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older-than-the-devil · 1 day ago

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SFTH longforms as Entities from The Magnus Archives

the first time I tried to write this I spent 3 days to get to #14 and then it didn't save. please just kill me

I saw this post from @radioroxx and decided to assign an Entity to every longform (there are 57 as of writing this) that's currently on YouTube. For anyone not familiar with either of the fandoms, I will give a brief explanation of the important parts and provide my reasons for why an Entity corresponds to any given longform. I apologise if any of the things I say don't make sense. I tried my best, but sometimes my brain just refuses to translate my thoughts into coherent sentences

‼️Spoilers for the lore/worldbuilding of TMA, as well as plot spoilers for every sfth longform‼️

This monster of a post is under the cut. Please use this post to get your friends into either of the fandoms

CW: mentions of basically anything you can think of

Okay, what are we even talking about?

The Magnus Archives is a horror podcast in which the horror comes from (semi-)sentient eldritch entities who feed on fear. To get that fear, they either influence the world directly or make their "servants" do it. Those "servants" are either monsters created by the Entities, or avatars — living beings who got some of their power because they are in some way aligned with one of the Fears. These servants also feed on fear

Shoot From The Hip is an improv group. Among the content they create are improvised plays, for which they get a title from the audience and run with it. Chaos ensues

Since we're talking about eldritch beings of unimaginable horror, I won't be focusing on how the problems got resolved. I realise a lot of the longforms sound much more bleak when I'm only focusing on the bad, so this is a heads up!

With all of that out of the way, let's begin. I hope the links work

1. Oh My God, Is This A Joke? — The Web

Controversial from the beginning, I know. I refuse to classify plays set during wars as having war-related Entities, unless they directly influence the plot/setting/characters

For this, control is a much better choice. We have Nazi Germany (totalitarian regime = control) occupying France, which, admittedly, is a much more straightforward display of control than The Web's usual subtle manipulation. We can also throw The Buried in here for the metaphorical weight of oppression. Additionally, Xavier's charm, to me, is a manipulation tactic, and he is a prominent character

2. The Meringue Haberdashery — The Web/The Spiral

The villain is messing with people's minds using drugs, and I'm not sure why. She pretended to be ill for her own gain, she made her husband take over the haberdashery, and her hundreds of Don Juans seem to obey her every word. But she also just... drugs the entire village for some reason that's never explained??? Why does she do it? I want to assign her The Web, but I just can't understand her end goal. However, she's too meticulous for The Spiral

3. Lost In Your Eyes — The End

A lot of characters died in this one (most of them off-screen), but even without it, the plot happens because Amanda is scared her husband is dead. This fear drives her to find him, to travel alone to wherever he is (which kills several characters). And then she herself dies. Additionally, The Lonely is present here. Tarquin's first mate intentionally left his wife at the bottom of the sea (who's to say he didn't kill the rest of the crew?) and encouraged Tarquin to leave Amanda

4. The Dark Moons of Slough — The Dark/The Eye

Hugh's lack of memory about what happened with his mother can definitely count as 'being in the dark' about it. The soups he tasted not only brought those memories back to light but also showed them to the whole audience

5. Long Johns – STRIKE! — there are traces of four different Entities here

Terry and DI Mannering talked about their childhood when Terry used to chase other kids to put them in Long Johns. Mannering even says that "it was each boy for himself." This clearly corresponds to The Hunt. Then we learn that after Terry caught him, Jerry worked in the Long Johns factory for 30 years, which has some Flesh vibes, in my opinion. Your worth is determined by how useful you are and all that. The fact that your worldview and personality completely change after putting on Long Johns could suggest either The Web (control) or The Stranger (identity issues)

6. Too Big To Be A Jockey — The Stranger in the sense that one of the children at some point wears Johnny Jones's skin as a meat suit, assuming his identity, and then somehow gets taller and stronger. That's about it

I'd like to remind everyone that sfth's content is all comedy

7. The OOPSIE DAISY Bulge — The Slaughter

This one gets a war-themed Entity in a (failed) invasion setting! The British Army tried to kill the residents of La Bulge. That's pretty straightforward

There's a fun parallel in this one, though! The people who live in La Bulge all have psychic abilities. There are 14 of them, just as there are 14 Entities. They also have the French Kraken, who is the 15th inhabitant of the village, who gets summoned once in a blue moon. Just as there is a 15th Entity that's not fully formed yet, so many characters don't count it

8. The Hare Who Wore A Sweater — The Hunt/The Extinction

Half of the play is spent with someone chasing someone else. Mr. Mcginnery and Alexander are chasing the hares, and the main couple are chasing Mr. Mcginnery and Alexander to protect the hares. The reason Mcginnery wants the hares' destruction, though, is because they are evolving due to eating the intelligence-hightening crops he created, which he intended to be consumed by humans, improving our lives. The Extinction's whole thing is that humanity will die because of our own inventions (in this case, the crops), and something else (in this case, the hares) will take our place

9. Once Upon a Time I Killed Mum — The Web

Kingsley planned and successfully executed several murders (one of which he hired Dangerfield to do) to become the king of crime on all known planets (so, just this one, presumably. Still impressive, though). Emphasis on the planning to reach the goal, not the act of murder itself

10. The Midnight Mystery — The Hunt

The entire police department, as well as the Scottish Batman and Robin, are trying to bring criminals to justice. They have all the evidence, they know where the Laffayets live, so they're not searching for anything. They just have the goal of arresting them

11. Inside the Mysterious Cube — The Slaughter/The Desolation

The cubes' invasion of Earth, during which they killed some people and intended to take some resources, definitely alignes with senseless violence of The Slaughter. However, the fact that they did all of it to take the GameCube for their Cube Museum makes the loss of everyone and everything you love feel even more cruel. Thus, The Desolation

12. BUS — The Hunt/The Corruption

Arthur Big Dick fled to the sea and spent 60 years there because he was on the run from both fascists and communists. After his return on land, he almost immediately got captured by Magnus O.Puss, who was searching for him all those years. Arthur B.D. is the biggest victim of The Hunt, I fear

As for The Corruption, the British Communist Party gives me the vibes of the culty aspect of it. They share everything equally amongst members, they have a sense of community, but anyone who doesn't fit gets reprimanded. In the first scene with the communists, Magnus criticises another character because he isn't as sexually charged as the rest of them. And it's a very strong reaction. We can add The Buried for the peer pressure

I hope those of you unfamiliar with BUS got a whiplash. My description of it was very tame

13. All Eyes on Nigel — The Hunt

A lot of these police/detective investigation ones walk the line between The Hunt and The Eye, and it all comes down to what the final goal is. If they aim to catch whoever they're looking for, it's The Hunt. If they're primarily looking for information, it's The Eye. While here, the police are searching for Nigel's manor, their goals are getting rid of Nigel and saving Andrew. Finding information is just a tool

14. No! I Always Loved That Caravan! — The End/The Stranger

The End is not just the fear of death but of things ending in general. Change means death of something old and birth of something new. The dad in this story meets the idea of change with such apprehension that he's willing to crush his son's dreams, metaphorically lock up his wife so she can't travel, and blow up the caravan he doesn't want his son to sell. I'm not classifying this under The Extinction simply because that power is a fear of humanity's downfall as a result of technical progress, as far as I understand. If it was the fear of change in general, it would not have been a new power

Now, The Stranger. I'm sure some of you know where this is going :)

The Stranger can manifest as uncanny valley/creatures who are not quite right. Wearing other people's skin (an action sometimes described as 'getting a new face') is also a very popular motif. With that being said, I present to you the Caravan Hutch

Timestamp: 14:12-17:26. If you're here from tma, please watch at least this bit. I cannot describe how Stranger-coded these guys are. You have to see them for yourself. I'm not putting the clip directly into the post because when I tried to do it, it failed to upload trice, and then the draft got deleted. I spent 3 days on it just to get to this play. If it happens again, I'll cry

Anyway, we all agree they're avatars, right. I specify 'avatars' because I really like the interpretation part of the sfth fandom has that they're just human men. Not supernatural beings, not aliens, not something else. Completely human, even if weird as fuck. So, in this crossover, they'd be avatars, but the only thing that's changed is that they're almost immortal now and also feed on fear. And they can wear others' skin. I doubt they'd even notice something's different

Also, I have to acknowledge that Fullset is connected to either The End or The Buried. "l would love to be back in the ground" sounds simultaneously like he died and came back wrong (which is Stranger-coded by itself!) and like he has an affinity for cramped spaces. My headcanon for Lots is that his face was previously Johnny Jones's (longform #6). I usually don't headcanon sfth characters played by the same person to look identical, but it fits here

Also also, I need a fanfic where Caravan Hutch meet Breekon & Hope. They'd get along, I think

15. Wild, Wet & Worrisome — The Lonely

Persephone is a siren who is not good at being a siren. Not only does she not kill sailors or actively try to traumatise them, but she actually brings them back to life. This is what she wants to do, and she admits to Geoff that she can't tell her sisters about it. This must feel isolating. In the end, when Geoff leaves with his family, she even starts saying her life is lonely

16. The Cardboard Stegosaurus — The End

Cliff and Pierre are both affected by the death of Marie Claire. This is the first time Cliff lets himself process the tragedy and grieve his wife, and Pierre's reactions are very intense. I also got the impression that Pierre knew Marie Claire struggled with mental health, and this is one of the reasons he's so angry about the situation. He says he would've supported her through hardships better than Cliff did, and so if she'd only chose him, she'd still be alive

Also

"If you close this tunnel, it would not close any pain inside your heart. You understand?"

"I understand. I have to kill Cliff"

sounds like one of those wrong quotes memes and I love it

17. The Ingredients — The Slaughter

The octopus disguised itself as a paella ingredient, strangled a woman, caught on fire while doing it, burned through her larynx and set everyone else on fire, smashed the fish tank and all the fish rushed through. All because the owner of the restaurant wanted some publicity

18. The Excited Chinchilla — The Slaughter/The Extinction

Why is there so much Slaughter here😭 I wasn't expecting it to show up too much

All unsnipped chinchillas are Nazis because they were invented in 1939, and this particular one has killed before and will kill again. It is "getting ready for the next war" as we speak. Wars are aligned with The Slaughter, but the fact that it's an intentionally modified rodent who's trying to change the world order makes me think this whole thing is Extinction-flavoured

Also, shout out to this comment. SFTH in a nutshell

19. The Prime Minister's First Day — The Web

This one has a lot of plotting and planning. James James and his wife plotted to assassinate King Charles. Meanwhile, Charles knew about all of it and had his own plans to stop James from succeeding. Presumably, he knew about it long before the plan was set in stone, given that James's wife was one of the king's horses in disguise. The disguises here are walking the line between The Web and The Stranger. Meatsuits aside, it is unclear whether Beauregard #2 was controlled by James or if James actually became Beauregard for a while. I know the confusion is there because Tom and AJ had different understanding of what was happening in the scene, but I'm counting it regardless

20. The Leftenmost Window — The Web/The Dark/The Spiral

Since psychic powers work best when the person is under stress, the family's plan was to make Samantha (I know that's a fanon name, but it's not like she has one in canon) think Egbert slept with her sister. So, the mother had a convoluted plan to plant the memory of it into Sally's mind so that Samantha becomes unsure of Egbert's loyalty (and, frankly, morals). This doubt, for me, is in the intersection between not knowing enough, lack of factual evidence (The Dark), and not being able to trust your mind (The Spiral). The latter will probably be more prominent in post-canon, though, since no one knew tampering with memories was even possible

21. The Neighbour's Under The Bed — The Eye

Mark wanted to know the secret of his neighbour's football skill so much that he went to ridiculous lengths to spy on him and his wife. Additionally, Johnny's future dreams (+ his father's ability to sense there's something wrong at home) and Janae's University-level knowledge also fit with The Eye

22. The Milkman — The Eye

I'm not sure how old Peter is, but he is at least 6, which means his mother (is she Jemima or Janice? I'm going with Jemima) has been hiding her affair with David for even longer than that. The fear of being found out is so strong she doesn't let Peter go outside, makes him walk on his knees so he doesn't look so tall, and is very aware people might be watching her. Her anxiety is so strong that Peter feels his mother is ashamed of him just for existing

23. Beetroots & Murder — The Desolation

We have our main character burning down the good half of Sommerset, thus rendering it impossible for people who live there to get their income from growing beetroots. The fire killed his mother (and a lot of other people) and left his father with horrible burns

I'd also throw a little bit of The Vast in here because I feel bad that it hasn't been mentioned once so far. The Vast here would be in powerlessness in the face of an unstoppable fire. No matter how hard our main character tried, he still couldn't stop the fire from starting. Am I reaching here? Oh yes, you can disregard this paragraph completely

24. Susan's Holiday — there're five of them, technically

I asked my friends to help with this one because I wasn't sure which Entity would insecurity and jealousy align with, and they gave me The Lonely, The Corruption, The Spiral, The Web, and The Desolation. We'll go in order

The Lonely: self-explanatory. In this case, the fear of your partner leaving you. Stevie isn't even initially worried that Susan's going to have an affair. He thought she wanted to escape the boring life she had with him

The Corruption: jealousy is a way of "claiming" someone as belonging to you, so its unhealthy relationships angle works here

The Spiral: literally spiralling because of implications that aren't really there. Jealousy and insecurity often make people interpret others' actions in a negative light. Here, Stevie decided to follow Susan on her holiday because he thought she might leave him. There wasn't any evidence, initially

The Web: this one goes to Tracey and Susan for giving Stevie a reason to be jealous. Tracey has been making her own husband jealous for years, and now, she's advising Susan to do the same. Posting photos where it looks like Susan's flirting with other men in the background, just to make Stevie jealous so it "strengthens their marriage" is really manipulative

The Desolation: the fear of pain that comes with losing your partner to someone else

25. The Evil Make-A-Wish Kid — The Desolation

This child is an avatar, and you all know it! He brings so much pain just for the sake of pain itself. He's mean to people. He blew up his own mother while she was on the phone with his father. He blew up (or at least tied to chairs) a bunch of other people all around the city in the exact same fashion. He then blew up every petting zoo in the world because his father runs one. And then he DIED. This last one wasn't on purpose, but his father was deeply traumatised anyway. All of that happened, presumably, in a span of a couple of days at most. And we know he was like this long before the events of the play. What an icon

He's also really good at plotting, so he gets The Web as well

26. Priscilla's Final Petal — The Buried/The Dark

This one was surprisingly hard to classify despite the supernatural elements. And then I ended up not even including the undead-mother-controlling-Priscilla thing into my reasoning

The Buried is there for the financial struggles Priscilla's family has, as well as the pressure on her to practice music for hours on end. The Dark manifests in keeping Annabelle's murder — and everything connected to it — a secret

27. The Mystery Of The Midnight Circus — The Spiral/The Lonely/The Stranger

This is a Sherlock Holmes story with a murderous clown with drastically changing behaviour as the main villain. Do I need to say more? I actually don't even want to spoil this for those who haven't seen it, so ‼️spoiler warning for the plot twists‼️ Everything up until the next longform is a spoiler

I initially partially classified this as The Eye simply because it's a murder mystery but decided against it because the actual search for clues happened off-screen. Everything else, though??? STRONG Spiral vibes in this one, from Holmes's dementia to Watson's generally unstable mental state. The Lonely, though, was the catalyst for Watson's mental state to worsen. His wife left him and took the kids, he only has his job, Holmes never played fuck chess with him in his mind and is now retiring (even if not of his own volition) so Watson completely loses it and creates a whole new case for Sherlock to solve with himself as the villain

The Stranger, I admit, isn't as prominent as I initially thought. The sequences with Watson scuttling in the darkness as the clown remind me of The Unknowing with all the confusion, so that's where the Stranger parallels are coming from. Additionally, him not being who we (and Holmes) thought he was, also fit here with the themes of false identity

Also, I'm pretty sure a huge part of the reason I immediately went for The Stranger is one interpretation/headcanon I saw that sounds like something that in my life, I classify as a Stranger-relared thing. That experience, however, is not Stranger-related by default

Spoilers done, moving on

28. Caesar and Juliet — The Slaughter

I SUPPORT WOMEN'S WRONGS!!!!!

"She doesn't want democracy. She wants blood" OH I'M SURE

Everything about corrupted with power Juliet is textbook Slaughter. She killed everyone in the Senate and bathed in their blood. As well as other things that are not relevant to The Slaughter but are still wild. She has been violent for a long time to the point where people are starting to get deeply concerned. And she plotted with Maximillian to murder Caesar just to stab Maximillian in the back? Because she wanted bloodshed??? I love her so much. Ultimate girl power. What a queen Empress

29. Wine Under The Bridge — The Lonely

I love this story so much, you have no idea🥺

Troll-Son and Tobias are different than their peers (Troll-Son is such a clear queer metaphor to me, and I've seen people mention Tobias might have an intellectual disability), which can (and does) make them feel isolated. Tobias only has two friends, one of whom is a goat, and another doesn't always take him seriously, and his granddad is mean to him. Troll-Son got exiled by his father for wanting to be different. And we later learn that Troll-Father only did it because he was afraid his son would leave him eventually, just like he feels everyone in his life does

30. The Unrelenting Aubergine — The Buried (alternatively, The Flesh/The Corruption)

I am floundering here. I feel like these are a reach, because nothing fits

Farming for James feels like a chore. He doesn't like it, he doesn't want to do it, and he's bad at it. Regardless of the reasons for his failures (he and Titch think it's because he never studied; in reality, it's because the land is cursed), it's just repetitive fruitless work. Your body going through the motions because you have to continue, not because you like your job. And the closest Entity to this experience would be The Flesh, imo

The Corruption covers that aspect of relationships and community that James is lacking. He doesn't seem to have friends in the village, his relationship with his brother is strained (and, presumably, has been for a while), and both of them have some unresolved daddy issues. James (and Titch, really, but it's more visible with James) wants recognition and respect, and I think The Corruption might fit in here. If you really squint

On second thought, The Buried makes more sense, but I'm not going to delete everything I wrote beforehand. If we interpret James's struggles I mentioned as a pressure, it all clicks with The Buried. The combination of doing the work you hate with little results and lack of meaningful interpersonal connections might start to feel like you're slowly sinking beneath the very soil you are tending to. When James tries to have a partnership with David later on, he still wants to be in control. Which I wouldn’t classify as The Web here, because James is doing it not through manipulation, but through sheer power

31. The Lighthouse — The Spiral

This is the only one that's meta. The story is Spiral-flavoured, but simply because all the performers were confused half the time. This is pure chaos. What I'm getting from this is that AJ wasn't trying to play a lighthouse keeper, Sam misunderstood him, at which point AJ got confused, then everyone else got confused about what AJ was trying to do. And then everyone got on the same page, but AJ was still confused because that's AJ

And then they doubled down and established that everyone's mental stability is at risk, and it is the lighthouse's fault. And we got a story about a guy who doesn't know how lighthouses operate despite working in one. He had a different name at the beginning, but the only person who questions the new one is Poppy, who's never met him. She's great, I love her. There's also a half-human inbred sheep who does drugs and plays banjo with another sheep. He has the most braincells in the cast

Bestiality! Complicated family tree! Almost-incest! What more do you need? This play is delightful!

