#instances of head switching

[ofliterarynature]

TBR TAKEDOWN: GOODREADS, WEEK 21a

Instances of Head-Switching by Teresa Milbrodt

I'm trying to trim down my tbr list(s) and I'm asking for your help! Descriptions and more info under the cut. Please reblog and add your thoughts!

* * * * *

A middle school teacher relies on eight interchangeable heads to cope with her job. A woman tries to negotiate life with her arthritis witch and her boyfriend’s seizure elf. The Germanic goddess Berchta, tired of being a fearsome hag, shows up in a woman’s apartment wanting to be flat-mates.

In the fictional worlds depicted in INSTANCES OF HEAD-SWITCHING, sphinxes are kept as pets, unicorns are raised on ranches, and Sisyphus has escaped from Hades and is happily working as a bagger at a grocery store. But characters still struggle to pay bills, deal with cranky customers and bosses, and navigate life with partial vision, limited mobility, and chronic diseases.

Focusing on themes of embodiment, disability, and economic insecurity, Teresa Milbrodt offers witty and inventive tales full of compassion for her cash-strapped, hard-luck characters. The collection includes stories originally published in Guernica, Strange Horizons, PANK, and other journals

Date added: 2020

Goodreads: 4.15

Storygraph: 3.50

PRO:

Mixing magic and the mundane, women, disability?! This sounds so much like something I'd be interested in.

CON:

My library does not have this (they do have one of the author's earlier collections in print, but I'm less interested in it)

In fact, it only seems to be available on Amazon. I assume it's self published, at least these days? The print edition is at least reasonably priced (secondhand copies are not, jfc)

[ta1is]

what i find really inspiring about jayce as a character (which is hilarious bc 99% of my muses i should never be inspired by: they're all disasters who need help but never get it) is that his story really is one of "losing and then finding yourself again"

he was basically set up to follow a corruption arc

time and time again throughout the series, we see him being pulled one direction, then whiplashed in another. we see him forget his values under the pressure of what's expected of him, we see him admitting to when he's doing something he never thought he'd do. he loses his way over and over and over and yet always manages to find his way back

the show could've easily adhered to the expected: this talented and driven youth becoming corrupt by the end of it all because of the influence ppl have on him—but it didn't. instead, by the end of it all, jayce has remembered his core values and chooses to follow them, regardless of who it pleases and who is actually willing to stand by him. he goes from letting everyone else's opinions sway him to recognizing that opinions are opinions and respecting his own beliefs

his story is really a story of remaining true to yourself, no matter how many times the world tries to turn you into someone else against your will—jayce looked corruption in the face and said not today basically every single day

[carmineskiesandspidereyes]

This was originally all gonna be in the tags but fuck it— I have too many Dick and Jason thoughts lmao

This, but Dick still manages to convey extremely threatening intent, even draped over Jason's shoulders like he is. Knowing full well that his grin and silly posture will juxtapose the cold steel in his eyes. And Jason, of course, smirking openly where he stands, because a) he Remembers what Dick is capable of, and b) he thinks their whole bit/dynamic here is funny as hell.

(You can't honestly tell me his theater-kid ass wouldn't love the subversion of expectations. Just a little.)

Like. They are actually the best interrogation duo ever, because NO ONE can tell who’s playing what role at ANY point in time.

Just-- imagine Jason. The Red Hood. Six feet tall, arms crossed, fucking STRAPPED with artillery, and a voice modulated to sound completely toneless and sinister. And God help you because you're not picking up a single body language or facial expression cue unless he wants you to.

And y'know? Maybe he does know how to play the chiller, more lenient guy. Confident he'll get the info he needs, enough so that he can patiently wear you down, offer a few different compromises. Threatening for sure, but unhurried.

That, or maybe he just pistol whips you as hard as humanly possible as soon as you regain consciousness. Varies case to case, probably. Hard to say.

And then Dick Grayson! Nightwing! Cheery, cheeky and physically exuberant. And not only that, but a vigilante to boot! Supposedly more tied to the law, more benevolent and predictable, right? Supposedly, FAR easier to read than the masked, armored, brick wall of a crime lord beside him. Always in motion, in sweeping gestures, animated emphasis, clever quips---and a voice that can pitch from curious, to humorous, to skeptical, to serious, completely unfiltered.

And sometimes, it looks like he’s the only thing holding Red Hood back from just icing you on the spot. Diffusing and redirecting all that tension in the room with a cocked hip and an easy smile.

Until the times where he’s not smiling or moving at all.

And folks, a motionless, expressionless Nightwing? Is So Goddamn Unnerving. So much so, that sometimes--

Jason will just nod at Dick, and then step out.

Turn and saunter smugly away as the door shuts on a room that just got 10° colder behind him.

Discowing, arms crossed: someone will die-

Jaybin, hanging on Dick’s shoulders: -of fun!

_Years later_

Jason, arms crossed: someone will die-

Dick, hanging on Jason’s shoulders: -of fun.

[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. 

[takes1]

your needy Kenma smut was SOOO good omfg I was biting my fist reading it!! can i request a needy suna smut?

needy!suna rintarou x reader

hi!! so glad you liked it!! wow this took me so long i'm so sorry! i just could not find a way to write it without it being exactly the same as kenma's!

warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / forbidden, established relationship / manager!reader / vocal!suna / whiny!suna / needy!suna / bratty!suna / liiiight mommy kink nobody freak tf out!! / suna has a cute laugh / creampie / raw cuddly sex / 1.9k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. my imagines. my request box

"Don't look at me like that, Rin'."

Your fingers were smushing the lower half of his face, angling his head away from you. His head stayed obediently forward at the center court, but those eyes were still piercing through you.

Through his fishy-lips, his words became jumbled together, "'can' helb i'--,"

It wasn't his fault he looked so mean, so critical when he focused in on something.

"I can't help it," He spat, rubbing his jaw.

Suna wasn't careful about his hand placement. The members of Inarizaki knew you had been dating for a time, but Coach Kurosu did not need a reason to question your managerial position.

When you pushed his hand away from your waist, his face scrunched; that mean and bitter look returned, tenfold.

A frustrated, hushed, but not quiet, "I want you."

Though it wasn't an appropriate time, place, or circumstance, it would be lie to say that it wasn't hot. The unique mixture of his assertive, court-like focus and lesser-known bedroom-only begging forced you to cross your arms.

"You-," You glanced around, thankful nobody heard that, "Have a game to focus on."

The attitude he gave was not only unwarranted, but it succeeded in making you less receptive. To you, it was obvious that he was only looking for an out. He was tired and halfway through a challenging match. You couldn't spare to be his partner right now, and he did not like that.

He sucked his teeth, tapped his foot, crossed his arms, worked his jaw, and gave you a sharp sigh, all within five minutes of angry silence.

What a whiny bastard.

You found his struggle almost amusing. At the moment, it was more important to maintain your focus, for the both of you.

Still, it kept you wondering throughout the remainder of the match: What had you possibly done to warrant such a strong response?

Every instance that he had to be around the bench, drinking water, a temporary switch-out, he would send you a deeply dissatisfied glance. You didn't justify it with a reaction. He was being bratty.

Though you were a prude, anti-PDA personality in public, especially around the team-- you were the one to push him back onto the mattress and throw his shirt across the room, once you were back at his place.

"Fuck--mnh!"

That pretty sigh was all he could get out before you were on top of him.

"Start talking," You muttered. Your shirt was off in seconds.

His breathing grew heavy, eyes black with lust at the sight of your pretty skin, his favorite bra he clocked earlier under your shirt- the whole reason his mind got to spinning.

Suna was kept this irritating, calculating, slithery persona up around his friends, and especially during matches, because he learned that it kept him safe. He didn't always like being so on edge. He wanted to trust somebody enough to tell them everything that passed through his mind, to be skin-to-skin and a little weird, because you were comfortable and safe.

Here, under you, after enough love and time, he knew he didn't need to waste energy on appearances.

"I- ah-h, I just wanted you so bad," Was his honest attempt at an explanation.

He sat up to touch you, kiss you, but you kept him to the sheets with a forearm.

"Are you trying to get me kicked out?"

Suna huffed, eyes bouncing from your face, to your confined tits, then back, "What?""

Your legs slid a bit further apart, weight settling better onto his warm lap, "If Coach finds out we're dating, you know I'm gone."

You snapped, just for emphasis, but he flinched, "Like that. In an instant."

He was painfully hard. You could feel him throbbing, even through his combo of athletic shorts and thick sweatpants. Despite the circumstances, you knew he was keen enough to understand that you were a little pissed off about his lack of restraint.

He was in that spot you liked seeing him work through. Struggling, deciding whether to be nice, or snarky.

"You're smarter than that, baby," Was much kinder of a statement in tone, but it tipped him off to be rude, instead.

Those narrowed eyes dripped down to your chest slow, sweet, like honey.

"Why'd you wear that, then?" He felt you stiffen. He placed a hot palm onto your hip to help his well-intentioned venom settle.

You couldn't believe that was his entire problem, summed up in five words.

"Are you really so dirty-minded that you could tell what bra I was wearing? Under my shirt?"

The call-out was meant to return his energy, but he responded in a more secure way than you.

"When it's you, yeah--," He sat up with ease, against your pushing, just to remind you that he could outclass your force if he wanted to. He caught your small frown and he corrected himself, "Yes, ma'am."

You gave a small hum, a low-lidded stare right back at him. He was so hot when he deferred to you.

It warranted a strong, messy kiss- all charged with hours of denial, suggestive glances, and too many minutes of clothed rubbing.

All your clothes came off in a range of easy to difficult, distracted efforts.

Suna lay under you, all flushed and twitchy with anticipation. Your hands flitted down his sensitive, strong sides, his cock crammed between your legs, getting spoiled and slick. Not inside, not just yet.

You loved tickling him just to hear his laugh.

And he'd tolerate anything with you gliding over his dick, like that. Giving him such a good view.

"Shhh-haha-h-ahh!" He bit his lip to keep from giggling, moaning, too much or too loudly.

That look he gave you was enough. All twisted, pleading, intelligent. Like he knew exactly what he said and how he said it, would get you turned on.

His sound was adorable, rare.

It was unrestrained, and light, cute, enough to understand why he kept it behind his hand around his friends. Sounded exactly like something a bunch of guys might make fun of him for.

"Hmm.. Let's cuddle fuck," You pressed a tingly kiss just under his ear.

You knew he was feeling lazy. Your job today wasn't easy, either. You wanted to feel close at the end of a busy day, more than anything.

Suna was warm, and tired, and tacky to the touch but it all added to how badly you wanted each other. It was a demanding match, and getting all upset with each other made it feel that much longer.

Slick, and hot, and easy was the adjustment to him. Nothing to do with his real size- you were just ready, after having to put up an act, as if you were too above all of it.

The panting you had to listen to on the sidelines, watching him miss his mouth with the squeezy bottle, all the sweat and water dripping onto his jersey, it ate at you, corroded the brick walls you put up. Even his frustrated glare was sexy. He couldn't stop looking at you, even with an important task at hand, or when his teammates needed him to focus.

Now he fucked you like your mean -still, justified- rejection was never a problem, like he was savoring you slowly.

"Yes-yes, yesyes," Suna swallowed up your moans in a greedy kiss.

"Mmh- how's that feel--?" You purred.

"So good," A satisfied groan, "Fuck- Got such a perfect pussy."

His hand kept your thigh up, your knee close to your shoulder. He inspired a gasp at how quickly he bottomed out to your teasing.

He stretched you so good, so easily, and kept your trembling steady in his grasp-- but every sound he made was shaky, barely held together, and never masked.

After three months, Suna decided at some point on his own that he could trust you enough to completely let go in the bedroom. Though he naturally gravitated to a more submissive role, he usually said some downright sleazy, vulgar shit to get his kicks.

"A-ha, h-fuc-k, aughh, you feel so good, you--," His breath clipped into a high, closed-mouth whine as he pulled you harder onto the base of his cock, just flexing hard, as deep as he could get.

Your teeth sunk into his pillowcase, fingers filled with plush.

The knowledge that he loved it, but couldn't ever get as deep as he wanted, had your strength waning. Squeezing, bracing, at all the butterflies tired you out.

Although, if it were a competition, Suna had you beat by a mile. The drooling, whiny mess behind you may have had enough to strength to use his body weight to keep you smushed, but you could tell he was sloppier, clumsier, with exhaustion.

He buried his face in your neck.

"I-I'h- needed you so bad," His moan was so light and breathy- like he was swimming on Cloud 9-, "So-h, so... fucking...bad."

Your uncontrollable squirm to get away from the sensation was met with instant crushing. Even if you wanted your thigh back, it would never happen.

"Mh-h-! Rin-," You tried to speak, but he was hitting all your angles just right, so you stopped.

His words were twisting up that knot in your tummy, the trap of his arms a steady, innocent backdrop to how filthy he decided to fuck you.

Slurred mutters, consisting of mostly nonsense syllables and phrases, sometimes bred real messages like, "So hot," "Mommy," "So much," and, "'Can't take it."

His yapping, you thought, may have been a way of making up for how little he spoke, usually. You were generally much quieter than him here, but outside of the bedroom, the opposite remained true. It was cute.

"M'so- close-mh," His groans were short, choked on pleasure, his squeezing desperate and uneven.

The idea of him finishing close, hugging you, just like this, was too hot to let not happen.

You gathered yourself to tell him, "C-um-- Mh, inside, pretty boy."

"F-uck!" That tone completely tipped him over the edge.

Your grin was to yourself, twitchy and genuine, before the feeling of fullness set in.

He was left to fuck out his load as deep inside of you as he could get, "Fuckfu-ck- Ahh-hh-!"

Your nails dragged across his skin- the white hot, pulsing enough to spur a sudden orgasm. Dark lines remained in their wake as your muffled whines filled his ears.

And Suna was nothing if not dedicated. He fucked you as well as he could through your own, whinier, less violent experience. His breath, laden in the resolution of his own, was hot and tingly across your sensitive ear.

You squeezed his arm to stop and he finally let your leg down.

"Hm...sorry," He mumbled into a peck against your cheek, "You okay?"

Sore, and achy, you shared a giggly kiss. He softened naturally and you readjusted to hold each other, warm and soft, with chemical infatuation.

"Mhmm," You stole a longer, slower kiss.

Those pretty eyes watched you, worshipped you, as you rubbed your hand across his jaw.

"Perfect."

