Hello I am Nicole and I’m in my 30s. I’m a Boston sports fan, wrestling fan and theater fan. I also love all types of music! so if you have any Questions Feel Free to ask!!!
Synopsis: Between raising their daughter and finding each other in stolen moments, Chris cherishes the family they’ve built and the future still waiting for them. (15,2k words)
Author's note: Someone asks for domestic Chan? Well, here's your order. Hope you enjoy it ❣️
The first thing Chris feels is you.
Your warmth pressed against him, the soft rise and fall of your breathing, the way your hair spills over the pillow in a mess he wants to tangle his fingers in. He blinks awake slowly, the room still dim with early morning light, and instinct pulls him closer before he’s even fully conscious.
He slides an arm around your waist, fitting himself against your back like your bodies were designed to fall into this shape. He noses lightly at the curve of your shoulder, inhaling that familiar scent that always, always settles something deep in his chest.
God, he loves waking up like this. Loves that this is his life now.
He presses a slow kiss to your shoulder. Then another. And another, moving toward your neck, savoring the tiny shiver your body gives even in sleep. Your skin is warm under his lips, soft and inviting, and he can’t resist trailing a line of lazy kisses along the slope of your neck.
You stir and he smiles against your skin before lifting his head. He leans in and softly kisses your lips, a gentle coaxing meant to bring you into the morning.
Your eyelids flutter open, heavy with sleep, and then you see him. Just see him. And you smile. Sleepy, warm, impossibly sweet.
Chris feels his heart pull tight in his chest.
Years. Years of marriage, years of waking up beside you and it still hits him the same way. How lucky he is. How unreal it sometimes feels that he gets to love you like this, quietly, closely, every single morning.
“Morning,” you whisper, voice raspy and soft.
His own smile widens as he leans in and kisses you longer this time, slow enough to savor. “Morning, baby,” he murmurs against your lips.
He pulls back just enough to kiss your forehead… then the bridge of your nose… then your temple. He could kiss every inch of you if mornings weren’t so short. If life didn’t always call him away.
“What time is it?” you mumble, eyes half-closed as you press your face into the pillow.
Chris doesn’t even think about checking. He doesn’t want to break the moment, doesn’t want to bring reality into this warm little world of just you and him.
“I’ll make breakfast,” he says instead, brushing his hand soothingly down your arm. “You can sleep a little more.”
You give him a small, grateful smile, the kind that makes his chest feel full. “‘Kay,” you whisper, eyes already drifting shut again.
Chris tucks the blanket a little higher around you, then slides his hand to your back and rubs slow, comforting circles. He watches your breathing settle, watches your body relax into the softness of sleep, and he stays like that until he’s sure you’re drifting off again.
Only then does he press one last kiss to your temple. “Love you so much,” he whispers.
And then, he quietly slips out of the bed to check his other girl.
-
The hallway is quiet when Chris steps out of the bedroom, closing the door with the softest click he can manage. He stretches once, pushes his messy hair to the back, but even the stiffness of sleep can’t dim the warmth settling in his chest.
Then, he pads down the hallway on bare feet, instinctively avoiding the spots on the floor that creak. He reaches the bedroom door at the end of the hallway, already cracked open the way it always is, and gently pushes it wider.
There she is.
Adonia.
Addie.
His little flower bud.
Still bundled under her blanket, curls spread over the pillow like a tiny halo. One fist tucked under her cheek, the other loosely gripping her stuffed bunny. Her chest rises and falls in that soft, steady rhythm that only toddlers have—pure, peaceful, unbothered by anything in the world.
Chris steps inside quietly, heart tightening in that familiar way. She’s so beautiful. His daughter. His little family made real.
He sits on the edge of her tiny bed and leans over to brush a stray curl off her forehead. He’s quietly admiring her as she looks different in some ways, but very familiar in a way.
That’s why they named her Adonia. Because she’s beautiful. Because she carries both of you in her little features so perfectly.
Addie has your eyes—bright, expressive, full of warmth even when she’s half-asleep and cranky. Your smile too, that same heart-melting curve that makes him weak every time he sees it.
But she has his lips—the shape, the pout, the way they curl when she’s about to cry or laugh. And the curls… definitely his. Wild, soft ringlets he could kiss for hours.
She’s the best of both of you. As if the universe took the beautiful parts of you and his and wove them into something even more precious.
Chris still remembers how quickly Addie came into your life after the wedding—barely a year after you said your vows. He remembers holding her for the first time, tiny and new and perfect, and realizing that life didn’t just get better after marriage… it blossomed. She made everything brighter, softer. She made everything more worth waking up for.
He watches her now and feels something in him unclench. When she’s like this—still, peaceful, safe—it makes him feel like he’s actually doing it right. Like he’s keeping her protected, like the world is quiet enough for her to rest without fear.
A small smile tugs at his lips. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to her temple, careful not to wake her. Her little nose scrunches in her sleep, and he feels his heart melt all over again.
“Daddy loves you so much,” he whispers, even though she can’t hear it.
Chris rises slowly, taking one last look at her sleeping form before slipping out of the room. He leaves the door slightly ajar—just enough for her to feel safe, just enough for him to hear if she needs him. He lets out a quiet breath, the kind that comes from having everything he’s ever wanted under one roof.
Now, he’s ready to start his day.
-
You wake slowly and feel a little reluctant to leave the comfort of the bed Chris guided you back into. It takes a moment for your mind to catch up to your body, but when it does, you realize two things:
One, the spot beside you is empty.
And two, there’s the sweet, delicious smell of pancakes drifting down the hall.
You smile and slip out of bed. You pad your way toward the hallway, still wrapped in lingering sleep. When you reach the bedroom doorway, you pause because the view in front of you steals your breath a little.
Chris stands in the kitchen, back turned to you, cooking breakfast with an ease that comes from years of perfecting his Sunday-morning routine. He’s wearing a white sleeveless T-shirt and grey sweatpants, his hair still messy from sleep, curls falling over his forehead in that way you adore. His shoulders are broad under the thin fabric. His waist trim. His back warm and familiar and somehow still enough to make your heart stutter after all these years.
He lifts a glass to his lips and takes a sip of his green smoothie, the one he insists on drinking every morning because, “Baby, I can’t do coffee, you know that.” You watch his jaw flex gently as he swallows, sunlight catching on his profile.
And you think about how married life hasn’t dulled anything. If anything, it’s made the feelings deeper. More steady and overwhelming in the best way. You’re lucky. So incredibly lucky that he is yours to wake up to, to come home to, to build this life with. You’re so busy admiring him that you don’t realize he’s noticed you until he speaks.
“Well?” he says without looking up, a playful lilt to his voice. “You gonna just stand there staring? Come on—make yourself useful.”
You huff a quiet laugh, pushing off the doorframe, your steps slow and sleepy as you walk toward him. But instead of grabbing something to help, you slide your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades.
“Mmm,” you mumble. “I’m helping.”
He lets out a soft chuckle, the kind that vibrates through his back and into your chest. His free hand finds yours where it rests around him, his thumb stroking slowly over your knuckles.
You stay like that and him flipping pancakes with one hand, you clinging to his back like he’s your personal heater. It’s warm. It’s familiar. It’s perfect.
After a moment, he turns off the stove, sets the spatula down, and gently turns in your arms until he’s facing you. Without hesitation, he tightly wraps you up like he’s gathering you close after weeks instead of hours. His chin rests on your head for a moment before he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your hair.
“Sleep okay?” he murmurs against you.
You hum, a half-asleep, half-content sound. “Mmhmm… warm…”
“Cute,” he whispers, brushing a hand along your spine.
You tilt your head up. Your soft, sleepy eyes meeting his, full of wanting.
Before you even have to say a word, he leans down and kisses you. Slow. Gentle. Sure. The kind of kiss that makes your warm and fuzzy. You melt into it.
This quiet morning routine, the affection, the ease, the warmth—is one of your favorite parts of marriage. A little reminder each day of how deeply you love and cherish each other.
Chris pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, smiling.
“Good morning, love,” he whispers.
You smile as you feel every ounce of tenderness he holds for you, wrapped in just those three words.
“Morning,” you softly mutter back with a smile.
Chris captures your smile with one more kiss, a long, slow, lingering kiss before pulling away. When he finally lifts his mouth from yours, he brushes his thumb along your cheek.
“Go wake Addie,” he murmurs.
You raise an eyebrow playfully. “You wake her. You know she’d prefer that.”
He flashes that dimpled smile you married him for. The one that still melts your entire heart no matter how many years have passed. “I already made breakfast,” he says, teasing. “So it’s your turn.”
You sigh dramatically, tossing your head back as if he’s given you the hardest job in the world. “Fine,” you say with exaggerated defeat.
Before you go, you lean up and steal a quick, sneaky peck from his lips. Chris chuckles, shaking his head as you turn and leave the kitchen.
You head down the hall, pushing Addie’s bedroom door open softly. She’s still curled up in bed, cheeks flushed pink from sleep, curls tangled in every direction. She looks so peaceful that you hesitate. A part of you wants to let her dream a little longer, hold onto this tiny version of her that grows more every day. But she has preschool and Breakfast is waiting, so is Chris.
So you approach slowly. You sit beside her small form and gently brush her curls back from her forehead. Then you rub her back in soft, slow circles, your voice a whisper meant only for her.
“Addie… sweetheart… time to wake up, baby.”
She stirs, tiny fingers twitching against her blanket. Her eyelids flutter once… twice… and then her eyes finally blink open, still dazed and heavy with sleep. When she finds your face hovering above hers, you give her the softest smile.
“Good morning, angel.” You lean in and press a kiss to her warm little temple.
Addie rolls onto her back, staring blankly at the ceiling like she needs a full minute to load the world. You keep rubbing her belly gently, fixing her pajama that is wrinkled and rumpled from sleep, knowing she needs time. Her lashes flutter again, and then she slowly turns her head toward you.
Her voice is small, raspy from sleep when she asks, “…Where’s Daddy?”
You almost scoff—almost. Because of course you expected that. Of course she wants her daddy first thing in the morning.
But you just smile. “Daddy’s in the kitchen, baby. He’s making breakfast.”
She nods, rubbing her eyes with her fists, and you help her sit upright. Her little legs dangle over the edge of the bed, feet searching for the floor. The moment they touch down, she pushes herself up and starts walking in wobbly, slow steps that teeter from side to side. You stay close behind, hands ready in case she stumbles.
She’s still half-asleep, curls a messy halo around her head, clutching her stuffed bunny by the arm. “Daddy…” she mumbles as she toddles down the hallway. “Daddy…”
And the moment she enters the kitchen, Chris’s entire face lights up.
He beams, wide and bright, eyes softening at the sight of her. Addie’s arms already stretch toward him even though she’s still a few feet away, desperate to be held.
Chris doesn’t wait. He crosses the kitchen in three quick steps, meets her halfway, and scoops her into his arms. Addie instantly melts against him, burying her face into the crook of his neck like it’s the safest place she knows.
“Good morning, my little flower bud,” he whispers into her hair, rubbing her small back with big, gentle hands. “Did you sleep well? Did you dream about Daddy? Dream about Mommy? Maybe bunnies? Hmm?”
Addie mumbles something incoherent, clinging tighter, and Chris presses a soft kiss to her cheek.
You stand there, watching your husband with your daughter in his arms with morning sunlight wrapping around them like a warm embrace and your chest expands with something deep and full and certain.
This sight. This moment. This quiet love in the kitchen. It convinces you all over again that you married the perfect man. That this life is everything you ever wanted.
And more.
-
Breakfast is peaceful—at least, as peaceful as it can be with a three-year-old.
Chris settles Addie into her booster seat, making sure her curls aren’t caught in the straps, brushing a kiss on the top of her head before placing a plate of small pancakes in front of her. He sits beside her, not eating yet because of course he doesn’t. He’s too focused on her.
You watch them as you sip your drink, elbow propped on the table.
Chris cuts the pancakes even smaller, nudging the plate closer to her. “Small bites, okay? Don’t rush.”
Addie nods earnestly… then immediately shoves one whole pancake into her mouth anyway.
Chris laughs softly. “That’s not a small bite.”
She looks at him with innocent eyes, cheeks full, and he gives up instantly because he always does. He wipes syrup off her chin with a napkin, smiling at her like she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Which, of course, she is.
Your chest warms watching them together. Seeing Chris dote on Addie like this always hits deeper than you expect, a reminder of how much love sits in the small corners of this house.
Addie is almost done, nibbling on the last piece of pancake when you speak.
“Okay, sweetheart,” you say gently. “Time to get ready for school.”
Addie freezes mid-chew. Then comes… the pout. Not just any pout. Chris’s pout. His lips exactly—soft, full, pushing outward in the most dramatic display of toddler betrayal.
She turns slowly to look at her father, eyes wide and pleading like he might rescue her from this terrible fate.
You have to press your lips together to stop a laugh. Of course. Of course she’d look to him. Of course she thinks he can save her. She really is a daddy’s girl.
And you believe now more than ever what people say—
A father is a daughter’s first love.
Addie mumbles, voice tiny and hopeful, “Daddy get me dressed?”
You look at Chris. Then shrug, not hiding your satisfaction at all. “I mean… she asked for you,” you say lightly, lifting your hands like your fate is out of your control. “Who am I to deny her?”
Chris glares at you playfully, eyes narrowing. “You’re not off the hook. If I’m doing this, you’re doing the dishes.”
You shrug again, even more dramatically this time, letting a teasing smile spread over your face. “I have no problem with that.”
He shakes his head, but his dimples betray him. He stands and holds out his hand to Addie. “Come on, love bud. Let’s go pick out something cute to wear.”
Addie immediately slips her tiny hand into his, sliding off the chair with clumsy toddler determination.
You watch them walk together down the hallway—her wobbly steps beside his steady ones, her small fingers curled trustingly around his. She looks so tiny next to him, and yet so sure, so loved, so safe.
Your heart fills, warm and full, overflowing with quiet gratitude. This is your family and you wouldn’t trade any of it, not even a single second of it, for the world.
-
Chris stands in front of the bedroom mirror, pulling his shirt off the hanger. The crisp white cotton slides over his shoulders, settling perfectly against his back as he rolls it down his arms. Button by button, he closes it while watching his reflection. He smooths it once, then reaches for his slacks, sitting low on his hips the way you like. By the time he loops the belt through, fastening the buckle, he already feels put together.
Work-Chris. Responsible. Structured. A grown man with a family and a mortgage and a daughter who thinks he personally hung the moon.
He lifts the tie from the dresser and loops it around his collar. His fingers work automatically, but he pauses halfway and calls out, “Babe? Can you help me?”
He knows you’ll come. You always come. Despite knowing that Chris is more than capable of putting on a tie by himself.
A moment later, you appear in the doorway like a scene he’s watched a thousand times and still isn’t tired of. You cross the room toward him, hands already reaching for the tie, your fingers brushing his chest as you begin tightening the knot.
He focuses on buttoning his cuffs just so he won’t have to look directly at your face, but he still feels it. The heat, the mischief of that look you give him when you’re about to test his self-control on a weekday morning.
Chris sighs through a laugh and places a hand on your waist. “Stop giving me the eyes,” he warns, voice soft, low, already failing. “I’m gonna be late for work.”
But even as he says it, he pulls you closer, letting his hands rest on each side of your waist.
You finish the knot, smooth the tie down his chest with your palm, then slip your arms around him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“I only get a little time with you before your other girl steals you away again,” you tease, lips brushing the edge of his jaw.
“I’m your husband,” He reminds you with his dimpled grin. “I’m yours first. Always.”
You give him a pout like you don’t believe him at all… and then your smile turns sly. “Oh, is that so?” you purr into his ear, fingers already hooking the edge of his belt and tugging, undoing the buckle with practiced ease.
Chris closes his eyes for a beat—not in refusal, but because god, he wants. He badly wants it.
“Babe…” he sighs, helpless. “I’m gonna be late.”
You lean up and capture his lips in an open-mouthed kiss, slow yet deep, before murmuring against his mouth, “The economy isn’t going to collapse if you skip work for one day.”
His laugh dissolves into a groan as he kisses you again, harder this time. Your bodies fit together like magnets, your hands tracing his abs through his shirt while his find your hips, your lower back, the familiar shape of you. He lets himself drift just for a moment into that space where it’s only you, only this, only heat and closeness and the life the two of you built.
And then—
“Daddy!”
You scoff instantly. “There. Your side chick is calling.”
Chris breathes a laugh against your cheek. “I’m yours. Always,” he reminds you once more with a quick kiss on your cheek.
“I’ll be right there, sweetheart!” He calls back before you slip behind him to grab his suit jacket from the chair.
You hold it up for him, letting him slide his arms in, smoothing the shoulders and tugging the fabric into place. When you step in front of him to fix his collar and flatten the lapels, he finds you staring up at him—mischief still there, lust still there, but something warmer threaded through it.
Your hands trail slowly over his shoulders, down his arms, and you sigh like you’re confessing a secret. “No wonder Addie is obsessed with her dad.”
