#honey is an issue when it's raw but it didn't say anything about it being raw on the product description

[thethingything]

eating truffle infused honey, having an allergic reaction, and trying to figure out if the problem is the truffles or the honey or both

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 9 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years.  [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: SEXXX. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 3k

A/N: Babies, I got some fluff and smut for y'all today! Don't know what else to say about it other than it's a bit sweet, a bit smutty, and a bit indulgent (but for good reasons, I promise).

Thank you for patience and sweet messages as I struggled a bit to get this out due to my stupid neck/back pain. I'm doing better, but am trying not to re-aggravate things, so the writing is still gonna be a bit slow going forward!

Once again, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments are giving me LIFE. I'm just so happy that I can bring a little joy (and lust) into your lives! This story (and EP) has taken over my heart and soul, so for those of you still with me, and to all the newcomers, I'm sending you all the love! And I promise there's more good stuff coming ahead, complete with more smut, angst, and tension.

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks since now I know how they work lol)! I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues.

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat! 

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch. 

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there, though it's not all updated yet!)

Those pesky butterflies are back, fluttering with excitement and a little fear in your stomach. You want more than anything to surrender yourself to the utter happiness and optimism that is rolling off Elvis in waves. His eyes dance with joy at your agreement to try out his plan, to have you become the newest part of his production here in Vegas. Or at least train to do so. You can’t think past that piece right now, not with the way he is looking at you with such unbridled care.

You want to drink in the feeling, to let it break over you and wash away all the doubt and anger and fear that threatens to overtake you. You need him to banish all that in a way that only he can do. And Elvis, somehow deeply attuned to your feelings even though they are unspoken, seems to know this. He pulls you close, resting his forehead upon yours, drawing you up into his arms. The warmth of him radiates around you, comforting your raw nerves, taking you off the roller coaster of emotion that you’ve been stuck on.

Your palm rests over his heart, the silky fabric soft and warm as his heart pounds rhythmically in his chest. Your other hand clings to the back of his neck, as if he is a life preserver that is keeping you from drowning within your own thoughts.

When he kisses you now, it’s as light as air, his full lips wisping over yours, as if calling you to join him. And you do. You match his lightness, his barely-there kisses, and you feel yourself being pulled away from all those scary thoughts, from all the ways life has scorned you in the last decade. It’s as if his innate power can just draw it out of you, throwing it all to the wayside.

His lips begin ghosting over your cheeks, eliminating the drying streaks of tears that had been forming there, erasing your sadness. Those lips find your jaw, but they are unhurried, undemanding. They are not asking anything of you other than your presence.

You sigh, almost more with relief than pleasure, relief that the weight is being taken off your shoulders. In this moment, for the first time, you actually believe that Elvis is going to take care of you, that he has your best interests at heart, and that he wants to be with you enough to move mountains. And that fills you with calm, a kind of peace that you didn’t know you’d been missing.

Elvis finds your mouth again, more gentle and sweet than he’s ever been with you. He coaxes you open, so softly and gradually you barely realize how taken you are with him. His hands wind around you, into your hair, but it is not frantic; no, you have all the time in the world.

Kissing him like this is spellbinding. You begin to explore him the way he is exploring you, as if memorizing every touch, every reaction, the ebb and flow of something beyond the pure desire that had defined your first few times together. You find yourself climbing into his lap, straddling his hips, in order to get closer to him. Circling your arms around his neck, your fingers comb through his hair, and his head falls back into them. His eyes flutter closed, but it is not purely sexual—it’s more of him finding comfort in the way you are touching him, almost like a cat being scratched. He succumbs to this as you massage his scalp, the dark strands surrounding your fingers. His hair is so surprisingly fine and soft and there is just so much of it that you can’t help but enjoy the feeling.

His hands are warm on your back, pulling you into him as you kiss his face—those beautiful long lashes, the straight bridge of his nose, those ridiculously high cheekbones—and when your lips reach his again, they are perfectly content to stay there as long as possible. Warmth is glowing in your belly, but it is something entirely different than what you’ve experienced with him before.

You aren’t sure how long you spend just making out there, as both of you are so content in each other that it could be minutes or hours. His mouth explores you as much as yours explores him. He drifts down your neck, your pulse fluttering under his lips before they fall down to your collarbone. He lingers there a while, nipping and peppering kisses across your chest as your arms wrap around his head.

