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writerpeach · 5 months ago

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Ambrosial: Part Two

IVE Jang Wonyoung x m!reader

9.7k words

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five_1]

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Read on AO3

After leaving Yujin’s bedroom in complete disarray, the shower comes next. Not that it’s going to do anything to keep you clean or quell any other urges.

Normally, you'd keep your fingers buried inside Wonyoung until the hot water runs out, kissing all over that pretty neck. And certainly, you do that—but you spend a little more time appreciating her perfect body under the running water, with a hand between her legs, getting her off more times than she can handle.

Despite that, the shower ends up rather quick, with only enough time to leave her a shaking, whimpering mess from all the merciless overstimulation given, barely able to stay upright on her own two legs when you finish. Once you’re sufficiently refreshed and had enough fun, you head to the kitchen, completely forgetting the mess left on Yujin's sheets, to grab something to replenish the energy you've used up.

The two of you share a bowl of strawberries atop the kitchen island countertop, not bothering to put any clothes back on—because you know where they’ll end right up again.

Wonyoung feeds you a berry, one after the other, before she sucks all the juices off the next one, wanting to demonstrate what she really wishes she was doing to some part of you right now. You can't say you're surprised—because she’ll take every opportunity to turn something innocent into something completely salacious.

Not before long, all the strawberries vanish, leaving you with a lingering hunger for something else. So while you've got Wonyoung here, naked as could be, looking like an absolute meal, you guide her down on the counter, flat on her back, planting kisses all over her slender, bare body.

You’re met with a plethora of gasps and whimpers while you explore her, wet tongue going all over those sensitive nipples until they're left stiff and swollen, chest heaving with every breath. A slight bite here or there, then your kisses trail further down, turning into long licks all over her flat tummy, hungry little swipes to draw out the cutest little moans from her.

“See? Daddy can’t ever get enough of me,” Wonyoung says through her cute gasps, but you don’t give her any acknowledgment, despite how she's got a point. More or less, she’s gotten all of your attention, while you haven’t had so much as a thought about Yujin in these past few hours.

“It’s not my fault you’re so fucking delicious, princess.”

Wonyoung's long fingers rake through your hair while you get your mouth back on her perky tits, slurping harder, drinking in her reactions—this lovely, sultry noise that leaves her throat when your teeth graze a little too hard around her sensitive nub.

And you’re nowhere close to being done tasting her, having not gone between her milky thighs yet, knowing the delicious nectar you’ll find there is incomparable to anything else.

She’s so desperate for your tongue to move there, right where she really needs it, where your fingers haven't ceased their playful touches on her thighs. But instead, you keep this buffet going, letting your mouth wander with no plans to neglect any part of her.

Peppering more kisses down the slope of her neck, your lips make their way along her collarbone, across the sleek surface of her bare shoulders. After a moment to relish her reactions, you lift her slender arms up over her head, so you can lick all over her armpits, tasting that distinct, delicious flavor you crave.

Wonyoung is already squirming with each lick, loving the extra attention as she keeps her arms up for you while you indulge in this favorite part of her body. It has you utterly addicted, when your tongue slides all over, wet and messy, while those cute little sounds leave her lips that she tries to suppress, leaving no doubt she loves this as much as you do.

“Princess—“ you finally groan out when you come up from burying your tongue in those luscious, creamy pits, before diving back in with an insatiable hunger to appreciate her body more and more. You won’t stop until you’ve licked this area absolutely glistening from your slobbery tongue, having tasted the skin there so thoroughly.

“Love the way you taste, everywhere, so goddamn delicious. Don’t wanna stop.” You’re so completely lost in devouring Wonyoung that you've lost all track of time, completely unaware of anything else when you suddenly hear another voice that isn't hers.

"Having fun, daddy?"

Not bothering to look up, you know it's Yujin standing there, with a look of amusement all over her features, while she watches you lick away without breaking your focus.

"Daddy got a little hungry," Wonyoung plainly states in place of you being too preoccupied to interrupt your meal. Despite a third body in the room, you don't cease in licking up this girl’s tight body, determined not to leave a single inch neglected.

"I can see that." Yujin chuckles, opening the fridge to grab something to drink, showing no real surprise seeing her two roommates going at it with absolutely no consideration for where they are. "What about you, princess? Had anything to eat yet?"

“Strawberries and daddy's big cock—that's all I've had," Wonyoung says so openly, prompting another boisterous laugh. Yujin joins you two at the counter, doing her best to not distract from your lustful licking and worshiping of her best friend's body.

You haven't even managed to make eye contact with Yujin yet either, too entranced in devouring Wonyoung laid out like a full course meal for your consumption, and that’s all before you even make it to the real delicacy between her legs.

"Sorry we made a mess on your sheets," you say once you speak up, lifting your tongue away from all this hot, flushed skin for only a moment, eager to head towards your next destination.

"Did you now?" Yujin asks, not even looking a little bit mad, every bit proud and content that you’ve used her bed for your escapades. Without any response, you decide to skip straight to the point, hopping off the counter and guiding Wonyoung closer by her milky thighs until her bare ass barely hangs off the edge of the counter. Now that she's all splayed out with her legs draped over both your shoulders, you've reached the best part—this divine treat ready for you to dive right fucking in.

"As long as our princess got the rough fucking she deserves from daddy, that's all that matters."

Yujin's approval has Wonyoung beaming at her until that smile fades quickly as your mouth travels where it belongs—right between those spread thighs. There's no better view than this, no sweeter taste while your tongue licks up her slit from end to end to flood your ravenous mouth.

Having Yujin a few inches away, keeping a close eye, amused by the show, only encourages you to give your all, to work Wonyoung into an overwhelmed mess as fast as humanly possible.

"Looks like she really loves daddy’s tongue, huh?" Yujin asks while sipping her drink, more than pleased at watching you work between Wonyoung’s messy thighs.

Neither of you offer anything in response, your mouth too occupied, Wonyoung obviously well out of commission. The longer you lick, the louder she gets, turning into a mewling mess even before you wrap your lips around her swollen little clit and start to suck relentlessly, getting lost in her blissful eye contact the entire time.

Her fingers desperately clutch onto the edges of this hard counter, hips so eager to buck against your face. Wonyoung can’t begin to muffle her high pitched, needy moans falling from her lips, completely brazen with bliss as you eat her succulent cunt out.

"Oh god, daddy, fuck, right there," she cries out so prettily, begging for more, even when you have your face buried between her trembling thighs, slurping away without any respite. "Please, just like that, don't stop—"

Yujin, she just sits there with a proud look on her face, savoring how Wonyoung turns into a puddle in no time at all, her presence doubling your efforts. A firm hand rests on her toned stomach to keep her pinned to the counter, not giving an ounce of control, only leaving her defenseless against the pleasure from your greedy mouth.

"Daddy's so good at this, isn't he? Licking that wet little cunt, getting his lips all over your clit,” Yujin says, not allowing her eyes to leave this scene for even a second, so enthralled with how desperate Wonyoung looks. “Gonna cum on his cute face soon, aren’t you?”

Wonyoung frantically nods as you keep her needy clit between your lips, suckling so harshly in response to draw every bit of ecstasy you can, knowing exactly what she needs to get close to that much desired edge. "Did our princess make daddy cum today?"

It takes a few moments before Wonyoung can satiate Yujin’s curiosity, grabbing a handful of your hair to steady herself from all those overwhelming sensations that make her toes curl.

"T-twice." One little word has her struggling to say it, nearly at the edge of losing complete control. The moans that spill out from her lips are almost as endless as the slick that drips down your chin, too addicted to this taste that you simply can’t get enough of. "Daddy came once down my throat, then again in my pussy while I was all tied up."

"Tied up?" Yujin repeats, raising an eyebrow with amusement in her tone as she looks in your direction. “Without me?”

"We found your little box. Under the bed."

Yujin smiles to herself, with no intentions to deny she owns anything like that. "Oh that? I was gonna use that on daddy, but it looks like you beat me to it…"

Wonyoung ignores every part of the conversation, arching her back off the table as she grinds her wet cunt right against your face, rocking her hips with a harsh tug of your hair. You've got her on the brink of release, and you're not going to stop now. “I'll never get tired of eating this delicious cunt until you cum all over my face, princess."

With each tug to your hair, Wonyoung draws closer and closer to the edge, until her thighs shake around your head. You’re trapped there without a way to escape—not that you'd want that when her juices run into your hungry mouth and down your chin, lapping up as much as she spills.

Meanwhile, Yujin's tired of being a spectator and wants to join for these final moments, leaning over the counter to play with Wonyoung's hard nipples, rolling and pinching them while the poor girl can't handle the excess bliss.

“So close, aren’t you, princess? Do you wanna cum for us?" Yujin purrs as she leans down a little lower to whisper in Wonyoung’s ear, knowing she can't endure much longer. Having nowhere to go with her legs over your shoulders, and now hands working on her heaving chest, tweaking the sensitive, perky buds—there's only one outcome left.

Wonyoung can only let out a sob of pleasure, her clit throbbing right up against your relentless mouth, and then when you shove two fingers deep within the velvety walls of her wet pussy—she simply shatters.

A deep cry and Wonyoung arches her back off the counter, body surrendering to bliss, shaking through a full orgasm, as Yujin keeps biting on her lobe, fingers twisting those hardened nubs to make her cum as long and as hard as possible.

Nothing could keep you from licking up all this delicious nectar that keeps gushing into your open mouth, the pretty sight of Wonyoung trembling, squirming, while you never relent, letting her ride her orgasm right on your tongue.

This double team of stimulation renders Wonyoung incapable of any coherent thoughts, delirious in nature as you keep your lips sealed around her clit, fingers pumping away in her wet heat. The faster you suck, the harder she sobs, and the messier you get, mouth slick with her delectable arousal. Her long legs still dangle lifelessly over your shoulders as she pushes at your face when it becomes all too much, the little whines becoming more pitiful by the second.

So, finally, you decide to let up, looking all proud between her legs, that she weakly drapes over the countertop, still shaking as her heavy breathing fills the room.

"That looked like it felt good," Yujin says after finally prying her own eyes away from Wonyoung to look over towards you while she recovers, running her fingers through your messy locks until her body can remember what normal breathing feels like. The corner of her mouth curls up when she notices the mess all over your face, giggling to herself.

"Fuck, so, so good, daddy always knows how to make me cum so hard…" Wonyoung’s voice struggles not to fade completely as she sits back up, staring down at you as you give her sensitive cunt a few final licks to help ease her down.

"You deserve it, princess," you reply, kissing the inside of her thighs softly. Yujin keeps up her playful touches while Wonyoung cools down, keeping her fingers dancing over those stiff, perky nipples, knowing just how sensitive they must be. Then her lips trail more kisses over the side of her face, letting that orgasm linger before she leans back to where her mouth meets yours, sharing that delicious sweetness.

"Hate to cut this short, but I have studying to get back to," Yujin says when your lips break apart. "I’ll have to miss daddy wrecking this pretty little cunt...”

There’s genuine disappointment in her voice, but unlike Wonyoung, priorities exist on Yujin's end that she keeps at the very top, no matter how often she misses times like these.

So with a quick kiss to your lips and then Wonyoung, Yujin makes her way to leave the two of you alone in the kitchen, heading up the stairwell off to her room, disappearing from sight.

✦ ✦

Following Yujin’s departure, you've somehow regained some semblance of normalcy, managing to put clothes back on after grabbing something to eat that isn't between Wonyoung's legs.

"So, daddy—" she starts out, scrolling mindlessly through her phone as she kicks her feet up on your lap, making no effort to hide the mischievous grin that curls onto her lips. Surrounded by silence again, it's a challenge for Wonyoung to sit still with all this freedom. Her eyes glance right at you, but you already know what’s at the end of that sentence.

"No," you answer firmly, despite the lack of anything else leaving that mouth. "We shouldn't bother Yujin."

"Who said anything about bothering her? I'll be quiet."

"You? Quiet? Did you forget the library incident already?"

"That wasn't my fault," Wonyoung scoffs, crossing her arms and looking rather offended that you bring that up first thing, shifting the blame so naturally. "You know I can't help how I sound when you've got your cock buried in me."

"Then why did you pick the library, of all places?"

"It was either that or the cramped bathroom stalls again and—besides, those shelves were full of dust and cobwebs. How was I supposed to know that someone needed a book on microeconomics at the exact moment you were balls deep in me?"

“Yeah, who would’ve thought someone needed a book at a library? How dare they.”

"Exactly," Wonyoung says, completely disregarding your clear sarcasm, still believing she's innocent in the matter. "I don’t even think that’s a real subject.”

Nobody can make you sigh as heavily as Wonyoung can.

You’re not going to try (again) to convince her why a library is off-limits, and no matter how stubborn she can get, or how cute and charming she can be, you're putting your foot down for this. There’s hardly anything that can hide the kinds of explicit sounds she’ll make (outside of soundproofing the entire bedroom) when you've got her folded up in half, taking every inch of your cock deep in her guts.

So if not the apartment, and definitely not the library, where else can you satisfy the insatiable, these desires Wonyoung has for you to plow into her without interruptions?

Sure, you have Wonyoung's repertoire of fancy cars at your disposal, but if you're being honest, there's little space in the backseat to really enjoy yourself, and the sun hasn't even gone down yet. It’ll be far too easy for anyone out and about to catch you in the act. The weather is still rather chilly to be outside by the pool, and you’re not about to check into a hotel just to rail this needy brat, so that doesn’t leave very many options.

Keeping your eyes locked on Wonyoung, you’re determined to not give into her demands—because those eyes say what she’s holding back. Surprisingly, you get a reaction you’re not expecting instead of more complaints, followed by a cute little smile out of nowhere. “Fine. I’ve got the perfect place we can go then.”

You raise an eyebrow with every level of suspicion imaginable.

With no promise to behave herself and a smirk she can't keep off her lips, Wonyoung drags you right out of the apartment and into her car in a heartbeat, handing you the keys. Because of course, you’re the one going to drive, unsurprised at her need to be passenger princess.

A short drive and she directs you into an empty parking lot, as you let her pink Ferrari come to a halt.

"Alright, get out," she says, slipping out of the passenger's seat, which leaves you there to simmer in curiosity and confusion. You slide out of the driver’s seat, following right behind as you trail after Wonyoung like a lost puppy. Off in the distance, you can see that you’re still on campus grounds, but exactly where? There’s no telling.

"Where the hell are we?" Standing outside in the barren parking lot, you survey the area—it looks empty and abandoned, which makes her pink sports car look even more out of place.

"You said no library, so this is the next best thing," she answers, still not willing to tell you anything. "Just follow me.”

It’s not like you have much choice. Wonyoung doesn't bother to elaborate or explain anything while you tag along close behind, heels clacking on the asphalt as she leads you into an unfamiliar building.

“Don't you trust me?"

“Not in the slightest."

That doesn’t stop you from staying a step behind as Wonyoung saunters through the hallways, walking so confidently like she’s done this route a hundred times in a building you didn’t even know existed. Though it gives you plenty of time to admire her from behind, those long legs that steal your attention with every step, and the rhythm of her hips so mesmerizing.

The entire floor seems completely vacant when you head down another hallway, and Wonyoung navigates with precision—past an array of classrooms, to the very end, until the two of you reach a set of elevators.

"Why do you even know about this place?"

"Perks of knowing the right people, daddy," Wonyoung answers with a sly little grin as a set of elevator doors slide open with a ding. "Although there's nobody here—so you could just fuck me in the elevator to save some time, couldn't you?"

You don’t answer her. At best, she doesn’t deserve one. That option is far too easy and unsatisfying, especially since you’ve been brought through this maze of hallways that leads up to—you’re not even sure.

With the press of a button, the doors shut once you step inside and this metal box begins to climb, groaning like it hasn't been used in months. It’s a slow ascent, leaving you alone with your thoughts of what exactly Wonyoung’s agenda is while she stands beside you, too close, arms folded in this little black dress that you have to fight not to stare at.

By the time the elevator reaches its stop, the doors part to another empty floor that’s more of the same.

"Come on. This way."

You continue to let Wonyoung lead you through, taking note of department names posted across each room's entrance, most all with a layer of dust over them. The entire floor is desolate, and you’re surprised the lights are even on, given how it must stay unused. Eventually, you stop questioning it, because your entire purpose here is to get out of the apartment, to give Yujin the space needed to focus on her studies, so you can focus on how good Wonyoung is going to look once she’s out of that stunning black dress.

All of this leads to a heavy-looking door, unmarked aside from a singular letter across the door in black—'A'. Wonyoung hesitates in opening it, as if wanting you to do the honors instead, which you oblige, only to find out the door handle won't budge an inch, locked tight.

"It's locked," you say, frustration creeping up in your tone as you wonder if this whole journey has been for naught.

“Is it?” There's a glimmer of deviousness in her voice that doesn’t phase her one bit, digging through her purse before fishing out a white plastic card. "That's the point."

With that, she swipes the card, and instantly the red light illuminates the scanner beside the doorknob, changing to green. Another firm turn, and she twists the door knob, now able to push it open as the both of you head right in.

"You just have a key to this room?" you ask, growing increasingly more and more confused. "Did you steal it?"

"Of course not," Wonyoung answers with a scoff as she flicks the nearby switch on, lighting up the room as a huge row of windows comes into view, revealing what looks to be a rather spacious conference room, with a large wooden table in the center. While this building appears to be rather useless, these massive windows offer one of the best views of campus.

Aside from that, nothing of note exists, enough chairs for at least a dozen people, yet no signs of a single person occupying one recently.

"Like I said, perks of knowing the right people," Wonyoung says, seemingly satisfied to leave it at that. "Nobody even knows this room exists. They were supposed to rebuild this building a year ago, but that never happened… so it's a nice, big empty room for daddy to rail me in."

"How do you even know about all this?"

"Do you ever stop asking questions?" Wonyoung huffs, feeling the mood start to fade as her patience wears thin. "You wanted to leave Yujinnie alone, didn't you? All you need to worry about is fucking me until I can't walk."

"So romantic," you respond with all the sarcasm you can muster as Wonyoung heads over towards the table, climbing on top and crossing her legs so you can get a good view of how this dress hugs her deadly figure in all the right places. “The princess is so full of surprises today.”

"Less talking and more shoving your dick in me, please."

Wonyoung is already slipping a finger under one strap, sliding it off her shoulders so fluidly. And the same with the other, until the dress is barely holding on. You find yourself just watching, knowing it'll never get any easier to tear your eyes off that sinful body that's presented just for you to admire as she slides the fabric down further.

"What makes you think I'm going to fuck you so easily, princess?"

One quick tug and the dress slips right off her body with no assistance, answering the question with ease. The sight of her left exposed has your mouth going dry in the snap of a second, her black dress a heap at the floor between her legs. Underneath is a pair of black panties but no bra, wearing nothing to cover up her perky tits, nipples already hardening at the touch of cool air.

Her fingertips graze her chest, lowering until they reach the waistband of her panties, and she peels them off in one swift motion, leaving her standing in nothing but black heels that accentuate those ridiculously long legs. Now completely nude, Wonyoung spreads her legs, offering the sight of her freshly shaven cunt that already glistens in the light, wet and swollen from her desperate hunger for your cock. “Does daddy ever need a reason to fuck me senseless?”

Without looking away for a second, Wonyoung slips her fingers right between her legs to tease herself before holding them up, letting her arousal speak for itself. No further convincing is needed, and with a few steps forward, those fingers meet your lips, slipping straight into your mouth.

A whimper falls when you wrap your lips around those digits to clean them off, but they leave again as soon as they arrive, so fast, while Wonyoung wastes no time dropping to her knees with a single intent in mind.

Those fingers hastily move to unbuckle your belt, tugging your pants right to the ground so that nothing remains on your lower half. All the attention immediately goes straight to your stiff, throbbing shaft that Wonyoung practically drools at, stroking up and down at a tauntingly slow pace.

"Rock fucking hard, just how I like it, daddy," Wonyoung breathes in satisfaction. Her hand gives you one more squeeze as a test, noting the familiar throb against her palm.

"Just shut up and start sucking, princess."

With zero reluctance, those soft, plump lips wrap around your cockhead, easing you into the pleasure.

"But wouldn't daddy like it better if—"

And then you thrust hard and without warning, your length shoved far deeper than Wonyoung anticipates, because that's the only way you're going to shut her up. That makes her pretty mouth fall open, taking the entirety of your length in the back of her throat, so deep that her lips rest against your base with ease.

“That’s much better,” you say, as you hold the poor thing right there, unbuttoning your shirt while she stays like that, gurgling on your shaft until you toss it aside, leaving you just as naked as her.

Another thrust follows right after, and there's no remorse as you fuck her face, indulging in the way her eyes immediately widen, struggling to take every inch of that throbbing cock while it plunges past those glossy lips.

Wonyoung looks right at home, a messy bobbing of her head to help, her fingertips clinging onto the back of your thighs to pull you in closer. This is right where you need her, on her knees, throat stuffed, with your hands gripping fistfuls of dark hair tightly, while those beautiful, watery eyes stare right up when you take control.

“Fuck, this bratty fucking mouth—your lips feel so fucking amazing around my cock," you growl, and there’s not much else that needs to be said when this bliss runs through your body, when her tongue eagerly works along your length, slobbering over every single inch in the warm depths of her throat.

Wonyoung fights the urge to gag with her head firmly cradled between both of your hands, and her jaw wide open. There isn’t anything more beautiful about this sight, when her lips get covered in drool, tears running down her cheeks, and those hungry slurps mixed into her breaths while you use that pretty mouth.

"I think I like this place now," you say, cock lodged all the way down Wonyoung's tight throat, holding her right where you want her, which earns a few heavy, muffled coughs. Not even realizing you've picked up the pace, you get a little rougher in the process, pulling that hair a bit more than usual. Your cock drips with spit every time her stretched lips part, drool dripping all the way down her chin and naked body.

You can’t be gentle whatsoever when she looks so needy on her knees, never once hesitating to make sure Wonyoung knows exactly who is in control here. Her nose buries into your stomach every time your length slides back in, and she takes every last inch like a champ, proving she wants nothing more but to keep her tight, wet mouth stuffed with cock.

Because that messy mouth never pulls away, no signs of wanting to tap out anytime soon, that heavenly little mouth so willing and eager to be a toy all for your pleasure. All Wonyoung can do is hold your thighs tight as you fuck her face mercilessly, and you can never hold back your hips from bucking right in a harsh, relentless rhythm.

Seeing such a wrecked mess is everything you want, all the encouragement needed—this pretty thing all ruined, nothing like her usual prim and proper demeanor.

As the tears start to well up in her eyes now, you’re really taking advantage of her obedience, shoving yourself deep into the back of her throat without faltering, so you can do a number on that perfectly applied makeup. Despite the continuous onslaught in her throat, Wonyoung stares up with such devotion, hardly able to breathe.

The look in her eyes says it all—getting off on being a complete slobbering mess that takes your dick so well, this gorgeous girl kneeling beneath you couldn’t be happier.

When you eventually stop to take in the masterpiece you’ve created, Wonyoung leans back and lets out an immediate whine, gasping for air while your shaft, all covered in spit, rests on her face. Her mascara trails down those reddened cheeks, streaks of saliva all over her chin, lips swollen from sucking so hard on your thick shaft. “Please—please keep fucking my throat, daddy.”

Wonyoung sounds so pathetic when she speaks, when drool spills out of her lips the moment they leave your cock. She’ll have to wait until later, because that’s all she’s getting now—you’re not going to end the fun without bending that body over the table. "Don't get greedy."

As if she can do anything but that, worshiping your cock by planting these ravenous little kisses on the underside of your length to get more throbs from you, savoring the weight and taste like she can’t go a second without it. "Can't help it, daddy. Not when it tastes so good, just need it back in my mouth, need to choke more on it, please—“

“No, princess. This is going in your pretty little cunt now. Get up.”

A hasty rise, and Wonyoung heads to the edge of the conference table, turning around to peer out at the campus for the briefest moment—lost in lust with only thoughts of your cock entering her. "Y-yes, daddy. You better cum in me. I’ve earned it.”

"Have you now? Because I don’t think you’ve earned a damn thing yet.” Before she has a chance to answer, you smack her tight ass hard, and she yelps in response, the soft flesh reddening immediately at the harsh sting.

"I’ve earned for daddy to fuck me like a toy, haven’t I? And to be a good little cum dump?”

You don’t even dignify her comment with a response, slapping her other cheek twice as hard. Wonyoung bends down to remove her heels, only for her wrist to be caught at the last second, getting the message loud and clear. "Leave those on, princess. Want you in those fucking heels while I ruin you."

“Whatever daddy wants...” With her palms flat, Wonyoung braces herself on the table, legs spread in anticipation. There's a certain charm and elegance about her wearing nothing but those sexy heels as she takes her position, offering up that glistening pussy while she awaits your cock.

"Such a pretty pussy, already so dripping wet like the slut that you are," you say, sliding right up to that backside so that your shaft can line up right between those cheeks. "Do you want me to be rough with you, princess? Do you want me to pound this greedy fucking cunt and breed you?”

"Always," she says, an immediate answer despite her voice wavering. “Daddy can always be rough with me. Use me however you want.”

An offer like that can’t go to waste. Spending a moment to admire the beauty of this petite goddess, you push down on her bare back to bend her further over, ass sticking up in the air while you tease her warm entrance with the tip of your cock.

"Should make you beg for this dick. Made me come all the way up here just so nobody else can hear you scream when I rail you, huh?” You decide not to, because when you’ve got Wonyoung bent over so deliciously, eagerly waiting for your cock to stretch her all out, the view of her inviting cunt is far too irresistible.

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to get us away from Yujinnie. I would have been perfectly happy taking that dick in the kitchen or anywhere else. Now hurry up and—“

Before Wonyoung finishes, you silence her with a harsh snap of your hips, sinking deep inside in one powerful thrust. The heat from her cunt hits all at once, as does the grip of those velvety walls when you open her up so wide from the start. She's so fucking wet that you slide in to the hilt with ease, echoing her moans when you're bottoming out within seconds.

"Oh god, that's so fucking good," Wonyoung cries out, biting on her bottom lip when you start to pound right into her slick depths, again and again, and you can't believe how impossibly tight she is despite all this. "Love it when daddy splits me open with his thick fucking cock.”

You hardly have a moment to savor this tightness as your hands settle on Wonyoung's hips, squeezing with so much force that it makes her walls clench unbelievably so all around your entire length. She whines so prettily for you when her pussy swallows the entirety of your cock in these unforgiving thrusts, rocking her slender body forward against the table every time you drill into her warm, needy cunt.

"Fucking your throat was just what I needed, princess, getting me all nice and warmed up," you say, gaze fixed solely on how those buttcheeks look every single time they collide with you. Wonyoung takes it all in stride, every inch filling her up with ease as her soaked cunt adjusts so well to your length. Her heels clack to match the rhythm of your hips, accentuating those absurdly long and slender legs that can barely touch the floor when she's bent over like this.

"God, your cock is so good, so big inside me, daddy," she whimpers, and your hips don't cease for a moment, pulling her tight body into every motion of your hips. “Aren’t you glad I brought you here? So I can be as loud as I want while I’m creaming all over your cock?”

You’re too busy indulging in her intoxicating heat to care, offering nothing but the deepest of thrusts that hit right in the gut, fingers digging into her supple skin. Wonyoung, she’s made to take it just like this, the most perfect fit for your cock.

“Stop talking and take this cock, princess,” you say, fucking your cock into her warm hole all rough and careless like she’s desperate for. Wonyoung’s going to do only one of those things, not afraid to let out every frantic moan and breathless gasp, surrendering completely to you and the pistoning of your hips that are unstoppable at this point.

There's nothing but an echo bouncing through this empty room, the filthy sounds of bare flesh clashing together as you drive in over and over, buried so deep into Wonyoung’s perfect pussy that’s somehow gets even wetter around you from getting railed just like she wants.

“Fuck, can’t get enough of your tight pussy, princess,” you groan out, slamming so roughly as you relish the sight of her back arching, feeling the weight of your body all over hers. "You feel so so good, you're just dying to be filled up again, aren't you?"

"Y-yes, daddy," she replies, voice quivering while struggling to speak in the midst of her cunt being pummeled against the table. "Daddy can dump as many loads as he wants, wanna be so fucking full with your hot cum—"

“Then maybe I should be fucking you against the window—let everyone see you all naked and exposed, watching me destroy this perfect little pussy until I breed you so deep and full."

That makes Wonyoung tighten up so harshly, because even though you're so many floors up, she can't deny the thought of being watched by absolute strangers as she's pounded against the glass until she's screaming—

While her imagination wanders, you let go of her hips for now, leaning forward to seize her forearms instead, pinning them behind her back as you keep plowing her into the table. Wonyoung clenches more at that, now that she’s so utterly helpless to do anything but take the brunt of aggressive thrusts as your pace only quickens, even more relentless with a bruising grip on her delicate wrists.

“Shit, oh fuck, daddy, just like that, pound my little pussy just like that!”

Nothing could ever stop you from doing exactly that. Every fresh thrust accentuates the loud clap of your hips against her pale cheeks, the room filled by the sinful symphony of her loud moans that escapes so shamelessly. “So desperate for this fucking cock, you’ll do anything to get your slutty pussy wrecked by this, won’t you?"

Wonyoung just nods vigorously, as much as she can with you in control of her limbs, her forearms pressed right behind her, all bound in your grasp so you can keep her body firmly in place. You've got her cunt all stretched out, a hot, slick warmth to impale your throbbing shaft into, and you know she can feel all of you as you thrust and thrust without holding back a single time. “Daddy—fuck, so fucking deep in me, oh my god, use that pussy, use me to cum so deep and full—“

Those stiletto heels don't do her any favors as they clack rapidly against the ground, even lifting up at one point as she succumbs to pleasure, her entire body driven forward by your ferocity and strength.

"Oh my god, oh my fucking god," she gasps, borderline screaming with every snap of your hips, those wide open legs a blur of motion every time you bury inside. Wonyoung keeps you so snug inside her, refusing to let go while you drill her mercilessly, a series of breathless little gasps with each different thrust that drives her petite frame forward every time you hit balls deep.

