#hope is an painful illusion | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

astarionslittletreat · 7 months

Text

Sunrise

Astarion x female reader/Tav

Rating: Explicit

You must be 18 years or older to interact with this post in any way

Word Count: 5.7k

Tags: smut, slight end game spoilers, Astarion good ending spoilers, mentions of past abuse/abuser, sex, piv sex, oral sex, cuteness, fangs, biting, over-stimulation, bleeding, blood, blood drinking

Summary: Astarion and the reader share an intimate morning together as they contemplate their past, present, and future together.

Read on AO3

It's the early hours of dawn, just before sunrise. The sky was deep purple just an hour ago, but now it’s transforming into shades of indigo and blue. A faint glow threatens to spill over the city walls, to wash away the final vestiges of night. It's been a while since you've greeted the sun like this, not that you never see her at all anymore. After all, if something needs done during the daylight, you take care of it without issue. But that's all business. Just fleeting glances as you move through the crowded streets of Baldur's Gate. This right now, during the quiet hours of dawn, this is pleasure. This is you waking, nude, on the forest floor after your first night with Astarion. This is the sun’s rays warming your bodies before the two of you sneak back into camp. This is Astarion’s eyes glinting in the light, like that shared goblet of Arabella Dry at the Tiefling party.

Your heart yearns for the sun like you yearn for the past. You see your small smile reflected in the window as you continue to watch the sky change. A dozen-dozen heartbeats pass, and then the soft golden honey of the morning sun caresses the rooftops of the city, before spilling down onto the streets below. The heartache in your chest fades to nothing as the sun fully crests the horizon to kiss your face, a mere phantom in comparison to what you have now. The moment is over for you. You’ve had your fill and you begin to feel the fingers of sleep coaxing you to rest.

“Do you miss it, darling?" Astarion calls out to you from your bed, well out of view from the sun. "The daylight that is.”

Untying your silk robe, you let the soft fabric slip from your shoulders to pool at your feet. Both the sun and your lover lovingly gaze at your sun dappled curves. "It's strange," you muse, holding your hand up as if to catch the morning light. "I have so many memories of you in the sun, but no. You're the only thing I ever miss." You take a few moments, eyes squinting through the brightness to watch the people begin to fill the streets before pulling the heavy curtain firmly close. “And besides–” You turn to your love. He’s artfully draped himself, nude, across the plush pillows that adorn your bed. A deliberate attempt at making himself look all the more enticing. “How could the sun ever hope to compete with my dear Astarion’s beauty?”

He beams at your compliment, practically preening at the attention. Reaching out, he proffers his hand for you to take. It fits neatly in his as you let him pull you, gently leading you back to bed, back to him. It's a gallant gesture as your eyes readjust to the darkness of the room. A yawn begins to creep its way up and you only just manage to stifle it as Astarion draws your back to his chest. His pale, strong arms wrap around you as he presses you close, holding you tight. There weren't any cuddles the first night, or in the weeks that followed as you let him feed on you, but back then there wasn't anything real between you at all. Just lies and illusions and unending uncertainty. But somehow, by some miraculous blessing, you were able to earn his trust, just as he earned yours.

“Now you know that’s not what I meant, darling.” He leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. “Though, please continue to remind me of how beautiful I am. Your words almost make up for how useless mirrors are to me.” You hear the smirk in his tone alongside the underlying truth. Uncertainty. As much as Astarion tries to hide his past pain, to pretend he’s fine and not hurting, you know the scars will never truly leave. Even after death, Cazador still manages to find a way to torture Astarion, and it drives you fucking insane with rage. It takes you a moment to collect your feelings. There’s no room for this in the bedchamber, or in your heart. Anger and sorrow will do nothing but more harm and that’s the last thing you wish to bestow upon Astarion. All he wants–all he needs is an answer to the question he left unasked. It's not difficult for you to understand. He wants to make sure you don’t regret your decision to stay with him–worried that he’s not enough. He’s worried if this is what you truly want. That he’s not trapped you, or worse, that you’re staying with him out of some fucked up feeling of guilt or pity. He won’t admit that he’s terrified of hearing your answer even if he knows in his heart what it’ll be. That’s why he doesn’t ask what he really wants to know. That’s why he wears his mask of smiles as he plays with your hair between his dexterous fingers. He’s content to pretend, but there’s no way you can leave him like this. Just floundering inside his heart while he holds you in his arms. For the briefest moment you’re almost tempted to fall asleep like this. Wrapped in Astarion’s embrace, snuggled peacefully in your bed together, but you know that after all this time, a part of Astarion still seeks your assurance.

“I miss it, the sun, the people, our friends–” Astarion freezes, as still as a statue, and suddenly the room feels cold. His muscles jerk in a way that alludes to him not knowing whether or not to pull away or hold you tighter. Reluctant to let you slip away from him, he’s afraid that this will be the last time he has to hold you. Silly elf. “But it’s not in the way you think, my love. It’s purely nostalgia. I was just reminiscing about our early days. When we first met, when we first had sex, traveling together, and unsure which day was going to be our last." Your mind drifts, gravitating to fonder memories. “The first time we made love. Your grave. I–,” The threat of tears begins to rise in your throat so you cut yourself off. Again, there is no sadness in you. Just the overwhelming feeling of love for Astarion. Of feeling like you’ve found the place you both belong.

"I wouldn’t stop you, darling. I won’t keep you here, all for myself, if that is something you no longer wished for. If you ever–do decide you've had enough of me. Or even if you could no longer stand to spend your waking hours in the cold night. I would understand."

"Astarion!" The incredulity in your tone is a good mockery of Astarion’s own frequent ostentatiousness. He’s gone too far. This line of teasing isn’t any fun and, truthfully, it hurts to imagine leaving after striving so hard to live your life together. After ensuring your love is real, and strong, and brighter than any sunrise you could imagine. You move to chastise him quickly, turning in his arms as best you can to face him. Pressing your palms to his chest, you glower, face set into an angry scowl before you realize. His red eyes are overflowing with sorrow and self-loathing. And all at once, your anger melts into nothing. “My love,” you whisper as you press chaste kisses to the shadows under his eyes, and even though you’re the one being held, you wrap your arms around Astarion’s neck to bring him close. Your bodies move instinctually, the embrace being frequent and familiar as Astarion rests his lips against your neck. You card your fingers through his silky curls. There’s no intention of feeding at the moment, though. It’s just the two of you basking in your gentle love, relaxing into the moment.

“Do you remember, before making it back to Baldur’s Gate together, that godforsaken shadow cursed land we had to traverse?”

“Shit, don’t remind me.” Astarion scoffs, pulling back to look at you. His eyes roll in mirth, fangs flashing from behind his lips. “I know our dear Shadowheart was right at home with all the doom and gloom, and while I too am a fan of darkness and the macabre–I prefer to be the only creature lurking in the night, hunting for their next meal. That entire place was far too crowded for my tastes.”

“Not to mention Raphael, or the horrors of the Cult of the Absolute,” you trivialize in jest.

Astarion leans in close. His soft lips brush over the sensitive skin of your neck as he speaks. “Or that vile drow who sought to use me because of what I am.” The venom in his voice is dampened by the reverence in the kiss he places on your neck. “There is only one person I feed on and I have her right–here.”His hand is in your hair, his breath is hot on your neck, and your heart is suddenly choking you, pounding in your throat. His fangs barely scrape your skin and you know that you only have to say the word–.

“Yes,” you breathe. There’s never any pain. Just a light pressure as Astarion’s fangs sink softly into your flesh, and then a swooping sensation as your blood is being pulled to his lips. The familiar feeling of lightheadedness begins to return. It’s nothing light that first night. No, this is controlled, worshipful even as he savors your blood on his lips and tongue. You don’t need to tell him to stop before your fingers go numb and your heart flutters in protest. He’ll stop long before there’s any danger, no matter how much he may tease otherwise. It’s easy to relax and go limp, trusting Astarion fully as he cradles your body reverently.

Far too soon Astarion stops feeding from you. “Delicious,” his moan makes you shiver. Blood begins to slowly trail from your twin puncture wounds, painting your neck crimson. Astarion isn’t one to waste a precious gift that you offer so freely to him, however. He makes quick work of the mess. Devouring it all until it’s just his tongue on your skin, traveling the length of your neck, chasing the way your body shivers. Overwhelmed from the unique mixture of pleasure and pain that makes your head spin and your body hot. Gods, you love this man. He’s so, he’s just so, so–

“W–wait. Astarion, wait,” you weakly plead for his attention, grabbing at his shoulder. You feel him smile before scraping his teeth on your skin, refusing to stop. The devious vampire did this on purpose and he knows he’s been caught red-handed, or well, rather red-lipped as he continues to playfully bite at you. Astarion just hums into the curve of your neck, refusing to acknowledge that he’s been found out. “Hey!” You laugh defeatedly as Astarion kisses the shell of your ear. “Stop trying to distract me!”

Astarion’s lips find your jaw before traveling over your cheekbones. You close your eyes and he places kisses there as well before finding your mouth. Trying his very best to lure you into parting your lips for him. “I rather think you’re the distracting one, my dear.”

“I’m trying to tell you something and I want you to listen, please.” Glaring, you hold his red gaze in yours and his perfect, bloodstained lips fall into a pout that’s just a little too perfect. Another ploy. Your head is still slightly spinning, but through sheer force of will you begin to collect your thoughts. The need to kiss away his frown, however sly it might be, is strong, but he needs to hear what you have to tell him. “As sad and as miserable as that entire place was–if for some reason that’s where you were, where Astarion decided to be, I would also–”

“You mustn't worry about that, darling. I wouldn’t be caught dead, or rather, undead in a place like that ever again.”

“Hush,” You try to quiet him by pressing your fingers to his lips. A poor decision in hindsight as Astarion instantly kisses them. Running his tongue along your fingertips, trying his hardest to distract you once more. “Stop! Listen–just wait a second. I’m trying to be sweet to you.”

“Oh, I know exactly just how sweet you are.” Astarion’s voice drops as he slips into seducing you. “So much so that I rather think I’d like another bite.”

“Yes, yes. I know. Your “little treat”.” Reclaiming your fingers from Astarion’s greedy mouth, you cup his too handsome face. Willing him to listen to you. “The only thing I wish for in life, in death, in whatever time I’m given, is to be with you. Wherever and however I can. I love you and never once have I regretted my love or wished it away.” You’ll tell him of your love every second of every day if that’s what it takes. If that’s what makes him smile like this, dazzling and warmer than anything the sun has ever graced you with. You stretch your head up and kiss him. You kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. You kiss him until the need for air demands your attention and you break free to refill your lungs.

Astarion rests his forehead to yours, curly locks obscuring his hungry gaze underneath, as he catches his breath. Your chests heave in unison, breathing life into the fiery tension blazing between your bodies. One moment you’re both still, wrapped in each other's embrace, and the next the room spins as Astarion wraps a leg around your hip, rolling you until you lay on your back. He’s straddled your hip, pinning you underneath. His eyes are hungry as he looms over you, his disheveled curls haloing him in the dim light. Astarion drags a hand down your collarbone, delicately tracing the veins under your skin before gently cupping your breast. A flick of his wrist has you gasping as he plays with your nipple. You can’t help but thrust your hips up, seeking the attention that Astarion is teasing. He ignores your silent plea, stilling his hand until you follow suit.

“You’re not playing fair.” You halfheartedly complain, willing your body to calm.

“I never promised that I would, my sweet.” You don’t know what god or goddess you should pray to to thank them for bringing you Astarion, but you’re a devout believer. “Now stay still, or I might bite.” He flashes his fangs at you. It’s not a real threat. He’d never actually bite you without your consent, but the tease still sends shivers down your spine. Coursing through your body until they land, pulsing deeply in your cunt. Astarion leans forward, an illusion of a predator cornering their prey. His soft cock begins to harden as he cups your face in both of his hands. Cradling you as if you’re something breakable, something precious. Astarion swipes his thumb across your cheek as he stares into your eyes–as if it’s the first time he’s seen the sunrise. “I love you.”

Astarion pounces, taking you down with a devastatingly deep kiss. If kisses were ambrosia you’d have been drunk ages ago. And still you want more. You need more of him. His heart, his touch, gods above, you need his cock that’s pressed between your thigh and his abdomen, but Astarion refuses to stop kissing you or to move into a more accessible position. He slides his tongue into your mouth, licking you open until you writhe and squirm with a need that burns so hot it overpowers your senses. But even still, Astarion doesn’t relent. He presses on, moving from your mouth back down to your throat where he begins to suck bruises to your sensitive skin. Out of pure desperation, you grasp at his back until your fingers graze his scars before moving to grip his shoulders. You clutch him to you just as passionately as he kisses you. It takes everything inside of you not to bust and fade away into the Weave as Astarion uses his weight to keep you pinned to the bed. His lips move from your throat and for one solitary second you think he might give you what you need, but no. Instead, he works his way along your jaw, tracing you with his mouth until he finds the place under your ear that drives you wild.

“Fuck–please! Astarion—” His cock, hard and weeping now, rests on your stomach. Pressed between your bodies as Astarion rolls his hips. Clenching, you feel your arousal dripping out to stain the sheets below. You’re wet, so unbearably wet and empty and aching for him to fill you. You’re pleading and your moans do nothing to sway the elf, though you know the bastard hears you. His pointed ears twitch as you cry out for him, but he continues to hold you down. Unwilling to pull back even an inch to separate himself from you. You manage to angle your arm just enough to get a solid handful of his hair, and begin to pull. Slowly but firmly enough that his head raises just enough to make eye contact, and as you do, you feel his cock throb with need. He likes this.

“Oh fu–ck!” Astarion’s shameless cry comes out sticky sweet from his throat, Adam’s apple quivering prominently. He sounds drunk. He looks it too. The expression on his face is close to ecstasy before you accidentally lose your hold on his hair. Too turned on and thoroughly debauched to be able to concentrate on keeping your grip. Not when he shifts his hips to create a delicious friction between your slick pussy and his engorged cock. You chase the feeling, grinding against him as best you can, but to no avail. You’re still pinned beneath him. Hips and thighs locked. Both you and Astarion are reduced to base instincts as his rigid cock slides over your clit once more before contact is lost. This isn’t fucking working. You’re only briefly aware of the pillows being pushed to the floor, shoved away by Astarion to make better room for your head, before his hand reaches down. He shifts and forces your leg over his hip. He’s a man consumed by desire. His need for you.

Astarion hovers over you, his crimson eyes piercing you through your heart as you reach for him, aiming to pull him back down for another taste of his ambrosia lips. Instead he captures your hand in his and pulls it to his bloodstained mouth. He sweeps gentle kisses over your knuckles before intertwining his fingers with yours and pins it to the mattress. His other hand finds your thigh, grasping tightly before guiding your knee to your chest. Opening and exposing your pussy for him to slide his cock against your entrance. “That’s it darling,” he encourages you. Praising you as he slides against you, slowly dragging his cock along your wet slit. The head of his cock catches, and without hesitation, Astarion presses in. It’s blissful and devastating as Astarion finally fucking fills you. Sliding in on one long stroke to fully seat you on his cock. He doesn’t pull out, just gently grinds against you. His smooth skin and throbbing cock caressing you until your breath leaves. Whisked away by your lover, leaving you with blurry vision and a spinning room. “Now, now. We can’t have that.” Astarion rolls his hips, wonderfully grinding against your folds and bringing friction that your clit so desperately desires. The sensation makes you gasp, forcing you to gulp down air, reminding you that you’re here–now. Very much alive and not in heaven, no matter how much it feels like you are.

“Astarion–”

You’re not sure if he’s listening. Flaming eyes and a silent snarl are all that he gives you besides a deep guttural moan as he continues to fuck you. It’s slow and brutal and entirely different from any performance he puts on. This isn’t Astarion trying to pretend to be anything other than the vampire–the man that he is. Desperate and extraordinarily dangerous as he claims you for himself. Your orgasm taunts you. Haunting you from the edges, and you want it so fucking bad, but you also couldn’t care any less. It’s now, it’s this moment, it’s Astarion who holds your attention in his iron grasp. Ruining you with his love. You hear the wet sounds of your pussy as he fucks into you. Pushing more of your arousal out of your cunt with his cock. He lets go of your hand and leans in close, snaking his arm under the small of your back. Using his vampiric strength, Astarion pulls on you, just enough that your hips shift to a new glorious angle. One that has him hitting a spot that makes you go feral underneath him as his pelvis grinds against your clit on every stroke. He keeps his other hand firmly under your knee, pushing your leg into a position that stretches your hips. It all feels so fucking good.

Astarion’s taut, muscular body moves over you. He’s graceful even now as he holds you, fucking you rhythmically. You clench around him, wordlessly asking him for more, and he raises his head. Fangs snapping in the air, muscles tensing in his neck as Astarion tries hopelessly to hold on to his senses. A half-baked idea forms in your dazed brain. You don’t stop to think it through, you can’t. You just act, throwing your arm around Astarion’s neck, pulling him close until you have him right where you want him. You sink your blunt teeth into the side of his neck. Your vampiric imitation pales in comparison to the true thing. Only biting hard enough to bruise his delicate moonlight skin. The moment you bite down on Astarion’s neck, you feel his cock throbbing inside of you. His breath hitches in your ear as you press your tongue against his skin and a soft moan escapes his lips.

“Fuck–” he growls through gritted fangs. Dropping your leg, Astarion moves his hands to the curve of your hips. Holding on tight, and pinning you down as you continue your mock feeding. “Fancy yourself a vampire now, darling?” You bite down harder in agreement and Astarion melts in your arms. Moaning as you claim him as yours in return. “I think not,” he protests, and for a second you think it’s an empty threat. It feels like he’s close, like he’s struggling to keep from falling over the edge. That is until he starts to move again, fucking your pussy like a goddamn promise. “I’m the only blood sucker you’ll find in this bed, darling, and I’m going to eat you right up.” Before you know what’s happened, Astarion has hold of both your legs, knees propped over his strong shoulders. He circles your aching clit with his thumb as he savagely fucks you. Tits bouncing from the force, sliding you up the bed on every thrust. You feel the spit that streaks your lips as you gasp out for him. It’s too intense–too much all at once. You try to hold on, to stop your orgasm from slamming into. Astarion gives you a saccharine smile. "You sound so adorable when you're trying not to come."

You beg.

You curse.

You come.

Gushing on his cock, your body is electrified, and you fall. Blood rushes in your ears so loudly you can’t hear anything. Your senses thrust you into a burning pit of pleasure as Astarion forces you down further. Spiraling until you find yourself caught, supported in Astarion’s arms. An uncomfortable wetness coats your legs and part or Astarion’s stomach but you can’t find the motivation to care because somehow, he’s still moving. He's held on long enough to fuck you through you orgasm. Giving your pussy long, even strokes as he chases his high. His ethereal face is close and so you take him with your lips. Kissing him, licking his fangs, until you feel his cock pulsing, overfilling you until his spend leaks out from around his cock. Adding to the mess.You feel like you’re floating. Exhausted, yes, but happy and ready to sleep. The mess will keep till nightfall when it’s time to wake, but Astarion shows no sign of slowing.

“No, my love. You're doing so well for me, but I’m not done with you yet.” Grabbing a pillow from the floor, Astarion cups your head, lifting it for you to place the cushion underneath before tenderly laying you back down. He slides down your body, lavishing you with attention. Forcing you to stay in the present with him by kissing your dips and curves. Any place he finds on your body he marks it for himself. Kneeling between your legs he softly coaxes you open. His spent cock rests half hard but bobs in excitement as he spreads the lips of your soaked pussy, licking his lips like he's being presented with a feast in his honor. The air from the room feels cold and uncomfortable on your wet entrance, covered in the sticky slick remnants of your lovemaking. It makes you clench involuntarily and more of Astarion leaks out of you. Astarion looks ruined at the sight of you. His perfect features contort into agonized lust before he leans in.

“Wait! No I’m too–” He doesn’t listen. Astarion leans down and wraps his lips around your mound. You can’t help the way your body jerks at the first swipe of his tongue on your oversensitive pussy. He’s cleaning the mess he's made of you. His sharp fangs are hot pinpricks on your skin that further blur the line of pleasure and pain you’re walking down. Another swipe of Astarion’s tongue has you twisting, kicking your legs to pull away. You move higher up on the bed, willing space for your body to recover. “Please, I need a minute. ”

Astarion reaches up, catches your ankle in his firm grasp, and pulls. His strength makes it look easy as he drags you, clutching at the traitorous bed sheets in desperation, to his parted lips. “I said I’d eat you up darling, and frankly, I’m still absolutely famished.” His voice is gravel but yours is fire as he begins to eat his fill of you. This time you’re unable to pull away. He’s wrapped his arms around your thighs, locking your cunt to his mouth so he can eat you like a piece of fruit that drips down his lips and chin. Saccharine sweet and delicious as Astarion consumes you. Fucking you with his tongue. Licking your nectar coated skin and sucking you between his teeth.

You lack any leverage to fight back, to twist away. Your entire lower half is being held up off the bed by the vampire feasting on your pussy. If you sincerely asked for him to let you go, to set you back down you know he would, but you can’t force yourself to say the words. You don’t want to. You want this. Astarion knows you want this as you gasp, muscles clenching while he sucks your clit between his lips. His breath is hot flames that lick along your scorched nerves. “That’s it, love. You can give me one more, can’t you darling.”

Yes, you think, or maybe you agree out loud because you hear Astarion chuckle before kissing his praise into cunt. For a second you’re confused as he pulls back again, wondering why he’s stopped. But then Astarion adjusts his grip on you, making sure your leg is solidly hooked over his shoulder, before he slides two fingers into your pussy. “Ah! P-please,” you’re not sure what you’re asking for, but Astarion gives it to you all the same. Scissoring his fingers, he strokes your cunt. Gently trying to coax out your pleasure, caressing your insides until you sing. his lips find your folds once more. His devastating accuracy brings you over the edge in moments. You’re left gasping, head spinning as the position Astarion holds you in makes it hard to breathe. It takes him a few moments, his lips busy kissing your pussy, his tongue lapping your mess, before he eases you back down into the ruined silk sheets. His mouth finds yours and you taste yourself on his lips, bitter in comparison to how thoroughly sweet he’s being.