32. Murders in Space — The End

Humanity is on the brink of death. Two scientists are on a mission to find a new planet that's suitable for humans to live on (or they're searching for a cure. Either works). But time stretches, it's not long until the inevitable end comes, and on top of everything, there's a murderer on board of the ship. If the scientists die, or if they fail to find the fix in time, the entire human race is doomed

I was debating whether I wanted to put The Vast in here as well, but ultimately decided against it because I genuinely think I only wanted to do it because of the space theme. There isn't really anything about our insignificance on the grand scale of the universe, I don't think

33. Marigolds, Bluebells, and Hugh — too many

First of all, I absolutely love this longform. It's underrated. Second, there is stuff to unpack here

Hugh's mother is such a fascinating character. Every Entity I'm going to list is there because of her mental state. She's protecting Hugh in a very unhealthy way, although I can't blame her. She's reasonably afraid of the Bluebell King taking her son. He has flowers that obey his every command, and that can and do kill. The flowers are everywhere in the forest, so this woman is paranoid her and her son will be found. This fear, in this case, blurs the line between The Hunt and The Eye so much that I'm struggling to differentiate, so I'm listing both. She also doesn't tell Hugh the reasoning behind her paranoia. Hugh doesn't know anything about his father; all he knows is that his mother doesn't let him interact with the outside world. He's fully in the dark (or, The Dark) about everything. Then, there's the inability to separate herself from her son that reeks of The Corruption. "If you love something, lock it up," left such an impression on me. This is what she's doing! But she also wished he stayed in her womb forever. She makes sure he sleeps in the same room as her, and I'm assuming Hugh doesn't get much personal space in general. And The Corruption is often about an unhealthy love that is like a sickly sweet smell of something rotten

Then, The Lonely. Hugh's only friend got eaten by wolves dismembered by flowers, he doesn't have any connection to the outside world, and when he finally learns the truth and forgives his mother, she is taken away from him forever. Inga is in a similar position in the sense that she doesn’t seem to have friends. Not at home, not at the boarding school her father sent her to. And her relationship with her father isn't very close. Sure, these kids have each other now, but they likely spent the majority of their 10-year-old lives longing for connection

Side note: I'm done analysing this play, but I have to simp now. This is important to me. The Bluebell King is hot. Like, genuinely. The very moment Luke decided to play a tree, I was like damn. Look at his facial expressions. But also the way he moves??? When he suddenly unfreezes??? I watched this longform at least three times, and EVERY TIME, my attention is fully on that character the moment he is on stage. And sure, a lot of Luke's characters are attractive, BUT THIS THING!!! He awakens something in me. He's awoken something in me before I even knew he was a living being. During the first couple of minutes, or however long he was motionless, I was fully prepared to simp for a straight-up plant because the guy playing it decided to do one specific facial expression

In conclusion, Hugh's mother was so justified in fucking that tree. It's a shame it all went so wrong after that

Bluebell King x Reader fanfics when

34. Moist And Magical — The Hunt

The Witchfinder general is, unsurprisingly, hunting witches. He doesn't do it for money or recognition, though. I'd argue that he doesn't do it because he hates witches, either. He says himself that he's only in it for the thrill of the chase. He enjoys the hunt, and he enjoys playing with his prey. He's come for the same family of witches before, and I'm guessing that the only reason he didn't kill all of them the first time was that he wanted to draw it out for longer. This character would fit right in with those close to The Hunt in TMA canon who are not avatars yet but are steadily heading in that direction

Also, his vibes are generally predatory, in the way we'd use this word for men in power

35. Burglary and Bobsledding — The Buried

The amount of debt Mr. Skelter is in is catastrophic, actually. Two million, if I'm not mistaken (I literally JUST rewatched it and already forgot). And he doesn't have the means to pay it off, so he's placing bets on his sons winning competitions. But gambling is the thing that got him in debt. Regardless, winning this one is crucial to paying off the debt, so not only do the financial hardships feel suffocating, but there is an added weight of responsibility of winning

36. Toby's Secret Pocket — The Eye

I am blanking on this one. We'll go with The Eye because everyone wants to know what the secret pocket was for, and there's an entire police investigation for finding that out. Other than that, I don't think there's much else

37. Ballet on the Battlefield — The Buried

I'm going with The Buried because of the pressure Alexa is under from Madame Romanoff to not only be the best ballet dancer but also literally kill someone. Although I'd say some of the pressure to be the best is probably coming from her upbringing in general

38. The Phantom Of Hornchurch — The End

This feels like the most obvious explanation, given that people who get reincarnated have to first die, and that phantom Begruvia wants to bring Hell to Earth. I didn't want to go with the obvious choice, but I can't think of anything else

39. The Grape Depression — The End/The Desolation

This one starts as purely End and then morphs into something between End and Desolation. Poor harvest means starvation, and not pleasing Don Vincenzio also means starvation because he'll cut funding that could allow the family to make it through the winter. So, fear of death all around. However, with the wooden boy(s) thing, it stops being simply about death and is now about loss. We learn that the Don had a son who was taken by his enemies (loss #1), so he asks Geppetto to make him a wooden boy. For that boy to be alive, however, he needs a soul, which eventually gets taken out of Pinocchio (loss #2). Geppetto is, understandably, devastated

I could argue there's also The Dark present for Pinocchio, who has no idea about anything that's happening, and The Buried in post-canon for everyone involved because of the interpersonal tension that'll definitely arise. But I don't quite think these two are as prevalent as to be important

40. Strange Noises From The Hole In The Wall — The Stranger

Locomotion is a monster of The Stranger, the Silver Line is his domain, and I'll die on this hill. But he's one of those who were born long before the Fears were separated into clear categories, similar to what Breekon & Hope in TMA canon are, except I have a feeling that Locomotion is even older. I am not even sure he was part of what is now considered The Stranger originally, but rather, he changed with time (however much he even can be affected by it in the first place). But also, change is in his nature from the very beginning. He is the personification of the concept of travel, yes, but what is travel if not a change of place? If you're travelling long enough, don't your travels shape you? The change is constant and imminent, and the Silver Line is endless, and the train never stops. I need to write a whole post about Locomotion because I am so very normal about him

Anyway, this whole story is so Stranger. When people get on the Silver Line, where time doesn't pass like it should, they eventually lose themselves. They lose their name, they lose their self, their existence is confined to the role they get assigned on the train, until eventually, they become part of it. Where do you end and the train begins? All of the children who got turned into train cars are saved in the end, which implies that they retained some sense of self even as parts of the mechanism. Now that I say it, I realise this has some implications of The Flesh. That part of it where your worth is determined only by how much you work, but you are also just a replacable cog in a machine that is much bigger than you. We see this with Benjamin, actually, when he becomes the Coalshoveler, and Locomotion gradually transforms him more into a worker ("put you little worker's hat on", "now, put on the jacket"). I'd still say this is primarily a Stranger story, though

Another potentially Stranger-related thing is how Benjamin recognises Clarissa as a different person than the nice conductor man by her posture. Yes, in reality, it's just Sam realising Luke plays a different character in that scene, but in-universe, why isn't Benjamin's frame of reference the person's face? Do faces just... not register, or what?

I love Strange Noises so much, it's unreal. Might not be my favourite longform anymore (still in top-5, though), but the worldbuilding hits just right

41. Divorces and Teddy Bears — The Corruption

Congratulations on your ADHD diagnosis Luke I mean Snowdrop

Hey, what the fuck is happening between Mr. and Mrs. Claus?

From his point of view (as explained by elves): She is his muse. He can create and be happy only when she's with him. She inspires him just by existing. Crucially, when explaining this, the elves basically stripped Mrs. Claus of personhood. We'll get to elves in a bit

From what I've seen, she is very dear to him, and her cheating and desire for divorce completely broke him. He's been depressed since November. I see this whole situation as Santa genuinely loving his wife but being shit at communicating it

From her point of view: He loves his work more than her. She's felt this for a while, but got her confirmation after he went to catch the presents that were falling off the sleigh instead of catching her. She decides she deserves better and starts cheating on him with Javier, who's in it for the pussy, but at least he's honest about it. She is more open with Javier than with her husband or any of the elves

I'm not sure about Javier. He seems decent, but he also says he's at least 20% a dick, so idk

The elves worry me. I highly doubt that they get paid, they aren't allowed to own passports, they don't know that child labour is illegal (isolated from the outside world?), and don't see any problem neither with this treatment, nor with Santa's treatment of his wife. What the fuck. Additionally, Snowdrop blames Santa's struggle to concentrate on elves' ADHD, which definitely says something about how Snowdrop sees his disorder as an obstacle for other people. I don't know how much of the North Pole elf population shares this sentiment (definitely not all of them!) but it is worth noting

Oh, also. Elves feed on Santa's smiles, and since he has been depressed for a month, they are hungry. They never mentioned it to him this whole time

In conclusion, all of this is very unhealthy. Unhealthy relationships belong with The Corruption, as I've mentioned at least three times already

42. The Detective vs The Christmas Tree Bandits — The Hunt/The Buried(/The Lonely???)

It should start at the longform, but if it doesn't, go to minute 56

This can go so many ways from the same events. We have the detective, who is overworked and stressed. And we have the bandits, who are trying to steal the biggest Christmas tree and sell it to strippers so that they can afford their own flat

The Hunt: the detective (does he have a name? I forgot) has been trying to catch Frankie and Donnie for a long time. Frankie and Donnie have been stealing Christmas trees for the same amount of time, and they're going for the big one this time. I'd say all of this counts as hunting

The Buried: the detective is so overworked he doesn't have time for his family. He wants to protect people and make their lives better, and he's so dedicated to it that he's crushed by the amount of work he has. Frankie and Donnie are under pressure as well because they are getting evicted and they don't have much money

The Lonely: not sure about this one, but hear me out. The detective's family doesn't see him much. He's very much an absent father/husband. His work-life balance is non-existent. Frankie and Donnie only have each other in this world. Sure, none of these people are necessarily alone (Donnie didn't die SHUT UP EVERYONE HE'S ALIVE HE TOLD ME HIMSELF), but to me, it all feels haunting in a sense that you might not be alone, but you can still feel lonely

43. Death for a Dollar — The Hunt/The Spiral

For The Hunt: Bill was on the run from police for half of the story. Maria was also on the run

For The Spiral: WE CAN'T TRUST ANYTHING BILL HANNIGAN SAYS BECAUSE HE'S CANONICALLY AN UNRELIABLE NARRATOR

44. Clarissa's DIY Wedding — The Desolation/The Lonely

These people are MESSY, and I love them. I hope they figure it out. I'm genuinely rooting for them

Mark's fuckload of trauma makes him sensitive to real or perceived rejection, impulsive and easily angered. Clarissa's struggle to stay focused on the moment triggers that rejection sensitivity. As a result, their relationship is bumpy. Mark has said that Clarissa "always knew how to make him feel small," and Clarissa's utterly destroyed when Mark decides he doesn't want to marry her. She blames herself and is convinced she's never going to find love again

And then there's that whole thing of Clarissa agonising over her relationship with Mark and wanting to apologise, then deciding she doesn't need to apologise just when Mark asks for an apology, then realising she needs to apologise after all. On Mark's end, he feels betrayed and abandoned and angry, then he gives Clarissa a chance to make up, and she makes it worse instead. Mark is so upset that he goes to his abusive dad for comfort when Clarissa calls again

There's also Amanda. Who is in love with her straight best friend

Basically, we have The Desolation for the feeling of losing people you love (whether it's your fault or not) and The Lonely for not finding love again

If I'm not doing this play justice, I'm sorry. I've read so many great CDIYW analyses that I feel like I'm just going to repeat what others have already said, except I'm going to do it worse, lol

In conclusion, Clarissa has two hands. Mark/Clarissa/Amanda for the win

45. Green Leaves On A Summer's Day — The End

The Twilligers have been alive for over 200 years because Mama Twilliger can extract life force from other people and feed it to herself and her son

46. The Pilot's Final Flight — The Dark

No one knew what happened to Leyland Cavendish for 15 years. His plane disappeared, and there was no debris to be found. And I am pretty sure Leyland himself was scared because of uncertainty while in the quantum space-time loop

47. The Final Baker Of Baker Street — The Web/The Spiral

The amount of manipulation happening here is huge. Moriarty is tricking everyone by pretending to be Mrs. Hudson, Holmes is tricking everyone by pretending to be evil (and secretly stealing people's dough). The mind games are mind gaming. That's The Web. The Spiral is here because the characters and the audience alike are concerned for Holmes's mental wellbeing. His evil act is very convincing

Shout out to The Stranger, as well. Moriarty survived by swapping his first name with his surname and pretending to be a different person, after which he admitted he wasn't sure who he was anymore

48. The Hobnob Affair — The Lonely

John's girlfriend just broke up with him. Meanwhile, at Campbell's blacksmith-bakery, Angus is being a shit father to Cindy as a way to protect her from meeting the same gruesome end as her mother, resulting in Cindy feeling isolated (her mother became a pastry, her father is horribly abusive). Angus himself admits he's lonely (his wife became a pastry, he doesn't spend any quality time with his daughter)

49. And So It Begun — The End/The Extinction/The Stranger

It is a zombie apocalypse story, so The End is everywhere, basically. A lot of people are dying

The next question is, is it Extinction or Stranger? Because it can go either way. We don't know where the zombie virus came from, so it could very well be man-made, thus making zombies the result of scientific achievements and grouping them under The Extinction. However, zombies in general (although not the typical kind of zombies) belong to The Stranger in TMA. But normal zombies fit here, too, if we look at them from the loss-of-identity point of view

50. The Off-Season — The Web

The plots are plotting

Okay, so. We have Lord Roland constructing an intricate plan of marrying his daughter to John Jacob to win his bet. We have Sam's rich character whose name I forgot shooting John Jacob so that Lord Roland loses. We have Mrs. Daltrey — a paid actress of many faces — spy on Angelina for years while working for her father and then blackmailing him. And then we have Angelina, who knew all about her father's plans and did her own thing to turn them into her favour. There's so much plotting and manipulation in this play

Can I just say, I love the fact that we call the unnamed deuteragonist Angelina. Let's go. What a great name

51. Sorry About My Nan — The Stranger

Ethel can bring about The Unknowing all by herself. She's either an avatar or knows avatars. I don't know, but it doesn't matter too much. She scares people just by existing, so she might be an avatar, actually

She literally changes who people are. Everyone affected by her shenanigans says that knowing her is life changing. The farmhand phrases it as, "She tears you apart and then rebuilds you," which is so very straightforward, except I'm assuming he meant that figuratively, which is fine because we're talking about identity. Those who were subjected to Ethel's tests say it changed them as people, and they behave differently, too. Or, at teast Jim does, we've not really seen how exactly it changed the others. But to me, it seems that after the tests, Jim, Lucy, and the farmhand all talk kind of similarly? I might be wrong about this, though

And then there's the tests themselves. That entire experience is so surreal I was considering putting it with The Spiral, but then I realised that it's low-level Unknowing. For those unaware, The Entities try to establish their rule over the world using rituals. The ritual of The Stranger is called The Unknowing, it takes the form of a performance, and looks like whatever Ethel was doing, except about 10 times bigger. There's the ringmaster-like figure, there are guest performers, there is a whole audience, there's the air of confusion as to where we even are and who we're with and what's going on. Jamie mistakes the Cabaret Host for Ethel! Wilhelm transforms into Lucy! Jim behaves out of character when prompted to fight! Jamie and Jim write the letter of complaint about their friendship as one entity! Where does one of him begin and the other end in that scene? What even is a "self"?

Also, I'm convinced Ethel, Wilhelm, and the Cabaret Host can all see through the fourth wall. Ethel is doing... something when Jamie and Jim are talking near the beginning, and Wilhelm-as-Lucy looks straight into the camera at one point. The Cabaret Host directly interacts with the audience, and although he's talking to the one that's diegetic, it doesn't seem like there's much of a difference. The fourth-wall-breaking might not be Stranger in nature, but it is still strange as fuck

Is it obvious yet which Entity is my favourite? Considering the amount of yapping? Good

52. The Creak In The Attic — The Lonely

L was in that attic for decades, completely alone, unseen, unable to communicate in any way apart from the creaking floorboard, feeling angry, scared, and betrayed. Junior probably also feels lonely, given that his family just moved and he doesn't have any friends in the new place. I'd assume Melson Nelson (or whatever his name is) hasn't been able to open up to people after his childhood friend died because of him all those years ago, which is a pretty isolating experience

53. The Bard with a Scar — The Desolation

The dragon completely destroyed Alan and Frankie's village and their loved ones on their wedding day, likely tainting the memory forever

I realise I classify a lot of fire-related things as The Desolation, and it might feel a bit hypocritical considering my adamance to not group war-related stuff under The Slaughter, but I'm not doing it on purpose, it just fits

54. The Enigma Of The High Visionary — The Vast/The Corruption

Can we appreciate how gorgeous Tom is in this video? Because I am floored

Uhhh, anyway. This is a story about a cult, and Thomas Sr. is in the cult specifically because he felt he wasn't enough. Life doesn't have a meaning, we're just floating on a rock in space, and we can't do anything substantial. This reasoning aligns with The Vast, now that I think about it, which I'm happy about because this is the first time it genuinely fits. I've tried to fit The Vast somewhere three times already but gave up every time

What I was initially saying is The Corruption. Thomas Sr. found a community (a really shit community, though) that helped him through his existential crisis (he should've gone to therapy instead). (Estrogen could've saved her). You know what, the more I think about it, the less sure I am about The Corruption because Thomas's reasoning for joining the cult is his internalised feelings of insignificance, not lack of support, or longing for companionship. I'm not taking this one out, but know that it's on thin ice

55. Never Give Annabelle A Gun — The Hunt

Okay, so Henry is a fucking predator. In the way we'd describe men in power, except this guy feels worse than the witchfinder

This guy. Is an officer. And he's pursuing Annabelle, who's 18 years old. So he has power over her in multiple ways. He's an adult man, and she's a barely adult woman in a time when sexism was even worse. He can easily put her in jail because he has proof she's been robbing banks. He could've killed Butch if he wanted to. He definitely enjoyed torturing her. He's completely blinded by his obsession with Annabelle, and he lets that feeling guide him, lets his desire to be with her become his ultimate goal. I'm glad his head exploded

On a more light-hearted note, Annabelle and Butch robbing banks for the thrill of it (or, rather, so that they can confess their feelings in the heat of the moment) is also Hunt-coded. They're criminals for fun! Good for them!

56. The Haunted Diary Entry — The End

The diary is like The Book of the Dead, except not as lethal, and you don't need to skin anyone to put them in there. And you can't summon their spirit from it, only return it to the body. And--- okay, it's not like The Book of the Dead at all

Anyway, it's still of The End. Everyone who reads the book gets their soul trapped in it, and Agatha draws her life force from those trapped within. This is pretty straightforward

57. I Don't Want To Visit Grandma — The Hunt/The Slaughter

Not sure which one it is because, on one hand, there's a lot of chasing involved. Grandma's been hunting demons all her life, and the demon in her basement/cellar is keen on eliminating the entirety of her bloodline. On the other hand, the end goal of the chase (especially for the demon) is the kill. He wants to bring Hell to Earth, and that would entail a lot of killing

Total Entity ranking:

The Lonely — 11

The Hunt — 11

The Web — 10

The Stranger — 9

The End — 8

The Spiral — 7

The Desolation — 7

The Buried — 7

The Eye — 6

The Corruption — 6

The Slaughter — 6

The Dark — 5

The Flesh — 3

The Extinction — 3

The Vast — 2

I might've miscounted some of them by a couple of points if the Entity was in the explanation and not the title(?), but who cares. Also, I wasn't expecting the top 3 to place so high, and I wasn't expecting The Vast to place so low. If anyone wants to debate me on my assignment of Entities, please do! I'd love to hear your thoughts!

#sfth #sfthposting #shoot from the hip #shoot impro #the magnus archives #magpod #tma entities #i am not tagging every longform and every entity because that would be too many tags #also just in case tma fandom please don't spoil protocol to me i'm still not caught up with season 1

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iwanthehawktuahcookie · 1 month ago

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I hope no one else has to experience slowly realizing that the new laptop you JUST GOT is the wrong model and doesn't meet your needs.

#aka I got the macbook air when I should've gotten the pro #this is what happens when you basically only have 1 day to decide on the computer you're going to be using for the next 5 years #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #I HATE APPLE #I DONT EVEN HAVE AN APPLE PHONE I HATE THIS SHIT😭😭😭#I'm tired and I want this stupid project over with #I hate life #I must be being tested because wtf #hgrdhm47kjr4kjey25jj5wjwtjq5jq5i

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musicat9 · 2 days ago

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can't believe it's my first time drawing teo and this is what i make

#✨🔩✨#oc tag: teo #and fern!#*holds up ferret to the camera* have you seen her? now you have :)#why is it teo who gets the silly doodle dump as his introduction. how did that happen #trying to figure out a design for him was hard bc i kept just automatically picturing him w modern hiking gear instead #still haven't really fully figured it out. just the basic concept of what if long coat + boots #though actually i've given a lot of these guys coats but i somehow haven't given anyone a big cape or cloak yet. maybe i'll give teo that #instead whenever i actually do a full design for him #anyway. introducing teo. the hunter of my octopath ocs. not as silly as these intro doodles would imply #path actions provoke/mug (w mug not able to use monsters. the same way provoke is only using monsters. to balance it technically being two #fight path actions)#he used to be part of this hunter group that. i'll give them a proper name later but for now i've been calling them the poachers even thoug #that's not technically accurate but that's very much the vibe. would kill anything for fame wealth + glory w no regard to the effect on the #natural ecosystem. then one day a hunt went terribly wrong. one of the younger members of the group died + investigating the 'lair' afterwa #*afterward teo found that the creature had babies. the reason it was fighting so hard was to try to protect them. and the poachers killed #it as a trophy #and teo had this realization of. what we're doing isn't good actually. and no amount of money or fame will bring that dead apprentice back #so he left. ran off to live alone in the woods. took the last survivor of the dead creature's kids with him to raise #intending to just look after it until it was old enough to take care of itself but by the time it grew up it had gotten attached to him +#decided to stay + that's where fern comes from!#anyway that's all the backstory. fast forward a few years. teo's story actually starts when another of the poachers shows up at his home in #the woods trying to get him to come back for one last hunt. causes a bunch of other problems along the way. + teo decides that leaving #wasn't enough + he has to put a stop to the poachers himself #anyway. fern being a ferret/weasel thing was specifically inspired by the giant weasel enemies that probably exist in both games but i dist #*distinctly remember getting absolutely killed by in octopath 1. so. make of that what you will i guess #giant weasels are cool! but at the start of the story while she's grown enough she could leave + live on her own in the wild if she wanted #fern's still very much a juvenile. not at her full adult size + strength yet. she'll get there

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dameronspector · 2 months ago

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Calling them by something else than your nickname for them

Pairings: All x GN!Reader

Summary: this is basically inspired by that trend where people call their partners by their names instead of nicknames and because I’ve tried this on my bf, and he gets sad everytime LOL!

Warnings: Brief angst for Bob and Bucky but otherwise, it’s just cutesy stuff <3 wrote this in a hurry, hope y’all like it! please like and reblog 🤭

divider by @saradika

Joaquin Torres

There was this trend going around lately, where people called their partners with their name instead of nicknames. And you just knew that you had to try this on Joaquin because 1) he lived to hear you call him ‘Quino’ or ‘Jay’ or ‘Baby’ and 2) you only called him Joaquin when you had something serious to discuss or when the two of you were fighting.

Letting out a giggle, you decided to try this on him through text first. It was a Sunday, so he was out in the gym with Sam while you were lounging around in your shared bedroom, enjoying a day off from work.

You: Joaquin.

You: Could you go to the store and get some bread? We’re out, and we need it for the sandwich we’re making today.

You knew that he had a special ringtone for your text notifications, so you didn’t have to wait that long before he replied back.

And you were right, approximately a minute later, he replied back and you burst out in laughter.

Quino 💟: ?

Quino 💟: did something happen? are you okay?

Quino 💟: did I do something?

You: ..no? Why?

Quino 💟: 😟

Quino 💟: im coming home

You almost felt bad for freaking him out like that. Almost.

The door opened a few minutes later and—

“Baby?”, he called out as his feet pattered against the hardwood floors, quickly making his way around the apartment to get to you.

You bit your cheek to stop from laughing in his face, busying yourself with your phone by pretending to read something on it.

