#it’s the bare minimum but that’s pretty good for him so he can have a round of applause for that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iamactuallysocute · 15 days ago

Note

Hi! I’m a super fan of your Saja boys work, I love how you curated their personalities! I had a Q about Baby. Since he’s so reserved in a relationship I was wondering what it would look like if the Reader was just… done? Like treated it like the situationship he’s been acting like their relationship is. Sees other people. Him cold shouldering you wouldn’t make you crawl back this time. You could be done with him but he isn’t done with you. Thoughts?

BABY SAJA – LOYALTY IS WASTED ON MEN LIKE YOU!

Emotionally unavailable? Say less, you’re in! Dating Baby was never going to be easy. He’s rude, way too pretty, and emotionally repressed. But you were ready to give him everything. Turns out, the only thing that made him realize your worth was watching other men fight for it. Alternate ending where you dump his ass here

cw: implied fem reader, toxic relationship dynamics, (mild) gaslighting, neglect, unresolved codependency(love me but also leave me but also love me), reader being sad, one sided love, sexual content(not outright smut, just mentions), jealousy, cursing, chronic “I can fix him” syndrome, this fic may cause you to reflect on your own red flag history, not sure if it’s in character

You try. You really fucking try. You send him sweet texts, patch up his bloodied jackets after the girls almost skin him alive again, cook him food he doesn’t even eat, and still get less affection than that lollipop in his mouth.

He’s not cruel, not really. He’s just… a dick. A dick who treats your relationship like it’s a monthly subscription he forgot to cancel. He doesn’t hold your hand. He doesn’t call you unless he needs something. He ghosts you mid-convo. He doesn’t cheat on you, because that would require effort. He’s not putting energy into anything, least of all love.

He likes you. Wouldn’t date you otherwise. Yeah, no, he does. The bastard’s just… lazy.

Meanwhile, you? You’re a fucking angel. Sweetheart. You bring Baby food, you rub his shoulders, you kiss him goodnight even when he’s pretending to be asleep so he doesn’t have to talk. You try. You try so hard. You give him the kind of soft love songs get written about.

And he gives you… a pat on the head and a muttered “mm.”

You don’t even know how you ended up dating this man. Like, what was the draw? The face? The voice? Sure, he’s pretty, but Jesus, he’s horrible.

Sex? LMAO. When it happens, it’s good, but the foreplay? The romance? The bare minimum acknowledgment that you exist? Missing in action.

And it’s not like you’re asking for the moon. You’re just asking for him to act like your boyfriend, not your emotionally distant roommate who sometimes humps you and then rolls over. You’re a fucking sweetheart. You bake, you compliment, you rub his temples.

Now tell me, why do the other Saja Boys treat you better than your own boyfriend? They’re tripping over themselves to treat you like royalty.

Romance? Brutal. You walk into the room and he’s already halfway undressed, asking what color panties you’re wearing and if he can purr into your thigh. Every conversation turns into some Rated-R bullshit. You could be talking about taxes and he’d be like, “I’d let you audit this dick.”

Abby calls you “babe” even though you’re dating Baby, carries your stuff, flexes in your direction constantly. One time he held your hand and whispered “I’d never ghost you.” It was honestly a little hot. He says dumb stuff like, “You deserve a hundred Baby’s.” (Which, thanks Abby, but one is already too much.)

Jinu? Bless him. Actual angel behavior. He’s an asshole, but he’s nice to you. He’s the only one who doesn’t make it weird. And he never flirts. Doesn’t need to. He has respect, and that? That’s the real panty-dropper.

Mystery doesn’t talk to you so much as sniff and glare protectively. You saw him literally lunge at Abby once for making a yo mama joke in your presence. No one even understood the joke. It didn’t make sense. But Mystery took that shit personally.

The other boys see it. They know you’re way too good for him. That’s why they are all secretly hoping you’ll finally snap, finally say, “Screw this” and let someone else actually treat you like the heaven-sent babe you are.

And yet, you’re still dating Baby.

Still hoping he’ll wake up one day and realize you’ve been there all along.

They’re demons, yeah. They’re evil, yeah. But even evil people can learn to say “thank you” or “you mean a lot to me.” Baby just walks around like he’s doing you a favor by not breaking up with you.

Why are you still here?

Because love makes you stupid. And apparently, so do baby faces.

Let’s start with the time you planned a whole date for him.

You did everything right. You did your makeup soft and glowing, your hair was perfect, you were genuinely excited.

You get there. He shows up forty-five minutes late.

No text. No “running late.” Just shows up like he didn’t leave you sitting there wondering if you’d been stood up. When he finally arrives, it’s with bedhead and an attitude like you’re the one inconveniencing him. Doesn’t even say you look good. Not even a “hi.” You get a half-assed peck on the lips, and then he slumps into the chair like a corpse and scrolls his phone.

You tried to make conversation. “How was your day?” “I thought you’d like the view.” “Want to try this drink?”

All you got back were shrugs. A couple grunts. A “this is too bright.”

And then he disappeared to the bathroom for 20 minutes. You almost cried.

And the kicker? That night ended in sex. Not even romantic sex. Not the kind of slow, passionate “I missed you” sex you deserved. Just… mechanical. He made you cum, sure. He always does. But not once did he look you in the eye while doing it. He didn’t hold you after. Just wiped himself off, rolled over, and went back to checking his texts like your body wasn’t still trembling beside him.

Then there’s the calls. He never calls just to talk. Never sends memes. Never asks how your day was.

But he’ll call you at 1:43am, And like a fool, you go. You show up. You help him. You heal the gashes on his back from fights. You cook him soup at 2am. You bring him fresh clothes. And he’ll thank you with a yawn and a hand on your thigh.

You’ve started wondering if he might actually be a psychopath.

No, seriously. Not the cute “bad boy with trauma” kind. Like, genuinely broken somewhere inside. The guy doesn’t seem to feel things the way you do. You’ll be crying, clearly upset, trying to talk to him about how distant he’s been, and he’ll just… stare. Not a single emotion on his face. Sometimes you think he might be listening. Sometimes he cuts you off mid-sentence and says something like: “You’re being dramatic.” “You always want more.”

And you just stand there, blinking, with your throat closing up and your heart doing that twisting thing like it’s trying to collapse into itself.

He makes you feel crazy for wanting basic human decency.

Why do you stay with someone who doesn’t see you? Why do you keep hoping that one day he’ll kiss your forehead and mean it? Why do you convince yourself that the fleeting glimpses of tenderness are real and not just glitches in the system?

Because you think maybe, just maybe, you can fix him. (And you won’t admit that maybe you’re trying to prove you’re worthy of being loved by someone who doesn’t love easy.)

Still. You look stunning. Like, jaw-dropping, double-take, world-stopping pretty. You walked out that door looking like heaven, ironic, since you’re dating a demon. New dress, soft gloss, that look in your eye that says “I want to be seen. I want to be loved.”

And what does Baby do?

He gives you a five-second glance, mumbles, “You look… fine.” leans in to press a kiss to your lips, and then spends the entire day not speaking to you unless he’s asking where the fuck his lighter is.

You could’ve worn a trash bag and he wouldn’t have treated you any different.

And don’t even get started on the sex.

When it happens, it’s insane. Mind-numbing. He knows exactly what to do with his hands, with his mouth, with his tongue, and yes, that thing he does when he pins your wrists and growls into your neck? A++++. But after?

He rolls off of you. Pulls his pants up, gives your shoulder a tap like “good game”, and either vanishes into thin air or falls asleep instantly.

You lie there, raw, your soul practically floating out of your body, and he doesn’t even give you a cuddle. No forehead kiss. No aftercare. Not even water. You could die and he wouldn’t notice for six hours.

Okay, what’s happening now is that your thighs are still aching. You’re sitting on your couch now. Legs pulled up, arms hugging your knees, watching him dress up. Same shirt he wore last night, now wrinkled at the collar. You’d kissed his neck there. Left a mark. He hasn’t looked at it.

You’re still tasting him in your mouth. Still warm from the morning fuck that started with your whimper and ended with him pulling out, wiping off with a tissue, and heading for the bathroom. No kiss. No cuddle. No “good morning, babe.”

You push up off the couch and make your way over. Soft steps. Bare feet. One of his old shirts hanging off your shoulders, oversized and swallowing you whole. He left it here weeks ago. You wear it more than you should. Hope he notices every time. He never does.

You swallow. Smile. Be sweet. Be you. “You sleep okay?” you ask, voice gentle.

He shrugs. “Didn’t really sleep.”

You nod. Of course he didn’t. He never does. 300 years of insomnia will do that to a demon. You should know by now. You ask anyway.

Your hand grazes his side. Warm palm against the thin fabric of his shirt. He feels solid under your touch, real in a way you wish he’d act.

“You want coffee before you go?” you try again. Light, chipper. Fake.

You could hand him your heart on a plate and he’d just pick out the parts he needs.

Baby finally looks at you, kind of. Eyes half-lidded, still tired, like he’d rather be anywhere else. There’s nothing in his face. No warmth. No guilt.

“No.” he says. “Got stuff to do.”

You don’t ask what. You never do. You stopped asking a long time ago.

He lets out a breath, not a laugh. Just a bored exhale. Doesn’t even smile back. Doesn’t tease. Doesn’t grab your waist and pull you in, the way he used to on rare days when you swore he felt something.

“I’ll text you.” he says.

He won’t.

He reaches for the door. Doesn’t kiss you goodbye. Doesn’t look back.

Leaves it open behind him.

You stand there. In the quiet. One foot still slightly lifted, like your body refuses to believe he actually left without touching you. Without seeing you.

You close the door slowly. Lock it. You step away. Back to the couch. Your body’s still humming from him, skin warm where his hands used to be. And it doesn’t even feel good. Not now.

The one person you gave your heart to? He fucked you, zipped up his pants, and left you in your own bed like a stranger.

Again.

Your phone buzzes. You grab it too fast. Hope flaring like a goddamn idiot.

It’s not him.

Of course it’s not him.

You got up. Showered. Put effort into your hair. Picked the cute outfit. Did your makeup a little soft, a little glowy, just in case he looked at you today. Big, dumb hope, chewing through your insides like it always does.

You even made food for the boys. All of them. Their favorites. You remembered every single detail.

You come in smiling, heart on your sleeve as always. The boys are mid-sweat, halfway through some routine that looks demonic in all the literal and metaphorical ways. Jinu’s barking choreography corrections like a general in tight jeans. Romance is shirtless for absolutely no reason. Mystery’s growling in a corner because someone stepped too close to him. Abby’s stretching, glistening, being a six-foot wall of muscle.

And Baby’s in the back. Ignoring you. Not a glance. Not a smile. Not even a “hey.”

You hold up the bag of food like a little offering to the gods. “I brought lunch!”

They all cheer. Abby fist-pumps. Romance calls you some corny nickname. Jinu nods in appreciation. Mystery smiles at you.

Baby?

Nothing.

He’s already walking off with Jinu toward the speakers. You hear him ask something. His voice is calm, flat. Doesn’t even wobble when he walks right past you.

You shouldn’t be surprised anymore. But you are. You always are. Hope is a stubborn little bitch and you’ve got so much of it.

You set everything down carefully. Label each container. Make sure everyone’s is where it should be. You sit on the little couch tucked in the corner, legs crossed, hands in your lap. All dressed up with no one noticing.

Within ten minutes, they’re all gone. Jinu dragging the others into another room. Baby goes without a word. Not even a “thanks.” Not even a look.

So now it’s just you. Alone again. Like you always are when Baby’s in the room.

You look down at your hands. At your nails you painted this morning, soft pink, little sparkles. You’d hoped he’d see them when your fingers touched his face. When you handed him his drink. When you waved.

But now? You feel small. Embarrassingly small.

You blink hard. No crying. Not here. Not in the same room where you brought him lunch, hoping he’d say something sweet like “You spoil me” or “Thanks, angel.” Something. Anything.

Thump.

A weight drops onto the couch next to you. You blink, startled, then glance over.

It’s Abby. Big, beautiful, sweaty Abby. Drenched in his post-practice glow, shirt clinging to him, biceps looking insane.

“This is fuckin’ delicious, by the way.” he says, mouth full. “You made this?”

Your entire face lights up. “Yeah! Yeah, I—I tried this new chili paste thing with the beef? And I wasn’t sure if it’d be too spicy but I remembered you said last time you liked heat so—” You’re already babbling.

Abby chuckles, still chewing. He bumps your knee with his. “Well, it’s fire. You look good today too, by the way. You did something to your face, right? Like… sparkly?”

You freeze.

“Oh my god! You noticed!” You giggle—giggle—and touch your cheek, glowing now. “It’s highlighter! I tried this new gold shimmer thing with a bit of rose undertone. I wanted to look more glowy than usual, like, radiant but not oily, you know?”

Abby is nodding like you just explained astrophysics.

“Totally.” He grins wider. He has no idea what you just said but he enjoys your company. “Damn, Baby’s dumb as fuck.”

You laugh again, brighter this time. You start talking. Like, really talking. Finally. About your outfit. How you wore a matching bra and panty set just in case today went well. About how you tried a new serum for your undereyes last night and you think it’s actually working. About the new earrings. You tell him about how you painted your nails.

Abby listens. Actually listens. Big head tilted slightly, big eyes on you like you’re the only person in the room.

“You smell nice, too.” he says.

“It’s vanilla sugar whipped body butter! I mixed it with this sandalwood perfume for, like, a soft but spicy vibe!” You touch your neck. “I thought he’d notice. You know. If he got close enough…”

“He didn’t deserve that effort.” he says, voice quieter now.

You sit up straighter. Heart fluttering like you’re seventeen. “Oh—thank you, I guess.” you practically beam.

He’s leaning back, one arm slung across the couch behind you, watching you. Like he could listen to you talk all day. Like you’re not background noise. Like you’re not just some sad girl orbiting around a boyfriend who doesn’t give a single shit.

“I used this serum that smells like peaches—so good. Did a little under-eye thing, you know the patches? Also, I tried heatless curls again—”

“They’re working.” Abby says with a nod. “Big fan.”

“Right?! I almost gave up on them but I wrapped them differently this time—wait, do you want me to show you?”

And he said yes. Of course he did. Sat there nodding along as you pulled out your phone and showed him your entire haircare routine like he was your best friend, not a ripped, sweaty demon with chopsticks halfway to his mouth.

He didn’t rush you. Didn’t nod absently. He listened.

Something clicked in you that day.

It wasn’t even anything big. No screaming. No tears. No climax. It was just a bite of rice and a simple, sincere “You look good” from someone who actually meant it.

Abby didn’t say it to get into your pants. (Okay. Maybe a little.) But he said it because he liked it, that simple. He saw the gloss on your lips. He tasted the food you made and said thank you. He laughed at your stupid stories and didn’t check his phone once. You talked to him like a person—and he talked back.

It was so simple. So easy. So fucking bare minimum.

It was Abby, actually.

That moment?

That sparkle he saw in you?

You remembered her. The girl you were before Baby started stomping on her heart.

You sat in your bathroom that night, still wearing his shirt, hair tied up, lips soft and raw from being kissed by someone who didn’t mean it. You looked in the mirror and thought:

“What the fuck am I doing?”

You’d been doing everything for Baby. For months. Cooking for him. Dressing up. Bending over backwards just for a scrap of warmth. And what did he give you in return? The bare minimum of dick and a complete lack of eye contact.

You gave him love. Attention. Loyalty. He gave you silence, and a few orgasms.

Now you’re done.

Well, no. Not done.

You’re gonna do it his way now.

You’re not breaking up with him. That’s not how Baby plays this game, so why should you?

You’re going to treat him the way he’s been treating you.

First, no more good morning texts. No more “thinking of you :)” messages. No more “come over and I’ll make you dinner” sweetness.

You let him text you first. When he doesn’t, you go about your day. When he does text, you leave him on read for a bit. Not petty. Just… matching energy.

You mirror him so perfectly it’s poetic.

Then, he comes over one night, no warnin. You open the door. You look stunning. Not for him. Just… because. Your shorts are short. Your skin smells like warm vanilla.

Baby says, “Hey.”

You say, “Sup.” and walk back to the couch.

He follows you, sits down next to you, waits for you to curl into him like you always do.

You don’t.

You sit with your legs crossed, phone in hand, scrolling through photos from earlier. You laugh at something.

Baby asks, “What’s funny?”

You shrug. “Just something Abby said.” You don’t elaborate. You don’t look at him. You don’t fucking fawn.

When Baby finally touches you, it’s out of habit. He moves to pull you in by the thigh, slow, casual, the way he always does when he wants to use your body to feel alive.

But your body’s no longer his playground.

You place your hand on his wrist gently, without anger, and say: “I’m not really in the mood tonight.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever said that to him.

And it’s not even a lie. Because suddenly? The idea of being touched by someone who doesn’t see you makes your skin itch.

He blinks. Like he’s never heard the word no come out of your mouth before.

You don’t give him an explanation. You just stretch, yawn a little, and say, “Wanna watch something?” like the idea of intimacy was never even part of the evening.

You’re finally doing to him what he’s been doing to you this whole damn time.

Nothing.

You show up less.

You speak less.

You still look beautiful—maybe more than ever—but now you do it for yourself. And the boys? They notice.

Romance starts walking in shirtless more often, whispering things in your ear, trying.

Mystery still growls, but he really is more careful with you than with the other boys.

Jinu? Offers to walk you home one night, just to make sure you’re okay.

Abby is an angel. I mean, besides the fact that he eats souls and kills people.

Right now, all you can hear is the low clink of chopsticks in a bowl and the sound of your soft laugh floating through the kitchen, that lovely, glowing kind of laugh that belongs to someone who’s being treated right by someone for once.

And of course, that someone ain’t Baby.

You’re leaned up against the counter, wearing an apron over your sweats. Your sleeves are rolled up, your lip gloss is on point, and you’re holding a spatula.

Jinu? He’s posted up at the counter. Elbows on the marble. Sleeves of his black shirt rolled just enough to show forearms. He’s already half-finished the food you made him—second serving, by the way—and he watches you talk about how you made the sauce from scratch.

You’re glowing. Again.

And Jinu sees it. Loves it.

“Gotta say,” he drawls, licking his chopsticks before setting them down with a clink. “if you keep feeding me like this, Baby’s gonna lose you real fuckin’ quick.”

You giggle. “Don’t start.”

“I’m serious.” he says, shrugging one shoulder like it’s just a fact of life. “Can’t remember the last time I saw you smile like that. Hell, I’m thinking about proposing.”

Oh, Jinu is a fucking asshole.

You swat him with the dishtowel, cheeks warm and heart fluttering.

And that’s when the door opens. You just keep stirring your sauce, biting back a grin. Because you know who that is.

Baby steps in.

He stops.

The scene in front of him? It’s not anything explicit… but it’s worse. You—shining, smiling, eyes crinkled with joy—laughing at Jinu, apron tied around your waist.

Jinu doesn’t even bother hiding the smug face. Just leans back, long and casual in your stool, licking his teeth as he catches Baby’s eyes.

“Didn’t think you were coming.” Jinu says lazily.

Didn’t think.

As in: doesn’t expect him to be here.

As in: you didn’t say shit about him coming.

As in: why the fuck would he be here now, anyway?

“Oh. Hey.” you say. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

Which is a fucking lie. You always hear him. You’ve got Baby-radar like a government op. But you say it like he’s just some dude you vaguely know from work.

He walks in. Slowly. Warily. Like the air’s changed and he doesn’t know how to breathe it.

“What’s this?” he mutters, eyes fixed on Jinu.

You blink. “Dinner.”

“Didn’t know we were feeding other people now.”

Jinu smirks. “Funny. I didn’t know you gave a shit.”

BOOM.

“He walked me home.” you say softly. “We got to talking. I offered dinner.”

Simple. Sweet. Reasonable. But even you can’t deny the underlying message: He was here. You weren’t. He showed up. You didn’t.

You finally turn back to the stove, as if his presence isn’t worth more than a glance. “There’s food if you want.”

He doesn’t move.

Jinu watches him. Slowly wipes his mouth with a napkin. Stands up. Doesn’t break eye contact.

“Thanks for the meal.” he says, only to you, voice low and smooth. “Bye, Y/N.” And he walks out.

You’re still by the stove, gently stirring the pot even though the heat’s been off for a minute now. You’re not cooking anymore. You’re just… doing something with your hands.

“So.” He says it flat. Lazy. No inflection.

You hum, noncommittal. “Hm?”

“You fucking Jinu now or what?”

You blink. You turn around slowly, calmly, ladle still in your hand, and give him the kind of look that says excuse me, motherfucker? without a single word.

He just leans back against the counter, arms crossed, jaw tight. He looks bored. Like this whole conversation is beneath him. Like he isn’t internally spiraling at the idea of Jinu being inside you.

“You’ve got a problem.” you say, finally, voice cool.

He shrugs. “Just seems convenient. He’s walking you home, sitting in your kitchen, eating your food. Laughing like you two are fuckin’ married or something.”

You cross your arms, ladle still dangling in your hand like a weapon you could use. “Are you actually jealous right now?”

He scoffs. “Jealous?” Then he laughs, but it’s not a real laugh. It’s the kind you throw out when your throat’s closing up and your pride’s bleeding out. “I don’t give a fuck who you hang out with.” he says. “You do whatever you want.”

You tilt your head, your voice still sweet. Too sweet. “Oh, good. ’Cause I do.”

He unfolds his arms, takes a slow step toward you, his babyface looking anything but innocent right now. “You two looked real cozy.” he says, low. “Real close.”

You stare up at him. Calm. Patient. “Not as close as you and your phone every time you’re at my place. Not as close as you and your shitty attitude. Or your silence. Or your fucking selective affection.”

He stares at you. Quiet. Like he’s trying to do math in his head, but the numbers don’t add up because the answer is you don’t belong to him anymore.

But the problem is?

You do.

Not because he deserves you.

Not because he’s earned it.

But because he’s Baby, and he never loses.

“We talked. I cooked. He ate. He left. That’s it, Baby.”

Baby scoffs under his breath. “Mm. Cute.”

You used to look at him like he was your whole world. Now you look at him like he’s in the way.

You sigh, setting your plate down. “Look, if you’re trying to pick a fight because you saw me smile at someone else, don’t bother. You never cared when I cried over you.”

“Whatever.” he mutters, turning away. “Do what you want.”

He lingers at the door longer than usual. Waiting. Expecting. But you just go back to your food. Back to your peace. Back to being a version of yourself that doesn’t revolve around his silence.

He leaves. Quiet. Not slamming the door. Just… gone.

It goes on like that.

Weeks.

You don’t call. You don’t text. You don’t ask where he is or when he’s coming over. You don’t even ask him to come to bed when he does show up, which, let’s be honest, is rare now.

You’re sweet to him. That’s the worst part.

You don’t argue. You don’t snap. You don’t even bring up what he said about Jinu, or the dozens of other things he’s said and done to make you feel like you weren’t enough.

He tells himself he doesn’t care. Every day. Every time you walk past him with that polite little smile. Every time you hug Jinu goodbye a little longer than you should. Every time Romance slings his arm around your waist and calls you “baby girl” and you laugh. Every time Abby gives you his jacket. Every time Mystery offers you the last slice of pizza and hisses at anyone who tries to take it from you.

You’re still everyone’s favorite.

