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seventeenpins · 9 months

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bad girl

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

word count: 4.1k

summary: you're staying in your hometown for a couple of months with your mom and relatively new stepdad. he walks in on you masturbating, and is surprised at the sort of porn you've been watching. no outbreak. very smutty. 18+

warnings: ooh god where to begin??, reader is kind of a detached menace but in a fun way?, masturbation, porn watching, infidelity, choking, pussy slapping, pussy eating, unsafe piv, dirty talk, big dick, daddy kink, bit of breeding kink, age difference (unspecified, but reader is late 20s, joel mid-40s or whatever you like really), begging, slight dom/sub vibes, readers mum is a ho, somewhat degrading language (probably other warnings????)

a/n: honestly don't know what happened here. one minute i was working on what i intended to be a lil daddy kink drabble and then it turned into a whole other beast. also--i'm a recently out nb person but feel most of my writing has focused on fem readers. any nbs out there who'd want smut more tailored to us??? doesn't come up in this fic, but in my heart joel miller is bisexual and would make for some gr8 gender play ahhhh

you had only met your stepdad twice before he married your mom, and only a couple of times since, and you could never quite get a read on him. he seemed quiet and gruff. upsettingly hot with his salt and pepper hair, and his biceps, and his little bit of tummy, but seemingly entirely unattainable (how your mom pulled him, you'll never know). your mom didn't have the greatest track record as far as not cheating on her husbands, and you didn't know how much or how little he knew about her past, but you were incredibly curious how long this one'd last.

he's polite. enigmatic. a man of few words. he had two kids, who you hadn't actually met yet, but they were a few years younger than you and away at college--one daughter from a previous marriage, the other adopted when he was a single dad.

you'd only been staying here for a couple of weeks, usually only home for two months out of the year to do some freelance work and catch up with friends, but since your mom got remarried (again) you're adjusting to the new dynamic. you didn't have the best relationship with your mom, but you didn't argue. didn't fight. didn't have enough interest or passion to try and make her angry. you had a mutual understanding--you'd stay here for a couple months of the year, rent-free, and you wouldn't get into it with her about how her four husbands and a dozen boyfriends in between them in the nearly thirty years you'd been alive had simply made you impassive towards most men, knowing they'd never be able to stick around, and instead you took what you wanted and then ditched them before they could ditch you. to say you had daddy issues was just the tip of the iceberg.

there's only been one family dinner night since you've been back, but calling it awkward was an understatement. you were sat in almost total silence, as your mom scrolls on her phone and joel scoops up some mashed potatoes and slaps them onto his plate.

"so, uh-," he begins, clearly not sure how to start a conversation, "how's your work been going? guessing it's pretty slow these months since you're able to take the time away? your freelance stuff going well?"

"sure," you agree, "it does get slow this time of year. freelance has been good. got a couple of projects i'm enjoying working on."

there's another silence.

"your momma said you'd been dating someone you met at your work? how's that been going?"

you laughed, thinking back to one of the only guys you'd mentioned to your mother, less out of a closeness to him and more because you wanted your mom to get off your case, "honestly, that ended a while ago. he was a pretty terrible lay."

joel clearly wasn't expecting that, and you smirked at him as he choked on the beer he was sipping, coughing and trying to cover up any spittle. your mom gently pats him on the back, still staring at her phone, not even listening. typical.

not sure how to follow this up, joel just shrugs and puts on a stoic face. "sorry to hear about that, sweetheart. what a shame."

you'd be lying if you said that didn't make your heart flutter just a little.

you've attuned to the general framework of home again. you've noticed a few other things, too. first, your stepdad seems to be taking a whole lot of evening shifts. second, your mom seems to be out when he's out, too, but always manages to slip in just before he gets home. finally, if there's one thing you know about joel, it's that if he's working an evening shift, you can pretty much guarantee that he's gonna be at least an hour later coming home than he says he'll be. more often than not, two. you've been here for sixteen days, and in the eleven days he's worked late, he's been late late. and this morning, joel said he wouldn't be home till at least 9pm.

it's only 5pm, so you think absolutely nothing of it when you pull up your favorite porn site, careless about keeping your bedroom door closed.

sometimes it takes you a long time to decide on what porn to watch. sometimes you want the release, and just need something that'll get you there quick. and then there are some days where you know exactly what you want. you know exactly how you want it, and you know just where to find it.

you've got an incognito browser up as you scroll through the page till you find the section you're looking for. click open a couple of videos in separate tabs. skip the ads.

place the laptop beside you, choose one to start with, and watch as the scene unfolds.

you need this. it's only been a couple of weeks since you've gotten laid, but you and your most recent fuck buddy have more or less broken up and you are extraordinarily horny, with no outlet besides your hand (and, technically, your trusty magic wand, but you forgot to bring your charging cable and she's only got so much life in her).

you focus on the scene, slowly dragging your fingers along your pussy lips, your other hand pinching and twisting at a nipple. you listen to the moans on screen as you tease yourself, dipping a finger into your tight, wet heat, and then adding another. the friction begins to build, and the pressure you're putting on your clit is just right.

"fuck", you let out a breathless moan as you start finger fucking yourself in earnest. your hips are stuttering and you feel it building so deliciously and you absolutely don't hear the knock on your door and the slight clear of a throat.

and then you register it, a couple of moments later.

you look up from your laptop screen and towards your door and you see your stepdad, cup of coffee in hand, and he's staring at you with an expression you can't parse, one eyebrow raised.

you buffer, taking a moment more for you to react to him, and you manage it in the worst possible way.

"fuck!!" you shout, slamming the laptop shut and practically flinging it away from you, pulling your hand from under the sheets and not-so-subtly wiping your slick on your duvet, and pulling your top back down over your tits. it's all done in a split second, and it was neither low-key nor quiet. you know your face is growing more flushed by the moment, and you can swear joel is actually smirking.

you stare each other down before you finally speak, "what are you doing home so early?"

"i live here," joel shrugs, takes a sip of the coffee, and then realises he might sound like a bit of a dick. "just- uh. just found out some... shitty news. decided to take the day off."

you almost forget the situation, quick to voice your worry--"are you okay joel? what's going on?"

he snorts. opens his mouth and closes it, as if he's decided better of it, and then opens it again. "just found out your mom's been stepping out on me. well. thought it was true for a while, but my brother just saw her with some guy. guess that's all the confirmation i need." he laughs, wryly, and his smile is dangerous.

"well shit," you say. it doesn't surprise you in the least, but you're not sure if it'd be better or worse to acknowledge that, and then you immediately remember your newest stepfather just caught you masturbating and you're deeply self conscious again.

"i'm really sorry, joel, but you've clearly-" you clear your throat, "caught me at a bad time. is there something i can help you with?"

he looks you up and down for a moment, and you can swear he's looking at your mouth for a second longer than you'd expect.

"well," he says, "i'd come up to see if you wanted anything for dinner. i was gonna order takeout."

there's a long pause.

"but now i'm curious about what i interrupted."

your eyes widen.

"let me see your computer. i wanna know what you were watching that you're so embarrassed of."

you immediately grab your laptop close to you and shake your head. this is something joel cannot see. "absolutely fuckin not," you tell him, and his smile gets sharper.

"i wasn't askin', sweetheart."

there's something dangerous about him now, and even though it frightens you, it's somehow exciting, too. commanding. persuasive.

he puts his mug down, and you barely think about what you're doing when you hand him the laptop, type in the password, and turn it around towards him.

you can't bare to look at the screen at the same time as him. it's fucked up and weird and he'd have every reason to avoid you forever after this, but there's a small (but persuasive) part of you that's telling you that this is a line he's willingly crossing, and there's a charge beneath it, and maybe you could get from him exactly what you want.

you study his face as he scrolls down the page. you hear him click, but no sound starts playing--he must be looking at the other tabs.

his eyes widen, and you can hear your heartbeat pounding as you watch his face.

you want him to say something. you need him to say something.

he hits play on one of the videos and the room is immediately fills with the sounds of slick flesh and moans and cries of "oh, daddy, oh daddy please--"

it's only then that he looks at you.

"well aren't you a filthy girl, hmm?" joel ridicules, "and don't think i don't notice the trend with these little videos of yours."

it's humiliating. you almost expect to die out of embarrassment right on the spot.

"look at some of these titles," joel continues, "stepdaughter gets fingerfucked by stepdaddy, stepdaughter's pussy pumped with daddy's cum ASMR, jesus christ girl-" he laughs, incredulous, "letting my stepdaddy breed my little hole".

joel's staring you down and you still haven't said anything, and that just won't do.

"these the usual kinda thing you like to touch yourself to? or is this a new subject now that you're home, spending time around your stepdaddy?"

"i-" you start, "i don't know, i-"

it's not an act, you're pretty fuckin frazzled, practically cocooning yourself in your covers and you shrink back in shame, and this seems to amuse joel to no end

"how's this, sweet girl," he says, and you realise he's been getting closer and closer to you and now he's seated only inches from your bare legs and pussy, still covered up with your blankets, "you tell me to stop, and i'll leave this room right now and close the door and we can pretend i never saw anything here-"

"no!" you cry out, and then slap a hand over your mouth, eyes wide at yourself while joel starts to chuckle.

"or," he continues, "you can let your stepdaddy make you feel real good."

"yes-" you cry, and not a moment later, the blankets are being pulled back and he's stroking two thick fingers along your cunt.

"there's a good girl," he says, and actually groans as he dips into you, collecting your slick, "so fucking wet for me. it is me you've been thinking about, ain't it?" he asks.

"yes joel," you say, because it's the fucking truth. you've been thinking about him nonstop for a while now, thinking about how his muscled arms look in those stupid threadbare t-shirts, thinking about the sigh he makes when he's had his first sip of a cold beer, thinking about the silver of his hair, the brown of his eyes, and the mere idea of what his cock might taste like. "i've wanted you to fuck me since i first met you."

he lets out a fuckin growl and presses his fingers into you. "such a cute little pussy, already dripping for me, huh?" he moans, and it's two digits pressing into you, but you've been working yourself up for a little while now and you're already swollen and wet and they slip right in. he finger fucks you for a moment before turning back to the laptop.

"which one's your favorite?" he nods at your screen, "which one do you watch and wish it was happening to you?"

you swallow and click back to another tab.

"letting my stepdaddy breed my little hole?", he snorts, "you really are a dirty girl, aren't you? get up off the bed." he commands.

you obey, standing up and kicking off the panties still around your ankles.

"and take that top off," he commands, and you do, pulling your top up over your tits and melting at the sound of his groan at seeing you bare for him.

he sits down on the bed with his legs spread, jeans still on. "you come sit here by daddy's lap," he says, and you do, sitting in between his thighs, inching back ever so slightly until you could feel his hard cock straining against his pants.

he runs his fingertips down your body, down your breasts and torso, dipping into your bellybutton, before drawing little circles on your hips.

'hit play," he says, and you grab the laptop next to you and resume the video.

he copies the video, rubbing one hand along your pussy and the other holding your thighs open.

"that's it," he coaxes, "keep those legs open for me, yeah?"

you're about to agree, when he starts stroking little circles around your already stimulated clit and the ability to speak leaves you. all you can do is focus on trying to keep your legs open, but your thighs are already almost quivering and he only chuckles.

"barely even touched you and you're already stupid."

you tried to nod and let out a sad whimper, tipping your head back and resting on his shoulder. he keeps his thumb pressed on your clit while he pumps his middle and index fingers in and out of you. it's so wonderfully, deliciously wrong. it feels addictive.

"you're doing so good, sweetheart, fucking on daddy's fingers like that," he praises, and it sends another spark of electricity building in your centre. encouraged, you start rocking your hips towards him, meeting each thrust of his fingers. "ready for another one?" he asks, and you nod vigorously.

he takes a moment to hold open your pussy and lean over you to look at it, stroking his fingertips along the outer lips, gathering some of your arousal, and prodding back your hood to get a little direct contact with your clit that leaves you writhing and gasping. he's smirking again, and presses a third finger into you. he curls them upwards, fucking the digits into you so nicely, and you enjoy the sensation as your arousal builds and builds and builds and-- as you come, you white out for just a moment, and as you come back into reality you can hear him speaking to you, "oh you're clenching so tight on my fingers, messy girl, look how you're dripping so nice down my fuckin' wrist. you're a nasty little slut, just like your momma huh? but i know you're gonna be a good girl for daddy, ain't ya?"

you continue to grind on his hand as his fingers stay buried in you, as you ride out the rest of your orgasm. only when you still does joel pull his fingers out of you.

as if hypnotised, he examines the arousal coating them. then, quick as anything, he pops his fingers in his mouth and sucks off your slick, immediately looking sheepish as though this was the only line he'd just crossed.

as quickly as he had become shy, he switched back to overt confidence. "y'just taste so good, sweetheart," he says, and then starts stroking your pussy again. "you're gonna let me have a proper taste, aren't you honey?"

you nod helplessly. it's so fucking good, it's too fucking good.

he scoots out from behind you and you buckle a little, toppling back onto the space he left. he's in front of you now and presses your thighs apart again, dropping to his knees on front of the bed's edge. he runs his tongue up your inner thigh, chuckling at your whimpers as he bites and nips at the sensitive skin. he takes a tentative lick, drawing his tongue towards your clit, circling it gently, and then dipping back before pulling off you for a moment.

"y'taste so fucking nice," he breathes, and his exhale on your slick pussy is exquisite. "i could just drink you up."

he presses the hood of your clit back once more, leaving his thumb there, applying perfect pressure as he flicks his tongue directly on that bundle of nerve endings and you feel like you're on fire.

"fuck, joel, yes-" you cry out, but he pulls back and shushes you.

"shhh," he says, "you don't call me joel right now, baby."

"i don't-?" you say, taken aback by the sudden lack of contact. then it clicks. "daddy-"

he smirks, "that's a good girl, sweetheart. wasn't too hard, now, was it?"

"no, daddy," you agree, and he's already diving back in, pressing his tongue into you in long strokes, letting you grind against his nose, his lips, the scratch of his cheeks, every movement he's making is so fucking perfect.

as he devours you, he presses his fingers into you again, and then you can't help yourself. you rut up on him, totally unable to practice anything resembling self restraint. in between strokes of his tongue, he pulls back and tells you, "i'm gonna need at least one more from you, baby, before you even get to think about sitting on this cock."

you let out a crazed whine, feeling joel's chuckle as he dives back in, eating your pussy like he was made to do only that.

he continues to build you up and up and without warning, you reach your peak again and come all over his face, your wet pussy drenching him and he closes his eyes and eats you through it like a man starved.

"fuck, baby," he says, "you taste so damn good, i could do that all day long."

you're splayed out, totally bare, the slick on your thighs cooling with the lack of contact. joel's looking you up and down, admiring your flushed body as he starts to undo his belt and drop his pants, your stomach flipping at the soft thunk of his belt hitting the floor.

you could feel, through his jeans, that his cock wasn't small, but you sure as fuck didn't anticipate just how thick and heavy it would hang between his wonderfully muscled thighs.

"you'd better get over here and fuck me, old man," you tease, and he snorts, before pulling you towards him by your ankles and landing a smack on your bare pussy.

"watch your manners, girl," he sneers.

"fuck!" you cry as you ride out the sensation, and he moves to slap you again, but your thighs are so slick his hand slips when he makes contact and accidentally presses you just right on your overstimulated clit, and to the surprise of both of you, you come again instantly.

he watches you, wide eyed, as you scream and your pussy clenches around nothing.

"you're just too easy, sweetheart," he laughs, "can't believe that little boyfriend of yours was such a bad lay when you're so goddamn easy. barely have to touch you and you're coming again and again for me."

"he'd just put it in, give it a couple thrusts, groan, and roll over," you snorted, loving the way joel's jaw clenches at your words, "besides, i prefer an older man."

"that's a damn shame, honey," he growls, "but i'm sure we can get ya taken care of."

you both realise at the same time that the video is still playing, as some particularly loud moans come through the speaker. you look over, and you swear you can see joel's eyes dilate as he watches.

that's a good girl, the man in the video croons, taking all of daddy's dick. wanna breed you full of me, fill you full of daddy's cum, you'd like that, huh?

you swallow and look back at joel. he looks ravenous.

"you love watching such dirty shit, don't you, baby?" joel asks, and starts teasingly rubbing your swollen clit again with his forefinger.

"yes daddy, please-" you agree, trying to chase the sensation, "please, i need your cock daddy, fill me up just like that-"

he lines himself up, notching the head of his thick cock at your entrance, and you're practically vibrating with need. it's not a want, it really is a need, if you don't have his cock right now you're probably gonna die and you need it you need it you need it so fucking badly

he laughs, and you realise you said all of that aloud, but you don't even have the capacity to feel truly shameful right now, you just need to feel him.

"c'mon, jo- daddy," you whine, "gotta feel you-"

"uh-uh, sweet thing," he chides, "i think you need to beg for it. you've got no manners, and knowing it's your momma who raised you it's pretty clear why, but you need to learn how to be a good girl. daddy's gonna teach you how to behave right here and now. got it?"

you let out a sharp exhale. "yes daddy."

"now beg."

two words shouldn't have such an ability to wreck you, but they do, and before you know it, you're rubbing your drooling pussy up against his cock head, rutting against him, begging and pleading-

"please, daddy, please fuck this wet pussy, you know how wrecked you've made me, turned me on so good, made me drip for you, made me come again and again on your fingers, i just wanna make you feel good, wanna take that cock, take everything you have to give, fuck me hard and fast and please, daddy, please--"

he cups your chin for just a moment, stroking a thumb along your jawline.

"that's better," he soothes, "what a good girl," and then he's slamming into you.

good fucking god he's huge, and you can swear you can feel every ridge, every vein, the swell of his shaft, the notch of his head, he's stretching you out deliciously.

you tilt your head back, leaving your throat bare, and let out a rough plea of, "choke me, daddy," and he doesn't need to be told twice, wrapping his hand around your neck and putting pressure in exactly the right spot. you can already feel the haziness building, and his thrusts keep coming fast and deep and you can feel the head of his cock brushing against your cervix.

"jesus christ, girl," he whines, and his thrusts start to falter a little, "you're gonna be the death of me. letting daddy use this nice little pussy just so he can feel good-"

his words begin to tip you over, and you know what you want-

"come inside me, daddy," you choke through the pressure around your throat, "fill me up, make yourself feel good, give it all to me-"

that does him in, and he lets out a strangled moan, coming inside you right as you come one last time, walls clenching tightly around his throbbing cock.

he releases your throat, and you both lay there for a minute, both totally fucked out.

after a minute, joel gingerly pulls out of you and lets out a weary groan.

"gonna be the death of me, woman," he snorts, and walks to your bathroom to clean himself up. he comes back a minute later with a cloth. you're expecting him to wipe you up, but first, he takes a moment to examine the cum that's dripping out of you.

"look so pretty like this, sweetheart," he smiles, presses his cum back into you, and then wipes down your slick thighs with the cloth.

"shit, joel-" you say, "who'd have thought you had that in you, old man?"

he rolls his eyes but he's still smiling, and then you sit together for a minute in comfortable silence. joel stands up after a while and grabs his coffee mug. takes a sip that you know must be cold by now, but he seems unbothered.

before he can leave, you stop him. "so-" you ask, "is this a one time thing, or?"

he shrugs, seemingly indifferent. "no reason i need to let your momma know what i know yet. and i reckon there's a lot more fun we can have before that happens."

you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, and your shoulders relax.

"good." you say, and joel smiles.

"good," he repeats. "now, i know i've worked up quite an appetite and i'm guessing you might have, too. you pick the takeout, i'll go pick it up."

"thanks, joel." you smile, and you're already thinking of the next time as you scroll takeout options on your phone.

that's it. you're fucking addicted, and goddamn you can't wait for your next hit.

#joel miller smut #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller x f!reader

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astralnymphh · 5 months

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stuff you up ౨ৎ

aestras thanksgiving smut special

' so who's getting stuffed, you or the turkey? '

HELP PALESTINE . DO NOT BUY TLOU2

♡. summary; fuck the festivities, who actually cares about all that sappy shit. instead, embark a newly founded festivity– fucking your girlfriend up in the dusty memory of your old bedroom~ ♡. a\n; late af as fuck but just a fun little smut, nothing too serious, a bit rushed but here y'all go ♡. CW; groping under the table, fingering (r), clit stim (r), strapping (r), horndog!ellie, dom!ellie, tipsy!ellie, risky sex (joel almost catches u), cock referred as 'her' + referred as ellies, cocktip teasing, ass grabbing, some ass smacking, some plot, jokey bickering, readers a bit bratty, a slight brat-taming moment if you squint, mouth muffling, squirting, petnames; babe, baby, babygirl, princess, good girl, (lmk if i missed anything)

♡ WC; 5.5k ♡ masterlist ♡ thanks 2 @fleshunger 4 proofreading the intro ♡

Paired minds savor the embellishing glow of lit stick candles settled before them in a ritzy manner– shedding light over plates of arraying colors. Marination that glistens, crispness that scrapes, and mushy mesas' of garlic herb potatoes that delicately slump in the cradle of a spoon. Consume with your eyes first, then your cameras– and conclusively, your rumbling tummy.

Rather to consume what's meant to be, than to gorb the scruffy haired girl next to you– at least for now, yes?

It's your first Thanksgiving with Ellie, being that you two only linked heartstrings this year.

You, the possibly innocent angel that you are– right now, serve clement smiles to whomever talks to you, be it Joel or some random relative who’s name only just surfed your ears this night, it doesn't matter. De rigueur, wear it well.

A baser mind– I mimic regret while telling you this– tumbles far from the garden of Eden and slips away into a daunting realm, the underworld. By under, I mean downstairs, below the button, the internals. Ellie straight up, served hot, was just bursting with hormones. The tender meat oozing with buttery slick melt fell short in maintaining the contact of those chartreuse eyes, instead, suffering the envy of them rooted to your thighs beneath the oak.

Noses immerse themselves in salty goodness, eyes feast before gobs could, rolling molars gnaw turkey off the tines of forks, but her, her cunts' the only organ thinking right now.

Especially while seated adjacent to you, her clit was throbbing past the hard material of her jeans.

"You both settlin' in your new apartment?" Joel's bellowed drawl carries over the other muted chatter, low in the background.

"Mhm," your hum slopes and rises behind lips sealed to a glass rim, then part with a smack, "Ellie’s definitely settled more than me." ending with a giggle.

Her ear pivots from you, dirt–dappled nose at the fore, "Oh? What's that 'spose to mean babe?"

"Can't keep your hands off that shiny new Playstation, hmm?"

"Tchh– you bought it for me." replied her with a skosh of sass.

"That I did."

"Uh–" Joel bumbles.

Els drones out, "Andd all my video games–"

"Where's my thank you?" you pout in frolick, forwarding your face for her view.

Hmph.

Her miffy eyes bounce around her skull hence to piloting back on yours, her own pout puffing, "Okayy, here," she sighs lowly, nosing her lips down to pucker a peck– smacking together.

A shared hum in approval vibrates between the bond of skin, half–approval, a kiss was meager in your book of play, and you felt particularly playful this eve.

With a finished kiss, leaves your mouth to mouth a sneaky little quip, fruitful in a whisper, "Didn't hear a thank you~"

"Hmm?"

"Els.."

Faces still bathing in transferring warmth, her breath hitches on your mid–face, a sigh to end all worries, "You'll see, just wait." Her voice cracks a bit, silken on your ears.

Waiting wasn't even on the table.