He laughs under his breath, cheeks warming, heart swelling. You’re being ridiculous and flirty and impossibly cute and he loves you for all of it.
Before he can say anything, he pulls you in by the hips and gives you a slow, lingering like a promise that there’ll be more of this for the rest of your life.
“Daddy!” Addie calls again, louder this time.
You roll your eyes dramatically. “Go. Your little girlfriend is waiting.”
Chris presses his forehead to yours for a beat, smiling. He doesn’t say it out loud, but the thought runs through him like a quiet current:
I’m the luckiest man alive. I get both of you.
Then he steps away, still smiling, still warm, heading toward the door and toward the little girl who owns the other half of his heart.
-
Before Chris even reaches the front door with Addie’s backpack slung over his shoulder, he steps back into the hallway where you’re waiting. He leans in and presses a quick kiss to your lips—quick enough that Addie, busy putting her shoes on the wrong feet again, doesn’t notice.
You touch the side of his arm gently, giving him that soft, familiar morning smile. “Have a good day at work, love.”
“You too,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your jaw before pulling back.
Then you crouch down in front of Addie, fixing her curls once more and tucking it behind her ears. “Bye, my little sunshine. Have the best day ever, okay? Mommy will pick you up later.”
Addie tips her face up eagerly, giving you a sloppy kiss right on the corner of your mouth—half-miss, half-success. You laugh, brushing your cheek with your thumb, and Addie beams like she did something amazing.
“I’m gonna paint a rainbow today!” she declares proudly.
“I can’t wait to see it,” you say, smoothing your hand over her curls.
Chris watches the two of you with a warm chest and a full heart before he reaches out his hand. “Come on, lovebug. Time to go.”
Addie slips her tiny fingers into his, and Chris guides her toward the car. But before stepping out, he turns around like he always does and gives you one more wave, one last soft look.
You wave back, that domestic tenderness in your eyes, and it tugs a smile from him he doesn’t even try to hide.
He carries Addie to the car, buckles her in, checks the straps once more, then slides into the driver’s seat and starts the engine.
“Daddy,” Addie says immediately, “can we listen to my song?”
Chris laughs quietly. “Of course we can. Which one?”
She hums dramatically, sorting through her imaginary playlist. “Um… the blue one!”
He taps the screen, and the melody fills the car. Addie lights up, kicking her feet rhythmically, singing off-key but passionately. Chris joins in without meaning to, catching her grin through the rearview mirror.
“We sing it at school too,” Addie says between verses. “Miss Hana said we gonna paint today! Big paint! Like—” She stretches her arms wide in her seat. “THIS BIG!”
Chris pretends to be shocked. “No way. That big?”
“Yes way,” she insists, nodding so hard her curls bounce. “I’m gonna use purple and yellow and pink and more purple.”
“That sounds like the perfect rainbow,” he says.
“It’s gonna be soooo pretty. And then I show you and Mommy and then put it on the freeze.”
By freeze, she means the fridge.
It takes him a second, then he smiles. “Of course. Right in the middle.”
The drive is short, but it’s his favorite part of the morning—her soft singing, her sleepy eyes, the sunlight catching the top of her head. Just the two of them in their own tiny world.
When they pull into the preschool lot, Addie’s excitement softens. She looks out the window, then up at him. “Daddy? You come inside?”
“Of course,” he says.
He parks, unbuckles her, and lifts her into his arms. She tucks her face into his neck for a moment—shy, just for this beat. He rubs her back reassuringly.
Inside the classroom, Miss Hana greets her warmly.
“Good morning, Addie!”
Addie steps closer to Chris’s leg for a second before peeking up at him. He crouches to her height, presses a kiss to her forehead. “Have the best time painting, okay? Make a big rainbow for Mommy and Daddy.”
“Okay.” She throws her arms around him. “Love you, Daddy.”
He hugs her just as tightly. “Love you more.”
She toddles toward the art corner, bunny dangling from one hand, curls bouncing. Just before she joins the other kids, she turns for one last look and waves her tiny hand. He waves back, heart full.
As he walks out of the building and toward his car, he’s already can’t wait to come home to his girls tonight.
-
The house feels strangely quiet after the front door closes, in a way that only parents understand, the kind that carries both peace and a hint of loneliness.
You slip into the kitchen with your notepad, pen tucked behind your ear as you start listing this week’s groceries. Milk, eggs, fruit, Chris’s green smoothie powder, chicken thighs…
You walk around the kitchen, opening cabinets, checking the pantry, making sure you’re not forgetting anything. The fridge hums softly as you pull it open to check the produce drawer. A few apples left. Half a bag of spinach. No more yogurt. Add that to the list.
When you shut the fridge door, your hand drops from the handle slowly because the photos stuck there are impossible to ignore. They’re like little pockets of time frozen in place.
Your eyes land first on the one you always stop at of Chris holding newborn Addie on his bare chest, her tiny body no bigger than his forearm, her hand curled around absolutely nothing but air. His head is tilted down, hair falling into his eyes, expression so full of awe it almost hurts to look at. You remember that day so clearly. How scared he was to hold her. How gentle he became the second she touched him.
Next is the photo from her first birthday—three of you squeezed together, Addie clutching her smash cake with frosting all over her face, Chris smiling his impossible dimple smile, your cheeks pressed together. The joy in that picture lives in the corners of the frame like sunlight that never fades.
Your fingers drift to the beach photo. Little Addie standing ankle-deep in the surf, face scrunched in panic as a tiny wave brushed her toes. Chris was mid-laugh, holding her hands while she looked betrayed by the ocean. You can almost hear her wobbly little, “Daddyyyyyy,” echoing in your mind.
And finally, Halloween.
You dressed as Rapunzel, blonde wig trailing down your back, fake flowers pinned along the braid. Addie, dressed as Pascal the chameleon, perched on your shoulder—well, she was supposed to perch, but the picture caught her tugging your wig with both hands, nose scrunched in concentration. You remember Chris wheezing from laughter behind the camera. A soft, delighted sigh slips from your lips before you even notice it.
These pictures… this life… this home…
The grocery list sits forgotten on the counter. Because right now, all you can feel is the warm, overwhelming truth rising in your chest:
You love your little family so much. More than you ever thought possible. More than you could ever put into words.
And standing there in the quiet morning light, surrounded by the echoes of every memory that brought you here, you realize you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.
-
The preschool doors open and the kids trickle out, tiny backpacks bouncing against tiny legs. You spot Addie immediately with paint smudged on her cheek, curls wild, her bunny tucked under her arm like always.
The second her eyes land on you, she lights up. “MOMMY!”
She barrels toward you in those uneven, excited steps, and you catch her, lifting her easily into your arms. She wraps her arms around your neck and nuzzles into you, still smelling faintly of snacks and finger paint.
“Hi, baby,” you murmur, kissing her temple. “Did you have fun today?”
Addie pulls back, grinning wide. “YES!”
On the way to the car, she keeps talking—breathless, animated, the way only a three-year-old can. The moment you buckle her in and close the door, she’s already launching into a story before you even sit in the driver’s seat.
“Mommy, today I sat next to Aster.”
Your eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Aster?”
“Mm-hmm!” She wiggles happily in her seat. “He’s my friend. He has a Dino lunchbox. I like him.”
You smile to yourself as you start driving. “Oh? You like him?”
“Yes,” she says confidently, kicking her feet. “I wanna sit with him every day.” Then she adds, dramatically: “ALL day long.”
Your heart squeezes so tightly it almost hurts because she’s so sweet, so open, so earnest. The kind of openness you hope the world never takes from her.
“That’s very cute,” you say, glancing at her through the mirror. “Does Aster like you too?”
She nods so hard her curls bounce. “He said I draw the best rainbow. And—and I wanna marry him.”
You almost laugh, but it bursts out mostly as a soft, overwhelmed breath. “Marry him, huh?”
“Yes.” She nods again as if this is a legally binding decision. “We’re gonna get married and eat chicken noodles every day.”
Your heart turns to warm mush. “Well… you have to ask Daddy first before marrying Aster,” you tease.
Addie gasps and immediately bursts into giggles, covering her mouth with her tiny hands. “Moooommy!” she squeals. “Don’t tell Daddy!”
“I won’t,” you promise, biting back a laugh.
You glance to the back and lower your voice as you add, “It’ll be our little secret.”
She shushes you dramatically, pressing her finger to her lips. “Shhhh, Mommy. Daddy will be SO sad.”
You can’t help but laugh and she laughs because you’re laughing. Her adorable giggles fill the car until the whole space feels lighter, brighter, warmer. As she settles down, humming softly to herself and clutching her bunny, you glance at her again in the mirror.
So small. So earnest. So full of love already. And your heart feels full to the brim.
-
You’re stacking cans into the pantry when you hear the soft slap-slap-slap of small feet padding into the kitchen.
“Mommy,” Addie says, clutching the hem of her little shirt, “can I help cook dinner? I’m a big girl now.”
You smile, shutting the pantry door with your hip. “I know you are, honey. Mommy just… don’t know what to cook yet.”
She gasps like this is a crisis. You pretend to gasp with her. Then you lower your voice, conspiratorial. “What if we call Daddy and ask him?”
Her whole face lights up—eyes, cheeks, everything. “YES. I miss Daddy.” She runs over and grabs your hand to tug you toward the counter where your phone is.
You pull her close to your side and hit the video call button even though you know he’s probably still in the middle of work. The call rings twice and then Chris’s face fills the screen with the faint hum of the office behind him. The second he sees you both, the tiredness melts off him like it was never there.
“There’s my girls,” he says, voice warm and uneven in that way it gets when he’s smiling too hard. “What’s going on?”
“We don’t know what to eat for dinner,” Addie announces immediately, leaning practically nose-first into the camera. “Mommy said we can ask you.”
Chris softens even more. “Oh yeah? What does Addie want?”
She starts listing every food she’s ever loved. “Chicken nuggets. Chicken noodles. Fried chicken. Um… pizza? And… and… ice cream!”
You snort into your hand.
“That’s a lot of chicken, baby. But how about …” He pauses as if the decision is deeply important. “Curry?”
Addie blinks. Then nods, very seriously. “I like curry too. I can cook it for you, Daddy.”
“Oh?” Chris leans closer to the camera, eyebrows lifted. “You’re gonna cook dinner for Daddy?”
“Yes,” she says firmly. “But Mommy does the knife because knives are danger.” She pats your arm. “But I can stir.”
You brush her hair back from her forehead, trying not to laugh. “She’s very confident.”
“Good,” Chris says, absolutely enamored. “Daddy can’t wait to come home to Addie’s curry. I’m already excited.”
Before you can say anything else, Addie starts blowing rapid-fire flying kisses at the screen rather aggressively.
Chris actually wheezes. “Oh—okay—Daddy’s catching them—ow—okay, that one was strong—”
You’re laughing now, and Addie is thrilled with herself.
Finally, you tell Chris, “We’ll let you get back to work, Daddy.”
“Yeah,” he sighs softly, “but that helped a lot. I love you both.”
“We love you,” you say.
“LOVE YOU,” Addie screams into the phone.
“Come home safely,” you mutter at Chris.
“Come home safely, Daddy,” Addie echoes while waving her little hand.
“Bye, bye,” Chris says while waving at you and Addie through the screen before ending the call.
You put your phone away and look down at your daughter. “Well, chef. Ready to cook dinner?”
She nods so hard her pigtails bounce. “YES.”
Addie drags the little step stool across the kitchen floor with the determination of someone twice her size, the wooden legs scraping lightly until she plants it beside the counter with a triumphant hmph.
“I’m ready,” she declares.
You tie her tiny apron with her favorite cartoon animals on it and she lifts her chin proudly while you knot it. Then you tie your own right beside her.
“Okay, chef,” you say. “What’s first?”
She taps her chin dramatically, thinking hard. “We wash the veggies.”
“That’s right.” You fix the hair caught on the strap of her apron. “Because clean food is…”
“…happy food,” Addie eloquently answers.
“Good girl!” You smile with pride knowing that she remembers what you taught her.
You help her carry the carrots and potatoes to the sink. She rolls up her sleeves and scrubs them with far too much enthusiasm, sending little splashes of water up your arm.
“Addie,” you laugh, stepping back, “are we washing the potatoes or giving them swimming lessons?”
“They like swimming,” she insists. “They’re having fun, Mommy.”
You shake your head, smiling as you reach for a towel to dry the overly-happy potatoes.
While you chop the vegetables, Addie watches very intently as if she’s watching a magic show.
“Mommy is very good at cutting,” she honestly says with awe in her eyes.
“Thank you so much, Addie,” you say with a smile.
“Daddy can’t cut like this. Daddy cuts… weird.” She wiggles her fingers to demonstrate.
You try not to laugh so hard you mess up your chopping. “We’ll keep that between us.”
When the pot warms on the stove, she climbs onto the stool again, wooden spoon in hand like a wand.
“Be careful,” you warn. “The pot is hot.”
“Okay, Mommy.”
You add the vegetables and she stirs, both hands on the spoon, whole body working with each circle. Her lower lip jutting out as concentration wrinkling her forehead.
“You’re doing great, Addie, ” you tell her.
She beams. “Daddy will be so proud.”
“He already is,” you say with a gentle pat on her head.
As the curry block melts into the broth, the kitchen fills with that warm, comforting smell. Addie sighs happily and leans in a little too close to the pot, trying to catch a whiff of the curry. “Smells so good, Mommy,” she says softly.
You keep her steady by placing a hand on the small of her back. “Because you’re doing such a good job at it, lovely.”
You both lean over the pot, watching the steam rise. Addie gently bumps her head against your shoulder and whispers, “Daddy’s gonna love it so much.”
You kiss the top of her head. “He’s gonna love it because wemade it together.”
Addie glows and resumes stirring with renewed passion, humming her little song again as the evening light pours into the kitchen, warm and golden, wrapping the two of you in the softest, sweetest kind of quiet family love.
-
The table is almost done, just need to put the cutlery in place when the familiar rumble of Chris’s car curls through the quiet evening like a warm drumroll.
Addie’s head whips in the direction of the door and then her whole body lights up. “Daddy!” she squeaks.
Before you can say a word, she’s already sprinting, socks skidding on the hallway floor, her little ponytail bouncing behind her like a tiny exclamation mark. You watch her go, heart swelling in that too-big, too-full way only she can summon.
She plants herself right in front of the door, bouncing on her toes. One hand clamps dramatically over her mouth, her version of self-control. The other curls into a tiny fist at her chest, vibrating with excitement.
You lean against the doorway, smiling at the scene you’ve already watched a hundred times but never get tired of.
The lock clicks. The doorknob turns. The door inches open. Addie’s whole body trembles. When Chris steps inside, she explodes. “DADDY!!”
Chris flinches exaggeratedly like she’s startled the soul out of him. “Whoa! You surprised Daddy!”
Addie giggles, delighted with herself. “Welcome home, Daddy!”
He bends, presses a tender kiss to the top of her head, then toes off his shoes while she clings to his pant leg like a very affectionate koala. Once the shoes are off, he scoops her up with a warm grunt, settling her on his hip like she belongs there.
“There’s my girl,” he murmurs, brushing her cheek with his nose.
She beams and hugs him tight.
He turns then, carrying all that warmth straight toward you. The moment he reaches you, he leans in for a soft, quick kiss on your lips, familiar and grounding all at once.
“Hi,” he says quietly, smile touching the corners of his eyes.
You feel your own smile unfurl. “Welcome home.”
The words slip out sweeter than you intend, threaded with relief and affection and that little spark of I’m so glad you’re here. And as he steps closer, Addie nestled against his shoulder, the scent of the curry drifting from the kitchen, you feel that gentle, everyday happiness settle into your chest.
He’s home.
Your little family is together again.
-
Chris settles into his chair with a low, content sigh, the kind that only comes after stepping back into the hum of his own home. Addie is already swinging her legs under the table, humming a tune with curry-smudged enthusiasm. You sit beside him, brushing your shoulder lightly against his, that small point of contact grounding him in a way the rest of the world never does.
Dinner spirals into the usual soft chaos. Addie babbles between spoonfuls, you tease him gently about the way he nearly burned his tongue, he sneaks glances at you the way he always does. Domestic serenity loops around him like warm steam from the curry.
When the lull hits, he turns to the smallest member of the trio. “So, Addie,” he says, scooping another bite. “How was school today, sweetface?”
Addie lights up, chest puffing with importance. “Daddy, we painted! I made a flower and Miss Hana said it’s beautiful!”
Chris nods, taking your hand and holds it in him on the table. “I’m sure Miss Hana is right.”
“Aster also said it’s beautiful,” Addie continues, waving her spoon dangerously, “And then he drew a dinosaur for me!”
Your soft giggle bursts out immediately beside him, and Chris freezes mid-chew.
Aster?
He turns to you sharply but you just widen your eyes like you’re innocent, but the grin tugging at your lips gives you away.
Chris shifts his gaze back to Addie, slipping into fatherly interrogation mode like flipping a switch. “And who is Aster?”
Addie, unbothered and glowing, shrugs. “Aster is my friend. He’s good at drawing dinosaurs. I like him. I wanna play with him all day!”
