Julietta67

“I love you” 😣 (This edit was made by babydaddydean_ on instagram so please go and check her out! I repeat this is her edit and NOT mine)

What to Expect

synopsis: "Exes can have a baby, right?", a story in which Jake finds himself having a baby with the one person who can't even stand the sight of him. Slow burn, exes to lovers.

warnings: pregnancy, vomiting, cursing, smut, mentions of infidelity, fighting, blood, broken hurts, trust issues

prologue

chapter 1

Chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

chapter 10

chapter 11

chapter 12

chapter 13

chapter 14

chapter 15

chapter 16

EXTRAS:

coming soon. . .

Absurd if you are taking requests could we get a lil somthing with Pero or Din (who ever your feeling) fucking you real hard and mean because you did something stupid and almost got yourself captured. It's rough and nasty and mean but also moments of soft and caring tenderness cuz they love you but holy fuck you do stupid shit sometimes???

***Pero!!!!!! I feel like he would be the type to give you that rough fucking after you do something stupid. 

Temeraria

“Tovar!” William’s laugh makes you lift your head from your position over the Spaniard’s shoulder to shoot the Irishman a deadly glare. His toothy grin pissed you off as you bounced up and down as he marched away from the horses and the rest of the men. “Tovar! Put her down!”

“Fuck off, Amigo!” Tovar shoots back hotly, his hand coming up to connect sharply with your saddle sore behind. “And you quit moving, hermosa.” He growls, his voice low enough so that only you can hear it.

“Pero, I-”

“Shut up, cariño.” He warns, swatting your ass again hard enough that you yelp.

You winced as the men shouted out encouragement to Tovar and laughed making him growl even more as he moved swiftly farther away. You knew from the moment you dismounted your horse for the night and Pero turned to you that you were in trouble.

It wasn’t like you had meant to get separated from the group. The skirmish caught you by surprise and you had quickly been cut off from the rest of the men, your bow less effective when you had run out of arrows as the brigands started to close in on you.

Pero had been furious. You could see it in his eyes when one of the dirty men had grabbed you and dragged you off your horse, ignoring the knife you had plunged into his arm. The hand around your throat had spelled his death, your lover’s axe buried in his back as he gurgled and coughed blood in your face.

Tossing you his spare knife, he had swooped in like an angry God, growling and cursing as he cut down men as if it were practice. When he was done, his dark eyes leveled a look at you that made you shiver as he gruffly told you to get on your damned horse.

Your world tilts when he grabs your hip and his shoulder bucks up, spilling you onto the ground. The water behind you as you sprawl out on the ground and look up at the dark and angry man gives you a good idea why he hauled you away.

“Strip.” He orders you, reaching for the leather belt around his waist that held his sword. When you hesitate he arches an eyebrow at you. “Strip or I will cut the clothes from your body.”

You bite your lip as you reach for the buckles of your leathers. You knew he would. He had before, ignoring your curses in his desperation to get to your skin. Your hands shake as you pull at the armor and cast it aside, revealing the softer undershirt you wore under your scratchy tunic. When you’ve finally stripped down as bare as the day you were born, you dare to look up to find Tovar watching you with dark, lust filled eyes.

Your lover is already bare and he growls when he stomps over you and drags you into the water. You shriek when you hit the icy water, his hot body right behind yours as he presses you up against the rough stone of a boulder.

“Stúpida, temeraria.” He grunts as he pushes your legs apart. The blunt head of his cock pushes against your entrance before he thrusts deep. “Me vuelves loco”

You cry out, your toes curling and you push up against the stone at the rough feel of his cock stretching you. “Pero!”

He growls, his arm coming around you and locking under your breast to hold you in place while he starts pounding into you. “You should have stayed beside me, hermosa.” He grunts in your ear. Every other word accented by the sharp snap of his hips as he fills you. “What would I have done if they had taken you?”

Your nails dig into his forearm, clawing at him as his cock shreds up inside of you deliciously. All you can do is mewl out pitiful cries, your other hand latching onto his hip to ground you.

