#it comes with gift vouchers

[adventures-in-a-world-of-fiction]

Me: This is corporate culture nonsense designed to make us all ignore the fact that capitalism is exploiting our labour and grinding us into the ground

Also me: Ooh! I get a prize for being voted the most helpful colleague by the other corporate drones!

[piecedpiratesmoved]

There are three figures that my brother would have got me, who do you thibk he got? note, he knows nothing about the media nor my favourites they're were just on the wishlist

[etlu-yume]

I still remember being absolutely and utterly thrown when I had a performance review, when the design team knew the writing was kinda on the wall, and the management team straight up tried to ask about goals and future training.

Like. Talk about not seeing the forest for the trees???

[miss-floral-thief]

idk about the meat towels but i do want the 'campfire plushie' lol

[hoseoksluna]

LADY BEETLE | knj

pairing: non-idol!namjoon x oc

genre: situationship au ; sex playhouse ; glory hole  / smut, fluff

word count: 10.4k

summary: when you came to seoul's hidden sex playhouse to forget about namjoon, you didn't think the anonymous mr. kim would actually be namjoon.  

pin: lady beetle / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: sex club setting, oc struggles with her feelings towards namjoon, glory hole but with hoseoksluna twist, engaging in sexual practices with a person you don't know, commitment issues, heated conversations, dirty talk, patience game, counting down (for my neva play girlies), oral sex (f. & m. receiving), deepthroat, face fucking, nipple play, unprotected and rough sex, teacher namjoon, spanking, praise kink, size kink, choking on fingers, rough treatment in general, aftercare, oc and namjoonie smoke together.

note: i daresay this is my best work. :D fuck my life, guys. i need this namjoon like i need air to breathe. if i see any of you wearing panties... TAKE EM OFF NOW. sldjflskdjfsl jk, jk. THE SUPRISE IS REVEALED. GLORY FAWKING HOLE. my babies, enjoy this filth. stream neva play. imagine that deep voice of his.... yeah. yeah....... faaawwkwkjsdlfjsdlfjsdfjslfjsls. ENJOYYYYY. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK. MY ASK BOX IS OPEENNNNNNN.

The building looked ordinary from the outside view. Like any other building in this part of the city. Long and tall, coalescing with the evening heavens and with its freckles of stars—very much like those upon your skin. McDonald’s was just down the road, a to-go coffee stand perfumed the whole street with its coffee beans, and a bookstore stood right next to this peculiar piece of urban architecture, unaware of all the sins that lurked behind its walls. 

It may pretend to be pure, with its grand hall, its sophisticated reception and even graceful employees—dressed in the finest of fabrics that glinted beneath the opulent chandelier—but it was just that. 

An act. 

They smiled at you, but in their heart they knew what you were here for. 

In this seemingly normal, ordinary building all your sexual fantasies flare out. In the simplest of words, you come here to get fucked out of the norm that is considered vanilla. You fill out an online application, set the date, the time—and depending on your desire, you even get to see who your dream fulfiller is. 

In your case, you were going into this blind. 

And so was he, your dream fulfiller. 

While you opted to stay anonymous, the only detail you knew about the man was that he was from the cursed Kim clan. Another male that bore the last name like the one who wrecked your nerves to the point that you had to bite the bullet and try this out as nothing else was working. It was a newfound obsession of your best friend, who gifted you a voucher to this place on your birthday. And you weren’t sure if Kim Namjoon had the sixth sense and somehow knew about this, although you’d believe he was very much capable of possessing one, just to piss you off even more. 

You have been crushing on this man since the day you met him at your mom’s small ramyeon restaurant you are working in for her. Since the moment, in fact, you glimpsed at his vintage black Cartier watch with a matching singular bracelet adorning his wrist that he kept calmly on the table while he was on a work call, growling and snapping into the phone. Your mom curled her lips, swatted her eyelashes as she grew hot in the cheeks, chopping green onions for him from her cooking station while you were watching over the noodles. It was her who noticed him at first—and it was her who told you to do your best and seduce him. 

And when you lifted your eyes, saw that thick mane of his cloudy hair, the cleft of his cheek as he gritted his jaw and then that picturesque hand of his, you sensed that unfamiliar, magnetic pull towards him that made you blush. And you never looked more like her than in that moment. 

For some reason you knew better than to not listen to her and do as she says. You felt it was the right decision, the right move and so you fixed your hair, swiped your flower clip through a half of it while your face-framing wisps fell naturally in front of your pink face. Your mom tossed you her lip gloss from the pocket of her apron and you brought him the ramyon she cooked for him. 

Smiled at him. Batted your eyelashes at him like your mother taught you throughout your girlhood and it worked. 

Namjoon told you were a breath of fresh air when you sashayed towards him after such an important, yet aggravating phone call, apologized for the inconvenience, bowed slightly. Balanced, most delightfully, respect and flirting. Leaned more towards the latter when he would steal glances at you and smile at you at every opportunity that your gaze would connect to his. 

Your heart hammered once he came to you to pay for his meal. Your mother stopped whatever it was that she was doing just to beam at him and he personally gave her a huge tip in cash—right into her right hand that he held. Turned to you and asked you if you’d like to have dinner with him sometime. 

And you agreed—without knowing he would get on your nerves in the long run. 

Namjoon was not a serious man, not as he appeared to be. Although he showed you the side of Seoul you would otherwise never have the option to see and feel with your entire being by taking you to luxurious dinners, cafés, art exhibitions and work events—the things he would say and the things he would do did not reflect those settings by any chance. 

He took you from rags to riches and you paid for it by being a victim of his odd form of cute aggression. 

The man would get you tangled up in your sentences because he simply enjoyed the view of you getting flustered. He found pleasure in revving you up enough for you to curse at him and growl at him, be it by bugging you with tickles, pokes or be it by making fun of you until you yourself laughed. 

There was nothing sexual about your relationship, if you could call it that. He didn’t hold your hand, he didn’t regard you hungrily as so many men do in his place, but he did look at you with the rawest form of purity. At your freckles—ones that made him give you the adorable nickname Lady Beetle—at your butterfly tattoo on your ankle that your dress would always expose from its natural criss-crossed position. The things he would say did not contain any hints of this leading into the bed. And he never kissed you, even though there were many occasions, where he looked like he was about to do it. 

He always held back. And while it, and everything else, made you pristinely fall for him, it also angered you so much that there was nothing else you wanted to do but to grab his head and kiss him madly. 

And the other day, you did. 

Leaned in after the heft of your shared tension grew too big for you to hide it in your hands—only for him to turn his head, slightly, and let you merely kiss his cheek. 

That was the final straw. And so you stopped agreeing to his “date” invitations until you stopped replying to his messages altogether. You thought he wasn’t going to have any part of you if he wasn’t willing to properly date you. 

And in your anger, you dwelled in the hole he left behind. The hole that was asking for his fatherly attention that caused you so much extraordinary joy. Your mother must’ve sensed it with her motherly instincts that he would occupy that place in your life, which your father didn’t. Your body missed laughing with him until your tummy hurt—and you missed him. And the more you did, the more your anger blazed. 

You couldn’t get rid of it. 

You tried exercising. You tried running around the block, only to never do it again because you couldn’t catch your breath and you thought you had almost died that day. You smoked a pack after pack, and that didn’t help either. 

Neither did abusing your cunt until you couldn’t go on anymore. Your anger burned down your bedroom and once you groaned and whined, punched the pillows and kicked your legs, your eyes fell upon the voucher you had pinned on your corkboard  

Your remedy was in front of you, and in the worst of your anger—you gave it a go. 

You filled out that application in the middle of the night, one that made you even hornier. And because you didn’t want to see any other man but Namjoon while you were getting your brain fucked out of your head, you chose the only option there was for that case. 

Glory hole. 

And the idea of it made your anger falter ever so slightly. You could imagine it was him pounding you through the barrier. The wall would only help your imagination.

Friday. Seven PM. You had to come two hours early because it was a necessity for you to shower at the place after you signed the contract. You also had to quickly think of a safe word, it was the only thing you foolishly forgot to fill out that day, as lost as you were within your flight of fancy. And because the employee standing in front of you made you anxious, you wrote down the first thing you thought of. 

Beetle. 

Your heart pounded, and when you let go of the pen, the gravity of the moment hit you. You truly were about to swim in a pool of sin only because the man you desperately wanted didn’t want you back. At least not in the way you wanted him to. 

The employee led you into the room, where your own personal sin would uncoil. A grandiose, large space, plucked out of a French chateau, with dark antique furniture, an easel with a painting you were quick to skip to in order to ogle at it. Your kitten heels clicked on the old, parquet floors that creaked, scuffed against the carpet that cost more than your yearly salary. It was a room that Namjoon would like—and it was a room that took your breath away. 

And the painting paused your blood flow. 

The Unequal Marriage by Vasili Pukirev.  

A painting of you, essentially, because you can’t have the man you yearn for. 

Your heart shrinks, painful pinpricks digging deeply into the flesh. You lift a finger and trace the despondent face of the bride, acknowledge yourself with that secret, yet vivid piece of your agony eternalized within the thickness of the brushstrokes. Her silver flower crown, the gossamer fabric of her veil, and finally her delicate hand. And in your soul, you hold it. 

You peek at the elderly groom and disgust seizes you. Because of the poor girl’s fate, because of your own. It feels as though you’re about to sin with that very man and you regret ever coming here. 

An emotion that you hurriedly shake off because your best friend paid a huge amount of money for you to experience a good time. Like she did. 

Your hand slaps back to your side. Your emotions, too. You will them to hide their starlight just for this one night. Hide their love for the man they can’t have. 

You turn around and glimpse upon a table with bottles of both champagne and wine. Think you need one at this moment; think your dream fulfiller would appreciate it if you poured him one, too. But having one sip of that dark liquid, you say fuck it and finish his glass as well. 

Undress. Take a shower. Weep under the stream. 

And the same employee waits for you when you emerge out of the bathroom in your robe. With manicured hands folded over her stomach, her eyes have softened a little bit, and abruptly, you realize how glad you are that a woman is accompanying you on this strange journey. If a man stood in her place, you would’ve already walked out and wasted your best friend’s money. 

“Mr. Kim wishes for you to be naked,” she says, her voice light, but firm. Your skin prickles with goosebumps—you bought a lacy red lingerie for the occasion, to help your imagination do its job to the fullest. A certain wisp of sadness clutches you that you won’t be able to wear it. 

Or… 

“What happens if I disobey?” you ask, gripping the thick lining of your bathrobe at your chest for mental support. The seriousness of the situation inches nearer and nearer and your stomach knots. 

She inhales, straightening up, as if she was about to leave this room. “Mr. Kim is not a regular, so I don’t know anything about this temper, but I would suggest respecting his wishes.” 

And she does, making space for your thoughts to whirl, and your eyes trace the flowers on the red Persian rug underneath your slipper-shod feet. 

He’s not a regular, so that means he’s not anything like the disgusting groom in the painting. He may be an ordinary person just like you, trying your luck in an unusual setting. Perhaps young, perhaps older—but normal. Not a lecher about to feast on your purity. 

Your stomach relaxes as do your muscles and you walk over to the bed to grab your make-up bag. Set yourself into the doll version of you that enjoys a male company with your eyeliner and glitter. Finish the process with a red tendril of lipstick over your mouth—just to leave behind a pleasant trace if the man ever decides to up the fun a little bit. 

Will it be fun? Or will you regret every second? 

An unanswerable question for your doll brain. You shake it off. Sit down at the edge of the bed and wait. 

Wait for him to fuck not just your anger, but your feelings out of your body. 

The woman emerges out of the bright light of the hall as if she was a housekeeper coming in to clean the hotel room. To a naked eye, it is not far from reality. This time, her softness has deepened so much that she bears a smile on her face. One, that you’re unsure of what it means. And one that relaxes your system to its finality. 

She raises a hand towards the double doors, in the direction of the easel with the painting, and nods, her smile unwavering. 

“You may proceed, miss, through this door. You can take off your robe now and get on the bed through the back of the cubicle. Mr. Kim will join you in five minutes.” 

Your breath shivers as you exhale. You thank her and she clicks the door shut behind her. Scurrying onto your feet, you gather as much bravery as you can. Your bathrobe plops down onto the bed. You give one last look to the unhappy bride in the painting before you open the door. 

You sense her encouraging you to go on—to live a life full of emancipation that she never got to grasp with her fist. And that, you find, is your bravery. 

The dimmed room, in size, mirrors the one you just walked out of. And it stares at you head-on. 

The cubicle the employee spoke of faces you to the right. A black-painted wooden little structure  with a hole in the middle, covered in leather that is cut into long fringes. The lower half of your body will stick out of it and you reckon it depends on Mr. Kim himself what he does with your legs—whether he pins them up using the restrains on the wood or if he holds them. 

The unknown lengthens and for the first time during this night, a small ribbon of excitement begins to swathe your chest. 