He finally entered the bedroom, chest heaving from how he had basically ran here, hands resting on his hips and you were so sure his cheeks were splotched with red from the work out.

"Hey, angel?", he called you once again, his voice coming out in a breathy manner.

You hummed and finally looked at him. His toned arms glistening with sweat, the tank top stretched tight across his form and his body glowing with sweat, curls falling into breathtaking waves around his head and a cute dent in between his brows.

It's annoying how gorgeous he is.

"Are you okay?"

You furrowed your brows, "Why do you keep asking that, Joaquin?"

He winced. His mouth tugged into a frown and brown eyes blown wide. You almost gave up.

"Did--did I do somethin'?", he asked in worry, making his way over to the bed and sitting down in front of you, hands restlessly braced against his thighs, twitching to hold yours in his.

You feigned confusion, "What-Joaquin, if something was-"

"That!", he interrupted you loudly, looking at you incredulously.

You blinked, "That, what?"

He groaned like a child, this close to stomping his feet, his face adorably scrunched up in annoyance, "You keep calling me Joaquin!", and he pouted.

You pursed your lips, "Joaquin, come on, is that not your name?", eyes sparkling with mischief.

His eyes widened again, hands coming up to cradle your face in them and he leaned close, "Angel, stop that! That's not my name. It's Quino or Baby to you", he stressed, face melting into confusion and sadness both.

You took a good look at his saddened face, brown eyes looking at you like a kicked puppy, his plush lips twisted into a frown and voice so soft that you couldn't help but let out a sweet giggle.

He sulked even further and you finally put your hands on his face, unable to resist from consoling him any longer. He tilted his head in confusion at your reaction.

"I'm sorry, baby. It was just a prank", you confessed in between giggles.

He perked up at the nickname, eyes blinking in realisation before he groaned, "You're mean", his cheeks squished by your hands, lips molded into a pout because of it.

You scrunched your nose, "Maybe. But you, are so cute", you cooed and leaned in to kiss his lips and cheeks.

"Don't do that again. I was so worried", he muttered lowly, leaning into the kisses you pressed to his cheeks, hands coming around your waist to hold you close.

You breathed a laugh against the swell of his cheek before moving to his forehead and peppering soft kisses on it. You pulled back and looked at him, his mouth still set into a pout.

Holding his chin in your hand you kissed his pout, before pulling away to kiss his cheeks again.

"My quino", you muttered against his cheek and he let out a content sigh, humming in agreement before burying his face into your neck.

Bob Reynolds

One of Bob's most favorite thing about dating you, was that you almost never called him Bobby or Bob. 'Bobby' was a sore spot for him, because his father had tainted it by his demeaning and abusive behavior and 'Bob' was, well, boring, because everyone called him that. You though? You'd rather call him 'Rob', 'Babe(s)' or his personal favorites: 'Honey(bee)' or 'Bear'.

Imagine the confusion and heartbreak he felt, when you had accidentally called him Bob during a late night meeting today.

The entire team had gathered in the conference room of the Watchtower for a group meeting, regarding the next mission that all of you were going to take part in. You had a habit of taking notes, Bob knew this well and he often carried your diary with him, your neat and organised notes helping him massively.

"Bob, could you pass me my diary?", you offhandedly requested him, your attention shifting to the other side as Ava asked you something.

Bob paused, an uncomfortable look crossing over his face before he schooled it and handed you your diary. You whispered a small thank you before jotting down all the important information, your head buried into the diary meanwhile Bob looked at you in longing, his thumb picking at the skin around his pointer finger in nervousness.

Had he done something wrong? Why did you call him Bob? Did he upset you in some way? His brain was working overtime to convince him that he had upset you. That he had done something wrong like he always does. It was agonising to sit through the meeting, his thoughts were spiraling and chest aching, lips turning red from how much he was gnawing on them with his teeth.

Finally the meeting ended an hour later, Bob at his wit's end and the moment it was done, he speed walked to his room, to avoid talking to anyone. He shut the door and sat on the bed in silence, the noise in his head making it physically impossible for him to stand. He wasn't sure what you would do if you came looking for him. Would you get mad? Would he say something that he'll regret later? What if you don't come looking for him, at all? He swallowed his tears with great difficulty and chose to distract the intrusive thoughts by reading a light hearted book.

You on the other hand, were confused. He was sitting right next to you, where did he disappear suddenly?

"Guys, where's Bob?", you asked everyone in confusion. They looked around the room helplessly and seemed to have realised at the same time as you.

"He- he was right here...", Yelena murmured lowly.

"I think I saw him go out...Don't know where", Alexei replied casually, your eyebrows scrunching further. You took their leave and immediately left the room, checking in his favourite reading nook first- he wasn't there. Then you checked in the kitchen, he liked to have tea before sleeping, so you thought he must be preparing that but, no luck. You checked in your room, and he wasn't there either. There was only place left to check, his own room.

You let out a sigh of relief as you opened the door to his room. There was, sitting on the bed with a book in his hands, black sweatpants covered legs outstretched, his maroon sweater making him look extra soft, hands half covered with the oversized sleeves and his curls were shorter now, they fell on his forehead in soft waves, making him look like an angel. The golden hue of the lamp from the sidetable made his profile glow, gentle hands thumbing the pages carefully.

"Honey, I've been looking for you", you announced in a quiet voice, shutting the door behind you just as carefully, not wanting to scare him. He still flinched, glossy blue eyes looking up at you in surprise, as if he couldn't believe you're here. You frowned and sat next to him, your legs folded snugly and body facing his.

"What's wrong? You didn't tell me you were leaving", you asked him softly, a hand coming up to brush his hair back. He licked his lips, eyes observing your face closely. his eyes shining in the low light.

"You're not upset with me?", he asked tentatively, as if he was anticipating a fight.

You frowned harder, "Why would I be upset, babe?"

His eyes widened slightly, swallowing thickly. You watched a light pink blush dust his cheeks and ears.

"I- well. You...you called me Bob today, in the meeting", he managed to blurt out, his deep voice coming out scratchy because of how long he had sat in silence.

"I-I don't understand...", you trailed in deep thought. He thought you were upset because you called him Bob?

He rubbed his eyes with a hand, trying to distract himself from the embarrassment, "You don't call me Bob. You call me Babe. Or-or Honey. I just...I thought you were upset because you didn't say any of those names. So yeah...That's...that's it."

He was red in the face as he finished talking, his fingers fiddling with the book and eyes avoiding yours at any cost. You felt your heart melt. He was so observant with everything you did, it was a blessing yet curse. Curse, because his beautiful mind ended up reaching to conclusions that weren't true in any capacity.

You smiled at him softly, a hand gingerly taking his book and placing it face down on the bed before climbing on his lap, your legs going around his waist and arms circling his neck. He froze before hesitantly wrapping his arms around your back, securing you in his arms and stared at your collarbones instead, a somber look on his face that somehow, made him look softer.

"Honey, I'm so sorry", you cooed earnestly, a hand massaging the curls by the nape of his neck.

"Everyone kept calling you Bob, so I just happened to unknowingly pick it up, and called you that in a flow. I swear, I am not upset with you. I was just distracted. I'm really sorry, babe", you mumbled sincerely, pressing a tender kiss to his pointed nose.

He then looked up at you, his ocean blue eyes staring at you in wonder, face awash with relief and fondness. He buried his face into your neck and brought you closer, nose pressed into the skin and lips brushing against it as he spoke in a meek voice, "No, don't apologise. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions like that...I'm sorry, (Nickname)", arms wound tightly around your back, curls tickling you lightly.

You smiled lovingly and leaned your head against his, hands smoothing across his broad back, and rocked your bodies side to side.

"It's okay, baby. I got you", you breathed out and kissed his temple, him returning it with a kiss to your neck.

Bucky Barnes

Bucky's first name itself was a nickname, yes. But the nicknames that you gave him were so special to him, that he'd feel like he was missing something if you didn't call him by any one of those.

They had a wide range: you'd call him 'Bucko' if you were feeling clingy, or 'James' if you were feeling particularly romantic and you'd call him 'Babe' or 'Baby' in almost every sentence. You'd call him 'Honey' if he was having a bad day, keeping the tone as sweet as honey to soothe him and he'd melt into a puddle in your arms. There were other silly names that you'd call him to tease him: old man, peepaw and sometimes, baby girl (that one confused him, because he's not a girl??? you told him he wouldn't understand. He sulked, Sam and Joaquin made fun of him.)

He hated how you'd call him 'Barnes' when you were angry. You two rarely argued, but when you did, it would be hurtful because neither of you liked to yell at the other. So it was usually sharp defenses thrown towards each other, or silent treatment.

Bucky hated both, but he hated when you'd call him 'Barnes' in that rough, irritated and solemn voice, even more. He felt like you were his colleague instead of his soulmate, then. He'd feel his chest ache, every single time.

So imagine his shock, when you called him that right now, as he was in the bedroom, picking out clothes for today's Senate meeting while you were in the kitchen.

"Barnes!"

He straightened up, the hair on the back of his neck standing up as well. He felt like a soldier in the barracks again, the way he was standing in attention at your call. He took the time to think about what did he do today, did he do something to piss you off? Did he forget something? He felt a brush against his legs, and he looked down to look at the tiniest, white furred member of the Barnes household.

"D’you know why they’re mad, Alpine?", he murmured to the cat, who stared at him with her sharp blue eyes and meowed, her eyes slowly blinking as if she was saying ‘Yes, dad.’

Bucky sighed and trudged back to the kitchen, his body sulked as he wondered what he did to make you call him by his last name.

There you were, standing by the sink, your arms folded across your chest and eyes instantly looking up as you heard his footsteps. Alpine brushed past him and stood by you elegantly, as if she was chiding him as well.

Bucky stood there nervously, a hand brushing over his stomach, as if calming down his nerves.

“Yes, sweetheart?”, he offered in a croaky voice, extending an olive branch beforehand.

You sighed and Bucky flinched.

You paused. Eyes observing him closely. How did you miss his tensed expression?

Furrowing your brows you walked over to him, “Hey, are you okay?”, your voice soft and careful.

Bucky swallowed before clearing his throat, hand raised to push his hair back.

“You- did I do somethin’ to upset you? I’m sorry if I did, I don’t remember-”, his voice cut off, him inhaling deeply from his nose.

“Whatever it is, I’m sorry. I don’t remember what I did, doll. I’m sorry-”

Your eyes widened. What was he saying? Why was he so anxious?

“Whoa, hey. What’re you saying, Buck? I’m not- you didn’t upset me. What’s happening?”, you replied, your hands coming up to massage his shoulders.

Bucky looked up at you in surprise, “What- but you…”, he gaped at you like a fish.

“But what, babe? You can tell me anything”, you murmured in reassurance.

And suddenly, Bucky felt stupid for assuming the worst. His ears warmed up in embarrassment.

“I-ugh. I thought you were mad at me because you…you called me Barnes”, he winced.

You frowned, “What—”

Bucky sighed, “You call me Barnes when you’re mad at me or when we’re fighting so I thought…”, he shrugged. Your face shifted in understanding and you let out a giggle, hands bracing against his shoulders. He grumbled, squeezing your waist.

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. I was just-I was annoyed because you put your damn arm in the dishwasher again!”, you let out between giggles, watching as his face slacked in relief and realisation.

“Oh-”, he gave you a sheepish smile and ducked his head shyly. You laughed and squished his cheeks.

“Please find an alternative for the arm, honey. I need that dishwasher, hm?”, you cooed and leaned in to press a kiss to his heated up cheeks. Alpine brushed against your legs, letting out a ‘mrow’ that you took as her agreeing with you.

“See! Even your daughter agrees”, you teased him and bent down to give Alpine a nice scratch. She purred.

Bucky glared at her and murmured, “Traitor”, to which she narrowed her eyes and went back to leaning into your pets again. Bucky looked at his two girls and smiled, happy that he was proven wrong.

Sam Wilson

If there’s one thing that Sam disliked the most, it’s his full name: Samuel. Ever since he was bullied for that in school, he had decided that he’d shorten it, and make ‘Sam’ as his official name instead of Samuel.

He was Sam to all his friends and colleagues, Wilson to his fellow armymen and agents, but he was Sammy to you. Now, you did have different nicknames for him, but something about the way ‘Sammy’ rolled off your tongue, made him feel all giddy and special inside. You’d say it with so much love and affection, a bright smile on your face as you called him, that he’d stop responding to your calls if you tried calling him ‘Sam’.

It began slowly, but with time, you’d realised that he did that on purpose, so that he could hear you call him Sammy instead. It was cute, the way he’d pout and sulk until you called him Sammy. It was all in jest, your relationship was like that. All teasing and giggles and full of inside jokes.

But sometimes, it just slipped from your mind.

And that some time happened to be today, as he came back from a mission, tired and exhausted. He showered, changed into his night clothes and just crashed on the bed face first, you following closely as you shut off all the lights in the house before stepping into the bedroom.

He let out a loud groan into the pillow and you smile in sympathy, sitting down next to him and smoothing a hand across his broad back.

“Long day?”, you asked quietly, the sound of the AC and a distant sound of vehicles driving past, being the only noises to be heard.

Sam inhaled deeply, his back expanding beneath your hands and he begun, “Like you wouldn’t believe. Lost our target because the intel forgot to give us the information on time. Had to run up a damn hill in a civilian area, couldn’t use the wings because we couldn’t blow our cover. That asshole made us run up and down thrice. My damn knees were dead by the second time”, his rough voice was muffled by his arms, head buried in them.

“Aw. I’m sorry, babe. C’mere”, you cooed and beckoned him close, leaning back against the headboard while he lifted his heavy body up, burying his head into your chest, strong arms wrapping around your back.

He nuzzled into your chest and sighed in contentment, “Can you read to me?”

“Of course”, you replied while picking up the book left on your side table, Pride and Prejudice, and begun reading it.

You had made Sam watch the 2005 movie and he was hooked. He thought he was hiding it well, but by the end of the movie, he was wiping his tears discreetly.

Halfway through your narration, you felt him doze off. His breathing was slower and light snores leaving his mouth.

You slowly closed your book, putting it aside and rubbing a hand across his arm.

“Sam? Let’s go to sleep, come on”, you gently coaxed him out of his slumber.

He breathed in deeply before humming, slowly lifting his head away from your chest before he abruptly paused, eyebrows furrowed.

“What’s up?”, you asked him as he laid back down on your chest, his warm embrace and woodsy scent engulfing you.

“What’d you say?”, he mumbled sleepily.

You frowned, “What’d I say..?”

“Go back, rewind a few seconds”, he jested and poked your tummy, tickling you lightly.

You squealed, “Sam! Stop—no!”, twisting around to escape his strong hold.

“Ah, Ah! You did it again!”, Sam was fully awake now, propping himself up on an arm while his free hand kept tickling you.

“Oh g-god! No! Sam, stop it! P-please! What did I do!?”, you stuttered out in between laughs.

“Babe. That’s Sammy or Babe or Baby, for you. Not Sam”, he chided you and stopped tickling, a serious look on his face.

You stopped laughing, clutching your stomach as it cramped. Once you had recovered, your face shifted in understanding, and you let out a tiny gasp.

“Oh! Ohhh…”, you smiled brightly, pinching his chin in your fingers lovingly. He jutted out his bottom lip.

“Now, gimme a proper welcome”, he grumbled and held your wrist in his big hands.

“I’m sorry, Sammy. I missed you”, you said softly and cradled his face in your palms instead.

He smiled bashfully then, gaped teeth on display and everything. You joined him, pulling him closer and kissing him lovingly.

“Say it again”, he murmured against your lips.

You giggled, pinching his cheeks, “You are so cute, Sammy.”

He hummed and buried his face in your neck again, hugging you tightly.

“Now, we can sleep”, he mumbled into your neck, pressing a kiss to your collarbone.

AN: this was a silly idea that was loitering around in my drafts for so long!!! Hope you all enjoyed this <3 might make a part 2 with other characters!

#joaquin torres x reader #bob reynolds x reader #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson x reader #fluff #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #danny ramirez #lewis pullman #sebastian stan #anthony mackie #the falcon and the winter soldier #thunderbolts #captain america brave new world

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ncteez · 7 months ago

Text

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?

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.

#nct smut #nct dream smut #lee haechan smut #haechan smut #donghyuck smut #lee donghyuck smut #nct x reader

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galene-gothic · 9 days ago

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𝖶𝗁𝗈 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 ?

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⊹ ! ೀ Pile 1 ꒱

One thing that is obvious right away is that you’re a very internal person in many ways. You try to keep your inner world as beautiful as possible and are pretty good at doing so. Many of you tend to wonder if you are or feel as though you are performing at times but because you value inner peace, you decide to just accept yourself as you are. 2019-2020 seems to have seem a significant time for many of you. For some of you it could have been upto 2023. I just heard ‘impact’. You still do have significant stuff happening in your life but no matter what comes upon you, your life feels beautiful to you because you experience it as such. Whatever you experienced impacted you so deeply that you have grown a lot of resilience and resistance to the external world, you believe that everything you need is within you. In fact, it’s not just a belief, it’s more of an awareness. You resist, avoid and might not even be able to look outside of your own awareness at times but usually, you’re aware of how other people function. As in, you can make sense of many behaviours even if you personally do not relate and it’s sometimes because you have acted similarly in the past but you also have days when you simply do not understand the way people who act badly function because you function in a very pure and loving manner. I will not lie, many of you have gone through phases in which you operated very differently so you have an understanding of such people’s mindset but you do not relate to it anymore which is a matter of pride for you because it is a testament of your own growth. I’m looking at how people perceive you in general but what’s coming through right away are the people from your past. You pretty much went non existent in their life as in, it was like you never even knew them? That’s how you’ve moved forward. Whoever this is or whoever these people are, they clearly took you for granted. Whenever they go through hard times, they think of you. Not much about them is coming through because you and your spirit guides both actively try to be present. Another thing that is coming through here is that you’ve become incredibly attractive now.

Some of you may have stepped out of your house after a long time recently or went somewhere that was out of your routine and there are people who found you incredibly attractive there. Some of you are aware that at least one of them was attracted to you but obviously, due to how internal you are, some of you may not be aware. There is someone who wanted to get your number or socials but they couldn’t? This person feels like you’re attracted to them too and they’re not sure because you’ve both only had basic human interactions for now. I can’t tell for sure whether you’re attracted to them or not but the vibe that I’m getting here is - looking at each other from across the room, looking at each other when the other isn’t looking and wanting to be around each other but not trying too hard. This person could have come in with a friend or one friend one day, another friend another day? Their friend(s) seem to have appreciated your beauty behind your back. They perceive you to be incredibly attractive. Someone whose presence is electrifying yet comfortable but they don’t feel comfortable enough to openly interact with you yet but even so, they perceive you to be a very comfortable and homely person. This person perceives you to be beautiful and as having the courage to be gentle. Aww, I just heard that you’re beautiful but that’s not the best thing about you. You are compassionate and seem very confident in that to them. They think that you have a strong mentality, mindset and attitude, and that it is a gentle internal strength that allows you to be compassionate, gentle and loving. They see you to be full of life and someone who doesn’t let their thoughts crush them. Now onto the general perception that people have of you and not just this one person, whenever you go through something that upsets you, you do not let it get to you and instead choose to move past it without giving it much if any power at all. You don’t let anything pull you down and aspire to fly higher, and higher and people can see that. People close to you are in awe of how you actively try not to let frustrating events get to you.

Now especially, you are trying to avoid ranting, venting and complaining about situations because you want to be able to process, and let things go by yourself, not giving situations, emotions and people any power. You’re comfortable by yourself and feel safe by yourself. You’re not looking for anything outside of yourself and others can tell. You trust yourself and are actively growing. You may have undergone a physical glow up and try to actively go towards that direction now but growing character wise is quite important to you too. You have a ‘first love�� vibe going for you. Let me explain how your energy feels, there’s something light about it because you’re very gentle and you interact with people openly. Some of you may have quite exaggerated expressions, mannerisms, movements or a big voice but it is still very gentle most of the time. You may high five your friends playfully and jump around if something makes you happy but it’s all gentle, when you interact with people one on one, you’re very gentle and polite. Even your vocal tone tends to be on the softer side when you interact with people from the second time onwards. Possibly first time onwards for some of you but I’m getting that when you’re not comfortable enough and not focused on the other person which is likely to happen on a first meeting with you, you talk to them in a lower octave. People find themselves looking for you before they even know it because you have a light, affectionate, elegant, sophisticated and candid ‘first love’ vibe going for you. I’m not getting you being on the extreme end of sexiness or extreme end of cuteness but instead the classic pretty and attractive type that has a light, elegant and feminine vibe going for them. I’m not sure who saw you in a lighting in which the sun was shining from behind you, sort of like a halo or the golden light was on your face and hair when you were in a vehicle at evening but oh my god, you’re on their mind. You focus on love and that causes you to possess an inner glow that comes out as some sort of a halo. You possess little to no fear due to how you focus on love.

Whenever people are around you, you make them feel incredibly loved and seen, and they feel very safe because your focus is on the positive i.e. love and joy. You’re also very ambitious and driven, and want to succeed in life but the more that you fly in life, the more that you try to place yourself on the ground. “Even the bird that flies knows that it needs to rest somewhere on the ground.” The more that you grow in life, the more successful that you get, the more that you try to be humble and place your feet down on the earth. There’s this thing in which you are becoming nicer, more loving, gentler and more humble the more that you are growing in life. Also, the more wisdom that you’re getting, the more that you’re trying to have compassion for those who aren’t as wise as you. I am not sure if I should call it compassion to be honest, you just get rid of them because you know that you do not have to be the one to change people and that they’re the problem, and you choose to focus on yourself but when people are younger than you or seem to have even just a little room for growth, you try to instil certain values into them but again, you do not really care because you think that if they take it and learn from it, it’s good for them, and if they don’t, that’s fine, you can’t do anything about it. Many of you have been wanting to eat well and workout for a while now. Some of you may want to practice dancing or something too but you’re always looking to improve yourself. Some of you look like puppies or might sleep like one, like sort of curled up. People find you adorable and some people think that you sleep or nap a lot. You may be the type to sleep during the day but I don’t that it comes from laziness, it’s more so maintenance of energy. You might study/work, eat, sleep, wake up, study/work and repeat. There are certain things that you do that you hold sacred to you and don’t share with others. For example, you might meditate, read tarot readings like you are right now, use these things as a tool to get better and you’re very in tune with yourself, and your own body right now. If you feel sleepy, you sleep so that you can function better. People perceive you as being incredibly abundant and that’s all because of the deep inner work that you’ve done, and how emotionally abundant you yourself are. Thank you for reading. I would love to know how to resonates. Much love and take care.