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

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[a-b-riddle]

Part 10

Can't stop thinking about reader realizing she fucked up.

"What?" You asked, unsure if you heard him correctly. "I did stuff for Simon." He opened his mouth slightly before shutting it, almost as if he was afraid to argue with you. He was. "I did things for Simon." You repeated. "I did."

You took pause. Racking your brain for examples to throw in his face. You had always tried to be the best girlfriend. and look where it had gotten you. You were always the one to reach out, to plan dates. The only one to manage your time equally among all of them even if it meant stretching yourself then.

But the more you thought, the more you came up short.

"I definitely treated Simon the same." You defend.

Here lately you had been spending more time with the others than Simon. Every evening was the same without fail. He would call you no later than 9, asking if you were busy. Sometimes you were already out with the others, but in the instances you weren't Simon would ask to come over. An excuse of not being able to sleep.

When he first gave you that excuse, you expected him to be using it as just an excuse to come over and fuck you.

But he didn't.

Not that night. Or the next.

The third time he did fuck you. He was a man, not a saint after all. You weren't sure if it was because he was the last one you got around to being intimate with, but it just felt different. The others were great. Letting you turn your brain off and letting them take control.

Where the others took the reins, Simon guided you. It was more like dancing than fucking. Your bodies working in harmony with one another. He would listen intently to each little moan or staggered breath you took. Wouldn't take his eyes off of your face when he ate your cunt. Wanting to take in every reaction you would give him.

He had created a flow of how to fuck you. A way to ensure he pulled several orgasms from you before you practically passed out from exhaustion. You would try and switch things up with different positions and giving him head, but Simon was a simple man. Once he found a way that worked, he stuck with it. He let you indulge. Spicing things up, but he always made a home in between your thighs at some point.

It had been like that ever since. Over and over again like clock work, he would call. He wouldn't always fuck you. Mostly either one or both of you complaining about a hard day and insisting on just having the company of the other. However, it wasn't until Mere had made a comment on why she hadn't met Simon yet.

It was like finally noticing something on a commute you took everyday. Day in and day out you came across it without every really taking note. How oblivious you had been.

Simon had only came over at night. Although he would bring take out or cook dinner with you, he had never taken you out on a date. Not even so much as a cup of coffee-- tea in his case.

You pressed him about it one night.

You seem pretty busy during the day. Plus, that's when I catch up on sleep was his reasoning and you didn't press him.

Simon had always complained about not being able to sleep. You didn't mind the company. So whenever he called and you were free. That's just how the relationship had been between you two. You both seemed satisfied with the dynamic.

"It was just different with me and Si," you defended. "He didn't need any help from me or ask it." You wanted to say he hadn't been as needy as Johnny, Kyle or John, but kept that opinion to yourself.

"Or did he just not feel like he could ask you?" Kyle's question gave you a moment of pause. Your mouth falling open. Appalled at the suggestion.

"Don't try and turn this around on me." You narrow your eyes at Kyle and his audacity. You were the one who was hurt. You didn't like being the victim, but in this scenario you were. "If Simon had any issue he would have said something."

"Like you did with us?" He asked. His boldness growing. "And I'm not trying to turn this around on you, I'm just saying that there everyone had their issues in not communicating on what was really going on. I should have told you how I felt, they should have told you and you should have told us."

"Oh," you said, head tilting to the side and condescension lacing your tone. "So when was I supposed to do that? When John was snapping at me or Johnny had his tongue buried inside of me. God knows you weren't exactly answering my texts and Simon had been the only one I didn't have issues with."

"But you still came to him about us." Outed was the only word fitting enough to describe how you felt. You had tried to keep your relationships separate as well as the issues and frustrations that came along with it.

"He told you?" You asked, feeling embarrassed and, somewhat, fearful about what exactly Simon had said to them. The asshole was just so easy to talk to. For someone who was so reserved, you found it second nature to open up to him. "When?"

"Any chance he got." Kyle huffed. The confession shocked you. If anything, yes, maybe John would have been the one to tell the boys to fall in line if he knew they were falling short, but Simon? The man who couldn't ever be bothered to plan a date?

"I don't understand." You shook your head as if that would jumble the pieces of your thoughts well enough that they would somehow fit together; painting you a clearer picture. "Simon... he..." His words echoed in your mind. Even now they still haunted you. A ghost reminding you of your naivety. "He said some really shitty things."

"I know." Kyle's face fell and you could almost see the anger flicker in his eyes before it extinguished into something more solemn. "He knew he was the last thing holding you to us. Severing that tie would make it easier for you to lease."

"Losing you wasn't easy." You replied through clenched teeth. Tears prickling your eyes. "Is that what you think? That this has been easy for me?"

"I don't think it's been easy, but I know it's the truth." A small part of you knew he was right. And you hated him for it. "Simon was the only one putting in any effort on our end. He was the only reason we didn't lose you sooner." He took your hand in his. Rubbing small circles in your palm. Something he did to soothe. Funny how now the gesture was breaking your heart. "If it's any consolation, he didn't mean what he said."

You scoff, tears now falling as you pull your hand from him. "Just because he didn't mean it, doesn't mean it's not true." You cross your arms over your chest. No longer giving him the chance to try and reach out again.

"Do you think any of us actually felt that way about you?" Kyle asked, his tone a mixture between disbelief and sorrow. He knew Simon's words were meant to cut, but their actions had made his declaration deem true.

"You didn't exactly prove otherwise." The confirmation causes him to falter, not knowing what to say, how to comfort you. It was like somewhere along the way he had lost the knowledge on how to treat you, how to care for you. It was like he didn't know you, but still loved you all the same.

It was killing him.

After several uncomfortable moments of silence, he spoke. "I know John told you we were all on our own in terms of fixing this. But I want you to know that we all regret how we went about things. How we treated you was unacceptable and there is truly no excuse. I can only hope that you let us have the privilege in at least trying to make it up to you."

You let out a breath. Your chest aching as a sob threatens to bubble to the surface.

You swallow it down.

"So I take it then Johnny is taking the same route as Simon?" You couldn't blame him. You had put the final nail in the coffin of your relationship. Fucking and leaving him like that... Not to mention all the details Kyle gave you of the aftermath. No doubt Johnny would feel like being forgiven was pointless by now.

"Johnny is chomping at the fuckin' bit." He laughed. "If Simon and Price weren't keeping a leash on him right now he'd be here right now and I don't think we could get him out of here a second time."

"Well three out of four then." You sighed. "I just can't believe it got this far." Shaking your head, you leaned back against the cushions "I mean, I get that all of you had your own lives, families and stuff going on... But even then, I can't believe Simon found it so easy to say those things. Looking back, yeah, I wasn't girlfriend of the year, but I wasn't a bad girlfriend."

Silence.

"Kyle?" He bit his lips. He wanted to say something. "Kyle." You pressed. "Out with it."

"You don't need to bring it up."

"Fine." You said, but technically didn't promise anything.

"And it's not your fault for forgetting." Your patience was growing thin. Your emotional battery was low and even with a good nights rest you knew it would take a while before it recharged. "Fuck," Kyle rubbed his face, contemplating best how to tell you. "The night you called Simon..." he explained. "It was April 25th."

You waited, not completing grasping what he was trying to say.

April 25th...

What was so damn special about April 25th that made Simon so fucking angry? You didn't buy the whole 'letting you go thing', so it had to be something

Why that day?

April 25th: not an anniversary or a birthday. Not Easter or Christmas. Simon really didn't celebrate Christmas given what happened to Tommy, Beth and Joseph.

Joseph...

Fuck. Joseph.

Your throat felt fight.

What had you done?

He probably just got home from the cemetery when you called to cry about Johnny. Fuck.

Joseph's birthday.

Simon was a man that didn't do a lot of sentimental things. But every year, on Joseph's birthday he would visit his nephew's plot with a toy. You didn't know what he said or how long he stayed but he indulged you once. Telling you he just went, sat by with the toy next to the headstone for a bit before leaving.

Simon was reliving one of the happiest days of his life that was now tainted. And you complained about Johnny leaving after fucking you.

"Oh my God." You drew out shakily. Kyle could see the tears beginning to form. Horror manifesting in your eyes. "What the fuck?"

"You didn't know." He tried to soothe as if that were some sort of excuse.

"I forgot." Confessing it out loud felt like a spike going straight through your chest. "How the fuck did I forget?" Kyle didn't know what else to do. Fuck whatever awkwardness and boundaries you would set before fully accepting him back, he pulled you to his chest, allowing you to sob.

You weren't sure how long you had sat there. Kyle's arms enveloping you as you released it all. Eventually you did subside. His shirt marked with evidence of your tears and snot.

"No wonder he fucking hates me." You said it so softly, so broken, Kyle's heart broke for you.

"Simon doesn't hate you." His attempt of soothing you was admirable, but you knew it wasn't true. How could someone not hate another person after that? Forgetting the birthday of your brutally murdered nephew to call and bitch about not getting cuddled after sex. "If he did, he wouldn't have made sure you got home okay after your date. And the guy at the club-"

"He told you about that?" You shouldn't have been shocked. After all John knew.

"Only after he asked to standby in case bail was needed." He tried to joke. "The point is, there is coming back from this." Taking his thumbs, he brushed away the stray tears that hadn't made it to his shirt. "For all of us."

[pathologicalreid]

when the night ends | s.r.

in which your teenage daughter doesn't come home after prom

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: underage drinking, missing child, protective parents, prom, drunk driving. word count: 3.46k a/n: i hope u like dad!spencer because i have lotssss of him coming

You startled yourself awake, turning over from where you had fallen asleep on the couch, your eyes snapped open before you had the opportunity to topple over. Sitting up, you looked over to the recliner. In it, your eldest daughter was curled in a ball, sound asleep, just as you had been moments ago. 

Slowly, you dragged your hands down your face, the show you’d been watching together still playing on the television while you checked the time on the cable box below. 

Your heart dropped to your stomach when your eyes cleared enough to read the clock. It was nearly midnight, and you’d fallen asleep waiting for your younger daughter to get home from her school dance. She hadn’t woken you up on her way in, so you wrapped your arms around yourself while you made your way upstairs to her bedroom. 

While your intentions had been to make sure she got to bed safely, you felt sick to your stomach at the sight you were met with. Her room was just the way she left it, your sixteen year old, while usually neat as a pin, had been so excited getting ready for prom that makeup and earrings were strewn around her room. Her lamp was still on at her desk, which had been transformed into a vanity for the event, and Olivia was nowhere to be seen. 

“Spence?” You called out softly, not wanting to wake Finn, who you knew was asleep in his bed. You wondered if your husband was still awake, laying in bed reading, or if he too had succumbed to sleep. Your chest ached when you opened the door, finding him asleep with his reading light on. Part of you had hoped you’d find Olivia in there, gravitating to her favorite person to debrief with, likely so she’d have everything fully processed before breakfast. “Spencer,” you echoed, this time a bit louder, knowing you’d have to wake him up.

For better or for worse, Spencer was a light sleeper. Years spent in the BAU had trained him to wake up at the slightest of noises, and it wasn’t a skill that was easy to unlearn. He started to wake up after the second time you called his name, propping himself up on his hands and tilting his head. It took him less than a minute to remember, frowning at you and peeking out into the hallway, “Liv?” 

Swallowing thickly, you shook your head, “She’s not here.” You said, watching him stumble out of bed with an urgency you rarely saw from him—the last time would’ve been when Finn hit his head after falling out of a tree. You were fairly certain Spencer had never run so fast before. 

As fate would have it, Spencer had more experience with these situations than you did, so you followed his lead, trailing behind him while he made his way downstairs. “Where’s my phone?” He asked, patting the empty pockets of his pajama pants while he prowled the kitchen for the little black box. 

You glanced around the room, eyes skimming for any sign of a phone—yours or his. “Who are we calling?” The question was simple enough, you wanted to know who the first line of defense was in this instance. 

He frowned, finding his phone exactly where it should’ve been, sitting on the charger and opening it. “Emily,” he answered, having already made up his mind. 

Doubtful, you reached a tentative hand out and placed it on his wrist, stopping him in his frantic typing. “Shouldn’t we try to call Liv first?” 

Spencer’s shoulder’s slackened, arms falling limply when he nodded once. Your husband switched modes, opening the favorites tab on his contacts and calling your daughter. While the call went out, he reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers before removing the phone from his ear and frowning at the screen. “Straight to voicemail,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. He lifted his chin to look over at you, his eyes finding something else over your shoulder. 

Looking behind you, you saw Nell standing nervously, her hair mussed on one side of her head while she teetered on the heels of her feet, glancing between her parents. The commotion had likely roused her from her spot on the recliner. She didn’t speak, waiting impatiently for someone to tell her what was going on. 

Considering your options, you looked at her phone, practically an attachment of herself, “Can you find your sister’s phone with yours?” 

Solemnly, Eleanor shook her head, “Not if your call went straight to voicemail. That means her phone’s probably dead.” 

“Probably?” Spencer asked doubtfully, he hoped for further explanation from your teenager, but you were already moving on to next steps. 

Nell shrugged helplessly, “Her phone is either off or dead, which is why it went to voicemail. Livvy wouldn’t turn her phone off for anything while she was out, she knows it’d freak you guys out.” Your daughter pursed her lips, “So it’s probably dead, or…” 

You bristled at the way her voice trailed off. “Or what?” Spencer asked, trying not to project his frustration onto your nineteen year old. 

“Or the phone’s broken,” you continued for her, watching your husband warily as you broke the news to him. “Nell, can you go on your phone and look at any social media site where you can talk to someone?” 

Spencer raised his eyebrows at you, “Livvy doesn’t use social media.”

Nodding, you turned back to face him, “But her friends do, all of the kids she went with have probably been on social media all night long posting pictures with the location tags on.” 

“Should I go get Finn?” Nell asked from her perch on the recliner, wondering aloud if her little brother should be involved in this search. 

In complete synchronicity, you and Spencer both answer, “No.” Finn was cranky enough in the morning, waking him up at midnight was a sure way to make everyone’s lives miserable tomorrow. “We need to figure out what we’re dealing with first…” You watched Spencer dial a number on his phone, “Who are you calling now?” 

Your husband lifted the phone to his ear, “Penelope… if anyone can find a phone while it’s off…” 

“It’s her,” you finished for him, nodding assuredly before turning around to look for your phone. You made your way over to the couch, stumbling slightly and using the armrest for support. 

Phone in hand, Eleanor watched you with concern, “Mom?”

