#and she decides she doesn’t want to be part of that

[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. 

[5sospenguinqueen]

Papaya Rules | Oscar Piastri x Driver! Reader

Summary: From on-track rivals to reluctant teammates, the trauma of team orders issued by Mclaren bond you and Oscar in a way you never expected. 

Warnings: mentions of papaya rules, swearing

Requested: Yes by @1800-love-me (a while ago. oops)

F1 Masterlist

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

2023 

f1 posted a new story

itsyn_ln replied and that’s community service for piastri  → f1 girl, aren’t you supposed to be in the media pen → itsyn_ln five more minutes → i’m in no rush 

mclaren replied no time to explain but we need you to delete this before oscar sees → we need them to get along

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

mclaren just posted

liked by landonorris, jackdoohan and others

mclaren breaking news mclaren f1 racing is pleased to announce that yn ln will be joining the team in 2024, alongside oscar piastri, on a multi-year contract. we cannot wait to see what she can achieve with us

33,814 comments

itsyn_ln thank you for this opportunity! now i need to figure out how to make orange look good on me 

→ mclaren everything looks good on you

username1 wait, what? she’s oscar’s public enemy #1 and now she’ll be his teammate?

oscarpiastri and this is how i find out?

→ mclaren we didn’t want to give you a chance to protest

→ pierregasly i knew before oscar did? ha! 

→ oscarpiastri don’t make me still target the pink car next year

→ itsyn_ln i’m feeling unwanted 

jackdoohan @/itsyn_ln thanks for the seat 

→ itsyn_ln i hope i kept it warm for you! 

username2 poor osc is going to have to learn to manage this oddness

→ username3 poor osc is probably more focused on having to learn not to strangle her

alpinef1team losing another driver to the sinister evil and orange team 

→ itsyn_ln at least you’ll miss me. i’m starting to think pierre lied when he said he would

→ pierregasly of course i did. you were staring straight at me without blinking

username4 don’t get me wrong, i can’t wait to see yn in a better car but i fear this was poor planning on mclaren’s part. they’re going to struggle with managing their drivers 

landonorris i’m sorry, osco. i didn’t know me leaving was going to lead to this

→ oscarpiastri you’re not forgiven. 

username5 i fear mclaren are not going to have the dream team they were expecting

→ username6 they need to prepare to see both papaya cars dnf’ing all the time next year

username7 i need that jacket! 

→ mclaren all yn merch coming soon! 

→ username8 they move fast. they’ve already got her in papaya and prepared to release her papaya merch 

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2024

mclaren just posted

liked by patriciooward, gabrielbortoleto_ and others

mclaren and it’s a papaya 1-2 what a race! a phenomenal display of teamwork from oscar and yn

55,098 comments

username9 wtf was that 

username10 i can’t decide which one of them was robbed more 

username11 so they want them to become friends but then force them to concede wins???

username12 i never want to hear the phrase ‘papaya rules’ again. idk what it means but i know it was shit

username13 the fact that neither of them have interacted with this post shows that they’re not happy with their 1-2

username14 you guys need to chill. they were coming under fire from max, and yn was faster. oscar was holding her up and if they hadn’t have switched, max could’ve had them both 

→ username15 there was two laps left. i’m sure they could’ve managed it

→ username14 did you not see all the purple sectors max was setting 

username16 i hope oscar doesn’t blame yn for this

username17 unrelated but i love how much shorter yn is than osc in this pic. they’re so cute

→ username18 they’re mortal enemies. don’t start romanticising them

→ username19 they are so enemies to lovers coded 

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oscarpiastri just posted

liked by itsyn_ln, arthur_leclerc and others

oscarpiastri enjoying a week off

44,287 comments

mclaren does this mean we’re friends again

→ oscarpiastri not yet

username1 mr piastri, sir, um, is that a WOMAN?

username2 look, it’s very nice to see that you’re alive and well but we no longer care about that because who is that in the last pic?! 

charles_leclerc son, you didn’t tell me about this 

landonorris a new teammate and a new partner. i see i’m being fully replaced

→ oscarpiastri don’t fuel the rumours about us

username3 oh so this is why twitter is freaking out

username4 the linked hands

username5 yn liked this? are they friends now??

itsyn_ln just posted

liked by mclaren, landonorris and others

itsyn_ln my boyfriend just won a grand prix, bitches! 

73,220 comments

pierregasly was this meant to be posted on the burner account??

→ itsyn_ln oh shit

→ oscarpiastri oh, sweetheart

→ charles_leclerc and everyone thought i would tell! 

itsyn_ln well, no point deleting it now. enjoy

→ username6 yn and oscar are dating?!!?

→ username7 and he calls her sweetheart?!?!?

username8 no one understands how precious these two are to me

username9 enemies to lovers come true

username10 these two were written by a wattpad user

alpinef1team sometimes we think we miss you and then you do stuff like this 

→ mclaren sure you don’t want her back 

→ username11 noooo don’t take our papaya partners away from us 

username12 i’ve only had ynoscar for five minutes but if anything happens to them, i will kill everyone

username13 they said i was crazy but i knew! i knew there was passion between their feud

landonorris and you did so good to not kiss him in front of the cameras

→ oscarpiastri she’s more annoyed that now she shouldn’t have bothered

→ itsyn_ln want to smooch you for the world to see

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requests open

coming soon; max taste part 3 and franco x driver! reader

[lenkist]

Good job, detective

Detective!Agatha x fem!reader (3.2k words)

summary: you’re a newly minted detective who just cracked your first murder case, and the entire police department decided to celebrate with a small party—naturally, Agatha Harkness was there.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, g!p agatha harkness, smut, dirty talk, penetration, blowjob, mommy issue, explicit language, age gap, praising kink, outdoor, unprotected sex, slight footjob

a/n: I was a little high on edibles and listening to Crush by Ethel Cain while writing this. Let me know if you guys want part 2!

Case closed. The bad guy got caught. You did it.

The air in the bar is filled with the smell of spilled beer and the stale scent of whiskey that lingered from the bar’s low-lit corners.

Tonight, the place felt even smaller than usual, the laughter of the police officers in the corner fading into the background as you kept your eyes on the one person who hadn't yet congratulated you on your first solved murder case: Detective Agatha Harkness.

She was sitting by herself like she always did. A worn cigarette dangled from her lips, ash falling off in slow, lazy bits. Her beer, the cheapest they had, was halfway gone, and her navy cargo pants and dark flannel looked as though they’d seen too many long nights like this.

She looked at ease, but the slight tension in her posture told you she wasn’t entirely relaxed. Maybe she hadn’t been for years.

“Good job, newbie,” Herb said, clinking his beer against your shoulder, snapping you back to the present.

You offered him a polite smile. Herb was one of the few people in the department you found easy to talk to. “Thanks, but it wasn’t just me. Agatha helped a lot with the case.”

“She did,” Herb said, his gaze drifting over your shoulder. You didn’t need to look to know he was watching Agatha. “She can be tough, sure, but she’s one hell of a mentor—and an even better detective. The best we’ve got.”

Your heartbeat quickened, and you felt your cheeks flush as you nodded. “Yeah,” you agreed, your voice quieter. “She’s really good at that.”

You’d been watching her all night, trying to figure out if she was as untouchable as she seemed. Now, drunk and buzzed from the alcohol, you figured you might as well try.

You waited until the last of the other cops had filtered out and the bar had quieted before finally making your move toward her.

You wobbled slightly as you approached her booth, the floor beneath your boots feeling unsteady. Agatha didn’t even look up. She didn’t need to. She already knew you were coming.

“Detective,” you said, your voice slurring just a bit. “Thought I’d join you.”

Agatha looked up slowly, her blue eyes narrowing just the slightest as she took in your unsteady stance. She didn’t smile. Didn’t say a word for a long moment. The only sound was the faint clink of her beer hitting the table.

“You’re drunk.” She muttered, voice rough like she hadn’t spoken all night. Her cigarette dangled from her lips, the ember glowing brightly in the dim light.

You didn’t care. You were tired of playing it safe, tired of pretending you didn’t notice her, that you didn’t feel that pull when you were around her. “So what?” you said, voice a little more defiant than you intended. “Doesn’t mean I can’t talk to you.”

She took a long drag from her cigarette, eyes still locked on you, sizing you up. “It means you can’t think straight,” she said, voice flat. “And you’re about to make a fool of yourself.”

“Maybe I do want to make a fool of myself.”

Agatha snorted softly, shaking her head as a sly smirk curved her lips. “I know exactly what you’re doing,”

“Oh?” you replied, tilting your head. “And what’s that?”

She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as if she were interrogating a suspect. “Trying to sleep with your senior detective to fast-track your career. It’s cute, really.”

“It’s not about climbing the ladder,” you said, your voice steady despite the weight of her scrutiny. “I just wanna have a drink with you, that’s all. Celebrating our success on the case. We worked so hard together, didn’t we?”

“Isn’t it, though?” Agatha countered, her eyes narrowing like she was analyzing every detail of your reaction. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure looks that way.”

“I’m not interested in hiding my desires, detective,” you said softly, looking down and seeing a noticeable bulge on Agatha’s pants. You wet your lips. “Can’t say the same to you, though.”

For the first time, Agatha didn’t look away. But she didn’t smile either. Instead, her gaze darkened, and she put the cigarette out in the ashtray between you. “I’m not the one you want, kid,” she said, voice a little more serious now, almost a warning. “I’m trouble. And you’re better off without it.”

You scoffed, your head swimming a little more with every word she said, but you pushed through. “You think I’m some little rookie who’s scared of a little trouble?”

“Yeah,” she replied, voice thick with that Southern drawl. “I think that’s exactly what you are. And you think you’re the first one who’s tried to make a move on me after a few drinks?”

Her words hit harder than you expected, but you didn’t back off. You weren’t going to let her get away with pushing you away like she had with everyone else.

“No,” you said, shaking your head, the alcohol making your thoughts fuzzier. “But I’m more fun. You’ll see.”

Agatha tilted her head, studying you carefully. You could see the wheels turning behind her eyes, and for a split second, there was something soft there— curiosity, maybe. But then it was gone, replaced by that cold, distant look that made her so damn good at shutting people out.

“I’ve been down that road, sweetheart,” she said, her voice low, cocky. “I don’t need another mess in my life. Especially not one that can’t even hold their liquor.”

“I can hold my liquor just fine,” you said, your voice firm now, the alcohol starting to fuel your stubbornness. “I just think maybe you’re a little scared of me.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow, the faintest flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. “Scared of you?” she repeated, her lips curling into a smirk. “I’ve been around, kid. Don’t flatter yourself.”

You leaned in closer, your chest almost brushing against the edge of the table. “Maybe I’m not the one who’s scared,” you said softly, words coming out before you could think. “Maybe you’re just too afraid to let someone in.”

She didn’t confirm, or deny. She didn’t need to.

Instead, Agatha stood up suddenly, her movements slow, deliberate. “You’re drunk, rookie, get rest. Go home,” she muttered, her voice almost tired now. “See you tomorrow.”

And with that, she walked out of the booth, her figure disappearing into the dim light of the small bar.

You watched the smoke from her last cigarette curl in the air, and it seemed to mock you, reminding you of the way Agatha had pulled away from you without a second thought. But you weren’t going to let it end like that. Not tonight.

You weren’t a fool. You could tell by the way she looked at you—half dismissive, half something else—that she wasn’t immune to whatever this was. That flicker of vulnerability that she quickly buried every time you came close, the little moments where she didn’t pull away fast enough. She might have tried to shut you down, but you could see it, just beneath the surface.

And you weren’t backing down.

You pushed yourself away from the booth and stumbled a little as you made your way to the door, your boots clicking a little too loudly against the worn wooden floors. You had no idea where she went, but you had a feeling you didn’t need to look far.

Agatha was at the far end of the empty parking lot, leaning against her car, a cigarette in her hand. The glow of the streetlamp cast a shadow over her, making her look even more like she belonged to the night than she had inside.

You walked toward her slowly, your thoughts still clouded by the alcohol, but your steps steady.

She didn’t look up when you stopped a few feet away from her. “Thought I told you to go home,” Agatha’s voice was low and rough, and she didn’t turn to face you. Her thumb flickers a cigarette’s butt.

You didn’t take a step back. “I don’t think you told me that,” you replied, your voice more confident than you felt. “You just tried to get rid of me.”

“Same thing.” She took another drag. “You’ve already had your fun for the night. Go back inside, have another drink with the others. Let them keep telling you how great you are.”

“They’re all already gone home.”

Agatha shrugged. “And you should too, kid.”

Then, without warning,

You stepped forward, close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from her, the tension so thick between you two that it almost made the air crackle. Agatha’s breath hitched as you grabbed her crotch.

Fuck it.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“You said you didn’t want me, liar,” you said softly, your voice low, your chest tight. “You’re hard, detective.”

Agatha didn’t say anything right away. But when she did, it wasn’t with words. Instead, she reached out, her fingers brushing the back of your neck before pulling you in. The kiss was slow, deliberate, testing, like she was still deciding if she wanted this, if you were worth it.

You moan into her greedy mouth. Your hand squeezes her bulge, earning a sweet moan and a soft hip buck from Agatha. You’re practically throwing yourself into her arms. That pulled-up sleeve of her flannel is making your head dizzy. She’s such a handsome woman, and you want nothing more than for her to ruin you, to have your fingernails clawing onto her veiny arms as she choked you in bed.

When she pulled back, her blue eyes were darker than they had been before. Her breath was shallow, but she still didn’t say anything.

“Agatha?” you call for her, unsure if you have pushed it too far. “I—”

“Get in the car,” she demands, pulling your hair with force. “Now.”

Swallowing hard, you took a step back and reluctantly broke away from her embrace. As you walked towards the car, you felt a mixture of excitement and fear coursing through your veins. This was unlike anything you had ever experienced before, but the idea of being with Agatha, having her in every way possible, was intoxicating.

As you reached the car, Agatha slid into the driver's seat, her eyes never leaving yours. You could see the hunger and desire mirrored in her gaze. It made your heart race even faster and sent a surge of adrenaline through your body.

"You’ve been bad," she whispered, breathing hard. She didn’t even bother to take off her clothes. Agatha just unzipped her cargo pants and freed her hardened, big, thick cock, and sighed in relief.

“God, Agatha—”

"Look at the mess you made me, hon."

You couldn't help but lick your lips in anticipation. The sight of it was overwhelming, and you felt a surge of arousal that you had never experienced before. You knew this was wrong to fuck your peer, but all you could think about was feeling that perfect cock inside you, being impaled on it and taken by the woman you had been so drawn to for months.

Your cunt clenched around nothing with the thought of Agatha’s hands on your hips, fucking your pussy. “Please.”

"Begging me to fuck you already, huh?" she said, her voice low and sexy. "I bet you'd be great at anything I asked you to do."

You couldn't help but blush at the compliment, feeling a warm sensation spread through your body. "What do you want me to do next?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha's eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned forward to press her lips against yours in a gentle, possessive kiss. "I think it's time for you to show me just how good you are," she said, her voice low and husky. She reached down, grasping your hair gently and pulling you toward her cock. "Suck me off, baby," she commanded, her voice firm and authoritative.

You didn't need to be told twice. You eagerly took Agatha's cock into your mouth, savoring the taste of her leaks like a sweet honey.

She groaned in pleasure as you began to suck and stroke her, feeling her cock twitch and grow harder in your mouth. She’s so big that you can’t even fit it down your throat without choking in tears.

“It’s fine, baby, take it slow.”

You nodded and ran your tongue over the head of her cock. You could feel her thighs trembling as you worked your way down her length, teasing the sensitive areas with your tongue and lips. Agatha moaned loudly, her hands gripping your hair tightly as she enjoyed the sensations.

You moved faster, knowing that you had to bring her to climax soon. You could feel a powerful energy building within you just from pleasuring her, and you knew that this was something you wanted to do for her again and again. Her hips bucked against you, both her hands now gripping your hair as she began to lose in the sensation, each movement pushing her cock deeper and deeper.

"Oh, fuck," she breathed, her voice a low growl. Her head was throwing against the seat, her eyes were closed and her lips parted in messy moans as she held your head still and fucked into your mouth. She looked high and drunk in absolute pleasure, and that made you feel proud of yourself. "Yes, just like that."

You could feel the tension building within her, and you knew that she was close. Her breathing grew ragged, and her grip on your hair tightened as she neared the edge.

"I'm going to cum," she hissed through gritted teeth. "Yes, right there."

And then it happened – Agatha's body stiffened, and her cock throbbed in your mouth as she came. You felt the warm rush of her climax as she flooded your mouth with hot fluids. Your eyes rolled in pleasure and your nose pressed against her pubic hair. She cried out, her voice a mix of pleasure and relief, as she rode out her orgasm.

Eventually, she softened and pulled out of your mouth, collapsing back onto her seat. You pushed yourself up, catching your breath. You’re dripping wet and Agatha noticed the needs in your eyes.

Then, Agatha commands. “On your knees.”

You quickly obeyed, moving to the backseat, getting down on all fours with your ass in the air. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, and you pushed yourself back against Agatha's legs, yearning for her touch.

You’re so ready to get fucked out of your sanity. You‘re a mess, drunk in alcohol and Agatha’s touch.

"That's it, baby," Agatha crooned, her hand running up and down your spine, sending shivers through your entire body. "Just like that."

With a grunt of effort, Agatha positioned herself behind you. You could feel the head of her cock probing against your entrance, testing your readiness. You whimpered softly, a mix of fear and excitement washing over you.

With a fierce grip on your hips, Agatha thrust forward. You felt the head of her cock push past your tight entrance, stretching you in a way you never thought possible. A gasp escaped from you as she continued to push deeper, and you felt every inch of her cock slide into you. It was both painful and exhilarating, the sensation overwhelming.

"Oh god, yes," you cried out, your voice shaking with emotion. "Fuck me, Agatha. Fuck me hard."

Agatha didn't need to be told twice. She began thrusting into you with a fierce intensity, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through your body. The slapping sounds of her hips hitting against your ass filled the car, punctuated by the occasional moan or gasp from either one of you.

Your hands reached back, gripping onto the seat belt clasps for support as Agatha pounded into you relentlessly. Her breaths came in short pants, her muscles tense with exertion. You could feel her heart pounding against your back, in sync with your own rapid heartbeat.

"This is what you want, huh?" you nodded, chanting her name like a sacred prayer. She growled, her grip tightening on your hips. "This is it, right? Getting fucked by an older woman’s cock, is that your kink?”

“Yes! Mommy,” you cried out, “yes, yesyesyes.”