Synchronities: 222, people around you passing away a lot, a pet passing away, graveyard dirt, burial, recently coloured your hair and damaged it, stove, apple juice, bunny or rabbits, blush, blush + bronzer.

⊹ ! ೀ Pile 2 ꒱

Your life is funny, you are perceived as a bit harmless so people do not realise how strong you are until they test you. You do not even act out instantly or push back, you do so when the situation has long passed and you come by the right opportunity. You have had people corner on you, gang up against you and had people taunt, mock, and humiliate in social settings. People wanted to shake you up mentally and emotionally, just genuinely break you down and you do not push back until you absolutely cannot take it anymore. I don’t think that you’ve been pushed to your absolute limit yet but you’ve been pushed to the extent in which you channelled your inner strength and pushed back in some way. I believe that the way you pushed back was not direct but also very personal. Think someone wants something and you go, and get it instead. That was the kind of energy that took place. If the situation is still ongoing, I’m impressed. Even if it’s not, I’m still impressed. When you do push back, you know how to crush people down to pieces. Often, it may not even be like you’re pushing them back but that you’re simply just living your life but they feel threatened because you get what they want. You’re not exactly into drama but in the past, you were made to believe that everything was your fault by a group of people. You’re more of the type to endure things and try to resolve it maturely, and that’s exactly what you did back then but now you’ve risen above them all and gotten better so if they try to test you even though they’re not a part of your life, you’re going to crush them by simply just living like right now. You’ve grown a lot and are threatening people left, and right. For example, people who humiliated you in the past, they might like someone who likes you. Also, you have many secret admirers that NEVER come forward to you. You’ve built yourself exactly the way you wanted to and built your life exactly the way you wanted to in the process of moving past alienation. You were separated by yourself when you were friends with or acquainted with these people. There seems to be so much alienation and pain, possibly even bullying that you underwent, I’m so sorry. Your former friends who you thought of as your own tried to knock you down to a peg and make you feel guilty, embarrassed, ashamed, and lonely.

Now you’ve found clarity and cut through whatever illusion you were under, and these people are damaged so they genuinely hate you. You left them to think that they were at power but they also knew that they weren’t and now, they see that the things and people they want, you have them, the opportunity to have them, and their attention. I just heard that they’re burning. People see you as extremely merciless when it comes to your own personal goals and what it is that you want. For example, if you liked a guy and your friend liked him too but he turned out to like you back, you’d be with him. Maybe, some of you have done something like this in the past. For the rest of you, what sucks is that you could have done something like that but didn’t and it’s pretty obvious to me that you can do so now. Not to mention, you’re very harmless and loveable on the surface causing you to always have someone to rely on if you want that. Something saved you when you were struggling back then. It could be related to people but the main thing here is you. Maybe you received a lot of love and kindness that caused you to want to become the same way, and it made you act out in ways that brought about more opportunities for you. You know just how much you love and how much you’ve sacrificed for others, and you went through a process of reconnecting with yourself, of finding memories that were grounded in how things actually happened rather than in shame, fantasy or any of it. No matter what triggered you towards this path, you did things by yourself so you’re hella grateful to yourself and also others but you are placing credit where it’s due, and you know that if it weren’t for your own strength and willingness, other people wouldn’t have been able to push you down this path. People are very very very jealous of you. That keeps on coming through here. I want to look at general perceptions of you but what’s coming through is your haters and other people whose perception of you is tinged by jealousy because yes, even your friends and acquaintances tend to be jealous of you. It’s just that they keep it healthy but I wouldn’t be surprised if they turned against you at some point. It would make sense if people have turned against you in the past. I’m especially getting that while you do have one or two people who try to make you feel like shit one on one or you had people like that around you in the past.

Most people wait for the chance to have a group of people turn against you so that they can express their animosity towards you as well 😭. You’re also perceived as being possessive and jealous by those close to you. You know that love is a risk but when you’re not alone and around people, you take that risk and genuinely believe that it’s safe to love because you can always fall back on yourself. Your past experiences have shown you why it’s unsafe to love and trust but they’ve also shown you how you can, and will recover. You’re very attractive, people try to resist you but they simply can’t. I kept on getting the term ‘trophy wife’ and ‘trophy girlfriend’ earlier but didn’t want to use those terms because I find them to be quite degrading. People feel passionate towards you. You do this thing in which you look at people’s lips or their eyes directly, maybe both? Maybe even within the same conversation. You have a blank face at times yet you tend to be the first one to catch people’s eyes when they enter the room. You recently wore either red nails, red clothing, black clothing or leather, or simply something fitted that really enhanced your look and aura. The way you look, the way you dress and simply just the way you are, it looks like something that would require effort but you make it effortless at the same time. You also have this careless manner in which you speak. You talk to people casually as if they’re just any other person and you seem very comfortable interacting with them even if you just met them but if you don’t feel like it, if they greeted you, you’d either just smile at them or look at them for a split second with your hand raised as if to wave but you wouldn’t and you’d start talking to someone else who you’re more comfortable with. People try to stay away, divert their path but simply can’t do so. They can’t help but feel attracted to you and the fact that they aren’t getting over you, and your presence causes them to be even more attracted to you. Even the coldest people tend to hold a soft spot for you 🥹. You look the most attractive when it’s hot, even if you look messy and disheveled. You look good when you’re a bit sweaty and red. I need you to look at yourself after an orgasm or workout session, you’d fall in love with yourself too. You seem to be pretty confident and people tend to be confused by their attraction towards you.

Even when they try to escape, they simply can’t. I’m not sure how to put it for you here but the people who you wanted once who didn’t want you back likely find you incredibly attractive now. Also, the people who you find attractive first, you do not exactly go towards them directly but through mistakes, you’ve learned how to bewitch them in your own special way. You don’t play but you naturally push and pull so it feels like a game to the other person but at the same time, they find themselves wanting more of you. There are a lot of hormonal functions that take place when you’re around people and blood rushes to places that they weren’t even aware it could run to xD. You have principles and ethics, and seem very serious and virtuous on the surface, and honestly you don’t play about yourself but when it comes to romance, it is a playful game to you. You want something stable and serious but you want your partner, and you to continue playing and seducing each other overtime. So when you aren’t with someone yet, you do the same thing. Seduction happens overtime and through subtleties, and that’s something that you seem to be aware of. So you’re very good at seducing even if you personally think that you have some anti seductive traits. You know how to make people feel desired without degrading yourself and your own worth. You have seriousness and a sentimental side but you’re extremely fun loving, and joyful. You are also not ashamed of experiencing pleasure. Post nut guilt doesn’t make sense to you because you never it xD. You instead experience intense pleasure and the desire to get even more of that. You prefer body thrumming pleasure that has your body slightly tingly all over even after hours. You express your desire for people through your eyes or people feel like you are doing so. “Most communication is non verbal” and you’re proof of that because you communicate whatever you have to in order to attract people without having to speak to them. Thank you for reading. I would love to know how to resonates. Much love and take care.

Synchronities: 333, lilith 10th/11th house, mango ice cream, red nails, leather, fitted clothing, spanish, ‘senorita’, flag of Spain?, lace, cat, kittens, 888, swan, sequins, ballet flats, yoga, meditation, heart chakra.

⊹ ! ೀ Pile 3 ꒱

There is something very angelic about you. I’m picking up on a lot of shimmer, pink, blue and highlighter but what interesting thing is coming through is that despite your angelic and softer, more feminine appearance, in romance or personal connections, you are a bit dominant. I personally don’t think that it’s dominance but more so that you’re a very serious person who is self controlled and you desire the same behaviour from those in your inner circle. You do not look around when you’re in a relationship so if your partner was to do so, you’d lose your mind. You want a partner who does everything and anything to maintain self control, and keep you as the only one in their heart and mind. You can seem very rigid and strict, and even a bit controlling but it’s only because you have high standards for yourself and others. I’m picking up on really intimate messages here so if you haven’t gotten physically intimate with anyone, it is simply about emotional intimacy. You understand intimacy very deeply and sex is likely entwined with emotions for you. Some can pick up on it and if you have ever gotten involved with someone in that manner. You turned into an absolute sex goddess in bed 😭. If you haven’t yet, this will be you in the future so I’d stick around. Your appearance and energy are more light, and airy in perception but are very serious as well as devoted in a relationship. Also, quite strict so when in bed, when you turn into a freak, it is a pleasant surprise but the depth that you possess in a close romantic relationship and in bed cannot be matched. People often want to spend their entire lives admiring the marks that you’ve left on them, be it literally or figuratively. You are an intense lover and if someone wants to get lost with you, and experience emotions deeply, experience passion deeply, you’d be the right match for them but the wrong people will be repulsed and overwhelmed by you.

When you touch people, you want it to be endless. In fact, when you touch yourself too, you wish it could be endless. You love pleasure and the feeling of intimacy. Being with you means to burn. Their emotions become very obvious. When someone gets close to you in a romantic manner, their conscious and subconscious collides causing their emotions to flow quite intensely. Anyone who enjoys indulgence in feelings and sensations would love you. Your love is endless but it comes at the small price of your possessiveness, extreme passion, emotions, strictness, anger and what others would consider to be ‘controlling’. You’re definitely deeply devoted though. You are the type to linger around people when you’re attracted to them 😭. Touching someone’s body in a sexual manner is a method of kissing their soul to you. If you’ve ever gotten intimate with someone physically, they may have cried or expressed a lot of emotions during, or after the activity. You are perceived to be very emotional by people especially your own romantic partner. Some of you may hold sexuality to be sacred and others know of it. Some of you may look like a bunny or have bunny teeth, or do your makeup as such. You are the type to find only one person and only them attractive, and loveable when in love. Your eyes literally don’t wander so you want the same and you make it very clear to others. To those who are the same way and who appreciate such qualities, you are literally the most beautiful person. Regardless of whether you’re conventionally attractive or not, you’re perceived to be the most attractive person by some. People around you know that you receive a lot of romantic attention. A pretty smile, innocent gaze and sweet scent, that’s you. Pink and blue are your best colours. Princessy, barbie like and siren like looks suit you the best. In fact, many of you already dress and adorn yourself this way.

I’m not sure if all of you possess all of these vibes and looks but those of you who do resonate with the mermaid/siren look, and archetype, you give off the vibes of the ones in Pirates of the Caribbean. Some of you will pull off more of one look and vibe than the other but many of you can pull off all of them. Maybe, you lean more towards one of the above because you’ve actually tried it but if you try out other looks and find what works for you, you’ll find that other styles suit you too. When I say ‘siren’ vibe and look, I’m not talking about femme fatale style though that could be the case for some of you but more so an ethereal mermaid-like style. I just heard that you’re a total babe but you look like a sweetheart, even though you are a man-eater. You’re not a man-eater as in you chew up and spit them out but more so that once you start getting really close to a man, you stick with them in a way in which you destroy them. I’m not sure how to say this without making you seem like an energy vampire but when men exert any energy towards you especially energy that causes you to have negative experiences, you use it to grow and glow up in some way. Your quality of life gets better with every man that you deal with, be it negative or positive. Of course, if you are a heterosexual male or homosexual female, it’s going to differ. Some of you may have liked or simply just noticed Cinderella the most out of any other Disney princesses when you were younger. I honestly think that you share many similarities with her but I’ll just let this one line speak for me - “while Cinderella was abused, humiliated and finally forced to become a servant in her own house, and yet, through it all, Cinderella remained ever gentle and kind.” You are generally perceived to be very kind and gentle. Even your mannerisms and the way your body moves, it’s like it’s flowing. That’s all I’m getting for you today. Thank you for reading. I would love to know how to resonates. Much love and take care.

Synchronities: fashion/fashion designing, nyx nude mega shine lip gloss, any nude lip liner, Laila Majnu, mac angel, revlon primrose, pink rose, pink, blue, Pirates of the Caribbean, blue bra, zaalima female part, Cinderella, ‘so this is love’, ‘a dream is a wish your heart makes’, Barbie princess and the pauper.

#pac reading #tarot pick a card #pick a card reading #tarot pac #pac #pick a card #intuitive readings #pick a photo #pick a deck #paid readings

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steern · 3 months ago

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How I enter the void- state

I’ll try not to make this too long, while still answering everything that might confuse anyone. Because at the end of the day, getting into the void isn’t that hard—if you reframe how you look at it.

First, I’ll just get into what I actually do, then I’ll cover all the rest.

If you read my last post, you know I see the void simply as a state not tied to any identity. Basically a clean state, pure consciousness. Now how do I get there?

You can do this whenever you like, I usually do this at night, but I’ve done it in the daytime too. But I recommend that you’re not too tired when doing this.

I lay down, close my eyes and just.. try to relax first. Not meditation or anything like that, just calming myself a bit. Then I slowly start off stripping away parts of my current identity.

They’re simple affirmations like:

I am no one. I am not tied to any identity. I do not identify with any identity. I am. (You can say whatever feels right to you.)

I just do this to start off, but the real “method” is the deciding. You have to now decide that you indeed are not longer tied to any identity, that you are pure consciousness.

Once you do that, you’ll be in the void, though it might "take a bit”. I will admit the first few times it took longer for me too, but nowadays it’s a matter of a few minutes.

Now, onto addressing all the possible questions or problems you might have:

1. How do I not let current identity thoughts or sensations distract me or make me fall out of the state?

First off, the void isn’t about stopping thoughts or sensations. It’s about dropping them—letting them go. When thoughts or feelings pop up, don’t engage with them. Don’t judge them, fight them, or try to push them away. They’re just noise. They’re no longer yours.

Remember, you’re not here to “feel” something or to have a big experience. The void is the stillness when you’re not identifying with anything. So, if a thought like “this isn’t working” arises, just repeat to yourself, “That thought is not mine. I’m no one right now,” and let it pass.

If you feel a body sensation, just label it as “not mine.” It’s just the last remnants of identity. Don’t react to it. The more you not even ignore, but dismiss it, the less power it has. Because at the end of the day, only you decide what has power over you and what doesn’t. Don’t give it weight. Only you decide what has power.

And most importantly—don’t wait. If you’re waiting, you’re still in ego. There’s nothing to wait for. You’re already no one. Stay in the stillness and allow the shift to happen naturally.

2. How do I know if I’m in the void?

You’ll know when you’re in it—because there’s nothing else to know. No thoughts, no sensations, no “me.” Might not be the answer you expect, but as long as you don’t actively assume that being in the void feels like… I don’t know, floating in the galaxy, it’ll simply feel like nothing. If you’re questioning it, you’re not there yet. But once you are, you’ll feel the difference.

I hope this helped. Please remember that things like LOASS, the void state and shifting can all be so incredibly easy— if you let them be!

#reality shifting #shiftblr #law of assumption #shifting realities #loassblr #loassblog #void state #neville goddard #shifting antis dni #shifting motivation #shifting community #shifting blog #permashifting #loass success

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izadi234 · 19 days ago

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A/N: Hello! I know I KNOW I said I would post the next chapter of Forget me not BUT! My sister got me obssed with Kpop Demon Hunters, and since its release, I've been down bad for every single character from that movie ever since so here is one of my ideas!

Famous Producer! Reader (Romantic) x Kpop Demon Hunters

Bodyguard! Father! Reader (Platonic) x Kpop Demon Hunters (kind of)

This small draft is about Huntr/x and I'm planning to write one about the Saja Boys in this same storyline.

ACTUAL FANFIC / STORY: Shooting Star 1

Imagine you being a famous producer. You've been working with tons of famous idols, from groups to solo idols, but the ones that were your favorite and the cherry on the top for your career were Huntr/x.

And no, you didn't meet them just because. You see, the girls need new ideas not only for songs or dances but to advertise and produce their songs at the beginning of their career and despite having the old producers from the 'Sunlight Sisters' their ideas were... old, and they didn't get the ideas that Huntr/x had in their minds.

That's when your father came in. He was a bodyguard, specifically the 'Sunlight Sisters' bodyguard and later on Huntr/x's. He saw how his girls struggled with explaining their ideas to the old producers, so he gave them your number, and after a lot of things about it, they told Bobby to schedule an appointment with you.

At first, you didn't think too much when you saw the email of this guy named Bobby and just decided to give it a shot because of the name of the group, which you found cool.

But your jaw dropped when you recognized the girls or, specifically, the girl.

Rumi. Kpop royalty. She was at your door with two of her friends. And she wanted you to produce their first song. Yeah, you.

You were a bundle of nerves, and to be honest, you made a fool of yourself in front of them. Just a bit. But they found that very cute.

"So... You're (Name), right?" Rumi asked kindly as she smiled at you

Meanwhile, you were staring at her and her friends as if you've never seen someone like them, but her voice pulled you back to earth.

"I uh... Sorry, what was the question?" You chuckled nervously

They couldn't think of you as more than a cute and a bit awkward producer but damn weren't their jaws down to the floor when you started working.

Your face changed immediately. Your eyes were focused, and your lips were in a fine line as they explained to your their song and ideas. They waited for you to interrupt them once you got confused but that never happened.

Once they finished explaining themselves, you started giving them some ideas and suggestions, leaving them completely surprised that you had understood their vision.

"We know there is a lot we are asking for, so it would be valid if you had doubts or didn't understand at all" Zoey said, a bit embarrassed, not by their ideas but the complexity and how she thought none of them could explain themselves

"Oh no. I understood," you assured her."So basically, what you want is..."

Yeah, and you proceed to explain exactly what they all wanted for their song and it's production.

Ever since that day you became their producer and friend... Well, at least that's what you call them, for them you were more than a friend.

But it wasn't only your personality or work that pulled them towards you. You had something special, something that made the moon honmoon around you react differently.

Around you, the honmoon was yellow, a very chirpy and happy yellow, but you never seemed to notice it, or if you knew it, then you never paid mind to it.

For our 3 hunters, it was fascinating and scary. Maybe you were hurting their honmoon without knowing, or maybe you knew about it but didn't know what to do about it. They were sure that you weren't doing it on purpose as they didn't feel tense around you but didn't know what to do.

That's when they went to Celine. She was impressed and excited which left the girls confused but then she explained herself.

"As you may know, yellow is one of the 5 principal colors of Korea. It represents fertility and abundance, but many years ago, it represented high status and wisdom. Ever since the first hunters appeared, there's been a few people who presented this kind of color with the honmoon. Those people had an ability that was believed given by the gods so they could help fight evil. They're gifted with powerful minds full of emotions and creativity, which later one was discovered could help the hunters write and perform their songs better and give the honmoon more strength. Not every generation was lucky enough to meet one of these 'shooting stars' as they called them, but the three of you must be the luckiest of all. Now that you're so close to seal the golden honmoon, this shooting star appears right in front of you. Let them help you, but don't tell them anything. They may get scared and don't understand our duty as hunters"

And that's how your friendship began.

Meanwhile, your father was happy that you had found some friends in those girls (even though he noticed the way the three of them looked at you or how they asked about you) and to be honest he would be more than happy to see you with them in a more romantic relationship but that was your decision to make.

"Hey F/N (Father's Name)! Have you seen (Name)? I wanted her opinion about some lyrics" Zoey said as she walked into a room where your father was resting and talking with Bobby

"Oh. They must be at their apartment" he said

"Really? Oh, well. And do they like jajangmyeon?"

"What does that have to do with checking some lyrics?" He asked her

"..."

"Zoey..."

Before anything else happened, Zoey ran away like a little child that had been caught painting the walls.

----------------------------------------------------

"Hey F/N! Bobby!" he heard Rumi's voice behind both men that were discussing the girls' schedule for the day

"Rumi" F/N greeted her with a small nod while Bobby greeted her with more energy

"I've been wondering... Is (Name) coming to our show tonight?" She asked a bit nervous

"I don't know. I guess so" he looked at herwith his eyes half open in a suspicious way

"Why?"

"I-I I was just wondering, that's all" she said nervous

"Yeah... right..." he didn't believe her

"And... are they free after the show?"

"Rumi!"

Then the girl ran off

----------------------------------------------------

"Hey F/N" Mira greeted him as he was checking the security points of a stadium where the girls were going to preform

"Yes, Mira?" He turned to look at her

"Which is (Name)'s favorite color?"

"I uh... it's f/c" he answered a bit, confused by her question

"Really? Thanks!" She turned around and ran towards backstage again

"Girls, I know her favorite color!" He heard her shout at the other two hunters

"Really? Awesome!" Some other voices could be heard from the backstage

"Wait Mira!" He called out for her

"Why do you wanna know their favorite color?! Mira!"

Yeah... Your father was a bit overprotective over you, but hey! He was your father. He had a valid reason.

But he still trusted those girls as he had seen them grown over the last years.

Everything was perfect for them. The honmoon was about to turn golden. You were by their side supporting them, oblivious about the risks they face every day and the importance of the songs you help to write and produce. F/N and Bobby were also by their sides and the fans adored them.

Nothing could go wrong, right?

Well, everything went downhill when a new boy band was forming at the Underworld.

Hello! I hope you like this small writing because I had fun writing it and I have more ideas! Still I would like to see if you had any ideas or something like that or even requests!

Anyway thank you so much and see you in the next one!