“So, fucking, good,” you groan, punctuating each word with your hips. The resounding smack of hot flesh through this vacant conference room sounds every bit filthy the more you continue. Through all the moans, those drenched pussy lips cling to your cock whenever you ram back in, making it nearly impossible to hold back—so fucking tight and perfect, your shaft getting squeezed when it fills her all the way, never an inch remaining outside her.

And she loves every single moment of it.

“Daddy—“ It’s the only word on repeat falling from Wonyoung's mouth, a chorus of pathetic little whines, too gone to speak a coherent sentence. Her body jolts forward every time you plunge in deep, dripping sweat, at the absolute mercy of whenever your shaft hits at the perfect angle, shedding away whatever decency she has left. "Your huge cock is gonna make me cum if you keep fucking me this hard."

"That's the point, princess," you say, keeping this tight grip on her wrists to plow away, using her sweaty body how you see fit. Though you’re rapidly testing your own limitations, unsure how much longer you can keep up the current pace, Wonyoung is struggling to hold on, pussy spasming wildly through this onslaught of punishing pleasure. "But how many times can I do this? How many times can I make you cum on my cock?”

Wonyoung offers no clear reply other than desperate moans, shuddering in her bound position, so desperate to regain some control to impale herself right back on your length. But you keep her right here for as long as you need, a nice toy to pound into, this perfect tightness wrapped around your cock never ever enough.

“Can't hear you. Better speak up, brat," you growl and loosen your grasp on Wonyoung’s slender arms, kneading two handfuls of her pert ass, digging your fingertips into the supple flesh.

It’s rather animalistic, the way you watch her body bent over, so helplessly accepting your ruthless strokes. But now, she has the freedom to finally push herself back against your length, making sure her cunt swallows up every single inch. You don’t let up for a single moment, fucking Wonyoung so harshly against the table, both hands sinking into her asscheeks that jiggle each time you thrust, with only the tips of her black heels meeting the carpet floor.

“Asked you a fucking question, princess. How many times does daddy’s little slut want to cum on my cock? Two? Three? Or have I fucked you so hard you've forgotten how to count?"

“D-dunno, daddy, as many as you want me to,” Wonyoung stammers out, and you know she’ll greedily take as many orgasms as she can handle. Yet right now, all she can think about are these rapid-fire thrusts that get her closer to the edge, meeting your hips to speed this all up. “Feels so fucking good when you’re this rough—gonna fucking cum, gonna cum on that thick cock, oh my fucking god—“

Those heels finally slip right off her feet, and all this spiraling bliss has her toes curling on the ground while she braces for the inevitable. Right on cue, Wonyoung hits the tipping point, and her pussy convulses with absolute need around your throbbing length. Her voice echoes out daddy like a chant, those messy warm walls squeezing the life out of your shaft, all while these uncontainable trembles persist.

She’s gasping, moaning, aching for more while you ram into her soaking heat at a dizzying rate, a new rush of wetness that drowns your cock and threatens to push you out of her.

The pleasure rips Wonyoung to shreds, and you fuck her through every intense moment, hips smacking so fast and rough against her tight little ass to savor the ripples that you help create. She rides this blissful high, wave after wave, gushing all over you until a pool of arousal drips down her thighs, staining everywhere it falls.

“D-daddy—“ Wonyoung just keeps shaking beneath you, cumming on your cock again and again, her erratic sobs filling your ears. You love how overwhelmed she gets, when she falls apart, reduced to such a mess of heavy panting and those parted lips that struggle to catch a breath. Every inch of that porcelain skin glistens with sweat, strands of dark hair clinging to her pretty face, eyes half lidded as they try their best to meet yours.

"So good, daddy fucks me so damn good…” Wonyoung murmurs, still shaking after a release that hits like a truck, hardly able to let out anything but exhausted sobs and ragged breaths.

Now that she’s coming down, you slow the pace back to something much more manageable, something less taxing on your body. Because you’re not done with her yet. Words can’t even describe the state you’ve left her in, a complete fucked out mess, legs barely holding up her weight through the aftershocks of climaxing so hard on your cock, and there’s no part of her tired frame that isn’t still spasming.

Letting Wonyoung collect herself, you run a hand down her spine, fingertips slipping through a layer of perspiration that shines against her pale skin, and that's before you look down between her legs. You really hope her claim that nobody uses this room—or this entire building holds weight—because this room is going to be in shambles when you’re both done.

Only when she's gotten the most out of her overwhelming ecstasy, do you pull out for good, giving one more harsh thrust for good measure, still holding those cheeks in your grasp as a tired whine slips past her lips when left suddenly empty.

But Wonyoung doesn’t have time for her body to recover, barely catching her breath while turning back around to face you, and she practically crumbles to her knees before you can do or say anything about it. Immediately, she engulfs your cock in her warm mouth once again, lips wrapped around every drenched inch, eager to taste the tangy sweetness of her own juices.

"Jesus—so hungry for this fucking cock, aren't you?" you ask, looking down at the beautiful sight of Wonyoung bobbing her head between your legs like her life depends on it, savoring every single drop of her pussy as if she'll never have the privilege of tasting you again.

Wonyoung releases you with a loud, wet pop, letting your shaft smack on her face with a giggle before wrapping fingers along your slick, spit-covered length. "Can’t help it. Not my fault daddy's cock is so delicious."

As good as she looks with your cock in her mouth, one of those conference room windows has her name written all over it. So without another word, you help Wonyoung back to her feet, earning a cute little gasp of surprise when you hoist her up in the air—then slide your cock right back inside with one swift movement as she wraps her long legs around your waist.

"H-holy shit, daddy, oh fuck—" With each powerful thrust upwards into this pretty cunt, her hands fall around your neck, arms clinging as tightly as she can while your hips drive right up into her. And with an extra squeeze of her scrumptious ass to help, she holds on as you walk her to one of the large windows nearby, continuing right where you left off.

Her naked back meets the glass surface, the cool sensation catching her entirely off guard. You've got your hands right under her creamy thighs, and Wonyoung feels so light in your arms, practically weightless, able to easily pin her up against the glass like a prized piece of artwork.

Wonyoung’s petite body is almost too easy to carry around—it takes no effort to bounce her on your cock, starting out with these shallow pumps, before really fucking her on your shaft, returning to something that resembles your earlier pace. "Hope you’re ready for me to blow such a thick fucking load into you, princess."

“Always am,” she says, as her head rests against the glass window, eyes fluttering close whenever you slam her all the way down your length. Wonyoung feels so good wrapped around your cock, so unbelievably tight as you pound her deep and fast in such a vulnerable position on display for anybody who looks high enough to see. “Love when daddy uses my little pussy and fills me up with hot cum.”

“Good,” you start to say, focusing on drilling as deep as possible in every thrust, so addicted to the moans that spill out so freely, exactly like before. "Because I'm gonna cum in you so hard. Gonna fill that pretty cunt to the fucking brim. No goddamn way I’m pulling out."

"I know daddy would never. Wanna feel it all unload inside me. Don't waste a single drop, pump it all deep into my pussy, empty those heavy balls right in me—that’s where it belongs."

"Yeah, it fucking does," you reply, feeling a new surge of energy as you keep Wonyoung pinned against the glass, relishing how helpless this position is making her feel. You’re both completely lost in it all, the slick walls of her cunt spasming like crazy, every thrust hitting harder than the last. “All this cum belongs deep inside this perfect cunt of yours. Not gonna have to wait long for me to fill you up."

With that said, you give everything you’ve got, staring into those eyes that demand her wet cunt gets used by your shaft, stretched out with every pump. And just like that, you fuck Wonyoung into another devastating orgasm, pounding relentlessly into her dripping heat while she writhes uncontrollably in your arms.

“Greedy fucking slut can’t stop cumming on my cock, can you?” you ask, and there's nothing to muffle her high-pitched cries. She clenches harder and harder in response, knowing how equally close you're getting, far too close for comfort, wanting that hot, sticky release shooting deep.

And as much as you want this to never end, to keep Wonyoung impaled on your shaft with her sweaty body against the window, you simply can't fight your inevitable end. You get a nice, firm grip on her ass, fingertips filled with that supple flesh, and keep her body securely in your grasp as she hangs on tight, taking every unforgiving thrust. Her legs secure so tightly around you, clinging to your body, and those desperate moans turn into whines and whimpers whenever you bring her body down on the base of your shaft every time you drive deep.

"Inside me. Cum inside me, daddy, right now, please, just—“

As if there's any choice to be made. You can barely hold out, keeping her pinned against the glass while you bury your throbbing shaft back into those glistening pussy lips. It's all a matter of seconds, until her cunt grips you just the right way and makes you fucking explode inside her warm, slippery depths.

The look in her lustful eyes, those sweet pleas that beg for you to pump it all into her like she deserves, it has you there in an instant. When you inevitably topple over the edge, you let out a loud, guttural groan, and empty everything into Wonyoung like you’ve been building it all up for weeks.

Thrust after thrust, your shaft throbs violently, flooding Wonyoung’s intoxicating heat with thick, sticky strands of white, and you spill it all into the deepest part of her soaked cunt. It's pure ecstasy, and the first pump inside makes her convulse around your cock, her pretty features contorted with relief as her pussy takes in everything, refusing to give back a single drop.

The most perfect place to unload all your cum, right where it fucking belongs.

Through this final ride of bliss, Wonyoung’s long legs stay wrapped around you, holding you hostage, and every squeeze her cunt gives has you fucking your messy load deeper into her greedy pussy, hips nearly on auto-pilot. Because once again, it’s another way of proving that she’s actually the one in charge here, despite your defilement of her body that would say otherwise.

“Feels so full, so warm, daddy always cums so much in me,” Wonyoung says, as she buries her head in your shoulder, muffling her attempts to catch her breath.

“You earned it, princess. For being such a—“ you cut yourself off, because you’re much too tired to even think about anything but the bliss lingering through your body.

“For what? Being daddy’s slut? Or his favorite cum dump?”

“I was about to say a good girl, but clearly I was wrong, once again. You really are nothing but an insatiable little slut.”

“Daddy’s insatiable little slut. You should know already that I’m not a good girl…” Maybe they go hand-in-hand more than Wonyoung thinks.

As good as this glass window must feel against Wonyoung's exhausted figure, you're far too spent to keep her pressed here. With whatever stamina left remaining, you carry her over to the conference table and deposit her limp body onto the flat wooden surface before you collapse right on top of her, still sheathed in her warm pussy.

It's Wonyoung that moves next, wrapping her hands around you to pull you close, lips meeting in a sloppy, heated kiss that’s considerably less intense than before. Her hands settle around your cheeks, and she cradles your face to meet your gaze, content with you just staring at her.

“Just a little longer, daddy. Feels so good to have you inside me. Stay like this a bit longer.“ You can’t possibly say no to that. So you simply nod, resting your body on top of Wonyoung as she continues to keep you warm in her messy cunt.

The two of you lose track of time while basking in the afterglow with no concerns for anything else, making out lazily. After all the roughness that comes with the territory of fucking Wonyoung, these delicate kisses prove just as necessary, brushing strands of hair that stick to her forehead. You could easily rest here forever.

"Daddy..." Wonyoung mutters when you finally part from her sticky folds, all that oozing mess dripping out into a puddle on the ground, joining the previous evidence left by this rigorous session. "Let's go get ice cream. There's a new place nearby I wanna try."

It's so very Wonyoung that even while she rests here, fully naked on this table, covered in sweat with her legs hanging off the edge, that all she can think about is eating ice cream. But hey, nothing sounds better, other than maybe a long, long steamy shower. "Whatever you want, princess. You deserve it."

"Of course I do. All this thick cum pumped into me proves it," she says, swiping two fingers through her messy folds to scoop out a bit of the seed you've shot deep, then sucks on her fingers so obscenely, like it's her favorite thing in the world to taste.

There’s that look in her eyes again, suddenly energized by tasting what you’ve left between her legs. And yet, you can't exactly hide that you share the same desire, no longer the least bit exhausted while Wonyoung’s naked body stays on full display, glistening with sweat, cum dripping down her thighs, hair all disheveled, looking like an absolute gorgeous wreck.

"Or does daddy wanna fuck another load into me first?”

✦ ✦

Finding every excuse not to return to the apartment, ice cream only happens somewhere near the second or third round, after finishing inside Wonyoung again, then once more over her tight body all sprawled out on the conference table.

Without a shred of guilt, you've both left that room in absolute shambles, trusting Wonyoung's word when she swears nobody's going to even bother checking this place, anyway. So after trying to clean up what you can, ice cream turns into another quick fuck in the bathroom, plowing her against the sink while keeping a hand right over her mouth the entire time, until you shoot another heavy load all over her eager, gorgeous face.

Wonyoung always looks the prettiest when she’s covered in your load.

And of course, that wasn’t enough—because nothing ever is, even as she stares at her cum-glazed face in the mirror, almost daring to leave the bathroom wearing your load.

You manage to sneak in one more session, this time outdoors, by the river, on a park bench in an area that you hope is secluded enough to escape attention. At least the sun has gone down, though the lust from Wonyoung clearly hasn't.

The stars shine bright in the sky, highlighting every inch of this girl’s ridiculous figure while she rides you until you warn her you're about to explode. She quickly slips off your shaft and drops to her knees in the grass, eager to finish you off with her mouth as her lips slide down to your base just in time. And somehow, you’re still throbbing hard through another explosive release, gripping the edge of the bench while she guzzles it all down her throat.

In typical Wonyoung fashion, she keeps sucking like a greedy slut, as if she hasn't already emptied you several times over. You don't have the energy to protest, which, of course, she uses to her advantage, keeping her warm fucking mouth around your oversensitive, swollen shaft. There’s no point in resorting to begging, because nothing’s going to stop her from making you blow again, refusing to let off until she claims one more pathetic load.

When she finally has mercy on you, she drags her cum-soaked tongue up to the tip of your cock, smiling innocently like she just didn't force everything you had left into her throat. Then she has the audacity to plant these little kisses all over your cockhead, watching how it twitches uncontrollably, continuing to stroke along every inch until there's nothing left to spill.

And just like that, she's in your lap, running fingers through your hair, giggling that she still has the taste of your cum lingering in her mouth. The way Wonyoung goes from depraved and starved for cock to sweet princess so suddenly makes your head fucking spin.

It's almost midnight by the time you get under running water, and you’re so devoid of energy that Wonyoung ends up having to scrub every inch of your body before her own—or that's just another excuse for her to get her hands all over you. Either way, by the time she's all finished cleaning you up, you collapse right onto the mattress.

"Poor daddy's so worn out," you hear Wonyoung say as she crawls under the sheets right behind, pressing her naked body into your back, legs coiling around you. An arm hooks over your chest, wrapping tight enough so that you can't escape, even if you wanted to. "Wanted you to fuck me until I couldn't walk straight, but seems like daddy can't even move an inch."

Even when you're about to pass out from exhaustion, you can't help but let out a smile at how brazen she sounds. Wonyoung nuzzles against the back of your shoulder before placing a little peck near the side of your neck. Then another. And one more for good measure.

"Maybe we should leave Yujinnie alone more often if it means daddy gets to have so much fun with me..."

That's the last thing you hear, thinking about how much Yujin's going to jump all over the both of you the moment she's done with studies before the exhaustion finally takes over, welcoming a deep, long slumber.

And you can’t wait.

#kpop smut #wonyoung smut #ive smut #girl group smut #reader insert #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader #wonyoung x reader

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fishnapple · 1 month ago

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How you can find love

This reading is about romantic love, but you can use it for other kinds of love, just change the details a little to suit you better. How you can find it or accept it, what are the obstacles and opportunities.

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (Read this post : personal reading)

AMETHYST

There's an element of downplaying yourself, settling for less, or just wanting to float on the surface. Maybe you've been used to the kind of relationship that only centre around the superficial mundane matters, just gliding on the surface without going deeper like talking, sharing about the past and the future together, about dreams, inspirations, fears, life philosophy, etc.

You might keep going for the same kind of people, those that remind you of something or someone from a distant past, the unconscious memories. Even though these people don't actually bring you fulfilment or help you going forward, on the contrary, some can even hinder you.

You also have the tendency to keep your thoughts to yourself, refusing to voice your opinions and feelings. Maybe it makes you feel vulnerable, or you're not too sure of what you actually feel about someone and how they feel about you. There's maybe lots of crushes, fleeting moments of attraction that you kept hidden, not allowing them to materialise into something more concrete.

All of this needs to be changed. You need to go to the opposite direction of these tendencies, to give yourself a new space to explore and dive deeper. You might feel the urge to runaway, to avoid when things start to get more serious, when you feel like you have to open yourself up and share a part of yourself while receive a part of the other person. Both the act of giving and receiving are scary but necessary.

If in the past, you were more tolerant of many behaviours of others that weren't in alignment with your values or make you comfortable, you would easily accept the possibility of a connection with someone if they managed to remind you of those familiar patterns. Now, you should be more selective of whom you can share that possibility with. There's a need to be more discerning and choose what's best for you. Choose someone who actually can go far with you, not just from shallow compatibility viewpoint. To do that, you need to be more vocal and express your desire more clearly, which starts from keeping a clear head even when you find yourself falling for someone.

But if you're sure of someone, don't try to hide it, don't try to stall for more time. The more you keep them hidden in your head and your heart, the more distorted their image are, you will begin to prefer the distorted version of them in your head rather than the real person.

ROSE QUARTZ

You have many conflicting ideas regarding love. This conflict of different ideas is what makes you feel confused and hard to find a suitable person who can satisfy all those criteria.

There's this definition of an ideal love and partner you've been observing from the community and the society you're living in. A traditional viewpoint that you can't help but subconsciously absorb it. It may be about how you have to do many hard work to be a perfect lover, a perfect spouse, how you have to have this skill or that skill, how you need to behave, how to talk and act in a manner that can attract potential suitors.

Then there's also your own version of idealistic love, what you think love ought to be. You put love on a pedestal, making it a sacred and mysterious concept that hardly any mortals can touch and possess it. This view might have been influenced by what you were taught and what you saw in the media. You've put love onto such a high place that you couldn't find anyone fit for it, nor did you find yourself capable or worthy of it. If someone managed to trigger an association with that perfect ideal, you would put that person also on a pedestal, trying to be the right partner to them, regardless of how you really are. On the opposite end, if they showed a sign of failing, you immediately judge them as not right for you and discard the possibility of a connection.

While a part of you think of love as a fairy tale, another part of you just want to live a normal, realistic life with mundane concerns. So then sometimes you might wonder, when will this ordinary life sparkle, transform into a fairy tale?

You might think that being in love will stifle your independence. The energy is directed inward. You're so used to spending time and effort on yourself, making your life as much fulfilling as possible. There's this tendency of when you are in a relationship, you focus on the security of yourself in that relationship while neglecting the necessary compromises to make a relationship work. These compromises mean changing your routines, making an effort to understand the other person's, working out your own shadows, and taking care of each other.

So to find love, a love that you can hold in your hand, not admiring from afar, you need to take the vision of love down from the pedestal, make it mundane and real with all the ugliness and awkwardness. Stop waiting for the moment when you'll become a perfect human to love and another perfect human will come to love you. Just remove the "perfect" part. What you need to be ready is how to be with another person. Not in an individualistic way like "I do my part, you do yours, then the relationship will work", but more like "we do this together". It's not wrong to look for an ideal love, but you need to realise that love exists just around you too.

FLOURITE

For this group, it is not so much about how you can find love, but it's more about how you can let love in. The thing that you need to realise is that it's okay to open yourself up, and that love can make you feel safe.

I think many people are attracted to you, but you seem to keep them at arm-length, not pushing them away but not letting them closer either. One part of you wants to love and be loved, but another part of you seems to doubt your ability to love and the chance of meeting someone who can truly love you. I think your end goal is marriage or a long-term commitment. So choosing someone means that person has to have the potential to be your life partner, someone you can see a future with.

I sense some negative talks surrounding you. Maybe they come from your own mind, you might worry about how you come across to other people, are you attractive enough, are you lovable. Or the negative talks could come from people around you, they might rush you to find a partner, or saying things that make you fearful of relationships, those opinions could come from their own experiences and their beliefs but their words have the opposite effect of encouragement.

There's a heavy shadow hidden in you that affects how you perceive romance and relationship. This could come from a domineering figure in your life that imposes a set of restrictions and control. Or some painful past memories that left a deep wound in your heart, making you build walls around yourself. There's this belief of being "deserving" or "worthy" of love. You tried your best to be someone loving, but sometimes you might feel that your efforts weren't rewarded, that you weren't appreciated enough. Which made you questioned yourself why it was so, and the answer that you've arrived at might not be entirely objective and correct, you might think that it's because you lacked something and you needed to try harder. While the answer might be just that you haven't met the right crowd, the right person yet.

The greatest components of an ideal relationship for you are the feeling of safety and unconditional love. Some people might seem perfect on paper, they might do all the right things but if you don't feel safe and accepted when you're with them, they are not the right one for you. What can be considered safe is pretty subjective. The definition could be formed by past experiences and upbringing. What one considers safe might not actually be healthy for them, so a certain level of objectivity is needed.

Someone who will not trigger your wounds and hurt you further, someone whom you can be yourself with, someone who can give you advice and guidance when you're feeling lost, someone who is strong enough to be your rock in difficult times. The person having these qualities will likely be the one who can get past your walls.

CITRINE

The answer can be pretty straightforward, you have the Sun stone landed on the centre. You can find love when you put yourself into the centre of your life. When you're confident enough and consider yourself being in a good place in life. It might sound egotistical, but focusing on yourself can mean many things.

One thing is you allowing yourself to shine your brightest. You might have some reservations about expressing yourself fully to people. Maybe you're afraid that you will be judged as selfish or too assertive. There's a desire to be rebellious, to be free, and do whatever you want, but there's also your ego wanting to be in control, to retain your dignity. Between them is a wall of fear that can be linked to the unconscious realm. You might be used to the idea of sacrifice, serving others, being selfless. Acting in any other ways would be considered not desirable. But by expressing yourself fully, you deliver the message to the world that you care about yourself and allow yourself the freedom to be. This message can be translated into the care you have for other people's expressions, the freedom you can give them. This can be very attractive and open up many new opportunities for you to explore.

Another thing about putting yourself into the centre is that you have a chance to examine yourself closely, getting to know yourself, unravel all the hidden desires, the unspoken fears, both the good and the bad.

I see a lack of action. There are things holding you back, gripping you immobile. There are offers of love and connection, but you don't see them, or you turn your back to them while focusing on other things. It's like when things come to you, you dismiss them because it's not what you want, you are waiting for the things that you want to come to you, they have to be chosen by you first. You get into a tunnel vision of seeing only the things you want. But then you tend to be passive and wait for them while falling into over-thinking mode, dissecting every nuance and scenario. In the end, too tired and pessimistic from the conclusion you've reached, you choose to stay still and withdraw. Another failed dream goes unto the archive.

So instead of waiting for love, this group truly needs to actively recognise and find love and seize the chance when it comes to you. This will require you to completely overhaul your beliefs. Especially about how one should act.

There's a greater chance of finding love through groups of friends, through a community of shared interests. An emphasis on communication, talking about what you love, communicating openly, sharing lighthearted joys while also being able to discuss more serious and philosophical matters.

TIGER'S EYE

I see that you're already on the journey of love. It started with an open heart in the subconscious realm. I feel that you're very guided and protected. It might come from your own intuition or a higher spirit. Who knows, maybe they are the same. Right now, there's a gate opened for you, a new opportunity, your intuition can guide you towards it.

But I also see there's a wall obscuring that opportunity from coming into life. You might be dealing with some difficulties in material, physical plane. Trying to stabilise yourself. You might think that now is not the right time to be in love, a relationship right now would be impractical. You would be in thinking mode, trying to be logical and staying still, denying the possibility of love even when your intuition is saying otherwise. It's like you're trying to restrict yourself, trying to control, to bring order into your life, which might be the opposite of what love could bring you. You discard feelings that you deemed frivolous and silly fun, only looking for serious commitment but failed to realise that frivolous fun can develop and grow into something more serious and long lasting. You're sceptical of the feeling when you are in a truly fulfilling relationship. Is that really wonderful like how those romantics are telling us? Or is it just an elusive idea, fused by loneliness and the longing for completion?

But there will be an event or events shaking you out of that mode. It will be when you decide to leave the old way of living behind and try to find who you really are. I see travelling to distant lands, somewhere with a different culture that can open your mind and expand your ideas, somewhere that can make you forget all about your current reality in a moment to find stillness within. Love comes to you when you have the space to hold it and can give it to others

You might find love from a faraway land but sustaining it, keeping it alive and growing with it will be an ongoing lesson that you need to never cease learning. It's easy to slip back into old thinking mode, putting on suspicion and caution. Sharing yourself with another person seems daunting enough, navigating all the ups and downs of a relationship will require even more hard work. But I think you are brave. Beneath all that scepticism is an unwavering faith and an adventurous spirit that needs to come out boldly to take the reign, once in a while.

RED JASPER

I feel that love is something very intense for you, something that you may get drunk on, putting it on a pedestal. When you're in love, you want to be all in, emotional fulfilment comes before anything else. If a connection doesn't elicit strong feelings in you and things seem mild and lighthearted then you could not sustain it for too long.

There's a tendency to be obsessive, especially with potentials. If you catch feelings for someone, you will immediately think about how to cement the connection and then worrying about potential discords. This tendency might have put you in situations that left deep scars. On one hand, you want to love blindly, on the other hand, you are cautious of potential hurts and pains, of the past repeating itself.

There's might be a focus on the unusual, a liking for the differences. The more someone is different from you, the more foreign they feel, the more likely they're to catch your eyes. Exotic features, foreign accents, alternative style and taste, an element of other-worldliness.

Physical compatibility might be an important criterion. You want to immerse yourself with the other person, holding them closely, both physically and emotionally, mentally. But doing that can put a burden on you, everything feels so heavy, sometimes to the point of suffocating. You hold yourself and the other person prisoners of love. And when the unbearable weight keeps pushing both of you down and down without a way up, one of you or both will want to break away, resulting in a seemingly sudden break.

The advice for you is to take things more lightly, lightly is different from not being serious. Seeing things in different angles, imagine being someone else looking in from the outside, detach yourself a little bit. Focus more on the mental compatibility, not just how many things you both agree with each other but also how you can disagree with each other, how different you are and how that difference contribute to the growth of the connection.

You might be in a more masculine energy when pursuing love, the act of going after something and trying to control it requires masculine energy. On the contrary, accepting love and nurturing it needs you to be in feminine energy. I'm not saying which energy is more preferable but there's a need to balance them out, to be in more of one energy when the other is being too dominant.

Then you will find love is not a burden to hold on your shoulders or a fruit that can be devoured completely, but like a plant you want to nurture steadily and see it grow day by day. It's something to be celebrated and enjoy, not something to be chased after and then be kept away in a safe.

#pick a card #tarotblr #witchblr #crystal reading #lithomancy #tarot reading #future spouse #pick a pile #divination #tarot #tarot community #astro community #astrology #astro #crystal #witch community #love reading

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miumura · 5 months ago

Text

IN ANOTHER LIFE, YOU’D BE THE ONE.

assigning enhypen sad tropes / endings

PAIRING enhypen x gn!reader GENRE angst, some fluff? WARNINGS some r not portrayed in a good light (bc of the trope ideas) WORD COUNT varies from 0.3-0.7K+ per

DISCLAIMER these are just random tropes that i think suits them, however, this is not a true depiction of how enhypen truly acts in real life. this is simply just fictional.

‘ 💬 ’ hanniluvi cb? HAHA sorry for disappearing on you guys, but i just finished finals & school is ending soon !!! so yk what that means 😊! slowly making my way back 2 writing 🫡 this was def made randomly and somehow i was committed to it so here you guys go!!

HEESEUNG — HE FAILED THE SECOND TIME.

i don’t really have an explanation to this, i just think he suits this kind of trope? like he truly loves you to the point where he’s willing to give another shot into the relationship. but when trying again, he realizes the problem but was too late to fix it once more.

You wouldn’t have expected either, but the buzz coming from your phone would be a text message from Heeseung. Shock and adrenaline rushed within your body as he was the first to break the “no contact” rule after your break up.

Without a second thought, you found yourself propped up against your bed frame, texting him instead of sleeping. It was going well, until the text messages started becoming more flirtatious.

Even so, it felt different. It felt like you two were finally ready to try again. When he arrived at your doorstep with flowers and a sign asking, "CAN I BE YOUR BOYFRIEND?", you found no reason to decline.

Texts? He sent you thoughtful good morning and good night messages regularly.

Dates? He always paid attention to your preferences, leading to more spontaneous dates than anticipated.

Gifts? He surprised you with "just because" gifts, often accompanied by adorable notes.

Perhaps it seemed too perfect, but you were too in love to see any warning signs. His initial initiative in reaching out first felt like destiny. However, those blissful three to four months soon dissolved into nothing.

Texts? His responses come much later, and those sweet good morning and good night messages? Few and far between.

Dates? You're the one initiating them, and they lack the genuine spark they once had.

Gifts? It's only you who's putting in the effort, mirroring the gestures he used to make.

You've noticed he's slipping back into old patterns. Heeseung is consumed by his own schedule, neglecting those around him. Attempts to communicate often circle back to his work, leaving no room to discuss your relationship. He's too drained to prioritize you.

Perhaps you shouldn't have expected more or less, considering you already gave him another chance before.

You tried waiting, but with each passing day, you only disappointed yourself further.

So you gradually stopped texting, stopped putting in effort, stopped caring. And what came of it? Nothing.

Nothing until he randomly resurfaced with texts again.

People never change.

This time, without the previous excitement and nerves, you found yourself indifferent to even bother replying. Maybe your silence would speak volumes, considering he's accustomed to the silence he often gives you.

Maybe, you shouldn't have replied in the first place.

