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dandylovesturtles · 3 months

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Made myself emotional over the “Leo and Donnie chose to be twins” headcanon.

———

“By the way, it’s Leo and Donnie’s birthday next Thursday. You’re coming, right?”

Draxum looked up from his work organizing next week’s lunch schedule to look at Michelangelo, sitting on the counter and swinging his feet. Celebrating individual birthdays wasn’t a thing that the yokai did, but Draxum had been forced to accept that the boys could not be dissuaded from this human tradition. He’d been to two birthday parties now, for Michelangelo and Raphael respectively, eating cake and presenting them with some small trinket he purchased.

He’d known that he would have to go to more birthday parties at some point. But he wasn’t expecting two at once.

“Why on the same day? I can’t imagine the blue one wanting to share.” Actually, he couldn’t imagine Donatello wanting to share, either.

“Oh,” said Michelangelo with a laugh. “That’s ‘cause they’re twins!”

Draxum stared at him. “Twins? What kind of nonsense is that?”

Mikey tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“They’re entirely different species, for starters,” Draxum pointed out.

“I mean, we all are, but we’re still brothers.”

“Yes, by virtue of your shared DNA donor and the circumstances of your raising.” Draxum waved that off. “But “twins” refers to a situation where two children are born at once, especially as the result of a split of a fertilized egg. Which is absolutely impossible in the case of Leonardo and Donatello. Even if I were to be charitable and simply consider them “twins” for having the same hatch day, I can tell you they do not.”

“Uh, okay,” said Michelangelo, unimpressed. “But they’ve always been twins, so I don’t think it matters to them.”

“Why not? I would think it would matter to Donatello especially, since he claims to be scientifically minded.”

Michelangelo laughed. “Not everything is about science, Barry. Not even to Donnie.”

“Then his decisions about when to apply science and when not to are inconsistent and confusing.”

“Well, it’s their birthday, so they get to pick.”

“I am certain that is not how birthdays work.”

“It’s how it works for us!” Michelangelo slipped off the counter. “We’ll see you on Thursday, right? It’ll mean a lot to them if you come!”

Draxum was fairly sure Leonardo in particular would prefer he didn’t, but that didn’t matter. Now he had a mission: he had to correct this strange incongruence.

“Yes, I will be there.”

“Yay!” cheered Michelangelo. “Okay, see ya Dad!”

He squeezed Draxum around the waist on his way out. Draxum was finding he didn’t mind that as much as he used to.

———

Leonardo and Donatello’s party was just as loud and obnoxious as the other two. Blue and purple decorations covered every inch of the old subway station, strange music blared from unseen speakers, and a horrendous amount of junk food was spread out over a table. It was the same group of people present today as there ever was, the eclectic mix of humans and yokai that the boys considered family, but it felt like a crowd three times the size with the amount of noise being made.

Draxum stood off on his own for most of it, his slim birthday present already delivered to the table stacked with gifts. He’d been a little shocked when Donatello and then Leonardo came by to say hello, since he’d been prepared to be ignored by both of them. It was… nice, maybe, that they did that. Even if Leonardo just wanted to make jokes at his expense.

For most of the party, the two birthday boys seemed to be competing with each other for attention. In fact, the longer he took it all in, the whole affair seemed like a clash of ideas. The purple decorations were neat and tidy, geometric patterns and hard angles. The blue decorations were whimsical, uncoordinated, and haphazard, and there were places it seemed someone had deliberately covered up some of the purple with the blue. Leonardo wanted to play rock music and Donatello wanted to play techno. The cake was a mess because they’d both requested different themes for the decorations. There were arguments between the two of them every few minutes, and according to the human girl April this was “typical behavior.”

But why? They weren’t really twins. They didn’t have to share this day.

Hopefully Draxum’s plan would fix all this nonsense.

When it was time for gifts, Leonardo loudly declared that he was going first, sparking an argument. They squabbled for a bit before agreeing to play rock-paper-scissors, which was apparently what they did every year.

Leonardo won the game and celebrated obnoxiously while Donatello scowled at him. Then he gestured at the gift table - which Draxum, in his efforts to stay out of the main throng, was closest to.

“Hey, Barry! Grab me a gift! Make it a good one.”

Draxum sighed but reached over to take one of the blue packages, checking the tag to make sure it was for Leonardo. “This one is… to Leo from Donnie,” he read.

“Oh no, not that one. Our presents to each other are always last.”

“Because they always get sappy about it,” said April with a laugh.

“Do not!” yelled Leonardo at the same time Donatello hissed, “You take that back!”

“Uh, yeah you do, and you know I’m right.”

Draxum ignored the petty argument to look back at the gift table. If they weren’t going to be satisfied with his choice, he might as well give them his own gift.

He lifted it, in its sensible brown packaging, off the table and handed it over.

“Why not start with this? It’s to both of you from me.”

“Both of us at once?” asked Leonardo. “Oh man, you’re throwing off our whole system, Barry.”

“Yes, but he’s giving it to you,” Donatello pointed out, “which means my turn is still next.”

“Uh, no, if it’s for both of us then it counts for both of us, which means it comes back around to me!”

“Ooooh no, you do not get to loophole your way into opening two presents in a row-“

“Ahem!” Draxum loudly cleared his throat, getting their attention. “Would you please just open it?”

“Yikes,” said Leonardo. “Touchy.”

“Some people just don’t understand the sanctity of opening birthday gifts,” said Donatello with a sniff. But he leaned in to watch as Leonardo tore off the wrapping paper and opened the box.

They were both silent for a moment, staring at it. Then Leonardo said, “Uh, no offense, Barry, but what is this?”

“It’s a… scientific study on how twins are formed during the gestational period,” said Donatello, pulling the paper clipped thesis from the box. “Oh, there are more in here… Also about twins.”

“Uh…” Leonardo blinked at it, clearly bewildered. Well, he was always a bit slow. “Thanks…? I think?”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the scientific literature,” said Donatello, “but this isn’t really my area of study and Leo does better with training manuals and textbooks than research papers.” He looked up at Draxum. “Is there something about this we aren’t getting?”

“Yes there is,” said Draxum, sweeping his hand around at the entire party. “I am here to correct your mistaken assumption that you are twins.”

The room fell silent. Donatello set the paper back in the box, staring at him. Leonardo’s brow creased in anger.

“We are twins, though,” he said, setting the box aside like it was burning him.

“No, you are not. There is simply no way that the two of you could be twins. It is biologically impossible.”

“You think that I’m so stupid I don’t know that?” Donatello demanded, getting up from the chair he was sitting in. “Are you doubting my intelligence?”

“Yes, if you honestly think you are twins with him, then I am.”

“Uhhh, Draxum,” said Michelangelo quickly, stepping between him and the now furious Donatello, “this was a… funny joke, but you can stop now-“

“This is not a joke. I am simply explaining the facts.”

“Yeah, well,” now Leonardo was on his feet, too, “the facts are that me and Donnie are twins. Always have been, always will be.”

“You are not,” Draxum insisted. “And given what I have seen here today, I’d think you’d both be relieved, since you clearly don’t enjoy being twins!”

Both boys looked like they’d just been slapped in the face. The rest of the room had gone completely silent, like everyone was collectively holding their breath.

Donatello broke first, turning on his heel and marching out of the room, his hands balled into fists and his shoulders hunched up as high as they could go. “Dee!” called Leonardo, and then he was scurrying off after him. There was the sound of a heavy door slamming, then silence.

It didn’t last long.

“Draxum!” roared the rat, actually getting up from his chair to get in Draxum’s face. “You come in here and upset my boys on their own birthday!?”

“Seriously not cool, Drax,” said the human April. Cassandra shook her head in shared disappointment behind her.

Draxum pushed Lou Jitsu back, scowling at his accusers. “I was only explaining reality! This is really the rat’s fault for letting their delusion go on so long.”

“Delusion!?”

“Barry!”

“Rat!?”

“Ooookay,” said Raphael suddenly, stepping his way into the middle of the fray and starting to herd Draxum back toward the exit. “That’s enough of that for now.”

“I am simply trying to explain-“

“Trust me, hoss, you wanna step away from this one,” said Raphael, and his tone was angry but surprisingly measured. “Come on.”

They retreated to the sewer tunnels outside the subway station. The smell was much worse out here, and Draxum wrinkled his nose.

“Alright.” Raphael heaved a sigh, folding his arms. “So here’s the deal. Mikey likes you, and I guess I kinda do too, so I’m gonna try to help you before you completely torpedo your chances with the rest of the guys. Which, you kinda did already, but maybe we can turn it around.”

“I still don’t understand why they’re so upset,” said Draxum. “Surely it was obvious they aren’t twins.”

“Uh, yeah, they know they aren’t twins by bio-whatever,” agreed Raphael. “They ain’t stupid.”

“Hmm.” Draxum turned up his nose. “Donatello isn’t stupid, maybe.”

“Leo ain’t stupid, either, he just pretends like it.” Raphael pinched his brow. “Listen, that isn’t the point - the point is they already know they didn’t come from the same egg or hatch the same day or whatever. They’re just twins anyway.”

“But how? That doesn’t make sense!”

Raphael sighed again. “Alright, look. Dad didn’t know when we hatched, right? But we all wanted birthday parties like we saw on TV, so he let us pick.”

“Yes. And for some reason Leonardo and Donatello chose the same day.” Draxum could figure that much out on his own.

Raphael nodded. “I was the biggest and oldest, and Mikey was the littlest and youngest, and Leo and Donnie were just kinda sandwiched in the middle. I think at first they just wanted a thing. Somethin’ that set them apart from me and Mikey, ya know?”

“Not really,” said Draxum. Raphael glared at him, and he sighed. “But go on.”

“So they picked the same birthday and called themselves twins. I think Pops just so glad they were actually getting along that he agreed to it. And I think he thought once we got to the day, and they realized they were really gonna have to share it, they’d both demand their own day instead. I know I thought that was gonna happen.” He smiled at the memory. “But the day came, and… they fussed the whole time just like they do now. Arguing about what kind of cake they wanted and who got to open their present first. But they didn’t ask to split. They kept it the same day, and they kept calling each other twins and it just stuck, until we didn’t question it anymore.”

“…They are both stubborn,” Draxum pointed out, and Raphael laughed once.

“Yeah, guess they are. But that’s not what this is.” Raphael shrugged. “They chose each other back then. Maybe at first it was just to have a thing, but then it became real. And every single year they keep choosing each other. That’s why they’re twins.”

Choosing each other as twins… Draxum furrowed his brow. “It’s not normally a choice,” he pointed out finally.

“Yeah, well, our family doesn’t get a lot of choices, so just let ‘em have this one, okay?”

“…Fine,” Draxum finally relented. “As long as it’s noted that this is purely a social designation, and not a biological one.”

“Uh, sure, whatever.” Raphael rolled his eyes. “Glad we got that cleared up, though. Think you can come back to the party and behave?”

Draxum wrinkled his nose at that phrasing, but nodded. “Yes. I will not bring it up again.”

“Good!” Raphael’s smile abruptly transitioned into something much more dangerous. “Because if you make my little brothers upset on their birthday again, I’ll remind you what it was like when we were enemies.”

Then the smile was back. “Now let’s go in!”

He walked back to the subway station, leaving Draxum to follow on his own. Draxum couldn’t help but sigh wistfully.

Raphael would have made a great general for his army.

———

The boys had already returned by the time Draxum got back. They were opening more gifts, and he noted they were wearing hoodies now - though they had apparently decided to swap their signature colors. They were smiling and chattering, and any hint of their earlier upset was gone.

Until Draxum stepped into their line of sight, and both of them went rigid, wary of him.

Apparently just talking to the red one was not enough. Draxum would have to do more. What a pain.

But he didn’t want the boys to hate him. So he sighed and launched into it.

“I… am sorry. I shouldn’t have said you aren’t twins.”

The boys looked surprised at that; slowly, their posture loosened back up.

“And… to make up for my present, I will… take the two of you wherever you want to go in the Hidden City.” The next words were painful, and he ground them out. “My treat.”

Leonardo and Donatello shifted their gaze from him to each other. They were silent, but it didn’t seem like they needed to talk to have a conversation.

Then they finally looked back at Draxum, slow grins growing over both their faces.

Eerily matching, very evil grins.

“Oh,” said Leonardo, happily menacing. “I think we can think of something.”

“I concur,” said Donatello in the exact same tone.

Oh, thought Draxum. Maybe they really are twins.

#dandy fanfiction #rottmnt #rise Leo #rise Donnie #rise raph #baron draxum #rise Mikey #disaster twins #I didn’t proofread this haha #I love the twins being twins by choice #Donnie and Leo had a big sappy talk sorry it was off screen

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charliemwrites · 4 months

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Mafia!Price warm up because I am… so tired. I’ve had back-to-back events the last few days and ya bitch canNOT hang. So, while I rehydrate and wait for caffeine to work it’s magic, here’s this:

Part 1 here

No Content Warnings

Mr. Price is the best boss you’ve ever had. He’s straightforward and blunt, but unfalteringly courteous. Likes things a certain way — his own way — but that’s nothing you’re unfamiliar with from rich men responsible for billions. At very least, he seems to respect when you challenge him.

“We’ve always done records this way,” he says.

“Yes, sir,” you answer serenely, “but that was before you had me.”

He stares you down and you beam right back, tablet balanced on your forearm. One beat, two. In the corner of your eye, you see Gaz shift. You tilt your head at your boss.

He sits back in his big office chair, thumb swiping over his index and middle fingers. A gesture you’ve been mentally cataloguing as “contemplative” — perhaps deciding if he’s annoyed or amused. You don’t let yourself get nervous seeing it; you’re good at your job and you know it. He’s going to know it too, by god.

“And what do you have to do with it, luv?”

Your smile stretches wider as you take that as an invitation to round his desk. He turns and shifts a bit to make room for you, eyebrows ticking up as you set a neatly paper-clipped report in front of him, highlighted for convenience.

“See here?” You point at one section, a list of finance records. “Inconsistencies that the accountants took two months to notice. Two!”

He grunts as you set it aside, face up, for further perusal and then show him the next set. Different highlighter (and a smiley face in the corner).

“And look here, doing it this way, we noticed the discrepancies within a week,” you explain.

He picks up the page, eyes scanning over it thoroughly before setting it down. Taps his index finger over the discrepancy (circled in bright red) twice.

“Would you happen to have the account — ah, thank you.”

You hum, smoothing the sticky note (hot pink, shaped like a heart) onto the page. “So what do you think, sir?”

He runs a hand down his face, palm rasping over his beard. But there is a grateful note to his gaze as he glances at you.

“We’ll be doing it this way from now on, then.”

“Thrilling, sir. I’ll send out a memo.”

He waves you off, frown already forming on his face. You politely leave his office, stop by the break room to make a fresh cup of tea (a dollop of cream only, no sugar) and knock on the closed door. It’s Gaz that opens it.

“For the boss,” you say. “Before heads start rolling.”

“You’re a doll,” he breathes, accepting the cup and slipping back inside.

You happily toddle back to your desk and begin calling appointment confirmations. You’ve got about a million emails and a hundred calls to make.

—

Working for Price also comes with some… eccentricities. For one, you have a driver now.

Usually Farah, sometimes her partner Alex. On the rare occasion it’s Gaz. They always usher you into the backseat. On rainy days (so, most days in the UK) they hold an umbrella over your head while you scurry into the luxury leather interior of whatever stupidly expensive ride you’re taking.

That was a non-negotiable when you and Mr. Price discussed the details of your employment contract with him. Something about safety…? You feel silly being driven to work as an assistant, but it was your first encounter with the Steel Gaze of Decision and it was unfortunately effective.

Not that you mind the rides! All three of your usual drivers are wonderful. So friendly and chatty. You love hearing about Alex’s niece and Farah’s hobbies, Gaz’s little “spats” with Soap. You spoil them with extra treats from whatever bakery you make them stop at for morning breakfast. (Always local, you love supporting small businesses and strong arm Price into doing so as well).