XOXO

-Izadi

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23xfgg · 4 months ago

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YANDERE! BATFAM x DRUG USER/SOBER! READER

Ch. 1 <- (Ch.4)

(Ch. 2)

(Ch. 3)

(Ch. 3.o5)

AN// Fist time writing something like this so excuse the grammar errors and the lack of sense :))))

I also image the reader to be a black fem!reader but race or gender isn’t mention I just wanted them to be black

Also TW// death, drugs, depression, self harm

As always, the reader watched their mom die at a very young age and since then their whole view on the world changed for the worst. They were given to their biological father who is surprise (not really) Bruce Wayne. Being practically shoved into custody of a man you don’t know while still grieving your mother, it was only normal that the both of didn’t exactly click when you first stepped into that manor. But you still tried to get to know the now only parent you have in your life but unfortunately that wasn’t reciprocated.

Every time you tried you tried to talk to him he always had some excuse regarding his other kids or he was busy with work. You even tried getting along with your other siblings (Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian) but they always had something going on (Dick and Jason) or straight up didn’t want anything to do with you (Tim and Damian). Despite all of that you tried bonding with them again and again until one day where they missed your birthday for then nth time. You finally realised that they were never going to see you as their sibling so you just gave up.

You pulled away from them realising that there was truly no one left after your mom died. The grief and depression consuming you as you just wanted things to go back to normal, before your mom died, when it was just the two of you in your apartment in Gotham. You needed an escape something to make you forget about the pain even if it was temporary.

Cutting yourself was your first choice a you did try it briefly. But that just made you feel worse. The pain was brief with little no to relief and having to see your body covered in those cuts just made the depression worse. Choosing to make sure you body was covered until those scars were somewhat faded. Not like anyone would notice… you are basically a shadow of a background character in this manor.

Your next choice was trying new hobbies but you didn’t feel like socialising with new people. I mean if you can’t get your own family to take notice in your existence, how can you with the random individuals of Gotham.

Now this choice wasn’t exactly the smartest but you realistically had nothing to lose, so you went down som random alleyway in Gotham trying to find something interesting to do as the rest of the “family” was out running and flipping across rooftops doing god knows what. One small passage way into another you you stumbled across a group of people across different ages popping pills, drinking, smoking and whatnot.

Seeing all of this happening, you decided to leave not wanting to ruin their parade. But one of the guys smoking saw you and asked if you wanted to try some, not caring that you don’t exactly look the age to be doing substances. He saw that you looked troubled and he just wanted to offer you something to help take some of that trouble away.

He saw you…like actually see you. He wasn’t looking past you like your “family” did he just looked at you, giving you more attention than that you ever gotten since your mom died. Maybe with the attention plus the grief and depression convinced you that nothing bad was going to happen.

So you took the joint out of his hand, put it in your mouth and smoked it. Taking the edge off and making you feel a little better with your current situation and mental state.

This is just ment to be an outline chapter or like chapter one depends on how I feel about creating more chapters to go along side this one.

I hope you enjoyed reading this (you better lol)

And umm…see you next time 👋

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talaok · 1 year ago

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Win Again

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x sex worker f!reader

Summary: Marcus has won yet another match, so to reward him, his master has granted him another hour with you.

warning: smut| unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), a whole lot of manhandling, he like uses your body idk how to explain it, multiple orgasms, and once again unnecessary feelings cause im not able to write something where they just fuck for some reason

a/n: i know im two days late but PLEASE read this still. (also) basic things for this guy that i've decided are canon: 1)he has a monster cock, like actually scarily big, 2) he's real fucking strong (hulk typa shit), 3) he's not a big talker (but he is a grunter). I need this man to fuck me more than i need my next breath (real), also i did so much research for this fic and you cant even fucking tell

It wasn't often that you didn't dread going to the barracks.

These were strong, ferocious, and dangerous men, and you were but a meek lamb in comparison.

But today was different, today you were seeing him, him who fit the previous description to a tee, and yet was so different from any man you had ever offered your services to.

And perhaps it was because it never felt like you were ever offering anything, ever since that first night, you had never given anything you hadn't wanted to.

The guards stopped as you arrived at his room and you felt a wave of excitement crawl up your spine the moment they opened the door, waiting for you to enter.

The armored men stepped aside to let you pass, the cobblestones on the ground sounding against your sandals as you made your way inside, looking back at the door just in time to see it being shut close.

It was his breathing you heard first, his heavy breathing coming from where you knew his bed sat on the room's left, and seconds after, the creaks of the wood as he stood up, his feet stalking your way.

You turned to him then, a smile almost making it to your lips as you saw him alive before you once again, granting yourself a second to relish in the fact he still breathed, he was still here.

"You've won again" you spoke softly, your hands slowly finding the string holding your dress together.

He didn't respond. The window behind him caused the moon's soft glow to fall on the stone floor, but not on his beautiful face, that, you had to watch closely to inspect.

A newer cut right above his left eyebrow had appeared, and his right arm was bandaged almost completely, but otherwise, he looked fine.

His eyes remained on yours until you'd undone the dress, until it fell at your feet- then, a low groan rumbled from his chest as he took you in, and took his turn inspecting every inch of your bare figure.

"How do you want m-"

You didn't have time to finish your sentence that he'd picked you up, effortlessly pulling your body up until your legs slung over his shoulders and his face was buried in your cunt.

He hadn't even given you a second to realize what was happening that his tongue was already lapping between your folds, desperately drinking everything your body gave him.

"Oh my g-" you threw your head back, your skull finding the wall behind you being the only reason you realized he'd moved, and you were now caged between him and stone as you forgot how to speak.

The moans you had faked so many times for so many clients were nothing like the ones your mouth was spilling now, these were higher, coarser, feral, and the way you were gripping his hair... there was no way that didn't hurt.

"Y-You only" a whine interrupted your words when you felt his tongue plunge into your hole, when he started fucking you with it just like he would with his cock "You only h-have me for an hour" you breathed, your thighs squeezing tighter around him contradicting the words you were about to speak "d-don't you want me to p-please you?"

His grip on your ass only tightened and his mouth halfheartedly parted from your core to answer you.

"You are"

And just like that, he'd gone back to work. The moment his mouth closed around your clit you knew you were done for, you knew there was no point in fighting what was inevitably going to come, and so you shut your eyes, as he brought you to heaven.

Your moans were getting higher and higher as your back arched to feed more of yourself to him, desperately craving the feel of his touch, of his nouse, of his beard against your thighs, of the lips he so devoutly was using to suck on your most sensitive spot.

"F-fuck- general I-" The fist you had wrapped around his hair tightened as every muscle in your belly did the same "Oh!"

Somehow, through all the chaos, while you were coming all over his face, while your moans reached levels never reached before, the only thing you could feel or hear, besides pure ecstasy of course, were his groans, his groans as he drank up every drop of your juices, as if your orgasm was bringing his as much pleasure as it was to you.

You barely had time to open your eyes that his strong, big hands and even stronger, bigger arms had pulled you down until your legs hugged his waist instead.

You really did weigh nothing for him, and if that wasn't enough to prove it, the next minutes definitely would.

Your heavy breathing was fanning over his mouth as he freed his cock from his pants, but while you were expecting him to kiss you, having been blatantly staring at your mouth since he had any way of seeing it, every thought in your brain turned to dust when with one hard fucking thrust, he drove his cock into you- or the first few inches at least.

You couldn't talk, you could do nothing but throw your head back as your eyes rolled to the back of it, and let him take whatever he wanted to take.

"I'm not a general anymore," he said with another thrust, stretching you out even further, even deeper.

You wanted to laugh at his words. Now? Now he was feeling the need to correct you? When you could barely breathe, let alone think?

But he didn't look interested in hearing a response from you, not when he grabbed your waist, and definitely not when he started moving you up and down on his shaft with just the sheer force of his muscles.

The moans, the lewd moans that crawled up your throat were filthy, even filthier than the sound of how wet, how unbelievably drenched you were as he plunged into you over and over, as he literally used you as a fucktoy, filling you up more and more, until he was finally sat inside you to the very hilt, until his pubic hairs were grazing your skin and the tip of his cock was touching your cervix.

"Oh my god" you whimpered, feeling tears prick your eyes as your toes curled at the feeling.

You could feel him everywhere, everywhere.

But he didn't pause, he wasn't one to take his time, and perhaps that was because he didn't have much; he resumed his movements again, retracting his hips while he pulled you up his cock, and slamming into you while pushing you down on it, leaving you breathless, a simple doll at his mercy.

His groans and growls were deep and filled with lust, just like the way he bent down to take your left tit into his mouth, just like the way he was fucking you, deep and hard, and God- God it was happening again.

"s-shit" you squeaked, your walls squeezing around him as you bit your lip, so fucked out you could barely remember your name or anything at all that wasn't how good he was making you feel.

"O-Oh my fuck-"

The arms you had intertwined behind his neck tightened with every spasm of your hole, with every flutter of your belly, until you'd come once more.

You opened your eyes, letting them trail downwards, to where his lips parted to suck in ragged breaths, begging him for a kiss.

"again" he said instead, and your eyes widened as you felt him starting to move anew

"I-I can't"

He looked at you now, really looked at you, his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, his chest heaving as he breathed heavily, and then- then he kissed you. Marcus Acacius kissed you the same way he'd been fucking you for the last hour: like an animal.

It was a mess of teeth and tongues and yet it felt like the best thing on earth, better than wine, better than life, even better than the sex- it was perfect.

"again" he ordered once more, and what could you do, if not comply?

So he started again, he started fucking you again, even more ferociously than the previous time, even if you didn't think it possible.

The way his skin slapped with yours was drowned by both your desperate sounds, your legs started to tremble, beginning to fall from his hips as he moved you up and down his cock like it were nothing, and you- you didn't even know where you were anymore.

"please" you begged, a single tear of pleasure, of overstimulation falling to your cheek as he kissed you again, muting all your cries as he drove himself into you like a madman, like he was possessed.

"Time's up"

Two knocks sounded from the other side of the wall together with the warning, and you thanked Marcus for having rendered you such a mess because otherwise, that would have reminded you of how little time you two ever had, and how miserable everything really was.

His movements sped up at the notice, his dick plunging into you over and over and over until finally, it was happening again.

"give it to me" he said, and you did exactly as he asked- you gave it all to him, screaming and crying you let him have all you had to offer, feeling his eyes on you the whole time.

He came loudly just after you, groaning deeply as he filled you up to the very brim.

Out of all the words you could have said to him then, all the things you wanted to tell him at that moment, you chose none, because none would have said anything he didn't already know from the look in your eyes, from the same exact spark in your irises that ignited his own.

So he helped you to the ground until you stood on shaky legs, walked to where your dress lay on the floor, and dressed yourself again, his eyes never leaving you.

The door opened just as you were done, and you turned to him one last time again, a smile pulling at your lips.

"Win again for me, general"

He looked at you too for one last time again, as he thought about how you didn't know, you didn't know how big of a role you played in his victories, how many times he could only think of the taste of you, smell of you, feel and voice of you as he took his opponent's life, as he fought for another hour with you, another second.

"I will" he promised

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verareids · 1 year ago

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feel the same - s.r. x bau!reader

spencer misunderstands a conversation he overhears between reader and derek. tags/cws: misunderstandings, confessions of feelings, use of 'y/n', gn!reader, fluff, mild angst, derek morgan has big brother energy wc: 1708 (much longer than I thought lmao) a/n: I'm truly obsessed with season 1 spencer as of late so I HAD to write a fic with him in mind. <3

also posted on ao3

“You know Pretty Boy likes you, don’t you?”

Spencer had been trying to get some sleep on the flight back after working a case that had drained all his energy when the sound of Morgan’s voice caught his attention. Without opening his eyes, he knew exactly who he was talking to. Spencer had never outright admitted to anyone that he had developed feelings for you but it was getting harder to deny. Once Derek had started pointing out the way he’d look up when you entered a room or the way his eyes lingered as you walked away, he was becoming concerned that this crush was more obvious than he’d like it to be.

He’s been trying to ignore it, telling himself it’s unprofessional when really it’s because he believes there’s no way you could possibly feel the same. There’s a myriad of reasons why he wished Derek would keep his big mouth shut but honestly – that was probably the biggest.

“Likes me? How old are we?” The smooth sound of your response makes Spencer smile to himself in spite of the current situation.

“(Y/N), come on…” Derek chuckles and is immediately met with a long stretch of silence. Spencer can picture the death glare he knows he’d see on your face if he were to look at you in this moment. “Look, you know he’s never gonna ask you out himself so maybe you should just–”

“Derek.” You interrupt with an evident sternness in your tone. “I’m not having this conversation with you. I’ve told you, it’s not happening.” Ouch. Spencer had never allowed himself to dream that you would reciprocate his feelings but he definitely wishes he had been asleep for that one. With that, he forces his eyes shut tighter than before and takes in one deep, slightly shaky breath and decides to try to go back to sleep, if only so that he doesn’t have to hear you reject him even harder.

Spencer wakes up as the jet is landing and he quickly gathers all of his things, walking out and across the strip with much more urgency than usual. This detail doesn’t go unnoticed by you, not much does – especially where Spencer is concerned – and you make a mental note to check in with him later. He had caught your eye the first day you met him which must be, what? Half a year ago now? And he had been on your mind ever since. You had bonded quickly as friends, being the two youngest members on the team. About a month ago you had finally allowed yourself to acknowledge the fact that you had developed feelings for him. You’d sit next to him at any given opportunity, listen to his infamously long rants much longer than anyone else would, spend just a little too long staring at his lips as he talked you through his theories. It didn’t take long for people to notice. Elle had her suspicions, JJ made a comment every now and then, but Derek – he wouldn’t let it go. He teases you about it constantly. You haven’t given him the satisfaction of admitting it, you haven’t been able to deny it either.

When you eventually make your way into the building along with the rest of the team you notice that Spencer had already left. It’s only then you start to be concerned. It’s unlike him to leave in such a hurry, even more so to not even say goodbye. You rack your brain trying to come up for a reason for this strange behavior. Is he sick? Upset about something? Was it you? You begin to go over every interaction you’d had with him recently when you have to stop yourself before you spiral. He’s just tired. If it was serious he’d tell you… right?

The next morning you walk in to find Spencer at his desk working on the report he didn’t write last night before he had basically ran away.

“Morning, Spence!” You greet him, making an effort to sound cheerful as you lean on his desk. He doesn’t look up, like he’s trying extra hard to look busy.

“Morning, (Y/L/N).” He replies without looking up. His tone seems normal, his use of your last name is what sounds the alarms in your head.

“Hey… are you feeling alright?” You ask tentatively, not wanting to pry too much in case you really had done something wrong that you clearly weren’t aware of. “I noticed you kind of left in a hurry last night.” He finally looks up and meets your eyes, easing your nerves slightly. His eyes shift away and then back to yours before a soft smile graces his lips, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m okay.” He responds after a while in a way that sounds like that’s not all he wants to say. You go to reassure him, make sure he knows he can tell you anything, but stop yourself when you notice the way he tenses when you place a hand on his shoulder. Retracting your hand quickly, you begin to fidget with your fingers before running them through your hair nervously.

“Spencer… I–” You start and stop and Spencer feels a little guilty as you seem to stumble over your words anxiously. “Is it me? Did I do something? Because if I did I–”.

“(Y/N).” Spencer cuts off your panicked rambling. You take a steadying breath as he slowly rises to stand in front of you, your eyes trailing up when he towers over you. He looks around the room and sighs before focusing back on you. “Can we go somewhere to talk?” You nod and begin walking towards a storage room with Spencer following close behind, quickly checking that there's no one in there before stepping inside.

“What’s going on with you?” You break the silence as Spencer closes the door behind him. “You know you can talk to me about anything.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve been acting weird.” You notice the way he dodges the question. He can’t meet your eyes anymore, his gaze shifts around the room and he smiles awkwardly at you.

“Spence, that’s not–” You interrupt yourself, trying to find a way to put your thoughts to words without overwhelming him. “I only want you to be okay. You’ve been acting differently since last night… If there’s something going on I want to be there for you.” When you say that he smiles sadly. He looks down in thought as if he’s considering something.

“I heard you talking to Morgan…” He mumbles, still staring at his feet – wringing his hands together. You furrow your brows in confusion. Talking to Morgan? “On the jet on the way home…”

“Oh.” This isn’t happening. You figure you should’ve known Derek’s relentless teasing would be your downfall. He must know you like him now. There’s a reason you never wanted him to know how you felt. You couldn’t stand the thought of anything ruining your friendship. Spencer visibly deflates even more in front of you at your lack of response. You begin scrambling to come up with a way to get out of this horrifically embarrassing situation.

“Look, I– I didn’t mean to make this awkward…” Oh god. The way he’s stuttering and tripping over his words. You stare blankly at him, then duck your head, bracing for the impact of his rejection. “It’s not like I thought you would feel the same way I just–” Wait what? Your head snaps back up to see his face, eyes widened, which seems to startle him a little. “I wasn’t going to say anything but I guess I just got really in my head about it.” He begins to look a little panicked. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, I’m sorry if I did.” You just keep staring up at him, mouth agape in disbelief. “(Y/N)?” He says your name with a sad desperation and it reminds you that you should respond.

“Sorry, I–” You say slowly while shaking your head. “Are you saying that – Do you like me?” Now it’s Spencer’s turn to look confused, but it was all starting to make sense to you. You had thought he was acting weird because he had found out about your feelings, when in reality, it was the other way around.

“Yes?” He replies hesitantly.

“I like you too.” You say simply with a shy smile but Spencer looks completely taken aback.

“You do?” The way his eyes light up with a subtle excitement was adorable. Soon after, that look was replaced with skepticism. “But I thought— you told Morgan you didn’t like me.”

“I told Morgan to stop teasing me about you because I didn’t think this…” You gesture between the two of you. “Was ever going to happen.” Spencer let out a sigh of relief and smiled bashfully.

“You could have just told me.” You feel his eyes scanning your face as if he were still looking for proof that you weren’t messing with him.

“You didn’t tell me either.”

“I thought there was no way…” You make eye contact as he trails off in thought. “I guess it doesn’t matter now.” Spencer takes a tentative step closer to you but doesn’t move to touch you in any way, so you reach out to take his hands in yours, lacing your fingers together.

“Well… maybe if we don’t have to fly out for a case today, we could go to dinner tonight?” You’re staring down at your intertwined hands, squeezing once before looking back up. When you see his face he’s still looking down with a big dopey grin on his face and you can’t help but smile right back.

“Yes— definitely.” You giggle at his obvious enthusiasm.

You both stay in the storage room for another couple minutes, mostly just staring starry eyed at each other. Eventually you both decide that you should get back to work. You try to hide whatever was now going between you as much as you can but like always, Derek Morgan figures you out within minutes and he, along with the rest of the team, teases you relentlessly. (You wouldn’t have it any other way.)

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

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quiet--epiphany · 3 months ago

Text

— ♱ Law of assumption: Back to the basics

Part 1.

The topics of this post are:

-Void State

-How you decide and why that's important

-Why you cant manifest

-4d & 3d are the same

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

★1. Void state/i am state.

I am state is a state of pure consciousness. The void is not somewhere to go, to reach, to acess, etc, the void is when you go back to your natural essence, the pure consciousness! Many have difficulty returning to this state because they put it on a very high pedestal, because many people return to void (i say return, because you're consciousness, and the i am state is being aware of this state, so you basically return.) to manifest something, and a lot of you be like "omg i need go to the void state" and that type of thing, but when you go return to the void you cant. The ONLY thing that stops you... it's yourself, Literally, only yourself, sometimes because you see it as an unattainable thing, something outside and far from you, but is literally you, is literally around you (everything is made of your consciousness), it's not hard for you go to a place where you're already at!!

Many see it as something huge because of the instant manifestation thing, but you ALWAYS manifest instantly. You are pure consciousness right? And when you return to the void when you're aware of being pure consciousness you literally manifest in a snap of fingers, did you EVER stopped to think that it's because you always do that? You just notice it more easily because there's nothing "physical" in the way. Void is the most EASY thing ever, but people have this belief of something "too good to be true" and if you entertain this idea, you'll believe it and this is gonna show up in your reality

"okay, but how i know I "entered" the state?"

You'll know. If you think it's a pink room, it will be a pink room, if you think it's a dark place where you feels nothing, them it's it! YOU decide what it is, the void dont have a fixed form, so it will be what you decide it is.

But you don't need to do anything to return to the void, you don't need subliminal, meditation, because consciousness is the basis of all this.

How decide something and why that's important

Like...you decide the same way you decided read this? The same way you decide to take a shower? The same way you decide to drink water?

It is important because you'll know EXACTLY what you want, and how you're manifesting something you dont even know what is? Decide what it is and DECIDE YOU HAVE IT. When you do a online shopping, you know that what you had bought is already yours, you paid for it, it's already yours, it's already decided that it's yours.

It is like watch a movie again, you know the start, the middle and the end, and you watch it already knowing whats happening on the end of it!

You cant manifest because you assumed you dont manifested.

Everything is an assumption, no exception, the thought of "i cant manifest" is an assumption, but in a way or another you're manifesting...but you're manifesting not manifest. When something like think pop in your head, affirm "i can manifest" "i manifest easily" yk, you create the thing, or you can visualize, whatever you want, Just dont let it become an dominant thoughts (because only them manifest). If you dominant thoughts is that you cant manifest, guess what? You wont manifest.

4d & 3d= the same thing

4d and 3d is just a way to explain the things in a easier way, but in the end, they're the same, there's no difference between them, for real, because this "3d"/"Physical" world it's just you experiencing your own thoughts, you're experiencing what's going on in your head, at the end of the day, both of them come from one place: you.

Everything is inside of you, you are consciousness, you are everything and nothing at the same time, if you are everything, you're all the states, all the realities, all possibilities and etc.

