#every so often my mother would come home from work and find like six more children in the house that weren't there when she left
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#i have a funny feeling this is. going to also scale well against siblings vs only children#every so often my mother would come home from work and find like six more children in the house that weren't there when she left#and two or three of them would usually sleep over too
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Kingdom Come
Summary: Min Yoongi realizes that despite his efforts of keeping the reader safe, he cannot hide her forever.
Tags: yoongi x reader!AU, fluff, angst, smut (prostate play), switch!yoongi, switch!reader
A/N: I know I disappeared for six months but a girl gotta work unfortunately. With Yoongi's comeback, however, it made me want to write a period piece inspired by daechwita yoongi. So, here yah go:)
The tile is cold against your feet. It's not often that you find yourself wandering his home barefoot but when you do, you always feel much closer to the Earth than before. It gives you a small sense of safety, like you're better prepared to exit quickly and quietly should you run into someone you're not supposed to see.
It doesn't take you terribly long to get to his room. Of course you wish you didn't have to sneak, but you understand the consequences if you happen to get caught. How does a king, a ruler of thousands of people, find himself meeting with a woman of your status? A simple baker from the village below, sneaking her way up to the castle every single night to share a bed with him. But that is as far as it goes, as The King cannot publicly share his affection for you.
You remember meeting him before he was King. Before the war.
Your mother was always quick to send bread up to the fortress, and before, the townspeople were welcomed behind the castle walls. You rode your bike high up the hill with your sack full of baked goods to give to the queen. And he always sat waiting for you, in his satin clothing with the smallest smile on his face. He was the reason you didn't mind the trip.
When he was a prince, it was much easier to get away with interacting with him. Both children, both eager to make friends, and both unknowing of the world around them. Rather, unknowing of the two separate worlds you were living in.
When the war broke out and the fortress walls were sealed from the general public, you were effectively separated from him. It wasn't until you were nearing 20 years old when you saw him again, declaring victory as he rode his horse through town. His face bloodied and bruised, and a scar cut deeply over his eye. His victory run stopped abruptly when he saw you, standing just as you would when the two of you were children, with flour on your nose and your hand covering the gasp threatening to escape from your lips.
He was declared King shortly afterward. His mother and former queen becoming far too weakened by the stresses of the war to continue ruling the people. By then you had accepted the defeat of never seeing him again.
That is, until a handmade tea cloth holding together two single roses appeared on the doorstep of the bakery, with a note containing a simple message.
Meet me under the pear tree where you used to sing for me. I'll be waiting.
Your heart raced the entire time you walked up the hill, until you finally made it to the top to see his silhouette in the moonlight. As you approached, he looked over his shoulder and the same small smile from before returned.
"My King." you whispered nervously, bowing. Before you are able to complete the bow, he rested a hand on your shoulder and raised you up.
"Don't do that," he whispered back, "just call me by my name. I am not your King. I am your equal."
Again, your heart raced as your lips parted to say, "Of course, Yoongi."
You shake your head of the memories as you approach Yoongi's door. The usual giddiness that follows you has been lacking lately, your anxiety becoming more and more prevalent the longer that you realize that nothing is going to change. Despite your memories and how much you love Yoongi, you do not want to be his secret forever. You have a life to live. You may want children someday, you may want to be able to cook for him in his own home or even tell your mother that you're seeing him. You know that it's not realistic, but it hurts nonetheless.
So, the hesitancy that has taken over your excitement tonight is no longer a surprise.
Your knuckles softly tapped the familiar beat that the two of you came up with so he knew it was you. Three soft taps, a pause, and three more. You remember him giggling as he told you, "It's like my heart skipping a beat when I see you."
The door opens quickly, and Yoongi tugs you in the moment he sees you.
His hands are all over you in an instant, pushing you against the door while his lips move to trail kisses across your chest. His lips caress yours softly, soaking you in. He's always been quick and quiet in his movements, eager to taste you. Yoongi tells you he cannot live without the taste of you on his tongue.
As he darts his tongue out to lick a small stripe across your neck, he suddenly pauses.
"Are you okay?"
It's not until he says those words that you realize you haven't moved since he pulled you in. You feel yourself relax slightly under his gaze, but you can't help but feel a lump begin forming in your throat.
Yoongi raises his eyebrows in concern before pulling you close to him and leading you to the bed. "What is going on, my love?"
"I- uh," your breath comes out shaky, "Will it always be like this?"
Yoongi sighs. He doesn't ask for clarification because he knows exactly what your worries are. "I don't want it to be."
A single tear drops from your right eye, mirroring the now healed scar across Yoongi's face. Yoongi is quick to reach forward and swipe it away, his hands as rough as ever against your soft skin.
"I don't want it to be either. I don't think I can do this for much longer."
Yoongi's hands drop from around your waist, "What?"
"I don't know how much longer I can be kept a secret, Yoongi." You whisper, your face falling in your hands. Yoongi scoots away from you, and you can feel his body stiffening beside you. It makes your tears become more prevalent.
"You said that you would love me until kingdom come, _____."
You manage to tear your face out of your hands and turn towards him. His back is the straightest it has ever been, and his hands sit tense on top of his knees. It's almost jarring to see him so still, when moments ago he couldn't get his hands off of you.
"And I will," you breathe, "forever. But I have a life too!"
He seems to take your words in for a brief moment, before standing up and taking a seat across from you.
"Do you honestly think that I like having to go through this?" His voice is colder than it has ever been. You're used to him having his guard up but only when he feels someone may be outside listening to you. This is a new territory, but it had to be explored at some point.
"No, I don't think you do either. So why do we do this?"
"Because-" his voice raises slightly but he quickly regains his composure, "Do you know what would happen if the people found out I was seeing a commoner?"
You swallow, "You don't believe I have the power to be a royal."
"I won the war! If word gets out that I made a commoner my queen, you are the first person the enemy would go after should they want to regain power!"
"Oh, so this is all to protect me? Make me feel safe?" you're yelling now, but he is too. He doesn't seem to mind that others may here at this point, which the irony is not lost on you.
"Yes, exactly!"
"So what happens from here, huh? You have to marry at some point, is that when this ends? When your mother insists you find a Princess to marry? Is that when I have to go back and pretend that I never loved you? Watch you from afar, pretend like I didn't know your touch. Like I haven't felt the most intimate parts of you... Like I haven't lived and breathed just for you."
Yoongi's eyes hit the floor. You pull your knees to your chest and feel the weight of your own words rest upon your shoulders. If this is really what will happen, you can no longer do it. Love conquers all, but is it really love if it has to be hidden?
"My love..." he says after quite some time, sitting beside you on the bed. His head rests against the bed frame, "...I just want what is best for you. What makes you happiest."
"Being with you makes me happiest. If I cannot get all of you, then-"
"Then what? You don't want any of me?"
You don't respond.
"After all we've been through, you're willing to throw it all away? Because I'm trying to keep you safe?"
"I want to take the risk! If being your Queen means taking a risk then I'm willing to! I want to love you whole-heartedly, Min Yoongi." You explain, turning towards him.
He sighs softly, mirroring your position, before pulling you down to the pillow. He lays beside you, pulling you close to him. "I'll make you my queen if it means you'll be able to stay by my side."
You smile softly, "There's nowhere in the world that I am safest, than beside you."
Yoongi kisses you, gently. His lips curve into yours perfectly, like they were meant to always be there. You both to allow the kiss to become more heated, because it's nice just being with each other.
"You're right," he says, "we cannot continue hiding our love. Starting tomorrow, the kingdom will know you as my wife, my queen."
Your heart flutters, "You're not worried about the risks now?"
Yoongi's eyes widen, "I am terrified beyond belief. But I will go out of my way to make sure you will be safe. Forever."
"And I, you, Min Yoongi."
When you awake the next morning, Yoongi is already sitting up beside you. The sunlight shines into his room, and you realize this is the first time you have seen his room in this much light. It's obviously much later than you're used to staying, and Yoongi doesn't seem as panicked as you expected him to be.
"There is no way you're getting out of the castle without being seen so we have to tell Mother now. Before that happens, though, I want to make sure that you fully understand what you're signing up for."
You're rubbing the sleep from your eyes and pulling yourself up as Yoongi speaks.
"You will have people around you forever. The only place you'll get any peace is right in here. Your parents' bakery will be very successful seeing as their daughter is now a queen. If something happens to me, you will have to run the kingdom."
Blinking, you finally speak, "What?"
"If I die," Yoongi reiterates, "You will have to-"
Loud knocking rings through his room, causing the panic you expected to see from Yoongi to finally come up. "No time now, just act calm."
Yoongi rushes towards his door, his clothing flowing behind him. He opens it slightly, still leaving you blocked from view.
"Your majesty, I've brought you your breakfast." you hear softly.
Yoongi glances back towards you, before opening the door slightly wider. "I appreciate it, I am going to need a second bowl though."
The servant, an older woman with graying hair, meets eyes with you. Her eyes widen, "O- oh yes sir! I'll be back in just a moment for you and your missus."
Yoongi turns back to you after watching her scurry away with a smile on his face. He leaves the door open now, carrying the tray towards the bed and placing it in front of you. It's pork, a meat that you rarely ate, with porridge and a tall glass of water. You look up to him, feeling his hand tap your chin. "Eat up, my love."
You pick up the spoon and begin eating the porridge. It's delicious, better than anything you've ever eaten before in your life.
Yoongi sits across from you and picks up a piece of pork with his fingers, chewing on it slowly. "I will give it approximately 5 minutes before my mother is in here, by the way."
"What?!" you say, your mouth full of porridge. You instantly stand, rushing over to the mirror in the corner of the room and begin attempting to tame your hair. You've met the woman before, years ago, when you and Yoongi were both children. She liked you then, but how much will she like you now that you are going to be throwing her son to the wind?
"Baby," Yoongi stands behind you, grabbing your hands and holding them to your side, "You look fine. Everything will be okay."
"You're awfully calm for someone who didn't even think this was a possibility less than 12 hours ago."
"Because I thought it over last night. My mother will just have to deal with it. I am 30 years old, she has no say over who I marry, or who I taste." he turns your chin to him and captures your lips with his again. You can feel him pressing into your backside while his tongue dances across your bottom lip.
As you feel the outline of his erection press harder onto your ass, you moan into his mouth. He's very receptive to how vocal you are, but before it can go any further, footsteps approach his doorway.
He quickly pulls away and stands in front of you, watching as his mother enters the room carrying a second tray of porridge.
She's gorgeous, wearing pink and blue with her hair done up perfectly. She turns towards the two of you with a smile, "Yoongi, tell me who is behind you."
Yoongi steps to the side but keeps his arm in front of you.
His mother's eyes begin to water, "_____, are you seeing my son?"
"Y- you remember me?" Yoongi tenses beside you as you speak.
"Of course I do, you were the reason I couldn't get my son to come back home when you were children. I'd ask him where he was going and he would always say, 'Mom, I'm going to see my girlfriend.' And now here you are, finally in front of me." She walks forward and pushes Yoongi's arm out of the way, bringing you in for a tight hug.
"I was wondering when Yoongi would finally bring you home. It's been too long."
"W- we were scared." You respond, your voice muffled by her shoulder.
"Scared of what?" She pulls away, flattening your hair and inspecting your face with eyes of worry.
Yoongi moves beside you again, "I was scared that you wouldn't accept her, and that the enemy may come back and get her should I go public with her."
"Nonsense," she lays a smack on Yoongi's shoulder, "_____ will be protected. Nobody deserves their love to be hidden."
~*~*~
After a full day of speaking with Yoongi's mother and explaining how long the two of you kept everything hidden, you were finally alone with Yoongi again.
He caressed your back softly in the bathtub, your body warm against his while he gently ran his fingers through your hair.
"I'm glad your mother likes me."
"We just spent the whole day with her, do we have to keep talking about her?" Yoongi whines, water splashing as he throws his head back in a frustrated groan.
"Awe, does my poor baby need attention?" You turn around in the tub, facing Yoongi. His chest heaves as he juts his bottom lip out, "I do need attention."
"Oh you do? What do you need from me?"
"Can we finish what we started this morning?" Yoongi whispers, flexing his hips. His cock twitches beneath the water, causing you to reach forward and grip the base.
Your smile is almost sinister, while you begin jerking him off. He's tense immediately, his head tossed back and moans leaving his mouth. "You must have been hard all day, my poor baby. I bet you wanted to pull me away and use my mouth, huh?"
"Y-yes," Yoongi breathes, "I wanted you so bad."
"Mm," your hand moves faster, "couldn't wait to use me as your queen for the first time."
"P- please," his moans turn to whines, "fuck me, my love."
Your hand lowers and begins to dance across his ass, spreading his legs and allowing your fingers to brush against his hole. He whimpers the moment your finger stops, pressing into him softly.
"So good," your hand moves up and down his cock as your finger begins curl and thrust to brush against his G-spot, "Does my King like letting go with me?"
Yoongi nods, "Faster please."
Your hands quicken their pace as Yoongi reaches forward and pulls you forward, kissing you hard. He pulls back and rests his forehead against yours, his mouth agape while his orgasm approaches.
"Cum, my King. Cum for me."
Yoongi moans as he releases, his hole tightening around your finger. His chest heaves as he pulls you to him.
"You're so good to me. I'm excited to spend the rest of our lives together."
You grin against his chest, pressing light kisses across him.
"Let's get out of the bath and have round two in the bed?" You suggest, your thumb gently massaging above his collarbone. Yoongi smiles, "Does my Queen want her turn?"
Biting your lip, you murmur, "Yes please."
#min yoongi#bts#yoongi x reader#min yoongi x reader#yoongi x reader smut#min yoongi x reader au#bts x reader#bts x reader smut#bts imagines#bts smut#bts au
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the hamilton daycare || lh44 fic
lewis hamilton x ofc (hearth sister!ofc)
EXTENSION TO THICK AND THIN
Summary: A retired Lewis Hamilton already knew how to operate while his children’s mother was out to work. So why was their trip to Monaco any different? Right… Much like his in-laws Toto Wolff and Charles Leclerc, he had to find a way to keep his kids occupied while Stevie Hamilton went to Cannes with her sisters. (based on the Charles Leclerc fic, The Leclerc Daycare)
Content warning: dad!Lewis-centric fic, EXTREMELY FLUFF UGH, slight use of explicit language, brief F1 drivers x Hearth Sisters!OFC, mentioned fatherhood, emotional intelligence, and mentions of overbearing media/journalists/shitty paparazzi, feat. dad!Toto Wolff and dad!Charles Leclerc
note: have some dad!lewis hamham <3 enjoy xx
masterlist
Lewis Hamilton disciplined himself to wake up at a decent time in the morning. He’d been retired for a couple of years now, yet his routine as a driver remained except for the practicing for the next race part. In his schedule, two kids were added to the mix.
Who would have thought Lewis was a stay-at-home dad to two of the most adorable kids ever?
If you told him all those years ago that he’d become one, he would’ve laughed at your face. But now, he was pretty content with his life. It was still busy, of course. He still had some side projects that he would work on, but he often worked on them remotely, wanting to keep an eye on his kids as they grow continuously. He didn’t like being away from them as often— knowing that when he raced, he was often away for weeks— even months.
His relationship with Stevie Marlene Hearth remained stable as she worked as a communications director at Ferrari — making their distance shorter than expected. But now, with kids at home, neither ever considered being away for too long.
Stevie could make do as she could work remotely, but if Lewis hadn’t retired just as his eldest was born? Yeah, they would be screwed. He wouldn’t have been able to see his kids as much. He wasn’t about to bear that thought without feeling an ounce of guilt in his system. His wife came from a family with an absent father; he didn’t want their kids to go through that. He would have to be a shitty father first.
And so he made himself the best father that one could be. A househusband was what his sister-in-law Sylvie had called him, and he embraced that title. He was proud to be called a stay-at-home dad. Not everyone got to drop off their kids at the preschool happily, and Lewis had every chance to do so. He welcomed this opportunity with open arms. He did everything a parent would in a domestic household. He cooked, cleaned and cared for their children just as he was about to do now.
Now, it was only 7:30 in the morning in Monte-Carlo. He was moving around the kitchen to prepare some breakfast for his kids and wife while Sylvie helped him cook as compensation for waking him up at six in the morning to open the door to his vacation home.
“Did you feed Sassy and Jimmy?” Lewis asked Sylvie as they prepared the food. “I don’t want Max coming home later tonight to two starving cats because I haven’t fed them enough.”
“They’ve been fed,” Sylvie scoffed out. “I left them some stuff to eat as well. Just please feed them later?”
“I will,” Lewis replied with a nod while he prepared his kids’ breakfast. Blueberry waffles and eggs were their usual breakfast, and it didn’t even take him long to start making their fresh eggs.
“Thanks, Lew,” Sylvie grinned as she plated the cut-up fruits. She took a slice of an apple and munched on it while she said, “Where’s my sister? Did you wake her up yet?”
“Yeah, she should be down soon,” Lewis answered as he gestured towards the second floor, “she’s just getting her bag packed up and everything. You lots always pack a lot for people who’d only be out for a day only.”
“You’re the one to talk,” Sylvie frowned lightly. “We all took the same jet more than twice— don’t think for once I have not seen the pile of suitcases you have on top of Stevie’s mountain full of bags.”
They paused for a moment when they both heard a pattering of small feet, making them look towards the entrance of the open dining and kitchen space as two little figures with tamed curls walked in. Both were frazzled, and Lewis could only smile at the thought that they’d literally just woken up.
“Oh! Lottie, Leland— it’s your Aunt Sylvie,” a blonde woman followed the two as Stevie Hamilton grinned at her sister. “Good morning!”
“Morning,” Sylvie watched her nephew and niece walk up to her with their shoulders slightly slumped. The woman nearly laughed aloud at this as she said, “Is it too early for you two littles?”
“Mornin’, Aun’ie.”
Lewis looked at both of his carbon copies’ hairs. “Lotlot- Leland,” he laughed quietly, “your hair looks very messy. Have we not combed it yet?”
His little princess shied away from the comment, now a bit flustered after Lewis brought up the state of her bedhead.
Lottie Cecelia Darcy Hamilton was born to a newly married Lewis and Stevie — roughly eight months after the couple wedded on Valentine's Day. He’s had a fair experience with kids — with his boss Toto and Lewis’ best friend Tilly having three children and his siblings having their own kids as a test run. But it was different when Lottie was born. It was as if everything he prepared for had disappeared. He was petrified to hold his princess for the first time, but it all disappeared when Lottie offered him a soft smile when he first spoke to her.
He could remember how his eyes were tearing up when she smiled just as he uttered the words, “You’re so beautiful.”
And at age five, she still remained the sweetest girl to have existed. Whenever she’d shy away from anyone, Lewis just wanted to cry, his heart full of adoration towards her. Now, as she hid herself from her dad — he couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty.
“I’m sorry, my girl,” Lewis said softly, not wanting to make his own daughter cry.
He really couldn’t just make his kids cry — he remembered how hard he laughed after Lottie, in her 7th month, accidentally tripped on a sleeping Roscoe. He also reminded himself that Stevie caught him wailing in laughter while Lottie cried. God, he was such a horrid dad at times.
“We can get them done in braids when we hang out, hm?”
Hearing the word ‘braid’ had his son’s eyes sparkling as he exclaimed, “Daddy, hair pretty too?”
“Of course, little man,” Lewis grinned at his son.
“We see Mamé later?” Leland asked, excitement washing through his features as he grinned widely.
Leland Carl Darwin Hamilton was his youngest. Lewis didn’t exactly plan on having his littles’ names have his initials, but Stevie had a knack for tributes like her sisters. He had free reign to name his son after making a bet with Stevie about the gender. He had a few months to think of it, but he was more worried about Stevie’s pregnancy than he was worried about his son getting bullied for his name. Lewis thought of Lewis Jr., but he didn’t want to make his son an extension of his name.
Lewis didn’t have a clue on what to name his son, but the moment Sylvie uttered, “He looks like a Leland,” he couldn’t help but agree and immediately snatched the idea from his in-law. So with his soft curls and his smile, Leland remained as Lewis’ mini.
But if there was anything the retired Mercedes driver had learned from the moment his son had been born, it was that Leland was a twin brother to his Leclerc cousin, who was born a month or two after him. Yes, he was Lewis’ son, but Leland Hamilton and Sacha ‘PJ’ Leclerc were their own duo.
You see, PJ Leclerc was Stevie’s nephew — born to her youngest sister, Aimee Leclerc — and the sisters had made it a habit to lump the two together whenever possible. If the Leclercs hadn’t been living in Monaco (or if the Hamilton family moved back to the principality), PJ and Lewis’ son would’ve been sticking together like glue.
They shared a lot of stuff together, even their grandparents. PJ called Pascale Leclerc ‘Mamé’, and Leland had picked up on it and started calling her Mamé too.
“I’m sure we will,” Lewis answered with a grin. “Nobody does your haircut better than Mamé does.”
“You’re getting him a haircut?” Sylvie’s jaw slacked, “We’re only going to be out for a day.”
“We’ve been trying to get Lels his trims done, but he wouldn’t let anyone touch his hair,” Stevie rolled her eyes, now directing her kids towards the dining table as the two began eating breakfast. The older woman continued, “But he persisted. Only Pascale could do his hair without him throwing a fit.”
“A boy with taste, he is,” Sylvie joked, now turning towards Lewis as she asked, “Is your day out just gonna consist of getting your hair done, or are you planning to keep your kids sane?”
“Toto texted me last night,” Lewis replied, sitting across from his kids as he grabbed his vegan breakfast from the centre of the table. “He managed to book the indoor playground for a couple of hours so his kids and their cousins could go as crazy as they wanted. So it’ll keep Lels and Lotlot busy.”
“Ah yes, the F1 father support group,” Sylvie laughed. “Is that the location this time? I’m surprised he managed to book it at the last minute?”
“If you told your sisters beforehand about a day in Cannes, we would’ve given them more notice,” Lewis replied back, making Sylvie shrug. “Or a better location.”
“I know, I’m sorry-“ Sylvie started, “but I didn't even realize how free I was until Christian decided to let the communications team go for the rest of the break after Max blew up during the interview last race.”
“Mmm, yeah, that’s really not a problem,” Lewis waved off, “I’m just glad they’ve finally gotten off the hook now.”
“Well, Max got an earful from me— his fiancée— on the first day of the break,” Sylvie huffed.
Sylvie was the Head of the Media Communications of the Red Bull team and had often made an effort to ensure that they wouldn’t be stupid enough to say something that would taint the team’s image as an outstanding team. Sylvie didn’t often have an issue with managing her drivers’ media duties and responsibilities, but for whatever reason, the Dutchman’s behaviour was too much to handle by any journalist.
Sylvie continued, “I wasn’t about to let Christian nor the higher-ups just give my staff overtime because of what happened. Max needed to sort that out himself.”
“Well, they did get paid for it.”
“For a price of a certain amount of sanity, too.”
Lewis rolled his eyes playfully as Sylvie asked, “All jokes aside. Are you sure you’re alright with us going? I can just stick to Monaco instead of going to Cannes?”
“It’s not my first rodeo,” Lewis waved off and joked, “You’d only be gone for a day. Stevie, I hope you don't miss the kids too much, though.”
“I’m already shedding tears,” Stevie pouted playfully and sniffled, hugging Leland from behind as she said, “I’m going to miss my boy and my princess soooo much~ I wish Mummy could stay.”
“No, Mummy,” Leland protested with a frown, “have fun, ‘member?”
“Yes! Have fun, Mummy!” Lottie exclaimed as she munched on her waffle. “No stress in Ferrari, okay?”
Sylvie snorted behind her glass of apple juice. Lewis offered his in-law a look as they both laughed quietly. Whatever Charles told Lottie and Leland, it rubbed off on them. Lewis couldn’t fault Charles for that, especially when he’s had his years of being fucked over by the strategies in place during the previous seasons.