“I’d have had to kill all of them. Just not the few that tried to take you.” He rasps, his heaving breathes in your ear making your cunt flood with slick arousal. “More blood on my hands because they took you from me.”

His other hand comes up and squeezes your breast harshly, before sliding down and sinking between your thighs. The rough pads of his fingers rubbing at your clit. As angry as he was, as much rage as you felt at every thrust of his cock into your cunt, he was also going to make sure you found pleasure with him.

HIs lips press against your shoulder, making you cry out when he follows them with his teeth. Sucking a bruise into your skin before moving over an inch and repeating the process. Marking you as if the visible signs of his claim on you would keep someone from trying to harm you in the future.

“Pero.” You gasp out, achingly close to release, making him groan against your skin.

“That’s it, carino.” He growls behind your ear. “Tell the world who you belong to. Who makes you soak his cock when you cum.”

You tilt your head back as your cunt locks down on him, the hot rush of your cum flooding over his cock. You cry out loud enough for the men to hear but you don’t care. All you care around is the way that Pero drives deep into you, striking against that sweet spot with every harsh swing of his hips.

He lets go of your clit and digs his fingers into your hips hard enough that you know you will carry bruises for days. The strangled groan behind you as he buries his cock deep makes you shiver as he paints your womb with his seed.

Pero ruts into you, slower as he rides out his high before he stills. Flattening you against the boulder, his hands caress your hips as he rubs the sting away from his harsh grip. “Don’t be foolish next time, hermosa.” He whispers, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Next time I will let them have you.”

He pulls away and tugs you over to where he had dropped a saddle bag on the stones. “Come, let’s wash that bastard’s blood out of your hair, hmm?”

You smile at him, even if his scowl is still dark, you see the caring in his eyes as he pulls you deeper into the river to bathe you. His threat was an empty one, he would never let anyone take you. You were his and that was exactly what you liked. 

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@yespolkadotkitty

Sass (Din Djarin)

This one is for @1800-fight-me who said some stuff about Din to me and then said some other stuff about Din to me and then my brain wouldn’t let it go...

Word count: 1500+ Rating: mature, 18+ only Outline: “Mand'alor” Din Djarin x “You” (petite female reader, clumsy, “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”) Warnings: curse words and vulgar language; Din picking you up; two clothed spanks on the bottom; undressed Reader/clothed Din; one erection; Din’s roaming hands; Din touching you through your panties; one instance of Din grabbing your chin; mentions of blow jobs; mentions of P/V sex; mentions of bare-bottom spanking; mentions of sex in the throne room with possibility of getting caught; Din’s got a filthy mouth

You fumbled and dropped something for what felt like the millionth time that day, cursing under your breath. You stopped in the dusty road, shifting your bags around, trying to redistribute them so you could free your hand to pick up your parcel from where it lay in the dirt.

The air was hot and dry, and you wanted nothing more than to get back to the ship and take a shower, wash off the dust of the town. You didn’t mind accompanying your husband to his various diplomatic meetings and conferences, especially the ones on jewel-like tropical planets or at breathtaking palaces perched on mountain ridges. But this stop was different, a sudden detour on the way home... and from the hunch of Din’s shoulders as he landed the ship, and the way he suggested you go shopping in the street market while he held his “meeting” you could guess that it wasn’t on the official roster for his week. You hoped that he would at least come back to the ship in one piece.

You retrieved your parcel and tucked it under your arm, huffing in exasperation. You rounded the corner and finally saw the ship, gleaming in the hot sun. Your face broke into a smile as you saw that the ramp was down, meaning Din was probably inside getting ready to start the last leg of the journey home.

You hurried a bit, arms laden with bags and packages, and then disaster struck. You were just a meter away from the ship when your sandal caught the long hem of your dress, and you tripped. Parcels and their contents went scattering, although the worst of your fall was broken by your large cloth bag. You lay there for a moment, stunned, and then looked up to see Din walking down the ramp.

