#((even if they never play a part in her life again!))

[ncteez]

M.I.L.F. (Make It Last Forever) ― L.DH

Haechan, a favorite among classy wives to hire during the hot summer season for a nice, thorough pool cleaning, seems to have a favorite wife of his own.  You.  Or the one where Haechan was the pain-in-your-ass son of the family you used to babysit for, but now he’s making it his mission to be the pain-in-your-ass pretend husband that you never asked for, but very clearly need. 

minors dni 

PAIRING ― lee haechan  x afab milf!reader  

WORDCOUNT― 18.9k

CONTENT―  age gap: reader is 31  and haechan is 24, milf trope/single mother reader, college pool boy haechan (turned part time babysitter), reader has 1 kid and haechan really wants to give her another, reader has morals!! haechan just doesn’t see it as a moral issue, he is actually very sweet 

!WARNINGS! ―  age gap, haechan is somewhat of a manipulator, he’s gentle but won’t take no for an answer. dub-con in one instance. major breeding kink and kind of a mommy and daddy kink (domesticity), angst regarding reader and her ex husband, reader has huge tits 

NOTE ― this was written for jay from enhypen over on my other blog, but i am gifting it to you guys here as well! I WROTE THEM BOTH!!!! NOT PROOF READ.

nsfw tags under cut

nsfw tags― thick big dick haechan, small instant dubious consent, tit obsessed haechan, groping and grinding, mommy/daddy kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex, cum stuffing-ish,pussy eating, fingering, basically it’s haechan doing stuff to you,  this ain’t smut this is making love, also reader doesn’t shave her coochie and haechan fucking loves it.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Having a stray eye isn’t typically something you afford yourself when it comes to men. Things tend to change with time though, that much you know is true. 

It was proven to you for the first time when your ex husband decided to up and leave you three weeks before your due date for a woman–well, girl, fresh out of highschool. Years of trust and promises crushed with just a single sentence and a slam of the door. Time must’ve changed you for him to leave so heartlessly. Time must’ve changed him to become so cold. 

 It was proven again when you were able to heal despite never believing you could. Seconds of pain turned to minutes, to hours. Days. weeks. Months. Years of pain before being able to wake up and feel somewhat numb to it all. Like a flip switch in your head that told you that you can be happy now even if as a single mother. After all, the hard part was over. 

It took some four to five years, but it did happen. Time did change you, it healed you, it matured you. As your child grew, so did you. And for the better, you think. You count your blessings of living a life far more lavish than you ever could have anticipated given the circumstances that had been thrown at you. Even to the point of nesting, wanting another child, wanting a big and happy family. But alas, your ex husband had better things to do. 

At the end of the day, you’d never be able to call this home yours if you had stayed with your ex husband. He didn’t like this kind of “flashy” lifestyle, and to him, everything you wanted seemed too flashy for him. Perhaps he was right to some extent, as you recognize the brand name goods you now own, solely because you had promised yourself in the depths of your despair that you’ll get to a point in life where you can buy yourself everything you not only need, but want. So, here you are, owning an expensive home, in a nice neighborhood, with a nice car and a nice pool. 

Your daughter has everything she could want and need too, aside from a sibling, it’s certainly still more than what you had growing up and it’s all because of you. A fully decorated bedroom drenched in glitter, purples, creams, yellows, and pink, her favorite color. All sorts of play houses, costumes, dolls, a few lego sets, and even some plastic swords and knives for the days she wants to pretend to be her favorite movie characters. Clothes she can grow into, and a nice little fund building up for her as she grows up. Her first car, college, help for a downpayment on her own first house. 

Both of you have everything you could ever want or need and for that, you’re so proud. Especially knowing your husband would have never believed you could make it this far without him. Still, despite having everything you could ever ask for, there’s something in you that feels empty.

Time changes things. 

Time changes a lot of things, you note more than usual, as the man you’ve been ogling for the past three weeks makes himself far more known to you than you ever wished he would.

The interaction with him was always so quick before today and given the fact that he was a complete stranger, you never quite invited him into your home considering–you know, small child and all. You had hired him over text. Haechan, your neighbor said his name was. His handsome features didn’t offer you anything more than a clean pool and a wandering eye. 

Your neighbor apparently has a friend who has a cousin that has an even nicer pool than you do. Given, it’s only a nicer pool due to the fact that this young man, Haechan, tended to it weekly and made damn sure it could be drunk out of if a person had a craving for chlorine. 

You feel like an idiot now that it didn’t dawn on you quick enough. Sure, he looked a bit familiar to you but who doesn’t when you’re always out and about seeing so many different faces on a daily basis? His name, Haechan, didn’t ring any bells. Now though, the shame of staring at his sweaty pecs and biceps came crashing down the moment you realized who Haechan actually is. 

He didn’t do a damn thing to remind you either, if anything, all he did was walk around all sweaty in the afternoon heat with his tank top either sticking to him, or off entirely. It appears that you had just been too busy running errands with your child, considering his shifts were always when you were home. Too busy cooking, cleaning, reading, lounging. Too busy looking at…well, not his face. 

Too busy to give the man a glance more than that of a slice of pie behind a bakery window. 

Haechan. 

Since fucking when was that his name?

“Lee Donghyuck.” You whimper near mortified, three weeks too late as you hand him his pay with nervous hands. “Spray-cheese in my hair Donghyuck?” 

“Ah, was wondering when you’d pick up on that.” He smiles at you with that crooked grin, a knowing look that any man at a bar would give you if he had caught you checking him out. Then, he pockets the hefty amount of cash that you hand to him. “I go by Haechan more often these days.” He trails off, an amused smirk half-falling as he looks at your expression of realization. “You can call me whatever you want though.”

He’s well aware of how often you’ve checked him out since he started intentionally taking his clothes off. After all, it’s mid-july by this point and the sun baring down on him doesn’t quite call for a fucking turtle neck sweater. Or a T-shirt, or a tank top, for that matter. It calls for all skin baby, beautifully tanned and toned for you and any of your neighbors to look at if they so wanted to. 

Haechan doesn’t work out for nothing, after all. Summer after summer, he’s found himself to be quite fond of the rich women that hire him for their pool services. Always wanting an attractive young man to wander around half naked and satiate their lack of sex life with their husbands, or boytoys, or what have you. He knows all that extra pay isn’t because he does a good job either. He’s gotten winks, small comments, even a few offers of his body for more pay.

He’s turned them all down, of course. For a full-on affair, anyway. Haechan has gotten a few blow jobs and quickies as a tip before though, and a lot of that is why he keeps getting referred to more women. Richer women. Never single women. 

Until you. 

He quite enjoyed catching you looking at him. Especially given the fact that he knew exactly who you were when you introduced yourself to him via text. That little childhood crush on you came back within an instant upon actually seeing you again. Truly, he had forgotten all about you up until that fateful day three weeks ago. 

If he’s being honest, he’s been pining something fierce since he first stepped foot on your property. Excitement swelled inside of him just to see you again. To see if you’re still hot, to see how you’re doing, what you’re doing. How your life is going.

 He knew you didn’t recognize his nickname through text, and he definitely knew you didn’t recognize him to be eating him up with those eyes of yours either. So, he played along, enjoying it while he could before it would inevitably dawn on you. Still, he remembers you so well from back then. Crazy to know that he rarely thought of you for the past twelve years or so, and how all those little butterflies of his came back in a far more mature way. He was only twelve back then, but he’s a man now. 

Twenty four and perfectly sound as a man who knows what he likes. The fact that you happen to fall into that category is no fault of his own, honestly. It’s your fault if anyone’s at all. Haechan is a man that likes a specific type of woman too. Woman. Not a girl, not a young lady, not a free spirit, nor a prude. He is drawn to the idea of experience, to the idea of settling down. It’s not easy to find that at his age, in college, surrounded by party girls and casual drug use. 

And, well, imagine his smile upon seeing your lovely, lavish home with the large pool, no ring on your finger, a whole fucking child, and your motherly instincts when you buckle her into the car for an errand. Oh and the broken fence in the far back of your yard.

You’re a single mom. 

A hot single mom who lives lavishly. One who could probably use a man’s help around your house.

He half expected you to be able to recognize him when he appeared for work the first time. He even had a monologue in his head on what to say to you, and how to present himself. You didn’t seem to take notice though, introducing yourself to him as if you hadn’t spent all that time in his childhood home when you were a teenager. Like you never mothered him, or put him to sleep with the soft stories when you let him watch all those scary movies before bed. Even at twelve, he was a scaredy cat.

 Clearly you’re too busy experiencing life to notice the way he fawns over you too. Hating how you’re more reserved than the other lavish, fixed-up women. You seem to have standards, or maybe it’s just priorities ... that's so hot. Truly, it only makes him want you more because by now, the other women would already be rubbing all over him. The ones who shouldn’t be wanting him the way they do. So, yes, he’s always stealing glances at you with sparkling dark eyes, fantasizing in his head that this pool is his to clean now, because that’s what a good man would do for you, right? With him around servicing your pool and lawn, you’d never need to hire or spend money on another broke ass college student again.

Yes. That’s how quickly he fell into this infatuation solely because you looked at him like you want it without realizing who he was. Hell, without realizing how perfect you are in terms of what he wants.

God, how are you still single? 

Like, why do you have a child and a house so beautiful without a man wandering around doing all of this work for you? Not that you couldn’t do it on your own, it’s just, you clearly have the means to make a man do as you please. Why haven’t you?

You happen to fall almost perfectly into the categories of what he’s looking for. Save for the fact that now you recognize him as that kid you used to babysit rather than the man who tries to be sexy while cleaning your pool. Which is a fucking shame, if he’s being honest, to be written off as that same ten year old child rather than a fucking man who very clearly has needs and desires. 

The point is– Haechan wants you and he parades around your pool for you to look at him. So what if you used to babysit him? It’s not like you’re an old swamp-hag trying to lure him with candy. You’re just…a woman. And he’s just a man. 

“Well, thank you for cleaning again,” You trail off in an awkward tone, shifting your eyes to anywhere but him. He watches you though, smiling a smile you know all too well from his childhood antics. It must mean something different now, or maybe not. “I guess I’ll see you next week?” 

“Well, actually,” Haechan offers, “Would you be opposed to–” You cut him off instantly with an awkward wave of your hand.

You don’t know why you make assumptions, maybe from that damned smile on his face, but you do recall your ex husband reminding you time and time again that it’s one of the things he hated about you. 

Assumptions. Always thinking the worst, or perhaps the most filthy of situations and expressions. To be fair, you feel guilty about how you’ve been looking at him, you can’t help but panic trying to pretend like it never happened, and that he never saw it happen.

“I’m not interested, Donghyuck.” You respond hastily, pressing your thumb to your bottom lip to bite the skin on it, keeping your eyes away from him with the awkward words. After all, he knew who you were this whole time and paraded around like that? 

Even before recognizing him yourself, you know men well enough to know when they’re trying to flaunt. Is it so wrong to assume?

“Interested in what?” Haechan tilts his head knowingly, seeing the way you buckle under the guilt of staring at the very man you used to tuck into bed every night. He can see the way you try to push those sexual thoughts you had away in the quick rejection to a simple assumption. 

 “I was just going to ask if you want me to fix your fence.” 

Ah, you did get ahead of yourself through the guilt, and you’re far too aware of it as you draw your eyes back to him and note the expression on his face. Amused, maybe a bit of concern in his eyes, even? 

“Ah, um–” You start, trailing your eyes down your fence line never once noticing a break in it. Haechan is quick to point though, leaning to you with a whisper of “right there.” And well, you did not need to hear that tone in his voice the way you just did.

God, it’s so awkward.

“Well, how much would that cost me?” You question with an empty voice, staring at the broken fence. 

“Free.” He uses the same tone, leaning away from you now and smiling wide. “That is, if you provide lunch.” 

Well, despite the awkwardness, that break over there would cost you a pretty penny to fix, and your daughter needs the safety of playing in her own yard without random animals or worse, people, making their way in. Plus, you’re quite fond of saving money. How else would you be here if you weren’t good at it? And now, given that you’re most definitely not interested in Haechan, what's the harm in making a few sandwiches for someone you already know well enough? It’s not like you’ve never made him lunch before.

The awkwardness will pass and your guilt will subside. You both will laugh at it over a cold glass of iced lemonade, surely. It’s not like you realized who he was anyway, it’s not like you’re just gonna keep looking at him like that. You should just push forward and it’ll all be fine. 

“Hell, I’d even watch the kiddo so you can have a break every now and then.” He watches your reaction, wanting to ask so many questions about why you’re single, who the father is, where he is, why he isn’t here. “After all, I learned quite a bit from you.” 

For a second you consider that too.

And there’s three reasons as to why you should. The first being that you were literally just looking for a new child care facility due to learning of the staff coming to work while sick. Your poor daughter came home with a fever just last week, and you’ve had little luck in finding a place with the same educational benefits for her. 

The second being that, well, while you’re not hurting for cash or anything, it wouldn’t hurt to be able to put a little more back for her college fund. Or for fun little vacations. 

And lastly, despite your guilt of lusting over someone you shouldn’t have, you know Donghyuck and you know his family even better. No background check would be needed, your daughter could be in the comfort of her own home rather than a classroom setting that she’s sure to see for at least twenty years of her life in the future. 

So, yes. You consider it instantly, and Haechan sees it. 

You only know of the childhood version of him and, well, the slutty pool-side version of him apparently. If only you knew of that other side of him and how fond he is of watching his own younger cousins. How good he is with children, and how much he clings to the idea of being a father one day.

Haechan is great with kids, with or without them having a hot mom.

And well, he knows that he’s fond of looking at you at least. Besides, as long as you can work with his class schedules, he’d be willing to do just about anything to play pretend-husband, even if you’re unaware of it. 

“Is that so?” You finally ask, curious eyes looking at him with a furrowed brow. “Shouldn’t you be out living the life? College parties and such?” You add, wondering why such a great deal has managed to flop down on your lap. The idea of even cheaper childcare without the risk of unvaccinated children, and sick caretakers being far too good of a deal to pass up. 

“Well, yeah I guess.” He shrugs, leaning backwards to stretch and roll his shoulders. “Not really my scene though. I have classes Monday and Wednesday all day, Tuesday and Thursdays my classes are online. If you can work around that, I’d rather just be making money and chilling.” 

You think about it just for a second more when he continues. 

“I can be here on weekends too. Maybe you should be the one out relaxing and having some drinks.” 

“Well, I don’t quite need that, or for you to be here on weekends.” You think as you say it, knowing you have given up on going out to try and meet men two years ago. “I could pay you though, let’s say, thirty an hour?” 

Well, shit, that’s not too bad at all, especially considering he’s about to give up on cleaning the pools of a few women in his contacts for this. It’s a major pay cut, but still enough to get by comfortably if you’ll have him multiple times a week. That plus the pool cleaning money? And free lunch? 

“Oh, you don’t go out at all? I don’t see why not, could probably get a man in no time–” Haechan ignores the wage offer and pushes to note the singlehood he had been noticing for the past three weeks. “and the pay is fine.” 

“Ah, well, the dating pool isn’t so great in this neck of the woods.” You scratch the back of your neck when you say it. “That aside, I'll have her in day care on the days you can’t be here, but it really would be a big help. Thank you for the offer, Donghyuck. And for the fence too.” 

He watches you with a firm nod, shoving his hands into the pockets of his basketball shorts, still entirely shirtless in front of you. 

“And the pool.” You add quietly after a moment. 

“I think you’d be surprised about the dating pool.” He smiles as he pushes the subject back to what you had previously said, hoping you believe those words before continuing. “So, when do you want me to start?”��

“Is tomorrow too soon? You’re okay to set up here with your online classes?”

“Tomorrow is perfect.” He smiles.

“I’m sure she would be so happy knowing she won’t be going to daycare–” You clap, feeling a bit less awkward despite the boldness of the man in front of you. You’re sure he’s just teasing you for knowing you checked him out. “I know I am.” 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s a little too perfect, actually.

After that first day of watching your child and making a lazy attempt at “fixing your fence,” he’s settled in like it’s home. He wishes it was, with the lavish lifestyle in a house far too pretty compared to his own living space with piles upon piles of laundry he’s too lazy to pick up for himself. 

It’s different for you though. Different when he’s here.

Truly, he feels like he’s living the life after a couple of weeks with decent pay and a comfy space to do his homework. He watches your child, which is arguably the hardest part of the job but she’s well behaved for him. In fact, she seems to have taken a shine to him.

He’s starting to be very intentional with taking far too long to work on your fence too, and still maintaining your pool. He’s trying to drag this out for as long as he can. Even if just to see if you still look at him when you come home the same way you did before recognizing him. You never do though. When his shirt is off and he’s wiping his forehead in the sun, you don’t look at him anymore.

Hell, he’s even considered breaking things in your home just to give himself more jobs to do. More things that make him feel needed, like a husband. More things that you thank him for fixing, even if it breaks again two days later.

And ah, the food in your fridge is always free reign to him, that large television in the living room too. God, sometimes he dreads going home, and by sometimes, he means all the time. Who in their right mind would ever fucking want to live outside of this lifestyle? He really can’t believe you’re single, nor can he believe that he has the opportunity to be in your home, close to you. It shouldn’t take too long now to convince you, right? That you don’t necessarily have to be single? That you need him around to live even more comfortably?

In short, Haechan is in his head about how he’s practically just roleplaying as your stay-at-home husband before having to go back to his shitty little apartment and remind himself that he’s just a fucking college student with no interest in the people on campus. And like, even with the way you come home from work, all groggy and exhausted on the days he’s there, you always thank him before giving him his pay. What he likes best about those nights is when you’re too exhausted to even pay him and you promise to do it next time.

In his mind, that’s you promising to see him again. 

He could give less of a shit about the pay at this point, as long as he gets to be in this house, smelling your favorite candles and dish detergents, seeing you, being a semi-father to a child who deserves more love than the two of you combined can give…he’ll fucking do anything you want for free. 

It’s difficult sometimes, like he really can’t help it. Some days wandering around this house and imagining how the two of you could have landed on buying it together. How the rooms would be organized if he were here from the start. Claiming his spot on your couch like any dad would. Playing dolls with your daughter, laughing with her, letting her paint his nails and put his hair in little pigtails. He even cleans your pool as if it were his own, meaning, he genuinely cleans it. 

He has taken it upon himself to mow your lawn, confusing the yard workers that you apparently hired years ago. Did he accidentally fire them? Maybe, but any good husband would save you money, right? He checks your mail, waves to your neighbors and lets them make assumptions. 

And every single fucking night it’s harder and harder to go back home.

Especially after a full day of playing dad then seeing you come back so tired. Turning off that switch in his head isn’t easy. He wants to greet you like the husband you don’t have. He wants to ease your hard days in so many ways. Tell you he’s proud of you, that you still look so pretty after an exhausting shift of whatever the fuck you do. He wants to serve you dinner, run you a bath, fix your hair, lay you down– oh, he’s fantasizing again. Unfortunately, he has to settle with seeing the relief on your face when he lets you know in a soft voice that he’s cooked dinner and he will heat it up for you before leaving, kiddo is in her room sleeping, no dishes in the sink, and laundry is folded and put away. 

He loves the appreciation in your eyes, and sometimes even sees a glint of sadness. He can tell you wish you had this from a person who isn’t here for pay. Someone who loves you, and loves your child, and feels joy in making your life easier. 

Fuck, if only you knew. 

And  you’d be lying if you tried to say Haechan isn’t a godsend to you on the days he babysits. Many times you find yourself wishing he’d just move in and do everything that you can’t do. You’d pay him well, give him a guest room, whatever. But it’s just…not viable to support a full time employee like that, nor is it fair to your daughter. 

She needs a parent, not a paid college student who needs some extra cash. You have to be that parent, you have to make time for her and witness all of her joys in life. You have to protect her and never bring in faces of men who claim to want to be a father, only to run and break her heart more than your own. 

For now, you settle with this godsend of a little shit you used to babysit. Still you can barely believe that’s the same person, but again…time changes things. And thankfully, the awkwardness of what you did has died down drastically.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Today, you’re more thankful for Haechan than you have been previously. After a heavy workload has been lifted off your back with the approval of this project, you need a night out. For the first time in years, you’re giving yourself a night out, all because you have someone you can trust to be here for your daughter.

He was so understanding when you called,  happy to come over right then and there to put her to bed and mostly just house-sit for the night. Even without an end time for him, and even without asking for extra pay, he just…accepted with an understanding tone and that stupid breathy chuckle he gives to you when you ask for favors. “What? You need me there right now? I’m putting on my shoes.” He had said.

It’s the fact that now, as he sits on your couch looking at you in your chosen outfit– he seems a little off. Maybe it’s because you asked him where the best spots in town are because it’s been so long since you’ve gone out, or maybe he just feels awkward seeing so much skin on your body. 

To be fair, he didn’t realize you were going out out. He thought that maybe you were gonna go stay with a friend to celebrate and have a drink or two. 

In reality though, he’s just awestruck. Already you look great even after your busy days at work but…this is a different level. The way your tits look in that push-up bra and tiny ass top, when he’s used to seeing you head out in some sort of business casual outfit without an ounce of skin showing save for your ankles or wrists…jesus. He’s struggling more than usual to keep himself calm around you, hopping up on one leg when you walk away to try and adjust the chub in his pants, and releasing a small sigh before you’re looking at him again.

His skin feels like it’s on fire knowing you’re going out looking like that.

“You sure you're okay to sleep over? I figure it’ll be easier since I’m not sure when I’ll come home, or if I come home.” You smile with a wink, your stomach in knots over the two shots you’ve taken for the first time in years. “I can call my friends and tell them not to come if you’d rather focus on your studies.” 

Haechan shakes his head, waving his hands in defense for you as if he didn’t just see the way your tits bounce and squish against your shirt with each move you make. 

“No, no! Go on, have fun.” He says, encouraging you to go out despite hoping you come home with no luck of finding a man out there. 

Just, look at you. Fuck, he’s staring again. He hates knowing that he could be one of the guys at whatever bar or club you’re landing on tonight. He could be the person that makes sure you don’t come home, getting to plant his face right there. He could be whatever you want him to be if you’re looking like that. 

But no, he has to play husband again, which is normally something he’s all too excited to do. Tonight though, he feels like a fucking cuckold. After everything he does for you, after not mentioning how you’ve skipped a few of his payments, after slaving away for hours over your pool, your household chores, fixing and breaking that fucking dishwasher, cooking you dinner every single night he’s here just to make sure you have a meal when you get off of work…you imply you may not come home tonight?

And you’re dressed like that?

And you’re…

God, you just look so good right now. It pains him to know you didn’t dress like this for him, the only man who cares enough to make your life easy. He’s not mad at you, per se, but he’s pissed that you don’t see him as an option despite showing you time and time again that not only is he an option, but the right choice. 

This is what you look like when you want to impress a man? This is how you act? How you talk? Fuck, god, fuck– maybe he’s just too deep in his one-sided roleplay but it really, really fucking feels like he’s watching his woman go off and look for someone else to fuck.

“Thank you, Donghyuck,” You smile, walking over to him with a saunter in your step and a gentle smile across your lips. 