There’s the gun as well. You’ve only seen it once or twice, always discreetly hidden under his suit jacket. A shoulder holster, all black. Pretend that you don’t see it because… well, you’re not entirely sure it’s legal and you’d rather live in the blissful cloud of plausible deniability.

And speaking of — there’s his bodyguard. To be fair, bodyguards aren’t a new or weird presence with your bosses. Expensive men, they need protection. Ghost is a different kind though.

He always covers the lower half of his face — actually, he’s covered head to toe. Usually in black, sometimes with little skeleton or skull motifs. And he’s fucking big, which is saying something because Mr. Price isn’t a small man either.

Ghost hardly interacts with you, but he’s unfailingly polite when he does. Not talkative, but he holds doors for you, has walked you down to the car. Even once attitude-checked a guest that decided to be rude to you. Didn’t even say anything, just walked into the guy’s personal bubble and stared him down until he subsided. Then he turned, gave you a nod, and you squeezed his arm before toddling off to let Price know his appointment had arrived.

All around the vibes in the office are pleasant, if sometimes stuffy. A little odd. All of his employees are polite if not kind to you, and Price himself is a fair and reasonable man — at least with you.

(The first time you heard him raise his voice through the closed office door nearly scared the daylights out of you. He always uses a low, even tone when speaking to you, so to hear his voice booming like that was something of a shock. Even more shocking was when he opened the door — damn near throwing his “guest” out — before turning to you.

“Call Farah when you have a mo’, would you?” He asked, calm as you please.

You blinked, still having war flashbacks of your last boss. “Yes, sir.”

“Cheers, luv.”)

There’s also the “field trips” as you call them.

Mr. Price is something of a very “hands on” businessman (“micromanager” you tease when he’s in a good mood) who has a hand in several industries. One of them is shipping. Which means that sometimes you find yourself standing beside him in warehouses or at loading docks. And of course you have to go, you’re his assistant! You take meeting notes, provide information or report details. Basically act as his second brain while he reams out idiots or organizes plans.

You suck it up, but you rather hate the smell of low tide. And the occasional gusts of blood on the sea breeze from fishermen gutting their catches. Price catches you looking ill once or twice and at least makes an effort to keep things short after that.

“Poor thing,” Soap teases when you’re in the back of the car, fussing at your wind-swept hair. “Get a bit blown, did you?”

“MacTavish,” Price snaps.

That’s the other thing. Even the slightest hint of suggestive or inappropriate words at your expense are met with firm, almost harsh, reprimand from your boss. It does wonders for you nerves and your respect for him.

“Wish I’d known we were going to the docks,” you sigh, carefully picking at pins to fix your hair. “I would have used more hairspray.”

“Thought I told you?” Price says.

“No, sir, you did not,” you answer, long-suffering. “You know you can put it into the scheduling app, right?”

He blinks. “Scheduling app.”

You blink back at him. “Oh, dear. Here, look at this.”

You spend the entire ride back to the office showing him how your scheduling software works so that you don’t have to deal with any more surprise dock visits.

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #mafia!au #mafia boss price #mafia!price #assistant reader #oddly wholesome for a mafia au

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iznsfw · 2 months

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Lucid Dream

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 7 - Kim Minju

IZ*ONE's Kim Minju x Male Reader Smut

8,525 words

Categories | married man!You, wife!Wonyoung, daddy kink, degradation, rough sex, OC is not a good person

Content warning | cheating, humiliation, Wonyoung slander (it hurt to write but I read "Gone Girl" by Gillian Flynn recently so I guess that went into the whole wife-hating thing)

Skipping again a bit (still will do Chaeyeon and Chaewon and everyone because IZ*ONE best girls). Expect a commission and an IZ Days of Xmas fics this month again <3 I love you all, you make me happy. And as always, sorry for the inconsistency!

Wonyoung is beautiful.

You stare at her as she undresses in front of the full-length mirror. She’s the kind of woman whose vanity seldom rolls eyes because her adoration for herself—smoothing down her dark hair, strictly adhering herself to that keto diet, doing her skincare with the dedication of one who prays nightly to god (pick any)—is wholly justifiable. Look at her. Anyone would understand.

The dress she wore for her hosting show slips off her body. Her abs reflect in the mirror, the result of hard work in the gym. Wonyoung’s waist is impeccable. Magazines have written over and over tips to attain it but it seems that the signature Bratz doll feature can only belong to Wonyoung. The makeup was cleaned up by her stylist but her eyes still shine, her lashes are still long, and her lips are still plump.

Wonyoung is standing there in nothing but her underwear, an attractive set of lace.

Wonyoung is the perfect female form, a goddess from above choosing a man from below.

Wonyoung is beautiful, a feat that no matter how amazing besides true, she remains the same old fucking bore.

“Did you like my MCing, babe?” she asks.

“Uh-huh.”

Her legs, long and thin, move in planned strides down the room. To the bed. You know where this is going.

Your feet are killing you. Recline, welcoming yourself into the softness of the expensive mattress and pillows your wife paid for all in all. “Wonyoung, I’m tired.”

She’s a celebrity. Of course, endless days filled to the edge with schedules chase after her. She ought to understand. The nights are her only rest hours, yet with this energy, it’s like Jang Wonyoung never gets exhausted. Always bubbly, always sweet, always so seductive.

All these are positive traits that any other man would adore and own had you not married her.

Wonyoung makes an adorable sigh. “But you say that everytime,” she replies sullenly.

She’s pushing her lips out into this cute pout while her brown puppy eyes beg you to give in like you used to. Once upon a time, you were putty around Wonyoung. Never could give an answer without your voice shaking. Never could come near her without blushing.

She’s the prettiest woman in the world.

You’re the most awful, undeserving man in the world, for all you could think, as you look at her, is: Fucking bitch.

“Well, maybe it’s because I’m always tired.”

“How about,” she puts a finger on her chin, “I do the job for you?”

Her knees are bruised. You notice this when she drops to them so she could pull your pants to the ground. So she’s been doing this for so long? Lowering herself for you? Sucking you off? You thought that she’d get the hint by now: you don’t want to have sex with her.

So instead, she uses her mouth. Better than her pussy anyway. What are you saying? She’s a tight woman. But it’s the same thing everyday: she gets on your cock and you hear her annoying voice straining as she rides you. Her cunt, soaked and useless, makes you want to call her its name. She’s always needy. It isn’t flattering when you don’t reciprocate it.

It’s a goddamned chore. Wonyoung’s throat welcomes you. The other way around, actually: your cock welcomes a claustrophobically closed passageway and has to deal with it until you cum. It’s an unwanted visitor. She rang the bell, said hi, and you let her in. Doesn’t mean you like her there.

“Doing so good, baby,” you say. Oh, yeah, doesn’t mean you mean it either—although you do feel Wonyoung smile happily. She’s happy when she makes you happy. When she makes you give her the illusion that you have any happiness in this worn-out marriage.

Her lips seal around you. You can feel them suckling. Your knees are tense. The moans are forced, though. Hearing them come out from your own mouth makes you want to place a pillow over your face and press it down as hard as you can.

She slides you down her throat. Admittedly, you love the way she chokes. Her eyes get all watery, like she’s crying from pain. That sounds appealing.

You’re a critically messed up man, you know. But they’re what make the world go ‘round. Why do you think they write romance books about them—the bad boy, the mafia boss, the killer? Plus, one of those “terrible” people inspires the biggest Korean celebrity to continue hosting, dancing, and singing. So who’s so terrible now?

To conclude, if anything, you’re the one responsible for Wonyoung’s success.

To conclude, you groan as desperately as you can then release in her mouth. Wonyoung gags. Another pretty sound. Her eyes look up while she attempts to swallow. Saliva sticks to her chin. Semen floods up to the roof of her mouth. It reminds you of how it ends up there more often than in her womb.

You would’ve made beautiful children with Wonyoung in another world where she wasn’t famous and you actually loved her. You would have been a softer, kinder man. She would have been a person who’s easier to love and make love with.

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, that… was incredible.”

If you weren’t a director, you’d be the one on camera. You’re a great actor when it comes to your wife. Your incompetence in the house is masked by husbandly exhaustion; an artificial gaze of attentiveness hides your indifference to conversation.

She smiles coquettishly. “I try.”

The wide closet parts. She chooses a pair of silk pajamas that hang around her thin frame. She climbs onto the bed and wraps an arm around you. Her skin is always cold to the touch. Like she’s dead or something. How interesting.

You stroke her hair. “I’d return the favor but… I’m actually gonna pass out. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She kisses your forehead. Wonyoung’s a sweet girl. “Good night.”

You smile. Say it back. Her eyelids flutter closed. Her palms are flat against each other and are placed under her cheek. Cute, you guess. She sleeps.

You don’t.

You should have—nothing good ever happens after midnight.

2:05 a.m., more specifically.

Amazing how time slips through your grasp like air. You reach and reach, desperate for a return, desperate for a flash to the past. As always, your efforts aren’t fruitful. The seconds pour through the pinched waist of the hourglass and you can’t stand it on its other head. You’re unable to revert back to the moment you took your arm from underneath your wife’s skull. The moment you opened your phone. If you hadn’t, maybe things would have been different.

But it’s past two, and you’re resting your back on the pillowy headboard with your phone in your hands. The circumstances just play right into danger: Wonyoung’s asleep, the night is eerily quiet, and the screen is there, awaiting the secret routine. Which girls would you cum for today? Why aren’t your thumbs clicking over censored sites?

Your feed shows a naked woman, her eyes staring up and her mouth wide. Scroll past that—you prefer the amateur videos, where the expressions balance between exaggerated and naturally provoked. A ton of videos could help in the bathroom where you take your nightly “shower,” and it’s not one of those.

Maybe you need the real thing.

Look at Wonyoung. Perhaps you should have let her ride you just so you could cum in a warm pussy again. After all, it’s the least you could do when you were once a fan of her. That’s how everyone starts: puppy-like adoration. But she doesn’t have the star quality she once did onstage; the coy thoughtful princess you envisioned her as. That’s why you haven’t fucked her in weeks.

You’re about to wrap your hand around your cock and ready yourself for another night of conflicted pleasure. This video is perfect for that already. You could jerk yourself off then get a good night’s sleep. Simple. This is the safest option for a dangerous want. By just watching, you’re not cheating on your wife. It’s just porn. Jerk off, cum, cum again probably, then sleep. Nobody gets hurt.

“Fuck me… please,” whimpers the woman in the video. Her legs are spread open. Her partner’s swiping his cock at her lips while she looks at him with equal hunger, equal desire. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Then, a text message notifies you, peeking from the top of your screen. It dares you to click it.

And it says the exact same thing.

fuck me please, i cant take it anymore.

i miss you

You look around, like you’re afraid someone might see it. There’s only the dimness of your bedroom that greets you. It’s safe, but this message isn’t.

The number is familiar. Has one of your friends gone crazy? Or did they send a text to the wrong person? Take it for spam, a perfectly coincidental one, or a scam, a typical, preying-on-the-married, pwning message.

But why would a contact spam you at a time so strangely perfect?

Don’t bother. Your fist works on your dick as you watch the video. The woman’s so wet that although she isn’t squirting, her juices start to stick to the man’s thighs. Her mouth is wide open as he finally pounds her.

What you’d give to have good sex like that again.

XXX-XXX-XXX sent a video message.

Fine. Click it, you’re curious.

Oh, so apparently, the answer is your marriage.

The video shows a face that’s more intimate than familiar. The ebony-black hair already tells you who she is, as does her body. Her form is encased in a floral tank top and nothing else. Although her chest is covered, she’s still a little daring with how her nipples stamp the fabric. She turns herself around to let you admire the curve of her wide hips and her round butt.

There’s only one woman with a body so perfect. And she’s the one and only Kim Minju.

There are reasons for everything. This is yours for why you didn’t give this number a name:

No one needs to know just from a text that you cheated on Jang Wonyoung.

That was so long ago, back when you were still boyfriend and girlfriend. You were drunk and missed Wonyoung’s old self. Why did she have to be such a bitch? Why did she dedicate herself to work and leave you dry? It’s not like the industry would go bankrupt without her. Minju came over, listened to your complaints—every little whine about Wonyoung being busy, every little jab at her workaholic character—then said something along the lines of, why don’t you have a little fun while she’s away.

And you thought… yeah, that was a really great idea.

That was the beginning of the end. After multiple secret meet-ups and raunchy sex in alleyways, you didn’t contact Minju again. You forgot her. You thought she did, too. She should have understood that your infidelity, albeit alluring, would be a thing of the past.

But here she is, in your messages, with a pornographic clip of herself in a round-cornered bubble. She’s waiting for a reply.

Although you’ve long lost your aspirations to be a better husband, you type what a good man should. This man is proper, faithful, and loving. He loves his wife only and the only other people he loves with this deep of a bond is his family.

Stop texting me or I’ll block you.

It’s not enough. You’re not a good man. You aren’t proper or faithful or loving or any of that shit. You were about to masturbate to an internet celebrity after turning down sex with your wife. What about that makes you a good person?

:( you miss me sooooo bad it’s pathetic, Minju replies.

You look at her again. You may not be able to turn back time with your metaphorical hourglass, but you can turn this hourglass body into any position you want. You could push her against a window for all to see, perhaps fuck her to the floor, or slam her on a desk like a teacher would to a test paper. Minju would let you do anything to her.

Stop it.

She really has to. As much as you dislike Wonyoung, she’s your wife, and you vowed on your wedding day to only have eyes for her.

But you’re only one man against a body like Minju’s that curves in every right place.

Three circles float up and down in a contained bubble before she texts you back:

alright…what a pity :( i’m already outside!! i guess ill have to go back…

You’ve never bolted out of bed so fast.

You look back at Wonyoung as you stand in the doorway. She’s still in deep slumber. Now, are the curtains closed? The entrances locked? Scan the house thoroughly, until you inch your way to the front door.

Hesitate. You didn’t know you had a conscience but here it is. It tells you to wonder if Minju really is behind it, like she said. She knows how to use the privilege of being Wonyoung’s close friend. That’s how she came to your house like she used to with no worry for paparazzi or suspicion. Best friends don’t fuck their best friends’ husbands, right?

Open the door. This one did.

Minju grew more beautiful in her absence. Her hair is silkier this time and her shy smile is brighter. The long coat is smoothed by her fingers, and you wish you could be the brown piece of fabric her pale hands run down. What makes you guilty for thinking it, even when you’ve done it, is the fact that she looks so innocent. It’s like it would be a crime to even buy her a drink.

How could she be innocent with that photo she sent? The time you spent together: you folding her over a table and promising to fill her up? Fucking her while Wonyoung is busy and counting on you to welcome her home? Sending nudes like there’s no tomorrow? Nothing about Minju is pure, yet she acts like she could do no wrong.

“Minju,” you say. Your voice sounds fragile. She has a way of breaking you befote you’re breaking her into breaking another bed.

She blinks theatrically. Everything she does is angelic. “Glad you opened the door.”

The knob is cold in your fist. It chills your animalistic brain and urges you to consider the consequences. Right, it says, here’s what a human—a good one—would think. If Wonyoung wakes and sees you with Minju, she’d have a lot of questions. If paparazzi are somehow hiding in the forest that extends to acres before your house, everyone would know you’re cheating on her. Most of all, you’re married, monogamy and everything.

So what will it be? This is your last and only chance to send her away.

You know what you have to do. Take a few breaths. “You have to leave. I’m not joking, it isn’t right.”

In response, Minju unravels the ribbon of the layers sealed around her waist. It falls apart. You do, too.

She’s a real danger. As it turns out, the girl isn’t wearing anything underneath that trench coat. She’s an artist’s naked muse—bare long legs, wide hips, and a sizable bust that has sculptors carving something else.

