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yieldtotemptation · 2 days ago

Text

WISH ft. Giselle

giselle x male reader smut

8k words

"It's a Christmas miracle!" —is how Giselle chooses to make her grand entrance, swinging open the door to your bar, a fresh powder of snow dusting her shoulders. She shrugs it off. "My favourite person in all of Seoul."

You deadpan, "That's very concerning."

She laughs off your quip with the same ease that she does everything else. Sways her hips, saunters over to you, fire engine-red heels clacking against wood as she rushes to take her usual stool. Not like she'd have to fight anyone for it, there's no one else here.

Besides, even if there were—it's always been hers.

You're sliding over her drink before she can even open her mouth to order, because that's what you do for her. Anticipate. Your job in a nutshell, really. Knowing what she wants.

Her thanks is in the blush colouring her cheeks, flushing them a rosy pink, matching her hair in hue.

Just so immediately pretty.

She raises the drink, grinning at you through the glass. Gets a little too dramatic with her gasp.

"Exactly what I wished for! How did you know?"

"Made a list, checked it twice."

That earns you a giggle, has Giselle leaning forward, propping an elbow on the bar, chin in her palm. Her usual routine—just sitting there, all beautiful and flirty and really, really fucking out of place amongst the dim lighting and worn-out leather.

And yeah, you’ve committed it all to memory, seen it in every light and shadow; the smoky liner ringing around her eyes, the gloss that makes her lips look shiny and sweet and oh so soft. The absolutely devastating smile that never seems to leave her—only gets wider, warmer, parting when she laughs and slaps a hand on the table, or lands it on your forearm.

Accidentally, of course.

"Does that mean I get to sit on your lap later?"

It’s a touch early for her to throw out bait so blatantly. That’s more of a three-drinks-in kind of thing.

Still, your mouth answers for you before your brain can catch up, “Depends if you've been naughty or nice.”

“I think we both know the answer to that one,” she says, far too casually for you to handle, daring you to let that thought linger. Let it rattle around your head with all the other loaded thoughts involving her in various states of undress and in all sorts of compromising positions—underneath, on-top, kneeling. Thoughts that are better kept on a tight leash.

Because you know what would happen if you were to give in to them.

How you’d reach over the bar separating the two of you, pull her onto the counter. Send all the glasses, the bottles, crashing to the floor, and just kiss that smile right off her face, right here, right now. Tear off her clothes and leave her bare and exposed to the cold December air, make her yours, fuck her absolutely senseless. Render her nothing but a victim to your fingers, your lips, your cock, to all the need that’s been boiling inside you over the past months and—fuck.

She's got you good.

There's no point in pretending like it hasn't been this way since the first time she found you—at the end of an alley that's at the end of another alley, down the stairs and into the underground proper. Waltzing her way into the hovel that is your whiskey bar; all for reasons that you’re yet to fully untangle.

Months of performing this same dance—it's late, she walks in, typically perfect and bouncy, like some half-remembered fantasy or a libido-driven hallucination. Only, she must be real, because there’s no way you could ever conjure up someone like her.

It's embarrassing, you really should be far more used to it now, built up at least a partial immunity to her brand of charm. But somehow, she still finds a way under your skin. You’re only human, after all. And she’s… she’s Giselle.

Undeniably, in-your-face gorgeous, Giselle.

Dead-set and determined to throw herself at you until you break.

"Perfect," is her evaluation when she's taken her first sip. It plays out like it’s been choreographed: she licks her lips, flashes that million-dollar smile, lets loose a sigh of pure joy. Looks at you all wide-eyed and impressed; like you're the only person in the world who's ever given her exactly what she wants. Like she doesn't already live in a reality where everyone else falls flat on their faces to ensure that the needs of Aeri Uchinaga are met. “Always perfect.”

And you have your own steps to follow. You're glued to the pulse in the curve of her neck, the gentle slope of her shoulders, the naked collarbone when she shirks off her coat to reveal tits that are much too ample for her dress to contain. All these little things that make her so fucking distracting.

She says, surreptitiously, "You know, I didn't think you'd be open today."

"And yet you came anyway."

"And yet I did."

There's the loaded insinuation stacked on top of her words like a teasing question mark:

('I came looking for you.'