Shaking your head, you dismissed her concern, pulling the blanket off of the couch and jostling it in the air in hopes that your phone would fall out of the bundle of fleece. You looked down at the couch, tossing the blanket onto the floor while you looked for your phone, breath hitching when you heard it start to ring. 

You fished the phone out from between the cushions and checked the contact that was illuminating the screen. It was an unknown number, but you answered anyways, not willing to take any chances. Lifting your phone to your ear, you spoke first, “Livvy?” 

The other end of the call was silent, but you weren’t going to be the one to hang up. You waited, listening to the wind blow on the other end of the call. There was a dark pit in your chest at that moment, a horrified part of you thought a stranger was going to start speaking to you about your daughter. Both Spencer and Nell were giving you their undivided attention. 

Taking a deep breath, you almost said her name again, tears pricking along your lashline while you tried not to break down. Ever since you had kids, this had been your worst nightmare, one of them not coming home at the end of the day, and now it was your reality—you just didn’t know why. 

“Mommy?” A timid voice came through the call, and you sat down on the couch, sinking down into the cushion while fear and confusion and relief spun through your body quickly enough to give you vertigo. 

You looked up to meet Spencer’s eyes, hoping to signal him to your relief, “Where are you? Whose phone are you using?” She’d called you by a name none of your kids had used in years, and it sent you into even more worry. 

A small sniffle came from your daughter, and your previously heavy heart broke at the sound of her misery, “Uh, I walked to school after the dance. They still have a payphone.” 

Confused, you tried to recall the plans that she’d laid out for you in the midst of begging for permission to attend the senior prom, and there was never any information about walking anywhere. “Maya’s mom was supposed to drive you home,” you reminded her, getting up from the couch while Spencer gathered the car keys from a dish in the entryway. 

“But…” Liv’s voice trailed off, “I know. I’m sorry. I was gonna walk the rest of the way home but my phone died-” 

“You’re not walking home,” You interrupted her, pulling out your mom voice. “You’re going to stay put at school and dad and I are going to come get you. Here, talk to your sister for a second,” you quickly handed off your phone to Nell, surprising her for a moment before she took the phone and talked to her little sister. 

You went to the stairs, holding up a hand so Spencer would wait for you while you went to Liv’s room. “What are you doing?” Spencer asked, following you upstairs, growing anxious with every passing moment. 

Rummaging through her closet, you sighed at his impatience, “Grabbing a hoodie, it’s chilly outside.” While you fought with a hanger, you nodded at the floor, “We should take her flip flops with us.”

“Why?” Spencer asked, appalled at your suggestion. 

Glaring at him, you pointed to the floor again, “She’s been walking around in heels all night. Trust me, she’ll be grateful for the flip flops.”

Taking your word for it, Spencer crouched to the floor to grab her shoes, “Okay, let’s go.” 

By the time you took your phone back from Nell and got in the car, you leaned back in the passenger seat of the car. Your brain was still moving a mile a minute, but with Olivia sitting on the other end of the phone call, neither of you could say what you were really thinking. It would have to wait until all of your kids were under the same roof again. 

Your husband was similarly tense, his jaw tight while he spoke with your daughter, but the concern never left his eyes, a small part of him wondering if you’d make it to Liv before someone else got there. Silently, he reached a hand over, setting it on your thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze before he spoke, “We’re here, Liv.” Spencer moved his hand, using it to unbuckle his seatbelt while you followed suit. “Stay on the phone, we’ll come to you.” 

Liv was quiet on the other end of the call, the occasional forlorn sigh being the only sign of life from the teenager. 

“Liv!” You called out, nearing the corner where you were pretty sure the payphone was located. You turned the corner, and sure enough, Livvy was sitting on the pavement. Her dress was in a pool of lavender chiffon on the sidewalk, and when she noticed her parents approaching her, she looked horrified. 

As you got closer, you could see her face in the dim school lighting, her brown eyes were bleary with tears. Eyes bloodshot in a way that could only be produced by a high school dance gone wrong. 

Waiting to speak, you sat down next to her while Spencer tenderly took the payphone from her hands, returning it to the hook before sitting down on the side opposite of you. “Are you hurt?” Spencer asked, the first in a barrage of questions that the three of you had seen coming from a mile away. 

She shook her head miserably, strands of hair falling from her meticulous updo while she avoided looking at both of you, “No.” 

Unraveling the hoodie from your lap, you draped the cotton over her shoulders, wanting to warm her up after sitting outside for who knows how long. As you made sure her arms were covered and rubbed her arms up and down, you faltered when she started to trembled, shuddering back a sob when you put your arms around her. “It’s okay, lovey. We’re here,” you reassured her, smiling when Spencer pressed a soft kiss to her temple. 

“Maya wanted to leave early,” she cried, pulling away from you so she could put her arms through the sleeves of her jacket. “I went with her because I thought she’d have her mom pick us up from wherever we went, but she wanted to go hang out with a bunch of seniors.” 

You nodded, sweeping a lock of hair behind her ear while she explained herself, “You should’ve told us Liv.” You weren’t berating her, there would be plenty of time for consequences tomorrow, but right now she only needed comfort. 

She used the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe her face, cringing at the makeup that came off on the cuff, “One of the seniors asked me to come, and I wondered… I thought maybe he liked me.” 

Spencer bristled at her answer, but one glare from you got him to relax his shoulders, “It’s okay, Liv,” he murmured to her. “It’s okay to want to be liked, you know?” 

Her father understood her in ways you’d never be able to. He was the one who had to sit her down both times and discuss the opportunity to skip grades, explaining to her that graduating at sixteen was an option, but she didn’t have to take it. She’d left all of her friends behind in the process, and as time went by, invitations slowed, kids couldn’t reach out when she went to high school without them. The students in her own grade weren’t interested in being friends with someone so young, leaving Olivia ostracized from her own age and her own grade. It helped that Eleanor was just one grade above her, keeping an eye out for her little sister, but with Nell off at school this past year, senior year was hard for Liv. 

“I shouldn’t have left, I should’ve just stayed at prom,” Livvy insisted. “I’m supposed to be the smart one.”

Your eyebrows raised in alarm, sharing a look with your husband before asking, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Livvy shook her head dismissively, “Nell’s the oldest, and Finn’s the youngest and the only boy. I’m supposed to be the smart one. That’s my niche. I don’t have anything else.” 

“You have plenty,” you insisted, nudging her leg with yours. 

Your daughter looked dubious, but intrigued, “Like what?” 

Before you had the chance to list off one of her many positive attributes, Spencer answered for you, “You were the only planned baby.” 

“Spencer,” you sighed, hanging your head in exasperation. You took a deep breath to chide him, but bit your tongue at the realization that he’d gotten Olivia to giggle—likely his plan all along. 

The three of you sat in silence for a moment, and before you got to ask if she wanted to go home, Liv spoke up again, “We went to a park down the road, and one of the guys brought beers. I didn’t…” Her voice trailed off, nipped by nerves while she tried to explain the sequence of events from the evening. “I didn’t think about it until everyone got back in the car and they asked me to give directions home.” 

You hummed softly, “They were going to drive drunk.”

Olivia nodded, confirming your assumption. “I asked them to wait a little while before driving, but one of the guys’ girlfriends called and wanted them to pick her up. So, they kicked me out of the car and left anyway.” 

“Why didn’t you offer to drive instead?” Spencer asked, ever the logical thinker. 

She was silent, staring blankly at the pavement while you figured out the answer on your own, “You were drinking too.” 

Your daughter nodded miserably, more tears streaming down her face, “And it was gross! I don’t understand why people drink that stuff.” 

You stifled your laughter, knowing she was probably drinking cheap beer that had been sitting in the trunk of a kids car all night, “Are you feeling okay?” 

Shrugging, Liv wiped her face again, “I haven’t puked, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Look at it this way, you’re doing better than your sister the first night after we dropped her off at school,” Spencer consoled her, choosing to be lighthearted, but you both knew what he had to do next. “What kind of car are they driving?” 

“John’s mom’s old Pacifica,” Olivia answered, propping her chin up on her knees while Spencer pulled his phone from his pocket. Her eyes widened in fear, “What are you doing?” 

Spencer sighed, “I have to call and let someone know that they’re out right now.”

“Dad, no!” Liv begged, tears welling in the eyes that he’d passed down to her. She watched in terror as Spencer stood up and typed a number in his phone. “You can’t. Please. They’ll never talk to me again.”

It wasn’t something he wanted to do, per se, but rather it was something he felt duty bound to do. “Honey, they could hurt someone while they’re out driving under the influence. They could hurt themselves. That’s the reason you let them kick you out of the car, isn’t it?” 

The teenager faltered, running into a wall when she opened her mouth to rebut. “Mom,” Olivia begged, hoping you’d talk some sense into your husband, but he was making perfect sense. 

“Baby, would you rather they never speak to you again or would you rather hear about something happening on the news tomorrow?” You tried to reason with her, letting her rest her head on your shoulder while Spencer hit the call button on your phone. 

Spencer walked out of hearing distance while he spoke on the phone, probably to an old contact from the past. The two of you watched him talk while staying seated on the floor, “Nell said you wouldn’t be mad.” 

“We aren’t,” you assured her, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “We were worried. Dad was ready to call the BAU in when we realized you weren’t at home,” you told her, watching a shy smile bloom on her face. “I hope you know this doesn’t change anything. We’re still so proud of you, Liv.”

She sniffled softly, “I’m sorry. I was so stupid,” she said mournfully. “I’ll never be that stupid again.” 

You hummed, “You were never stupid.” 

“Then what would you call it?” She asked, her natural curiosity peaked. 

Squeezing her shoulder, your eyes followed Spencer as he made his way back over to you. “Being sixteen,” you answered, and that reasoning was enough for you.

Her father crouched in front of her, gently resting a hand on her knee while he smiled at her. He smiled at her the way he had since the day they first met, “You know I love you, right?” 

Nervously, Liv nodded, “Yeah.” 

“I know it’s hard to go through school feeling like no one wants to be your friend, and I know how nice it is when someone finally extends that olive branch,” he consoled her. “Someday, these kids might thank you for calling us, and if they don’t, they weren’t worth your time anyway.” 

She accepted his hand when he reached out to help her up, letting him pull her into a hug while you rose to your feet, “I just wanted them to like me.” 

You smiled, “We like you.” 

“You’re my parents,” Olivia countered. 

Spencer shrugged, “Your brother and sister like you.” 

Your sixteen year old shook her head, “Finn does not like me. He’s just acting like he does because he wants my room when I move out.” 

“And he’s not gonna get it,” you reassured her. “You’ll always have a place to come back to, no matter how far away you move.”

Olivia frowned, “Mom, Boston isn’t that far away.” 

“To you, maybe,” Spencer interjected, “To us it’s like losing a limb.” 

“I think it might be better if you were mad at me,” Olivia suggested, leading the way to the car, groaning at the way you suggested leaving water and Tylenol out on her nightstand.

[jaggedamethyst]

not in that way (part three)

bucky barnes x fwb!reader

content: bucky's having a hard day, and you're the only thing that can fix it...his friend.

warnings: 18+ smut minors dni, over-clothes stuff but it is so hot, slight praise, teasing, switch bucky (need that), angst, some friend fluff in there 

notes: not proofread. i usually upload and revisit later so bear with me on that!

ps: ty for the support as always! i want to get everyone for tags so pls check the rules on that!

anyone catch that fresh reference? lmaoooo 

series master list

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆　 。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

Bucky sat alone, scribbling away in his little notebook. It was his newfound passion—one that calmed him. Steve was right; it helped. At any instance that he felt, even slightly, that his memories were flooding back—he’d fill the pages. 

The thoughts were overpowering him today, flooding him quicker than he could shovel out the water. He felt like he was drowning, and the quick scribbles weren’t enough. They only quelled what you could fully eviscerate for him. 

He moved quick. Slipping on his gloves, jacket, and boots in a hurried motion. He smirked to himself, at the thought of you saying he was unlike himself. It was true. Bucky moved in a manner that was not at all meticulous—he was a man on a mission. He had to see you, even if just to sit in your presence. 

He glanced at his watch and shrugged off the time. He and Steve were supposed to meet you today, and he would be early. He couldn’t care, slightly relived at the fact that Steve wouldn’t be there—an accidental hindrance to him being alone with you. 

The ride out of the city was one he was fond of; the associated noise was always too much for him. He liked your place, though. It was quiet, desolate. His mind was calm there. If he could envision himself anywhere besides by Steve’s side, it would be with you. 

No. 

He shook his head to himself only, the trees of your neighborhood coming into view. Bucky could live in an area like this…not be with you. 

Bucky swallowed and tightened his grip slightly, pushing his bike toward your place just that much quicker. When he finally got there, he released a breath he’d been holding. He didn’t waste time, sliding his bike beside your house. It was both out of view and saved space in the driveway for Steve when he did finally get here. 

He sped up, almost running up to your porch now. He didn’t let a second pass before knocking on your door, searching just beyond the curtains of your window for any movement. There was light shuffling and the faint sound of your voice. His chest tightened at that. 

To his surprise, when the door swung open, you stood out of breath—in a haphazardly thrown-on robe. 

“Bucky? You’re like an hour early.” 

He glanced at his watch, then back at you. “Forty-five minutes, actually.” 

“Is everything alright?” 

“Just had to get out.” 

You nodded in understanding, assuming it was another one of those hard days for him. 

“Well, make yourself at home. I should probably get dressed—Steve will be here in an hour, too.” 

“Forty-five minutes.” 

You smirked. “Right.” 

You pivoted on your heels, moving up the stairs to change into actual clothes. Bucky looked around your space while he waited. Everything was familiar to him; he’d spent most of his time observing the details of your home when he was tucked into the corner. You and Steve would talk, attempting to get him to join in, but he was in another world. 

He noticed the photos—more importantly, the lack thereof. You had many trinkets, keepsakes of adventures he could only assume you went on alone. In the few images around your home, he examined you alone or objects you’d captured through a lens. There were very few with family, and they definitely weren’t recent. 

So when Steve would call out to Bucky, an expectant look on his face, he had nothing to add. He couldn’t say anything. Had he opened his mouth to speak, he would let his concern tumble out—a question of who would be so stupid as to let you lead this life alone. If given the privilege to be near you, who were the fools that relinquished that? 

So he didn’t speak. He let his mouth stay closed, body still, as you looked at him in disappointment. He hated being the source of your pain in any way, but it seemed a cycle of disappointment was all he could ever offer you. Somehow, in his hatred for those who harmed you, he only added to the feeling. That confused him even more. 