The cold hardens her pink nipples. You notice how her breasts are much bigger than your wife’s. How her hips are more tempting to grab, so you do. How her body is meatier, a lot more enticing that you wouldn’t refuse a day without touching it.

Minju fuels your infidelity, and you won’t stop for it if it kills you.

She simpers, fingers curling into your work shirt. “Still wanna make me leave,” she asks, “when you can breed me all night long?”

You laugh, huffing it out as you pull her inside and close the door behind her. Minju looks gorgeous pressed to it. She looks gorgeous in whatever situation, actually. Her thighs squish against the carved design and look thicker as a result. More reasons to dive into that shaven cunt and abuse it.

“You’re not leaving until we make a fucking mess, Minju.” You take your shirt off. Throw it on the ground. “And we better make it quick.”

“Of course.” She nods. She’s slyer than a fox, but she submits to you without a second thought.

You lean in to kiss her. The heat is unbearable. You can feel it from Minju’s body transferring to yours. It’s the effect of her natural skills as your personal slut: trying to fit her tongue deeper in your mouth while you pull her close like she’d dare to run away.

You haven’t gotten this hard for anyone else. It’s always been Minju you fall for. You miss the way she kisses, the way she roams her hands all over your torso, the way she’s goddamned insatiable. Feeling it all now in one, heated moment makes you dizzy. You’re taking in too much of her, but without her, you’d go thirsty again.

Your fingers are in her hair; hers are on your waist. Your teeth are clamped down on Minju’s bottom lip; hers are apart and allow soft moans to pass through—one, two, three. You fit each other in so many wicked ways. They did say misery loves company.

Open your eyes. The dream doesn’t stop. Minju’s still pushing her mouth in your face and you’re letting her. You don’t know if you ought to be relieved or downright horrified. You’re cheating on Wonyoung again with a woman whose body is just a bit nicer. You should be furious at yourself. You aren’t.

You’ve made out with each other on the way to the dining room. You and your wife worked hard for its designed walls and sturdy, well-furnished ornaments. A lot of money was raked out to make this house the best place to call home. So, why do you want to ruin it?

Well, because of her.

Minju leans on the dining table with a funny smile on her face. “She really doesn’t do it for you, huh?” she asks.

It makes you wince how you know who she’s talking about. Who else is she referring to other than poor Wonyoung? Poor, skinny, ugly Wonyoung?

Nibble at her earlobe. Hear little gasps come out of her. “Don’t talk about her,” you say.

You don’t want to have any afterthoughts about fucking Minju. Besides, being reminded that you’re disloyal to a woman who loves you very much is painful, even to a man like you.

Wonyoung is an angel. Minju isn’t—but you run after her to darkness.

“Ohh, come on, I know I’m better than her.” Minju squirms with erotic moans. Your kisses are going south, and she loves their little detour. “You don’t fuck her like you fuck me.”

When was the last time you worshiped Wonyoung? Like what you’re doing to Minju now? Your lips haven’t passed over it in ages that you probably wouldn’t know where the bigs and smalls of her body are. Like there’s anything to know.

“Actually,” you snort, “I don’t fuck her at all.”

You stop chuckling. That was the wrong thing to say. That was the wrongest thing to say out of the millions of other cocky phrases you could’ve thrown to Minju. The look on her face, the one that’s of pride and submission and dangerous knowledge united, tells you to watch your mouth.

You’re five seconds minimum too late to listen.

Minju grins. There’s the answer she wanted. “That’s how it is? Just looking at a girl and thinking you wanna stamp a divorce approval on her forehead? Jesus. This is why I never got married.”

“First off, nobody put a ring on you because you’re a slut, Minju.”

“That’s only the third reason.” Her fingers drape the sides of your face and tugs you in. You’re invited to the sight of her infallible tits. “These are the first two.”

The girl isn’t as busty as that woman Wonyoung likes to call her industry mom, but you bet they’re better. No, it’s a matter of truth. Minju’s boobs aren’t too big or too small; just the perfect, filling size to hold onto when you’re railing her from behind.

You choose to suck on them for now. It’s like a trip down memory lane when you kiss down her neck and collarbone. You remember how good her smooth, soft skin feels beneath you, how her moans are a favorite tune. Minju bites her lip while you do so to her shoulder.

It’s crazy to think that she just so happened to be born with this. She was born to be a pretty face with a sex-defined body that you pull and push and pry apart. Best thing is, she’ll lay back down and beg for more. It’s like she knows her purpose, which would’ve shot down her dignity and humanity.

Her nipple pops in your mouth. Your sucking guarantees its hardness, and Minju starts whining. She arcs her body, wanting something rougher. Thus, you seize the span of her hip to rub her pearl with fierce speed.

“Oh, fuck, god—” What others might take for blasphemy, you take for praise. Minju’s already soaking wet. She would have had embarrassing laundry to do if she wore panties. Maybe it’s a good thing she arrived wearing nothing.

She’s still so sensitive. You caress her clit after a few kisses down her midriff. She fidgets needily like you aren’t already touching her. You’re nearly right—this touch is nothing when she needs something harsher. That something involves you treating her less than a human being, putting her down and tearing at her hair.

“Please just fuck me,” she whispers. “Breed me, breed me, breed me—”

Yeah, that’s what she wants.

You don’t need further motivation, not when you’re presented with the prettiest pussy you’ve ever seen. Her fat lips are soaked. They frame the clitoris you’ve been stimulating that shines with slick. Then there’s the tiniest hole below it that begs to be used.

Your digits shove past all tightness. Her wetness allows a deeper exploration, so you curl your digits like you’re beckoning the orgasm forward. You know how easily you can get it out of her. All it needs to get Minju cumming around you is a slap, roughness, and giving her what she wants anyway. You know your methods, she knows hers. It’s a recognizable cycle that despite this, you can’t break.

Part your fingers widely to spread her. She’s so wet that she soaks your knuckles. There’s an ocean inside her waiting to be waved to shore. A storm, too, brews from the base of her throat as Minju whimpers. Her body lifts off the table but you force her down on it. She isn’t going anywhere, not without a fight.

Oh, and fight she does. She was an idol before an actress, so her muscles still memorize the circling motions that repeat on your fingers rather than move onstage. She sang once. That was a long time ago yet her voice sounds perfect as it strains her moans. Every little thing she does is a reflection of her past.

That’s why when she leans back, pupils dilating north, and says “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” you get deja vu.

Your palm hits her clit, adding impact to your strokes. “There you go, little slut,” you snarl. “Are you happy now? Maybe even a little grateful?”

If Minju’s ass isn’t pressed down on the glass mantling your dining table, it hovers so her pink little hole receives you better. It’s not without the help of her weak hands clinging to the table for dear life, but she seems to be losing her balance. Her hips are shuddering. Her beautiful face is squeezed up into a blissful wince. Her breaths are becoming blunt little gasps that say none of the gratitude you want to hear.

You slap her boob. Red blooms from her pale skin that deepens when another impacts her bosom. The recoil dizzies you. If anyone’s getting the impression that you’ll slap her bouncy tits until you hear a proper word of thanks, they’d be right. First impressions are right just for once.

“T-thank you—” Her voice cracks, breaking like her. “Fuck, shit, thank you, thank you.”

Squeeze her cruelly and pull on the perky nipple. Your thrusts become mindlessly paced. Your hand returns to your cock while the other ruins her pussy. The pleasure is telepathic. It’s connecting you; her screams and squirms make you do the same. The electricity firing up in your veins is a shared network. When you point your fingers to her spot, she arcs her back in the same direction. How beautifully fucked up is that?

“That’s not enough. You didn’t come here for nothing. What do you want, Minju?”

Minju babbles. You got your gratitude but not a proper answer. To be fair, she can’t speak when you’re fucking her like it’s your dick inside her, and when your lips are all over her collarbone.

“And you better keep quiet,” you add, curling your thrusts, “or Wonyoung‘s gonna hear. Do you really want her to know her precious friend is a big slut?”

However, despite the rumors she starts, Minju could be a very good girl when needed.

“Need you to make me cum,” she whispers. Her midriff is fluid as water with the way it rolls, showing off the hourglass shape of her waist and a soft tummy. “Do everything to me you can’t with Wonyoung. P-please, I can’t take it.”

Even if she can’t (wrong by the way), you’ll make her. She asked for it. She walked up to your house with a purpose: to be used, to be treated like less of a human being. So it’s understandable that you slam her down the table and seal a hand around her neck.

She’s so light that the forceful push doesn’t break the fragile glass. But there’s something of hers instead that’s going to be broken.

“Oh fuck! It’s so–” Minju’s eyes roll back. “Ohh… oh!”

Little sparks of wetness shoot in the air. Your pace turns merciless. With just three fingers, you puppet her body. Strings are pulled—her arms raise and her long legs strain to pull you in. You push and she keens, you pull and she yells. You’re making her desecrate the place with her water.

“C-can’t breathe.” A squeeze of her beautiful features—eyelids wrinkling, mouth parting, cheeks filling with scarlet—occurs before she squirts again. She whimpers pathetically, sounding so pitiful you want to laugh. “Ah, fuck, daddy—”

Something stirs inside you. When men hear that name, it ought to feel purely platonic and familial. They’d hear it from their daughter and feel compelled to protect them from men who’d do to them what you do to Minju. But you much prefer hearing that two-syllable word when it comes from a naked woman squirting all over the floor, from whom once you register it, you’re urged to pin her down, tie her down, hold her down.

Ironically, you release her. That isn’t because it’s over though. “On your knees. Follow me.”

Minju releases a gasp, grateful for the oxygen. The color returns to her face yet she barely has the energy to get off the table. You’re a generous man, and hey, it still counts as helping. So you yank her hair and force her on the ground. She fucking moans, a feat deserving of a healthy spank to her ass.

You walk to the living room. She follows you withher hands and knees bearing the cold tiles. You lead her to the place where you spend your time watching movies, rehearsing, and hanging out with Wonyoung if she’s ever home.

Speaking of, glance at the door of your bedroom. It’s still closed. It’ll stay that way.

Look down after wondering why Minju’s noisier. She’s playing with herself on the floor with no care for the cold chill of the tiles or the little dirt wedged between them. She lightly rubs her abused clit, quivering at the contact. You expect that from her—she’s corrupted, an irredeemable cause. She’ll get herself off anytime anywhere.

But what’s unexpected is what those watery eyes are focused on: you, in a framed picture on the wall. You look younger, happier. You’re in formal garments standing next to Wonyoung in a church.

It was you on your wedding day.

You spit on Minju. “Filthy cumslut.”

The drool slides down her cheek like a tear. She darts her tongue out and licks it. One could’ve thought it was candy considering the lift of a smile.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” she says resolutely. Her fingers still toy with her entrance. They won’t serve her well when there’s a bigger, better thing behind your pants to do it for her.

Your pants are already off. “Get up. Get the fuck up,” you command, but you do it for her.

You grab her neck and force her up. The look on her face is addicting, the way the shock turns into carnal need, the way she bites her lip. You press her to the wall, right under the framed wedding pictures, and finally plunge yourself inside her.

“Oh, oh, oh!”

What did Minju do to get this tight? Her walls are squeezed closer around you than you remember. They’re still wet from her squirting, easing your burden of fighting against the tautness of her core.

Her groans are pitched just like how you pitch yourself in her and make her fight for it. She tries everything: gathering the strength she has to push her ass into your crotch, rolling her body, looking back to watch your cock disappear between her lips.

“So big, daddy!” she cries. With a lick of her lips, she turns to face you. “Mmm, d-do you ever get this massive when you’re fucking Wonyoung?”

That seals it. There’s no restraint in using her body. Her plump ass leading to her toned back is a temptation by itself. You’d burst all over it (maybe in it) if you weren’t already firm in breeding her. But dear god—it rises and descends into your angled pumps so effortlessly that you aren’t afraid to spank it like you’re angry at her.

“Keep your whore mouth shut.”

Spank after spank you bestow and you realize, oh, you and Minju are really made for each other. The more her ass reddens, the more hot pain sparks on your palm. She throws herself back hard, you piston her harder.

Your puzzle pieces stick together so perfectly that it’s a shame you didn’t meet under different circumstances. She could’ve been an adorable girl next door and you could have been a guy looking to slip her a love letter. She would’ve been your loving girlfriend, a beautiful wife, someone you’d actually enjoy touching, so different from the woman asleep in the bed upstairs.

But that’s never happening. Minju’s a slut through and through, and she’ll forever be a sin you won’t go to confessions for. She was made to be fucked then discarded of when she’s no longer of use. You see it in the way she’s in a mantra of craziness, the way she yells, the way she looks back at you like she’s daring you to hurt her.

You choose the dare rather than to tell her the truth. You curl her hair into a fist and pull her into you.

“God, I’m so close.” Minju’s trembling body grows warmer in your touch. “I’m gonna cum all over your big gorgeous cock. I can’t hold out longer, daddy.”

Your teeth dig into her earlobe. You could make her bleed and she’d still find a way to make the pain heavenly. “I thought I told you to be quiet. Is Wonyoung waking up and ending your life worth it for this?”

“What if I say yes?”

“Fuck.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice, making her see you’d give her away to get a night with me? You’ll give up all this stupid shit t-to be my daddy. Because Wonyoung’s just sooo worthless, isn’t she?”

Savage her cunt and shove your fingers down her mouth just so she could shut up. You love this. Minju’s always so ready for you.

No, actually—now that you think about it, you hate it. You hate how she’s curvier than your wife, how she’s more alluring than she could ever be, how she moans despite the blockage in her throat. Everything about her is so sexy that the sound of her choking up spit makes you throb.

This is the wrong time to have a conscience. You’ve already split her apart. You’ve already got your fingers in her hair that pull hard to the point that damage is highly likely. You’ve already—

—got Minju screaming, biting down on your skin as her legs spread. What a strange thing to have as a natural reflex. That’s all she knows to do: spread her legs, hope her innocent face attracts a guy into her home and his dick into her pussy. Her skin, white as snow, has become impure with red blemishes. You see her purple-bruised neck flex when she yells into your hand.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Minju yells. Her fingernails leave fine scratches on the wall. “Fuck, I’m squirting so much I don’t know what to do—oh fuck!”

You bump the manic girl up on your knee before spreading her legs. A godless squirt of her juices hits Wonyoung’s face, the savior being the glass protecting the picture. Others bless their homes with water blessed by esteemed priests; you like to stand out. Choose to have Minju’s unholy juice flood the photo you once held dear.

Did something possess you? An evil spirit, a god of fertility? All are clichés but you can’t help but think so when you notice how fast you’re pumping Minju. It’s like greed’s finally reigned you. It’s difficult to resist. Minju just wrings your cock perfectly dry with her tight cunt, keeps you speedy with her desperate moans. You’re vandalizing her with your climax and she doesn’t want to be clean ever again.

“You think you’re special, Minju?” You press her to the ruined picture. Her side profile mashes on the glass. “You’re nothing, only a useless hole, just like that bitch. Now clean it up.”

Her eyes light up in shock. Excitement? “What?”

You pull her head back in order to have her full lips pressed against Wonyoung’s face. The clear squirt is still dripping from it. Minju’s face is red, and although your cock left her moments ago, she insists on tensing like it’s there. Is that how she lives? Her way of bonding is riding on the high she got the night before and the night before that. She always has sex in her mind that thoughts of it occur to her as they would to an animal.

That’s right; she’s an animal. Perhaps even a dog would have more self-control than her, ironically.

“Lick your mess,” you command. “Now.”

Minju whimpers. You bury your fingernails in her scalp until she loses her fake hesitance. Her tongue glides on Wonyoung’s face and relieves her of the mess. Her lips part and close, taking in her own taste.

