#she ate lana del rey up with that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jensettermandu · 8 months ago

Text

clandestine - huh yunjin

genre; angst, sfw

pairing; yunjin x female reader .ft chaewon

content; there's one single reference of them being bare aka nudity but it doesn't say more, reader is a 98' liner and member of blackpink, features chaewon x reader but it's briefly, yunjin is in a huge moral dilemma throughout the whole thing, implications of toxicity

synopsis; Yunjin finds herself at yet another clandestine meeting, the one that leaves her in a high that later crashes, but somehow she can't stop running back to the hell where her devil is. The older woman has a grip on Yunjin that leaves her trying harder than before just to be acknowledged. Love and loyalty has left her in a moral dilemma where she has to make a choice, however, each choice makes her as bad as it makes her good after ending up with the short end of the stick.

wc; 7.6+

songs; illicit affairs - taylor swift , sad girl - lana del rey , francesca - hozier

masterlist

Yunjin exhaled, watching the numbers on the elevator go down, and up on the other as she waited for it to reach her. Her fingers fiddled with the material inside the pockets of her sweats because even if it had become a habit, something that came naturally; Yunjin couldn’t help but be swallowed by guilt and anxiety each time.

It crumbled, her facade was weak and grew weaker each time because of her moral dilemma. It was hard to pretend when she had always been so see-through.

The elevator’s door slid open once it reached her floor, the second one reaching the bottom as she stepped inside.

She hated it when she looked in the mirror and knew the person she was. It was something she couldn’t run from, but that didn’t mean she didn’t try. The guilt ate at her and Yunjin knew exactly how to stop it or how she could have prevented it right from the start. All she did manage to do was pretend that she had no clue who she was because she knew Yunjin and this wasn’t her.

This wasn’t like Yunjin at all; she couldn’t even tell why exactly she got herself into this mess or when she became the mess that she was.

However, the truth was hard to handle, even harder to accept and the hardest to face. This was something she knew she wouldn’t be the only one struggling with if the tiniest stone collided with her house of glass. The tint she put up to cover her lies would crumble and the real layer would let everyone see right through her glass walls and uncover the truth she’s been hiding out of desperation to be noticed.

She wanted to say that she was forced, but she truly wasn’t, the only thing was the force that pulled her towards the hell waiting for her downstairs. The one she shouldn’t feel anything towards as she knew that the girl who felt everything for her was in the other elevator riding right back up to the dorm.

Yunjin felt like a fool, she knew that she was one and she would regret it for the rest of her life as she would live with the fact that she did something she hated herself for; something everyone else would hate her for.

Yunjin lived in a world only one other person knew about, but even if she asked about it they would deny its existence. This was something that only existed to Yunjin because she acknowledged it. Her empathy was too strong to ignore. She convinced herself that she could stop if she wanted to.

Yet when the elevator reached the underground parking lot and she had the choice to not step out and instead go back home she still committed the same old mistakes.

The familiar scent lingered right by the elevators when she stepped out because Yunjin was greedy. She took those steps that could almost be mistaken for prideful when in reality she took long strides to be quicker. There was nothing to be prideful about, it felt like a walk of shame each time yet she proceeded with it. She proceeded to destroy herself for this one person.

The white G Wagon was hard to miss as it stood ready to drive off by the side and this was the girl’s final chance to break this habit. Would it make her feel better if she did? Yunjin would still know what she had done. Would she ever reveal the truth?

Yunjin had been selfish all this time, but it was with other people in mind, wasn’t it? Her intentions were unclear like a city under smog yet she tried to shine through it like the sun because they were good. It didn’t matter what they were because she felt herself crumble each day.

Maybe she got it all mixed up and was trying to make herself feel better; to feel like a hero when she was an anti-hero all along.

She opened the car door, knowing that no one would do it for her and she closed it after climbing inside. For a second she still felt the inner conflict within her as she closed the door, staring right in front of her.

The silent blow of the AC eased the heat caused by her hood being up, the speakers faintly played that music that reminded her of the woman anytime these songs would play. It would always infuse her veins with guilt, shame and regret, but also longing and desires, leaving her stuck at a crossroads.

Those things were all short-lived even if she knew that she would be a mess after.

Her chin was gently grabbed between those slender and cold fingers that turned her face. Yunjin met her eyes and was fighting what they reminded her about; the flaws hiding behind the put-up wall of perfection. Those perfect, tempting, and utterly deceiving eyes she had fallen victim to.

She tilted her head and leaned over the centre panel, closing her eyes in hopes of being blown away by the wind. She wanted to leave her fate to the wind, hoping she could just blow away like a feather that had no purpose and whatever happened couldn’t be blamed on her because the wind controlled her fate so it was all out of her control.

Maybe the wind she would be blown by would be in the second circle of Dante's inferno for these sins. Yet the kiss was gentle compared to what her punishments would be for these selfish acts.

It was gentle yet tormenting when she got a taste of the lipgloss that had mixed with the usual vanilla the woman in the driver’s seat used. Strawberries lingered with the vanilla and Yunjin was swallowed by reality once again, painfully aware that she was here so soon that Chaewon’s lips were still lingering on those that weren’t hers to kiss.

Her lips picked up the remnants of Chaewon’s.

That was all that Yunjin would deserve: remnants.

She tried to pull away because she could stop whenever she wanted.

“Y/n,” Yunjin mumbled, being pulled right back into the kiss, her hood being pulled down as fingers brushed over her nape. With that, she gave in without putting up a fight for any dignity because she never had any, to begin with, if she was seeing Chaewon’s girlfriend.

Her fingers brushed over Y/n’s bare waist, hoping to at least leave goosebumps after her because her marks would always be invincible and Yunjin was nothing but a mere ghost that appeared when everyone else was asleep.

They pulled away, her eyes gazed into Y/n’s eyes, the older’s fingers trailed along her jawline, thumb grazing her lips.

God, she hated Y/n for hurting her friend, but she also loved how she made Chaewon feel, and how good she was to her outside these clandestine meetings. It left her in turmoil knowing how happy Chaewon was while also wanting to be a good friend–she knew she wasn’t–and tell her the truth of how her angel was a devil in disguise.

Yunjin knew that Chaewon was one of the luckiest, but at the same time, unluckiest girls to exist. Despite the war within her it still left her envious if not jealous.

“You look pretty,” Yunjin wanted to cuss Y/n out, she wanted to throw stuff, she wanted to take all her anger out on her, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even if she wanted to. The girl in the driver’s seat with achievements that reached further than Yunjin’s dreams was too perfect to hurt.

Yunjin knew Y/n too well and maybe that was the problem.

Just those words were enough to fluctuate everything she felt and cause her a high; Y/n became a drug that worked each time no matter how horrible the withdrawals felt because of the realisation of how she was jeopardising herself and everyone else.

At moments like these, she pretended to be blind as Y/n pulled away, reaching for her phone, detaching herself completely from Yunjin who pretended that the notification didn’t show on the car screen. Her eyes wandered the white interior of the car; still feeling out of place for so many reasons, the first being that she shouldn’t be here to begin with.

“Where do you wanna head to?” She looked back at Y/n who was looking at the phone in her hands.

The answer she would give depended on how long she wanted to spend with Y/n. On how long she wanted to bask in Y/n’s cold fire. It could vary from 30 minutes at a parking lot nearby that she usually walked to–this time Y/n could in a sense pick her up–or it could be around two hours spent in a hotel room.

The girl could still remember the first few times and how different they were compared to now. Yunjin was truly becoming nothing more than a dirty secret that was supposed to be kept away from all light and she was allowing it herself.

Yunjin knew what was reserved for her; parking lots and hotel rooms, meetings once the sun was down. The lingering gazes before becoming nothing more than air. The act of being someone she wasn’t. Lies that came easier than breathing. Not leaving a single trace of herself anywhere because she was supposed to remain a ghost. Yunjin didn’t exist.

It was all perfectly built yet it felt as fragile as a house of cards where it would all collapse with a single and gentle blow of air.

There was a significant difference between her and Chaewon; obviously. Her older member got treated the way she wished she was yet what Yunjin got wasn’t Y/n making it up to their floor, picking her up, leaving the dorm without having to lie or feel guilt and shame, with no disguise of going on a run in sweatpants and a hoodie.

[Five hours ago]

Yunjin never understood it, she wasn’t sure if she ever would or maybe she hadn’t done it for long enough. It left her with more questions than answers; all being about the person on the other side of the door. It made her heart speed up before it twisted and she wished it could just stop instead because of the wincing pain.

Yunjin hated how good Y/n was at acting while she could feel herself crumble with each second. Was it even acting? It looked like second nature. Or maybe it wasn’t because as long as Yunjin was a secret she would never truly exist unless she was brought to light.

There was nothing between them to the bare eye.

Yet all Y/n did was smile at her and bow as if she wouldn’t kiss her as a greeting whenever it was just them. Still, Yunjin followed, doing the same thing before meeting Y/n’s eyes again. A smile was offered, not a pair of lips against hers or a caress that sent her body through a blazing fire in Y/n’s inferno.

“How are you?”

“I’m…alright.” She got a hum in response as the woman who was her peer slipped her sneakers off. Their eyes met once again, it felt like they always did or maybe Yunjin was hoping for too much yet adrenaline pumped through her whole body as Y/n smiled at her and stepped further inside.

Those stolen glances, those secret stares where their eyes met and only they knew the truth; why did she cherish that?

“That’s good.” She wanted more than a hand coming up to her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. However, Y/n’s touch lingered for a few seconds longer than necessary before she let go and walked towards the living room. Long enough to leave a warmth coursing through Yunjin.

“Where’s Chaewon?”

“Forgot her phone upstairs.”

That was all she got, Yunjin got the finger but wanted to get the whole hand because it was too difficult to separate their clandestine meetings and these meetings where they were nothing more than friends. Her heart yearned for more and she knew that it only made the mess bigger and bloodier than needed.

It wasn’t like she could have gotten more as everyone loved Y/n, especially Kazuha who was a fan of the group Y/n was part of.

Yunjin had listened to the younger girl go on about Y/n and all of Blackpink before. How she looked up to her, how she was a role model to many, how talented she was; great, humble, loving, caring, beautiful, perfect in every aspect of life despite it not being an easy life that she lived. She agreed with the younger girl because it was the truth–

It still left Yunjin wondering if she truly was the only one who had seen past Y/n’s perfect facade. The one that was built up of walls that stretched for miles and climbing over one meant only seeing the hundreds of more walls that were left to climb. Y/n had a perfectly curated image as an idol, but she also had a perfectly curated image for every person she was with and met.

The perfect friend, the perfect daughter, the perfect girlfriend.

South Korea’s Perfection.

Yunjin envied it because it would be so much easier to live on with her life if she were perfect; it would let her carry out her life and secrets with ease.

However, she felt special as she knew that she was one of the few to get past these walls. She felt special because she was more than Y/n’s dirty secret, she knew things the woman didn’t open up about to just anyone. Yunjin knew that she was part of those things she never told and that with Y/n’s perfection, she would forever be a mere ghost, a story that never truly happened.

Y/n knew how to manipulate the beginning and end of every story to her advantage.

Yunjin was aware that Y/n would make it look like she had never existed in her life and maybe that was the only true fear that she carried and not the consequences of being caught.

Never existing in Y/n’s life.

Yet Yunjin dwelled on the choices she had.

Her eyes gazed at Y/n, it just so happened that whenever she was supposed to come over even for a few minutes everyone magically left their rooms. No one wanted to miss her, she always made every room brighter.

She watched Sakura try to stop her from bowing a full 90 degrees; her senior and older by a few months, she knew that Sakura disagreed with being Y/n’s senior. Yet the youngest Blackpink member would do the same to Kazuha and Eunchae, telling them to be less formal.

They didn’t know Y/n like Yunjin did, she saw past it all. It was Y/n’s way of carrying out her perfection no matter where she was, to be that sweetheart everyone loved and wanted.

Yunjin sat down on the couch, in the furthest corner, drowning in the truth under her facade that was far from perfect unlike Y/n’s. Yunjin had flaws just like everyone else and like everyone they would shine through these cracks of feigned perfection leaving her imperfect.

Her eyes continued to linger on the older, they held longing, they held suffering, they held that dull melancholy that haunted Yunjin’s everyday life because Y/n was somehow everywhere.

She was either talked about, solo songs played or group songs, billboards, ads, magazines, Chaewon, Kazuha, Eunchae, Sakura, and a row of Yunjin’s friends. Y/n’s name left everyone’s mouth.

Why would she want to escape perfection though? The longer Yunjin lingered around the more it would possibly rub off on her. Could anything ruin Y/n’s perfection? No. Not unless Yunjin would do it. Yunjin knew what was hiding beneath it.

It was uncharacteristic the way Chaewon quickly thumped down the stairs, but Y/n had that effect, didn’t she? Yunjin didn’t look away, watching her sit on the floor in the middle of Kazuha and Eunchae playing video games on the TV.

“I at times can’t tell whether it’s Chaewon or an elephant incoming.” She knew just what to say. Y/n’s charm came with silence but it also came with words so it didn’t matter what she did; everyone looked her way yet Yunjin could see deeper than that and still find her just as jarring.

“She only does that when you come over.”

“I’d do it too if I were her.” That cockiness and confidence that didn’t come off as rude made Eunchae smile even bigger, always enjoying Y/n’s wit like everyone else.

Was Yunjin special? It seemed like Y/n was for everyone but her. How did Chaewon do it? Yunjin was just a secret yet it was hard to handle knowing that Y/n was for everyone.

“Eunchae,” Chaewon warned and Yunjin felt the small smile on her face turn sour as she watched her friend get onto the couch. The guilt and jealousy washed over her again.

What right did she have to feel any jealousy? She didn’t. Y/n was Chaewon’s perfect girlfriend all while breaking Yunjin’s heart because she allowed it to happen. She couldn’t shut Y/n out. Being imperfect around someone who carefully threaded through each hole to finish with perfection rubbed off in the wrong way.

It highlighted everyone else’s flaws; Y/n made Yunjin’s flaws stand out even more.

“Are you ready to leave?” Chaewon hummed, Yunjin couldn’t look away, watching with melancholy dancing in her eyes as the leader sat on the couch behind Y/n. The latter looked up and met Chaewon’s gaze.

“Okay, let me just beat these two and then we can head out,” the complaints from the two youngest only intensified the teasing until they ran out of words and Chaewon was able to speak.

“You can do that another time.”

“I could or I do it now and can avoid them next time to spend all my time with you.” It ushered the two youngest to continue to bicker, Y/n would always be able to lift a room with a few words and a smile.

Yunjin found it an art, no matter how simple it could seem, but a person who knew what to say at any given moment was made to entertain. Y/n was a dream and that’s all she would ever be to Yunjin.

When Chaewon was in the room Y/n’s gaze only lingered on the leader and Yunjin was the only one with a longing gaze; Y/n knew how to make her feel like a ghost. She watched and that’s all she could do; Y/n resting her head against Chaewon’s legs, wishing she could be the one running her fingers through Y/n’s hair, brushing over her skin while talking.

It should have been Yunjin and there were things she regretted, but she couldn’t list them in order or tell if she should regret some of them.

[Present]

In secret Yunjin got everything she wanted during these clandestine meetings. Her fingers brushed through Y/n’s hair, basking in the scent and heat still radiating off of the older whose bare skin pressed against Yunjin’s. It was a warmth she craved every time she saw Y/n, to be in the comfort of the woman, to hold Y/n and give the fallen angel the comfort she craved but never asked for.

All of Y/n’s attention was on her, she was more than just a ghost at these moments; Yunjin became a gestalt that Y/n saw.

This was when she forgot all her regrets, shame and guilt where the moral dilemma washed away from her sight because she was too far in hell to see heaven.

This was when she saw the beauty she could only see when she was with the woman. There was no one else she could share it with. This was when she accepted herself for who she was because she could be herself with Y/n and no one else; no one else knew about her secrets in the end.

In the end all Huh Yunjin wanted was to be loved by her devil.

Instead, this time Yunjin was left wondering if Y/n noticed her for who she was. The person she tried to be for Y/n. The woman whom Yunjin got to hold in her arms at these rare yet frequent moments was so sophisticated; it made Yunjin feel half-witted.

Yunjin read the books Y/n liked, consumed the expensive wine and champagne the woman did, and learned about her favourite art; from poems to paintings. She did her best to change certain views and beliefs, and the way she carried herself. She had done everything, but it was to no avail; Y/n wasn’t hers and didn’t seem to take notice.

Y/n never cared about Yunjin the way she wanted to be cared for, she never saw her, never acknowledged her and it only made her try harder even if Chaewon was the one who caught the singer's attention. How did she do it? It was something Yunjin had always wondered. How Chaewon was the one. How did her friend manage to do what she couldn’t seem to do? What did Chaewon have that she didn’t even after trying to be perfect for Y/n?

“Why do you see me?” It made her wonder even more why Y/n kept seeing her this way. It watered her insecurities and made it feel like her flaws and imperfections bloomed bigger. There had to be something special about Chaewon if they had been in a relationship for five months now. Why did Y/n waste time on Yunjin? Yunjin wasn’t the one wasting time, she willingly spent her time on Y/n.

“I can open up to you.”

She knew that her question was too vague and that Y/n wouldn’t say more than what she asked for. Yunjin had learned but kept repeating the same mistakes, that was partly why she was in the same bed as Y/n. She took what she got as long as it came from Y/n’s palm; Yunjin wouldn’t complain. She had no right to even if she would want to.

“You can do that with Chaewon too…” It came out as a mumble, that heaviness washing over her. Yunjin felt like an idiot, that was usually how Y/n made her feel.

“It’s not the same,” Y/n slipped from her grasp once again without any hesitation or looking back. Yunjin would be the only one to look back or hesitate to let go each time.

Yunjin’s eyes gazed at the woman who sat up, her eyes traced her slim back and all its ridges of perfection. All she did was stab a knife in her friend's back, but it wasn’t like she wasn’t paying for it. Each day there was a knife in Yunjin’s chest and it twisted, twisted, and twisted for all the wrong and right reasons.

“How?” Yet she pressed while being fully aware that only she would get hurt by the end since she had been hurt from the start. In the end, Huh Yunjin never learned from her mistakes, if she got hurt once, she got hurt twice, thrice and it went on until it no longer hurt.