Somewhere along the way, the flames in your belly begin to ignite in earnest, his hands more definitively coming to your waist, his mouth becoming hot as it begins to drag across your skin. Though your need for him is now more palpable, it is still unhurried because for once, you are in no rush.

When Elvis’ hands drift to your breasts, thumbing the hard buds of your nipples, cupping the weight in his palms, your tongue becomes needy in his mouth. You want more of him now, raising up on your knees so his mouth is near your chest. He understands fully, kissing first over the silk of your nightgown, then slowly pulling the straps over your shoulders. His lips follow behind the fabric as it slides down, lapping at your bare skin until you are exposed to him.

As his tongue circles your nipple, you feel it zing straight to your core. He suckles a moment before showering the other with the same attention, and you sigh openly, relishing the feeling of his attention. He does not linger to long in any one spot, however, his mouth working its way back to your lips, but now his kiss is deeper, hungrier.

Lowering back into his lap, you feel his burgeoning hardness against your core and it fills you with expectation. You respond by rolling your hips over him, your heat obvious through the lacy panties he bought for you. He cannot quite fully hold back the strangled groan that emanates from his throat. His jaw clenches and his hands grip your hips firmly, stilling them.

You can feel him growing beneath you, but he stops moving, stopping to look deeply into your eyes. What you find there is so much more than heat: it’s deep and endless but does not frighten you the way it should, no, instead you let yourself be pulled into the azure blue. It takes your breath away—he takes your breath away, the way he looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars, how seriously he regards you now even though you know he wants you as badly as you want him.

This is different. This is more of him than you ever expected or anticipated.

Your heart skips in your chest, fluttering quickly along with the heat-coated butterflies in your stomach. Before you can grasp too deeply at what it all might mean, Elvis smoothly rolls you beneath him, kissing you deep but sweet. He takes his time making his way down your sun-kissed skin, laying his long body on its side next to yours as he works his head all the way down to your feet.

You gasp and wiggle at the tickle you feel when he kisses each toe, which seems to absolutely delight him based on that quintessentially Elvis grin that spreads wide across his face. It’s boyish and mischievous and reminds you of when you first met him all those years ago.

“Elvis, please, oh god, stop, I’m too ticklish!” you giggle and gasp, trying to get free of the hold he now has on your feet.

“What’d’ya mean, y/n? I ain’t doin’ nothin’,” he drawls, batting his lashes at you, feigning innocence, running his fingertips along the bottoms of your feet.

You squeal, laughing, trying to flail but he’s holding your feet fast, enjoying teasing you way too much based on the hiccupping chuckle coming from him.

“Oh my god, Elvis! Stop, stop! I’m gonna pee if you keep doing that!” you wail, so overstimulated you can barely hold it together.

This makes him laugh harder, that amazing peal of unbridled joy that when he gets going makes everyone laugh with him. He does stop torturing your feet, but now you are laughing at him laughing at you until both of you are sniffling and gasping for breath.

“Oh, god!” he hiccups, “Please don’t do that!” Then he snorts, making him laugh even more, sending you into another fit of giggles.

You haven’t laughed this much or this hard in a long time and it releases something from you, though you’re not sure exactly what, but as you wipe the tears of laughter from your eyes, you feel lighter. Watching his beautiful joyfulness fills you with the same.

Every time he looks at you, he starts laughing again, which sends you into hysterics all over again. Eventually, the hilarity begins to abate as you both calm down, though he has to cover his eyes and not look at you for a while in order to do so.  

Finally, silence falls between you, and you can look at each other without falling apart. He leans on his side, head near your thigh, leaning on one hand, while the other trails up your leg. You jump a little at the sensation of his fingertips, senses still heightened from his teasing, but quickly your feelings shift, tendrils of heat following his hand as he gets closer to the place you yearn for him most.

However, Elvis is patient tonight, and runs his hand up and down your leg again and again, seeming to commit every inch of you to memory. Smoldering embers light into flames when he finally lifts your nightie and reaches his hand under the waistband of your panties, fingers dancing, exploring every part of you. He is eager, curious, but not demanding.