Your body responded to her words, your pussy clenching around Agatha's cock with each thrust. The feeling was indescribable, and you knew that this was something you would never forget.

"Fuck, Agatha," you moaned, lifting your hips to meet each of her strokes. "I'm going to come so hard."

"Good," Agatha murmured, her voice thick with desire. "I want to feel it, baby. I want to feel you come apart.”

Her words sent you over the edge. The pleasure built up inside of you, rushing through your body like wildfire until finally, it exploded out of you in waves of bliss. You screamed out her name, your pussy clenching down on her cock as your orgasm washed over you.

Agatha groaned as she felt your pussy contract around her cock, the sensation pushing her closer to her own release. "Fuck, hon," she hissed, "I'm right there with you."

Her hips bucked harder, each thrust more messy than the last. You could feel the tension in her tight grip on your hips, her veins popping up on her neck and her arms as she neared her climax. The feeling was intoxicating, knowing that you were driving her to such heights of pleasure.

"Cum for me, Agatha," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. "Cum inside me."

This was all it took. With a final, powerful thrust, Agatha cried out, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her cock jerked inside you, shooting pulse after pulse of hot cum deep into your pussy. It was intense, almost painful in its intensity, but so incredibly pleasurable. You wondered how many women have had Agatha cumming inside them like this, the thought made you feel a wave of jealousy right through your chest.

As Agatha's orgasm subsided, her breathing slowly returning to normal, she pulled out of you with a soft pop. You felt a warm, wet sensation between your legs as her cock slipped from you, leaving you feeling empty and wanting more.

Her eyes flicked down to her slick, cum-covered cock before returning to you with a wicked smirk playing on her lips. She scoffed, flipping your body effortlessly onto your back. Your eyes followed her movements, now lying on your back as you watched Agatha try to catch her breath.

"Tired already, detective?" you challenged playfully. Your feet shifted towards her thigh, feeling her up through the rough fabrics of her cargo pants before pressing your feet on her sensitive cock, teasingly giving her a foot job that caused Agatha to buck her hips and whimper in sudden pleasure. You were certain that you could make her cum again, or even drive her to overstimulation if she’d let you.

She stopped your movements with one firm grasp.

"Not enough, huh?" she asked, gazing at her own cum running down between your legs and looking back at you like she couldn’t believe you still wanted more. “Are you trying to get yourself knocked up or something?”

“Maybe,” you teased, giggling softly before grabbing her collar and pulling her into a kiss. “You’re incredible,” you whispered, your fingers slipping into her hair. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

Agatha’s smirk widened as she cocked her head, her southern charm slipping effortlessly into her tone. “Well, sugar, ’course you haven’t,” she drawled, her voice dripping with a honeyed confidence that made your cheeks burn. “I’m exceptional.”

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

The Emperor’s Gaze Part 2

Pairing: Emperor Geta x Maid! reader

Warnings: Fluff, smut, Caracella being an ass

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy! I unintentionally made this a series and I love it-

Word Count: 3.8k

Masterlist | Previous Next

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The days following your time in the garden blurred into a strange mix of normalcy and heightened awareness. While you carried out your usual tasks, your mind wandered back to the emperor’s words, his touch, and the way he had looked at you—as though you were the only person in the world who mattered.

The garden had become your sanctuary. He summoned you there often, under the guise of needing someone to help with tasks like arranging flowers or cleaning the statues. Yet, you both knew it was an excuse.

He didn’t just speak to you as an emperor to a servant. He asked about your life—your family, your dreams, your fears. Slowly, your guarded responses began to crack, and you found yourself sharing pieces of yourself that no one else knew.

In turn, he shared fragments of his own life. He spoke of the weight of the crown, the constant fear of betrayal, and the loneliness that came with power. For all his authority, Geta was just a man, burdened by expectations and longing for something real.

But not everyone was blind to your growing connection.

One evening, as you returned to the servants’ quarters after another day spent in his presence, you were cornered by one of the senior maids. She was older, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of your flushed cheeks and the faint smile you hadn’t realized you wore.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, girl,” she hissed, her voice low but cutting.

You blinked, startled. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, don’t play innocent with me,” she snapped. “The emperor may have taken a liking to you, but do you think that makes you safe? There are people in this palace who would kill to gain his favor—or to destroy it.”

Her words sent a chill down your spine. You tried to brush past her, but she grabbed your arm, her grip surprisingly strong.

“Whatever he’s promised you, remember this: you’re replaceable. Don’t get too comfortable.”

You yanked your arm free, her words echoing in your mind as you hurried away. That night, sleep eluded you, the weight of her warning pressing heavily on your chest.

The next day, as you worked quietly in the garden, Geta noticed your unease immediately.

“You’re quiet today,” he observed, watching you as you arranged a vase of flowers.

“I’m always quiet,” you replied softly, not meeting his gaze.

“Not like this,” he said, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, debating whether to tell him. But the concern in his eyes, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you—it made it impossible to lie.

“Someone warned me,” you admitted finally, your fingers trembling as they adjusted the flowers. “They said I’m… replaceable. That being near you puts me in danger.”

His expression darkened, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes. “Who said this to you?”

You shook your head quickly. “It doesn’t matter. They’re right, aren’t they? I don’t belong here, my lord. I don’t belong with you.”

His hand shot out, gently but firmly grabbing yours and stilling your movements. “Y/N, look at me.”

Reluctantly, you lifted your gaze to meet his. His jaw was set, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity.

“No one decides where you belong but you—and me,” he said firmly. “Do you think I’d let anyone harm you?”

“It’s not just about harm,” you said, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to be used to hurt you, either. I don’t want to be a weakness for you.”

His grip tightened on your hand, though his touch remained gentle. “You’re not a weakness. You’re a reminder of the man I want to be. And if anyone thinks they can use you against me, they’ll learn how wrong they are.”

You swallowed hard, his words both comforting and terrifying. How could he be so certain? How could he promise to protect you in a palace full of schemers and spies?

Before you could respond, the distant sound of voices reached your ears. Geta’s head snapped up, his expression hardening.

“Come,” he said, pulling you toward a hidden alcove tucked behind a wall of ivy.

You barely had time to protest before a group of noblemen entered the garden, their voices loud and full of laughter. Geta’s grip on your hand remained firm as he pressed you into the shadows, his body shielding yours from view.

“Your Majesty,” one of the men called, scanning the garden. “Are you here?”

Geta sighed quietly, his breath brushing against your temple. “Stay here,” he murmured, his voice low. “Don’t move until I come back.”

You nodded, your heart racing as he stepped out of the alcove, his demeanor shifting instantly to that of the confident, commanding emperor.

“Gentlemen,” he greeted, his tone light but firm. “What brings you here?”

As the noblemen launched into a discussion about some trivial matter, you watched from the shadows, your chest tightening. This was the reality of being close to him—the constant need to hide, to tread carefully around those who might twist your connection into something dangerous.

And yet, as he glanced back at the alcove, his eyes briefly meeting yours, you felt a flicker of hope.

Whatever challenges lay ahead, one thing was clear: you weren’t facing them alone.

——

The next week passed in a tense haze. You tried to stay out of sight, avoiding the prying eyes and whispers that seemed to follow you wherever you went. Despite Geta’s assurances, the warning from the senior maid still lingered in your mind.

But Geta had other plans.

It was a week after the incident in the garden when a grand feast was announced. The palace erupted with activity, servants scurrying to prepare the banquet hall, polish the silverware, and arrange the finest delicacies from across the empire. You were swept up in the preparations, your every moment occupied with tasks, though you couldn’t shake the sense of unease that hung in the air.

The evening of the feast arrived, the palace glowing with the light of a thousand torches. Nobles from across the empire filled the grand hall, their laughter and conversation blending into a cacophony of sound. You stood at the edge of the room, hidden among the other servants, your gaze flickering nervously to the head of the table where Geta sat, his expression calm and composed.

The feast began as expected, with music, dancing, and an endless parade of food and wine. You kept your head down, trying to ignore the way your heart raced every time his gaze drifted in your direction.

And then, as the night wore on and the hall began to quiet, Geta rose from his seat.

The room fell silent instantly, all eyes turning to him. He surveyed the crowd with the air of a man who commanded absolute authority, his expression unreadable.

“My friends,” he began, his voice carrying effortlessly over the hall. “Tonight, we celebrate the strength and unity of our great empire. But I must confess, I have another reason for calling you here.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, curiosity lighting the faces of the assembled nobles. You felt your stomach twist, a sense of foreboding washing over you.

“For too long, this empire has lacked an empress,” Geta continued, his gaze sweeping the room. “A partner who will stand beside me, guide me, and share in the burdens of rule.”

The murmurs grew louder, excitement and speculation buzzing through the crowd. You felt frozen in place, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure everyone could hear it.

“And so, I have made my decision,” Geta said, his voice steady and resolute. “I have chosen my empress.”

The hall fell silent once more, every eye fixed on him. He paused for a moment, letting the tension build before his gaze turned directly to you.

“Y/N.”

The sound of your name seemed to echo in the vast chamber, drawing every head in your direction. You felt the weight of their stares, a mixture of shock, disbelief, and anger radiating from the crowd.

You took a step back, your mind racing. *This can’t be happening.*

“Come forward,” Geta commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your feet moved of their own accord, carrying you toward him even as your mind screamed at you to stop. The sea of nobles parted as you passed, their whispered words slicing through the air like knives.

When you reached the dais, Geta extended his hand to you, his eyes softening as they met yours. “Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. But then you saw the sincerity in his eyes, the promise of protection and devotion, and you found yourself nodding.

“Yes,” you whispered.

He smiled, a genuine warmth breaking through his composed exterior. Taking your hand, he turned back to the crowd.

“This woman,” he declared, his voice strong and unwavering, “has shown me courage, kindness, and strength unlike any I have ever known. She will be your empress, and you will honor her as you honor me.”

The room erupted into chaos. Some nobles cheered, their voices filled with forced enthusiasm. Others whispered furiously among themselves, their faces dark with outrage. But Geta paid them no mind, his focus entirely on you.

“You’ve just made a lot of enemies,” you murmured, your voice shaking.

“So have they,” he replied, his grip on your hand tightening. “But let them come. I’ll face them all if it means keeping you by my side.”

In that moment, as he stood beside you, his presence a shield against the storm brewing around you, you realized there was no turning back. You were no longer just a maid—you were the chosen empress, a target for intrigue and danger.

But with Geta at your side, you felt a spark of hope. Together, perhaps you could navigate the treacherous waters of the court and forge a future where love and loyalty triumphed over fear.

——

The days following the feast were a whirlwind. The announcement of your elevation to empress had sent shockwaves through the empire. Courtiers whispered behind your back, and the palace was abuzz with speculation. Despite the overwhelming attention, Geta stood firm beside you, his presence both a comfort and a shield.

But not everyone celebrated the news.

Caracalla had been away from the palace on a campaign when the feast took place. His sudden return only days later sent a ripple of unease through the court. Known for his ruthless nature and volatile temper, Caracalla was a man who inspired both fear and respect.

The first time you saw him, you understood why.

He entered the throne room with an air of authority, his dark eyes scanning the room like a predator sizing up its prey. Taller and more imposing than Geta, his presence seemed to suck the air from the room.

Geta stood at your side, his expression carefully neutral as his brother approached.

“So,” Caracalla said, his voice low and sharp, “this is the woman who has bewitched you.”

You stiffened, your hands clasped tightly in front of you. The way he looked at you was unnerving, his gaze cold and calculating.

“She’s my chosen empress,” Geta replied evenly. “And you’ll treat her with respect.”

Caracalla’s lips curled into a faint, mocking smile. “Respect is earned, brother. Not given.”

The tension between them was palpable, the unspoken rivalry hanging thick in the air. You felt like a pawn caught between two kings, each vying for dominance.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Caracalla continued, his eyes flicking back to you. “Bringing her into the palace—it’s a bold move. But boldness doesn’t always equal wisdom.”

“She’s under my protection,” Geta said firmly. “Anyone who threatens her will answer to me.”

Caracalla raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. “Careful, little brother. Threats like that can come back to haunt you.”

With that, he turned and strode away, his cloak billowing behind him. The room remained silent until he was gone, the tension slowly dissipating like a storm passing.

“Are you all right?” Geta asked, his hand brushing yours.

You nodded, though your heart was still racing. “What does he mean by ‘come back to haunt you’?”

Geta’s jaw tightened. “Caracalla doesn’t approve of anything I do. He sees me as a threat to his power, and now he’ll see you the same way. But don’t worry—I won’t let him hurt you.”

Despite his words, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Caracalla’s return marked the beginning of something dangerous.

---

In the weeks that followed, Caracalla’s presence loomed over the palace like a dark cloud. Though he remained outwardly cordial, his every word and action seemed calculated to sow doubt and discord.

He would make veiled comments in court, questioning your suitability as empress without ever addressing you directly. He lingered in places he wasn’t expected, his sharp gaze always seeming to find you.

One evening, as you walked alone in the gardens, you felt a presence behind you. Turning quickly, you found Caracalla standing there, his expression unreadable.

“You should be careful wandering alone,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with menace.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you replied, though your voice betrayed a hint of unease.

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Brave words for someone so far out of their depth.”

“What do you want?” you asked, your hands clenched at your sides.

“To understand,” he said, stepping closer. “What is it about you that has made my brother so reckless? What spell have you cast over him?”

“I’ve done nothing but be myself,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “If that’s a threat to you, perhaps you should look inward.”

His smile vanished, replaced by a hard, calculating expression. “You’re clever,” he said quietly. “Clever enough to know that your position is precarious. Be careful, little empress. The palace is a dangerous place, and loyalty is a fleeting thing.”

With that, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

——

The days following your tense encounter with Caracalla passed in a haze of unease. The palace seemed colder with him there, his shadow casting a long, dark presence that crept into every corner. But in the quiet moments, when the court had settled and the whispers died down, Geta found ways to draw you away from the chaos.

He would pull you into hidden alcoves, his hand warm against yours, his touch grounding. Sometimes, he’d bring you to the gardens at night, the moonlight casting silver over his sharp features. In those moments, it felt like the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of you.

One evening, after a particularly tense council meeting where Caracalla had all but accused you of manipulating Geta, the emperor found you in your quarters.

You were seated by the window, staring out at the flickering lights of the city below. When he entered, you glanced at him, your expression guarded.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you murmured, though your heart leapt at the sight of him.

“And yet here I am,” he replied, his voice low and steady. He crossed the room, his presence filling the space, and knelt before you, his hands resting on your knees. “You’re worried.”

“Of course, I am,” you admitted. “Your brother… he hates me. He hates that you’ve chosen me. I feel like I’m walking a tightrope, and one wrong step…”

He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re not alone in this. I’m with you, every step of the way.”

His words were a balm, but the tension in your chest didn’t ease. “Geta, you’ve made enemies because of me. What if—”

“No ‘what ifs,’” he interrupted gently. “You’re my empress. My choice. And I would choose you a thousand times over, no matter the cost.”

You stared at him, searching his face for any hint of doubt. But his gaze was steady, filled with a quiet resolve that stole your breath.

He leaned closer, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life,” he murmured, his voice a bare whisper.

And then his lips were on yours, soft and warm, a promise in every touch. He kissed you like you were the only thing grounding him, like the rest of the world could fall away and it wouldn’t matter as long as you were by his side.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet space between you.

“I love you,” he confessed, the words slipping from his lips like a vow. “Not as an emperor. Not as a ruler. Just as a man who’s hopelessly, irrevocably yours.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, the weight of his words settling deep in your chest. “Geta, I—”

“Say it when you’re ready,” he said softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

---

Later that night, Geta insisted you join him in his private chambers, away from the prying eyes of the court. The room was warm, the golden glow of the fire casting soft shadows across the walls. He had dismissed his attendants, insisting on pouring wine for the two of you himself.

You sat together on a plush divan, his arm draped casually over your shoulders. The closeness was intoxicating, the weight of his presence a comfort you hadn’t realized you craved.

“Tell me something about yourself,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “Something no one else knows.”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your goblet. “There’s not much to tell. My life before the palace was… ordinary.”

“Ordinary is relative,” he countered. “To me, everything about you is extraordinary.”

His words brought a flush to your cheeks, and you ducked your head to hide your smile. “Fine. When I was a girl, I used to sneak into the fields near my village to watch the stars. I always imagined they were the gods’ way of watching over us.”

Geta tilted his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “And what do you think now?”

You glanced up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the way he looked at you—as if you were the only thing that mattered. “Now, I think the stars are reminders to find light in the darkness.”

He leaned closer, his hand coming to rest on your cheek. “Then you must be my star,” he murmured. “Because you’ve brought light to my life in ways I never thought possible.”

His lips found yours again, the kiss deeper this time, filled with a longing that left you breathless. You clung to him, your fingers tangling in his hair as he pulled you closer, his touch igniting a fire that burned away every fear, every doubt.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathless, your foreheads pressed together as you shared a quiet moment of intimacy.

“Stay with me tonight,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.

You nodded, your heart swelling with a love that felt too big to contain. “Always.”

Geta's hands roam your body as he pushes you down onto the silk sheets, his golden jewelry glinting in the candlelight. He kisses a trail down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. "You're mine," he growls, his voice low and possessive. "Mine to claim, mine to protect."

He settles between your legs, his weight pressing you into the mattress. You can feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of your gown, and you arch up to meet him, desperate for more.

Geta's fingers find the hem of your dress, pushing it up inch by inch until cool air meets your heated skin. He pauses, drinking in the sight of you, his eyes dark with desire.

"Beautiful," he breathes, his hand skimming over your stomach, your ribs, your breasts. "So beautiful."

He leans down, his tongue tracing the shell of your ear. "I'm going to worship every inch of you," he promises, his words sending shivers down your spine. "I'm going to make you forget everything but my name."

His mouth trails down your body, leaving a path of fire in its wake. He kisses your collarbone, your breasts, your stomach, until he reaches the apex of your thighs.

Geta looks up at you, his eyes locked with yours as he parts your folds with his fingers. "You're already so wet," he murmurs, his voice thick with arousal. "Is this all for me?"

You nod, your breath coming in short gasps as his tongue makes contact with your most sensitive parts. He groans, the sound vibrating against your skin, and he sets about his task with a single-minded determination that leaves you writhing beneath him.

He brings you to the edge again and again, his fingers and mouth working in tandem to drive you higher and higher. Just when you think you can't take anymore, he pulls back, his chest heaving with exertion.

"Not yet," he pants, his voice strained. "I'm not done with you."

He positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your slick heat. "Tell me you're mine," he demands, his eyes boring into yours. "Tell me you belong to me."

"Yours," you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I'm yours, Geta. All yours."

With a low groan, he thrusts forward, sheathing himself inside you in one smooth stroke. You cry out at the sudden fullness, your back arching off the bed.

Geta sets a punishing pace, his hips snapping against yours with a force that rocks the bed. Each thrust drives him deeper, harder, until the room is filled with the sound of flesh meeting flesh and the creaking of the mattress.

You meet him thrust for thrust, your legs wrapped around his waist, your fingers tangled in his hair. The pleasure builds and builds, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly until it explodes, washing over you in waves of ecstasy.

Geta follows soon after, his body tensing above you as he spills himself inside you with a guttural moan. He collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his breath hot against your neck.

"My star," he murmurs, his voice soft and sated. "My beautiful, perfect star."

You hold him close, your heart swelling with a love that feels like it could burst. In this moment, the rest of the world falls away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped up in each other's arms.

It's a perfect moment, a rare glimpse of peace in a world that's constantly at war. And you hold onto it, cherishing it, knowing that it's a gift that can't last forever.

But for now, you're content to stay in Geta's arms, to let the rest of the world fade away. Because here, with him, you're exactly where you belong.

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Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

Tag list: @captainostella

[runninriot]

Santa's Secret

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles day 23

prompt: hot chocolate | rated G | wc: 998 | tags: Eddie & Wayne Munson, single dad Steve Harrington

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Eddie can’t wait to get out of the suit that’s been suffocating him for the past three hours. He’s still sweaty and his hair is a mess after wearing the wig and fake beard combo for so long but he feels better once he’s changed back into his regular clothes.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Eddie stops for a moment. He looked so different dressed as Santa, could’ve been fooled by his own reflection wearing that costume. There’s no way Steve actually realised it’s him. Maybe what Eddie thought he saw in Steve’s eyes wasn’t recognition, but confusion.

They haven’t seen each other in years and apart from that, it’s not like they’ve ever been… close. Sure, Steve probably knew of him – they’ve both been somewhat popular in high school, although for very different reasons. But still. It was silly of Eddie to think the smile he gave him was one of familiarity. More realistically, it was just a silent thanks for how he handled the little girl’s nervousness, brought a smile to her face by playing into her childlike wonder.

And that’s okay.

In the end, Eddie did have a great time pretending to be Santa for a while. He’ll never tell Wayne, though, unless he wants to hear his old man tell him ‘I told you so‘.

With his shift done, Eddie strolls around the still brimming main hall of the community centre, looking at a stand with wooden figurines where a beautifully carved dragon caught his eyes.

He’s so fascinated by it, that he doesn’t notice the person coming up to him, until a hand taps his shoulder lightly.

When he spins around, he finds Steve standing next to him.

   “So, what brings you back to this shithole?“ he asks through a laugh, casual, like it’s normal for the former King and King of Freaks to have a conversation.

   “I, uh,“ Eddie stammers, staring at Steve a little star struck and maybe a little more in love because there’s that smile again and it’s blinding like the fucking sun and this time, he doesn’t have the Santa suit to blame for the fucking heat spreading in his face.

    God, grow up Munson. You’re an adult. Behave like one.

   “I’m visiting my uncle.“

   “How is Wayne? I was a bit worried when I realised that-“ Steve leans closer to whisper in his ear and Eddie’s heart stops for a moment. “-Santa sent someone else to cover for him.“

There are a million thoughts running through Eddie’s mind – since when are Steve and Wayne on first name basis? So Steve did recognise him? And why’s it so fucking hot in here?

   “You were great, by the way. I’d have lost it at some of the parents. They can be worse than their spoiled little brats sometimes.“

Eddie chuckles nervously, shrugs his shoulders and waves a hand at Steve who moves back slowly but stays close, so close Eddie catches a hint of his cologne, mingling with the Christmassy smell of oranges, and cinnamon, and apple tea, and it makes him dizzy but not in a bad way.

“Robbie wouldn’t shut up about Santa,“ Steve winks at him, “said he’s the coolest, even cooler than the tooth fairy. And let me tell you, that’s a real compliment.“

They both laugh and it feels so light and freeing; Steve makes it seem so easy to fall into conversation with him.

   “She’s a sweet kid and she loves you a lot, I can tell.“

    Loves you so much she’s wasting her Christmas wish on your happiness, Eddie thinks fondly, biting his tongue not to accidentally spill their little secret.

   “Yeah, well. She doesn’t have much choice. She’s stuck with me, since her mother decided to-“

   “Dad!“ a voice calls from somewhere behind them and when they turn, they see Robbie running up at them.

   “Speaking of the Devil,“ Steve sighs amused before opening his arms to catch her.

   “Who’s your friend?“

   “This is Eddie. We’ve been to school together. He’s grandpa Wayne’s nephew.“

    Grandpa W-hat?

Eddie must be having a stroke. Or maybe something’s wrong with his hearing because… WHAT?

Steve must realise something when he notices Eddie’s confusion, because he suddenly blushes a deep shade of red and smiles awkwardly at him.

   “S-sorry, I thought you knew that, uh-“ Steve takes a deep breath before he continues, “Your uncle has been helping me out a lot when I moved back to Hawkins a few months ago. You know, uh, setting up the house and watching Robbie when I had to go to interviews and couldn’t find a babysitter. He, uh, he’s been a real help. Robbie’s obsessed with him. Aren’t you, baby?“

   “He’s awesome! And he makes the best hot chocolate in the world! With little marshmallows and sprinkles on top!“

Eddie feels like he’s been hit by a truck, feels betrayed by the man he’s been looking up to his whole life.

   Wayne Munson, you son of a potato farmer, are living a secret life where Steve’s daughter calls you grandpa?

    Oh, Eddie’s going to have a field day confronting him with that.

   “Right?! The best hot chocolate ever! I always have mine with whipped cream on top,“ Eddie answers equally enthusiastic, doesn’t even have to pretend despite his inner turmoil because that little girl’s smile is infectious.

While listening to Robbie’s happy babbling, Eddie watches Steve from the corner of his eyes. He still looks a bit like a kid caught stealing cookies, but slowly relaxes, and that’s good, but-

Wayne definitely has some explaining to do. His uncle has always been a fucking saint, can’t not offer his help when he feels like someone’s in need of it. But it being Steve of all people, really messes with Eddie in a weird way he can’t really explain.

He needs to know more.

   “How about we all go to Wayne’s together? I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see you. What do you say?“

[lotsofmilfs]

Shades of Cool Part 2

Pairing : Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Summary : After sharing your magic with Agatha, the bond is stronger, so you start to tease her through it.

Word Count : 6.8kish

Notes : Part 3 soon! (NSFW 😏) i’m sorry if this ended up being repetitive, i’ve edited this for days in a row and keep changing things lmfao.

Part 1

The warmth of her touch lingers as Agatha steps back, her hand still loosely holding yours. The bond between you hums steadily now, like the soft rhythm of a heartbeat. Her magic flickers through the connection—not as strong as it once was centuries ago, but it’s alive, pulsing faintly like a spark waiting to ignite.

You’re exhausted, your body feeling lighter, almost hollow, but there’s no regret in the act. If anything, there’s a strange comfort in knowing she feels more whole now, even if it came at your expense.

Agatha seems to sense it, her sharp gaze softening. “You look like you’re about to collapse,” she says, her voice still laced with that familiar sardonic edge, but there’s an undercurrent of concern that wasn’t quite there before.

“I’m fine,” you say, though your knees threaten to betray you.

“Liar,” she mutters, her free hand reaching out instinctively to steady you. Her fingers brush your arm, firm but careful, and the bond thrums faintly in response. “You’re always so reckless, always giving and never thinking about the cost. You—” She stops herself, her expression twisting into something conflicted.

“Spit it out, Agatha,” you say tiredly, though there’s no real bite in your tone.

Her lips press into a thin line. For a moment, you think she won’t say anything, but then she exhales, her hand lingering on your arm. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says softly. “You didn’t have to… give up part of yourself for me.”

You meet her gaze, your exhaustion tempered by the raw vulnerability in her voice. “You think I’d just stand by and let you suffer like that? Agatha, we’re bonded. I feel what you feel. I couldn’t ignore it even if I wanted to.”

Her jaw tightens, and she looks away. “You’ve always been like this,” she mutters. “Too selfless for your own good. It’s so fucking infuriating.”

You laugh faintly, the sound dry but genuine. “And you’ve always been too stubborn to admit when you need help. So I guess we balance each other out.”

She doesn’t respond right away, her fingers still lightly gripping your arm. But there’s a warmth in your chest, and you can feel the gratitude she’s trying so hard not to voice.

“Come on,” she says after a beat, her tone lighter now. “Let’s get out of this wretched place before you decide to martyr yourself any further.”

She moves to step away, but you catch her hand before she can let go. Her eyes widen slightly at the gesture, and you can feel her surprise ripple faintly through the bond.

“Agatha,” you say, your voice steady despite your exhaustion. “Don’t let this go to waste.”

Her expression falters, her carefully crafted walls cracking just enough for you to see the emotion beneath. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she squeezes your hand in return.

“Okay I- I’ll try.” she says quietly, her voice carrying a weight that feels like a promise.

You nod, satisfied, and let her lead you forward. The mist around you begins to thin, the glowing blue light of the witches’ road shifting to a soft, golden hue. It feels like a small victory, like the road itself is acknowledging the fragile progress you’ve made.

As you walk, Agatha’s hand brushes against yours every now and then—not quite holding, but not quite letting go either.

The quiet between you feels different—less strained, more… charged. You try to ignore it, chalking it up to the magic you just shared, but the truth lingers at the edges of your thoughts. The bond isn’t just a connection of power; it’s always been more than that.

And now that it’s whole again, it’s impossible to ignore.

“Do you feel that?” you ask suddenly, breaking the silence.

Agatha stops, her brow furrowing as she glances at you. “Feel what?”

“The bond,” you say, gesturing vaguely. “It’s… different now. More than it was before.”

Her lips press into a thin line, her gaze flickering away as if she’s considering how much to say. “Of course it’s different,” she replies, her voice carefully measured. “You gave me your magic. That kind of exchange would strengthen any connection.”

You narrow your eyes at her, sensing there’s more she’s not saying. The bond pulses faintly, carrying her unease like a ripple in a still pond.

“It’s not just the magic,” you press, stepping closer. “There’s something else. Something I didn’t feel before.”

Agatha exhales sharply, her jaw tightening. “You’re imagining things,” she mutters, though the flicker of guilt in her eyes betrays her.

“I’m not,” you insist, your voice firmer now. “Agatha, what aren’t you telling me?”

She hesitates, her fingers twitching at her sides. For a moment, you think she might deflect again, but then the bond hums with something deeper—an emotion that feels startlingly raw. It makes your eyes water slightly as it fills your chest.

“You’re not the only one who feels it,” she admits finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “The bond… Us… it’s always been more than just magic. But I buried it. I had to.”

You blink, the weight of her words settling heavily in your chest. “What do you mean?”

She looks at you then, her expression guarded but vulnerable in a way you’ve rarely seen. “When we first started to forge the bond, I felt it, those nights in the forest,” she says, her voice steadier now. “Something more than connection, more than power. But I couldn’t handle it—not then. I was too afraid of what it meant. So I ignored it. Tried to bury it deep enough that even you wouldn’t feel it.”

Her confession leaves you breathless, the bond between you flaring further as her emotions ripple through it. You remember those early days—the intensity of your connection, the way being near her felt like standing too close to a fire.

You’d thought it was just the magic, the strength of the starting bond itself. But now…

“Agatha,” you say softly, your voice tinged with disbelief. “Are you saying… you felt this back then? Even before…”

“Yes,” she says, her tone clipped but honest. “And I thought you did too. But you never said anything, so I assumed it was one-sided. That’s… Another reason why I left.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, memories flooding back with startling clarity. The trial, the first night after she left, the ache of her absence that felt more than just betrayal. It wasn’t just the severed bond that hurt—it was losing her.

“I didn’t know what I was feeling back then,” you admit, your voice trembling. “I thought it was just… the magic. I didn’t realize…”

Your words trail off as you look at her, the weight of the moment settling between you. The bond pulses again, and this time, it’s impossible to deny the warmth that spreads through you.

Agatha steps closer, her gaze searching yours. “And now?” she asks, her voice quieter, almost hesitant.

You swallow hard, the air between you charged with something fragile but undeniable. “Now… I think I Do.”

Her breath catches, the bond roaring underneath your skin, as the truth settles between you. Slowly, tentatively, she reaches out, her fingers brushing against your wrist. The touch is light, hesitant, but it sends a jolt through you that makes your heart race.

The world around you feels distant, the golden mist fading into the background as your focus narrows to her—the way her eyes soften, the faint tremble in her hand as it lingers near yours.

“Don’t run again,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “If this is what we are—what we’ve always been—don’t run from it anymore.”

Her lips part, her expression flickering between fear and something softer. Slowly, she nods, her fingers curling around your wrist with a steadiness that surprises you both.

The stillness between you is filled with the quiet hum of the bond, stronger now, resonating like a steady undercurrent. Agatha’s thumb is brushing lightly against your skin—a small, unspoken gesture that sends heat pooling in your abdomen.

She’s not running this time. That realisation alone makes your throat tighten.

Neither of you moves to break the fragile moment, but the bond speaks louder than words. You feel her unease, the raw edges of her vulnerability, but also the faint flicker of something else: hope. It’s tentative and cautious, like a flame coaxed to life after years of darkness.

“I never wanted to hurt you, you know” she says finally, her voice low, almost trembling. Like she couldn’t keep it in anymore. “Leaving… it wasn’t because I didn’t care. It was because I cared too much. After… Listen like i said, you never said anything about any extra feelings and sometimes i just felt like I would die if i didn’t-” she cuts herself off and sighs deeply.

You blink, her words settling heavily in your chest. “You thought running away would help?”

Her lips twitch into a humourless smile. “I thought it would be easier to sever the bond and save us both the trouble, I was so scared, to feel more, to be more, to have everything with you. Clearly, I was wrong.”

“You think?” you say, though there’s no heat behind it. If anything, your voice is softer now, touched with the faintest trace of affection.

Agatha huffs a quiet laugh, her fingers sliding down to tangle with yours. “You don’t have to be smug about it.”

You bite back a smile, studying her carefully. In the glow of the road, her features are softer, less guarded. Her usual sharp edges—the sardonic quips, the biting humour—are still there, but muted, stripped down to something real.

“Why didn’t you come back sooner?” you ask, the question hanging heavy in the air.

Her gaze drops to where your hands are still joined. For a long moment, she doesn’t answer. When she does, her voice is quieter, almost a whisper.

“I thought you hated me,” she admits. “And I didn’t blame you. After what I did—after what I didn’t do—I thought it was better for you if I stayed away. I killed other witches for sport for years, I figured you’d move on, find someone stronger, someone who deserved…” She trails off, shaking her head.

“Deserved what?” you press gently, stepping closer.

She looks up, her eyes searching yours. “You,” she says simply.

The word hangs between you, heavy with meaning. You feel the bond flare again, emotions rushing through it too fast to parse: guilt, longing, regret, and something warmer, deeper, that makes your heart skip a beat.

For a moment, you’re at a loss for words. You’d spent centuries convincing yourself you didn’t need her, that the ache she left behind was just a relic of the bond. But now, standing here with her, the bond humming strong and full, you realised how wrong you were.

“You idiot,” you say softly, though your voice lacks any real venom. “You’ve always deserved me. I just didn’t realise what that meant until now.”

Agatha’s breath hitches, her hand tightening around yours. Her gaze flickers to your face, searching, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. But you don’t pull away.

Instead, you lift your free hand and let it brush against her cheek, the touch light and hesitant. She freezes, her eyes wide, but she doesn’t pull back.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur, the words soft but firm. “Not this time. And I’m not letting you go either.”

Her lips part as if to respond, but no words come. Instead, she leans into your touch, her eyes closing briefly. Through the bond, you feel the tension in her begin to melt, replaced by a quiet, cautious relief.

It’s a fragile thing, this moment, but it’s real.

When she finally opens her eyes, they’re softer than you’ve ever seen them. “You’re not making this easy,” she mutters, though there’s no real bite in her tone.

You smile faintly. “Good. You’ve made me wait long enough.”

Agatha huffs a laugh, shaking her head slightly. “Right, yeah it was all me.” Your palm cups her other cheek and she licks her lips before her gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest moment, and your breath catches. But instead of closing the distance, she presses her cheek into your left palm, her eyes closing again. It’s not quite a kiss, but the intimacy of it is enough to make your heart race.

“Come on,” she says finally, her voice quieter now. “We should keep moving. The road doesn’t wait forever.”

You nod, letting your hand fall reluctantly, though your fingers linger against hers for a moment longer than necessary.

As you walk side by side, the bond pulses steadily between you, stronger than it’s ever been. And for the first time in centuries, it feels like you’re finally moving forward—together.

Each step forward feels lighter, though the weight of the moment lingers between you. Agatha stays close, her hand brushing yours with each unintentional sway. It’s not deliberate—at least, not entirely—but the proximity is unmistakable.

You don’t speak, letting the bond fill the silence. It thrums with a steady rhythm, no longer jagged or uneven, but it carries a tension neither of you can quite shake.

When you glance at her, you find her doing the same—her sharp, calculating gaze flickering away as though you’d caught her in something private.

“Something on your mind?” you ask, your voice light, though your curiosity is anything but.

Agatha exhales sharply, her lips quirking into a faint smirk. “You, apparently.”

The admission catches you off guard, though her tone is sardonic enough to make you question how much she’s revealing. Still, the bond tells another story. The emotions simmering beneath her words—warmth, vulnerability, longing—are unfiltered and raw, impossible to ignore.

“Should I be flattered?” you tease, tilting your head to watch her reaction.

Her smirk falters, replaced by a flicker of something softer. “You always had a way of getting under my skin,” she mutters, her voice quieter now.

You slow your steps, turning to face her fully. “You’re one to talk.”

Agatha stops too, her arms crossing defensively even as her gaze softens. “You’re different than I remember,” she says, her voice almost wistful. “Or maybe… I just forgot.”

Her words settle between you like a confession, the bond humming faintly in response. Memories flash through your mind—moments of laughter, of quiet companionship, of stolen glances you never thought twice about back then.

“I don’t think you forgot,” you say softly, stepping closer. “I think you were just too scared to see it.”

Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t deny it. Instead, she looks at you with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. “And you weren’t?”