Next to the cubicle, in the far corner of the room, is a dresser. You believe the drawers are filled with toys, but the top is lined with dark bottles of alcohol that you recognize. European—Jack Daniel’s, Jim Beam. Suits the play house’s style, you guess. 

And on the left, a monumental bed that takes up the rest of the room. And it’s hung up from the ceiling.

You don’t have time to ogle it as time ticks, but while you run to the back of the cubicle like you were advised, you do notice that there are no paintings embellishing the walls. No person from the old age of time to witness the unfolding of your so-called dream. Sinful, sinful dream. 

Maybe that was done on purpose. Maybe you’re supposed to live this dream with the anonymous Mr. Kim in some way. 

The mattress inside the cubicle is made out of leather, but it is the strong scent of fresh wood that hits your nostrils. It is decorated with twinkle lights all around, giving it a comforting feel. One pair of restraints is installed into the walls as well, but you think it’s more for leverage than for the wishes of the dream fulfiller. Milky and silken, they stand out from the dark tones of it all, and you gaze at them for some kind of comfort as you strengthen your legs through the hole, the cold tassels drifting along your bare body sending sparks of strange delight up your stomach. You bite your lip at the sensation, scooching up to an awkward, almost sitting position so your legs don’t dangle out, but the backs of your knees press against the edge of the mat. 

You cross your ankles. 

And you wait, all over again. 

Wonder if you should touch yourself or if you should give the honors to Mr. Kim to make you ready for him, but the tassels, the sight of your hip bone tattoo that says angel… your nipples perk up on their own and maybe you’ve come to like the act of waiting for him. Or maybe you like the view of your nakedness at a peculiar place such as this. Of your angelic form bare and about to be taken back to heaven. 

Your stomach swarms with anxious morsels at that thought and you take a deep breath. At your exhale, you hear the door creak open and close with a certain tenderness that you immediately know it was used in order not to startle you. 

One point up for Mr. Kim. 

Maybe the Kim clan has good manners and thoughtfulness engraved in their DNA, but they’re men and disappointment always awaits you eventually—

His footsteps lead towards you, carrying that same tenderness. The sound of the muted thuds grow more and more distinct, no ounce of hurriedness lodged in them. A small fire begins to burn in you due to his evident patience, awakening your body, and you’re so, so surprised to detect such gentle arousal just from the energy he’s brought in. 

That, alone, causes you to curl in your coyness, but when you hear him huff out a gentle laughter, you instinctively squeeze your thighs first before you bury your face in your hands, your cheeks hot to the touch. 

Why is he laughing—

He places a large, warm palm on your knee. You flinch and his touch becomes heavier as if he was telling you not to be scared, its warmth begins to descend down your shin—and then lips. His breath wafts over your skin and he presses his lips against it as a way of greeting. 

It is the rule of this sexual practice—no speaking between the partners. And now that it’s unfolding in action, you find yourself absolutely enthralled by it.

You flutter all over, the apex of your inner thighs slick with the liquid expression of your arousal. Your heart pounds, touched by that unusual but kind gesture, and you’re curious for more. 

He rubs the place he kissed with his thumb and then… coldness. He must have withdrawn, straightened his posture, and a great oddity begins to take form in you. 

Your knees tremble, sensitive from his benevolence. 

And you wonder if he’s watching his creation, taking his time as he is for the next move. You long for it, timid, unsure of what to do with your hands. You flex them and unflex them on the leather, your lower limbs gaining momentum, and you feel your wetness trickling down onto the mat. You do well to stifle the mewls gathering in your throat and you yearn for those considerate hands of his to touch you everywhere—

He yanks you forward and, remarkably, the yelp that is flung out of you is hushed, not heard by his ears. At least you hope so—you don’t want to get in trouble, turn that kindness of his around. You’d regret that, and you’d regret that very much. 

Mr. Kim spreads your legs apart, but your femininity is concealed by those suspended tassels that tease your core, your clit, and your hip bones, the most sensitive and vulnerable parts of you. A great dose of pleasure surges through you from it and from the way those fingers of his glide upon the inner of your thigh. He reaches as far as where your shiny stain is. A low, deep breath is exuded from his chest when he feels it and he smears it along your pelvic bone and a little bit on one of your folds. 

He heightens your tremor by doing that. 

You feel bad for reacting like that, but you can’t help it—neither can you stop it. You try to keep your body still and through the opening you can see him propping his hand on your thigh, watching you do so, as if he won’t continue until he knows you’ve regained your composure. And something about that, in its own way, helps you, and it helps you tremendously. 

With his palm flat, he caresses your flesh in a circular motion to praise you for it, lifting his hand upwards and beyond your sight. Your stomach undulates and it is now that you notice the navy blue of his dress pants, the growing tent that takes shape in the middle, and owing to the calmness and the sense of safety he’s installed within you, you do the boldest thing you’ve ever done, save for leaning in to kiss Namjoon nearly two weeks ago. 

Turned on from the sight of his arousal, you grab a hold of the tassel and you begin to provoke him, deciding that you want his manhood to grow. Because of the way he treats you, you deem he deserves it. 

You move, smooth, the leather strip along your cunt, collecting your slick. You shift your hips in circles, the fabric cool and sensual in a way you never thought it would be. Your breaths come out whiny the longer you do it and when you change the direction and move up and down, you can hear his breaths, too. And maybe the blackness of the walls are messing with your mind, but you could’ve sworn, his secret noises have become whiny just the same once you pressed the tassel against your swollen clit. 

And it isn’t until you naturally feel the back of his leg with the ball of your foot that he lets you see how much your little show advanced his arousal. The print of is cock is prominent, thick in the tightness of his pants, and you want it. 

You no longer want Namjoon’s. You want his. 

The plan worked. 

And with a smile of a winner gracing your features, to celebrate you start to make yourself feel delightful. You rub your clit, still with the strip, biting your lips in order to suppress your moans, the pleasure more vivacious this time around. He’s not palming himself, he’s not doing anything at all but watching you, his hands by his sides, and perhaps to reward him—you let go of the tassel. 

You let him see your pussy. 

Shiny, swollen and needy, asking for a man you haven’t seen and won’t even see. 

How sinful, how titillating. You can’t wait to have a cigarette after this. 

His cock twitches and it beguiles you, the way your hand, without your conscious knowing, extends out and reaches for it through the hole. Your femininity, your sexuality—brazen and alive, unafraid and illimitably splendid. 

And in this situation, it is a thing of absolute sublimity, the act of him inching forward and letting you touch him, feel your own creation the way he felt his. You want his number, you want to make him come. You want him to take you out and you want to show it off on your Instagram story, hiding everyone else from seeing it except for Namjoon. A devilish laughter pricks at your throat, desperate to be heard. You sense how heavy his cock must be, how strong, how hard. It’s impossible for you to suck it as he’s not allowed to see your face, but you know the idea of it will haunt your daydreams—

He grasps a hold of your wrist, silencing your thoughts, and you hold your breath. He slides his grip down to your hand and he makes you squeeze him, his length, his balls. Your hole clenches, even your features scrunch up in need, and with your other hand you begin to help yourself, but he stops you. 

Pins your hands down on the leather. Maneuvers to firmly grapple both of your wrists on top of your tummy and uses his free hand to push you forward a little bit. Your legs dangle out, uncomfortably, and he’s so attuned to you that he notices. Leads your leg to wrap around him, the other one two, and if it weren’t for the mattress jutting out, you and him would be flush to each other. 

Body to body. 

He sucks in a breath at the first contact of his thumb and your clit. He must feel how swollen it is and he dips down to your hole, circling it there, gathering your arousal before he returns to that needy flesh, continuing his circles there. Slow, slow circles that make you writhe on the mat, the leather creaking. You lament that he can’t attach his mouth to it, regret that you chose this option because of your foolish feelings, and despite the fact you thought your plan worked and Mr. Kim alleviated your anger, the emotion bursts within you. 

Your muscles tense, your lips flatten in a tight line, your fists in his hold clench, and you’re angry. Angry, angry, angry. Hateful of your life, hateful of your body, of your heart. And in the middle of the explosion, you make a mistake. 

You growl. 

He stops his circles. 

Time beats two times before you’re yanked out of the hole, your feet landing on the parquet floors with that familiar gentleness the man bears. 

And the man… 

The man is no other but Kim Namjoon himself. The source, the epitome of your anger. 

And you feel nothing. Your shock evens out through every fraction of your nerve endings, paralyzing you. Time ceases its beats here—while you stare up at him and he stares down at you. Namjoon isn’t seized by the shock like you are, though. He begins to laugh, darkly, hushedly, humorlessly. Slides his hands into the pockets of his pants and takes a step back. 

Embeds life into time. 

“I fucking knew it was you,” he rasps, that laughter melting into nothingness until the gravity of this situation spreads across this sinful room. Heavy, heavy energy. You should feel ashamed at this very moment, you should cover yourself up, but you don’t. You don’t do anything. “I read your safe word. I thought it was a coincidence, life making fun of me. And then, I saw your butterfly tattoo, but tattoos can lie to me and it was too good to be true. But that growl… that growl of yours can’t lie to me. I know it like I know myself.”

Your growl was your response to his never-dying teasing. If he tickled you, nudged you, bugged you, the only way you would make it stop was by letting out that vexed noise of yours—and it would work. He’d laugh to himself and withdraw his hands. 

You part your mouth, but you can’t say anything. Your shock rises in you like a tidal wave that submerges in you and you drown. 

Then, a perplexing song of a mockingbird breezing through the wind outside sounds out within the room, saying things your body is unable to. 

Namjoon blinks, taken aback by your lack of retort. No words, no growls. Merely the song crooning along the spaciousness of the atmosphere. He licks his lips. 

“Why did you stop replying to my messages?” he asks, and you find it obscene that he’s inquiring about this when you’re all bare, trembling, and with your arousal dripping down your inner thighs. If anything, he should be asking you what you’re doing here, but it’s like the fact isn’t news to him. 

And what you don’t know is that he pours life into you with his bizarreness. 

Your first reaction is to scoff. Your second is to bash your fists against his chest, pushing him a step back. And Namjoon… he smirks. As if he succeeded in his plan—pulling you out of your state of shock into a blooming garden of your emotions, where you can run, where you can scream and where you can inflict violence. 

Where you can speak. 

“Why did I stop replying to your messages?” you throw it back at him, your voice rising in volume, and Namjoon straightens, delightfully watches you be full of life. “You think you can share your life with me, take me on dates, pay for me and leave it at that? Turn your head when I try to kiss you? Do you think I’m some kind of lady companion—”

“No,” he interrupts, tilting his chin up, his dominance on full display with the deepness of his voice, the width of his shoulders and his powerful stance. You drip for him, but you’re as powerful as he is. You’re equal—equally tangled up in the same sin. “You’re my Lady Beetle, aren’t you?” 

Your breath hitches, your nipples hardening, and your wetness is so, so uncomfortable, trickling down your flesh. And he provokes the pressure of your arousal in your core by that nickname, even more so when he lifts a finger and traces the freckles upon your right shoulder, the meaning behind that term of endearment, from his distance. Even more so when he sinks his fingers into the hair on the nape of your neck, uttering his following words. 

“Get back inside the cubicle.” 

But you’re not obeying. You don’t know his temper either, but you are getting yourself into trouble. And you’re not getting fucked until you know that he reciprocates your feelings. 

And you know what to do. 

“Kiss me,” you murmur, crossing the distance, inching towards his face. Namjoon tilts his head down, his lips nearly brushing against yours, and that’s all he does, nudging your anger. “Kiss me, Namjoon, or I’m walking out of this room.” 

He lets the tension simmer, unblinking, consuming your eyes from this close proximity. And when he opens his mouth, you think he’s about to kiss you, but you’re mistaken. Deadly, deadly mistaken. 

“Did you come here to forget about me?” he whispers, inching even closer until your nipples graze against the soft material of his sweater, hums in question when you don’t answer. Lifts your chin to make you look at him when your eyes stray away, your anger bubbling in you. He perceives the real you, always has, and you don’t have to say a word. Only a person intertwined with your soul could be able to do this; why won’t he act on it? 

“Did you come here to look for me?” you whisper back, pressing your torso against him until your breasts squish against his hard chest. His still hard manhood pokes you in your tummy, harder than it was when you touched him earlier, and wrap your arms around him, your hands traveling all across the width of his back until they wander down his loins, even lower to his buttocks. 

He pants, but his voice is not affected by the whirlwind of his emotions. Delicious, delicious whirlwind.

“Yes,” he says, firmly, flattening his lips and growling when you squeeze his butt. You enjoy those selfish touches so much that your grin illuminates the room, a ball of light amidst all this darkness. Your anger watches on, stunned. “What do you think? If I wanted to move on, I wouldn’t have chosen a fucking glory hole out of all the options. I’m not like you. I don’t give up. I’m patient.” 