Your thighs slide open with a breathless sigh. He watches you, carefully marking each response as he rubs featherlight circles over your clit and then runs those long fingers up and down through your increasingly slick folds. He truly plays with you, taking his time, exploring, as you hum and your eyes flutter closed. You relish in all the sensations, your hips beginning to move with him. He dips a finger in and out of your pussy, but never long or deep enough to satisfy you. It’s as if you are his instrument and he is tuning you, discovering all the ways he can play you to get the sound he wants.

A gradual heat builds in your core, yearning for more, your body swathed in warmth. You are following his lead, even though your need for him is becoming almost unbearable. When he finally pulls your now-soaked panties down and off your legs and turns you on your side so he can begin lapping at your clit, you moan fully, desperate for anything he has to give you.

Still, Elvis remains steadfastly unhurried while his mouth lavishes attention on you, working you up slowly. He begins with soft kisses and the gentle tonguing of that sensitive bundle of nerves. You cannot stop the slow roll of your hips into his mouth, so he wraps an arm around each thigh in order to control you. This action in itself, him encompassing you, guiding your hips in the way he wants them as he flattens his tongue against you and licks a long strip over your slit sends a thrill over your whole body. You want to buck against him hard and fast, so wanting of him, but he holds you still as he begins to devour you.

His tongue licks through your folds like you are an ice cream cone on a hot day, and he relishes every taste. Sometimes firm, sometimes light, he eats you, savors you, driving you absolutely mad for him. Just when you think you can’t handle it anymore, he’ll switch his attention, nibbling at your clit, kissing and sucking, holding your writhing body to him.

You moan fully, uncaring if anyone hears, when he spreads you open with his fingers and begins fucking your hole with his tongue. No, that’s not quite right, you think as he brings you to the edge and back again over and over. He isn’t fucking you at all. He is worshiping your cunt, worshiping you.

That thought, coupled with the burning, tightening coil in your belly has you hungering for him in a way you haven’t before. Your need for him is untenable and he is making it quite clear that he’s not done eating you out, and then it becomes obvious; in fact, it’s right there in front of you.

You’ve heard of this before, but have never done it, since your sex life before Elvis was rather mundane, but in your current state of bliss and need, you care neither for the impropriety nor for your inexperience. You just need him.

Distracted by Elvis’ attentions, all you do at first is nuzzle your face into his crotch, feeling his rock-hard length under the silk of his pajama pants. You feel him as he jumps, pauses, entirely surprised by your attention to him. In response, you begin kissing up and down the length of him, and you feel him moan against your clit, his hips rolling towards you.

This is all you need to know you are on the right track. He goes back to concentrating on your pussy, letting you do what you want with him. You respond by palming him a few times, ghosting your mouth over the tip, noticing the wet, slick precum that has already stained his pants. The idea that he wants you so badly but is still solely focused on your pleasure has you grasping the top of his pants and sliding them down over his ass.

He springs forth, and you grip his length, eagerly pumping him, running your thumb over the already glistening tip. You don’t wait, or even give him a chance to adjust, because you want (need) him so badly that you just let your instincts drive you. The scent of his distinctly Elvis musk fills your nostrils as you envelop him into your mouth. He cannot help but buck into you, filling you, his deep groan of surprise vibrating in the most tantalizing way over your clit.

This might be the most intimate thing you’ve ever done with a man, opening and letting him slide down your throat as he consumes your pussy with a new fervor. It’s obscene, naughty, shocking. And you like it. It’s sending a deep, new wave of pleasure through you, winding around the already tight coil in your pelvis. You reach around, gripping his ass, taking as much of him as you can.

Elvis responds by showering more attention to your pussy, eating now as though he is starving, plunging his fingers up inside you, moaning against you. You can’t help but roll against him, and he lets you now, before needing to come up for air yourself, swirling your tongue around and over him again and again.

Oh, god, this is so fucking hot, how is this so hot? you think almost absently as he begins to fuck your mouth, though you know he is holding himself back by the way he latches onto you and pours more energy into sexing your pussy. His devout mouth and fingers, coupled with the way his dick is sliding down your throat, nearly choking you, is bringing you quickly to the brink. You couldn’t have more of him if you tried, and you desperately want to be filled with him, to be as close as humanly possible to him.