She looks like she’s making out with your wife. Her pretty face smudges the other pretty face in the picture and it’s so much hotter than it’s got the permit to be. Wonder how it’ll look if she’s actually kissing the real Wonyoung—picture them with their legs locked together and tongues coming out to play—and you’re hard enough for another round.

“That’s right. You want to be Wonyoung so bad? You want to be the one I drive into the bed everyday? So fucking make out with her.”

“Y-yes, daddy. Oh.” Minju’s moans fog the glass. “I taste delicious.”

It’s probably a hygienically reprehensible thing to do. But her mouth is dirtier than the picture anyway. You force her lips deeper into it until you pull her away, satisfied.

Not quite.

Rub her clit a few more times. Hose her squirt all over the floor. You’ll have a mess to clean up. Oh, there’s all the evidence: her squirt on the floor, her lipstick in the shape of a languid kiss on the picture frame, the mess she made in the dining table where you ate her rather than your food.

But it’s all worth it. An evil idea plants and sprouts in your mind. “Bedroom.”

Minju pants. Her hands are flat on the wall. She turns to you, saliva and lipstick smeared on her chin, and asks, “W-which one?”

“You know exactly where.”

Her wide eyes tell you wordlessly that she got the point. She’s well aware of what room you want to use her body next. It’s not even supposed to be a question given the ways and moments you fucked her there.

“But daddy—if, if she hears us?”

You grin. “Then you’ll have to be pretty fucking quiet.”

The best thing about Minju besides her body is her passiveness. She may act up sometimes but she still needs your cock, and she’ll do anything to get it. So when she hangs her head to hide her smile, you spank her. It speeds her steps to the staircase. Continue doing so all the way.

It’s funny how she struggles to even lift a foot. Streams of your cum and hers slide down her legs, staining the carpet. You’ll have to wash that out, too. If you have the maid do it, she’s likely to put two and two together.

Even from the back, Minju’s body is beautiful. Her reddened ass twists from side to side and brings attention to her wide hips. The deep line on her spine is a path you trace your fingertips on. She quivers.

“Daddy,” she whines.

Hit her butt. Let it fill your palm. “Keep on walking.”

It’s borderline dehumanizing. You’re treating her with a ferociousness a woman like her should never have to go through. The eyes of the painted men and women on your walls lock on her. It’s like their hard stares are real. Minju bears the blows to her cheeks during her walk of humiliation up the stairs. Tiny yelps are caused by each one. It’s in her to be quiet now that Wonyoung is quite near, although not as close as she is to another heavy orgasm.

You slap her pussy, making her shake, then lead the juices mingling in it up to her asshole. She chews on the inside of her cheek to hide her moan. She reaches the last step with a huge sigh of relief.

The finality of the torture doesn’t last long. Fuck, it doesn’t even exist. You collect the semen and wetness from her legs, then drag it right back to her pussy.

You shove your fingers deep in her cave. There. Now your cum stays inside her. After that, it’ll drip all the way to her womb. She screams through pursed lips.

Push her hard against your bedroom door. Her stomach’s flatness goes up to the point that it’s the only thing engendered into the wood. Minju’s tiny gasp is already loud for you. Her beautiful side profile is mashed deep into the solid barrier between the two women.

Minju whimpers. Is she scared or heavily turned on? The thing with her is she likes both. So, yeah—she’s wet at the thought of being caught with you, being fucked within a distance of your wife wherein she could finally pin down your infidelity.

The little angel closes her eyes when your words hover near her prone ear. “Shut up,” you warn, “unless you want to lose your career. Or this dick.”

You slip your shaft between Minju’s shapely thighs. A friction is nurtured and grown into rough, pant-accompanied humping that leaves both of you breathless. Her pussy lips splay warmly on you and you’re allowed to rub yourself on her clit.

Minju tenses up. Her breaths are kept to a hummed volume yet their huskiness gets you to fuck her legs faster. The core between them is so warm and you haven’t even welcomed yourself in it again.

You carefully open the door. You don’t know what you’re expecting: Wonyoung crying with her face in her knees? An anger you never knew she could have? But what shows calms you. There’s your wife who remains asleep on the bed. From the soft snores, it’s easy to tell she’s deep in a dream.

“Wonyoung’s so pretty, daddy,” whispers Minju. You push her to the footboard where she holds on tight. “Do you think she’ll want to join if she wakes up? Or she’ll leave you for me?”

“Are you sure you want to act like that?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Depends on what you’re gonna do to me.”

Everything. You’re planning on doing everything to her.

Push her to the small pole of the wood. You’re forced to shove your fingers in her mouth again to keep her from yelling. The contact it makes to her clit is already overwhelming. But she’s all for overwhelming—she wants the kind of sex that leaves her beaten and bruised, the kind that leaves her sore and not knowing if she should tell you to keep going or halt.

You know what she’d choose.

Minju grinds on the pole. She’s dancing her hips again. Somehow, things of the past don’t leave her. Her idol days still leave an impact on her. The guy she made cheat on his wife a long time ago returned to her life to cheat again.

No, you’ve never been one for sentimentality, but things have somehow stayed the same. The slut that is Minju today was a slut all those years ago, too.

Grab her hips and force her to hump the ball of the pole. She soaks it instantly. Minju is corrupted to no hope of return. There’s your cum, leaking from her pussy and to the bedsheets. Her juices wet the pole and increase the creaking noises that would wake Wonyoung up if not for whatever dream she’s having.

“Oh, daddy! Oh, daaaddy—” she stammers, words bitten and broken in the major need to be quiet. “Just… fuck me. Please?”

“As long as you—”

“Be a good quiet girl, yes. I’ll do anything, daddy. Anything for this cock.”

She kneels down. Her tender mouth seals around your left testicle. You nearly shout right there and then. Minju’s running her lips on the underside of your swelling dick. She feels so good, and she is so good. She has all the tips and tricks to keep you hard memorized, if her brain wasn’t too full of other dirty thoughts.

The rasp in your throat materializes and makes her squirm her legs together. She puckers her lips then slips your cock through their joined entrance. Her almond eyes look wider tonight. Your tip pokes the back of her throat. She lets it rub there for now. You find pleasure in the texture that makes you leak. No, you can’t cum. Not yet.

Take a last look at Wonyoung before diving your rod to the depths of Minju’s throat.

It’s funny that the girl still has a gag reflex. Sucking dick is second nature to her. So is getting throatfucked. The walls of her oral hole flex to keep you in. She makes sharp inhalations only to take in the musky scent you thrust on her. In her?

Choking comes after. The orifice grows tighter which makes you fuck it harder. Saliva’s slick liquid state sheens your erection. Minju’s lost her breath a long time ago but she’s lost more than that now. The regular beat of her heart is gone. You can’t search her face for any color other than the palest white.

“You have to stop gagging, Minju,” you say. Don’t help her though; keep ruining that throat. “Maybe you really do wanna get caught. Makes you really wet, doesn’t it?”

She nods. Your hard tip bobs in her mouth as she does. Her pretty eyes, with their long lashes and big pupils that always seem to gleam with innocence, fill with watery tears.

“How cute.” You’re surprised that her hair is intact to her scalp after you pull it back. “But I make the rules around here. And I need you to seal that mouth shut and use it for good.”

There’s a possibility that, like Minju, you’re a dancer as well. But the upward grind of your body has no grace in it. It’s a rough, punked up beat that renders the girl humming and screaming. This roughness is nowhere close to natural.

You dip your cock in her just to see how far you could go, how far is needed to keep her quiet. Feed her more than she could suck. Every sensitive spot of yours is on fire thanks to Minju’s dutiful tongue and hard sucking. Your sack slaps her chin so hard it’s surprising it doesn’t hurt.

But, like you iterated, Minju isn’t normal. She takes the pain for pleasure and doesn’t give a damn if she gets wounded because of it.

The tears finally fall from her eyes.

The lines blur. Who is she—the woman asleep on your bed or the woman you fucked to be disloyal to her? Minju’s beautiful; so is Wonyoung. Jang Wonyoung is beautiful but there’s a category of beauty wherein the girl you’re destroying right now falls in. That’s the section for women who look pretty when they cry, who’ve accepted they’re as fucked up as whoever finds them and takes them in for who they are.

Your wife is pretty. You guess. But Minju is a beauty who lets you do everything to her, and that makes her a little bit more important.

Defile, defile, defile. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you get cum in her hair—(”I have a photoshoot, babe, you can’t!”). Semen sticks to Minju’s locks right now. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you be this rough with her—(“And what if they see? I shouldn’t look dirty to the fans.”) Minju is sitting there taking it like she’s just a cum dump. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you tear off her clothes because “they’re couture so it’s not really mine.” The coat Minju wore coming here lies discarded on the first floor.

Wonyoung doesn’t let anyone defile her. It’s her most fatal flaw. It’s the flaw that makes her husband see all the tiny imperfections she doesn’t allow the camera to see and chase highs in another woman’s throat.

So when Minju cries, gags, chokes—you realize it’s all so simple.

Slip out of her. The delusions clouding your head make you steal a look at the bed. Oh, now it’s unbelievable. Wonyoung is still asleep.

Not that it’s any inconvenience to you.

You prop Minju up to the vanity table. The counter carries the heave of her small chest. She can barely lift her head up. It makes her carry a look of humiliation that’s not at all true. She’s the most shameless woman you’ve ever met.

“Daddy… daddy…”

Twist her chin so she can look at herself in the mirror. Her body is amazing despite the handprints and bruises peppered on her stomach, butt, and neck. She flusters but your finger presses on her lips before she can look away.

“Not a single sound,” you remind her.

She nods. Good girl.

Minju’s a capable girl. Well, mostly. She offers those amazing dicksucking lips, shapely curves, and sometimes, her ass for ruining its own tightness. But nothing beats the feeling of her cunt. It’s all the right things: wet, tight, and perfectly quivering as they wrap around your shaft.

Minju closes her eyes. Bites down on her lip. She fights to be true to her promise of silence. Being a good girl and bad girl simultaneously is one of her versatile traits. The table creaks louder than expected. You would’ve shot another look at your spouse again, but Minju’s pretty face is in the way. Her cheeks are scarlet and her brows bead with sweat. She really is a beauty.

Your strokes are ceaseless. The thing that shocks you the least is the fact that her legs look as if they spread wider and wider. She splits while you split her apart. Place a hand on her tummy to muffle the sounds of skin colliding and wood creaking, and reach a better end: your cock is hitting her guts, making a bobbing print on her flat stomach.

“Look how deep I am, Minju.” You grin wickedly at her reflection. “You call me daddy anywhere, don’t you? How about I become a real one?”

Minju bounces herself on you. That’s a yes. A definite, enthusiastic yes.

Your penetration is rougher, gliding on places she can’t even imagine. If you cum right now, and this far in, you’ll live up to your name of “daddy.” Minju isn’t the only one who has to keep promises.

Corner a pulse point on her neck. Her core squeezes and although its resistance is tough, your pumps are more so.

“You’ll be my secret good girl. Daddy’s gonna put a fucking baby in your stomach, and no one has to know it’s mine. No one has to know you’re mine.”

Minju pouts, not out of sadness but of the orgasm that’s creeping from her feet to her center. It’s so close she could reach for it, taste it like a strong wind. You allow the tiny breaths and pants that leave her to be exemptions from your bedroom law.

“Wonyoung would be so happy for you.” You lick the sensitive spot behind her ear. “‘That’s so great, unnie! Come on, tell us who’s the lucky guy.’ And you’ll have to stop yourself from telling her that I did it. Can you do that?”

Minju emphasizes each repetition with a responding throb and push of her cunt. “Yes, yes, yes—”

Allow that, too. Burst inside Minju. Flood her insides with cum that shall infiltrate her fertile womb. Soon, that tummy would be round rather than flat. It’ll be your baby.

Minju got what she wanted in the end.

The next day, Wonyoung will wake up crying.

It’ll happen early in the morning, when the moon is still up and sheets still wrap your exhausted form. But she’s sobbing so loud that it’ll rouse you.

“What’s wrong?” you’ll say.

She’ll tell you about a dream she had. Wonyoung’s going to narrate a complex dream of Minju, her beloved former member and best friend, seducing you. It happened right in the house and in front of her. You dared to do it to her while she was sleeping and thought she didn’t know.

And you?

You’ll take her in your arms, kiss the inside of her trembling wrist, and say, “Oh, honey—it’s okay. I’m here, baby. I’m here. I’m here.”

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alrtyhoney · 8 months

Text

TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS

(I watch her go with a surge of that well known sadness and I have to sit down for a while– the feeling that I'm losing her forever.)

The rundown: That cake scene with Miles at his father’s bodega party but it’s with Miguel and his universe’s daughter. He’s late and it’s your quinceañera. Content: Father!Miguel O'hara x Daughter!Reader / Angst! (wc: 3844)

There was something oddly peculiar about your father. People would assume that he would be the archetypal absent one who chose to abandon his child; the dead-beat-dad who ultimately never cared for them. You’d argue it wasn’t true– you were fed, you had the weight of what a fifteen year old should have, and education was proper.

You love your papa with all of your heart, but there was no denying the fact that he would never be around often enough. You understood this when you were eight years old, and mornings would bring only a cold breakfast accompanied by a hastily scribbled note from him. He’d leave early– far too early. You tried staying up in an attempt to tell when he gets up and leaves the house, but you swear you don’t hear the door open every time.

Then came twelve and the missed events. Miguel seemed to be missing in action when it came to certain school activities, not showing up for things that he had previously made commitments for. It became more and more frequent as you grew older– you wouldn’t hear from him for days.

He was a man dedicated to his profession, and although you felt pride in what he had achieved, there was this empty space in your heart that hadn’t been filled ever since you were eight. It was said that a child needed the presence of their parents to feel security– to feel important. You never truly understood it, not until you had to endure many nights at dinner alone and the numerous times you spent walking home with nothing but your own thoughts for company.

You had always pondered over the question of whether it was a common phenomenon that fathers seemed to love their daughters less once they had reached teenagehood– or if it was possible for fathers to unlearn being fathers.

“Is your papa coming, bebita?”

The faint notes of classical music filled the air as you sat on the wooden floor, stretching your sore limbs. You observed the ladies who were much older than yourself starting their exercise routines, having come in early before the group class began. You waited for Miguel to pick you up.

– But that had been two hours ago. Your teacher finally worked up the courage to approach you, hesitantly looking for the right words to say. She wasn’t exactly pleased to be the one to let you down, but she’d seen you walk out the studio’s door alone time and time again after you told her that your father would bring you home himself.

“He said he’d come pick me up today.” You spoke, nervously twisting the ends of your skirt. Your teacher had most likely heard these words countless times before from you, but the faint ray of hope in your voice remained firm. “He promised.” You added quietly, praying that maybe it would be different this time.

“Ay, bebita– you know how this ends. You tell me those exact words and you walk out here on your own anyway.” She slightly shook her head, her face softening with a sympathetic smile as she knelt closer to you. “Tell you what, how about I offer to give you a ride home today? I have plenty of snacks in my car that you can enjoy. You can take as many of them as you'd like.”

You took some time to consider it, letting her gently weave her fingers through the strands of curls that couldn't quite fit into a bun. Your lips pursued as you sighed softly, “What if he comes and I’m not here anymore?” You’d hate to miss the opportunity.

Of course you still had faith that he would come, having endured all the other times he had let you down. You were never one to quickly give up on people and your father was the only one you trusted the most— you’d hate to admit that his inconsistency was starting to hurt; digging a deeper wound to the already bleeding cut.

“He’s not coming and I know you know that too.”

She stands up, grunting slightly as she hefts herself up. You knew there was no more room for negotiation anymore when she urged you to come along. She carefully takes your backpack from off your back and drapes it over her own shoulders, “Come on sweetheart, let's get you home.”

