#pancake stack challenge

[smartdeals24]

[reiderwriter]

A Dream, A Kiss, A Wire

A (very late) submission for @imagining-in-the-margins Undercover challenge!!

Prompts: Character is surprised when their undercover partner is *very* good at pretending to be in love with them. “It’s just acting.” / “So you can make your heart race like that on command?”

Warnings: mentions of case details (bombing/ arson), mainly fluff

A/N: I don't know when the last time I posted fluff was, but I had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope you all enjoy it! I'm trying to post more regularly once a week now, so hopefully, I'll have something else for you next Sunday~

Masterlist

Two months of undercover work was probably standard in the FBI. You hadn't exactly been in the FBI that long, obviously, or in any job too long for that matter, being pretty fresh from a decade in academics, but you were a hard worker, and you got work done.

But your undercover work with the BAU wasn't exactly what you would call work.

You woke up in the morning, cooked breakfast for your fake husband, went to your pilates class with the other neighborhood wives, went to your fake job, and then went back to your fake home where you publicans flirted with your fake husband outside for an hour or two to make your real neighbors believe in your fake relationship.

So that hopefully, one of them would attempt to blow you up.

With three “accidental” house fires in the neighborhood in the last year, and insurance company who'd been investigating potential fraud in the area had tipped off the BAU of a possible undiscovered arsonist, though you'd quickly deduced as a team that your unsub was likely a bomber instead.

A few months of surveillance, and then the gradual introduction of pairs of agents into the neighborhood under heavy cover, and here you were.

Making your fake husband pancakes.

Spencer emerged into the kitchen to one of his favorite views in recent months. You'd been the first pair put in, the one most likely to get attention quickly, the team had said. He watched as you hummed along to the morning radio, stacking up piles of pancakes and dancing along as you cooked.

You looked happy.

The concept of pretending to be married hadn't sat well with Spencer at first. He was never the greatest actor, and his last attempt at cover with Cat Adams hadn't exactly lasted too long. He was two months in now, sure, but he owed most of that to you.

Every time he'd blundered, you'd been there to help him out.

You'd suggested working on the garden together at the weekend to show off your effective communication as a couple. He'd let you feed him strawberries and sprayed you with the water hose, causing a water fight the neighborhood kids had politely asked to be included in.

You'd also been the one to request weekly flower bouquets, preferable from the local florist, just so everyone could see how dedicated he was to his wife. You'd sneezed heavily into the first few bouquets, and he'd requested mainly tulips, roses, and carnations after that when your nose looked a little red.

You'd also been the one to hook your legs around his waist in the swimming pool in your back yard - in clear view of at least 5 neighbors houses - and angle your head just so, inspiring pats on the back from a few heavy handed husbands at the neighborhood barbecue the week after.

That was all to say, Spencer thought you were an incredible actor.

Until that morning, when you'd rolled over in the bed you shared after waking up and kissed him full on the lips as you groggily said good morning, before padding off to the bathroom to take your morning shower.

If Spencer hadn't been awake before then, he definitely was after. It was like every cell in his body jolted at the touch of your lips. You'd zapped him with a lightning bolt, then walked off so casually he didn't even have the time to question you.

By the time he stood to follow, the sounds of the shower were already pronounced alongside his own heartbeat.

It took the best part of the morning to remind himself that this was just work. You were just acting, and you'd gotten into the role.

“And don't forget to head to the dry cleaner today in your way home from work, I dropped off some summer dresses last week and your other work blazer and they called twice yesterday to say they were done-”

He listened to you happily telling him what to do as he ate his pancakes, responding where you wanted him to respond, and being a generally agreeing husband, all the while thinking about how your lips felt pressed against his.

He thought as well about the way your body felt against his. You'd been sharing a bed for two months, and obviously, you'd ended up tangled in one another more than once. He'd never let himself think about it as any more than an extension of work before that morning, though. Part of the cover.

And now he felt the contours of your body matched his in a way that made the tips of his ears pink.

His eyes - and attention - must've slipped away from where you thought they'd ought to briand you looked at him with a questioning glance.

“Spencer?”

“Hmm? Yes, dry cleaning and visit Tara at the bank. Anything else?” he asked, begging you to say nothing about where he'd just been caught looking.

“No. You got everything. Well, just make sure you wash up the breakfast pots on the way out, I'm leaving for pilates now.”

Without another word, Spencer watched you grab your car keys from the basket in the foyer, directly down the hall from his seat at your kitchen island, and felt a sense of dread.

He couldn't let you go again without asking you about the kiss, his body screamed at him, though his mind begged him to be rational.

His body seemed to win out rather quickly, as he called after you just as you opened the front door.

“Wait,” he said, jogging to catch up with you before he pulled you into his arms. The memory of the pool filled his thoughts to the point where he could almost smell the chlorine, the tips of his ears aflame with the sensation of your breath against his skin.

You tried to relax into his hug, knowing that a few of your neighbors were already outside, getting their cars ready to go to work. “Spencer,” you whispered, “What are you doing?”

His eyes flicked to your lips as he thought about just kissing you then and there. But the almost worried look on your face had him loosening his grip slightly, losing his resolve.

Luckily, the shame at his loss of self-control made his head drop slightly, just enough to catch the translucent wire centimetres from your foot glare in the sunlight.

At the worst possible time for Spencer Reid, you'd had your biggest break in the case in months.

...

A week later, you were you again and on the jet with colleagues you hadn't fully been able to interact with in months. Of course, you'd seen them all about the neighborhood, and you laughed and joked about it now that you were going back to your real lives.

“I swear to the almighty himself, if Joy ever suggests putting me in one of those old people's homes really, I want you to just take me out back and shoot me,” Rossi complained, swearing off slippers and bingo for the foreseeable future.

“You had company at least,” Luke muttered, having been confined to a small apartment on the upper side of the neighborhood that coincidentally housed all their surveillance equipment.

“Speaking of company, how was married life?” Emily joked, elbowing Spencer in the side from her seat next to him.

“It was… it was good,” he said, taking a sip of water from his bottle and avoiding all eye contact from everyone.

“Okay…. Y/N, what about you? What was Spencer like as a husband?”

You looked nervous as Spencer finally found it in himself to look at someone else again, desperately avoiding Emily's probing gaze.

“It was…. Nice. To switch off for a while. Not think too much, just…. Pretend?”

“Really? It was hard for me to get into character, and I lived alone. You and Spencer had to keep up a double act,” Luke laughed and shook his head, and Spencer found the ensuing silence more than a little awkward.

“I don't know, I just think it was kind of nice,” you said after too long of a pause. “Living with someone again. Less lonely, you know?”

Some sad smiles flicked your way in sympathy, then out the window, and you found yourself looking up at Spencer directly across from you and smiling shyly.

“Maybe I should start dating again,” you sighed under your breath when no one else was listening. But Spencer was listening. Spencer was always listening to you.

Two days in the office working late on paperwork and research was all Spencer could handle before he started asking questions.

Two hours into overtime, the moon was out, and the light in the office had dimmed just enough for the majority of the light in the room to be coming from your computer screen and desk lamp.

Spencer watched you casually, quick to look away any time you looked up at him, the feeling of his eyes burning into you, alerting you to his attention.

After a few minutes of looking up just as he looked away, you sighed in resignation and confronted him.

“What is it, Spencer?”

“Hmm? No, um… nothing,” he said, fumbling his pencil so it fell to the ground. He stood and retrieved it before hesitating and taking a step closer to your desk.

“You're really good at your undercover work, you know?” He said with a cute smile, leaning on the side of your desk as you looked up at him.

“What does that mean?” you asked, suddenly on edge. Spencer didn't usually pay you compliments, and you'd hoped to completely drop the topic of the cover completely after you'd landed and closed the case.

“I don't know, it's just… it seemed like you put a lot of yourself into it.”

“It was work. I put a lot of myself into everything I do. Work is included in that.”

“Work…” he said, nodding. He almost turned around and walked away. Almost.

“You kissed me that morning, you know?”

It didn't come out loud, but it resonated around the empty room anyway as you felt your heartbeat faster.

“You were awake?” You squeaked out before you could stop yourself, suddenly looking up Spencer with pleading eyes as you willed him to tell you he was joking.

“Yes, I was- hold on, you thought I was asleep? You kissed me because you thought I was asleep?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“It was just something… I didn't think, and-”

“Y/N, I kissed you back. Why did you think I was asleep?”

“Well, you didn't kiss back hard enough if I hardly noticed, did you?” you pouted, trying to go back to your work, but finding yourself with a brain so blank you couldn't even pretend to type. “I was acting, Spencer. I just.. got too into it, I suppose.”

“Y/N, look at me please,” Spencer pleaded, but you kept your head stubbornly turned away.

You felt his eyes on you, heard him take a step closer. Then another. You felt him loom over you, saw his hand come to rest beside yours on your desk.

Finally, you cracked.

“Spencer, I really don't think-” you stood and faced him, and immediately regretted both actions.

You'd shared a bed for two months, but this was definitely the closest you'd ever gotten. You could practically taste Spencer. You stood almost attached at the hip, his mouth not even inches from your own, but centimetres.

His forehead practically rest against your own, and he clutched your waist for balance, bringing you in closer.

You were stunned into silence, and when he grabbed your wrist in his hand and looked down at it in silence for a minute, you stood with baited breath for him to do something, anything else.

“The average resting heart rate for someone your age and activity level is around 75 beats per minute. I estimate yours is currently between 112 and 115. Are you acting now, too?”

You almost wanted to pull away and pout, but before you could do anything with your bottom lip, he'd claimed it with his own. His kiss was soft and delicate but intentional. His second was bolder, harder, and invasion of all your senses as he cupped your chin in his hand and lifted it just a little higher, pressing his tongue between your lips as he begged for permission.

A small moan granted him everything he wanted, as his hands sparked up your skin.

When he finally pulled away, not far enough to be out of your reach yet, your pants filled the air, syncopated as you breathed each other in and out.

“Let's keep acting. Just for now,” he gasped, whispering in your ear as he stroked your cheeks.

“Please,” he whispered as he once again claimed your lips.

[wendichester]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. sweet, oblivious, you³,

summary. dean likes you. sam likes you, too. lucky you, oblivious to it all.

pairing. dean winchester x reader x sam winchester  genre. fluff but also not pg-13

wordcount. 928

notes / warnings. polyamory, mentions of previous sexual content (threesome, oral sex, sharing dynamics, shower sex), sexual tension, mild language n banter. lots of feelings happening, no established labels.

ᯓ★ read part 1, part 2

The next morning is weird.

Not bad weird. Just... different.

Like the world tilted a few degrees overnight and you’re the only one who noticed. Or maybe you just finally caught up to something that’s been off-kilter for a while.

Because Dean makes pancakes. Like, real ones. From scratch. With that dumb little curl of concentration between his brows and a towel slung over his shoulder like a sitcom dad. He doesn’t say much when you walk in — just tosses you a wink and a “mornin’, sweetheart” like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Meanwhile, Sam’s already at the table, glasses perched low on his nose, flipping through a lore book while he sips his coffee like he didn’t recently eat you out on the kitchen table.

And you?

You just stand there in one of Dean’s flannels and your own underwear, heart pounding like a guilty drum solo, trying to figure out how you’re supposed to exist now.

“You’re overthinking,” Dean calls, not looking up from the stove.

You blink. “I am not.”

Sam glances up, one brow raised. “You are.”

Your jaw drops. “Can you two not gang up on me before caffeine?”

Dean slides a plate onto the table, golden pancakes stacked like edible therapy. “Didn’t seem to need caffeine last night,” he mutters, grinning into his mug.

Sam makes a small choking sound, coughs behind his fist.

You chuck a napkin at Dean’s head. He catches it mid-air. Of course he does.

It’s so stupidly domestic it almost breaks your brain.

You sit. You eat. You avoid eye contact. And yet… not one second of it feels wrong.

Which is terrifying.

It turns out navigating a relationship with one Winchester is a challenge.

Two?

It’s a full-time job. With no handbook. No boundaries. No HR department.

Dean is touchy. Constant. Brazen.

He walks past you and smacks your ass like he owns the place. Pulls you into his lap during movie nights and nuzzles your neck like a cat. Whispers filth in your ear just to watch you blush.

Sam’s more subtle. Sneaky. Patient.

His affection is quiet — a lingering hand on your lower back, a stolen kiss when no one’s looking, the way he murmurs your name like a prayer when he thinks you’re asleep.

They orbit you like moons, never colliding, never competing… but never ignoring each other, either.

They don’t look at each other when they touch you.

Don’t talk about it, either.

But it’s understood.

A silent agreement.

A shared secret.

And every time they take you — together or apart — it’s like a ritual. A rhythm. Like they’ve both silently decided you’re theirs now, no take-backs.

The next test is a hunt.

Which, honestly, feels cruel.

Because being around them in the bunker is already dizzying. But being in close quarters, motel rooms, adrenaline highs and near-death moments? Recipe for chaos.

You end up in the front seat of the Impala, sandwiched between the two of them after the first day of tracking.

Covered in dirt. Drenched in sweat. And way too aware of the way Dean’s thigh presses against yours… the way Sam’s hand occasionally brushes yours on the seat… the way neither of them seem willing to bring up last night’s shared shower situation that ended in you on your knees with one of them in your mouth and the other watching, fists clenched, jaw tight.

It’s fine.

You’re fine.

Totally fine.

Until Dean mutters, “You know, next time we stop for supplies, I’m buying a goddamn king bed.”

Sam snorts. “You say that like you’re the one getting pushed off.”

“You elbowed me in the ribs, dude.”

“You took all the blankets.”

“You sleep like a corpse!”

“Only because you were practically humping her in your sleep—”

“I was cuddling!”

You groan and bury your face in your hands.

“Can we not do this while I’m right here?”

They both go silent.

Dean clears his throat. “Right. Sorry, sweetheart.”

Sam shifts. “Didn’t mean to make it weird.”

You peek between your fingers. “We already passed weird like five exits ago.”

Dean laughs. It’s low, fond. “Yeah. Guess we did.”

And Sam… he just reaches over and laces his fingers through yours.

That simple.

That easy.

That sure.

Your heart damn near explodes.

That night, the motel room is dark and quiet.

You lie in bed — the one bed — between them.

Dean’s on your left, arm slung over your waist. Sam’s on your right, hand tangled in your hair.

Neither of them’s asleep.

Neither are you.

There’s a moment — quiet, weighty — where no one says a thing. Where the air buzzes with all the things that haven’t been spoken.

And then you do something bold.

You speak.

“This isn’t just sex, right?”

Dean doesn’t move. “No.”

Sam exhales, slow. “Not for us.”

You blink at the ceiling. “So what is it?”

Dean rolls to face you. “You tell us.”

You turn toward him. His eyes are shadowed, soft. Watching you like you’re fragile, even when you’ve proven you’re not.

“It feels like…” You bite your lip. “Like I’m home.”

Sam presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder. “Yeah,” he whispers. “That’s what it feels like.”

Dean leans in and kisses you — soft, lingering, grateful.

And then Sam kisses you too, a few heartbeats later. A little deeper. A little slower.

And you realize something.

They don’t need labels.

They don’t need rules.

They need you.

And you — God help you — need them too.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[tgirlfeeedeee]

In reference to my previous post, heres the gluttony month challenge

This is just a rough draft so recommendations are greatly appreciated!

Month of gluttony

(Feel free to adjust the numbers to make sure the challenge suits you, if the current challenge is too easy, add more, if its too hard eat less, but i do encourage that you only make it easier if you absolutely can’t)

Day 1 add 1000 calories to whatever you eat on a normal day

Day 2 full pizza in one sitting

Day 3 everything you wanna eat, eat double

Day 4 stack a burger as high as you can and add as many fries as can fit on the plate

Day 5 weight gain shake chug

Day 6 4 eggs, 4 pancakes, 4 slices of bacon (or meat alternative)

Day 7 tacobell binge, get AT LEAST 3 items

Day 8 2 liters of soda and a footlong sub

Day 9 grazing day, no big stuffing just continuous snacking, make sure theres always food by your side

Day 10 add 2k calories to what you usually eat

Day 11 do a food challenge at a local restaurant or desert place

Day 12 no turning down food for the day, anyone asks you to eat something, you have to (to make this day best, make sure to let people in these communities know youre doing this challenge)

Day 13 eat 2 pints of ice cream in one sitiing

Day 14 grazing day, no big stuffing just continuous snacking, make sure theres always food by your side

Day 15 add 3k calories to what you usually eat

Day 16 break day, youve worked so hard and the hardest is yet to come, you get one day to eat normally

Day 17 a full pt of pasta for you

Day 18 eat a full cake/pie

Day 19 grazing day, no big stuffing just continuous snacking, make sure theres always food by your side

Day 20 add 4k calories to what you usually eat

Day 21 break day, youve worked so hard and the hardest is yet to come, you get one day to eat normally

Day 22 move as little as possible, lay in bed all day and have your meals brought to you or bring snacks at the beginning of the day

Day 23 go into your local grocery store/gas station with $10 and get the most calories you can out and eat it in one sitting

Day 24 grazing day, no big stuffing just continuous snacking, make sure theres always food by your side

Day 25 add 6k calories to what you usually eat

Day 26 break day, youve worked so hard and the hardest is yet to come, you get one day to eat normally

Day 27 “bulking” a full pot of rice

Day 28 pick 3 fast food restaurants to get a full meal from in one trip

Day 29 a dozen donuts in one sitting

Day 30 10,000 calories in one day

If you’re looking for fun names for this depending on the month you could go with Balloon June, thick thigh july, stuffing september, fatober, and those are all I can think of, I’ll probably try and do it in balloon june or thick thigh july, not sure which 🤔

[seospicybin]

TOO CROWDED.

Lee Know x reader. (s,f)

Chapters: Wrong crowd / In the crowd / Crowded

Synopsis: Years of marriage haven’t fully prepared Minho for the arrival of a new family member or the changes that come with his growing family. As he navigates these new challenges, he realizes that love and family are constantly evolving in ways he never expected. (19,3k words)

Author's note: To the Crowd enthusiasts, thank you for patiently waiting & hope you enjoy this one too ♡

It’s Saturday, yet Minho wakes up early as usual, his internal clock refusing to let him sleep past 5:30 a.m.

The first thing he does is shift closer to your side of the bed, slipping his arm around you and gently pulling you into his embrace. His lips press a soft kiss to your cheek, careful not to wake you. You deserve more sleep. For a moment, he enjoys the warmth of your body against his, spooning you, before placing another kiss on your bare shoulder and quietly slipping out of bed.

Next, he pads across the hall to your daughter’s room, slowly pushing the door open. Peeking inside, he smiles when he sees Byeol still fast asleep, clutching her blanket tightly. The sight of her peaceful face always fills him with a deep sense of contentment—knowing she feels safe and loved. He brushes a gentle hand over her cheek, then quietly leaves, letting her sleep a little longer.

Minho heads downstairs to the kitchen. As the coffee brews, he washes up, brushes his teeth, and makes his way to the rooftop to water the potted plants. Returning to the kitchen, he pours himself a cup of coffee and settles at the dining table, handling bills and a few business emails.

By 7:00 a.m., he’s pulling ingredients from the fridge to prepare breakfast, not forgetting to pack a lunchbox for Byeol. Halfway through stirring pancake batter, he catches sight of you wandering into the kitchen, your hair a tousled mess and a sleepy smile on your lips.

"Morning," you mumble, slipping your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your face against his back. You cling to him for a while as he works over the stove, only moving to kiss his cheek before grabbing his mug and refilling it with more coffee for yourself.

Minho glances at the clock, then at you. "Enjoying your coffee?"

"Mmhmm," you murmur, savoring the warm drink.

"Can you go wake up our daughter?" he asks, focused on flipping a pancake.

"I thought we're cool parents," You groan playfully, holding your mug. "It’s Saturday. Let her sleep!"

"Today’s the school trip." He reminds you.

"Oh, shit!" you grumble, setting down your coffee. You tie your robe and shoot him a quick grin. "Wish me luck!"

Minho smiles as you head to Byeol’s room, knowing it won’t be hard to wake her. She’s been talking about the trip all week, and sure enough, it takes you less than five minutes to have her running to the kitchen for breakfast.

"Here’s your delinquent daughter, sir," you joke, pulling out a chair for her.

Minho places the last pancake on the growing stack. He brings the plate over to the table, feigning seriousness as he addresses Byeol. "Young lady, you’re sentenced to live with us until you're of age and eat all these pancakes without any maple syrup or strawberries."

Byeol doesn’t even blink at her father’s odd sense of humor. She knows exactly what it means: they’re out of her favorite toppings.

"How about bananas?" she asks innocently.

"We’re out of bananas!" you call from behind the counter, pouring yourself more coffee.

Minho pats his daughter’s shoulder. "Tough luck."

But you come to the rescue, placing a bowl of blueberries and whipped cream next to her plate. "We’ve got these, though."

Byeol beams, picking up her fork. "Thanks, Mommy."

It’s never a competition between you two when it comes to earning Byeol’s affection, but with work keeping you busy most of the time, Minho likes creating little moments where she can bond with you. It’s just another way he shows how much he loves his two girls.

Minho points his spatula at you, narrowing his eyes. "I’ll let you have this win."

You make a face at him, and he turns away to hide his laughter.

The morning quickly becomes hectic as you both scramble to get Byeol ready for her school trip. Minho helps her pack while you diligently apply sunscreen to her.

"We’re not going to the beach. Why do I need sunblock?" Byeol complains.

"Because I don’t want you coming home looking like a blob of slime," you reply without missing a beat, finishing her legs. "Do you want to be a blob of slime?"

"No," she mutters while giggling.

"Good!" You adjust her socks and tighten her shoelaces, then let her go.

Dropping Byeol off at school is usually stressful—other moms often stare at him—but with you by his side, he feels more relaxed.

The parking lot is packed as parents say goodbye to their kids. Minho carries Byeol’s backpack while you walk hand in hand with her. When it’s time for the trip, you kneel down to Byeol’s level, fussing over her ponytail and clothes, unable to help yourself.

"Be good, okay?" you say softly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "Listen to Miss Sara, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask."

"Okay, Mommy," Byeol nods.

You pull her into a hug, holding on like you’re sending her off to war rather than a school trip.

"Don’t forget to drink water, eat your lunch, and—"

"I’ll be okay, Mommy," Byeol assures you with a smile.

You sigh, reluctantly letting her go. "And have fun!"

Minho chuckles quietly at how grown-up your six-year-old is acting. He bends down, hugging her and planting a quick kiss on her cheek.

"We’ll pick you up later," he reminds her.

"Yes, Daddy."

After a quick wave, Byeol boards the bus. You both stand watching until the bus pulls away, your hand slipping into Minho’s as you turn to head back to the car.

"It’s a beautiful day," you sigh contentedly, gazing up at the sky. "And we have the whole afternoon to ourselves."

He grins, watching how relaxed you suddenly look. "What do you want to do?"

You swing his hand playfully, thinking. "How about we grab some take-out and have a picnic?"

"Sounds good," Minho says, unlocking the car.

"We can get your favorite pudding for dessert," you add, already planning the afternoon.

As you buckle your seatbelt, you turn to him, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Or…"

"Or what?"

You place your hand on his knee and grin. "Or we stay home and make babies?"

Minho raises an eyebrow at the sudden suggestion, amused but not surprised. He doesn’t mind the idea at all, but with how nice the weather is, staying inside seems like a waste.

You squeeze his knee gently. "So? What’s it going to be?"

Minho glances between you and the road ahead, the decision already made. He pulls the car onto the street, heading in the direction of home.

-

Everyone in the parlor has asked for the weekend off to enjoy the summer, so Minho granted it, leaving the parlor downstairs closed until Tuesday.

This also means you and Minho have the whole building to yourselves and you obviously going to make the most of this rare moment. You push him onto the sofa, straddling him without hesitation, your mouth crashing against his. Your body moves on its own, hands frantically unbuttoning his shirt while your hips grind against his crotch. Your lips continuously press against his, breath heavy and hungry.

He holds you close, one hand resting on the small of your back while the other tangles in your hair, fisting it as he tilts your head to the side, giving him access to your neck.

“Honey, not a hickey, please?” you mutter breathlessly as his teeth graze your skin.

He drags his lips up to your ear, playfully biting at it. “Why not? You look good with one,” he teases, his words punctuated by a wet kiss on your jaw.

“We still have to pick up your daughter later,” you remind him, not wanting to give the other parents something to gossip about.

“Afraid they’ll be jealous of you?” he murmurs.

“You think you’re that hot, huh?”

His hand slips beneath your dress, fingers teasing your clothed sex, tracing over your clit. The pressure makes you gasp as he rubs slow, deliberate circles. His smirk is devilish, eyes dark with lust.

“I know I am,” he says confidently.

You can’t deny the heat pooling inside you as his fingers work their magic. “Honey…” you whine, though you don’t truly mind.

Suddenly, he shifts, gently lifting you off his lap and laying you down on the sofa. His shirt falls to the floor, exposing his toned chest. With a heated gaze, he pushes the hem of your dress up, tugging at the waistband of your underwear. He pulls it down slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving yours. He parts your legs with his hands, lowering himself between your thighs without a word. His mouth trails wet kisses down the inside of your thigh before he dives in, pressing his mouth to your wetness.

A whimper escapes your lips as his tongue expertly teases you. You can’t help but close your eyes, overwhelmed by the sensation as he takes his time savoring every inch of you. Occasionally, you glance down to see his head buried between your legs, his tattooed arms wrapped around your thighs. The sight alone sends waves of arousal through you.

“Honey, oh…” you moan as he sucks on your clit, your body trembling with need.

Minho lifts his head, his mouth glistening with your essence. He flicks his tongue against your sensitive clit, his dark eyes watching your every reaction.

“Oh, God…” you moan loudly, unafraid, knowing you’re alone in the house.

His lips close around your clit once more, sucking gently as he slides two fingers inside you. The dual sensations have you gasping, eyes rolling back as your grip on the sofa tightens.

“Oh, honey… that feels so good,” you mutter breathlessly, barely able to think as pleasure overwhelms you.

Your noises only encourage him, his mouth and fingers working in perfect harmony, pushing you closer to your high. Your hands tug at his hair, legs trembling as he holds them open, keeping you steady as he pushes you toward the edge.

It doesn’t take long until you cum against his mouth, your body trembling as Minho eagerly drinks in your release. His tongue moves with precision, lapping up every drop of your essence as you ride out your climax, the sensation overwhelming in the best way. He doesn’t shy away, savoring you completely as you come undone beneath him.

Breathless, you feel the need to return the favor. Without a word, you push him back slightly and reach for his shirt. You peel it off, revealing his inked body, each line and curve of the tattoos forever captivating you. Your lips trail over his skin, kissing his chest, neck, and down to the waistband of his jeans, inhaling his natural, intoxicating scent along the way.

Dropping to your knees, you deftly undo the button and fly of his jeans, the sound of the zipper cutting through the quiet room. His growing arousal is clear as you take his hardening length from its confines. You wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly while locking eyes with him, savoring the way his breath hitches in anticipation.

Minho leans back into the sofa, head resting against the cushions as his body relaxes into your touch. He gives you all the room you need, a silent invitation to take control. You waste no time, your mouth closing around his length, warm and wet as you begin to pleasure him.

His hand gently moves to your hair, brushing it out of the way as he watches you intently. "Keep going, honey," he murmurs, his voice soft yet commanding, his thumb brushing your cheek affectionately as you take him deeper.