His fingers are deep inside you now, pumping, curling, drawing you close in the way only he seems to know how. You ride his face in desperation, his mouth suckling and lapping and that deep baritone vibrating at your clit as he growls, losing all sense control. He clings to you as you cling to him, as though your lives depend on it, fucking each other’s mouths with a heat and passion you have never experienced before.

You lathe your tongue flat against his dick, moaning onto him as he hits the back of your throat, and the ecstasy you feel as you hit the top of the immense wave of pleasure coursing through you is everything. Heat and sparks explode through you with violent shudders and you dig your nails into his ass to keep yourself tied to him. Elvis’ cock muffles your scream as your orgasm rockets through you, and you are certainly nowhere near the earth as he fully engulfs you with his mouth, his tongue replacing his fingers. His own muffled cries of pleasure vibrate through you, not allowing you to come down and you just ride, ride, ride that wave of immense, tantalizing gratification.

Elvis stutters into your mouth, heavy and hard, and you take him as deep as you can, wanting, needing, him up here in the sky with you. You gag around him, and he lets out a primal cry, clutching your body. You feel him pulse again and again, his cum coating your throat, salty and viscous. You’ve never swallowed before and now you don’t have the choice, but you don’t really care—you will take every bit of him you can get.

You are both riding your climaxes high, together, writhing against each other, consuming everything you can of the other. The intense heat coursing through you finally begins to dissipate into a warm, floaty feeling. Leaning back, you both come up for air, chests heaving with exertion and perhaps a little surprise at the intensity of your coupling.

After a moment, Elvis maneuvers his body back up to yours, leaning over you with a concerned look in his eyes.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says gently, his fingers tracing the outline of your cheek.

“I wanted to,” you say quietly, which is the truth, though you are a little shocked at yourself. “Did you like it?” you ask, suddenly worried that you’d done something wrong.

“Did I like…? Honey, that was incredible,” he says into your ear, his breath tickling you. “Did you like it?” he asks almost hesitantly.

“Oh, I liked it very much,” you say, kissing the tip of his nose. His heavy-lidded eyes travel over you, making sure you are being honest with him, not just saying it to please him. Then he nods happily, accepting your response.

You can’t help but smile wide because you feel amazing and not just because of the sex. You feel lighter than you have in ages. You feel wanted and safe as he pulls you in close, wrapping his long body around yours. You feel cared for.

And as you drift off into a dreamy haze, the only thing on your mind is the terrifying wish that this could be yours, forever.

**

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211  @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy  @amiets2  @saintmagx

@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @calusussss @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rainydayz101 @pizzaisrelationshipgoals  

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 

Reblogs, likes, comments + feedback are extremely appreciated! Please help support your content creators!

[bookishofalder]

Pretty Girl - Blurb 4

A/N: I just hit 300 followers HOLY CRAP so here’s a fluffy, final blurb for Pretty Girl. I love you guys, thank you for enjoying this story and sticking around. Also, I mention miscarriage and fertility issues in this blurb. I myself experienced a miscarriage at 18 weeks with twins and am still grieving and trying to get pregnant again. I wish for my rainbow baby every day. 🤍

Summary: Pretty Girl and Flip are having a baby.

Warnings: Pregnancy, language, fertility issues, miscarriage mention, grief, labour, fluff. 

Flip was busy typing away at his desk, trying to stay on top of all of his paperwork. As much as (Y/N) helped him, there were still sections of the reports he had to complete himself, and falling behind wasn’t an option right now. He sat back in his chair, taking a brief break to roll his neck when movement by the doors to the bullpen caught his eyes.

A large, round belly preceded his wife into view, and as always she took Flip off guard; seeing her glowing, beautiful face. Some baser instinct within him enjoyed seeing (Y/N) round with his child; it caused a ripple of satisfaction to course through him. When she kept moving toward him, her eyes bright, Flip jumped up, frantic.

“Darling,” He hurried to her side, hands hovering around her unnecessarily, “You promised you’d keep off your feet at much as possible. I told you I’d come to check on you shortly.” Flip watched as she laughed, rolling her eyes affectionately. She had one hand placed absentmindedly over her bump, gently rubbing circles.