Your laugh escapes you and you quickly deflect by wiping your mouth with a napkin.
He clears his throat, straightens, narrows his eyes. “You can’t play with him all day.”
Addie blinks. “Why, Daddy?”
“Because,” he says, pointing a dramatic finger at his chest, “your daddy is supposed to be your number one partner for drawing. And coloring. And everything forever.”
Addie pauses, processing this Very Serious Information, then says with absolute innocence, “But Daddy… I can play with Aster at school.”
Chris inhales like she has stabbed him with a crayon.
You lose it beside him, covering your mouth to keep your laughter contained, but it breaks through anyway. Addie starts laughing because you’re laughing, her little shoulders shaking.
Chris puts on his sternest face. “That’s it,” he declares. “No more school for you, young lady. You stay home now. Forever. You can leave the house again when you’re eighteen.”
Addie giggles so hard she almost drops her spoon.
You lean your head toward his shoulder with a warm, delighted grin. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m being serious,” he insists, though the corners of his mouth betray him. “Dead serious.”
Addie laughs even harder, her cheeks pink and shining. Chris finally cracks, the authoritative dad act melting away into a laugh that rumbles up from somewhere he only ever uses at home, with you two. His girls.
The sound fills the kitchen, cozy and warm. And Chris feels it again, that quiet truth that never leaves him: there’s no place he’d rather be.
-
Chris sprawls on the carpet like he’s made of soft clay, letting himself be molded into whatever role Addie assigns him tonight. In her newest scenario, he is apparently a Very Hungry Giant, and she is the chef of an elite five-star restaurant made entirely of plastic utensils. Her tiny hands scoop invisible stew into a tiny pink bowl, and she toddles over with all the seriousness of a surgeon.
“Daddy, eat,” she commands, shoving the air toward his mouth.
Chris opens wide. “Nom, nom, nom, nom… Delicious.”
She beams, already racing back to her kitchen station to cook the next course. He can’t help the quiet bloom of pride in his chest. Hours away from her always leave a little ache, playing like this smooths it over. Better than any salary raise or office compliment. This is where he gets patched back together.
After a while, she drifts to another toy, her attention fluttering to glittery blocks. Chris takes that moment to sink onto the sofa like a man rediscovering gravity. His joints sigh.
He doesn’t have long to savor the peace, because he hears your footsteps. You ease down beside him with a slow exhale that tells him everything he needs to know about your day.
Without thinking, he reaches for you, looping an arm behind your waist and tugging you gently until your side melts into his. You fit there like you’ve lived in his ribs for years.
“You’re tired,” he murmurs.
“A bit.”
“You never let me help,” he says, soft but playfully scolding.
You smile. “You helped plenty.”
He nudges your temple with his nose, unconvinced, and then he just… sinks into you. His face nestles into the curve of your neck, his lips brush there in small, wandering kisses. The kind that don’t demand anything. The kind that simply tells that he missed you.
Your giggle hums through him and that only encourages him. He trails kisses from your neck to your jaw, then your cheek, savoring every little sound your body gives him. When he finally pulls back an inch, you look slightly dazed, slightly amused. He cups your face, thumb grazing the softness of your bottom lip.
You hold his gaze in the same warmth like you always do. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
His voice drops into a low wonder. “How are you getting more beautiful every day?”
You scoff, flustered, which only makes him smile deeper. He leans in, kissing you slow and intimate, something lit from within. When he pulls back just an inch, he murmurs against your lips, “How is that fair, mmh?”
Your breath fans his mouth. You’re smiling. He steals that smile in another kiss, deeper this time, his fingers threading into your hair as if he could draw you closer still.
Which is exactly when a small body wedges itself between your chests with the force of a determined squirrel. “Daddy!” Addie scolds, puffing her cheeks. “Daddy is my best friend, not Mommy!”
You laugh behind her tiny back, already retreating. Also because you’re used to this.
Chris tries to keep a straight face and fails immediately. “Mommy needs cuddles. She’s tired.”
“No!” she huffs, wrapping her arms around his neck in a possessive tangle. “Daddy mine!”
Chris bites back a laugh, widening his eyes as if shocked. “Mine? But Mommy is my wife, so I’m hers first.”
Addie reels back with betrayal blazing in her little eyes. “Daddy mine!”
You’re already shaking with silent laughter but Chris can’t resist pushing it one notch further. He hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you in tight again, so now he’s holding both of you at once, his favorite tug-of-war.
That’s the final straw as Addie’s face scrunches, her mouth wobbles, and then she bursts into dramatic, heart-splitting tears.
You lose it. Your laughter spills out, warm and helpless, as you gather her into your arms. “Oh, Addie baby,” you soothe through your smile, rubbing her back. “You silly girl.”
Chris holds her too, kissing her temple as she sobs into his shoulder. He murmurs between soft pats, “Daddy’s always yours. Always. But Daddy loves Mommy too. I love both my girls so much. There’s room for everybody.”
Addie hiccups, sniffling, her little hands clutching both of you. You fold your arms around them both, tilting your forehead against Chris’s.
Warmth pools around the three of you like a soft quilt: tangled limbs, shared breath, shared warmth. His family, all in one embrace.
-
Chris settles onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping softly under his weight. Addie is already tucked beneath her pastel blanket, only her curls and the round tip of her nose poking out, blinking up at him like a sleepy little owl. Her stuffed bunny rests on her chest, its whiskers flattened from love.
Chris gently lifts it aside so he can open tonight’s story book. “Ready for your story, my little lovebug?”
She nods, her thumb inching toward her mouth before she remembers he asked her to try not to suck it at bedtime. She hesitates. Then tucks her hand under her cheek instead.
He pretends not to see the struggle so she can feel proud and begins to read. His voice softens without him trying, slipping into that warm register he didn’t know he had until she was born. The kind made for stories about magical forests and animals who
As he reads, his hand drifts into her curls. They’re springy and wild, the same way his were as a kid, but soft like yours. He brushes a few strands away from her forehead, fingertips moving in slow, gentle motions designed to ease the last bits of the day out of her tiny bones.
Her breathing starts to change. Slower. Heavier. The kind that tells him she’s drifting.
He keeps going anyway, voice a low, steady river sliding over the words.
Addie’s eyes flutter. Open. Close. Open again with an effort that makes his heart twist. She wants to stay awake to hear him. She always does.
He leans closer, brushing her hairline with his thumb. “Daddy’s right here,” he whispers, barely more than breath.
Her lids fall one final time and this time, they stay. Her lips part in a soft pout she definitely inherited from him. Her bunny slips from her hand, so he places it gently under her arm.
He finishes the last line of the story in a hush, more for himself than her. Then he closes the book with careful, reverent hands and settles it on the nightstand.
For a moment, he just watches her. The tiny rise and fall of her chest. The way her arm curls protectively around her bunny. The innocence, the peace. The trust.
He leans down and presses a quiet kiss to her temple, lingering there until he feels his own breath steady. “Daddy loves you so much,” he murmurs.
He slips off the bed like a shadow, easing toward the door. He leaves it slightly ajar, the way she likes, letting a sliver of hallway light follow him out. He looks at his daughter once more and lowly murmurs, “Goodnight.”
And when he steps into the hallway, closing the bedtime world behind him, he exhales. Not tired, but full, filled to the brim with love so gentle it almost aches.
-
You’re halfway through patting moisturizer into your cheeks when you hear his footsteps. There’s a familiar cadence to them, a soft eagerness threaded through each step, and you don’t even need to look up before Chris slips into the bathroom.
His arms wrap around your waist immediately, pulling you into the solid shape of his body. Your back fits against him like you were carved with the same blueprint. His chin nudges your shoulder, and then his lips follow, brushing your skin with feather-kisses that rise in little sparks.
You giggle, your hands still working through your skincare. “The first lady is sleeping and now, you’re going to your mistress, mmh?”
He breathes a laugh against your neck and you catch his eyes in the mirror. They’re warm brown, soft around the edges, the kind of gaze reserved only for you. You reach for your lip balm, dabbing it on, and he lifts his head just a little as if he wants to watch every movement you make. He’s feeling the silky fabric of your camisole between his fingers when he notices something.
“Did you wear this set when you were pregnant?” he asks, voice low and casual but with that unmistakable undercurrent.
“Yeah,” you reply simply.
The smirk crawls onto his lips before he even tries to hide it. He presses another kiss to your neck, slower this time. “I thought so.”
He leans in until his mouth hovers at your ear, his breath warm. “You know I think you were the sexiest when you were pregnant.”
You scoff, reaching for your brush. “Of course you do.”
Chris gathers your hair in one hand to help you brush it, the other hand slipping under your camisole with such casual familiarity it sends a buzzing warmth down your spine. His palms rest on your stomach, thumbs tracing delicate shapes against your skin.
“I liked seeing you with the baby bump,” he murmurs. “Loved it, actually.”
Then his hands glide upward, cupping your breasts through the fabric. “And these were… unbelievable.”
Your laugh breaks through before you can stop it. “We both know what you really liked was the baby-making part.”
He doesn’t even pretend otherwise. “Obviously.”
You turn in his arms, looping your hands around his shoulders. His hands settle naturally on your hips, warm and reassuring.
“I don’t think I’m ready for it,” you say softly.
He nods without hesitation, fully understanding. “Okay.”
But then that glint slips into his eyes again, sly and teasing. “Not ready to get pregnant again… or not ready to share me?”
You narrow your eyes at him and gently push him away. “This is the end of the discussion.”
He tries to bite back another smirk, fails spectacularly.
You poke his chest lightly. “Living room. Now. You promised we’d watch that movie tonight.”
He leans in, kisses you once and when he pulls away, he can’t help but tease you again. “It’s the latter, right?”
You playfully pinch at his waist and glare. “Christopher!” you scold.
“Ouch!” He yelps rather dramatically and then bursts into laughter. “Okay, okay, I’m going.”
His hand trails along your waist as he steps away, and you catch the reflection of his smile in the mirror before he leaves the room.
-
Your body sinks into the warm cradle of the cushions, Chris’s arm draped over you like he’s trying to stake an adorable territorial claim. The glow of the TV flickers across both of your faces as the movie begins threading itself along… though you already know Chris is only half watching. His real show sits right beside him. His thumb strokes your upper arm in lazy arcs, the rhythm hypnotic.
A few minutes in, he exhales, a thoughtful huff against your hair.
“I’m just saying… it is the right time,” he murmurs, voice low and coaxing. “Addie’s old enough for a sibling. They’d have the perfect age gap. She’d have someone to play with. Someone to—”
You flick your gaze to him, unimpressed. “Focus on the movie.”
He grins but obediently turns his eyes toward the screen, though you can practically hear the gears in his head plotting. For a moment, you think he’s actually going to behave. For a moment.
Then his hand drifts under the blanket. His palm settles over your belly. Fingers tiptoe to the waistband of your shorts, nudging the elastic like it’s the doorway to some forbidden temple.
You swallow a laugh, shifting slightly, but he follows your movement with precision worthy of a veteran strategist. “Christopher…” you warn.
“Hm?” Innocence. Absolute faux innocence.
He turns your face toward him, tilting your chin lightly. His mouth finds yours, slow and then coaxing, teasing. His hand roams over your waist, hip, up your ribs, down your thigh in a wandering pilgrimage.
You pull away with a sigh, breath shaky, eyes narrowed because you know exactly what this man is up to. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?” he asks, eyes wide with fake purity that lasts maybe half a heartbeat before he steals another kiss, deeper this time, fingers tightening on your waist.
That’s it.
You straighten, reach for the remote, and shut the TV off with a decisive click. The room folds into quiet.
Chris watches you, pupils blown wide, hope shimmering on his face like he’s trying not to smile too hard.
You set the remote down, look him dead in the eye, and declare, “Yeah, okay. Let’s make babies tonight.”
His grin unfurls, slow and victorious, like he just unlocked the final chest in some mythical treasure room. He slides closer, voice a low purr against your lips. “Knew you’d come around.”
And then he kisses you with the kind of promise that could light the whole house.
-
The house has gone fully quiet now that the movie is off and the door is closed, you’re both in the safety of the shared bedroom now. You settle on his lap, your back resting against his chest with your legs pulled high and open. You glance down, catching the way his cock is snug inside you — a sight that both arouses you and sends a shiver down your spine.
Chris holds you as if you’re something he’s waited all day to unwrap, his breath warm against the curve of your neck. His arms circle you in a way that feels almost ceremonial, as if he’s marking a moment he doesn’t intend to forget. Your hips shift, just a little, just enough to feel that slow, deep press of his length, and all the air leaves your lungs in a shaky sound. It’s not loud, but breath and almost desperate. It’s the kind of sound he lives for.
His hand trails down south, fingers exploring with lazy confidence, touching you right on your bundle of nerves in a way that has your breath catching again. He’s patient, maddeningly so, as if he wants to memorize every small reaction you give him. Every hitch of your breath. Every subtle tremble.
“Chris…” You breathlessly whisper his name.
He responds with a soft laugh against your shoulder, the kind that curls warm in your stomach. His lips find your skin, leaving slow, practiced kisses along the line of your neck. Each one coaxes another sound from you, each one loosens you a little more in his hold.
Your fingers dig into his forearms. Your head tips back against him. You’re not sure when the pleasure started to cloud your thoughts, when the ache stopped and turned into something sweet and overwhelming, but Chris feels every shift in you. He always does.
“Easy, baby,” he murmurs against your ear, voice sinking into you like warm honey. His other hand comes up, holding your waist, guiding you, steadying you. “Just let it happen.”
You let your body answer his. You let the rhythm build, slow and deep, enjoying the way his fingers circling on your clit. Soon, you find yourself rocking into both his hand and his cock until your breath turns into soft, broken sounds he swallows with kisses to your jaw.
You’re trembling now, not from pain, but from the way he’s coaxing you toward that familiar edge with steady, knowing hands.
Chris feels the moment your body yields, the way your breath stutters and your walls tighten around him. His lips brush your temple, his voice low and full of affection as he whispers, “There you go… that’s it, baby”
You unravel against him, sinking into his chest as if your bones have melted. He holds you through every wave of it, his arms strong and steady, his touch gentle now that he’s guided you exactly where he wanted you.
“Such a good girl… coming for me like that,” he murmurs with a haste kiss on your parted mouth.
The world softens. The room blurs. All you can feel is the solid of his body against you, the heartbeat against your back, the way he holds you like you’re his entire gravity.
And Chris looks at you like this is the closest thing to paradise he’s ever touched.
-
The air between you feels charged enough to spark, and Chris moves slowly yet with certainty, guiding you forward until the mattress receives you. You’re lying on your stomach, head melting into the plush of the pillow.
He settles behind you, close enough that his breath grazes the back of your shoulder. His hands bracket your hips first, gliding up along your waist like he’s exploring his favorite place. There’s no rush in him. Just intent. The kind that wraps itself around your spine and tightens everything inside you.
His fingers trail along your side, lingering, appreciating, claiming. His body presses lightly to yours, just enough contact to make your breath hitch, to remind you that he’s right there, holding himself back on purpose. You can feel his desire without him giving you everything — just the weight of him, the warmth, the promise.
You shift, lifting yourself until you’re on all fours, needy without meaning to, and he catches the movement with a knowing sound, low in his throat. His hand curves over your hip, guiding, controlling, keeping you exactly where he wants you.
Then he leans in, lips brushing the curve of your shoulder, fingers slipping between your slick folds.
“Already desperate for me?”
You try to answer, but the words tangle in your breath, and the tiny laugh that escapes him tells you he loves that. His other hand slides into your hair, gathering a gentle but possessive hold, the kind that makes a breath caught in your throat.
He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, humming as his fingers are now circling on your pulsating clit. “You’re dripping all over my hand, baby,” he whispers to your ear.
You still can’t respond with the way he has you wrapped, claiming and possessively. You grip the sheets as he dips his fingers into your wetness just to feel your tightness wrapped around them.
He pulls away slightly to palm your sex with his hand, fingertips lightly grazing your clit with intention. “I don’t think you’re ready for me,” he teases, a grin plastered to his face.
You drop your head to the side but that only allows Chris to place ferocious kisses on your exposed neck. His teeth nipping lightly at the skin, sharp and hot.
“Chris, please…” you whine as your grip at the sheets tighter, desperate.
He lets out a breathless chuckle. “You’re so cute when you beg, baby,” he mutters, breathe hot against your ear before he bites at it.
“Please…” you plead once more just to please him.
That does it as Chris finally moves, a slow, steady push of his body aligned with yours, letting you feel his hard length brushes over your sex — the full intention of him without crossing that last line.
Hid hand moves from between your legs to stroke his swollen member, using the tip to tease around your entrance, smearing your essence all over. When he pushes inside, he pushes just barely an inch, not enough to satisfy you. Yet the tension winds hotter, tighter, you exhale a shaky breath.
“This much is enough for you,” he mutters with a hot kiss pressed to your shoulder.
You whine before you can stop yourself, the sound raw with frustrated need.