The silence in the car was palpable, with no one feeling the need to prod conversation. You hadn't stopped fidgeting with the hem of your bag since you got in, and you could feel your teacher's worried glances burning into you. Your mind was a jumble of emotions that kept bubbling away as they all competed for your attention. What could be his reason this time/?

She switched on the radio in an effort to lighten the tense mood, but when a melancholic tune filled played instead, you couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh.

“Is it possible for fathers to unlove their daughters?”

It was a question that took her completely by surprise, so much so that another uncomfortable beat of silence passed before she could respond. The stillness made you regret asking in the first place. Your legs shifted nervously, an unconscious habit which you had never noticed before.

“Of course not,” She muttered, almost inaudibly. “Fathers tend to forget is all.”

But you knew that wasn’t the case.

While Miguel was never home, something else resided on the corners of your house– someone you have never met at all. She smiled back at you from the frame sitting atop your dad's nightstand, wearing the similar blue soccer jersey your school had. She was the picture on his wallet and the little widget on his phone. It was beyond you– the few blue ribbons hidden on the box beneath his bed; the medals, the drawings you know you’ve never drawn or given him. For all you know, the kid didn’t even go to your school.

It wasn’t anything sinister, but in a way she felt like a ghost. A child your father mourned for all his life and you had no idea why.

This was a physical pain in your chest; one that was peeling away the very layers of your heart until it was nothing but ugly– just how could Miguel love a child more than his own? It was ridiculous to feel like you were in competition with someone you barely knew, yet somehow, you felt like you were losing. It felt even more absurd when you considered the possibility that maybe you weren't really his child at all.

“I joined our school’s soccer team today, papa.”

It wasn’t an ordinary occurrence for Miguel to be at the dining table for lunch. But on this Saturday noon, he was there. Sitting across from you, quietly eating his food. Finally, he paused and shifted his gaze towards you, seeming to linger on you longer than normal before looking away, cracking a grin.

“Soccer? You hate sports, mija.” He says, a bit of laughter in his voice. "What made you decide to try out? I don't recall you being the least bit interested before."

Something in his eyes becomes brighter, a sense of familiarity as he eagerly awaits your response– and the thing is, you couldn’t tell him why. Not without addressing the elephant in the room. Maybe you’d hang my medals too? Maybe you’d frame a photo of me? You know well your question reminds him of someone else.

“No reason.”

It was no surprise that you were terrible at it. After barely two seasons, you'd already given up. However it was surprising to see Miguel in the stands during the times that you had a game, but there wasn’t much to watch anyway— not when you’d been relegated to the bench for most of the time. All you felt was shame.

Oddly enough, he didn't question it. He remained silent during the rides back home, his gaze distant and never once looked at you. Had you embarrassed him to an extent where he couldn’t even acknowledge you? Or have you given him the impression that you were just no better than the little girl in his pictures?

You dared not to talk about it too.

Music was your passion; the pulse, the poise and elegance of it all resonating with you deeply. Ballet was something that spoke to you particularly in ways no other art form could. You found a special joy out on stage, a feeling that grew deeper and greater each time you danced.

But like every flame that you desperately try to keep alive, Miguel had a way of snuffing it out.

You remember it all so vividly, even though you'd much rather the memory be nothing more than a faint blur. Your very first recital and yet he wasn't anywhere to be found amongst the audience.

Your focus was a tunnel-vision, only set to finding even a glimpse of him— you had been so determined to find him that you forgot about all of your own movements. Soon, the few wrong turns had turned to missed cues; as soon as the music stopped, you made a run for it.

Your teacher had done her best to console you that day, attempting to coax a smile from you in front of the vanity mirror with its bright lights. She had wrapped her arms around you, doing anything she could to draw even the faintest curve of your lips. But you stayed slumped on your seat, feeling the weight of the unshed tears on your eyes.

The door swung open, finally revealing Miguel; he was out of breath and sweat glistened on his forehead. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top and his tie was undone, a clear sign that he had run all the way here. He paused for a moment to catch his breath before walking in frantically, eyes looking for you.

His eyes softened at the sight of you in your pretty pink tutu– then the tenderness was replaced with a feeling akin to plummeting one hundred stories down. How could he miss this? How could he let his sweet girl wait? He rushed to your side, sinking down into a kneeling position. He looked upon you with lines creasing his forehead and you already knew what was to come out of his lips.

“I’m sorry muneca, I came as fast as I could.”

The other parents of your classmates started to barge inside the very room, their children giddy with joy and excitement, running to them with beaming smiles. You could hear their loud congratulations– voices singing sweet praises and telling how they looked outstanding on stage. The noise sounded like static in your ears, like their words were unfamiliar to you. They received bouquets of flowers, sweets– gifts for a job well done. Miguel came late and only with apologies.

“You want pretty flowers too, mijita? We can stop by the flower shop a few blocks away from here, you can pick any bouquet you want.” His lips curved into a gentle smile, desperate to make his daughter feel better– the same daughter who wouldn't even meet his gaze. “Papa had to deal with something. I’ll be sure to go to your next recital– pinky promise.”

“But I worked really hard for this.”

You wanted so desperately to blame him; to yell at him for every mistake that you've made on the stage. You felt ashamed, humiliated, and helpless all at once- and still, you couldn’t have the heart to be mad at him.

He looked at you apologetically, "Baby, I'm sorry I couldn't make it earlier. How about we talk about the flowers you want to buy instead? There are lots of restaurants nearby as well— you can pick whatever pleases you, just name it." He paused for a moment before continuing, gently nudging your shoulder. “I know how much this meant to you.”

If he did, why couldn’t he have come at all?

You let out a deep sigh, feeling completely ridiculous in your tutu. All of the sudden, the leotard appeared to be two sizes too small and utterly irritating; your tights seemed unbearably itchy. You looked down helplessly, wanting nothing more than to leave this situation behind. “I just want to go home. Can we just leave? Please?” You pleaded softly.

He bit the inside of his cheek, a gesture that conveyed own sinking heart in a way words could not. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly, breath hitching as he gave in to your request instead.

“Of course.”

After that very moment, you'd vowed to yourself never to wait in anticipation of something that may or may not come. You wouldn’t put your faith in any more of your father's promises spoken under the dead of night. It took a toll on you– your naivety had taught you better than before.

But when your fifteenth birthday drew near, you never expected he would go so far.

The locks clicked and whirred as Miguel fumbled with the keys to the front door. You could hear your Father's voice, clearly agitated as he jostled the keys back and forth in an attempt to fit them into the lock. Finally, he steps inside, eyes immediately darting to you.

“You’re not wearing your birthday dress, sweetie. Is something wrong?” He’s wearing a smile, struggling to keep the two boxes of cake upright as he locks the door from behind. The banner is lopsided and the balloons scattered all around seem small– like they’ve been there for days and were starting to deflate themselves. He kisses the top of your head once he gets close, getting a better view of what you were working on on the counter. Homework. “Did you have your friends over today? How was it? Wanna hear all about it.”

And he must have forgotten. You decided to pretend not to hear his question, continuing to jot down notes, only humming at his presence. He settles the boxes down, sitting on the stool beside you.

“I know papa’s late, but you can still go and wear your dress. I want to take pictures– should we order pizza? Do you want something else?” He’s rambling, hurriedly searching for his tone to dial down a few numbers. Miguel turns frantic, looking at the closed signs under every nice restaurant. “Pizza should be fine, mijita– you’ve eaten dinner, right?”

“Not hungry.”

Miguel chuckled, dialing anyway. “Did school suck today, sweetie?” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. “You know what can cheer you up? Cake. You love cake.”

“I don’t like cake anymore.” You say, your voice barely above a whisper. You can feel frustration boiling over inside– and you fear it wasn’t the kind you’ve grown accustomed to suppressing. He was oblivious and it was killing you, hurting you in so many ways possible. “I’m not hungry.” You repeat again.

“Don’t be like that, __. Besides, it’s still tradition.” He stands up to check the drawers, only finding worn out candles from past birthdays. He takes a lighter. “Know what’s better than a cake? Two cakes! You’ll change your mind, go and open the boxes mija,”

Miguel excitedly pressed his hands on your shoulders, pushing you gently forward to open the two boxes of cake. The look in his eyes was that of pure anticipation as he waited eagerly for you to do so. It almost hurt you to tell him the news— that you wanted more than to just take the blame itself. It was conflicting.

You finally got up from the bar stool, settling on your feet in front of the counter. Taking a deep breath, you carefully opened the lid of the boxes. What greeted you had made you visibly recoil– the small flicker of hope that settled in your chest gone as quickly as it came. The cakes were crumbled and the frosting was all over the box, like it had been trampled and tossed around.

Was this all a joke? Were you a joke to him? Your shoulders trembled as you couldn't bring yourself to look away from it; the letter was still visible but amongst the cake crumbs lay written a name– Gabriella. Not happy birthday to you, but Gabi.

You didn’t know what hurt most. Your lips quivered and all you could mutter was, “Gabi?”

His eyes widened in surprise as he quickly moved to your side to take a look at the cake himself. He swiftly closed the lids, shaking his head. “Must’ve been a mistake back at the bakery. I can–”

And you could barely catch your breath, not when the hurt piled over one another.

“Are the medals from her? The one’s from your bed? The trophies?”

He furrowed his eyebrows, clearly irritated. “What did I tell you about snooping around my things, __?”

“Is this the girl–” A ragged inhale cuts your thoughts, “on your nightstand and wallet?” You didn’t even realize you had started to cry, but when another breath had caught itself in your throat, you were inconsolable– finally letting the dam break all at once.

Miguel did nothing to console you– he didn’t know how to. He knew he had messed up royally and all he could do was helplessly watch you break down. Who knows how long you’ve kept this?

“__, come on. It’s just a simple mistake, it’s still cake–”

“And it was my birthday!”

“Baby, what’s the big deal?” He was shocked and understandably so. His sweet, babygirl, who was usually so quiet and docile, was talking back angrily to him– but Miguel knew better than to point fingers. This was his fault– your unbecoming was his own doing.

“You just had to be late– on my birthday!”

“I have work, baby, you know this.”

“That still doesn’t explain anything!” You cried out, desperation flooding your voice. “Why are you never home? Where do you go? Who is Gabriella– why do you love her more than me?” You could feel your breath catch in your throat as your voice rose and trembled with every question. Your breathing grew unsteady and your throat began to close up, not allowing anymore words to come out as much as you wanted to scream. You feared there’d be no more room for air.

And there was something about Gabriella that everytime she was brought up, Miguel would be defensive. Perhaps it was the plenty of times Lyla would reprimand him when she catches him watching the few videos of them or when Jess would pity his state. “Don’t be ridiculous, __. I made a mistake– that’s it. We don’t have to fight.” He says, grabbing a spatula. “If it bothers you so much, here,”

Miguel frustratedly spreads the lettering with the spatula, leaving smudges of red on top of perfectly white frosting, resulting in a more muddled mess. He's making a complete mess of it and you can't bear to watch any longer. Your still figure finally reaches out to grab his wrist, “Stop— stop that! What are you doing?!”

It was no use. The cake was nothing but totally ruined now. You didn’t even have the chance to read the message. He forcefully digs the candles on both, sliding it in front of you. Your eyes stayed on the cake– you didn’t have the heart to look at him. Anger boiled up within you and without a moment's hesitation, the words leaped from your mouth, "You're not listening to me! This is not what I'm so upset about—!"

But he responds in the same loudness as yours, slamming his hands down on the cold tiles of your countertop. “Okay, champ, you got it– go for it! Say what you have to say,” A sarcastic chuckle left his lips, adding insult to the already deep wound. “What do you have to tell me so bad?”

And you didn’t think it was possible for silence to be more deafening, but as you stared each other down, all you could think of was how maybe Miguel was worse than the archetypal absent one who chose to abandon his child or the dead-beat-dad who ultimately never cared for them.

You were right. Fathers were capable of unloving their daughters and the way his dark eyes burned into yours was all the answer you needed. This wasn’t your papa– did you ever know him?

“My birthday was two days ago.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, doubt creasing his forehead as he looked back to the calendar hung on the fridge. His gaze resting on your birthday date, the red circle mocking him in vivid reminder— two days ago. Your birthday was two days ago. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he felt nothing but guilt tying his stomach in knots.

“Mijita–” He’s quick to console you, the anger in his words disappearing immediately and turning into an apologetic one– but every time he’d try to move forward, you’d only step back. Miguel couldn’t even bear to think how you’ve celebrated on your own. How you waited for him all night in your birthday dress. He subtly shook his head, trying his best not to clog his mind yet.

He needed to make it up to you. He couldn’t lose you too.

“My birthday– why did you have to take it?” You rubbed your eyes harshly, but the more you wiped the tears away, the more they seemed to fall. “It’s mine and I still had to wait for you to be able to sing the song. It’s my day and all I could think of was what time you might come home tonight.”

You wanted nothing more than for him to run to you with open arms, to let you cry on his shoulders– but as his silence stretched on, you mistook it as nothing but ruthless. He simply didn’t care. Miguel was too much of a wall for that.

The look you gave him was nothing but hate– a look no parent wants to ever come across and it almost makes him stagger back. It was like what he had done was the most disgusting– most inconsolable act ever beyond repair and all he could do was watch; watch as another daughter of his slip through his fingers. He’s holding you like water and he doesn’t know how to keep you in.

You scoffed, averting your gaze. “You don’t want to talk about it? Fine by me.” You turned your back, letting out another shaky exhale. You couldn’t look at him the same– not after this.

“You make it really, really, hard to feel like a daughter.”

And with that, you run to your room, leaving Miguel to stay rooted to where he stood. He thinks to himself– had he taken that from you too?

#alrighty honey ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚#across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara angst #miguel o'hara atsv #father!miguel o'hara x daughter!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #father figure miguel o'hara #atsv angst #atsv #spiderman #across the spider verse angst

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havensins · 10 months

Note

Constantly teasing hobie brown with inconsistent pace and feminization, cause hobie doesn't believe in labels and consistency 🗣️❗

this ask genuinely made me melt when i got it gosh

just switching up your pace from leisurely fucking into him to treating him as if he were a toy for your use. the inconsistency would make him nearly sob as he begs you to stick to one or the other, or simply let him cum.

and don’t even get me started on dressing him up a little!! putting him in mascara or eyeliner that you know with be sure to run down his cheeks because you fully intend on making him cry.

hobie would whine from underneath you as you slowed down your pace once again, choking out a sob as his thighs wrapped themselves around your waist like a vice. one of his hands grabbed at your shoulder while the other gripped the sheets.

“please, love, please,” he mutters, “i can’t take it anymore, i can’t come like this.” he cries, and the mascara runs even more. “what’s the matter? i thought you hated consistency sweet girl?” you’d tease, using a thumb to smear at his cheeks where the makeup has clumped up a little.

he’s cry out at the name, clenching around you and pulling you even closer if possible. “i don’t- i’m-“ his brain would nearly be turned to absolute mush. and soon he’d be mindlessly apologizing as if that would get you to give into his wishes.

you fake a pout towards him and you knew that if he was capable of doing anything besides moaning, he’d be calling you every british insult in the book. “you seem so upset love, maybe i should be nice this time,” you’d murmur, collecting his hands in yours and pressing them into the sheets as you picked up your pace.

#answered #dom male reader #dom!reader #top male reader #avengers x male reader #marvel x male reader #avengers x reader #sub!hobie #sub!hobie brown #sub hobie #sub hobie brown #sub!atsv #across the spiderverse x male reader

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mimimui · 10 months

Note

hellooo i saw your 'genshin men asking for a kiss' and i loved it sm your writing is amazing <333

can i request relationship headcanons for the genshin men. specifically alhaitham but idm who else you add

stay cool and have a good day/night :)

genshin boys as your boyfriend

includes: alhaitham, scaramouche, kazuha, diluc, kaeya, childe, xiao

tags: established relationship, endearments, fluff, not proofread, non-mortal/adeptus reader in xiao's

a/n: thank you so much ��⸜(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⸝♡ aaaah i am back after being mia..! the writers block is beating me up so hard rn + its 3am :') i wrote each part in different time frames so the writing might seem inconsistent aghuahgu i hope its still ok :( anyways, as always .. enjoy !