Your lips glide smoothly along his shaft, your hand stroking the base while your mouth works the rest. His quiet moans and gasps fuel your movements, encouraging you as you bring him closer to the edge. You feel him tense beneath you, his release fast approaching.

Moments later, his body shudders, and he spills into your mouth, his cum spilling onto your tongue. A few drops land on your lips and chin, painting your skin. Minho gazes down at you, his dark eyes full of desire as if admiring his handiwork.

"I know it’s a lot, but I want you to swallow it for me, honey," he whispers, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw.

Obediently, you close your mouth and swallow, your throat working to take him in. You open your mouth again afterward, showing him that you’ve done as he asked, a mischievous glint in your eye.

A satisfied smirk plays at the corner of his lips, and he pulls you up to straddle him once more. His hands find your waist, holding you firmly as he leans in, pressing his lips to yours. He kisses you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth as if he can taste himself on you.

For a while, the two of you simply sit there, your bodies pressed together, enjoying the rare and uninterrupted intimacy. There's no rush, no need for words—just the quiet, perfect moment shared between you.

This moment here is yours and yours only.

-

To cool down from the heat of the day, you grab two cans of cold beer from the fridge and hand one to Minho before plopping down beside him on the sofa. Without a word, you take his arm and drape it over your shoulder, snuggling in as close as possible. His presence is comforting, and today, you crave it more than usual.

“To making babies!” you chime, raising your can.

“To making babies!” Minho echoes, clinking his beer can against yours. You both take hearty gulps, the cold liquid instantly refreshing as it runs down your throats.

For months now, you and Minho have been trying to have another child, but despite your best efforts, the results haven't come. You both decided to stop stressing about it and just enjoy the process. And right now, enjoying the process is exactly what’s on your mind.

You softly trace the line of his jaw with your fingertips, feeling the light stubble there. “This mouth still knows how to make me feel good,” you mutter, your words laced with affection.

Minho smirks faintly at your compliment. “This mouth always takes me well,” he teases back, making you laugh softly.

You smile, leaning into him. “I think we’ve been working really well on this baby-making thing.”

“We make a great team,” he remarks, his hand snaking around your neck as he pulls you toward him, placing a kiss on your lips. His lips are warm, a reminder of the connection you both share.

“But honey…” he murmurs as he pulls back just enough to gaze at you, “We haven’t even started making babies yet.”

You narrow your eyes at him, catching onto the playful glint in his gaze. “Oh, yeah, you’re right.”

What happened earlier was just the warm-up, the teasing foreplay. The real fun, the true attempt, is still ahead. You take the can from his hand and place it on the coffee table, along with yours, before climbing onto his lap. Your arms loop around his neck as you straddle him, the closeness already setting your skin on fire.

Minho’s hands are quick to move, his fingers finding the zipper at the back of your dress. He tugs it down, the soft sound of it parting filling the quiet space. You help by pulling the dress over your head, tossing it onto the floor before pressing your body against his, skin to skin.

His lips capture yours in a slow, deep kiss, one that sends shivers down your spine. His hands roam your body, one sliding down your back until he reaches the curve of your rear, giving it a firm squeeze. You melt into his touch, sighing against his mouth.

“Let’s make cute babies, mmh?” you whisper, your lips brushing his before kissing him again.

“Yeah, let's make another little shit,” he jokes, a playful grin on his face as his hand lands a firm slap on your ass.

“Honey!” you shriek, though your sly smile gives away how much you’re enjoying it.

Maybe it’s the rare freedom of having the house to yourselves that makes Minho loosen up more than usual. He’s rougher, more intense, and you don’t hold back from showing how much you love every moment. Your moans fill the room as he thrusts into you, deep and purposeful, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you.

But then he slows down, deliberately pulling back just as you’re nearing your release, letting the tension slip away. He’s done it more than twice now, and it’s starting to drive you crazy.

“Minho, quit playing,” you grumble, gripping his shoulder, your frustration clear as your body aches for release.

“What?” he asks, playing dumb, a smirk plastered on his angular face.

“We have to pick up Byeol soon,” you remind him, your voice breathless. “We can’t be late.”

“Don’t worry, honey,” he reassures you, his words followed by a hasty kiss as he continues thrusting into you. “We’ll finish just in time.”

Minho always has his way, and you know it’s impossible to stop him when he wants something—especially this.

-

Later that night, you stand in the kitchen, watching the microwave hum as it cooks the popcorn. Your eyes drift toward the living room, where Minho and Byeol are sitting on the sofa, engrossed in a movie. Byeol, as animated as ever, is eagerly explaining something about the plot to her dad, her little hands moving in excitement.

It’s such a simple, everyday sight, yet it fills you with a deep sense of contentment. You can’t help but smile. Moments like this remind you of how lucky you are to have this life. But at the same time, a small voice inside asks: Do I really deserve all of this?

The microwave beeps, snapping you out of your thoughts. You grab the bowl you’ve prepared and carefully rip open the package, letting the freshly popped kernels spill into it. The warm, buttery scent fills the air as you carry the bowl to the living room.

You place the bowl of popcorn on Byeol’s lap, earning a sweet, “Thank you, mommy,” from her.

“You’re very welcome, honey,” you reply, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head before settling down next to Minho.

One arm wraps around his back as you nestle closer, resting your chin on his shoulder. You’ve always loved the way his tattoos curve along his neck, but what you love even more is kissing him there. So you do, placing a soft, lingering kiss on his skin, breathing in his familiar scent.

“How do you do it, honey?” you ask in a low voice.

Minho slightly turns his head, meeting your gaze as his hand moves to rest on top of yours, which lies comfortably on his chest. “What?”

“Act like you didn’t rearrange my guts hours ago on this very sofa?” you tease, a playful giggle escaping your lips.

He narrows his eyes at you, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. You can tell that the memory of your earlier activities is playing through his mind just like it is in yours. Instead of answering, he leans in and kisses you, his tongue sneaking past your lips in a move that’s definitely risky considering Byeol is just a few feet away. But Minho loves to push boundaries, and you love him for it.

Just as the kiss deepens, Byeol speaks up, her voice pulling you both back to reality. “Mommy, you have to watch this!” she pouts, her tone full of urgency. “This is the best part!”

You break the kiss with a soft laugh, one of those inevitable interruptions that come with being parents. You grab a handful of popcorn and turn your attention to the screen. “Okay, okay, Mommy’s watching,” you promise, your voice light as Minho keeps his hand laced with yours on his chest.

In moments like these, you realize something important: whether or not you ever have another child, you’re already blessed. Byeol is everything you could have ever asked for, and Minho—he’s been more than a great partner. He’s been a wonderful father and an unwavering source of love. Your marriage has been nothing short of bliss, and every day with them feels like a gift.

This is your family. Your little slice of forever. And you love them more than words can ever express.

-

It’s another day in Minho’s life, waking up early as usual. He stretches with a groan, then instinctively scoots closer to your side of the bed. His arm snakes around you, and he places a soft kiss on your neck, but something feels off.

Frowning, he props himself up on one elbow and gently moves the hair away from your face. The sheen of sweat on your forehead makes his concern grow. Minho presses the back of his hand to your neck, confirming what he fears—you’re burning up with a fever.

In an instant, he’s out of bed, hurrying to the medicine cabinet to grab the thermometer. When he returns, he presses the tip to your ear, waiting until the beep confirms it—you definitely have a fever.

“Honey,” he calls softly, his voice laced with worry as you shift under the covers. “You’re burning up.”

Your eyes flutter open, wincing as though it’s painful to wake. “I don’t feel well,” you croak.

“I’m going to get you some aspirin, okay?” Minho says, already half-jogging back to the cabinet, grabbing both the medicine and a glass of water.

He helps you sit up, watching closely as you take the aspirin and wash it down with a big gulp of water. Gently, he tucks you back into bed, pulling the blanket up to your chest.

“You’re not going to work today, okay?” Minho says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You nod weakly, your eyes already closing as you curl up, trying to get more rest.

Minho sighs, hating to see you like this. Looking so pale and fragile, it makes him feel helpless. But all he can do is be there for you.

“Just rest, mmh?” he murmurs softly, patting your head tenderly. He fixes the blanket again before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. As he closes the door, he hopes you’ll get the peace and rest you need.

His morning routine is thrown off, but he shifts focus, knowing he needs to get Byeol ready for school. He moves through the kitchen, preparing breakfast and her lunchbox, making sure everything’s packed and ready.

“Where’s mommy?” Byeol asks, noticing the absence at the breakfast table.

“Mommy’s not feeling well,” Minho explains, making a mental note to call your assistant and inform them that you won’t be able to work today.

“Mommy is sick?” Byeol’s face is full of concern, even with her mouth full of food.

“Yes, honey.” Minho places the lid on her lunchbox and tucks it into her bag.

Before leaving, Byeol insists on checking on you. She tiptoes into the bedroom, softly resting her head on your arm and placing a kiss on your hand, even though you’re fast asleep.

“Bye, bye, mommy,” she whispers. “Get well soon!”

If only you could see it, you’d know how much your little girl cherishes and loves you.

Minho follows suit, bending down to kiss your head. “I’ll be back soon, honey,” he whispers.

The whole morning passes while you sleep, and by the time Minho returns from his work downstairs, he finds you sitting up in bed, talking on the phone, probably informing the office about your sick day. He checks your temperature once more, relieved to find that the fever is starting to subside. Sitting next to you, he feels your head rest on his shoulder the moment you hang up the call.

“Feeling better?” he asks softly.

“Still feel like shit,” you mutter bluntly.

“You haven’t eaten anything,” Minho gently scolds. “Want me to make you something?”

You nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck, taking a moment to think. “You know, I suddenly crave your fried rice.”

“Fried rice?” He raises an eyebrow, expecting you to want soup or something light.

“Mm-hmm,” you confirm, “and make it a little spicy.”

“Spicy fried rice?” Minho asks, slightly surprised, considering your low spice tolerance.

“Yes,” you insist, and he can’t help but smile.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles, giving in easily. He lingers a little longer, enjoying your warmth as you snuggle into him.

As he cooks in the kitchen, Minho is surprised when he sees you walking out of the bedroom. Slowly, you make your way to the sofa in the living room.

“I was about to bring it to you in bed,” he says, pouring the freshly made fried rice onto a plate.

“It’s okay,” you wave him off, sitting down with a sigh. “I needed to go to the bathroom anyway.”

He brings the food over, along with another aspirin and a glass of water. Sitting beside you, he watches as you take your first bite.

“Oh, God! This is so good,” you gush, as though tasting his fried rice for the first time.

“It’s not too spicy?”

“Actually, it’s not spicy enough,” you tease, which makes him laugh since he knows how low your spice tolerance usually is.

Time passes quickly, and soon, it’s almost time to pick up Byeol from school.

“Don’t forget to take your medicine after,” Minho reminds, kissing your head before standing up.

“Honey,” you call sweetly.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask for more fried rice before you leave?” You flash him a playful grin.

How could he say no to that? “Of course, honey.”

When Byeol arrives home, she runs straight to you, burying her face in your chest, clearly happy to see you looking a little better.

“Mommy, don’t be sick!” she mumbles with such concern, it tugs at your heart.

“It’s just a fever, honey. Mommy will be okay,” you assure her, rubbing her back softly.

Minho watches the scene, understanding just how much you mean to Byeol and how much it affects you to see her worry. He heads back to the kitchen, preparing some snacks for her before his next appointment at the parlor.

“Take care of mommy while Daddy’s working, okay?” he says, giving Byeol a little responsibility.

Two hours later, Minho returns to find the two of you still in the living room. Byeol is busy working on her homework while you’ve fallen asleep on the sofa.

“Shh... mommy’s sleeping,” Byeol whispers as soon as she notices him approaching, her finger pressed to her lips.

Minho steps back with his hands raised. “Okay, sorry,” he whispers with a chuckle.

Still speaking in a hushed tone, Minho asks, “What do you want for dinner?”

Byeol thinks hard, a hand under her chin just like you do when making decisions. “Hmm... soup dumplings?”

Minho smiles. “Okay, soup dumplings it is.”

“Can Mommy eat soup dumplings when she’s sick?” Byeol asks, her thoughtfulness touching his heart.

“I think so. Mommy would love them,” he assures her.

Byeol smiles, content with the answer, before returning to her homework.

As Minho watches the two of you, he feels that familiar sense of determination. There’s nothing he loves more than taking care of his girls, but seeing one of you get sick? That part he hates. And it only makes him more resolved to do everything he can to keep you both safe and happy.

-

The next morning, it’s as if the fever never happened. You wake up a little later than Minho, feeling refreshed after a shower and getting dressed for work. There's a bounce in your step as you head to the kitchen, the scent of coffee drawing you in.

"How do you feel?" Minho asks as you nonchalantly steal his mug and take a sip of his coffee.

"I feel good," you reply with a smile, leaning in to press a lingering kiss on his lips before heading off to Byeol’s room.

You help your daughter get ready, brushing her hair and helping her pick out clothes. Together, you return to the dining table, where Byeol beams up at Minho, already dressed and ready for school.

"This looks delicious, daddy!" she chirps, eyeing the breakfast spread.

"Then you'll have no problem finishing it, right?" Minho teases, earning a giggle from her.

He serves you a fresh plate and pours another cup of coffee before sitting down for a quiet breakfast together. You take your first bite of scrambled eggs, but something’s off. Almost immediately, you feel your stomach turn, and you slap a hand over your mouth, quickly excusing yourself to the bathroom.

"Is mommy sick again?" Byeol asks, her voice tinged with concern.

"Daddy will check on mommy," Minho reassures her, getting up to follow you.

He finds you bent over the sink, splashing water into your mouth, trying to calm the nausea. Worry flickers across his face as he steps inside.

"Honey, are you okay?" he asks gently, handing you a towel.

You nod, still rinsing your mouth, though the nausea lingers. "I’m fine," you manage, though the look in his eyes tells you he’s not convinced.

You snort, spitting water into the sink as a small smile breaks through. He rubs soothing circles on your back, but the concern doesn’t leave his face.

"You didn’t have any trouble swallowing the other day," he jokes, his voice low and teasing.

"Maybe you should take another day off work," he suggests.

"I’m okay," you say, more to convince yourself than him.

"You sure?"

"I’m sure," you nod, smiling faintly.

Still not entirely convinced, he squeezes your shoulder. "I’ll drive you to work today."

You stay in the bathroom for a moment longer, trying to shake off the odd feeling, while Minho returns to Byeol, who’s nearly finished her breakfast. He packs her lunch, sliding it into her school bag just as you call for him from the bedroom.

"Minho…" Your voice trembles slightly, and he’s at your side in seconds, worry clouding his eyes.

"What’s going on?" he asks, noticing the strange look on your face.

You raise your hand, holding something small and unmistakable—a pregnancy test. "I’m pregnant," you announce, the words filled with joy as a slow smile spreads across your face.

This is the moment you've both been waiting for, what you’ve been hoping would happen after months of trying. You should be celebrating together, but as the realization sinks in, you notice something shift in Minho’s expression. There’s happiness there, but it’s shadowed by something else—uncertainty, perhaps—and it’s enough to make your smile falter.

You look away, turning to Byeol instead. "Mommy is having another baby," you say, keeping your tone light and cheerful.

Byeol looks as confused as Minho, though hers is an innocent curiosity. "Is it a boy or a girl?"

"Mommy doesn’t know yet," you chuckle softly, kneeling beside her. "But you’re going to be a big sister."

"Who’s going to be a big sister?" Felix’s voice echoes from the doorway. You turn, spotting him leaning against the frame, his eyes bright with curiosity.

It’s a conversation you know will be public knowledge soon enough, so you smile and tell him, "Byeol is going to be a big sister."

Felix gasps, his eyes going wide. "Oh! You’re pregnant?" he asks, just to make sure he’s hearing correctly.

"Yes," you nod.

"Oh my gosh! Congratulations!" Felix exclaims, immediately pulling you into a hug. Heis genuinely thrilled, his excitement infectious, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy it. But in the back of your mind, the comparison stings—this was the reaction you had hoped for from Minho.

A deafening silence fills the car on the ride to work, an unspoken tension hanging heavy between you and Minho. After dropping off Byeol at school, neither of you speaks, and the quiet lingers, almost suffocating. It's only when the car pulls up outside your office building that you finally break it.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face him. “Minho,” you say softly, your voice carrying a weight that makes him immediately focus. He lets go of the steering wheel, giving you his full attention.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to work without us talking about it,” you admit, addressing the elephant in the room. Your fingers find his, loosely lacing them together. “You can tell me what’s really going on.”

Minho shifts, clearly aware that his earlier reaction might have come across the wrong way. He takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “It’s not that I’m not happy,” he starts, his voice quiet, “I’m just… worried.”

Your brows furrow, and he continues, his eyes softening as he speaks. “You remember when you gave birth to Byeol? You went through so much pain, and… you lost a lot of blood.”

The memory seems to weigh heavily on him, and you can almost see it playing out in his mind as he talks. “Seeing you sick is enough to make me worry, but I can’t bear the thought of you going through that again.”

For a split second, he lets down his guard, allowing you to glimpse the deeper, more fragile part of him. The part that cares for you more than anything else in the world.

“Oh, honey…” you sigh, the sadness in your voice mixing with a fond smile as you lean closer. “You just love me so much, don’t you?”

Minho shrugs in that nonchalant way he does, trying to play it off like it’s no big deal. But you can see through it.

You chuckle softly, squeezing his hand tighter. “Honestly, I’m scared too,” you confess. “But I’m not when I’m with you.” You rest your head on his shoulder, breathing in deeply, letting the warmth of the moment settle between you both. “With you, I feel like I can do anything.”

You shift slightly, meeting his gaze with a smile that’s full of reassurance and love. It’s a smile that tells him you’re ready for this, that you both are.

Minho looks at you for a moment, then, unable to help himself, he jokes, "When it comes down to you or the child, just know… I’ll choose to adopt Felix."

Your eyes widen in playful disbelief, pretending to stammer, "Uh... okay?" before you both break into laughter.

He cups your face gently, his thumb brushing your cheek as he pulls you in for a kiss. It’s not just any kiss—it lingers, slow and deep, conveying all the love he has for you, the excitement that’s starting to bubble beneath the surface now that his fears are laid bare.

When the kiss ends, you whisper, “Just close your eyes, Minho and I'll tell you when the scary part is over.”

And for the first time since the news, Minho lets go of the weight on his chest. He chooses to believe in the good things, in the joy that’s coming, and almost can’t believe it—his family is getting bigger.

-

Four months have passed, and your baby bump has grown. Minho can't help but admire how your pencil skirt hugs your figure, accentuating the curve of your belly. It’s a constant reminder to him that you’re carrying his child, and the thought stirs something primal in him. Moreover, you’ve been carrying the pregnancy well, glowing with that unmistakable maternal aura that only makes him fall for you more. But beyond admiration, it also ignites a deeper, more physical desire in him.

The rooftop of the tattoo parlor, where the Oddinary crew often gathers, is buzzing with laughter as they celebrate Yoon’s birthday. Pizza boxes and cans of beer are scattered around, though you and Byeol stick to bottles of juice.

"This is from us," Minho says casually, handing Yoon the gift as if it's no big deal.

Yoon lights up as she accepts it. "Thank you so much!"

"Happy birthday, Yoon!" you add with a smile, comfortably sitting on Minho’s lap.

"Can I open it?" Yoon asks, her excitement barely contained.

"Go ahead!" you encourage. "We hope you like it."

Yoon eagerly tears through the wrapping, revealing a brand-new iPad. Her old one had seen better days, and she’d often complained about needing a new one for her tattoo designs now that she was taking on more clients. Her eyes widen, and she clutches it close to her chest. "Oh, thank you! I really needed this."

Felix, with Byeol on his lap, glances over with a playful pout. "You guys didn’t get me that game console when I asked it as a birthday gift," he mutters.

"That’s because you already play too many video games," you scold, slipping effortlessly into a motherly tone.

Felix turns to Minho for support. "Hyung?"

Minho grins. "I’m afraid she’s right."

Felix lets out a dramatic groan, "Not fair!"

Meanwhile, Sujin hands Yoon a necklace, adding to her growing collection as she likes to stack multiple necklaces around her neck on daily basis.

"So, where are we going out tonight?" she asks, likely already texting her husband with plans.

Minho shakes his head, his decision firm. "I’m sitting this one out tonight."

"Why?" Yoon asks, her brows knitting together.

Minho retrieves his wallet from his back pocket and hands Yoon a credit card. "You all have fun. It’s on me."

Yoon pretends to consider. "Great! I’ll use this to pay my phone bills then," she jokes, holding the card with both hands.

Sujin steps in with a playful roll of her eyes, taking the card from Yoon. "Don’t worry, I’ll keep everyone in check."

After tucking Byeol into bed, Minho joins you in the bedroom. He finds you in the bathroom, already dressed for bed, applying lotion to your arms as part of your nightly skincare routine. Without a word, he slips behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as his hands rest gently on your baby bump.

"You know, I don’t mind if you went out tonight," you say, catching his gaze in the mirror. "Or any night, really."

Minho nuzzles his face into your neck, inhaling the soothing scent of your skin. "It’s okay. I have something better to do anyway," he replies, his voice low.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips as you lean into his touch. "And what’s that?" you ask, already knowing the answer.

His lips brush against your neck as he murmurs, "You."

For the last few months, Minho has been cautious, knowing it wasn't safe to be intimate in the early stages of your pregnancy. But tonight, the careful distance he’s kept melts away. He needs you, craves you.

Later, you lie at the edge of the bed, propped on your elbows, your eyes locked on him with the same hunger that burns in his. Minho stands, positioned between your legs, moving with slow, deliberate care. His hands are planted on either side of your waist, and he leans down, pressing soft, heated kisses on your skin.

"Honey…" you moan, your voice a breathless whisper as his lips trail over your neck.

You tilt your head, seeking his mouth, and he gives in, kissing you with an intensity that feels like a lifeline. His movements are measured, filled with restraint and passion, but you can feel him starting to lose control, both of you teetering on the edge.

"I’m so close," you whimper, your hand gripping his arm tightly.

Minho threads his fingers through yours, his voice a soft promise. "I’ll give it to you, honey," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin.

With one last push, the tension between you snaps, and Minho groans deeply as he releases, filling you completely. His lips find yours in a deep, breathless kiss, his body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure.

As you both lie together afterward, the room quiet except for the sound of your breathing, Minho pulls you close, his hand resting tenderly on your belly. He peppers your skin with soft, fluttering kisses, his heart full, his love for you overwhelming.

"I love you," he whispers, the words carrying a weight that fills the room.

You smile, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. "I love you."

And that’s how Minho ends his day—wrapped up in you, content and at peace, his heart overflowing with love for the family you’re growing together.

-

In the middle of the night, Minho stirs from his sleep as he feels the bed shift. His eyes blink open just in time to see you slipping out of the bedroom. A wave of sleepiness pulls him to stay put, but curiosity wins over. He pushes himself out of bed and follows you.

Quietly stepping into the kitchen, Minho catches sight of you standing by the fridge, sniffing a jar of pickles. "What are you doing?" he asks, his eyes squinted in the dim light.

Startled, you nearly drop the jar, letting out a sigh of relief when you realize it’s just him. "Minho, can you not—" you begin, a little exasperated, but the words trail off.

Minho approaches, his footsteps soft, mindful not to wake Byeol, who’s fast asleep in her room. It’s not the first time he’s found you sneaking into the kitchen for a midnight snack, and he understands it. Pregnancy cravings don’t adhere to normal schedules.

"Are you hungry?" he asks gently, placing a hand on the small of your back.

"Yeah," you reply sheepishly, setting the pickles aside.

"What do you feel like eating?" Minho opens the fridge, glancing at the contents inside.

You scratch your chin, reminding him so much of Byeol when she’s deep in thought. Then, with a grin, you suggest, "Grilled cheese?"

As Minho works in the kitchen, keeping the noise to a minimum, you curl up on the sofa, munching on some of Byeol’s leftover snacks and catching up on your favorite show. It’s comforting, the familiar routine of it all, even at this hour.

Soon enough, Minho walks over with a plate in hand. You reach out eagerly, but the sandwich is still too hot to touch, causing you to hiss in surprise. "Honey, can you—" you begin to ask, but Minho, anticipating your next request, hands you a bottle of honey before you can finish the sentence.

"Thank you," you beam, wasting no time drizzling the honey over the grilled cheese.

Minho watches with a mixture of amusement and fondness. You didn’t have any unusual cravings during your first pregnancy, but this time around, honey seems to find its way onto everything—toast, fruit, milk, even pizza. It’s strange, but as long as you’re happy and eating, he’s not about to question it.

"Good?" he asks, eyes twinkling.

You nod, unable to answer with your mouth full of food. He can’t help but smile as he watches you enjoy every bite.

"Do you want me to make you another one?" he offers as you near the end of the sandwich.

"If I keep eating like this in the middle of the night, I’m going to get so big," you grumble, pausing to add more honey to the toast.

Minho tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Why is that a bad thing?" he asks, his voice soft. "That just means there’ll be more of you for me to hold."

His words make you smile, and with a playful glint in your eyes, you shove the last piece into your mouth. "In that case, I’ll take another one."

While waiting for the second grilled cheese, you switch up your approach, tearing it into pieces and dipping them in honey. Your attention shifts between the food and the TV, but then you suddenly blurt out, "We don’t know the baby’s gender yet, but I think we should have a pet name."

Minho chuckles. "Got any ideas?"

You pause for a moment before laughing at your own suggestion, "Honeypot?"

Minho grins, playing along. "How about ‘little shit’?"

You surprise him by laughing and agreeing, "I like that. Because he’s being a greedy little shit right now," you say affectionately, your hand resting on your baby bump.

Minho watches you with a warm smile, finding it adorable how you scold your bump with such endearment. It hits him, too—this little one is his little shit as well.

"We’ll have to be careful not to say that around Byeol though," you add with a grin.

-

Third trimester is where things get a little rough.

Your baby bump has grown even larger, and your protruding belly button makes it nearly impossible to find a comfortable sleeping position. Swollen ankles and feet, constant trips to the bathroom every hour or two, and an aching back keep you tossing and turning through the night. Worse, your body radiates heat, and Minho, sharing the bed with you, often wakes up drenched in sweat. But no matter how uncomfortable it gets for him, he knows you’ve got it much worse.

It’s the weekend, and Minho’s first thought is to let you and Byeol rest. He starts cooking breakfast a little later than usual, hoping you’ll get some extra sleep. The smell of food wafts through the apartment, and soon, you shuffle into the kitchen, sleepily rubbing your eyes.

"Morning," you mumble, slowly making your way to him, one hand supporting your belly as you lean in for a soft morning kiss.

"Morning," he replies, still whisking the batter for French toast.

"What’s for breakfast?" you ask, wrapping your arms around him from behind and resting your chin on his shoulder.

"French toast," Minho answers, focused on the task at hand.

"Yum!" you hum, your voice filled with satisfaction as you gently let go of him to patiently wait for breakfast on the dining table.

Sitting down, you grab your phone and begin to check work emails, your mind briefly occupied. As you concentrate on typing, a sudden sneeze bursts out of you.

"Oh?!" You gasp, feeling something unexpected. Your eyes widen, and you glance toward Minho. "I think I just pissed my pants."

Minho freezes, whisk in hand, turning to you with wide eyes. "Are you serious?"

"I don’t know," you laugh, frustration mixing with amusement. "I can't see it."