You feel dazed–and elated. Your body floats somewhere between the heavens and the earth. Entwined together with Astarion who holds you close, refusing to let you go, but you don’t mind. His skin, though warm, is still much cooler than yours. It feels wonderful as your heartbeat begins to slow, your breathing returning to normal. Turning your head just so brings Astarion’s lips back to yours and the easy kisses you share almost bring tears to your eyes. Blinking them away is easy though as Astarion deepens the kiss, parting your lips so gently you don’t realize what’s happening at first. Not until you feel Astarion shifting his hips to slide his engorged cock along your entrance once more. You part easily for him, sending shivers of over-stimulation mixed with desire through every limb. There is no rush this time. Just a few languid strokes that have you gasping into Astarion’s mouth before he stills. Even while kissing you, you can see the smirk on his face as he allows you to adjust to holding him inside. Laying there together, connected in the deepest sense. Warming each other with limbs and lips entangled. “What the hell has gotten into you?” You don’t really expect an answer from Astarion as he seems to be preoccupied with lavishing attention across your collarbone.

“I’ve decided to reclaim the day for myself. It’s what I’m owed,” he sulks, looking up at you through his pretty eyelashes, but you can hear the sincerity behind his words. Yes. Yes, Astarion is owed the day. The sun. That and so much more, but not all of it is within your power to give. But this–this you can do. His ruby eyes sparkle in the candlelight as they dance along your face. Your answering smile stuns him into silence.

*************************

The sun has long since set as you stifle a yawn. Nostalgia returns once more. It’s been ages since the night meant it was time to rest, but the elf who’s at fault for keeping you up all day looks positively happy. So you let your complaints remain silent as you gaze at your lover. A heavy tomb rests in his lap and a gold chalice clutched in his delicate hand is filled with either wine or blood. You can’t tell from your position across the room. Reluctantly, you glance back down to the delicately looping script on the thick parchment in front of you. The letter is from Gale, back in his tower in Waterdeep. You’ve been trying to read it for the last half hour, but Astarion is just, so distracting. Honestly, anything could distract you from Gale going on about his Tressym, but Astarion seems to be especially good at it. That is until your eyes catch a few words that make you excited.

“Astarion.”

“Yes, darling?” He answers, eyes slow to leave the pages of his book.

“How would you feel about visiting with Gale for a bit?”

Astarion doesn’t try to hide the disinterest on his face at all as he turns his attention back to his reading. “No.”

“It’s just that–wait. No?” His answer takes you completely off guard. “What do you mean no?”

He heaves a sigh into his book. “I suppose if he were to come here that would be fine with me, but I’m far too busy this evening to travel all the way down to the Lower City just to visit with Gale.”

“Busy?” you laugh. “What do you have planned that makes you “too busy” to see a friend?”

“First of all,” he interjects. Head raising until he adopts a pose of self-importance. “‘Friend’ is much too strong of a descriptor for my relationship with that wizard. At most we are merely,” his graceful fingers swirl about until he finds the words he’s searching for, “–former work associates at best.”

“Oh is that so?” you say, smiling up at the hill you know Astarion is about to come down from.

“And besides, what if I get a bit peckish later tonight?” He pouts, coyly looking up at you through his eyelashes. “Neither one of us would like Gale around for that.”

“Well you’re being very greedy tonight, and I can’t say I don’t like it either,” you shoot him a look before unburying the lead. “But Gale isn’t in Baldur’s Gate, love. He’s invited us to his tower in Waterdeep.”

“Why would we travel all the way to Waterdeep just to see Gale fawn over his cat?”

You hold out the thick parchment letter with Gale’s elegant handwriting for him to look over. “Apparently, Gale and Tara have a lead on a cure for your sun sensitivity–” Astarion is out of his seat, book falling heavily to the floor, and by your side in an instant. He snatches the letter from your hand, reading Gale’s words for himself. You put on an air of indifference. “But if you really don’t want to go visit an old ‘work associate’, I understand.”

“Now now now, my love. Let’s not be hasty.” You roll your eyes. “Gale is a dear friend of ours! And I hear that Waterdeep is beautiful this time of year, not as beautiful as I am, of course, but that would be expecting far too much I suppose.” You let Astarion read on, absorbing the message for himself. “Well,” he says as he reaches the end, signed with your friend’s love. “It seems our wizard has been busy. Very busy, if he has a possible solution for you too.”

“I’m not worried about that just yet, but it’s nice to know I might be able to stick around longer than I thought possible.” Astarion caresses your cheek, allowing you space in the same way you provide for him. “I think I’m ready for another adventure though. It’s been a while since anyone’s tried to murder us. What do you think, love?”

He bends down, placing a soft kiss on your lips. “I’m ready to have some fun,” he smiles. Fangs and all.

#astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate astarion #baldur’s gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate #reader insert #fanfic #astarionslittletreat #astarion ancunin

2K notes · View notes

scarletspider2the2ndpower · 2 years

Text

“The Truth,” Spider-Man: The Lost Years (Vol. 1/1995), #3.

Writer: J. M. DeMatteis; Penciler: John Romita, Jr.; Inker: Klaus Janson; Colorist: Christie Scheele; Letterer: Richard Starkings

#Marvel #Marvel comics #Marvel 616 #Spider-Man: The Lost Years #Kaine #Kaine Parker #Louise Kennedy #Ben Reilly #this just in: to absolutely no one’s surprise (unfortunately) Kaine is Going Through It #in about every possible way too #Homeboy’s experiencing new frontiers in physical pain as well as a whole new spectrum of nihilism that comes with getting your heart broken #RIP poor dude #I also sometimes wonder how much of this is not just “hope and salvation are illusions”#but rather more “hope and salvation are illusions for ‘people’ like me”

0 notes

fragileheartbeats · 4 months

Text

໒꒱ ⌒ ｡ 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐄 ★ · ⟆ ﹏！

⠀ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ﹙🪽﹚ 夢のような放心状態 ୨ৎ . . .

ㅤ ♡ᰍㅤ۪ㅤartist : ﹫kyokawa_22 on Twitterㅤ۫ㅤ𔓘ㅤ꒱

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀꒰͡ ⠀ ִ 𝐽 𝐽 𝐾 𝑀 𝑒 𝑛 𝑥 𝐹 𝑒 𝑚 𝑅 𝑒 𝑎 𝑑 𝑒 𝑟 ⠀ׂ ⠀ ͡꒱

ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ♡ㅤ𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶ㅤ۫ㅤ𝅄ㅤೀ

— 𝘚𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘶, 𝘔𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘮𝘪, 𝘠𝘶𝘫𝘪, 𝘚𝘶𝘬𝘶𝘯𝘢, 𝘒𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰, 𝘚𝘶𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘶, 𝘛𝘰𝘫𝘪, 𝘊𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘰, 𝘠𝘶𝘵𝘢, 𝘛𝘰𝘨𝘦 <3

˚꒰🌼꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 | 五条悟 ─ 𓇼 . ♡𝆬

The sun sets low on the horizon, As he looks at his lover with love, His heart beating with a passionate rhythm, As he watches the gentle curves of her face.

With each passing moment, his love grows, Filling him with a warmth he cannot deny, He longs to hold her close, never letting go, For she is the missing piece to his puzzle.

Her eyes, like pools of deep e/c, Captivate him and hold his gaze, He cannot look away, for fear of losing, The one thing that brings him happiness.

The soft breeze carries her laughter, And it soothes his weary soul, For in her presence, he feels whole, And all his troubles are forgotten.

He remembers the first time they met, And how her smile lit up his world, He knew from that moment on, That she was the one he had been searching for.

The way her hair falls around her face, Glistening in the fading light, It takes his breath away, And he counts his blessings for having her in his life.

He reaches out to touch her, But she is just an illusion in his mind, For she is gone, never to return, And his heart breaks all over again.

Tears fall silently down his cheeks, As he watches her fade into the night, He knows he can never truly have her, But still, he holds on to their memories tight.

For even though she is not physically there, She will always hold a special place in his heart, And the love that he feels for her, Will never truly die, even when they are apart.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 | 伏黒恵 ─ 𔒌 . ♡𝆬

He stands there in awe, watching her every move, Mesmerized by her beauty, so graceful and smooth. His lover, his confidant, his greatest treasure, His heart beats faster, his love knows no measure. Her eyes, like stars, shining so bright, Her smile, like sunshine, chasing away the night. He can't help but smile, feeling so blessed, To have her in his life, his love always confessed. She looks at him with those eyes, full of love, And he can't believe it's real, like a gift from above. His heart swells with emotions, too great to contain, He knows in that moment, nothing can ever cause him pain. He takes her hand, and pulls her close, Feeling her warmth, he's loves overdose. Her touch, her scent, fills his soul, He knows in her arms, he's finally whole. He whispers sweet words, words of love, And she listens, like an angel from above. Her voice, like music, soothes his soul, Making him feel complete, making him feel whole. He kisses her lips, so soft and sweet, Their love so pure, their love so deep. He never wants to let her go, For she's the one who makes his heart glow. As they dance under the stars, in each other's embrace, He knows in her arms, is his favorite place. His love for her, limitless and true, For she's his everything, his lover, his muse. And as the night comes to an end, He looks at her with love, his best friend. He knows in his heart, this love will never fade, For she's his everything, his lover, his soulmate.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐘𝐔𝐉𝐈 𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈 | 虎杖悠仁 ─ 𓐐𓎩 . ♡𝆬

He sat there, gazing at her with pure adoration, His heart overflowing with love, no hesitation. Watching her every move, his eyes never stray, For her beauty captivates him in every single way. From the way her hair falls, to the curve of her smile, He could watch her for hours, never tiring, not even for a while. Her eyes, a sea of emotion, shining bright, Reflecting the depth of their love, with each and every light. As she moves gracefully, like a ballerina in a dream, He's lost in the moment, nothing else in his mind seems. Her laughter, like music, a symphony in his ears, Bringing him joy and happiness, beyond his wildest fears. With every breath she takes, his heart beats a little faster, Her presence, a blessing, filling his life with laughter. Her touch, like magic, igniting a fire within, A love so pure, it feels almost like a sin. He can't imagine a life without her by his side, For she's his everything, his heart, his soul, his pride. As she looks at him with those eyes, so filled with trust, He knows in that moment, their love is more than just. He reaches for her hand, intertwining their fingers, Feeling a sense of completeness, as his heart lingers. Their love, a bond that surpasses all boundaries, A love that will withstand any life's uncertainties. In this world full of chaos, she's his sense of calm, She's his light in the dark, his healing balm. Every day, he thanks the stars above, For blessing him with a love so pure, and a lover to love.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 | 宿儺 ─ 𓇢𓆸 . ♡𝆬

The room is dim and cold, But his gaze burns like fire. Staring at her with love untold, His heart filled with desire. Though his nature is cruel, Her beauty softens his heart. And in her eyes, he sees a jewel, A priceless piece of art. He knows his faults, But she sees past them all. In her arms, he halts, As she breaks down his wall. He never thought he'd feel, Anything but rage and hate. But with her, it's all so real, A love that he can't negate. His touch is rough and harsh, But his heart beats for her. Though his words often pierce and lash, Her love remains pure. He was once a cold-hearted man, But she thawed his icy soul. With her, he feels alive again, No longer in control. He knows he doesn't deserve her, But she stands by his side. In her love, he finds shelter, A place where he can hide. He may be cruel to others, But with her, he is kind. In her arms, he discovers, A love he never thought he'd find. And so he stands, looking at her, With love in his cruel eyes. For she is the only one, his lover, Who sees through his disguise.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 | 七海建人 ─ ☘︎ . ♡𝆬

With eyes as deep as oceans, He gazes upon his love, Heart bursting with pure emotion, And the stars shine from above. Her beauty is unmatched, In his eyes she's perfection, Every moment spent with her, Is like a sweet addiction. Her laughter, like music, Fills his soul with pure delight, Casting away any darkness, With its warm and gentle light. He can't help but smile, As she looks back at him, For in her loving gaze, He sees his entire world within. Her touch is like magic, Sending shivers down his spine, He never wants to let go, For she is his greatest find. He longs to hold her close, And feel her heartbeat against his, Whispering words of love, In each and every kiss. They've been through it all, The highs and the lows, But together they've conquered, All their fears and woes. He knows he's found his soulmate, In this woman he holds dear, And he thanks the heavens, For bringing her near. With love that knows no limits, He'll stand by her side, Through every storm and struggle, Their love will forever abide. So as he looks upon her, With all the love in his heart, He knows that she's his forever, And they'll never be apart.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 | 夏油傑 ─ 𓆉 . ♡𝆬

As the rain poured down on the deserted streets, A man stood alone, with a heart full of deceit. His eyes locked on his lover, standing near, But the love he felt, came with a sneer. For this man was cruel, and heartless too, No one knew the darkness, that he kept in lieu. But as he stared at his lover, so pure and true, His heart ached with a love, he couldn't undo. He longed to hold her, to kiss her sweet lips, But his anger and hatred, were his only grips. He wanted to tell her, how much he cared, But his twisted nature, left his love ensnared. A tear fell from his eye, as he watched her smile, For she was the only one, who could break his vile. He wanted to tell her, how sorry he was, But his pride and ego, were his biggest cause. The way she looked at him, with eyes full of adoration, Made him wonder, if he was worthy of her affection. For she showed him a love, he never knew, A love that was pure, and so true. But he, was scared to show, The love he felt, the softness that glowed. So he stood there, with a heart full of love, But his actions and words, were far from enough. He knew he didn't deserve, the love she gave, But he couldn't let her go, he was her willing slave. His cruelty and anger, were his only shield, But deep down inside, his love was unconcealed. As the rain continued to pour, the man couldn't move, For he was overwhelmed, by the love he couldn't prove. So he just stood there, with a heart full of pain, Hoping one day, his love would not be in vain.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 | 伏黒甚爾 ─ 𓆤 . ♡𝆬

He stood across the room, His heart heavy with despair, In his arms, he held his lover, With pain, written all over her. He looked at her with love, A love that was once vibrant, But now shattered and broken, Like a mirror never to be mended. He remembered the days, When she was his ray of light, Her smile could light up his world, But now, she had lost her spark. He longed for the days, When they were happy and whole, But now, they were just fragments, Of a beautiful love they used to know. He wanted to hold her, to mend her, To make her whole again, But he knew deep down, That their love was beyond repair. He couldn't help but feel guilty, For not being able to save her, He had promised to always protect her, But he had failed to keep his word. Tears streamed down his face, As he gazed at her broken form, He knew he had to let her go, For her own good, he had to be strong. He kissed her forehead gently, Whispering words of love and goodbye, For though their love was broken, His love for her would never die. He took one last look at her, His heart heavy and shattered, But he knew he had to move on, For their love story had now ended. He walked away with a heavy heart, Leaving behind the woman he loved, But he knew in his heart, That she would always be his one true love.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎 | 脹相 ─ 𖤣𖥧 . ♡𝆬

His love for her runs deep, A feeling he cannot keep. As he gazes into her eyes, The world around him dies. In this moment, all he sees, Is the beauty and grace of she. A masterpiece in every way, His heart in her hands, she'll sway. His love for her, pure and true, Infinite, like the ocean blue. With every breath, he feels, A love that forever reels. Her touch, a blissful fire, His heart, a captive wire. Her smile, a beacon of light, Guiding him through the darkest night. He could search the whole world over, But would never find another, A lover with a heart so kind, A soul that forever intertwined. In her arms, he finds solace, His heart in her love, he'll place. For her, he would cross any sea, Just to prove his love's honesty. With every glance, he's reminded, Of the love they have unbounded. In this moment, he knows, She's his forever, wherever they go. So he looks at her with love, A love that fits like a glove. And in her eyes, he sees, A love that's meant to be.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀 𝐎𝐊𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐒𝐔 | 乙骨憂太 ─ ✉ . ♡𝆬

In the stillness of the night, As the stars danced in the sky, He gazed upon his lover, With love shining in his eyes.

She lay peacefully beside him, Her hair spread out like a fan, He couldn't help but marvel, At the perfection of this woman.

His heart swelled with love, For this angel in his arms, She was his everything, His light, his shelter from harm.

He traced her delicate features, Her smooth skin against his hand, And in that moment, He knew he was the luckiest man.

For she was more than just a lover, She was his best friend, Together they had overcome, Life's trials, they had no end.

With her, he was whole, She completed his soul, And in her, he found, A love that made him whole.

He pressed a gentle kiss, On her forehead so soft, And whispered words of love, In a voice so sweet and loft.

She stirred in her sleep, And held him tight, In that moment, he knew, She was his forever, his light.

For love is not just words, But actions, feelings too, And as he looked at her, He knew his love was true.

So he held her close, And watched her slumber, For in her peaceful state, He found his heart's number.

And as the night gave way, To the dawn's first light, He whispered one last time, 'I love you, my beautiful sight.'

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈 | 狗巻棘 ─ ♬ . ♡𝆬

His heart beats fast, he cannot hide, The love he feels for his sweet love. With every glance, his heart takes flight, For she is his everything, his shining light. Her eyes, like stars, sparkle and shine, Such beauty, he can't believe she's his. The way she smiles, it melts his core, He knows he couldn't ask for more. As he gazes at her, lost in thought, He can't help but feel so deeply caught. In the web of love, she's spun around him, His heart so full, it feels like it could burst at the brim. His fingers trace her soft, delicate face, And he thanks his lucky stars for her embrace. For in her love, he's found his home, No longer lost, no longer alone. With every breath, he takes her in, For she is his salvation, his everlasting sin. He is consumed by her, body and soul, Her love has made him whole. He could stare at her for eternity, His love for her, a never-ending symphony. Nothing could ever measure up, To the love he feels, overflowing like a cup. With every beat of his heart, he knows it's true, He's found his forever in her, his love anew. So he continues to gaze, lost in her eyes, For she's his one true love, his forever paradise.

MASTERLIST

@fragileheartbeats . Don't plagiarise, repost, or translate any of my works on here or any other websites.

810 notes · View notes

thelastofhyde · 1 year

Text

i. the likeability paradox.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank's roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don't like you, joel.

warnings. no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, slow burn ( i have several oneshots planned for this couple ), unrequited love ( except you will never catch joel miller admitting he feels anything beyond grief, hunger and exhaustion ), pining, poor communication no communication, no seriously joel is down bad it's actually disgusting and highkey 🚩toxic🚩 but luckily red is your favourite colour, sunshine!reader, grumpy!joel aka canon joel, kinda perv!joel ( if you squint ), implied queer!tess, undefined age gap ( reader implied late-20s ), descriptions of canon-typical violence, smut ( oral- f receiving, fingering, degradation, panty stealing, hair pulling, dirty talk, dubcon due to intoxication, joel kinda gives her a wedgie at some point and honestly i don’t know what i was hoping to achieve with that, discussions of a lacklustre sex-life pre-apocalypse ). reader is a) hinted at being shorter than joel but it’s not central to the plot and b) described as lithe but the meaning intended is graceful, not thin!

word count. 12.9k

hyde’s input. half-way through, the regret of choosing to write this from joel's pov started to settle in but lmao i was too far in to not commit to the bit. don't come at me for the fact the timeline or events may not seem plausible with canon, i just wanna write this silly little depraved fic about joel in peace :( anyway, enjoy my first attempt at writing for tlou, forming a prayer circle rn in hopes that this doesn't flop because i will cry and you will hear about it

taglist. @kayleezra @newavenger + add yourself to the taglist here !

read on ao3 ! ( capitalization available )

distaste is not new in the life of joel miller.

in particular, one that is loaded, aimed and fired directly at him. he is not a likeable guy, often by choice and rarely by accident. the years of pain from a bleeding wound have now scarred over into nothing but an empty shell of the man that once was, from a world that no longer is, and he’s tried little to fill himself back up.

if anything, he’s made himself more empty.

rid himself of feelings, that which saves him the weakness of appearing sympathetic. discarded the need for luxuries, for which he’d scarcely cared for prior to his world ending. lay to rest what was left of the optimist inside him, leaving behind the danger of hope for it to rot with the rest of the infected.

an apocalyptic world brings out all sides of man that one would never dare to engage with in normal civilisation. joel learned swiftly that he was built to endure, quick to evolve and adapt to the new world order. the man who once worked his hardest to keep the peace among his neighbours, smiling that little bit wider on days he’d catch them scowling to themselves in hopes of brightening one part of their day for even a simple moment, would be at odds with the man who wears a heavy layer of enjoyment when met with the scowling glances and the hushed voices, all the watch out for that miller guys passed between cowardly members of fedra and the keep away from mr. miller's lawns spoken harshly from mother to child becoming music to his failing ears.

this plague of fear-driven dislike keeps him alone, how he likes to be, no one to lose and nothing to be taken. somewhere along the years the idea of safety in numbers has morphed into an illusion, something people say and never truly mean, to distract themselves from a reality more bitter than a snowstorm: in times of survival, people become dead-weight.

“so that’s all i am to ya, huh? dead-fucking-weight?” his brother’s voice still echoes in that damned space he calls a home, weeks or months or years since the day he’d departed for something else, somewhere else, leaving joel to do what joel does best: endure.

somehow, silence was easier than telling the man he’d taught to tie a shoelace, to shave his beard, to tune a guitar that he was the dead-weight, doomed to drag all those who remained too close down into his pit of despair.

she was an exception, his tess, buried 5-feet-under in her own swell of darkness, nothing but the tips of her fingers stretched out above her head to feel the sun upon her skin and keep her from going that last foot deeper. they’d made a home for themselves in one another, one where he keeps them fed, and she keeps them safe, and neither of them keeps the place clean.

she never asks for more, and he never offers it, both content to survive without the weight of affection smothering them. contrary to the belief of any misfortunate soul who’s encountered the pair within the quarantine zone, she is the one who holds the leash, tugging joel along close by her heel and keeping him from wandering off into the wild to surrender himself to a feral lifestyle.

which lands him here, sat at a table playing happy family, each time he dares to snark out a few words being met with the sharp kick of tess’ foot against his shin.

“... and then,” frank struggles over a cough, so excited in his story-telling that he fails to separate taking a breath from taking a sip of his wine. with a roll of eyes and a disapproving grunt, bill’s no more than two seconds away from clapping down on his back, urging the other man’s wind-pipes to unblock and welcome back airflow. “otis dragged his muddied self over the whole house. we were finding paw-prints for days!”

joel’s unamused, too keen to think of what a nuisance that would be. as if incapable of feeling the buzzing energy of disinterest, the german shepherd drops its head further up his lap, begging for a morsel of anything that sits atop the table.