He’s never heard you speak his name so sensually, the way his cock twitches forces him to wince away from you. He’s never even seen you saunter before. Fucking hell, somehow it feels worse seeing you act like this after how many times he’s imagined it, all alone in his room. 

A slow walk from you, with the strap of your shirt slipping off your shoulder, fat tits threatening to spill out, lifting the hem of your skirt, or dress, or whatever you’re wearing in his fantasy at that point. Your voice, so soft, so sexy. And you’re practically bringing his fantasy to life right now, except he knows you’re going to fucking walk away from him like this. Into the fucking arms of some random dude at a club. 

Probably some loser he’s seen on campus too.

“It means a lot.” You add, popping a quick, platonic kiss to the top of his forehead. 

Ah, lip gloss. That little kiss on him is enough to ignite him to the point of no return. He almost wants to skip the part of asking you not to go and straight up just beg that you pick him, that you choose him. It’s not just your home, or the luxuries that come with it. It’s you that he wants. You’re the fucking luxury and you’re just gonna go to some sticky-floored club and pretend he’s not clearly checking you the fuck out right now? Like he’s not about three seconds from dropping to his knees just to see you from the angle you deserve?! 

“It’s no problem.” Haechan relents, dropping himself onto your couch instead and adjusting his body to sink deep into the cushions just to keep himself from arguing against everything he’s giving you permission to do right now. 

Hah. Permission.

“Be safe.” He adds in an even more monotone voice. “I’ll be here when you get back.” 

And god, he seethes in his thoughts after you close that door and hop into the car with your friends. You don’t look like a mother tonight, and he wonders if you’ll be upfront and forward with anyone you intend to hit on too. Probably not. He’s well aware of the men in this city, after all, he’s one of them.

It’s really not something he can control after seeing you like that either. Your child is already in bed and he’s just sitting here on your couch with a throbbing, fucking weeping cock thinking about you. What’s stopping him from taking care of it? You’re not here, after all. 

You’re not fucking here. But everything about you is. 

And that’s how he finds himself in your bedroom for the first time, barely making it a foot into the room before closing the door and dropping to the floor. The scent in your room is different. It’s feminine, gentle, like the energy is kissing him all over and sending goosebumps straight to the head of his cock. He couldn’t even pull it out, already holding his breath with his hand down his pants, vigorously trying to get what he wants so badly yet knowing that his hand will never compare to you. 

And it’s here where he feels like a husband. Spilling against his pants with a silent, choked back sob as he stares forward at your bed, and the way you didn’t make it this morning. It’s messy, and he wants to be in that mess of sheets with you more than anything. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Haechan hates that he’s now forced to get used to your late night ventures. Every weekend now. Every. Fucking. Weekend.  You ask if he’s willing to stay over so you can go unwind, and despite his better (or worse) judgment, he accepts. The only solace he finds in these ventures is knowing you consistently come back home right after usual closing times, and you’re mostly sober. Sometimes a bit whiny that you’re not lucking out, worrying that maybe you’re too old now, or maybe you’re just not as desirable. There have even been a few times where you’ve exposed your ex husband during your rants, giving Haechan little hints to follow as to why you’re single, and how he left you. 

Still, he knows in your tipsy state that you usually wouldn’t talk about these things with him, but he’s all too happy to get the details once you come home. Mostly because it calms his rising rage at how you’re doing this to not only him, but yourself. It’s mostly because you’re technically coming home to him though. 

And every single time, you go back to your bedroom to grab his payment even though it could wait until morning, considering he’s been sleeping in the guest room– all he can think about is how he’s been in your room. He’s gotten off countless times by now by the smell of your room alone, still barely able to even reach your bed to lay in it himself for a better experience. God, he’s probably memorized each little fray in your carpeted bedroom floor by now with how much he’s zoned out on it mid-jerk off session right there on his knees at your door. 

He’s truly pathetic for you. 

This time though…three in the morning has passed and normally you’d have been stumbling through the door an hour ago. Normally, he’d be fighting back the need to tell you that you’re beautiful, not too old, and entirely desirable. Normally, he would be fisting his cock again in your guest room before sleep, getting off on the idea that he can cum in a house that you live in, smothered by the sheets you meticulously picked out to match the walls of the room. Moaning for you, practically crying for you to let him do it all. 

Have you really done it this time? Gone off with some man? Are you getting railed right now in some hotel, or car, or someone’s shitty man-cave? God, his mind is racing, both aroused at the fact that you must be horny to be constantly wanting to go out like this, but equally as devastated because like…he’s right here.

Who the fuck cares if you babysat him? He’s a man. No longer that child who sprayed cheese in your hair or dumped salt into the bag of sugar. He’s a fucking man, cooking you dinner when you work, parenting your child, cleaning your house, maintaining your pool and fence….He does everything for you, why the fuck don’t you see it?!

Click.

Haechan’s ears perk up instantly at the sound. He sits up on the couch from his depressed slump of scrolling through his phone, quickly fixing his hair and clearing his throat. 

In you stumble, right into the little entryway table with a whisper-scream of “Shit, fuck–”

Haechan looks at your state before standing to his feet and rushing to you, helping you balance on your feet despite your footing not quite being grounded even with his help. You lean on him closely, letting out an alcohol scented sigh. 

His nostrils flare as he holds his breath, feeling your tit press against his arm, smelling the drinks, the sweat, and the dulled perfume on you. Then, a hint of something else. Musk. 

You’ve been with a man. 

He holds back a gesture at the way you lean on him. Nothing more he could want at this moment but to hold you tightly and tell you that he’s got you, despite the panic in his stomach at the way he sniffs out another man. Out of lust, love, desperation, frustration. This is the closest you’ve been to him for this long. You feel clammy and cold, a clear indication that you drank far, far too much. Your tank top is sticking to you, your eyes are a bit glassy–

“You’re late.” He says shortly.

“Late?!” You raise your voice before looking at him with drowsy eyes, furrowing your brow. “I don’t have a curfe-”

“Shh–” He shushes you, helping you get to the living room. “She’s sleeping and you’re going to have her make a fuss about waking up.”

You giggle to yourself as he drops you onto the couch, now aware that yes, you are not a single college student anymore. You’re a single woman. A fucking mother. 

You should’ve just gotten a hotel for the night and slept there to dream a little longer. 

“Right.” You laugh, slouching, spreading out wide against the couch and trying to fix your gaze on him. “Why’re you still awake?” 

Haechan fixes his eyes on you, swallowing around a lump in his throat. The way you’re slouching…seemingly forgetting that you’re wearing a skirt and basically flashing your panties at him. God, the things could do to you right now. The things he could get away with if he wanted to. He tries to shake those thoughts for now, and instead, inspects you from head to toe.

He’s never seen you look so relaxed. Chest raising and falling with each breath, hair a little messy, lipstick stains smeared on the outsides of your lip line. He chooses to ignore the faint swell against your neck indicating someone has been sucking on you. But, well, he can’t ignore it. Both his cock and heart aches at the very thought.

“You’ve been kissing?” Haechan tries to ask nonchalantly. 

“A lot more than that–” You smile, feeling a flush cross your cheeks before the disappointment hits you square in the gut. 

Haechan watches your face fall, and he mimics it by falling onto the couch and sitting by your head…you know, allowing you to lay your head on him if you want to. You’d probably not notice his arousal anyway, given your state. 

“Oh?” He asks gently, the disappointment now showing plainly on not just your face, but his own.

“Thought I was gonna go home with him, turns out he decided to be done after a blowjob in the parking lot.”

Oh, the way his blood boils. Not for the fact that you were used or rejected, but for the fact that you found someone that you were interested in and genuinely intended to leave your home life in his hands for however fucking long. Really? Just gonna leave him here all alone? Like he couldn’t do better for you?

“It’s for the better–” Haechan says as he shivers with irritation, struggling to keep his facade up. It’s definitely not what you wanted to hear, and definitely not what you’d have expected to hear from a college guy at all either.

“This happened last time too, except he didn’t even get me to the parking lot.” You huff, unaware of how much you’re sharing right now. 

He bites back the anger yet again, inhaling deeply before releasing a calming breath through his nose just to contain it. So…it has happened more than once? 

“Why don’t you let me take you out someday?” He says suddenly, well aware that you’ll probably never remember he said it in the first place. 

If anything, he’s testing the waters for his own sake. He’d hate himself forever if he didn’t at least take advantage of this moment a little bit. 

“Then who will watch my daughter?” You respond in slurred speech, not even comprehending who it is that’s asking you this question right now. Not even thinking about your history with him, or the family ties. 

He, on the other hand, is quite entertained by the way you don’t bring the history up like he expected. His cock twitches at it, bumping your head just a bit, not enough for you to notice apparently. Fuck, it would be so easy for him to pull it out right now, and just…tap your lips with it. 

Maybe you’d even open your mouth for him. 

“I’ll skip class on a Wednesday, we can go while she’s still in daycare.” He continues through an almost-moan, encouraging the conversation to stay positive.

“Donghyuck–” You slur before clearing your throat and sitting back up in a dizzy show of how drunk you are. “You know I can’t do that. It’s too weird.” 

In all fairness, you know he has like…a thing for you. After all, why else would a college dude be spending his weekends here babysitting your kid? It’s not like you haven’t noticed the way he checks you out before you go out for the night. Why would he do all of this if he didn’t have some sort of attraction to you? Sure, you’re taking advantage of it as best as you can despite how you didn’t recognize him at first. 

Despite how deep down, you very well know how attracted to him you are too. 

“Only because you make it weird.” Haechan rolls his eyes as he looks at you, spreading his legs out to adjust his comfort, noting the way you glance down to his lap and see it. “I’m a grown man–” He starts, spreading his legs wider, pressing his cock against his pants to the point you can practically see the outline.”you know this.” He continues, trying to be bold now by reaching forward and moving a strand of your hair from your cheek. 

“You’ve seen it.”

You freeze, suddenly feeling entirely too sober to be talking about this kind of thing with him. With Donghyuck. God, his mother would fucking kill you if she found out he’s in your house while you’re out trying to get fucked by whoever is willing to love you temporarily. 

Haechan sees you thinking though, and continues to take the advantage now that he’s feeling brave. Now that you’ve seen the twitch in his pants and haven’t moved off the couch, or told him to go home. 

“I saw you watching me when I was cleaning your pool, multiple times.” He whispers snidely. “You stopped when you realized who I am. Why?”

“Donghyu–…” You trail off. “You know this isn’t okay. What would people think of me? There are rules, and I will not go down this route with you.”

A rush of air hits your face and suddenly, warmth hits your cheek. You feel him so close, closer than ever before. It’s dizzying. Haechan is over you, hovering with one hand ghosting over your hip. 

“You want to though, don’t you?” He gets even closer now, darting his eyes down at your chest and unable to pull them away. “Knowing how good I am with your daughter? How well I clean up? How strong I can be–”

You swallow hard. For a moment, you almost lean into him. You almost melt right then and there, the need for intimacy so heavy inside of you after being left high and dry, knowing that you’d accept it from just about anyone at this point. But– this is Donghyuck. You can’t. 

You really, really, can’t. 

The look of disappointment in his eyes kind of hurts when you’re pushing him away. That playful smirk falling faster than you think your sanity did the day your ex husband left you. 

“This–” You pause, realizing all too well how he’s used your drunken state against you for this conversation. “This is your last paycheck.”

“I don’t think so.” The smirk is back now, except…it’s different. “You know I promised her a Barbie dream house next weekend.” He smiles fully now. “She’s a bit attached, you know, even called me dad by accident the other day.” 

You’re shocked. 

“She…what?”

“You know she’s attached to me already, don’t be selfish.” Haechan shrugs at you while rolling his eyes, leaning against the couch again and turning his head to look at you. You try to pretend that you don’t see his hand slightly groping himself. “Guess she misses having a father around. Can’t be too easy for her, especially with her mom going out every weekend trying to fuck guys who would run the second they learn about her.” He ticks his tongue now, as if he’s pitying you more than your daughter. 

“Donghyuck, that’s not–”

“That’s not, what?”

“That’s not what I’m doing…” You lower your voice to a near whisper, upset that you couldn’t even enjoy the drunken state you came home in, now feeling entirely too sober, and a little sick in the stomach. 

“Oh, so you haven’t gotten laid since I’ve been here–” He leans closer again now, trying to resume what he was going to do just moments ago. “They haven’t even touched you, have they?” His hands move to your thigh and presses down as if to hold you in place. “Why?”

“I try not to just sleep with anyone.” You lie, knowing you’d sleep with anyone just to feel wanted for once. And you’re trying to ignore his hands on you right now, trying desperately not to like it. It’s the first time a man has touched you in this house since your husband left you. As expected, you almost feel your knees buckle despite sitting comfortably. “I have to be careful, you know?”

“Mm, I know more than you think.” He leans into you, hovering yet again with his upper half over you as he whispers it. “Don’t need to be careful around me though.” He adds, this time trailing his voice right against your jaw, up to your ear. “You must be so frustrated.” He ghosts his lips there for a moment, waiting for you to push him away, or say something, anything, really. 

“Why would I be frustrated?” You lend the smallest of whispers, feeling the goosebumps against your skin rising at the mere thought of giving in just this once.

“Not having anyone to please you.” He adds now, landing a very slight kiss right under your lobe. “Always being used for someone else’s pleasure, maybe?”

You almost nod, feeling weak in your state and thoughts swimming with what if’s, morals, and anxieties. You’re frozen in place despite knowing a simple push would create the distance you need to breathe. 

“Your fingers will never be enough, will they?” He continues, essentially chaining you to this couch with his words alone. You can’t help the fight in your head, you need to feel wanted, and you want so badly to feel needed. “I bet you wish someone would love you for all that you are, not all that you have.” 

It’s silent as you feel his lips press down again, this time moving his body over you almost entirely. You can feel the couch dip a bit as he places all of his weight on a knee, moving his other leg to stand between yours.

“You must need someone to fill that hole in you by now, right? That pussy of yours?” He continues, his tone a bit more snide now as you give in to his hold with shaky breaths. 

And truthfully, Haechan has never let himself come on this strong towards someone before. Usually the wives are doing this to him. They’re trying to convince him, encourage him. He’s so fucking horny right now though, with that daze in your eye, your legs spread around his knee, blinking up at him like a cheating wife. As if you want to apologize, as if you need him to forgive you. Need him to make everything better.

“I heard you the other day, you know, talking to your mom–” He smiles, tilting his head to look into your eyes, seeing a small shine in them. “You want another, don’t you?” He continues, moving his lips now just over yours as he, now, presses you firmly against the couch. “You must hate knowing that I’m the only person who can do that for you.” 

“God, Haechan.” You immediately buckle, not realizing how suddenly he’s not Donghyuck at this moment. He’s someone else. He’s Haechan.

“Why don’t you go for girls on campus?! Don’t you have parties to be attending on the weekends instead of being here, trying to parent my chil–”

“Lower that voice of yours,” He whispers, eyes now hooded as he looks at you. “You know she’s asleep.”

God, he’s right. 

“Besides, why would I want them when I have you right here under me–” He tilts his head. “Looking so disappointed that you like it, too.” 

Right then, your moral code shines into the front of your mind at the consideration of giving in.

A weight on one shoulder chanting, “No! What would people say?! What would people think?!”, and then little to no weight on the other shoulder, echoing in a sweet song of “Finally! Someone who will love you! Finally! Someone! Finally!!! Finally!” 

You pause, not knowing at all what to do. Your body wants to push him away, even your mind and soul wants you to push him away. But you know deep down, you’d only push him away to see if he will try again. No man has ever tried for you like this, and you need more of it. 

To feel desired after so long of neglecting this side of yourself, it’s enough to make a person lose their footing in reality. To give in to just about anyone willing to look at you the way he is right now. It’s the fact that you go out to try and find it, and even with this alone, Haechan has satisfied you more than any stranger promising to make you cum.

“I…don’t know what to say–” You stutter. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I do.” Haechan smiles, glancing at your lips before meeting your eye again. “Why not hand over the reins and relax for a–” His hand dips under your skirt, cupping your sensitive cunt in one hand alone. “Ah, I knew it.” Then, his other hand finds purchase on your chest, lifting your heavy breast in his hand with a blatant, hard squeeze.

After a sharp inhale you look away from him in shame, afraid to admit it despite the truth of it leaking through your panties and onto his palm.

“Wet.” He smiles, no longer looking at you but flicking his eyes back and forth from between your legs, and to your chest. Still, he fumbles around the wet spot, wanting so badly to lift these fingers to his mouth and taste. He’s fantasized about it, about how you’d taste, how warm it would be, what your pussy would feel like against his fingers–

And just as he’s pushing your panties to the side, pads of his fingers touching right where you need them with his eyes hooded and watching you closely, something snaps.

You push his hand away, only to feel him push back, holding you down with more force, gripping your tit tighter, sliding his fingers in before massaging the slit with a blatant moan on his lips. Then, you try again, shoving him back only to hear him chuckle and continue his antics until– you jump to your feet. It felt too good, too grounding to have him touching you like this. You nearly stumble back over the coffee table, but you manage to stand tall and firm despite the fact that even though your mind feels sober, your body is fucking wasted.

“Donghyuck.” You argue immediately, using his name the same way you did when he was a child. “Stop.” 

He throws his hands up in defense, raising his brows in surprise. 

“I–” He pauses, staring at you. “I thought you were enjoying it, my mistake.” 

It’s the fact that you were. You were enjoying it too much, and there would have been no defending your actions if you had given in to the feeling. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, fucking stupid. That’s what you are. 

Your ex husband was right all along. Out of everything you’ve accomplished since your heart was shattered, ripped to shreds, stomped on, you’d think it would take a lot more to break you. 

“You ask for too much.” Your ex husband had said once. “You can’t even stand to be alone for one day.” He had said a year or so later. Small digs on who you are and what you need sprinkled into small arguments, only to come more and more from the lips that you kissed and promised to kiss until you die. Until all of his words were to make you feel inadequate. Until everything he said to you stuck with you, forcing your confidence to bury itself six feet under. 

Are you to blame? As it stands, maybe. Why else would you be allowing yourself to consider it? Consider Donghyuck, you mean. Never in your life would you have considered him of all people to be the one that you need. 

Never in your life would you have thought he’d be interested in a woman like you, in a situation like yours, with a child. Why did that night with him stick in your head more than every single mean thing your ex husband said to you? Why did his words seem more believable? 

Because you were drunk at the time? Wet, neglected, and drunk? 

Then why is it that you’re sitting here on your day off with your beautiful, bright-eyed daughter rummaging through your purse for whatever catches her eye….and you’re thinking about him? About what he's doing right now, how he’s feeling, if he’s eaten. 

Why is it that you’ve gone the entire week ignoring his texts, asking if you need him to come resume his job as babysitter? Why the fuck do you want to accept after how he took advantage of your state of mind? After he came onto you and tried to manipulate you? 

Despite all of his words ringing true in the back of your head. That was a dirty tactic he pulled on you. Yet, still…you want him back, and god fucking dammit you could cry knowing your daughter called him “dad.” You hadn’t believed him at first, but after this week alone it slipped from her mouth several times. 

“He’s not your dad, baby, that’s just Donghyuck.” You remember correcting her more than once, and all she responded to you with was a confused expression. 

“Why not?” Is what her little voice gave back to you after her child-like brain decided it was fed up with you correcting her very right assumption of the guy who promised her the Barbie Dream House. 

Why not?

Why not?

Well, if you could have an adult conversation with a five year old it would be much easier to answer that. Because he sprayed cheese in your hair. Because you were seventeen and his babysitter when he was twelve years old. Because you ogled him without recognizing him as your pool boy. Because of a lot of things.

“Uncle Donghyuck.” You finally corrected her again. 

She shook her head, and continued doing and saying as her little mind pleased. It made you miss having a father around for her though. You think she needs it more than you do. 

And that fucking Barbie Dream house is what brings Haechan back. 

Right at your doorstep today, with a gentle knock to the door and a timid smile on his face. He doesn’t even look at you when you open the door, instead he crouches down in front of you with the big, flashy box. He ignores you, tilting himself to look past you and straight at your daughter. 

You hold your breath when she runs to Haechan, arms spread open and laughter shrieking in your ears. Your heart aches so much at this moment. 

Given your work schedule, you’d never gotten to see them interact much. He always came over as she was eating her breakfast, and you always came home after she was put to bed. You guess it’s fair that they have a bond now. She doesn’t even run at you like she does for Haechan. In fact, the only time she ever does is when she had a bad day at daycare or had a tummy ache. 

She runs to you when she needs you, but she runs to Haechan like she wants to. Like she genuinely is attached to him, and his kind smile, and his eyes, and probably that warm embrace that you’ve never let yourself experience.

You watch them, not allowing yourself to melt at the moment because you did not invite him over, nor did you give consent to bring that fucking doll house here. But you can’t say no now, as she clings to his leg when he stands up and looks at you with an almost irritated glint in his eye. 

His eyes trail all over you briefly too, as if checking for any new spots or marks that a man could have put on you. You feel seen, dipping your head to not meet his eye and scratching your neck as if to hide a spot there. There isn’t a mark, it’s just…fear? nervousness? anxiety? 

And then he hauls the box in for her without saying a word to you. You watch him hard now that his back is turned. His voice sounds so loving when he speaks to your child as if she’s an equal. Plopping down on your living room floor with her and opening the large box. 

He Ooo’s and Aahhh’s with her as he pulls each piece out, connecting the walls, the doors, handing her little things to help him with. And both of them are so focused on the task at hand to create a safe space for all of her abused barbie dolls that… you feel invisible.

For the first time ever in front of them both, you feel like you are nothing but a ghost. That he is the single parent. As if you’re forgotten, less loved, not wanted, not even needed. 

There’s a bubbling in your gut when you tear up, reminding yourself that what Haechan did that night was probably just, well, he’s a man. Men aim to fuck at all times usually, and you guess you should have expected it at one point from him because, again, you’re aware that he’s attracted to you. Even more aware now. 

But the way you feel right now outshines that. He’s ignoring you to keep your child happy. She is ignoring you because it seems Haechan does a better job at it than you do. 

And, well, he’s not holding you down, whispering things in your ear, letting out frustrated little sighs at your drunken or drowsy words now. So, you say nothing. All you can do is go to the kitchen and prepare a snack, trying to force the tears to stay inside of you with quiet sniffles, hoping you can join their little picture perfect moment so that you can be helpful too. 

Your heart swells when they both look at you as you present a plate of snacks. You have to hold back tears again at the way their eyes shine, thanking you for the snacks. Haechan’s eyes stay on you a bit longer though, as if saying “See? See what you’re making her go without?” 

You do see it. 

But…it can’t be him. As much as you wish it could be, you just can’t. There has to be another man out there just like him, one that doesn’t have a history with you that would cause whispers and questions. There has to be. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

That moment you witnessed seems to have solidified Haechan’s place in your home. Whether it be for babysitting or simply so your child can see him when she’s asking for him (which is often.) It’s kind of an issue, actually, because now the choice isn’t yours anymore and it appears Haechan knows that.