'I was waiting.')

"Like I said, a Christmas miracle," Giselle repeats, softly this time. Barely audible over the Christmas tunes you’ve got on a loop, some self-inflicted torture you’re wreaking on yourself for purposes unknown. Maybe to get into the spirit of things. Maybe to keep the silence at bay. Maybe to make Giselle's efforts feel less effective.

It doesn't work.

It does, however, have you leaning in just to hear her better, and that's a mistake right there. Getting too close that you can follow the lines of the dress she's picked out for the night. A sheer black, strapless number that hugs her figure close, dipping at her chest, giving you just enough of a glimpse to send the alarm bells ringing.

Ending short of the tops of her thighs, because of course she's wearing stockings, and of course they have tiny little bows holding them up, and you're already thinking about how easy it would be to get your teeth in them and pull them apart, and the walls are starting to feel closer and closer with each passing second.

But you don't say anything. You just try to remember to breathe. You chance a look back at her face, aiming for unaffected.

Her eyes instantly undo you.

Giselle uncrosses and crosses her legs. The stockings stretch.

"Like what you see?"

Now seems like an optimal time to pour yourself a drink. Something strong to fortify the weakness in your knees, to maybe bolster the resolve that's threatening to crack like the ice frosting over the windows outside.

You grab a glass, pour a good measure of whiskey and throw it back without even bothering with the usual ritual. You need it. The burn is a good distraction.

You turn her question back on her. Shame on her for asking something so obvious. "What do you think?"

"I think," Giselle smiles, tilts her head, that curtain of bubblegum-pink cascading over her collarbone and down onto the bar, "That it appears that all the effort I put getting into this tight fucking dress was worth it."

You're unable to stop yourself from saying, "Don’t need the dress if that was the intention." It slips out of you, like an idiot, and you decide to busy yourself by pouring two more drinks, because you really don't know what the fuck else to do at this point.

“Duly noted,” she says, likely adding it to some mental file she keeps on you. Ways to get you to drop your guard. Ways to get under your skin. “But don’t you think unwrapping presents are half the fun?”

You’re rolling your eyes, it’s too much, but Giselle’s too good at this whole thing. Got the two of you sliding deep into the easy rhythm of conversation you've found yourselves in many, many times before; when it's just you and her in the waning hours of the night and you're finding excuses not to close up and she's finding excuses to stay.

And the drinks just compound on it even more. All the alcohol really seems to do is blunt her filter and dull your better instincts, bringing you both to that tipsy point where everything that comes out of your mouths can’t help but sound like shameless innuendos; all terrible ideas that you both absolutely must indulge in.

Talking and flirting and drinking until you’re finally crossing that invisible line drawn over the counter of your bar, forgetting about that ethereal wall of separation that keeps you on the straight and narrow; that would normally stop you from doing things like reaching over and brushing a strand of pink out of her face and over her ear.

You keep your hand there, your thumb padding the soft skin of her cheek. She leans into your palm.

“So,” she says, and it’s accompanied by the kind of pause that holds a whole universe of possibility. She takes a sip of her third drink of the night, her eyes fixated on you, studying the lines on your face. Trying to find the cracks.

“So.”

“Why haven’t you made a move on me?”

She might as well have gathered snow from outside your door and thrown it right at your face. You blink, the warmth of the whiskey in your cheeks fading fast. “Very confident of you to think that I would want to.”

“Don’t dodge,” she chides. “We both know you didn’t open tonight for the amazing business rush. So. Spill. Why?"

You’re about to spout off an excuse—something about a Hippocratic oath, or bartender-customer privilege, but Giselle cuts your lie short before it can even leave your throat.

“You’ve been staring at me like you want to eat me alive every night I’ve been here, and you expect me to believe you’re not interested?” Giselle leans closer, her breath warm on your hand. Her eyes piercing through, stripping away every defence you’ve ever had. “You’re barely hiding it you know? How badly you want me.”

There’s an implicit challenge underneath her words. You get the message loud and clear:

Don’t you know how badly I want you too?

"It's—" you start, before course correcting when you catch the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. You swirl the whiskey around in your own glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light and dance. "Complicated."