“which means i was cleaning paw-prints for days.” bill, the only one at the table besides himself who wears the looks of a cynic, grumbles out before shovelling what remains on his plate into his mouth.

frank is quick to shush him.

“i’m sorry, again, bill,” he doesn’t mean to break eye-contact from the mutt at his thigh, but the voice calls to him like a siren calls to a ship in the night, like a flame dances and seduces a moth into its brightly burning touch of death, a spotlight in the dark which promises- or threatens- more light to come. “i’d no clue there was a storm coming till we were already a good few miles away, and there was nowhere to take cover to wait it out.”

there you sit, parallel to him.

the sun rests lower in the sky as time carries you all into the late noon, its rays a beacon of light bursting out just behind your head, painting you in the glow of the golden hour and staining a mockery of a halo above you. it hurts his eyes, this brightness that you so easily bask in, forcing him to squint and deepen the frown on his face.

you catch him with his sights on you, at some point, and the smile you meet his scowl with has him cursing at the sun, and the moon, and every star that sits between.

the threat of a great war looms in the air as you rush to rise up and help clear the table of the remnants left behind- none of which joel can account for, mouth to keen and body too starved to skip out on enjoying the mundane luxury of a fresh, home-cooked meal. the battle ends swiftly as you surrender to bill’s hardened stare, and frank’s disapproving head-shakes, and tess’ own plan of action to simply force you down back into the seat you’d been sat in- the one you always sit in.

“you, sit. no one should have to clean up the food they made.”

they get no fight out of him when they insist he’d done enough catching the so-called food.

silence casts its shadow over the table, dampening the light and painting you both in a mockery of greyed tones- truthfully, it is the disappearance of the sun hind a large cloud that causes such a thing.

being alone, with you, is something joel’s never mastered. the affliction of your presence is so much greater when there’s no one else to balance out your natural shine- the kind that has his head spinning and his cock aching-, no one but him.

were he not a sick bastard, he’d try harder to not make you sad.

something bumps his hands, ripping him out of his moral self-condemnation. the dog meets his gaze, eyes a widened mess of puppy-dog pleading that punctuates its existence with an impatient whine.

just like your owner, he finds himself thinking and not saying- never saying-, yet to find your bark.

the ball’s a sticky mess of slobber and dirt, and joel touches it all the same, throwing it up in the air once, then twice, before tossing it across the yard. he’s slumped back in his chair by the time he registers the dog’s departure, a ball of dark fluff bouncing its way across the garden, and all the man can think is fuck, he’ll be feeling the effect of that throw on his shoulder come the morning.

the pain is not enough to stop him from tossing the ball again, and once more, and then yet again, sending the dog in a never ending loop of chase, grab, retrieve- a parallel to his life of wake, survive, sleep.

“he likes you,” you never leave things the way he wishes them to be, bursting his bubble with the vocal reminder of your presence.

as if on queue, prompted by your addressing of it, the dog drops its interest in joel, and the ball, and the chasing, tail wagging uncontrollably by the time it reaches your side. standing on its hind legs, it collapses the front of itself into your waiting lap, and joel watches how you wrap your arms so easily around something that could cause you harm.

to envy a creature that licks it own shit off its ass is a new low for joel.

“thinkin’ he might like ya more, sol.” the nickname rolls off his tongue with ease, the safer option than uttering your name, a vice and virtue he’s only permitted himself in idealistic fantasies that play out in his own troubled thoughts.

“most people do,” whether you mean to make it seem like you’re degrading his very existence or not, he’s unsure, but it rouses a chuckle out of him.

he takes note of how you don’t protest the name he’s branded you with, not like how you’d fought tooth and nail against it every other visit he and tess have made.

“you’ve got a whole load in common, you know? i think that’s got something to do with his fascination-”

“how the hell’s a man like me got somethin’ in common with a four-legged mutt?” there he goes again, making that smile slip down your cheeks with a simple use of his voice. it helps as much as it hurts, frown loosening up and eyes no longer strained beneath the bright shine of your visceral optimism.

“well, you’re both... hairy,” he restrains himself from reacting, washing down a laugh with the help of the dregs of wine that lay collecting at the bottom of his glass. he’s let his appearance grow more rugged over the past few months and your noticing of this brings an unwanted warmth to his aching bones. “and have the most kickass women in your lives to stop you from dying.”

he’s interested to know what life would be like under your protection.

discovering the answer brings the threat of pain, and loss, and an openness to vulnerability he can not afford himself, so he takes the safer option: “‘s easy stayin’ safe when you live in this fantasy land. doubt your mutt’d last any longer than a day out in reality.”

with you as its protector.

he doesn’t say it and, still, it somehow hovers in the space between you both, a heavy, syrupy implication that slips down your throats and threatens to suffocate you. he watches you choke on it, coughing on his cruelty and feigning it to be a simple clearing of your throat. your eyes glue themselves on the dog, delicate fingers smoothing over the well-groomed hairs down its back.

survival has turned him into a man who knows when to seize an opportunity, and this is one he takes with both hands, basking in the simplicity of staring, watching, observing you without the crime of being caught.

but i could keep you safe.

he toys with the danger of uttering such a thing aloud. it’s not the first time he’s thought it. truthfully, he’s unsure when it first nestled its way into his mind.

his memory, which ails him more than it aids him these past years, would have him believe it was way before the dog had even appeared, back when it was just bill, frank and you. a few whiskeys in and a campfire lit for you all to gather for warmth around- why you’d all chosen to sit out in the gardens on a winter’s night joel remains unsure of to this day-, it was frank who’d prompted the question. “where were you all when... this started?” tess went first, braver than most people he knows, sharing stories of a version of herself he’ll never meet.

he never imagined her working in a bank.

bill, with reluctance, took the next step, keeping his account factual and to the point. “was shit-faced drunk and getting my stomach pumped.” he’d been quick to skim over the story of the young nurse who’d guided him to safety out the hospital, losing her own life in exchange for his survival. she was barely out of school. “i knew her dad, bit of an asshole, but boy, was he proud of his baby for graduating.” frank couldn’t let him swim too deep in his thoughts, afraid a current of guilt would trap him and drown him in the depths of it, and so he raised his own voice and began his tale.

joel had always been a good listener. being a single parent to a teenage girl required him to be, or so... she would have had him believe, nights at the table set for two spent listening to the playground he-said-she-said gossip. years later and he at last prefers things this way, a rare gem of safety found in the act of saying nothing and hearing everything- that his hearing will allow. all this to say, he’d tried his best to pay attention to frank’s impassioned retelling of his heroic misadventures that had lead him to the unintentional arms of bill.

but you weren’t smiling.

he watched you, you watched the dancing flames, face stoic and drained of that natural shine his eyes had only just started to be able to gaze upon without the threat of being blinded by such light.

the desire crept up on him like a tiger to it’s prey, hiding in the far off bushes until the opportunity to strike presented itself and the feeling lunged for joel’s back, gripping him in its claws and piercing his ribcage with its gnashing teeth. with each bite, it plagued him with the delusions of a wandering mind, imagination left free to run laps around his head with visions of you from another life, another time, another set of people gathered round a dining table. he’d wanted to hear about the ones you’d lost, and comfort you with all the things he hated hearing (“you’ll keep ‘em alive, in spirit and memory!” “those we remember never truly die!”). he’d needed to bend a knee and swear a vow to be the one to stand between you and death, to fight for your survival on your behalf. ‘could keep you safe. there, then, the thought did cross his mind.

he’d washed it down with a swig of lukewarm, flat beer.

“-could fix it, you know. i’m good with my hands.”

he almost chokes on his own breath.

i'm good with my hands, it swims in circles round his mind, replaying and echoing off the walls of his skull. and he knows- oh, how he knows- that he’ll be replaying it in those moments of solitude for the next few nights, weeks, months- however long it may take till he forgets the way such thought-provoking words sound on your lips.

“what?” the question leaves him harsher than he intends, drawing an enemy line between you both with the foul sound of it. in the corner of his eye, he swears he sees you flinch backwards, physically recoiling from the disdain-filled bullet he fires in your direction.

the mutt in your lap retreats, hackles rising as it turns to face joel once more.

he sees it, in the dog’s brutal protectiveness over you, this similarity you claim exists.

“your watch, it’s broken.”

“hadn’t noticed,” he’s retreating into his own space now, mentally and physically, scraping the legs of his chair against the ground as his mind works to strengthen those walls that threaten to crumble so often in your presence. “don’t need ya to fix it.”

you pull a face, brows furrowing and lips pouting. confusion.

“don’t you want to know the time?” you ask, as if time could ever be relevant in a rotten world where down is up, and up is down, and joel miller is not the overprotective father to the most delicate creature the god he’d stopped believing in had gifted him, just to force him to watch as life snatched her away.

“i don’t keep it for the time.”

you smile, and this one’s a killer, piercing straight through the cages of his ribs to carve itself into his withered heart.

the german shepherd relaxes with the rebrightening of your aura, shaking out the tension from its body before sauntering its way back over to joel, ball in mouth and tail wagging excitedly, as if it hadn’t just contemplated having its first taste of human flesh.

he’s throwing the toy in a matter of minutes, enjoying the repeated run and retrieve game, and the renewed silence that comes along with it. nature sings its tune with rustling leaves, cawing crows, and pounding paws. it’s almost so easy to leave your offer, your words, his broken watch in the rearview mirror of this otherwise pleasant afterno-

“ooh, so there’s a story to tell!” you’re blinding him with your excitement, lithe limbs leaning forward in your own chair in an attempt to reach closer, table between you be damned. “i’ve never heard any of the joel miller backstory, this should be-”

“i get that likin’ everyone is your thing, but would’ya give it a rest?”

nature falls silent.

skies grow dull.

you juggle sadness.

there��s a crash that comes from within the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of tess’ sailor mouth, cursing whichever delicate dish she’s broken into smithereens with the help of her accident prone hands. the dog’s lain itself down upon the grass, ball between it’s paws as it begins to bite, and chew, and break it under the pressure of its canines.

joel wonders what the mutt’s practicing for.

“sure,” then, with the return of your voice, all sounds resume, harmony upon planet earth once more. only, the gates have been shut in his face and joel finds himself forced to watch as everything unfolds from the outside, an unwelcome visitor forced out into exile with the fungal freaks and the inhumane. “but you’re wrong. i don’t like everyone.”

“‘s that so.” his eyes roll. the hole he’s dug for himself sinks deeper, casting you higher up on the pedestal joel will always be wiling to place you on.

“yeah,” you’ve risen out your chair, gifting him the view of how the fabric of your dress dances above your knee, a final twist of the knife in his heart that he lets you pierce his flesh with each time he surrenders himself to your existence. “i don’t like you, joel.”

the hours come and go, but your words linger like a bad tattoo, shamefully engraved into his skin and banning him to a life of noticing the horrendous thing each time he passes by his own reflection.

we’re staying, for tonight. tess had called the shots, and he’s been learning not to argue when she gives him one of her stern looks, biting down on the comments he’d wanted to make of the dangers of being out of the qz for too long, which would likely earn him nothing but a shrug and the reminder that they both were off duty the following day

the nights are beginning to grow darker as winter grows nearer, leading bill and frank- mostly frank- to excuse themselves to bed, bidding the two visitors with a final reminder to make themselves comfortable in whichever room they can find. if only joel could remember which door leads to yours.

the two women in his life remain awakened, passing a bottle of wine between each other as you both converse back and forth, catching each other up on one another’s life, satiating that craving for mundane gossip.

tess recounts the scandal of the poor boy who’d been caught sleeping with a fedra agent’s wife, you whisper that frank and bill had been fighting again recently. the memory of being ambushed by raiders- now dead raiders- comes to life once more with the help of tess’ voice, while the promise to uncover what exactly bill and frank were hiding from you as of late is sealed in your words.

at some point, he lays himself to rest atop the couch, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his chest, ignoring the squeeze of the fabric over his forearms as the too-small flannel struggles to contain the muscles forged by the need to survive. at another point, he’s lulled to sleep by the lullaby of your mingling voices, a safety blanket draping itself over his tired body and enveloping him in the comforts of having that which he struggles to care so little for, so near him once more.

-n’t tell me you’re a virgin.

the words are muffled as the man slips back into consciousness, a frown coming to rest on his forehead as he battles against the demons urging him awake, the nightmarish memories of car crashes, and soldiers, and so much red chasing him away from the sleep he longs for so badly.

a protest rings true in his head and his ears.

was gonna say. knew you were young, but not that young.

it’s the sound of your laughter that awakens him fully, saving him from the tortures of his own mind.

“god, no! me and my ex, we... a few times. it was alright, i guess. i just, yeah, there’s not much to miss.”

he’s unwilling, unable to reopen his eyes, curling in on himself as he rolls over onto his side. a groan slips past his lips, one he’s hoping tess and you will dismiss as nothing more than the sleep-filled rambles of a dreaming man.

neither of you make any acknowledgement of him.

“not much to miss?! sweet christ, you’re breaking my fuckin’ heart.” he’s learnt over time the common traits of a drunken tess. each word becoming an exclamation, curses becoming more frequent, and that irritating habit she’s picked up of imitating his own accent. there’s no need to bother opening his eyes, joel’s already sure he’ll find his companion with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “i’d give up a hand for some head!”

you must do something, pull a face or shake your head, for the sound of tess’ renewed shock fills the room. he wonders, as the sound bounces off the walls, how late into the night it’s grown.

late enough that the cicadas singing outside the window are now accompanied by the hoots of an owl.

“you’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

“it bores me!”

“it bores you!?”

the couch beneath joel creaks as he shifts once more, turning his back on you both as the ability to contain his laughter grows harder with each word you exchange and each gasp tess gives. the last thing he needs is to be caught eavesdropping on your sex life like some dirty old pervert.

the crueler part of his mind replays your voice, i don’t like you, and the knife twists in his guts this time.

you like tess. love her, even. it’s been that way since the first time you’d met the duo, eyes giving one look over the woman before the smile on your face grew even wider, voice as sweet as honey sighing out finally someone with a pair of boobs, i’m bored of the sight of my own. joel’d gotten caught up in the thought of how he’d never tire of such a sight that he’d failed to acknowledge your greeting towards him, catching just the moment you drew your outstretched hand back to your side and offered him an understanding smile.

maybe that was the moment you decided you didn’t like him.

“must not have been doin’ ya right,” the bottle of southern comfort is working its wonders on the older woman, accent growing further and further from its true nature with each glass she nurses. joel hears the faint sound of ice smacking against glass and knows it must be yours. you’ve always struggled with liquors, slipping as many ice cubes as you can manage into a glass in hopes that they’ll eventually melt and water the alcohol down. it’s oddly endearing, you think no one has noticed. “this fella of yours.”

joel has no right to despise the idea of you and some fella.

he does so, regardless.

“well,” he imagines the shape of your meek smile and the way you shrug your shoulders. “we were each others firsts.”

“that’s no excuse! trust i left mine cryin’ into her pillow the first time i went down.” tess and he have a silent agreement to never speak of the nights joel would take refuge on their beaten-up couch while tess indulges herself between someone’s thighs in the bedroom. no discussing the sounds she pulls from her concubines, no addressing the wet patches left behind to stain their shared sheets, and definitely no speaking on how his hand winds up stained in his own cum.

you scoff and follow it up with a saccharine laced giggle, so sweet its bound to rot your teeth if you even attempt to hold it in. “what, are you offering your services?”

this he likes less than the image of you with some fella, the thought of having to lay upon a mattress on which tess had raised you to heaven while he once again remained locked out in the dark leaving his skin crawling with unwarranted rage.

“‘as sure as i am that you’re sweet all over, ‘fraid to tell you i like my women a little older than you.”

he knows he should do the same, should lust after those women his own age who shoot him carnal looks in the streets of the qz. it should be skin his own age that he longs to taste, and eyes who’ve seen as much as his own he wants to stare into, and lips as cruel as the ones he owns that he fights off the urges to kiss. but he can’t, and he won’t.

and you’re the one to blame.

you, with the glow of a thousand suns. you, with the hands that tend to flowers instead of corpses. you, with the gentle nature he’d have to spend the rest of his days fighting off every other living thing just to protect.

his own self being the first he’d need fight.

joel wonders what he’d missed in his hours- if it had even been so long- of rest, how the playground gossiping dissipated into reminiscing the pleasures of supple flesh and the sins of unfulfilling lovers. sleep steals him away once more before he can find the answers.

the next time he awakens, he’s drowning in a plight of cruel memories, a cold and brutal ocean of faces, places, and traces of the ephemeral sentiment of happiness he’d possessed once upon a time, back when the price of letting one’s guard down was not so high.

he’s learnt, with time, that losing her comes in waves. some small, meaningless little things, that ripple joel’s surface and coast gently over his dirt ridden skin. others, tsunamis. big, angry, all imposing. they’re born in ground-shaking explosions of grief, building speed, and height, and weight the closer they grow to crashing over him.

amidst the passing of time, he’s tried to keep himself busy in his awakened hours, to keep his mind occupied and avoid thinking about her too much. but the waves always come back, no matter how hard he tries to fight them or swim away from them. they catch him off guard, crashing over him when he least expects it. in the middle of a raid, lost in thought and standing ten inches deep in grime, blood, infected, and suddenly the weight of her absence will hit him like a ton of bricks.

the currents grow more violent whenever he closes his eyes.

this evening, it had been a minuscule wave, yet it’s damage still leaves him with sweat slicked skin. he reenters the land of the living choking on his own fear and shooting up-right, hardly registering his surroundings till his feet hit solid ground. the gentle, barely-there croon of a sinatra record punctuates the room alongside the dim glow of a lightbulb which flickers with the threat of expiring and leaving naught but the moonlight to wash over the dark of the night. across from him is tess, nursing a half-emptied cup against her chest and wearing tired eyes. snoring comes from below him, where joel finds he’s a mere foot away from having stepped upon the sleeping dog, curled in on itself and laying soundly by his side.

you take up no space of this room.

neither the dog nor the drunk pay him any mind as he pushes up onto his creaking knees, stretching out his limbs in a fight to undo the tension in his aching bod. languid steps carry him out into the hall, where he freezes under the self-questioning of where he’s going.

there are three answer to this: where he should, where he could, and where he would.

he should find himself a bedroom, perhaps be ostentatious enough to rid himself of those stale clothes and let the warmth of running water wash away the sins he’d committed throughout the day. a good night’s sleep, atop a mattress where springs do not dig into his back and the sheets are clean as could be, it would do him good.

he could head towards the kitchen, quench that thirst that he’s awoken with, cottonmouth and a headache to go with it too. perhaps he’ll find himself something to eat, indulge in the luxury of readily available food just this once, he’s sure frank wouldn’t mind. bill definitely would, but that’s not something he’ll need care about when he’s miles out and heading back to the qz.

he would try find you, open whichever door it is that leads into the haven that must be your bedroom. he imagines its clean, and organised, and smells of some syrupy lavender that is bound to nauseate him as he smothers his face into your bedsheets, eyes shut, and mind relaxed, the threat of those violent waves no concern to him as he anchors himself with an arm around your warm skin. skin he’s never felt, yet he stands firm in his belief it must be the most soothing thing to touch, as gentle and inviting as the heart it keeps safe within it.

i don’t like you, joel.

those words stop him from trying.

he tells himself it’s for the best.

with a mind of their own, his legs have made the choice for him and deliver him outside the opening to the kitchen. he swallows down a gulp of his own saliva at the prospect of a glass of water. the door’s already half-opened, and joel nearly thanks christ for it as the fear of waking anyone with the squeaking of the handle is eliminated. the darkness of the night encompasses the room, even with the moon’s shine reflecting off every surface it touches: the counters, the knife stand, the metal drawer handles, the refrigerator.

the refrigerator.

it’s open, a blue light shining out of it and illuminating anything it its proximity. a subtle beeping noise rings from it, and suddenly joel’s back in his thirties, dead-beat yet well-intentioned brother stealing the food off his own plate as he beckons his pre-teen daughter back into the kitchen.

keep leavin’ this open and it’s a job you’ll be gettin’ this summer, not a dog.

she never lived long enough to get either.

he catches something move beneath the artificial light. cautious at first, it’s all the more startling to find the object of his ire and the embodiment of his desire stood leaning back against the countertop, a glass full of orange liquid pressed to a mouth that parts and welcomes in the sugary sweet delight.

“why aren’t ya sleepin’?” the words rasp out his throat, catching and scratching on the parts of him that still yearn for something to wet his tongue with.

beneath the light, you shrug, “could ask you the same thing, texas.”

he curses tess for teaching you such a nickname.

he curses himself more for the way you saying it twists up his insides.

you’re teasing him, smile a little looser and eyes less focused than he’s used to seeing. whether you’re tipsy or simply delirious with exhaustion, joel remains unaware.

he grunts, daring to take a few steps further into the kitchen. the door behind him closes over and give the illusion of the space becoming smaller, tighter, more compact.

“i asked first.” you laugh, at him. full on chest-rumbling, hand over your belly, head thrown back- so abruptly it nearly crashes against the corner of the opened cabinet door. the corner of his mouth is curling upwards before he can catch himself. he hopes the refrigerator light shows less of him than it shows of you, bare legs, and messed hair, and pointed nipples all on display for his undeserving eyes. “‘s so funny, huh?”

“nothing, nothing,” he successfully fights off the urge to follow the drop of orange juice that spills down the side of your mouth, over your chin, down your neck, disappearing beneath the collar of your dress. perhaps he is not as successful as he believes. “just never heard the joel miller say something so childish. you’ve usually got your panties all in a bunch if someone so much as looks at you for too long.”

you make way as he inches closer, sliding yourself over to rest against the island counter. a fragrance of things he can’t quite pinpoint, but enjoys nonetheless, wafts in his face as he travels down the path to the sink. uncouth and unbothered, joel opens the tap and cups his hands beneath the stream of water.