Chris smiles against your shoulder, a warm curve of lips that feels far too triumphant. “Want more?”
You eagerly nod. “Yes.”
Chris rubs his plush lips across your shoulder blade and asks again, “You think you can handle it?”
You turn your head to the side, meeting his eyes and daringly stare into them. “You know I can take you well,” your voice dripping in audacity and heat.
That seems to amuse him as a grin bloom on his face, dimples sunken deep into his cheeks. He's never been able to deny you anything, but this is just too fun. He presses his lips to the sensitive spot behind your ear, nipping gently before purring, “Look who’s being all needy for me now.”
Without warning, he pushes the remaining length into you in one rough thrust until he’s fully sheathed in your warm, velvety walls. His self-control has been wearing thin, but he can't deny how good it feels to give into it.
Your eyes widen at the sudden sensation, a gasp falling from your lips with a heady mix of surprise and pleasure. Your fingers clutch the sheets, your pulse stumbling, your body alive with every inch of him inside you.
He keeps you close to him, breathless and aching, the world narrowing to the heat of his hands and the quiet authority in his voice.
“Oh, yeah,” he sighs as his hands gripping at your hips, keeping you where he wants you. “You can handle it.”
For a moment, Chris holds you like that — wanting, waiting — and lets the anticipation devour both of you.
-
For a moment, Chris stays still to let the tension coil tighter inside you. When he draws back, it isn’t to abandon you but to shift, to guide you with a quiet certainty that makes your whole body follow his hands without thought.
Through the reflection in the vanity mirror, he watches your face intently as he starts moving in slow, deep thrusts that drag every inch of pleasure out of you before gradually turning desperate, his control slipping.
"That’s it," he rasps, fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you back onto him with bruising force. "Take it—take all of me."
His voice is wrecked, the teasing edge gone, replaced by pure hunger. He leans down, biting at your shoulder, breath hot against your skin. "God—You always feel so fucking good."
Your fingers curl into the sheets. Your breath stutters. In each passing second, you can’t contain your moans anymore but let them spill free from your parted mouth that eventually turns into a cry of both pain and pleasure.
He leans down to sweetly mutters into your ear. “You sound perfect, like always, baby.”
And just when you’re melting into the moment, he slows and pulls out, making you whimper from the sudden emptiness.
Then, he gently grabs your waist, maneuvering you like you were merely a ragdoll for him to play with. He’s making you lay onto your side with a steadiness that feels protective and hungry all at once.
He kneels on the bed and lifts your leg with one hand, guiding you until you’re open to him, your bodies around curved each other in a way that makes you feel both cherished and claimed. You can feel him slowly easing into you once more, the length of his cock fits, full and snug, you believe you have taken his shape. The way he starts moving sending jolts of pleasure through you and that familiar feeling begins to build once more.
The first movements are deliberate, controlled, meant to drag every ounce of pleasure through you in long, spiraling waves. His hand holds your leg up just enough to deepen everything, and the angle sends heat shimmering up your spine. You can’t contain the sounds that slip out of you.
“Mmm...” The noise escapes your lips unbidden.
Chris lets out a low, possessive growl in response, taking in the reaction. “Like that, baby?”
His pace grows more intentional, more intimate, until you’re shaking with how close you are, how intensely he has you drawn tight under him, how loudly you’re moaning, calling his name in desperation.
And just when your breath breaks and your body clenches in anticipation… he slows. Then stops.
Your whole body trembles with the denied release, your gasp half-plea, half-frustration. Chris bends down to press a kiss on your shoulder, a soothing contrast to the torment he’s giving you. “Not yet,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire and control. “I want you to come apart exactly the way I want.”
His hand strokes your thigh, calming and possessive, keeping you suspended in that exquisite, trembling edge where he seems determined to hold you until you’re completely undone for him.
This time, he shifts along with you as he makes you lay on your back, your head hitting the pillow just right. You look at him with your heavy-lidded eyes, breathless and dazed. You tangle a hand in his curls and look him in the eyes as you mutter, “You’re enjoying it too much.”
Chris grins, his gaze dark and filled with satisfaction, his hand grasping your chin to make you look at him. He's enjoying this probably a bit too much, but he can't help it, he loves having this power over you. And you look so perfect beneath him, so beautiful and needy, his.
He leans down until his face is just inches from yours, his breath hot on your skin. “You know what else I enjoy?”
He pauses, his thumb gently stroking your lip, waiting for you to ask.
You drop your hand to the nape of his neck, playing with the tendrils of hair there. “What?”
He smirks, moving his hand from your chin to trail down your body, fingertips tracing lightly over your collarbone to your chest, continuing down your stomach until it rests just below your navel.
“The look on your face when I bring you to the edge. That look of pure, beautiful desperation that makes me want to give you everything, yet at the same time makes me want to hold you like this a little while longer.”
He leans down and places a kiss just above your hip, not stopping until he gets to where he wants.
Your eyes flutter shut as you feel the warmth of his breath against your wet cunt, the anticipation almost too much. He looks up at you, eyes dark, lips curving into a smirk before he leans forward, his tongue slipping out to taste you, licking you like he’s enjoying ice cream on a hot summer day.
“Chris, baby…” you sigh as you slumped on the pillow, helpless.
You feel the vibration of his hum as he murmurs against you, enjoying every moment of his ministrations. His hands find your thighs, spreading them just a bit wider, his touch soft and gentle yet possessive and demanding.
“Shhh, love. Let me take care of you,” he purrs, his voice sending another jolt of pleasure through you. “Let me hear those pretty sounds you make.”
Overwhelmed, you close your eyes but it’s only heightening the other senses. You feel his slick tongue tracing circles on your clit, his fingers curling inside you, the obscene noises of his wet mouth meeting your drenched sex. It’s all feels too much.
When you open your eyes, you find him looking up at you, making eye contact, watching your every reaction, every sound you make. He's completely focused on you, on bringing you pleasure, on making you feel good. And oh, he loves every second of it.
Chris pulls back just as your breathing hitches, your thighs trembling, fingers clawing at the sheets, but he stops, leaving you hovering on the edge.
He smirks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, gaze locked onto yours. “Not yet, baby,” he purrs, voice rough with desire. “Want to feel you come around me.”
His fingers replace his tongue, teasing slow circles—just enough to keep you right there, but not enough to let you fall. He lifts himself up just enough to hover above you, allowing your hand to reach his face, cupping his jaw.
“You’re really planning to wear me out, huh?” you ask with a tired yet smug smile.
Chris gives a lazy, cocky smile at your question. Of course that's his plan; he knows you're already exhausted, but he can't get enough of you.
“The one and only plan,” he says, fingers still slowly moving in torturous circles. “I'm going to wear you out—make you a whimpering, trembling mess before I let you finish.”
Chris leans forward, catching your lips in deep, heated kiss as his hand moves to align his cock to your entrance. His breath trembles against your lips as he pushes it in, easier this time but not less satisfying.
You open your legs wider, giving him more room to penetrate you deeper and when you know he’s buried to the hilt, you wrap your legs around him, not letting him pull away even an inch.
He softly chuckles as he breaks the kiss. “You’re not letting me get away this time, huh?”
You shake your head, grinning. “Not a chance.”
Fortunately, Chris can't resist you any longer either, he needs you now. He kisses you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours in practiced motions. His hands grip your hips hard, pulling you closer to him as he starts moving.
He moves at a slow, steady pace that allows you to feel every drag of his cock against your walls, his skin brushing yours in the slightest movement, his heat blending with yours. You look at him and he looks back into your eyes, a hand finds yours and you interlace it as the two of you continue moving in sync, becoming one in the moment.
And suddenly, it all feels too much that you get hit by a wave of emotions. Love, devotion, longing and everything in between stirred inside you until you can’t take it anymore but let them pouring out of you.
Chris feels your tears against his skin and he knows he needs to take it easy. He still wants to give you pleasure—that's his goal after all—but he doesn't want to hurt you, either.
“Hey, baby…” he coos against your hair, voice gentler now. His hands leave your hips to wipe gently at the tears streaming down your face. “Am I going too rough? Are you hurt?”
The genuine concern and care in his voice makes your heart aches in the best way. You cradle his face with both hands, holding it like a fragile object.
“I just love you so much,” your voice shakes at the end of the sentence from the weight of meaning it carries.
Chris wasn’t expecting that. His thrusts slow, his grip on your waist softening as he stares down at you, your fingers lightly trailing his jaws now, your eyes wet but happy. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours, his voice breaking just a little.
“Babe—” He kisses you, deep and lingering, before pulling back just enough to murmur, “I love you so, so much.”
Then he moves again, but slower, deeper, pouring every ounce of that love into each roll of his hips, his hands cradling you like you’re something precious. “My wife… my love…” he whispers between kisses. “My forever.”
Soon, his breathing is ragged, his movements getting more intense, more desperate. He needs to see you come apart, he needs to be the one to make you feel this way—it's more than a want, it's a need.
“That's it, sweetheart,” he whispers against your skin, so close. “Come for me. Come for me… Come for me, darling. Don't hold back.”
You do, you feel your high closing in, it’s coming fast and irrepressible. Your eyes screwed shut, your hands gripping at his arms now, nails digging into the flesh. You feel it building and building inside you until you can’t take it anymore.
“Chris…” you sharply gasp, nails digging deeper into his skin.
He feels you come around him, he knows you're feeling overwhelmed with pleasure and that thought alone is almost enough to send him over the edge. He doesn't stop like he usually does, letting you ride it out—he knows he can’t wait another second for his turn so he keeps moving, his pace rougher, his eyes locked on yours.
“Just a little bit more, yeah?” he moans, his voice heavy with want, his grip on your waist tightening.
“Take a little bit more for me,” he manages to say, his mouth finding your neck, kissing and nibbling gently
And you let him, you let him chases his own high as you grip his shoulders, wrapping your legs tighter around him to ground yourself in the moment.
Chris loses himself in you, in the way you feel, in the way you let him take what he needs without hesitation. His rhythm falters, his breathing ragged as he buries himself deep one last time, his release crashing over him with a groan that’s half your name, half a supressed profanity. He collapses against you, still trembling, his lips pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder as he catches his breath.
You gently curve an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close and allowing you to place tender, little kisses on his temple down to his jaw. You ignore the sheen of sweat coated his forehead and make a new trail of kisses there.
Chan exhales shakily at the sensation of your soft kisses—your lips brushing his cheeks, his eyelids, the corner of his mouth—while his palm presses possessively against your stomach. His other hand tangles in your hair, pulling you closer as he murmurs.
“Take it all…” His voice thick with reverence. “I want you full of me.”
He holds you there, both of you still trembling from the aftershocks, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath. The intimacy is almost overwhelming—the way he adores you, the way you let him claim you so completely.
When he finally speaks again, it’s barely above a whisper. “All mine.”
-
The blanket is pulled to your chest like a shield against the aftershocks pulsing through your body. You’re still stretched across the sheets, limbs loose and heavy, trying to gather your breath back into something steady. Your skin still hums, your heartbeat roaming everywhere at once.
Chris sits beside you, propped on one elbow, wearing that victorious little curve at the corner of his mouth that you want to smack and kiss in equal measure. His thumb softly brushes at the damp trails on your cheeks as if he wants to erase every trace of what he caused but also absolutely loves that it’s there.
You scoff, still breathless, voice scratchy but playful. “Guess who made another girl cry today?”
He doesn’t even pretend to look guilty. That smug glimmer only deepens as he strokes your cheek again, eyes warm and utterly unrepentant. “Guilty,” he says, softness wrapped around the tease.
You want to roll your eyes, but instead he leans in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s slow, almost lazy, like he wants to savor the taste of the moment lingering between your lips. You sink into it because you can’t help the warmth, the steadiness of his hand on your jaw, the familiar pull of affection.
But then, a sound sound cracks through the quiet of the house.
Both of you stop moving for a heartbeat to hear better, to know for sure that they two of you didn’t imagine it. The sound is distant, muffled behind walls, but unmistakable. That tiny, trembly cry you’ve learned by heart.
Addie.
Maternal instinct scrapes you back into awareness like a bell rung inside your bones. You pull back and whisper, already shifting upright, “That’s her”
Chris is already moving. He grabs his sweatpants from the floor, tugging them on in rushed, uneven motions before padding toward the hallway.
As Chris goes to check on Addie, you sit up with a groan and tug the blanket tighter just long enough to breathe through the soreness. Clothes are scattered across the floor like a breadcrumb trail of earlier choices. You gather them quickly, slipping into the first things you find, fingers fumbling slightly as you fix the straps of your camisole.
A minute later, Chris reappears in the doorway of the bedroom, his brows drawn with concern. “She wants you,” he says gently.
That makes you pause because Addie usually prefers her dad to help her ward the nightmares away or whenever she cries at night.
“Me?”
He nods. “Yeah, you.”
That’s all it takes for worry to spark through you. You hurry past him, bare feet padding over the hallway floor, your pulse accelerating not with panic but with that deep-rooted instinct that something in your little girl needs you.
The door to her room is cracked open, a faint spill of warm nightlight glowing through the gap. You step inside with Chris following right behind you, putting on a smile as you take another step.
Addie is sitting upright in her little bed, knees tucked close, small fists scrubbing at swollen eyes. Her face is blotchy, her lip trembling, her breaths uneven. She looks heartbreakingly tiny in her pastel blankets. And when her gaze finds you, she breaks.
A wail spills out of her, raw and scared, and you rush to her side. She practically launches herself into your arms, climbing into your lap, straddling you with the fierce urgency only children possess. Her arms lock around your neck and she buries her wet face into your chest, sobbing against your skin as if you’re the only thing keeping her anchored.
You hold her tight, one hand smoothing circles over her back, the other cupping the back of her head. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” you whisper into her hair, rocking her slightly. “Mommy’s here. Mommy’s right here.”
Chris kneels beside the bed, brushing her messy hair out of her face with gentle fingers, his voice soft with concern. “Hey, flower bud. What’s going on, hmm?”
It takes time for the sobs to settle into sniffles. Addie hiccups, clinging to you with little shuddery breaths. When she finally lifts her head, her lashes are stuck together with tears.
You tuck a strand behind her ear. “Sweetie… what’s wrong? Why were you crying?”
She tries to speak, but her voice stutters through leftover tremors. “I… I h-heard… Mommy crying.”
You feel a breath caught in your throat while Chris’s eyebrows shoot up. He glances at you, biting back a smile he really shouldn’t be wearing right now.
You keep your voice calm as you ask again. “You heard… Mommy crying?”
She nods hard. “And s-screaming. A-and… the door was closed so I… I couldn’t check on Mommy.”
Her lip wobble returns. “I wanted to help you.”
Oh.
Oh, this pure, innocent child.
Heat creeps up your neck as last hour’s… volume… flashes through your mind. You and Chris exchange a look that is entirely too knowing.
Chris’s mouth twitches. You kick him lightly with your toe. But your heart squeezes at the sincerity in Addie’s face — the worry, the protectiveness far too big for her small body.
You kiss the top of her head, lingering. “Oh, baby… thank you for caring about mommy.”
You stroke her cheek. “I’m so sorry the door was closed.”
“I’m sorry, baby, I think Daddy closed the door,” he admits under his breath. “Accidentally.”
You send him a look that promises conversation later and then you cup Addie’s jaw gently, guiding her to look at you. “Mommy’s okay, sweetheart. I promise. Mommy’s safe. Mommy’s not hurt at all.”
Your voice softens even further as you hold her little body tighter. “Thank you for worrying me. Oh, my little Addie is such an angel.”
She sniffles, leaning into your hand before wrapping her arms around you again, clinging like she doesn’t want to let go.
After a moment, you ask, “Want to try going back to sleep?”
She immediately shakes her head, cheeks puffing out, eyes wide and glistening.
You hide a smile. “What do you want then?”
Addie gazes up at you with that innocent, hopeful twinkle. “Can I… have a cookie?”
Your laugh is soft, warm, because she is just so adorable with her tear-flushed cheeks and tiny, wobbly voice.
“Okay,” you say, brushing your thumb over her cheek. “One cookie. Just one.”
She nods quickly, but then—
“Can I have it with milk, Mommy?”
You tuck her hair behind her ear, smoothing it down. “Yes, you can.”
Then you look at Chris, who is already halfway toward standing. “Daddy,” you say, voice light but aiming, “cookie and milk for Addie, please?”
He straightens and puts a hand over his heart like you’ve given him a mission of national importance. “Yes, ma’am.”
Addie sniffles and reaches out her hand toward him as he stands, and Chris takes it, giving it a little squeeze before heading for the kitchen.
You hold your daughter close, feeling her tiny heartbeat slowing against you, grateful for the sweetness — even in the chaos of midnight tears.
-
Chris watches you move around the kitchen in that soft, warm hush that only exists in the middle of the night. Addie waits curled into the sofa like a sleepy kitten, blanket clutched under her chin, eyes drooping while she watches you both move around the kitchen.
He pours milk into a small pot and sets it over low heat. The quiet hum of the flame fills the silence… until he sidles up next to you at the counter. He bumps his shoulder into yours, voice dipping low, mischief weaving through the air like static.