You hate that you’re forced to see him for what he is now. How he proves himself over and over again to be the man you need. The issue is that you still don’t want it to be him. The bigger issue is that he’s breaking down your walls, doing little things for you, looking at you with those dark eyes– your resolve cracks and reminds you every time he’s here that maybe it could work. Maybe you’ll give him a chance. Maybe you won’t have to go out anymore looking to fill a void that no one else fits into. 

It’s the way that now, you can’t help but to compare him to your ex husband. The man who you loved for so long, who you genuinely thought you’d spend your life with happily and safely. Now, compared to Haechan, your ex seems like…nothing. Like a little crack in your resolve. He was older than you by just two years, took care of you for so long, impregnated you, and slowly but surely throughout all that time grew to resent you too.

You still don’t know why, but perhaps it’s just because you were growing into your own. You were becoming more independent, though he never had the capability to realize just how much you depended on him during the very time he left you. 

“I just don’t want to do this anymore.” Your ex had said to you on that fateful morning. 

Your belly was big as you tried to waddle up to him when he said that. You can’t help but think back now and wonder how pathetic you must have seemed when he yanked his arm from your grip, especially due to the difficulty of your pregnancy already. You were sick through most of it, only having a few good days here or there where that pregnancy glow would make your ex husband second-guess himself. 

The slam of the door after that was more exhausting than the months of pregnancy you’d gone through. It felt loud, so loud you could hear it vibrate throughout your whole body. You recall falling to the floor and carefully holding your stomach. It’s like all of the heartbreak pooled there. The loss of your husband three weeks before he got to meet the child he was supposed to love. Her little heart must have been breaking inside of you too. 

Double the pain.

And then you were mending yourself on your own. Going into labor early from stress,  your family helped take care of you more than her. You were needier. You were broken. 

And never, fucking ever, did you think you’d find yourself sitting comfortable in your lavish home realizing that your ex-husband didn’t deserve all of that pain from you. He left you for that girl, and not two months later did she leave him. 

Never did you think you’d find yourself thinking about Haechan as a replacement either. Well, not a replacement, but like, maybe just…he’s the idea of a perfect dad if you pay attention to how your child talks about him. How they act together. How she cries for him before bed when he’s not there, asking you why you don’t read to her the way Haechan does. Why don't you sing to her the way he does? Why don't you use the same voices for her dolls? Why you don’t cut her food like he does, why you don’t do this or that.

That’s what makes it click the most you think. The fact that Haechan has given her something you never can. The love of a father. It doesn’t even feel like he’s babysitting at this point, he’s parenting, teaching her lessons, bandaging small boo-boos, fixing her hair,…cooking dinner, cleaning…existing here like he belongs.

Haechan has done more for your daughter than your ex husband ever could have, more than you could have done for her too, you think. 

Even now, as you come home night after night and see him, you struggle to see him as anyone that isn’t who your daughter needs. Maybe who you need. 

His summer semester is coming to an end too, and it’s hard to see him as a college student now. He really does coursework and everything that needs to be done at your home all within a single work day? With no complaints at all? Lately, you’ve noticed that he’s been more focused on studying when he babysits too, but still your daughter listens to him better than she listens to you. 

Yet, still, it’s like you’re avoiding each other as you go through the motions, but you notice him more. You feel more discomfort because of it, mostly because you know your resolve about this is breaking. There’s a fear inside of you that revolves around him.

What if you missed your chance? 

What if it does end up being a mistake if he still wants you?

You don’t know what to do, but you know you want him. 

Some nights, Haechan does sleep over due to exhaustion and you don’t even ask him to leave because you know he’s not doing it to try anything. The avoidance is loud. Lately, you come home from work and there he is, sitting up with his laptop on his lap but sound asleep, softly snoring. Each time, you remind yourself of how he’s sacrificing his study time to babysit. You know your child can be distracting and needy when she wants something too, but he doesn’t complain even a little bit. The least you could have done was bring him a blanket, which you did. And you woke the next morning to find him curled up on the same couch, laptop toppled over onto the floor.

Small, gentle acts of kindness towards each other but never face to face. You’ve woken to fresh coffee countless times, made exactly the way you like it because you know he’s watched you make it yourself. You’ve come home to re-stocked items, like milk and eggs, laundry detergent, and even toothpaste. It’s nice, and a small indication that he doesn’t resent you. Even through face-to-face avoidance on your part.

Tonight seemed different though, compared to all of the other nights when you can’t go out. You walked through the door to the smell of dinner and your child still awake, sing-songing at you the moment you walked in. 

“Dad said I can stay up late!” 

You quirk a brow, her calling him that now becoming a regular occurrence to the point it goes through one ear and out the other for you. You recall discussing her bed time though, with absolutely no exceptions.

“Did he now?” You hug her before taking off your cardigan, walking with her to the kitchen where you find Haechan, placing down a small plate on the table with cartoon characters on it, right in front of two bigger plates with bigger portions of delicious looking food placed neatly on it.

Your heart swells, but your anxiety grows twice as big alongside it. This. 

This is what you’ve wanted for so long. This is what you never thought you could find. So, why is it that you still have push-back in your mind? Despite knowing that Haechan has proven himself time and time again, you want to argue?! 

Perhaps it’s because you like the way he tries. Maybe you’re not ready to lose that feeling of being chased in some way, of being begged to let him stay. Maybe it’s because you begged your husband, desperate for him to keep you, but he left anyway. It feels like Haechan gives you power over yourself, over your love-life, over everything, really. 

And if you were to actually accept his advances, even just a dinner on your table, what if he stops? What if he gets bored once he gets what he wants? After all, he’s still young, you can’t truly imagine he wants to do this forever. 

Not with you, and not with your daughter either. 

“What’s all this? Isn’t it a bit late for her to have dinner?” You question him instantly, anxiety bubbling up out of assumption alone. 

“We had a small snack a few hours ago.” Haechan reassures you. “I finished my exams and had a burst of energy to celebrate, besides, it’s a Friday–” He goes to pull out a chair for you. “You don’t need to be up early either. A late dinner every now and then never hurt anybody.”

The way this is the first time the two of you have had a face-to-face conversation since…that night. His voice calms you, and that’s scary. 

You huff, happy because you could easily melt into this chair and pretend you’re having a family dinner, like you always wanted, like you never rejected a touch from him that you desperately wanted. You could just play along and pretend Haechan is everything you need. Except, it wouldn’t even be pretending at this point. The whole idea of him has changed. But, again, that anxiety. You still have that little voice holding you back, no matter what you want, or what you need, you fear it’ll be ripped from you again if you were to let yourself be weak for another person.

“I’m really tired, Donghyuck.” You explain, walking past the kitchen and towards your bedroom. “Thanks for dinner but I’m not too hungry and I just want to lay down.”

And with that, he watches you leave. No real appreciation, no congratulations on him finishing his exams, not even a kiss to your child’s forehead. Is he still expected to be the one to put her to sleep? 

Why is he even here? Why did he do all of this? 

His patience is running dry.

So, he eats with your child as your plate goes cold and he leaves it there. If you can’t even handle a dinner at the table with the person who cooked it, you can deal with your own fucking plate. Throw away your own fucking food, wash your own fucking dish. And if you can’t tuck your child into bed, he’ll do it, but you can shove that fake ass exhaustion right up your ass for all he cares. 

He knows you’re not exhausted. He’s seen you when you are. You’re just being an asshole to him at this point, trying to appear like you’re perfectly happy with the life you live when your drunken rants prove otherwise. You treat him like everything he does has an ulterior motive. Which, yeah, maybe it does, but he was genuinely excited to have someone celebrate the end of this semester with him. Maybe assuming you’d indulge him went too far. For the first time, he wasn’t doing it to impress you.

By the time Haechan gets your daughter to bed, all tucked in with a little tune to fall asleep to, he closes her door and just stands there in the silence on the other side of it. 

You must really enjoy being a single mother, huh? This is why too. He always questioned it. You’re so attractive, so well-adjusted. You work hard, your daughter is a sunshine in this world, and you’ve not managed to find anyone to love you yet? He thought he was lucky to be the one getting to spend time with you. 

Turns out, you refuse to let anyone in despite Haechan knowing, fucking seeing straight through you. You want something from someone. You need it, yearn for it, even. But it’s almost laughable at the way you refuse it. 

Excuses, excuses, excuses. 

It’s the fucking audacity you have taking advantage of him. You’ve practically led him on. You lend him everything he wants in life. That’s it. You lend it. From flaunting yourself before you go to bars, to exposing all the marks you allow other men to leave on you. Letting him stay in this house, father your child, cook, clean, mend, fix, heal. 

From being a faux-father to being minimized to a college student that you used to babysit. He’s offered you relief in so many ways including sexual, and all you fucking do is avoid, deny, fucking reject him. You still go out to bars, later and later you’ll come home with new swells against your skin, but always looking so empty and disappointed. Sometimes he thinks you try to make him jealous. Sometimes, he thinks you want him to try again. 

Sometimes, he thinks you get off on the fact that he keeps trying.

And he has tried. Albeit more gently lately, but he has. Small, lingering touches when he hands you your coat to help you get out the door and to work quicker. Starting your car for you before you leave. Fuck, he even opens the goddamn door for you. Anything to make you feel appreciated, respected, and fucking wanted.

The silence is loud in his ears due to the sheer irritation as he drops his head, staring at his feet and knowing it’ll only take a few strides to reach your bedroom. A room he still craves to be in.

He’s raided those drawers by now, because of course he has. Soiling your panties, your sheets, anything that still smells like you when you’re gone for the day, all so he can act normal upon seeing you when you come home. He’s laid in your bed by now too, wondering what it would feel like to have your weight beside him. He fantasized about anything and everything he possibly could in there.

And he’s always warmer. Always cums the hardest with weak, muffled moans as he stuffs your pillows into his mouth to keep quiet. All before cleaning every trace of himself there, closing the door, and wishing he was allowed to exist in there with you. 

Right now will be the first time Haechan enters your room to your knowledge, and it sucks for him because he has essentially trained himself to get hard every time he opens this fucking door. Still, he composes himself, and it’s a bit of a shock if you’re being honest.  You thought he’d go home after this, you were kind of hoping he would after you made it so awkward. 

You felt guilty the second you saw his expression fall to your rejection of eating dinner like a big fucking happy family. You want it so bad, you want him so bad.

When you left the kitchen, you immediately went to your room and hopped in the shower, well aware that he wouldn’t follow you. You thought hard while the hot water made attempts to wash away your feelings. Would it have been so bad to just eat with him? With your daughter? With both of them? The way his eyes fell, it burned your heart a little bit.

Still, no answers came to you because you know part of you just wants to see what else he will do for you. Despite the history with him, and despite knowing his entire family would question and scoff at you for it…Is it really so wrong? To want to give him a chance just to see if he’ll leave you too? 

Just to see if it’ll hurt when he does it too?

Inviting him to your home almost every day of the week isn’t wrong, right? Forgetting to pay him all those times before, hoping to see him again and get that confidence boost, that wasn’t wrong. Letting your daughter attach herself to him when you swore he wasn’t permanent, no longer having the energy to correct her use of “dad” towards him… none of that is wrong.

 It’s all Haechan. He’s the one in the wrong for willingly following along, not you. Right? 

And as you’re sitting on your bed in your towel, zoning out and staring at your floor, Haechan swings your bedroom door open without a single knock, mindfully closes it, and immediately goes off on you.

Somehow, you really expected him to accept your rejection but your heart swells that he didn’t. You don’t think he ever will, and you’re exhausting yourself hoping he’ll prove you wrong.

He’s shown you enough by now. This is what breaks down that wall inside of you, isn’t it?

“What am I doing wrong?” He shoots his first question out in a desperate whisper shout, eyes searing into you before continuing without a single breath. “Because I do everything for her, and i do everything  for you, does that really make you so fucking uncomfortable?”

“D–” You try to respond, feeling your skin prickle at the sheer irritation in his expression.

He’s fighting for you.

“Isn’t that what you want?!”

“After everything I do–” He throws his hands up now, running his fingers through his hair as if you make him feel like he wants to rip it out. “After trying to make your life easy while making mine harder, for what? You to not eat the fucking food I made? For you to go to the bar all the time just to come back disappointed like I’m not right here waiting for you to come back?” 

“What ar-”

“Don’t ask me any stupid fucking questions, Just answer me.” He drops his hands, stepping up to you, placing both hands on either side of your hips, doing his best not to react to your near-naked body. “Why?”

You lean back, trying to create more distance to try and give him an answer that you don’t even know yourself, but he just keeps closing in. Not letting you escape this time. You’ve never seen him so riled up before, it’s…

Well…

“Because I came onto you? Because I tried to do what no one else will do for you?” His voice shakes when he says it, and you can feel the heat radiating from him. Is he…about to cry?

Only now, seeing him so close with an entirely sober brain do you realize an answer. Maybe not to his question of why, but to the same question you’ve been asking yourself. It’s because of that look in his eye. You’ve never been able to put a word to it, but now with him demanding you explain yourself so closely, you see it.

He’s desperate. 

Arguably as desperate as you’ve felt to fill the void. Except, he’s trying to do that for you and you won’t let him out of what? Fucking fear? Hell, at this point the history means close to nothing when it comes to all the new memories he’s made in this home, even without you. The history of babysitting him, the history of your ex husband leaving you. It doesn’t matter.

You think hard, so hard that you feel your eyes burn as you stare up at him. Glancing without intention to his jaw when he clenches it, to his neck when he swallows his words, to his lips, his eyes, the hair falling in his face…and you just–

You reach up, running a soothing hand through his hair to get it out of his face. Then you see those same desperate eyes somehow grow more desperate as he lowers them, leaning into the touch, as if you’ve been starving him the same way you’ve been starved for years. He falls silent too, cutting himself off mid-question just to feel you touch him for the first time.

“I don’t know.” You say, which seems like a better answer than having an excuse. What can you say otherwise? That it’s because it shouldn’t ��be him? That you’re afraid he’ll realize he’s not ready to settle? To be a dad? He’ll ask why, and it’ll be the same answer you gave on that drunken night. An answer that you no longer care about. 

You babysat him when he was a child, but you were still a child too. 

You were still a child, and time changes things.

Your ex husband left you, and you’re afraid he will too, especially because he’s so much younger? Who cares?

Your answer seems to fly right past his head though, because he’s still leaning to feel your fingers in his hair, and he’s looking at you as if nothing you say will matter unless you make it hold some weight to him. 

“Donghyuck–” You pause, scratching right at his nape, uncaring of how you can feel your towel loosening on your body. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Somehow, his name on your lips is what he needed to hear. The tone of it, the rasp in your voice, your fingers in his hair. Actions speak louder than anything the two of you could say right now, and he can’t help it. Nothing can stop him, not even you at this point. 

He hasn’t done anything wrong you say? It’s because he fucking knows what you need.

You inhale deeply, holding your breath when you feel your back hit your mattress, his warm hands instantly taking advantage of your freshly-showered state and tugging at the towel just slightly to let it fall open. You hear a slight breath from him at that moment, an inhale. There, he climbs onto the bed, nudging himself between your legs and trapping you there under him, both hands holding your arms down.

Like he’s afraid you’ll reject him again.

“You’re going to let me take care of you now.” He demands, though to him it sounds more like a plea solely due to the fact that he’s so fucking turned on it’s unreal. That feeling of when your fingers were in his hair? Seeing your naked body? Unshaved pussy? Being in this fucking room with you? It throws him into overdrive, especially with the way you just lay there blinking up at him in surprise. The anger melting away only amplifies it more. 

How could you do this to him? Genuinely, how could you have let him fucking suffer for you like this? 

Still, you blink up as if you’re a deer caught in headlights and it makes his heart thump against his ribcage. Your eyes are so bright, that glint of sadness he had seen so many times isn’t there right now. And there’s so much adrenaline inside of him, like he needs to move fast before you change your mind again. You’ve not let him do this for some fucking reason or another and now you’re just laying here for him.

 There, with your entire body on display, and you appear to be docile. Fucking obedient? Like he always knew you would be if you’d just drop the fucking act?! You were meant for him and him alone, and he’s going to show you why.

In all honesty, you’re tired of denying yourself by now. From the moment you saw him that day cleaning your pool for the first time, you’ve wanted him on some level. It wasn’t an emotional attachment, but a hope, a fantasy for you. And when you recognized him, you were more impressed with him than embarrassed. You tried not to let your eyes wander out of guilt, out of feeling like a pervert. 

And then, that day when he came onto you, he was just a man to you. Your faux guilt kept you from letting him, and your hope to be chased kept you from it too. As if you’ve never pleasured yourself to the thought of him, shamefully in this very bed. As if you’ve never called out his name with a silent breath. If you keep going at this point, you’ll lose him before ever knowing what he could really be for you. 

This is his last ditch effort to beat you at your own game, and you’re ready to lose.

  So, now, you let yourself get lost in him. In his eyes and the way he pleads and makes his demands. He probably doesn’t recognize his strength against you right now, or how much it’s turning you on. With the way he has both hands on your wrists, probably bruising them, and there’s nothing you could do even if you wanted to. His weight holding you down feels better than you imagined. 

After so long, with so many failed hookups where you’ve told them of your daughter and all they’ve done in return is get their orgasm then leave…Haechan. He wants to take care of you? 

He wants to…give you what you need?

Fuck, you know he can. That’s the fucked up part. He’s proved it so many times to you in so many ways. You’ve watched him, the way he moves and acts around you. He’s exactly what you need.You pushed him to this point, where his sanity is on the brink of crashing. Taking it away from him again feels wrong, because it’s exactly what you want.

And when he presses his leg between yours, he knows.

“Again?” He comments, now releasing your wrist from one hand and running it down, able to slip his fingers right into the slick of your bare pussy. “You’re wet.” 

You still just blink up at him with an intake of breath at the pleasure, thoughts running left and right on what to do, finally realizing you don’t want to do a damn thing. He’d do it all if you let him. Clean your house, be a father, fix all of the breaks, make you wet.

And you just feel him, the way his fingers play around with what he does to you. You can practically feel his confidence rise at the way you spread your legs a bit more, as if to give him more access. When you look at him, his expression remains harsh, but slowly he moves himself down, lips brushing over one of your nipples while keeping eye contact.

Still that irritated look, like he’s mad you haven’t let him do this before now.

“How many times are you going to pretend like I’m not the one who gets you wet?” He asks before rubbing circles around your clit, tongue flicking in the same way around your nipple. “Like I don’t have a right to take care of you?”

Your breath is still caught in your throat, trying to be careful about what you say right now despite knowing you can’t speak. You focus on what he’s doing instead, losing yourself to something you’ve not felt in far, far too long. 

He’s right. He’s gotten you wet more than once by now. More than he knows. 

And goddamn, he knew your tits could bounce, but the way they move without the support of a bra, the plush, soft feeling of your nipple growing erect in his mouth, all for him to bite and pull at. He does it too, listening to the little seething sound of pain from you when he pulls all the way back with your nipple between his teeth. Only to let it fall from his mouth and break eye contact with you to see the jiggle as it falls.

His cock twitches, at everything that you are right now, feeling more pleasure through seeing you like this alone compared to fucking his own fist on your bedroom floor. He notes how your legs squeeze him more at the nipple stimulation than his fingers too, memorizing the way your labia falls open between them. He smirks, flicking his tongue more, quicker. 

There. There it is.

A low rumble in your chest falls from your lips. Soft, a moan. A very small, delicate sound.

“You like this?” Haechan asks, looking up at you, letting his tongue fall from his mouth again and flicking the erect nub. “When I play with your tits?”

You nod, throwing an arm over your face in embarrassment that this is actually happening. You’re letting him. Already you feel yourself heat up more, even when he takes his fingers away from your clit and instead, uses them to flick your other nipple. 

And he does this for a few minutes. Paying special attention to your tits, going back and forth with his fingers and tongue to each bud, trying so hard to not stop just to shove his cock between them and use them the way he’s always wanted. He focuses on drawing out more and more little sounds from you instead, slurping his own saliva from your painfully erect nipples, pulling back, blowing cold air, then warming it up again with his lips. All while simultaneously groping, flicking, and pinching with his other hand. 

“Jesus, Haechan–” You moan quietly, chest rising and falling as he squeezes and licks against you. 

That’s right, say his name. Let him fucking know he’s doing what you like. Haechan thinks, feeling his cock weep in his pants as he does it. Wondering just how sensitive you are to be reacting like this to simple nipple stimulation. God, he’s wanted to suck on these for so long, and now you’re letting him. They’re so big, so plush. He wants to fucking cover them with his mouth, he wants to bury his face in them, kiss them all over them. 

And if they were to get bigger? He moans at the thought, remembering that conversation you had with your mom. You want another. He bets they’d swell up–Oh, fuck yeah. They’d probably hurt to rub against your shirt. God, fuck, he can’t control his thoughts right now.

 Finally. 

Fucking finally, he has you and he’s not going to let you run away again.

He doesn’t fucking care if it’s forward. He wants what he wants, you want what you want. That want just so happens to line up. Besides, he’s already proved himself to you, he knows it. If you’re letting him do this, maybe you’d let him stay like this. 

“Did they get bigger?” He moans briefly as he swaps to your other nipple again. “So full, so heavy, were they leaking all over you?”

You listen to him, trying not to feel the pit in your stomach bubble with even more arousal at his blatant and dirty words, feeling your clit throb at the stimulation your tits are getting right now. 

“Makes my dick fucking throb just thinking about it. Fuck–” 

“Let me give you another,” He mumbles now, almost mindlessly before looking up at you with an intense gaze as he bites down, indicating that he’s not mindless about it at all. 

“Swell you up, make you glow–”

Oh. 

Why is that– why are you dripping?

He hears that moan you let out. Different from the others, almost desperate.

“Mm, yeah.” He encourages it, now allowing his hand to travel back down to witness how much wetter you’ve gotten at those words. So messy, so perfect. “Knew you’d want it raw.”

You can’t help the nod, as it comes before you even process his words solely because you feel his fingers slip inside of you. You haven’t been this wet in so, so long. You want to feel it. To be full again, of anything. Of him.

“Ye-” You start, interrupting yourself with a bite of your lip and your eyes rolling back. 

“That’s right mama,” He coos, tilting his fingers up and amplifying the pressure inside of you. “Gonna let me take good care of this pussy, yeah?” He adds, lifting from your tits and ghosting his lips over yours. 

He watches you closely, that daze in your eye. God, you look so horny right now. There’s nothing more he wants than to see this time and time again. To let you wake up every morning with his warm cum inside of you, to see your belly swell with his child, to see your tits grow until they hurt. 

He’d take care of you. He’d take good fucking care of you. 

“Say something.” Haechan whispers against your lips, darting his tongue out against your lips, angling his fingers up and making you moan. “Say you want me to give it to you raw.”

You open your mouth, feeling his tongue lick and swallow up that moan you just gave him before you try to compose yourself. You can’t help it, you’re so, so sensitive right now and you can’t help but find it incredibly sexy to be here, laid bare, while he’s still fully clothed.

Like he really is doing this for you. He’s not trying to get his own orgasm and leave. You’re weak and those words of “let me give you another” shines in your head. Weak, you’re weak. You should be thinking about condoms, you should be thinking about the consequences of this. 

But you’re not. 

You do like it raw.

“Haechan–” You stutter as you try to grasp the reality of his words, feeling his fingers repeatedly hit right where you need it. “I’m…not protected.”