But Stevie’s disbelief was all over her face as she gasped, staring at her daughter with wide eyes. She glanced at Lewis and Sylvie before she shook her head and softly kissed Lottie’s hair. “The F in Ferrari means fun, my love. That’s what it means.”
“What about this?”
“Lot, princess,” Lewis looked over his shoulder as he watched his daughter stand there in a set of tracksuits. “It’s hot. Why don’t you pick something comfortable?”
“But this is pink, Daddy,” Lottie reasoned out. “I want pink.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ve got more pink in your closet,” Lewis stated as he followed her into the princess-themed bedroom, glancing over at the closet before he caught a glimpse of a hot pink and reached for it. It was a see-through hot pink dress. Underneath the sheer fabric was a white playsuit that went with the dress. “See? This is much more comfortable than the trousers you’re wearing now.”
“But these trousers are for playing. White is messy, Mummy said.”
“Yeah, but Mummy and Daddy can wash it for next time,” Lewis almost sighed. His daughter was an overthinker, much like when he first began dating Stevie.
For goodness sake, Lottie was five and already thinking too much.
“It can be washed off, don’t you worry about it,” Lewis told his daughter gently, “besides, you will look really pretty in those. Mummy got them for you, remember?”
“Hm…” Lottie hummed before she took the hanger from her father’s hand and nodded. “‘Kay. Thank you, Daddy.”
“Mhm,” Lewis smiled softly as he watched her run off to change her clothes. His smile never left just as he wandered off to find his son, who sat on his bedroom floor with a Christopher Robin pop-up book. “Leland.”
The boy looked up, and his eyes brightened at the sight of his father. Lewis examined the outfit he had put together for the boy: a Prada shirt that was just as colourful as any of the outfits he wore back when he was still a driver fulfilling his media duties. Leland’s little denim bucket hat covered the wild curls waiting to be trimmed and washed at Pascale’s salon.
Despite his colourful outfit and beautiful features, Leland looked a bit… blue. His eyes dimmed a little seconds after catching sight of his dad. Lewis wondered, “How are you feeling, little man?”
“Mummy not here,” Leland told his dad almost gloomily, “Mummy sad?”
“What? She is not sad,” Lewis took his phone from his pocket before opening a photo Stevie sent of herself with her sisters on the road. Her smile was radiating from the screen, and it shone bright. He crouched down to show his son, “See? She’s happy. Maybe you are sad?”
“Leland not sad,” Leland shook his head with a frown. “Leland sad because Mummy is.”
“So, how do you feel now that you know Mummy isn’t sad?” Lewis asked. As a child, he was always told to tell his parents how he felt — that his feelings shouldn’t be bottled up but explored. A child who was told to keep to himself is a child who never learned to be curious about his surroundings, making him either isolated or unthoughtful.
Stevie wasn’t raised to be selfish, either. Lewis knew she put her younger sisters before herself, asking them how they felt or if anything could make them feel better. Just as Lottie began to explore the world, Lewis learned to encourage his children to be the little adventurers that they were — to explore their surroundings and emotions.
Much like his sister, Leland was en route to becoming an emotionally intelligent toddler, thanks to his parents. Lewis always asked Leland how he felt, especially when the child was silent. “Lels? How are you feeling, buddy?”
“Happy, Daddy,” Leland finally answered, leaving the older man to grin as Lewis reached out to wrap his arm around his son. “Happy because Mummy’s happy!”
“That is good,” Lewis nodded encouragingly. “Sissy is also happy, she said. Since you and Sissy are happy, do you know what that makes Daddy?”
“Wha’?”
“Happy!” Lewis grinned. He also learned how to share his feelings rather than bottling it up. If he was to teach his kids how to explore their emotions, then he should do it, too.
The first hour outside consisted of taking a trip to Max and Sylvie’s temporary flat in Monaco, where the cats were currently roaming around as the couple spent their time back and forth between Monaco and the UK. As requested, Lewis (and his kids) fed Sassy and Jimmy and spent half their time playing with the cats. He was never a cat person, but he’d do many things just to care for his in-laws’ pets.
Now, Lewis stood by the counter as the retired driver watched Lottie getting her braids done by a friendly hairstylist, pink extensions laced through her hair. Next to the counter was where Leland sat, his hair being cared for by Pascale Leclerc.
“It’s a good thing you came here, Lewis,” Pascale grinned as she continued to work on Leland’s hair. “Too bad you haven’t seen Charles and the kids. They were here an hour ago to say hi.”
“We’ll see them later,” Lewis chuckled. “I’ve heard he brought his friends along.”
“Three kids in one trip isn’t exactly a good idea if it was just him so he roped Estie and Pierre into watching the boys,” Pascale replied with a giggle. “His boys are just like him and his brothers back then. So active.”
“I suppose that’s what happens when you raise your kids in a principality full of people,” Lewis joked, “they’re most likely to be more loud than serene.”
“Mamé,” Leland interrupted the adult conversation, making the two peer down at the toddler as Pascale pulled away. Leland then turned and asked, “Where is PJ?”
Lewis laughed at the excitement in his son’s voice. Pascale chuckled and said, “You will see your cousin, my darling! Let Mamé care for your hair first, hm?”
“Yes, don’t worry about PJ right now, silly goose,” Lewis pinched his son’s cheek lightly, leaving Leland to grin at him. “You will see him later.”
“How are you liking Lottie’s hair though?” As Lewis looked at his daughter, Pascale gestured towards the girl, who giggled at her hairdresser as the older woman spoke about princesses. “The pink extensions just came in last week— I knew Lot’s gonna love it.”
“She saw the pastel rainbow too,” Lewis grinned, “she would’ve chosen it but said she’d go match her hair with her clothes.”
“I think your little boy will get his hair braided too,” Pascale told him quietly with a grin, “he said something about the silver one— it reminds him of Mercedes.”
Lewis chuckled at this. Leland was his mini, indeed.
Leland wasn’t even listening to them, too busy with the McLaren Tooned episode playing on Lewis’ phone. The older Hamilton merely shook his head at his son’s thoughts. “His Uncle Toto will love that.”
“Well, let’s just hope there’s enough hair to braid after his haircut,” Pascale sighed as she continued to tend to the wild state of Leland’s hair. “This boy is very indecisive about getting the right length.”
It wasn’t rare for tourists of Monaco to come across a celebrity and have their photos taken with them. It wasn’t different from Lewis — he’s a Formula One retired driver.
He’s had things signed and photos taken while he lived in the principality, and there were times when he hadn’t needed any security. He was safe here, and no fans were insane enough to even try and act erratically towards him. But he often hesitated when it came to his children.
Stevie and Lewis were both A-listers and continued to be so as years passed. Stevie was a supermodel — making her well-known in the fashion industry and even show business overall. Lewis became well known for his dedication to his racing career, and his fan base expanded as much as his wife’s did as she walked down the runways. If there was anything he knew about their marriage, it was that paparazzi wouldn’t leave them alone, especially after their children were born.
It was what they hated about living in the United Kingdom. They abhorred everything that most British media outlets had written about them because they were biased— mostly leaning more toward the editorial side instead of delivering the news. Lewis could remember how Stevie was practically harassed by the paparazzi when they had that nasty fight in public all those years ago. He learned to stand his ground in that situation— telling them to fuck off in the process.
And then there’s that situation when Stevie was pregnant with Lottie. She almost got knocked out by a reporter who wanted to get a good story, only for Lewis to scream at the man and practically threaten to end his season early if that kind of harassment continued in the paddock. Since then, FIA had a strict policy on journalists outside the F1 media, keeping a safe distance from the guests and staff.
These situations scared Lewis Hamilton. The fact that his children were out in the world, trying to explore it while cameras were on them all the freaking time? It wasn’t something that he ever enjoyed living with. So he tried to keep them at a safe distance from the cameras and the public, allowing them to explore their curiosities without being exposed to the nastiest side of the media.
But the tourists of Monaco understood his worries and how they kept their distance from the kids and Lewis while they politely asked for photos with him, nearly had him giving out his whole wallet as a gift of appreciation. His kids didn’t feel scared around these strangers but asked if they could be in the photos.
“Can I be in the photo, Daddy?” Lottie asked as she smiled up at him and the pair of fans that stood with admiration. The fans thought that Lottie and Leland were the cutest, and they wouldn’t say no.
Lewis was alright with it, too. “Yes, of course, princess. Come here,” he pulled her next to him.
“Daddy, me too!” Leland exclaimed before coming up to hug Lewis on the leg. The three smiled widely with the pair of fans, getting their photos taken before Lewis looked back at his fans.
“Thank you sooo much!” The one on the left’s eyes brightened as she gushed, “You are so amazing. And you have kind kids!”
“Oh! Thank you!” Lewis replied, equally as happy before he wrapped his arms around both his kids. “They are very polite. Their Mummy and Daddy taught them to be nice to others. I’m glad they are practicing it.”
“How old are they?” The other asked.
Lewis looked down at his daughter, “Lottie, how old are you?”
“FIVE!” Lottie stuck out her hand, showing five of her fingers.
“TWO!” Leland answered after, making Lewis smile.
“Do you want to see something?” The fans nodded before he beamed in pride and asked Lottie, “Lotlot, if you add five and two, what number would you have?”
Lottie paused for a second before murmuring quietly to herself, the adults watching her as she counted on her fingers. “Four…five…six…” then she looked up at them and answered, “Seven, Daddy.”
“…and they’re smart, too— ugh!” The fans squealed. “I wasn’t even interested in maths at her age.”
Lewis continued to smile, offering his fans a big grin. It wasn’t every day he got to meet fans who weren’t so invasive when it came to his privacy— or those who were too overbearing and would scare his kids away. If only everyone were like them, then maybe Lewis would’ve been more open to sharing his life with the public without any hesitation.
Lewis eyed the cotton candy bag on the indoor cafe table, wondering if it was left open on purpose as he glanced at his in-laws. Charles Leclerc sat there and shrugged, indicating that it wasn’t his kids. Then, the British man looked at his other in-law, who was once his team principal when he still raced.
Toto Wolff sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically, grabbing the plastic bag as he tucked it into his daughter’s opened backpack and muttered, “Your niece has a bad habit of leaving things out for the littles to get sugar rush on. I keep telling her to put her stuff away so it doesn't get stolen and it's clearly not working.”
“We know, Toto,” Lewis chuckled with a shake of his head before looking at Charles, “it was a good thing the little ones found the playground first before the sweets.”
Pierre Gasly and Esteban Ocon were also in the cafe and made their presence known to Lewis as they returned with a tray, and five mugs of ice cream were waiting to be held. The sight of the desserts left Toto, Lewis and Charles groaning.
“Gasly, I hope that isn’t for any of the kids,” Toto started, already too annoyed at the thought of feeding his youngest this amount of ice cream. Seeing the energy of the Leclerc kids already took out Toto’s energy, so for his youngest to get sugar high wasn’t on the books.
“Non,” Pierre replied with a smirk before grabbing a spoon and taking the cloud mug off the tray. He scooped up some of his chocolate ice cream before indulging in it. He then said, “It’s hot outside. We shouldn’t leave the ice creams to the kids and have some for ourselves.”
“I like your thinking,” Lewis and Toto nodded before they both reached for the cold dessert.
Their conversation shifted from the desserts to the fathers’ vacation with the kids. Pierre and Esteban merely listened as they had nothing to offer regarding a conversation about kids. Neither of them had any.
Toto nearly went on a tangent about his daughter’s stubbornness and his son’s overwhelming practice days. According to him, Tia kept forgetting that karting was what she needed to take a break from. The girl barely gave herself some time off and often insisted on getting driven straight to the karting track in Brackley for practice by the family chauffeur. She was nine and already insisting on being extremely perfect at the league.
Not only that, but Toto’s eldest, Soren, was barely given a break from his school’s association football practice; his coach was a douche, and if the men didn’t know any better as they were listening to Toto, they would have immediately said that the coach was trying to make the school team into a Premier League-level team. It was a private school, not a football academy. If Toto and Tilly hadn’t pulled Soren out of his practice (during his summer break), he wouldn’t have made it to Monaco with his siblings. Toto also expressed how close he was to a fistfight with Soren’s football coach.
Then Lewis continued to sit there as Charles told them about his day with his sons so far. The kids baked cookies earlier today with their Uncle Estie and watched The Princess and The Frog after Hervé, Charles’ son, cried at the thought of his mom not being home. He then stated how worried he was about tucking the kids in tonight because he never did it alone. His wife was always with him to do it. Lewis and Toto only said that he would do perfectly fine as long as he did what he normally does on their bedtime - telling them stories, tucking them in and everything else.
Charles’ worry eventually withered away, leaving Lewis to tell the men on the table how his day had been going. They all kept their eyes on their children as they wreaked havoc at the playground, with Toto’s two eldest at the arcade area.
“...I’ve met some fans today,” Lewis continued on, “They were so polite, and the kids were surprisingly not scared of them.”
“They must’ve kept themselves at a distance then,” Esteban replied, “which is very good.”
“The kids are sociable, they are,” Lewis told the men, “they just tend to be scared of other people because they get hounded real fast whenever they see me or Stevie. It’s not just us, right?”
Charles nodded, “PJ doesn’t like the journalists. Some assholes still shove their cameras on the kids’ faces, and it takes me a good while to not break them. Remember Silverstone last year? PJ cried hard because of the flashes and the screaming of the paparazzi.”
Lewis’s heart broke at the statement, “Poor lad.”
“That’s why I think Monaco’s safer at times,” Toto murmured, “nobody’s bothering the kids whenever they’re out.”
“I’ve always considered getting a security for them,” Lewis shrugged.
“Why don’t you? It’s good if you did,” Pierre piped up, sipping on his water.
Lewis then answered, “Our home in Warwick’s pretty secluded and Lottie’s preschool is very accommodating. I like the thought of getting security, but at the same time, I don’t believe that we need that just yet. We’d need it for public events but for daily? No, I don’t think we need it.”
“Speaking of preschool,” Charles interjected before he asked Lewis, “Herb and Jules are telling me about this book that they saw from Lottie. It’s phonics, I think? J- Jol–”
“Oh! Jolly Phonics,” Lewis suggested, leaving the Monegasque to nod eagerly. “Yes, Lottie got a lot of those books. It was what they have in their preschool.”
“Yeah, the boys said they love it,” Charles pursed his lips, “will you send me the link to it? I’ve been wondering what the titles are, but I've had no luck. Aimee was struggling to figure it out, too.”
“Definitely, I’ll send the Amazon link to you,” Lewis nodded as Charles murmured ‘thanks.’
“You know what, Charles,” Toto piped up, making the men turn to him, “I’ll also send you some links to the Italian and French phonics that we got the kids. I find it quite helpful when they learn it at home, too. Have you ever thought of flashcards?”
“Oui,” Charles nodded, “but I would have to make them myself, non? I can’t buy it.”
“I am sure there are some resources you can get them from,” Toto replied, “but Tilly always made them by hand. She printed them and laminated them. The kids really liked them because they were the ones putting the answers in.”
“What about you, Lewis?” Charles asked, “Do you have the same?”
Lewis grimaced, “We do our phonics on the iPad.”
“Maybe that’s what I should do, though,” the retired driver continued as he hummed, “it’ll definitely be a hands-on experience for Lottie and Leland. Do you reckon your wife still has the links to the printables, Toto?”
DADDIES, DEBRIEFED! Formula One drivers and team principal discuss teaching strategies at home as Toto Wolff shows a photo of preschool books in his phone.
“Indoor playgrounds, pastel mugs and… serious discussion of at-home learning? Now, this is a story I can get behind!”
CHARLES LECLERC, PIERRE GASLY, ESTEBAN OCON AND LEWIS HAMILTON listen in as Toto speaks seriously in this photo!
“What could they be talking about, you ask? Simple: learn phonics and preschool lessons at home and make it as fun as playtime!”
NAME ONE THING HOTTER THAN THE MONACO SUN. We’ll hint: Formula One drivers being the hottest dads as they take their kids for a day out in the principality.
“When is it Max Verstappen’s turn? No, the cats and the dog do not count.”
“Daddy?” Lewis Hamilton had a thick skin. Nothing could break him, really. But his confidence towards the possibility of being vulnerable to anything weakened as he became a father to two of the most precious humans in the world. He had a weak spot, but he was okay with it.
He was never prepared for anything, though. When he turned around to face his daughter, already tucked in her bed after a bedtime story, his smile softened as Lottie asked him, “Are you happy?”
“Of course, I am, my girl,” Lewis nearly cried on the spot as he continued, “why did you ask? Are you happy?”
“I am,” Lewis could tell that Lottie was already falling asleep, but it never stopped her from grinning as she said, “But Mummy said that we ask others if they are happy too.”
“Yes, because we don’t know if they are happy or not,” Lewis walked back to her direction before crouching down, “And other people would not know if you don’t answer them. Mummy’s right, princess, and you are such a smart girl for remembering.”
Lewis tucked the strand of curl behind her ear and kissed her forehead, “Now, sleep tight, my love. You can continue being happy in your dreams, hm?”
“Good night,” Lottie murmured before she drifted off to sleep, “Love you, Daddy.”
Lewis peered down at her and smiled softly, whispering in the air, “And I love you.”
If someone asked Lewis how he was feeling, he’d say that he was happy that the Hamilton daycare in Monaco was a success.
fin.
#formula one imagine#formula one fic#formula one x oc#formula one fanfiction#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#formula one dad#formula one au#formula one fluff#f1 fluff#lewis hamilton fanfic#lewis hamilton imagine#lewis hamilton fanfiction#lewis hamilton fic#lewis hamilton fluff#lh44 imagine#lewis hamilton au#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton x ofc#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 fluff#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 fic#mercedes amg imagine#mercedes imagine
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Writeblr Intro
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Hello, all!
My name is Kendra, and this is my writeblr introduction. It's a bit simple stylistically, but that's how I am. Now, onto the intro!
I'm currently twenty-six (will be twenty-seven in approximately five months), use she/her pronouns, and am an asexual, demiromantic, biromantic cisgender woman (may as well cover all the bases, right?). I was born and raised in Northern California, spent my undergraduate years in Oregon, and then returned to NorCal, where I still reside.
I have an MA in History, a BA in Religious Studies, and a double minor in History and Psychology.
I've been on this website for over a decade (via my main blog), and have been writing in general for almost fifteen years. I started out with original works, then discovered fanfiction, and worked solely on that for over a decade, before slowly venturing back into original works again. Nowadays, I write both concurrently, though I admittedly do still find fanfiction easier, and my original works often take a backseat to my fics. Yet, somehow, I've ended up with a (current) total of six WIPs — all of which I will introduce you to today.
It's been a long time since I've shared my original works with such a large audience, so I have some natural apprehension, but ultimately I'm looking forward to doing it again.
Now, without further ado, I present my WIPs!
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The Road To Eternity Is Paved With Blood (drafting)
Dracula's Daughter (outlining) (prequel/sequel to Road To Eternity)
The Wrath Of The Vampire Queen (outlining + drafting)
For The Love Of A Goddess (outlining)
The Other Side Of Paradise (outlining)
Red Thread Of Fate: Love In The Modern World (outlining + drafting)
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The Road To Eternity Is Paved With Blood is a Dracula retelling of sorts that was inspired largely by Hellsing, with other snippets of inspiration taken from Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992) and Dracula Untold (2014). The story begins in the 1880s, and extends at the very least to the early 1900s. It follows the life and times of Rose Rowan, a beautiful noblewoman, and her relationship with her husband, Vlad Draculea (former Voivode of Wallachia, and member of the House of Drăculești), as they navigate eternity and a life of vampirism together. Her twin brother, Judas, is also featured prominently — as are his experiences with vampirism, which contrasts some with his sister's. Of course, as with every good Gothic novel, there is darkness to be found within this tale. Abraham Van Helsing and his ilk have made it their mission to bring about the end of Vlad Draculea, and anyone connected to him. The challenge in this quest, however, lies in said connections that Vlad has — namely Rose, who will stop at nothing to protect him from the infamous vampire hunter. She will have her fairytale ending, even if it has to be achieved through darker means. For while the road to hell may be paved with good intentions, the road to eternity is paved with blood.
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Dracula's Daughter is a sequel/prequel to the above story, and focuses on Beáta, the daughter of Vlad from one of his late wives. She is also a vampire, and has been living for centuries, though largely on her own. She has lived many lives, and is a worldly young woman, though at the beginning of our story she has come home to Wallachia to see her father again after his most recent remarriage, and to meet his new wife. While she ultimately becomes fond of her new step-mother, she also has to contend with the sinister plotting of some of her father's immortal brides — namely The Queen — who would like nothing more than to rid Vlad of his new wife. Thinking herself as perhaps the only one who can bring peace and stability to the family, Beáta wrestles with who she should side with, or if she should side with anyone at all. There is more to her new step-mother than meets the eye, however, and Beáta soon finds that perhaps she is not as alone in this fight as she thought. In fact, for the first time in centuries, she has someone on her side who will fight with sharp claws and bloodied teeth to make sure such a conflict will never come to pass again.
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The Wrath Of The Vampire Queen is a story somewhat inspired by Dracula Untold (2014), as well as the life and times of Vlad the Impaler. The tale begins in the mid-1400s, where Vlad Draculea and his wife, Senka Slavkov (born Deirdre Delacroix) are navigating the wars and politics of his reign. It then extends well into several of the following centuries, where Senka is still searching for her husband centuries after his disappearance (which occurs some years after his historically recorded death). Her brother, Didier Delacroix (who adopted the name 'Renatus' upon arriving in Wallachia), a dhampir, accompanies her in her search, as they are the only family each has left, and his connections with the Church and various religious organizations consistently prove vital to their search. Senka believes she knows exactly who took her husband — Hungarian and Turkish enemies from his mortal life, now vampires themselves. Didier, however, is not so certain, as some things don't add up. Still, they both believe that Vlad is out there somewhere, and will continue their search until they find him — be it alive or truly dead. If it is the latter, then there will be no saving his former captors from the wrath of Senka Slavkov, the vicious and vindictive Vampire Queen.
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For The Love Of A Goddess is a story set in the present day, and follows two young women — Megara and Zarina — as they navigate their lives as best they can. These two women are the best of friends, and share in many things — including being chosen by two goddesses to be their mortal partners in this iteration of their immortal lives. Megara, a historian and religious studies scholar, caught the eye of Athena, who admired her intellect just as much as her beauty. Zarina, a librarian with a previous background in psychology, attracts the attention of Aphrodite, who finds her beauty to be dazzling, and the depth of her kindness and compassion to be a rare thing in such an egocentric world. While very happy with their respective partners, Megara and Zarina find that being with immortals comes with a variety of challenges — and not just the more obvious ones. Athena and Aphrodite are just two of an endless list of deities who are trying to survive in a growing atheist world, and if they lose this fight, they may very well disappear for good. Not wanting such a thing to occur, all four women come together to try and create a plan to prevent this disappearance from happening — though they face difficulties in the form of other various deities not wanting to band together to save each other from extinction. After all, immortals are just as egocentric as the mortals they so often think of themselves as better than, and much more difficult to persuade. Thus, the four women must not only enact a plan to prevent the extinction of various deities, but also contend with the fact that they may be the only ones in this fight. With time very much not on their side, this group of mortals and immortals must figure out a way to ensure that they do not lose this existential battle, and keep the existence of so many deities alive.