Still their angel.

But you’re not his anymore. Not in the way you used to be. Not in the way that meant something.

And the stupidest part?

He still won’t let go.

He could’ve ended it by now. Could’ve sat you down and been a man and said, “This isn’t working,” or “Let’s take a break,” or something like a grown-up.

But he didn’t.

Because he doesn’t want to.

He keeps waiting for the moment you’ll crack. That you’ll break and come crawling back, like always. But you don’t. You don’t beg. You don’t chase. You just let him be. And you let yourself be. Happy, even.

Right now, Romance is walking you home.

No earbuds in. No phone in hand. No half-assed, distracted glances

No—this man is locked in.

He opens doors. Keeps his hand hovering at the small of your back. Makes sure you walk on the inside of the sidewalk. His cologne smells like amber and sex appeal and trouble.

You’re bundled up in your cute jacket, hands stuffed into your pockets, trying to ignore the way he keeps looking at you like you’re dessert.

He’s walking you home like a proper man, one hand casually tucked into his jacket pocket, the other resting at your lower back, protective. You feel safe. You feel seen. Which is fucked up because Romance is literally the thirstiest demon you’ve ever met and you’re pretty sure he tried to convince you to join him in a shower multiple times.

But tonight?

He’s actually being… good.

Almost.

“I could do it, you know.” he says suddenly, tilting his head to look at you. His eyes glint like sex and sincerity, a dangerous combo. “Treat you better. Make you laugh.”

“Romance—”

“Nah, nah, hear me out.” he grins, stepping in front of you, walking backwards now.(AN: guys take a moment to imagine this I think it’s so sweet) “I’ve watched that idiot make you cry for months. He gets you warm, pulls you in, then freezes the second you want something real. That shit ain’t love, baby girl.”

You exhale a soft laugh, biting your lip. “You done?”

“Almost.” He stops right at the foot of your apartment steps, standing too close. “You’re gold.” he says, voice lower now, serious. “If he doesn’t want to melt for you, let somebody else do it.”

You meet his eyes, those dark, dangerous eyes that promise so much pleasure it borders on pain. You know he means it.

He wants to steal you. He means it.

He wants that cookie.

Bad.

Now your back’s to the door, lips shiny under the streetlight. You’re looking up at him, eyelashes fluttering, and he thinks—fuck it, maybe tonight.

He’s close enough to touch.

And you know he would.

If you leaned in even slightly, Romance would kiss you.

“I’m not a cheater.” you say quietly, smile fading just a bit.

Romance blinks. Looks away, running a hand through his hair. “Then break up with—“ he sighs. “Yeah. I know.”

“I appreciate you walking me home.” you say, keys jangling in your hand. “Really. You’re… good to me.”

Romance raises a brow. “I could be better. You know that, right?”

You nod. “I do.”

Silence.

Romance wasn’t supposed to fall for you.

You were Baby’s. Off limits. That was the deal.

Not that Baby’s ever followed a rule in his immortal, lazy-ass life, but still, there’s a line between stealing your bandmate’s fries and stealing his girl.

Except… you’re not really his anymore, are you?

Not when you’re out here glowing under streetlights, arms wrapped around yourself, laughing at something he said.

You’re not just hot. You’re gold. You’ve got this energy, like you were made to be adored, like kindness made flesh. You ask how his day was and actually care about the answer. You bring snacks for everyone, even when they forget you exist. You patch bruises. Remember birthdays. Listen. Smile at him like you’re glad he’s there.

You’re… the dream girl.

You’re beautiful. Like, stupidly beautiful. And not just in a “hot girl on a magazine” kind of way—no, you’re warm. You’re sweet in a way that makes his chest ache. You tell Mystery his growling is cute. You made Abby a protein-packed lunch after you saw him skip one. You tell Jinu to take breaks when he’s overworking.

You’re… everything.

And Baby has you? Baby, who acts like you’re a houseplant he forgot to water?

He doesn’t get it.

He doesn’t understand how you stay kind after being treated like an afterthought. Doesn’t understand how your lips still curl into that soft little smile even after getting ghosted, dismissed, cold-shouldered, fucked and forgotten.

He chews on his mouth. “For what it’s worth… I hope he pulls his head out of his ass.”

You smile softly. “Me too.”

You press a soft kiss to his cheek. The kind that says “thank you”—not “take me inside.”

And then you’re gone. Door open. Closed. Locked.

Romance stands there. For a long time. Fists in his pockets. Jaw clenched. Whispers under his breath, “Fucking Baby.”

But he gets it.

Hell, if you were his? He wouldn’t let you go, either.

Inside, the door shuts behind you. Soft click.

“Hi.”

You jump, just a little, and turn.

Baby is sitting on your couch. Hoodie up. Legs spread.

“Let yourself in again?” you ask, voice soft but not sweet.

He shrugs. Doesn’t even look at you at first. His eyes are fixed on some random spot on the floor. But he’s chewing his bottom lip, thinking. That’s rare for Baby. Usually he acts, fucks, ghosts.

“You have a good time?” he asks after a long pause.

You stare at him. “Excuse me?”

“Walked you home.” Baby says, like it’s a crime.

“He offered.” you reply simply. “You weren’t around.”

He scoffs. “Right. Must’ve been a real good walk.”

You toss your keys in the bowl, not even looking at him. “It was. Thanks for asking.”

“I—” he starts, but then his voice falters. “You’re acting different.”

You blink. “I wonder why.”

Baby’s quiet now. You can feel his eyes tracking you as you toe your shoes off and head into the kitchen, opening the fridge, grabbing water.

“…You like him?”

You pause with the bottle at your lips. “I like that he talks to me.”

Baby snorts. Leans back on the couch, stretching his arms out like he’s trying to be casual but his whole body’s coiled tight. “He just wants to fuck you.”

“Maybe.” You shrug. Take a sip. “At least he wants something.”

Silence.

A long one.

You finally turn and look at him.

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Then finally he speaks.

“…Do you wanna break up?”

Your stomach dips. You blink. “Do you?”

“No.”

You stare at him, stunned for a second.

He rubs a hand over his mouth. “I don’t want to break up.”

“Then what do you want?”

He looks at you. Like your glow is starting to burn his retinas because he knows it’s not because of him anymore.

“I don’t like it.” he says, low. “Him walking you home.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You weren’t.”

Silence. You’re surprised he’s not taking your soul yet.

“I’m going to bed.” you say gently.

He doesn’t follow.

Doesn’t ask you to stay.

Doesn’t apologize.

Doesn’t fight.

So you walk away.

He left later.

And okay, so, Baby caught on. He caught on to how the guys look at you when you walk into a room.

How Abby practically breaks his neck turning around when you laugh.

How Mystery’s little demon growls actually stop when you pet his head like a feral cat and call him “baby boy.”

How Jinu fucking lingers after he drops you off, arms crossed, smug smirk on his stupid perfect face like he’s just daring Baby to make a move.

And Romance? God. He makes no effort to hide the way he drools over you.

And for a while, Baby pretended he didn’t notice.

Because Baby’s the type who doesn’t give a fuck. The type who could watch the world burn with a cigarette in his mouth and a bored expression on his face. Show an attitude to Gwi-Ma, though he knows it entertains the big fire overlord whatever the fuck that thing is.

And it hit him. Finally. It hit him that maybe the guys didn’t love you just to get back at him. Maybe they weren’t doing it to annoy him, or stir shit, or play their usual games.

Maybe they loved you because you were just… good. Like they struck gold with you.

And he’s been treating you like you’re disposable.

And now you’re slipping through his fingers.

So here he is.

Standing outside your door at 11:47 PM. Hoodie on. Hands clenched. Eyes bloodshot. Breathing weird. With a bouquet of half-wilted, obviously-last-minute flowers clenched in his fist. Not even wrapped in paper. Just bundled together in his hand like he ripped them out of a gas station bucket and sprinted over.

You open the door in a tank top and shorts, towel still on your head. You weren’t expecting company. You sure as hell weren’t expecting him.

He just shoves the bouquet into your chest. “Here.”

Your brows shoot up. “What…?”

“They’re flowers.”

You stare down at the handful of pretty flowers. “…Thanks?”

He clears his throat. Looks anywhere but at you. “They’re real. I think.”

You blink at him. Genuinely speechless. You sigh. Step back. “You wanna come in?”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”

Which is Baby code for yes, please, please say yes, please I can’t stop thinking about you, please I fucking miss you and I don’t know how to say it because I’m a 300-year-old asshole in skinny jeans who still can’t process human emotion like a real adult.

He walks in like he’s waiting for you to slam the door behind him and tell him to go fuck himself.

You don’t.

You close the door quietly. Take the flowers to the kitchen, grab an old mug (because of course you don’t have a vase, you’re not that domestic), and fill it with water. You hear him sit down on the couch.

“So…” you say finally. “what’s going on?”

He scratches the back of his neck. Looks at the floor. “Nothing.”

You raise a brow. “Nothing made you bring me flowers?”

He shrugs again, classic Baby-style. “Just thought of you.”

“That’s new.”

“…Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

He leans forward, elbows on knees, voice low. “You always look good. Y’know that?”

You blink. “What?”

“You always look good. Even now. With that stupid towel on your head.”

You squint suspiciously. “Are you having a stroke?”

He lets out a breathy, almost-laugh. “Shut up.”

…wow.

“Come to bed if you want.” you say, walking toward your room. “But I’m not gonna beg.”

You don’t even look back. You just leave him there, in your living room, surrounded by the silence he’s created.

In your room, you’re halfway out of your shorts.

He followed. Of course he did. You don’t say anything. You don’t have to. Because if he wants to stare? Let him. He’s the one that gave this up in the first place.

He stands there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows. Watching you. Silently.

Funny, how now that you don’t beg, he’s starving.

He finally moves, steps off the wall and walks toward you. Still that classic Baby attitude, acting like he doesn’t care even though his jaw clenches tighter every time you arch your back to pull something on.

And then his hand grazes your waist. Barely there. Fingertips brushing skin.

You slap it away. Instantly. Not hard, just enough to say “try again and I’ll bite.”

He raises both hands in surrender, head tilting like, “oh? That’s how it is now?”

And fuck, it’s attractive. The way he lets his tongue press into his cheek, cocky, bratty.

You pull your shirt over your head, slow, knowing full well he’s watching, knowing he’ll pretend not to care. But his eyes betray him.

“Are you gonna say anything?” you say, looking at your dresser.

His arms are crossed, leaning against your wall again. “About what.” he mutters.

You let out a breathy laugh, pulling your sleep shirt on. “Wow. That’s where we’re at?”

“I’m not doing this.”

He’s already annoyed. Voice flat. Defensive. His posture stiffens, like you’re coming at him with a knife and not your heart.

“You’re not doing what, Baby?” you say, turning around to face him. “Having a fucking conversation with the person you’re dating?”

“You wanna fight or something?”

“No.” you snap. “I want something.”

He rolls his eyes. Actually rolls them.

You walk toward him, one slow step at a time, words getting tighter. “I spend my days giving everything I can. I come home, and you’re already here, like I’m just this convenient warm body for you to fuck and ignore. I made room for you, and all you do is act like I’m a fucking option.”

His jaw twitches. “You done?”

“Baby—”

“I said I’m not doing this.”

“No, you’re just gonna do what you always do.” you shoot back. “Shut down, act like I’m annoying for wanting something more than your dick and your bare minimum.”

He snorts. “Yeah, real romantic tone you got there, sweetheart.”

“I was romantic.” you snap, stepping closer. “Remember? I used to wait up for you. Text you goodnight when you wouldn’t answer my calls. I used to bring you shit. Buy you shit. Walk on eggshells so you wouldn’t bolt the second things got even a little uncomfortable.”

He doesn’t look at you.

So you flash him. Pull your shirt up, tits out, confident, shameless.

His eyes snap up to your tits instantly. Wide. Caught.

“I’m listening.”

“Good.” you say, letting the shirt drop. “Because if you don’t do something, if you don’t try, don’t show me that you actually give a shit, we’re done.”

He stares at you. Long. Silent. But now it’s not cold anymore.

Now, it’s panic.

Because you’ve never said that before.

You’ve cried. Pleaded. Begged him to change, to care, to show you even a fraction of the love you’ve always given him.

But now? Now you’re done begging.

Now it’s a warning.

And he knows that you mean it.

“Ball’s in your court, Baby.”

Silence. His eyes are on your face, running over it.

“God. You’re dramatic as shit sometimes.” he mutters. “But you’re right.”

That gets you to stop.

He’s standing there in the middle of your room like he doesn’t even know why he opened his mouth. Hands shoved in his hoodie pocket. Kicking at the edge of your rug like it’s personally offended him.

“You said some stuff,” he continues, voice all low and annoyed. “and I guess some of it was kinda valid or whatever.”

You blink. “Kinda valid?”

He shrugs, not meeting your eye. “Yeah. I dunno. You said a lot.”

You cross your arms, giving him the stare you once reserved for crying in your pillow after he ghosted you for three days straight. “You are so bad at this.”

“Yeah.”

Pause.

“I’m good at killing things. And being immortal. And… I don’t know. Music, I guess.”

He finally lifts his eyes to yours.

You inhale.

And just like that… the air feels different.

Because for the first time since you met him—since you gave him your time, your bed, your fucking heart—he’s not dodging it. He’s not pulling away. He’s just… honest. Moody and bratty and ungrateful, but trying.

This is him, trying.

You bite the inside of your cheek.

“I’ve been a dick.” he adds, quieter. “I know that. But if someone’s gonna fuck this up… I’d rather it be me than someone else.”

God. God.

You stare at him, heart stuttering.

He looks almost bored, almost put-out, but his hands are clenched inside his hoodie pocket. And his voice is just a little too tight.

And for some reason, that’s what does it.

“…You could’ve just said that months ago,” you murmur.

He exhales. A short breath through his nose. “Yeah. Well. Fuckin’ hindsight.”

You look up at him again.

He shrugs. “I treat everyone like shit. You’re not special.”

Your jaw drops. “What the fuck—”

“I mean—fuck—” he drags a hand over his face, groaning like you’re the one being difficult. “You are special. I don’t know what the fuck to do with that, okay? Jeez.”

You blink at him. “Try not being a dick?”

“I am a dick.” he says, voice flat, deadpan.

You squint at him. “…Okay?”

Silence.

He shrugs again. “So yeah. Maybe I’ll do better. Or whatever.”

Or whatever.

“I’m not promising I’ll be good at this.” he mutters.

You smile, soft. Tired. “You won’t be.”

He nods. Accepting that like it’s fair.

“…But I’m not done.” he says. Quiet. “With you.”

You pause. Then nod once. “Okay.”

Settled.

Not perfect. Not even close.

But something.

“You’ve got one shot, Baby.” you say, voice low. “Don’t fuck it up.”

He exhales. Rolls his eyes. Mumbles, “Whatever.”

The next day, at the boys’ place, music’s playing. Abby’s doing push-ups with a resistance band around his biceps for no reason. Mystery’s on the floor eating cold noodles straight out the container with his claws. Jinu’s yelling about posture again. You’re not here. You’re off existing like the angel you are, probably making someone’s day just by breathing.

Baby’s sitting on a folding chair like he owns the air. Lazy. Legs wide. Arms draped over the back. Looking like he’s five seconds from asking someone to peel him a grape.

And then with the kind of exaggerated sigh only a 300-year-old emotionally stunted demon brat can produce, he stands up, walks over to Jinu and lifts his hand.

Palm out. Up. Like a fucking royal.

Jinu, mid-step, doesn’t even look. Just groans and digs into his pocket.

A crumpled wad of cash gets slapped into Baby’s hand.

Baby doesn’t thank him. He doesn’t even blink. He just starts counting. Out loud. Slow. Disrespectfully.

Finally, Jinu pauses his barking just long enough to glare at him. “What the hell do you even need money for, Baby?”

Baby shrugs. Not looking up. “Buying flowers.”

Silence.

“What?” Jinu repeats, like he heard wrong.

Baby lifts his head now. Slowly. Like this is the most normal thing in the world.

“For my girlfriend.” he says, deadpan. “Obviously.”

…

The silence that follows is generational. Ancestral. Thick enough to choke on.

Romance drops his hair tie.

Abby’s eye twitches.

Mystery bares a tooth, chewing slower, like he’s trying to process the absurdity.

Jinu actually freezes, hands out, mouth open.

Baby just tucks the cash into his hoodie. Walks toward the exit like nothing happened.

They don’t speak. But they all look at each other like: “Did he hit his head?” “Did she finally punch the feelings into him during sex?”

And maybe that’s how the world ends.

Not with a bang. Not with a demon apocalypse.

But with Baby suddenly acting like a boyfriend.

Buying daisies with Jinu’s cash.

Love is dead.

So is logic.

So is Jinu’s trust fund.

But hey…

He’s buying flowers.

And honestly?

That’s probably the most growth anyone’s seen from him since the 1800s.

#kpdh #kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reader #saja boys x reader #saja boys #the saja boys #kpdh x reader #kpdh x you #baby kpdh #baby kpop demon hunters #baby saja #baby saja x reader

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minniesfiles · 5 months ago

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SEVENTEEN AS GIRL DADS

❧ PAIRING; ot13 x reader

❧ GENRE; fluff, very light angst

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; tooth rotting fluff, sprinkle of angst in some parts, some dramatic situations but fluffy ending, established relationship, first time parents

𐚁₊⊹

SEUNGCHEOL

Seungcheol was sitting at his desk leaned over his laptop as his fingers quickly moved across the keyboard. His brows were knotted in concentration as his eyes were fixed intently on the screen. With the deadline approaching, he was committed to completing this document before the end of the evening.

Then suddenly the door to his study room bursted open, slamming against the wall. Before he could react, a small figure rushed inside with her tiny feet pounding against the wooden floor. His five-year-old daughter, Haeun, ran straight towards him crying out loud with her red and tear-streaked face.

Hot on her heels was you, looking frustrated and exhausted. “Haeun, come back here!” you called as you stepped into the room.

But Haeun didn’t stop. She launched herself onto her father’s lap and buried her face into his chest. Her little body trembled as she cried.

Seungcheol’s heart clenched. He immediately forgot about his laptop, the document, and the upcoming deadline. Nothing mattered more than his daughter’s distress. He wrapped his arms around her small frame and rubbed soothing circles on her back.

“Shh, princess. What’s wrong?” he asked gently, tilting his head to look down at her.

“Mummy said…I c-can’t have…ice cream before dinner!” she managed to get out through hiccups and sniffles.

Seungcheol barely suppressed a smile. He glanced up at you, who crossed your arms and let out a tired sigh.

“She threw a tantrum when I said no,” you explained, shaking your head. “Then ran straight to you for backup.”

Your husband exhaled softly and pressed a kiss to the top of your daughter’s head. It was a small thing, really, but to a five-year-old, it was the end of the world.

“Hey, princess,” he murmured, gently pulling Haeun back so he could look into her teary eyes. “I know you really want ice cream, but Mummy’s right. If you eat it now, you won’t be hungry for dinner. And you need a good meal first, don’t you?”

Haeun sniffled as her lips quivered. “But…but I really wanted it…”

“I know, princess” he said as he wiped away a stray tear from her cheek. “How about this? If you eat all your dinner, we’ll have ice cream together afterward. Does that sound like a deal?”

Haeun hesitated, her big brown eyes searching his. Then, after a moment, she nodded slowly. “Okay…”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? I said the same thing, and she threw a fit.”

Seungcheol rinned. “Dad privilege.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Fine. But only if she eats her vegetables.”

Haeun pouted but nodded again. “Okay Mummy.”

Seungcheol lifted her off his lap and set her on the floor. “Now, go wash your face, and we’ll have dinner soon.” Haeun gave him a quick hug before trotting off.

You sighed and leaned against the doorframe. “I swear, she’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

Seungcheol chuckled as he turned back to his laptop. “Yeah…and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

JEONGHAN

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon when your six-year-old, Jiwoo, looked up from her colouring book and studied her father’s long, smooth hair. Jeonghan was sitting on the sofa reading a book as his dark brown locks brushed over his shoulders effortlessly. You often teased him about how unfair it was that his hair looked better than yours with minimum maintenance.

Jiwoo tapped her chin thoughtfully, and an idea formed in her head. She set her crayons down and hopped off the sofa, marching over to her father.

“Daddy?” she asked sweetly, tilting her head.

Jeonghan looked up from his book. “Yes sweetheart?”

“Can I braid your hair?”

“Braid my hair?” he blinked.

Jiwoo nodded eagerly. “Please! Your hair is so pretty, and I want to make it even prettier!”

Jeonghan chuckled and set his book aside. “Well, how can I say no to that? Alright, let’s do it.”

Jiwoo clapped her hands in excitement and grabbed his wrist, leading him toward her bedroom. “You have to sit on my bed! And you can’t move, okay?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, grinning as he obediently sat on the small pink bed which his legs barely fitted.

“Wait here!” she instructed before running over to her little play hairdressing station in the corner of her room. She rummaged through her plastic vanity and began gathering her toy hairbrush, colourful clips, and a few ribbons she saved from old presents.

Jeonghan patiently sat with hands resting on his lap as his daughter returned with her arms full of supplies. She placed everything on the bed beside him, then climbed up behind him and ran her tiny fingers through his hair.

“Wow Daddy. Your hair is so smooth! Mummy always says she’s jealous,” Jiwoo said, giggling.

“She does, doesn’t she?” Jeonghan smirked.

From the doorway, you leaned against the frame with your arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with an amused smile. “Don’t get too proud Yoon Jeonghan. I let you have the better hair,” you teased.

“Of course dear” your husband chuckled.

Jiwoo, who was completely focused on her work, began brushing his hair with exaggerated care. “You have to be very still Daddy! I don’t want to mess up.”

Jeonghan straightened up his posture. “Not moving an inch,” he promised.

She nodded in approval and got to work. She hummed softly as she created a long, wobbly braid, occasionally stopping to add a colourful clip here and there.

You on the other hand covered your mouth to stifle a laugh as your daughter sprinkled in pink and purple ribbons, tying them into small bows at random spots.

After several minutes, Jiwoo finally clapped her hands. “All done!” She reached for a small mirror from her vanity and handed it to her father. “Look Daddy!”

Jeonghan held up the mirror and burst out laughing. His hair was an absolute masterpiece of uneven braids, mismatched ribbons, and bright butterfly clips.

“Well?” Jiwoo asked eagerly.

“I love it! Thank you sweetheart” Jeonghan smiled warmly.

JOSHUA

Joshua had been through his fair share of tantrums. Having a toddler meant that outbursts were a normal part of life. But today’s meltdown? This was on a whole new level.

He held Byul in his arms as she screamed, her little face red and wet with tears. The two-year-old kicked and squirmed as she tried to escape his grip. Her loud wails were practically echoing through the entire grocery store. It was the kind of tantrum that made people stop and stare. The kind that turned heads and made strangers mutter under their breath.

You on the other hand walked a few steps ahead, pushing the shopping trolley. Your face was carefully neutral, but Joshua could tell that the stares you were getting were bothering you. You exhaled softly and glanced at him. “She’s really going for it today,” you murmured.

“Oh, you think?” Joshua muttered, adjusting his grip as Byul twisted again, nearly knocking his baseball cap off. “She wanted the chocolate chip cookies, I said no, and now we’re here.”