"Oh really?" Giselle's eyes light up at that, and you're beginning to feel like you're falling into some trap she's set up. It just hasn’t revealed itself to you yet. "I like complicated. I live off complicated."

"I'll bet," you reply, not missing the fact that she's now taken your hand into hers, threading her fingers through yours. "Probably why you're here so often."

Giselle clicks her tongue, runs it across her lips. You'd die for a taste. "I thought I asked you to stop dodging. But, if you really want to know, I come here because I like the company," she explains, before ending her thought with, "and the attention."

"Because being an idol doesn't give you enough?"

"Not in the way I want it."

"And I do?"

"Not yet," she says, with an air of finality. "But give it time."

The silence stretches between you, thick with the weight of the unspoken. The air in the bar feels charged, like the moment before a storm hits. You're reading her, acutely aware of the things running through her mind, because you can see it in her eyes, because they're the exact same thoughts that’s never left yours.

You want her.

You need her.

She’ll give herself to you.

Giselle’s the first to break the pause. “Ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

The corners of eyes crinkle ever so slightly, and that's about where you realise your fate's been sealed from the start. She takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. You’re aching already. "What I really want for Christmas."

You don't need a map to know where this is headed. But you still ask anyway. "And what is that?"

"You."

You set down your glass with a clink. "Look, Giselle—"

"Let me finish," she interrupts, and now her hand's sliding up your arm, leaving a trail of static wherever she touches. "For Christmas this year, all I want is for you to do whatever you want to me."

A second attempt, "Giselle—"

"I know you want to. You know I want you to. We've danced around this for too long and I'm running out of ways to subtly tell you that if I don’t get my hands on that perfect cock that I know you're hiding, I just might burn this place to the ground. So," she says carefully, intentionally. Making sure you feel each word coursing through your every nerve ending, winding their way down to your cock, until you’re throbbing in your pants.

Giselle bats her eyelashes. Bites her lip. Leans even closer. Her tits get very close to winning the war against her dress.

"Don't you want to make my Christmas wish come true?"

You never stood a chance. "I do quite like my bar in one piece."

"I do too." Giselle's smile turns devilish. “But I like the idea of having your cum inside me more.”

"Then we better get you out of your clothes."

Only, a slight amendment.

"But keep the stockings on."

—

Giselle kisses you like a woman starved. Messy, sloppy crashes that has her nose bumping into yours and her teeth finding purchase in your lip. She seems determined to leave her mark. You’re more than happy to let her.

It’s a far cry from what you’re used to—the build-up, the slow crescendo where you both pretend that you don’t immediately want to jump to the inevitable—but Giselle clearly doesn’t give a fuck about any of that.

The moment you’ve dragged her over the bar, fulfilled your fantasy and cleared the countertop so the only thing standing between you and her body is the crumpled mess of her dress, she's on you. Moaning, whining into your mouth, desperate. Tongue hunting down yours, pressing into it, trying to wrestle it into submission.

Taking your cheeks into her hands, holding firm, the only thing keeping her steady as you match her hunger, heat against heat. Her taste is everything you've ever wanted—sweet and sharp, like the whiskey burning through your veins, warming you from the inside out.

"God, I needed this," she whispers in the breaths between your kisses, as your hands get adventurous and run down the length of her spine, pulling her closer into you.

You make good on your promise, finding the zip, peeling it down, leaving the fabric to sag off her shoulders. Her skin is cold underneath your fingertips, the curve of her back breaking out in goosebumps. Your touch makes her arch, her back bow, her breasts push up against her dress until it can't hang on any longer and the whole thing pools around her waist.

“Merry Christmas to me,” comes tumbling out of your mouth when you finally get to appreciate Giselle.

The full, round tits, naked and begging for your hands. The smooth curve of her waist, the dip of her stomach. The way her hips flare out, giving way to thighs that you know, just know, will be the perfect grip. And the stockings. Holding up the suspension of your disbelief—she’s so ridiculously out of your league and yet so, so needy for you.

“Fucking gorgeous, Giselle,” you’re telling her, making her sigh, her eyes closing shut as you reach out to fill your hand with her chest. Your touch makes her nipples pebble, stiffen underneath your thumb. She leans back, pushing her chest out even more, giving you as much of herself as she can for you to touch, to tweak, to worship.