The sound of you pattering down the stairs resounded in his ears, the sight of you making his throat dry. 

“Do you have some water?” 

You paused in your tracks. “In the kitchen, yeah.” 

His voice always shocked you, how casual he could be after hardly speaking sometimes. You motioned for him to follow, not speaking further but allowing him to fall into step behind you. 

He knew you had water. You had both bottles and a filter in your refrigerator. He knew where the cups were and how you liked to arrange them. He side-eyed the coasters, doing so discreetly. Bucky was painfully aware of everything...because he had to be.

“Here.” You sipped your water as you passed Bucky his. His forced stillness was evident, one that perplexed you. You paused for a moment. “You okay?” 

He watched you, forgetting to even take a drink. Your eyes watched him just over the rim of the glass, not breaking what was clearly an unspoken exchange. For you, it was testing the waters—questioning why he really came over. For Bucky, it was whether or not you’d let him do what he intended, what he’d thought about every day since the first time in this very house. 

You finally sat down your cup, taking one last dramatic gulp before leaning into your kitchen counter. Letting your arms and legs cross was a movement of defiance and one Bucky seemed to love. After being in such a confined space with him, you could tell—he liked when you frustrated him. 

You avoided eye contact, looking everywhere but at him. You went so far as to not acknowledge his measured steps toward you, the way he itched closer. He cleared his throat just as his hands fell beside you. He’d trapped you now, making sure you had nowhere to look but at him. 

“Did you need something?” 

He thought better of it; he really had. To reply so bluntly—so truthfully. He was finally able to stand being in a room with you. Both you and Steve could enjoy his presence without him only grunting in response—a muffled reply that didn’t really answer anything. He didn’t want to ruin something so innocent…platonic. 

Did you need something?

“No—just you.” 

Your breath noticeably hitched at that, a release that had you losing focus. It was enough that Bucky was able to nudge your legs apart. He grasped at the fabric of your shorts, rubbing the hem between his fingers. You were only in these loose shorts and a t-shirt. It was simple, almost too much. Bucky couldn’t restrain himself, the thought of a domestic life with you. One where you would wear something like this every day, basking in the comfort of his presence.

His hands were still gloved, reaching between you two to graze over just between your legs. A gasp escaped you, your hands reaching up to balance yourself with his shoulders. He was teasing you, hardly applying pressure to where you craved it most. Your hips moved up slightly, chasing the feeling of his hands on you. He allowed it, smirking at the way your jaw went slack with his slow rubs over you. 

He used the heel of his hand to press into you, while his fingertips hit where you were most sensitive. Your head fell into his chest, breaths coming out ragged. The sound of his name falling from your mouth only spurred him on, stopping to slip his hands into your pants but on top of your underwear. He continued as he was, drawing lewd sounds from you but not quite satisfying what you really needed. It made it that much harder to deny him—the fleeting feeling of release coming and going in waves that only he could control. 

You spoke into his chest. “I need more—please.” 

“We don’t have time. Trust me,” he sped his hand up, “If we did, I’d take you over this counter.” 

You cursed at him under your breath, the feeling so good and the thought of him in you overwhelming your senses. You imagined it, the rough way he’d slid into you…how he pushed you down and took what he needed while simultaneously making sure you were satisfied. 

Without missing a beat, you let a single hand trail down beside Bucky’s. His brows pinched immediately, not at all expecting you to grip him over his jeans. He was hard, restrained. Even still, he’d ignored the feeling just to have the chance to touch you. 

You clawed into his neck, so turned on by the feeling of him throbbing in his own pants. He jutted into your palm, hissing at the firm way you slide up and down. He stuttered his work on you a bit, completely in tune with your every motion. 

Both of you were breathing erratically, forcing the other along as you threatened to unravel. 

Your fingers slipped into the short hairs at his neck, gripping them as a means to ground yourself. It didn't do much, the way Bucky was circling you, making your legs weak.

You repayed him, letting a finger graze over his tip specifically. You squeezed the head of him before running your entire hand up and down his length. You eventually matched his speed, both of you moving in erratic, short, and quick motions now.

You alternated between squeezing, sliding, and pressing into Bucky as he let the sound of his unwinding fuel you. He was weakend, an exterior you'd never seen on the man. He almost whimpered... almost. He fought the high-pitched sounds that sat in his throat, feeling under your control.

He clutched behind your head, his falling into your neck. He let himself nibble there, ignoring the way his own body shook as you sank a hand closer to his balls. He shivered, an overwhelming heat settling in his groin.

“Fuck, keep doing that.” 

He felt you looking up, the breath of your whimpers hitting his face. He leaned into you at that, letting his forehead fall on yours. 

“God, you’re amazing.” 

Things like that almost made it feel real—like this was the habit of two people actually together. You weren’t, though. This was something hidden, wrong. Both of you didn’t want to acknowledge it, the way this could ruin everything. You settled on replacing the sensation with a blinding one of finishing together. 

He stayed there for a while, only moving his head to kiss your temple. He was soft about it, letting his lips linger for a few seconds. If it were up to him, he'd have the luxury of doing this every day—several times a day. You deserved an everlasting affection, he'd thought.

Something in Bucky shifted, not that he wanted to pull away, but something of recognition. His held tilted as he turned toward your door. “Steve’s here.” 

“What?” You whisper shouted before looking at the clock. You pulled away from each other finally. “He’s early-“ You froze, examining the time closer now. 

“He’s Steve early.” Bucky finished for you. Steve was 15 minutes ahead of schedule.

Steve Rogers was always a man on time—never forgetting that any time after was unacceptable. Usually, it made you smile that he put in the effort to always be ahead of you. It only frightened you now that he might figure out what you and Bucky had going on. Despite it not being anything, undefined, it was something. 

Something he absolutely could not know about. 

You often questioned if hiding this from your best friend was actually the right thing. For Bucky, you would, though. He thought it was best, and in all his darkness, you couldn’t add to it. You wouldn’t be another reason for him to sink back into that shell of himself he was before. He was talking to you now—trying to express himself. You couldn’t lose that…lose him. 

Sure enough, a familiar pattern resounded, light taps only Steve would leave. You looked at Bucky expectantly, not moving. 

He smirked, “Should probably answer that, doll.” 

“Right—you’re right.” You pushed away from him and moved toward the door. “Who is it?” You grimaced at the fake tone in your voice. Nobody else was expected to show up but Steve. 

“It’s me!” 

You swung the door open and smiled as Steve stepped in. He was always so quick to do so—knowing his way around and you so graciously always having space for him here. He paused, though, puzzled by Bucky already being here…even more that he was on the couch. 

Bucky watched his friend look between his seated figure and his usual spot on the wall in amazement. Steve lifted a thumb to point behind him, gesturing toward the outside. 

“When’d you get here?” 

“Not too long ago—figured I’d take the bike.” 

Steve nodded, “Well, I’m glad you’re here, Buck. I wanted to talk to you guys about something.” 

“What about?” You interjected, now moving toward the couch. 

“Well,” Steve moved to sit in a chair across from you both. “How would you feel about a party-“ 

“No.” 

Bucky’s reply was firm. He already knew where this was going and didn’t like it. The idea of celebrating him at all felt wrong; he wasn’t deserving. 

“But it’s your first birthday back home-“ 

“My birthday was months ago, Steve.” 

“And I missed it!” His voice raised a bit, startling all of you. “I’ve already missed too many.” He inhaled, looking at the hardened expression on Bucky’s face. “Please, let me do this for you.” 

Bucky avoided eye contact. He still didn’t speak, only reacting when you cleared your throat beside him. 

“I think it could be fun, right?” Bucky looked at you. “Maybe it's a party but not an all-out thing. We compromise—something that works for both of you?"

Steve looked at you and Bucky intermittently, hoping that his friend would just accept. 

For Bucky, it was more complicated than just a party. An anxiety immediately swelled in his brain that he didn’t like. It was as if his vision was becoming hazy, the sight of what could be a good thing for him slipping away. It was no longer palpable—not until he looked at you. 

Your features were soft, the only movement a gulp in your throat. He watched you watching him, Steve disappearing far from his mind. He felt his breath slow in contemplation—considering that maybe this was the way to be normal. This was the first step to being who you needed him to be, to be someone you deserved. 

You were destined to be with someone who could go out and socialize. Your perfect person could have a party, celebrate themselves without a second thought. The right man for you would accept, show up, and smile like it was second nature. He could do that—he’d do anything. For you, he would. 

He nodded, breaking the eye contact to look at Steve. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

Bucky nodded again, tight-lipped and pensive. He stiffened at your hand on his shoulder, one you thought hard about before even placing there. He felt you rub him firmly, reassuringly. 

“This will be good for you, Buck.” 

Your tone was sweet and undeniable. He’d already agreed but was on the precipice of almost rejoicing. He contained the excitement, though, shifting into you an imperceptible amount. 

“Alright.” Bucky cleared his throat this time. “We can have a party.” 

Steve was on him quick, leaping across the room to engulf Bucky in a bear hug. That earned a giggle from you, the sight of the biggest men you knew fumbling around on a couch. Bucky feigned annoyance but secretly liked it, appreciated the warmth of another person. It was something he had lacked for years. Everything was so cold—lifeless. Not anymore.

He leaned into Steve, glancing at you for a second to see your reaction. He smiled at you, observing the look of adoration in your face. Clasping your hands together, you moved toward them slightly. 

“Okay, shoo—break this up. It's nauseating.” 

Steve pulled away first, slyly slipping you a middle finger. Your jaw dropped in both shock and pride—that he of all people would do that. “Steven Grant Rogers—I would tell your mother if she were here right now.” 

“She’d ground him, for sure,” Bucky spoke up, making both of you turn to look at him—surprise evident. He continued, “That little punk would cry about it, too.” 

“I would not!” 

“Head in his hands, fetal position, the works-“

It went on like that for a while, all of you laughing and falling in sync with one another. It was all Steve had hoped for. Finally, it seemed, his friends could be friends. He hoped that it could stay this way—three birds perched on a sturdy branch. 

part four

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[3amfanfiction]

stepbrother!Johnny x reader. This is stepcest. MDNI. Your stepbrother bothers you while you’re making breakfast.

tags: 4.5k of stepcest, 'little princess' used derogatorily, scent kink, oral (f!receiving), johnny is a munch, general sibling pestering, johnny will always be a menace, hint of dacryphilia as with most of my work. everyone is adults

this was requested in an ask, i hope you like it nonnie!

Johnny had always been a little shit.

Ever since your mom married his dad he'd been a constant in your life. Every time you turned around, there he was in his stupid shorts and stupid cut up tshirts. You didn't think there was a single one he hadn't taken a pair of scissors to, either removing the bottom half leaving him in a midriff baring number or cutting the sleeves off nearly down to the bottom hem.

It left a disgusting amount of skin on display that he seemed to be delighted in flaunting. his flexed biceps bulging as he twisted the pickle jar or abs tensing as he reached over his head to grab the cereal from the top of the fridge, it was always on display.

You'd told him more than once to put a real shirt on but he'd just laugh, a husky chuckle that sent annoyance skittering down your spine every time you heard it.

"I run hot, sis, you know that," as he continued his antics.

And his shorts!

They lived in your nightmares. You saw them constantly, tiny little things that hugged his bulky thighs perfectly. It was obscene the way they'd sit so high up on his legs. You would come in to him lying on the couch and the material would be bunched up, cradling his crotch in a swath of cheery red fabric.

He took manspreading to the extreme—gotta let my balls breathe, you wouldn't understand—showcasing the dark hair that thickened as it crept up his leg, the hinge of his hip bulky with bushy pubes.

"What're you doing here? Don't you have friends to hang out with?" you grumbled as you made your way to the kitchen, the house empty besides the two of you. Reaching into the fridge for eggs, you started on food.

"Nae, everyone's busy today. It's just you and me, little sis," he grinned at you over the back of the couch, teeth shockingly white against his tanned skin, his blue eyes crinkling. You turned away in annoyance, feeling the familiar heat start up low in your stomach. A nausea inducing roiling deep in your core.

You hated when he was home all day. He'd take every instance he could to pester you. Well, he would always pester you but this was cranked up to the extreme. He would hover and touch you and run his mouth in a way that severely pissed you off. He was just constantly there. You never got a moments respite.

You turned around only to jump in shock at the fact he was standing right there, tucked up behind your back, looking over your shoulder, having been watching you cook.

"Can you give me some breathing room?" you huffed, throwing an elbow out to catch him in the midsection only for him to dance away at the last second.

"You gonna make me some of that?" Eager. Like a puppy.

"Absolutely not. I'm not your personal chef," you spat back moving to switch off the stovetop. You smacked at his hands when they reached around your sides like he was going to grab the food until he retreated once more.

"Don't touch it," you snapped as you stepped to the side to get a plate. Looking down once it was in your hand you saw half your food gone and your brother sucking on his fingers like they had gotten burnt.

"Johnny MacTavish!" You shoved at him but he remained infuriatingly steady, leaving you feeling like you were pushing against a rock. The force moved you backwards, leaving the counter to press into the small of your back. "You are a full-grown adult capable of making his own food. Stop stealing mine!"

"What a weakling. You couldn't stop me even if you wanted to," he shot back as he reached for the other half of your egg, grubby fingers reaching into the pan with no regard for the heat or that the food wasn't his. You reached out to try and smack it from his hand but he was faster than you, having it up and to his mouth before you could blink, chuckling at your shocked face.

"Told you so." He took a step forward, closing the remaining distance between the two of you. Leaning down he put his face right in front of yours. "In fact, I'm still hungry. Why don't you make us both something this time."

You shouldn't have done it. You know you shouldn't. You still can't seem to stop yourself from reaching up and grabbing a full handful of his mohawk and pulling sharply downwards.

Johnny's eyes rolled back as a moan rumbled its way from deep in his chest.

You were shocked at the sound and let your hand relax, soft strands flowing through your fingers as he tilted his chin back down until he was staring at you once more, irises nearly eclipsed by his pupils, only a thin ring of blue left.

"Do that again."

"Johnny, I—"

"Again."

He had you pinned in place, gaze locked with yours as he commanded you like it was his right. As if he'd ever been able to boss you into doing anything. Gritting your teeth, you spat back, "You wish," into the charged air.