But, Huh Yunjin would let Y/n hurt her over and over again, she’d let the woman hurt her a million times. To have her nick at her heart each day, to make it all die a little inside her each time, but she would still let it happen.

“I can’t open up the same way to someone I love as I can to someone like you.”

Y/n was so cold that she burned. The woman was so cold that it nipped Yunjin's cheeks, leaving them red each night she would cry. Y/n was so cold that Yunjin couldn’t help but try her best to warm her even if it hurt her in the process.

The woman stood up, leaving Yunjin all alone in that cold hotel bed that made her feel worthless. She couldn’t look away though, watching as Y/n slid on the hoodie that she had picked up from the back of her car before they left to get to the room. It was Chaewon’s hoodie. Somehow she always carried a little reminder with her and Yunjin couldn’t understand why she did.

Wasn’t it making Y/n get swallowed by guilt like it did with Yunjin? Y/n wasn’t an open book so she couldn’t figure it out unless Y/n read the pages for her which she had done before.

“I can’t know how understanding she truly is and I can’t afford to lose Chaewon.”

Yunjin licked her lips and deeply exhaled to stop herself from shedding tears all while willingly taking the venom bites Y/n would scatter along her body. She hugged the plain sheets closer to her bare body, pulling her knees closer to get comfort because Y/n would never provide it.

It settled that Y/n could afford to lose her. She was just as replaceable as anyone else in Y/n’s life, the only one who wasn’t was Chaewon. Y/n’s hell consisted of multiple dead and forgotten souls and Yunjin could become one of them at any given moment.

“I doubt you would.” She left Y/n’s frame at last and stared at the blank sheets, her fingers twisting the material. It was tearing her in half, Yunjin was stuck in the middle. She wanted Y/n, but at the same time wanted her friend to be happy yet she didn’t want Chaewon to be played and wanted to let her know that Y/n was a devil in disguise. One that was impossible to resist and was the sweetest angel anyone could stumble upon even if she was a fallen one.

It was messed up, but Yunjin was a bigger mess than the one she created. She saw how happy Chaewon was and she was envious; it could have been her yet it all was wrong. Everything she felt, had done and hadn’t done yet was wrong.

“You can’t say you’re sure she won’t leave or look at me differently. I want to be perfect for her, I don’t want her to stop loving me.” It was what Chaewon fell for in the end, just like everyone else. Y/n’s perfection. The girl was aware of that as her clouded by-gloom eyes looked up through her wet lashes at Y/n.

Tears in the rain.

Y/n would never notice or acknowledge the tears of torment that would run down Yunjin’s cheeks and leave her eyes sore. That ache in her chest would forever only be known to her, the reasons for her sleepless nights, why her pillowcase was soaked in a conflict between loyalty and love.

“It’s not possible to love someone who is too honest and opens up their heart until there’s nothing left to bleed. What heart will beat for her? The truth is ugly and imperfect.”

Yunjin knew that it was true, but it wasn’t set in stone because how did she tell Y/n that the woman had opened up to her, bled her heart dry to Yunjin who hadn’t left? It was possible to love someone who was too honest and opened up fully. Yunjin was still there even if not everyone would and maybe the uncertainty was why Chaewon only got to see perfection.

However, Yunjin loved her for more than her Midas touch, she was there despite the ugly imperfections.

She was also aware of Y/n’s biggest fears; the fear of not being able to maintain the image. The idea of even momentarily showing weakness in front of anyone. To be dependent and vulnerable wasn’t an option. Yunjin knew that Y/n was afraid of that intimacy and maybe that was why she never chose Yunjin. She knew about her vulnerabilities, flaws, insecurities, self-hatred, and self-pity. She knew about all the skeletons in Y/n’s closet.

Yunjin knew Y/n too well, she had seen her vulnerable and weak.

She had been led on, Y/n had played her, cheated in a game Yunjin wasn’t aware they were playing. It ended up with her heart in malady once she saw Y/n with Chaewon after letting herself get dragged through this hell for the woman.

The girl had been fooled and continued to be fooled and she let it happen. All she did was watch it happen.

She met Y/n almost a year ago and from the moment she did she found a deeper meaning in every word Y/n said to her. Yunjin got lost in the picture-perfect world Y/n painted for her. She saw the world with rose-coloured glasses, seeing things she only could with Y/n. Those words made her heart race and ultimately fall to the floor in desperation for the woman, waiting for Y/n to pick it up; it got stepped on instead.

Y/n sold her a world that didn’t exist when she was alone, a world she could only see with Y/n.

Yunjin shouldn’t have taken the words to her heart so easily, but she should have taken them for what they were. A short high that was dwindling more with each time. It came so quickly, it would hit her so hard and fast she could barely register it coming and before she knew it it was over and she would crave more. It felt too good and so she held onto those things even if they meant nothing in the end.

That was why Yunjin was staring out the window of Y/n’s car, submerged in a sudden melancholy, fully aware that even if it all dwindled she wouldn’t be able to feel this way with anyone else. There was no one else she would be able to see these things with other than Y/n.

Had she gotten it all that wrong? Had it all been in her head all this time? That there could have been something more before Chaewon?

“When can I see you again?” She was like a court jester, but she wasn’t entertaining anyone unless she enjoyed having her own heart shattered. The way Huh Yunjin acted made it look like she did. She took anything she could.

Her gaze shifted away from the window as her reflection was too clear while they sat in silence in the car. It was the ugly truth, reflecting right at her, she was turning into someone she wasn’t for someone she loved, but would never get love from. What made it much more excruciating was how painfully aware she was of it and how she still tried.

It was poison, Y/n had infected her with her poison and there was no cure for it. It was there to ruin Yunjin and everything around her. It didn’t change how she would still always run to Y/n to get fed more of it.

“I'm flying out to L.A. tomorrow to work on my album and then I’m heading to Coachella. I guess we will see each other there.”

Yunjin looked away as Y/n’s eyes weren’t even subtly glancing her way, the woman wasn’t sparing her any glances. She looked down at her lap, picking at her nails more and more the longer the silence lingered. There was hope that Y/n would acknowledge her misery, in the end, the jester was supposed to be a fool for someone else’s entertainment.

Had she entertained Y/n enough for one night? Did she manage to give her enough in two hours? Yunjin knew that she wasn’t enough, but she wanted to be close to it. To at least touch upon the perfection Y/n was looking for, the one that Chaewon carried.

It tugged on her heart that she had worn on her sleeve, dragging it along with her and letting it bleed dry for someone who didn’t want her blood on their hands.

“Yunjin…”

It made her look up, her heart fluttering in desperation for oxygen only Y/n could provide her when a hand slid over to hers. Y/n’s cold skin brushed over hers, the little embers of her high hoping for a blow so it wouldn’t disappear and could continue because it would let Yunjin fall asleep without crying. Foolish hope bloomed within her, continuously playing herself as she hummed and looked at Y/n who was looking her in the eye. The blackest and dullest yet masked with radiant front eyes that anyone could get lost in.

As always she took anything she could get from Y/n who reached her other hand over to Yunjin’s face. Fingers gently traced along her jaw before brushing away the red strands of hair and fingers tangling at the back of her head. It was these moments when her world got to see the light again and made her believe that the pain she felt wouldn’t be evermore.

She could get lost in Y/n’s eyes and she did, Yunjin did so every single time and she did it so easily. Those deceiving eyes, the ones of the she-devil herself, the ones she broke all her promises for because each time, Yunjin promised herself to never go back again. However, she couldn’t resist the temptation of Y/n’s lips against hers even if it tore her apart after.

At least Yunjin was comfortable in this hell with this woman who was her devil.

It made her insides rumble with each stroke of Y/n’s lips on hers, Yunjin’s fingers gripping onto the older one's hoodie to avoid facing her fears of losing someone she didn’t have. They rumbled until everything inside of her was destroyed when Y/n pulled away, barely being able to pull away as she mumbled those words right between Yunjin’s parted lips;

“Make sure Chaewon doesn’t find out. You don’t want to lose a friend.”

And suddenly Yunjin wanted to scream and cry all over again about how Y/n ruined her and made her a mess she never knew she could be. That high never lasted as long as she wished it would and Y/n was the one to pull away from Yunjin as if she burned. She did burn, didn’t she? In the end, she had been trying her best to melt the ice that Y/n was, the coldness that Yunjin’s heart fought against, refusing to freeze and stop feeling for the woman.

Y/n surely was sweet like honey but stung like the bees that made it.

All she did was nod because she couldn’t trust her voice, especially when Y/n wouldn’t care for the crack in Yunjin that she caused again. The air felt colder than usual as she stepped out of the car and closed the door after her without a glance from Y/n. She barely managed to step away and the car was already driving away.

The pain was evermore; the second she stepped out from the hell where she forgot everything she was back in the agonising and never-ending dilemma where the lines between right and wrong blurred.

Each time she realised something new; this time was the fact that Y/n had never been the one to ask to see her. Yunjin was always the first one running to her, calling and texting, checking when she could see her. How she was the one to initiate every little thing even as far as being the first one to go for it even after finding out that her friend was in a relationship with Y/n.

Yunjin was always the first to break her own heart for Y/n.

And so she stood in the elevator, going up after being down in hell. Pulling the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands before gently wiping away the tears in her eyes. The lump in her throat hurt, it was like the core of her pain, waiting to be spat out and brought to light, but she couldn’t do it.

Yunjin couldn’t ruin this for Chaewon more than she already had. It hadn’t affected her friend yet, it was only ruining Yunjin who would keep sweeping everything under the rug. There was only so much she could hide under it until the bump would be noticeable though.

If she told Chaewon that Y/n was cheating on her she would be devastated, especially since Y/n wasn’t supposed to be capable of breaking her heart. Y/n was too perfect to break a heart, to break a promise, to ruin the beauty of love. If she told Chaewon, if it would come out in any way she would lose just as much as the girl, if not even more. Yunjin saw it for what it was and what it was, was that Y/n had left her with the short end of the stick.

Her breaths only grew heavier with each floor and staring up at the fluorescent light to keep her tears in did barely anything.

Chaewon would hate her.

Y/n would hate her.

She would lose both and she was stuck in a dilemma.

The promise of never seeing Y/n again repeated itself in her head, convincing herself that this time it would be for real, but she knew it would get broken the second she had the chance to do so. In the end, these burdens would be stuck with her.

If she told Chaewon that Y/n was cheating on her with her then she would lose a friend, but not telling her was making Yunjin a terrible person which she already was. No matter how she would tell Chaewon that she was being cheated on yet loved more than anything at the same time, Yunjin would lose Y/n.

Her thoughts were too disorienting and the walk to her room ended by the couch in the dark apartment. It was all pure torment on her heart and hurt more than anything. With her head buried in her hands, she tried her best to calm down, to keep her promise of not going back, but she didn’t want to lose Y/n either–it didn’t matter if she didn’t have her. However, she didn’t want to keep hurting Chaewon, but she couldn’t simply stop and never say anything even if her friend was the happiest when Y/n was perfect for her.

This was all on her in the end as Y/n wouldn’t ask to see her either way. It was in Yunjin’s hands to stop hurting her friend by no longer being selfish because of love.

“Where were you?”

It startled her, it felt like she got caught red-handed as she flinched, her heart racing, building up nausea in her and the tears increased tenfold. Yunjin looked up with a sniffle and quickly wiped at her eyes.

“I was on a run.” Her voice shook like her whole body was doing on the inside.

“Are you sure?” This time Yunjin’s lies didn’t work and the house made up of perfect lies was starting to show the flaws she had failed to conceal. The fragile house was starting to crack under the pressure and she was doing everything in her to hold it up, but Yunjin was breaking down with it.

“No.” She mumbled and looked away from Chaewon who frowned.

The floor gently creaked under the girl’s feet, Yunjin couldn’t look up, staring down as she constantly wiped away the stinging tears. How could she look her in the eye when she knew the truth but didn’t reveal it? The truth that Chaewon should know.

Yunjin was scared of the countless waves of pain she would have to endure once she revealed it to her. It left her pulling at straws, trying her best to come up with a way to say it without having to suffer more than she already had by loving Y/n. Yunjin was exhausted from the pain she had willingly been going through just to be seen.

Y/n’s scent occupied them–Chaewon was wearing her girlfriend’s hoodie, it was the same hoodie Yunjin once wore when it was just her and the older woman. It was before their beautiful meetings turned into a secret kept from any light that wasn’t the moon.

The couch dipped, and silence fell upon them, but the cracks were starting to fill up with Yunjin’s silent cries, the pain she had held inside. Those lies were starting to shine through. Why was it so difficult? The truth was doing everything to push through them and ruin everything for them and herself.

“Are you okay Yunjin?”

She shook her head, Yunjin was far from okay, she couldn’t remember the last time anything felt okay. Everything that used to be perfect was ruined, her love for Y/n was ruining her, the lies were eating at her, and the guilt was something she drowned in and hadn’t tried to swim up from. Y/n was ruining her. It was all becoming too hard to bear and she was about to give up at the pressure.

“No.” She took a deep breath in, her sleeves were soaked with tears, and her eyelids felt sore from the rough material that she wiped them with. It was all she could do because there was no one to wipe them for her. Did she deserve someone like that? Someone who would be there for her and wipe her tears? It didn’t feel like she did.

Yunjin would continue running to her source of pain though. She would continue doing it even if she promised herself not to because the source of pain was also the only source that made her feel that high that numbed the pain. Her source of pain was the only escape from this misery, the only time she got to see beautiful colours in the ugly.

“What is it?”

It broke something inside Yunjin as Chaewon placed her hand on her shoulder, gently rubbing it, almost coaxing those words out of her because she couldn’t hold the guilt. She would die in it if she didn’t try to swim up and continued to willingly sink in these lies and feelings. It was all killing her. She never wanted to ruin anything for Chaewon or Y/n, but it was ruining her to the core, to a point of what felt like no return if she didn’t break more promises.

Everything she had gone over in her head, about how she would die with these secrets was becoming a blur. How she would let Chaewon be happy, how she would let Y/n be perfect, the urge to continue sweeping everything under the rug was turning into one of removing it and showing all her dirt. The pressure her feelings were putting on her was destroying her glass house and it got harder not to hurt anyone else but herself.

“I’m sorry…” Was all that she could push through, whispering those words through a shaky breath as her throat filled up with tears. She was choking on these burdens she caused herself, losing herself in them.

It made her wonder if things would be different if she never introduced the two after befriending Y/n. Or maybe she would be in Chaewon’s shoes right now, but at least she would have been the one Y/n loved, not the one she used to let out everything to then only have love left for her girlfriend.

Y/n would never hurt Chaewon; Yunjin wouldn’t be hurting if she were in Chaewon’s shoes as long as the truth was kept secret. Right now, the person who would suffer the most was Yunjin if she told the complete truth.

It was followed by yet another silence, the hand on her shoulder stilling and Yunjin could feel the dread. She could feel the consequences of her actions heavily weighing on her shoulders depending on what would come out of her mouth next.

“It’s okay.”

She couldn’t understand her guilt, knowing very well that it was a choice and now she was receiving sympathy from the girl she was hurting.

Chaewon’s hand moved again and Yunjin let the older girl pull her in, resting her head on her shoulder as Chaewon wrapped an arm around her shoulders, giving her comfort. She stared ahead at the dark TV screen, her tears running as she snivelled with her mouth sealed by fear and shame. This wasn’t Yunjin so how could she admit to doing something that was unlike her?

Chaewon deserved better and Yunjin knew it, but in everyone’s eyes Y/n was the best and she was in Yunjin’s eyes too.

Chaewon fell for Y/n’s perfection.

Yunjin fell for all her flaws and found perfection in them while she hated herself for being so flawed, for hurting her friend and not being able to admit to her sins. Yunjin was too scared to admit to her sins, but she couldn’t let everything else eat at her for much longer or she would suffer even more. She couldn’t leave her friend in the dark.

There were other sins she could bring to light.

“Chaewon…Y/n is cheating on you.”

Sins that weren’t hers.

masterlist

a/n; i hope it was enjoyable/good cause i was struggling. i couldn't feel satisfied with this one despite rereading it three times and am still a bit unsure about whether or not this was good tbh.

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luvologyy · 26 days ago

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Crew headcannons.

Characters: Anya, daisuke, curly (before crash), Swansea, jimmy..(ik ik🙄)

Dating headcannons next ! ᵔᴗᵔ

A/N: my first post hai guys 𖥔 ࣪ ᥫ᭡

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Anya

Age: 27 ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ

Height: 5'6

Anya is Vietnamese and Brazilian 🇧🇷🇻🇳 her mom is Vietnamese, and her dad is from Brazil.

Graduated at the age of 18

She's closer to her Vietnamese side of her family but still close with her dad's side

She's the oldest sister over her younger brother and sister

She's bisexual but prefers women

LOVES TABBY CATS AND PERSIAN CATSS

Her favorite subjects in school were math and science

Has a small shelf with shoes, sandals, and slippers near her front door

NEVER WEARS SHOES INSIDEE ALWAYS.

Used to have doctors play kits and play doctor with her dad when she was a kid🩷

She prefers wine over any other kind of alcohol. Fancy.

She uses rose scents or clean scented hygiene products/perfume (daisuke HATES when she uses floral stuff)

HATES seafood.

Is an older sister figure to daisuke, always looking out for him

She used to smoke then quitted (proud of her)

Dresses in frilly long skirts with bigger shirts and cardigans for everyday clothes

Wears sm eyeliner or mascara she literally brings like 6 tube's of each

Wear doc Martin loafers

Loves Sims 4

Listens to artists/bands like The Cranberries, TV girl, Clairo, Laufey, Beabadoobee, MARINA, and Lana Del Rey.

She'd rather smell like roses or raspberries

Her favorite color is purple

Daisuke

Age: 22 ᵔᴗᵔ

Height: 5'11

His full name is Daisuke Juarez

He's filipino and Hawaiian 🇵🇭 (WHERE MY FILIPINOS ATT?)

Gooner.

He listens to K-pop groups like stray kids, enhypen, or kiss of life

He listens to artists/bands like Steve Lacy, beabadoobee, Tyler the creator, creepy nuts, frank ocean, and sun-kissed Lola

LOVES LISTENING TO ATARASHII GAKKO

SOME BEABADOOBEE REFFERANCES IN HEREE.