“I told you to be quiet.”
You turn your head slowly, giving him that look. You hiss back under your breath, “It was because you insisted about making babies and went at it like you were trying to put ten babies all at once inside me.”
Chris fails as he tries to bite back a grin and angles his body closer, lowering his mouth to your ear. His breath ghosts over your skin. “I’m not sorry at all.”
You jab your elbow into his ribs, not hard at all, but he yelps dramatically anyway. “Ouch! Violence! Our daughter is watching!”
He clutches his side like he’s wounded in battle, giving you wide, wounded eyes just to make you roll yours.
You don’t indulge him. You just grab Addie’s cookie from the counter and walk away, refusing to deal with your husband’s ridiculousness.
He watches you go — the sway of your walk, the sleepy tenderness in the way you settle beside Addie. You offer her the cookie with a whisper-soft smile, brushing crumbs from her cheek as she leans into you, trusting, safe.
Chris warms the milk just right, pours it into her favorite cup, and turns toward you two. Then he catches you give him that look again. The one you weren’t even trying for. The one with tenderness layered over the remnants of desire. A warmth that pulls him in every time. He feels it. In his chest, in his pulse, in the slow curl of a smile tugging at his mouth.
Even in the dim kitchen light, with your daughter half-asleep beside you, you still manage to give him those eyes.
And he, predictably, eternally, is drawn to them.
-
A long moment later, Chris is the only one left in the kitchen, rinses the glass and plate Addie used, wipes the counter, flips the switch. The kitchen instantly bathed in darkness.
Your laughter mixed with Addie’s giggles carrying down the hall and it tugs him forward, making him impatient to join in.
When he steps into the bedroom, he finds you tucked beneath the covers with Addie curled into your side, her tiny fingers clutching your shirt while you stroke her back in a slow, sleepy rhythm. She blinks up at you, lids heavy, murmuring something small and warm, and you nod along like her words are the most important ones ever spoken. You always do that. You meet her softness with a softness of your own, as if you were made to fill this exact shape in her world.
Chris feels that sudden swell in his chest. That unguarded, unshakable ache.
You open your eyes when he approaches, catching him mid-admiration. Your lips curl into that tired, sly smile that never fails to tilt his gravity.
“Stop giving me the eyes,” you whisper.
He does the opposite. His hand drifts to your face, thumb brushing the warm bend of your jaw. He lets his gaze linger, unshielded, telling you everything he knows words trip over.
“I love you,” he murmurs.
Your smile softens like dawn light stretching across a quiet street and you open your mouth to say it back to him but someone else beat you to it.
“I love you too, Daddy,” Addie mutters with drowsy eyes.
You softly chuckle at it and repeat the words with sincerity and affection brimming in your eyes. “We love you, Daddy.”
And Chris feels those words in his flesh and bones, and beneath them — his heart.
He leans in and kisses you long enough for his pulse to steady, long enough for something in him to settle. Then he leans over to kiss Addie’s forehead, her tiny sigh puffing against his cheek.
When he finally slides beneath the covers, he reaches for your hand automatically, like muscle memory born from another lifetime. Your fingers lace with his. His thumb traces lazy arcs along the back of your hand, and your breathing gradually slips into the gentle cadence of sleep.
Soon, the room falls into silence.
Chris stays awake a little longer, anchored by the weight of your hand in his. Addie’s tiny breaths flutter against your chest. Your fingers stay curled with his, even in sleep, as if your body refuses to let go of him even for a moment. And something inside him unfurls, warm and steady, like a lantern being lit behind his ribs.
He looks at the two of you and feels the future tug at him in quiet, glowing shapes. Not the kind of future that arrives all at once. The kind that grows like a tree. Slow, patient, unwavering.
He can already see it. Mornings with bedhead and pancakes for breakfast. Afternoons where Addie’s legs get longer, where your laughter fills corners of the house he hasn’t even paid attention to yet. Evenings where he comes home to chaos and comfort braided together. Maybe little footsteps trailing behind Addie someday, siblings with her smile or your eyes, each one another small miracle he never thought would be his.
He thinks about birthdays and scraped knees and tiny backpacks. About school plays where he records the entire thing even though he swears he won’t. About you in the kitchen, rolling your eyes at him while he shows the kids the same silly magic trick over and over again. About holding you on the couch after everyone’s finally asleep, closing the day together in the warmth of each other’s arms.
He lets the visions spill softly through him, each one planting another root. His thumb drifts over the back of your hand again and then presses a kiss to your knuckles as if sealing the moment into something he can carry forever.
This life didn’t just happen to him. It bloomed around him, piece by piece, until it became a garden of everything he once only dreamt about.
And as he watches you and Addie sleep, Chris feels it with a clarity that sweeps through him.
He’s ready for every season this family will grow through. Ready to watch you bloom in new ways. Ready to watch Addie stretch into whoever she becomes. Ready to welcome every new branch, every new beginning, every new laugh that will one day echo through these walls.
This is only the first chapter.
And with his girls sleeping beside him, hearts beating steady and close, Chris promises himself he’ll spend a lifetime tending to this future. Letting it grow. Letting it flourish.
Because nothing feels more certain, more hopeful, more beautiful…
than knowing his family has so much blooming left to do.
-
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choi san. your hopelessly obsessed boyfriend. you ask one innocent question about what he does when you’re not around and immediately regret it .. or do you?
a/n : hi guys! after almost a year away, i figured my comeback should be the successor to my fic 'keep talking'. thank you for 800+ followers. i love yall
You’re wrapped around your boyfriend like a koala, half in his lap, half sprawled across his chest when the thought suddenly hits you.
You pull back, narrow your eyes, tilt your head all suspicious:
“Wait… when I’m not here… do you, like… get yourself off?”
San freezes mid–back rub.
“…Huh?”
“Answer. The question.”
Your eyes squint even harder.
He sighs, looks away, rubs the bridge of his nose.
“Baby, why would you ask me something like—”
“Cause I wanna know!”
He stares at you… then gives up.
“I watch our tapes.”
“Huh?”
“Our sex tapes.”
“San—”
“And I look at your Instagram pictures.”
“San.”
“And sometimes I screenshot your bikini photos before you delete them.”
“San???”
“And sometimes I use the ones where you’re adjusting your top because you always look flustered and—”
“Stop—”
He keeps going, dead serious, like he’s reading a grocery list:
“And that one video where you’re laughing and your boobs bounce a little? Yeah. That one goes crazy. Top-tier.”
“What????”
“And those mirror selfies where your hair is messy. And the ones where you’re not even trying. Those are the worst.”
He shifts under you, already getting hard just thinking about it.
You smack his chest.
“You’re SICK.”
He shrugs.
“I’m in love.”
You slap him harder.
“You’re DEPRAVED.”
Another shrug.
“You’re SEXY.”
You bury your face in your hands, dying.
He gently pulls them away, lowering his voice:
“You asked, baby. You really think I jerk off to random women? No. Everything I do, I do to you.”
He leans in, kissing your cheek, jaw, neck.
“And if you want… I can show you exactly how I do it.”
You slide off his lap just a little, sitting between his knees, eyes wide and way too curious for his sanity.
“…Show me, then.”
San blinks once. Twice.
His Adam’s apple jumps.
“…Yeah?” he asks, voice already dropping into that low, dangerous tone.
You nod.
He drags a hand down his face like he knows he’s about to ruin you with this demonstration alone.
“Okay,” he mutters, leaning back into the couch, legs spreading a little, “but don’t— don’t laugh. I’m serious.”
You bite your lip.
He sees it. He groans.
Then he slips a hand under the waistband of his sweats, pulls himself out, already half-hard from the conversation alone. His breaths get shaky, on purpose, because he knows you’re watching.
“Normally…” he starts, eyes flicking to yours, “…I start slow. Just— thinking about you walking around the house, tiny little outfit, pretending you’re not teasing me.”
His thumb glides over the tip spreading the precum, — and he sighs, deep, breathy, borderline whimpering.
You swallow so hard he hears it.
“And then,” he continues, pumping slowly, “I think about how you look when you ride me… all loud and needy…”
You shift on your knees.
He definitely notices.
His lashes flutter, and he lets out a soft, broken “mmh—fuck…”
You scoot closer.
He moans again, high, pretty, shameless, because he’s absolutely doing this on purpose now.
“You like watching me, baby?” he breathes out, jaw clenching, hips lifting into his own hand. “Yeah… you do…”
You nod, dazed.
He groans, throwing his head back for a second, biting his lip dramatically, exaggerating it because he knows it gets you.
Then he looks at you through heavy lids.
“You always make me this hard,” he whispers, voice cracking just a little. “Even when you’re not here.”
Your thighs press together.
He smirks, then lets out another deliberate whimper, soft and choked, like he knows it shoots straight into your bloodstream.
“Come here,” he murmurs, hand stroking himself faster. “If you’re gonna watch… watch up close.”
You crawl into his lap.
He pulls your hand to his stomach—
so warm, tense, shaking, and keeps moaning softly, messy and pretty, just for you.
He’s doing all of this on purpose.
You lean in so close he can feel your breath on his throat, eyes glued to every movement of his hand, every twitch of his stomach, every shaky inhale he lets slip.
And San loses his mind over it.
“Jesus…” he whispers, voice cracking when he looks down and sees your face—eyes blown wide, lips parted, studying him like he’s something you want to taste. “You’re really watching me like this…?”
You nod slowly. His chest stutters.
He bites his lip so hard a muscle in his jaw jumps.
“That’s— fuck— this is the hottest thing you’ve ever done,” he mutters, voice warm and breathless. He spreads his legs wider, giving you a better view, pumping his hand a little harder… slower… letting you see everything. “You’re looking at me like you wanna eat me alive.”
“San,” you breathe.
His eyes darken instantly.
“Oh my god…” he laughs under his breath, ruined already, “you’re obsessed with me.”
Your face heats.
He cups your chin with his free hand, forcing you to hold eye contact while the other keeps stroking, wet and filthy and slow enough to make your stomach twist.
“You like how I do it?” he whispers.
You nod. His smile is evil.
“You like seeing what I do when you’re not home?”
Another nod.
His grip tightens. His thighs flex under you.
“Y’know what I think about?” he murmurs, leaning closer until your noses almost touch. “You. On your knees. Mouth open. Eyes like that. Waiting for me.”
Your breath catches.
He groans.
“Keep watching,” he says, voice low and trembly. “Don’t look away. Not once.”
You don’t.
Your eyes track the movement of his hand, the veins on his forearm, the way his stomach tightens every time he pumps upward. He notices. He feels your stare. It makes him moan again—soft, involuntary, almost shy.
You whisper, barely audible:
“…You look so hot.”
He chokes on a breath. His hips jerk.
And his voice drops even lower, wrecked and proud and starving:
“Say that again.”
You whisper it again, slower. “So fucking hot.”
You slide closer—slow, curious, innocent in that way that makes his whole body seize up—and tilt your head.
“Can I help…?”
His hand falters on himself, eyes snapping to yours like you just offered him the cure to every problem he’s ever had.
“…yeah,” he whispers, voice already breaking, “yeah—baby, c’mere.”
Your smaller hand slips under his, replaces his stroke.
The second your skin touches him he whimpers—a real one, sharp and desperate, right against your neck.
“Oh—fuck—”
His head drops to your shoulder.
He’s trembling.
He grabs your wrist gently, guiding your rhythm, but you’re already doing it exactly how he likes—soft at the base, tight at the top, twisting up just a little—
“Baby,” he gasps, breath hitting your collarbone, “you’re—fuck—you’re so good at this—”
His hips buck into your palm.
His hand is gripping your thigh, hard enough to bruise.
You look up at him through your lashes and his knees actually shake.
“That’s it,” you whisper, teasing, “you like when I do it?”
He moans.
A pretty, broken, breathy sound right into your ear.
“I love—when you—help me—god—fuuuck”
He’s collapsing, chest heaving, face flushed, thighs tense beneath you.
The wet slick sound of your hand working him faster fills the room and he completely loses the last bit of control he had.
“Y/N—baby—oh my god I’m gonna cum—”
You tighten your grip, stroke him exactly how he likes—
His whole body jerks—
He lets out the most ruined groan you’ve ever heard—
And he finishes right into your hand, warm and messy and so much more than you expected.
He collapses into you, panting into your shoulder, completely melted.
Your sticky hand is still resting on him when he finally breathes again.
“…you’re gonna kill me,” he whispers, voice wrecked, trembling all over. “You’re actually gonna kill me.”
You hold your hand up— dripping.Absolutely covered in him. A warm, glossy mess.
Your eyes go wide on purpose.
“…San.”
He looks up from your shoulder, dazed, hair a mess, breaths still shaking.
And you wiggle your fingers.
“Look at this! You're. SO. Desperate.”
His whole face flushes scarlet.
“Baby—” he groans, grabbing your wrist to hide the evidence, “don’t… don’t say it like that…”
But you lean back, smirking like the menace you are.
“You made a huge mess. This is—San, this is ridiculous. You couldn’t even hold it for a second??”
He hides his face in your neck, mortified, whining like a grown man being scolded.
“You can’t tease me after what you just did to me,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin, “I warned you—I told you I was close—you kept going—baby, you know what you were doing—”
“No,” you say, faking innocence, showing your sticky palm again, “you’re nasty. Nasty. Look at this.”
He pulls your wrist down, panicked.
“Stop showing it to me!”
His voice cracks. “I know what I did!”
You laugh so hard he swats your thigh lightly, embarrassed, still breathless.
Then he looks up at you—eyes heavy, lips parted, totally ruined—and mutters:
“…clean your hand before you start teasing me again or I swear I’ll make an even bigger mess.”
OH.
You grab a warm towel and clean him up gently, slow little wipes that make him flinch because he’s still sensitive.
You purposely kiss the tip softly just to watch him jolt.
“Y/N—!”
You kiss it again..
He slaps a hand over his face.
“Stop… you’re gonna kill me…”
You hop off the bed, still glowing, still smug, and go to the mirror.
You clean yourself up too—wiping your mouth, fixing your hair—
But then curiosity hits.
You look at your fingers.
You look at him in the reflection.
You drag your tongue over them.
Slow.
Purposeful.
San’s jaw drops.
“…that tastes kinda good.
Somebody changed their diet. Good boy.”
His ears turn red.
“Why would you DO that?!”
You shrug in the mirror, wiping your lips.
“I was curious.”
“That’s not— you can’t just— you—”
He’s literally malfunctioning.
(OT8 x p*rnstar!reader)
Mingi takes Y/n to his studio, he shows her a new song for his solo project… this song about a relationship… and it's obvious it's about theirs. The two share their thoughts and feelings of anxiety within the relationship, both promising to not let the other feel alone anymore.
Italicized text means they're speaking Korean.
wc: ~5.6 k
warnings: relationship talk, anxiety talk, emotional people, soft!Ming, fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex (don't be a fool wrap your tool), Nicknames (Ming/Baby/Princess/Favorite Girl)
✮proofread by my sister so spelling errors/grammatical errors are her fault✮
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Mingi stood outside of Seonghwa's door. Y/n had spent the night in their dorm, she ate dinner with them, listened to them talk about their days and went to sleep in Seonghwa’s room. Mingi and San put up a fight because their hyung had her all day by himself, but he said that she needed rest and doubted that the younger men would be able to give that to her.
So now it was the next day and Mingi stood there debating on if he should knock or not. He had a free day, San was already at the practice room going over the dance with Wooyoung and Yunho, Seonghwa had to go to the studio later today. Everyone was busy so it was his time to be alone with her and he had something special he wanted to do.
He heard movement inside the room, whether it was her or Seonghwa he did not know. He raised his fist to knock but the door opened right as he brought his hand down, he hit a person not the door.
“What the fuck, Ming.” Seonghwa said as he rubbed his chest. “The first thing I experience in the morning is you punching me?”
“I’m sorry, hyung!” He apologized. “I was going to knock a few seconds earlier but I didn't want to wake you guys so I waited until I heard noises… I didn't think you’d open the door…”
Seonghwa shook his head. “I’m just giving you shit, Mingi. What do you need?”
Mingi pursed his lips slightly and shrugged. “I… I just wanted to see if Y/n was up. We get to spend the whole day together and I want to take her somewhere.”
Seonghwa squinted his eyes slightly. “You’re not taking her to another amusement park are you?” he leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed.
“No. I learned my lesson from the agonizing sit down we had after I took her to Lotte World. I also don’t want to hear Wooyoung complaining about it all day again.” Mingi ran a hand through his long dark hair. “I was going to take her to my studio, show her my set up, maybe ask for decoration advice… you know a ‘woman's eye’ and everything.” he bit his lip, suddenly nervous. “I was also going to show her a new song I've been working on.”
Seonghwa glanced over his shoulder, then back to Mingi. “Alright. I’m sure that she would love that.” he smiled softly. “She’s in the kitchen, you know? She’s not in here.”