You sighed while grabbing a box of cereal from the shelf. “People are staring.”

Joshua didn’t need to look around to know that was true. He could feel the eyes on him — annoyed glances from shoppers who just wanted to get through their day without a screaming child in the background. An older woman shook her head disapprovingly as she passed by, and a man near the dairy section shot Joshua a look that practically said, ‘Control your kid’.

Joshua tightened his hold on Byul as he bounced her slightly. “Bubba, please,” he whispered, brushing damp curls away from her flushed face. “I know you’re upset, but we can’t get cookies right now. We’ll have a snack when we get home, okay?”

But Byul wasn’t having it. She threw her head back and let out another ear-piercing wail. Joshua felt the frustration slowly creeping in. He was usually good at keeping his cool, but this was exhausting. He looked at you helplessly. “Any ideas?” he asked.

You pursed your lips, then reached into the trolley. You pulled out a bag of baby carrots and waved it in front of your daughter’s face. “Byul, look. Want some carrots?”

Byul, still sniffling, peeked at the bag and immediately shoved it away with a furious, “NO!”

You shrugged. “Worth a shot.”

Joshua sighed. He was sweaty, tired, and feeling the pressure of every judgmental stare that was coming his way. But then, an idea struck him. He didn’t know if it would work, but it was worth trying.

He turned Byul around in his arms so they were face to face. “Bubba,” he said in a softer, playful tone, “can you take a deep breath with Daddy?”

Byul, still hiccupping from crying, shook her head stubbornly.

Joshua exaggerated a deep breath, making it loud and dramatic. “Biiiiig breath in—” he puffed out his cheeks, “—and whoooooosh, out!” he blew air gently on her face.

Byul blinked. She was still upset, but something about his silly breathing caught her attention. And so he did it again. “Whoooosh!”

Byul let out a tiny giggle between sniffles. “One more?” Joshua grinned. She hesitated, then copied him, taking a tiny, shuddering breath in and blowing out.

The screaming stopped, and both of you were relieved. “You’re a wizard” you smiled, shaking your head.

Joshua chuckled, “nah. Just a dad.”

JUNHUI

Junhui adjusted the straps of his backpack while holding his three-year-old’s hand. Mei clutched her stuffed bunny tightly as her eyes darted around the unfamiliar space. It was her first time on an airplane. More importantly, it was her first trip to China to meet Junhui’s side of the family for the Spring Festival.

“Are you excited to see Grandma and Grandpa?” Junhui asked as he crouched to her level.

Mei nodded hesitantly, and then looked up at you who smiled reassuringly. “It’ll be fun, sweetheart. And we get to fly in a big airplane!”

Mei didn’t look so sure about that part.

After checking in and going through security, you finally boarded the plane. Mei sat in the middle, with you by the window and Junhui by the aisle seat.

She fidgeted in her seat with her small legs dangling above the floor. Her nervous energy was apparent as she looked around to take in her unfamiliar surroundings.

Junhui then helped Mei put in her small earplugs, hoping they would soften the unfamiliar sounds. “These will make it nice and quiet,” he promised as he tucked a blanket around her lap.

When the flight attendants finished their safety announcements, the plane rumbled to life.

Despite the earplugs, the deep growl of the engines startled her. She flinched, eyes widening as she looked around in panic. Junhui reached for her hand. “It’s okay darling. That’s just the plane getting ready.”

But Mei didn’t look convinced.

The aircraft began rolling toward the runway, and the motion made her grip her bunny even tighter. Then the speed picked up — faster, faster — until suddenly, the nose lifted, and you were taking off.

The three-year-old felt her heart drop at the unfamiliar motion, and soon panic set in. She let out a whimper as her face scrunched up. Tears welled up in her eyes, and then — she bursted into sobs.

Junhui’s heart clenched. He hated seeing her scared. Ignoring the glances from other passengers, he unbuckled his seatbelt just enough to lean closer.

“Mei, it’s okay,” he said gently while rubbing her back. “Daddy’s right here.”

“I don’t like it!” she wailed as her little hands gripped your shirt tightly. “I want to go home!”

You pressed a kiss to her head. “Shh, baby, we’re safe. The plane is just going up in the sky, like a bird.”

Mei sniffled but still whimpered. Her tiny body trembled as she cried while gripping her bunny like a lifeline.

Junhui hated seeing her in distress. So he thought for a moment, then reached into his backpack and pulled out a small red envelope. “Hey, Mei, look what I have.”

Her sobs slowed just enough for her to look at it.

“This is a hóngbāo from Grandpa,” he said, opening it just enough to show the shiny coin inside. “He sent it early for you. And guess what? He can’t wait to give you more when we get there.”

Mei sniffled, eyes still watery but now distracted.

You wiped your daughter’s tears gently. “And when we land, we’ll see Grandma and Grandpa, and there will be lanterns, fireworks, and lots of yummy dumplings.”

Mei hesitated, then clutched the red envelope along with her bunny. “Dumplings?”

“Lots of them” Junhui grinned.

The plane soon steadied in the air, and the worst of the takeoff behind was now over. Mei’s sobs faded into sniffles as she leaned sleepily against her father’s arm.

Maybe this trip wouldn’t be so scary after all.

SOONYOUNG

The music stopped. The cheers faded. And the winner was announced.

But it wasn’t him.

Soonyoung sat backstage, slumped against the wall with his arms resting on his knees and his head hanging low. Sweat dripped from his tired face, while his tank top was soaked through from the hours of dancing under the bright stage lights.

His chest ached, but not from exhaustion. This pain ran deeper. Months of practice, of pushing his body to the limit, of dreaming of victory…all for nothing.

He clenched his fists, his breathing shaky. He told himself it wouldn’t matter if he lost, and that the experience alone was enough. But now, sitting here alone in the dim backstage area while the winner celebrated, he felt like a failure.

A choked sob escaped his lips. He buried his face in his hands, and his body trembled as tears silently rolled down his cheeks.

“Daddy?”

Soonyoung felt his breath hitch. He looked up with his tear-blurred vision.

There he saw his five-year-old daughter, Arin, standing a few steps away with her small hands clutching the hem of her pink dress. Her big brown eyes were filled with worry. Behind her stood you with a sad smile as you let your daughter go ahead.

Arin took a cautious step forward. “Daddy…are you sad?” she asked.

Soonyoung swallowed the lump in his throat as he tried to find his voice. “Yes baby,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Daddy lost.”

Arin frowned, then quietly sat in front of him, folding her legs. She reached out her tiny hands and placed them gently over his own. “It’s okay Daddy.”

Soonyoung let out a shaky breath as fresh tears spilled over. He tried to hold it together, but with his little girl sitting there, looking at him with so much love and concern, the dam broke. He sobbed openly and pulled her into his arms.

Arin wrapped her small arms around his neck, patting his back the way he always did when she cried. “Don’t be sad Daddy,” she said softly. “You’re still the best dancer in the world.”

Soonyoung’s shoulders shook as he held her tighter. “Oh, baby…”

Arin pulled back slightly and cupped his tear-streaked cheeks in her tiny hands. “You dance so cool Daddy. Even cooler than the people on TV!”

You knelt beside them and rubbed your husband’s back. “She’s right, you know,” you murmured. “You worked so hard, and no trophy can change that.”

Soonyoung let out a weak chuckle through his tears, and looked into his daughter’s hopeful eyes. He wiped his face and kissed her forehead. “Thank you, my baby.”

“Can we dance when we get home?” Arin grinned.

Soonyoung exhaled, and a genuine smile finally broke through his sadness. He nodded. “Yeah. We can dance as much as you want.”

And at that moment, the loss didn’t feel so heavy anymore. Because to his little girl, he would always be a champion.

WONWOO

Wonwoo loved the beach in theory. The soft sand beneath his feet, the salty breeze that tousled his hair, the crashing of the waves — it was beautiful, and peaceful. But the ocean itself? That was different. Ever since he was a child, he had feared the water. A near-drowning incident during his childhood left a scar in his mind, one that never fully faded.

Still, he wouldn’t let his past keep him from making memories with his family. You were laying out your small picnic on a checkered blanket while humming a tune as you arranged the sandwiches and fruit.

Your five-year-old daughter, Yoonji, was giggling as she played near the shore with her bright pink floaty bobbing in the gentle waves. Wonwoo was distracted by your laughter and the task at hand that he unintentionally forgot to keep a close eye on Yoonji.

When the food was ready, he stood and dusted the sand off his hands. “Yoonie! Come eat!” he called, but there was no response. His heart began to race as he turned around, scanning the shoreline.

Then he heard the screaming.

His head snapped toward the water, and his heart nearly stopped. A small figure thrashed in the waves, the familiar floaty drifting farther away from her.

Yoonji.

A terrified scream tore from your throat as you ran towards the sea, but Wonwoo was faster. His body moved before his mind could catch up. Fear gripped at him as he approached the sea. He felt his past fear creeping in, but nothing mattered more than his daughter.

“I’m coming baby!” he frantically exclaimed as he charged into the waves.

The shock of the cold water sent his heart racing as he dove into the sea. For a brief second, the old memories surged back. But then he saw Yoonji’s tiny arms struggling against the waves with her mouth opening and closing as she tried to stay afloat.

His fear vanished. All that remained was the desperate need to reach for his child.

His strokes were fast and uneven, but determined regardless. The salty water splashed into his face and burned his eyes, but he pushed forward. He had to.

Finally, his fingers brushed against Yoonji’s trembling form. He pulled her into his arms and cradled her against his bare chest.

“I got you, baby. Daddy got you” his voice broke, but his grip was firm.

Yoonji held onto her father as she sobbed against his shoulder. He could feel her tiny body shaking. With every ounce of strength he had left, he swam back. His muscles burned, but he refused to stop.

At last, his feet found the sand. He stumbled but held tight to his daughter. “You’re okay, baby. Daddy is here” his breath was ragged as he carried her onto the shore.

You rushed towards them with tears streaming down your face. You wrapped Yoonji in your arms and pressed frantic kisses to her wet hair.

Wonwoo collapsed onto his knees beside you from exhaustion. But guilt soon overwhelmed him.

He took his eyes off her. He let this happen.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered with a hoarse voice.

“You saved her” you reassured him.

Yoonji sniffled as her small hands clutched his arm. “I was scared.” Wonwoo swallowed hard and pulled her close. “Me too baby.”

As he sat there, holding his daughter in his arms, he realised something. He feared the ocean all his life, but nothing had ever terrified him more than the thought of losing his daughter.

JIHOON

Jihoon sat hunched over his keyboard with headphones covering his ears. He was working on a track for another but k-pop group amongst his long list of requests. He adjusted the bassline and nodded slightly as he felt the groove settle in. He was close, but not quite there yet.

A sudden knock on the door pulled Jihoon from his focus. He barely had time to react before the door opened, revealing two of his favorite people in the world.

“Daddy!”

A high-pitched squeal filled the room as his six-year-old daughter, Nari, dashed towards him with her small feet pattering against the floor. Jihoon turned in his chair and pulled off his glasses as a wide smile stretched across his tired face.

“Come here my princess,” he said, spreading his arms wide.

He chuckled as Nari wasted no time leaping onto his lap and wrapping her tiny arms around his neck. He felt the warmth of her hug melt away the heavy exhaustion of the day.

“I missed you Daddy,” she mumbled against his shoulder.

Jihoon pouted in guilt. He had been working late for weeks now, buried in projects and fine-tuning beats until the early hours of the morning. He kissed the top of her head and inhaled the familiar scent of strawberries from her shampoo.

“I’m sorry princess. Daddy’s been really busy.”

You walked in with a soft smile before leaning down and pressing a kiss on your husband’s lips. “You should take a break love,” you whispered.

Jihoon exhaled. He knew you were right. But before he could argue, Nari gasped and wiggled out of his grasp. “Daddy! Can I play the piano?” she asked with her eyes twinkling with excitement.

Jihoon chuckled. “Of course princess. Show me what you got.”

Nari scrambled off his lap and ran to the sleek black piano sitting in the corner of the studio. You and Jihoon followed, taking a seat beside your daughter as she placed her small fingers on the keys.

With absolute focus, Nari pressed the keys one by one as she attempted to play a tune she heard him compose before. The notes weren’t perfect — some were offbeat, others hesitant — but she was determined. Jihoon exchanged a knowing glance with you before both bursted into soft giggles at your daughter’s intense concentration.

“You almost got it baby,” Jihoon encouraged and guided her tiny fingers to the right keys.

She pouted slightly, frustrated with herself, but tried again. And again. Jihoon’s heart swelled with pride. He loved that she shared his passion for music, even if right now, it was just for fun.

After a while, Nari suddenly turned to him with her best pleading expression. “Daddy, can we go home now? Let’s have s’mores and watch a movie together! Please?”

Jihoon hesitated and glanced back at his computer screen. He had so much work left to do. The deadline aside, Jihoon was a perfectionist. It was why he spent so much extra time in the studio to make sure the tracks he produced were top quality.

But then he looked at his daughter’s hopeful eyes as her small hands tugged at his sleeve.

Work could wait.

Jihoon sighed, then grinned as he scooped Nari into his arms. “Alright, alright. You win princess.”

Nari cheered in victory, and you laughed shaking your head.

As you all left the studio together, Jihoon knew he had made the right choice. Music was his passion, but his family was his heart. And in the end, no melody in the world could ever compare to the sound of his daughter’s laughter.

SEOKMIN

The park was quiet, save for the gentle rustling of leaves in the evening breeze. You and Seokmin walked along the park path with your fingers intertwined as you rested your head on his shoulder. It was one of those rare, peaceful moments he wished could last forever.

Ahead of you was your four-year-old daughter, Hana, skipping happily with an oversized ice cream cone in her small hands. She was talking a mile a minute about her day at kindergarten, barely pausing for breath between licks.

“And then, Miss Kim said my drawing was really pretty, and I got a gold star!” Hana announced proudly.

“That’s amazing sweetie. What did you draw?” you smiled.

“A rainbow! With a unicorn! And sparkles!” your daughter exclaimed, turning slightly to flash you both a wide, toothy grin.

“Sounds like a masterpiece” Seokmin laughed.

Hana nodded eagerly and took another bite of her ice cream. Everything felt perfect. The quietness in the park, the warmth of your body against his, your daughter’s innocent laughter — it was a moment he’d tuck away in his heart forever.

But then, in an instant, that peace was ruined.

A man, walking briskly and not paying attention, carelessly bumped into Hana. The impact sent her tiny body stumbling backward. She landed hard on the pavement while her ice cream slipped from her grasp and splattering across the ground.

There was silence for a second before a wail cut through the air.

Seokmin’s stomach dropped as he sprinted forward and dropped to his knees beside Hana. She was holding onto her arm with tears streaming down her flushed cheeks.

“Hey, Daddy got you, hmm? Are you okay? Let’s check your arm” his voice was gentle, but his hands trembled as he checked her over.

“My arm hurts,” she whimpered as her little body shook. “And my ice cream is gone…”

You knelt beside them and quickly examined Hana’s arm. “I don’t think it’s broken, just a little bruised,” you reassured as you brushed her hair from her face. “You’re so brave sweetheart.”

Seokmin’s jaw clenched as he turned to the man who had knocked into her. The guy — dressed in a dark hoodie and jeans — barely stopped. He looked back briefly but made no move to apologise or help.

And something in Seokmin snapped.He stood up abruptly with his body rigid with anger. “Hey!” he barked with a sharp voice.

The man hesitated, but then scoffed. “Wasn’t my fault, the kid wasn’t watching where she was going.”

Seokmin took a step forward, his fists clenching. “You knocked over my daughter, and that’s all you have to say?”

You, who was still crouched by Hana, snapped your head up. “Seokmin…” you called out to him.

But Seokmin was already stepping closer. He had never been the type to pick fights, but seeing Hana cry and the indifference on this guy’s face — he couldn’t just let it slide.

“You need to apologise,” he growled as his fists itched to do more than just demand words.

The man scoffed again. “Whatever,” he muttered before turning to walk away.

Seokmin took another step forward, but suddenly, a small voice stopped him.

“Daddy?”

He turned back and his eyes met Hana’s teary ones. She wasn’t scared of the man — she was scared of him. He shut his eyes and exhaled a deep breath before fluttering them open again.

He walked back over to her and crouched down to her level. He cupped her cheeks and wiped away her tears. “It’s okay baby, you’re okay.”

Hana sniffled again and looked at her fallen ice cream. “But…my treat…”

“Then let’s go get you another one. How about two scoops this time?” you said.

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

You hummed and then turned to your husband, touching his arm gently. “Come on love. She needs you more than he deserves your anger.”

Seokmin took a deep breath, forcing himself to let it go. With one last glare at the man’s retreating figure, he lifted Hana into his arms.

Hana immediately wrapped her arms around her father’s neck and snuggled into him. As you walked back toward the ice cream stand, Seokmin kissed the top of his daughter’s head, holding her close. Some fights weren’t worth it — but protecting his family always would be.

MINGYU

Mingyu stepped out of the shower feeling his body aching from an exhausting day at work. The warm water had helped ease some of the tension in his muscles, but the fatigue was still there weighing heavily upon him. He ran a towel through his damp hair and sighed as he prepared himself for what he hoped would be a quiet evening.

Then he heard it — a sharp, piercing wail resonating through the house. Aera’s cry — tiny yet somehow powerful enough to make his heart stop.

Mingyu didn’t think twice. He dropped the towel and hurried toward the nursery. The moment he stepped inside, he saw you sitting in the nursing chair cradling your newborn daughter against your chest. You looked exhausted, and your eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” you said over the frantic cries. “She won’t latch…she won’t stop crying…”

Mingyu’s heart ached at the sight of your struggling. He knew how much you wanted to breastfeed, and how much pressure you put on yourself to make it work. But your daughter, barely two weeks old, was inconsolable as her tiny fists flailed, refusing to settle.

Without hesitation, he moved towards. “Let me take her.”

You hesitated, but your shoulders slumped in relief as you gently passed Aera to him. The moment she was in his arms, Mingyu was struck again by just how tiny she was. At six feet-two inches tall, his arms broad and strong, she fit against him like a fragile doll, so impossibly small and delicate.

“Shh, baby girl,” he whispered to her as he held her close. “Daddy’s got you.” his voice was softer than it had ever been.

Her cries didn’t stop immediately. They were still loud, her tiny face scrunched in distress, but Mingyu remained calm. He placed her upright against his bare chest, one large hand supporting her fragile back while the other cradled the back of her head. He began to rock her gently as he paced across the nursery.

The frantic hysteria in her voice soon quieted just a little, turning into tiny whimpers as her small body slowly relaxed against him. Mingyu pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the faint scent of baby lotion.

You watched from the chair as tears rolled down your cheeks — not just from exhaustion, but from relief.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” you whispered.

Mingyu turned to you while still rocking Aera. “You’re not doing anything wrong love.”

Your lip quivered. “She wouldn’t stop crying…she wouldn’t eat…”

Mingyu walked back over and crouched down so you could see your daughter’s peaceful face as she nuzzled into his chest. “She just needed a minute to feel safe. And she will eat, when she’s ready.”

You exhaled shakily and nodded as you wiped away your tears. Mingyu leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against your lips. “You’re doing an amazing job,” he assured you. “She’s lucky to have you.”

Aera let out a tiny sigh as her tiny fingers curled against his chest as she finally settled into sleep. Mingyu felt his heart swell. He was overwhelmed by love for the little family you and he had created.

Exhaustion didn’t even matter at that point. Work didn’t matter. All that mattered was this — holding his daughter close, keeping her safe, and making sure you knew you weren’t alone.

He would always be here. For both of you.

MINGHAO

Minghao adjusted his glasses as they slipped down the bridge of his nose. It was a movement so familiar that it became muscle memory. He barely noticed anymore — just a simple push, a brief pause, and then back to the task at hand.

Stacks of student papers sat before him, each marked with his red pen in his neat handwriting. It was late, far later than he intended to stay up. But even as a college professor, he had deadlines. The responsibility was big.

Then, a sound broke the quiet atmosphere. He heard soft cries growing louder as they approached the living room.

Minghao set his pen down and turned just as you entered. Your face was lined with exhaustion, your eyes glassy with worry. In your arms, your one-year-old daughter, Daiyu, whimpered pitifully as her tiny face scrunched in distress.

“I think she has a fever,” you murmured as you shifted Daiyu in your arms.

Minghao’s heart clenched at the sight of his little girl’s flushed cheeks and tear-streaked face. Without hesitation, he stood up and reached for her. And with gentle but firm hands, he took her from your arms.

Daiyu squirmed. He felt her warm body radiating heat against his chest. She was clearly burning up. He rocked her gently and pressed a kiss to her damp forehead.

“Shh, bǎo bèi,” he whispered. “Daddy’s here.”

You hovered close while rubbing your arms as though you were cold. But your worry was visible. “What should we do?”

“Let’s check her temperature first.”

Carrying Daiyu, he walked towards the medicine cabinet and grabbed the thermometer with one hand while balancing her with the other. He placed it under her arm and murmured soft reassurances as she fussed. A few seconds later, the reading confirmed what he was already worried about.

“She’s definitely running a fever,” he said as he kept his voice steady, though his heart ached at the sight of her discomfort.

You bit your lip as your hands twisted together. “Should we call the doctor?” you asked.

“Not yet,” Minghao said gently. “Let’s give her some medicine first and see if it helps.”

He carefully measured out the correct dose of infant fever reducer and gently encouraged Daiyu to swallow it while whispering soothing words. Despite her little whimper, she leaned against his chest and gripped his shirt with her small fingers.

He resumed pacing around the house while rocking her in his arms. His professor’s mind was now entirely focused on his daughter. The academic world, the papers waiting for his attention — none of it mattered right now.

You sat on the sofa watching them with a soft expression. The tension in your shoulders eased slightly as you saw how gently Minghao held your daughter.

For nearly an hour, he walked, whispering lullabies, stroking her back, feeling her tiny breaths against his neck. Slowly, the fever medicine began to work, and Daiyu’d cries quieted. Her body relaxed against him as her breathing evened out.

Finally, when he was sure she was fully asleep, he carefully laid her in her cot. He stood there for a moment and watched her to make sure she was truly resting.

You stepped beside him and leaned into his side. “Thank you,” you murmured.

Minghao sighed, rubbing a hand over his tired face. “She’s our baby. I’d do anything for her.”

As he looked down at your sleeping daughter, peaceful at last, he knew he’d stay up all night if he had to — because some things were far more important than grading papers.

SEUNGKWAN

Seungkwan let out a satisfied sigh as he sank into the sofa after putting the laundry in the dryer. He knew you would appreciate coming home to clean clothes instead of another argument about his procrastination. You worked long hours, and the last thing he wanted was to hear you yelling about unfinished chores.

Just as he was about to close his eyes for a well-earned break, a small voice interrupted him.

“Daddy?”

Seungkwan opened one eye to see his five-year-old daughter, Yuna, standing beside him with an eager grin. “Yes darling?”

“Can I put makeup on you?” she asked.

Seungkwan frowned. “Makeup? But Yuna, you don’t have any makeup.”

“I’ll use Mummy’s!” she giggled mischievously.

Seungkwan sat up straighter. “Uh…I don’t think Mummy would like that,” he said carefully. “She doesn’t like anyone touching her stuff.”