ALHAITHAM

he asked you to be his s/o while you were playing tcg together. you were in the middle of your turn when he asked you, and it'd be an understatement to say you were shocked.

(y/n): i'll use this support ca- alhaitham: will you be my s/o? (y/n): what? (shocked) alhaitham: what? (questioning)

while alhaitham is a bit aloof, he does loves teasing you. he would hide your things and help you look for the lost item like he doesn't know where it is.

when you're eating outside, he would step on your feet under the table. you can confront him about it all you want, but he will keep acting innocent.

if he's standing behind you, be wary because he might just throw his coat over your head as a joke, and then act like he did nothing.

alhaitham: do you want help putting on my coat? (y/n): seriously, haitham? alhaitham: yes? i'm seriously asking if you want my help.

when it comes to cooking, he'd leave you to do it. alhaitham would rather look forward to a meal you cook rather than a meal he helped make.

dinners are usually quiet, but if you want to tell him about the person that skipped in front of you in line today, then he's all ears.

the first time he told you he loved you, you were giving him a gift. you were smiling so brightly when giving it to him that he didn't know whether to be thankful for the gift or for you.

or at least you think that was the first time he said he loved you.

it was actually when you were asleep the first time you slept over. a very meaningful "i love you" was whispered softly in your ear.

SCARAMOUCHE

he brought you somewhere with a nice view. he grabbed your hand without warning, and when you asked him where he was taking you, he said, "no need to be nervous, just want you to see something."

(y/n): thank you for bringing me here, scara. scaramouche: you're my s/o, there is no need to thank me. (y/n): i'm your s/o...? scaramouche: are you not informed about that or what?

it turns out that scaramouche planned to ask you a long time ago, and from the amount of times he's rehearsed in his head, his mind convinced him that he already asked you.

you laughed at him when you witnessed the moment he realized he forgot to actually ask you. he huffed at your reaction.

he acts annoyed whenever you ask to try on his hat, but his actions contradict his words as he places it on your head.

scaramouche: there are a lot of places where you can get hats, i don't even know (places hat on your head) why you want mine. (y/n): :D scaramouche: if it falls, i'll laugh at you. (y/n): >:(

scaramouche would make you food if you ask him to. he's glad to do it, but he wouldn't want you to thank him. he thinks thanking him for things he's happy to do is a waste of effort.

it's somewhat his unspoken rule to never leave you alone at the table. even if he doesn't join you for the meal, he'd sit down just to accompany you while you eat.

he denied it when you heard him tell you he loved you. the three words escaped his lips when you were busy picking fruits together. or, rather, you were the one picking fruits while he holds them.

you asked him to repeat what he said, but he was quick to reply with "it'd be a waste of effort to repeat what i said."

but he knows. and you know. you both know he loves you.

KAZUHA

while he was out on sea, he wrote you a letter asking you to be his. along with all the other letters he wrote you, he made sure this was was sent out especially.

(y/n): welcome back, kazuha! about your letter... kazuha: yes, what about it? (y/n): my answer is yes. kazuha: i'm glad. thank you, (y/n).

he loves taking you out on adventures. even when he doesn't have a certain goal in mind for the day, kazuha will always find an excuse to bring you along with him.

you will always find him surrounding himself in nature. thanks to his extraordinary sense of hearing, he enjoys being outside even more. the world has a lot to offer.

one day, you ask him what his favorite sound of nature is. immediately, without fail, his reply is 'your voice', which you're flustered by.

(y/n): that doesn't even make any sense... i asked about your favorite sound of nature. kazuha: the world is full of nature, correct? (y/n): your point being? kazuha: you're my favorite sound of nature because you are my world, (y/n).

you both take turns cooking, always excited to try each other's new recipes. it's become sort of a competition of who can suprise the other one more.

his reaction is the cutest when you compliment his dish. if you're happily chewing the food he fed you, watch out because his hands will pinch your cheeks.

you two were hanging out one night, and you asked him to create a poem for you on the spot. he liked the idea, and immediately got to it.

without any hesitation, without thinking twice about it, he ended his poem with a very sweet "i love you."

when you stayed silent afterwards, kazuha got nervous. but his nervous expression soon washed away when you wrapped your arms around him, complimenting his impromptu-poem-writing abilities.

DILUC

he was closing up the tavern for the day, and you two were the only one there after work hours. he decided to take his chances and ask you right then and there.

diluc: can you pass me the wash cloth? (y/n): sure! diluc: can you fix the chairs? (y/n): sure! diluc: can you be mine? (y/n): sur- wait.

he's never said it outloud, but diluc actually enjoys having senseless conversations with you. just last night you told him he reminded you of an owl, which he found amusing, and he asked you to explain why.

whenever diluc takes shifts at the tavern, you'd be somewhere around helping clean tables or wash dishes. he has enough staff at angel's share, but he appreciates your assistance nonetheless.

if you know how to play chess, he would regularly ask you to play against him. he thinks it's a great game to play while also being able to converse with others. he loves talking to you.

(y/n): the main character realized—check—his feelings too late, and lost the love of his life to someone else. it's sad. diluc: what happened—oh, good move—to the main character after that? (y/n): he was never able to express his true feelings to her. he should've taken the chance. diluc: hm.. i agree. he was too coward when he had the opportunity. and checkmate, by the way. (y/n): wh- hey! i didn't see that move! diluc: better luck next time, my dear.

when you offer to cook dinner for him instead of the maids, diluc doesn't try to hide his smile. you've prohibited him from entering the kitchen, wanting to cook something for him all by yourself.

he will always stand by the archway and watch you cook. you go over to him occasionally, asking him to taste some parts of the meal you're making. these are some of his favorite moments with you.

it was when you were eating dinner that he first told you he loved you. you had just finished cooking a meal, and you were sharing details from your day with each other while eating.

halfway through the meal, he says, "i've been wanting to tell you something all day. may i?"

as you nod your head, he tells you he loves you. or, rather, he tells you he's in love with you. but what's the difference? diluc is all yours.

KAEYA

you brought klee back to the knights of favonius' headquarters after playing with her outside all day. albedo and jean thanked you, but kaeya wanted to express more than just gratitude.

kaeya: klee always returns happy whenever you're the one bringing her back. (y/n): she's precious. i'd do anything to keep her smiling. kaeya: likewise. but i also want to keep you smiling, sweetheart. (y/n): what do you mean? kaeya: be mine, (y/n), and i promise i'll always make you happy.

you, klee, and kaeya are always seen running around mondstadt. not only in the city, but also around the mountains. you'd all go find a big, empty space for klee to blow up.

rest assured he will always invite you for a drink, even if it's the morning. you've rejected about 90% of his offers, but he will always, always, make sure to invite you.

he is one call away when it comes to you. you have something urgent and needs his help? he's on it. you simply just miss him? he misses you too, he's on his way to see you.

(y/n): kaeya, aren't you supposed to be working right now? what would acting grandmaster jean say? kaeya: i missed you. that should be enough reason. (y/n): kaeya. kaeya: what? just wanted to see your face, sweetheart. i- ow! okay, okay, i'll go back now!

kaeya really enjoys when you cook for him. of course, he'll step in to help you, but the thought of you making him his favorite food is so heartwarming.

he insists on feeding you, even embarrassing you sometimes by pretending the spoon is a crystalfly and your mouth the cave it's about to fly into.

he first told you he loved you immediately after you agreed to be his. after you said 'yes' to his confession, he was quick to tell you those three words, and your heart fluttered at his boldness.

he will never forget to tell you he loves you. when he greets you good morning, when you drop by to pick up klee, when you come back to drop off klee, and so many more instances.

there was never a moment you doubted his love for you. he constantly reminds you of it, and kaeya will never let you forget it. he loves you. so much.

CHILDE

he had it all planned out when he asked you to be his s/o. he made restaurant reservations at your favorite place, and even made sure it was on a day where not much people visited.

childe: (y/n), will you be mine? (y/n): are you serious? yes! childe: you are the only one i've ever been serious about. (y/n): you're so corny.

whenever he gets back from missions, he always makes sure to bring you back a little gift or a souvernir. one time, he brought you back a ruin hunter eye because "you're the light of my life" he says. it didn't make any sense.

the first time he brought you to snezhnaya, he wrapped you in so many layers that you were better off rolling on the ground than walking.

he absolutely loves it when you play with his siblings. when he comes home tired, he'll immediately be energized if he sees you and his siblings spending time together.

(y/n): ajax, join us! we could use another person to play tag. childe: do i get a kiss if i win? (y/n): ...i was just kidding, you don't have to play with us anymore. childe: hey! okay, okay, i'll join. no kiss needed, i swear!

cooking is one of his favorite activities to do with you. doing something so loving and domestic as cooking with someone he loves is heartwarming.

no matter how much you try to keep yourself clean, childe will find a way to get you messy. he says you can't blame him if you can never catch him wiping his hands on your shirt.

he wasn't the first one to tell you he loved you. his siblings did it for him, actually. well, who was going to stop them? childe was asleep, and you weren't.

he brought you all on a camping trip outside snezhnaya, and he promptly passed out first after story-telling time. as you were cleaning up the campfire, his siblings all walked over to you.

"(y/n), our big brother loves you very much."

it was very random, but very sweet. you smiled at them as you gave them a hug each, asking them why they were suddenly telling you this.

"if you leave him, you leave us, and we don't want you to leave. he loves you a lot, we swear!"

XIAO

being uninterested in relationships, neither of you ever asked each other. but you've been together for as long as you could remember, and your memory goes back for centuries.

(centuries ago) (y/n): xiao, can you promise not to leave me by myself? xiao: that's a hard promise to keep. (y/n): but you'll try? xiao: ...yes.

xiao has never been the type to express much of what he was feeling—if he felt anything at all. unlike you, he has never bothered to fully understand mortals.

you thrive around the people of liyue harbor, and xiao will always find you casually strolling around or stopping to pet a cat you found on the sidewalk.

when xiao rests at wangshu inn, you find yourself accompanying him, staying with him on the highest balcony. this is the only time you accompany him though, as he has his duties to eliminate evil.

(y/n): need any help? xiao: you always ask, and i always say no. (y/n): well, you might need me one day. xiao: we've been together for centuries. you know i'm capable enough. (y/n): i know. you always have been. xiao: rest easy, (y/n). i'll be here. (y/n): good night, xiao.

food has never really been a problem for either of you, but if you want to treat yourself to a mortal meal, xiao will come along with you. with enough convincing, of course.

you eat at wangshu inn, and chef yanxiao prepares your meals. eating with xiao is quiet, but if you were to start a conversation, he will always reply.

he's never told you that he loves you, at least not directly. his actions will speak for him—one of them being always ridding the path you're taking of monsters.

whenever xiao has to leave you at the inn, he will never fail to tell you to "rest easy" before he leaves. he has sworn to himself to protect you, and eliminate all evil that might affect you.

his duty is to protect liyue, but it wouldn't hurt to make you his duty as well, right?

thanks for reading (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

#genshin x reader #alhaitham x reader #scaramouche x reader #kazuha x reader #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #childe x reader #xiao x reader

2K notes · View notes

icanseethefuture333 · 6 months

Text

(18+) Pick a tattoo 💉: Receive a message from your next intimate partner 🤤🥵😈

Pile 1:

Shufflemancy -

Dead Wrong by FEMM

Bedroom by Mabel

Thank u, next by Ariana Grande

The Devil, King of Cups, Five of Pentacles, Justice, & Queen of Cups

For the next person you'll be sexually intimate with, it seems that this is going to be a person from your past. This could be an ex or fwb you've been on and off with. You're tired of them emotionally, but sexually, this person is familiar to you. You know you can be with someone else that makes you happier, but you don't wish to start over and explain the ways you want to be touched. I believe this person love bombs through sex 😅. They dote on you and kiss different parts of your body. They love to praise you - "You're doing so good for me right now, is this all for me?". They also enjoy aspects of BDSM (tying someone up, being degraded, etc). There is a inconsistency here when it comes to experiencing pleasure or orgasms. Do you disassociate, pile 1? What is going on? I feel like you have to just lay there and for your partner to use your body to get off. You deserve to feel pleasure, pile 1! Please don't feel afraid of speaking your mind or say what gives you pleasure or doesn't. If this person is not satisfying you in anyway you do not have to stay with them. I feel like you don't wish to give them anymore of your energy. It's as if you wish to say goodbye through sex. I don't see this connection lasting long with this person and the partnership will be short term. There seems to be a big issue with emotional intimacy. You and this person need to heal your trauma regarding romance. This relationship will be a karmic lesson for you both in order to grow.

Pile 2:

Shufflemancy -

Wine Pon You by Doja Cat (ft. Konshens)

Shady Lady by B.A.P

Moonlight Chemistry by Jeff Bernat

The Hanged Man, Nine of Cups (reversed), The Emperor, The World, & Two of Pentacles

Are you a virgin, pile 2? Or perhaps inexperienced? I feel some of you have never been able to have a orgasm before or haven't had someone give one to you. There is like trouble with you getting there. Your next sexually intimate partner wishes to change this! They are so focused on making you feel sexy and feel good. Your partner wishes to have slow and sensual sex with you 😳. "We can take it slow if you need to, I can go all night if that means you need to cum 🖤" phew 😮‍💨! I feel like if this is a man, they have a big dick or they have big dick energy. If they are a woman, then their pussy feels heavenly. Regardless of their sex (or gender), they know how to please you in the bedroom. Their preferred position is missionary, they want to look into your eyes as they fuck you 🙈. Your partner wants to give you the world, pile 2 or make you feel like you're the only person in the world that is special to them. As much as they are a giver, they love to receive also, I'm getting strong switch vibes. They could like for you to ride them or give them head 🥴.

Pile 3:

Shufflemancy -

Web by 070 Shake

Me & U by Cassie

Ur Best Friend by Kiana Ledé & Kehlani

Seven of Swords, Four of Cups, The Sun, Two of Cups, & Queen of Wands

MY QUEER PILEEEEE 👅🌈🖖🏽💦! I am heavily getting wlw vibes for this pile. Your next sexually intimate partner could be someone who is of the same sex~ 👀. If not, they are someone who is androgynous in appearance or is in touch with their feminine/masculine side. They want to eat you out/suck you off soooo bad 😩. I feel like when you meet this person you're gonna know that they're attracted to you. They have a strong sexual aura or they naturally ooze confidence. Your partner is gonna talk a lot of game. "You wanna come home with me? Nobody else here is gonna be as interesting as me." You could meet them at a club or at a bar. This person is talented with their fingers 🥴. You could have a fetish for their hands and they could have a fetish for your feet. They have long fingers or veiny hands. If you're into it - you desire for them to choke you and they want you to know they'll willingly do it 🤫. Pile 3, your partner fantasizes about fucking you with your legs up in the air or with your feet over their shoulders. They are very attentive to what your likes and dislikes are. They could get you flowers the first time you have sex? Or put flower petals on the bed. They are very cheeky but sweet 🥺🥰!

