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flemingsfreckles · 6 months ago

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In Control (18+ g!p)

Synopsis: After Jessie leaves you high and dry one morning before training, you decide to take matters into your own hands when she returns home late that evening.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), g!p smut, simulated sex (think dry humping without clothes 🙃), oral sex (r giving), delayed orgasm/edging, lots of grinding, sort of ruined orgasm, dirty talk, slight dom/sub dynamic, overstimulation,

WC: 4.4k

A/N: hi, I know g!p isn’t everyone’s thing, but I had this idea and couldn’t get it out of my brain so I needed to write it. I also promise I’ve got some non-g!p smut in the works as well as some non-smut stuff. I’ve just had to take a bit of a break to deal with some real life things and take time after the election to compose myself and take some time to care for myself. I promise other stuff is slowly being worked on, this is just what was the most completed.

“Babe, don’t!” You scolded Jessie as she lay behind you, subtly grinding the hard on she had woken up with into your ass.

“Don’t what?” Her voice, still deep with sleep

“You know what you’re doing, you’re going to get me all worked up, then leave me high and dry when your alarm goes off in,” you lean over to look at the clock, “8 minutes, and then you get to go work off steam at practice while I’m stuck here without you!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She whispered, before placing an open mouth kiss on the side of your neck, her arms slowly wrapping around your midsection. Her fingers draw lines across your stomach and begin to trail up to your chest as she continues gently grinding herself into you. It takes everything in you to not roll your hips back, you couldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing she already had you worked up.

As you predicted, Jessie’s alarm rang out just a few moments later and suddenly her hands were gone and the bed behind you was empty as Jessie moved into the bathroom to get ready. When she came back out in a shirt and shorts you couldn’t help but notice the still prominent bulge she had.

“You didn’t take care of yourself in there?” You say, still eyes her up.

Shaking her head Jessie smiled at you, “I’m saving it for you, plus it’ll go away in a minute or two once I’m thinking about training and not my sexy girlfriend.”

“Go then, but give me a kiss first.” You reach a hand out in her direction.

“I love you.” She says as she walks over to where you remained in bed.

“I love you.” Your lips meet in a quick kiss. “You better be ready to go when you get home, none of this I’m too tired from training shit. You’ve fucked me after playing 90 and then going to after parties, you can handle it after a training session.” You smile up at her, giving her a quick wink, making sure she knew you were teasing.

“I promise, I’ll make it worth the wait, I’ll have you screaming my name baby.” She responded with a cocky tone, letting her hand trail down your sternum before placing one final kiss on your lips. “We’re done at 1:30, I’ll be leaving there around 2:30 at the latest, I promise. 3 o’clock I’m all yours.”

You sighed heavily as you checked the time again. 2:30 came and went, no text from Jessie that she’d be home soon, then it was 2:45 still no word from her, and then it was 3:00. You had gotten yourself all ready 30 minutes before Jessie was supposed to be home And here she was, late.

You had gone into the closet, finding the small shopping bag you had purchased the other day. Inside of it a tight, dark blue lacy bra with a matching thong to go with it. You had put both on, then perched yourself on your bed in anticipation for Jessie’s return home, waiting for her to come and follow through on her promise to have you screaming her name.

You were annoyed at first, Jessie never blew you off. She was a terrible texted but she kept you updated on where she was, when she’d be home. This was unusual behavior, you were worried about her, maybe something happened, maybe she had gotten injured. Your early stages of spiraling were put to rest when Jessie finally returned your messages at 3:21.

Jessie ☺️: I’m so sorry, I got caught up in some impromptu press stuff I didn’t know about, I’ll be home soon.

Slightly frustrated with her, you decide to get your revenge. Smirking to yourself you open your phone's camera before sliding your hand to the waistband of your thong. You move your hand down between your legs, taking a moment to touch yourself before deciding to take a photo. It wasn’t overly explicit, just showing your hand between your legs and a teasing glimpse of the blue lace, but it would get the idea into Jessie’s head.

You: I was told I’d be getting pleased by 3, just didn’t know I’d have to do it myself.

You watch as the message goes from delivered to read. You watch as she types for a moment, then stop, no message ever being delivered. You roll your eyes, losing your phone before lying back, letting your fingers mindlessly play with your core, not really trying to get yourself off but more just enjoying the feeling.

You heard the jingle of her keys and the door shut followed by quick footsteps and the bedroom door swinging open not long after. Jessie stood in the doorway still wearing her training kit. Her eyes fall to where your hand was still inside the lacy fabric.

“Oh wow.”

“Nice of you to show up.” You say firmly at her, sitting yourself up on your elbows, taking your fingers away from where they had been on your clit.

“I know, I’m so sorry, we just had media stuff that no one told us about.” As Jessie begins her frustrated rant regarding having to participate in media and the lack of warning your eyes can’t help but wander down her body to the slightly obvious tent of her training shorts.

“I just wish they’d given us a heads up, that would’ve been nice, but no, they made us all train and then shower and then we had to get back into clean training kits and pretend we were training again for photos.” Jessie continues on rambling.

Deciding you had heard enough you push yourself up from the bed and walk over to her. She continues talking, eyes now closed in frustration, complaining about her day until she feels your hand fall between her legs, cupping the noticeable arousal. Her eyes immediately open, falling to where your hand rested.

“Should we do something about this?” You look at her, giving a gentle squeeze to her bulge. She nods and you reach for her neck with your free hand, pulling her in hard to kiss you. Her body pressed into yours, letting her covered bulge grind against you. “Hang on Jess.” You manage to clear your mind enough to push her away gently. She steps back, her eyes trailing over your nearly naked body, drinking you in with her eyes.

“God I’m so lucky.” She mumbles to herself. You feel shy and yet confident under her gaze, knowing you could make her like this felt good.

“Lay down.” You say nodding at the bed. Jessie questions you with a glance. You throw your hands up. “Just do it, let me put on a show for you.” Running your hands over the lace of the bra you try to sell the lie you were telling her. You knew if you told her what you were about to do, she’d be stubborn. Promising a show would get her on the bed easily.

As you expected she quickly climbs on the bed situating herself in the middle. You follow her, making your way towards where she laid. Jessie sits up one hand out to reach for you, instead your hands find her shoulders and you gently push her down, putting her on her back before climbing to sit on her thighs.

“Hey that was mean.”

“So was telling me that you'd be mine at 3, and then not getting home until nearly 4.”

“I know, but babe I had media.” She tried to defend herself. You knew deep down it wasn’t her fault, but she could’ve at least texted.

“Shhh.” You put a finger to her lips. “No excuses, right?” You nod encouragingly down at her, until her own head mirrors the nod. You lean down kissing her hard, starting to slowly grind yourself down onto Jessie’s thighs. “Now,” you pause, “do you think you deserve a show?”

Jessie just looks at you, her eyes jumping around your face, unsure of how to answer, so she doesn’t. She continues to stare, her mouth opening every few seconds as if she’s going to answer before she closes it again.

“I don’t think you do. Had you been on time, I would’ve given you a show, I would’ve let you put your hands all over me, I would’ve let you pull these off of me, or maybe I would’ve let you decide if you wanted to fuck me while I was still wearing them. But you were late, and I had to start by myself.”

Jessie sighs, “Let me make it up to you, let me show you I’m sorry.” Her hands come to rest on your thighs, letting them creep up toward your core.

“No, keep your hands to yourself.” You say with a glare before moving off her thighs. You bring your hands lower, one cupping the obvious tent in her shorts. Giving it a quick squeeze, Jessie bucks her hips slightly.

You slowly draw down her shorts, making sure to tease her, taking your time getting the waistband past her erection, letting the fabric drag slowly over her cock. You then repeat the same tantalizing process with her tight compression boxers, finally letting her length spring free. You admire it for a second, giving it your full attention knowing it made Jessie feel shy but you wanted to truly appreciate her, all of her. “Is that all for me? Did I get you this hard?” You cock an eyebrow, looking up at her from where you sat between her legs.

Jessie nods in your direction, her eyes looking between her own arousal and your face.

“Tell me baby.” You encourage her.

“You make me so hard.”

“Good girl.” You praise her, causing her breath to hitch slightly at the words and her erection to bounce as her muscles clench In reaction to your words.

“You know I was thinking about this,” Your hand wraps around the base of her cock, “when I was touching myself. I was thinking about how well you fuck me, how wet I get for you, thinking about you, all of you, your fingers and your tongue and especially your cock.”

Jessie takes a deep breath, blinking quickly a few times, you can tell she’s trying to compose herself the way her hands fist the bedsheets before relaxing.

“You must’ve had some dirty thoughts of your own, the way you walked in the door already hard. What were you thinking about baby?”

“You.” Jessie tries to thrust her hips into your hand slightly, causing you to take your hand away from her.

“Tell me more.”

“I was thinking about that dirty little photo you sent me. I was thinking about fucking you.” You nod encouragingly as she speaks, bringing your hand back to her, running your fingers down her length. Her words stops and you once again take away your hand.

“More.” You say looking up at her.

She nods, looking to the ceiling for a moment. “I was thinking about, how sexy you are, how good you feel around me,” Jessie’s words fill the air, you bring your mouth to the tip of her cock, your tongue grazing over the head, cleaning the precum that was leaking from the tip. When Jessie’s voice stops you pull your head back and look up to see her eyes blown wide and mouth slightly ajar.

“You stop talking, I stop too.”

“Your pussy, I was thinking about your pussy, how tight you feel, how you’re made for me.” As she speaks you take the head of her length into your mouth, letting your tongue swirl around it, pleased with yourself when she stumbles over her words. “I was thinking about how I want to be deep inside of you, making you scream my name.”

Rewarding her you take her length into your mouth until the tip hits the back of your throat, before pulling off and watching in amusement as she thrusts into the air, wanting your mouth back. “I don’t think you deserve to be in my mouth, and you certainly don’t deserve to be in my pussy.” Jessie just lets out another sigh as she looks up at you with a silent beg.

Your hand strokes Jessie’s length once, spreading your saliva along it before your hand comes to hold it for a moment. Slowly you push her cock down, the tip coming to rest on her stomach just below her bellybutton. You hold it flat against her stomach and begin to adjust yourself. You move upward, off her thighs to hover over her hips, your core just inches away from where you knew she wanted it.

Smirking down at her you pull your panties to the side and lower yourself onto her. You raised an eyebrow as you gave a tentative grind yourself along Jessie’s length, watching her for any signs of discomfort. The stuttered breath from Jessie gave you all the information you needed to know, she was enjoying this as well.

You repeat your motion, letting the slick of your arousal coat the underside of her cock. Looking up from where the head of her cock was starting to leak onto her stomach you find Jessie’s face mesmerized as she watched you grind on her. “Guess you’re getting a show after all.” You say smugly, her eyes pulling away and coming up to meet yours. “Like what you see?”

A smile creeps onto Jessie’s face as she nods. “Yeah, you look fucking gorgeous.”

“Would this make it better?” You say as you reach a hand behind your back, removing the clasp on your bra and letting the material slide down your shoulders slightly. You remove the bra, tossing it to the side and you swear you can feel Jessie’s cock twitch against you. Her hands start to move upward before you move your own hands to cover your chest. “It’s just a show, no touching, if you had been on time you could’ve touched me in any way you wanted.” Standing up quickly, despite Jessie’s whine as the loss of contact, you strip off the panties you had already soaked, dropping them on the floor before climbing back onto the bed and settling yourself on Jessie’s cock.

Feeling smug at the way Jessie lets out a small huff of frustration, you rock back and forth again, this time making sure to grind your clit against her head, knowing that’s where she was most sensitive. “Fuck.” Jessie’s hands grip your thighs, her nails digging in slightly. You feel her arms tense as they try to encourage your grinding motion.

Fed up with her, you grab her wrists, pulling them from your thighs, noticing the way your skin flashes white before returning pink from how hard she had been gripping you. You lace your fingers with hers before leaning forward, pinning her arms above her head. “What did I say? No touching. You’re not in charge anymore, you lost that privilege when you were late.” You watch as Jessie’s eyes widen in what appears to be shock, you weren’t normally one to be dominant in the bedroom, that was usually her role. You felt uneasy for a moment watching her reaction, worried you’d made her uncomfortable, but she just looked up at you before swallowing hard and nodding.

“Please.” She let out what would be an otherwise embarrassing whine, but you knew she didn’t care. You could feel the way her body tensed under yours, her hands clenching into fists. You just smile and shake your head down at her.

She could flip the two of you easily, you both knew it. She was stronger, even in her compromised position she had leg, core, and arm strength that yours couldn’t match. While she could overpower you, Jessie also knew this was a punishment, she had gotten held up at work and failed to tell you, so while she could flip you, easily have her way with you, she remained flat on the bed, looking up helplessly at you.

“Babe, please, I’m so sorry.”

“Hmmm.” You pretend to ponder the choices, knowing fully that you weren’t going to let her get her way just yet. “No, I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet.”

“I have, babe I’ll never do it again.” You can feel her starting to squirm more beneath you. “Let me show you how sorry I am, let me make you feel good.”

“I’m feeling plenty good. I think it’s you who’s a little worked up.” You lean down putting your mouth to her ear. “I think you just want to be in my tight pussy.” You whisper, punctuating your sentence by grazing your teeth along her ear.

“I- “fuck, I do, I want to be inside you, but I want to make you feel good.”

“Like I said, I’m feeling plenty good.” You emphasize your words with a roll of your hips, watching as Jessie’s mouth falls open and she briefly closes her eyes. Taking her silence as acceptance of her punishment, you continue grinding yourself along her, enjoying the way her face contorts trying to hide how good you were making her feel.

You start to notice how Jessie’s breathing picks up, going from long, deep breaths trying to compose herself, to quicker, less even breathing. It doesn’t take long before Jessie speaks up again. “Fuck, babe, I’m gonna cum soon if you don’t stop.”

“Yeah?” You let your hips stall for a moment and watch as Jessie instantly relaxes below you, taking in a slow deep breath.

“Yeah, you’ve got me so close.”

“Good.” You smirk down at her as you begin moving your hips, you watch as frustration flushes through Jessie’s face before being replaced with pleasure as you grind yourself onto the head of her cock. Her eyes begin to roll back before she quickly shuts her eyes, letting out a strained grunt.