JAY — YOU FELL OUT OF LOVE, HE LOVED TOO HARD.

honestly, i see jay as a person who would absolutely do everything and anything for anyone. like this man would have no problem doing anything if it was meant to help anyone he loved. he just gives off the energy / whole idea of “so much love to give, gets not much in return.”

Since you started dating Jay, this guy has been nothing short of perfect to you. He constantly surprises you with flowers, insists on carrying everything for you, and showers you with compliments at every opportunity.

On the surface, it all seemed too good to be true. Despite having what many would consider the "perfect" boyfriend, you found yourself drifting away. Feelings slowly waned, and you began to distance yourself from the person who loved you the most.

Initially, you might not have noticed, but he did. As you began to give him less attention, show less reaction to his gestures, and the love in your eyes faded upon seeing him, he observed it all.

He witnessed you transform into someone unrecognizable. He recognized the signs of change, and perhaps he should have let go then. Yet, there remained a part of him that was reluctant to give up, still holding onto hope and the desire to keep trying.

Despite his earnest efforts to salvage the relationship, he couldn't escape the inevitable "Let’s break up" conversation. He hadn't realized how much his attempts to reignite your love were taking a toll on him until you made the decision to end things.

For months, he had maintained a facade of "everything will be okay," but now, faced with the reality of losing you, he began to crumble. He had invested so much time and energy into becoming a better person for someone he loved, only to realize that he was sacrificing himself in the process.

He couldn't blame you; he never would. He understood that you were falling out of love, and perhaps he should have let go sooner. But he couldn't shake the feelings he still harbored for you, even as they led to nothing but heartache.

Getting over you won't be as simple as he had hoped. He'll likely continue to blame himself, wondering what he could have done differently to be a better boyfriend for you.

But deep down, you know he did nothing wrong. He was a wonderful partner; it's just that you had fallen out of love, and sometimes, that's nobody's fault.

JAKE — RIGHT PERSON, WRONG TIME.

DUDEEEEE, you can’t tell me jake gives off the vibes of a person you’d always think about. no matter how much you try to forget him, you visually can’t get him out of your head. like you truly like this guy, but because of the time/fate, it lead you guys onto separate paths. this trope sounds cliche, but it’s the best way i can word it.

Jake embodied everything you sought in a partner. From his looks to his humor, and especially his personality, he checked all the boxes. Spending time with him felt like a whirlwind; the hours flew by when it was just the two of you.

Ever since he moved in next door, you found yourself drawn to him, intrigued by his every move. What began as subtle glances evolved into friendly greetings and eventually daily hangouts.

You never knew you could be this over the heels with someone until you met him. You found yourself looking forward to his daily texts and him sending silly videos that reminded him of you. You found yourself making silly trinkets and dropping them off in his mailbox. You found yourself with a pink envelope in your hand, walking to the park to give to him.

And as always, you saw that smile that always managed to brighten up your day. Sitting next to him on the swings, as you expected to be faced with another few hours of random talk with him, you’d be suddenly hit with the news of him having to move.

You didn't want to believe it.

You hoped he was joking, but instead, you were met with a disappointed look on his face. He seemed almost ashamed that this was happening, even though you knew it wasn't his fault.

You could imagine how badly he felt, so you kept your emotions in check and simply told him you would miss him. That night, you went home with tears staining the pink envelope you had intended to give him—a letter of your confession.

You had planned to give it to him that day, but instead, you saved it for his last day.

"Here," you said, pressing your lips into a thin line as you handed him the envelope.

"What is this?" he asked, curiosity piqued.

"A letter—but don't read it now!"

"Why not? You're tempting me," Jake replied, raising an eyebrow as he held the envelope with care.

"Well, don't listen to your temptations because—hey!" Before you could finish, he had already opened it, revealing its contents.

"This is embarrassing," you mumbled into your hands, feeling the heat rise to your face. Peeking through your fingers, you saw his eyes getting watery as he chuckled at parts of your letter.

When he finished reading, Jake looked at you and extended his arms. You immediately fell into his embrace, feeling his warmth surround you. Placing a hand on the back of your head, he whispered into your ear, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" your voice cracked, fearing that your confession would lead to nothing.

"I'm sorry this had to be this way," he said, clearing his throat and fighting back tears stirred by your emotional letter. "If it wasn't obvious enough, I like you too."

You felt a mix of relief and sadness. Despite your mutual feelings, fate was pulling you in different directions.

Before you could say another word, his family was already calling him to leave. Jake gave you one last squeeze and a look filled with fondness.

"I'll try to contact you often, okay, YN?"

"Okay," you replied.

As he waved goodbye with red eyes and that beautiful smile you loved, you saw him for the last time in person, feeling the weight of the moment settle in your heart.

SUNGHOON — JUST “FAKE DATING”.

do you see the vision that i’m visioning. like i don’t know, it just works out?? like i can see you two starting to fake date, it leads to something more (at least that’s what you think), and that all disappears, repeating once more. like it seems like he means it, but at the same time, his actions seem to prove otherwise. it’s like a constant cycle that you don’t want to or know how to get out of.

"I'm telling you, I don't think you should be doing this," your friend insisted, both online and in person. "Hanging with Sunghoon is only going to hurt you."

You never anticipated how your own choices might backfire. As a good friend, you just wanted to help Park Sunghoon make someone jealous. After all, with his pleading tone, how could you possibly say no?

If only you just believe his rule, "Don't fall in love with each other," this should be easy. You just needed to play the role—that’s all you had to do.

So, it started off slowly.

You two were together all the time, which was normal for you both. But whenever his ex came around, you could feel him inching closer, invading your personal space. It wasn’t much, but it felt rather intimate...though that was the plan.

Then it escalated. Sunghoon didn’t just act like a boyfriend in person and at school; he began behaving the same way outside of school and over text.

You spent more time together, going to places, laughing as you took pictures. He started showing up at your house unannounced, and the two of you would stay up late, binge-watching your favorite shows and having those nightly talks.

He even introduced you to his friends. Would someone go to such lengths for a fake relationship?

It just didn’t feel like pretending. You felt something there, something that couldn’t be easily explained.

You tried to brush it aside, but your feelings for him only grew. You were definitely falling for his stupid, swooning charms.

You hoped he was falling for you too.

But that sliver of hope crashed down when you saw him with the very person he had wanted to chase after.

They were smiling and holding hands. He looked so...happy.

After he gave them a final hug, he turned and met your gaze, your eyes slightly glistening.

"Thank you, YN," he said, with that stupid grin on his face—the one you had fallen for. Seeing it now only made your stomach twist painfully.

“Thank you? That’s….that’s it?”

“I’m sorry?” Sunghoon gave you a confused look. “Did you expect something more?”

“I would’ve loved an explanation.”

“What?”

You pressed your lips together, but your emotions were overflowing.

“Why would you treat me like that? I mean, why would you treat me so nicely? Why would you try so hard that it made me feel like we could’ve had something…real?”

“YN…”

"Just why, Sunghoon? If you knew this was only going to be a fake relationship, why did you create something special only for it to be discarded?"

"I'm sorry, YN. I never intended my gestures to be misleading, so I never purposefully planned that. I did enjoy our time together, but I have to end whatever we had because I now have the person I will always want."

Right.

No matter how hard you try, you can't change Sunghoon's mind.

You aren’t the person he wants.

After all, that was the whole point of his plan.

Don’t fall in love with each other.

SUNOO — YOU TWO DRIFTED APART.

i feel like with sunoo, since he has such an outgoing and bubbly demeanor, it allows him to easily connect with others. so with that idea in mind, why not because of his personality and him constantly being involved in new crowds, it causes him to have no time for you. without realizing it at first, he soon forgets about his priority: you.

You can't help but feel a whirlwind of emotions: confused, overwhelmed, sad.

Sunoo is a great guy, and you know that. But his bubbly personality seems to be interfering with your relationship.

At first, you were completely fine with it. He helped you meet new people, pushed you out of your comfort zone, and, most importantly, you saw him extremely happy. That’s all you really wanted.

But lately, you've noticed that he’s been paying less attention to you. Even when it's just the two of you, he often ends up calling someone or suddenly engaging in conversations with people around you.

You always had to make the plans, and his reactions seemed less genuine compared to when he was with others. Would it be wrong to think that you don’t matter to him anymore?

You always had to initiate conversations. Always.

Just like every other day, you were on the phone with Sunoo, the silence filling the room. No one was talking, and you could probably assume he was messaging someone else while on the phone with you.

Clearing your throat, you finally spoke. “Sunoo?” You didn’t know why you were nervous; he was your boyfriend, after all.

“Yes?”

“Um…” Your throat felt like it was closing up on you. You never wanted to seem pushy or insecure because of his behavior—you just wanted to feel special again, like you did at the beginning of the relationship. It should be easy to tell someone like him, right?

“Just tell me, YN.”

“Listen…” You hesitated before continuing. “Do you even… love me anymore?”

“Seriously? What kind of question is that? Of course I love you. Do I not show you that?”

“Well… no.” You bit your lip, hoping to get the closure you needed.

“I didn’t know you felt that way. I hope you know that you’re my—oh, YN. I’m sorry, I really have to go. I promised to hang out with Jungwon today. I’ll call you back, okay? Love you.”

You heard the other line beep, leaving you feeling empty. Removing the phone from your ear and dropping it in your lap, you looked at the calendar next to you. Today's date had a large red circle with little hearts doodled around the event “OUR ANNIVERSARY.”

He was hanging out with Jungwon instead of you. He forgot it. You stared at the hearts, feeling a knot form in your stomach. This day had meant so much to you, and now it felt like just another ordinary, lonely day.

His "I love you"s always reassured you—but now? They did nothing but make you feel worse.

He really doesn’t realize how much he’s hurting you, does he?

JUNGWON — THE CLASSIC SECOND LEAD.

okay okay, hear me out. i feel like jungwon suits the idea of a person liking someone, but too afraid to actually make a move. like he would want to keep people he like closely, but he would never do anything that seemed like it would lead to a fallout or anything more. so because of this, it leads to him watching you love someone else on the sidelines.

Jungwon has always been a nervous guy, and being in love only amplified his anxiety.

After spending so much time getting to know you, he realized he was falling—deeply. And he hated how it made him feel.

He hated how he would stutter when trying to make eye contact with you.

He hated how he took extra time to fix his hair.

He hated how he felt like a nervous wreck every time he initiated a hangout outside of school and work, praying you’d have the time.

But all those things he hated would soon fade away when he was with you. He began to appreciate himself for making the effort—it felt worth it.

Any moment with you felt special to him—enough for him to lay in bed and think about it all night.

He loved how you made him feel seen and understood, something he had not felt with anyone else.

If he were to date someone, he would want it to be you.

"Isn't he so dreamy?"

Hearing those words crushed his hopes of ever making you his.

He found himself sitting across from you, listening to you talk about this new guy, feeling a knot form in his stomach.

"Are you listening, Won?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, sorry. What happened again?" He nervously chuckled, clearly not wanting to hear what was going to come out of your mouth.

"We're going on a date tomorrow!"

His heart was about to burst.

Deep down, he wished he could tell you how he truly felt, how much he cared about you, but it seemed like there would be no point.

Every word felt like a stab, yet he forced a smile. "I am so happy for you, YN."

And there was that smile—the very smile he hoped to see whenever you talked about him. But instead, that beautiful smile was for somebody else.

As you continued excitedly talking about your upcoming date, Jungwon couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness, knowing that he would always be just a friend, never the one you longed for.

Jungwon found another thing he hates about being in love.

He hates how loving someone can ultimately hurt you too.

NIKI — “TOO HARD TO LOVE”.

i can somehow see niki being apart of a trope where there is a lack of communication. like i think it would be hard to express himself properly, leading him to become closed off. like he would do tests to see how much you actually cared for him, leading to his own unsatisfaction. and yet, he still wouldn’t communicate it properly, leading to the downfall of your relationship with him.

"It doesn't seem like you care," Niki let slip out over the phone, his words not quite what he had intended to say to you.

"What do you mean?" you responded, clearly frustrated. "How can you say I don't care?"

"You haven't reached out to me."

"And what about you?"

"What?" Niki was taken aback by your abruptness.

"You never tell me anything. How am I supposed to know that you even want to be around me when all you've done is just push me away?"

The silence hung heavy between you, the weight of unspoken emotions palpable even through the phone line. Niki's mind raced, grappling with the sudden confrontation. He hadn't anticipated this turn in their conversation, nor had he realized the extent of his own actions until now.

Niki had never experienced this level of comfort and connection with anyone before.

He hadn't anticipated falling in love again—until he met you.

You possessed all the qualities he had been searching for, and being with you felt incredibly natural. So, it came as a surprise when he found himself in a relationship with you; it all seemed almost too perfect to be true.

Without even realizing, Niki was starting to become rather distant. He never intended to, but he was afraid of becoming a burden to you. The thought of investing so much time and energy into someone who might eventually leave scared him.

"I... I didn't realize," Niki stammered, his voice betraying a mix of confusion and guilt. "I didn't mean to push you away. I just... I've been dealing with some stuff lately, and I guess I haven't been handling it well."

"Then you could've told me, but you didn't. You only talked to me because I was always the one reaching out first," you finally said, your voice heavy with hurt. "So why?"

Niki felt a lump form in his throat, the weight of your words sinking in. He struggled to find the right words, the right explanation, but nothing seemed adequate.

"I don't know," he admitted softly. "Maybe I was scared."

"Scared of what?" you pressed gently.

"Just... just forget it," Niki muttered, frustration creeping into his voice. “I’m sorry.”

"Niki, I need to know that you're willing to put in the effort, to be open with me. This relationship can't work if it's one-sided."

"I just don't want to lose you," he confessed, his voice breaking slightly.

"I don't know if I can believe that."

"What?" Niki's voice was filled with surprise and hurt.

"I can't tell if you're honest with me. You've done this more than once, Niki."

"But it's true!" His voice raised higher, clearly panicked by how the situation had escalated.

"You say that, but actions speak louder than words," you replied, trying to stay calm despite the turmoil inside. "If you really don't want to lose me, you need to show it, not just say it."

Niki should've taken that as a sign to finally show what he'd been holding back. He should've explained why he had such a hard time expressing his feelings, and proved to you that you were someone he truly wanted.

But he didn't. He found himself holding back once again, repeating the very behavior you truly hated.

"Okay," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"That's... that's it?" You scoffed in disbelief. "Really?"

Niki felt a surge of panic and regret. He knew he was failing you again, but the words just wouldn't come. "I don't know what else to say," he admitted, feeling helpless.

"You could start by being honest," you replied, frustration evident. "Why is it so hard for you to open up? Why do you keep pushing me away?"

Niki hesitated, the fear of vulnerability clawing at him. "It's not that simple," he said finally. "I've never been good at this. I've always been afraid of getting too close, of being hurt again. But that's no excuse. I know I need to change."

"Then show me," you insisted. "Show me that you mean it. I need to see that you care enough to try."

Your silence was heavy, filled with both skepticism and a flicker of hope. "Call me when you're finally ready for this. I think we both need a break to think things over clearly, okay?"

Niki should have seen this coming. But instead of running away from the problem like he used to, he accepted it. "Okay."

You hung up the phone, leaving Niki alone with his thoughts. Determined, he knew he had to win you back and prove he could be different, better than he had been throughout the entire relationship.

💬 : if it doesn’t seem obvious enough, i’m trying to get back into writing longer fics 🤫

ENHA PERM TAGLIST (1) — @flwoie @ixomiyu @haruavrse @shinsou-rii @bearseulgs @ilovewonyo @yenqa @dimplewonie @bubblytaetae @wtfhyuck @ineedaherosavemeenow @ml8dy @starikizs @wonioml @chirokookie @xiaoderrrr @neozon3nha @en-chantedtomeetyou @millksea @enhaz1 @eundiarys @hyeosi @ja4hyvn @judeduartewannabe @j-wyoung @thia-aep @vampcharxter @softpia @officiallyjaehyuns @itsactuallylina @hsheart @sweetjaemss @ahnneyong @hanienie @jwnghyuns @kpoplover718 @jiawji @rikizm @haknom @yeokii @wvnkoi @whoschr @teddywonss @shinunoga-iie-wa @isoobie @skzenhalove @misokei @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @miercerise @litttlestars @enhapocketz

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gilverrwrites · 5 months ago

Note

How are you? I love your fics ❤️ and kept having this idea in my head.

Dick Grayson when he discovers early in their relationship, she never had someone give her head before. Like she’s getting all shy at her confession and says it’s nothing, but Dick doesn’t undermine her and says when she’s ready, he will make it SO memorable. This conversation always is at the back on her mind and after some time pass in their relationship, she is ready and he makes her sit on his face??? Like why is this so hot? Ofc, she will be insecure at first and wouldn’t want to suffocate him , he just really guides her through it but like more in a gentle rom way. Just imagine her experiencing like the most intense orgasm while also gaining self confidence and squirting for the first time too ?! 🤭

Memorable

Dick Grayson/F!Reader, 2.1K words AN: I’m well, thank you for asking, I hope the same can be said about you. Thank you for sharing, this is such a hot and sweet idea. When I started, I was just planning short blurb type response, but I guess it kind of got away from me. CW: First time cunnilingus, soft dom Dick (if you squint), dirty talk, swearing, hair pulling (Dick receiving), praise, squirting/female ejactulation, petnames: baby, good girl, pretty girl, perfect girl.

18+ MDNI

On the surface, Dick is the perfect gentleman about it, excluding his flabbergasted initial response.

“What? Never?” Followed by the even denser question; “Because you never had the opportunity? Or just never wanted to?” As if it mattered a whit either way.

But after that, he apologises for his reaction. He takes your hand, stares at you with those deep-set blue eyes that have always seen you, with that smile that soothes you and promises; “When… if you let me be your first, I promise I’ll make it worth it. We’ll make sure it’s memorable together.”

And then it’s ’forgotten’, he doesn’t bring it up, doesn’t talk about it unless you do. Ostensibly, the perfect gentleman, not wanting to scare you off with his enthusiasm, because on the inside he’s feral, obsessed with the idea of potentially being the first man to savour the taste of your hot, wet folds, to make you coo and pant and wither with just his mouth, to make you cum all over his face, fuck. All of it makes him hard as a rock in an instant.

The night you finally commit is nerve-racking for you both because you’ve built the moment up in your minds for so long. But Dick is determined to make this one of the greatest sexual pleasures of your life, and you trust him completely, that still, however, does not absolve all of your unease.

You’re already curled up together on the bed, in repective states of undress when you tell him you’re ready. His body immediately grows stiff, radiating excitement. He abandons his attack on the soft spot of your neck to examine your expression, you stare at each other, searching for reassurance, and find only dilated pupils and heavy lids.

“You’re sure?” He checks, and you instinctively nod. His eyebrow twitches upward, and you know he’s going to say something about using real words, so you beat him to the punch. “I’m sure!”

He grins at you, sparkle in his eyes before he’s climbing into position, moving all the pillows away from the headboard and settling in the now empty space, he taps his cheeks and instructs you to; “Come on up.”

It’s a silly attempt at adding humour to the situation, but you find yourself suddenly filled with doubt and stuttering. “You want me to sit on your face?” You’d thought you might start with a less constraining position. “Won’t that be uncomfortable, for you?”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “And if it does get uncomfortable, I’ll tap your leg 3 times, sound good?”

“Okay, sounds good.” You agree, still hesitant, but Dicks eagerness is contagious, the way he’s watching you with those lust-filled eyes makes you want to give him whatever he wants, and he’s never failed to deliver in the bedroom depart previously, so you hitch your leg and situate your knees either side of his head, your cunt hovers just above his face.

It isn’t until you feel his long, calloused fingers hook into your underwear and shift them to the side that you even realise you’d forgotten to remove them. You make to apologise, but he distracts you by running his index finger between your folds, lingering over your clit, he adds his middle finger and pulls apart your lips, exposing your entrance.

“Fuuuckk.” He breathes, “Such a pretty pussy. Can you bring it closer for me?”

Fuuuckk is right. The genuine affection in his voice has you nearly trembling as you lower yourself until you feel his warm breath brushing between your legs, the combination of air on moisture making the area tingle, but Dick’s still not satisfied.

“You don’t need to worry. It’s not too different to things we’ve done before. I’m only going to put my fingers in here.” To demonstrate his point, he sheaths one finger inside you in one quick motion and pumps it in and out, gradually building speed each time. “You like that, don’t you?”

“Oh, god, yes!” You confirm, unconsciously rocking your hips, trying to coax him deeper inside you.

“Yeeahh.” He hums, pressing the bud of his thumb against your clit, immediately sending a wave of pleasure through you in a way that makes you flinch. He chases your body with his hand, maintaining the friction between your legs. “And I’m gonna use my mouth here, sometimes I’ll swap but it’s gonna feel just like this, only better. I promise.”

Then his hand is gone, its withdrawal leaving you ten times needier than you had been when he’d started. You take a few deep breaths to calm yourself before settling further down, you don’t stop until you can feel his nose poking between your lips. You’re rewarded by the muffled sound of Dick’s voice praising you from below; “Good girl.” Then one hand locks onto your thigh, not hard enough to force you in place, but firm enough to convey the message.

From there, you’re partly expecting an assault, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Dick slowly works his tongue from your entrance to your clit, letting out a lewd, glutaral groan in the process. “You taste so sweet.”

If you weren’t already flushed, that would have done it. You open your mouth to thank him, but as you do so he latches his mouth around your clit and sucks. That does not feel like anything you’ve done before, but it does feel fantastic. All you manage is a whimper as you clench your fists into the top of the headboard to ground yourself.

You hear a wet pop as Dick releases his suction, and returns to lapping at your sweet spot, eliciting shorter and raspier pants from you with each flick and circle of his tongue. He’s experimenting, changing up the pressure, alternating between slick darts with the tip of his tongue, and wet, sweeping motions that seem to consume your entire core until he finds the perfect move-set that has your toes curling and your hips bucking. An orgasm is quickly building, blood boiling, clit aching when he pulls back, sinking lower on the bed to slip his tongue into your entrance before you hit your precipice.

Stunned at the sudden change, you look down at him, he peeks out from between your legs, eyes fierce, amused in a way that sends a chill down your spine. Without warning he replaces his tongue with two fingers, plunging much deeper than he had the last time, and spreading them out to push against your walls despite their resolve to clench around him.

He loves the way you look right now, flustered, frustrated, lost to anything but his touch. He wants to push, to tease you more, wants to refuse to let you cum until you really ride his face, until you beg, but he’s worried about taking things too far on your first time, because most of all he wants you to feel good and comfortable. Not to mention, if he plays his cards right, makes this easy and unforgettable; you’ll want more, and then he can have his way. So, he settles for ghosting kisses along the soft skin of your inner thigh and says the only other thing that’s on his mind without filter; “Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna make you cum. I’m gonna make you cum so hard no one else will ever compare.”

You’re so blissed out, rocking back and forth on his fingers, he’s not even sure you heard him. He wells with pride for a moment, his pretty girl so fucked out already, glowing under a sheen of sweat, all because of him.

“Did you hear me?” He accentuates his point by slowing his fingers and you whine as you lazily nod at him, upper body heavy and disjointed as your lower half keeps trying to fuck itself.

“Yes, Dick.” The distress in your voice is music to his ears, it makes his already hardened cock throb. Pleased by your reaction he presses his thumb to your clit, simulating the motions he’d used earlier. “P-please.”

“You don’t have to beg, baby.” But it's highly appreciated, if your mind was less fuzzy from the dual simulation you might have noticed the way he laughs when he talks. “Have you ever squirted before?”

It’s so hard to answer when he makes you feel so good, when all you can think about is how much better this would feel if he used his mouth again. Knowing the only way that will happen is by answering, you muster all the brain capacity you have left to shake your head and stammer; “No… Tried but couldn’t do it myself.”

“Can you shift onto your feet for me? That’s it.” He coos. It kills you to pull away because you already feel so good, but he watches you with so much adoration as you follow his instructions it makes your heart feel as fuzzy as your puffy clit, makes it bearable. “Just like that, perfect, my perfect girl.”

You can’t lower yourself as much in this new position, but that doesn’t seem to bother Dick who latches his mouth back onto your clit, re-finding this rhythm in an instant and filling your swollen centre with a third digit. He moans repeatedly into your folds as he works, loudly savouring your taste, memorising every fold and spasm. He alternates between sucking and lapping until the most incredible, white-hot feeling begins to surge through your body. You throw your head back, eyes squeezed shut, hands haphazard abandoning the headboard in favour of Dicks soft black hair.

Just when you think things can’t possibly feel any more intense you feel the turning point, the undeniable feel of Dick smiling into your folds is followed by the deliberate curl of his fingers, brazenly rubbing your g-spot in long, fast strokes, exiting you completely and plummeting right back to the bundle of nerves each time until it hits you.

“D-Dick I-” Your climax washes over you before the words can leave your lips. Your muscles grow tense, nails biting into your palms through the trestles of Dicks hair you’re clinging onto. Your chest is heaving, and you couldn’t lift your lids long enough to look at the stream of watery cum flowing out of you if you wanted to.

You know it’s a lot, it’s wild, because you can feel droplets of it splash back onto your stomach, can feel it pooling into the limited space between your searing, sensitive skin, and Dick’s face. He hasn’t let up for a second. Intent on riding you through your high and soaking up as much of you as he can manage. Even when you’re over the hump, he keeps going, noisily slurping at your dripping, oversensitive heat. It’s hard to tell if you’re shaking from the intensity of your orgasm, or the continued abuse of your oversensitive cunt.

“Dick?” You call, weakly pulling at his scalp. He gets the message, finally detaching from your southern regions and shuffling from between your legs until you can get a good view of his face.

His hairs askew, cheeks pink, pupils seemingly even more dilated than they had been when you started, if at all possible. Every inch of skin from the tip of his nose to his nipple’s sheens under a mixture of spit, slick, and cum, and he’s staring at you like he’s a man starved. “I’m not done yet.”

Your bedroom flies by in a blur as Dick plants his hands on your thighs and uses them to support you while he rolls you back and between his legs. His member brushes against your folds briefly, sparking yet another ripple of arousal you didn’t think your body could muster amongst its already frenzies post-orgasm overexcitement, but as soon as you feel it, it’s gone again. You catch a glimpse of Dick rearranging it, tucking it low and out of the way before he crawls between your open legs again.

“I promised you it would be memorable.” He reminds you, leaning in closer. He grips onto the now drenched pair of panties he’d hiked to the side earlier and finally removes them before licking a testing strip from bottom to top just like the first time, enjoying greatly how wet and puffy it is, how you can’t keep from shivering, how you breath catches. “You did so good baby, but I’m not gonna stop eating your perfect pussy ‘til one of us can't stand it any more, an’ it’s not gonna be me.”

#gilverrwrites #dick grayson #dick grayson/reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing #nightwing/reader #nightwing x reader #dc #smut

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biceratops7 · 1 year ago

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I’m gonna SCREAM-

We’ve already established as a fandom that Metatron could teach a masterclass on gas lighting, but I wanna talk about how he specifically validates the things Aziraphale cares for while simultaneously devaluing them under the surface.

First off, this moment?

Tells us everything we need to know. It sets the scene for exactly the games Metatron is playing. He makes Muriel feel important while openly insulting them (flat out calling them stupid), aka seamlessly reinforcing the idea that they’re less than to both them and anyone else in the room. He knows he can get away with this easily, he knows that Muriel, lonely, overlooked little Muriel, will be completely distracted by the fact that someone so important is taking an interest in them.

This is already horribly clever, but then later on you realize it’s doing even MORE heavy lifting when he appoints Muriel to run the bookshop. “See? What’s important to you is what’s important to me! I’ve graciously taken the time to ensure your beloved shop is looked after by Muriel. You know, the dim one!” …let’s suffice it to say he’s ensnared too birds with one net for this one, and that a pattern is already starting to arise.

So when Metatron says Gabriel came to Aziraphale because he’s a “natural leader” and “doesn’t just tell people what they wanna hear”? Yah he’s full of shit. Aziraphale struggles with his sense of purpose when he doesn’t have someone or something guiding him, and for thousands of years he’s been terrified of sharing his true feelings and opinions to 90% of people he’s known. Completely just trying to butter him up. Wanna know the real reason Gabriel seeks asylum with Aziraphale?

Exactly this. Gabriel just says so point blank. It’s not because Aziraphale is this person for him, it’s because despite knowing nothing, he has this instinct that Aziraphale is the only one who can possibly understand why Gabriel did what he did. He is, I mean as far as we know, the only other angel who has fallen in love. (In general, let alone with a demon.)

But nope, can’t have that. We can throw the promise of restoring Crowley in the mix to sweeten the pot, but we can’t acknowledge why he’d want that so badly in the first place. So now it’s cause they work so well together. We can praise the angel for the fallen archangel Gabriel himself coming to him protection and guidance, give him a gold star. But we couldn’t DARE imply that it was by virtue of Aziraphale’s courage to choose earthly love over heavenly. How Gabriel didn’t need a leader, but a friend who’s truly known the joys of adoring that “particular person” and the pain of needing to hide it.

Cause then Aziraphale would start getting crazy ideas, like that his silly little human feelings have a great deal of worth. That they have the power to inspire, form cracks in the institution, fundamentally weaken what has controlled and harmed him. We wouldn’t want him to know the true value of the cards he holds when he has the ace in a match against you, now would we? After all…

Metatron uses this ingeniously sinister tactic of taking away Aziraphale’s choice while giving the illusion that he’s actually opening up doors. Notice how he tells Aziraphale he would have the authority to do something as extraordinary as turn a demon into an angel, yet he never once puts the much simpler alternative of just working with a demon on the table? The sleight of hand here is that he’s being offered the opportunity to freely be with Crowley… but he’s already freely with him as is, no bargain to be made. In fact he fought to be. Metatron disappears this accomplishment right before our eyes, while seamlessly maintaining the illusion to Aziraphale that he (Zira) is in control.

He sets Aziraphale up for failure by only providing the option he knows Crowley will not only decline but be deeply hurt by. It’s all so cleverly planned. Once this plays out exactly how he wants, he delivers the finishing blow by diminishing Crowley and his “damned fool questions”. Suddenly doing a complete 180 and emphasizing how foolish and troublesome he is. Metatron was offering Crowley by Aziraphale’s side as The Carrot. Now he’s telling Aziraphale it was stupid of him to want The Carrot, un-heavenly.