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cloudyluun · 5 months ago

Text

Press play (p2) | boyfriend!harry

Summary: The first tape wasn’t enough. Harry’s obsessed. One camera? Not enough angles. One location? Not enough variety. One night? Not enough time. This time, he films her in every room, in every position, with every toy he owns—and makes sure she begs for more. Because this isn’t just about recording anymore. This is about pushing her to her absolute limit while the cameras catch every second.

A/N: So… if the first fic was a little spicy, this one is hellfire levels of unholy. 🫠 Writing this felt like a crime, but a crime I would absolutely commit again. 🔥 Hope you’re hydrated and emotionally stable because this is a lot—and yes, before you ask, there will be a part tree. 😈

Also, if anyone asks why my search history includes “best high-sensitivity microphones for ASMR,” no, you don’t.

Word Count: 7,8k

Warnings:

Heavy BDSM elements – Bondage, impact play, restraints, gagging, plugs, edging, overstimulation… Basically, if it belongs in a locked drawer, it’s in here.

Spit, deep-throating, gagging, face-fucking – Hydration is important, folks.

Filming/recording during sex (consensual) – Harry’s got a passion for cinematography. Scorsese could never.

Public teasing & humiliation – Sex shop, car ride, open windows… Someone revoke this man’s driver’s license and curtain privileges.

Rough sex – Choking, spanking, forced orgasms… the usual scheduled programming.

Dirty talk, degradation, praise kink – A poetic balance of “good girl” and “filthy little slut.”

Multiple orgasms, overstimulation, breath play – Hope you weren’t planning on walking after this.

Aftercare – Because Harry’s only a menace 98% of the time. The other 2%? He’s feeding you water and telling you how proud he is.

(if i missed any, dm me please!)

[part 1]

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

You can feel his eyes on you again.

It’s been happening for days—catching him watching you, smirking like he knows something you don’t. He isn’t even subtle about it. He’ll stretch out on the couch, legs spread wide, fingers lazily tapping against his thigh as the screen flickers, bathing his face in dim light. He watches you on repeat. Watches the way you fell apart for him the first time. The way you begged, the way you shook. He knows every second by heart, every moan, every filthy plea.

And the worst part? You don’t even blame him.

Because the few times you’ve dared to look—just a peek—you were just as wrecked as he claimed. Eyes glassy, mouth parted, body trembling under his touch. A perfect mess. His.

So when you catch him again, he doesn’t look guilty. Not even a little.

“Can’t help it, angel.” His voice is rough, thick with something dark. “You look so fucking good coming apart for me.”

Heat licks up your spine, your thighs pressing together on instinct. But he notices. Of course he notices.

He cocks his head, dragging his gaze over you, slow and heavy. Then, as if deciding something, he stands and holds out his hand. “Come on.”

You blink. “What?”

“We’re going out.”

He doesn’t give you a choice.

The electronics store is bright, all sleek displays and humming screens. It smells faintly of new plastic, and if you weren’t so hyper-aware of the man next to you—the way his hand rests low on your back, the way his thumb strokes slow circles against your hip—you might have actually paid attention to the endless rows of cameras.

But Harry is focused.

Not just on you—though you can feel the weight of his gaze every time you shift—but on the equipment. He moves with purpose, eyes scanning through specs, occasionally nodding like he’s mentally checking things off a list you aren’t privy to.

You watch as he picks up a high-end camera, testing the weight in his palm.

“This one?” you ask.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, tilting it slightly, examining the lens. “Good quality, but not enough angles.”

The words shouldn’t make your stomach flip.

You know what he’s planning. Know this isn’t just about upgrading. It’s about more. More angles, more footage, more ways to capture exactly how wrecked he can make you.

Your breath catches as he moves onto something else—a small, discreet device.

“Is that—”

“A hidden camera?” He smirks. “Yeah. Could put it anywhere. Get a nice little collection going.”

You swallow hard.

He keeps going. A high-sensitivity microphone. A ring light. A sleek little tripod. He handles them with the kind of ease that makes your knees weak, like he’s already imagining exactly where he’ll set them up.

The sales clerk approaches then, offering a polite, professional smile.

“Can I help you with anything?”

You barely hear the question before Harry shifts behind you, his body pressing up against yours, his lips grazing your ear. His voice is low, for you and only you.

“Could fuck you right here.”

Your entire body goes rigid.

“Harry—”

“Bend you over the counter,” he continues, voice thick with amusement. His fingers ghost up your thigh, barely there, but your skin burns all the same. “Let the security cameras catch everything.”

Your breath stutters, a choked gasp slipping out before you can stop it.

The sales clerk clears his throat. “Uh… I can walk you through some of the settings if you’d like?”

You try to nod, try to play it off, but Harry doesn’t move. He stays pressed against you as the clerk launches into a dry explanation, and it takes everything in you to stand still. To keep your composure while Harry’s fingers tease the hem of your skirt, inching higher, higher—

You nearly jump when the touch disappears.

“Thanks, mate,” Harry says smoothly, stepping back like nothing just happened. “We’ll take all of these.”

Your head spins.

All of them.

Three cameras, a microphone, a ring light. Enough to film you in every angle he wants, from every perspective, with every sound recorded crystal clear.

You don’t even realize you’re shaking until Harry’s fingers brush over your wrist, grounding you.

“One more stop, angel.” His voice is warm, teasing.

Your stomach twists.

You already know where he’s taking you.

The sex shop is discreet, tucked between two high-end boutiques. The windows are dark, the sign subtle, but the moment you step inside, you feel the shift—the heavy hush, the intimate displays, the slow thrum of something low and pulsing over the speakers.

Harry walks in like he’s been here before. Like he owns the place.

And in a way, he does.

You can feel it in the way he moves, the way his fingers trail along the shelves, occasionally plucking something up, rolling it between his fingers, considering. You barely have time to register what he’s holding before he makes a quiet noise of approval and adds it to the growing collection in his arms.

Nipple clamps. A flogger. Silk restraints. A plug set.

Your face burns as he turns to you, offering one of the smaller plugs in his palm.

“Go to the bathroom.”

You freeze.

His eyes don’t waver.

“Put them in.” His voice is calm, steady. “Now.”

You hesitate for half a second—just long enough to see the flicker of warning cross his features.

And then you obey.

The moment the door shuts behind you, your hands shake as you follow his command. The plug is smooth, easy, but it’s the panties that make you squirm—just the thought of them in public, the knowledge that Harry could turn them on at any moment.

When you return, he’s waiting.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches. Then, after a long pause—long enough for you to start fidgeting under his stare—he steps closer, brushing his lips over your temple.

“Good girl.”

The praise makes your knees nearly buckle.

He smirks. “Let’s go.”

The drive home is torture.

You should have known it would be.

Because the second Harry starts the car, his fingers flick something on his phone, and suddenly—

“Oh,” you gasp, your back arching slightly.

The vibrations are low, teasing, barely enough to do anything but make you ache.

Harry hums, casual. “You’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

Your cheeks burn, but you nod, breathless.

He turns the setting up. Just a little. Just enough to make you squirm.

Red light.

The car slows.

His hand drifts over your thigh.

“You can hold it, can’t you?”

You bite your lip, nodding again, your thighs pressing together.

Green light.

The vibrations ease slightly, but the pattern shifts, unpredictable.

It continues like this—slow torture, relentless teasing, each stoplight an opportunity for him to push you closer and closer to the edge.

By the time you pull into the garage, you’re shaking. Your fingers dig into the seat, your breathing uneven.

Harry watches, amused.

Then, just as he parks, he leans in, his voice silk-smooth against your ear.

“Come.”

Your breath stutters.

“Now,” he murmurs. “And don’t make a sound.”

The vibrations increase, sudden and sharp, and it takes everything in you not to cry out. Your entire body trembles as the orgasm washes over you, your fingers clutching the seat, your lips parted in a silent whimper.

Harry watches it all.

When it finally fades, your body slumping back against the leather, he exhales, slow and satisfied.

“That’s one, angel.”

His fingers trace your thigh, teasing.

“Hope you didn’t think we were done.”

His voice is warm, teasing, dripping with amusement, but there’s something darker beneath it. Something that makes your stomach tighten and your breath stutter. That look in his eyes—the one that tells you he’s not even close to satisfied.

Your skin is still buzzing, oversensitive from what he did to you in the car, but he doesn’t care.

He’s already moving.

He steps out, rounding the car without urgency, and when he opens your door, he doesn’t say a word—just waits. Expecting.

You step out on shaky legs.

The air outside is thick and warm, but the heat that lingers between your thighs is worse. You can still feel the echoes of pleasure from the first orgasm he ripped out of you, still feel the way your body clenched around nothing when he left you empty.

He knows it, too.

He watches you carefully, fingers ghosting over your hip as he leads you inside, through the dimly lit hallway, past the living room where you’ve already let him ruin you so many times before.

The moment the bedroom door shuts behind you, the shift is immediate.

Harry rolls his shoulders, tilting his head slightly, studying you.

Assessing.

Your pulse spikes.

The room is different.

You notice it instantly—the small but deliberate changes.

The cameras.

One on a tripod at the foot of the bed. Another placed carefully on the nightstand, positioned just right. The third—mounted directly above the mattress. Overhead shots.

Your stomach twists.

Then your eyes catch on the microphone.

It’s clipped beside the camera on the nightstand, small but powerful, capable of picking up every gasp, every moan, every tiny, desperate sound you make for him.

Your thighs squeeze together.

And on the sheets?

Silk.

Black silk ties, draped neatly across the mattress. Waiting.

Your breath catches.

He planned this.

Your skin prickles as you turn back toward him, but he’s already watching you, already smirking like he can hear the way your thoughts are racing.

His hand lifts, his fingers brushing along your jaw.

“Strip.”

One word.

No room for hesitation.

A slow, creeping shiver spreads down your spine, and your hands move before you can even think.

You reach for the hem of your dress, slipping it over your head in one slow motion. The fabric pools at your feet, leaving you bare—except for the lace panties he forced you into earlier and the plug still nestled between your cheeks.

Harry’s gaze darkens.

His tongue drags along his bottom lip, and he exhales slow, controlled, fingers flexing at his sides.

“On the bed.”

You shudder.

It’s not just a command—it’s a promise.

Your heart pounds as you move toward the mattress, sinking onto the soft sheets. The moment you do, Harry follows, climbing onto the bed with deliberate slowness, his toned body flexing as he hovers over you.

The silk restraints are still lying there. Waiting.

He picks one up, twirling it lazily between his fingers before tilting his head, green eyes locking onto yours.

“Let me tie you up, angel.”

It’s not a question.

It’s a test.

You swallow hard, feeling the last shred of control slipping away, and nod.

But he doesn’t move.

His smirk deepens.

“Say it.”

Your breath stutters. The words feel thick in your throat, but when they finally come, they’re barely more than a whisper.

“Tie me up, Harry.”

Something flickers in his eyes. A slow, satisfied smirk tugs at his lips, and then—

He moves.

Swift. Effortless. Expert.

He grabs your wrist, looping the silk around it, securing it to the headboard with a practiced ease that makes your stomach tighten. Then the other wrist—soft but firm, tight but not painful. You test the restraints. No give.

Your breathing is already uneven.

He shifts down, grabbing your ankle next.

You jerk instinctively, but it’s useless.

Harry likes you like this—helpless beneath him, vulnerable, completely at his mercy.

By the time he secures your other ankle, your body is already trembling. Spread wide. Exposed. Completely at his mercy.

You test the restraints again.

You can’t move.

The realization sends a sharp, dizzying pulse of heat straight between your legs.

Harry notices.

He always does.

He hums, pleased, dragging his knuckles along your inner thigh. His touch is featherlight, teasing, barely even there.

And then—

He reaches into his pocket.

Your breath hitches.

The remote.

Your stomach drops.

The plug.

He clicks it on.

The vibration is instant.

Low at first—deep, pulsing, sending sharp, concentrated pleasure straight through your core. Right where you need it most.

A helpless whimper rips from your throat. Your hips jerk automatically, body arching against the restraints, but there’s nowhere to go, no way to escape the relentless stimulation.

Harry watches every second of it.

The way your thighs tremble, the way your lips part in desperate little gasps, the way your stomach tightens.

And then—

He turns on the camera.

You freeze.

The red light blinks.

Recording.

Your stomach clenches, heat flooding your skin, because this moment—your wrists tied, your legs spread, your body already writhing from the toy still pulsing inside you—is being captured.

For him.

Forever.

Harry tilts his head, smirking.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, dragging his fingertips along your trembling thigh. His voice is low, smooth, hypnotic. “So fucking pretty like this.”

You let out a broken whimper.

His hand slides higher, teasing along the waistband of your panties. Not touching you where you need it most.

Not yet.

He licks his lips, watching you squirm.

“Think you can come like this, angel?”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly. You don’t answer. You can’t.

But Harry doesn’t need one.

He just turns up the vibration.

And watches.

The vibrations deepened.

Your breath hitched—sharp, desperate, a ragged little sound that barely even made it past your lips. The plug was already relentless, pulsing deep inside you, the sensation twisting tight in your stomach, coiling lower with each slow, calculated increase of the setting.

You were already trembling. Already aching. Already so close.

And Harry hadn’t even touched you yet.

He watched you squirm, wrists and ankles straining against the silk restraints, body arching involuntarily.

Completely at his mercy.

Completely his.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, his voice slow, measured, but dripping with hunger. His knuckles skimmed along your inner thigh, grazing just close enough to where you needed him—but never quite there. Just teasing. Just watching.

And the camera?

Still rolling.

Still capturing every little gasp, every tremor, every desperate little attempt to chase the pleasure he was holding just out of reach.

The red light blinked.

Recording.

His smirk deepened.

“Such a pretty mess, angel.” His voice was low, approving, hypnotic.

You whimpered, hips twitching, but the restraints left you helpless—spread wide, open, exposed, your body reacting instinctively to the overstimulation.

But Harry?

Harry was calm.

Patient.

He sat back, admiring his work—admiring you—as if he had all the time in the world.

And then, finally—finally—

His fingers traced over your panties.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips, your entire body jolting at the sudden touch. Even through the soaked lace, the warmth of his fingertips sent electricity crackling through your veins.

Harry hummed, pleased.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” His fingers pressed lightly, rubbing slow, teasing circles over the fabric. “Been like this all day, haven’t you?”

You nodded frantically, swallowing back a sob. “Y-Yes.”

He chuckled, dark and satisfied, rubbing just a little harder.

“Good girl.”

Your thighs quivered, muscles tensing, your wrists tugging at the restraints again. Every little movement sent shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through your body.

And then—

He ripped your panties.

A sharp tear, the lace splitting effortlessly beneath his fingers. The fabric vanished in an instant, and suddenly, there was nothing between you and him.

Nothing stopping him from touching you—truly touching you.

And he did.

Slow. Gentle at first. Just his fingertips, gliding over your drenched folds, exploring.

Spreading you open.

His thumb circled your clit, barely any pressure at all—but after everything? After the teasing, the buildup, the vibrations inside you?

It was too much.

A strangled, helpless sob ripped from your throat, your back arching clean off the mattress.

Harry’s breath caught.

He groaned—actually groaned—watching you break for him.

“Fuck. That sensitive, angel?” His tone was teasing, but there was something else there. Something hungry.

He dragged his fingers through your slick, slow, deliberate.

“Bet you could come just from this.” His voice was silk and sin, completely entranced by the way your body shuddered, twitched, begged.

Your head jerked frantically, desperate, pleading, already teetering on the edge.

“P-Please—”

But before you could even finish the sentence—

He slid two fingers inside you.

Your vision blurred.

The stretch—the depth—the angle—all of it was perfect.

The moment he curled his fingers, you screamed.

The sound punched out of your lungs, raw and wrecked, as he pressed against that perfect, devastating spot.

Harry cursed under his breath, watching every second of it.

The way your body clenched around his fingers, the way you writhed against the restraints, the way your chest heaved, nipples peaked and sensitive beneath the cool air—

Every. Little. Detail.

Captured.

The red light blinking.

Recording.

He moved faster, fingers stroking deep, precise, thumb circling your clit in tight, merciless patterns.

“Come for me,” he growled.

It wasn’t a request.

It was a command.

And you had no choice.

The pleasure slammed into you like a tidal wave, tearing through every nerve ending in your body. You came with a sob, a scream, a desperate, shattered cry, your body convulsing, legs shaking, clenching so hard around his fingers it was almost unbearable.

But he didn’t stop.

He kept fucking you through it, fingers relentless, dragging out every last tremor, milking every last drop of pleasure until you were shaking, sobbing, gasping for air.

And only then—

Only then—

Did he finally slow.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your wrists trembling against the silk. Your whole body felt like static—shattered, floating, buzzing.

And Harry?

Harry was grinning.

He kissed your knee, slow and lazy, as he finally pulled his fingers out of you.

“Such a good girl.”

Your lashes fluttered, vision still hazy, but you could barely even register his words. Your body was spent, ruined, completely undone.

But Harry wasn’t finished.

Because then—

He licked his fingers.

Your stomach plummeted.

He hummed low in his throat, savoring, before grinning.

And then—

He reached for the camera.

Still rolling.

Still capturing everything.

And he smirked.

“Hope you didn’t think we were done.”

Your pulse was still pounding in your ears.

Your body was wrecked, trembling, every nerve ending overstimulated and raw from the orgasm that had just torn through you.

And yet—

Harry still wasn’t done.

He loomed over you, tall, broad, completely in control, the red recording light casting a soft glow over the sharp lines of his jaw. His eyes devoured you, taking in every little detail—

The way your chest heaved. The way your thighs still trembled against the sheets. The way your wrists flexed instinctively against the silk, as if you could stop him.

You couldn’t.

And you didn’t want to.

The bed dipped as he climbed over you, the heat of his bare skin searing against yours.

His cock—hard, leaking, thick and aching—dragged against your swollen folds, notching at your entrance, but not pushing in.

Not yet.

You whimpered, body arching instinctively, desperate for him, but he just chuckled—low, deep, indulgent.

“Mm. Look at you.” His voice was warm honey, slow and deliberate, each word sinking deep into your bones. “So pretty when you beg, angel.”

You bit your lip, hips shifting, trying to chase him.

He smirked.

And then—

The first inch.

You gasped, eyes flying open, head tilting back against the pillows.

He was thick, stretching you open so slowly that it almost burned.

But Harry didn’t give you time to adjust.

Didn’t give you time to think.

Because then—

Another inch.

And another.

Until he was halfway inside you, filling you, the intrusion both devastating and perfect.

Your nails dug into your palms, your body trying to take more—needing more.

And then, Harry reached for the camera.

Still recording.

He angled it down, making sure to capture the way your body was taking him, stretching around him.

His cock twitched.

And then, his voice—low, thick, wrecked:

“Fuck, angel. Look at this.”

You tried to, tried to open your eyes, tried to focus, but then—

He pushed all the way in.

The breath punched out of your lungs.

A sharp, desperate gasp—loud, needy, broken—tore from your throat as he bottomed out, pressing so deep you could feel him everywhere.

Your body clenched around him, still too sensitive, still feeling everything from before.

But Harry just groaned, deep and guttural, hips rolling in the slowest, most devastating grind.

Your toes curled, pleasure sparking white-hot under your skin.

You were still tied up. Still helpless. Still completely his.

And now, you were full.

So full you could barely breathe.

Harry pulled out—slow, deliberate—before thrusting back in just as slow, pushing you open all over again.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, watching you, watching the camera, watching everything.

Your body twitched, squirmed, begged.

He just smirked.

And then—

He set the pace.

Deep, slow strokes, hitting every spot just right, dragging against the oversensitive nerves he’d already ruined.

Your mouth fell open, pleasure crashing over you with every slow thrust.

Every inch of him pressing deep, stretching you so perfectly it hurt.

The camera blinked.

Recording.

Capturing the way your body was shuddering, the way your fists clenched the silk, the way your lips trembled around the moans he was pulling from you.

He leaned down, breath hot against your ear.

“Gonna give me another one, angel?” His voice was taunting, dripping with amusement. “Think you can come for me again?”

You shook your head wildly, chest heaving, eyes glazed over.

“I— I can’t—”

Harry just hummed, lips brushing your temple.

“Yes, you can.”

And then—

He fucked you deeper.

Your back arched instantly, wrists straining, a sob ripping through your throat.

The pleasure was blinding, white-hot, unbearable.

“Harry—”

His teeth scraped against your jaw, his voice gravel and smoke.

“Say it.”

Your breath hitched, nails digging into your palms, body trembling from the sheer force of it.

“Y-Yours,” you gasped.

His hips snapped harder, cock grinding against that devastating spot over and over—relentless, unforgiving.

“Again.”

A strangled sob.

“Yours—fuck—I’m yours.”

His groan was low, wrecked, dangerous.

“Good girl.”

And then—

His hand dropped to your clit.

Your vision blurred.

A sharp, overwhelming cry ripped from your chest, your body jerking violently, pleasure spiraling out of control.

You were gonna come. You were gonna fall apart for him again. You couldn’t stop it.

Harry knew it.

He wanted it.

He fucking needed it.

His fingers worked your clit in tight, ruthless circles, hips grinding deep, pushing you further, further, further—

And then he stopped.

Your body shuddered violently, the cruel absence of release ripping through you in an aching pulse. Your wrists strained against the restraints, fingers curling into fists as if grasping at the pleasure he had just stolen from you.

“No—Harry, please—” Your voice was wrecked, trembling, broken.

He only chuckled, slow and dark, as he withdrew from you completely, leaving you empty and throbbing.

“You were about to come, weren’t you?” he murmured, running a single finger up the slick seam of your cunt.

Your thighs twitched, trying to chase the friction, but the spreader bar kept you locked open, helpless. A desperate whimper crawled up your throat.

“Y-yes, I was—”

Harry tsked, tracing idle circles around your entrance, not giving you what you needed. “Shouldn’t have done that, angel. Didn’t I tell you? You come when I say.”