“Patient…” You taste those words on your tongue, dwelling on them. They’re bittersweet, and you stand in the middle of your decision whether you like them or not. “What are you waiting for?” 

He sighs, lifting his hands and digging his fingertips into your ribs, holding you to him. You mirror his movements, and you let out that strained breath of yours when he bends his head and places a singular, wet kiss onto the side of your neck. 

You had asked him to kiss you, even though you didn’t specify where, but you didn’t expect your body to tingle this much and grow boneless in his unfailing hold. You cling to him with all your might—there’s nothing left for you to do. 

You’re his. Have been his since the moment you saw his watch. 

And you can’t believe you haven’t noticed that Cartier adornment when you were ogling his manhood. 

He brushes away a wispy strand of your hand before returning it back to its rightful place. “You deserve the world and I’m not there yet to give it to you. And you’re not gonna look for it elsewhere, I’m not letting that happen. I’m gonna give it to you.” 

Honesty is here at last, the explanation to his distance. You hide the fluttering joy that opens in your chest, but you do let him see the smile that begins to curve your lips. He likes you; you can live at peace now. No more anger, no more daydreams. 

“Kim Namjoon,” you breathe out, moving your hands to his sides. “Is that a promise I hear?” 

He nods, tilting his head to the side as his pupils grow large. “Yes, that’s a promise. The last relationship I was in fucked me up, but I’m gonna get right, and I want you to hold onto that promise.” 

You hum. “What does that mean for us right now?” 

He smirks, that cheek cleft enchanting you all over again. “If you want kisses, then kisses is what you’re gonna get.” 

Your smile lengthens until your cheeks hurt, heated. “I want kisses. Lots of kisses. On different places of my body, too.” 

Namjoon retreats back to your neck, peppering kisses along that column. You whimper, hands hurrying to undo the button of his pants, desperate and arbitrary. But with a disapproving noise, Namjoon stops your hasty movements. Pins your hands behind your back.

“Patience,” he whispers, gliding his lips across the kisses he left behind. Your skin prickles with goosebumps against him, your nipples so stiffened that they ache, and, most unfortunately, you moan softly in impatience. “You’re gonna learn what true patience is, little beetle.” 

Color heats your cheeks and as you grin, you bite your bottom lip. “Be my teacher, Namjoon.” 

He chokes out a groan, dizzied by the idea, one that fades into your yelp when he unexpectedly turns you around and pushes your back against his chest, your arms long and criss-crossed behind you, hands flat against his cock. 

Something tells you this lesson will be one of great difficulty for you. And of great pleasure. 

Namjoon cups your jaw, swivels your head to face him a little. “Where do you want those kisses?” 

Your quivering breath fans out across his big hand. “On my nipples.” 

At your quick answer, he makes a sound of approval and with a feathery-light touch he sails his knuckles down the right side of your chest, from your collarbone down to the beginning of your supple breast, where he stops his voyage to study your reaction. As much as you’d die for his fingers to go a little lower, you keep your tremors in tact. Even your fingers remain obedient, relaxed in their position and not tempting his temper. You close your eyes, try your bestest to hold it while you wait it out, and your slick by now creates a pool between your feet. Namjoon’s cock twitches at your goodness and he sighs a little praise into your ear, just for you to hear. It roots deeply in your gut, where it stirs the butterflies that are painted in the color of his eyes. 

His knuckles descend lower and lower, stop at the apex of your nipple, and the nearness is enough for you to stoop in your desperation. 

Something you shouldn’t have done.

Namjoon slaps that pointy flesh, coaxing such a filthy moan out of you that it reverberates through the room. The harshness, intertwined with the swift stimulation of your nipples spreads a buzzing sensation down your body, settling in your aching clit, and the loud noise you let out echoes in small whimpers, wordless pleas for more. He becomes harder in your hands, as if he could translate them, and the temptation croons at you again, telling you to squeeze him. This time, you can’t really hold back. This time, you want him to do it again.

On the other breast. 

You squeeze him, the weight of his cock an inexplicable experience that drives you to a point of carnal madness. You slide your palms along that thick length and the way he’s quiet, unspeaking, unbreathing, puzzles you and alarms you simultaneously. 

You look behind you. Catch his features screwed up in such pleasure that you whimper again, announcing that you’ve seen him in his weakest. And Namjoon is brought back into his teacher mode. He allowed himself that fraction of time for his own pleasure, perhaps for yours, too, and you’ve never discovered something so imposing. 

Your sexuality and his, interwoven, a thing of glory more magnificent than this playhouse itself. 

“Little beetle, you’re just so naughty, aren’t you?” he rasps into your ear, pressing you against him with both of his arms wrapped around your chest, nuzzling his face into your neck. He kneads your breasts hard before he slaps them, both at the same time, and you make such a mess. “So impatient, so desperate to touch and be touched. What am I gonna do with you? Can you even learn, hm?” 

Knead. Slap. Namjoon tweaks your nipples, circles them with his fingers, filling your body with such pleasure that your knees nearly give out on you. And he holds you to him by your neck, a firm grip that conveys to you that from now on, he won’t be very nice. 

And you don’t really mind. 

“Get back inside the cubicle so I can deal with you accordingly,” he mutters his order, tracing the shell of your ear with his puffy lips before he latches onto your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth briefly, making you cry out. “Do you know what happens to girls who can’t be helped?” 

Your voice is strained, impossible to use. “No.” 

“They get spanked and fucked so hard that they forget who they are,” he reveals, sailing his hands back down your body, flicking your nipples on the way, before his palms anchor at the V-shape of your private parts. He plays with your folds, stimulating your clit in that way without touching it. You grind your hips into his movements, seeking more, but he slaps your pussy for it, halting you. “That’s the only way they get salvaged.” 

And then he lets go of you. And the look he gives you is so lecherous, so dirty that your legs are jelly as you scurry to the end of the glory hole cubicle, thinking that this entire moment is speckled with glory that will haunt you for the rest of your days. 

You get back into position, your legs dangling out, and Namjoon repeats his voyage. Sails, sails down your tummy before anchoring at the mound of your cunt, but this time he doesn’t gratify you with any delight. He continues down your wet thighs and, abruptly, he turns you over, pushing you forward so your bum shows fully, your tippy toes touching the floor.

The tassels are warm and saturated with the dew of your arousal, tickling the small of your back. 

“Now listen to me,” he says, his fingers wandering all around your flesh, but not where you want him the most. “I’m not Namjoon at this moment. I’m not your teacher. In your mind, you’re gonna go back to who you thought I was before I showed myself to you. Mr. Kim. And you’re gonna address me as so, do you understand?” 

Your brows furrow and you curve your body to the side in question, not understanding this sudden change of the play. You may have wanted this fictional Mr. Kim more than you wanted Namjoon but that was before you found out that he felt the same way as you. 

“Why?” 

He massages the round, graceful cheeks of your bum, propelling you to rest your torso flat on the mat, comfortably. “Because you deserve it. Because your Namjoon isn’t where he’s supposed to be yet. So I’m not fucking you as Namjoon, I’m fucking you as Mr. Kim. This is the only time you’re getting fucked before I get right, so I suggest you enjoy every second.”

You gasp at his words, but your hole reacts first before you do, opening and closing all for his eyes to see—and they do. And he likes the view so much that he takes his thumb and perseverates the brief motion, your center coating his digit in sopping wetness. Your hips follow him and this time, he lets you. He gives you a moment to comprehend your future full of pure possibilities and kisses and you detect in your soul no disapproval. Because you’re rewarded with his heart in the end, it’s worth it. 

His heart is one of gold, one that won’t perish. 

You’ve seen it in the way he treated your mother, in the way he would stop his teasing when you had enough. In the respect he has towards you because he isn’t ready for a relationship. In the promise he gave you, even though that gold is scratched. 

You love him, and because of that you shall play his game. 

“Yes, Mr. Kim.” 

He kisses the fleshiest part of your bum, wetly, humming into your skin—another reward. 

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, nibbling the place he gave love to. “Try staying one.” 

You mewl, grinding into his face, desirous for a release. “Yes, sir.” 

He draws back and chuckles. “Look at you, so good all of a sudden when you’re all spread for me. You’re still getting spanked, little girl.” 

You whine, pretending that you don’t like what awaits you, when in reality you can’t wait. “Can I get another kisses after?” 

His laughter roars through the room. “Where do you want them?” 

“On my pussy, Mr. Kim.” 

He growls, swearing, his hands nowhere to be found on your body. “You’ll get lots of kisses on your pussy if you take these spanks well. Can you count them down for me?” 

You nod, but you quickly realize that he can’t see you. Your dusky world pirouettes and you’ve tumbled into a state of haziness, needing his firm hand, his dependable stability. “Yeah, I can.” 

Namjoon coos, his palm back on your bum, fondling it. “Good. Do you remember your safe word? You’re still getting those kisses if you use it, darling.” 

You dissolve into the leather, your body limp, but you do remember the magic word of utmost adoration. “Beetle.” 

A kiss on your flesh. “That’s it. Perfect. Does someone you know call you by that nickname?” he asks and you giggle, the comfort and the safety of the moment almost lulling you to sleep. “From ten, little beetle.” 

And he rouses you from your sleepiness by landing a sharp spank on the cheek that he made so tender. The pain is so acute, so good that you almost forget to utter out the number, swimming in the sensation as you are, but Mr. Kim isn’t upset by it. No, he helps you. 

“What number was that?” 

“Ten.” 

“Ten, that’s right. You’re doing so good.” 

Mr. Kim’s kindness enters you all over again, liquifies between your legs, and you moan out. The following sting of his palm is greater than the previous one and your chest arches off the leather, but you like it. Even though he doesn’t alleviate the spank, lets only the air make it better, you still like it—so much that you don’t make a mistake and count it down. 

“Nine.” 

And he repeats it after you, spanking you again and again until the skin of your left cheek is inflamed, burning red, and the perception of the pricks is too much for you to handle. But taking after him, you don’t give up. Grit your jaw, flex your fists, scream out the numbers until you reach one and that side of your bum feels numb. 

And Mr. Kim praises you for it so lasciviously that you can only whine in response, your little noises muffled by the leather. 

“Good girl. You took your punishment so well. Your ass is so prettily red, oh my God. You’re gonna get those kisses now. So, so many of them until you come all over my tongue. Spread your legs even more for me.”

You do as he says, mind blank, and you hear the thud of his knees hitting the floor. That alone makes you drool, the sound of his submission, let alone his satisfied groan when he attaches his mouth to your pussy lips.

And you can’t voice out the surplus of your emotions, the unrestrained joy that you feel because you’re being eaten out by a man that you love, but because of their boisterous nature, they come out nonetheless. Out of your tear ducts, out of the corner of your mouth in the form of drool and little muted noises that are impossible for anyone to hear but you. And you fail him. You can’t imagine a fictional person sucking on your clit like that, that feels as though your soul is being yanked out of you like you were so many times upon this night. No, only Namjoon can do this to you—and so, privately, you bask in it. In Namjoon’s tongue swirling circles on your clit; in Namjoon’s lips sucking them so hard that you lose track of time, surroundings and your own being. In Namjoon’s hands shaking your bum in his face; in his fingers rubbing rapid side-to-side motions on your wet clit from the front when he fucks you with his tongue from the back. 

You’re transported to a place that is neither heaven nor paradise. A place he, himself, must have brought into existence by the energy of his utter devotion for you. And you make it real when you come—sprinkle him with the fountain of your essence that contains the molecules of the universe he created for you. And you float, you float, you float. And he seizes the gravity by praising you for squirting for him, for coming so well and making the best of your so-deserved kisses. 

And then his pants flop to the floor, his sweater—until the only things he’s wearing are his watch, his bracelet and his affection for you. You turn your body halfway so you can see him, the wholeness of his manliness that is aching for you, dripping for you like you’re dripping for him, and his cock is so hard that it points up to his abdomen. You’ve never seen anything like this before and you grow so savagely hungry for it that you begin to suck on your index finger.

Purposefully loudly, smacking your mouth. 

Namjoon chuckles, darkly, and the warmth of that expression of his pulsates in you. “Oh, you’ll be sucking on this cock, too, don’t you worry, my beetle. I just need to feel your pussy around me.” 

Oh, the slip-up. He feels this on the same wavelength as you—no Mr. Kim, no anonymity. Only Namjoon and you. If you were unsure of his feelings before, you can’t be unsure now. The universe he created palpitates around you and you’re so drunk on all of this new knowledge that when he buries himself inside your heat, you can’t let him in. Your walls are compressing so tightly with your still-yet growing arousal that you clamp down on him, but at the sound of his torturous moans, you suck him in. 

And he doesn’t go easy on you. 