Aziraphale’s life, love, happiness, it’s all not only a massive inconvenience for Metatron but a liability. He has successfully taken a weapon from Aziraphale’s hands he didn’t even know he had. Metatron sees the writing on the wall, and he wants it contained.

#THE southern pansy doesn’t even realize he’s about to start a jod damn revolution #quick! annihilate his self esteem so he doesn’t start making people sniff out the bullshit on PURPOSE #good omens #ineffable husbands #season 2 #2x06 #meta #analysis #aziraphale #crowley #Muriel #metatron #Renew good omens #biceratops #Gabriel #ineffable bureaucracy

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onlinesuzie · 3 months ago

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‘we shouldn’t be doing this’ ⊹ ࣪ ˖⟡ ݁₊ .

words: 4k ⭑.ᐟ

‘infidelity, hamzah smut, f!reader’

feeling distant from your long-distance boyfriend, jake, you turn to his close friend, hamzah, for comfort.

based of this clip

── ⊹ ࣪ ˖♡˖ ࣪ ⊹ ──

You sit on the edge of your bed, phone in hand, staring at Jake’s message: “Can’t talk tonight. Work’s crazy. Miss you, though.” The words feel hollow, a pattern that’s become all too familiar. It’s the third time this week he’s canceled. The hope you’d been holding onto fizzles out. With a heavy sigh, you toss the phone onto the bed, the sound barely registering as it bounces off the pillow.

You stand and walk cautiously toward the mirror, your footsteps soft on the carpet, as if afraid to disturb the quiet. As you reach the mirror, your eyes meet your own reflection, but it doesn’t feel like you. It’s almost like you’re staring at someone else—an older, future version of yourself, worn down by disappointments like this.

Your hand rises instinctively, running through your hair in a familiar, comforting gesture. But this time, it doesn’t help. Your lip begins to tremble, betraying the storm of emotions you’ve been trying to keep buried. You bite down on the corner of it, trying to regain control, but it’s no use. The quivering only intensifies.

And then you see it—her. The version of you that you’ve been trying to ignore. Her face—your face—scrunches up, eyes brimming with tears you’ve been holding back for too long. The feelings you’ve been shoving down, the doubts, the loneliness, all come rushing to the surface.

For a brief moment, it’s like you’re watching someone else, but then it sinks in—she’s not some stranger. She’s you. This is who you are now. This is the you that you've been trying not to acknowledge, and suddenly, there's no escaping it.

A year ago, you would have never imagined feeling this distant from Jake. Back then, everything was easy—casual dates, late-night talks, and plans that didn’t involve long stretches of silence or missed phone calls.

When he first got the job offer in another city, you were nothing but supportive—proud, even. It was a huge opportunity, a chance for him to grow, and you both believed you could make long-distance work. In the beginning, it wasn’t so bad. He made an effort, calling regularly and visiting whenever he could. You could still feel the connection, the excitement in his voice when he talked about his new life.

But as the months passed, things started to shift. His job began to consume more of his time and energy, and slowly, the calls became less frequent. The visits, fewer. Little by little, the relationship stopped being about staying close and became more about pretending you still were. The connection that once felt so strong started to feel more like an echo of something you used to have, fading with each passing day.

A knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts, snapping you out of the haze you’ve been lost in for who knows how long. You sigh, dragging yourself up from the bed and making your way to the door, not really in the mood for company but too curious to ignore it. When you open the door, Hamzah is standing there, leaning casually against the frame. In one hand, he’s holding a six-pack of your favorite drinks, the kind you only treat yourself to on rare occasions. In the other, his phone dangles loosely from his fingers, like he’s just texted someone and barely cares for a response.

His eyes meet yours, and that familiar, laid-back smile spreads across his face, effortless as always—like he’s walked into a room full of sunshine and not the quiet mess of your evening. There’s something comforting about the way he stands there, completely unfazed, as if he’s somehow known exactly when to show up, without being asked. For a moment, you forget the weight on your shoulders, caught up in the ease he carries with him.

“Thought you might need some company,” he says, stepping inside as if he’s been here a hundred times before. You smile, grateful for the distraction, and motion for him to follow you into the living room.

Hamzah and you have always existed in a quiet ease, a comfort that came naturally. As Jake’s closest friend, he’s been there from the very beginning, like a constant thread woven through your life. Over time, your friendship grew, effortless and warm, a steady presence you could rely on. But recently, something has shifted, subtle yet undeniable.

The space between you feels different now—heavier. You catch yourself watching him, eyes lingering just a moment too long, your breath catching in your throat before you force yourself to look away. His laughter, once part of the background noise, now pulls you in, and you find yourself laughing with him a little too easily, a little too hard, as if his words have suddenly gained new weight.

It’s in the silences, in the moments where nothing is said but everything is felt, that you notice it most—the quiet pull between you. It hums softly, growing stronger with each glance, each accidental touch. And though you try to push it aside, pretend it’s nothing, the truth sits quietly in the back of your mind: something between you has changed, something deeper, something that wasn’t there before.

You hand Hamzah a drink and settle beside him on the couch, the cushion sinking under your weight. The familiar ease of his presence wraps around you, comforting and safe.

The first few sips of your drink go down easily, the alcohol warming you from the inside, softening the edges of the day. For a while, conversation flows like it always does—effortless and light. You talk about work, the lives of mutual friends, stories from your past that spill out without much thought. It’s the kind of chatter that fills the spaces between you without demanding anything more, but with each passing moment, the tension in your chest begins to unravel, loosening its grip.

Your laughter, once cautious, comes more freely now, bubbling up between sips. You can feel the weight of the evening lifting, his presence anchoring you.

“So, what’s going on with Jake?” Hamzah asks eventually, his voice gentle but curious. He doesn’t push; he never does. That’s part of what makes him so easy to talk to.

You hesitate, unsure of how much to share. “He’s… busy. Work’s just been taking up all his time. I don’t even remember the last time we had a proper conversation,” you admit, your voice dropping. You look down at your drink, swirling it around in the can, avoiding Hamzah’s eyes.

He nods, listening closely, his eyes steady on yours as you speak. He doesn’t interrupt, his silence offering you space to pour out your thoughts without feeling pressured. It’s the kind of silence that feels intentional, like he’s holding the moment open just for you. “He’ll come around,” Hamzah says after a moment, though his tone is more hopeful than certain. There’s a pause before he adds, “But… you seem pretty distant yourself lately.”

You glance at him, surprised by his observation. “I guess I just… I don’t know. It’s hard to keep pretending everything’s fine when it doesn’t feel that way.”

The conversation shifts after that—lighter topics, old memories, shared jokes—and for a little while, you forget about your worries. Hamzah’s laughter is contagious, the way it always is, and every time you laugh, you find yourself leaning a little closer to him, your hand occasionally brushing against his arm as you gesture or fidget.

At one point, after an especially funny story, you’re both doubled over with laughter, your hand instinctively reaching for his arm to steady yourself. Your fingertips linger there just a little too long, resting against the warmth of his skin. You feel the heat of the contact pulse through you, and when you realize how long your hand has been there, you start to pull it away, but Hamzah doesn’t move. If anything, his arm tenses slightly under your touch.

You glance up at him, catching his eye. For a split second, you think about pulling away, about creating some distance between you. But you don’t. You stay there, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body.

Another drink later, and the distance between you has all but disappeared. Hamzah leans back into the couch, turning slightly so he’s facing you, his knee brushing against yours. You feel the light pressure of his leg against yours and the buzz of alcohol making your head just a little light. You try to focus on the conversation, but all you can think about is how close he is—how close his hand is to yours, how you can feel his eyes on you, the tension thickening between you with every second of silence.

And then it happens— that disappearing moment when laughter gently fades, and the room falls into a gentle hush. The air shifts, the warmth of shared jokes now a distant memory. You turn to Hamzah, and your eyes meet his, catching him in a gaze that holds an unspoken truth. His smile has disappeared, replaced by an expression so intense it feels almost sacred, as if it taps into something beyond the everyday, something only the heavens might grasp.

In his eyes, you see a silent understanding, a raw vulnerability that makes you feel seen in a way you’ve rarely experienced. The space between you grows distant, the silence now a living thing, pulsating with the weight of what’s unspoken. The laughter that once filled the room seems like a distant echo, leaving behind a poignant stillness that amplifies the closeness between you. Each second stretches into eternity, and you find yourself enveloped in this heavenly feeling.

The tension, the feeling—it’s like something’s been building between you for weeks, maybe months, and now it’s come to a head.

You clear your throat, trying to shake the feeling. “I should probably head to bed soon,” you say, though part of you doesn’t want the night to end. Part of you doesn’t want this moment to end.

Hamzah hesitates, his gaze still locked on you, then nods slowly. “Yeah, it’s getting late.” But neither of you moves. The silence stretches on, thick and tense, and you realize just how close he’s sitting next to you. Too close.

Before you can stop yourself, the words escape. “Do you ever think…” you start, but the sentence dissolves, leaving the thought unfinished. You struggle to find the right way to complete it. Do you ever think about me the way I’ve been thinking about you?

Hamzah turns to face you completely, his eyes locked onto yours with a searching intensity. “Think about what?” he asks softly. Yet, in the depths of his gaze, you sense he already knows where your thoughts were leading, as if the question has been hovering in the space between you all along.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words don’t come. Instead, you swallow it down, hoping only you can taste the tension burning in your throat.

But Hamzah leans in, moving slowly as if to give you every chance to pull back. His approach is cautious, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you might want him to stop. He pauses, close enough for you to feel his breath against your skin, his gaze darting between your eyes and your lips, weighing whether to close the distance or hold off.

You feel an almost magnetic pull, an irresistible urge that makes it impossible to move away. The closer he gets, the more intense your own desire becomes, pushing aside any doubts. You want this—more than you should, more than feels reasonable.

His lips brush against yours, a whisper of warmth, hesitant and gentle, as if he's waiting for you to retreat. But instead, you lean in, and the kiss deepens, a cascade of heat unfurling through you. His hand glides to your face, his fingers cradling your jaw with a scorching touch.

The kiss grows richer, more intense, each movement burning with a feeling that makes the room feel as though it's closing in around you. The intensity of his touch, the urgency of his lips, meld together to create a symphony of feeling-an outpouring of passion. Every lingering second becomes an expression of all that has been silently yearned for, flowing freely.

You pull back slightly, breathless, and whisper, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Hamzah's eyes are dark, You've never seen them that way before. He hesitates for a moment, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek, and then he confesses, "I know we shouldn't... but fuck, I want you so bad."

His words penetrate through your fears, the last the walls of doubt crumbling. You know you should stop. You know this isn't right. But the way he looks right now, his dark eyes almost whispering and pleading for you. His tan skin decorated with a thin sheen of sweat. These feelings. They are too strong to ignore, now all you can think is how much you want him. How good he would feel above of you.

Hamzah's lips are soft and warm against yours, and as they touch again, a rush of heat floods through you. Everything else-the distance with Jake, the guilt, the confusion-fades into the background. His hand moves to the side of your face, his thumb brushing gently along your jawline, while his other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer. It feels like he's been holding back as much as you have, and now, in this moment, neither of you can resist.

Your heart races, your skin tingling everywhere he touches you. It feels like your body has come alive, like you've been craving this closeness for so long without realizing just how much you needed it.

Breaking away for air, you leaned your forehead against his, both of you breathing heavily. "Hamzah, I need you. Fuck… I think I’ve always needed you" you whispered, your voice hoarse. Hamzah's hands traveled down your body, tracing the curves of your waist before resting on your hips, pulling you closer.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are," he murmured against your lips. "I've been dreaming of touching you, of feeling every inch of your skin." His words darting through your body, and you couldn't help but compare this moment to your experiences with Jake, your boyfriend. You'd never felt this desired, this wanted, not even in the early days of your relationship.

Hamzah's hands slid beneath your shirt, his fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of your back with a feather-light touch. The warmth of his hands against your bare skin made you instinctively arch into his touch, a shiver of pleasure dancing through you.

"I want to make you feel good, so good that you forget about him” he murmured, his voice a low promise as his breath fanned over your neck, sending a trail of heat across your skin. His lips followed, planting a trail of kisses down your throat. When his lips reached the delicate spot where your neck meets your shoulder, he pressed gently, sucking with a tender, deliberate intensity. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and you gasped, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as if anchoring yourself against the wave of pleasure. The room seemed to shrink around you, leaving only the intimate space where his touch and your response melted in perfect harmony.

Guiding you backwards, Hamzah led you towards the bedroom, his kisses trailing down your body as he went. He knelt before you, his fingers softly unbuttoning your shirt, revealing your bra covered breasts, taking it off. "You're breathtaking, Jake doesn’t deserve you" he whispered, looking at you through his eyelashes, as he gently cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples, making them harden against the cool air.

You let out a soft moan, feeling a rush of pleasure between your thighs as Hamzah's mouth claimed one nipple, his tongue swirling and sucking gently. His hands traveled down, tugging at your pants, sliding them down your legs until you stood before him in just your underwear.

His gaze lingered on you with as if he were beholding something otherworldly. Every curve and contour of your body seemed to draw his attention like a work of art displayed in a hallowed temple. His eyes traced your form gracefully. Each glance was a silent prayer, each sigh an acknowledgment of the divine grace he saw in you. In his eyes, you were not just flesh and bone, but a living embodiment of something ethereal.

"Lie down," he instructed, his voice blending urgency with tenderness. You complied, your heart abusing your ribcage with its intensity as you watched him remove his clothes. Each movement was purposeful, revealing a physique crafted with an artist's precision. His chest glistened with sweat under the soft light.

He joined you on the bed, his body’s warmth contrasting with the cool sheets. His hands, free from the confines of fabric, reached out with a gentle touch. Fingers traced the curve of your thighs with a gentle grace, as if mapping an uncharted secret world. Slowly, deliberately, he spread your legs. His touch, firm and tender. Each caress, each shift of position, forced a sound to push its way out of your lungs.

"I want to taste you," he whispered, his hot breath spilling over you. "I want to make you come with my mouth." With that, he lowered his head, his tongue tracing your slit through the cotton. You whimpered, feeling the damp fabric against your sensitive clit, and then he pulled the fabric aside, exposing you.

Hamzah's tongue descended into your wetness, rough and insistent. He licked and tasted everything that was softly spilling out of you, his lips sucking gently on your swollen clit. You squirmed beneath him, your hands tangling in his curly hair, pushing him in deeper. He moaned against you, the vibrations forcing your legs to shake.

"Oh God, Hamzah," you cried out, your hips bucking against his mouth. He continued to feast on your pussy, his tongue flicking and probing, discovering every inch of you. You were so close, so close to reaching a rush of ecstasy, when he suddenly stopped, leaving you gasping and desperate.

"Please, don't stop," you begged, your voice quivering.

"I want you to come with my cock inside you," he growled, his deep eyes blazing with desire. He rose looking down at you with an insatiable need. His attention was almost primal. Positioned over you with an assertive dominance, he seem consumed by an urgent hunger. There’s an unsettling edge—an impatient urgency that brushes aside any sense of gratitude. He positioned himself between your thighs, his hard length pressing against your entrance. You feel him against your clit, your body responding with uneven gasps of air. With one smooth thrust, he filled you, stretching and filling you in a way you'd never experienced before.

Hamzah began to move, his hips snapping forward as he set a relentless pace. He plunged into you again and again, his cock hitting far deep within you, stretching you far beyond what you thought was possible. You cried out, your body on fire, every nerve alight with euphoria.

"You feel so fucking good," he exhaled forcefully, his voice shaking slightly. "So fucking good..."

His words echoing in your head as you met his thrusts, wrapping your legs around his waist, pushing him even deeper. You felt that rush of pleasure in your belly, tighter and more intense than you'd ever experienced.

"I'm close," you whispered, your voice breathless. "Oh God, Hamzah, I'm so close..."

He reached between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing circles as he pounded into you. The combination of sensations pushed you over the edge, and you cried out his name as your orgasm erupted through you. You clenched around his cock, draining him as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through your body.

Hamzah groaned, his body stiffening as he exhausted himself deep within you. He collapsed onto your heaving chest, his breath warm against your sensitive nipples. You lay there, entangled in each other's arms, your hearts racing and your bodies glistening with sweat.

The room is quiet now, the air thick with the weight of everything that just happened. You lie beside Hamzah, the warmth of his body still lingering on your skin, your mind spinning in a thousand directions at once. The adrenaline from earlier has faded, replaced by a strange sense of calm, like the world has paused for a moment to let you catch your breath. But even in the silence, the reality of what you’ve done echoes heavy between you.

Hamzah lies on his back, one arm wrapped protectively around you, drawing you close against his chest. His other hand moves with a gentle, absent-minded rhythm, tracing soothing circles on your bare shoulder. The room feels almost too still, the darkness pressing in with an oppressive quietness, and in this silence, your thoughts begin to churn once more.

You shift slightly, resting your head against his chest, finding reassurance in the steady, reassuring cadence of his breathing. For what feels like an eternity, neither of you speaks, both caught in the reflective pause. As the minutes stretch into an uneasy quiet, the weight of reality—the consequences of what has happened—begins to press in, casting long shadows over the fleeting warmth and intimacy you once felt.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whisper, your voice barely audible in the quiet room. The weight of the situation presses down on you—Jake, your relationship, what this means for everything.

Hamzah tightens his grip around you. He tilts his head down and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. His lips linger there for a moment before he whispers, “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it out.”

His voice is soothing, but it’s not enough to stop the growing anxiety building inside you. How can you not worry? Everything has changed now. You didn’t just cross a line—you shattered it. And as much as you want to stay in this moment, wrapped up in Hamzah’s warmth, you can’t ignore the reality that waits outside this room.

But for now, you let yourself sink into the comfort of his embrace, trying to quiet the noise in your head. You close your eyes, trying to let yourself believe, if only for a few more minutes, that everything will be okay.

And then your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

The sound cuts through the quiet room like a blade, pulling you back to the present. You freeze, your heart in your throat as you reach for the phone, dreading what you might see on the screen.

Your hand trembles as you pick it up, and your breath catches in your throat when you see Jake’s name flash across the screen.

“I’m outside. Can we talk?”

── ⊹ ࣪ ˖☆˖ ࣪ ⊹ ──

notes: i’m quite proud of this fic and i hope you guys love it!! comment any suggestions for what you liked and i’ll make a note of it!! :]

#hamzahthefantastic #slushy noobz #hamzah x reader #slushy virus #hamzah x y/n #domhamzah

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sereneabyyss · 11 months ago

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Ouija Board At Bat Gas (Dead On Main)

Bat Gas was an unfortunate little, dingy, abandoned gas station situated just outside of Crime Alley in an area where it couldn't be said to be part of The Alley, but was close enough that anyone not from there would never dare to fill up their tanks there in fear of getting mugged and none of the residents of Crime Alley ever bothered filling their tanks, if the car they were using ran out, most just simply jumped at the opportunity to steal another. Safe to say, the gas station hadn't lasted long in the business world.

Thus, it sat there, vines overgrowing the concrete flooring and winding up the empty fuel pumps. Like all abandoned things in Gotham, stories of ghosts haunting and wails of grief filled any conversation about Bat Gas. Many of the street kids liked to make dares out of venturing into the den and going so far as to touch one of the pumps. Risks of rubber bound vipers striking out, possessed by a vengeful spirit, only seemed to fill them with determination to complete the dares of their friends.

Perhaps those stories were what brought Jason Todd out at bat gas on December 25th, a Ouija Board in hand. The original plans to spend the holidays at the Wayne Manor had been scrapped with the raging of pits and glow of green eyes leaving every other member of his family walking on tip toes around him. Normally that would mean ditching Jason Todd for the comfort of Red Hood, except there were no issues in Crime Alley for Hood to take care of. Every bastard seemed to have scampered into hiding in time for the New Year. So, he was left as he was, a lost Jason Todd just looking for some way to ignore the mess of his life on Christmas Day.

So. He was going to use a Ouija Board to see if Bat Gas was actually haunted. What could he lose? His dignity if anyone stumbled upon him? He forsook that years ago.

Walking onto the cracked concrete, it was like an icy wave of contentment washed over him. Any lingering Pit Rage simmered beneath the surface before mellowing out completely. The knots in his chest unwrapped themselves and all that seemed left within him was a feeling of light-weightiness. Like the feeling when he was grappling between buildings and he was falling falling falling until the hook's line tightened and he was flying back up. He wasn't sure he had felt this way since the day he awoke half alive half monster.

(There was definitely something dead here. It was just so familiar. He would never be able to explain the feeling, but it was as if he was bathing in less angry Lazarus Pits.)

Danny perked up as the presence of a halfa (liminal? halfa? he couldn't tell exactly, something seemed off with both descriptions, but halfa was definitely the closest between them) entered the neat little gas station he had decided to make his temporary haunt.

He had decided to haunt the abandoned Bat Gas he had heard others talking about during Christmas, not wanting to deal with questions on why he didn't celebrate. (Seriously, after all the arguments every year and that one time with the possessed candy cane, he had given up any sort of Christmas Spirit he may have had before.) After visiting Mars last year on Christmas Day, he family had given up all hope of trying to get in contact with him for the entire day. So, he knew he would be free to haunt the cool looking gas station with no one hunting him down and trying to stick him in front of a tree with too many blinking lights and gaudy paper wrapping unnecessary trinkets he'll lose between his ribs after like three days.

But! There was a halfa entering his new haunt! And they were maybe ill! He had to see what that was about!

Peeking over the roof he was situated on, he watched as someone continued walking, something weird and rectangular looking in their arms. Tilting his head to the side, he slowly floated down, staying invisible as he took a peak at the stranger.

His eyes narrowed in on the rectangle object in the halfas arms. They placed it on the concrete, giving Danny room to finally look and- ohmygodwasthataouijaboard?! HE WAS GETTING OUIJA BOARDED! HE WAS SO GOING TO SHOVE THIS IN SKULKER'S FACE THE NEXT TIME THEY FOUGHT! THIS WAS EONS WORTH OF BRAGGING RIGHTS! HE WAS GETTING OUIJA BOARDED!

Silently clearing his throat, he sat in front of the halfa, allowing him to get a good look and... fuck, he was hot. Like, thighs that could absolutely crush a watermelon hot. Hair wind swept back with a little white etched into the front hot. A boyish, smugish, hottish face that just screamed danger hot. Hot enough this man could probably melt his ghost ice hot. Did Danny mention he was hot?

Maybe if his Christmases were always spent getting Ouija boarded by incredibly hot maybe halfas he'd have more Christmas Spirit. Santa, he knows you're real, send him this halfa again next Christmas and maybe he'll actually respect you.

The new halfa furrowed his eyebrows as he concentrated setting up the Ouija board properly and Danny almost fainted from how hot he was. Patting his cheeks sharply, he concentrated on the fact that he was getting to do his first Ouija Board! He had to look cool! He had to be smooth! This halfa was hot and Danny couldn't blow it!

"Oh Ghost who haunts this gas station, can you hear my voice?" The halfa called out and Danny had to hold himself together from freaking out over the man's voice. It was just perfect. It wasn't too harsh nor did it have the silken smooth feeling most liars had. It was gruff but in an experienced shit way. Oh my Ancients he could absolutely die once more and be the happiest ghost!

He giddily grabbed the little wood whatever-it-was-called in the halfas hand and slid it towards the YES option.

Jason blinked in shock as the planchette in his hand began moving without him forcing it. He had known something not quite alive was here in the gas station, but he hadn't expected it to actually be able to communicate. "I'm Jason, do you have a name?" Slowly, it began moving once more, spelling out P-H-A-N-T-O-M. Which, he wasn't necessarily expecting such a cheesy name, but it could have been worse... probably. "Nice to meet you Phantom. Why are you haunting Bat Gas? I don't recall there being any deaths here."

I-M B-O-R-E-D.

Yeah that was actually a fair enough reason in his books.

"Is there a reason you haven't passed on? Is something tethering you here?"

A-V-O-I-D-I-N-G P-A-P-E-R-W-O-R-K

Shit? There was paperwork in the afterlife? Maybe that was why he decided to come crawling back after getting dumped in the pits. Unfortunate that being a crime lord actually had more paperwork than being a Robin ever did.

Danny was vibrating so fast it looked like that time he ate lithium batteries (it was for science!). The halfa was still talking to him! He was keeping up an interesting conversation! Ouija boarding was so much fun!

"Can you turn visible? Or is that just something movies make up?" He wanted to see Danny! He was interested in what Danny looked like! Dropping his invisibility, Jason visibly startled taking in the sudden appearance before him.

"Hello! I'm Phantom!"

#dc x dp #dpxdc #danny phantom #jason todd #dead on main #danny is an absolute disaster #He's trying so hard to look good for the cute halfa #Jason was not expecting the Ouija Board to work actually #will I write more? who knows I sure don't

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edenesth · 11 months ago

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The Way to His Heart [2]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 1 | Fic Masterlist | Part 3

"S-sir, are you truly certain this is acceptable? This is worse than all the previous quarters we've arranged for your past fiancées."

Seonghwa grinned in satisfaction, "What do you mean, Jongho? This is perfect. She will take what she gets. If she's so unhappy, she can go ahead and run back to her dear father for all I care."

Like all his prior marriage candidates, the general had instructed his servants to ready accommodations in the least appealing quarters available in his estate. It was all part of his strategy to intimidate and drive them away. Nothing brought him greater joy than hearing their whiny shrieks of displeasure as they fled his home, rushing back to plead with their fathers to annul the engagement.

Given he had no say in this particular wedding, his only option was to make it as unpleasant as possible, hoping to scare you away. Surely, the words of the minister's precious daughter would carry more weight with her father and, consequently, the King.

Seonghwa counted on you to bring about the downfall of this marriage, "This should be enough to get the job done. Worry not, Jongho. She'll be gone in less than a day, mark my words."

As he observed his master striding off to his study, the assistant shook his head in defeat, glancing unsurely at the preparations made for the daughter of the Minister of Military Affairs. This particular room had remained vacant since the general first assumed control of the estate from its previous owner.

The room had earned the nickname "The Cold Palace," drawing parallels to the infamous residences of China's Forbidden City, where concubines who had made mistakes or fallen out of favour with the emperor were confined until their last days.

According to tales from the previous residents, the room might have even been haunted, with rumours circulating about the previous mistress of the estate taking her own life within those walls.

Leave it to the general to be fixated on the darkest forms of torment, truly living up to his reputation. Oh, he just couldn't wait to see the look on his new wife's face when she would eventually be ushered into her very own cold palace.

"Are the preparations to the master's liking?" Eunsook, the head maid, inquired of Jongho as she emerged from the quarters after ensuring that all dusty areas had been thoroughly cleaned.

The assistant nodded, his lips pressed in a firm line, "He's more than satisfied, but..."

The elderly woman raised a brow with a knowing smile, "But?"

Jongho sighed, "Is this really right? After all, she is about to become the mistress of this estate, and having her reside here, of all places, seems a little too much."

The two could only shake their heads as they cast a final glance at the pitiful excuse for a room. Having been left untouched for decades, the furniture within was mostly rusty or broken in certain places. While it was cleaned on the surface, who knew what sort of parasites or little crawlies had already made their home there.

Despite the possibility of the new Lady Park being a spoiled brat, as the general claimed, the assistant and head maid weren't sure if she deserved this kind of treatment.

"There's nothing we can do for her, Jongho. Now, we best get back to work before anyone hears us or master will have our heads."

The younger man nodded in defeat before they went about their day, uncertain if they should even be looking forward to the arrival of their master's bride on the next day.

"Lord have mercy on her poor soul."

They couldn't fathom any more humiliation that she had to endure beyond what she already had. According to typical traditions, the bridegroom was expected to visit the bride's home with gifts and a dowry, paying respects to the bride's ancestors before escorting her back to his home.

In an attempt to appease the general and ensure the wedding proceeded, the King had agreed to forgo all customary procedures, allowing the bride to travel to his estate on her own. For some mind-boggling reason, the minister had also agreed to these conditions.

"Your Majesty, if you want me to proceed with the wedding peacefully, I will, on one condition." Seonghwa boldly asserted in the assembly where details of his wedding were being finalised.

"What is it, my boy? Anything for you." The King cooed.

The minister straightened in his seat, clenching his fists in fear of the general making any unreasonable requests.

"Please do not expect me to follow through with any of the silly traditions. I will do no such thing. On our wedding day, I will be waiting in my own estate. Minister Jang can prepare his daughter's transportation. If that is viable, I will finally be married as you so pleased, your Majesty."

The King grimaced, throwing the minister a worried glance, "Seonghwa, isn't that a little much? Think about the poor girl—"

To everyone's surprise, your father breathed a sigh of relief, "Is that all, General Park? If so, I do not see much of a problem with it. My daughter is also not a fan of flamboyant celebrations. She favours simplicity, much like yourself. I'm sure she'll be more than happy with the new arrangements."

Sure, you tell yourself that.

The general grinned into his fist, satisfied. That would make her the laughingstock of the century. The King blinked at the unexpected response but beamed regardless, "Does she now? Oh, Seonghwa, I knew she was perfect for you!"

Everyone was happy with the outcome that day, save for you, the unlucky one caught in the middle of all the crossfire, as always.

Jongho remembered how all members of the general's estate servants had been utterly flabbergasted upon learning about the final decision for the wedding plans. They had initially geared up to work tirelessly for their master's first actual wedding, prepared to pour in endless efforts for the grand celebration.

However, they were left appalled by the news. Who would have expected the minister to be alright with such conditions?

Perhaps the importance of solidifying his connection with the great General Park outweighed his concerns for his daughter's momentary embarrassment.

On the day of the wedding, Eunsook stood steadfastly behind her employer, awaiting any orders he might have for her, "Master, is there really nothing else for us to prepare?"

More than the general, nearly every servant felt uneasy due to the lack of decoration as they awaited your arrival. To an outsider, it would seem like just another regular day. Despite the wide-open doors, the estate didn't appear to have much going on at all.

