you’re lingering in the woods aren’t you Mr Morgan? “ he chuckled and shrugged. 
“ and I ain’t that nice. Point proven lady “ 
“ not like Dutch would care if someone took me anyway. He’d probably be thankful “ your voice was hoarse from the shouting and he couldn’t tell if you were going to cry again or not. You took a long drag of your cigarette before seeming to suddenly remember something, dipping your hand into the waistband of your skirt and pulling out a pack “ sorry my manners. Want one? “ he took one with a nod of thanks “ can I sit? “
You sat down carefully beside him then with a long sigh, tucking your legs beneath you, and leant forward so he could light the cigarette between his lips with the end of yours. 
“ thanks “ you both sat quietly for a short while. Smoking and watching the ripples in the water. He didn’t mind it actually, as much as he had been slightly annoyed at you disturbing his attempt to sleep. You were decent company. 
You rarely strayed from Dutch’s side, but on the odd occasion you had and Arthur had stumbled upon you having a moment to yourself at the edge of camp it had been quite nice. So he didn’t mind sitting there with you, company. For you both. 
“ I think you’re nice. By the way “ you said to break the silence, refrenching his previous comment of bad men lingering in the woods. 
“ No offense to you Miss, but you’re in love with old Dutch. I don’t think you’re particularly qualified to be sayin’ whether folk is nice or not “ he said it teasingly in some hopes of making you smile. And it did. A little. 
“ maybe not “ he watched you bring your cigarette to your lips again, glancing at your hands. Nails perfectly trimmed and not a single speck of dirt or sign of a scar. Hands that had never had to lift a finger. Ever. It was an interesting contrast to his own. Calloused and scarred and bruised “ but Dutch he… he…Can I ask you something? “ 
“ Sure “ he said and flicked his cigarette away. 
“ Do you think I’m beautiful Arthur? “ you asked meekly. Your face was sad. Lingering innocence yet to be wiped away by life somehow, the kind that only remained because you had lived a life so sheltered. Even with Dutch you were as sheltered as could be “ and don’t lie. Please “
“ I think you’re beautiful, sure “ you turned back to the water again, tossing your own cigarette before promptly lighting another. 
“ Dutch doesn’t. Not anymore. Barely even looks at me “ Arthur ran a hand over his face, not entirely sure what he was supposed to say to you in the situation. At all “ I know I know I don’t expect you to agree. You two you’re…you’re like two peas in a pod aren’t you? “ you said with a small laugh, but it held no humour. You took a long drag of your cigarette. 
“ me and Dutch it’s… we go back a long way. But… I will agree the way he’s been treatin’ you. Ain't nice. Not when you done nothin’ but be loyal to him for so long “ you turned back to him again and gave a small smile. It was like a wave of relief had washed right over you. 
Someone was finally listening. 
“ I think he’s got his eyes on Mary-Beth “ you mumbled, red stained lips wrapping around your cigarette again. Much like how he had found himself admiring your hands he now found himself admiring your lips. Soft and plump and stained red in the way they often were. 
He blamed it on his fatigue. 
“ he’d be a fool to give you up. You’re kind, loyal, hell you might jus’ be the most beautiful woman I know. He’s in a weird place right now. He’ll snap outta it, be back to readin’ you Evelyn Miller in no time. You’ll see “ maybe the last part wasn’t entirely true. But the first part was. And you seemed to bask in his compliments. He wondered when the last time Dutch had said something nice to you had actually been. 
“ Thank you “ you looked as though you might cry again. And he really hoped you wouldn’t. He didn’t like to see you cry. And he really wouldn’t know what to say to you then. Once again you turned your attention back to the water and gave a small sigh “ maybe I chose the wrong outlaw “ you said with a small laugh “ always have thought you were quite handsome “ 
He nearly choked on his own saliva, clearing his throat in hopes to pass it out smoothly. He didn’t know if it had worked. 
“ Really? “ 
“ Hmm “ you mused, tilting your head inquisitively to the side “ but you were oh so hung up on that Mary girl when I found Dutch”
“ Yeah well. Mary she’s- that’s all done with now “ maybe Mary was the reason he seemed to sympathise with you so. Because he too had had a broken heart. Though he was sure his was not as brutal as yours. 
“ Guess we both have bad taste don’t we Mr Morgan “ he chuckled and nodded. 
“ That we do miss. That we do “ he placed a gentle hand to your shoulder and squeezed in some form of comfort “ don’t worry bout Dutch though. Really. He’ll come to his senses and if…if he don’t then. Any man would be lucky to have ya “ you sniffled and he figured you’d started crying again “ I didn’t mean to upset- “
“ No. No I’m fine. It’s just…you mean it all don’t you? All these kind words? “ he shrugged and then nodded. 
“ Sure I do. You’re a beautiful woman. Inside an out “ something seemed to flash across your face, a million and one things whirring away behind your eyes. He’d never been that good at reading people, never one for knowing what people were thinking. And the look on your face was the most confusing he’d ever seen. 
The next part happened far too quickly for him to process it. Maybe because he was tired, maybe because he truly hadn’t even slightly suspected you to do it. You flicked away the butt of your cigarette and leaned forward, one hand to his leg and the other to his neck. And kissed him. 
He was taken aback and you pulled away before he could make any attempt to figure out what you’d just done. 
“ Sorry “ you sighed in slight annoyance, seemingly at yourself, sitting back beside him again. Like it was no big deal. Just something that had happened and had no real consequence “ shit- sorry “ Arthur scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and shrugged with a small laugh. Attempting to play it as cool as you clearly were. 
Maybe he’d finally cracked and entered some weird fatigue induced psychosis, hallucinations and hearing voices. And kissing Dutch’s woman. 
“ S’okay. No harm done “ he was bewildered. Trying to process the last 30 seconds and coming up completely blank. 
“ Just the way you talk about me I- Lord forgive me “ he was certain he must have looked half dense. Still completely confused at what on earth was happening with you. And maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit flustered at having a woman like you kiss him. Even if you were begging the Lord for forgiveness right after it “ no one’s spoken to me like that in a long time and…and I wish they had. I want to be told I’m beautiful again. I want to be kissed. I want I want…I want a lot of things “ 
Maybe Arthur was a stupid, idiotic fool. Maybe too many gunshot wounds and bumps to the head had finally caught up to him. Maybe he too wanted to act on his ever growing annoyance with how Dutch was behaving. But he found himself reaching out, fingers tucking under your chin to turn your face to look at him. Your eyes were so beautiful up close. Practically sparkling in the moonlight.
Oh he was such a fool. 
“ could’a jus’ asked “ a small smile tugged at your lips and you laughed a little. 
“ Yeah. Of course. Because you’d have said yes Arthur? “ he shrugged. He didn’t know if he would’ve actually. But now the thought was in his head “ alright “ you whispered and shuffled a little closer to him “ indulge me “ 
His thumb was absentmindedly brushing over your jaw, looking at you in the light of the moon and wondering how on earth Dutch wasn’t constantly begging for your attention. If he had a woman like you constantly hanging off his every word he wouldn’t know how to act. Would be like a mangy dog trailing around after you for food.  
“ I might’ve “ you gave a roll of your eyes but you were smiling still, a beautiful, tempting smile.
You were a temptress. A siren. Luring him in with your beauty to do something terrible. And you were vulnerable. Sad and seeking appreciation. And he was truly debating it. 
“ Well…“ you started quietly, looking up at him through your long lashes in a way that made his chest go tight “ there is… still time for you to say yes “ 
“ we ain’t gonna tell no one bout this y’hear? This it’s… it’s jus’ between me and you. Okay? “ your eyebrows furrowed for a second looking up at him intently, as if trying to figure out if he was joking or not. If he was serious. He wasn’t entirely sure himself, needed you to agree or disagree to put the thought to rest.  His thumb continued to brush along your jaw tenderly and your eyes fell closed for a moment. 
How long had it been since someone had touched you with such care? That something as simple as that seemed to mean so much to you. 
“ I understand “ you whispered, eyes flickering down to his lips again. He pulled you in close, barely an inch between your lips and then spoke again “ you’ll give me what I want? Don’t treat me like him “ 
“ Anythin’ ya want. You got it. I’ll give ya what you deserve “ you let a shuddering breath escape and gave a small nod before closing the gap between you both again. 
He hadn’t kissed anyone in a while, but he sure found his footing quickly. You kissed him like he was your source of air, climbing your way into his lap and slipping your hands into his hair. You tasted of cigarette smoke and something almost sweet. Whatever it was, it was an intoxicating mix. You were like a siren singing your call in his ear, drawing him in and taking him for your own. The weight of you in his lap was almost familiar, welcoming. Just… nice. 
He had almost forgotten just how fun it was to kiss a woman. How so many men seemed to shun it as boring, pointless- Dutch obviously included. But Arthur had always loved it. Had spent many a night as a youngster sneaking his way into Mary’s room just to kiss her. To spend hours kissing and talking and kissing some more. 
Kissing you was something else. Addictive. Intoxicating. 
Eventually he had to pull away, his lungs screaming at him for air. Your hands slipped out from his hair and down to grasp at the collar of his shirt, resting your forehead on his. 
“ Anything I want you say? “ you asked quietly, breathless. 
“ Anythin’ “ you smiled and lifted your head, a quiet determination settling over you. Your lipstick had smeared and he wondered how much of it was now on his own face. 
“ okay… undress me then “ you softly commanded, shifting slightly in his lap “ please. Dutch never- he makes me do it myself, barely even looks I- Please “ 
He almost laughed to himself about now he immediately thought getting you naked was entirely too risky. As if the entire situation alone wasn’t risky anyway. But he didn’t want to think too hard about that, instead simply channelled his recent annoyance towards Dutch into his actions. Tried to tell himself he was doing a good thing, taking care of you. 
You watched his face carefully as he gently untucked your shirt from where it was tucked into your skirt, some silky soft thing that probably cost more than everything he owned in his clothing trunk put together. He undid every pearl button slowly, eyes darting up to your face as he did. Your chest was heaving in long, heavy breaths. You were nervous. Or excited. He couldn’t tell which. 
You shivered lightly when he pushed it from your shoulders, now only the soft cotton of your chemise between his hands and your chest. Your nipples had hardened, from the slight night chill or lust he couldn’t say. But he found himself unable to resist the sight, leaning forward and capturing one between his lips through the cotton. You gasped softly, a sound so beautiful it made him groan. You sounded delicate. Innocent. You’d never made such sounds when he’d overheard you with Dutch. In fact a majority of the time you almost sounded in pain. 
But this sound wasn’t that. This sound was beautiful. And he wanted to hear more. One hand pushed at your back to bring you closer, the other palmed at your neglected breast in hopes you’d make the sound again. And you did. Gentle, soft gasps as his tongue dampened the material of your chemise, teeth tugging at you gently through the material. Your hand found his hair again, raking your fingers through it and arching your back into his touch. 
He couldn’t imagine why Dutch had never wanted to do such a thing. How could he not want to hear you make those pretty pretty sounds? How could he not want to feel you writhing in his lap and yearning to be touched. Maybe Dutch was more of a fool than he had originally thought. 
“ Need you to touch me- properly I- take this off “ your sentence was choppy, like you weren’t focussed enough to truly articulate the words you wanted to say. But he understood, pulling your chemise over your head and dropping it to land with your shirt. 
He took a moment just to look at you, not even entirely because he knew you’d want him to. Just because he wanted to. He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t wondered what was hiding under your expensive clothes once or twice. How could he not when he had to try sleep through the sounds of you and Dutch of a night. 
“ God damn “ he said softly, hands soothing over your waist as you basked in his admiring stare, taking in the feeling of finally being looked at. Properly. 
“ like what you see Mr Morgan “ you asked, voice sultry and low in a way that made his cock twitch in his pants. 
“ Dutch is a damn fool “ is all he could say, leaning forward to kiss you again, his hands moving to grab at your chest. You moaned into the kiss as he squeezed and massaged your breasts with his large hands, seizing the opportunity to dip his tongue into the warmth of your mouth. Your fingers in his hair, twisting strands around your fingers and tugging lightly. He felt like he was on cloud nine. Certain he’d somehow taken a stumble through the veil and ended up at heaven's gates. 
He wasn’t a particularly religious man, but the way he was prepared to worship and praise you could truly be considered blasphemous. 
He couldn’t resist the temptation of getting his mouth on you again much longer, dragging his lips from yours and wrapping them around a pebbled nipple instead. You rolled your hips against him, those beautiful soft moans still falling past your lips. This was what you had wanted from him. To be worshipped. To be looked at as the beautiful temptress of a woman you were. And not merely glanced at and then used like some two dollar whore in a saloon. 
He wanted to nip at your skin, bite and soothe it with his tongue. But he knew he couldn’t. Couldn’t risk Dutch seeing it if he felt the need to stop ignoring you for a short while for his own needs. But oh how he wanted to. To mark up your smooth skin with reminders that you were desired. That you could look at as they faded and be reminded that you were wanted. 
“ I need more “ you whispered “ Arthur please. Give me more “ another roll of your hips followed by a small whimper told him enough. 
“ I know I got ya “ he murmured against your skin, pressing kisses up your sternum and your neck. Nose brushing at the underside of your jaw and working his way back to your lips again “ stand up. Lemme get you out of these damn clothes “ he caught the smile on your face as you stood up, he stayed seated and ran his hands over the fabric covering your hips. Something seemed to blaze in your eyes as you looked down on him. He realised it was most probably you that was usually being leered down on, but not now. 
Not with him. Not with Arthur. Arthur looked up at you like the goddess you were, looked up at you with what he knew was a silent pleading in his eyes. Dutch would never ask he knew it. Dutch took. Stole. Used. Arthur didn’t. Wouldn’t. 
“ I like how you look at me “ you said quietly, hand soothing over his hair “ you make me feel beautiful “
“ Cause y’are “ he murmured, hands reaching to the ties of your skirt. He wanted to see more. Wanted to see all of you. 
You helped him with the slightly tedious task of getting your skirts and undergarments off, but all so slowly. Taking his time. Making sure he appreciated every single layer of clothing you removed for him, right down to unlacing your boots and holding your leg gently to help you out of them. Until you stood there as naked as the day you were born, illuminated by the moonlight on the water. 
“ well ain’t you a sight “
Your skin was so smooth. Soft. Not a single scar that he could see. The skin of a woman who had never had to lift a finger. Had never known the hardships that he had. The only true blemish on your skin was the almost completely faded bruises on your hips. Fingertips. Dutch. 
He soothed his hands up your legs, pressing soft kisses to the pillowy flesh of your thighs as he went, and stopped as he reached them. 
“ He can be a little rough. It’s how he likes it “ you answered before he could even ask. Arthur too had been known to have his rougher moments. But he could never hurt you. Never mark you in anyway other than that of affection and care. 
“ I ain’t like that “ 
“ I know. That’s why I want you “ he pulled you back down into his lap, his large hands splaying over your hips as he took yet another moment just to look. To admire. To thank whatever stupid damn God may exist for placing such a heavenly body in his presence “ I feel a little like the odd one out here though “ you said with a small smile, tracing a finger down from the open top buttons of his shirt to his pants. 
He’d been far too occupied with you to even really notice the fact that he was ridiculously overdressed in comparison. 
“ Can’t have that now can we darlin’ “ your smile grew and you made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders with a gentle sigh. You ran your fingers through the hair on his chest, nails scratching lightly at his skin and peppering lipstick stained kisses as you went. Littering his collarbones, his sternum.
“ much better “ your hands kept roaming and your lips kept kissing. Hands seemingly wanting to touch him all, scratching lightly up his sides and over his waist, his stomach and his ribs. Slowly moving to slide over his shoulders and loop around his neck. You rolled your hips against him again and whined softly. He was so hard it was growing painful as he stayed restrained by his pants. But he wasn’t selfish. Not like Dutch. And he wasn’t about to seek out any form of pleasure himself until he had you seeing the stars you deserved. 
“ tell me what y’want “ he murmured, peppering soft kisses across your jaw. 
“ touch me “ you sighed blissfully “ please touch me “ 
His hand slipped down in between your bodies, brushing past the soft curls between your legs and couldn’t contain the groan of a sound that left him when he felt how warm and wet you were. 
“ Christ “ he muttered as your head dropped to his shoulder with a shuddering breath “ he ever touch you like this? “ he asked lowly, already knowing the answer. Why would he? He didn’t get anything out of it. 
But Arthur did. Oh Arthur did. 
“ no “ you whispered “ no never…please. More “ he tested the waters, pressing lightly against your clit and revelling in the squeak of a sound that it caused you to make. 
“ or like this? " You shook your head again, breathing shakily as he dragged his finger through the wetness and drew light circles around your entrance. 
“ Arthur “ you moaned his name in the most delicious way as he pushed his finger inside, burying it to the knuckle 
“ yeah and what about this darlin? “ he again knew the answer. Dutch didn’t care about your pleasure. Didn’t care about wasting time on something as simple as making you whimper and whine for more “ he touch you like this? “ 
“ no “ 
“ think ya can take one more for me? “ you nodded again and he withdrew his finger, gathering your slick on his other before pushing them both past the resistance of your entrance “ that’a girl “ he pumped his fingers in and out steadily, curling and probing at your velvety soft walls to test what you liked. 
“ This is so… oh god. This isn’t proper at all “ you laughed slightly, melting into a soft moan. Arthur chuckled, lifting your face up so you’d look at him. 
“ Ain’t proper at all? It’s damn right filthy darlin” your cheeks were aflame and you closed your eyes for a moment, grinding yourself against his hand “ look at ya. Drippin all over ma fingers like that. Ain’t proper. Not one bit “ you smiled, a cheeky, devious smile that made him lean forward and kiss you again. 
You were so wet it was obscene. He couldn’t tell where the sounds of you kissing stopped and the sopping sounds of his fingers began. You continued to grind down against his palm, practically riding his fingers, his whole hand wet and sticky with you. 
And he wanted to taste it. To taste you. To flood his mouth with the slick, liquid gold covering his fingers. It was an almost primal desire, like a desperation as strong as needing air. He needed to. He had to. 
“ Darlin’ “ he murmured, lifting your head from where it had fallen to his neck again “ gotta let me taste you. You gotta “ the look on your face only made him want it more. Your skin flushed and eyes blown out with nothing but pure lust and desire. He’d never needed anything more. Nothing else mattered, not the painful hardness in his pants, not the realisation that you were very much Dutch’s girl. He didn’t care about any of that. He just needed to be between your thighs. 
“ really? No one’s ever- oh god. Yes. Yes. Please Arthur “ he withdrew his fingers making you whimper and quickly grabbed his discarded shirt and lay it down on the ground. Then he kissed you again as he wrapped his arms around your waist, gently turning you to lay back on the shirt. It still couldn’t have been particularly comfortable. But you didn’t seem to mind, tugging at his hair and lifting your hips up against him as he hovered over you. 
He took his time moving down. Leaving a long and slow trail of hot, wet, kisses on your skin. You writhed underneath him, whining softly and twisting your hands in his shirt underneath you. He took extra time with your thighs. Kissing up from the inside of your knee and stopping before he could place his mouth where he really wanted to, then repeating with the other. 
“ Arthur “ you whined, still squirming around and desperate. 
“ I know. I got ya. Gonna make those pretty sounds for me again yeah? "You nodded, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him as his head sank lower, spreading your legs wider to give him full access to the centre of you “ that’s a good girl “ he spread you open with his fingers, in awe of the way you parted for him. Like petals on a flower, dripping with the morning dew. 
But you were far more delectable. A forbidden fruit begging to be tasted. 
And oh was it pretty. Even in the dark, in nothing but the light of the moon on the water, it was pretty. Begging to be tasted, touched. Admired. 
The sound you made as he dragged his tongue from your weeping hole to your clit was like music to his ears. He didn’t know how he managed to not come in his pants just at the sound of it. 
You still kept it quiet, but loud enough for him. 
His own, deep, guttural moan escaped from his chest as he licked again. Your taste flooding his mouth in a way so so much better than he could’ve imagined. 
He ate you like he was starved. Like a savage predator that hadn’t seen meat for days, like a man ready for the gallows enjoying his last meal. His arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping your legs apart for him as you bucked and squirmed against his face. It was visceral. Carnal. You made him feel like his grip on his own composure and control was weaker than ever, that he was holding on to it with nothing but his fingertips. 
“ Arthur “ he dipped his tongue into the welcoming warmth of your cunt, his eyes falling closed for a moment as he felt you clench around him, desperate for more. Desperate for him. And he would give you more, would give you anything you asked of him. But not until he made you come first. 
He let go of one of your legs and brought his fingers back to their previous position, wanting to feel you again. To be inside of you, as close as he could get. To make you see stars. 
The flat of his tongue found your clit again, certain he could feel you pulsing against him. Desperate and full of desire for him. He felt honoured, privileged. That you were so loyal to Dutch, glued to his side. Never even batting an eye at anyone else. And yet you had broken that for him. Had sought him out because you knew he would treat you well. 
Your back arched off the ground as he sunk them back into you, slipping in with a welcome ease. His thick fingers pumped into you at a steady pace, his tongue diverting all its attention to your clit. Lapping and sucking and letting you press his face harder against you as you tugged on his hair. 
“ don’t stop please dont- Arthur “ he had no intentions of stopping, none at all. In fact he simply honed in on his ministrations, working harder to push you closer and closer to the edge of the orgasm he knew you had been craving for weeks. 
“ Not gonna stop darlin. Ain’t stopping until you come for me. Taste so good, so good “ he murmured against you, curling his fingers and hitting a spot that made you gasp and your body shudder “ there we go, right there “ 
He flicked his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves, looking at you as best he could to gauge your reaction. You were pulling a little painfully at his hair, squirming and rolling your hips against his face. He let you do it. Let you be the one using a man for your pleasure, rather than being the one used for once. 
Your sounds were sinful. Melodic. He took it all in. Basked in the noises you made for him, the delicious taste of you on his tongue, drunk on you. On your taste. Your smell. 
“ Arthur- Arthur please I- “ you babbled, a slightly smug smile working its way onto his face as he watched your prim and proper facade melt away “ don’t stop “ 
He hummed an assurance that he wouldn’t, your hips bucking against his face as he did. You were so unbelievably wet, dripping out around his fingers and soaking the hair of his beard. He would never have thought it of you. The way you held yourself around camp, so poised and prim. The accent when you spoke that made everyone else around you sound so common. And yet there you were. On your back in the woods, chasing an orgasm being offered to you by an outlaw. Repeating his name like a mantra. 
And not even that of the outlaw you were in love with.
“ Arthur- “
Only seconds later it happened. You held a hand over your mouth as your orgasm hit you, muffling your choked moans, back arching off the ground and walls clamping down on his fingers as he worked you through it. Tongue still working diligently at your clit until you pushed your hand at his head, squirming away a little. 
He almost didn’t want to stop. Could’ve happily stayed there a while longer, but moved back, an obscene wet sound in the late night silence as he withdrew his fingers. 
He took his fingers to his mouth, sucking the remnants of your climax onto his tongue. Unable to control himself. You watched him do it, mouth slightly agape and eyes half open with some desperate undeniable look of utter desire. He could almost see the way it made you feel, could see you unable to contain the overwhelming feeling of realising you were desired. Wanted. 
“ God. You are unbelievable “ you whispered, pushing yourself up onto your elbows and grabbing at his arm. Your fingers looped around his wrist and tugged his hand towards your own mouth. He shook his head with a chuckle, slightly in awe as you took those same two fingers between your red lips. 
Your tongue swirled between his digits, plush lips wrapping around them and sucking. Your eyes locked on his as you did. It made his cock ache. He wanted your lips on him, wanted your tongue swirling around his length and milking him dry. He could imagine it if he thought hard enough. The way you hummed slightly in appreciation as you sucked his fingers clean, sent vibrations straight through his bones. Rattling him to the core. But he would never ask that of you. But the thought was one he would hold onto. It made him shift slightly. 
“ you ain’t so prim and proper lady “ he murmured as he withdrew his fingers, a string of saliva connecting his fingertips and your lips “ This ain’t very proper of you miss “ Arthur said with a small smile, teasing “ rollin’ around in the dirt with the likes of me “ 
“ Oh to hell with being proper if it means I get to feel like this “ you said with a small laugh and he kissed you again for what felt like the millionth time. He wondered if you could taste yourself on his lips, smell the heady delicious smell of you on his beard.
He would’ve been more than happy to leave it at that. No matter how badly he wanted to sheath himself inside you and stay there for eternity. His goal had been your pleasure and he had achieved it. 
But as he kissed you your hands began working at the buckle of his gun belt, opening it with a skilled ease that made him pull back. 
“ Darlin’ you ain’t gotta do that- “
“ shush “ you pushed at him lightly so you could sit up and went to work on the buttons on his pants next “ I want to. I- Arthur take them off “ he made far quicker work of his own clothes than he had of yours and you leant back on your elbows to watch him. 
You looked like a pinup girl. Like something he’d seen drawn come to life. Your eyes seemed hungry as you looked at him, dragging down his body and lingering on his rock hard cock. He was practically throbbing with want, the tip an angry shade of pink and leaking precum slightly embarrassingly “ come here. Please. Back down here “ 
He did as he was asked, crawling back over your body as you eyed him greedily. 
“ We really don’t…I mean, If y’don’t wanna- “ his words stuck in his throat as your fingers wrapped around the length of him with a small sigh. 
“ I want you to I just…can I ask one thing? “ he couldn’t get the word yes to escape his mouth, your fingers squeezing him softly in a way that made him see flashes of white in his vision. So he simply nodded “ don’t fuck me. Dutch fucks me, make love to me “ you seemed a little embarrassed at the request. But he didn’t think it was embarrassing. In fact he had had no plans to use you as brutally as Dutch. He was almost a little offended you thought he might. 
“ Told you, anythin’ you want. You got it “ you smiled softly and pressed another kiss to his lips before laying back down again. He positioned himself over you, caging your head in between his arms. And it truly was incredibly intimate. He wondered when the last time you had had such intimacy was. If you’d ever received such a thing from Dutch. 
He spat on his hand and grabbed a hold of his sensitive cock, stroking himself a couple of times to get himself slick. Not that he really needed to, you were already wetter than he’d ever known a woman to be. But the last thing he wanted was your discomfort. He lined himself up with you, eyes trained on your face as he dragged his weeping tip between your folds. You gasped as he caught your clit, still sensitive and alert from your first orgasm. 
“ Arthur please “ you whimpered rolling your hips up against him, so desperate to have him inside of you. 
“ So God damn wet for me “ he murmured “ such a good girl ain’t ya? “ you whined in answer, fingers wrapping around what you could of his bicep and digging your perfectly trimmed nails into his skin “ gonna make you feel so good I promise darlin’ jus’ like you deserve yeah? “ you whispered out a yes and brought your other hand to the back of his neck. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, still running his cock along the length of your slit. Teasing. 
“ Keep looking at me. Please look at me Arthur “ he continued to do as asked. Again. Though his eyes had barely strayed from your face anyway “ I need you so badly “ Eyes locked on yours, he finally pushed into you, he took it slow. Letting you take it inch by inch, watching the look of ecstasy wash over your face. Your eyes fell closed. 
He fought to retain his own composure, overwhelmed by the tight, wet, warmth of your walls enveloping him. He could feel every unique ridge and bump that made your cunt oh so perfect, feel every muscle stretch and contract as you adjusted to him. 
“ god- oh god “ 
“ shh shh easy there. I got ya “ he paused once he was seated inside of you, grabbing at your hip with one hand to angle your hips better. Allowing you to comfortably take all of him in. He waited, let you adjust to his size, not daring to move before he got the go ahead from you “ there you go, look at you, takin’ all of me like that. So good f’me “ you basked in his praise, a dopey kind of smile spreading across your face.
“ so much bigger than him “ you whispered with a small laugh and Arthur couldn’t help the smug smile on his face. Kissing you and touching you and making you come on his tongue had been one thing. But having you like this? Having his cock buried to the hilt inside of you, so unbelievably close together. And to then be told that? To know he was about to do you better than Dutch ever had. Ever could. It felt like the biggest fuck you to the man that had been not only mistreating him of late, but also the goddess of a woman beneath him “ I’m good. You can move. Please move “ 
He didn’t need telling twice. Pulling out almost completely and thrusting back in in one smooth motion. The pace he fell into was just as you’d asked. Loving. Tender. But hard and deep, making sure his hips were flush with yours with every stroke. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulled his face back down to kiss him again. 
If anyone had spotted you they’d have easily mistaken you both for a lovesick couple having a private moment to yourselves. The entire thing intimate and passionate. No one would assume it was an affair in motion, hidden away in the woods by the shoreline in fear of your lover finding the pair of you there. 
But it was what you wanted. What you had needed. And he felt privileged to provide. 
He pulled back from your lips to watch you again, enthralled by the way your face relaxed and twisted in the pleasure he was providing you. You continued to spill those angelic sounds from your throat, growing breathier and higher pitch as he continued to drag his cock against the sopping, sensitive heat of your cunt. He had to focus hard not to finish in seconds. So much build up paired with being practically celibate for months was truly doing him no favours, but he focussed. He wasn’t letting this end until you came once more. You deserved it. 
“ Keep those pretty eyes on me “ he murmured as they fell closed again “ that’s it darlin’, look at me there ya go “ everytime he spoke the slightest word of praise you practically beamed, so desperate to hear it. To be told you were good. Beautiful. So different to Dutch constantly yelling at you about how annoying you were, how much your mere presence bothered him these days. So he kept it up. 
“ Doin’ so well for me. This pussy it’s perfect, ain’t that right? C’mon tell me “ he urged, still fighting off his ever looming orgasm. The sounds alone was enough to make him want to burst. Sweat slicked skin on skin, the wet sounds of your cunt dripping around the swollen intrusion of him. And those sweet sweet moans of yours. 
“ yes “ you whimpered “ it’s perfect “ 
“ That’s a good girl “ he increased his pace ever so slightly and your hands slipped from his arms to his back, dragging your nails down him to try to pull him impossibly closer to you. 
He moved a hand down between your bodies, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts, grunting and choking back his own moans as you squeezed him. Like your body never wanted him to leave, gripping his cock with your cunt and making it ever more harder to hold back. He couldn’t help but have a look, glancing down to see the way you stretched around him, mesmerised at the way you took him in so deep. 