Not when a brawny hand suddenly gropes your inner–thigh, squeezing the fat in little wags.

Give thanks to whomever, thank fuck for being at the tables edge, where nobody else could witness this.

"Anywho–" Ellie grogs her throat clear of those debaucheries, returning to her normal seated poise, "yeah, like, we're settled– thanks for helpin' us find that place." her pitch heightens, flowing into a nosy chuckle.

"Course, kiddo." softly spoken off Joel’s sentiments, but minding less attention and returning his mouth to something more, toothsome. Foodsome.

Goddess, her grip is mighty.

Devious fingers– they found their way, quick. Fingers such as hers, waxy and pale, rigid and calloused, stamping up your hip and giving firm pressure to the bone. Knuckles flushed of pigment, they dig around the crest wanton, nudging you slightly.

"Seriously?" you spit through grit teeth, wiggling your hips in reaction.

Ellie harks your mutter, tugging those smug corners into a cocky smile as her nervy nature would plant her in, naughty–toothed smile, "Huuh?" that bastard coos, "what's wrong babe?"

"You dickhead."

"Me, dickhead?"

"Yes, you, dickhead."

"That's a lot of dicks n' heads, what is it with you and dicks n' heads?" she creeps her face closer, squinting dumbly– which only made her onslaught of 'heads and dicks' more peeving now that you really loured at her.

Grimacing at her dense brows queller than a storm, blushy nostrils taunting in a wiggle, it subtly made sense– impish coquetry. The kind of shit you toss like a game of ball, prior to the main event. An event, to be seen.

"Why you givin' me that look, huh?" she squints lower in return, flaring her nose, "Do I have a dick for a head?"

"I would not kiss you if that were the case," you claim advantage of her closeness and peck her goofish scowl, forcing a crescent to spry on that mouth, "Dork."

Hooks on your hip palpate harsher on the jut, her thumb swiping where the cushion and your butt cleft. Pressure given, when words pique her interest.

"Babe," Els murmured with fry in her chords, "d'ya want it?"

"It?" you gulp.

"Mhm.." thrummed she, eluding, "c'mon, you know.." said with that chilling husk, whew.

Okay, maybe it's clearer–than–a–midsummers–noon clear, that Ellie was a tad tipsy. Pink worm of hers just couldn't resist the samplage of some bourbon, sweet oakey notes that evoke memories of bourbon skies hence, quite the beautifying thought. Skies where you play a shrouded silhouette to her line of sight, tapping thumb to chin in ponder. Ponder, pondering.. for what were you pondering those sunsets?

Yet now you lacked a ponder on whatever the hell she was hinting to, only for it to ferment suddenly.

"Ellie, what are you on–"

"My fingers," a blurt wets her whistle, cocking her head dear to your poor ear, "do you want.. my fingers– in.." you feel her dual digits dive in the crevice of your thigh and groin, curling snugly.

"Ellie.." you hiss, pinching your brows in honest bewilderment.

Her pinkie roves over the bulge of your crotch and punctures the inseam right above your clit, stinging the little bud– which throbbed at her press.

"Do you?" her breath wanes, speech sedated with the aim of persuading you.

Contemplation was considered– maybe too carefully, maybe not. Problem one, legitimately most if not all of your family was within spitting distance of you, but on the other hand, the gutsy hand, weighed her offer slacker than a greedy businessman. In precis, her puppy eyes of coveted sanction, rears triumph. Dickhead.

A caught gulp squeezes down your gullet, puffing your chest out, "Mhm.."

"Okay.. mhh–" she giggles with husk, creasing up as her lithe fingers trace and wrest your fly open, skulking her hand beneath the hood, "Just focus on dinner baby, I got this.." wisped soft, kindred to cashmere.

The unyielding stretch of your denim fastens around your hips in the act of her palm ramming inside, yanking you forward. Pursing your lips in elated exhales, you try, try to winch meat to mouth and void the tamping of your clit, try as you might– the pleasure is dire.

Ellie’s prints depress a lewd discovery, the stub of her smaller knuckle thickens itself in leaky panty, secreting from your eager hole. A discovery, worth a hushed gasp, "Ooh? Wet already babe? God damn.."

"Shut.. up.." choked you, only reaping a laugh from her.

"Fuck, I do all this?"

"Duh."

"Hehe– fuck that's hot.."

She withdraws her fingers half–way, to slither them under your panties. And without a foraged bit of foreplay, dilates your labia with her furled digits loading inside of you.

A squishy nub brushes your sweet spot.

Your pipes in turn swell with sharp intake, wall of your throat cooling instantly. Fuck, bona fide fuck. Enormously fucked when her pumps wreak gentle squelches from your dewy core.

"Jesus, mhphh.." a gruff of air susurrus from her, starkening her torso in an 'appeasingly normal' angle so she may, blend in, bemusing your mother with small–talk, "So, d'you always have a gathering this big on Thanksgiving?"

Out of all people, really, Els?

She indulges with a smile, purely answering, "Oh yeah, every year– whole family, too many relative I suppose." fading erratically into a giggle.

"Heh– ‘least you got a big house, shitt– I mean," In spite of sounding casual, slips into a grit curse when your wet walls clench her in, "–dang, what I wouldn't give to live here, right babe?"

A mere butt of her elbow nearly dips you into the waters of appearing– deviant of natural, those slender digits, twisting a tender knot inside. She pumps at a canter, lesser than brisk, swifter than a slug. Beat, beat, beat to your g–spot, akin to the pitter, pitter, pat of your whizzing heart.

"Y–yeah, soo jealous, even though I did as a kid.." laughing it off awkwardly, a bask of 'Please let that be the only time I talk.' relief uplifts your sunk gut, momentarily.

"You still eating well livin' on your own?" your mother queries, tuning that time–old maternal charm.

"I mean, d–decent, enough–"

Ellie thrusts her fingers faster, fashioning a trickle of ooze to froth out onto your underwear. Pacified by the sensations, you clamp tighter, knocking a winded hitch to your staggering speech. Fucking inconvenient. Olives of her eyes binge a glint so bawdy, yet inlaid in a bad case of puppy–face, bullshit purity on her glossy lips. She knew the consequences, and consumed them like nothing.

"Pshh– decent? Babe, please, I'm like the microwave master!" exclaimed she, feigning a biggety tone atop her rasp.

You scoff, "Ah–" shuffling your thighs in light see–saw motions, "again, decent."

The knot squeezes as she finger–fucks the tranquility of mind from your pussy, staring knives at you when her supple thumb drags your clit in flicks.

"Sure it's not good?"

"Mh–mh.."

"Like, really good?"

No way she was referring to the microwave meals anymore.

Your mother intrudes softly, "Honey I can start bringin' you my homemade food if it's not–"

"It's okay, she's just playin' around–" Ellie replies before a vowel can flutter your lips, proceeding to eye–fuck you with a smug visage, "she loves my cooking." she rasped, eyes slimly showing.

All you can spotlight on is her gropey hands, jerking you like some toy, it felt too fucking good. Too pleasant to snuff, too divine to scold, exhilarating to your veins sore with salaciousness. Then, you route back to a ponder, what more could she stipulate?

"M' gonna go to the bathroom," you swat her hand out and jostle your fly up, netting a coo of amusement from Ellie– secretly.

"You good babe?" she vocalizes after, keeping her pussy–prune digits free of smear.

"Come with me." purred you, hoisting from the oaken chair.

Ellie's lids arise with tangible hots– an aphrodisia densely potent of kindiling her eyes. No anointing of sanctity will ripen her intentions, nor anchor the even throb of her cunt. For a throb is a hymn, to you. She wants you, and she's going to have you. Moments and minutes hence, falter to compare in energy.

Cue her cheek pleating smile.

"Okay–" a light snort prances off her open lips, whirling her lap aside to skim through the tight wedge and stumbling to you, "which bathroom we doin'–"

"Just follow me," your voice aspires over, cusping your hand and snagging her calloused ones in the curve of it, "gonna' show you somethin'."

"Heh–" she chuckles dryly, tailgating with a gentle pull of your forearm.

You two whip around a door nook, glide through the foyer and advance upon a staircase. Your cotton–clad heels stroke wood planks beat by beat, soft wallops that carom off skyscraping maroon wine walls. Ribbons of lunar light dangle on and off your heads, crafting gauzy shrouds that mix and mingle off the corners with a bobbing ascent. Every wall laid reminiscent of a ritzy manor, a lacquer of lavish.

The flight of stairs then ingress into a much thinner hall, in a much quainter space, and fitted to each doors awaiting enigma. Duller light spills through, glossing the path you took towards a fawny brown door– your bedroom.

Ellie espies the cleave of an abutting door, aiming a bead on with her index, "Wait– isn't that the–"

"Shh," you gingerly rustle air on locked teeth, shifting your arm towards the gilded rotund knob and twining with metal clicks and clacks, "bathroom was just a cover up."

"Oh~"

"Hmm hm~" you kittenly croon.

The barrier pendulates sideward from your stride, only to be elbowed soundly back to a wisping shut. You pinch the little knob's notch and, click, lock the door. An amused flit of breath pours from her agape lips, catching your wordless gist bereft of another second.

Ellie thrums that same old rasp, sweetening you up, "Real smooth babe, takin' us up here.." her feet coast her closer to you, kitty–cornering you to a rearwards stumble.

Plaster bumps, a welting sharp ridge– they trench in your ankle and up as your calves butt the wall, inevitably backed up. Trapped, positively trapped.

"Well–" a scoff enlightens your latter words, "couldn't just stay there with you two fingers deep, hm?" and your 'hm' asks for her agreement, pitch yawing.

"Was 'gonna make it three, but.."

"But?"

Her head shrouds yours in a gray penumbra, orangey–tint nose a scant whisker from brushing yours, and sends you into a conundrum with a mere utter, a tepid utter, "got uhh', something better for you." tying off with a willed lip bite.

"Oh really?" you moon with pep, hooking a calf around hers.

She smokily coaxes, "Fuck yeah– look." her knotty digits then cruise around her hips, meeting at her denim zipper and tugging that metal tab down. Fleeting as starlight, she thumbs the belt–band and chucks her jeans just beneath the ruck of her asscheek, chafing fabric to fabric with her lax boxers.

A lone brow quirks, expressing the fact that with the way she juts hers hips forward and palms her crotch weirdly– it reared too obvious, "Ellie, don't tell me–"

A springy mass wiggles against the front inseam, held in her teasy tauty grip– veins popping of course, "Tell youu whaat?" her words muff in hoarse laughter.

"Baby.." you exhale, adjoining a whiny moan. Ellie's such a goofy tease.

That simple mass in her crotch, was a sign– a clear, lucid, taintless and foretelling, that you were getting stuffed like a turkey tonight.

In counter, her exhale fuses with yours in dancing particles, so gentle, finer than purity made flesh, "Babe.." and such gentleness caresses your ears, a pureness forgotten in those divinity forsaken puppy eyes– pout moist.

You can't rend your pupils elsewhere, trapped like mice, you gape with encroaching arousal dowsing out your nerves– and drenching down below. Markedly, where you gaze now– her fingers tug the waistband down, exposing the bulbous green head of her cock in her boxers tight band, barely, literal orb of luster dabbled on the tip.

Now your eyes truly cannot escape.

Cotton tenderizes in lines around the bulge, her hand stroking above the shape. And the way you stare, fucks her mind good, speaking throatily, "God," a gulp bubbles, "can't stop starin' hmm?"

"Hehe– couldn't help but wear it?" you snap back.

"Yes ma'am," said off a grunt, pushing said bulge to your curious hand, pleading for a rub, "you gonna' suck her?" soothing is her tone, a breathless moan.

You coo, "Want me to?" and weasel your palm in circles, watching her pelvis follow.

"Uh'huh babe– mhh, need it.." she rolls the hem of her shirt up to her ribs, flaunting that strapping waist– perfectly toned.

Appetent with sure appetite, you nod, a nod that tows her lids down, down.. down, till the green born of her eyes rely on a thin horizon hawkeyeing you. A sliver of sparkle, eager in you. It only takes you dual bends of the knees, stamping chiffony flesh to cold oak and your fingers tucking in her underwear– to excite Ellie.

"Yeah, m'gonna suck her, suck that cock." you mouth in broken vowels, steeping breath on her firm navel pouch.

"Fuck.." she nimbly grunts and tosses her head back, tightening skin on the jounce of her adams apple, swallowing.

Giving tender pressure on her boxers, you slither them netherward until they sojourn atop her bunching jeans fixed above the knee. You swear, those quads of hers clench at your brushing touch, causing your sights to skip up on that dangling cock. Wow. The fat head pokes your nose–tip, curbing up as she cradles its silicone girth to palm.

"Hold uh'," what you expected to be 'up' erupts as a tiny grunt snuffing, eyeing her other hand concealing her lips with a muffled 'puh' to top, "there we go." that hand draws down to smear her spit along the length, squelching mildly.

"Mhh–" you hum shorn of audible sound, batting keen breath on her strap, "–so big.."

You tell her that, everytime. And everytime, she revels in that negligible fact, shutting her eyes in skin–sheathed darkness– pinpointing on how too–too hot that seems. And the way you say it? Oof.

Ellie tacks five fingerprints on your head's crown and coaxes in flits of force, easing you on, "My god, babygirl– oooh.." she relishes an oval–mouthed moan, watching your lips wrap her cockhead.

And it's warmer than anything you've gobbled so far this eve.

Balming a heat like that, tucked in her boxers so neatly and snug– it tickles your gums. Soft and pliant, your lips are, they crease and roll under as you swallow her in, impressing a pit on your tongue when they meet.

"Hhmmm.." you moan a mouthful on the frothed up silicone, dragging your lips back over to motion a bounce of your head.

"I know~" she coos to your bumble, pucking her hips with an equal piston to her pelvis, "them' lips feel goood– fuuckkk.." as if you can feel them, dork.

You clasp her thickness in hooks of your tongue, sending splotches and globs of spit to pool around your oval–ringed mouth, courtesy of her tip bumping your throat in, "Guh- guh, guh, guhh–" prods.

Ohh, that birdsong. The quaffing of your vocal bands subject to her humps, producing a rhythmic beat to alight her hormones. Your song worthy of hearing. You wimp the swelling sink that her nails wreak, a flicker between cuspate tapering and a meek love– a calling for more.

Enlighten me a morsel of those twisted, dirty thoughts, auburnhead devil.

Leathery wads of her free digits roam hot on your pulping cheeks, chiseling out as you suck. Her fingers then find themselves arcing a tuck behind your ear, thumb printed to your temple. A dash of encourage, she presses, a truer than blue visage, she contorts ran by pleasure. Squelch, suckle, drag spit, and repeat.

Due to your stretching spread of lips taking her well, likeness of a blockade in your mouth, you couldn't speak. Obviously. So over the wish–wash of saliva, Ellie tunes you in with her filthy comments.

"Suckin' my filthy cock.. fuck–" she pauses with a gruff moan, baking in your brain deep, "gonna' make me cum so goood–" her vowel strains, clenching her pussy lips around nothing except the cool, cruel air, "yes.."

A reed of cold nips your chin, seconds hence realization settles; you're getting sloppy. A manifestation of Els actually fucking your noggin to slosh, wouldn't spark surprise if liquid poured from your cranium at this point.

Her own arousal rots you further down, too.

With the feeling of her cock climbing near hellward down your throat, smacking on the gummy walls, and the husk her moans endure, crucifies your pussy with an ache of want. Fabric of your jeans suffers a beat, your clit, throbbing. It hurts so good and it stings so right, so tight, you need her now.

A faster bob you give, the more Ellie can't take it either.

"Babe–" she hawks out, but fails to halt your bopping movements, "babe, fuck–" the digits parked behind the conch of your ear skip and push your jaw up, staking her cock out with a spring.

"Ghh– schhlp, huh?" a chuck of spit muddled your words, unfurled tongue lapping up every web left by your messy, messy mouth.

Nook of her hand like a cusp to your jaw, she beckons you with a nudge, and rasps, "Up– c'mon, n'turn that ass around."

Ass. Something about that word reverberated in you, bothered you hotly, made a tepidness leak from your cheeks. The rasp she rung it with, eyeing you with twin fern flames for irises– an approaching engulfment to marry your skin with ashen blessing, more consuming. Ass, Ash, haha.

A flutter in your hips spreads like fire across your legs. It weakens the muscle you bend, standing upright challenged resemblant of a feat, especially when Ellie's grabby gropes found purchase in the crevice of your hips, spindling you on a quick axis. It wanes the composure you hold like a goblet, dwindling to shattered shards across the floor, primarily as those bedeviled claws slot under rough woven denim and remove them false of trouble and trick– ruching to nothing at the root of your ankles.

Where happy hubbub clamors downstairs, pleased pandemonium moans upstairs.

A jut of two knobby hip bones thump into each asscheek, denting the skin into a gully. Warmth, a ligature of it rides through your backside, making you shake. Not like her hands would let you tremble, one being so immovably returned to your hip.

"Fuuck that pussy 'been waitin' for me, huh? Can just tell.." mumbles her with vocal fry, pupils ogling bare of shame at your cinched folds, clasping nothing.

"Your fault."

"Oh really?"

"Mhm.." you hum timidly.

"Gonna call me dickhead again, or–" a fat ball teases the dripping lips of your pussy, spreading them slightly and sloshing the skin around, "Is this enough?"

To give way, was a mistake, buckling your pelvis deeper on her cock which faces a grip ardent to shaft– teasing with rolls of her wrist. The cockhead, or literal dickhead, warps and smooshes against your clit as she toys with it. A whiny, "Huuh– Els.." mangles in your larynx, pitching.

"Yeah, you like that? Know you do." that damned smirk lives in her curving tone, sweet with a dash of tang. Her cock dilates your delicate folds further, exposing the velvet flesh to cold air and an intrusive visit.

Your fiendish pussy kisses her cocktip and ceases its movement, clamping her in place, whimpering, "Mhh, ahh– ah.."

"Hey, 'lemme go– was just getting started babe," she laughs crisply, landing a fine plume touch to your ass, "c'mon.. loosen up.."

A flux of slacken tires the muscles that clamp her in, hugging your entrance more softly around her tip.

Ellie winches weight on her knees, crouching her groin into you with a slow swerve, "There we go.." she purrs with tension in her tune, relieving a sigh when her cock pops in silkenly.

You seize up, gasping sharply, hips begging to break brittle in her grasp of iron– but iron does not deform easily. Pressure stays pressured, and digits knurl over the hill of your hip bone to prop it upright. With walls expanded on her cock like your pussy was made for her, it humbles you, belittling you to sludge in her metal caress.

"Fuuckk yeah–" she broadens her sigh of bliss, abrading on the 'K', like a crackle. Pleasure kills neutrality in the smoothest way, gathering grooves in her forehead, "y'feel so warm baby.. mhmm–"

"That's not even your dick.." you half–way give a giggle, suppressing the moans you choke up.

A tense whistle of air sounds from Ellie's nose, a reaction of vague irritation, "Swear to god.." her tongue smacks after and a sudden thrusting of her fat cock catches your mind astray, winding those choked moans out.

"Uhn– uh fuck, huhh–" you babble.

"Not my dick huh? Who's fucking you? Tell me, fuck– yeah?" Her words warble where skin smacks, wetness palping in obscene squelches.

Does she really expect you to answer when her cock continually swells your cunt and abuses your g–spot? Yeah. Ellie will fuck the answer from one hole to the other, if she so feels compelled to.

But of course, you don't answer.

"Baaabeee," she taunts, "baabyyyy," and tortures, "who she getting fucked by right now, tell mee.." and fucks, cooing purer than vernal spring washed in the rain, mushing globs of pre–cum all over your cervix.

"Y-you.."

"That's right."

This feels almost violating to your vagina, to be stuffed like this. Did she size up? Get a new strap? Whatever the case presents itself as, it felt fucking good. Made you woozy, each bop she played like a drum on your sore ass, summoning a white ring of creamy sap to veil around her cock's girth. White droplets failed to envelop her cock, though, each jiggle of your muck bodies lashing beads of it onto the oak boards, your thighs, her pretty auburn bush, etcetera. Attempting to grab the wall, duh– that fails, then you scramble jittery digits across said wall, awkwardly finding a rigid door trim to grasp at long last– speak of the devil, Ellie laughs at that.

"Haha– aww, too big for you princess?" she utters to you like a dumbass, ego brimmed with the pumps her cock skids on your gummy walls, smirking with thinned lips.

Vulnerability loathes humility, "Fuck y–you."

"Sure."

Her perception of sight, harboring verdancy, drops low to your bulging hole that swallows her good– as you should, tender milk that pools inwards as she slides out, and froths a flood of slick when she humps it back to the same hole it spilled from.

Might she indulge more sampling?

Ellie's hell–sworn index traces your swelling folds mellowly, togging a cap of pearly cum on her finger pad. Scrutinize, then she licks. Her peach lips kiss her finger softly, puckering wrinkles as she sucks the sleek off, "Sssmhpt–" her lips zip, "yeah–ha, that's what 'm taking about–" delighted, she is.

The knot in your womb begins to coil and fill, a rapturous sting impaling inside. Your folds, springing on her friction, sends a ripple to fluctuate in your ass cheek. Enticing. So enticing, Ellie grabs a handful, bloating fat strokes of your buttcheek between the webs of her delirious fingers.

"Ghh– yes.. yes–" she growls, deep in her lungs. The harness in return rubbed her clit in all the right ways, electrocuting her legs with a twitch, "arch that bsck f'me baby, c'mon– arch on my fuckin' cock–"

Harking her, you heed. Heed with a convex draw of your back, protruding your ass out for her messy usage. That– that was the last straw, her only straw. You being so keen. Something less than a mutter of, "Good girl." was the last audible voice you could pick up, her game swapping to a faster ramming into your sloppy pussy.

"Ellie!" you wince, praying on a star, "So g–good.." you gape and fall forward, smearing slobber on the drywall.

Her cock was too much.

A tear soaked upon that very wall, gifting it a taste of your salty heaven.

"Mhmm– god, fuck fuck fuck! You're so good, s'good t'me.." a breath shuddered, she limps forward onto you. Her pale hips still punishing with a litany of humps, now scores deeper on your gushy cervix, her drenched chest marking hot on your clothed back.

"Needa' cum– Els, babe.." why you were even asking, might flummox a future specter of yourself– purling on her thickness, feeling the endless tension pull from you in strings of cum, kissing the head of her cock, you were on the train track to cumming already. Dumbified questions really egged Ellie on, luckily.

"Yeah baby, want'chu to– all over her, she needs it, mhm–" she assures you, two foam–spit lips stamping your lobe, "feel that baby?" her elbow mounts like a belt to your hip crest, ducking under and tamping your womb, palm to pudge, and intones, "She's so fucking deep– shit.."

Spade of her cock punching your walls, over and over, you finally snap. The added hand to your belly, sought it done. Done well, pronto.

You convulse in tight vices to squeeze her dick, orgasm shaking you to the literal core, "Huunhh– Ellie, Els! Ssuhh– Ell–" a clammy paw wedges your mouth from splitting the walls with your uproar, fingers tender on your lips cushion.

"Shh– shh.. not so loud babe, take it easy–" snuffing you, she talks clemently, little grunts detailing you on how close she was, too, "that's it.. don't hold back baby– uh, fuck."

Her cock fucks you just right, blows you fried so easily, with every heavy lunge– you weep.