Your belly is too big to check on your own, so Minho walks over, pulling your chair back to give himself a better view. He bends down and takes a look.

"Nice!" he says, chuckling as he spots the wet patch on your shorts.

You narrow your eyes at him, clearly unamused. "You're having a good laugh, huh?"

Minho’s grin widens, unable to hold back the laughter. "Want me to help you clean up then?"

"Just hurry up with breakfast! I'm hungry!" you huff, half laughing, half exasperated, giving him a light push back toward the kitchen.

He turns back to the stove, still smiling as he flips the French toast, and a few minutes later, he places the plate in front of you. You can’t help but eye the delicious breakfast with anticipation.

Minho leans down and presses a quick kiss on the top of your head. "Eat well, pisspants," he teases, smirking.

You groan but can’t help smiling as you take a bite of the French toast. Even with the little mishap, moments like these make everything easier to handle—his teasing, his care, and the love that fills your home.

-

Minho only has one appointment today, and once he's done, he heads up to the third floor. He finds you napping on the sofa, the TV still on in the background. The sight makes him pause, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He knows better than to wake you—you’ve been struggling to sleep at night, and the rest is much needed.

Settling down beside you, Minho glances at the TV. It’s one of those shows you love, the kind that he could never get into, but he watches it anyway because you do. After two episodes, though, he starts to get bored. He leans closer, unable to resist the urge to press soft kisses against your cheek, then your forehead, and finally the tip of your nose.

"Honey, wake up," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he playfully tugs your nose between his lips.

You stir in your sleep, letting out a groggy groan as you weakly push at his head, trying to go back to sleep.

"Wake up," Minho tries again, this time burying his face into your neck and planting a series of ticklish kisses along your skin. "I’m bored."

"Go play with your daughter," you mumble, eyes still closed, your voice heavy with sleep.

"Your parents are taking her fishing, remember?" Minho reminds you, his tone soft but teasing. "You’re stuck with me."

The words sink in slowly, and you finally crack your eyes open, squinting up at him. "What do you want to do?" you ask, half curious, half resigned to whatever he’s planning.

Minho grins, shifting on the sofa to make himself more comfortable. "We can ride a roller coaster."

You chuckle, still drowsy. "I don’t think they let pregnant women ride roller coasters."

"Okay, fine. Haunted house?"

"Also, pregnant," you remind him, closing your eyes again.

He huffs, feigning frustration as he thinks. "How about a horror movie?"

You consider for a moment before mumbling, "Sure, put one on. I’ll watch it with you."

"No," he counters, shaking his head. "We’re not watching it here."

That gets your attention. You open one eye, giving him a suspicious look. "You want to go out and watch a horror movie?"

"Yup," Minho nods enthusiastically.

You sigh, staring at the ceiling as if contemplating how you ended up married to someone this persistent. "Fine, give me a minute to get ready."

The real reason Minho wanted to take you out wasn’t just boredom. He knew things would change soon, with a second child on the way, and he couldn’t remember the last time it was just the two of you. You deserved a break, and he wanted to give it to you, even if that meant taking you to see a horror movie you’d likely sleep through.

Later, after the movie, Minho waits outside the women’s restroom with your bag slung over his shoulder. When you emerge, you’re grumbling under your breath, your face scrunched up in discomfort.

"My feet," you mutter, pausing to adjust your swollen ankles in your shoes.

Minho glances down and sees how tight the shoes have become, your feet swollen from the pregnancy. Without missing a beat, he suggests, "Let’s get you a pair of sandals, yeah?"

You nod, grateful, as he leads you to a nearby shop. Inside, he doesn’t hesitate to kneel down, taking off your shoes and replacing them with a more comfortable pair of sandals. While he’s down there, he gently rubs your ankles, soothing the swelling.

"Better?" he asks, looking up at you with a smile.

"Much better, thank you," you sigh, relief washing over you as you take his hand, helping him to his feet.

On the way out of the store, you pause to admire a cardigan on display, your fingers brushing over the soft fabric. Minho notices, stepping beside you.

"You want that one too?" he asks, already reaching for his wallet.

You hesitate for a moment before slipping it off the hanger. "Does it look good on me?"

"I think it fits you well," he simply answers.

Minho buys it without a second thought, handing it over to you with a smile. He knows you can buy it for yourself, but he enjoys spoiling you in little ways when he can. It’s his way of showing his love, in gestures that remind him how lucky he is to have you.

As you both make your way to your favorite Italian restaurant, Minho buys a flower from an elderly lady selling them on the street. He hands it to you with a soft smile, the simple gesture making you raise an eyebrow.

"Okay, you can tell me now," you say, taking the flower but eyeing him suspiciously.

"What?" he laughs, feigning innocence.

"You know I wasn’t suspicious until you gave me flowers," you tease, poking at him with your free hand. "So what’s this all about?"

Minho grins, leaning back in his chair, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh. "I just felt bad for the elderly lady," he explains with a shrug.

You narrow your eyes, skeptical. "The last time you gave me flowers, you were apologizing for lying to me."

He chuckles, taking a sip of water as if stalling.

Leaning in, you lower your voice conspiratorially. "Did you sell the building to pay for your secret gambling debt?"

"No!" Minho laughs, shaking his head at your wild guess.

"Did you kill someone and need my help to bury the body?" you continue, your tone playful but serious.

His lips twitch into a smirk. "You’d help me bury the body?"

"Depends on who you killed," you joke, tearing a piece of bread and popping it into your mouth. "Whoever it was probably deserved it."

Minho’s laughter fades into a thoughtful smile. There was, in fact, something he needed to tell you, something he’s been holding back. After a moment, he clears his throat, turning more serious.

"You remember Hyunjin?" he asks.

You tilt your head. "The beautiful, tall guy with long dark hair and a rose tattoo on his finger?"

Minho narrows his eyes, pointing at your baby bump. "Be careful, you're already cheating on me with that little shit."

You laugh and put all of your attention on him, "Go on, what about Hyunjin?"

"He invited me to do a guest spot at his parlor," Minho says in a rush, blurting out the words.

You blink at him. "You want to do it?"

He nods slowly. "Yeah. I think it’d be... fun."

You smile softly, seeing how much he wants it. "Then you should do it."

Minho hesitates, his hand tightening slightly on your thigh. "But I can’t leave you. Not when you’re…"

"Yes, you can," you cut him off gently, placing your hand over his, "And you will."

"But I’ll be away for two weeks," he protests, his voice softening with worry.

"That’s fine. I’ll be on maternity leave anyway," you remind him, tearing another piece of bread. "It works out."

Minho stares at you for a moment, his heart swelling with gratitude and love. "You’re okay with it?" he asks, still unsure why he hesitated so much in the first place.

"Look, Minho," you begin, squeezing his hand, "You’ve done so much for me, for us. I want you to be able to do your thing too."

The simplicity of your words hits him harder than he expected. He looks at you, feeling overwhelmed with how lucky he is to have you as his partner, someone who understands him without him needing to explain. You give him the freedom to be his own person while still being a devoted father and husband.

"I don’t want you to hesitate to tell me the next time you have something you want to do, okay?" You add, your voice soft yet firm.

Minho nods, the smile that spreads across his face filled with love and gratitude. He leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

-

The apartment feels quieter than usual with Byeol spending the weekend with your parents. Despite the peace, a slight ache of longing tugs at your chest, so you call her to hear her voice. After a sweet chat, you hand the phone to Minho so she can talk with her dad.

“We’ll pick you up tomorrow, okay?” he says softly to your daughter. He smiles at something she says, his voice tender as he adds, “Sleep well. Goodnight!” He hangs up, and you sigh, shifting for what feels like the hundredth time beside him.

“The little shit won’t stop moving,” you mutter, rubbing your belly in frustration.

Minho puts your phone away and leans against the headboard, patting the space between his legs. “Come here.”

You shuffle over, leaning your back against his chest. His arms wrap around you, and his hands instantly find your swollen belly, rubbing gentle, soothing circles over it. His touch has always been your comfort.

“I think little shit can’t sleep because of the horror movie we watched earlier,” you murmur, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

He chuckles softly, his fingers tracing patterns beneath your camisole, feeling every tiny kick and movement. “No, I think little shit is just excited.”

The sensation of his hands on you, tender yet firm, is grounding. Slowly, the tension eases from your body. You melt into his warmth, your eyelids growing heavier with each caress. Minho presses a series of soft kisses along your temple, quiet and full of affection. His hand reaches for yours and he slips his fingers in between.

Knowing that he's noticing your swollen fingers, you say, "I need to take the wedding ring off."

Without saying anything, Minho takes it off for you and slightly struggling doing it. Once he successfully takes it off, he safely places the ring on the bedside table.

“How can I leave if you’re like this, mmh?” he whispers, his lips brushing your skin.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Minho," You smile sleepily, your eyes barely open. "I’ll be okay.”

"No, I mean, leaving you and you're not wearing the wedding ring..." he says with a playful smirk.

Your laugh vibrates through him, "I don’t think people would try to flirt with pregnant woman."

"I do," he shamelessly admits.

"That’s because you're deranged," you teasingly say and look over you shoulder at him, "my deranged husband."

His arms tighten around you, and though he knows you’re right, the thought of leaving still tugs at him. But as he feels you relax completely in his embrace, he remembers that if there's one thing he learned from years of being married to you is that you're stronger than you look.

-

It's 3 a.m., but Minho can’t bring himself to move. He lies there, watching you sleep peacefully beside him, your belly softly rising and falling with each breath. Part of him wishes he could stay, to spend the whole day with you. After a while, he reluctantly leans in, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to your cheek before carefully pulling himself away.

He slips out of bed, moving quietly around the room, trying not to disturb you. The first flight out of the city awaits, and he needs to be at the airport in less than an hour. Minho takes his suitcase downstairs, leaving it by the door before heading back upstairs for a proper goodbye.

He steps into Byeol’s room, pausing at the edge of her bed, watching her little form snuggled under the blankets. She looks so peaceful, and it tugs at his heart.

“Daddy will be back,” he whispers, brushing a few stray hairs off her forehead. Leaning down, he places a soft kiss there. “Love you, my little star.”

He makes a quiet exit from her room but freezes when he sees you standing in the doorway of your bedroom, your hands resting gently on your growing bump, a sleepy but warm smile on your face.

“You think you can get rid of me that easily, huh?” you tease, your voice low and playful.

Minho grins, walking over to meet you, and together, you head downstairs just as the taxi pulls up outside. The driver steps out to help with the luggage as Minho turns back to you, double-checking everything.

“Got your wallet? Flight tickets?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Got them,” he confirms, patting his jacket pocket.

“Are you sure you’re not forgetting anything?” You ask again.

There’s a sly smile on your lips, and Minho hesitates, trying to remember. You squint, holding up his phone that you’d swiped without him noticing. He smiles, taking it from you and tapping on the screen, only to see that you’ve changed his lock screen to a photo of you and Byeol.

“So you remember you’ve got a wife and a daughter waiting for you at home,” you say with a playful smirk.

Minho laughs, but when he unlocks the phone, he finds another surprise—a rather provocative picture of you, posing in a way that makes him flashing you a mischievous grin.

“Just a friendly reminder of what you’ll be losing if you even think about flirting with anyone,” you warn him, your tone teasing but with an edge of seriousness.

Minho tucks his phone away, stepping close to you, though your belly stops him from getting as close as he’d like. He places a hand tenderly on your bump, rubbing it in slow circles. “Keep this little shit inside until I get back, okay?”

You chuckle, your hand covering his. “I’ll try.”

His other hand cups your face, pulling you into a deep, lingering kiss. There’s something tender, something a little desperate about the way he holds you, as if this moment is too precious to let go.

“I love you,” he whispers between kisses, his voice low and full of feeling.

“I love you,” you murmur back, your smile soft against his lips, your forehead resting against his.

With a final kiss, Minho lets go, though his hand remains intertwined with yours. He traces his thumb across your cheek, as if memorizing your features one last time.

“Take care, and be back safely,” you say, your smile bittersweet.

He nods, but his legs feel heavy. This is the first time he’s leaving his family, and it’s harder than he anticipated. His body doesn’t want to move, like it’s rooted to the spot, not ready to let go.

“And don’t forget to enjoy yourself too, mmh?” you add with a warm smile.

Minho swallows the knot in his throat, forcing a smile. “I will.”

Finally, he turns toward the taxi, walking slowly as if each step pulls him further from you. He doesn’t look back—not yet—because he knows he’ll run straight back into your arms. Only when the taxi starts driving away does he glance back, watching you wave until he disappears down the street.

-

The red traffic light seems to stretch endlessly, making every minute feel like an hour. You glance over at the passenger seat, where the carefully packed dinner is growing colder by the second. As soon as the light turns green, you press down on the gas, navigating through the streets at the maximum speed allowed. There’s no time to waste, but you remind yourself that it’s better to make it home in one piece.

With a deep breath, you haul everything out of the car and begin your slow ascent up the stairs. Each step is a challenge with your swollen baby bump, and by the time you reach the third floor, you’re panting.

"Felix, I’m so sorry," you blurt out the moment you open the door to the apartment, "The traffic was horrible..." You trail off as you hurriedly place the bags on the dining table, relieved to finally be home.

The balance between work, pregnancy, and taking care of Byeol has become a juggling act without Minho around, and everyone in the parlor has been taking turns in helping you doing one of them.

As you catch your breath and turn towards the living room, you can’t help but chuckle at the sight before you. Byeol is perched on the couch, happily tying Felix’s long bleached hair into tiny ponytails, adding hairpins and colorful stickers to his face.

"It’s okay, we’re having fun," Felix says, staying as still as possible so Byeol can work on his hair. "Right, rockstar?"

"Mm-mmh," Byeol hums in agreement, her focus entirely on securing a final hairpin in place.

You laugh softly, “You two look like you’re having a blast.”

Once she finishes with Felix’s hair, Byeol runs over to you and hugs your waist, her small arms barely reaching around your bump. "Mommy’s home!" she giggles.

You smile down at her, stroking her hair gently. "Let’s have dinner first, alright? You must be hungry."

Her eyes light up as she eagerly asks, "What’s for dinner?"

"It’s your favorite—soup dumplings," you announce, watching her face brighten. "Go wash your hands first!"

Byeol scampers off to the sink as you turn back to Felix, who’s gently pulling the last hairpins out of his hair.

"Are you staying for dinner?" you ask while unpacking the food.

Felix shakes his head, running a hand through his now free-flowing hair. "I’ve actually got dinner plans with a friend, so I’ll head out."

"Sorry for keeping you," you say apologetically, glancing at the mess of stickers still plastered across his face. You step closer, helping him peel the last of them off.

Felix chuckles, grabbing his jacket. "It’s no problem, really."

"Byeol, say goodbye to Uncle Felix," you call as she finishes washing her hands.

"Thank you for playing with me, Uncle Felix," she says sweetly, running over to give him a hug.

"You’re very welcome, rockstar," Felix replies, hugging her back before standing up to give you a hug as well.

After he leaves, you feel the weight of the past week without Minho settle in. It’s been tough managing everything, but tomorrow marks the start of your maternity leave, and the relief is almost palpable.

"Have you done your homework?" you ask, wiping some leftover sauce from Byeol’s mouth as she finishes her dinner.

"Mommy, I don’t have school tomorrow," she giggles.

"Oh, right! Mommy forgot," you chuckle, realizing it’s school break. "Do you want to do something fun tomorrow?"

Byeol’s eyes widen with excitement. "Mommy’s not working?"

"Nope, no work!" you confirm with a smile.

Her face lights up even more. "I want to go to the aquarium!"

You pause, recalling that she’s already been there recently, but you quickly realize she’s asking for something more—time with you. With another baby on the way, your one-on-one moments with Byeol have been scarce.

"You know what? Tomorrow, we’ll go to the aquarium, and we’ll do whatever else you want. How does that sound?"

"Really, mommy?" she asks, her voice full of wonder.

"Really," you reply, smiling as you brush a hand over her hair.

The next morning, Byeol wakes up buzzing with excitement. She puts on her best clothes and even helps you pack a few things for the day. When you arrive at the parlor downstairs, Byeol is bursting with anticipation.

"Where are you going, superstar?" Sujin asks, opening her arms for a hug.

"I’m going to the aquarium with Mommy!" she declares proudly.

Sujin playfully pouts, "Can Auntie Sujin come too?"

"No," Byeol shakes her head, giggling as Sujin pretends to be offended.

Felix joins in, "What about me? Can I come?"

"No," Byeol repeats, still giggling. "It’s just me and Mommy!"

With everything packed and Byeol bubbling with excitement, you wave goodbye to the parlor crew and head out for a day that’s all about your little girl.

At the aquarium, Byeol is in awe of everything, dragging you from tank to tank, her tiny hand gripping yours as she points excitedly at the sea creatures. "Mommy, look!" she exclaims every few minutes, her eyes wide with wonder.

After hours of exploring, you stop for a quick lunch, letting Byeol take charge of ordering for both of you. She confidently hands over your credit card at the window, beaming with pride.

"So, what do you want to do next?" you ask between bites of fries.

She thinks for a moment before asking, "What about you, Mommy? What do you want to do?"

Caught off guard by her question, you blink a few times, then chuckle. "How about we get our nails done? Or we can watch a movie, or go shopping. What do you think?"

"I want to paint my nails too!" Byeol says, her enthusiasm never faltering.

You smile at the thought. "Alright, why don’t you pick the color, and we’ll have matching nails?"

No one knows your daughter best than you, she likes playing soccer instead of with her dolls, she always prefers to look scary for Halloween instead of dressed as princesses and recently, she mentioned that she wants to take a taekwondo class, you always thought she leans toward such things but you realize that there's so many sides of her that you just haven't discovered yet. A person can be so many things, there's no limit to what they like or what they interest in, for all you know, Byeol can be anything she wants.

Byeol takes the task seriously, carefully scanning the color options before choosing a vibrant purple. The two of you sit side by side at the salon, giggling as your nails are painted, Byeol opting for colorful flower designs on hers.

By the time dinner rolls around, you’re both exhausted but happy. As you head back home, Byeol suddenly dashes toward the elevator.

"Please hold the door! My mommy is pregnant, and she can’t walk fast!" she calls out to the person inside.

The lady smiles kindly and holds the door open. "What a thoughtful little girl you have," she says, patting Byeol’s head as you finally catch up.

"I’m lucky," you reply, pulling Byeol close as the two of you step inside.

As you reflect on the day, you can’t help but feel immense pride in your daughter. She’s growing up so fast, learning and becoming her own person in ways you hadn’t even noticed. You smile to yourself, knowing that no matter what, Byeol is already shaping up to be someone wonderful—someone strong, caring, and unafraid to try new things.

-

As you enter Byeol’s room, the weight of the day settles in, the ache in your feet reminding you of just how much you walked. Still, your little one inside won’t let you rest, kicking incessantly since you got home.

"Ready for bed, starshine?" you ask, watching Byeol eagerly climb under her covers.

"Yes, mommy," she replies, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

You wince slightly as you sit down beside her, gently tucking her in, and she notices immediately.

"Are you okay, mommy?" she asks, her voice full of concern.

"Mommy’s okay," you assure her with a smile. "The baby just keeps kicking."

Byeol, curious and excited, places her small hand on your belly, waiting. Her eyes widen when she feels a kick, and she grins up at you.

"So, did you have fun today?" you ask, softly brushing her hair back.

"I had so much fun!" she says, cuddling into your chest, her voice brimming with joy.

"We can do it again tomorrow," you say, leaning down to kiss her head.

"Mommy’s not working tomorrow?" she asks, her wide eyes hopeful.

"No, mommy is on maternity leave," you explain.

"What’s that?" she questions, her confusion evident.

"It means mommy doesn’t have to work until this baby pops out," you explain simply.

She brightly smiles when she hears it. She throws her arms around you and hugs you tightly as she says, "I love you, mommy."

Your heart shakes from hearing the earnestness in her words, you feel tears forming on the corner of your eyes. You blink them away and put on a smile as you say back, "And mommy loves you too."

You pull the blanket to cover her body and softly pat her head, "You must be tired. Let's get to sleep, yeah?"

She nods as drowsiness starts taking over her, "Goodnight, mommy."

"Goodnight, my shining star," you murmur with a lingering kiss on her forehead.

In your bedroom, you take a moment to sit on the bed and just process everything until you get overwhelmed by the emotions of the day. Tears prick at your eyes, but they’re a mix of joy, exhaustion, and love. Just as you start to wipe them away, the phone rings, and Minho’s name flashes on the screen. You quickly take a deep breath, not wanting to let him hear your tears, and answer the call.

"Hi, honey," you greet him with forced cheer.

"Hey, pisspants," he teases, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

"How are you?" you ask, smiling despite yourself.

"I’m surprisingly fine without you," he jokes, and you roll your eyes, "Byeol?"

"All tucked in, not a chance of escape," you say with a playful chuckle.

"And the little shit?" he asks, referring to the baby.

"Practicing kickboxing in here," you say, rubbing your belly as the baby kicks again as if on cue.

"How was your day?" you ask, settling deeper into the bed, "No, wait, unless you tattooed someone’s buttock, I don’t want to hear it," you add with a laugh.

"Sadly, no," Minho replies with a grin in his voice.

"Then ask about my day," you demand, feeling a little more playful.

"Okay, how was your day?" he caves, amused.

You launch into the story of your day, telling him every detail from the morning to the aquarium trip, to Byeol ordering food at the drive-thru, and you can hear his smile through the phone as he listens. He interjects every now and then, keeping up the light banter, and for a moment, it feels like he’s right there with you.

"That sounds fun. I’m jealous," he says when you finish.

"It was," you sigh happily.

It’s moments like these, his teasing, his calm presence, that you miss the most. Your chest tightens with the ache of missing him.

"I miss you," you admit quietly, the tears from earlier creeping back up your throat.

"I miss you too, honey," he says softly, and you can feel the sincerity in his voice.

Even though he’s miles away, in that moment, you feel connected to him, the distance fading as you share the quiet agony of longing for each other.

-

The moment Minho steps off the plane, the cool airport air hits him, a welcome contrast to the hours spent in the stale cabin. He rolls his stiff shoulders, grateful to be on solid ground. He pulls out his phone, ready to text you, expecting to wait for a ride.

But as he walks toward baggage claim, he stops in his tracks, his eyes widening. There, standing just past the barrier, are you and Byeol.

His heart stutters, caught between surprise and overwhelming joy. He wasn’t expecting you to come all this way, especially with your swollen belly and how much you’ve been juggling at home. But here you are, and you’ve brought Byeol, her small face lighting up the second she sees him.

"Daddy!" Byeol yells, her voice cutting through the hum of the crowd as she breaks into a run toward him.

Minho barely has time to drop his carry-on before she’s in his arms, her little body crashing into his with all the force her excitement can muster. He lifts her easily, despite the weariness from the long flight, her tiny arms wrapping tightly around his neck.

"Hi, honey," he murmurs, pressing his lips to her head, his heart swelling in his chest.

Then, his eyes lift to meet yours. You're standing there, smiling softly at him, looking beautiful and tired all at once, your hand resting on your rounded belly. The sight of you—the woman he loves, the mother of his child, the one carrying their second—hits him harder than he thought it would. Something about seeing his family, all here, waiting for him, fills his heart to the brim. His throat tightens, and before he can stop it, he feels the burn of tears behind his eyes.

"You came to pick me up?" His voice cracks, and he immediately feels a bit ridiculous, blinking away the moisture threatening to spill over.

You nod, your smile warm and knowing as you step closer. "We couldn’t wait to see you," you say softly, reaching up to place a hand on his cheek.

He closes his eyes at your touch, leaning into it, savoring the warmth of your skin against his. Byeol wriggles in his arms, pulling back to look at him with a beaming smile.

"We missed you, Daddy," she says, her bright eyes reflecting her joy.

"I missed you too, shining star," Minho says, his voice thick with emotion.

You step into his other side, wrapping your arms around both of them, and he feels it—the peace, the love, the sense of home that he’s been missing. His arms tighten around you both, holding onto the moment, grounding himself in the comfort of your presence.

It’s not just relief from the long trip or the exhaustion of work; it’s the realization of how much his heart aches when he’s away from you two. Being here, now, with his family, everything else fades.

"I’m home," he whispers, his voice barely audible above the hum of the airport.

"And we’re so glad you are," you reply, your lips brushing against his cheek as you pull him into a deeper embrace.

For a moment, he lets himself feel it all—the happiness, the gratitude, the love. His family, his home, right here in his arms.

-

Minho is finally home.

Everything feels familiar, but there’s an undeniable shift in the air. His eyes sweep across the apartment, noticing the small yet significant changes—there’s a crib in the corner of the bedroom now, baby clothes draped over the armchair, bottles, and toys beginning to clutter spaces that once held nothing but the quiet simplicity of your shared life. A reminder that soon, his family will grow by one more.

He makes his way into the bathroom where you're standing at the sink, gently rubbing cream on your face. He watches you through the mirror for a moment, taking in how radiant you look, despite the exhaustion he knows you've been feeling. You catch his gaze and smile softly.

"Getting bigger," Minho comments, his eyes tracing your reflection as he walks up behind you.

At first, you assume he's talking about your growing belly, especially with how close you are to your due date. But when his hands slide around your front, you burst into laughter as they make their way up to cup your breasts.

"Just how you like them, huh?" you tease, glancing at him in the mirror with a grin.

He smirks, placing a sweet kiss on your neck. "Always," he murmurs against your skin. But then, with a softer smile, his hands move down to your belly, cradling it from underneath, lifting it gently as though taking some of the weight off you.

You let out a small, relieved moan, closing your eyes as you lean back into him. "Why can't you do this for me every day?" you joke, though the gratitude in your voice is clear.

It’s been months of carrying this weight, of swollen feet and sleepless nights. And yet, somehow, in these small moments with him, it all feels worth it.

Minho presses his lips to your shoulder, lingering in the warmth of your skin. "I missed you," he whispers, but it’s not just missing you physically. There’s a depth to his words, like he’s been holding his breath, and now that he’s back, he can finally exhale.

His lips trail down to the crook of your neck, and before long, you find yourself in the bedroom, lying on your back, your head resting on the pillow as he hovers above you. His movements are gentle, careful, as he enters you. Not too deep, just enough to feel you, to remind himself of what it’s like to be with you this way.

You laugh softly, a contented sound that fills the room. "I can’t see it, but it feels so good," you say, your hands tracing the lines of his tattoos, the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers.

Minho smiles, his heart swelling at your touch, your voice. He moves slowly, cautiously, not wanting to push too far, not wanting to hurt you or the baby. His hands brace beside you, propped against the mattress, keeping himself steady.

Your hands find his face, pulling him down to kiss you, and he’s lost in the sensation of your lips against his, the sound of your quiet moans urging him on. He missed this — missed the intimacy, the connection, the feeling of being one with you.

"Honey," he breathes, his voice thick with longing. He presses his lips to your neck, your chest, savoring every inch of you.

You moan his name softly, your eyes half-lidded as you look up at him, and that’s all it takes for Minho to reach his release, his body tensing as he comes, his seed spilling inside you. He pulls out just a second too late, but he doesn’t care. In this moment, all that matters is you, the life you’ve built together, and the one growing between you.

His hand comes up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he leans down to kiss you deeply. When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless, your eyes locked on his. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze that surprises you, and it hits you just how much this moment means to him.

The weight of his emotions threatens to overwhelm him, but Minho lets it all out, lets himself feel it all as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice low and raw.