You hesitate, the truth catching in your throat. “I was,” you admit, the words feeling heavier than you expected. “But I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know what we were I thought we were just…”

“We should keep moving, this area” Agatha cuts you off gesturing around at the forest, “It’s getting cold,” she says, her voice steadier than you expected.

You nod, though you don’t miss the faint tremor in her body as she brushes past you. The bond hums softly, carrying her emotions—conflicted but warm, her resolve wavering but not breaking.

As you fall into step beside her again, the silence is less oppressive, though the tension remains.

The bond wasn’t just magic. It wasn’t just power or connection. It was something more. Something that always had the potential to be everything.

And now you’re starting to piece it together, you always knew there was a reason why you didn’t marry, but you didn’t realise why. Didn’t understand why you couldn’t get over the loss of Agatha, and now, you can’t help but test the waters.

You glance sideways at Agatha, noting how her eyes dart toward you and then quickly away, as if she doesn’t trust herself to look too long. The bond hums with her emotions, faint ripples of curiosity and unease laced with something sweeter—something she’s clearly trying very hard to ignore.

“Agatha,” you say, your tone light, playful.

She raises an eyebrow, her guarded expression slipping into something sharper. “What?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you let the bond speak for you, sending a gentle pulse through it—nothing overwhelming, just a soft nudge of warmth, like the magical equivalent of a hand brushing against hers.

Her steps falter for the briefest moment, and her sharp gaze snaps to yours.

“What was that?” she asks, her tone suspicious.

You feign innocence, your lips curling into a faint smile. “What was what?”

Agatha narrows her eyes, and through the bond, you can feel the flicker of her irritation—tinged with just a hint of something more. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Do I?” you tease, sending another soft ripple through the bond, this time carrying a spark of affection—light and fleeting, but unmistakable.

Her cheeks flush faintly, and she glares at you. “Stop that,” she says, though her voice lacks its usual edge.

“Stop what?” you ask, your smile widening.

“You’re actually impossible,” she mutters, picking up her pace as if putting distance between you will help.

You follow easily, keeping stride beside her. “I’m just trying to make this bond more... interactive,” you say, the bond pulsing again with a playful nudge.

Agatha groans, her hand rising to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I swear, if you don’t stop—”

“What?” you interrupt, your voice low, teasing.

Her steps halt abruptly, and she spins to face you, her eyes flashing with a mix of irritation and something deeper. The bond flares faintly, her emotions rippling through it—frustration, yes, but also warmth, fondness, and that ever-present flicker of longing.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” she says, her voice low and laced with warning.

You take a step closer, your smile softening. “Maybe.”

Her breath catches, and for a moment, she looks at you like she might actually give in—like she might say or do something that would change everything. But then she shakes her head, her lips quirking into a wry smile.

As you fall back into step beside her, the bond hums with a quiet warmth that feels like laughter, like the shared amusement of two people who are finally starting to understand each other.

You let it carry another ripple, this one deeper—a soft wave of warmth that lingers longer than the others. It’s not overwhelming, but it’s enough to be unmistakable, enough to make Agatha’s steps falter slightly.

Her head snaps toward you, eyes narrowed. “Seriously. What are you doing?”

You bite back a grin, your expression one of feigned innocence. “Walking,” you say simply.

“That wasn’t walking,” she snaps, her voice sharper than it needs to be. But through the bond, you feel the flicker of something else—frustration, yes, but also heat, a spark of something she’s trying desperately to ignore.

“Agatha,” you say, your voice light and teasing, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re a little flustered.”

Her glare sharpens, but the faint flush creeping up her neck betrays her. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” you ask, and this time, you let the bond carry not just warmth, but a roaring heat in her abdomen, a phantom brush of your hand against hers. A hand sliding up a thigh.

She stops walking altogether, spinning to face you with an expression caught between irritation and something far more vulnerable. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I’ve spent centuries not understanding what we were,” you say honestly, taking another step closer. “And now that I’m starting to figure it out, I want to see where it leads.”

Agatha stares at you, her expression flickering between disbelief and something softer. “You can’t just—”

But she doesn’t finish, because you send another wave through the bond, this one gentler, but more deliberate. It’s a feeling of closeness, of warmth, of trust—everything you’ve always felt for her but never quite put into words.

Finally, she exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair in a rare show of frustration. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

You step closer still, until there’s barely any space between you. “Why don’t you just tell me? Please Agatha” You’re silent for a moment. The bond feels almost suffocating now, a shared pulse of magic between you, thick with what she’s been holding back.

She finally speaks, and when she does, the words feel like they’ve been ripped from the very core of her. “I’ve been trying to ignore it, to push it down… But you’re making me want you so badly, okay?” She meets your gaze, and you can feel the rawness in her words—her vulnerability laid bare, for once. “I’ve been trying so hard to pretend that this bond, that you aren’t driving me insane. But you are. And I’m so tired of fighting it.”

Your breath catches, the magic between you sparking with the sudden intensity of her admission. You step closer, your heart racing as her emotions flood through the bond—she’s frustrated, yes, but there’s something more, something far deeper: the longing you’ve always known was there.

She continues, her voice barely above a whisper, “Every time you get close, every time you… tease me, I can’t think. The bond, your magic, the way you look at me, I—” She cuts herself off, visibly exasperated. “I’m not saying it’s just magic, because it’s not. I can’t keep pretending like it is.”

You take a step closer, backing Agatha against a tree, and this time, she doesn’t move away. The space between you is a breath, a heartbeat, nothing more. You can feel the heat in her skin, the pulse of her heart beneath your fingers as they brush lightly against her arm.

“You never had to pretend,” you say, your voice quiet but firm. The bond hums in agreement, a feeling of closeness, of shared emotion, building. “Not with me.”

Her gaze flickers between your eyes and your lips, and the bond throbs, sending waves of heat, of longing, through both of you. She doesn’t speak, but you feel it in the way her breath hitches, in the way her hand shifts slightly, almost as if reaching for you. It’s too much, too close, and yet—there’s nowhere else either of you can go.

“Agatha…” You say her name, soft and almost pleading, as the bond pulses with magic too strong to ignore. “Please my angel… stop fighting this.”

She breathes in sharply, and before you can say another word, she closes the gap between you. Her lips crash against yours, urgent, hungry, desperate—as if the bond, the magic, everything between you is finally too much for her to fight.

The kiss is everything: the years of longing, the months of silence, the centuries of distance and heartache all colliding into one desperate, aching moment. Her magic flares around you, and you feel it in every touch, every press of her lips against yours. It’s not just a kiss—it’s everything, all at once, the bond weaving between you with threads of magic and emotion.

When she pulls back, breathless, her forehead resting against yours, she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. You both know now, in the deepest parts of your being, that this—whatever this is—is what you’ve both been craving for so long.

“I think I’ve been in love with you forever.” You lean forward and take her lower lip into your mouth, sucking on it and humming in response to her moan. You let the lip go with a pop and you look into her dark eyes. “I should’ve kissed you centuries ago.”

Agatha’s eyes are focused on your lips, unable to think of anything else, and she’s about to kiss you again when she hears the snap of a limb breaking underneath someone’s boot.

“Where the hell have you guys been! We’ve been walking hours!”

[steveseddie]

hot chocolate, on me

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | prompt: hot chocolate | rating: g | wc: 995 | tags: different first meeting, babysitter steve, steve is a sweetheart, pre-relationship read on ao3

The same shitheads that dragged Steve into an interdimensional fight less than two months ago have now dragged him to the Christmas market. 

It’s definitely an improvement– at least Steve won’t get a concussion here. But that doesn’t mean this is how he wanted to spend his days leading up to Christmas. 

At least since his reputation already took a tumble it doesn’t really matter if he’s seen herding a bunch of nerds– or, in this case, wandering between carol singers and stands decked with lights all by himself after the kids he oh so kindly drove here ditched him and wandered off on their own. 

Whatever. It’s not like they’re starting to grow on him or anything.

He still keeps an eye on them since he’s kind of responsible for their asses. Right now he can see Byers and Henderson trying on dorky Christmas hats, Wheeler with his arm around El as she stares at the big Christmas trees and Sinclair and Max huddled together, drinking hot chocolate.

As a shiver runs down his spine, Steve thinks the last two have the right idea so he looks for the stand selling hot beverages. He stands in line, tuning out the people asking for hot chocolate, mulled wine, and apple cider. 

“What can I get you?” The woman asks the guy directly in front of Steve. 

“Greetings, fair lady,” he says with a dramatic flourish of his hand. “Might I have a warm draught of spiced cocoa, sweetened and brewed with hot water?”

Both Steve and the woman stare blankly at the guy, who laughs and asks for a hot chocolate.

While the woman prepares the drink, Steve looks him over. The moment he turns around to dig in his back pocket for his wallet, Steve recognizes him. 

Eddie Munson. 

His usual mane of black hair is tucked under a black winter hat and his familiar vest has been replaced by a green jacket but his voice and his showy way of talking are impossible to miss.

And his laugh– Steve remembers hearing it one day during lunch and surprising himself by immediately wishing he could hear it again. 

Right now he tries to pay attention in case Eddie decides to laugh again but all Steve overhears is him cursing as he pats the front of his jeans. “Shit– I, uh– I think I forgot my wallet, sorry–”

Eddie sounds embarrassed and when he pivots to leave, his cheeks are bright pink, his forehead pinched in a sad frown. 

Cute is what Steve thinks first before feeling bad for him. 

The woman has to clear her throat to get his attention.  

“Sorry,” Steve says sheepishly, still staring at Eddie as he disappears into the crowd. 

He gets an idea. “I’ll get that guy’s hot chocolate and another one for me, please?”

When the woman gives him both drinks, Steve goes looking for Eddie. 

He finds him staring up at a big Christmas tree, the bright multicolored lights reflecting on his face and making it glow. Steve can’t help but think he looks pretty. 

“If you’re planning to throw that on my face, Harrington, at least let it cool first,” Eddie says, startling Steve.

“What?”

“Isn’t that why you’re lurking?” Eddie asks, raising an eyebrow at him. “Or maybe you got that for your date? Has the King moved on already?” 

Steve ignores the last part and holds out one of the paper cups. “Actually this is for you.”

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together. “For me?”

“Yeah, I was behind you in the line and heard you forgot your wallet so I got it for you.”

“Why?” Eddie asks warily. 

Steve isn’t about to admit he wanted an opportunity to talk to Eddie so he just shrugs. “I don’t know, man. Blame the Christmas spirit or something.” 

Eddie narrows his eyes. “So this is– what? Charity?”

“No! No, no–” Steve shakes his head. “I just wanted to be nice.” 

“Nice? To me?” Eddie asks skeptically.

“Yeah.” 

Eddie’s nose scrunches up. “No, thanks.”

“What?” Steve says, dumbfounded. He didn’t expect Eddie to turn down free hot chocolate. 

“I don’t need you to pay for my stuff, Harrington.”

“It’s just hot chocolate, dude,” he says, keeping his tone light, friendly. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.” 

“It means I’ll owe you.”

Steve lets out a heavy sigh. “If it’ll make you act like less of a dick you can just pay me back.”

Eddie purses his lips but when Steve stretches his arm out again, offering him the drink, Eddie takes one teeny tiny little shuffle of a step towards him and grabs it. 

“Fine,” he mumbles, grabbing the cup with both hands and blowing on it. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Steve says, a smile settling across his face. “Was that so hard?”

Eddie glares half-heartedly. “Don’t push it, Harrington,” he says but his voice is teasing, and when Steve chuckles, the corners of Eddie’s lips tug up in a smile.

So Steve decides to push. 

“Are you, uh, here with someone?” 

Eddie freezes mid-sip, narrowing his eyes again. “Why? Are you gonna make fun of me and call me a freak?”

“Dude, no,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “Just- there’s this Christmas show happening soon and I thought we could see it together? It’s probably not your thing but I heard there’s gonna be music. You like music, right?”

“Do I like–” Eddie laughs and there it is- that happy, delighted little sound. “Yes, you could say I like music, Stevie.”

Stevie. 

The nickname makes something warm flutter in his stomach that has nothing to do with his hot drink. “So do you wanna? See it with me?”

“Why?” 

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you going to be this difficult every time I’m nice to you?”

“Yes. But only because you’re cute when you’re annoyed,” Eddie winks.

Oh. That giddy fluttery feeling in Steve’s stomach gets stronger. 

Maybe that hot chocolate will mean something after all. 

[ducktoo]

So this is how it ends

Lee Chaeyeon x Reader

Note: wishing her the best in her recovery fr. Popping the disc is damn painful TT

A bit short and more melodramatic this time.

The apartment felt…too quiet. Too still.

For a moment, you wish the hum of the refrigerator or the faint ticking of the wall clock could drown out the silence hanging between you and Chaeyeon.

She sits across from you on the worn gray couch, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as if she's holding herself together. Her eyes are on the coffee table—avoiding you. The small, shaking breaths she takes tell you that this isn't going to end well.

“Chaeyeon-ah” you murmur, breaking the silence.

Her shoulders flinch. Slowly, she lifts her gaze to meet yours, and it stings. It stings because you know that look—the one where her brown eyes lose their sparkle, turning dull like they’re bracing for impact.

“I think… I think we should break up,” she whispers.

The words come out so softly, so hesitantly, it takes your brain a second to catch up.

Break up?

“W-What?” Your voice comes out hoarse, barely audible.

Chaeyeon squeezes her hands tighter, her knuckles turning white. “We’ve talked about this before. IZ*ONE… It's done. The group’s gone, and I—I need to focus on my solo career. I can’t… I can’t do that and keep this going.”

“This?” The word tastes bitter on your tongue. You stare at her, searching her face for any sign that she’s joking—that this is some cruel prank. “Chaeyeon-ah, we’ve been together for years. You can’t just—”

“I have to.” Her voice cracks. You see the tears brimming in her eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall. She looks away again, blinking rapidly. “It’s not fair to you. I’ll be too busy to give you what you deserve.”

You let out a humourless laugh, though there’s no smile to accompany it. “So you’re deciding this for me? Like I wouldn’t understand? Like I wouldn’t choose to support you?”

“It’s not about understanding,” she snaps suddenly, and the sharpness surprises you both. Her chest rises and falls as she struggles to keep her emotions in check. “I need to do this alone. I have to. I need to prove myself, and I can’t keep being distracted—”

“I’m a distraction?” you interrupt, your voice trembling.

Her lips press into a thin line. She doesn’t answer.

The silence is unbearable now, heavier than before. You swallow the lump in your throat and run a hand through your hair, trying to process the mess of emotions twisting inside you—hurt, anger, confusion. You want to yell, to fight back, to say something that will make her change her mind. But when you look at her—Chaeyeon, sitting there with her tear-streaked face and trembling hands—you can’t.

You exhale shakily, leaning back against the couch. “So that’s it?”

She nods, barely. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that,” you mutter bitterly. “Don’t apologize if you’re the one walking away.”

Chaeyeon flinches again, and for a split second, you see it—regret. But she buries it quickly, biting her lower lip as she stands.

You don’t stop her when she walks toward the door. You don’t beg her to stay, even though every part of you wants to.

Her hand pauses on the doorknob, and she turns to look at you one last time. “Take care of yourself, please.”

And then she’s gone, leaving you alone in the apartment that now feels far too big, too empty—like something important has been ripped away.

The tears come before you can stop them, silent and steady as they trail down your cheeks.

So this is how it ends.

-

The cacophony of bustling production crews, whirring cameras, and chatter from staff surrounded you. It was just another day as a cameraman for Music Bank. You adjusted your headset and checked the focus on your lens, scanning the glossy stage set before the next performance.

"Alright, position four, get a wide-angle for the intro shot," your director’s voice crackled in your earpiece.

You nodded absently, though your attention was piqued when you noticed the name on the lineup for the day: Lee Chaeyeon.

You squinted at the monitor displaying her pre-recorded teaser clip. The name tickled something in your brain, but you couldn’t place it. She was a rising soloist, right? Her name had floated around in industry circles for a while, though you never connected the dots.

Moments later, the lights dimmed, signaling the beginning of her stage. You fixed your camera on the center of the stage, watching as the outline of her figure materialized behind the foggy haze. The soft melody of the intro cued the LEDs to paint the stage in hues of blue and white, bathing her in an ethereal glow.

When she turned to face the camera, your breath hitched.

It wasn’t just her. It was her.

You gripped the camera a little tighter, your fingers stiff. It was Lee Chaeyeon, your ex—the same Lee Chaeyeon who once laughed at your dumb jokes, held your hand like it was her lifeline, and left you in the aftermath of IZ*ONE's disbandment.

“Position four, stay steady!” The director’s voice cut through your sudden daze. You snapped back to reality, your professional instincts overpowering the storm of emotions clawing their way back.

Chaeyeon moved with the fluidity you always admired, her steps precise and her expressions sharp. Her choreography hit with a precision that sent the crowd into cheers, but all you could see was the subtle difference in her now. She was more confident, bolder than she had been years ago. The Chaeyeon you knew had always been a perfectionist, but there was something about her presence now that felt untouchable.

"Close-up, position four," your director ordered.

With a steady hand, you focused on her face, and for a fleeting second, her gaze locked with the lens—locked with you.

Your heart thudded. Did she recognize you?

The performance ended in a flourish of lights and thunderous applause. Chaeyeon bowed deeply, her smile dazzling the crowd as she caught her breath. You followed her with the camera as she exited the stage, the angle catching her wiping a bead of sweat from her temple. Your chest tightened as you remembered how you used to hold her face gently, brushing strands of hair away after rehearsals.

Focus, Y/n. It’s just another artist. Just another gig.

And yet—you can’t stop staring.

-

The show was on a break, giving you time to reorganize equipment and check over footage. Your hands moved methodically, but your mind remained miles away. Seeing her like that—so poised, so untouchable—made your chest ache in ways you thought you’d buried.

A voice brought you back to reality.

“Excuse me, is this where I can check the camera playback?”

You turned and froze. Chaeyeon stood there, her outfit changed into something more casual but equally stunning. She looked at you with a polite curiosity, her hands clasped nervously.

Your throat tightened as you scrambled for a response. “Y-Yeah, uh, over here.”

She approached, her eyes scanning your face. It was as if she was trying to place you, too.

“Thanks.” She leaned in to look at the monitor, her proximity flooding you with an all-too-familiar warmth.

You cleared your throat. “Great work out there.”

She glanced at you, her lips curving into a soft smile. “Thanks. It’s always nerve-wracking, even after all these years.”

There it was—that same vulnerability she’d let you see behind closed doors.