A pang twisting inside averts a sightly gaze to the beautiful coastline of darkness, pure oblivion. Fuzzy dollops of faded splotches prance your vision like a sick joke, mocking your high. You can't even croak, not even a peep, just sit back and let cum dribble from your hole, plashing her filthy cock in a sick mess.

Right on a dream–like cue, a snarled groan mauls from the deepest depth of her diaphragm, fresh on your ear, "Ghhodd– fhmm, good fuckin' pussh– mhh!"

Splash.

Her lids squinted tight, nose flared wide, she came. In waterfalls you couldn't observe, but swore you heard. A geyser to the floor, hyaline ribbons of her precious flavor taint the floor so disgustingly, so vividly, it shines.

Guess the wine loosened both of her lips.

She usually does not cum like that.

Damn.

Muggy exasperation fans your neck in ghostly hands that wrap, a recalescent mist baying for some kind of relief in dramatic swells and shrinks her chest pushes into you. Then, something moreso flobbed, a chuckle.

"Heheh–" her fingers slip from your lax lips, tapping kittenly on your chin.

"That's was, mhh– um–" you huff, dead of air just like her.

"Good?"

"Yup, just– couldn't.. oof.."

Her lips purse and plant a kiss to your scruff, grinning against the flesh, "Did good for me," moist smacks besmirch further, rasping, "felt so good t–"

A beating of hardy steps peals through the door's underside, sending a wash of shock over both of you abruptly.

"Fuck." Ellie's voice muffles sotto voce, darting grips to your folded hips, thumbs tacking on the streched knoll your ass provided.

You perk your ears in tune of this noise, gut instinct curls and kicks your body to move, bucking back on Els– who mind you, was still sheathed inside you.

That knocked another grunt from her, "Hmmph– don't do that– god, babyy.." she whines, runting back into you.

Hole stuffed back up, you clench your fists into a ball. This idiot.

"Ellie? You in there?" A familiar, dense, Texan drawl aptly known as Joel's, beacons from beyond the door.

That's bad.

"Shit what do I–"

"Get off, for onee–" a tense on your chords, you huff, bucking her muck sweat thighs off your hind and skidding out her cock pronto. The sudden emptiness was jarring, but, no time to waste.

"Fuck! Again–" she hisses.

You crouch your bare bum inches from the floor and swoop up the pooling pile of denim and cotton panties, rearing them up and fiddling with the metal button. Ellie followed suit, the best of her abilities– sex really fogs up her faculties, and pressed her cock plumb to her stomach as to tuck it properly her boxers, letting the band snap in place on waist– gently.

Triple knocks erupt, and then his bellow, "Kiddo?"

"We're good, we'll be down!" she calls back, eyes far from not studying your scurrying silhouette, just has to comment, "–fuck that ass." like she wanted more.

A grumbled 'Hmm' vibrates on the oak, trailed by fleeting footsteps that trudge away, thump, thump– you get it.

"Oh?" you kink your whisper, foxily, "second rounds?" and pivot around to face her.

"Mphht– not what I meant, dickhead." her voice deepens weirdly at the brink her sentence plonked upon, cocking her head with a smirk.

"Whatever." your eyes roll, capering off the room's corners.

"Hmph–" gruffed in amusement, "Cutie." gingerly steps huddle you right against that wall again, two biceps meeting warmth–to–warmth with your soaken shirts waistline.

Scoff, just scoff, "I think this is how second rounds start, liar."

She goes all bumbly, furrowing those bushy orange brows and frisking her eyes in a roll, copycat, "Don't get me started, pleasee." she begged fakely, cadence dense.

"Too late."

"You're right." her lips, wisp to yours so perfectly timed, interlocking one pink bud under your top lip and butting noses, plushing together in tide. Even plopped a little smack to the clad meat of your ass, how sweet.

A scant hint of dinner lingered on her breath, passed to you like a spill. Makes you want to slink those stairs in one go for a different palate of seconds. But, alas, you two bet smooches on the hope of no further interruptions, scarfing up kisses like hungry dogs.

(pls lmk if u wanna be added to the perm list, some mentions didnt work!)

@whore4abby @aouiaa @ellieslittlewhore @baumbii @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @fairyysoiree @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @disaster-bi-suki @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @ellieswh0r3 @beemillss

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harunayuuka2060 · 4 months

Text

MC: *has been binge-watching Vil's movies with Rook*

MC: *that they're starting to adapt a bit of Vil's personality*

Rook: Trickster, I think we should stop watching late at night.

MC: You're right. Sleeping late is bad for the skin.

Rook: ...

Rook: ???

Ace: Dude, you're acting like Vil.

MC: Excuse me? What made you think that?

Ace: You're acting regal. And you even made the other students feel intimidated.

MC: ...

MC: Is that so?

Ace: That! That's what I'm talking about! I could literally see Vil-senpai on you!

MC: Listen, potato one- I mean, Ace.

Ace: ...

MC: ...

MC: I need to do some detoxing.

Ace: Yes. You should. Damn.

#twisted wonderland #twst mc #twst rook #twst ace #twst vil

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lookingformoondrop · 6 months

Note

could i request a boyfriend!andrew graves x reader headcannons or scenarios? i LOVE TCOAAL🫶🫶

Boyfriend! Andrew Graves x Reader - Headcanons

TW: Andy has a foul mouth, reader gets groped, Andy is a little possessive, a tiny bit of violence (-is always the answer)

♥︎Notes: I'm kind of an idiot so if you notice something is spelled incorrectly, feel free to send me a dm so i can fix it (totally not at all referring to my first Yandere!Andy x Reader post where I spelled dark as darmfk ;-;). Also this is kind of short because so many people requested for Andy x Reader, so I didn't want to pull out all the stops. I hope this meets your expectations <3.♥︎

The first thing you gotta to know about dating Andy, is that he's very touch starved.

I can just headcanon that due to his aloof personality and very broody behavior, he doesn't get many hugs...

So when you enter his life, best believe that Andy shows you this completely different side of him!

I'm talking.... Cuddling in the mornings till the point where you're almost late for work because he refuses to let you go.

I'm talking.... Andy being able to sense when you're about to go into the shower. His spidey-senses tingles, and the moment you're about to hop in, he's right there already getting his hair wet.

I'm talking.... Trapping you with his kisses when you're making food, definitely not noticing that he's causing you to burn dinner.

And no amount of protest can deter this man either.

Speaking of making food... Andrew is the master-chef of the house!

Now he's no Gorden Ramsey (as he likes to tell you whenever he makes you a sandwich), but everyone knows that one bite of his food is enough to make a sailor come back to the land.

So it's very nifty when you're sick and at home, in need to have someone take care of you.

The first time you ever got sick was when you and Andy were still living separately.

It was a Friday night, and it was supposed to be your 1-year anniversary with Andy. Unfortunately, due to some unhygienic biotch at the office, you caught a cold and had to cancel.

At first Andy didn't respond, instead leaving you on read. You felt bad, figuring that he was mad at you for canceling.

But lo' and behold, exactly 10 minutes later, that was a frantic sound of keys jiggling into the your front door.

You had gotten up from your couch-potato position to see the person who wanted to rush into your home so badly, when it occurred to you;

Andrew is the only one with another set of keys...

And with that realization, Andy burst through the door with a pharmacy store bag in one hand, and a grocery store bag in another.

In an instant, Andy made you take a disgusting amount of cold medicine, and blessed your cold home with the warmth and smell of spices and herbs (likely all from the soup).

When the food was ready, he sat you up with a pillow and hand-fed you soup for the rest of the night. You felt so bad for ruining your anniversary, but everytime you tried to apologize for it, Andrew would stuff your mouth with more soup and would say;

"I don't care about that romance and anniversary shit. We don't need to go to a fancy restaurant or an expensive place just to feel like we're honoring an important date. That date is important because it is our date. We don't need to one-up that memorable time just to remind everyone of how special it is... Y/N, you're crying into the soup."

Needless to say, you cried.

But Andrew doesn't just take care of you...You best believe he also protects.

Well, sorta.

You could be in a grocery store, at a Boba shop, in the mall, getting new shoes, it wouldn't matter, Andrew would always have his hand on your waist.

Be it because he saw someone look at you, doesn't matter who or how old they are, he'll always wrap his arms around you and whisper ever so softly, "You're mine..."

It has definitely given you some weird looks over the years, but you know he means well.

And if anyone ever actually looks at you funny? It's over for them.

Andrew will make it VERY clear that you're not to be messed with.

For example, a couple of months into your relationship, you were riding the train. Enjoying a simple conversation about suspicious neighbors and whatnot, when all of the sudden some guy came up behind you and tried groping you discreetly.

Andy noticed very quickly that all the blood drained from your face. He looked behind you and noticed the old geezer trying to get a hand full of someone way younger than them, and Andrew could feel every restraint in his body snap.

In an act of "self-defense" as told to the cops later on, Andrew punched the living daylights of the guy and sent him flying into a pole.

You fussed over Andy's fist for awhile, completely forgetting about how you felt. But the only thing Andy could think about was how he should've hit that guy harder.

When you guys were finally walking home, hand in hand, you leaned on Andrew.

"I'm sorry about today Andy... I didn't mean for you to get all banged up."

Andrew snorted, "My knuckle is a little scratched up, so what? That perverted asshole had it coming for him."

You kissed Andy's cheek, which granted you a dark blush from Andy, and a grin from you.

"Thank you Aaandy~" You brushed his hand with your thumb,

Being in a relationship with Andy is a little messy, and yes sometimes a little crazy. But no matter what happens, Andy will always stick by your side.

"You're welcome, sweetheart." Andy squeezed your hand in return.

Thank you for the ask<3

#the coffin of andy and leyley #x reader #andrew graves #andy graves #headcanons #y/n #andrew graves x reader #andy graves x reader #relationship headcanons #cute #what else do i put here #not proofread #andy and leyley #the coffin of andy and leyley headcanons #dem kids swear up and down

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sunboki · 1 month

Text

— ENDLESS WINTER. a Christopher Bahng fiction

Christopher Bahng x f. reader

TROPE. Beast! au, Mage! au, enemies to lovers (she wants to kill him), marriage au, angst

WARNINGS. violence, kidnapping, mention of a past war, descriptions of murder, reader is injured, hyunjin is a bit of a pain, hinted minsung (hehe), blood, kissing (dubcon), cursing

WORD COUNT. 12k words

AUG'S NOTES. if there’s ever been a more spontaneous fic in history it would be this… every sentence is write is purely self indulgent…. (genuinely a written version of the stories i make in my head while laying in bed)

SYNOPSIS. As heiress of the Magus, otherwise, Mage Clan, you find your position ripped from your fingertips when the Beast Clan conducts a raid. Left the only survivor, you make it your priory to stay alive in a ravaged Kingdom. That is, before you’re captured.

alternatively :

Starvation becomes the least of your problems when you meet King Bahng.

Hiding in the kitchen’s cupboard was definitely not your intention.

Neither was the Kingdom getting raided by the Beast Clan or being the (presumably) lone survivor in the castle, but fate would have its way, whether you liked it or not — this one just a bit more severe than usual.

Your mother once told you of the Beast Clan, of their ferocity and inability to handle things diplomatically. In her opinion, Beast were barely able to be considered Human.

Well, these words came after the Mage-Beast War; a grueling, disgustingly brutal dispute that caused what was referred to as the “Endless Winter”, a curse put upon the nation by a Magus overseer bidding every day of every year with, well, “endless winter”.

She told you how the ground used to be a wondrous green. Soft beneath your fingertips like feathers. Now, blankets of snow stretched as far as the eye could see, killing off any remaining expanse of foliage.

Although years had passed since then, your Kingdom was still recovering, still navigating importing routes in order to supply necessary goods.

Yet, everything was rapidly adapting, whether that was the snow-shoe rabbits roaming your vast tundra or the unexpected growth of fur on the bottom of the horse’s hooves.

Growing, learning.

Magus, though a lineage of magic practitioners, had begun to dull over the centuries. There was no need to learn with peace eminent, and the more aged those wielding supernatural abilities became, the less said abilities progressed into your generations.

However, Magus is the hearth of your Kingdom, and for as long as you live, the title shall reign supreme.

A title that, used by enemies and allies alike, had modernized from its ancient form Magus, to Mage.

Dinner held in the customary hall began that night, seat upon seat homing each member of the family adorned in their extravagant clothing.

Your father occupied the upmost chair, his plate stacked full of greasy lamb and pork bones. You, on the other hand, had had your fill chatting the cook’s ear off, slipping sweet potato wedges here and there as you talked.

Ms. Maewether was her name, a sad soul who carried her love in her cherished dishes. A love reserved for her late husband, a Beast himself, who unfortunately passed in The War.

Back then you asked her questions to the moon, about what they looked like specifically — if they really had eight inch claws like all the other children gossiped, if they could feel.

The last one was important, because everything Ms. Maewether told you you believed without a doubt, and the number one thing she pressed was that Beasts can feel, so very deeply. Just like humans.

The War changed that, and tension rose tenfold, especially as each Kingdom recovered from their countless casualties.

Luckily, your life had been peaceful, having been born young enough you could hardly remember.

Had been peaceful.

A scream from outside redirects the table’s conversation, relatives and siblings alike turning their head to gaze out the window.

Your blood runs cold.

Beasts, left and right, are slaughtering. Their clothing stained in blood that certainly isn’t their own, blades in clutch.

Immediately, panic ensues. People are trampling over each other to get out, disregarding every instinct but to stay alive. It’s chaos.

Dodging flailing bodies, you anchor yourself in a secluded cupboard below the countertops, shrinking as close to the wall as possible.

A few moments after everyone evacuates the Dining Hall do you hear cries. Yelling, gargled sounds. You cringe back imagining, stifling your breathing as much as possible.

Suddenly, a thought comes to mind, a thought that might just be responsible for saving your life.

Smell.

Ms. Maewether warned you a Beast’s smell is like no other, like a dogs. Twenty times as heightened as a persons.

So slowly, silently, you fish your hand into the small bit of darkness in front of you, locating a small bottle of cooking grease you wince upon finding — forcing the awful smelling concoction over your body, masking your scent.

Right after sitting down the container does the door creak open, heavy footsteps belonging to none other than a Beast. You can hear it in their sniffing, the clicking of their claws. Chills scatter your arms.

Another enters as the second door creaks, muttering something incomprehensible to its companion. At this point you’re pressed to the other side of the cupboard, both hands covering your mouth.

Your heart thunders in your chest, beating unbearably loud the longer you huddle.

Walking past where you lie, a Beast stops, body ducking down close enough you can hear its labored panting. You wait, waiting for the door to be flung open and for your death to await.

It doesn’t. And you thank whomever above for the echo of its presence fading away into the distance, barely relaxing against the highly uncomfortable hiding spot.

Instead, a blood curdling screech rips through the atmosphere, comparably close to where you hide. Abruptly, it stops, the thump of a body against the floor making you staunch the nausea building like bile in your throat.

It takes three days for you to finally peer out of the cupboard, the entirety of the Kingdom completely void of a soul.

Taking your first few steps around do you notice a woman, obviously slain by the puddle of blood surrounding her and the putrid stench. Her mouth hangs open—horror-stricken, frozen in place. You vomit in the sink.

For about a week do you roam the murder-house of a castle, finding purchase in a non-blood-bathed room and the many, thought to be endless amount of food.

You won’t leave, simple.

As long as the Beast Clan believes they’ve killed everyone, you’re safe.

That reminder was assuring, until your food supply dropped exponentially and a new problem situated itself on your platter.

Worst case scenario you die of starvation, the likelihood high if you stay here. Solution? Hunting.

Granted, you’re not the most skillful hunter, but you’re also not horrendous with a bow. Except, it’s not your aiming abilities you stress, it’s the chance someone sees you, the enemy sees you.

Four weeks in and you’re left with no other choice than to bundle yourself in layers upon layers of clothing and heed the feeble weaponry available.

Blizzard frost permeates your vision, wobbling steps making your hunger evident the more you roam. A horse would’ve been effortlessly useful, but selling yourself into that fantasy had been futile upon realizing they either took or killed all escapades.

A hare catches your eye, pale fur barely divisible from the terrain below. Carefully, you crouch down, elbow stretching the arrow back as far as possible whilst maintaining a solid grip. Steady. Steady.

Shoot!

The arrow flies, puncturing the animal in its chest enough to where it thankfully doesn’t suffer, flopping over rather pathetically instead.

However, your success is short-lived.

Stalking forward to snatch the creature quickly, a shadow looming overhead halts your footsteps. Behind you.

Before you can think to run, you wind back, meager arrow in hand providing little defense against the attacker.

First thing you take in is how huge they are. At least six feet tall if not taller, brilliantly ruby eyes revealing its true identity.

Beast.

With ease the man has your efforts pinned, curiousity overflowing as the animal looks at you. Yet, he doesn’t look like an animal, and apart from those eyes of his, no other factors would’ve revealed him to you but that.

This Beast has a fox-like face. A younger stature and smaller, slanted features.

“Hyung, what is this?” He asks, lifting your petrified frame like you were the rabbit you’d killed earlier.

His older counterpart glances over, and any hope of getting released plummets upon those wild crimson hues focusing in on you—knowledgeable as to what you were.

The cooking grease had long worn off, and your identity was likely as apparent as can be.

Mage.

Older Beast easily roaming through the snow, his fingers tangle into your hair, drawing out a cry when he jerks his hand up, forcing your gaze to meet his through the searing sting of your scalp. The younger grimaces.

His long, nearly white hair is tied into a ponytail, sharp cheekbones and calculating stare beyond intimidating. Beneath his left eye you note a small, distinct mole.

“One remained, huh.”

It’s a fever dream walking into the Kingdom that, compared to yours, looks positively flourishing with life. Beasts of all kinds roam about, carrying on with their daily lives, oblivious to the winds of death they’ve swept your way.

Everything in your body feels as if it’s shutting down, unable to feel the sensation of your legs as you trudge forward, the younger, much kinder Beast ensuring you kept pace.

Freezing temperatures carry on the longer snow falls, gluing strands of hair to your forehead, blanketing your lashes while your nose runs incessantly.

In front of you now lies the castle, far grander than you could’ve ever imagined. Twin spires peek above the low-hanging clouds, stone columns towering above.

From your distance you spot two knights positioned on either side of the entryway, large armored helmets with hawk feathers adorning the ridges.

One knight stops your ascent, the light-haired man rolling his eyes profusely.

“Minho, this is important.”

“Important enough you’re bringing a Mage into the Kingdom?”

His voice smooth as honey, he sports a dominant tone when speaking. Stare observant, he watches the other Beast’s expressions with uncanny precision.

“Because if you haven’t noticed Hyunjin,” He leans forward a bit, whispering. “You have the entire Kingdom’s attention.”

At this, either of the Beasts who escorted you turn around, and upon doing so are met with hundreds, if not thousands of eyes boring into their soul. Whether it’s younger Beasts or aged soldiers, those heinous vermillion orbs seem to see through you.

You gulp.

“C’mon,” Hyunjin harshly beckons, nudging you forward through the gates with the younger quick on his tail.

Every color in the Palace is monochromatically grey, although strikes of royal blue reside in large drapes hung from perched balconies.

Similar guards to those outside sift throughout the room, familiar hawk feathers litter everywhere in sight, paving paths to the core of the room where a throne sits.

Pointed edges flank either side of the massive chair, the ocean blue rug underneath reflecting up and out of the ceiling — a glass design stretching wide across the throne room, emphasizing the dusky weather outside.

According to the younger Beast whose title you learned as Jeongin, the King was currently participating in a hunt with Changbin (the lead hunter of the Palace), so after hasty appreciation of the sheer volume of this breathtaking castle, you’re forced toward the dungeons.

Jeongin wears a pitying frown, promising to return with some food to your chambers in the case the King doesn’t arrive for a while.

At least someone in this Kingdom doesn’t insist you’re beheaded.

“Finally, somebody else is here.”

A voice erupting from the darkening depths to your right make you jump, chained wrists clanging abruptly. Through minimal lighting of the burning lamps hastened upon the walls, you make out the silhouette of a man, face bunching in a sweet manner when he smiles.

Unusually, his hands aren’t chained.

“What’re you in here for?” You begin, gaze narrowed in confusion. The chubby-cheeked stranger smiles haphazardly.

“I would ask you the same thing. I’m the King’s Advisor, he just gets tired of me and puts me in here sometimes,” Your chamber-mate sighs, and once you take in what he professed, the urge to laugh becomes too strong to control.

Laughing for the first time in quite a while is sort of relieving, especially when this new acquaintance of yours begins whining his dismay, aimlessly trying to hush your giggles.

Red eyes. You can see them blinking up at you, gleaming when he grins his pointed teeth.

Quickly pausing, you wait in horror as he gradually sniffs in.

Your stomach sinks.

“Wait… You’re a Mag—“

His phrase is cut off by a loud ringing noise, a familiar echo of keys tunneling down the dungeons stairwell.

Another stranger unlocks the door. He’s burly, with curly hair in disarray. Cuffs of animal fur wraps around defined biceps, his top a tight-fitted arrangement of fur and woven leather paired with small iron spikes studding the shoulder lining.

A scar passes down the corner of his lip, long since healed but remaining faded.

“C’mere,” He ushers, voice gruff and rumbling when he unlocks your shackles, big hand pushing you forward up the stairs.

If anybody here had pure Beast in their bloodline, it would be this man. His demeanor is rough, but his touch on your back is surprisingly gentle whilst guiding you upward.

Again you’re granted with the wondrous sight of the Throne Room in all its historic glory, although your gaze directed at the floor keeps you ignorant to so many heads bowed, so many voices cast to silence upon the click of footsteps approaching.

And when you look up, you meet strikingly blue eyes—perhaps a genetic mutation of a sort.

They’re stunning, enrapturing almost, and you find the need to break eye contact immediate, more dire than normal while staring down at you.

Plump, full lips and perfectly sculpted facial features seem that of a Greek god’s, too ethereal to exist in your reality. A glittering, silver crown sits stark atop a black nest of hair.

Either arm rests on the sides of the throne, and you swore you’d never seen someone look so, King-like. That, and the massive cape of wolf-skin draped over his back.

A devil, dressed as an angel.

“Your Highness, this Mage was found near the L/N Kingdom by Hwang Hyunjin and Yang Jeongin while scouting the territory.” A palace-woman announces, the same guard who lingered outside, Minho, standing to your side.

Your blood boils, disregarding every ounce of amazement once inhabited.

It’s him. The man responsible for the demise of loved ones you couldn’t count on all of your fingers and toes.

Minho, as if sensing your frothing rage, mutters through his helmet a staggered warning—remaining upright and unmoving at attention.

“Do not move and do not look into his eyes unless you’re asking for death.”

Your patience dissipates, lip twitching involuntarily.

You can’t remember the last time you were genuinely angry. You were happy, surrounded by people you loved.

Those people weren’t here now, they were killed.

“You murderer! You’re a—“ Your attempt at lashing out at the King stalled when Minho kicks the crevice between your knees, forcing you down on the carpet below.

“Monster! A bloody— fucking— Monster!”

Palace representatives gasp their bewilderment, some beckoning you away to the dungeons, others urging Minho to end you right here and now.

It wouldn’t matter, would it?

The King’s raised hand stalls the accusations, his familiar clicking footsteps nearing closer till he stands before you.

Shifting down into a squat, the man tips your chin up to meet cerulean again, his head slightly tilted to the side.

“Don’t get it mixed up little one,” He murmurs, the pad of his thumb controlling your movement.

“I did not kill your family. Your family killed themselves.”