"I love you too," you reply, your voice filled with all the love you’ve carried for him through the years, through the ups and downs, the changes and the constants.

Tears slip down your cheeks as you kiss him again, both of you lost in the tenderness of the moment, the unspoken promise that no matter what, you’ll always have each other.

-

Minho doesn't have much to do around the house as you’ve already tackled most of the chores. He knows you like to keep yourself busy, but watching you move around, especially with the baby almost here, makes him a little anxious. Seeing you now, carrying a full laundry basket down the stairs, only increases his concern.

“Slow down, or you’re going to piss your pants again,” Minho teases, leaning against the doorframe.

You chuckle, setting the basket down on the carpet. “I’m doing alright, honey,” you assure him, lowering yourself onto the sofa with a small sigh.

Before you can start folding the laundry, Minho steps in and grabs the basket from you. “Nope. Not today,” he says, replacing the basket with a plate of sliced fruits. “Take a break. You can do the laundry later.”

You sigh in defeat but take the plate from him, nibbling on a piece of apple dipped in peanut butter. While you sit back and relax, Minho quickly handles the laundry, but when he returns, he catches you making another attempt to escape.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“I don’t want to piss my pants again,” you shout with a laugh, already halfway to the bathroom.

Minho shakes his head with a grin and waits in the living room until you come back. But when you return, your expression isn’t playful anymore—it’s tense, and there’s a weird look on your face.

"You didn’t make it to the bathroom right on time?" Minho jokes, trying to keep things light.

You sit slowly on the sofa and lean back, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I’m not sure… but I think… I just lost the mucus plug,” you say, biting your lip.

Minho feels the tension in his chest as your words sink in. Though he stays calm, he knows what this means. It’s one of the first signs that labor is near, and while he doesn’t want to alarm you, he’s on high alert now.

He moves closer, his hand gently resting on your belly. "Are you okay? Do you feel any pain?"

"My back is always in pain,” you answer with a sigh, “but I’m good for now."

"Should we get ready to go to the hospital?" Minho asks, his hand moving to rub your lower back in soothing circles.

“It could be a false alarm,” you say with a faint smile, “but just in case, yes.”

Minho nods, appreciating how calm you’re trying to stay. Luckily, thanks to your meticulous planning, the hospital bags were packed weeks ago. All he has to do is grab them from the closet and put them in the car.

"Do you want to go now?" he asks as he notices that you've been getting contractions.

You nod but don’t say anything, your expression showing you’re trying to breathe through the pain.

The drive to the hospital feels like an eternity, even though Minho is breaking every speed limit. He glances over at you, your hand resting protectively over your belly, your breathing uneven as you try to power through the contractions. He reaches out and takes your hand, squeezing it gently.

“We’re almost there,” he reassures you, his voice is calm but tight with worry.

Minutes later, you’re arrived at the hospital. Nurses are already waiting with a wheelchair, and Minho quickly helps you into it. His worry is more apparent on his face now.

"It’s going to be okay," you tell him as you squeeze his hand.

"I know," he says, flashing you a faint yet genuine smile.

Your journey through labor has begun, and Minho is right by your side, ready for whatever comes next.

-

After labor, you drift in and out of consciousness for what feels like hours. It isn’t until the nurse enters your room to check on you that you start to come around, your senses slowly gathering themselves.

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” the nurse apologizes softly, noticing your eyes flutter open.

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” you say with a weak but warm smile. Your body feels heavy, but there’s a lightness in your heart knowing what’s coming next.

Shortly after, they bring you a meal to help you regain some strength. Hospital food is always hit or miss—sometimes it’s surprisingly good, other times it’s bland. But today, the pudding is exactly what you need, a small but satisfying comfort.

Minho had to leave to handle a few things at home and will return soon with Byeol. For now, you’re alone, savoring the quiet until the nurse returns, this time pushing the bassinet small into the room. Your heart skips, and a soft smile pulls at your lips, knowing you’re about to meet your baby again.

When you first met your little one in the operating room, it had all been a blur—tears, sweat, and a whirlwind of pain. You hadn’t been able to focus through the intensity of it all. But now, as the nurse gently settles the bassinet beside your bed, the moment feels much more real.

“You might want to start with breastfeeding initiation,” the nurse suggests kindly, helping you get comfortable before carefully placing the baby in your arms.

“Thank you,” you mutter, your voice soft, eyes fixed on the tiny bundle in your arms. His little face is peaceful, his cheeks flushed and warm. As soon as the nurse leaves, it truly hits you: he’s yours. This little boy was inside of you just hours ago, and now, he’s here, cradled against your chest.

“So it’s you, huh?” you murmur in awe, brushing your finger along his tiny hand. “The one who’s been kickboxing inside mommy’s tummy?”

His tiny forehead crinkles, and your heart swells as a tear slips down your cheek. He’s so beautiful. Fragile, yet so full of life. You can’t stop smiling through the tears, utterly captivated by him. Then, he lets out a soft cry, his little face scrunching up. You remember what the nurse said about breastfeeding and shift him into position, unsure if you’re even producing milk yet.

It takes a moment, but he begins to nurse, and the world seems to still around you. You forgot how intimate this moment feels—how sacred it is to have your baby so close, sharing this connection. As he feeds, the overwhelming emotions settle deeper into your chest, filling you with love, gratitude, and an inexplicable sense of completeness.

Not long after, the quiet of the room is broken by a familiar voice.

“Mommy! Mommy!” Byeol calls, her excitement spilling into the room as she bursts through the door.

You glance up and see her little feet moving quickly toward you. “Oh, honey, you’re finally here!” you exclaim, a broad smile breaking across your face. “Mommy missed you.”

“I missed you too, Mommy!” Byeol beams up at you before holding up something in her hands—a small, stuffed bunny.

“What’s that?” you ask curiously, your heart swelling as Minho steps into the room behind her, his eyes locking onto yours. He’s holding your hand before you know it, the unspoken emotions passing between you as you both look down at the baby in your arms.

“This is for the baby!” Byeol announces proudly, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

“That’s so nice of you, honey,” you say, feeling tears prick your eyes again, this time from the tenderness of the moment. “Come sit next to Mommy.”

You shift over on the bed to make room for Byeol, and Minho helps her climb up. Once she’s seated beside you, her gaze locks onto her baby brother, her little hands twitching, eager but hesitant to touch him.

“He’s so tiny, Mommy,” she giggles, eyes wide with wonder.

“Do you want to hold him?” you ask softly.

Byeol glances at Minho as if seeking permission, then nods at you, her smile growing. Together, you and Minho help her hold the baby carefully, cradling his weight between her small arms and your supportive hands.

“Meet your little brother, Haneul,” you whisper, introducing the two of them for the very first time.

Byeol’s eyes light up as she gazes down at him, the gentle awe never leaving her face. After a moment, she bravely reaches out and pokes his chubby cheek. “He’s so squishy!” she declares, making you laugh softly.

“You can kiss him if you want,” you encourage.

Without hesitation, Byeol leans forward and plants a sweet kiss on Haneul’s cheek, giggling as she pulls back. “He’s so cute, Mommy,” she whispers, resting her head close to him, her protective little arms still cradling him carefully.

Your heart feels like it might burst at the sight of them together—your children. You squeeze Minho’s hand, overcome by the love you feel for your family. As you turn to look at him, tears glisten in your eyes, but they’re happy tears—grateful, joyful tears.

Minho smiles softly, a quiet understanding in his eyes. He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your head, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

In this moment, everything feels perfect. Your family has grown, and with this new little life, your world feels more whole than ever before.

-

For the rest of the day, both your families come to visit you at the hospital, offering congratulations and warmth to the new addition to your family. As the evening settles in, the Oddinary arrive, right after the tattoo parlor has closed for the day. Their familiar presence fills the room, bringing laughter, chatter, and of course, food. They even bring pizzas to celebrate the occasion.

As Sujin gently holds little Haneul in her arms, she studies him with an appraising look while Felix peers over her shoulder in awe.

“Babies are ugly, but this one…” Sujin starts, narrowing her eyes playfully as she shifts Haneul in her arms, “…this one is beautiful. Props to you, girl!” She flashes you a proud, almost approving smile.

“Thank you,” you manage to respond, cheeks flushed as you take another bite of pizza, appreciating the warmth of her compliment.

Minho, feeling somewhat left out, leans back in his chair and shoots Sujin a mock offended look. “No props to me?”

Sujin doesn’t miss a beat, throwing him a teasing glare. “She’s the one who carried him for nine months.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Which is kind of unfair,” you add. “I carried him for nine months, and he came out looking just like his dad.”

Minho had never been overly concerned with whether the baby was a boy or girl—he’d love them no matter what. But when he saw Haneul for the first time, he was struck by just how much the baby resembled him. It had been a delightful surprise, one he hadn’t expected but welcomed wholeheartedly.

Felix, ever curious, rubs a tattooed finger gently over Haneul’s cheek, marveling at how soft the baby’s skin is. But Haneul’s reaction is immediate—his tiny face scrunches up, and he starts to cry.

Felix’s eyes go wide in surprise, his hands freezing in place. “Why did you touch the baby with your greasy hands?” Sujin hisses at him, swatting at his arm.

“I— I didn’t mean to!” Felix stammers, holding up his hands in surrender, his face a mix of guilt and panic.

“It’s okay,” you laugh, waving off the commotion. “It’s about time I feed him anyway.” You finish your slice of pizza quickly and hold out your arms, signaling for Sujin to hand Haneul back to you.

Sujin carefully places the still-crying baby in your arms, and as you begin to unbutton the front of your shirt, everyone else takes it as their cue to leave the room.

“We’ll give you some privacy,” Sujin announces with a smirk before gathering the rest of the Oddinary. Felix, still looking slightly guilty, waves awkwardly as he trails behind the others.

Once Minho sent everyone off on their way, he takes a minute to call his parents to check on Byeol. She’ll be staying with them until you’re discharged from the hospital. When he returns, he’s greeted by the sight of you cradling Haneul in your arms, a soft, loving expression on your face. In this moment, with the room bathed in the gentle glow of the hospital lights, you look absolutely radiant to him. He’s struck by how serene and beautiful you seem, completely immersed in your maternal role.

Without a word, Minho moves to tidy up the room, throwing away the empty pizza boxes and soda cans before washing his hands. Then, he comes to sit beside you on the bed, leaning in to get a closer look at your son.

“He’s so beautiful,” you whisper, your eyes glancing up at Minho with a smile.

“He has your eyes, your lips…” you murmur as you gently caress Haneul’s cheek with your knuckle. You pause, then give his tiny nose a playful boop. “Even your nose.”

A wide smile spreads across your face as you bring Haneul a little closer, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “I think I’ve fallen in love…” you admit, your voice filled with quiet wonder.

Minho watches you closely, recognizing that you’ve been wearing that same smile ever since you first laid eyes on Haneul. He knows he feels the same, though he’s always been better at concealing his emotions. Still, he can’t hide the warmth that spreads through his chest as he watches you with your son.

Just then, Haneul begins to coo softly, his tiny hand rubbing at his face, his features scrunching up again as if he’s about to cry.

“You want Daddy, mmh?” you guess softly, glancing up at Minho before carefully handing Haneul over to him.

Minho quickly sits beside you, taking Haneul into his tattooed arms. It’s only the second time he’s held his son today, the first being the moment of skin-to-skin contact just after Haneul was born. As Minho holds him now, he’s struck again by how small and delicate the baby feels in his arms.

You wrap your arm around Minho’s waist, resting your chin gently on his shoulder. Together, you both gaze down at Haneul, your hearts overflowing with love and gratitude for this little life you’ve brought into the world.

You press a soft kiss to Minho’s neck and murmur, “We made that.”

Minho turns his head to look at you, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “We made it,” he echoes softly.

As Minho holds Haneul close, a sense of responsibility settles over him. The weight of being a father to two now, of being a husband and the head of a growing family—it all becomes real in this quiet moment. He knows that he must strive to be the best father, the best husband, the best version of himself for you, for Byeol, and now for Haneul. And as he looks back at you, the love he feels for you both is unmistakable, filling him with an unshakable sense of purpose.

-

It's another day in Minho’s life, except that his routine has shifted just a bit, revolving around the new addition to the family. For Minho to keep up with the tattoo parlor during the day, you insisted on taking care of baby Haneul during the night, allowing him the rest he needs. Yet, Minho can’t help but sacrifice some of his sleep to wake up earlier than usual, cherishing these moments with his newborn son.

As always, he begins his morning by cuddling up to you. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek before slowly slipping out of bed. His first stop is Haneul’s crib, where the baby sleeps soundly, his tiny mouth making faint sucking motions as if he’s dreaming of breastfeeding. Minho smiles at the sight—how peaceful, how precious.

After washing up, Minho moves to prepare a bath for Haneul. His hands, trained from years of precise work as a tattoo artist, move skillfully as he fills the tub. His calm and steady touch proves invaluable during moments like this. Even when Haneul wakes up, startled and crying from the disturbance, Minho remains calm.

"It’ll be done soon," Minho murmurs softly, his voice soothing as he bathes his son.

Once Haneul is clean and dressed, Minho already has a bottle of breastmilk prepared to settle him back down. He cradles him gently in his arms, swaying and lulling him back to sleep as he feeds, planting a gentle kiss on his son’s cheek. Soon enough, Haneul’s little eyes flutter closed again, and Minho carefully places him back into the crib, brushing a hand over his soft hair before moving on with his morning routine.

Minho heads to the kitchen, starting with a cup of coffee to fuel the rest of his tasks. He waters the plants, then begins cooking breakfast. His steady rhythm in the kitchen feels like second nature now—cooking for the family has become one of his favorite parts of the day. He doesn’t forget to prepare Byeol’s lunch either, tucking in a little note with a doodle like he always does.

Just as he’s finishing up, you emerge from the bedroom, looking sleepy but determined to join him for breakfast.

"You stopped asking what's for breakfast," Minho remarks with a smile as he plates the food, setting it on the table for you.

"At this point, I’ll just eat whatever you give me," you reply, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips.

Minho chuckles, leaning down to place a kiss on your temple. It’s these little moments, the small exchanges that feel so intimate and warm, that fill him with a sense of contentment.

Soon, Byeol comes bounding into the dining room, full of energy and eager to tell you both about her excitement for school. As she slides into her chair, she chatters on about her favorite subject and what she can’t wait to learn today. Minho listens, glancing over at you with a small smile, feeling like these moments of normalcy are truly where life happens.

When it’s time to leave for school, Byeol rushes over to give you a big hug and kiss before heading to Haneul’s crib to say her goodbyes to her little brother. Minho watches the scene with pride swelling in his chest. He’s always been amazed by how naturally Byeol has taken to being a big sister.

Minho doesn’t leave without his own goodbye. He pulls you close, pressing a quick but loving kiss to your lips.

“See you soon,” he murmurs softly, his forehead brushing against yours for a moment before he stands, guiding Byeol towards the door.

"Bye, bye, Mommy!" Byeol chirps, waving as Minho holds the door open for her.

"Have a great day at school, my shining star!" you call back, waving with a smile that’s tired but full of love.

As Minho buckles Byeol into the car and starts the drive to school, he finds himself reflecting on how different his life is now. It’s not the grand gestures or the monumental events that have shaped him, but rather the small, quiet moments like this—breakfast with his family, goodbyes before school, the peaceful early morning routine with his son.

These little slices of heaven, day after day, are what fill his heart with gratitude. And in these moments, he knows there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

-

Motherhood is exhausting.

It’s not just the lack of sleep or the endless list of physical discomforts. There’s the emotional rollercoaster no one warns you about—the way joy and sadness seem to come in waves, sometimes crashing over you when you least expect it. After Haneul was born, you were overwhelmed by the strangeness of no longer carrying him in your belly, missing the sensation of him kicking even as you held him in your arms. It’s a bittersweet adjustment.

But Minho makes it easier. He’s always there, making sure you never feel alone. He doesn't hover, but his presence is steady, and the little gestures of love—his way of checking in on you, or simply wrapping you up in his arms—give you a sense of comfort. Today is no different.

As you change your clothes, Minho catches you in the act, watching from the edge of the bed. You’re in the middle of swapping out a blouse, frustrated as your breast milk has leaked through again.

"You look good today," Minho says casually, a sly grin forming on his lips as he admires you.

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I smell like a mix of sweat, barf, and diaper disasters.”

His smirk is playful. “Exactly my type.”

You finish buttoning your blouse and turn to face him. Despite everything your body’s been through—stretch marks, swollen feet, exhaustion—he looks at you like he always has, with a mixture of admiration and affection that never wavers. It’s comforting.

"Come here," he beckons, arms outstretched in invitation.

You don’t need to be told twice. You move into his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he pulls you close. His lips find yours, a slow, affectionate kiss that lingers, melting away the day’s fatigue.

"I guess you also smell like desperation," Minho teases as he places a kiss on your neck, his voice a low murmur against your skin.

You gently slap his chest in protest, half-heartedly. "You’re so annoying."

He only smirks and kisses you again, this time more softly. It’s moments like these that remind you why he’s your partner through all of this—his humor, his warmth, his ability to make you feel like yourself even when motherhood makes you feel anything but.

"How about I make lunch?" he asks, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "What do you feel like?"

"Hmm... I’m starving," you sigh dramatically, leaning your head against his chest. "A big sandwich would be perfect."

"Big sandwich, got it," he replies with ease.

"And make sure you add lots of love." You laugh softly, trying to lighten the mood.

"Then it’s going to taste sour," he jokes, his hands sliding down to your waist.

You laugh, enjoying the easy banter. "I don’t mind that at all."

Minho kisses your cheek and makes a move to get up, but you tighten your arms around him, not ready to let him go just yet.

"No, stay," you whine, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. "Let’s stay like this for a bit longer."

He chuckles softly and gives in, holding you closer. His tattooed arms wrap securely around you, the warmth of his body grounding you as the two of you sit quietly in the calm of the moment.

-

It’s surprising how often your baby boy needs to be fed throughout the day. As Haneul stirs in the other room, his soft cries reach your ears, and you let out a tired sigh.

“Alright, alright, give mommy a second,” you murmur, hurriedly unbuttoning your shirt. “You’re just as impatient as your daddy, huh?”

Minho enters the room again, Byeol trailing close behind him. She immediately clambers onto the bed, settling next to you and watching her baby brother feed.

"Honey, do you mind if I go out for a bit?" Minho asks, grabbing his wallet from the bedside table.

"Where to?" you ask, opening your arm for Byeol to snuggle into.

"Need to grab something from the convenience store," he answers, pulling on his jacket.

"Okay," you say, a bit distracted by Haneul feeding.

"I won't be long," he assures you, walking over to plant a kiss on the top of your head and giving Byeol a quick tickle, which sends her into giggles.

Once Minho leaves, Byeol settles beside you, gently playing with Haneul’s tiny fingers.

“Mommy, the baby’s here now,” she says thoughtfully, her small fingers brushing over Haneul’s tiny hands. “Does that mean you’ll go back to work soon?”

“Well, yes,” you answer carefully, “but not too soon.”

She looks up at you with wide, curious eyes. “Can mommy stay home every day?”

Her innocent question tugs at your heart. You hadn’t realized how much she missed these moments with just the two of you. You blink away the sudden sting of tears and stroke her hair gently.

“There’s nothing I’d love more than staying home with you and your brother, but there are people out there who need mommy’s help,” you explain softly. “And if I can help them, I should, right?”

Byeol contemplates this for a moment, her young mind trying to understand the bigger picture. Finally, she nods. “Right.”

You lean in and press a soft kiss to her forehead as you say, “But no matter what, mommy will always be here—driving you to school, watching your soccer practices, getting burgers at the drive-thru, painting our nails together.”

She beams at that, her smile making your heart swell and you continue with the most important thing you want her to know, “And mommy will always love you. So much.”

“I love you too, mommy,” she whispers, resting her head against your chest.

You hold her close, savoring the tender moment. “You’ll always be mommy’s brightest star.”

When Byeol finally drifts to sleep beside you and Haneul’s feeding comes to an end, you find yourself unable to move without disturbing them. Minho comes back into the room, his smile softening when he sees you snuggled with both children.

“I’ll carry her to bed,” he whispers, gently lifting Byeol in his arms and carrying her off to her room.

Relieved, you carefully place Haneul in his crib, your body aching from the long day. As Minho returns, he notices you massaging the back of your neck and quickly steps behind you to help, his strong hands working out the tension in your shoulders.

“Honey, I know you’re tired, but...” he begins, his voice low and soft, “Can we talk for a few minutes?”

You tense at his words, immediately wondering if something’s wrong. “Depends on what you want to talk about,” you joke, trying to mask your unease. “Is it about a secret gambling debt or a dead body you keep in the trunk of your car?”

Minho laughs, burying his face in your neck. “Close, but not quite.”

Curious, you follow him to the kitchen, your tired mind racing with possibilities. It’s not until you see the cake sitting on the table that you realize—it’s his birthday. And you forgot.

"Oh no, it’s your birthday," you whisper, feeling a wave of guilt crash over you.

"It’s not yet," Minho reassures, pulling you into his arms. His smile is soft, teasing, but without any hint of disappointment.

You bury your face in his chest, tears of exhaustion and guilt welling up in your eyes. "I’m so sorry," you sob, embarrassed that you, of all people, forgot his birthday.

Minho holds you tight, his hands gently stroking your back. "There’s nothing to be sorry about, honey," he murmurs against your hair. "I just wanted to celebrate with you."

He tilts your chin up, wiping away your tears with his thumb. "Are you really going to cry on my birthday?" he asks with a playful smirk.

You sniffle, managing a small smile. "No."

Together, you light the candles, your heart swelling with gratitude for the way he handles moments like this—with patience, understanding, and love. When the clock strikes midnight, you cheerily announce, "It's officially your birthday!"

Minho closes his eyes and makes a wish, his hand still holding yours. After he blows out the candles, you wrap your arms around him in a tight hug.

"Happy birthday, honey," you say, planting a long, chaste kiss on his lips and when you pull back, you softly apologize, "I’m sorry I don’t have a gift for you, yet."

"You’ve given me more than I could ever ask for," Minho whispers, pulling you even closer.

His hands cup your face, and you can see the depth of his emotions in his eyes. "You gave me a family, two beautiful children... I can’t thank you enough for giving me this life."

His words are simple but filled with so much emotion that tears well up in your eyes again. You kiss him softly, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you—the love, the gratitude, the life you’ve built together.

"Oh, honey," you reply, your voice trembling as you cradle his face.

Minho kisses you again, slower this time, savoring every moment. "I promise I’ll always make you happy," he whispers, his forehead resting against yours.

"You already do, Minho," you whisper back. "Every single day."

His lips press against yours once more as he mutters, "I love you."

"I love you," you reply, your heart aching with happiness.

He kisses you again, the moment full of tenderness and gratitude but when he pulls back, he gives you a cheeky grin. “So... can I blow you next?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes at his predictable humor. “Be careful, or you’ll be a father of three on your next birthday.”

Minho smirks, pulling you closer. “I'm okay with that.”

As you hold him, encased in the warmth of his love, you realize once again that no matter how hard motherhood or life gets, you could only do this with him by your side. With Minho, you can weather any storm, face any challenge, and still feel like you’re the luckiest person in the world.

With him, you can do anything.

-

The parlor has just closed when the Oddinary guys barge in, loud and excited, with a birthday cake in hand. Minho knows he can’t stop them—even if he wanted to. Once they set their minds to something, there's no talking them out of it. After all, they’re his family, long before he made and built his own.

He sighs, watching as they gather in the living room, the cake’s candles glowing warmly. Felix takes charge, lighting them with a wide grin. Minho leans back on the sofa, not exactly thrilled to be the center of attention on a day he prefers to keep low-key. The only reason he even humored celebrating last night was because he didn’t want you to feel bad for almost forgetting.

You plop down next to him, startling him out of his thoughts. Without a word, you hand him a fresh bottle of beer, and he gladly accepts it, his arm naturally wrapping around you, pulling you close to his side.

The noise in the room fades into the background as you nestle against him, the warmth of your presence grounding him. Your eyes flick to Sujin, who’s sitting across from you, gently cradling baby Haneul in her arms. You smile softly, a thought forming in your mind.

“I don’t want to impose, but Sujin...” you begin, your tone casual yet filled with meaning. “I think you’re ready.”

Sujin’s brow furrows in confusion as she shifts Haneul slightly, the tattoo on her neck straining as she leans forward. “Ready for what?”

Minho chuckles lightly, his voice laced with amusement. “You know what she meant,” he quips, shooting a playful smirk at Sujin.

Her husband, seated beside her, grins. “As for me, I’m just waiting for her.”

Sujin’s head snaps toward him, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. A slow smile begins to bloom on her face, softening her features as she glances back down at Haneul.

Minho shifts his focus to his daughter, Byeol, who’s sitting on the carpeted floor, caught between Felix and Yoon as they try to win her over. These two are in an animated debate, vying for her favor.

“Do you like Auntie Yoon more or Uncle Felix more?” Yoon asks, her voice filled with childlike curiosity, blissfully unaware of the intensity behind the question.

Minho knows this is one of those questions none of them is ever truly prepared to hear the answer to.

Byeol giggles, taking her time as if she’s carefully considering her options. After a long minute, she finally answers, “Uncle Felix!”

“I knew it!” Felix cheers in triumph, throwing his arms around Byeol and pulling her onto his lap.

Yoon, feigning disbelief, shakes her head. “No, I think Byeol isn’t taking enough time to think. I demand a retake!”

Felix, quick to defend his newfound title, presses his hands over Byeol’s ears. “No, you’re just jealous. Boooo!” he teases, sticking his tongue out and making silly faces at Yoon.

Minho fights the urge to smile, watching them act childish as usual. This kind of chaos—this kind of love—is something he cherishes, even if he’d never admit it out loud. Then, he turns his head, his gaze falling on you.

You haven’t changed. Not really. But at the same time, you have. It’s something subtle, something only he can see. A kind of growth and quiet strength that has always been there but now shines even brighter.

Some things will never change, though. Like the way you’re his anchor, the force that holds him down and keeps him steady. You’re the source of his strength and his love, the one person he trusts with every part of himself—and he knows you feel the same about him. And best of all, you’ll always be his.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” you ask, sensing the intensity in his gaze.

The noise around them swirls, but for Minho, in this moment, it’s just the two of you. He shakes his head slightly, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips.

“Nothing,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips, letting the kiss convey what words can’t.

With the new addition to his family, the house feels crowded—maybe even too crowded. He glances around the room, taking in the sight of his daughter laughing with Felix and Yoon, his son sleeping peacefully in Sujin’s arms, and the people who have been by his side since the beginning. His home is growing. It’s crowded, noisy, chaotic—but it’s home.

For now, this is enough. This is everything. This is home.

-

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[theartofcollapse]

World’s Worst Detectives - Casey Novak

a/n: i'm taking requests, so feel free to dm me :) summary: you reveal your relationship with Casey to the SVU squad after 5 years. pairing: Casey Novak x female reader warning: none word count: 880

masterlist

The morning started like any other, Elliot sipping his too hot coffee, Fin scrolling through his phone, Olivia looking over case files, and Munch complaining about the copy machine. Business as usual, until Y/N walked into the precinct wearing a diamond ring the size of a small planet.

"Nice rock,” Fin said casually, before doing a double take. “Wait... damn, Y/N! What’s that about?”

“Yeah,” Olivia chimed in, narrowing her eyes. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Y/N smirked, leaning against the nearest desk. “What? This old thing?” she said, holding up her hand for dramatic effect.