He moans. Loudly, before huffing out an irritated groan.

“You must really want it then.” He narrows his eyes at you. “Going out all the time trying to get fucked–” 

He plunges his fingers in again, deep, and holds them there as he pulls back to look at you. To really look at you, then he glares.

“You’d really let just some fucking dude give you a baby?” 

You repeatedly shake your head. 

“No!” You retort, thrusting your hips up. “I just–”

“Mhm,” He pulls his fingers out now, sliding himself down so fast that you can barely comprehend him sucking your clit into his mouth before pulling back in a moan at the taste of you. “If mama wants another, daddy will give her one.” He says now, as if to pacify you.

As if to give you everything. 

And you’d argue, really, you would.  You want another child so bad, but this is– it’s too soon. You haven’t even established a relationship with him yet. Boundaries haven’t been discussed. His college plan– but fuck it’s not entirely your fault that you’re like, super turned on by the idea of it. To the thought of being so filled with cum that there’s no possible way you couldn’t end up pregnant. An indication that, no matter what, no man at a club could fulfill the arousal for you even if they cared to do it. 

You’d never have let them actually fuck you raw. 

Haechan though…how can you keep telling him no?

How could you reject him again when you want it so badly? 

Fuck now, think later.

“Yeah–” You say against your better judgement, hands reaching down to his hair so you can grind up against his mouth, lost to the arousal as you mimic what he referred to himself as. “Daddy?”

You feel his mouth fall slack at that, as if you’re accepting him in full now. You feel your clit hit nothing in his open mouth, but it throbs harder. 

 He knew you were slightly into him for letting him do this at all, but now, you’re truly accepting it. Like you know he’ll fucking do it, like you want him to fucking do it.

“That’s right,” He moans against your clit as he licks at it, barely able to comprehend your voice calling him that but clinging to it all the same.  “Gonna let daddy do it all for you.”  

Yeah. You are. You’re gonna let him do it. All of it. 

And then, the room is enveloped in quiet moans, more from Haechan than from you due to your breath being stuck in your throat. His tongue, licking every part of your sensitive cunt, his hands reaching back up to your tits, fondling, pinching, painfully tugging at them as he moans louder, louder, louder for you to want him.

He presses his hips up and against your mattress as he tastes you, so deeply it hurts his cock to neglect it like this. Each rub feels raw, twitching and pulsing to be let out, to be inside of you, on you, against you. Filling you up with his cum, plugging it in as a promise that you can’t leave him even if you wanted to. 

He’s going to fucking do exactly what he said he would. 

And only when you feel his tongue lap against your hole do you finally release your breath, “Daddy” coming out in a choked back sob. It breaks him, his body going into overdrive as he pulls back and just– stares at you with wild eyes. 

You stare back up at him, knowing that calling him that means something more than a cringe little roleplay kink. It means something deeper to him. He wants to be a dad, a real one.

“Oh yeah?” He finally says, hands going straight to his button and zipper. 

You can’t help it, biting your lower lip as you blink up, watching his shoulders move, the veins on his arms protruding as he rushes to pull it out and– oh. You moan at it, the way his heavy, slicked up, cock falls out, dark, needy. 

“Daddy–” You urge him on, knowing that it’s driving him absolutely insane. 

“Mhm?” He shuffles himself off the bed, letting his pants drop as he lifts his shirt off of him and fucking glares at your tits. “You want daddy’s cock?”  He adds now, shooting his eyes up to you as both of his hands land on your legs.

Your mind goes blank when you feel him slide his hands around to the back of your thighs, pushing your legs forward, curling you in on yourself, forcing your pussy to be out and on display for him. 

And you watch him, the way he stares down at it. It’s embarrassing to be so seen right now, not having expected to get fucked open by anyone tonight, let alone him. You probably should have shaved or something, or like, not gotten out of the habit in the first place. But he moans at it, mouth falling open at the fact that you are entirely a fucking woman. 

A fucking mother.

The prettiest pussy he’s ever fucking seen let alone tasted.

And he moans, breaking the silence, forgetting only for a moment how long he’s been wanting this. It boosts your confidence more than you’ve ever felt. His reaction to this is more than your ex husband’s reaction to you when you were pristine and borderline pornstar quality. 

Haechan doesn’t see you as used and neglected, he just sees you. And this. This is the pussy he wants. This is what he wants to put his baby in. 

When he flicks his eyes back to you, with that same open mouthed expression, it knocks the breath out of you. There’s so much love in his eyes, or maybe lust, you don’t care. You think you’re matching that expression for him too, because it’s like he can’t hold back anymore. He can’t just sit and look at you anymore. 

He just can’t.

And you feel it, his thick head pushing past the tightened, pulsing hole and not stopping. He pushes in slowly, painfully slow, to the point you’re both looking at each other with a slack jaw. Finally. The pain of it, the pleasure, the fucking need you’ve been trying to fulfill. 

That look on your face drives him wild too, he knows he has you by now. You like it, you love the way he slides in and makes damn sure you feel it. Every second of the slide pries you open, and he wants to remember this moment forever. He wants you to fucking remember too. 

Wants you to know that no one will ever fit inside of you so perfectly, so deeply.

When he finally bottoms out, he leans forward to keep himself buried deep as he ghosts his lips over yours. He feels the way you try to kiss him, but he pulls back with a confident smirk. 

“When was the last time you’ve felt a cock so deep in you?” He whispers hotly, knowing you need not answer. Knowing you won’t answer, not with the way you’re instantly lifting your head and kissing him. 

Your pussy pulses around him when you lick into his mouth, the first real kiss sending his heart soaring. He twitches inside of you with each squeeze, and kisses you harder, deeper. And somehow, it brings tears to your eyes. 

The way he kisses, the way he makes you feel him. Fuck, the way he makes you feel whole, so wanted, like you’re amazing to him. In more ways than just a body to fuck, but he’s stuck around despite all of your avoidance and rejections. You hope you’re making it worth it. 

Fuck, you need to feel worth it to him.

“You’d better not fucking pull out.” You groan through a breath, his lips still kissing you through your words as he finally pulls his hips back, fucking in once. 

Hard.

Honestly, could you have said anything else at this moment? He’s trying to make this last, he needs it to last. If you keep fucking talking, saying everything he’s ever wanted to hear– 

“Fuck,”  He moans, his hands moving up to your cheeks as he licks into your mouth. “You can’t–”  He continues, fucking in again, moving your body up with each thrust do to the sheer force of him trying to plunge in as deep as he can. “You can’t fucking say that to me right now.”

You’re seeing stars though, unable to say anything else as your eyes roll back at the way the head of his cock practically kisses your cervix with each push into you. He’s so rough, so desperate for it. 

You don’t think he expected you to respond either, with the way he keeps his lips on yours, his body pressed so closely that having your legs to your chest means nothing to him now. Mating press be damned, he’s lost his mind to the feeling, not the aesthetic of being a fucking dad. 

Your legs wrap around him instead, and he’s all too happy to feel it. Your legs hug him the same way your arms do, the same way your pussy does, and he’s fucking in love with you. 

He braces one hand back against your leg, holding it against his hips as he continues to fuck forward, still at the same pace. Deep and with purpose. Every few seconds the bursts of pleasure run through him, making him shiver and moan into your mouth. Little grunts, near whimpers for you to let him give you the world. 

More than this. More than fucking, more than taking care of you, more than anything he could ever possibly give you. He’ll find a way. 

And then, you’re clenching hard, matching his near-whimpers except moaning in full pants, babbling and drooling cries against his mouth. 

“Mama–” Haechan soothes, continuing his pace as he tilts his head back to get a good look at that lost gaze in your eyes. “You’re crying?”

You nod with a laugh, tears rolling down the same way the wet of your cunt slips down your ass. You’ve never felt so good, so fucking full.  And for some reason, that does him in. Making it last be damned, he genuinely thinks he’s won you over. He can make it last next time, he can do more next time, he can–

He leans back all the way now, onto his knees as your legs try to hug him back to you, and his eyes go straight back to those tits. The way he made a promise. The way they bounce, slick with his sweat from pressing against you. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” He grunts in a breath, now quickening his pace and snapping his hips. Pulling out all the way briefly to plunge into your again. “Can’t get any deeper–” He continues, flicking his eyes from your face, to your tits, to that beautiful pussy of yours swallowing him up. 

Now his eyes roll back, hands going back to your thighs to push you back into position. No way in hell can he last, not at a pace like this, inside of a woman like you. 

“Don’t pull out.” You repeat again in a breath, seeing his face and the way he focuses solely on you. You know he’s going to cum, and you want him to. You want to feel it, every single fucking drop of it. 

“Yeah?” He nods his head with laser-focus on your pussy now, staring down as he points tight, short thrusts inside of you. “Momma wants my cum? Hm?”

Oh, he’s fucking gone.

“She likes it?” He continues to talk himself up. “Likes being so fucking full of it? Yeah?” 

Goddamn, fuck, he’s insane. 

“Yes, daddy–” You whisper-shout, fingers shooting to your clit, other hand raising to your mouth to silence the moans as to not be too loud. 

“Fuck, yeah you do.”  He lets out a near growl, his voice low and rumbled as he slaps your hand away, pressing hard on your clit with his thumb as he buries himself in you once more and stiffening his abs. “That’s right.”

And instantly upon feeling him pulse, that first spurt of cum painting your insides, you lose yourself with him. Your fingers drop from your mouth and you release a pornographic moan for him, rutting yourself against him, as if to fuck it deeper into you. 

It only prolongs the orgasm though, for both of you. 

Haechan is silent, trying to keep his eyes open through the pleasure as you pulse and squirt around him, his thumb pressing so hard  into your clit, his cock cumming so deep, filling you up so well– He wants to see it. Wants to watch you fall apart for him. Wants to witness the way you let him do this. 

And he holds himself there, so hard and so full of pleasure for you. Keeping himself practically impaled against your cervix until your body falls slack. Still, he fucks it into you, holding you in place with a softer moan now. No longer guttural or deep from his chest. His breathing is rough, a soft, near feminine moan leaves his lips as he falls forward onto you. 

You wince along with him at the sensitivity, panting, a sweating tangle of a mess the two of you have become. And it’s the fact that it’s the first time you’ve ever gotten off at the same time as someone else. You feel…soft. 

Your hands find their way to his hair as his face squished against your tits while he regains breath, not daring to move his hips because your pussy is too warm to leave right now. You brush the sweat-slicked hair out of his eyes, running your fingers all the way back to his nap, and then slowly down his back to rub and scratch.

He shivers at the feeling, humming the same feminine-tone he had released previously. And all he can do is hear your heart thumping against your chest, even through these soft tits of a pillow he’s lying against.

Haechan never wants to move again, not from this spot, ever. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“You know I’m in love with you, right?” Haechan mentions briefly after a long moment of silence, looking up at you with his wet hair. 

Deep in the night, your food still cold and on the table, you’ve found yourself freshly showered and on your living room couch with Haechan’s head on your lap. He made sure to have stayed long enough inside of you to implant…something if it was going to happen. So he didn’t argue a shower, and you didn’t argue letting him join you either. 

He had washed you, gently running his hands between your legs with what you can only describe as the softest, most alluring face a man has ever given you. Like he won the lottery, or found the answer to eternal life or something. You repaid him by letting him admire your tits again while you jerked him off, but that’s besides the point. 

“Like, I’m not going to leave. I hope you know that.” He adds with a soft groan to your hands still in his hair. His new favorite thing. 

You look down at him, hand moving to his cheek as the words hit you in the chest.

There’s anxiety along with happiness, at all of the boundaries and serious conversations that will need to be had now, but still, you feel like you’re glowing when he looks at you.

He didn’t even have to say it, and arguably you probably don’t need to say it back either. You think he sees it in you. Even if he didn’t, you think he’d take anything you give to him and cling to it. After all, it only took one time for you to break entirely for him. 

“Are you now?” You smile with a chuckle, looking back to the tv and pretending to watch it. “Well, that’s good. Otherwise I’d be making you go get a plan B or something.” 

His eyes narrow at you.

“Like hell I’d let you, even if I didn’t love you.” He groans. “But I do, so don’t ever say that shit again.”

You chuckle, feeling the calm in your home that once felt so chaotic. It’s quiet now, both inside and outside of your head. 

“Congratulations, by the way.”

He looks at you with question, quirking a brow.

“For finishing your finals, I mean.” You smile, going back to petting through his hair and feeling like you’re on top of the world, despite what you assume to become half of your world lying his head on top of you. 

“Oh, right.” He smiles, now turning his head to watch the tv. “I probably failed them.”

You don’t believe that, but even if he did, you think you could be what he needs too. He wouldn’t have to work if he didn’t want to.

If he’s really in love with you, all he’d have to do is…not leave. 

“Are you sure you want to be having these conversations with me? You can just call it a hook-up.” You finally say, hoping he means it, knowing it breaks your heart a bit to give him an out. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m going to trap you here just because I’m a little smitten too.” 

Haechan glares, blinking up at you.

“I literally just tried to put a baby in you.” 

That’s fair. 

“And you’re not going to run off? Get cold feet?” 

“Can you stop doubting me and just let me do what I want for once?” He argues playfully. “Do you even know how much that barbie fucking dream house costed me? I couldn’t run even if, for some stupid ass reason, wanted to. I love her too.”

Silence for a moment.

“Maybe even more than I love you.” 

You really, really, want to believe him.

So, you do. 

[monamipencil]

when strawberries bloom (teaser)

“When the strawberries bloom, I'll be by your side.”

premise. mingyu is content with his life in the capitol as a victor, although he's haunted by the images of the nightmare he lived ten years ago. but all that comes to an abrupt stop, when he discovers that you—his greatest demise had been alive all this time.

content. hunger games! au, victor! mingyu, f! reader, pseudo major character death, hints of trauma, mingyu is a blink away from alcohol poisoning, capitol shenanigans, mentions of og hunger games characters, this is set in the period of second rebellion, slow burn, jealousy, both of them are in denial, fight scenes, friends to lovers (?) to strangers to enemies (it's one sided) to ???, angst, fluff, crack, smut. heavy fruit metaphor, yearning, pining, happy ending.

warnings. will be added in the fic post.

word count. tba.

release date. around december end.

author’s note. this is a part of the ‘catching fire’ collab hosted by @vitaminkyeom. i'm very excited to write this and share with you guys. though i'm barely done with fic, i thought i'd put out as a teaser to fuel me to finish it. and pls feel free to come to my inbox and scream abt this fic <33 send an ask to be added to the taglist !

Mingyu controls a deep sigh as yet another woman presses herself against him in the name of dancing. He fakes his gaze, pretending to be enamoured. The strong perfume she’d used makes his head throb, and irritate his nostrils. 

The woman whispers sultrily, “I can’t believe I got you all to myself tonight.”

She flutters her eyelashes at him, her hands playing with the tie of his masquerade mask. It only covers the lower half of his face—a skillfully sculpted skull mask, lined with golden chains. He avoids looking at her, eyes darting all over the room to find something to fixate on. 

His lack of attention doesn’t seem to faze the woman as she only steps in closer. He bites his tongue and focuses on the details of the mansion. Gold painting lines the ivory walls that are basked in the dim lights of the party now. Grand, maroon curtains hangs by the arched windows, slightly swaying as the wind flows in. 

Awe turns into confusion which is replaced by disappointment when his eyes land on a glowing liquor fountain. But if he’s really honest, he’s a bit intrigued and his tongue feels dry, aching for the bitter taste of alcohol on it. 

Another shift of his eyes lands on a familiar lady, adorned in a black gown and dancing with an old man. He recognizes you as the lady from the balcony though your face is now obscured with a masquerade mask. Relief floods through his system, if he had to catch another glance at your face, his heart would stop beating once and for all. 

But as Mingyu had discovered long ago, things never really go the way he wishes them to. You turn your head, catching his gaze. Heat floods his cheeks and all the oxygen trickles out his lungs. He sucks in a sharp breath as you maintain eye contact. He doesn’t realise that he had stopped dancing till the woman whines. The sound prickles his skin, sending a shot of annoyance through him. 

All the voices around Mingyu drown out, turning into a mere buzz. A vine wraps around his heart, its thorns puncturing the gentle muscle. He watches as you shift your attention. Your beautiful lips curving into a smile, reacting to whatever the man had said. Your body leaning towards the old gamemaker, drawing attention to your cleavage. Rage courses through his veins along with another feeling. Jealousy. 

The feeling is foreign to him and he can’t even deduce why he’s jealous. Or, he knows why he’s jealous but even that mere idea seems incredulous. Still envy coils in his gut, rattling its tail at him and mocking him. Your eyes land on him again, and his heart skips a beat. 

Just then, the song switches, carrying a seductive note. Soon, the woman is whisked away and not even a second later, you end up in his arms. His hands skate down your silk gown to the small of your back and he pulls you flush against him. The proximity makes your breath hitch and you place your arm on his shoulders, swaying to the notes. Your breaths mingle together, body heat diffusing into one.

Maybe it’s the alcohol in his system or maybe you look too much like her, but he doesn’t find it in himself to care. With a sudden craving of intimacy, he holds you tight against him and the other intertwines with your left hand as you both sway to the flowing music. 

Any rational thought is chucked out his mind. The more he looks into your eyes, the more you look like her. In contrast to his prior wish, he wants your mask gone now. It obscures most of your face, cutting off near your right cheekbone to expose your right eye. 

He brushes stray hair aside. His soft, manicured nail beds caress the exposed skin off your face. You tighten your hold on him, doe eyes staring up at him with something he can’t pinpoint. His heartbeat quickens, a strange nostalgia permeates the air. Mingyu swears that this has happened before, a sense of deja vu fills his veins. 

Before he could comprehend his own actions, he undoes your mask. The sultry note tunes out into nothingness and the world seems to have stopped spinning. The mask hits the ground with a clank that gets muffled in the shock of the revelation. 

And there stands Kim Mingyu with his long lost lover and best friend who’s supposedly dead. 

You mirror his expression, horror staining your face as you shuffle to retrieve your mask. All while he stands still, going over the millions of possibilities. Why and how are you alive? Or is this a sick joke that someone is trying to play on him? 

You try to slip away from him, but he catches your hand, stopping you in your tracks. His grip tightens when you try to pull your hand away. His fingers brush over a bump on your skin, drawing attention to it. His eyes land on a scar that runs from the palm of your left hand to your wrist. 

Just then, you free yourself from his grip and escape into the bustling crowd of the party, leaving him alone. Though the mansion is filled with hundreds of citizens, an impermeable bubble seems to surround him—as if no one had witnessed what had occurred. It makes Mingyu question whether you’re real or if he made you up, like a mad man. 

send an ask to be added to the taglist !

[joeyfranchise]

𝟙𝟚 𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕗𝕚𝕔-𝕞𝕒𝕤: 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕥𝕖𝕟

last christmas, i gave you my heart

ex!joe x fem!reader

note: (& kinda summary) SURPRISE! i said cindy lou didn’t have a part two but…. how could i spoil it for you? here’s what happened after the instagram dm, from joe’s perspective.

word count: 1.3k.

warnings: more sadness, hurt feelings, joe isn’t really an ass but he has poor decision making skills… etc. this fic is sfw but minors please do not interact with my page.

song inspo: cindy lou who by sabrina carpenter and lips of an angel by hinder.

joe didn’t really care about likes or comments on instagram.

he didn’t care to post too much either, regardless of what it was, because he preferred staying private and in his own lane. sure, he posted brand deals on there, the occasional game day fit or victory post, but he wasn’t one to flaunt a relationship around… not until today.

the christmas eve festivities were in full swing, and joe and his new girlfriend, along with his parents, were spending the evening together. they’d been to dinner, stopped by a few local places and eventually ended up at a rec center to watch a local christmas play.

when it was over they decided to take photos out in the hall, where the archway was decorated to the nines and the lighting was absolutely perfect for those warm, christmas-y shots.

joe and his girlfriend posed together alone, and then with his parents, and then they each took photos alone. once the photos were sent to him, he vetted through them carefully, selecting which ones he should post.

in his mind, he knew what he was doing was wrong… but in his heart, he wanted to know if you still cared. he wondered what you were up to this christmas. he assumed home with your family, maybe out with your sister. that’s something he knew you’d missed doing since you’d spent the last few christmases with him. he hoped you were able to go with her, that your holiday still felt special.

it didn’t. he didn’t know you didn’t go home to your family, that you were sat on your couch ready to drown in your wine glass and cry over a heart-breaking christmas movie. he didn’t know you were all alone there with him on your mind.

but in a sick, sick way… he also hoped that you were thinking of him, too.

joe posted the photos to his instagram with no caption, but he made sure to tag his girl. he slid his phone into his back pocket before joining back in the conversation she was having with his parents. his mind lingered on you.

joe wasn’t a cheater - nor would he ever be. he really enjoyed having his new girl around, and he didn’t know if he was in love yet, but he knew she felt like she could be right for him.

he sat with his thoughts for another hour before he checked his phone again. in the time since he posted the photos he laughed and talked with his company, holding his girlfriend’s hand and smoothing his thumb over her palm soothingly.

when he slid his phone from his back pocket and opened instagram, he had a multitude of notifications. family, fans friends.

but he looked at the likes anyway. it was wrong of him, toxic of him to hope you’d seen it… but you had. and you liked it. his chest began to feel tight.

why did he do that to you?

when you and joe broke up, it was all him. he knew it, you knew it. you were still completely in love with him. it made him physically sick to think about.

joe’s issue was… he still loved you too.

around the time of your break-up, things were incredibly tense. he was injured, he was in the roughest mental place he’d ever been in, and despite your valiant efforts to help him work through it, all he ever did was push you away. he continued to treat you poorly out of anger, and out of love you stuck by him.

he should have thanked you for that.

joe didn’t think he was falling out of love with you per se, but he wanted a break. he wanted space to find himself again, and though it completely broke you, you agreed. you would never force yourself into his life, not if he didn’t want you there.

he knew you thought you were the problem, and no matter how much he tried to explain you weren’t, you didn’t listen. he knew his actions weren’t conveying that he loved you, and that’s what forced the wedge between you… so when you split, there was never a reconciliation.

joe never reached out to you because he was afraid you’d reject him after all the pain he put you through. you didn’t reach out to him because you were convinced he was done with you, that he didn’t love you anymore.

when he met his new girl he was in a better place, and she was sweet. she was kind, beautiful, she had a heart of gold. she took his breath away, he hadn’t felt that in a while.

they started seeing each other casually before diving in head first, and he knew she loved him. he was getting there. but he still needed to let you go. the air in the room was getting hot, and although it felt like he’d been on his phone for an eternity, it was just a few minutes.

the hallway was full now, people who were in the play and family friends gathered around. his parents were chatting with the neighbors, his girlfriend was talking to one of the stars of the play. he looked around his periphery to make sure nobody could see him click your profile, and quickly he tapped your message button and typed something out.

joeyb_9: merry christmas, y/n.

he pressed send. his heart was hammering against his chest. his parents and his girl didn’t seem to notice. he didn’t expect you to answer so quickly. his breathing felt shaky as he saw you typing.

y/n: merry christmas, joe. i’m so happy for you.

the room began to spin. joe was getting hot. why why why. why did he do this?

he made a quick impulsive decision, against his better judgement. the voice in his head told him to stop, don’t do this. but his heart had to know. he excused himself quickly, claiming he had to make a work call.

he stepped outside of the rec center, the cool december air felt hot on his newly flushed skin. he closed the instagram app, clicking on the phone app and dialing your number. ring ring ring.

you answered.