He's from Californiaa

He smells like oranges or fruit punch

Daisuke is fluent in tagolog

Taught Swansea to say "putang Ina" thinking it meant "thank you" 💀

Him cackling in the corner when Swansea says it to the other crew members.. hay nako.

Likes watching ghibli movies, his fav ghibli movie is spirited away.

Sometimes, accidently calls anya "ate anya" (ate = older sister) he gets embarrassed but anya doesn't mind it.

He plays baseball

Gossips about old people from school with anya

LOVES PHÓ NOODLES (anya would always make it)

Loves building lego sets

If he was in the hunger games, he would die IMMEDIATELY. He'll just start crying

Daisukes a horrible liar. HE'LL LIE ABOUT THE MOST STUPIDEST THINGS.

Reader: "daisuke, did you take my candy bar?"

"... no." The wrapper sticking our his pocket..

*You raise your eyebrow at him*

* sigh* "yeah.."

He thinks that santa is real

He would have anime girl posters in his room😭

He likes reptiles. He'd have a pet beared dragon and put tiny hats on it

He collects Pokémon cards

He likes beetles

Daisukes favorite drinks are Arizona teas or apple cider

SNORES SO LOUDLY.

Captain Curly

Age: 35 ˊˎ-

Height: 6'5

He's Australian 🇦🇺 NO DENYING.

He moved to the U.S. in his early teens (13 or 14) with the rest of his family, then met Jimmy in high school

Actually enjoys watching YouTube shorts..

He'd have the newest or most expensive iPhone and not know how to use it 😭

HE CRIES WHILE WATCHING DISNEY MOVIES.. what a REAL man.

PLEASEE teach this man to season his food😭🙏 ITLL SAVE HIS LIFE.

Decorates his house in Christmas decorations as soon as November starts

He's sings in the shower and wears shower caps (he's extra like that)

Played hockey in high school

PLEASE INTRODUCE YOUR CULTURES FOOD TO HIM, it'll be his new favorite

Snores but isn't as loud as daisuke

He loves history. It was his favorite subject in school

He smells like clean laundry

Uses dove products or method bodywash

Has containers of protein powder

Goes to the gym almost everymorning

He still has an Australian accent (MMMH🙈)

He's allergic to peanuts or other nuts straight up (he missing outt)

Growing up, he had a tree house in his backyard and hung out with Jimmy when they were teens, and they always decorated it with posters and lights

Went to military school with Jimmy

He's such a millennial.. he'd laugh at the most unfunniest Facebook quotes. It's sad.

"Cmon, you can't say this is so funny!"

"Curly, it's not that funny.."

"IT makes sense though!"

"CAPTAIN NO.."

"..aw."

He always helped Jimmy with his school work in high school

He HATES it when people crack their knuckles. HATES IT

He likes musicals his favorites are Hamilton and Chicago

He keeps old trophies and jerseys from his high school hockey team hung up on shelves or frames

He listens to punk floyd, cigarettes after sex, the weekend, beyonce, and sade

Jimmy

Age: 34 ᝰ.ᐟ

Height: 6'2

He's polish and white 🇺🇸🇵🇱

He drinks really bitter black coffee. He thinks adding sugar ruins it.

He smells like cigarettes and liquor

He only uses men scented products (idek if he showers but wtv)

He met curly in highschool

He always skipped class and snuck out of school while curly was the exact opposite

He took a little Spanish in highschool

He also went to military school with curly and made him sneak out of campus with him

He listens to divorced dad rock like blink 182, linkin park, limp bizkit, ac/dc, and radio head

Listens to other artists, too like icp, judas priest, metallica, Nirvana, Rob Zombie, or ozzy osbourne

He used to steal or break into cars when he was in his teens.

He lived with his dad and older brother after he lost his mom at a young age.

He sleeps in his underwear. If not, he's sleeping in pj pants with no shirt

His favorite subjects in high school were gym and history

Even though he skipped class, he still has favorites!

Besides the rock and metal he'll listen to, he loves listening to SADE. (It's his guilty pleasure for him) aww

Every time he'll listen to SADE, it'll remind him of his mom he lost

Thinks toaster struddles are better than pop tarts

He used to smoke weed, I can kinda see it in him.

He honestly likes chemistry and math, even if they weren't his favorites

SUCKED ASS in English class, He couldn't write poems and essays for shit.

Swansea

Age: 58 ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ

Height: 5'10

MERICAAA🇺🇸🔥 RAHH

Married to his wife of 30 years (sorry, Swansea fans)

He sneezes so LOUDLY

He snores like a loud train

Has 2 daughters and 1 son

Likes cooking barbecue

He likes to take his family camping and teaches his kids how to fish

He definitely shops at Costco or Sam's club

He'd get confused when his daughters would put selfie filters on him, but he doesn't mind. Whatever makes em happy

He always puts his kids in sports clubs

He used to be a coach for baseball

A/N: sorry these suck😑

#mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #captain curly x reader #daisuke #mouthwashing headcanon #headcanon #˚ ༘ .˚🌱୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

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mxltifxnd0m · 4 months ago

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hotter than fire ࿔ s. stilinski

summary: a heat wave has hit beacon hills and the pack spends a day at lydia's pool

pairings: stiles stilinski x reader, stiles stilinski x fem! reader

word count: 2.7K

warnings: no use of y/n, fluff, kissing/making out, one mention of sex

a/n: RAHH this fic took a little longer than anticipated bc writers block is a bitch and i had to rewrite the beginning bc i hated it :) but the title is a lyric from west coast by lana del rey!

please be sure to comment and reblog! it helps out a lot and i love seeing your thoughts on the fic!!

𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘬𝘪 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

The cool July night air brought little reprieve to your sticky skin as you sat on the edge of Lydia's pool, staring into the illuminated pool. You snuck out of the dark living room as the rest of the pack was watching a random movie that Lydia had on DVD, wanting to take a breather to yourself. As much as you loved hanging out with your friends, you wanted a little time to yourself since today was a little overstimulating. Living in the middle of Northern California wasn't any fun when a heat wave struck.

The humidity made everything feel damp and made you want to crawl out of your skin. All you wanted to do was cease to exist when one of the worst heat waves hit Beacon Hills. Each time you went outside, it was like stepping into one of the circles of hell, and your only saving grace was the A/C that was on blast in your house.

The last thing you wanted to deal with after the shitshow that was Beacon Hills' problem with the supernatural was the heat. But as fate would have it, the A/C in your house had broken in the morning. Your parents were on a business trip, so you were left home alone with no working A/C, and the only thing that was keeping you cool was the tile flooring of your kitchen and cold showers.

Then Lydia, being your savior, invited everyone to a pool day. You had to ask if you could stay over with her for a few days until your parents came back and got someone to fix the A/C. Lydia asked her mom, and thankfully, she said yes. So when you arrived at her house, you had a duffle bag in one hand and some drinks in the other for the pool day. Since you were the first one at Lydia's house, you helped her get set up, like helping prep the snacks and making sure the inflatables that Lydia had in storage were blown up.

The pack eventually showed up, and that's when the fun began for the six of you (Liam was busy, so he couldn't come to the pool day). You spent most of the day in and out of the water, but most of the time, you were in the cool water since you couldn't bear the heat. You had to force yourself to look away from Stiles at times because your eyes would always find him and study the freckles that covered the length of his back and some of his chest. Then, you would always catch Lydia giving you a knowing look and a sly smile as she sunbathed on one of the lounge chairs outside of the pool. But at different points in the day, you could have sworn you could feel a burning stare on you, but you never caught the culprit.

As the sun fell, you guys eventually got out of the pool and rinsed off, either in the outdoor shower that Lydia had or in the bathrooms inside. You decided to take an actual shower since you couldn't stand the feel of chlorine lingering in your hair. Once you were done, you padded downstairs in some old boxers of your dad's and a plain blue baby tee that you would wear to sleep. You (heard) found the pack in the living room, crowded around the pizzas that you would later find out that Lydia's mom had ordered for the six of you.

The living room was filled with lively chatter as you guys ate, talking about the upcoming school year and complaining about the heat. A poll was going around about what movie you guys would watch as you finished the pizza. Once the movie was picked, you figured that popcorn wasn't going to be made by itself, so you volunteered to make it. As you got up, Stiles stood up along with you, and he sat across from you.

You looked at him with a raised brow.

He shrugged. "I figured you'll need help carrying the bags back." Stiles said as he wiped his hands on the back of his thighs.

The creaking of the door that led to the backyard broke you out of your thoughts as you raised your head, resting on your knees from staring at the water, and turned your head to see Stiles sticking his head out of the door. His whiskey-colored eyes met yours as he made his way out of the house. You gave him a half smile, feeling your heartbeat pick up as he smiled back at you.

You were grateful that he wasn't a werewolf or had enhanced hearing. You took in Stiles as he made his way over to you. He was wearing a red shirt and some black joggers he had changed into after the pool, and his hair was flat and sticking to his forehead since there wasn't any product in it.

You untucked your knees from your chest and put your feet in the water. The cool water felt refreshing on your skin, the water coming up to your mid-calf. Stiles came to sit next to you, leaving only but a foot of space between the two of you, and he rolled his joggers to mirror you, putting his feet in the water.

"Hi." Stiles greeted you as he turned to face you.

You smiled at him as you looked at him. "Hey."

He pursed his lips as he looked around for a brief moment and looked back at you.

"So, uh. Nice weather we're having right?"

You chuckled at his awkwardness. "Yeah, it is. If you minus the humidity, it's pretty alright." You said while nodding at him.

A silence settled between you and Stiles. You leaned back on your hands as you let your head fall backward and looked up at the stars. They were out tonight, and they were scattered throughout the sky. Some weren't bright, and a few looked like they were planes, but the bright ones, they looked like they were twinkling.

You let out a contented sigh. "The sky is pretty tonight."

"Yeah," You heard Stiles clear his throat. "It is." He all but whispered, but you still heard him, even over the chirping of the crickets nearby.

You felt the familiar burning stare you had felt earlier today as you swam, and you pulled your eyes away from the sky to find Stiles looking at you intently. As your eyes met his, Stiles seemed to snap out of his daze and averted his eyes back toward the water. You smirked to yourself as you sat back up.

Suddenly, confidence filled your veins when you shuffled to sit closer to Stiles, your shoulders brushing against each other as you leaned forward and tried to catch Stiles's gaze, but it seemed that he was avoiding your eyes. You saw a faint red hue against his sun-kissed cheeks, his moles and freckles scattered throughout his face and neck as the glow from the pool light that illuminated his features.

"Stiles." You called out to him.

He looked at you slowly, his eyes timid as he licked his bottom lip nervously. Your eyes flickered down to his lips at his actions before they quickly snapped back to his eyes.

"Were you staring at me instead of the sky?" You couldn't help but say with a teasing smirk dancing on your lips.

You can see Stiles get visibly more flustered, the faint blush on his cheeks now spreading to his ears and neck.

"Wh-what? Pff no." Stiles tried to deny it, but he wasn't convinced of himself either.

You couldn't help but giggle and lean towards him. "If it makes you feel better, I liked that you were looking at me."

Stiles's eyes widened slightly as he looked at you in disbelief. "Really?" He asked dumbly.

"Mhm." You bit your bottom lip as you tried to contain the wide grin that threatened to appear on your face as you nodded at him. You noticed his eyes were blown out as they flitted down your lips before meeting your eyes.

"Do you want to kiss me Stiles?" You asked boldly.

It seemed that your question short-circuited him. "Huh?" Was the only thing he could respond with.

You huffed out a laugh through your nose. "I asked you if you wanted to kiss me." You said as you leaned even more toward him. At this point, your noses were touching, and your lips threatened to brush against his.

You saw Stiles swallow thickly before nodding.

"Words, Stiles. I need words." You whispered.

"I want to kiss you so badly." Stiles let the words fall out of his mouth, not even bothering to filter his words.

You smirked as you brushed your lips against his before pulling back slightly. "You're gonna have to catch me first." You said before pulling back entirely from him and getting up from your place on the edge of the pool, the water sloshing around from the sudden movement.

You laughed at the dumbfounded look on his face as you started to run through Lydia's big backyard. It seemed that the water lapping at Stiles's leg and your laugh broke him out of his stupor, and he immediately jumped into action. He quickly got up from his position and saw that you were on the opposite side of the pool from him, with a grin on your face.

Stiles couldn't help but start smiling at your infectious smile and darted to the right, trying to get to you as fast as he could. You swiftly went in the opposite direction; now, this was the start of the cat-and-mouse game between the two of you. You ran in circles around the pool a couple of times, hiding behind the pillars that surrounded the pool if Stiles managed to get on the same side you were on, but you were slowly getting tired, so you decided when you were on the shorter end of the pool, you ran towards the doors.

But before you could even make it to the steps of the awning that led to the doors of the backyard, you had forgotten that Stiles was taller than you and had a longer stride, so you squealed when you felt him grab your waist from behind and hoisted you in the air in his arms. He spun you guys around, Stiles and your joyous laughter filling the quiet night with a certain warmth and affection that could be only found in lovestruck teens.

Stiles eventually stopped spinning and set you down, your back facing the pool as you guys were near the edge of it. His grip on you wasn't tight, but his hands never fell from your hips as you spun around and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. The both of you had identical breathless smiles on your faces as Stiles rested his forehead against yours. One of your hands moved to rest on the nape of his neck and played with the short hairs there as you stared at Stiles.

His usual whiskey-colored eyes were blown out, and he only saw a sliver of his eye color.

"I caught you." Stiles said as he calmed down, his chest heaving slightly.

You smiled. "You did."

"Can I kiss you?" Stiles asked with a whisper.

Instead of responding, you tilted your head and placed your lips on his. The kiss was hesitant, testing the waters as you felt the softness of Stiles's lips. It was short, but it still filled your veins with warmth as he pulled back from it. You opened your eyes, a soft smile on your lips. Stiles's eyes were filled with desire and something else, but you couldn't tell because he had all but slammed his lips against yours, pulling you into a passionate kiss.

Stiles pulled you closer to him as one of his hands began to move and rest on your waist, the other moving higher to cup your cheek as he swiped at your bottom lip with his tongue. You couldn't help but let a soft noise leave the back of your throat as you tasted the salt and butter from the popcorn he was eating earlier as his tongue explored your mouth. You unconsciously tugged at Stiles's hair, making him groan loudly, sending a vibration through you and down to your core, feeling the warmth beginning to grow in your belly.

Neither of you noticed, but Stiles was pushing the two of you backward, and before you knew it, the cold water of the pool enveloped the two of you. The two of you broke away from each other and quickly swam to the surface of the pool. Once you wiped the water from your eyes, you looked at Stiles with wide eyes before you started to chuckle. Then your chuckle turned into a full-blown laughing fit. Then you heard Stiles begin to join you in your hysterical laughter.

Once you calmed down, you swam a short distance towards Stiles and wrapped your arms around his shoulders once again. He grabbed your waist before his hands slid down to your thighs and maneuvered you to wrap your legs around his waist.

Both of you were still smiling widely at each other. You leaned down slightly to place your lips on Stiles's again. The change in scenery didn't stop you at all from kissing Stiles. You knew once you had kissed Stiles, it would be impossible to stop. You guys traded kisses ranging from passionate to slow ones as Stiles waded in the water. You guys lost yourselves in each other, time ceasing to exist as you ran your hands through Stiles's wet hair and Stiles's hands gripping your thighs firmly.

Eventually, when you broke away for air, a slight breeze blew through the air, and a shiver racked your body.

Stiles frowned. "We should probably get out before someone catches us making out in Lydia's pool." He joked slightly as he started to move you guys to the shallow end.

"Too late!" You heard Lydia's voice echo throughout the backyard.

The two of you both jumped, and your heads snapped to see Lydia standing a little ways away from the pool with her arms crossed and a smug smile on her face. You quickly escaped from Stiles's grip as the two of you got out of the pool. You both looked at her sheepishly.

Lydia tossed you two spare towels that were on the lounge chair nearby. "Glad you two finally figured it out. But if you're staying over Stiles, keep the noise to a minimum please." She said before heading back inside.

You saw out of the corner of your eye that Stiles rolled his eyes at Lydia but began drying off. You couldn't help but let out a little chuckle, making his head jerk towards you.

"Something funny?" Stiles asked as he dried his hair with the towel.

"Nope." You said as you toweled off as best as you could.

Stiles wrapped his towel around his neck and took a step towards you. At this point, you weren't dripping wet, but your clothes still clung to you. His eyes roamed up and down your body, as he used his index finger to make you look at him. You could see the lust fill his eyes, and you placed a hand on his chest before he could take another step.

"Down, boy." You said jokingly. "We'll have time for that later, besides I don't want to have sex in Lydia's house of all places."

Stiles started to sputter. "Wh-what! What makes you think I wanted to have sex with you? No! I meant I do, but like-"

You quickly silenced his ramblings with a quick kiss before pulling back. "I got it Stiles. Again, we'll have time for that later." You said before sending him a reassuring smile.

Stiles nodded sharply. "Right, right. It'll happen. Wait. Does that mean that we're together now?"

An amused chuckle left your lips. "Yeah, I hope so."

"Then we are." Stiles said with a goofy smile on his face, clearly elated at the notion of the two of you being together.

"Okay then boyfriend, let's get inside because I'm in desperate need of changing out of these wet clothes."

"Okay, let's go girlfriend."

128 notes · View notes

oceandolores · 2 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 19

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"Every time I close my eyes , it's like a dark paradise"

summary: you met someone you thought you will never see again

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 19

masterlist!

previous | chapter 18

next | chapter 20

Joel’s days bled into nights, each second stretching painfully into the next as he searched for you, his desperation sinking into his bones, gnawing at the core of him. It had been a year—a long, relentless year without you. And yet, each time the sun set, he felt the ache deepen, as if it were the first day all over again.

He barely slept, barely ate, his mind only running through endless, frayed memories and half-seen shadows, trying to piece together the face of the man who took you.

In his hands, the maps were worn soft, smudged with the faint ink of hastily scribbled notes, each line a fragment of his obsession. Every lead brought him from one shabby motel to another, each with rooms that smelled of stale smoke and peeling paint, rooms that looked like places where people vanished.

And still, you weren’t there.