“Holy crap, are you engaged?” Munch asked, adjusting his glasses like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Yep,” Y/N said breezily.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Elliot cut in, setting his coffee down. “Since when are you even dating anyone?”

“Since, like, five years ago,” Y/N said nonchalantly.

The room collectively froze. It was like Y/N had dropped a bomb in the middle of the squad.

“Five years?” Olivia echoed, her voice a mix of shock and betrayal. “You’ve been dating someone for five years and didn’t say a word?”

“We’re just private and don’t bring our personal lives to work,” Y/N replied with a shrug, clearly enjoying their stunned reactions.

“Private?!” Elliot gawked. “You’ve been in a five-year relationship and didn’t think to mention it?”

“Who’s the lucky mystery person?” Fin asked, leaning forward.

Y/N’s grin widened. “Casey.”

“Novak?!”

The room practically erupted at the revelation. And, as if summoned by their collective disbelief, Casey Novak herself walked into the precinct carrying a stack of files. She paused when she saw everyone staring at her like she’d just confessed to a major crime.

“What?” Casey asked, her brow furrowing.

“Oh, nothing,” Munch said, smirking. “We’re just learning that you and Y/N have been secretly dating for five years and are now engaged.”

Casey sighed, glancing at Y/N. “You told them?”

“They noticed the ring,” Y/N said with a shrug. “Kind of hard to miss.”

“Wait,” Olivia cut in, pointing between them. “How did you guys even get together? Like… how did this start?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Y/N said, shooting Casey a playful grin. “She flirted with me during my deposition prep. Very professional.”

“I did not flirt,” Casey said, rolling her eyes. “I advised you. Thoroughly.”

“Uh-huh,” Y/N teased. “And that ‘thorough advice’ turned into drinks after work, then dinner, then…”

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” Elliot groaned.

“You live together?” Olivia asked, her mouth still slightly open in shock.

“For years,” Y/N replied, looking far too pleased with herself.

“For years?” Fin exclaimed. “How the hell did we miss this?”

“You’re the detectives,” Y/N said, dripping with sarcasm. “How did you not find out?”

Elliot threw up his hands. “I don’t know! You two never acted like… you know… a couple.”

Casey let out a dry laugh. “Are you serious? We’ve been dropping hints for years. You just didn’t notice.”

“What hints?” Olivia challenged, crossing her arms.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Casey said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “The time Y/N brought me lunch to court every single day during that Riker’s assault trial?”

“Or,” Y/N added, “the time we came to the precinct’s Christmas party in matching sweaters and you thought it was a ‘cute coincidence.’”

“Oh my God,” Fin muttered. “The ugly snowman sweaters. How did I miss that?”

“And don’t forget, that time Casey stayed over at my apartment during that snowstorm. Elliot, you called me to ask if she made it home safe, and I said, ‘Yeah, she’s in the kitchen making pancakes.’”

Elliot slapped his forehead. “I thought you were just being a good host!”

Munch adjusted his glasses, a suspicious look crossing his face. “What about that time we caught you two sharing a cab after that fundraiser?”

“We went home together,” Casey said bluntly.

Munch’s jaw dropped. “And I just thought… God, I don’t know what I thought.”

“Clearly, not much,” Y/N teased.

Fin leaned back in his chair, laughing. “Man, we really are slippin’. I can’t believe we didn’t piece this together.”

“Hold up,” Olivia said, narrowing her eyes at Casey. “So, when you storm out of here after Y/N gets assigned to some dangerous op, that’s not just you being a concerned ADA, is it?”

“Nope,” Casey said with a sly smile.

“And the way you glare at anyone who so much as flirts with her?” Fin added.

“Yeah, that’s me marking my territory,” Casey said dryly.

“I feel so betrayed,” Elliot muttered, shaking his head.

“Oh, come on,” Y/N said, laughing. “You didn’t really need to know all this. It’s not like it affects your jobs.”

“We’re detectives,” Olivia said, throwing her hands up. “We’re supposed to notice things like this!”

“Maybe you should take a refresher course,” Casey quipped, earning a round of laughter from everyone except Elliot, who still looked like his world had been turned upside down.

“Well,” Munch said, standing up and grabbing his coat. “Congratulations, I guess. But if you two start making out in the precinct, I’m filing a complaint.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Y/N said, shooting Casey a wink. “We save that for home.”

“Stop,” Elliot groaned, covering his ears.

Casey smirked, pulling Y/N toward the door. “Come on, babe. Let’s leave them to process.”

As the two of them left, hand in hand, Olivia let out a deep sigh. “I can’t believe we missed this.”

“Maybe next time,” Fin said, still laughing, “we should start paying attention to what’s right under our noses.”

Munch shook his head. “Or maybe we should all just retire while we still have some dignity.”

[lostcherise]

Green Is the Color

pairing: jesse pinkman x f!reader

summary: Jesse - a friend, a roommate, a fool who's hopelessly in love with you. He did his best keeping his feelings on check, but it all unraveled after one night you brought a guy home. (this is based on a request by @madzzz0797 my lovely mutual)

warnings/tags: roommates!au, pining, jealousy, allusions to masturbation, light angst (if you squint, i really need to improve on that), jealous jesse, smut, oral (m and f receiving), p in v,

word count: 8,237 (i'm sorry?? don't know what happened there)

 Lady, lady love me, 'cause I love to lay here lazy.

Soft and distant singing was your alarm for the day, definitely a gentler sound than the angry robotic beeping of your digital alarm clock. A sleepy smile crept its way on your lips, your eyes still shut, and you snuggled deeper into the pillow with a content sigh. You rustled about a few more seconds beneath the covers, before you bravely opened your eyes and welcomed the warm glow of a sunny Sunday morning. 

We got everything we need right here and everything we need it's enough. Just so easy when the whole world fits inside of your arms. 

The singing grew louder as you made your way down the hallway to the kitchen, accompanied by some occasional clanking of utensils. Walking on your tiptoes, you tried your best to be as stealthy as possible, it was a rare occasion to get to listen to Jesse sing. Your smile grew, and you bit your bottom lip fighting the urge to laugh at him. Although he was off key at times, you somewhat enjoyed his singing voice; just as buttery smooth as always.

Like waking up too early, maybe we could sleep in. Make you banana pancakes, pretend like it's the weekend now. 

With his back still turned to you, he kept on singing, only interrupting himself for a celebratory 'yeah bitch' after successfully flipping a pancake into the air, to which you failed to contain your laugh, so much for stealth. 

"Shit," Jesse whipped his head back to look at you. So much for a greeting. "Good morning." he smiled, face a tomato red and quickly redirected his attention back on the stove and he really hoped you hadn't noticed the rosy hue adorning his cheeks. 

"Good morning," you smiled back at him. "How come you're cooking breakfast?" you peered over his shoulder, the pancake batter bubbling to life before Jesse flipped it to reveal the golden brown bottom. 

"It's my turn to make us breakfast for the weekend, remember?" Jesse noted the obvious, with a teasing raise of a brow. 

Realization hit you, sleep ridden eyes widening softly. "You're right." you bumped his shoulder with yours. 

You smiled at the little tradition you two had created a year ago, a year after living together as roommates. Each weekend you guys took turns to cook breakfast for one another. It had all started after you had seen Jesse cook for the first time,  what you later realized was his favorite choice of breakfast food - huevos rancheros. Initially, it had come as a shock to you, he really gave off the impression that he hardly knew how to boil an egg, which you also had admitted to him. And that's when he took it upon himself, as a personal challenge to prove himself and made it a house rule that you alternate cooking breakfast for each other on the weekends. 

"Banana pancakes on the menu today, m'lady." Jesse informed you in a fake posh accent. 

"God, you know your way around a lady's heart." you sighed, with a resting palm on your chest, and placed a quick peck on Jesse's cheek. Before he could even register what had just happened, you were already setting the fully stacked plate onto the small white worn down kitchen table, right next to the small kitchen stand that housed various appliances you had no room for in your guys' small kitchen . 

When you weren't looking, with your back turned to him while you set up the coffee maker, Jesse moved to graze the spot your lips had left their fiery mark on. His cheek still burned beneath his touch, even after one minute had passed- as if the blood coursing through his veins had suddenly transformed into molten lava burning him on the inside out. See, ever since you and Jesse had moved in together, he found himself in a rather sticky predicament. 

He was in love with you. And you didn't know. And mostly likely did not share the sentiment. And that's why he kept his mouth shut about it, and opted to suffer in silence. 

Even now to this day, two years after his big revelation, he was scared. Scared of how much he loved you, scared of how one day he'd wake up and decide that he would come clean, two years was a long time to keep to himself after all, and risk losing his most meaningful friendship yet.  It had been two years since that one night Jesse had come to surprise you at the end of a very tiring day of work and evening classes. He remembered how your brows were furrowed, while you hugged an oversized hoodie you had confiscated from Jesse's clean laundry two weeks prior, closer to you. Your head was hung low, and you were paying no mind to your surroundings, so much so that Jesse had to honk to get your attention. 

And the moment your mood shifted when you had noticed him, was the first time his heart swelled up in his chest. How a wide grin stretched on your face, and how you had jogged excitedly over to his beloved Monte Carlo. The second time was just minutes after you had gotten in and and he had suggested you drop by your favorite ice cream parlor for a much needed pick me up. Jesse took much pride in being able to read you so well and know what you need in an instant, and that's how he had come to the conclusion that night that we was falling for you at light speed. 

Deep down he knew that no good was bound to come out of this situation he had created for himself, but to his defense that wasn't entirely his fault; you had your part to play in this too. With the way your eyes twinkled when the sun shone just right during the golden hours of the day, the way they crinkled at the corners every time you laughed at a sorry attempt of a joke he would make, the way your nose would scrunch in distaste whenever you didn't like something, the way your plush lips pursed whenever you were deep in thought, the way your smell lingered on for just a few fleeting seconds whenever you would leave his side. You smelled like a mix of pears, oranges and jasmine, which in turn reminded him of being bundled up on the couch on a cozy autumn afternoon. And Jesse would be a liar to say that he didn't often dream of spending most of his days like that with you.  

A series of expletives left Jesse's mouth, which in turn had your attention. You whipped your head back, just in time to see a black disk being discarded into the bin. "Mmm, crispy." you mused, scrunching your face in mock delight with a shimy of your shoulders.

"Shut up." Jesse flipped you off, but the smile dancing on his lips showed no annoyance. 

With a playful eyeroll, you set two steaming cups of cheap drip coffe on the table. Jesse soon followed, a sugar jar on one hand and a bottle of maple syrup on the other. You stacked a couple of of pancakes onto your plate and proceeded to drizzle a bit of maple syrup on top, all the while Jesse threw in his fifth spoonful of sugar in his coffee. "I'm still surprised you have teeth." you quipped. 

"These bad boys?" Jesse bared his surprisingly straight pearly whites at you. "Nah, they've been through worse." he shrugged and proceeded to take a sip of his coffee flavored syrup with a hum. And he was right; he'd been four years sober and you couldn't be more proud of him. Although he hardly believed so himself, Jesse had really managed to turn his life around. Getting kicked out of his aunt's house at just 19 was the start of a long journey towards recovery for him. At first the path was lonely with a lot of setbacks. His first struggle: passing his SATs and getting accepted to college. That was when you had come into the picture and that was when the steep uphill towards the top was less bleak with you on his side. 

"That's why you should appreciate them more." you countered, left cheek all puffed and rounded, filled with sweet pillowy goodness that you washed down with bitter coffee, the contrasting flavors on your taste receptors sending happy signals to the neurons in your brain. Another bite, another appreciative hum that resembled a moan a little too much. With a quirk of a brow, you shot Jesse a quizzical look that fell unnoticed as he was too busy shoveling food in his mouth while fidgeting on his seat. 

What you did not know was that at that moment, Jesse was fighting his own personal hell; trying to get those sinful sounds of yours out of his head. You really had no business moaning over some banana pancakes, he wasn't even that great of a cook; you had to be exaggerating on purpose. If that was the case, then you had definitely gotten what you wanted. 

Oblivious, you continued eating, almost quietly. Almost. After every two bites or so, you'd sneakily slip a quiet moan that would have Jesse twitching in his pants. "You know what I think?" you asked, swallowing the last bite of your pancakes. "Ditch business," you pointed a fork at him, before grabbing another pancake from the now smaller stack. "Go to culinary school." To which you earned a disbelieving snort from him. 

"You know what I think?" it was Jesse's turn to ask you that. He leaned in, his eyes gleaming with something more as they studied your face and in those seconds you took the chance to drink him in too. The five o'clock shadow that accentuated his chiseled cheeks and jawline, his eyes; the bluest oceans you often found yourself helplessly drowning in, the way the corners of his lips quirked into a smirk. "You pretend you like my cooking so you can get in my pants." he teased, his tone lower than usual. 

"What would you do then?" you asked, surprising even yourself with your fowrward question. Part of you wouldn't mind if Jesse would brush it off entirely, pretend nothing was ever said, yet curiosity was eating at you from the inside. What would he do? What did you want him to do? It so seemed that Jesse was more dumbfounded at your brazeness, as he was a sputtering mess, wide eyes avoiding yours entirely, seemingly more focused on finishing his breakfast. Surprisingly so, another small part of you grew disappointed as seconds ticked by and Jesse remained silent, downing the last sip of his now lukewarm coffee. 

"Gonna hit the, uh," he paused to clear his throat, voice thick and strained. "Hit the shower..." Jesse jutted his jaw on one side, the tip of his tongue rolling beneath his cheek and without saying much else, getting up in a hurry. Your gaze trailed his retreating form, until he disappeared into the hallway, and inside the bathroom. 

A few seconds pass, before you decide to go back to your room, that was conveniently next to the bathroom. The sound of the shower running resonated through your room in a low, steady hum. You crawled into bed and closed your eyes as you laid there, relaxing. 

Until you heard it. 

At first you thought your mind was playing tricks on you, but no, you heard it again. A little louder this time. With your eyes transfixed on the ceiling, your mouth fell open as you let out a silent gasp. There it was again, it was almost being drowned out by the water running, but being right next to the bathroom it was hard to miss the sounds of Jesse moaning. Heat rushed to your cheeks, it felt so wrong, as if you were intruding in on his personal time. You could leave, hang around in the living room, until he finished, literally. Or, you could lay there and listen to Jesse struggle to keep his voice down, his sinful whimpers growing a tad louder as he brought himself closer to the edge. 

"Jesus." your heart was threatening to burst out of your chest at high speed. A familiar burning traveled all the way from your chest and nestled in your abdomen, your body pumping with a feeling you couldn't exactly put your finger on. Out of their own accord your thighs squeezed and squeezed until you could get a semblance of euphoria, but it was not enough. Jesse's muffled moans grew in frequency and a few curse words slipping in here and there, and you could hear the urgency in his voice. 

"Oh....fuck." it was long and drawn out, and it was like music to your ears. Silence fell from the other side of the wall other than the water hitting the shower tiles, which also stopped after a minute or two. Your heart was beating so fast, you could hear the blood pumping in your ears, because what the fuck had just happened? You had just eavesdropped on your roommate masturbating and you enjoyed it. With a swift swipe of your tongue over your dry lips, you let out a sigh and turned your head to glare at the top drawer of your nightstand. 

With a scrunch of your brows, you squeezed your eyes shut for a second, and reached inside for your old trusty pink vibrator. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, an alien sound leaving your lips as you sucked air in, and stared at the small yet wondrous toy in your hand. It sort of felt wrong that you were so turned on by your roommate jacking off, but you were so dead set on chasing your own high at that moment that you gave no second thoughts, and the toy buzzed to life. 

The next weeks were pretty much spent trying not to think about that one Sunday morning, so much so that you sought temporary solutions in going out on dates, but to no avail. You couldn't quite put a finger on what it was, maybe like the fact that you looked for Jesse in all the guys you had gone out this, 'but Jesse...' always lingering in your mind as an afterthought to every little thing. You didn't know what it was exactly about that morning, but it had awakened suppressed emotions you hadn't even realized you had, or had chosen to ignore them. Only one guy, Andrew, was deemed worthy and made the cut, and that was only because he had earned the least amount of 'but Jesse's out of the previous ones, so he had earned himself a third date. 

That is how you had ended up stumbling in inside your dark apartment, your tangled bodies hitting your entryway stand in a frenzied state of kissing and groping. 

"Shh," you mumbled in between kisses, but that only seemed to spur Andrew on, and he let out a throaty moan the moment your fingers tugged at his golden brown hair, that very much resembled Jesse's. "Be quiet, you're gonna wake my roommate up." you broke the kiss with a whisper and blindly dragged him towards your room. 

Meanwhile, he tried to attatch his lips wherever he could, whether it were along your arms, the side of your neck to which you moaned, only because your mind was wandering off to a certain someone. "I can. Question is," he paused, his lips overing just above your ear, his hot breath fanning over your skin. "Can you?" Easy there tiger, was how you truly wanted to respond, yet you masked it with a moan. He was sweet talking you the entire time but his words fell unnoticed as they mindlessly slipped from one ear and out the other. Clothes were being discarded in a frenzy and soon enough you found yourself tangled in between the sheets with the almost stranger. 

The nightstand lamp cast a soft glow on his features, your eyes scanning his face, searching for a sense of familiarity. You found it in his eyes, the same hue as Jesse's yet they weren't the same at all. Andrew leaned down to bury himself in your neck, and your eyelids fluttered shut and pictured the only pair of blues you were longing for, while Andrew worked his way on your body, set on getting you there. The room was filled with noises of you, moans mixing in with the rhythmic sound of skin slapping against skin, that only grew faster by the minute. There it was, that familiar burning growing within, ready to envelop you like a wildfire. With furrowed brows, you tried to consentrate on it, trying your damn hardest not to let it slip away. Above you, Adrew groaned hotly, his rhythm growing sloppier by the second, and his hips stuttered as he stilled inside you and spilled into the condom.

And just like that, the fire dwindled. 

Jesse dragged his feet across the hardwood floor, sluggishly making his way to the kitchen, dragging a hand across his bed ridden eyes and face. Despite having splashed his face with cold water, he couldn't get rid of the sleepiness, maybe a cup of coffee would do the trick. As he neared the kitchen, he heard rustling and your muffled voice, probably talking on the phone, he assumed. He neared the kitchen entrance with a smile, ready to greet you and his entire mood shifted. 

Where Jesse normally sat on the kitchen table, when he would share his meals with you, was another man. Jesse's heart plummeted and it felt as it was being cut to pieces with a blunt butterknife, slow and painful. Maybe he was overreacting, but the way that stranger had moved the chair to be closer to you, the way his body was shifted close to yours, and the fucking way he was playing with your hands while you talked; it drove him over the edge. His chest heaved and he clutched the hem of his oversized graphic tee, trying to keep the little green monster growing inside him at bay. 

You giggled at something the guy said to you and Jesse's chest constricted, only he got to make you laugh like that. At that moment, your gaze lifted up and connected with Jesse's, surprise painted on your features for just a couple of seconds, but you hid it with a smile. "Jesse, good morning. I made extra coffee for you." you pointed at the coffee maker. 

"Mhm, morning," he mumbled under his breath. "Thanks." he tried a little louder, his voice coming out broken from the lack of use and all the pent up emotion that tightened around his throat. 

"Andrew, this is my roommate I was telling you about." you turned your attention to the guy next to you. "Jesse, this is Andrew." 

"Hi." Andrew greeted Jesse after a beat of silence. "You know," he chuckled dryly. "I thought your roommate would be a girl, to be honest." his laugh dying out as both you and Jesse remained silent, you only giving a polite smile in response and Jesse glared at how he was still holding your hand. He didn't even know this guy, if it was serious, surely he would know you were seeing somebody, so why was holding your hand as if you two were dating? 

"Why, you'd feel less threatened?" Jesse grumbled coarsely. In turn, Andrew's smile fell in an instant, his lips pursing in an o shape as he tried to process Jesse's comment. Just as shocked at Jesse's sudden aggressiveness, you momentarily pushed your head back and frowned in surprise, your eyes holding a silent conversation with his, to which Jesse merely shrugged in response. Quietly, he grabbed his favorite mug - it was a Billy the Puppet mug you had gifted him on his birthday about a year ago - poured himself some coffee and left the kitchen without a word. 

Once in the livng room, the TV came to life, Jesse flipping the channels mindlessly until he settled on some Seinfeld reruns. Ten minutes into the episode, he heard your voices approaching, yet he didn't turn his head to look as you bid Andrew farewell. Although, from the corner of his eye he was able to catch a glimpse of Andrew leaning down on your level and pecking you on the lips just as he was leaving. Jesse's top lip curled, the jealousy eating him up on the inside; that should've been him. And that chance was lost on him because he was a fucking coward, he had made his bed and now he had to lie in it. It's just that he hadn't expected it would hurt him so much and he was being unreasonably selfish for wishing things wouldn't work out between you two. 

The TV screen went black, which earned you an angry scowl from Jesse. "Yo, I was watching that!" his tone raised. 

"What was that?" you asked in the same tone, chucking the TV remote at his chest. Jesse's frown deepened, whispering a silent ow, while he rubbed the sore spot of impact. 

"What was what?" Jesse asked indignantly, emphasizing his t's. 

"Back then," you stated obviously. "In the kitchen?" you pointed at that direction, trying to get your point accross. 

Jesse let out a sarcastic snort. "Just stated the obvious." he replied more calmly this time, his eyes locked in on yours. 

"Well," your chest puffed out as you took in a deep breath, the motion catching Jesse's gaze, making his mind briefly wander off to somewhere else. "It was rude." To which Jesse merely scoffed at as a response. 

Silence fell over both of you, the tension grew and a frown resurfaced on Jesse's features again. "Look, I-" he paused to clear his throat, also recollecting his thoughts in the meantime. "I'm sorry. I'll be nicer next time." If there will be one, Jesse wanted to add but he would be treading on thin ice after that. 

"You seem to like him." he pointed out, taking in a few seconds to study your face, yet he couldn't really put a finger on the emotion painted on it, it almost gave off a vibe of uncertainty. "How long you two been goin' out?" he questioned hesitantly.

"Not long." you shrugged, tucking a strand behind your ear, then rubbing the base of your neck. That is your tell when you're nervous, Jesse noted silently to himself. "Third date was last night." 

Ah. Jesse's brows rose momentarily, the corners of his lips turning down and h,e let out a soft hum. He was aware of what happened on the third date, however, he wasn't expecting for him to have slept over. Maybe it was growing more serious faster than he thought. The monster inside him grew, its angry green vines tightening around his heart, causing his brain to paint pictures of you and him tangled in between the sheets, touching you in places Jesse could only do so in a wet dream. 

"Well, I hope it goes well." he lied through his teeth, topping it off with a smile, in hopes of sounding more sincere. 

It had, much to Jesse's disappointed, but he tried to keep that to himself, save for the sneering looks he'd throw Andrew's way the times he'd show up at your guys' apartment. All the while, Jesse tried to keep his distance the following weeks, because to himself that was the best course of action, which was turning out to be a terrible idea. Because he wasn't a regular friend, and stepping down to that status seemed to be hurting him more than not being able to be your boyfriend. In the midst of it all, he was also hurting you, it was painted on your face every day. Mainly the reason why he'd be cooped up in his room on his free time, to avoid seeing the hurt look on your face. 

Jesse was no stranger when it came to addiction, you were his vice. The most addictive drug he had ever been on; his highest highs, his lowest lows, and he was going through major withdrawal symptoms. Avoiding you like that was doing serious damage to his psyche. He was trying his damnest to detach himself from you. However, the harder he tried, the more he felt the urge to crawl into your bed, curl up against you, hold you tight until his body would mold into yours and the two of you would finally become one in the most literal sense.

Saturday morning had rolled, and Jesse having woken up first, made himself a cup of coffee. He had dragged his chair right next to the open kitchen window, blowing smoke from his cigarette outside - you hated it when he smoked it up inside the house, especially in the kitchen. After one long drag, he took a sip of coffee. Cigarettes and coffee, breakfast of champions, he thought and chuckled dryly to himself. 

"Jesse, we've talked about this before." your voice sounded defeated. 

"Cigarette's outside the house." he argued. 

"Barely." you scoffed with a shake of your head, moving to open the hood fan to get rid of any lingering smells. No reply came from him, but him putting out his cigarette when he was barely finished with it, was enough of an answer for you. 

After a quick inspection around the kitchen, you realized the sink was empty, no dirty dishes cluttering the basin, all counters and kitchen table empty, too. "No breakfast today?" you mused, unable to hide the sadness in your voice. 

Jesse replied indifferently with a grunt. "Nah, fridge was empty." 

Exasperated, you let out a huff through flared nostrils. "What's up with you?" 

That question made Jesse stir in his seat. "Dunno what you mean." he replied with a curt jerk of his shoulders. 

You move to stand near him, leaning forward to catch his avoidant gaze. "Jesse, we barely talk? And even when we do it feels as if it's done out of necessity. Also, you never," your tone increased and you followed with a pause, just for the added dramatics. "Ever, forget our weekend breakfasts." Jesse's silence fell heavy between the two of you, a disappointed scowl gracing your face. That's what upset Jesse even more, he'd rather have you be annoyed, angry at him, than disappointed. Anything. Anything but disappointed, because he feared that's when he would start losing you. 

Torn at the turn of events, Jesse was beginning to second guess his method and it seemed he was left with the only option he had left. That, of course, was to come clean, which was much easier in theory. 

"Don't you have like a date to go to?" Jesse asked, dismissing your previous comments entirely. His lips were formed in a tight line, he was unsure of why he was asking that, knowing the answer would hurt him. 

"Actually... we broke up two days ago." 

"Yeah? Why?" Jesse kept his head hung low, however he lifted his gaze to study you. There was a large hole at the hem of your shirt, it had once belonged to him and even used to be one of his favorites, up until one time it got snagged in the dryer. It had become your go to sleep attire from then on. Your finger kept tracing circles around the edges of the hole nervously. 

"Don't know, I broke up with him. It felt as if something was missing." 

"How are you feeling?" 

"Oh, I'm good." your voice brightened a bit, the usual perk in your tone almost there. "He was more bummed than me, though." you grimaced and shrugged it off. 

Jesse simply nodded in response, this time really lifting his head to properly look at you and he swore you looked as if there was something else lingering at the tip of your tongue, but you kept your lips sealed. Instead, you asked, "Wanna grab waffles?"

The drive back home was silent, the only sound in the car cabin was the occasional slurping of your lemon flavored slushy. Although, you had somewhat tried to maintain your weekend tradition, your shared breakfast seemed more forced than having a date with a guy your mom had set you up with. Without having realized you had just arrived home, Jesse had just pulled the handbrake up, the croaking of the lever breaking you out of your trance. On the way up the stairs, Jesse kept his pace up a few steps ahead of you, the soles of his Nikes screeching as they rubbed against the stairs. The flesh of your bottom lip was trapped beneath your teeth, the corners of your mouth also forming a harsh frown. A dull pain shot through you when you dug your teeth in deeper, while you tried to bury your frustration building up within. You were losing your best friend and worst part of it all was you didn't know why. 

First thing Jesse did once he set foot in, was chuck his black beanie on the hallway stand, most of his sandy brown hair was sticking out in various places in a disheveled mess, while the ones closer to his face stuck on his skin, a shade darker and wet with sweat. 

"Jesse." 

"Jesse." you repeated sternly, not accepting his low grumble of a response. 