“um… joe?” you asked. your voice sounded groggy, like you’d just fallen asleep.

“fuck. i’m sorry. i don’t know why i called.” he admitted. he ran his hand over his face.

“are you— is everything okay?”

“it’s fine. i’m… fuck. i’m sorry. i hope you’re having a good holiday. i guess it just feels weird not to be with you.” he doesn’t know why he’s telling you this. in the building behind him, his girlfriend is laughing with his parents. she’s having a lovely holiday. and joe’s outside, on the phone with his ex.

“it is weird. but it seemed like you were having a good night based on your post. go back to whatever you were doing, please. i can’t do this.” he heard your voice crack. he imagined your face. he knew your hand was probably clamped over your mouth, he heard you start to cry.

“fuck, y/n. i’m so sorry.” he says. he feels like he’s going to cry too.

“don’t be upset for me, joey. you’ve got a beautiful girl in there. i saw the love in your eyes in those photos. don’t fumble this one, okay 9?” you told him through tears. hearing you call him that felt like a slap right across the cheek. he missed what you used to have.

he felt sickly. he knew he was probably as white as a ghost. you were right… but he needed the closure.

“thank you, y/n. i hope you’re doing well… and uh, it was good to hear your voice.” he said, scratching at the back of his head lightly.

“yours too, joe.” you said, and then you hung up. he heard the door to the rec center open and turned around, coming face to face with his girlfriend.

“you alright?” she asked, coming down the short steps to caress his cheek. “i’m okay.” he said. he put on a smile and let her link their arms before he walked back inside with her, leaving the last of his feelings for you outside in the freezing winter air. he was thankful that you let him go, and now he could finally let you go too.

all photos and dividers used are not mine. cred to owners.

taglist: @slimshiesty @starsinthesky5 @joeyburrrow @kykysinlovewithafairytale @burrowdarling @joeyb1989 @loveyatopluto @toterry @unhingedfangirl @superheroprincess22 @burreauxsworld @definitelynotdomanique @samanthamark5 @superstarshitblog @fa1ry03 @wickedfun9 @xbriexx @venic-bxtch @burrowdarling @angels555 @idbe-theman @yelenasbraid @ladyluvduv @joeburrowshaircurl @joeybisbootiful @livinobx @blairsworld22 @jarring-behavior @yomamaslays4lyfe @gazebotori

[woso-story]

2 Much

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Based on the song '2 Much' by Justin Bieber

Alexia lay on her side, propped up on one elbow, staring at you beside her. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the early morning sun sneaking through the curtains, casting a golden hue over your sleeping face. Your hair was tousled across the pillow, your chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, completely at peace. Alexia’s heart swelled, and she couldn’t help but smile. How could someone so perfect be lying here, in her bed, in her life?

She reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, careful not to wake you. Her fingers lingered for a moment, grazing the soft skin of your cheek. She often found herself wondering how she got so lucky, but mornings like this hit her harder than usual. Watching you sleep, so unguarded and serene, felt like a privilege—a glimpse into the purest part of you.

Alexia’s mind drifted, unbidden, to one of her favorite memories. You were out with her teammates, laughter and music filling the air, the kind of night that felt infinite. You had been on the dance floor, hair down, moving with an ease and freedom that seemed to defy the chaos around you. Alexia had been rooted to the spot, utterly mesmerized. She’d forgotten to blink, let alone breathe, because in that moment, she knew: This is it. This is where I’m supposed to be.

Her heart raced just thinking about it, even now. The way you lived your life—with so much love, so much care—astounded her. Whether it was your family, your friends, or the weight of your demanding schedules, you somehow carried it all with grace. Yet, you always made time for her. It was as if you had a way of stopping the world, just for her, even when it felt like it was spinning out of control.

Alexia looked at you again, taking in the delicate curve of your jawline, the slight upward twitch of your lips, even in sleep. She thought about the first time you met—really met—and how she didn’t realize at the time she was meeting the biggest blessing of her life. All those nights spent praying for a love like this, and now here you were. God really had done something extraordinary.

She thought about how often she told you, “I love you,” over and over again, probably too much for you to fully process. But she couldn’t help it. Every time she said it, it felt like the first time, and it was never enough to capture how she truly felt. Every syllable of your name was music to her ears, a melody she could play on repeat forever.

And those nights—those quiet, intimate nights—when your head was resting on her chest, the sun already peeking over the horizon. Alexia could never bring herself to sleep. She didn’t want to miss a single second of this—of you. She would rather fall in love over and over again than waste even a moment in unconsciousness. When you weren’t near, it felt like something essential had been taken from her, as though two seconds apart stretched into two unbearable months.

She sighed softly, leaning down to press the gentlest kiss to your temple. Even eternity wouldn’t be enough, she realized. If she had every day, every hour, every second with you, it still wouldn’t feel like enough time to show you how much you were loved.

You stirred slightly at the touch, your lips parting as you let out a small sigh but didn’t wake. Alexia smiled, her heart aching in the best way. I don’t want to miss this, she thought, letting her fingers trace invisible patterns on the sheets. I don’t want to miss a single moment of loving you.

Alexia settled back down, her head close to yours, her eyes never leaving your face. She whispered into the stillness of the room, words just for you:

“You are my everything.”

[meazalykov]

woman at the bar

ellie carpenter x reader

summary: why does the woman on the field look so familiar?

the bar is alive. the clinking of glasses, and the low thrum of music vibrates through the dimly light space. 

you’re seated at a table in the corner, nursing a drink that’s gone lukewarm in your hand. your sister and her friends are immersed in their usual routine—flirting with men, laughing at jokes that aren’t particularly funny, and tossing their hair in exaggerated movements meant to catch attention. 

this isn’t your scene. it never has been. it’s not that you hate being here, but the dynamics of the night are predictable and, frankly, uninteresting to you. you’re a lesbian, after all—there’s no thrill for you in the possibility of a man’s attention.

still, you came along for your sister’s sake. it’s her city, her life, and you’re here visiting from halfway across the world. the least you can do is play along.

you lean back in your chair, scanning the room, your eyes flitting over faces without much interest—until they land on her.

a unfamiliar woman who is sitting at a booth by the bar, her posture lazy and confident in a way that demands attention. her legs are spread wide in a deliberate manspread, one arm draped over the back of the seat while the other holds her phone. the blonde hair catches the light, a messy halo that frames her sharp features. 

she looks so at ease, like she owns the space without needing to try.

you can’t stop staring. there’s something magnetic about her, something that makes the noise of the bar fade into the background. her friend, another blonde (lindsey horan), stands up and heads toward the dance floor holding hands with a brunette man, leaving her alone in the booth. 

she doesn’t seem to mind. if anything, she looks even more comfortable now that she has the space to herself.

your gaze lingers longer than you intended. her eyes lift from her phone, catching yours. for a moment, you panic, ready to look away, but she doesn’t give you the chance. she holds your gaze, her lips curving into a small, knowing smirk. 

it’s subtle, but it sends a jolt of electricity down your spine.

it feels like permission.

before you know it, you’re standing, setting your drink down and weaving through the crowd toward her. each step feels heavier than the last, nerves building in your chest, you don’t stop though. the pretty eyes stay on you the entire time, her smirk widening just enough to keep your courage alive.

when you reach her, you clear your throat, suddenly unsure of what to say. 

“salut,” you manage, your french smooth but slightly accented. 

“puis-je m’asseoir ici?” (can I sit here?)

she raises an eyebrow, her smirk turning into a grin. “you’re australian, aren’t you?” she says, her voice lilting with an accent that mirrors yours.

you blink, caught off guard laughing as you took a seat beside her. 

“uh, yeah. how’d you know?”

she leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table. 

“your voice. it’s all over your french.”

you laugh, the tension in your chest easing. 

“guess i’m not as convincing as i thought. mind if i still stay here anyway?”

“be my guest.”

the leather is cool against your legs since you’re wearing a skirt. up close, she’s even more striking. her features are sharp and defined in a way that makes her look like she stepped out of a painting. 

she’s effortlessly beautiful, and it’s almost intimidating.

“what part of australia are you from?” she asks, her voice casual as she leans back again, her arm brushing yours.

“melbourne,” you reply. 

“and you?”

“cowra,” she says, the corner of her mouth quirking up as she waits for your reaction.

you grin. 

“cowra, huh? small-town girl in the big city.”

she laughs, a sound that’s warm and rich and makes your stomach flip. 

“something like that. what brings you all the way to lyon?”

you explain about your sister, how she moved here a few years ago for work, and how you decided to visit for a few months. she listens intently, her eyes never leaving yours, and you find yourself relaxing under her gaze.

“what about you?” you ask. 

“what’s a girl from cowra doing in lyon?”

she shrugs, a playful glint in her eye. 

“just… life, i guess.”

her answer is vague, but you don’t push. instead, the conversation shifts to lighter topics—home, travel. there’s an ease to it.

at some point, you end up sitting closer to her, your thigh pressed against hers. her arm is draped over the back of the booth, her fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder as she talks. every touch sends a spark through you, and you wonder if she feels it too.

when her hand lands on your thigh, resting there like it belongs, you know she does. 

“you alright there?” she asks, her voice low, teasing. her fingers flex slightly, a deliberate movement that makes your breath catch.

“yeah,” you manage, though your voice betrays you with its shakiness. “just fine.”

her lips twitch, and before you can overthink it, she leans in, her mouth capturing yours in a kiss that’s as confident and deliberate as everything else about her. her hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer as your hands find their way to her shoulders.

 it’s intoxicating, the way she tastes, the way she feels under your touch.

you’re so lost in her that you don’t notice the world around you until someone calls your name. you pull back groaning in disappointment, your lips tingling, and turn to see your sister’s friend standing a few feet away, looking frazzled.

“i’m sorry but it’s your sister,” she says, her voice urgent. 

“she’s outside, and she’s not doing well.”

you glance back at the blonde and see the understanding in her eyes. “go,” she says softly. 

“she needs you.”

“do you… live here?” you ask quickly, desperate to hold onto some thread of this moment since you hope you will get to see her again.

she nods. 

“yeah. do you?”

you want to say more, but your sister’s friend is tugging at your arm, pulling you away. you barely have time to throw the blond an apologetic look before you’re swallowed by the crowd, the warmth of her touch fading with every step.

the olympics come around a few months later. your sister, ever the planner, scores you tickets to australia vs. the united states in paris. the seats are incredible—close to the field, where you can see every detail of the game.

when the australian lineup is announced, your heart skips a beat at the sight of the woman from the bar.

you had to do a double take, rubbing your eyes carefully. there she is. the same blonde hair, the same confident posture. it’s her.

your phone is in your hand before you realize it, googling her last name you see on her shirt when you see her turn around with her back facing yours from the field. 

“ellie carpenter.. defender for the matildas. plays for lyon”.

it’s her. you’re not sure whether to laugh or panic, your heart racing as you watch her move with the same ease and confidence that captivated you months ago.

the game is intense, but australia loses, their olympic journey ending in disappointment. as the players begin to disperse, you can’t take your eyes off her. she lingers on the field, her expression somber as she hugs her teammates.

 then, her gaze sweeps over the crowd and lands on you.

for a moment, she freezes. then, slowly, a smile spreads across her face. she starts walking toward you, weaving through the crowd until she’s standing just a few feet away.

“fancy seeing you here,” she says, her voice light despite the weight of the loss.

you laugh, shaking your head. 

“i could say the same to you.”

“what, are you stalking me now?” she teases, her eyes sparkling.

“hardly,” you reply, though your cheeks flush. 

“this is the first time i’ve seen you since… well, lyon.”

her smile widens. “so, you remember me.”

“hard to forget,” you admit. 

she leans against the barrier, her gaze softening. 

“i also forgot to get your name?”

“y/n.”

“pretty name,” she says, her voice dipping slightly. 

“you back in lyon anytime soon?”

“yes, tomorrow actually,” you say. 

she goes over to her jacket on the australian bench, pulls out her phone, then jogs back to you and hands you her phone with much confidence. 

“put your number in. we’ll make sure this doesn’t take months next time.”

you do as she asks, your hands shaking slightly as you type. when you hand it back, she glances at the screen, then back at you. 

before you can anything else, your sister calls your name, telling you that the driver is here. ellie steps back, giving you one last smile. 

“see you around, y/n.”

masterlist

[thesummerstorms]

There's no way at least a few of the Crows gathered for the show down in the Opera House didn't look at Lucanis and Arsinoë de Riva and pick up on the fact that they were involved, even if both parts of the couple thought they were hiding it like professionals.

Most likely, those Crows perceive this as Viago's attempt at a power play.

They're wrong; he's in the corner gritting his teeth and silently begging Arsinoë to stay under the radar for once in her life. Openly attaching herself to the first Talon as a romantic partner makes her a target. That's a complication for House de Riva as a whole, one the Talon part of Viago is already complaining about dealing with, but also in general he wants Arsinoë to live.

(Dellamorte spouses companions do not tend to live long, healthy lives.)

But to the traditionalist Crows' outside point of view, it makes sense for Viago to make a power play through his protege. In his handling of the Illario situation, Lucanis has just exposed the fact that he can, in fact, be manipulated by a soft heart. The way they see it, if Viago then manages to place his protégé as Lucanis's lover and House de Riva as his ally, much less if Arsinoe eventually marries Lucanis and they have children, then Viago will have a considerable amount of influence over the First Talon and the whole of House Dellamorte through her.

Hell, if Arsinoë and Lucanis have children, then after a couple of carefully placed accidents, Viago could even place House de Riva in the seat of first Talon by declaring that his protégé's children belonged to their mother's house.

I cannot stress enough that this is the opposite of what Arsinoë, Lucanis, and Viago all want. Arsinoë doesn't even want to be a mother under regular circumstances, much less as part of an entrapment scheme, and no amount of calculation would ever make Viago use her that way.

But Crows are Crows, and the traditionalists especially do not believe that the more "Reformist" houses like Cantori and de Riva (and now Dellamorte by virtue of Lucanis) don't have some long game they're planning.

So in an a not entirely unexpected move, a few of those Houses send their own agents, their best or most beautiful or most charming, to try and make Lucanis a "better offer" as it were.

Again, this isn't entirely unexpected. Viago can't do much directly without putting more spotlight on Arsinoë or confirming things that he doesn't mean, but Caterina still holds the real power at this point. She deals very harshly with anyone she catches in the attempt.

Arsinoë is a little upset at the disrespect towards her character, significantly more upset that Lucanis has to deal with it, but ultimately stays out of it except comforting Lucanis and deflecting any attempts made in front of her. Maybe the occasional bout of poison, since they've made up their minds about her relationships and reputation either way, but generally it is what it is unless she can spare Lucanis discomfort directly.

Lucanis can't help a certain level of emotional "what the fuck", even though Caterina warned him and Illario extensively growing up that Crows from other Houses might try to romance or bed them as a power play. Illario had responded to that by turning the strategy back on anyone who tried it, not to mention his regular contracts; Lucanis had never thought it would be relevant to himself.

The attempts are upsetting in what they reveal about how outsiders perceive him (weak, easy to manipulate, yes, but also potentially unfaithful which is much more infuriating) and Arsinoë (who's being slandered/minimized). They're also just generally uncomfortable and annoying. Yet he doesn't actually have the power to make them stop; professing his love for Arsinoë doesn't change the perception of those involved. It just puts more of a target on her back.

Spite is honestly the most pissed though. He doesn't even entirely get what's happening. The emotions bleeding over from Lucanis are confusing, even if he's growing to slowly understand emotions outside his domain from his attachment to his mortal host.

He does, however, understand that these other humans are INSULTING his human and their Rook, trying to separate them as if they aren't both Spite's, and trying to hurt them besides.

Spite has many, many ideas how to deal with an insult and a threat. There's a growing risk that one day Lucanis might be fed up enough to agree.

[softspiderling]

✦ . * red hearts, red hearts (social media au) | m.d

summary: despite a tremendous defeat in your personal life, you don't let it get in the way of your professional one. but you swore off dating, at least for a while. even if the adviser of your new movie is really cute.

pairing: miguel diaz x reader

author’s note: don’t EVEN okay😩 this has been occupying my mind like crazy, so i had to do it. as usual, reader/yn will have no face claim but instead diff diverse girlies to represent her. @katcoquette don’t look too closely girl

add. info: let’s talk timeline! this takes place several years after the sekai taikai where miyagi do have won. everyone’s finished college and it takes place in 2024, so most characters are in their early twenties🫶🏼

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

liked by demit, pennbadgley, jennaortega and 879.931 others

youruser IT: Welcome to Derry bts photo dump🤩 Final season out on Netflix NEOW🗣️

view all 4.219 comments

ynsbaby 😭😭

codychristian proud of you baby

➞ youruser ❤️

madelyncline Miss Isabelle was that girl #GirlBoss

➞ youruser she and Sarah Cameron would make an unstoppable duo

haileesteinfeld season four was a thrill, you really gave Isabelle life

➞ youruser love you Hails

foreveryn my fave season BY FAR!!!

ynismyqueen okay but when are we seeing you on the big screen again? 😫

────────────

your phone:

liked by madelyncline, sabrinacarpenter, torynchls and 839.211 others

youruser onwards and upwards

view all 3.499 comments

obsessedwithyn wait

haileesteinfeld prettiest girl❤️

➞ youruser ❤️

foreveryn it’s giving single girl

madelyncline bomb🤩

➞ youruser ily

astroprincess yn in her single era

ynsnation my girl is finally FREE

codychristian dramatic

liked by larussam, demit, rob_keene and 2.421 others

migueldiaz peek-a-boo

view all 21 comments

elihawk clever use of the convex mirror

➞ migueldiaz putting that stanford education to good use

rob_keene is that my camera??

➞ migueldiaz ... no

torynchls literally come by the dojo if you have so much time on your hands

➞ migueldiaz fineeee

liked by antoniasworld, codychristiansbae, champagnepapi and 23.019 others

codychristian whatever i will play your villain

view all 4.121 comments

averyynchristmas seriously?

jennyes you’ll never be a villain😘

ynsteaparty bro is unable to read the room

thiam_lore 😍

teenwolf15 Cody’s giving Theo energy

foreveryn im so glad yn got rid of you

► COMMENTS ON THIS POST HAVE BEEN LIMITED

────────────

youruser unfollowed codychristian

liked by jennster, graces, madzz and 98 others

definitelynotyn me after dating a guy all my friends told me was bad news

view all 103 comments

madzz i’m sorry bby

➞ definitelynotyn it’s fine, i’ll get over him

↳ madzz ... by getting under someone else..?

↳ definitelynotyn absolutely not 🙅🏻‍♀️ no MEN for the foreseeable future

haifeldsteinlee take you out for froyo next time you’re in LA?

➞ definitelynotyn yes❤️ might be sooner than u think

↳ haifeldsteinlee 👀 work or play?

↳ definitelynotyn work🤭

shortandsweet you have ALWAYS been out of his league, girl

➞ definitelynotyn kissing you

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: what're your thoughts so far??? 🤭 very minimal miguel so far but I need to set the base of the plot, I promise he'll (and the rest of the ck characters= make more appearances in the next part!!! also, what's your favorite cameo??

[darling2411]

A Bullet wound and a friendly stranger

Jason Todd x reader

word count: 1.2 K

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"Damn it!" he groans in pain. How did this happen? Obviously someone shot him, but that never happened.

He is a trained killer. No one should be able to take a hit at him, he was gone before anyone could even notice him being there in the first place.

But the steady trip of crimson blood running down his arm left no doubt that he got hit, but how did someone find him?

It didn't matter he had to get his wound cleaned and he really had to leave the dark alley before someone found him in the company of two dead bodies.

The dark haired man stumbled out of the alley and into the busy streets of the city, leaving behind the death that he caused. It was as if he stepped into another world. The sun breaking through the thick clouds made the city's glass buildings shine as bright as  the stars in the night sky he was used to seeing. Jason was so blinded by the lights that he accidentally ran into an oncoming woman, who seemed to be deeply involved in the book she was holding. 

"Oh gosh I am so sorry" the beautiful girl states, "I wasn't paying attention at all, totally my fault." Her smile was even brighter than the city lights.

He saw her lips move but didn't hear the words they were forming. She had really pretty lips, and her eyes ,whoa her eyes were beyond beautiful, they were magnificent. Jason decided then and there that they were his new favourite sight.

"Are you alright?" she asked after he didn't react to her former statement.

"I´m sorry, I-", what was he supposed to say? Sorry that I didn't answer because I was too busy staring at your gorgeous face?, "I was lost in thought. Sorry that I bumped into you." why was he suddenly so nervous? He didn't get nervous.

"Like I said before, it was totally my fault." she said while taking him in. Her eyes widened when she noticed the blood dripping down his arm."Oh god you´re bleeding. Let me help you clean that up. That's the least I can do. My apartment isn't far."

"How could I deny a beautiful woman like yourself inviting me to her home?", he replied, a smirk playing on his perfectly kissable lips.

She was even more beautiful when she blushed and he loved that he made her.

"Come on."

The walk back to her place was quiet, filled with stolen glances and the occasional brush of his fingers against hers. He couldn’t stop seeking her presence.

"You can sit down wherever, I´m going to get some stuff to clean up that wound." she says while walking through the door, Jason close behind.

He decided to sit down at the kitchen table not wanting to get blood on her comfy looking couch.

Her apartment was full of life. Everywhere you looked  parts of her life were displayed.

Framed photos with family and friends, pictures of places she visited, books that adorned every place she could fit them. She was the exact opposite of him.

Where she was light he was dark, where she was joyful he was grumpy and where she was life he was death.

When the woman whose name Jason still didn't know returned he was reading in one of her books.

Had she been gone that long? Without him noticing she looked at him again really looked at him. Taking in his bulging biceps. His gorgeous face and soft looking hair. Then she realised what he was holding in his hands that looked so much bigger than hers.

"What are you doing?" she squeaked. He had opened one of the books that laid on her kitchen counter, she had just read it this morning and forgot to return it to it´s righteous place. He didn't think anything about it. Though it was a harmless romance novel, the titel `Twisted Games` definitely deceiving. This was not a simple little romance novel.

"Crawl to me " he was hooked from the very first words on the page he opened and then the spicy stuff came. He couldn't stop, he just wanted to read a few pages until the pretty woman returned but now? He couldn't put it down and additionally he was turned on.

"Don´t read that" she stomps over to him, her face flushed with embarrassment. As she glances at the page he is on her eyes widens and if possible she blushes even more."Oh god, why did you have to open that book at that page" she says more to herself than him. Is she ashamed? Huh.

"Why? Don´t want me knowing about the filthy things you read about?", Jason leans closer," Tell me pretty girl, do you only enjoy reading these things or do you also like to be treated that way?" His voice dropped and he could see her pulse quickening. Could hear her breath hitch. He was attuned to every little thing she did. Painfully aware of how close she was and how good she smelled. Vanilla and was that cherry? Whatever it was, it was intoxicating and it made him want to do filthy things to her. Things like the ones she reads about.