Seonghwa waved her off, sipping on his tea nonchalantly, "Don't make me repeat myself again, Eunsook. This woman isn't worth any of your efforts. Remember, I pay your salary, not her."

"R-right, master." She lowered her head, knowing better than to get on his nerves.

He sighed upon noticing the unusual group of servants lining up by the main hall as if waiting to welcome some distinguished guest, "Don't you all have better things to do? You're all dismissed; get back to your daily tasks if you wish to keep your job."

Shaking like leaves, they all turned to see the head maid nodding at them, signalling for them to do as they were told. Before they angered him any further, all servants dispersed after bowing in unison at their master's direction, "Yes, master."

"Perfect. The minister did mention his daughter favoured simplicity; I'm sure she'll love this." He grinned in amusement, looking forward to the new Lady Park's reaction.

Bowing one final time to your family, you turned and never looked back. Escorted by the kind elderly servant from before, you were led to the palanquin waiting at the entrance of the Jang estate, "This is your ride to the general's estate, young miss."

Surrounded by a throng of people eager to catch a glimpse of the minister's mysterious eldest daughter, you stumbled backwards a bit, feeling overwhelmed. The onlookers were excitedly exchanging the latest gossip about the unusual wedding, where the bride was expected to travel to her new husband's home alone, without a chaperone.

Stepping out of the estate for the first time in more than a decade, you didn't know what to expect. However, this was certainly not it.

As you navigated through the crowd, you reminded yourself of the role you needed to play. Outside the familiar walls of your family estate, you were recognised as the noble eldest daughter of Minister Jang, about to marry the formidable General Park.

You were quite literally the talk of the town.

"Smile, young miss." And you did.

You put on the fakest smile you'd ever worn as you passed by the prying eyes of the onlookers on your way to the waiting vehicle.

As you settled into the palanquin, you looked up to find the servant sighing, ensuring you were comfortably seated for the journey ahead, "Goodbye, young miss. None of us have been allowed to accompany you. You're on your own from now on. Hopefully, the people there will treat you better, the way you truly deserve."

The way you deserved?

You honestly didn't know what that meant.

All your life, you have only ever been treated like a waste of space. So much so that you have begun to believe that was just how things were meant to be. The prospect of being treated with any sort of decency was, at this point, foreign to you.

Nodding, you acknowledged the harsh reality imposed by your father, "Of course, I expected just as much. Thank you, by the way, for the kindness you've shown me. You best hurry back. Don't let them catch you near me, or you'll be punished."

She gave your hand a warm squeeze, "All the best, young miss."

You returned the gesture before the bearers lifted the transport and began walking.

"Goodbye." You whispered, not only to the servant but also to this life you were about to leave behind for good.

With only a thin layer of cloth serving as a curtain on the tiny window of the palanquin, you could hear every word of gossip uttered as you made your way out of this town and to your bridegroom's.

"Oh dear, what a poor thing. Imagine being wedded to that heartless general. He isn't even courteous enough to come take her home. How long do you reckon she'd survive under his care?"

"Can you believe the minister actually agreed to this? Letting his eldest daughter marry in such an undignified way? He seems desperate to get rid of her. Do you think there could be anything wrong with her?"

"She's quite the beauty, isn't she? What a shame no amount of beauty could save her from this ill fate. You guys wanna bet how long before she gets beaten to death by that husband of hers?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your palms against your ears. You had heard more than enough back home; not only did your stepmother and stepsisters insult you for fun, but most servants were also audacious enough to speak ill of you right in front of your face. You were sick and tired of people talking about you like you weren't there.

The continuous mockery and cruelty had worn you down, and you longed for a reprieve from this life of constant torment.

Why me?

Why is it always me?

Is there really something wrong with me?

There must be a reason why the whole world was constantly out to get you. Why did your mother even give birth to you, only to leave you behind in such a cruel world? What was the point of it all?

Thousands of thoughts raced through your mind, and you wondered if the general truly was as cold-hearted as they say. You pondered what he could possibly look like. They say he was as good as the devil incarnate, but could he really be worse than your family?

You were already convinced that every member of your family was the devil's spawn; you simply couldn't imagine anyone being worse than those people.

With all these thoughts swirling around in your mind, you slowly drifted off to sleep amid your journey from one hell to another.

Your eyes snapped open as you were abruptly awakened by a knock on the palanquin, "Lady Park! We've arrived; it's time to get off. Your father did not compensate us for escorting you inside, so this is as far as our services extend."

Lady Park? Who?

Oh.

It's you.

That's your identity from now on.

Rubbing your eyes, you moved to exit the palanquin. You were perplexed to find yourself at a considerable distance from the entrance of the general's estate.

"Forgive us, ma'am. We hope you can manage the short distance to the estate on your own. We're trying to avoid meeting the general, you know how it is."

You blinked, sensing the immense terror in these men. Park Seonghwa really was something else, wasn't he? Feeling sympathy for them, you nodded, "I... I understand, thank you."

They sighed in relief, scurrying to leave as fast as they could. The reality of your situation began to sink in, and you hesitated before taking your first step towards the looming entrance of your new home. The world you once knew had changed, and you were about to step into the unknown.

As you halted by the front doors, an employee of the estate quickly recognised your outfit, presenting a wild sight – a bride wandering about like a lost sheep.

Approaching you cautiously, one of the men inquired, "Miss Jang?"

You nodded in acknowledgement, "Yes, that's me."

Bewilderment painted his face as he scanned the area, "Are you here alone? Where are your servants and palanquin bearers?"

A gulp betrayed your nervousness, and you lowered your head in shame, "I have no servants with me, and the bearers have left."

His eyes widened, "What?" Quickly regaining composure, he apologised, "M-my apologies, ma'am! My name is Jongho, and I'm General Park's trusted aide. We have been waiting for your arrival. Please, let me take you to the main hall."

At first glance, the assistant sensed you were different from all the other noblewomen he had encountered. It astonished him even more to see you standing there all alone. What in the world was happening? Was the minister aware of any of this? There was no way it could be part of his arrangement. After all, this was his daughter, wasn't it?

As you walked through the estate, you realised the deep bows from the servants were unfamiliar to you. In response, you bowed back, only to receive baffled stares. Your shoulders were hunched, and your lack of confidence was evident.

The unusual exchange did not escape Jongho's notice, and he struggled to understand your odd behaviour.

Nothing seemed to make sense to him.

What was the minister planning? Were you really the eldest daughter? Surely, they wouldn't send an imposter, and even if they did, they wouldn't be foolish enough to make it this obvious. Besides, what reason would they even have to do so? It would mean deceiving His Majesty, the King, too, as the minister had indeed promised his daughter to the general.

As you reached the main hall, the assistant had no time to dwell on such thoughts as he presented you to his master, "Sir, the minister's daughter, your bride, has arrived."

Facing the back of a rather youthful-looking man was not the sight you expected. You truly believed the rumours about him being rough and middle-aged, but now you questioned their accuracy.

"You've made it, wife. At last, you're here." He muttered emotionlessly, moving to set down the cup of tea he cradled in his hands before. The sound of his deep voice sent chills down your spine.

With that, he finally turned around, and you wondered if this was the terrifying general that all of the nation feared. You had envisioned him in various ways, but this was not what you expected.

He was... beautiful.

His features were a perfect blend of masculinity and femininity. His body, too, was ideal, slender yet muscular in all the right places. His ethereal appearance took you by surprise. He was perhaps the most enchanting person you had ever laid eyes on. Granted, you hadn't met many people, given your confined life. Still, you didn't need a broad social experience to recognise that he was a sight to behold.

"Cat got your tongue?" He questioned, a raised brow giving his stoic expression an intimidating edge. You immediately grasped why people found him so fearsome.

Feeling as though you'd committed a grave error, you lowered your head and bowed deeply, your heart beating loudly in your chest, "I-I'm sorry, my lord. I shouldn't have stared; th-that was very rude of me. I thank you for accepting me into your household. I will do my best to make myself... u-useful."

Throughout your life, your family has consistently taunted you for being useless. Now, you wished to change that narrative. If you could somehow prove your value here, perhaps you wouldn't face the same mistreatment that haunted you in your old home. After all, you had only just arrived, you didn't want to be beaten to death so soon.

What in the world?

Seonghwa was rendered momentarily speechless. Undoubtedly, you possessed a striking beauty, the kind that justified your father's decision to keep you hidden for so long. But what puzzled him was the unmistakable insecurity reflected in your posture and the uncertainty in your words.

You were nothing like any of his past fiancées, and he struggled to comprehend the reason behind it. You didn't exhibit the expected haughtiness of a noblewoman from a powerful house. Your apparent indifference to his lack of wedding preparations irked him; he wanted a reaction from you but didn't get one.

What the hell was the minister playing at? Were you intentionally trying to be different? What kind of tactic was this? If the plan was to catch him off guard, it was working very well. This won't do; he couldn't be deterred so easily.

Finally breaking his silence with a scoff, he demanded, "Really now? Useful? In what way?"

You gulped, completely unprepared to provide any sort of elaboration, "I-I..."

He smirked, "Let me guess, your script ended there?"

The accusation threw you into a panic, and you gasped, denying any insincerity, "N-no, that's not—"

Waving you off dismissively, he said, "Save it. I won't buy anything else coming from you. Eunsook, take Miss Jang to her quarters."

Oh no, he hates me already.

« Preview of Part 3 ��

"Is all this for me? Are you sure?" You asked in disbelief, gazing in awe at the quarters assigned to you. It was spacious, a far cry from the cramped space that used to be your prison cell.

Eunsook bowed apologetically, "Yes, mistress. I know it might not be ideal, but the master insisted on preparing this specific room for you—"

Shaking your head, you stepped inside, "What do you mean, not ideal? No, this is more than enough. Thank you so much." The room had actual furniture and was even larger than any of your stepsisters' quarters back home. Sure, it wasn't necessarily prettier, but at least it was practical.

The head maid struggled for words as she observed you admiring the interior of The Cold Palace. Were you being sarcastic? It didn't seem like it; you appeared genuinely content. She couldn't fathom why the scene before her eyes almost felt... heartbreaking.

"R-right then, let me help you settle in. Do you have a lot of luggage waiting by the entrance?" She asked politely.

You shook your head, "I-I don't... I'm sorry, this is all I have with me." You showed her the nearly empty duffel bag in your hands, leaving her unsure how to react.

"Gosh, mistress! You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. Please, uhh... make yourself at home. Just call out to any of the servants around the area if you need any assistance. I'll be here to alert you when dinner is ready."

"D-dinner..?" You croaked, realising you hadn't had a proper meal in who knows how long. You couldn't believe dinner was being prepared... for you. Blinking back your tears, you bowed, "Th-thank you."

"Please, mistress! You don't have to thank me; it's only my job." Panicking, Eunsook bowed even lower before hastily leaving your quarters. She needed to talk to Jongho about your peculiar behaviour. Surely, she wasn't the only one taken aback by it.

Oh my gosh, thank you for 600+ followers! I hope you enjoyed the second part! As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

Tag list: @aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01 @evidive @weedforthoughtz @ssrnghwa @yunnieo @sunnyhokyu @lynnsqueendom @frobin4ever @chwesuh-imnida @thunderous-wolf @itstheghostofmypast @professormingisglasses @deltamoon666 @avantalem @famishalll @yungilia @soobiverse @joongified @scuzmunkie @http-gyu @mentoslol @atinyreads @angel-hyuckie @anxiousskylar @onedumbho3

#edenesth #the way to his heart #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #arranged marriage au #joseon era #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #ateez fic #historical au

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solxamber · 18 days ago

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Brighter Than The Sun || Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim shines like the sun, radiant and unwavering—yet each day, he burns a little closer to the edge, waiting for the moment he no longer has to be the light for everyone else.

Kalim Al-Asim is the sun.

Golden and bright, the very picture of abundance. He is the warmth that spills into every crevice, the laughter that brightens any shadowed corner. To anyone who looks upon him, Kalim is all light—glowing, inexhaustible.

He smiles, beaming as though he has never known a reason to frown. He is the friend who helps without question, the noble who offers wealth as casually as he breathes. Everything about him seems limitless, as if there’s a wellspring of joy tucked beneath his ribs.

To the world, he is everything one could want. Money? He has enough that he could give it away a thousand times and never feel the weight of the loss. Status? He holds it effortlessly, carrying the Al-Asim legacy like a crown he was born to wear. Power? He stands at the top of his dorm, a place reserved for the most capable, a place so few could even dream to reach.

Yet when he is alone, under the quiet of his own thoughts, he wonders if this light truly belongs to him.

For he is the sun, yes, but only in appearance. And sometimes, when the crowd's noise fades, and he is left in the quiet of his own mind, he feels more like the moon.

A surface that reflects the light given to it, glowing not because it burns but because it must imitate what it cannot create. He looks at his life, and the brightness seems less a gift and more a performance—a practiced gleam, like polished gold.

His wealth is not his own; it flows from a family name that stretches far beyond his own reach, his life inextricably intertwined with that legacy. He is a prince, a beloved heir, but also just a vessel for what the Al-Asim family has always been.

His title as housewarden—an honor, a symbol of his supposed strength—feels hollow, as if it is an illusion created by the weight of his family’s donation, a stage set up for him to walk across without effort.

He knows his own weaknesses too well. The duties of his position are carried not by his hands, but by Jamil’s steady, unseen grasp, the support he feels but cannot acknowledge aloud. He walks through his life like a dream, all things handed to him so effortlessly that he can barely tell where his accomplishments end and Jamil’s sacrifices begin.

He smiles for the people who look to him with bright eyes, never revealing the doubt that tugs at his heart. Because if he reveals even a hint of insecurity, what might they see?

To the world, he is a radiant, boundless sun. But to himself, he is a vessel, filled with the reflected light of others.

He should not complain. How could he, when he has everything anyone could want? It is a life of luxury, endless opportunity, and privilege. To speak of weariness, of doubt, of feeling like a stranger in his own skin—that would be a betrayal of all the riches he has been given.

So he keeps his smile intact, lets it grow even brighter to cover the places where he feels hollow. He becomes the perfect image of the Al-Asim heir—unfailing, generous, golden.

But with each person who takes a part of him, each smile he offers in place of the words he cannot say, he feels himself dim. It is a slow fading, like a candle burning down to its last flicker.

They come to him for his wealth, for his status, for the power that drapes him like a robe. They praise him, flatter him, but he wonders if any of it would remain if he was just Kalim.

So he smiles, and he smiles, because that is what the sun must do.

He smiles because that is what the Al-Asim heir has always done. And if he must dim a little, if he must give until there is nothing left, then so be it. Because he is the sun. Or at least, that is what the world needs him to be.

The announcement for the competition rings through the hallways like a spark, and within moments, it feels like Kalim is being surrounded. A food sale—a lighthearted, fun event meant to bring everyone together.

But the minute it’s announced, people begin to approach him, voices eager, faces alight with plans that all seem to look the same: “You can bring in the best chefs, right?” “With your budget, we’ll be unstoppable!” “If we work with you, victory’s in the bag!”

They don’t want to team up with him because it’ll be fun. They want to team up because he’s a shortcut to winning. The money, the prestige, the pull he doesn’t even remember asking for—those are the things they’re looking at, not him.

It’s as if he’s transparent, just a vessel for everything he can provide, and suddenly the bright prospect of a competition meant for laughter and shared stories feels like a thin disguise for something much more hollow.

He puts on his best grin, the one that usually gets him through anything, and thinks of Jamil. But he knows before he even starts the trek that Jamil won’t accept his help—not really.

He would take one step into Jamil’s space, and the same pattern would unfold: Jamil’s skill, his knowledge and sharp-eyed focus, would all have to fold back and take second place for Kalim. And Kalim’s heart would break a little more, watching Jamil slip back into that practiced shadow.

So he chooses someone at random. He watches his friend fade into the distance, unapproachable in the quiet corner he’d always known to seek, and feels himself both moving closer and losing him. Because if Jamil joins with someone else, maybe this time, he’ll finally get the recognition he’s always deserved.

Then, suddenly, there’s a voice—a calm, grounded voice, an anchor that cuts through the whirlwind around him. “Do you want to team up?”

Kalim blinks, looking up. It’s you, the one person he might have expected least, but it makes sense the more he thinks about it. You’re the prefect, the magicless wonder who bent over backwards time and again for people you barely knew.

He’s seen you take on challenges most people would run from; he’s seen you forge your own way in a world that wasn’t made to be kind. You’re… well, you’re what he imagines the sun to be—shining for everyone, regardless of how dark things might seem.

The memory slips back into his mind, hazy at first, like a half-forgotten dream—but then it sharpens, each detail painfully vivid. After Jamil's overblot, Kalim remembers standing on the edge of chaos, his mind spinning, his heart bruised. The realization of Jamil’s resentment had wrapped around his throat, each word, each look, echoing. And yet, he had smiled, grinned even, as he always did—because he had to.

It was then that you appeared beside him, quiet but determined, your gaze steady and warm as you asked, “Are you okay, Kalim?”

He’d almost laughed it off. "I’m fine! You should check on Jamil instead.” Jamil was the one who had suffered, after all, who had been weighed down by his own heavy feelings, dark enough to blot out everything else. But you shook your head, gently dismissing his words. “Jamil’s in good hands. Right now, I’m here to check on you.”

Your voice cut through the polished, automatic responses that came so easily to him, cracking them open to reveal the raw vulnerability underneath. He stood there, lost, the smile frozen on his face, as your words sank in. You weren’t here because he was the housewarden or the Al-Asim heir—you were here for him.

Before he could respond, you were called by Ace and Deuce, voices edged with worry and urgency. With a quick but genuine smile, you pressed your number into his hand, like a promise. “If you need anything, just call me, okay?”

Then, before he could gather a single thought, you pulled him into a swift hug. It was brief, barely more than a whisper of warmth, but it was real. And as you turned and rushed back to the others, Kalim was left standing alone, clutching the scrap of paper like a lifeline.

It was the first time he felt truly seen.

And now here you are, looking right at him with that unmistakable twinkle in your eye, and asking him if he wants to team up with you.

For a moment, his heart jumps, then settles. How could he say no?

When you both sit down, Kalim immediately jumps into the plan he assumes you want to hear—how he’ll bring in a chef, or two, maybe even three to make sure everything’s just right.

But the second he starts, you shut him down with a gentle shake of your head, laughing softly. “This isn’t about winning. This is about having fun with friends, remember? I didn’t ask to team up so you’d hire people. I wanted to cook with you.”

Kalim’s heart skips. You’re here… just for him?

It’s a strange feeling, this warmth that wells up from deep within. His grin starts small, uncertain, then blooms into something true and wide, unfiltered and bright.

The kitchen becomes a small world for just the two of you, a place of flour clouds and flung sugar, and with each mistake, with each burnt attempt at a dish, you both dissolve into helpless laughter.

What starts as a noble, if catastrophic, attempt to cook quickly devolves into pure chaos, until there’s more flour on your faces than in the mixing bowl and neither of you can remember what you were even trying to make.

For once, he doesn’t feel the need to give, or to prove. Here with you, he’s simply Kalim—the boy with flour smudged across his cheek and laughter that keeps bubbling up before he can stop it.

When the competition ends, you both stand proudly beside a dish that looks nothing short of monstrous. The judges hesitate, then take a tentative bite and promptly grimace. Kalim hears you giggling beside him, your shoulders shaking as you take in the judge’s expression, and he can’t help but join you. It’s a sound that fills the space between you, something unpracticed and utterly genuine.

For a moment, he looks at you, your face still bright with laughter, your eyes shining like starlight, and a thought settles into him, quiet but strong.

Maybe… maybe he’d be happy being your moon.

Because you’re the sun in all the ways that he could never be. You light the way without needing anything from him. And for once, he feels no need to push it down and smile, because it feels natural.

It happens often enough that Kalim doesn’t flinch anymore. He’s used to it, really. Requests come at him like a tidal wave, sweeping through with unrelenting regularity. It’s as if everyone expects him to be their endless source, their personal sun—warm, bright, unyielding in generosity, always giving without pause. A smile that never fades, a light that never dims.

Today, it’s a classmate from another dorm, sidling up with that gleam in their eye, that small, calculated smile. “Kalim,” they say, smooth and honeyed, “I could use a little help.” And it’s money they want; of course it’s money. They don’t ask how he’s doing, or if he might need something in return. The sun does not need favors; it simply shines.

Without hesitation, Kalim’s lips curve into that familiar, reflexive smile. “Of course! How much do you—”

But before he can finish, there’s a shift—a hand on his arm, warm and grounding, and then there’s you, stepping in. You stand firm, gaze unwavering as you look at the person with something fierce, a protective spark in your eyes he’s not accustomed to seeing directed at him.

“No,” you say, voice strong, clear. “He won’t be giving you any money today.”

Kalim stares, momentarily stunned, as the person falters, their confidence waning under your unyielding gaze. They stammer, offering excuses, their polished smile slipping away, and Kalim realizes, slowly, that you’ve dismissed them entirely. Just like that, they slink off, and it feels as though you’ve thrown up a wall between him and the world, shielding him from the hands that are always outstretched, from the shadows eager to siphon his light.

For a heartbeat, Kalim almost laughs it off. It’s what he always does, isn’t it? His warmth is endless; he’s the sun, and if they want to take a little here and there, that’s fine. But as he opens his mouth to brush it away, your gaze catches his—a fierceness still burning there, softer now but just as fierce.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, voice faltering, a practiced line that feels hollow now. “I don’t mind. I have enough.”

But you’re shaking your head, brows furrowed. “It’s not about having enough, Kalim. It’s about people thinking they can take advantage of you, people who see your kindness and assume it’s endless. I’m not going to let that happen—not while I’m here.”

Your words are firm, soft but unbreakable, and they slip past his practiced defenses, breaking through the polished brightness he’s wrapped around himself for so long. He’s heard people defend him before—duty, necessity, loyalty.

But this… this is different. You’re not protecting him out of obligation or his family name; you’re protecting him because you see him—the cracks beneath the shine, the exhaustion hidden behind the smile he’s worn for so long.

It’s strange, this feeling. It’s warmth, but not the warmth he gives. It’s something softer, gentler, a warmth that reaches out to cradle rather than to demand. And Kalim realizes that you aren’t here to take; you’re here to give.

It feels as if something’s settling in his chest, filling spaces he’s ignored. A sun isn’t supposed to dim, isn’t supposed to falter, but right now, he feels the smallest, most fragile sense of relief, of finally allowing himself to be seen.

For a moment, he stands there, vulnerable in a way he rarely allows himself to be, letting the feeling settle into the empty corners of his heart.

He’s always been the one giving, radiating, shining for others, but right now, with you, he feels… cared for. Cherished, even. And for the first time, he wonders if it’s possible to let himself be dim, even for just a moment, to let himself be a little less bright.

When he finally speaks, his voice is soft, shaky. “Thank you,” he says, and the words feel like a fragile confession, a quiet plea that maybe he doesn’t have to be everyone’s light alone.

And you smile at him, not as someone who needs, but as someone who gives, and Kalim realizes maybe he doesn’t have to carry on being the sun on his own.

The room feels too large, the air too thick. The housewardens’ meeting has reached a stalemate, and all eyes are on him—the sun who can’t afford to waver, the one they all seem to look to now, expectant.

It’s suffocating, the way their gazes settle, heavy as if they could burn through his skin. He knows they’re waiting for a decision, the final word to tip the scales. But Kalim doesn’t know what to say.

He opens his mouth, then closes it, the words tangling in his throat. The others are smart, strategic, relentless in their arguments, and he… he just wants to make the choice that won’t ruin everything.

The room is a whirl of voices and opinions, and he feels small under the weight of it. He doesn’t know what the right answer is, but Jamil would. Jamil always knows.

So he tries to voice it, a faint smile surfacing like a reflex. “Maybe I could just… ask Jamil,” he says, a bit too quickly, fingers reaching for his phone. “He’s smarter than me, you know? He’ll know what to do.”

But before he can call, a hand finds his, warm and grounding, and it’s you, giving him a look that’s gentle yet firm, one that stops him in his tracks. “Kalim,” you say, softly but with a certainty that doesn’t let him look away, “what do you think?”

The words settle into the room, silencing the murmur of voices, and suddenly, it’s just you and him, and that question hanging between you. It’s simple, yet it strikes at something deep, something unsteady inside him. No one has asked him like that before—not with such unwavering faith, not like they actually want his opinion.

He stumbles over his thoughts, searching for an answer in the corners of his mind. A nervous chuckle bubbles up as he tries to brush it off. “Ah, I mean, I don’t know if I… I mean, Jamil’s really good at this stuff, he always knows the right—”

But you don’t let him retreat. Your gaze is steady, unwavering. “You’re the housewarden, Kalim,” you remind him. “This decision is yours. And beyond that, I trust your judgment. Whatever choice you make, I believe in it. I believe in you.”

And just like that, something cracks open in him, a warmth he’s not used to directed at him, not in this way. He’s the sun, but the world has always taken that light from him, never cared for the doubts and cracks beneath it.

He’s always been everyone’s brightness, a mirror reflecting what they needed to see, but no one has ever looked past the shine to find what lies underneath—until now.

There’s a rawness to it, a gentleness that makes his heart stutter. To think that you… you believe in him, without question, without needing him to hide behind Jamil or his family’s influence.

It’s as if, for the first time, he’s seen for more than just his blinding, relentless cheer. And he realizes he doesn’t have to dim himself here; he doesn’t have to be anyone but himself.

His heart swells, and he finds himself grinning, wide and genuine, a real smile that breaks free from the polished restraint he’s so often worn. He makes his choice then, and he’s almost surprised by the ease of it, the clarity in his own voice as he casts his vote.

The meeting wraps up, and as the others disperse, he turns to you, his eyes bright with a newfound light. “You really mean it, don’t you?” he asks, almost breathless with disbelief. “You really think I can… handle this?”

You nod, and the quiet sincerity in your gaze tells him everything he’s ever wanted to hear.

He’s buzzing with excitement now, a warmth in his chest that radiates outward, too bright to contain. “We should celebrate!” he exclaims, a bit too loud, the joy spilling over, “Oh! We could throw a party! I’ll get the best decorations—oh, maybe fireworks! Or music, live music, yeah!”

He goes on, the plans growing more extravagant with every breath, each word a piece of his true self spilling over, no longer held back. But then you reach out, grounding him again, slipping your hand into his. It’s a small gesture, but it holds the weight of something steady, something real.

He looks down, meeting your gaze, and he feels himself settle, his grin softening as he squeezes your hand in return. It’s a connection that doesn’t need words, a promise that he doesn’t have to be the sun alone, that he doesn’t have to bear its weight for everyone else. With you here, he feels whole, bright in a way that isn’t lonely or draining.

And for the first time, Kalim lets himself bask in his own light, just as he is.

The night presses down, dense and endless, smothering like velvet too heavy to breathe through. Kalim’s room is dark, his bed sprawling, sheets cool and smooth and empty.

He lies there, eyes wide open, and the silence around him is too thick, his mind too loud. Thoughts spiral, each more bitter than the last. The emptiness gnaws at him, whispers that scratch at his heart, telling him that he’s alone—that he’ll always be alone.

They all come to him because he’s the Al-Asim heir, the boy with endless coin and golden connections. No one really wants to know you, his thoughts hiss, cruel in the stillness. They just want what you can give. Even his friends, the laughter and cheers that surround him during the day, feel hollow when night falls and he’s alone with himself.

And then there’s you… you, who’ve looked at him like he’s more than just a title, more than just a shimmering surface. But his heart trembles, fear threading through his veins. What if, someday, even you see past his brightness and turn away? What if you realize he’s not what you want, not who you deserve?

The thought digs deep, enough to make his chest tighten. And before he knows it, his fingers are reaching for his phone, trembling as he finds your contact, the screen casting a soft glow in the darkness. His finger hovers over the call button, his mind screaming not to, to let you sleep, but his heart—panicked, needy—wins out.

He taps the screen, the line ringing just once, then twice. But dread fills him, heavy and sudden, and before you can pick up, he hangs up, tossing the phone aside like it’s burned him.

The room is darker now, the silence sharper, and his heart beats loud, a hollow echo. What was I thinking? He tries to laugh it off, as though his thoughts aren’t tightening around him. But then his phone vibrates, the screen flashing with your name.

He swallows, unable to answer, shame and fear tangled up, so he lets it go to voicemail. Then the screen lights up again, and again, until finally, after his third silence, the calls stop.

The quiet returns, heavier than before, and he’s about to close his eyes, to pretend he never did anything so foolish, when there’s a knock. It’s soft at first, hesitant, then insistent, each knock pounding through the empty space in his chest.

He doesn’t dare breathe as he drags himself out of bed, opening the door only to find you there, looking up at him with wild, frantic eyes, like you’ve just run miles to reach him.

“Kalim,” you gasp, barely catching your breath, and he’s so stunned he almost doesn’t notice the tear tracks glistening on your cheeks. You reach for him, hands shaking, and in an instant, your arms are around him, pulling him close, clinging to him like he might disappear if you let go. “You scared me! You really… I thought—” Your voice breaks, thick with worry, and your grip tightens, trembling as though you’re afraid he’ll slip from your hold.

He’s frozen, the weight of your embrace pressing into him, disbelief rippling through him. “I—I’m sorry,” he stammers, trying to laugh it off, to brush away the panic in his chest. “It was… it was just an accident! I didn’t mean to wake you—”

But you pull back just enough to look him in the eyes, your gaze sharp with the weight of a thousand unspoken worries. “Don’t you dare do that to me again,” you say, your voice firm, fierce in a way he’s never heard before. “If you need me, call me. Really call me. Don’t just… don’t leave me hanging, don’t make me wonder. I was terrified, Kalim.”

And before he can even answer, you wrap your arms around him again, burying your face in his shoulder as you hold him close. It’s grounding, the warmth of you pressed against him, anchoring him in a way that silences the dark thoughts spiraling through his mind.