“you know there’s a cupboard full of glasses right next to you, right?” you call out behind him as the man brings water to his dry lips, splashing and just about guiding his head beneath the stream. the thirst does not budge. he hums an acknowledgement of you, yet continues with his method.

by the time he switches the water off, you’ve made yourself busy, back facing him while you work at something atop the counter, a consistent chop-chop-chop filling the silence that settles between you both.

“i’m making soup,” you state, like there’s nothing quite more logical you could be doing at whatever-o’clock in the morning it is. “make sure you take some with you when you leave. tess said she’s been fighting off a cold the past few days, need you to keep her warm and fed for me.”

would you do the same for him, if you knew he’d been the one to catch that damned cold in the first place? four days of just about coughing up his lungs, and not a single soul- not even his tess- had offered soup, nor warmth, nor sympathy. he’d not needed it, until now, when he hears you gifting it to someone else.

i don’t like you, joel.

of course you would do the same. not because you care, nor because doing otherwise would way heavy on your conscious, but because you’re nice. nice in a way he’ll never be, has never been. patient, welcoming, comforting, warm. all words that spring to mind when one thinks of you. they violently oppose the closed-off, angry, dark cloud that had rolled in years ago and casted it’s shadow over joel’s entire persona.

he straightens his back, weight shifting from one foot to another as he contemplates you from behind. the sway of your dress as you move has him in a trance, beckoning him closer before he can even realise he’s taken a step. his hands drip water onto the floor in a rhythm, and the record player sings in the distance as a reminder of tess, and your sweet out-of-tune humming fills the empty kitchen with a brightness greater than the moon, but that’s not what joel hears.

i don’t like you, joel.

over and over, you taunt him without even trying, nailing the words into his head and heart, impaling him with your sweet condemnation. you’re not the first to say it, to his face or otherwise, yet you’re the first to evoke such a reaction out of him, to leave a lasting impression hours after you’d declared such a thing.

and, suddenly, joel’s angry. at you, at himself, at the sound of that damned knife in your hand slicing down onto the chopping board. the fog of his ire blurs his vision, rendering him to move blindly through the night.

only when he finds himself looming over you from behind does his vision clear.

a hand meets the curve of your hip and you gasp, leaving joel to wonder if it’s because the shock of his cold, damp touch or, simply, because it’s his touch. without a thought spared, he firms his grip, fingers squeezing tight enough he feels your flesh bulge between each one, a bruising promise joel gifts you.

you may leave your marks emotionally, but joel’s will always be physical.

“why,” he pulls in a breath, loading up the will to keep his voice a low rumble, a quiet disturbance in the night for no ears but your own to hear. “don’t ya like me?”

if not for the pause in your practiced movements, knife stilling midway through slicing a carrot, he’d believe you’re unaffected by his proximity. “why do you care?”

he scoffs, “i don’t.”

“hmm,” this hum is far less delightful than the way you’d been following along to whatever melody tess was playing in the living room. “sure sounds like you do.”

“yeah, well, i don’t,” he insists, and he swears he almost feels the way it only digs deeper the hole he’s created for himself.

joel knows he cares. it’s been burning at his skin and itching on his mind since the moment you’d welcomed yourself to a little bit of unfiltered honesty, dropping the perfectly poised and eternally polite mask you’d worn since the moment he’d first met you, an attitude he loathes as much as he anticipates surrounding himself with it each time he’s tugged along for the trek to bill and frank’s.

what joel doesn’t know is why he cares. there’s nothing to be desired about him, no traits to respect and certainly no looks to admire. he’s near crafted his entire being in a way that makes sure of this, the more undesirable his presence is, the less likely he is to be approached, be it by other people or fate itself.

maybe there was a part of him that had wrongfully imagined you being the exception.

instead, you’re stood barefoot in the latest of hours, knife working away the vegetables in front of you, dress sticking to skin beneath his damp hand, and you don’t like him.

not one bit.

joel grabs at your hips harder, his free hand curling round the shape of your left forearm. his feet shuffle forwards, until there comes a point where one would struggle to make out where you end and he begins. his chest pressed to your back, his muscular legs trapping your soft thighs, his forehead digging into the side of your head so intensely it threatens to shatter both your craniums and leave nothing but dust made by bones blown into smithereens.

he inhales, and finds you don’t smell of lavender.

“for the record,” he watches your movements over your shoulder, entranced with the back and forth sawing of the knife through unidentified vegetables. ‘s like how i sliced that raider’s throat, he thinks, and instantly regrets it. no part of him should ever be compared to you. “i don’t like ya either.”

he’s lying through his teeth, hoping you don’t notice.

the knife never ceases its movement. back and forth, back and forth. chop, chop, chop. blurs of greens, and oranges, and more greens cover the counter before you. it’s oddly soothing, this repeated and unbroken pattern, reminding joel of times he’d found comfort in the mundaneness of cooking a meal after an emotionally exhausting day. perhaps, this has the same affect on you, a momentary lifejacket to keep yourself afloat amongst the waves that haunt you awake.

the hand on your forearm travels, mind of its own, drawing up the shape of your shoulder with featherlight touches that contradict the way his nails dig deeper into the the skin you hide beneath the waistline of your dress.

“that’s not news,” you must think he’s blind to the hitch in your breath when his fingers slip over your pulse-point.

it’s his turn to respond with a hum.

“you only like yourself,” words more untrue have never been spoken before the man who’s every moment is spent drowning in his loses. his wandering touch halts. “a little selfish, if you ask me. but, that’s just what i think.”

this strikes a nerve. fury commands his hand into a fist and fingers find themselves tangled in the tresses of your hair. the realisation of how surprisingly soft it feels barely finishes registering when he’s pulling on it, dragging your head along with, till it lays flat on his puffing chest and your eyes stare up at him. “d’ya know what i think?”

even upside down, your beauty is striking.

“no, unlike you i don’t care what you think about-” joel tugs on your hair once more.

“i think you’re a brat. a silly little girl who thinks she can smile and get away with murder.” you could. he’d forgive you as you soak your hands in the blood you draw from him. knife in the heart, bullet through the brain, bat to the face, he’d slip away easily from this life if only to have you smile as he goes.

“you’re hurting me,” you whine, joel growls.

animalistic, beastly, a rabid animal sinking its claws into its defenceless prey. his gaze dances over your features, catching himself before he can sink deep into your captivating eyes, tracing the shape of your mouth, slipping down the peaks of your collarbones.

your dress- red, a colour joel miller will no longer associate with bleeding wounds and stained weapons- sits tight on your chest, squeezing the swell of your chest beneath the fabric, and gives away all your secrets.

“you like it,” he speaks in awe, unable to pull his eyes off the two stiff buds that poke against the red fabric.

“no, i don’-” dampness follows wherever his hand goes, fleeting as he makes the journey around your waist and up your side, crawling higher and higher to where he can feel your heart beating from within your chest. “joel.”

he retightens his grip on your hair, aiding you with the way your curve your spine and force yourself deeper into his uncaring, ungentle, enamoured touch. whoever joel had been in a past life must have moved mountains or performed miracles to grant him the luck to be holding you this way, the fingers he’d gifted with nothing but the cocking of guns and the feel of his own pulsating lust now expertly tweaking at one of your stiff nipples, all thoughts of the fabric scratching at your sensitive skin dissipating into the abyss as he realises you’re enjoying the pain.

“heard ya, earlier, in the living room,” at the time, he’d been mortified to be overhearing such intimate words between you and tess. the blood that insists on rushing to his crotch now wants you to know, to hear the admission of guilt be spoken from his own mouth. “ talkin’ bout your past.”

he doesn’t specify.

he doesn’t need to.

you give away your shock with parted lips, widened eyes, frozen eyelashes, pupils staring up at him like a wounded fawn he’s about to take his first bite out of and, hopefully, it won’t be the last one.

“tess turned you down,” the hand on your chest switches sides, donning your other breast with some much needed attention. his hand must still carry residue of the water, for you gasp and shut your eyes in the shock of his touch, your own fingers shooting up to scratch at his wrist. near convinced you mean to push him away, the pressure against his hand that pushes deeper into his unholy affection has him realising otherwise. “i wouldn’t.”

you say nothing. joel pulls harder.

“too bad i’m-” you cut yourself off as he presses himself closer to you, your poor hips bound to awaken with bruises from the counter he’s got you pressed against. with a distance so small he can hear your teeth grind, joel watches you like a hawk. the twitch in your brow, the flutter of your eyelids, the bobbing of your throat as you silence what he imagines would be an otherworldly kind of moan, a whine he’d let kiss his ears and wind up poisoning himself with the torture of it replaying in his head each waking moment till he kicks the bucket, once and for all. the want to see you fall apart evolves into a need. “too bad i’m not offering you the chance.”

joel miller is a hot blooded man, at his core, weak to emotions and vulnerable to the warmths of flesh. with notches on his bedpost and a tally of lives beneath his belt, he sees little wrong with taking what he needs.

“who said anything about an offer?”

the descent to the floor is far from graceful, with bitten back groans of pain as clicking noises resound throughout the room while his joints bend and break in an effort to get him where he needs to be, where he’s needed to be for far longer than merely this exchange on kitchen grounds: on his knees for you.

a part of him would prefer it if you weren’t wielding a butchers knife.

the other part wishes you were facing him, eyes full of that repressed anger, hatred and discontent you likely harbour for him as you point the blade down at him and threaten to paint the floors with his blood. you’ve yet to do that, and so he takes it as his queue to progress.

smoothing his hands up your legs, he admires the landscapes of your body from this angle, with legs longer than any tree in the amazonian jungle and curves with peaks that resemble the mountains of the himalayas. arriving at the top of your knees, the hem of your dress both welcomes and conceals his touch, inviting him into the wonderful world it hides beneath it yet denying him the privilege of feasting his eyes on your paradise, an island of safety amongst the open ocean of his mind.

your breathing is measured, precise, too rhythmical to be natural, the subconscious action now turned into a practiced routine you mean to maintain nonchalance with. perhaps you’re yet to realise that, while he may remain indifferent to those that surround him, joel knows how to read people. and, right now, you’re a whole novel of lust, awaiting for someone to open up your pages and drink in every lyrical prose you promise to tell.

joel finds purchase mid-way up your thighs, hands sliding around to the front of them to grip the buttery smooth skin and ground himself in the reality he kneels before.

you breathe in, you breathe out.

one knee buckles, ever so slightly, the weight of you collapsing into his welcoming hold. he revels in the feeling of supporting you, in every meaning of the word, thumbs not even waiting on a command from his consciousness to begin soothing your tingling skin with a gentle back and forth movement to match the knife in your hand.

inhale, exhale.

your legs straighten once more, a hand of his winds its way back out from under your skirt and shoots up to grab your free one, dragging it down his pits of desire.

“hold,” he’s parched all over again, mouth drier than the texan wastelands on a hot summer’s day. all he can do to survive is peel up that infuriatingly soft, red fabric of your dress, skin unveiling itself to his hunger struck eyes. with the skirt bunched up, he shoves it into your awaiting palms, pinning your hand against your own waist. “don’t move.”

where he expects protest, he receives more breathing.

lace covers your skin, a delicate shade of a colour his eyes can’t quite distinguish in the dark of the night. one flicker of his sight to the very core of your body and he notices it, that tell-tale sign that you’re enjoying this little display of attention, despite what your measured breaths may have him believe. a wet patch, your wetness. the stickiest, sweetest of honeys that only a woman like you can possess, and a man like him should never bare himself witness to.

curiosity gets the better of him- one day, joel hopes, this will get him killed- and his touch is reaching for the lacy fabric, fingers curling themselves in the waistband of your panties and the fabric that covers your right asscheek before curling his hand into a fist, tugging upwards.

in and out, shaky breathing comes from above.

the lace pulls tight on your delicate skin, no choice but to nestle itself in the slit of your cunt as two pretty soaked lips peak out from each side. a heady smell he can only begin to describe as stiflingly sweet, tongue-tingling tanginess hits his nose. he makes sure to take a deep breath, letting the blood rush straight to his head- the one that sits packed uncomfortably in his tightened trousers.

delectable as sin, you keen back into his fist, back curving ever so slightly. there’s a tremor in the hold you have on the fabric of your dress. joel basks in the visual affect he’s beginning to have on you, no need to doubt if the fabric of your underwear rubs at your likely aching clit. he wonders if the sting of the lace digging into your skin hurts. he thinks it must hurt.

his fist curls tighter, pulls higher.

“ah,” at last, a ripple in your surface. though you still wield a knife, the carrot you’d been failing to chop rolls off the counter and onto the floor, lost somewhere in joel’s peripheral vision.

“shut up,” he grunts, like it doesn’t make his balls throb to hear you whine. “people are tryin’ to sleep.”

you scoff, and for a moment you seem to have rediscovered your composure. “tess is drunk as a sailor, and the old men could sleep through nuclear warfare.”

“‘s that an invitation to see how loud i can get ya,” he’s still caught in the way you mold against the lace, slickened skin carrying a reflection of the moonlight. this, he thinks, is what all them poets were writing about in their prose of love and beauty. “or a challenge?”

“it’s an invitation to stop lecturing me on volume control,-” you catch yourself, he realises, right before you can gift him some nickname a sweet girl like you would never use. asshole, dickhead, bastard, he’s heard them all and, still, he wants them on your tongue, in his mouth, condemning him for all the brutish, oafish ways he masks his obsession for you.

as coquettish as it may be, painting a picture worthy of a front-page on some playboy magazine, the sight of lace becomes a nuisance he no longer holds the patience for. so he strips you of it, hand moving to pull the garment down, down, down the length of you, till it hits your ankles. he awaits no movement of your own, taking it upon himself to lift each of your feet individually out the leg-holes.

it’s merely impulse that has him shoving the soiled lace into his back pocket, though he’s sure he’ll make use of them on lonely nights.

“you’re drippin’” his proclamation is ego-driven, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in the full sight of your bare heat. the view is a little obscured from behind you, but with the right amount of tilting of your hips at a certain angle and the widening of your legs, he’s bound to sit front row and centre for your private show. “‘s actually a little pathetic, sweetheart. is it cause ya like it when men get mean wit’ ya?”

he can imagine the way you’d roll your eyes at his words, and it has him thinking about how you’d look with your eyes rolling back for different reasons, reasons he’s about to gift you.

but first, he curls one hand around your ankle and tugs the limb along as far as he wants it. much better, he now faces no blockage in the path up to your slit, freely letting his wandering hands ascend to his newfound heaven. perhaps he’ll revisit the life of gospel, if you promise to be the altar he prays before.

cool fingers to warm skin, you swallow a gasp a little too late for joel to not notice as he drags the tips of his middle finger up the length of your slit. soft, puffy lips part for him, until he presses against that special button that’s bound to turn on your engines.

rolling his finger over your clit a few times, he refamiliarises himself with the female anatomy, with your anatomy, memorising each soft bump and meaty lump he finds along the way.

it happens so sudden, and unwillingly, the way his mind switches to thinking of tess. he wonders what exactly it is she does to those poor things she sends home on shaky legs, where she even begins to touch them. joel imagines she makes use of what she has and starts with her fingers.

so he does the same.

working over your slippery wetness, he coats the tip of his middle finger with it, till he finds what he’s been searching for: the gateways to your heaven, your entrance. he breaches your walls with that single digit and somehow that’s enough to have you squeezing around him so tightly he wonders if blood still manages to flow to his digit.

two, three, four pumps of his hand and he’s introducing his pointer finger too, pressing them both into you to witness the ways you mould around this wider stretch, the lips of your cunt a pair of cushions his knuckles collide against each time he fucks his fingers in.

“so now you shut up. ‘s the matter, huh?” he’s contradicting himself and he doesn’t even care, too busy focusing on curling his fingers inside you, delighting in the feel of that spongy tissue they press against. “am i too borin’ for ya?”

“you’re the most infuriating man i’ve ever- oh!”

a tongue meets skin.

the knife clatters onto the counter.

you lurch forward.

his hand pulls you back.

“tess was right, ya know?” he can still taste you on his tongue, nothing more than a simple lick over your slit and your salty pleasure already seeps deep into his veins, staining his very being with the memory of his new favourite flavour. he pulls his fingers out, slipping them up to your clit. three little taps to the pulsing bud- tap, tap, tap- and he’s slipping them into his mouth, tongue working overtime to clean up every last drop of you that coats him. “that boy of yours wasn’t doin’ ya right.”

the common sense that screams at him to not feel envy over some ex-lover, someone who was likely barely even an adult at the time and no longer appears to be around, is no match for the green eyed beast that commands him to tell you, without using words, that he can do better- touch you better, protect you better, fuck you better, if you’d just let him.

‘could keep ya satisfied.

that’s a new thought, one he’s never needed before yet never wanted more, a burning ache to be worthy of your trust, affection, lust. he’ll never forget the first time he thinks it, mouth salivating at the sight of you.

“is this the part you say some cheesy line straight out a porno? what ya need is a man, a man like me!” the softness of your giggle is still sharp enough to cut through the tension, god it’s never sounded sweet, and joel finds himself freely smiling into the darkness, yet still too stubborn to laugh at the deep voice you attempt to imitate him with.

“well, was you who said it,” his mouth finds it’s way back onto your soaked heat, taking his time to work his tongue up the length of it, his saliva mixing itself in a nasty cocktail with your wetness. he imagines the air is cold against your skin, and that you like it, memory of those hardened nipples hidden beneath the fabric of your dress. “but if ya insist.”

diving in head first had always been his style, from his first lover to his last, and to now, knees aching on the kitchen floor. the tip of his tongue dances round your clit, tantalising you to grind your hips to the rhythm of his sinful touches.

licking into you, he’s reminded how much he enjoys that swelling in the chest that only comes from bringing another pleasure.

he’d not been a perfect lover, far from it, but he’d liked to believe at one point he’d been trained by only experience that comes with age, years of touching wrong and kissing badly to learn the right ways to make those he shared a bed- or a counter, or a backseat, or a club bathroom- with see angelic white as they writhed and squirmed under his touch. you’re lucky to have him now, matured by past lovers and broadened by age, with all the knowledge he needs to open your eyes to how a man pleasures, kisses, loves.

he’s out of practice, sure, with recent years adding notches to his belt that were merely frantic, unexpected, barely undressed run-ins with strangers, in strange places, cock barely getting a moments affection before he’d be spilling his seed and tucking it, limp, back into the confines of his trousers and locking it away beneath a zip.

what a perfect excuse you are, for joel to remaster the arts of lust.

it’s messy, wet dripping down his chin and staining itself into the stubble of his growing facial hair. it’s noisy, his mouth openly groaning depraved joy into your warmth as you sing him a song of sweet euphoria, slowly building towards that crescendo on the horizon. it’s animalistic, barely human as he revokes all earthly needs such as rest, and food, and socialising, his mind, and soul, and heart, and cock all screaming in unison to spend whatever days he shall possess on his knees before you.

and all the while you writhe and wriggle, some times running away from him touch, other times rutting so far back into him that you threaten to suffocate him somewhere between your warm thighs, and sugar sweet cunt, and the two well-rounded globes of your ass.

his only saving grace is that he can’t see you.

hearing your pretty whines, and hand-muffled moans, and heavy intakes of breath is enough to curse him for the rest of his waking days, condemned to wander the wastelands of earth knowing the noises you make on the brinks of pleasure, with a touch-starved man satiating his hunger for flesh and blood with the sugary sins of your soaked cunt.

burrowing deeper into you, his consciousness rips through the fog of his lust to curse out his perversions as the tip of his hooked nose bumps against the puckered entrance of your ass. it does nothing to stop him tearing his tongue away from your clit, flattened as he drags it over the expanse of your cunt, and over your taint, and up the crack of your behind.

“n- ah,” you can’t deny him while sounding so eager for more, the tip of his tongue now circling your back entrance, mimicking the treatment previously given to your little pearl. “no, don’t, not there.”

next time, he thinks, we’ll try that next time.

sights returned to his previous desires, he works to rip every sigh, and every whine, and every dirty little song you’ll grace him with. the sound of whatever record tess has put on in the other room becomes a safety blanket, dousing you both in the warm protection of not being overheard.

and, then, he does it, he makes the ultimate mistake.

his eyes flicker to the left and he finds himself faced with the stove that sits within bill and frank’s- and, by an extension he does not enjoy to remember, your- kitchen. there’s little that’s remarkable about the appliance, just your standard, everyday oven that he’s sure you’ve spent countless hours cooking up those comforting meals he’s come to anticipate each time tess tells him they’re due a visit.

except, the oven door is made of glass.

glass which now paints the most pornographic masterpiece for no eyes but his own. you, with hands gripping the island’s counter like your life depends on it, and the skirt of that goddamn dress he’s envied all evening for the way it got to rest against the warmth of your thighs now bunched up in your tight grip, and your head thrown back, curving your spine in a way that has him wondering about the other ways he’d be able to bend and break you beneath his touch.

and then there’s him, down on his knees like a devotee laying himself down to worship his goddess, face burrowed in the space between your legs, mouth devouring you from behind with the help of his hands, the same ones that had strangled a man less than a day before and reigned fire down on countless others for years, that now grip the meat of your thighs to pull you back onto him, fucking his tongue into your sopping heat.

the image will haunt him more than the face of any man he’s killed.

“d’ya touch yourself, sol?” you don’t answer him, but that’s okay. in a sweet change of pace, joel miller’s perfectly fine with talking enough for the both of you. “yeah, bet ya do. late at night, right? once you’re all alone in bed. ya seem like the kind who can make herself scream.”

you back into him, smothering him under the weigh of your body. becoming his holy grail, he drinks from you like it’s the key to eternal life, and what a way of living this would be, time disregarded as nothing but meaningless while your bodies melt together in the heat of passion.

fucking his fingers back inside, he becomes frantic beneath the need to make you cry, fall completely apart with only his hands to hold you together. “let me do the honours this time though.”

you don’t scream, can’t scream, hand over mouth muffling whatever profanities and theatrical proclamations he rips from within you with the stroke of his agile tongue, the only muscle of his that’s yet to develop aches and pains. he imagines that will no longer ring true once he awakens past sunrise.

he’s unsure how much longer he works his tongue over you, slipping and sliding through the liquid pleasure, but it ends with fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him away and tilting his head up.

you’ve never looked more holy, moon casting it’s shine around you, eyes glossed with unshed tears, lips parted and swollen from the pressure your own teeth had bitten down on them with. your expression, he can’t quite read. not sad, not happy, not mad.

your eyes catch on something, abandoning his own for something closer to the floor, to which he follows and finds exactly what you’re staring at: the evidently dark patch that now stains the front of his jeans.

the discomfort of trekking back to the qz will now be tenfolds worse in the stains of his own pleasure.