Mingi’s eyes widened. “S-she’s not…?” he turned to glance towards the kitchen, sure enough Y/n was standing at the counter with a cup of something in her hand, she gave him a small wave. Mingi’s ears turned red, he gave her a wave back. How did he not notice her? He paced in front of the kitchen for three minutes before even going to Seonghwa’s door.
Seonghwa gave mingi a slight push. “Go, pabo.”
Mingi walked over to the kitchen and leaned against the wall, opposite the counter she was leaning against. He was looking down at the ground, he easily told Seonghwa his plans but what if she didn’t want to go to his studio? What if she didn’t like the song he poured his heart into?
“Mingi…” she said softly.
He looked up at her. “Hmm?”
“You okay?” she asked, setting her cup down. “You’ve been staring at the ground like it personally offended you.”
“I-i..” he sighed. “I was just thinking about my plans for the day… but now that I do, I'm worried you won’t like them.”
“Mingi, i’ve told all of you plenty of times, i don’t care what we do or where we go, just as long as we’re together.” She walked closer and took his hands in hers. “Now tell me, what are we going to do today? And don’t lie and change your plans because I will just ask Seonghwa.”
Mingi chuckled lightly, giving her hands a slight squeeze. “I was thinking that we go to my studio? I want you to be the first person to see how I've set up. and maybe you can help me look for more things to decorate? And I've been working on a song that I really want to show you, if you want to listen.”
“Of course I want to listen,” she smiled. “That sounds really nice actually. Going slightly stir crazy staying at home. When did you want to leave?”
“Whenever you want to. We could go get some lunch, before or after… there’s a small shopping strip nearby too, we could look around a bit before coming home.”
“I’d like that. Tell you what, I'll go change now, and then we can head out?”
Mingi nodded his head, “sure.”
Y/n kissed his cheek before leaving their dorm to go back to hers.
Seonghwa walked into the kitchen, dressed in gray sweatpants and a black hoodie, he walked over to her cup and picked it up, taking a drink from it. “Told you she’d like it. Now your song on the otherhand…”
Mingi glared at him. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
Seonghwa laughed lightly and downed the rest of Y/n’s coffee and set the cup in the dishwasher. “I’m going, I'm going.” He grabbed his keys from the counter and looked at Mingi. “Please be careful, like… don’t try and get a dating rumor today.”
Mingi rolled his eyes. “We’ll be fine.”
“Mingi, you’re 184cm… you’re a giant, people are going to notice you and they'll recognize that it’s you and then they’ll see her-”
“We’ll be careful! Just leave already,” Mingi groaned. This was the same lecture he got after the Lotte World incident, no dating rumors came from that day so none would come from this one. Plus they’re both going to be wearing masks when they go into the stores anyway, if they even go.
Seonghwa rolled his eyes. “If I come home and find out you have a dating rumor I'm going to punch you. We all decided we’d be careful-”
“But we’re hiding her away, she hasn’t left the dorms in days, Seonghwa.. We promised we’d make her stay in Korea enjoyable and all we’ve been doing is keeping her here, occasionally taking her out to lunch or dinner. She hasn’t been sight seeing or anything…”
“And we will do that… just… after…”
“When? After the comeback? Or the one after that? It’s not going to make this relationship work if we keep her behind closed doors forever.” Mingi shook his head. “We don’t have a dating ban, one of us can go public.. That way she can be seen with us and we can take her places. Hyung, if you were in her position would you want to be stuck in the dorms all day in a country you’ve never been to, where your partners promised to make your stay enjoyable?”
Seonghwa bit the inside of his cheek. If he were in Y/n’s shoes he’d probably be looking for a plane ticket home..
“I just don’t want her to end this relationship because we can’t go anywhere. I don’t want her to be a secret, i want to be able to hold her hand walking down the street, i want to be able to take her out to dinner without having to pay for a secluded room, i want to be able to do normal couple things with her-”
“And you don’t think all of us want that?!” Seonghwa snapped. “You don’t think I don't want that? Mingi, we all want that, but our relationship is.. It’s strange to people… the media wouldn’t understand, the country wouldn’t get it, they can’t even recognize same sex marriage for fucks sake.” Seonghwa shook his head. He didn’t mean to yell at mingi, but this was a thought that all of them had… they all wanted to be able to be public with her, but they couldn't. “Look, i’ll talk to Joong, i’ll see if we can talk to KQ and figure something out, because i don’t like her being stuck here either. Just… try and have a good time with her today, and be careful about it.”
Mingi crossed his arms and nodded. “Okay… But if I do end up with a rumor.. I’m not going to deny it. Even if the company wants me to… I don’t want to hide her, hyung.”
“I know, mingi… we’ll… we’ll figure something out.” Seonghwa patted his shoulder before leaving the dorm.
Mingi didn’t want to have to wait, he wanted them to figure it out before she even got here. The minute KQ okayed her coming, okayed her living with them, he wanted them to okay someone being in the public eye with her. But everyone’s worried about the comeback, worried about the image, worried about the fans… why don’t they worry about Y/n?
Y/n came back in silently, she looked at Mingi as he stood in thought. His jaw tight and his fist clenched. “Ming?” she said softly. He looked up at her his brown eyes swimming with thoughts. “Everything okay?”
“Ye-ah,” his voice cracked. “Yeah, everything is fine. You ready to go?”
Y/n looked at him, she didn’t believe him. When something bothered Mingi you could tell, his face showed it. And right now he looked like he was going to cry or punch something, hell maybe even both. “You can tell me what’s wrong,” she took his hand again. “Please?”
Mingi looked down at her. He wanted to, but not here. “Lets just.. Let's just go to the studio. I’ll tell you then.”
“Okay,” she nodded, letting Mingi lead her out of his dorm.
The ride to Mingi’s studio was silent, the only sounds were the traffic that they passed, the hum of the engine, they didn’t speak, the radio wasn’t even on. But, Mingi’s hand held hers the entire time, so that was something.
Mingi parked and finally let go of her hand, he exited the car and went to the other side opening hers for her. His hand immediately took hers again when they were walking into the building.
“Sorry if it’s a bit of a mess. I just moved to this one, so I'm still trying to figure out where everything should go. Maybe you can help me?” He looked down at her.
Y/n nodded. “Of course. You’ve seen what I've done to Yunho and Yeosang's dorm, it looks less…”
“Stock photo like?”
“Yes,” she laughed. “It looks more like a home instead of a furniture display in a store.”
Mingi opened the door to the building and led her down the hallway to his private studio. “I like it though, you gave it your personal touch… It feels very permanent. I can’t wait to see how you’ll decorate our house.”
“House?” she raised an eyebrow as he unlocked the door. “Are we moving?”
“No,” Mingi shook his head. “More so the future.”
“You see us getting a house?”
Mingi shrugged and led her into the studio. “Well yeah, realistically we can’t live in the dorms forever.” he took his coat off and laid it on the couch. “I picture us getting a house, one with a nice backyard for your dog, maybe even a pool. I don’t really want neighbors though, well not ones right next door anyway.” he took her jacket off and laid it on his.
“Where is this house?” she asked as he took her over to his desk, sitting her down in the chair.
“I don’t know,” he knelt beside the chair and looked up at her. “I would like for it to be somewhere that’s not too far from all the parents, maybe like in the middle so they can all visit… well… San’s parents might still be far away.” he looked down at their hands, still entwined. “I guess if you wanted to move to America that’d be okay too. We’d just have to travel to Korea when comeback season starts, do all the music shows and everything. We can record everything stateside.”
“Mm..” she tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “And who is all there with us?”
“Everyone. We all live together, we each have separate rooms, and you have your own too. It’s a big house too, enough rooms for us and a studio or two. Some spare rooms for visitors or babies.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Babies?”
“Eventually, not right now. But someday, if you’re willing. Imagine baby Ateez running around.” he laughed.
Y/n’s eyes widened. “I’m supposed to pop out eight kids?” she laughed. “My god.”
Mingi smiled his gummy smile and shook his head. “If you don’t want to, that's fine too. However many you want. One? Two? Eight? None? You’re the one who’s pushing them out so it’s up to you, princess.”
Y/n looked down at him and ran her hand through his hair. “I mean, we can start with one, just to see how the eight of you can handle all taking care of a baby… then we can maybe try again.”
“A little Joong,” mingi nodded. “He was the cutest, so i vote for him. Wooyoung and Yeosang would probably give trouble makers, Seonghwa’s would probably cry as much as him… San and Yunho would be clingy mama’s boys..”
“Not a baby Ming?”
“No, I was an ugly baby. I didn’t look cute until I was about six. Then I got ugly again as a teen.” he laughed. “To some I'm still ugly.”
“And they’re just blind. You’re insanely attractive, Mingi. And I’ll continue to remind you that until I'm dead.”
Mingi laughed lightly. “You know what else I see in this future?”
“Hmm?”
“In this future I see eight rings… And not just the team rings.” He looked down at her hand and ran his thumb over her left ring finger. “Each of us gives you one, and legally only one of us can claim you as a wife, but the other seven can still have commitment ceremonies.”
Y/n looked at him, a soft smile on her lips. “You’ve thought a lot about this haven't you?”
“We all have,” he admitted. “Seonghwa claims he should be the one to marry you because he’s the oldest. Yeosang and San say they should because they’re the only sons of their family. Jongho says he should because he’s the eldest son in his family. Wooyoung wants you to have his last name. Hongjoong says that it’s your decision and we should respect whoever you decide to choose.”
“And you, Mingi?”
Mingi was still kneeling on the ground next to the chair. “Me?” he leaned back and looked up at her, it was insane how someone so big can look so small. “I would like to marry you legally… Y/n Song…. Song Y/n…. has a nice ring to it, yeah?” he squeezed her hands. “But it is ultimately up to you, and whoever you choose to marry I will respect. As long as you don’t kick me to the curb.”
“I wouldn’t. I don’t think I can let any of you go at this point. It’ll break my heart when you decide you no longer want me.”
“We’ll never get that way. Trust me. We’ve been talking about you for months, we’ve all ran through scenarios in our heads about what we would do if we actually met you… but that was before we knew you were an ATINY, meeting you at send off literally made all of us forget our smooth moves.” he laughed.
“Hey, you’ve seen the videos. People called jongho the ‘rizz king,’ he was flirting up a storm.” she laughed.
“But I'm serious…” he let go of her hands and turned towards his computer, he signed on and began to click around. Y/n watched him, his dark eyes reflecting the screen, the slight crease between his brows. “The track… I’ve been working on it since we left you. I wrote the lyrics on the plane to the next city, worked on the music throughout the rest of the tour.” he paused the mouse over the play button. “I recorded it as soon as we came home, so the vocals are still the demo version, depending on your critique i’ll polish it up or just trash the whole thing.” he chuckled awkwardly.
“You absolutely will not,” she shook her head.
“Anyways…. I wanted, originally, to offer it to Hongjoong as a potential song for our comeback, or maybe even the next one. I-if i had to describe the vibe, i’d say it’s a mix of ‘Inception’ and ‘Mist’. But i figured that the company wouldn’t like it as an ATEEZ song, so instead i’ll probably just put it on my fix off thing…” he stared at the screen. “It’s.. I'll just let it speak for itself.”
He clicked play. A simple, melancholic piano filled the room. Then his voice, raw and unmixed, his voice was gentle as he was not rapping, but singing. The lyrics were in korean, but thankfully she had some great teachers and could understand what he was singing. The lyrics were about feeling like you’re wearing a mask, getting applause that felt like judgement, feeling yourself crack under the weight of expectations. Then the piano melody shifted, it filtered into an instrumental that screamed ATEEZ. Mingi’s voice becoming lighter, less sad?
This new beat brought a new tone to the lyrics, the first part of the song was a sad piano ballad of the weight you face, putting on a mask to hide how it affects you, this new part was more of finding something that eases that stress. Something that you can lean on, and love, and show everything to no matter how dark, depressing, or painful it is.
It ended with the soft piano from the beginning, Mingi’s voice once again softer and full of emotion as he sang.
‘In the quiet between the stage lights, I see you… a melody I'm scared to play, afraid I won't do you justice. My hands tremble. What if my touch is clumsy? What if the song I write for us is the one that makes you walk away?’
The song was about them. The mask of being an idol, everything you do under a microscope, the weight of everything you do. Then it was about finding her, finding someone that you can just be yourself with and someone that accepts you for what you are not what you pretend to be. The ending was a glimpse into Mingi’s heart… the fear of losing her.
As the song faded out the silence left behind was profound. Mingi finally tore his eyes from the screen to look at her. He didn’t watch her as she listened, afraid that he’d read too much into her facial expressions. His eyes were wide and vulnerable.
“I’m.. i’m so scared, Y/n.” he whispered, the confession coming out in a rush. “I’m scared that i’m going to fuck this up… I’m not like Hongjoong, or Seonghwa… or Wooyoung… I’m not a leader, or gentle, or effortlessly affectionate… I’m just… me.” he ran a hand through his hair. “I get in my head, and I feel things too deeply and sometimes I don't know how to let those feelings out without… breaking down.” His eyes began to well with tears, and he turned his gaze to the floor. “What if I'm too much? W-what if i’m not enough? What if I.. What if I ruin this beautiful thing we’re all building?”
Mingi looked utterly lost, the tall, powerful man seeming to shrink under the weight of his anxiety. Y/n pushed the chair back and knelt down on the ground with him. She didn’t say anything, instead, she reached out and cupped his face in her hands. His cheeks were warm under her palms.
“Ming,” she said softly. “Look at me, baby.”
His eyes, filled with unshed tears, focused on hers.
“You could never ruin this,” each word was deliberate, she meant everything she was saying. “You think your feelings are too much? They’re what makes you you. The passion, the intensity… it’s what draws me to you.” she stroked his cheeks with her thumbs. “When you love, you love with your whole being. Like San. That’s not a flaw. It’s a gift.” She let go of his face and threaded her fingers in the hair at the base of his neck. “This thing between us, between all of us, it’s real… and it’s forever changing and growing. It’s built on trust, on small moments, on this.. You sharing your fears with me.. This doesn’t break us, it makes us stronger.”
A single tear slipped down his cheek. She leaned forward and kissed it away, her lips tender against his skin. She kissed his other cheek, then the crease between his brows, then his nose, then finally his plump lips.
The kiss wasn’t lust filled, it wasn’t hungry, or desperate. It was a promise. Her lips pressed against his tenderly, but it meant everything, it was the physical manifestation of her words. He knelt there, frozen for a second, then with a sigh he reciprocated. His lips moved against hers, initially hesitant, then gaining the familiar confidence he usually possessed. It was a kiss that spoke of gratitude, relief, a love so deep it was terrifying, but in a good way. His large hands came up to cradle her head, his fingers sinking into her hair, holding her like she was made of the most fragile glass. She was the most precious and delicate thing in his world.
The kiss got more intense, not from lust, but from the deep emotional need to connect, to squash his fear once and for all. Mingi’s tongue traced her bottom lip, asking for entrance, she granted it with a soft sigh as their tongues met. They kissed until they were both breathless, until the air in the studio felt electric and hot.
Mingi broke the kiss and looked down at her, his eyes shining in the dim light. “Y/n…” he breathed, his thumb brushing her bottom lip.
“I’m here,” she answered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Mingi kissed her again, deeper this time, one hand sliding down her back to pull her against him. She could feel the thump of his heart, the firm but slightly soft muscle of his chest. And of course, the unmistakeable, thick and hard bulge of his cock pressing against her through his jeans. The physical reaction to their emotional intimacy was immediate and honest.
He broke the kiss again, his forehead resting against hers. “I need you,” he whispered. “Not just…. I need to feel you. To know you’re real, and that you’re mine, and that this is real.” He rubbed his nose against hers. “Please…” his voice cracked.
“Then feel me,” she whispered.
He didn’t lead her to the couch, instead he guided her over to the animal print rug in the center of the room. It was softer against her back than she thought it would be. Mingi looked down at her, his head blocking the dim light from the ceiling. He knelt over her, his frame blocking the light from led strips along the wall. He began to undress her, her sweater was lifted over her head, her jeans and underwear peeled down her legs. He did it all slowly, his huge hands gently tracing over every inch of skin he revealed, as if he were memorizing her by touch.
Once Y/n was bare, Mingi sat back on his heels and just admired. His gaze was like a physical caress, his eyes moved from her face, down her throat, over the swell of her breasts, down the softness of her stomach to the gentle curve of her hips, down her plush thighs. The intense, worshipful stare, made her cunt throb.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “Every part of you…”
Mingi began to remove his own clothes, his movements slightly faster. The turtleneck was pulled over his head, the necklace still on. The faint trail of hair leading from his navel down into the waistband of his jeans. He stood up to push them and his boxers down, his hard cock springing free.
It was just as impressive as the first time she saw it, it matched the scale of the rest of him perfectly. It was long and thick, the head was flushed, his shaft veined, it stood rigid against his stomach. He was completely magnificent naked, and the look in his eyes was of complete devotion.
He laid down beside her, propped up on one elbow, his other hand coming to rest on her stomach, rubbing small circles absentmindedly with his thumb. “Tell me what you want,” he pleaded. “Tell me how to love you right now.”