And she’s so much smaller than you, so much softer than you’ve ever allowed yourself to believe. The reality of her in your arms is far more intense than any fantasy you’ve ever concocted in the quiet of the night after she’s long gone and left you with nothing but her memory. But she’s giving herself to you now, wanting you to do it all.

Letting you push into her, kiss the skin between her neck and her clavicle, press into her a brand that will linger long after you’ve both unwinded and unraveled each other.

“Just like that,” Giselle whispers in your ear, hands finding your neck, needing you even closer still. “Don’t stop, just keep touching me. You can do whatever you want—tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Just don’t stop.”

Nothing else to do but oblige, to give in to your baser instincts, to bring every fantasy, every lurid thought to life. Giselle’s been living in your mind rent-free. Filled it with thoughts of fucking her into oblivion again and again—so you already know exactly where to go, what to do next.

You know to trace the edge of her stocking with your thumb, pressing down on the bow, watching as the skin around it flushes from your touch.

You know to drag your hand up, higher up her thighs, push the hem of her dress to her waist, slip under the elastic of her panties and hold itself there. Leave her trembling in anticipation of your touch.

“Please,” you’ve barely started and she’s already begging, breathless. Needing for you to explore her.

But first, you need to tell her how.

“I’m going to touch you,” you say, voice gruff, and she shudders, her hands tightening around your neck. “I’m going to get my fingers into your cunt, I’m going to squeeze your tits, I’m going to make you scream my name, and you will, because you’re going to be such a good girl for me. Understood?”

Her eyes flash open, meeting yours. Not an ounce of doubt. Just pure need.

“Yes,” she says. A single word that’s more a plea than a response. “Please. Do whatever you want. Make me feel good.”

She just about collapses when you yank her panties down and push your hands between her thighs.

“God—fuck—” and she’s sobbing already.

“You’re so drenched,” you’re remarking, sliding your fingers higher, feeling the wetness that’s been gathering there for who knows how long.

“For you,” she’s gasping, repeating herself, “For you.”

It’s so easy to find the heat of her, to push in and down on the top her mound. Give just the right amount of pressure on her clit that makes her jerk. Makes the muscles in her face twitch, her mouth open wide and moan. It’s a melody in your ears, and you press down harder, swirling now, and you’re beginning to think you’ve found your true calling.

Fuck making her drinks; making her fall apart is why you were put on this planet in the first place.

Her breasts jiggle with every tremble that runs through her, flickering in reach of you, taunting you with their bounce. You can’t help but lean down. Not when they’re calling to you like that.

You lick a path from the base of her neck to her collarbone, and then lower, to one of those perfect peaks that’s been begging for your attention.

Giselle inhales sharp through her teeth, her chest heaving as you start to suck on her nipple. You work your tongue around it, roll it in your mouth until her knuckles turn white against the edge of the bar, her nails digging into surface. The sounds she’s making, these choked gasps that are so raw, so needy.

Showing how good she feels with every part of her body—pushing her breasts up and into your face, her hands tangling in your hair, legs spreading wider, thighs shaking at the effort of staying upright.

You don’t let up, keep going—tongue swirling, fingers moving at double-time over her cunt, her other tit.

Listening to her turn your name into something filthy, something that sounds like a curse.

You pull back off her, cool air kissing the wetness you leave behind, making her quiver, her high, fuck-me heels knocking against wood.

“Giselle,” you say, taking in this look of bliss on her face. The teary eyes, the trembling lip, her cheeks now so very red. “Gonna make you cum now.”

You don’t wait for permission. You already have it. You step forward, lifting her legs up and trapping her atop the bar, spreading her wide open.

Two fingers at first, all at once, no hesitation. Giselle’s pupils blow wide, shocked, teeth bite down on her bottom lip, muffling a cry that you feel in the pit of your stomach. She’s so soaked that you slide right in with ease, a slow push that makes her whine, the slickness making the sounds of your fucking echo over the din of the empty bar.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” Giselle stutters, all breathy and desperate. Hands flying to your shoulders, nails digging in. Holding on for dear life, writhing as your fingers curl upwards, pushing up against that magical spot inside that has her clenching.