"What?" 

You bit your lip again, the frustration brewing in your stomach making you nauseous. "You tell me." 

"There's nothing to tell." Jesse feigned confusion, again. He kicked off he shoes and trudged to the living room, plopping himself on the sofa, the old piece of furniture groaning beneath his weight. You followed in, only seconds after, each step growing more powerful as frustration turned into anger. 

"Don't play dumb with me. Tell me what's going on." you demanded as you stopped to stand in front of him, between the couch and coffee table. 

Jesse's forehead wrinkled in exasperation, his icy blues bore into you. Though, just for two seconds and they fell back on his lap. 

"You've been avoiding me, and don't you dare," you pointed a finger at him just as his head snapped up, his mouth moving to say something, "Don't," you paused again, closing your eyes and exhaling, "Don't you dare deny it." 

Jesse sat there stunned and accepted your outburst in silence, because he wasn't dumb to not know it was well deserved. Your eyes left his form and darted up to the ceiling, feeling the corners tickling with fresh, warm tears that threatened to spill. "I feel... I feel like I'm losing you. I'm losing us." you cried into the ceiling. "I'm losing us and it hurts." 

"Yeah, well loving you hurts me more." Jesse snapped, jumping up to his feet. "Every day hurts because I'll always be your best friend, your-your r-roommate," he spat those words out as if they were poison. "It fucking hurts how you try and find happiness in other guys, yet it never works out. I-I could make it work out, but you won't give me a chance." he was yelling at this point, his neck red and strained while his voice ripped through.

Dumbstruck you stand there with your mouth agape, your mind in a state of delirium upon hearing Jesse's confession. Your stomach was doing somersaults and if you felt nauseous before, then now you definitely felt like throwing up. It seemed as if it was your body's natural response at that point. 

"I want to be happy for you, I do. Call me selfish all you want, but I can't stand you looking happy in somebody else's arms - like that bitch, Andrew." Jesse spat his name. 

"I wasn't." you whisper, and upon Jesse's silence you continue, "I wasn't happy with him, I mean. That's why I broke up with him; because in every thing he did, I kept searching for you in him and it was never going to work out." you confess, waiting for Jesse's response. His eyes darted left and right as he was trying to process your own confession. 

He sized you up, lingering for a little longer on your lips. "So what does this mean?" he asked lowly, voice tired and hoarse. 

"Just fucking kiss me, dumbass." 

In light speed, his lips came crashing down on yours; teeth clashing and all. It was by no means what you would usually describe as a perfect kiss, though it was full of raw and pent up emotion, so much so that you were flying on cloud nine. With every move of his lips against yours, he unleashed the sea of emotions into you; that way he wasn't drowning anymore, that way he could finally stay afloat with you by his side. 

"I love you too." you whisper softly against his lips, before pulling him in for another kiss, more gentle this time. You use your body to push his back down on the couch, landing with a loud thump. Automatically, your legs are on either side of his hips, your core nestled against his thigh when you opened up your legs to shift yourself to sit closer to him on his lap. Your hands held on his cheeks while you moved to kiss every inch of his face, your thumbs caressing loving shapes on his skin. Settling with a ghost of a kiss on the corner of his lips, you move to nuzzle your nose against his, your foreheads touching. 

"I want you, so bad." his hot breath fanned against your face, it tickled your lips and you closed the gap between you to satisfy the itch. Slowly, but surely, you felt yourself melting into him with each passing second, with each swipe of his curious tongue against yours. Jesse's kisses were like a drug, and now that you had finally had your first taste, you were already hooked. His cheeks burned hot beneath your palms, also loving the contrast of the soft skin on his cheekbones, with the roughness of his four day stubble. Reluctantly, you moved your hands away from his face, resting them on his shoulders, massaging them and moving to do the same on his chest and then back up. 

Meanwhile, Jesse's hands were on your lower back, too hesitant to move down to squeeze the slopes of your ass. "I want you to touch me." 

Jesse groaned, his hands immediately taking heed of your command. While his hands were preoccupied, he moved down to attack your neck with a trail of blazing kisses, stopping once he had found that sweet spot that had you writhing on his lap, where it turned into biting and sucking on supple skin, selfishly branding your skin purple. All the while, your hands slowly crept down his abdomen and up his shirt, memorizing how every inch of him felt. Thinking that it would be easier to do so without a shirt on, your hands found their way on his hoodie, peeling it off his shoulders. Jesse abandoned his post on your neck for a few seconds, so he could pull his t-shirt off his head, his upper body completely bare; he was all lean muscle. 

"Take off yours too." he mumbled, his hungry mouth attatched to your neck once more. 

"Mhm, no." you giggled as he playfully bit you. 

"Not fair, mine's off." Jesse complained. His deep, gravelly voice rumbled against your skin, causing electrifying bursts of pleasure to vibrate thoughout your entire body. His hands were off your ass, already hitching your sweater up, his nimble fingers moving up to trace the outline of your unclad breasts. "Shit, no bra?" he bit his lip and broke into a wolfish grin, making heat rise all the way up to the tips of your ears. 

Your hands abandoned their resting place on his chest and moved above your head. Jesse lowered his head, but his big blue eyes stared up at you his pupils blown out from all the love and deep want he held for you. Ever so tantalizingly slow, he pulled your sweater up inch by inch, placing hot open mouth kisses on each inch of skin slowly revealed. Once the garment was fully off your head and on the living room floor somewhere, he buried his face in the valley of your breasts, his nose rubbing against the mounts of flesh, as he took a hardened nipple in his mouth. 

Not once did his eyes leave yours, his powerful gaze along with his gentle assault on your nub had you moaning and clenching around nothing. His lips curled around your nipple sucking it even further into his mouth, all the while his tongue curled around it. The pent up need and desire was accumulating in your chest and it felt like a nuclear reactor about to go off. Jesse moved to pull back from your breast, only after softly biting and grazing his teeth on your soft flesh, causing you to take in broken breaths. 

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" he said and rested his chin on your chest. His eyes were wide open, literally and figuratively, so open he was allowing you to look in to all those feelings he had tried to keep hidden; for the first time in years he had the chance to be really open with you without any fear whatsoever. At a loss for words, you simply pulled him in for a searing kiss, fingers coming up to tangle at the roots at the back of his head, his own mimicking your actions. Too lost in the moment, you started grinding down on him, feeling him harden through his baggy sweats. 

"Let me help you with that, hm?" you whispered hotly in his ear, biting on his earlobe and tugging harshly, earning a shocked moan from him. You pulled back just in time to see his face flushing a beet red and you smiled smugly. You took your own sweet time as you slid off his lap, not wasting any second to leave his chest and abs unattended, making sure his skin was marked. Teasingly, you halted for a moment, your lips hovering over his clothed length for a couple of seconds before you made contact with him, mouthing his cock over the cotton fabric of his sweats. His thighs had now replaced his shoulders as your resting place, and you made sure you massaged him as your curious hands worked through their ascent towards his waistline. Immediately, your fingers hooked around the elastic bands of his sweats and boxers, pulling them both down with a swift movement; Jesse slightly moving his hips upwards to assist you. 

His hardened cock sprang free and you took a moment to drink in the sight of him, all spread out on the couch, flushed and naked. Your thighs rubbed together, the heat in your core increasing just by looking at him.  Wanting to savor this moment, you started slowly kissing your way up his inner thighs, until the tip of your nose bumped against his balls. Teasingly, you took one in your mouth, swirling your tongue around. A strained curse was heard above you and you lifted your eyes to see that Jesse's were shut, his face contorted in pleasure. Your hand was wrapped around his shaft, idly moving up and down in a circular motion, coming all the way to his tip to collect the bead of precum, and rubbing it all along his length as you stroked your way back down. Your mouth found its way on his other ball, repeating the same rolling action with your tongue, before moving to put both in your mouth. 

With a lewd sound, you pulled away, a string of drool connecting his balls and your mouth. Collecting more spit, you spat on his tip and slathered his girth with it. You took a moment to examine the sight in front of you, moving to lock gazes with Jesse, both of you looking at each other with lust blown eyes. Biting your lip, you teased your way to his tip, beginning to suckle on it gently. After a few seconds of only paying attention to his head, Jesse was growing impatient, trying to thrust himself further into your mouth, "Fuck, you're killing me." he let out a high pitched whimper. 

Almost sorry for teasing him, you bob your head up and down, easing him on gently against your tongue, allowing your jaw to get used to his size as you took him deeper, inch by inch. Finally, with a low hum your nose bumped against his pelvis the moment you took him all in. You'd never been so full. Pulling away for a much needed breath of air, you returned to the task ahead of you, with much more vigor, suppressing your gags as you rhythmically bobbed your head up and down his shaft; making sure to hollow out your cheeks for extra suction. 

Jesse was a whimpering mess and his sounds took you back to that day you had overheard him pleasuring himself, the memories of that day fueling the fire burning within you. Your own moans vibrated against his cock, making his whimpering moans grow in volume. The wet patch on your underwear just reminded you of how much you also longed for his touch, but you kept on gowing until you felt your jaw numbing, only then did you pull away. 

Your lips urgently met his in a frantic, yet passionate kiss. "I want to feel your lips on mine." you whispered lowly. 

For a second, that left Jesse confused, given how he was just kissing you, until realization finally clicked and he immediately sprang to action. Your positions were now reversed, helping Jesse unbutton your jeans as his trembling hands struggled. "I'm sorry, I'm a little nervous." he apologized, seemingly embarrassed. 

"Me too." you reassured, unzipping your pants and letting them peel your jeans off of you; the pair of pants meeting its fate on the floor along with all the other discarded items of clothing. You were left in just some old pink cotton hipster briefs; your choice of underwear clearly showing that you hadn't been expecting this turn of events. Though, to Jesse you still looked hot, hell, he'd think the same if you even wore a sack of potatoes. He gulped loudly, his eyes transfixed on the large wet spot in the middle of your undies; God, you were soaked.  

Unlike you, he skipped the teasing entirely, diving straight into work, ripping your panties off of you and delving into your pussy. He was eating you like a man starved, nose buried up all up in your pussy, constricting his airflow, but he didn't care, he was ready to suffocate. Just then, he made it his life's mission; to die nose deep in your needy pussy, the thought bringing him utter bliss. With just one taste of you, he was already drunk on your taste. 

He hummed against your center, his tongue moving in circles around your swollen clit in a steady motion that was bringing you closer  and closer to seeing stars. Breaking away for a much needed breath of air, he angled your hips forward closer to the edge, throwing your legs up wide and open. He kneeled a bit further, taking a mental picture of the sight in front of him. "I'll never get tired of seeing this." he moaned, angling himself lower to proceed on pleasuring you. His tongue lapped up all your juices and slid in and out of you; your soft muscles tightening around him. You glanced down on him, noticing how his right arm was moving up and down stroking himself while he ate you out. His voice vibrated against you in a low moan, and you felt your thighs quake as you were nearing to the edge. 

"Please, I need you." you begged, tugging at his hair in a motion for him to stop. Funnily, Jesse seemed to be more disappointed than you, not being able to get you off at least once before he was inside you, but if you were so willing to forgo that part, then he didn't mind; anything to keep you happy. 

Soon enough, Jesse found himself sitting on the couch once more with you straddling his lap. Your hand moved in between you, grabbing on the base of his dick, angling his tip right at your entrance. Given how wet you were, you sank down on him with ease, and you sat unmoving for a few seconds relishing in the way he filled you up just right, as if your bodies were made for each other. Jesse's hands found their way on the flesh of your ass, squeezing you lightly and moving to grind your hips against his in a motion for you to start moving. With no further need for instructions, your hips began rocking up and down in a familiar motion on his length. 

Jesse's right arm snaked around your waist, holding you down and pulling you in, flush against his chest, while his other hand moved to cup the side of your face to bring you in for a kiss. It was the gentlest kiss you'd exchanged thus far, his lips slow and deliberate against yours. You moaned against his lips, your clit occasioanlly rubbing against his pelvis, each time you gound your hips as you came down on his cock, causing your walls to tighten around him as you were a few steps away from nearing your release. Jesse was too, given how he couldn't contain his moans and whimpers, accompanied by a series of praise for you. 

"You ride me so well, baby." Baby, such an ordinary word, yet it had you reeling with a flurry of emotions. You didn't mind though, in fact you should get used to that now. 

Your ass slapped against his thighs rhythmically, the set pace quickening with each descent. 

"Oh, God baby, I'm so close." you whined and pressed your forehead against his. You stopped going up and down and started to grind your hips against his, seeking the much needed friction on your clit to bring you over the edge. 

"Let it out for me, let it all out." Jesse whispered before he pulled you in for yet another kiss. Angry red scratches marked his chest and you dug them even deeper once your hips stalled their movement. Your orgasm ripped though you in a hot white flash and your thighs trembled with pleasure. 

Not given even a second to recollect yourself, Jesse gripped your hips so hard they would be bruised tomorrow. Angling you a bit higher, his hips began pounding into you in a fervent pace. Your hands steadied themselves around his neck, your fingers locked in around the roots of his hair. They were a bit sweaty, but so were yours and you truly didn't mind. All you cared about at that moment was to get to see him come. His breath came out in broken gasps, mingled in with some moans here and there and beads of sweat collected on the corners of his brows. Overstimulated from your previous orgasm, you felt your walls tighten around him once more, a telltale sign of the fire igniting within you once more. 

One of his hands left your hip and moved up to brush away loose stands that were sticking to your sweaty forehead, his touch featherlight and sweet, in contrast to the way he was fucking into you like a madman. "I'm gonna come." he groaned. 

So lost in bliss, all you could do was nod. His pelvic bone was hitting against your clit, just the right way for you to clench around him and come undone once more. You came so hard your breath was knocked over and you felt like passing out. Jesse hissed, your cunt still pulsed around him and it sent him over the edge with a groan. His already tight grip tightened even more the moment he spilled into you, coating your walls white with his cum. After a few seconds, his moans died out and his head slumped back on the couch and looked up to the ceiling. "Shit that was..." 

"That was amazing." you both spoke at the same time and broke into a smile. 

You were still on him, he was still in you and if it weren't for his cum dripping out as his cock softened you would've stayed like that a little longer. However, afraid to make a mess, Jesse got up to grab a clean washcloth you wipe you both clean. Once you were both all wiped up, you laid down on the couch in a tangled mess of naked limbs. 

Both of you remained quiet, there was no need to say anything for the moment was perfect as it was; you on his chest, hearing the steady drum of his heart, him drawing soothing patterns on your back. Seconds after, though it was Jesse who broke the silence as a thought occured to him. 

"Whose room are we gonna sleep now?" 

tags: @madzzz0797 @nika-sophie05

[andy-15-07]

The Father's Heart

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 2076| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the cozy kitchen. Y/n hummed softly as she flipped pancakes, the sizzle a comforting counterpoint to the gentle chatter of her family. Pedro sat at the kitchen island, scrolling through his phone, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. Their youngest, Leo, a whirlwind of energy at eight years old, was attempting to build a tower out of cereal boxes, while their middle child, Mateo, fourteen and perpetually attached to his headphones, mumbled something about needing more syrup. Elena, their eldest, sixteen going on seventeen, was the last to arrive, a vision of effortless cool even in her pajamas.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Y/n greeted, placing a stack of pancakes in front of Elena.

"Morning, Mom," Elena mumbled, giving her mother a quick kiss on the cheek. She glanced at Pedro, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes, before grabbing a fork and digging in.

Pedro watched her, his frown deepening. He’d been doing some thinking, some serious thinking, and he wasn't entirely sure he liked where his thoughts were leading him. He cleared his throat.

"Elena," he began, his voice carefully neutral.

Elena looked up, a question in her eyes.

"Your… friend, Ethan," Pedro continued, choosing his words carefully. "He's coming over later, right?"

Elena nodded, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Yeah, he said he'd be here around two."

"Two," Pedro repeated, the word hanging in the air. He glanced at Y/n, who gave him a subtle ‘don’t you dare’ look. He ignored it. He was a father. It was his job.

"So," Pedro continued, "what exactly are you two planning on doing?"

Elena’s flush deepened. "Just… hanging out," she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

"Hanging out," Pedro repeated again, the words laced with suspicion. "Doing what, exactly?"

"Dad!" Elena exclaimed, her voice rising in exasperation. "We're just going to watch a movie or something. Maybe work on our history project."

"History project," Pedro echoed, unconvinced. He knew teenagers. He’d been one himself, a lifetime ago. "What's this project about?"

"The French Revolution," Elena replied quickly, a little too quickly, Pedro thought.

"The French Revolution," he repeated, nodding slowly. "Interesting. Tell me, Elena, what was the primary cause of the French Revolution?"

Elena blinked, caught off guard. "Uh… economic inequality?" she stammered.

"And the Reign of Terror?" Pedro pressed.

Elena’s eyes darted around the room. "Robespierre… guillotine… lots of people died?"

Pedro sighed. "Elena, I’m not trying to grill you on your history project. I just… I want to know what you’re doing. I want to know who you’re spending your time with."

"Dad, I know you don't like Ethan," Elena said, her voice low.

"I didn't say that," Pedro countered, though it wasn't entirely true. He didn't dislike Ethan, exactly. He just… he was sixteen. Sixteen and full of… hormones. And Elena was his little girl. Always would be.

"You don't have to say it," Elena retorted. "I can tell. You’re always giving him the ‘look’."

Pedro knew exactly what ‘look’ she was talking about. The ‘I will disembowel you if you even think about breaking my daughter’s heart’ look. It was a work in progress, he’d admit.

"Elena," Y/n interjected gently, "your father just cares about you. He wants to make sure you’re safe and happy."

"I know, Mom," Elena said, her voice softening. "But I'm not a little kid anymore. I can make my own decisions."

"About some things, yes," Pedro said, "But some things… some things your mother and I still get a say in."

"Like what?" Elena challenged.

"Like… like who you spend time with," Pedro said. "Like… making sure you’re not getting into any trouble."

"Dad, I'm not going to get into trouble," Elena said, rolling her eyes.

"I know, honey," Pedro said, reaching across the island to take her hand. "I trust you. I do. But… Ethan… he’s a nice boy, I’m sure. But he’s still… young."

"So am I!" Elena exclaimed.

"That’s my point," Pedro said. "You're both still figuring things out. And I just… I don't want you to get hurt."

"Dad, everyone gets hurt sometimes," Elena said. "That's just part of life."

"I know," Pedro said softly. "But I don’t want you to get hurt unnecessarily. I don’t want you to make any mistakes you’ll regret later."

"I won't," Elena promised, though Pedro could see the flicker of doubt in her eyes.

"Okay," Pedro said, finally relenting. "Okay. Ethan can come over. But," he added, pointing a finger at her, "the French Revolution better be discussed. And," he added, glancing at Mateo, who had finally removed his headphones and was listening intently, "no funny business."

Mateo snorted. "Dad, please."

"I’m serious," Pedro said, his gaze sweeping over all three of his children. "I love you all. More than anything in the world. And I’ll do anything to protect you. Even if it means being the overprotective dad."

Elena smiled, a genuine smile that reached her eyes. "I know, Dad," she said. "We love you too."

The tension in the room dissipated, replaced by a warm, comfortable silence. Y/n smiled at her family, a feeling of contentment washing over her. They weren't perfect, not by a long shot. But they were hers. And she wouldn't trade them for anything.

Later that afternoon, Ethan arrived, a shy, lanky boy with a mop of brown hair and a nervous smile. Pedro greeted him at the door, his ‘look’ firmly in place. Ethan swallowed nervously, but managed a polite "Hello, Mr. Pascal."

"Ethan," Pedro replied, offering a curt nod. "Come in."

He led Ethan into the living room, where Elena was waiting. "Hey," she said, giving Ethan a quick hug.

"Hey," Ethan replied, his cheeks turning a delicate shade of pink.

Pedro watched them, his eyes narrowed slightly. He cleared his throat. "So," he said, "the French Revolution, huh? Big topic."

Ethan blinked. "Uh, yeah. We have a presentation to do."

"A presentation," Pedro repeated. "Interesting. What aspect of the French Revolution are you focusing on?"

Ethan looked at Elena, who gave him an encouraging smile. "We’re looking at the role of women in the revolution," he said.

"The role of women," Pedro repeated. "Fascinating. Did you know that Marie Antoinette…"

And so began a lengthy discussion about the French Revolution, with Pedro occasionally interjecting with historical facts and anecdotes. Ethan, to his credit, held his own, demonstrating a surprising knowledge of the subject. Elena, meanwhile, seemed amused by the whole exchange, occasionally rolling her eyes at her father’s over-the-top protectiveness.

As the afternoon wore on, Pedro’s ‘look’ softened. He could see that Ethan was a respectful young man, and that he genuinely cared about Elena. He still had his reservations, of course. But he was starting to realize that he couldn't protect Elena from everything. All he could do was offer her guidance, support, and unconditional love.

Eventually, it was time for Ethan to leave. "Thank you for having me, Mr. Pascal," he said politely.

"You’re welcome, Ethan," Pedro replied, offering a genuine smile. "Just… take care of her."

Ethan nodded. "I will, sir."

He turned to Elena, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I’ll see you tomorrow," he said.

"See ya," Elena replied, a soft smile playing on her lips.

After Ethan left, Pedro turned to Elena. "He seems like a nice young man," he said.

Elena nodded. "He is," she said.

"Just… be careful," Pedro said.

"I will, Dad," Elena promised. "I know you’re just trying to protect me."

Pedro smiled. "That’s my job," he said.

He pulled Elena into a hug, holding her close. She was growing up so fast. It seemed like just yesterday she was a little girl, playing with dolls and dreaming of being a princess. Now, she was a young woman, navigating the complexities of life and love. And he, her father, would be there for her every step of the way.

Later that evening, after the kids were in bed, Pedro and Y/n found themselves alone in the kitchen, the quiet hum of the refrigerator the only sound. Y/n was washing dishes, while Pedro leaned against the counter, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"So," Y/n said, breaking the silence, "what did you think of Ethan?"

Pedro sighed. "He seems… polite. Respectful. Nice enough."

"But?" Y/n prompted, knowing there was a ‘but’ coming.

Pedro hesitated. "But he's still sixteen. And Elena… she's my little girl. It feels like just yesterday I was teaching her how to ride her bike, and now… now she's dating."

Y/n chuckled. "I know what you mean. It's hard to believe how quickly they grow up. It feels like just yesterday we were bringing her home from the hospital."

Pedro nodded, a wistful look in his eyes. "She was so tiny. So fragile. And now… she's this beautiful, intelligent young woman. And I just… I don't want anything to hurt her."

"I know, honey," Y/n said softly, drying her hands and turning to face him. "But you can't protect her from everything. She has to learn to navigate these things on her own. We can guide her, support her, but we can't shield her from the world."

"I know," Pedro said, running a hand through his hair. "It's just… it's hard. Seeing her with him… it makes me realize how much time has passed. How quickly she's growing up."

"I feel it too," Y/n admitted. "But that's a good thing, isn't it? It means we've done our job. We've raised her to be a strong, independent young woman."

"I hope so," Pedro said. "I just… I don't want her to make any mistakes she'll regret."

"She will make mistakes, Pedro," Y/n said gently. "Everyone does. The important thing is that she learns from them. And that she knows we'll be there for her, no matter what."

Pedro nodded, his gaze softening. "You’re right. You always are."

He reached out and took her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. "Thank you," he said. "For everything. For being such an amazing mother to our children. For… for putting up with me."

Y/n smiled. "You’re not so bad," she teased. "Most of the time."

Pedro chuckled. "I love you," he said, pulling her close.

"I love you too," Y/n replied, resting her head on his chest.

They stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other's arms, the silence once again filled with a comfortable warmth. They knew that the road ahead wouldn't always be easy. There would be challenges, and heartbreaks, and maybe even a few French Revolution debates. But they would face them together, as a family. And that's all that mattered.

A few weeks later, Pedro found himself having another conversation with Elena, this time about her future. She had been accepted to a summer program for aspiring writers, a program that would take her out of state for six weeks. Pedro was… hesitant.

"Six weeks?" he repeated, his brow furrowed. "That's a long time."

"I know, Dad," Elena said, "But it's an amazing opportunity. It could really help me with my writing."

"I know, honey," Pedro said. "It's just… I'll miss you."

Elena smiled. "I'll miss you too, Dad. But it's only six weeks. And I'll call you every day."

"I know, I know," Pedro said. "It's just… you're growing up so fast. It feels like just yesterday you were asking me to read you bedtime stories."

Elena laughed. "I still like you to read me stories sometimes," she admitted.

Pedro smiled. "I know you do," he said. "And I always will. No matter how old you get."

He looked at her, his eyes filled with love and pride. She was so talented, so passionate. He knew he couldn't hold her back.

"Okay," he said finally. "You can go. But," he added, pointing a finger at her, "you better call me every day. And," he added, his gaze softening, "be careful. Okay?"

"I will, Dad," Elena promised. "I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart," Pedro said, pulling her into a hug.

He knew that letting her go was the right thing to do. It was part of growing up, part of becoming her own person. And as much as it pained him to see her go, he knew that he had to let her fly. All he could do was be there for her, waiting for her return, ready to catch her if she fell. Because that's what fathers do. They protect. They guide. And they love. Unconditionally. Always.

[marvelavengerspovs1]

Birthday Boy

Pairing: Bucky x F!reader

Warnings: Nothing but fluff!

Length: 707

Summary: You and Alpine decide to make Bucky’s birthday extra special!

A/N: It’s Bucky’s birthday and I got really sick last year so I didn’t get the chance to post for his birthday. I wrote this a few days ago so hope you enjoy!

I do not give consent for my work to be translated, copied, or sold!

You silently close the door behind you, hoping not to wake him up. It was already a challenge to get out of bed without him realizing, he’s a super human with enhanced hearing. But somehow, you were able to silently get out of the bedroom with Alpine in your arms.

Bucky’s birthday isn’t something he typically enjoys. It used to be, but Hydra tainted it. What was once a day celebrated with friends and family had been full of torture. It also reminds him of all of the years he had lost.

But you’re determined to make it different. You let Alpine jump out of your arms as you walk into the kitchen and turn on the light. One thing Bucky loves is pancakes, and you are determined to make them just right.

You rummage through the kitchen drawer, trying to find the note card with Bucky’s handwriting. He found his mother’s pancake recipe and wrote it down a hundred times to make sure the recipe would never be lost again.

“Aha!” You whisper in excitement as you find it.

Alpine jumps on the counter, her tail flicking back and forth. You kiss the top of her head and put the note card beside her, gathering the necessary ingredients. You’ve seen Bucky make this recipe at least 30 times since he’s found it, you could practically make it without the card. But you don’t want to ruin one of his favorite things for him.

You make the pancakes with ease, the only struggle is keeping the kitchen from being messy. But that’s a problem for future you, you’ve already been gone for 20 minutes. Bucky will wake up soon if you’re not back in the room.

Alpine watches you as you frantically move around the tiny kitchen. You move from the stove to the fridge to prep some plums for him to eat with the pancakes. You flip the pancakes before moving over to switch on the coffee pot. You place another hot pancake on the growing stack and add a small knob of butter, just the way Bucky likes.

Finally, you finish. You get the small bed tray, only wanting to make one trip. The pancakes are stacked tall on a plate, a small bowl of cut plums, Bucky’s favorite mug is full of black coffee, and some syrup just in case he’s feeling a little sweet this morning.

You pick up the tray and start to leave the kitchen when Alpine steps in front of you and meows. You realize that you forgot the most important thing.