Pile 4:

Shufflemancy -

Fuqboi by Hey Violet

Caught in a Lie by Fatima

Novacane by Frank Ocean

The Hermit, Nine of Wands, Five of Swords, Six of Wands, & Three of Pentacles

I am channeling the lyrics "Do you love me baby? I know you love me baby, yeah I cheated on you but do you still trust me baby? Have two kids now you stuck with me baby"

This is toxic as hell 😭. I feel like your next person you have sex with is going to be someone that your partner knows. There is a lot of cheating involved here. You have given your partner many chances and will be fed up when they lie to you again. This person could be a a rival, nemesis, or enemy of your partner. Is it your ex?! A friend of theirs?! Whoever this third party is, You will decide to get your lick back from all the damage your partner has caused and decide to move onto the next best thing. You have been attracted to this person for a while, but avoiding them because of your loyalty. "When you are done with them, come see me, I'll take care of you." Your partner will feel so betrayed when they find out you and this person are having sex but you will feel the most free that you have ever had thanks to this third party. This person wants to pick you up when you fuck. They could be taller or stronger than you. There is a obvious size difference. Possible threesome as well? 🥵

Pile 5:

Shufflemancy -

I Wish You Loved Me by Tynisha Keli

Dope Lovers by DPR IAN

Beauty And A Beat by Justin Bieber (ft. Nicki Minaj)

Eight of Cups, Five of Cups, King of Pentacles, Ten of Pentacles, & The Moon

Oh wow your next sexual partner is down bad for you, pile 5 🥰! They are literally head over heels for you. They wish to tell you "I love you" but they are nervous about moving too fast in the relationship. Your partner overthinks too much. You and this person could just be fwb or in the talking stage, but they will want to take this relationship to the next level. They could stay up late at night thinking of you, they just get so soft at the thought of your name 🥺 d'awww so cute 🤧. When you both have sex, you and this person could cum a lot 😳? Squirting 💦? It's just very watery and emotional lol, maybe you or this person has water sign placements (Pisces ♓️, Scorpio ♏️, Cancer ♋️). They could be more submissive during sex, but overall they are a giver. They will do anything to fulfill your desire during sex. Omg I'm sorry but this person will cum a lot 😅. Please use protection if you don't want to get pregnant or have a child because you or this person are very fertile. They wish to have a family with you. This is honestly my baby maker pile 🤰🏽. They like your boobs/chest. They want to nuzzle their head into your chest as you fuck them or they fuck you. I am channeling the lyrics from the song "Forever My Lady" by Jodeci:

"We fell so far in love

Now our baby is born

Healthy and strong

Now our dreams are reality

Forever my lady

It's like a dream"

You and your partner could have dreams of each other. There is a telepathic connection here. Are you manifesting them? Or vice versa? This is so passionate lol. I have a strong feeling you will end up marrying your next intimate partner. Their energy is very shy but romantic 💕

Pile 6:

Shufflemancy -

Sweaty by SAAY (ft. Crush)

Good Kisser by Usher

La Luz (Fin) by Kali Uchis

Three of Cups, Temperance, Death, The Lovers, & Four of Pentacles

There is such an emphasis on lips, pile 6! They are obsessed with your lips! Oral fixation 👄? Your next sexual intimate partner fantasizes about making out with you. Smooches with a nice amount of tongue, nothing too invasive or aggressive lol. They could like when you have makeup on and your lips look more plump 💄💋. They think you're a fantastic kisser and whenever your lips press against theirs, it's like they are under your spell. You have the Poison Ivy effect on them! You could meet them through friends or while you are out with your friends. It is going to be some sort of celebration or party going on. Wedding, graduation, reunion, cookout, etc. You could be very artistic or creative and your partner finds this attractive about you. They like to watch you do your makeup, get dressed, or paint/make art. Your partner wants to have back to back orgasms. Overstimulation? Channeled lyrics: "Bumps in the night got me, got me over here overstimulated" - Overstimulated by Jhené Aiko. They enjoy deep penetration 😳. Your sexual partner is very intense lol. They want your bodies to be touching each other and feel every inch of you. "Say my name for me baby, matter fact - scream it." They get so possessive over you. This pile is making me my cheeks burn 🥵! They want to pin your wrists down. Backshots? Omg- pile 6, your partner is going to have you moaning so loud that your neighbors will know their name 😅. The next day will be giving coat and sunglasses like the Wendy Williams meme. You might feel embarrassed about it but your partner will feel proud and cocky 😋. "You weren't complaining about it last night 😏"

Pile 7:

Shufflemancy -

Blue Light by Kelela

Fucked My Way Up To The Top by Lana Del Rey

Girl With The Tattoo by Miguel

Ace of Wands, The Fool, Judgment, The Tower, & King of Cups

Channeled song: Hrs & Hrs by Muni Long. The lyrics to the whole song is very significant, so please go check that out. The part that's standing out to me specifically is:

"When I met you

I knew this was it

I've never been in love like this

A love like ours

I pray for it on my knees

Every night for some hours"

Your next sexual partner has literally been asking the universe for you, pile 7 🥺. They adore you! I feel like in this world, you and your partner have felt lost when it comes to love. As if they have been searching for someone that will fulfill their romantic and sexual desires. They are a hopeless romantic, you are as well, but your faith regarding to find a partner who makes you happy has been fading away. You could believe you will stay single forever because it just seems there isn't anyone who is compatible with you. Pile 7, your partner is going to change this! They want to make you feel bubbly and get butterflies in your stomach again. They love to see you blush 🥹!!! Your smile lights up their day. You could have a pretty smile or they think it is so adorable. Dimples? You could have dimples or only one dimple that they find attractive. They like when you give a sheepish smile and your eyes look at them with love, it makes their day (brb gonna go cry 🏃🏽‍♀️). Channeled lyrics: Girl With The Tattoo by Miguel: "Those innocent eyes, that smile on your face makes it easy to trust you" As for the sex, they enjoy when you initiate it or take action. They are a soft dom. They like to take orders from you but be the one in charge sexually. Submissive romantically, dominant sexually (this would be my dream man fr 😍). This is random but they like your boobs and butt :D! Or seeing you naked in general. They could have a fetish for your body ngl 😅. PLS 💀 Your partner isn't gonna understand personal space fr. You could be getting dressed in the bathroom and there they are 🧍‍♂️ peeping by the door with this expression on their face like ":3! uwu!". Consent is important to them ofc, so you will have to set boundaries on what's OK or not. If you will allow them to they will just walk in at anytime or ask to have sex with you when you shower lol. You could call them a perv jokingly and they'll be like "heh ¬‿¬". I am reminded of the scene from How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days when he pretended to get hurt so he could rub his head on his girlfriend's breasts and they both started laughing. You guys would be that couple that is cute but quirky in some ways lol. They could be big into shower sex? Champagne? They like to do it in hotels. Are they famous? There is something about wanting to get away from the public. Your partner could wish to (respectfully) cum in you or all over your body 💀. They are super messy lol. Your partner wants to fuck you reverse cowgirl style with your hair pulled back. You and your person could fuck like you'll never see each other again. The both of you are very loud. Your partner could enjoy shibari as well. They are a geek for sure. They could like cosplaying and costumes. Hentai 💀? I feel like they watch videos of E-girls or something. I don't feel like they are the most experienced though. So their fantasies could be pretty random 🤔? Like "Hey I learned about this today, would you want to try it?" The sex will be adventurous for sure. You and this person have a very youthful energy. They wish to orgasm with you at the same time. I feel like this will create a soul tie somehow 😗 Sex Magick? They could be manifesting you through their orgasms or you have been doing this as well. The relationship with your partner will be very dreamy. There is a sense of longing or wanting to connect. I feel like you and your partner will be in a long distance relationship. I'm seeing late night video calls or falling asleep on facetime. Cyber sex 💻? Things with your partner will feel pretty new. So it could take some time for things to be more serious on a romantic level, but it will create a new learning experience for you. I'm getting that aftercare is also important for them. They wish to cuddle afterwards or watch a movie/TV show together. "Food at my place ❤? I'll cook for you." Channeled song: Foldin Clothes by J.cole:

"I wanna fold clothes for you

I wanna make you feel good"

Pile 8:

Shufflemancy -

Super Bounce by Duckwrth (ft. EARTHGANG)

How Do You Want It by 2Pac

Rose by Jereena Montemayor

Eight of Wands, Five of Wands, Strength, King of Swords, & The High Priestess

LMAOOOO this is my pile that likes to have angry sex. You could act bratty on purpose so your intimate partner could dominate you. They get so irritated with your ass 🤣! There is gonna be a lot of spankings. Channeled song: Put My Hands on You by Dean & Anderson.Paak: "Face in the pillow, ass where the wind blows" they wanna fuck you this way. You are so noisy, pile 8! Your partner could like to feel, grab, and cup different parts of your flesh when you have sex. They make you feel so good. They like your butt and your thighs. They love when you act bad even when they say they don't 🤭😈. Brat tamer for sure. "You see what you do to me? Is this what you want? You like that don't baby? You're doing so good for me why don't you scream a little more" omggg if this a man they could sound like ghostface 🫣. Their voice is deep and raspy, ugh 😫. You love when their voice gets husky during sex and when they praise but also degrade you 😝. You could like for them to claim you or mark their territory. Hickies? Hand prints (Jack harlow: "I send her back to her boyfriend with my hand print on her ass cheek 🤚🍑") If this isn't a man, then they just have a really attractive voice and are very dominant during sex. Are you a dancer? This person loves to see you dance. They could want you to do a heels choreography, lap dance, or striptease for them. This person is going to be your partner for sure but it's a mess lol 💀

Channeled song: We Cry Together by Kendrick Lamar & Taylour Paige:

"Fuck me, nigga (I'ma fuck you, bitch)

Nah, fuck me, nigga, fuck me (I'ma fuck you, bitch)"

😭 I can't!

Pile 9:

Shufflemancy -

Kisses Down Low by Kelly Rowland

Water by Tyla

Impatient by Jeremih (ft. Ty Dolla $ign)

Ace of Cups, Nine of Cups, Six of Cups, Eight of Pentacles, & Ten of Cups

Channeled song: Shirt by SZA:

"In the dark right now

Feelin' lost, but I like it

Comfort in my sins and all about me

All I got right now

Feel the taste of resentment

Simmer in my skin, it's all about

Bloodstain on my shirt"

I am getting that you and your next sexual partner like to do it with the lights off, dim lighting, or sex in the dark. Very mysterious and seductive vibes here. It's like being pulled into a witch's lair. Your partner could believe you are a siren 🧜🏾‍♀️ or your aura embodies this energy. You are more dominant when it comes to sex. You like to take control. You enjoy fulfilling your senses. Candles? Something about scents or a musk here. Music could be played during sex as well. This person loves the way you take charge, pile 9. You know just what to do. You could like to throw it back or grind on them. Very slow and sensual. They are attracted to your waist, hips, and stomach. You could know how to whine your waistline or move your hips in a way that's enchanting. You could like to tease them lol. Orgasm denial? They hate when you tease. They get really impatient. They are so desperate for your touch 🥱! They want to beg for it, even if they deny it. "Please baby, I'll do anything just let me cum." This person is more vocal than you are. I'm hearing shudders and whimpers. They love when you give them head. It's like you're snatching their soul every time 👻! Your hands are really soft. Handjobs/fingering? 🤭 You are a very attentive lover. You will be more experienced than your partner, they could even be younger than you. They could want to call you mistress/mister or mommy/daddy. They view you as someone nurturing and protective. You heal a part of their inner child through sex. They enjoy when you caress their hair and give them back rubs. Baby oil? You could give great massages. You could make this person cry during sex because it is so emotionally fulfilling. You will find this adorable and want to make them orgasm again. Everything will be so wet and slippery 🌊! When you and this person have sex it's like the flood gates are opened lmao. I see this will most likely be a fling. This message is only for a few, but if you are a sex worker then this is a client.

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gay-dorito-dust · 11 months

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HII!! CAN U DO A PAVITR PRABHAKAR X READER WHERE THEY SHARE THEIR FIRST KISS (OR READERS FIRST KISS, WHATEVER YOU WANT!!!) AKISISSJSJ IDK WHAT TO REQUEST CAUSE ITS MY FIRST REQUEST LMFAO - 🧑🏽‍🔧

I hope this wasn’t absolute arse as I started like some of this late in the night so there are probs inconsistencies.

‘It’s so obvious that they like each other but due to their assumptions that the other will reject them, they look for the same love in other people, only to be drawn back together because there’s no one who could love them quite like them.’ Pavitr said from your side as you both were indulging in some much needed free time by catching up on episodes of a recent show that you’ve missed. It was a great way to pass the time when nothing else of interest seemed to entice you, plus it was made even better when you got to spend it with Pavitr and his commentary regarding the love interests that you’ve grown to find endearing overtime.

‘We’ve seen this trope happen so many times in the other shows we’ve watched before this.’ You replied, looking over at him, knowing wholeheartedly that you’ve just provoked the preverbal bear, but that didn’t matter as to hear Pavitr speak passionately about something he felt so deeply made you admire him in ways you didn’t know you could.

‘It’s a fail proof formula that wins out every time!’ Pavitr exclaims before sighing dreamily as his mind began to wander amidst his many thoughts, ‘besides who doesn’t want to experience a love like that? a love that your willing to go through trial and tribulation for because you could never truly give your heart to someone else when they had their name carved into the very essence of your being by just smiling, by just being unapologetically them in all their flaws.’ Pavitr stopped midway through his speech to smile softly to himself when imagines of you popped in the forefront of his mind, it made him feel nostalgic and in a way it made him miss your presence despite you being right next to him.

Pavitr was a romantic at heart and so too did he naturally speak from it also, but due to the fact that you were just really good friends made him a little hesitant in pursuing you under the pretences that you didn’t feel the same way that he had for while now. Pavitr knew he couldn’t control his heart the moment it began picking up it’s pace within your presence, only to gradually pick up even more with the slightest things you did that he adored or moved in closer proximity to him to the point he thought he was going to pass out; fortunately for Pavitr he didn’t, sitting on elevated structures was dangerous enough but sitting on elevated structures whilst on the verge of potentially passing out wouldn’t have made for a great combination.

Despite experiencing the universal fear of rejection, it never truly stopped Pavitr from being close to you as humanly possible. After all you’re his best friend first and he’d be damned to let his romantic attachment and his fear create a rift between you two, which is why the now tradition of binge watching dramas was created for it gave him the opportunity to spend time with you; being Spider-man was amazing in and of it’s own but what wasn’t amazing was the fact that he wasn’t given as much time with you as he wanted, Mumbattan needed it’s hero but he, Pavitr Prabhakar, not Spider-Man, needed you more.

‘It’s a love many people desire but don’t have willpower to go through with as it tends to possess the ability to overwhelm them and become suffocating but it shouldn’t be that way when you’re in love.’ He explained and you listened intently to every word that fell from his lips that you’ve been transfixed on for the majority of his speech. ‘Love is an all encompassing force that can make you feel a multitude of emotions but you know when a love is right when they make you feel as though you can do anything, be anything, become anything with unbiased judgment. Real love is accepting that they are human and are bound by mistakes, real love is being the others hero but most of all real love is just two souls growing a deeper affection for humanity’s inner beauty.’ He finished, looking at you with a smile.

‘That was beautiful Pavitr.’ You tell him, ‘I know your a sucker for romance but that was especially impassioned,’ you nudged his arm in an act of playful banter despite hearing the sound of your heart breaking over having lost the boy you liked who wasn’t yours to have feelings for because like he said you could never truly give your heart to someone else when they had their name carved into the very essence of your being. ‘So…who’s the lucky person that’s made your heart sing like a canary?’ You mentally applauded yourself for being able to made it through that entire sentence without cracking from under the inevitable heartbreak you were about to experience.

Pavitr, ever the opportunist, saw the chance to admit his hearts deepest desire, sure the setting could’ve been a little better that what he had in mind but Pavitr was willing to work with whatever he was given to his advantage. So he grabbed ahold of your hands and given them a tight, comforting squeeze as he made sure to keep eye contact with you when he said his next words over the sound of his racing heart; ‘it’s you, you taught me how beautifully terrifying love can be when in the face of rejection but once upon a time you told me that it’s better to have tried then to have never have tried at all.’ You did in fact remember telling him that when he once asked you what he should do if he ever developed a crush and wanted to ask them out, which at the time only slightly stung in comparison to the overwhelmingly excruciating pain of self deprivation along with ever other human emotion attacking your sense.