“Such a good girl,” you say, the words slipping out of your mouth like they’ve always been there, just waiting for her to hear them.

The whimper that she makes—the noise alone should be illegal.

“So tight around me,” you tell her, pushing on, focusing entirely on pulling more of these noises from her, doing your best to ignore how hard you already are, how unbearable it is to not be inside her. “So good for me.”

It’s the praise that makes her keen, makes her whine. Pushes herself onto your fingers, trying to get more, trying to get all of you. Just so fucking hot for you.

You can see it playing out across her body, the way she’s losing herself to the pleasure, giving up control of her own functions to you. So helpless, so beautiful. So fucking delighted to finally have you using her in ways she’s only dreamt of.

You’ve never seen anything like it. You’re addicted before you’ve even had her.

“This cunt is going to feel so good around my cock.”

Giselle's nodding, slurring together a string of yeses and thank yous in response.

Her pussy’s pulsing around your fingers, juices soaking your hand, she’s already so close. So close that you can almost taste the orgasm on her skin.

“You want it so fucking bad, don’t you, Giselle? Want me to fuck you senseless.”

Her eyes are glazed over, barely there. Just stunningly beautiful even in the midst of her desire, and you’re not even sure she’s heard you at all until she’s panting out, “I want it. Need it. So much. Oh, God, please, fuck me with your cock. Make me cum. Make me scream.”

But you get in close, lips to her cheek, a command for only her to hear. “You’re going to cum all over my hand. You’re going to show me how badly you want it. Understand?”

“Yes—yes, please—” is the most she can manage, a harsh whisper that barely gets through. You feel it more than hear it, a shiver running through her, down her spine and up yours. “Do it. Give me more, I need it.”

She’s nothing short of incredible. Writhing under your touch, losing herself to your fingers—there’s never been anything—anyone—like this. Anyone that runs this hot, that pleads this much, that is so eager for nothing but you, as much of you as you can give.

There’s no excuse for why it's taken so long to get here, why you let every other opportunity skate by. But now’s not the time for regrets. This is all just catch-up. Getting to this moment that’s been burning a hole in your mind. Making up for all the times when you should’ve been bringing her to her knees, should've been marking her up as yours.

“Mine,” you’re claiming, taking her lips once more, feeling the tremble in her chin. “You’re going to be mine, aren’t you?”

“Yours,” her voice quavers back into your mouth.

She kisses you back like she’s drowning, like you’re the very air she needs to breathe. And it’s all you can do to finger-fuck her faster, pressing deeper into her wetness. It’s filthy, borderline disrespectful the way that you’re owning her now. But it’s all necessary, if that’s what it’s going to take to get to feel her shatter in your arms.

But just as you can feel her hips bucking up off the counter and into your wrist, as she’s about to tip over the edge, you pull back, breaking the kiss, leaving her choking for air.

“Look at me,” you tell her, forcing her glassy eyes to refocus, to snap to yours. “I’m going to make you feel so good. You’re going to cum so hard for me. You’re going to look at me when you do.”

Giselle opens her mouth answer, but all that comes out is a whiny mewl when you slide your other hand from her tits to the back of her neck, pulling her into you, hard enough that you can feel her pulse drumming against your palm.

“That’s it, such a good girl,” you say to her, adorning her with all these sweet words that absolutely wreck her. And it’s so easy to because all of them fit. Your good girl, your slut, your baby, your whore. She deserves to hear them all. “Take it, take it all for me.”

“Fuck, please, I’m almost—” She tries and fails to put the syllables together—your fingers are too good, too precise in their frenzy. Playing her body, hitting every key, every beat, rushing to that final chorus.

And then it hits her, without warning, just a sigh and then she’s—

“I'm—I'm—cumming!”

Eyes trying to stay on yours, losing focus, turning wild, until she’s barely even there anymore.

Giselle cums.

Locking her in place, rippling across her body. Every muscle tensing, cunt quivering, hips lifting off the bar as her juices paint your hand.