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The Other Side Of Paradise is a retelling of Genesis in some ways, with the focus being on Lilith and Eve, rather than Adam and Eve. It begins in the Garden of Eden, with Eve pondering the idea of a world outside of the garden, and curiosity about her husband's alleged first wife, who had fled Eden long before Eve's creation. Eventually, Eve dared to venture to the edge of the garden, and it was there she saw Lilith. The two spoke over the wall, and met every day thereafter, eventually becoming friends. Lilith tried to get Eve to leave both Eden and Adam, but Eve was just the slightest bit apprehensive. Eventually, after tasting the forbidden fruit from the tree, Eve was expelled from the garden, and Lilith was there to greet her upon her exit. Eve, who was excited by the prospect of seeing the world, happily took Lilith's offered arm, and went off with her. The two spent many eons together, though not always in the same physical forms, as souls eventually begin to outlast bodies. In the present day, their souls have come to reside in the bodies of two young women who have never met, but are destined to find each other — as that is what souls do.
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Red Thread Of Fate: Love In The Modern World is a story about two young women, Shu Nazhi and Zhou Xue Li, who live in similar yet vastly different worlds. Shu Nazhi is a businesswoman who runs her family's company with the help of her older brother, Hou Zhu Zhi, and younger sister, Shu Nuan. Zhou Xue Li is a model, actress, and singer, who is down on her luck when it comes to love. The two are introduced by a mutual friend (Nazhi's foster sister of sorts, and Xue Li's close friend) under the guise of Nazhi being Xue Li's new bodyguard, and become close over the course of Nazhi's assignment. After Nazhi finds herself falling for Xue Li, she turns in her letter of resignation, and then promptly asks Xue Li out upon the latter's acceptance of said letter. Xue Li, already secretly head-over-heels in love, happily accepts, and the two spend the day doing various activities throughout the city. The relationship, blissful as it is, also comes with the complications of things like paparazzi, work commitments, as well as their differing personalities and lifestyles. As the two women navigate these challenges, they begin to wonder about what it would have been like to love each other in a different time, and if they ever did — for they know that the red thread of fate works in mysterious ways, and that some souls are always destined to find each other.
(Disclaimer: Zhou Xue Li was created by/belongs to @bwaldorf, who was kind enough to allow me to use her in my story)
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Tagging @bwaldorf, @veneritia, @helioselene, @moariin, @thewinterwitcher, @socialmediasocrates, @lasbrumas
(Please ask to be added or removed from the taglist)
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day one - prize
Rating: G
Characters: Joey, Henry, Sammy
Warnings: Joey being possessive
Description: Nobody ever told Joey that you have to work to keep the reward for doing well in life.
Also on AO3!
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By five years old, Joey knew better than to ask questions of his parents.
Answers were often in short supply, given through clenched teeth or snapped words when given at all. On rare occasion, especially when it was his father in question, they would be handed through words dripping with so much poisoned honey that even Joey was aware something was wrong with it. He learned that this tended to happen in front of other people and avoided needing clarification when his father had company as much as possible.
It made him feel stupid and his stomach churned and overall it was better to be left confused.
But sometimes curiosity won out, a child's innocence and burning desire to know winning out over fear, over the anxiety of guessing games.
One such time he had just turned six. His mother had locked herself in one of their many guest rooms after his birthday party for reasons he didn't know and would definitely not be asking about, and his father came back shortly with a giant bouquet that nearly obscured his entire head.
Dots were not connecting.
So Joey asked.
In a rare moment of mercy, his father considered the question and then spoke with a tone approaching... something that made Joey's stomach squeeze itself less, at least.
"Sometimes," he said slowly, "we have to do things we don't like to keep what we have."
The answer just confused Joey more, but he sensed that he'd used up his monthly Patience Debit and didn't dare ask anything else.
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"Why are you so fixated on her?"
Henry put down his book, frowning over at him. "She's... my girlfriend?"
Joey pouted as he leaned back into the cushions. "You should find someone better to fixate on."
"I like her, Joey," was the soft reply. Anxiety stirred behind Henry's features.
"But she's awful!"
"I mean... you do pick fights with her every time you see her..."
"She started it!"
"Joey..." The sigh carried a lifetime of exasperation, a fact that annoyed Joey immensely.
Why couldn't Henry see that every minute spent with her was a minute less with the people who mattered!
And soon it would be more and more minutes until-
No, no. They're just teenagers. We're all still just kids. This'll end.
Eventually.
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He's making- he's making goo-goo eyes at her.
The realization was a flood of icy water. He stared at Sammy's lovesick green eyes riveted on Susie leaving the room after she'd waved goodbye and turned her back, and it felt like he was drowning, icy hands dragging him down.
He's. He's in love.
If he hadn't just witnessed it he'd consider the idea absurd.
But he had. There was Sammy's stupid puppy face, plain as day. Unless this was literally the first time, how she hadn't seen it was nothing short of the eighth wonder of the world.
She's a nice girl, though. She's so much nicer than Linda. Sweet, bubbly- Susie was energetic and friendly. And also no pushover, either, but she turned her storms on those who deserved it rather than snapping at everyone nearby like an angry dog.
Could maybe be mistaken for an airhead, but was definitely not. She was clever and found solutions to problems, she read people and responded well, and as far as Joey knew, she'd never used that cleverness for evil, either.
But she's still wrong for Sammy. I can feel it. She's not a bad person they just- they won't work, and then it'll be heartbreak city for everyone.
No, he had to stop that from happening. He hadn't taken Henry and Linda seriously enough and then she took him and he couldn't lose Sammy too-!
What do you MEAN, she took him? You see him every day!
But not often enough anymore. Not alone, anyway- he stayed often enough after work to play with the lot of them together- pool, or some other game. But never... never the two of them anymore. Not- not nearly as much as they'd used to.
He hadn't even come home in months!
No he had to win this time he had to.
I'm going to.
#bendy and the ink machine#the ink demonth#batim henry#batim joey#batim joey drew#batim sammy#batim sammy lawrence#strike up the band au#my writing
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Goodness, MISS WINIFRED DOWLING has arrived in London. SHE is 22, of the CORNWALL DOWLINGS. Though they are NEW to the Season, we can only describe them as SPIRITED and KIND, dear reader. Accompanied by HER SISTER AND BROTHER-IN-LAW, they have settled in and are accepting social calls. But be warned: they are known for their SHARP TONGUE.
Full Name: Winifred Dowling
Nicknames: Fred, Freddie, Winnie, Dove
Skeleton: The Tenderheart
Titles: Miss Winifred Dowling
Cast Position: Royalty | Nobility | Gentry
Birthdate: August 7th,1778
Birthplace: Cadgwith, Cornwall
If one would refer to her in a letter, they’d surely use the words ‘spirited young woman’ to describe Winifred. She’s truly got a mind of her own, doesn’t feel the need to mince words, makes sure her opinions are heard loud and clearly. However, she’s quite aware when to speak up and when to keep her mouth shut, for her rambling has often gotten her into trouble.
Winifred doesn’t care much for music and needlework - partly because she’s horrendous at both - but she loves to read, would very happily swear off the very thought of marriage if it meant she could attend university. Still, she’s astonishingly well educated, mostly self-taught, though only in the matters that interest her. In any case, she’s never a boring fellow to talk to.
Growing up in the Cornish countryside, right by the sea, Winifred loves the outdoors and spends a great deal of time at Cadgwith Grove. Staring at the sea, the ships coming in and out, docking at the port where her father’s fishing business is located. She’s grown to love the loud noise of the waves crashing on the shore, drowning out the chatter and ever-present noise of a six person household. It gives her space to think, be alone. Though she enjoys nature of every kind, she’s aware that promenading is surely entirely different from a long, refreshing walk on the beach.
Winifred is quite social, well, you’re bound to be somewhat of an extrovert as the youngest of four siblings, if you do not wish to drown in their shadows. And ever since all her sisters have moved out of the family home, she’s got plenty to talk about - all conversations meant for four. So be wary of her rambling!
She’s compensating for the new-found feeling of utter loneliness that has engulfed her, now that the sister closest to her in age has left the nest, too. It’s rare to catch her in a vulnerable state - but if you do, you can consider yourself lucky that she’s permitted you to see that part of her.
Dearest Elsie,
I have told you time and time again how over-joyed I am at your happy match - but now that you have moved out, now that I find myself all alone, I wonder, dearest, did you have to get married quite this soon? Could you not have delayed it by, say, some months, a year? A long engagement surely would have been just as joyful.
I do not mean to spoil your happiness, my dear sister. I woke up this morning feeling so utterly alone, oh, it is a ghastly feeling. I awaken to silence. The house is empty now, save for mama - I do not wake early enough to catch papa before he goes to work - and even our mother has fallen so oddly silent. I’m the only one left now. I knew this day would come, of course, but I still remember it as if it was yesterday when all of us played and danced and laughed in the garden. Then, one by one, you all left me - Frederica first, Camilla second, then Penelope and now you, dear Elsie, and I cannot find it within me today to feel happy for any of you for I feel so, so terribly sad.
I know it is not as if I am a burden to our parents, we have nobility in our family now, I could very well become a spinster if I so felt like it and we could still live comfortably. But I feel so terribly out of place in our home - I suppose it is your childhood home, now - and I feel I’d better leave sooner than later. I daresay it already feels like mama is getting more posessive and protective of me by the day, if I do not leave soon she might as well never permit me to leave. She has told papa she would rather have me wait another season before my debut but he insisted it be the following one. If you had married later I could’ve very well been introduced this season that is now coming to an end! You’ve made it your mission to make my life miserable, haven’t you?
In any case, papa seems....eager for me to leave but I think he simply wants to see me taken care of. I think he has picked up on how hard all your departures were on me - and I presume he knows that mama is not the best replacement for a companion, too. Especially when I’ve had three for all my life until now. I’m afraid mama will be quite controlling of me when I leave for the season, I do hope she might change her mind and stay behind, leave me with Frederica - the other day I’ve overheard her talking to her maid about how she plans to drag me to the modiste every other day, so that I have a chance to be ‘the diamond of the season’. Can you believe? I want to be in London to go to balls and attend parties, not to get my measurements taken!
You must come visit, soon! I know you plan to go on quite a lengthy honeymoon - Frederica has told me she’s sponsored your trip to the continent, lucky you! - but surely you must agree that three months abroad are an unreasonable amount of time, especially when all you do is daddle and kiss and stare into one another’s eyes or whatever it is you do on a honeymoon.
I’ve spent much time at Cadgwith Grove the past few days. Even our secret spot feels empty, now. It was made for four. I stare at the ships coming in and out every day and I think of you on your ship to the continent, about to embark on the first chapter of your undoubtedly terribly interesting life and soon you’ll have forgotten all about me. It’s all so terribly tragic.
Camilla has invited me to spend some of the off-season with her at Wolesley House in Torpoint, I think she, too, fears that I’ll either go insane or be locked up in a cabinet somewhere if I spend too much time with mama. Truthfully, I doubt we’ll host any event this off-season with the state that she’s in, so I think I’ll consider her offer. Really, I ought to take her offer or she’ll be terribly mad at me, I’ve already promised Frederica to stay at her London home the next season. Too many sisters!
I’m rambling, I know. I’m telling you all these minute details, none of this is of any interest for you, I am sure. But I have noone else to tell them to. I sometimes wonder if it is wrong to seek out a match purely to have some constant company again? I cannot stand hearing myself think. I loved being alone when you were all still here, I’d go out to the Grove, take a walk along the sea, return home to the loud, bustling noise of our home.
It is deafeningly silent now.
Still, my dearest Elsie, I wish you all the best. I think of you constantly and am truly so happy for you. Do have babies quickly, so I will have some company again.
Yours truly,
Fred.
Dark Past
In the midst of the whirlwind of Elsie’s engagement and the arduous wedding planning, nobody noticed the prolonged stares, the heated glances exchanged between Winifred and a young man she’d met and danced with - twice! - at one of Frederica’s balls. He’d introduced himself as a wealthy factory owner, a friend of Frederica’s husband apparently, and he stayed close after the ball, for ‘a bit of fresh air in the countryside’. And to court Winifred, of course, in secret. Away from prying eyes, theirs was a passionate and short-lived romance, for, on the eve before Elsie’s wedding, when they had all gathered at Frederica’s country home, they were discovered by Camilla - and Winifred scolded her greatly for interrupting for what had seemed to be a proposal! But Camilla had recognized the young man instantly, had forbidden either of them to ever speak to one another again, for he was no mere factory owner but a member of the Belgian royal family, a friend of Frederica’s husband indeed, they had attended boarding school together. To top it off, Camilla had informed Winifred that he was, in fact, betrothed to another, a Dutch princess, they had been promised to one another since birth. Winifred, utterly heartbroken, had cut all contact with him, hasn’t seen him since - though she’s also not aware of the dozens of letters he’d written her, all burned by Camilla upon arrival.
Relationships
1. Though four seperate people entirely, growing up the Dowling sisters have considered themselves one entity. Despite none of them being related by blood, all adopted by Mrs. and Mr. Dowling who couldn’t have children of their own, they are exceptionally close, were very rarely spotted without one another during their childhood. Even so that they insisted on sharing adjoining rooms well into their teenage years. They’ve stayed in contact, of couse, a sisterly bond could never be broken - but all save for Winifred have now embarked on their own journeys, ther own new adventures.
2. The worst person Winifred has ever had the displeasure to get to know is one that, unfortunately, is related to her. Her mother’s sister’s boy, an unruly young boy, perhaps the most dreadful conversationalist in the land. He truly vexes her just by existing, he cares for scarce more than himself, his fortune, his land and his title. Oh, the impertinence that men like him are granted a title, a unversity education! It makes her angry just thinking about it. She tries to avoid him at any cost.
3.Winifred carries a fondness for the written word, so it is no surprise that she’s found a kindred spirit in the poet and novelist that resides in Cadgwith, just a stone’s throw away from her home. Though her mother turns up her nose at this, Winifred makes sure to pay them a visit every other day, where they’ll discuss their latest poem, a novel or some radical idea Winifred has read about in a poem.
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Where Will The Baby Go?
For something that weighs around three kilos and measures in the region of 50cm, newborn babies sure do take up a lot of space. A little shy of three weeks ago, we brought our second baby back home—the same home we had brought back our first, just over four years ago. Many things have changed since then, not least the number of grey hairs on my head, but the one thing that has remained resolutely unchanged is the footprint of our apartment.
The fact of this sat with me all through 2022 and 2023, as my husband and I journeyed down the path of growing our family and all the complexities (read: hope, loss, love) that kind of process often entails. But where will the baby go? I'd silently fret to myself before I was even sure I’d have a baby at all to hold in my arms again. Objectively speaking we live in a small apartment, with enough bedrooms for two-thirds of the current occupants, excusing our enormous house cat who cares not for doors or boundaries and considers any available surface her territory for a hard-earned nap. To be honest, I’d welcome that kind of laissez-faire approach to our sleeping arrangements, flopping from sofa to bed to rug, but social conditioning and my extremely Type A personality requires routines and structure. No, the baby would need a bed, just like the rest of us, and we would need to work out where that bed was going to go.
It’s a profoundly modern and Western phenomenon, this suggestion that each individual requires their own bedroom or even their own bed. In the majority of countries around the world, co-sleeping and room sharing between parents and children is the standard practice of care, to the extent that it would be considered completely unreasonable to expect a child (let alone a baby) to sleep alone. In Japan, where co-sleeping ranks the highest in the world, sleep is described as a river, with the parents occupying the banks and the child as the flowing water held safely between. We co-slept with our daughter for the first six months of her life, although it wasn’t in the formation of a river but more like a motorbike (our bed) with a sidecar (her crib). Given the grunts, hoots and whistles she regularly emitted as she dozed, this analogy feels more apt than the backdrop of a babbling brook. In any instance, she was never more than an arm’s reach away during those thick, dark nights when every insane sound she made was heightened in the silence of a slumbering home. After that, we moved her into The Baby’s Room which we had decorated and furnished with playful odds and sods that said more about our whimsy of being parents than they did of any perceived personality trait of our child. It’s a curious thing, to decorate a room that someone else will occupy, without knowing a single thing about their tastes or interests.
The Baby’s Room had also been our study until that point, and when the time came to move the desk into the front room to make way for a changing table and crib, I felt slightly undone. I was ready to acknowledge that parenthood would come with an exchange of gains and losses, but there was something so bluntly literal about the act of becoming a mother that it necessitated my giving up a private place to write. I guess it’s a variation of that oft-debated line from Cyril Connelly: “There is no more sombre enemy of good art than the pram in the hallway." The irony is that it was only once my daughter was born that I found the capacity within myself to put pen to paper in a more expansive way, and during my maternity leave I wrote the first draft of a book proposal. Perhaps it’s an even greater irony that four years later I am writing these words whilst my son is wailing in the room next door, as my husband tries to rock him to sleep. Perhaps, like nature, art will always find a way.
One of the consequences of giving up our study in place of The Baby’s Room, was the associated shame (entirely on my part) that came with living in a home that appeared too small for all our needs and wants. I come from a country that places a great deal of emphasis on the Family Home, variations of which most of my peers now live in and are currently extending, remodelling or digging out extensive basements underneath. Family Homes have a garden, enough bedrooms for everyone, a guest room, more than one bathroom, and the kinds of open plan kitchen-cum-dining rooms that are increasingly of a single aesthetic that populates all our Instagram feeds. Family Homes tend to come with their own social media accounts, so we can follow our friends’ #HomeReno updates and post fire emojis under pictures of construction sites. I have spent a good many years reflecting on what makes us feel good, mad and sad about home, and I can tell you that the insidious rise of interior design content which is beyond the skills and budget of the overwhelming majority is making a lot of us fucking miserable about our living situations.
After a while, the question of where will the baby go stopped masquerading as a concern about where, practically, the baby will sleep, and revealed itself for what it was: a shameful desire to meet some kind of social norm as a Family of Four. This revelation came to me in the winter of 2022, after a shockingly awful year pockmarked by loss. During this time we had tried, and failed, to sell our apartment and buy a house. For nine long months our home sat on the market, and most weekends we spent our free time cleaning and decluttering so the estate agent could bring one or two people over for a viewing that never materialised into anything other than a pass. That weekend, in early December, when we pulled our home off the market and accepted our fate, I wept. It was another grief, of sorts—the ambiguous loss of a life I had imagined in our new house; one with enough potential to become a Family Home.
These days, when I’m feeling a bit out of sorts at home and in need of a reset, I roam around the apartment and find things to fix or do—packing toys away in their rightful boxes, folding laundry, changing lightbulbs, that kind of thing. Invariably, I’ll end up standing in my daughter’s room gazing at all the things that make this space sing with her personality that we could never have anticipated when we picked out paint colours—the paintings bluetacked at a wonky angle on the wall, the rock and gravel collection, the basket of teddies, the plastic box stuffed with countless beaded bracelets she’s made for us all. I can’t even remember what it looked like when it was a study, and I don’t care any more. I didn’t lose anything when I moved my desk out, because it was never a trade to begin with. The day we turned that room into our daughter’s bedroom, we simply dialled up the joy in our lives. I couldn’t see it for a long time, but now I know that I’ve been living in a Family Home all along.
So where will the baby go now that we are four and our home is still, resolutely, the same size as before? He’ll go right here, of course—with us.
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TW: domestic abuse, child abuse, and paranoia
I don't think about that day as often anymore
You'd think something that caused me six months or more of paranoia
At least six months of double and triple checking the front door was locked
Would have been something that still impacts me
Or maybe it does
Maybe it's present in the way I avoid the hospital in my home town, the last place I heard he worked
Maybe it's in the way that I watch carefully if there is a car that looks like his
The way I jumped a couple months back when I swore a man that looked just like him was him for a good minute
The way my heart started racing when I smelled his cologne in the hallway of my school
The way I'm terrified he'll stalk me till he can find a moment I'm alone and confront me, kidnap me, hurt me
When I do think about that day I think about how I acted
It started off with banging and my mother screaming, both of us waking up terrified that there was a robber in the house or someone trying to kill her
Then I heard him yelling
He was shouting some nonsense about being stabbed in the back, how my mother wasn't allowed to treat him like that, how she fucked up-
All lies and manipulation
I have no idea what went through my mother's mind when he started yelling but I knew she was terrified
I had never been able to have a say in their arguments, never allowed to point out which side was right even when I tried to look at it from an unbiased perspective, even though he was almost always wrong
My best option had been to deescalate the situation, I try to tell myself that
But I still remember the weakness I felt
As I opened my door, trembling from head to toe, absolutely terrified at the rage I heard in his voice
I asked him to have this conversation another time when he had calmed down
To have this conversation another time
Another time
I don't know why I thought there would ever be any sanity in this conversation he was trying to have
Sorry I mean rage fest
But hearing my terrified voice made my mother let him in her room
I didn't understand much of what was said
Just so much yelling
I remember shaking so hard, just trying to breathe, not yet crying because I had to be there
If he had tried anything, If he hurt her
Of course I would have to call someone
Of course this tragedy would land in my lap for my responsibility
He didn't though
Once things had calmed down my mom tried to have a conversation with all of us
Made me have a conversation with this man I wanted nothing to do with
He spoke about tragedies that happened to him, as if those were the reasons he was lashing out, no fault of his if he had been touched by a priest as a child right? No fault of his if his dad was never there for him and he had to raise his brothers right?
My mother decided to share my struggles against my consent to this man that had just terrorized us in an attempt to show we were all struggling with stuff
I barely said a word, just nodding to get away from this
We had several conversations with him
Probably more than several
Each time he deflected the blame, never seeming to understand what he did wrong, but always trying to play nice as if he could just get by until he was no longer under fire
He kept tripping on things though, going back to angry
I don't know how many times I told my mom
I want him out of this fucking house
Until he heard me one day and had another tantrum
That was another thing, any time he heard me complaining about him to my mom he would yell and scream at both of us as if I was the problem for ever not liking something he did
But, my mom kicked him out that day
He kept saying he had no where to go so my mom found him several places
He wanted none of them
He went back to his mommies only because he threatened to kill himself if she didn't let him back
He had to keep coming back for his things
It was the last time that made me paranoid about locking the door
See every time he was at the house after the day he blew up I would be so anxious I didn't want to sleep, eat, or go to the bathroom
I was so scared he would try something again
This time he decided to come in the house without talking to my mom
She took the house key from him
Told him whatever he had left she would drop off on his mother's porch
Banned him from the house once and for all
Locking the door behind him
And that lock became my safety blanket
I kept thinking if I left it unlocked and one day he became angry again he would break in and try to kill us
So I locked a thousand times
Made sure it was locked everytime I heard a noise
Took my brain so long to calm down, to realize he wasn't actually going to do that
A month after my mom banned him sbe still messaged him, trying to get him to work on himself, so maybe he could come back, like it could all be fixed
My mom meant a therapist
He sunk deeper into the 'spirtuality' rehtoric he had been trying to recuit my mom into the night before he blew up, why she locked her door that night not wanting to talk after he tried to get her to join a cult
Why he felt he was back stabbed
None of this however is why I bring this up
Why I bring this up is because of a dream I had a month or so back and how I think about that day in my head now
The dream only had one vivid part, he was in our house for some reason, I remember realizing on some level I was dreaming and he said some bullshit
In my dream I jumped him and started bashing his head into the fucking floor
How I think about that day now is filled with anger
How I want to go back and take the baseball bat from the front hall and bash him over the head with it
How even though I'm starting to hate my mother she is my family
She is my mess to deal with
How even if I hate her guts she is part of me
How I am so possessive of it
How I want to kill anyone who hurts what I care about
Cause she is my mother god damn it
And fucking no one
No one
Is allowed to hurt what is mine
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02.26.23-03.05.23— Week 21 [TLV]
It was a quietish week. I had my mediation workshop most days, which made for long days away from A+H. I think Atlas mostly liked the alone time though I do worry about him. He did his school work during the morning, and ran errands and spent time with Hero in the afternoon and evening. It was much harder for Hero who would great me at the door “I haven’t seen you since 8 this morning! That’s 12 hours!!!!” Hero has always been the master of telling and keeping time so it’s hard to know if he missed me or just wanted me to know he knew exactly how much time had passed. They did an amazing job of taking care of each other.