Tears of frustration burned behind your blindfold. “I c-can’t take anymore—”

A sharp slap landed between your legs, a quick sting against your soaked, sensitive cunt. You gasped, jerking at the impact.

“Oh, you can take more,” Harry said smoothly, rubbing the heated skin where he had just spanked you. “And you will.”

Your whole body quivered as he slid his fingers down, pressing them against the plug still nestled inside you. A strangled sound escaped your lips when he pushed it deeper, rocking it in place.

“Wanna stretch you out properly, baby,” he mused, voice thick with something dangerous. “But first—”

You heard the rustling of fabric, the creak of leather as he stood from the bed.

“Up.”

You barely had the strength to move, but you forced yourself to obey, arms shaking as you struggled against the restraints. The blindfold remained in place, leaving you vulnerable as you listened to him unbuckle something, the unmistakable sound of a belt sliding free from its loops.

Then—his hands were on you again, untying your wrists, removing the spreader bar. Your legs instantly trembled, weak from the overwhelming denial.

“Good girl,” Harry murmured, massaging the sore skin where the restraints had been. “Now, come with me.”

He grasped your chin, tilting your face up as he pulled the blindfold away. Your eyes blinked open, pupils blown wide as you took in the wicked smirk on his lips, the lust-darkened green of his gaze.

Before you could catch your breath, he scooped you into his arms. You barely had time to register the movement before he was carrying you out of the bedroom, past the cameras still recording every second.

The bathroom door swung open. Steam clung to the air as he stepped inside, turning the shower knob until hot water cascaded down, filling the room with a thick, humid heat.

Your back hit the cold tile a second later. You barely had time to react before he pressed his palm against your sternum, urging you down, down, down until your knees met the wet floor.

He grabbed the camera from the counter, flipping the screen toward him. The red recording light glowed as he aimed the lens at you, already kneeling and dripping with arousal.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered, his voice a slow drag of filth.

Your breath hitched.

You obeyed.

The second your lips parted, Harry’s smirk deepened. He took his time, letting the camera capture every little detail—the way your tongue flicked out, the way your breath came in short, desperate little pants, the way your lips glistened from the mix of your own arousal and the steam filling the room.

“Fuck, angel,” he murmured, palming his cock, stroking himself right in front of you. “You look so pretty like this.”

He tilted the camera slightly, making sure it caught the way you were already trembling, still wrecked from everything he’d put you through in the bedroom. He hadn’t even touched you yet, but your body was still in pieces, still aching, still on the brink.

He tapped the head of his cock against your bottom lip. “Go on. Take it.”

You leaned forward instantly, eager, desperate to please, desperate to have some part of him back inside you. Your tongue darted out, licking the swollen tip before wrapping your lips around it.

The deep groan he let out sent a shiver straight down your spine.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he praised, one hand still holding the camera, the other coming to the back of your head. “Messy, baby. I want to see spit dripping all over that pretty face.”

You hollowed your cheeks, sucking him in deeper, bobbing your head as your hands found purchase on his thighs. The hot water pounded against your skin, the steam thick, making the whole room feel like a fever dream.

The camera shifted in his grip, the angle catching the way your lips stretched wide around him, the way your throat fluttered as he pushed deeper.

“Shit—” He exhaled sharply, fingers tightening in your hair. “Keep going, angel. Take it all.”

You did. You let him guide you, let him control the pace, let him push further and further until the tip of his cock nudged against the back of your throat. You gagged around him, eyes watering, but you didn’t stop.

Harry groaned, low and wrecked. “Fuck, you’re so good for me.”

He pulled back, just enough to let you breathe, before pushing in again—this time rougher, faster, with more force. You moaned around him, the vibrations making his hips jerk forward. Spit dribbled down your chin, mixing with the hot water that streamed over your face, but you didn’t care.

“That’s it, baby. Get it all wet for me.”

He adjusted the camera again, angling it downward, capturing the way your lips were red and swollen, the way his cock disappeared between them over and over again. He licked his lips, voice dropping to something even darker.

“Gonna fuck your throat now, angel. You ready for that?”

You could barely nod, but you did, blinking up at him with big, watery eyes.

Harry growled.

“Good girl.”

Then he snapped his hips forward, holding your head in place as he started fucking your mouth.

The force made your throat tighten, made your gag reflex threaten to fight back, but you took it. His cock dragged against the back of your tongue, thick and heavy, every thrust sending you further into the haze of pleasure and submission.

Tears spilled down your cheeks. Drool dripped from the corners of your mouth. Your nails dug into his thighs as he used you, each thrust more relentless than the last.

“Fuck—look at you.” His voice was wrecked, barely holding on. “Gonna come down your throat, angel. Gonna fill you up nice and fucking full.”

You moaned, the sound muffled around him, but he understood.

“Yeah? You want that?”

You nodded desperately, tears spilling freely now.

Harry cursed, deep and rough, before pulling out just enough to let you breathe—then pushing in one last time, shoving himself as deep as you could take.

With a low, guttural groan, he came, hot and thick down your throat.

“Don’t swallow,” he panted, pulling back just enough to see the mess he’d left on your tongue. He angled the camera, zooming in on your wrecked, ruined expression.

“Show the camera, baby.”

You opened your mouth wider, letting him see everything—the cum pooling on your tongue, the spit clinging to your lips, the way you were completely, utterly wrecked for him.

Harry groaned. “Fuck.”

He smirked down at you, lowering the camera slightly, his thumb tracing the edge of your mouth.

“Now swallow.”

You did.

His gaze darkened even more.

“Good girl.”

The moment your lips closed around the last drop, Harry grabbed your chin, tilting your face up toward him. His thumb swiped over the corner of your mouth, catching the mix of spit and cum before pressing it back against your tongue.

“Still so fucking messy, angel,” he murmured, his voice rough, raw. “I should make you lick it off my fingers.”

Your tongue flicked out before he could even tell you to, taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking obediently. Harry groaned, his free hand fisting in your damp hair as he tilted the camera, capturing the way you looked up at him—wrecked, desperate, willing.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth with a pop, gripping your jaw tight before hauling you to your feet.

“Not done with you yet,” he muttered, voice dripping with something dangerous. “C’mon.”

He dragged you out of the bathroom, still naked, your legs barely steady after everything he’d put you through. The cameras in the bedroom were still recording, red lights blinking as he led you straight through and into the living room.

The moment your bare feet hit the cool hardwood floor, your stomach flipped.

The windows.

The massive, floor-to-ceiling windows, wide open, stretching across the entire room.

Anyone could see.

Your breath caught as Harry maneuvered you toward the couch, his grip firm, unyielding. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t even give you a moment to protest before pushing you down, bending you over the armrest, pressing your chest into the soft fabric.

“Stay.”

A shiver rolled through you.

You didn’t dare move.

Behind you, you heard him shifting, placing the camera down, adjusting it for the best angle. Then—his hands. Rough and warm as they skimmed over your hips, down the backs of your thighs. His palms kneaded your ass before spreading you open, exposing every inch of you to both him and the camera.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at you.”

Heat flooded your body. You squirmed under his touch, your thighs already sticky, already aching.

He didn’t like that.

His palm cracked against your ass, sharp and sudden.

You gasped, jolting forward.

“Be still,” he ordered. “Wanna make sure the camera gets a good look.”

You bit your lip, your body thrumming with anticipation as his fingers slid between your legs, teasing, testing. You were still soaked—already wrecked from the way he’d used you in the bedroom, the bathroom, every fucking room he wanted.

And yet, you still wanted more.

He chuckled darkly.

“So fucking needy,” he murmured, rubbing slow circles against your clit before pulling away.

You whined softly.

“Patience, angel,” he said, his tone taunting.

He reached for something—a bottle of lube, cold as he drizzled it between your cheeks. His fingers smoothed it over your skin, teasing your hole, making you twitch beneath him.

“One day,” he murmured, leaning in, voice just for you. “One day, baby, I’m gonna fuck you here too. Gonna stretch you out nice and slow.”

You whimpered, fingers curling into the couch.

“But not tonight.”

Instead, he pushed inside your pussy in one hard, punishing thrust.

You cried out, your body arching at the overwhelming sensation. He was still thick, still hard, still relentless. Your walls clenched around him instinctively, but he didn’t give you a second to adjust—his hands gripped your hips, holding you still as he set a brutal pace.

The wet sounds of skin against skin filled the room, mixing with your gasps, your whimpers, the deep groans spilling from his lips.

The camera was still recording.

Harry reached for it, lifting it with one hand, angling it down to catch everything—the way he filled you, the way you took him so fucking well, the way your body trembled beneath him.

He smirked, never slowing down.

“Wave, baby,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “Let them see how good you take it.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, a sharp spike of humiliation cutting through the pleasure. You could feel the heat of the camera on you, the weight of his stare, the way he watched you through the lens, utterly transfixed.

Your fingers gripped the couch tighter, your body burning with the mix of overstimulation and the sheer, undeniable thrill of it all.

“Go on,” he murmured, his voice a dangerous purr. “Be good for me.”

Shame curled in your chest, but the need to obey—to give him exactly what he wanted—was so much stronger.

You lifted one trembling hand from the couch and waved.

Harry groaned. “Fuck, look at you.”

He rewarded you with a brutal thrust, his cock slamming so deep it knocked the breath from your lungs. Your arm dropped, a broken sound slipping from your lips as he kept going, his grip tightening on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin.

The angle was devastating—his cock hitting deep, rubbing against every sensitive spot inside you, his pace merciless. The obscene sound of your slick filled the space, your body taking everything he gave without resistance, already so fucking ruined for him.

The camera was still rolling.

He moved it slightly, shifting to get a better angle, then pressed it close to where your bodies met, capturing the way he disappeared inside you over and over again.

“See that, angel?” he taunted. “See how fucking good you take me?”

You couldn’t even form words, your forehead pressing into the couch, your entire body trembling.

He leaned down, his chest flush against your back, the camera still in his hand. His breath was hot against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You were made for this,” he whispered. “Made for me.”

Your walls clenched at the words, your body betraying you completely.

Harry groaned, his hips stuttering for just a second before he caught himself, before he pulled back and gave you a particularly sharp thrust—one that had you gasping, your hands gripping the couch for dear life.

His free hand snaked between your legs, finding your clit, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles.

Your whole body tensed, the pressure inside you coiling tighter, tighter, so close to snapping—

And then he stopped.

You sobbed, your body shaking, your walls fluttering helplessly around nothing as he pulled out of you completely.

You felt him shift behind you, setting the camera back down, letting it capture the way your body trembled, the way your thighs clenched, desperate for more.

Then his hands were on you again, flipping you over, pressing your back against the couch cushions. His weight caged you in, his gaze dark, predatory.

“Not done with you yet, angel,” he murmured, dragging his thumb across your swollen lips, watching the way you panted beneath him.

The camera was still rolling.

His hand slipped between your legs again, teasing your slick entrance, rubbing the head of his cock against your overstimulated clit just to watch you squirm.

“You want more?” he asked, voice rough, teasing.

You nodded frantically, too wrecked to form words.

He smirked.

“Then get on the counter.”

Your legs barely worked as you scrambled up, body still trembling, overstimulated and desperate as you obeyed his command. The moment your feet hit the floor, Harry grabbed you by the waist, guiding you toward the kitchen with effortless control.

The counter was cold against your burning skin as he lifted you onto it, positioning you exactly where he wanted. Your thighs fell open instinctively, the evidence of everything he’d done to you glistening between them, your body still slick, still aching.

Harry groaned at the sight.

“Fuck, angel. Look at you.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he reached down, grabbing something from the bag on the counter. Your stomach flipped as he held it up.

The large plug.

Your breath hitched, anticipation and overstimulation clashing in a way that made you shiver.

“Color?” he murmured, his voice softer now, more serious.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe past the haze of it all. “Green.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face before he smirked, trailing his fingers up the inside of your thigh, teasing.

“That’s my girl.”

He kissed you then—hot and deep, his tongue sliding against yours, stealing the air from your lungs. His free hand worked between your legs, rubbing slow, lazy circles against your clit, making you whimper against his lips.

Then, without warning, he pressed the plug against your entrance, pushing it in.

Your whole body tensed, a broken gasp spilling from your lips as the stretch burned for just a second—before the pleasure hit. The fullness, the pressure, the way it made everything more intense.

Harry pulled back, watching your face, drinking in every reaction.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured. “Taking it so fucking well.”

The praise sent another shiver down your spine. You clenched around the plug instinctively, and Harry groaned at the sight, gripping your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he taunted. “How much better it makes everything?”

You nodded weakly, barely able to breathe.

But he wasn’t done.

Reaching down, he clicked a button—and vibrations pulsed deep inside you.

A strangled moan tore from your throat, your body jolting against the counter as the sudden stimulation hit all at once.

Harry just chuckled, watching you squirm.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Already falling apart for me.”

He didn’t give you time to adjust, to catch your breath—his hands were already on you again, pushing your legs wider, lining himself up.

“Just one more, angel,” he whispered. “Just one more.”

Then he thrust inside you.

You choked on a gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as the sensations overwhelmed you. The vibrations, the stretch, the way his cock filled you so perfectly—

It was too much.

And yet, not enough.

Harry grunted, his grip on your hips bruising as he set a punishing pace, fucking into you deep, fast, relentless. His free hand shot up to your throat, his fingers curling around the column of your neck, squeezing just enough to make your pulse race.

Your vision blurred at the edges, your body trembling beneath him.

“S’this how you wanted it?” he growled. “Getting fucked so hard you can’t even think?”

Tears streamed down your face, your body wracked with pleasure, every nerve alight, every inch of you burning with overstimulation.

Harry groaned at the sight, leaning down to capture your lips in a messy, desperate kiss. His pace never faltered, his thrusts deep and brutal, fucking you through it, dragging it out.

Your walls clenched around him, the vibrations pushing you closer, closer—

And then you shattered.

Your entire body convulsed, pleasure slamming into you like a freight train, the orgasm ripping through you so violently you nearly sobbed. Your nails raked down his back, your thighs squeezing tight around his hips as he fucked you through it, chasing his own release.

Harry cursed under his breath, his movements growing erratic, rougher. He pulled out at the last second, groaning as he spilled across your stomach, his chest heaving, his body tense.

For a moment, the only sound in the kitchen was your ragged breathing.

Then, slowly, Harry reached for the camera—lifting it, angling it down, capturing the absolute wreckage of you.

“Fuck,” he murmured, tracing a hand down your trembling thigh. “You look so pretty like this.”

The camera clicked off.

And then, he lifted you into his arms, carrying you straight back to bed.

The sheets were cool against your overheated skin as Harry laid you down, his grip still firm but gentle. Your body felt weightless, trembling, drained from everything he had put you through—but he wasn’t finished.

Not yet.

He reached for a towel, wiping the mess from your stomach, his touch softer now, deliberate, taking his time as he cleaned you up. You shivered under his hands, your body still sensitive, overstimulated beyond belief.

Harry hummed, low and satisfied. “You did so fucking good for me, angel.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as he brushed damp hair from your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The shift in him was stark, a complete contrast from the dominant force he had been just minutes ago. Now, he was patient. Tender.

He grabbed a water bottle from the nightstand, twisting the cap off before bringing it to your lips. “Drink.”

You obeyed, swallowing the cool liquid, letting it soothe your raw throat. Harry watched you carefully, thumb stroking over your jaw.

“There you go,” he murmured. “That’s my good girl.”

Your heart squeezed at the praise, warmth curling in your chest. Even now, with your limbs weak and body wrecked, you craved it.

Harry must have seen it on your face, because he smirked, setting the bottle aside before slipping into bed beside you. His arm curled around your waist, pulling you in, pressing you flush against him.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, running his palm up and down your back, soothing, grounding.

You sighed into the touch, relaxing against him, sinking into his warmth.

His lips ghosted along your shoulder, pressing soft kisses up your neck, along your jaw. He traced every mark he had left on you, his tongue flicking out to soothe the sensitive skin.

A deep, contented sound rumbled from his chest as he held you close, his fingers lazily tracing patterns along your hip. “Proud of you, angel. Took everything so well for me.”

A sleepy hum slipped past your lips. You barely had the energy to respond, too far gone, your body melting into his.

Harry chuckled, the sound low and raspy.

Then, you felt it—his fingers reaching for the remote, grabbing it from the nightstand.

A moment later, the TV flickered to life.

Your stomach flipped.

You didn’t need to look to know what he was playing.

Heat crept up your neck as the sounds of your own moans filled the room, the unmistakable echo of skin on skin, the filthy words he had murmured against your lips now playing back in crisp, high-definition audio.

Your breath hitched.

Harry smirked, tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, hungry, still burning despite everything.

“Look at you,” he murmured, watching the replay, his hand trailing down, fingertips ghosting over your still-sensitive core. “So fucking wrecked. So perfect.”

Your cheeks burned, embarrassment and arousal clashing, twisting deep in your stomach.

Harry chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’re keeping all of this,” he whispered against your skin. “Our own little collection.”

You barely had the strength to respond, your body too heavy, your brain too foggy.

But just before sleep claimed you, you heard him murmur one last thing—

“Hope you know… there’s going to be a part three.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

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pillow-coded · 3 months ago

Text

To Have and to Hold — Chapter 1

Summary: finding a lost toddler's mother in the library wasn’t how Spencer expected to spend his afternoon. Later, when her mother arrives—panicked, breathless, and beautiful—Spencer starts to forget how to breathe. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn Series (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Brief depiction of a lost child, mild panic from a parent, emotional vulnerability word count: 5.3k

A/N: This is the first work I had the guts to post (genuinely scared lol), slow updates! (so sorry, but uni is killing me), and lastly, English isn't my native language, so please do let me know if i got any grammar mistakes! (also not proofread cause i'm too embarrassed to show any of my friends)

Series Masterlist

Libraries have always been a great comfort for me. It’s a place full of knowledge, warmth, peace. Maybe it’s the smell of old books and how I can easily link that smell to the amiable parts of my childhood.

Those Autumn nights when everything was fine, where my wires were still intact. Mom was doing well back then. She’d read to me those old books she collected from all her years of teaching. That’s how I saw them back then... Old, decrepit books that contained the most fun stories... At least, I found them fun. Like Shakespeare’s Tales Retold – child-friendly versions of Shakespeare’s works.

Nowadays, they’re more than just fond stories or old books. Those books are relics and a memory of when my mother was... well, more lucid.

What I loved most about libraries was the quietness of it all. I spent a couple of hours of my day when I could, basking in the quiet. It was nice not to have to hear the gruesome details of some innocent woman murdered in cold blood.

Days like these only made the quietness feel even better. Soft Autumn day, nearing Winter already. We had just come back from a tough case, children were involved. Thankfully, we managed to get on time.

I had watched that boy while JJ tried to talk to him, trying to understand what had happened to him. He was barefoot, his hair disheveled, and he looked achingly thin. We later found that the boy’s parents held a “discipline ring.” According to his parents, it was a “behavior modification” experiment—one they claimed was “research-backed,” designed to “train” their child into being the perfect prodigy. The boy was denied food, affection, and even basic care when he disobeyed. But worse? The parents live-streamed it all on private forums for a group of like-minded “disciplinarians.”

It didn’t matter that we caught his parents. That the live-stream was shut down. That the others in that so-called “discipline ring” were going to prison. None of it mattered when he looked up at me with those eyes—hollow but obedient. Like love was something he still thought he had to earn.

I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone more than I hated those people.

I’ve done a lot of pretending in my life. Pretended I wasn’t scared. Pretended I wasn’t lonely. Pretended I didn’t want a family of my own. But that boy—he didn’t know how to pretend. He didn’t know how to fake normal. He just waited patiently in that hospital bed for someone to love him back.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it, which is why I had decided to come to the library instead of resting after the case like a normal person. I needed a moment of peace, a moment of quiet.

That moment of quietness was rudely interrupted—torn apart by high-pitched, desperate sobbing. I turn to my left, and there's a girl at the end of the long corridor full of bookcases. A tiny one at that, since the whole corridor looked gigantic compared to her.

She couldn’t have been more than five, barely tall enough to brush the second shelf. A statistical outlier in this ocean of silence, suddenly very, very loud. There was something unsettling about how her tiny fists rubbed at her eyes. Children cried in a language everyone understood.

“Are you lost?” I ask hesitantly, not moving from my spot in the corridor. The little girl stops crying for a brief moment. Well, not stop, but slowed down. Her big eyes are still so full of fear and tears, but they open wide to look at me as if she hadn’t been expecting someone to help.

She doesn’t say anything.

Just looks at me—eyes still shimmering, lips trembling, chest stuttering around hiccuped sobs. She’s scared. That much is obvious. But it’s the way she clutches the fabric of her little coat that really gets me. Like it’s the only thing tethering her to the earth right now.

I walk towards her. I'm not close—just close enough to show I’m not a threat. A non-threatening stranger in a cardigan and tie, kneeling among the books like I’m part of the furniture.

She stares, still trembling, still silent.

“It’s okay,” I murmur gently. “I’m not going to come closer unless you want me to. I just want to help.”

Her little hand scrubs clumsily at her cheek. She sniffles, her shoulders curling inward. Still holding it in. Still trying to be brave.

Then, finally—after a moment that feels like something unspooling—she shakes her head. And her voice, when it comes, is a soft, crumpled thing:

“I can’t find my mommy.”

I nod, matching her quietness. “Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

A pause.

“I’ll help you find her, alright? No rush. We can check the kiddie section together. That’s probably where she’ll look first.”

I didn’t offer my hand. It felt like too much for both of us. Instead, I walked beside her, slow and steady, letting the silence settle between us like soft dust. She kept sniffling quietly the whole walk down.

I desperately needed a way to make the little cries stop.

“What's your name, sweetheart?” I asked softly.

She tilted her head back to look up at me—really look this time. She was so small she had to crane her neck to find my eyes. Her expression still carried that flicker of uncertainty, her trust not quite earned yet.