“ tell me I- oh. Tell me I’m beautiful “ you whimpered, sounding almost like you might cry. From pleasure, from upset. He didn’t know. But he continued to do as asked. 
“ you’re beautiful “ he murmured picking up his pace a little more, his sweat slick skin slapping against yours. He was desperate to see you come again. Wanted to see your face up close this time, watch your eyes roll back and your kiss swollen lips part in ecstasy “ so beautiful darlin. Doin’ so well f’me, takin’ me so well “ 
“ don’t stop, don't stop “ he dropped his head to your neck whispering every word of praise he could think of into your ear, your body arching up against his and whimpering and whining with every word. 
“ ain’t ever looked prettier than this “ he whispered, his own voice becoming breathless with the effort “ shit- look at ya, takin’ my cock so well. So pretty darlin’ “ 
Your second orgasm seemed to shock you as much as him, clawing at his skin to hold him close as your body trembled beneath him, biting at his shoulder to muffle your moans. 
He didn’t mean to finish inside of you, had fully intended to pull out. But the way your cunt had squeezed him, the sounds you had made as he pushed you over the edge for the second time.
He muffled his own groan of pleasure in your neck, fingers digging into the dry earth beneath you, spilling load after load whilst fully sheathed inside of you. His entire body tensed, a pleasure he hadn’t felt in an incredibly long time. His heart was hammering in his chest, blood rushing loudly in his ears as it seemed to drag on forever. 
And then he came to his senses. 
“ m’sorry. Shit. Sorry “ he panted as he tried to compose himself and pushed himself up onto his hands to pull out. But you yanked him back down, arms wrapping around his back again and legs tightening around his waist. 
“ no. Please. Stay. Stay right there. Just a moment would you “ he had come to realise in the past.. how long had you two even been out there? However long it was, he’d come to realise he was terrible at saying no to you. Could never possibly even dream to deny you of anything you wanted from him. And so he slumped back down onto his forearms, dropping his head against your shoulder for a moment. Your chest heaved beneath him and you caught your breath, fingers tracing gentle strokes along his spine. He felt he could stay there for hours. 
“ You doin’ okay? “ he asked, pressing a light kiss to your jaw when he had composed himself a little more. 
“ marvellous Mr Morgan “ you whispered with a small smile “ truly. Marvellous “ he couldn’t help but kiss you again, the long lingering kind meant for two lovers. 
After a few minutes you both finally moved, re dressing in silence and then sitting back in your original position against the tree. He handed you a cigarette, lighting it and placing it between your lips. 
He wondered what he looked like. Wondered what evidence you had left on him. Had he sweated off the lipstick prints on his chest or were they still there? He knew you had scratched his back up good and proper and would have that reminder there for a few days at least. 
“ Thank you. Mr Morgan '' you said quietly after a few silent moments of smoking, blowing out a long stream of smoke “ I mean it I- i'm not sure what I’m supposed to say “ 
“ Don’t say anythin’ “ he said with a small wave of his hand, appearing as blaise as he possibly could but in reality knowing he wasn’t about to forget that night anytime soon “ its fine. Really. Anytime y’need me, for anythin’, you know where I’ll be “ you smiled and he watched your body relax a little more. 
“ you know, i might just take you up on that “ 
He sincerely hoped you would. 
Tumblr media
3K notes · View notes
boneblushed · 3 months ago
Text
And, boy, you got her
Tumblr media
synopsis Rafe’s in charge of the pledges during Rush Week. Hazing isn’t a thing. Making you feel so high school is.
wc 3.6K
a/n omgggg Euro Trip Rafe <3333 I was living on pledgetok last week and just couldn’t not write something about it
“Holy shit,” Noah mutters, surveying the crowd over his red cup, “I swear they get scrawnier every single year.”
Rafe nods gravely, taking a pull of his beer. “It’s fucking grim.”
“Like — fuck, look at those two.” Noah gestures toward the shaded veranda, a fresh coat of gloss making its balustrades shine. Huddled in one corner, attempting to take up as little space as possible, two boys donning UNC merch survey the crowd in tandem. “We weren’t that fucking scraggy as freshman, were we?”
“You two weren’t,” Kelce snorts, coming up behind them. Topper brings up his rear, mid-bite of his loaded hotdog. “Thornton definitely was though.”
“Oi!” Topper protests, his words garbled by half chewed sausage. “S’wasn’t that bad. C’mon.” He turns to Rafe then, swallowing his mouthful. “But seriously, you locked in any potentials?”
Rafe furrows his brow thoughtfully, looking back over Delta Chi’s yard. Unsurprisingly, it’s far too early to say. Though the barbecue that they’re hosting is a good way for pledges to mingle, it isn’t exactly hazing material; they’re going to have to get creative.
“Maybe,” he replies finally, shrugging. “We’ll just have to see I guess.”
He tips back his red cup again, swallowing the last dregs of beer before acquiescing. As he’s about to announce his need for a refill, a few pledges sidle up to their group, looking hopeful.
Not overtly, of course. Painstakingly hiding their eagerness behind an armour of insouciance.
“Rafe,” the tallest of the three greets, handing him another red cup. The golden liquid inside it brims to the surface, its white foam dissolving in mocking. “Hey, bro. You need another?”
Rafe raises his eyebrows, hiding a grin. “Shit. Table service already?”
The boy grins in tandem, looking a little sheepish. “Big fan, man. I’m Dylan.” He motions at the two guys on either side of him, wearing matching squints and backwards caps. “This is Rahul and Xav, we’re all here from Trinity.”
“Durham and Chapel Hill?” Noah enquires, whistling approvingly when they nod. “Fuck, we used to love having away games there. Those Trin cheerleaders…”
“Haha, shit, what was that chic’s name again?” Rafe asks then, a pull of mirth as he turns to Noah. “The one you messed around with in junior year?”
“Blake,” Noah answers, groaning in a mock-wistful sort of way. “They didn’t make ‘em like her at the Academy.”
Rafe snorts, sending the pledges a sage glance. “Nah. They made ‘em better.”
Noah raises his eyebrows, his brown eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, so we are allowed to objectify your girl then, Cameron?”
“Damn, so you’re tied down?” Xavier pipes up, his voice gravelly and low on purpose. Overtly masculine, like he’s trying hard to be red-blooded. “Your girl doesn’t mind you partying?”
Rafe frowns. “Why would she mind?”
“Uh,” Xavier balks, pulling at the bill of his backwards cap, “shit. I don’t know… like, doesn’t she get pissed that you’re constantly around sorority girls?”
“HA —” Topper laughs, and then he falters, thwarted by Rafe’s warning glower. “Uh.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Let’s just say Cameron doesn’t give her any reasons to be suspicious.”
“Because he’s obsessed with her,” Noah adds, unperturbed by Rafe’s expression. He pauses then, an amusing idea popping into his head. “Which means…” he continues, returning Rafe’s glare with a trust me one of his own, “you guys should be too.”
Rafe doesn’t trust him. Like, at all. He sends him a bewildered look, unsure where he’s going with this. “White — what?”
Noah ignores him. He downs his beer and crushes the red cup in his hand, deftly aiming it at the nearest bag of trash. “So,” he says, eyeing the three pledges with interest. “How serious are you guys about rushing Delt?”
“Pretty serious, bro,” Rahul answers, looking to his friends for support. “Think we got a shot?”
Noah throws his arm around Rafe’s neck, his strong bicep taut as he shoots them a grin. “Depends, man, I might know how we could figure that out though.” He begins to steer Rafe away from them, sending one last, faux-somber look over his shoulder. “Be right back, yeah?”
Rafe, whose bewilderment is quickly giving way curiosity, allows himself to be marshalled out of earshot without complaints.
He shrugs Noah off of him once they’re on the verandah, his features ever-bemused as he turns toward him. “The fuck was that about?”
“Bro, I know exactly how we’re going to haze these motherfuckers,” Noah replies, his voice lilted with mirth. “You know… without breaking any rules.”
The bewildered expression on Rafe’s face doesn’t acquiesce. “Okay… how?”
“Instead of getting them to be our bitches,” he answers, a mischievous grin making home on his features. “We’re going to get them to be our girlfriends’ bitches.”
Rafe frowns. “Bro. What?”
“Cameron, it’s perfect.” He swipes Rafe’s beer from his hand and takes a generous pull. “What do frat guys hate more than being called scrawny as fuck?”
“Uh. Doing assignments?” Rafe answers blankly, still frowning. He doesn’t have it in him to think too hard about Noah’s profferance. He’s on hour two of manning this boring event, hour four since he bid you farewell, and all Rafe can bear to think about right now is the imminent taste of your peach-scented lips.
Noah shakes his head. “No, dumbass. Being called a simp.”
“Wrong,” Rafe answers, “I don’t mind that shit at all.”
“You’re the exception,” Noah replies matter-of-factly. “You and Y/N have always been the exception. C’mon, I’m talking about us,” he places his palm over his breastbone solemnly, “mere mortals.”
Rafe narrows his eyes. “Fuck off. How would that even work?”
“We…” Noah pauses to think, a slightly furrow to his brow, “alright, I got it. We assign the pledges to our girlfriends, one by one. Give them a week to make a good impression — you know, carry their bags, buy them flowers, all that sentimental crap you love.”
“You really think the guys’ll agree to this?” Rafe asks, sounding reluctant. “I mean… I don’t know if I’m alright with a bunch of idiots holding doors for my girl.”
“But you’re an idiot that holds a door for your girl,” Noah answers, not missing a beat.
“Fuck off, White.”
“I’m serious. It’ll be funny. And look… if you’re worried about Y/N, I know she’ll find it adorable as fuck.”
Rafe shakes his head. “No way. She didn’t find high-school me adorable.”
Noah raises his eyebrows skeptically. “You’d be surprised, man. Besides, these guys aren’t going to be like high-school you. High-school you was a douchebag.”
“A douchebag who got the girl.”
“A douchebag who got the girl after he stopped acting like a douchebag.” Noah smirks then. “A douchebag who’d give all these fuckers a run for their money if he was pledging Delt this year.”
Rafe grins in tandem, stealing his beer back to take a big swig. “Alright, shit, alright. Harmless shit though, right? Chivalry and all that?”
“Harmless as hell,” Noah agrees. “C’mon. You really think any of these guys has the balls to make a pass at one of our girls?”
“Easy for you to say, White. You don’t fucking have a girl.”
Noah frowns. “What d’you mean? Aren’t we going halves on Y/N?”
“Holy fuck, Noah,” Rafe groans, almost spitting out his mouthful of beer. “If Y/N heard the shit you said when she wasn’t around, she’d probably kill you.”
“Nah,” Noah replies, seemingly unperturbed. “She loves me.”
“Well,” Rafe says grimly, crushing his own empty cup in his head. “She might do now, but she sure as hell won’t by the end of this week.”
The first time it happens, you’re understandably perplexed.
You’re en-route to your 9AM, bag strap denting your left shoulder, when a stranger falls into your step and swipes it from your figure. It’s a motion so quick and deft you initially think you’re getting mugged.
As you double back in bewilderment, he proffers, “you alright with this?”
“Uh.” You balk. “What?”
“Your bag,” he answers, readjusting it on his own shoulder. He seems earnest. Nervous, even. “It looked heavy. I can carry it to class for you, if you want?”
You allow a pause to take him in.
“No, I’m…” another pause, more of his demeanour on display. Backwards cap, crisp white polo shirt, smile lines exposing the ghost of a grin on his face. A familiar grin, the kind that pulls a soft, maudlin feeling from your ribcage. “Look, if you’re trying to hit on me —”
“No, no,” he interrupts quickly, his eyes widening in a panic. “Shit — no, don’t tell Cameron I’m hitting on you. I’m just…”
“Wait a minute,” your eyes narrow accusatorially, because of course he’s behind this chivalrous display, “you know my boyfriend?”
The stranger grimaces sheepishly. “Uh. Yeah.”
“Explain.”
“It’s… uh… well — basically, I’m pledging Delt,” he answers haltingly, self effacement juxtaposing his frat boy exterior. “Rafe’s asked us to be all gentlemanly and shit for pledge week, I don’t know. To you guys, I mean. Like… the current frat member’s girls?”
“Oh my god,” you groan. “No he hasn’t.”
“Shit.” He looks far more nervous now that he did five minutes ago. “He didn’t tell you?”
“No,” you grumble, pulling your phone out of your pocket. “No he did not.”
Rafe’s on speed dial. He picks up on the first ring, the way he always does for you.
“Hey baby,” his gravelly timbre crackles through the phone, the low hum of frat house chatter audible in the background. “What’s up?”
“Don’t even. You know what’s up Rafael.”
A pause. When Rafe speaks again, his voice is quick and placating. “It was Noah’s idea.”
“Of course it was.”
“Dylan’s not playing up, is he?”
You raise your eyebrows at the stranger then, assessing him faux-suspiciously. “No way. He’s doing a better job than you ever did in high school.”
“Woah woah woah,” Rafe replies, a playful lilt to his tone. “That fucker’s not calling you dream girl or something, is he?”
“Worse. He’s being respectful of my boundaries.”
“Oh shit. I fucking knew this was a bad idea.”
You shake your head in exasperation, trying not to laugh. The poor stranger’s still standing there at attention, your leather bag looking ridiculous on his arm. “Rafe. Tell me he’s the only one.”
“He’s one…” Rafe starts slowly, sounding sheepish, “of three. Four, counting me.” In the background, you hear Noah pipe up and add, “five, Cameron. How could you forget me?”
“You’re un-fucking-believable, Noah White,” you shout through the phone.
“I love you too, Y/N,” Noah sings, and then he groans, no doubt shoved to the side by his indignant best friend. It’s Rafe on the phone again, voice sweet and thick as molasses as he says, “they’ll behave, baby, and make your life easier in the process. I promise.”
“What?” You accuse, fighting back a smile. “Like you did in high school?”
“Fuck no,” he replies, the grin on his face audible. “They’ll be nothing like I was, sweetheart.”
“What?” You tease. “Absolutely insufferable?”
“And absolutely in love with you.”
You raise your eyebrows. “How can you be so sure?”
“They’re under strict instruction. Have a shiner waiting for them if they pull something funny.”
Another exasperated laugh bubbles out of you, and you begin walking forward again, motioning at the boy named Dylan to follow in your step. “Right. So the boundaries are on purpose, are they?”
“The respect, too. No being inappropriate and charming at the same time.”
“And why not?” You ask faux-indignantly. “What if I like being objectified?”
“Can’t have you falling in love with them, can I?”
“Hey,” you argue, frowning stubbornly. “That is not what made me fall in love with you.”
“It isn’t?”
“Well,” you balk, “not solely that.”
“You’re fucking sexy,” he recites devotedly, almost yells, and you can hear the collective groan of his frat brothers in the background. “Are you wearing those Lululemon pants right now? Point is, I’m thinking about your ass in those Lululemon pants right now.”
“Rafe, I was fucking kidding. Stop.”
“No you weren’t.” You know he’s right; you can picture that stupid smirk on his face. It makes your cheeks warm. Asshole. “You’re blushing now, aren’t you?”
“Anyway.”
“Anyway,” Rafe agrees. “No funny business, alright? Just lots of good deeds.”
Good deeds. You suppose you could get used to good deeds, the embarrassment of attention notwithstanding.
You let out a defeated sigh, halting in front of your 9AM class. “You so, so owe me.”
“I so, so love you,” Rafe replies, and it makes your pulse leap; you’ll never get used to this feeling. “See you later, yeah?”
“Uh huh. Love you.”
Dylan waits until you’ve ended the call before saying farewell, dutifully handing your leather bag back to you and giving you a mock salute. The way he does it, all sheepish and genuine with a charming smile on his face, makes your heart twinge in a junior year of high-school sort of way. You’re feeling sentimental. It’s sweet.
You’re reminded of Rafe before he was yours, stumbling over himself to win your favour. Confusing chivalry with courting, objectifying you in the name of flirting.
Insufferable, but sweet nonetheless. You digress.
The next time it happens, you’re ambushed at your favourite cafe.
A dutiful Delta Phi pledge has already queued up and purchased you coffee, handing it over to you with a blushing bouquet of tulips.
You raise your eyebrows at him questioningly. “Is that…?”
“Uh, an oat iced coffee with vanilla?” He asks, sounding nervous. “I asked Cameron for your order.”
“Didn’t ask me about pastries, though,” a voice behind you adds, rough and familiar with a sweetness around the edges. Rafe circles your waist with ease and pulls you into his chest, sponging a soft kiss to your temple before handing you a brown bag.
A glossy, Daily Bread sticker shines on its exterior proudly.
Your eyes widen in surprise, and you look up at him expectantly. “Tell me you didn’t drive back home for a single croissant.”
“I didn’t drive back home for a single croissant,” Rafe replies. He grins then, looking that same, sheepish genuine that pulls a maudlin feeling. “I drove back home for twenty.”
“Rafe. Why?”
“Because you like Daily Bread,” he replies matter-of-factly, like it’s obvious.
You shake your head in exasperation, tip-toeing up to press a quick kiss to his lips. It becomes less quick against better judgement. He tastes like spearmint gum and cold brew, the hand he has held to your waist tightening ever so slightly. Slipping under your shirt, massaging the soft skin he finds there expertly, discreetly. Too much for 8am on a Wednesday morning, sans coffee. Your face feels on fire. You pull away in a hurry.
Meanwhile, the freshman pledge balks at the exchange, looking out of place.
Rafe frowns bemusedly at your diffidence, only clocking the reason when you nod over at him.
“I’ll walk her over Ben,” he says, dismissing him. “You’re off the hook, bro.”
“Shit.” The boy named Ben grimaces; he needs to get his hours in, and doesn’t deem this a fair ambush. He scrambles for an excuse. “Right. Can I still give her the flowers?”
“Of course you can,” you beam, accepting them gratefully. You look up at Rafe then, asking, “And if I want to walk with Benjamin?”
Rafe grins down at you, disbelieving. “Do you, baby?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” you say, wriggling out of his grasp. “He got me flowers.”
Rafe falters, his eyes widening in surprise. “Sweetheart, I got you a croissant.”
“Ben got me a coffee,” you hedge. “And flowers.”
“Y/N,” he placates.
“Rafael,” you echo, unperturbed by his exasperation. You take a sip your coffee. “I’ll see you later, okay? Ben’s ticking off a good deed this morning.”
Poor Ben looks helpless, taking the brunt of Rafe’s glare as you motion for him to hold the door for you.
“C’mon Ben, we’re going to be late.”
“But…” Ben pauses, his eyes flitting to Rafe nervously. “This is fine, right?”
Rafe sighs, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth in defeat. “Yeah, bro. You’re good.” He looks to you, then. “You’re unbelievable.”
You smile sweetly. “I’m wearing the Lulu leggings.”
“Oh I noticed,” Rafe replies, his blue eyes falling down your figure in slow, reverent paces. “It’s why I want to be the one holding the door for you.”
You roll your eyes. “Men only want one thing.”
Rafe grins. “Yeah. You.”
By the end of the week, you’re more used to the chivalry than you’re willing to admit.
You’ve enjoyed free iced lattes and filled your dorm with gorgeous bouquets, no door left unopened and no walk to class left unescorted. And really, every pledge you’ve come across has been pleasant and unassuming, albeit absolutely terrified of Rafe and therefore extra obliging on instinct.
They’ve even offered to do favours for you, got you into sought after Pilates classes and done last minute grocery runs on your behalf. It’s put you in this constant state of mild exasperation, like you can’t believe you’re worthy of this much love and chivalry.
It’s exactly the way you felt back in high-school with Rafe, and this revelation pulls lots of funny feelings from your stomach, from your chest. Feelings you’ve forgotten that are all yours and all his. Because it’s strange, having someone other than Rafe taking care of you. (Or Noah.) It’s strange because it makes you realise just how much he adored you back in the day.
These emotions come to a head at the pledge week closing bash, Delta Phi lit up with fluorescent lights in technicolour. Inebriation ensues, beer pong follows, and an impromptu DJ deck plays endless songs with heavy bass.
Rafe Cameron has you pulled close, as always, the taut muscle of his forearm pressing heat to your exposed waist. You’re a few drinks down and hyperaware of his proximity, ankles touching, thighs too, torsos close with your head resting on his shoulder.
“I think I like Dylan the best,” you announce suddenly.
“Yeah?” Rafe asks, kneading your skin absentmindedly.
You nod. “He’s sweet. Told me all about his girl back home.”
Rafe grins then, shaking his head bemusedly. “You’re such a sucker for love, sweetheart.”
“Hey!” You glare up at him faux-incensed, looking accusatory. “So are you!”
“Shhhh,” Rafe murmurs playfully. “Not so loud, you’ll fuck up my street cred.”
You scoff. “Since when do you care about street cred?”
“Shit, you’re right,” Rafe agrees easily, leaning down to draw your lips in for a kiss. He’s all patchouli and musk, beer on his tongue and unchaste intentions in his touch. When he pulls away, his lips are still an inch from yours, his voice rougher than it was a second ago, “I don’t care. Like, at fucking all.”
“Good,” Noah snorts from behind him. “‘Cause you never had any to begin with, bro.”
“There you are,” you say then, eyeing Noah over Rafe’s shoulder. There’s a mock accusatory expression on your face, softened by mirth and the alcohol on your lips. “Have you been hiding from me, White?”
Noah grins sheepishly, taking a pull of his beer. “Maybe.”
You narrow your eyes. “Tell me. When did you become worse than Rafael?”
“I didn’t become worse!” Noah insists. “He just became better. You know, after he got the girl.”
You make a face. “Smooth.”
“Hey,” Noah raises his arms in surrender, looking faux-somber, “someone’s gotta teach the next generation, don’t they? I’m committed to their education.” He raises his eyebrows then, a mischievous glint in his eye. “C’mon, don’t act like you didn’t love it.”
Rafe grins. “She totally fucking loved it.”
You aim a glare at the pair of them, failing miserably at hiding your amusement. “So maybe I didn’t mind it. Sue me.”
“Of course you loved it,” Noah says, throwing his arm around you and pulling you into his side. “You love Cameron, don’t you?”
You narrow your eyes. “Opinions vary.”
“You love me?” Noah tries.
“You fucking wish.”
“Everyone fucking wishes,” Rafe says then, throwing his arm around you too, your figure wedged between the pair of them. Frat boy sandwich, you think tiredly. If high-school you could see you now, you’re pretty sure she’d have an aneurysm. “Especially when you’re in Lululemon.”
“Rafe.”
“I’m kidding. Not really. They all love you, you know that, yeah?”
You look up at him questioningly. “The pledges?”
“Uh huh,” Rafe replies, raising his eyebrows at you. “This is what I was afraid of, you know.”
“What?” You ask, lifting yours in tandem.
“Everyone falling in love with you, like I did in high school.”
You scrunch up your nose at him, your cheeks warming in diffidence. “No one’s fallen in love with me, don’t be silly.”
“I have,” Noah pipes up unhelpfully.
“Shut up, Noah. I saw you talking to Georgia just before.”
Noah grins, pulling away and offering you a mock salute. “Guilty as charged.” He turns to survey the crowd, spotting her figure on the fairy-light lit porch. “Speaking of…”
And he’s gone before you’re able to tease him any further, leaving Rafe to guide you out of his side and into his chest. You wrap your arms around his neck, his hands exerting a warm, steady pressure into the curve of your waist.
“As I was saying,” you continue, frowning up at him playfully. “No one’s fallen in love with me.”
Rafe’s unconvinced. His gaze skates down your figure again, a tortured groan falling from his throat. “Have you seen you, sweetheart?”
You roll your eyes, face hot and self conscious. “And even if they have,” you add, “it doesn’t matter.”
Rafe raises his eyebrows. “It doesn’t?”
“No way. Because I’m in love with you, not any of them.”
Rafe grins then, a devastatingly handsome look on his face. “I’ll never get used to hearing that.”
“I’ll never get used to saying it.”
1K notes · View notes
transmunsons · 3 months ago
Text
Steve Harrington had known for a while that he was on thin ice. His parents let him change his hair and clothes and name after a harrowing night that ended with him in a hospital bed.
So he tried to behave. They couldn’t complain as long as he played the perfect son. He did everything right. He excelled at sports, he didn’t make a fuss, he even fell in love with a wonderful girl.
Though, things got a little rocky when his dealer left town and handed things over to the local freak show. When he went to pick up his bottles, Loudmouth Munson tried to get under his skin.
“Y’know I always had a feeling you were doping.” Munson said, leaning against the picnic table.
“Would you just hand it over?” Steve held out his hand for the containers Munson was keeping hostage.
“This is a lot, Harrington, you’d think Hawkins would have actually won a championship by now with you on this stuff.”
Steve resisted the urge to rip it from his hands. Munson grinned an insufferable smile, like he enjoyed how much Steve was glaring at him.
“I’m not taking it because of basketball,” Steve said.
“So why then?”
“I don’t have to tell you shit.”
“Dude,” Munson raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. Call it fair play. Didn’t think you’d be so sensitive about it.”
Steve’s hands were still itching to grab it. Munson seemed to notice how antsy he was, following his anxious gaze flickering between the package and Munson’s face.
“Don’t ya trust me, Harrington?” He said.
“Not even a little,” Steve replied. He felt a tendon jump in his jaw.
“Can’t handle the thought of not having your steroids? Some people actually need these hormones to survive, rich boy.” Munson’s tone switched from teasing to something more somber, or maybe bitter. It was hard for him to tell those things.
Under normal circumstances he would have never said what he ended up saying. Munson had a way of pushing his buttons.
“I need them.” Steve watched an ant crawl around a knot in the wood in front of him. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Nobody in this town would understand.”
Steve looked up at a shocked Eddie Munson and held out a handful of bills. “Give me my drugs, take your money, and don’t tell fucking anybody about this. You got it?”
Eddie didn’t move for a long moment, carefully studying Steve and his outstretched hand. His rings flashed as he pushed the package over to Steve’s side of the table and grabbed the money in one swift movement.
“‘Course, Harrington. You get dealer-dealee confidentiality just like everybody else.”
Steve was glad the transaction was over. He grabbed his hormones and stood up to leave when Eddie’s voice stopped him in his tracks.
“You’re not the only one.”
Eddie looked very serious, dark curls brushing the tops of his furrowed brows. It was a good look on him.
Steve felt his hopes rise. There were others like him in town. But, how could he be sure that Eddie was talking about what he thought he was talking about?
“Munson,” Steve said cautiously, “I don’t think we’re on the same page.”
Eddie, still seated, crossed his arms. “I guess there’s no way to know for sure unless one of us says it plainly, and I’m sure as hell not going to. I don’t want to end up on the news.”
“You don’t trust me?” Steve echoed, quirking up the side of his mouth.
It got a small smile from Munson. “You don’t even know who it is; dealer-dealee confidentiality goes both ways. I can’t go around blabbing about what drugs everybody’s on, I’d alienate my customer base.”
“Then I guess we’re at a standstill.”
Eddie looked at him with a curious expression. “I guess so.”
Steve took a few steps away from the table, leaves crunching under feet, before turning around. He hesitated. Eddie looked at him with those dark brown eyes of his, which didn’t help his resolve.
“Eddie,” the man’s eyebrows raised at the use of his first name. Steve continued, “if you ever feel like blabbing, you know where to find me.”
Eddie stayed quiet for once, the sounds of the woods surrounding the two of them as they lingered.
“Same to you, Steve,” He finally replied.
1K notes · View notes
ahqkas · 13 days ago
Note
your work so so beautiful!! i really loved the dick grayson one where he is teasing his s/o and he accidentally hits a nerve and his s/o entire aura just becomes sad and they look at him so sad! can you please write an x jason response? would love to know what you think
♯ CAREFUL WHO YOU ARE TALKING TO
— gn!crush!reader, fluff + a bit of angst, cursing, mention of reader’s hair, i projected myself into this one 🥹
© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified
Tumblr media
JASON PETER TODD WAS IN THIS UNUSUAL MOOD, a playful edge in his voice as he lounged against your kitchen counter. he was wearing a black henley with the sleeves pushed up, showing the faint scars that crisscrossed his forearms—a reminder of how much he’d endured, and how much he tried to shield the people he cared about from the same. his lips curved into a smirk as he watched you shuffle through a stack of mail at the table, muttering something about overdue bills and junk flyers.
you were so fucking pretty like that.
“you’re really going to spend your whole evening worrying about that crap?” he asked, his tone light but teasing.
you glanced up at him with a small smile, though your brows were furrowed in focus. “it’s not crap, jay. some of us have to deal with real-world responsibilities, you know.”
“yeah, yeah,” he said with a wave of his hand, crossing the room to sit across from you. his grin widened as he leaned forward on his elbows, resting his chin on one hand. “you always get this little crinkle in your forehead when you’re stressed. like you’re trying to be a serious adult or something.”
rolling your eyes, a faint warmth dusted your cheeks. “trying? i am a serious adult, thank you very much.”
jason chuckled, voice warm and teasing as he continued in his teasing. “sure you are. except when you get all flustered over stuff that doesn’t even matter. like the time you panicked because your phone case didn’t match your bag, or when you spilled coffee on your shirt and refused to leave the house until you changed—three times.”
his laughter was soft at first, but it gained momentum as he spoke, clearly enjoying himself. he didn’t notice the way your smile faltered, how your hands stilled over the papers you’d been sorting. his words kept rolling out, lighthearted and without malice, but they landed differently this time.
“and let’s not forget the way you freak out when you’re running late. it’s like you think the world’s gonna end if you’re five minutes behind.”
he finally looked up, expecting to see your gentle smirk or the playful eye roll you always gave when he acted this way around and with you. instead, jason saw the way your shoulders had tensed, your posture folding in on itself like you were trying to disappear, make yourself seem as small as possible. your lips were pressed into a thin line, and your eyes looked down at the table, avoiding his.
“hey,” he said, his voice softening immediately. “i was just messing with you.”
you didn’t respond at first, your fingers fidgeting with the corner of one of the crinkled envelopes. when you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, trembling just enough that it shattered jason’s heart. “i know. it’s just . . . i already feel like i’m always messing things up.”
jason froze, the weight of your words hitting him like a freight train. he thought back over what he’d said, how he’d turned your small quirks into a supposed joke without realizing how much they might mean to you. cursing under his breath, jason’s chest tightened as he saw the sadness in your eyes when you finally glanced up at him.