At thirty-eight weeks pregnant, Flip’s wife had impressed him every day with her unwillingness to give up routine and work simply because she was with child. She insisted on staying on at the station until the baby came. And while he didn’t like her working too hard, it was nice to have her close by. This way, he could keep an eye on her and take care of her as much as possible. And she had reduced her duties at work, agreeing with Flip that overdoing things wouldn’t be good for her or the baby.

They had been married a few years now, the best of his life for the most part. Marrying your best friend had a way of making every day an adventure. Of course, not everything was sunshine for them; but they had one another and they knew they could get through anything. They always did.

When Flip had been shot in the arm the previous year, (Y/N) had marched into the hospital and, surprising everyone, punched the rookie cop in the face who left Flip open when he should have been watching his six.

Flip had never been prouder of her.

They’d stopped using protection early on in the marriage, agreeing they were both ready to start a family. But it hadn’t come easy for them, months turned into a year of no success and the light that he took for granted in his wife started to waver, just a little. When they got pregnant the first time, Flip had overcome with emotion and he nearly left the parking lot of the doctor’s office without (Y/N), who had run to the bathroom before coming outside. When he realized what he’d done and turned around, he found her standing outside laughing so hard she was crying. That had been a damn good day.

At just nine weeks pregnant, they found out that they had lost the baby. Things had changed for (Y/N) and Flip. He left the doctor's office with the heavy weight of grief, and he knew his perfect, lovely wife was more crushed than she was letting on. She had taken a leave from work, and it had been a rough few months of coming home to a quiet house, (Y/N) asleep on the couch most days. They had stopped having sex, which didn't bother Flip in itself, it was just the reasoning that worried him.

The night that (Y/N) broke down and admitted she felt like a huge failure still replayed in Flip’s mind every once in a while. The raw, excruciating pain had been so evident on her face, his pretty girl so heartbroken she felt like she was failing him. Like she could ever do anything wrong. Flip had comforted her, but more importantly, he made it clear that nothing about their pregnancy troubles or the loss of their baby was her fault. He had cried with her that night. As they clung to one another in the bath and the sun set outside. He cried for their loss. He cried for her pain. He cried with his wife and they promised each other they would have no regrets. Life was what it was. Having each other meant they could do anything, could get through anything.

The next time she got pregnant was just after he had been shot. He’d had a few weeks leave, but (Y/N) had long since returned to work, so he spent long days at home alone trying to pass the time. On one such day, he had been sitting in his favourite chair in their living room, his hand stroking over his hard length as he sought to escape, frantic and needy and so consumed in himself that he hadn’t heard her come home. What he didn't miss was the way her hand suddenly wrapped around him; his eyes had flown open and found her gazing at him with such hunger as she gripped him that he only just managed to launch himself forward, toppling them onto the floor, and take her right there.

A few weeks later, they had found out they were pregnant.

And now, (Y/N) was fully and unmistakably pregnant or, as she liked to say, ready to pop any moment. Though relatively good-natured, Flip had been a witness or victim to many mood swings, including one that had involved an ashtray being thrown at his head because he forgot to buy pickles. Christ, he never made that mistake again.

“I’ve been taking it easy, detective, don’t worry.” (Y/N) patted Flip’s arm with her free hand, smiling up at him as he fretted at her side.

Flip tried to steer her to his seat, “I know, but you could go into labour at any time and being on your feet too much-“

“Oh, well,” She was giving Flip a funny smile now, her eyes glinting, “That’s actually why I came back here. My water broke a few minutes ago.”

Flip stared down at his wife as though she’d suddenly sprouted a second head. He went entirely rigid, and all conscious thought slid out of his head, replaced with a faint ringing.

“Flip, honey, come back to me.”

“I-uh, what?” He shook his head, attempting to assemble his thoughts, “What’s going on?”

(Y/N) was giggling now, “Flip Zimmerman, my water broke.”

“Pretty girl,” He murmured, suddenly reaching out to grip her shoulders, “Are you saying...are we having a baby?”

Before she could answer, (Y/N) suddenly winced, the hand on her belly stilling and her eyes closing and she took a few deep, slow breaths. This was all it took to bring reality slamming into Flip and he instantly began grabbing his things. Shrugging his jacket on, tucking his keys and wallet into his pockets. His mind was now racing at a mile a minute. But they’d planned for this, going so far as to bring their hospital bag to work every day just in case.

“Whew, that’s a fun feeling.” (Y/N) mumbled, eyes still closed.