"I-"she stammers, "I think, uhm" she closes her eyes for a second, inhales and then opens them again to directly look at him ," I think I should take a look at your wound before it turns into something serious."

He watched her as she cut off the sleeves of the tight shirt he was wearing. Eyes widening when she saw the ugly flesh wound the bullet left. That was going  to leave a scar, another one in his collection. He felt incredibly stupid not to wear his red Hood suit and mask today.

"How did that happen", she asks him, concern evident in her voice and on her face.

"Don't worry about it, pretty girl." He didn't want her knowing who he was what he didn’t and he definitely couldn't let her in on his secret. That would surely cost him every chance he ever had at getting to know her better.

"[y/n]" she mumbles, hands busy disinfecting his wound. “Now you don’t have to keep calling me pretty girl.”

"[y/n] ." he tries out her name on his tongue. It sounded perfect. She also liked the way he said her name. As if he hadn't done anything else in his life. It sounded so familiar. “ I like calling you pretty girl”

"Does this hurt?" [y/n]  asks, instead of acknowledging what he said. 

"Not really"Should he hiss, act like it hurt? This little wound was nothing against everything else he had had to endure before. "I mean it burns and everything but it's not as bad as it looks."

"If you say so. I think you have a high pain tolerance. I'm sure I would be crying by now." she laughs. Shit, why did she have to say that? Now he was thinking of her with tears streaming down her face but in a different setting.

Her body writhing under his, tears of overstimulation streaming down her face and her soft voice begging him to stop and keep going simultaneously. 

God what was she doing to him? He never reacted this way to anyone. He was always in control of his emotions, never really feeling anything. It was a part of the job. And [y/n] made him feel more in the half hour he spent with her than he felt in the last months of his life.

A weird feeling emerged in him. He wanted to feel more with her, wanted to keep her around. Needed to be around her. What was this indescribable feeling swelling deep in his chest? He did not know, but he would learn soon enough.

ⓘ This is my first time writing for Jason and I'm more of a Marvel girly so I dont know thaaat much about the DC Comic Universe, but I am trying my best😭

[apoptoses]

So I think there's a real world point and also a meta point here that serve as some kind of explanation, and unfortunately (in my opinion) the real world issue holds the greater weight on why Lestat is the way he is.

In America, we (sadly) really don't study French literature. The great American novel forms the backbone of most schooling, and then the British greats, and more recently scattered works by people who belong to minority/oppressed groups in the US. People know basically of the Count of Monte Cristo, the Three Musketeers, and Les Mis. And most of those because they've been made into films or stage shows. French philosophy is a fairly niche category one would only encounter in college, if then, or via encountering someone well versed in it who introduces them to those works.

(French history that's not exclusively Louis XIV, Marie Antoinette, or the French revolution? Forget about it. We don't learn any of that in school, except in brief mentions, and for the hobby historian French history books are pretty much limited to those topics)

For Anne, who grew up Catholic, those works would have been even more narrow. The Catholic Church has a list of 'banned' works which would tempt one into sin, and during her childhood Dumas and the Count of Monte Cristo was actually on it. Her awareness of Roman and Greek history was due, in part, to the fact that those cultures have biblical ties and thus history books about them were okay'd by the Church.

Then on top of that we have her admission that she struggled to read until sometime after college. Why, she doesn't really say, except to say her mind 'wandered' when she was assigned to read in school (which imo points to possible adhd considering she did take adhd medication later in life). And so she struggled with all reading to the point she didn't actually finish reading some of the works required for her master's thesis. Finishing a single book by Dickens, which she did love, took her over a year. Most of her early knowledge of literature came from stories she heard read over the radio or by her parents. And her later knowledge, which she had at the time she was working on iwtv, was that which she was assigned to read in college- which again, was mostly American and British works.

Which makes the blurring of her and Lestat all the more relevant here: Lestat himself does not learn to read until he becomes a vampire, and even then we don't see him mention reading at all until sometime after his return from Paris. At that point he picked up detective novels which, like Anne, he'd first heard read aloud on the radio.

And so like many underprivileged people who learn a skill later in life and then feel shut out by those who'd known it from their youth, I have to wonder if Lestat himself didn't feel some kind of way about reading and literature and eschewed reading for a good while after picking it up. His own mother knew of his desire to read, even read in front of him, but never shared literature with him and didn't push back against his father when he was brought home from the monastery, where he might have learned to read some.

That's a great wound right here and I wouldn't be surprised if for a time he felt derisive of French literature and those who were well read. Lestat was one of those harecatcher lords, aristocratic in blood but not in daily life, an outsider to the group he technically had the right to be a part of. Anyone who grew up like that would be liable to reject those things valued by those who spurned them, or those they feel like they're outside of. I can picture him in iwtv times sneering at Louis for picking up a book by Dumas and refusing to read it himself, though he very well could have, and mocking him for being a backwater intellectual.

(And sure, in iwtv he knows Shakespeare- but was he reading it, or did he pick it up the way he picked up his lines for his own plays? By hearing them over and over again?)

And you're right, him being so admiring of the British doesn't really make sense at all, unless you look at it from the angle that his pop culture awakening came at a time when British was synonymous with cool in the US. And by that time Lestat doesn't really seem to care for France at all (and why should he? He experienced mostly pain during his brief time in that place, much like Armand has little positive memory of Kyiv: it's all overshadowed by his kidnapping and loss of homeland)

So it's funny because despite his past in some ways Lestat is the most American of vampires. He embodies the American ideal of an immigrant who sheds their nationality, takes up the English language, and submerges themselves in American media. And via that Americanness he can be anything but also in some ways be nothing all at once.

I'd love to know what he read after his return to Auvergne and the establishment of the Vampire Court, and if he returned to his 'roots' so to speak. But sadly he's too busy dealing with kidnappings and replimoids for us to hear much about that lol

Armand, Haussmann, and Paris:

The thing about Paris that's not really discussed in the VC books themselves is the Haussmann project.

In 1853 Napoleon III commissioned Haussman to completely renovate Paris. The plan was to tear down all of the old structures and rebuild the city; reorganizing the streets and reshaping them to accommodate more green spaces, and replacing smaller buildings with taller apartment blocks in more uniform style.

The Paris Armand knew when he arrived as the coven master and which he came to know as the theater leader would have looked something like this:

Dark, winding streets leading off wide boulevards and short, leaning buildings.

The Haussman project would see all of these places systematically torn down, occupants removed to other areas of the city while new buildings were put in their place. In some areas workers were destroying and rebuilding things 24 hours a day.

At this time Armand would have been living at the theater on the boulevard du Temple, Paris's street of theaters:

This dagguerotype shows the boulevard in 1838. This painting, in 1862, looks much the same:

But by 1863 all but one theater on the street had been destroyed, and that was only because that theater was on the opposite side of the street shown in the painting. How and why it wasn't pulled down, I don't know- no information on it seems to exist, just like no explanation for the very small handful of other old structures that were left untouched.

That theater, the Théâtre Déjazet, still exists today. But it was established in 1770 by Comte de Artois, so while it could have been Anne's inspiration for Armand's theater it's not the 'rickety wooden rat trap' that seats 300 that Lestat describes in TVL.

Anyways, knowing all of this, I think it makes even more sense why Armand so quickly grabbed onto Louis and was ready to run away with him at any cost.

Armand, who'd been kidnapped from the monks, who'd had his palazzo torn out from under him, who'd established something of an existence under Les Innocents and was then ripped out of that world when the cemetery was destroyed. Who was watching the city he'd finally come to know get systematically torn apart. Everything that was familiar to him was being taken again.

So why not let Louis burn the theater? He arrived in Paris in 1870, just as Haussman was dismissed. But the work of destroying and rebuilding Paris was set to carry on. Chances were the Theatre de Vampires would be next, and if that were the case there's no way the crypts beneath the place would remain safe and undiscovered.

And if he'd stayed where would they go during the renovation? What would they do? What would the point be in continuing trying to run a coven he was bored of and a life he didn't care for in a new location?

Armand was going to have to begin again somewhere- better that be with Louis, out in the world, than roaming a now unfamiliar Paris. And even though he didn't burn the theater himself, allowing/instigating Louis to do it still gave him more control than letting a stranger come in at some unpredictable moment to demolish things all over again.

(And what of Lestat, what does he feel about these changes? He never could have shown Louis the Paris he knew and loved, which existed when Louis was still mortal- that Paris was largely gone)

Chances were Anne might not have known most of this at the time she wrote interview or even TVL. But I think it still makes a lot of sense and brings up a point about Armand and immortality that I don't see brought up much- that not only do vampires lose every mortal they've ever known, but with time they also see the destruction of every place they've ever known or loved.

(ps: I'm not an expert on this topic or anything, so if anyone does know why some buildings were unchanged or has any interesting historical info to add by all means please, reblog and add it on!)

[paimonial-rage]

in another life - xiao

the steambird's secret santa for @swordfish-ii | i tried to make it cozy and angsty but i'm not sure if i succeeded. i hope you enjoy!

“Do you ever think about what we’d be doing if we were born human?” You asked as you gazed up at the sky. It was beginning to snow now. Not heavily, no. It looked as if snowflakes were fluttering across the sky, dotting the torn landscape. 

Xiao followed your gaze as he sat beside where you lay. Wounds and bruises littered his skin and torn were his clothes. The spear in his hand was embedded into the earth, the only thing standing before you both. 

“I’ve… never considered such idle musings,” he replied. 

He was tired. So tired. 

You laughed, though paused midway to cough up the blood threatening to drown your lungs.

“Really? Not once?”

He shook his head. “I don’t see the point in thinking about things that can’t happen.”

You sighed.

“Always so serious,” you pouted. “Well, I like to think about things like that. For example, I bet Brother Bosacius would be a construction worker. Or maybe a blacksmith, you know, with his muscles he’s so proud of and all. And Brother Menogias would be leading the Liyue fashion industry, obviously,” you began, humming in thought. “I bet Rex Lapis would still order clothes from him, even if he was human.”

“I can see that.”

“And Sister Bonanus? I bet she’d be a model for Brother Menogias. Ironic, considering how they ended in this life. I can see her flooding his workshop with all the long pretty dresses she adored.”

“Sister Indarias… I don’t know what she’d be. A business woman, maybe?” You mused. “She was always the fiery type.”

As you spoke, Xiao kept his eyes on the sky, tracing the snowflakes that fell. He didn’t look at the decimated surroundings. Away from his view was your battered body and broken bones. And the memory he held of the frenzied battle against each other just minutes before was out of sight. How you managed to get a brief moment of lucidity from the cancer that was karmic debt was beyond him.

“You… you would be a Wushou dancer,” you began, your voice weaker. “Or some kind of performer part of a troupe, known for your skill and agility. You’d wow the crowds with your acrobatic stunts, I bet. And as for me… I don’t know. Perhaps a normal civilian.”

You coughed again, softer this time. No doubt your eyes would start losing their focus soon. He didn’t have to look at you to know. He’d seen it so, so many times before. 

“And somehow… we’d all be friends, even though we’re so different,” you finally said, a smile evident in your voice. “Brother Bosacius would play pranks on you like usual. Sister Bonanus and Sister Indarias would stay up late chatting about makeup. I’d be begging Brother Menogias for a new outfit. Everything… like how it should be.”

It was quiet between you both now as you stared at the sky. It was beginning to snow heavier now. Soon the evidence of your madness would be lost under a blanket of white. 

“Do you…” You began, your voice wavering for the first time, even weaker than it was before. There was not much time left now. “Do you think our next lives will be happier? And that… we will all be friends?”

“I… don’t know.”

That’s all he could say. Though your words painted a beautiful picture, they weren’t reality. The truth was often less kind than one would hope for. And the last thing he could do was lie to you. You deserved more than that.

“But…”

If you wanted honesty…

His gaze finally turned back to you. There you lie—bruised and battered, bleeding from your wounds, and still as beautiful as the day he first saw you. But gone was the light from your lovely eyes. You would speak no more.

His eyes shut as he let out a tired exhausted sigh. Then, he turned his eyes back up at the sky.

“If… if it did turn out that way… I suppose I wouldn’t mind.”

[fangdokja]

When devotion turns to madness, no one is safe—not even the one he loves.

❤︎ Synopsis. A sugar daddy arrangement spirals into a twisted nightmare as a calculating, sadistic man grows dangerously possessive. Luxury becomes a gilded cage, and love is warped by jealousy, manipulation, and obsession.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Sugar Daddy x Reader

♡ Novella #1. Bye, Bye, Bye - Part 6

♡ Word Count. 882

The room was drenched in a heavy silence, the kind that crept into your lungs and settled like smoke, suffocating and thick. Only the faint, uneven sound of her breathing punctuated the stillness, her body limp and pale against the disheveled sheets. She had finally passed out, her defiance spent, her resistance broken—at least for now.

He sat at the edge of the bed, his chest heaving, his hands trembling as they rested on his knees. His gaze lingered on her, the rise and fall of her chest, the way her hair splayed across the pillow like a halo of defiance even in sleep.

And God, he hated her for it.

His fingers twitched with the urge to touch her again, to trace the bruises blooming along her neck and wrists, each one a mark of him, a testament to the claim he’d staked on her. His. She was his. He had made sure of it tonight.

But the jealousy still burned, an inferno roaring in his chest, its embers stoked by the memory of her lips on another man’s, her body moving toward someone else. It was maddening. He had never thought himself the jealous type—how could he be, when he had always been the one in control, the one who held the power?

And yet here he was, consumed by it.

The image of her kissing that bastard played over and over in his mind, a loop of pure agony. He could still see her, her mouth soft and pliant against another’s, her body tilting toward his touch. The way she moved, the way she smiled—it wasn’t meant for anyone else. It was meant for him. Only him.

His teeth clenched, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he fought the surge of rage clawing its way up his throat. He reached out, his fingers grazing her arm, trailing down to the bruises he’d left there. The skin was warm beneath his touch, soft despite the marks marring it, and he felt a sick sense of satisfaction as he traced each one.

“These,” he whispered, his voice a low rasp in the quiet room, “these are mine. You’re mine.”

She didn’t stir, her body too exhausted to react. It was the first time he’d seen her like this—vulnerable, unguarded. Even in sleep, she usually held herself with that same cold, untouchable composure, her features smooth and unreadable. But now? Now she was raw, stripped bare of all her defenses, and it made something primal twist in his chest.

He leaned over her, his breath brushing against her skin as he pressed his lips to her shoulder, to the hollow of her throat, to the bruises blooming like dark flowers along her collarbone. He kissed her like a man possessed, like he could erase every touch that wasn’t his, every memory of anyone else who dared to claim her attention.

The thought of her with other men still lingered, a poison coursing through his veins. He could see their hands on her, their mouths pressing against her skin, and it drove him to the brink of madness. He wanted to rip them apart, to wipe every trace of their existence from her life.

No one else had the right.

No one else could understand her the way he did, the way she infuriated and fascinated him in equal measure. She was a storm, wild and untamed, and he was the only one who could weather her.

He pulled back, his hand sliding up to cup her face. Her lips were slightly parted, her breaths shallow and steady, and he felt his pulse quicken at the sight of her. She was beautiful, even now, even with the marks of his rage etched into her skin.

“You think you can run,” he muttered, his voice low and venomous. “You think you can slip away and leave me behind. But you’re wrong.”

His thumb brushed over her lips, a soft, almost tender gesture that belied the storm raging inside him. He hated her for making him feel like this, for stripping him of his control, for turning him into something he didn’t recognize.

But he also loved her. Obsessively, desperately, in a way that felt more like a sickness than an emotion.

He pressed his forehead against hers, his breath shallow and ragged. “You’ll never belong to anyone else. Do you understand that?”

The silence of the room swallowed his words, but he didn’t need an answer. He knew. He had made sure of it.

As he sat back, his gaze lingered on her, on the marks he’d left, on the way her body seemed to mold itself to the bed, to him. He reached for the edge of the blanket, pulling it up to cover her, as if the gesture could erase the violence of the night.

She was his.

And he would destroy anyone—even her—before he let that change.

[fynnlink]

First of all: Thanks and Merry Christmas / Happy Holidays to you too.

My first response was to your framing it as not having any answers to the points you brought not that said answers maybe weren't satisfying or "enough".

And I in no way mean to argue against your "being pissed off" since it's a valid opinion especially if you like Aaravos a lot. So if I in turn offended you I apologise; I merely mean to discuss and engage with the media.

Now on to the important stuff:

I agree wholeheartedly with the point regarding "external" material (outside of the main series) but I think one of the issues TDP suffers from most is too much lore/story having to be squeezed into short, 9 episode seasons which is a shame as the world building is my favourite part of the series. Thus the need to use other ways to communicate parts of the story or lore. (The image of Ziard for example and the monologue/story attached to it are freely accessible but the point stands)

Having certain expectations even "high" ones is of course more than justified and feeling upset/unsatisfied when those expectations aren't met is too. There are quite a few plotlines which have developed in a specific way or not developed at all, that have disappointed me after waiting for answers since 2018. (Damn I've started this series at 14. That hiatus, seriously, never again please)

When exactly did Zubeia say that? Or are you referring to her lines in S4 E4? Because I wouldn't call the results of Aaravos' actions/involvement before his imprisonment Revolutions but rather Civil Wars / Unrest and I think her line "A Startouch Elf, one of the Great Ones, respected and loved by all until we discovered long-hidden treachery." is more of general statement than referring to her and the Archdragons. And the crime he was punished for was being responsible for Queen Aditi's disappearance (though no one knew what exactly happened to her until Aaravos told Khessa and then Janai found out) thus causing the tensions between the Elves and Dragons to boil over and also depriving the Archdragons from ending their succession conflict peacefully. (I'm hoping that if we get Act 3 we finally actually learn about the Orphan Queen.)

As to the severity of Aaravos' punishment it is quite literally the only punishment pissible as murdering him would've just had him return at a later point and imprisoning him in any other way would be nigh important due to his immense power both in terms of magical ability and persuasiveness manipulation.

I wholehearted agree that the involvement of both the Orphan Queen and the Jailer is less than adequately explained. Like you said it makes little sense to 1) believe a random human who at the time was probably young too and 2) to entrust the entire imprisonment process to another human one who was supposedly very mysterious. It would also be interesting to know whether or not the Jailer used Dark Magic or just other means like a primal stone or inanimate objects like gemstomes.

I don't think Aaravos had enough power (as in political influence not magic) to do anything against Sol Regem overtly. As even back then Anak Arao was THE dragon prince (Aaravos calls him that in S6 E9) so one of his parents was mostly likely the current regent during Leola's childhood 2000+ years ago. And back then Aaravos seemed to live a humble(r) life away from the heavens on earth with Leola and had no sway on the council. (Though it is interesting that The Merciful One apparently cared enough about Aaravos to comfort him above the Sea of the Castout). The entire story isn't resolved but Aaravos playing the long game was him drawing it out. He, at least in part, is responsible for humans learning dark magic and thus for Ziard "blinding" Sol Regem, Aaravos was also probably involved in whatever caused Sol Regem to get angry enough to indirectly kill Aithne Solaire as Aaravos even knew about it. This to me at least is reminiscent of Aaravos' incredible quote about surviving such a terrible wound (losing a loved one) and thus suffering forever. Aaravos didn't directly attack or kill Sol Regem to prolong the Archdragon's suffering and since he knew how to easily manipulate and use Sol Regem to further his own plans. Never throw away something that could one day prove useful. It took barely any work to get Karim to do exactly what Aaravos wanted and then to use Pharos to direct Sol Regem against Katolis, Viren and Aaravos' imprisonment. (A bonus benefit which in my opinion Aaravos also planned for is that this further turned Claudia on this "dark path" when she was just beginning to question/regret it)

Personally I don't think Aaravos' line was supposed to single out Zubeia from the other Archdragons as the only/main one to BETRAY Aaravos. Both the Archdragons and Aaravos call what happened back then a betrayal (Rex Igneous' line about "Not long enough, Betrayer") the Archdragons for Aaravos' manipulations and Aaravos for the imprisonment. It's simply that she's the only one who was involved when he says it and he's addressing her and not the others in the beginning of his conversations via posessed Callum. And Zubeia has proven she's ready and willing to fight when necessary (the standoff with Rex Igneous, her fighting against the corrupted Banthers in the great bookery and her attacking Aaravos in the finale)

When does he differentiate between Zubeia and the other Archdragons, he has the lines about Zubeia being "ravishing" but back when he tells Viren about Avizandum imprisoning him him only mentioning Avizandum is, in my opinion, just the series trying to keep it simple and even in a watsonian sense Viren proved just moments prior that the names of the Archdragons aren't known to him. And he does seem to enjoy her suffering by making her face Avizandum in the finale.

Regarding the Staff of Ziard that's why I amended that Aaravos had taken the Staff not necessarily that he had stolen it.

I think the Starscraper might function as the Star Nexus and thus draws in a semi-religious following and it's made up of other Elves since the Startouch Elves "don't intervene" which is probably what inspired that part of the Celestial Elves' culture. As to why it's Skywing Elves, earlier it was said that only winged Skywing Elves live there before they changed it. Again in lore this change probably happened because some elves at the Starscraper were born without wings. But yes it is something they could expand upon hopefully if Astrid sticks around the Dragang.

There was at least one more Startouch Elf around during the division of Xadia and expulsion of the humans to the east. (Visible in the opening of S1 E1 next to what is either Queen Aditi or her daughter. And they look distinctively different from Aaravos)

100% agree. Elarion has fascinated me since the poem was first translated and has only grown more and more interesting since. It's probably too big/important and needs to be the main focus. I think Claudia's final scene might be near Elarion since it's the same place as the S4-S7 intro sequence and the mountain range and sky full of stars and nebulae looks like the one from the scene of Aaravos crying over (creating it) the Sea of the Castout.

I don't view it as the finale of the series just of the act and season. Both the way it ended and the fandom's reaction is exactly the same as when Miraculous' fifth season ended. If you view it as a Series Finale not a Season Finale then yes it leaves certain storylines and plotpoints unresolved but whether they continue the story via more seasons or novels, etc the story isn't over.

Which is not to say you're not allowed to disagree. Art and Stories and their interpretation are up to any who behold them. It's just a matter of viewing it as an end for now rather then a complete end. And since Act 3 has been planned for a while I don't judge the story without also factoring in the limitations placed upon it by Netflix at first only paying for the first three and then the next four seasons. Of course a story made for ten seasons limited to seven can't resolve all plotlines. It was always meant to have an open end to entice viewers to want the final instalment.

Ultimately I hope/want Act 3 to focus on explaining the history more in depth especially from 2000 years ago at the founding of Elarion to 300 years ago with Avizandum's reign, a more in depth look at the Startouch Elves and the Star Arcanum and 'everything' related to it (for example Stella having the Star Arcanum??) and most importantly, to me, the origin of Dark Magic and further explaining it's specifics.

All three could be tied to Elarion as the main geological focus (along with Evrkynd probably, which could even draw parallels with the first human city built in opposition/definace to "Xadia" and the latest built in cooperation and peace. Once again I'm also glad Sol Regem is just bones now because that prick deserved what he got.) as all paths converge either in Elarion or at the Sea of the Castout.