On Saturday, Hero’s friend, Ayal, came to play after our afternoon at the schoolyard. Arielle [Emanuel’s mom] and I have been paying a soccer coach to play one-on-one with the two boys every Saturday. They have a great time getting the coach’s undivided attention and then playing for another two hours or so. Other kids are usually at the schoolyard to join them after their soccer lesson. And Arielle and I sit and chat the entire time. She is always so fun because she holds nothing back. She’s Austrian but has lived in Israeli for 20 years. She’s traveled all over the world having worked in the hospitality business. She’s very no nonsense and has lots of opinions and observations. Ayal and his little brother Noam live half time with their dad one block from our apartment. Their mother is from California so they speak perfect English. Hero was very excited to have him to our apartment for a play date.
On Tuesday night, after being gone all day, Hero wanted my full attention and went through his school picture roster. He told me about everyone, wanted me to tell him their age, and any other details I could translate with google app. He so loves his school, peers, and especially his teacher, Alon. The US could really learn a lot from the value of male teachers. It makes such a tremendous difference.
Wednesday was a "Day of Disruption," something that is becoming a more regular occurrence. I debated taking A+H but ultimately decided that if things became uncomfortable, it would be trickier to get Hero out of the area than Atlas. These demonstrations involve hundreds of thousands of people attempting to [often successfully] stop traffic or slow movement. There are tons of flags and noise makers, and people are chanting and singing. They usually head down a major thoroughfare and different groups convene on the highway or near the airport and stop traffic for hours. In the US I'd be terrified that someone would drive a car into the crowd or start shooting. The atmosphere is the complete opposite. It is calm and peaceful, and it can be joyful at times. I find it very emotional and Atlas thinks I am nuts.
That evening we took advantage of my not having class and Hero went for a bike ride while Atlas and I ran along the beach.
Friday my mediation workshop was meeting on campus. By Friday, Hero was tired of going to school [it is a six-day school week!]. So, he and Atlas begged me to come along with me to the university. An early morning bus ride for Hero is always more exciting than first grade! Unfortunately, when we arrived we learned that the campus water main was shut off so all the restaurants and cafes on campus were closed. After an hour, they went home alone while I completed my workshop.
When I was done we all went out for our Friday Shabbat shopping. We always head to our Dizengoff bakery for our Friday afternoon snacks, people watching, and weekend pastry buying.
On our way home we came upon the Love Boat theme party at our Dov Hoz cafe. This was the weekend before Purim. Something we learned is that Israel loves a holiday, especially a joyous one so Purim, an otherwise 2-3 day festival holiday was stretched from the weekend, through the work week, and still going the weekend after. The cafe party had acrobats, music, and carnival food and game stations. It was so lively and fun.
That evening we headed out for our pre-Shabbat run/walk along the beach.
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Foolish
Frank Adler x fem!Reader
Word count: 5027 (oop)
Warnings: light drinking, very brief mention of suicide, some cursing, smut (18+ ONLY!!!), unprotected sex (m/f) ... Please let me know if I missed anything!
A/N: Hi, y’all! Here’s my entry for @stargazingfangirl18 and @navybrat817’s Shameless Hoes for Chris Challenge!!!! I haven’t written smut in a LONG time, so please be gentle with me LOL. Here’s what I got:
Frank Adler
“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”
Breeding / mutual pining 🥴
I’d like to dedicate this to @rodrikstark for always sharing the Frank Adler feels and @sparkledfirecracker for bullying me (with love) into finishing this. ❤️
If you like this fic, please comment and reblog!!! I hope you enjoy. :)
Fridays never seemed to come soon enough. You looked forward to the beginning of the weekend as much as the next person, but over the last few months, Friday nights took on new meaning for you. You moved to the trailer park a little less than a year ago, wanting to buy a small place of your own and start making a home for yourself. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t expensive, and it was only a ten-minute drive from your office where you’d just secured a promotion. Roberta, the manager, helped you make it feel like home right away, insisting on going with you to pick out paint samples and providing copies of menus for the best take-out in the area.
Before long, Roberta introduced you to the trailer park’s resident certified genius, Mary Adler. Mary and Roberta spent Saturday mornings with you when you were free, which unfortunately, was pretty much all the time. You played games, sang karaoke, and even let Mary’s one-eyed cat Fred come over. He took a liking to your swinging chair in the living room, and if Mary couldn’t find him at home, odds were he somehow squeezed through your window and ended up in that chair.
Another two months had passed, though, before you met Mary’s uncle and guardian, Frank. You came to learn that Mary stayed with Roberta every Friday night because “Frank needs time to be an adult” and she was not allowed to come back to the house until noon on Saturdays. This information made you feel like Frank must be some kind of sad, perpetual fuckboy. You were right about the sad part, not so much about the latter. One morning while Mary played with your watercolors, Roberta let slip - ironically over a cup of tea - that Frank did have the occasional hookup, but usually, he drank himself sleepy on Friday nights and just needed the time to himself. He worked himself to the bone as a boat mechanic, often late into the night because it was too hot to do some jobs during the day. Frank took Mary in when she was just a baby after his sister, her mother, tragically committed suicide. He spent the majority of his scarce free time with Mary, so when Mary was still a toddler, Roberta offered the Friday night deal. Frank countered that he would do any repairs in the trailer park for free, but she refused to let him do that work without pay, saying he deserved to have a life, too.
She also informed you that Frank was a former philosophy professor, single, and very attractive, especially if you were into the rugged thing. You rolled your eyes with an amused exhale and took another sip of your tea. You’d be lying if you said your interest wasn’t piqued. Mary then shouted over her shoulder, confirming that she’d been listening to your entire conversation, “Frank is great, but he’s a grump. Good luck cracking that egg.” You snorted, nearly spitting out your tea, and she went back to reading your color theory book to Fred.
With that, you heard a sharp rap at the door. You set your tea down on the kitchen table, curious who your visitor might be. You didn’t know anyone else in the trailer park, or in town, really. You opened the door, taking in the sight of possibly - no, definitely - the most handsome man you’d ever seen. You quickly guessed it was Frank, judging by the grease smeared on his quite large hands. His eyes, though tired, had the same bright look as Mary’s, and he had the most perfectly imperfect fluffy hair and overgrown stubble.
“Good morning,” he said with a sweet, closed-mouthed smile. “Is Mary here?”
You had to remind yourself to breathe. Stammering, you opened the door wider, gesturing inside. “Hi, y-yes. She is!” Why am I like this? “She’s just painting with Fred. Please, come in.” You moved aside so he could fit his broad shoulders through the doorframe and then held out your hand. “You must be Frank. I’m Y/N. Mary is just wonderful.” You smiled at him, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.
He took your hand in both of his, gentler than you’d expected. “I’m sorry. Yes, I’m Frank. It’s great to meet you, finally.” He smiled wide for the first time and you were certain you’d pass out. Who LOOKS like this? “And thank you, she really is wonderful. I couldn’t do it without Roberta. She’s family.” He smiled and waved at Roberta, who was looking at you over the lip of her mug.
Mary didn’t even bother to turn around and face Frank. “What are you doing here, Frank? It’s only 11. I have a whole ‘nother hour with my friends.” You tried to keep your laugh quiet, covering your mouth with your hand and shaking your head.
“Well, excuse me for thinking you might like to go out on the boat with me this morning. I guess I’ll go by myself.”
Mary jumped up from the floor, scrambling to clean up your paints and books. “Can Y/N and Roberta come?”
Frank crouched down to meet Mary’s eyes. “Of course they can, if they’d like.” He looked back at you over his shoulder, trying to gauge your interest, then turning back to his niece. “But do you remember what I told you?”
You could see that Mary was making a conscious effort not to roll her eyes. “You told me that my adult friends have adult lives that include adult responsibilities, and they might not always be available to spend time with me.”
“And?” he looked at her expectantly.
“And I need to invite them to do things without assuming they will do them.” She couldn’t hold back her eye roll any longer, but she made sure not to let Frank see. “Roberta, Y/N, would you both like to join us on the boat today?”
You were amazed by the exchange taking place in front of you, able to see where some of Mary’s brains and tenacity came from. The conversation between the two flowed so easily, playful yet intelligent. It was clear that Frank treated Mary not as a child, but as a person, and you chided yourself internally for thinking that was kinda hot.
Shaking yourself out of your mildly inappropriate thoughts, you responded. “I’d love to come, Mary.” You smiled at her, bending over to help her pick up the last of the paints from the floor. “Roberta?”
Roberta gave you a look and you just knew she planned this somehow. “I actually do have some of those adult responsibilities to handle today, but thank you for inviting me.” You sent a glare in her direction, quick but no less scathing. “Maybe next time.” She winked at you before washing out her mug and saying her goodbyes.
You spent the whole rest of the day and night with Frank and Mary, doing everything from building sandcastles to cooking dinner together. Mary eventually fell asleep in your lap as you were watching Oliver & Company, Frank’s favorite Disney film that had become Mary’s, too. “An underrated classic,” they told you in unison.
You helped Frank put Mary to bed, a task made easier after such a tiring day. “I guess I should get going.” You stood awkwardly in the small kitchen, unsure of yourself and painfully aware of how close your hand was to Frank’s resting on the counter.
“Yeah, I have a job early in the morning.” He looked down at his shoes, unable to look you in the eye, and you wondered if he hadn’t found your company as enjoyable as you’d found his.
“Listen, I don’t know if you’ve been to Ferg’s? The little bar down the road? I go every Friday night just to relax and have a few beers. Maybe you’d like to come with me next weekend?”
Is he asking me on a date? You could feel your heartbeat racing. The look on your face must not have matched the excitement you felt at the prospect of spending time alone with the dreamy, kind, sarcastic man in front of you.
He felt like an idiot when you hesitated to answer. He clearly read everything wrong. He had to fix this. “It’s a good place to meet people, you know? I know you’re fairly new to the area, so if you’re looking for more local friends, it’s a good place to start.” He winced, hoping you couldn’t sense his embarrassment at thinking that you would want to go on a date with him.
You swallowed, trying not to let your disappointment show outwardly. Of course he’s not interested in me. Stupid. “Oh, yeah! That would be great, Frank. What time?”
Frank let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, relieved that you didn’t seem offended by his offer. “How’s 7? I’ll pick you up? We can walk over together.”
And that’s how Fridays came to mean so much to you. Almost every Friday for the last six months, Frank met you at your door and you walked to Ferg’s together. Frank told you it would be a good place to make new friends, but you paid no mind to the other patrons. You only had eyes for each other, yet neither of you could see it, even though Roberta pointed out (repeatedly) that neither of you had taken anyone else home in all that time.
The more time you spent with Frank, the more certain you were that God was real and your life was His favorite trainwreck reality TV series. Even if you could have customized a dream man Build-A-Bear style, Frank still would blow your creation out of the water. He was smart and funny, not to mention an adoring parent to Mary, to whom you grew more attached each day. He was kind and thoughtful, talented and hard-working. Although he was a grouch, as Mary would say, he always was sweet to you. He took a genuine interest in anything you had to say, whether you were venting about work or filling him on the latest episode of whatever show you were binging. He was ridiculously sexy without even trying. All those hours he spent doing manual labor in the sun did wonders for his physique. You’d only seen him completely shirtless on one occasion, and the image of him with sweat dripping down his chest was burned into your memory, fueling your late-night thots and causing you to break out your vibrator on what was now a regular basis.
Six months had come and gone in the blink of an eye, and you’d begun to accept that Frank didn’t want to be anything more than friends with you. You decided tonight was as good a night as any to talk to someone new, to start letting go of your unrequited feelings.
You swapped out your usual jeans for a sundress, t-shirt bra for a push-up, and lip balm for lipstick. Putting your phone and some cash in a wristlet, you considered wearing your new strappy sandals. The walk to Ferg’s was about five minutes each way down a sandy road, though, and memories of the sticky floor inside aided your preferred pair of Converse in their victory for the night.
Just as you finished tying your shoes, you heard a knock at the door. You adjusted your cleavage and fluffed your hair a final time with one last look in the mirror. Here goes.
Frank felt like he had the wind knocked out of him in the best possible way. He suddenly felt entirely underdressed in his aloha shirt, even though it was his go-to for nights out of the house. He’d never seen you dressed so nicely when you weren’t going to work.
You were the kind of beautiful that didn’t require makeup. Your natural hair always framed your face perfectly, even if you didn’t think so. He thought you were adorable when you were concentrating on something, blowing your hair out of your face with a huff. Visions of your soft curves made their way into Frank’s dreams on more than one occasion. He had seen you in your swimsuit several times, sunbathing with Roberta and swimming with Mary at the beach. It wasn’t even all that revealing, but it accentuated your figure in ways that forced Frank into needing a cold shower or two. Above all, though, he admired your heart. You’d allowed Mary into your life without hesitation, spending time with her because you wanted to and allowing her to ask all those questions that Frank just wouldn’t be able to answer. It killed him that you didn’t see him the way he saw you, a perfect partner for him and a worthy maternal figure for Mary.
“Frank? You okay?” Your concerned voice shook him out of his thoughts, prompting him to close his mouth which apparently had opened wide in astonishment when you stood in the doorway.
“Yeah, um... You look…” He looked a little confused, his brow furrowed and lips pursed. “Why are you all dolled up? It’s only Ferg’s.” He wished he could’ve kicked himself in the teeth when your face fell at his question. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Shit. Let me try that again,” he nearly begged, running up to you to stop you from going back inside. “You look really nice, honey.” He ran his calloused hand up your forearm, but quickly returned it to his side when he realized what he’d done. “Is it a special occasion, though? Should I change?”
You gave him a watery smile, given that you were three seconds from slamming the door in his face and crying. “That’s better. Thank you.” You lightly pushed at his shoulder, trying and failing to ignore the electricity you felt at the contact. “No occasion, though. Just thought maybe it was about time I actually introduced myself to someone new.”
You couldn’t quite read his reaction. Little did you know he was certain he just felt his heart physically crack in his chest. “What do you mean?”
The two of you started walking, the tension between you thickening the very air you breathed. “Well, when you first invited me to Ferg’s, you said maybe I’d get to know some other people in the area, right? But we’re always with each other. I’m sure you’re itching to talk to someone other than me. I don’t want to hold you back.”
“Ah. Gotcha.” Frank abruptly reverted to the quiet, distant state he usually occupied before he met you. He sped up a bit, walking ahead of you and desperately attempting to school his features before you caught up with him.
Frank practically ran to the restroom, not slowing down even to hold the door open for you. You took a deep breath and rolled your shoulders, relaxing before entering the bar. Normally, whoever made it first would order drinks for you both, but Frank made it painfully clear that he had no desire to be in your company tonight. You ordered your usual, an Angry Orchard with a shot of Fireball in a tall glass. The combination tasted like apple cider, but the burn in your throat was caused by liquor rather than heat. It was strong enough to get you buzzed, but not so strong that you’d be stumbling home. You swallowed half the glass in one gulp, wanting to feel the warmth in your veins boosting your confidence as quickly as possible.
“Y/N? How are you?” You turned around, eyes meeting those of Jamie, your coworker. He leaned in for a hug and you accepted somewhat reluctantly, having interacted with him only in passing.
“Hey! I’m all right. What’s up?” You smiled at him, taking another sip of your drink. Jamie was not very subtly staring at your chest. You weren’t crazy about him, but the attention felt nice, so you allowed it.
“Not much. Just happy it’s Friday, ya know?” He looked around for a moment before returning his attention to you. “You’re usually here with that mechanic dude, right?”
You stifled a laugh thinking about how Frank would react if he heard himself referred to as “dude” by this prick. “Yeah, he’s around somewhere. We’re just-“
“-Just friends?” he finished for you with a hopeful look.
You nodded in response, looking him up and down. He was no Frank, but you couldn’t deny he was handsome. It had been so long since you’d even been kissed, and though you hated to admit it, you were touch-starved. One night couldn’t hurt, could it?
Meanwhile, Frank was splashing his face with cool water. He couldn’t believe he’d fucked up so royally. He was sure you didn’t want him how he wanted you, and now he was sure it was too late to tell you how he really felt.
He knew from the moment he saw you that he’d never get you out of his head. Roberta had been talking you up to Frank for weeks, but he wanted no part of it, mumbling something about there being “a reason why no one used matchmakers anymore.” He had no choice but to make your acquaintance when he was looking for Mary, and he’d never been so happy that Roberta could say she told him so.
Later that day at the beach, Mary approached him while you were dozing on a towel in the sand. She sat on his lap and reached for his face, using her pointer fingers to turn the straight line of his mouth up into a smile. “Roberta says you have a ‘charming’ smile, Frank. We think you should use it more.” He chuckled quietly, careful not to disturb you, and pulled Mary in close, planting a wet kiss on her cheek. She grimaced at the feeling, dramatically wiping at her face until he let her go back to reading with Fred.
The sound of the jukebox starting up cut short his reverie. He had to get out there and explain himself. Frank dried his face and hands with a paper towel before smacking his cheeks and stretching his neck back and forth to each shoulder.
Frank exited the restroom only to find some douchebag staring at your ass as you leaned over toward the bar. He saw red when the piece of shit held out his hand behind his back while his friend slipped a twenty-dollar bill into it, seemingly winning some sort of bet.
Jamie didn’t stand a chance when Frank stormed in between the two of you. “That’s IT,” he yelled, so intense he borderline bellowed. He threw whatever cash he had in his pocket on the bar to pay for your drinks before he pulled you outside, almost getting to your door while you fought against his grip. He only stopped when you spun your body around like something out of Dancing with the Stars and jumped in front of him, forcing him to catch you.
“Jesus Christ, Y/N, what are y-”
“-What are YOU doing, Frank? What the fuck was that?” You put your feet back down on the ground but remained facing him, arms crossed over your chest.
He groaned in frustration, suddenly realizing he actually had no clue how to respond. “Fuck.”
You looked at him, tapping your foot in anticipation.
“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.” He rubbed at his temples in the way he did when he felt a headache coming on.
“And how was he looking at me, Frank? What does it matter to you?”
“He was looking at you like you were a piece of meat and I… FUCK!”
You both turned when your neighbor opened his window. “Can you kids keep it down out here?”
You waved bashfully at the old man. “Sorry, Mr. Parker,” you said in unison.
“Come inside, Frankie.” The nickname that typically made him roll his eyes at you never had sounded sweeter, now that its use confirmed you didn’t hate him for the scene he made. You both toed off your shoes at the door before you made your way into the living room, motioning for him to sit next to you on the couch when he tried to sit in the armchair across the room.
You leaned forward, pinching his chin between your thumb and forefinger. “Now what’s going on in that sun-damaged brain of yours?”
He let out a laugh so soft you almost missed it, but you were glad you didn’t. Sitting back against the arm of the couch, you pulled a pillow into your lap and hugged it, giving Frank your full attention.
Frank cleared his throat, doing his best to accept that it was now or never. “That guy was leering at you, and it pissed me off. You deserve better, Y/N.” He pried your fingers from where they were locked around the pillow to hold your hands in his.
“If you want to meet new people, that’s great. If you don’t want to be with me, that’s a little less great, but I’d understand. He didn’t even pay for your drinks. And I th-”
You covered his mouth with one of your hands, and he knitted his brows in confusion. “You’re making it sound like it’s an option to be with you.” You were in disbelief, side-eyeing him, waiting for Ashton Kutcher to announce that you were, in fact, being Punk’d.
The corners of his mouth lifted into the soft smile he reserved for you. It was the same one he gave you whether you were on a tangent about how “Obsessed” by Mariah Carey is “the single greatest diss track of all time” or you were helping Mary put a harness and leash on Fred “just to see how he’d do” on a walk.
“For a distinguished professor, you’re kind of a dummy, Frank.” You took his face in your hands, thrilled to be feeling his stubble against your palms. Before he could talk back to you, you kissed him, unsure how you denied yourselves such a simple yet extraordinary pleasure for so long. It only took a moment for him to relax into it, his hands removing the pillow between you before finding your waist and pulling you almost into his lap.
You deepened the kiss, threading your fingers through his hair. He pulled away first, pressing his forehead to yours. “Seems like we’re both dummies, huh?”
You were going to ask why pulled away until you looked down to see a considerable tent forming in the front of his jeans. You laughed as he pulled you into a tight hug, one arm wrapped around you while the other hand held your face against his neck.
You kissed the side of his neck softly before leaning back to look at him. “All this time? I thought you didn’t see me this way.” You held his face, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs. “You asked me to go to Ferg’s and then said I could meet other people, so I thought that was it, you know?”
He covered your hands with his and pecked your lips softly. “Honey, I thought it was the other way around. I was trying to ask you out and you looked like you’d seen a ghost.” You giggled, spluttering a bit because tears had started falling at some point. He wiped your tears away before swiping his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down a bit. “We’re fools, aren’t we?”
You nodded slowly and Frank saw something wicked flash in your eyes before you took his thumb in your mouth, sucking lightly. “Jesus, honey.” His length hardened underneath you and you could feel the wetness beginning to pool in your panties, prompting you to grind down into his lap.
You released his thumb from your mouth, pressing your chest into his before kissing him again. “I think we’re only fools if we don’t take advantage of the rest of your adult time.” You removed your dress easily, returning your hands to Frank’s shoulders to push off his shirt.
He surged forward to kiss you again, working magic with his tongue against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he picked you up, walking you into the bedroom. Placing you on the bed carefully, he removed your bra and panties before pulling off his boxers and jeans in one go. You thought you wanted him before, but now that you could see everything he’d been hiding under his baggy clothes, you didn’t see how you could ever let him leave your bedroom.
The next few minutes were spent exploring each other’s mouths while Frank stretched you with his fingers. You didn’t think you’d ever been so wet in your life and thought you might pass out if you didn’t feel him inside you immediately. You gave his cock a few strokes before sliding his head through your folds, coating him in your slick.
“Waitwaitwait, honey. Do you have a condom?”
“You don’t need one if you don’t want one. It’s okay.”
He looked like you just gave him tomorrow’s winning lotto numbers, taking a deep breath to steady himself before he looked at you again. “Oh, God. Are you sure?”
“Mhm. I wanna feel you. Make me yours?”
“Anything you want, honey, but if you change your mind, just tell me, okay?” He lined himself up, seconds shy of entering you for the first time.
“I figured if you were gonna be possessive of me tonight, you might as well take it the whole nine, Frankie.” You laughed as he let out an exasperated sigh. “Seriously, though, I’m clean, I’m on the pill, and I’ve wanted you for a long time.” You reached up to scratch lightly through his chest hair.
“The only thing I wanna hear right now is you moaning for me.” He drove into you harshly, but waited a moment for you to adjust once he was seated to the hilt. “So damn wet and tight for me, honey. You’re so perfect, so beautiful.” He kissed you again before he began to move, slowly but surely making you lose your mind.
He dipped his head down to take one nipple in his mouth, then the other, effectively shutting you up and emptying all thoughts from your head. He nipped at the swell of your breast, soothing the bite with his tongue. “Fuck, Frank, please!”
“Please what, honey?” He picked up his pace, fucking into you so vigorously you moved up the bed. “Tell me what you need.”
“Make me cum, Frank. Please, baby, I need it. Need you,” you cried, leaning up to bite into his shoulder, stifling your moans.
“I wanna hear you, Y/N. I wanna hear those pretty moans while I’m making this perfect pussy cum for me.” The combination of his filthy words and the sight of him sucking on his own fingers before rubbing at your clit sent you over the edge, making you scream his name over and over again for what felt like forever and not long enough.
You could tell he was close, his hips stuttering and losing their rhythm. He began to pull out, unsure if you were willing to let him finish inside you, but knowing he was too close to wait for an answer.