“you’re not messing anything up,” he said firmly, sliding his chair closer to yours. his teasing tone was gone, replaced by something serious and sincere. “i didn’t mean it like that. you know i don’t think that, right?”
you gave a half-hearted shrug, trying to brush it off, but jason wasn’t having it. he reached out, his hand warm and solid as it covered yours, stilling your nervous movements.
“hey,” he said again, his voice low and steady. “look at me.”
reluctantly, you raised your eyes to meet his. the vulnerability there made his heart ache. you looked like a kicked puppy, like you were waiting for the next blow to land, and jason hated himself for being the one who put that look on your face.
“you are not a screw-up,” he continued gently. “you’re the furthest thing from it. you’re . . . you’re the best thing in my life, and i’m an idiot for making you feel like anything less than that.”
your lips parted as if to protest, but jason squeezed your hand, cutting you off.
“no, don’t argue with me,” he said, his tone softening into something almost pleading. “i know i tease you, but it’s because i like the way you get all flustered. i like that you care about the little things, even if i don’t always get it. it’s not a bad thing. it’s what makes you . . . you. and i’m sorry for being an ass about it.”
you stared at him for a long moment, the sadness in your expression slowly giving way to something softer. he was confessing. jason peter todd was practically confessing his feelings for you. he leaned in closer, his free hand brushing a strand of hair away from your face.
“you mean everything to me,” he said quietly. “i never want to make you feel like you’re not enough. because you are. more than enough.”
a tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, and jason immediately reached up to brush it away with his thumb. “aw, don’t do that,” he said, his voice laced with guilt. “now i feel like a real jerk.”
you laughed softly and the sound broke the tension in the room. “you’re not a jerk, jay. you’re just . . . you.”
he grinned at that, though it was tinged with relief. “damn right.”
you rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your smile was back, and jason felt like he could finally breathe again.
“come on,” he said, standing and tugging you up with him. “i’m making it up to you. whatever you want—takeout, movies, ice cream, you name it. your call.”
you hesitated for a moment before nodding, leaning into his side as he wrapped an arm around you. “okay,” you agreed softly.
he knew he’d have to be more careful with his teasing in the future, but for now, he was just grateful to have you back in his arms, where you belonged.
704 notes · View notes
mommywandas · 2 months ago
Text
Pretty When You Sleep — W.M
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
——
Pairing: Dark!WandaMaximoff x Fem!Reader
Summary: Nights are lot more dangerous than you think.
Warnings: noncon/dubcon, somnophilia, drugging, blood, murder, stalking, mentions of a knives, strap-on.
Word count: 2.9k
A/N: This is a very dark and heavy fic, if you find any of the warnings triggering, please do not read. Happy Halloween! 18+ only. Men dni.
Beta read by @poulengp <3
——
It started off small.
All the shoes you left in a mess by the door now neatly stacked up, laces undone, just so they were easier to slip on. The lamp you'd accidently leave on before falling asleep, being off when you woke up in the morning. Clothes that were dumped on the floor, suddenly folded up in your drawer.
Then it got weirder.
Your purse being filled with fifty dollar bills on the mornings you worried you wouldn't have enough to afford your groceries. Some of your clothes, specifically underwear, going missing. Your phone being in the other room when you woke up. Waking up with different pyjama bottoms on.
As it got worse, you found yourself confiding in your friend. Well, a little more than a friend, but the two of you had never labelled it. The two of you sat in the corner of a local cafe, coffee warming up your hands. It was a cool autumn day, causing you to wrap up in a scarf and fluffy coat. This crimson coloured scarf had suddenly appeared in your closet, right when you needed it. It should have been wrong to wear something that had inexplicably appeared in your home, but it was cold, and what else were you to do?
"It's just getting weird. Even the leftovers in my fridge that were about to be mouldy are being thrown away. I see it in my garbage bag. And you know me, I don't even throw it out until it's literally gone blue."
Erin laughed, "You're quite careless. And disgusting." Yes, you were, but that wasn't the point!
"Shush. I'm actually worried here. I'm starting to think.. no.. no one can be breaking into my apartment every night, I'd wake up and hear them. God, I think I'm going mad." You mumbled, hand gripping tightly around the coffee mug. It reminded you of the time you'd left a cold cup of tea on the side, and had fallen asleep. When you woke up an hour later, the cup was hot, as if it had just been warmed up again.
"You've added another lock to your door, you don't even have a spare key for it. It's impossible for someone to break in. And you live on the top floor. Honey, you've been exhausted recently, it's not uncommon for people to get forgetful. You probably did those things while sleepy." Erin reassured you, placing a hand over yours.
You sighed deeply, downing the last drops of drink you had left, Erin doing the same. "Yeah, you're probably right. It's just.. strange."
As you entered your apartment late at night, instead of throwing your keys carelessly on a table, you decided to tuck them in the nightstand by your bed. Just to be safe, even if it was just for your own peace of mind. You jumped into the shower, cracking open the window so the steam could be let out. You lived on the top floor of your block, no one could look in, which was always a good thing because your bathroom got very steamy, recently the ceiling paper even curling at the side from the condensation. Making a mental note to look up the prices for someone to redecorate.
You really needed a shower today, you and Erin had gotten a little.. excited earlier, and it always made you cringe not showering before bed after an evening of sex. Under the warm water, you hummed a song you'd had stuck in your head all day. It was a song you didn't even recognise, in fact you weren't even sure you'd heard it before. All you knew was that it was in a different language, and it was comforting.
Once clean, you felt overwhelmingly tired, it had been a long day, so you decided to go straight to bed after having your usual cup of camomile tea, with two spoons of sugar. Then you got into bed. Before you could doze off though, you decided to read for a bit, opening up your latest novel of your favourite author. It can't have been too exciting though, because you fell asleep before the first chapter was over.
When dawn broke, the early sun breaking through cracks in your window, you stirred, blinking a few times. Something felt strange, like every morning for the past few months. You felt a stickiness between your thighs, and your pyjama bottoms were definitely not the ones you fell asleep in. You stared down at the light blue shorts, eyebrows furrowed. Were you a sleepwalker? No, your past roommates would have told you. Maybe you'd had a really good dream and just forgotten it? Fuck, this was weird.
Deciding there was nothing you could really do about the situation, you got up, opting to take another shower to get rid of the icky feeling.
It was when you were munching on your chocolate flavoured cereal that you heard your phone ping. Automatically, you put your spoon down, picking up the device you so heavily relied upon. It was a text from an unknown number, causing you to frown. Opening it, you saw there was a picture attached to the text. And when you examined it, your blood ran cold.
It was a picture of you, naked in bed. Your body spread out, intimate area completely exposed.
"What the fuck?" You whispered, reading what had come with it.
Unknown number: Three orgasms in one night, that's your record so far.
You didn't know what to think— someone had.. touched you while you were asleep? They broke in and did this to you? You shivered in fear, your shaky hands typing out a response before you could even think about what the police would say if you went to them; to not engage with a dangerous person.
You: Who the fuck is this?
There was no reply. Not when you left for work, not when you arrived home in the evening.
You were rigid with fear. A sensible person would have called the police, or at least called someone like Erin, asked to stay over, but you just couldn't. Every time you were about to dial a number, something inside you made you stop. You couldn't explain it.
So here you were, sat bolt upright on your couch. It was around eleven, and your eyes were growing heavy. Your camomile tea mug now empty, you blinked a few times, just aching to lay down and rest. No, you had to stay up! You had to see who had been breaking into your home. But.. you were so tired, a sudden wave of exhaustion washing over you. Your eyes closed slowly, slumping down and falling into a deep sleep.
The next morning the first thing you did was check your phone, seeing if the stranger had replied, and they had. Two images attached to a message. And what you saw horrified you. The first picture, one of you in bed, with a.. strap-on, buried inside you. It made you feel sick, that someone had done this to you unwillingly. Though the expression on your face, clearly asleep but pleasure in your features. You could even see your own arousal dripping down the toy.
The second image quite literally made you throw up, You ran to the bathroom, heaving into the toilet bowl as the picture burned in your mind. It had been someone laying on a floor, covered in blood, a knife wedged in their chest.
You had to go to the police. There was no choice now. For some reason, you looked back at the picture, and your mouth dropped open. That someone was a familiar.
It was Erin.
You just knew, it was her jacket, her brown eyes wide open in fear, her blue dyed hair drenched in her own blood. It caused you to throw up again.
"I—I think my best friend has been murdered."
You whispered in a shaky voice to a police officer who had sat you down in a cold grey room. After seeing what you'd been sent, not even reading the message that had come with it, you rushed down to the local police station, practically screaming for someone to talk to.
"Why do you suspect this?" He asked in a gruff voice. He didn't seem to be all that serious about the situation, upsetting you even further.
"I've got pictures! And texts!" Your fingers fumbled around your pocket to retrieve your phone, opening your messages app.
It wasn't there.
"So?" The officer prompted, clearly unimpressed.
"It was.. it was right here.." You mumbled, opening every contact you had in case it had magically gotten messed up.
But no, the messages had vanished.
"Look, lady, I think you should go home and get some rest. You look tired. Our minds make things up when we're lacking sleep."
"But—"
"Listen, if something happens, come back in. But for now, you're making empty claims."
Hanging your head down dejectedly, you fought back tears. You knew Erin was dead. You just knew it.
Tonight you weren't going to fall asleep. Just to make sure, you downed two mugs of strong coffee instead of your tea. You hated it, but you couldn't risk falling asleep. The intruder— the murderer, was going to break in, you were sure.
The time ticked on. Eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock, one o'clock..
Until your phone buzzed. Dread washed over you. There was no one else who would be making your phone light up at this time of night.
Unknown number: How am I meant to enjoy you when you don't have your tea? You look so pretty when you sleep.
This confused you. Why would they be concerned about what beverage you were drinking? You typed out a response quickly.
You: I'm not scared of you.
It was a stupid thing to say, you knew that really. But the only thing you could think of was to pretend you weren't scared. Maybe that would make them bored and leave you alone. All you could think about what Erin's lifeless body. The blood, god.. all that blood..
Unknown number: See you soon, sweetheart.
Your eyes widened in horror; what the fuck did that mean? This person was on their way? Sickness rose up in your throat, and you ran to your kitchen, grabbing the first sharp object you could find— a medium sized kitchen knife. You clutched it to your chest, running to your bedroom, locking the door and panting heavily. You considered pushing some furniture against the door, but you knew you needed to call the police. Then you realised you'd left your phone in the kitchen.
Fuck! Fuck!
You had put yourself in the worst position possible. But before you could panic over that, you felt a gust of cold air. You frowned, turning around to see the window wide open. You definitely hadn't left it like that before, but it was also impossible for anyone else to have opened it. You lived on the top floor for Christ's sake!
Not knowing what to do first; close the window, get your phone, block the door, or just curl up in a ball and hope it would all just go away. You opted for grabbing your phone. If you could call the police, they'd be on their way, hopefully before your stalker could arrive.
Cautiously unlocking the bedroom door, you stepped out into the hallway. The lights that had previously been on, were off, leaving the whole apartment pitch black apart from the moon shining through the windows and the bedroom light.
Your steps were slow, ears straining to hear anything, but there was silence. The only sound heard was the hammering of your heart in your chest.
Until the silence was broken.
"Seeing you awake is strange. But exciting nonetheless."
The voice came from right behind you. Spinning around in horror, you finally came face to face with the person who had been tormenting you.
"Tormenting? That's a bit harsh, sweetheart."
The woman was dressed in all black, a hood covering most of her face. Light from the bedroom accentuated her figure, but more importantly, the silhouette of a knife and a cloth in her hands.
"W—who are you?" It was an attempt at a shout, maybe to attract the attention of the apartment below you, but your voice could barely manage a squeak.
"I've told you before, baby. You're a forgetful thing when you're asleep, mhm?" She stepped forward, causing you to take a step back.
"You've been taking advantage of me! You've been breaking into my home! You killed.. Erin!" You whispered, backing up against the wall. You had no where to go. You were most likely to die, just like Erin.
"Sweet girl, I'm not going to kill you. I could never hurt you." The woman's voice was almost softer as she approached you, only two feet away now. Was she reading your mind?
"But you killed my friend." The images of Erin's body filled your mind, and how you were going to end up just like her.
"Your 'friend'? Please, she was begging for her own life, not for you to be safe." She let out a cold laugh. "It was so satisfying, the sound of my blade tearing through her flesh and tissue." It almost sounded like she'd gotten pleasure from it
Finally, you got some sense and energy into you as she expressed her fucked up feelings. You let out a shattering scream, "HELP! HELP!"
The woman sighed in disappointment. It took her less than a second to raise the cloth up to your face, covering your nose and mouth. The smell of chemicals was overwhelming. You fought against it, until you couldn't anymore. Body falling limp to the ground.
The noise that woke you up was the sound of a squeaking. Your eyes wouldn't open, wondering what was going on. You then felt something inside you, a pressure building up in your lower stomach. What—
Finally, your vision became clearer. You blinked a few times, looking around you. The scene became pretty clear.
The woman was in between your legs, a strap-on buried inside you, just like that photo. The squeaking was the bed as she thrusted into you.
You should have screamed, but the pressure in your abdomen was too intense. You let out a whine, trying to move your tired body, but it was useless. You didn't even want to stop it, it felt too.. good.
"You're awake." She stated, a slight pant in her voice. Her hood was down now, revealing her auburn wavy hair, pale skin and deep green eyes.
"Let me.." You trailed off, because you didn't know whether to say 'go' or 'come'.
She let out a chuckle, holding your hips firmly as she thrusted into you. The feeling was delicious. Something about the fact your body was sleepy, heavy, while being fucked by a woman so dangerous..
No! Why are you thinking like this? It almost felt like your thoughts weren't yours anymore. Were you going insane?
The woman grunted, wet noises filling the room, making it very apparent that your body did not hate this at all. "You can come for me, it'll be your third."
Your third? You couldn't even bring yourself to ask about it, your body just trembled, a pending orgasm taking over, making you whimper in delight.
"Fuck!"
Tears filled your eyes from the sheer pleasure, and the fact that you should have hated this. You were filled with so much shame and guilt. This was the person who had killed your best friend, who'd stripped you of your dignity.
"Shh, darling, you don't have to feel guilty. You're allowed to feel pleasure. And your friend, well, she was just in the way."
Her twisted words made you feel sick again, but you didn't have time to dwell on that because the woman's hand suddenly reached down and started to circle your clit while simultaneously thrusting into you. A loud groan escaped your throat, eyes practically rolling to the back of your head.
"You're going to beat your record, four times will be an achievement." Her accented voice was hot and heavy, turning you on even more.
"I— mhm!" You tried to speak, but you didn't know what to say.
"Let go, detka, show me how good I make you feel." She gripped your waist with her spare hand, red manicured nails digging into your skin.
Without warning, you came hard, spilling all over the strap. The woman moaned, slowing down her thrusts and eventually pulling out, leaving you unbearably empty. She slipped the strap off and went to straddle you, leaning her head down to kiss your neck. You felt utter bliss, forgetting how incredibly fucked up and sick this was.
"Seeing as this is the first time we've met while you've been conscious, I'll introduce myself. I'm Wanda." She giggled, as if nothing had just happened, and had been happening for months. Your head spun, recognising that name somehow, as if it had been spoken in your dreams.
"Relax now, sweet thing. I'll be here when you wake up." Wanda said softly, lying beside you, wrapping the duvet around your naked body. Her arm laid loosely across your stomach, hearing her breathing slow down to something calmer than before.
You didn't say anything, too busy feeling a wave of satisfaction, as awful as that sounded. It was like your mind was used to this, and that it was something you'd always wanted.
The last thing you remembered was a soft lullaby, in a language you didn't recognise. You'd heard it before, in your dreams. And it brought you great comfort.
——
Tags: @rezwrites @hatdog96 @ion-news @esposadejoyhuerta @moimmmm @grimlygoblin @lizziesflower @yandereloverb312 @beggingonmykneesforher
——
1K notes · View notes
seospicybin · 17 days ago
Text
TOO CROWDED.
Tumblr media
Lee Know x reader. (s,f)
Chapters: Wrong crowd / In the crowd / Crowded
Synopsis: Years of marriage haven’t fully prepared Minho for the arrival of a new family member or the changes that come with his growing family. As he navigates these new challenges, he realizes that love and family are constantly evolving in ways he never expected. (19,3k words)
Author's note: To the Crowd enthusiasts, thank you for patiently waiting & hope you enjoy this one too ♡
It’s Saturday, yet Minho wakes up early as usual, his internal clock refusing to let him sleep past 5:30 a.m.
The first thing he does is shift closer to your side of the bed, slipping his arm around you and gently pulling you into his embrace. His lips press a soft kiss to your cheek, careful not to wake you. You deserve more sleep. For a moment, he enjoys the warmth of your body against his, spooning you, before placing another kiss on your bare shoulder and quietly slipping out of bed.
Next, he pads across the hall to your daughter’s room, slowly pushing the door open. Peeking inside, he smiles when he sees Byeol still fast asleep, clutching her blanket tightly. The sight of her peaceful face always fills him with a deep sense of contentment—knowing she feels safe and loved. He brushes a gentle hand over her cheek, then quietly leaves, letting her sleep a little longer.
Minho heads downstairs to the kitchen. As the coffee brews, he washes up, brushes his teeth, and makes his way to the rooftop to water the potted plants. Returning to the kitchen, he pours himself a cup of coffee and settles at the dining table, handling bills and a few business emails.
By 7:00 a.m., he’s pulling ingredients from the fridge to prepare breakfast, not forgetting to pack a lunchbox for Byeol. Halfway through stirring pancake batter, he catches sight of you wandering into the kitchen, your hair a tousled mess and a sleepy smile on your lips.
"Morning," you mumble, slipping your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your face against his back. You cling to him for a while as he works over the stove, only moving to kiss his cheek before grabbing his mug and refilling it with more coffee for yourself.
Minho glances at the clock, then at you. "Enjoying your coffee?"
"Mmhmm," you murmur, savoring the warm drink.
"Can you go wake up our daughter?" he asks, focused on flipping a pancake.
"I thought we're cool parents," You groan playfully, holding your mug. "It’s Saturday. Let her sleep!"
"Today’s the school trip." He reminds you.
"Oh, shit!" you grumble, setting down your coffee. You tie your robe and shoot him a quick grin. "Wish me luck!"
Minho smiles as you head to Byeol’s room, knowing it won’t be hard to wake her. She’s been talking about the trip all week, and sure enough, it takes you less than five minutes to have her running to the kitchen for breakfast.
"Here’s your delinquent daughter, sir," you joke, pulling out a chair for her.
Minho places the last pancake on the growing stack. He brings the plate over to the table, feigning seriousness as he addresses Byeol. "Young lady, you’re sentenced to live with us until you're of age and eat all these pancakes without any maple syrup or strawberries."
Byeol doesn’t even blink at her father’s odd sense of humor. She knows exactly what it means: they’re out of her favorite toppings.
"How about bananas?" she asks innocently.
"We’re out of bananas!" you call from behind the counter, pouring yourself more coffee.
Minho pats his daughter’s shoulder. "Tough luck."
But you come to the rescue, placing a bowl of blueberries and whipped cream next to her plate. "We’ve got these, though."
Byeol beams, picking up her fork. "Thanks, Mommy."
It’s never a competition between you two when it comes to earning Byeol’s affection, but with work keeping you busy most of the time, Minho likes creating little moments where she can bond with you. It’s just another way he shows how much he loves his two girls.
Minho points his spatula at you, narrowing his eyes. "I’ll let you have this win."
You make a face at him, and he turns away to hide his laughter.
The morning quickly becomes hectic as you both scramble to get Byeol ready for her school trip. Minho helps her pack while you diligently apply sunscreen to her.
"We’re not going to the beach. Why do I need sunblock?" Byeol complains.
"Because I don’t want you coming home looking like a blob of slime," you reply without missing a beat, finishing her legs. "Do you want to be a blob of slime?"
"No," she mutters while giggling.
"Good!" You adjust her socks and tighten her shoelaces, then let her go.
Dropping Byeol off at school is usually stressful—other moms often stare at him—but with you by his side, he feels more relaxed.
The parking lot is packed as parents say goodbye to their kids. Minho carries Byeol’s backpack while you walk hand in hand with her. When it’s time for the trip, you kneel down to Byeol’s level, fussing over her ponytail and clothes, unable to help yourself.
"Be good, okay?" you say softly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "Listen to Miss Sara, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask."
"Okay, Mommy," Byeol nods.
You pull her into a hug, holding on like you’re sending her off to war rather than a school trip.
"Don’t forget to drink water, eat your lunch, and—"
"I’ll be okay, Mommy," Byeol assures you with a smile.
You sigh, reluctantly letting her go. "And have fun!"
Minho chuckles quietly at how grown-up your six-year-old is acting. He bends down, hugging her and planting a quick kiss on her cheek.
"We’ll pick you up later," he reminds her.
"Yes, Daddy."
After a quick wave, Byeol boards the bus. You both stand watching until the bus pulls away, your hand slipping into Minho’s as you turn to head back to the car.
"It’s a beautiful day," you sigh contentedly, gazing up at the sky. "And we have the whole afternoon to ourselves."
He grins, watching how relaxed you suddenly look. "What do you want to do?"
You swing his hand playfully, thinking. "How about we grab some take-out and have a picnic?"
"Sounds good," Minho says, unlocking the car.
"We can get your favorite pudding for dessert," you add, already planning the afternoon.
As you buckle your seatbelt, you turn to him, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Or…"
"Or what?"
You place your hand on his knee and grin. "Or we stay home and make babies?"
Minho raises an eyebrow at the sudden suggestion, amused but not surprised. He doesn’t mind the idea at all, but with how nice the weather is, staying inside seems like a waste.
You squeeze his knee gently. "So? What’s it going to be?"
Minho glances between you and the road ahead, the decision already made. He pulls the car onto the street, heading in the direction of home.
-
Everyone in the parlor has asked for the weekend off to enjoy the summer, so Minho granted it, leaving the parlor downstairs closed until Tuesday.
This also means you and Minho have the whole building to yourselves and you obviously going to make the most of this rare moment. You push him onto the sofa, straddling him without hesitation, your mouth crashing against his. Your body moves on its own, hands frantically unbuttoning his shirt while your hips grind against his crotch. Your lips continuously press against his, breath heavy and hungry.
He holds you close, one hand resting on the small of your back while the other tangles in your hair, fisting it as he tilts your head to the side, giving him access to your neck.
“Honey, not a hickey, please?” you mutter breathlessly as his teeth graze your skin.
He drags his lips up to your ear, playfully biting at it. “Why not? You look good with one,” he teases, his words punctuated by a wet kiss on your jaw.
“We still have to pick up your daughter later,” you remind him, not wanting to give the other parents something to gossip about.
“Afraid they’ll be jealous of you?” he murmurs.
“You think you’re that hot, huh?”
His hand slips beneath your dress, fingers teasing your clothed sex, tracing over your clit. The pressure makes you gasp as he rubs slow, deliberate circles. His smirk is devilish, eyes dark with lust.
“I know I am,” he says confidently.
You can’t deny the heat pooling inside you as his fingers work their magic. “Honey…” you whine, though you don’t truly mind.
Suddenly, he shifts, gently lifting you off his lap and laying you down on the sofa. His shirt falls to the floor, exposing his toned chest. With a heated gaze, he pushes the hem of your dress up, tugging at the waistband of your underwear. He pulls it down slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving yours. He parts your legs with his hands, lowering himself between your thighs without a word. His mouth trails wet kisses down the inside of your thigh before he dives in, pressing his mouth to your wetness.
A whimper escapes your lips as his tongue expertly teases you. You can’t help but close your eyes, overwhelmed by the sensation as he takes his time savoring every inch of you. Occasionally, you glance down to see his head buried between your legs, his tattooed arms wrapped around your thighs. The sight alone sends waves of arousal through you.
“Honey, oh…” you moan as he sucks on your clit, your body trembling with need.
Minho lifts his head, his mouth glistening with your essence. He flicks his tongue against your sensitive clit, his dark eyes watching your every reaction.
“Oh, God…” you moan loudly, unafraid, knowing you’re alone in the house.
His lips close around your clit once more, sucking gently as he slides two fingers inside you. The dual sensations have you gasping, eyes rolling back as your grip on the sofa tightens.
“Oh, honey… that feels so good,” you mutter breathlessly, barely able to think as pleasure overwhelms you.
Your noises only encourage him, his mouth and fingers working in perfect harmony, pushing you closer to your high. Your hands tug at his hair, legs trembling as he holds them open, keeping you steady as he pushes you toward the edge.
It doesn’t take long until you cum against his mouth, your body trembling as Minho eagerly drinks in your release. His tongue moves with precision, lapping up every drop of your essence as you ride out your climax, the sensation overwhelming in the best way. He doesn’t shy away, savoring you completely as you come undone beneath him.
Breathless, you feel the need to return the favor. Without a word, you push him back slightly and reach for his shirt. You peel it off, revealing his inked body, each line and curve of the tattoos forever captivating you. Your lips trail over his skin, kissing his chest, neck, and down to the waistband of his jeans, inhaling his natural, intoxicating scent along the way.
Dropping to your knees, you deftly undo the button and fly of his jeans, the sound of the zipper cutting through the quiet room. His growing arousal is clear as you take his hardening length from its confines. You wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly while locking eyes with him, savoring the way his breath hitches in anticipation.
Minho leans back into the sofa, head resting against the cushions as his body relaxes into your touch. He gives you all the room you need, a silent invitation to take control. You waste no time, your mouth closing around his length, warm and wet as you begin to pleasure him.
His hand gently moves to your hair, brushing it out of the way as he watches you intently. "Keep going, honey," he murmurs, his voice soft yet commanding, his thumb brushing your cheek affectionately as you take him deeper.
Your lips glide smoothly along his shaft, your hand stroking the base while your mouth works the rest. His quiet moans and gasps fuel your movements, encouraging you as you bring him closer to the edge. You feel him tense beneath you, his release fast approaching.
Moments later, his body shudders, and he spills into your mouth, his cum spilling onto your tongue. A few drops land on your lips and chin, painting your skin. Minho gazes down at you, his dark eyes full of desire as if admiring his handiwork.
"I know it’s a lot, but I want you to swallow it for me, honey," he whispers, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw.
Obediently, you close your mouth and swallow, your throat working to take him in. You open your mouth again afterward, showing him that you’ve done as he asked, a mischievous glint in your eye.
A satisfied smirk plays at the corner of his lips, and he pulls you up to straddle him once more. His hands find your waist, holding you firmly as he leans in, pressing his lips to yours. He kisses you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth as if he can taste himself on you.
For a while, the two of you simply sit there, your bodies pressed together, enjoying the rare and uninterrupted intimacy. There's no rush, no need for words—just the quiet, perfect moment shared between you.
This moment here is yours and yours only.
-
To cool down from the heat of the day, you grab two cans of cold beer from the fridge and hand one to Minho before plopping down beside him on the sofa. Without a word, you take his arm and drape it over your shoulder, snuggling in as close as possible. His presence is comforting, and today, you crave it more than usual.
“To making babies!” you chime, raising your can.
“To making babies!” Minho echoes, clinking his beer can against yours. You both take hearty gulps, the cold liquid instantly refreshing as it runs down your throats.
For months now, you and Minho have been trying to have another child, but despite your best efforts, the results haven't come. You both decided to stop stressing about it and just enjoy the process. And right now, enjoying the process is exactly what’s on your mind.
You softly trace the line of his jaw with your fingertips, feeling the light stubble there. “This mouth still knows how to make me feel good,” you mutter, your words laced with affection.
Minho smirks faintly at your compliment. “This mouth always takes me well,” he teases back, making you laugh softly.
You smile, leaning into him. “I think we’ve been working really well on this baby-making thing.”
“We make a great team,” he remarks, his hand snaking around your neck as he pulls you toward him, placing a kiss on your lips. His lips are warm, a reminder of the connection you both share.
“But honey…” he murmurs as he pulls back just enough to gaze at you, “We haven’t even started making babies yet.”
You narrow your eyes at him, catching onto the playful glint in his gaze. “Oh, yeah, you’re right.”
What happened earlier was just the warm-up, the teasing foreplay. The real fun, the true attempt, is still ahead. You take the can from his hand and place it on the coffee table, along with yours, before climbing onto his lap. Your arms loop around his neck as you straddle him, the closeness already setting your skin on fire.
Minho’s hands are quick to move, his fingers finding the zipper at the back of your dress. He tugs it down, the soft sound of it parting filling the quiet space. You help by pulling the dress over your head, tossing it onto the floor before pressing your body against his, skin to skin.
His lips capture yours in a slow, deep kiss, one that sends shivers down your spine. His hands roam your body, one sliding down your back until he reaches the curve of your rear, giving it a firm squeeze. You melt into his touch, sighing against his mouth.
“Let’s make cute babies, mmh?” you whisper, your lips brushing his before kissing him again.
“Yeah, let's make another little shit,” he jokes, a playful grin on his face as his hand lands a firm slap on your ass.
“Honey!” you shriek, though your sly smile gives away how much you’re enjoying it.
Maybe it’s the rare freedom of having the house to yourselves that makes Minho loosen up more than usual. He’s rougher, more intense, and you don’t hold back from showing how much you love every moment. Your moans fill the room as he thrusts into you, deep and purposeful, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you.
But then he slows down, deliberately pulling back just as you’re nearing your release, letting the tension slip away. He’s done it more than twice now, and it’s starting to drive you crazy.
“Minho, quit playing,” you grumble, gripping his shoulder, your frustration clear as your body aches for release.
“What?” he asks, playing dumb, a smirk plastered on his angular face.
“We have to pick up Byeol soon,” you remind him, your voice breathless. “We can’t be late.”
“Don’t worry, honey,” he reassures you, his words followed by a hasty kiss as he continues thrusting into you. “We’ll finish just in time.”
Minho always has his way, and you know it’s impossible to stop him when he wants something—especially this.
-
Later that night, you stand in the kitchen, watching the microwave hum as it cooks the popcorn. Your eyes drift toward the living room, where Minho and Byeol are sitting on the sofa, engrossed in a movie. Byeol, as animated as ever, is eagerly explaining something about the plot to her dad, her little hands moving in excitement.