Fist sharply winding around for a punch, he catches it before you can even register your predicament, iron grip strong enough you fear he might just snap your wrist in half.

“And I wouldn’t recommend fighting back, otherwise I can’t guarantee your safety.”

Concluding his threat the further he bends your wrist, you whine, face scrunching from the pain until he finally stops, amusedly surveying your expression.

Denying your own enraged shaking, you suck your teeth, focus vehemently pinned onto him.

“Why would you care about my safety?” You snarl, trying to wriggle his hold off to no avail.

“Because,” The King cocks his brows. “I like you.”

About to spit another word, he interrupts you, index tracing the veins of your arm.

“Plus, I could break you any time I wanted, Mage. So behave.”

You shiver.

Your second day and you feel as if you’re officially going insane.

The only person tolerable here is Jeongin, that chamber guard whose name you don’t know, and Felix, the castles cook. You barely see the King, and even when he’s present he’s usually quartered in his study.

What he does there remains unknown, information learned in the mere form of startled maids leaving the room and gossip among those wandering the Kingdom.

“Do you know what he does?”

Felix looks up from the dish he was laying in front of you, wispy blond locks bouncing with the movement.

“Does what?” He piques, ridding a stray piece of hair clinging to your sleeve.

“The King, what does he do all day long?”

One thing about Felix you love, his honesty. Regardless of if most would tell a quick fib and flee, Felix, although occasionally working around a topic, takes the time to actually explain things to you.

Allows you to learn more of the place you’re going to have to call home.

“Hm..” He pulls a chair from your right to drop into, and for a moment, you see Ms. Maewether in that smile of his. Your heart aches.

“Chris— I mean, King Bahng is always busy. He plans trade agreements, oversees the hunts, and basically keeps this castle alive.”

Chris?

“Who’s Chris?”

Felix nearly squeaks, burying his head in his hands. Evidently, you weren’t supposed to hear that part, but an eagerness to know more about this solitary King kept your hesitance at bay.

“That’s his name. Christopher Bahng, but you’re not allowed to call him that and not allowed to tell anyone about us having this conversa-“

“Tell who?”

You quite literally almost fall backwards in your seat, failing to anticipate the pair of hands placed on Felix’s shoulders.

A pair of hands, followed by a pair of ocean blue eyes, boring right into you and the horrified boy in front of you.

King Bahng. In the flesh.

“Oh.. Hey Chri— Hello Your Highness.”

Again he corrects. These two must know each other.

“Tell who, Felix?” He speaks, tone nothing short of teasing—though the boy looks just as startled, practically sweating through his clothing.

Still adorning that flanking wolf-cape of his, his dark hair is slightly messy, expression distorted curiously.

You hate him to admit, but King Bahng is horribly attractive.

“Nothing! Nothing at all, Your Highness,” Felix chirps, fixing you with a ‘Don’t say a word’ glare you cease to argue with.

Rising up from your seat quickly as if you had any duties in this Kingdom to tend to, you find yourself stalling.

You have so many questions. …And the overwhelming urge to slap him across the face.

You’ve received a fair warning on the latter.

“I’ll be off now, Your Highness.”

The last words come out involuntary, used to referring to your own father this way. It made you sick to know you regarded his murderer the same.

And though the King didn’t stand extremely tall (considering how young Beasts were already your height), his hulking stature felt as if it could swallow you whole, pointed canines flashing when he smiled, sending your head reeling.

Pleased.

King Bahng was pleased hearing something nonthreatening come out of your mouth.

Vile.

Yet, you simply curtsied and hurried off, ceasing to notice the immediate growl Felix directed in the King’s direction.

“Good lord, I know she smells good but you’re practically undressing her with your eyes,” The freckled boy grumbles, returned with an uninterested expression from his friend.

Before the King can head off to whatever meeting he has planned, however, he spins on his heel.

“Have you consulted Seungmin about the scent-blocking salve?”

“Possessive, are we?”

His glare shuts the cook up immediately.

“If there is one Mage left, it’s mine. And since she’s the survivor, she’s mine.”

Yeah, he’s not beating the possessive allegations. But if he’s going to gain your trust, and eventually, after much thought, become mates, he’s keeping every other Beast in the Kingdom at a distance from you at all times.

“Jeongin will report when it’s completed. And Chris?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t expect her to warm up to you.”

King Bahng hums.

“I don’t.”

And with that, Felix follows your exit, leaving the King to his own devices, your nectar-sweet smell lingering in his nose.

“If I stare at the same wall for hours and hours, shouldn’t it break by now?”

“You’re a Mage, not telekinetic,” Han replies, repetitively scanning over a piece of parchment assumed to be a guest list.

In the midst of your incessant boredom, you found yourself following the King’s Advisor around, peering over his shoulder at the endless list of haughty names written in languid ink strokes.

Amongst them, you ceased to find your father’s name. You knew it wouldn’t be there, but somehow, you wished if you blinked enough it would magically appear.

King L/N, written in that same, cursive font.

Rounding a corner, you conclude if there’s anyone you avoid more than King Bahng (a.k.a Chris), it was Hyunjin. That man was a serpent in a Beast’s body.

Catching sight of his dreaded ponytail, you hastily retrace your steps, hiding behind a massive doorframe while Han stares at you as if you’re a rodent scurrying at his shoes.

“He won’t bite y’know.”

“If only you would’ve been there when he first found me,” You whisper angrily, practically clawing at the wood desperately till he leaches you out.

Leaching enough, in fact, that you end up right in Hyunjin’s line of sight, who surveys you up and down with a cocked brow to the point you’re sure steam is billowing from your ears.

Mocking. Ruby-red, mocking eyes.

He does bite. He sinks his teeth into the flesh and tears.

You won’t bleed without biting back.

Han’s iron grip tightens on your arm as slowly, oh so slowly, Hyunjin walks closer.

The strategist prowls, edging right up in your face—noses a thread-width apart.

His glower sets your fury alight, lips curled in a deriding notion.

“No need to glare, wouldn’t want wrinkles ruining that face of yours.”

“No need to get so close unless you plan to kiss me, mutt.”

Though, just as Hyunjin preapres to lunge, a big hand holds him back, animal fur cuffs indicating it isn’t the King who stepped in.

The man who had fetched you from the chambers earlier divided either of you. Shorter, but evidently stronger.

“Control yourselves, both of you. For as long as she stays in the Kingdom, she’s The King’s property—“

“I am no one’s property,” You snarl, and the guard turns.

Basked in clear lighting, you can finally see him. Honing dark brown hair hanging above his eyebrows, the same scar resides by his mouth, though, his eyes are much kinder than you expected.

Taking a slow inhale, he reads your conflicted expression like an ornate mirror.

“One mage in the Kingdom of Beasts? Sorry to break it to you, but yes, you are his property. So as long as she’s here, nobody lays a finger on her, understood?”

Glancing to each person, either of them ease their apprehension, the bewildered Jisung next to you stifling a breath, Hyunjin rolling his eyes with a loud huff.

Baiting seconds pass, and in that period of time do you realize you never caught his name. Specifically, the guard’s name.

“Excuse m-“

“Seo Changbin,” Han interjects. “His name is Seo Changbin.”

Ah. Right.

Now on the roster of least-likely to kill you, Jeongin, Changbin, Felix, and Han.

Filled with a need to evade, you stand merely as a spectator as each horridly red hue snaps to stare at you, your heart spiking an alarming rate.

The King’s Advisor’s fingers tighten to the point you’re sure he’s blocking blood flow.

“You need to leave. Jisung, get in contact with Seungmin and see when the salve is done,” Changbin instructs, already shoving Hyunjin away.

Salve. What salve?

Failing to give you any explanation, you’re dragged off, boisterously complaining before the highly annoyed man abruptly pauses, finger nudging your forehead irritably.

“You smell.”

Then he leaves, and you’re left to wonder if you’re still in primary school or the Kingdom of Beasts.

You smell? What’s that supposed to mean?

First thing in the morning, you’re torn from your slumber with a blazing sun scorching your eyes.

Your canopy beds silken drapes doing little to block the attack, you whine to an apologetic Jisung who merely sighs in return.

“Sorry sleeping beauty, but we have an appointment to attend this morning. Can you handle getting dressed on your own?”

You roll your eyes, groggily pulling yourself upright. “I was an heiress, not helpless.”

To which he cracks a miniature grin and slips out the door, allowing you to hurriedly strip off your chemise and messily arrange your stays and petticoats.

Out of all things you’d been deprived of, a part of the L/N Clan unable to be divided was your garments.

Somewhere, in the midst of fabric and citrus scented soap, you swear you can still smell bits and pieces of home.

What this appointment entailed you failed to ask, gingerly hustled down winding hallways barely illuminated with sunlight.

The Kings Advisor expertly winds further and further down, georgian architecture littered in symmetrical golden portraits and decorum, casement glass windows twinkling as you walked past.

Having reached a dead end, you’re pleasantly surprised to watch Han jar a brass doorknob open, paving a breathtaking view of the garden ahead.

Garden had to be an understatement. This amount of foliage was nothing short of a forest.

Flowers of all kind surround your walk to a shrouded greenhouse, abnormally brick relative to it’s stone-castle counterpart. Its walls are overgrown in slithering vines, door nearly invisible without proper inspection.

Jisung, having noticed your amazed expression, chuckles.

Granted, it’s been years since you’d seen any form of green vegetation, your astonishment felt justified.

“We’ve arrived.”

Oh how you wish to stay here forever. Not captive by the Beast Clan, no, but in this garden, hidden.

And if the last door took effort to pry open, this was a new challenge entirely. Through thickets of dense hedge and tangled branches, Jisung had to quite literally ram himself into the chittering wood for entry.

“Knock next time would you?” A voice projects from inside, belonging to a man clad in rounded spectacles, a slightly hooked nose, and cleanly hair parted to the side.

The Kings Advisor, apparently having known him, beams his prize-winning smile upon seeing the man.

“Seungminnnn—“ Han drawls out, excitedly waddling over to wrap him in a crushing hug. Stiffly, Seungmin pats his back, an action you fondly watch from afar.

“Ah!” The more ebullient of the two springs up, turning to you. “This is Seungmin, he runs the apothecary here.”

Nodding stiffly, Seungmin ushers you to one of the many mahogany chairs circling a gateleg table; a vase—likely jade with its pale green hue—filled with indigo hydrangea presides in the center.

“And,” Han’s outburst cuts off your awe. “He’s practically my little brother.”

Now you’re in awe again, but for a different reason. And by the evident frown on Seungmin’s face, he can tell.

“Shocking, right?”

Yes, shocking for certain.

Though, before you can reply, Han slaps his hands on either of the man’s shoulders, expression transformed into one of seriousness.

“About time I left then, yeah?” Was spoken while his form hurriedly retreated out the door, leaving you with more questions than answers to what just occurred.

“..He forgot something again.”

Biting back your laugh, you finally take a seat, given ample time as Seungmin shuffles off to the side to acknowledge your everything to its fullest extent.

Matching the plant-infested interior, verdant drawers scatter the corners, a lone, looming medicinal cabinet left ajar as the chemist poured over a variety of assorted concoctions.

Air stained with a damp smell of earth, you notice, much to your curiosity, the longevity of such a place.

This apothecary, though inside the castle, feels like an entirely new settlement of its own. An establishment existing before the war, rebuilt (inefficiently) enough to where it was only required to stand stable.

From first sighting you’d grown an attachment to it, but this newfound understanding, these newfound details setting the apothecary apart from your predicament let you imagine yourself anywhere else, back to a nostalgia you longed for.

A short term fix.

“This.” You’re handed a phial from overhead. It’s a slightly green substance, thicker in texture that rests heavy in your hand. “Is for you.”

Slipping across from you, he surveys your analyzing, arms crossed over a deep brown waistcoat.

“And this is..?” You inquire, looking up from the cork-sealed glass.

“A salve. You had better not waste it, material is low as is and I’ve been waiting years for this winter to end already.”

Well that didn’t answer your question. You’ve heard conversation about a specific salve for days on end, but no genuine explanation caved in—

‘I’ve been waiting years for this winter to end already.’

Repeatedly mulling over the words, you can practically feel your heart palpitating, head beginning to spin.

..End already? The endless winter.. ending?

“So you’re saying,” You murmur, placing down this special salve in order to truly regard him.

“There’s a way to end the Endless Winter?”

His brows crease critically, seemingly sarcastic.

“There’s an end to everything sweetheart. Life, death. Start, finish. War,” He meets your eyes with a conniving grin, a face you hadn’t seen on the man before.

“Peace.”

Automatically, you roll your eyes.

Peace? Peace when there was no peace left to be made, no kingdom remaining to make peace with?

“And how do you think the nonexistent Mage will make peace with Beasts?”

Seungmin grins.

“Well there is a Mage left,” He scornfully states, flicking your forehead whilst you palm the sting, frown evident.

“And as far as making peace goes, marriage.”

Marriage.

What.

“Wait- so you’re telling me big bad King Bahng could’ve just hooked up with a Mage and called it a day and everything would be fine?”

Seungmin clears his throat.

“One, Bahng doesn’t ‘hook up’. Two, it’s not as easy as that.”

Of course it’s not as easy as that. Why would it be?

You wish to claw your eyes out of your head, anticipating his explanation.

“Because if you weren’t aware before, marriage ties between Mage and Beast are very difficult to establish. Bahng is picky on everything, and even pickier when it comes to mates.”

But before you can argue there were thousands of suitors roaming the L/N Kingdom for him to pick from, Seungmin interrupts.

“Plus, if anyone else were King I’m sure we would’ve had peace decades ago. You’re lucky you’re in the castle right now, otherwise you would be eaten alive.”

Your face scrunching worriedly, he rakes an exasperated hand through his hair, plopping down on the vanity’s chair.

“Your scent.”

Again, you’re reminded of Han’s ‘you smell’ comment. Why is it showing up a second time?

He groans frustratedly, wordlessly praying you understand.

You don’t.

“Mage have specific scents. You can’t smell it since you’re not Beast. But let me tell you, you smell fucking delightful.”

Oh.

That’s what he meant by eaten alive, and the entire ‘you smell’ conundrum.

Seungmin, rather entertained with the shock written on your face, shrugs his shoulders, nonplussed by the crassness of his earlier statement.

“Now you get the use of the salve, right? And why you’re not allowed to leave the castle?”

Your mouth feels dry of response, beckoned toward the exit without so much as a peep passing through your lips.

However, right as the you’re halfway gone, he stops you, brows cocked.

“Do us all a favor and marry him, will you?”

And like that, the apothecary’s door thumps closed behind you.

If only the “him” he was referring to wasn’t King Bahng, you might’ve agreed.

Marriage in the L/N Kingdom had been a sacred event.

An event you’d been prepared for since childhood, fed daydreams of a day you would be married to a prince-like man with perfect features and a perfect personality, every element fabricated from a young age.

Truly, you loved it. Loved visualizing a life shared with your loved one, whoever that man would be.

Little did you know he might just be King of the Beast Clan.

No. You refused. Marrying a murderer, the murderer of your family, was the last thing you would oblige to.

He sent the command, he led the attack, and you’d rather die than give him the satisfaction of marriage.

Although, one problem. Similar to life back at the L/N Kingdom, supplies only lasted for some time before shipments became low, and pretty soon (according to Seungmin) the salve you were given would run dry.

Meaning, your meager chance of protection lay completely exposed, susceptible to any Beast daring enough to try something.

Two sides of a coin remained. Heads, you marry the murderer of a King and spring returns, or tails, you abstain and are eventually left vulnerable.

You’ve always been the person to confront a difficulty head-on, but, in this case, a different, defensive approach crossed your mind.

Run away.

Despite Seungmin’s sensible reminder to not leave the castle, what other option sounded suitable?

Die physically or mentally, pick your poison.

Or maybe, never drink the poison in the first place. Evade.

Three days have passed since you received the salve, and after applying it behind your ears and between your elbows at dawn, you were free to do as you pleased—within the castle walls.

Yet, tomorrow’s dawn would be divergent. Tomorrow, you would be days away from the Beast Clan.

Sneakily roaming around, you managed to find certain outlets to your disposal. Nearby the chambers you’d been kept in was a moth eaten, hooded cloak seemingly unworn for quite awhile. Ideal for an anonymous escape.

Furthermore, amongst the colloquy during a dinner with Changbin and Felix in the Great Hall, you distinctly recall overhearing information about the stables.

If you were to flee, you needed a horse, and thanks to the guard, you knew right where to find one.

Unable to sleep the night before, your dry eyes blink through the dense darkness, sweeping the candlestick from your side table for a minimal source of vision.

Lathering a copious amount of salve all over your skin, you slip down the winding stairwell, grateful for the shadowed moonlight gazing down upon the Throne Room as you venture.

Bingo. There’s the cloak.

Sweeping the fabric over your shoulders, you slip the hood over your head, creeping down the steep steps leading into a surrounding ward.

On your left, across the butcher’s vendors.

Blindly searching, the whinny of a mare alerts your close distance, carefully winding through lead ropes and linked fences to the first horse in sight.

You have to be fast, the sun will rise at any moment it pleases, and it’s impertinent you’re gone by then.

Hoisting a mere saddle pad over the back, you deem the saddle too noisy, slipping the reins overheard and adjusting their length accordingly.

Jogging forwards, you’re brisk to gain a running leap atop the horse prior to the thunder of hooves charging forward.

Closer to the gatehouse you near, a luckily open drawbridge allowing easy passage across.

Faster, faster. You can’t afford to slow down. Daylight is beginning to peer above the horizon, warming your back with rays of sunlight amongst a snowy landscape.

And when the kingdom wakes up, it’ll be as if you were never there.

But, an undecided factor stayed. Where would you go? There was no kingdom left for you, no home to go to.

For now, you needed to prioritize finding a hiding spot, if only for a night, that supplies warmth.

Given the opportunity, too long out here and you or your horse will indefinitely succumb to the frigid conditions.

Veering off sharply, you sidle beneath a barren magnolia tree, its thick trunk barely blocking the unforgiving wind. Pretty soon you’ll have to keep on, but for now, you’ll savor the temporary peace.

Blue skies indicate it must be nearing morning, and you assume the castle will be slowly waking up. By now, King Bahng would likely be awake as well, you’ve been told he doesn’t sleep well anyway.

Scouts. He’ll send scouts most likely. Knights like Minho or Hyunjin.

Ugh, the mere thought of Hyunjin finding you a second time makes you nauseous.

Except, the longer you consider it, King Bahng is the worst case scenario.

I could break you any time I wanted, Mage. So behave.

Those words send an entourage of chills slithering up your spine, and not from the cold.

Because while Hyunjin is a type of spiteful strong you want to avoid primarily due to how annoying it is, King Bahng is a quiet strong, the kind that wouldn’t confess his anger, but have you witness it firsthand instead.

Enough thinking. You have to go.

Using the bumpy roots below you for leverage, you wind a leg around the horse’s back, aiming to reach the edge of the territory before midday.

That was the goal, until you’re pummeling to the ground.

The moment is instantaneous, your horse releasing a shriek as it’s swiped right off its feet, slipping onto hard, icy ground and simultaneously crushing you in its descent.

Almost like vomit you feel the screech of pain building in your throat, a numbness in your right leg along with the warmth of blood soaking your clothing doing little to sustain level breathing.

Then, in the midst of your hysterics, you look upon the visible side of your horse, a pair of claw marks scratched right across its stomach.

Scrambling out to the best of your abilities, you bite your tongue, praying this is one of Hyunjin’s sick, sadistic games and not an obvious ambush.

You refuse to die like this. You’ve survived once and you’ll be damned to give up now.

“I’m impressed. You’re not as weak as I thought.”

A sneering tone speaks from behind you. According to the claw marks, Beast, but not one you remember. And with your current state—being unable to rise to your feet—you’re utterly incapable of ascertaining an identity.

Instantly, your hand reaches up to trace the alcove beneath your ear and neck, any ounce of hope disappearing upon feeling for the salve.

Gone.

“Now, care to tell me what a Mage is doing in Beast territory?”

He’s hiding behind you on purpose, drawing you into a sensory overload, a panicked frenzy of adrenaline and fear.

Deer caught in headlights.

A curved claw unlike those in the Kingdom of Beasts winds your head back, staring straight into the face of something you can hardly deem Beast, more like wolf.

He has this terrifying look in his eyes, and breath that stenches of metal and flesh.

This man is the kind of Beast you’d grown up believing in. Violent, merciless.

Minho, Hyunjin, hell, anyone. Please.

As if second instinct, you assess everything around you, snatching the closest stick to you and jarring the sharp end through the bottom of his chin with all your might.

A gagged, sort of howling sound emits from above you, putrid-smelling blood spraying all over your face.

In split seconds does another form appear in your peripheral, your dread heightening before ultramarine stills the horror in its tracks.

King Bahng.

He’s quiet, expertly slicing the back of the neck, the attacker dropping to the ground motionlessly.

“I could’ve handled it myself.”

It’s a lie. He doesn’t respond.

If the first Beast hadn’t killed you, he certainly would. He said it himself, whenever he pleased, he could break you.

So when King Bahng’s arms extend toward your position on the ground, you prepare for the worst, crawling backwards as quickly as possible.

Surprisingly, he kneels down in front of you, and, as your vision clears, you notice the concern written on his face.

Weird, the feeling compiling in your gut as he looks at you like that. The way your eyes build with tears, lungs finally hacking for as much non-congested air available without a single word said.

Just by his expression alone, you’re a fit of blood and tears, the aftershock hardly helping ease the experience.

Crying, in the middle of a forest, with King Bahng as a witness.

“I know, I know,” Is all he whispers, and you barely recognize when he hoists you into his arms, the searing sting of your leg your only indication of movement.

Smoothly maneuvering you again his chest, he cradles your body close, one hand directing his horse as you ride back to what you assume to be the Kingdom.

Through the aching pain, you can’t even be upset about returning, merely focusing on the subtle warmth of his body and the strength willing you to say something.

“You speak nothing of this moment,” You murmur, the King’s body erupting into a tremor of laughter.

“I speak whatever I like whenever I like, sweetness. No one touches what’s mine, yeah?”

Mine. You hate the effect he has on you.

Yet, your snarky remarks are depleting in tandem with your energy; the soothing, shushing sound he’s making and the repetitive thump of hooves doing little to keep you from sleeps tempting beckon.

Eyes drifting closed, his tightened grip pulls you closer, your cheek smushed into the fabric of his coat whilst lost in slumber.

“Hold on a bit longer for me, we’ll be there in no time.”

Recovery, to your luck, is swift. Either that, or Kim Seungmin is secretly a Mage, because within a week spent off your leg, you’re back to normal.

A little sensitive to weight, but overall, healed.

Initially, despite the agony blazing through your body, you were thankful you barely recalled seeing anyone, swept into the apothecary immediately.

The last thing you wanted to see after returning would be the faces. Plus, what about your friends? Jeongin, Felix, Han? You’re sure they looked destroyed.

Except, it’s all fake. A feign kindness given to you only by sympathy. What do the faces matter anyway?

You gorge that question to the very back of your throat when said Cook walks through the apothecary’s door, utmost apprehension apparent. He grabs your face, brows knit—but not in an angry sort of way, more like staving-down-tears.

“Don’t you ever do something like that ever again.”

Past him, you can’t help but smile seeing Seungmin’s softened expression watching Felix, adoring his preciousness just as you are.

“I promise.”

Nodding curtly, he turns around, leaving you to view the many ingredients scattered across his apron.

He rushed here, cute.

“I’ll bring breakfast down here.”