Who knows who made the first move after that. One moment you were at each others throat, teeth bared in a grimace as short, sharp breaths whistled out from between clenched teeth then the next his lips were on yours and it was hot. Hot. Hot.

Your whole body was on fire as he pinned you back against the side of the cabinets, the sharp edges jutting harshly into your back but you couldn't be bothered to care as your hands wrapped around his neck to anchor him to you.

His wide hands were on your hips, tracing upwards, carrying your shirt with them. High enough that he could touch skin, fingers sinking into the fleshy rolls of your hips as he grasped and kneaded.

You bit his lip at his familiarity but all he did was laugh.

Pressing into you harder, he continued to kiss like it was all he could think about. Like it consumed his every waking thought. He kissed like he was obsessed with you. With your taste on his tongue.

You were panting into his mouth when he threw a hand up against the upper cabinets, keeping you hemmed in, making sure he was all you could see. All of a sudden you got a whiff of his heady scent. Thick, sitting on the back of your tongue, rich like butter. You had to swallow the drool accumulating in your mouth as you turned towards his armpit, now directly beside your face. You took in the patch of dark curly hair and wondered what it would feel like against your tongue. You only barely kept yourself from finding out.

Realizing you had been drifting towards his armpit, ready to dig your nose in you turned to press your lips to his jaw instead, kissing up along the line of bone until you could bite at the hinge. Moving around, you worked on leaving a mark right below his ear.

He moaned at the sensation, driving his hips forward in search of friction, anything to help alleviate the ache. It was easy to bring your mouths back together once more, chasing each others taste as you both fought to come out on top.

Dropping his arms, he moved to your waist, stopping to play with the plush skin once more before moving upwards, your shirt caught on his thick wrists. He slipped his hand under your bra to find your nipple pebbling against his fingertips. A solitary soft brush was all you got before he gripped the skin firmly between his finger and thumb, pinching sharply and pulling.

You yelped—a sharp, high yip at the sensation before you retaliated by biting, hard. Teeth sinking into plump flesh until it split spilling coppery warmth into your mouths. He laughed at the sensation, not put off in the slightest.

"Be fucking gentle," you practically snarled at him.

"Sorry, sorry, didn't realize you were such a baby. I can be soft."

Choosing to ignore the first part of his sentence you pulled him back to continue kissing, tongues chasing each other as his dipped in to trace your teeth, taste now tinted with copper. He coaxed your tongue into his own mouth to suckle on, the firm suction causing the roiling in your stomach to nearly boil over. You shifted your things, barely able to make out the wet squelch over the sound of you two kissing.

He pulled back with a gasp, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. "Let me eat you out," he begged in a desperate tenor, darting into peck at your lips like he couldn't get enough of you. "I'll make it so good for you, please," he pleaded.

You were torn. You shouldn't be doing this, it was wrong. You took in his blown eyes and flushed cheeks. But he was asking so prettily. Maybe once wouldn't hurt. It was just head. People got it all the time. It wouldn't mean anything. Just using him to scratch an itch.

Decision made, you nodded, "Okay," giving into his pull, ready to be whisked away.

He didn't waste any time, an insolent smile crossing his face as he ducked down to press one more kiss to your mouth.

"I knew you couldn't resist me," he tilted his head down to make eye contact with you, "This is gonna be good, do you trust me?"

He was your tormentor. The bane of your existence. He was the reason you checked behind doors and under beds when you thought you were alone. There was nothing you did less than trust him. Still, you reached out to grab his hand, pulling him quickly behind him on your way to the bedroom.

—

His lips made contact with your cunt as he drove straight in, no hesitance to be seen in his actions. You gasped loudly as your hands darted down to thread through his hair, gripping tightly—tension on his scalp. A dirty grind of your hips against his face all but subconscious, no reasoning to be had.

He was skilled, you'd give him that. He honed in on your clit with unerring accuracy, pulling it between his lips to suckle at. Your back arched at the wave of heat that crept up your spine at the action. A tingling sensation chased it, leaving your skin buzzing.

"Johnny!" you gasped shocked at his enthusiasm.

"Mmm," he moaned into your cunt, pulling away just far enough to say, "Keep saying my name like that and you'll have me finishing in my pants. Christ, the taste of you."

He dove back in with a moan, eager for any hint of arousal he could coax from you, drinking it down greedily. Lips and tongue moving from the base of your slit up to your clit before back down again. He had your brain slowly melting out your ears.

He hummed delightedly into your cunt. "How do you taste so good? I can't get enough." Hot breath hit the sensitive skin and caused you to quiver. The slight bristles from his chin rubbing against and between your thighs adding to the tension that continued to build. "So fucking sweet for me."

He paused.

"It is, isn't it?" he asked, pulling away slightly to your disapproving mewl.

"What?" you panted, trying to bring your brain back online, using these precious few moments to try and collect your thoughts.

"For me," he grinned up at you nastily from between your thighs, teasing you even now. "You're sweet for me, aren't you?"

You felt your face heat in embarrassment before your mouth dropped opening in a yelp, derailing your thoughts once more as he slid two fingers into you without asking, keeping eye contact the whole time.

"All this. It's just for me. Because you like the way I look, you like the way I kiss, you even like the way I smell, don't you?" his voice dropped to a whisper as he said it, mocking you in your desire.

And you couldn't deny it.

You did like all those things. A lot. But you'd be damned if you told him so.

"I like it when your mouth is busy," you snarled, using your grip on his hair to direct him back to your cunt, grinding against the hard ridge of his nose as you clenched around his fingers. He chuckled before his tongue came out, then he was groaning at your taste once more. Twin moans echoing in tandem. His hips worked against the mattress as he fought to grind against something, anything.

He spent an eon between your thighs as he ate for his pleasure, fingers working to coax out every hint of flavor to be enjoyed, his tongue chasing the runnels of slick down to your ass, pausing to press lingering kisses to the tight ring of muscle before moving his way back up to your clit. You couldn't help the resulting clench at the foreign sensation, no one having ever dipped so low before.

"You're sick," you gasped, even now fighting for the upper hand as your release hovered right over your shoulder. "Can't believe you like eating ass." He pulled back and looked up at you, slick covering the bottom half of his face in a sheen. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes glassy. He looked debauched.

"Next time I'm gonna eat your ass and then fuck it. I'm gonna go slow and be loud and it's gonna be so good. We'll see what you have to say about it then," before he dove back with a vengeance, fingers curling up to press against your sensitive walls, searching for the spot that made you clench.

You couldn't help it. When he pressed against that soft, spongy area your hips tilted up and you humped up into his face, your body moving without your say so. A shocked, Johnny! combined with your brow furrowing signaled your orgasm was imminent, having slowly built up from having his lips suctioned around your clit..

With just a few more crooks of his fingers and wet grinds of his tongue against your clit you came. You saw stars dancing behind your clenched eyes as you panted into the air, unable to keep your hips still as you twitched forwards and back, chasing the feeling of Johnny's tongue still on your slit, greedily sucking down any hint of you he could get.

He pulled his fingers back with a wet squelch and you looked down to see them make their way into his mouth to be slurped at greedily, his eyes closing at the taste as he humped into the bed. Removing every hint of your slick he moved up to press those same digits into your mouth, now covered with his spit.

"Suck," he commanded.

Pulling his thick fingers in as far as you could, you traced along the seam between the two, a teasing, tickling touch. You suckled firmly, allowing him to press against your tongue far to the back, almost deep enough to trigger your gag reflex—stopping just shy. You brought your teeth down to the skin around his knuckle, digging in firmly, leaving deep indentations. You watched his eyes blow out at the movement, a deep well of want showcasing itself in the moment. Holding tight for just a moment you eventually released him, allowing him to pull his fingers back now covered in your spit, teeth marks deep purple-red impressions in the skin.

He popped them into his mouth once more with a cursory suck before dropping to pull his pants down, kicking them off to land somewhere in the space of your room. You couldn't help the way your gaze darted down, taking all of him in. The dark hair across his chest continued below his stomach, trailing down to connect with his thick pubes, a fluffy bush encircling the base of his cock. Flushed a ruddy color, the mushroom tip gave a jump and let out a dollop of precum at your perusal, pleased with the interest shown. You had to swallow the drool that flooded your mouth.

Crawling back onto the bed and up between your thighs, he paused once he was face-to-face with you. "Look at you, splayed out all perfect just for me," he cooed. "You're gonna be my pretty little toy, aren't you?"

"Fuck off," you huffed, "You're such an asshole," turning your head away you reached up like you were about to push him away only for him to catch your hands and pin them beside you.

"Nuh-uh," he cooed. "You're just going to lay there like the little princess you are and let me fuck this sweet cunt. She's been crying for me for so long but I'm here now. I'll make her feel good."

He angled his hips down, pinning his cock between the two of you as he ground forward. A smooth glide of skin against skin as he skated through your arousal to bump against your clit. You panted at the sensation.

He teased you for what felt like an eternity. Never pressing inward, just a slow, steady grind against your clit and lips, taunting without resolution. It was infuriating and you chased after him, trying to encourage him inside. You needed him. Your cunt pulsed in its emptiness, hungry. You snuck a hand free to reach down and take care of the issue yourself but he caught your arm and moved to hold it again, firmly.

"If you're not going to fuck me," you said, fed up with teasing, "Get out so I can do it myself." You would. You had plenty of toys stashed away in your closet and nightstand to have yourself a very good morning, especially after he'd already made you cum once.

"Oooo, gonna pull out your little toys? Are any of them as big as me?" He pressed the tip of his cock to your slit and pressed ever so slightly, just enough to spread the lips and give you a hint of the burn, "Nae, I can fuck you if that's what you really want."

Notched at your entrance, he was ready to push in but paused for a moment. Looking at you his bright blue eyes pulled you in, drowning you beneath their weight. With a sly smirk he drove himself in all the way to the hilt in one go. Tip to base, everything fully seated in the blink of an eye.

The stretch was intense. Yowling beneath him you twisted and thrashed, arms still pinned beside your head. He moaned above you, riding out your bucking hips as if it was his divine right, keeping pressed close to you. Pulling back as you started to settle, chest heaving, he said, "I knew you'd feel this good, so fucking feisty."

You were going to kill him.

"You asshole!" you screeched in a broken voice, his thick cock stretching your tight cunt until it was snug. You felt your muscles fluttering around him, trying to accommodate to this new shape.

He had the audacity to laugh at you like you were making a joke. Like he didn't just try to meet your lungs through your cunt. He was lucky he wasn't anywhere near your mouth or you'd turn and bite him again.

"Next time, I'm pegging you and we'll see how you like it," you sneered at him, teeth bared in a grimace. You imagined it—bending him over the bed, lubed up strap jutting from your body as you sunk into him. Holding him by his hair, fucking your hips into his ass.

"Already thinking about next time?" His eyes lit up, bringing you back to the present, "I must not be fucking you well enough if you're capable of making plans like that."

"You said it, not me," with a dismissive look across your face only to have your mouth drop open in an oh when he took that as permission to start moving, pulling out to the tip before pressing back in with abandon. Duel moans twined through the air at the sensation, the smooth drag of skin on skin electric in the morning light.

When he slid back in, hips pressed tight against your pelvis as he strove to reach all of you, you realized you might be in trouble. He was right. He was good at this. And now that you had a taste, you weren't sure that you would be able to go without.

You put the thought to the side and focused on the here and now. An easy thing to do when he was slowly rewriting your brain function and filling it with nothing but thoughts of himself.

He started up a steady pace, soft plaps playing accompaniment as his full balls swung below, meeting your ass with every thrust. He seemed determined to carve a spot out for himself, prying muscle apart until it felt unnatural when he wasn't fully seated. A hollow void that begged to be filled.

You couldn't help the moans that picked up, keeping time with his tempo. Steady little ah ah ahs as he worked, your hands reaching up to claw at his shoulders, leaving trails of fire, little bites of pain he no doubt relished.

You could hear your cunt squelching around his cock with every thrust. You were dripping down to the bedsheets, leaving you laying in a puddle of slick as he worked above you. Unrelenting. Ceaseless.

You couldn't breathe, your whole body felt awash with pinpricks, like static electricity was running right beneath your skin. It found a home in your core, starting a tiny ball of desire that grew larger with each slide home.

"If I would've known it was this easy to make you be quiet, I would've had you spread on my cock ages ago," he cooed in a mean, condescending voice, looking down at you with blown out eyes. He had a sheen of sweat across his brow and he was panting with the exertion, a flush trailing up his chest to sit in his cheeks.

"I knew I'd get you underneath me, knew you couldn't resist. I see the way you look at me, the way you drool over me. Its embarrassing how obvious you are, thinking about your brother like that," he trailed off into a taunting tone, like you were the one who did something wrong. Something to be chastised for.

"Shut up, you don't get to talk to me like that."

"Tell me, is it living up to your expectations?"

And damn it, it was. Surpassing them even. The steady strokes of his cock stirring you higher and higher, panting breaths mingling as you climbed towards your crescendo.

"I said shut up. Fuck me like you mean it." You rolled your hips up, meeting him halfway, fucking yourself on his cock. "Unless you're getting tired."

He took offense to that and picked up the pace. Hooking your knees under his elbows he leaned down, spearing you open in a mating press. The new position had tears springing to your eyes, overwhelmed by the sensations. You fought to keep them from spilling but they overfilled your lashline, trailing down your temple.

"Do I have you crying for my cock?" He mocked, attempting a cocky tone only to miss his footing, landing somewhere around breathless. "Fuck you look so pretty," his voice trailed off at the end, ending in a whisper. "Yeah. just a pretty, dumb cockslut begging for me."

You couldn't help but chant his name as you got closer, his cock scraping every sensitive area in this position.

"Shit you feel so good, I knew you'd feel this good, always knew it."

His babbling did just as much for you as his cock and fingers did. Coaxing you ever closer. Closer. Closer.

"You gonna cum for me, sweetheart? Yeah, I think you are," he panted into your mouth, the two of you sharing breaths, contributing to the lightheaded rush you felt.

And you were. Standing right on the precipice, waiting for the final push. It came from Johnny slamming into you with one punishing drive, pelvic bone grinding on your clit just right, triggering your orgasm in high definition. Starbursts flashed behind your eyes as your muscles spasmed, clenching down on him vigorously. Your contractions pulling his own orgasm out of him, kicking and screaming.

He dropped his head to the crook of your neck with a loud groan as he panted. He kept shifting like he was trying to press his cum deeper inside, just that little bit further. You shivered at the sensation, fighting to steady your own breath.