It’s such a simple, everyday sight, yet it fills you with a deep sense of contentment. You can’t help but smile. Moments like this remind you of how lucky you are to have this life. But at the same time, a small voice inside asks: Do I really deserve all of this?
The microwave beeps, snapping you out of your thoughts. You grab the bowl you’ve prepared and carefully rip open the package, letting the freshly popped kernels spill into it. The warm, buttery scent fills the air as you carry the bowl to the living room.
You place the bowl of popcorn on Byeol’s lap, earning a sweet, “Thank you, mommy,” from her.
“You’re very welcome, honey,” you reply, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head before settling down next to Minho.
One arm wraps around his back as you nestle closer, resting your chin on his shoulder. You’ve always loved the way his tattoos curve along his neck, but what you love even more is kissing him there. So you do, placing a soft, lingering kiss on his skin, breathing in his familiar scent.
“How do you do it, honey?” you ask in a low voice.
Minho slightly turns his head, meeting your gaze as his hand moves to rest on top of yours, which lies comfortably on his chest. “What?”
“Act like you didn’t rearrange my guts hours ago on this very sofa?” you tease, a playful giggle escaping your lips.
He narrows his eyes at you, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. You can tell that the memory of your earlier activities is playing through his mind just like it is in yours. Instead of answering, he leans in and kisses you, his tongue sneaking past your lips in a move that’s definitely risky considering Byeol is just a few feet away. But Minho loves to push boundaries, and you love him for it.
Just as the kiss deepens, Byeol speaks up, her voice pulling you both back to reality. “Mommy, you have to watch this!” she pouts, her tone full of urgency. “This is the best part!”
You break the kiss with a soft laugh, one of those inevitable interruptions that come with being parents. You grab a handful of popcorn and turn your attention to the screen. “Okay, okay, Mommy’s watching,” you promise, your voice light as Minho keeps his hand laced with yours on his chest.
In moments like these, you realize something important: whether or not you ever have another child, you’re already blessed. Byeol is everything you could have ever asked for, and Minho—he’s been more than a great partner. He’s been a wonderful father and an unwavering source of love. Your marriage has been nothing short of bliss, and every day with them feels like a gift.
This is your family. Your little slice of forever. And you love them more than words can ever express.
-
It’s another day in Minho’s life, waking up early as usual. He stretches with a groan, then instinctively scoots closer to your side of the bed. His arm snakes around you, and he places a soft kiss on your neck, but something feels off.
Frowning, he props himself up on one elbow and gently moves the hair away from your face. The sheen of sweat on your forehead makes his concern grow. Minho presses the back of his hand to your neck, confirming what he fears—you’re burning up with a fever.
In an instant, he’s out of bed, hurrying to the medicine cabinet to grab the thermometer. When he returns, he presses the tip to your ear, waiting until the beep confirms it—you definitely have a fever.
“Honey,” he calls softly, his voice laced with worry as you shift under the covers. “You’re burning up.”
Your eyes flutter open, wincing as though it’s painful to wake. “I don’t feel well,” you croak.
“I’m going to get you some aspirin, okay?” Minho says, already half-jogging back to the cabinet, grabbing both the medicine and a glass of water.
He helps you sit up, watching closely as you take the aspirin and wash it down with a big gulp of water. Gently, he tucks you back into bed, pulling the blanket up to your chest.
“You’re not going to work today, okay?” Minho says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
You nod weakly, your eyes already closing as you curl up, trying to get more rest.
Minho sighs, hating to see you like this. Looking so pale and fragile, it makes him feel helpless. But all he can do is be there for you.
“Just rest, mmh?” he murmurs softly, patting your head tenderly. He fixes the blanket again before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. As he closes the door, he hopes you’ll get the peace and rest you need.
His morning routine is thrown off, but he shifts focus, knowing he needs to get Byeol ready for school. He moves through the kitchen, preparing breakfast and her lunchbox, making sure everything’s packed and ready.
“Where’s mommy?” Byeol asks, noticing the absence at the breakfast table.
“Mommy’s not feeling well,” Minho explains, making a mental note to call your assistant and inform them that you won’t be able to work today.
“Mommy is sick?” Byeol’s face is full of concern, even with her mouth full of food.
“Yes, honey.” Minho places the lid on her lunchbox and tucks it into her bag.
Before leaving, Byeol insists on checking on you. She tiptoes into the bedroom, softly resting her head on your arm and placing a kiss on your hand, even though you’re fast asleep.
“Bye, bye, mommy,” she whispers. “Get well soon!”
If only you could see it, you’d know how much your little girl cherishes and loves you.
Minho follows suit, bending down to kiss your head. “I’ll be back soon, honey,” he whispers.
The whole morning passes while you sleep, and by the time Minho returns from his work downstairs, he finds you sitting up in bed, talking on the phone, probably informing the office about your sick day. He checks your temperature once more, relieved to find that the fever is starting to subside. Sitting next to you, he feels your head rest on his shoulder the moment you hang up the call.
“Feeling better?” he asks softly.
“Still feel like shit,” you mutter bluntly.
“You haven’t eaten anything,” Minho gently scolds. “Want me to make you something?”
You nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck, taking a moment to think. “You know, I suddenly crave your fried rice.”
“Fried rice?” He raises an eyebrow, expecting you to want soup or something light.
“Mm-hmm,” you confirm, “and make it a little spicy.”
“Spicy fried rice?” Minho asks, slightly surprised, considering your low spice tolerance.
“Yes,” you insist, and he can’t help but smile.
“Okay, okay,” he chuckles, giving in easily. He lingers a little longer, enjoying your warmth as you snuggle into him.
As he cooks in the kitchen, Minho is surprised when he sees you walking out of the bedroom. Slowly, you make your way to the sofa in the living room.
“I was about to bring it to you in bed,” he says, pouring the freshly made fried rice onto a plate.
“It’s okay,” you wave him off, sitting down with a sigh. “I needed to go to the bathroom anyway.”
He brings the food over, along with another aspirin and a glass of water. Sitting beside you, he watches as you take your first bite.
“Oh, God! This is so good,” you gush, as though tasting his fried rice for the first time.
“It’s not too spicy?”
“Actually, it’s not spicy enough,” you tease, which makes him laugh since he knows how low your spice tolerance usually is.
Time passes quickly, and soon, it’s almost time to pick up Byeol from school.
“Don’t forget to take your medicine after,” Minho reminds, kissing your head before standing up.
“Honey,” you call sweetly.
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask for more fried rice before you leave?” You flash him a playful grin.
How could he say no to that? “Of course, honey.”
When Byeol arrives home, she runs straight to you, burying her face in your chest, clearly happy to see you looking a little better.
“Mommy, don’t be sick!” she mumbles with such concern, it tugs at your heart.
“It’s just a fever, honey. Mommy will be okay,” you assure her, rubbing her back softly.
Minho watches the scene, understanding just how much you mean to Byeol and how much it affects you to see her worry. He heads back to the kitchen, preparing some snacks for her before his next appointment at the parlor.
“Take care of mommy while Daddy’s working, okay?” he says, giving Byeol a little responsibility.
Two hours later, Minho returns to find the two of you still in the living room. Byeol is busy working on her homework while you’ve fallen asleep on the sofa.
“Shh... mommy’s sleeping,” Byeol whispers as soon as she notices him approaching, her finger pressed to her lips.
Minho steps back with his hands raised. “Okay, sorry,” he whispers with a chuckle.
Still speaking in a hushed tone, Minho asks, “What do you want for dinner?”
Byeol thinks hard, a hand under her chin just like you do when making decisions. “Hmm... soup dumplings?”
Minho smiles. “Okay, soup dumplings it is.”
“Can Mommy eat soup dumplings when she’s sick?” Byeol asks, her thoughtfulness touching his heart.
“I think so. Mommy would love them,” he assures her.
Byeol smiles, content with the answer, before returning to her homework.
As Minho watches the two of you, he feels that familiar sense of determination. There’s nothing he loves more than taking care of his girls, but seeing one of you get sick? That part he hates. And it only makes him more resolved to do everything he can to keep you both safe and happy.
-
The next morning, it’s as if the fever never happened. You wake up a little later than Minho, feeling refreshed after a shower and getting dressed for work. There's a bounce in your step as you head to the kitchen, the scent of coffee drawing you in.
"How do you feel?" Minho asks as you nonchalantly steal his mug and take a sip of his coffee.
"I feel good," you reply with a smile, leaning in to press a lingering kiss on his lips before heading off to Byeol’s room.
You help your daughter get ready, brushing her hair and helping her pick out clothes. Together, you return to the dining table, where Byeol beams up at Minho, already dressed and ready for school.
"This looks delicious, daddy!" she chirps, eyeing the breakfast spread.
"Then you'll have no problem finishing it, right?" Minho teases, earning a giggle from her.
He serves you a fresh plate and pours another cup of coffee before sitting down for a quiet breakfast together. You take your first bite of scrambled eggs, but something’s off. Almost immediately, you feel your stomach turn, and you slap a hand over your mouth, quickly excusing yourself to the bathroom.
"Is mommy sick again?" Byeol asks, her voice tinged with concern.
"Daddy will check on mommy," Minho reassures her, getting up to follow you.
He finds you bent over the sink, splashing water into your mouth, trying to calm the nausea. Worry flickers across his face as he steps inside.
"Honey, are you okay?" he asks gently, handing you a towel.
You nod, still rinsing your mouth, though the nausea lingers. "I’m fine," you manage, though the look in his eyes tells you he’s not convinced.
You snort, spitting water into the sink as a small smile breaks through. He rubs soothing circles on your back, but the concern doesn’t leave his face.
"You didn’t have any trouble swallowing the other day," he jokes, his voice low and teasing.
"Maybe you should take another day off work," he suggests.
"I’m okay," you say, more to convince yourself than him.
"You sure?"
"I’m sure," you nod, smiling faintly.
Still not entirely convinced, he squeezes your shoulder. "I’ll drive you to work today."
You stay in the bathroom for a moment longer, trying to shake off the odd feeling, while Minho returns to Byeol, who’s nearly finished her breakfast. He packs her lunch, sliding it into her school bag just as you call for him from the bedroom.
"Minho…" Your voice trembles slightly, and he’s at your side in seconds, worry clouding his eyes.
"What’s going on?" he asks, noticing the strange look on your face.
You raise your hand, holding something small and unmistakable—a pregnancy test. "I’m pregnant," you announce, the words filled with joy as a slow smile spreads across your face.
This is the moment you've both been waiting for, what you’ve been hoping would happen after months of trying. You should be celebrating together, but as the realization sinks in, you notice something shift in Minho’s expression. There’s happiness there, but it’s shadowed by something else—uncertainty, perhaps—and it’s enough to make your smile falter.
You look away, turning to Byeol instead. "Mommy is having another baby," you say, keeping your tone light and cheerful.
Byeol looks as confused as Minho, though hers is an innocent curiosity. "Is it a boy or a girl?"
"Mommy doesn’t know yet," you chuckle softly, kneeling beside her. "But you’re going to be a big sister."
"Who’s going to be a big sister?" Felix’s voice echoes from the doorway. You turn, spotting him leaning against the frame, his eyes bright with curiosity.
It’s a conversation you know will be public knowledge soon enough, so you smile and tell him, "Byeol is going to be a big sister."
Felix gasps, his eyes going wide. "Oh! You’re pregnant?" he asks, just to make sure he’s hearing correctly.
"Yes," you nod.
"Oh my gosh! Congratulations!" Felix exclaims, immediately pulling you into a hug. Heis genuinely thrilled, his excitement infectious, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy it. But in the back of your mind, the comparison stings—this was the reaction you had hoped for from Minho.
A deafening silence fills the car on the ride to work, an unspoken tension hanging heavy between you and Minho. After dropping off Byeol at school, neither of you speaks, and the quiet lingers, almost suffocating. It's only when the car pulls up outside your office building that you finally break it.
You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face him. “Minho,” you say softly, your voice carrying a weight that makes him immediately focus. He lets go of the steering wheel, giving you his full attention.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to work without us talking about it,” you admit, addressing the elephant in the room. Your fingers find his, loosely lacing them together. “You can tell me what’s really going on.”
Minho shifts, clearly aware that his earlier reaction might have come across the wrong way. He takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “It’s not that I’m not happy,” he starts, his voice quiet, “I’m just… worried.”
Your brows furrow, and he continues, his eyes softening as he speaks. “You remember when you gave birth to Byeol? You went through so much pain, and… you lost a lot of blood.”
The memory seems to weigh heavily on him, and you can almost see it playing out in his mind as he talks. “Seeing you sick is enough to make me worry, but I can’t bear the thought of you going through that again.”
For a split second, he lets down his guard, allowing you to glimpse the deeper, more fragile part of him. The part that cares for you more than anything else in the world.
“Oh, honey…” you sigh, the sadness in your voice mixing with a fond smile as you lean closer. “You just love me so much, don’t you?”
Minho shrugs in that nonchalant way he does, trying to play it off like it’s no big deal. But you can see through it.
You chuckle softly, squeezing his hand tighter. “Honestly, I’m scared too,” you confess. “But I’m not when I’m with you.” You rest your head on his shoulder, breathing in deeply, letting the warmth of the moment settle between you both. “With you, I feel like I can do anything.”
You shift slightly, meeting his gaze with a smile that’s full of reassurance and love. It’s a smile that tells him you’re ready for this, that you both are.
Minho looks at you for a moment, then, unable to help himself, he jokes, "When it comes down to you or the child, just know… I’ll choose to adopt Felix."
Your eyes widen in playful disbelief, pretending to stammer, "Uh... okay?" before you both break into laughter.
He cups your face gently, his thumb brushing your cheek as he pulls you in for a kiss. It’s not just any kiss—it lingers, slow and deep, conveying all the love he has for you, the excitement that’s starting to bubble beneath the surface now that his fears are laid bare.
When the kiss ends, you whisper, “Just close your eyes, Minho and I'll tell you when the scary part is over.”
And for the first time since the news, Minho lets go of the weight on his chest. He chooses to believe in the good things, in the joy that’s coming, and almost can’t believe it—his family is getting bigger.
-
Four months have passed, and your baby bump has grown. Minho can't help but admire how your pencil skirt hugs your figure, accentuating the curve of your belly. It’s a constant reminder to him that you’re carrying his child, and the thought stirs something primal in him. Moreover, you’ve been carrying the pregnancy well, glowing with that unmistakable maternal aura that only makes him fall for you more. But beyond admiration, it also ignites a deeper, more physical desire in him.
The rooftop of the tattoo parlor, where the Oddinary crew often gathers, is buzzing with laughter as they celebrate Yoon’s birthday. Pizza boxes and cans of beer are scattered around, though you and Byeol stick to bottles of juice.
"This is from us," Minho says casually, handing Yoon the gift as if it's no big deal.
Yoon lights up as she accepts it. "Thank you so much!"
"Happy birthday, Yoon!" you add with a smile, comfortably sitting on Minho’s lap.
"Can I open it?" Yoon asks, her excitement barely contained.
"Go ahead!" you encourage. "We hope you like it."
Yoon eagerly tears through the wrapping, revealing a brand-new iPad. Her old one had seen better days, and she’d often complained about needing a new one for her tattoo designs now that she was taking on more clients. Her eyes widen, and she clutches it close to her chest. "Oh, thank you! I really needed this."
Felix, with Byeol on his lap, glances over with a playful pout. "You guys didn’t get me that game console when I asked it as a birthday gift," he mutters.
"That’s because you already play too many video games," you scold, slipping effortlessly into a motherly tone.
Felix turns to Minho for support. "Hyung?"
Minho grins. "I’m afraid she’s right."
Felix lets out a dramatic groan, "Not fair!"
Meanwhile, Sujin hands Yoon a necklace, adding to her growing collection as she likes to stack multiple necklaces around her neck on daily basis.
"So, where are we going out tonight?" she asks, likely already texting her husband with plans.
Minho shakes his head, his decision firm. "I’m sitting this one out tonight."
"Why?" Yoon asks, her brows knitting together.
Minho retrieves his wallet from his back pocket and hands Yoon a credit card. "You all have fun. It’s on me."
Yoon pretends to consider. "Great! I’ll use this to pay my phone bills then," she jokes, holding the card with both hands.
Sujin steps in with a playful roll of her eyes, taking the card from Yoon. "Don’t worry, I’ll keep everyone in check."
After tucking Byeol into bed, Minho joins you in the bedroom. He finds you in the bathroom, already dressed for bed, applying lotion to your arms as part of your nightly skincare routine. Without a word, he slips behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as his hands rest gently on your baby bump.
"You know, I don’t mind if you went out tonight," you say, catching his gaze in the mirror. "Or any night, really."
Minho nuzzles his face into your neck, inhaling the soothing scent of your skin. "It’s okay. I have something better to do anyway," he replies, his voice low.
A soft chuckle escapes your lips as you lean into his touch. "And what’s that?" you ask, already knowing the answer.
His lips brush against your neck as he murmurs, "You."
For the last few months, Minho has been cautious, knowing it wasn't safe to be intimate in the early stages of your pregnancy. But tonight, the careful distance he’s kept melts away. He needs you, craves you.
Later, you lie at the edge of the bed, propped on your elbows, your eyes locked on him with the same hunger that burns in his. Minho stands, positioned between your legs, moving with slow, deliberate care. His hands are planted on either side of your waist, and he leans down, pressing soft, heated kisses on your skin.
"Honey…" you moan, your voice a breathless whisper as his lips trail over your neck.
You tilt your head, seeking his mouth, and he gives in, kissing you with an intensity that feels like a lifeline. His movements are measured, filled with restraint and passion, but you can feel him starting to lose control, both of you teetering on the edge.
"I’m so close," you whimper, your hand gripping his arm tightly.
Minho threads his fingers through yours, his voice a soft promise. "I’ll give it to you, honey," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin.
With one last push, the tension between you snaps, and Minho groans deeply as he releases, filling you completely. His lips find yours in a deep, breathless kiss, his body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure.
As you both lie together afterward, the room quiet except for the sound of your breathing, Minho pulls you close, his hand resting tenderly on your belly. He peppers your skin with soft, fluttering kisses, his heart full, his love for you overwhelming.
"I love you," he whispers, the words carrying a weight that fills the room.
You smile, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. "I love you."
And that’s how Minho ends his day—wrapped up in you, content and at peace, his heart overflowing with love for the family you’re growing together.
-
In the middle of the night, Minho stirs from his sleep as he feels the bed shift. His eyes blink open just in time to see you slipping out of the bedroom. A wave of sleepiness pulls him to stay put, but curiosity wins over. He pushes himself out of bed and follows you.
Quietly stepping into the kitchen, Minho catches sight of you standing by the fridge, sniffing a jar of pickles. "What are you doing?" he asks, his eyes squinted in the dim light.
Startled, you nearly drop the jar, letting out a sigh of relief when you realize it’s just him. "Minho, can you not—" you begin, a little exasperated, but the words trail off.
Minho approaches, his footsteps soft, mindful not to wake Byeol, who’s fast asleep in her room. It’s not the first time he’s found you sneaking into the kitchen for a midnight snack, and he understands it. Pregnancy cravings don’t adhere to normal schedules.
"Are you hungry?" he asks gently, placing a hand on the small of your back.
"Yeah," you reply sheepishly, setting the pickles aside.
"What do you feel like eating?" Minho opens the fridge, glancing at the contents inside.
You scratch your chin, reminding him so much of Byeol when she’s deep in thought. Then, with a grin, you suggest, "Grilled cheese?"
As Minho works in the kitchen, keeping the noise to a minimum, you curl up on the sofa, munching on some of Byeol’s leftover snacks and catching up on your favorite show. It’s comforting, the familiar routine of it all, even at this hour.
Soon enough, Minho walks over with a plate in hand. You reach out eagerly, but the sandwich is still too hot to touch, causing you to hiss in surprise. "Honey, can you—" you begin to ask, but Minho, anticipating your next request, hands you a bottle of honey before you can finish the sentence.
"Thank you," you beam, wasting no time drizzling the honey over the grilled cheese.
Minho watches with a mixture of amusement and fondness. You didn’t have any unusual cravings during your first pregnancy, but this time around, honey seems to find its way onto everything—toast, fruit, milk, even pizza. It’s strange, but as long as you’re happy and eating, he’s not about to question it.
"Good?" he asks, eyes twinkling.
You nod, unable to answer with your mouth full of food. He can’t help but smile as he watches you enjoy every bite.
"Do you want me to make you another one?" he offers as you near the end of the sandwich.
"If I keep eating like this in the middle of the night, I’m going to get so big," you grumble, pausing to add more honey to the toast.
Minho tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Why is that a bad thing?" he asks, his voice soft. "That just means there’ll be more of you for me to hold."
His words make you smile, and with a playful glint in your eyes, you shove the last piece into your mouth. "In that case, I’ll take another one."
While waiting for the second grilled cheese, you switch up your approach, tearing it into pieces and dipping them in honey. Your attention shifts between the food and the TV, but then you suddenly blurt out, "We don’t know the baby’s gender yet, but I think we should have a pet name."
Minho chuckles. "Got any ideas?"
You pause for a moment before laughing at your own suggestion, "Honeypot?"
Minho grins, playing along. "How about ‘little shit’?"
You surprise him by laughing and agreeing, "I like that. Because he’s being a greedy little shit right now," you say affectionately, your hand resting on your baby bump.
Minho watches you with a warm smile, finding it adorable how you scold your bump with such endearment. It hits him, too—this little one is his little shit as well.
"We’ll have to be careful not to say that around Byeol though," you add with a grin.
-
Third trimester is where things get a little rough.
Your baby bump has grown even larger, and your protruding belly button makes it nearly impossible to find a comfortable sleeping position. Swollen ankles and feet, constant trips to the bathroom every hour or two, and an aching back keep you tossing and turning through the night. Worse, your body radiates heat, and Minho, sharing the bed with you, often wakes up drenched in sweat. But no matter how uncomfortable it gets for him, he knows you’ve got it much worse.
It’s the weekend, and Minho’s first thought is to let you and Byeol rest. He starts cooking breakfast a little later than usual, hoping you’ll get some extra sleep. The smell of food wafts through the apartment, and soon, you shuffle into the kitchen, sleepily rubbing your eyes.
"Morning," you mumble, slowly making your way to him, one hand supporting your belly as you lean in for a soft morning kiss.
"Morning," he replies, still whisking the batter for French toast.
"What’s for breakfast?" you ask, wrapping your arms around him from behind and resting your chin on his shoulder.
"French toast," Minho answers, focused on the task at hand.
"Yum!" you hum, your voice filled with satisfaction as you gently let go of him to patiently wait for breakfast on the dining table.
Sitting down, you grab your phone and begin to check work emails, your mind briefly occupied. As you concentrate on typing, a sudden sneeze bursts out of you.
"Oh?!" You gasp, feeling something unexpected. Your eyes widen, and you glance toward Minho. "I think I just pissed my pants."
Minho freezes, whisk in hand, turning to you with wide eyes. "Are you serious?"
"I don’t know," you laugh, frustration mixing with amusement. "I can't see it."
Your belly is too big to check on your own, so Minho walks over, pulling your chair back to give himself a better view. He bends down and takes a look.
"Nice!" he says, chuckling as he spots the wet patch on your shorts.
You narrow your eyes at him, clearly unamused. "You're having a good laugh, huh?"
Minho’s grin widens, unable to hold back the laughter. "Want me to help you clean up then?"
"Just hurry up with breakfast! I'm hungry!" you huff, half laughing, half exasperated, giving him a light push back toward the kitchen.
He turns back to the stove, still smiling as he flips the French toast, and a few minutes later, he places the plate in front of you. You can’t help but eye the delicious breakfast with anticipation.
Minho leans down and presses a quick kiss on the top of your head. "Eat well, pisspants," he teases, smirking.
You groan but can’t help smiling as you take a bite of the French toast. Even with the little mishap, moments like these make everything easier to handle—his teasing, his care, and the love that fills your home.
-
Minho only has one appointment today, and once he's done, he heads up to the third floor. He finds you napping on the sofa, the TV still on in the background. The sight makes him pause, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He knows better than to wake you—you’ve been struggling to sleep at night, and the rest is much needed.
Settling down beside you, Minho glances at the TV. It’s one of those shows you love, the kind that he could never get into, but he watches it anyway because you do. After two episodes, though, he starts to get bored. He leans closer, unable to resist the urge to press soft kisses against your cheek, then your forehead, and finally the tip of your nose.
"Honey, wake up," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he playfully tugs your nose between his lips.
You stir in your sleep, letting out a groggy groan as you weakly push at his head, trying to go back to sleep.
"Wake up," Minho tries again, this time burying his face into your neck and planting a series of ticklish kisses along your skin. "I’m bored."
"Go play with your daughter," you mumble, eyes still closed, your voice heavy with sleep.
"Your parents are taking her fishing, remember?" Minho reminds you, his tone soft but teasing. "You’re stuck with me."
The words sink in slowly, and you finally crack your eyes open, squinting up at him. "What do you want to do?" you ask, half curious, half resigned to whatever he’s planning.
Minho grins, shifting on the sofa to make himself more comfortable. "We can ride a roller coaster."
You chuckle, still drowsy. "I don’t think they let pregnant women ride roller coasters."
"Okay, fine. Haunted house?"
"Also, pregnant," you remind him, closing your eyes again.
He huffs, feigning frustration as he thinks. "How about a horror movie?"
You consider for a moment before mumbling, "Sure, put one on. I’ll watch it with you."
"No," he counters, shaking his head. "We’re not watching it here."
That gets your attention. You open one eye, giving him a suspicious look. "You want to go out and watch a horror movie?"
"Yup," Minho nods enthusiastically.
You sigh, staring at the ceiling as if contemplating how you ended up married to someone this persistent. "Fine, give me a minute to get ready."
The real reason Minho wanted to take you out wasn’t just boredom. He knew things would change soon, with a second child on the way, and he couldn’t remember the last time it was just the two of you. You deserved a break, and he wanted to give it to you, even if that meant taking you to see a horror movie you’d likely sleep through.
Later, after the movie, Minho waits outside the women’s restroom with your bag slung over his shoulder. When you emerge, you’re grumbling under your breath, your face scrunched up in discomfort.
"My feet," you mutter, pausing to adjust your swollen ankles in your shoes.
Minho glances down and sees how tight the shoes have become, your feet swollen from the pregnancy. Without missing a beat, he suggests, "Let’s get you a pair of sandals, yeah?"
You nod, grateful, as he leads you to a nearby shop. Inside, he doesn’t hesitate to kneel down, taking off your shoes and replacing them with a more comfortable pair of sandals. While he’s down there, he gently rubs your ankles, soothing the swelling.
"Better?" he asks, looking up at you with a smile.
"Much better, thank you," you sigh, relief washing over you as you take his hand, helping him to his feet.
On the way out of the store, you pause to admire a cardigan on display, your fingers brushing over the soft fabric. Minho notices, stepping beside you.
"You want that one too?" he asks, already reaching for his wallet.
You hesitate for a moment before slipping it off the hanger. "Does it look good on me?"
"I think it fits you well," he simply answers.
Minho buys it without a second thought, handing it over to you with a smile. He knows you can buy it for yourself, but he enjoys spoiling you in little ways when he can. It’s his way of showing his love, in gestures that remind him how lucky he is to have you.
As you both make your way to your favorite Italian restaurant, Minho buys a flower from an elderly lady selling them on the street. He hands it to you with a soft smile, the simple gesture making you raise an eyebrow.
"Okay, you can tell me now," you say, taking the flower but eyeing him suspiciously.
"What?" he laughs, feigning innocence.
"You know I wasn’t suspicious until you gave me flowers," you tease, poking at him with your free hand. "So what’s this all about?"
Minho grins, leaning back in his chair, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh. "I just felt bad for the elderly lady," he explains with a shrug.
You narrow your eyes, skeptical. "The last time you gave me flowers, you were apologizing for lying to me."
He chuckles, taking a sip of water as if stalling.
Leaning in, you lower your voice conspiratorially. "Did you sell the building to pay for your secret gambling debt?"
"No!" Minho laughs, shaking his head at your wild guess.
"Did you kill someone and need my help to bury the body?" you continue, your tone playful but serious.
His lips twitch into a smirk. "You’d help me bury the body?"
"Depends on who you killed," you joke, tearing a piece of bread and popping it into your mouth. "Whoever it was probably deserved it."
Minho’s laughter fades into a thoughtful smile. There was, in fact, something he needed to tell you, something he’s been holding back. After a moment, he clears his throat, turning more serious.
"You remember Hyunjin?" he asks.
You tilt your head. "The beautiful, tall guy with long dark hair and a rose tattoo on his finger?"
Minho narrows his eyes, pointing at your baby bump. "Be careful, you're already cheating on me with that little shit."
You laugh and put all of your attention on him, "Go on, what about Hyunjin?"
"He invited me to do a guest spot at his parlor," Minho says in a rush, blurting out the words.
You blink at him. "You want to do it?"
He nods slowly. "Yeah. I think it’d be... fun."
You smile softly, seeing how much he wants it. "Then you should do it."
Minho hesitates, his hand tightening slightly on your thigh. "But I can’t leave you. Not when you’re…"
"Yes, you can," you cut him off gently, placing your hand over his, "And you will."
"But I’ll be away for two weeks," he protests, his voice softening with worry.
"That’s fine. I’ll be on maternity leave anyway," you remind him, tearing another piece of bread. "It works out."
Minho stares at you for a moment, his heart swelling with gratitude and love. "You’re okay with it?" he asks, still unsure why he hesitated so much in the first place.
"Look, Minho," you begin, squeezing his hand, "You’ve done so much for me, for us. I want you to be able to do your thing too."
The simplicity of your words hits him harder than he expected. He looks at you, feeling overwhelmed with how lucky he is to have you as his partner, someone who understands him without him needing to explain. You give him the freedom to be his own person while still being a devoted father and husband.
"I don’t want you to hesitate to tell me the next time you have something you want to do, okay?" You add, your voice soft yet firm.
Minho nods, the smile that spreads across his face filled with love and gratitude. He leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, lingering kiss.
-
The apartment feels quieter than usual with Byeol spending the weekend with your parents. Despite the peace, a slight ache of longing tugs at your chest, so you call her to hear her voice. After a sweet chat, you hand the phone to Minho so she can talk with her dad.