Each disappointment drove him further into the kind of desperation that made him push aside his pride and seek help. He went back to Frank and Bill. They did what they could to help Joel, sheltering him, keeping him out of the FBI’s reach, printing missing posters and scattering them across countless towns, reaching strangers who might hold a shred of information.

Anything to bring you back.

Back home, Tommy, Maria, and Ellie were waging their own quiet battle to find you, doing all they could without raising suspicion. Their quiet alliance held the family together as the months dragged on, sharing hushed updates through phone calls that grew more desperate, more strained.

Ellie tried to keep her hopes up, imagining you somewhere safe, waiting for rescue. But in her heart, she could sense the tremor of fear that everyone else tried to hide.

Alone, Joel grew unraveled, each night lost to bottles of booze that only burned his throat and numbed nothing. He let the papers pile around him, scraps littering tables and floors, covering the walls of Frank and Bill's guest room as if he could somehow will them into an answer.

Sometimes, he’d find himself whispering to the empty air, as though you could hear him, as if his voice might reach through the miles. He pictured your face—so vividly, it ached—wondering if you felt him out there, searching.

Joel held that crumpled, fraying photo, it was the photo of him and you in Houston night fair a year ago. His thumb brushing over your face frozen in that photo booth smile.

It was a memory he clung to in moments of weakness—when everything had been beautiful and right, when he still believed the world held space for happiness.

“Where are you, doll? Come back to me... I can’t do this without you.” His voice cracked, swallowed by the darkness. Every silence, every cold night, brought him closer to madness. He could almost hear you whispering back, as if in the ghostly hush, your spirit hovered just beyond reach.

But across that unseen distance, your reality was twisted, tethered to the darkest kind of survival. Negan’s shadow stretched over you, growing more sinister, feeding off your misery, his cruelty sharpening with every "client" he sent your way.

Each encounter made you sick; the nauseating dread gnawed at your insides until you turned numb. He forced you to swallow handfuls of pills, snort lines of powder until the world blurred, all to make you obedient.

And you were compliant now, the fight in you dimmed to a silent acceptance. Resistance meant pain, bruises, and the relentless smirk on his face as he reminded you who held all the power. So you learned to still yourself, to play dead, just to survive the hell.

Each night, you sank further, disappearing into the numbness the drugs provided, the feeling of survival slipping through your fingers. The hollow shell you’d become didn’t fight him, didn’t flinch under his gaze or resist when his rough hands traced over your skin, marking you in ways that left scars deeper than any wound.

He raped you over and over again. Every night, almost every day.

One night, he gave you a room of your own. A twisted gift of “freedom.”, a mockery of comfort in this prison where he kept you. He still came to you each night, creeping into the darkness, and if you moved or whimpered, his hand would clamp over your mouth as he told you, sweet as sugar, not to fight, that “we’re just playing house.”

You could barely keep your eyes open, the haze of sleeping pills thick in your head. His sickly-sweet games bled into the hours until you lost track of time. By morning, your body felt like a shell, hollow and sore, skin pulled tight over bones.

And that smell—it clung to the air, especially strong near the heavy metal door down the hall that Negan kept locked tight. A rancid, metallic odor, a reminder of something you’d rather not know.

You avoided looking at the fridge, too, its shelves stuffed with slabs of meat that didn’t look like anything from a grocery store. Your stomach turned at the thought, and you took to cooking whatever you could, clinging to some shred of normalcy with pancakes and eggs, anything but that meat.

But when Negan stomped into the kitchen that morning and you put the pancakes on his plate, his face twisted with disgust. His hand shot out, sending the plate crashing to the floor as he barked, “You call this breakfast?” You flinched, heart hammering in your chest.

“There’s nothing left, just the meat,” you managed to whisper, trying to calm him, to avoid the sting of his rage.

But his face darkened, and he hissed, “Then eat the damn meat.” Nodding, you moved to the fridge, pulling it open, but before you could even start, the nausea hit you hard.

You stumbled to the bathroom, stomach heaving, bile rising as you clung to the edge of the sink. It had been days of this—dizzy spells, constant nausea, a weakness that wouldn’t fade.

You asked him, once, to take you to a doctor, but he’d only laughed, brushing off your words as if they were nothing.

But that morning, as you knelt there, Negan’s mocking voice drifted from the kitchen. “You sure got a weak stomach, sweetheart. Or wait,” he paused, as if a dark thought dawned on him.

“you wouldn’t be knocked up, would you?” His words sliced through the air, and in an instant, dread filled your veins.

Negan’s grin spread, a slow, dark realization flickering in his gaze. He tilted his head, studying the growing horror in your expression. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Got something to tell me?”

You tried to dismiss the thought, No, every clients always use condoms or pull out, there's rules, strict rules by Negan that everyone need to follow.

"Alright, tell me which one of ’em didn’t pull out, huh? You let one of ’em break the rules?” His tone shifting from amusement to something far darker, his voice is low, cruel and invasive, as if he could peel back your skin and see into every memory you wanted to erase.

You shook your head, unable to hold back the tremor in your voice. “No one… they all followed the rules..." Then the realization hit you.

No.

No, It couldn’t be.

You couldn’t carry his child.

Negan’s smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction. “Guess that leaves only me, then,” His fingers grazed over your jaw, tilting your face up.

"Goddamn, I knocked you up, didn't I?" He mocked you with his laugh and a big grin on his face.

“Guess we’ll be a real family now, huh, sweetheart?” You shuddered listen to what he said, nausea twisting into a spiraling fear.

The room spun as panic clawed at your chest. A child bound to this, bound to him, a part of him, growing inside you, chaining you to this nightmare forever.

This couldn’t be happening. You can't bring a child into this prison, no. Not with him.

The thought ignited a fire of panic deep within your chest, yet you felt paralyzed, frozen in his grip. Your hands trembled, and a numbness spread through your veins. The world around you blurred, his face, his voice, everything distorting in a haze of disbelief and horror.

***

Tonight’s your last client for a while, he’d said, with a twisted grin that made you feel sick to your core. He wanted you to carry his child, to tie you to him with an unbreakable chain, to make you his forever.

The thought was unbearable, a darkness spreading through you, filling every corner of your mind with a terrible dread.

You kept your face blank, expression as smooth and placid as a lake’s surface while your insides churned. You couldn’t let him see the fear, the desperate calculations racing through your mind.

But every time you imagined the life inside you, growing, becoming a part of this nightmare, the dread swelled, crashing over you like a wave.

That afternoon, Negan took you to the grocery store, his hand firm around your arm as he steered you through the aisles. He had that sharp glint in his eye, the one that warned you not to cross him.

Normally, you did this on your own, gathering what you needed while he watched from his truck outside. But today, he hovered close, his presence a constant reminder of the leash you couldn’t see but felt tightening with every step.

The store was cold, the fluorescent lights harsh against your skin. You moved mechanically, plucking items from shelves, the rhythm of normalcy a bitter contrast to the chaos inside.

Your fingers shook slightly as you reached for a can, and you forced yourself to breathe slowly, in and out, hoping he wouldn’t notice. He was bored, restless, eyes scanning the people around you with thinly veiled irritation. When the line at the checkout stretched out, he sighed impatiently.

“Fuck this,” he muttered, leaning close, his grip firm on your face. “You try any shit, and you know what’ll happen. Got it, sweetheart?”

You nodded, throat tight, and he released you, storming out to wait in the truck.

The line crept forward, a snail’s pace that made your pulse thud in your temples. Each second felt stretched, unreal, the world around you moving in slow motion. You clutched the handle of the shopping cart, mind racing.

People milled around you, chatting, smiling, oblivious to the shadow that lingered just beyond these walls, waiting to consume you whole. You wanted to run, to disappear into the crowd and never look back, but his warning echoed in your ears, a brutal reminder that you were still chained.

When it was your turn at the register, the cashier was kind, offering a smile that made your heart ache with longing for something that felt impossibly far away.

You fumbled through paying, glancing nervously toward the parking lot where you knew he waited, his gaze a weight you could feel even from a distance.

You made your way to the truck, feeling his eyes on you, his smirk as you approached. You tried to keep your voice steady as you loaded the bags in. “They…they didn’t have pregnancy tests. They were out of stock.”

Negan chuckled, a sound that made your skin crawl. “Figures. Bet all the other sluts in this town already cleaned ‘em out.” He smirked, a gleam in his eye that held no warmth.

“Get your ass in. We’ll grab one at the gas station."

You climbed into the truck, feeling trapped, the seat belt tight across your chest like a noose. His words echoed in your mind, each one a nail hammered into the cage around you.

The plan he’d laid out twisted your insides, a sickness coiling in your stomach that was worse than anything you’d ever felt. You couldn’t bring a child into this—a child tied to him, a child trapped just as you were.

The weight of it settled over you, heavier with every mile you drove, until it felt like you could hardly breathe. Your mind raced, grasping for something—anything—to stop this.

You were spiraling into a dark pit of despair, thoughts swirling like autumn leaves caught in a tempest. The closer you got to the gas station, the more your heart pounded against your ribs, desperate for freedom.

As you arrived, Negan leaned back in the truck, his eyes glinting with impatience. “I’ll wait here. You go in, but be fucking quick.” His tone was as sharp as a blade, leaving no room for disobedience.

You nodded, pushing the weight of your dread aside as you stepped out into the sunlight, a harsh reminder of the world beyond this nightmare.

Inside, the fluorescent lights flickered above, cold and clinical, You moved for selecting the pregnancy test from the aisle, fingers brushing over it as an image flickered in your mind—Joel’s face, his soft smile, the warmth of his hand brushing over yours.

You bit back the tears that burned in your eyes, the ache in your chest deepening. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

You always wanted a family of your own, but not like this. Not with him. A child tied to this nightmare would mean a lifetime under Negan’s thumb—a life bound to his sick, twisted idea of family.

You blinked back tears and moved toward the counter, your thoughts in turmoil, when a voice—a familiar voice—pierced the haze.

“Is that you?”

You turned, heart pounding, and there she was—Emma. Your best friend, the one you hadn’t seen in what felt like a lifetime. The sight of her sent a jolt of warmth through your veins, but it was quickly overshadowed by the shadows lurking in your mind.

Her face was lined with surprise and worry, and as your eyes met, memories flooded back—laughter shared in the hallways, secrets whispered under the stars.

She stepped closer, and you felt her arms wrap around you, a lifeline in a turbulent sea. The embrace was both a comfort and a reminder of everything you’d lost.

“Oh my god, it’s really you,” Emma whispered, pulling back to study your face, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. You felt the weight of her worry pressing against you, and you wished you could share the whole truth, but the words tangled in your throat.

“Where have you been? It’s been over a year…” Her voice trembled, and for a moment, you were lost in the familiarity of her presence, a beacon of hope in your dark reality.

You took a shaky breath, trying to piece together your thoughts. “How—how can you be here?”

After a moment, she explained, her voice rushing as if she were afraid time might snatch you away again. “After graduation, Jim and I moved to California. We just got married last month!” The excitement in her voice felt like a distant echo, contrasting sharply with your own turmoil.

But as quickly as the happiness arrived, it faded. “Are you okay? Where’s Joel?” Emma asked, concern etching deeper lines on her forehead.

You felt a sharp pang in your chest at the mention of his name, the very name that felt like both a lifeline and a chain. “I got kidnapped,” you managed to choke out, your voice trembling.

Emma’s expression morphed from surprise to confusion, and then to horror. “What? What are you talking about?” She looked around, panic creeping into her eyes, as if the very ground beneath you was about to give way.

“I can’t explain it to you,” you said, your heart racing. “He’s out there.” You gestured vaguely, your heart sinking as you glanced outside and saw Negan, an ominous figure lingering like a dark cloud over your thoughts.

Emma’s eyes widened as she took in the scene. “Wait, it’s not Joel,” she whispered, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Where the fuck is Joel? What is happening?"

"Didn't Joel fucking killed your parents and Jamie and Ben?"

“No! He didn’t kill them. Negan did." You said, "Please Emma, you have to help me,"

“Who’s Negan?” Emma asked, her brow furrowing with confusion and fear.

“He took me from Joel. He framed Joel,” you said urgently, dragging Emma to a quieter corner of the store, heart racing with the urgency of your situation. This was your chance, a lifeline thrown to you in the storm.

“Help me, please, please,” you begged, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I can’t stay with him any longer. I need you to do something.”

Emma’s expression shifted as she processed your words, the gravity of your situation crashing over her like a tidal wave. “Can we call the cops?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“No, we can’t! He’ll kill us!” Panic flared in your chest, a wild beast clawing at the walls of your sanity. “I don't have much time, but you need to tell Tommy, Emma. Call him and say I’m in California. I don’t know where Negan’s house is, but his name is Negan Smith. The man who took me is Negan Smith. Tell him to find his address.”

Emma's eyes widened, the reality dawning on her. “W-we could just run away. My car is out there.”

“No! You don’t understand. He'll hunt us down. He’s dangerous, Emma. We need to be smart about this.” The words poured from you, desperation lacing every syllable.

“I just need to get out of here.” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I can’t stay with him another day.”

In that moment, she stepped closer, enveloping you in her arms. The warmth of her embrace was a balm against the icy grip of fear that had settled around your heart.

You could feel her tremble, too—an echo of your own turmoil. It was a shared sorrow, a recognition of the gravity of your plight.

“I promise I’ll get you out,” she whispered fiercely, her breath warm against your ear. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and you felt your own grief swell anew, a flood of emotions threatening to spill over.

The weight of everything—the fear, the pain, the uncertainty—pressed down on you both, and in that fragile moment, you wept together, two souls adrift in a storm.

“I can’t stay with him another day,” you sobbed, the truth cutting through you like a knife. You could feel Emma’s heartache mingling with your own, each beat a reminder of the love and hope you were fighting for, despite the darkness that loomed.

She pulled back, searching your eyes, and then her gaze dropped to the pregnancy test clutched in your trembling hands. “Are you…?” she began, her voice faltering.

“He raped me, Emma,” "Over and over again," you admitted, each word a raw confession, a wound laid bare.

“and he pimped me out. He made me into a prostitute.” The weight of those words crushed you, the reality so unbearable that you felt like you were going to shatter.

Emma’s expression shifted to one of horror. “Is it… is it his child?” she stammered, and you could see the disbelief in her eyes, the way your pain struck her like a physical blow.

“I can’t… I can’t, I can't have this baby,” you whispered, choking on the anguish. You could barely comprehend the gravity of it all, a future painted in shades of dread.

Just then, you caught a glimpse of Negan climbing out of the truck, and fear twisted in your gut like a knife. “Tell Tommy to find me,” you urged Emma one last time.

“And if you find Joel… please tell him I’m waiting for him. Always.”

With that you pulled away, forcing a smile to mask the turmoil swirling within you. You had to play your part. You turned away from Emma, letting the illusion of normalcy settle over you like a shroud.

Emma ducked into the shadows, her presence fading from your periphery, and you approached Negan, your heart pounding like a war drum in your chest.

“What took you so fucking long?” he barked, irritation etched on his face.

You feigned confusion, forcing the words out. “I’m just… confused, Negan. It’s my first time.”

“Then just fucking pick anything! Jesus, woman.” His voice cracked like a whip, sending a shiver down your spine. You nodded, swallowing the knot of fear in your throat, feeling smaller than ever.

As he stepped outside, waiting by the truck, you turned toward the cashier, each step heavy with the weight of what you were about to do.

The store felt surreal, a juxtaposition of mundane normalcy against the tempest brewing in your heart. Each item on the shelves seemed to mock your despair, the fluorescent lights flickering like distant stars in a darkened sky, reminding you of everything you had lost.

Approaching the counter, the world around you began to blur, thoughts racing through your mind like a whirlwind. What if this was it? What if you didn’t escape?

The reality of your situation sank in, pressing down on you like a lead weight, suffocating in its intensity. You were here, a ghost of your former self, trapped in a nightmare of someone else’s making, and the walls felt like they were closing in.

As you laid down the items—each one a reminder of a life you once knew—you thought of Joel.

His warmth, his laughter, the way he made you feel safe against the chill of the world. Those memories glimmered like fragile stars in the darkness, a bittersweet ache that filled your chest.

You wondered if he was fighting for you, if he even knew what had become of you.

You took a breath, trying to steady the whirlwind inside. As the cashier rang up your items, your mind spiraled back to the pregnancy test, the weight of it pressing down on your conscience.

In your faith, it was a sin to kill a baby, a sin that echoed through your upbringing like a haunting hymn. The Bible spoke of life being a sacred gift, a trust from God.

But this baby is not a gift.

The thought of bringing a child into this world—a world filled with darkness and pain, where they could inherit a life as broken as your own—sent waves of panic crashing through you.

You steeled yourself, feeling the tremor of fear and guilt intertwining within you. “Do you have anything?” you asked, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself.

“I want to get rid of it,” you said, your hand instinctively brushing against your abdomen as if to shield the burgeoning life from the shadows lurking in your reality.

The cashier’s eyes widened, shock painting her features. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “I… I want to get rid of it.” You gestured to your belly, feeling the weight of your confession settle in the air between you.

The cashier hesitated, her expression flickering between concern and caution. “You sure about it?” she asked, her voice softening, an unspoken understanding passing between you.

“Yes,” you whispered, desperation threading through your tone. “Please, just anything.”

She studied you for a moment, weighing the gravity of your request. “Are you really sure about it? It’s none of my business, but you should consider going to a hospital for this.”

“No, I can’t. I—I just can’t,” you managed, urgency coursing through your veins. “Just give it to me.”

“Alright, but it ain’t my fault if anything happens,” she replied, her voice laced with a mixture of sympathy and resignation. You watched as she reached beneath the counter, pulling out a small, unassuming package that felt like both a lifeline and a curse.

As she handed it to you, time seemed to stand still, the world around you fading into a blur. This was it—a moment carved in time, one that would alter your path forever. You grasped the package tightly, your fingers trembling as you felt the weight of your decision press against your chest.

You turned to leave, but just before stepping out, you glanced back at Emma. Her eyes were glistening with tears, her face a mixture of fear and heartbreak. The sight of her anguish sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing over you, a reminder of the innocence that had been stolen from both of you.

You wanted to reach out, to assure her that you were going to be okay, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you silently nod and gave her one last smile, you don't know if you're gonna see her ever again.