It was an age later that he pulled out and turned to fall on the bedsheets beside you, staring at you with a blissed out, shocked expression. He raised a hand to trace it along your cheekbone, following it up to your temple then down around the cusp of your ear. You felt traitorous butterflies growing wings in your stomach at the gentle touch.

"I knew you were a slut for my cock."

Until he opened his stupid mouth.

Turning your head away you slapped at his hands, moving to sit up, looking for your clothes. Finding your shirt first, you pulled it over head and turned to look at him, still sprawled out on the bed, hands behind his head, full frontal display as his damp cock slowly dried in the still air.

"This is never happening again."

"Bet."

[yourlocalangeldoll]

*ੈ Dom, Sub or switch? / Squid game

characters: Gyeong su / player 256, Thanos / Player 230, Nam Gyu / Player 124, Hyun ju / Player 120, Kang Dae ho / Player 388, Jun ho

a/n: last post before short hiatus 🎀 Trust me y’all will be FED whne i come back. Gyeong su and Thanos are lowk half assed because i wrote them both TWICE than tumblr glitched and got rid of it.

cw: 18+!, mdni, light smut, nsfw talk obviously, degradation, spit, hand kink mention, nsfw link, pegging mention, handjobs, toys mention, overstimulation, restraints, mentions of surgeries(not in an nsfw way), only proofread once.

*ੈ Gyeong su / Player 256

*ੈ 100% a switch. When he’s dom he is ALWAYS a softdom but still a freak. KING of body worship when he’s both subbing and domming. He NEEDS to be physically close to you at all the time but ESPECIALLY when subbing. Doggy position while you peg him will just not work, even prone position is pushing it. Peg him in missionary and he’ll cum in a matter of seconds. When subbing he’s all whiny ‘n needy. More of a handjob than blowjob guy. Get’s sooo subby when you’re giving him a handjob.

- . . Gyeong su’s body is leaning into yours. Your own body behind his while he’s practically wrapped in your arms that were brought around and tugging on his cock. Your neck covered in tears and saliva where his head was hidden. Body shaking from your continued stimulation on his spent cock from his previous orgasm just seconds ago. “Come on, you can give me one more right?” You pout. Your words earned a whine from him in response but a nod nevertheless, his body relaxing further into yours. “Good boy,” You praise while placing a soft kiss to the top of his head, smirk on your face while you sped up your hand on his cock, feeling his cock twitch at your words. . . -

*ੈ Thanos / Player 230

*ੈ Dom obviously. Being a sub is practically unheard of with Thanos. He’s the one doing all the work most of the time. He’s such a good mix between hard and soft dom. He fucks ‘n pleasures you like he hates your guts but then is all soft when talking, still filthy but his words softer. And don’t get me started on of he’s the one to take your virginity. But don’t let that fool you, if you’ve annoyed him and gotten on his nerves a little too much he will not hesitate to put your back in your place. In the rare instance he does Sub it’s most likely because he fucked up and you aren’t getting over it easily or you’ve begged him a lot.

- . . Rough groans escaped Thano’s lips. Your hand working fast on his cock but stopping before he could release. His hands tied behind the chair lazily along with his ankles to the feet’s of the chair. He couldn’t help the pathetic groans that escaped him when you halted your movements again, head thrown back frustratedly. “You’re such a dick, i don’t even know why i’m still with you.” You complain, focusing more on letting all your frustrations out in words instead of his dick, much to his dismay. Thano’s was only half listening, knowing your words were nothing but frustration. But one thing he caught onto -“Can’t even get out of some lazy restraints.”- made him struggle to restrain the smirk that formed on his face, knowing damn well he could snap out of the restraints if he wanted, hell he practically holding them together. But he’d let you believe anything if it means his girl isn’t upset with him anymore. . . -

*ੈ Nam Gyu / Player 124

*ੈ Hard dom, is that really surprising? He’d be so mean and you’d absolutely lovee it. He is SO into humiliating you and gets off on you crying big time. spit spitting spit. He’d have a field day if you have a hand kink because his hands are SCRUMPTIOUS and he knows it 😮‍💨 I feel like despite being such an ass if it’s your first time or maybe not in the mood to be too rough he’d be completely fine with going softer but that’s not typically the mood with him. He’d either fuck you rough and fast as fuck or still rough but deep af thrusts. You’d swear he’s trying to push past your cervix or sum. He’d force you into such awkward positions that aren’t typically the norm. Some positions like corkscrew, prone or sideways 69. He LOVES to fuck you in the ‘Butter Churner’ position.

- . . You’re back’s straining from the position your boyfriend managed to convince you to get into. But god did you feel fucking amazing. The cool surface of the wooden floor was a stark contrast to the warmth and sweat on your body. Nam Gyu was nice enough to help you by holding your ankles in his hands. But his pace was unrelenting and had your back getting littered with light scratches with each jolt of your back against the wood. “So fucking easy to use, like a sex doll.” He’d say while spitting down on you, laughing as your face contorts in disgust as his spit lands right on your eye. . . -

*ੈ Hyun ju / Player 120

*ੈ Soft dom of course !! i really can’t see her as a sub tbh. She’d be so sweet, whispering praises while she fucks you with her fingers. She’d even gently brush your hair out from your face while placing a soft kiss to your cheek 💞💞. I do feel like she’d use toys.. nothing too crazy. Either has a wand or rabbit vibrator and a single dildo, pretty simple ‘n vanilla. She is SO talented with her fingers and mouth. I imagine if she hasn’t had all her surgeries yet she’d be a little less inclined to be naked herself. Controversial take but i don’t think she’d fuck you if she hasn’t had bottom surgery yet.. it’s just hard to imagine.. i mean she doesn’t even like people staring at her.

- . . You’re laying on your back, body comfy on the bed while you made out with Hyun ju. What started as a relatively innocent movie night taking a slight turn as Hyun ju’s hand made way past the band of your pj and panties and started rubbing soft, experienced circles on your clit. Just hard enough to have your thighs closing around her hand. The two of you’s tongue ‘fighting’ for dominance as her hand made way further down. A gasp escaping your lips once one of her fingers pushed past your folds and into you. Hyun ju just chuckled slightly, wrapping arm around your back and up, gently brushing hair out of your face. Her words gentle while you hid your head into her chest. “So pretty f’me.” . . -

*ੈ Kang Dae ho / Player 388

*ੈ Switch. I feel like if he’s domming or subbing would mostly be up to his partner. He doesn’t care much if he’s sub or dom because it feels good all the same 🤷‍♀️ The only time he’ll be overly rough with you is if you’re being a biggg fucking brat or you ask him to. Bro is a SUCKER for missionary. It’s just such an intimate position and he THRIVES of intimacy. He loves to be comforted ‘n praised ‘n all that so PLEASE do. I said this before here, but he’d either be constantly praising you while you ride him -which is also one of his favourite positions- or staring up at you in admiration. the second king of body worship hello?? Is that even really surprising?? Like Gyeong su he craves being physically close to you, during and not during sex. He’s vocal and IS NOT ashamed of it. He hates when you hide your own sounds aswell… doing that is one way ticket to either getting your hands tied to the headboard or his fingers shoved in your mouth ‘n keeping your mouth widee open. Y’all can and will do some of the filthiest shit together but it somehow still feels so intimate. If he’s subbing then he’s not too different.. but definitely more vocal, desperate ‘n whiny. There is SO much more i wanna say about my man but i’ll hold off for now..

- . . All you could feel was Dae ho’s hands roaming your body, his sloppy kisses to your neck, and the fast pace of his cock ramming in and out of your pussy. The only sounds in the rooms were your moans, the forgotten movie, wet sounds of skin slapping against skin and Dae ho’s own grunts ‘n moans. Your nails clawed at his bare back- sure to leave marks tomorrow for him to explain if anyone manages to see. “Shit.. you feel so good.” He groans into your neck, pulling away just enough to litter kisses to your face. “Look so pretty too.. can’t believe how lucky i am.” He says through kisses, hands coming up to squeeze your chest through your bra. “I love every part of you, you know that right?” And what you say in response doesn’t matter to him, because he’ll be rambling on about each part of your body and how he loves it. . . -

*ੈ Jun ho

*ੈ i feel like he’d be a mix between soft dom and hard dom. Sometimes you guys would fuck all slow ‘n lovey dovey, Jun ho whispering praises in your ears. While other times he’d be using you like a ragdoll and either saying nothing or saying light degrades(i don’t see him being too mean tbh just a bit more rough.) He’d hold your body up with ease and fuck you fast while you’re practically crying from overstimulation- having came from both his tongue and fingers. And he’d do nun but whisper soft degrades in your ear and tease you. Even when he’s soft he’d tease you A LOT. The only difference is that when y’all are soft the teasing is more playful. When you guys finally stop he is SUCH a gentleman and king at aftercare.

- . . “Please- too much Jun ho! too much-“ You’re crying out while Jun ho holds you by your arms. His cock going in and out of you at an almost dizzying pace. Despite the overstimulation your poor pussy is feeling it clenches around his cock at the chuckle that escapes his lips. His body moving forward, abdomen filling the arch of your back while his arm moved to wrap around your waist. His breath hot against the shell of your ear while he spoke. “Come on baby, i know you can last more than three rounds. If not then you shouldn’t have been such a fucking brat. Now quiet down and take it, i don’t want to hear any more complaining.” . . -

⟡ ݁₊ . written by yourlocalangel, 2025 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours. Doing so will result in me blocking you and reporting.

[ssahotchnerr]

girl!dad aaron reading to his daughter over the phone while on a case! 🥹 just like that one episode of jj and henry 😭🥰

nightmares

i will sob. 🥺 i'm also setting this in ellie's bad dreams era :( cw; fem!reader, girl dad!aaron, slight angst, fluff <3

"It looks like this is his comfort zone." Using a red marker, Spencer circled an area on the map. "If we pinpoint-"

As he was continuing his thought, Aaron's phone rang. He fully expected to see Penelope's name, anticipating her call as she was working her magic to narrow down a pool of potential unsubs. However, his eyebrows furrowed in worry as he saw it was from you instead.

"Excuse me." He spoke lowly yet urgently, keeping his eyes on his screen and hurrying away with no hesitation, missing the team's concerned glances.

"Hey," he answered, closing the door to the empty conference room behind him. There was knowing feeling deep in his chest - and a grim one at that. "Everything alright?"

"Kinda... no." You switched up quickly with a sigh, slight distress in your voice. "I'm sorry, I know you're busy. But can you spare a minute or two?"

"Another nightmare?" Aaron's eyes shot to the clock perched on the wall. While it was somewhat early for him, it was getting late back home, timezones to thank. And doing the math quickly, bedtime for the kids had been about two hours ago. So sadly this - right on schedule.

You hummed in confirmation, beginning with the positive first. "She fell asleep in her bed tonight, actually. Went down easy, not much protest. But then woke up crying, and was nearly inconsolable for a while. She's with me now." Your eyes shifted down to your frightened daughter besides you, who was inching closer and closer to seemingly making herself smaller. "And keeps asking for you."

Aaron glanced out; the team was still preoccupied, discussing the geographical profile amongst themselves, and could definitely manage without him for a while longer. "Yeah, I have some time."

There was a quick rustle as you set your phone down, placing it on speaker. Your voice was farther now, not by much, but it felt treacherously distant, as if more miles had been added. "It's Daddy, honey."

"Hey Ellie Bellie." Aaron's tone quieted, his face softening as he spoke. "What's the matter?"

A light sniffle came from the other end. "I had a scary dream."

"A scary dream, huh?" He repeated, an achy pang producing in his chest. Ellie's nightmares have been occurring for a while now, and indubitably becoming a problem. You both expected the dreams to run their course, eventually pass, and things would return to normal. But as time moved forward, it was becoming clear it was well beyond that as they worsened. "It's okay, you're safe with Mom now, right?"

Ellie nodded, unknowingly to him. Her small voice cracked, laced with tears. "I want you."

"I know, and I'll be home when work lets me, I promise. You can even use my pillow tonight too, if you want." He bit down onto his lip as Ellie mumbled a small 'okay' in response. Hard. "Or how about a story? Would that help you feel better?"

Her head rose up and down again, prompting you to speak up as Aaron was met with only her silence.

"We have a few right here." You reached across her, grabbing the few storybooks that frequented Aaron's nightstand and settling back against your own pillow.

"Your pick sweetheart." Aaron pulled a chair from the table, sitting down and making himself comfortable momentarily.

"Goodnight Moon?"

Goodnight Moon, also one of Jack's favorites when he was younger. Between him and Ellie, Aaron's read it so many times, he had the entirety of the book memorized. In addition, Ellie's other, more lengthy favorites - he had gone through and cleverly taken a picture of each page, all stored safely in his camera roll for instances such as tonight. No matter where he happened to be, he could read the text, while also drawing attention to and discussing the images with her.

"Sure. Get all comfy and cozy up to Mom, yeah?"

Ellie nestled herself more into your side, her head resting on your arm as she death-gripped onto her plush bunny. You adjusted the duvet to adequately cover the two of you, scooting down and propping the book up for the two of you to see.

"We're ready when you are." You told Aaron, brushing a few stray strands of hair away from Ellie's face.

As your brief sentence concluded, a harsh pinch formed behind Aaron's eyes, the guilt creeping in as he pictured the two of you laid together, where he also should've been. His little girl was beside herself in fear, wanted him, and yet here he was. Far away on the other side of the country. He felt as if he were failing her; letting her down.

Aaron swallowed to even out his voice, to sound as cheery as he possibly could, and to refrain any agony from being heard. He took a deep, yet small guttural breath.

"In the great green room..."

[httpsserene]

Hiiii

I just got done reading your masterpiece with the Austrian bread and got an idea.

What about the making of Aussie kids? Reader would have a baby fever and Toto would immediately be like ‘let’s make one’ and reader would cry out ‘ but I’m on birth control’

Pure chaos and smut

Sending positive vibes

a bun in the oven — 𝐭. 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟𝐟 toto wolff x fem!black!reader 1.8k words. requested! beta read by @biancathecool explicit sexual content. kitchen sex. pregnancy kink. baby fever. unprotected sex. vaginal sex. creampie. implied masturbation. implied age gap. reader and toto are married. breeding kink? birth control. pregnancy.

synopsis: don’t bake a man’s favorite bread unless you want to have his kids. it’s a good thing you’re desperate to do exactly that.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. here’s the part two to toasty, i hope it satisfies the requests i got for this! i personally don’t understand the thirst some of you have for toto but i do respect it lol xxx

⌕ prev | join taglist | feedback & requests | upcoming chapters | table of contents ↻

A switch has been flipped in your brain—you’ve become more than insatiable for your husband. After he railed you on the counter for making his favorite bread, baking has become your entire personality. The way Toto looked at you after he tried your first attempt at an authentic pumpernickel bread changed how your brain fires. The mix of love and lust that filled his gaze had awoken an innate instinct within you: you need to have this man’s babies.