“We’ll pick you up tomorrow, okay?” he says softly to your daughter. He smiles at something she says, his voice tender as he adds, “Sleep well. Goodnight!” He hangs up, and you sigh, shifting for what feels like the hundredth time beside him.
“The little shit won’t stop moving,” you mutter, rubbing your belly in frustration.
Minho puts your phone away and leans against the headboard, patting the space between his legs. “Come here.”
You shuffle over, leaning your back against his chest. His arms wrap around you, and his hands instantly find your swollen belly, rubbing gentle, soothing circles over it. His touch has always been your comfort.
“I think little shit can’t sleep because of the horror movie we watched earlier,” you murmur, resting your head in the crook of his neck.
He chuckles softly, his fingers tracing patterns beneath your camisole, feeling every tiny kick and movement. “No, I think little shit is just excited.”
The sensation of his hands on you, tender yet firm, is grounding. Slowly, the tension eases from your body. You melt into his warmth, your eyelids growing heavier with each caress. Minho presses a series of soft kisses along your temple, quiet and full of affection. His hand reaches for yours and he slips his fingers in between.
Knowing that he's noticing your swollen fingers, you say, "I need to take the wedding ring off."
Without saying anything, Minho takes it off for you and slightly struggling doing it. Once he successfully takes it off, he safely places the ring on the bedside table.
“How can I leave if you’re like this, mmh?” he whispers, his lips brushing your skin.
“This isn’t my first rodeo, Minho," You smile sleepily, your eyes barely open. "I’ll be okay.”
"No, I mean, leaving you and you're not wearing the wedding ring..." he says with a playful smirk.
Your laugh vibrates through him, "I don’t think people would try to flirt with pregnant woman."
"I do," he shamelessly admits.
"That’s because you're deranged," you teasingly say and look over you shoulder at him, "my deranged husband."
His arms tighten around you, and though he knows you’re right, the thought of leaving still tugs at him. But as he feels you relax completely in his embrace, he remembers that if there's one thing he learned from years of being married to you is that you're stronger than you look.
-
It's 3 a.m., but Minho can’t bring himself to move. He lies there, watching you sleep peacefully beside him, your belly softly rising and falling with each breath. Part of him wishes he could stay, to spend the whole day with you. After a while, he reluctantly leans in, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to your cheek before carefully pulling himself away.
He slips out of bed, moving quietly around the room, trying not to disturb you. The first flight out of the city awaits, and he needs to be at the airport in less than an hour. Minho takes his suitcase downstairs, leaving it by the door before heading back upstairs for a proper goodbye.
He steps into Byeol’s room, pausing at the edge of her bed, watching her little form snuggled under the blankets. She looks so peaceful, and it tugs at his heart.
“Daddy will be back,” he whispers, brushing a few stray hairs off her forehead. Leaning down, he places a soft kiss there. “Love you, my little star.”
He makes a quiet exit from her room but freezes when he sees you standing in the doorway of your bedroom, your hands resting gently on your growing bump, a sleepy but warm smile on your face.
“You think you can get rid of me that easily, huh?” you tease, your voice low and playful.
Minho grins, walking over to meet you, and together, you head downstairs just as the taxi pulls up outside. The driver steps out to help with the luggage as Minho turns back to you, double-checking everything.
“Got your wallet? Flight tickets?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Got them,” he confirms, patting his jacket pocket.
“Are you sure you’re not forgetting anything?” You ask again.
There’s a sly smile on your lips, and Minho hesitates, trying to remember. You squint, holding up his phone that you’d swiped without him noticing. He smiles, taking it from you and tapping on the screen, only to see that you’ve changed his lock screen to a photo of you and Byeol.
“So you remember you’ve got a wife and a daughter waiting for you at home,” you say with a playful smirk.
Minho laughs, but when he unlocks the phone, he finds another surprise—a rather provocative picture of you, posing in a way that makes him flashing you a mischievous grin.
“Just a friendly reminder of what you’ll be losing if you even think about flirting with anyone,” you warn him, your tone teasing but with an edge of seriousness.
Minho tucks his phone away, stepping close to you, though your belly stops him from getting as close as he’d like. He places a hand tenderly on your bump, rubbing it in slow circles. “Keep this little shit inside until I get back, okay?”
You chuckle, your hand covering his. “I’ll try.”
His other hand cups your face, pulling you into a deep, lingering kiss. There’s something tender, something a little desperate about the way he holds you, as if this moment is too precious to let go.
“I love you,” he whispers between kisses, his voice low and full of feeling.
“I love you,” you murmur back, your smile soft against his lips, your forehead resting against his.
With a final kiss, Minho lets go, though his hand remains intertwined with yours. He traces his thumb across your cheek, as if memorizing your features one last time.
“Take care, and be back safely,” you say, your smile bittersweet.
He nods, but his legs feel heavy. This is the first time he’s leaving his family, and it’s harder than he anticipated. His body doesn’t want to move, like it’s rooted to the spot, not ready to let go.
“And don’t forget to enjoy yourself too, mmh?” you add with a warm smile.
Minho swallows the knot in his throat, forcing a smile. “I will.”
Finally, he turns toward the taxi, walking slowly as if each step pulls him further from you. He doesn’t look back—not yet—because he knows he’ll run straight back into your arms. Only when the taxi starts driving away does he glance back, watching you wave until he disappears down the street.
-
The red traffic light seems to stretch endlessly, making every minute feel like an hour. You glance over at the passenger seat, where the carefully packed dinner is growing colder by the second. As soon as the light turns green, you press down on the gas, navigating through the streets at the maximum speed allowed. There’s no time to waste, but you remind yourself that it’s better to make it home in one piece.
With a deep breath, you haul everything out of the car and begin your slow ascent up the stairs. Each step is a challenge with your swollen baby bump, and by the time you reach the third floor, you’re panting.
"Felix, I’m so sorry," you blurt out the moment you open the door to the apartment, "The traffic was horrible..." You trail off as you hurriedly place the bags on the dining table, relieved to finally be home.
The balance between work, pregnancy, and taking care of Byeol has become a juggling act without Minho around, and everyone in the parlor has been taking turns in helping you doing one of them.
As you catch your breath and turn towards the living room, you can’t help but chuckle at the sight before you. Byeol is perched on the couch, happily tying Felix’s long bleached hair into tiny ponytails, adding hairpins and colorful stickers to his face.
"It’s okay, we’re having fun," Felix says, staying as still as possible so Byeol can work on his hair. "Right, rockstar?"
"Mm-mmh," Byeol hums in agreement, her focus entirely on securing a final hairpin in place.
You laugh softly, “You two look like you’re having a blast.”
Once she finishes with Felix’s hair, Byeol runs over to you and hugs your waist, her small arms barely reaching around your bump. "Mommy’s home!" she giggles.
You smile down at her, stroking her hair gently. "Let’s have dinner first, alright? You must be hungry."
Her eyes light up as she eagerly asks, "What’s for dinner?"
"It’s your favorite—soup dumplings," you announce, watching her face brighten. "Go wash your hands first!"
Byeol scampers off to the sink as you turn back to Felix, who’s gently pulling the last hairpins out of his hair.
"Are you staying for dinner?" you ask while unpacking the food.
Felix shakes his head, running a hand through his now free-flowing hair. "I’ve actually got dinner plans with a friend, so I’ll head out."
"Sorry for keeping you," you say apologetically, glancing at the mess of stickers still plastered across his face. You step closer, helping him peel the last of them off.
Felix chuckles, grabbing his jacket. "It’s no problem, really."
"Byeol, say goodbye to Uncle Felix," you call as she finishes washing her hands.
"Thank you for playing with me, Uncle Felix," she says sweetly, running over to give him a hug.
"You’re very welcome, rockstar," Felix replies, hugging her back before standing up to give you a hug as well.
After he leaves, you feel the weight of the past week without Minho settle in. It’s been tough managing everything, but tomorrow marks the start of your maternity leave, and the relief is almost palpable.
"Have you done your homework?" you ask, wiping some leftover sauce from Byeol’s mouth as she finishes her dinner.
"Mommy, I don’t have school tomorrow," she giggles.
"Oh, right! Mommy forgot," you chuckle, realizing it’s school break. "Do you want to do something fun tomorrow?"
Byeol’s eyes widen with excitement. "Mommy’s not working?"
"Nope, no work!" you confirm with a smile.
Her face lights up even more. "I want to go to the aquarium!"
You pause, recalling that she’s already been there recently, but you quickly realize she’s asking for something more—time with you. With another baby on the way, your one-on-one moments with Byeol have been scarce.
"You know what? Tomorrow, we’ll go to the aquarium, and we’ll do whatever else you want. How does that sound?"
"Really, mommy?" she asks, her voice full of wonder.
"Really," you reply, smiling as you brush a hand over her hair.
The next morning, Byeol wakes up buzzing with excitement. She puts on her best clothes and even helps you pack a few things for the day. When you arrive at the parlor downstairs, Byeol is bursting with anticipation.
"Where are you going, superstar?" Sujin asks, opening her arms for a hug.
"I’m going to the aquarium with Mommy!" she declares proudly.
Sujin playfully pouts, "Can Auntie Sujin come too?"
"No," Byeol shakes her head, giggling as Sujin pretends to be offended.
Felix joins in, "What about me? Can I come?"
"No," Byeol repeats, still giggling. "It’s just me and Mommy!"
With everything packed and Byeol bubbling with excitement, you wave goodbye to the parlor crew and head out for a day that’s all about your little girl.
At the aquarium, Byeol is in awe of everything, dragging you from tank to tank, her tiny hand gripping yours as she points excitedly at the sea creatures. "Mommy, look!" she exclaims every few minutes, her eyes wide with wonder.
After hours of exploring, you stop for a quick lunch, letting Byeol take charge of ordering for both of you. She confidently hands over your credit card at the window, beaming with pride.
"So, what do you want to do next?" you ask between bites of fries.
She thinks for a moment before asking, "What about you, Mommy? What do you want to do?"
Caught off guard by her question, you blink a few times, then chuckle. "How about we get our nails done? Or we can watch a movie, or go shopping. What do you think?"
"I want to paint my nails too!" Byeol says, her enthusiasm never faltering.
You smile at the thought. "Alright, why don’t you pick the color, and we’ll have matching nails?"
No one knows your daughter best than you, she likes playing soccer instead of with her dolls, she always prefers to look scary for Halloween instead of dressed as princesses and recently, she mentioned that she wants to take a taekwondo class, you always thought she leans toward such things but you realize that there's so many sides of her that you just haven't discovered yet. A person can be so many things, there's no limit to what they like or what they interest in, for all you know, Byeol can be anything she wants.
Byeol takes the task seriously, carefully scanning the color options before choosing a vibrant purple. The two of you sit side by side at the salon, giggling as your nails are painted, Byeol opting for colorful flower designs on hers.
By the time dinner rolls around, you’re both exhausted but happy. As you head back home, Byeol suddenly dashes toward the elevator.
"Please hold the door! My mommy is pregnant, and she can’t walk fast!" she calls out to the person inside.
The lady smiles kindly and holds the door open. "What a thoughtful little girl you have," she says, patting Byeol’s head as you finally catch up.
"I’m lucky," you reply, pulling Byeol close as the two of you step inside.
As you reflect on the day, you can’t help but feel immense pride in your daughter. She’s growing up so fast, learning and becoming her own person in ways you hadn’t even noticed. You smile to yourself, knowing that no matter what, Byeol is already shaping up to be someone wonderful—someone strong, caring, and unafraid to try new things.
-
As you enter Byeol’s room, the weight of the day settles in, the ache in your feet reminding you of just how much you walked. Still, your little one inside won’t let you rest, kicking incessantly since you got home.
"Ready for bed, starshine?" you ask, watching Byeol eagerly climb under her covers.
"Yes, mommy," she replies, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
You wince slightly as you sit down beside her, gently tucking her in, and she notices immediately.
"Are you okay, mommy?" she asks, her voice full of concern.
"Mommy’s okay," you assure her with a smile. "The baby just keeps kicking."
Byeol, curious and excited, places her small hand on your belly, waiting. Her eyes widen when she feels a kick, and she grins up at you.
"So, did you have fun today?" you ask, softly brushing her hair back.
"I had so much fun!" she says, cuddling into your chest, her voice brimming with joy.
"We can do it again tomorrow," you say, leaning down to kiss her head.
"Mommy’s not working tomorrow?" she asks, her wide eyes hopeful.
"No, mommy is on maternity leave," you explain.
"What’s that?" she questions, her confusion evident.
"It means mommy doesn’t have to work until this baby pops out," you explain simply.
She brightly smiles when she hears it. She throws her arms around you and hugs you tightly as she says, "I love you, mommy."
Your heart shakes from hearing the earnestness in her words, you feel tears forming on the corner of your eyes. You blink them away and put on a smile as you say back, "And mommy loves you too."
You pull the blanket to cover her body and softly pat her head, "You must be tired. Let's get to sleep, yeah?"
She nods as drowsiness starts taking over her, "Goodnight, mommy."
"Goodnight, my shining star," you murmur with a lingering kiss on her forehead.
In your bedroom, you take a moment to sit on the bed and just process everything until you get overwhelmed by the emotions of the day. Tears prick at your eyes, but they’re a mix of joy, exhaustion, and love. Just as you start to wipe them away, the phone rings, and Minho’s name flashes on the screen. You quickly take a deep breath, not wanting to let him hear your tears, and answer the call.
"Hi, honey," you greet him with forced cheer.
"Hey, pisspants," he teases, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice.
"How are you?" you ask, smiling despite yourself.
"I’m surprisingly fine without you," he jokes, and you roll your eyes, "Byeol?"
"All tucked in, not a chance of escape," you say with a playful chuckle.
"And the little shit?" he asks, referring to the baby.
"Practicing kickboxing in here," you say, rubbing your belly as the baby kicks again as if on cue.
"How was your day?" you ask, settling deeper into the bed, "No, wait, unless you tattooed someone’s buttock, I don’t want to hear it," you add with a laugh.
"Sadly, no," Minho replies with a grin in his voice.
"Then ask about my day," you demand, feeling a little more playful.
"Okay, how was your day?" he caves, amused.
You launch into the story of your day, telling him every detail from the morning to the aquarium trip, to Byeol ordering food at the drive-thru, and you can hear his smile through the phone as he listens. He interjects every now and then, keeping up the light banter, and for a moment, it feels like he’s right there with you.
"That sounds fun. I’m jealous," he says when you finish.
"It was," you sigh happily.
It’s moments like these, his teasing, his calm presence, that you miss the most. Your chest tightens with the ache of missing him.
"I miss you," you admit quietly, the tears from earlier creeping back up your throat.
"I miss you too, honey," he says softly, and you can feel the sincerity in his voice.
Even though he’s miles away, in that moment, you feel connected to him, the distance fading as you share the quiet agony of longing for each other.
-
The moment Minho steps off the plane, the cool airport air hits him, a welcome contrast to the hours spent in the stale cabin. He rolls his stiff shoulders, grateful to be on solid ground. He pulls out his phone, ready to text you, expecting to wait for a ride.
But as he walks toward baggage claim, he stops in his tracks, his eyes widening. There, standing just past the barrier, are you and Byeol.
His heart stutters, caught between surprise and overwhelming joy. He wasn’t expecting you to come all this way, especially with your swollen belly and how much you’ve been juggling at home. But here you are, and you’ve brought Byeol, her small face lighting up the second she sees him.
"Daddy!" Byeol yells, her voice cutting through the hum of the crowd as she breaks into a run toward him.
Minho barely has time to drop his carry-on before she’s in his arms, her little body crashing into his with all the force her excitement can muster. He lifts her easily, despite the weariness from the long flight, her tiny arms wrapping tightly around his neck.
"Hi, honey," he murmurs, pressing his lips to her head, his heart swelling in his chest.
Then, his eyes lift to meet yours. You're standing there, smiling softly at him, looking beautiful and tired all at once, your hand resting on your rounded belly. The sight of you—the woman he loves, the mother of his child, the one carrying their second—hits him harder than he thought it would. Something about seeing his family, all here, waiting for him, fills his heart to the brim. His throat tightens, and before he can stop it, he feels the burn of tears behind his eyes.
"You came to pick me up?" His voice cracks, and he immediately feels a bit ridiculous, blinking away the moisture threatening to spill over.
You nod, your smile warm and knowing as you step closer. "We couldn’t wait to see you," you say softly, reaching up to place a hand on his cheek.
He closes his eyes at your touch, leaning into it, savoring the warmth of your skin against his. Byeol wriggles in his arms, pulling back to look at him with a beaming smile.
"We missed you, Daddy," she says, her bright eyes reflecting her joy.
"I missed you too, shining star," Minho says, his voice thick with emotion.
You step into his other side, wrapping your arms around both of them, and he feels it—the peace, the love, the sense of home that he’s been missing. His arms tighten around you both, holding onto the moment, grounding himself in the comfort of your presence.
It’s not just relief from the long trip or the exhaustion of work; it’s the realization of how much his heart aches when he’s away from you two. Being here, now, with his family, everything else fades.
"I’m home," he whispers, his voice barely audible above the hum of the airport.
"And we’re so glad you are," you reply, your lips brushing against his cheek as you pull him into a deeper embrace.
For a moment, he lets himself feel it all—the happiness, the gratitude, the love. His family, his home, right here in his arms.
-
Minho is finally home.
Everything feels familiar, but there’s an undeniable shift in the air. His eyes sweep across the apartment, noticing the small yet significant changes—there’s a crib in the corner of the bedroom now, baby clothes draped over the armchair, bottles, and toys beginning to clutter spaces that once held nothing but the quiet simplicity of your shared life. A reminder that soon, his family will grow by one more.
He makes his way into the bathroom where you're standing at the sink, gently rubbing cream on your face. He watches you through the mirror for a moment, taking in how radiant you look, despite the exhaustion he knows you've been feeling. You catch his gaze and smile softly.
"Getting bigger," Minho comments, his eyes tracing your reflection as he walks up behind you.
At first, you assume he's talking about your growing belly, especially with how close you are to your due date. But when his hands slide around your front, you burst into laughter as they make their way up to cup your breasts.
"Just how you like them, huh?" you tease, glancing at him in the mirror with a grin.
He smirks, placing a sweet kiss on your neck. "Always," he murmurs against your skin. But then, with a softer smile, his hands move down to your belly, cradling it from underneath, lifting it gently as though taking some of the weight off you.
You let out a small, relieved moan, closing your eyes as you lean back into him. "Why can't you do this for me every day?" you joke, though the gratitude in your voice is clear.
It’s been months of carrying this weight, of swollen feet and sleepless nights. And yet, somehow, in these small moments with him, it all feels worth it.
Minho presses his lips to your shoulder, lingering in the warmth of your skin. "I missed you," he whispers, but it’s not just missing you physically. There’s a depth to his words, like he’s been holding his breath, and now that he’s back, he can finally exhale.
His lips trail down to the crook of your neck, and before long, you find yourself in the bedroom, lying on your back, your head resting on the pillow as he hovers above you. His movements are gentle, careful, as he enters you. Not too deep, just enough to feel you, to remind himself of what it’s like to be with you this way.
You laugh softly, a contented sound that fills the room. "I can’t see it, but it feels so good," you say, your hands tracing the lines of his tattoos, the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers.
Minho smiles, his heart swelling at your touch, your voice. He moves slowly, cautiously, not wanting to push too far, not wanting to hurt you or the baby. His hands brace beside you, propped against the mattress, keeping himself steady.
Your hands find his face, pulling him down to kiss you, and he’s lost in the sensation of your lips against his, the sound of your quiet moans urging him on. He missed this — missed the intimacy, the connection, the feeling of being one with you.
"Honey," he breathes, his voice thick with longing. He presses his lips to your neck, your chest, savoring every inch of you.
You moan his name softly, your eyes half-lidded as you look up at him, and that’s all it takes for Minho to reach his release, his body tensing as he comes, his seed spilling inside you. He pulls out just a second too late, but he doesn’t care. In this moment, all that matters is you, the life you’ve built together, and the one growing between you.
His hand comes up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he leans down to kiss you deeply. When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless, your eyes locked on his. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze that surprises you, and it hits you just how much this moment means to him.
The weight of his emotions threatens to overwhelm him, but Minho lets it all out, lets himself feel it all as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close.
"I love you," he whispers, his voice low and raw.
"I love you too," you reply, your voice filled with all the love you’ve carried for him through the years, through the ups and downs, the changes and the constants.
Tears slip down your cheeks as you kiss him again, both of you lost in the tenderness of the moment, the unspoken promise that no matter what, you’ll always have each other.
-
Minho doesn't have much to do around the house as you’ve already tackled most of the chores. He knows you like to keep yourself busy, but watching you move around, especially with the baby almost here, makes him a little anxious. Seeing you now, carrying a full laundry basket down the stairs, only increases his concern.
“Slow down, or you’re going to piss your pants again,” Minho teases, leaning against the doorframe.
You chuckle, setting the basket down on the carpet. “I’m doing alright, honey,” you assure him, lowering yourself onto the sofa with a small sigh.
Before you can start folding the laundry, Minho steps in and grabs the basket from you. “Nope. Not today,” he says, replacing the basket with a plate of sliced fruits. “Take a break. You can do the laundry later.”
You sigh in defeat but take the plate from him, nibbling on a piece of apple dipped in peanut butter. While you sit back and relax, Minho quickly handles the laundry, but when he returns, he catches you making another attempt to escape.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, eyebrows raised.
“I don’t want to piss my pants again,” you shout with a laugh, already halfway to the bathroom.
Minho shakes his head with a grin and waits in the living room until you come back. But when you return, your expression isn’t playful anymore—it’s tense, and there’s a weird look on your face.
"You didn’t make it to the bathroom right on time?" Minho jokes, trying to keep things light.
You sit slowly on the sofa and lean back, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I’m not sure… but I think… I just lost the mucus plug,” you say, biting your lip.
Minho feels the tension in his chest as your words sink in. Though he stays calm, he knows what this means. It’s one of the first signs that labor is near, and while he doesn’t want to alarm you, he’s on high alert now.
He moves closer, his hand gently resting on your belly. "Are you okay? Do you feel any pain?"
"My back is always in pain,” you answer with a sigh, “but I’m good for now."
"Should we get ready to go to the hospital?" Minho asks, his hand moving to rub your lower back in soothing circles.
“It could be a false alarm,” you say with a faint smile, “but just in case, yes.”
Minho nods, appreciating how calm you’re trying to stay. Luckily, thanks to your meticulous planning, the hospital bags were packed weeks ago. All he has to do is grab them from the closet and put them in the car.
"Do you want to go now?" he asks as he notices that you've been getting contractions.
You nod but don’t say anything, your expression showing you’re trying to breathe through the pain.
The drive to the hospital feels like an eternity, even though Minho is breaking every speed limit. He glances over at you, your hand resting protectively over your belly, your breathing uneven as you try to power through the contractions. He reaches out and takes your hand, squeezing it gently.
“We’re almost there,” he reassures you, his voice is calm but tight with worry.
Minutes later, you’re arrived at the hospital. Nurses are already waiting with a wheelchair, and Minho quickly helps you into it. His worry is more apparent on his face now.
"It’s going to be okay," you tell him as you squeeze his hand.
"I know," he says, flashing you a faint yet genuine smile.
Your journey through labor has begun, and Minho is right by your side, ready for whatever comes next.
-
After labor, you drift in and out of consciousness for what feels like hours. It isn’t until the nurse enters your room to check on you that you start to come around, your senses slowly gathering themselves.
“I’m sorry for waking you up,” the nurse apologizes softly, noticing your eyes flutter open.
“Oh, no, it’s fine,” you say with a weak but warm smile. Your body feels heavy, but there’s a lightness in your heart knowing what’s coming next.
Shortly after, they bring you a meal to help you regain some strength. Hospital food is always hit or miss—sometimes it’s surprisingly good, other times it’s bland. But today, the pudding is exactly what you need, a small but satisfying comfort.
Minho had to leave to handle a few things at home and will return soon with Byeol. For now, you’re alone, savoring the quiet until the nurse returns, this time pushing the bassinet small into the room. Your heart skips, and a soft smile pulls at your lips, knowing you’re about to meet your baby again.
When you first met your little one in the operating room, it had all been a blur—tears, sweat, and a whirlwind of pain. You hadn’t been able to focus through the intensity of it all. But now, as the nurse gently settles the bassinet beside your bed, the moment feels much more real.
“You might want to start with breastfeeding initiation,” the nurse suggests kindly, helping you get comfortable before carefully placing the baby in your arms.
“Thank you,” you mutter, your voice soft, eyes fixed on the tiny bundle in your arms. His little face is peaceful, his cheeks flushed and warm. As soon as the nurse leaves, it truly hits you: he’s yours. This little boy was inside of you just hours ago, and now, he’s here, cradled against your chest.
“So it’s you, huh?” you murmur in awe, brushing your finger along his tiny hand. “The one who’s been kickboxing inside mommy’s tummy?”
His tiny forehead crinkles, and your heart swells as a tear slips down your cheek. He’s so beautiful. Fragile, yet so full of life. You can’t stop smiling through the tears, utterly captivated by him. Then, he lets out a soft cry, his little face scrunching up. You remember what the nurse said about breastfeeding and shift him into position, unsure if you’re even producing milk yet.
It takes a moment, but he begins to nurse, and the world seems to still around you. You forgot how intimate this moment feels—how sacred it is to have your baby so close, sharing this connection. As he feeds, the overwhelming emotions settle deeper into your chest, filling you with love, gratitude, and an inexplicable sense of completeness.
Not long after, the quiet of the room is broken by a familiar voice.
“Mommy! Mommy!” Byeol calls, her excitement spilling into the room as she bursts through the door.
You glance up and see her little feet moving quickly toward you. “Oh, honey, you’re finally here!” you exclaim, a broad smile breaking across your face. “Mommy missed you.”
“I missed you too, Mommy!” Byeol beams up at you before holding up something in her hands—a small, stuffed bunny.
“What’s that?” you ask curiously, your heart swelling as Minho steps into the room behind her, his eyes locking onto yours. He’s holding your hand before you know it, the unspoken emotions passing between you as you both look down at the baby in your arms.
“This is for the baby!” Byeol announces proudly, her eyes twinkling with excitement.
“That’s so nice of you, honey,” you say, feeling tears prick your eyes again, this time from the tenderness of the moment. “Come sit next to Mommy.”
You shift over on the bed to make room for Byeol, and Minho helps her climb up. Once she’s seated beside you, her gaze locks onto her baby brother, her little hands twitching, eager but hesitant to touch him.
“He’s so tiny, Mommy,” she giggles, eyes wide with wonder.
“Do you want to hold him?” you ask softly.
Byeol glances at Minho as if seeking permission, then nods at you, her smile growing. Together, you and Minho help her hold the baby carefully, cradling his weight between her small arms and your supportive hands.
“Meet your little brother, Haneul,” you whisper, introducing the two of them for the very first time.
Byeol’s eyes light up as she gazes down at him, the gentle awe never leaving her face. After a moment, she bravely reaches out and pokes his chubby cheek. “He’s so squishy!” she declares, making you laugh softly.
“You can kiss him if you want,” you encourage.
Without hesitation, Byeol leans forward and plants a sweet kiss on Haneul’s cheek, giggling as she pulls back. “He’s so cute, Mommy,” she whispers, resting her head close to him, her protective little arms still cradling him carefully.
Your heart feels like it might burst at the sight of them together—your children. You squeeze Minho’s hand, overcome by the love you feel for your family. As you turn to look at him, tears glisten in your eyes, but they’re happy tears—grateful, joyful tears.
Minho smiles softly, a quiet understanding in his eyes. He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your head, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.
In this moment, everything feels perfect. Your family has grown, and with this new little life, your world feels more whole than ever before.
-
For the rest of the day, both your families come to visit you at the hospital, offering congratulations and warmth to the new addition to your family. As the evening settles in, the Oddinary arrive, right after the tattoo parlor has closed for the day. Their familiar presence fills the room, bringing laughter, chatter, and of course, food. They even bring pizzas to celebrate the occasion.
As Sujin gently holds little Haneul in her arms, she studies him with an appraising look while Felix peers over her shoulder in awe.
“Babies are ugly, but this one…” Sujin starts, narrowing her eyes playfully as she shifts Haneul in her arms, “…this one is beautiful. Props to you, girl!” She flashes you a proud, almost approving smile.
“Thank you,” you manage to respond, cheeks flushed as you take another bite of pizza, appreciating the warmth of her compliment.
Minho, feeling somewhat left out, leans back in his chair and shoots Sujin a mock offended look. “No props to me?”
Sujin doesn’t miss a beat, throwing him a teasing glare. “She’s the one who carried him for nine months.”
You chuckle, shaking your head. “Which is kind of unfair,” you add. “I carried him for nine months, and he came out looking just like his dad.”
Minho had never been overly concerned with whether the baby was a boy or girl—he’d love them no matter what. But when he saw Haneul for the first time, he was struck by just how much the baby resembled him. It had been a delightful surprise, one he hadn’t expected but welcomed wholeheartedly.
Felix, ever curious, rubs a tattooed finger gently over Haneul’s cheek, marveling at how soft the baby’s skin is. But Haneul’s reaction is immediate—his tiny face scrunches up, and he starts to cry.
Felix’s eyes go wide in surprise, his hands freezing in place. “Why did you touch the baby with your greasy hands?” Sujin hisses at him, swatting at his arm.
“I— I didn’t mean to!” Felix stammers, holding up his hands in surrender, his face a mix of guilt and panic.
“It’s okay,” you laugh, waving off the commotion. “It’s about time I feed him anyway.” You finish your slice of pizza quickly and hold out your arms, signaling for Sujin to hand Haneul back to you.
Sujin carefully places the still-crying baby in your arms, and as you begin to unbutton the front of your shirt, everyone else takes it as their cue to leave the room.
“We’ll give you some privacy,” Sujin announces with a smirk before gathering the rest of the Oddinary. Felix, still looking slightly guilty, waves awkwardly as he trails behind the others.