“Are you okay, cyar'ika? That looked embarrassing.” His voice held concern with a note of amusement. Din was used to your various scrapes and entanglements, and you thanked the stars every day that Mandalorians valued intelligence and grit far above poise and grace, even in their queen.

You huffed out a groan and pushed yourself off the ground, grasping one of Din’s large gloved hands for assistance. Din stooped to gather items as you brushed yourself off, striding back up the ramp to deposit your things inside the ship. The front of your dress was caked with dirt, and no amount of swatting it with your hands would do. You sighed and gave up on cleaning yourself. You picked up two oranges that had rolled a few feet, and then started up the ramp.

Din came down to meet you, and you stopped to let him look you over.

“Are you hurt, cyar'ika?” His voice was softer now, full of love and concern. Din held your face in his hands, tilting your chin up to have a look at you in the bright sun.

You smiled and swatted his hands away, laughing. “I’m fine! It wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t stopped on this godforsaken planet, but someone decided they had business to attend to.”

Din tilted his helmet back a bit, that imposing stance doing nothing to intimidate you the way it had countless adversaries in his lifetime.

You put your hands on your hips and pushed your lower lip out at him. “Or maybe I wouldn’t have to do all this shopping if you had let me join you for your meeting.”

Din suddenly went still. “You know I can’t do that, cyar’ika. That meeting was dangerous.”

You decided to push him just a little. “Can’t have been too dangerous, if they sent you instead of m- oof!”

The words were barely past your lips when you felt your feet go out from under you and the world turned over. You found yourself hanging over Din’s shoulder as he turned to stride back up the ramp, his large gloved hand holding both your knees firmly so you wouldn’t fall.

“Hey!” You hated that your voice came out in a squeak. “Put me down!” You beat uselessly on his back plate with your fists, blood rushing down to your face as he carried you effortlessly.

Din snarled at you in Mando’a. “Udesii,” and his free hand came up to smack you on your bottom.

His voice was dark with just a hint of amusement. “Quiet. For being such a little thing, you cause an awful lot of trouble.” Another hard smack landed on your rear, and you felt your panties grow damp.

Din didn’t break stride as he whacked the control panel with the side of his fist to close the ramp behind him. He carried you into the cockpit and finally put you back on your feet, ignoring your indignation as he lifted off. When the ship was off-planet and set to autopilot, Din swiveled his chair to face you.

He pointed at you and growled an order. “Your dress is dirty, cyar’ika. Take it off.”

“Oh, I bet you say that to all the ladies you pick up in dusty landing lots.” You laughed and put your fists on your hips.

“Now. I won’t tell you again.” His words struck you behind your sternum, the excitement causing your heart to thud harder, your breath coming all in a rush.

You paused for a split second, and then hurriedly undid all of the fastenings of your dress, letting it fall from your shoulders to the floor of the cockpit. You stepped out of your shoes and swept the pile to one side with your foot. You stood in just your underthings and canted your hips to one side, raising an eyebrow at your husband.

“See anything you like?”

Din snarled from under his helmet and curled a finger at you. You obeyed and started walking slowly over to him.

Apparently it wasn’t fast enough, because Din leapt to his feet and grabbed your wrist, pulling you the last two steps to his pilot’s chair. You collapsed onto his lap, your landing softened somewhat by one strong arm around your waist. Din scooped one hand under your knees and turned you sideways on his lap, tucking you against him and tilting his helmet to rest against your temple.

“I don’t like your sass, woman.” The words spilled out of his modulator right into your ear, sending a chill down your neck. The feel of his thigh plates against the backs of your legs was exquisite. Din kept one hand firmly around your hip, while the other trailed up and down your arm, raising goosebumps.

You shuddered a breath in, feeling your panties grow wetter. But you knew the ins and outs of this game, and how delicious it would be to play.

“That’s too bad, Din. You’re kind of stuck with me. I’m your riduur after all.” You giggled.

“Quiet.” Din wrapped his fingers around your jaw, pursing your lips out slightly. He ran one large, gloved finger over your lips and you playfully snapped at it, trapping the leather tip between your teeth.