“Please Daddy?” Yuna pleaded with her big eyes shimmering with hope. She clasped her little hands together and tilted her head like a puppy begging for a treat.

Seungkwan hesitated. The idea of having his face covered in lipstick and eyeshadow wasn’t exactly appealing. But how could he say no to that face?

“Alright,” he finally relented with a sigh. “But! Mummy can’t know, okay? It’s our little secret.”

Yuna squealed in delight and grabbed his hand before dragging him upstairs to the bedroom. She climbed onto the bed and rummaged through your emergency makeup bag with the enthusiasm of a treasure hunter. Seungkwan at patiently, already regretting this decision.

The next fifteen minutes were filled with giggles and concentration as she dabbed powder onto his cheeks, swiped red lipstick across his lips (some of it ending up on his chin), and painted his eyelids with an uneven mix of shimmering pink and purple.

Seungkwan caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and nearly laughed out loud. He looked ridiculous. But when he saw Yuna’s face beaming with joy, he didn’t care.

“You look so pretty Daddy!” she said proudly.

Before Seungkwan could respond, the sound of the front door opening made his stomach drop. You were home.

“Quick! Clean up!” his eyes widened.

But it was too late. The footsteps got closer, followed by your voice. “Yuna? Kwanie?”

The bedroom door swung open, and there you stood.

Your gaze swept over the scene before you — the makeup scattered across the bed, your daughter holding a mascara wand like a paintbrush, and your husband sitting there with his face covered in a colorful mess.

Your eyes widened in shock, “my makeup!” you shrieked.

Yuna flinched at your tone, but Seungkwan quickly spoke up. “Honey, I—”

“You let her use my expensive makeup for this?!” you interrupted.

But then, as you stared at them, something shifted. You saw the way Yuna giggled with her little hands covered in powder. You saw Seungkwan looking utterly ridiculous but grinning as your daughter beamed with happiness.

And just like that, your frustration melted away.

Seungkwan gave you a sheepish smile. “I’ll buy you new ones, I promise” he told you.

He then glanced at Yuna, who was now giggling uncontrollably. “But…look how happy she is.”

You let out a deep breath. Then, against your better judgment, you laughed. “You’re lucky she’s cute,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“So, do you want Yuna to do your makeup next?” your husband grinned.

“Yes! Mummy, can I do your makeup next?” Yuna jumped up.

“Not a chance” you deadpanned.

HANSOL

Hansol sat at his tiny desk typing away on his laptop with one hand while the other cradled his six-month-old daughter Nabi against his chest. She was so warm and peaceful in his arms. Her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of his grey hoodie as he gently rocked her with his knee.

He was exhausted, but exhaustion had become second nature by now. Between his final year of university and fatherhood, sleep was a luxury. His dissertation deadline was in two weeks, and with every keystroke, he fought against time. He was determined to finish strong, if not for himself, then for you and his daughter.

Nabi wasn’t exactly planned to begin with. When you found out that you were pregnant, it hit him hard. Both of you were scared. Hansol remembered sitting on your dorm room bed with his hands gripping his hair while you cried softly beside him. Neither of you had an idea how you were going to manage university and a baby. It felt impossible.

But that was until Nabi was born.

Hansol wasn’t the type to cry easily, but when the nurse placed her in his arms for the first time, he broke completely. She weighed like a feather, so small and fragile, and yet the weight of her in his arms felt heavy.

Every doubt, every fear, melted away in that moment. He made a silent vow to her that he would do anything to protect her and give her the life she deserved.

It wasn’t easy. Balancing classes, assignments, and sleepless nights with a newborn pushed you both to your limits. But he and you faced every challenge together. You leaned on each other when things got overwhelming.

And tonight was no different.

Hansol adjusted Nabi slightly to make sure she was comfortable, and kept typing. His dissertation deadline was fast approaching, and he still had a long way to go. He tried to focus, but the warmth of Nabi against him and the rhythmic sound of her breathing made it hard not to get distracted.

And then, without warning, Nabi stirred. She let out a tiny gurgle before she vomited all over him.

Hansol’s body froze.

The warmth of the spit-up seeped through his hoodie and onto his chest. His eyes widened in horror as he realised some of it had also landed on his dissertation papers.

“Oh, come on,” he groaned as he pushed his chair back abruptly. He carefully lifted Nabi away from the mess, wrinkling his nose.

“Babe! I need backup!”

A moment later, you appeared in the doorway with your own tired eyes widening as you took in the scene. Hansol, covered in baby vomit, Nabi blinking innocently in his arms, and his once-pristine papers now splattered with milk.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, but a snort of laughter escaped. “You look like you just lost a fight,” you teased.

“Yeah, and she didn’t even have to try,” your boyfriend muttered, trying to wipe himself down while keeping Nabi steady.

“Can you grab me a towel? And maybe some clean paper while you’re at it?”

Still giggling, you disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a damp cloth. You wiped Nabi’s mouth first before handing Hansol another towel.

“You’re taking this surprisingly well,” you mused.

Hansol looked down at Nabi, who was now grinning up at him, completely unaware of the chaos she had caused. He couldn’t help but smile back, shaking his head.

“She’s worth it,” he said simply.

“Aren’t you princess?” he looked down at his daughter with a smile before leaning down to kiss her forehead. Nabi giggled as she reached her arms up to grab his face.

You leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your boyfriend’s cheek. “Yeah,” you murmured, “she really is.”

Life wasn’t perfect. It was messy, exhausting, and full of unexpected surprises. But as Hansol looked at his daughter and the love of his life, he knew one thing for sure — he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

CHAN

Chan stepped out of his car and stretched his arms as he took a deep breath of the cool night air. It had been a while since he went out with the boys, and though he enjoyed the break, he was eager to be home. The comfort of his wife and daughter was where he truly belonged.

But the moment he stepped inside, he knew something was wrong.

The house was in chaos. There were pillows thrown from the sofa, toys scattered everywhere, and a sippy cup knocked over, juice pooling on the coffee table. Then he heard his four-year-old daughter, Dahyun, crying and screaming loudly.

Chan’s stomach tightened as he hurried towards the living room.

When he walked in seeing you holding Dahyun by her arms and guiding her down onto her bottom with an exhausted but sharp glare.

“Sit on your bottom, now,” you ordered, your voice raised and filled with frustration. “You do NOT throw toys across the room like that when you’re told no. That made Mummy very sad!”

Dahyun froze, startled by your angry tone. Her big, tear-filled eyes locked onto your face as her little chest rose and fell in quick breaths. The room was silent just for a second, and Chan saw the confusion in his daughter’s expression. Then, she bursted into loud, uncontrollable sobs with fat tears rolling down her flushed cheeks.

Chen’s frown deepened. His heart squeezed painfully watching her wail with her tiny hands gripping her pyjama shirt as she hiccupped between cries.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

You let out a long, tired sigh as you rubbed your temple. Dark circles under your eyes showed just how drained you were. “She threw her toy at me when I told her she couldn’t have another custard tart,” you explained softly but still frustrated.

“It nearly hit me Chan. I can’t let her think that’s okay. She needs to learn.”

Chan nodded understandingly. You were home with Dahyun all day managing her tantrums, her tireless energy, and her stubbornness. He knew how exhausting it was. He also knew that you weren’t usually this harsh. You were just at your limit.

Still, the way Dahyun was crying, the way her little body shook on the floor, made his chest ache unbearably.

“Don’t comfort her yet,” you added quickly, sensing his thoughts. “She needs to understand that what she did was wrong.”

Chan hesitated as his gaze shifted between you and your daughter. You weren’t wrong — Dahyun needed to learn boundaries. But the way she was sobbing and struggling to breathe between her cries made it impossible for him to stand by and do nothing.

He couldn’t.

Ignoring your warning, he stepped forward and knelt down before scooping Dahyun into his arms. She held onto him immediately with her little fingers grasping the fabric of his shirt as she buried her wet face into his neck.

“Shh, my baby, calm down” Chan whispered as he rocked her gently.

Dahyun’s cries softened into hiccups as he rubbed her back in slow circles. He pressed gentle kisses to her tear-streaked cheeks while murmuring soothing words as he held her close.

You sighed as you leaned back against the sofa, exhausted. “Chan..”

“I know,” he said before you could finish. He knew discipline was important. He knew Dahyun had to learn that throwing things in anger wasn’t okay. But he also knew she was only four and was still learning how to handle her big emotions. Right now, what she needed more than anything was comfort.

You exhaled as your anger faded into quiet understanding. “It’s just been a long day,” you admitted.

Chan nodded while he adjusted Dahyun as her sniffles finally calmed. “We’ll teach her together,” he promised. “But I can’t just watch her cry like that. I just can’t.”

“I know” you offered a smal, tired smile.

As Dahyun’s small body relaxed against his chest, Chan knew that parenting wasn’t about being perfect. It was about balance. Discipline and love, lessons and comfort. And at the end of the day, no matter how difficult things got, love would always come first.

a/n; comment your favourite!

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reiderwriter · 24 days ago

Text

The Rebound

Plot: Rossi recommends a book binding service to get Spencer to stop complaining about his broken book. Maybe you can fix more than just the broken spine of his book. Warnings: None, fluff. I will preface this with I know the bare minimum about actual book binding though, unfortunately! ㅠㅠ A/N: I'M BACK! Did you miss me? Unfortunately I lost any belief I had in love for a while there, but I found myself thinking about this little fluff idea for a while, and couldn't get it out of my head so I had to write it. It's been almost two years since I began writing, and I decided I want to put this first as a hobby at least once a week, so you will hopefully be hearing from me more often as well. I got a lot of inspiration from the request box too, so thank you to everyone who requested <3 Enjoy~

To say that Spencer had taken this book everywhere would be an understatement. The tattered heap of papers could probably be legally recognized as a member of the BAU the amount of case hours it had seen. It probably had a degree or two of its own as well.

Spencer always justified it in one way or another. It was in Russian and he needed to practice. It was an incredible book. His mother gave it to him as a child, and she still recognized it sometimes, so he had to take it when he visited her. It was just a really good book.

In short, over the years it had been through a lot.

It had seen gunshots, stabbings, a drug addiction, multiple spills and drops from high areas, and yes, probably some book eating insects at some point, but it still stood the test of time.

Until, ironically, a prison sentence meant it hadn’t been cracked open in months and it had decided to disintegrate overnight.

Spencer had spent the best part of his first week back at the BAU grumbling about it that it was beginning to disintegrate his team mates nerves. Yes, they were all sympathetic to the struggles of the newly free man, but there was really only so much Russian literature one could take before losing it. And for the members of the BAU, that was pretty much none.

“Kid, why don’t you just go out and buy a new copy. Same words, same meaning, same book, just without the bullet holes,” Rossi sighed, trying to effectively end the same conversation he’d been having for the last 6 days straight.

“It’s a rare copy, it was published in the 50s. You of all people should know they don’t make books the same way anymore, Rossi.”

“Me? Of all people? How flattering, Spencer.”

“No-” the man sighed, jogging to catch up with the still prime older man as he walked brusquely down the hallway. “I just mean that as a fellow enjoyer of literature, that you would share my appreciation for…”

“The elderly?”

“Antiques. Come on Rossi, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Spencer sighed again.

“I just don’t want to buy another copy.”

Rossi stopped his march finally, letting Spencer catch up with him as he finally turned around and gave his last suggestion.

“Then you just have to get it fixed, Spencer.”

He shut the door to his office behind him before the open door could invite any other literary debates to his doorstop, but he did put the kid out of his misery later over text.

“I had a collection of Joy’s articles bound by this company for Christmas last year as a gift. Local business, give them a call.”

A week later, a free enough day rolled around, and Spencer - ever willing to avoid technology at all costs - decided that going to the shop's location and hoping for an on-sight consult would work. He assumed people still talked to each other.

You definitely still talked to people.

When you could see them, hear them and knew they were there. But you also liked to work with a set of large headphones drowning out the world, and everyone else had gone home for the day, so to say that you screamed when you saw the 6 foot something slenderman out of the corner of your eye was an understatement.

“FUCK!” You screamed, clutching at your heart that you thought was definitely still having an attack of its own. You weren’t sure if this was what fight or flight felt like, but you were quickly disappointed to find that your own trigger reaction was ‘fuck.’

“I’m sorry, the door was open, I assumed…” Spencer started, holding his hand up to show he wasn’t a threat, even if he’d spent the last phase of his life being just that to a lot of people.

“Yeah..yeah… sorry, heart still racing, I’ll be with you in just a second.

You made a mental note of not listening to any more horror audiobooks while at work and pulled a smile back onto your face.

“Welcome to The Rebound, I guess,” you said, coming around the counter to greet the man. “Are you here to pick up or deliver a package?”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably as he stood before speaking.

“Actually neither. I was hoping for a consultation? I need a book rebound.”

You let out a sigh so loud you almost felt bad for the man. “Okay, so thank god you’re not a serial killer.”

You tried to laugh off the joke, but the man’s eyes bugged out of his head as he scrambled for something.

“Oh, no, sorry, I’m out of practice with this I guess,” he laughed a little, doing absolutely nothing to dissipate the awkward tension as he pulled out his FBI creds.

“Huh. FBI. Would you hold it against me if I said I feel a little bit less safe again?”

“Considering I spent that last few months in prison, not at all.”

You laughed again and then stopped again as you saw he wasn’t laughing.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a little off-putting?” you asked, completely innocently as you grabbed your coffee mug, leaning back on your work counter.

“Many, many times,” he smiled, finally relaxing.

“Wonderful. So what can I do for you today, Mr….?”

“Doctor.”

“Perfect. What can I do for you today Mr. Doctor?”

He smiled shyly again, and you finally took the lull in conversation to look him over again. He was maybe a few years older than you, but he still looked young. Every item he wore seemed like it came fresh from a copy of Grandpa’s Weekly, or whatever Vogue was doing in Men’s fashion in the 50s, which almost made it annoying how well it draped on him. His hair was brown, and curled cutely around his face in a very ‘needs a haircut’ way, but you almost appreciated that more.

He was handsome.

“Fuck.” you thought again, realizing that the man had been talking for the last few seconds as you’d oggled him anyway.

“Fuck?” He repeated. “I mean, I know it’s in bad condition, but I didn’t think it’d be that hard…” His eyebrows furrowed as he stared down at the book you now only just noticed was in his hands.

“Sorry, no that’s not what I meant!” You scrambled, combing your hair back roughly in your hands, and clipping it in place before walking back closer to him.

He even smells fucking good, you grumbled to yourself as you held out your hands for your next project.

“I’ve had it for about 25 years now, and it was definitely second hand when I got it, so…”

“So you want me to resuscitate it. Cool. Let me take a look at it quickly.”

You gently pried the book from the pouting man's hands and took it back to your work station as he played with his fingers, and you found yourself bumping into pieces of furniture you’d practically grown up with.

“So, Mr. Doctor, is there any specific damage you want us to take care of?” You asked as you forced your attention onto the book. “Missing pages, rips, that kind of- Is this in Russian?”

“It’s Dostoyevsky. There’s no missing pages, but there are a lot of tears around a third up on the pages,” he blinked, pointing a single finger at the edge of the page, where there were in fact small tears.

Ignoring that his fingers were also somehow attractive, you grabbed your glasses from the top of your shirt and pushed them onto your face and up your nose, getting closer to take a better look.

“These are pretty even across all the pages, how did you even manage that?” you laughed, flicking the pages as you searched for any particular mildew marks or signs of wear.

“Gunshot,” he said with such practiced nonchalance that you almost accepted it as a regular answer. Almost.

“WHAT?” You said looking up, noticing a beat too late that Mister Doctor was also leaning over the book, as if scared to let it out of his sight.

Unfortunately for him, the only thing in his sight was now you, as you’d come up so passionately you found yourselves nose to nose, a breath the only thing between you.

You felt the heat in your cheeks, just as you saw it in his, before you hastily looked back down to the book.

He straightened and looked away, taking a deep breath.

“I work for the FBI, remember.”

“I’m sorry, I assumed you were in a paperwork-diplomacy-tax-evasion department, not a pew-pew-bang-bang department.”

“You know I think those are the official titles, but we usually just call my team the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I’m a profiler.”

“Huh. Do I get three guesses which Dostoyevsky this is?”

“Wouldn’t most of his works fit in this scenario?”

“Touche, Mr. Doctor. Touche.”

You finished up your consultation on the book, which, gunshot aside, wasn’t in bad shape for a book over half a century old. You carefully catalogued the book's information in your system, and then turned back to him.

“As I assume Mr. Doctor isn’t your real name, can I try again at asking what it is? No sarcasm this time, and I promise that my hands aren’t crossed behind my back currently.”

“Spencer Reid.”

“And the Doctor part was real, or have I been out-maneuvered?”

“If a PhD is real, then yes. Three times over.”

You took another look at him again and then smiled widely as his breath caught in his throat.

“Doctor Reid, you look like the exact kind of person that would have three PhD’s. Congratulations, you’ve worked hard.”

Unable to respond to the sudden kindness, Spencer returned a tight smile of his own before taking a shaky breath to steady himself.

“Okay, so luckily we can fix the damage on this copy for you. We can try and salvage some of the cover details as well, but it will need a new spine, which usually means a complete overhaul of the cover. Do you have any specific design in mind, or would you like something similar?”

“As close as you can get it, please.”

“Of course. Now about the binding. Would you like it tight, or a little looser so it reads easier, like a floppy paperback?”

“Loose is good for me. I read it pretty regularly.”

“I mean this in the nicest way possible: I can tell,” you said, looking up from your computer again for the minute. “Between us, these are always my favorite projects, but I’m never allowed to work on them because I always want to keep the books at the end.”

Spencer smiled at that, picturing you pouting handing over his book finally when it was done, refusing to let it go. There was something playfully childish about you that he found endearing.

Endearing? He cleared his throat again before he found himself in further trouble.

“Please don’t steal my book,” he requested in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning in slightly dangerously.

“Don’t you worry about that Mr Doctor,” you said, smiling at him. “I have absolutely no impure intentions for your book whatsoever.”

Spencer wanted to bury the disappointed feeling that popped up in the pit of his stomach at that moment. You were talking about the book, and this was a business transaction, and really he’d only just gotten out of prison, so he most likely didn’t need to feel disappointed by anything at all, whatsoever.

“I, myself, cannot read Russian,” you smiled at him, handing him the receipt and guiding him back to the door he’d so innocently walked through about an hour earlier.

Just as Spencer was feeling relieved - relieved? - and ready to move on from this exciting albeit distracting visit in his day, you spoke again.

“So you’ll just have to read it to me if I get very attached.”

Clutching the receipt in his hand, and soon to realize that you’d scribbled your phone number on it in a hail mary, Spencer smiled to himself and made a mental note of thanking Rossi the next day.

Even if the other man wouldn’t appreciate the new topic of conversation that Spencer would find himself unable to escape for a while. You.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #reiderreplies #spencer reid x reader #reiderslibrary #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds cast

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kissandtellus · 2 months ago

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Sacrificed

Synopsis: Plus!Sized reader is sacrificed to the Sea God she grew up hearing horror stories about. So why does death feel so good?

Warnings: Description of thicker body, breeding, sacrifice, loss of virginity, short-Drabble for the new myth (I’m foaming), talk of eggs, iridescent coom.

Authors Note: This doesn’t really spoil the new myth at all it’s just pure filth. It’s pretty short but I had to get my feelings out there LOL.

This gorgeous creature rivaled even his own beauty in some ways. Her fluttering eyelashes, her desperate pleas of ‘no, don’t stop’, ‘It will not fit’, ‘have mercy’, spilling from her lips.

He was the God of the Sea.

Humans were beneath him. But oh, having this specific human beneath him was holy. She was set to be a sacrifice by the village on the coast of his territory.

Her life would ensure their poorly built structures would not be engulfed by the sea.

But the only sea who could ever care to protect, was right between her quivering…what did humans call them? Ah yes, thighs.

“M-My Lord I cannot-“

He growls, dipping his head into the crook of her neck. His tail lashes under the waves sending water spouting in all directions. “Quiet. I’m hunting.”

The slick tendril like flesh tested the waters. Her slick gushed as if she were made for him. If not for his strong arms holding her above the waters edge she would surely drown.

Then what kind of plaything would she be to him?

“Your elders chose you for a reason. Is it because your cunt could tempt a beast like me?” His voice was like honey in her ears. But whatever manhood this creature possessed was bringing her to an earth-shattering end.

He lifted her as if she were weightless, claws grabbing at her curved hips, the other holding open plush thighs. “If you do not survive this, I will have a statue made in your honor. So I can always remember how it felt to breed you.”

A human carrying his godly eggs was laughable. He absolutely could not imagine her round with his eggs, waddling around on land to show off just how potent the seed of a God was.

No. Never.

She couldn’t begin to wrap her mind around the not one, but two lengths diving into her once virgin entrance. Her mother had taught her the bare minimum about her own body. Only that her virginity should be taken by a worthy or wealthy man.

Perhaps both.

But this creature possessed something she wasn’t familiar with.

The way he praised how good she felt around him, how beautiful she was despite the fear coursing through her veins.

Her virgin barrier lay broken in the waves of the sea, the salt burning just barely as his lengths delved deeper. Over and over again.

His iridescent seed coated her thighs and the waters surface. She lay quivering in his arms, full to the brim of his cum. Her head rested on his shoulder, prepared to meet her cruel end.

But he only started to hum, a tone that would surely send her into sleep.

“Sleep now, child. We still have plenty to accomplish. Perhaps I will pay a visit to your elders in their own slumber.”

#lads #love and deepspace #lads x reader #lads smut #lnds rafayel #rafayel x y/n #rafayel x mc #rafayel x you #rafayel myth #love and deep space rafayel #lads rafayel #rafayel smut #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut

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quinnkaneki · 1 month ago

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Haikyuu characters as parents/soon to be parents part 2 <3

pt 1

This part includes Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji, Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu and Suna Rintarou.

→ Bokuto Koutarou — During Pregnancy ^^

• Excited.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I'm gonna be a dad, you're pregnant, WE'RE PREGNANT, WE'RE GONNA BE PARENTS, OH MY GOD!” *lifts you up and spins you around*

• Takes time off from volleyball.

“Yeah, no. Sorry guys but I'm gonna be busy for some time, my wife needs me.”

• At your side 24/7.

“Kou, I can walk to the bathroom on my own.”

“No can do little lady, what if you trip on your own feet, hmmm?? HMMM? WHAT THEN?” His arm snakes around your waist.

→ After pregnancy

• Emo mode, your son is a mini him.

“Mama is so mean papa..” He stuffs his face into Bokuto's shirt.

“Shhh, she'll hear you.”

“One more word out of you guys and your time out increases by 30 minutes” You sigh while cleaning up the broken vase. “No more damn volleyball in the house...”

• The type of dad to throw your kid in the air.

“Higher, Higher!” Your son giggles.

• Very insisting.

“Baby go back to bed, I'll get dinner ready and get S/N in the shower.”

“I can manage, you already made lun—”

“Sorry, I can't hear you, bed.”

“But—”

“Bed, bed, bedddd.”

→ Akaashi Keiji — During pregnancy ^^

• Very attentive, you mention craving something once and you'll have it the next day.

“Here you go,” he places the take out box in front of you.

“What's this?”

“Your (craving).”

• Saves for their college in advance.