As she reviewed the playback, you couldn’t help but speak again. “You’ve come a long way since... IZ*ONE.” The name slipped out before you could stop yourself.

Her fingers paused over the monitor. Slowly, she turned to face you, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied you. Then, recognition dawned.

“…Y/n?”

Your heart sank, and you let out a shaky laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “Hey…It’s me.”

Chaeyeon’s expression flickered between surprise and something unreadable. “I didn’t think…” she started, then stopped. “It’s been so long.”

“Yeah.”

-

The silence that followed was heavy.

You ended up sitting together in a quiet corner of the backstage area, away from the chaos of staff and idols rushing about. The small table between you felt more like a chasm, holding years of unspoken words, lingering questions, and emotions you thought had been buried. Chaeyeon sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes flickering between you and the floor, like she was weighing every word before she spoke.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she started, her voice quieter now. “Last I heard, you were working in… film?”

You shrugged, keeping your tone neutral. “Things changed. Just like you, I guess.”

She nodded slowly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah. A lot has changed.”

For a moment, silence fell between you. It wasn’t the comfortable silence you used to share, sitting side by side in cafes while you worked on your laptop and she doodled choreography in her notebook. This was heavier, filled with years of distance and the things you were both too afraid to say.

Chaeyeon looked up at you suddenly, her eyes sharp yet vulnerable. “How..um…have you been?”

You hesitated. The question sounded innocent, but there was something in her tone—something almost desperate, like she needed to know the answer more than you did.

“I’ve been… okay,” you said, the words feeling both honest and insufficient. “Busy with work, trying to keep up with life, you know how it is.”

She nodded again, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I’ve thought about you. A lot.”

The words caught you off guard, and your chest tightened. You hadn’t expected her to be so direct, not after all this time.

“Have you?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

Chaeyeon let out a small, bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Of course I have. Do you think I could just forget about you?”

The vulnerability in her voice made your throat tighten. “I don’t know, Chaeyeon-ah. You left so easily. It felt like I didn’t even matter...”

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. “It wasn’t easy,” she said, her voice trembling. “It was never easy.”

You leaned back slightly, stunned by the raw emotion in her voice. “Then why did you do it? Why didn’t you at least try to talk to me?”

She exhaled shakily, running a hand through her hair. “I was…scared. Scared of failing, scared of holding you back, scared of ruining everything we had. When IZ*ONE ended, I felt like I was starting over from nothing. I didn’t know who I was without the group, and I didn’t want you to see me like that. You deserved someone who had their life together, not someone who was falling apart.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. For so long, you had convinced yourself that she had left because you weren’t enough. Hearing her now, seeing the way her hands trembled as she spoke, made you realize how wrong you’d been.

“I never wanted perfection, Chaeyeon-ah,” you said softly. “I just wanted you.”

Her breath hitched, and she looked at you with an expression so full of regret and longing that it made your heart ache.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

You stared at her, the raw honesty in her words stirring something deep within you. For years, you had carried the weight of your heartbreak, blaming yourself for not being enough. But now, sitting across from her, you realized that she had been carrying her own burden all along.

“I missed you,” you admitted quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I tried to move on, but… I couldn’t.”

Chaeyeon reached out hesitantly, her fingers brushing against yours. The touch was light, tentative, as if she was afraid you might pull away. When you didn’t, she let her hand rest on top of yours, her warmth grounding you in the moment.

“I don’t know if it’s too late,” she said, her voice trembling. “But I want to try. Even if it’s just as friends, I want you in my life again.”

You looked down at her hand, the memories of your past rushing back all at once—the late-night phone calls, the quiet moments of comfort, the way she used to look at you like you were her whole world.

Slowly, you turned your hand over, letting your fingers intertwine with hers.

“It’s not too late,” you said, your voice steady. “But…let’s not start as strangers pretending to be friends. Let’s start as two people who still care about each other and see where it goes, you know?”

Her eyes widened slightly, and then she smiled—a real, genuine smile that lit up her face in a way you hadn’t seen in years.

“Mhm..” she said softly. “Let’s start there.”

For the first time in a long time, the weight on your chest began to lift. The past might still linger, but the future felt a little brighter with her hand in yours.

Maybe this time, you think, you’ll get it right.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Toto's obsession p.7

Hey guyss, I hope you enjoy this part and if you've missed part 6 or if you want to read it from the beginning here's my masterlist :)

The afternoon passed in a whirlwind of preparation. You moved around the kitchen with purpose, chopping, stirring, and seasoning with care. Tonight had to go perfectly. You wanted George to see how much Toto cherished you, to feel reassured that this relationship wasn’t some impulsive mistake but something genuine and deep.

You were making George’s favorite dish, hoping it would serve as an olive branch, a way to bridge the gap that had formed between you. The savory aroma of the dish filled the air, and you allowed yourself a small moment of satisfaction—you wanted everything to be just right.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear Toto approach until you felt his arms wrap around your waist from behind. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his presence warm and grounding.

“It smells incredible in here,” he murmured, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

You smiled, leaning back into his embrace. “I just want tonight to go well. I need George to see that this isn’t some fleeting thing. That you… that we… mean something.”

Toto’s lips brushed against your temple. “He’ll see. Don’t worry so much, schatz. Just relax. Tonight is about family.”

You nodded, trying to take comfort in his words. Toto always had a way of making you feel like everything would be okay, even when doubt crept in.

When the doorbell rang, you felt your nerves spike. Wiping your hands on a towel, you hurried to the door, taking a deep breath before opening it. George stood there, his expression neutral but his eyes cautious. He looked past you, and his jaw tightened slightly when he saw Toto standing further inside, his hands in his pockets, exuding his usual composed demeanor.

“Hi,” you said softly, stepping aside to let George in. “Thank you for coming.”

George’s gaze softened as he looked at you. “I’m here for you,” he said pointedly, his tone making it clear that his presence wasn’t for Toto’s benefit.

Toto stepped forward, extending a hand. “George, good to see you. Thank you for joining us tonight.”

George hesitated for a moment before shaking Toto’s hand briefly. “Let’s just get through this.”

The tension in the room was palpable, but you forced a smile and guided them to the table. “Let’s sit. Dinner’s ready.”

The meal started awkwardly, with you trying to steer the conversation toward neutral topics. Toto, ever the charmer, remained polite and calm, his deep voice filling the silences when George refused to engage. You kept glancing between the two of them, hoping for some breakthrough, but George’s guard was firmly up.

“The food is great,” George said at one point, his tone softening slightly as he addressed you. “Thank you for making this.”

You smiled, relief washing over you. “I’m glad you like it.”

Toto raised his glass. “She’s an exceptional cook. I’m lucky every day.”

George’s lips pressed into a thin line, and the atmosphere grew tense again. You sighed inwardly, deciding to focus on clearing the table and bringing out dessert. “Excuse me for a moment,” you said, standing and gathering the plates. “I’ll get dessert ready.”

As you disappeared into the kitchen, the tension in the dining room erupted. George turned to Toto, his eyes blazing.

“What are you playing at?” George demanded. “Do you think you can just walk into her life and take over? She’s too young for this, too innocent for someone like you.”

Toto’s expression remained calm, his voice measured as he responded. “I love her, George. She makes me happy, and I make her happy. That should be enough.”

“Happy?” George scoffed. “You’re manipulating her, isolating her from her family. She doesn’t see it, but I do.”

Toto leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Careful, George. You’re treading on dangerous ground.”

“Is that a threat?” George asked, his voice rising.

“It’s a warning,” Toto replied evenly. “You’re her brother, and I respect that. But if you continue to interfere, you risk more than just our relationship. You’ll risk your career. And worse, you’ll risk losing her entirely. Do you want that?”

George’s fists clenched, his frustration evident. But before he could respond, you reentered the room, oblivious to the tension that had just unfolded.

“Dessert is ready!” you announced cheerfully, carrying in a tray of your homemade creation. You placed it on the table, smiling at both men. “I hope you’re hungry.”

Toto’s expression softened as he looked at you, and he rose from his seat, lifting his glass. “Before we continue, I’d like to make a toast.”

You blinked, surprised, but smiled as you reached for your own glass. George reluctantly did the same, his eyes wary.

“To the woman who has brought so much light into my life,” Toto began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “You’ve shown me a kind of love I didn’t think was possible. And tonight, I want to ask you something important.”

Your heart stopped as Toto reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. Your hand flew to your mouth, your eyes wide with shock.

“Will you marry me?” he asked, opening the box to reveal a stunning ring.

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. The world seemed to tilt as you processed his words, his expression, and the sheer gravity of the moment. Tears welled in your eyes as you nodded fervently. “Yes,” you whispered, then louder. “Yes!”

Toto slid the ring onto your finger, his hands steady despite the emotion in his eyes. He stood and pulled you into his arms, kissing you deeply as George looked on, his jaw tight and his hands gripping the edge of the table.

When you pulled back, you turned to George, your smile faltering slightly at his stony expression. “George,” you began, your voice soft, “I hope you can be happy for us.”

George forced a tight smile, nodding stiffly. “If this is what you want,” he said, his tone clipped.

Toto’s arm tightened around your waist, a silent declaration of his victory.

“Thank you, George,” Toto said smoothly, raising his glass again. “To family.”

You clinked your glass with theirs, blissfully unaware of the unspoken tension that lingered between the two men. For now, you were happy, and that was all that mattered.

[l0stglitch]

Omg ik we just got completely broken in the last request but imagine the one day we’re walking around the boardwalk and we see this helpless kitty so we try and help it ofc you forgot to tell your dad so there pissed but they kidnapped you when you were a helpless kitty in there eyes so why can’t you do the same?? sorry if this doesn’t make sense and for bad spelling :,/

History repeats itself

Platonic Yandere lost boys x reader

Notes- Sorry I know this isn’t exactly what you asked but I thought your request would tie perfectly into a part 2 of the last fic/hcs.

Warnings- Depression, Mental illness, Angst(?), Yandere behaviour, Dissociation

Part 1

It had been five weeks since your cruel punishment had ended, and nothing had improved.

David watched you from his wheelchair throne, not even bothering to hide his concern. Marko was sat to your right, an arm slung round your shoulder as he quietly read to you.

It was a quiet evening in the middle of October. You used to love Halloween, but this year David wasn’t even sure you were aware of the approaching holiday.

He so desperately wished you would snap out of this strange state of mind. Even if just to scream at him and call him an awful father- anything was better than this. It was like someone had stolen every part of your mind linked to you and replaced it with a numb, complacent animal.

“Y/n you haven’t left the cave in a while, sweetheart. Why don’t we go to that diner you like in town?”

Your eyes slowly tore themselves from the page and met with David’s. It broke his heart to see how empty they looked. “Ok.”

Marko frowned, “You used to love that place, pumpkin. Not feeling up to burgers tonight?”

Your only response was a small shrug as you shifted your attention back to the book resting in his right hand.

Your two fathers exchanged a worried glance. Marko squeezed your shoulder sympathetically before continuing to read.

David sighed and stood up, “I’ll go let the others know.”

You hadn’t realised in your state of depression, but things had grown tense between your fathers. Dwayne in particular had become noticeably colder towards David.

Said man was cleaning your room for you. A somewhat futile attempt at trying to win you over, David assumed. Either that or he was trying to distract himself from the distressing reality of the situation.

David leant against your doorframe, watching as Dwayne carefully folded your freshly washed clothes.

“You just gonna pretend I’m not here?”

Dwayne finally looked up from his task, “Wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk or just watch me folding our daughter’s clothes.”

David narrowed his eyes at the man before him, but decided not to argue, “We were gonna take the kid to that burger place if you guys wanted to join.” He glanced over at Paul, who was sprawled across your couch with a cigarette.

Dwayne glared back at David, “The kid has a name, David. It’s Y/n.”

He huffed, “Are you coming or not man?”

“Of course I’m coming. She’s my daughter as much as she is yours.” Dwayne shot back, grabbing his leather jacket before striding out the room to go find you.

Paul stood up as well, shooting David a wary glance before brushing past him in pursuit of Dwayne.

David sighed in frustration before following his two partners out the room.

He returned to find Marko helping you into your jacket. You stared off into space passively, allowing him to guide you arms into the sleeves.

David frowned at the sight. You would’ve never let him do that before.

Dwayne cleared his throat, “I’ll take her over to the bikes.” Marko glanced up at him before looking back at you.

“You wanna ride with Dwayne, baby?” His tone was uncharacteristically gentle, as if he was trying not to spook you.

Your only response was a shrug, which he took as a yes, allowing the other man to take your hand and lead you out the cave.

David watched you leave before turning to Marko. “She spoken to you yet?”

The shorter man shrugged uncomfortably, “Not really. She’s like a zombie.”

“Hey man- she’s still our daughter,” Paul interjected with an offended frown.

Marko raised his hands in defense, “I know! That kid means the fucking world to me, but I’m not gonna sit here and pretend something isn’t wrong.”

Paul just scowled at him before turning around and leaving to join you and Dwayne outside.

“Well this is fucking fantastic. Now they’re both pissed off.” David grumbled under his breath.

Marko ignored the statement, “You think she’ll get better?”

David hummed, “She’s a strong kid.”

He frowned at the half answer, “I guess so.”

“Cmon. The others are waiting for us out there.”

Marko didn’t reply as he grabbed the keys to his bike and lead the way out, trying to hide his concern about your deteriorating state.

They hadn’t even left and things had already become tense. This was going to be a long night.

By the time David reached the others, Dwayne had already gotten you sat on the back of his bike, arms wrapped half heartedly around his midsection.

“She ready to go?” David asked, catching Dwayne’s eye.

The other man simply revved his engine and turned his attention over to the space ahead.

David rolled his eyes and mounted his own ride, growing tired of Dwayne’s attitude. Had it been Marko or Paul, he would have already put a stop to it, but Dwayne wasn’t as easy to order around.

Being the oldest meant that whilst he wasn’t as hotheaded and rash as the others, he did stand his ground in arguments. They didn’t occur often, but when they did it affected the whole pack.

Dwayne didn’t wait for David to adjust himself. His bike raced ahead without warning, leaving the others to catch up.

~

Despite the borderline overwhelming smell of greasy junk food, you couldn’t muster enough energy to eat the meal before you.

A delicate voice in the back of your mind reminded you of your need for food, but no pangs of hunger could overpower the numbness you had felt since David had chained you to the wall.

Dwayne rubbed your knee from under the table and leant in closer so you could hear him properly, “I know you don’t feel hungry baby, but you gotta eat some of it.”

You remained silent, focusing your attention on the bubbles fizzing in your coke.

“How about you try some of the fries?”

Still, no response came from your mouth. All thoughts withered away before your mind was able to comprehend any intelligent idea about the external world around you. You didn’t know if you wanted the fries or not. They tasted good- you knew that, but the taste of what you were eating seemed so much more trivial now.

What was the point in making the effort? They wouldn’t last long anyway. You’d be better off just giving them away to the scrappy kids lingering around the car park.

Dwayne sighed beside you. “Do you know how much it hurts seeing you like this princess? Please just eat the fries for me, Y/n. I don’t wanna lose my baby girl.”

You looked up from the coke and accidentally locked eyes with David. He was watching you with an expectant stare, his icy blue eyes boring into yours.

Normally you would’ve squirmed under the attention, but it no longer affected you the way it used to. “I’m not hungry,” You replied, voice raspy and quiet. It didn’t matter what volume you spoke at- they’d be able to hear every word even if you had whispered.

David sighed, “You haven’t eaten since yesterday. We’re not leaving this diner till you finish those fries.” You shifted your gaze back to your plate as he spoke, “You can’t force me to eat.”

Marko glanced over at you from his seat beside David, “Wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you.” Dwayne sharply kicked him under the table, eliciting a hiss of pain. You didn’t react. They definitely could force you to eat if it came down to it, but you knew that all four of them were still walking on eggshells around you. It wouldn’t be worth the risk. Dwayne shot Marko a stern glare before speaking to you, “We’re not gonna force you to do anything baby. If you don’t want the fries that’s ok. We could go get you something else if you want?”

You continued staring meekly down at your full plate of food. This one sided conversation had began to tire you, and you didn’t see the point in answering Dwayne’s constant questions. In the end it didn’t matter- if you didn’t make a decision then they’d make one for you. You were happy to just let them take the reins, allowing you to fall into a state of dissociation.

David made a clicking sound with his tongue and locked eyes with Dwayne, “Can I have a word?”

The brunette hesitated, shooting you another concerned glance before standing up from his chair and moving out of earshot. David was quick to follow.

Dwayne frowned as he walked over, “What do you want, David?”

The man shoved his gloved hands deep into the pockets of his trench coat, “We can’t keep tiptoeing round her like this man.”

“Well what do you suggest?” Dwayne snapped back, “We tried things your way, and look where it fucking got us. Our daughter is practically unresponsive and showing no signs of improvement. All this because you thought that she needed to be isolated for two months.”

David scoffed, “Yeah, well we all know that your ‘gentle parenting’ act is not only complete bullshit, but also fucking ineffective. As for Marko, you think breaking her legs would’ve been any better than this?”

At the mention of his name, Marko glanced up from the food in front of him. Both he and Paul had heard the whole of their argument, but neither had wanted to get involved.

Dwayne shoved David back, his eyes flashing gold momentarily. “This is your fault David! Look what you’ve done- she’s broken.”

David gritted his teeth, suddenly aware of the attention they had gained from the other customers. He lowered his voice and took a step closer to Dwayne, “I can fix this. You don’t.. understand her mind the way I do.”

He glared back at David, “I’ve walked her dreams countless times. I think I know our daughter’s mind well enough.”

The other man just shook his head, almost condescendingly, “No.. not like that. You just don’t get it- you never will. It’s not something that can be learned. It’s instinct.”

“Well your ‘instincts’ to have her chained to a wall for two months seemed a little off.”

David opened his mouth to argue back, but was cut off before he had a chance to speak. “She’s not eating anything guys. We should just, like, take her to the beach or something. Perhaps she needs a little fresh air…” Paul suggested, trying to focus their attention on something else.

David paused, caught off guard by the interruption. Apparently Dwayne hadn’t seen Paul approaching either, because he stayed silent too.

“Yeah I think Paul’s got a point,” Marko added, standing up and nodding towards the other man. He rounded the table and pulled you to your feet, wrapping an arm round your shoulders possessively. “Should we go?” He asked pointedly, his voice bordering on threatening.

David nodded and Dwayne took a step forward as if he wanted to pull you out of Marko’s hold, but then stopped himself and hummed in agreement.