“And she bites, too?” Din tsked softly. “What am I going to do with you?”

You released his finger and smiled. “I don’t know… what are you going to do with me?”

“I have a few ideas.” Din hummed thoughtfully. “I think as soon as we get home I’m going to take you to the throne room, bend you over my knee and smack your bottom until it’s so tender you can’t sit down.”

You gasped and squirmed on his lap, feeling more chills run up and down your skin with anticipation. Din’s fingers dug into your hip to still your movements.

“And when you can’t take any more, I think I’ll make you kneel down and take my cock into that lovely, wet little mouth of yours.” You felt Din’s erection start to harden against your hip, and you wiggled closer to him. He groaned once, softly, and you smiled to yourself in satisfaction.

“And- and then what?” You whispered, aching to be touched, aching for any kind of release that you could get. Din brought his free hand to your breast and you moaned. You heard him chuckle at that, squeezing the heft of your breast and pinching your nipple between his fingers.

“And then I’ll make you sit on my lap.” You felt Din’s cock twitch against your hip and you longed to fulfill every dirty fantasy he was spilling into your ear.

“I’ll bury my cock deep inside you while you face the room, hold your legs open and rub your clit until you come around me.”

Din worked his fingers harder over your nipple and you whined.

“You like that idea, mesh’la? Spread wide on my lap where anyone could walk in and see us?”

You couldn’t answer, only grind your hip sideways against his erection. Din plunged two fingers down between your legs and rubbed you through your underwear. You keened a high sound and squirmed as hard as you could against his hand.

“Oh, I think you do like that idea. Looks like you’re done mouthing off now, hmm?”

You sighed and rolled your head back, and let Din talk to you all the way home.

--- Din Djarin/Mando character masterlist

JHFTM Main Masterlist

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Unlike a Knight

Sellsword Din Djarin x F!reader

PART 2 WC: 1,771 Inspired by my Knight!Din art Part 1 Tags: eventual smut 18+, explicit language (swearing but in a fancy olde english kinda way), descriptions of violence Join the taglist Masterlist

You had never liked the city. It was a habitat that demanded fast paces and flexibility which weren’t beyond your capability but mixed with the sheer number of people and the looming City Watch- you found it a place you were grateful to live far from.

However, since the city was a fair way away, it meant that if you needed to go there it would be no quick errand. And it was the very situation that you were in that warranted such a trip. Kuiil’s fever had worsened in only a few days to the point that you were now forcing him to stay in bed, and insisted on clearing out the inn for the day so that you could go to the wretched city and find the stubborn man some medicine.

You would have gone to see the local village healer for medicine but as luck would have you cursed, the healer had been arrested by the City Watch only the other week for reasons no one seemed to know- “malpractice” you were told and nothing more. You remained suspicious. So the city was both your last resort and your only choice.

So you set out at dawn with your woven market bag tucked into your belt and a headscarf on to keep your hair back. You crossed the short distance from the backstep of the inn to the stables, forcing the will for what you were about to face to fill you with each step.

Kuiil had never seen much use in keeping a horse in the stables for himself but he did have a mule named Blurg. It was rather a fitting creature for a man like him you supposed; slow but strong and reliable, grey, quiet but certainly stubborn. You liked Blurg but resented the fact that your journey into the city would only be made longer on his back.

Nevertheless, you hitched him up quickly and mounted him, kicking off from his stall with a gait just shy of a trot in the direction of the high road. The fresh air of the early early morning was undeniably pleasant and through your resentment for the circumstances that had you on this journey you were grateful for the clarity the air gave you- you hoped it might relieve you of the feverish thoughts you had been having concerning a certain sellsword.

Two days had passed since that rough-tongued sellsword had left the inn and your company but he was yet to leave your mind. No matter what you did you couldn’t stop your thoughts from shifting to him- scrubbing the blood he had left on the floor the next day, serving patrons, changing bed linens and taking others out to wash and dry- and what might’ve happened if he had grabbed you instead of that tankard of mead.