“joel...” his name is nearly a beg, a prayer, an invitation. hand still in his hair, you tug, pulling him upwards off the ground. legs open wider and back arches deeper, a seductive sight that your body pleas for him with.

he swallows a groan, knees alleviated at last from the floor, and presses himself against you once more. strong arms crush you in an embrace, pulling you back into him as his head slips to rest against your shoulder. he’s capricious with the way he lets himself litter a few wet kisses over your neck, breathing in the smell of you.

“that,” you grind back into him, a torturer who takes his aged body as her victim and toys with his barely recovered cock, the cum in his trousers sticking uncomfortably to his skin. he pulls tighter on your body, grounding himself in the weight of it against his own to find the sanity to finish his sentence. “shouldn’t have happened.”

joel hopes no one awakens as he slams the door on the way out of the kitchen.

people once spoke of how the only certainties in life were death and taxes but, nowadays, the words don’t ring as true and the guarantee of life with taxes has morphed into something else entirely; a reality where death and time go hand in hand. as sure as tomorrow will arrive, death will come too, eventually. not today, however, and joel miller finds himself stood throwing a ball back and forth for a dog.

it chases and retrieves, trailing it’s happy self all the way back to him only to spit the ball down at his feet, siting and waiting to repeat the process once more. there’d been a time where this is all he’d wanted: white picket fence, dog in the yard, home-cooked meals filling a house with warmth.

that dream seems so far away now, even as he stands within it.

he cracks his back, huffing out a groan. “no, not again. my back’s fucked as it is, buddy,” with no one around to witness, joel lets himself crouch down onto his knees- both popping obnoxiously as he does so- and rakes his hand over the german shepherd’s head. it whines and makes an attempt to nudge the ball against him, protesting in the only way it can. a scratch to the ear does the trick to distract the animal, to which it tilts its head and forces itself deeper into his blunt nails. “not so bad, are ya? huh?” never in a million years did joel think he’d be talking to a dog when him and tess had set out for their routinely visit to the bill and frank’s. never would he have thought that would be the least shocking event to unfold on this trip.

he hears you before he sees you.

“you planning to make your knees familiar with every surface of this place, texas?”

he tries to rise, he truly does, but the four-legged foe he’d been petting mere seconds ago betrays him the instant it catches sight of you, charging past him and knocking him over in the process, ass to floor and head to sky.

the world above is a storm of greys, clouds swallowing one another with a looming threat of danger on the horizon and not a lick of the sun’s warmth seems to make its way through.

so instead, it sends you.

peering over him from above, hair a tangled mess, eyes a wreck of under-bags and sleepless tears, the collar of your jumper lowered just enough at this angle that he can see a tease of cleavage, you radiate a brightness like no other, more dangerous to his naked eyes than uv ray could ever be. he’s squinting again, frown etching itself on his forehead with the threat of becoming permanent soon. a few more years and his face will be nothing but frown lines and crows feet. at the very least, he considers, i’ve survived long enough to wrinkle.

the smile above him is worth a million laugh lines, a kindness laced within it that matches perfectly with the hand you hold out. when he does nothing but stare at it, you wriggle your fingers, enticing him to take a hold. he does most of the work, truthfully, but you play a part in pulling him back to his feet. upright once more, he can’t help but bask in the way he’s able to physically look down on you.

“thanks for tiring him out,” you’re the first to talk. you’re always the first to talk, and he curses you for it. “won’t need to walk him as far tonight.”

a queasy feeling overtakes him at the thought of you walking the dog alone at night, nothing but the moon to light your way. he’ll need to remember to tire the dog out next time he visits. “no problem, thanks... for feeding tess and i.”

“no worries!” you’re so kind, so good, smiling at him with a cheerful chirp in your voice. he can’t wrap his head around how you can bring yourself to treat him this way. “oh, actually, that’s why i came out here, i was looking for tess-” of course you were, when would you ever be looking for him? “hold on!”

you shoot off back inside so quickly that otis just reaches the doorway by the time you return. with an idle pet to his head as you pass by, joel once again sees, in the way such little affection can have the dog so elated, that resemblance between them you’d spoke of. in your hands, you carry an array of containers full of food- soup- each filled to the brim.

“i wanted to give you these, before you guys leave,” you’re explaining yourself, and joel wonders if it’s nerves that bring you to need constant babbling to fill any gaps of silence. he can’t imagine how he could make you nervous and therefore that thought is quick to be discarded. “i know the journey up here and back can be long, consider them a token of my appreciation towards you both for-”

“why don’t ya like me?” he cuts you off.

pathetic, he knows, but he can not stop himself, a deer caught in the headlights of your brightly burning, too-good-to-be-true, too-pure-to-be-fake personality.

you show no signs of hearing him, smile unwavering as you continue to hold out the boxes to him, “there should be enough to last you a few days, if you watch your proportions.”

it’s too much for him to handle- the food, the smiles, the sweetly glistening eyes-, and joel just has to know, needs an answer before the heat of his confusion consumes him entirely in its flames and leaves nothing but his smoking remains.

so he tries again, louder.

“why don’t ya like me?”

“and i’d probably say you’re best to heat it up, especially for tess,” you ignore him, again, lips stretching what can only be described as uncomfortably wider. “winter is sure coming in faster than last year, isn’t it?”

he grabs at your arm, fingers curling round the swell of your bicep as he speaks through gritted teeth, "answer me." like a frightened dog backed into a corner, he bares his teeth and yells his bark.

"for someone who doesn't care,” you try his patience, knowingly or not, and his grip tightens. you don’t flinch, welcoming the sting of his blunt and bitten nails against your flesh. “you sure do talk about my opinion a lot."

"answer the damn question, girl.”

“or, what?” you’ve got him there, he’ll admit, holding no real plan as to how to punish your silence. “you gonna give me the same treatment as last night?”

had he known you’d be so unabashed to mention the events on the kitchen floor so flippantly, as casually as one would speak about the weather, he’d never have dared to get on his knees. truthfully, he’d not given things a second thought, disregarding the later for the now, living in the moment with caution thrown to the wind over what the morning would bring. perhaps he’d hoped you’d been intoxicated enough to dismiss the memory as a nightmare, maybe he’d wished you’d keep away from him to free him of the volatile grip you have on his soul.

instead, you stand tall, proud, eyes fiercely staring back at his own as you challenge him to retaliate, mock you with none of those saccharine smiles you hide harsh tones behind.

joel says nothing.

“how about this, let’s make a deal, like the ones you and bill make.” inching closer, crowding in on his space and forcing him to take note of the smell of freshly cleaned clothes mixed in with your own fragrance. clean, warm, inviting, scents he’d never given meaning to before now. “you get me something, i’ll tell you what you want to know.”

he grunts out a response, hands meeting his hips as he juts out one knee, the shifting of weight between feet a perfect distraction to the rising tension in his worn-out jeans. “what d’ya want? ‘cause if it’s somethin’ like a gun, think again. i ain’t messing with none of bill’s strange politics on you havin’-”

“a dress.”

“a dress?” the statement has him quirking his brow, burning questions swimming in the depths of his eyes as he stares back at you.

“yes, and don’t look at me like that!” it’s hypocritical, he believes, for you to berate him for the looks he sends you when all you do is cast stones his way with your gaze yet shake him to his very core each time you smile. “i need a new one, my favourite one got ruined whilst making soup.”

unaware he’d even began to lean closer, joel’s quick to recoil, as if your words are bullets and his skin the target you hit on the bullseye every time.

“joel!” his name resonates from somewhere in the house.

neither of you dare to break eye contact. again, his name is yelled. this time, he manages to identify tess as the owner of the voice. habits have him used to running to her whenever she calls, but habits have never been caught between the choice of tess or you.

his feet remain glued to the ground.

tess yells once more and, though you speak up, you don’t dare look away. “think you might be needed inside, macho man. your missus is calling.”

“she ain’t my-”

“you two just gonna stand and stare at each other all day, or will you help a woman out already?” tess enters the scene somewhere behind you, a blur of her familiar shape standing out the front door.

only when your head spins and he no longer finds himself lost in the black of your eyes does joel take her in completely, hair clearly damp and complexion a little paled by her hungover body. in her arms, she struggles with the weight of a folded table. you approach first, he follows, his two hands aiding in carrying it out into the front yard as you retighten your grip on the boxes of soup in your arms.

“i should probably,” laying the containers down on the now unfolded table, you fidget with the sleeves in your hands, eyes downcast with something he can only read as guilt. he decides he much prefers the fire they hold when you berate him. “go check on the food, before it burns.”

you’re in the door and out his sight before he can so much as ask you to stay.

tess and him hit the road by noon. earlier than predicted, later than he’d wished for. the bite of cold already marks the air, despite the sun heating the world with its rays. he walks a little ahead, feigning ignorance to the repeated coughing coming from tess and racking his brain for answers.

answers to why he’d never noticed how hoarse she’d been sounding till you pointed it out. answers to what awaited them both upon returning to the qz. answers to when will be their next chance to visit the safe haven bill’s created. answers to why you don’t like him.

i don’t like you, joel.

it motivates him to walk quicker, faster, racing to put as much distance between himself and that damn kitchen floor, miles upon miles not enough to rid him of the dull ache in his knees that goes hand in hand with the throb within his too-tight-jeans. if he were alone, he’d break out in a sprint. but tess is here, he’s not alone, and home will simply have to wait on the passing of time to drag him back to it.

till then, he needs to find a dress.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller oneshot #joel miller fic #pedro pascal smut

3K notes · View notes

murdockparker · 1 month

Text

Expectations

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: While the honeymoon may be well and over, the new Mrs. Bridgerton has yet to make her presence in the ton since the wedding. Anxious as ever, she listens to her husband and gives it a go.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, reader is not pregnant, reader does not wish to be a mother, illusions to sex but no smut, drinking and drunkenness, fluffy fluff

A/N: Given the setting and time period, not wanting children is rather taboo, I feel. But not everyone wishes to be a mom and that's okay! I hope I did Benedict (and reader!!) justice!

On a far too quiet night in London, candles were beginning to grow short, along with the patience of a newly made missus.

“Must I go tomorrow?” (Y/N) sighed, turning to face her husband in earnest, placing her hairbrush on the vanity.

“And possibly insult Lady Danbury again this season?” Benedict scoffed, looking up from his sketchbook. He had been making good on his earlier promise of the eve, giving his wife a worthwhile portrait. He had already made countless, of course, but this one was to be the best yet. “Darling you cannot keep avoiding her forever."

“Here I thought that was a Bridgerton specialty,” (Y/N) hummed, turning back to her mirror, keen to note Benedict’s crooked smirk in the reflection. “But if you insist that I cut our honeymoon short—”

“You know better than I that our honeymoon is well and over,” Benedict said, suddenly at his wife’s side, hands growing restless on her shoulders. “As much as it pains me to admit, and it does, truly, the rest of the ton is far too eager to make the newest Mrs. Bridgertons acquaintance.”

Kisses were peppered down her neck, just below her ear, warm and sticky enough to halt her thinking. “Life was much easier in the country,” she reminisced fondly. The lady was unsure if the fact her husband was making dutiful work on her skin was clouding her judgment, but her mind yearned for the weeks they had spent in bed, alone and carefree. “No need for this… fodder.”

“Ah to be a woman in the season,” Benedict jested, brushing her hair aside. “But I do think it’s a right idea to go to the soiree. If it makes you feel better, I do believe the duchess is planning to attend.”

(Y/N) groaned, pushing Benedict away. “Just as you begin to seduce your wife you find it fair to mention your younger sister?”

He could only laugh. “I was unaware I was seducing my wife, I merely thought I was helping with her hair.”

“And the fine work on my neck was helpful... how?”

His fingers brushed through her hair again, slowly, deliberately. “Well, considering I was partially to blame for it’s unruliness, I figured I could only offer my services. I fear it came across as unhelpful.”

She fought back a grin. “I will go to Lady Danbury’s soiree,” (Y/N) said, looking Benedict in the eyes through the mirror. “But only if you promise to assist with the rest of my… hair.”

“What kind of a husband would I be if I refused?”

—

The carriage ride was as uneventful as she could have imagined. Not only did she loathe the rocking of the cab, but to not have Benedict’s company across from her—or under her—made the entire ordeal less appealing. Still, she persisted through the boredom and arrived to Danbury House, fashionably on time.

“Mrs. Bridgerton,” Lady Danbury greeted, flicking her cane towards the not-so-new bride. “How lovely you managed to pry yourself from your cottage in the country and rejoin proper society.”

“Lady Danbury,” (Y/N) bowed, smiling as politely as she could. “You think little of me, I would never dare to miss one of your illustrious eves. My mother always spoke fondly of them—as truthful as she decided to be with me, that is.”

“A shame your mother isn’t joining us, those nasty headaches of hers will surely do her in.”

“Father sent for a tea from France,” (Y/N) recalled from her last correspondence with her parents. “I believe it was a recommendation from you, if I am not mistaken?”

“Your parents would do well from listening to me from time to time, I should hope you take the same advice,” Lady Danbury smiled, looking directly at (Y/N), gaze narrowing. “Do enjoy yourself tonight, dear. One tends to forget oneself whilst in a marriage.”

A footman ushered her into the great hall, handfuls of married women of the ton flocked to the walls, drinks already in hand. A few familiar faces flitted her memory as she walked past. Lady Green and Mrs. Harrison, both far too eager to set her up with their respective sons in the last season, smiled kindly as she nodded towards them. Dowager Countess Fairbanks was eagerly replacing her empty glass with another, the loss of Earl Fairbanks was still fresh in the public eye, it seemed. Then, there was Lady Kent, smoking away in the corner, grateful no men were around to stop such nonsense.

“Mrs. Bridgerton! I did not expect to see you here!”

(Y/N) turned to the cheery voice, belonging only to the Duchess Hastings herself.

“Your Grace,” (Y/N) smirked, addressing her sister-in-law properly.

“Daphne,” the duchess corrected, as she had many a time during (Y/N)’s courtship with Benedict. “I must say, I hardly think anyone expected your presence tonight. Surely my brother couldn’t have found it in himself to allow you to escape for the evening easily.”

“I shall spare you the sordid details of my trickery,” (Y/N) said with a murmur, her voice laced with a secret. “Considering they involve your brother and whatever little clothing he possessed.”

“Oh please,” Daphne waved. “You are married, I hardly think it is much to guess you and Benedict have been in such a state thus far.”

“If I may be so honest,” (Y/N) giggled, accepting a flute of a bubbly drink from a server, “he was the one who begged me to attend this evening. I was more of the mind to stay in and continue to enjoy our library here in London.”

“I did not know Benedict’s bachelor lodgings possessed a library.”

“They did not, which is why we purchased a new estate not too far from your Mama’s,” (Y/N) said with a smile. “‘Bachelor no more’, I believe were his exact words when he showed me the deed. It’s quite a lovely place. If I did not prefer the country so much I think I would like to stay here year-round.”

“I expect an invitation for tea sometime, then,” Daphne cooed, clearly overjoyed at her new sister’s happiness. “I assume there’s an adequate number of rooms?”

“Enough for a proper studio for Benedict’s leisure, a modest library for myself, an enchanting dining room and…” Her glass raised to her lips nervously. “I believe that to be all.”

“No nursery, then?”

“You Bridgertons and baby-rearing,” (Y/N) said, nearly sputtering her drink. “I say, you’re already on baby three, is that not correct?”

Daphne nearly radiated with joy at the mere mention of her children—a doting mother in every regard. “Oh yes, number three will be joining us in due time,” her hand grazing over her apparent bump. “But I believe you neglected to answer my question.”

“I think I am in need of far more drink to even entertain the question, dear sister,” (Y/N) downed the rest of her drink, hoping the dim lighting did an adequate job hiding her growing flush.

“Very well,” Daphne conceded, still holding her small bump as if it were the most precious thing in the world. “I believe Kate has begun in the game room if you wish to join me in finding her?”

“Spending my night with my darling new sisters? Without my husband or your brothers to muck up our conversations and vex us? I must say, that might be your best idea yet, Your Grace.

The duchess merely laughed as she led present company into the ballroom—now outfitted with many tables to accommodate the games of the night’s festivities. (Y/N)’s eyes went wide, clearly taken aback by the sheer sight of it all. Wives and widows alike, smoking and drinking over every inch of the transformed ballroom.

“I can’t imagine how you’ve managed to come to many of these things,” she shuddered in awe, leaning closer to Daphne.

“I haven’t,” Daphne said truthfully. “I’m usually back at Clyvedon with my family, it just so happens I’m in town on other business this go around to not ignore Lady Danbury.”

While it was difficult to get the Bridgertons all under one roof—with each new marriage and child that task became even more daunting—the brood did get together recently to celebrate the christening of both Edmund and Belinda. Anthony’s first and Daphne’s second. It wasn’t much of a shock that Daphne shared the news of a third Basset at the christening, either.

“Regardless,” (Y/N) took her place at a game table, sitting beside the duchess. “I’d much appreciate the evening to move swiftly, lest I spend more time away from home than I need.”

“Eager to get back in the bedroom with Benedict?”

The new Viscountess Bridgerton, Kate, spoke up behind the ladies as she took it upon herself to be seated next to her sisters.

“I was thinking more along the lines of his study,” (Y/N) hummed, feeling herself grow warm with honesty. “Perhaps our library? We do have a handful of new rooms to enjoy and christen, I think.”

“I recall making a similar promise to Anthony after our honeymoon,” Kate reminisced, smiling wickedly. “Makes me miss such a time in my marriage.”

“Miss a time?” (Y/N) laughed, accepting a drink from a roaming server. “You and Anthony only have been wed a bit over a year. Surely the flame has not died out?”

“No, no, not died out,” Kate quickly corrected. “It’s just, now with Edmund in our care, our flame has dimmed a bit—exhaustion keeps us both at bay to get at it like we once did.”

“Simon and I had a similar take after Amelia and Belinda,” Daphne chimed in.

“Yet here you are, awaiting your third child in three years,” Kate barked with laughter.

“As you said, sister,” Daphne sipped her lemonade, “it merely dimmed.”

If her face had blanched, the dim lighting of the game room had the entire part of disguising her discomfort at the idea—the mere idea that her want for Benedict could possibly wane.

“Dimmed,” (Y/N) repeated.

“Say, it’s been a few months since your wedding,” Kate noted, “do you and Benedict have plans for children soon? I expect with your new house a nursery is just begging to be filled.”

A polite laugh escaped her lips, humor long forgotten. “We haven’t much discussed the matter of children.”

“Oh, come off it!” Kate admonished. “Surely you and your husband want to aid in the Bridgerton grandchildren numbers? I recall Anthony mentioning an old wager between them on who would have the most children."

“A wager—you’re not serious?”

“Oh, that was merely a jest between brothers, I’m sure,” Daphne said, placing her steady hand on (Y/N)’s. Even in the candlelight, she could tell her newest sister-in-law was having no part in this conversation. “And knowing my brothers, it cannot be held to any regard.”

“Anthony seemed serious enough about it when I was carrying Edmund,” Kate shrugged. “No matter! We are here to play cards, yes?”

It was hard to pay attention to the game at hand—literally. With doubt and endless thoughts swimming through the new Mrs Bridgerton’s head, her glass never emptied and her mind never ceased. She won a sizable amount of money somehow—Daphne mumbled something along the lines of ‘rotten cards’ as she pushed the notes and coins to (Y/N)’s pot.

“You’re sure you do not wish to spend the night here?” Lady Danbury offered much later in the evening, just as nearly every guest had left. Only the Bridgerton ladies remained. “I can have a guest room made up in a blink.”

“Ben will be anxious for my arrival,” (Y/N) slurred, trying to remain upright. “I shan’t keep him waiting.”

“I thought we intercepted enough of her drinks,” Daphne whispered, words only meant for Kate.

“She must have snuck a few on her way to the chamberpot,” the viscountess realized, albeit a bit too late.

“I can handle my drinks just fine,” (Y/N) said, trying to cross her arms. It only took her two attempts. “Honestly, I just want to get home to my husband, thank you.”

“I will ride with her to her estate,” Daphne offered, already getting in (Y/N)’s carriage. “My carriage will follow close behind and I will retreat as soon as I see her enter her home safely.”

“What a good sister you are,” (Y/N) cooed, hand cupping Daphne’s face lovingly. “I wish I had a sister like you.”

“If you remember anything, let it be this, please just write to me in the morning,” Kate sighed, giving up hope on the cause. “Lest you want an angry visit from me tomorrow after you break your fast.”

“Get home safe,” (Y/N) listed, “write to Kate, do not make her angry. I think I got it.”

“Perhaps we should pin a note to her dress?” Lady Danbury laughed.

“I shall tell one of the maids to remind her,” Daphne said. “So she has no excuse.”

“You lot are being awfully nice to me,” (Y/N) said, stepping up into the carriage. The footmen were doing most of the work. “Nicer than I deserve right about now.”

“You’re family,” Kate said simply. “Besides, I reckon we have a part to play on just how much you’ve drank…”

“Quite,” Daphne nodded. (Y/N) began to look rather green. “Lady Danbury, I don’t suppose you have a pot or vase you don’t care much about?”

Wordlessly, a butler came running, holding a rather ornate bowl in his hands. After passing it off to the duchess, (Y/N) took it quickly and held it close to her head.

“Do make sure Mrs. Bridgerton cleans it thoroughly before returning it.”

—

The sunlight hurt.

In all of her years on this planet, the sunlight had never hurt as much as it did in this moment. A errant afternoon in the park, perhaps, leaving her skin a tad bit warm to the touch, but never did it sting like this.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Benedict sighed, walking over to her side of the bed. When had she gotten in bed?

“Unfortunately,” (Y/N) groaned, somehow managing to pull herself up to be seated. Her husband—doting as he was—had a tray of food and a pitcher of water waiting for her. “What’s this?”

“Charcoal,” Benedict tried his best to make it sound appetizing. By the look on his wife’s face, it had failed. “I had Cook mix it with some marmalade on bread to help with the taste. You need to sop up the booze somehow, love.”