You’ve always claimed to be an independent woman, your dream was never to become a man’s accessory, or housewife, or tradwife. But, for Toto? For the way he looked at you as he had his first taste of your pastry? You’d set feminism back for a hundred years to keep getting fucked like that for the rest of your life. You spent an ungodly amount of money (Toto’s money) on baking utensils and you’ve pretty much been running a bakery out of your kitchen. Every few hours you’re shoving a pastry down your husband’s throat, eagerly awaiting his praise for each creation you seem to bake perfectly. 

Off-handedly around a mouthful of cinnamon sugar knots you baked, Toto moaned at the dessert melting on his tongue, seemingly in a daze when he murmured, “I’m going to get you pregnant if you keep baking like this.”

You laughed at his unexpected outburst, brushing it off as Toto hyperbolizing how great the dessert was. However, it was like the words infected your brain–every waking hour, you constantly thought about having his kids. And it didn’t help that once Toto heard you set a timer for the oven, he’d be tearing your clothes off and fucking you on the nearest surface. The kitchen island is a favorite, but there was an instance where he took you on the floor. Afterward, he claimed to be too old for sex on tiled floors, but you were too busy imagining growing a baby in your belly to care.

The severity of your baby fever is only realized when you reach into your nightstand to take your birth control and...you hesitate. You’re on the last week of pills, you should message your clinic to get a refill. Imagine a child, a mixture of you and Toto. And, you’re aware that pregnancy can be rough but you’d finally be able to decorate that spare room into a nursery instead of letting it collect dust. A baby; a combination of your best halves. Would they have your deeper skin tone, or Toto’s height, or your curls, or his nose, or your eyes? You could have your baby cradled to your chest as you bake for your husband, their father—

“Schatz?” Toto calls in question from his side of the bed, eyes concerned through the lens of his glasses, “You froze, are you okay?”

You shake the thoughts from your head, the smile you give him is slightly strained. You complete the monotonous motion of swallowing tonight’s allocated contraception with a sip of water. Tossing the packet back in the drawer, you speak, “Yes, I’m fine. I just realized that I need to order more birth control.”

His eyes examine your expression for a moment before he nods and offers a simple, “Hm.” in response. Toto fixed his eyes back on the book in front of him, and you ignore the disappointment that burns in your chest. Sighing mutely, you grab your phone and request a refill in your clinic’s online portal.

The next morning you’re awoken by Toto sweetly petting you awake, his thumb tracing lightly along your cheekbone. He murmurs an apology as he reveals that he’s going to be trapped in the home office today with back-to-back meetings concerning the looming Formula One season. You pouted even while you nodded your understanding, pleading for a kiss before you lost his attention for the day, which Toto happily divulged.

You busy yourself, prepping Toto’s favorite pastry and setting it to bake in the oven as early as possible. As a caring wife, you prepare meals for him and slip into his room to deliver them knowing he would forget to eat if you didn't remind him. You make sure his coffee never runs low, even if you switched to decaf after the second mug—he shouldn’t have too much caffeine at his age, you’d like to grow old with him eventually. To your dismay, Toto did not lie about being locked in the office. He was sequestered within those four walls well past sunset and as a result, you’ve produced enough baked goods in your free time to power the entire Mercedes factory for a week.

“I think we are going to have to discuss a limit for how many things you can bake in a day, schatz,” your husband sounds from the kitchen entryway, an awe-filled look on his face as he sees the bakery you’ve created. 

“The pumpernickel bread is still baking—would you like a cinnamon roll instead? Or a chocolate chip cookie? Or could I interest you in a slice of apple pie?”

You’re well aware that your curls are a mess in the loosely fastened bun dangling low on your head, you probably have streaks of flour and other various baking ingredients on your face mirroring the dirty surface of your apron. The unhinged baker aesthetic you’ve suddenly adopted is pulled together by the wide grin splayed across your lips. 

“I could eat all three,” Toto hums, his eyes darkening as he approaches you in the kitchen, fingers rushing to untie your apron, “—If you can help me work up an appetite.”

Various baked goods are shoved out of the way to make space for you to be bent over the island. Your flushed brown skin is cooled by the marble surface, nipples hardening quickly at the temperature but, it doesn’t stop you from spreading your legs and helping Toto tug your panties to the side underneath your skirt. He’s quick to press a finger within your entrance and pauses when the slide is too easy.

You squirm desperately, whining when Toto halts your hips from rocking backward on his hand.

“Schatz,” Toto murmurs, his free hand palming at your ass, “Did you—”

“Yes!” You cut him off, stomping at the delay, “I got bored waiting for things to bake—I’m ready, just fuck me.”

Thankfully, Toto is quick to listen to you and substitute his finger for his cock, his slacks unzipped enough to pull himself out. At the stretch, your eyes roll back and you lose the strength to hold your head up, letting it fall to press against the cool marble. You feel your husband still his hips but you reach your hand backward to grasp at his pressed dress shirt, using your grip to tug him forward, a non-verbal cue for him to keep sinking into you. He curses lowly and leans downward to rest his head on the back of your neck, pressing the remaining few inches inside.

Twin moans of pleasure are exhaled into the kitchen, Toto’s hands move to hold your waist, his clasp on your skin tight, reflecting the force he’s mustering to refrain from fucking into you without your approval. The burn from his girth fades quickly replaced by the feeling of fullness you’ve become addicted to. You roll your hips softly, moaning shakily at the drag of his length within you and Toto meets your rhythm smoothly. 

He fucks into you deeply, grunting on every other thrust in, you feel the breath of his chuckle ghost across your back when you fall limp in his hands; he’s well aware that you enjoy sitting pretty and taking what he gives you. Your cunt clings to his cock, the plush heat trying its hardest to disallow Toto from exiting, urging him to stay buried inside of you as he scrapes directly over your most sensitive points. 

Your husband straightens himself upright, pressing you firmly down on the counter with a hand in the middle of your back, his other hand slipping around to rest on your navel while keeping your hips angled upward for a better angle.

His thrusts become rougher and you can only scramble to hold on to the island, hands slipping from the sweat accumulated on your palms and skin. Your mouth is parted, drooling from the corner of your lip, chest heaving as you struggle to breathe through his thrusts, moans and gasps punched out of your chest, his cock hardened and pulsing within you, and your curls bouncing out of your bun and sticking to your back and forehead from the heat.

Toto’s hand presses into your belly, and he pants lowly, “You feel me right in here—I’m going to put a baby in you, schatz.”

You shudder in his arms, eyelids fluttering as you struggle to reply, and you swear you feel yourself become wetter at the image your husband planted in your mind.

“You can’t,” you whine out roughly, whimpering as the force of his thrusts rocks you up across the island, the ledge digging into your hips, “ah—’m on birth control!”

He grunts dismissively, patting his hand on your belly as his rough thrusts are exchanged for deep grinds, hitting places that send tantalizing rushes of pain along with pleasure up your spine, “Okay,” Toto huffs, “Stop taking it.”

You mean to ask clarifying questions, but he doesn’t let you get a word in as he continues to ramble about getting you pregnant.

“Fuck, I’m going to give you a baby, yes?” “—Going to be so pretty carrying our child.” “You’ll be such a good mum.”

The last one pushes you over the edge harshly, your nerves burning at the white-hot flash of pleasure, the sounds of Toto following you muffled to your ears as your orgasm floods your senses. You feel a dampness on your cheeks and it takes Toto wiping it away to realize you’re crying. His hips continue to slowly grind deeply within you, his cum painting your walls, and he pulls you upwards to press your lips together.

“You were serious,” your voice cracks embarrassingly as you moan the words into Toto’s lips, “About the birth control?”

“Yes,” your husband answers confidently, his words supported by a firm thrust of his cock that makes your eyes roll and body shiver, “If that’s what you want, of course.”

You hum, pleased at his response, “You need to remind me to call the clinic tomorrow to cancel my refill order.”

Toto grumbles incoherently, more concerned with toying with your nipples and kissing along your collarbone, “Yes, schatz—can you go again? I want to put a baby in you as quickly as possible. You would look so beautiful with a bump, no?”

5 weeks later you run out of the bathroom and leap into your husband's arms, brandishing a positive pregnancy test wildly. 

You laugh gleefully, tears of joy forming in your waterline, “I guess both of us are bakers now!”

“What?” Toto offers confused, trying to still your arm to grab the test.

“Both of us are bakers now! You put a bun in my oven!”

© httpsserene - do not reupload. photos in header image are from pinterest. divider by @cafekitsune.

[clawsdevour]

· ˚ ༘ kenma husband hcs

wc: 0.6k content warning: post-timeskip, established relationship, kenma x reader, fluff, not proofread

𝜗𝜚 ::.. ''

-Kenma, the type of husband to end up doing all the housework if he notices that you're having a hard day. he knows that you most likely wouldn't want to talk about what's bugging you off the bat, so he takes this time to make life a big easier for you before you're ready to let him hear you out.

-Kenma, the type of husband to enjoy going out on late night errands whether its to pick up a few ingredients for a dish or a little sweet treat like ice cream. he simply likes going out at night more than in the day since it feels like its just you two awake due to the fact the streets are clear and the dark sky engulfs the world above your heads.

-Kenma, the type of husband to make sure you're fed properly even though he might be eating instant noodles everyday. he likes watching you eat and stuff your face full because the delight that spreads on your smile makes him happy enough to feel good. he'd also peel you fruits or make you a snack if you're up late working on something or if he's generally making himself something to eat.

-Kenma, the type of husband to soft launch you on his stream. for instance, leaving something that's yours somewhere where his stream can see and visibly know that that item isn't his. he'd most likely keep your relationship private to keep his personal life outside his career out of respect for you as well unless you want to go public!

-Kenma, the type of husband to probably come home with random gifts he bought because he'd think you would like it or that it reminded him of you. these gifts could also be snacks that you like or want to try.

-Kenma, the type of husband to make your dates totally random. this can scale from an at-home dinner date to a trip out of town. it's not just the thought of a "date" that excites him, but the fact that it's just you two with your own alone time for the whole day to have fun.

-Kenma, the type of husband to take you to places you would show him. this can be like showing Kenma a tik tok of a souffle pancake place and he surprises you on your next date to try souffle pancakes even if he doesn't like it, but he knows you want to try it with him so he'd eat it anyway since it's you.

-Kenma, the type of husband to enjoy a lazy sunday with you on the couch. preferrably under a warm cozy blanket while watching some type of movie or show, with some popcorn on the side. he'd think its fun that you wanna play games with him too and analyzes every move you make to see if you actually are enjoying the game to know if it's time to switch to a different game.

-Kenma, the type of husband to let you comb his hair with your fingers. he doesn't really care if you style his hair for him either as long as he isn't going out the house with some goofy style. moreover, he loves feeling your fingers run through his long strands of hair, it makes him feel more at peace and sleepy.

-Kenma, the type of husband to enjoy eating out rather than at home... unless its your cooking. the dishes you make for him don't compare to the take out he buys all the time, he loves how comforting it tastes and cozy it feels to receive something delicious cooked by the one he loves the most.

masterlist here

[komelliko]

manipulative!boss!sunday x timid!secretary!reader

summary: Sunday can no longer control himself around you. He will make his affections known. wc: 1.6k - this is nsfw! cw for dubcon! fingering/dry humping/softdom!sunday

part 2 / part 3 (nsfw) / part 4

---

By his insistence, it had been too late post-dinner for you to head home alone. In fact, it had been too late to bother leaving Blue Hour at all—not when Sunday could find you a place to stay the night as easily as walking through the entrance of the nearest hotel. "One room," he had told the Halovian clerk at the front desk, a kindly young lady with red cardinal feathers encircling her cheeks. "Anything will do." You tapped the empty box of mints clutched in your hand with one of your fingers, as if the slow rap-tap-tap would truly relieve any of your nervousness. His words had stuck with you after all—The Head of the Oak Family wandering around Blue Hour with a glorified nobody wearing a dress like this? Of course they'd assume something!

But you weren't a glorified nobody, you wanted to tell yourself. You had worked your ass off to be here, even if nobody else around you knew that. You were a somebody, no matter where you were or what Sunday had you wear or anything of the sort. You were one of the most powerful people in Penacony, damnit. ...Of course, at the time, you had been too distracted by this train of thought to realize he had only asked for one room. And, furthermore, at the time you hadn't asked if he would be making any trips that night himself.

Sunday had counted on this.

Sunday walks you to your room with his hand on your lower back once again, in what feels almost like a mockery of the conversation you had with him a few hours ago. You suck on the inside of your cheek, wishing the mints hadn't all been swallowed by now. Even as you try to walk faster than him ever so slightly, he seems to set the pace. Slow, methodical, calculated. The first thing you notice when you get to the room is the large window overlooking the rest of the Moment, sprawling buildings disappearing into the edge of the dreamscape. Large billboards painted in shimmering hues of gold display women in ornate jewelry, displaying dazzling watches and rows upon rows of pearls. You've never seen a Penaconian skyline that didn't have its fair share of advertisements, in all truthfulness—Every instance of gold and ochre like another glinting set of eyes watching you as you go about your day. Sunday approaches behind you, his hand resting on one of your shoulders.

"Don't you want to sit down?" he asks. You initially think to protest, but before you can even process it you're already in his lap, a lone wooden chair pulled out from the room's lounging area to sit in front of the window. Your eyes switch between glancing out at the billboards, then your knees, then somewhere in the middle distance. His voice takes on a honey-like quality that it usually only shows a hint of, whispering things in your ear that you accept so easily... because they almost sound like music. A low, deep harmony.

"I hope you know, [Y/N]," he speaks against the back of your neck, fingers dancing through your hair. "That when everything is said and done, I don't just consider you an employee. I consider you a friend."

His other hand goes to rest on your hip. You're still not sure what to make of it—Maybe you just don't want to accept the answer. This hot, churning feeling begins to twist just below your stomach, slowly growing bigger and bigger.

"O-of course, Mr. Sunday. Thank you, Mr. Sunday."