“Fuck.” She mutters, head thrown back slightly. “Fuck, babe.” She sends you a glare, an expression of annoyance across her face. ”Seriously. I’m going to cum.”

“Then do it.” You shrug your shoulders.

“No.” Jessie shakes her head against the pillow, her eyes pinched shut, “Not yet, I want to cum inside you.” You almost laugh at her expression. You hardly ever got to see Jessie like this, putty in your hands,

“If you wanted to cum inside me maybe you would’ve come home on time.” You couldn’t help but feel proud of yourself as you watched your usually in control, level headed, calm girlfriend fall apart beneath you. “Then you could’ve been so deep inside me, any position you would’ve wanted, let you manhandle me, use me, I would’ve let you cum in me. But you were late.”

She shuts her mouth, lips tight, she squints at you, not saying a word.

“Oh, are you upset baby?” You tease her. Putting both of her wrists in one hand you grab her chin with the other, making her look at you. She glares up at you, still not speaking. “Okay well how about I give you options? Would you like that?”

Jessie keeps her glare for a moment before giving in and nodding.

“Okay, well you can either cum now just like this,” you gesture downward to where her cock still remained nestled between your lips. “Or, you don’t cum at all, I’ll climb off, leave you here, and use one of our toys to finish the job. What would you prefer?” You notice the degrading tone you’re using toward her, but you also don’t care.

She doesn’t give you an answer right away, to tease her you start to shift your weight as if you’re going to stand up. “Like this.” She finally mutters.

“Good choice.” You sit back down with a grin, returning to your previous motion, making sure to focus your attention on the head of her cock. It’s only a few minutes later that Jessie starts to quietly whine.

You know it’s coming, you can tell by her facial expressions, the way she scrunches her nose and her eyebrows pinch together. Her chest begins to heave. You finally release her hands, realizing just how hard she was straining against you, they immediately grab your hips as you allow her to aid your grinding motion as she ever so slightly thrusts her hips. The way her eyes get wide as if giving you one last plea to be inside of you before slamming shut, her lips falling apart as a deep groan from her fills the air.

Pausing your own thrusts you watch as her hips thrust roughly twice before stalling, the head of her cock nestled between your lips. You can feel her tense up below you. A whisper of profanities comes from her mouth. Her hands tighten on your thighs, her nails indenting your skin, her thighs and core clenched and she holds her breath as she begins to cum, traces being shot over her own chest. A whine full of pleasure mixed with frustration escapes her body as you feel her length twitch beneath you.

“Now that you got yours, I want mine.” You say starting to grind yourself on her again. You knew you had to be quick, using her length while it was still hard you moved yourself faster, grinding yourself harder. Jessie gasps as you begin to pleasure yourself once again, using her overly stimulated cock.

“Oh fuck, this is so good Jess.” Feeling yourself get closer to the edge you no longer care that she’s touching you, not enough self control to slow your impending orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck,” Jessie groans beneath you, her eyes are still closed as she tries to keep her composure long enough to help you get your orgasm. she bites her lip hard stuck between the immense pleasure and overstimulation she was experiencing. “Too much.” She whines as you speed up your hips, your hands flat on her chest using her for leverage.

“You can take it. I’m almost there Jess.” You knew if she needed you to stop she’d tell you, you also knew she’d do anything to get you your pleasure. Her hands kneaded at your thighs as she tried to hold herself together long enough to help you. She nodded, adding in a thrust with her hips, aiding in the stimulation on your clit.

“Right there, fuck.” You can feel your thighs beginning to tremble on either side of Jessie’s waist as your orgasm creeps closer. Your hands leave her chest and move to your own, letting your fingertips graze over your sensitive nipples. You did it knowing it would give you the tiny bit of sensation you needed to get over the edge but also because you knew it drove Jessie crazy.

As you expected, her mouth falls open in awe watching you. You catch her eyes for one moment before your own close as you throw your head back, your orgasm crashing down. The feeling of release radiates from your core across the rest of your body causing you to tense, stalling your hips momentarily. You jerk your hips against Jessie a few times, working yourself through your orgasm, before collapsing forward. A small sigh leaves your lips as your head comes to rest in the crook of her neck as you wind down. Your breathing is quick and shallow against her skin.

You allow yourself only a minute to recover before pushing yourself up from where you lay on her chest. “I love you, don’t be late next time.” You smirked as you rolled over, still spent from your own orgasm you lay for just a second before quickly getting up. “I’m going to shower.” You look back for a second admiring your girlfriend, her chest covered in her cum, her now softening cock still resting up on her stomach, covered in your own arousal, she looked beautifully spent.

Jessie laid on the bed still, nearly frozen in place, unable to comprehend the past hour. A feeling of overstimulation was still lingering between her thighs but also so was a strong desire to go again. She couldn’t believe the way you took control, the way you held your own against her. She was so used to you crumbling under her touch, falling into submission quickly, but you hadn’t this time. You took control, you had pushed her down on the bed, you had your way with her, you made her submissive. What was confusing Jessie’s mind the most was how much she had liked it.

Laying back, thinking of how you had pinned her hands above her head, how you had her begging for you, how hot you looked using her body to get yourself off. She was in awe, speechless, dumbfounded and overall she was aroused. She looked down, seeing the remnants of her previous orgasm across her stomach and chest, as well as her cock that was beginning to rise again. She needed you.

You waited in the bathroom for a moment, shower running, waiting for your girlfriend to join you. When she didn’t and you didn’t hear her move, you wandered back into the bedroom, still seeing Jessie laid on her back. “Are you joining me, or should I shower by myself, oh!” You stop your question noticing the hard on Jessie was displaying.

Her hands immediately move downward to conceal herself as a smirk grows on your face. “Ready to go again already?”

You watch as the expression on Jessie’s face turns to one you know all too well. Gone was the shy, sweet, submissive side of your girlfriend, her face now firm stared back at you. She was about to get her revenge.

She moved off the bed and toward you, her hand grabbing your chin and pulling it to look at her. “Get in the shower. Seems like someone needs a reminder of who’s in charge around here, and I think we’ll start with you cleaning me up with that smart little tongue of yours.”

#jessie fleming #jflem #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #canwnt x reader #woso smut

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thedilfdiaries · 1 year ago

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who's your daddy?

daddy!Joel x f!reader

masterlist ♡ soft daddy masterlist

↳ wordcount: 2,291

↳ summary: you find comfort and care in the arms of an older lover, feeling safe and loved in their presence.

~Or~

you're feeling down after a long week of unsuccessful dating app swipes, but Joel's "daddy effect" makes you feel desired and loved. You spend the night at his mansion, basking in his attention and care.

↳ warnings: 18+, daddy!joel, aftercare, unprotected p in v, implied age gap (make it your own babe)

↳ notes: Hi! I've been heavy into 90s/early 00's country. This is heavily inspired by a few songs. Ty @saradika-graphics for the divider I will use forever 🩷

It's been a long week at college, and you're feeling down. You've been swiping through dating apps and talking to guys your age, but none of them seem interested in you, nor you in them. You feel like you're stuck in a rut, like you're going through the motions without any real connection. That's when you remember Joel's invitation. Joel is an older man, about twice your age that you've been seeing on and off for the past few months. He's wealthy, successful, and always makes you feel desired. He calls it the "daddy effect," and you have to admit, it's a turn-on. You text him, asking if you can come over and spend the night. He responds almost immediately, telling you to come on over.

As you drive up to Joel's mansion, you feel a sense of anticipation building in your chest. You've been here before, but it never fails to impress you. The house is massive, with sprawling gardens and a private pool. Joel greets you at the door with a warm smile and a kiss. "Hey there, beautiful," he says, his voice low and soothing.

You follow him inside and settle onto the couch, snuggling up against him as he wraps his arm around your shoulders. You can smell his cologne, a spicy, woodsy scent that makes you feel warm and safe. "I've just been having a bit of a dry spell lately," you confess. "None of the college boys seem to be interested in me."

Joel chuckles. "Well, that's their loss. You don't need them anyway. You've got me."

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "I know," you say softly.

Joel leans in to kiss you, his lips soft and warm against yours. You can taste the wine he's been drinking, a rich, full-bodied red that makes you feel a little dizzy. "Come on," he murmurs, breaking the kiss. "Let's go upstairs."

Joel leads you up to his bathroom, a spacious and luxurious space with marble tiles and a large, ornate mirror. The room is dimly lit, with soft, warm light casting a golden glow over everything. As you enter, you notice that Joel has prepared a bubble bath for you. The tub is massive, easily big enough for two, and already filled with steaming hot water and a generous helping of bubbles. The room is filled with a warm, soothing mist, making the air feel soft and moist against your skin.

Joel helps you undress, his hands gentle as he removes your clothes. He unbuttons your blouse slowly, his fingers brushing against your skin with just the right amount of pressure. You can feel the heat building between you as he undoes your bra, his hands cupping your breasts gently as he slides it off your shoulders. You shiver with anticipation as he slides your jeans down your legs, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin as he goes.

You can feel the tension building inside you, the need for release. Joel helps you step out of your clothes, his eyes taking in every inch of your body with a look of pure desire. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

He guides you into the tub, his hands steady as you step inside. The water is warm and inviting, the bubbles soft and soothing against your skin. Joel gets in behind you, his legs on either side of yours. You can feel the warmth of his body seeping into yours, his skin slightly damp against yours. His legs are strong, and you can feel the roughness of the hair against your skin. Joel wraps his arms around you, his chest pressed against your back. You can feel his heart beating in time with yours, strong and steady.

"Feel good, baby?" he asks, nuzzling your neck.

You nod, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you. Joel starts to massage your shoulders, his fingers working out the knots and tension that have built up over the week. His touch is firm but gentle, and you can feel the tension melting away under his skilled fingers.

"That's right, baby," he murmurs. "Just let Daddy take care of you. You don't have to think about anything right now except feeling good."

Joel's massage becomes more sensual as he moves his hands down your body, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. You can feel the heat building between you, the desire rising. You arch your back, pressing yourself against him, feeling his hardness against your softness.

"You like that, baby?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

You nod, biting your lip as he continues to tease you.

"Good, baby," he murmurs. "Daddy's gonna make you feel so good. Just let go."

Joel's hands continue to explore your body, moving down your arms and across your chest, his fingers lingering on your nipples before continuing down your stomach and to your inner thighs. He teases you, coming close to your center but never quite touching it, making you squirm with anticipation.

"Please, Joel," you whisper, your voice full of desire.

"Please what, baby?" he murmurs in your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

"Please touch me," you beg, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel's hand finally moves to your center, his fingers tracing slow circles around your clit before gently slipping inside of you. You moan with pleasure as he begins to move his fingers in and out, his other hand still massaging your breasts.

"That's right, baby," he murmurs. "You don't have to think about anything else right now except feeling good. Daddy's gonna fuck the stress."

You feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your hips bucking against his hand as he continues to fuck you with his fingers.

"Joel," you gasp, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I've got you, baby," he murmurs. "Daddy's got you. S'okay.”

Joel's touch sends waves of pleasure through your body as he continues to explore you with his fingers. The intensity of the sensation builds, your heart races, and your breathing becomes shallow. Every nerve ending is alive with electricity, and you feel like you're on the edge of something incredible.

Suddenly, the wave crashes over you, and you come apart in Joel's arms. Your orgasm is powerful and all-consuming, leaving you breathless and trembling. Joel holds you close, his arms wrapped around you in a comforting embrace, and you feel safe and loved in his presence.

As the aftershocks of your orgasm subside, you look up at Joel, your eyes shining with gratitude and affection. He smiles down at you, his own eyes filled with desire and tenderness.

Joel helps you out of the tub, his hands steady as you step out onto the soft, plush mat. He wraps a warm, fluffy towel around you, his touch gentle as he dries you off. You can feel the warmth of his body seeping into yours, his skin slightly damp against yours.

He leads you to the bed, his arms wrapped around you as he carries you. You feel safe and loved in his presence, his strength and warmth enveloping you.

As he lays you down on the soft, cool sheets, you can't help but feel a sense of anticipation building inside of you. Joel is an experienced lover, and you know that he will take care of you in every way possible.

Joel strips off his towel, his body strong and toned. You can't help but feel a sense of awe as you take in his body, his muscles rippling in the soft, warm light. He climbs onto the bed, his body hovering over yours, his eyes burning with desire.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice husky with lust. "Daddy's gonna make you feel so good."

He stretches out beside you, pulling you close and wrapping his arms around you. You can feel the heat of his body against yours, and you can't help but feel a thrill of excitement as he begins to touch you.

Joel's hands roam over your body, his touch firm and confident. He knows exactly what you need, and he's not afraid to take it.

"You like that, baby?" he murmurs in your ear. You nod, unable to speak as the pleasure builds inside of you. Joel's touch is electric, sending waves of pleasure through your body. He teases you, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin before moving lower and lower. You can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter, your body responding to his touch.

"You're so wet for Daddy. You want me to fuck you, don't you?"

You nod, biting your lip as he continues to tease you.

"Tell me what you want, baby," he commands.

"I want you to fuck me, Daddy," you whisper, your voice trembling with desire.

"That's right, baby," Joel murmurs. “You're gonna come apart in my arms." Joel moves between your legs, his hard length pressing against your wet and ready core. He teases you, his tip sliding up and down your folds before slowly pushing inside.

You gasp with pleasure as he fills you up, your body stretching to accommodate him. His thrusts are slow and deliberate at first, building in intensity as he takes you higher and higher.

"Yess daddy please," you moan, your voice trembling with pleasure.

"Take it. Take all of Daddy's cock."

His thrusts become more urgent as he takes what he wants from you. You can feel yourself spiraling deeper and deeper, your orgasm building inside of you.

"Let go, baby," Joel murmurs. "Daddy's got you. S'okay.”

The wave crashes over you, and you come apart in Joel's arms. Your orgasm is powerful and all-consuming, leaving you breathless and trembling. Joel holds you close, his arms wrapped around you as you ride out the aftershocks.

"I gotcha baby, you're doin' so good."