Once Minho sent everyone off on their way, he takes a minute to call his parents to check on Byeol. She’ll be staying with them until you’re discharged from the hospital. When he returns, he’s greeted by the sight of you cradling Haneul in your arms, a soft, loving expression on your face. In this moment, with the room bathed in the gentle glow of the hospital lights, you look absolutely radiant to him. He’s struck by how serene and beautiful you seem, completely immersed in your maternal role.
Without a word, Minho moves to tidy up the room, throwing away the empty pizza boxes and soda cans before washing his hands. Then, he comes to sit beside you on the bed, leaning in to get a closer look at your son.
“He’s so beautiful,” you whisper, your eyes glancing up at Minho with a smile.
“He has your eyes, your lips…” you murmur as you gently caress Haneul’s cheek with your knuckle. You pause, then give his tiny nose a playful boop. “Even your nose.”
A wide smile spreads across your face as you bring Haneul a little closer, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “I think I’ve fallen in love…” you admit, your voice filled with quiet wonder.
Minho watches you closely, recognizing that you’ve been wearing that same smile ever since you first laid eyes on Haneul. He knows he feels the same, though he’s always been better at concealing his emotions. Still, he can’t hide the warmth that spreads through his chest as he watches you with your son.
Just then, Haneul begins to coo softly, his tiny hand rubbing at his face, his features scrunching up again as if he’s about to cry.
“You want Daddy, mmh?” you guess softly, glancing up at Minho before carefully handing Haneul over to him.
Minho quickly sits beside you, taking Haneul into his tattooed arms. It’s only the second time he’s held his son today, the first being the moment of skin-to-skin contact just after Haneul was born. As Minho holds him now, he’s struck again by how small and delicate the baby feels in his arms.
You wrap your arm around Minho’s waist, resting your chin gently on his shoulder. Together, you both gaze down at Haneul, your hearts overflowing with love and gratitude for this little life you’ve brought into the world.
You press a soft kiss to Minho’s neck and murmur, “We made that.”
Minho turns his head to look at you, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “We made it,” he echoes softly.
As Minho holds Haneul close, a sense of responsibility settles over him. The weight of being a father to two now, of being a husband and the head of a growing family—it all becomes real in this quiet moment. He knows that he must strive to be the best father, the best husband, the best version of himself for you, for Byeol, and now for Haneul. And as he looks back at you, the love he feels for you both is unmistakable, filling him with an unshakable sense of purpose.
-
It's another day in Minho’s life, except that his routine has shifted just a bit, revolving around the new addition to the family. For Minho to keep up with the tattoo parlor during the day, you insisted on taking care of baby Haneul during the night, allowing him the rest he needs. Yet, Minho can’t help but sacrifice some of his sleep to wake up earlier than usual, cherishing these moments with his newborn son.
As always, he begins his morning by cuddling up to you. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek before slowly slipping out of bed. His first stop is Haneul’s crib, where the baby sleeps soundly, his tiny mouth making faint sucking motions as if he’s dreaming of breastfeeding. Minho smiles at the sight—how peaceful, how precious.
After washing up, Minho moves to prepare a bath for Haneul. His hands, trained from years of precise work as a tattoo artist, move skillfully as he fills the tub. His calm and steady touch proves invaluable during moments like this. Even when Haneul wakes up, startled and crying from the disturbance, Minho remains calm.
"It’ll be done soon," Minho murmurs softly, his voice soothing as he bathes his son.
Once Haneul is clean and dressed, Minho already has a bottle of breastmilk prepared to settle him back down. He cradles him gently in his arms, swaying and lulling him back to sleep as he feeds, planting a gentle kiss on his son’s cheek. Soon enough, Haneul’s little eyes flutter closed again, and Minho carefully places him back into the crib, brushing a hand over his soft hair before moving on with his morning routine.
Minho heads to the kitchen, starting with a cup of coffee to fuel the rest of his tasks. He waters the plants, then begins cooking breakfast. His steady rhythm in the kitchen feels like second nature now—cooking for the family has become one of his favorite parts of the day. He doesn’t forget to prepare Byeol’s lunch either, tucking in a little note with a doodle like he always does.
Just as he’s finishing up, you emerge from the bedroom, looking sleepy but determined to join him for breakfast.
"You stopped asking what's for breakfast," Minho remarks with a smile as he plates the food, setting it on the table for you.
"At this point, I’ll just eat whatever you give me," you reply, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips.
Minho chuckles, leaning down to place a kiss on your temple. It’s these little moments, the small exchanges that feel so intimate and warm, that fill him with a sense of contentment.
Soon, Byeol comes bounding into the dining room, full of energy and eager to tell you both about her excitement for school. As she slides into her chair, she chatters on about her favorite subject and what she can’t wait to learn today. Minho listens, glancing over at you with a small smile, feeling like these moments of normalcy are truly where life happens.
When it’s time to leave for school, Byeol rushes over to give you a big hug and kiss before heading to Haneul’s crib to say her goodbyes to her little brother. Minho watches the scene with pride swelling in his chest. He’s always been amazed by how naturally Byeol has taken to being a big sister.
Minho doesn’t leave without his own goodbye. He pulls you close, pressing a quick but loving kiss to your lips.
“See you soon,” he murmurs softly, his forehead brushing against yours for a moment before he stands, guiding Byeol towards the door.
"Bye, bye, Mommy!" Byeol chirps, waving as Minho holds the door open for her.
"Have a great day at school, my shining star!" you call back, waving with a smile that’s tired but full of love.
As Minho buckles Byeol into the car and starts the drive to school, he finds himself reflecting on how different his life is now. It’s not the grand gestures or the monumental events that have shaped him, but rather the small, quiet moments like this—breakfast with his family, goodbyes before school, the peaceful early morning routine with his son.
These little slices of heaven, day after day, are what fill his heart with gratitude. And in these moments, he knows there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
-
Motherhood is exhausting.
It’s not just the lack of sleep or the endless list of physical discomforts. There’s the emotional rollercoaster no one warns you about—the way joy and sadness seem to come in waves, sometimes crashing over you when you least expect it. After Haneul was born, you were overwhelmed by the strangeness of no longer carrying him in your belly, missing the sensation of him kicking even as you held him in your arms. It’s a bittersweet adjustment.
But Minho makes it easier. He’s always there, making sure you never feel alone. He doesn't hover, but his presence is steady, and the little gestures of love—his way of checking in on you, or simply wrapping you up in his arms—give you a sense of comfort. Today is no different.
As you change your clothes, Minho catches you in the act, watching from the edge of the bed. You’re in the middle of swapping out a blouse, frustrated as your breast milk has leaked through again.
"You look good today," Minho says casually, a sly grin forming on his lips as he admires you.
You chuckle, shaking your head. “I smell like a mix of sweat, barf, and diaper disasters.”
His smirk is playful. “Exactly my type.”
You finish buttoning your blouse and turn to face him. Despite everything your body’s been through—stretch marks, swollen feet, exhaustion—he looks at you like he always has, with a mixture of admiration and affection that never wavers. It’s comforting.
"Come here," he beckons, arms outstretched in invitation.
You don’t need to be told twice. You move into his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he pulls you close. His lips find yours, a slow, affectionate kiss that lingers, melting away the day’s fatigue.
"I guess you also smell like desperation," Minho teases as he places a kiss on your neck, his voice a low murmur against your skin.
You gently slap his chest in protest, half-heartedly. "You’re so annoying."
He only smirks and kisses you again, this time more softly. It’s moments like these that remind you why he’s your partner through all of this—his humor, his warmth, his ability to make you feel like yourself even when motherhood makes you feel anything but.
"How about I make lunch?" he asks, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "What do you feel like?"
"Hmm... I’m starving," you sigh dramatically, leaning your head against his chest. "A big sandwich would be perfect."
"Big sandwich, got it," he replies with ease.
"And make sure you add lots of love." You laugh softly, trying to lighten the mood.
"Then it’s going to taste sour," he jokes, his hands sliding down to your waist.
You laugh, enjoying the easy banter. "I don’t mind that at all."
Minho kisses your cheek and makes a move to get up, but you tighten your arms around him, not ready to let him go just yet.
"No, stay," you whine, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. "Let’s stay like this for a bit longer."
He chuckles softly and gives in, holding you closer. His tattooed arms wrap securely around you, the warmth of his body grounding you as the two of you sit quietly in the calm of the moment.
-
It’s surprising how often your baby boy needs to be fed throughout the day. As Haneul stirs in the other room, his soft cries reach your ears, and you let out a tired sigh.
“Alright, alright, give mommy a second,” you murmur, hurriedly unbuttoning your shirt. “You’re just as impatient as your daddy, huh?”
Minho enters the room again, Byeol trailing close behind him. She immediately clambers onto the bed, settling next to you and watching her baby brother feed.
"Honey, do you mind if I go out for a bit?" Minho asks, grabbing his wallet from the bedside table.
"Where to?" you ask, opening your arm for Byeol to snuggle into.
"Need to grab something from the convenience store," he answers, pulling on his jacket.
"Okay," you say, a bit distracted by Haneul feeding.
"I won't be long," he assures you, walking over to plant a kiss on the top of your head and giving Byeol a quick tickle, which sends her into giggles.
Once Minho leaves, Byeol settles beside you, gently playing with Haneul’s tiny fingers.
“Mommy, the baby’s here now,” she says thoughtfully, her small fingers brushing over Haneul’s tiny hands. “Does that mean you’ll go back to work soon?”
“Well, yes,” you answer carefully, “but not too soon.”
She looks up at you with wide, curious eyes. “Can mommy stay home every day?”
Her innocent question tugs at your heart. You hadn’t realized how much she missed these moments with just the two of you. You blink away the sudden sting of tears and stroke her hair gently.
“There’s nothing I’d love more than staying home with you and your brother, but there are people out there who need mommy’s help,” you explain softly. “And if I can help them, I should, right?”
Byeol contemplates this for a moment, her young mind trying to understand the bigger picture. Finally, she nods. “Right.”
You lean in and press a soft kiss to her forehead as you say, “But no matter what, mommy will always be here—driving you to school, watching your soccer practices, getting burgers at the drive-thru, painting our nails together.”
She beams at that, her smile making your heart swell and you continue with the most important thing you want her to know, “And mommy will always love you. So much.”
“I love you too, mommy,” she whispers, resting her head against your chest.
You hold her close, savoring the tender moment. “You’ll always be mommy’s brightest star.”
When Byeol finally drifts to sleep beside you and Haneul’s feeding comes to an end, you find yourself unable to move without disturbing them. Minho comes back into the room, his smile softening when he sees you snuggled with both children.
“I’ll carry her to bed,” he whispers, gently lifting Byeol in his arms and carrying her off to her room.
Relieved, you carefully place Haneul in his crib, your body aching from the long day. As Minho returns, he notices you massaging the back of your neck and quickly steps behind you to help, his strong hands working out the tension in your shoulders.
“Honey, I know you’re tired, but...” he begins, his voice low and soft, “Can we talk for a few minutes?”
You tense at his words, immediately wondering if something’s wrong. “Depends on what you want to talk about,” you joke, trying to mask your unease. “Is it about a secret gambling debt or a dead body you keep in the trunk of your car?”
Minho laughs, burying his face in your neck. “Close, but not quite.”
Curious, you follow him to the kitchen, your tired mind racing with possibilities. It’s not until you see the cake sitting on the table that you realize—it’s his birthday. And you forgot.
"Oh no, it’s your birthday," you whisper, feeling a wave of guilt crash over you.
"It’s not yet," Minho reassures, pulling you into his arms. His smile is soft, teasing, but without any hint of disappointment.
You bury your face in his chest, tears of exhaustion and guilt welling up in your eyes. "I’m so sorry," you sob, embarrassed that you, of all people, forgot his birthday.
Minho holds you tight, his hands gently stroking your back. "There’s nothing to be sorry about, honey," he murmurs against your hair. "I just wanted to celebrate with you."
He tilts your chin up, wiping away your tears with his thumb. "Are you really going to cry on my birthday?" he asks with a playful smirk.
You sniffle, managing a small smile. "No."
Together, you light the candles, your heart swelling with gratitude for the way he handles moments like this—with patience, understanding, and love. When the clock strikes midnight, you cheerily announce, "It's officially your birthday!"
Minho closes his eyes and makes a wish, his hand still holding yours. After he blows out the candles, you wrap your arms around him in a tight hug.
"Happy birthday, honey," you say, planting a long, chaste kiss on his lips and when you pull back, you softly apologize, "I’m sorry I don’t have a gift for you, yet."
"You’ve given me more than I could ever ask for," Minho whispers, pulling you even closer.
His hands cup your face, and you can see the depth of his emotions in his eyes. "You gave me a family, two beautiful children... I can’t thank you enough for giving me this life."
His words are simple but filled with so much emotion that tears well up in your eyes again. You kiss him softly, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you—the love, the gratitude, the life you’ve built together.
"Oh, honey," you reply, your voice trembling as you cradle his face.
Minho kisses you again, slower this time, savoring every moment. "I promise I’ll always make you happy," he whispers, his forehead resting against yours.
"You already do, Minho," you whisper back. "Every single day."
His lips press against yours once more as he mutters, "I love you."
"I love you," you reply, your heart aching with happiness.
He kisses you again, the moment full of tenderness and gratitude but when he pulls back, he gives you a cheeky grin. “So... can I blow you next?”
You laugh, rolling your eyes at his predictable humor. “Be careful, or you’ll be a father of three on your next birthday.”
Minho smirks, pulling you closer. “I'm okay with that.”
As you hold him, encased in the warmth of his love, you realize once again that no matter how hard motherhood or life gets, you could only do this with him by your side. With Minho, you can weather any storm, face any challenge, and still feel like you’re the luckiest person in the world.
With him, you can do anything.
-
The parlor has just closed when the Oddinary guys barge in, loud and excited, with a birthday cake in hand. Minho knows he can’t stop them—even if he wanted to. Once they set their minds to something, there's no talking them out of it. After all, they’re his family, long before he made and built his own.
He sighs, watching as they gather in the living room, the cake’s candles glowing warmly. Felix takes charge, lighting them with a wide grin. Minho leans back on the sofa, not exactly thrilled to be the center of attention on a day he prefers to keep low-key. The only reason he even humored celebrating last night was because he didn’t want you to feel bad for almost forgetting.
You plop down next to him, startling him out of his thoughts. Without a word, you hand him a fresh bottle of beer, and he gladly accepts it, his arm naturally wrapping around you, pulling you close to his side.
The noise in the room fades into the background as you nestle against him, the warmth of your presence grounding him. Your eyes flick to Sujin, who’s sitting across from you, gently cradling baby Haneul in her arms. You smile softly, a thought forming in your mind.
“I don’t want to impose, but Sujin...” you begin, your tone casual yet filled with meaning. “I think you’re ready.”
Sujin’s brow furrows in confusion as she shifts Haneul slightly, the tattoo on her neck straining as she leans forward. “Ready for what?”
Minho chuckles lightly, his voice laced with amusement. “You know what she meant,” he quips, shooting a playful smirk at Sujin.
Her husband, seated beside her, grins. “As for me, I’m just waiting for her.”
Sujin’s head snaps toward him, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. A slow smile begins to bloom on her face, softening her features as she glances back down at Haneul.
Minho shifts his focus to his daughter, Byeol, who’s sitting on the carpeted floor, caught between Felix and Yoon as they try to win her over. These two are in an animated debate, vying for her favor.
“Do you like Auntie Yoon more or Uncle Felix more?” Yoon asks, her voice filled with childlike curiosity, blissfully unaware of the intensity behind the question.
Minho knows this is one of those questions none of them is ever truly prepared to hear the answer to.
Byeol giggles, taking her time as if she’s carefully considering her options. After a long minute, she finally answers, “Uncle Felix!”
“I knew it!” Felix cheers in triumph, throwing his arms around Byeol and pulling her onto his lap.
Yoon, feigning disbelief, shakes her head. “No, I think Byeol isn’t taking enough time to think. I demand a retake!”
Felix, quick to defend his newfound title, presses his hands over Byeol’s ears. “No, you’re just jealous. Boooo!” he teases, sticking his tongue out and making silly faces at Yoon.
Minho fights the urge to smile, watching them act childish as usual. This kind of chaos—this kind of love—is something he cherishes, even if he’d never admit it out loud. Then, he turns his head, his gaze falling on you.
You haven’t changed. Not really. But at the same time, you have. It’s something subtle, something only he can see. A kind of growth and quiet strength that has always been there but now shines even brighter.
Some things will never change, though. Like the way you’re his anchor, the force that holds him down and keeps him steady. You’re the source of his strength and his love, the one person he trusts with every part of himself—and he knows you feel the same about him. And best of all, you’ll always be his.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” you ask, sensing the intensity in his gaze.
The noise around them swirls, but for Minho, in this moment, it’s just the two of you. He shakes his head slightly, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips.
“Nothing,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips, letting the kiss convey what words can’t.
With the new addition to his family, the house feels crowded—maybe even too crowded. He glances around the room, taking in the sight of his daughter laughing with Felix and Yoon, his son sleeping peacefully in Sujin’s arms, and the people who have been by his side since the beginning. His home is growing. It’s crowded, noisy, chaotic—but it’s home.
For now, this is enough. This is everything. This is home.
-
Support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!
@svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @ppiri-bahng @drhsthl @idkluvutellme @biribarabiribbaem @skz-streamer @biancaness @hanjisunginc @elizalabs3 @laylasbunbunny @kpopformylife @caitlyn98s @hann1bee @mamieishere @is2cb97 @marvelous-llama @bluenights1899 @sherryblossom @toplinehyunjin @hanjisbeloved @sunnyseungup @skz4lifer @stellasays45 @severeanxietyissues @avyskai @imseungminsgf @silentreadersthings @army-stay-noel @rylea08 @simeonswhore @yubinism @devilsmatches @septicrebel @rairacha @ven-fic-recs @hyunjiinnnn @lostgirlinthewoodss @schniti-is-in-the-house @jisunglyricist @minh0scat @simplymoo
466 notes · View notes
miguelsslvt · 1 year ago
Text
ex nerd! scientist! miguel o'hara x slutty! reader
Tumblr media
part two here!
word count: 745
TW: smut, nsfw, d/s themes, mentions of pet play.
A/N: THIS IS INSPIRED BY @nymphomatique SO PLS CHECK THEIR ONE OUT!! their drabble rlly inspired me so i thought maybe i could add a little twist;) welcome to the club!
back in your college days, you were.. promiscuous, some would say. well, you were the biggest slut on campus. if your body count didn't say it all, then the rumours sure did.
you took chemistry, maths, physics and biology. you wanted to be a physics scientist, partially because of the thought of there being lots and lots of different universes, but mostly because the pay was brilliant.
miguel o'hara was your 'pet' back in your college days, per-say.
you used him for your homework, and in exchange you would fuck him, give him head, handjobs, you name it. you took miguel's virginity, and every bit of innocence he had left. he was totally smitten by you. i mean, a pretty, popular girl giving him attention no one ever did? sign him up.
miguel was the biggest loser you knew back then. he wasn't the most muscly, and he had those ridiculous black square glasses, and his outfits were shocking. he had a slight lisp due to his late braces, and his hair was far too long and he clearly struggled to maintain it. to keep it blunt, he wasn't cool at all. he was a loser, a simp, and a goody two-shoes. perfect as your little pet.
it wasn't until after graduation did you stop your little encounters. after leaving college, you blocked his number and left campus on the same day. you thought you'd never have to see that nerdy freak again. well, that's what they all say, right?
that was until you finally got a job at ALCHEMAX. you were a 'technological support scientist', which sounded smart but really all you got to do was watch all the better scientists do tests. you didn't mind, it did more then just pay your bills. hell, with the checks you're bringing in you could probably buy a new car in a few months!
you thought things were all sunshine and rainbows, until the thunder walked in. it's funny though, you didn't realise thunder looked like 6'9 tall and 310 pound of pure muscle and attractiveness. his braces were gone, his hair more clean and cut a little shorter, and his glasses just resting on top of his head, but you knew exactly who he was.
'm-miguel o'hara?!' you said, shocked. he turned around swiftly, looking down at you, before his eyes widened. 'y/n l/n?' he said, surprised. you both had become blushing messes. well, his glow up sure came after only 3 years.
'you.. work here?' you asked, absolutely awe-struck. 'i.. do. i am a technological scientist here. you work here too? why haven't i ever seen you around before?' he asked, intriuged. 'i-it's my first day here. you.. matured.' you said, clearly checking him out.
the man smirked. he actually smirked. the man who would whimper, begging to just get off on your shoe, smirked at you like he was in control. 'and you look as gorgeous as 3 years ago.'
your heart stopped. who was this man? this muscular, defined, confident, completely self aware man.. this wasn't miguel. there was no way.
'you..you're very different, miguel.' you said, a blushing mess. he chuckled, putting some latex gloves on. fuck, even his hands were attractive. 'well alot happens to a guy.' he says smoothly, his voice deeper. god this was going to be hard.
♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎
that very night, you were spread out on the bed, and you didn't recognise the man above you.
3 years ago, a scrawny desperate nerdy little boy was on his knees, as if you were a goddess. and now, that very man was on top of you, kissing your neck so skilfully, as if he's done this for years. his thrusts had rhythm, as he grinded along your g spot with ease, you let out a gasp and a breathy moan, as he shushed you.
'sh, bonita.. you've changed. where's that dominatrix you were back in college days? why are you so.. obedient?~' he whispered in your ear, as you moaned again.
'i-i think i-it's y-you that changed, m-miguel..' you breathily said in response, as he chuckled. 'oh no, sweetheart, i'm still the same loser that was begging on his knees for you. just now, i've learnt how to please you as well as me.' he said in response, his hands moving down from your breasts to your hips, his cock deep inside you as he grinded his hips as you felt every inch.
god, is this heaven?
♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎
3K notes · View notes
writerunnamed · 3 months ago
Text
note: This is something I've wanted to write for a while but I am well aware that not everyone will be into it. There are a few stories I want to tell that aren't the norm so I decided to start this nameless blog to tell them. I am not tagging anyone, if you find it then you find it. xo Joel(stepdad), significant age gap, female reader. 18+ legal, reader is 20 (warnings: pov sex, Joel spits on the 😸, boobie play, really inappropriate dirty talk, an unused sex toy [will make an appearance in another chapter], female masturbation, daddy kink, unfit parent) 5.6k word count masterlist • series masterlist • part 2
He takes up so much space, and it wasn’t just physically. He took up space emotionally, mentally. Mentally most of all. Your thoughts always drifted back to him. Cyclical. An elliptical pattern making him the top of every list you’d go through in your head. He seemed to know it too, in a stoic, quiet, largely unsettling way. Older, attractive men tended to do that. 
It started during that in-between time, when summer, losing your job, and having to move back home pushed you to figure out what the fuck you actually wanted to do with your life seemed to come together like the planets aligning. The precipice of a turning point, a ticking clock counting down the days until your childhood bedroom would be turned into a gym, or an office, or a guest bedroom. The lukewarm welcome from your mother would ice over and you’d really have to get your shit together. 
Your mother was what people who didn’t know her would call ‘a free spirit’, what you called her, was a fucking mess. 
Your earliest memories consist of having to remind her to buy milk or to pay the bill because the electricity had turned off while watching cartoons in front of the tiny, living room tv. You’d had to remind her, in not so many words, that she was the mother, and you were the child. 
To your friends, she was the cool mom. The party mom. Your house was the place to be because she didn’t ask questions, she left her cigarettes unattended and didn’t mind if a few went missing. She kept the bar cart stocked, even if there was nothing but flies in the cupboard and nothing but half-empty condiment bottles in the fridge. Your friends loved it. 
She flirted with the boys your age, she gave sex tips to the girls. 
You smiled when they congratulated you on having the cool mom, and when they all went home, you retreated and pretended to be happy. 
Joel settled her down. Met her in a bar and moved in quick. He came into the picture when you were fifteen and you were almost sure he’d be just like the rest of the lovers she’d taken over the years. You’d given the whole thing six months. Half a year for him to see what a fucking disaster she was. Six months to be a fucking creep, to cheat or get cheated on. 
The only differences you could clock at first were that he was self-employed, and marginally better looking than his predecessors.
He was firmer though, less malleable than the others she’d brought around, he seemed immune to her charms and that only inflamed her. It made her desperate for his approval and his attention. She would throw a tantrum, or play one of her mind games but he’d never rise to her bait. He was patient for the most part, until he hit his breaking point and his temper reared its head. A temper only she seemed to bring out in him. 
To you, it was pathetic. 
He didn’t try with you though, there was no flattery or strong hand, only a silent respect. In a sense, he treated you as the adult, and her as the child. It worked for you, if he’d expected you to call him dad he would have been laughed at mercilessly and he seemed to know this. 
The disturbing part was his respect and his healthy avoidance of you worked its own kind of magic. It made him an enigma, made you curious as to what he got out of the whole thing. A home, sure. A woman who was obsessed with him, yes. Sex–yes. You heard it enough for it to turn your stomach. By the sounds of it, he knew what he was doing.
The thought sickened the healthy part of your brain. The other part though, the part flooding your body with hormones, making it come to life with curiously intense sexual feelings, that part wanted to know what it was he was so good at. How could he pull those sounds out of anyone? It was easier to imagine him with some faceless woman. 
It was shameful to imagine yourself. 
The thought–although enough to fuel a desperate journey of self-exploration–always filled you with an insurmountable guilt. 
For those first few years you could barely look at him. Your mother took it as a healthy dose of teenage rebellion. That only aggravated you more. She never asked questions, never dug to see what the cause of your obvious distaste for her partner was about and so again, you retreated. He, however, kept to the outs of your path. He followed your lead, he let you control any and every part of all of your interactions. He didn’t ask questions. He kept the lights on. He kept the fridge full. 
He burrowed his way in, whether you liked it or not. 
When you turned eighteen, you moved out. He helped, did his ‘fatherly’ duties and moved you into the apartment, he urged your mother to take you on an extensive grocery trip, spoke to your landlord about the safety of the building. You supposed you should have been grateful, you should have said thank you, given him some sort of acknowledgement that you appreciated his help but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Instead you said your mumbling goodbyes, and promptly closed the door on them. Neither of them complained. 
The euphoria of venturing out on your own had lost its shine depressingly quick. A string of chronically unserious boyfriends came and went, the rent climbed higher than you could keep up with, and while already living paycheck to paycheck, you lost your job. Your cellphone had taken the brunt of your frustration at having to call your mother, begging her to let you come back home while you got back on your feet a little more than two years after you’d left. 
Your teeth gnawed at your lips, your fingernails dug into the skin around your cuticles in the attempt to keep your voice sweet and pleading, in the end it was his voice that you’d heard in the background, telling–no, commanding her to say yes. That he would be your champion twisted at your insides. Maybe a small, healthy part of you hoped he’d put up a fight, tell you that you were too old to be coming back home and that you had to figure it out on your own like an adult. 
A healthy part of you hoped that he’d save you again, only from yourself. Hanging up with a heavy, resigned sigh, you set about starting the trek home, ignoring the swirling mess of annoyance, confusion, and perverse glee in your stomach. 
-
The first few days were spent in a depressive episode, a seemingly inescapable loop of sleeping in late, leaving your room only when the house was empty to raid the kitchen for something to eat, scrolling mindlessly–blindly–on your phone and then staying up way too late only to do it all over again. 
They didn’t bother you, but if the annoyed sighs and narrowed eyes from your mother were anything to go by, the talk was coming soon. After the third day of the cycle, you circumvent it and wake up early-ish to shower and dress in something other than ratty old sweats long forgotten by an ex you couldn’t quite remember. 
You came down to find Joel sitting at the kitchen table. His eyes tracked the lines of you, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. 
Your heart leapt. He should have been at work by now. 
“Good morning.” It came out croaky, your voice almost reluctant to come out. 
“Mornin’.” His hair was slicked back, the gray almost sparkling in the golden light. You fiddled with the hem of your shirt. His eyes were so intense, you found yourself stuck in place, like a deer in headlights and that ever present, deep-seeded anger reared its head. It was irrational that he should frustrate you so much with his calm presence. 
“Coffee’s fresh, if you want some.” He jut his chin out to the pot, lowering his eyes to his paper once more. Once his gaze had shifted, you found you could breathe again. You mumbled a thanks and moved to pour yourself a cup, thankful, if unsure why, to focus on something concrete instead of abstract self-reflection.
“Your mama’s gon’ be late tonight. I thought I could pick up a pizza on the way home.” He says it offhand and again, your heart races. 
“Whatever.” You scrunch your face up in annoyance, it sounded like such a bullshit, teen response. He doesn’t comment on it, and that somehow makes it worse. You beat yourself about it as you root around in the fridge for the milk. The cereal you liked was in the top cupboard, and you’re not quite tall enough to reach it. 
You heard his chair scoot back and then suddenly he’s there, beside you, pressed up tight. You follow the long line of his throat as he stares up, reaching the box with ease while one big, warm hand lands on your lower back. He smells like the laundry detergent your mother insists on buying mixed with something else. Manly, smoky, with coffee laced through. Your cunt clenches nonconsensually as he stands there and stares down at you, his whole front pressed against your side, his hand still holding your lower back. Your mouth hangs open, stupidly, and he raises an eyebrow again forcing something to kickstart deep in your gut. 
“You okay there babygirl?” The endearment feels unwholesome.
It triggers something strange, strengthening the underlying conflict for him. There’s a lilt in his tone you don’t like, maybe because deep down you like it too much. Maybe you don’t want to admit that, or analyze anything about what the fuck is happening in your body. In your psyche. 
“Yeah.” You step out of his bubble, barely managing not to trip over yourself in your haste to get away and put a healthy distance between you. 
“Yes. Thank you.” You take a deep breath, pressing your lips together tight in what you hope to God is a neutral expression. 
He lets out a bemused huff through his nose, a mischief in his eyes shining out at you that you’ve never seen directed at you. You’ve seen it used on your mom. You’ve seen her go giggly and flirty whenever he looked at her like that. A half-formed escape plan starts to form but he saves you from the need, he puts his things in the dishwasher, and nods his head in goodbye. 
You practically hold your breath until you hear his truck rumble out of the driveway, and down the street. 
-
You manage to avoid him for a few days, staying out late catching up with friends, or feigning a need for rest. You’ve convinced your mother that your days are now spent job hunting, and for the most part they are. You leave in the morning, avoiding any and all contact and you get home late, creeping up the stairs much like you did in your teens even though you’d really never needed to. Your mother never enforced a curfew, and when Joel joined the picture, he didn’t pry. 
