#it’s my second favorite man’s birthday 🥺🫶🏻 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

emmyrosee · 1 month

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happy birthday to my Kiyoomi man (and my momma LMAOO-)

—-

When the side of the bed next to him is cold, Kiyoomi is immediately suspicious.

You’re never up and out long enough for your side of the bed to become cold, you hate the feeling of having to rewarm it under your body (though you assure him you don’t mind too much, as you warm up in his arms).

Regardless, he wakes up with a cocked brow and a small, sleepy scowl.

He makes his way out of the room, adorned only in his boxers, knuckling his eyes and smacking his lips as he searches for you.

He checks the bathroom, only to find the door wide open and dark. Then, he checks the kitchen, seeing it in a similar state, he feels a small sense of panic creep through his body.

Only to disappear when he enters the living room and finds you, sleeping. There’s countless black and gold balloons surrounding you, your body curled in on itself for warmth and a cup of cold tea resting next to you. He smiles and looks at the clock. 4 am. You must’ve been out here for hours, blowing up balloons by mouth alone.

“Hey,” he whispers, creeping towards you. He gently lays a hand on your shoulder and shakes you awake, “whatcha doin?”

“Balloons,” you barely manage, voice drunk with sleep and heavy with exhaustion. Your throat sounds raw, probably from so much energy going into the balloon blowing. He chuckles and looks around the room for more details.

There’s a small sign with “happy birthday” in black and gold still wrapped in plastic, black party hats and plates on the side table- you probably were planning on having the boys over for breakfast this morning.

“C’mon, baby,” he says softly, poking you with his toe. “Let’s go back to bed. You need it.”

“C’me.”

“Huh?”

“Carry me,” you whine.

He rolls his eyes with a smile before bending down and scooping you up in his arms, adjusting you comfortably before making his way back to the bedroom with you cradled in his arms.

“D’t tell ‘omi,” you slur, and he snickers softly.

“Won’t say a word.”

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