“Thank you, thank you, fucking thank you—"

Her voice dies out, trapped in her throat, her words becoming nonsense as your fingers have her riding waves. You’re utterly transfixed, watching the orgasm rip across her face, melting her down to a messy puddle. Barely hanging on to you, mouth lolling open, eyes screwed shut, breaths coming in sharp and fast.

She’s limbless, her body goes slack, and you debate giving her the space, or even just a second to catch her breath, to come back to reality.

But you just don’t.

You don’t stop moving, don’t stop working her, because something tells you that the last thing she’d want is for you to stop. Something tells you that she’s one of those girls—the ones who love to chase the high. Who love to be pushed, who love to be told that they’re doing so well, that they’re perfect.

And Giselle is.

“Again,” you press into her neck, and she gives you the closest approximation to a nod that she can muster. “Again and again, I’ll make you cum until you can’t walk straight. Until you forget what it was ever like to not have my cock inside you.”

The nods come faster, insistent, following a whine as your fingers slide out of her cunt, all sticky with her juices. You bring it up to her, hold it in front of her face so she can see the mess she’s made of your hand.

Her breath hitches when she opens her eyes, catching sight of your glistening digits. You don’t even need to prompt her; she takes the initiative—she’s sucking your fingers without a second thought.

Moans when she tastes herself, sucking them clean, tongue flicking across your knuckles, pulling them into her mouth, relishing her own flavour.

“So fucking needy for it, aren’t you?”

You withdraw your fingers, enjoying the cry of protest at the loss, but you’ve got better plans for her. Pressing a kiss to her temple, before backing off completely, leaving Giselle empty, her legs wobbly.

You're quick to lose your clothes, stripping yourself off without much ceremony, tossing them aside with little care for where they end up.

And yet Giselle’s eyes rake over you, following your every move—she’s seen you before, you’ve caught her staring at your arms, your biceps, making no secret of assaulting you with her gaze at any chance she can get.

But now it’s the unbuckling of your belt, the vanishing of your jeans, the reveal of your cock. Springing free, hard and heavy.

Giselle wants it. Mouth salivating, pussy leaking at the sight of it. Oh, how she wants it.

It gives her energy, has her reaching out for a touch, a stroke. But you stop her, gently taking her wrist into your hand before she can make her Christmas wish come true.

She even has the audacity to pout. “Haven’t I been good?”

“Good?” You repeat, and you’re laughing. “You’ve been downright angelic.”

The pout quirks into a smirk, and there’s that familiar mischievous spark returning. “Then don't I deserve a little reward?” Giselle’s fingers go to her folds, spreading them apart. Putting her cunt on display, proud to show off how ready she is to be filled. “Like that big, beautiful cock of yours in my perfect little pussy?”

You don’t bother with the usual finesse, there’s no need for that. This doesn’t land anywhere on the normal spectrum of casual hook-ups to making love. This is about fucking. About need, raw and unfiltered.

“So, would you please—"

You’re yanking her by the waist before she can get started, lifting her off the bar and setting her down in front of you. There’s that thrill rushing through her, at being so easily handled, so effortlessly claimed.

She’s panting, breaths fogging up the air between you, waiting for your instruction.

“Get rid of the dress.”

Her compliance is instant—she steps out of her outfit, her panties. Until she’s just standing before you; the charm, the sex appeal, the big beautiful eyes all in view, so full of hope and desperation for the special kind of bliss only you can provide her.

Just Giselle, her fucking gift of a body in a pair of tight black stockings and high stiletto heels.

“Now,” you say, tilting your hips forward, your cock jabbing into her stomach, pressing a stamp of need into her skin. Giselle preens at the contact, practically vibrating at your touch. One more thing— “Beg.”

“Fuck me,” she says. Simply, honestly. With every ounce of her soul. “Fuck me good. Take me. Please. I need it. I need to feel you inside me. I’ve been dreaming of this, of you fucking me just like this, so—please, make it real.”

“Begging’s a good look on you, Giselle,” you murmur, finishing the rest of the thought in your head. ‘You're going to be doing a lot more of it tonight.’

She yelps when you flip her over, force her to brace herself against the bar. Her lovely ass high up in the air, her pussy drooling onto the floor.

You don't bother warning her.

You stuff your cock into her.

She fucking screams.