Joel continues to thrust into you, his movements becoming more urgent and intense as he feels himself getting closer to the edge. He can feel your muscles clenching around him, your orgasm still pulsing through your body, and it's all he can do to hold back his own release.

"Come for me again, baby," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "I want to feel you come apart around me one more time."

You moan softly, your body responding to his words. You can feel another orgasm building inside of you, the pleasure already so intense that you're not sure you can take much more. But Joel's hands are on your hips, holding you steady as he thrusts into you, and you know that he won't let you go until you've come apart for him one last time.

Your orgasm crashes over you, even more intense than the first. You can feel your muscles clenching around Joel's cock, your body shaking with pleasure as he continues to thrust into you. And then, with a low primal moan, Joel finds his own release, his hot seed filling you up as he collapsapses onto your body.

You can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck as he pants and shudders, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of his own orgasm. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you both come down from your high.

"God, baby," Joel murmurs, his voice husky and spent. "You are so... perfect."

You smile, feeling a sense of satisfaction and contentment wash over you. You've never felt so connected to someone, so loved and cherished. And it's all thanks to Joel, who has shown you a kind of love and affection that you never knew was possible.

Joel rolls onto his side, pulling you with him so that you're both lying on your sides, facing each other. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his eyes soft and loving. Joel pulls you close to him, his arms wrapped tightly around your body. He kisses your forehead softly, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as you catch your breath. Joel gets up from the bed and walks over to the en-suite bathroom, turning on the lights and starting the water for a warm bath. He returns to the bed and scoops you up in his arms, carrying you to the bathroom and gently placing you in the tub.

He climbs in behind you, his legs on either side of yours. You can feel the warmth of his body seeping into yours, his skin slightly damp against yours. Joel picks up a washcloth and a bottle of body wash, lathering it up before gently cleaning your body. He takes his time, washing every inch of you with tenderness and care. Once you're clean, Joel helps you out of the tub and wraps a plush towel around you, drying you off gently before leading you back to the bedroom. He tucks you into bed, pulling the blankets up to your chin and wrapping his arms around you.

You can feel the weight of the world lifting off your shoulders as you sink deeper into the pillows, your eyelids growing heavy. Joel's arms are a comforting presence, holding you close as you drift off to sleep. As you fade into unconsciousness, you can hear Joel's soft whispers in your ear, telling you how much he cares for you and how he'll always be there for you. “You're safe and loved baby.”

You feel safe and loved in his presence, and you know that he will always be there for you, no matter what. And with that thought, you fall into a deep and peaceful sleep.

---

If you're looking for more, there's another part! Bad Habits

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller #daddy!joel miller #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you

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hh0320 · 3 months ago

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𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧, 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐞?

part five of the velvet opiate series. part one. part two. part three. part four.

pair. rockstar! hyunjin x fem! reader (+ felix, minho, chan) | genre. visual gothic rock band, romance, hurt/comfort, toxic skz, set in the late 90’s-early 00’s | warnings. profanity, smoking, drug and alcohol abuse, mature themes, mental health struggle, mention of self harm, use of pet names, flawed characters, unprotected sex, blowjob | word count. 9.9k

a/n: guys! the love on the previous chapter was insane 🥹 thank you so much, there’s no amount of words that can describe what your support on this story means to me. i wrote this story high off NANA, and to this day it remains my favorite thing i ever wrote, only for what i did with hyunjin’s character. i’m ashamed it took me this long to find it in me to finish it, but it never once left my mind or my heart. hope you enjoy, and don't be shy to lmk what you thought! 🤍

tags. @ughbehavior, @marshmallow12435, @hyvnfilms, @adoreweb, @yoongihan.

The day the girl goes into labor, Hyunjin locks himself inside his childhood bedroom with a bottle of Chardonnay, a hair clipper, two grams of heroin resting in the pocket of his jacket like some sort of twisted inside joke, and—

Felix. Felix who dropped everything and followed him here.

It had been three years since he last stepped foot in this house. His actress mother and her prized trophies, her golden awards tucked away in shelves Hyunjin could never reach, would’ve never tried to. A place had been carved out for him there, and it had always been far away from her, even as a child, perhaps most especially as a child.

Jealousy and self-loathing turn him inside out, make him sick with agony, shivering all over, bile rising up his throat again and again and again, head begging for a momentary taste of the relief it once sought out and found so easily.

Felix is there to deny him every single time. When a whole night passed like this between them, then and only then, did Hyunjin trust himself enough to lay his head on the singer’s lap without the intention of offering himself up as collateral. The line has been blurred, but it has never been crossed. It needs to stay that way.

(It will not.)

As he stares up at the face bursting with a thousand constellations, expression soft and honest, another angel defiled, he understands Felix’s love would only carry him so far.

He’s utterly alone in this body. Him and his inside pocket. Five steps away.

To see everything again, through the eye of a needle. To pull out his heart and feed it to anyone willing. When he dares to fall asleep, popped vessels burning red with blurry vision, he sees you protected—protected—from him, arms of a man that will never be important enough over you, perpetually pulling you away, his house on the hills, his house the red terror, and his life screaming, burning alive on a pyre of his own making.

So, his lifeline abandoned. She is near but she is away. She does not want him, not the way he wants her—her words, her doing— cannot bear to stare at the scars on his arms, refuses to talk about the ones on his neck, now that she knows, now that the shadows cannot hide him anymore, and he has to live with this. Has to live, when he desperately seeks to crawl back to the familiar hole, enveloped by the crimson walls, under that staircase where he found the light he’d been looking for all his stupid onerous life.

This is it, then. I’m losing my fucking mind, he thinks.

Things slip away; they melt when they should not, and freeze over like hell, a place he remembers almost dying in, being saved from. He barely makes any sense half the time, and he sleeps the rest of whatever day it is. He can’t stomach anything but cigarettes, and his fingers picked up a piece of coal at some point and haven’t stopped smudging themselves black over empty sketchbooks that manifested themselves as if summoned.

It was similar ones his mother burned in front of him once, in the garden, a mother he remembers beautiful he remembers ugly, her glutinous ambition and poisonous appetite for more, always more more more; she punished her son for existing when he should not, then walked herself back to her powders and her pills, in that cursed bedroom with the men walking in and out, in and out, constantly, like customers in a grocery store, getting whatever they needed and leaving at once, open doors and greedy hands.

His mother had been a popular actress once, this simple fact was never to be forgotten, repeated, and after him—

This, whatever it was. The pink room. The money. The doctors. He got sent away for nothing. Punished for much less than that. When his crayon pictures turned to embers in the wind, as he watched them fly away from him so easily in the summer heat, he decided:

There really must be nothing in this world that would stay for him.

This was beyond anything. Beyond all. Hyunjin without his drug was something unrecognizable, something that needed to be fiercely guarded and pinned down, sharp words that cut through steel, wretched sobs that shook foundations and shattered everything standing.

Minho was right. This was not something Felix could just do on his own. He’d never locked himself in with the demons and stayed, he merely left Hyunjin stranded and prided himself on remaining safely on the other side, where nothing ever reached or touched him, a comfortable distance that allowed him to retain his light. I found him twice, he tells himself desolately, but he might as well have been sleeping. What you did was, you called an ambulance. What you had was a version of the man you wanted that had nothing to do with the man in front of you now, and each time he chipped away, you convinced yourself you loved him a little more, because he couldn’t do it himself.

And that has been enough for you.

Felix, will you ever drop your choking hands from your own neck to realize you loved only as far as you could see? A selfish love, a petulant, bitter need. When Hyunjin kissed you, he meant you’re my soul, as I recognize it. My other half, hidden. When you kissed him, you tried desperately to drag him to your side, wailing notice me, notice me. I’ve been standing here. If my flesh is strange and unwanted, skin me alive.

When he eventually looks up from the sketches littering the floor, three days later, a dark, dark nightmare with seemingly no end, there’s clarity in his gaze, a realization that makes him bubble over with terrible laughter that quickly brews into a category four storm, threatening to damn everything in its wake.

Felix kneels beside him and takes his face in his hands, the only way he knows how, and pushes lifeless blonde hair back, clearing a path for the destruction to occur, no intention of damage control. Nothing he could’ve done differently.

“I can’t stop being that boy drawing those pictures,” Hyunjin admits roughly, staring right through the singer. “My mother’s son.”

“This is yours,” the light soothes. “Your talent, your sketches. She had nothing to do with it.”

With a shake of his head, he’s erased every word Felix ever uttered. With a single touch he lit him on fire. And when his mouth, dry and pale, presses against his neck in hiding, there’s not a single fucking way Felix wouldn’t die for him.

“My talent is useless. I’ve drawn her over and over, and she still won’t come to me.”

Chan takes a seat at the chair provided for him, and slumps forward, hands meeting in front of him. He’s clearly nervous, the apprehension of his first solo interview since his band’s hiatus dawning on him all at once.

The questions had been reviewed already, he knew this. It would all go by quickly and then it’d be official. Velvet Opiate parting ways with their label.

Bang Chan was now owner of all the rights to their recorded music and their name, though that credit belongs entirely to Hyunjin. Still, his band members were not with him at the moment. In fact, they refused to be anywhere near each other, except the ones that couldn’t seem to survive without the other.

The twins had been MIA for a month now. Minho had disappeared off to some private island, his last phone call letting Chan know—letting, not asking—about his two cats, and the whereabouts of their food in his very secluded house in a gated community that he will have to drive four hours to get to, never mind the fact he doesn’t even fucking like cats, never has—

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bang, I’m a big fan,” the interviewer stood in front of him, hand extended, polite smile.

Chan refuses to shake hands without looking at faces. So, when he looks up, he doesn’t expect to get the living fucking lights knocked out of him. This woman standing in heels in front of him—

He’s fucked her. He remembers.

“The pleasure is all mine,” but as he says it, he can make out the mischievous glint in her eyes, the taunting curve of her lip.

The way she’s going to dig through him with a shovel.

“Let’s start with the most recent news. Your lead guitarist, Hyunjin, is expected to have a baby boy any minute now. Congratulations are in order, from everyone.”

Chan lifted an eyebrow, but nodded. “I’ll pass it on.”

“I can’t help but ask, though,” he noticed the scorpion tail before it stung, “why instead of spending his time with the mother of his child, he chooses to haul himself up in his childhood home with Lee Felix?”

In retrospect, it could’ve been worse. They could’ve learned about the heroin, or the overdose. Yet, somehow, the public trying to tear Felix away from Hyunjin seemed a death sentence on so many levels, that all the red bells in Chan’s head went off at once, blazing angry and loud.

He had no idea how to answer that, and storming off was not an option. Not one he could afford anyway, not after the shitstorm winter had been.

“I wasn’t aware gossiping had become so audacious. My team chose you based on reputation. Are you trying to change our mind?”

The interviewer’s eyes flashed. “If the public wants to know, Mr. Bang, we have to oblige.”

“This isn’t public information. If you want the exclusive, contact my band member about it.”

Chan defended. That’s what he did, all his life, for all who were close to him. But even in his fight to do so, he couldn’t help but also wonder—what was Hyunjin doing staying as far as fucking possible from his newborn son? His flesh and blood?

When was he finally going to deal with his life head on, as it happened?

“Understood,” the woman concluded, in a clipped tone, clearly disappointed she couldn’t get a rise out of the drummer. “So, then, what is the new direction for you?”

Chan could definitely answer this one. The words felt so good simmering up his chest, a fuck you to all the years of tour buses and depressing hotel rooms, a goddamn dictator making all the decisions for him, for all of them—

“A fucking break.” Finally, finally.

It’s to the news of his son being stillborn on TV for everyone’s entertainment that Hyunjin grabs the clippers and shaves himself bald, the blade nearly drawing blood. When his eyes fall on the jacket, he thinks, surely now. Surely this time. The phone starts ringing. Felix answers to Chan in miserable tears. Yes, he’s here. No, not yet. How did they know so fast? How did they fucking know?

The faux halo descends in yellow strands, no longer attached, deaddeaddeaddead, the harvest of a two year effort, the metamorphosis of a charlatan. I was never meant to have anything. Just as well. I know this. His arm moves over and over, until the top of his head is smooth, until his roots are once again dark and recognizable, originating from the mother, the constant ache of abandonment.

He smiles in the mirror when he’s done, your necklace bumping against his collarbone, heavy and desolate. Passes his palm over the nakedness, feels the scratch, the itch, the relief. Again, and again. And again. Again, again, something’s wrong now—

“Stop, what the fuck—stop, fucking stop!”

There’s warm liquid trickling down his forehead, where he smashed his head against his head. Felix runs over, curving around him, attempting to grab his arms and restrain him, all the while pleading and reasoning. The guitarist slumps and falls to his knees, immobilized, glass digging into translucent skin, but still, the hands don’t stop, they hit wherever they find, whatever they reach, even if it’s Felix, especially cause it’s Felix; Felix who won’t leave him alone, Felix that came with him despite the rift between them, Felix that has this disgusting notion of love for him and has convinced everyone it’s real, and that it’s enough.

How can it possibly be? How can it be?

“If you had even an ounce of self preservation, you’d leave right now.”

Two chests rising and falling together, breaths synchronized. They’ve never been left this close, never witnessed how well they fit together. Someone must’ve seen this. No one ever said anything. Cannot cross this. Will not do it. Hyunjin swallows metal and rams his elbow at the black haired boy’s ribs. There’s no sound made, no retaliation, no indication of pain. He always took whatever Hyunjin gave. The desperation used to make him sick.

Felix only let go enough to grab him by the nape and crush their mouths together. Hyunjin flashed his teeth like a cornered animal and spat his tongue out, pushing at him roughly and punching him square in the jaw. The singer knows this very well. The violence. The denial. If it meant it kept Hyunjin alive for a little fucking longer, he’d do it. He’d go through it a million times.

“I know what you brought with you,” Felix wipes at his mouth, as he watches the taller man scramble to his feet, furious and disoriented. “Bring it out. I wanna see.”

“Over my dead fucking body.”

In his bloody state, Hyunjin had to lean his head back against the wall for balance, hands balling into fists, coming to cross one over the other. This was familiar, the game between them. Felix brought his legs up, arms hanging over the knees, exhausted from sleeplessness, heartbroken by his twin’s reaction to the news. As fucked up as it sounded, he didn’t think it was so much the loss itself—more like what it meant, and what he had to let go of in the process.