You hooked your legs around his waist and pulled him close, pushing him back into you. “Fill me up, Frank. I wanna feel all of you. Please give it to me,” you whimpered. His release triggered another for you, chanting each other’s names surely loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
He stayed inside you as you both came down from your shared high, gingerly flipping you over so he laid on his back with you on his chest. He kissed the top of your head, fingers fluttering up and down your sides.
“What’s on your mind now, Frankie?” You looked up at him through your lashes, mildly terrified of the answer.
He looked down at you with the most adoration you’d ever seen, lifting your chin so your eyes met his in the moonlight. “That wasn’t too soon, was it? You mean so much to me and to Mary. I don’t wanna mess this up. I don’t ever wanna hurt you. You’re the best thing in my life besides Mary, you know that?”
You kissed his chest before looking back up at him, smiling. “First of all, I would argue that wasn’t soon enough.” He hissed as you clenched around his still softening cock inside you.
“You’re evil.”
Winking at him, you continued tracing patterns on his chest with your fingers. “Second, that all kinda sounds like you might be in love with me, Frank Adler.”
His hands stopped moving for a second before he responded. “Would you run away if I said I am?”
“Well, I wouldn’t run away. This is my house.” You thought your heart might explode in your chest.
“I didn’t even say it, but I take it back,” he huffed, throwing his arm over his eyes.
“What if I told you I felt the same way?”
He grinned, sitting up to kiss you feverishly on your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and finally your lips. You could feel him starting to harden again inside you, leading to round two of… well, you lost count.
You ate breakfast and showered together in time for Frank to return home before Mary did, agreeing to talk more later and to hold out on Roberta for a while.
Frank stood on your doorstep, leaning in to kiss you once more. All of a sudden, you heard a familiar meow and thanked God you were dressed and not in your robe.
“Frank, what are you doing here? I thought I’d come see Y/N since I’m not supposed to come home until noon.”
You bit your tongue to keep from cackling. Frank ran a hand over his face, his blissful bubble burst. He was getting you a hotel room next weekend.
#shamelesshoesforchris2021#maggie's writing#frank adler#frank adler x fem!reader#frank adler fluff#frank adler smut
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The First Date (Damian Wayne X Reader)
So in this, you are the daughter of Green Arrow, Oliver Queen (NOT THE ARROW VERSION!! THE ANIMATED AND COMIC VERSION), and Black Canary, Dinah Lance. Also in this Dinah is dead and you have taken on the role of Black Canary
"Done!" Abby (moi!!!) exclaimed, tying the hair tie in my hair. "Aw, you look so good!" She backed up, admiring her work.
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, smiling slightly. "I mean, I usually look beautiful but now I look even more beautiful," I joked.
"I know," Abby said, making me chuckle.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. "What time is it?" I asked.
"Six on the dot," Abby said, looking impressed. "Wow."
"It is Damian," I shrugged before my eyes widened. "I'm going on a date with Damian Wayne."
"Chill," y/b/f said, noticing my panic. "You asked him out, remember?"
"But-"
"Hey Damian," y/b/f said from the living room.
I looked at Abby, a panicked expression on my face. "You're okay," she whispered before leading me out of the bathroom.
Damian looked at me before mumbling something in Arabic. I was rusty when it came to other languages but I thought I caught "Beautiful..." which was enough to make my entire face turn red.
"Hey," I said, putting on a confident face. "You look good." My eyes scanned him. He wore a pair of nice black jeans and a matching skin-tight turtle-neck.
"You look..." His eyes scanned me.
"Gorgeous? Beautiful? Sexy?" I guessed, smirking at Damian blushed.
"Yes," Damian said, making me blush.
"Okay... well," Abby said, pushing me forward. "You two have fun," she said as I slipped on my shoes. "But not too much fun." She eyeballed Damian in a very best friend way. "And have her back by 10."
"And be safe!" Myloh added.
"Bye guys," I said, quickly ushering Damian out the door before closing it. "Sorry."
"I had a similar conversation with my brothers before I left," Damian said before cringing slightly. "Although it was a bit more-"
"I don't want to know," I said, shaking my head. "So, what do you have planned, Mr. Wayne?" I asked, walking down the apartment hallway.
"That's a surprise," Damian said with a stoic face.
"Not a huge fan of surprises," I said as we reached the elevator.
"You'll like this one," Damian stated matter-of-factly, pressing the button to the last level.
"Is that a fact?" I challenged as the elevator lowered.
"Yes," Damian stated, making me tilt my head. "I did some research and I'm sure you'll enjoy this."
"I don't know if that was meant to be sweet but it came off as creepy," I chuckled, leaning on the elevator wall.
"I just meant- I asked Abby what you're interested in," Damian explained, slowly going pink.
"What'd she say?" I asked, both worried and curious.
"She explained your love of movies, books, the stars, and food," Damian stated as the doors slid open.
"So, which did you choose?" I questioned, walking backward out of the elevator.
"Still a surprise," Damian smirked, following me.
"Mhm, game on Mr. Wayne," I said, turning around and walking out the apartment building's front doors. My eyes widened a bit as I saw Damian's motorcycle parked in front of the building. "Seriously?" I asked, looking at him as he stood next to me.
"Complaining?" he asked, looking at me sideways.
"Not as long as I get to drive," I chuckled, approaching the motorcycle.
"No," Damian said, standing next to me. He grabbed one of the helmets before handing me the second one.
"I know how," I frowned.
"No," Damian repeated before blinking. "Strange, that felt familiar." He then shook his head before getting on the bike. "Come on," he said looking at me. I rolled my eyes but climbed on the bike behind him. "Hold on," he said before putting on his helmet.
"You sure you don't want to drive as a way to get me to hold on to you?" I teased, resting my head on Damian's shoulder. Damian tensed up, making me chuckle. "I was kidding," I reassured him, putting on the helmet and grabbing his shoulders.
Damian cleared his throat. "I-I respect you, but for your own safety, I suggest you put your arms around my waist."
I blushed, wrapping my arms around his waist. Damian started the bike and drove out of his parking spot. My grip tightened as Damian sped up and we reached the highway. I grinned under the helmet as the adrenaline rushed through me due to the speed.
***
"You have to take me on your motorcycle more often," I said, letting out a breathy laugh and taking off my helmet.
"It's not really mine," Damian corrected, taking off his helmet and getting off the bike.
"But with Promythous-" I furrowed my brows, placing the helmet on the bike's seat.
"That was Robin's bike," Damian explained, leading me to the secret destination. He had parked a block away from the surprise place, just to keep the secrecy. "Damian Wayne does not have a motorcycle."
"Who's-" I continued, getting into pace next to Damian.
"My brother's," he shrugged with a small smug smile.
"You stole your brother's motorcycle?" I asked, laughing slightly.
"He told me, women love men with motorcycles," Damian said. "So I took that as an invitation for me to 'borrow' his." He smirked to himself at the thought. "Also, my other brother said I should. I'm not one to listen to him but, I did enjoy the idea of stealing Jason's bike." I smiled at his mini-rant. He seemed to notice. "I'm sorry for oversharing," he said, his face returning to it's neutral state.
"No, it's fine," I reassured him as we turned a corner. "It's nice hearing you talk more."
Damian blinked, obviously surprised by my answer. "What... would you like to talk about?" he asked slowly.
"You," I said. "I don't know much about you."
"O-oh," Damian stuttered, which was a rare sound. "I grew up with the League of Assassins."
"The group your father trained with?" I asked, interested to learn more. "Lead by Ra AlGugl?"
"My grandfather," Damian confirmed. "When my father was training, he met my mother. She- she tricked him into having... intercourse with her. That's how I was created. My father left before I was born and I was raised by my grandfather and mother. I was trained from birth to be the master assassin. I was supposed to be the best. There was no room for error."
"That doesn't sound like a fun childhood," I said.
"I suppose not," Damian hummed. "I loved my grandfather very much, or more admired him. He told me we would destroy the world and rebuild it in our own image." He scanned our surroundings, almost as if he was imagining how he could make each detail superior.
"That's still partly your mindset isn't it?" I asked, making Damian's gaze turn to me. "You see the world and people and just imagine how you can make them better." Damian blinked. "You even yourself believe you're better than everyone. You think you'll be a better Batman, a better hero."
"I don't-"
"I'm not critiquing, just observing," I stated. I blushed under Damian's intense stare. "I-I interrupted, I'm sorry. What about your mother?"
"She's dead," Damian said.
"Oh," I said.
"She wasn't a mother anyway," Damian continued. "Last I saw her she tried to create an adult 'perfect' clone of me and killed him."
"And I thought my dad was hardcore," I mumbled. "How did she...?"
"Helicopter crashed after trying to kill me, my father, and Grayson," Damian said almost casually.
My eyes widened. "You didn't deserve it," I said as we turned yet another corner. Damian turned to me. "You deserved a loving childhood. Not one with a group of assassins and Batman."
Damian's eyes softened. "I did get, what you call, a loving childhood with my father," he said. "He would set up movie nights. And my brothers are... overly loving, at least Grayson."
"He's Nightwing, right?" I asked, grinning a bit. Damian nodded. "I've met him. He has a bit of an older brother feel. And I'm sure he understands how hard it is to grow up with someone like Bruce."
"He has made it very clear he does," Damian scoffed. "As had Todd." I gave him a questioning look. "Red Hood."
"Oh, never met him," I mumbled.
We walked in comfortable silence for a minute.
"Here," Damian said, stopping in front of a small and quaint ice cream shop.
"Ice cream?" I asked, giving him a lopsided grin. "On Friday."
"You said you and your mother used to always had ice cream on Fridays," Damian said shyly.
I let out a small laugh. "You- this is really sweet," I said, a bit surprised. I remembered when I told him that detail about my childhood.
***Flashback***
"Tell me more about your mother," Damian said after a while of silence. "I assume she's where you got your power?"
"Yeah," I said quietly, looking up at the ceiling. "She was- awesome. She was the first Black Canary. Trained in thousands of martial art styles."
"You're telling me things I already know," Damian stated, making me look at him.
"She was a pretty cool mom," I chuckled, crossing my legs on the bed. "She couldn't cook though. That was something she wasn't taught. She'd always make time for us to have an ice cream night. Every Friday." I smiled at the memory. "Sometimes she'd come back from patrol at midnight then wake me up, just so we could still eat ice cream."
"Do you still do it?" Damian questioned, turning to face me fully. "With your father?"
"Not usually," I stated, trying not to sound bitter. "He's usually busy with the Justice League and his company."
"How did she die?" Damian asked softly, making me go stiff.
"I was thirteen," I recited. "She and my dad went to face Prometheus. It was just in the early stages of my training-at least for the Canary cry, so I wasn't allowed to go. I- I remember my dad calling the house. He told me he'd be home soon, but something happened to Mom. Apparently, Prometheus slit her throat. She didn't want anyone to find out her identity so she insisted that only Martian Manhunter or Batman operated on her."
"But it was too late," Damian assumed. I nodded.
"Dad and I hardly even spoke after that," I sighed. "It hit us both- hard, but after a year, we got through it. He's still protective though."
"What about your powers?"
"I don't use them," I stated. "My mom died before we got far in training."
"Why don't you continue?" Damian asked. "I assume the league would be open to help or your friends."
"I can't," I sighed. "My vocal cords are too old."
"That sounds like an excuse," Damian stated. "I was unaware you were a quitter, Queen."
***End of flashback***
"I just figured you'd enjoy it," Damian shrugged, turning his head to the side to hide his smile.
"I do," I chuckled. "Although this is very cliche."
"I have seen as such in many of the movies Grayson forced me to watch," Damian admitted.
"Thank you, Damian," I smiled before rushing towards the outside counter, Damian following. "Hello!" I said to the person at the counter.
"Hello," the person said. She was a pretty girl, seemingly teen age with flawless makeup. She looked like she belonged at Dutch Brothers.
"I would like two scoops of y/f/i.c (your favirote ice cream) in a cup, please," I said before turning to Damian.
"Awesome," the girl said. "And you?"
Damian glanced at me. "None for me," he answered.
"You're not going to get anything?" I asked.
"I've never had ice cream," Damian admitted.
"Never?" I asked in shock.
"No," Damian said, his face showing me he didn't understand the problem. I scanned his face before turning to the girl.
"He'll have one scoop of almond in a cup," I stated.
"Alright," the girl smiled. "Be right with you."
"I said I didn't want any," Damian said, looking at me.
"You've never had it and you can't just sit there watching me eat," I protested. "Plus, I think you'll like it."
"Why is that?" Damian challenged.
"I'm an observer of people and you seem like an almond guy," I summarized.
"Explain your thinking Miss Queen," Damian said.
"Well, almond is more of a traditional Arabic ice cream flavor (please correct me if I'm wrong, I got this off the internet), and knowing you, you prefer salty and savory over sweet," I explained before leaning back and spreading my hands like I was presenting an amazing discovery.
"We shall see," Damian just said.
"Here," the girl chimed in, interrupting our discussion. She handed us our ice cream.
"Thank you," I said. I placed my ice cream on the counter before pulling out my wallet, but Damian had already paid. "I was going to pay," I said as he handed me my ice cream.
"It's proper etiquette for the man to pay," Damian said, leading me away from the ice cream shop.
"But it's not required," I chuckled. "Besides, we're both the children of billionaires." Damian didn't answer as he led me to a small park beside the shop. "I'll just pay next time."
"Next time?" Damian asked, stopping in front of a blanket with a projector on it.
"Yeah," I smirked. "If I haven't scared you away."
"Not at all," Damian said, sitting on the blanket. He motioned for me to sit down and I obliged.
"Try the ice cream," I said excitedly. Damian glanced at the tan-colored ice cream before taking a scoop and eating it. I stared at him, waiting for some type of reaction. His eyes widened before he took another scoop. "I told you!" I smirked.
"Coincidence," Damian scoffed but took more bites.
"Mhm," I hummed, leaning back on my free hand. I looked around, noticing a screen across from the projector. "You set this up?"
"Pennyworth did," Damian corrected. "Although I choose the film."
"Oh really?" I asked. "What'd you choose?"
"y/f/a/m (your favirote animated movie)," Damian stated. My face lit up. "Abby told me it was your favorite. Although I don't understand how or why a film made for children would be your favorite."
"You've never seen it have you?" I asked. Damian shook his head. "Then you'll figure out that it's not really a children's film. And you'll discover the superior soundtrack."
#damian#damian wayne#damian x reader#damian wayne x reader#damian wayne x y/n#damian wayne x you#batman#first date#robin#dc#green arrow#black canary#dinah lance#oliver queen#dick grayson#jason todd#tim drake#author#alfred pennyworth
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Lao Nie and Nie Mingjue have a good day together and bond. What was their relationship like before the qi deviation?
Boys - ao3
“Two paths, hmm?” Lao Nie said, squinting at the road markers in front of him. “Well, I don’t see why we can’t go down this one to the right –”
“No.”
“No? Why not?”
“Because little uncle asked me not to let you meet any new dangerous women,” Nie Mingjue said, looking as serious as ever – only his little hands, swinging to the side, revealed that he was just a ten-year-old. Still a child, no matter how mature he tried to act. “And a place called the Springtime Ghost Valley sounds like it probably has dangerous women.”
“Hey,” Lao Nie protested mildly. “Who’s the father here, me or you?”
“If a-die wants a new wife, little uncle will find one that isn’t inclined to kill him.”
That sounded like a recitation.
“Then what’s even the point,” Lao Nie grumbled, and reached out to ruffle his son’s hair, enjoying how Nie Mingjue yelped when he did, glaring up at him with offended dignity.
In all honesty, Lao Nie had no idea how he’d ended up with a son as serious and sincere and earnest as Nie Mingjue – he himself hadn’t taken anything seriously in years. Probably it was his mother’s influence.
Now that was a woman.
Not that his foxy second wife hadn’t been woman enough to blow him away either…
Hmm.
Perhaps they had a point about his taste in women.
“How about men?” Lao Nie suggested. “If it really means so much to you, I could swear off of women entirely –”
“A-die.”
“Mm?”
“Leave Sect Leader Wen alone.”
Lao Nie cracked up.
-
Because Lao Nie was the father, however easy-going he might sometimes be, they ended up heading down the right-hand path regardless. They were supposed to be night-hunting, after all – it was the perfect bonding experience according to Jiwei, though Lao Nie suspected his saber of having selfish intentions there – and deliberately avoiding a place with ‘Ghost’ in the name was hardly appropriate for scions of a Great Sect like theirs.
Although the reference to springtime was admittedly a little worrisome.
If it turned out to be a brothel, with the ghost thing being just a clever if somewhat tonedeaf marketing ploy, Lao Nie was turning around and taking them both home at once. He wasn’t going to risk little Nie Mingjue turning out anything like that awful Jin Guangshan – or, nearly as bad, having to explain anything more about the joys of sex to those earnest little button eyes and dimpled cheeks with no time to prepare first. He still hadn’t recovered emotionally from the last few times Nie Mingjue had asked him a question like that.
When they finally reached the end of the path, turning a corner to behold a clearing that was probably completely ordinary during the daytime, Lao Nie found that he’d been both right and wrong.
“It’s a ghost brothel,” he marveled. He’d never seen anything like it in his life.
“Dangerous women,” Nie Mingjue reminded him.
“A-Jue! Let your father live a little!”
Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes.
Lao Nie virtuously ignored his slightly judgmental brat of a son. It wouldn’t do him that much harm to go visit for a while, with the risk of Jin Guangshan-ness being relatively minimal; they were ghosts, after all. It was the duty of every cultivator to fight against evil, wherever it lived, no matter its form –
“Fighting? Is that what it’s called?”
“Who taught you sarcasm?” Lao Nie asked, knowing perfectly well that the answer was himself. “I ought to smack them.”
Nie Mingjue crossed his arms over his chest and pouted at him. “Fine, it’s fighting, we’ll go fight them. Do you want me to start drawing ghost-repelling talismans?”
“Liberate first!” Lao Nie sang out. “Come on, let’s go see what they’re like – er, that is, I mean, see what grievances they have that are keeping them here, of course. There’s no harm in dangerous women. Just don’t let them eat your yang energy!”
“It’s not my yang energy that I’m worried about, a-die…”
-
The ghostly madame was an extraordinarily charming person and Lao Nie liked her at once.
Not liked her liked her – he’d fallen head over heels with both of his wives from the first word, and that hadn’t happened here – but still, conversing with her was an extraordinarily enjoyable way to spend time.
She was witty and clever, with a broad range of knowledge and a gift for keeping a conversation lively and exciting; she could meet every verbal riposte with ease, and looked utterly gorgeous and composed the entire time. Sure, she kept trying to lure Lao Nie into an orgy in which all of his yang energy would be slowly sucked out before his body was ripped to pieces and his bones cracked open so that the ghosts could consume the marrow within, but what a way to go, right?
Nie Mingjue spent his time making friends with the ghost prostitutes.
Lao Nie wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting.
Well, he supposed he’d been expected a range of things – anything from Nie Mingjue getting suckered in by one of the ghosts and needing to be rescued by his father to Nie Mingjue just pulling out his Baxia and trying to stab them because he felt offended by their existence. He wasn’texpecting his ghostly conversational partner to suddenly frown mid-sentence and say, “What is he talking to them about?”
Lao Nie turned his head slightly and started listening.
“– just because you’re a ghost doesn’t mean you have to work allthe time, surely,” Nie Mingjue was saying, completely serious and earnest in the way he so often was. Lao Nie’s son had in fact inherited his sense of humor, only it tended to be buried fairly deep down and make its way up to the surface in an understated way in the most unexpected times; the rest of the time, he was straightforward to a fault, treating everything sincerely. “The birds in the trees, the animals in the fields – even among prostitutes, even the street-walking ladies know they need to take time to rest! I can’t believe you really have to work every single night. How long has it been since you had a night off?”
The ghost prostitutes around him had contemplative looks on their faces.
“Isn’t the whole point of becoming a vengeful man-eating ghost that you have more power than regular humans? I don’t know, it kind of seems like a bad deal if you have even worse conditions after all that –”
“I’m sorry,” the ghostly madame said, looking irritated underneath all her carefully painted smiles. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment…”
Lao Nie had to bite his hand to keep from laughing out loud.
-
“I think we’ve all learned a valuable life lesson today,” Lao Nie announced.
Nie Mingjue was pouting again.
“I don’t think we did,” he said, sounding profoundly skeptical. A filial child like Nie Mingjue shouldn’t sound so skeptical of his beloved father’s words of wisdom, really; if Lao Nie wasn’t so heartless, he might be offended. Of course, the skepticism might have originated from the heartlessness, so it was all six of one, half a dozen of the other in the end. “Those poor ghost ladies! They were still fighting each other by the time we left!”
“I’ve never seen a ghost pull another ghost’s hair before,” Lao Nie conceded. It had been brilliant. “One day, someone’s going to figure out a more reliable way to use ghosts to fight ghosts, mark my words.”
“Isn’t that demonic cultivation?”
“Oh, sure,” Lao Nie said, still cheerful. “If whoever it is does too much of it, eventually it’ll build up into a backlash that’ll kill them in some grossly horrific manner. Probably ripped into pieces by the backlash. And that’s not even counting how they’d be ostracized and hunted by the cultivation world first! But still, imagine how exciting it’d be in the meantime!”
“A-die…”
Lao Nie patted Nie Mingjue on the head again, earning another glare. “Immortality is a lie, A-Jue. We’re all here for a short time, each and every one of us, and only the length determined by fate and man. All that matters is what we do with the time that we have, and whether we’ve used it well.”
“To fight against evil wherever it lives, no matter its form?”
“To leave the world a better place than when we entered it, and to let our memories linger in the hearts of those that love us,” Lao Nie said. “Fighting evil is the best way to accomplish the former, and living a good life the latter. And you might as well have a good time doing it, if you can! Everything else is just extra.”
Nie Mingjue thought about that for a moment. “And a-die likes to have second helpings of extras?”
That was true. Lao Nie was a man of prodigious appetites of all sorts.
Despite that, he protested, “That wasn’t the point I was trying to make. I was being serious for once.” Seeing Nie Mingjue’s skeptical look, he made a face. “I can be serious, sometimes!”
“Can you?”
“It’s been known to happen! A date written on a wall will be right once a year.”
“Not if the wall gets painted over.”
“Ouch,” Lao Nie said. “I don’t even understand the metaphor you’re making, and I’m still going ouch.”
“Uh-huh,” Nie Mingjue said, utterly unimpressed. “You know, if you wanted one of the ghost ladies to be Third Mother, you would’ve been better off with the one playing the qin, not the ghost madame. She was much more powerful.”
Lao Nie arched his eyebrows. “Was she?”
Nie Mingjue nodded. “She had claws like a lizard.”
Lao Nie tried to remember which one of them had been the ghost girl playing the qin. He couldn’t quite remember at first – the women there were all surpassingly lovely, almost to the point of over-saturation – and then suddenly an image came into view, a beauty with a veil and sharp sword-like eyebrows, leaning over the qin with the shining pearl hanging in the center of her forehead dipping down.
And, yes, claws like a lizard.
“Hmm,” Lao Nie said. “That might have been a dragon, actually. You should be careful of those, they’re tricky.”
They’ll rip you and three dozen other cultivators besides into more pieces than can be picked up without blinking an eye, he meant, and you won’t even know what hit you. Avoid at all costs.
“Oh,” Nie Mingjue said, blinking. “Oops.”
“…what do you mean, oops?”
“Nothing bad! If I’m not supposed to interact with her, does that mean I should go and give back the gift she gave me?”
“She gave you a – give me that,” Lao Nie said. “This instant.”
“But a-die, you said there’s no harm in dangerous women –”
“For me, you foolish child!”
-
“I suppose it’s fine,” Lao Nie finally concluded, having inspected the dragon pearl from all angles several times over. “I don’t know how you do this, A-Jue.”
“Do what?”