- - - - -

Unrelated Sidenote but I think Aaravos will ultimately be "defeated" by, like most other parents in the series, sacrificing himself to restore/resurrect Leola. 1) He wanted to sacrifice his life for her in the beginning but wasn't allowed/able to do so and 2) it would even be akin to a final victory for him in undoing the Cosmic Orders' plans. And it would once again call back to the series' message of Love triumphing over Hate and Vengeance and the theme of Parents giving their future for their children. And this isn't as unlikely anymore since the series has begun to make certain deaths less permanent i. e. Harrow = Pip

Narrative of Love not Strength as Aaravos can't be defeated by force alone but by appealing to his love for his daughter(s).

Depending on when this happens and whether or not the Cosmic Order feels threatened or disrespected by it it could even put the Dragang (who would probably not turn against Leola) and the C.O. at odds and lead to a resolution in which there's justice for the C.O.'s wrongful deed(s) and not Revenge the way Aaravos dies it right now.

Also it would be similar to Elves and Humans working together to return Zym and bring peace and would be poetic to now also "repay" Leola's kindness and her friendship to both peoples in the past.

wait a fucking minute...

We still don't know why and how Aaravos was imprisoned.

And what exactly his beef with Sol Reg and the other archdragons was about.

And what his relationship was with the Orphan Queen.

Oh yeah! And also his relationship with Ziard... and city of Elarion...

DID THEY JUST KILL HIM WITH ABSOLUTELY NO EXPLANATION?

I'M SO PISSED OFF

[darkcloudsatnight]

ACE OF BASE MY LOVE YOU'VE GIVEN ME A STROKE OF GENIUS

Anyways enjoy reading this sh bc of the 7th comic releasing, my love for helmet party, and Ace Of Base's "Don't Turn Around".

Don't Turn Around

Song by: Ace Of Base

Ship: Helmet Party

Category: Angst

[Intro

Spoken:

(I will survive without you)^

(Don't tell me that you wanna leave)

(Woah-oh-oh-oh-oh

Woah-oh-oh-oh-oh) ]

^Dell looking into a mirror, repeating that sentence like a mantra. It's all he can do now....

Verse 1:

If you wanna leave

I won't beg you to stay

And if you gotta go, darlin'

Maybe it's better that way

Seeing Soldier with that unfamiliar lady was a little shocking to Dell, especially when there was something like a ring around her finger, even if it was just a grenade pin. He started to recall those little moments him and Soldier used to share before all this robot war nonsense went down. Before they were fired. Before Dell was called in to be Helen's personal Healthcare system. He saw how close that Soldier was to this woman, and he felt his heart clench with something like envy and heartbreak... but he knew he couldn't hold onto it. They were bound to drift apart anyways. It was better this way if he let Soldier go live his own life....

Bridge:

I'm gonna be strong, I'm gonna do fine

Don't worry about this heart of mine

(Walk out that door, see if I care)

(Go on and go, but)

Dell knows that Soldier remembers what they had, but Dell knows now that Soldier has something better... something more acceptable. He tells him, "Don't worry 'bout me... go on 'n live yer life with yer new fiancé... I'll show up to the weddin' if I can but... y'know, work stuff... heh..."

He never showed up to the wedding, much to Soldier’s disappointment.

Chorus:

Don't turn around

'Cause you're gonna see my heart breaking

Don't turn around

I don't want you seeing me cry

Just walk away

It's tearing me apart that you're leaving

I'm letting you go

But I won't let you know

I won't let you know

Dell is pushing Soldier away. He feels his heartstrings being torn at rather than plucked carefully, like how he played his guitar on late nights by a campfire for... Jane... but Dell can never tell him what he's sacrificing. Dell can never tell him about his remaining feelings that he's forced to release and forget about. Dell can never show Soldier how much this is hurting him. Dell can never show anything to him anymore. He can only push what they had farther into the pit of despair that was torn open inside of him. Inside of his heart.

Verse 2:

I won't miss your arms around me

Holding me tight

(Holding me tight)

And if you ever think about me

Just know that I'll be alright

(I'll be alright)

Dell is reassuring Soldier (and himself) that he's going to be okay with some alone time after all this happened. In private, away from prying eyes, he's reassuring Soldier he'll be fine without a relationship for a little. Solitude will allow him to clear his head from more than one problem... He tells Soldier to only remember him as a close friend... and to always assume that wherever he is... he's doing alright. He's doing fine. Just like he always says...

Bridge:

I'm gonna be strong, I'm gonna do fine

Don't worry about this heart of mine

(I will survive, I'll make it through)

(I'll even learn to live without you)

Dell again reassures Soldier he's okay over and over. He's a strong southern man after all... and southern men don't cry... at least not in front of people... but he never mentioned that last part...

He's telling himself he needs to learn how to live without Jane in his life... he can do it... he's lived this far getting through past relationships... how different was this one?...

Very different, Dell realized much too late.

Chorus:

Don't turn around

'Cause you're gonna see my heart breaking

Don't turn around

I don't want you seeing me cry

Just walk away

It's tearing me apart that you're leaving

I'm letting you go

But I won't let you know

Dell is telling Soldier to never look back at what they had again. Telling him to only look forward at his future... he had a beautiful wife to look forward to... he had possible children in his future... a successful family... he shouldn't look back at the sobbing and pathetic Dell on the ground, flattened by his own boot like an ant. That's all Dell's feelings were, after all. Just another ant in the anthill of emotions, always being crushed by the boot of reality, until its nothing but a small smudge in the middle of the sidewalk of life.

Post-Chorus:

I wish I could scream out loud

That I love you

I wish I could say to you

Don't go

(As he walks away, he feels the pain getting strong)

(People in your life, they don't know what's going on)

(Too proud to turn around)

(He's gone)

As much as Dell wants to empty his heart and lungs out to Jane, tell him that Dell's loved him and has never forgot about him, no matter how long it's been, he knows he can't. He wants to so bad... but it's already too late. Soldier's gone. Getting married to a woman he truly loves... forever. And no one knew. Absolutely no one knew the tension going on between them. No one knew about that little red string between them was forcefully cut off... and Jane tries to truly belive that Dell doesn't need him anymore... no matter how much he needs Dell....

[Ending+Fadeout:

Don't turn around

'Cause you're gonna see my heart breaking

Don't turn around

I don't want you seeing me cry

Just walk away

It's tearing me apart that you're leaving

I'm letting you go

Baby, don't turn around

(Oh, oh, oh, oh)

Don't turn around

(Oh, oh, oh, oh)

Just walk away

(Oh, oh, oh, oh)

It's tearing me apart that you're leaving

I'm letting you go

Don't turn around

(Oh, oh, oh, oh)

Don't turn around

(Oh, oh, oh, oh)]

At this point... Dell's only talking to himself. Telling him to never look back at what he used to have... he's letting Jane go... doing what was right... and leaving himself in the dust... he's sacrificing his love because of its existence... and all that's left is his back in the distance as he walks away from what could have been...

(Song under cut)

[hanatoumahi]

Nine Hundred Ninety-Nine Paper Cranes

Synopsis: Movie watching was a tradition that you and Jushiro have every Saturday. It was your turn that week, and your pick was The Notebook. “Will you be a bird with me?” Warning: Fluff, Angst, Modern AU, Spoilers for The Notebook, Ukitake is not terminally ill until later in his life, Established Relationship (Married), Death A/N: I watched The Notebook before writing this fic (it's been, like, two weeks since I've started). I'm sorry if it feels a little weird in some parts, December was a busy month for me and I kind of rushed this. This wasn't for Ukitake Week '24 originally, but I'll post it anyway since it does fit the theme (Day 7: Birthday)

WC: 6.5k (roughly, give or take a few)

August

“Say that I’m a bird!” Allie squealed, excitedly flapping her arms up and down. You had convinced Jushiro to watch The Notebook with you, a movie that he had avoided after hearing the “horror stories” about it. It was a warm Saturday night in August. You and Jushiro had a tradition of watching movies together; it was your turn tonight.You watch as Noah profusely says no until finally giving in,

“You are a bird.”

“Now say that you’re a bird, too.”

“If you’re a bird, I’m a bird,” he smiled before Allie pulled him close, kissing him with all the love in the world. You peek up at Jushiro who had his eyes laser-focused on the endearing scene before him. His arms were wrapped around your body, your back pressed against his chest and your head resting on the crook of his neck. You turn around, facing him with a cheeky grin on your face. He raises his brow, “What is it, love?”

Your grin grew wider, the corners of your lips reaching your eyes. Wriggling out of his arms, you face him, “Say that I’m a bird, Jushiro.”

Amused, he thoughtfully puts a finger on his chin, contemplating if he should play along, “What if I say no?”

“Say it!”

“No.” You gave him a look, earning you a chuckle from your lover, “You’re a bird,” he relents.

“Will you be a bird with me?”

“Of course, my love, why wouldn’t I be?” he replied, pressing a tender kiss on your forehead. You close your eyes and lean your forehead closer, relishing the comforting feeling. Satisfied, you wrapped his arms and continued to watch

By the time The Notebook end, both you and Jushiro were in tears. Him more than you, however.

“Never again! That was too sad, even for me!” Jushiro exclaimed, wiping his bleary eyes with his sleeves. You giggled, this wasn’t the first time you had watched The Notebook, but it was Jushiro’s so you came prepared with tissues. Unraveling yourself from the tangle of limbs you two were in, you sat on his lap facing him. Gently grasping his chin, you told him to close his eyes. They flutter shut as you softly padded the tissue over his damp face, you admired him quietly. His long white hair had been tied back in a low ponytail, and his bangs stuck on his face because of his tears but he looked beautiful all the same. “I’m done,” you say, throwing the crumpled tissue on the coffee table. He opens his eyes, looking up at you through his long lashes, “Thank you.”

You look at him for a moment, admiring him for a little longer before whispering, “I hope that we can grow old together like that, too,” as you cradle his face in your palms. The warmth of your hands against his cold face made him melt into your touch. He buried his face into your hand. Kissing your palm, he replied:

“I as well, my love.”

You stared at each other, smiling stupidly. He twitched, an indicator that a fit was about to occur. Jushiro readied his elbow; violent, dry coughing soon followed, shaking your husband’s body. Climbing out of his lap, you walk into the kitchen to fetch him a glass. Casting a concerned glance his way, you brush his white hair out of his face and give him the water. At first, you both thought that it was just a cough, but now it had been weeks and the cough only turn nastier. He call off from work for a few weeks, and yet, he still wasn’t getting any better, “We should get this checked out.”

“Mmm, I’m sure it’s nothing. It’s just a cough, I’ll be better soon,” he smiled reassuringly, sipping his water before reaching over to set it down on the table.

“Still, I’m worried.”

“If it sets your mind at ease, we can schedule an appointment tomorrow.”

Satisfied with his answer, you bury yourself under his arms once more. Just as you reach for the remote, Jushiro’s hand snatches it away from your grasp.

“Hey!”

“This time I’m choosing!”

That following Sunday, you had driven him to his doctor’s office, not trusting the state your husband was in to drive. You remember that day clearly. It was sunny, but not too hot. The birds chirp and tweet in delight–there was a sweetness to the air. The kind that, when you take a deep breath and exhale, leaves you a giddy feeling knowing that summer is here.

“You fret too much, love. I can drive just fine,” Jushiro said as you two walked into the clinic.

You looked at him incredulously, “With how you’re coughing, you’re lucky I haven’t wrapped you in bubble wrap!”

He shook his head while smiling, “You worry too much.”

November

That was August. It was November now, and months had gone by without incident. The doctors weren’t able to decisively diagnose him, they noted that it was most likely some fibrosis-related issue. However, since Jushiro seemed fine, aside from the coughing, they couldn’t do much besides prescribe some antibiotics and puff medicine. At the very least, the medicine was working effectively, so life moved on as usual.

“Oh, look! It’s snowing outside!”

“Wow, the snow’s come early this year. Do you think I could go outside?”

“I don’t know, Jushiro. You might catch a cold,” you reply, biting your lip. You knew he dearly loved the snow, and depriving him of it made you feel bad.

“I think I can weather a cold just fine,” he jokes.

“Oka–Hey!” you yelp, a snowball narrowly missing your cheek.

“Sorry!” he laughed, readying another snowball before aiming.

“That’s not fair! You had a headstart!” you scream, dashing behind the car for protection. You crouch and start packing snow into a tight ball, you peer around the corner to get a better view. But to your surprise, he wasn’t where you thought he was. Confused, you stand up and carefully round the corner slowly. Hoping to keep your element of surprise.

A loud cough cracks through the quiet air like a whip, causing you to snap your head up.

“Jushiro!” spotting him kneeling in the snow, “Let’s get you inside.” You shoulder his weight, he leans onto your smaller frame for support causing you to stagger. His thin arms dug into the side of your ribs, causing you to cringe in pain.

“S-sorry,” he wheezes, stabilizing his footing as the two of you trudge through the snow.

“We need to get you out of those clothes now.”

Hurrying into your house, you lead Jushiro into your living room, “Stay here, I’ll get you new clothing,” you yell, dashing out of the room. Throwing your closet doors open, you grab an armful of thick sweaters and a change of pants.

“No more snow for you, Mister,” you jest, attempting to lighten the mood. Lifting the hem of his sweater, you wipe his back with a hand towel.

“Oh,” he rasps, “I’ll be fine, love—A little snow can’t hurt.”

“Lay with me?”

Without saying a word, you crawl into bed and curl up next to him.

A loud, crackling cough startled you awake the following morning. You sit up and whip your head towards Jushiro, who lay beside you. His complexion was paler, and beads of sweat ran down his cheek.

“I don’t… feel too good…” Jushiro croak weakly, his voice gravelly and low. Your stomach dropp, Did he have a fever? Putting the back of your hand against his temple, He was burning. jumping out of b you grabb the thermometer in your nightstand’s drawer. You brush his bangs to the side and hover the thermometer gun over his forehead.

Beep. Beep.

You stare at the screen, waiting for the results to load.

… It read 40° C.

Fuck.

“We need to get you to the hospital,” sitting Jushiro up. His back was drenched with sweat, leaving a large, dark stain on the b.

You help him into another change of clothes, careful to layer him.

Locking the front door, you shuffle Jushiro to your car.

“Pneumonia.”

You watch as the assistant nurse clicks-clack away at the doctor’s diagnosis.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Ukitake. He’ll need to stay in the hospital so we can monitor his condition. He’ll be transferred to one of our private rooms as soon as possible.”

Though you nod, you can feel your heart break a little. You didn’t want to be away from him no matter what.

“Should his condition worsen,” the doctor began slowly, “He’ll need assisted breathing, that is one of your options if you want it.”

Jushiro squeezes your hand, you were met with his smile when you turn to him, “Thank you, I’ll talk to my wife about it.”

”I’ll leave you two to talk then,” the doctor replies, making eye contact with the nurse as he nods to the door. She reciprocates his nod and finishes up the last of her documentation.

You turn to Jushiro as soon as the two leave, your hands becoming clammy with anxiety at the thought of him alone in a hospital room, “Will you be okay?”

“I’ll manage, darling. Don’t worry, okay? I’ll be out soon.”

“I’ll visit as often as I can, okay?”

Squeezing your hand once more, he replies, “I’ll look forward to them.”

Ding!

The elevator door slides open. You make your way down the hall, holding a box of ohagi in one hand and a bag of clothes in the other. It was the following day, and you had requested time off work to spend the first few nights at the hospital with Jushiro. You had wanted to stay last night, but it was too late to call in.

Knock, knock.

“Come in!” you hear a familiar voice call out beyond the door.

Pushing down the handle with your elbow, you enter Jushiro’s room. It was quaint, his bed was off to the left and parallel to the large windows that overlook the garden. Various monitors and medical equipment were mounted at one side and on the other were two comfortable-looking blue chairs. Apart from the stained wood wall behind Jushiro’s bed that matched the floors, the walls were painted white. A T.V. was mounted on the far corner of the wall.

He was looking out the window when you entered. You follow his gaze, and you find that he’s staring at a bird’s nest. Shifting his position in bed, he turns his head to you, “Hi, darling.”

“Hey! Bird watching?”

He blushes, a little embarrassed he had been caught, “Yeah, I think there’s a family up there.”

Setting your things down, you walk up to the window, “Oh, yeah. I think there is a family up there.”“What kind of birds do you think they are?” “I don’t know, I can’t see well enough,” you squint, tiptoeing to get a better view. “They reminded me of The Notebook.” Turning around, you smile at him, “Because of the birds?” “Because of the birds,” he nods. “You know, it’s Saturday and it’s my turn to pick…” you trail off, a Cheshire-like grin gracing your features.

“No, not again!” he cried.

You made it a point to visit Jushiro every Saturday to uphold your traditions.

Shunsui was, of course, the first to visit aside from you. The first time he visited, he barrelled into the room while Jushiro was asleep and startled him awake. He frequented Jushiro’s room, barreling in with an armful of snacks, and was often accompanied by his other colleagues. Today was no different, he came barging in with yours and Jushiro’s favorite chips. Which earns a glare from you, nodding towards your sleeping husband. He flashes an apologetic smile, mouthing, “Rukia’s here too.”

As if on cue, she steps into the room, “Hi, Y/N-san, I hope we aren’t intruding.”

“Nonsense, Rukia, you two aren’t a bother at all,” you

“Hm? What were you two watching?” asks Rukia, peering over your shoulder.

“Oh, we were watching The Notebook,” you reply, casting a glance at your laptop's screen. It was paused on the boat scene where Noah was rowing Allie through the lake, “Well, I am. He doesn’t like it all that much because of its ending.”

Shunsui put a hand to his chin, deep in thought. He stares intently at the birds on your screen, and you raise a brow, but before you can ask what was the matter, he suddenly exclaims, a lightbulb in his head shining brightly: “Senbazuru!”

“Bless you.”

“No, senbazuru!”

Blinking owlishly, you look at Rukia who, much to your dismay, also mirrors your confusion, “What?”

“You know, fold 1,000 paper cranes?” he continues as if he were stating the obvious.

Perplex, you question him again, “Paper cranes? Why?”

“You don’t know what senbazuru is? It’s this old legend that, if you fold 1,000 paper cranes, your wish will be granted! But you only have one, so be careful what you wish for,” he clarifies, giving you his signature smile.

Finally understanding what he was hinting at, you look at Jushiro who was sleeping, “Yeah, maybe…” you trail off.

“I’ll bring origami paper next time I visit then,” Shunsui said brightly. Smiling at his antics, you look at Jushiro once more, your smile fading slightly. An action that didn’t go unnoticed by your husband’s assistant.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine, Y/N-san,” Rukia smiles kindly, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah! He’s much stronger than you think–trust me, I know,” Shunsui chimes in, flexing his muscles, causing you to laugh. But you knew better.

“I’d appreciate it, thank you.”

“I’ll come back tomorrow with the paper, okay? I just swung by to check up on you two,” Shunsui nodding towards the door. He carefully placed the snacks at the foot of Jushiro’s bed and gestured for Rukia to go first.

“See you soon, Y/N-san!” Rukia waves, beaming brightly.

“See you, you two!”

Jushiro stirs in his sleep before slowly opening his eyes, “Mm… Was Shunsui here?” he asks.

“Ah, yeah he was; he came here to drop by some snacks but didn’t want to wake you, so he left.”

“Shame, I would’ve loved to go talk to him,” he smiles sadly as he props himself up. You’ve noticed that he’s become more tired as of late, which causes your heart to ache.

“He said we should make paper cranes,” you blurt out.

“Paper cranes? What for?”

Biting your lip, you were sure you sounded stupid for what you were about to say, “To make a wish come true.”

What you were referencing dawn on Jushiro. He chuckles–He would’ve asked what you would’ve wished for but he knew the answer.

“Do you know how to fold a crane?”

“No…” you reply sheepishly.

“Come here, I’ll teach you,” Jushiro says, beckoning you to come closer.

“We don’t have paper, though. Shunsui said he’d bring some origami paper tomorrow,” you grimace, not wanting to leave him alone to ask a nurse for paper.

“That’s alright, we’ll…” he trails off, looking for something–anything remotely foldable, “Aha! This’ll do,” Jushiro exclaims as he picks up a candy wrapper. Smoothing out the crinkled plastic, he carefully walks you through each step of making a crane.

“I know it’s a little hard to see, but bear with me a little,” he chuckles, folding the wrapper corner to corner. You lean over his bed, crossing your arms to lay your head in them. You watch intently as he skillfully folds the paper into a crane.

“Ta-da!” cheering as he displays the small papercraft in his palms. Taking the crane from his hand, you marvel at his dexterity to be able to create something so small.

“There, now we have crane number one!” he said triumphantly.

“Knock-knock!” came a muffled, yet familiar, voice.

“Come in!”

Shunsui, in his usual splendor, struts in with a large paper bag with what you assume to be the origami paper. His eyes lit up when he saw his best friend “Jushiro! You’re awake!” he pauses and look at the two of you, a boyish smile resting on his features. You sat on the edge of Jushiro’s bed, braiding his long white hair, “Am I interrupting?”

“You aren’t, don’t worry,” Jushiro laughs weakly, “She’s helping me with my hair since it keeps getting caught in the wires.”

“What’s in there?” you ask, nodding towards the bag, wondering what its contents could be. Surely a stack of colorful paper didn’t warrant a bag of that size.

“I’m glad you asked,” Shunsui grins mischievously as he reaches in and grabs a large, white box, “Voila!”

You gasp as he pulls out a home projector, “Shunsui, you shouldn’t have!”“I figured that watching on your laptop was a little cramped–don’t worry! It wasn’t just from me, everyone pitched in a little, too.” “Tell everyone that they have my thanks, this is very kind of you all,” Jushiro smiles sweetly as Shunsui places the box in his lap.

“And, of course, here’s the origami paper!” he exclaims, plopping a stack of brightly patterned paper still in its plastic onto your husband’s lap.

You took the box from his lap, running your nail through the tape. You study the projector, eyeing its buttons

“It works!”

“Woo!”

“What should we watch?”

The sun slowly eases down the horizon, and bright gradients of blues and pinks fill the sky. Jushiro had fallen asleep hours ago, leaving you and Shunsui to fold the paper cranes in his stead. Shunsui looks out the window and down at his phone’s clock.

“I should go soon.”

“How many cranes did we make today?”

“Counting today…” you point at each crane, quietly iterating each number under his breath, “We made 28 today!”“28 down, 972 more to go!”

Shunsui pauses before exiting the door, he turns and glances at Jushiro one last time before turning to you. He smiles, the kind of smile that telepathically tells the receiver, “It’ll be alright, don’t worry.” You try to muster the strength to return it, but when you do, it isn’t the kind that is comforting, no. It was a defeated type of smile. You saw his eyes soften, was it pity? Comfort? You didn’t know. He motioned for you to follow him, and you shook your head, nodding towards Jushiro.

“It’ll be quick,” he mouths. Biting your lip, you quietly trail after Shunsui. Looking back at your husband, you let out a small sigh and shut the door gently.