As you stepped out of the store, the fluorescent lights flickered behind you, casting long shadows on the pavement that stretched out before you. The outside world felt colder, more foreboding, as if it sensed the turmoil brewing within your heart.

Each heartbeat echoed the weight of your choice, the urgency of your situation clawing at your mind. You were standing at the precipice of an uncertain future, the horizon obscured by the storm clouds of despair and fear that loomed above you.

But amidst the chaos, a flicker of resolve ignited deep within. You thought of Joel, his strength, his unwavering presence that made you feel safe even when the world was crumbling around you. In your darkest moments, his memory became a guiding light, urging you to fight for the life you once had.

You needed to find your way back to him, to reclaim your story from the shadows that threatened to consume you. The road ahead was murky, each step a treacherous dance with danger, but you steeled yourself for the fight. The thought of Joel ignited a fire in your belly, a relentless determination to survive.

With each breath, you whispered a silent prayer into the darkening sky, clutching the small package against your heart as you resolved to face whatever lay ahead.

You would find a way to escape this nightmare, to reclaim your future, and to make sure that Negan would never have power over you again.

The night felt heavy with anticipation, the air thick with a tension that twisted in your gut. You stood in front of the hotel mirror, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glare on your reflection.

Each detail felt foreign—your skin, once vibrant, now dulled and pale; your body, a ghost of its former self, now a canvas marked by the weight of what you had endured.

Emma’s words echoed in your mind: “It’s been a year since I last saw you.” It means now it's been a year and a half. A lifetime spent away from Joel, the man whose laughter had once wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

You missed him so fiercely it was like a physical ache, a void in your chest that no amount of prayer seemed to fill. You whispered your pleas to God, each word hanging in the air like a desperate song.

But as the days blurred into nights, doubt began to creep in, gnawing at your faith like a hungry wolf. Was there even a God to hear you?

You glanced down at your stomach, where a life was growing inside you, innocent and unaware of the darkness surrounding it.

You remembered the test you took earlier with Negan, the little plus sign a cruel twist of fate.

Pregnant with his child.

The thought twisted in your gut, an iron weight pressing down, reminding you of everything you had been taught.

Your father’s sermons flooded your mind, words from the Good Book spilling into your consciousness like water from a broken dam. “Children are a gift from God,” he had preached, his voice booming with conviction.

But this child felt like a curse, a cruel reminder of the monster that had taken you from the light and plunged you into shadow.

If it was a boy, what hope did he have of escaping his father’s blood? If it was a girl, you couldn’t bear the thought of her living in a world ruled by a monster like Negan. You don't want them to live your life, no.

No, you couldn’t bring this life into a world so steeped in pain and darkness. You would save them, save them from their father’s sins, from your own sins.

In the solitude of the bathroom, you grasped the small package tightly, your heart racing as you decided to take four pills, hoping to end what had begun.

Your hands trembled as you swallowed them, each one feeling like a stone lodged in your throat, a final act of defiance against the life growing within you.

Almost immediately, pain erupted in your abdomen, sharp and relentless, as if the very fabric of your being was unraveling. You doubled over, gasping for breath, your body turning weak and unresponsive.

The world around you blurred, the edges softening into darkness.

Then, a sudden pressure built within you, an overwhelming urge that felt like it was ripping you apart from the inside. You stumbled toward the toilet, only to be met with the horrifying sight of blood—thick, dark clots spilling out between your leg. Dizziness swept over you, and your knees buckled beneath you.

A loud knock echoed from the door, a frantic urgency that barely registered in your foggy mind. You didn’t respond; you couldn’t. The world spun wildly, the darkness closing in as you finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

In those final moments, you caught a glimpse of a figure—a man, not Negan, shrouded in shadows—his face indistinct. A fleeting sense of fear gripped you before everything faded to black.

***

You jolted awake in a hospital bed, the sterile scent of antiseptic assaulting your senses. Confusion clouded your mind, disorientation settling in like a thick fog.

What had happened? The memories of the hotel room came rushing back, a torrent of pain and loss flooding your thoughts.

Then, you saw him—Negan. His face twisted in fury, a storm brewing behind his eyes. “What the fuck did you do?” he barked, the words sharp and menacing, cutting through the haze of your consciousness.

You were no longer in the hotel. Your heart raced, each beat a reminder of the choices you had made, the life you had tried to save, and the monster that now loomed before you.

"Wha--what happened?" you managed to stammer, confusion clouding your mind.

“Robert,” he spat, the name dripping with venom. “The man supposed to be satisfied by you found you passed out, blood coming from your fucking vagina.” His words struck you like a physical blow, and the reality of your situation settled over you like a shroud.

“I lost the fucking money because of you!”

Your breath hitched in your throat as Negan’s hands closed around your neck, squeezing tightly. Panic surged through you, and your vision blurred as you gasped for air.

"And you. You fucking killed it, you killed my child." he hissed, his face inches from yours, anger radiating off him like heat from a fire.

“I can’t… breathe…” you choked out, the world around you spiraling into darkness.

The realization crashed over you like a wave, and the weight of his accusation sank into your bones. He knew.

You successfully killed it.

Desperation clawed at your throat as you felt the pressure tighten. “Please… let go…” you begged, tears welling in your eyes.

"I should have fucking killed you for it. I gave you everything. I gave you a house, jewelry, dresses—everything. And you... You can’t even say thank you to me." His voice was a storm, his breath hot against your skin, suffocating you with anger and betrayal.

“This is how you repay me? Murdered my child? You ungrateful bitch.” His grip was like a vice, unyielding and cruel, squeezing the breath from your lungs. Your hands flailed, grasping at his wrist in a desperate attempt to free yourself, but it was futile.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the pressure released. A sound echoed in the room—the quick, heavy footsteps of someone entering. The doctor. She rushed in, her expression a mixture of concern and urgency, breaking the spell of Negan’s rage.

Before she could assess the situation, Negan released you, feigning innocence as if nothing had happened. The mask he wore was chilling in its calmness, a predator in a sheep’s clothing.

“Good, you’re awake,” the doctor said, her voice laced with concern. “I’m really sorry to say, but you lost the baby.”

Each word was a heavy stone, dropping into the depths of your soul, sending ripples of anguish through you. You had made a choice, a choice steeped in desperation and fear.

You had committed a sin that now hung over you like a dark cloud, one that would shadow you for the rest of your life. The weight of your actions settled on your chest, squeezing the air from your lungs as effectively as Negan’s hands had.

You had killed a life that had barely begun, snuffing out a flame before it could ever flicker. The echoes of your father’s sermons filled your mind—his rigid beliefs, the scriptures twisted into weapons against anyone who strayed from the path.

You remembered the fervor in his voice as he spoke about children being blessings, gifts from God. But how could you bring a child into this world, into the clutches of a monster?

“It was three months old,” the doctor continued, her tone gentle yet firm. “You took too many pills. You had a miscarriage. We’re already getting everything out from you.”

With each sentence, you felt the ground shift beneath you, the world tilting as the weight of what you had done bore down on your heart.

"Now, your condition is not stable, we recommend you stay here or do you prefer to go home?"

Before you could respond, Negan’s voice cut through the room, harsh and authoritative. “No. We can take care of ourselves. We just need to go home.” His words dripped with a possessiveness that made your skin crawl.

The doctor nodded, taken aback by his decisiveness, and you could see the thin veneer of professionalism slipping away as concern flickered across her face.

As she prepared your discharge, a whirlwind of fear enveloped you. The idea of returning to that dark house, of being alone with Negan, sent icy tendrils creeping up your spine. You felt like a bird caught in a storm, wings clipped and unable to escape the chaos.

What would he do to you? The thought gnawed at your insides, a relentless whisper that echoed through your mind. You had already seen the monster within him, and now that you had taken away his child, you feared what lay ahead.

Would he unleash his fury upon you? Would he kill you?

The hospital room felt like a fragile bubble, a temporary refuge from the darkness that awaited. As the doctor handed you a few papers, explaining what to expect, you could hardly focus.

Your mind was a flurry of thoughts—about the life that had been extinguished, about the man who now loomed over you, and about the impending return to hell.

Every moment spent in that sterile room felt like an eternity, yet all too soon, the time came to leave. Negan’s presence loomed beside you, his anger barely contained, a smoldering ember threatening to ignite.

As you walked through the hospital doors, the world outside felt both foreign and suffocating. You stepped into the night, it only served to highlight the darkness within you.

With every step toward the truck, your heart raced, a drumbeat of dread marking the rhythm of your impending fate. You asked God this time.

***

The journey to his house was a blur, each mile a countdown to the inevitable confrontation. The walls of the truck felt like they were closing in, pressing down on you with an unbearable weight, and you fought against the rising tide of panic swelling within your chest.

Each bump in the road sent jolts of fear coursing through you, reminding you of the storm that awaited you in the shadows of Negan's world.

As the truck lurched to a stop in the driveway, dread coiled tightly around your heart. You were still weak, your body aching from the remnants of your earlier ordeal, but that didn’t matter to Negan. The moment the door swung open, he was upon you, his rage igniting like wildfire.

Without warning, he punched your stomach, the pain radiating through you like a shockwave. You gasped, doubling over as the world blurred around you.

He didn’t wait for you to recover, dragging you by your hair as your body felt the ground, from the truck with a brutal strength that made you feel like a rag doll.

“Get fucking inside!” he snarled, his voice a low growl, devoid of any compassion. The darkness of the basement loomed ahead, an abyss waiting to swallow you whole, and with each step, the walls seemed to close in tighter, the air heavy with unspoken threats.

Once inside, he unleashed the storm that had been brewing during the drive. “You killed my child!” he roared, his fury reverberating off the walls like thunder.

Each word was a strike, sharp and relentless, cutting through the fragile remnants of your spirit. “I SHOULD FUCKING KILL YOU FOR IT! YOU UNGRATEFUL BITCH!”

His fists rained down on you, each punch a testament to his rage, and the pain was a visceral reminder of your shattered choices. You cried out, tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried to shield yourself from his wrath.

You felt small, powerless, as he pulled your hair, yanking you back into his orbit of violence.

“Please, Negan… stop!” you begged, but your words fell on deaf ears. Your pleas were drowned out by his anger, a tempest that raged against the fragile vestiges of your hope.

Then, in a terrifying twist, he dragged you toward the toilet in the basement. You knew what was coming, the reality of it sending a shiver down your spine.

As he held you down, your heart raced, fear curling around you like a snake. He plunged your head into the cold, unforgiving water of the toilet, and instinctively, you fought against him.

You screamed, the sound echoing in the confined space, desperate for someone—anyone—to hear you. Your voice was a fragile thread, straining against the suffocating darkness that surrounded you.

The water rushed into your ears, muffling the world, and in that moment, you felt like a drowning sailor, flailing against the tide, praying for the hand of rescue to pull you from the depths.

Each gasp was a desperate plea, each breath a struggle against the overwhelming force threatening to swallow you whole.

Every instinct screamed at you to fight, to survive, but in that suffocating darkness, you felt your resolve weaken. You were trapped in a nightmare of your own making, the very monster you had tried to escape now looming over you, and all you could do was pray—pray for an end to the torment, pray for mercy, pray for the light to break through the crushing darkness.

He pulled your hair, yanking you up and forcing you onto your back, the rough floor digging into your skin. The pain ignited your senses, but he didn’t stop there.

His boots connected with your body in brutal kicks, each impact sending shockwaves of agony radiating through you. “I keep you alive! I put a roof over your fucking head! And this is how you repay me?” he spat, venom lacing his words.

“I should have fucking killed you from the beginning!” With every kick, you felt your spirit crack, your body weak and unable to retaliate.

You crawled backward, instinctively trying to escape, but there was nowhere to go. You were a fragile leaf in a storm, tossed about and battered, your only response a quiet, desperate, “Please… stop….”

He advanced, relentless, an embodiment of fury, each blow a reminder of your helplessness. “Now I can’t fucking kill you,” he growled, eyes blazing with a twisted sense of satisfaction, “What a fucking waste!"

As he beat you, the world faded into a haze of pain and fear. You felt your thoughts slipping away, replaced by a singular mantra—God, please make it stop.

You realized you hadn’t prayed in so long, hadn’t found solace in faith, and yet now you found yourself begging for a reprieve from this torment. “Why won’t you help me?” the question echoed in your mind, a haunting refrain amidst the chaos.

Negan grabbed you by the hair again, lifting your head as if to force you to confront the monster before you. “What should I do to you, hm?” His voice dripped with malice, and you could see the gears turning in his mind. “You killed my child. You need to suffer.”

You were too tired, too hurt to even look at him, your body pleading for relief, but his grip was unyielding. "You would fucking regret this," he hissed, before he slammed your head against the wall, over and over.

Each impact sent a jolt of pain coursing through you, and you felt your vision blur, blood trickling down your face. The metallic taste of it mingled with the tears streaming down your cheeks, a bitter reminder of your despair.

“Stay fucking here!” he barked, his final words a command that felt like a death sentence. He kicked you one last time, a parting gift of pain, before he stormed out of the basement, leaving you alone in the darkness.

You cried out, the sound a desperate, broken thing, a haunting wail that echoed through the empty space. You were so tired, so desperately exhausted.

You felt like a wilted flower, struggling to survive in a garden of thorns, every breath a battle against the encroaching shadows.

With each sob, you crawled to the corner of the basement, seeking comfort in the darkness. You wrapped your arms around your knees, rocking back and forth, feeling the warmth of your blood seep into the cool concrete beneath you.

You didn't know what Negan would do next, but the fear of the unknown was almost worse than the pain you had already endured.

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mypearlsareclutched · 4 months ago

Text

If This Is All That's Real

High By The Beach | Chapter Seven

Modern!Aegon II x Original Female Character, Modern!Aemond x Original Female Character

Life is now getting better, slowly but surely, for both Mila Stark and Aegon Targaryen. Perhaps there is hope for the future, if they can continue to keep things uncomplicated. But how long can things be uncomplicated when you're fucking your ex-boyfriends older brother in their family beach house?

This feels the tiniest little bit fillery, but it's got some very steamy smut, romance and some good angsty feels. Next chapter is written and will be posted later today so you guys don't have to suffer for long <3 Enjoy!!! x

Song inspiration | High By The Beach, Lana Del Rey

CW//TW: Sexual Content (MDNI, 18+), PIV sex, catching feelings, mentions of toxic families, romantic smut, love confessions during the deed, ye olde climax, discussions of the future, Aegon is so OOC because he's just a lil sweetie pie in this, not lore accurate.

Word count | 3.5k

previous chapter // next chapter

And so they began their... relationship? Friends with benefits situationship, that sounds better.

Over the next week, life became simple. For the first time since her parents died, Mila Stark knew what it was like to feel normal. Like her life wasn't some social experiment created by the gods to see how much one girl can take.

And it seemed like Aegon felt the same.

They slept early and woke up late, wrapped up in soft sheets that cover their bare bodies. They cooked together, and ate breakfast on the beach. They spent their days occupying their time with . Aegon would draw, Mila would read, sat together on the dusty living room sofa with her legs over his. As the sun set, they wrapped themselves up in each other, basking in mind-numbing, no strings attached sex.

They were best friends who fucked like lovers. There's nothing wrong with that, right?

But when he held her gently in the mornings, pressing her back to his chest as he snored gently, his hands wrapped around her protectively, Mila wondered if there was more to their relationship.

Aemond never cuddled. The most Mila could get was an arm wrapped around her after they made love. Sometimes he would wake up holding her, but she could never bask in that. When he woke, he would rush off immediately. Like holding her would ruin the peace that they had.

'Afraid to get too close,' is what Halaena had said to her once. Aemond had her, yet he kept her at arm's length. It seemed like Aegon had the opposite problem. He knew she wasn't his, so he cherished the moments he had her in his space. Arms wrapped around her like she was his.

And as she watched his peaceful, sleeping face in the mornings, Mila truly wished she was.

Mila stands at the window, looking out at the ocean beyond. She held the pay-as-you-go phone in her hand, flipping it around as she watched the waves crash against the rocks.

She needed to talk to her brother. After Aegon's insistence the morning after their first night together, Mila sent Cregan a text message. Aegon had rolled his eyes, stating she needed to grow a pair and talk to him face to face. Cregan had yet to respond, so Mila knew she needed to actually call him.

Sighing, she switched on the phone, listening to the twinkling beeping sound as she nervously bit her thumb nail. Once the phone was on, she put in the sim card. Typing in Cregan's number, she held it to her ear listening to it ring.

"Please don't pick up, please don't pick up, please don't pick up."

"Hey, you've reached Cregan Stark. Sorry I missed your call, leave a message at the beep."

The phone beeps, and Mila takes a sharp breath, "Hey, Creg. It's, uh, it's Mila. I'm okay, I'm safe. I left Weirwood with Aegon... you know, Aemond's brother? I was having a tough time. I needed to get away. But I'm somewhere safe, please don't worry about me. I'll see you soon. I love you."

Ending the call, she takes another deep breath, exhaling sharply she presses the screen of the phone to her forehead, swallowing her nerves and guilt like a bitter pill.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Aegon's soft voice asks.

Mila turns around and sees him standing in the doorway, leaning against it casually.

"My thoughts cost more than a penny." She jokes, putting the phone down on the chest of drawers.

"I'll take out a loan." He states as he walks further into the room.

"Or you could use your dad's totally not stolen credit card." Mila chuckles, meeting him halfway.

"You called your brother?" Asks Aegon as he takes Mila's hand in his own, smoothing his thumb over her knuckles.

"I tried. Went to voicemail."

"He's a busy guy. You know, being a famous footballer and all. He's probably got a big game, or something. You know, with like... kicking and... goals? Never really liked sports, me." Aegon laughs as he pulls Mila over to the bed, sitting down as she stands in between his legs. He runs his hands over her arms, waiting for her to speak.

"Yeah..." Mila sighs, "He's probably really busy. Wish we had access to the internet in this literal abyss."

"Gwayne was a dude of the eighties he never cared for Wi-Fi. I think that's why Daeron decided to return to the modern age the second he was old enough to go to uni."

"I feel very amish."

"Hey, look on the brightside." Aegon states as he takes her hands in his, "We're completely disconnected from the modern world. No crazy articles about our every move. We're not seeing anything about..." He stops himself, his voice fading as he inadvertently reminds Mila about the reason why she's here.