“Darling, are you okay to walk for me?” Flip leaned down and pressed a firm kiss to her lips, smiling at her when she opened her eyes and nodded. Taking it slow, they made their way out of the bullpen and down the hall. Flip raced behind the reception desk to grab the go-bag and (Y/N)‘s jacket.

Donna came out of the washroom as he hurried back out from behind it, her eyes spotting Flip before moving to where (Y/N) was slightly hunched over, breathing through more contractions.

“OH!” Donna cried out, clapping her hands excitedly. “Oh, it’s time! Go, go, I’ll let the Sarge know. Good luck you two, and Flip drive safely to the hospital!” She raced over and gave (Y/N) a quick hug, before turning on Flip and embracing him with happy tears in her eyes.

With a quick thank you, they were on the move again. Flip hurried ahead and got the truck, pulling it up out front of the station as his wife waddled out, looking more relaxed now that her contraction had eased up. He helped slide her into her seat, carefully buckling her in before breaking the speed limit to get the few blocks away to the hospital.

One of the perks of being a detective was that most of the hospital staff knew Flip already. So when he walked in the doors, an arm around (Y/N)‘s shoulders and a frantic look on his face, about eight nurses rushed over and began to dote on them both, one settling (Y/N) into a wheelchair while they helped Flip check them in.

In no time at all, they were settling into labour and delivery, (Y/N) now wearing the open-backed hospital gown that gave Flip a pretty nice view every time she stood at the side of her bed and leaned over to breathe through contractions. The woman couldn’t sit still; the pain and nervousness rendering her ability to relax null.

Flip rubbed her lower back, standing behind her and appreciating the strength his wife had. “What are you staring at, detective?” She asked, breaking him from his thoughts. (Y/N) was staring over her shoulder at Flip, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Just, thinking about how incredible you are, darling.” He admitted, hands still kneading her skin gently.

(Y/N) hummed appreciatively, “Funny, I was going to say the same about you.”

“Ah, well, I’m not the one about to do all the hard work here, so I’ll defer all compliments for now,” Flip joked, and she laughed before hissing a breath as her next contraction took over.

“Fuck,” She focused on her breathing for a few moments, “Flip, promise you’ll stay here with me the whole time?” Her voice was surprisingly small at that moment, and he knew if he could see her face, it would be twisted in a vulnerable grimace.

He reached up and smoothed her hair back, “Pretty girl, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be at your side the whole time,” Flip leaned down and pressed a kiss to her shoulder, “You don’t worry about a thing, alright? I’ll take care of you.”

And he did, in as much as he could. Never leaving her side once, Flip witnessed every moment of labour. Labour lasted about six hours, and then he experienced every moment of the birth of their child. He held her hand throughout, rubbing her shoulder with his free hand and ignoring the pain in the one she had a vice-like grip on. Flip pressed a cool cloth to her forehead between pushing, whispering sweet nothings and praise in her ear as she cried out in pain, until suddenly (Y/N) was slumping into the pillows propped up behind her with a sigh of relief, and then the brief silence filled with a cry.

Their newborn baby gave a shrill shriek of displeasure, and Flip and (Y/N) were entirely overcome with emotion. Flip stepped forward to cut the umbilical cord. With the help of the doctor, he took hold of the baby to lay them on (Y/N)‘s chest. The baby's cries dulled somewhat then, as she clutched their baby to her skin and gazed down with so much affection he felt hot tears rolling down his cheeks, his heart so full of joy it nearly hurt.

“Congratulations, mommy and daddy!” The doctor said a few minutes later. He then took the baby to be checked over and cleaned up, across the room.

Flip leaned down and pressed his lips to (Y/N)‘s forehead, “You doing alright, pretty girl?” When she nodded sleepily, he raised his hands to cup her cheeks, thumbs brushing across her soft, damp skin. “You did so well, darling. You were so strong and brave, I’m so proud of you. I love you.” He kissed her again, this time capturing her lips briefly.

(Y/N) sighed with content, “I love you too, Flip,” Her eyes were fluttering now, exhaustion pulling her toward a much-deserved slumber, though he saw them flicker to where the nurses were standing with the baby, working at swaddling them. “Will you stay with the baby?”