Y/n turned on her side to face him, their noses almost touching. “Just love me, Mingi. However you need to. Show me.”
He leaned in and kissed her again, this time his hands began to explore. He touched her as if she would break under his touch. His palm cupped her breast gently, his thumb circling her nipple until it hardened. He dipped his head and took it into his mouth, his tongue circling the sensitive tip. A gasp escaped her, her back arching into him. He switched to the other breast, giving it the same treatment, his free hand sliding down over her hip, her thigh and then back up into the inside of her thigh.
His fingers found her pussy, he didn’t plunge inside, he traced her slit first, feeling her arousal. He parted it, exposing the glistening inside. He stroked her clit with the pad of his thumb, a slow circular motion that made her moan into his mouth and her hips jerk.
“So responsive,” he whispered against her lips. “My favorite girl. So perfect for me.” he slid a finger inside her, and her cunt welcomed him with a hot, wet squelch. She was already soaked. He added a second finger, stretching her, his eyes watching her face as he scissored his fingers inside her.
“There,” she breathed when his fingers touched deep inside her. A shock of pure pleasure radiated from her.
Mingi focused there, stroking that spot with a gentle pressure while his thumb continued to rub circles on her sensitive clit. The dual simulation overwhelmed her, building the tension in her stomach. She could feel her orgasm coming, but she didn’t want to release alone.
“Mingi…” she panted, pushing his hand away gently.
Mingi looked up at her with big eyes, his eyebrows raised in worry. Did he do something wrong?
“I need you inside me, baby…” she ran her hand through his hair. “Now.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He moved over her, settling between her legs. He gripped his cock at the base, his big hand making his huge cock look not as big as it really is. He slid his head over her dripping slit, coating the flushed skin in her wetness and his precum.
“Look at me,” he said softly, and she did. Her eyes locked with his as he began to push forward.
The penetration was slow, her cunt stretching around him easily, hardly any pain at all. The head of his cock pressed in, the feeling was immense and filling. She could feel every millimeter as he entered her, he went slowly, so slow, his eyes wide as he watched her face for any sign of discomfort.
“You’re taking me so well, princess..” he murmured, a praise that went straight to her core, making her clench around him. “My good girl. My beautiful, favorite girl.”
His hips were flush against hers, his cock buried fully inside her. Their bodies and souls anchored together. Mingi stayed there for a moment, letting her adjust to him, letting them both breathe for a second, letting himself take in the sight of her underneath him, memorizing every detail of her face and body.
Then he began to move. He pulled out almost all the way, the drag of his cock against her sensitized walls making her whimper, then he thrusted back in with the same slow and steady pace. Each thrust was a statement, a physical personification of his earlier fears and her reassurances. I am here. I’m not going anywhere. I love you.
He shifted, pushing her legs up to her shoulders, opening her wider, allowing him to sink even deeper. The new angle allowed the head of his cock to rub directly against her g post with every stroke.
“Mingi..” she moaned, her hands latching onto his arms, her fingers digging into the hard muscle of his biceps.
“I love you,” he groaned, the words coming out of him, raw and unplanned. He thrust into her, a little harder, his control starting to fray. “I love you… I never want to lose you. Never.”
Hearing it, feeling the power of his thrust, everything was raw and emotional. Tears, not of sadness but of overwhelmed emotions, welled in her eyes. “I love you too, mingi..” she cried, the confession mingling with a moan as he hit a spot so deep it made her eyes roll back.
His pace increased, the slow, deep rolls of his hips becoming more urgent. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the studio, the slapping of skin on skin, the wet sounds of her cunt accepting his thick cock, their uneven breaths. He leaned down, his mouth meeting hers in a searing kiss, his tongue mimicking the thrusts of his hips. One of his hands found hers, their fingers sliding together, he squeezed her tightly. That simple connection, their palms together, fingers laced, felt more intimate than his cock inside her.
Mingi broke the kiss, his forehead damp with sweat, his eyes locking with hers. “Cum with me,” he pleaded, his voice strained. “Please, baby, cum with me. I need to feel you.”
His words, the desperate emotion in them, sent her over the edge. Her eyes rolled back, her back arched as her cunt clamped and convulsed around his cock. The feeling of her cunt squeezing him was too much for Mingi to handle.
With a choked, guttural cry, Mingi drove his hips into her one last time, and held himself deep inside her. She felt the hot, sudden rush of his release as he came inside her. His cock twitching and jerking as he pumped his cum deep inside her cunt. The feeling of his release prolonged her own, another series of spasms fluttering through her.
Mingi collapsed onto her, careful to not crush her, their bodies glued together from sweat and the little bit of cum leaking out around his cock. He was still inside her, his cock pulsing weakly as his cum slowly dripped out of him. He buried his face in her neck, his breath harsh and hot against her skin. She could feel the rapid, frantic beat of his heart against her chest, matching the rhythm of her own.
They laid together for what felt like eternity, wrapped in each other, the scent of sex and love filling the studio. They didn’t say anything, just breathed each other in, caressed each other softly. Slowly, their world broadened, the hum of the computer, the sound of the heater kicking in.
Mingi moved first, but only to gently, reluctantly, pull out of her. Y/n felt the immediate, empty ache and the warm trickle of their combined releases escaping her cunt. He didn’t go far, he rolled onto his back beside her, pulling her with him so she laid half on top of him, her head resting on his chest. He wrapped an arm around her, holding her close.
After a few minutes, their heartbeats returning to normal, Mingi stirred. He pressed a kiss to her hair. “Wait here.”
Mingi got up, his tell frame moving with steady grace to the small bathroom in his studio. She watched him, the muscles in his back and ass as he used the sink to wet a hand towel with warm water. He came back and knelt beside her, his touch gentle as he began to clean her. He wiped the sweat from her brow, her neck, then he carefully cleaned between her legs, wiping at the mess of their passion on her cunt and inner thighs. He was meticulous and caring about it.
When he was done she took the cloth from him and sat up. She mirrored his care, wiping the sweat from his chest and abdomen, she cleaned his softening cock gently wiping the remnants of her release and his cum. He watched her the entire time, his eyes soft, his ears red, a gentle smile on his lips.
Once they were both wiped down he pulled her back against him and laid back down on the rug, facing each other, their legs tangled together. He stroked her hair, his fingers tracing the shell of her ear.
Y/n could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her palm, the warmth of his skin radiating through the small space between them. The studio lighting casted soft shadows across his face, highlighting the pout of his lips, the way his lashes fluttered when she ran her thumb over his collarbone.
“I love you,” he whispered.
She pressed her lips to his collarbone. “I love you too,”
Mingi tilted her chin up, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw before he kissed her, slow and deep, like he was memorizing the shape of her mouth all over again. He pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. He shifted, tugging her tighter against him until there was no space left between them. His palm rested at the small of her back, holding her against him. Nothing mattered to them besides this moment. Just them, together. Just this.
"busy woman" - an ot8 ateez smau by @liliesformingi | reactions to texting ateez 'she's busy rn'
"yeah, i'm a busy woman, i wouldn't let you come into my calendar any night. but if you want my kisses, i'll be your perfect mrs. 'til the day that one of us dies." - 'busy woman' by sabrina carpenter
author's note: hi besties, a non-strategy post today bc i was feeling ot8!! this was the option that one my poll and the other one will come later on <3 also i bought a pink vs wallet as a treat and felt cunty and girlboss then made my guy friend carry the pink striped vs bag they put it in and felt even cuntier and girlbossier love you x
warnings: sassy man apocolypse
taglist: @zelinkcrossing @hyunjiiza @zenlackszen @kur0kki @peskybirdysya @nujeskz @jessxxxfwd @xuchiya @bee-gremlin @radblizzardpizzas-blog @matchahintonagar @diekleinesuesse @xh01bri @lunaryoongie @jaehyunluvbot @k1xiara @cloudy-lilly @sunnysidesins @lveegsoi @arcvillie @flqwrlvr @huachengsbestie01 @subby-men-forever | send an ask, dm or comment to be added :)
(OT8 x p*rnstar!reader)
It's movie night, Y/n and Yunho make themselves presentable and head out to the living room. The guys fight for who gets to sit next to Y/n, after multiple rounds of arm wrestling, San is the winner, and he’s giddy about it because he gets to share a blanket with Y/n.
Italicized text means they're speaking Korean.
wc: ~ 5.2 k
warnings: public sex, fingering, Handjob, neck kissing, whispers, trying not to get caught, Nicknames (Sannie/Baby/good girl/Jagiya/Darling/sweetheart/pipsqueak/Angel)
✮proofread by my sister so spelling errors/grammatical errors are her fault✮
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The twenty minutes was a blur. Yunho and Yeosang frantically cleaned the livingroom, it wasn’t dirty, but if they didn’t straighten their furniture and decor now Seonghwa would spend thirty minutes doing it himself because it had to be perfect. Y/n freshened up in her bathroom, switching into a different pair of underwear, a white cheeky pair with strawberries on it - wooyoung said that San would simply devour her in them, she paired it with the sweater Hongjoong had given her on her first night.
She stood in the doorway looking at the two of them as they moved the table, Yunho was kneeling down on the ground looking at it with one eye closed. “I think this is fine. Not too close, not too far.”
“If it’s not he’ll just move it anyway.” Yeosang sighed, running his fingers through his newly bleached hair. Y/n was sad to see the dark locks go, but for now he was keeping the length, he just needed some toner now. Yeosang turned to her with a soft smile on his lips. “You get to pick your seat first, sweetheart.” He held his hand out to her, Y/n walked over and took it, and he pulled her closer to him. “Might I suggest the center of the couch, it has the best view of the TV.”
“Or, you can choose the chair, big enough for two, perfect for cuddling while watching a movie,” Yunho wiggled his eyebrows as he sat on the arm of the chair.
“You’ve had enough for the night,” Yeosang rolled his eyes.
Yunho’s gaze went to her camera in her other hand. “Do you want to show Yeosangie what we created, pipsqueak? Show him how hard i made you cum as i fucked you against the wall?”
Y/n looked at Yunho with wide eyes, she knew that they talked to each other about sex, but she had never been in the room while they did it. “I.. I was just going to plug it in, I forgot to grab it from your room when we left.”
Yeosang looked at the device in her hand before looking up at Yunho, his ears red and his eyes dark. “I think i’ll pass for now, Yunho.” he held Y/n’s hand as he led her into her bedroom, she plugged in the camera and turned to Yeosang who was leaning against the doorframe. “Did you two at least clean up the puddle of cum that was near the wall?”
Her face felt hot. She didn’t know why talking about this stuff made her embarrassed, they all had sex with her, they watched her videos with the others.. But when they actually talked about it, it just embarrassed her.
“Don’t look so embarrassed, Sweetheart,” Yeosang said as he crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I’m sure Yunho did a very great job at pleasing you.” he looked down at her, a smirk on his lips. “But I can make you cum without even putting my dick inside you.” he pressed a light kiss to her lips. “I think everyone else is here,” he squeezed her hips. “Come on.”
Yeosang led her out of her room and sure enough everyone else was filing in. Yunho was holding the door open, letting in a grinning Wooyoung who was holding two very large bowls of popcorn. Hongjoong came in next carrying various sodas, seonghwa had a bag full of assorted sweets, Mingi and Jongho were arguing playfully about the best flavor of chips, each of them holding a different bag. San came in last carrying a full strawberry cake.
“Jagiya!” Seonghwa yelled excitedly as he sat the sweets down on the table, and running over to her, he wrapped his arms around her tightly and spun her around. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“Hwa, you literally saw her two days ago,” Hongjoong rolled his eyes, a smile on his lips.
“And you facetimed her this morning on the way to the studio.” Jongho reminded him.
Seonghwa pouted, Y/n still in his arms. “Excuse me for missing my girlfriend.” he set her down and held onto her. “I was going to come see her last night, but someone…” he looked at Mingi, “took her to Lotte World all day and didn’t come back home until it closed.”
Mingi shrugged. “You’re just mad that we had a good time while you were working.”
“We’re mad that you took her there when we talked about going as a group.” San pouted, setting his cake gently on the table. “It’s not fair that you spent the whole day with her, in public, while we had to record all day.”
“Sannie,” Y/n said softly. “When we go as a group it’ll be just as fun. Besides, Mingi was a chicken and I didn't even get to ride half of the rides.”
Wooyoung wrapped his arms around Y/n and Seonghwa. “That honestly won’t change, Hongjoong gets scared on the flume ride,” he laughed. “And seonghwa will be screaming in your ear the whole time.”
Seonghwa’s face flushed. “Shut up.”
The group laughed at his embarrassment.
“We don’t even have to go to Lotte World,” Y/n shook her head. “We can go to Everland, or Seoulland, or Tokyo Disney, or LEGOLand, ive never been to the one in America before and there’s one in Chuncheon.” she listed excitedly.
“We’re not going to LEGOLand.” Hongjoong shook his head.
“You and Seonghwa can go on your own date there,” Yeosang laughed lightly. “That’s the perfect couples activity for the two of you.”
Mingi sat down on the couch and looked at everyone. “So… where’s everyone sitting?”
“Seems like you claimed your spot already, Ming,” Yunho laughed.
They all looked at each other. The couch was big, but not big enough to fit nine people, and they only had one chair, so some people would have to sit on the floor.
“Y/n gets the middle,” Yeosang said, pointing to the couch. “Prime angle of the tv, and perfect access to everything on the table.”
“So what? We go by age order for it?” Mingi raised an eyebrow. “Seonghwa and Hongjoong on either side of her, and then Yunho and Yeosang, san in the chair and the rest of us on the floor?”
“We don’t have to do age order,” Seonghwa shook his head. “But I’m not complaining that you’re just letting me sit next to her,” he pressed his lips to the top of her head.
“I want to sit next to her!” Wooyung pouted. “I never get to spend time with her.”
“You’re not spending time with her, you’re sitting there quietly while we watch a movie.” Jongho rolled his eyes. “And so help me Jung Wooyoung if you talk at all during this i will punch you in the throat.”
The group began to bicker back and forth about who would sit on the couch and sit next to Y/n. Yeosang relented and said he gets to live with her so it’s only fair that someone else gets to sit next to her for a 90 minute movie. Yunho however was not as relenting, he was fighting for the chance to sit next to her, even though he gets to live with her and was just inside her half an hour ago.
“Alright, children,” Hongjoong raised his voice. “We’re not having a tug of war over her. We’ll do this civilly."
“Like what? Draw straws?” Wooyoung rolled his eyes.
“Y/n think of a number between one and eight!” Mingi looked at her.
“Um…”
“Seven!” San yelled.
“It was actually four…” she said softly.
“I was thinking that!” Mingi jumped up from the couch.
Hongjoong pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s… that's not how I meant we’d solve this…”
Seonghwa leaned against the back of the couch, repositioning it slightly. Yeosang and Yunho shared a look, they knew he’d rearrange their furniture no matter what. “Get to the point then, Joong… Before I assign seats like a teacher.”
“Arm wrestle.” the captain said.
The room went silent, everyone staring at him like he had just said the most outlandish thing. And he kind of did.
Wooyoung burst out laughing. “You’re joking, Joong-ah.”
Hongjoong’s ears turned red. “I’m serious! We’ll do it like a bracket, pairing up and winners going against each other. The winner of the whole thing gets to pick their spot first, then runner up and so on and so forth.”
Mingi pouted. “So anyone that’s going against jongho is basically a loser already.”
Jongho patted mingi on the back, hard. “It’s just friendly competition, hyung.”
Y/n sat on the couch, in the middle, as the members knelt around the table, Seonghwa having moved all the snacks onto the floor for the time being.
“Are you really going to do this?” Y/n sat crosslegged on the couch. “How about I just sit in the chair by myself so no one's upset?”
Wooyoung shook his head. “This is better. Let's see who’s the best.”
“Just because you’re physically strong doesn’t mean you’re better.” Hongjoong said as he and Wooyoung locked up in the center of the table. “You can be strong physically and weak emotionally.”
“You’re one to talk,” Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “You bottle up your emotions. The only one who doesn’t is Seonghwa, guy cries all the time. He cries when he’s happy, when he's sad, when he's scared, when he's mad… he's like a fountain.”
“Why am I catching strays?” Seonghwa frowned. “Kick his ass, Joong.”
Yunho stood to the side, he held Mingi's phone pointed at the members, making sure there was no trace of Y/n in the shot. He was live on TokToq, letting the fans see who the strongest in Ateez was. No one was even questioning why Mingi was live but not holding the camera.
“Go Joong!” Seonghwa cheered from the side.
“Hongjoong! Hongjoong!” Yeosang and Mingi chanted.
“I don’t get any cheers?” Wooyoung scoffed. “Rude.”
San sat in the middle, his eyes on their hands. “Alright, I want a clean fight,” he said, his voice deep as he mocked a referee. “Ready? 1… 2.. 3… go!”
Hongjoong smiled at Wooyoung who gripped his hand tightly, the veins in his forearm on display as he strained himself. Hongjoong was not breaking a sweat. The captain yawned mockingly before he slammed Wooyoung's hand onto the table.