He can feel your heart racing, hear the quiet sniffles as you clutch him tighter, and it’s like all the loneliness, all the fear, all the doubts fade into the background. Because you’re here, and you came all this way just for him.

“Come on,” you say after a long moment, pulling away just enough to flash him a faint, determined smile. “Scooch over. We’re having a sleepover. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

He blinks, watching in wonder as you make your way to his bed, throwing back the covers and settling in as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He can only stand there for a moment, stunned, before he finds himself crawling into bed beside you.

He’s never had someone sit with him like this, just to be there, and a strange warmth fills his chest, unlike anything he’s felt before.

You don’t ask him why he called or why he hung up, and he doesn’t need to explain. You’re here, stretching out beside him, your presence a steady warmth that keeps the shadows at bay.

When you reach over to take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, it’s like a promise, an unspoken vow that no matter how dark the night feels, you’ll be here to pull him back into the light.

And as he lies there, hand in yours, he realizes he doesn’t need to fear losing you. For the first time, he feels truly seen, like you understand every part of him—the bright, blinding sun he tries to be, and the quieter, flickering light beneath. He squeezes your hand back, his heart lighter, his smile real.

Kalim has known for a while now, though he tried to convince himself otherwise. But no amount of blinding sunlight, no amount of laughter can hide the truth beating loud and insistent in his chest. He’s fallen for you, deeply, hopelessly, and it’s nothing like he’d imagined.

Not grand or regal or even serene. No, it’s messy, overflowing, spilling out like the cups of tea he clumsily pours, like the stories he rambles through whenever you’re nearby. You make him feel like he doesn’t need to wear that bright, polished sun mask that everyone expects from him.

But how can he possibly tell you? In his mind, the moment plays out with magic carpets soaring through the stars, firelight flickering against golden sands, his heart laid bare in the most dazzling of confessions.

Yet here he is, standing with you in the middle of a bustling market, your hand gripping his as you pull him from stall to stall, eyes bright with excitement as you chatter on about matching trinkets, laughter bubbling up as you try on silly hats and drape fabrics over each other’s shoulders.

He’s surrounded by the scents of spices, the hum of people, the rough cobblestones beneath his feet—and suddenly, the words slip out, too big to be contained. “I love you.”

It’s out before he can stop himself, hanging there in the air between you, fragile and exposed. There are no magic carpets, no glittering jewels or ancient spells—just the clamor of the marketplace and your stunned expression.

For a split second, he panics, his heart dropping as he watches you go still, your laughter fading into silence. What did I just do? he wonders, dread pooling in his stomach.

Before he can backtrack, you grab his hand and tug him away, weaving through the bustling crowd with a determined pace. He follows without a word, his heart thudding painfully, a thousand worries flashing through his mind. Are you mad? Are you disappointed? The walk back feels endless, every step dragging out his dread as he watches your profile, desperately wishing he could read your mind.

When you reach your room, you shut the door and turn to face him, eyes steady and piercing. “Say that again,” you demand, soft but firm, voice almost a whisper.

He swallows, nerves tangling in his throat, but he can’t hide now, not when you’re looking at him like that. “I love you,” he says, voice trembling but true. And before he can get another word out, your hands are cupping his face, and you’re pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s fierce and sweet, leaving him breathless.

When you pull back, he stares at you, wide-eyed, his mind still reeling. “But—” he stammers, “It wasn’t grand, it wasn’t…” He trails off, words slipping through his fingers, his heart heavy with the thought that he’s somehow let you down.

You silence him with another kiss, your hands gentle on his cheeks. When you pull away, you hold him there, your gaze warm and unyielding. “I don’t need grand, Kalim. I don’t want fireworks, or magic carpets, or anything the Al-Asim heir thinks he’s supposed to offer. I love you. Not housewarden Kalim, not the heir… Just Kalim. The one who follows me through crowded markets, the one who hums while he braids my hair, the one who laughs so brightly it could heal the world.”

Your fingers trace along his jaw, and the sincerity in your eyes takes his breath away. “You don’t need to be the sun for me. You don’t need to burn yourself out for people who don’t care. You’re enough as you are. You’re my Kalim, and I’m yours.”

And as you smile at him, soft and true, he feels his heart swell, the insecurities falling away. Your words wrap around him, gentle as a cloak, quieting every fear and doubt he’s held onto. It’s more than he ever thought he could have, more than he ever thought he’d deserve.

The smile that blooms on his face, radiant and unrestrained, is real.

Because in this moment, with you by his side, he shines brighter than the sun.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #kalim x reader #kalim al asim x reader #twst kalim #kalim #kalim al asim #kalim al-asim x reader #kalim al-asim

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venjras · 3 months ago

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FAMILY FRIEND - GOJO SATORU.

just a simple prompt because i was bored and had this idea in my head way too much lately. was thinking about making it a series, what do y’all think? ( wrote it in a rush, so excuse my grammar )

it's been a lifetime since you've started hearing about gojo, the family friend of endless qualities. but punctually there was never a chance to actually meet him, like a curse that brought both to diametrically different places whenever there was an opportunity for a possible clash. you heard about it at family dinners, during the update phone calls with your brother, there were even his t-shirts in the laundry basket every time you came home for spring breaks.

and it was about damn time, today was the day.

right now you were floating on the crystal clear surface of the pool water, enjoying the warm contrast that the sun's rays of that day of mid-august brought. with your eyes closed, you almost felt like you were levitating and as if everything around you was just the result of your imagination, so heavenly. the head inevitably went back to the night before, to the club where you were with your friends to celebrate the graduation. you had lost them after an hour from the arrival, they probably were with some guy and with the certainty that for that evening you weren’t going to see them again.

in fact, you found yourself alone, sitting at the bar counter turning the ice of your cocktail around with the deafening music that rumbled in your ears. a little puff came out of your lips, you didn't even realise the bulky presence next to you, imposing and massive, that would have no problem towering over your little frame. at some point you see the bartender replace your drink with a new one, gesture that makes you frown and finally get the first glance of that white haired boy and crystalline look that had long been resting on your face.

“i thought you'd use some company.” his deep voice resounded in your whole body, almost overcoming the loud speakers. your gaze slowly slid along his figure, muscular torso and perfectly fitted by a white shirt, unbuttoned and specially tighter to show the well-defined lines of his biceps, same for the jeans that left very little to no imagination. final touch given by that breathtaking face, well-marked jaw. he seemed almost sculpted by the gods and you were sure he knew. a wave of heat invaded the lower part of your body. you saw his lips hunch into a smile and that's where you realised you didn't answer him yet.

what happened in the next hour was too fast to even realise it, the last thing you knew was that you were locked between the wall and his body. his mouth was devouring yours, tongues looking for each other in a desperate dance, drinking you up completely. fingers pulling hard on his locks, legs wrapped around his waist, panties pulled to the side.

his cum already dripping down your shivering legs, what was his name again?

your nipples got hard and an annoying heat took possession of your lower belly at the mere memory, forced to go with your head under water. you had to recover, you didn't have time for these things. in less than an hour the family friend would arrive and finding you all frustrated was not the best idea. at the time you were only wearing a white bikini, you had just a couple of minutes to change into something more appropriate since, as much as that was your favourite piece, it was definitely too revealing.

and the heat too insistent, annoying, to the point that little by little it could have given you to the head. you came out of the water and pulled yourself up from the edge, too late to realise that two pairs of eyes were already looking at you. in particular one of them. “hey sis, have you met gojo yet?”

fuck, that's what his name was.

part two.

©️ venjras.

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uzurimisery · 2 months ago

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the space between two bodies. / satosugu x reader / (part 2)

Warnings: MDNI, smut, happy ending, DP, unprotected sex, hints of baby trapping, squirting, praise kink if you squint, still some unhealthy dynamics bc thats what a relationship with the two of them would be, use of ‘girl’, a hint of objectification, no sorcery au, unedited

wc: 9k

part one

Two painfully slow and tense weeks dragged on. Each day you spent doing your best to avoid Suguru, and Satoru who had just come back to town from a shoot. Every time you locked eyes with one of them it felt like the walls were closing in.

But there are traditions you can’t weasel out of and so, like clockwork, the biweekly get-together your friend groups had for years will happen. Suguru, Satoru, Utahime, Kento, Shoko, and you, sometimes a few extra people or dates, would crowd around a table of some izakaya in between all of you. There’d be too many beer glasses on the table, but another round would be ordered anyway.

You used to laugh until your sides hurt, sharp cramps from overuse, push the limits of intoxication and your aging body. Couldn’t drink like you were 20 anymore, but you could sure as hell try.

Simpler back then.

Being young.

Things were easier, so less complicated. You were entangled in a web of responsibilities, bills, and regrets that pockmarked your life.

Shoko slammed her pint glass on the table. “Anyhow have you guys been? Feel like I haven’t seen anymore in 80 years.” Her smile was normally so infectious, the bags under her eyes endearing. Too many late nights and endless shifts at the hospital made them a permanent feature.

“I’m okay,” you replied too quickly, voice wobbling slightly.

Suguru’s gaze fell on you immediately. Sharp and heavy, like he was peeling back the lie. His eyes were too much, too painful. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, but he says nothing. Just let the weight of his stare speak for him.

“Just okay?” Now Satoru’s eyes flicked over to you, his normal lighthearted expression gone.

A specimen under observation. You were under the microscope, both of them dissecting you, searching for answers you weren’t ready to give.

You forced a shrug and a weak, unconvincing, laugh. “Yeah, just okay.” The all too familiar lump formed in your throat again. “Still job hunting, still freeloading off these two in the meantime.” It felt wrong to joke, swallow, and brittle.

Your shoulder shook, trying to sell it, but Satoru’s eyes couldn’t be fooled.

“I think the board members at Shibuya General are hiring for an admin. Want me to put in a good word? The HR guy likes me,” Shoko offered. Always trying got be so helpful, so genuine.

Utahim snorted, smushing her face against her girlfriend’s arm. “That’s because he wants to fuck you.”

“Not true.”

“He texts you toomuch for a guy who just wants to be friends.”

“Well last I knew I’m still a lesbian.”

You cut through the lover’s quarrel. “I thought you were still at the University of Tokyo?”

“No, I moved to Shibuya General about two months ago.” Her tone was casual but it made you wince.

“Oh, yeah!” you scramble to try and cover up your blunder. “Sorry, I knew that. I guess the beer’s getting to me more than usual.” The smile you give is half-hearted and forced.

Satoru took the opportunity to turn the conversation towards himself, regaling the group about his latest project.

You stared at your beer, tuning out the chatter around you. The carbonation inside the class fizzed softly. Each little bubble rose to the surface before popping. They were so small, so insignificant. Guess that’s like society. Insignificant people all clamoring over each other, doing nothing really, but adding to something in the end.

Maybe that's all you were, a little bubble in the sea of society, drifting along with everyone else. The collective group matters, but on the individual level they didn’t. You didn’t. Maybe you never had. Maybe you were just another fleeting presence. Born to fade into the background of someone else’s grander, more important life.

It’s what you deserved. All that greed in your heart. The quiet pain and dissatisfaction gnawing on your bones every single day. Everything you wanted just fucking unreachable goals, and you wanted it all but everything shimmered and gleamed just out of reach like a mirage.

Your nails dug deep into the flesh of your palms, cutting the skin.

Satoru’s laugh rang in your ears, echoing on and on. It hammered in your skull with every chuckle. Mocking you, throwing everything you’ve ever told yourself back in your face. Every lie you’ve told. Every way you’ve wronged him. It grew louder and louder, pressure building in your skull.

You slammed your hands on the table, glasses knocking into each other, the wood shuddering from the force. Everyone stopped, staring at you as you pushed the chair back.

“I’m gonna do smoke,” the words are barely audible as you stumble out of your seat and make for the back door, their gazes heavy on your back.

The door slammed shut behind you. Panic clawed at your throat, a bitter acrid taste clinging to your tongue. Your throat felt clogged, the lump growing bigger, chest tightening like a boa constrictor coiling around its prey.

Hands shaking, you reach into your shoulder bag, fumbling to pull out the half-empty pack of menthol cigarettes. You had quit smoking four years ago but you were back at it now. The icy taste is a fleeting distraction, a brief reprieve from the reality around you. At least they tasted better than the regular filter ones.

As you sparked up your lighter and took the first drag, the burn seared your throat. Familiar pain echoing the mess inside you. The smoke circled in your lungs, searing as it went. A cough snuck out before you took another drag, dropping into a crouch. Your weight in your heels as you rest your head against your knees.

“Why can’t you be normal about things?” you whisper to yourself.

It was always the same. People, feelings, places, everything-- all you had to do was the right thing and you kept fucking it up.

How many more times could you fuck things up before everyone turns their back on you? How long was the end of the rope you were so desperately clinging to? If you let go, would it end it all? Would the rope wrap around your neck and put you down like the dog you were?

“Get your shit together.” You mutter to yourself, cigarette pulled to your lips, voice hoarse and raw. You took another drag, the smoke stinging your eyes as it hung in the air.

“You just gotta get through tonight…”

And then the night after that.

And after that.

And all the never-ending nights that came stretching into the horizon. An unbroken chain of sleepless hours testing your resolve to be a person. All of them blurring together in a haze of regret and longing, each passing moment a reminder of everything you were trying to escape.

“So what’s really wrong?”

It was Shoko, leaning casually against the wall. The shoulder of her cream jacket picked up the dirt of the building. She pulled a cigarette out of her own pack, reds as she always smoked, and lit it.

“Nothing,” you replied, but your voice cracked, thick with phlegm, and weighed down by self-hatred. Tears threatened to spill as you stared at the ground, unable to meet her eye.

“That’s bullshit, and we both know it,” she shot back, exhaling away from you. The accusation stung, but there was warmth in her tone.

“I fucked up Shoko. I fucked up.”

The confession hit heavy. It shattered the glass, broke the dam holding back your emotions. The tears finally fall as you look up at her, vulnerable and afraid.

Concern washed over her face as she crouched down next to you, a silent offer of comfort. “What’d you do?”

You shook your head, shame squeezing your heart, beating it like a drum. “I can’t tell you or you’ll hate me.”

“Doll face, I could never hate you,” she spoke softly, stubbing her cigarette out against the asphalt, her focus now purely on her. One of her hands, warm compared to the night air, reached out to cup your chin. Gently, she compelled you to meet her eyes, to keep your own on her.

The floodgates being this open felt like you were drawing in your misery. But in Shoko’s eyes, you found no judgment, only empathy and love. It made the deep, aching wounds of solitude and loneliness you bear bleed again, cutting through the scar tissue to stitch them up again so they'd heal properly.

“I slept with Suguru.” it came out as a broken sob, bursting out of your chest, each word cutting like glass against the balms of your hand after punching your mirror. Betrayal, guilt, confusion, and greed all pour out in a single gut-wrenching truth.

Her eyes widened at first, surprised by the admission before they softened.

She didn’t pull away, she stayed close, thumb brushing over your cheek repetitively and soothingly. Shoko didn’t speak for a moment, just let your admission hang in the air, the gears turning in her head.

“You… you slept with Suguru?” She spoke as if she was weighing the words, chewing through them, trying to understand the depth of what had transpired, trying to understand how it had happened.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” you choked out, voice trembling. “It was a mistake. I was angry, I wasn’t thinking, and I just… I fucked up everything.”

Shoko’s silence said more than words ever could. You could tell she was holding back from asking you a thousand questions. But there was one she had to ask.

“Does Satoru know?”

You shook your head, the motion barely noticeable.

“No. I-I don't know how to tell him, or if I should.” you sniffled gaze drifting off “Sometimes I think it’d be better if I just disappeared.”

“Hey,” she moved closer, hand dropping to squeeze your own, trying to anchor you to the present and remind you that you weren’t alone. “You can’t just disappear. I don’t know how, but things will work out okay. And I won’t tell anyone, but you need to tell Satoru, both of you do.” She was firm but her voice had a compassionate edge, trying to gently nudge you to face the reality you were so desperately trying to run from “I think it’ll turn out better than you think. They both love you.”

“Okay.” You whispered, voice barely audible. So small. So fragile.

Shoko smiled like you were a little kid seeking comfort from a scrapped knee “Good.” She wrapped her arms around you tight, making you sob again, tears quickly dampening her shirt.

Shoko held you like this for some time, just letting you cry. Her hand rubbing circles on your back. She didn't rush you, try to stop you from crying. She just held you.

After what felt like an eternity you had cried all you could cry, eyes puffy now. You felt so drained, so exhausted, but better overall. A bit lighter. The weight of it all is now shared with someone else.

Shoko finally pulled back, resting on her heels.

“It’ll be alright. Just gotta take it one step at a time.”

For the first time in forever, it felt like you could breathe a little bit easier.

“I can’t go back there tonight, Shoko, please… can I stay with you?”

“Of course, you can”

It’s easy passing it off as a girls' night when you’ve gone inside to collect her things and Utahime. No one questioned it, though Satoru did raise a brow in suspicion but chose not to comment. At least you’d have this one night to just ignore it all.

───※ ·❆· ※───

“Sometimes I feel like you create so much space between us,” Satoru speaks from over on your bed. It’s one of his rare days off and he’s taken to hanging out in your room while you applied for jobs.

Normally him being in here would be comforting, a nice presence to get you through the mundane clog of applications. But it’s not anymore. It just makes you feel guilty.

You look over at him, long limbs spread out over your duvet. Pausing your typing you speak for the first time in 30 minutes. “What do you mean?”

He sighs, rolling over and propping himself up on his elbows to meet your eyes. “You create space between us. Randomly. Put up a barrier and keep me out, like you're purposefully hiding from me.”

Your eyes dart back to the screen.

“It’s not intentional,” you murmur. “I just… there’s a lot on my mind.”

“I get that, but you can talk to me about it. I’m always here for you.”

Hiding things from him was the worst.

“I… there’s just some stuff-”

Satoru pats the bed next to him, sitting up crisscross. “Sit and talk.”

You hesitate for a moment, the decision swinging in the air like a pendulum, before you stand and go to sit next to him. There’s an attempt to take a deep breath before you start, to remember everything Shoko had said.

“I need to keep you something, and I don’t know if it’ll change how you think about me.”

His warm, soft hands reach out to hold your own. Countless manicures kept them baby-smooth.

“Whatever it is I’m here.”

You looked down at your entwined fingers, the guilt rattling around you once again. “Suguru and I had sex.” his grip tightened “Not full on, but oral. It-it was a mistake and I’m sorry. I understand if you want to kick me out. I’ll leave, and you never have to see me again. I just couldn’t keep pretending like things were fine and I know now you probably hate me and want me gone. But I just--”

You were cut off by his lips crashing against yours. His lips followed yours as you tried to pull away confused. Satoru’s kiss was urgent, needy, and oppressive almost as if he kept you in tow. He grabs your waist, fingering and digging into the fat, squeezing so tightly. It felt like he was anchoring himself to you, refusing to let you do. Blindingly white teeth bit down into your bottom lip, begging you to let him in.

You could never say no to him, you were always so weak to his charm. So you let him in.

His tongue was warm and wet in your mouth as he brushed it over yours. You respond in turn, letting him decide the kiss. Sartoru’s free hand untangles from your own and goes to the back of your neck, half in your hair. He tilts your head back, leaning forward on his knees to deepen the kiss. The hand on your waist somehow squeezed tighter, thumb rubbing against the ribbed fabric of your tank top.

When he pulled away, a small strand of spit connecting the two of you, his eyes were wild with fear and possession.

“Don’t,” his eyes searched yours with an intensity you had never seen before. “Don’t say you’ll leave, don’t ever say that again.”

You were panting, confused, failing to understand what just happened. “I’m sorry?” It's whispers as you catch your breath. “I just thought you’d want me gone.”

He tilts your head to the side and kisses the length of your neck. “You don’t get to leave me.” The words as muffled as he places a kiss between each one.

Satoru bristles and pushes you back into the bed. Climbing on top of you, he cages you under him and pins your wrists together in his hand above your head. His eyes a wild, pupils fully blown out and it scared you. He’s crying now. One of the tears hit your face and he wipes it off, so gently and sweet, with his free hand before collapsing on top of you.

His body wraps around your own, his face tucked into your neck. He’s shaking slightly. As if the thought of losing you really brought him to this point. That you actually leaving would break him.

You wiggle your hands free and hug him, rubbing up and down his back as you do.

Notoriously, Satoru was not good with people he cared about leaving. Be it for work trips or temporarily, he didn’t do well with people not being accessible to him. He was filled with a desperate need to keep the people he cared about exactly where he wanted them. It was to the point he’d forsake his own well-being, his own feelings, for the sake of it.

You feel the vibrations against your skin before you can process what he said.

“I can’t lose you.”

“Satoru,” you try to pull away but his grip is too tight. “I slept with your fiance and you want me to stay?”

He nods, hair tickling your chin. “It’s okay if it's you.”

“You can’t just be fine with that doe the sake of keeping me around. What about your relationship?”

When he finally pulls out of your neck, his eyes still hold that same intensity. “Sleep with me too.” He hovers over you, noses nearly touching.

“I can't just-”

“Do you think he didn’t tell me?” he bends down and kisses you again. “We reached an agreement a long time ago. So fuck him, fuck me, fuck both of us I don’t care. What will it take to keep you here? I’ll give you anything, everything you want.”

“Satoru-”

“Don’t try and tell me it’s not okay. You’re not leaving. The three of us, Suguru, you, and me, we stay together. We’re better together.” He shouts the first word and you wince.

“You’re scaring me.”

That snaps him out of it.

He clamors off of you, leaping across the room.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he rushes back over as you sit up collapsing on his knees in front of the bed his head resting on your thighs. “Don’t leave please I’m sorry.”

“Satoru calm down—“

He rambles into the skin of your thighs, hands grabbing your own. “It’s okay, he told me the night it happened. I wasn’t mad, I’m not mad. I was a little jealous but because I wasn’t there too. I told him that we needed to talk to you about it first but he told me we needed to wait because you weren’t doing well and then he goes and does this.”

“Satoru,” you’re stern with him now. “Calm down.”

Satoru was an anxious individual under all the bravado. It’s been years since he had a moment like this. Normally the medication he’s on prevented it from getting it this point.

It took a few minutes, you pulled him onto the bed with you and made him lie down before he was calm enough to talk again. He’s lying on his side, mirroring you, his feet dangling off the bed.

“One day I realized I understood why he felt that way towards you and that day I started feeling the same.”

“Are you saying you’re in love with me too?”

He nodded

“Since when?”

“I can’t pinpoint when. There was the trip to Vietnam. It was raining, but you didn’t care though. You ran out from the umbrella and danced around, jumping, and smiling. It had been the first time in what felt like ever that I had seen you so carefree and happy that I ran out after you. I think that that's when things really started to change for me, start to blur the lines between romantic and platonic. But I knew for certain when Haruki cheated on you I was already in love with you by then. I was so mad. At him for doing that to you, and at myself for thinking how much better I could treat you.”

He reaches out and strokes the face of your face.

“Suguru and I used to argue about this when we both realized how we felt towards you as individuals and then as a couple. He was against saying anything. Leaving things just the way they were. No point in trying to fix what isn’t broken and risk our relationship. I had always thought it’d be me that cracked first. Tell you all the grimy little details of how sickly in love with you I am. It was like a bet with myself, not telling you, especially when we were both sure you felt the same way. Neither one of us wanted to pressure you into anything thought, especially because you live with us.”

“Jesus,” you looked up, LEDs blinding as you blinked back tears “So that's what he meant when he said you wouldn’t mind.”

“It’s our fault,” He pulled you towards him, your face resting against his chest “We should have told you about this before. I’m sorry.” He kisses the top of your head, voice thick with emotion as he starts crying with you.

The two of you were always in sync like that. If one of you cried the other was right behind. It’s why Suguru hated watching romcoms with the both of you. At the end of the Notebook, you both had worked yourselves up so much that the two of you fell asleep on the couch cuddled up together.

A choked sob wracked your body “I’m sorry. I love you too, and I love Suguru.” The words were more of a whine as you cried “I’m sorry for being greedy.”

Satoru’s own tears picked up in time with yours “You’re not greedy.” his voice trembling “If you’re greedy I’m greedy.”

You clung to him, feeling warm in his embrace. Feeling almost whole again “I just don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m such a mess.” You were quiet as you spoke, the fear that's been eating you up slipping out.

You were so scared of fucking things up between all of you more than you had already fucked it up. Everything you touched felt like you broke and you didn't want to break them too. They were so pristine and perfect without you there. Maybe you’d only ruin things, stain them, muttle them unrecognizable. You could have ruined things for them already.

He held you tighter as if he was trying to blend the two of you together.

“I’m so scared of ruining everything and losing you both.” you sob out.

Satoru gently shifted the two of you so he could place a chaste kiss against your lips.

“You could never ruin anything.” his breath was warm against your skin.

“I feel like I have.”

“You are the most wonderful person I have ever met. If there want anything ruined by you, it was meant to be broken. Jsu because somethings broken doesn’t mean it doesn’t have beauty, or value, or isn’t deserving of love.”

This time you took the initiative and kissed him again, his lips soft against yours. It was tender, filled with all the love that was between the two of you. Quiet. Peaceful. Serene.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Since Suguru was still out at the office, dealing with a client, Satoru and you took to making dinner for the three of you. A simple katsu curry and rice with some vegetables. It’s simple, not overly complex, but it feels routine to make. Nothing too deviant. As you were cooking, Satoru and you intermittently cried and stole kisses. Gentle touches on the arms arm or side, nothing that hadn’t happened between the two of you before. Satoru had always been touchy but now they carried so much more weight. So much more meaning, each passing brush of his fingers against the expanse of your skin singing praises.

You sliced the vegetables carefully, occasionally glancing at Satoru as he worked on the curry. His hands stirred the sauce with practiced ease. It was always surprising to learn he was the one who did the majority of the cooking as he was a picky eater. You could almost be offended that he looks so beautiful stirring sauce.

Every so often he’d pause, look at you, and give a small reassuring smile. It made you feel lighter. As if he was telling you everything was going to be okay.

You sidled up next to him to sauté the vegetables and Satoru turned the heat for curry to low, letting it shimmer. He comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and rests his chin on your shoulder. His arms make you feel secure and stable.

“This just feels right,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss against your cheek, urging you to lean back in his embrace. You do so willingly, letting yourself sink into the warmth and comfort he offered.

“It does,” you agreed. He was right.

It felt like coming home after a long shift, feet aching and joints creaking and climbing into a warm bath that soothes your aches and pains. Like the sudden realization of happiness, that everything was going to be okay. Like driving down the road in the summer, the windows down as the sun starts to set, music blaring on the radio, and everyone singing along. There was no awkward moment of overthinking how things were or would be, but just living in the moment and accepting things as they came to you overthinking and drowning in your thoughts.

You could sit here and stress about what you’ve done, why you’ve done it, and how that would change the future. Spiral into a mess of anxiety and regret. Or you could live in the moment.

Let go of the need for control that you so desperately craved, and ran after. And just let yourself float. Let yourself be cared for this time.

Wrapped up in Satoru, with him placing soft kisses on your neck, neither of you noticed the door quietly closing. You didn’t hear Sugur slide off his shoes, exchanging them for house slippers, or as he padded into the kitchen. He stood there, watching on for a moment. Seeing how entangled the two of you were, the way you filled How Satoru placed small kisses to your neck that made you giggle. How the two of you blended together.

You had always brought out the best in Satoru, parts of him that would go head to head with Suguru’s own stubborn nature. Always bring out the best in him too.

“What happened while I was at work today?” his voice made you jump, breaking through the moment, and making you drop the spatula from your hand. It clattered against the counter.

“Hey Suguru,” your voice was soft, warm as if the sound of it could pull him into the comfort as well.

Satoru let go of your waist and turned to face Suguru, smiling widely as he saw him. “Welcome home.”

There’s something in Satoru’s casual nature, how he said it like nothing changed between you all.

The three of you stood there for a long moment, still, silent. Painful longing, the desire to have always had things be so straightforward between the three of you. You felt frozen, unsure how to act, unsure what he was feeling. The curry simmering on the stove was the only noise in the room.

And then, Suguru’s face crumpled, and tears began to spill from his eyes. Satoru rushed to his side first, with you not far behind him, wrapping his arms around him.

Suguru’s shoulders shook with the force of his sobs as the two of you wrapped around him, sandwiching him in the space between your bodies. You were only a step behind, your own arms reaching around him.

“We’re here Suguru,” Satoru expressed “We’re right here.”

Suguru buried his face in Satoru’s shoulder, his hand clutching the front of your shirt as if he was afraid to let go.

“I was so scared” he choked out between sobs. “Fuck, I was so scared.”

You gently stroke Suguru’s back, your own tears wetting his shirt, your cheek pressed to his shoulder “I’m sorry.” The apology felt like too little, both right and wrong.

“I thought I was going to lose you both.” his voice cracks on the confession.

“You’re not going to lose us,” Satoru reassures him, kissing his forehead. “ We’re not going anywhere.”

The three of you stayed like that for a moment, all wrapped in each other’s arms. Letting the emotions, the tension, and the resolution wash over. Eventually, the tears started to subside and the three of you agreed to talk after eating and somehow things felt normal again. You all fall into the rhythm you’ve followed for years. Suguru talks about his projects while Satoru talks about an upcoming campaign.

They’re still as careful as they’d normally be when it comes to talking about your affairs. But they pushed more to know how your art was going. Since you’ve been unemployed it's been something you’ve been working more on.

It should be strange, you thought, that there is no overwhelming pressure between the three of you. If anything this is the lightest your friendships have felt in years. Maybe things really were always meant to work out this way. Shoko used to say the only person who could stand to be with the two of them, even platonically for long stretches, was yourself. That you just seamlessly fit them.

“I just… I don’t want to feel like a secondary attachment to the both of you.” you’re holding a mug filled with hot green tea, watching the steam rise from it. Dinner’s long since been finished but you’re all still around the table.

Satoru doesn’t hesitate. “Why would you be one? You’ve never been one before.” His voice is as casual as ever, but there’s a firm undercurrent. As if his word is law.