What would please him more: For you to drop the formality, or to keep it even as you're eventually moaning it? Sunday isn't entirely sure, but he lets the thought percolate while he continues to play with your hair. You sink your head back into his touch, and your whole body moves in response: Pressing up against him in a way he would kill for.

He cannot control himself any longer. For the briefest moment, he drops all pretense.

"Hike up your dress, [Y/N]."

Once you realize what he means by it, your hands have already shifted the hem halfway up your thighs. This is your boss. You can't be doing this. You'd only be proving people right this way.

...But what would he do if you said no?

The skeptic in you gives in, clinging onto the reasoning that you have no choice anyways. Hell, in the most pessimistic light, you might get a promotion out of this.

The tent in his pants pokes between your thighs like a cattle brand, hot and stiff. You clasp your knees together, but the choice works against you: the way your thighs press against the intrusion, the way the pooling cyprine leaks onto his pants. If you had any hope of convincing him (or yourself) to stop, it was long gone. You hear Sunday let out a groan, a gloved hand petting one of your thighs.

"You can keep a secret... can't you?"

There's nothing else for you to say. You stare at the floor, your face burning bright red.

"Of course, Mr. Sunday."

"...I've dreamed of doing this."

His hand moves with a particular confidence as it slips between your thighs, a single finger tracing that hidden bundle of nerves.

"It's awful," he pouts, his touch slowing to a crawl, "How often I convinced myself I could be satisfied with so little. Yet as I indulged myself with your presence further and further, I could not find satiation." The way his fingers gently pass over you cause you to jump in his lap, and he only sighs again, wrapping his other arm around your waist to keep you still. "Oh, how I betray myself."

The pace of his fingers quickens again, and you stop to think—Promotion? What in Aeon's name would you even be promoted to? What rung on the corporate ladder was there above Secretary to a Family Head (other than being a Head yourself, which was obviously out of the question), and what difference would it make if he changed your title to Personal Assistant or something of that ilk?

Well, there was no point in asking that question. You knew the answer. A promotion was clearly on the horizon—it just wasn't a corporate one.

His fingers breach through, and Sunday gasps as if he himself is being penetrated, not the other way around. What first seems to simply be Sunday readjusting himself in his seat eventually becomes a slow, desperate grinding of his hips, thrusting them up into your own as his fingers continue their work of spreading you open. Two, then three, then four. His head spins at the sensation of syrupy fluid coating his knuckles, as if even touching it is enough to get him drunk. Hissing out a minced oath under his breath, Sunday rips off his stained glove and plunges his fingers in again, practically dry humping you in his lap once he can truly feel the way you clench around his hand.

"Oh, you're perfect," he exhales. "Aeon forgive me for what I want to do to you, [Y/N]. The things you do to me... How badly I needed this." He starts to direct his huffing into your shoulder. "Come for me, [Y/N]—Right on my palm. Ruin me, I beg you."

"Mr. Sunday," you heave, the words forcing themself past your wobbling lip even as you bite it shut. "I—"

"[Y/N]," he whimpers. "Please." You clasp both your hands over your mouth when you finally reach release, throwing your head back with a muffled cry. Your heart continues to race so hard that it makes you dizzy, the sound thumping in your ears. Sunday, too, starts to heave in tandem, and you feel the sheen of sweat on his cheeks as he sloppily plants kisses on the back of your neck. As he catches his breath, Sunday's eyes glance around the room warily. He notices the pitcher of water on the countertop (a complimentary convenience typical for this specific hotel, and the main reason he chose this one to begin with), and resolved to dump it on his lap. Not to wash off any of his and your release currently sticking your laps together and staining his trousers, of course—But simply as a convenient excuse. He'd only been attending to his wonderful secretary, his treasured secretary, when the water was spilled as he filled a glass for you. ...Or maybe spilling it over his head and saying he had to dive into a fountain to valiantly save you from some ne'er-do-well would be more reasonable? Catching stray bullets with his hand to keep his darling safe and the like?

Your orgasm had all but knocked you unconscious, your half-lidded gaze unable to focus on the flashing lights and colors out the open window. The two of you must have been twenty, thirty stories off the ground, far from anyone spotting your little tryst. You slump back into Sunday's chest, rolling your head backwards as you mumble a weak "Mr. Sunday..." "Thank you for indulging me, my dear," is all he responds with, scooping you up off his lap and bringing you to the room's bed. Once you are draped in the bed's covers, you quickly fall asleep, with the night's events sure to become a hazy memory.

Sunday sighs contentedly to himself. In a final moment of trangression, he takes his soiled glove into his mouth for a brief moment to savor that which stains it. He can only hope—no, be certain of the fact that—the endless dream he searches to blanket this world in will be to your every liking. ...With you by his side, no doubt.

It wouldn't need mention just yet, but for your marriage to him to be the first union blessed by Ena THEMSELVES..?

Why, what could be better? --- a/n: when looking back through some of his lines, i thiiiink sunday uses aeon as the singular? correct me if I'm wrong on this lolol. feedback is always appreciated, especially regarding pacing! criticize me to hell and back y'all I want to write better smut :,) tag list: @j1yu425 @crepezinhos @i-am-tiredd

[imistyou2]

Tummy bulge. c.sb

pairing: switch!Soobin x Noona!reader

warnings: sex. like that's about it. sub! soobin, a lil dom! soobin if u squint. basically switch lol. MINORS DNI!

summary: Your usually obedient junior, Soobin succumbs to his biological tendencies when he sees what his cock does to your body.

This is part 2.1, you can read it as a stand-alone too

series masterlist

_

Lately, you've been more encouraging when it came to having sex with Soobin. What started off with his pleading moans and teary eyes from the first time you guys had sex turned into something frequent. Something ravishing. He would see the hungry look in your eye as your hands would snake around the nape of his neck during your shared classes. Pointy fingers massaging his skin and you inched your body closer and closer to him to the point where your breasts pressed plush against his bicep. It was a tale-tell sign that you wanted him, wanted his cock, the very thought sending the younger man into a mental frenzy.

Soobin's cock was no joke, you had made sure to verbalize this over many instances. From raving about the size to teasing him and getting him to blush red to ultimately rolling your eyes into the back of your socket when his thick girth enters your slicked-up pussy.

The tip of his cock had a velvety texture, shaped like a mushroom, growing red and pulsing tenderly as you played with his nipples or kissed his neck, sometimes even talking dirty to him, reminding him of what a loser freak he is. Oh, Soobin loved it when you did that, he would do anything to fall into your submission and let you play with him however you pleased. With the increase of sex, Soobin's grown bolder, fiercer with his strokes.

You usually played with his head as he would gently pry open your insides, thrusting in softly to match your breathing before increasing the pace on your voice of command. The grip on his black locks would tighten as his cock fully entered you, even with all your slickness, the stretch was a bit deafening before his rhythmic thrusts and desperate moans would drown out the slight pain.

He would keep his eyes closed, head tilting back from the sheer feeling of your gummy walls, but one time his eyes peeked open amidst his ecstasy and he saw the expression on your face. Despite your dominating attitude, your face curled into a look of pure bliss from his cock, a thin string of drool lolling from the side of your bitten lips. Soobin's heart somersaulted in his chest before his gaze peered down.

Holy shit. A distinct bulge appeared in your abdomen every time his cock thrust inside. His eyes widened tenfold, mouth agape from what he was seeing. He couldn't believe it was him making his noona like that- all needy and whiny and bulgey. He's so used to your bold attitude and as much as he loved that, he didn't mind seeing your softer and submissive side from time to time. Without waiting he would increase his pace, rocking into your cunt with great speed.

"AHHH~~ Soobin what the fuck. When did I ever say you could go that fast?!"

"Fuck, Noona you feel that?" He placed his long fingers around the bulge, trying to cup it as his hips stammered. He was close and seeing your body stretch like this for him didn't help. "Noona, am I making you feel good? Look at the way my cock's stretching you Noona, look at that bulge."

Your eyes looked forward to seeing where his hand was and as a matter of fact, there was a huge indentation, something trying to protrude out from your lower belly. Your cunt grows wetter from the thought of his cock rearranging your insides so deliciously. His hips pound into you, intense concentration to make you cum from his cock alone.

"Shit,shit, shit just like that, make your noona cum, Soobie. Yeahhh."

You reach your climax and so does him, painting the insides of his condom with the thick liquid. With a few more thrusts, his hips slow down as his sweaty head falls past your shoulder and onto the pillows. His hips still keep working, rolling slowly but not stopping. This was a different version of Soobin from what you have seen in the last four months of being involved with him. You've gotten to know he's a fast learner, adapting himself to your liking and what makes you feel the best.

"What has gotten into you today Choi Soobin, doing things when your noona hasn't even told you to?"

His head turns to the side, facing you. He gives a coy smile as you raise your brow in amusement. His lips curl, "Just saw how I made you feel and couldn't stop myself, Noona."

"Oh, stop-!"

You both burst into giggles, not before you've pinched his sides lightly and he yelps out, "Sorry ma'am, won't do again! Hahaha!"

Well, you certainly won't mind this side of Soobin again, you can't wait to see what more riles him to take charge like he did today.

-

a/n: unedited per usual :) tummy bulge + soobin is like water at 3 am.

[seventhcallisto]

HEAD VOICES & HERE OF ALL PLACES.

(j. Yunho) & (k. Hongjoong)

NSFW!!!! hongjoong and yunho smut. Studio smex. No tags.

Hongjoong • Here of all places

Hongjoongs hands find you before you can mumble another word, his ringed fingers cold as they slip under your top and circle the growing nub of your nipple, soft, needy little whines leaving his throat. His lips are drawn to your neck in the same instance - nipping and sucking and desperately marking you like that'll help his issue - like it'll help him perfect the verse he's trying to sing. He's got you pinned to the wall in the next moment, fingers slipping under your sweats as his fingers sink in once- fuck twice. You're so warm. He's needed this. He pumps them, soaking in your warmth and his mouth waters.

He wants to sink to his knees and put his mouth to use- to hear your pretty moans and soft calls of his name. But he's aching- his cock throbs. He's tugging on your sweatpants, dragging you both down to the ground like a rigid animal- clawing and kissing his way up your legs, nipping, touching- biting. He just wants you so bad. Can you blame him? His fingers poke and prod, caressing the spot that has you gasping a little harder- whining a little more. He needs it, needs you. He tugs them away and switches them with the swell of his head- murmuring about pulling out- that he won't cum inside. (You doubt it, and so does he).

He sinks in with a creaky little moan - a soft call of your name as he whimpers - his hips stuttering as you tighten. Oh, he sounds delicious. He's almost crying at your warmth. He's murmuring to himself about how he won't cum- how he's gotta feel you first. Ohhh, and he makes good on his promise as his hips jerk and jerk and roll. He stutters, another whiny low moan of your name and his hips roll and bruise into yours again. Pap pap pap- fuck he can't tell if it's him or you making a mess, is he drooling? Probably. Another shift of your legs over his shoulders, and he's hitting deeper, whimpering about how good you feel.

"Hnngghh- gonna cum" he croaked quietly, his eyes flicker from your jointed spot to your eyes- bad idea cause he's gasping; "Where d'you want it?" In the next moment. You can't answer him - you never could after it got to this point, and he keeps going- he can't stop, and you don't want him to - and you're so warm and you're squeezing with a quiet call of his name- creaming on him. He cums hard. And a lot, and he's still whimpering and whining and moaning your name as he rolls over his orgasm. His hips still only after his last drop- and he stutters to a halt with whiny inhales of breath that makes him sound like he might be ascending.

And it's a good thing the studio is empty.

Yunho • head voice

Yunho mutters a low curse, his hands buried into your hair as his head tilts back. He's trying hard not to buck- to not choke you, seriously. Your throat is so tight- his eyes close as he moans lowly, his voice quiet and deep. He murmurs another curse, fingers knitting farther into your hair as he lets you guide yourself. He's good to you; he thinks, let's you do the things he knows you shouldn't, let's you sink to your knees in the studio where anyone could walk in. You're bad. He's okay with it. He'd be okay with it even if you weren't nose deep to his pelvis as he cums down your throat with a low groan.

More? You want more even after that? Okay, sweetheart. With bleary eyes you're bent over the wall next, face pushed into the padded foam as he spreads you apart with his large hands, grasping at your cheeks to the point the fat pools between his knuckles. He coos at your soft needy whines, and he chuckles quietly when he watches your hole spasm around nothing. He softly shushes you, teases you, berates you lovingly, all with that knowing glint in his eyes.

"You're soaked," he all but mutters as his thumb brushes against your small bundle of nerves. He ignores your squeak and shushes you softly. "What? Thought you wanted this," he mutters, thumb circling the bud as he laughs at your quiet little whimper. He coos once more as you shake your head. "Okay, sweetheart," he softly says, pressing kisses along where your shirt has ridden up your spine.

His cock is thick- his head equally so as he prods it through the slick of your folds, pushing in once, pulling out- then sinking in once more, a low hiss following. He tells you how good you feel, a level tone as he sinks in- pressing his hips firmly to yours. Pulling out then sinking in once more, over and over until he's setting a heavy pace against you, his other hand larger splayed next to your head as his other grips at your behind- spreading you wider.

His moans and groans are low, deep, and heavy, as are his thrusts. His cock touches you deeply- intimately and leaves you breathless with every sink. He's captivated by it, and by the time he hears you squeaking out, he's already back on his edge. "Y'gonna cum?" He shushes, hips pressing into yours as his pace slows- teasing you until you're pleading with him. You sound so pretty like that. He loves it. And then finally he lets you cum, humming lowly and groaning in your ear as he makes sure to let you milk him- take all the cum he can give and pump you a little more just to be sure. His chest heaves with low pants, his hands holding your hips up as he chuckles breathlessly.

Good thing no one was in the studio.

A/N: HEYY GUYYSSSS!!?!?!! Sorry for my delay. I decided to write this cause I saw another post!! If I can find it, I'll reblog it, BUT HOLY SHIT that, yunho picture has had me in a chokehold for a little while, aha.. haaaaughhhhhhh. Hongjoong.. I know he whimpers, and I need it NOW. okay, and yunho is so teasing omfg. OOHHHHHG AHHUHHHHH. I also wrote this cuz I went through some guy shit recently, and I just thought that "well, at least I'm free of having a crush on this piece of shit." SO IM BACK TO ATEEZ. and I'm NEVER. EVER. letting a guy near me again.