“Kim Hongjoong!” San announced raising his captain's arm.
“What the f-” Wooyoung yelled, cutting himself off when he saw the camera pointed at him. “Redo! I wasn’t ready!”
“No.” Seonghwa shook his head as he took Hongjoong's place. “Now move so I can beat Yunho.”
Yunho handed his phone to Mingi who also made sure that Y/n was not in frame as Wooyoung sat on the couch next to her, pouting as he rested his head on her shoulder.
Yunho took wooyoung’s spot and grabbed Seonghwa’s hand. “I’ll go easy on you, Hwa.”
Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be so cocky, Yunho.”
Their battle wasn’t as quick as Hongjoong and Wooyoung's. They were evenly matched and both fought.
“Ahhh,” Seonghwa groaned out.
Yunho laughed lightly as his arm began to shake. “I can’t let him win.” He shook his head. “I can’t.”
Seonghwa slammed Yunho’s hand down on the table and let out a victory scream. Yunho rested his head on the table, and began to fake cry.
“You probably would have won if you went against Hongjoong.” Wooyoung laughed.
Mingi handed Yunho the phone and took his spot, Yeosang taking Seonghwa’s. “Can I just forfeit now?”
Yeosang nodded. “I’ll let you.” he rolled his hoodie sleeve up. “Either way your ego will be bruised, Mingi.”
Mingi glanced at Y/n, who mouthed the word ‘hwaiting’ at him. Mingi smiled slightly and held his hand out to Yeosang.
It was over in the blink of an eye.
Mingi laid back on the ground, pouting up at the ceiling. Yunho was zoomed in on Yeosang’s face as the group cheered for him. Y/n stretched her leg slightly and rubbed Mingi's leg in a consoling manner. He sat up and pouted at her before San rudely pushed him over to take his seat.
“Alright, San vs Jongho!” Hongjoong yelled as Jongho sat opposite San. “Easy win Jongho.”
“Yah! You’re supposed to be an impartial referee!” San swatted at Hongjoong.
“My money’s on Sannie,” Wooyoung leaned forward and wrapped his arms around San’s shoulders. “Make me proud,” he kissed his cheek.
San wiped it off with a groan and glared at Wooyoung as he sat back next to Y/n, who was laughing at the two of them silently.
Seonghwa was kneeling next to jongho and rubbing his shoulders. “You got this, he’s so weak.”
Jongho held his arm out and smirked at San. It was known that Jongho was very strong, he could lift plenty of the members with ease, as well as rip apples in half. But San wasn’t going to let him win, San had gained a lot of muscle in the past few months and he was determined to win.
San flexed his arm as he gripped Jongho’s hand. Yunho zoomed in on San’s bicep, him and Mingi making a chorus of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’.
Their battle was longer, neither of them moving really. San’s jaw was clenched, his eyebrows drawn tightly together. Jongho’s face showed no strain, but his arm was shaking slightly. He looked at San whose eyes were dark with determination, Jongho never planned to win, he didn’t care if he sat next to Y/n, honestly he was eyeing the arm chair away from everyone else so he could fall asleep without anyone noticing.
Jongho gave in and stopped fighting, letting San slam his hand onto the table.
The room erupted in shocked outbursts and loud cheers from Wooyoung and Mingi. San looked at Jongho with wide eyes, he couldn’t believe he actually won.
Jongho bowed slightly to San before sitting in the chair.
“You let him win, didn’t you?” Hongjoong asked quietly. Jongho shrugged and glanced at Y/n, giving her a wink.
“Alright, down to the final four. Seonghwa vs Hongjoong and Yeosang vs San. The winners go against each other.” Mingi laughed.
Hongjoong and Seonghwa took their positions, and Seonghwa won instantly. Hongjoong dramatically threw himself to the ground like he had just died, while the older man ran around the room screaming.
Yeosang and San quickly locked up, their fight lasting a little longer. Yeosang wasn’t just going to throw it to San, he wanted him to work for it. San gripped yeosang’s hand and grit his teeth, a low groan escaping his throat as he willed the blonde’s hand down to the table.
“Let's go!” San yelled as he slammed his fist on the table. “Hwa!”
Seonghwa knelt down and grabbed his hand, his face full of determination. It really didn’t matter if he won or not. The winner gets to pick his seat first, and will obviously choose Y/n’s side, and the runner up chooses next.. And she has two sides, so either way he’d be sitting next to her. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.
The room was silent as they watched the two, it was amazing that it had come down to the two of them. The chat in the live was going crazy about how Jongho had lost, while others were just going crazy over the shot of all of the members biceps.
“Tiny-ah,” Yunho said behind the camera. “Who do you think is going to win? Sannie or Hwa?”
The chat exploded with ‘Seonghwa’ or ‘San’, a few mentioning how they had all been talking in English the entire live, hoping it meant something. Speculating a full english album.
San yelled out as he forced Seonghwa’s hand onto the tabletop. Seonghwa laid against the table, melodramatically panting.
“Sannie wins!” Yunho cheered as he zoomed in on San’s face.
“Now that you won, what are you going to do?” Jongho asked, holding the remote like it was a microphone.
“I’m going to Disneyland?” San raised an eyebrow, that's usually what people said right? At least in the movies?
Yunho laughed and ended the live just as abruptly as he ended his earlier. “They speculate nothing but a complete english album.”
Hongjoong laughed. “We’ll get right on that.”
“Alright, winner. Claim your prize,” Wooyoung stood up from the couch.
San immediately sat down next to Y/n, his arm wrapping around her shoulder as he planted a wet kiss to her cheek.
“Lucky bastard,” Mingi laughed lightly as he placed the snacks back onto the table.
San looked like he had just won a daesang. He was smiling ear to ear, his face filled with unfiltered joy. He reached to the back of the couch and pulled the blanket he had given her as a welcome home present over their laps. They were thigh to thigh, hip to hip, she was flush against him.
“Mine,” he whispered in her ear as he tucked the blanket around her.
Seonghwa took her other side, San forcing him to get his own blanket. Hongjoong sat with Yeosang and Yunho on the ground, Jongho in the chair, Mingi next to San and Wooyoung next to Seonghwa.
Hongjoong shut the lights off as Seonghwa clicked the movie, and because this was his idea he said he got to pick what they watched. Wooyoung said he didn’t care as long as it wasn’t Star Wars. Seonghwa ended up picking the live action How to Train Your Dragon, he wanted to see it in theaters when it came out but they were preparing for tour and never got time to see it. Now it is streaming, so he can watch it whenever.
The only light was from the massive tv screen and the faint glow of the city through the windows. Everyone focused on the screen, eating the provided snacks and drinking the drinks Hongjoong hastily grabbed from the 7-11 down the street.
Y/n had already seen the movie, she went with some of her friends to see it when it came out, she brought her DDEONGbyeoli and a Hwa photocard, her friends made fun of her for it. The movie was good, and they had the subtitles on in English because she had told them to watch it in Korean so she could practice her listening skills and they could actually enjoy the movie.
But she couldn’t focus on translating the words in her head, or reading the subtitles at the bottom, all she could focus on was the warmth radiating off of San’s body underneath the blanket. His muscular thigh pressed against hers, she could feel the muscles through his sweatpants every time he shifted.
She waited, making sure everyone was engrossed in the movie. Seonghwa watched with wide eyes as the film was widely accurate to the animated movie that came out over a decade ago, Hongjoong making a comment about the visual effects to Yunho who nodded his head. Wooyoung and Yeosang passing snacks and drinks back and forth, Jongho already snoozing in the chair.
Slowly, she slipped her hand under the blanket, resting against her bare thigh. She shifted her hand towards San, her pinky brushing against his that rested on his own leg. She didn’t look at him, just kept her eyes glued to the screen.
San glanced at her from the corner of his eye. His pinky reached out and brushed against hers. Y/n smiled shyly, and let her hand drift that final inch. Her fingers sliding over the back of his hand and intertwining her fingers with his. His skin was hot to the touch.
San turned his hand so they were palm to palm. He gave her hand a squeeze, a silent acknowledgement before resting their hands on his thigh.
She turned her head slightly, he was watching the screen again, the light flickering over his face. His jaw was tight, his adams apple bobbing as he swallowed. She leaned in, her lips pressing against the shel of his ear.
“You’re so warm,” she whispered, barely audible.
A shudder ran through him, his grip on her hand tightening.
She placed a soft kiss below his ear, then the sensitive part where his jaw met his neck. Her lips barely touched him, just ghosting over his skin. But it was enough to make San’s eyes flutter.
San turned his head, his eyes locking onto hers. The look was intense, a sharp warning. Even though he enjoyed it. His brows were drawn together, his lips a thin line. He wasn’t mad, it was a look of ‘not here, not now.’ But his eyes told another story, his pupils dilated, the want obvious in the black orbs.
He turned back to the screen, but she saw his other hand, the one above the blanket, clenching into a fist on his other thigh. It took everything in him to hold himself back. He was trying to be good, trying to be respectful of the others in the room. But she made it hard, and in turn made him hard.
Keeping her eyes on the movie she stroked her thumb against the back of his hand, tracing the tendons and veins. Then, slowly, she began to guide their hands off his thigh and onto her own.
San’s eyes widened as he felt her bare thigh, he knew she wasn't wearing anything under the hoodie, she liked them oversized for that particular reason, but he didn’t expect to be touching her right now.
Y/n guided their hands to the hem of her hoodie, then she slipped it underneath, she let go of his hand and rested hers on top of his, making sure he kept his hand flat against her bare thigh. His fingertips dangerously close to her clothed cunt.
San’s jaw clenched tighter. His head turned to her, he licked his lips as he watched her slowly turn her head towards him. Her eyes met his, her bottom lip drawn between her teeth. San looked at her lips, he wanted to kiss her, but didn’t want to draw attention to them.
Y/n pushed San’s hand further, his fingertips brushing against the wet cotton of her underwear. His entire body went rigid. His eyes locked on her, his pupils blown completely. A soft, helpless, sound escaped his throat. A quiet groan.
She leaned in again, her mouth touching his ear. “‘S okay,” she whispered. “They won’t know.”
Her permission, her coaxing, broke his restraint. His fingers twitched, then slipped into the waistband of her panties, instantly going to her wet opening.
His touch was hesitant, trying not to get caught. His index finger teased her slit, which was already wet. He slipped his finger inside, just to the first knuckle. His eyes fluttered close as he felt her clench around him, a soft breath leaving his lips. San began to move his finger in a shallow, rhythmic pattern of in and out.
Y/n’s head fell back against the couch as San added another finger. She forced her eyes onto the screen, she started this and was already getting overwhelmed. The secret fingering by San under the blanket, the solid pressure of his thigh against hers, the soreness from Yunho earlier.. San was currently gentler than Yunho had been, albeit it was his finger and not his cock. But San was always gentle and focused, he wanted to make sure that she never felt anything other than pleasure. Each thrust of his fingers had his palm brushing against her clit, making her hips jerk slightly under the blanket.
She needed to make him feel good too.
Shifting slightly she turned her body towards him. She slid her hand up his thigh and slipped her fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants. Her fingers brushing against the sharp line of his hipbone, he wasn’t wearing underwear.
San’s breathing stopped altogether. His eyes wide and trained on her face.
Her hand slid down and closed around him. He was already fully, and achingly, hard. His cock was thick and hot in her hand, a bead of precum wetting his top, making her grip slide easily. He wasn’t as long as Yunho, but he was thicker.
The moment her fingers curled around him, his head dripped forward, his forehead pressed against her temple. A silent exhale escaping him and ghosting over her neck. His own fingers stilled inside her, his entire focus on not bucking into her hand.
For a moment they both froze, her hand wrapped around his cock, his fingers buried inside her cunt, their actions covered by a blanket while other members flanked their other sides.
Then, San moved.
He began to fuck her with his fingers, his pace faster than earlier, his movements more confident now that her hand was pumping his cock slowly. His thumb pressed against her clit, a light pressure that made her toes curl, he circled it slowly, his touch firm.
Y/n moved her hand up and down his shaft, her flist gliding quickly, from the base up to his flushed and leaking head then back down. She spread his precum with her thumb over the broad head, paying attention to the way his breath hitched slightly.
They moved together, silently, secretly. Their breathing, even though they tried to control it, grew labored. Short, sharp pants escaped them quietly. Their bodies were stiff with the effort of staying quiet, not rutting against each other's hands, keeping their faces composed for the others.
The movie played on, Mingi laughed at something on the screen, Wooyoung threw a chip bag onto the table, and Yunho let out a small burp as he set his drink back down.
None of it mattered, it was all background noise to them. Their world had shrunk to just them under the blanket, the slick secret sounds of their hands moving and the desperate heat building between them.
San turned, his face buried into her hair, his lips brushing against her neck. “You feel… so good, angel,” he whispered, so quiet she could barely hear him. “So soft, so wet for me. You take my fingers so well. Such a good girl.”
Y/n bit her lip to conceal her moan. Her cunt clenched around his fingers, an involuntary clench. A gush of slick coating his fingers.
“Sannie…” she whimpered.
“Shh,” he soothed, pressing a kiss to her neck. “I’ve got you, angel. Let me make you feel good,” he kissed her neck again, his teeth nipping her skin slightly. “You’re being so quiet, so good for me. Such an angel.” His thumb pressed harder on her clit, circling in tight patterns. His fingers curled inside her, pumping in and out faster.
Y/n’s eyes rolled back, her back arching off the couch, she played it off by miming a stretch. Her thighs tightened around his wrist, trapping his hand.
San bit his lip as he continued to work that spot, she was getting closer. His fingers continued to move, his thumb continuing to circle her clit.
Her hand continued to stroke his cock, her pace faster, shorter and tighter movements. She focused on his swollen head. She could feel him getting closer, his cock seeming to become more swollen as she continued. San’s hips gave a tiny helpless thrust into her hand.
“Close,” he whispered into her ear. “Y/n… baby i’m so close,” he whimpered.
“Me too,” she whispered back.
San’s movements became erratic, his fingers fucking into her harder, his thumb pressing painfully on her clit. His own cock jerked in her hand, the head leaking profusely, making her strokes slick and noisy. Thankfully the soundtrack covered it.
Y/n’s mouth fell open, a silent moan escaping her as her eyes squeezed shut. Her cunt clenched around his fingers, drenching his hand in a flood of warm release. Her body shook on the couch, her thigh bumping against seonghwa’s.
With a choked moan against her neck, San came. His hips bucked into her hand, a stuttering motion against the cushion. His cock pulsed violently in her fist, hot thick strands of cum coating her fingers and the inside of his sweats. She continued to pump her hand, making sure to milk the rest of his orgasm out of him. He kept moving his fingers, drawing out her convulsions until they subsided into weak flutters.
For a second they remained frozen, hands still on each other as they tried to calm their breathing. San kissed her lips slowly, not drawing attention to them. Their world began to broaden, the sounds of the movie coming back into their ears, Mingi asking Yeosang to pass him a choco pie.
San slowly withdrew his fingers from her cunt, a long slow drag that made her gasp softly. He brought his hand out from under the blanket, his fingers glistening in the light. His eyes darkening again, he then reached that same hand back under the blanket and gently closed his hand over hers, which was still wrapped around his softening cock. He pulled her fingers loose, and guided her hand off him, pulling her sticky, cum coated hand out of his pants. He laced their fingers together, their hands both sticky with each other's releases. He didn’t let go, just held their messy hands tightly on his lap, hidden from view.
He turned his head and pressed a kiss against her temple.
As the movie credits began to roll Hongjoong got up and turned the lights back on. Jongho sat up in the chair, stretching like he hadn’t been sleeping the entire time. There were a few groans about stiff backs, mainly from the three on the floor, and discussing the movie and the visuals. One by one they began to say their goodnights. Yunho heading to his room to go to bed and Yeosang heading to the bathroom to shower.
Hongjoong leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Good night, darling.”
Mingi leaned down and squeezed her tightly, kissing her cheek. Wooyoung planted a hard kiss on her lips before running out the door claiming he had to pee since the movie started. Jongho waved at her sleepily before following the others out.
San untangled their hands before standing up. He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. “Goodnight, angel.” he rubbed his nose against hers gently before following after jongho.
Seonghwa stood up and looked down at her. “Jagiya,” he said softly.
Y/n looked up at him, “Hwa?”
He leaned down, resting his hand on the back of the couch next to her head. “Jagiya… next time you and San decide to get handsy under a blanket,” Seonghwa slipped his hand under the blanket, his fingers brushing against the wet fabric of her underwear. Her hips twitched, still sensitive. “You might want to make sure that you’re not flush against someone else's thigh.”
Y/n looked up at him, her cheeks red. She didn’t think she was that close to him.
“I’m not mad, jagiya,” Seonghwa cooed, his fingers rubbing over the wet fabric gently. “But I am free all day tomorrow, and would love to spend time with you.” he nudged his nose against hers. “Much needed alone time. How does that sound?”
Y/n nodded her head.
“Good girl, I’m looking forward to it.” he pressed his lips against hers gently. “Goodnight, jagiya.”
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