Lao Nie thought about how his foxy second wife had cooed over his eldest son with a (slightly disturbing) fervor that she otherwise reserved only for eating snacks, and how viciously she’d dealt with anyone who’d even thought of interfering with Nie Mingjue in any way. He was fairly sure he himself had only survived his second marriage on account of having such a charming son.
“Don’t worry about it,” he finally said, mostly because he wasn’t entirely sure how to explain – or if he even entirely understood. “Anyway, it’s nothing dangerous. Rather the contrary! Dragon pearls like this are given to baby dragons to protect them.”
Nie Mingjue frowned. “What feeds on baby dragons?”
“…I think it’s mostly to protect them from themselves,” Lao Nie said, feeling a little uncertain about it himself. “And if it’s not, I don’t think I want to know, to be perfectly honest. There’s fighting evil, which is only right, and then there’s suicide, which is a waste – a wise man should know how to judge the difference between them. Anyway, that wasn’t the point I was trying to make.”
“It wasn’t?”
“It wasn’t, and you aren’t allowed to start worrying about the fate of theoretical baby dragons – I forbid it.” Nie Mingjue scowled. He’d probably started worrying already. “My point was actually that a pearl like this is a remarkably powerful protective tool for cultivators – one of those things that can only be found by chance and not made. Keep this on you, and you’ll never have to fear your opponent in battle.”
Nie Mingjue looked thoughtful.
-
“What do you want to do with that pearl, anyway?” Lao Nie asked after they’d gotten home and split up just long enough to take a nice long relaxing bath and gobble down dinner. “Do you want to put it in the treasury?”
Nie Mingjue blinked twice, which for him was practically the same as looking terribly shifty-eyed.
“You already did something with it,” Lao Nie deduced. “Something that isn’t using it as intended.”
“Oh, no,” Nie Mingjue said, looking shocked at the mere suggestion. “I’m definitely using it as intended.”
Lao Nie looked him up and down. “You’re not wearing it.”
“Well, I wouldn’t use it. Protection from your opponents in proper battle – that seems like cheating!”
Lao Nie felt a slight headache coming on. People who said they wanted a good boy for a son had no idea what they were getting themselves into, he reflected. Why couldn’t he have birthed a complete rascal instead?
“All right,” he said, instead of saying any of that because at the end of the day, bewildering as he might be, Nie Mingjue was his son and he loved him more than anything. “So what did you do with it?”
“I gave it to Huaisang.”
Lao Nie blinked. He supposed that really was using it for its intended purpose – protecting babies from themselves – although he suspected the dragon lady had been thinking of Nie Mingjue as the baby.
“Although…”
Lao Nie raised his eyebrows.
“…I think he may have swallowed it.”
My boys, Lao Nie thought, and had to sit down and hold his ribs because he otherwise feared he might split his sides from laughing so hard. Only my boys.
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love language ; ed baldwin x reader
summary: Ed is curious by nature and wanting to know more about his partner's language is no exception.
warnings: fluff + implied smut (minors DNI!), mild angst
a/n: there wasn't even supposed to be any sexc time but here we are?? haven’t been appreciating my mother tongue, is all :P
» j.k m.list, or check out my full m.list!
» gorgeous rose divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics ♡
'his smirk may be a godsend but not when he proved you wrong. it was still very hot but also very infuriating.' ;
Ed could argue that he brought it up out of pure boredom but really, he was actually curious. He could always surf the internet and boom, he’ll find his answer. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to just know and be done with it. He wanted to learn, and he wanted to hear it from you.
‘Cause why not?
Plus, he knows you too well. Your little habits. How you’d quickly tilt your head when you’ve disagreed with something. How you’d be lost in your thoughts, only to break into a cute little smile when your (E/C) eyes lock with someone. How you’d curse ever so quietly in your mother tongue whenever things didn’t go your way.
In this case, the habit was not-so-positive. You had the tendency to stay silent whenever something was bothering you. Never to the point of isolation but a change enough for even Danielle or Gordo to notice. Granted, everyone deserves their alone time, to digest the situation, even him. But, you? You’d often keep it to yourself.
Ed would know.
He was the one who comforted you during your first emotional breakdown, and he still did till this day. It was the least he could do, right? After all, you were the one who had his back when the universe decided to mess with him too. It didn’t matter if it was his ex-wife, work or life in general, the stars aligned so you and him could fix each other up.
So, what better way to do so than to take your mind off it?
Of course, he could list your habits all day too, but he has an important question to ask!
"Hey, (Y/N)?"
“Hm?” You were both in his home office, just half an hour after the two of you decided to take a break together.
Well, you didn’t want to but Ed insisted. In his ‘boss-man voice’. Funny, considering you were usually the one trying to get him to take a breather if we ever overworked. You weren’t trying to do what he did, per se, but it did keep your mind off things.
Now, here you were, straddling over his lap as he leaned back in his office chair — rest assured, it’s much more comfortable than it sounds.
"How do you say ‘star’?" The question was so vague and out of the blue, you had to look up.
"What?"
He repositioned himself so the two of you could actually look at each other. For someone you've dated for six months and counting, his attention never ceases to make you feel like you're the only girl in the world. It was as intimate, if not, much more than what happens behind closed doors.
“Y’know, ‘star’?” He lightly motioned his head to the window next to him, where you could see the faintest of stars twinkling, “In your language, I mean,”
Oh. Okay? Where did that come from?
“O-oh, um, why?” You couldn’t help but ask; why wouldn’t you? It wasn’t a subject you’d bring up often. Rare, even. Not because you have something against it, there was really no reason to.
“Just curious,” He expected that question and now, he’s answering you truthfully.
“Uh, ‘star’?” Your response was more of a question
“‘Star’,” He repeated and boy, that already made you feel some type of way — a good way, obviously, “‘Star’, alright,” He mindlessly nodded, “What about ‘sky’?”
“‘Sky’,” You answered without missing a beat.
“‘Sky’.... Aaaand ‘love’?”
“... Ed?” There was a pause.
“Yeah?”
“What’s going on?” As much as you’d love to continue, to see that faint shine in his eyes at every turn, there just had to be a reason behind this.
Hey, you were curious too!
"What?" You couldn’t help but grin at his coyness.
"This!" You giggled, lightly smacking him on the chest which caused him to chuckle as well, "I'm pretty sure our work doesn't involve voluntary language classes in the middle of the night,"
"Yeah? Well, we agreed not to talk about work after hours, didn’t we? So, technically, this isn't work-related," He had a point but you didn't want to give him the satisfaction that he was right — of course, you'd never tell him that. His smirk may be a godsend but not when he proved you wrong. It was still very hot but also very infuriating.
“Well, y'know, this is just, really random, don't you think?" You tilted your head, a mixture of delight and confusion. While the situation was definitely lighthearted, Ed couldn't help but feel guilty. He didn't think to ask his beloved about this earlier — her pride and joy, what makes her, well, her. Would you have eventually done so without his sudden coax? You didn't seem bothered by it, thankfully, but he wanted to make it a 'natural' thing. To the point where it's not considered 'random' anymore.
"I just… I don't know. You've never brought it up and I've always been meaning to ask you. I just didn't know when," He shrugged his shoulders, "Were you planning to… y'know, tell me about it? If I didn't ask a whole lot of it a while ago,"
"I…" You blinked, "Y’know what, I don't know," There was a hint of surprise in your tone, as if you've only found out about it.
"It's not 'cause somethin'… bad happened, is it?" The last thing he'd want was to bring up any bad memories associated with it.
"What? No, no, of course not! Nothing bad happened, I promise," You reassured him before grinning, "Just came as a surprise, that's all,"
He hummed, feeling glad there wasn't any bad blood that he'd suddenly dug up in hopes of bringing you comfort. Instead of saying thank you for his consideration, you snuggled into him for a moment, savouring the way his hand ran up and down your back.
“Well,” You began, “If we’re going to do this, we’re gonna have to do it right. Get ready, Mr Baldwin, ‘cause I don’t do these things for free,”
“And yet, mine is free of charge?” He snorted in amusement.
“Only because you’re so handsome,” You pursed your lips, “Now, are you gonna be good and listen or do I have to pass this offer to Gordo?”
“No, no, by all means,” His placed his hands on your waist, “Do what you must, teach’,”
So, that's what you did.
“I love your eyes,” You made sure to accentuate your words by speaking slowly, only to avert your gaze momentarily when he stared into your eyes. As if he knew what you were talking about, “I love how compassionate you are not only for me but for others as well,”
You slid your hand down to rest over his, stroking it gently despite the callousness — solid evidence of how hard he’s worked to be where he is today. Even when he had his own sets of problems, he was willing to listen. No matter how small, big or confusing they may be.
"I love how you look in a suit," You admitted shyly because why not.
Seeing him in formal wear was a crime.
“And of course,” His fingers immediately interlaced with yours as soon as he got the idea, “I love you, Edward Baldwin. With all my heart," You stretched your head up high enough for a quick kiss on his nose, "Literally to the moon and back,"
You were always a hopeless romantic, an unchanged trait since your teenage years. But it wasn't until he came along that you were able to verbalize your love for him.
“Well?” He quirked an eyebrow, “Aren’t you… going to ask me what I just said?”
He pretended to think for a moment, letting out a hum in the process.
“Were you mockin' me?” Ed jokingly accused you, smirking when you gaped at his claim.
“Have some faith in me, Baldwin,” You pouted before hiding your face in his chest. His low chuckle didn’t help either, tickling your entire body with its vibrations.
“Okay, okay, what is it that you told me?”
You didn’t look up, only nuzzling further into him. Not even when his hand caressed your right cheek.
“C’mooon, don’t leave me hangin’, babe,” Your arms only tightened around him, controlling yourself from giving in just because of the sweet pet name, “What's it gonna take for you to look at me?"
"Stop being a smartass," Your words were muffled against his shirt.
"Really? 'Cause I was thinkin' of another way," He purposely left you hanging so you could tilt your head up. He didn't even give you the time to question when his face surged forward, capturing your lips with ease. His arms practically caged you in — not like you'd rather be anywhere else but you could only take so much passion at once. Your whimpers had him smiling against your lips, only pulling away when your hands bunched up the hem of his shirt.
As if that didn't embarrass you enough, he licked off the excess saliva at the side of his mouth — was that yours or his?
Either way; kinky.
Just when you thought he was done, you weren't ready for him to pepper your face with more kisses. Playful, this time, but romantic nonetheless.
But! You were getting ahead of yourself.
“Okay, okay, prince charming! You win!" You surrendered, undeniably breathless by your boyfriend's habit of making your heart race at any given opportunity.
"I always do," The audacity. But, you'll ignore it.
For now.
"What I said was; I love your eyes," A kiss on both cheeks, his stubble tickling you.
"I love how compassionate you are," A kiss on the back of left hand, then his right.
"Aaaand," Your arms snuck around his neck, mirroring his love-struck eyes, "I love you, Edward Baldwin, with all my heart. Literally to the moon and back,"
His smile wasn't a teasing one like before. No, this was an affectionate smile. A look only you could ever bring out of him with little to no effort. He returned the embrace, one hand gently pulling you in by your head to his shoulder.
"And I love you too, (Y/N) (L/N). Don't you ever forget 'bout that," After years of pining and guilt for when he was still with Karen, albeit when the relationship was at its end, he knew not to waste a second in telling you. Out of all the regrets, not telling you would've topped the entire list. You weren't convinced at first, thinking he was only saying so because he didn't have a lady to come home to anymore.
But you also wanted it to be true, because the feeling was mutual. You wanted that pining to flourish into something more.
Now, giving each other a chance was the best decision ever made.
The embrace would have lasted longer, hours if you wanted to and nobody would've complained.
But, Ed had another question.
"What about the other line?"
"What?"
"There were four lines, weren't there?" Your lack of response was an enough indication that you've been caught in the act, "(Y/N)..."
Your lips were shut, silently dreading how observant he was even with a language he wasn't familiar with. You didn't plan on opening your mouth. That is, until he nipped your neck, causing you to let out a soft yelp.
"What did you say?" Like you did before, he spoke slowly but he leaned towards demanding. His way of challenging you to stay quiet again and face the consequences.
"I… I said I love it when you wear a suit," You gave in, biting your bottom lip when you were close to moaning.
"Really?" He drawled. The discovery wasn't new to him — he's seen the way you gawked at his favourite grey suit whenever you thought he wasn't looking.
Why did you think it was his favourite anyway?
"Any particular reason why?" Your stubbornness to reply earned yourself a smack on the ass, "I'm not asking again,"
"I…!" Shit, not his boss-man tone, "You… look very hot in it,"
"I see," He hummed, catching you by surprise when you felt him unbuttoning his shirt.
"W-what are you doing?" You knew exactly what he was doing, you didn't think what you said could bring out this reaction.
"You know exactly what I'm doing, pretty girl," He took pleasure in your wide eyes, "Might as well put that skill of yours to good use, right?"
The bed wasn't even necessary, what did matter to him was using that pretty mouth of yours the way he wanted.
In more ways than one, that is.
˚ · . f i n . · ˚
#ed baldwin x reader#ed baldwin x you#ed baldwin#admiral ed baldwin#for all mankind#for all mankind fic#joel kinnaman#joel kinnaman x reader#joel kinnaman x you#fem!reader#fluff
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new parent syndrome
— kim namjoon x (f) reader
SUMMARY You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.)
WARNINGS dilf!joon, dreamy husband joon, loving parents au, jimin is also a dad, bathtub sexy times, exhibitionism 😳 kinda sorta, tiny praise kink, joon calls her wifey TT, fingering, cunninglingus, doggy style, it’s kinda cheesy n romantic /.\, unprotected sex, …. impreg kink
RATINGS m (18+)
WC 9.5k
NOTES writing parent fics is harder than i thought :/ i had this idea last week n was like yes, lets write this fic that absolutely no one asked for... except me! <3 so here we are, fantasizing about dreamy dad joon.... as always i have to thank rumu ( @kigurumu��� ) who is kind enough to edit these n b like that don't make no sense -_- anyway lemme know what u think !! enjoy !!
No matter how hard you try, the letter f refuses to fit itself into Hyejoo’s phonemic understanding. She’s a growing toddler so it’s only normal that there are sounds she still can’t pronounce, words she doesn’t quite get. But her inability to say food or family or friends, which are undoubtedly the three most important things in her three year-old world right now, is definitely a setback you didn’t see coming.
Your worrywart husband has taken matters into his own hands, using the power of Google and about twelve parenting books to create an extensive, one-hour-a-day, mini lesson to try and increase her pronunciation skills. Of course, Hyejoo already attends daycare in the mornings while you and Namjoon are off at work, and gets sufficient learning done there. So she can’t exactly sit through Joon’s lectures, no matter how pretty he tries to decorate her flashcards. She’s still tiny— she’s still your baby, and you want her to enjoy the last of her daycare years before you’re forced to submit her to the worst twelve years of her life (also known as compulsory education).
But as you’ve mentioned before, Namjoon doesn’t quite feel the same way.
“She can’t sound out the letter,” he mopes in bed that night. He’s laying down beside you, face smushed against your thigh. The lamp on your side of the bed is the only thing on, casting a faint golden hue on his cheeks.
This conversation has occurred a variety of times these past few weeks, and you’ve just about ran out of every comforting reassurance possible. You settle on stroking a hand through his hair. There are emails to respond to and clients to check in with, but there’s also a huffy husband in bed beside you who quite pitifully crawls up into your arms.
It’s with his face between your boobs that he speaks again. “What if she’s getting made fun of at school? Or her teachers think she’s dumb?” You roll your eyes. “My baby is not dumb, __,” he says, as if you don’t know. “Her IQ came back above average when I took her to the development specialist that one time, remember?” You have half the mind to tell him an IQ test on a three year old isn’t exactly valid, but there’s already enough stacked on his plate. Finding out he wasted a hundred bucks for an invalid test would just be the cherry on top of all his worries.
Water clings to the very tips of his hair, remnants of his bath with Hyejoo. Namjoon is getting older now, nothing like the dashing grad student you had met what feels like a lifetime ago. There’s bags under his eyes, bags that surpass any all-nighter-pulling college student’s, induced by none other than the sheer power of becoming a parent. And still, he retains his beauty, looks like a doll with his skin so dewy from his skincare routine, lips puffy and red and kissable.
He looks up, and you take the opportunity to place a kiss on his lips, his familiar scent making you melt into his arms. When he pulls away, there’s still a subtle furrow between his brows.
“Hyejoo is fine,” you reassure him, carding his brown hair out of his face. He leans into the touch, eyes falling shut. “Our girl is the smartest three year-old out there,” you huff, feeling the slightest bit annoyed that he could even insinuate otherwise. “And if she was having problems at school, you know I would be the first one in there, fighting all the other moms.”
Namjoon relents, face falling back into its haven between your tits. “Okay,” he mumbles, muffled from the way his plush lips drag against the soft skin over your sternum.
The subject of Namjoon’s worries is in the other room sound asleep, not the least bit concerned with measly letters and sounds. It’s really only Namjoon who is, his stack of letter flashcards glaring at you from on top of the dresser. “Your mother hen is showing,” you tease as he slips beneath the covers, leaning over you to flick off your lamp. Just like everything else in your house, his t-shirt smells like him. It’s a natural, woodsy scent that floods your nostrils and makes your toes curl when he comes so close.
Namjoon snorts as he settles beside you, beefy arm pillowing your head as he pulls you close. “I’m not a mother hen,” he says, hand on your waist, the tantalizing expanse of his neck before your eyes. “I’m the rooster— the cock,” he snickers, and you reward his terrible attempt at a joke with a pinch to his side that has him retreating to the other end of the bed.
Hyejoo’s best friend in the entire world— or, as she says, her best pren in the entire world —is none other than Park Yerin from daycare. As the universe would have it, Park Yerin is also the one and only daughter of your college philosophy seat neighbor, Park Jimin.
Crossing paths with him later down the road was not something you could ever anticipate, especially when you and Jimin were never that close in college to begin with. It was the only class you had with him in all four years, one where you had quietly acknowledged his charisma and occasionally shared homework answers, before never speaking to him again. You could have greeted him on campus, as you often crossed paths. But Park Jimin was a walking friendship magnet who seemed to bring with him a parade of followers everywhere he went, and approaching him required three layers of strategic planning if you wanted to catch him alone.
So bumping into him at the entrance of Hyejoo’s daycare six years later comes as a bit of a shock. You had never pegged him as the type to settle down so quickly— you don’t mean to label him, but there were certain college stereotypes that he fit like a glove —but there he was, carrying the tiny love of his life who’s currently dressed in a bright pink Minnie Mouse dress.
Unsurprisingly, just like her father, Park Yerin has the same enthralling personality that makes everyone in the three to four year-old daycare class want to be her friend, and your sweet little Hyejoo is not exempt.
Long story short, out of all the kids at Sunny Side Daycare, Yerin is Hyejoo’s favorite, and Hyejoo is Yerin’s favorite.
So now it’s been a little over a year since the two girls have established their friendship, which means it’s been a little over a year of acquainting yourself with Jimin again. He’s a house husband, something you never expected, and he loves his daughter like no other. Some afternoons after daycare are spent with Jimin and Yerin at the nearest coffee shop, watching the girls haphazardly scribble over every piece of paper they can get their hands on while the two of you catch up.
Overall, you’re happy Hyejoo can have a friend like Yerin, and secretly, you're also happy you can finally befriend a fellow parent as nice and put together as Jimin. On top of that, Namjoon’s liked him on the few occasions he’s met him; the two have even gone out for drinks.
However, befriending Jimin and Yerin comes at a cost, and that cost is seeing your little girl grow up.
It’s your turn to mope.
“Yerin asked her to sleepover,” you groan, sadly patting in your skincare routine the next night. Namjoon is somewhere behind you, his naked back glaring at you through the reflection of your vanity mirror. He’s so broad and big, sleep shorts clinging to his waist as he lotions up his body post-shower. There’s a thin gold chain around his neck that glints everytime he moves around, biceps flexing and bulging in plain view until he finally slips his shirt on. There was a time in your life where his back could not go more than two days unscathed, your rabid (read: horny) claw marks painting rosy trails down his spine. These days, you can barely remember the last time he’s held your hand.
“Who?” he asks once he’s settled beneath the covers with whatever book he’s reading now and his thick-rimmed reading glasses.
“Who else,” you say, tugging your night robe closer to your chest as if it’ll prevent your heart from breaking anymore than it already was. “Hyejoo’s first sleepover,” you sigh.
You take it harder than you imagined. In the back of your mind, you’ve always known your little girl was growing up— hello, you were literally watching her grow more and more inches every single day —but you had convinced yourself she would stay your baby for a little while longer. As much as you wanted her to see and learn about the world, you selfishly wanted to keep her home too. She was your baby, your only one at that.
At least Namjoon feels the same way. “Absolutely not,” he squawks, abruptly slamming his book shut. He’s usually really meticulous about lining up his fancy bookmark right on the line he left off on, so his sudden carelessness tells you all you need to know about how he feels.
You sit down beside him, hand over his. “It’s Yerin’s birthday,” you inform him in what you hope is a comforting tone; unbeknownst to him, you’re trying to reassure yourself as well. “And Jimin said he and his wife are gonna be there the whole night.” You trust Jimin, you really do. If there’s anyone who’s more in love with their kid than you and Namjoon, it’s Jimin. He would never let anything happen to his Yerin, and by extension, he would never let anything happen to your Hyejoo. He’s a good dad.
Namjoon rubs at his eyes. In the span of two minutes, he’s aged about five years. “No,” he sighs softly, squeezing your hand tightly. “Once she starts going to sleepovers she’ll start wearing makeup and getting into relationships and having her heart broken—“
A kiss is enough to silence him when he gets like this, his warm breath fanning across your bottom lip when you pull away. “She just wants to wear tutus and sing Baby Shark right now,” you murmur, hand creeping up over his chest. His heart is beating fast as hell beneath his t-shirt, feels like it’ll burst straight out of his chest if you don’t calm him down.
He’s the bigger worrier out of the two of you, has a classic case of paranoid parent syndrome.
It’s no secret that Namjoon has a big brain; he’s an educated man with a respectable job. For every problem he encounters, he can procure a variety of solutions with different approaches. He’s always prepared and part of you thinks he’s a huge reason you managed to survive those first few weeks as a mom. Unlike you, who had attended a whopping two mommy classes in preparation for your upcoming child, Namjoon had studied up on parenting. A lot. He had read books and reviewed scientific studies, had learned about development on the chemistry level and the social level, did all he could until he was confident in his own dad abilities.
But, for every solution Namjoon can find, there are always twenty-eight other factors to worry about.
“What if she has an allergic reaction and Jimin doesn’t know what to do,” he pales, death grip on your hand. His matching wedding band digs into your skin and you have to wrestle his hand away before he accidentally breaks your finger. He nearly broke your neck once when you were in college, had almost sent you to the ER mid-thrust because he had underestimated his own strength while trying to choke you.
“Hyejoo doesn’t have any allergies,” you remind him, giving up on your awkward half-seated position as you clamber over him. His thighs are full beneath you, tense up as you move over him and he manhandles you into his chest.
He’s not done. “What if she asks Jimin for a fizzy drink and he can’t understand her?” His eyes are owlish beneath his glasses, covered in what you can only describe as a visible sheen of absolute terror. “What if he thinks she’s saying ‘pissy’ not ‘fizzy,’ __— what then?” It’s amazing, really, how a man who graduated cum laude can hypothesize this many disasters pertaining to a four year-old’s sleepover.
In the other room, Hyejoo calls for you, so you gladly take the opportunity to remove yourself from Namjoon and his spiraling thoughts. “Look,” you say, tightening the sash of your robe as you get back up. “I’m gonna go tell her that she can go to Yerin’s sleepover tomorrow,” you tell him, giving him exactly three seconds to groan dramatically, before continuing, “and you figure out how to turn that big brain off by the time I come back.”