Nothing about the way he moved or spoke suggested that he would take you with any sort of delicacy- a display of self-entitlement and obnoxity that would have sent your hand across his face had it actually happened- but that only spurred on your thoughts, excited by the tension that had been apparent between you and him.

You thought about the finer details of him, filling in parts of him that you would likely never know with your purely indulgent fantasies:

His hair had been scruffy, curling over his forehead and sticking out in messy directions at the back of his neck, it looked like it could be feather-soft, a dream to run your fingers through. The hair at his ears came down to frame around the shape of his jaw, wiry hairs tracing over the top of lips that hid a rough tongue from view- a tongue that would be put to far better use if it were buried deep inside your own mouth or inside your cunt.

Those scruffy hairs on his chin would burn across your skin, tracks marked into you with his hungry mouth latched to your body as he proved that he preferred to drink from you over any mead...

The kind of man that was disguised by layers of amour and beskar could be anything you wished and only in those fantasy wishes would you submit to him; you knew that if he dared to come back into your life you’d be no more receptive to him and his obtrusive and harsh manner.

…

By the time the city came into near view, it was midday, the sun high in the sky. You didn’t dare take Blurg through the city so you found the stables outside the city walls, promising him you wouldn’t take long and sweetening your bond with the mule with a sack of oats you brought off the stable boy.

Once inside the city walls, past the invasive stares of the guardsmen posted at the gates, you took the main road to the heart of the capital. Even though you were moving on foot now, you made good time as your momentum was subconsciously encouraged to keep up with the flow of people around you. You knew there was probably a quicker way to get to the Masters’ Hall but you certainly weren’t going to chance any shortcuts down slim alleyways or streets you were unfamiliar with; at least from the heart of the city you could pick out the dome top of the Hall above the rest of the buildings and then go from there.

…

“You say this balm is for your father?”

The Master was old- younger than Kuiil, you were sure, but not so young-looking and he spoke like his throat was full of ash- so you didn’t bother to correct him in that Kuiil was your employer. “Yes, that’s right.” You said. You tried not to reveal how impatient you were growing at the slow pace with which the Master wrote down each ingredient with delayed strokes.

“You’ll need to apply this liberally to the back of his neck, forehead and chest twice a day- the powdered nerf hoof makes it smell something horrible but that’s an important part of it and shouldn’t be missed, see, its always the young girls like yourself that don’t use the hoofs because it offends their delicate noses but it is a very important part of the recipe so if you find it too bothersome-”

At this rate you would be there all day and night. “Thank you.” You said hastily, “When will he get better?”

The old Master huffed, clearly disappointed that you would not let him continue his leisurely ramblings about the sensitivity of a woman’s nose. He scratched down the last ingredient with his quill, the ink dropping across the rest of the page. “A week. If the nerf hoof bothers you so much perhaps your husband could mix-”

“Is all this enough for a balm that lasts a week?” you gestured at the amounts he had written on the list, aggressively avoiding the husband comment. Dangerous, dangerous territory. “I don’t want to come back to the city…” He looked up at you then, a look of patronizing agreement on his face that you tried to snuff out quickly by adding, “and leave him home by himself again.”

He dropped his quill to the table, ink left in the tip blotting against the edge of the paper which he then gave to you. “With the right rationing It is enough.”

“Thank you very much.” You started to back up to reach the door before he could steal more of your time.

“Of course, girl. Will you be needing anything else?”

You left with a “no” and another “thankyou” but he didn’t leave your heels until you had fully left the Masters’ Hall, the heavy door shut behind you.

You took a full five seconds to breathe in the outside air- not just to expel the stuffy air you had taken in inside the Hall but also to will the conversation to leave you.

There wasn’t much that made you anxious but the husband subject could clear you from a room faster than smoke rose from a fire. It wasn’t like you had never had offers of marriage or caught the eye of a handsome man but the concept- the expectations and the duties that came with becoming someone’s wife- was just too much for you to seriously consider without getting nervous. Marriages weren’t just about the man you were marrying after all, there were children that you were expected to carry and birth and then raise; a lifetime given over to the role of motherhood which would likely never end.