With his hard, hard, and long shaft he begins to fuck you, violently. He rams into you without any mercy, lifting your leg onto the mat and entering you more deeply, curling his hips to kiss and kiss your cervix again and again. His strokes are reverberated throughout your whole body—your nipples rub against the leather, your head rocks against it in a way that turns you feral, you gag on your finger, your clit is teased with those relentless pounds. You’re helpless, but also boundless, being fucked like that, and you realize, with your dumb, blank and empty brain, that you’re extensively getting your best friend’s money’s worth. 

And Namjoon elevates your experience. 

He reaches through the hole and roughly captures your hair in his fist, popping your finger out of your mouth. Decides it’s not enough, decides you’ve had enough of the hole time and he pulls you out, all while still being inside of you. Straightens you against him, grasps your jaw while his other hand slips down to your clit. 

And the side-to-side motions are brutal. Mean. So dominant in the way he keeps the contact light, barely stimulating you, but stimulating you, regardless. 

“You think you can gag on your little finger and that it does nothing to me?” he scolds, pinching your clit, and your growl is scratchy, raspy, so fucked out. He’s reprimanding you, but his words don’t reflect his actions. Namjoon kisses you everywhere he can reach. Ear, cheek, jaw, neck. So frantically, so impatiently. “Have you learned nothing?” 

You pant, your orgasm so awfully close from being bound but unbound at the same time, fucked slowly and torturously as Namjoon begins to move, grinding against you. But he has to stop—because if he doesn’t, you’re gonna come all over his cock, right in the center of this room. He’s teasing your build-up, just like you imagined he would, letting it rise and letting it fall in short intervals. 

But he has pity on you, stemming from his affection. A cold, cold pity that you need for the heat rippling through you. 

“Get on the bed. On your knees.” 

He pulls himself out of you and urges you forward—towards the hanging bed. And you don’t care to ponder if it will move under your weight. All you can think about is his dick as you crawl onto that bed that does not wobble at all, but remains perfectly offset. You sit back on your folded legs and wait for him—watch him take those leisurely, effortless steps like he did at the start of this evening. Only this time, you get to see it with your eyes. His tall height, his swaying shoulders, flat abdomen and that hard cock, glistening with your slick. Carmine, aching. 

You lick your lips. Prop yourself on your knuckles in front of you, back arched. Realize he kissed you everywhere, but on your mouth. And so you pout—and you make puppy eyes at him. 

He smooths down a flyaway on your sweaty hairline, endeared. “What’s wrong?” 

“You haven’t kissed me on the lips.” 

Namjoon smiles down at you, dejectedly. Curls your hair behind your ear, grabs you by the back of your neck, calls to attention all the butterflies in your tummy. “I’m sorry.” 

And he captures your mouth. As Namjoon, as a golden-hearted man that longs to give you the world, and you can vividly feel it. Mr. Kim doesn’t exist anymore and Namjoon seals that fact in when he prods his tongue inside, toying with yours before retreating back, moaning into the kiss. 

A kiss that was more than a kiss. 

And you have to kiss him again when he takes a moment to breathe. You have to devour him, clasp your hand around his wet cock as you do so—and Namjoon has to push your head down, fucking your mouth until your tears freely escape from all directions. He grips your hair tight, holds you to him from the side, plunging in and out of your throat however he pleases, your gagging noises encouraging him to possess every inch of you. Your mascara zigzags down your face in clumps—and once Namjoon’s pity flickers in him all over again, he lifts you and kisses you so nastily that you fade into nothingness. 

Then, you’re on your back and he pounds that nothingness. Uses your thighs as leverage as you’re just laying there, a hole and nothing else. Perhaps the cubicle changed your life to such an extent that you’ve become it. You shall never forget it—even now it is scattered all across your vision as you’re fucked into oblivion, the skin-slapping sounds and your pussy squelching around him accompanying your memory of the dark wood, the fairy lights, the restraints you never used.

The sex was too personal, too intimate for you to do so. Even before you discovered that Mr. Kim was Namjoon. Your body recognized his, your mind too blind, too preoccupied with your anger that is now healed. 

As if Namjoon could read your thoughts, he pumps into you with a hard thrust, eternalizing it. 

“Focus on me,” he growls and you squeak, hiccuping into every movement. It feels as though he’s blocking your throat with how deeply he’s ravaging you and you can only nod. 

You can only moan his name. 

“Namjoon. Yes, yes, yes—oh, Namjoon.” 

He laughs, that articulation of his joy abating in your mouth as he bends to kiss you, fully buried in you. And then he pulls out, presses his heavy cock on your cunt, lifts your head by grabbing your hair, consuming your mouth as if you were everything he ever lacked in his life. 

“Grind your pussy on it, it’s yours, my little beetle.” 

You whine, pucker your mouth against his, spinning your hips in circles, his cock so wet and so sticky from your happy juices. 

“Joonie, Joonie bug.” 

He closes his eyes, moaning all in your face, the principle of you softening and connecting his persona to yours absolutely ruining him. He tightens his grip on your hair, sinks himself inside you with his other hand and then sticks those soaked fingers inside your mouth. All four of them, gagging you. 

“Little beetle and big Joonie bug, hm. How do we taste?” His tone is so low that it penetrates your skin, paralyzing your senses until only one remains. Until all you know is the bitter-sweetness of his precum and the tanginess of your slick. And he doesn’t draw his fingers back, he continues to control your gags until he paints your face in another set of pretty black tears. “Tell me. How do we taste?” 

You growl around him, the sound he knows, and he pounds you for it, a thrust that hurts but feels good at the same time. You suck on his fingers, a trail of your drool trickling down from your connection, and Namjoon grunts. Slides his fingers out of your mouth and places them right on your clit. 

Rapid, rapid rubs. And equally rapid strokes. 

“Come,” he orders, and it’s like he flicked his fingers and made your body come. You didn’t have to do a thing. “Good. Finally. It feels so good, doesn’t it? Coming around my cock after all this time. Joonie bug is right there with you. Just a little bit more.” 

He’s given life to your orgasm by his words. A storm erupts, clearing out everything negative that was ever seeped throughout your soul. Your body quakes, submitted to him through and through, at his disposal to make himself come—until your orgasm is so milky that you can’t see. Your vision is dotted with white, with tiny glazing stars that must be hung up in the sky just like this bed. And Namjoon brings you to him, lips to lips, needing you as he fucks you through your mutual release, and those stars splotch him with their dust. 

You squirt all over him, for the second time around. And you don’t stop, the twitching of his cock, the warmth of his cum as he keeps stuffing you full of it, the unfaltering hardness of his thick shaft roll in your tiny orgasms, those little fountains of boundless pleasure that drench him, give him the likeness of those stars. He’s turned on your squirting ability and there’s no way back. No, no way back. 

Namjoon is exhausted as he pulls out—and you already feel so empty, so lonely. His cum streams out of you, staining the bed, and it saddens you so much that you reach into your heat to collect it, plunging your fingers into your mouth, eating him. And you moan, at his male taste, for the last time. 

“Fuck, don’t do that. I can’t go again.” He wipes down his face, a gleaming man that has your entire identity woven into his veins that run all across his arms, and you love him. You love him so drastically that you can’t get on your feet on your own, can’t make a decision of your own, can’t live without him. 

He fucked you so well that he attached you to himself. 

A wave of strange emotions engulf you. 

“Namjoon,” you whimper, tears burning each corner of your eyes, and you don’t know what to do, you don’t know what is happening. He lifts his head, round eyes blinking, and he’s so quick to cradle you into his arms, letting you cling to him, letting you wrap your legs around his torso like a baby. And that’s precisely how you feel—like a baby. 

“Talk to me,” he encourages, caressing your back in circles, and you moor your face in his neck, inhaling his individual bodily scent. So masculine, so heady, so intoxicating. You sob, running your fingers through his misty, blond-streaked hair, needing to be even closer to him than is physically possible. 

Namjoon shushes you, kissing your shoulder, giving you the strength to speak, giving you the identification of what you’re feeling. 

“This was so intense,” you croak out and Namjoon hums, halting his touch to focus on you wholly. “Emotionally. I feel much closer to you. Too close.” 

And he’s not running out of things to give you. He gives you kisses on your neck that bear no sexual context—romantic, reassuring kisses that ease up your muscles, that part the raging thunder of your emotions. And he gives you such comfort that you feel as though you’re floating upon an open body of water, as free as a human being can be. 

“What we did was intense but it was right. What you’re feeling is normal. I’m feeling it, too. We’ve been hiding our feelings for so long and we let them out just now, so it’s overwhelming. It’s okay. You’re good. Such a good girl, my good little lady beetle, tiniest girl beetle in the whole universe. I will protect you from the other bugs. Let’s get this make-up off, hm?” 

You nod, sob and laugh softly at that solace. Namjoon carries you into the shower. Lets the cold water streak down on you while you shield yourself from it, nearly slipping off his grasp. Namjoon chuckles, hoisting you higher, taking a step back to wash you completely clean. You scream and his chuckle deepens, getting you away from the iciness by pressing you against the tiles. 

He truly won’t stop teasing you. 

The water turns warm by the time he fetches the make-up remover. Pouring some on a large cotton pad, he cleanses the remnant of your sex tears, the physical memory of how good he fucked you and how he bound your soul to his. He’s careful around your eyes, focusing so intently that his lip is caged between his teeth. Once he’s finished, he kisses you—with Mr. Kim’s gentleness. 

Washes you clean, especially thoroughly between your legs. Embraces you in the shower and lets you feel—creates a safe space for your feelings. 

And then he’s dressing you in the clothes you came here in. A dark green dress that ends at your ankles. He makes sure to kiss your butterfly tattoo as he smooths down the skirt and you think you’re ready to marry him. 

You want to meet his mother. Not now, not after what you’ve done together. But someday soon. And you want your mother to meet his. 

“I need a cigarette,” you comment as he’s scrunching your hair with a towel. He himself has changed into a pair of clean black dress pants and a plain white shirt, almost oversized. An outfit that made your mouth water. “Like right now. And at least two.” 

He huffs out a laugh. “You can smoke on the balcony. I’ll have one with you. Do you want a drink?” 

Your eyes light up. Your whole body, too. 

Placing a bathrobe around your shoulder, he gently slaps your butt and guides you forward to the balcony. He grabs that bottle of red wine you had opened and joins you.

Two chairs, one small round table in the middle. The view of the entire Seoul city and a fucking statue in the corner of the balcony. 

A beautiful girl, half dressed. The fabric of her forever garment falls off her chest and you’ve never seen a more spectacular sculpture in your life. You enkindle your cigarette and touch her cool face, feel yourself immersed in her seductive beauty. One day you shall be just like her—once Namjoon comes to collect you. Not a doll, but a girl. 

“Take a picture of me,” you say, getting into position, only to realize that Namjoon has been snapping pictures of you while you were acknowledging yourself with the statue. With a cigarette hanging limply in the corner of his mouth. 

You can’t love him any deeper. 

You pose with her. Mirror her body language, even shake off your bathrobe and let your straps fall off your body like her. Private pictures just for him and for you—a reminder for what awaits you. 

A future full of pure possibilities. And sex, lots of and lots of sex. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild , @jjk7k , @parkinglot-nights , @bethvar , @Sexytholland , @yoongibaybee , @crystaleah ,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan , @euphoricmyth , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl , @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk .

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[cherriesformatt]

first mother’s day || matt sturniolo

summary: little blurb about celebrating your first Mother’s Day it’s Matt and your daughter

warnings: none just fluff

world count: 759

a/n: just a little part to the pregnancy series 🤭 since it’s mother’s day tomorrow. I didn’t prof read yet

I woke up because first of all I did not hear white noise from the camera monitor and also didn’t feel Matt’s presence next to me. I slept whole night and that was surprising because we came here and Noa was in the room next to us. We traveled to Boston to see Marylou.

I stretched in bed and opened my eyes. I looked at the monitor and Noa’s crib was empty so she must have woke up already. I looked at the clock and it was 10.

“What the fuck?” I stood up from the bed.

I usually was up like at 6 to feed her and get her ready for the day. I opened the doors and smell of bagels and coffee filled my nose.

I was wearing Matt’s tee and pajama pants and I grabbed my glasses before I left my room.

I went downstairs into the kitchen and I gasped.

“Happy First Mother’s Day baby!” Matt yelled at me and I was literally stunned.

“Happy Mother’s Day y/n!!!!” The rest of the family was also there.

There were flowers everywhere. Kitchen was filled with all my and their mom’s favorite food and snacks. There were gift bags and I looked at my little girl. She was all happy in her chair. She was wearing a dress and she had a little bow in her hair. He dressed her up so cute. She squinted when she saw me.

“What is this all? Oh my god guys… you didn’t have to… come here my beautiful baby” I picked her up and kissed her head few times.

“Well…I wanted to do something special for you” he kissed my head.

“Thank you guys…and Happy Mother’s Day” I looked at them and than Marylou and came to give her big hug.

“Oh honey it’s all about you today” She said giving me a big smile.