“I’m Spencer.”

She doesn’t answer right away.

Just stares for a second, like she’s still deciding whether I’m safe. Then, in the tiniest voice—barely above a whisper—she says:

“...Maddie.”

Maddie.

I nod, repeating it once under my breath to make it real.

“That’s a beautiful name, Maddie.”

She says nothing, but her fingers curl tighter around the hem of her coat. She’s still scared, but she’s not looking away anymore.

Progress.

I scan the rows of shelves ahead. The kiddie section’s not far now—colorful bean bags, tiny chairs, picture books splayed on wide tables.

“Do you like magic tricks, Maddie?”

She nods her tiny head, her eyes warming up to me at the thought.

I felt something in my stomach… I wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe yearning?

She nods—just once—and I see it. That flicker of trust, like a light turning on behind her eyes. Not quite safety, but something near it.

And something stirs in my stomach.

I don’t know what to call it. It’s not adrenaline, and it’s not fear. Maybe it’s yearning. Not for her, necessarily—but for what she has. What she’s lost. What she’s looking for.

For someone to come back for her.

For someone to call her name.

“Okay… how about I show you some magic tricks while we wait for your mommy to get here? that sound fun, Maddie?”

This time she nods enthusiastically. Her big eyes excited to see what sorcery I had planned to show her.

I dig the pocket of my pants, my movements slow and deliberate. I pull out a simple quarter. It’s nothing special. Just a plain, shiny quarter that for some reason, I’ve held on to for way longer than I should’ve.

“Behold,” I announce, holding it up between two fingers like it’s enchanted. “A perfectly ordinary quarter.”

She leans in, captivated—eyes locked on the coin like it’s something rare. A small smile starts to tug at her cheeks.

“It’s your everyday quarter,” I say, twirling the tiny thing between my fingers, doing my best to keep this unfamiliar girl comforted—as if her calm is the only thing keeping me steady.

“Watch closely.”

I place the coin on my open palm and slowly close my fingers around it. Then, with my free hand, I give the air above my fist a little wave—like I’m stirring something invisible.

“And now… it’s gone.”

I open my hand. Empty.

She gasps.

I see it—the way her mouth falls open, the way her eyes light up like I’ve just rewritten the rules of the universe.

I lean in, just a little. Not too close.

“Huh. That’s strange…” I murmur, pretending to look around her, behind her, above her. “Where could it have gone…?”

And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, I reach behind her ear, and pull the coin free like I just plucked a star from the sky.

Her breath catches. She stares at the quarter in my fingers like it’s a miracle.

“It was behind your ear this whole time,” I whisper, grinning.

She beams at me, her fear momentarily forgotten. Her laughter is soft but real, bright and bubbly and innocent in a way that makes something sharp tug behind my ribs.

“Are you a sorcerer?” She asks, her big, curious eyes staring into my soul, trying to get answers out of me.

I blink, “A sorcerer?”

She nods, completely serious, “like the ones in Harry Potter.”

I chuckle fondly at her question, “Well… I don’t have a broom. Or a wand. Or an Owl.”

“But you made the coin vanish…” She pouts slightly, and although the sight of her minor pout was adorable, I would’ve given anything to see her smile again.

I didn’t know why. Maybe it was the case that had me feeling so fond of a child I just met. Maybe it got all the loose wires within me, all frayed and sparking from things I still hadn’t worked through. But there was something about this moment—this tiny human with tear-streaked cheeks and a Harry Potter reference—that made something ache deep in my chest.

I felt it so sharply it almost hurt.

This... this mattered.

And I hated how much I wanted it—interactions like this. Not just the comfort or the connection but the permanence. The possibility of something that was mine.

Kids of my own.

I glance down at her, still wide-eyed, still waiting for more magic. Her little hands twitch with excitement like she’s ready to believe anything I say.

“Yeah, but it’s only a magic trick, sweetheart,” I murmur, trying to offer the truth gently, without breaking the illusion. Without hurting her feelings.

But maybe I shouldn’t.

Maybe I should let her believe in it a little longer. Let her live in the dream. Give her what I wish someone had given me at that age—a reason to believe in wonder.

So I sigh, dramatically, like I’m about to confess something world-altering.

“Okay… you got me. But you can’t tell anyone, alright?”

She leans in, eyes shining.

“I’m actually a wizard.”

She gasps, delighted. A smile blooms across her face so fast it nearly knocks the air out of me.

“I knew it!” she squeals.

“Yeah, you did,” I grin back. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you?”

She looks like she’s about to burst with thousands of questions. Eyes wide and shining with a special curiosity. I just hope her parent doesn’t murder me for fueling these wizard dreams that she has.

“Are you friends with Harry?”

I try my best to suppress a warm chuckle, but I can’t help the smile that shines through.

“Harry Potter?” She nodded so hard at my response that I worried her head might pop off. “Well… I haven’t seen him in a while. He’s mostly busy these days. But yes, we’ve met.”

She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, and this time, I couldn’t subdue the fond chuckles that her reactions got out of me.

“Can you show me more magic?”

I smile, helpless to deny her. “Alright. One more, but you gotta sit down for this one.” I say, holding up a finger like I’m laying down a rule neither of us will actually follow.

She hurries to a small chair in the kid tables. Wiggles in place, hands clasped in front of her like she’s bracing for something incredible.

I reach into my pocket again, fingers brushing against the familiar coolness of the coin.

“But you have to pay very close attention, okay? This one’s advanced wizardry.”

She nods like she’s preparing for a test at Hogwarts.

“We have, the very same coin from earlier,” I move the coin to the center of my palm, “But if I place it right here… and you keep your eyes on it…”

I curl my fingers over it, give them a little dramatic wiggle.

“This simple quarter will just…”

Disappear. Or—it’s supposed to.

Everything was going fine. The coin’s in my palm. My fingers close around it. I make the usual gesture—slight misdirection, a practiced flick of the wrist, the classic illusion.

Except this time… something goes wrong. There’s a soft metallic clink followed by—

“Ow!”

Not me. Behind me.

The little girl’s eyes go wide, delighted at first by the trick. But then her head snaps toward the voice—the one behind me, the one that just yelped in surprise.

And just like that… the magic disappears.

“Mommy!” She takes off running.

I stand and turn instinctively, ready to reassure the parent—let her know her daughter’s safe, that I was only trying to help. Maybe even apologize for the quarter that, somehow, made impact.

But then I see her.

And for a moment… I forget what I was about to say.

She’s standing there, breathless, eyes wide with relief, and the softest kind of panic still clinging to her expression. The kind that says she’s been searching—not just through the aisles, but through every possible worst-case scenario in her head.

And yet, despite the tension in her posture, despite the flurry of emotion on her face...

She’s—God, she’s beautiful.

Like something from another lifetime. Light catching in her hair. Autumn caught in her breath.

An angel.

I’ve always thrived on routine. Wake up, brush teeth, get dressed, go fulfill today’s duties… It wasn’t anything exciting, but it was dependable. Familiar.

That all changed when I had her.

My Madelyn.

Now, my mornings depend on a dozen unpredictable factors. Maybe Maddie wakes up before I do and cuts my desperately needed seven hours of sleep short. Maybe she had a nightmare. Maybe she wet the bed. Or—more often than not—she’s just too excited for the day and bursts out of sleep like it’s a celebration.

It’s exhausting.

But she’s my entire world. My sun. My moon. And I’d sacrifice every ounce of sleep or peace of mind a thousand times over if it meant making her life feel safe and full of joy.

Still, we do have one day of the week that rarely breaks pattern.

Saturdays.

Every Saturday, for as long as I can remember, I wake up early, make pancakes, get dressed, and head to the library—the one place where time slows down, where stories open like doorways and the world feels just a little quieter.

Bringing Maddie into that routine was surprisingly easy. I started taking her when she was just a month old. I would’ve done it sooner, but I was still figuring things out—how to be a single mother to a newborn. Just surviving those first few days was its own kind of story.

She loves our Saturdays.

Every Saturday morning, once the pancakes are ready, I head to her room—and without fail, she wakes up with the biggest smile.

She always knows it’s Saturday because of the smell. Like clockwork, the scent of warm batter reaches her tiny nose, and her whole body just springs to life. She throws off her covers, races into the kitchen barefoot and beaming, already asking for her syrup before I can even plate the first stack.

This Saturday morning was different.

I should’ve known things would go wrong the moment I decided to step even slightly out of routine.

“Good morning, princess,” I sing, beaming as I step into her bedroom—blueberry pancakes in hand. “Brought you breakfast in bed. Aren’t you a spoiled little princess today?”

Her face lights up like it always does. “Good morning, Mommy!”

She spots the pancakes, and her eyes sparkle. She bounces a little beneath her blankets, already reaching for the plate. “Blueberry?”

I nod, smiling. “Well, I know how much you like them, so I decided to change things up,” I say, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “Alright, eat up. The library’s waiting for us.”

She hummed as she ate, little legs swinging off the edge of the bed, syrup smeared near the corner of her mouth. It was such a small thing, but I remember thinking—this is what happiness feels like. A plate of blueberry pancakes and a five-year-old who thinks I hung the stars.

We left a little later than usual.

Just ten minutes. That’s all.

She insisted on picking out her own outfit—a striped shirt and a pink coat—and I let her. Another tiny detour from routine. Nothing dramatic. Nothing dangerous.

The nearest library, which we were used to visiting, was a three-story building. It was old, but they kept it clean. The library had a huge variety of books, from Children’s books to cookbooks.

It was just as it always was. Quiet. Warm. A kind of sacred.

We walked in together. I remember holding the door open while she skipped inside.

I remember telling her—“Stay close, baby.”

she nodding.

And then…Then I blinked. I looked up from the shelves. And she was gone.

I’ve never lost my Maddie before. She’s a curious child, and she loves to wander off on adventures. She probably inherited that from me. This need to find whatever’s glowing. I understand it. We’re moths, both of us. Fragile, flitting things, always blinded by the glow, unaware that it might hurt us.

But I’ve gotten better at spotting the danger.

At least… when it comes to her.

I watch everything. Every step she takes. Every handrail she climbs. Every crack in the sidewalk I gently guide her around. Not even the tiniest fruit fly gets near her without me noticing. I make sure of it. I always make sure.

So how did I miss this?

how did I lose her?

“Maddie?” I called out, trying to keep my voice steady. “Maddie, where are you, sweetheart?”

No reply.

Just silence. Just shelves. Just the sound of someone flipping a page somewhere far away.

I couldn’t see her.

I couldn’t hear her.

Panic bloomed in my chest, sharp and fast. I started moving—too quickly to think, too slowly to matter. I scanned every row, every corner of the first floor, spinning in half-circles, eyes darting, throat dry.

Think. You have to think. Breathe.

I forced myself to stop. Just for a second. Inhaled. Shaky. Exhaled. Useless.

That’s when I saw it.

A sign hanging above the staircase in soft, colorful letters:

Children’s Section – Second Floor.

I don’t think I’ve ever taken stairs that fast in my life.

I practically leapt two steps at a time, nearly tripping—twice—but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. My heart was pounding too hard, my breath caught somewhere between a prayer and a scream.

As soon as I reached the top, I heard it. Laughter. Soft, bubbling giggles echoing from the back corner of the floor.

Maddie. My sun.

I followed the sound like it was oxygen, rounding the shelves toward the children’s section—and there she was. She was fine. Smiling. Whole. Lit up with joy I hadn’t seen since breakfast.

I was so blinded by the sight of her—so completely caught in the gravity of that relief—that I didn’t see the small, shiny object flying straight at my face.

Thunk.

“Ow!” I yelped, instinctively pressing a hand to my forehead where the coin made impact.

“Mommy!” I blinked, still holding my forehead, and finally looked up to see my daughter running full speed to me.

I dropped my hand and opened my arms just in time, catching her as she flung herself into me.

The force of her little body nearly knocked the breath out of my lungs—and I didn’t care. I clutched her to my chest, my hands smoothing over her hair, her back, her arms—like I needed to physically confirm every part of her was still here.

Still mine.

“I was looking for you,” she mumbled into my shoulder.

“I know, baby,” I whispered. “I know. I’m here.”

I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and only then—only then—did I let myself breathe. Let myself relax and look around with a clear mind.

And that’s when I saw him.

A man—tall, gangly, cardigan-ed, and completely mortified. His wide brown eyes darted from the coin in the floor, to my face and back again like he wasn’t sure which deserved more immediate attention.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t—I mean, the coin wasn’t… is your forehead okay?” His voice cracked halfway through the sentence. He reached down and took the quarter in his hands.

He was nervous. The poor thing couldn’t even get a full thought out without stuttering or switching pitch. He looked like a deer caught in headlights—in the most endearing way possible.

I adjusted Maddie in my arms and slowly rose to my feet, brushing a hand over the spot where the coin had hit.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “I’m okay.”

“Mommy, that’s Spencer. He’s a wizard, but you can’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.” Maddie’s little voice cut in, muffled by my shoulder. Her tiny hands clung to my shirt like this secret was sacred. Like this moment mattered.

“Is he now?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

The poor man looked like he was about to spontaneously combust. His cheeks were flushed a deep pink, and he kept shifting like he wanted to disappear behind the nearest bookshelf. He was clearly mortified for making my daughter believe he was an actual wizard.

Meanwhile, Maddie looked like she might explode from sheer joy.

“He did magic, Mommy!” she beamed. “He made the coin disappear! And he’s friends with Harry Potter!”

I looked at him again—this tall, blushing stranger in a cardigan, holding a rogue quarter like it was evidence from a crime scene—and for the first time since the panic hit…

I smiled. No, not just that. I giggled.

“He’s friends with Harry Potter, sweetheart?”

“Yeah!” Maddie chirped, her little head nodding furiously against my shoulder. “He told me so!”

I glanced down at Maddie, still glowing with excitement in my arms, then back at him—this stranger with a guilty expression and a coin pinched nervously between his fingers.

“So you’ve met the famous Harry Potter?” I asked softly, more amused than anything else.

His mouth opened… then closed again. He looked completely out of his depth, like he wasn’t sure whether to defend himself or disappear behind the nearest bookcase.

“I… may have implied we’d met,” he said, almost apologetically. “In a—fictional sense.”

“Fictional,” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, eyes flicking anywhere but at me. “She asked if I knew him, and I just couldn’t say no. Plus, it calmed her down.”

My heart twisted, gently. Of course it did.

I crouched to set Maddie down, brushing a hand over her curls. “Don’t wander off, sweetheart.”

She nodded seriously—too seriously for someone who just believed she’d befriended a wizard—but she stayed put, her wide eyes still bouncing between me and the man standing awkwardly by the bookshelves.

When I stood, he was watching me. Not in a weird way. Just… watching. Like he wasn’t sure if he should say something, or leave before he embarrassed himself further.

I finally broke the silence.

“Thank you,” I said. “For keeping her calm. And for the magic tricks. Even if one of them involved hitting a complete stranger in the face.”

His eyes widened. “Oh my god—yes. I’m really sorry about that. That was not part of the trick. I swear it usually disappears. Like, away from people.”

I smiled again, gentler this time. “I believe you.”

A beat passed.

“You’ve got a very brave little girl.”

My chest squeezed.

“Yeah,” I whispered, looking over at Maddie, who was now spinning slowly in place, humming to herself like nothing had happened.

“She really is.”

I looked back again, and of course—despite being told not to wander—she had already drifted toward the toy shelf, her tiny fingers trailing along the edge of a plastic castle.

Moth. Always drawn to whatever glows.

He hadn’t stopped staring.

He kept looking at me like he wanted to tear me open—not in a violent way, but in that quiet, curious way. Like he needed to understand what made me me. Like he was trying to read my soul the way other people read books.

I hadn’t even noticed—Not until I turned my gaze back to him, and when I did, I nearly forgot how to breathe.

There was something behind his eyes—something searching. Gentle, but sharp. Not the kind of stare meant to intimidate. No, it was worse. It was the kind that saw. Saw too much.

The kind of look that made you feel like maybe you weren’t a collection of masks and moments. Like maybe you were a story he’d just opened to the first page.

It made my skin warm.

I looked away first. Not because it was uncomfortable—But because it wasn’t.

Because I didn’t know what to do with the way he looked at me like that. Like I was worth reading.

“So… she read the Harry Potter series?” he asked, breaking the silence.

His voice jolted me back to reality. I blinked a couple times, trying to shake myself free from whatever trance those hazel eyes had pulled me into.

“Has she read—? No, no. She still struggles a bit with reading. The only books she’s managed on her own so far are Frog and Toad Are Friends and The Tales of Oliver Pig.”

His lips twitched at that, like he was trying not to smile too hard.

“Do you mind me asking… how old is she?”

“She’s turning five in a couple weeks.”

He blinked. “And she’s reading at a first-grade level? That’s impressive.”

I smiled, soft and proud. “She’s always been a quick learner. Loves stories. I think it’s how she makes sense of the world.”

He nodded, like he understood that. Like maybe he did the same.

“So I take it she’s only seen the Harry Potter movies then?” he asked, circling back to his original question.

“Oh—no. I read to her a lot. We actually went through the entire Harry Potter series last summer.”

His eyebrows lifted, impressed. “All seven?”

“All seven,” I nodded. “It took us a few months, but she was completely obsessed. She didn’t want me to put the books down, not even to sleep. Had a million questions. Wanted to know why Harry had to live in the cupboard, how the time-turner worked, what butterbeer tastes like.”

He chuckled softly. “She sounds like someone I would’ve been friends with at her age.”

“You read a lot as a kid?”

He hesitated—not because he didn’t want to answer, but because he seemed to be sorting through too many memories at once.

“Pretty much all I did,” he said eventually. “Books were easier. Made more sense than people did.”

There was something in the way he said it—like it wasn’t just a fun fact, but a truth he’d learned the hard way.

I didn’t push. I just nodded, quietly understanding.

“Maddie’s the same,” I offered. “She talks to books like they talk back.”

He smiled at that. “That’s the best kind of kid.”

I was about to reply—to agree with the praise of my daughter, to maybe say something more—but then she came barreling back toward us, beaming.

“Mommy, Mommy! Look!” She held up a Rapunzel doll.

“Can I have her? Please? She has real brushable hair!” Maddie clutched the box to her chest like she’d just been entrusted with state secrets.

I chuckle, “That’s yarn, sweetie. You can’t brush it.”

“Can I have her? Please, Mommy?”

I looked at him, then at my daughter’s wide, pleading eyes. The panic from earlier was still fading in my bones, but the joy on her face grounded me again.

“Fine,” I said with a knowing smile. “Let’s check her out and ask if she’s ready for a new home.”

Maddie squealed and ran ahead toward the counter.

He straightened, glancing at me with the softest grin.

“She’s something else,” he said.

I met his eyes, the warmth still lingering between us.

“She really is.”

He smiled—soft, sheepish. A little unsure.

There was a pause.

My eyes flicked between him, the floor, and Maddie standing at the counter, rocking on her heels with the raggedy doll held up against her chest.

I didn’t know what it was about him. Maybe it was the way he spoke to her, so tender.

Maybe it was the way he panicked when I first approached them—all flustered and apologetic, tripping over his words like he hadn’t spoken out loud in days.

Maybe it was his eyes—big, toffee-colored, and far too curious. The way he kept looking at me like I was a puzzle he genuinely wanted to solve.

Despite everything in me that usually resisted introducing new people into our lives, I felt it—that pull.

I wanted to know him.

“I should get going,” he said, his voice low, like he didn’t really want to.

I nodded, even though something in me quietly hoped he’d stay just a little longer.

“Of course. Thank you again. For everything.”

He looked down, then back at me, like he was still trying to memorize something.

“It was… nice meeting you. Both of you.”

“It was nice meeting you too.”

He took a step back, then paused.

“I hope she keeps believing in magic,” he said, glancing toward Maddie with something almost wistful in his eyes.

“She will,” I said, smiling. “She has a good reason to.”

He didn’t say anything after that. Just smiled once more—brighter this time—before turning and walking away.

And even though I knew I’d just met him… I wanted to call out after him. Maybe invite him to eat with us, I had the pretense of him keeping my daughter safe. It would be so easy, just go, “hey wait!”

But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Because despite having every reason to call out to him, to try and integrate him into my life, the fear in me always ended up eating my intentions up.

Still. I had a feeling that wouldn’t be the last time I saw him..

I stayed still for a moment, just watching him leave.

It wasn’t until he disappeared from view that I finally moved—walking to the counter where my daughter was waiting, still cradling her new doll like a prize.

“Where did Spencer go?” she asked, as soon as I appeared beside her.

Spencer. So that's his name.

It fit him, somehow. A little old-fashioned, a little too soft around the edges for someone who carried so much weight in his eyes. But now that she’d said it out loud, I couldn’t imagine him being called anything else.

“He had to leave, sweetheart.”

Her little face fell just slightly. “Will we see him again? I want to see more magic.”

I crouched beside her, brushing her hair back behind one ear as I pulled her into my arms. The weight of the day finally caught up to me—settling in my chest like something too big to name.

“Who knows, Maddie,” I murmured, holding her tight. “Maybe someday.”

I pulled back just enough to look her in the eye.

“I need you to promise me something, okay?”

She blinked up at me, her Rapunzel doll dangling loosely from one arm.

“Don’t ever wander off like that again. Spencer was kind, and he kept you safe. But not everyone is like him. You could’ve gotten hurt.”

She nodded, serious now. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“I know, baby,” I whispered, holding her again. “I just need you safe.”

“I promise, Mommy.” She murmured.

“Thank you, honey.” I kissed her temple. “Now… let’s buy you this doll and go get something to eat.”

She grinned, her earlier worry forgotten, clutching Rapunzel to her chest like she’d just made a new friend.

We walked out hand-in-hand, the late morning sun spilling through the library doors as they shut behind us.

And even though I told myself it was just another Saturday…

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something else had quietly begun.

Next Chapter

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