“It’s what you want, isn’t it?” A challenge. “If I wasn’t here.”

Hyunjin had no reaction to the accusation of death. He’d wanted it for so long, after all. “You should’ve never come in the first place. I’m not myself.”

The singer hums, chuckling to himself, looking up with defiance. “And what is that?” He asked, feigning naivety. “Yourself? Is it the shit you carry in your pocket? The black stains on your shirt? The anger in your fist? What the fuck is it, Hyun?”

The man on the other side shuts his eyes, lets the shame wash over in intermittent waves. Perhaps, he’ll drown. Perhaps, there's some other way to do this, to end it. He wonders if his mom still keeps her tool satchel in the last drawer of her desk. Thinks it impossible that he’d remember that, when the features of her face are wiping themselves clean from his memory.

No way out of this without hurting the boy at his feet. A mistake.

“Let me be, Felix,” Hyunjin’s voice is but a faint whisper, raw with barely contained emotion. “Let me be.”

“No.”

“We’re done. The dream is over.”

The quiet resignation pinches at Felix’s heart, warning him there’s something very final about the way he says that. He thinks back to the tour, all the self destruction then, the all consuming need for this funeral of a life, for it to get as dark as possible. Velvet Opiate fed on this misery, it was true, but what the singer hadn’t realized—it all stemmed from Hyunjin himself.

He had been the ultimate muse.

And this was the true curtain call, on his terms, stage one.

“There’s no dream, darling,” Felix coaxes softly. “It was all real.”

The blood has dried by the time Hyunjin reaches for him. At first he thinks nothing of it, as his hand extends, as he brings him up at eye level. Hyunjin’s face has always been delicately hand drawn, meticulously sculpted. There’s not one thing that’s changed about that, nor about the way Felix marvels at the sight of him, the organ tirelessly pumping, tightening the size of the very same fist that has hit him thrice now.

When he connects their lips this time, it’s nothing like all the times before. This is the one where Hyunjin shows him that he wasn’t crazy. That it could be possible, that it was never fake or wrong or one sided. Desire courses through him unfettered, and would it be so bad to drop dead right this moment? For all the fight of survival, all the big talks and the things left unsaid, the images that haunt day and night, Felix suddenly cannot find a single good reason for it. This will never happen again. Never again.

Hands twisting around fabric, hips digging into hips, arousal evident, and the walls are closing in, they’re shrinking, the room spins—Hyunjin crashes Felix up against his childhood dresser—now empty, no more than occupied space in a ghost house—and the wood sighs, as they do, into each other, panting, foreheads resting together, gazes smoldering; as the buzz cut scratches at Felix’s jaw when lips suck at his throat, and when a hand, a hand, Hyunjin’s hand travels down and buries itself deep within, when it wraps around and pumps and stops time itself.

What did Felix know? Maybe this was a dream, maybe it’s been nothing but a dream this entire fucking shitshow, cause why else? Why else would this be happening? Hyunjin has never done more than kissing. He’s never even—

“I love you more than I could ever love myself,” imperceptible almost, except the singer is so tuned into the man consuming his soul it would be impossible to miss. “I’m so fucking sorry, Lix.”

Like a shadow, Felix watches his bandmate rush for his jacket, long limbs and silver piercings, dressed in all black, the earliest possible image he’s had of him, eternally captured to look like this; ready for the proceedings, the burial, the six feet under at any moment—he watches as Hyunjin never looks back once, as he grabs whatever he can, and slams the door shut, turning the key forever, locking Felix away, but taking the demons with him.

Every.single.one.

It plays in slow motion up until the door, when Felix finally resuscitates and runs to rage against the wooden surface, screaming, filled with seething betrayal:

”Don’t fucking do this, Hyunjin. Don’t fucking do this to me!”

And if Hyunjin hears him—he has no tears left for anyone anymore.

Thirty-two steps to the office. Forty-eight for the front door. Him and his inside pocket, reunited once again.

For the last time.

Hyunjin will never not destroy himself, not ever. It’ll always be one thing for another, no matter how harmless, how insignificant to someone else. He locked that door. He kept the angels away, he drowned in that house.

Help is right outside, left inside, knocking softly, whispering patiently, and he curses it every time. Doubt. He’ll never be able to see this fucking thing through—getting clean, being sober. Doubt is his secret lover in this alien hotel room. He hides it well, holds it near his chest, cultivates it with alcohol and paint brushes, speaks to it after everyone has gone to sleep. The terrifying images he draws stare back at him from every corner, faces cradling their heads in sorrow, open mouthed girls forever stuck in the loop of screaming bloody murder.

This isn’t normal, even by his standards. And despite the madness, despite the sickness nesting in between his bones, your soft voice is heard again beyond that veil where he can never reach you, relentless, gentle, a ravaging fire spreading through his veins—

“You’ve no more left, huh?”

A screeching giggle, pulling him abruptly from the gates of Heaven, away from you. He doesn’t even react to the voice, just keeps flicking the useless blue lightning painted on his forearm, teeth pulling tighter on the rubber tube, willing it to work, to absorb faster so that he can crawl back between your legs, bury his head in your soft mound, beg for forgiveness, exorcize the thought of another man, a better man, one that doesn’t need to shoot up diluted shit in his bloodstream to feel any goddamn sort of emotion.

Don’t fucking crash. Don’t you fucking crash.

He feels fingers running down his face. He didn’t realize when he slipped off the couch. A hazy arrangement of human body parts is cooing at him, pretending to care. He’s had this one for too long, he thinks absentmindedly. He should kick her out . . .

“Poor baby, it’s okay,” she mumbles against his earlobe, sucking cartilage in her annoying mouth. “Do you have any leftovers for me? I’ll make you feel good afterwards, I promise.”

The hands are everywhere now, like a thousand little spiders, crawling over his abdomen. Where did his shirt go? Hyunjin blinks slow, attempting to gather his thoughts, to push the woman off and find his cellphone, to call you, to call—

“Leave me,” he rasps, reaching for a half empty bottle of Merlot next to him. “Please.”

No more needles, selfish prick . . . The words mangle in his brain, out of reach and rotating. He’s not quite sure if they were said or thought, and that makes him laugh. Is he deaf now, then? Or able to read minds? He’d read yours like the Bible; pore over every sentence, memorize it, learn it by heart so that he’d be useful to you, so that you wouldn’t even have to waste a single breath trying to explain—he’d already know.

If only he had more time with you, and not these handful of memories, straining themselves thin for his selfish pleasure. Love has always punished Hyunjin. It hasn’t offered itself freely once, not even with Felix.

Felix—

“But then who would you have left, hon?” The woman is sliding down the carpet, pulling the rest of his clothing off him. He distantly thinks he’s not in the mood for a blowjob, his cock doesn’t get hard when he’s this high, he’s not even really in the room right now. . .

“You’d be all alone,” he hears, clearest of everything.

Alone. His hand, somewhere else, someone else’s, wraps around the padlock. He’d never be alone again. The key. The key to unlock him—it’s around your neck. You hold the missing piece, the thing for all other things. That singular thought spurned a million others, but before he even finished speaking your name, a hot mouth had started working his length, a manicured hand pressing down on his stomach, the other pumping his shaft.

Something stirred low inside him, but it was hiding behind a wall of numbness. He couldn’t feel anything. Hyunjin struggled for breath, bucking his hips reflexively. It took five whole minutes to realize there’d been a cigarette in his left hand, burning itself dead, ashes falling all over the girl’s hair.

He shoved her head down his cock until he heard the familiar choking sound, and further still, until she was hitting against his thighs, until her nails were scratching his skin raw, and she was turning blue.

He came to the sight of her humiliation, drool dripping down her chin, face red, makeup smeared, eyes glazed. Now she was as pitiful as him, a good for nothing whore that thought she could play a rockstar out of his drugs and money and get away with it by keeping him compliant with sex.

He’s lost too much to fool himself again with that narrative.

Hyunjin ordered her to get the fuck out, out, now and lit himself another cigarette. Feeling was starting to come back to his body, which meant it was over already. The emptiness that followed this part of his life was the loudest it’s ever been, worse than his mother leaving, worse than the look in Felix’s eyes as he left him behind in a house he did not know—

Close to that night in the alley with you.

You can’t pretend it’s rock bottom again, if you’ve been there already. You should know better.

The Merlot smashes against the balcony door, the sound a lot like sharp relief ricocheting inside his chest. Dizzy, he walks over to the glass barefooted, and stares at the mess of broken shards, before crouching down to pick the biggest one.

The blood is immediate, thick and dark, and everywhere.

Huh.

Chan’s never been to Red Lights before.

When Felix brought him here, he thought Hyunjin had reverted back after the news. That they’d have to drag him away from a gruesome scene, or find him buried in an empty bottle of something or other. Chan had grown accustomed to the myriad ways of dealing with pain.

Chan had hope, despite the hollow expression on his bandmate’s face. They went through the worst of it, there can’t possibly be anything worse than that. What Chan can’t understand is that there is more than one death.

And then, Felix spoke, after the deafening silence in the car. And he crushed any belief he’d ever held.

”I don’t know where he is,” he admitted, disconsolately. “But it’s not anywhere good. And he’s back on it.”

Back on it. Back on it? After everything? Nothing could’ve prepared the drummer for the resentment that grabbed ahold of him right then. It was unlike anything else.

He almost turned his back.

Almost.

“And we’re here for her,” he concluded. “Because he hasn’t put her through enough bullshit.”

Felix pretended to be guilty easily enough. “She broke it off with him. Brought a different fucking man to our concert, front fucking seat, messed with his head. She has a part in this as much as anyone.”

“He’s our responsibility, Felix. Ours!” Chan grabbed the singer by the shoulders, exasperated, trying to shake some sense into him. “You’re being fucking petty. We need to leave this girl alone, and deal with it ourselves like how we always have.”

The black haired man glared daggers at his group’s leader. Chan could blissfully put it all into perspective and carry on with his structured fucking life, but Felix was reckless and heartbroken and scared fucking shitless. They’d never lost track of Hyunjin’s whereabouts so colossally.

Every nerve connecting him would not settle until they found him again. And they would. Find him. Even if he personally had to call every single hotel in the city. Even without you.

“He’s gonna really do it this time, you know?” Felix casts a single look at the bouncer, who immediately recognizes him and opens the door for them to pass through. “No more of this. Not here.”

The establishment remains the same as it always has, though it’s evident it’s a slower night tonight. Chan looks around once while the singer goes straight for the bar, requesting you by name. The bartender blushes bright pink upon realizing who he has standing in front of him. The neon lights hide everything.

“Right there,” he points to his right, in a booth deeper than Felix has ever sat at. Chan is already making his way towards it. “Hey, are you the dude from Velvet Opiate?”

The unearthly thrill of excitement that rushes through him everytime he gets this exact moment will never stop feeling like the very first time. In the frightful abyss that being in love with Hwang Hyunjin is, it’s easy to forget sometimes—that Lee Felix shines brighter than anything. That his name alone can incite this type of reaction.

So, Lee Felix slaps a hand on the counter and brings the guy’s neck level with his mouth, then gives him an open mouthed kiss, the gesture electrifying.

“Yes, the fuck I am, baby.”

And don’t you fucking forget.

At the table, the drummer excused himself and prodded for your attention. You looked away from your client to face Bang Chan in the flesh, after all these months.

“There must be trouble in hell to come all the way over here.”

Chan chuckles, nodding for you to follow him somewhere more private.

“There’s always trouble,” he commented, indulgently. “We‘ll pay your boss generously for your time. Please.”

You patted the curious man’s thigh twice, whispering something in his ear, before slipping away from the booth and extending a waiting hand towards a staircase. The music boomed sultry and slow, the bass hypnotic.

“We can talk upstairs,” you motioned with your index finger. He arched a brow, and turned for Felix, who was barely coming over.

Your eyes avoided him as soon as you spotted his presence. Chan could not help his gaze from traveling down your tight body. Little black skirt, breasts spilling over an even tinier shirt. No wonder Hyunjin was this enamored. No wonder he’d damn himself to the furthest edge of the world.

Chan cleared his throat, noticing Felix’s amused stare and pointedly staring at his shoes for the rest of the way.

When you open the door to an old office, he slips right in and leans against the desk, arms crossing over his massive chest. You still have your professional expression on. He appreciated your work ethic. It can’t be easy working at a place like this, being as beautiful as you.

“What did he do now, then?” You get straight to the point.

Felix draws in a sharp breath, shoving both his hands in his jeans’ pockets. Chan sighs, gathering he’ll have to be the one to explain.

“First things first—I do want you to know that we’ll understand if you want nothing to do with this. Hyunjin is—”

You cut him off with a shake of your head. “There’s nothing you could say that would make me turn away. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Felix jumped at the chance to be an absolute fucking asshole.

“He’s using again.”

Necrotic silence. It looked like you got punched in the stomach, but the hard lines on your face were trained against such things. Both were accustomed to this look. It was very abrupt, the force with which they discerned which parts made you stand out to Hyunjin, the importance of you. Why you’re familiar to them, although they’ve never spoken a single word to you.

Your sighing breath carried such unfiltered sadness. You looked so small to Chan, then. Tired. Foolish, even, in the way you cared, just like the rest of them, without cessation, just one constant line, perhaps since before you even met the guitarist. After all, weren’t you also a victim of your heart? Didn’t you also act against your better judgement?

The drummer respected you at that moment. You reminded him a lot of himself, strangely.

“How long did he keep his promise?” You ask very politely.

Chan feels sorry for you.

Felix scoffs, lifting one side of his mouth, the bitterness churning his face. “There’s no such thing—”

The well built leader slaps the back of a hand against his vocalist’s chest, measuring him with a crafted look the band submits to every time. “How long was he clean, you mean?” He addresses your question. “Longer than he’s ever been before. Almost two months.”

Your gaze shifted to the blinds covering the single window of this cramped space. You blink at it for a long while, before you nod once to yourself, slowly, like a newly awakened child, coming to a mutual agreement with your heart's terms and conditions. Such an open book, Chan thinks. It’d be so easy to love this one. It was all right there, staring them both in the eyes.