“I didn’t drink that much,” (Y/N) lied, knowing full well she couldn’t fool even herself with it.

“I have never seen you in such a state,” Benedict nearly whispered, setting the silver tray on her lap. “I already sent correspondence to Daphne to thank her for insuring you got home safely.”

She took a hesitant bite of the bread. It wasn’t as awful as she imagined. Left much to be desired, sure, but it would do the job.

“I sent to Kate,” Benedict continued. “Told her you would meet her for tea later this week, as you obviously needed your sleep this morning.”

Another bite of the bread managed to go down before she reached for the glass of water in Benedict’s hand. “Thank you for that.”

“I’m still at a loss, however,” Benedict sighed. “What exactly went on at Danbury House?”

“I believe I need far more charcoal bread to entertain that conversation.”

“(Y/N).”

“It was a ladies night,” she chewed, trying her best to swallow her bite. “I cannot share what lewd gossip possibly came from it.”

He didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, beginning to wring his wrists mindlessly as he searched for the correct words to say. She hadn’t seen him do it since the day he proposed. Benedict Bridgerton was anxious.

“You said something, last night,” he finally confessed.

“I reckon I said a lot last night,” (Y/N) laughed lightly, polishing off her unfortunate breakfast.

“As I was trying to get you into bed, you kept mumbling a bunch of incoherent nonsense,” Benedict smirked lightly, “most of it made me laugh.”

“Glad to be a never-ending source of your entertainment.”

“You mentioned something about a baby.”

She didn’t dare look up at him.

“A few times, actually,” Benedict said. “Now, I don’t know what came of it, perhaps Daphne’s new addition sparked such an interest or you are with child now but—”

“But you wish for a baby,” (Y/N) finished for him, clasping her hands together. “Soon, yes?”

“What?”

“You purchased a new estate,” her hand motioned to their large bedchamber, “with various new rooms to fill with Bridgerton babies. A nursery already set up by our staff is only just down the hall. It’s only natural you expect that of me, given our honeymoon is over.”

“I bought our new home because my bachelor lodgings had nothing you loved,” Benedict corrected. “You yourself said you wished for an extensive library—I merely acted on those wishes.”

“Everyone expects us to have a baby soon,” (Y/N) groans, head in her hands. “All night I kept getting bombarded with questions and speculations about it! Most of it came from my very own family! Sure, I can handle a bit of gossiping from ladies who have nothing better to talk about, but my new family?”

“I had no idea—”

“It was the sole reason I had no desire to go last eve!” (Y/N) finally shouted, as if she meant to reach the heavens. “I know what is expected of me as a wife but what if—what if I don’t wish for that?”

“You do not wish for children?”

“No!” (Y/N) shook her head. “Well, maybe? Augh! I do not know!”

Benedict’s weight shifted on the bed, having now sat by his wife’s legs. “You do not need to know.”

“Of course I do,” she gasped. “I was raised for two things—to marry a respectable man and to have his respectable babies. One of those things I accomplished without much of a second thought—”

“I’m glad you thought so little about marrying me,” Benedict jested.

“That is not what I meant and you know it.”

“It made you smile, so I think the comment was well worth it.”

It had made her smile, she realized. The near-permanent frown of the morning seemed to have eased away with her husband’s jest.

“Every time someone asked me about it,” (Y/N) finally admitted, “I found another drink to drown myself in. I don’t believe anyone but perhaps Daphne really saw what was happening.”

“Does the idea of children really cause you such anguish?”

“It’s just—we’re so happy now,” (Y/N) took Benedict’s hand in her own. “I don’t want to muck up the joy and elation we have in each other by bringing a baby into the mix so soon.”

“We never really spoke on the topic,” Benedict said. “In our courtship, I mean. Usually a topic such as that one finds its way onto the stage, but somehow we evaded it.”

She held her breath.

“Truth be told, I never really gave children much of a thought, if at all,” Benedict chuckled, “far too interested in other pursuits. But, that’s not to say such a topic hasn’t been on my mind of late.”

“Has it?”

“Well, with my new nieces and nephew running around—crawling, I suppose—it may have sparked interest in me, yes,” Benedict looked directly at his wife. “But, for all intents and purposes, having a child requires two people and if you have any hesitancy in the topic—no matter little or seemingly small—I do not wish to further the endeavor.”

“What if I am never ready?” Her voice was small, the sound nearly dissolving against the down of the bedding.

“Then we will live a perfectly happy life regardless. You with your books and me with my paint,” Benedict squeezed her hand. Full of love, full of support. “More importantly, we will live such a happy life together.”

Perhaps it was the headache, or the pain from the bright morning sun, but (Y/N) felt the tears she had been holding back finally spill down her cheeks. Without even a second thought, Benedict pulled her into his arms and allowed her to cry, rubbing her back with thoughtful circles. He had somehow already moved the tray out of the way, as if he was preparing for a reaction like this. He knew her too well, knew her better than anyone could ever plan to know her. This thought only made her cry harder.

“What did I do to deserve you?” (Y/N) asked no one in particular, sniffling as she tried to compose herself.

“I rather think I should be asking you that,” Benedict said softly, kissing her brow.

“You truly do not care if I never decide to want children?” (Y/N) asked again, needing to hear her husband’s answer one more time.

“You could decide tomorrow and change your mind a hundred times and I will always be in your corner,” Benedict said seriously. “That is what a husband does. That is what I do for you.”

She smiled.

“Although, I will need to take special care in ensuring you do not become with child accidentally—we’ve been lucky thus far, but I do not consider myself much of a betting man…”

“Were the races last week an oversight, then?”

“Ah, but that was a sure thing,” Benedict snuggled her closer, “what was merely a point to best my brother ended up with us having a healthy amount of spending money! More paints and books in our possession. A win-win if I ever saw one.”

“Kate mentioned something last night,” (Y/N) tried her best to look up at Benedict, but his tight embrace made it difficult. “Something about a bet you and Anthony had regarding children?”

“Oh,” his cheeks flushed, “that.”

“So it is true?”

“In the sense we made such a bet? Yes,” Benedict nodded. “But we made that bet years ago—back when the only idea of us having children regarded heirs for the title, never fathoming we’d do it out of love.”

“What did you wager?”

Benedict smiled, finally pulling away from his wife to look at her directly. “Five pounds.”

“That is all?” She nearly shrieked with laughter. “With such a serious bet I truly would have thought you would have put more on the wager.”

“I suppose I am still expected to pay up one day,” Benedict said thoughtfully. “Perhaps I shall gift it to him on Edmund’s eighteenth birthday?”

She smiled at the thought. “I think that would make an excellent present.”

“Because even if we are to have any children,” Benedict continued, “and that is still very much up in the air, surely Anthony and Kate will be constantly going at it to rival my dear Mama for the title of most Bridgerton babes.”

“Giving him a win regardless,” (Y/N) said. “I believe you’re right.”

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel this way about children,” Benedict said, “I never want you to feel as if your voice does not matter. We are equals in this marriage—partners—in every sense of the word.”

“I may one day change my mind,” (Y/N) amended, choosing her words carefully. “But as of right now, I think we’re perfectly suited the way we are.”

“Well suited, indeed,” he agreed, pressing another kiss to her cheek. “But, I do think this morning calls for a bath—as much as I adore your natural musk, my love, I already had the staff begin to warm water up for you.”

She took a moment to sniff herself. She smelled of sick, smoke and booze. How Benedict was not repulsed was beyond her. “Oh. I suppose a bath is… ideal.”

He rose from the plush bed, outstretching his hand for his wife to take.

“A bath for two, I should mention,” he grinned wickedly. A grin she had loved from the minute she met him. A grin that made her feel wanted and safe, all in the same breath.

She took his hand.

#Benedict Bridgerton #Benedict Bridgerton x Reader #Bridgerton #Bridgerton x Reader #reader insert #fluff #is this self indulgent? perhaps #I'm very much on the fence about children like reader is #children can be a blessing!! but not everyone wants one #anyway... enjoy!

374 notes · View notes

luvtak · 3 months

Text

be my valentine, hhj x reader

✧ genre/tw brain melting fluff, just a little moment of being in love with hyunjin and accidently getting covered in paint, kissing, petnames, unedited.

✧ w/c 1156

✧ a/n ginger write something other than fluff challenged: failed. i wrote this inspired by the song valentine by inhaler and the way it makes me feel as well as the fact that hyunie deserves to have a very sweet love story <3 i hope you like it!!

Looking at him was as painful as the song’s he chose: he was so bright and incandescent that even in small domestic moments like this one, filled your life with an almost harmful glow. Like a star, he was burning fast and bright and sometimes it felt like he would burn right through you.

He was gorgeous and funny, and he was all yours.

It’s an interesting thought, the fact that this independent and lone star would see you and pick you out of a million souls. An unforgettable moment, the way his eyes glanced down at you when he asked to dance–sultry and cool, and unbelievably sweet.

He looks a bit like that now; paint covering his lifted hands, sweeping over the plains of his cheek to swipe the dark hair out of his eyes. Glancing at you over his painting, a work in progress you were not allowed to see–a valentines present, he said. The look gleaming off him pressed an ache right into your tummy.

Gazing at him always felt like a gut punch; A tornado of butterflies reaching from his outstretched hands right into your middle.

The music playing from his phone is melancholy, a slight betrayal to the smile eclipsing his lovely face. As it plays, he sings along, following the woeful melody with that out of place grin.

“Hyunie, why are you always listening to such sad songs?” it’s a question you’ve asked a hundred times, and always received a different answer, but this time he only shrugs. You know it's hard for him to respond when he’s painting–focused only on the glide of his brush and the mixing of colors. Reds, blues, greens, etc. shades ranging everywhere from chartreuse to periwinkle, mixing and matching with a wave of his hand.

“Sad songs are only sad if you are,” he answers late. “Like this one, only the melody is sad, the rest is happy.”

You try to listen closer, see the music from his eyes, but ultimately the ballad still feels melancholy. Lilting notes piling on top of each other and easing the words, it reminds you of him… the graceful way it speeds up and slows down ; passionate and intimate, beautiful and sad.

Being unable to admit this to him, you smile, the kind of smile that turns Hyunjin’s knees to jelly and stomach to storms. Secretly, he loves you the most this way: cozy and undone. He has sketches piled up of these moments, you with a book/you cloud watching/laughing with your friends. He adores you, even if he can tell that you don’t like his songs, that you think they’re too sad and wilty. You’re a crescendo of a person, loud and certain, and the music you like follows that. But he can’t help but love you more for listening to him, cuddled up on that tiny chair (surely uncomfortable) just so he can have a bit of company.

“You look so pretty over there, sweetheart.” Shocked by the shift in his tone you release a nervous giggle and you can feel yourself beginning to warm up. Not like this is unusual behavior for your boyfriend–he’s romantic and glaringly in love with you always, but something about the environment… this tiny room, this beautiful boy (hair pushed back, smile blazing) sends shivers down your spine.

Laughing, he sets his paintbrush down and wipes his paint-stricken hands off before moving closer. Only taking four steps before he’s in front of you, hands going to your face, hovering gently over the skin of your cheekbones. He never presses down, afraid to dirty your skin with the still green paint on his palms, but the way he’s looking at you gives the illusion that he’s touching you. Raking over your features like a starving man in a desert, lifting from your lips back up to your wide eyes.

He’s consuming you and yet he’s done nothing.

You can feel the heat of him, warm palms heating your face almost as much as your nerves. You’ve been together so long now, spent days and months and years becoming intimately aware of his body heat, yet you still feel that familiar shyness creeping up–leading to you biting the side of cheek in hopes of lessening the nerves.

It’s only when he sees this, you so flustered in front of him, that his hands settle over the side of your jaw. Protective and gentle in his hold, and his crescent shaped eyes smiling at you. Calloused fingers rubbing down your neck, slowly to ease your butterflies.

“I have them too.” he whispers, and your hands come to his chest, sitting where you know his heart is; beating quicker than you thought possible. How is it that you’re both so nervous? You’ve loved and lost together, know each other more intimately than anyone before, and yet just the sight of him conjures up the nastiest case of jitters. “Gimme a kiss, my love.” He giggled.

You kiss him once, twice, then three times–kisses that are barely there, mostly just smiles pressed together, lips slightly entwined before releasing–until his hands snake around your waist and pull you closer. Your bodies held against each other like magnets, so close and yet never close enough. He kisses you slowly this time, taking control and easing you into it, lips lingering on yours before moving. Like all things, his kiss is sweet, and he tastes like the dessert you shared earlier: sugary and tart.

When you move away, foreheads pressed together and lungs heaving, his eyes are still closed. And for one moment you can truly see what you do to him–leaving him breathless and rosy. When his eyes open, hazy and lovestruck, you can’t help but to tell him:

“Hyunjin, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” your voice is hoarse, heart racing inside your chest and you love him. You love him so much you can’t be mad about that paint on your skin, or the uncomfortable itch of his hair scratching your cheeks.

In response he takes your hand from his shoulder and kisses your palm, right over your love line. High and close to your pinky, you read once that meant you’d have an intense and passionate relationship… maybe it was silly, but you can’t help thinking it must be true, and what a wonderful thought that is. That from the minute you were born you were destined for him; meant to grow up and meet him, to love and be loved in the truest fashion.

You hope it’s true.

He kisses you again before going back to his painting, shyly laughing at the sight of you disheveled and covered in paint. He locks in again, focused on colors and shapes, and looks at you one more time, cuddled up and still reeling from the affection, and smiles brighter than any star as he tells you,

“You’re the most beautiful too.”

#hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #skz #stray kids #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin scenarios #stray kids fluff #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz fluff #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines

410 notes · View notes

entername322 · 3 months

Text

Her highness

Minji (New jeans) x Male Reader

Length: 11341 words

Previous part

“What do you mean we're not doing karaoke? It was your idea”, Things have been very fishy for you recently, at least according to Jin, “Yeah, I did plan that, but you know, life”, He glances around a little to look at Haewon who's passive aggressively staring at you. “Whatever the fuck is happening between you and Hae, you better fix it fast before this whole thing blew up”, With the frustration all over his face you didnt have the heart to tell him you're dropping off college soon. Nah just joking, “Jin, I'm dropping out soon”, Whatever you just said just send Jin to a cardiac arrest. “Are you shitting me?” You can clearly see he's boiling up, “No, dad's gonna get busy with honeymoon soon and-” The punch was quick, you can follow it with your eyes but you decided to just let him land it.

“What the fuck is wrong with you. Like what on earth did you do in the last few months? You know what? I don't care, fix it and get your shit back together”, Thankfully he still has the composure to keep his voice down, of course that doesn't mean nobody saw the punch. “Oi, what the fuck are you two doing?” Ren and the rest came to you and broke up the ‘fight’. “Ask him”, Jin glared at me, “Guys, I will have to drop out of college soon”, Of course this news silences the whole room. “You're joking”, Of course, they knew the answer, “Fuck then what about this? This whole fucking shit was your idea”, Being a leader is kinda annoying huh? You see Jin just slips away from the room.

Jin's departure slammed the door on whatever fragile camaraderie remained. Their eyes, once alight with shared dreams, glinted with cold betrayal. You felt the weight of their judgement like a physical blow, the respect you'd meticulously cultivated crumbling to dust in their vacant stares. "Can I go out first?" you asked, your voice surprisingly steady. "I have somewhere to be. Wouldn't want to make things awkward."

Awkward. A woefully inadequate word for the gaping chasm that had opened between you and your creation. Your band, cobbled together from dreams and desperation, now resembled a wreckage, each member a splintered piece of the illusion you'd woven.

Their silence screamed volumes. The air, thick with unspoken accusations, tasted bitter on your tongue. You remembered the meticulous courtship, the careful promises whispered like sweet nothings. You'd scouted them out, these talented yet directionless souls, lured them in with visions of stardom and the clinking promise of tuition fees.

Brotherhood, you'd called it. A bond forged in sweat and ambition. But it was all a lie, a gilded cage you'd built with your ill-gotten gains. You, the puppeteer orchestrating their dreams, the benefactor playing God with their futures. And now, the strings had snapped. The music, once vibrant and hopeful, had devolved into a discordant dirge. You weren't their leader anymore, just a faded mirage revealed in the harsh light of betrayal. Letting them go, scattering them back into the indifferent arms of life, wasn't a decision, it was an acceptance. This band, this fleeting experiment, was never meant to be permanent. A hobby fueled by boredom and an insatiable need for control, it had run its course. “I wish you good luck”

The sobs ripped through her like a rogue storm, each tear a glistening shard of her fractured trust. Minji clung to you with the raw desperation of a shipwrecked sailor, her body shaking against yours like a fragile leaf in a hurricane. You felt the tremors of her pain coursing through you, a dissonance in the carefully orchestrated melody of your scheme. Yet, beneath the icy satisfaction, a twisted kind of admiration bloomed. This volcanic eruption of her emotions, this primal display of possessiveness, was the raw material you needed to forge your queen. Minji, in her shattered state, was closer to your vision than ever before.

Her questions, choked with tears and doubt, echoed in the room: "Was it all a charade? Am I not your only love? Was there… someone else?" Instead of flinching, you met her gaze head-on, your eyes pools of icy amusement. "Hush, now babe", you murmured, your voice a soothing balm against the rawness of her storm. "There's only you. You're the sun my world revolves around, the fire that ignites my soul…. That sounds so fucking cringe", Your futile attempt at humour has fail to lighten her moods.

“You know I only got you babe, now and forever. That's what we promised right? That's why you buy those books to guide you through these trying times”, Your words, laden with a seductive truthfulness, were carefully chosen arrows aimed at the target of her insecurities. You knew her weaknesses, the fault lines running deep within her heart. And you exploited them, not with malice, but with the precision of a sculptor moulding clay.

"Perhaps, it's time for me to come out in the open”, You continued, tracing comforting circles on her trembling back, "Whatever I've planned for you, it's for your own good babe. I love you, more than you love me. So the same way you want me to be the best version of myself for you, I wanted you to be the best version of yourself for me too. I'm sorry that I have to put you through this, but this, this little dance that we do, it excites me. It's all just a little trial, so that you can be the perfect girl for me. Should I stop this babe, or should I continue this, and turn you into the perfect”, You leaned closer to her ears, “Wife?” The question hung heavy in the air, a challenge veiled in promises. You saw the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the battle between fear and ambition raging within her. But you knew, you just knew, that the monster in her hungered for more than just affection. She craved control, a throne beside yours, a kingdom to share in the spoils of your deceit.

"But there were whispers," she whimpered, clinging to the last shred of doubt. "Haewon… she said…" You silenced her with a gentle kiss, your lips a whispered promise on hers. "Haewon is a moth drawn to q flame, babe. A jealous girl who'll never understand the dance we share. You, Minji, are the one that I only ever cared about. I want you, to turn as corrupt, as degenerate, and as starved as I am. In the end there will be no one else but us”, As her sobs subsided, replaced by a cautious, flickering hope, you knew you had won. You had steered her fear towards ambition, her jealousy towards loyalty. Minji, the tigress, was slowly shedding her kitten fur, her claws unfurling with every whispered promise, every seductive truth.

“I have you, I only have you since day one oppa, why are you doing this to me? Did I not show you my love enough?” She felt betrayed, yet again, it's not like there's anything you can do to make her leave, whether you like it or not. “Because I love you. You love claiming me, you love having me in this little world of ours and you want me to never leave. Yet I can't stay here forever, I love people, I love the crowd, the attention, the adoration, I love it when I walk into a room and have everyone bow to me in respect. So I have to break you down first baby, so I can mould you, to the perfect queen for me. I'm sorry that I hurt you this much baby, I never meant to ruin you, all I want to do is show you, that this is who I am. I'm sorry okay, I really do, but I'm doing this for our own good”

Yeah that's not very convincing is it? Yet, you both know Minji can't step out of this anymore. Entrapped, by her own ‘love’ towards you, the "why" wasn't important anymore. The elaborate justifications, the convoluted games, all dissolved in the face of your shared truth. Perhaps you'd hoped for anger, for defiance, even for rejection, something that would add more fuel to the chaos you've made. But instead, Minji's silence was a balm to the burning truth you'd laid bare. It spoke of understanding, of a recognition that mirrored your own, a whispered acknowledgment that this twisted symphony they danced to was somehow their anthem.

Her fingers tightened around yours, a silent pact replacing the unspoken accusations. This wasn't submission, not surrender. It was a meeting point, a crossroads where their paths, both paved with shadows, intertwined into a single, storm-swept road. "You're insane”, she whispered, her voice a feather-light caress against your cheek, "but so am I. And maybe, in this broken world, that's enough”, You've done it, you turn her into an emo girl.

The statement, simple yet profound, hit you like a rogue wave. Her acceptance, so stark and unconditional, was the missing piece you hadn't known you craved. It felt like breathing after years of holding your breath, a rawness that simultaneously terrified and exhilarated you. Together, you sat in the quiet aftermath of your confessions, two sides of the same tainted coin, two halves of a whole sculpted from darkness. There would be no apologies, no promises of redemption, just the shared understanding that your dance, was theirs alone.

The silence that draped around you after your revelations wasn't heavy, but filled with future possibility. You scooped Minji up, cradling her close like a precious shard of the storm just weathered. In the hushed intimacy of the living room, bathed in the soft glow of a single lamp, you revelled in the newfound solidity of the bond forged in the crucible of truth. Her body, still trembling from the emotional storm, fit perfectly against yours, a puzzle piece clicking into place. You felt the warmth of her breath against your neck, a whisper of shared understanding. Gone were the accusations, the hurt, replaced by a quiet confidence, a dark symphony now playing in unison.

As you gently settled onto the couch, your gaze fell upon the abandoned book splayed on the floor, a silent witness to the whirlwind that had just passed. It was the one she'd thrown in a fit of anger, its pages splayed open like a dissected butterfly.

During this you noticed her book lay abandoned on the coffee table, a silent testament to the storm that had just swept through your living room. Minji, nestled against you, breathing in your comforting scent, slowly she notices a foreign smell, a sickening feeling starts to well up inside her. Minji’s playful mood slowly evaporated, suddenly the air felt thick with the cloying sweetness of cheap Jasmine perfume. It felt heavy, clinging to you like a second skin. It wasn't her scent, not by a long shot. Her nose crinkled, a storm brewing behind her bright facade. The smell of an old rival, a ghost that you've promised her to be exorcised from your heart.