Aemond was never too far from her thoughts, always lingering in the back of her mind like some kind of phantom. She can see her eyes when she wakes from a nightmare, feel his fingers on her when the autumn breeze sends a chill through her. Her love, which once felt sweet like , had now turned bitter and cold.

Mila shakes her head, as if she could rid herself of her memories and lingering feelings if she tossed her head around a little bit harder. Like bashing the bottom of a jar to loosen a stuck coin or something. Yet, Aemond remains inside her thoughts.

"It's okay, Aeg." Mila sighs, shrugging, "You're right. It's good to not hear anything about him."

Aegon stares at her, big blue eyes sad as he watches her face. His fingers play with hers, a nervous tick of his she had gotten used to. More than gotten used to, she found herself adoring it. She looks down at their hands, smiling softly to herself.

Loosening their hands, Aegon leans back on the bed. Mila furrows her eyebrows, concern evident on her features. But a cheeky grin appears on the Targaryen's full lips, as spreads his legs slightly.

"Come here and let me fuck the sad out of you." Aegon murmurs, beckoning her closer. She chuckles despite herself, following him over.

"I think you overestimate your abilities, Aegon Targaryen." Mila chuckles as she climbs on top of him, straddling his waist.

"Oh, it's gonna be like that is it?" He laughs, burying his face into her neck. Mila presses her lips to his temple, running her hands over his messy hair.

Their clothes are discarded quickly, leaving Aegon bare beneath Mila as she straddles him. As her lips descend upon his shoulders, she doesn't notice the soft, conflicted look in the Targaryen's eyes.

"Hey! Gettup, now, I found something!"

Mila groans as she is pulled out of her sleep, unceremoniously. Blinking, she sees the sun has barely risen, golden rays poking through the thin curtains. Loud footsteps surround her, a sigh coming from someone across the room.. A pillow hits her face, and she squeals, tossing the pillow away as she runs a hand over her face.

"What, Aegon? You fucking child..." She groans.

"I said, I found something!" He laughs as he rushes back out the room.

"What, a body?" Mila groans as she stands up, grabbing her discarded shirt and throwing it on. Her bare feet pad across the bedroom, heading out to the open plan of the rest of the house.

Aegon sits cross legged in the living room, searching through a water stained cardboard box.

"Whatcha got there?" Mila asks, raising her eyebrow. Aegon smiles as he looks up at her, grabbing a mug from the coffee table to offer it to her.

"Sorry I woke you up so aggressively, I got excited. Peace offering?"

"You made me coffee?" Mila took the mug, looking down at the caramel coloured liquid. A few days ago, Mila convinced him to get a coffee machine from the holy land (big Tesco). She then had the joyous experience of watching him try and fail to figure the machine out.

"I finally read the manual." Aegon says proudly, "You do take it with milk, and two and a half sugars, right? I'm gonna be so pissed at myself if I got that wrong."

"That's right." Mila chuckles, eyebrows raised, "How did you know that?"

"You told me."

"You listened?"

"You seem shocked." Aegon chuckled, shaking his head as he refocused on rifling through the box. Mila tries to bite back the wide smile at the sweet gesture, choosing to instead take a seat next to Aegon.

"What is this?" She asks as she peers into the large, withered box. It's full of old books, covered in a layer of dust. From her position, she can read a few of the titles, 'Pride and Prejudice', 'Alice in Wonderland', 'Twelfth Night', 'The Secret Garden'...

"They belonged to my grandmother." Aegon explains, "Gwayne kept them when she passed. She loved old books."

"They're lovely." Mila says wistfully as Aegon hands her an ancient copy of Mary Shelley's 'Frankenstein'. Her fingers glide across the leather cover, the bumps of the words catching against her callouses. She cradles it in her hands, smiling giddily.

"Gwayne gave them to Daeron when he came to live with him, but like the sixteen year old boy he was, he preferred comics and playboy mags."

"Classy." She chuckles, accepting more books he handed to her.

"I thought you could have them."

Mila looks at him, mouth agape, "What?"

"You can have them." Aegon smiles, piling more of the classic books into piles, "You know, because of the book shop you want to own? I know there aren't tons, but you've got to start somewhere, right?"

She stares at him, taken back. It's an unbelievably sweet gesture, and one she never expected. Her dream of a book shop seemed too distant, too unreachable in her chaotic life in the spotlight. But it was like Aegon was handing her not a bunch of old books, but hope. Hope for her dream of a simple, happy life.

As Aegon sits beside her, rambling and piling books into her arms, Mila watches his profile, feeling herself blush.

The afternoon sun beats down on the two of them as they sit on the beach, side by side like they come as a pair.

Aegon lies spread out like a starfish, alien sunglasses on. His button up floral shirt is open, revealing his pale, freckled skin to the afternoon sun. Mila sits next to him, her dark curls whipping in her face as she

A whirring, distant noise catches Mila's attention. It sounds like a bee, and she flicks her hair around trying to find the bug in question. But as she looks around, she sees the source of the disturbance is not an insect.

A speedboat floats distantly, so far that the Stark has to squint to really see it. It was not unusal for other people to walk the hidden cove beyond the Hightower summer home, but boats were a rare occurance. People usually kept to the vibrant beaches near the city, the smaller beach they were on was too far from the rest of civilisation for folks to make the

Mila watches the speedboat, a prickling sense of dread creeping up her spine when it drifts closer. It carries a singular man, tall and lithe, bald and wearing a pair of thin sunglasses. His appearence does not irk her.

It's the fact he's staring right at her and Aegon.

Said Targaryen twitches next to her, before letting out a yelp and jumpinh up. Mila's attention is diverted to him, eyebrows furrowed as he shakes his head like a dog, whipping his sunglasses off.

"What?" Mila asks, concerned.

"Crab." He shudders, pointing at the offending, orange creature who clicks its pincers and trudges along the sand.

"Jeez, Aeg, it's teeny. It's more afraid of you than you are of it."

"I guarantee you it is not."

Mila rolls her eyes, watching the crab scuttle away back to the shores. Her eyes look back at the rest of the sea.

The speedboat is gone.

As night settles over Old Town, Mila giggles as she finishes washing the dishes. Aegon presses incessant kisses to her neck from behind.

"Jeez, Aegon, give me a second." She laughs, feeling his hands wander over her hips and waist.

"Mm, no, horny." Aegon groans against her neck, biting the nape as she squirms and elbows him.

"You're insatiable." Mila rolls her eyes playfully, grabbing a rag and drying her hands as Aegon returns to running his hands over her hips. She smiles as she kisses him, melting against Aegon as he kisses her just how she likes.

Just like that, they find themselves entwined on the bed. Naked, flushed bodies moving together rhythmically. Mila moans beneath Aegon, wrapping her legs further around his torso as she takes him deeper and deeper, feeling the tip of him kissing her sweet spot.

"Right there, right there." She pleads, throwing her head back. Aegon whines, pounding into her harder just how she likes. His head hangs down, eyebrows furrowed with the effort.

Her hands grasp onto his waist, aiding his movements, her fingernails digging into his plush skin. It spurs him on, making his noises louder and breathier as they both get closer to their climaxs.

A well angled thrust makes Mila keen and gasp out Aegon's name like a prayer, sending the blonde man reeling as he presses his face into her neck.

"Fuck, I love you, I love you." Aegon murmurs breathily.

Mila's gasp gets stuck in her throat, her eyes opening as she looks up at the dark ceiling. His words shock her, startling her to her core. His face remains in her neck, his hot breath against her skin. He kisses along the place that connects her neck and her shoulder, whispering words of praise and love against her, lost in his own world.

Pleasure courses through her veins, overtaking her shock at his sudden admission. She moans low in her throat, clenching her eyes closed as she tries to push back rational thought.

He ravages her body, bringing her to the precipice of euphoria, begging her to give it to him. As she finishes, he praises her, lips ghosting the shell of her ear as her body shudders, sending him to his own end.

"I love you..." Aegon groans out as he finishes, snapping his hips repeatedly as he fucks his spend inside of her.

Mila focuses on recatching her breath, eyes fluttered closed. She can feel Aegon collapse beside her, his arms wrapping around her and his sweaty forehead pressing against her shoulder.

She runs her hands over his arms, letting sleep take her over and wash away her sudden whirlwind of emotions...

...But those emotions were waiting for her when she awoke.

Mila sits on a loveseat outside the house, biting her lip nervously as she stares out at the gentle ebbing and flowing of the ocean waves.

"Fuck, I love you, I love you..."

His words echo around her head. The feeling of his hands on her, his lips pressing to her skin, his hips pounding against hers as he fucks her relentlessly, it is all fresh on her mind. It sends shivers through her, pleasent feelings of euporia like her body had ingrained Aegon's fucking into her mind so well it could repeat it when he wasn't around.

But his admission frightened her.

Why? Because it made everything complicated.

When they met at Weirwood, she managed to seperate him from her life outside of the clinic. Aegon was just another recovering addict who helped her through her detox, sitting by her bedside and holding her hair back when she threw up into her bin.

But her trecherous body found itself drawn to him, and feelinsg she was all too familiar with appeared out of the blue. And all of sudden he was no longer just another recovering addict, but her ex-boyfriends recovering addict brother who she was attracted to.

Mila tried to run from it, tried to go back to her old life and let her harmful coping mechanisms destroy the seed of affection growing inside of her. But Aegon found her. He saved her, he helped her. She was drowning and he was offering a hand back to the surface.

When he devoured her on the beach, she let the drugs push away any lingering affections. And when she couldn't push them away any longer, she convinced herself he was only her friend. When he was deep inside her, not only her body but her soul, she told herself he was only her friend. He only saw her as a friend. All of this means nothing...

But it means something. It always did. From the very beginning, it meant something.

The way he made her head spin and her heart ache and her body blush and her smile reappaer from nowhere... that meant something. It meant everything.

But he was her ex's brother. Aemond Targaryen's brother. How could she let the

Why is everything so fucking complicated.

Footsteps interrupt her internal ramble, her head snapping to the side to see Aegon walking towards her. He's shirtless, grey joggers hanging low on his hips. She can see marks left from her fingernails left on his waist, and she looks away with a sharp intake of breath.

Aegon says nothing as he takes a seat next to her on the love seat. He runs a hand through his hair, sleepily looking out at the beach. The silence is not awkward, but it is tense as both of them are left unsure of what to say.

With a sigh, Mila decides to start.

“Did you mean it?” She asks, not turning her head to look at him.

“Yes.” Aegon says without hesitation. Mila closes her eyes, taking a deep breath as she lets his words sink in again, "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" She asks him, giving him an incredulous look.

"Because this was supposed to be simple." Aegon sighs, running his hands over his face, "You left Weirwood to escape how complicated things became. I brought you here so you could heal, but instead we shagged and I fell in love with you."

"That's not your fault."

"Maybe it is..." Aegon turns to her and reaches over to take her hand in his, "I should have been more careful. I knew... I knew from the beginning that you were special. Different, good. Better than I deserve. Every moment I spent at your side, I found myself needing to be near you. You make me feel alive, you make me feel normal. I should have been more careful when I let myself touch you on the beach, because I knew that it be so easy to fall for you."

"Aegon, stop..." Mila stands, taking a few steps away, holding her hand to her mouth.

"Em." He says softly, and she turns to him. Aegon gives her a sad smile, choosing his words carefully.

"I said it before and I'll say it again; You're the best thing that's happened to me in a while, maybe even ever." Aegon takes her hand in his own, pressing it to his chest, “I love you.”

Mila takes a shuddering breath, covering his hand with her own. He presses his forehead to hers, closing his eyes as he basks in her closeness.

They sit on the loveseat, Aegon's head resting on Mila's chest. Their fingers are intertwined, and Mila watches them with half closed eyes.

Aegon has a small tattoo on the back of his hand, of a tiny green bird in a little golden cage. Mila smoothes her thumb over it, tracing the jagged lines with a featherlight touch.

A distant noise startles her out of her daze, and she looks around for the source. Aegon lifts his head, eyebrows furrowed as he looks towards the front door.

The sound of a car can be heard driving closer, and the two share a confused look as they go back inside the house. Aegon leaves first, and Mila follows him to stand in the doorway.

A black SUV parks next to Aegon's battered ford fiesta, and Aegon freezes on the porch, his hands clenching into fists beside him.

Mila's bros furrow, wondering who on earth could be here. As the person steps out of the car, she gasps, taking a step back from the door. His pale, lone eye moves from Aegon to Mila, his blonde hair swaying in the beach breeze. No fucking way...

Aemond fucking Targaryen.

AN// Yuh! He's back! Aemond 'surprise bitch I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me' Targaryen. This is definitely only going to bring good things for Mila and Aegon, Emiliaegon if you will (please don't, that's actually awful). See y'all soon, sending love <3

Lula x

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lexycxndy · 3 months ago

Text

Headcanons for Loki :

They don't really smoke, just think it's gross and weird for humans to do

Loki prefers wine than beer, he likes sweeter drinks in general

Loki really can't sleep half the time cause of the darkness most of the time he doesn't sleep (mobius might have gotten them a light lamp)

Loki half the time goes to buy outfits from thrift stores he would go to places like Gucci but I feel like he would be offended by the prices

Loki braids his hair hair before he sleeps mainly to get natural waves

Loki likes candies a lot, mainly the sour and sweet ones but he didn't like the key lime pie and mostly ate the frosting until mobius gave him a pumpkin pie which Loki loved

He wears eyeliner and carries eyeliner to fix it

Loki's Jontun form has gloves on cause he can't touch people since he would burn them

Loki mainly crafts his own weapon and powers them with his magic (like a poison knife)

Loki listens to Lana del Rey and sometimes Taylor Swift mainly cause he likes the sad and romantic vibes of it

Loki weighs like a Frost giant even in his Asgardian form even though he is small the illusion doesn't change his weight (from what I know he is like 500 pounds) so mobius really has a hard time dragging Loki away

On a sunny day, Loki really has sun allergies but it's very light but worse in his jotunn form, it's one of his weaknesses, that the burns really don't heal that fast

Loki has every birthday gift he was given because it is the only time he feels loved in a way, especially by Thor who would just get Loki a plushie

Speaking of plushies Loki has a bit of separation anxiety, it is not that bad but he does panic when someone he loves doesn't text back, like when mobius goes somewhere unannounced, as kids Thor and Loki would share a room cause of it, sometimes thor had to hold Loki when he sleeps, as an adult thor taught plushies would remind him that he is always with Loki

Loki's grave (the Infinity War Loki) would be visited by Thor every day, he would clean it and put plushies and flowers on the grave

Loki has a lot of pets some of them are Thori (a hellhound from Hel) Ikol (a nod to comic, and a magpie) a snake, and a cat named Clementine

(This is more like a modern Loki au) Loki would have used his magic to make himself an apartment to stay on earth, Loki would come home to Clementine and hang out with her when he gets home

not really a headcanon but he does have all-speak, speaking all languages (again in the comics)

Loki sometimes wears high heels, but he would conjure shoes if they got uncomfortable

Loki sometimes bakes pies since he really isn't good at cooking, but he learned to bake a pie for mobius so he didn't have to eat from the TVA

Loki would conjiur a blanket on mobius when he would overwork and fall asleep on his desk

Mobius doesn't know how to fight so Loki uses his magic to protect mobius and help him heal

Loki has BPD (borderline personality disorder) but mobius tries to help him and calm him down when he gets angry

Loki usually scoops mobius up and hugs him random moments taking advantage of there height difference

Mobius would give Loki candy or a star after they complete a mission to encourage Loki to be more less violent

Loki doesn't curse at all but he uses more older words like quim and all or he would just mumble in asgardain, he has a habit of going back to old English using "thy" "aye"

Both Loki and mobius love language is touch and glares, Loki would telepathically talk to mobius when they are around people

Mobius loves how Loki would explain in a Shakespeare

As a kid Loki mainly pranked thor to cope with his insecurity, he still does but it was getting better with mobius comforting him

Mobius sometimes feels like he is lesser to loki and thinks he isn't good enough since Loki was a god

Loki would visit a variant of frigga who ofc knew it wasn't her Loki but yet treated him like no other

When frigga met mobius she was noting but happy and knew Loki was happy with mobius and other way around, she was glad her son found some he can be real with

Mobius always treated him equal to everyone and sees him as a lover and a friend, and never used the god title unless Loki wasn't sure of a mission being successful

(please note my version of loki is like a combo of MCU loki and comic loki! Most of these are not cannon in the MCU but it might in comics! and I keep using he/they prounce cause i am confused as hell-)

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ferie-anon · 2 years ago

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🧩Astro • Observations🧩

🎧 People with uranus in 6th may have unexpected health problems relating to their stomach. Since 6th house is the house ruled by virgo which virgo rules digestive system, uranus can cause unexpected health problems related to ur stomach 🫠 eg. I have a sensitive stomach due to the prominence of my virgo placements (having virgo moon, rising, and venus) and having uranus in 6th also, I sometimes get stomachaches or stomach cramps unexpectedly.

🎧 If you have a planet conjunct to your ascendant, people may mistaken or guess your sun sign as the sign of that planet conjunct to your ascendant. For ex: I have moon conjunct ascendant and sometimes people guess I’m a cancer sun which is the sign that is ruled by the moon.

🎧 Water rising signs often attracts attention for their style or are seen as magnetic to others. Scorpio risings often have an edgy, sad girl/sad boy aesthetic, grunge, or skater look, they may have a charismatic or fierce look to their eyes (almond shaped). Eg. Lana del rey and Sydney Sweeney has scorpio rising. Pisces risings have a sleepy ethereal look with round soft eyes, interchangeable unique style while maintaining a dreamy vibe. Cancer risings styles fall with the sweetheart, gentleman, and elegant look. They may look younger than they are physically.

🎧 Sag mars may have an athletic figure or fit figure, these people tend to take hobbies and interests that are related to movement, whether its playing sports or dancing etc.

Additionally I notice sag mars and pisces mars make for very groovy and good dancers, they’re able to catch the flow and movement - Eg. Winwin from Nct has sag mars and Ten has pisces mars, Chaeryeong from Itzy has sag mars and Yuna from the same group has pisces mars (these idols are known for their dancing skills)

🎧 The stereotypes regarding Tauruses liking food isn’t true all the time but it is notable that taurus placements have a certain relationship with food, whether they diet or use food as comfort. Audrey Hepburn was a taurus sun but she always maintained a slim figure thru strict diet for her roles and career, but also ate healthily when she allowed herself to.