He dialed their driver’s number and brought it to his ear, ordering him to turn around and be up front in five minutes.

“What if I called him?” You ask, your hands trembling.

The twin bristles, head tilting in savage outrage. “This crosses your mind now?”

“Felix.”

“No!” He shouts, overtaken with incredulity, lunging for you. You gasp and cower away from him, backed into a corner. “No. She had the choice to fucking stay. If she’d stayed, he’d be sober. He told me,” his eyes turn back to you, turbulent and severe. “The night you gave him that cursed lock. If you won’t have him, he’d—and he did. He fucking did, and I thought okay, that’s the fucking end of it, surely, now, we’re done, this is the last time,” he laughs to himself, and rubs a hand roughly over his mouth in irritation.

“But it wasn’t,” he continues. “Because of what you did. Because you played him, and thought yourself innocent,” his hand reaches for your arm, nails digging into your skin with the intent to hurt. Your face freezes in fear. Chan shoves between you, and brings you behind him, but there is no stopping Felix now, the hate and jealousy pouring out of him like a nasty rainstorm. “He was so happy after you left his room that day. It nearly killed me, but I—at least, at least,” his face is wet, his mouth contorted, “I’ve never seen him smiling like that. Never. I thought if that’s what he wants, fine. Fine.

“With that same smile, he told me you ended it. But you loved him, I thought. I thought—do you know how much I love him? How long I’ve waited?”

“Felix, that’s enough,” Chan’s authority cuts the tension in two, makes his bandmate bite his tongue and storm out the office at once, rocking the door frame behind him with the force. “Enough,” he repeats to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose, before he turns to witness your sobbing shoulders, shaking with enough guilt to flood an entire city.

“He’s right,” you say through choking breaths. “He looked at me with such honest relief, and I only thought about myself. I thought if I walked away then, I would be able to control the damage before it was too late. The man—the man doesn’t matter, he was never important,” your fingers shoot-out to hold onto Chan’s jacket, something to tether you back to earth. “I didn’t—I didn’t—”

The drummer puts his arms around you and holds you as you cry yourself dry.

“You wanna know a secret?” He murmurs at the top of your head. “I’ve never let myself admit it, because I want to see him fight this and win it. More than fucking anything . . .” Chan braces himself, closes his eyes. “If he’s meant to go that way . . . If we’re the ones holding him back, then . . .”

You shake your head vigorously against him. He nods, accepting the terrible truth and shoving it back down in the deepest, darkest parts of him. Then, he pulls back and stares into your bloodshot eyes, beautiful and scared. His fingers around your arms feel like they’re holding you up entirely, like without this small, comforting touch, you’d cave to a heap on the floor.

“If you think you can handle it, call him,” he implores you. “I know he’ll answer if it’s you. Just—”

”I know,” you reply quietly, wiping at your cheeks, but you meet his gaze steadily, and you nod. He nods back. “I’ll come down as soon as he tells me where—”

“Anything,” Chan corrects, taking a step back, a little more confident in your strength now. “Come as soon as you hear anything. We’ll be in a black van, parked in the back.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeats, more to reassure himself. “Thank you.”

When he pushes the door open and climbs into the vehicle, Felix is drinking cold tequila straight out the bottle and doesn’t spare him a single glance. His anger is palpable.

Chan sighs, leans into the leathery seat and extends a hand out; a truce.

Felix obliges.

What you’re doing is irreversible. You know this, and yet you press the buttons anyway.

He’s never been sober with me. He’s promised me a thousand things, and they’re all worth as much as nothing. And yet, you love him just the same. You couldn’t love him any less, any more. Because he saw you when you didn’t. Because he came back and his soul had already introduced itself to yours. Because he’s never once been selfish with you, when all else has done nothing but demanded.

He’s hurt you, and he’s let you go twice. Because his song broke your heart. Because it’s impossible to move on from someone who’s claimed you whole.

These are the reasons you stay on the line. You slide down the wall by the door, and bring your knees very close to your body. You’re cold all over. This is a Hyunjin you’ve never met, one with no mask, one you cannot look in the eye and determine his lies from his truths, so this will be the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do.

Above all, you want him to be okay. You want him to be conscious and you want to hear his voice, despite your refusal to be near him. Please. Please. Please be okay.

“Angel?”

Your tears are instantaneous. They come in an avalanche, and there’s no way to stop them. Your fingers cling onto the key hanging from your neck, hugging it tightly, thanking whatever god is listening for the raspy voice on the other line.

“Angel, why are you crying?” His worry murders you. It pierces through your lungs and sends you into anaphylactic shock. You think, I won’t make it downstairs. I won’t make it anywhere.

“Are you okay?” You manage to choke out. “Hyunjin, are you okay?”

You’ve never heard such empty, suffocating silence. It makes you want to throw up.

“I’m alone,” he responds, finally. He sounds exhausted, drained of all that made him glow on stage, all that made him indispensable. “Sweetheart, I think I’m dying.”

Your heart stops. Your body pins itself straight. No. No—

You scramble to get up from your miserable place on the floor, trip over the carpet and throw open the door, running down the stairs, the siren blaring, blasting, red red red. You see nothing, you hear nothing else, your feet take you through the bar, through the back room, towards the exit sign, the big, heavy door—

“CALL 119!” You scream at the abyss that greets you. The neon lights do not reach this part. You’re blind walking towards the men waiting for you. “Please, he’s—he’s—”

Chan tosses the door open, staring at you wide-eyed, mouth opening in horror, sensing what you’re insinuating, sensing it’s bad. Felix treads behind him, phone already in hand.

“Hyunjin, please, please t-tell me where you are,” you stutter helplessly, frozen in the middle of the parking lot. “We’ll get you help, okay, you’ll be alright, what—what’s wrong? Hyunjin, what’s wrong? Please.”

“Listen to me,” he says calmly, like he’s come to terms with something, like this is somehow going according to plan. “I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

You can’t help the wretched sobs that wreck through you. Can’t help the sheer terror that grips you.

“I want to see you,” you beg. “I missed you so much. I want to see you. Please.”

Hyunjin’s breath catches, labored. You hear rustling of sorts, like he’s adjusting or moving.

“Not like this,” he refuses you, for the first time. Something collapses in your chest. “Not like this.”

You tug at your hair, desperate, and look at Chan. He seems to be hanging off every word you utter, close enough to hear if he strained, but far enough to give you a semblance of privacy. The singer isn’t blinking.

“I don’t care! I don’t care, Hyun, please. Please let me. I love you. Tell me where you are.”

His deep voice cracks, and you hear him laugh breathily. It must be the heart breaking, the thing banging inside you. It’s stubborn, in distress. It’s frozen you solid.

“Finally, I get to hear that,” he rasps. “It sounds nice.”

You cry harder, your knees giving out. Chan runs.

“If you die now, how will you get to hear me say it in person? I’ll say it as many times as you’ll accept it. Because I do. I do. I love you. I was born to find you, to meet you under the stairs, to have you live inside me. I need you, Hyunjin. You can’t die on me, you—”

He’s crying. The breathy moans are tears. You’ve no voice to say such a thing to anyone. This is for you only.

“ ‘I tried so hard to bear it . . . I even put out my hand . . .’ ” His singing is for you, too. The raw way in which he utters the words, like they’re physically heavy to carry in his mouth. You sink into his broken voice, let it drift you ashore. “ ‘But what it all comes down to is; Let me hear your voice more . . . I still want to be here.’ ”

Relief floods you weak. You drop your head and cry out, laugh, then cry some more. His band members stare at you confused, anxious. You don’t know in what state he’s in, but this, this changes everything. He wants to live. He admitted it. Which means he’ll fight, which means he’ll try, over and over and over, no matter how many times he fails.

”I only want you,” he says quietly. “I only ever wanted you, angel.”

You nod to no one, you do it again and again. Your heart beseeches to reach him, to reunite with his once again, to never part as long as you both live.

“Tell me where. I’ll be there.”

A hotel six minutes away from you. You don’t know how to keep the guilt from eating you alive. Felix doesn’t know what to do with himself, after he’s informed the ambulance of the location. He meets your gaze once, his expression shuttered and astray. Chan calls security and gives them strict orders to not let anyone go up that room until you’ve talked with Ηyunjin yourself. Regardless of the situation. He does not argue with the singer when he passes past you and goes back inside the bar.

A jacket brushes your shoulders, smelling of birch tree. You look at the male left behind.

“I’ll take you and stay outside till the paramedics go in,” he says. Chan is older than you, but at that moment he looked older than anything else on this earth. You two communicate silently for a few moments, his gratitude and your conviction battling not to overspill, before his arm prods your body forward gently. “Come on.”

In the car, new fear shakes you.

What if you don’t have six minutes?

Minho is found dead in his indoor swimming pool eight hours before your time zone.

Gun in his mouth, the maid walked into something horrible, something she could not begin explaining to the American officers. I had spoken to him on the phone yesterday, she said in her testimony. Normal day. He was very kind. He said not to worry about coming into work today, but it’s my job, you know. I clean. I make sure everything is tidy. I didn’t know anything like this would happen.

No note, no messages to anyone, no indication.

Except the rings on his nightstand. The engravings:

I’ll find you after, on one.

I’ll be waiting, on the other one.

What he never managed to give to her.

The next day, newspapers all around the world print,

‘ LEE MINHO, bassist of VELVET OPIATE, DEAD by SUICIDE, aged 26. ’

There’s a lot of blood in the bathroom. Even more in the tub, where you find him.

His hair is buzzed and bleached, piercings that hadn’t been there before. The staff that opened the door for you is on standby, along with a security guard Chan brought here, both standing right outside the suite. You hadn’t noticed your attire, your uniform being second skin and unimportant, but the woman’s eyes had drifted and they had judged.

No one knew what was happening in here, only that medical help might be needed. A lot of girls like you must’ve come and went through these doors, to get a condescending look like that, and you don’t even want to think about the accidents that must’ve already occurred.

You don’t dwell on it. You can’t.

Hyunjin is shirtless and smoking, cradling a torn up arm and sporting a busted eyebrow. His eyes are closed, like he’s sleeping. You go to him slowly, moving quietly so as not to disturb him. He’s a painting, even like this. Unreal. Untouchable.

You love him so heart wrenchingly, you think you might be the first one to die, after all.

”Hello, angel.”

Your eyes meet. Cigarette hanging limply from his mouth, he opens his other arm wide, smiling softly, a man patient for a hundred years, acrylic. You smile back and get in the tub with him, kneeling between his legs, letting the blood soak through your clothes too, all to feel his arm finally wrapping around you like all those times before.

Times not as hard as this. Times that will never come again.

“You made me wait,” he mumbles, the smoke curling above your heads.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He kisses the top of your head, and settles you better on top of him. Your ear presses against his heart, the tune sounding a lot like home, a drum beating rampant in your ribcage as well. Could’ve done this from the beginning. He would never let it near me.

“Don’t apologize. You’re here now.”

He smells like wine and metal. You lean into the smell, allow yourself to relax, to close your eyes. The fluorescence of the light overhead enters through your lids, shadows dancing.

“Hyunjin?”

“Hmm?”

“What happened to your arm?”

A brief pause. He takes a long drag of the stick in his mouth, exhales, his fingers threading through your hair, bringing you closer if that’s possible.

“I cut the ugly part off. The one you don’t like,” he says.

You’d have to ruin this perfect peace, and betray his trust. You couldn’t postpone it any longer.

“It doesn’t hurt?”

Long fingers moving on your scalp, back and forth, back and forth, his jaw a puzzle piece on the crown of your head, his smoke and his rings. Too familiar. Achingly so.

“I don’t feel it anymore,” he shrugs it off. “You’re here.”

You open your eyes and look up at his face. His lips are pale, chapped. Nevertheless, he’s handsomer than ever. Just a little lost. A little sad. When he feels you staring, he lifts his head and stares down at you, gaze impossibly intense, burning with a hunger you’ve never truly realized.

“You keep saying that,” you break the trance, shy under his scrutiny.

Hyunjin sighs and it reverberates down your entire body. His bloody hand comes to lift your chin up, to inspect and clarify as only he ever does.

His eyes drop to your mouth. You blink.

“A dream, isn’t it?” He rasps. “You’re not real.”

You humor him. It’s better this way.

“I’m not real.”

His smile is most beautiful then.

He fists your hair and brings your lips together.

The cigarette falls.

Hyunjin on stage in three, two, one . . .

Good evening, we’re Velvet Opiate!

No. Wrong place. Must go back.

Before you call Chan, you check the drawers, pockets and pots; under carpets, the mattress, inside pillowcases. You smash his phone and flush all the powders found down the toilet. You clean up the glass, and make the bed.

You throw the satchel with the tube tied around it away, and you wipe the blood from his face as best as you can. Then you do the same thing to yours.

He wakes up as you bring the cellphone to your ear, and scatters out of the bathtub to stop you, long legs bumping, a scary sight painted in crimson. The look on his face is terrifying, like he can’t believe you’d ever possibly deceive him.

The words lodge themselves in your throat.

“What the fuck did you do?” He demands, your phone snatched, taken hostage behind his back. “Sweetheart, who were you calling?”

Your face crumples at his tone. “Chan,” you whisper. “We called an ambulance . . .”

Hyunjin rubs a hand over his face, lightning flashing in his dark eyes as he restrains himself from reacting and answers the call back, turning his back on you.

You remain still, holding your breath. You remember—quiet—as the paparazzi snapped pictures of the two of you, all those months ago, the violence with which Hyunjin had erupted then, a part you haven’t been introduced formally to until now, and you’re sure you want nothing to do with.

“No fucking hospital. Do you hear me? You want them to send me to looneyville? ‘Cause that’s where the fuck I’ll end up once they see these holes in my arms . . . The doctor, Chan, the one we pay for, remember? Don’t fucking give me that shit, I’m fine.” His head turns your way slightly. “She’s here. Look, just—no hospital. Send them away, make up a fucking excuse. Call Park.”

He throws the phone in the sink behind you, and walks up to you in two long strides, making you back up against the tiled wall. He looks more awake than he did earlier, like the high has worn off completely now.