The luck didn’t last though, you got over-confident. He was sprawled out on the sofa, up uncharacteristically late one night when you padded through the house. 
“You’re up late.” You quickly check the accusatory tone, “Don’t you have to get up early?” Better, it comes out more concerned than annoyed and he nods. He wore a threadbare t-shirt, the fabric of it having been through the wash too many times to keep its shape. Light, gray sweats were stretched almost obscenely tight over his spread thighs, pooling at his crotch from being shoved up by the couch. 
“Couldn’t sleep. Come sit, we can watch some tv.” He pats the seat next to him and despite the deep desire to retreat into the Joel-free haven of your bedroom, you cannot seem to disobey him. 
You settle beside him on the couch, a little further away than was necessary. He chuckles softly. 
“I ain’t gonna bite you, girl. Not unless you ask nicely.” 
You pretend you don’t hear it, choosing instead to compartmentalize whatever game he’s playing and stare at the screen. He flips through the channels, settling on one thing for a few minutes before moving to something else until he finds a movie that’s already close to midway. There’s an electricity in the air, something about him galvanizing the space between you, charging it enough to make the hairs on your arms stand on end. You frown to yourself, barely paying attention while fighting an increasingly confusing mental battle. Why is it so hard to be around him? Why does he inspire such scorn? Is it scorn at all?
You rub at your eyes, scrubbing your hands down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe the slate clean. 
He’s just a man, a man your mother had chosen and for better or worse they seem to work. She is happy with him and he is seemingly happy with her, why then is it so hard to accept him for what he is? Something slithers around in your brain, something that laughs darkly, something pulsing through the network of thoughts and ideas that threatens to crack open your subconscious and throw it right in your face. 
“Well now, ain’t that somethin’?” You pull your hands away from your face to see a very explicit scene playing out on the screen. Heat floods every inch of your body. 
“Almost looks like she’s enjoyin’ herself.” He leaves it on, and you feel stuck, your body betraying you yet again to see the way the woman on screen moans wantonly while under a very handsome man. You let out a non-committal sound, teetering on the edge of madness. You scold yourself, you are an adult, an adult that has had sex before and this isn’t even real. 
“Looks like fake bullshit to me.” The strength in your voice lends credence to the illusion that you aren’t affected. He laughs, calm and completely at ease and that only pulls the anger to the forefront again. 
“They can’t show the real stuff on these channels. If it were real, he’d be doin’ what she needs.” 
“And what’s that?” It comes out before you can stop it. 
“Well,” He smiles to himself, winning a duel you hadn’t even known you were fighting. 
“If it were real, he’d be pressin’ on her clit, he’d be makin’ sure she felt every inch of him and make her take his cock like a good girl.” You let out a heavy breath, half shocked, half grateful it wasn’t a whimper. 
Warning bells go off in your head, just as a heartbeat starts in your cunt because you can see it. You can see him. His face twisted up in pleasure but cocky, his hips moving, his thumb dipped into your mouth and then swirling around your clit. He smiles at catching you looking at his hands and you want to yell at him. You want to smack him across the face and kick him in the balls for saying something like that to you, his partner's daughter, but you don’t. 
Your body almost catapults you out of your seat. Barely unintelligible words come out, something about needing sleep, about being tired and then you hightailed it out of there like a bat out of hell. 
The shower was cold enough to make your teeth chatter, but it did nothing to cool the heat blooming in your core and it was with a terrifying desperation that you ground against your fingers. The slick pooling at the mouth of your pussy was enough to feel even with the water washing everything away except your shame. 
You bit your tongue to keep from moaning out the taboo and entirely inappropriate name you were dying to say out loud. His firm thighs spread on that couch filled your mind, the calloused, work-roughened hands you could practically feel on your hips, on your thighs. You could feel them holding and spreading your legs open so he could make you make those same noises you’d heard over the years. Make you take it like a good girl, his good girl. 
You came with a shudder, sagging against the chilly tile. You warmed the water with a sigh, disappointed and ashamed with yourself, trying, and failing, to put the whole thing out of your mind. 
-
You doubled down on avoiding him after that. 
Your mother worked most of the time but when she was home, things were easier. He reverted to the healthy avoidance, the proverbial disinterest that she didn’t seem to have a problem with. You still heard them some nights, the bed creaking, throaty cries, deep grunts but now they haunted you in a different way. Now you heard his words on that couch and couldn’t help but picture all manner of unsavory things that both disgusted and thrilled you. 
Being unemployed didn’t help. There was nothing to keep you out of the house most of the day, and there were only so many places that would accept you looking for a job in person. 
There was only so much time you could spend with friends too, they had their own lives and jobs and relationships. Too busy to save you from unwanted free time. 
Old habits resurface, and you retreat within yourself while pushing yourself harder. A job would fix things enough to help, you could save up enough money to leave for good and take yourself out of the equation. 
-
The powers that be momentarily take pity on you, and after what seems like a lifetime's worth of job hunting you blessedly get a call back. It’s a part time job, but at this point beggars can’t exactly be choosers. It’s a steady, if insufficient source of income that hadn’t been available to you before. Determined, you buckle down, you channel every guidance counselor you’ve ever had and ace the fuck out of that interview.
It’s not taxing work, but you put your head down and focus with the hope that if you worked hard enough, if you made a good enough impression, made yourself indispensable they’d throw you enough shifts to make up a full time job. 
It helps. Time spent away from the house, from your mothers dried up welcome, from Joel altogether genuinely helps. You feel a bit lighter, less guilty, less prone to imagine the unimaginable. You find comfort in the absence of self-imposed temptation. There is peace in the mindless work, in the life outside of the house that no longer feels like a home. 
It's a double edged sword though, because at the end of every shift, the luck–the peace–runs out. If being at work and out of the house is a respite, returning home only thickens the tension. Time spent outside the house only sharpens the discomfort, clarifies the glaring wrongness of it all when you enter it at the end of the day. What it all is, you won’t name. That way madness lies. Issue is, with every interaction, with every chance encounter in the hallway, or living room, every second spent with him in the kitchen watching his lips touch the rim of his mug the thing inside grows. Parts of him fill the corners of your mind. The curve of his shoulders filling out the flannel shirts he favors. The fullness of his bottom lip when he purses them, something he does while squinting at the paper that you’re almost sure he isn’t aware of. His neck, his hands, the dimple in his cheek when he laughs at something really funny. 
These things jump out, innocent as they may be, but other not so innocent things start to creep in. The bulge in his jeans is a mental mine, it lies in wait and every so often when you think you’ve avoided it, it detonates and you catch yourself staring, both ashamed and so inappropriately curious it eats away at you like acid. 
What you needed was something to fill the emptiness, both emotionally and physically. So you did what any modern, adult woman would do; you bought a sex toy. 
Nothing too crazy, or expensive. After perusing the site for a while you finally settled on a plain, non-threatening dildo. Nothing too big, nothing noisy, just something to be able to focus on, something to use while imagining someone giving you what you need. You ignored that dark thing inside that hissed his name, shooed it away and ordered the package for express delivery. With your mom constantly working, and Joel keeping to himself you figured it wouldn’t be an issue. Neither of them would question a package addressed to you. 
You still aren’t sure whether or not you’d do it all over again had you known the Pandora’s box that little package would open. 
You all but rushed home after work. All day, you’d imagined the relief that toy would bring. You imagined yourself using it in the shower, steam swirling as you took your pleasure. You imagined yourself laying in bed in the safety of the dark, setting a towel down on your chair and riding it to your heart's content. 
Joel’s truck is in the driveway when you pull in, but it’s secondary to the excitement at the chance to sequester yourself with your new best friend and so when you walk into the house, you don’t give him much attention. Until he opens his mouth. 
“You got a package today babygirl. I put it on your bed.” He sits on his spot on the sofa, a funny little smile on his face. A bad feeling swells in your chest, and you look up the stairs before meeting his eyes again. 
“Thanks.” You drop your bag on the little bench near the front door, trying, and failing to keep the nervous feeling out of your voice. He nods, and you make your way up, stopping yourself from taking the stairs two at a time. 
Ice flows through your veins when you see the package is open. 
He’d opened your package, he knew what you’d bought. 
Blood pounds in your ears as you stand there, limbs cold and numb at the realization that he saw it. He saw it. He opened it, and he placed it here, on the very place you fantasized about using it. Sweat beaded on your brow, the bottom of your stomach fell out of your ass as you stood there, barely feeling the soft, worn carpet under your feet. 
“Little small, f’you ask me.” His voice at the mouth of your room made your head twist fast enough to hurt your neck. You hadn’t heard him follow you up the stairs, hadn’t heard him open your door and lean against the frame, arms crossed in haughty amusement. 
“Why would you open my package?” You clutched at it, as though he could forget what he’d seen if you held it tightly enough. 
“I didn’t open it on purpose, I’m expectin’ somethin’ and I didn’t read the name.” He pushes away from the door frame, making his way closer and it’s like the air thins as the space between you shrinks.
“I mean, I could tell you been frustrated, but this doesn’t seem like it’s gon’ help much.” He reaches out, and takes the package from you. You watch him do it, watch him, frozen as he plucks it from your hands and takes the toy out. 
“This all you can take?” He holds it, contemptuously–pityingly. 
You wanted to snatch it out of his hands, the dimming voice of reason urges you to push him out of your room and remind him that he needs to keep a healthy distance but you say nothing, you stand there, and watch him. He puts it all down on your dresser, before stepping a little closer, close enough for you to have to crane your neck up to look into his eyes. 
“No boyfriends around to give you what you want?” His hand comes up, the tips of his fingers sliding across the apple of your cheek, slipping down until his thumb pressed against the cushion of your bottom lip. 
“No one around to give you what you obviously need?” He steps a little closer, until your bodies meet. This is wrong, your mind screams it but your body is frozen under his eyes, under his touch. That part, the frozen part is cheering, it’s running victory laps as it floods your cunt with slick in preparation for something unholy. 
That same, writhing, traitorous thing whispers that this is your chance, the house is empty and your body obeys. You look your fill, you take in the curve of his nose and the furrow in his brow. His eyes are black as a crow's wing, lust-blown and completely focused on your parted lips and your shallow panting. 
Adrenaline spikes and you do something you cannot take back. You rise on your tip-toes and press your mouth to his. 
He hums into it, smiling and once again you get that feeling that you’d made the exact move he’d expected you to. A vague, but fleeting inkling that you were just a pawn on his chessboard. 
At any other time you would have stepped away and repented, ate yourself alive with guilt but his hands pulled you closer, his tongue swiped at the seam of your mouth and you opened up for him. That only made it all the more real, the taste of his tongue in your mouth, feeling his hands lower to hold onto your ass. 
The rational part of you shrinks down to nothing, and that other part, the wrong part–it swells and preens under his hands. He pulls away, and embarrassingly, you chase his mouth in a daze. 
“Oh honey, you’re just dyin’ for it aren’t you?” He herds you towards your tiny bed, the twin mattress that has been the stage for every taboo fantasy about this man, your stepfather. You shoo the word away with a shiver. 
“It’s wrong-” You almost whisper, but you don’t push him away, you let him lay you down in that bed and he laughs. 
“It is, isn't it?” He pulls at the hem of your shirt, you raise your arms for him and the picture of it is wrong, daddy taking off your clothes. The thought, the word,  should disgust you but it only pulls your hands to him. You join in, and pull his shirt up and off, biting your lip at the broadness of him. You take in each freckle, the sprinkling of hair on his chest, the dip of his throat calling out for your tongue like a siren. 
He presses his lips to yours again, licking into your mouth obscenely. Unseemly. 
“You been wantin’ this for a long time, haven’t you babygirl?” He pulls your bra off, and the shock of cold air hardens your nipples. He bites his lip to see it, unable to stop himself from flattening his tongue against a hardened bud. A sound you’ve never let yourself make out loud in this room fills the space between you and that slithering thing luxuriates. 
He moves, languidly, unhurried to the other breast and holds the plump of it in his big hand and sucks at the second bud, sucks as much of the peak as he can into his mouth, breathing through his nose while you slowly spiral into madness.
When he lets go, he presses a kiss to your nipple and his facial hair tickles your skin. 
He pulls your leggings off along with your underwear in one go and the reality of it all hits you when the air hits your soaked core. That’s when the urge to put a stop to it is the clearest, when he kneels between your legs and spreads them wide, stares at the place where he’s already filled a million times in your mind. The place that’s drenched at the mere thought of him. 
“Joel-” You start, but he pushes your legs up, folding you and then he lets a glob of spit fall from his mouth slowly, aiming it, a bullseye right on the lips of your cunt. It’s too much, too filthy and you let out a whimper. 
“I think you wanna call me somethin’ else right now.” He undoes his belt and his jeans, keeping his eyes on where his saliva slides down over the open mouth of your cunt, down towards your asshole. He pulls his cock out and part of you shatters. Your eyes flit to the toy sitting on your dresser, your eyes flit to the open door of your bedroom. 
“Don’t worry, your mama ain’t gonna be home for a while.” He smiles, conspiratorially. It's too real, it’s too hypnotic, seeing him there with his cock in his hand while your legs already ache from holding them up and open. He slides the blunt end of it through the mess he’s caused, through his spit and he groans at the sight of it. 
Your heart races so hard to feel him there, that you see the pulse of it in your vision. 
“Deep breath baby.” he warns before slipping inside the tight fist of your pussy, the size of him making you gasp. This is it, there’s no coming back from this and right now, with him seated deep, his groin pressed up tight and the tip of his cock kissing your womb you cannot even think of why you’d ever care.
This is where he's meant to be. This is where you need him. 
“Oh baby, that’s so good huh?” He thrusts shallowly, pulling out a little more than halfway before shoving his hips forward again. You don’t really know how to form words, you don’t know how to take in what’s happening. This is Joel, your step-dad, fucking you in the bed you grew up in. One hand sits heavy on your shin, holding it, the other slides up and holds onto your breast. 
“Look how fuckin’ wet this little pussy is for me,” he moans the words, “you like daddy fuckin’ you?” He thrusts harder and you moan despite the word hitting you in the stomach like a big drop on a rollercoaster. He shouldn’t say that, shouldn’t call himself that, not now. 
“No-” it doesn’t come out like you mean it to, it sounds wrong, like a caress. 
“No? But I think you do-” He leans forward, keeping his pace while pressing his chest to yours, his mouth all but lining up and despite your bullshit protest, you hitch your knees high on his ribs to make room because if he stopped you’d probably die. 
“I think you want me to be your daddy, don’t you baby, it’s okay, I want to be.” He speeds up and the sounds between your legs are so wet, so filthy. 
“You can say it, I want you to say it.” He holds himself up, his elbows caging in your skull and before you can complain or moan or cry he sticks his tongue down your throat again. Your hands finally join the fray and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tight to you. 
“Come on baby, say it for me, tell me how good daddy fucks you.” You moan, closing your eyes while your cunt floods him with wave after wave of slick, enough to drip down your ass and onto your bed, down his balls. Enough for it to soak the curls at the base of him. 
“Look at me when I’m fuckin’ you honey.” His hips speed up and it's hard now, his thrusts making your bounce, hitting a part of you that toy would never touch in a million years. 
You open your eyes, and look at him above you, sweat beading on his hairline. Never has he looked more fucking appealing than he does right then. The word is there, in your mouth and you know it’ll taste sweeter than anything in this world. 
The wrong thing wins.  
“Yes daddy.” You moan it, and the shameful thing sets off fireworks in your being, he smiles, and tucks his head into the damp crook of your neck, feeding his lovely filth right into your ear. 
“That’s my babygirl, that’s it, fuck baby you take it better than your mama.” Something inside recoils at that, but something else, another facet of that fucked up thing inside rejoices.
“Let me hear you say it again, say it when you come.” He licks a hot stripe up your neck. His words are a filthy groan, something to tuck away for later.
He reaches down, pressing his thumb to your clit just like he said on that couch and you keen, the slip and the pressure enough to toss you over the edge with an almost painfully intense orgasm. 
“I’m coming, daddy.” It’s a shuddering whisper as your cunt clenches around him. 
He moves quickly, kneeling between your legs to pull out and then he’s stroking himself over your cunt. It’s still pulsing when he paints it in his come. You catch your breath as he tugs at himself a few more times, milking himself against you with a disturbingly familiar groan. 
The fog clears altogether too quickly. The lights are too bright, you’re naked, and he’s still got his jeans around his thighs while the guilt creeps into your veins, replacing the euphoria. 
What have I done? What have you made me do?
942 notes · View notes
ddejavvu · 1 year ago
Note
Hiii! Could you write a Spencer Reid x fem reader who are dating & she’s super drunk, he needs to take care of her and she’s all “no I have a boyfriend who I love so much” and goes on a ramble about Spencer, not releasing she’s talking to him & he’s all heart eyes and giggly at her whilst trying to take care of her? Lots of fluff? Thank you!
The minute Spencer tries taking your hand to help you down from the booth you're squeezed into, you push his hand away, "No."
"No," You repeat, shaking your head with all the coordination of a baby deer, "Nooo sir. I am not going to be partaking in anything with you, because I have a boyfriend," You announce, your voice spanning over the entire table, even reaching Rossi who's at the head, "And I love him, and you're- just- fuck off."
Spencer's mouth falls open incredulously at your expletive, though a laugh escapes it rather than one of his own. "Oh, really? You've got a boyfriend?"
"Mhm." You nod proudly, settling back into your seat and burrowing away from his waiting hands into Emily's side, "He's tall, and he has a gun, so don't-" You choke on what Spencer presumes is a hiccup, but could very well be a belch, "Don't mess with me."
"You tell'im," Emily laughs, wrapping her arm around your shoulder and rubbing the chilly skin beneath the cutoff of your sleeves, "Do you want me to call Spencer for you, sweetheart? Have him come pick you up?"
"Yeah," You nod easily, your eyes set greedily on your friend's drink now that yours have been downed, "Can you tell him to bring me a blanket, too? I'm cold."
Unbeknownst to you, Penelope herds Spencer away to the edge of the patio your team is seated on, and there's a lingering smile on his face as he listens to what she whispers in his ear.
"I have a blanket in my car," She tells him, "It might have some cat hair on it, but you can totally take it! Go get it, and you can come back like we called you."
"Okay," Spencer's eager to take Penelope's keys from her when she shoves them into Spencer's hands, "Thanks, Garcia. Just make sure she doesn't drink any more, okay?"
A quick glance back at your table reveals Emily holding her glass to your lips, helping you tilt it backwards to dump the concoction down your throat.
"Uh- any more than that." Spencer clarifies. Penelope nods, rushing off to make sure you don't find Rossi's scotch.
Spencer returns barely two minutes later, discreetly dumping Penelope's keys back into her purse. Hotch and Morgan share a knowing smirk when Spencer pats you on the shoulder, and JJ pinches your side from across Emily to get you to notice the man standing beside you.
"Hi angel," Spencer croons, and your face lights up, shining brighter than the fairy lights strung above you, "Emily called me, she said you wanted me to come get you?"
"Spencer!" You cheer, and Emily shares her strength with you to hoist you into his arms where you cling to him like a koala bear, "Spence, you're here! There was this guy, and he tried holding my hand, and-"
"Oh, no," Spencer scrunches his nose, unable to stop himself from laughing when you take it as an invitation to smear yours against his own, "Not a guy! Are you okay, angel?"
"Mhm," You hum, tucking your face into his shoulder, "You're here now, Spence. And you brought a blanket, just like I asked."
"Of course I did," He beams, wrapping his arm tightly around your back as you settle over him like dead weight, "Uh- guys, can we get a bill?"
"Just go," Rossi waves him off, patting his pocket where you all know his rather thick wallet lies, "Take her home now, so that she can't run up my card with any more drinks, and I'll pay for the ones she already had."
"Thanks Rossi," Spencer grins awkwardly at him, flashing the man a strained thumbs-up before he has to use that hand to support the backs of your thighs once more, "Okay, honey, ready to go?"
You don't answer, and Derek leans sideways to peek at you.
"She's out," He snickers, "Pretty boy, make sure she's still breathing when you get home, alright?"
"Got it," Spencer chuckles breathily, "Okay, uh- bye guys."
There's a chorus of send-offs, and Hotch tilts his glass at Reid with an amused twinkle in his dark eyes, "Make sure you're both on time Monday. Hangovers don't excuse you from duty."
4K notes · View notes
fandoms-x-reader · 2 months ago
Text
Baby Daddies
Requested Anonymously
Headcannons
Summary: How would the Seven Demons Brothers be as fathers to babies. The Seven Demon Brothers x (Suggested Fem!) Reader A/N: They/Them pronouns but mentions of MC being pregnant
Tumblr media
Lucifer is actually very good at raising babies.
He’ll blame it on the fact that he had tons of practice with raising his brothers.
But, anyone could see that he just had really good paternal instincts.
It will be a little bit of a challenge, to have a child with Lucifer.
He had so many responsibilities as Diavolo’s right-hand man; and, even though Diavolo never forced Lucifer to work, you knew those responsibilities were important to him.
So, you end up watching your baby most of the time while he spends long days working.
If it’s stuff he can do in his study, Lucifer will happily ask you to stay in the room with him.
He’ll play with your baby in between doing his paperwork and when it comes to a point where he could take a break, he immediately scoops your baby into his arms.
He’ll walk around the office, holding your baby and you have to stifle a laugh at some of the things that come out of mouth ~ it is definitely out of character for Lucifer.
He’ll walk towards you and place a gentle kiss on your forehead before reluctantly giving you the baby back, knowing he has to get back to work.
You don’t mind that Lucifer is busy because, in the moments that you do get with him, he always makes sure to show both of you how much he loves and cares about you.
Though, he tries to hide it in front of his brothers, not wanting them to see how vulnerable he was around the two of you. 
He knew they were just waiting for the chance to use it against him, especially Satan and Belphie.
Tumblr media
Mammon is totally clueless when you have a child.
On the inside, he is ecstatic, and no matter what he claims to others, he’s always wanted a child of his own.
But, on the outside, he’s a mess. He doesn’t know the first place to start.
Mammon ended up buying every baby item on Akuzon thinking that the only way to ensure a baby would survive is if they had everything they could ever possibly need.
You had to bite back a laugh when the two of you came home to the House of Lamentation and saw Lucifer standing in the middle of the living room, baby items covering every inch of the room while he was fuming, holding the bill from Akuzon.
After promising Lucifer you would handle it, you had to sit Mammon down and have a very long talk with him where you answered every question he had about parenthood.
After that day, Mammon ended up stepping up to the plate.
He was a great father and always found a way to make both you and your child laugh.
However, you did have to stop him several times from using your baby as a pawn in a get-rich-quick scheme.
He thought they were adorable enough to fool anyone and that they would be able to make anyone bend to their will. 
And if you thought he was overprotective of you, think again. Because he will be ten times worse with your child.
He’ll refuse to let it out of his sight for even a second unless you’re there and he’ll even be wary of his brothers holding your baby.
It’s definitely over the top, but you know that it’s coming from a place of love.
Tumblr media
Levi is in a full-blown panic mode when he finds out that you’re pregnant.
Then, after talking to him about it, he calms down and is excited to have a baby with you.
But when you actually give birth and he realizes the baby is here, he goes into full-blown panic mode again.
It’s not that Levi is clueless, he’s just unsure of himself and ends up being awkward around the baby.
He’s scared to do anything with the baby without you, afraid he’ll mess it up.
But after you help him get more comfortable around the baby, he’ll relax into the job.
Levi will have so much fun showing your child all of his favorite animes and teaching them how to play games.
You’ve never seen Levi more proud than the day that your baby pushed a button on his control and ended up killing the boss that Levi was fighting.
Levi paraded them around the House of Lamentation and told every single person he saw about how your child was going to be a gaming prodigy.
You would have thought that Lucifer and Levi switched sins.
Tumblr media
Satan was as studious as ever when it came to yours and his child.
He wanted to know absolutely everything he could.
He would know every possible illness the baby could get and every remedy for it.
He would study the best kind of diapers, the most comfortable cribs, the most appealing and educational toys.
Basically, if it is related to your baby, Satan would be an expert on the topic.
But despite doing all the research to make sure your baby was at one hundred percent satisfaction, you had a hard time getting Satan to hold your baby.
Every time you asked him to, he brushed it off or passed the duty along to one of his brothers.
You were starting to feel afraid that Satan didn’t want to hold your baby so you brought it up to him and that’s when he explained his fears of hurting your child.
He was the Avatar of Wrath and he was afraid that if something set him off while he was holding your baby, he would end up injuring them.
You managed to finally convince Satan to hold the baby and you sat with him the whole time.
When you placed the baby in his arms, Satan immediately knew that he would never be able to hurt the little one in his arms.
From that moment on, Satan would refuse to let go ~ even when you need him to.
He ends up being a really amazing father.
Tumblr media
There will never be a day that goes by that Asmo doesn’t spoil your child rotten.
Your baby has to have the best of everything and Asmo won’t settle for anything less.
Asmo spent so long perfecting every detail of his bedroom, and he doesn’t spend any less time on the nursery.
He is an absolute perfectionist when it comes to the colors used in the room and what items are placed in it.
Your baby will also be the best-dressed baby in all three worlds. And if Asmo can’t find a suitable outfit for a particular night, he will make it himself.
It wouldn’t be the first time Asmo has made clothing, but you notice that he is much more satisfied with making clothes for your child than for himself or Majolish.
Your child will also be posted all over Asmo’s social media pages and they’ll have fans before they even know what that means.
But, you knew that everything Asmo did was because he was so proud of yours and his child. He just wanted to show the world how your love for each created something so perfect.
When Asmo puts the baby to sleep, he’ll sing it a lullaby, his idol voice ringing out through the House of Lamentation and you’ll notice the look of adoration in Asmo’s eyes as he holds the baby, rocking it gently.
There isn’t anything Asmo wouldn’t give to make sure both you and your baby are always happy.
Tumblr media
Beel is the closest to what a normal human father would be like.
The only thing that Beel wants is for his family to be happy and healthy.
And he’ll do everything in his power to ensure both of you are happy.
Beel will shamelessly play with your child in front of everyone.
He doesn’t care in the slightest if he looks vulnerable or silly because it’s totally worth it to him to hear your baby laugh ~ or you for that matter.
Beel has so much fun feeding your child too. Food is one of Beel’s favorite things and he’s so happy when he can share it with his child.
You have to watch him carefully though to make sure he doesn’t try and sneak the baby food that it can’t eat yet.
Beel always looks like a guilty puppy when you have to stop him from sneaking the child a large piece of his meal. 
At the end of the night, Beel will hold the baby close to him in one arm and hold you close to him in his other arm.
Luckily, he’s big enough that you can both easily fit.
This is Beel’s happy place ~ the two of you cuddled into him as he held onto you tightly.
As the child grows, Beel would definitely encourage them to play a sport and then would coach their team.
Tumblr media
Belphie will try to act normal around your baby, but he’s actually very overprotective of it.
He refused to let anyone besides you and Beel hold them even though you promised him it was fine.
Belphie will be reluctant to let the baby do anything, not wanting it to get hurt. 
You could see how much love Belphie had for them because whenever Belphie was napping, he would have your baby tucked into his arms, the two sleeping peacefully.
Belphie would always make sure your child had pleasant dreams and if they were in pain from teething he would gently put them to sleep to try and help relieve the pain.
Eventually, you explain to Belphie that the baby can’t just sleep all of the time and that they need mental stimulation so that they can actually grow intellectually.
Belphie doesn’t like the idea of losing his cuddle buddy, but he would never do anything to harm your child so he agrees.
The baby ends up changing Belphie’s life for the better in the sense that Belphie doesn’t want to part from them so he ends up spending more time going out and about instead of sleeping as well.
Of course, Belphie always includes you. Just because he was obsessed with yours and his child, it didn’t mean he was any less obsessed with you.
He couldn’t imagine his life without either one of you. 