Craning, you can barely make out his deep voice, lowered to a nearly inaudible decibel. Ears flushed pink, you’re filled with a worrisome amount of happiness seeing Felix’s embarrassment trying to maintain an upset facade.

“Hm? What was that?”

Ah, at this point you’re picking fun.

“I said I’ll bring breakfast down here.”

Precipitously slipping outside, both you and Seungmin are left to stifle your bubbling laughter, graced with the most appetizing platter you’ve had the pleasure of eating a few minutes later.

However merciful those first few days were, dissipated. And in a short amount of time, you could feel the eyes boring into your back, the questions resting on the tip of tongues.

All the same, nobody mentioned it. And if anything, that made the paranoia grow.

It was gradual. The subtle shadow you swore you saw in corners, the terror stopping your heart in your chest when you swear someone breathed down your neck.

Your body may be healed, but your mind certainly isn’t.

To a degree that two weeks later, you’ve found sleep nearly impossible, lingering in the kitchen in the wee hours of morning, teetering on your wits end.

Some occasions it’s Felix who you see first, wiping the sleep from his eyes, loading coal into the furnaces to heat the kitchen for the day. Other days it’s handmaids, shuffling around busily, carrying goods to and fro.

This time, Minho arrives first, for once wearing regular clothing opposed to his usual armor, steaming saucer in clutch.

Perhaps this is an opportunity, he is a knight after all.

“Hey Minho?”

Tired eyes sweep to your figure on the table, the rim of his cup held to his lips.

“I’m too paranoid and at this point I might die of sleep deprivation,” You huff, referring to his raging, bed-headed self . “…Could you teach me how to use a sword?”

He’s staring at you like you‘ve grown two heads, pulling a chair back to settle in, arms crossed over his chest.

No sentences need to be said aloud, merely spectating the gears turning in his head enough to set your nerves on edge.

Yet, in the midst of your waiting, you note a peculiar bruise peeking from his collarbone, another lingering a tad bit lower.

“And you think a sword is going to protect you?”

The question is genuine, lacking the bemused nature you were expecting.

Another thing you’ve noted throughout your sleepless nights was the continuous amount of times you’d watch the King’s Advisor sneak into his quarters, a realization keeping your response baited.

Seems his love life isn’t a concern.

“Hey, those marks on your neck and shoulder, are those from Ha—“

“When do you want to train.”

All lightheartedness vanishing, you have to chew your lip to avoid ticking him off further by giggling.

“Tomorrow?”

Pushing in his chair with an agreeable hum, you merely whisper a hurried “Thank you” he grunts at, rushing off to who knows where and giving you leeway to recover from the hilarity of it all.

Tomorrow, however, came far too early, not anticipating to be woken up at the crack of dawn, grumpy enough the prospect of blackmailing the King’s Advisor became dangerously tempting.

Yeah, good luck. He’s not budging until you’re on your feet.

Seems you underestimated Han Jisung’s stubbornness.

Rushed into a loose gown, you’re led to the Inner Ward, an open sector in the middle of the castle.

Upon being met with a too-smug Minho, you can practically see the word “payback” hovering above his head, busying himself with fetching supplies.

Perhaps this is karma coming back to bite you.

Ouch.

Except, you’re puzzled. You’re being taught how to deul, yet your teacher isn’t adorning armor nor gear of any kind.

At your confusion, the knight chokes a cocky guffaw.

“First, we learn how to properly move.” He hands you a wooden sword. “If I so much as leave a scratch on you I’m as good as dead.”

Again, he may appear snarky, but his tone is nothing short of serious. Minho is hard to read.

Wait.

Seeing past your panic, the Beast seems to answer your unspoken question.

“King Bahng is visiting the villages today, he won’t be back till the evening.”

A wave of relief grounds your bones, standing rather pathetically while Minho aids in critiquing your position, instinctively shifting into his own in front of you.

“Now, there are a lot of things to consider when dueling. I’ll narrow things down. Don’t overestimate or underestimate your opponent, trust your gut, be aware of everything, and lastly, do not be afraid to deceive.”

Promptly, he’s lashing out before you can even process his advice, wooden weapon drawn above his head as your grip tightens, attempting to block the strike only for his foot to press into your stomach, sending you falling right onto the ground instead.

“Isn’t that unfai—“

“Like I said, deception is your greatest weapon. In a game of swords, it doesn’t matter how dirty it’s won, it matters who won.”

He reaches a hand out for you to take, helping you back up again only to both fall back into your stances.

“Keep in mind, your sword isn’t your only weapon.”

Minding his instruction, you continue onward, sparring heartily till the beating afternoon sun becomes too hot to bask in any longer. Amongst the four hours you had been consumed in training, you’ve snagged certain valuable points.

Calmness is crucial. Your mind streams clearer when you parried, void to the opponent’s increasing frustration—given an advantage of both agility and focus.

Two, unpredictability is a gift. Minho is especially good at being unpredictable.

Whether he charges headfirst or aims the forte of his sword toward particularly weak points, you begin to mimic his performance, growing closer and closer to conquering those signature tactics.

Of course, your enjoyment can only last for a bit before it spoils.

Spoiling as in, Hwang Hyunjin’s random appearance, sauntering into the area as if he’s King himself.

“Well look at this, didn’t think I’d see our runaway and Minho here.”

There’s an air between Minho and Hyunjin, one that forbids Hyunjin from egging his superior on, just like when you were first brought to the Kingdom. Lucky for you, you could be degraded as much as he approved of.

Feigning a dramatic gasp, he gestures to either wooden sword held in raw palms.

“No way, you’re learning how to deul?! Don’t tell me you’ve never learned basic attacks? Oh right, you never had to fight, huh, princess?”

You bite the skin of your cheek, minding your composure.

“You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough.”

Now he’s asking for it.

“Say,” He sneers. “Let’s duel.”

Keeping Minho from intervening, you apologetically nod to his disproving expression. He knows it’s stupid, even while fetching his armor and adjusting the metal plating to your body, and you do too, but you can’t afford to back down, you won’t.

Testing your abilities carrying a legitimate sword this time, Minho grants Hyunjin a terse scowl, their own wordless agreement to tone down on anything too harmful.

Somehow, it grates your nerves further.

Straight away, he charges his right foot forward, the metal colliding with a loud ring, narrowing your body to shield your unprotected side.

Hyunjin, though skillful in his wrist mobility, clearly uses his size compared to you as an advantage, carelessly throwing around his jabs whilst relying on form alone.

You shuffle back and forth continuously, the commotion of metal rifle drawing the attention of Beasts alike throughout the castle, stopping their movements to survey.

Lurching himself forward once more, you will your legs to support you, balancing the crushing force of his pushing ascent with as much strength as possible.

“If you win, you get whatever sensible award you want,” He grits, using pure weight alone to gain higher vantage. “But if I win, you marry King Bahng.”

Suddenly, interrupting your stunned reaction to his proposal, Minho’s reminder breaches your eardrums.

Deception is your greatest weapon.

Honestly, you’re bewildered Hyunjin hadn’t played petty thus far, and you have no doubt he will any moment now.

You can’t afford to waste the opportunity.

Maintaining your gaze targeted on his face, you steal the chance, slipping your sword right beneath his feet, hooking the guard just fast enough to cause his legs to buckle.

The tip of your sword centimeters from his neck, you cock your brows, finding satisfaction in the glare he’s boring into your skin from his spot on the ground.

In a game of swords, it doesn’t matter how dirty it’s won, it matters who won.

“If King Bahng wishes to marry me, he will deul me himself. That decision isn’t up to you.”

Stalling his immediate laughter upon nudging the sharp point right up against his pulse point, you chuckle.

“I might have to do this more often, you’re not bad when you shut your mouth for once.”

Dropping your sword, you reach out a customary hand he rejects, either of you following Minho to the side stalls to return his armory before a haunting voice stops you in your tracks.

“One more match?”

You’d been ignorant to the Kingdom’s sudden burst of energy, the trembling chains of the drawbridge dropping onto cobblestone ground, the gates shifting open.

Having appeared through thin air stands King Bahng, constantly arriving at the worst of timing.

He’s clad in traditional armor, though his has fancier plating, cleaner sheen, azure hues hidden within the gorget.

Your stomach ties itself into a knot, piecing together the details.

“If this is about the deal, I don’t think I-“

“Oh please princess, this was never up to you. We did this for the sake of the Kingdom, you think we ever considered your say in this?” Hyunjin interjects, quickly escorted away by a frowning Minho and an additional guard you don’t recognize.

Huh?

What… What is he talking about? For the Kingdom? What does he mean for the sake of the Kingdom?

Do us all a favor and marry him, will you? Seungmin’s words ricochet in your skull, the parts assembling perfectly into place.

But if I win, you marry King Bahng.

Marriage.

They knew all along. They knew you were set to marry him and yet, no one told you.

If your betrayal had been violently inflicted, you would look like a rag doll. All this time, these moments you thought were glee-filled, hopeful.

Lies.

Tearing the King’s chance to speak from his fingertips, you pick up your sword, denying your shaky, white knuckles and replacing those broken feelings with rage instead.

No, you can’t afford to show weakness. You must replace these feelings as quickly as possible.

No weakness, no mercy.

“Fine, let’s duel.”

“But-“

“Pick. Up. Your. Sword. And fight me.”

Releasing a sigh, he cautiously pulls his own sword from its sheath, waiting to be counted off unlike Hyunjin.

However skillful you’d been before had completely vanished. Though, you would give yourself the benefit of the doubt, this fight meant your future, meant the minuscule bit of freedom you’d gotten to experience here.

The last thing you wished was to realize you had been lied to, but even more so to realize you’ve been lied to in front of the entire Kingdom, curious faces peering from the castle’s allures.

Your swings sloppy, you credit the severity of the blows as you attack and defend, evidently dueling with fatal intent.

You’ve lost this battle, you know it. Your senses are too overwhelmed to assess spatial awareness, and every muscle in your arm cries out for relief.

Swept off of your feet in a repeated cycle to earlier, you accept, sitting below the tip of King Bahng’s sword, your defeat.

Almost automatically, the pieces of pride you’d attained after your victory against Hyunjin amounted to nothing.

You may beat everyone else, but you will never beat this man, now matter how hard you try. The odds will always soar in his favor, and you will suffer the results of it.

This is not a game you’ll win. Because from the beginning, you existed as a marionette, enjoying such naivety till the comprehension as to who controlled the play hit you.

This theatre was particularly unforgiving.

He won.

If your insomnia before was grueling, this was an entirely new extreme.

Averaging a meager two hours per night, you’re positive you’ve memorized the guest list by heart, staring blankly at the crinkled parchment, unblinking.

In a matter of days, the congratulatory ball will be held.

You’ll be attending said ball as the bride.

Weeks ago, the guest list had simply been a past time, a mandatory errand for the King’s Advisor, a ball you weren’t aware, and wouldn’t be aware, was meant for you.

Your chest feels.. sad? Empty?

Yes. Empty is the word. An emptiness gutting you from the inside, the ugly drawback of exhausted options and worthless optimism.

There’s a lot of things to ponder on as well, factors you have to analyze, ensure it wasn’t another stage for an audience you so foolishly performed.

No escape.

Tuesday, two days before the ball, Jeongin drops by your door, carrying a package under his arm and that effortlessly adorable smile gracing picture-perfect features.

“This is for you, from.. um..” The anxious boy stammers, placing the binded package on your room’s veneer.

“You can say his name, Jeongin, I’m not mad.”

He exhales audible relief, slender fingers wrapping around your hand before you can bid him farewell.

“He— The King, he’s a good person.”

You force a tight grimace, agreeing despite your contradicting expression.

Perhaps he is, perhaps he isn’t. You don’t know what to believe anymore.

Slipping from bed once the young boy’s footsteps fade in the distance, you gingerly unwind crimson ribbon, allowing the leather exterior to unfold.

Inside lies a gown.

A gown that, investigating how breathtaking it is, should be considered nothing short of a ball gown the longer you stare.

Designed as a mantua, the white fabrics paired with lace neck frill and engageantes add an elegance you’ve never seen before. Light, subtle blue hides beneath ruffles of the skirt, further accented by equally blue lace strings fastening the back together and outlining the seam of your square-cut stays.

You can only marvel at the gift given by your future husband, wishing so terribly you could simply run into his arms and pretend everything was well.

If only it was under better terms, as if nothing had happened. If King Bahng was another man, it’d be possible.

And Wednesday night, the root of your problems bares his face, knocking at your door while you were under the impression it was Han instead.

Acting as if you didn’t care was much easier around everyone but him, especially when you were halfway into tying the laces of your dress, the dress he had purchased for you.

What awful circumstances.

“Don’t touch me,” You hiss, regarding the man across from you with a frown.

Lifting either hand in the air, he seemingly invites you to figure out the impossible strings yourself, cueing a very aggravated, very futile attempt at tightening the ties of your ball gown before (hesitantly) allowing the man to slip behind you.

Of course you had to choose now to try it on.

His touch irritably careful, he ensures the fabric is snug fitting but breathable, each woven thread in its coordinating pattern.

Where he learned this you have no idea, only aware of how horrific this close proximity is, your restlessness growing unbearable.

Running his tongue over his top teeth, he backs up slightly, taking you in with apparent speechlessness.

He clears his throat.

“I won’t apologize because I know it means nothing to you, but please, let me explain. I intended to tell you, I just-“

He sounds timid, like a child.

A sour, bitter fury froths like bile in your throat. You want to explode.

“No. No. I didn’t want this! I won’t!” You wind around, pointing an accusing finger to his chest. “You killed them all, my family, my loved ones, children. I hate you. I hate you!” Your voice breaks, a gravelly, disgusting drawl raking your throat raw. Salty, burning tears drip down your collarbones.

Grievance. An innumerable stage of sadness you hadn’t reached before now, overflowing.

As he tries calming you down, you only grow angrier, pushing from your path to the door, ripping the handle awry.

Instantly, his arms wrap around your middle, hauling you back as you kick and scream, fingernails digging into any available skin, dress puffing as your legs flail.

Catastrophic.

“No- No!”

You’re certain the entire kingdom can hear you, but that’s the last concern occupying your headspace, too focused on escaping, far off as you had done earlier, anywhere but here.

“Stop crying,” He commands, either hand on your wrist pinning your back to the bed, expression morphed pitifully. His calloused hand swipes the storming rivulets from your cheeks.

“Please, Y/n, please stop crying. It hurts.”

Your response shortens into a simple sob, aching.

“It hurts..?” You murmur, eyes shifting over his face. “…You hurt?”

Incessant crying causing your skin to burn, he only blinks at you.

A fit of anger forms just as fast as it disappeared in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re hurting? You’re the sick son of a bitch that killed my family and took everything I’ve ever loved away, you don’t deserve to hurt!”

Sucking in a necessary inhale, you angrily flail, wrinkling your nose at the careful tilt of his head, the distance of his face from yours, every scar, every pore close enough to see.

What happened to the King who threatened to break you? Why is he pitying you, looking at you with such kindness?

Longing to bring up how useless the deal was, how the benefits of the marriage aren’t your responsibility, you simply glare, emotions a whirlwind you can’t explain, can’t say aloud.

And all he does is stare. Staring like you’ve said nothing at all.

You want to cry out, want to curse him for all eternity, curse those blue eyes that seem to pave a pathway through your soul.

But you don’t. He beats you to it.

“..Do you know why my eyes are blue?”

What?

“Because I’m not fully Beast. My mother was a Mage. She turned against my father after I was born, left us, and vowed to do everything in her power to destroy Beasts.”

Your face contorts nonsensically, his tight hold on your wrists loosening the longer he speaks.

“And I assume,” He redirects your head, forcing you to maintain eye contact.

Rearing deja-vú reminds you of your first encounter.

“No one ever told you Mage’s started the war.”

You scoff.

“Or that the Mage planned to cut off all trade supply simply out of spite. And so, I did what I had to—“

“You did what you wanted to. You killed helpless people because of your own problems, my family had nothing to do with it!” Vocal cords throbbing the louder you scream, you try kicking your legs to no avail.

“Your family, Mage, had everything to do with it. My people would have died-“

“Mine already did. So now what?”

A minuscule pinch occupies his brows.

“You weren’t supposed to be alive.”

“But I am, so you might as well let me join them.”

He sighs, a stray, obsidian strand of hair hanging over his forehead.

“You know I can’t do that.”

You test the words on your tongue, wedging your hand out to grab his face, feeling the dip of his jaw as he sucks in a breath.

When you first met, he had told you he’d break you. This change of heart confuses you, grates more anger in your chest.

“And why is that?”

Opening his mouth, he momentarily closes it, then opens again, contemplating the statement with caution.

He’s right, in some way.

You’re not supposed to be alive, not supposed to be saddened. You were meant to be in the ground with them, be one of the many bodies littering the L/N Kingdom, granted an eternal sleep.

Yet, you aren’t.

You survived, and you despise this man with every fiber of your being for that.

But things cannot change. You can’t bring them back, and his situation is just as painful as yours.

You both lost people, or, would’ve lost people.

An explanation or an apology, as he said, isn’t necessary.

So you’ll get what you want, tangibly.

Forcefully grabbing his chin and jutting him closer to you on the bed, your voice drips with venom, noses mere breadth apart.

“Then end this winter and marry me, Your Highness.”

For a split second you swear his gaze drifts to your lips, but you shake the thought away, his sharp canines glinting off the mirrors reflection.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one to propose?”

“You killed my family, no need for formalities.”

“Care to remind me why you agreed to marry him? Weren’t you planning to kill him?” Felix piques, apron woven around his thin waist, skillfully measuring flour that’s dusted over his nose.

You needed to get your anger out, then devise a plan. Show King Bahng you weren’t going to succumb to his charms, tricks. Ever.

You hum from your spot on the counter, conversing just as you’d done back in your kingdom with Ms. Maewether.

Technically, he was your new Ms. Maewether.

“Oh no, I still plan on killing him, I just want something first.”

Except, you didn’t talk about murder in front of Ms. Maewether. That was new.

He raises an eyebrow.

“And what would that be?”

Snapping your fingers, you cheerily tap your heels against the cabinets below.

“I want to see spring again.”

Silence overcoming the kitchen, it takes Felix a full minute to understand your preposition before bursting into unadulterated laughter. Well, until he realizes. Then he pouts.

“Aw, I was really looking forward to seeing Chris rejected at the altar.” The smaller Beast whines, popping a piece of sugary sweet dough his mouth and handing another to you.

“Hey, now that’s just cruel,” You mumble, muffled by the delicacy you’re currently chewing on.

“According to you yesterday, not really.”

Ah. Right.

“We just… have a lot to talk about.”

The phrase sounds stupid, but it’s true. Logically, emotionally it’s true. There is a lot in need of discussing.

For now, you’re indifferent.

“I’ve always thought you two were similar.”

The cook’s outburst catches you off guard.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve always wanted to protect what mattered to you most, and maybe, one day, you can understand why he did what he did.”

Leave it to Felix to be your reasonable opinion.

Nevertheless, an invisible barrier rests between you two. A lie. His lie. The Kingdom’s lie.

“Felix, I will never understand why he did it,” You humorlessly chuckle, hopping from your spot. “So tell me, why did you lie?”

All morning you debated the right time to confront him. Tonight was the night, the congratulatory ball, the wedding. Why wait?

Freezing with his back turned to you, he stops mid-slice, dropping the knife atop the cutting board and gradually facing you.

Oh Felix.

His nose flushed pink, lips quivering, you allow him to race forward and hug you, head tucked into your shoulder while you stand there, motionless.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It was decided from the start, but we were told not to tell you, not until King Bahng told you himself.”

You want to tell him it’s okay, make some jokes, act like things are normal. Though your arms stay glued to your side.

“I guess Hyunjin beat him to it, huh?”

His arms tighten around you and, with a sigh, you pat his back, gently nudging him off of you where you can hold that sweet face of his.

“But don’t worry about me, alright? I can handle this, and I forgive you, so let’s move on from this, Lix.” Tenderly rubbing the skin of his cheek, he meekly smiles, an action you can’t help but feel relieved seeing.

You’re strong. You have to be strong. For Felix, for Han, for Jeongin, for your friends throughout the Beast Clan, you’ll be strong. You’ll enjoy wearing the gown regardless of who bought it for you, cherish the wedding no matter the man you’re wedded to.

If you’re going to have to live like this forever, you might as well make the most of it.

On today’s occasion, you’re dressed by a hand maid sent to your quarters, polished and puffed to perfection by the time five o’clock arrives and the banquet officially begins.

And when you see yourself in the mirror, you’re not exactly sure who stares back at you.

She’s pretty, yes, but she isn’t Y/N. She’s a Queen, the Queen of the Beast Clan.

Your stomach wrenches.

By tomorrow, you’ll be married. Married to King Bahng. You will be a wife, the wife of a King just as the L/N Kingdom intended.

The thought continues to plague your mind, sucking more and more oxygen from your lungs that as you’re escorted to the ball room.

You can hardly inhale and exhale normally as Changbin, whom you appreciate enormously, walks you down the aisle, past an abundance of people you’ve never seen before. Beasts, business men, acquaintances alike.

Sensing your panic, your linked arms allow him to spare you a meager glance you anxiously return.

It’s fine. It’ll be fine.

All previous calmness long dissipated, when you finally redirect your attention from your feet and take in King Bahng waiting at the altar, your rampaging anxiousness increases tenfold.

As the audience claps and either of you turn with your backs facing the crowd, you scorn your lack of a poker face when the King rests a hand on your back.

“Breathe,” He utters, only a whisper you heard.

Wishing to thank him, you bite your tongue, considering the man you’re referring to in the first place prior to replying.

A sharp nod of your head is enough.

Stifling an exhale, you spin on your heel, both bowing to the public before facing each other and holding hands, an action that shouldn’t cause goosebumps to swarm your arms, but does anyway.

“You plan to smash my face in at our wedding?” He murmurs below the customary vows, acknowledging your fingernails digging into his hand.

“Keep giving me ideas and I migh-“

The retort vanishes when he presses his lips to yours, doubling back in shock before his palm on your back keeps you close.

Granting you breathing room if only for an instant, a slow grin tugs at the edge of his lips.

“Then before I die, let me have this first.”

And he dives right back in again, kiss surprisingly tender compared to what you’d expected. Something bruising, dominating.

Instead, the King was soft. Soft as he held your cheek in a hand, soft when pulling you in by the waist.

Separating if only for a fraction of a second, you reach to hold his face, every instinct beckoning you to push him away dissipating into nothing but the nullified drone of your head and the insistent racing of your heartbeat.

“Are you that nervous, pretty? Your heart is-“

You pull him to your lips once more, hating how easy it is to forget, how his lips numb your thoughts—though unable to get enough.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

The guests hollering in your peripheral the lone sound breaching your eardrums, you can’t help thinking.

He did this for his people just as you would’ve done. As for the Mage instigating the war, some secrets shall remain hidden, unable to be answered. You have to accept that among many things.

The King has done nothing but care for you, and as much as you resent him for it, you respect him, if only a tiny bit, as well.

He’s irritable, and not to mention annoyingly handsome. His sympathy-filled eyes might be the death of you, and those dimples of his are stupidly lovable.

But he’s your husband, and somehow, strangely enough, you don’t find yourself hating the thought as much anymore.

Not when he holds you, and especially not when he kisses you as if it’s your last.

After the many hours spent celebrating, you couldn’t have been more enthusiastic about returning to your quarters.