You had the utmost respect for women that wanted to and were proud to be mothers but when it came to you being a mother- you seriously doubted your capacity to do so well enough, it was simply easier to not entertain the option.

Once you had regained your outward composure, you checked over the list.

Some of the more common ingredients like bantha tallow or baywood leaves were things you would find easily back in your own village- for a cheaper price too- so you mentally struck those from the list for now. You weren’t about to waste time looking for deals. You started for the city market hoping to find the strange ingredients quickly, side tracked only by the luring smells of a bakery to which your empty stomach bent to.

The air was kicked out of you when the first thing your eyes fell on in the market was a figure in mismatched armor. The sellsword. He was scanning a blacksmith’s stall, arms crossed over his chest and looking to converse with the smith intermittently. Even from the back of him you could tell it was the same man who left you in such a flustered mess that night. The sight of him alone stirred something inside you, a low burning feeling that threatened to catch in your throat with equal parts of passion and anger.

You doubted he’d see you amidst the rest of the population of market goers- and if he did he surely wouldn’t recognize you- so you didn’t care to try and avoid him, moving right past him to the stall that promised noxious herbs and smelly nerf produce.

However, once you raised your voice to ask the vendor for the powder, the sellsword’s head snapped in your direction. He had noticed you. You kept your head forward, trying to sell the fact that you were ignorant to his presence-- and you would have done a good job of that display had he not started to approach you.

—

Sorry it ends on a bit of a cliffhanger- I feel like I've been working on this update forever (even tho there's several parts of it I'm not happy with) and its just a mess honestly so rip, here it is!.

Taglist: @gingersnappe-9 @literallydontlook @lady-djarin

❅ title: christmas morning with the sawamuras

❅ pairing: dad!daichi sawamura x mom!reader

❅ wc: 1.1k

❅ warnings/notes: sfw. suggestive innuendo at the end. domestic fluff.

You hear them before you see them.

“MOMMY! DADDY!” the children yell as they run towards your bed. “WAKE UP!”

There’s the sudden mmffph that’s forced from your husband’s lungs when the first girl lunges herself on top of his once-sleeping form, followed by a loud groan when your other daughter dogpiles both of them. The girls, aged 7 and 5, are accompanied by their 2-year-old brother who isn’t quite big enough to toss himself onto your king-size bed. You hear him whine as he tries to climb his way onto the bed, so you sit up and reach for him, smiling sleepily as you pull him up to join his sisters in terrorizing their father.

“Daddy! Wake up! Mommy, help us!”

“I’m awake,” he grumbles, opening one of his tired eyes to look over at the window. “What time is it? It’s still dark…” he says, reaching for his phone to check.

“IT’S TIME TO OPEN PRESENTS, DADDY!” your middle child informs him before your oldest chimes in. “THERE ARE SO MANY! WE CAN’T EVEN SEE THE FLOOR UNDER THE CHRISTMAS TREE!”

By now, your little boy has crawled his way into your secure arms, both of you watching and giggling at the scene before you. There is a mess of little arms and legs and long, dark brown hair on top of poor Daichi. The love and adoration his daughters have for him is undeniable. He is technically awake, but not enough to satisfy the girls. The 5-year-old presses her little hands against his cheeks and squishes his face as she gets right up in it and yells into his mouth (as if that’s somehow going to make her louder), “DADDY, WAKE UUUUUUUUUPPPPP!!”

But it worked because now Daichi is laughing. “Alright, now you’ve done it!” he announces, his arms breaking free from the weight of his 5-year-old offender to tickle her sides as she tumbles onto the bed next to him in a ball of high-pitched squeals and laughter.

Finally, the children manage to drag their parents out of bed, the girls taking their father by the hands and whisking him away as your baby boy runs after them. You hang back long enough to put your cozy house robe on before walking into the living room where the oldest is ordering her Daddy to sit on the floor to watch them open their presents. After a big stretch and a scratch of his belly, he obliges. Even with messy hair and eyes watery with sleep, your husband is devastatingly handsome. 