His palm comes to rest above your head, eyes boring into yours. Something shifts immediately and the danger is gone, replaced by a tenderness and longing that twists like a knife between your ribs.

“Please, don’t ever do that again,” he murmured, connecting his forehead with yours. “I can’t lose you now. I won’t fucking stand it.”

You nod, understanding the implications.

“I didn’t know what to do when you—we thought you were—”

He shushes you, hand coming to caress your hair, to silence your fears. “I know, angel. But you called. You called before I did anything else. My highs get bad sometimes, I—it feels a lot like death. It’s . . . Nothing you need to worry about.”

You hear all that he does not say. “Tell me,” you plead. “Let me in, Hyunjin. You can’t keep me at arms length. I’ve seen you now. I’ve seen everything.”

He went to pull away, gaze torn, but you kissed him before he could move any further.

You weren’t exactly sure what happened then. Hyunjin groaned in your mouth, and lifted you in the air, wrapping your legs around his torso, walking out the bathroom with his teeth grazing your neck, his hold possessive, his need ravenous.

”I’ll disgust you,” he says, jaw clenched, as he lays you down on the bed. “You’ll run.”

”I won’t.”

”You will. No part of me should touch you. I don’t deserve a single fucking inch of you.”

His fingers move your skirt up, your panties to the side. You moan when he laps the wetness between your lips, sinking his middle finger in your tight hole once, twice, three times, mouthing kisses on your breasts, repeating your name like a prayer.

It doesn’t take him long to bury himself inside your cunt. He’s done it before, taken off the same clothes, touched between the same thighs. This time it’s primal, it’s pure need and self-hate that drives him. You welcome him with open arms, wrapping around his shoulders, lifting your hips to meet his every thrust. He fucks into you with vigor, like he missed you, like maybe he won’t get another chance at this.

You want to show him. Want to tell him. Want him to understand.

“Hyunjin . . .” You trace the lean muscle, the beauty marks, avoid the chopped skin of his forearm. “I love you.”

He shakes his head and bruises your lips purple, lifting one thigh over his shoulder, the position unbearably deeper, his cock ramming the same spot over and over, until you can do nothing else but chase after the release, after what he gives you—look at you, look at you, taking me so good, so fucking good, angel, come on, let me see you, open your eyes—your hips move of their own accord, meeting his halfway, aching hole squeezing around him, all the distance and pain transforming into blinding orgasm.

“There you go, sweetheart, fuck,” hand coming to push sweaty hair out of your face, to lay on your cheek, mouth on yours, over and over, two points connected, and him, so beautiful, so so beautiful, pistoning into you harder, faster, head dropping, voice thick, groaning as he shoots ropes of white cum inside your awaiting pussy.

“I love you,” you say again, expecting he’ll not accept it.

He pants heavily, his weight a steady reminder he’s here, he’s alive, he’s alright. You pass your own hand over his buzz cut, find you don’t miss the long hair one bit, now you can see his face better, his eyes, the way they look at you, like you’re the only moving thing on this standstill planet.

“Are you okay?” He asks, concerned. “I was selfish with you, I should’ve—”

You press a finger against his lips. “It was perfect. Don’t ruin it.”

He pulls you to his chest, cock still nesting inside you. You’re careful not to rest on his wounded arm, even as he doesn’t seem to mind it. For a long time, it’s only your breaths in the dark room, the white of the bathroom the only source of light. Your mind replays the events of the past hour, and cannot process any of it.

It feels surreal.

Hyunjin senses you slipping from him, and kisses the side of your head, bringing your body over his, the stretch inside you incredible, his length twitching and hardening.

He ignores it.

“I’ve never had anyone say those words to me before,” he admits in your hair. “No one. You’re the first.”

Your heart breaks all over again. “Is that why you don’t want them?”

His mouth lifts. “I want them. I want all of them. All of you.”

“You have me,” you say confidently. “You’ve had me all this time.”

He begins making love to you again, slowly this time. His eyes are unfathomably sad, incredibly tired, dark circles prominent. Risen from the dead and given himself another day, another chance.

“But you won’t stay unless I quit for good,” he whispers, a lover’s whisper. “And I don’t know how to do that, angel. It keeps pulling me back, no matter what I do.”

You bite back your moan to answer him. “I’ll stay,” in his ear, the best kept secret. “I won’t leave again.”

Hyunjin fingers the key dangling around your neck, wrapping it around his digits tightly. “My lifeline. I swear to you. I swear.”

You meet him in the middle like this too. And when you cry, he cries too and hugs your entire frame to him, breathing in what he has missed so. A melody builds in his mind, fingers suddenly itching for his guitar strings.

And then you say, “I want you to live, Hyunjin. I want you to live.”

And it rages against his entire being. The replenished rejoicing of a beating heart and the rest of the world. Despite death, despite death, despite death.

In spite of it.

The remaining members of Velvet Opiate organize a concert in memory of their lost friend.

Forty thousand people show up. Chan cannot get through any of the songs, Felix refuses to sing a single word. But it doesn’t matter. Hyunjin perfectly executes all his riffs and solos. He moves around the stage, commanding the crowd and thinks of the way Minho would surely curse the other two for acting so fucking sappy.

He knows this best of all. Death is a reprieve, it should not be feared. Saying that, he refuses to bow down to it yet. He can mourn and touch the casket, he can even throw the dirt on top of someone who he would follow into a burning house and not picture it was himself instead, for once—this is the kind of person Hyunjin is becoming because of you.

Steadfast, determined. He cannot get stuck again. He will not live in darkness anymore.

They do all the popular songs, and even some fan favorites, speaking in turns about Minho’s legacy and his quiet resilience. Chan mentions his womanizer ways which have caused many scandals for them over the years. Felix talks about what a pleasure it was to record material with him, how he’s never met anyone more professional than him, a real fucking spirit.

Hyunjin saves his memories for last.

In front of the same people who may have spat at him before, he rubs his newly bleached hot pink head of hair, and fidgets with the pick between his fingers. The dome is lit in red, the cheers resounding.

“Minho was a troublemaker by nature. He did whatever the fuck he wanted unapologetically. He loved fiercely, and he did it all while playing some damn good bass for this band,” he looks at his own guitar, the void it had created in his gut when he wasn’t able to play. “He never questioned a day in his life, he was the best one out of all of us—Bang, don’t look fucking offended, the guy is dead—” Chan lifts his drumsticks in defeat, and chuckles.

“He’ll pay you a visit for that one,” Felix jokes, tears streaming down his glittery face.

“He saved my life,” Hyunjin continued with a bittersweet expression. “Countless fucking times. And I think that calls for the only song he never got sick of playing, yeah?”

Sound all around. Chan started, followed by Felix’s new accessory—Minho’s customized bass and all that it entailed to keep rhythm during a song of theirs. He practiced day and night, stayed in the studio to learn all the minor tweaks and complexities the late bassist embellished the tracks with. He had a long way to go, and it’d never be the same, but the band refused to hire a new person.

It didn’t feel right. No one could replace a Velvet boy.

Hyunjin joined after the intro, leaning into the mic, looking out at the sea of fans and really seeing them, for what felt like the first time since they started having shows. Truly sober and present. It hasn’t clicked for him quite yet—how he’ll be able to keep this up, to not fuck it all up and lose everything from under his feet.

Minho’s passing shook him like nothing ever had. If he tilts his head a little to the side, and looks out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he can make out the familiar impassive expression, his best friend, the flickering of his fingers over the thick bass strings. Like before.

But there’s nothing there. Not really. If he trails his gaze backstage, though, past their new manager and staff, the light shining there gathers all his attention, and he sees—

You.

“This next one, I wrote . . . dying.”

Looking back at him with shiny eyes, an emotion he’s not yet ready to decode.

It wouldn’t matter, either way. He’s dedicated his entire life to you now.

“I met someone in a dark room, and molded around them. She decided I was worth knowing to the bone, defenseless and naked. So I wrote this for her.”

Can’t see anything but your sweet face in that tub smearing his blood with yours, hear nothing but the way you whisper his name in the dead quiet of night, as he makes you cum again, and again, and again.

He brings the silver padlock around his neck to his lips, and kisses it. He calls out your name.

He plays the new song he wrote for you.

You run to him. He waits, arms wide open.

All is still.

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thankskenpenders · 11 months ago

Note

I'm curious, do you have any examples you could share of Pender's old art that's actually good (or even just decent)? Given that he's mainly talked about as a writer I assume he's not responsible for the visuals in the Archie comics, but it sounded in your Lara-Su writeup like he was an artist for comics professionally at some point too.

Ken occasionally drew his own stories at Archie, but usually they were handed off to other artists. Even back then he was always one of the weaker artists on the series. Like, here's a particularly notorious story he drew in issue #93, published in 2001. Notice the odd proportions, the weird legs, the awkward faces, and of course the blurry jpeg photo backgrounds which yes he was seriously already doing at the time

(don't ask why Knuckles is green)

But, okay! Let's find some examples of his better work.

Here's a page he penciled (and wrote the story for) all the way back in issue #33 in 1996. This looks totally fine. Tails is a little awkward, I guess, but the Swat-bot looks good and Sonic and sally look totally fine

For context, it's worth pointing out that that later issue is from a time when Archie gave way less of a shit about keeping the characters on-model, compared to these early days. In the late '90s/early '00s a lot of Ken's worst tendencies started to come out, and now those same quirks are even more pronounced when he's doing everything solo

It's also worth pointing to some of his non-Sonic work to show that the guy is actually fine at drawing humans. Here's a page from a Star Trek TNG comic he penciled in 1990, for instance

Again, totally fine! Nothing remarkable, but there's nothing wrong with it

So, no, his art did not always look Like That, we're just getting the raw unfiltered Ken now that he's left to his own devices

#anon #ask #tkp asks

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tojisbbygworl · 5 months ago

Text

The Apartment Across The Street pt. 2 - Sukuna x Reader x Toji

Toji and Sukuna have been friends for a long time, and any new endeavor Sukuna was involved in, Toji was his right hand man and vice versa. This had to be his favorite by far.

Words - 7.03 K

Tags - 18+ MDNI, No Use of Y/N, No Curses, Set in late 90s/early 00s, Angst, Drugs, Jailbirds, Sukuna x Toji, Shower Sex, Blowjob

WARNINGS - Dead Dove, Dark, Non-Con/Dub-con, Breaking and Entering, Sukuna and Toji are criminals, Choking, Violence

AO3 Version

Masterlist

author's note: can you tell i watched breaking bad and narcos lol. Took me a minute to figure out how to continue it and then I wrote wayyyyyyy too much so now the entirety of pt 3 will be smut and maybe reader's backstory once I figure it out completely. there's some toji x sukuna exposition. the zenins give 80s mob bosses so i tried to make toji sound like a sleazy, NY, thug without overdoing it. maybe he doesn't sound like anything but whatever

art cred: @kohhomaru dm for removal

pt. 1 pt. 3

Toji always got what he wanted.

Sukuna learned that very quickly rotting in prison. He hadn’t seen his family in years, and all his friends threw him into the street just days before the house got raided. He hadn’t snitched, it was a girl who was friends with another girl he had sex with the night before. The girl he’d strangled to death after cumming inside her.

She wanted him to go rough, she liked pain and loved every thing he did to hurt her. He bit her, slapped her, she gave him a pocket knife to run down her side, but she moaned the loudest when his hands wrapped around her throat, cutting off her windpipe. And so, that’s how he ended her life.

Had she not started clawing at his arms, choking and crying and begging him to stop, those sounds becoming gargled coughs as the air was trapped in her lungs, maybe, Sukuna would have lost interest. But he loved not giving her what she wanted. For so long, he had no control over his life; his friends got him addicted to ketamine and meth, just like his mother, his father beat her and him then left when his brother was born, he was forced to start dealing when Todo gave him a zip, whispered “get the money then run”, and ran off himself. Sukuna got shot in the leg that night, and had a target on his back ever since.

Of course he didn’t go to school, of course he flunked out. Of course his mother hated him. Of course he neglected his little brother. Of course he hated him for having a better life. His mother loved him more, Yuji was nothing like their father, viscous and prideful just like Sukuna. No, Yuji was full of life and joy, and his mother, though they were poor, made sure Yuji had everything he needed. Sukuna had to fend for himself. “You chose your life, now deal with it,” she would say, not even considering that he didn’t choose to be alive.

He thought that was the only choice he could make, but he realized he was a coward. He has many scars, none of which went deep enough in the right places.

Of course, Yuji hated him too. He didn’t understand, he just didn’t understand how much better than Sukuna he had it. Maybe, if Sukuna had kept beating up his bullies for him, they would be closer. But, Yuji got friends, and he became a popular little shit. Of course. Yuji was a good person.

Maybe that’s why he hated him. They have the same parents, but turned out completely different. Eventually Sukuna would find out that it wasn’t his fault, that his father’s influence ruined his personality and his mother’s life. That his mother didn’t love him, and didn’t care how he turned out. His mother let him stay out after dark, wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Yelled at teachers when they called about his performance in class. Let him sit in holding cells until a family member came for him instead. And even they stopped coming eventually.

Eventually Sukuna would realize, but it would be too late.

When the light left that girl’s eyes, Sukuna felt a sense of accomplishment. Yes, finally, he was in control. Telling him no, ignoring him, hating him, meant nothing.

He woke up to a scream the next morning. The girl’s friend had come upstairs and found him with the blanket just below his waist and the poor dead woman laying still beside him. His friends offered her money to keep silent after throwing him out, but a week later, in a new trap house, the police busted down the door and handcuffed him with his face to the floor.

The friend snitched and his old house was raided. They never found the girl he’d murdered, and since he’d been kicked out, his friends were in much deeper shit than him.

Still, he had no one in jail, and was even more alone in prison. One of the only good things about meeting Toji Zenin.

His cellmate was unlike anyone he’d met before. Almost amused by being behind bars. He was already in the cell when Sukuna was thrown in. He nodded his head at him then laid back down on the bottom bunk. Sukuna put his clothes on the top bunk and laid down himself. A few seconds later, he heard the light of a match and then he smelled tobacco.

“Want a cig’?” Toji asked, holding up a pack. Sukuna took one, then leaned over and let Toji light it in his mouth. He got a good look at him, he was a bit leaner, he had black hair that covered his neck, ears and eyes. His striking green pupils peaked through his locks, and they stared right back at him. When the cigarette was lit, Sukuna laid back down on his bed.