441 notes · View notes
fashion-runways · 2 months ago
Text
hiii new pinned post again because the last one was outdated, there are links to the previous ones in that one as well. unfortunately there are no real updates re: my dad's wrongful imprisonment. at this point, they might be waiting until the statutes of limitations happen and it's over, i don't know. he has a therapist who's kind of expensive but we have to pay for and he has to go weekly because of all the trauma he has left from being in jail and from losing his job/not being able to find a new one because of this. his health got worse in there, too, so there are a lot of different doctors he has to go to, medications, etc. he's doing better every day, though, but that takes a lot of money of course.
i used to have a redbubble account that helped me get afloat alongside this blog, but it got suspended without notice and never got reinstated no matter how many things i've tried, so... that's another source of income that we lost. i used to make around 30/40 dollars a month there, now i make like 1/2 dollars on teepublic monthly, that's a huge difference. argentina's economy was always bad but it has been an absolute disaster since the current president got elected. prices rise literally on a weekly basis for everything from basic groceries to public transportation, power, water, phone bills, etc. my laptop's keyboard broke at some point and i almost had to buy a new one with money i literally didn't have, just going into negative numbers, but i managed to find a guy who replaced it for as cheap as he could. it was still expensive, but it was better than having to buy a new laptop entirely. would love to get a stable job, but that's always been impossible in this country, even more so lately. for updates on argentina in english, this person on twitter makes very good informative threads if you're interested.
on top of that my dog passed from cancer a few weeks ago, that was really expensive for us too, meds and appointments and special foods and everything that we could do to keep her happy until it was her time to go, and she was. i also started therapy around the time she was diagnosed (thank god) but my therapist had to rise her rates because of the economy mess i already mentioned, so... yeah. everything is exhausting and everything is expensive, and this is literally my only source of income. it's also the thing that i love doing the most and the thing that keeps me sane in all of this mess, so hey, never leaving. in fact, if anything ever happens to this website, you can always find me under fashion_runways on twitter or probably anywhere else. some of you guys mentioned not seeing my posts lately too, so if you can/want to, you can turn notifications on!
anyway yeah, all that to say i love this blog, i love fashion, and i love showing you guys new cool things and giving you guys ideas for art, or writing, or your own style, or just interesting stuff to look at. so if you can donate any money, that would help me more than you think. even a single dollar can change what i can do with my day sometimes, i swear. as usual, my kofi link: https://ko-fi.com/fashionrunways and my teepublic link: https://www.teepublic.com/user/dinah-lance. thanks for being around and sharing and reblogging my posts, thanks for asking questions about fashion, and of course thanks for helping to the ones who can, and thanks to the ones who can't too, i know how that feels like, don't worry about it. i love you 💖
614 notes · View notes
atrwriting · 1 year ago
Text
more, more, more — carmy x reader
Tumblr media
carmen berzatto x coworker!reader
listen to me. this man? this man?? so fucking slutty. so fucking slutty i can’t even think straight. i am absolutely AGHAST at how little writing there is of this man online. absolutely OUTRAGEOUS. he looks like that and none of us have done his character justice?? DISGRACEFUL.
i wrote this in direct response to how angry i am at how little there is.
as always, warnings… SMUT!, alcohol consumption, alcohol consumption with sex, smoking, p in v penetration, work relationships, overstimulation, carmen berzatto being an absolute mind blowing fuck on a table i mean in bed
also, minors fuck RIGHT the fuck off
barely edited we die like men
i stole that joke don’t come for me
anyway....
you didn’t really know how it happened.
you were once an unemployed law student, scared of drowning in bills, and eagerly awaiting a call back from anyone that would hire you — when she called.
natalie berzatto.
her voice was warm and comforting on the phone, and very eager to have you come in. she was relaying important information to you on the phone, and while you grabbed bits and pieces, it was hard to focus on anything else besides the sheer excitement of finally having a job. the job would be stressful, sure — but at least you wouldn’t be broke and stressed.
unfortunately, your first couple of shifts were a mess and a half. you took instructions well, and performed well, but in the hospitality business — that means nothing when an oven burner is out, a dishwasher doesn’t show up for a shift, richie starts barking, or when carmen’s upset.
carmen.
fucking carmen.
while soft spoken, there was nothing that could compare to the look of approval in his eye when you had completed a task to his standard. most people would consider the job of a hostess useless, or not a job at all — something to laugh at, but carmen? no. that man took your job very seriously, as he knew what it meant to provide the full experience to the customer.
however, when something was lacking in the kitchen and that experience was interrupted… carmen took the look of approval, almost gratefulness, away and replaced it with something that everyone felt like they had to walk around shards of glass.
when he was angry? oh, fuck… that could ruin anyone’s night.
the worst of it happened when his sister unexpectedly went into labor. two weeks early.
carmen had left the place screaming, and, in the process, had also left his things at the restaurant, including his jacket, wallet, keys, the lot — so to be nice you went to drop it off at his place. worried that he might be at the hospital, you texted him.
you: hey, going out for a drink. saw you forgot your stuff at the restaurant so i grabbed it because you’re otw. you home?
carmen: oh shit thanks. i’m home
so there you stood. at his front door, his stuff in hand.
you quickly adjusted your long hair, worried about your appearance. it was weird to show up to carmen’s place in your regular attire — seeing as though your regular attire on a night with your friends was black flare jeans, a tight black long sleeve v-neck that showed off your cleavage — you were concerned that he might be concerned with who he exactly employed. however, his niece was just born… he had more important things to worry about.
so you knocked.
and barely waited.
carmen was barely at the door a few seconds later before you came face to face with the man who constantly let exhaustion ride on his back.
“you good?” you immediately asked, handing over his stuff.
he nodded. “yeah, uh — thanks.”
“you look like you could use a drink,” you laughed. “want to come with?”
he shook his head, the corners of his lips somewhat curving upwards. “nah. day was hectic. you want one? come in — for a drink?”
you smiled. “i don’t want to intrude, especially after the berzatto family excitement of the day.”
“i owe you,” he sighed. “but don’t let me hold you up if your friends are waiting.”
you smiled. “one drink won’t hurt.”
one drink definitely did not hurt.
drink two and three definitely didn’t, either.
how much carmen made you laugh definitely made your stomach hurt, though. in a good way.
“you’re killing me,” you cackled. “who knew quiet carmen berzatto was such a good host.”
“you can call me carmy, y’know,” he spoke, saying his cigarette before pouring you another drink. “everyone else does.”
you shrugged. “you’re pretty professional in the kitchen. didn’t want to impose.”
“i don’t think you could impose a day in your life,” he chuckled. “i think you’re the only one that knows boundaries in that fuckin’ place.”
“says the mysterious one,” you giggled. “the only reason any of us know your nicknames is because richie likes to share your baby stories.”
“speaking of babies…” he took a drag. “thank you for helping sugar out so much. she told me to tell you how much she appreciates it.”
you shrugged. “‘s nothing.”
“nothing?” he scoffed. “you keep her sane. definitely keep me sane.”
“always got your back, chef,” you giggled.
he smiled, and ashed his cigarette once more. his long, thick fingers stretched around the circumference of his glass. one fingertip tapped against the glass and a few droplets of condensation fell to his countertop.
you were twisted around in your seat to face carmen, eyeing his attractive hands. in your peripheral vision, you saw him lift his head to cock it towards you and stare at you. the longing look sent shivers up your spine, but you gazed at him through your long lashes as you waited for his response.
“you do,” he spoke. “always have. we were lucky to find you. i - i was, i mean.”
“more like i was lucky get a call from natalie,” you laughed. “it’s so hard to find a well paying job nowadays.”
“heard,” he rasped. “you happy at the bear?”
“very,” you replied. “staff keeping you happy, chef?”
he chuckled. “when i’m not made to scream, yeah.”
“that’s fair. we’re lucky to have you.”
there was only so many things you could think of to say to carmen before you began to consider that you were imposing. you slapped your hands against your thighs — a implicit signal it was time for you to go. he led you to the door, where he reached out for your coat. you smiled at him, thanked him for the drink, and slid your arms through the jacket as he held it out for you.
you don’t know what caused you to, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was you — or maybe it was how good carmen smelled — but you glanced up and over your shoulder at the polite man behind you.
you didn’t have anything to say. frankly, you said something last — it was his turn. however, carmen’s sense of societal expectations started and ended with the door to the kitchen. but there, by his front door? basically holding you by the shoulders, and staring back down at you? he had nothing to say.
however… his eyes could share a thousand things about him. more specifically, emotions. carmen’s eyes showed exhaustion, a bit of dehydration, to keep it a buck, but there was so much intensity in those crystal irises. they were a stunning, clear blue… but with the way carmen was gazing down at you, there appeared to be no clear thought in his head.
and he did nothing.
so you could do nothing.
you found yourself disappointed at his actions, or rather — lack thereof.
you simply smiled, and went to turn away. you reached for his door knob, when you felt the slightest brush of calloused fingers against the skin of your wrist. the feeling shocked you, pricking at your nerves, but you didn’t stop until you felt those fingers enclose around the circumference of your wrist.
like they had with the glass, moments ago.
you turned back, letting your long and thick eyelashes ghost over your line of sight. all you could see was a frozen chef, standing tired, but staring back at you.
when his gaze fell to the floor, you stepped closer. he glanced up.
you felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you softly asked, “what’s up, carmy?”
“first time i had someone over.” his parted lips closed so he could swallow, and his eyes drifted between your lips and the floor. the words were right there, on his tongue. they were so close you could feel them, taste them. he replied, “i, um… don’t want it to end, uh — i guess.”
you smiled and turned around in place, barely inches from his face. his breaths were pushing past his lips in small, light puffs that hit the tip of your chin. it was like he was conscious of everything he was emitting; his vibe, where he was looking, even his fucking exhales. he was cautious and frozen and all you wanted was for him to be relaxed, or as close to, as he was moments ago.
“already drank you out of house and home, carmy. what else you got in mind?”
his eyes widened, but his voice stayed level. “what else i got in mind?”
you hummed in agreement with a coy smile on your face. you folded your lip between your teeth and stepped backwards. carmy glanced at your hips and feet hesitantly, shifting his weight slightly. while his eyes were trained on you, his parted lips quivered slightly which told you that there was still some nervousness lingering in him. with every step you took, carmy took one as well. you kept stepping backwards, and carmy kept stepping forwards, until your back was pressed against the wall.
carmy’s lips weren’t slightly quivering anymore. there was no hesitation in his figure when he leaned down slightly and rested a flat palm against the drywall above your head. his breath was hitting you on both cheeks — as if they weren’t hot enough already. inside you were screaming. you were screaming, and screaming, and screaming and all you wanted to do was grab both sides of his face and smash your lips to his. you wanted to, but you wouldn’t. you wanted to see if he would.
“you know,” you spoke, raising your back. your cold palm pressed against his cheek. it was burning — almost as bad as yours. “even though you’re the boss… never seen you actually taste anything.”
“no?” he rasped. the gruffness in his voice pricked at your cheeks and went straight to your core. “and what do you want me to taste, sweetheart?”
you released your grip from his cheek and brought your hand down to your face. with a manicured nail, you tapped the plumpness of your bottom lip. you stared into his eyes — a dare.
“fuck.”
with his free hand, carmen wrapped your hand in his own and pressed it to the middle of his chest. he held it there, pressed against his heart, and surprisingly it was the exact spot you wanted to hold him. you wanted to hear — no, feel his heart that was beating slightly faster than normal. when carmen finally pressed his chapped lips against yours… you saw stars.
the alcohol coursing through your veins made you melt into the man before you. his hand on the wall slid down until he was rubbing the side of your neck, and then gripping the base of your skull. his fingers, his beautiful, skillful fingers threaded through your hair like it was one of his pieces of art and he was creating something. he twisted your strands until he had your head bent back, practically supported by the heavy palm of his hand. the motion made you gasp into his mouth. carmen swallowed it whole. every. last. bit.
“y’taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he moaned against your lips.
you hummed with him. the warmth of his body engulfed your body into his until the moment started and ended with carmen anthony berzatto. you could taste the liquor on his tongue that danced with your own. with every breath he took, bits of smoke would linger between the two of you. it went straight to your head, swallowing your senses whole. you didn’t know if it was the alcohol, the cigarettes, or carmen himself, but you felt like you were swimming.
“this okay, sweetheart?” he asked, pulling away for a second. a thumb of his stroked the skin of your cheek as he stared at you, waiting for feelings of regret from you. “d-do you want me to stop?”
“please don’t stop, carmy,” you gasped, pulling him back into. “you’re perfect.”
you didn’t expect that would make carmen slide his hands down your body and grasp the back of your thighs. his fingertips pressed into your skin, pulling your legs up and around his waist. you squealed against his teeth and couldn’t believe you had found yourself in this situation.
it’s not that carmen wasn’t handsome, no. the man was drop dead gorgeous in a tortured artist way, and you always had a thing for men that looked like they needed a hug but wouldn’t admit it. but… he was your boss.
what could you do about that? it’s not like you could stop now. even if you had told him to stop, got your shit and left — the damage was done. you both had crossed the boundaries, and you were going to reap what you sewed.
in that case… might as well have a little fun with it.
he had placed you on a neighboring table. his large hands gripped the flesh of your thighs and you couldn’t help but whine into his embrace. his tongue glided over your lips and teeth and with your tongue in the messiest way possible and all you could chant in your head was more, more, more.
and that’s when you found yourself pulling at the bottom of his t-shirt.
he stepped back slightly, throwing his shirt over his head. his swollen lips were parted, and his eyes searched your face. you found your chest rising and falling with anticipation, and realized you should’ve been more concerned with how he was dealing with all of this.
“you okay, carmy?” you whispered.
he nodded, letting a few fingertips of his ghost over the skin of your cheek. his crystal eyes glanced down to your lips.
“we can stop, you know,” you whispered again. “it’s okay.”
he nodded again before dipping his head down to the side of your neck. his plump lips left wet kisses on the sensitive skin and you moaned into the open air. you widened the space between your knees, allowing for carmen to wedge himself between your thighs.
“you’re always talking such good care of me, sweetheart, so good to me,” he rasped against your throat, sucking on the skin. “but all i want to do right now is have my fingers inside you. y’gonna let me?”
“yes, carmy,” you whined. “yes please.”
“such a polite girl f’me.” carmy’s mouth was attacking your throat. moans escaped passed your lips like carmy was squeezing them from you, claiming them. his fingers traveled down the front of your clothes and stopped at the button of your jeans. sliding it open, carmen berzatto slipped his perfect hands into your jeans.
“right there, please,” you gasped once his fingers found your bundle of nerves.
his fingers dipped into your core and spread it all over where you needed him most. warmth began to spread through your hips and your knees widened for him. his drew circles different ways until he noticed that when he drew counterclockwise circles, you bit your lip and your eyes appeared to involuntarily flutter shut. you felt carmy smirk against the skin of your neck.
“what made you this wet, baby?” he hummed, sucking at the base of your throat.
“you, carmy,” you whined. “felt it as soon as i saw you when i first walked in. needed you so badly.”
he smirked again. “so bringing my things wasn’t of the purest intentions?”
heat rose to your cheeks with the sensual actions that were taking place below the belt and carmy’s accusation. you grew worried at what he would say if you said no, that you honestly just wanted to help him out… but if carmy wanted to play like that, you could play.
“n-no,” you whined as the pleasure began to spread throughout your whole body.
carmy was holding you so close to him. it was like he was your support — supporting you through such a physically vulnerable moment. your legs were practically shaking at this point, trying to take everything he was giving you and not start sobbing. you were grabbing at any piece of him you, wanting to kiss him — but he wouldn’t let you. fucking bastard.
“good,” he stated, staring you dead in the eyes. your mouth fell open at his response, a pant pushing passed your lips. “i don’t have the purest of intentions when i do this.”
carmen berzatto slid two long, thick fingers inside you ever so slowly. the motion pulled small moans out of you like you were a pathetic mess of a puddle and the sun rose and set with him. you felt his fingertips press against the upper wall inside you, while another finger worked at your clit, and all you could do was hold onto him tighter.
“it feels so good, carmy,” you whined. “i love your fingers so, so much.”
“yeah, baby?” he breathed against your ear. “you wanna cum f’me?”
“faster, please, i will,” you sobbed. you fucking sobbed as the tapping motion inside you hastened. “oh god — oh my fucking god —“
“that’s it, sweetheart? that’s what you needed?”
“yes, yes — fucking — fuck — yes.”
“f-fuck —“ he groaned broken, incoherent phrases against your throat. his breath was hot and heavy on your skin and all you could think about was how good he felt inside of you, and also how badly you wanted all of him inside you. interrupting your thoughts, he spoke, “show me how good it feels, baby. finish all over my fingers f’me.”
that broke you.
that fucking broke you.
it was like a shock of lightning hit you straight in your core and the power from the strike spread throughout your entire body. every muscle of yours went taut as you arched your chest into carmy’s.
with his expert hands, he fucked you through the orgasm. “that’s it, baby. that’s it. keep cumming for me.”
it was like carmen berzatto knew everything to say to make you shatter. you couldn’t even breathe — all you could do was give into the spreading feeling of bliss and hold your breath while it washed over you. it was wave, after wave, after wave of mind-numbing orgasm and carmen held you through all of it.
“pretty girl.”
“i know, baby. you’re such a sweet girl f’me.”
“that’s it, sweetheart. take it.”
once the waves finished hitting you, your chest was rising and falling heavily. carmen peppered light kisses along your neck, being gentle as to your state, but you were having none of it. you reached for his belt.
“greedy.”
you smiled lazily at him. “any objections, chef?”
he smirked at you, letting his fingers ghost over your sensitive core. a shiver ran up and down your spine at the almost painful action. “be careful — or i’ll make you cum again.”
you knew he wasn’t joking. you let out a slight giggle before you dragged the zipper and his boxers down. freeing his cock, you pumped his shaft.
carmy was once dominantly kissing your neck and whispering mean things in your ear, but now he was using the crook of your neck to support his forehead.
“you have such a pretty cock, carmy,” you whispered in his ear. there was something so comforting about being intimate with a man where you both could be vulnerable, and you weren’t sure if you would ever let it go. you want him everywhere he would let you have him. “i don’t know if i want it in my mouth or inside me more.”
he chuckled at that, crooning back into your embrace when you would touch a very sensitive part of him. “dirty girl — you’re so fuckin’ evil.”
you were worried the friction was becoming too much for him, but you didn’t want to raise your hand to your own lips, so you swiped some of the juices from your core and used it to lubricate the skin of carmy’s cock. it was a quick motion — you didn’t think he’d notice, and plus his eyes were most likely closed.
but when he spoke, you froze.
“do-do that again.” his voice was rough with lust. “do that again for me.”
you were hesitant at first, but you decided to make a show of it. you slowly dragged two fingers up the length of your slit and rubbed a very slow circle around the circumference of your clit. you gasped at the sensitivity, slightly jumping at the touch.
“fuck, that’s hot,” he groaned, breath humid on your neck.
you smirked at his response and reached for his cock. your hand slipped along the smooth skin of his cock, drawing a deep groan from carmen. the poor man was so sensitive — almost aching from what giving everything he had to you previously felt like.
“so big, carmy,” you breathed. “so big and pretty.”
“y’know what would be prettier?” he asked, pressing a kiss to your jaw line. “watching you put it inside you. can you do that, baby?
you smiled at him devilishly. carmy’s hands shoved the rest of your jeans down your legs and flung them somewhere in the room. your pussy was aching — dripping for the man before you. the sensitivity had left you, no longer prickling at your nerve endings. all that was left was the want for more — anything carmy had to give you.
“please,” you whined, rubbing the head of his cock against your glistening folds.
“i love when you beg f’me,” he groaned. “such a good fuckin’ girl.”
both of your lines of sight drifted down to the view of your hips. you both watched in awe as you lined carmy up with your entrance as he pushed his hips towards you.
the throws of passion and want for carmy were intense, sure — but so was the want to enjoy this while he could. he pushed in the tip of his cock, groaning slightly as your tight hole encased him. you whines at the barely filled feeling — so empty, needing more. carmy, however? carmy didn’t care. he wanted to feel every push and pull of your muscles between your hips.
carmy kept his eyes turned down at your pussy and you swallowed more and more of him inside you. he gripped the flesh of your waist, fingertips digging into you. your own hands were splayed our flat against the cool countertop of the table — a direct juxtaposition of the boiling feeling that electrified the top of every inch of your skin. you whined as carmy took his time with his thrusts, pulling back every so often when he felt resistance, and then pushing back in ever so slightly, yet slightly farther, each time.
“please, more,” you gasped, folding your lip between your teeth. “i want all of you.”
“baby isn’t patient, huh?” he asked, continuing with his motions. “gotta have it all, when you want it?”
“i can’t be teased right now,” you sobbed. it was pathetic how needy you were, but fucking christ did it turn carmy on.
“this what you want, baby?” he asked, pushing into you deeper.
your walls were squeezing him like he was the only thing that existed to you. the burn at your entrance was something so bittersweet, something so delicious — you didn’t know how you were going to keep control and make this special for him as well, let alone how you weren’t going to cum right then. but you didn’t care — you didn’t have the strength to care.
“yes, carmy — please,” you begged, bucking your hips into him weakly. “fuck — your cock feels so good.”
“yeah, baby?” he pressed into deeper. “so impatient you can’t handle it slow?”
“i want you to fuck me, carm,” you bit with lust dripping from every word. “fuck me — use me however you want — please.”
fuck.
that set him off.
carmy was a patient and low maintenance man, sure, out of necessity and convenience mostly. however, when he had the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, with a dirty mouth to match, talking back to him, and begging him to be selfish?
fuck patience. fuck ease. and fuck being selfless.
carmen’s grip tightened on your waist, and he pushed the last parts of his cock inside you.
it immediately hit you right where you needed him — that soft, sensitive spot so deep that barely anyone before him could dream of reaching. your walls gripped the smooth skin of his cock and you screamed. you fucking wailed when he finally pounded into you painfully, but so fucking sweetly.
“dirty — fucking — girl,” he grunted, thrusting upwards into your pussy.
there was nothing like the sight of carmy finally taking what he wanted. no expression of shame, or guilt, or hesitation on his face — just a man, slightly bent over before you, inside of you, holding you so close to him because, in that moment, you could give him what he wanted — needed. and, in that moment, all he needed was you.
the side of his face was pressed against yours, breathing heavily into your ear. the few groans he let escape his throat were guttural — almost animalistic. they went straight to your core, practically flooding around his cock. your whines of pleasure forced his hips forward and back faster and harder with each motion. balancing your weight and carmy’s with a firm hand of yours behind you on the table, you clamped your free hand on the back of his neck. you twisted a few stray strands of his hair around your fingers, tugging at them. every thrust caused you to pull his hair, him, closer and harder into you.
“laythefuckdown,” he spat, to your surprise.
the command startled you, sure — but it also made you bite your lip in anticipation. he pressed a wet, heavy kiss to your cheek, throwing butterflies in your lower stomach, as you released him. before you could lay down, he stopped you.
“you want to give me what i want, baby?” he whispered against your lips.
you nodded, gazing at him with dark, lust filled eyes.
“then i want your pussy to finish around my cock,” he stated. “think you can do that f’me?”
“y-yeah,” you replied, shakily, but full of trust.
you laid down and carmy regained his footing at the end of the table, keeping his cock pressed firmly inside you as he stood above you. his cock twitched against your most sensitive spot inside you, and you whined at the new angle. he gripped one of your hips firmly, but let his other hand ghost up your glistening lips.
“such a pretty fucking pussy,” he rasped, gazing at it. “takes my cock so well. but right here…”
he pressed his thumb against your clit.
you would’ve jumped if his hand wasn’t keeping you locked to the table.
“this is what i want,” he spat. “so fucking pretty.”
he began rubbing rough, fast circles on your clit. your legs were shaking from the overstimulation, and you thought you could cry from the sensation. your back arched off the table, and your hands struggled to find something to grip — to balance you as carmy tortured you.
but then his cock started working itself back into you again, hitting that spot that needed him so badly.
“think you can cum like this, baby?” he asked, taunting you. “be a good girl for me, yeah?”
“yes — !” you groaned, reaching for the end of the table with one hand. grabbing it, you tried to steady yourself, but it was no use. not with carmy. “fuck — it’s so much — it’s too much carmy —“
“gonna cum for me, sweetheart?”
you threw your head up to stare at the man. he was rocking into you like that was the only thing he knew, fucking you like it was the only thing he wanted, but there was so much focus on his eyes. so much focus on you.
“gonna give me what i want?”
“yes, yes,” you were nodding your head so pathetically, so sweetly for him. tears were practically threatening to spill over the corners of your eyes, but they glistened at him, and only him, and god did it fuck with him. “please, carmy — let me cum for you.”
“do it,” he ordered. “fuck, baby — cum for me.”
your hips were bucking against his pelvis and his hand, too erratic for him to be precise like he wanted to. you were chasing his fingertips, chasing the orgasm that even in his selfish state he was so generous to give. whines left your throat involuntarily as the intensity in your lower abdomen grew, and grew, and grew. your eyes were screwed shut as you pushed yourself to your elbows, holding yourself up as you couldn’t help but curl into yourself. carmen may have been looking at you, or something else — it didn’t matter. all you saw was the black of your eyelids, until is was white.
white. pure white.
your finger nails dug into the meat of your palms as the heat spread from your womb to the entirety of your body. every nerve ending and hair rose to the highest point of height they could, and you held your breath. the feeling of immense pleasured you washed over you — wave after wave, after wave, after wave. it hit you, it crashed into you, it fucking drowned you — it swallowed you whole until you were gasping for air. your orgasm was violent — practically mine splitting. you were shaking. you were sensitive beyond belief, beyond repair — and the prickling feeling wouldn’t stop. you were gasping for air as you looked down, only to find carmy’s hand still working between your thigh.
still rubbing those fucking circles.
“c-carmy,” you sputtered, tears wet in the corner of your eye. “please — i c-can’t.”
“shhh,” he whispered. “just keep cumming, baby. just keep cumming for me.”
your chest split open at that, throwing you back against the table top. shivers went up and down your spine as you took carmy’s torture.
“that’s it, baby. that’s it.”
his words were music to your ears as you screamed for him.
“ohh, fucking shit — that’s it —“ he hissed. “just like that. take it all for me — oh, fuck.”
you were dazed and confused on carmy’s table, basically seeing stars. absolutely useless, fucked out beyond words. you felt the weight and warmth of carmy’s body lean over, and rest against yours, as his hips sloppily rocked into you.
you wrapped your legs around the middle of carmy’s back, locking him in place. one hand went to clamp on the back of his head, and the other pressed against the side of his cheek.
against his lips, you whispered, “cum for me, carmy, please. i want to feel you inside of me.”
“good — fucking —“ he grunted, pressing his lips to yours in a farm, hard kiss as he shook. carmy’s tongue shoved itself into your mouth, and down your throat. carmy was everywhere — so deep in every part of you. you hummed with each moan of his you swallowed, rocking your hips against his and rocking him through his orgasm. gasps left his lips as he gripped any part of you he could, doing anything he could to hold onto you and keep you in place.
“holy f-fucking shit,” he gasped against your cheek, pressing kisses to your cheek and the length of your neck. “that — that was — it was so —“
“i know,” you spoke, giggling slightly.
carmy laid his head against your collarbone and you weaved his wet curls around your fingers. he rested fully against you, completely relaxed.
“fuck your friends,” he mumbled. “stay here tonight — as long as, um — you want to, that is.”
your giggle hummed in your chest. carmy’s confidence leaving him in the middle of the sentence surprised you slightly, but not enough to leave you unamused. “‘m not imposin’?”
he chuckled at that, and pulled you up from the table and into his arms. "fuck off."
-----
lmk what you think :) love yall -L
6K notes · View notes
bi-writes · 1 year ago
Text
more childhood-bestfriend!roommate!simon x fem!reader because im a mess inside and he can fix me
more bestfriend!roommate!simon (part 2/?)
cw: unwanted suggestive advances (verbal only), protective!simon
Tumblr media
he wont leave. he's been sitting at the counter all night, nursing a mug of coffee that he keeps sneaking splashes from his flask into. he's gotten progressively drunker as the hours passed, but you paid him no mind, continuing to serve other customers. you said nothing to him, just kept refilling his mug when he held it out to you and ignoring him.
"what a pretty dress, love...look at ya."
"got somewhere to be after this? wanna grab a drink?"
"ya look so nice, got the eyes of a kitten...hope ya don't bite..."
the patrons that passed by him glared and told him to shut up, but he just kept whispering to you as you went by him. you shrugged it off gracefully, keeping the smile on your face as you poured someone more coffee. words were harmless, and even though he came off as a creep, he was drunk--and drunk people were stupid people.
you smoothed out the skirt of your dress. it was short, riding up every time you reached up on a high shelf. you tried not to snap at the man every time he whistled when you did.
when you made your way to the back to pick up a few plates, one of the cooks asked if you were okay.
"fine," was how you answered. "besides, if he makes a move, i dont think he'll like it when i pour hot coffee down his pants."
but he wont leave. he has been sitting there, and the clock read two in the morning, and your shift was ending.
he wont leave. he was in your way, blocking the door to the counter. he stumbled a little on his feet, and you raised your brow.
"you gonna move? youre in my way," you said finally, sighing.
"whoa, whoa...no need to get all bent out of shape. i need another coffee."
"my shift is over. get your own damn coffee."
you moved to go around him, and he stepped to the side, blocking you again.
"whoa, whoa! all fiery all of the sudden? cmon, darling, let's go get a drink, yeah?"
"listen, i've been patient and kind all night," you laughed bitterly. "but you're starting to get on my last nerve. so why don't you sit down, pay your bill, and go home, huh?"
he didn't like that. he frowned, puffing out his chest a little, narrowing his eyes.
"hey, you got a mouth on ya, pretty lady, and i don't like it."
"oh yeah? look how much i care," you snapped. "now get out of my way, or ill make you."
the bell chimed above the door, ringing and filling the tension in the room. you sneered at the man who tried to intimidate you, clenching your jaw.
"oi," a familiar voice spoke up. "do we have a problem here?"
"yeah, mate, this fuckin' waitress thinks she can say whatever she wants to customers and still get a tip."
"i would watch your tone if i were you," you spoke lowly. "he doesn't like it when you're rude."
"listen, here--"
the man raised his hand, and suddenly a gloved hand shot out and gripped his wrist, tugging him backwards.
"oh, mate, what are y'thinkin', huh?" simon towered over him. taller, broader, the black of his outfit making him that much more intimidating and that much more frightening. his hood was up, his eyes the only visible part of him, but they were angry. hard and dry and angry, narrowed as he used one arm to yank the man backwards, putting himself between you. "you raise a hand, y'raise it to me, yeah? ohhh...what's the matter? lost your voice all of a sudden?"
"i-i...i--"
"this man givin' you a problem, luv?" simon asked. he turned his body to face him, tightening his grip on the man's wrist. the man hissed, his knees buckling a little as he grabbed a nearby table for support.
"it's fine, simon," you sighed, crossing your arms over your chest. "he's just...drunk."
"i don't believe that for a second."
simon shoved him away, watching as the man's back slammed into the window behind him. he shook, terrified, covering his face with his arms.
"i think you knew exactly what you were doin'," simon accused. "y'like preying on pretty women, mate? well, unfortunately for you, i taught this one a nasty right hook, and i might just let her have some practice, would you like to practice, luv?"
"hey, i think he gets the point," you put a hand on simon's arm, soothing the tense muscle there with gentle circles. "let's go home."
"i dunno, does he get the point?"
the man nodded furiously, sinking to the ground as he kept his hands up for protection.
"right, if you get the point, why are you still fuckin' in here?!"
simon slammed the window next to him with the palm of his hand, and the man scrambled to his feet ungracefully, the bell dinging as he scurried out into the dark. you raised a brow as simon turned around, rolling out his neck as he narrowed his eyes at you.
"you happy now?" you asked, shaking your head. "who am i kidding? youre not happy unless you put the fear of god in men, huh?"
simon held the door open for you, a hand on the small of your back as he guided you outside.
"not god, luv."
you smiled. "ohhh, thats right...fear of you."
he grunted in response, and you slipped your arm around his, watching your feet as you walked.
"you're not scary, simon. sorry to tell you."
he chuckled lowly. "not to you, maybe."
"no..." you looked back up and him, and he met your eyes. he couldn't tell that it was love in your eyes. perhaps because maybe he'd never seen it before; he wouldn't know what it really looked like. "never to me, simon."
1K notes · View notes