Joined by King Bahng, you find traversing as easy as ever with the help of the (half) Beast behind you, helping navigate past multitudes of people, oddly comforting touch on your back guiding you through the hallways.

Arriving at your room, he pauses, awkwardly shifting his weight on his heels, bewitching gaze flitting left and right, uncharacteristic to his usually smug attitude.

“…Was the kiss too much?”

King Bahng, asking if his kiss was too much?

You wanted to photograph this moment in your mind forever, debating on whether you should tease him about it, egg the normally stoic King on.

However, you tip his chin down, pressing a chaste, soft peck to his lips, amusedly observing him freeze before melting into your touch.

“Could be better.”

He huffs a sigh in response, and you’re left wondering if this is the same man who threatened to break you, the one who now looks like a pouty toddler.

Although, just as you slip by, he takes ahold of your wrist.

“Goodnight Y/N.”

You crack a smile.

“Good night Chris.”

And, suppressing your chuckle, you close the door behind you.

Hastily undressing into nightwear and slipping into bed, you stare up at the ceiling, hours passing from the ticking of a clock in the corner, echoing around the room.

Then, abruptly, your door creaks open.

“My gods, what are you doing here?” You whisper into the darkness, the door creaking behind his crouched form, King Bahng’s crouched form.

“I needed to see you.”

Ah. Don’t say things like that.

Pulling the covers further over yourself, you squint accusingly at the man as he enters, silencing your urge to reprimand he saw you mere hours earlier, presumptuously sitting opposite to you.

He scans what’s visible, fixating on your hand for a moment.

“You kept the ring on?”

Noting the gleaming jewel on your ring finger, you can’t help but feel slightly bashful. It’s not like you’re really married, but the thought sends a sort of satisfaction spreading throughout your chest.

“If I take it off, will it become winter again?”

He grins, giggling childishly.

“Is that the only reason?”

Debating on your response, you wet your lips, looking back up at his barely distinguishable face shrouded in darkness.

You have no doubt he’s thriving off your hesitance.

Oh how badly you wish to wipe that look clean, but in reality, keeping the ring on feels as if a part of you from your own kingdom is with you, similar to your old clothing.

The part of you that, if not invaded, would belong to someone loved, newly wedded.

“No,” You mutter, though the phrase is barely audible.

He perks up.

“Hm?”

You regret saying that. But he’s already heard, there’s no use lying aimlessly.

“I said no, that’s not the only reason.”

“Care to tell me the other reason?”

Rapidly averting your attention to your hand, you discover speaking is easier when not looking at him.

“Keeping it on makes me feel like I’m really in love. I like imagining that, being married.”

You miss the sad lilt crossing his face.

“We are married.”

Without missing a beat, you meet his stare.

“Are we?”

Unlike before, there’s no waver to your voice, no caution.

Winding around to your side of the bed, he settles beside your feet.

You clear your throat.

“I wanted to see spring again, and to you, I’m simply a present. A playtoy to your disposal. This isn’t marriage, not how I was taught, this is just a business arrangement.”

Nevertheless, the hurt leaks into your voice. So long to a resilient tone.

“Y/N, don’t do this to me.”

Come to think of it, it’s the first time he’s ever called you by your name apart from last night.

Having had enough of his nonsense, you spring for his collar, dragging him below you on the bed. Opposite to earlier, you’re on top this time, you’re in control.

“You don’t deny it.”

A silence passes.

“I would deny it a thousand times, but you wouldn’t believe me. And I don’t blame you for that.”

He sucks in a breath.

“I only ask you don’t doubt this marriage. This isn’t a business arrangement, and I will treat you with as much respect and love as possible, even if you don’t want me too. That is what marriage is, how I was taught.”

It’s your turn to inhale, lost within the confines of this dark space.

“Chris, do you love me?”

You both have people you love, people you want to protect, wanted to protect. It wasn’t his intention to hurt you, not when he found you after you ran away, not when ordering a salve to keep you safe, nor now, as you lean above him.

Like he told you. You weren’t meant to survive. You were supposed to be peacefully asleep, forever.

This man, this Mage, this Beast, is as much a murderer as your savior. You choose how to condemn him.

“I do, more than you could ever imagine.”

How can you stay mad at a guilty man, a man who kept you alive when you were on the brink of death? Who now professes to loving you, wanting to give you a marriage you’d been cheated of, give you everything you’ve been cheated of with everything in his power.

Hovering right by his lips to the point your chests touch, you place a miniature kiss there.

“I hate you, so much.”

Then another kiss.

His arms, wrapped around your more elevated form, drag you down in an embrace. One hand presses your face to his shoulder, another rubbing circles on your back.

“And I’m so sorry, I’m so, so, sorry.”

Raising up, you can’t contain the tremor of your lip, the way your eyes shakily close shut as you steal a third kiss from his lips, a kiss he returns, hands carefully holding each side of your face.

“Chris?” You manage, currently straddling his lap, his body resting against the headboard.

Kindly, he keeps a palm against your lower back, helping you balance.

“Can you show me what it means to be loved?”

You never understood how a person could melt until this moment. He wears that look again, like in the forest. The look that makes you cry.

What love looks like for Christopher Bahng, you don’t know. You have no doubt there will be ugly moments, moments you’ll reconsider, rethink.

You’re both hurt, some wounds still hurting. But for him, for you, you’re willing to take that chance.

“I’d be honored.”

FIC TAGLIST. @stayceebs97 @duhgirl @yourgirljanvi @readr1221 @spearbinnie0327 @hyunjinsartpeice @cheesytangerine @palindrome969 @luminouskalopsia @kiaralynn3838 @chrizztopher97 @starlost-andfound @weeping-angel-in-the-tard1s @zaggprincess2

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kyriethesquishysquid · 6 months

Text

Heard Through the Grapevine (König/Fem!Reader)

Summary: There were always crazy rumors whirling around military bases and KorTac was no different. König, in particular, was often the victim of the most vicious rumors. Despite knowing her opinion is unpopular, the lovely reader refuses to partake in spreading the lies and often stands up against them instead, all while trying to battle her growing feelings for the quiet colonel.

Word count: ~9K

A/N: Some use of Y/N. Reader’s description is left rather vague but there are details of her being short, chubby, and with hair long enough to pull back. Reader is aged between her mid-twenties to mid-thirties. While König has no exact canon age, in this fic he will be somewhere around 40 (an age range I’ve seen people come to match with his ranking as colonel). König has anxiety, reader has anxiety, we ALL have anxiety. Slightly possible medical inaccuracies- While I am a nurse, I am not an AP or Emergency Room nurse so I’ve never done stitches myself. I’m using my basic medical knowledge, what I’ve learned in classes, and Google. So please forgive any inaccuracies! As always, I've never played COD. No beta we die like Graves.

TW: Porn with minor plot. Romance and smut. Slight age gap (reader is somewhere around 5-15 years younger than König). Size kink, mild innocence kink(?) dom/sub themes, M!dom/F!sub, major power play, praise-degradation, accent/language kink, voice kink, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, and loottss of pet names (I’m a whore for pet names) in both German and English. Mentions of violence. Talk of blood, wounds, and stitching in a medical setting.

Simple Translations (Longer translations will be included next to their sentences!):

Scheiße - Shit

Kleines - Little one

Kätzchen - Kitten

Schätzchen - Sweetheart

Liebling - Darling/Love

“You can’t say he doesn’t terrify you!”

Your friend’s words scoffed through a mouth full of pizza made you grimace for multiple reasons, a shrug of your shoulders being your only answer as you dug back into your mashed potatoes.

“Seriously, Y/N?” Mark pressed harder with obvious disbelief.

“What?” you retorted sharply, “Is it so hard to believe I’m not scared of the colonel just because he’s a big guy?”

“Then what’s with the way you look at him?” your best friend, Lisa, added, unable to hide the coy smirk growing.

A heavy sigh left your lungs and you dropped your spoon onto your plate, directing a deadpan look at the both of them as you realized they were not going to drop the subject.

Damn her and her mischievous nature. She was the only one who knew even a little about your hidden feelings for König, having been spilled one late night under the stars after far too many drinks, and she hadn’t stopped giving you shit for it since. Thankfully, she was a good friend and didn’t air out your personal laundry to anybody; not even your other mutual friends. However, that didn’t stop her from teasing you at every turn possible. Like now. The whole topic was a stupid subject in your eyes, brought on by the recent rumors about König having decapitated a new recruit for looking at him wrong. Ridiculous, unbelievable, and yet people wouldn’t let it go. It made you feel a kinship for the big man. Though for different reasons, you’d been the subject of many rumors over your life, having been picked on and subjected to bullshit drama simply because of your weight. Perhaps that was the biggest trigger of it all, but the fact you truly liked König was certainly a major supporting factor.

“Colonel König is intimidating, yes, but most men are intimidating; save for the present company,” you shot back with a little grin, earning a scowl from said man, “Nonetheless, I’m not scared of him. He’s never raised his voice at me, nor given me a reason to believe those stupid fucking rumors people want to spread about him. He’s always treated me with respect, more than any of the other cocky bastards around here do really. Those stupid rumors come from people who are jealous of him, either his rank or his superior physical condition, OR from people who have nothing better to do with their downtime than come up with spooky stories.”

Your best friend’s eyes went owlish in shock, pulling the corners of your lips into a frown of frustration at her childish behavior, and you prodded her shin gently beneath the table.

“For fuck's sake, stop looking at me like that. You know I respect and even like the colonel, okay? So no matter what silly shit floats around, I’m not going to believe a word of it until the day I see these supposed cruel actions in person,” you sighed, then pled with her softly, “Just- Just drop it, please.”

When she didn’t respond, you felt a prickle of uncertainty send the hairs on the back of your neck on end. You tried to catch her gaze only to see it traveling off to your right before finally coming back your way with a nervous laugh.

“I- I didn’t realize it but… he was sitting behind you,” she murmured softly.

Spine snapping straight, you gaped at her in shock.

“No way, you’re joking, right?” you hissed.

The slow shake of her head made your heart fall into your guts, pounding heavily in your veins as you nervously turned in the direction she had looked, only to find him putting up his dirty dishes and exiting the room.

“Mother fucker!” you groaned, “So- So he heard all of that?!”

When she nodded, you were almost sure you were going to faint. You and König were on good terms as nurse and patient but that didn’t mean you wanted him to think (however correct it was) that you had some kind of crush on him with how adamantly you defended him.

Food suddenly didn’t seem so appetizing with the nerves buzzing in your stomach. Pushing your plate away, you got up from the table and quickly dismissed yourself with the excuse of paperwork piling up on your desk. It wasn’t a complete lie at least. Medical documentation was never-ending, especially in a military base with accident-prone soldiers. You only hoped you could make it back to the medical wing without running into the big man himself and making things more awkward.

Dumping your food, you shoved the plate into the dirty dish bin and rushed out into the hall. You were grateful to find the foot traffic minimal, allowing you to cross the base as quickly as your short legs could carry you. Your anxiety was already high enough with the worries of what König now thought; adding another unknown variable into the mix would spell certain disaster for your mental stability.

The instant you stepped foot into the medbay and found it empty, you shut and locked the office door before snagging up one of the throw pillows off the old beaten-up couch and screaming into said pillow with all of your might. You screamed and screamed, until your throat hurt and your heart pounded loud in your ears, until you felt that nervous buzz of panic fade from your skin and leave exhaustion behind.

“I’m gonna need a fucking drink tonight,” you sighed as you dropped into your computer chair, “She’s gonna owe me for this shit.”

With that last thought, you fell back into the monotonous routine of finishing up charts and notes from the day.

The next few hours passed quickly into days and days into weeks, time flying by in a blur as you buried yourself in your work and your patients in hopes of forgetting your troubles. You were both relieved and frustrated that you hadn’t seen the colonel at all during that time; relieved you wouldn’t have to deal with an awkward situation but frustrated because, despite the anxiety, you missed his presence. It wasn’t until Horangi assisted a hunched-over König into the office three weeks later that you realized he’d been gone on a mission during that time, a mission that had obviously gone askew. Immediately you jumped to your feet and ushered the duo over, prepared to balance the injured giant on his other side if necessary.

“What happened?” you demanded as Horangi helped König sit on the medical bed.

“Nothing serious,” König replied, letting out a hiss when Horangi jerked his hand away and none-too-gently removed the makeshift bandage from the bigger man’s side.

A shudder ran down your spine at the amount of drying blood shining against his tight black shirt and then you eyed the tear in the fabric. His pale flesh was covered in different states of drying blood but the bleeding of the visceral wound seemed to be, thankfully, stopped for the time being.

“Good god, not serious?!” you snapped in disbelief.

König had the gall to roll his eyes as you muttered to yourself about men being stupid and stubborn. As you leaned in closer to examine the gash, Horangi moved aside to give you room. Luckily, the cut looked relatively clean but the depth of it was concerning, with multiple layers of tissue peeking through the wound.

“Hey, I’m going to debrief with the general,” Horangi commented suddenly, “I’ll let him know you’re getting fixed up first.”

König gave a small nod in reply as the other operator left the room and you stepped back with a half-smile.

“I’m going to have to stitch that up. If you’re not comfortable with me doing it, I can call the doctor in but I have done them plenty before if-”

“Ja, I want you to do it,” he cut you off quickly.

That wasn’t a surprise. Nobody enjoyed having to call one of the docs in during the middle of the night unless it was for a dire emergency because they were all, understandably, cranky when woken.

“That’s fine,” you agreed, biting your lower lip before gesturing at him and adding, “I- I’ll need you to remove your shirt so I can get a better look and stitch you up.”

König let out a noise of understanding as you turned away to wash your hands and grab out all of the necessary equipment you’d need for the stitches. Thankfully, the wound wasn’t deep enough to have chanced any vital areas, especially since it was on his side, but there was no doubt it was still deep enough that it wouldn’t heal properly without treatment. How he was even upright and talking like normal was beyond you. You were just glad you had been an RN in the emergency room before transferring to KorTac, your time there invaluable for all the shit you’d had to put up with here between busy doctors and never-ending patients.

“Alrighty, let’s get this show on the… road”

As your gaze met bare, toned, skin, your brain immediately melted into nothingness. Gone were all the years of medical training and college; all that remained were the hormones of a bitch in heat. Never, in the entire year you’d worked with KorTac, had you ever seen him shirtless. He was hardly in here, between his elite skills and natural resilience against being hurt, and the only times he had been were generally for serious things that the doctor would have to take care of, or for routine visits that wouldn’t require him shirtless. So to say you were struck dumb was an understatement.

Logically, you had known König was fit. It was practically written in all of their contracts to stay in peak physical condition, and the compression shirts he wore did nothing to hide the defined muscles in his arms and stomach, but seeing him without the fabric was even more daunting than you had expected.

“Schätzchen?” he asked softly, voice full of something that sounded like concern.

His gloved fingers touching your face finally jerked you out of your entirely inappropriate fantasy of getting the chance to lick up and down his abdomen and you nearly squeaked in shock, barely concealing the noise by clearing your throat.

“Uh, sorry, I- I don’t know what came over me, uh, okay. Can you lie down for me, please? I’m sure you know this works but I’m gonna numb you up first. It’s probably going to sting,” you warned him.

Setting the equipment on the metal rolling table, you took the last terrifying steps toward him and it took everything in your power not to moan as you realized you were directly face to face with firm pecs until he finally sat. You managed to shake away the lustful thoughts on your own this time and pulled on gloves before grabbing up the syringe.

“Ready?” you asked, not daring to meet his eyes lest you get too flustered to work.

“Ja, go ahead,” he rumbled.

With a steadying breath, you carefully poked the needle into the top layers of the wound and pushed the plunger down slowly. You’d seen other soldiers cry over the pain of a lidocaine injection into an open wound, not that you could blame them, but, of course, König took it all without even flinching. The man really acted like he was made of stone. It was insane.

“That should kick in in just a few,” you murmured, capping the needle and placing it into the sharps container, “Wanna tell me what happened while we wait?”

Feeling safe back near the cabinets rather than within arms reach, you finally let your eyes find him and watched in disbelief as he sat up without even a wince, cool blue eyes clear and steady.

“Ah, nothing serious. There was one hidden upstairs and we didn’t realize it until- well, this,” he replied after a moment, gesturing to his side with a half-chuckle half-sigh.

A frown turned down your lips at that. God, you really had it lucky, sitting here in your cushy position as a nurse. Sure, the hours sucked, and seeing people hurt (or god forbid worse) really sucked, but at least your life was never in danger like theirs. You hated thinking about him getting hurt like this, no matter how silly it was since he could obviously take care of himself. Swallowing hard, you nodded and grabbed another fresh pair of gloves, snapping them on with a forced smile.

“Well, I’d hate to see the other guy then,” you teased softly.

It was a joke, and yet it wasn’t. You had no doubt his assailant hadn’t made it out of there in one piece.

“Let’s just say, not even a talented nurse such as yourself could help him when I was done with him,” he replied.

You couldn’t help but giggle at how his eyes crinkled beneath the faded black smudges, further conveying the amusement lacing his tone.

“I bet. I know I wouldn’t want to be your enemy, colonel,” you snickered, “Okay, lie down again for me please.”

König leaned back with a little groan and tucked his right hand behind his head, keeping the angle perfect to avoid stretching or squishing the skin around the wound. There was a comfortable silence as you readied the needle with thread in the driver. You gave him a testing tap around the wound, to which he quickly affirmed he felt nothing before you got to work. You quickly cleaned the area, put a clean drape around it, and then snagged up the needle. It had been a bit since you’d done sutures on such a wound but you quickly fell back into the familiar rhythm with simple interrupted stitches.

“You’re rather good at that,” he complimented quietly.

You felt your cheeks warm at the praise as you sent him a warm smile and replied, “Thank you. It’s nice to know I haven’t lost my touch since leaving the emergency department.”

“Oh? What made you decide to come here instead?”

Well, this was new. While König was always kind to you, it generally never went beyond small talk. You knew as much about him as he did you, though you couldn’t lie and say you were complaining about the change. That little fangirl you tried to hide so deep inside was dancing with elation over the fact that he was trying to keep a conversation going, but it wasn’t helping your little crush one bit.

“Honestly? Better pay and escape from a bad home situation,” you admitted honestly, “I just didn’t have a great environment to accel in and when my cousin mentioned joining you guys, it just made sense.”

Tying the last end into a square knot, you snipped off the extra thread and stood with a proud smile, examining your handiwork happily.

“Gotta say, you’re a model patient, colonel. I don’t wanna see you in here for this again though,” you playfully scolded.

As you turned away, you were startled by a sudden deep laugh. Not a chuckle or a snort, but a full-on belly laugh, and you were absolutely certain you’d never heard anything more beautiful.

“And here I was thinking about getting stabbed again just so I could see meine süße kleine krankenschwester.” (My sweet little nurse)

“Hey, no using languages I can’t understand,” you retorted with a giggle, ducking your face in hopes of hiding the way your cheeks flushed with lust at the sound of his mother tongue.

Why was that so sexy, hearing him speak German? Not that his speaking normally didn’t affect you but, when he fell into his old language, it just did something different. Another laugh rumbled from the man as you went about cleaning up the utensils and you had to grin. You knew, going forward, you’d do anything you could to hear that laugh again. A small glimmer of hope flickered to life in your chest as you ungloved and tossed them in the trash. Maybe this was the beginning of an actual friendship… or more.

As you scolded yourself over the lofty dreams, a presence against your back put a sudden stop to your motions, every last bit of you freezing in place except your heart which pounded valiantly in your veins.

“You- You shouldn’t- shouldn’t move around so much,” you whispered breathlessly as you tried to shake off the sudden nerves, “Don’t wanna rip your stitches out already.”

He was all but impossible to ignore, standing so close that you were certain you’d bump into him if you breathed too hard. Taking a small stabilizing breath, your eyes closed in frustration as you caught his scent, the faint smell of sweat, gunpowder, and something spiced, possibly a faded cologne or body wash overtaking your senses. It took all of your will to keep moving and cleaning up as if everything was normal. As you grabbed the antiseptic, you could visibly see the way your hands shook and mentally berated yourself. You were literally just sticking a needle into his side minutes ago. Why was this affecting you so much?!

You grabbed onto the counter for balance and lifted onto tiptoe only to have the bottle suddenly snagged from you and shelved in its spot just barely within your reach. It would have been completely fine, a nice gesture even, if it weren’t for the fact he had to lean against you to do it. With his free hand resting against your waist for balance, you could feel every- single- fucking- inch of his form against yours. Forbidden images of him taking you right there against the counter flooded your thoughts when you got a very personal feel of his dick against your lower back, completely prominent in its shape even while soft.

The fates were fucking testing you to the ends of your limits at that point.

“You should get a step stool, kleines, don’t want to hurt yourself,” he mused quietly.

A shaky nod was all you could manage, your fingers wrapping around the edge of the solid countertop and holding on for dear life. You couldn’t find it in you to reply with the mortifying lust clouding your mind. With your luck, instead of thanking him you’d ask to repay the favor with a blowjob.

Deep breaths. In and out. After a few moments, you knew you should respond. You had to do something to diffuse the situation because he was obviously content to let you stew in your thoughts.

“You- You- Uhm, you should go rest,” you stammered out after a moment.

And then he was gone. The instant he stepped away, you nearly dropped to the floor, your knees weak and back now startlingly cold. Tucking some hair behind your ear, you spun around and prepared to give him the usual medical spiel about resting and letting the wound heal, only to lose the ability to speak when a large hand cupped your jaw.

“I’m sorry if I scared you.”

His voice was soft, warm with a tinge of amusement dancing at the edges, and suddenly you remembered the stupid conversation you’d had with your friends in the canteen. Your tongue felt thick and immovable so you settled for shaking your head no, trying to convey that he, in fact, hadn’t scared you.

“No? No, what?” he asked.

Swallowing down the urge to moan, you shakily replied, “You don’t- didn’t scare me.”

Your plump cheeks burned hot at the way his icy blue eyes subtly changed, lids lowering into an indiscernible expression as his irises searched your face thoroughly.

“Are you sure? You’re suddenly much quieter, Schätzchen.”

A little curse escaped before you could catch it as you subconsciously melted into his hand when his thumb started stroking your jawline. The calloused texture rubbed deliciously against your soft skin and sent goosebumps down your arms.

“I-I’m sure,” you answered, voice barely audible even in the silent room, “Just… unexpected.”

When he leaned down and hovered just above your ear, you swore you were about to combust. He was close, too fucking close. Delectably within reach and yet so far away in the ways that mattered. Your thighs clenched together in search of some kind of relief when his scent infiltrated your senses again, the same as before but so much stronger, and you couldn’t help the way your stomach fluttered traitorously.

“That’s all, hmm?” he rumbled lowly.

Oh. That bastard! He knew what he was doing to you and he was teasing you about it! How was this the same quiet colonel that you practically had to bully into saying more than a few words just a couple of weeks prior? You lifted your hands and prepared to shove him away, to give him a piece of your mind, but he threw you another curveball with the sudden sensation of soft lips against your throat.

“Ah!”

This time, your gasp was loud, rivaled only by the pounding thump of your heart threatening to burst from your chest.

“I asked you a question, kleines, I expect an answer.”

A truly pathetic whine fell from your lips as your head fell to rest against his shoulder. How were you supposed to answer him?! Your tongue felt thick and immovable as you soaked in the sensation of his skin against yours.

“König, please, I don’t- I don’t understand what you want here,” you finally managed to croak through parted lips.