🎧 Virgo suns with cancer placements in the kpop industry are admired for their visuals, they can be chic, elegant, cute, cool etc. They may be good at modeling as well, knowing how to pose and express their different looks and vibes thru their eyes and etc. Eg. Joy from Red velvet and Wonyoung from Ive. Additionally, if they have cancer venus with Virgo sun, it may tie to how others are attracted and appealed to their energy, virgo + cancer = put together, elegant, magnetic, always looking stylish in a sense.

🎧 Mutable sign energy(sag, virgo, gemini) + mercury energy (gemini, 3rd house, virgo, 6th house) = rambling on and on about a topic or their thoughts. I have a friend who is a gemini sun and virgo moon, he rambles on to try to get the words/phrase right or his thoughts out, and he just keeps chatting on while you're clearly concerned if he should take a breath and pause. I have another friend who is a sag moon with mercury in 3rd house and she rambles on but instead messes up the words a lot and when she's texting she has so many typos lol.

Sag + gemini energy in the chart makes them chaotically energetic when they're passionate about a topic when with friends. Gemini + virgo energy makes for an interesting conversation that touches on different topics in one sitting and it's neverending. And my virgo moon and 1st house stellium is here for it.

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dellalyra · 2 years ago

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Family Formation Part Four

Summary: A special moment follows you and Satoru going full protective parents on the kids Principal.

CW: mentions of fighting, misogyny (not from anyone we like lol) swearing

A/N: ngl actually proud of this one. i really wanna make the reader like endlessly warm and loving, but also badass and powerful because women are amazing - and show how much the reader and gojo love each other after all they're only early twenties and still completely lovesick

Recommended listening:

Vigilante Shit - Taylor Swift

Paris, Texas - Lana Del Rey ft. SYML (for the ending)

Requests open <; 3

Series Masterlist

"Good afternoon, am I speaking to Ms. Y/L?" Echoes through your phone as you step out of the meeting Satoru and you were having with the higher-ups, who were busy telling you how to teach and do your jobs.

"Hi, yeah, that's me. How can I help?" You reply.

"This is Principal Ito, I'm afraid there's been some... trouble with Megumi at school today. Would you be able to come to the school to collect him and have a discussion?"

"Is he alright? What happened?" Panic rose in your chest. Was he sick? He was fine this morning, ate his porridge and drank his juice and flipped Satoru off when he tried to kiss his chubby cheeks and squish his face - so absolutely average Megumi behaviour.

"He is perfectly fine, we'll discuss more in detail when you arrive."

"Okay, his dad and I will be there in 15 minutes." You had recently taken to just saying you were his parents because explained that you had taken in the children and were hoping to formally adopt the children of the man who killed your boyfriend and your boyfriend then actually killed came back to life, after the father and sold his son to the family he excommunicated himself from.

You stroll back into the meeting, bending to tell Satoru the situation who immediately stood up.

"We're leaving - parenting shit to do, bye-bye wrinklies." He said, taking your hand and waving to the higher-ups as he lead you outside. Teleporting you both to the school gates so you didn't just appear out of thin air in a middle school.

Greeting the school secretary, she leads you to the principal's office - where you find a sullen, scowling Megumi looking defiant with his 9-year-old legs swinging from the middle of the three chairs facing the desk. He doesn't even look up when you and Satoru walk-in, staring straight at the principal.

Principal Ito, a greying, pot-bellied man sits behind his desk.

"Ah, Megumi's guardians, yes?" He asks shaking Satoru's hand first, then yours.

"In the process of legal adoption, but yes we're his guardians. What's going on? You okay, 'Gumi?" You sit beside the boy on one side as Satoru sits on the other side, taking a lollipop from his pocket and popping it into his mouth, and handing one to you and the kid between you.

Megumi shrugs in response to your question.

"Mr. Gojo, Ms. L/N, I'm afraid Megumi here is in some serious trouble. At lunch break today, he started a fight and participated which resulted in 4 other boys being brought to the nurse for injuries, extensive injuries." Your jaw dropped, your Megumi? Sure, he had attitude, and was Toji's son being raised by Satoru Gojo (you'll ignore any part regarding your temper's influence), but he was a quiet, introverted boy, taking comfort in books and animals, traits he was learning and inheriting from seeing you seek comfort in the same things.

"Is this true, Megumi?" and "Wait, you beat up for other kids and haven't a scratch. Well done kid! Proud of you lil' man, fist bump!" Coming from you and Satoru, respectively. The principal looks completely shocked, but for once, Megumi actually does a fist bump Satoru, showing no remorse for his actions. You rolled your eyes at the two boys fist-bumping, both with their candy hanging from their mouths, your fiancé was mentally 9. Unwrapping your own lollipop, you turned back to Ito.

"Megumi will be suspended for two we-" The principal began but you stopped him.

"Excuse me, shouldn't we hear Megumi's side of the story before any choices are made without us here?" You interject, as the principal waves his hand toward Megumi, signalling him to speak.

"I'm not gonna say sorry. They were pulling on a girl's hair and calling her names and saying mean stuff about her so I stopped them, but then they started doing the same to me so I hit them." The boy shrugs the words out, quiet yet wholly confident in his actions.

"Ah! See, completely valid - good job bud, let's get your sister and head for lunch together. C'mon babygirl, let's have a fun family afternoon with the kids!" Satoru says as he ruffles the child's hair and moves to stand.

"Mr. Gojo, this behavior is totally unacceptable, and your lack of condemning it and disciple is wholly reprehensible. Megumi will be suspended for two weeks while the board makes the decision whether or not expulsion will be the route we proceed with." Ito declares .

Now, after hearing, and trusting the word of your child - you turn to the principal.

"I'm sorry, am I misunderstanding the situation? A child was being bullied, physically and emotionally in the schoolyard - with no teacher intervening with a total obvious lack of monitoring, so my son stood up to the bullies, who then turned on him and began to physically assault him and he defended himself - yet he is being punished? What of the other boys? I assume immediate expulsion - no deliberation needed?" You lean forward toward the desk, passing your lollipop to a smirking Satoru, who knew that edge in your voice never ended well for the recipient. After all, he'd heard the same measured, cold, clipped, and endlessly terrifying tone when the higher-ups had told you to revise your curriculum on differentiating curses this morning (if he remembered, the exact words were: "I appreciate that you have a clearcut, if antiquated, unrealistic and frankly idiotic vision for how you expect these topics to be taught, however, as a special grade sorcerer I feel I am wholly equipped and far more prepared to decide how I teach my students that the majority of this board who have been solely directing from this room for the entire duration of their exceptionally long tenure." God you were especially sexy when you diss the higher-ups).

"The boys are quite seriously injured Ms. L/N, which we feel is punishment enough - and it is Megumi's word against the four other boys and I'm afraid we must listen to the majority." The principal eyed your flaring nostrils and smirking fiance.

"You've gotta be kidding me! The kid did the right thing, if anything give him an award, school hero!" Satoru interjected.

"I am absolutely floored by the words I'm hearing, Principal Ito, I'm afraid it's all difficult to swallow." You respond.

"I'm sure it is, but perhaps this will teach Megumi a lesson in behaviour and I suggest stronger discipline at home - I know you are not his parents and it must be challenging figuring out what to do."

"First of all, what I'm shocked by Principal, isn't Megumi's behavior - but your sheer ignorance and lack of accountability for the obvious failings of your faculty. I cannot believe a school would allow such behavior to continue, especially since both Megumi and his sister have mentioned four boys who are notorious bullies on previous occasions so rather than dealing with the root problem, you choose a scapegoat to shoulder the blame. Second, how dare you insinuate we are not fit to raise a child, we may be young, hell were 22, but these two children are our son and daughter, we are their parents. We raise these children to be brave, stand up for others and know right from wrong and protect those who cannot protect themselves." You take a breather, and the principal turns to Satoru.

"Mr. Gojo, perhaps you would care to calm your partner down, before things escalate." Ito directs at Satoru, who only smirks and says to Megumi "He's done it now. Watch this."

"How DARE you tell him to calm me down! Why don't you just say 'get your woman under control' and be done with it? Christ, I thought the board of the school we teach was misogynist, avoidant, antiquarian, hostile, and cowardly but you, sir, 'toru baby cover Megumi's ears, take the fucking cake. I'll save you the paperwork, I'm withdrawing my kids from this damn school, no kids of mine will go to a school led by a like you an absolute prick like you. Boys, we're leaving, and we'll be taking Tsumiki." You stand, pushing the chair back as Satoru cackles laughing at the indignation on the man's face. Megumi grabs his backpack and your hand, and you both walk out of the room.

Before he leaves, Satoru turns to the man, "Isn't my girl awesome? She's the best mom! No wonder I wanna marry her!" He throws a lollipop on the desk, and saunters out winking at the stuttering man.

The three of you grab Tsumiki from her class and walk toward the exit when she turns and asks what's going on.

"Why are we leaving, it's only 1pm? Did something happen, Satoru why are you smiling that that? Wait, Megumi, why are you smiling?" She spews looking between you all.

"I got into a fight and they tried to blame it and Ito told Dad to calm mama down on me so mama got mad at Ito and called him a prick." Megumi said to his sister as you and Satoru froze.

He called you mom, he called him dad.

Satoru and you just stared at each other, your eyes welling up with tears and pride. You guys had spoken about if the moment happened. Tsumiki had asked one night when Megumi was sleeping if she could call you guys mom and dad, you both said of course, you'd be privileged (Satoru cried, a lot), she then said she would wait for Megumi so as not to make him feel out of place or uncomfortable, ever the sweet, kind girl. You warned Satoru sternly to not make a big deal of it when he did, as you'd never spoken to the little boy about it, not wanting to push him and telling Satoru to not follow through by planning a 'mom and dad' party, knowing it would only mortify Megumi and make him uncomfortable, he had reluctantly agreed with you.

Knowing this came from you both standing up for him and speaking up for him, you mouthed 'I love you' to him and he responded 'I love you too' over the heads of the chattering kids.

"What? Are you hurt? Dad what did you say? Mom did you really call him a prick?" Tsumiki added.

"Your mama's a badass, kids!" Gojo added.

"We take no shit from men, Tsumiki, remember. Plus, he was being an ass to your brother so it was me doing that or your dad hollow purpled him for disrespecting me and you two." You grab Megumi's hand, rubbing circles into it as he looks up at you.

As Gojo recounted the events to Tsumiki, Megumi turned his little head to you.

"Thank you, mama." He said quietly, shy as ever, into your side.

Willing yourself not to cry, you kiss his forehead.

"Always, darling boy."

Taglist: @madam-ri @vesta-ro

@lilithlunas @sassy-cat-in-town

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk #geto suguru #gojo fluff #anime #dad!gojo #jujutsu kaisen megumi #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro tsumiki

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joelsmochi · 1 year ago

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closer

rating: E 18+ pairing: tortured artist!Joel x black!girly!f!reader summary: Joel hits a creative block with a mural, leading him down a road of discovery and intimacy in ways he's never felt before. warnings: au/no outbreak, unspecified drug use + marijuana use, unprotected piv, sex while under the influence, consenting adults!!! age is not specified but we can assume joel is mid 40s, brief mentions of death + abusive relationships, ooc!Joel (he is not the same person he was 1/2 pill ago…), third person pov but most of it is from joel’s perspective, very fluffy sex they may have said i love you wc: 5.3k a/n: Happy New Year everybody! This was inspired by Closer by Goapele and Prisoner by The Weeknd & Lana Del Rey plus I was thinking too hard about the time I ate an edible that had too much THC for me to handle and I produced whatever this is. Hopefully tortured artist!Joel hasn’t happened yet because I felt creative with this one…

masterlist

ᝰ

The frayed paintbrush relentlessly slapped against the concrete wall, coating the discolored brick in thick layers of different browns, reds, and whites. Opaque smoke blurred his vision, yet he only let it inspire the strokes of his hand, creating a beautiful image that wasn’t clear to him yet.

Before he knew it, the sun had set; he sat on his hard leather sofa, massaging the twinge that had settled into his wrist while his face wore a disappointed scowl. He was displeased with his progress, the blob that was already half dry on the wall of his loft.

A rumble snuck into his stomach, forcing him to stand up and absentmindedly walk into the kitchen area. However, his disappointment grew when he opened the fridge to find nothing suitable for a proper meal. As he glared at the half-eaten yogurt and scarce 24-pack of beer, he decided to go and get Chinese food.

He lit up a cigarillo to accompany his walk around the block and across the street, tossing whatever was left into a sewer drain just in time for him to open the door to the restaurant.

“Miller,” a worker greeted with a smile, “your usual?”

Unknown to him, the smell of his cigar caught the attention of a waiting customer. She waited until he was done chatting with the employee to ask, “Cream?”

He did a double take, unsure if she was talking to him at first. She was tall, maybe five foot nine or five foot ten, with big hair and brown skin, and dressed in something far too lovely for her to be eating Chinese for dinner.

“I’m sorry?”

“You smell like cream-flavored cigars,” she said, sounding amused.

He felt unsure of how to respond, not wanting to seem rude, watching her diamond earrings gleam from the low yellow lighting. He paid for his food and answered. “Yeah, just had one.”

“Black and mild or swisher?”

“Blacks,” he answered, growing a little uneasy from the stranger questioning him despite the mundane topic.

“My favorite,” she boasted, earning another look from him after he put his change in the tip jar. “They’re much smoother.”

The man didn’t respond, only offering a tight smile in return. The pair stood a few feet apart silently, listening to people chattering and utensils clanking behind the counter as they waited.

She smelled like expensive brown sugar perfume and cocoa butter, a sickly sweet combination that tickled his sense of smell. Her scent was reminiscent of a freshly baked cookie a kid couldn’t wait to dive into. She was dressed in a lovely skirt and a prissy top paired with a mix of gold and silver rings and necklaces and bracelets — two colors he usually hated paired together, but somehow, she made it blend beautifully.

Her makeup was soft, or so it seemed. It wasn’t too heavy, but her eyebrows were bold, as was the line drawn around her vermilion border. He noticed she blinked slowly but held her eyes wide as if she anticipated something to happen.

The employee’s voice brought the two adults out of their daydreams.

“Beef and broccoli and chow mein?” They asked.

The artist waited kindly for the woman to grab her bagged styrofoam container before reaching for his own; he walked a few feet behind her, suddenly feeling bad for his cold demeanor earlier once they were outside.

“You want one?” He called after her before she got too far away; she turned around with a frown, confused at his offering.

He reached into his pocket and held up a couple of fresh cigars. She grinned, secretly desperate for a smoke. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she strutted back towards him. She strutted like a cat, one leg crossing the other.

She allowed the man with the messy hair the privilege of placing the stick between her plump lips, keeping her eyes on his as he watched where he was lighting.

She took a long drag, waiting for him to get his cigarette lit before asking, “What’s your name?”

His eyebrow cocked up, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was amused. But he answered anyway.

“Joel.” He sharply inhaled; she responded with her name and a smile, thick smoke spilling out from the spaces between her teeth as she gently exhaled. “You from around here?”

“No,” she said, “I like to travel. See new places. Find new things… Right now, I’m fixated on museums—art museums precisely.”

That piqued his interest. “Art? What kind of art d'you like?”

“Any art that speaks to me.”

Joel smirked at her answer as if it were funny. “Oh yeah? What speaks to you?”

Instead of her usual quick response, she pondered momentarily, trying to locate proper words to avoid rambling. “Suffering or excitement.”

He could only narrow his eyes at the vague response, but she spoke again before he could ask for an elaboration.

“You must like art,” she guessed correctly.

“I’m uh…” And there’s a long pause; the rhetorical shame of confessing what his job was had risen, but for what purpose? After a short internal debate, he finally admitted, “I’m an artist myself.”

Her eyes widened with excitement, which Joel found adorable. She asked him various questions: what kind of art he created, how long he’d been painting, his favorite creations…

He admired her interest in the subject and how she listened carefully and intently, clearly trying to understand as much as possible about him.

“How do you stay inspired all the time?”

Shit.

Joel’s mind ran blank for a few seconds, and he watched the woman’s face contort into confusion. She worried she’d brought up an unhealed wound and persisted that he didn’t need to answer.

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Joel assured, “I’ve honestly been at a block lately…”

“Oh.” She sounded relieved. “Do you do anything to help get over that?”

He sucked on his teeth as he thought of an appropriate answer, yet nothing came to mind. He couldn’t lie even if he wanted to. “Just wait for it to pass.”

“…Could... Could I see your art?”

For the first time, she seemed to be shy. Her teeth grimaced, and eyebrows crooked out of fear of rejection, but Joel was sure he was far more nervous than she was.

"Uh, sure..." He said hesitantly. "What I have at home is nothing special, but-"

"I'm sure it's beautiful," she interrupted. "I'm free right now if that works."

ᝰ

This was unlike him: inviting a girl he'd just met into his home. She had something that enamored him. What was it, he wondered with each passing minute, was it her beauty or curiosity? Was it the way she smiled or how sweet her voice sounded? He couldn't ponder for much longer as she had already begun complimenting his home.

"A loft," she said while taking in the brick walls of his home that were littered with several paintings that all seemed to be works in progress. "It's cozy." Joel watched as her painted nails gently trailed over the armrest of his stiff couch just before she reached up to feel a painting of what seemed to be a little girl.

His staring made the woman laugh, and while he could admit he was being a bit precarious, he just wanted to ensure she wouldn't mishandle that particular piece. She didn't. She just reached to stroke the texture meant to resemble the girl's curly hair; she touched it for only a moment before pulling away and turning around.

After realizing the painting was sacred to him, she asked, "Is that someone you know?"

His shoulders and chest rose as he sucked in a melancholic breath, and she couldn't ignore the sadness that swarmed his eyes.

The woman was satisfied with no answer and moved on quickly. "May I eat with you?"

Joel gave her a stiff nod, his thoughts still filled with the traumatic memories of the girl in the photo.