“Thanks, Alp.” You place the tray down and rummage through the same drawer you found the recipe in.

You pull out a single candle and stick it through the top pancake. Now everything is in place. You make your way to the bedroom, carefully balancing the tray in your hands. You crack the bedroom door open before nudging it all the way with your foot.

Bucky lies on the bed, still fast asleep. He’s laying on his stomach facing the door. His hair is short compared to other times, but it’s long enough to be covering a good part of his forehead. He looks devastatingly handsome as always.

Alpine hops onto the bed, her face nudging Bucky’s. Bucky stirs for a minute before cracking open an eye.

“Alpine…” Bucky holds her to his chest and kisses her head.

You walk further into the room and sit on the bed. “Happy birthday, Bucky.”

He looks up at you and smiles. “Doll, you didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to. Now sit up and take the tray so I can light this candle and me and Alpine can sing you happy birthday.”

Bucky listens to you but not before giving you a short peck on the lips. You light the candle and grab Alpine, singing him a terrible rendition of  “Happy Birthday”.

Bucky blows out his candle and you smile at him. “What did you wish for?”

“I can’t tell you, or else it won’t come true.” He smirks at you.

Little did you know, he didn’t have to wish for anything. Everything he ever wanted was with him. His own little family. Someone who loves him. You.

[onlyhereforthestories]

Christmas Morning Magic (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

And here it is, advents final day. What a whirlwind. I must say this really was a challenge but I hope you all enjoyed. Merry Christmas Eve

The first rays of Christmas morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the bedroom. You stirred slightly in bed, not fully awake but aware of the empty space beside you where Alexia had been. The faint sound of movement came from somewhere in the house, but your half-asleep brain didn’t dwell on it. Instead, you burrowed deeper into the warm cocoon of blankets, lulled by the peaceful silence.

Alexia, meanwhile, was on a mission. She had slipped out of bed early, careful not to wake you, and made her way to the kitchen. She grinned to herself as she tied an apron around her waist, her hands already reaching for the ingredients she’d meticulously gathered the day before. Today wasn’t just any day; it was your first Christmas morning together in your shared home, and she wanted it to be perfect.

Her plan was simple yet thoughtful: a surprise breakfast in bed, complete with holiday-themed pancakes, your favourite hot chocolate, and a little extra magic to make the morning unforgettable.

She started with the pancakes, whisking the batter with practiced ease. To give them a festive touch, she added a few drops of red and green food colouring, dividing the batter into two bowls. The result? A stack of cheery Christmas pancakes that made her smile even before they hit the pan.

As the pancakes cooked, the aroma of warm vanilla and butter filled the kitchen. She hummed softly to herself, occasionally peeking over her shoulder toward the bedroom door to ensure you were still asleep.

Once the pancakes were ready, she moved on to the hot chocolate. She heated milk on the stove, stirring in rich cocoa powder and a pinch of cinnamon, just the way you liked it. Whipped cream and a sprinkle of crushed peppermint completed the mugs, making them look as festive as they smelled.

Satisfied with the breakfast, Alexia turned her attention to the pièce de résistance: the mini Christmas tree she had hidden in the hall closet. She had spent hours the previous night creating personalized ornaments for it, each one representing a cherished memory you’d shared. There was a tiny soccer ball for the first game you’d attended together, a painted plane to symbolize your first trip, and even a little replica of your shared home.

She carried the tree into the bedroom with great care, setting it on the dresser before arranging a few other small decorations around it. She placed a garland of twinkling fairy lights along the headboard and a vase of fresh flowers on the bedside table.

Finally, she returned to the kitchen to assemble the tray. Alongside the pancakes and hot chocolate, she added a small bowl of fresh berries and a folded napkin with a sprig of holly for decoration. With one last glance to ensure everything looked perfect, she picked up the tray and headed back to the bedroom.

You woke to the sound of the door creaking open, blinking groggily as Alexia entered, balancing the tray carefully in her hands.

“Merry Christmas,” she said softly, her voice warm and full of love.

Your face broke into a sleepy smile as you propped yourself up on the pillows. “What’s all this?”

“Breakfast in bed,” she announced, setting the tray down on your lap. “Made with love. And maybe a little too much food colouring.”

You glanced down at the festive pancakes, your smile widening. “Alexia, this is amazing. You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to,” she replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. “It’s our first Christmas morning together here, and I wanted to make it special.”

You reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “You’ve already made it perfect just by being here.”

Her cheeks flushed at your words, and she leaned over to press a kiss to your temple. “Well, it’s about to get even better. Look over there.”

She gestured toward the dresser, where the mini Christmas tree stood twinkling in the soft morning light. Your eyes widened as you took it in, the carefully chosen ornaments immediately catching your attention.

“Did you really make those?” you asked, your voice filled with awe.

She nodded, a sheepish smile on her face. “I thought it’d be nice to have something that reminds us of all the moments that brought us here.”

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, abandoning the breakfast tray for a moment as you walked over to the tree. You picked up the little soccer ball ornament, running your fingers over its smooth surface.

“This is from the first game we went to together,” you said softly, more to yourself than to her. Your fingers moved to the painted plane. “And this, this is from Barcelona. Our first trip.”

Alexia watched you with a quiet smile, her heart swelling at your reaction.

“These are amazing,” you said, turning back to her. “Thank you. For all of this.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, pulling you into a hug. “But don’t think you’re getting off the hook. I have one more surprise.”

She reached behind the tree and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box with a red bow on top.

“Alexia,” you said, your voice filled with playful protest, “we said no big gifts this year.”

“It’s not big,” she promised, handing you the box. “Just… open it.”

You carefully unwrapped the box, your heart racing slightly with anticipation. Inside was a delicate silver necklace with a single charm: a tiny snowflake engraved with the date of your first Christmas together.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, your fingers brushing over the charm.

“I wanted you to have something to remember this day by,” she said, her voice soft. “Something to remind you how much you mean to me.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you looked up at her. “You’re going to make me cry on Christmas morning.”

She laughed, pulling you into a tight embrace. “That wasn’t the goal, but I’ll take it.”

The two of you returned to the bed, where you shared the breakfast Alexia had prepared. Between bites of pancakes and sips of hot chocolate, you exchanged stories of past Christmases, laughing over childhood memories and marvelling at how far you’d come together.

Later, as the morning stretched into the afternoon, you curled up together under a cozy blanket, a holiday movie playing softly in the background. The mini Christmas tree glowed warmly in the corner, a testament to the love and thought Alexia had poured into the day.

“This,” you said, resting your head on her shoulder, “is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

She pressed a kiss to the top of your head, her arms tightening around you. “Mine too,” she murmured.

[big-snack]

Porcus Isle Part I

Dom had always been larger than life. Standing at an impressive 6'5" and built like a linebacker, he was the kind of guy who turned heads wherever he went. But beyond his imposing physique, Dom was known for his easy-going nature and infectious smile.

Dom worked at a tech company downtown, San Diego, often putting in long hours. Despite his demanding job, he always found time for his true passion: exploring the vibrant food scene in San Diego. From taco trucks in Barrio Logan to high-end restaurants in La Jolla, Dom's weekends were filled with culinary adventures, always in search of the next great bite.

But Dom's favorite place was a small, unassuming diner near the beach. It was there, over a stack of pancakes and a steaming cup of coffee, that he found a sense of peace. The diner was a hidden gem, known only to a few locals, and Dom had been coming there since he moved to Socal. The owner, Jack, greeted him like family, and the regulars always had a seat ready for him. The whole diner was run by and frequented by big men. Dom felt right at home with these guys.

One sunny Saturday morning, as Dom was savoring his breakfast, a new face walked into the diner. He was a tall, built man with sharp features and immense confidence. He took a seat at the counter, glancing around the diner as if taking it all in. Like he was appreciating all the men. "Hey stud, you find what you're lookin' for?" Jack asked...

Intrigued, Dom decided to introduce himself.

"Hey there, first time here?" Dom asked, flashing his friendly smile.

The man looked up, meeting Dom's gaze with a curious look. "Yeah, just moved to San Diego a few weeks ago. Name's Alex," he replied, extending his hand.

"Welcome to the best diner in town, Alex. I'm Dom," he said, shaking Alex's hand firmly. "What brings you to San Diego?"

Alex chuckled. "A bit of everything, really. New job, new city, looking for a fresh start. I'm a software engineer."

Dom's eyes lit up. "No kidding! I'm in tech too. It's a great field, but it can be pretty demanding. This diner is my escape from all that stress."

As they talked, Dom and Alex found they had more in common than just their profession. They shared a love for video games and a passion for good food. Dom offered to show Alex around the city's best eateries, and Alex eagerly accepted.

Their friendship grew quickly, and soon, weekends were spent exploring San Diego's food scene together. Whether it was sampling street tacos, enjoying a craft beer at a local brewery, or having a quiet meal at the diner, Dom and Alex's bond became a craving for both men.

One evening, after a particularly grueling week at work, Dom and Alex decided to unwind at a new barbecue joint that had just opened in North Park. The restaurant was buzzing with energy, the scent of smoked meats wafting through the air.

As they dug into a platter of ribs and brisket, Dom looked at Alex and asked, "So, how's the new job treating you?"

Alex wiped his hands on a napkin, leaning back in his chair. "It's been challenging, but in a good way. The team's great, and the projects are interesting. It’s just... sometimes I miss having a bit more of a work-life balance."

Dom nodded. "I hear you. That’s why it’s important to have nights like this, to just relax and enjoy good company and good food."

Alex smiled. "Speaking of good company, thanks for showing me around, Dom. Moving to a new city can be pretty overwhelming, but you've made it feel like home.", "Anytime, man" Dom replied, raising his glass.

As the night wore on, their conversation shifted to their mutual love for video games. Alex mentioned an upcoming release he was excited about, and Dom suggested they set up a game night. This became the perfect way to unwind after eating out.

One evening, after a particularly intense gaming session and drinks, Dom and Alex found themselves talking about their interests. Alex expressed his admiration for Dom's physique and said he's looking to join a gym. "All this eating is starting to fill me out." Alex jiggled his belly. Dom's eyes darted to his bloated stomach. "Damn man. I didn't even realize." Dom was stupified.

He had always been focused on his own weight, but he hadn't noticed the changes in Alex.

"Yeah, it's been creeping up on me," Alex admitted, a bit embarrassed. "I've been so caught up in work and our food adventures that I haven't made time for the gym. Do you think you could help me out?"

Dom smiled, feeling a surge of excitement at the prospect. "Of course! I'd love to help you. Dom had no idea why the thought of Alex's weight gain turned him on.

That night in his dark room. He thought about that moment. His belly jiggled like it was no longer a part of him. There was no visibility of his ribs. His arms filled out his shirt sleeves more. His face softened up. Dom had never masterbated to a guy before. He stopped for a second to think about it.

It was late. He was alone. No one could judge him if he stared to look up what he was fantasizing about. He pulled up Google and started with image searches. 'Fat belly': 'fat belly guy'; 'beer belly'; 'beer belly men'.

That night he spent a few hours looking at fat guys. The bellies started small, but the longer he searched the bigger they got. He glanced at a picture of a man 600 pounds. His belly was covering his lap in bed. Every single ounce of his body jiggled from the slightest shallow breath from being overstuffed. The guy leaned back on his bed and his head disappeared. The big bulbous crescent shape stood at least 4 feet high; he imagined.

Dom hit his climax and started to cum. His body filled with chills, made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. "I need to see this in person" he screamed and then he slumped back in his seat. He had some clarity and was worried about what he'd just done. "Why the hell did I do that?"

The next day he saw Alex at the diner, for brunch, and had a new appreciation for his body. "You know, after you mentioned it, I thought more about your physique." Dom shared. "Oh really? What is it you appreciate?" Alex said flirtatiously. "Um, well, I mean you're pretty beefy. That's a popular body type." He said nervously. "Beefy implies that I've been working out. I'm all jello, buddy."

The entire restaurant is quieter than normal. Dom didn't notice, but all the men in the diner were listening.

Dom could feel a twitch in his pants. "Ugh, shit, not this again." Alex was blushing. Dom was intently looking at Alex's body well beyond what was normal. "Something tells me you like it." He said with a smirk.

Dom smiled nervously. "I mean, you could say I appreciate the way you look." Dom was getting hot. "I need to use the restroom" Dom said. "Perfect, I'll go with you" Alex responded. Dom struggled to stand up straight.

They walked to the bathroom. "I feel like we're both flustered." Alex said. "Oh yeah, I guess it pretty obvious. I'm not sure what's going on lately", Dom replied.

Instantly and without hesitation the locked bodies and started making out. Dom's hands caressed Alex's newly sprouted love handles. Alex pulls back from Dom's lips and whispers, "You did this to me."

The door handle turns and someone walks in. They separate and the man said, "Are you that clueless, Dominick? We have all been dropping you hints for a while now.

"Is this like a chubby chaser establishment?"

The man responds "You mean the diner between a bear bar and a leather shop? Of course that's what it is. We managed to get you to gain 20 pounds man."

"Holy shit!" Dom exclaimed. "No wonder I love this place. Fat men make me horny. I can't believe I just said that out loud." Panic washed over him. "It's ok Dom. Nothing has changed." Alex reassured him.

"You were a part of this?" Dom questioned.

"Not really, you spoke to me first. I was coming here because I knew what I wanted. It took me a while to realize you had no idea what was going on. I thought you were playing hard to get" 

"Dude I just found out I might be gay, I don't have the bandwidth to come to terms with a fetish."

"Great tech pun" Alex replied.

They both started laughing. When Dom rejoined the room it was like he was seeing it all for the first time.  Some men had their large sack of flesh bulging out of their shirts.

"All right you guys. Dom knows what's going on." Alex announced.

That day was the moment Dom knew that Alex was the one.

---

The next part flashes forward

[azzifudd10]

Chapter 9: Bubble Trouble and Bedroom Promises

A/N: sorry guys I was super locked in for classes but im back full time!!

Mature content!!! minors dni

Saturday mornings hit different now.

Sunlight spilled across the hardwood floors of Azzi’s living room, painting everything in soft gold. Jazlyn was on the rug in the middle of it all, surrounded by colored pencils, glittery stickers, and a stack of construction paper. She had her unicorn slippers on the wrong feet and a determined look on her face.

“Zizi,” she called without looking up, “I need the sparkles.”

Azzi leaned over the kitchen island, sipping her coffee with a lazy grin. “The sparkles are in the drawer next to the spoons, boss.”

Jazlyn jumped up and scrambled to the kitchen like she was chasing Olympic gold. Paige appeared a moment later, fresh out of the shower, damp curls pulled into a loose bun and Azzi’s hoodie drowning her frame.

She blinked at the glitter bomb that was now her kitchen. “We’re starting early today, huh?”

“She’s making a family crest,” Azzi said, amused.

“A what?”

Jazlyn returned with a fistful of glue sticks and glitter, hopping in place. “It’s for us, Mom. Our team flag. I already drew pancakes and a unicorn and a band-aid for Zizi’s nose. But I’m still thinking about yours.”

Paige crouched beside her, touched. “You’re putting me on the flag?”

Jazlyn gave her a look like duh. “You’re the mom.”

Azzi’s heart did a little somersault.

Paige smiled so soft it nearly broke Azzi in half. “Well then, you better make mine cool.”

“I will,” Jazzy said seriously. “But no glitter on your part. You don’t like it in your shoes.”

Azzi started laughing so hard she nearly dropped her coffee. Paige looked betrayed. “How does she know that?”

“She’s been studying you,” Azzi teased. “This is elite-level intel.”

They spent the morning sprawled on the floor, Jazlyn assigning "flag jobs" to each of them. Paige handled the scissors, Azzi the design layout, and Jaz supervised. At one point, Azzi tried to sneak in a little sparkle near Paige’s corner, just to be funny — and got beaned with a glue stick for her efforts.

“Traitor,” Paige whispered, wiping glitter off her leg.

“You love me,” Azzi whispered back.

“I do,” Paige admitted.

They had pancakes again for lunch — mostly because no one wanted to do actual groceries. Jazlyn dipped hers in strawberry yogurt and declared herself “the food boss.” Afterward, they all ended up on the back porch, sun-drenched and sleepy, blowing bubbles off the edge of the steps.

Azzi sat with her legs stretched out, bandages finally off, bruises faint and fading. Paige leaned against her, shoulder to shoulder, her hand resting on Azzi’s thigh. Jazlyn danced around the lawn, chasing floating orbs like they were treasure.

“Bet you can’t catch the biggest one!” Paige challenged.

“Watch me, Mom!” Jazlyn yelled, tearing across the grass.

Azzi smiled at the way Paige’s face lit up every time Jazlyn called her that. Like the word itself filled something that had been empty for too long.

They stayed like that until the sun dipped low again, golden and sleepy. Jazlyn ended up curled on the couch with Azzi while Paige made dinner — grilled cheese and tomato soup, Jaz’s request.

“Extra crispy, not burny,” Jazlyn had clarified. “Zizi’s rules.”

Later, they all piled into Azzi’s bed to watch a movie — though Jazlyn passed out halfway through, curled up with her head on Azzi’s stomach and her foot in Paige’s armpit.

“She always does that,” Paige whispered, carefully adjusting the tiny unicorn blanket over her.

“She’s weird,” Azzi whispered back.

“She’s perfect,” Paige corrected, brushing hair from her daughter’s forehead.

Azzi nodded. “Like her mom.”

Paige kissed her then — a slow, lingering kiss that had nothing to do with gratitude or comfort and everything to do with want. Azzi made a soft sound and kissed her back, shifting just enough to keep from waking the sleeping child between them.

They didn’t talk after that. Just moved.

Carefully sliding Jazlyn to the middle of the bed. Tucking the blanket up to her chin. Exchanging quiet looks.

Then slipping into the next room.

The door had barely clicked shut before Paige had Azzi pressed up against it, breath shallow, fingers slipping under the hem of her oversized sleep shirt like they’d been waiting all night.

Azzi gasped — softly — her hands flying to Paige’s shoulders as their mouths crashed together, all tongue and hunger and too much time holding back.

“You sure?” Paige asked against her lips, voice husky.

Azzi kissed her harder in response, dragging her fingers into the curls at the back of Paige’s neck. “Do I look unsure?”

“You look like trouble,” Paige murmured, lifting Azzi off her feet, carrying her to the bed like she weighed nothing.

Azzi let herself fall back into the sheets, hair fanned out, legs parting with an invitation Paige didn’t need twice. She hovered above her for a moment, just looking — at the slope of her neck, the fading bruises on her cheek, the gleam in her eyes that dared her to be gentle and wild all at once.

“I’ve thought about this,” Paige said quietly, letting her fingers trail slowly down Azzi’s side, over the curve of her hip.

“How many times?” Azzi teased, her voice catching.

Paige smirked, kissing her way down Azzi’s collarbone. “Too many to count.”

She kissed every scar. Every mark. Every inch that had been hurt, claimed, or feared — until Azzi was arching under her, trembling from the slow reverence of it all.

Her hands explored with purpose — sliding under soft fabric, brushing against sensitive skin, learning what made Azzi gasp and what made her groan.

Azzi tugged at Paige’s hoodie, desperate now, breath hot in her throat. “Off. Now.”

Paige obeyed, stripping off the hoodie, the tank beneath it, and the rest with a kind of command that sent heat rushing through both of them.

Azzi’s fingers traced the lines of Paige’s ribs, her back, her thighs — pulling her closer, needing her skin on skin, no space left between them. Paige kissed her again, slower this time, hips sliding forward with a rhythm that made Azzi clutch at the sheets.

“I want to ruin you a little,” Paige whispered in her ear, voice rough.

Azzi’s breath hitched. “Then do it right.”

And she did.

She moved with deliberate pressure — lips dragging across Azzi’s chest, hands anchoring her thighs apart, touch featherlight then deep, slow then sudden. Azzi’s cries turned into sighs, her back bowing off the mattress, her fingers threading into Paige’s hair like they were holding on for dear life.

Paige’s mouth worked lower, torturously slow, worshipping the tremble in Azzi’s legs, the way her breath stuttered when her name was whispered — not as a question, but a plea.

“Paige…”

“I got you,” she murmured against skin so warm it burned. “Let me.”

Azzi shattered under her.

Once.

Then again.

And when Paige finally climbed back up and hovered over her, Azzi pulled her close, kissed her like something sacred, and whispered, “Your turn.”

Azzi flipped her gently, straddling her hips, hands trailing down Paige’s chest with a confidence that was nothing short of sinful. Her touch was slower, but no less intense — fingers grazing, lips marking, hips moving in teasing rolls that made Paige groan aloud, head thrown back into the pillows.

Azzi kissed every inch she could reach, pressed her mouth to the hollow of Paige’s throat, down her sternum, across her stomach.

“Tell me what you want,” she said against her skin.

“You,” Paige gasped. “Just you.”

Azzi gave her exactly that — and nothing less.

She built Paige up with a maddening slowness, tracing paths across her skin with her tongue, letting her fingers slide just where Paige wanted them most, but never too fast, never too easy. She wanted her to feel every second of it. To burn.

And Paige did.

When she came, it was with a strangled cry and Azzi’s name on her lips, eyes squeezed shut, hips rocking into her hand like nothing else mattered.

They lay together after, tangled in each other — flushed, breathless, aching in the best possible way.

Paige pressed a kiss to Azzi’s shoulder, body still humming. “Still terrified,” she whispered.

Azzi pulled her closer, one arm looped around her waist like she was claiming her all over again. “Still not going anywhere.”

From the other room came a tiny voice: “Mom… Zizi… are pancakes for breakfast or dinner again?”

They both blinked. Then cracked up, still breathless.

Paige dropped her head into Azzi’s neck. “We’ve created a monster.”

Azzi grinned, pressing a final kiss to her temple. “Our monster.”

[winterhawkkisses]

soft prompts : 21 / 22 / 24? pick a hug or combine them if you like

Preparing breakfast was a little more challenging than usual, but considering the amount of time he spent with limbs in casts it was nothing he couldn't handle. Clint limped between the refrigerator and the counter tops, eggs and flour and milk, and then sighing and fetching some blueberries and sliced banana because the team doctor had moved from disapproving to gently horrified at his diet.

There was a certain amount of rearrangement needed when he had to bend to grab a pan, but just as soon as he was vertical again Bucky's arms wrapped right around his waist again, Clint's shirt getting a little damp between his shoulderblades where Bucky was breathing into the cotton.

He craned over his shoulder but could only catch sight of a tousle of dark hair, no hint at an expression, so he got to cooking and flipping, resting one hand over the clasped pair on his belly.

It was only once there was a stack that he broke the gently sizzling quiet of the kitchen.

"'m I eating at the counter, or are you gonna let me sit down?"

The silence in response was thoughtful, non-committal, so Clint huffed out a breath that was working towards a laugh and fished a fork out of the drawer, bending forward to lean his elbows on the counter as he stuffed pancake into his mouth.

"Well this," Bucky said, low in his ear, "is a pretty interesting position." A pair of hands, one body warm, one a little cooler, slid lower on Clint's belly and down towards his hips.

"Like you said," Clint answered, arching his back a little more, "I've been away far too long."

[lefaystrent]

Distractions

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: all-star cast of platonicness

Summary: The light sides are in a sad state of affairs. The dark sides are pretty good at offering distractions.

-------------------------------------------------------

Logan sits on the living room couch, head in his hands, slumped in defeat. Despair. Failure.

He's slightly jostled by someone else sitting on the couch.

"Aliens aren't real," comes Virgil's voice, definitive and assumedly directed at Logan.

Logan lifts his head enough to check. His glasses have made a mighty impression into his forehead but he doesn't move to adjust them. Virgil is very nearly glaring at him.

"Virgil, you yourself have created power point demonstrations centered around the validity of aliens. Since when has your opinion changed?"

"Since now. Fight me, nerd."

Logan leans back a little to properly look at Virgil. He could be mistaken for fuming, the way his jaw is set and the fire burning in his eyes. But no, he is merely adamant to rile Logan up. To what end though?

"Are you...challenging me to a debate?"

Virgil gives a sharp-toothed, satisfied grin. He is willing to play devil's advocate for a good cause.

***

"Hey, wanna dance?"

Roman windmills his arm in the direction of the sultry voice that whispered in his ear. The faint smell of garlic wifts in his nostrils, followed by a gleeful chuckle.

"Remus!! Get out of my room!"

Remus rolls back on his heels. He folds his arms behind his back and looks into the air, a thoughtful hum on his lips.

"Hmmm, how about no?"

"Leave! Out you pest!"

"Make me!"

"You would force the hand of your own brother?" Roman says far too seriously, and Remus gives him an unimpressed stare. "...yeah, you're right, this is very on brand for you. I don't know why I'm acting surprised."

Remus shrugs and throws his hands up in the air. "Alright, if you're done bothering me–"

"You're the one who came in my room!"

"I've got better things to do than listen to you whine, Prince Poopy Pants."

Remus goes to stride out the door. Roman watches him, arms crosses and fingers tapping impatiently on his elbow, haughty expression that says he's one push away from snapping.

Remus pauses at the door.

Roman doesn't have time to anticipate.

Remus snatches up one of Roman's Pop figures off his bookshelf and flees the scene. Roman exits stage right in pursuit, screaming.

***

"You can't stay in bed all day."

"Watch me," Patton says, a pout in his voice. He's buried under blankets with only his hair sticking out at the top.

Janus clicks his tongue and scratches at Patton's scalp. It's less effective with gloves on, but Patton allows the contact.

"Or do, I certainly won't judge you," Janus says flippantly.

Patton whines into the mattress, "That implies that someone is judging me."

"I didn't say that. Did I say that?"

"Janus!" Exasperrated, Patton tosses down his blankets enough to reveal his rumpled onsie and impressive bedhead. He stops when he sees what sits on the bedside table that wasn't there before.

"You never came down for breakfast this morning," Janus explains. "Not that I care or anything. There were just so many pancakes leftover that it would be a shame for them to go to waste."

Patton eyes the tray and the stack of syrupy pancakes. His lip wobbles a little. "You brought me breakfast in bed?"

"Don't get used to it."

Patton finds the will to smile and tucks into breakfast. It tastes freshly made and sweet.

[stop-talking]

So I'm stuck on this shithole island, and I can't even have a smoke? (pt. 6)

Derek Danforth x fem reader

Word count: 3.3k

Tags: 18+, Derek x fem reader, no use of y/n, HEAVY angst, fluff, enemies, enemies to lovers, (very) slowburn, sass, banter, suggestive themes, mentions of drug use, withdrawals, rehab, mentions of masturbating.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

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Derek wakes up in your arms, and decides that's exactly how he wants to start every morning from now on.

Today's the day. He's going to confess to you.

Well, if he can sneak out of bed without waking you up. That might prove to be a challenge, seeing as how you have both an arm and a leg draped over him.

Under other circumstances, he'd be content to just lay here and let you hold him. Unfortunately, there was a sort of... "incident" last night. One he desperately wants to clean up after.

So, he carefully moves your limbs, shifting slowly until he's off the bed. You stir in your sleep and he waits with bated breath, but thankfully you remain unconscious.

It's still early morning. Barely past sunrise, from what he can tell. Hopefully he'd have time to get a few things done before you inevitably realize he's gone.

As he slips out of his clothes to hop into the shower, he's suddenly extremely grateful you'd taught him how to use the washing machine. If you saw the mess he'd made of his boxers, he would probably have to off himself.