You stared at the grime on the floor- it sort of reminded you of the cave. The hand that rested on your shoulder gave it a squeeze before you were guided outside the diner. Nothing felt real. The voices around you sounded different, and your body felt alien to you. Perhaps you would see a stranger if you looked into a mirror. Perhaps not. Did it even matter anymore? This wasn’t your life. This wasn’t happening.

“She’s completely out of it man,” Paul murmured to Dwayne, eyeing you as they walked towards the bikes. “Our baby’s in there somewhere… she’s gotta be.” Dwayne replied, trying to keep the doubt out of his own voice.

Marko turned around to address the others, “I’m gonna take Y/n on my bike.” Despite him usually being the most reckless driver, nobody argued back. Paul hummed before speaking up, “So we’re still going to the beach, right?” His eyes darted between each of his lovers, searching for confirmation. David nodded in response, “Yeah, unless anyone else has a better idea?”

“Nah man, the beach is fine,” Marko replied as they finally reached the bikes. Mounting his ride, your father turned to help you up, only to find you had disappeared from your previous spot.

He frantically twisted around, “Where the fuck-”

Paul’s barking laugh cut him off, “Chill out dude, she’s right there!” If Marko hadn’t been dead, he was sure his heart would’ve been pounding from within his chest.

“What the hell is she doing?”

That question was a little harder to answer. Whilst your fathers had been talking, you’d found yourself drawn to a small black cat huddled against a nearby fence. The poor thing was shivering against the October wind, its scrappy black fur doing little to protect itself from the weather.

For the first time in months you felt something other than empty detachment. You couldn’t describe the emotion- it felt strange and alien to you, but there was no denying it was there.

This tiny, helpless creature seemed akin to you in every way. Those lost eyes, constantly searching for a meaning, bore into yours with an eery familiarity.

You found yourself unconsciously reaching towards the cat, offering a trembling hand. The frightened animal hesitated before your crouched form. Your voice was hoarse and quiet when you spoke to it, “It’s ok. I can keep you safe.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you had subconsciously projected all of your repressed trauma onto this cat. A sudden overwhelming desire to protect and nurture filled you. Instinctively, you picked up the kitten and brought her close to your chest, stroking her soft fur before turning around and staring up at the four men behind you.

Your fathers watched in startled silence as you turned to look at them. Your eyes held more emotion than they had seen in months, and you held each of their gazes with a resolved stare. It was obvious you weren’t going to let go of the cat, David noted, glancing down at the black scrap of fur.

Marko cautiously took a step closer, crouching down to your level. “Hey sweetie.. who’s this?” He asked softly, motioning towards to animal.

For a moment, you stayed silent. How were you going to explain to them that this cat was you? Perhaps not physically, but you were convinced that spiritually you two were the same.

After earning no response, Marko tried again. “Does she have a name?” You nodded slowly, “It’s pumpkin.”

Marko frowned, “But that’s my name for you. Maybe we should call her something else?” You shook your head, “Her name is pumpkin.”

Your father sighed. The name sort of made sense- considering the fact that the cat had remarkably bright orange eyes. It irked him a little though that you had given his pet name for you to a mere animal you had found on the street.

“She’s cold; I need to take her home.” Marko watched as you abruptly stood up and carried Pumpkin back over to the bikes. This sudden change in demeanour was perplexing, but not entirely unwelcome.

You stopped in front of Dwayne, tilting your head expectantly at him. He shifted uncomfortably, “Why don’t you ride with Marko, baby? He’s good with animals.”

Paul sniggered behind him, “You’re not scared, are ya bud?” Dwayne rolled his eyes, “Just don’t want it scratchin’ up my jacket.”

You ignored their banter, bringing Pumpkin over to Marko so that he’d be able to help you up onto his bike. “You sure you wanna keep her?” He asked you quietly, glancing down at the kitten in your arms.

You nodded certainly, eyes sparkling dangerously under the streetlight, entranced by an obsession they recognised all too well.

“She’s mind now. She’s staying with me.”

Tag list- @bella-goths-wife @purple-lemon-8 @xjesterxjacksx @whatispopping69 @simplyreading96 @lostbetweenvampiresandmusic @humbuginmybones

I guess this is my Christmas present to you guys! Sorry it took me so long to post. 😅

[margeoww]

Can you write a Toto fic where him and his wife were married for 20 years and then divorced and they see eachother again after 4 years of no contact?

After All This Time

back to my main masterlist

pairing: toto wolff x exwife!reader

summary: After 20 years of marriage and four years of silence, Toto Wolff and his ex-wife cross paths at a gala. What begins as a polite conversation soon reveals lingering emotions, unspoken regrets, and the possibility that some connections are never truly broken.

warnings: Themes of divorce and unresolved emotions and bittersweet tones with implied angst and longing.

The clinking of glasses, low hum of conversations, and the occasional sound of laughter filled the room. Toto Wolff stood at the edge of the gala, his usual composed demeanor masking the slight unease he felt. He wasn’t one for these events anymore; they always seemed too polished, too formal. But tonight, he had been convinced to attend.

He scanned the room casually, his eyes falling on familiar faces: team principals, drivers, sponsors. And then, he saw her.

It had been four years since their divorce. Twenty years of marriage undone, leaving behind only memories, regrets, and the occasional pang of guilt that crept in during quiet moments. He hadn’t expected to see her tonight, let alone feel the weight of her presence so acutely.

She stood by the bar, her smile as effortless as he remembered, though her laughter seemed freer now. She was talking to someone he didn’t recognize, and Toto found himself frozen in place, torn between the urge to approach her and the fear of reopening old wounds.

Before he could decide, her eyes caught his. The smile faltered, just for a moment, replaced by something he couldn’t quite read. Recognition? Curiosity? Pain? She excused herself from her conversation and began walking toward him.

Toto straightened his posture, his years of dealing with high-stress situations kicking in. But nothing could prepare him for this.

—Hello, Toto —she said softly, her voice laced with an undeniable familiarity that made his chest tighten.

He nodded, offering a small smile. —Hello.

There was a pause, not quite awkward but not comfortable either. They were two people who had shared everything once, now strangers navigating a conversation as if treading on glass.

—It’s been a long time —she said, breaking the silence.

—Four years —he replied, the words heavy with unspoken emotions.

Her lips twitched into a faint smile. —You always were good with numbers.

He chuckled, the sound low and brief. —And you were always better with words.

Another pause. He wanted to say so much, ask so many things—how she had been, if she was happy, if she missed him the way he missed her during quiet nights. But none of those words felt right, so he asked the simplest question.

—How have you been?

She hesitated, her gaze drifting to the drink in her hand. —Good. Different, but good. And you?

He nodded slowly. —Busy. The team keeps me occupied.”

—That doesn’t surprise me —she said, her tone lighter. —You always thrived under pressure.

—Not always —he admitted, the words slipping out before he could stop them. Her eyes softened, and he knew she understood what he meant.

They fell into silence again, the air between them thick with memories. He wanted to reach out, to say the things he never could when they parted. But would it change anything?

—I didn’t expect to see you here —she said eventually.

—Nor did I —he admitted. —But I’m… glad I did.

Her expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across her face. —I should go. It was nice seeing you, Toto.

Before she could turn away, he reached out, his fingers lightly brushing her arm. —Wait.

She stopped, looking back at him, and for the first time that night, he allowed the vulnerability to show.

—I’ve missed you —he said quietly.

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, he saw the same pain mirrored in her eyes. But then she smiled—a bittersweet, knowing smile.

—I’ve missed you too —she whispered.

And with that, she walked away, leaving him standing alone in the crowded room, the echoes of her words lingering in the air.

Heyyy!!!! This is my first request and it’s about my man Toto 😜. Thank you for requesting this anon, I hope to see more of these. And also hope u like it, remember that English is not my first language ‼️

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Christmas Shift | Bucky 🎄

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female! Reader

Prompt : We're doing a poor job hiding our relationship troubles at this family event. 

Part 1 : Holly Jolly Charade

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband on Kindle. 👉 Now available on e-Kindle Amazon! << here's the link.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

It’s two days before Christmas, and you decided to go back home.

Your hand moved slowly to close the apartment door. It felt like you were forgetting something. Last year, he would always double-check the door before locking it.

This Christmas could be the last one, you thought, sighing.

You were headed to your parent's home for Christmas this time—mainly because your annoying aunt Teresa wouldn’t be there. On the ride, it was usually just you and Bucky, who started as a fake couple but ended up in a real marriage.

But it seemed like the honeymoon phase was over. You and Bucky had just had a big argument, which led him to stay at a hotel for a few days. That’s why you were here alone.

Your mom, Robin, greeted you with a hug. “Did the company lock you up?” she asked with a smile. “I’m glad you’re here before the storm.” She helped you take off your coat. “Bucky’s already here.”

You widened your eyes in surprise. He’s here?

“He’s got a much more relaxed schedule than you,” she added casually.

After Bucky resigned from the company, he invested in drone cameras and outdoor equipment. Since his hobby was photography, it seemed like the perfect fit. He made a good decision and gained a lot of profit. His work was successful, but his schedule was much more laid-back than yours.

As you walked into the living room, you saw Bucky talking to your dad and your cousins. He noticed you and made his way over to you, offering a side hug.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’d rather be here than with my dad, who’s with his third wife, and my mom, who’s with her new boyfriend,” he whispered, his lips brushing your forehead.

You and Bucky were in the room, sitting on opposite sides of the bed. The distance between you both felt greater than it ever had before. The usual closeness you shared during Christmas wasn’t there. Both of you acted like everything was fine, but your parents noticed.

Robin, sensing the tension, quietly led you to the master bedroom. “What’s going on? It feels like there’s a wall between you two.”

You sighed, your hands nervously fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. “It’s…,” you hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “We…” You usually had the confidence to speak up at the company, but talking about your relationship with Bucky made your stomach knot.

On the other side of the house, your father was talking to Bucky in the living room. “Did you make a mistake with my daughter?”

Bucky looked at him, surprised. “How did you know?”

“Son, I’ve been married for 35 years. I would know. So, you did something,” your father said firmly, though not unkindly.

Bucky sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. “She wants a baby. I’m not ready.”

Your father’s brow furrowed. “Why’s that?”

Bucky’s voice softened, and his eyes looked distant. “Because I’m afraid. I don’t think I’ll be a good father. Look at my parents. You saw them at the wedding.”

Your father nodded, understanding the depth of his concerns. “Well… it’s complicated. But you’re you, not your father.” He placed his hand on Bucky's shoulder. “You're a good man for acknowledging your doubts. It's not a shame, son. Everyone feels nervous about being a parent.”

Meanwhile, in the master bedroom, Robin sat across from you, her hand resting gently on yours. “Listen, I know things aren’t easy right now, but you and Bucky can make it. There will be challenges ahead, but that doesn’t mean it’s the end. You’ve built something real together, and that counts for a lot.”

You looked at her, searching for the reassurance you needed. Robin gave you a small, encouraging smile. “You’ve both come this far. You’ll find a way through this too. Just remember, love isn’t perfect—it’s about sticking together, even when it’s hard.”

Later that evening, you finally found the courage to talk to Bucky. He was sitting on the couch, his arms crossed as he stared out the window. You walked up to him, and without saying a word, he pulled you into a tight embrace.

“I’m ready,” Bucky whispered into your hair, his voice low but steady. “I’m in it. If you’re in it.”

You held him tighter, your heart feeling lighter. “We’re doing a poor job hiding our relationship troubles at this family event.” You chuckled softly, pulling back just enough to look up at him.

He smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Yeah, but we’ll figure it out. Together.”

And the next Christmas, both of you came home—this time, with a beautiful, giggling baby girl in your arms. Bucky and you became the best parents this baby girl ever had.

Taglist:

@thezombieprostitute

@mostlymarvelgirl

@scott-loki-barnes

@kjah97

@jeremyrennermakesmesmile

[p-taryn-dactyl]

l'amour de ma vie

a/n: hi! it's been awhile since i've written for agatha but I though this was a fun idea! kind of an AU? everyone is alive and well, i've taken over. i tried to capture the same feeling of the avenger compound 2012 fanfics bc they have a special place in my heart, but also theres slight 🌶️ in this one than any of the fics i read in 2012

word count: 2.6k

warning(s): science written by someone who barely scrapped by in any type of science class - agatha being agatha - exes to lovers - discussion of a bad breakup - suggestiveness - slight jealous!agatha - top!agatha - slight 'knee thing' - mention of insecurity - slight manipulative!agatha - i love agath's hands, this isn't a warning but a confession -

pairing: agatha harkness x fem!reader, r is tony's younger sister

prompt: you thought being the sister of iron man, helping your brother not accidentally kill himself in the lab, was the hardest part of your life. turns out, it's keeping your mind objective when your ex is brought in on a mission

The lab was quiet, save the sound of Dummy bumping into tables while trying to feed you a smoothie made from bananas and motor oil, as you wandered around, your mind going over calculations and equations. Tony had mentioned wanting to create a new suit based off of the absorbent energy of the Black Panther and you, being the good sister you are, decided to try and create a prototype as a surprise. Turns out, it was a lot more complicated than you originally anticipated. While Tony was off on a well-earned vacation with Pepper, you spent your nights on the phone with Shuri as she excitedly discussed how she originally made her brother's suit. You thought it was hard to follow Tony when he went on his ramblings about new scientific breakthroughs. Now, it wasn’t as if you weren’t smart, you had a very high IQ, but sometimes it seemed as if Tony and Shuri just understood everything. As you stared at the white board against the wall, smudged questions and equations blurring together, you heard knocking against the windows of the lab. Turning, you saw Natasha and Yelena waving at you, the blonde holding a box of your favorite donuts. Sighing, you signaled JARVIS to let them in, leaning one hip against a table, arms crossed. 

“What happened?” You immediately asked, taking in the slight guilty expressions the sisters wore, super spies your ass. Natasha and Yelena shared a look before the red-head shrugged, plopping down on Tony’s swivel chair. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Yelena took a donut out of the box, sitting on the table you were leaning against, legs crossed as she handed the box out to you. Taking a donut, you raised an eyebrow, looking back and forth between your two friends. 

“Guys come on, these are bad news donuts. You only ever get these if it’s my birthday or something has happened? Did you set the laundry room on fire?” You asked Yelena pointedly, remembering the footage JARVIS had sent you two weeks earlier. She gasped, faux offense painting her face as Natasha snorted. 

“You can’t prove that was me,” yes you could, “and fine, yes, we do have news. News that Natasha is just so happy to tell you.” 

Natasha glared at her sister before she sighed, looking up at you. 

“Strange encountered something on one of his last missions, something that wasn’t sorcery but witchcraft.” 

You looked at Natasha, shrugging while slightly shaking your head.

“So? Did he call Wanda? Oh shit, is she hurt?” Worry for your friend clouded your mind before Natasha shook her head, looking away from you as she caught a donut Yelena chucked at her. 

“Wanda is powerful, yes, but she doesn’t have the knowledge required to fully take out this threat. He called in someone known for her magical expertise, after all she’s been around a while.” 

Your heart dropped to your stomach once you realized who Natasha was talking about. 

“No…” You whispered, now fully sitting on the table, eyes glued to the floor as Yelena continued where Natasha left off.

“Apparently, this threat is going to take awhile to understand and Strange has offered her a place at the compound until everything is over. He needs you or Tony to sign off on that and Tony is in Ibiza right now.” 

You just nodded wordlessly, not fully understanding what Yelena was saying. The blonde noticed this, placing a hand over yours. 

“She’s upstairs with him now.”

Your vision tunneled slightly, panic clawing at your throat. Taking a deep breath, you remembered what your job was. 

Protect the people. 

Even if that meant dealing with your ex-fiance, Agatha Harkness.

Your relationship with the infamous witch started out like every Hallmark movie Tony forces you to watch. It was a rainy morning when you ran inside a small cafe near the Avengers Tower, ran straight into Agatha herself. From there, everything was a blur. Now, you’ve pushed the memories away into a box in your mind, forbidden to open. But sometimes you find yourself thinking about the happiness that bloomed in your chest every time you were near Agatha, how your heart almost exploded when she proposed, how happy you were to finally use the wedding book you had made and continued to add to since you were six. Then you remember how Agatha, mere weeks after proposing, started growing distant. Any question about her wedding preferences were waved away with a perfectly manicured hand, claiming that she would be fine with whatever. Her response seemed romantic to you at first, thinking she would just be happy to marry you, no matter the color scheme or the flower arrangements. But then it quickly shifted to her not caring at all. Date nights got canceled, cake tasting was done solo, and you shrunk deeper and deeper into your insecurities. She was obsessed with her own power, constantly chasing leads of witches and wizards who could be easy targets. It all came to a head one night, silently. You remember sitting in the dim lighting of your shared apartment, an anniversary gift from Tony, fiddling with your ring. A glass of wine sat on the counter, untouched but tempting. Agatha had promised to come home at three in the afternoon so the two of you could design the wedding invitations, something you thought could bring her back to you. 

But she didn’t show. 

It was half past nine when you broke, tears pooling in your eyes, blurring your vision as they fell to the floor. You cried silently to yourself as you gathered up the markers and papers you had set out, ripping the designs you had happily scribbled down at sixteen. You left the pieces in the trash, glaring at them for a few moments before you wiped your eyes and took a deep breath. Then promptly burst into tears once more. You wish you had handled the situation with the grace and dignity of a Stark but no. You put all the wedding stuff in a bin, stuffing in it a closet, then you left your ring on the counter. You didn’t know when Agatha would be back, sometimes she was gone for days, but that gave you some sense of peace. If she showed up as you had finally decided to leave, you probably would have fallen for her spell once again. All your things in the apartment you just left, knowing that you hadn’t fully moved in and, not to sound too incredibly privileged, you could just replace everything you left behind. You still had that key to the apartment, probably rusting away in a drawer somewhere. Leaving should have felt like a weight being lifted but all you felt was pain. The week after you left was filled with silence, you spent it curled up in your room at the compound, being forced to watch movies sandwiched between Natasha and Yelena, Tony joining occasionally. Your brother showered you with gifts of candy and books, doing everything in his power to bring a smile back to your face. Eventually, it worked and now, a year later, you thought you had healed. 

You were wrong.

The elevator ride up to where Strange and Agatha waited felt like time was being stretched around you. Yelena stood protectively at your side, arms crossed as she glared at the elevator doors, Natasha had wrapped an arm around your waist as you had slightly stumbled from the shock. You felt both protected and exposed as the doors opened, Stephen smiling as he realized it was you, his expression growing concerned as he took in the positions of the two assassins flanking your sides. You didn’t blame him, he didn’t know, but some part of you was angry at the innocent gratefulness that was apparent in his eyes. You felt her eyes before you saw her, they pierced into you before moving down to where Natasha’s arm wrapped around your waist. Swallowing, you nodded at Nat, silently letting her know you were okay. The two sisters moved to sit on the couch across from where Agatha now stood, her eyes never leaving you despite the looks she was receiving. Clapping your hands together, you refused to look at her, instead smiling at Strange as you painted on the familiar Stark charm. 