A few more seconds pass before Toji speaks again. “Can’t say thank you? You brolic bitch.”

It gets a chuckle out of Sukuna, which surprises him. “…Thanks. Feel better, pussy?” Toji cackles and Sukuna thinks this might not be so bad.

Toji wasn’t talkative per se, but he never hesitated to start a conversation. He always had cigarettes, cards, or noodles, and it wasn’t unusual for him to have a honeybun or two. Sukuna found out Toji was a rich little shit who was in and out of jail as if she was a beautiful woman. He was out in a couple of months, but not before he established exactly what he wanted out of Sukuna.

Maybe Sukuna didn’t think he was bad because he never really forced anything out of him. Toji was willing to please, willing to share anything and everything about him, and he could suck a dick like a vacuum. The first night they’d ever done anything, the guards had already made their rounds, not to return til morning. Toji had climbed up to Sukuna’s bunk while they were talking. Toji and Sukuna talked a lot, about everything. Toji talked about how he was the black sheep of the family, he was a fuck up, a piece of shit. As if the rest of the family wasn’t terrible as well. Like Sukuna, his father beat him, and like Sukuna, his mother loved his brother more. Jinichi was older, unlike Yuji, and instead of hating and being disappointed in him, he bullied and teased the living shit out of him. Jinichi was the cause of many of Toji’s scars, but not the one on his lip, from his father backhanding him across the face with his rings when he was five. There were still faded scars on his cheek, but his lip had busted open.

Sukuna had met traumatized people before. But what he hated about them was that they never fucking got over it. Toji didn't seem to give a single shit about anything that’s ever happened to him. He spoke about his past as if he was reciting a history textbook. Matter-of-factly, no emotion, just sharing information. He liked it. He hated pity, he hated feeling sorry, he hated being sad.

Toji made his dick hard, and he didn’t try to hide it when the man crossed his arms over his mattress and leaned his head on it. He smiled at him and Sukuna’s dick jumped in his shorts. Toji didn’t even look before he reached his hand over and rubbed his erection. Sukuna didn’t break eye contact as Toji jerked him off through his clothes. His grunts became heavier and breathier, and when he finally had enough he grabbed Toji’s wrist and pulled his shorts down. His dick flew back up and hit his stomach, and he wrapped Toji’s hand around it.

Toji climbed on top of him and licked his dick. His warm, wet tongue crawled from his base to his tip where Toji wrapped his mouth around it and suckled on it. Sukuna’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he moaned. “Bitches can’t suck dick this good, can they?” Sukuna laughed, then he came.

The second time Toji got what he wanted was 5 months later, after he’d found himself back in prison. He was right, he was out in just a couple months. He would be out soon again. Sukuna thought he was a crazy son of a bitch. Toji thought it was funny. If his family wanted to hate him he would give them a reason. Sukuna agreed.

Toji said he could get Sukuna a crazy good lawyer, one better than the shit public defender he had to deal with. He could appeal his case, get it reopened, and get him off on probation. “Then we'd be doing this more, as much as we want, as loud as we want, on whatever fucking drugs we want.”

“On probation? You fucking idiot.”

“..sober now, ain't you?” Not by choice.

Sukuna nodded. Toji was taller than him, not by that much, but enough for him to have to lean down to be centimeters away from his face. “So you're gonna get out, and every time you piss you do it in a cup. Then we’re getting high and I’m fucking the shit out of you.” Toji had tried to kiss his cheek, but Sukuna jerked his head away and glared at him. Toji didn’t like that. He grabbed the back of his head and wrestled him to the floor of their cell then sat on top of him with his knee on his head. “You gonna give me a kiss now? Huh, baby?”

Sukuna fought him off and pinned him to the ground instead. Toji smiled crazily up at him, egging him on to do something. Sukuna’s glare deepened. “Fuck you and fuck your lawyer, pussy.” Then he spat on his face.

Toji laughed, exerting a sigh that sounded anything between a moan and a gasp of disbelief. His eyes had shot open wide in surprise, then relaxed in amusement and something that vaguely seemed like pleasure. Whatever the look was, Sukuna didn’t get off of him just yet.

Whether Sukuna liked it or not, he got a lawyer, a suit, and a retrial. He got the probation Toji spoke of and on house arrest, the only problem was, he had no address. There was only one place he could go, he found it before he got arrested, before he was homeless, and before he killed that girl.

Yuji was a big kid now, in college studying Psychology, go figure. His mother didn’t say much else about his personal life, she'd wanted him out of the house, clearly having accepted that she only had one son. There were a few new picture frames in the living room; Yuji's graduation, a couple birthdays, their grandmother's funeral, and all of them featured his friends, the same little shits that took the mantle of protecting Yuji when Sukuna no longer cared for it, and when it no longer became enough for Yuji.

He sent a letter with a receiving address. He wasn’t surprised when Yuji sent a scathing letter back, detailing how much he hates him, and ensuring that Sukuna never even thinks about rekindling any relationship they may have had in their youth. Sukuna didn’t really care, but now he definitely was homeless. Toji didn’t even think twice before offering his own apartment.

To keep him even closer, Toji hired him as his “fix it” man. Sukuna clearly had a type; Toji was a dealer, a much bigger one than the pathetic down the block shit Sukuna and his old friends had done. The Zenins had reach across multiple states and owned many business ventures to hide it all. Sukuna would be the one who killed their rivals, rats, or anyone who they felt disrespected them.

“You like to kill people, don’t you?” He’d asked. An interesting way to start pillow talk. It was weeks after he’d gotten out, the middle of the night, this time in a comfy Cali king bed smoking weed, not tobacco. They were naked, Toji’s dick was still hard after pumping cum inside of Sukuna.

It wasn’t that he liked to kill people, he’d never thought twice about shooting someone dead, but he loved the thought that their lives were in his hands. He loved having that power over someone, and he’d spent a long time wishing he had held out just a bit longer. Loosened his grip a bit so he could make her beg for her life even more.

Whatever, he nodded his head and Toji told him of his proposal, jerking him off when he decided Sukuna was thinking about it too long and needed a motivator. Seeing Toji’s mouth fill up with his dick and his face coated in white was more than enough of a motivator.

Toji and Sukuna have been friends for a long time, and any new endeavor Sukuna was involved in, Toji was his right hand man and vice versa. This had to be his favorite by far .

Earlier in the day, he had come over to the apartment to collect his video camera. From the way Sukuna described it, Toji would be cumming in his hands soon enough. He couldn’t wait to see how Sukuna fucked her, she was too fucking cute. He could only imagine what she looked like when she was horny, desperate to cum on someone’s dick or tongue.

Sukuna greeted him at the door, “Hey, it’s in the room. You staying?”

Unfortunately Toji wasn't, although he would have liked to. “Nah, I got Megumi. I told you that dick head.” He walked inside and looked around. He would have explored with Sukuna last night, but his son couldn’t be alone for too long.

Sukuna tilted his head at him, disgruntled. “What the fuck, I thought we were going out tonight?”

“We are. I'm giving him back to his mom. Then I’ll come over. Does that work for you, my darling?" Sukuna hits his chest and walks away. After walking around the kitchen and the dining room, Toji looked into the archway that led to the living room and saw legs laying down on the couch with a blanket haphazardly covering them. Toji comically rubbed his hands. “There she is. The lady of the hour.”

She was laying on the couch in a daze, Sukuna had been feeding her nonstop alcohol and weed, while murmuring about wishing she had stronger drugs. He complained about not being able to leave because he couldn’t trust her by herself, and considered knocking her out. The debate he had with himself was nerve wracking and terrifying, as if he were discussing a game plan. He almost reached a conclusion when Toji came knocking.

Though she was too incapacitated to react, Toji coming had made her heart drop. As if things couldn’t get any worse. He had a snake-like grin, his narrow green eyes stabbing her in her chest, a harbinger of a fate worse than death. Even as he taunted her, she couldn’t say anything. Her head was heavy from the drugs and she was frozen in fear.

When he started walking towards her with that same smile, she found the strength to squirm for a bit, and her head pounded in pain from the movement. Sukuna grabbed his shirt and pulled him backwards, and Toji ripped himself free of his grasp before glaring at him. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“You’re here for the tape, not her.” And for a moment, her heart swelled with hope, thinking maybe, just maybe, in a sick way, this man cared about her. That the only danger she had to be afraid of was him. ‘Please’ , she thought, ‘let it just be him’ .

Toji smirked and pushed his hair out his eyes. “For now, yeah.”

Sukuna didn’t answer, instead he rolled his eyes and left the living room, probably to fetch the device in question. She was less confident about Sukuna protecting her from his friend, and eventually a feeling of shame creeped its way in there as well. Sukuna didn’t care about her, she knew that. She doesn’t know if she’s going to die, but she does know things would never be the same. If only she could get to a phone, get a couple minutes of privacy. All she needed was 2 minutes and for Sukuna to be out of earshot.

Toji’s presence didn’t give her any space to think. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of her, he was leaning against the wall, smirking with his hands in his pockets. “Hey gorgeous. Ya' had fun last night?”

He looked down the hall, then once he saw Sukuna was still occupied, he got up from the wall and walked towards her on the couch. Taking one hand out of his pocket, he started playfully tugging at the blanket. She had just enough strength to grab it and tug back, though she was weak.

He chuckled. “That’s cute. You’re so fucking cute. You know who I am?” He let her tug a bit more before yanking it out of her hands, leaving her cold and half naked. Sukuna had only let her put on underwear, laced and pink with a tiny bow at the front. “My name’s Toji.”

He dropped the blanket and rubbed his chin as he ogled her on the couch. She looked up at him, a scared little lamb covering her breasts and pulling her legs to her chest. She was shivering.

He tilted his head and pouted at her. “Aw,” he said with pity. He put both hands behind his back and stood up straight. Then, clearing his throat, he leaned over and stuck his hand out in front of her. “It’s nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

She stared at him, her face slowly unraveling in disbelief and fear. She said nothing, and soon, Toji dropped his hand and put both back in his pocket. He leisurely strolled away to look back down the hallway, checking for Sukuna. Instead, he heard muffled cursing from behind the door. Whatever he was doing, he was occupied.

Toji turned and smiled at her, quickly approaching the couch and kneeling down in front of her face. She started panting and her eyes welled with tears. “You know, it’s gonna be my turn soon. Real soon.” he says quietly.

He looked her body up and down as she silently cried, then slapped her tit. She still didn’t make a sound, just quiet sobs and sighs. Her face remained stoic, or she’d have completely broken down.

“Hmph,” Toji stood back up and headed down the hallway. “The fuck is taking you so long?”

“I can’t get the fucking tape out,” Sukuna replied dumbly.

Toji rubbed his hands down his face. “It’s my vid cam. Just give it to me.” He opened the door and snatched it from his hands.

“Ay,” Sukuna said, getting up from the bed and walking after him. “What were you saying to her out there?”

“Just joshing around, Jesus. All on my dick, for what?” Toji kept walking away, looking over at the couch. She had grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around herself, turning over and planting her face in the cushion. Toji laughed and shook his head, she wouldn’t be able to avoid him for long. Her rejection would only make tonight even more special. "Be easy," he says towards her. He left without another word or look.

Any sense of relief she felt from Toji’s absence was quickly squashed when Sukuna sat down on the couch next to her curled up body and leaned backwards with his arms laying across the cushions. He looked over at her. “You alive in there?” He asked, snapping his fingers next to her face. She turns her head to look at him.

Sukuna smiles. “There you are. You look like you could use some water.” Her lips were dry and cracked despite her being a sweaty mess, and her eyes were bloodshot. She looked like she needed an IV.

“Here, don’t even worry, I’ll get some for you.” And Sukuna got up and sifted through her pantry to find a bottle to give to her. She doesn’t take it at first, eying him suspiciously, but he smacks his teeth and throws it onto her instead. “Just fucking drink it.”

He sat down and turned on the tv, changing the channel until he hit South Park , then grabbed the rolling tray once more. She took him on his offer and gulped the entire bottle down; she had no other drinks besides liquor since last night. The water poured down her neck as she drank and even up her nose, but she didn’t stop until it was empty. “Damn woman,” Sukuna glared at her. “It’s not going nowhere.”

When the bottle was empty she threw it on the floor and coughed. Her head pounded and her entire world started spinning. Then, her chest began to curl and she ran to the bathroom and threw everything up. Sukuna's laughter resonated through the walls and attacked her ears as her head hung inside the toilet.

When she’d woken up in her bed after passing out on the bathroom floor, she’d felt a stinging agonizing pain in her abdomen and she squirmed and groaned in the blanket. For a moment, she could have believed it was all a bad dream, until Sukuna walked into her room with a slice of pizza and a bottle of water. “You sleep a lot, huh?” Of course he knew, he’d been watching her for weeks.

One look at the pizza and a whiff of the tangy pepperoni made her lurch and gag. She shook her head, she couldn’t imagine eating something right then.

Sukuna rolled his eyes at her and sat the food down in front of her anyway. “I don’t have to feed you, you know,” he reminds her. He kneeled on the bed and grabbed her, muttering for her to ‘fucking relax’ when she started wrestling against him. He sat her up and laid her torso on her bed frame, shoving the plate into her hands. “I didn’t have to make you breakfast this morning, but I did.” Then, in a horrifying change of tone, his snarl turned into a little smile, and Sukuna gently played with her hair. “Because that’s what a good boyfriend does,” he said almost cheerfully.

She really didn’t want to eat the pizza, she knows she’ll throw it back up.

When she remained silent, Sukuna sighed disappointedly and crawled off of her. He stood up to walk away, then stopped and turned to look at her when he got to the door. “You ran out so I got you more grass from my place,” he starts, casual as ever. “And uh, get ready because you’re going to work with us tonight. Toji’s coming but he’s not gonna wait long if you’re not ready.” He pauses and scratches his chin, trying to remember what else he needed to tell her, amused by the dead-eyed stare she gave him. “Oh,” he leans back into the room and points to her closet. “I took a look in there, there’s this tiny black dress you got, the one with the…uh-the hal-halter neck? Is that what it’s called?” He motions on his own chest and waits for her to confirm, then continues when she doesn’t. “It’s like, draped a bit, and it has a low back.” Sukuna whistles at the memory of watching her try that dress on. “ Whew, you looked good in that dress. Oh and it’s sheer, your ass and tits are fucking sight. Anyway, I couldn’t find it in your closet. Where is it?”