“Mommy! You sit there next to Daddy!” 

“She’s almost as bossy as her father,” you muse to your husband as you make your way to the floor next to him.

“I’m not bossy,” he retorts groggily.

You raise your eyebrows at him and press your lips together to stifle the tempting ‘I told you so’ that desperately wants to be said when he starts laying down the law.

“Listen up, kids!” he says with a big yawn. “Here are the rules! All gifts must be handed to me first to see who they’re for! No opening each other’s gifts and no fighting over them either! Understood?”

“Yes, Daddy,” they all chirp in unison as you kneel behind him to drape your arms over his shoulders and kiss him on the cheek.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whisper in his ear with a nibble to the lobe.

“Watch it, angel,” he growls with a smirk before turning his focus back to your three crotch goblins.

“Go! Have at it!” he permits with a wave of his hand and immediately three gifts are eagerly shoved in his face. The kids practically dive under the tree like a bunch of wild savages, ripped wrapping paper and ribbons and bows flying every which way.

“Daddy,” your soft-spoken toddler says, holding out a box. “Help open, pwease?”

“Of course, buddy,” Daichi smiles, taking the box as his son sits on his lap. “Oh, babe…”

“Already on it!” you say, halfway to your bedroom to fetch his pocket knife from his nightstand drawer. Seconds later, you’re back, putting the tool in Daichi’s outstretched hand.

“You’re as handy as a pocket on a shirt, you know that?” he grins as you settle beside him on the floor again. “Thanks, babe.” He leans over to give you a quick peck on your smiling lips before turning to his little boy. “Hey, buddy, why don’t you sit in Mommy’s lap so I can help open your box, okay?”

“Nkay…” the boy beams as he climbs his way over to you. He watches intently as his father cuts through the tape before passing the box to him. His little hands awkwardly work the flaps open as his big, brown eyes widen when he sees what’s inside. 

“What is it?” Daichi asks with excitement.

“PIKACHU!” he says gleefully, beaming as he holds the plushie of his favorite Pokemon up for his father to see.

Outside, the sun is breaking the horizon as you and your husband treasure the sight of your three babies as they chatter and shuffle about with the occasional squeal of delight and the steady stream of “Mommy! Daddy! Look!” that accompanies the presentation of every toy and game.

In the midst of the chaos, time seems to slow down when your husband scoots closer to you and pulls you into his lap, trapping you in his strong arms to brush his nose against yours and whisper “I love you”. You slot your lips with his to share a lingering kiss, broken only by your soft proclamation of the love you have for him. 

You’re both smiling against each other’s lips when Daichi says, “Thank you, baby.” 

“Mm…for what?” 

“For them,” he mutters, glancing over at your happy kids before kissing you again, more deeply this time, sneaking in a little tongue.

“EWWW GROSS!!” The two girls protest at the sight of their parents. “They’re sucking each other’s faces again!”

You and Daichi laugh quietly, your romantic moment interrupted. “Such as they are,” your husband jokes, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’re welcome, baby,” you chuckle, “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Daichi waggles his eyebrows at you with a wicked smirk. “Speaking of which…I’ll give you your present later.”

“Yeah?” You bite your lip seductively. “What is it?”

With a small shake of his head, he says, “Can’t tell you. It’s a surprise.”

“Is it big?” you snicker.

He nods, his naughty grin growing wider.

“Is it hard?”

“Not yet, but it will be.”

“IS IT A BIKE TIRE??” your 5-year-old guesses loudly, sending you and your husband into a fit of laughter on the floor.

“No, honey,” Daichi wheezes, barely able to get the words out. “But your mom can certainly ride it.” 

“DAICHI!” you scold, playfully slapping his arm as your writhe on the floor with him.

Your daughter looks on with confusion, but eventually shrugs and rejoins her siblings in their pile of presents.

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