“Oh no if it wasn’t about you then I wouldn’t have all of this” I smiled and kissed Noa’a cheek.

“Look at you baby….dada picked up such a beautiful outfit for you” I said to my daughter.

“Well… it was Mom and actually she got that outfit from Justin” He said scratching his neck.

“Of course… Matt wouldn’t put her in all pink but uncle Justin got her” Justin smiled and I laughed.

“You’re so cheesy Justin” I said and Noa wanted to go to her grandma so I let Marylou take her.

“I slept till now it’s a miracle” I said to Matt.

“I was hoping you will…” He said and gave me a quick kiss.

We talked and have the breakfast all together as we watched Noa play with Trever on the floor. She was 9 months now and she was so independent already. I had tears in my eyes every time I thought about her growing so fast. I was such a mother.

“Okay so we let mom already open her presents but those are all for you” Matt said when I was sipping my juice sitting at the island when he was cleaning.

“Matt you literally didn’t have to get me anything I am happy we can be here and spend time as family” I said taking the bags.

“I need to make my baby momma happy” he said and I just made a face at him.

“Don’t ever say that” I laughed and opened the gifts.

One of them was a designer bag from Matt and matching shoes from Nick and Chris. Cards and charms to my bracelet from their parents. I also got spa day voucher from Justin.

“You all are impossible spending money on my like that! It’s… thank you” I said and just came and gave Matt a big hug.

“I love you so so so much thank you for making me a mom” I closed my eyes when my head rested on his chest.

“See… that’s a crazy thing to say as well” he said and I laughed.

“But I love you too… and it was all Noa don’t look at me” He hugged me tight to him.

“They all also said we should go out tonight and they will watch Noa for us” he smiled.

“Are you inviting me for a date?” I smiled back.

“Yes… it’s a date” he said.

“Let me think about it” I said just to fuck with him a little.

“I hate you” he said and i stand on my toes to kiss his lips.

He kissed me back and than I smiled even more. It was all perfect today.

[oceanlix]

Day 3: Jaehyun

Pairing: Jaehyun x female reader

Genre: Smut

Word count: 1544

Warnings: Praise, begging, teasing, fingering, unprotected sex, riding, dirty talk, slight spanking, nipple play, creampie, overstimulation

Smutmas 2023 Masterlist

“Ma’am, I’m so sorry about the inconvenience. For your trouble, the airline would like to offer you a hotel voucher as well as compensation.”

You’re only half listening to the man, stars in your eyes as you watch his lips move. He should be a model, certainly not a customer service representative in a shitty airport like this one. It’s not like the other reps are ugly, either. He’s just so stupidly handsome that it’s almost ridiculous.

“Ma’am?”

You shake yourself out of your daze and apologize. “Oh god, I’m sorry. It’s been a long day! Thank you, I’ll accept the vouchers!”

The man - Jaehyun, according to his name tag clipped to his sweater vest - smirks, almost like he knows exactly what was on your mind just now. “Sure, it’s understandable. Let me just get your information and I’ll issue those for you.”

You pour all your focus into filling out the documentation, determined not to embarrass yourself any further. When you finish, you slide the paperwork across the counter to him.

Jaehyun starts to key in the necessary information, occasionally glancing over at you with a smile. “I’m going to put you up at the Hyatt, it’s the nicest hotel nearby,” he informs you, winking. The keyboard clacks away for a few more moments before he crooks his finger at you. You lean forward, wondering if you misspelled something on your forms.

“Maybe I can pay you a visit tonight after my shift ends?” he whispers, dragging his eyes up and down your body. You practically choke on your own spit, shocked that such a handsome man is so blatantly hitting on you. You aren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth though, despite how unprofessional he’s being at the moment. Apparently hot men negate all of your survival instincts; you should be more ashamed of yourself. But you aren’t, unfortunately.

You giggle nervously, while Jaehyun smirks to himself like he knows he’s already won.

—-

You’re sitting in your hotel room on the bed, dressed only in your robe and underwear as you wait for Jaehyun. You debate with yourself for a while about it being too presumptuous to be this underdressed, but he was practically devouring you with his eyes at the airport. You decide that you feel pretty safe in assuming his intent.

There’s a knock on the door that alerts you to his arrival, so you pop off the bed and nervously fiddle with your hands before going to answer. A look through the peephole reveals Jaehyun, holding a bottle of champagne and changed out of his uniform into a sleek button down shirt and slacks. Your mouth waters a little as you pull the door open.

“Hey,” he greets, leaning down to kiss your cheek. Your heart is a stuttering mess as you invite him in, your skin tingling where his lips touched. “I brought champagne.”

He sets the bottle on the counter and turns to face you, once again letting his eyes take in your body. The robe is short, stopping just at the tops of your thighs, and his eyes linger there for a moment before he smirks at you.

“You look pretty comfortable there,” he teases, closing the distance between you. He’s gentle when he cradles your face in his hands, searching for any signs of hesitation. But you have none, and when he presses his lips to yours, the sigh you let out is soft and airy.

Jaehyun walks you over to the bed as he kisses you, his hands sliding down your body. He squeezes your ass and trails his lips down the side of your neck, groaning at the way you feel in his hands. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, toying with the hem of your robe. “Do you even know how sexy you are?”

He tugs on the belt of your robe until it comes undone, partially revealing the fancy underwear you’d dug up out of your suitcase to put on for him. With another pleased groan, he pushes you gently down onto the bed, climbing on top of you.

“I see you dressed all pretty just for me,” he coos, tracing his fingers down from your neck to right above the waistband of your underwear. You moan, throwing an arm over your eyes in embarrassment.

Jaehyun pulls your thighs apart and runs his hands up and down your thighs, getting close but not close enough to the place where you need him to touch you. You’re sure he’s noticed the wet spot on your panties by now, but he’s only teasing you, squeezing the flesh of your thighs and ass without any intent behind it.

“Please,” you whimper after a few minutes of his torture, impossibly wet and worked up. You never thought you’d be reduced to begging for a man’s cock like this, but here you are. “Jaehyun, touch me properly.”

He lets out a little scoff, slapping your thigh. “Properly? What, this isn’t enough for you?” He drags his fingers over your clothed pussy, feather light and so frustratingly slow. “You’re a mess, you know that, right?”

Embarrassingly, you feel your cheeks turn red at his words. “Only because you’re teasing me,” you argue petulantly. Your breath hitches when he suddenly pulls one of your legs up onto his shoulder, the other pulling your panties to the side.

“Fine, fine,” he relents, smirking. Jaehyun rubs two fingers between your folds, gathering your wetness and spreading it around. You bite down on your bottom lip when he sinks them into you, your hips lifting up automatically.

“How’s that?” he coos, laughing as you struggle to get more friction. But with the way he has your leg propped up, you just can’t make it happen. You groan in frustration, whimpering as he pumps his fingers in and out of your pussy.

“Jaehyun,” you pant, grabbing his wrist. “At least kiss me!”

He softens, leaning down to press your lips together. He licks into your mouth while he works his fingers inside of you, swallowing every moan you try to let out. You feel your orgasm approaching, your hands frantically scrambling to hold onto him.

It doesn’t take more than a few pumps before you’re clenching around his fingers, your vision whiting out. Jaehyun guides you through it with whispered praises against your lips, fighting to hide his smile.

He pulls his fingers from your pussy and gives you a devilish grin before he puts them in his mouth, licking your juices off of them. You just about come again from the sight, letting out a soft squeal as you cover your eyes.

Jaehyun grabs your hips and rolls you over on top of him, holding you above his cock as he smirks up at you. “Can you ride it?” he asks, but it sounds more like a challenge than a request. You don’t want to disappoint him, so you nod. You grab the base of his cock and line him up with your entrance, coating the head with your wetness before sinking down.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he murmurs, watching as he disappears inside of you. You place your hands on his chest and take a few deep breaths as you adjust to his size, feeling fuller than you’ve ever felt before.

Jaehyun reaches up and pushes your robe down your arms, sort of trapping you. You could always move your arms and take it off completely, but the idea of having your movement restricted is hot enough that you don’t.

“That’s it,” he coos up at you, pressing his fingertips to your clit and rubbing light circles on it. “Show me how bad you want it, baby.”

You groan, lifting yourself up and dropping back down onto his cock. You barely catch the scream coming out of your throat, the head grazing that spot inside you.

“Feels so good,” you slur, digging your nails into his chest. Jaehyun hisses, landing a slap on your ass In retaliation. “Fuck, right there!”

“You really just needed to get fucked, huh?” he murmurs into your ear, holding your hips down as he grinds up into you. “Look at you, so pretty and pliant for me. Like putty in my hands, yeah?” He nips at your jawline, putting more pressure on your clit. “Come on, cream around my cock, sweet thing.”

You’re losing the battle against your orgasm, your chest heaving as you try to keep your grinding rhythmic. Jaehyun reaches up and pinches one of your nipples, sending you over the edge in surprise. You shake through your high, hips jerking away from his fingers as he rubs you through it.

Jaehyun squeezes your ass with both hands as you come down, keeping you close to him as you grind in his lap. “I’m filling you up, honey,” he coos, grabbing your jaw and pulling you into a sloppy, messy kiss. True to his word, a few seconds later you feel his hot seed hitting your walls, your pussy fluttering around him with every pulse. He kisses you through the whole thing, swallowing your moans and overstimulated whimpers.

When he’s done, you collapse against his chest in a tired mess. He pulls out of you with a hiss, petting your head gently.

[layyeschips]

Debt paid (with interest!)

Danny is all about fairness and equality, and no we're not talking about gender but he stands for that too, we're talking about favours. It's a known universal law that all spirits MUST return the favour if a human happens to aid them in any way be it intentional or not. Most spirits hate giving back favours and even more love ripping off humans by granting them half-assed wishes that the human didn't even mean to wish for. Maybe it's because Danny was a human once that he tends to try and repay favours as equal as the ones he's received as possible or more. This means there's no limit to how big or small of a favour that he gives.

A child offers him some candy at the park and a few days later the mother of the child wonders just how on earth did the kid get a huge stick of cotton candy after she said no

A man fights off a bunch of drunkards who were picking on Danny who reminded him of his son and the next time he was being robbed, a brick falls out of nowhere and hits the robber in the head knocking them out cold

A homeless person who mistook him for a struggling homeless teen and shared some food despite struggling themselves finds a whole wad of vouchers they could use to get food, clothes and blankets that would last them for months

A shy closeted lesbian teenager who lends an ear and gives Danny some advice finds herself confident enough and full of courage to finally come out to her family who were accepting and still loving to her no matter who she loves

They all feel the same thing whenever a favour is repaid. Satisfaction and content, the feeling of something being complete, a contract fulfilled.

Now here comes (batsibling of your choice) or in this case Red Hood saving Danny from who knows what effectively gaining a favour from the ghost king but wait a minute this bat feels very similar to a very attractive dead-but-not-really neighbour of his. Cue Danny tying up a beat up Joker with a green ribbon and presenting him to Red Hood and the next day asking Jason out on a date.

not sure what made me come up with this scenario but something about Danny giving a beat up Joker to Jason as a courting gift has me giggling like a teenager

[luveline]

jadeee!! how are you?? I was rereading everything asf universe and I thought, as a belated weasley twin bd treat, perhaps a drabble of r and Fred at Angelina and George’s wedding and Fred realised how much he wants that for him and r?? i wanna see them get hitched soo bad!

that whole universe is sooo special to me, endless thank yous to you and your amazing brain for writing it❤️

I love you!! It’s so special to me too!!!! And I’m so grateful to you for reading!!!!! fem, 1.2k

cw mental health issues

Fred gets you in his lap, but it takes all day, and only after the speeches. 

“You were very brave,” he says. 

“Don’t patronise me.” 

“I’m not,” he says, his arms folded around you, your side to his front so as to keep his gaze on your face. You’ve genuinely never looked so beautiful, not ever. It’s the most gorgeous dress you’ve ever worn, and you’ve smiled all day. He can’t believe it. 

“Was it an okay speech?” 

Fred finds your hand to hold. 

I didn’t know what it was like to have a friend before I met George and Fred, you’d said, staring hard at Molly rather than the crowd, your nerves apparent in every word. I’ve never known someone to love as hard or as generously as he does. I… wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. And so it makes me so happy to see him loved like that in return. I know he’ll be a good husband, because he is a great friend, and I think that’s half the battle, and– and he tries so hard. I wish you both a happy marriage and… a great honeymoon. 

George didn’t beg you to say something, but he’d begged Fred to convince you, and everyone could see how much it meant to him that you’d managed to do it in front of so many people. George had no trouble proclaiming that you were his best friend in the entire world and that he would kill anybody who ever crossed you, including his twin, if it were to come to that. 

It will never come to that. Fred will never break your heart. 

“I didn’t know you were going to say that much,” Fred says. 