Before you can protest, Suguru chimes in. “He’s right. It’s always been the three of us.”

“I feel like one.” you shift in your seat awkwardly, insecurities prickling your skin.

“The person who could be between us is you.” Suguru doesn’t miss a beat. There’s no room for doubt with the way he says it. It’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You let out a small, nervous laugh. “I don’t want to fuck this up. You guys have been together for years… you’re literally engaged.”

Satoru delicately grabs your hand, the engagement ring cool against your skin. “There’s no fucking this up.” He looks to Suguru to add on.

“I’m more worried I’ll fuck it up given my track record so far.” Self-deprecation laces his tone, but there’s sincerity there too. “But we’ll figure it out. Take it slow.”

You smile a little at that. The nerves won't go away anytime soon, they churn in your stomach. Hearing both of them say it, both of them so willing to figure out the absolute mess you’ve found yourselves in together, made it a bit easier to breathe.

“Sure. That sounds good.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

A month passes by. Leaves change, and the winds get colder, but you’re filled with a warm sappy feeling. Like syrup in your veins it runs thick and sticky. But at the same time, it’s as if nothing changes. There’s no dramatic queue that signals you all to change your actions. Yet somehow, somewhere, things snap into place violently. Colliding with each other like asteroids, you wake up and feel it in your bones.

It feels like either man’s lips were destined to crash into the mantle of your skin every minute of the day.

Both were so hesitant at the start, afraid to scare you off like wild fauna. Afraid to delve into too deep of waters too early into something so fragile. They treated it like Tiffany blow glass. You were held so tightly by them. Seen so wholly.

Satoru had been the most overt with his physical affection. It was easy for him to pull you into his lap while you watched TV, his solid chest behind you. He tucked you into the nooks and crannies of his body, affection spilling out of him both verbal and nonverbal.

But it had really been Suguru who changed the most.

Tender love in his every action, every press of his skin against yours. A guiding hand on your lower back. Adjusting your shirts and sweaters. Standing on your left when you were standing for a long period, remembering your previous knee injury, so you could lean on him.

Both of them soothed you in ways you didn’t know you needed soothing before. Neither one moved in particularly new ways, sans the making out and heavy petting, but not you could recognize the true driving emotion behind them.

It wasn’t Satoru bringing your coffee order in the morning because he was on that side of town for a meeting with a client. His client was on the other side of town, but he had seen you frown at something so minor, so miniscule, that morning he trekked across Tokyo to go to your favorite place.

To be loved is to be known, but to be known so loudly, so intimately, made you feel vulnerable in a way. But there is certainty in it too. That this was the way things were always meant to be between the three of you but by circumstance, it only happened now.

So you found yourself in Satoru’s lap again, some cheesy early 2000s romcom on the TV in their bedroom. You had taken to watching movies in there due to their super king bed giving you room to spread out that the couch couldn’t. Sugaru was next to the both of you, arm around Satoru’s shoulder. He’s got some braids in between his fingers spinning it round his flesh.

None of you have anything on the agenda tomorrow, other than meeting up with your group of friends in the early evening.

Satoru has slumped over as the movies went on, his chest pressed against your back. Hot breath hits your neck every time he exhales, sending a constant chill down your spine. You’re not even sure what the last 20 minutes of the movie have been about, too distracted by the growing warmth in your core.

You shift as Satoru exhales again when you feel it. He’s incredibly hard right now. His erection slides against the swell of your ass.

The three of you haven’t been intimate, something you insisted on, and now a month’s worth of pent-up sexual need has come back into full focus.

Satoru drops his head. Nose pressed against the skin of your neck, he wraps his around around your waist. One of his hands sits splayed on your ribcage, right under your breast. You’ve never been more aware of your lack of a bra at home than now. His thumb moves and you stiffen.

He pauses for a millisecond before kissing your neck. The heat pooling in your stomach grows hotter. You’re so on edge that when he bites into your skin, the moan you let out startles you, your head falling to the side. Suguru catches your gaze, his eyes low, heavy with desire. There’s a rush of adrenaline that courses through you, no doubt dissimilar to what a prey animal feels when it's hunted.

Satoru’s teeth graze your skin, leaving a trail of darkening marks as he went. His hands move up to your breasts. He’s gentle, at first, squeezing them, testing the weight in his palms, before he pinches at your nipples. Gasping, your hips jut forward as if to grind against something.

Suguru stalks over, sliding over the bed, to sit right in front of the both of you. He looks down at your shirt, a large oversized graphic t-shirt that once belonged to him. Sees how the fabric bunches around his finger.

His eyes dart back up to yours, an eyebrow raised. “May I?” he questions about removing your shit.

You nod, leaning back further against Satoru as Suguru slides your shirt off. Satoru’s hands pulled away for him to do so, but once your shirt was removed they were right back on your chest, tweaking your nipples again. Suguru leans back and just watches.

One of Satoru’s hands leaves your chest and moves down to your thighs. They roam over the fat of them. You lift your hips and he pulls at your shorts, unable to get them off with just one hand. Luckily Suguru is there to help, and they get them off. The cheeky cut panties you've been wearing feel nonexistent as he brushes your clit through them.

“Fuck,” Satoru groans, grinding his hips against your ass, “you’re so perfect.”

The praise goes straight to your head.

He lifts his head out of your neck to look at Suguru. “Aren’t they perfect?”

“You should see how they taste.” Suguru purrs, palming himself through his sweat.

Satoru nips your neck again. “What do ya say, sweetheart? Can I eat you out?”

“Oh god, yes,” you’re practically melting into his arms now, limp and pliable.

The two of them move you around and get you on your back in the center of the bed. They treat you like you’re a porcelain doll. Theirs to play with but gently. Satoru tugs at your panties, pulling them off of you in one clean go. Suguru places a hand on your knee, coaxing your legs open.

Satoru draws a short breath, seeing you fully exposed, and moans.

“Can’t believe you’ve had this the whole time and never shared with me.” He bends down, parts your lips with two fingers, a licks a long stripe up your core. His eyes flutter closed as he does. “Perfect fucking pussy.”

Satoru doesn’t eat pussy, he devours it.

Consumes you like it's the first meal he’s had after a month of starvation. Like you’re the finest delicacy he’s ever had. Something meant to be tasted fully and savored. It makes you dizzy with how much earnest desire, and love, are in his every movement. Every swipe of his tongue against your clit an ‘I love you.’

The pleasure gets to your head quick. Being this loved makes your skin flush and thoughts muddy. You reach out the hold Suguru’s hand. His fingers entangle with yours for a brief moment before he lets go and touches your jaw.

He taps your cheek. “Open.”

You open your mouth and his fingers push into it. He pinches your tongue between his fingers, pulling it out. The pink muscle is pliant under his touch, following his guidance religiously. “Fucking Christ you’re perfect.” He slides his fingers back into your mouth. “Suck.”

Following a command has never come easier. You suck on his fingers like they're a lollipop, rolling them between your tongue. He pushes them further down, nearly to the back of your throat. It almost makes you gag but you force yourself not to.

At the same time, Satoru picks up speed. His tongue flicking your clit back and forth rapidly. He eases a finger inside you, crooking it up as he pumps in and out. Shockwaves of pure ecstasy go out across your whole nervous system. Right before you cum Satoru pulls away, taking you right off the edge.

“Why?” you whine, panting. It’s muffled from Suguru’s fingers in your mouth. There’s a haze in your eyes.

“I want to try something,” He scoots to the side. “Suguru come here.” Satoru gestures towards you splayed out pussy.

Suguru removed his fingers and shuffled down to match Satoru’s posture. “You dirty dog.”

“Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking of it.”

“You know me well,” Suguru laughs, kissing Satoru softly.

You’re about to ask what they are talking about before both of them lower their heads and make contact. Both of them are eating you out, tongues working in tandem. You aren’t sure if they're making out with each other or your pussy.

“Oh god,” you choke out.

Satoru moans loudly, the vibration overwhelming, his tongue meeting Suguru’s over your clit. They battle for dominance, bumping and nudging your clit as they do.

Suguru pulls away for a brief moment, climbing over Satoru to reach into the nightstand and pull out a bottle of lube. He moves so quickly, flipping the cap open, and squeezing some out onto his fingers. Once he’s satisfied with the amount, he goes back to the messy make-out session on your clit. But this time you feel him toy with the opening of your asshole as Satoru inserts his fingers back into your pussy.

The combination of both of their mouths and fingers makes you cum. Your body goes limp but they don't stop. Suguru pulls back from your pussy, inserting another finger into your asshole, stretching it open.

Satoru hungrily takes over your clit, sucking it harshly. The overstimulation is too much, too little time between your first orgasm, too much pressure as Satoru presses down on your lower abdomen that before you can even recoup you’re cumming again. This time squirting over the both of them, liquid gushing out of you, with a pathetic whine.

Satoru pulls back from your pussy, face glistening. “Didn’t know you could do that.”

Both of them stare at you with wicked grins.

“Stop,” you shyly try and cover your face with your arms. “Don’t stare at me like that.”

Suguru thrusts his fingers in your asshole again. “You make it hard not to stare. Don’t they.”

Satoru’s gaze is heavy on you. He’s always had such an intense stare but it makes you squirm so much more now in your naked state. It piercing. He licks his lips before speaking. “I feel like we should lock you away so no one else can ever look at you.”

“Be normal and say I love you.” Suguru nudges him with his shoulder.

“I love you, oh god I fucking love you.” Satoru kisses your inner thigh. “I love you so much. Please let us fuck you? Please?”

“I love you too.”

He bites down hard enough there’s sure to be a mark there tomorrow. “Don’t make me wear a condom, please? I’m clean, he’s clean.”

“Satoru I’m not on birth control.”

Where you thought it’d heed caution from him, it only serves to amp him up. He moves down and kisses your clit. “If you get pregnant I’ll take care of you, please. I want to feel all of you.”

Suguru smacks the back of his head. “Don’t you mean we’ll take care of them?” He pulled him back by his hair. “Stop pressuring them.”

You giggle a bit at that. “It’s a safe day so just… pull out?”

The offer makes Satoru lunge forward and lift you up. He lays down on his back under you, your legs spread around his middle, his feet on the ground. His public area is clear and recently waxed, so you just meet skin, and erection standing straight up in front of you. It gently smacks against your stomach as you settle into position.

There’s never been a doubt in your mind that Satoru was strong. You’ve seen him shirtless so many times, you know the panes of his muscles by heart. But it's a different thing to feel that strength.

Satoru moves you like there is no weight to you. He lifts your hips up, positioning your core just over his erection. It’s Suguru who reaches between you two to properly align your hole with his cock. The way they already work as a team when it came to fucking you should scare you. You know how they are. The next time the three of you fuck, there’s no telling what they’ll do.

Satoru lowers you down on his length. You’re so loose and wet from coming twice in short succession that you’re able to fit his entire length with no discomfort in one smooth, fluid motion. He’s girthy regardless, so when he pulls you up and drops you down again, it feels like your breath gets squeezed out of your lungs.

“Oh my god,” you fall forward on his chest as he does it again.

Satoru raises your hips, holding you above himself, and gives a few slow, experimental thrusts up into you. His mouth meets yours in a messy kiss as you jostle with each thrust.

Suguru sidles up behind the two of you, more lube on his fingers. He circles the rim of your asshole, dipping them in and scissoring it. “You gonna let me fuck you too? Or do you want me to wait my turn?”

You are, by nature, incredibly greedy when it comes to them. How could you not be?

Looking over your shoulder, you speak. “Please. I want to feel you both.”

“So fucking sexy,” Suguru groans, pulling his fingers out and lining up his cock. “Can’t believe we let you date that loser. Should have been here between us the whole time.”

Sure, you’d have fingers in your asshole before, but Suguru’s dick was longer and thicker. The whine is instinctive as he stretches you open. Once he’s fully inside and gives a gentle thrust, it’s then you realize that you can feel them almost rubbing against each other.

Oh.

You could never go back now.

It feels so good.

You’re close to cumming again and they’ve barely done anything other than interest themselves inside you.

Suguru’s hands grab hold of your hips, holding you still, switching places with Satoru who holds your face. His white hairs is stuck to his forehead with sweat as beams up at you. “Tell me you’re sorry for dating Haruki.”

“I’m sorry.” You try to move your hips, to gain any sort of friction but Suguru holds you still.

“Tell me you’re never going to leave us.”

You try to move again. Any movement is again stopped by Suguru who in turn smacks your ass.

“Listen to him.”

Satoru squeezes your cheeks. “Promise me. Promise me and we’ll fuck you until you pass out, okay?”

“I promise, I’ll never leave you.”

“That’s my girl.”

It must have been something they discussed before because the moment Satoru gives the go-ahead, they set a pace so clearly set on breaking you apart and building you back up in the shape of them.

Both of them give full, long strokes. They move like a well-oiled machine, fucking you like they were designed to do so. Suguru circles an arm around your waist and lifts your back to be flush against his chest, one of your breasts in his hand. He bites and sucks on your neck while playing with your nipples.

They fill you to the fucking brim. It’s nearly indescribable, the electric sensation coursing through your body. The feeling is almost like a live current running through you that short-circuits your brain. Perhaps if you were more cognisant of it you’d be embarrassed of the noises you were making. All breathe whimpers and moans filling the room with the sinful slap of flesh.

With his hands-free, Satoru begins circling your clit with his thumb. The orgasm that has been steadily building growing closer and closer.

“Can feel you getting tighter,” Suguru growls in your ear. “You like it, huh? Like having us both inside you.”

Be it his possessive tone or words, it makes you tighten up even more.

Satoru picks up his pace toying with your clit. “You like it when he talks to you like that don’t you gorgeous.”

Your pussy flutters at the praise.

“You feel that Suguru?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“You’re close aren’t you?”

It’s on the repetition of the question that you realize it is directed towards you.

Satoru pulls you down towards him, your chests pressed tightly together. Suguru takes advantage of the new angle, propping a foot up on the bed to fuck you even deeper. Your eyelids flutter closed and you whine into Satoru.

“I’m gonna cum.” you barely mutter.

“Cum for us.”

There’s an uncertainty about which one of them said it. Perhaps it was both of them, you aren’t certain as you clamp down on them, body stiff, and cum like you’ve never cum before. They don’t cease their movements, fucking you through it, moving in perfect synch. Your whole body shakes, heat flashing through your veins. The world starts spinning twice as fast.

“That’s it. You’re so pretty with that fucked out look on your face.” Satoru starts.

Suguru snaps his hips forward, sliding you against Satoru while he speaks. “Knew you’d let us fuck you like this.”

“Should use a vibrator next time. I want to see ‘em cum even more.”

“We can’t break ‘em Satoru. Don’t you know how to take care of your toys?”

“You’re so rude. They can hear you, can’t you baby?”

You can’t even hold your head up, so Satoru does it for you. Holding your head steady as it nearly lulls to the side.

“You can hear him can’t you baby?”

Your tongue feels like lead, it’s a struggle to speak. “I’m not- oh fuck - I’m not a toy.”

They keep fucking you, spreading you open further. Everything goes fuzzy around the edges in your blissed-out state. Every brush of their hands on your skin makes another ripple of your orgasm pass. You lose sight of where they end and you begin. Satoru gently lets your cheek rest on his chest.

“Bet your throat feels just as good.” Satoru kisses the top of your head

“He should try your asshole next.”

“I don’t know Suguru, this pussy,” Satoru’s breath is labored. “Feels fucking amazing.”

“Next round we switch.”

Satoru grabs your face again. “He’s never fucked a pussy before. You’re gonna make it so he never wants to fuck another one, aren’t you?” His brow draws knitted. “Clamping down on me like that. I love you so much.”

He kisses you again, whining into it. His thrusts grow sloppy and uncoordinated.

You pull back from the kiss, slightly more coherent. “Cum inside me please, I need to feel it.”

Satoru groans and increases his thrusts. “You’re killing me baby.”

He gives four more before hot spend fills you up. You can feel him pulsing inside you. He cums for what feels like a minute, spurts of cum spilling out of you before he pulls out and smears it all over your pussy.

With Satoru no longer inside you Suguru lifts you up to fuck you doggy style, your face nearly shoved in Sayorufs crotch. “Clean him up.”

Suguru starts a punishing pace, stretching your asshole further. His balls slap against your sensitive clit. You’re at a point where you don’t think you can cum anymore, but there’s whispers of an orgasm. You chose not to focus on that and instead on Satoru.

For being your best friend only a month ago, there’s no hesitation in these more than platonic actions he takes now. He taps his half-hard dick against your cheek, spreading cum over your cheek and lips. You open your mouth, and yak kitten licks at his length. His spend is salty on your tongue.

Suguru groans from behind you, gripping your hips tighter as he chases his own high. It doesn’t take much more for him to cum as well with nearly a growl. He hunches over you, extenuating the curve of your spine before he pulls out.

There’s the telltale feeling of some of his cum leaking out your asshole and dribbling down your pussy. Suguru scoops a mix of his and Satoru’s cum up and pushes it inside you. He makes sure to hit your G-spot as he does.

Exhaustion settles in your every fiber of being. Never have you been fucked so thoroughly. Made to feel so good.

Yawning, you try and stand up off the bed to go pee, but your knees buckle under you. You would have hit the cool hardwood flooring if it wasn’t for both men reaching out to grab you.

“My legs feel like jelly.”

Suguru smiles, feline as ever. “Can’t have you getting hurt after only round one.”

You straighten up. “Round one?”

“Don’t tell me you thought it’d end there?” Satoru chuckles.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The wood stood you normally perched on hurt like a bitch. Your entire lower half was sore and the lack of cushioning really was not helping. Satoru and Suguru had made good on their promise to fuck you until you passed out. They were “making up for lost time” if you asked them. But if someone asked you, your answer would be they were just freaks. Not that you minded. Clearly not given the array of marks over your neck, chest, and thighs all covered up by a turtle neck and long pants. Satoru really was a biter.

“I’m glad you made it this time Kento.” Utahime giggles, already tipsy from the one beer she's had. She’s leaning on Shoko’s arm, clinging around it.

Nanami is sat up straight across from her, politely sipping his beer. “Yes. My apologies for missing the last one. Tax season has me rather busy.”

Shoko laughs. “Don’t bullshit us, you just can't stand getting with us more than once every two months.”

He sighs. “Surprisingly I do actually enjoy your company. Even if you do annoy me.”

“Whoa! Kento don’t get soft on us.” Satoru claps him on the back. “Next think you know you’re going to tell us about your love life.”

“There is hardly anything happening in that department.” He eyes you, Suguru, and Satoru. “But I see that some of us have had some changes. When did the three of you get together?”

“WHAT?!” Utahime’s scream is shrill and she points a finger at you and the boys. “You guys are all fucking? I thought you guys were just all best friends”

Shoko shushes her, kissing the top of her head. “Baby, c’mon you didn’t realize the sexual tension oozing out of the tree of them the last time we saw them?”

“No,” she whines, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “No one tells me anything.”

do not copy, edit, translate, or repost my work on any platform

#uzuri writes #jjk imagine #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines #satosugu x reader #satosugu imagine #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru imagine #gojo x reader #geto x reader

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munson-blurbs · 1 year ago

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Summary: Will's birthday party brings back some familiar faces and gives Eddie the perfect opportunity to make amends with Corroded Coffin, but an unexpected interruption might have him hurtling towards his old ways.

Warnings: some dirty talk (18+ only just in case), drinking/drunkenness (everyone is over 21), pregnancy and labor complications, mentions of past bullying

WC: 8.2k

Chapter 14/20

Divider credit to @saradika Special shoutout to @storiesbyrhi and @corroded-hellfire for helping with the fluffy sections and making this piece strong.

Afternoons at Hawkins Preschool are predictable: storytime on the carpet is followed by the kids’ pack-up routine, and once all belongings are shoved into their proper backpacks, they file out the door to go home.

Predictable is good. It’s safe. And it certainly doesn’t include a fire drill half an hour before dismissal.

Herding nine children through the bustling hallways and trying to ensure no one is left behind is overwhelming enough. Factor in the ear-splitting alarm and the surge of adrenaline pulsing through your students once they re-enter your classroom, and you’ve got the perfect recipe for chaos.

Instead of fighting a losing battle to keep the kids calm and quiet, you’d opted to plunk them down with myriad art supplies and called it a day.

Now, after the last student had been picked up, you and Will are left cleaning the mess they’d made. Broken crayons are scattered across the tabletops, there’s Play-Doh of various colors stuck to the floor, and gold glitter—when did you even acquire glitter?—dusts every surface.

“Seriously…who thought that that timing was a good idea?” Will grumbles, tossing a Crayola stub into the crayon basket. He adopts a nasal, mocking tone. “‘What would help out our teachers? Oh, I know—let’s interrupt their dismissal routines!’”

You laugh despite your own exhaustion. Somehow, you’ll have to muster up the energy to tutor Harris tonight.

Will reaches into the cupboard to grab his car keys, turning back around with a smile that he only offers you when he needs something. “Could I ask you for a little favor?”

There it is. “How little?” You cock one brow as you clip a stack of papers together.

“Eensy weensy. Miniscule. Microscopic–”

“The more you say it, the less I believe you.”

“Okay, okay,” Will acquiesces, twirling his keyring around his forefinger. “So, for my birthday thing on Saturday…a bunch of my childhood friends are gonna be there. Mike, Dustin, Suzie, Lucas, Max, Jane…” he lists them, ticking off each name on his fingers. “Anyway, I was hoping that maybe you could talk to Eddie about a Corroded Coffin reunion? I know they’re on a hiatus or whatever, but if anyone can convince him to play, it’s you.”

He’s not wrong; you’re the most likely person to get Eddie to do, well, anything. But asking him to make amends with Danny and Gareth and getting their band to play a gig three days from now seems like a mountainous task.

Will is staring at you, hands clasped together pleadingly. He’s too optimistic for his own good, and you can’t help but give in.

“Fine, I’ll try. But–hey, don’t get excited yet,” you warn when he pumps his fist in celebration. “‘Try’ is the key word here. I’m not making any promises.”

Your admonition goes unheeded as Will already considers it a victory. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You give him a small, tight-lipped wave as he dashes out the door. You and Eddie were already planning to attend the party; you’d spent part of last night scouring an art store for the perfect gift. And he and Jeff were back to being thick as thieves…maybe this could work.

“All right, Mr. Harris,” you say with a laugh, hurriedly placing tiles of various shapes in front of him. You need to make the most of the few minutes you have left until Eddie arrives. There’s a soft, familiar flutter in your stomach as you think about seeing your boyfriend, but you know you can’t compete with him for Harris’s attention. “Can you find the…trapezoid?” The inflection in your voice makes it sound like a much more exciting task than it really is, and you hope it’s enough to wrangle his focus.

Harris pokes out his tiny pink tongue as he assesses the tiles. He initially reaches for the blue rhombus, but as soon as his little finger touches it, he pulls away as though it’s on fire. “No…that’s not it.” You tuck your lips into your mouth to suppress your amusement as he thoughtfully taps his forefinger on his lips. A solid ten seconds pass before he triumphantly snatches up the correct tile. “Got it!” he beams, showing off the red trapezoid in his hand.

“You did! You got the trapezoid!” You hold up your hand for a high-five, frowning when he shakes his head. His overgrown curls brush along his eyebrows, and you wonder if it’s your place to suggest that Eddie take him for a haircut. “No high-five?”

“Nuh-uh,” Harris protests, now swiveling his whole body in defiance. “I want…tickles!” He holds his arms out, leaving his torso wide open.

Lips pursed in faux consideration, you lower your voice to a hushed whisper. “Hmm…I think that warrants a visit from the Tickle Monster!” You flex your fingers so they resemble claws; he instinctively scrunches up in anticipation, arms tucked into his stomach. You let out your silliest wicked cackle as your fingers dig mercilessly into his sides in pursuit of his most ticklish spots. Delighted peals of laughter emanate from his chest, and you don’t stop until the buzzer rings, signaling Eddie’s arrival.

Harris’s eyes get wide, mischief dancing behind his pupils. “Do you think the Tickle Monster should get Daddy?” he asks, keeping his voice low despite it only being the two of you.

“Oh, absolutely.” You buzz Eddie in while formulating the game plan aloud. “I’ll grab the pizza and you go on the attack. Once the food is secured, I’ll join you.” You stick out your pinky, and he wraps his own around it.

“Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

His words turn your heart into a chocolate chip cookie fresh out of the oven, ooey gooey and destined to crumble if handled too harshly. “I love you, too, Harris,” you manage, blinking back embarrassing tears. The flood of emotion is absurd; he probably tells his stuffed animals that he loves them with the same fervor, but you can’t deny the adoration with which he looks at you.

He flings his arms around you in a hug, squeezing tight. Face pressed to your ribs, his words are muffled but still audible when he says, “I don’t know why Daddy says it’s hard to say ‘I love you.’”

He doesn’t have time to further elaborate before Eddie’s knocking on the door. “Special delivery for my two favorite people!” Your heart beats faster with the knowledge that he’s on the other side, that you’ll be able to sneak in a kiss or two.

You and Harris share devious grins, the little boy emulating your monster-esque stance from earlier. He creeps behind you on his tiptoes, and bites back a giggle when you slowly open the door, counting down from three under your breath.

“Hi–whoa!” Eddie stumbles back as Harris barrels into him, little fingers dancing across his lower stomach. You quickly snatch the pizza box from Eddie’s grasp and place it on the table before darting back to where his son has ambushed him. You start on his bicep and let your nails travel upwards until they reach the crook of his neck.

“I’m under attack!” Eddie yelps, twitching this way and that way in a meager attempt to protect himself. “I bring you pizza and this is how I’m repaid?” He easily scoops Harris into his arms, flinging him over his shoulder. Harris lets out an exhilarated squeal, carelessly kicking his sock-clad feet into his dad’s chest. “Jesus, little dude. You’re getting too strong.” Wincing slightly from the pinch in his back as he places the boy on the floor, he gives his tush a little pat and tells him to wash up for dinner, reminding him to use soap and water.

As soon as Harris scampers off into the bathroom, Eddie’s grabbing you by the belt loops of the wide-leg jeans you’d changed into when you got home. One hand slides around your waist and the other finds purchase on your cheek as he kisses you deeply, keeping a listening ear out for the telltale pitter-patter of Harris returning.

“Missed you,” he murmurs into your mouth, and you shiver at the intimacy this closeness brings.

You laugh quietly, biting your lower lip. “We just saw each other this morning,” you remind him, sneaking in another quick peck.

Eddie shakes his head. “Y’know what I mean. Can’t do this while you’re on the clock,” he counters, shifting his grip so both hands rest on either side of your face. You think he’s going to kiss you again, but he just gazes into your eyes. “Shit, you’re so fuckin’ pretty. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you today.” He rests the slope of his nose on yours, only snapping out of his trance at the sound of Harris rapidly switching the faucet on and off. “Let me go check on him before this place is underwater,” he whispers, giving your own ass a smack as he shuffles towards his mischievous son, a cheeky grin deepening his dimples.

You do your best to compose yourself, heat creeping up your neck and into your face. Busying yourself by placing pizza slices onto paper plates does little to distract you; it’s as though every neuron is dedicated to flooding your brain with Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

The way the pads of his fingertips brush against your cheeks when he holds your face. The plush moisture of his lips when he kisses your forehead. The tickle of his brown tresses when he nuzzles into you and takes a deep breath, finally able to relax after a long day.

“Are you expecting a guest?” Eddie pipes up from the kitchen entrance. A perplexed frown overtakes your lips until he gestures to what you’ve laid out in front of you: four slices of pizza, two plain and two with olives, on four plates.

Your vision gets a bit fuzzy with tears when you realize what you’ve done. “No, it’s, um…” Nostrils flare as you huff out a short puff of air, hot under your nose. “Force of habit, sorry.” You’ve been so diligent about only serving three slices, but your preoccupation with his touch had your mind drifting from the task at hand.

It takes him a moment to process what you mean, but when he does, his face falls. It was for Grandma. “It’s okay,” he says, cringing as the words leave his mouth. Because it’s not okay that you’re sad; it’s normal, but frustration still tugs at his heart that he can’t take it away.

It feels wrong to return the slice to the box, so you leave it where it is. Eddie balances the three plates, sliding a plain one in front of Harris. The boy digs in hungrily, sauce caught on the edges of his smile.

“How was work?” you ask Eddie, grabbing a napkin from the pile in the center of the table. It’s a simple question, one that people ask each other all the time, but it stirs up a warmth inside of him. It’s you asking him, fostering a domestic routine that he could follow for the rest of his life. He’d walk through the door of your house, wiping his shoes on the welcome mat you two had picked out together. The kids–Harris, plus another Little Munson or two–would practically knock him down trying to greet him, and he’d engulf them in bear hugs before reaching out to you, kissing your forehead with a murmured, “there’s my girl.”

“Eds?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, it was good.” He stumbles over the words, trying to clear his head of the fantasy he’d conjured up. “Lotsa paperwork, y’know.” He takes a bite of pizza, chewing thoughtfully. “What about you?”

You shrug, watching amusedly as Harris sinks his teeth into his slice and manages to pull all of the cheese off of the crust in one fell swoop. “The usual. The kids are learning about springtime, so Will decided to do a craft making flowers using finger paint and their handprints.”

“Sounds messy.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you agree with a weary grin, “but it was super cute, and Will is great with all that art stuff.” You excuse yourself from the table to get the water pitcher and three glasses, stopping when you remember your TA’s request. “He also asked me if a certain local metal band could play his birthday party on Saturday…?”

Eddie pauses mid-chew, nearly choking on his food. The cheese seems to congeal in his mouth when he tries to speak. “Um, I don’t know about that,” he finally manages, nervously massaging the back of his neck. “I haven’t talked to Danny or Gareth since…”

“I know, but you said you wanted to make things right with them,” you point out. “Maybe Jeff can test the waters? See if they’re ready to talk to you?”

“Maybe.” He averts his gaze, staring at the pizza slice without taking another bite.

You don’t want to further push the subject in Harris’s presence; instead, you turn your attention to the little boy. “Anything fun happen at school today, Har?”