“I heard you needed my signature?” It was more of a statement than a question as you held out your hand for the tablet Strange held. He nodded, relief painting his face as you signed the permission form, allowing JARVIS to assign your ex a room. 

“Normally we would stay in Kamar Taj but whatever it is we’re facing seems to target places of high magical energy.” 

Yelena scoffed, her eyes still boring into Agatha.

“That sounds familiar.” 

Agatha finally looked away from you, her expression almost confused until her face went blank as she raised an eyebrow and rolled her eyes. Stephen rocked back and forth on his heels for a second once you had finished signing all the forms, obviously thrown off by the awkward atmosphere. He suddenly snapped his fingers as if he had remembered something, giving you an apologetic glance before explaining he had a meeting with Wong starting in a few minutes. Your eyes widened as he turned to Agatha, formally introducing you and explaining you would show her to her new room. At this, Natasha and Yelena shot up, both offering to instead be the guide. Strange looked both confused and scared, opting to just nod as he walked backwards into the portal he had summoned, quickly disappearing. 

“Guys, it’s fine. I’ll show Ms. Harkness to her room.” 

Your friends looked apprehensive, like they would rather swallow a wasps nest than let you be alone with the witch but thankfully they stood down. You closed your eyes as you turned around, heading back towards the elevator, beckoning for Agatha to follow you. 

Time to face the music.

Once the doors to the elevators shut, you focused all your attention onto the screen in your hands, hoping to ignore the way Agatha was staring at you. You heard her sigh before the elevator stopped suddenly. Thinking you were at the right floor, you took a step forward only to be face to face with very closed doors. Confused, you turned to finally face Agatha, finding her eyes slightly glowing purple, same as the emergency stop button. You opened your mouth to ask what was going on when suddenly you were pushed up against the wall, purple magic pinning you down as Agatha stood inches away from you, arms trapping you and one leg in between yours. Her eyes flickered down to your lips for a moment before they snapped up to yours, 

“Is this where you’ve been?” You heard a slight tremor in her voice, breaking her illusion of strength. You didn’t respond, your words stuck in your throat as your body reacted to being close to Agatha once more. She didn’t seem to care about your silence, continuing to speak. 

“You look very comfortable here, especially with that assassin.” She spoke with a sneer, her hands moving to now cradle your waist, her grip tight as her thumbs slipped under your shirt. You blinked, absorbing her words before you unwillingly let out a small laugh. She tightened her grip, her hips now practically flush with yours. 

“Natasha is just a friend, I’m not-” You cleared your throat, stopping yourself from justifying your personal life with the person who had torn apart your heart. Agatha leaned in close, her nose brushing against your jaw as she kissed your neck softly, causing you to gasp. 

“Not what?” She prodded, her breath hot against your skin as her tongue traced up your neck before she lightly bit your ear. 

“Agatha…” you sighed, your hands now resting on her shoulders, as if you were debating whether or not to push her away or pull her closer. Her teeth bit hard into your neck before she kissed over the spot, her knee now pressing up against your core. 

“Answer me, Y/N.” 

This was exactly why you didn’t wait for her to come back to the apartment that night, you crumbled too quickly under her hands. 

“I’m not with anyone, especially not Natasha, she’s like a sister to me.” 

Agatha nodded slightly before she leaned her forehead against yours, one of her hands fiddling with the elastic of your sweatpants. 

“Have you been with anyone since you left me?”

Her words were accusing yet tinged with slight fear, worried about your answer. You hesitated before you shook your head, embarrassed at how pathetic you had been after you ended the relationship. Sure, people offered and you tried a few times but always chickened out before anything could ever happen. 

No one was like Agatha. 

Your ex smiled, lightly bumping her nose against yours. You felt your own lips quirk slightly before you realized the position you were in. She was here for a mission, not to fuck you against the walls of an elevator. 

“Agatha-”

Before you could finish speaking, Agatha's lips crashed against yours, immediately establishing her dominance. The kiss was deep, her tongue battling yours before she pulled away, her teeth pulling at your bottom lip. Her hands left your waits, instead now cradling your face. She smirked at your expression, your eyes glassy and your mouth hanging slightly open. Her thumb rubbed your cheek as her other hand brushed a hair out of your eyes. You allowed yourself to bask in the peace of the moment, reminiscing about the time when Agatha sent butterflies ablaze in your stomach. It was quickly ruined, however, by Agatha’s next question which hit you like a bucket of ice water. 

“Why’d you leave me? No note, no explanations, just your ring on the counter and cancellations of our wedding vendors. I thought you loved me, Y/N.” Her last words were almost a whisper, like she hadn’t fully meant to say them outloud. You felt the sharp pin pricks of tears, hurriedly blinking them away, averting your eyes from Agatha. You shook your head, a dry, humorless laugh escaping from your lips. 

“Agatha, what’s done is done, we don’t need to-”

Her hand grasped your chin, forcing you to look at her, to take in the icy fury that was ablaze in her eyes. 

“No.” Her voice was firm, commanding, as you both examined each other’s expressions. “No, I need to know what I did.” 

You didn’t know why, but those words opened the floodgates, both of your tears and your words.  

“It’s what you didn’t do Agatha! You were never there, you didn’t give one shit about our wedding, about planning our life together. Power is your true love, Agatha, and I’ll be damned if I’m just a rebound,” You took a shaky breath, blinking away the tears that were blurring your vision and falling down your face, “You were bored of me, Agatha, I understand that now but by god, you could of just told me instead of stringing me along and single handedly crushing my dreams!”

Agatha looked shocked, the anger disappearing from her eyes, now replaced with something akin to despair. 

“Is that really what you thought? Still think?” 

You bit your lip as you nodded, heart about to explode in your chest at how intense this day had become. Agatha shook her head, leaning so her head now rested on your shoulder, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you into a tight hug. It was silent for a moment before you felt the atmosphere shift, Agatha’s hands making their way into your pants, her experienced fingers rubbing your clothed clit as she whispered into your ear. 

“I guess I have to prove you wrong.”

a/n: plz don't hate me i wrote this in two hours and i have to get up early tomorrow or else this fic would be wayyy longer and would probably banish me to self isolation bc i think im ovulating. is that tmi? who cares. ik this wasn't the best but thank you for reading! im sleep deprived

[ifwebefriends]

Sinsmas thoughts (MAJOR SPOILERS)

BLITZZZZZZZZZ WHY DO YOU LOVE THE HORSES??????????

OMGGGGGGG THE EGGS THING

STOLAS AND BLITZ DOMESTIC MOMENTS OMGGGGGGGGG IM DEAD

Stolas and Blitz were just so cute this whole episode I’m dead

THE MONTAGE AWWWWWW

NOOOOOO STOLAS NEEDS HIS XANS

Stolas was just fun and iconic this whole episode fr

Okay Sinsmas is iconic I’m glad they explained what it is lol

STOLAS BEING SCARED BY MOX AND MIL FIGHTING OMGGGGGGGG

BLITZ CHEERING ON STOLAS AT THE PHONE WAS SO FUCKING SWEET AND FUNNY IM CRYING 😭

That homophobic client made me want to kill her I’m glad they threw her out the window later

That being said I wonder how she died? She had wooden antlers maybe a tree fell on her?????????? It doesn’t seem like the ex husband had anything to do with it

NOOOO STOLAS NEVER KILL YOURSELF YOU DESERVE TO LIVE YOU NEED YOUR XANS

No but actually AS SOON as Millie threw up and it WASN’T a “getting sick from all the joy and jolly” joke I knew she was pregananant

It’s so touching how Blitz decided not to kill the family very reminiscent of episode 1 and emblematic of his development

THIS EPISODE JUST PUNCHED ME IN THE GUT OVER AND OVER

No but Stella and Andralphus’ laughs made me want to murder them fr

No but I CANNOT actually believe that we were right about the Stolas secretary thing good work chat

NOOOOOOOO STOLAS PLANT GONE 🥲

Octavia’s song was so good!!!!!!! But so heartbreaking

THE PANO SHOT DURING VIA’S SONG IM FLOORED

“IM POOR NOW” OMGGGGGGGGGGG STOLAS 🤣🤣🤣

STOLAS HAVING A MELTDOWN BEFORE SEEING VIA

YES STOLAS BEAT ANDREPHUS’ ASSSSSSSSS

OMG BLITZ RISKING HIS LIFE FOR STOLAS

LOONA UPGRADE???????? HOW?????? WHY???????

The animation on that fight was incredible

Omgggggggg Octavia and Stolas’ conversation was heartbreaking

STOLAS’ SOBS WHEN VIA WENT AWAY BREAKS MY HEART

As someone who’s parents divorced when I was a teen I deeply respect and admire Stolas’ apprehension to talk about how shitty Stella was to Via but I also feel like that would clear a lot of things up so oooooooooooooo I’m so conflicted

Yeah I think they both need time to think and hopefully Via understands someday

Okay but I’m so glad that Loona has her own friends I’m so happy for her

Omg Millie called Sallie May about her pregnancy 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Not but when I saw the drinks get pulled out I hugely expected to see a reaction from Millie but whatever

Omgggg Blitz talking about his sister maybe they’ll make up next season 🥺

no but actually I kinda love that the episode ended with them dancing and hugging instead of kissing that’s a bold iconic move love it no notes

No but I’m actually so anxious for Millie girl do whatever you need to do but please talk to Moxxie I’m sure he’ll be on board with whatever

No but I didn’t anticipate the pregnancy that was COMPLETELY out of left field and that kinda hit me more than the stolitz moments did (I lowkey have Tokophobia so that’s probably why)

This is so interesting because we’re about to go into a season that probably focuses on parent-child relationships and whatever Millie decides will be an interesting part of that theme

Yeah I have no idea where they’re going to take this

I’d be pleasantly surprised if they go the abortion route it feels like shows never do that but I feel like more shows should and I think Viv is bold enough to go that path

Incredible episode great season finale can’t wait for more 10/10!!!!!!

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Little Darling

Chapter 9 - Made a promise to be kept

It's 1997, and Elvis is still alive and well. He quit music in 1972 after a successful world tour, and now he runs Presley Studios - teaching people karate across America. His daughter and grandchildren are regular visitors at Graceland, and when he’s in Memphis he likes to do a little teaching. His life is quieter now, though. Most of the Mafia have gone - going to live their own lives - and after his divorce from his second wife, Elvis is sworn off women for good. Will a Welsh girl with a wicked sense of humour be the one to make him break his promise to himself not to fall in love again?

Need to catch up? Go here.

Pairing: Old Man!Elvis x OC - Tegan, a Welsh girl he meets at karate.

Word count: 3.2K

TWs: Illness, self-esteem issues, discussion of spanking, handjob/masturbation, voyeurism, suggestion of ass play, possessive kink.

Tegan spends the day at work feeling gradually more and more ill, so she decides to pick up a few things on her way home in case she can’t get out to get them the next day. It’s probably just a cold she picked up from the kids at the weekend, but she doesn’t want to have to drag herself out of bed and look for cough medicine if it’s worse than that. As she gets out of the car she suddenly remembers that Elvis basically lives in her apartment right now, and she could send him out to get things. Part of her wonders what on earth he’d come back with, but she also realises she’s been on her own for so long she’s forgotten what it’s like to rely on someone else.

Elvis fusses her and tries to insist on her resting, but she’s too worried about what kind of dinner he’ll cook without her help, so she tells him she doesn’t feel that bad. And she doesn’t, not really. Not until she tries to sleep. They lie down together as usual and she lets her mind drift off, but her thoughts stop making sense. It’s as if she’s put the words in a blender and then poured them out, and all the while she’s sweating and starting to wonder if her legs belong to her or have been swapped out for someone else’s. Eventually she tosses and turns herself fully awake, body hot and arms outside of the duvet freezing cold, sweat dampening the hair at the back of her head. 

“Queenie?” Elvis whispers. He looks at the digital clock by the bed. 2.30am. He’s been awake this whole time, watching her thrash about in her sleep and listening to the odd random word she’d mumbled. 

She rolls over and looks up into his concerned face. “Elvis, I’m sick.”

He strokes her forehead gently. “I can see that, baby.”

She closes her eyes again and groans. He presses a little kiss to her forehead now, carefully moving her sweaty hair out of her face. 

“Try ‘an go back ta sleep, honey.”

She groans again. “I’ll try.”

She closes her eyes but Elvis feels like a furnace next to her, he’s making it even hotter in the bed that already seems like it might be on fire. Then she hears him start to sing. 

Forever, my darling / Our love will be true / Always and forever / I'll love only you / Just promise me, darling / Your love in return / May this fire in my soul, dear / Forever burn

Her mouth curls into a smile and she opens her eyes again. 

“That’s cute.”

“Mmmm. I’m trying ta sing ya ta sleep.”

She giggles, putting her hand on his cheek. “Oh ‘raur. Don’t take this the wrong way but… you’re going to keep me awake if you keep doing that.”

Elvis immediately looks hurt and she wishes she could take it back. “Hm. Forget it then.” He flops onto his back, sighing loudly. He doesn’t mind staying up late, in fact he kind of enjoys it, but he wants to be asleep right now. When you’re asleep you can’t feel rejected.

“‘Raur.” Tegan rolls onto her side, leaning over him to look into his face and seeing his eyes firmly shut. “I’m sorry. I love your singing.” She nuzzles his cheek. “I just don’t find it very sleep-inducing.”

He grumbles again. 

“You could sing to me when I feel better. I’d like that.” She’s still feeling a bit delirious from the fever and so she puts her head on his chest and says, “I’d really like that, Elvis.”

“Why’s ‘at then?” He huffs. 

She giggles into his pyjama top. “‘Cause I’d find it a turn on.”

His lips curl into a smile at the revelation and he starts singing again, right in her ear.

My heart's at your command, dear / To keep, love, and to hold / Making you happy's my desire / Keeping you is my goal

She giggles even more. “Stop it! I’m sick!”

“Alright then. Try ‘an sleep. I won’t sing this time.”

She props herself back up on her elbow again. “You’re making the bed kind of hot…” She pulls an awkward face, knowing he won’t like this either. 

He sighs deeply. “First ya won’t let me sing ya ta sleep, now ya want me on the couch.”

“I’m sorry. But you won’t sleep well with me here either.”

He curls a stray piece of hair back behind her ear. “This’d be a damned sight easier if we were at Graceland.”

“But I like my apartment. And you like my apartment. Don’t you?”

“Hmmm. Yeah. But not when I have ta sleep on the couch. I’m an old man, my back can’t take it.”

Tegan doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable, but she can’t see how she’s going to sleep at all with him in the bed. 

He shakes his head and sits up. “But I’ll go. I’ll see ya in the mornin’ baby.”

***

When Tegan doesn’t appear at the usual time, Elvis picks up the phone and calls her work. He causes quite a kerfuffle, being Elvis Presley and everything, but it does mean that they believe him when he says he’s not sure if she’ll be in for the rest of the week. He pads around the kitchen making coffee and rummaging around in the cupboards for anything else she might want. When he’s finished he puts it all on a tray and then sets it down on the side, slowly pushing her bedroom door open and peering inside. 

“Honey?” He says softly, into the semi-darkness. 

Tegan grumbles. She’d woken up a while ago, but she didn’t really want to move. She still doesn’t want to move now, so she burrows further into the bedding. Elvis walks around the bed and gets in next to her, gently putting an arm over her. She grumbles again. 

“I made ya coffee,” he murmurs into her hair. 

“Thanks. I feel like my throat’s full of broken glass.”

Elvis pulls her against him, kissing the top of her head. “Ya want it now?”

“Please.”

He gives her another kiss and then gets up again, fetching the tray and bringing it in. She sits up slowly, pulling pillows behind her to prop her up and looking with some interest at the contents of the tray. 

“I thought you were just bringing coffee?”

Elvis puts it down on her lap. “Well I thought these might help.”

Tegan looks at the rest of the contents of the tray in bewilderment. There’s painkillers, which make sense, next to two cups of steaming coffee. So far, so good. But then there’s a box of crackers, a bottle of gatorade (which she’s quite sure she didn’t buy, so she’s confused as to what it’s doing in her apartment) three or four candy bars (which, again, she didn’t buy) and a packet of lemsip. Just, on its own. Without hot water or a cup. She rubs her forehead in confusion and then just giggles. 

“What?”

She hands him his coffee and takes hers, setting the tray down on the bed between them. Coughing a little, she takes a few sips of her drink to try and make her throat feel a bit better before replying. 

“I bought a load of cough drops and things at the shops yesterday,” she explains. “They’re in the cupboard over the sink.” 

“Oh,” he sighs. He didn’t sleep well on the couch at all, and he’s starting to feel a little like everything he does at the moment is wrong. “Ya want those?”

She takes another sip of coffee. “In a bit.”

He huffs again. She raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

“Everythin’ I do fer ya, ya don’t like.”

Tegan sighs, and then she puts her head on his shoulder. “That’s not true. This coffee is actually alright.”

She means to make him laugh but he just groans, moving her off him and getting up again. 

“I’m no good at this.” 

She watches in disbelief as he walks back out of the room again. “Elvis!” She calls after him, then bursts into a fresh round of coughing. “‘Raur?” 

When she sees he’s not coming back, she decides to get up, slowly pulling on panties and an old Elvis sweater she found the other day in the back of her closet. She pushes on slippers and then pads out of the room, carrying her coffee. He’s always telling her off for wandering about the place naked, so she hopes this will do. She coughs a bit more and sniffs, finding him sat on the couch watching MTV. Wandering over to the cupboard she grabs a handful of cough drops, Vicks and tissues, and then walks over to the couch. Looking away from the TV for a moment, he’s greeted by the sight of his girlfriend walking around in a sweater with his name on it and a pair of boxer-style panties. It’s hard to stay mad. 

“Where’d this come from?” He asks, tugging at her sleeve as she sits down next to him. 

“Found it in my closet. I think I must’ve bought it when I was a teenager. I’m amazed it still fits, but it was pretty baggy on me back then.”

“I like it,” he announces, because he really does. “No panties with my name on?”

She smirks. “I bet I could find some.”

He pats his thigh. “C’mon. Lap.”