“Too much?” you ask, looking down at his chest. 

“No, sweetheart, no. It was lovely. I just knew it was gonna be hard for you.” 

“You talked for half an hour,” you say. 

It’s an exaggeration, but not by much. “I had to embarrass him fully. That’s what getting married is for.” 

You press your cheek to his shoulder. The lights in the hall are low, your seats at the main table shaded from the lights and the music. George and Angelina’s family mingle, dance, and sing quite drunkenly. It’s very normal, but you’ve had a long day. Fred’s not sure you’re up for dancing. He doesn’t mind. 

“It was a lovely speech,” Fred affirms. He’d murmur if he weren’t worried you’d miss it with all the noise. “He knows public speaking isn’t for you, and it was probably a better gift for him than the DFS voucher.” 

“Better than a new sofa?” you ask. “You’re joking.” 

He laughs at your joking and presses a heap of kiss all over the side and top of your face. You melt under his touching, slouching into him, the curl of your smile palpable on his shoulder. He can feel it.  “My mum’s coming. She’s trying to be subtle. Shall I send her away?” 

“I like your mum,” you say. 

She’s in a dress with huge draped sleeves, her hair piled away from her face, her lips a pale pink to suit her red hair. When she talks, Fred can see the happy tear tracks that mark her powder. “Hello, you two.” 

You sit up to a slightly more respectable position, but it isn’t as though she hasn’t seen you and Fred touching. “Hi.” 

“Hi, mum.”

“How are you both? There’s more champagne around the side, dearie, your father can get you another bottle if you like.” She beams at you both. “You look exhausted.” 

“It’s a long day, mum,” Fred says, mildly apologetic. 

“I know. Imagine how much worse it is when it’s your own.” She brushes a strand of hair from Fred’s face. “Well, alright, I’ll go bother someone else.” 

“You’re not bothering us,” you say quickly. 

“I know, sweetheart.” She gives you a motherly shoulder squeeze. “I just wanted to make sure you were both okay. I’ll make sure they play a few slow songs for you to dance to. I need good photos for my wall.” 

Fred laughs against the back of your head. “Thanks, mum.” 

She leaves you quickly, attention snatched by Percy where he’s calling for her to come and dance, and leaves Fred in particular with an idea he’s been trying and failing to ignore all day. He knows it’s cliche, but his brother's wedding has made him think of his own, and how it will go and when it will be. If he asked you to marry him, would you say yes? 

“You really do look so pretty,” he says. 

“You’ve told me a couple of times,” you say shyly. 

“I can’t believe it. I’m coming to terms with it.” 

“Do you think we’ll get married?” you ask. 

“Of course I do,” he says immediately, startled, and wondering for the thousandth time if you can really read his mind. “I suppose you’ll have to let me ask you first, but of course I do.” 

You nod distractedly. It’s not the reaction he’d hoped for. 

“What are you thinking?” he asks. 

Loving you is learning when to manage a crisis. Not that you’re always in crisis, but it’s an essential skill he’s obtained nonetheless. He waits for you to answer his question patiently, his fingers under your chin, tilting your head up gently to his eye level. 

“Do you remember the first Christmas I came to stay with you?” you ask. “Before we were together.” 

“I remember.” 

“I told you that I didn’t think anyone would ever marry me. That I’m not that… sort of person.”

Fred shifts his legs under your weight. You aren’t heavy, the chairs are uncomfortable, and he plans to have you here for hours upon hours if he can swing it. “Yeah.” 

“But you said you’d prove me wrong. We hadn’t even kissed.” 

“And you still didn’t think I had a crush on you,” he teases. 

You gather your arms to wrap behind his head, sitting taller, cwtching his face to your neck. “I know it doesn’t make any sense.” 

“Ghost, I know everything about you. It makes total sense to me, believe it or not. And I will prove you wrong, I promise. If that’s what you want– it’s what I want, I just haven’t figured out how to ask you yet. Can you give me a little more time?” 

You suck in a strange breath. He’d like to say it was delighted, but it’s better labelled as shocked. “Okay.” 

“Thank you. We’ll have much better music.” 

You turn your heads to the dance floor, where Arthur has unearthed those extra bottles of champagne Molly promised, and the Weasley troupe are dancing like an especially ginger entourage of fools to something abrasive by the Weird Sisters. 

“Should we go dance?” you ask. 

“In a minute. After my dads discovered that champagne isn’t regular champagne, I think.” 

You shed the panic you’d been fostering to kiss his warm cheek. “Idiot, what did you do?” 

“It’s his wedding, Ghost, what did you expect?” 

You kiss his cheek again. A third time and he’s blushing. “Love you, Fred. Do you think George will forgive me for bending the truth?” 

“Don’t you dare.” 

“‘Cos I was lying, you know, when I said he’s the most loving person I’ve ever met. That’s you.” 

Ugh, he thinks, dipping you backwards for a kiss. What a girl. 

[gallaghersgal]

tell me about baseball because I know nothing but would like to learn!

FEVER PITCH pro baseball!lip headcanons

TAGS & WARNINGS: mature, 18+. sexual content but non explicit, drinking mention, emotional angst, pregnancy. but also fluff!! silly shenanigans, second chance romance, lip is stupid in love.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is my brain child omfg. tysm for sending this ask, honestly. i yapped!!! there was also more to this but i've been adding to it for days and its getting long for hcs so. lmk if anyone wants part 2 teehee

WC: 1.4k

when he was younger lip always played shortstop, his arm was powerful but not quite precise enough to pitch, but he never minded. pitchers have to remember too much, shortstop just falls into the rhythm; watching the pitch, listening to the crack of the bat, and tracking the ball as it rocketed through the field. the two of you met in college, lip played two seasons at university of chicago before transferring to a better athletic program. there was a mutual breakup before parting ways, but whenever he's in town you can't fight the urge to see each other.

he's picked up on the MLB draft straight out of college, after captaining the national championship team, and sent to an affilliate somewhere warm in the south, georgia or maybe louisiana. he calls you often to boast the climate, while you complain about the stress of your masters degree. over time the calls come less frequently, but each conversation feels like no time has passed at all.

it takes three years for lip to work his way up to the big leagues, where he joins the chicago cubs for his rookie season. now, lip plays centerfield. he's a quick runner, and his powerful arm sends balls to their respective bases at record speed. he's efficient, most teams don't stand a chance.

he doesn't know how to tell you he's coming home again, back to chicago. and back to you. you find out from your best friend, who overheard fiona talking about it at patsy's. you two along with fi & veronica find the money for tickets at centerfield, right where lip will be.

fiona whistles through her fingers the second she reaches her seat and waves down her brother, whose cheeks immediately turn bright pink. if a teammate pointed it out he'd surely brush it off as the chilled march wind, but you know him better than that. he greets the four of you nervously, opening up as he gets sight of the smiles you wear. no one cares he didn't tell, your joy at his homecoming tops any negative in your minds.

after the third inning a guest services rep brings the four of you a handful of meal and beverage vouchers, a gift from lip. later you'll learn he'd tried to have your seats upgraded but was denied, too low on the totem pole for that sort of request. so you pile your arms with hot dogs, pretzels, cheese fries, diet coke and fancy ipa brews.

the game flies by, you and fiona sit side by side and shout teases down to lip, watching his face light up. this is the first time you really see his talent, how he's developed as an athlete. he finally has somewhere to put all of that pent up energy he keeps inside, using it to jump up in the ivy wall for a catch, to react as quick as the ball and sprint in the same direction. when he catches the game-winning out, a fly ball straight to centerfield, he tosses it up into the stands. it sails directly to you, tipsy giggles spilling from your lips as you scrawl your phone number onto the white canvas before throwing it back down.

lip wants to fog up the windows of your honda right there in the parking lot but you have the presence of mind to drag him towards his own parked car while he trails sloppy kisses down your neck. the sex is amazing, it always is, but there’s something different in the way he holds you this time. you pretend not to notice it, until you have a reason to bring it up.

three weeks later, two pregnancy tests sit on the gallaghers bathroom counter. you'd only brought one along, but fiona dug another out of her bedside table drawer when you became anxious at the two pink lines. when the second test reads positive, v offers to call lip for you and you let her.

it's hours before he can get to you, even without a game there's still training, a players meeting, and dinner afterward with franchise sponsors. he's busy, you get it. fi gives you the spare key to his apartment—a studio unit in a high rise downtown, somewhere you couldn't imagine a gallagher living—and lip pays for a cab to take you there.

once you lay eyes on the space it becomes a little more believable that lip gallagher lives there. a box spring and mattress are stacked together in one corner, topped with the classic navy blue sheets and two pillows. he has a small couch (loveseat, more like) that you decide to wait on, favoring it over the bed. his tv sits on the floor against the wall, with the remote balanced precariously on top. flipping through channels is a nice, mind numbing activity to soothe you, and you fall asleep after landing on old sitcom reruns.

the sun has long set when lip comes in the door, eyeing your sleeping frame. he decides to let you sleep while he washes the grime of the day from his body. he kneels by you when he's clean and fresh, clothed in nothing but blue gingham boxers. "'ey kid, wake up," he mumbles, smoothing your hair away from your brow. when he sees you blink up at him he continues softly, "y'can live here with me, until the baby is born, m'kay? an' we can decide what we want to do." "about?" "about us."

you smile up at him, he offers you the bed and insists on taking the couch, not allowing himself too much of a good thing. he's already over the moon you want to keep the baby, his baby. he doesn't want to scare you away. he only makes it a week cramped up on that tiny couch. later in your relationship you have something funny to look back on, old photos of lip with his knees tucked up and one arm hanging awkwardly off the cushions.

when he can't stand the couch anymore he orders you a pregnancy pillow, and you order a bedframe, all on his card of course. you don't even need the pillow yet, most nights of your first trimester you're up and down, in and out of the bathroom. each time you come back to bed lip is on his stomach, arms curled around that damn pillow as he rests on it. he says it helps his sore muscles. whatever the reason is you don't really care, the toned expanse of his back makes a good pillow anyway.

you get into a habit of ordering furniture, decorations, and other home goods while lip is away. he doesn't mind, always makes sure you use his card, he wouldn't know what to do with all that money anyway. little by little the studio apartment starts to feel like home, and lip starts to feel more like a serious boyfriend than a hookup turned baby daddy, for lack of better wording.

before you know it the season is over, lip receives a large bonus after the cubs make the playoffs, and the two of you are kissing over a bottle of sparkling cider as you christen your new two-bedroom townhouse, complete with a downstairs office space and large backyard. october turns the leaves beautiful hues, and the calmness of this new neighborhood soothes your mind, your due date in december rapidly approaching.

between the new place, increased proximity during the off-season, and your pregnancy hormones, you find yourself bickering more and more with lip. it comes to a head one night when he shouts at you, and you feel the baby kick in response before you break down completely. the fight was about something small, insignificant. it had started with you talking about baby names. lip isn't sure how he let it spiral this way.

dutifully, with regret painted on his features, he kneels down beside your crumpled form on the bed. he takes your hand, muttering an apology and promising to make things work. then he says softly, "i like lucy. as a name for the baby?" you just stare at him, and he continues, "could be short for lucille. an' you liked olivia for a middle name, yeah?"

"lucille olivia gallagher. it's so pretty, lip, i love it." you smile in awe, reaching out to cup his cheek. "i love you," you say, and now it's lip's turn to stare. but a moment passes and he smiles, gathering your frame into his arms to pull you into his lap. "love you too, pretty girl."

by new years day you have a healthy baby girl in your arms, and a pretty diamond ring on your left hand.

© gallaghersgal, 2024. dividers © cafekitsune (x)

[221beloved]

"I can't find it."

(Link to ao3)

"Oh crap!"

"Keep still," Sherlock tutted, his knuckles brushing against the skin of John's neck.

"But we forgot the gift," John protested, trying to bat Sherlock's hands away from the collar of his shirt.

They'd been invited to Sarah's wedding, the letter had reached them four weeks ago. And the invitation had specifically said Sherlock and John. Not John Watson plus one, but Sherlock and John. Well, John guessed he'd been fairly obvious.

John and Sarah had kept in touch. They'd met for coffee sometimes, on birthdays or other occasions. They'd gotten along well enough after all, so they'd kept their friendship alive. John had been the first to learn about the engagement with-- god, what was his name again? He was getting more and more like Sherlock…well.

And apparently, even though John had never actively mentioned the development between Sherlock and him, she'd noticed. Not that John was complaining.

The invitation, however, was responsible for the fact that they were currently standing in their living room, both in three piece suits, fighting with John's bow-tie.

Well, John was fighting with it, Sherlock had just tried to do it for John, when the matter of the missing present had turned up.Sherlock pulled on John’s shirt.

"We didn't forget, we bought them the wellness voucher, don't you remember?"

"Yes!" John squirmed and finally succeeded in getting away from Sherlock's hands.

"But I can also remember that I can't recall where we've put it."