“I think we should open a new savings account...” his fingers gently rub your belly.

“Oh yeah? What for?”

“Our little one's future.”

• Enjoys your weird pregnancy cravings.

“Whatcha nomming on?”

“Peanut butter and fried shrimp.”

“That's.... interesting, it looks good tho, can I try one?”

“Of course.”

*eats it* “Woah baby, you're onto something, this is pretty good.”

→ After pregnancy

• Gets called to the principal's office often.

“Sir, your son was throwing rocks at a student during recess and refused to tell us why, his behavior is unacceptable.”

—

“So...why'd you do it?” Akaashi inquires calmly as they enter his car.

“Okay so, Haru knows I like Yuki and he held her hand during recess while teasing me so I got upset..” he mutters.

“....You know what, understandable. If someone tried to take your mom away from me I'd throw rocks at them too, let's go get some ice cream.”

• Teaches him math.

“But daddddd, I hate division!” S/N whines.

“And that's exactly why I'm teaching it to you,” Akaashi sighs “What's 8 divided by 4?”

“Just say you hate me already!”

“You need to learn! Who's gonna do my taxes when I'm old?!”

• Star gazing.

“That one's me!”

“Which one sweetheart?” You ask.

“The one shining the brightest, duh!”

→ Miya Osamu — During pregnancy^^

• Always otp with you when he's away.

“Hold on baby, someone just came in, I'm gonna take their order.”

• Makes sure you're well fed.

“Samu, what's all of this?” You look over to him.

“You're eating for two,” he shrugs and helps you sit down.

• Buys your baby food inspired plushies.

“I got this onigiri and ice cream plushie for 5 bucks! Can you believe it babe?”

→ After pregnancy

• Teaches your daughter how to bake.

“Just a scoop of sugar again and mix,” He instructs and your daughter follows.

“Okay, done! Can I eat it yet?” She looks up at Osamu innocently.

“No love, we still need to bake it,” he chuckles and kisses her temple.

• Takes his family to expensive restaurants.

“Gotta treat my little princess right so she isn't impressed by the bare minimum, right my love?” He smiles at you before shifting his gaze to your daughter who was currently devouring caviar.

• Loves gossip.

“And you know what she did daddy? She looked him in his eyes and ate his crayon! His favorite one too! She's so cool!” You daughter climbs into the backseat.

“She sounds cool sweetheart but you're definitely cooler....now tell me what he did after she ate his crayon.”

→ Miya Atsumu — During pregnancy ^^

• Crys when he finds out.

“You're... you're pregnant...” his eyes land on your stomach as tears slowly cascade down his cheeks, “You're pregnant..” he repeats and gently hugs you.

• Randomly drops the bomb on his team when you're ready.

“Damn Tsumu, you're eating all that? Did Samu rub off on you?” Hinata eyes his plate.

“Nah, it's for Y/N, she's eating for two after all.” he says and walks away.

• Doodles on your baby bump.

“What are you drawing?" You gently run your fingers through his hair as he doodles away.

“Shrek...woah, oh my god, baby did he just kick? Was that a kick? Oh my god I felt it! DADDY LOVES YOU!” *kisses your belly*

→ After pregnancy.

• Attends all of your son's school events.

“C'MON S/N RUN, RUN, RUN, YESSSSS, THAT'S MY SON!!!” He yells proudly as your 6 year old reaches the finish line.

• Pillow fights.

“MOMMMMMMY! DADDY'S CHEATING, HE HAS THE BIG PILLOW!” Your son runs into the kitchen and hides behind your legs.

• Karaoke nights.

“Okay mommy and I are gonna do this one, you tell us who sings better, yeah?” Atsumu sits him on the couch.

“Yeah, okay!” he responds excitedly.

→ Suna Rintarou — During pregnancy ^^

• Scares you.

“Hey, so I know this isn't the best way to tell you this but...” *sent*

“But? What's wrong doll?”

“I'm pregnant” *seen*

“Rin?” *delivered*

“Hello? You're scaring me...” *delivered*

20 minutes later the front door slams open “I left work as fast as possible,” He immediately embraces you.

• Your ultrasound updates are his entire gallery.

“She was so much tinier last month,” he shows you his screen.

• Puts headphones on your belly.

“Now you can say you've been listening to Arctic Monkeys since the womb, thank me later.”

→ After pregnancy.

• He updates his wallpaper monthly.

“My girls look so pretty here..” he mumbles while setting a picture of you guys with morning hair and half asleep.

• Introduces her to different genres of games early on.

“Okay so this one's a little scary, let daddy know if you don't like it okay?” The game opens to the loading screen of Resident Evil 2.

“Papa who is that blonde guy?”

“Leon Kennedy, he's the main character.” Suna explains.

“I want him.” (she's so real)

• Shows her videos of the twins fighting.

“Oh and in this one they were fighting over a pudding cup, uncle Osamu thought Atsumu ate it but it was really me.”

Hope you guys enjoyed :3

#haikyuu #bokuto koutarou #bokuto x reader #akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #miya osamu #osamu x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #suna rintarou #suna x reader #x reader

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catboyieejeno · 2 years ago

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seventeen reaction ˚୨୧⋆˚

⋆ hhu ver.

oddly specific details/key points of their relationship with you

cw: sfw, 'girl' is only mentioned once in wonwoo's, mentions a period once, and mentions showering together in mingyu's but it's not sexual, npr!

masterlist

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ seungcheol

⋆ seungcheol, who refuses to wake you up when he leaves early for practice/schedules, no matter how much you insist that he should.

when you bring it up, he always promises you that he will next time, and in that moment, he really isn't lying! he fully intends on fulfilling your wishes and waking you up to let you know he'll be heading out; in fact, there's nothing he wants more than to selfishly wake you and bid you a proper goodbye each and every morning he has to leave for work. except on the day of, when his alarm rings at nearly six in the morning, his plans change completely. he spends the better part of an hour talking himself up to the grueling task ahead of him, reminding himself that you literally want him to wake you up.

after he's showered, gotten ready, and is moments away from heading out, seungcheol's eyes land on you, face poking out under all the blankets that you love hogging, cheeks smushed and drool gathering at the corner of your lip. that's when he realizes he doesn't have it in him to disturb your slumber, and he probably never will. ultimately, he breaks his promise, settling instead for leaving a lingering kiss on your cheek and a note or text where he expresses his apology and explains that you deserved the rest. secretly enjoys the earful he gets later, and makes it up to you so sweetly.

⋆ seungcheol, who doesn't let you lift a finger when it's not necessary: "don't worry, i'll take care of it."

it doesn't matter to seungcheol that everyone sees him as responsible and reliable—what really matters to him, is that you see it, too. has no problem with you being independent, but he definitely feels a healthy surge of pride at the prospect of being able to facilitate things for you. having you depend on him, or at the very least having you know you can depend on him for anything, is so important to him. no task is too grueling, and babying you is a partner privilege i can't see him not indulging in. the members definitely call him out for it if it ever happens in front of them, but he could not care less.

if your car needs an oil change, he'll go get it done while you're taking a nap so you don't have to worry about it later. if he notices any laundry piling up throughout the week, he'll do it while you run an errand so that you have one less thing to do when you get home. if you want to redecorate or renovate something, he's invested in your ideas, learning how build complicated furniture and polish floor tiles—anything it takes he'll do, as long as it means he can make you happy. very much an 'acts of service' kind of guy.

⋆ seungcheol, who calls everyday to check-in.

it might seem like it's the bare minimum, but when he works the job that he does and is as busy as he is, knowing that he puts time aside to call you throughout the day is so, so meaningful. especially when he's in a different time zone, staying up late into the night or getting before the sun so that he can wish you a good morning/night. always asks if you've eaten, what you're planning to do that day, etc. and he'll talk to you until he's confident that you don't feel neglected in any way. you're never a second thought to him, and he wants to make sure you feel like he's dedicating time and attention to you, even when he's not physically there to do so.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ wonwoo

⋆ wonwoo, who replaces all of your favorite things the moment they run out.

the level of attention to detail he has for things involving you is both concerning and extremely endearing. he's so attentive to you and remembers all of the things you like and dislike. at the start of your relationship, it was pretty subtle: keeping your favorite drinks and snacks stocked up at his apartment for when you came over or buying a few pairs of shorts or sweats (since you’re obviously wearing his shirts) for when you’d stay the night. keeps them neatly folded in a drawer for you to wear on days need to cover up a bit more, like if Mingyu is around.

eventually, this evolves into restocking your favorite shampoo and conditioner when he's showered at yours and noticed you're out. same goes for your favorite perfume that's running low, and other house-hold things like your detergent or your favorite candle.

always makes sure you're taken care of during outings—brings hair ties and little battery-powered fans for hot days, and on cold winter days, opens his jacket so you can hug his waist and he can wrap it around you, swaying the two of you side to side. presses his cheek against yours to warm it up or kisses the icy tip of your nose.

⋆ wonwoo, whose love language is ambiguous

not only is he receptive to any love language you may have, he is somehow amazing at giving you all five (regardless of which one is your actual favorite).

gift giving? the most thought-through, special gifts for his special girl, as frequent as he deems necessary, too, because you deserve nothing less. quality time? one of his favorite things is sitting with you in a comfortable silence, making occasional jokes and comments to get you to crack a grin. a smile is his favorite look on you. acts of service? waters your plants, cooks for you, cleans or organizes things just how you like them so that you're at your most comfortable, massages your shoulders and feet after long days, runs warm, scented baths—you name it, he does it. physical touch? scoops you into his lap because he's obsessed with how warm you are, and the way your weight feels on him is so, so infatuating. likes leaving light and airy kisses on your cheek or pressing his lips into the crook of your neck. all of his kisses take your breath away, but the ones on your shoulder where he mumbles soft confessions of love are particularly awe-spiring. words of affirmation? don't be fooled by his quietness—he always has something he's eager to say to you, and if it's to pay you a compliment, there is no restriction to his words. loves telling you just how happy you make him, how pretty you are, how you're his safety-net and his soulmate and all of his favorite things put in one.

⋆ wonwoo, who sets aside time for you

you'd never have to ask him to put a book down or hop off a game. the moment you appear, he's putting everything aside to greet you and hold you and ask how you've been. if you're upset or sad, he'll glue himself to your side until you feel better. he seems like the type of person who feels very deeply for the people he cares about, so it's extremely important to him that you are always feeling your best, for his sake and yours. listens so deeply to your concerns and complaints for any matter—whether it's in an argument and you're sharing your views, or after a bad day at work where you ramble and rant about what went wrong.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ mingyu

⋆ mingyu, who is impatient when it comes to you

he's understanding of the fact that the two of you cannot always be together, considering his career and the fact that you're also busy at times; regardless, he has an inability to be away from you for longer than a few hours. it’s endearing, his neediness showing in the form of longing text messages or voice notes where he whines and mumbles, “what are you doing? i miss youuuu,”

his impatience is also evident in person, like how he runs up to the door when he hears your keys jingling because he's that eager to greet you. most of the time if he's cooking or tasting something, you end up tasting the food on his lips because he's never patient enough to wait until he swallows a bite of food before he kisses you.

⋆ mingyu, who is so gentle and thoughtful with you

loves pampering you, whether its by scrubbing your shampoo into your scalp as he sits behind you in a hot bath, or getting up before you to bring you breakfast in bed. most of the time, showering together isn't even sexual; he'll hold you close and mumble soft compliments or talk about his day, wrap you in a towel when you get out, dry your hair for you, apply lotion, whatever your regular routine is— and he truly enjoys every part of it. if he comes home after you've fallen asleep, he'll make sure your phone is plugged in and any alarms you may need are on. finishes any tasks around the house you may have forgotten to do prior to your slumber, like folding clothes you left in the dryer or washing any dishes in the sink.

treats you as if you were made of glass, covering the corners of tables when you walk by or holding your hand while you cross the street. pouts while he takes care of you if you're sick or injured, cooing and bandaging your cuts and scrapes or insisting you take your medicine around the clock and rest (perhaps even excessively... you could have seasonal allergies, and he'll still scold you for wanting to get out of bed).

⋆ mingyu, who dedicates a section of his phone to you

loves candid pictures and loves your face. simple.

there's a hidden photo album on his phone with all the pictures he has of you and with you and there are various playlists dedicated to you, too. any song that reminds him of you is on a playlist with a cheesy name. another playlist consist of songs he knows you like or even thinks you might like. plays these for you on drives where his hand clutches yours and the windows are down.

if you're an individual who gets their period, he has your period tracker on his phone so he can plan accordingly and make sure he's extra sweet to you around that time. has recipes you like/he wants to make for you set aside in a pinterest board or bookmarked on his search page. also keeps your favorite shopping apps with the cart full of things you mentioned so he can get them for you.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ vernon

⋆ vernon, who can't watch shows without you

there's certain tv shows that he completely avoids unless you're there to watch them with him. even if the guys beg him to watch it, he'll refuse and lock himself in his room so there's no chance it might be spoiled. when he's with you though? a few nights of the week, the two of you sit down with snacks and sugary drinks to watch your favorite series together like an old married couple watching their nightly programs.

loves when you you curl up in his lap, both of you wrapped under one blanket with your head resting on his shoulder and his arms circled around you. his gasps and laughs and overall reactions are so loud by your ear but it's adorable and it's such a domestic and comfortable experience. it feels very familiar, and more often than not, both of you prefer this to going out.

⋆ vernon, who rests the best when he's around you

needs his afternoon naps, but specifically, he needs them with you. limbs tangled and light conversation before you drift off that just becomes slurred, pointless babbling. quiet snores and soft breaths take over as the early afternoon hours go by. just the warmth of having you near makes his heart so happy and his rest so fulfilling, especially before practice or after long hours of travelling.

it's a treat to wake up beside him after these catnaps, too. the sleepy features and tousled hair are so very boyfriend, and the way he looks at you when his eyes peek open is so cute.

⋆ vernon, who always tries new things with you

a yes man, any time, all of the time. whether you ask to go on a grocery run at two in the morning or a hike at dawn, he's saying yes. whenever you want to try something new, vernon is your partner in crime and your greatest alliance. he's not only your boyfriend, but your best friend, and it makes everything so fun. always puts a smile on your face, too. he's so goofy and easy going that it's difficult to not feel great around him.

enthusiastic and supportive when you wanna try new hobbies. always asks so many questions so you know he's interested and invested, and will get you any tools or resources you need to excel. trying new foods and restaurants is also high up on the list of things the two of you like to do. he might like keeping a little list of your favorite spots so he can find similar ones to try with you.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

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inosukijiro · 4 months ago

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✮⋆˙ cuddles with dean

𝘀𝘆𝗻. ━ dean learns to be a little selfish.

𖤐 𝗮𝗻𝗻𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀 .ᐟ deans my cutie little lovebug and i just want him to sleep peacefully this is my dream and i definitely got carried away writing this (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝) okay bye

𖤐 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 .ᐟ fluffy fluff with angst(?). cuddles. mentions of deans time in hell, and his low self-esteem. dean-centric. gender-neutral reader. modern reader in spn. isn’t really season specific, but set anytime after season 4. probably ooc (again). i may have rushed at the end, sorry. 2.68k words.

─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ───

It takes Dean a long time before he ever allows himself to be put in this position — vulnerable, open, seen. It’s not something he does. It’s not something he can do, or at least, not that easily. His life has never really been about him. Every good thing he’d ever done, every ounce of effort or care, it’s always been for someone else: Sam, Dad, the job. He’d never done anything for himself that didn’t somehow bleed into someone else. And even then, it never felt like enough.

Sam is his little brother, his responsibility. He raised him, he bled for him, he died for him. Dean had went to Hell with Sam’s name carved into every broken piece of him. Most people wouldn’t do that. But Dean Winchester isn’t most people. He’s his father's little soldier, the good son, the obedient one. There was never room for anything else. Never any space to figure out who he was outside of someone else's shadow. He didn’t belong to himself. Not when he was Sam’s guard dog. Not when he was John’s perfectly crafted weapon.

Dean hates himself — that much is obvious. He doesn’t need to say it out loud because he’s pretty sure that everyone already has that figured out, even if he wants to pretend that it isn’t true. It shows in the way he moves, the way he talks, the way he tears himself down before anyone else can get the chance to. He calls himself selfish, even though everything he’s ever done has been for the sake of everyone else. But he doesn’t see it that way. Dean never has. To him, sacrificing everything he is was just the bare minimum. That’s what he should do. Because what is he, if not useful? What is he, if not needed?

He’s so used to standing alone, to being the last line between the people he loves and the things that want to tear them apart. He'd rather it be him than anyone else — because somewhere along the way, he decided that his life just doesn't hold the same worth. Not like Sam's. Not like yours. And he hates that it hurts, but he also hates that he even thinks about wanting anything at all. Because wanting is selfish. Needing is selfish. And comfort? That’s not something Dean thinks he’d ever be allowed.

He’s touch-starved. He’s touch-starved in a way that's ingrained deep within his bones, but he’s convinced himself that this is just how it’s supposed to be. That he doesn’t get softness. Doesn’t get warmth. Doesn’t get to be held, or healed, or cared for. And if he ever lets himself want it — if he ever lets someone close enough to see how tired he is — then what does that make him? Weak? Needy?

Yeah, it takes Dean a long while to let himself be put in this position — in your arms, safe, and loved, and for him to think that maybe he does deserve it. Even if he hasn’t earned it the way he thinks he’s supposed to. When it's so clear that all you want is to give it to him, no strings attached. It’s like coaxing a wild animal – careful, patient, and slow. You never corner Dean with affection, never overwhelm him with your gentle nature he doesn’t think he’s allowed to want. You just exist in his space, solid and steady, a quiet kind of constant that doesn’t ask for anything in return. And maybe that’s what gets to him most, that you don’t expect him to earn your kindness. You’re just there. And over time, that simple act starts to chip away at something inside him, something he didn’t even realize was still breakable.

It started with the smallest things. Your fingers brushing against his whenever you pass him something. The way you rest your hand on his arm when patching him up. They’re nothing, really — just harmless touches that you probably don’t even think about twice. But Dean does. He thinks about them more than he should. At first, he tells himself it's because he's not used to it. But the truth is, he misses it when it's gone. And that terrifies him. Because wanting something for himself? That’s not in the job description. That’s not who he’s supposed to be.

So when you get together and the cuddling starts, it’s always him as the big spoon. Of course it is. That’s who Dean is — the protector, the shield. He doesn’t let himself be held, not yet. He keeps watch even in the deepest of sleeps and in the darkest of nights, as if danger might strike at any moment. But your warmth seeps into him, like sunlight soaking into skin long starved of it. Dean’s drawn to you in a way that he hasn’t been drawn to anyone or anything before. His hand drifts to your chest, his breath soft and calm against your shoulder. It’s never deliberate, not at first, but over time it happens more often — these small, tender trespasses into comfort. And soon one day, without thinking, he simply lets himself fold right into you.

Dean revels in it more than he’ll ever admit. The way he fits so nice and easily in your arms — like he was always meant to be there. His head rests just above your heart, breathing synced with yours in the kind of rhythm that makes the world feel quiet for once. He's tucked into you so firm, your arms wrapping around him to secure him to you. As if in that moment, if something were to come through those motel doors, they would have to pry Dean from your cold dead hands. Because right now, he’s hidden from the world by the comforter that lays gingerly over him. It comes right up to his head, only his hair is visible to anyone that dare to even check. The only person that can truly see him is you.

And Dean loves the little things that you do. Like how your fingers will trace shapes into the back of his neck, absent-minded and soft, like you’re painting calmness directly into his skin. Sometimes he wonders if you're drawing sigils or love notes, or just letting your touch wander. He doesn’t care what it is, though, just to be clear. He doesn’t care what you do. It leaves him feeling weightless, like his body is finally remembering what it feels like to be safe. That sensation, those tingles running down his spine, are enough to anchor him in the moment. And when everything else in his life has been chaos and guilt, and war — your touch is the one thing that doesn’t ask anything of him.

Which reminds him why he loves your hands. The way they move with such care, so soft it nearly breaks him into pieces. They’re nothing like his own — scarred, calloused, blood-soaked and burned by the weight of a world he never had a choice in. Your hands don’t carry the same kind of grief. They don’t know what it’s like to be dragged through Hell, to scream for years that don’t exist in time, to become the thing he swore he’d never be. He still remembers every second of it, every moment he was the one on the rack — the one being tortured, and worse, becoming the torturer. And somehow, your hands still touch him like he’s someone worth such devotion.

That’s what gets to him the most. Your hands are from a place far far away, untouched by the things that plague his. There are no hunts or horrors quite like this life. And it’s that contrast that makes his mind wander. Because how could someone like you, with your soft hands and open heart, want someone like him? Someone who hates himself, who always puts others before himself and still believes he’s selfish for wanting anything in return. But even with all of that, even with everything screaming that he shouldn’t take it, he does.

And you don’t mind. It surprises Dean the most how you completely and effortlessly don’t mind. He keeps waiting for the catch sometimes, for the moment when you pull away or start to expect something in return. But it never comes. Not with you. You let him hold on as tightly as he needs to, let him drape his weight across you like he’s something heavy and fragile all at once. His strong arms lock around your waist, pressing you close like he’s afraid of being pulled away. And even when his body sinks into yours like a living blanket — too warm, too much — you never pull away. If anything, you melt right into him, and he basks in that. In you.

You’d never complain. Dean doesn’t know if anything he does actually bothers you — nothing ever seems to — but that doesn’t stop him from overthinking. He worries about taking too much, about letting himself get too comfortable in a role he was never allowed to want. He questions if he’s too heavy, if he’s clinging too tightly, if maybe it’s selfish to crave softness when his whole life has been about giving it away. Sometimes, all it takes is a subtle shift from you, a stretch or a sigh, and his brain darkens with guilt. He’ll apologize under his breath, pulling back just slightly, ready to undo the comfort he let himself believe he could have. But you notice — of course you notice — and you meet it with tenderness, never rejection.

You resettle without hesitation, like you want him there, and he almost can’t handle how gently you handle him. You stroke the back of his neck with featherlight fingers, your arms curling around his broad frame as if you’re telling him to stay — that he’s safe. You press soft kisses to the crown of his head, murmuring reassurances in a voice that wraps around his heart like a warm blanket. It undoes him. Every single time.

You might shift again, though this time it's much more gentle and slow, but Dean will barely register it. He’s just barely treading the line of that quiet space between sleep and wakefulness, just conscious enough to feel the warmth of you wrapped around him. And suddenly, a low, involuntary sound escapes him — so low that Sam who’s been long asleep couldn’t hear. It’s soft, almost like a whine, and you’re pretty sure if he were awake enough to notice, he’d probably deny it ever happened. But you do hear it, and it pulls a quiet laugh from your throat; a breathy sound laced with fondness and it tickles at Dean's brain. Though a sleepy pout tugs at your lips, even as you smile, and you lean in close to whisper a little teasing, “What’s wrong, hm?” but you already know. You know exactly what he wants, what he needs, because you’ve come to understand him in ways no one else ever has.

Your hand finds its way into his hair, still a little damp from the shower — the strands soft like clouds and a few curl slightly at the ends. Your fingers scratch lightly at his scalp, in slow and soothing consistent movements, while your other hand rests along his back; drawing slow, tender circles that feel like medicine to his aching and tension-filled body. You coo something nice, something sweet that melts into the space between you. It makes his mind go fuzzy and causes him to drift deeper. You don’t care that he’s heavy, or clingy, or quiet — you just want him to feel good. To be cared for, completely and unconditionally. And in this moment, that’s exactly what he lets you do. He doesn’t fight it. He can’t.