He let out a small hum but didn’t answer right away. His lips busied themselves trailing barely-there kisses up and down the side of your neck. When you felt his nose brush against your ear, you nearly jumped. Every touch threatened to make you come apart right then and there and it was quickly becoming too much.

“Is- Is this about what I said a few weeks ago?” you pushed for an answer.

Pausing in his thorough exploration of your flesh, he let out a little breath before humming back, “Mmhmm. Imagine my surprise when I heard you defending me, Schätzchen, heard you tell your little friends so certainly that you were not scared of me; that you even liked me.”

Your nails instinctively dug into his bare arms as you fought for your sanity, his teeth scraping your neck and raveling away what little sensibilities you had left.

“At first, I doubted what I heard,” he spoke as his hands took hold of your hips and squeezed softly, “You are so soft and sweet. Untouchable to someone like me. I’ve spent the last few weeks debating, agonizing over if you might feel what I felt. Tonight though, with the way you looked at me? I could finally see it.”

When he pulled back, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze again but he was quick to correct that with a little nudge.

“Still so shy.”

Your thoughts were running a thousand miles an hour; fear, lust, and disbelief were shouting at you in so many different ways that you thought you would pass out from overstimulation alone. While you’d thought about this happening almost every night since you’d first talked with him, you’d always assumed he would be a fantasy only. You never imagined the quiet, steadfast, colonel would ever have a mutual interest in you. Part of you wanted to drop to your knees and thank him for even touching you, while the other waited with panic-laced worries for him to announce that it was some kind of prank.

When his calloused fingers trailed up your face and into your hair to scrape your scalp, it was like he flipped a magical switch. Gone were the panicked thoughts, the uncertainties, and the insecurities. All that existed were the beautiful sensations he created.

“Does that feel good?” he asked.

You nodded dumbly and let your eyes flutter back open as you heard him laugh, flushing with desire as you were once more pinned with those gorgeous eyes of his.

“This isn’t some kind of joke, is it?” you finally questioned, managing to get somewhat of a grip on your psyche, “Because if it is, I’ll-”

A sharp sting through your scalp cut you off as he tightened his fingers in your hair, following your silence with disappointed tongue clicks.

“Do I really seem like the kind of man who would joke about something like this?”

You shook your head slowly, muttering a defeated little “No sir” in response. Your efforts were rewarded with the release of your hair, hand tenderly cupping the nape of your neck instead.

“I need to hear you say you want this before it goes any further,” he instructed you, firmly but gently.

As your lips parted, you hesitated. Of course, you wanted this, but here? Now? Your eyes darted nervously to the cracked door before catching his once more.

“I- I do but… König, anyone could come in and, god, you’re hurt and-”

You watched in awe, voice trailing off into silence, as he leaned in and pulled up his sniper hood, revealing a black gaiter which he promptly tugged down. The peek of a strong, square, jawline peppered with a short stubble made your eyes open wide in shock but your attention was quickly captured by his full lips, curled up into a smirk with a peek of sharp canines flashing through. Fuck, if only part of him was this gorgeous, you were afraid to see him completely bare.

“As I have said, it’s not serious, and you’ve so graciously patched me up,” he purred softly, eyes boring holes into your sole as his lips almost touched yours, “Now, tell me kleines, do- you- want- this?”

“Yes, god, ple-”

Fingers dug hard into your soft sides as he finally captured your mouth in a gentle kiss and you instinctively stretched up to meet him, hands sliding up to wrap around the back of his neck in an attempt to convey just how badly you wanted him. Words weren’t your forte but actions… actions you could manage.

A quiet groan escaped your lips as you felt his hips press against yours and hands came down to grab your ass. Your shock quickly turned into concern when you felt him start to lift you.

“König, no!” you scolded him as you wiggled out of his grasp.

The colonel had the gall to look confused by your rejection.

You gestured to his freshly sewn stitches and bit out, “I don’t care how much you say it’s fine. I refuse to be the reason you pop your stitches and I’d rather not have to put a needle in your again. Just…”

Your stern words trailed off as you saw the mild pink tinge across his upper cheeks. He was too adorable. Huffing out a low sigh, you rested your hands against his firm pecs and gently pushed him back toward the bed.

“Lay down, I’m shutting the door real quick.”

Thankfully, he didn’t bother arguing, just turned with an annoyed grunt as you shut and locked the door. The annoyance in his eyes dropped the instant you carefully climbed up onto the bed with him, letting him guide you to sit over his thighs comfortably.

“If we’re doing this, we’re doing it in a way that you won’t get hurt,” you warned him.

“Verdammte Hölle,” he scoffed lowly, fingers digging into the plush softness of your thighs, “Fine, if you insist, just get over here.”

A gasp passed from your lips into his when he dragged you in closer and you felt the bulge of his cock already growing through his cargos. And what a fucking power rush that was, to know you were affecting one of the strongest men in existence. You! A short, chubby, nobody-famous nurse and this god-like man wanted you.

“Fuck,” you breathed out quietly, hands coming to rest on his chest as he guided your hips down against his, “König, I said-”

“You may be on top of me, but you are in no way in control, understood, Kätzchen?” he bit out huskily.

Your heart stammered in your chest but you managed a little nod in response. Apparently subdued by your acceptance, his hands spurred you into motion once more, tearing a broken moan from your chest as his hardness pressed deliciously against the apex of your thighs. Even though clothing, he was working you up entirely too easily.

He attacked your neck once more and growled out a terse, “Scheiße, I always knew you’d sound fucking beautiful like this. Mein kleines engel, so verdammt unschuldig und süß.” (My little angel, so fucking innocent and sweet)

While you had no idea what he said, it was clearly something sexual and you couldn’t help the way you shuddered. It was kind of funny. When you first met him, you’d been shocked by the pitch of his voice, having expected such a giant being to have a deep voice; and now… now you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Oh? Magst du es, wenn ich mit dir Deutsch spreche, mein dummes kleines Kätzchen?” (“Do you like when I speak German to you, my silly little kitten?”)

Instinctively, you ground down in search of relief as his voice filled your head and took over your thoughts.

He chuckled softly and murmured, “You do like it. I can feel the way your sweet little cunt throbs against me each time. Do you always react this way when I speak German around you?”

Your body froze at that, face heating and flushing down your chest as you finally understood what he was saying. No fucking way.

“You- You can feel it?” you asked meekly, hoping he’d say no.

“Mmhmm, Deine kleinen Zuckungen sind so süß- Ah, there is it again,” he teased, “So, kleines? Is it like that every time?” (Your little twitches are so cute)

With a frustrated groan, you quietly admitted it before ducking down to bite onto his shoulder. You felt a thrill of satisfaction when you felt his cock jump between your thighs but didn’t even stop to gloat, too enthralled by the taste of his skin. You didn’t dare leave marks, unsure of the protocol for his position, but gods you wanted to. Maybe another time, if you were given the chance. Scraping your teeth across his flesh, you scooted back to sit farther down his thighs and began to make your way down his collarbone and chest until you were able to gently bite the meatiest part of his pec.

“Ah, Scheiße!”

Before he could react further, you continued on and swiped your tongue across his nipple, earning a guttural moan and his fingers curled into the hair at the back of your head. For a moment, you questioned if he intended to stop you but, when he didn’t, you did it again. The little muffled curses he let out only worsened the mess in your panties and you had to restrain yourself from reaching down to ease the ache. It wasn’t until you were kneeling between his thighs and working at his belt that he finally stopped you.

“Kätzchen, just what do you intend to do?” he asked as you nibbled softly at the skin above his pants.

You let out a huff and rolled your eyes up at him.

“I intend to suck your cock, if that’s okay, colonel,” you shot back.

He mumbled something quietly under his breath then added louder, “While I would love that, I don’t know how much time we have.”

As you finally worked his belt open and began tugging his pants down, you couldn’t help but pout.

“That’s not fair. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” you whined.

The way his eyes rolled back and his hips arched made you grin.

“And I would love to see those beautiful lips wrapped around my dick, but another time, kleines. Right now, I need to be inside of you.”

Your cunt clenched instinctively at that, at the promise of another chance to touch him, and you finally relented with a sigh.

“Fine, fine, but you owe me later,” you replied, letting him pull you back over his lap.

With a chuckle, he pulled you into a kiss and mumbled, “Of course, Schätzchen. Anything you wish, whenever you wish- except for right now.”

A flush crossed your face, deep and hot, as his words settled into your chest. When he began tugging at your jeans, you helped slide them and your panties down until they were hooked around just one leg. You weren’t given much time to ruminate on the feeling of your bare flesh against the scratchy fabric of his pants before the sensation of calloused fingers sliding down your slit stole both your attention and breath.

“Ooh, look at you,” he crooned lowly, fingertips pushing between your lips and sliding back up until he found your clit, “So wet for me already.”

Worrying your lower lip, your forehead rested against his cheek and your nails dug into his shoulders as you nodded slowly. Of course, you were. Who wouldn’t be when Adonis was touching them? He moved slowly, gently, almost as if afraid to go faster. It felt good but it wasn’t enough.

“Ich wünschte, ich könnte jetzt meine Zunge in dieser heißen kleinen Muschi haben. Ich wette, du schmeckst himmlisch.” (I wish I could have my tongue in this hot little pussy right now. I bet you taste like heaven.)

“Ffff-Fuck!”

A broken whine escaped your lips when he finally slipped a lone finger into your core and it took everything within you not to collapse at that moment. One of his felt like two of yours but reached even deeper. You couldn’t resist rocking into his motions as he carefully worked you open.

You didn’t even get a chance to cover your mouth before he suddenly forced in a second one and curled them against your g-spot, a moan spilling from the big man beneath you as you mewled.

“More,” he demanded as his other hand tugged up his hood once more and smashed his mouth against yours, “Again.”

You didn’t stand a chance in hell at ignoring his commands with the way he began hooking his fingers in a constant come hither motion against your spongy patch of nerves. Tears burned in your eyes as you fought for breath against the onslaught of sensations plaguing your body. It’d been so long since you’d let anyone else touch you, relying on your own hand and toys for release, and fuck if it wasn’t overwhelming.

“König, ple-please!” you begged weakly, unable to keep from trembling against him as he brought you dangerously close to the edge.

For all his talk about not having time, he was surely taking his. His fingers felt incredible but you needed to feel his cock.

“Yes, Kätzchen?”

“Want you. Need you, please!”

His low moan was the only answer you needed, shaky hands diving down to work the waistband of his pants lower and tug at his boxer-briefs. You couldn’t even keep your eyes open to focus, too lost in the delirium of your approaching climax and the pleasure dancing along your skin.

When you finally pulled him free, you instantly shoved his hand away and shuffled up until his tip was kissing your entrance, but he halted your motions before you could do more.

“Don’t go too fast, alright? I don’t want you to get hurt,” he instructed you gently.

You barely managed to open your eyes enough to meet his and nodded hastily. Go slow. You could do that. And yet, when he finally allowed you to move, you were tempted to just slam down, no matter how massive he felt. However, your self-control prevailed, only held back by the reminder that he’d probably stop you if you got hurt.

It wasn’t until you started to lower yourself and you felt the fat head of his cock begin to split you open that you really understood why he’d been warning you, prickles of pain and pleasure dancing behind your clenched eyes as you sucked in a harsh breath. It didn’t matter that you were soaking wet and more than ready, your body was fighting to take each inch.

“That’s it, gutes Kätzchen, just like that,” he praised softly. (Good Kitten)

Finally, after what felt like forever, your hips settled down against his and you let out a little mewl of satisfaction.

“Jesus fuck,” you breathed out huskily, “This feels- Fuck, I can’t even describe it.”

“I know.”

His voice sounded as tightly wound as you felt. Every muscle in your body ached but none more than the throb of your core.

“Can- Can I move?” you asked.

“If you’re ready.”

Steading yourself with his broad shoulders, you lifted up and slowly dropped back down, nails digging into his skin as he touched every last inch inside of you. When your eyes fluttered open, your cheeks bloomed a deep red as you found him already staring at you with awe in his gaze. It would have been anxiety-inducing if it weren’t for the bruises his fingers were leaving on your hips and the quiet little grunts falling under his hood. Knowing he was watching you though, it was daunting and lit a flicker of doubt in your chest, demanding you do everything to make sure you looked and felt your best for him.

“Ah, wait, here,” he gasped suddenly, halting your motions as he tugged up your T-shirt.

You almost stopped him, wary of fully exposing any parts of you that you felt uncomfortable about, but he was too quick. He tucked the hem into the neckline of your shirt and instantly tugged down the cup of your bra, one hand wrapping around and lifting your breast while the other hand palmed your back and jerked you forward until he could wrap his lips around your nipple with a heady groan.

“Fuck, König!” you whimpered, shocks of bliss making you pulse around his cock.

His moan was loud against your flesh as his hand left your back and guided your hips into motion once more, the dual stimulation enough to make you shudder. Bit by bit, you were able to work up to a faster pace, until pleasure started to take hold of your mind and you lost all sense of rhythm, more focused on coming than putting on a good show.

“Ohgodohgod ohmygod!”

A heavy growl vibrated against your skin as he grunted out between kisses, “Oh Gott, das ist es Kätzchen, kommst du mich holen?” (Oh god, that’s it kitten, are you going to come for me?)

You buried your frantic cries into your palm as you felt tears begin to fall. It was too good, too much, and you fucking loved it. The burn of his cock stretching your walls brought you so close to the edge that it hurt, each thrust making your clit throb with need. You managed a panicked, muffled, plea and were rewarded with teeth sinking into your flesh and a calloused thumb on your sensitive nub, tearing a hellish screech from your lips as you were instantly pushed over the edge. Your hand barely contained the frantic moans pouring from your throat as he pushed you through the crest. Every swipe of his thumb and thrust of his cock brought on another wave of pleasure, again and again until you lost the ability to do more than exist.

With an audible pop, he pulled back from your abused skin and relaxed back against the bed, moans starting to rival yours in volume as his hands took hold of your hips and his knees bent under you. When he started thrusting up to meet each bounce of your hips, the fog finally took over completely. Leaning back enough to wrap your hands around his forearms, you gave over that last bit of control and just followed his lead. The sound of your ass meeting his thighs became louder, faster, in the quiet room; a lewd soundtrack coupled with the squeaks of the medical bed and your unstifled noises of pleasure.

“Mein gott. Look at that face. Not a single thought going through that sweet little head of yours, is there?” he groaned, chuckling when you suddenly leaned forward and buried your face in his neck with a meek hum, “No, no, don’t be embarrassed, kleines. It’s a compliment to have such an intelligent woman so brainless from my cock.”

You instinctively clenched around him and nuzzled further into his neck out of mortification. God, that shouldn’t be hot! You shouldn’t like that and yet you do. How did he manage to weave together such sexual praises into something that sounded like genuinely sweet compliments?

“Sit back up, now,” he commanded sternly, “I want to see that beautiful face when I come.”

The change in position instantly put your senses back on edge, the press of his cock against your sweet spot all too tantalizingly perfect as he muttered gentle praises and led you back into rhythm, words slowly dissolving into the most unholy whimpers and grunts you’d ever heard. It wasn’t long until you couldn’t make out a single thing he said, English long evolved into German between frantic moans of your name.

Suddenly his grip became overwhelmingly painful and you let out a squeal of panic, but the pressure was easily forgotten in favor of bliss as he began to thrust into you violently. It was almost as if he were trying to fuck himself into your cervix, a scary thought knowing he had the length to do so, but every attempt you made to lift off of him and create space was thwarted by his superior strength. And gods, if that didn’t do the dirtiest things to you. Even when he released one hip, he was powerful enough to keep you in place with just one hand, the other suddenly reappearing between your thighs.

“Oh- Oh god, yes, König, just-”

All it took was a few circles around your sensitive clit before you were thrown over the edge once more with a scream. Wave after wave rocked through your body as you rode him hard, thighs shaking and heart pounding as you scratched at him and cried his name all too loudly.

“Oh Scheiße, ich werde kommen, bitte, nicht aufhören, nicht aufhören, bitte, bitte, bitte!” (Oh shit, I'm gonna come, please, don't stop, don't stop, please please please!)

Even in German, his message was clear. Fighting through your own hazy pleasure, you tightened your thighs and clenched around his cock eagerly, whimpering his name and pleading with him to come. You weren’t given any warning as he suddenly grabbed your neck and jerked you down into a ravenous kiss, a mixture of high-pitched keening and growling moans pouring into your mouth like oxygen when he buried himself one last time to the hilt.

Tremors ran through your being as you felt his cock twitching, heat filling you with each pulse, and you couldn’t help the tears suddenly building in your eyes again.

“Holy fuck,” you whined against his lips.

When you clenched around him again and tried to move your hips, he put a stop to it immediately, arms wrapping around you and trapping your body to his.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he hissed darkly, “You start that andI won’t want to stop, and we definitely don’t have time for that.”

A little grin crossed your lips as you melted into his hold and murmured, “Aye, aye, colonel.”

His little snort of a laugh jostled you against his frame only for him to still and hold you tighter. You turned to rest your ear against his chest and listened to the steady heavy beat of his heart while your fingers trailed up and down his arms.

“That was okay, right?” he asked after a moment, the uncertainty surprising.

It took some effort to get him to let you go but you managed to finally sit up, hands slowly pushing up the edges of his mask to just until his lips were visible again, and you kissed him softly.

“Better than I’ve imagined,” you whispered softly.

He tensed for a moment before a little huff of a laugh puffed across your lips.

“You’ve imagined this?” he asked back.

Chewing your lower lip as you lifted again, you gave a shrug and replied, “Yeah, a lot, if I’m being honest. As you heard, you’re an intimidating man, colonel, but really, it only adds to your appeal.”

It felt weird to be so openly blunt about your attraction to him but you supposed you were past the point of second-guessing things. His eyes searched your face intently for just a moment before he smiled, a warm, heart-pounding expression that made your knees weak. Fuck, maybe he hid his face for that reason. It wouldn’t do to have everyone tripping over themselves at his beauty.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he murmured softly, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, “As much as I want to hold you longer, I’m afraid we should get decent before someone comes along and-”

“Fuck, yeah, you’re right!” you gasped, eyes darting to the door instinctively as you clambered off the bed.

The moment you released your hold on him, your knees tried to give out but he was quick to give you a balancing hand. You thanked him quietly as you fixed yourself quickly- Well, as quickly as you could when your legs felt like jelly and your head was still spinning. When you were finally all dressed, he was carefully sliding his shirt back on.

“Wait, let me make sure we didn’t tear anything loose.”

He gave you a look that told you how ridiculous he thought you were being, but he humored you with a sigh after a moment. Leaning in, you looked over the stitches and were happy to find everything still intact.

“Good to go! Thank goodness,” you sighed happily, then flushed as you looked up at him, “Uh, you’ll have to come back in seven to ten days to get the stitches removed, which I’m sure you know. Other than that, just take it easy. Any damage you do will only prolong how long you’ll have to be on light duty.”

“I see, and if I need assistance with any in the meantime? I can come to you?” he teased, eyes crinkling warmly at the edges.

Unable to hold in your grin, you replied, “Always. I’d be glad to help with anything you need, colonel. Just come find me.”

You tossed him a coy smile before making your way to the door, only to get spun and pushed up against the wood without warning. One big hand cupped your neck and forced your head up as he leaned in and kissed you, soft and light in a way that made your toes curl.

“Sorry, needed one more,” he purred softly, chuckling as your face went hot.

“Get out of here before I make up a reason to keep you here overnight,” you bit out teasingly.

He gave you a mock salute before releasing you and allowing you to open the door. His gaze became soft once more when he studied you as you leaned against the door frame.

“I’ll see you again soon. Have sweet dreams, Kätzchen.”

“You too, König.”

When he finally walked away down the hall, you couldn’t help but watch him go. God, that man had the most perfect ass, and don’t even get started on that broad back. Biting back the flare of lust threatening to rekindle in your stomach, you ducked back into the office and ran a hand through your now-tangled locks, letting out a low sigh. The clock on the wall read two thirty in the morning, which meant you thirty minutes to get König’s chart typed up and then you could finally head home for the night. Thoughts of a hot shower and your soft bed had you groaning. Yeah, you were definitely going to sleep good tonight.

…

“Sooo, how was your weekend?” Lisa asked, eyebrows jumping up and down in anticipation as you slid into the seat opposite her and Mark.

You simply threw her a nonplussed look, not daring to give her any inclination. Lisa was good about keeping your feelings secret but you weren’t sure she could contain herself in public if you told her about what had happened with König, not to mention you didn’t want to chance him getting some sort of backlash if the fraternization rules applied to you. You’d have to do some research on that later if you two were going to meet up again at some point. Logically, seeing as you were contracted as a nurse and not as a solider, you hoped that you were outside of those rules but you weren’t certain.

“It was fine. Nothing too crazy,” you lied seamlessly.

She seemed to deflate at that.

“Really? When I saw the colonel was back I had hoped…”

“Well, you hoped wrong,” you replied blandly, “I saw him but nothing happened. It’s fine, really. Probably for the best to maintain that professional boundary.”

A body collapsing onto the bench beside you made you jump and nearly spill your food until you caught it at the last second, your heart racing from the shock until you saw it was one of Mark’s buddies at your side.

“Hey, Ian,” Mark greeted, “What’s up?”

He was obviously as confused about his friend’s appearance as you were, but your confusion didn’t last long when he suddenly turned to face you.

“So, I heard from a little birdie that you were single right now. Is that true?” Ian pressed, lips quirking up into a grin.

You shot a deadly look at Mark, earning a silent apology as his face heated, before you addressed the private next to you.

“I am but-”

“Great! You should come out with me Friday night! I have a weekend pass and I need a pretty lady to take with me to the city!”

Well, shit. You knew nothing about Ian. You hoped he was a decent guy and wouldn’t be upset over you rejecting him since he was Mark’s friend but men were tricky. How were you supposed to turn him down without hurting or angering him? As your lips parted to answer, a massive hand suddenly slid around your throat and silenced you. Eyes wide in fear, you let out a shocked whimper and froze in place, only to catch the familiar scent of a warm cologne as a hard body pressed against your back.

“There you are, liebling, I’ve been searching all over for you.”

König. Oh. Fuck. Tilting your head back at his insistence, you let your eyes meet his icy blues, obviously crinkled in joy. When his fingers tightened around your throat, you couldn’t help the way your face flushed in delight, your entire body warming with insatiable need as he descended and planted a loud smacking kiss on your forehead.

“Come now, I’ve brought lunch for us.”

The entire table was silent during the exchange and you could practically feel Lisa vibrating in her seat, but you didn’t dare look away from him to address her. Nodding once, you rose to your feet where he finally released your throat. He interlaced his fingers with yours and you instinctively scooted closer, enjoying the body heat and comfort he put off.

“I’ll uh- I’ll see you guys later,” you threw back as he led you out of the canteen.

The walk was quiet as he dragged you through the halls until he finally stopped at his office. With a little murmur, König opened the door and ushered you in first. The moment the door slammed shut, you were unceremoniously shoved against it, a little oomph escaping your lips at the impact. A weak moan left your lips as you felt his breath against your ear.

“Ungezogenes kleines Kätzchen,” he purred huskily “From now on, you will let it be known that you’re with me, got it?” (Naughty little kitten)

You hesitated before nodding and replied, “Y-Yes sir. I wasn't sure- I didn’t know what-”

“Shh, shh, I know, schatz. It is not your fault. I didn’t make my intentions quite clear. You belong to me now.”