Sherlock shoved his hands into his trouser pockets petulantly.

"We've put it--"

He stopped, looked at John just a little helplessly.

"You've put it away. You said it was a special place so we'd know where to find it."

John grimaced. "Yes, I do recall that. But... It must be upstairs, I think. Only reasonable place to store it, right?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I'm not the one to ask about such things."

"Yes, right. Will you just go upstairs and get it?"

"But your bow-tie, John--"

"Yes, yes, I'll just have to do it myself. We're late already, so would you just go and grab the damn thing."

Sherlock glowered at him but turned and went up the stairs.Standing in front of the mirror, fighting with his bow-tie, John could hear Sherlock rummage around upstairs.

"You fucked up piece of shit," he hissed at the fabric that was somehow tangled around his neck. His uniform had always been flawless, back when he'd been a soldier, and his room had always passed inspections, when he’d still been the one to endure them, clothes folded and bed made neatly. Yet he couldn't tame that... thing, the one time it counted.

He ripped the fabric off completely again and started a new attempt.

"I can't find it!" came Sherlock's voice from upstairs.

"Shit... shit shit shit!" John muttered under his breath.

"Did you look on the shelve?" he shouted back.

There was a loud bang, as if something heavy had just hit the ground. From a considerable height, at that.

"Yep," came Sherlock's voice shortly after.

"And?"

"Nope."

John sighed. But where else should it be?

"Can I come back down now?" Sherlock's voice floated down the stairs again. Did he sound petulant?

"Yes!"

John pushed the fabric of his bow-tie through the loosened knot, tightened it and inspected his work in the mirror. Well, it was a knot. He smirked.

"What have you done?" Sherlock asked in horror from behind him, staring at John's reflection.

"I tied it. I don't understand why you're so fussy about it anyway. Don't you hate them?"

Sherlock grabbed him at the shoulders, violently turned him around and all but ripped the bow-tie from his neck.

"I don't like to get strangled, yes, but I have standards, as you should know by now."

"Can't we just do it in the cab, Sarah will kill me," John begged.

"If you’d just keep still I would be done in a minute. Now," Sherlock scolded and began binding that thing again.

John sighed in resignation and closed his eyes to think. Were had put that sodden gift.

"See, all done," Sherlock said before the minute was passed. He folded down John's collar and tucked at his shirt.

"There's your present, by the way," he said, nodding towards the bookshelf.

"What?"John turned around, just to see the neatly wrapped box, indeed standing on the shelve. At eye level.

And now he did remember how he’d put it there, so he could always see it and remember to take it with them.

"Worked out perfectly," Sherlock teased, holding out John's suit jacket.

"Did you know it was there the whole time?" he sighed while shrugging into the jacket.

"Saw it again when I came down the stairs," Sherlock admitted and gently pulled John towards him on the belt loops of his trousers to close the upper button of his jacket.

"You look handsome," he whispered into John's ear.

"Do you know how I feel around you all the time?"

"You're used to it. But I think I could get used to you in a suit as well."

"Forget it," John chuckled, leaning up to press a gentle kiss on Sherlock's lips.

"That's reserved for special occasions."

He stepped back from a pouting Sherlock, grabbed the little box and opened the door.

"Come on, let's at least pretend we even tried to be on time."

--Please tell me if you want to be added or removed from the list!

@flufftober @meetinginsamarra @a-victorian-girl @lisbeth-kk @topsyturvy-turtely

@keirgreeneyes @the-reading-lemon @totallysilvergirl @helloliriels @221bug

@quiscustodiet @willamholmeswatson @calaisreno @chaiandpages

[moonspirit]

For that send a ship thing, I was hoping Levihan, but if you don't ship them then eremika??

(or maybe AruAni?)

Hiya!

And I definitely do ship Levihan haha xD So here goes:

{Edit: Whenever Hange is referred to as "she", please feel free to read as "them" if you prefer! I revert to using "she" by default because I've been doing it for a long time :<}

Who said “I love you” first

The way I see it, Hange probably always says "I love youuuuu" in that casual unserious kind of way - and its not just Levi who hears it, it's everyone. She needs someone to do her a task? It's a "Hey will you please do this for me, oh you will? Great, thanks I love youuuu~~"

Similarly Levi gets "I love youuuu~s" every so often when she's being annoying and needs him to put up with her rambling.

But the Real "I love you" probably comes first from Levi himself. It's hard to get him to be vulnerable with words, simply because he's a man of few words in the first place, but he says it quietly, and from his heart, taking Hange by surprise. There's no doubt he means every bit of it, and suddenly, she can't really come up with any silly joke to laugh it off.

Who would have the other’s picture as their phone background

Hange, lol. Levi looking grumpy and tired and cute, that's her wallpaper. He on the other hand, probably has a picture of the sunset (because he's secretly a sentimental man, but shhhh) with a shopping list widget stuck on the side so it's easy for him to see what he's got to do grocery runs for.

Who leaves notes written in fog on the bathroom mirror

Hange. And Levi fucking hates it because by the time he's reading it, the words are getting all runny and watery and blurring off, and asking her what the fuck she wrote on the mirror only gets him a "teehee! you're so slow, levi!" in response.

Who buys the other cheesy gifts

Listen, listen. I know it's easy to say Levi would get Hange very functional and useful gifts, but the man is a soppy romantic at heart. He's the one getting her a boquet of flowers, doing her a candle-lit dinner, and maybe a box of chocolates for valentines. It's his old-school gentlemanly side kicking in every time he goes gift-shopping. Hange on the other hand? Maybe a free-hot-springs gift voucher or a pair of boxers with rainbow ducks on them for him. She's a scientist, for god's sakes, don't expect her to spend time picking out the best gifts! (Secretly he finds them all cute).

Who initiated the first kiss

It was an accident. She meant to kiss him on the cheek, he turned, and smack, there it goes on the lips. She's shocked because that wasn't what she'd planned to do, and she's worried Levi will storm off, finding it to be crossing a line they've never spoken about crossing - and Levi would be disappointed inside, because that's not how he'd planned on kissing her, carelessly and without enough emotion put in. But accident it is, and now maybe they'll finally fucking talk about that stupid line - and cross it.

Once they recover, ofc.

Who kisses the other awake in the morning

Levi. I did say he's a romantic at heart. Hange sleeps late and wakes late, she's all over the bed and drooling into her pillow, he's the one getting up early to get the coffee and breakfast going. So he gives her a kiss with a scratchy "it's morning. wake up." before heading to the bathroom (because brushing teeth and shower comes first before anything else).

Who starts tickle fights

Hange! And she always loses! Cuz she's all pomp and victory at first but she's the ticklish one, not him, so when he finds an opening and stops grumbling, it's game over for her.

Who asks who if they can join the other in the shower

Hange. Because she's running late, she's got an experiment to get started on in her lab or a lecture to give, and she's got no time to wait until Levi finishes scrubbing himself spotlessly clean. So she asks him if she can join, and is stripping before he even says yes, prancing into the steamed-up bathroom shortly after.

Who surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunch

Levi. Because Hange forgets to eat when she's neck-deep in a lab-test or studying the results of a hypothesis. So he's there with all the food she hates, because she sucks at nutrition and whatnot, and she needs to get something in her system besides just junk. But he does have a very nice milkshake for her he thinks tastes like shit. But she loves it, and he loves her, and as long as she's polished off that broccoli piece she's trying to hide, then it's okay.

Who was nervous and shy on the first date

Levi!!! Romantic at heart, didn't I say! Is secretly worried and bothered about making sure Hange has a good time! Genuinely wants her to really enjoy the date, and make it as memorable as possible!

Not that you could tell any of this from his "fuck-this-shit-I'm-out" face.

Who kills/takes out the spiders

Levi. No spiders are taking up residence in his house. Nu uh. He doesn't want the cobwebs and spider eggs. Besides, he feels bad shooing them off or killing them. Better not to have them in the first place.

Who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunk

Hange. She does it even when not drunk. Need I say more?

[reidmania]

A thousand sorrys

miguel o’hara

summary : when you overhear miguel say some not nice things about you while under the influence, and pressure of his friends, you decide to distant yourself

warning: ANGST AGNST ANSGT. fluffy ending tho i think, mentions of swearing, overthinking, idk, established relationship, pregnancy

you walked around the HQ with a small spring in your step, which was nothing out of the ordinary really. you knew miguel had been working hard lately, and had been not doing a very good job of taking care of himself.

so being the caring person you care, you had brought him his favourite food, which was in the white takeout box in your hand, spa gift vouchers in your pocket, and a little something else, all that you wanted to give miguel tonight, you hadn’t been home in nearly a week, staying at your parents to help with your dad who had fallen ill

walking to his office, you see lyla there, “hey lyla, miguel in there?” you ask softly, she replies. “no, he is upstairs at the bar with a few friends” you nodded

you wondered which friends that was, but much to ur surprise when you walk into the bar, you don’t recognise them, they definitely aren’t from here, peering over you notice miguels glass empty, so you walk over to the bar without them noticing you to order miguel a new drink, close enough you can hear the conversation, but you don’t really pay it any mind

until your name gets brought up.

“so that little girlfriend of yours, y/n?” one of the guys said. “what about her?” miguel asked, you second guess buying the drink, you could hear the slur in his words, telling you he is basically already drunk, you can’t help but wonder why he didn’t correct the boy, you’re his wife.

“she follows you around like a puppy, clinging to you all the time” you frown, your back still turned to them. you loved miguel, of course you wanted to be around him.

“yeah- is that not really fucking annoying?” another guy pitches in. you wait for miguel to defend you.

but it doesn’t happen.

“yeah it is, she just- doesnt get the hint that i want her to leave me alone, so annoying” miguel slurs and hiccups all the way through his sentence.

you try to convince yourself its just because he is drunk, but you have always stood by drunk words sober thoughts. as the bartender meets you, you want to scram.

“hey y/n, what can i get for you” he says softly, the music is loud enough, you pray miguel didn’t hear him just say your name, but thankfully he didn’t. “you know. im okay actually” you mutter, he nods before moving on.

you walk away from the bar as quickly as possible. going back to yours and miguels shared home. however you find yourself taking a few things and walking to the guest bedroom.

did you really cling to him? it was something you always worried about but he told you he loved how clingy you are.

you we’re left to ponder your thoughts for a few hours.

miguel sobered up a bit once his friends left, finding his way back to his office now in his right mind, he didn’t even remember much but he knew he had a lot to drink to have to deal with them.

they just weren’t the type of people he enjoyed being around anymore, and when they show up unannounced and uninvited it made it difficult to avoid any longer.

“y/n was here, she left you something on your desk” lyla said as miguel approached. “y/n is here?” he instantly perked up, looking around, he had missed you so so much.

“she was, she said she looked for you but couldn’t find you so she went home” miguel frowned, normally you would wait in his office, but you mustve been tired.

“thanks lyla” he said, before making his way into his office, he walked over to his desk, smile making its way onto his face as he saw the takeout box, he looked down, picking up the pieces of paper, spa trips, together.

he felt himself relax more immediately, knowing he would be able to get that quality time with you after not being with you for so long.

he couldn’t wait to get home.

you had come to the ultimate decision after a few hours, if miguel thought you were so clingy, you would give him space, but the idea of being in the same house as him made your stomach churn, how could you look at him while knowing he thinks youre too clingy and annoying.

so you right a quick note, and leave it on the fridge with a magnet, taking fresh close, and leaving.

the note wasn’t a lie, everything on it was true, the only difference is, if you hadn’t heard what miguel said, you wouldve declined.

when miguel got home, he was disappointed not to see you straight away. he absolutely hated being away from you, he missed hugging you, and kissing you, and hearing your voice and seeing you smile.

he called out your name but couldn’t hear a response. he quickly went to the kitchen to get a bottle of water, noticing the note on the fridge, which wasn’t there before.

‘im sorry i couldn’t see you, mom called and said that dad had gotten worse and they still needed more help, so i got some new clothes and stuff and i’ll probably be home in a week or so, ill still show up to work because i know this is an extra week away, but ill be there, i just wont be home, i tried to look for you at the HQ, but couldn’t find you. the spa tickets with go out of date in a week, so you can find someone else to go with, im sorry”

be safe

y/n’

he frowned, feeling his stomach fill with a unfamiliar feeling, that he couldn’t explain. while he hoped your dad was okay, he missed his wife, so insanely much and he wanted nothing more than to hold you.

he reread the letter, noticing you didn’t add your ‘i love you spider boy’ at the bottom like you normally do on every note you right. he assumes you were in a rush.

he will see you tomorrow, at work.

you shouldve come to miguels office by now, he thinks. it’s almost noon and you come in at least a couple times a day just to sit and talk, but you haven’t, he hasn’t seen you, but he knows you’re there.

and lunch he decides to find you himself.

you feel a soft hand on your back, looking behind you, and up, you see miguel, you stiffen immediately. “hey bonita.” he mutters softly, “hey” you reply, moving away from his touch but you make it seem like youre just waiting to get the next food item.