“Nah,” he responds automatically just a half-second before his eyes light up. “Actually, yeah! My friend Charlie ate a bug at recess today!”

“Ew!” you exclaim, wrinkling your nose in pure disgust, as Eddie simultaneously poses the question, “what kind of bug?”

“An ant,” Harris answers his dad nonchalantly, as though ant-eating is an everyday occurrence. Perhaps it is, which is even more unsettling.

“Did you eat any bugs?” You’re afraid of his response; you’re unsure why you even asked in the first place.

To your relief, he shakes his head, a forlorn look on his cherubic face. “No, I couldn’t catch any in time.”

“Thank God for small miracles,” you mutter, turning back to your original task of getting something to drink. Though if the topic of bug consumption continues, you’ll need something much stronger than water.

Could Corroded Coffin play again?

It’s a thought that consumes Eddie for the entirety of his drive home, barely able to listen to Harris yammering about how there’s a coin in his jacket pocket that he doesn’t remember putting there. He throws a few lackluster mhms his son’s way and hopes he’s too distracted by the mystery coin to catch on.

We’re getting the band back together. Well, if Jake and Elwood Blues could swing it, maybe he could, too.

He waits until Harris is asleep to call Jeff. Getting his son to do his bedtime routine is easiest on Wednesday nights; he’s usually exhausted after a full day of school and tutoring. The one time that Eddie could use an excuse to procrastinate, Harris is out like a light.

Go to voicemail go to voicemail go to—

“‘Lo?”

Shit. “H-Hey, man,” Eddie begins awkwardly. “How’s it going? Viv doing okay?”

“We’re good. She’s ready to have this baby already. I reminded her, ‘just two more weeks,’ but then she told me to ‘fuck off’ until I’m the pregnant one, so…” he chuckles, more nervous than amused. “Everything good with you? Harris?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. Just, um,” he struggles to find the words, blurting out the first ones that enter his brain. They come out in a rush before he can stop them. “Do Gareth and Danny still hate me?”

Jeff takes a sharp breath in; his reaction does nothing to temper Eddie’s nerves. “They never hated you. They were just…disappointed? Jesus, I sound like my mom.”

Eddie misses his friend’s anecdote, too wrapped up in his head to fully pay attention. Somehow, disappointed stings worse than the prospect of being hated, especially when the people he’s let down are ones who used to idolize him. “Do you think there’s a way they could be…undisappointed in me? Like, enough to forgive me and maybe play a gig this weekend?”

There’s an extended pause, and then a one-word response: “Christ.”

Eddie can picture Jeff rubbing his eyes in exasperation, and he scrambles to explain. “Will Byers–you remember him? He was in Hellfire; had that weird bowl cut thing going on?”

“Mhm.”

“He’s having a birthday thing at the Hideout on Saturday and asked if we could play. Just a coupla songs.”

Jeff thinks for a moment; Eddie can hear him drumming his fingers on a nearby surface.

“Why don’t you come over tomorrow night around…6?” he ventures. “I’ll invite the guys and we can…I dunno, figure something out.”

“Thanks, man. I owe you.” He’s about to hang up when he remembers to ask, “Can I bring Harris?”

“Of course.”

“Har, slow down!” Eddie’s barely unbuckled his son’s car seat before Harris has wriggled out of the sedan, bolting straight for Jeff’s door.

“But I haven’t seen Uncle Danny and Uncle Gareth in forever!” he laments, reaching the house far faster than Eddie. He stands on tiptoes and rings the doorbell like a madman, forefinger jamming into the button at warp speed. “Uncle Jeff! It’s me!”

Jeff opens the door with a huge smile. “Mini Munson!” He scoops the boy up into a hug. “What’s new with you, little dude?”

“I got a wiggly tooth!” Harris exclaims, jutting out his jaw and pressing his tongue against the front center of his mouth. Sure enough, the baby tooth moves slightly forward, and he giggles. “Daddy says the Tooth Fairy’s gonna come and leave me a dollar,” he matter-of-factly reports. He peeks his head over Jeff’s shoulder, squealing and squirming out of his grip when he spots the two men sitting on the couch. He flings himself onto the sofa and plunks himself down into Gareth’s lap. “Hi!”

“Hey, kiddo!” Gareth chirps. “You’re getting so big.”

“‘M five now. I had a birthday party because I turned five.” He splays out his palm to offer five fingers.

“Did your friends go?”

“Yup!” Harris beams at the memory. “An’ Daddy an’ Grampa Wayne an’ Ms. Sweetheart.”

Danny furrows his brows. “Who’s Ms. Sweetheart?”

“She’s my almost-mommy. Daddy has to fall in love with her first.”

“Is that so?” Gareth smirks at Eddie. His teasing look is the first crack in the wall that has separated the men for the last six months, and though Eddie is thoroughly embarrassed, it alleviates some of his anxiety.

“Uh, Har Bear, why don’t you go hang out with Auntie Viv while I talk with the guys?”

Viv holds out her left hand, looking utterly exhausted. Her right hand rests on her bump, eyes sending a telepathic message to Jeff that they have five minutes—ten minutes, if Harris behaves well—to come to a solution before she needs a break.

Silence filters into the room as Eddie fumbles to address the mess he’s made. If Danny and Gareth are here, they’re at least willing to listen to him, which is honestly farther than he’d assumed he’d get.

He remembers what Harris said about apologizing; technically, what you’d taught him about apologizing: the act of saying sorry, not merely implying it, makes a world of difference.

“I was an asshole,” he starts. It’s not his most eloquent statement, but it certainly gets the point across. “Not just that night at the Hideout, or at our last practice. I was an asshole for a long time before that. And…I’m sorry.” It feels good to say it; it feels even better that they’re nodding, seeming to believe him. “You guys didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

Of the rest of the band, Gareth is the one to speak first. “I guess I’m just wondering, why? Why be an asshole to us? We’ve always been there for you.”

“I know.” Eddie fiddles with a thread hanging from his t-shirt, pulling on it until it snaps off. He shoves it in his jeans pocket, not wanting to mess up Jeff and Viv’s place. “Honestly…I’m not sure, but I think it’s because you guys are everything I’m not.”

“What are you talking about?” Danny asks, tone heavy with disbelief.

“In high school, I was the one you looked up to. The person you wanted to be like. And then I had a kid with some random chick I thought I knew but barely did, gave up my dreams of being a musician, and started selling weed again just to scrape by. And here you guys are. Jeff,” he motions to the friend leaning against the sofa’s arm, “you have a baby on the way with the love of your life. And all of you have goddamn college degrees and jobs that you don’t despise and don’t require you to hide from the law.” He shoves his ringed fingers into his jacket pockets, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. “And I was nothing.”

Gareth scratches at the upholstery with one finger, absorbing everything he’s just heard. “You know we never stopped looking up to you, right?” He gives a short laugh when Eddie’s eyes widen. “Yeah, man. Leaving Chicago so you could take care of Harris? Putting your kid before yourself? That’s pretty badass.”

Danny nods. “Ed, if there’s someone here to look up to, it’s you.” Both he and Eddie visibly relax. Shoulders drop from their hunched positions, thin lips unfurling into smiles. “No matter what you went through, you never gave up. Even if it almost killed us,” he adds wryly, referring to all of the sleep-deprived Corroded Coffin practices fueled by black coffee and pure adrenaline.

“No fancy diploma can teach us how to stand up for ourselves, or how not to take shit from people, or how to be a dad,” Jeff pipes up from where he’s standing. “We learn from you, man.”

Eddie’s cheeks burn at the compliments, unsure how to accept them. He’d walked in expecting to have to beg for forgiveness, and they were the ones reassuring him. It’s now or never, and he forges ahead while he still has the courage. “Do you…can we get the band back together?” Can we be friends again is the underlying plea, but it’s too vulnerable a statement to make. “We’ll keep it low-key, I promise. Work, family, anything comes up…we can cancel or reschedule. And I won’t be a dick about it.”

The three other men look at one another, nod and turn back to Eddie with smart grins and mischievous glimmers in their eyes.

“On one condition.” Gareth crosses his arms over his chest, smirking as he sinks back against the couch. “You tell us all about this ‘Ms. Sweetheart.’”

The Hideout, normally dingy and coated in a film of sticky ale, has been decked out for Will’s birthday party. Helium-filled balloons in every color bob along the low ceiling, vibrating with the thumping bass of the old sound system. Crepe paper streamers–purple, Will’s favorite color–sway gently with the air that rushes in from opening the door. This has to be Marshall’s handiwork, and it brings a smile to your face. If anyone deserves a partner who fawns over him, it’s Will.

You spot him surrounded by a group of people as the bartender slides a row of tequila shots across the bar and into their eager hands. While they’re distracted by alcohol, you take the opportunity to dart towards the backstage area.

Eddie’s there, digging around for his lucky pick. You wrap your arms around his waist, fingers pressed into the soft dough of his tummy.

“Hey, Rockstar,” you murmur against his neck, kissing just below his earlobe.

He turns around, jaw dropping when he sees you in a maroon slip dress. The heels on your feet have you two inches taller than usual, and he has to shift where his gaze normally lands to meet your eyes.

“Fuckin’ Christ, baby,” Eddie practically growls, kissing you deeply. One hand presses against the small of your back while the other grabs the plush of your ass, kneading it in his palm. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy. How’m I gonna go out there and play with you looking like that?”

“I’ll make it worth your while.” You giggle when he offers up a bemused smile. “If you do a good job tonight, I’ll give you a reward.” You let your fingertips graze over the metal teeth of his pants zipper, feeling him twitch at your light touch.

“You’re dangerous,” he winks, delivering another kiss; this time, he gives your lower lip a little bite when he pulls away. His kohl-rimmed eyes draw you in just as they did that first night you’d met, but now you dive into them without the fear of drowning.

A tactful “ahem” from the now-open doorway startles both you and Eddie, having been floating in an embrace that’s equal parts comfort and desire.

“Sorry to interrupt the lovefest, but we’re on in five,” a man’s voice calls from the doorway. You turn around to see the other three Corroded Coffin members standing there, amusement evident in their expressions.

“You must be Ms. Sweetheart,” one of the guys, soft curls resting atop his head, pipes up. His tone is teasing, but not mocking; the nickname is said with admiration and affection. “I’m Gareth, by the way.”

“Danny,” the one with tight, wiry curls offers, giving a small wave.

Jeff just shrugs. “You know me.”

Eddie grabs his guitar, slinging the strap across his body. His pants’ fly is tight, and he wills himself to calm down before it’s time to perform. He hasn’t worried about being hard on stage since he was nineteen, but thoughts of your bodies perfectly melding into each other has him subtly adjusting himself as he turns his back to his bandmates.

“See ya out there, baby,” he says before pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. The brief contact between you has you biting your tongue in self-beration for suggesting that the band play tonight. All you want is to dance with him, allowing the steady flow of alcohol to dull your inhibitions as you pull him impossibly close. Not caring who sees or what they think.

But this night isn’t about you or Eddie. It’s about Will, your TA-turned-friend who has kept you sane amidst your adorably chaotic students and their decidedly less adorable and more chaotic parents. He wanted Corroded Coffin to play his party, and that’s the least you could do for him.

Will’s already teetering between tipsy and inebriated, breath tinged with the scent of tequila as he introduces you to his friends.

“This is my amazing boyfriend, Marshall.” He smacks a wet kiss to the man’s cheek. “And these are my friends from growing up: Dustin and Suzie, Lucas and Max, and Mike and Jane.” His face melts into a sappy grin as he leans on Marshall to hold him up. “You guys! We’re all in looooove!”

“Jesus Christ,” Dustin mutters, rolling his eyes and shaking his head before turning his attention back to you. “Can we get you something to drink?”

Will raises his empty glass. “I’ll take another–”

“Not you.”

You manage to sneak in a quick conversation with Max, Suzie, and Jane before Corroded Coffin starts their set. Max is finishing up her Masters in English literature at New York University, set to graduate in two months. Suzie programs for NASA, and though Florida is a far cry from her home state of Utah, she loves her job. And Jane is a social worker at a local adoption agency, the cause close to her heart, as she was adopted by Chief Hopper years ago.

“Damn,” you laugh, taking a small sip of your vodka soda. You’re having so much fun that you don’t even care that it’s been watered down. “You’re all such badasses!”

Your admiration of their collective girl power is cut short by the sound of Corroded Coffin taking the stage. It’s as though they’d never taken an extended break; just picked up right where they left off. You cheer so loudly that there’s a pinch in your throat, but you push past it. It’s more than applause. There’s so much tucked away in your yell: I’m proud of you; you’re a rockstar; you’re my person forever, if you’ll have me.

“Hello, Hawkins!” Eddie bellows into the mic. There’s no missing the grin on his face. He’s happy. He’s in his element. He’s where he belongs.

“No way!” Lucas exclaims, awestruck as he turns to Will.

“Dude, you got Corroded Coffin?” Mike mirrors his friend’s excitement. He slings an arm around Will’s shoulder and pulls him in for a side hug. “This is fuckin’ awesome!”

“The first song of the night goes out to our guest of honor, Will Byers!” Everyone hoots and hollers as Eddie plays the opening chords to The Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go. Eddie told you he remembered that the song was one of Will’s favorites growing up; his older brother had gotten him into the band. Sure enough, Will’s bopping to the rhythm, singing every word, albeit quite off-key.

Corroded Coffin plays a few more songs from their usual setlist, nerves dissipating with each note, before Eddie speaks into the mic again.

“This next one is for my beautiful girlfriend,” he announces, eyes gazing into yours. “Baby, if my teachers looked like you, I actually would’ve gone to class.”

He nods at Gareth, who starts playing an incredibly complicated beat. As soon as you hear it, you feel your cheeks heat up. The rest of the guys join in on their own instruments, and Eddie oozes bravado as he sings.

“T-Teacher stop that screamin’ Teacher don’t you see Don’t wanna be no uptown fool.”

Max leans in to you and whisper-shouts, “I’ve known Eddie for years, and I’ve never seen him so…happy.”

Lucas overhears his girlfriend and adds his two cents. “That’s because we’ve never seen him in love.”

Warmth spreads all over your body, but it’s not from embarrassment. Allowing yourself to believe that Eddie loves you—is in love with you—opens a door you’d deadbolted until the time was right. You hadn’t wanted to rush things, but the jolt of exhilaration following Lucas’s statement means you can’t deny it any longer: you love Eddie Munson. You’re in love with Eddie Munson.

“Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad I'm hot for teacher I've got it bad, so bad I'm hot for teacher.”

Will takes the opportunity to twirl you around, and you laugh as you spin amongst new friends, your drink threatening to spill over the sides as he turns you faster.

“Hey! Thank you, by the way!” he shouts, probably a bit louder than he needs to.

“For what?”

“For getting Corroded Coffin to play!” He jerks a thumb towards the stage, stumbling a bit as he does. He’d managed to sneak another tequila shot when his boyfriend left him unattended to use the restroom, and it definitely shows. “And for, like, being there for me.”

You give him a hug, immediately understanding the full implication of his statement. “I’ll always have your back,” you promise, filled with the mingled buzzes of alcohol and belonging.

“I think of all the education that I've missed But then my homework was never quite like this!”

Eddie jumps off of the tiny stage and into the crowd of nine twenty-somethings, each at various levels of tipsiness, and reaches for you to pull you close to him. He’s sweating from constantly moving around and the stage lights, his fingers slick with perspiration as he laces them with yours. Jeff picks up the rhythm for the lead guitar while Eddie kisses you, soft and slow and sensual. He loses himself for a moment before hopping back up to join the rest of the band.

As Corroded Coffin wraps up their Van Halen cover and stops for a quick sip of water, there’s a small commotion behind the bar.

“Is there a Jeff Reynolds here?” the bartender calls out, phone receiver in hand.

Jeff gives a little wave, eyebrows raised in surprise. “That’s me.”

“Someone named Jess on the line? Says your girl is in labor and you need to get to the hospital.”

“Holy shit!” Danny claps a hand to Jeff’s back and grins. “C’mon, man! Let’s get you outta here!”

Jeff freezes up; hands clammy as he grips the guitar’s neck. “Can you drive?” he asks Eddie.

Eddie recognizes the fear in his friend’s voice. The selfish part of him wants to refuse to take Jeff to Hawkins General. He could easily plant his feet on the stage and keep playing, claiming that ‘the show must go on.’

No, he silently chastises himself, Jeff needs me. He needs me and I’ll be damned if I let him down again.

“Of course,” Eddie says, trying to force a relaxed disposition. It doesn’t matter; Jeff is too overwhelmed to notice the obvious effort.

“Take my car,” you offer, keys already dangling from your fingertips. “Eds, I can take yours and pick up Harris from Wayne’s tomorrow.” It’s easier to swap rides than to uninstall and reinstall the carseat, so you’re perplexed when Eddie shakes his head.

Two words slip through his lips, soft but pronounced: “Need you.”

Dustin catches wind of the situation and insists on watching Harris until you and Eddie can come back home, claiming he needs to squeeze in as much uncle-nephew bonding time as possible before returning to Florida.

“Henderson, it’s late; don’t let him stay up,” Eddie warns as he tosses over his car keys.

Dustin tries catching them in one hand, but they hit the center of his palm and fall to the ground. “But the best part of being an uncle is breaking the rules!” he laughs as he scoops the keys off of the floor. “By the way, I’m not drunk; just a shit baseball player.” Still, Eddie’s sigh of relief is audible when Suzie plucks the keyring from Dustin’s hand.

With Harris taken care of, you turn your attention to your boyfriend. Eddie’s face is flushed pale, and you’re worried about him behind the wheel. “Want me to drive?”

He nods and grabs onto your hand as you lead the two men to your car. Eddie’s doing his best to keep Jeff calm, reminding him that the doctors and nurses have everything under control until he gets there.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” Jeff murmurs, a disbelieving chuckle permeating the otherwise silent car. “Holy shit.”

Eddie can’t help but smile back. “It only gets crazier from here.”

The bright lights of the hospital’s waiting room are anything but soothing, especially compared to the dimly-lit bar you’d just left. You speak to the receptionist, an older woman with a tired smile and red-rouged cheeks, explaining the situation as she pages Jess while Jeff and Eddie take a seat.

Jeff’s voice is nearly impossible to hear despite the stillness of the room. “The baby was breech at Viv’s last appointment.” He clocks Eddie’s confusion and elaborates. “Feet first, instead of the head. If they didn’t get into the right position and the doctors can’t, I dunno, flip ‘em around? They’ll have to do a c-section.” Long overdue tears spill over his lash line, and he makes no attempt to swipe them away. “I just wanna fix it and I can’t.”

Helplessness. It’s a feeling Eddie knows all too well. He spins a ring around his finger, exhaling softly as he considers a response. He can’t say it’ll be alright, because he has no idea whether or not it will be. He and Jeff both know that.

“No matter what, I’m here for you.” Eddie’s gaze flits over to the receptionist’s desk, where Jess has now arrived and is waving her brother-in-law over. “You’re up.”

But Jeff remains in his chair, hands shoved under his thighs as though they’re glued to the seat. “I…I don’t know if I can do this. What if something happens to Viv or the baby? How can I…?” He doesn’t allow himself to complete the sentence, to finish the thought.

Instinctively, Eddie puts his hands on Jeff’s shoulders. He can feel them trembling slightly as his friend heaves another shaky breath. “Listen to me. You’re gonna do this. You’re gonna go in that room and watch your girl give birth to your baby. Because if you don’t, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your fuckin’ life.” He glances around and lowers his voice. “I know you’re scared, okay? I get it. And once your kid is safely here, we can talk about it. But right now, you need to pull it together and go be a goddamn dad.”

Jeff nods, finally acquiring the physical stability to stand. “Thank you,” he whispers, clearing his throat and wiping the wet stains from his cheeks. He starts towards Jess before turning back to Eddie. “Could you stay until the baby’s born? If you have to get home to Harris, I understand…”

There it is: his out. He can easily use his son as an excuse, despite the fact that Dustin and Suzie were perfectly capable of babysitting him. He can hightail it out of here and never look back. He can crawl into bed and feel sorry for himself for having to step foot in a godforsaken maternity ward again.

“Yeah. I can stay.”

Nearly an hour passes with Eddie’s head resting on your shoulder, relaying what Jeff told him. Identical knots form in your stomachs as the seriousness of the complications sets in. You don’t say a word as he speaks; you just try to shift without disturbing him. The cushion on the chair back, worn thin, digs into you uncomfortably, but you don’t dare move too much. His vulnerability is a deer that will scamper away at the slightest startle.

You think he’s fallen asleep until you feel his soft lips on your cheek, a muffled, “mine?” against your skin. You note his phrasing; it’s careful and unsure, a symptom of being in his own head for far too long.

“Of course I’m yours,” you whisper back, pressing a kiss to his scalp. “What’s got you asking such silly questions?”

“I don’t like this.” It’s an answer and non-answer all in one.

“Being in a hospital?”

He shakes his head, frizzed curls tickling the crook of your neck. His forehead is sticky with cooled perspiration. “Waiting to see if the baby is okay.”

The realization hits you like a punch to the stomach, immediately hollowing you out. The last time he went through this, it was when Harris was being born. You can’t think of anything to say, so you just nuzzle in closer to him and exhale.

“Why do I feel like this?” Neither of you are sure if he’s asking you, himself, or the universe. “‘S not the same. Viv’s not using drugs; Jeff stuck around the whole time…”

“Doesn’t matter. That’s not how this stuff works, y’know?” You adjust your position so you can look into his eyes. The whites are stained red with worry and exhaustion. “Your gig got interrupted, just like when Harris was born. And there's uncertainty now, too. It’s normal for these kinds of memories to get dredged up.” Your palm rests on his cheek, thumb gently stroking the skin as you ask, “can you try to get some sleep?”

“But what if Jeff needs—”

“I’ll wake you up if he needs you,” you reassure him, settling back into the chair. You lean your head against the wall; the heaviness in your eyelids battles the anxious fluttering in your stomach, but it seems as though sleep is winning.

Eddie’s hand finds your forearm, rubbing up and down the gooseflesh that has appeared courtesy of the air conditioning blasting through the building. Shrugging off his jacket and resting the leather fabric over your shoulders, he can relax once he’s reassured that you’re comfortable. He assumes his previous position, using your shoulder as a pillow and falling asleep gradually, body jostling itself awake from the unfamiliar sleeping arrangement. Eventually, you can hear his soft snores; for the first time tonight, he’s peaceful.

You could tell him now, a whisper under your breath that he’s unlikely to hear. I love you, Eddie. I’m in love with you. Your lips part in anticipation, but you snap them shut. You’re delirious and overwhelmed; Lucas’s throwaway comment about Eddie being in love is rattling around your brain. If you say it and Eddie hears you…

You keep it to yourself for now, letting your body rest while still supporting Eddie’s head. Tomorrow is a new day, with a new life brought into the world. Love—if that’s even what this is—will have to wait until then.

The soft pink of breaking daylight streams through the windows when Jeff wakes Eddie up six hours later, shaking him by the shoulders.

“What the fuck?” Eddie grumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes. When he registers where he is and the potential urgency of the situation, he sits up straight, head filling with fuzziness from the sudden movement. He wouldn’t call the evening restful, but he’d managed to doze off for longer than he’d expected.

“It’s a girl!” Jeff announces, beaming from ear to ear. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, bursting with enthusiasm and emotion.

As soon as Eddie’s vision clears, he’s on his feet and pulling his best friend in for a giant hug. When he steps back, he realizes that he and Jeff sport matching misty eyes. “Dude, you’re officially a dad now. You have a daughter!”

“I have a daughter,” Jeff repeats incredulously. His eyes cloud with tears, and he blinks them away as he peers over at the empty seat next to Eddie. “Did your lady go home?”

Eddie swivels around, so caught up in the moment that he hadn’t realized he was alone. She left. She left without me; she didn’t want to stick around and deal with–

“Did Viv have the baby?” Your excited voice penetrates through his intrusive thoughts as you stroll in from the hallway. The makeup around your eyes is smudged; you’d tried to wipe some of it off in the bathroom, but water and thin hospital paper towels are no substitute for makeup wipes. “Sorry, I had to pee.”

Eddie smiles at the sight of you, still wearing his jacket. He hopes his sigh of relief is concealed by Jeff’s exuberance. “A girl. Six pounds, ten ounces.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Wanna meet her?”

“Of course!” You and Eddie begin following him down the corridor. “Wait, is Viv feeling up to having visitors?” You’re mildly ashamed to admit that, in your eagerness, you’d forgotten about the baby being breech and the possible c-section.

Jeff nods. “I think my daughter’s gonna be a gymnast, ‘cause she’d flipped herself back around between the appointment and last night.”

There’s no masking Jeff’s pride when he says my daughter, and it makes Eddie want to hug him again. “That’s amazing,” he murmurs. There’s a small pang in his heart, a bead of resentment that Harris’s birth didn’t go so smoothly, but it’s unimportant right now. His best friend just became a father, and he refuses to let his own hang-ups take away from this moment.

“Hi,” you whisper when Jeff opens the door to room 1007. Viv is propped up against pillows, exhausted but happier than she’s ever been before. Your gaze is immediately drawn to the hours-old bundle in her arms. “How are you?”

“Sore,” she replies truthfully, brushing her forefinger against her baby’s closed fist, “but the epidural was a lifesaver.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you tease, unaware that your words have Eddie’s heart skipping a beat at the idea of you bearing a little Munson. “Is it okay if I hold her?” You don’t want to intrude on the new mother’s bonding time, but your insides turn to mush when the baby opens her tiny lips and yawns.

Viv carefully places the newborn in your arms, and you gingerly adjust to support her head. Eddie swears that you holding a baby, in that dress, wearing his jacket, is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. “Did Jeff tell you her name?” Viv asks, stifling a yawn. When you and Eddie both shake your heads, she smiles and glances at her partner.

He clears his throat, suddenly bashful. Eddie forces himself to tear his gaze from the way you smile and coo at the baby and look over at Jeff. “Her name is Nicolette,” he starts, “but that’s a big name for a little girl, so we figured we can call her Ettie, and she’ll kinda…share a nickname with you.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide, convinced he heard incorrectly. “You…I’m her namesake?”

“Mhm,” Jeff confirms, the grin never leaving his face. What neither you nor Eddie know is that they had had a different name picked out, and had fully intended on using it until the first time Jeff held their daughter. It filled him with a feeling of wholeness, of being complete, and it strangely had him thinking of his best friend. Without Eddie taking him under his wing, he might not even be here to experience this.

It was only by chance that he had stumbled upon Hellfire Club during his freshman year. He was running from Billy Hargrove and his posse, who were determined to beat the hell out of him simply because they could, and had ducked into the drama room to protect himself. Eddie had taken one look at his face and immediately recognized the expression of fear and defeat from being incessantly bullied. “You know how to play Dungeons & Dragons?” he’d asked, and when Jeff had managed a nod, he’d pulled up a chair and motioned for him to sit down.

Being Eddie’s friend, being part of something, gave him a reason to keep going. To live. And in that instant, he vowed to teach his child to extend kindness toward any misfits who need a place to be themselves.

“What about Nicolette?” he’d asked Viv. “Ettie for short.”

You turn to Eddie now, continuing the steady rocking rhythm that keeps Baby Ettie calm. “What do you say, Mr. Namesake? Wanna hold her?”

There’s a brief flash of panic that floods through his veins; he hasn’t held a newborn since Harris. He’d always worried about dropping him or tripping and falling. Truth be told, he was terrified until his son could hold his own head up.

It’s similar, but not the same, he reminds himself, shuffling even closer to you so you can safely transition Ettie into his arms. She stirs slightly in her swaddle but doesn’t cry.

“Hey, little lady,” he says, a delicate smile dancing on his lips. “I’m your Uncle Eddie. The coolest uncle you’ll ever have, for the record.”

“Harris is gonna love her,” you add, heart swelling at the imagery of him cuddling up to his newest cousin.

“Babe?” Viv pipes up from the bed. “Can you grab me something to eat? ‘M starving.”

“Yeah, of course.” Jeff turns to Eddie. “Come with me? I think Viv needs to feed Ettie, anyway.”

Viv extends her arms and Eddie begrudgingly hands the baby to her. Ettie’s so adorable and small, and it makes him yearn for the days when Harris was that little. Maybe not the sleepless nights or the lack of head control, but the scent of baby powder, the toothless smiles, the way he would fall asleep in Eddie’s arms to whatever song happened to be on the radio. Harris Munson might have been the only infant to be soothed by Twisted Sister.

The two men make their way to the hospital cafeteria, sneakers squeaking along the freshly-waxed linoleum tiles.

“I, um, I’m really proud of the way you stepped up for Viv,” Eddie says, eyes trained on the floor. “You’re a great partner. I feel like I should be taking notes.”

Jeff laughs, shaking his head. “That's where my expertise ends. I have no idea how this whole fatherhood thing works.”

“Wanna hear a secret?” Eddie leans in, shifting his weight onto one foot. He doesn’t wait for his friend’s response to divulge, “none of us do. We’re just…” he waves his hand aimlessly, “…figuring it out as we go.” And making plenty of mistakes along the way, he silently adds.

“I don’t know how you did this alone,” Jeff puffs out an incredulous breath. “I mean, I know you had Wayne’s help…” he trails off, not needing to further elaborate on the missing parent.

“Yeah, me either, man. I’m just glad I’m not alone anymore.”

Jeff stops walking, turning to face him. There’s the unmistakable look of pride that manages to make itself prominent despite his evident exhaustion as he says, “You really want this with her, don’t you?”

“Yeah, man,” Eddie chuckles. “It’s like, for the first time, I’m not just thinking about just me or just Harris. I’m thinking about us as a family.” The dinnertime conversations, the gentle ribbings, the tenderness that seamlessly weaves itself into vulnerable conversations.

“She’s good for you,” Jeff agrees. “And you love her.”

“I mean, I—”

“That was a statement, not a question. You love her.”

And in a single breath, Eddie lets go of the fear he’s been clutching to like a life preserver. The one thing he hasn’t allowed himself to say aloud because it makes it so real, so fucking real.

“I love her.”

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