A shudder ran down your spine, forcing a moan low in your throat as you practically preened under his possessive claim. Despite the threatening tone, you felt no fear. If anything, it turned you on more than ever.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl. Now get on my desk,” he instructed.

Your confused glance was met with a smirk and a wink as he pulled away.

“I prefer to have my dessert first, Kätzchen. We can eat lunch after.”

#könig #könig x reader #cod smut #cod fanfic #könig smut #könig cod #könig fanfiction #smut #cod x reader #konig cod

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steviebears · 2 years

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Could you do an Eddie munson x reader smut where the reader is Joyce’s daughter and Joyce finds out they have been having sex and is worried about her because she has only heard bad things about Eddie through Johnathan and will

omg 🥺this is so cute anon thank you!

edit: i just realized you wanted smut IM SORRY

GENRE: fluff, we all need it

WARNING: fem!reader, implied smut, protective Jonathan

Joyce watches, shocked, as the long haired boy falls from your window, buckling his belt with a dazed smile on his way out to leave in his beat up van.

She knew you were grown now, and even though you were the eldest of her children, your choices still worried her. Especially after what Jonathan said.

Joyce was acting odd the next morning. You had left early for work so she was left with Jonathan for a late breakfast.

"What is it mom, you've been staring at your eggs with that look on your face for the past five minutes." Jonathan questions her, taking another bite of potatoes.

"I saw the weirdest thing last night and I just don't know what to make of it." Jonathan perks up at that. Considering the things known to happen in this town, he was interested.

"What did you see?"

"Well, I don't know if I should say." She cared about your privacy, she really did, but maybe Jonathan knew something about this mystery boy. Jonathan just gives her a 'tell me' look, and she breaks.

"I saw a boy leaving Y/n's bedroom window last night." Jonathan drops his fork.

"What?" Despite being your younger brother, the boy was pretty protective of you.

"Who was it?" He straightens his posture.

"I don't know! Some guy, long hair and he left in this old van." Jonathan shut his eyes, instantly knowing who it was. He knew you two had been friendly in the past, and he certainly did not approve.

"It's Eddie Munson." Jonathan sighs, rubbing his eyes. Now, Jonathan would never interfere with your life. He had his worries just like any brother, but you were an adult and he knew he shouldn't say anything to you. That didn't apply to Joyce, though. Jonathan told Joyce about Eddie, most of the things he'd heard about the guy. He tried to put it lightly but there isn't exactly a good way to say he was a drug dealer.

Will was a different story. He thought Eddie was cool, but even he wouldn't approve of him dating his own sister.

Joyce stood by your door contemplating what to say. Eventually she knocked.

"Y/n?" She called out.

"Uh- yeah one second mom!" You and Eddie immediately broke away from eachother, looking at one another in panic before you instructed him to get in your closet.

"Okay come in!" She opens the door gently and shuts it behind her, making you nervous. Did you do something wrong? She sits on your bed next to you, looking at you with an unreadable expression.

"I wanted to talk to you about... something I saw the other night." She shifts in her spot and avoids eye contact.

"There was a boy- Eddie Munson? I saw him leaving your bedroom window and you know, looked like you two were getting... pretty close." Your face gets hot as you remember that night, the fact that your mom was talking to you about this was immensely embarrassing especially in front of Eddie. You could practically see his smile from behind the closet door.

"And I just don't think it's a great idea, neither does Jonathan. This guy he's- not exactly a golden boy I hear?" You were going to kill Jonathan for ratting out Eddie.

"Mom, trust me. He and I- we trust each other and I know he would never hurt me. Jonathan would kill him if he did, you know that." You were right and Joyce knew she had to loosen the reins.

"Okay. But, you guys are being safe right? Because the last thing you need is-" You can almost hear Eddie's snickering and the hot feeling in your face is killing you.

"Yes! Yes, mom." She smiles and looks like she remembers one more thing.

"Oh, but make sure you go pee after because-" At that, a fit of commotion is heard from the closet. She looks there, then back at you. She gives you a 'is he here?!' look and gets up. Joyce is very surprised to see a tall lanky man with crazy hair fall out of the closet.

"Jesus Y/n!" She looks at you with a mom look and back to Eddie who was desperately trying to bite back his smile. It didn't work and his pearly whites were on full display.

"Use the front door next time. No more sneaking in." She sighs as you have your smiling face in your hands.

"Yes ma'am." He says before laughing, causing her to roll her eyes- the smallest of grins on her face.

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fluffypotatey · 1 year

Text

me: *explaining how fucked up it is that whenever there's a bill trying to get implemented into law where the government would handle our taxes, lobbyist such as Turbotax and HR block do everything in their power to kill it* my mom: but...the government doesn't do our taxes that's why people use Turbotax & other financial companies me: *deep breath* me: yes, because-

#this was a conversation we had months ago #i may have not been super articulate the first couple of times but after 5 time of repeating myself i think it finally clicked for my mom #the same thing happened when my sis and i were explaining what environmental sexism is and why it's so damaging #anyway #shitpost #us politics #taxes #late night talks with a potato

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beefrobeefcal · 2 months

Text

Beefro Proudly Presents:

a Joel Miller & his Darlin' One Shot: A Trouble Shared is a Trouble Halved Summary: You and Joel navigate settling down in Jackson as a couple with its ups and downs. (Post Outbreak)

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 3,900

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, fingering (f receiving), talk of eating, weight gain, oral (f receiving), angst, established relationship growing pains, argument

Author's Notes: Am I back? Maybe baby! I'm delighted to finally do what was asked of me in a poll and I thank you all for your love and patience.

Thanks be to @neverwheremoonchild, @strang3lov3, and @notjustjavierpena for their eyes, thots, and brains. And thank you to @noxturnalpascal for the THOT that gave life to this fic so very long ago.

“Eatin’ like it's your last day on earth, Miller...”, you teased with a wry smile as you walked past him in the dining hall.

“Shut it...”, he grumbled, a bit of pink flushing his cheeks. He took another bite of gravy-flooded mashed potatoes.

“What helping’s this? Third? Fourth?”

Joel looked at you, exasperated. “The fuck? Can't a man enjoy his girl’s cookin’ without the third degree?”

You smiled at him, loving how much of a rise you were getting. It had been a few months since you and Joel had your first encounter, and while nothing was made official, more often than not, you’d find yourself entwined with Joel in your bed at night. His heavy, full stomach pressed against your back as you both slept peacefully. While you enjoyed your time together, you were beginning to feel something was lacking, hence your teasing.

The cold glare he gave immediately dampened the playful banter between you. You felt a twist in your mood and sour heat in your stomach.

He shook his turkey leg at you, giving you a scolding look, and warned, “You better knock that shit off, Darlin’... or so help me, I’m not gonna - .”

“Not gonna what?”, you asked, getting closer, and you voice dropped down to a cool whisper only he could hear. “Not gonna fuck me? Pretty sure haven’t been doing that lately anyway, so what’d be the difference, huh?”

He sat back with wide eyes and his mouth open in shock, and his full belly sat rounded out on his lap. You stood up, brow raised, and arms crossed.

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?!”

Joel was affectionate, but usually too tired, full or both to do anything but let you ride him. And not to say you didn't enjoy it, but it was starting to feel a bit one sided. He hadn’t done anything beyond finger you a bit to get you ready and then sweet talk you into being on top again. He’d apologize and praise you, but you wanted more. Especially now that there was more to him.

His eating habits had really started to impact his physique; his jawline was softer, his arms and thighs were thicker, but his stomach was truly the star of the show. He’d made do with the clothes he had for as long as he could, but at the rate he was eating and the limited physical activity he’d been doing, he had to trade labor and time for new shirts and pants that would fit him. And on nights when he ate like this, you swore you could hear the seams praying to their polyester gods for mercy.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“Coulda fooled me!”, he snapped, louder than he meant. “Seems to do the trick and make you whine and mewl like a beaten dog almost every night!”

You felt your face get hot as a few heads in the dining hall turned towards you. He sighed and his eyes softened as he saw your face fall a bit. But you held firm, pulling your mouth into a scowl.

“Not every night, nowhere near it. And I’m the one doing the work. I’m the one fuckin’ you!”, you hissed.

Before giving him a chance to say anything else, you quickly turned and went back into the kitchen.

*****

After storming out of the dining hall, you’d spent the rest of your shift cleaning the entire kitchen, probably to a degree it hadn’t been since its installation. You’d scrubbed and polished every surface with enough fury in your eyes that no one dared step in. It wasn’t until you heard the jukebox turn off and see the lights in the dining hall dim that you realized you’d been at this for a few hours.

As you leaned back against the counter, head down and thinking over how your and Joel’s interaction had escalated like that, you heard a small voice say your name. You looked up and saw Sally, one of the other kitchen attendants.

“Sorry - don’t mean to interrupt, but I’m tryin’ to close up and Joel won’t leave. Says he’s not leavin’ without’cha.”

You scoffed out a ‘for fuck’s sake’ then walked to the swinging doors, only to see Joel, still seated where he was before, leaning back in his chair and picking his teeth with a toothpick. His eyes met yours, and you knew just from the look he was giving, he had a lot more to say.

“Joel, go home. Need to close up and can’t if you’re here.”

He looked behind you at Sally and gave her a small wave. “I’ll help her close up, Sally. You run on home. We got this.”

“Joel!”, you hissed.

“Go on now, Sally.”

His tone left little room for Sally to argue, and she muttered a ‘good night’ as she passed by you then Joel as head made her way out the door. You sighed, clenching your jaw, feeling the frustration and anger that you’d just weeded down in your cleaning frenzy begin to rise again. Joel watched Sally leave, then turned back to you, smug look on his face, made all the smugger as he noted your irritation.

“Darlin’, cut that shit out and come’ere.”, he crooned with a small grin, hilding his hand out to you.

You glared at him, not moving from your position.

He kept his hand out and raised his eyebrows and let out a huff. “Don’t make this old man beg, baby…”

“I think this old man has a lot more ground to cover than just beggin’.”, you responded cooly, crossing your arms across your chest. Before Joel could answer, you turned and went back to the kitchen to finish your duties.

You figured there was a 50 / 50 chance of Joel following you in, so as the door swung open and his heavy footsteps lumbered towards you, you knew he was at least picking up slightly on the passive aggressive breadcrumbs you’d dropped. You kept your back to him, drying cutlery and putting them into their respective bins.

“Darlin’…”

Joel’s voice was set low in a growl, leaving you unable to tell whether he was angry or aroused. You jumped as his hand grazed your lower back and settled on your waist, giving you a small squeeze.

“You wan’me to beg?”, he huskily growled into the back of your neck as he pressed a kiss to your skin.

“I gotta finish closin’ up, Joel.”, you stated, keeping your voice as even and unaffected as you could muster.

Joel let out a frustrated sigh-turned-grunt and let you go, stepping back. He leaned back against the wooden shelf behind him, the wood creaking in objection to his weight.

“Fuck, you’re being-“, he started, before letting out a huff. “What has gotten into you?”

Turning around, you were met with something you didn’t anticipate – a dark, sullen, glaring Joel, eyes burning into you.

“Joel-“, you groaned, before he cut you off.

“Don’t fuckin’ Joel me.”, he snapped. “You got a lot of fuckin’ nerve. You know what you said in front of the people eatin’ their food out there? You said I wasn’t fuckin’ you right. And then, I sit here like a goddamned fool, waitin’ for you to finish so we can talk, and you turn your back on me.”

“Joel, I need t-“

“Shut up! I ain’t done talkin’!”

You close your mouth and swallow hard. While you’d seen him get mad before, Joel had never directed it towards you before, and lord almighty, it sucked.

“You think I’m a fuckin’ mind reader? Think I’m gonna know you’re not happy?”, he asked, sounding loud and desperate, as he stood up and stalked towards you.

As he looked down at you, realization of how much bigger he was, in height and weight, came over you.

“I have said someth-“, you tried to argue, but his large hand grabbing yours and tugging you against him stopped you.

“Don’t interrupt me!”, he barked. “You aint said shit! And now you – fuck! No. You know what? Ain’t worth it!”

His eyes glowered down into yours and you in turn felt your eyes begin to sting with tears at the loss of contact. This was the most emotionally charged you’d seen Joel, and you wanted that same energy and passion when he fucked you, not use it to berate you for needing him to give you the same time and attention he showered on the food you cooked for the whole community. You could feel your face getting hot from the anger that was boiling in you over how overlooked you felt, even if it wasn’t entirely true. You were in a heated, frenzied spiral and reason and rationale had abandoned you.

Before you could snap back and tell him how worth it you actually were, Joel’s eyes softened; he let out a deep breath and let go of your arm and stepped back.

“I’ll… I’ll see you at home.”, Joel muttered before he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

You stood silently and watched him leave, feeling your heart break and immolate in your rib cage and hot tears fall down your face. It hit you hard just how hurt you both were.

*****

The house was dark when you walked in the front door. Joel had left no lights on, and you knew Ellie would be at Dina’s house for the night. The only hint you had to deduce that Joel was in fact home was the dim light you saw through his bedroom window as you approached the house. You hung your coat and tucked your boots on the shelf before quietly ascending the stairs to go to your room.

As you tiptoed in the hallways, you passed Joel’s bedroom door and heard him moving around his room. You could see his shadow from the light slipping under his doorway and felt your stomach curdle and sour, your mind jumping to rash conclusions about what he could be doing in there.

Was he packing to move out and get away from you?

Was he trying to clean up to remove your smell?

Was he collecting your things that you’d left in his room so he could hand them to you and tell you to get out?

As the thoughts rippled through your brain, you knew Joel was more methodical than that. He wouldn’t just leave or make you leave like that… would he?

You stepped forward, forgetting about that floorboard. The creak that sang out made both you and Joel’s shadow stop. You kept still for a moment, but the shadow didn’t move either. You were suddenly thrust back into your childhood; the times you were trying to sneak down into the kitchen to grab a snack or watch a blue movie on cable television without your parents catching you.

That fucking floorboard.

The shadow moved slightly, signaling Joel was getting closer to the door, and you moved quickly to your room, no longer caring how much noise you made. As you reached to grab your door handle, you heard Joel’s door pull open.

“Darlin’?”

Your hand clasped the knob, and you closed your eyes, hearing his voice.

“Yeah, Joel?”

You were surprised how soft and calm your voice sounded; it was a stark contrast to the overwhelming, post-anger, anxiety-ridden mess that was your mind.

“Turn around and look at me, Baby.”

“M’tired, Joel… Just gonna go to bed and – “

“I said turn around.”

It wasn’t a request. His tone was gentle, but you could feel it in your bones that this was a command - a soft one, but a command none the less. Your skin prickled in a wave of goosebumps, up your body, culminating at the base of your neck.

Joel must have been able to see the effect he had on you, because the voice he used to speak almost melted the flesh from your bones.

“Darlin’, you’re gonna turn around and look at me. Now.”

You turned around and looked at him. His broad and hefty silhouette stood ominously in his doorway, backlit by the soft glow from his bedroom.

“You comin’ to bed?”, Joel said quietly, but there was an edge to his tone that made your skin once again pebble.

You narrowed your eyes and tilted your head at his question, then shook your head subtly.

“No, Joel. I figured we’d take the night an-“

“And what?”, he snapped, stepping out into the hallway and towards you.

When you didn’t answer, he took another few steps and growled in a lower tone, “And what?!”

Your eyes went wide as he got closer, and your fight or flight kicked in. Taking a step back, you hit your bedroom door, and stumbled through your words. “I… I-I thought… I figured that you’d wanna-“

“That I’d wanna what?”, he snarled, stepping close and his full belly pressed you further into your door.

“Th-that you’d… you’d wanna be… alone to-tonight…”

Joel’s hand came up and he grabbed your chin, forcing your face square to his. “And why d’you think that?”

“Because… because we fought-“

“And you think that gives you the right to not sleep in my bed?”

You were stunned; you had no answer for him, and you also hadn’t ever been this turned on by him with out him already being knuckle deep in your pussy. You swallowed hard and stared back at him. This was a feeling you couldn’t place; it felt like you were slipping under a spell that Joel was casting.

The only response you could finally give was a headshake, and Joel returned it with a curt nod and slight grin.

“Good girl.”, he purred and released your chin.

You followed Joel back into his room, and stood awkwardly as he closed the door. You’d been in his room countless times, and you’d never felt this out of place. You jumped when he put his hands on your hips from behind and pulled you back, the curve of your spine being the perfect angle for his heavy belly to fit against.

“You feel like I’m not takin’ care of you, Darlin’?”, he huskily mewled into your ear before nipping it.

“Joel, I’m sor-“

“Stop.”, he said, abruptly stopping you from finishing your apology.

“We’re past that, Darlin’. Both said things we needed to say, even if we said’em not so nicely.”

You could hear the small smile in his voice and couldn’t help the one that tugged at your mouth slightly. A whisper soft sound came out of you with a sigh.

But then his tone dipped down, and as he rasped into your ear; one of his hands on your hip slipped to your front as he cupped your denim clad mound.

“You got my attention, baby. You feelin’ needy?”

Your mouth opened, and our flew a feather-light choked whimper. He gripped you roughly and pulled you snug against him, enough so that you could feel his thick and hard cock press against your ass.

“That why you had an attitude with me today? Needed me to fuck you? Fix that ache in your needy pussy?”

You breathed his name out as your brows furrowed and your eyes clenches closed. “Joel…” Your hand snapped on top of his over your crotch, forcing him to apply more pressure and squeeze.

“Need me to remind you that you’re mine?”, he growled before biting the crux of your neck and shoulder.

You nodded, breathing rapidly, then you let out a squeal as he shook your hand off his, then turned and shoved you against the wall. He got close and his hands made quick work in opening and shoving down your jeans. His eyes snapped up to yours and his hand dove between your legs.

“Fuck, baby…”, he sighed, eyes rolling back as he felt how wet you were. “My poor girl’s floodin’ the basement and it’s’all my fault.”

You grabbed his wrist, stabilizing yourself, and let whining pants out with each breath as his middle finger began to dip in an out of your hole. The tip of his thumb gently circled you’re aching clit.

“Yeah… I know I been neglectin’ you, baby girl… but not ‘cause of nothin’ you did… no, baby… you’re just keepin’ me too well fed and I’m fit to be tied by the time we get home… if I could fuck you the way you deserve every night…”

“Oh fuck… Joel, I need y –“

“But you always lettin’ me get away with being lazy an’watchin’ your perfect tits bounce while you fuck this fat old man…”, he rasped, his lids heavy as he watched your face contort in need. “Jesus, Darlin’, you got e’ry right to be cross with me…”

As much as you loved his voice, you needed more. Fisting his shirt, you pulled his face to yours and sucked him into a desperate and messy kiss, teeth and tongues colliding, and it was sharp and splitting. You didn’t need gentle – you needed him.

He finally pulled back, breathing heavily, same as you, and a grin tugged at his parted lips.

“Oh, Darlin’…”, he cooed, finger and thumb still working your cunt in tandem. He leaned in, ghosting his mouth over yours and asked in a voice so soft, you could have cried. “I need you to know how bad you got me, baby… tell me what I can do to prove it.”

Emboldened by his lust-blown eyes with heavy lids looking at you desperately, you put your hand on his shoulder and gave him a gentle push down. A smile pulled at one side of his mouth, instantly understanding your silent request. He stepped back and groaned as he lowered himself down, joints cracking as he got on one knee, and he looked up as he pulled your jeans down further then helped you step out, one leg at a time. As he de-robed your second leg, he lifted it over his shoulder, and he scooted forward, and your eyes stayed trained on him, catching every detail, every twitch of his face as he breathed huskily and inhaled your scent. You watched his eyes flutter and roll back, like you were a buffet of fine cuisine, and he was a starved man. He pressed his nose in your crux and nudged in further, panting and swearing under his breath as he let your aroma and essence envelope him.

He took his time, as if he was making sure to catch every flavour, every note of your taste and smell, almost punishing himself for allowing you to feel unappreciated. His hands reached behind and pulled your hips forward into his face and you whimpered out a gasp as your shoulders planted against the wall behind you being the only thing keeping you upright.

“Joel…”, you breathed out, swallowing, trying to alleviate the dry mouth your open mouth breathing had caused. “Joel, please…”

He groaned into your warmth and opened his mouth, finally letting himself have a taste. His tongue licked out between your folds, starting slowly, but began to increase in intensity as he realized this was his favourite thing to savour. He grunted and panted as he lapped at you, his grip that held you so firmly to his face hurting you in the absolute best way possible.

Your fingers pulled his hair, aiding in keeping your core tightly affixed to his gaping maw, and you rocked your hip, mewling and crying out, begging him for more. Joel was in no position to deny you want you needed, not only because of the iron-clad connection currently created by both of your individual efforts, but he was eating his favourite thing. He’d denied you both for so long, he would happily suffocate between your thighs before ever taking a proper breath again if it paid the price of his sin. The noises he made as he ate and licked and devoured you sounded obscene - he sounded like a starved and feral dog, gnawing at a cut of meat tossed to him out of pity. You’re sure that if you saw his eyes, they’d be a black abyss like a shark’s as it bit down on its next meal.

The sounds he was ripping and peeling out of you were music to his ears, championing him further, pushing him harder to make you give him more of those delicious noises. He was rocking his hips in time with his mouth and tongue, letting his throbbing cock rut against the inside of his jean’s rough zipper. Between that, your taste and your fingers pulling his scalp taught with hair, he was in pure ecstasy.

He brought his hand attached to the shoulder your leg was propped up on and pushed two thick fingers into your core and began to pump them in and out - again, in time with his own hips’ rhythm. The white-hot burning coil that Joel had been slowly winding with his mouth finally sprung loose and snapped. You arched your back, silently screaming out as your body went rigid, and vaguely heard Joel growl. He continued to suck hard on your twitching and swollen clit and punched his fingers up into you as your rode out your orgasm. You heard liquid hitting the wood floor before you heard Joel let out a series of high-pitched groans.

His fingers slowed and his mouth was panting hot, quick breaths on your aching core. You looked down at him, chest heaving, to see him shakily pull his fingers from you and shove them in his mouth. Joel was a beautiful and carnal sight: breathing hard in grunts as he sucked his fingers clean. The act looked primitive, like he’d accessed his baser instincts, and he was satisfying a basic human need, a millennia in the making.

“Joel.”, you croaked, and he looked up at you with blurred eyes that slowly began to focus. He slowly pulled himself up, heaving his heavy belly. You helped him come back to his fully height and he leaned into you, pressing his forehead to yours. You could smell yourself on him as he kissed you softly before resuming your connection through foreheads.

“That was…”

“Yeah… fuck yeah… taste so good.”

“I wanna return the fav-“

Your hand cupped what you thought would be his hard cock, but stopped when you felt him softening and his jeans were warm and damp. You pulled your head back and looked at him, prompting a huffed laugh from Joel, pink flushing up his neck to his cheeks.

“You’re my favourite meal, Darlin’. You got me hooked.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, baby.”

He pulled you away from the wall and onto the bed. He laid back and groaned as his spine relaxed. His full belly domed above him, moving gently up and down with each breath and you sat up, giving it a rub.

“You ate well tonight…”, you cooed, unbuckling his belt and opening his jean to access the mess he made.

He chuckled, supporting his head on an arm as he watched you with a grin. “Couldn’t help it… you serve food too good to not destroy myself on it, Darlin’.”

You shot him a look as you peeled back his damp and sticky underwear.

“Like I said, Darlin’… you serve up a good meal.”

beef's glossary: The term "blue movie" is an old-fashioned slang term used to describe pornographic films, usually of the low budget variety.

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