"Trust and communication?" she scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "This author must have missed the chapter where husbands spend half the night glued to their phones and come back smelling of a cheap whore’s perfume instead of cologne”, Right, you forgot that Haewon almost embraced you earlier, which is enough for Minji's nose to pick up her scent. “Oh, this?" You chuckled, feigning nonchalance. "Just catching up with an old friend, sharing some stories. Nothing to worry about, sweetheart”, Minji has grown a little more, she notices that you didn't really try to lie, you want her to dig deeper, which she did.

Minji jumped onto your lap, grabbing your face, she bared her claws, digging into your cheek, her voice turning steely. "Sharing stories, huh? And sharing something else too, it seems. Tell me, babeee, does your 'friend' always wear perfume that smells like a used cleaning cloth?" The playful facade crumbled. You saw the hurt flickering in her eyes, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. Haewon's scent, a careless residue from a fleeting encounter, felt like a betrayal etched into the air. Minji, a defiant queen waiting for her answer, you smiled seeing this sight, such a beauty isn't she?

The playfulness was gone, replaced by a simmering intensity as Minji’s claws traced angry lines on your cheek. Her voice, sharp as broken glass, sliced through the tension-laden air. "Used cleaning cloth, huh? That's new”, A little smile forms on your face which you hide with your hand. “A fucking street whore throwing herself on to you at any moment possible. How is she there? You said she won't come”, Shame and remorse were strangers to you at this moment. This wasn't a confession dripping with guilt, it was a calculated provocation, a lit match tossed into the tinderbox of Minji's emotions. Every word, every flinch, was a brushstroke in the grand masterpiece you were composing.

"It wasn't like that," you began, your voice a feigned sigh of exasperation. "She was there at the performance, completely unexpected. We talked..." The air crackled with her disbelief. "Talked, you say?" Minji echoed, her eyes boring into yours like twin lasers. "And did this 'talk' involve her whispering sweet things on to you as you FUCKED HER behind my back?" The lie you'd woven about Haewon's absence evaporated in the crucible of her gaze. Denials would be futile, a flimsy curtain against the hurricane of her suspicion. So, you embraced the storm, your voice steady as you plunged into the icy waters of truth. "She said... she might be pregnant”, You admitted, your eyes carefully preyed upon her brewing madness.

The revelation hit Minji like a rogue wave. The fire in her eyes flickered momentarily, replaced by a chilling mix of shock and something akin to... fear. The claws digging into your skin relaxed, leaving behind crimson trails, a testament to the tempest that had just raged within her. Silence descended, the air thick with the weight of your confession. This wasn't just a betrayal of trust, it was a detonator, threatening to blow apart the twisted kingdom you'd built with Minji. But the tigress was no damsel in distress.

She pushed herself off your lap, her movements sharp and controlled. Her gaze, unwavering, held a cocktail of emotions - hurt, anger, and a flicker of something darker, something predatory.

Minji's claws retracted, not in defeat, but in a shift in focus. The fire in her eyes, previously aimed at you, burned brighter now, honed to a singular point – Haewon. The scent of the cheap perfume, no longer a mere annoyance, became a tangible object of her ire, a crimson flag planted in the territory of their twisted kingdom. "Pregnant, you say?" She echoed, her voice a low snarl, each word dripping with venom. "So, she saunters into your life, throws her cheap wares around, and now wants to play house with stolen goods?” You merely laughed at her oversight, “Babe, we just broke up like a month ago, maybe less, there's a chance it was from before you and me even a thing”, That's true, but in Minji's mind, you are her, regardless of the timeline.

The silence hung heavy in the air, a poison dart that had struck Minji right in the heart. That word, pregnant, rings countless times in her ears. Haewon, that vapid, spiteful creature, pregnant with what might be your child. Minji's claws, retracted a moment ago, dug back into your cheek, this time not in anger, but in a desperate attempt to anchor herself in this dizzying reality. "A month ago?" she breathed, her voice a fractured whisper. "You're mine oppa, I don't care if it's a month ago or a year ago, she stole you from me", The proclamations hung heavy, a storm brewing behind her fiery eyes. You met her gaze, a dark smile playing on your lips. "Alright, babe", you purred, your voice laced with a dangerous calm. "You and your... melodrama. But Haewon is just a little bump in our way, a fleeting distraction, a moth drawn to the flame only to get singed."

The truth, twisted and barbed, hung between you. A month ago, Haewon had been a convenient plaything, a diversion in the intoxicating madness that was Minji. But pregnant? That shifted the game in ways you hadn't anticipated, adding a delicious layer of chaos to the symphony you were composing. Minji, however, saw only one thing – threat. Haewon, not as a rival, but as a permanent stain on their twisted tapestry. The tigress within her reared its head, a guttural growl escaping her throat.

"Erase her," she hissed, her eyes blazing with a fire you found strangely beautiful. "Erase her from your life, from your thoughts, from every goddamn molecule of your body”, The possessiveness in her voice, the raw need to claim you as her own, sent a thrill down your spine. This, this was the Minji you craved, the one consumed by the flames of your twisted love, the one willing to dance on the edge of destruction for a taste of your dark symphony.

You leaned in, your breath ghosting over her ear. "That, my love”, You murmured, your voice dripping with seductive promise, "is precisely what we'll do. Together."

The pregnancy, that tangled mess of Haewon's moves, became the fuel for your shared purpose. Each whispered plan, each strategic strike against her rival, was a brushstroke in the masterpiece they were co-creating. Minji, fueled by righteous fury, became your partner-in-crime, her darkness mirroring your own in a mesmerising spectacle of shared chaos. You orchestrated a subtle but ruthless campaign, chipping away at Haewon's life until she was nothing but a hollow shell, clinging to a phantom hope. It wasn't just about erasing her, it was about painting Minji's name on your soul in bold, defiant strokes.

With each act of vengeance, Minji shed the last vestiges of the playful tigress, evolving into something darker, more primal. The pleasure you derived from it wasn't morbid, it was aesthetic. You were a sculptor, moulding her fury into a weapon, her possessiveness into a shield, her desire for you into an inferno that threatened to consume them both. In the flickering shadows of your twisted kingdom, where trust was a forgotten language and loyalty a weapon, you watched Minji blossom into the queen you always knew she could be. Her anger, once directed at you, had morphed into a shared crusade, a twisted tango where Haewon was the unwitting victim.

Exhaustion tugged at you like a riptide, pulling you under the velvet waves of sleep. You dragged Minji to bed, and in one quick sweep the fatigue almost took your consciousness away as soon as you dropped to the bed. Minji, however, remained a restless reef, sharp and jagged against your soft shore. The air still crackled with the aftershocks of Haewon's bomb, casting a long shadow of uncertainty over your twisted Eden. You tumbled into slumber, but it was a shallow haven, riddled with thoughts and plans for the final act you've set up. Minji, sensing your vulnerability, clung to you like a vine to a crumbling wall, desperate to anchor herself in the shifting landscape of your emotions.

As the night wore on, your sleep became a battlefield. Minji, a whirlwind of possessive fervour, left a trail of love bites across your skin – branding you with her claim, etching her name in the flesh you offered up as a canvas. Each mark, a crimson sigil in the flickering lamplight, whispered a silent declaration: "Mine” of course, she's very vocal about it as well. “You're mine oppa, I'm not letting any whore touch you again”, And, “That bitch won't be a problem anymore oppa, I'll make sure of it”, and some more monologue that tug you away from the warm embrace of rest. You stirred, half-awake, half-lost in the tangled web of sleep and desire. Minji's lips, hot and demanding, trailed a fiery path down your throat, her touch a desperate plea for reassurance, for ownership. You yielded, not unwillingly, but with a detached amusement. Her anxiety was your aphrodisiac, her possessiveness a twisted mirror reflecting your own desires.

The lovemaking was a dance of shadows, bodies entwined in a desperate quest for solace and control. Minji, no longer the playful tigress, was a predator defending her territory, marking her prey with the fierce beauty of her claws. And you, the ever-enigmatic maestro, conducted this dark symphony with a languid smile, your own desires veiled in a mist of shadows and calculated intent.

You closed your own eyes, the taste of her possessiveness lingering on your tongue. Sleep beckoned again, this time deeper, darker, pregnant with the promise of chaos. For in the kingdom of your twisted love, dawn was not a symbol of renewal, but a prelude to the next act, a twisted tango where trust was a weapon, passion a battlefield, and every bite, every mark, a declaration of war against the ghosts of yesterday and the uncertainties of tomorrow.

“Yeah, so what do I do now?” You are talking with your dad, about Haewon of course. “You got someone pregnant, to be honest I'm surprised it took you this long”, You can't argue with that one, “It's not my fault okay? She refused to take the pills”, Yes, you have contacted Haewon again, under the supervision of Minji, and she has taken a pregnancy test and shows that she's pregnant. “You know what you want to do already”, His eyes pierced through your deception, “Yes”, Moral is, a flimsy concept you like to dance around with, of course this trait is something you've gotten from your dad. “Is she rich?” You shake your head, “Does Minji know about this?” You nodded which made him frown.

“It would be troublesome if she finds out about your plan wouldn't it?” You shake your head again before telling him what transpired between you and Minji. Just the main part, the fact that she is just downright insane and obsessed with you, of course you take no blame for her transformation. “I knew you were a bad influence on her”, He's your dad, he knows your mind okay? “I plead innocence”, Do you have the right to do that? “Denied, we'll talk about that later. For now, deal with your ex, do what you must”, That's all you need to hear.

“Thanks dad, you're such a great father”, He doesn't even bother acknowledging your sarcastic remark as he leaves the house. Then Minji scurry off from the next room and jump to your lap. “Does he say yes?” She has such an innocent excitement on her, “Yes babe, we will ruin Haewon's life”, Which is so fucked up since the two of you are planning to rip apart Haewon. “Great, finally”, She nuzzled up to you, “I need to talk with Mina”, She immediately raised her head hearing a girl's name. “Who is that?” The new Minji isn't scared to bare her fang anytime she needs to, “Dad's assistant, also my mentor for the internship I have”, You pulled out your phone only for her to immediately snatch it away.

"Funny”, She breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, "you never mentioned her before”, The accusation hung heavy in the air, a barb aimed at your perceived deception. You could have easily backpedalled, spun a web of lies to appease her, but something rebellious stirred within you. This wasn't the Minji of old, the one who accepted your every word as gospel. This was a new Minji, born from the ashes of Haewon's betrayal, a tigress who demanded truth, who wouldn't hesitate to tear through the shadows if you dared to hide in them.

You could almost hear the gears in her mind turning, suspicion and jealousy swirling like a storm cloud. You weren't afraid, not in the slightest. This was just another act in your twisted play, a minor inconvenience that fueled the fire of her possessiveness. "Just a colleague, babe”, You drawled, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. "Helping me out with the internship”, You tried to take your phone back but she refuses to let go, "Conveniently absent from your usual repertoire", she quipped, her eyes gleaming with challenge.

You couldn't help but chuckle, a low rumble that vibrated through your chest. "Mina's not part of the story, darling. She's only a little cameo in our story, and I need her to finish our plans, so may I have my phone back?" The truth, of course, was more complex. Mina was a pawn in your twisted game, a piece to be moved across the board to elicit a specific reaction from Minji. Now that Haewon is being removed from the picture, you need a new doll, and Mina would be perfect for that. Minji's jealousy, a predictable yet volatile element, was the accelerant you needed to feed Mister Hyde.

But the act of pretending, of downplaying Mina's significance, was its own reward. The flicker of annoyance in Minji's eyes, the subtle tightening of her jaw, was a delicious confirmation of your power, of your ability to manipulate her emotions like a puppet with strings. "Oh, really?" Minji's voice dripped with scepticism. "Then why the secrecy, maestro? Why not introduce me to this… mentor of yours?" The challenge was implicit. A dare, a test of your commitment to this twisted game. You met her gaze, a mischievous glint in your own eyes.

"Fine, if you insist", You shrugged, a feigned sigh escaping your lips. "But be warned, babe, Mina's a bit… bland. Not something you would have fun meeting with”, So rude, however Mina is a silent type that just can't get along with you. You don't mind introducing her, you knew it would pique Minji's interest, fuel the embers of her competitive spirit. Minji thrived on being the centre of your attention, the object of your desire. Introducing a rival, even a fabricated one, was simply adding fuel to the fire.

“Mina, meet Minji, my new sister”, You stare Mina down, her pale figure seeming to shimmer in the shadows. Her delicate features, framed by dark raven hair, held the same unnerving stillness you once found captivating in Haewon. But Mina lacked the fiery edge, the malicious spark that burned beneath Haewon's surface. This one was a blank canvas, a porcelain doll waiting to be painted in the twisted hues of your desire.

The word sister in the air, a deliberate bomb dropped into the simmering tension. Minji, mid-sip of her wine, froze, her eyes flashing emerald fire. Sister? The possessive glint in them was replaced by a flicker of suspicion, the tigress sniffing out the absurdity of your claim. But before Minji could unleash her trademark hiss, you added another twist, your lips curling into a smirk. "And of course, my girlfriend, as well.” The room descended into an icy silence. Minji's jaw clenched, the wine glass held hostage between her white-knuckled fingers. Mina, however, remained unfazed. Her porcelain face flickered not even an inch, her gaze as detached as ever.

Minji, stare at you silently, “Don't you dare play this game with me”, You met her fury with a calm smile, enjoying the spectacle of her controlled outrage. "But babe", You purred, leaning closer, "It's only the truth. We may not share any blood but our name will be united soon, twisted to a lovely yet scandalous romance story”, You smiled innocently as you kissed Minji's cheek. “Twisted indeed”, Mina didn't even blink, her glacial eyes reflecting nothing but a cold amusement. “Sister and girlfriend, huh?" she finally drawled, her voice a silken blade. "Sounds like you've upgraded your moral compass from rusty to non-existent. Quite the family reunion, you'll be having soon sir", The barb stung, but you merely chuckled. You craved Mina's bluntness, her ability to pierce through your carefully constructed facade. Her lack of filter nor decency to not curse her own boss is something you always value the most.

“Come on now Mina, we're in love, haven't you ever felt young love before?” Her silent gaze answered it, “Don't make fun of our relationship, this bond is deeper than what you will understand”, Minji scoffed at Mina. "Oh, I bet," Mina drawled, her glacial gaze flitting between you and Minji. "Deeper than a Mariana Trench trench of red flags, perhaps? Incestuous entanglements spiced with a dash of public manipulation? Should I order a book called 'Ethics for Dummies' to fill your office bookshelf so that it can comfortably be placed alongside the other books you've never read before sir?” Quite the feisty one isn't she?

“Come on Mina, we're in a dog eat dog kind of world, nobody cares about this arrangement”, You shrugged, “Dogs with a penchant for family therapy, it seems”, She eyed Minji who just glared at her. “So my kind and ever so humble sir, is this 'sister-girlfriend' arrangement the only reason why I'm here? I believe I am quite a bad therapist, however if you do insist I do have a basic common sense so I believe I can manage”, You can't help but laugh, Mina is not a firecracker, she's an ice cold equivalent of that.

“I have some issue to deal with, I believe dad has told you the details?” She shakes her head, “Of course, I expected that as well”, She doesn't even react, why do you even bother trying to fish some kind of reaction from her? Oh right, it's not her reaction you're fishing for, “Stop being such a flirt”, It's Minji's. “First of all, I had some complications, you see my ex has been found to be pregnant”, Oh, you got a little tug on the fishing line, Mina let out a little chuckle. “How many of them sir?” You laughed as you shook your head. “So blunt, it's just one Mina. And the problem is, she doesn't want to deal with this quietly”, Finally, some reaction from Mina, she tilted her head with some ‘amusement’ in her eyes.

“And?” You don't really want to answer Mina do you? In order to see your progress you need to see Minji take the initiative and spearhead this whole operation. “I want her dead”, There she goes, they grow up so fast don't they? “So crude, but how could I judge after the brother-sister relationship you two are having?” There is one elephant in the room, a question you really want to hear Mina answer. “Does dad deal with this kind of problem too?” She has no reaction at all, yet there's sudden understanding between the two of you that you happily acknowledge.

“What was that?” Of course Minji doesn't appreciate it, she doesn't see what you see in Mina's eyes but she can definitely tell something is up just by looking at you.

“Nothing, Mina come here”, Minji grabbed your arm and stood up with you, “Baby I need some time to talk okay?” That's a pathetic attempt and you know it. “I'm coming with you”, The queens demand it, are you gonna disobey your queen? “Just wait here okay? We'll be right by the door”, Her eyes burned through your skull to send you her ultimatum. “Thank you baby”, You gave her a kiss as she sat back down, Mina followed you to the corner of the room, completely disregarding Minji's presence. “Quite the specimen you had there sir, is she as morally corrupt as you?” Mina taunted you, “Not really corrupt, just, different. Anyway she's a psycho and she wants Haewon dead due to jealousy”, Mina had this very small and almost unnoticeable gloating in her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Don't act like you're free from the crossfire, look at the way she looks at you right now”, Minji's eyes are hollow and devoid of life.

“I am completely aware sir”, Mina said without turning to Minji, “So, I need you to make Haewon disappear, but not just that. I need you to make her death to be, ambiguous at best. Is that possible?” Mina silently stare at you, this time you can't seem to grasp what's in her mind. “Making people disappear without trace is possible, however I need some more explanation on how ambiguous you want it to be”, Should you tell her why? “Just, make sure that her body is never found. Minji is paranoid and has been thinking that I might have some reluctance to this whole operation. So it would be nice if Haewon's disappearance is all clouded in mystery. No missing person report, no dead body found, no trace of her disappearances or death”, Mina just shook her head. “That's our normal procedure for this sir”, Of course it is, how could you miss this part of the orientation. “Right, well sorry Mina it's my first time doing this okay?” She still looks at you with some disappointment before walking back to the table.

You just sighed and joined back with Minji, “So? How long?” Minji said impatiently, “2 weeks, it will be finished by 2 weeks, now if there's nothing else for me I'll leave you two for your family therapy”, Did Mina just make some porn jokes? “Well, that's all for now Mina, thank you for coming here”, Mina nodded before she stood up and left the house.

“So, what did you two talk about?” Minji said, ‘calmly’. “Haewon's parents, I felt for them, they're good people”, She slapped you for that. “They raised a whore”, Can't argue with that can't you? “Don't be too anxious now baby, I'm sure they never expected her to be like this. Now, we need some shopping for our parent's marriage, I was thinking about red as our matching colour”, She looks at you with some distrust but she nod, “No, let's wear something white, it's also signify our union”, Maybe Mina is right, you need some family therapy.

“Sweetie, do you really have to wear some white dress?” Minji nods her head showing her determination, “You said that oppa and I can't have any official marriages so I want to at least have some resemblance to a wedding”, Your mom can only sigh in defeat dealing with this new Minji. “Here I thought you don't like being with people, this dress will put a lot of eyes on you, you know”, Yet there's still some happiness in her heart seeing jee daughter has finally broken out of her cocoon. “I don't mom, but oppa does and I will tolerate people for him”, Your mom smiled at her new daughter.

“Such a good wife”, Minji blushed a little hearing that from her own mom, “So, has that ex of his has been taken care off?” Minji frowned upon hearing that, “No, it's in one week and oppa has been keeping secrets from me again”, You can't just let Haewon die off screen can't you? “He's such a troublemaker isn't he? Sometimes I wonder if he's actually his father's son”, You are, your father has the same level of moral corruption but he causes less chaos than you. “I'm losing my mind mom, I loved him more than anything in the world and I want him to love me back as much as I do”, Despite her growth, there's still some childish innocence within Minji.

“Sweetie, life isn't a novel, sometimes all you can do is compromise. Your brother is a maniac with some split personality and you are an obsessed child who's guarding him like a dragon to its trophy. You both make compromise for each other, and sometimes that's good enough”

Minji frowned and couldn't comprehend how much you compromised for her, it's not that many to be fair. “I still don't like it, why does he have to be secretive about everything? I just want him to be open to me, is that so hard?” Minji just sinked her head into her mom's embrace. “Oh sweetie, if he's so secretive and you don't like it, maybe you should find someone else?” Minji immediately pulled away from the embrace. “Are you crazy mom?” Her mom just laughed and shrugged. “All I'm saying is, if he's not the one for you then find someone else. If you don't want to, then you need to change as well”, Minji sighed. “I want to change, I want to be able to pick apart his lies like he was a book I've read a thousand times. I need time for that mom, and until then I can only swallow my jealousy and study him”

Your mom took Minji to a hug, “Listen baby, I'm happy that you have grown like this. I would support you with all my heart, but I put your father over you from now on”, That's pretty fucking hard isn't it? “So if he breaks my heart you won't do anything?” Minji scoffed, “No, I would be furious, but I won't do anything to make my husband sad, you know how it is”, Like mother like daughter. “Fine, but I won't take this much longer, I need help in making sure that whore is dead”, Minji is making move my man, “I see, I'll see what I can do”, This does put Minji in a much more relaxed state, at least for the wedding. “Now, smile and have fun, it's your mother's wedding day”

“You're such a problematic child”, Always nice hearing your father losing his patience with you isn't it? “Thanks dad”, You smiled happily, “Whatever, hopefully that Haewon girl won't be the death of you. Mina said her family is quite influential and she is gonna need some extra time”, You frowned upon hearing that, some extra time might cause, unpredictable behaviour for Minji. “Yeah, what can you do? '' Unpredictability is just some fun in your book anyway. “If this marriage ceremony goes to shit just so you know your mom will kill you”, You don't, but it's nice of your father to tell you that.

“It won't dad, now come on it's your wedding day, smile”, He slapped your head, “Yeah thanks dad I'll be outside mingling with the guests”, You fixed your hair for a moment, “Don't cause trouble”, You shrugged without promising him anything. As you get to the venue you start mingling with your dad's business partners. Taking control of the room as you dance along to this social event. Time feels blurry for you as you keep jumping from conversation to conversation. Joining every circle like you belong there before leaving to join another one. This is your playground, you thrive in this place, yet, it feels old, meeting the same face again and again.