Luckily, the cause of Hyejoo’s sudden wake up is a tiny bug bite she got from playing outside that just won’t stop itching. “Mommy, it hurts,” she whines, digging her nails into the tiny red mark by her knee.
“Uh huh, lemme see,” you order, turning on her bedside lamp to illuminate the space. Her room is the prettiest shade of yellow, fitting for a ball of sunshine such as herself. “Were you playing by the flowerbeds?” You ask, running a finger over the mark a little too weird looking to simply be another mosquito bite.
She knows she’s not supposed to play near the flowers— the bugs like her a little too much. It’s with a hesitant little nod that she confesses to it. You give her a pointed look. “You’re not supposed to play too close to the flowers,” you remind her, a tiny scolding for now.
With a sniffle she responds, “not by the plowers.”
A little bit of anti-itch cream has her settling, and by the time you return to your bedroom, Namjoon is out cold.
“How old is Yerin turning?” Namjoon asks her at the door, heartbreak clearly painting his features as you help Hyejoo into her shoes.
“Pour,” she beams, her tiny hand held up to show four stubby fingers. She has Namjoon’s pretty smile, an honest look in her eyes that makes you want to put her in your pocket and never let her go. Alas, Yerin’s sleepover party starts at five and Hyejoo has been trying to leave since noon.
“Pour,” Namjoon repeats, shooting you a pointed look as if to say see. He had fought the decision up until the end, had even tried to tactically convince your daughter to stay home by getting a head start on preparing her favorite food. And well. She said no. So now the two of you are stuck having dinosaur chicken nuggets for dinner without her.
She’s got her little travel bag on now, tiny feet stuffed into her ladybug rain boots because it had rained last night and she’s awfully addicted to jumping in muddy puddles. She’s absolutely adorable, your little girl, and you think Namjoon might’ve let out a tiny sob earlier. (Or maybe it was you.)
Namjoon joins you at the front door. “Be good,” he warns her. His eyes are suspiciously wet, but you don’t say anything because yours are too. You’re both crouched in front of her, her big eyes glancing back and forth between the two of you without a care in the world. Mixing your self-assured personality with Namjoon’s (mostly) composed attitude was quite possibly the worst genetic crossover to ever happen; Hyejoo doesn’t even seem remotely bothered by the fact she’s spending her first night away from home. Meanwhile, you and Namjoon are on the verge of a joint breakdown.
Anyway, Namjoon gives in first. “Love you forever, princess,” he tells her, their ritual expression, and kisses her forehead.
She accepts it and then, in an unexpected turn of events, surges forward to hug him around the neck. “Love you pporever, daddy,” she repeats, and your heart feels so painfully full at the sight, like you just unlocked a new life achievement from seeing your daughter and her father be so cute together. You don’t get to coo at them for long, because then she’s giving you a warm hug as well, the same phrase muttered in your ear.
It’s the hardest thing about parenting.
Seeing your kid slowly broaden their horizons, meeting new people and learning new things. Leaving home. (Granted, she’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon but even that feels like an eternity away to the dramatic parents you and Namjoon have become.) The second goodbye on Jimin’s doorstep isn’t any easier, especially when Hyejoo tugs on your arm and asks you to “say night to daddy please” for her, and your heart breaks just a little more. Jimin flashes you an understanding smile but all you want to do is punch him in the nose for ever telling Yerin what a sleepover is.
You get home and Namjoon is in a calmer state by now, some old sitcom he hates playing on the TV. Usually, this time of day is reserved for his daily phonemic lessons with Hyejoo, drilling the f sound into her tiny brain, so you guess this is his preferred method of coping in its place: torturing himself with some boring television show.
“Hey,” he says, and you crawl into his lap with a sad sniffle. “Shh,” he soothes, hand on the back of your head as he guides you into his chest. You’re actually crying now, which is super embarrassing in itself considering you scolded Namjoon for this exact behavior last night. He doesn’t mention it as he pats your back, stupid sitcom paused in favor of soothing you with the deep vibrations of his voice. “Hye’s gonna be back tomorrow, baby.”
“I want her back now,” you huff, vaguely aware of how childish and silly you sound. The tables have turned, and you find yourself wishing you had the same emotional fortitude as Namjoon now. All those parenting books have clearly amounted for something. Somehow, you will the feeling back into your body and pull away from his chest. You must look a mess because he doesn’t even try to hide the amusement on his face. “This is the worst day of my life.”
Namjoon laughs, deep and hearty, with his eyes squeezing shut from the force. “Come on, wifey, those chicken nuggets aren’t gonna eat themselves.”
It’s quite possibly the most boring evening you’ve had in years.
(The internet calls it new parent syndrome, where you’re so undeniably in love with your first child and the parenting experience that the rest of the world is put on pause.)
You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.)
Kids are prone to asking weirdly philosophical questions, a fact that had greatly delighted you when Hyejoo first started speaking. Who am I? What’s money? Why not? It could get annoying sometimes, trying to answer all of Hyejoo’s curiosities. But as you begin on your second batch of dinosaur chicken nuggets, all you can think about is how Jimin gets to answer them tonight.
Anyway, seven rolls around and you and Namjoon are bored. You can only watch so many episodes of Seinfield before you get tired of feigning interest, so you retire from the living room for the night. “I’m gonna take a bath,” you tell him, but he’s as brain dead as you by now.
A second later, “lemme join.”
It’s been a while since the two of you have squeezed into the bathtub together, usually assigning each other days to individually join Hyejoo. So it’s really not either of your faults when you realize a second too late how small the space is. One on each end, feet bumping into each other with every movement, it’s like trying to squeeze two feet into one shoe. You try to readjust yourself, but the bath flooring is slippery and you nearly take away Namjoon’s procreative abilities with a mighty kick.
To make a long story short, you end up pressed against his chest, Namjoon’s thick thighs framing you as you relax into the steaming water. Instinctively, he reaches for Hyejoo’s bottle of baby shampoo that sits on the tub’s ledge and only catches himself just as the first droplet is meeting his palm. “Oh, fuck,” he sighs, quickly closing the lid before he can waste any more precious product. “Shit, I’m so sad.”
You snort, sinking farther back into his chest. He’s warm and soft in all the right ways, the hot water making him slippery. “What did we even do before Hyejoo?” you ask, reaching into the deepest crevices of your mind for answers. Namjoon’s hand comes around, fingers sprawled out over your knee, the one you have propped up and breaking the water’s surface
He makes a rather vague sound, something like I don’t know, as he lolls forward, forehead on your shoulder. “Go on dates,” he responds eventually. “Fuck like crazy.”
You roll your eyes. “Besides that,” you chide, pinching the back of his palm. “Don’t we have any hobbies? Any interests?” He doesn’t answer, which is all the answer you need. Why didn’t you get into puzzle solving back when it was a trend? “Is this what our life has become? Crying in a bathtub at seven pm because our emotional support child isn’t here?”
“Our only child,” he corrects. Namjoon tries to placate your looming existential crisis with a kiss to your shoulder, lips against wet skin, that he trails up to your neck. “And what’s wrong with going on dates and fucking?” he murmurs, hands around your stomach. “That’s how we got here,” he teases, and you’re not sure if it’s the warm water or the way his voice is like melted chocolate dripping down your body, but you become all too aware of his presence at that moment. Particularly, of the plush lips mindlessly kissing your shoulder, the wet smack of their motions.
Another kiss, this time right below your ear. It has your head rolling to the side, exposing more skin for him to kiss up on. There’s still that overwhelming cloud of worry in the back of your mind, but it’s gradually nudged away by Namjoon’s warm hands on your skin. Sensing your weakening resolve, Namjoon strikes again. A hand slips down over your stomach, brushes over your belly button and finds itself between your thighs. “You used to love date nights, baby,” he says, the pad of his pointer finger grazing your clit.
It’s been so long since you and Namjoon have been alone like this, months since you’ve been able to touch him beyond a simple make out session, a halfhearted grope beneath the sheets. Your daughter, as much as you loved her, made intimacy impossible for the two of you. She was always around, always looking for one or the both of you, so there was never time to even think about getting frisky.
Only now, with his finger circling your clit, do you realize the blessing in disguise that was your daughter’s first slumber party away from home.
His finger nudges your clit, flicks it teasingly. “Why don’t you let me take care of you, hm?” he hums, the hand that had been soothingly stroking the inside of your thigh coming up to rub at your breasts.
“Yes, please,” you whine. Resting your head on his shoulder leaves Namjoon with a clear view down your front, lips kissing and sucking along your neck. His huge hand palms your breast, massaging the sensitive skin. You hadn’t realized how sore you’d been until now, his nimble fingers pressing deliciously into the skin. If your nipples weren’t already hard before, they certainly were now.
He traps one pearled nipple between two fingers, the sudden pinch making you hiss. “Easy, now,” he chuckles, his low tenor paired with his wandering hands making your eyes roll back.
Namjoon liked to use a higher tone around the house. He read somewhere that children prefer lighter, sweeter tones, so the last few years have been spent listening to him lighten the tone of his voice for the sake of your daughter. The deeper, growlier voice that had first made you fall in love with him became a rarity in your household, reserved for quiet nights in the living room or long drives where Hyejoo was asleep in the backseat. Only then does he unleash the gravelly qualities of his voice.
Then, and apparently, now.
His doll-like lips press against your jaw, suck lightly enough to make your body tingle. “Do you remember how it was the first time?” he says suddenly, his hot breath against your neck.
Namjoon’s got your clit trapped between two wandering fingers, has your pussy twitching with the vibrations of his voice alone. And for some reason, he’s trying to reminisce about your first time sleeping together.
“N- Not really,” you confess, subtly reaching down. You cover his palm with yours, hoping your touch will encourage him to carry on with his actions. It doesn’t. It just leaves both your hands hovering over your pussy, your thighs instinctively closing in on them to keep him there. Namjoon responds to that, releasing the breast he had been gently massaging in order to pry your legs apart. He does it so easily, despite the way your legs feel tight as hell, and the fact makes you whimper.
Once he’s got his hands back between your thighs— this time, he uses one hand to carefully part your quivering lips, the other one gingerly pressing down against your clit to draw the most heavenly sensations out of you —Namjoon feels the need to dive into a recap of your first fuck. “You were so cute,” he laughs, and you don’t know if you should take offense. Well, considering you're married and have a kid now, it’s probably too late to say anything anyway. His hand suddenly switches gears, three fingers joining together to begin caressing them over your throbbing clit. “Kept talking to me so politely, even when you were creaming my cock.”
You scoff, but it gets cancelled out by the moan he draws out of you. “D- Didn’t know you that well,” you remind him, your thighs twitching. You desperately want to buck forward into his giving hands, want to feel the true power of those long, pretty fingers on your cunt.
Behind you, Namjoon’s cock grows thick, his breathing a slow and steady pace by your ear. You can already imagine how heavy he is, the vein that runs along the underside and throbs with each new bit of stimulus he receives. Normally you would reach back and try to offer him the same helping hand he gives you, but your thighs feel wobbly already. Your libido has been dormant for so long that even just the barest flick of his thumb has you dissolving into his arms like this is your first time.
It’s as if Namjoon’s sensing your inner battle, a muffled laugh against the side of your neck. “This is about you,” he reminds you. As much as you want to protest, a sudden hard rub against your quivering lips has you gasping for breath. “Give me a kiss,” he commands softly, nudging his nose against the side of your face. It takes a second for you to ground yourself, draw yourself away from your building pleasure, to turn toward his waiting lips.
Namjoon kisses you slowly, like he’s taking his time with you. For the first time in a long time, he truly can. He doesn’t have to worry about a certain someone waking up in the middle of the night or walking in or anything along those lines, lips molding against yours. Plush as always, the faint taste of dinosaur chicken nuggets clinging to his lips. It makes you laugh a little, drawing away with an airy giggle. Namjoon smiles at your reaction, murmuring a soft, “what is it?”
You shake your head, eyes fluttering shut as he continues his circular motions against your clit. “Nothing,” you pant, finally getting in your first thrust against his fingers. “I just really need you,” you say instead, pushing his hand harder down against you.
You’re feeling a little antsy, having been deprived of this sensation for so long. Namjoon knows this, which is why he very purposely slows down. “There’s no rush,” he smirks, placing a kiss against your chin. “How do you want it, baby?”
The inside of your brain is a scrambled mess, filled with fantasies and ideas that have been plaguing you for months. There’s so much you want to do, want to try, but it’s like your brain completely blanks out when he asks. It’s just as you’re beginning to formulate a thought that you’re interrupted by the sound of your ringtone in the other room. Your husband’s arms tighten around you. “Don’t go,” he says quietly, the tip of his nose running along your neck. It’s so tempting to stay here, to let yourself go in his arms and chase the pleasure you’ve been craving for so long.
But the endless possibilities of who exactly could be calling wins over. Was it work? Was it your parents? Jimin?
It is with a heavy sigh that you reach for Namjoon’s hand, slowly pushing him away from your cunt. “I’m sorry, honey,” you frown, standing up out of the tub. Your legs really do feel like jelly, and you nearly slip and crack your skull on the porcelain edge. Luckily, Namjoon is there to steady you with two secure hands on your waist. “I’ll make it quick,” you reassure him, dropping a kiss on his pouty lips as you fasten a towel around your body.
The phone is just starting up its final ring when you reach it. It’s Jimin, and you’re torn between being thankful that you’re getting word on Hyejoo and full blown panic from the fact Jimin is calling you while Hyejoo is in his care. The unease has you accepting the call without a second more to waste. “Hello?” you say, hand tightening on the front of your towel. Stray water droplets trace ticklish trails down the backs of your thighs.
“__?” comes Jimin’s sweet voice. It’s normally soothing, but right now it has every hair on your body standing on end. Before you can even respond, Jimin is jumping headfirst into a whirlwind of a conversation. “Sorry for calling so late, but I just wanted to check in on you, babe. I know you were really panicked about Hye’s first night away from home, but don’t worry! Me and the missus are doing everything we can to make sure she’s fine.”
His confidence reassures you, lessens the weight that had been sitting on your chest all afternoon. But at the same time, you find yourself wanting to throttle him.
Your gorgeous, sexy hunk of a husband is sitting in the other room, cock at full mast and ready to pleasure you to the moon and back, and here you are listening to Jimin brag about how good of a caretaker he is. You were definitely going to make Jimin pay for this.
Deep breaths, you tell yourself, toying with a stray thread on your towel. “Really,” you drawl, and you can practically see Jimin’s ego swell over the line.
“Yup,” Jimin agrees, and by the sounds of it, doesn’t seem like he’s hoping to end this call anytime soon. You want to shoulder part of the blame; you had been extra sad and mopey when you dropped your daughter off. On top of being a good dad, Jimin was also a good friend. It was only naturally he wanted to reassure you when he could.
Still, the memory of Namjoon’s wet chest was calling out to you.
“The girls are playing princess in the living room with the missus right now,” Jimin chats on. “New dresses and everything— the Yerin Birthday Special —and they asked me to be their handsome prince!” You sincerely cannot wait for the day you get to introduce Jimin to your right fist.
“That’s great,” you offer, not that he’s really listening. He’s too busy talking about Yerin (and making sure to include Hyejoo in for your sake) and how amazing it is to watch your kids grow up before your very eyes. And while you agree with the sentiment, you really wish he had called you and told you this earlier, when you were at the peak of your motherly meltdown. Not now with Namjoon waiting for you in the bathtub. Was the water even warm anymore?
The mind blowing orgasm practically slips from your fingertips the longer Jimin talks. “Anyway! Enough about them. I’m thinking of trying out that blueberry bread recipe that aired on TV last night. You know, the one they had that actress make.”
You’ve just about resigned yourself to listening to Jimin talk about his love for pastries for the next thirty minutes when something brushes up behind you. “What the fu—“
He’s so tall and broad, practically covers your entire frame when he stands so close. And his smile is so pretty when he aims it your way. “Sh,” Namjoon murmurs, gesturing towards your phone.
“__?” Jimin calls. “Everything alright?”
Namjoon nods eagerly, the hands on your waist properly positioning you in front of him. It’s with a shudder running down your spine that you respond. “I’m fine,” you tell Jimin, letting go of the front of your towel when Namjoon abruptly pushes you over. The white comforter infused with both of your scents comes all too close, your elbow barely managing to reach out in time to catch you.
Wide eyed, you turn to throw Namjoon a scandalized look over your shoulder. He meets you with a close-mouthed smile, the dimples in his cheeks making themselves known. His chest is drier now, the smooth planes covered in a thin dewy glow and a spattering of droplets he missed. There’s a towel around his waist that’s barely doing its job, especially when you catch sight of the erection tenting beneath it.
“As I was saying,” Jimin rambles on. Namjoon nods towards the device, refusing to move again until you finally turn back around to finish your conversation with Jimin. “That actress fucked it up so bad. They really give anyone with a pretty face screen time these days, huh? At least I know how to properly preheat an oven.”
You nod. “You do make the best cookies in town,” you respond, a ball of anticipation building in your throat from the mere fact Namjoon is standing behind you.
It’s completely warranted once you feel two cold fingers trail up the back of your thigh, your towel gradually pushed up to drape around your waist. The air in your room is a little chilly, and the goosebumps that raise on your skin are partly due to that, as well as the ghostlike touch of Namjoon’s fingers. “Pretty,” he murmurs, so deep and gravelly it has you shuddering.
Two fingers dance along your skin, and you subconsciously jolt away when they meet the tender skin around your pussy. By your ear, Jimin says, “if I completely fuck it up, we’ll just pretend this conversation never happened. Deal?”
Using your own body against you, Namjoon lets one finger dip just the smallest bit into your quivering hole. You clench up, thighs trembling when he eventually pulls it back out and traces your own wetness over your folds. “Perfect,” you bite out, clutching at the sheets beneath you as Namjoon reaches for your forgotten clit. It’s still so sensitive from your little fun in the bath, and it takes every ounce of strength in you to hold back the whiny gasp in your throat.
Behind you, Namjoon suddenly presses in close. One hand on your hip, he gently encourages you onto the bed. Your knees sink into the mattress, one less strain on your legs. “Good girl,” he praises quietly, rewarding your behavior with a finger sinking into your cunt.
“Joo—“ you almost slip, burying your face into the sheets just in time.
A devastatingly slow pace, his finger just barely moving in and out of you. The bulk of your pleasure is coming from that bundle of nerves towards your front, but the teasing gesture isn’t appreciated anyway. When he leans over you, breath against your neck, you feel the length of his cock against your thigh. “He’s asking you a question,” Namjoon whispers, “answer him, baby.”
You nod, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he presses himself closer. Jimin hasn’t even noticed your lack of participation, mindlessly humming a song. The sounds of a running sink highlight his vocals. “Oh, absolutely,” you babble. “I wouldn’t tell a soul.”
“Ha!” Jimin scoffs. “I knew I could always count on you, Miss __,” he snarks playfully.
The hand toying with your clit comes around your waist, fingers stroking against your folds from this new angle. A silent moan has you writhing forward, unconsciously away from him as Jimin babbles on the other end of the line. He’s none the wiser to the lewd acts happening on the line, listening to the sound of his own voice. Namjoon lands a mean little bite against your shoulder, plunging his finger deeper inside of your clenching hole.
Paired with his teasing fingers, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your moans, biting your lip until it stings. “Fuck, fuck,” you whimper against the sheets, holding your phone as far away as possible from your mouth as a litany of curse words spill from your lips. Namjoon chuckles at your dramatics, not like he has his fingers deep inside of you right now or anything.
“So cute,” he hums, removing his hand from your clit to snatch your towel away. It gives way too easily, messily thrown over the edge of the bed. With your back completely exposed now, Namjoon wastes no time trailing a line of kisses up your spine, finishing off with an especially wet and hard one behind your ear. “Hang up now.”
His permission sets your body on edge, drawing your phone close again. Jimin is talking about dinner or something, you don’t even know. Not an ounce of remorse fills you when you clear your throat and hurriedly announce, “I have to—“ Namjoon’s cock, finally uncovered by his towel, presses against your folds and you nearly lose it. “—I have to go now, Jimin,” you say, leveling your breathing as best as you can.
“Wait, what the fuck?” Jimin says, thrown off by your sudden departure.
The mushroom tip of his cock kisses your clit. “Fuck— I really have to go.” And you hang up, chucking the phone off to the side hastily. With your hands both freed, you scramble onto your back, meeting the amused gaze of your husband behind you. “Fuck me, now.”
Namjoon laughs, reaching for the towel barely clinging onto his waist. One suave swoop later and it joins yours on the floor. “You did good,” he praises, lowering himself between your spread thighs. You roll your eyes, grabby hands reaching for his hips until he’s sitting snugly against you, cock resting over your throbbing cunt.
“Yeah, yeah,” you snap, the tight feeling in your tummy growing with every second that passes. Namjoon isn’t as unaffected as he pretends to be, a pearly bead of cum appearing at the tip of his engorged cock. “Just fuck me now.”
He raises a brow. “Missionary?” As if it’s the first time.
“Is there something wrong with it?” you ask anyway, self-consciously reaching an arm over yourself to cover your naked breasts. They’ve pebbled over just from his stare alone.
Namjoon hesitates, the hand on your hip drawing slow circles with his thumb. Eventually, he responds with a halfhearted shrug. “It’s not the best.” This is news to you, and you find yourself sitting up at the sudden bomb he’s dropped.
He’s still hard as rock between you, his dick laying almost artfully against your slit. You really just want to throw aside all reservations and begin grinding against him, penetration be damned, but now Namjoon’s got that thoughtful quirk to his lips. The one that usually accompanies any big brained idea, so you settle down, nudging him with your thigh until he’s looking at you again. “Penny for your thoughts?” What you really want to say is please fuck me like I’m just another cum rag of yours and make it hurt, but alas.
Namjoon sits back on his haunches. “I read somewhere that on your hands and knees is the best way to get pregnant.” You choke on your own tongue, face ablaze from his forward statement. Meanwhile, Namjoon is looking as relaxed as ever.
You hadn’t really discussed children after Hyejoo. The wordless agreement had been that sure, you were both down for another kid sometime in the future. But the exact date had sort of been murky. Hyejoo is three now, and you heard from another mom that it’s difficult for children with wide age gaps to get along. You don’t want her growing up being far removed from another sibling.
But also, now?
It’s like Namjoon knows your thoughts before you even do. “Alright, wifey, say no more,” he says, leaning down to place a kiss against your lips. “I’ll get the condom, alright?”
And then he’s stepping off the bed, every muscle of his toned body flexing as he swaggers over towards the dresser. He’s a walking dream, the physical embodiment of all your crazy sex fantasies, and he wants to fuck a baby into you. Your pussy says yes, but your rationality is still on the fence.
You roll onto your side, head propped into your open palm. “You want another baby?” you ask tentatively. Namjoon shrugs, carefully opening the new box of condoms you had bought half a year ago.
“It wouldn’t hurt to have another kid,” he answers, procuring a tiny foil packet from the box and returning to his spot between your legs. It’s like staring at a marble statue from this angle, the defined planes of his chest and abdomen, the gorgeous slope of his nose, the sharp angles of his face. You really lucked out.
Your decision comes just as he’s easing the rubber over the tip of his cock, the swollen head just barely enveloped. You place a hand against his wrist, earning his attention. “Take it off,” you mumble, and you swear on your entire life he swells another inch.
“Oh, baby,” he groans, hastily throwing the condom somewhere across the room. He rolls over you, bulging arms sweeping you up into his embrace, lips capturing yours in a sloppy kiss. You whimper, letting his tongue push itself past your lips. When he pulls away, it’s with a wet pop and glistening lips. They’re so puffy now, flushed a nice rosy color, that makes him look even more handsome when he smiles down at you. “Gonna look so pretty all pregnant,” he beams, placing a chaste kiss against you one last time before he’s hurriedly rolling you onto your stomach.