Elvis has got in the habit of telling her to get onto his lap if she doesn’t do it of her own accord, and although it makes her feel a little bit like a pet dog, she does kind of like it. And she likes cuddling up with him like this anyway. So she sits sideways on his lap so she can still watch the TV, his arm firmly around her. She sneezes. 

“I’m gonna give you this, if you keep cuddling up to me all the time.”

Elvis huffs again. “Ya want me ta go? I’ll just go.” He lets go of her so she can get up if she wants. 

“I didn’t say that, ‘raur.” She cuddles into him more, her fingers playing with the buttons on his pyjama top. “I just don’t want you to get sick too. I like you being here. I’d be lonely without you.” 

“Hmmm. Wouldn’t want ya ta be lonely.”

His arm returns to its previous position, but he still feels uncomfortable. He’s a protector, but he’s not much of a caregiver, and he feels like he ought to be. After having a child, he thinks he should be better at knowing what to do when someone is sick, but he and Cilla had always sort of farmed that out to other people. 

“I was only teasing, earlier, you know?” She says after they’ve been sitting there quietly for a while, watching music videos. 

“Should’ve known,” Elvis mutters. “Should be good at looking after sick people by now.”

Tegan shifts to look into his eyes, which stare back, full of sadness. “You couldn’t know what was in my cupboards, I didn’t tell you. But you could’ve just asked what I wanted. That might’ve been easier.”

“Oh. I suppose so.”

“It’s cute though. How much you try.”

He huffs. “Don’t wanna be cute.”

“That’s tough really, isn’t it? Because you are so cute,” she teases, rubbing her nose against his. 

“Ya do really emasculate me sometimes, honey. Callin’ me pretty an’ cute. Next thing I know you’ll be plaiting my hair an’ puttin’ on make-up.”

Tegan giggles. “You put make-up on yourself in the 50s, didn’t you? Come to think of it, in the 60s and 70s too, blodyn.”

“What are ya callin’ me now?”

She bites her lip. “Blodyn. It’s a term of endearment, but literally it means flower.”

“Flower?!” He rages for a second, and then laughs. “Yer really callin’ me flower. Aha. I see.”

“Yeah I am. My little blodyn, fy blodyn bach, taking care of me while I’m sick.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “If ya weren’t sick, ya’d be gettin’ a spankin’ for this…”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

He gives her a quick hard slap to the side of her thigh, making her yelp, and then kisses her gently on the lips. “I’ll put it on the list of things ta do when you’re well again. Sing ta ya and then spank the livin’ daylights outta ya.”

***

Tegan gets worse over the next few days, and spends them mainly in bed, with Elvis ferrying hot drinks and soup back and forth. Around day four he starts to get sick too, and although he's grumpy about it he only really gets a sniffle and a bit of a cough for a day or two. Tegan is still exhausted a week later, but she drags herself out of bed to sit on the couch. 

“Feelin’ any better, baby?” Elvis asks, pulling her onto his lap as usual and arranging a blanket around her. 

“Hmmm. Just tired.” Tegan’s head flops against his chest. 

“Can I get ya anything? Ya hungry?”

“Yeah, I am actually. Nothing in the apartment worth eating though.”

“Why don't I go out and get us a little breakfast, baby?”

She sits up and strokes his cheek lovingly. “That would be great if you feel OK?” She puts her hand on his forehead to check his temperature, worrying that he's more ill than he's letting on. 

“I feel fine, baby. Jus’ sniffin’ a bit s’all.”

“Don't know how you've got away with that but I shouldn't complain. Don't want to lose my nursemaid.”

Elvis shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “What have I told ya about that? ‘M not a nursemaid.”

Tegan giggles. “Sorry. You're doing such a good job of taking care of me, though.”

He puffs up with pride. “I am?”

“Yes!” She kisses him on the lips. “I don't know what I'd have done without you.”

He grins, pleased to feel useful for a change. “Alright then. You stay there and keep warm and I’ll go and get us some breakfast.”

Tegan chuckles to herself about staying warm in the middle of September in Memphis, but she doesn't say anything. It's sweet of him to worry. As she waits for him to come back, she thinks about how sweet he's been this whole week. It was obvious not being able to take care of her instinctively bothered him, but he'd taken her advice and actually asked what she wanted and by now he was pretty good at feeding her and bringing her medicine. He'd even got in the shower with her a couple of times and helped her wash when she'd been too tired to want to do it on her own. 

***

After breakfast, Elvis watches Tegan take the plates from the couch into the kitchen. She’s still only wearing panties and that old sweater, and he feels his body react to the sight of her ass jiggling a little as it makes its way around the apartment. It’s happened the past couple of mornings, but he’s done his best to ignore Little Elvis and concentrate on looking after Tegan. This morning, though, he’s really making himself known and Elvis isn’t sure he’s going to be able to ignore him. 

Tegan’s too tired to notice the look on his face, flopping back down next to him and putting her legs up on his lap.

“Honey, ya can’t keep wanderin’ about the place like this,” he tells her. 

“Hmmm? Why?” 

He takes her hand and puts it on his now fully-hard dick. She moves her head and her eyes go wide. 

“Oh.” She doesn’t know what else to say. She doesn’t want to tell him to sort himself out, but she’s not sure she has the energy to do anything for him either. Plus she’s not exactly feeling that sexy right now.  

“I-it’s okay,” he stutters. “I…uh… I can sort myself out.”

Tegan shakes her head and squeezes him. “No, I wanna help.”

“Honey, you’re still sick.”

She sighs, her head back on his shoulder. “Well, at least let me watch then.”

She hears him cough awkwardly, as if he’s trying to swallow down something particularly difficult. 

“W-watch?”

“Mmmm. Y’know. You jerk yourself and I’ll… watch.”

“I think I might feel a bit self-conscious, baby.”

“Why? I’ve seen your dick before. And, spoiler alert, I know what happens at the end.”

She hears a grumbling deep in his throat. “I’ve never… done that before. In front of someone.”

“Oh. Well I promise I’d enjoy it.”

He moves his head and shoulder so that she has to look at him. “Would ya?”

She nods. “Here. Why don’t I help you?” 

Reaching down to undo the garish belt he’s wearing, she unzips his pants. He shuffles around to make it easier for her to release Little Elvis from his boxers, then moans softly as she pumps him up and down a couple of times. Letting go, she takes his hand from where it’s resting on his thigh and guides it towards his dick. He takes over stroking himself, enjoying the feeling of the kisses she starts to press to his neck and ear. His other hand reaches around to her ass, grabbing a handful and sighing softly to himself. She bites her lip, thinking about how else she can help him.

“You want me to do this?” She asks, slipping her hand in his boxers to massage his balls. 

He groans. “Yes please.”

She squeezes them gently a few times, and then starts to get other ideas. One of her fingers rubs the skin just below them, and he almost jumps. 

“Honey!”

She giggles. “No?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“I swear you’re supposed ta be sick.”

She goes back to massaging, her lips pressing against his. “I am. I just thought you might like a little assistance.”

He kisses her and then pulls back again. “I don’t need yer finger up my asshole.”

Tegan can’t help herself, bursting out laughing, pulling her hand away from him to slap her thigh in amusement. 

“It wasn’t your arsehole, cariad. It was your taint.”

Elvis tilts his head to one side and huffs out a sigh. “Yer on very thin ice, y’know that? Even sick girls can get a spanking.”

She giggles, cuddling into him and kissing his collarbone. “Sorry, ‘raur. Please carry on. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

She doesn’t really, they hang around his neck as he kisses her, run over his chest, even wrap around his own hand to help him as he gets closer to release. But she does resist the temptation to put them in his boxers again. At least for now. 

“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he breathes in her ear, his lips and teeth finding the lobe. 

“Let me see,” she replies, looking down as he kisses her neck and makes a mess of his hand and pants. 

“Oh fuck. You do like me wandering around in these panties.”

“Mmmm.”

They sit there for a while longer, until he decides he has to get cleaned up. 

“You enjoy that?” She calls after him, as he walks towards the bathroom. 

He turns and smiles. “More ‘an I thought I would.” He fixes her with an intense stare. “But not as much as I’d enjoy fucking that pussy a mine, baby. Hurry up and get well.”

***

Part 10

Taglist:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy

[awardenandacrow]

[THE ALMOST KISS FULL SNIPPET]

NOTE: I have done this snippet in two parts, one from Naimeryn’s POV, and one from Lucanis’s. It’s been edited & expanded since the gif set triggered the initial snippet.

CW/TW: SO MUCH ANGST, body negativity

——————————————————————————

“How do you.. always do that?” He asked earnestly.

Naimeryn tilted her head so she could hear him better. “Do what?”

He spoke slightly louder, and her heart ached with sheer appreciation. “Break apart my perfectly gathered clouds of doom.”

She smiled slightly, trying to decide how she should respond. He deserved to have the sunlight shine through, to feel the warmth on his skin, to know he was alive, and cared for, and important. Before she could articulate any of it, he looked away, and said more to himself than to her,

“You deserve better than to deal with my mess.”

For a moment, she was taken aback. She knew he struggled with Spite, and of course the situation was challenging, but he thought *he* was a mess? He thought that made him… what? Undesirable?

“You’re more than what you’re going through,” Naimeryn shook her head, thinking of all the sweet things he was always doing, for every member of the team. How strong he was, for surviving the Ossuray. How disciplined he was, keeping Spite at bay as often and as well as he did. “And you wear it well.”

Lucanis looked surprised for a moment, then something else came over his face. A small smile, an unfamiliar spark in his eye. He straightened up slightly, closing the distance between them in slow, deliberate steps.

“This isn’t a good idea,” he told her softly, placing his hand on the wall near her head and leaning towards her. Naimeryn’s heart was pounding in her ribcage, her eyes locked into that smoldering brown gaze.

She’d told him “it had been a while” since she’d had a first kiss, and joked she might need a reminder. What would he think if he knew it had been a lie, a bluff? That no one had ever afforded her such a touch… or that she’d never wanted one as badly as she did from him?

“Sometimes a bad idea is better,” she whispered.

“You like to walk a little close to the edge,” he mused, his eyes trailing down her face to her mouth. Sweet Creators, he wasn’t even touching her and she thought she might catch fire. He smelled of fresh coffee and blade oil.

Tentatively, she reached for him, her fingertips brushing his collar, trailing down to his waistcoat. He smiled and flicked his eyes back up to hers. He really was beautiful to behold when he smiled.

“So do you,” she reminded him, leaning forward slowly.

“At least I know I’m doing it,” he smirked, tilting his head and leaning in. Their faces were inches apart, and Naimeryn’s breath caught in her throat. Was she dreaming again? Her fingers flexed softly against his chest, just before their lips met.

His expression shifted, suddenly, and he looked almost pained. He pulled back and looked away.

“I’m sorry, I… I need to clear my head. Excuse me.”

And with that, without so much as another glance in her direction, he practically ran from the pantry.

Naimeryn couldn’t breathe. His scent clung to the air, filling her lungs so there was no room for anything else. The stone beneath her fingers suddenly felt like ice, but she couldn’t push herself off of the wall. She stared straight ahead, willing herself to form a thought, or to suck in a breath, or to move, but her body simply wouldn’t comply. The pain in her chest was debilitating.

Of course he didn’t kiss you, a familiar voice whispered in her head. You’re the awkward one. The clumsy one. The *ugly* one.

He’s made it *very* clear he doesn’t care for Grey Wardens. Why would *you* be an exception?

At least he came to his senses before you did something you’d regret.

You know they *always* think better of it before it goes too far.

There’s a reason you’ve never been kissed.

What would the others think? He deserves better than you anyway.

Someone more like *Neve*.

Naimeryn gasped for air, feeling weak and unsteady. Why would he…? She felt the tears prickling at the back of her eyes, and decided that was her cue to leave, as quickly as she could. She was suddenly free from whatever spell she’d been under, and she threw herself away from the wall, walking fast to get out of his space. She didn’t know where she was going, but she had to get as far away from this moment as possible.

She threw the kitchen doors open, head down, and started back across the courtyard. Assan squawked at her, but she waved her hand dismissively at him and crossed to the other side. She tripped on the stairs, regained her footing, and all but ran to the library door. She ripped open one, then the other. She bolted through it, and ran right into Taash, who seemed to be heading back to their room from the Eluvian chamber.

“Crisis averted — Rook?”

Rook held up one finger, managed to squeeze a wheezing “sorry” out around the lump in her throat, and started up the stairs — changed her mind. She needed to get out of here. She spun back around and headed to the stairs down instead.

“You’re not goin’ alone in that state,” Taash said, and started to follow. Naimeryn wanted to tell them no. But she couldn’t speak. Taash followed her silently, down the stairs, through the Eluvian, and into the Crossroads. Once she was there, she realized she didn’t know where to go. Weisshaupt was gone. She had nowhere to run to.

Naimeryn collapsed onto her knees and screamed. She gripped either side of her head and sobbed into her legs. Stupid, stupid Naimeryn.

Taash sat next to her, and put a tentative hand on her back. They sat there, together, until Naimeryn’s grief was spent.

Naimeryn sniffled, wiping her nose and eyes with the back of her hands as she slowly sat up. Taash withdrew their hand.

“Do you wanna go get our gear and go find some demons to punch?”

“I don’t think it’s Spite’s fault,” she mumbled.

“Doesn’t have to be for punching other demons to make you feel better.”

In spite of herself, Naimeryn chuckled. “Honestly Taash… I don’t know what I want to do.” She looked helplessly at her hands.

“I’m not really good at this — talking,” Taash said after a moment. “But if you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.”

Naimeryn opened her mouth to tell them no. To tell them she’d be fine eventually. Instead, it all came tumbling out. How she’d never belonged anywhere, how no one even wanted to claim her when she found a new home, how everyone she’d ever cared about, even her mother, had always held her at arms length. How she’d always known there was something so innately wrong with her, that she would forever be unloveable. How no matter what she did, it never seemed to earn her a place in the room.

How Lucanis had made her feel special, on occassion. Like maybe she wasn’t as ugly and broken and worthless as she’d always believed.

“But I…” Naimeryn wiped away a tear that escaped her resolve not to cry again. “I was wrong. Again. I guess.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment, then she blurted the last piece out.

“He was gonna kiss me, Taash. And then he just… *didn’t.* And I don’t know if he wanted to, but felt like he shouldn’t, or if… I don’t know? He wanted to try it and the realized he didn’t? I don’t know if it was something *I* did, or if maybe Spite *did* do something…”

She sighed and stared helplessly down at her hands. “I just… don’t know.”

——————————————————————————

PART TWO: LUCANIS’S POV

CW/TW: mention of child abuse, suggestive dialogue

——————————————————————————

He watched her flee, across the kitchen without glancing towards the deck where he stood, across the courtyard. Neve stepped out of her room as she darted by, but she didn’t seem to notice the other mage as she all but fell down the stairs. She recovered, tore open the library door, and was gone. Neve watched her, then pivoted. When she spotted him, she crossed her arms across her chest. Mierda.

Lucanis turned his back to Neve, hoping that would be enough to deter her from investigating the Lighthouse’s newest mystery. He should have known better. A few moments later, the distinct sound of her leg clacked across the kitchen floor with enough force to give him pause. She was barely to the top of the stairs and already she was asking, and in a thunderous tone,

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

NOT A LIE.

“Shut up,” he snapped. Served him right for giving in to a demon’s goading in the first place.

“What did *Spite* do?”

I WANTED YOU TO KISS ROOK.

“Nothing, that I know of,” he ground out. *He’d* wanted to kiss Rook. Of course he had. Mierda, he’d been so close. What was wrong with him?

“Lucanis.”

He sighed and turned towards her, feeling a bit like he had as a child, on the receiving end of one of Caterina’s lectures… before her cane. He must have looked the mess he felt, because Neve was so taken aback at his expression she physically took a step back.

“What happened? And don’t say *nothing.*”

“I was stupid,” Lucanis admitted, and found himself quite incapable of keeping eye contact with her. “I thought I could… I don’t know. Sweep her off her feet. I’ve watched Illario pick up enough women. But, I choked.”

“Illario… may not be your best choice to model after for this,” Neve said with a strange tone, like she knew something he didn’t.

“He is the most successfully flirtatious person I know,” Lucanis said with a helpless shrug.

“Right, but… you don’t need to ‘pick up’ Rook.”

Lucanis frowned. “What do you mean?”

Neve crossed her arms again. “When Illario picks up women, I imagine he entices them into his bed, they have their fun, and the women go on their way. That’s not your goal, correct?”

“Mierda, no.”

“Right. And you don’t need to work that hard. Rook would have been in your bed every night for months now if you’d let her.”

His heart thudded in his chest, and Spite cackled.

“Neve —!“

“Don’t get it wrong. She worries about you, and she’s a sap,” Neve laughed and leaned on the railing. “She probably wants to sing you lullabies and keep Spite under control so you actually get some rest.”

ROOK’S BORING.

Lucanis smirked in spite of himself. That actually sounded… really nice. Then he frowned again. “That’s not her responsibility. Spite is my problem.”

Neve cocked one eyebrow at him. “Maybe, but she *is* a mage. And the leader of this team. And you *obviously* know you’re special to her, or you wouldn’t be up here punishing yourself for whatever it is you did.”

Lucanis sighed and pulled one hand through his hair. “I thought I could be more like him. Impress her.”

Neve suppressed a laugh. “I hate to tell you, but you don’t need to impress her, and you *won’t* do it by acting like your cousin. She doesn’t like Illario much.”

*She doesn’t *like* Illario.* Wasn’t that what Teia had said?

His frown deepened. “You… are not the first person to tell me that.”

Neve looked genuinely surprised. “Well, hopefully you don’t need a third to make you believe it.”

“What… what is it specifically she doesn’t like?”

Neve smiled gently and she patted him on the arm. “That he’s always trying to flirt his way into her pants.”

Lucanis swallowed thickly. “Oh.”

SO YOU FUCKED UP? ROOK DOESN’T LIKE FLIRTING?

“She… seemed into it,” Lucanis played it over in his head. Before he’d panicked… her breath had gotten so airy. And… she’d leaned in too, hadn’t she? And she’d *touched* him, and he’d thought for a moment she’d used one of her storm spells on him. He’d never felt anything like that before, from her touch or anyone else’s.

“She’s into *you,*” Neve rolled her eyes. “You don’t need to be a suave charmer. You just need to be you. Maybe give that a try next time.”

“I… don’t know if I deserve a ‘next time.’”

“Well, then,” Neve tilted her head pointedly at him, “should you get one, be sure not to squander it.”

And with that, she left him alone with his thoughts… and Spite.

No smooch 😔💔