She still said nothing, just looked at him while eating the pizza. Sukuna rolls his eyes and throws his head back in annoyance. “Listen honey,” he says, walking back inside and closing the door. “I want to be nice to you. I really do, but I won’t if you don’t want to talk to me. This could be good for you. I’ll take care of you, of everything you need, I’ll give you anything you want, but you gotta be my cute little wife first, okay?”

A few more silent moments pass, and Sukuna’s patience begins to wear thin. He didn’t want to have to kill her, she was more than gorgeous, she filled him with desire he hadn’t felt in years. She finally spoke before he did, her voice dry and frail, strained with grief, “Anything I want?”

“…Anything.”

She thought for a moment looking down into her lap. “…Let me go?” She asked hesitantly. She slowly lifted her head back up, Sukuna’s face remained stoic, she couldn’t measure what he was thinking. “Let me leave, like I wanted. I won’t say anything. I swear, just let me go.” Her voice started to shake, because Sukuna still hadn’t moved or said anything, but she could hear his breathing get deeper and faster, and she remembered that she was more afraid than she’d let on. She started to pant and choked on a sob before letting out a desperate, “Please.”

Sukuna took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Then, he smiled again. Her heart dropped.

He approaches her one more time, leaning over and putting his hands on his knees before slapping her across the face. She yelps and he wraps his hand around her mouth as she cries. “You know better than to ask me that.” He lets go and backs up. “I won’t say it again. You already said you were mine, so you’re mine -“

Before he can really finish speaking, she gains a burst of courage fueled by rage and shouts at him, “You made me say it!”

“Shut the hell up.” Sukuna says, his eyes white with fury.

“No! I fucking hate you!”

“I said shut the hell up!” He grabs her by the throat and throttles her. “You’re not leaving me!”

When she starts to gag, he throws her back against the bed and stands up. His breaths deep and jagged, he was steaming, furious that she would even dare to fight back against him. She continued to give him a deadly sneer, it was sharp and filled with hate, and it cut right through him and embedded itself in his black heart. He wouldn’t let her slip away, not in life or death, and as he grew more and more upset with her and the way she looked at him, he found himself doing something he’d never done before. “Don’t you understand? Don’t you understand why I want you?”

She didn’t stop glaring at him. At this point, she didn’t think she cared, but then he continued. “I’ve been looking for you my whole life.” Her face, heart, and stomach drop and her world crashes down along with them. It’s just him and her in a vast, empty space. It’s cold. Sukuna’s face changes to a ghost from her past, a face that still strikes fear into her heart.

Sukuna lunges at her and holds her face in his hands. She gasps, afraid of what he might try to do. “You make me feel… alive. When I look at you, my heart feels like it’s going to stop.” It’s with these words that she finally gives up and falls apart, and Sukuna feels a rush of excitement at his success of breaking her. “I dreamt about you, I thought about you day and night, I smelled you at the store and brushed on your clothes, and I thought I would die walking away from you. God I wanted to see you again.”

Her ex had gone on a crazy tangent similar to this as well, going on and on about how he had nothing and no one, that she was all he needed, and how he would kill himself if she’d ever left.

“But you didn’t want to see me. You got blinds, you ran away from me, so I had to make you see the mistake you were making. I needed you to see how much you meant to me.” Like Sukuna, he blamed her for her trauma, for the things he put her through. He would bring her around his sleazy friends, make her drink and smoke and do lines at parties when all she wanted was to be home, then blame her when his friends got too handsy and she was too weak to push them away. Scream at her for being a cheating whore, when he’s the one who left her alone in the room with all the rest of them.

He stroked her hair again and put her head in his chest. She didn’t fight him. “Do you understand now?”

She nodded.

“Will you tell me where the dress is?”

“…the hamper.”

“Hm, that sucks. Think you can run it through a cycle while you get real pretty the way you do?”

“…yes.”

Sukuna nodded contently and kissed her forehead before standing up from the bed and finally going to leave the room. "I'm going in the shower, come in when the dress is in the wash." Then he leaves. She blinks, then quickly looks to the side of her bed. The phone had been ripped out of the wall.

Once again, defeated, she plops back down on the pillow, gazing at the wall. Soon, her body moves on it's own to reach into the hamper and grab the black fabric. She doesn't protest as her legs turn and exit the room. Her eyes look down the darkened hallway. The only light coming from the closed bathroom. The sound of cartoons on the tv, and the water from the shower. She scrunches the dress up tightly, so tight it squeezes her veins and her hand turns purple. She continues to hauntingly saunter down the hall to her laundry room. misty-eyed and tired, she drops the dress in, turns to the quickest cycle, then turns to the door and steps out. She freezes, her eyes staring at the bathroom door. What is she doing but delaying the inevitable?

From the shower, Sukuna hears her starting the laundry and he laughs to himself. It takes her a few minutes, but she eventually opens the door and walks into the bathroom. Sukuna listened to her take off her underwear, then counts each footstep she takes towards the shower. Too many.

She couldn't help but to stay away from him for as long as possible. She knew she fucked up when Sukuna threw open the curtain and pulled her into the hot shower. She gasped but quickly stopped when he forced their naked bodies together. His hair was wet and laid across his face in heavy strands. His large arms and hands roamed every single crevice of her body. Her arms were forced around his shoulders as well as her head on his right. He buried his in her neck, kissing, licking, and biting at it. She hadn't even realized he'd lifted her legs around his waist until his dick rubbed against her clit, too dazed by his attack on her neck.

She let herself moan, tired of being beaten and forced against her will. She let herself enjoy it, because what choice did she have? She wanted to live, it's all she's ever wanted. Maybe she felt like she was giving up before, but not anymore. The shame and misery can come later, when she's free.

"Mm," Sukuna muttered into her skin. his voice vibrated through her chest "See? Doesn't this feel amazing?" He kissed her on the cheek, then nibbled it, and she turned her head and looked into his eyes. He was handsome, but scary. He scanned her face, curious to what she was thinking. Then she kisses him.

Sukuna walks forward and pushes her against the cold, tiled wall. They bite each other's lips and suck on each other's tongues, their desire for each other growing and growing. Sukuna pulled away and they caught their breaths, and she admitted that she enjoyed it, but when she looks at him too long she sees him looking at her through his window, then him slamming her door shut and-

"Don't. Do do it. Not right now." Sukuna's lips had turned into a deep scowl, and his eyes were filled with malice. He'd seen the way her mind had started twisting, her brows turned upwards slowly, and her nostrils flared as her eyes started to gleam. He was only making it worse, but she tried so hard to stay calm. She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddered breath. Sukuna waited and took a breath of his own. When she opened her eyes again, they were red and he knew her wet lashes weren't from the shower. They look at each other for a few moments, then he tells her "Stick out your tongue."

She gulped, then did what he asked of her. Sukuna drools onto it, then closes his eyes and leans over to make out with it, sucking it into his mouth. He moans as he pulls and tugs, their spit leaking between their chests that were pressed against one another. She began rubbing her hips on his boner, making him groan

"You ready?" he asks, as if he cared if she wasn't. He grabs his dick and rubs his pre-cum all over his shaft, spitting on it for good measure. He rubs his tip between her fluttering lips, laughing at her small whimpers. "So needy, baby," He says, slowly sinking into her pussy "So, so needy."

"A-Ah," she whispers, biting her tongue as he spreads her with his thick girth. Her eyes were screwed shut, her pussy squeezing him with every inch.

"Come on, let me hear you." He buries himself into her fully, his face inches from her open mouth. He squeezed his lips as he kept pumping her, nostrils flaring with each huff, making sure his dick hit all her walls. Her throat had shut in ecstasy and pain, and she let the tears flow, but she wasn't sad. "Yeah, you fucking love this. Come on, say something for me. It feels good, don't it?"

She finally sighed with a groan and nodded her head. Sukuna laughed at her, kissed her cheek, then planted his own on it as he began fucking her against the shower wall. He grunted with every thrust, her gasps and whines fueling his desire for her.

"Oh, Sukuna," she lets out. She feels his smile on her ear, accompanied by his hot breaths, then his tongue as he sucks on her lobe.

"Yeah, say my name. Keep squeezing my dick, baby." His voice became strained and he started breathing harder, her pussy kept fluttering as she orgasmed, his dick sliding in and out of her with ease. He looked between them and moaned at the white ring around his shaft. And to his surprise, he gave her a final few thrusts, hen came deep inside her. The two of them panted as he stared at their hips, one hand against the wall and the other holding him up.

Sukuna eventually looks at up her, stares at her lips, then kisses them. He puts her down and hands her sponges and soap. "Don't talk about it." he tells her. She nods, but she doesn't really understand what he meant.

This reality was already a nightmare, but this is something she’s been through before. She never imagined she would be here again, crossfaded and head hanging, fighting to stay conscious despite wanting to pass away. Her head pounds with terrible music, and she’s squashed between men she hates while the purple lights and colorful lasers of the club dance in her eyes.

At her apartment, he'd told her to wear underwear he could see, so she chose a white thong. He was smoking when she walked out, completely finished and ready to go. Just in time for Toji to pull up on the sidewalk. He grinned and ashed the blunt before handing it to her. "And make sure you take a few shots," he says. "Don't worry, there's better drugs at the club." He held his hands out and waited for her to take it, which she did. "Thought you'd start to cry again," he joked.

Right before they exited the door, he turned and leaned down next to her ear. "You're gonna follow me to Toji's car like a good girl. If you scream, cry, or try to run, I'll just grab you anyway. Then I'll throw you in his car and break your neck." Duly noted.

Toji looked over at them approaching him from the driver's seat of his black convertible. He whistled in delight. "Damn. You weren't lying," he says to Sukuna.

"Of course I wasn't"

Sukuna motioned for her to get in the back of the car, before Toji protested. "Wait, nah, let her sit next to me." He smiled at her and pat the seat next to him. "Come here, girl. I don't bite. Not as hard as he did, anyway."

"Why should I let her sit next to you?" Sukuna planted his hand down on Toji's arm. The mood shifted as his face began to fall. "Why don't I just bring in the back seat with me?"

Toji looked at her, standing to the side waiting for the men to make a decision already. She wasn't running, she wasn't sneaking away, she wasn't even looking around for someone to save her. "What about you? Who would you rather sit next to?"

It took a moment for her to notice she was being asked a question. She looked at the two of them, blinking. "I'd rather have a bullet in my brain."

Toji busted out laughing from her hubris, while Sukuna rolled his eyes at her. "Here she fucking goes. Just sit next to him. I'm not trying to hear that shit."

Toji didn’t say much to her, at least not anything that didn’t consist of him lusting over her. "You clean up real nice, sweetheart." When she remained silent, he put his hand on her thigh and squeezed it. "Hey, can't say thank you? Don't like compliments?"

"...Thank you."

"Just drive, you fat fuck," Sukuna moaned from the backseat.

Toji smacked his teeth but drove off anyway. "Fat? Who you calling fat? Hey, sweetheart," he calls to the woman next to him, "You think I'm fat?"

"Of course she does. You flabby piece of shit."

"Come on, baby. Don't you like me? I like you."

Neither men explained what they were doing or why she was here with them, or what she needed to be doing to keep Sukuna happy. She picked up on bits and pieces of their conversation like wire it when the job’s done and last time took a month. Something about the job taking longer because someone left off an anonymous tip that their lives were in danger. She hadn’t been living in the city long and was still getting used to municipalities and the local government, but she remembered the name from a news story a couple weeks ago about the death of a DEA officer. She sunk a bit more into the seat.

Now here she was, sitting between the both of them at a booth in a humid club, men she’s never seen before ogling her. She’s very used to this, but for a moment, she thought she’d escaped this life.

Toji’s arm lays across the cushion behind her head and he leans down to murmur in her ear. “So, what the fuck did Sukuna say to you to get you to do this? You’re being a very good girl.” He starts to touch her hair too. “You’ve been a good girl all night. My client’s very happy.”

He gestures to the strange man sitting across from them smoking a cigar. She truthfully had no clue who he was or what they were all doing here, and though that terrifies her, she knows the truth is much worse. “You should smile at him. And stop looking so depressed.” He drops his hand down her back, she jumps from the cold of his fingers that tapped against her skin as he reached inside her dress. She sits up straight. “The girls are always depressed. They’ll like it if you’re happy.”

She does what she’s asked. Toji was right, the strange men were very pleased. Sukuna, finally looking over at her, smirks when he sees her very convincing smile. Then, his eyes trail upwards and he watches Toji look her up and down and bite his lip. Then, his eyes trail down his arm and catch his fingers inside her dress. His smirk drops just a bit.

“That’s right, so obedient,” Toji whispers in her ear, his hot breath tickling her and making her shudder. He chuckles again, admiring her face. “So, what did he say?”

Sukuna couldn’t hear what Toji started asking her, and he didn’t try no matter how much he wanted to. Not even when she turned back to him and responded.

“What do you mean?”

“Sukuna. You got all dressed up and came here without a fight, or even a word. Why?” He wondered. He wouldn’t get an answer, she didn’t really know either. “Did he say some shit about his childhood? Or his terrible fucking life? Or did he tell you you were the only one for him?”

She thought she would cry, but she couldn't find the tears for it. So, her lips spread into a dazed grin and she laughs. “Something like that, yeah.”

Toji, pleased by her cooperation, cackles loudly. He claps his hands a few times, and makes sure to meet Sukuna’s glare before talking to her again. “You believe him?”

“I don’t know. I guess I do.” She decided it’s easier to pretend.

Toji gingerly shakes his head. Bless your heart he says with his eyes. But with his lips, “You know he’ll fucking kill you one day, right?”

All she could do was laugh at that too. “Maybe.”

lmk what u think! Thx for reading!

#dark content #be warned it’s dark #jjk fic #jjk fanfic #sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader smut #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #toji #toji fushiguro

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