Your kisses are the softest sound he’s ever heard. Little clicks as your lips part from his skin, quiet and sweet and endlessly patient. Every single one makes him burrow closer, hiding his face like he could melt straight into you. He’s not embarrassed, not really — that wouldn’t be the correct word anyway — but his cheeks are warm, and he knows you’re amused by the way your chest rumbles with a quiet laugh. It makes him press in deeper, his face tucked away and eyelashes fluttering against your skin like a shy confession. And you take that as permission, because of course you do; pressing slow kisses across his cheeks, along his brow, the curve of his nose — anywhere your mouth can reach really and Dean just lets you. He can’t quite reach your lips from the angle he’s trapped himself into, he knows that, but he still tries to return the affection anyway. He’ll drowsily nudge kisses against your collarbone, or your shoulder, or anything he can manage.

And you call him such sweet things while you do it. They’re soft pet names that make him ache. Honey. Sweetheart. Words that never felt like they belonged to him before, but somehow, coming from you, feel like they do. He doesn’t know why you calling him sweetie makes his chest tight in a way that isn’t derived from panic or just something bad — but it does. But it’s also the way you say his name that gets him the most. The way it rolls off your tongue, syrupy and lovely, like something precious. You make his name sound beautiful. And Dean doesn’t know how you do it, how you take a name he’s only ever heard barked in anger or strained with urgency and turn it into something tender.

Your hand leaves his back for a moment and he misses the weight of it instantly — until he feels the soft brush of your fingers along his jaw. He sucks in a breath as you trace the edge of it with the back of your knuckle before cupping his cheek, stroking it with the pad of your thumb like he’s something delicate. He leans into it without meaning to, something quiet and needy pulling him into the warmth of your palm. You’re having fun with it, doting on him like he’s your favorite thing — and yeah, he is. He feels it in the way you touch him, in the way you look at him like he’s soft and worth loving. Dean’s never been cherished like this, not even close — and it makes him feel dizzy, overwhelmed in the best way possible. Dizzy and safe. Always safe, always with you.

It melts his heart and terrifies him at the same time. The way you treat him with so much care, so much softness, like he’s something worth keeping. And as much as he craves it, as deeply as his wretched soul aches for it, he still doesn’t believe he’ll ever actually deserve it. He tells himself he should pull away in the last conscious moments he has — but he doesn’t. He won’t. Because he let this happen. He let you in. Let the warmth of your love root itself in him until it was too deep to tear out without causing pain. Until not leaning into it hurt way worse than anything else.

Dean doesn’t know how he ended up here, wrapped up in arms that want nothing from him except for him to exist, but he gave up trying to make sense of it a long time ago. He can’t seem to make himself care about the why, though, not when you don’t seem to either. And maybe that does make him selfish because he’s finally allowing himself to be. Sure, maybe there’s a whisper of guilt that still creeps into the corners of his mind, but you always chase it out with a kiss, or a soft word, or a tender look. And in these quiet, sacred moments, where his mind is just full of thoughts of you — he can’t think of Hell. He can’t think of all the horrors and pain and suffering. Just you. Sweet and gentle, and wonderful you. And somewhere in the deep dark of the night, Dean wonders why he was so against being selfish sooner.

𖤐 .ᐟ dean winchester hit me up, im always available just lmk (๑>؂•̀๑)

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #supernatural dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #supernatural x reader #supernatural x you #spn x reader #spn x you #spn x y/n #spn #no use of y/n #no y/n #reader insert #modern!reader #supernatural x y/n #dean winchester fic

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mickyschumacher · 2 years ago

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[BABY FEVER! PT.1]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: after seeing you with play with some young fans you and charles meet on the streets of monaco, charles can't get his mind off having his own. or in which, charles has got a case of the baby fever. 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: established relationship, fluff, 18+ (minors DNI), unprotected sex (wrap it if u don't want babies), breeding kink (obvi), charles meeting the bare minimum requirement to be a good human (lmao), slight lactation kink, mutual orgasms, handjob, pussy rubbing(?), reader is sensitive as shit, google translated french (my bad to the french speakers), a questionable perversion of having children that always comes with this context, also questionable whether this qualifies as baby fever but yeh

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: charles leclerc x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3k+

𝐀/𝐍: wrote this one when i first started if you can't tell by the mention of pedro and tlou! my absence explained in another post! ♡︎

🏎️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | ⚽️𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Charles loved his fans, especially Tifosi. After you, his family and friends, they were the most important people in his lives and constantly motivated him. Most of them were kind and sweet to him and loved and cherished you more than they loved him.

That's why whenever fans asked for photos with you, the both of you or autographs, Charles always accepted. He rarely refused them unless the fans gave off a certain vibe that rubbed him the wrong way; crazed fans or fans who liked you a little bit too much for his liking.

His favourite fans normally, however, were children. It was definitely pressurising to have that many children look up to him but Charles found it rewarding. They were so young and full of dreams that he could help fulfil. They always looked at him wide-eyed with their jaws open as if they had just seen an angel walk by, similarly to how Charles reacted when he had first seen you in the streets of Monaco.

Today was no exception. It was currently the mid-season break and you two were roaming the partially empty streets after having breakfast out, relishing in the privacy of Monaco. Halfway through your walk, you and Charles had bumped into some small fans, literally.

A set of 3-year old twin sisters and a boy who only seemed a year or two older had run to Charles and you yelling 'Charles!' and 'It's Ferrari!'.

Charles instantly was smiling at them, crouching down to talk to them and entertain all their bombarding questions that flew one after the other.

"Is the car really that fast?"

"Can I go in the car?!"

"I hope you win!"

You chuckled softly as Charles answered them with ease. You looked at the parents who also seemed to be equally as excited as their children. "Do you want me to take a photo for you guys?" You inquired softly.

The parents looked at you with wide eyes. "Can you? If it's no bother!" The father fretted, sharing a slightly alarmed expression with his wife.

You shook your head and smiled. "It's not a problem." They held out their phone and you took it into your hands, opening the camera. You hummed as you looked at the group. "Let's do three photos. One with the three angels, one with the parents and one family one?" You asked.

The parents were about to nod when the kids suddenly refused. "Four! We want one with a pretty girl!" One of the sisters yelled out, pointing at you.

Your mouth fell open while your body flushed with slight embarrassment. Charles grinned at you, agreeing with the children profusely. You gave a playful sigh and nodded. The children and parents began to poise for the camera several times and left the last one for you to take a selfie with them.

The parents turned to Charles, inviting him into a conversation as they apologised for the kids running to him all of a sudden.

You could hear Charles say it was fine when you felt a tug at the bottom your dress. You crouched down to the children who now crowded you.

The boy looked at you wide-eyed while the two girls poked your arm and asked "Are you a princess?"

You smiled softly. "I am!" You implored, "How did you know?" You asked in a hushed tone.

The children giggled. "Princesses are always pretty, that's why!" The boy said with red cheeks.

You hummed, pondering over the statement. You brought your hand out to pat the girls' heads and pinch the little boy's chubby cheeks. "That must mean all of you are also princesses and princes, hmm?"

The children cheered in agreement, giggling to themselves before discussing who was the best prince or princesses out of them all.

"I'm the best prince!" One sister said, putting her hands on her hips in determination. Her older brother looked at her almost offended. "How can that be? I'm the best. I'm older."

The other sister looked at her siblings dumbfounded. "Why can't we all be the best?" She sighed.

You grinned at her answer. "You're right! You are all the best. Equally. You know why?" You asked.

Three pair of big eyes looked at you with curiosity swirling within them as they shook their small heads 'no'.

You brought their hands together and held them in your palm. "Because you're siblings. You're family. That's the best."

The kids stared at you blankly, probably trying digest your words as much as they could at that age. The previous sister smiled widely, letting out a deafening yell, running to her mother. "Did you hear that, maman? We're all the best!" She screamed with joy.

You stood from the ground slowly, grinning at all the kids. "I did. We all heard that, ma cherié. It's true!" The mother chorused, giving you a thankful smile.

You smiled in response, shaking your head as if it was nothing. The parents and kids began to say goodbye to you and Charles, although the latter did so rather reluctantly as you walked over to your boyfriend.

You raised a brow at the dazed expression on Charles' face. "Cha? Mon amour, what's going on in that head of yours?" You hooked your arm with his, resting your head on his shoulder.

Charles blinked. "Hmm? Oh, nothing. Just thinking about those kids. Cute, right?" He breathed out, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

You smiled. "Very," You agreed as the two of you began to walk to Charles' car.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Arriving home, the two of you decided to lounge in your living room, not bothered to do anything else for the day. You had managed to put on the newest episode of 'The Last of Us', eager to find out what was happening next.

You and Charles laid on the couch; your head resting on his chest while he cuddled you from behind. You were intently watching Pedro Pascal after being besieged with edit after edit of him on TikTok. Charles on the other hand wasn't focusing at all.

All he could think about what those kids you and him had met earlier that morning. Specifically, you conversing with them. You hadn't realised since you were so caught up with them, but at one point him and the parents had stopped talking and tuned into your conversation with the kids.

Charles had talked to you about kids before. You both wanted them and although Charles always talked about having three kids specifically, just like him and his brothers, he would leave it up to whatever you wanted because at the end of the day, it was you giving birth, not him. He would prefer to have children when he was slightly a bit more older, you both had more control over his life, and obviously with at least one championship under his belt.

But after today, Charles was prepared to throw that plan away. As lewd as it was, the idea of you getting you pregnant and having a family not only touched his heart, but immorally touched his cock.

Knowing that he would have to ensure that his cum was entirely within you, stuffed into your cervix, and not letting a single drop come out made him feel feral. To make matters worse, you would look like a goddess when pregnant because hell, you were so beautiful now. Round and full with his child because he made sure to fuck you till you were overflowing with his cum. Or when your breasts became heavy and sensitive to his touch, leaking sporadically, giving him the opportunity to clean you up with his mouth.

God, he was an animal. The worst.

"Charles, what are you doing?" Your voice erupted into the air, breaking him out of his deep train of thought.

Charles blinked at your question in confusion before he looked down, seeing his hand traversing under your dress and up your inner thigh. He looked over to your amused eyes peering at him.

"Sorry," He let out with a sigh, rubbing the warm flesh of your thigh softly. "I just... I can't stop thinking about children."

You raised a brow, not seeing the correlation to Charles' wondering hand. "Children?" You iterated, running a hand through his hair.

Charles shut his eyes at your actions, feeling at ease. "Those kids today... make me want our own children. Now. I want to have children now."

Charles peeked his eyes open, looking at your astounded expression with a bit of fear. "What about our plans? What was it? Thirty-three, a championship, lives under control, and then children?" You queried. "I-I'm not mad or anything, Cha. Just curious. Why the change of heart all of sudden?

You had now turned to face Charles, knees on either side of him, straddling his lap as you became fully attentive to him.

Charles played with the tresses of your hair that had fallen past your face before tucking them gently behind your ear. "You would just make such a good mother, mon ange. You're so sweet and kind. You now how to talk to them. God, pregnancy would look so good on you. I can't stop thinking about you pregnant," Charles let out a small moan a thought. "You all round with our child, hormonal, sensitive at my touch."

Charles' fingers brushed over your neck, making you shudder involuntarily. You melted at his words. Charles thought a great deal of you. You weren't opposed to the idea either, in fact all of his words were making you hornier by the minute.

"You know what?" You queried, "I also want to have children. You would make an amazing father, Cha. I know you would," You softly said, pressing a brief kiss to his lips.

Charles pulled away, boring his gaze into you. "Yeah?" He whispered, eyes soft and full of lust and love.

"Yeah," You repeated. "A father of all three," You teased, giving him a small knowing smile.

Charles' eyes darkened slightly at your words. His hands rested on your hips, his half-hard on in his pants turned harder, pressing into your clothed pussy. "Mon amour," He whispered into your ear, making the hairs on your body stand straight. "Should I fuck a baby into you?" He pulled his face back, waiting for your answer.

You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, relishing in his words. "If you're going to fuck a baby in me, Charles, you better do it right the first time."

Charles groaned, grinning at your words. Staring at you with a fiery gaze, he quickly brought you down into a hungry kiss. His grip on your hips tightened while your hands became entangled in his hair. Another groan fell against your lips when you tugged at his locks.

Your heart slammed against your chest, beating loudly in your ears. Your skin was heated with Charles' touch ravaging all over you; grazing your arms, squeezing your ass only for you to press further into him. Your stomach surged with desire, feeling his clothed cock grind into you. "Fuck," Your swollen lips uttered out, high with an intoxicating buzz circulating your veins.

"Charles, I need–" You began only to be cut off by your own whimper as Charles bucked his hips up into you, setting a pace of stimulation with the tent of his pants and the gritty material of his shorts.

Charles smiled at the sight of your head thrown back and your back arching. "What do you need, ma cherié? Hmm? Tell me and I'll give it to you, my love," He sighed out, feeling his cock ache in its restraints.

"Fuck, j'ai besoin de ta bite, Charles," You murmured, feeling the temperature of your body rise with every passing second. Fuck, I need your cock, Charles.

Charles grinned at your use of French so early on. Normally when you were nearing your climax, you would lose yourself to all the French you knew. "As you wish, princesse," He stated. "Let's get this off, hmm?" He began to slid down the straps of your dress, pressing warm kisses on your shoulder. The sight of your bare breasts made him sigh in content, licking a strip from the base of your neck and down the valley of your breasts.

You felt a shiver crawl up your spine, feeling Charles' hands wander down your back while he pushed the fabric past your ass, hooking his fingers under your the waistband of your panties. You lifted your body up, aiding him in getting rid of your dress and underwear.

You settled back down on Charles' lap, pushing your wet core against his clothed cock. Charles nipped at your neck, dazed at the feeling of your pussy on him. Your hands reached out, rushing to get those shorts and shirt off of him. Pulling his shirt of him, you placed a trail of kisses down his chest. You could feel his lower stomach tense as you neared his waistband. With a grin, impatiently, you took off his shorts and the boxers underneath.

Your stomach churned and pussy throbbed at Charles' red, aching cock springing up, begging to be touched. You flickered your sultry gaze to your boyfriend, reaching over to put your fingers in his mouth.

Charles maintained eye-contact, lubing your fingers generously with his spit before he felt a shudder rip through him when you teasingly pushed your pussy to graze the angry tip of his cock.

"Vous taquinez," Charles uttered out almost with a whine after you removed your fingers. You tease.

"Don't be too sad, mon amour," You breathed out, trailing your wet fingers over his v-line before wrapping them around his cock. Charles sucked in a sharp breath as your hand began move up and down his shaft, mixing his spit and his pre-cum together, giving him a new, unique shine of his own.

"You wanted to see me pregnant, right? Full of your cum. So pregnant that everyone will know in a few months that you fucked me that good," You started, eyes trained on him while you pumped his cock with a tantalising grip. "We need a lot of your cum today. I'm just getting you prepared," You purred.

Charles let out a series of high moans, letting your words wash all over him and mix with his euphoria. His fingers reached out to your wet folds, stroking your heated slip with need. You trembled at his touch, bucking your hip against his fingers, increasing the pace of your hand on his cock.

Both of you moaned loudly while you jerked each other off, breathy sounds bouncing off the walls of your apartment. "Merde," Charles swore, pressing his head further into the couch, hips sensitively bucking into your hand as you brushed the slit of his cock.

He pushed himself, refusing to slack at your pleasure. He rubbed your pussy, groaning at the wet, glistening folds that were coating his fingers. You moaned, feeling a familiar buzzing pool in your stomach. "I need to," Charles panted out, covering your hand with his to stop you, "I need to..." He trailed off once again, pulling you closer to him.

Charles could barely think straight. He didn't know what he was saying or what he was doing. All he knew was that he needed to feel your pussy against his cock.

A guttural whimper escaped your mouth when Charles rubbed his cock against your folds. God, the both of you could get off just like this. He sighed out, eyes clouded with pleasure while he bathed in the warmth of your pussy. He could feel you jerk time to time against him, sensitive from nearing your climax.

You were was a sight to behold. You couldn't control your hips or yourself. You were just so receptive, automatically rubbing your pussy and clit up and down the head of cock. Your head falling back, supported by air while your back arched with lust. Sweat clung to your warmed body and your dry hair was now coated in a light sheen of grease. Face contorted with pleasure and flushed with heat.

"I'm gonna cum, fuck," Charles hissed out, partially angry that he already was about to climax but how could he not at such a view and feeling?

You blinked through your pleasure, remembering how you had gotten into this situation in the first place. You pushed your hips to him, hovering over his cock and sliding down onto him. You whimpered, feeling full with his throbbing cock in you.

Charles groaned, feeling your warm walls clench around him as you began to move your hips up and down. He watched your breasts bounce, making him flicker to that thought of them being full with milk once he got you pregnant. He would be selfish and have a taste of them himself.

Your pussy was a siphon, drawing and pulling his cock even further into you. Charles placed his hands on your hips, pushing you down on his cock to ensure he was balls-deep within you, fully sheathed. The breathy air was now replaced with both of your lewd moans and the sound of your skin slapping and sticking against one another.

"Merde, merde," Charles began to chant, increasing the pace of his hips snapping and rutting into your folds. Your hands fell to his own hands, tightening around them as pleasure bubbled at the pits of your stomach.

"Fuck, Charles. Cum in me, mon amour. Fais de moi une mère. Hmm? Imagine it. I'll be even more sensitive, my tits will be heavy and sore with milk and I'll ask you to massage them... everyone will know what we did," You moaned loudly. Make me a mother.

Charles's hips came to a halt, shaking with pleasure while he poured ropes and ropes of his hot cum deep into your walls. He let out staggered moans, feeling you clench around him and take even more of his load. Charles pressed his swollen lips onto your, kissing you dizzy while he thrusted out his high, ensuring his cum was staying within you.

Charles sighed out, pressing his forehead against yours. Realising you were once again on the brink of cumming, with his cock still in you, he brought his fingers to your engorged clit, rubbing the sensitive nub gently yet harshly.

He felt your walls grip him even tighter if possible as you began to convulse in his arms. "Jesus fucking Christ," You sobbed out, waves of your euphoric climax hitting you.

Christ, you were so sensitive, hips jerking up against his fingers, grinding to maximise your stimulation. He couldn't even stop you if he wanted to.

"Merde, ma cherié, cum for me. Yes, just like that," Charles coaxed, groaning as you somehow managed to get more cum out of him.

You let out a final whimper before collapsing onto him, feeling Charles' softening cock drive and push the cum deeper into you. You let out a low moan against his chest.

Charles pushed your chin up with his finger, looking into your eyes. He smiled, pressing a slow, soft kiss to your lips. "You did so well, mon amour," He praised, running a hand through your sweaty hair, getting a better glance of your face.

You gave him a weak smile, peering up at him through your eyelashes. "You think we did a good job?" You queried, voice quiet and tired. "You think we'll have a child soon?"

Charles grinned at you, planting another kiss on the side of your head. "If I didn't, I'll fuck you again and make sure that test has two lines."

𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!

#f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 smut #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #mickyschumacher

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morganalatina21 · 4 months ago

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Way too far gone - Kimi Antonelli

The one where your friends can't take another night of you rambling about the guy you're in love with

Where, for the first time, is Kimi who is gonna hear what you really feel

inspired by friends - chase atlantic

Warnings: f!reader, english is not my first language, not proof read, use of yn, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, use of "good girl", alcohol.

Kimi's phone rang, waking him up from dreaming with his eyes open. On the background the lights and sounds from the tv on his hotel room lit up the ambient, the only sources of any movement. The young driver looked at the screen, seeing an unfamiliar name shining on the screen: Gabriel.

Sure, they were both rookies starting their first season on formula 1 together, but they weren't exactly close enough for him to be calling Kimi on a monday night, after the chaos at the Australian Grand Prix.

"Hello?" Gabriel yelled at the other side of the line, trying to hear his own voice. The music was loud and rythmic, which honestly made the italian happy that his friend was still able to party even after a DNF on the very first race. "Kimi?"

"Mate! Is everything okay?"

"I am fine." He paused, almost as if he was looking for somebody. "But to be honest, it's not someone's night." In the background, Kimi could hear someone whining, probably drunk, complaining about something. "Are you too busy to come and get us?"

"No." He answered, pressing his phone between his shoulder and his cheek, getting up and choosing something out of the pile of clothes he had to organize to travel to China very soon. "But can you at least tell me what`s going on?"

"Uhm... sure." After a few seconds the music was almost completely muffled and Gabriel sighed. "So, I went out clubbing with Isa, and on the bathroom she ran into a pretty drunk Y/n."

At the sound of your name, he physically perked up, back immediately rigid and the phone now on his hand.

"Y/n? Y/n L/n?"

"Yep. That one." He sighed again and swallowed. "Completely alone, dozing in and off, and apparently her friends left her alone at the club. I didn't actually understand most of what she said, but I know I got your name on some sentence, so... here we are."

"Okay, I'll- I'll come get her." Kimi was now kicking some shoes on and grabbing the keys to the rented car. "Just send me the address and I'll be on my way."

Before he could hang up, Kimi was already ou the door and frantically pressing the elevator button.

On the drive there, his thoughts were uneven, you recently told him about some weird things your friends have been saying a lot, and how it was all stuck inside the brain so bad it was impossible to shut down, keeping you up at night.

His hands squeezed the wheel and he bit his lip, promising himself silently he'd first hear you out instead of immediately cursing them off, after all, they were your friends.

Gabriel was waiting outside of the pub, purple neon lights making his eyes seem bigger and his hair darker. He waved once he saw Kimi and smiled tightly.

"Hey. She's inside, still with Isa. Come on." The brazilian driver guided him through the crowd, both with caps and heads tilted down to not be recognized so easily. "I'm really sorry, I didn't know who else to call. I offered taking her to the hotel and let her crash on the couch, I've done it before, but she refuses."

"Is okay." He shrugged. "Dios mio, Y/n."

The sight was one Kimi had never seen on you before. The make up was smudged on all directions and eyes watery, looking everywhere and nowhere at the same time, head moving absentmindedly without any real pattern, head attached to the neck from all the sweat and arms shaking slightly from the cold tides you were pressed against.

Isabella, Gabi's girlfriend, had one of your hands cupped between hers in her lap, and she seemed to be trying so hard to keep you awake at the bare minimum.

"I got it from here, thanks mate!"

"No problems. Come on, Isa."

You barely noticed your source of heat leaving, just sniffed and let your head hang against the wall.

Kimi squatted down to be on eye-level with you, trying to steal your attention naturally, and when it happened, there was a glimpse behind your eyes.

"Hey, you look like him." You muttered almost to yourself, and then louder: "You really look just like him."

Holding out a hand, with the index finger you pressed against his right cheek, almost testing if he was real, and once the test came out positive, he felt the whole hand holding his face.

"Fuck, you're so pretty. Just like him." You sniffed once more, nostrils congested and drippy from all the crying that also ruined your make up. "But my friends- uh- where did my friends go?" Looking around, finally realising Isabella was no longer holding you.