They sat quietly and slowly ate their food, the lack of heat from their containers making the meal invaluable. The silence comforted him as it felt much different than the cold silence he was used to. No. Her silence was warm and comforting... Like a mother caring for a sick or sad or sleeping child. She didn't offer any awkward glances or stiff smiles. She didn't hide her joy or her optimism despite his distant demeanor.

Her eyes weren't as big as they were just an hour ago. Perhaps the food made her sleepy, he thought.

"Where ya from?" He figured he should at least be a good host.

"Rockport. It's a small town in Massachusetts. You?"

"Born and raised here," he answered.

"Really?" She squinted at him while poking at broccoli with a fork. "Never wanted to leave?"

Shrugging, he said, "Thought about leaving, never needed to."

"Is that painting supposed to be the same girl?"

She pointed to the spontaneous mural partly done on the big red wall opposite to them. He looked at it, forming different opinions and thoughts on his work.

"No. Not entirely sure what that one is yet," he grunted. "Needed to paint something, but I can't quite figure it out yet."

"You should do a self-portrait," she suggested with a wide grin. "I'd love to see how you see yourself."

"Nah, if I did that, it'd just be a college-ruled notebook with a bunch'a scribbles in it."

She chuckled at his pessimism, gaining a confused look from him. "So? Maybe someone would see something between the scribbles."

"I don't like painting myself," he said firmly.

She couldn't care less about his seriousness; she saw his need for perfection and keeping busy with work. Seeing the distress on the average person's face wasn't unfamiliar to her; all she wanted to do was take it away.

"Your art is lovely, Joel," she spoke truthfully, "For what it's worth, I think you'd paint yourself beautifully."

He chewed on his bottom lip for a few seconds, taking in her warm smile and gentle words.

"You're very kind," he admitted, "thank you."

The temptress walked and stood in front of the mural to admire the thick blobs of paint that were still tacky. She saw the vision but just as quickly saw the block.

"You seriously do nothing to help the creative blocks?"

With a slight frown, he shook his head to confirm. "Just try working on something else until I find my rhythm again."

"Why not? Why not music or movies or going outside for more than Chinese on a Thursday evening?"

Feeling a bit antagonized, Joel scowled at her. "I paint what's in my head, not around me."

"Maybe that's the problem." She sat close to him on the floor and nudged his shoulder with hers. "Maybe you've painted all you know, and you're stuck right now because there's nothing new inside that pretty little head a'yours."

"Flattery only gets you so far, sweetheart."

"It got me in your apartment, did it not?"

His scowl grew, and he felt no need to hide his annoyance from her.

"Just tryna help," she smirked.

"I don't need your help."

"Clearly not," she simpered; she pulled a bag of ground weed from her purse and held it up for him to see. "Maybe you need Mary's help."

"You're fucking joking."

"It helps me," she said softly. "When I don't smoke, I'm a very anxious and shy person."

Joel's eyes fell to her hands, which were beginning to work the weed into a paper very carefully, watching her roll it precisely. "Really?" He asked incredulously.

"Mock me all you want, Joel, but I must say that even a couple of hits can make you feel ten times better."

"Not interested," he quipped.

"Well... If weed isn't your speed, then maybe..." She licked the paper shut and placed it on the table, then reached in her purse again for a bag containing different colored pills. "...ecstasy would be more fitting."

"You expect me to take drugs from a stranger?" He asked.

She leaned her chin on his shoulder and whispered, "I'm no stranger, Joel. I'm your inspiration."

He found himself laughing at her choice of words, not paying her any mind as she climbed into his lap. She placed a pill between the rows of her teeth and bit down to break it in half, offering him whichever half was smaller.

"You don't have to if you really don't want to... But it will help."

Her voice was so enticing that Joel was sure he was already high from the affection she persisted in giving him.

"Help me paint?" He asked, still not entirely convinced.

"Help you create."

Joel thought about it: he had nothing left in his life to live for other than his talent for painting, and he even felt that it was being wasted on unproductive days and constant disappointments.

For months, all he wanted was to create one last masterpiece and to feel proud of it. If all it took was to give in to some strange form of peer pressure, then that's just what needed to be done.

Almost an hour later, however, his worries about art were set aside.

With his head lying in the pretty woman's lap, he tried remembering why he had been so angry before. He let her stroke the curly hairs on his head and trace his lips over and over again.

"You're doing good," she cooed gently.

"You're very, um," he swallowed between his heavy breaths, "nurturing."

He noticed the woman's eyebrow shift upwards, and an amused hum left her mouth. "Hm. No one's ever said that before."

"Really?" Joel began to realize how dry his throat became. "Well, it's a compliment."

"Thank you," she giggled. "Thirsty?"

"Mmhm," he moaned.

Reaching over to grab the water bottle on the floor, she took a long sip as she felt parched before holding his head up to help him drink some. He felt her sticky lip gloss around the rim and found himself latching even harder onto the plastic container.

She let him drink as much as he needed before closing the bottle and helping him stand up, urging him to paint something.

He felt a wave of heat envelope his body, the hairs along his arms and neck dancing along his skin. He wanted to laugh, but nothing was funny, so he tried to hold it in. He followed her around the room and watched the ends of her hair bend and curl around her arms. She opened a few paint bottles, squeezing some onto his stained palette and holding the brush out for him. She couldn't help but laugh at the elation in his wide eyes; he was definitely in a much better mood than before.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer, not bothering with the meaningless utterance of words and just giving into his need to kiss her. She wasn't surprised by the gesture, inviting his tongue into her mouth for more. She tasted the cigar on his breath and lips, ignoring how bitter it seemed.

The paintbrush smeared itself against Joel's elbow, causing him to jolt back in shock, only to laugh when he realized the purple-coated paintbrush was bending on its own. He took it from her hand and approached the wall, immediately getting to work.

While he worked and ranted about how the piece was "basically painting itself," she undressed slowly while prancing around the room and humming to some tune that found its way into her head. Joel saw the colors blend and separate, waiting for the wall to respond with where his next brush stroke should be.

The woman found herself looking at that painting of the little girl again. She was unable to quiet her curiosity.

"Is she your daughter?"

Her voice broke the string tying him to his work, and he stumbled around a bit before turning around and facing her with an asking face. He let his tools go and followed the sound of the siren, looking deeply into her wide eyes.

"She was my daughter," he admitted freely, something he refused to do as often as possible.

"Where is she?"

He noted how concerned she seemed and took it as an invitation to confide in her.

“She uh… She died ‘bout ten years ago.”

Joel felt her fuzzy arms weave around him, encompassing him with a sense of comfort. It was the first time he could talk about the tragedy without bursting into tears. Her lips pressed warm kisses into his forehead and temples as she attempted to bathe him in consolation.

He removed his head from the crook of her neck to look at her face. Her eyes, although appearing a bit lopsided, were still wide and curious, like she was still waiting for something. He tried to focus on just her, but all he wanted was to paint wanted was to paint wanted was to paint wanted was to pai-

A shriek broke him out of his trance: the woman seemed surprised about the splatter of paint that got on her bare chest and arms. Joel blinked rapidly and tried to decipher what had happened between talking about his daughter and... Now.

Had time managed to escape him? Was he too out of it to realize that? And who put on the jazz music?

The brown liquid dripped down her body and hid her nipples; he found the motion fascinating. How happy she seemed to be coated in the cold dispense helped him feel more at ease and join in laughing with her. Her hair, frizzier than before, somehow gave the illusion that she was underwater. It just flowed so freely.

"You are a mermaid in the most beautiful depths of the sea," Joel shouted dramatically.

"Wh-what?" She giggled before smearing a finger-lengths of paint onto his forehead.

His hand absentmindedly poked the paintbrush into her collarbone, tickling her in the process. "You are free... And kind... Did you turn the music on?"

And she's giggling again. God, he couldn't get enough of that sound. She was a siren, manipulating him with her songs of joy and laughter.

"You told me to," she answered; only Joel took a few minutes to process it. She covered her hand in yellow paint, cradled his cheek, and let the print of her hand stick to his face as if she were marking her territory. "I'm glad I met you tonight, Joel," she said quietly.

Instinctively, he beckoned for her to close the space between them. "Oh, yeah? Why's that?"

Her arms snaked around his neck as she looked at his aura and vented. "I was supposed to go on a date tonight with my ex-boyfriend. He wasn't the greatest guy. Abusive. Angry. But my parents love him, and they say he's changed, so... I wanted to try again."

Joel's drug-induced nosiness got the better of him. "Why didn't you?"

She sighed, a smirk daring to grow on her face. "I wanted to make him feel stupid."

He wrapped his arms around her waist at her wise words, holding her close as if she would blow away had he exhaled too hard.

"M'glad I met you too," he admitted. "Did I spill paint on you?"

"Just a bit, but it was my fault. You were in a daze," she admitted bashfully.

The pair took a few minutes to look at each other, feel their spirits, and soak up the serenity between the small gap in their lips.

"Do you wanna fuck?"

Those words would have left Joel speechless in any other scenario at any other time on any other day. But he was high out of his fucking mind, and once his brain had fully processed her question, he answered with a short and sweet "Yes."

He waited patiently as the vixen undressed him, and she took her precious time; her knuckles grazing the wiry hair along his pelvis sent hot shivers across his abdomen before his jeans pooled around his ankles. Lifting his arms to aid in the removal of his shirt, he flinched and giggled childishly when she placed a kiss or two along his collarbone.

She gasped at the nails digging into her sides, his hands begging for more because his voice was too weak to. The desperation grew in his eyes, and he wanted to feel close to her. To feel all of her depths and shallows and curves and grooves. Her essence rendered him helpless. The smell of her perfume was even more sickly than he recalled, but all the much more sweet.

Their bodies danced onto the floor, bending and curling around each other like snakes.

"I was always afraid of this," he spoke as she worked her hand around him, not that he needed it. "Feeling close with someone. After my last... You know."

She smiled at his words, telling him with her eyes: I know.

"I was so scared to feel close to someone..." She admitted. "After him, I wanted to be left alone. Untouched."

"What changed that- oh, fuck," Joel moaned, feeling her wetness encapsulate him.

"Someone found me, ha-ah, hmm... And took care a'me, just like I'm doing for you."

Joel clawed at her back, reaching for her hair, but his arms were too heavy, with the quick rushes of euphoria soaring through his veins. Her moans and pretty little sounds coaxing him into blindness. He couldn't see her face, covered in the universe of her bangs littered with stars and planets, until she leveled her happy face with his. The shimmer in her glossy eyes let him know she enjoyed this just as much as him.

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met, ever s-seen," he moaned.

Finally able to lift his arms, he used them to hold her face gently. He admired her refreshing beauty. She moaned something about how sweet he was, though it went unregistered to him.

All he could feel was her thighs flexing against his hips every time she rode down, and he felt his cock brush that sensitive sponge deep inside of her. Her hands pressed painfully into his ribcage, but he didn't mind. He loved that she needed him so much that it hurt.

She laid her body down on his chest, bringing her lips to his chin; he whimpered at the softness of her lips, his warm breath hitting her nose and making her body shudder. His mouth parted to stick his tongue out for her to lick and suck, which she did graciously.

He never knew his tongue could feel so ticklish or that having it licked would feel so damn good. It made his cock throb against her walls, forcing a moan out of the both of them. Her nails scratched his scalp tenderly, hips rocking back and forth, creating the perfect rhythm.

Her breasts dragged against the hairs on his chest, making some of the dried brown paint flake onto him; her nippled peaked, vulnerable from the friction.

Joel wrapped his forearms around the base of her spine and rolled over as carefully as his intoxicated body would allow. With hair splayed out, she looked so ethereal, like a walking painting herself.

Then, he noticed a bucket of paint sitting nearby and dipped two of his long fingers inside, dragging the white liquid down the valley of her breasts until he reached the peak of her belly. He noticed how her body reacted: all of the little shakes and shudders signs of appreciation made his heart swell.

His hand reached around her hip to grip her ass as he rested his body weight on her and enveloped her in more kisses. His hips rocked gently and slowly, careful not to hurt her. He wanted to feel her cum and hear her beg him to keep going.

To her, it felt like he pushed deeper with each thrust, begging her body to swallow him whole and allow him the grace of becoming one with her. Her eyes were so low, yet she was seeing more clearly than ever. Seeing his aura radiate off of his broad shoulders and tousled hair - it was a haze of blue and purple. But hers were shades of reds and oranges in his eyes, a fiery tyrant that bullied him with praise and adoration.

His nose tickled her chin while his lips made their way up to plant another kiss on her sweet, sweet mouth. The alcohol in her perfume singed the hairs along his face and nostrils, pilling the hairs on his arms.

"Harder, ngh- please," she murmured.

He saw her blown pupils roll gently beneath her eyelids as beads of sweat formed along her hairline. Her breathing was shallow and short. She was close.

Licking his reddened lips, he pushed her knees back until they were flush with her jawline and shifted his body weight from his knees to his toes, then changed the force of his hips without changing the rhythm.

She loved that he listened to her: harder did not mean faster, and he fucking perfected it. Almost like he knew just how hard to go.

Joel drove into her deep enough to make her cunt squelch and clench around his thick cock. He felt clumsy inside of her like he was tripping up over his own orgasm. He felt all of her ridges and curves, the smooth and the rough; everything intensified in a way that could only be described by the God he didn't believe in.

But she had him questioning that in the back of his mind. He would have believed that she was God herself if he wasn't aware of how high he was. She looked celestial, her mouth forming an 'o', and her hair sprawled around her shimmering face. Even with her mascara flaking and running slightly, she seemed so content, so pleased.

Joel's desperation to come inside of her was almost primal, instinctive... If her nails weren't digging so sharply into his forearms, he wasn't sure whether or not he would have been able to hold back.

He didn't ease up on her throughout her orgasm. Honestly, he didn't think too much about it. He never wanted right now to end. With a sense of ecstasy coursing through his veins, he managed to turn into something he tried so hard not to be. He craved her body, her kisses.

He pulled her into his lap before resting his cheek on her breast. He inhaled the musk of her sweat deeply, cherishing the divine woman she was. She felt as beautiful as she looked. She fucked just as sweet as she smelled.

His clammy hand ran over her flexed calve as she bounced on him. Her movements were sloppy from his tight grip, not that either of them cared. She was sure not to go too high or come down too hard, allowing her pussy to drip white remnants of her orgasm onto his balls. He licked and kissed and bit her tits as a submissive thank you.

She kissed the top of his hair, strumming her fingers along his scalp. "Joel," she moaned, "I love you."

"I love you, too, baby," he grunted almost instantly.

Raising his head to look back at her blissed out face, he pulled her even closer. His chin dug into her clavicle, but his neediness only made her laugh softly.

Joel's face twitched as his body proposed its orgasm, his dick throbbed roughly against her sensitive walls. She gasped, taking it as a sign to fuck him faster despite the burning in her legs. He winced at her arms weighing heavier into his collarbones but just clawed at her ass to power through the pain.

She placed a hand over his heart and pushed gently, forcing him to feel the thumping against his chest. He felt so much of his anger and pain dissipate beneath her touch, instilling love and peace in place of it.

"You're so precious," he whispered. A lovely smile rose onto her face, one that drove him crazy. He looked at her with big puppy eyes that threatened to fill with tears. She licked along her teeth and bit her bottom lip. "I love y-you..." He knew he didn't mean it and that she didn't either, but he missed being able to say those words. "Tell m- oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Tell me you love me," he pleaded. "Tell me you love me 'til I cum, baby."

"I love you, Joel.”

His eyes screwed shut, face falling into the curve of her neck.

“I love you, baby. I want you to cum for me,” she moaned, breathless from exhaustion.

His nails dug deeper into her flesh, he was clinging onto his climax as much as possible, wanting to wait long enough for it to destroy him.

“Oh, Joel, fuck!” She yelped. “I love you, I love you!”

And he broke.

His nails scratched lines up her back whilst he screamed into her chest. Her pussy throbbed against his sensitive cock from the arrival of her second orgasm, heightening his sensitivity.

A few tears shed his eyes at the closeness; Joel felt like he was falling into the Earth. He was so dizzy and confused, cornered by the affection clouding his judgment.

“I love you,” she whispered into his scalp, placing one last kiss before climbing off of his lap.

He hissed at the last stroke of her cunt but helped her lay down, using his t-shirt to prop her head up.

“I love you,” he said before kissing her head.

“You should drink some water.”

As soon as she said that, he felt the itchiness in his dry throat. He grabbed water from the table a few feet away and chugged as much as his stomach could handle.

“Will you bring me the joint and a lighter?”

Joel fulfilled her request and sat the water next to her, immediately looking back at his work in progress while she got herself situated.

A few moments passed before she spoke again. “Are you coming down?”

Confused, he looked down at her but saw that the colors weren’t so loud anymore. “Think so…”

“Take a few hits. It’ll help.”

He hesitated but sat down and did as she told him.

“Thank you,” he said after briefly coughing and handing the joint back to her. “I think whatever that… Pill was actually helped.”

“If it wasn't the pill, it must’ve been the sex,” she teased, earning a laugh from him. She tapped his shoulder and pointed her head towards his mural.

ᝰ

A rough pounding woke Joel up from his slumber. He groaned, pressing the meat of his palm to his forehead and slowly sitting up before remembering the girl was still next to him.

He watched her sleep soundly, mouth slightly parted and a gentle snore creaking from her throat. The memories of last night flooded his mind, and while they were somewhat fuzzy, he remembered clear as day how it felt.

He felt most of his questions had been answered by something more complex than communication. It was frightening yet calming at the same time.

Her body stirring regained his focus, and he knew she must have been feeling the same tension headache as he was when she groaned before her eyes fluttered open. She squirmed from the cold air and looked up at the hungover man, smiling as she remembered the night before.

“Morning, Joel,” she said with a playful tilt.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said. “Your head hurtin’?”

“Yep,” she grunted while sitting up. “Ever been to that café on thirty-fourth street?”

He shook his head.

“I’ll take you there for some coffee and breakfast. My treat,” she told him.

Her eyes landed on the big, dull wall that had been taunting Joel for weeks, only to find it was a brightened, complete piece of art.

She admired the woman's beauty and asked him without looking away, “S’that me?”

Joel smirked and reached for his boxers, standing to put them on.

“She’s beautiful, ain’t she?” Joel kissed her head and walked away, leaving the woman alone to admire his masterpiece…

Her.

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