“missed you” he says, wrapping his arms around you, from behind. you want to reply and tell him how much you miss him but you don’t. as you get the next food, miguel releases you from his arms, you face him.

“hows your dad?” he asked softly. “i think he is okay” you reply. miguel frowns, you don’t see happy to see him — but you have a lot going on, maybe youre just stressed.

“do you want to come have lunch in my office, missed talking to you” he says softly, grabbing your hand. “im sorry miguel, i promised jess id sit with her” you say, miguel frowns. “its alright, ill see you later?” he says, placing a kiss on your forehead. “sure- maybe” you mutter. “i love you” he says, but you just walk away, he tells himself you just didn’t hear him.

he doesn’t see you later that day.

the rest of the week is the same, you avoid him, always busy, doing something. he can’t help to feel like there’s something bigger.

he hears the front door open, late saturday night, he instantly perked up. for you, the last week has been filled with self doubt and hatred. finding it impossible to get out of your own head. youre mother had to actually kick you out, to get you to go home.

“baby?” miguel calls out as he leaves his office, he sees you in the door way, duffle bag over your shoulder. “hey” you say, as you continue walking to the bedroom to unpack your stuff.

“y/n” he says as you avoid his touch once more. “miguel” you say in the same tone, he follows you to the bedroom.

“whats going on?” he asks softly, wanting nothing more then to fix what he had done. “miguel.” you say, almost in a way that screams i dont want to talk about it.

“i know its more then just your dad, whats going on, what did i do wrong?” he asks, desperate for an answer. you run your hands through your hair.

“nothing miguel” you say. he frowns. “stop calling me that” he says.

“stop calling you your name?” you ask, sitting on the bed, looking up at him, you looked so tired miguel almost dropped it. “you never call me my name, its always baby or my love what did i do” he is desperate.

“oh sorry, am i being annoying?” you ask, miguel raised his eyebrow at your tone, “what do you mean?” he asks, pure confusion.

you shake your head. “i heard you miguel, in the bar with your friends, who obviously hate me. “im too clingy and annoying right?”

miguel feels a punch to his gut, but its not physical. “baby - no - no no no” he says, trying to grab your hands, but you pull them away.

“stop- miguel. i can leave you alone, i can stop following you around, and talking so much all the time”

“no don’t stop, please don’t stop” he is stressing, he fucked up and bad and he was losing you and he was panicking, “i love when you follow me and i love hearing you talk, i promise- i swear i do”

“obviously not”

“y/n- please just hear me out”

“i asked you so many times if i was too clingy or annoying and you said no, every single time and said you loved it, my biggest insecurity miguel- and you hate it, and you lied to me and said that you didn’t, but also talked about me behind my back, you’re supposed to be my husband” you say, shaking your head.

“i am your husband- i didn’t lie to you- i don’t- i dont hate it at all, i love it, i really do i love when youre close to me and i fucking hate when youre not” he says.

“stop miguel- i heard what you said”

“baby i was out of my mind drunk, you know why you have never met them, because i fucking hate them, i let them influence me every fucking time. they had been riling me up about going soft all fucking day since they arrived and i needed them to stop, im sorry, im so sorry i said it, i didn’t mean it, i didn’t mean any of it and im sorry.”

you frown, you do believe him, he had told you about these friends before and how they always have a way of getting to him before he can even stop it, and they weren’t important to him.

but you we’re still hurt.

“miguel- i need time” you say, he shakes his head, “youve had a week, please just stay home, stay with me and we can fix this”

“i know we can fix this miguel- im just extremely tired right now and i don’t want to be mean” you say, laying in the bed, on your side facing him.

“im sorry, im so so so sorry” he says, getting into bed next to you. “please forgive me, bonita, i miss you clinging to me so so so much, i miss having you in my arms and kissing your lips, hearing you laugh- i cant lose you.”

you sigh, half asleep as you listen to him. “you won’t miguel” you say.

the words linger on your tongue before you open your mouth, “im pregnant miggy” you say, before falling asleep.

when you wake up, you look to your side at the digital clock, gasping when you realise youre three hours late at the HQ, whats worse, is that miguel is in bed next to you, staring at the ceiling also late to work.

“miguel- we are so late” you mutter, sitting up. but miguel doesn’t move. “miguel- get up,” you say, “we’re not going, i called us in sick” he says, little emotion in his tone. “what- miguel what?” you shake your head.

“you’re pregnant” you forgot what you said last night in the last moment before falling asleep. “oh- miggy- i can still go in- so can you”

“you didn’t tell me” he muttered, frowning. “how long have you known?” he asks, you frown. “two weeks, im a month in.” you say softly.

“i came to the HQ, the day i came back.. i left the test in your draw but i guess you didn’t see it.” you say softly.

“we’re having a baby” he says, before he smiles. “we are having a baby, our baby.” you smile seeing his face.

“im sorry miguel, i shouldn’t have avoided you” you mutter, miguel shakes his head “no- you don’t apologise. im sorry, im so so so sorry that i said all that shit and let them get to me, im sorry i made you believe it.”

[wannaeatramyeon]

anything cute that’ll make me smile with taehoon seong ? sfw or nsfw idm

btw love ur work 😫😫

Thanks anon for the kind words! Here's something silly. Taehoon is an idiot. (Btw I'm off the NSFW train!)

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Coupons (feat. Hansu)

G/N.

Hansu hears the front door slam (honestly, one of these days the door is going to come clean off its hinges), a bag being dropped and then the thump-thump of shoes being kicked off.

He represses a sigh. That child has no appreciation for how hard Hansu works to keep the house clean and running smoothly. Just coming in, making a mess and a racket straight away-

"Do we have any coupons?"

And always demanding things. Not even a greeting for his poor, hard-working father. He got his height from his mother, and the attitude too. No doubt about it. If only his son has inherited his own mild manners, maybe being a single father would be a lot easier.

Hansu glances at Taehoon now looming over him in the kitchen, "Hello to you too."

"Well, old man?"

The elder Seong represses a second sigh. Reminds himself that children are a gift, this one included. "What do you mean by coupons?"

"For our Taekwondo lessons."

"Why do you need coupons?"

"None of your business. Do we or not?"

Hansu takes pause from the dinner prep and turns to look fully at Taehoon. It's an odd request, although his son is often full of odd requests. Slippery lies and tall tales that he thinks his old man can't see through. This question though. It's peculiar and he can't work out the reason for it.

"Why can't you just bring whoever it is to the studio with you?"

Taehoon rolls his eyes, as if what his dad suggested was completely ridiculous and scowls. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Fuck's sake, I just can't, ok?!"

Hansu holds up both hands in surrender, and briefly wonders if he's doing this too much with his son these days.

"Fine fine," he takes off his glasses, wiping them on his pink apron and tries to hold on to the thread of this conversation. Coupons? And Taehoon being so shifty? Hold on-

"Is this for Y/N's birthday?"

Taehoon doesn't even need to say anything, his reaction to the question is enough. He full-body flinches before a scowl settles on his face.

"So what if it is?"

"Taehoon."

"What?!" The scowl turns surlier.

"You can't give Y/N a Taekwondo voucher."

"Why the fuck not-"

Now Hansu lets out his suppressed sigh. It comes from the pit of his stomach and out through his nose. If he held it back any longer, he's sure it would manifest as a headache. Even worse than the one that has crept up on him at the same time that Taehoon arrived home.

What a coincidence.

"Get them something they would like. Clothes. Books. Chocolates. Something to do with their hobbies or interest-"

"That's cringe."

Cringe? His excuse is that it's cringe?

Hansu doesn't roll his eyes, he doesn't say anything else. He stares at Taehoon. Unyielding and stone-faced. He can feel the vein on his forehead throbbing at his teenage son.

Taehoon looks away first-

"Fine," he spits out. Then as if by magic the scowl disappears, "Can I have some money?”

Children are a gift, Hansu repeats to himself. Over and over and over and over.

[sunglassesmish]

something happened at work near the start of my shift where a manager had to say like ‘don’t let this happen again’ (not to me specifically but i was there) and then around 3 hours later i went to get a drink and a manager has to sign off on it so a different manager was there, and he said when you go upstairs for your break, come to the office. and i thought well it’s no coincidence that he’s telling me today, i’m in trouble. and then i get there and he gives me an envelope and says a mystery shopper interacted with me in september and i scored the highest marks??? so i got 2 £10 gift vouchers for some shops in the shopping centre.

i was so shocked i thought i was probably the worst at my job and interacting with customers ?????! what the hell??

[belphegorspillow]

Whoever you wanna write (although I’m particularly soft for Diavolo/Lucifer/Beel/Simeon) finding out MC usually celebrates their birthday alone/doesn’t celebrate

Hi Darling! Thank you for the request! [I can write longer stuff as its less characters woo!] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

GN!MC Doesn't Celebrate Their Birthday Characters: Diavolo, Lucifer, Beel and Simeon ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lucifer

~ Lucifer is dating Mc and he saw their birthday coming up on his calendar ~ He starts to plan out a small date for the both of you to go on and gets a gift he knows you will love. ~ Then the night before, he would be sitting with you and his brothers where Levi brings up that its Mc's birthday. ~ "Oh, I don't celebrate my birthday. So don't worry about doing anything special for it." ~ Once he heard that, he knew what he had to do. ~ He stays up all night to prepare something special for you to wake up to! ~ He goes out to collect some scented candles, roses, and anything that he thinks would make the day special ~ He tells Diavolo he isn't working as its Mc's birthday. He will spend the entire day with you ~ Once you wake up, you are greeted with breakfast in bed with a large bouquet of roses. ~ During the day, you both will go out and do different things together. ~ When its evening he will take you out to dinner like he planned before. ~ At Dinner he will give you the gifts he had bought for you ~ Once you get back, your shared bedroom has your favourite scented candles lit and roses are all over the room. ~ "I know you said you didn't celebrate your birthday. But I wanted to make you feel special for today. As you are very important to me." ~ You end the day with cuddles [or something more dirty if you prefer]

Beelzebub

~ He will have a reminder on his D.D.D about your birthday and will go up and ask you what you want to do for your birthday ~ "Beel, you don't need to do anything. I don't celebrate my birthday.." ~ He feels sad that you don't celebrate it. ~ He goes and asks Belphie for help on what to do to be able to celebrate your first birthday with him. ~ Belphie helps him bake a cake and to make sure he won't eat the ingredients. ~ Beel will go out and find a few gifts he think you will like [all food themed] ~ When you wake up on your birthday, you are greeted by Beel with a cake. ~ After that he will give you your presents. One of them is going to be an all you can eat voucher for your favourite restaurant ~ He takes you out for the day to different restaurants, where you get free dessert because it's your birthday. ~ While the two of you are out. Belphie is trying his best to clean up his and Beel's room so when you come back you can relax. He will sleep in the attic for the night ~ When you return. Beel is happy to lay in bed with you and cuddle ~ "I know you said you didn't celebrate your birthday. But I wanted to since you deserve to be celebrated. So Belphie and I tried our best to give you a good birthday." ~ How you end your night together is your choice.

Diavolo

~ He is excited for your birthday. He is settling up a party with Barbatos and Lucifer just for you ~ The party is really grand and he hoped you would love it. ~ Though on the night before, he was out with MC walking the garden when they mentioned ~ "Oh, don't worry about celebrating my birthday Dia, I don't celebrate it normally" ~ He changed the plans ~ He stops the grand party and instead changes it to just a day for the two of you. ~ In the morning you will be greeted with Breakfast that barbatos made. ~ Diavolo will invite you out to go to a restaurant that he entirely booked out so you two can be alone for the day ~ When you return, you are greeted by a large pile of gifts that Diavolo got to spoil you with ~ "I know you don't celebrate your birthday. But I wanted to make you special today. Because you are the most important person to me my love." ~ He will end the day with whatever your heart desires :]

Simeon

~ He was getting Luke to bake you a cake, while Solomon was in charge of setting up the small party they were planning inside the Purgatory Hall. ~ Though you accidentally walked in on the surprise the night before your birthday. ~ "You guys don't need to go to this effort to celebrate my birthday. I don't celebrate it myself!" ~ Once you left the group started to plan on what to do. ~ Simeon will greet you in the morning with breakfast in bed before going to take you out for the day ~ He took you out to various cafes he think you will like ~ He takes you out to a gift store and bought you a gift there [but he has one waiting at home for you] ~ Once returning to the Purgatory Hall, you are greeted by Solomon and Luke who had set up a small party for all of you ~ Simeon would give his actual gift to you when you two are alone in your shared room. ~ "I know you don't celebrate your birthday, But Luke, Solomon and I wanted to show how important you are. Especially how important you are to me, MC. " ~ You spend the rest of the night how you choose to :]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Masterlist