While he washes off, he goes over his plan for the day in his head. Derek has always been somewhat of a romantic, despite how things may seem. Dating is just... complicated when you're a billionaire. And the president's son. And a crackhead.

He groans and shakes himself out of his slump as he dries himself on a towel. None of those things matter here. Right now, he isn't an addict, billionaire, or the son of the president. He's just a man.

A man who desperately needs to tell you how he feels. Derek is sure if he has to spend one more "platonic" night in your bed he's going to go insane.

So, he starts to put his plan into motion.

"Half cup water... one and one-half cups mix..." He mutters, reading the instructions on the back of the box of pancake mix. Even though you've had him help cook almost every meal, he still hasn't learned much. He's an expert at standing there and stirring, sure, but actually cooking? Not really.

Pancakes, though? He's pretty confident he can make those. Hell, he could probably scramble a few eggs to go with it. You'd taught him that a couple days ago.

He wants to show you he's serious. How much he appreciates what you've done for him, and how much more he needs from you.

But what can he offer in return?

Breakfast, for a start. If he was back home, he'd either take you out somewhere nice or have his chefs prepare something. That isn't an option here, but he could make due.

Derek stands back and studies the stack of pancakes and skillet of scrambled eggs. It looks... edible? Right? Not terrible, at least.

He sighs and starts to clean up the counter. He'd made quite the mess, probably dripping an entire pancake's worth of batter everywhere. You make cooking look so easy, damnit.

Now what? Go wake you up? No, surely there's something else he can do for you. His brow furrows in concentration as he takes the dirty dishes to the sink. The sink that's already filled to the brim with old cups, plates, and cutlery.

Fuck. Guess he's doing the dishes.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

You wake up feeling uneasy. Something's missing.

No... someone is missing. Where's Derek?

After checking his bedroom, you stumble downstairs, still in your pajamas.

"Derek?" You call out, getting a little more anxious with every empty room you pass through. Where the hell is he?

"In here!"

Oh. The kitchen. Duh. You turn the corner and see Derek with his sleeves rolled up, arms plunged elbow-deep into soapy water.

"What are you doing?" You can't help but ask, even though the answer is obvious. He's doing the dishes. Without a fuss.

"Oh, uh... just... I used a lot of dishes making breakfast, and-" He stammers, nodding his head over to the stove.

"Breakfast?" You follow his gaze, eyeing the stack of pancakes.

Is this real? Did Derek fucking Danforth just wake up early and make you breakfast? And what the hell is he wearing?

"Yeah. I thought I'd thank you. You know, for the cake."

He dries his hands off on a dishcloth, and you silently take in his outfit. He's dressed up. Or, at least, what Derek probably considers dressed up. It's a little strange seeing him back in one of those silk button-ups he's so fond of after nearly a week of the regular ol' shorts and t-shirts his mom picked out for him.

Oh, shit. He's looking at you. Say something.

"What's the occasion?" You finally spit out, eyes darting between his clothes, the clean dishes, and the fresh breakfast.

Derek scoffs. "Occasion? Does there have to be an occasion for me to do something nice for you?"

"Guess not." You mumble, still a little dazed from everything that's happened in the past few minutes.

"A 'thank you' would be nice, ya know." He crosses his arms and gives you an exaggerated pout.

"Oh my god, Derek." Laughing, you forcefully un-cross his arms and pull him into an embrace, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He groans from the sheer force of your hug, and wraps his arms around you as well, returning the gesture in earnest.

Holding him so close like this, you can't help but notice his scent. He smells... different.

"Is that cologne?" You ask, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes as you giggle.

Derek's cheeks flush pink and he stammers out a response, tripping over his words.

"I-I always wear cologne."

"No, you don't. At least not lately."

"And how would you know? You make it a habit of smelling me?"

He's obviously trying to bait you, so you just roll your eyes.

"Derek. You've practically been living on my lap lately. I know what you usually smell like."

"Okay, well, I wanted to smell nice today. Sue me."

"You want to smell nice today... but there's no occasion?" You lean in a little closer, and give him your best teasing smile. He's just trying so hard today, it's adorable.

Derek opens his mouth to say something, but instead just gives you a weak smile. His eyes flicker from your eyes down to your lips, and his arms squeeze you a little tighter.

Shit. If you keep this up, he's probably going to kiss you. Or you'll kiss him. And you aren't quite sure how to feel about that.

Still, you don't want to break the hug just yet. One of your hands makes it's way up to his earlobe, and you start to fiddle with his earring. Your other arm remains firmly wrapped around his waist.

"This a real diamond?"

"Of course." He scoffs, and with how close you are, you can feel his little huff of breath on your face.

"You aren't scared to lose it?"

"I have a hundred more just like it, sweetheart."

Of course he does. Rich bastard. You try to pull away, but he clings onto you.

"Hey, I still didn't get a thank you." Derek pouts, giving you that pitiful expression he's so good at. Damnit.

Fine, he wants a thank-you? You know exactly how to thank him...

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

"Here, let me get that for you." For the first time, Derek offers to carry the little bag of essentials as you make your way down to the beach together.

As he slugs the heavy thing over his shoulder, he feels a bit of regret for not offering sooner. He likes to think of himself as a gentleman, but obviously he isn't if he's been making you carry this damn thing all along.

"Thank you, love."

All those feelings of remorse fade when you take his hand and smile. His chest floods with warmth and he can't help but wish you'd thank him the same way you did earlier that morning.

He still can't believe you actually kissed him. On the cheek, sure, but a kiss is a kiss, and Derek isn't going to complain.

"It's pretty out today." He muses, looking up at the clear sky. You simply hum in agreement as the two of you trudge through the sand together.

This is a way more romantic setting than the kitchen. That's why Derek hasn't yet confessed to you. Not because you make him nervous or anything.

Okay, maybe it's partially due to nerves. He can't help it. You kissed him before he could get a word out.

You kissed him.

Thinking about it makes him grin like a fool, and he squeezes your hand a little tighter as he walks. He still can't believe he got so lucky.

And hey, maybe he'll get lucky again.

"Race you to the water!"

Or maybe not. Derek groans and drops the beach bag, then rushes after you. He kicks up sand, then water as he makes his way into the ocean.

"FUCK, it's cold." He cries out as the water reaches his chest. Honestly, he didn't even plan to wade in this deep, but he was determined to catch up to you.

"Oh, don't be a baby. It feels nice."

Derek's breath hitches as you snake an arm around his waist, pulling him tightly against your side. Tentatively, he puts his own arm around your back.

"You're gonna regret making fun of me when I fucking drown right in front of you." He grumbles, still a little uneasy being this far in the ocean.

"I won't let you drown. Even if it's a little tempting." You laugh and rest your head on his shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

"It's tempting to let me drown?" He scoffs, feigning annoyance. It's so hard to be mad at you when you're cuddled up to him like this.

"Maybe." Your other arm wraps around him now, trapping him in a tight hug.

Derek's heart pounds and he can feel his brain go fuzzy. This is it. He should tell you, right now, how much he wants you. How much he needs you.

Unfortunately, before he can stammer out a response, a wave draws near. An especially tall wave.

He tries to take a few steps back, but his legs tangle with yours and he stumbles. In his terrified state, he only grips you tighter, effectively pulling you back with him.

The two of you plunge into the water and Derek nearly drowns you in an attempt to right himself. After a few seconds of struggling, he feels you hook your hands under his armpits and pull him up.

He coughs and sputters, then braces himself as that wave he'd seen earlier finally washes over the both of you. For a minute, he's certain he's a goner. The water goes over his head before he can even hold his breath, mouth still full of saltwater.

You hold him tightly against your chest as the wave passes over you both, then start dragging him back towards the shore. When he finally opens his eyes and shakes the water from his ears, he notices the sky has gone dark. Shit.

"Are you okay, love?"

Derek just blinks at you as he wobbles to his feet in the knee-deep water, trembling fiercely. Your hands cup his face, turning it left and right as you inspect every inch of him.

He pulls away, if only to cough up a gallon of water.

"Might need... CPR... mouth-to-mouth...?" He chokes out, laughing in an attempt to get his racing heart under control.

"Oh my god, Derek. First you nearly scare me to death, then you ask for a kiss?" You give him a light shove, but your face gives away the relief you feel.

"In my defense, I did warn you I was going to drown." He scoffs.

Your response is cut off as it starts to drizzle. The sky, which was a perfect endless blue just minutes ago, is now completely covered in dark clouds.

"You wanna finish this inside?"

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

After showering off the sand and saltwater, you throw on some pajamas and head over to Derek's room.

Yeah, it's the middle of the afternoon, but with the raging storm outside...? Well, it just feels like a pajama kind of day.

"Derek?" You call out, making sure to knock loudly on his door. Don't need any more accidents. "Can I come in?"

"No." He croaks, and you're certain you can hear him sniffle.

Shit. You'd better apologize soon.

"Please?"

No response. Damnit.

"I'm coming in anyways." You announce, slowly opening the door.

Derek lies sprawled across his bed, one arm draped over his face. The room is depressingly dark for the middle of the day, and the dreary whether definitely isn't helping.

Still, his outfit almost makes you chuckle. He's sporting a green robe that you hope he has some kind of clothes under, and his hair is still damp from his shower. God, this man certainly has a flair for the dramatic.

"Derek, love? What are you doing?"

He groans as you flick on his lamp, burying his face further into his arm.

"Sulking." He answers honestly.

You sigh and hop up to sit next to him on the bed, instinctively placing a hand in his hair. A familiar tightness pulls at your chest as you try to find the right words to say. Guilt.

"I'm so sorry for earlier. I shouldn't have made you go that far out, not when you can't even swim. I should have-"

Derek cuts you off, weakly pushing your hand away.

"Stop. Not mad at you."

His half-assed grunt of a response throws you off. What? Not mad at you? Then what the hell is he sulking for?

You sit in silence for a minute, chewing on his words. Fuck, how do you fix this? He almost fucking drowned because of you.

"Still want that mouth-to-mouth?" You tease, nudging him.

That gets him to look up at you. His eyes are puffy and red, a sign he's been crying.

"Is that a serious offer?"

"Was it a serious request?"

You both silently stare at each other, for a lot longer than you probably should. Does he actually want a kiss? Damnit, why are you even considering this?

"Just tell me what's bothering you."

Derek sighs and tilts his head back, closing his eyes.

"A lot of things."

"That's real specific. Thanks."

Without even looking, he gently smacks your leg with a hand. Brat.

"C'mon, Derek? Please?" You lean over him, lacing your fingers into his hair once more. He doesn't want you to leave, not really. You're sure of it.

"Well for starters, my head hurts." He grumbles, leaning into your touch.

"And my throat feels weird. I think I swallowed half the ocean."

You start to reply, but he opens his eyes and holds up a hand, shushing you.

"Seriously. When we finally have internet again, check the news. There'll be headlines about it. 'RISING SEA LEVELS MYSTERIOUSLY FIX THEMSELVES; NO LONGER AN ISSUE' or some shit."

You burst into a fit of laughter. God, he's so dramatic.

"Wow, I... Anything else?" You sputter out, choking back more laughter.

Derek just glares up at you, so you gently tug at his curls and plant a quick kiss on his forehead. It's not... weird, right? You've already kissed his cheek. This isn't much different.

He lets out a soft whimper and shifts slightly, scooting closer to you.

"You wanna lay on my lap?"

"Please."

It's not a strange request. Your lap seems to be one of Derek's favorite places lately, as you've both gotten more comfortable with each other. So, you decide to try something a bit different.

"Here, no, this way..." You scoop your arms underneath him and he melts at your touch, letting you move his limp body how you like.

After a little bit of struggle, you get him situated between your legs. His cheek rests against your bare thigh, his stubble tickling your skin. Guess your pajama shorts are riding up quite a bit. Oops.

"How's that, love?"

He just hums in response, eyes closed again as you play with his hair. One of his hands makes it's way up your leg, settling on your thigh, right next to his face. He doesn't grab or grope you, seeming content with the gentle touch.

His hand is soft. You've noticed that before, but now, in contrast with his scratchy stubble, it feels even softer. He has the hands of a man who's never had to work a day in his life.

And here he is, acting like a lapdog.

"I've been trying to tell you something all day." He mumbles groggily, probably already half-asleep.

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

There's a long pause. You continue to stroke his hair, and he nuzzles against your thigh. Your eyes wander down his figure, smiling at the green robe. It looks good on him. It'd probably look better off him.

Maybe putting him between your legs was a bad idea, because suddenly your mind is plagued with images of him coming. Fuck, that was nearly a week ago now, and you can still envision it perfectly.

"Are you... gonna tell me?" You finally ask, trying to distract yourself.

"Not sure I should, honestly."

"If not telling me is making you cry like this... you should probably just spill."

"I'm not crying." He shifts, letting his head fall back between your legs as he pouts up at you.

Fuck. He's so goddamn close. You give him an incredulous look in return.

"Okay, I'm not crying anymore." He corrects himself, avoiding your gaze.

"Just tell me what's on your mind, love."

He grabs your hand and moves it to cup his cheek as he finally looks back up into your eyes. His expression is that of pure admiration. God, he looks so vulnerable.

When he finally speaks, it's barely above a whisper.

"I think I'm falling for you."

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek's breath hitches. He can't believe the words that just came out of his mouth. Above him, you look equally shocked. He watches as you seem to go through the five stages of grief, expression changing rapidly.

He just lies there, frozen in anticipation. Your hand presses against his cheek a little more tightly and you let out a sigh.

"Derek, no."

No? What the hell does that mean? Is this a rejection? His heart plummets into his stomach and before he can ask, you speak again.

"No, you aren't." You speak firmly, eyes fixed on his.

"Fuck does that mean?" He stammers, starting to get agitated. How can you so confidently declare you know his own feelings better than he does?

"It means you don't like me like that. Not really. I'm just the only person around."

Before he can argue further, you move your hand over his mouth, cutting him off.

"And you're not yourself right now. Not with the withdrawals and whatnot. This isn't right. I'd be taking advantage of you."

Derek's chest tightens and he bites his tongue. Fuck. He didn't think of it like that. Still, he doesn't really care. He'd happily let you take advantage of him. But how to explain that to you?

"It's not- you're not... I..." He rips your hand away, tripping over his own words as he tries to voice his feelings. Why do you look blurry?

Shit. He's crying again.

The worst part is, you're making sense. He can't say with 100% confidence that his feelings for you haven't at all been influenced by the fact you're the only one here with him. Would he have fallen for anyone given these circumstances? Derek isn't sure.

You seem to notice his wavering resolve, because you sigh and gently move him from between your legs.

"Where are you going?" He chokes back a sob, sitting up as you slide off the bed.

"Gonna make dinner."

You turn and leave without another word. When the door clicks shut, Derek just flops back down on the bed, letting the despair take him.

Hey, maybe he'd cry out that gallon of saltwater he swallowed.

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Author's note: Sorry for the wait on this chapter... I went a little off-track and wrote some smut about being Mike Schmidt's dentist. Oops.

Anyways, I hope this chapter is as angsty as I intended. I'm trying here. I'm always open to constructive criticism, or feedback of any kind, really. Feel free to put an anonymous message in my inbox, or leave a comment. Is there anything I've written that made you cringe? Are there slow parts that you skim over? Are there any words that you've noticed I use too frequently?

Literally any feedback is welcome, just be respectful about it. Thanks!! <3

[steviewashere]

Flames of Desire

Rating: General CW: NoneTags: Post-Canon, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Christmas, Light Miscommunication, Getting Together, Love Confessions, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fireplace As a Plot Device, Hot Chocolate as a Plot Device, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, First Kiss, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Sappy Ending This is for the Spicy Six-Ber Month Challenge, hosted by the wonderful @thefreakandthehair. I claimed the prompt: Fireplace.

❄️————————❄️ There’s a stack of watched, rented VHS tapes on the coffee table. Next to two half-empty mugs of hot chocolate, rapidly cooling from the mountains of whipped cream he had been egged into topping them with. And a warm body pressed from shoulder to foot next to him on the couch, watching on at the static ripples of Michael J. Fox’s face in Family Ties, television propped in the corner of the living room, volume low because their eyes have been dipping and dipping like toes into a prepped bubble bath—close to that pure, utter, and complete relaxation they’re craving.

His head is nestled awkwardly on Eddie’s right shoulder, propped up by a bony joint and his ear alone, and his neck is aching something awful, yet he’s simultaneously too comfortable to move. Eddie’s tracing his fingertips over Steve’s own right shoulder, his bicep, connecting moles that aren’t showing right now—somehow memorized by times where his shirt was peeled off, probably sometime in the late summer under an unforgiving sun, ready to sink into a pool he’s recently learned to not fear. And something is full inside him.

Full and large like the red-orange shifting flames coming from the centerpiece of the living room, the beloved fireplace he’s known to light since his dad showed him how. The Duraflame log lit up behind the screen, crackling low and painting the side of Eddie with the glow.

Eddie’s eyes do something beautiful because of the light. Glowing in their own way. Going from dark chocolate melted for their mugs to drizzles of honey swirling in spiced chai. Deliciously gorgeous no matter which way Steve observes them, even as cliche as it is to compare them to chocolate. They’re dark, though, the same way logs are for the fireplace. Dark, but made to be comforting. He hums, eyes still roaming over Eddie’s soft face, and keeps his neck angled sharply. The discomfort is worth it, here under Eddie’s warmth, his beauty, the heavily saturated love that flows through Steve—even if he tries to push it away.

We’re friends, he tells himself, not for the first time.

Something’s different about this one, though. Charged. He never felt this sort of adoration, this ember to full-blown bonfire in his chest. Never towards Tommy. Definitely not towards Robin, but there’s adoration there, too—different.

This one is coffee and pancakes, maple syrup smiles, and groggy giggles at the dining table. Candles with slow burn wax, vanilla wafts and cinnamon flames. Reruns and greasy pizza dinners, breadsticks from the same bag, wiping marinara from each other’s faces because the other can’t find it. T-shirts lost, coming back with amber-musk cologne and citrus-lavender detergent, soft sleeves and worn graphics, apologies loose from the tongue, covered by soft snorts and playful eye rolls—“don’t worry about it, at least it’s back.”

A vest he has yet to return, blood-free and loose strings stitched. The collar white-worn from how many times he’s stroked his thumbs over the fabric. Its weight in his lap, contemplated over time and time again. Questions forming in his brain about what Accept plays and who Judas Priest is; a tape stuffed in his bedside drawer, rewound and played again, The Last in Line. Handfuls of dice with polished edges, promises to himself that he’ll gift them this time, next time, some time.

Falling in love.

One slow step at a time.

Burning up with it now like the log in the fireplace. Slow and then all at once. Dancing, warming, glowing. Not like the weak foundations of a house; akin to relationships in the past that were one-sided, collapsing under its own weight. This friendship he has with Eddie is give one, take one. One foot in, then a hand, two bodies on a couch, bellies full of hot chocolate and Christmas gold coins from this morning—Eddie’s stocking dumped over his lap, “I’m sharing my fortune,” he had told Steve, “let’s eat up, sweetheart.”

Eddie brought him a gift.

A sweater he eyed at the mall in the town over. Some Macy’s sweater, an ochre yellow like his other one, the price tag noticeably missing. But Eddie’s smile—his smile—dimples proud and teeth shiny, eyes crinkled, honey brown from the glow of fire. He excused the rosiness of his cheeks to the fireplace, the heat of the room, the gentle breeze still coming in under the front door.

And he had handed over his own little wrapped thing. …And Justice For All tied off with a ribbon, ready to be popped into Eddie’s Walkman. Two years of friendship culminating, little gifts here and there, knowing Eddie would’ve gone looking. He steered Eddie away from the Metallica section of their local record store; only for a couple months, but it felt like a lifetime. He presented the tape with his own smile, with laughter when Eddie’s hands shook and he tumbled about the living room on jumping legs—all signs of sleep that previously exuded, gone in a single rip, pried away with the wrapping paper on the floor.

Jokingly, Eddie had smacked a wet kiss to Steve’s cheek.

He took the scraps like a starving dog.

If that was all he could get, it would suffice. They were happy. And close.

Closer, now. Burning fire, Family Ties, coin wrappers, hot chocolate mugs. And Eddie’s honey glistening eyes, dark like firewood, lightened by that sweetener.

Eddie looks away from the screen, mouth open with words poised, and spots Steve already on him. “Hey,” he says instead of what he planned, “somethin’ on my face?” There’s a sort of sleepy sweet gargle to his voice, deep in the vowels and loose on the consonants—like he can’t quite bother to clear his throat, too busy with already speaking, already looking directly at Steve. He watches Eddie make a show of trying to clean off his face, merely smearing his palm over his rosy cheeks.

“No,” Steve breathes, “just…” This close, pressed against each other, he can hear each soft intake of Eddie’s breath. He squishes his face deeper into Eddie’s shoulder, suppressing the urge to do something stupid; like grin without reason; like kiss him. Yeah, that’d be pretty dumb. “‘M really glad you came over today,” he murmurs.

Once more, Eddie glints. Smile stretched slow, teeth light orange from the flames, tired eyes, and pink cheeks. There’s chocolate in the corner of his mouth, now that he’s really looking, soaking in all of Eddie’s features; Steve’s fingers tingle with the urge to reach up and swipe it away. Eddie breathes out a chuckle, not sharp and brash like it normally would, but reserved—comfortable; private. “I’m glad I came over, too,” he says, speaking soft, “no place I’d rather be, honestly.”

“Even though you could’a spent the day with Wayne?” And it feels right, especially private, to keep his voice low, too.

“I mean…he understood, y’know? We usually do our holiday stuff the day after Christmas anyway. So.” Eddie shrugs minutely. “You invited me over for a date, sweetheart, I couldn’t say no. ‘Sides, I’ve been tiptoeing towards this for awhile.”

All at once, the room’s warmth evaporates from Steve’s limbs. He goes cold, frozen, completely and utterly still. His head pulls up quickly from Eddie’s shoulder, neck pleading from the movement. “Wh…what?”

“This date. I’ve been looking forward to it for a bit. I’d be stupid to pass it up.”

“Wait…wait wait wait. You thought this was a date?”

That makes Eddie freeze. His thumb still running over Steve’s bicep comes to a stuttering halt. Head whipping over, big bug eyes landing on Steve’s. Wide and caught and wholly confused. Meekly, “Is this…is this not a date?”

“Um…I…um, no?”

Just as fast as he froze, Eddie is pulling himself away. Arm falling from Steve’s shoulders, jumping a few inches away, keeping his hands to himself. “Oh…oh, fuck. Steve—I—I swear, man, I thought this was…oh, this is so embarrassing.” He tugs at the ends of his hair, face coloring a bright red, pink cheeks going pinker in the yellow-orange glow. Somehow, even now, Steve finds him still endearingly beautiful. “Jeez. And I…I was thinking of kissing you, too! I mean you didn’t need to hear that, but I—Oh my god, I should go.”

A part of Steve melts, just as plastic does in fire—quick and nauseous and horrible. And Eddie’s standing up from the couch, further flipping Steve’s now upset stomach, trying to get away from it all. But he’s faster.

Faster still.

He reaches out and tugs on Eddie’s right wrist, bringing him flopping back down on the sofa. Eddie looks to him again, just as startled and eerily fearful as before.

Steve can’t make his mouth spit out the words he should. All those things he’d been thinking. How beautiful Eddie is. The slow moments over the last two years, every moment one increment closer to getting what he truly wants. He should be nonsensical. Explain. Paint the picture. Just as he did in the past for other people he fell face first for.

But Eddie’s looking at him. At him. Honey eyes. Pink cheeks. Plump lips.

The chocolate in the corner of his mouth both from their drinks and the coins. That scar he received for trying to buy more time, silver and soft and healed on his jaw. His hair cascading to his shoulders, heavy and dark. And him just alive on the couch, here to share the holiday, lit by the fireplace, cozy in a Christmas sweater and sweatpants. Soft. Sweet. Sacred.

He leans in, slowly as to give Eddie time to dodge, but when he doesn’t—it’s a simple decision from there. Closing his eyes, even if he’s reluctant to do so, reluctant to not see Eddie’s beauty. But he kisses him. Once, tender, slow moving with his lips. Their mouths sticky when he begins to draw back for a second, but he doesn’t get the chance to pull away completely, Eddie is welcoming himself back in. Hands cupping Steve’s cheeks, fingers pushing lightly into the soft give of his face, firm where they’re placed, but overall gentle.

Eddie’s hungry with how he kisses. As if needing this. It’s a little sloppy, the way he drags his lips, but Steve doesn’t care. They’re kissing. Sweet and sugary and milk chocolate on their tongues, when they introduce them to each other. Slow, but sure. New.

Though, Steve kindles a new flame—one flickering in his chest, warm and fragile—a candle, a firebox where this kiss is the first of many.

When he opens his eyes, Eddie’s already looking at him. Looking at him, looking at him.

“I didn’t know it was a date,” Steve whispers.

Breathing a chuckle, Eddie swipes his hands tenderly down the sides of Steve’s neck, setting in the crooks of his arms, heavy as they lay. “I didn’t either, sweetheart.” Those molten eyes bounce briefly, left and right; there’s something laying in them that Steve’s never really seen directed at him before, gooey and tender. Maybe that’s love? “So…so that was a pretty great addition to that Christmas gift, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, words bright with his smile, “guess it is. Wish I knew it was a date.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm. I would’a made us a nicer dinner instead of ordering pizza.”

“Next time, sweetheart. We’ll make a whole shebang of it. Keep the fireplace lit, have more hot chocolate, watch a bunch of movies…and we’ll have spaghetti and I’ll kiss you later that night and taste the tomato sauce you made. I bet it would still taste good.”

Steve wriggles slightly in his seat, hands wrangling up for Eddie’s, gripping to them hard. He can’t contain his bubbling excitement, stirring and stirring and swirling inside him. He’s too warm, under his pajamas, from the fire, from the love overcoming him. And he can’t stop smiling. Stretched wide, cheeks bulbous—so big he almost can’t see—eyes squinting hard. “Y’don’t know what my spaghetti tastes like, Eds,” he protests.

“Bet it would taste like that kiss did, though. Made with your love?”

He giggles and sways and swoons. “That was so corny.”

“Yeah, but I’m not wrong, am I?”

“No,” Steve sighs, relenting. He couldn’t even hide in his own hands. Face too bright and his body too vibrant and his heart pounding too hard, hard enough it could probably be heard if the television were turned down just a smidge. His stomach flips, a good way this time. And he’s too aware of the fact that his palms are clammy, fingers gripping too tight to Eddie’s hands, not wanting to let go. “Is it that obvious how I feel?”

Eddie lifts up one of his hands, squeezing his index finger and thumb together closely. “A little bit,” he says, “but it’s cute, Stevie. Could tell the moment I saw you lookin’ at me, your eyes all over me. Don’t even think you could see how I was looking at you, baby.”

“How were you looking at me?”

“Like I’m in love,” Eddie easily answers. “Because I am. Have been. For a long while now.”

“Really?” Steve breathes. “You’re in love with me?”

“Mhm. I love you to the moon and back, sweetheart.”

Steve squeezes their hands again. The fireplace crackles. There’s still chocolate on Eddie’s mouth. His heart beats hard, gazing deep into those swirls of honey, and it’s all so right. “I love you, too,” he murmurs, “been wanting to say that for forever.”

Tugging gently on their joined hands, Eddie begins to lean back on the sofa. “Come on, baby, let’s cuddle a while longer. Maybe we can gaze at each other some more?”

“Nothing else I’d rather do.”

❄️————————❄️