You hide your bashful expression against the sheets, suddenly feeling very shy before him. But then Namjoon’s cock is running along your lips and you’re left a shivering mess. “Please just fuck me,” you beg hoarsely, and Namjoon obeys.
“Whatever you want, wifey,” he teases, and before you can call him out for his cheesiness, he’s pressing his thumb into your aching hole once more. “Is this okay?” he asks, somberly for the first time in what seems like forever.
“I’m okay,” you confess, a little shyly now that you know his true motives.
Namjoon chuckles, quickly removing his finger from inside of you to give your ass one soothing pat. “Going in,” he warns you, and finally, you’re rewarded for all your struggles. It’s only as his mushroom head squeezes in that you realize you could have done with a bit more stretching, but that thought fades away the more and more he pushes in. “Fuck,” he groans, the low intonation of his voice making your toes curl.
If it’s not his voice, it’s the sheer length of his cock inside of you. The girth makes your spine tingle, has you muffling a pitiful whimper into the comforter beneath you. “Relax for me,” he directs, and then suddenly he’s placing a palm against your back, pushing you further down. “Hips up.”
You groan. The normally soft fabric of the blanket feels like hell on your sensitive breasts. “I’m trying,” you whine, pushing back onto him in an effort to familiarize yourself with his cock again. It’s been so long since he’s been inside of you like this, since he’s filled you so well, that your body acts a little stupid now. He hasn’t even begun thrusting and you already feel like you’ll cum just from this.
The angle is different than your usual style, has him moving along every inch of you as he sinks in. Two big hands grab at your waist, manhandling you closer to him until you’re just like he wants you to be. “There we go,” he sighs, and with him motionless, you finally relax. It’s about a two second pause before he begins to draw himself back out. “How do you want it?” he grunts, but it’s lost beneath the moan that escapes you. It’s the same question he asked you in the tub, right before Jimin called, except this time you have an answer.
“Fast,” you gasp, the pain from the stretch finally, finally, melting away as your body grows accustomed to his presence inside of you. “Do it fast, please.”
Namjoon does as he’s told, waiting until he’s pulled out until the tip to satisfy your requests. And then he’s off.
Your body isn’t as young as it once was, left a little worn from the entire child-bearing process. Sometimes you wonder how exactly you and Namjoon would fuck until sunrise before, how your sex drive was so high that it allowed such a thing to happen. Admittedly, there’s currently a stiffness inside of you that has been there for a while now, and you barely remember how you got rid of it before. Apparently, this is how.
Namjoon’s hard cock rams into you once, makes you release the most embarrassingly loud moan at the sudden intrusion, and it’s like all those months of tension that built up in your body are melted away. His cock pushes past your folds, creating a lewd squelching sound that would otherwise leave you mortified to learn it came from your body. You shudder, desperately pushing your ass back against him in a feeble attempt to feel it again.
“Still so fucking tight for me,” he growls, snapping his hips forwards. His skin slaps against yours, leaves you feeling tender from the brutal movements of his body. But at the same time, it feels absolutely terrific.
Your lips are still coated in your own wetness, have him noisily moving in and out. “J- Joon,” you whimper softly, but you doubt he hears it over the sound of his own labored breathing. “More.”
He responds with a sudden piston inside of you that has the tip of his cock nearly kissing your cervix. “More?” he huffs, the hand on your back pressing down until you fear you’ll become one with the mattress. “You want more?” You nod hurriedly, somehow managing to stretch a hand down between you to toy with your clit. The brush of your own fingers has you bucking back onto him in surprise.
Wordlessly, he speeds up his pace, thrusting his hips into your velvety walls at a faster speed than before. It’s a weird sensation, a sort of ticklish feeling m that makes you tremble with each roll forward. You can’t say the two of you have done it in this position a lot, always preferring the more romantic missionary position to anything else, but this experience was quickly making you an avid believer of its validity as a top tier sex position.
You swirl your pointer finger around your clit, trying to sync up your shaky touch with his steady thrusts. It’s useless, because every time you feel like you’ve gotten into the same groove, Namjoon one ups you by hauling you back against him. “Oh, f- fuck,” you sob, clawing at the sheets beneath you.
Namjoon groans, momentarily pausing his rapid thrusts to roll his buried cock against you. “Come on, baby,” he husks, the hilt of his cock kissing your folds.
There’s a lot of built up sexual tension inside of you, months on top of months of nothingness. Not to mention that little scene in the bathtub just now. So you’re not really surprised that your orgasm rears its head so early, curling up tightly in your stomach the longer Namjoon fucks you. He’s back to thrusting now, shallow little movements that make you see stars every time his cock glides inside of you. “Joon, I'm gonna...” you rasp out pitifully, grinding back against him.
“Whenever you want,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press a kiss against your shoulder. It’s sweet, but on top of that, it has him pushing in further than before, finally pressed against that sensitive spot inside of you that makes your entire body lock up. You sob, thighs quivering when he reaches an arm around you. It’s almost romantic how your hands meet, his fingers covering yours as he guides them over your clit slowly. “Give it to me, baby,” he croons, lips pressed securely against your neck. He leaves soft kisses there, smooches really, that make you melt.
Another shallow buck of his hips forward and you’re cumming, breaths picking up until they accumulate into a choked wail against the sheets. “Fuck— oh, fuck,” you cry, your thighs spasming from the force of your first satisfying orgasm in months. Namjoon holds you through it, slowly thrusting inside of you until he’s drawn out your entire orgasm.
The new added pleasure makes his movements sound even wetter, dirtier even. “That’s it,” he purrs, pushing himself back up to his full height behind you. You feel absolutely boneless beneath him, laying limply against the mattress as Namjoon repositions your hips for himself. “Can I finish like this, sweetheart?” he asks anyway, thumbs drawing a soothing pattern along your hip.
You can barely catch your breath, so you settle on a halfhearted nod that has him huffing out a laugh.
For some reason, Namjoon fucks you harder once he knows you’ve had your fill. Like he’s trying to draw another orgasm out of you, but is also the least bit concerned with you. Honestly, it works. He moves fast and hard, like he has no regard for your pleasure, and for some reason that turns you on more than it should. It’s this weird fantasy of yours, to be mistreated by a man as respectful as Namjoon, and you find yourself weirdly fulfilling it now as he fucks his cock into you.
His fingers dig into your skin, wildly bucking into you as he chases his own high, and it’s embarrassing how quickly a second one builds up for you. You moan at one particular thrust, body sensitive all over. “Oh,” you whimper, “Namjoon.”
He grunts, your cries fueling him on as he continues his mad race to the end. “Gonna cum with me again?” he pants, his quick pace rocking you forward. You nod, using your killer grip on the sheets to ground yourself as you weakly attempt to meet his thrusts. “Aren’t you the sweetest,” he hums, and doesn’t let you respond as he continues to jackhammer his way into your pussy at a bruising pace.
It takes a few more thrusts, and one whiny cry of his name— “come on, Joonie,” you whimper, turning to throw him a teary-eyed gaze over your shoulder; he shudders at the sight —until Namjoon is finally tipped over the edge, shooting his pleasure deep into you on the next thrust. It’s warm, paints your walls and threatens to spill out when he finally pulls out.
But Namjoon has read up, using those big strong arms of his to keep you from collapsing onto your tummy as he scrambles around for something to keep your hips up. “It sticks better this way,” he says, a sheen of sweat against his temples when he flops down beside you.
“What sticks better,” you groan, the achy feeling of just having your world rocked quickly settling into your bones.
Namjoon leans forward and places a kiss against your lips, as if saying here, for all your hard work. “You know... it,” he shrugs, hands behind his head as he prepares himself to supervise your post-sex nap, just to make sure you don’t accidentally move around and let his cum leak out. “You did good, wifey,” he praises with another smooch. “Maybe we should let Hyejoo sleep over at Jimin’s more.”
Hyejoo’s return is the highlight of the year.
You pick her up around noon, and your heart nearly grows ten sizes when you see her come running down Jimin’s front steps and into your arms. “Hi, mommy,” she beams, the same smile as Namjoon. And just like Namjoon, you can’t stop yourself from covering her face in tiny kisses. She says they tickle and squirms and squeals in your embrace.
Jimin’s at the door with this weirdly blank look on his face. “Hey, Jimin,” you call out, helping Hyejoo load her bag into the backseat.
“Hey…” he greets, just as Hyejoo frantically begins calling for you to buckle her in. “Um, __,” Jimin says, but you’re a little busy securing the tiny love of your life into her booster seat, so you just throw him a quick glance to let him know you’re listening. Kinda. “There’s something I have to tell you—“
“I wanna see daddy!” Hyejoo babbles from the backseat, wildly waving her hands around as you finally close the door on her. With it shut, her loud voice is drowned out and you’re left raising a brow at Jimin as you round the front of the car.
“What’s up?” you ask.
Jimin comes down the steps, awkwardly hovering by the front of your car. “Um, when we were on the phone—“ Hyejoo knocks her tiny hands against the window, gesturing for you to hurry up. You flash Jimin an apologetic frown at the interruption. “Well, you see. She kinda heard us— well, me—”
Another flurry of knocks, and you can’t wait to relay to Namjoon how excited your daughter had been to see him again. It’ll boost his ego, not that he really needs it to be any bigger. “That’s fine,” you tell Jimin, swinging your door open. Immediately, Hyejoo’s high-pitched voice fills the space between you and Jimin. “You know I don’t mind talking to the missus,” you joke, nudging his side. “She’s my friend too, ya know.”
“Gotta show daddy something!” Hyejoo shouts from the backseat, has this big smile on her face that makes you smile as well.
Beside you, Jimin is quickly falling apart. “No, well—” you drop down into your seat “it wasn’t her who heard—“ You shut the door, lowering the window to thank Jimin one more time. Hyejoo beats you to it.
“Bye, Mr. Jimin!” she says, tiny legs kicking around all wildly in her excitement. You shake your head with a grin, waving goodbye to Jimin one last time as you pull out of his driveway.
“Daddy!” Hyejoo shrieks upon entering your home. Her tiny overnight bag is tossed down at the entryway, ladybug rain boots haphazardly kicked towards the general direction of the shoe closet. Namjoon had been upstairs in his study when you left, but he now comes bounding down the steps at the sound of your daughter’s voice. He cries out a dopey, “princess”, as he scoops her up in his big arms. He does a twirl and everything, so dramatic. But it makes Hyejoo giggle like crazy.
She allows one big fat kiss against her chubby cheeks before she’s shushing him with the news of her announcement. “Daddy, look,” she beams, holding his face between her tiny hands. “I can say the f sound now!”
Namjoon has been avidly working towards this ability for months now. Namjoon, who has spent nights reading every page of every child development book possible, who has spent hours decorating pretty flashcards for her, who has sectioned off time from his busy schedule everyday just to go over lessons with her. Well, Namjoon looks over the goddamn moon at the news.
“Let’s hear it, honey,” you urge, stepping in when his happiness renders him incapable of speech. So he just nods along, looks like a bobblehead doll beside you.
And with both of her proud, sometimes overprotective, parents standing before her, Hyejoo puts on a big grin and says, “fuck.”
Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.
#bangtanhq#networkbangtan#namjoon smut#kim namjoon smut#namjoon fic#kim namjoon fic#knj fic#bts fic#bts smut#kim namjoon x reader#kim namjoon x reader smut#namjoon x reader#namjoon x reader smut#mine
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obsidians and rubies - zero
synopsis: Two things didn't make sense... how much your life changed in six months and... how you wound up in a room almost overheating to death.
summary: today was the day of your mother's reception, after your father died seventeen years ago, she'd finally find the happiness to move on. this was a big thing for her and you hope that everything would go smoothly... yeah right.
a/n: my new mini-series! I'm so excited about it! We only see Aizawa for a glimpse of this, but he has a significant role! I hope you enjoy part zero, and I'm working on the official part one right now.
warnings: noting major right now, but we get into the nitty-gritty in the actual first part.
wc: 2.7k
You hadn’t realized the lengths and depths your mother would go, just to become wealthy once again.
Yes. once again.
Often, during your childhood, you’d hear her stories of how she was the “belle of the ball” back in her days. Her father, the grandfather you’ve never met, owned an extensive amount of land. She had her horse, named Evangeline, and would ride with her siblings till days on end. She had closets filled with expensive dresses and would have suitors lining up outside her door. You’d see that spaced-out look on her face, soft smiles as she held a jeweled brooch close to her heart, one of the few attachments she said she had to her old life.
Every day was like that apparently, until she had met your father.
You never knew the true story about the two of them, but you were a smart child, you could figure it out. The two of them fell in love and ran off together. They were happy, they had you, and lived in the village you lived in today. You can remember the nights of your father gathering you in your arms pulling your mother to dance in the nights. The days of you having pillow fights with your father, building forts with what little supplies you had in the house you lived in. Yes, you were happy, and you knew your mother was happy. That all changed when your father died of a plague that rocked the west side of the kingdom, where you live. You were only seven when he died, remembering every harsh breath he took just to breathe. How he could barely move from the spare bedroom he slept in…
You were laying right beside him when he passed, your mother coming home from work she had picked up after your father had to stop, only to find her husband not breathing and you silently crying your eyes out, arms and legs wrapped around his arm.
Ever since then, it was just downhill for both you and your mother. She would never tell you, but your father was the reason a life like that was bearable… and without him… well, you can just tell it was detrimental to your relationship. So you knew, you knew how much she hated living a life like that, but there was no going back. She gave up everything for your father only for him to die seven years later.
But this… this was just too much…
----
You never thought you'd find yourself here… here you sat in the decorative room of the Western castle of Grimoire. It was two hours away from your home, and things were different here… instead of the tattered red dress you wore nearly every day, you wore dresses and outfits that cost more than what you made working in the run-down pub. For today, you wore a red dress, thin black tulle covering over the color to give it a deep shade. The thins straps held it up, conforming to your body perfectly. You graze your hands over your form, remembering the first day you’d tried it on. Your thoughts, was this how mom felt? Wearing expensive clothes? Living a life like this?
The days of struggling to find something to eat were long behind, according to your mother. She had met someone, and was willing to provide for the two of them for the rest of their lives. Which was how you were here now, six months after your mother had shown you to her new fiancé, sitting in your brand new room, where you had been living for the past three weeks. Today was the wedding, an elaborate ceremony, every detail was prepared by your mother. You had a feeling that this was the wedding she had wanted with your father, but you ignored your thoughts, trying your best to support your mother.
Your hair was pulled from the intricate bun you had during the wedding, the black soft butterfly locs reaching all the way to the small of your back, hovering near your bottom. You shafted a bit, your jewelry jingling along with you. You turned around, continuing to admire yourself within the large intricate mirror. You smiled slightly, trying to uplift this… heavy feeling. You never knew why… but it was like it was all too good to be true. That some random nobleman just saw your mother and fell for her on the spot, leading you to what is today… her wedding day.
A knock came at the door, pulling you from your thoughts.
“Miss…?” It was Ruth, the maid your new step-father had assigned for you.
The door creaked open before her head popped in, her little button nose scruffing up, “Miss… your mother, Sir Tsunagu and the rest of the family are waiting for you.”
You blinked at her before slowly nodding your head, “yes, of course, I’ll be right there.”
The door shut behind her, allowing you to turn back around and look at yourself one more time. Just as you were about to turn towards the door, something caught your eye. What was that? You turned towards your balcony, where you saw the sudden flash of black…as if it was a large wing flapping. No… it must be your imagination. You slowly shook your head, before finally turning around and heading to the door… that’s right… only your imagination.
You walked out the door, Ruth waiting right outside for you, along with the guard scheduled to safeguard you. After all, this is a nobleman’s wedding, and there are malicious threats outside. You walked down and all throughout the castle, escorted by Ruth who was responsible for getting to know the ins and outs of the castle. Soon enough, you arrive right in front of the ballroom, where your mother was waiting.
She had changed from her HUGE wedding dress into something more manageable. She wore a red dress, the color similar to yours but the style very different. It was off the shoulders, with ruffles pointing out from the short sleeves. The dress pooled slightly on the floor and even had a long slit going up until her mid to lower thigh. Her hair was pulled out of the pinned hairstyle that was tucked behind her veil, long black voluminous tresses reaching to her mid-shoulder.
“You’re late,” your mother only looked at you as you arrived by the group.
“Honey, it’s only for a few minutes, I don’t think anyone’s noticed.” Your stepfather, Tsunagu was his name, came up behind your mother and wrapped his arms around her.
You sighed, looking away from the two of them, the heavy feeling only intensifying.
“Whatever, let’s just go. Our guests are waiting for us.”
Your step-father nodded at the guards, who stood at attention and knocked at the large wooden doors. You stood right beside your step-siblings, keeping your head forward as the doors slowly opened, horns announcing your family's arrival. The copious amounts of applause only got louder as the doors were opening wider and widener. The guards stationed at the doors bowed as your new step-father and your mother guided you and your new siblings into the large ballroom hall. The ball was decorated in the colors of the wedding, red, blue, and gold. Gold was one of the colors of the country you lived in and considering you have a nobleman as a step-father, it was tradition.
You looked up at the ceiling, the golden low lighting allowing you to look at the intricate design. There were paintings, coinciding with the history of the castle, specifically the murder of Anania, a runaway princess who was murdered by what the townspeople called a demonic creature. You looked forward, feeling the pressure of your heels digging into your foot as you walked towards the center of the ballroom. The crowd of people lining up the walkway slowly crowded around you and the family, slowly forming a circle around you all.
You stopped right at the edge of the circle, allowing for your mom and for her new husband to go to the middle of it all. The entrance music slowly faded out, before the song your mother chose for her first dance began to play. You sighed, taking a couple of steps back from the spotlight that shined over them. You moved the lingering braids from in front of your face, smiling slightly at the look on her face. It’s been a long time since you've ever seen that much happiness on her face. Tsunagu swung her around, the long trailing of the cape and dress glimmering in the low light. They continued to dance, the crowd watching them the whole night.
High above the ballroom, in the glimpse of your eye, was the King. He looked over at the people, looking down on his relatives and his new wife. He knew how much losing his first wife hit Tsunagu, so he was glad for him to have found a new love in someone. Something else caught his glance as well… and for now, he would just watch… and watch he did.
---
The first dance had ended, and you were escorted to a table of higher ground, sitting with your step-siblings. While your mother and Tsunagu sat at two high chairs, guards were standing right behind them. People stood in a line, all holding very expensive gifts to give the newly-wedded couple. You sighed, looking away and down at your bejeweled nails, fiddling with the gemstones.
“Hey…” You looked up, only to find your new step-sister, Lily, was her name.
She was wearing a deep red velvet dress, long sleeves with a long skirt like yours. She had a collar attached to the cress but a deep cut within the chest. Her hair was straightened, reached to past her shoulders and the ends curled up slightly. She gave you a smile, her glossy lips shining in the light.
“Oh… hi,” you nodded at her.
You hadn’t had time to meet your step-siblings ever since you came to the castle, your mother had constantly dragged you to all these new different places during the three months you had been staying at the castle. From tailors to new nutritionists and a workout person, she had been pulling you left and right to quote-unquote “fit into the new lifestyle.” So, this was the first conversation you would have with them.
“You’re really pretty, you know that… my name is Lily if you didn’t know.”
You smiled back at her, “name’s Y/n… this castle you live in… it’s really beautiful.”
She nodded, looking around the ballroom, “yeah, our side of the family’s lived here for generations, it’s never a bore to see. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it here.”
The two of you carried out a small conversation, looking at all the expensive and massive gifts your parents were being brought. You smiled, giggling along with your stepsister at someone’s gift of a large mountain goat, trimmed and cleaned. Just as you were about to move on to the next person, it was as if something caught your eye. You turned your head down towards the line, eyes locking onto a figure.
You gasped, your posture correcting itself. It was only a fleeting moment, he was there, and all of a sudden he wasn’t… It was so weird. You only caught a glimpse of him, but it was what stuck with you that… had you shook up, as you could put it. Dark suit, long hair pulled back into a neat bun, but most importantly… eyes that shone pure polished obsidian, but for a moment, when the light hit them just right, his eyes turned a gleaming ruby red. It was a fleeting moment like you said, but it was as if time slowed down for the two of you. For a moment you thought he looked over at you and gave you just the slightest smirk. All of a sudden, you could feel your body flood with heat, if you were of a pale complexion, it would be easily be shown.
“.../n… Y/n?? Y/N!?”
You jumped, turning your head swiftly towards Lily, who only looked at you with concern. You felt her hand on top of your shoulder, pressing against it gently.
“Yeah…” you slowly nodded your head, your voice spaced out, “I thought I saw someone I knew… they just have a resemblance to them that's all.”
Lilly only gave you a look, which you could tell means she didn't believe you but didn't press it, only pointing out someone else’s ridiculous gift and pulling you back into the small little world you had around the two of you.
---
After the gift-giving, the party mellowed out a bit. Your mother told you to mingle with the people, the new class of people you would be interacting with from now on apparently. You could only rue your mother’s words as you looked back on them, as you engaged in your fifth conversation about rich men berating the poor for not being able to keep a job to make them rich enough. You could only give the fakest smile you could pull out, hiding your mouth behind a filled glass of champagne, your fifth one for the night. You excused yourself for the seventh time for the night, before turning away in walking away, hoping to find some obscure corner to wrap your thoughts around. Your face began to drip with sweat as you stumbled and shook along the path, trying your best to stabilize yourself. The alcohol you took tonight was catching up with you.
Your eye narrowed in at a dark corner, near an open back door. Yes, you whispered in your mind, feeling pressure on your heels as you quickened your pace. Once you reached the corner, you inhaled slowly, exhaling as you pressed your back against the cool wall. This was the relief you had been waiting for. You had been on your feet for at least three hours now, and you were so ready to go sleep in your new large bed. You let out another breath, bending over and resting your hands on your knees.
“Not used to heels, huh?”
You gasped, immediately standing up straight. You looked towards your left, and let out another gasp. It was that same man you had seen in the line, you had only blamed his first appearance on your imagination, your mind playing tricks on you. He was much closer now, allowing you to see the obscurities and the perfections on his face. The curved scar under his, his chiseled jawline, and the muscular body that the suit fitted just right over it. You turned towards the man, pressing your hand against your heart to try to pace yourself, feeling yourself slowly heating up. Where did this sudden flux of heat come from?
“No, I’m not, you could tell?” You staggered your words, not knowing what else to say to him.
He only gave you a look, his eyes going up and down, “I mean…” he took a pause, and you blinked, and before you knew it, he was right in front of you, the heat only fluctuating even higher, “that to those not watching, one could call you a pro, but to me, who’s eye has been kept on you all night. These heels have been digging in your feet all night.”
You gasped at the sudden hand on your face, his large thumb only slowly caressing the skin under your eye. The heat was dizzying, your body was slowly dripping with sweat, dear god what was happening to you? You were in the shade, why were you so hot? You gasped, letting out a breath, steam leaving your plump lips. You felt a hand on your waist, only pulling you closer.
“You smell delectable… just good enough to bite…”
He whispered those words on your neck, causing you to let out a breathy moan. You twisted and turned in his hold, trying your best to cross your legs. Just as you felt his lips on your neck, all of a sudden it was gone. You heaved deeply, in and out as the heat slowly subsided as he stepped away from you.
“Just not yet my dear, let this serve a message to your mother, I always get what I want.”
And with just a snap, you were out.
---
#aizawa x reader#aizawa smut#bnha x reader#mha x reader#mha x black reader#mha smut#black reader#mha fanfiction#bnha imagines#my hero academia#mha#bnha#bnha smut#shouta aizawa x reader#mha anime#my hero fanfic#my hero imagines#shouta aizawa#aizawa shouta#boku no hero imagines#boku no hero academia#boku no hero smut#boku no hero x reader
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