"They just left, and now I'm here to take care of you, miss."

"My friendssss" Kimi now recognized, the one whining drunkly at the call was, infact, you. "Fuck, I'm really that unloveable." To that, he opened up his mouth to question, but you were too far gone rambling. "It's whatever, i guess, I mean, it's not great, but hey- at least I got a handsome face like you now staring at me."

"I think that's enough for tonight, come on."

Gently, he held his arms out, framing your curled up body and reaching for your elbows and pulling you to stay in your feet. A little off-balanced, but he could work with that.

"Let's go home."

His arms were shoved off at the blink of an eye, your hand still hanging in the air from pushing you away, back now fully glued to the wall behind you.

"Hit the brakes, man." You were slurring your words and barely managing to stay put in your heels, but your eyes were feisty. "I'm not walking into no stranger's car, I still have some self respect, 'kay? I can still think, fucker."

"What-"

Kimi explored every inch of your face, looking for a shaking sign of a unfunny prank, but he found nothing except some anger and that same glimpse.

"Are you serious? Love, it's me."

Your bottom lip quivered before you gulped, still not moving and looking at him with cold fear. Arms up, trying his best to not seem remotely scary, he approached you step by step, dragging his feet on the floor in order to not be too quick and scare you away. He did not know what he would've done if you ran off frightened and locked yourself in the bathroom, or worse, got lost in the streets.

"Okay, see? Calm down."

He was halfway believing in the way your expression softened and arms were hanging on the sides of your body, letting him in.

You blinked once, twice, before melting and craning the neck and taking his lips onto yours.

This was definetely not what he was expecting but gave in anyway, reciprocating the kiss and enveloping your shaking body in his arms. You tasted like vodka and some energy drink, most likely Red Bull, and he made a mental note to fake argue with you about giving his competition money.

"Come on, baby. Let's go home."

You grunted out of frustration. "Dude, what is your problem? I already said to you, I'm not going to bed with you just because you look like him. Just get a fucking grip and let us both enjoy what we still can."

"Y/n I'm serious."

Your brows furrowed. "How do you know my name?"

"I'm telling you. I'm Kimi."

"No, see," You pushed him only a few centimeters away, but your right hand was still on his forearm. "We are not allowed to say that name here." You said, matter-of-factly, waving a finger around. "So I don't know how you fucking know that name, just drop it."

"Y/n L/n, I am Andrea Kimi Antonelli, not just some guy who looks like him. Gabi called me."

The smug facade on your face disappeared more and more every second and he was getting impatient.

"No." You whined. "Kimi would not come for me. He would- he would not. Why would he? He wouldn't. No."

The italian's heart skipped a beat. Is that what you really thought of him? Heck, he knew you weren't dating but at least you should know he was not some prick.

You had to know. Right?

"Baby, I know you're not feeling good." He started, moving his forearm around to hold your hands into his. "But you need to let me take care of you, per favore."

With a sniff, your mind collapsed noticing his hand, the leather bracelet he always wore and huge rings framing his large and veiny hands, the ones you knew so goddamn well and fantasized about a promising ring on the ring finger, and you'd be wearing one exactly alike.

He really was Kimi.

You had kissed him thinking he was someone else.

You rambled to him about him.

And he was there.

"Oh, fuck."

Detaching your back from the wall, you let Kimi hold your shoulders and guide both of you through the crowd, out the main door and into the car.

The realization that it was really him dawned on you with an unrequited dose of sobreity and now tears of embarassment clung onto your eyes. You were shivering, blood pressure so low the temperature was running down to the point of almost hitting your teeth.

"I'm sorry." You managed to cough out on the middle of the ride, curled up in a ball on the passanger seat, looking out the window, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

"We'll talk at the hotel, okay?"

Fuck, that's exactly what you didn't want. It meant you'd have to go all the way up to his hotel room, expose your feelings and explain everything you did that night while still being tipsy.

You just wanted to go to your hotel room, take a hot shower just to get the sticky drinks you spilled on yourself off and breakdown under a pair of covers watching tv and crying yourself to sleep.

But now you knew, your relationship with Kimi was never going to be the same.

To you, everything was awkward. The car ride, walking into the hotel room and greeting people with a head nod, the elevator, everything. To Kimi, it was just mildly uncomfortable, but he didn't remembered the last time he was uncomfortable with you.

You pressed the button to your level, but when it came, he just held your waist and pressed for the elevator to close.

His hotel room was a bit chaotic, never being big on organization he'd most of the time just let thing on sight in order to not forget them. The tv was still on, bed sheets a mess, clothes thrown in the ground and a laptop upside down on the couch.

That was the first time you were in that hotel room of his, which was odd.

"Okay, do you wanna talk first?" He asked, handing you a bottle of water from the minibar. You grabbed it, but didn't open, sitting down on the couch, whilst he sat on the edge of the bed. "Fine by me."

He kicked his shoes off. "I want to start with what' been bugging me the most." You avoided meeting his eye once again, knowing they were very much trained on you. "Did you really think I was someone else when you kissed me?"

Swallowing hard, you still didn't find the voice so the best next option was just a shy nod.

"Did you do that before?" Again, just a nod. "Why?"

Now you met his eyes, a pang of pride filling you at the sight of his almost angry expression.

"Why do you care?" He tilted his head to the side, almost in a 'really?' state of mind. "No, really. Why do you care so much, Kimi? The fuck is it to you to ask me that?"

"Because I care about you. About us."

"Us?" You laughed dryly at that, tightening the grip on the water bottle. "Fine, let's talk about it. What is 'us', exactly? Huh?"

"The fuck- where is that coming from?"

"Because honestly, I thought I could take it, being your nothing until you decided you were done with me, but since we're already here, let's do it. Let's solve this." You untangled your legs, ready to get up and leave any time you needed.

"Done with you? Why would I be done with you, love?"

It hurt. Hearing him call you love after pushing yourself away for days, believing you were better and moving on from him, but now, as he asked you with the softest puppy eyes ever and being so caring, you wanted to give in and throw all your mini progress away.

But even if you did, he wouldn't have it. You knew he would not settle until understanding what was coming out of your mouth.

So, taking a deep breath, you held your tears inside.

"Let's face it, Kimi. We never were something grounded enough, and now, we would be even less. For fucks sake, you're in F1 now! I'm so fucking proud of you, but I know that, as each day go by, you'd be met with everything, everyone, that you could have, and I know what that can do to someone. Ollie already cheated on his girlfriend, and I'm not even your girlfriend, I'm nothing to you."

"We're not dating. You, for whatever reason, refuses to have sex with me so we're not even fuck buddies, and besides those little meeting we have to hook up we barely speak, so I wouldn't call us friends with benefits."

"And I just know, that when you'll get out there you'll realise I'm nothing special, and I was letting you lead me on because I was taking what I could still have from you. So please just fucking tell me I never meant anything to you so we could both move on from this and-" Kimi was kissing you.

At some point, in between your rambling, he got up and was walking towards you; amidst the kissing was when you noticed you've been crying.

It angered you how your body became a puddle in his hands, how no matter the pain it would come after this, you still leaned into him, wanted him.

That was what your friends were always talking about: how you craved him, and he let you stick around to have someone he knew he had control over. This must've been like the thousandth time you kissed, but it always gave you butterflies like it was the first one.

He stopped the kiss first, hovering over the couch. His swollen red lips, his big brown eyes staring at you.

"I couldn't sit there and watch you talk bad about yourself, love. I couldn't."

He watched without even blinking as your eyes just watered more, becoming bigger and more pleading, man was in awe with your reaction, lips quivering as you where almost whimpering. His hands slowly came up, cupping your cheeks to make sure you kept looking at him. A masterpiece of how beautiful you were, silently begging for him.

"Please Kimi, don't do this. Don't be mean." You whispered to his face. "Don't do this, please, please don't."

He delivered a quick peck to your chapped lips. "I'm not being mean, vita mia. I want you, I've never wanted anyone else, please believe me. I only want you."

You didn't know. You truly couldn't tell if the blink in his eyes was him being sincere or if your drunken brain was playing some sick prank at you.

Your soul wanted to believe him, your heart couldn't take another breaking, not again. But fuck, you wish you could consult someone else that wasn't drunk or completely infatuated by this man.

"Cara mia, let me show you. Please?"

You sighed.

Fuck it.

Leaned in just the slightest and bit his lip, pulling him towards you.

He layed all his body weight on you, dropping the laptop to the floor and having his hands clamping your sides, feeling you up on top of your club clothes.

"Cara mia, I need to know how you taste like." Kimi's voice was shaking even though his touch was firm.

Your breath hitched on your throat, slightly nodding to him. After two more pecks he started making his way down on you, taking his time on your neck, which he knew was a weak spot.

He kept going lower and lower, staring to push your skirt up until he found your folds, pulling your panties down to your knees, still letting them hanging from your heels.

"Fuck! Oh fuck!" You gasped as his tongue found your clit.

"Oh you're so wet already." He murmured, holding your thighs so they wouldn't close on his head, practically tongue-kissing your pussy. "Suck." He ordered, sticking his middle and ring finger in your mouth.

Kimi pulled your thighs and started using his big shoulders to hold them just the perfect angle to be with his lips into your core. Feeling like his fingers were wet enough, he pulled them out and shoved into you.

"Let me hear you." And you obliged, letting your lips hang and allowing your sounds to come out.

"K-kimi, fuck! Your fingers are so good, they've always been, but oh god- your tongue. Yes, please, yes."

You and Kimi never went much further than handjobs, this was the first time any of you were getting a head from the other.

And dear God, it felt amazing. Like heaven, and then hell and then heaven again. Kimi was leading you to your little death and probably what was after it too.

Your high was getting higher and higher, and Kimi was noticing it, stretching his hands to play with your nipples, stimulating you even more and letting your thighs clench his head.

You screamed, feeling his lips vibrate against your poor overstimulated cunt from his own moaning, fingers intertwined on the dark curls, pulling him in, almost as if you wanted him to enter you right there.

"You're pulsating, cara." He moaned. "Best pussy ever."

"You liked the way I taste?"

"I loved it."

"Can I taste you next?"

His eyes were blown wide, he was sucking on his fingers to get even more of your flavor, but that knocked him into reality.

With one final kiss on your clit, he pulled himself onto his feet and started undoing his belt. You slipped onto the floor and readied yourself on your knees in front of him.

Pulling his already hard cock out, he stared at you while you made contact with his angry red tip, giving it kitten licks.

"Don't be a tease." He warned, holding his dick by the base and, with the other hand, caressing your cheek. "Blow me like I'm yours."

And you did.

Started sucking the tip, bringing your hands up through his thighs until getting to his balls, massaging them as you guide your head closer and closer to his pelvis.

Using your tongue at the bottom, forcing your throat to relax and take all of him, which caused you to cough. Kimi held your hair in a pony tail, guiding you gently.

"Fuck! Don't do that." He hitched his breath and tighten his grip on your head when you moaned with your full mouth on him. "I'm not gonna last."

"Then cum on my tongue."

Holding your head with both his hands now, his thrusts on your mouth became more assured, harder but more careful. He moaned loudly, throwing his head back.

"Cazzo, Y/n- I'm-"

The taste of cum, nobody warned you before, was terrible. It was hot and sticky, almost like some kind of melted plastic, and it made you cough with him still on your mouth. But his dark huge orbs were staring at you.

So you swallowed with difficulty, and already started working your tongue on the bottom part of him again.

Grunting, Kimi pulled you up on your feet, kissing you, allowing your taste in his mouth and his taste in yours to mix.

He lied you back down on the couch, your legs immediately spreading to allow him in. His dick, already hardening, grazed against your wet pussy, making you quiver and lightly buck your hips up, chasing more.

Taking one of his hands from the top of your head he rubbed his dick around your folds, its tip massaging your clit.

"Who's being a tease now?"

He smiled brightly, aligning his length to your entrance. With one nod from you, he started invading your body.

Your mouth hang open, and he made sure to capture every single one of your moans into his own lips, feeling your tight embrace on his already stimulated dick.

And, dear God, was Kimi thick, stretching you out, feeling like he was going to rip you in half. His hands came up again, one caressing the top of your head and the other playing with your nipple, trying to ease it up on you. Meanwhile, your hands were holding onto his shoulders for dear life, legs already closing on him once again.

"Fuck, bella (beautiful), you're tight." He moaned on your neck. "It feels amazing."

"Kimi you're- its- everything. I can feel it all." You were babbling, trying to make sense of your words when there was none.

All you could think, taste, smell, feel and hear was Andrea Kimi Antonelli. You didn't know where you ended and he began, and honestly? You didn't want to know.

"Cara mia, I'm not trying to rush you, but please can I move?"

"Y-yes."

The alcohol, still buzzing in your blood, kept you numb to the pain, so he was free to move as quickly as he wanted, thrusting into you with hard slaps, forcing moans out of you.

"You feel so fucking good." Kimi whispered in your ear between grunts and sighs. "So, so good. You're taking me so fucking well, baby. Such a good girl."

His shit eating grin appeared as he felt you clenching around his thickness, and that's when an idea flashed his mind.

"How are you feeling?"

"Feels amazing, I need it more." You straightened your arms, holding onto his back, sticking your nails into his skin, pulling all of Kimi more and more towards your body.

"Do something for me?" You tried to look as he slowed down his pace. With one hand, he held your head and threw it back, off the edge of the couch, meeting your images in a huge mirror on the wall.

Kimi had a wide smile, ear to ear, as he rocked his hips into yours slowly, while you were a moaning mess, the make up even messier around your eyes, chest rising up and down. As a matter of fact, Kimi pulled your shirt up your tits to expose them, giving them a light slap, smile never leaving his face.

"Do you see yourself? Look at you, so pretty, so full of me." You moaned, he was starting to pick up the pace. He bent a little, just enough to reach your ears, still looking at you through the mirror. "How dare you say you're not mine?" His tone was rough, and it made your insides clench.

Kimi moaned as you kept squeezing his cock and pulling him to you as a desperate woman, like you needed him to breath.

"Fuck, baby! Can I- I'm way too far gone."

"Please."

His movements became erratic and uneasy as he approached his little death, holding your hair in a fist to keep you looking at the mirror, ableing you to watch as his grip on your waist got tighter and his dick thicker, pulsating inside you and finally pulsating his cum deep into your walls, who were clenching and pushing you to your own high.

"Come on, just give me one more." Zarping his arm around your waist he held you up, moving your body at his will like a doll. "Just one more, for me."

As if on command, your body gave in, scratching even more his body, your back arching from the couch, shaking and toes curling. Through the mirror you could see Kimi watching your every move, huge smile on his lips.

Getting down from your high, your whole mind was buzzing and blank, brain fucked just like your body.

"Are you okay?" He kissed you throughout the jawline. "Was I too rough?"

"You're amazing, Kimi." Words slurred, eyes blinking long. "It was awesome."

Slowly, the Italian retrieved, pulling his length, now soft, off of you. You sighed, feeling heavy and empty.

You sensed him moving around but refused to open your eyes, too afraid he'd be leaving you, scared to go back to the reality that your heart would be broken around once again.

"Vita?" He bopped your nose, and you looked at him. Raising his right hand, you spotted something on his right finger, simulating a ring. "I made it with a string of your hair that got stuck in my hand."

"I'll buy you a ring tomorrow and properly ask, but that's just so you don't have any more doubts."

"You don't even know if I'll say yes."

"Oh I'm not worried about that."

You and Kimi woke up the next day with knocks on the door. He was laying on top of you, barely being able to breathe, he grunted and blinked, eyes instantly checking on you.

"They woke you too?" You nodded, turning to the side to keep sleeping.

"It's your room, deal with it."

He rolled his eyes, pulling the covers to his hips and getting up, body completely naked except for that.

"Is Gabi." Kimi mumbled, looking through the peeking glass. "Hey mate."

"Heeeey." With the door open, you could hear the brazilian's smile as he spoke. "I was going to ask if you guys kissed ad made up, but I guess that's pretty clear now."

"Yeah, she's feeling waaaaay better now." Kimi smirked, throwing a glance in your direction.

You buried your head on the pillow and groaned, fuck, how did you guys not noticed last night that this couch was uncomfortable as hell?

March 23, 2025

#f1 x reader #f1 #f1 fanfic #fanfic rec #formula 1 #kimi antonelli #kimi antonelli x reader #f1 fic #f1 fluff #formula one #kimi antonelli x you #formula 1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 imagine

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alchemistc · 7 months ago

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Found this in my drafts and decided to finish it up, written before the Abby reveal so we're just pretending that never happened, have some outsider pov of the alt timeline where Tommy and Buck met before Buck was at the 118.

Tommy is being weird. That's the only way Hen can describe it. He's been quiet on calls, none of the usual banter and posturing she's used to; he's been quiet in the station, prone to staring at the space between his lap and the dinner table even as Chim spouts off some ironic quote that would have had him cheesing it up a few weeks previous; he's been quiet as he packs his shit and heads out for his truck. Each afternoon since he'd quietly announced his transfer to the 217, he's been quiet, and it's weird.

Hen's not entirely surprised. Tommy's nothing if not protective of his own feelings - years and years of Gerrard all hanging over their heads even though he'd admitted a few drinks deep one night that he was pretty positive his professionally scathing complaint about Gerrard was very likely what tipped the scales ("Could have been Sal's, though," he'd said with a shrug as his eyes drifted to the head on his beer.). From what she's gleaned off Chim, there's a good chance he'd been an ass in part to protect himself from feeling too bad about losing someone, too (again) - not that that's any type of excuse for the shit he'd had a hand in putting her through. An excuse for the things he's said, in the heat of the moment, in the quiet caverns of life under a shitty captain.

(Stumbled apologies, serious expressions on a face softened only by the shots he'd been buying all night, words said and unsaid between them and the gaping maw between a Chim happy to accept and move on while Hen downed her tequila and waited for the other shoe to drop.)

It's been years since then. Years and years winding between them all, a dozen captains and more than a few transfers of good firefighters away from the 118, and something good and warm and special brewing in their house with the arrival of the captain who'd made family dinners a daily occurrence.

She'd sort of expected Tommy might finally open up, when those family dinners kept going and Nash kept staying and things started to settle into something closer to friendly instead of the soldiers of war camaraderie they'd grown so used to. And maybe he has, to someone who isn't Hen - who'd taken his little efforts to change at face value and refused to put in more work than that for a colleague who'd made mostly bare minimum efforts post-Gerrard, always accepting the new status quo, refusing to make waves. She respects Tommy. Trusts him on the job, and sometimes off of it when they've had a shitty shift and need to decompress before they go home to the people in their lives who can never really understand losing someone to the heat of a fire, to blood loss and blunt force trauma. Doesn't care for him the way Chim seems to, doesn't really desire a closer relationship than the one they've maintained through the turnover of captains and the 48's they pull on occasion.

But Tommy's being weird, and Hen's pretty sure she's the only one who sees it.

She waits until she's sure Chim has a date to hit up Tommy for an after shift drink, and his eyes crinkle around the corners in suspicion because he knows just as well as she that she's putting them in an awkward position without the buffer zone of an extra coworker to fill in the blank spots of the things they don't say to each other. He'll be gone in a week. There's not a single fucking reason for her to try to get to know him better now.

"Sure thing, Wilson," he says, and when he offers to drive them both Hen makes up some excuse about needing her car in case of some Denny related emergency.

---

She expects it to take a while. Ply him with a few drinks, figure out what it is about Howie that always puts Tommy at ease so quickly when they're out like this and try to replicate it - he keeps things close to the vest but Hen has ways of weaseling things out of people once she's got them where she wants them.

Tommy sighs and picks at the label on his bottle. Thins his lips, and stares at her sideways. "I'm seeing someone," he says, in an undertone, and Hen hasn't even taken her first sip from the bottle he'd ordered for her, too, while she scrounged up one of the smaller booths. His eyes dart, like he's checking to make sure no one else is listening, that no one here recognizes him, and Hen - Hen knows that look. She just can't square that look with Mr. Toxic Heterosexuality himself.

Hen takes a sip. Forces herself not to vibrate out of her own skin because - because - because she's gotta wait this shit out. Could be he's found himself attracted to some weird goth chick, or a woman with meat on her bones, in which case he's in for a big ole smack to the head or one of the looks she reserves for when the boys get a little too caught up in their locker room talk.

He darts his gaze up. Meets hers, steady on, for the first time in...weeks, actually, now that she's thinking about it, and the guilt there in his eyes sure is something to behold.

"He's younger," Tommy says, and Hen rolls her tongue over her teeth so she doesn't do something stupid like hone in on that pronoun with either glee or full-on righteous anger.

Hen narrows her eyes instead, and is surprised that he keeps her gaze. She's expecting - unnecessary contrition, or maybe a ducked head or excuses. He chews on the inside of his lip and chuffs out a self deprecating laugh.

"I don't have a fucking clue what I'm doing and he still lives in a frat house."

Hen's mind goes somewhere inappropriate, and she has to stop herself from making a truly horrible hand gesture because he can't possibly mean -

He rolls his eyes. "I know where to stick it, Wilson, that's not the issue."

She has about half a million questions queueing - things she's not sure they're close enough to ask, things she doesn't actually want the answer to but stick there in the back of her mind anyway, things she'd never ask someone who'd been kind to her from the outset. "How'd you do it?" he asks, and Hen remembers the way he'd stood, arms crossed and face blank and something sad and vulnerable in his face while she lectured from her red and chrome pulpit. Jesus. He's known. He's known a while.

"I've never exactly been passing," she tells him, and winces at the aggression in her voice, in that statement, in the very existence of the idea. He shoots her a bitchy look that's far more familiar, in line with their normal dynamic. It has her rolling her shoulders back, has her sitting up a little more in her seat. "Is that - are you asking me how to come out?"

Tommy shrugs. Tips his head. "You're the one who wanted to get drinks."

"And if I hadn't asked?"

She knows the answer. The dumbass would have transferred out of the 118 with no one the wiser. Probably fallen off all the group chats, squared with himself for however long it took, decided one way or another who to tell from there. But he's here now, talking to Hen. Telling Hen, the person he's probably the least close to.

Hen sighs. Takes a longer drag off her beer this time while Tommy folds up a piece of the label he's ripped off. She's not gonna be his fucking gay guru. They're not anywhere approaching that close.

He could have lied, though, is the thing. Seems like he's maybe been lying for a while, if the uncharacteristic fidgeting is anything to go by. She knows him under stress, knows him when he's walking through literal fire. Figurative fire is an entirely different matter. She doesn't know that Tommy.

The words that fall out of her mouth aren't the ones she's aiming for. "You and Sal." she says, and then bites down the rest of that sentence like it'll burn them both. His eyes dart up. He shifts in his seat.

"The only reason I'm saying a word is because the answer is no," he says, and - yeah that's fair. Everyone has the right to come out of the closet in their own fucking time.

"So this kid," Hen says, moving on, and - oh. There's that look. It's a little dreamy-eyed, the way he's been getting sometimes when he's looking down at his phone and trying his hardest to keep a straight face. "What's the deal there?"

"He's new," Tommy says, and Hen can feel her brow tic up of it's own accord, because he says it with the authority of someone who isn't new. Hen has to wonder exactly how many times the perpetually single Tommy joke had been made while Tommy was less than single. God, that had to have stung, hadn't it? "He's - apparently he didn't realize he was flirting until I kissed him about it."