Shunsui leans against the wall opposite to the door, “How’ve you been, Y/N?” he asks almost immediately.

“Good–I’ve been… good, you?”

He raises a brow but thankfully doesn’t probe you further, “Same old, same old. Busy as always.”

You hum, staring at your shoes.

“Everyone misses him.”“Mm…”

“How bad has he gotten?”

You let that question hang in the air for a little while, the silence becoming suffocating. You hadn’t verbalized your troubles to anyone, so it felt foreign to you to be so forward with how you felt about it all, “He’s…” you suck in a cold, sharp breath, “He’s been… better.”

“As in?”

“The… doctors tell me he doesn’t have much time left until his condition worsens,” you start slowly, feeling the tears well up, “Maybe, like, a year left? Something like that. And that’s if we’re lucky,” you hiss bitterly.

Suddenly, you felt warmth engulf you, a large hand rubbing your back gently. Knowing the hospital has thin walls, you sob quietly into Shunsui’s chest. You shook violently as he held you steady, letting you soak his shirt with your tears.

“I’m s-sorry,” you hiccup, your hands rubbing your puffy eyes furiously. You realize how stupid you must look to passersby, wailing in the middle of the hallway like that.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. There’s no need to apologize,” he says as he rubs circles on your back, “It’s not anyone’s fault.” He gingerly separates himself from you, patting you gently on the shoulder, “Let’s get you a drink, yeah?”

You trail after him, each footstep that you take feeling heavier than the last. He leads you to a vending machine, asking you what you would like and that it would be on him.

“Water’s fine.”

He punches in the numbers and slides a wrinkly bill into the slot–cursing when the machine refuses to accept it. Eventually, it does and the bottle tumbles down and he reaches into the door to grab it. Giving you the bottle, Shunsui sits next to you. You thank him and sip the water slowly.

“Do you think he’ll get better?” you murmur. Shunsui didn’t look at you for a while, wondering if you meant to say that out loud or not before finally settling on, “I… don’t know.”

A thick, uncomfortable silence settles on your shoulders. You felt small sitting on that bench as you sip quietly on your juice, like a kid who was just sent to the principal’s office and was now waiting for their name to be called.

He turns to you once more, “I should go, I shouldn’t leave Rukia alone for too long.”

“Take care, Y/N.”

“You as well, Shunsui.”

He walks you back to Jushiro’s room, patting your back one last time before he turns to leave. You watch his figure turn the corner, disappearing from your sight. Unlocking the door slowly, you enter the room.

Snow was always a sight that you and Jushiro looked forward to. The stiff winter wind knocks on the hospital's windows as if they were asking the two of you to come out and play. It pains you to look at the snow; it bore as a reminder of when the two of you sought refuge in the thick, warm duvet of your shared bed. Now, there was a different kind of cold that you had not gotten us to.

It reminded you that you were the reason that he was in the hospital.

“I hope the blizzard dies down soon. My joints ache too much in the cold and it’s hard to walk,” Jushiro sighs. You hum in agreement, as much as you both love the snow, the cold was becoming unbearable even with heating. The icy weather seeped through the window cracks, sending chills every once in a while if the wind blew hard enough.

“Yeah, I do, too. It’s hard to drive in this weather.”

“You know, you don’t have to visit me so often, I don’t mind,” you gaped at him, which he quickly waved his hands around and followed up with, “Of course, I love your company but I don’t want me to start affecting your work life!”

“Of course not! You are so much more important than my job Jushiro!”

“I know but,” he looks down, “You’re tired, and you do so much for me already. And I don’t want you to get even more tired.”

“Jushiro, you are the light and love of my life, there is nothing more that I want than to be with you always,” you say, pressing your forehead against his. You could feel his body relax under your touch, making you feel warm inside, “It’s your turn this week, what movie do you want to watch?”

Like the snow that swirled furiously outside, Jushiro’s health took a nosedive in mid-November. He was moved from the Medicine Unit to the Intensive Care Unit as a result. New tubes and wires were hooked onto him; his lungs had begun to deteriorate at a faster rate than you nor the doctors anticipated so he was given an oxygen tank for assisted breathing.

It broke your heart to see Jushiro so frail. Some days he would be wide awake, watching the movies you put on intently and laughing with Shunsui while folding cranes. Other days he was quiet, moving sluggishly, if at all. There were times when you sat in his room for hours just watching him sleep. He looked so peaceful then. His coughing only worsened as well, his once dry hacking turned into a croaking, wet cough that wracked his whole body.

“Y/N.”

Startled you put a hand on your heart, “Ah! You’re awake!” He had slept most of the day away, only waking up when the nurse brought in his lunch. It was evening now, and you, much to your dismay, couldn’t stay the night so you were gathering your things.

“D-do you remember when we first met?” he asks hoarsely.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I? Shunsui wouldn’t leave us alone until we went on a date!” you chuckle fondly, vividly remembering a young Shunsui hounding you and Jushiro until you two became official.

“You were so beautiful, and you’ve only grown more radiant since then,” he chuckles dryly.

You groan, “Absolutely not! I looked so bad!”

The two of you were sophomores in college when you had met, at a party hosted by Shunsui no less. By some miracle, you had befriended Shunsui–a dynamic that you still find funny because you still aren’t exactly sure how the two of you became friends. Jushiro, who still had short hair back then, was introduced to you that night by him. You remember thinking he was so handsome and feeling embarrassed because your hair had refused to cooperate before you came to the party, leaving one side with more volume than the other. Shunsui roared with laughter when you struggled to introduce yourself (you elbowed him later for that).

And then?

Then, the rest was history.

“It’s been so long.”

“It has…”

“Why do you ask?”

“I had a dream of when we were young again. It felt like time had gone backward and I was there again,” he spoke softly, reaching his hand out to the ceiling as if the dream was tangible. But a memory, at the end of the day, is just a memory. You grasp his hand, lacing your fingers between his. He looks at you adoringly, “In sickness and in health, until death do us part,” he breathes quietly.

Your eyes widen. It pains you to hear those words from him again. Squeezing his hands tightly, you reply:

“Until death do us part.”

December

Each time that Shunsui visited, he always brought something. Whether it was snacks, a new CD to watch on the projector, or a bagful of paper cranes from everyone at the workplace, his arms were never empty.

Today, though, he visited empty-handed. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by you.

“I would’ve come sooner, but traffic was giving me hell!”

Giggling, you reply, “It’s okay, Shunsui. No gifts today?”

He dramatically sits on the chair next to you, “No, not today. I had no time, plus! It’s his birthday soon!”

You look over to Jushiro who was sleeping soundly, “What’re you going to get Jushiro for his birthday?”

Shunsui reclined in his chair and folded his arms, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling, “I’m not sure yet. When you’ve been friends for so long, you kind of just forget about the gifts and celebrate together.”

You nodded, "I get that, yeah."

"I'm sure I'll think of something, though," his gaze shifting to the movie in front of him. It was Jushiro's turn this week, he had chosen to watch Kimba: The White Lion, a favorite of his. However, no more than half an hour into the movie he was out cold. It was like this often; him falling asleep mid-movie, meaning that paper crane-making was left to you and Shunsui. Nevertheless, your movie-watching tradition held strong. Even if he was asleep for most of it.

The movie ends soon, and Shunsui rises from his seat, "Same time next week?" "Of course, where else would I be?" you mused. He grinned, tipping his hat and out the door he went, turning the knob and letting go when the door shut to not make noise.

“Oh, look, the snow’s calmed down some.”

He was right, the snow had slowed to a near stop. Beyond the glass and its frosty vignette, the courtyard looks like a winter wonderland.

Knock, knock.

“Come in!”

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Ukitake, I’m just here to check in,” the nurse bow before entering the room.

The nurse studies Ukitake’s vitals, jotting down notes about his health that you couldn’t see.

“Excuse me, do you think I could go out in the snow?” Jushiro ask while turning over his arm so that she could check his IV.

She smiles apologetically, “No, I’m sorry. We don’t allow patients to go outside for safety reasons.”

“Ah, not even if it’s my birthday?”

The nurse chuckles, “No, I’m sorry. Not even for your birthday,” she replies, finishing up the rest of her routine check-up. Putting her clipboard aside, she clicks her pen closed, “Have a good day!”

“Thank you!”

You could tell Jushiro was saddened that he couldn’t go outside, and that’s when an idea hit you.

“I have an idea,” you tell him as you take a plate from the stack.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll be right back!”

He looks at you, perplexed at what you were planning. Marching out of the room and down the hallway, paper plate in hand, you press the elevator button. You wait a couple of seconds before it dings and it opens.

You shivered as you stepped into the courtyard, the biting wind lashing at your face. Crouching down, you scoop up handfuls of snow onto the plate.

“You brought back snow for me?” he laughed, taking the plate from your hand and putting it on his lap.

“Surprise…!”

He smiles and looks at his lap. Jushiro carefully sits up and pokes the soft snow, tracing shapes and circles on it. You lean down, folding your arms and resting your head on them. You watched him quietly as he drew a smiley face in the snow. You giggled; he’s so beautiful.

The longer you stared, the more your brows furrowed. White. The walls, his complexion, the world outside, the snow. It was all white. The longer you stared at him, the more your eyes unfocused until his figure became blurry. white gown he donned and his pale features did little to aid his camouflage. He blends into the snow seamlessly. As if he wasn’t there anymore like the wind had carried him away—as if, he too, was just another one of the snowflakes whisked away by the biting gales of winter.

This pungent, vile feeling of pure, unadulterated hate fester in you. It filled your heart to the brim with guilt knowing that if only you had insisted more, maybe he would’ve gotten a diagnosis faster and that he could’ve had a better chance to live longer. Jushiro reassures you that you were not to blame, that it was his stubbornness that prevented him from getting help, but it did not aid the anxiety that weighed on your shoulders. You hate that Jushiro was ill and that there wasn’t a cure, but most of all, you hate that you were at his illness’ mercy.

“Love? Why’re you crying?”

Your head snaps to Jushiro, his cold hand wiping tears from your cheeks.

“Ah! I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was—” You shied away from him, furiously wiping away your tears with your sleeve. You could feel his stare, and you could practically imagine his face. That look of utter heartbreak.

“Y/N, hey, look at me,” Jushiro says softly, gently cradling your face in his hands. You cast your gaze aside, unable to look him in the eyes, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m just…”

“Scared?”

“Yeah, just a little.”Jushiro goes quiet for a little while, unsure of what to say. Finally, his hands let go of your face, and instead, leading your hands to the plate full of snow that had already begun to melt, “Do you see this?”

Curious, you straighten your back a little to see what he has done. On the plate, he drew a stick figure drawing, of what you could only assume to be you two, encapsulated within a heart with v-shaped birds dotting the surrounding area in the snow.

“Remember when I asked you if you would be a bird with me?” you hum, indicating that you remembered, “In our next life, Y/N, I think we should be swans. I hope that we’re swans. Will you be a swan with me in our next life?”

“I will be whatever you want, so long as I’m by your side,” you reply shakily, wiping stray tears, “But why swans?”

“Well, they’re a symbol of love, aren’t they?” he says, nodding to the little birds he drew, “We’ll find each other in our next lives as swans, I’m sure.”

“We should’ve made paper swans instead of cranes then!” you reply cheekily, feeling a little better.

Jushiro beamed, “We should’ve,” His features painfully contort, a vicious cough wracking his body. Rising from your seat, you swiftly reach for the glass of water on his stand and sit on the edge of his bed, handing it to him. Jushiro thanked you for the water and chugged it down like a man dying of thirst.

You rub his back while he sits still, “You should rest so you’ll have energy for the party.”

“Mmm.”

Taking the plate from his lap and putting it on the table, you grab the remote to recline his bed and kiss him softly.

“Here’s to another!” booms Shunsui. Your friends and family were packed into his small hospital room.

“Happy birthday, darling,” you coo, gently kissing his cheek. Even after years of marriage, his face flushed pink, which everyone found endearing. Shunsui, especially, laughed heartily next to him.

“Here comes the cake!” Rukia excitedly took the chocolate dessert from its box. It was beautifully decorated with the right cake-to-frosting ratio. “Yachiru helped us bake it!”

“Hehe!” Yachiru giggled, proudly folding her arms.

“3… 2… 1…” you counted down. Together you blew the cake; a chorus of claps and “Woos!” resounded in the small room.

“Happy Birthday!” everyone cheered in unison.

“Thank you for coming everyone!” you wave as the last of your friends and family leave the room, closing the door gently.

“Eventful day, huh?”

“Yeah, it was nice seeing everyone again though.”

“Darling, if it’s not too much to ask, can we watch The Notebook?”

“The Notebook? But it’s getting late,” you said with a questioning lilt in your voice. Night had fallen, and though you couldn’t see, you knew the moon was nearing the apex of the sky.

“Please?” he begs, pressing hands together and bowing his head–praying you would answer his pleas. You giggle, after all, who were you to refuse?

Taking your laptop out of its sleeve, you boot up your projector to connect. You pull up a chair next to Jushiro’s bed, but before you can sit down, he sits up and scoots over on the small bed, patting the empty spot next to him.

“Are you sure?” you query, wanting to double-check. It had been months since you had shared a bed with him and as much as you wanted to lay beside him, you were scared to lie next to him because of the intricate wires that draped along the mattress. Not wanting to accidentally tug on them and cause an accident.

“Of course, what better way to end my birthday than cuddling with my wife?” he teases, picking up another piece of paper. You felt tears well in your eyes, threatening to spill. Your heart squeezes as you lift the thin blanket, brush the tubes and wires to the side, and climb in. You were careful not to lift too much of the blanket and not to send the cranes at the end of the bed flying.

“How many cranes are we at?” eyeing the colorful origami that lay at your feet.

“976 cranes now, I think,” he responds, looking at his tally.

“We’re so close!”

He smiles knowingly. You both knew the inevitable but turned a blind eye to it. Ignorance is bliss, after all. Even if your wish didn’t come to fruition, passing the time by folding these cranes had become a welcome distraction from what was to come. Laying your head on his shoulder, you carefully link your arm around his so you can both fold more cranes. He reaches to the bedside table and grabs more paper, giving you some. Closing your eyes, you relish this moment. You had not known peace until Jushiro came into your life and swept you off your feet.

“I love you, Jushiro.”“I love you more, Y/N.”

He felt so warm, so very, very warm. The heavy feeling in your chest dissipates as you snuggle your head into his shoulder. Blinking slowly, you watch as the… Amidst your dreams, you felt a hand graze yours, taking the slip of paper between your fingers. Soft, cold lips press a ghostly kiss on your temple, sending a chill down your spine. Causing you to bury yourself more in Jushiro’s warmth. You thought you heard a deep, familiar chuckle–followed by a deep rumble and muffled coughing.

When you woke up, the first thing you notice was the blinding light of the sun that flood the room and stung your eyes; it had stopped snowing. The second was a long, flat beep that rang in your ears. That cold, clammy feeling grips your heart tightly as it pounds loudly in your chest. You kept your eyes shut, squeezing them tightly, taking comfort in the void you saw until colorful shapes and patterns circled round and round. You couldn’t move, his head resting on yours. You didn’t want to move, but you knew you had to. Shifting slightly to face him, you peer through Jushiro’s veil of white hair. His eyes were closed and his tender smile was ever present. Though he felt warm, you were sure it wasn’t his own. You felt like you needed to vomit—to cry out, yet, strangely, no tears came. You swallow thickly, staring at his face; he looks serene, the most you have seen in months.

The third was the cranes that were scatter on his and your lap. Counting each carefully, and double-checking to make sure you were correct, you count 23 colorful cranes.

999…

Clenching your fist, you inhale sharply as you feel a dull pain poking the inside of your sweaty palm. His hands clasp yours, your fingers laced in his tightly. You look down, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion; what was in your hand? You open your hand carefully, not wanting to let Jushiro’s hands just yet. You see a flash of green and white pattern paper in the crevice of your hands. Your lips parted, but no words came out–your throat feeling dry.

In your hand, the 1000th paper crane, one fold from completion.

A/N: I'll remaster this someday, probably. Sorry again if there are grammatical mistakes, I tried proof-reading it but I'm super tired lol.

Thank you for reading, as always!

[milolunde]

We all know Timmy is Wanda’s mama’s boy but we need to keep in mind he’s still Cosmo’s kid too and that Cosmo would love him just as vehemently as Wanda

[milla-frenchy]

Ughhhhh I cant' believe it's almost over, I'm gonna miss them dearly ❤️❤️❤️

Joel stayed for three nights. On the fourth night, Lily woke up cold, alone, the absence of his warmth like a missing limb ripped from her some time in the soft, orange morning. Panic seized her gut before she was fully awake, bouncing around, squeezing at her organs like a leech. She blinked manically, squeezing her eyes shut tight, eyelashes going spiky as she tried to clear her vision, as she tried to reach for the bulk of him only to come back empty.

Your writing is so vivid, I almost feel the emotions as if I were lily, how amazing is that? 🤌🤌

Lily tried not to think about it, tried not to think about his note, his silence, tried not to think about Caleb, how he was still out there, some part of him possibly still aware as that fungus ate away at him, forced him to do its bidding.

My god...

It took Joel five hours on horseback, weaving around the grounds outside of Jackson, to find those damn flowers. The idea had burrowed itself into his head last night, as he held a sleeping Lily, gently tracing the big, open flower tattooed on her shoulder. Those lilies, the ones he'd ripped out of the community garden years ago. He needed them back. 

omg he left to find some lilies??? 😍😍😍

Maybe it was a little silly, his sudden need to go get those flowers back, but it felt necessary, felt like some final piece falling into place. He'd ripped those flowers out once, because he couldn't bear the thought of her, couldn't even speak her name without falling apart. And now she was here, and he was trying, trying to be soft for her, gentle for her. If she was back, he needed the flowers back too.

Noooo it's not silly, it's amazing and I love it 😍😍

But before he could, Ellie was bursting, like she'd been holding the words in for just as long as she'd been ignoring him. "I was supposed to die in that hospital," she spat out, driving each word home with a slam of her hand against the top of the railing. "My life would have fucking mattered, but you took that from me." Joel wanted to tell her that her life did matter, mattered to him, mattered to her friends, should matter to her. Joel wanted to tell her that he loved her, but he couldn't, didn't know how. So, he said something else, something just as poignant, just as true, as he pushed himself off the railing to stand up straight and face her. "If somehow the lord gave me a second chance at that moment I would do it all over again." Silence fell between the two of them as Ellie searched his face, then turned to look back out across the yard, toward her house. "Yeah..." she whispered. "I just— I don't think I can ever forgive you for that—" And that stabbed into Joel like a hot knife, a choked breath shuddering out of him. "But I would like to try," she added, after a biting moment of silence. His heart slammed into his ribs, while something wet and trembling echoed from his lips. "I'd like that," he whispered, blinking hard to try to dissolve the tears in his eyes, something glimmering in his core now, something like hope. "Okay," Ellie said softly, pushing herself off the railing, "I'll see you around."

Ok, I need to express how much I LOVED how you added the game part. The EXACT game part. This is amazing. I played the game so many times, I love it so much, and your series fits in so perfectly it's so damn brilliant

"I missed you, Lily. Every day. I never stopped missin' you." He felt her tremble in his arms, her fingers twisting into his shirt as she slowly lifted her head, those bright glossy eyes searching his own. "And I'm— I'm sorry," he choked out, the words clawing their way out of him. "M'so sorry, baby, for lying to you, for bein' so horrible, I— I hate myself for it. I don't deserve your forgiveness and I'm not asking you for it." Lily opened her mouth, about to speak, those blue eyes gazing up at him, so soft, so bright he loathed himself for ever making her cry, for ever speaking such blasphemous, egregious things to her, even if he'd spoken them to keep her safe, to keep her away from him, the disgusting creature he'd become. "Let me finish," he said, before she could speak, reaching up to run his thumb across the soft skin beneath her eye, collecting a tear as he did. "When Sarah died," he exhaled the words, relief and agony swirling in marriage in his gut. "That first day. I— I didn't see any reason to keep goin'." His hand shook as he took her wrist in his hand, bringing her fingers up to that gnarled scar on his temple. She exhaled sharply as her fingers brushed against it, her hand trembling against him, those bright blue eyes going a little dark, glossing over with new tears that made him want to scream. "When I went to pull the trigger, I flinched, 'cause I heard your voice."

Oh boy. The confession about his feelings. The fact that he heard her voice????

"M'right here baby, you feel me? You're so full of me, little one," he purred, taking her hand from his shoulder and placing it on her lower belly, pressing his own hand over it so she could feel him inside of her, feel the thick shape of his cock hammering into her.

wow. So hot, so perfect

Joel dropped his head, trying to push the darkness he felt surging through him away, trying to cast it out so she would not fall victim to it, to him again. Never again. But then he felt it, her little hand spreading out over his cheek, and he trembled at the touch, a shudder working itself down his spine, and he let himself fall into it, into her, let himself be weak. "I killed them all," Joel muttered. "I saved her." Lily gently lifted his head, those blue eyes he'd been in search of his entire life gazing straight into his, without fear, without disgust, with something so warm he felt that black rottenness inside him completely melt away.

I love that he told her. And of course, of course, Lily's perfect, perfect words.

"Caleb," she choked out, when he was close enough to see, when she could make out the way his blue eyes had gone glossy and red, see the way his skin had gone discolored and scabbed. And he paused, the creature controlling him— or perhaps him, buried deep somewhere inside that vessel— paused at the sound of his name, cocking his head, twitching in place as he stared at her. It was almost like he knew, like he heard her somewhere in there, like the last remaining shred of his humanity was desperately trying to keep the creature controlling him from ripping her apart. She let out a sputtering cry, blinking rapidly, trying to keep her vision clear so she could see him one last time, even if this version of him was monstrous, even if the virus had eaten away all the life that had once brimmed in his eyes.

And here I am, sobbing again while I re read this chapter 🥺🥺🥺

"The Jeff Goldblum love." Something sprang open in Joel's chest at that, and he laughed, a full-bodied, thundering laugh as his head tilted back, and he heard Lily match it with a little giggle that made his stomach flutter. "You guys are fucking weird," Ellie breathed out, but when he glanced over at her, there was a smile tugging at her lips, and her eyes flickered to him for just a moment, but it was the first time she looked at him with anything but animosity in years. Joel had his girls, safe, warm, with him, for the first time in a lifetime.

I had to take off my glasses and wipe my eyes there, I was crying so much while rereading this.

Thank you SO MUCH for this series. I can't say it enough. One of my favorite series ever ❤️❤️❤️

Nights Like This One: XXV.

"He looked at her, and he loved her, loved her so much it burned, like something eternal, something that no amount of time, nor distance, nor the end of the world as they had known it, could kill off. He'd loved her, perhaps, since that first moment he saw her, looking hollow and bereft on the threshold of her mother's house. He loved her in every death, every birth, every reiteration of himself."

paring: joel miller x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 9.5k a.n. this is the last full chapter. i'm so bereft knowing it's almost over. i don't know if i've ever been so emotionally invested in a story i've written before like i have this one. i literally cried writing the last few paragraphs. i hope you love it. i hope it mends you. i hope it balms the pain i've put you through over the past couple months. thank you so very much for reading. epilogue will be out soon. ily <3

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