Despite the verbal confirmation, you still were in a state of doubt and insecurity that it made it hard for you to believe the reality of his words no matter how hard your heart was telling you to. ‘Why me though? I’m not that special.’ Is your response and the way Pavitr’s face seemed to drop only made your fears all the more real, here he was bearing his heart out to you in a way that you could’ve only conjured up in your dreams and yet you still had to find some way to ruin it by doubting his genuine feelings. ‘Not that special?’ Pavitr repeated, his upset becoming more evident but it wasn’t in due to you but more so towards the fact that you didn’t hold yourself to the same standard that he did; which was pretty damn high. ‘Not that special?’ He repeats again, ‘you’re more then special! To me, you’re the reason the stars are hung in the sky, you’re the reason flowers bloom, birds sing in the morning and why I awake with a smile upon my face and fresh breath in my lungs. To me you’re the reason for my happiness, for my hope for the future and for my beating heart that quickens upon seeing you.’

Pavitr then went onto prove this point by pulling one of your hands that he has in his grasp towards his chest where you could feel it’s quickened pace branch your fingertips. ‘See?’ He tells you, keeping your hand against his chest, ‘that’s because of you and you still don’t think you’re special when your everything I could ever think about? I miss you when your not here but miss you even more when you are because we’re not as close as I’d like us to be but that’s not something I wish to put upon you if it’s not what your heart desires.’ He finished and you couldn’t help but start to tear up, from his impassioned speech to his unwavering acceptance to the possibility of you not feeling the same, only further proved to you how much of a beautiful soul Pavitr Prabhakar was and how fucking lucky you were to be able to know him as deeply as you did.

There was so much going off inside your head that the only response that you could come up with was; ‘Just kiss me already.’ And within a matter of seconds Pavitr had both hands cupping your cheeks as he leant in and pressed his lips firmly against yours, which had you both smiling giddily at the warmth spreading throughout your body as your lips continued to press and weave against one another in such sweet tandem; that at some points you almost forgot to pull apart for air but when you did remind yourselves that you had lungs that were in desperate need of oxygen. You didn’t dare stray too far from one another as Pavitr pressed his forehead against yours, eyes stilled closed and a dopey, lovey smile gracing his lips.

‘I don’t think I’ll be able to top your confession speech but I hope something as simple as this is enough because I like you too Pavitr Prabhakar.’ You whispered against his lips, ‘I like you a lot that when you’d talk about your crush it’d hurt but now knowing what I do now, the brief moment of pain I felt pales in comparison to the light, warm, comforting sensations I get when I’m only with you. For it was all worth this very moment.’ You finished before stealing a cheeky peck from his lips; causing him to whine when you pulled back. ‘No, give me a proper kiss.’ You chuckled but obliged to his requested and gave him a proper kiss to the lips, though this time Pavitr’s hands moved to your waist and your hands took to cupping his cheeks and soon you were back to feeling that lighthearted and warmth place.

#spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #spiderman atsv x reader #spiderman atsv imagines #spiderman atsv x you #spiderman atsv fic #spiderman atsv imagine #across the spiderverse #pavitr prabhakar x reader #pavitr prabhakar imagines #pavitr prabhakar imagine #pavitr prabhakar fic #pavitr prabhakar x you

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hanlimz · 4 months

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[midnight thoughts: jungwon + the sublime]

synopsis: after an arduous battle, jungwon isn't sure if he's going to make it, but he has to say something before he goes. pairing: yang jungwon x gn!reader genre/warnings: spiderwon!au, angst with happy ending / mentions of blood, discussions of death, overall angsty themes but no one actually dies!, lots of confessions of love, and weird inclusion of "the sublime" bc we talked abt it in my eng class, also NOT proofread :,) wc: ~2.4k (haha OOPS) a/n: heyyyy how yall doin :))))) this has been sitting in my drafts forEVER ... and i finished it at 1am b4 my first day of school so be warned for inconsistencies / i liked the first half of this drabble but the second half is not my fave ,, so sorry that i couldn't do you justice spiderwon

yang jungwon never believed in the concept of the sublime. that uncanny mixture of overwhelming fear and unsettling fascination never managed to make an impression on him. especially in his line of work, jungwon is firm in his notion of death: when the time comes, a vast blackness will consume him; the void will leech away his life, and he will cease to exist. there will be no theatrics, no white light, no booming voice or angel song—only a comforting emptiness welcoming him into the dark.

now, however, jungwon lies alone in a familiar back alley; the tips of his fingers are numb from the amount of blood he's lost, and he can hardly lift his head up from the brick wall it's resting on. the palms of his hands are stained a deep crimson as he attempts to stop the river of red spilling from his thigh. jungwon admires the eerily beautiful way in which the body lets go; glinting in the dim street lights, his wounds glitter like rubies in a summer sunset. at this point, succumbing to his injuries seems inevitable, and jungwon thinks there may be some truth to be found in sublimity.

but, he's not ready to die. not yet—not with so many things left undone, so many things left unsaid.

with the little strength he has left, jungwon reaches for his backpack hidden in the nook behind the dumpster. he pulls out his phone and dials a number number he knows by heart; his cold fingers fumble over the screen, and he curses his current lack of dexterity. eventually, though, the machine begins to ring. the sound grates on his ears as he waits with bated breath for you to pick up.

"hello?" you croak, your question laden with sleep, "who is it?"

a breathy chuckle escapes jungwon's lips. he had forgotten how late it was, how you mentioned earlier that you had a calulus exam tomorrow, and just how gorgeous you sounded when you were tired. "sorry, [y/n] ... didn't mean to wake you," jungwon sighs, "just wanted to hear your voice."

"won, seriously?" you scoff, "this couldn't have waited 'til tomorrow? i mean, it's—it's two in the morning ... i was literally just dreaming about acing that calc test."

a dopey grin fastens itself to jungwon's lips as he wills his eyes to stay open. if he falls asleep, he knows there's a possibility that he won't get back up; so, he indulges for a bit, listening to your fatigued grumbling and smiling like an idiot. "honestly, m'not sure if tomorrow's in my cards, [y/n]," he admits, trying to hide how labored his breaths are becoming, "'nd i jus' wanted to hear you one last time."

"yang jungwon, what the hell are you—" jungwon knows exactly when you realize he's in trouble. he knows exactly when you realize he's not messing with you. the abrupt pause, the hitch in your breath, the way you inhale through your teeth—it's almost too obvious. "oh fuck," you continue, "oh shit ... won, where are you? are you hurt? what can i do to help?"

jungwon coughs out a laugh, "'m in the alley off jackson ave, 'nd i think i've bled on every piece of old furniture back here, if that says anything."

your breathing is frantic. jungwon listens to the sound of rustling clothes and the occasional thud of your foot as it hits your bed frame. you're cursing and mumbling and unravelling at the seams, searching for whatever you can that might help you help jungwon. out loud, you go through a list: gauze, neosporin, saline.

"am i missing anything?" you ask, not expecting a response.

"bandages?" jungwon replies.

"bandages!" you exclaim, "i almost forgot the fucking bandages?" there's more noise on the other side of the phone, and jungwon doesn't let himself relax until he hears your window crack open. metal clangs as you rush down the fire escape; he wills the beating of his heart to match the tempo of your feet against the steps. jungwon wills himself to stay alive. and, it's almost as though you can read his mind through the phone. "don't you dare fall asleep, yang jungwon. talk to me about something—anything—just don't fall asleep."

he racks his brain for a topic of conversation; the nerves building in his stomach as he anticipates next week's orgo exam, the cat he rescued from a tree in queensbridge park earlier today, the new thai restaurant that opened up near his apartment building. options race through his mind, but all of jungwon's thoughts lead back to you.

"i love you," jungwon says, abrupt yet resolute.

"oh god." you suck in an incredulous gasp, "you're delirious. this is—"

"i'm not delirious," he interrupts, voice hauntingly clear. "i know what i'm saying. and, i'm saying that i love you, [y/n] [l/n]."

for a moment, the line crackles with a thick, viscous silence that seeps through the grainy static; it's heavy, almost too real, and jungwon listens to the sound of your shoes slamming against the pavement until you speak again. "okay," you sigh, something unreadable swimming behind your words, "keep talking to me, jungwon."

jungwon takes in a deep breath before speaking again. his whole body is cold now, and if it weren't for the weakness spreading throughout his veins, he's positive his teeth would be chattering. inhaling the concoction of gasoline fumes, freshly dumped trash, and frigid, autumn air, jungwon feels the chill of the reaper creeping up the length of his spine. its spindly fingers beckon him into that same darkness he was once so sure of, once so okay with. but, jungwon can't let himself give in to its temptation. after all, he has someone waiting for him.

"you give me this feeling," jungwon declares in an inexplicable moment of lucidity, "'nd i dunno how to explain it. it's—it's like ... i look at you, and you pull me in. an invisible string, maybe? fate? true love? i'm—i have no idea what to call it. you always make me want to know more, even though i've known you forever. since we were kids, [y/n]—i've felt like this for years. and, i'm sorry. i'm sorry for not telling you earlier, for not telling you when i told you about the whole spiderman thing.

"i'm such an idiot for making you worry. someone who loves you shouldn't do that to you, i shouldn't do that to you. and, god [y/n]—i love you so much. you're this force of nature, you know? drawing me in, even though it's dangerous. and, even though i'm terrified of what the consequences might be, i love you so much that i'm afraid to die without saying it at least once.

"i'm—i'm so sorry for being so stupid, because—" jungwon whispers with a shaky voice, teetering on the edge of consciousness, "i love you, [y/n]. i love you."

jungwon's hearing is fading in and out, and his vision is growing blurry; but, the sounds of your footsteps accompanied by the incessant drone of his phone keeps him from slipping into that overwhelming darkness. you take in a sharp breath, and his head lolls in your direction. jungwon's lips are molded into a mindless, faraway smile; his eyes are misted over, foggy with both pain and fatigue. he's not all there, but he still manages to be cheerful. it astounds you.

rushing over to begin applying all the first aid supplies you managed to stuff into your backpack. wound-wash, gauze, bandage, wound-wash, gauze, bandage, wound-wash gauze bandage, wound-washgauzebandage. the sheer amount of blood that has been leeched from his body makes you dizzy; your head is spinning as you try to calculate just how many pints would be equal to what you've just sopped up. glancing up at your best friend (crush? lover?) you see that his eyes have drooped shut. his skin is pallid, his lips are pale, his neck is craned at an awkward angle as it rests on his shoulder. and, your heart stops because you didn't get to say it back.

"no. no, no, no ... won—jungwon, wake up!" a storm brews in your stomach. it starts as a mellow rain pattering against the lining of your intestines, then becomes a raging tempest as it bubbles up and out of your throat. "please, please, please! i got here in time, i swear—i never cared about the stupid, fucking calc test! i cared about you, i care about you! and, i'm here now, so you can't leave. you can't leave me."

an inhuman shriek claws through your lips, ricocheting against the brick walls that seem to be caving in around you; the weight of the world crashes into your frail shoulders, threatening to crush you. as you inch even closer to jungwon's shrouded figure, your pants are soaked through with a crude mixture of blood and rainwater. you reach out for him and cup his cheek with a trembling hand, and part of you swears his skin is still warm to the touch.

but, hope has no place here.

instead, you cradle his head and heave his body to rest against yours. he is astonishingly heavy; you can feel his muscles ripple beneath the tips of your fingers, but you're already convinced. your best friend is dead. slowly, the cement will absorb his heat, and he will grow cold. as the morning draws nigh, you will be forced to put his mask back on and leave him for someone else to find. then, the news articles will pour in, and the city will have stolen not only his life, but his death as well. tears are wetting his scalp as you bury your nose into his sweat-caked hair. you're gripping at his suit so hard you think the threads might snap, and the throbbing in your head is nothing compared to the agony in your heart.

the wailing doesn't stop until, in your peripherals, you see his finger twitch. sucking a staggering breath through his nose, jungwon cracks open a tired eye to gaze up at you. "i would—" he coughs out with a wince, "i would never leave you."

in your stupor, his voice doesn't register first. his mouth moves, but no sound escapes him; then, the words play over again in your mind while his lips remain closed. seconds melt into minutes, and you float away from your body. a numbness overtakes you as you stare at the scene before you from about five feet away; your fingers are still clutching at the suit fibers, the pajamas you chose earlier tonight are now saturated with blood, and jungwon is breathing. jungwon is breathing. jungwon is breathing.

snapping back into yourself, you place a weak hand on his chest. steadily, certainly—it rises and falls; the beating of his heart, though shallow and slow, thrums beneath your palm. shifting your stare to his face, you are greeted once again by a familiar, wry smile. jungwon is alive. despite all odds, the boy you love is alive; and, try as you might, you can't really help yourself.

"[y/n]?" he croaks, quirking the eyebrow above his less swollen eye, "can you hear—"

"i love you, too."

the utterance dangles precariously in the frigid midnight air. jungwon's lack of response causes your stomach to churn until he relexes further into your frame, huffing out a pained laugh. he lets himself rest for a moment, relishing in the warmth he manages to leech from your skin. "it wasn't ... wasn't supp—supposed to happen like this, you know?" jungwon protests, voice catching on his fatigue and discomfort. "i ... had everything planned—planned out."

"won, you don't—"

baring his teeth, he lifts a hand to hold the one you kept on his chest and barrels through your objection. "i was gonna take you to the met ... gonna take you for a pic—a picnic in central park." jungwon sputters, pressing his forehead against your upper arm, "then, we would swing ... back to your apartment. 'nd, i was gonna tell—tell you. tell you about how i feel."

still supporting his neck with your arm, you move to take his face in your palm once more. jungwon's gaze is sharper than it was just minutes ago—more focused, more alert. the emotions swirling in those deep pools of raw umber are more multitudinous than the stars they reflect. gratitude, torment, joy, defeat, love. bridging the gap that had separated the two of you for so long, you stop just shy of his lips. a dynamic heat emanates from them; jungwon is practically vibrating under your touch, living and breathing.

"are you okay?" you ask, "is this okay?"

jungwon answers by pushing himself up—closing the distance, sharing your breath, connecting your souls. salt and iron dance on his tongue as your tears mingle with his blood. it's a hypnotizing concoction—one that threatens to send him reeling, one that threatens to have him spinning out with no hope of return. fireworks explode behind his eyelids, a myriad of bright reds and vibrant oranges blinds him, and jungwon uses what is left of his strength to grip your wrist; he grounds himself and allows his lungs to burn as he breathes you in.

after a while, however, your parting is instinctual as the lack of oxygen forces you apart—two bodies trying to preserve themselves long enough to meet again. with a labored sigh, jungwon slumps backwards and tucks his chin to catch your gaze. in that moment, he finds himself frozen; his essence is suspended motionless, positively bewitched by you. in the silence, where all he can sense is you, jungwon embraces the ever-present warmth that has flourished within him. it floods his being with a terrifyingly powerful adoration for you. it is nothing like he has ever felt before, and though he is brave enough to confess, this extent of his love for you—it scares him.

however, as your skin glows in the light of the moon and your eyes pool with the desire for a future with him, jungwon digs his feet in and roots your love deep within his heart. he refuses to let this fear grow in its place; instead, he vows to nurture it, to care for it, to protect it. as he lies in your arms, jungwon rejects the sublime once more and chooses for himself.

"i love you, [y/n]," he whispers into your palm.

the world seems to go quiet as it listens for your response.

"i love you, too, jungwon."

#enhypen fluff #enha fluff #jungwon fluff #enhypen headcanons #; — cass writes: jungwon #enhypen #jungwon headcanons #jungwon imagines #jungwon reactions #enha scenarios #enha imagines #enha angst #enhypen angst #enha x reader #jungwon x reader

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