That's remarkably brave for a man who isn't out to a single person he and Hen are mutually acquainted with. At least as far as she knows - Chim can't keep a secret to save his damn life so at least she knows he doesn't know.

"You know you didn't have to tell me any of this."

His expression is wry. He bites his lip, curls his tongue over his teeth, shakes his head like he's clearing cobwebs. "The transfer isn't the only thing I had on the docket for major life changes."

Karen's gonna be pissed if Hen doesn't get the dirt, she tells herself as she leans forward, so she throws a teasing edge to her voice as she quirks a brow. "This life change have anything to do with your baby gay or is that just a natural progression of the coming out process?"

Tommy's posture eases, just a little. He gives her a look that she's more familiar with seeing when Chim's in the booth next to him, or they're elbow deep in shit-talk at the station.

"Happy accident, actually," he says, and Hen leans in to listen to him dish when his eyes go all soft and gooey.

___

She's known Evan Buckley a total of six hours the first time he mentions his boyfriend. There's a nervous edge to it, like he's still testing the word out, like the syllables are unfamiliar, and he glances down at the phone in his lap right after he says it, like he's double checking something. Hen wouldn't have pegged him for it, for all that she tends not to make assumptions. It's just. He's so.

Hen shoves back against the stereotypical bullshit and throws him a bone, because he looks like he's fucking desperate to share information on the fact that someone cares enough about him to let him call them his boyfriend. She lobs a layup, something relatable about 'my wife, Karen'.

"Yeah, Tommy said you were married."

Hen pauses. Wonders if she can turn her head like an owl so that she doesn't have to shift her weight to look behind her at where Buck is happily washing dishes, elbow-deep in sudsy water. There's no one else up here with them - most of the shift is working off dinner downstairs.

"We never have meals like this at home, I'm lucky if the guys I live with don't steal my last packet of ramen before I can get to it," he'd said, and she remembers Tommy grinning at the memory of this Evan he'd been seeing being inordinately impressed by the fact that Tommy could grill a steak. ("Jesus, Kinard, are you sure you're not robbing the fucking cradle?")

Hen shifts. Eyes him a little more carefully as he turns his head to meet her gaze, and - holy shit, she's actually feeling a little protective of Tommy Kinard right now. "He know you're out here sharing his business?" It's not the tone she's going for - admonishing instead of exploratory, but Buck just grins at her over his shoulder, like he's pleased Tommy has someone watching out for him. Shit. She'd been a little concerned that Tommy was in over his head, stuck up on the idea of being out out and clinging to the first boy that batted his lashes, but it feels like maybe there's more to it than that. She can't square that with what has to be at least a decade of years between them, but -

Love is love, and all that.

"We, uh. We've been talking about it."

Hen raises an eyebrow, because that's not actually a green light to air Tommy's business.

"He - well last night we talked about it again. So. I mean it's not like Facebook official or anything. But he said it was cool to talk to you. A-all of you. He's - everyone at Harbor knows me."

It hurts a bit to know that Tommy's been there less than six months and felt more comfortable being himself with a bunch of strangers, but...

It's good. That he has that. That he's not walking the world just shoving bits and pieces of himself away.

Hen watches him rinse his arms and square his shoulders and shift to face her. "How'd you two meet, anyway?" she asks, because Tommy had been so stuck on the trying to figure out how to have an honest relationship piece that she'd never gotten around to asking.

Buck's expression could be easily mistaken for a solar flare, for the way it lights up the whole loft.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #i have so many things i'm working on and so many randoms scraps of ideas but this one was super fun to jump back into so

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stevieschrodinger · 4 months ago

Text

Part One

“We are going to get in so much shit for this,” Chris rambles, “if we get fucking caught with this-”

“Chris, stop okay,” Eddie tries again. She’s been working herself up with the same shit for twenty minutes.

“We decided to do this babe,” Robin reminds her.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time!” Chrissy practically wails, “he saved our asses, it just seemed fair!”

“Our asses were in trouble in the first place because of him,” Eddie mumbles under his breath.

Robin Elbows him, “shut up, he said he didn’t know and I believe him. I told you, he’s a good soul.”

Eddie just rolls his eyes at her, “we’re not going to get caught,” Eddie says again, full of confidence. And he is, like, reasonably sure this is going to work. Steve’s buried in the middle of a crate full of spare parts, some of them engine parts so are pretty resistive to the scanner. Steve’s running on bare minimum power output. He’s basically nothing. Eddie’s scanned the crate from every angle at about two feet range; the port security are not going to pick up on him.

They’re just sneaking an unregistered, Mars built synth through customs, that’s all. Nothing exciting. Just a synth that One built with his bare hands. One who single handed caused a Synth uprising and murdered every single man, woman, and child on Mars and proceeded to build his own empire in the rubble.

Absolutely nothing to see here.

Eddie holds his fucking breath.

The coms button lights up, Chrissy instantly flicks it, and the most bored sounding voice in the universe asks Eddie if he has anything to declare.

“No, nothing.”

“Please check the list of prohibited materials. You must declare anything radioactive.”

“No,” Eddie says again, “nothing.”

“Docking gate four, please align with the scanner and hold position when indicated to do so.”

The line goes dead, Chrissy maneuvers the ship carefully, and Eddie is certain all of them are holding their breath. They’ve done this what feels like hundreds of times. Eddie is absolutely sure it has never, ever taken this long. The longer it goes on, the twitchier the girls get.

The coms light flashes, and the girls both turn to Eddie wide eyed. Eddie can’t blame them; he’s pretty sure he’s still holding his breath when he flicks the toggle, “please proceed to the gate,” Eddie flicks the switch back, exhaling and flopping down in his seat, the girls both let out breathy cheers and fall into each other.

“Oh fuck me that was terrible,” Eddie gets up to go and retrieve Steve out of the parts bin.

Eddie watches Steve carefully. He’s not doing anything, just standing in the sunlight. Head tilted back, like he can actually feel it on his skin. Sometimes he blinks his eyes open, looking down at his own hand, turning it in the light.

Chrissy appears next to Eddie, holding a bag out to him; sugary baked goodness, “oh that’s the good stuff,” Eddie thanks her, sugar powder smeared on her face.

“I fucking missed this,” She agrees.

Robin appears next, coffee for the three of them. Real, actual coffee. This is the closest Eddie ever gets to a religious experience.

“Okay, me and Chris really need to do the rounds,” Eddie nods, waves them off since his mouth is full, there’s several minutes of awkward hugs as everyone negotiates coffee cups and precious pastries.

“Where are you going?” Steve asks them, frowning. He looks so human, Eddie thinks to himself. They’re definitely going to be able to pass him off as human but...he doesn’t have any ID. Nothing. Steve doesn’t exist, which, considering they’re only planning to be home a week or so, shouldn’t cause too much of an issue.

Until they have to smuggle him right back out again.

Eddie hopes.

“We’ve been off world for like, months, we both need to go visit with our parents.” Chrissy says it off hand, “see you later, Steve. Bye Eddie.”

The girls are oblivious as they leave, picking their way along the busy street, bulging backpacks hoisted up high.

Eddie sees it though. It was fast, the change in Steve’s eyes. They’re normal again now, blink and you miss it kind of thing, but Eddie has no doubt something just happened.

“Steve? What was that?”

“Another file...presented itself.”

“A memory?” Eddie presses gently, standing closer together so they can speak quietly. There are plenty of people around them, everyone chattering and going on about their day; no ones paying attention to them. “What was it?”

“Children...there were children, they were...very important to me. Like I was their parent, somehow. I was...very protective of them,” Steve looks around, frowning. “I need to find them.”

Steve actually turns, like he’s going somewhere, “woah woah there,” Eddie grabs Steve’s hand, and Steve does stop. Eddie is under no illusion that Steve stopped because he wanted to. There’s no way Eddie could stop Steve; Steve could rip Eddie in half, like a wet sheet of paper. His hand is human warm in Eddie's. “Lets go to my place okay...we can talk about it and try to figure something out, we can’t just...go off. Do you even know where you would be going?”

“Hawkins, Indiana.”

“I...holy fuck. I wasn’t actually expecting an answer.”

Steve frowns, his lips pursed in a sweet, confused little curve, “neither was I, until I said it.”

“Shit...Steve. Come on.”

This is not normal for a Synth. Not any kind of Synth. This is just...Eddie doesn’t give a fuck about Steve’s weirdness, it doesn’t matter really, just how weird it is...Eddie’s got to get to the bottom of Steve’s memory errors, he figures the answers have to be there somewhere.

Eddie’s working in a bit of a make shift situation here. The ships in dry dock to be unloaded, refueled and have some minor repairs. Including the airlock which Eddie is praying no one asks any probing questions about.

“Okay, come and sit here,” it’s Eddie’s bed in his pokey apartment, and he has all the tools he could scrape together set out on a towel, but he thinks he has enough here to at least have a look. Now that Steve is willingly accessing the files, Eddie might be able to do a scan, at least.

Steve sits. Eddie goes to find one of the latches on Steve’s scalp, but stops himself, pulling back. It feels...invasive. Suddenly. Now that Steve is alive and awake in a way Eddie’s never come across with a Synth before. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Steve tells him, “I don’t mind.”

“Okay…” Eddie goes back to it, noticing for the first time that Steve’s hair is ridiculously soft. Eddie cards his fingers through it, finding the little edge, and using his magnet to unhitch the plate, “pretty sure it’s this one.”

Steve hums in agreement, sitting still as Eddie leans over him, Eddie works for a few minutes, keeping an eye on the readouts on his visor; everything stays green and holding.

“Okay, lets look,” the handheld reader loads slowly; unsurprising really, when Eddie clocks how much data there is, “Christ,” he breathes, “these files are fucking massive. No wonder you’re having a problem processing them.”

“They do seem to affect other systems.”

Eddie hums, “this is mad...I don’t even recognize the format.” This is...Eddie lets it load, finally, looking at the file data, frowning, “this...this cannot be right. I need to send this to the girls.”

It takes a long few minutes, Eddie letting another file scan through while he’s waiting; this ones even bigger, which is just, insane.

Eddie’s communicator starts beeping in his pocket; he doesn’t bother plugging it in, just brings it up close enough to his ear that he can hear, “Eddie, where did you get this?”

“It’s from Steve,” Eddie tells her. He watches as the next one completes; it’s much the same, just even more complex.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Chris. I am absolutely fucking certain,” considering Eddie literally has it in the palm of his hand, “I just watched the file transfer myself. One hundred percent.”

Eddie doesn’t even blame Chrissy for questioning it, Eddie would have done the same.

“Eddie, those are brainwaves. This is a memory. Like a human memory.”

Eddie looks down, but Steve is already blinking back up at him. Steve does not look even one bit surprised.

“Chris, you and Robs want to go on a road trip?”

The facility is abandoned. Long abandoned. The doors are smashed in, the walls are bare, and every single thing has been stripped out of here. There’s just dust and trash in the corners of every dark room. Broken office chairs. Designs spray painted by vandals. Stripped wiring hanging forlornly from ceilings where the tiles have either been smashed or just fallen in on their own.

“Steve?” Eddie asks, creeping along behind him. There’s no one here, there hasn’t been for a long time, but the place feels haunted.

“We need to go down.”

“Down?”

“This isn’t it; there’s...something more.”

“Right,” Chrissy says confidently, even though she looks fucking terrified, “down it is.”

“I brought torches,” Robin offers.

Steve leads them past a bank of elevators; no power anyway. There’s a panel that Steve unceremoniously rips off the wall; Eddie couldn’t even see it until Steve did it, the camouflage was so good. Next goes the security pad; with no power, Steve just calmly rips the unit right out of the wall. The door next to it, he has to force.

It screeches and creeks, groaning loud enough that Eddie wants to cover his ears. It doesn’t want to go, but the metal itself eventually buckles under the force of Steve.

The stairwell is as dark and empty as everywhere else.

They creep down, torch beams flickering, only the soft sound of their feet on the steps.

It feels like they go down forever.

When Steve opens the door at the bottom, a soft light fills the space. It’s not bright; much closer to emergency lighting. There’s strips of it, either side of the hall.

Every room looks like a torture chamber to Eddie, despite the stripe of cheerfully flaking rainbow paint that decorates the hallway.

Things that look like dentist chairs with horrible, probing machinery hanging over it. Rooms with huge devices in that Eddie can’t even guess the purpose of, “Steve, what the fuck is this?” Chrissy whispers.

Steve pushes open a double door, and everyone freezes at the sight that greets them.

Eddie, for a brief second, thinks they’re human kids. They aren’t, even in the poor light he can see that their insides are machine; not human. The smears of colored Synth liquids are no less gruesome looking for it though.

In the doorway, Steve falls to his knees.

Steve was almost impossible to move; he weighs a fucking tonne. Between the three of them they manage to slide him out of the way of the door, far enough that they swing shut at least and they don’t have to stand there, looking at the ruins of whatever the hell this is.

“They made Synth kids,” Chrissy looks green, like she’s gonna’ throw chunks at any moment. Robin is sheet white, even in the shitty lighting, “what’s wrong with Steve?”

He kneels, frozen, his eyes white again.

“I think he’s processing memories,” Eddie hazards a guess. “We...need to wait it out, I think.”

“Jesus,” Chrissy’s teeth are chattering, her voice shaky, “couldn’t he have done this somewhere else?”

“Not sure he’s exactly controlling it babe,” Robin tells her, eyes wide enough Eddie can see the whites; Eddie’s pretty sure he probably looks the same.

“Kids,” Chrissy breathes again, “sick fucks.”

When Steve drags in a deep breath, they all jump, “Jesus Fucking fuck,” Robin hisses, Chrissy taking two big steps back away from him in surprise.

Steve’s...breathing. Loud and panicked which is just. He doesn’t even have fucking lungs, “Steve,” Eddie kneels in front of him, grabbing his shoulders, “Steve, you’re fine. Steve.”

Steve grips Eddie’s shoulders; not hard though, like he still knows Eddie’s just a breakable human. Eventually, he calms, seeming to slowly realize he doesn’t need to breathe, so it stops again.

“Steve?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “yeah, sorry,” Steve gets up, fluid and sure on his feet again, he easily pulls Eddie up with him.

“What did you see?”

Steve looks around, “not here,” he says.

“I fully fucking second that,” Chrissy adds, vehemently.

“Yeah, lets get the fuck out of here.”

But Steve hesitates. And then he goes back into the room of horrors.

“Steve,” Chrissy hisses.

“Where the fuck is he going? I don’t want to go back in there-” but the doors swing open again, Steve back already, he’s carrying another synth in his arms; this one doesn’t seem injured that Eddie can see.

She’s wearing white, her hair clipped short. She’s stiff in Eddie’s arms, the unnatural stillness of a deactivated Synth.

“Steve? Who is that?”

“This is Eleven. She’s coming with us.”

“Eleven as in the number that’s ten along from One?” Robin asks, panicked.

“Oh fuck me, this is such a bad idea,” Chrissy whispers, as she follows along.

“Steve,” Robins hisses, “Eleven is like, ten numbers up from One. Is it that kind of Eleven?”

“Eleven is nothing like Henry.”

“Well that’s reassuring,” Robin mutters.

“Ah fuck me, we’ve got to go back up all those stairs.”

Eddie just follows along quietly at the back, listening to the girls bitching, feeling like the ghosts of this place are trying to follow them out.

Eddie wouldn’t have thought twice about it before, but now...now it feels kind of odd. A little disrespectful maybe. Synths are artificial, they’re not people, they’re not even alive, so before meeting Steve, Eddie wouldn’t have given it a second thought.

Now, having a synth in the back of their transport, just laid out with a blanket thrown on top, feels kind of weird. Feels a little disrespectful.

They’re nearly an hour outside of Hawkins before the girls chatter starts up again, like they’re just now far enough away from that place that it’s okay again.

Naturally they’re full of questions, and Eddie listens carefully as he drives, “I think I remember a lot more now,” Steve is telling the girls.

“Yeah, like what?”

Steve frowns, Eddie watching him in the rear-view mirror. Next to him, Chrissy is twisted fully in her seat so she can see Steve, “I think I’m from Hawkins. I think I was made there. Henry...lied to me. He just overwrote my memories to try and...make me be on his side. I think Henry stole me from there.”

“You think he caused the errors?” Eddie asks, and Steve frowns, shaking his head.

“Henry was there? One?” Robin pipes up, “oh my God,” she breathes, and it feels like they all realize it at the same time, “One was built there too, right?”

“He wasn’t an anomaly, was he?” Chrissy follows the thought to it’s obvious conclusion, “that’s what they were trying to do there, isn’t it? True sentience.”

Steve nods.

“So...Mars? That was...actually someone's fault. Like One wasn’t just an accident, they built him that way and then…”

“They thought they had him under control. They thought he was...compliant, like me. Like the others. That’s why Henry killed them, he knew the kids might be able to stop him, one day. He waited until I was in maintenance. He must have waited and waited for me to be shut down before he did anything, physically I was the only one there who could have saved the kids.”

Robin reaches across the seat, squeezing Steve's hand. “it’s not your fault babe, okay? If you were being, fixed up or whatever, you couldn’t have known what he was going to do, right?”

“Why the fuck did they build them as kids? That’s just…” Chrissy doesn’t have the words.

“Messed up?” Robin supplies.

Steve frowns, “they were being transferred to new bodies as they grew up, they...had minds like mine. Memories. They were trying to make...people.” Steve shakes his head, “I’m not sure.”

“So why aren’t you a little kid?”

“I was built as an adult, like Henry. The kids memories are their own, just like with a human. They thought that would work better than what they did with me and Henry, but it would take longer; the kids had to grow. My memories are…” Steve frowns, again, twitching, eyes flashing briefly white before he blinks back to alertness, “from a person?”

“Holy shit,” and that revelation kills the conversation for quite a while as they all process everything. Mars was...well. Whoever was building these Synths, the government? The military? Both? Whoever the fuck it was, it’s their fault that One happened. Not the random programming glitch that they’ve successfully blamed all this time.

Mars is just...one giant cover up.

And Steve...holy shit, Steve was actually a person, a human being. That makes so much sense. None of it was programming, it’s just...Steve. All the mannerisms, the personality...it was real.

It still is real.

“We should...tell someone.” Eddie suggests, “people should know that One wasn’t an accident. Mars is their fault, whoever built him. It was deliberate, and they fucked up.”

“We wouldn’t be able to prove it though,” Chrissy reminds him, “Steve is our only evidence. And a creepy building in the middle of nowhere filled with dead Synths.”

Eddie sighs, she has a point. And if it really is one massive cover-up, the first thing they would do is eliminate Steve.

“Steve?” Eddie asks, unable to keep the question in any more, they make eye contact in the rear view, “what was your roll?”

Steve smiles faintly, “I’m the babysitter.”

Eddie dropped the girls off at Chrissy’s parents place and instructed them, very firmly, not to breathe a fucking word of this to anyone. They didn’t need telling, not really, but it still made Eddie feel better to say it.

Now they just need to sneak a Synth into Eddie’s apartment without drawing too much attention. Luckily Eddie’s in a cheap and shitty part of town, and most people keep their heads down and their business to themselves. It’s pretty late by the time they get back, and that’ll help.

Eddie had, briefly, considered going to Wayne but, fuck dragging him into all of this mess.

They have Eleven wrapped in a blanket, and Steve holds her vertically, one arm wrapped around her like she’s a piece of furniture. Eddie’s got his head on swivel, he tries to play it cool, but he’s failing miserably as he trails after Steve up the stairs. Anyone who sees him will know he’s guilty of something. The lights flicker, the bulb on the second landing gone completely.

Eddie nudges trash out of their way as they head along the hall.

Steve takes Eleven inside, laying her out on Eddie’s beat up two seater couch, her stiff body resting awkwardly, propped against a headrest.

Her hair is peach-fuzz, but whoever built her did just a good of a job as they did with Steve.

“Can you wake her up?”

“I can try,” Eddie’s exhausted, it’s been a long fucking day, but he retrieves his tools from where they are still laid out on the towel on the bed. It’s been long hours since Eddie found Steve’s memories, but Eddie’s tired enough that it feels like it’s been at least a week.

The panels are easier to find and open at least, thanks to the short hair.

Eddie wonders vaguely if that’s why they made it short.

“Wait,” Steve says suddenly, “we should check her for a transmitter. Henry must be aware of them, if that’s how he found me.”

“Sure,” Eddie gestures at her vaguely, there isn’t anyway Eddie’s going to be able to move her, but Steve turns her over. He moves her easily, but gently. With great care.

Steve lifts the back of her white shirt, indicating the place where Eddie should cut; the transmitter is there, exactly the same as with Steve. Eddie crushes it and drops the remains into the garbage disposal.

“Okay,” Eddie mutters to himself, getting a coffee, “okay we can do this,” he does his best to hype himself up, but he’s running on fumes. It really has been a hell of a long day, all the traveling, plus finding that place. It’s been a lot.

This morning, calling Chris, feels like it was simultaneously ten minutes ago, and about a thousand years.

Eddie tries to suppress another yawn, and fails, before pulling his visor down, Steve’s hand on his shoulder stops him, “this can wait.”

Eddie half shrugs, “she’s...your friend though, right?”

“Yes. And she still will be tomorrow.” Steve takes Eddie’s coffee away, “I can watch out for both of you tonight. You should sleep.”

Eddie could fight it, but he knows Steve’s right. Plus the idea of just going to bed sounds too incredible to resist.

“Okay, but first thing in the morning.”

Eddie blinks awake with gummy eyes. He’s still in bed, his room looks fine.

Obviously the government hasn’t ransacked his apartment and carried him off into the night. It’s all good. Eddie sighs, rolls over, and lets himself fall back into the nice place half between sleep and wake, cocooned in his warm bed covers.

He figures it’s maybe an hour later, Eddie still resting without sleeping, when there’s a gentle tapping on his bedroom door.

Eddie makes a quiet, ‘hmm?’ noise, figuring it’s Steve and that Steve will hear him.

Steve comes in with a steaming mug of coffee, which is just...outstanding really, and Eddie sits himself up more in bed to take it carefully, “thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Steve’s such an odd duck, for a Synth. It’s got to be all those human memories.

“You said One was like you, but the kids are growing their memories organically?” Eddie cradles the steaming mug close to his face, breathing the scent of coffee.

Steve doesn’t move, standing over Eddie, “yes.”

“Do you think that’s why he chose Henry? Do you think that was his name, before?”

“It’s possible, if I had a name before, I don’t remember it,” Steve turns, sitting on the edge of the bed where Eddie’s invited him. Eddie shifts a little further when the bed really dips, it’s easy to forget that Steve is fucking heavy, “I have been wondering,” Steve continues quietly, “if Henry’s memories...are from a bad person. And that’s why he and I are so different.”

“I think...that makes sense. I mean, you’re a good guy Steve. Even Robin says you have a good soul.”

Steve frowns, looking pensive, “but what if...I don’t. What if I turn out like him?”

Eddie downs the last of the coffee, ditching the empty mug on the bedside table, “pretty sure the fact that you’re worried about it means that you won’t.”

Steve nods, “thank you, Eddie.”

Part Three

#ST353 #eddie munson #steve harrington #chrissy cunningham #robin buckly #buckingham #au #sci fi au #futuristic #outer space #space ship #robot steve #mystery #steddie

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