Then you look at Minji, coming into the venue, grabbing everyone's attention. Your gaze locked with hers and you sent her a smile. Walking towards her you can see she's imitating her mother's cold aura, although it's weak but it sends the signal that she's not talking to anyone. “You look great Min”, You smiled as you walked up to her, “Thank you oppa, you look great as well”, She smiled happily. “Now, I want to go around meeting your mother's business partners and introduce myself. Hopefully you're ready to just stand there and smile as I socialise okay?” She sighed feeling disappointed, she already expected that you wanted to do that, but she still felt disappointed.

“Okay oppa, lead the way”, Minji sighed, the sound barely audible, but her grip on your arm tightened ever so slightly. She knew the drill, the silent agreement you'd forged in this twisted love of yours. In public, you were brother and sister, an enviable pair navigating the gilded cages of high society. In private, you were something else entirely – something more, passionate and throughly fucked up.

With Minji clinging to your arm like a silent shadow, you began your calculated waltz through the traps of guests. Each introduction, each handshake, was a performance, a tune in the masterpiece you were co-creating. You revelled in the way your mother's associates fawned over you, their surprise of your confidence and eloquence while their eyes were seizing you for any possible threats. This battlefield is nothing but a source of distraction you forced upon Minji so she can take her mind off Haewon.

Minji, though quiet, was not simply a passive observer. Her icy gaze darted through the crowd, missing nothing. She noted the way women's eyes lingered on you, the envy simmering beneath their painted smiles, the subtle unease you evoked in certain men. She is your queen, even in silence, her claws hidden, her loyalty fierce. “You two look practically inseparable," one woman cooed to another, her eyes flitting between you and Minji. "Like siblings from birth”, You laughed at her comment as Minji felt tremor through her body, her grip tightened on your arm as she put on a forced smile. “Well, what do you think sis? Maybe we are separated from birth”, You laughed, Minji internally cringed the moment you called her sis, “It wouldn't change anything would it?” Such a brazen comment, perhaps even if the two of you are blood connected she would still go after you.

After a while the ceremony finally starts, you and Minji happily sit at the front, side by side watching your parents being united. Her hand stealthily grabbed yours and intertwined your finger together. As your mother reads her vow you can hear Minji speak those vows underneath her breath, audible only to you. You can't help but laugh hearing this desperate plea from her, and as soon as your father read his vows you did the same thing. “I do”, you're not sure if you heard your mom or Minji say that, “I do”, You said as well the moment your father said it.

Seeing your parents kissing signifying their union you can feel Minji get restless, she wants to kiss you as well. Your parents smiled at the two of you, then Minji just pulled you away from the ballroom as the crowd was cheering for your parents. “So eager already?” You laughed as you followed Minji and brought you to a secluded dressing room. The crowd noise sounds distant and muffled, Minji locked the door before jumping on to you, pressing her lips to yours. Her body is pushing you to the wall as all her desire burns out of her body. “You're my husband now oppa”, A silent declaration in this empty room, is that how your wedding goes? “Baby, I want something a little more…… well more. But okay, we can pretend I'm your fiancé now”, That would suffice for Minji.

Her hands immediately grabbed your shirt and started unbuttoning it, “I want you oppa, we haven't had sex in the last 3 days because of this stupid rehearsal”, She growled before jumping in and biting your collarbone. “So naughty, you want to walk around our parent's marriage with my cum in your stomach?” Perhaps the fact that you said ‘our parents’ is already weird, no? “Those fucking girls, looking at you with lust, those old hags trying to sell you their daughters. I HATE THEM”, She yelled before biting down your neck. “That's gonna leave a mark”, You sighed before undressing your own sister. Unlike Minji you are doing it very gently, making sure you don't ruin her dress.

“Now there babe, don't ruin my pants please, I want to keep it clean”, She scoffed at you but thankfully she pulled your pants off gently. As soon as she pulled out your cock she immediately swallowed it whole. Minji has turned into a throat god as she has been milking you everytime you want to go out. “Fuck Minji, calm down there”, You groaned feeling how eager her tongue is moving. Her gag reflex is all gone as your cock easily passed her mouth into her throat. You can see your cock bulging through her little neck which is very hot. Her eyes look at you with a demanding look asking you to use her mouth like a toy.

You put both hands on her head, “Ready?” Useless question, she was born ready. Immediately you started to fuck her face mercilessly. Wet sloppy noise can be heard as she starts to drool on your cock. Her eyes start to water, ruining her mascara, such a beautiful sight. “Fuck your throat felt so good, sis”, That sounds so wrong yet so hot. Minji grabbed on your thighs for stability as you continued rocking her head up and down. Your hand went to slap her cheek making her let out a moan as you continued pounding her face. Feeling a little bad for her neck you stop moving her head, your hand held her hair gently before you moved your hips instead.

“Fuck you're si fucking hot when you're like this Mini”, Ruined mascara, red cheek from your slaps and eyes rolled to the back of her head, she look so helpless. Minji loves when she's being used as your doll, being a little submissive girl just to serve her oppa. That's all she ever wanted, and also cutting off any girl who tried to talk to you. Looking down you can see her pussy starts to drip some liquid on the floor, “You like this sis? Being used like a toy?” You slapped her face again making her let out a loud moan as her leg started to squirm. “Fuck you're such a slut, I'm fucking cumming”, You shove it down to her throat as you pressed her head deeper into your crotch, your cock sprays down it's sperm down her throat into her stomach. You can hear her let out a scream as her leg starts to shake from an orgasm she's having.

Once you're done you let go of her hair and pull out your cock, Minji lay down on the floor panting hard as she felt like she might pass out soon. “Hey, you're tired already”, You laughed taunting her, “No, come on oppa, just fuck me already oppa”, She whined as her finger starts to prepare her pussy for you. “Don't need to tell me twice”, You laughed before laying down on her, your cock slipped into her pussy with ease, her pussy is already moulded to accommodate for your length. Your hand rests on her hips holding it tightly as you start to rock back and forth. “Ohhhhh fuck oppaaa”, Her moans echoes through the empty room as you starts to pick up your pace.

Minji's hand grabbed on to your back as her nails started to dig into it, “You're so big oppa”, Knowing full well the best way to arouse you is by stroking your ego. Your hip continues pounding her making a rhythmic slapping noise that fills up the whole room. Soon you can see her body starting to squirm and her nails starting to carve your back. “Cum oppa, pleaseeee”, She can't take it much longer, and her whimpering noises are music to your ears. You grabbed her body, forcing her to stand up and turn her body around. She leaned to the wall for support as you started to pound her from behind. “Ahhhh, oppa”, She moaned as you slapped her ass, “You like that you perv?” You laughed as you slapped her again.

“Oppa, please cum already”, Minji whined as she tried to hold her own orgasm. Your hand grabbed her hair into a ponytail gently before pulling her roughly. “Cum for me baby, I want to hear you scream”, Your other hand wrapped around her and pinched her nipple. You pushed deeper and harder, your hips crashed into hers, making every inch of Minji’s body shake and quake in pleasure until she felt her pussy explode with a mindblowing orgasm that forced her to collapse into the wall. The pounding did not stop with her orgasm, not even in the slightest.

“I'm gonna fill this tight pussy up", You yelled as your hand gripped her hips and buried yourself balls deep inside her pussy. "Fuck, give it to me, cum in my pussy oppa" She yelled as her orgasm is still going on. Minji felt hot sticky ball batter streaming into her womb as you gripped her throat and choked her, laying over her back with beads of sweat pouring onto her hot body. Your ball emptying everything it has deep into her as Minji felt every twitch your cock is having inside her pussy. As the ecstasy passed you let go of her hand and she slumped down on the wall and sat on the floor, looking up to you with a helpless eye. Then she moves closer to you and starts to clean your cock from any sperm that still sticks on to it.

“Good girl”, You pat her head making her smile proudly, she kissed the tip of your cock as she finished her job before standing up to hug you. “I really want more oppa”, She whined, “That would be unwise baby, we still have a party to attend”, She clicked her tongue before looking at you with fiery eyes, “Once we're home we're gonna fuck and lock ourselves in the bedroom for three days”, Sounds like a challenge, “Okay baby, now go get dressed okay?” You kissed her cheek.

Thankfully her dress isn't ruined by any means, however your shirt was absolutely stained and ruffled by her earlier. “Thank god I brought some back up outfit”, Of course this is gonna happen, you expected this already. “Then let's go sneak back to the changing room oppa, I'm not ready to follow you back to the party”, You haphazardly used your shirt and tried to hide the stains with the blazer you're wearing. Then you and Mini stealthily get back into the dressing room where you change your outfit to a turtleneck and long overcoat. “You're sure you're not cold with that dress babe? It's pretty cold right now, you know?” You said as you fix your hair.

“Hmmmm, I want your coat oppa”, She tried to pull it off of you. “Oh no way lady, if you were more gentle with my blazer earlier I would've given you this. But now that you fucked that one up with your sweat I only have this coat”, She frowned hearing your rejection. That would be perfect for her, the blazer actually isn't totally ruined. There's some little wet spot in it and that's pretty much it. Minji pridefully wore it before posing in the mirror. Thankfully for her, her face would be enough distraction to make sure people didn't realise the little wet spot on the blazer. “Thank you oppa”, She smiled brightly, it's pretty obvious, she want to wear it as a warning for everyone.

“You two are so cute together, are you sure you're just siblings?” The effect is noticeable from your first encounter, “Please, we are also business partner, isn't that right Minji?” You smiled at Minji. “Of course, as the only child for each of our parents we've been taught to take our parent's company, now that they're married we have made an agreement to make sure some inheritance drama wouldn't happen”, Even Minji felt much more confident and chatty while she's wearing your blazer. “Ahhhh, hopefully you don't learn too much from your brother, otherwise you might start to get a lot of suitors soon”, Minji getting flirted on by other guys? Wouldn't that be….. an interesting way to play around with her obsession.

After chatting around for a while you went to the bathroom to just chill around from all the socialising you've been doing. Walking back to the venue however, you find a very interesting view. Minji is talking to a guy, young, a little short, very handsome. You stay silent and just watch her as she hasn't noticed your return just yet. The word talking is very loosely used to describe their interactions. The guy seems very adamant to try and get Minji to talk, yet Minji just smiled and laughed here and there without saying anything to him. Even a blind guy can see that she's highly uncomfortable with his presence.

Then you see him slip something into her hand before walking away. Minji tried to open it before seeing you are watching her. She immediately ran up to you, “It took you so long”, She said seemingly forgotten about the earlier interaction. “Oh I was here for a while now, but you were busy with your friend so I was just watching”, Your eyes travel to the thing he slipped earlier, it seems to be a piece of paper. She also realised she was holding something, she threw it to the ground but you're fast enough to catch it. “Ohhhh? Isn't this interesting”, Just as expected, it was a phone number, “You should keep this Min”, You smiled trying to put on an angry smile as you gave it back to her.

Her face was filled with guilt and disbelief as you handed her the paper, “No I don't want it”, She crumpled it up before throwing it to a nearby trash can, she missed by the way. “Why not? You two seem to get along very well aren't you?” Her body is shaking as her eyes get teary, dear god it's so easy to tease her. “I'm not cheat-”, You immediately closed her mouth to make sure she didn't finish screaming that sentence. “Don't make a scene, and I need to talk with dad, so wait here”, You gave her an annoyed smile before walking away.

Minji stays silent watching the wall, her hands tightened her grip and her nail sinks into her palm. You let her marinate in her own anger as you met your mom and dad. “Did you two have a fight already?” Your dad sighed, “Oh no, I was just teasing her”, Your mom looked at you with squinted eyes. “Sweetie, don't make a scene, also next time please try to find a more secure place to fuck, some people can hear you earlier”, Do you care? Does your parents care? “We do care if our special day is gonna be remembered as the start of a nasty rumour for your little endeavours”, Your dad easily read your expression. “Come on now, nothing gonna happen, nobody will know”, The two of them gave you a synced dissatisfied glare. “Okay, we won't be doing any of that, anyway me and Minji gonna go home earlier today okay”, You smiled innocently. “You should go home now”, Your mom said, “That would be bad sweetie, people will start to talk. Go home in an hour, and just sit on the balcony with Minji”, You bow your head in an exaggerated manner to them before walking off to the balcony.

Your eyes scanned the ballroom to see Minji is standing near the corner, her eyes filled with the void as she stares at the guy from earlier. “My sister is my girlfriend, and she's a psycho”, You laughed to yourself before finding Mina. She looks at you the moment you look at her, because she's creepy like that. You gestured to her to come and she silently joined you at the balcony. “Why the fuck are you asking for more time? Don't you always say that you can work efficiently”, She raised her eyebrow for a moment, “It's entertaining to see you panicking sir”, You just laughed at her. “It's amusing isn't it? Look at her, so innocent yet so corrupted already”, You nod at Minji who's watching you now.

“She is, how nice of you to find new toys to play with sir. I'm afraid I might be put in the crossfire now, aren't I?” You nod, Mina doesn't seem to be annoyed or angry about it. “I want to talk to her, Haewon”, What the fuck is wrong with you? Mina looks at you silently before speaking up, “I would say these are easy to manage, however I have a suspicion that you want to talk to her in person and not through a call”, You nod making her sigh. “I'll see what I can do sir”, She left you immediately without saying anything. You glance at Minji who's just staring at you with anger, disdain, guilt and jealousy.

Then she walks to her mom, your mom, you watch them talk for a while before she walks to you. “I'm gonna kill him”, You're not really sure if that quick of an ending would be fun, “Me?” She shakes her head. “The guy who gave me his number. I'm gonna kill him, for you, to prove that I'm not cheating on you”, You giggled for a second. “I was just teasing you baby, don't get so worked up”, She moves closer to you which you immediately stop. “People are watching Minji, we can't just start kissing out here”, her face frowning even deeper. The two of you stay quiet for a while, she just stares at the floor, her shaking Jody tells you she's trying not to cry. “Let's go home, let's talk to mom and dad and say our goodbye before we go home”, She nodded without looking at you.

“Mom, dad, we are going home. Minji is feeling sick”, You put your hand around your sister as she's still looking down, “Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa”, Your dad sighed. “That's quite long dad”, He shake his head, “I can't deal with you anymore. That's it you're out of college from now on, you make her this way you're fixing her”, You see Minji immediately raised her head. “There's nothing to fix, right mom?” You smiled innocently, “He's right dear, my dear Minji is perfect, it's your son that's the problem here”, Your dad nodded. “You're fixing your nasty personality as well. The two of you will be going to a couple therapy”, Don't say it, don't say it, “A family therapy?” The three of them clicked their tongue and rolled their eyes. “Alright see you later mom, dad, don't look for us for the next week okay?” You winked at them before leaving.

On the way home Minji starts to kiss your neck out of anxiety, “What are you doing?” She just moans and continues biting your neck. “Hey, stop that”, She scowls and stops biting your neck, but she continues hugging you. “I will make sure nobody dares to come to me again, oppa. I'm sorry, please don't be mad”, Her apology was sincere, her anger towards that random guy is also sincere. “I was just teasing you back then so calm down. Also you should just leave him alone, his family can get cranky if something happens to him”, She frowned and nodded. This however, is a turning point for Minji, as she disregards your words and goes behind your back.

“Minji”, You sighed while glaring at her, *What's wrong oppa?” She smiled innocently as she kissed your cheek. “Did you kill him? After I told you to leave him alone?” She just shrugged before hugging you, “I don't know who you're talking about”, An innocent smile plastered on her face. You stare at her for a few moments as she continues kissing your neck. “I don't appreciate your disobedience Minji”, You frowned at her, “Oh don't be such a party pooper, I did it for you remember?” You sighed. Of course there's nothing you can do now, you reap what you sow after all.

“I need to go today, I have a business meeting to follow dad so don't make any trouble”, You decide to drop the subject for now, “Okay, don't come back home late oppa. Don't flirt with any girls okay?” She kissed your cheek before happily walking back to her bed. Something is up, she's been pretty calm after the wedding yet she has never been this calm. You went to meet your dad anyway, what's the worst that could happen? “What are you distracted with?” Your father immediately sees through you. “Minji is being off again, can you tell mom to watch over her?” He shook his head, “I swear to god the two of you are gonna drive me mad. Fine, I'll make her take care of her, now go and be ready for your presentation”, You leave Minji in the back of your mind for now. However problems arise when you finish the presentation and get a call from Mina.

“She's gone”, The first thing you think is that Minji has gone somewhere, then you realise, Mina was tasked to deal with Haewon, not Minji. “Haewon is gone?” It's Minji, of course it is, “Correct, I'm afraid it's your sister-girlfriend sir”, It seems like you might have grown a little too fast. “Fuck”

Once you get home, you find Minji just chilling on the couch, acting clueless while she continues reading her book. The moment you walk in she smiles at you, “How was the meeting oppa?” You stare at her coldly, “Did you do it?” She raised her eyebrow, she's not very good at acting. Perhaps, she doesn't really try to hide it, maybe she got that one from you. “You need to be more specific oppa”, Since when is she this sassy, “Did you, clean up Haewon the same way you clean up your charming suitor”, She frowns a little hearing you call that side character a suitor. “I heard your tutor, Mina, can't seem to do her job properly. So I asked mom”, Aren't you proud? Your little girl is all grown up now.

“Mom can handle these problems better than dad?” Minji just shrugged, “Mom has her ways”, You smiled, my god you are proud of her. “Well, now all is well isn't it?” No, holy fuck no, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. You've never seen any proof, but Minji definitely has her twisted tendencies from someone. Who could it be? Could it be her mysterious dad? Or is it her mom, your mom? Could her mom…….. treat your mom as her Haewon? “Oppa? What's wrong? You're happy right? Now there's no one between us anymore”, Minji smiles as she hugs you, her eyes devoid of happiness. They're just inspecting your face in case there is any disapproval.

“What a fucked up finale”, That hits pretty close to home, “Hehehehe, now you're mine oppa, fully”, Minji's hand starts to unbuttoned your shirt. Her lips touched your neck before she sank her teeth deep into it. Look at her, look at what you've made, isn't she beautiful. “Fucking he'll Minji, you're a maniac”, You grunted as your hand grabbed her tits. “Ahhhhh, you love me because of that”, Minji moaned before she continued biting her neck. Her hand finished unbuttoning your shirt and started to unzip your pants. “Should we go to the bedroom first?” Your question was answered by her body that pushes you to the wall.

Your pants fell off to the ground, her slender hands grabbed onto your cock as she pressed her lips onto yours. She let out moans as her hands are jerking you off. For once she took control of you. It felt good, didn't it? Having her hand aggressively jerk you off as her tongue is exploring your mouth. Your hand went under her sweater and started to fondle her breast, “Pinch it oppa”, She whimpered before continuing her exploration of your mouth.

Her mouth then starts to lower down and kiss your neck, her hand starts to stroke you faster and faster. “Fuck Minji, you've become such a slut”, She giggled and stop bitting your neck, “I did it all for you oppa”, She whispered in your ears. “Fuck baby, I'm gonna cum”, The moment she heard you Minji immediately drop to her knees. She pulls your tip to her mouth as her hand strokes you even faster. “Fuck”, You let out a grunt as you cum into her mouth. “Mmmhhhmm~”, Minji let out a moan as she felt those thick warm cum starts to fill her mouth. Despite her best effort to swallow it all, some still manages to drip out of her mouth, forcing her to use her fingers to wipe it before licking them clean.

“There better be more oppa”, She looked at you using her puppy eyes as she licked her cum stained hands. “Hehehe, get on the couch baby”, Minji stood up and turned around, making sure to poke out her ass towards you. Minji gets on the couch, kneeling on it as her body leaned towards the backrest. “Come on oppa, fuck my ass please”, She wiggle her ass to invite you. You walk closer, your hand grabs her yoga pants before pulling them down, revealing her bare ass. “You're ready baby?” Your finger teases her tight entrance, “Oppa, just fuck me already, fill my ass up daddy”, Did she figure out your kink already?

Your cock rests in between her cheeks, “You're so desperate already? Tell me first Minji, what did you do to Haewon?” You rubbed your cock between her ass making her feel frustrated. “Stop talking about her already, it's just you and me from now on. Forget about her, and just focus on me, daddy~”, Now how do you deal with her teasing? “Ahhhh, again daddy, spank me harder”, Well, spanking hasn't been a punishment for her anymore. You raised your hand and slapped her ass making her let out a moan, “I told you I got Haewon covered, but you just won't listen do you?” Minji bit her lips and nodded.

“I can't wait any longer daddy, I hate her, I hate her so much. I want you, I want you to belong to me, forever. Fuck me already daddy, I can't wait for you any longer”, She whined as she wiggle her ass. “Bad girl”, You spank her again making her moan, “I hate it when you won't listen to me”, You spank her again. “I'm sorry daddy, but I can't let her take up a place in your mind anymore. You belong to me, now and forever”, She grunted. That's it, no more waiting, “Aggghhhh, fuck daddy”, Maybe you can penetrate her slower though. “Fucking slut”, You spanked her again making her moan, “Yeah, I'm your slut, fuck me harder daddy”

How is a gentleman supposed to say no to such a kind request? You pick up your pace and pound her even faster. Your hand grabbed on to her hair and pulled her up, “Ahhhhhh, fuck, you're so fucking big daddy, you're breaking me apart”, Minji is filled with ecstasy, and your cock. Your hips starts to live by itself, pounding her mercilessly as her ass jiggle from the impact and your spanking. “Fuck, fill me up daddy, pleaseee”, Her words sends you over the edge, you grunted and pull her hair even harder as you empty your load inside her. “Hhhmmm, that felt good daddy, hopefully you still have some more to give me because my pussy is still aching for you”, Minji moaned as you pulled out your dick, your cum started to overflow and dripped down her ass.

You sit down on the couch next to her to catch your breath for a second, then Minji jumps on to your lap and starts stroking your cock. “I should stop drinking those pills oppa, because it's time to make you a real daddy”, She kissed you as your cock sprung back into action. “Hopefully, this time you didn't end up like the last girl I impregnate”, She smiled a little before leaning down and whispered in your ear, “Don't worry oppa, nothing will distract you ever again. It's just you, and me, now and forever”

#kpop fanfic #kpop gg #kpop smut #newjeans minji #kim minji #minji smut #male reader

405 notes · View notes