“Course I will, darling. Now get some sleep,” He reached down for her blankets and pulled them up, tucking her in better as the nurses that had been tidying up her lower body finished up. “Baby and I will be right here when you wake up, pretty girl.”

With one last smile, (Y/N) slipped off to sleep, her breathing evening out as Flip watched. He didn’t even feel tired, and true to his word he didn’t go anywhere, staying with her and the baby, whom he was holding when she woke back up a few hours later.

Flip slid onto the bed next to her and together they held their little bundle of joy, each staring into the little, scrunched up face with huge grins. Their little rainbow baby.

Tag list ✨

@tashastrange89 @finn-ray-nal-beads @fizzywoohoo @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @morby @pradaxstyles @10blurredsmoke10 @mermaidxatxheart @paintballkid711

[summerrainwinterbreeze]

Hi bestie, could i order a Rooiboss Tea, Honey Tea, and a English Breakfast Tea for Beomgyu please?

❁Crow!! my dearest, I missed you!!❁

❁ Rooibos tea-- Arguments with gyu are a rarity. A rarity that typically stems from a build up of emotion disguised as a petty outburst. The whole 'It's never about the milk' concept. That or a misunderstanding that leaves you both hurt, and a little sensitive. Again, it's a build up. Starting with the cold shoulder, blending into snide remarks, somehow finding t's way to a public setting. It's when the tension grows so tangible that a friend of both you and gyu questions what all this is about. You'd likely be the one who lashes out first, beomgyu following closely behind. And when all is said and done, instead of making up, instead of talking calmly, you'd retreat to your own corners. It would eat away at him... every nasty word bleeding into the next, a mantra consuming him. If he's at the point where he argues with you, he's at the point where he cares for you--deeply. (To expand: beomgyu doesn't argue often. Not anything heavy, serious, at least) So if he trusts you with his thoughts, feelings... an argument is really going to hurt him. That's why he'd apologize first. Barely able to look at you, he'd whisper, "Look... I'm sorry. Talk to me...please, I miss you."

❁Honey tea-- Typically speaking, beomgyu loves to sleep at night. To him there's nothing better than pulling you to his chest and wrapping him in his arms for a good cuddle session. But he must admit that there are few things he enjoys more than walking with you. Maybe it's the freeness of it all. Maybe he just loves being able to walk while everyone's asleep, following the trail dim honey circles pouring off of streetlights. The lack of hesitation when either of you suggests, "Hey, let's check this out. Didn't know that this shop was open at night." It's the calm of it that he loves the most. I see him taking you to some kind of open space. Perhaps the beach, or a field. He loves the feel of indulging in all his senses the sound of crashing waves, the scent--- the taste-- of salt dusted breeze, how utterly ethereal you look at this time of day. How the dim light does nothing of the sort to your silhouette, rather, pronouncing it. The smooth of your skin beneath his palms when he runs them over every--any inch he can get. The heat of your breath fanning against his lips, how he slides them against yours, groans into your mouth, claims it. Yup. Beomgyu loves going on night walks.

❁English breakfast tea-- It would take a while for Beomgyu to confide in you. Not because he doesn't trust you, but he would run little tests first. Intentionally subtle. He wants a raw, unprocessed answer, so he can truly get a feel for your character before he trusts you with his heart. Because that's what this is. Beomgyu telling you about his darker thoughts, his worries, his insecurities, is him handing you his heart between hands cupped and trembling. The first time he mentions anything would for sure be late at night. When the house is silent, the tone mellow, thick. "I trust you." He'd say. And the words are just as much for himself as they are to you. To reassure himself that he can trust you. "I've been feeling..." He may have trouble completing certain sentences or embark on a breathless rant. "It's really depressing to see this happen, and I know that it shouldn't bother me, and I should feel this way, but I can't help but worry, and the other member don't seem to share the same issue, so I wouldn't want to bring them down by talking about it, and I worry about saying it to you as well, but I can't keep holding it in because it ripping me apart and..." It would be a bit of a slur of words. Voice a thick, lilting embodiment of his daegyu origins as he tries to make sense of whatever is going on in his head. You don't need to say anything. Just hold his gaze while he speaks, little nods scattered throughout show him that you're listening. And at the end of it, assure him that he isn't alone in these thoughts. He needs to know that he's not... alone.