So wet, so slippery. Sliding in and out of her, forcing her cunt to mould itself too you. So fucking tight that you have to bite back a groan, have to fight the urge to just pound into her, to fuck her into the counter.

But there's still a pace you're setting, a rhythm that’s not quite as frantic as her needy cries. You’re in no hurry, not yet. You want to savour this. The feel of her clenching around you, the way her back arches with every thrust, her palms slapping against the bar top, leaving little smudges of sweat behind.

“God, this—” Giselle tries, but finds herself lost for words, unable to properly articulate just how good it feels to have you inside her. But the noises she makes—whimpers and gasps and moans and groans—speak volumes.

You complete the thought for her— “You fucking love this, don’t you?” You’re grunting, pressing your body to hers, nipping at her ear. Slurring these dirty thoughts like they're sweet nothings, these words of pure filth into her neck. “Love being fucked like this. Been waiting for it for so long. So goddamn desperate for it that you can’t even fucking talk.”

She’s fucking amazing. Not just the feeling—hot and tight and perfect—it’s the way she moves with you. Pure pleasure ricocheting through her, the slap of her ass against your hips, the sway of her tits underneath her, her cunt desperately trying to swallow you whole.

It’s her, her body, so alive and responsive and sensitive underneath yours. Taking your cock so deliciously, her cunt fluttering around like it’s trying to hold onto it, like it’s never going to let go.

“So, so fucking hard,” she’s found her voice, clawing back some level of composure. Enough to tense her cunt, squeeze her walls around you. Needing you to know every inch of her body, every inch of her pussy, needing you to know that it’s all yours for the taking. “God, it feels so good—doesn’t it? Fucking me here. Tell me. Tell me how good I am. Tell me I’m a good girl. Tell me you’re never going to be able to spend another second here without thinking of my pussy.”

You know she’s right, she’s leaving a part of herself here, branded into the very fabric of this bar that’s been your sanctuary. It has you pushing in deeper, a violent thrust of your hips, a little punctuation to drive her point home.

She swallows as you pick up speed, chokes on a half-formed moan—so, so fucking close. But you’ve only just begun.

Grabbing her hair, winding your fist in pink, pulling her up so she's forced to listen. The details on her face are all hazy, her makeups smudged from tears, from where she’s rubbed at her face, trying to keep the pleasure at bay. But that’s not how this goes. That’s not how any of this goes.

“You want to hear how good you’re being for me?” A harsh whisper for her, and it takes so much effort for her to just nod in response. “You want me to tell you all the filthy things I’m thinking? Everything that I’ve been dying to do to you?”

“Yes,” she pleads back. “Tell me, please—I need to hear it all.”

So you do. You lay it all on her. Every unfiltered, explicit thought you’ve had—every depraved fantasy that’s on the tip of your tongue whenever she’s around. You tell her all of it, how much of a whore you’re going to turn her into; how much of a slut you want to make her.

How this isn’t the last time. No, there’s going to be hours, days, weeks of this after. Of you fucking her here, of her coming to you just to have another taste of your cock. It’s a revelation, a promise, and it fucking ruins her.

“Every single time you've walked into here, every single time you've sat across form me, I've thought about this," you're grunting now, giving in to the urgency that’s been building up in your chest, the pressure that’s been weighing on you for what feels like an eternity. “I’ve thought about bending you over this very bar. Making you beg for it, making you scream out my name when I fuck my cum into you. Making sure every single person out there knows that this cunt is mine to take whenever I fucking want.”

It’s so fucked, the effect that hearing all this has on her. The sound of your voice, your darkest desires, the harshness of your words, it’s all too much for her, it’s everything she’s ever wanted to be told.

You’re unlocking something in her, something she’s never admitted to anyone, not her closest friends, not her bandmates, not even herself. The way you speak to her, the way you’re treating her like a perfect little fuck doll—and you’re realising that maybe, just maybe, it’s because no one’s ever fucked her well enough to find out.

There’s no room here to be gentle, there’s no way in hell she’d ever want you to be. You tighten your grip in your hair, slam into her harder, skin slapping against skin, mixing with the wet sounds of her pussy taking all of you. Each cry you fuck out of her is music, each one a little higher pitched, a little more desperate than the last.

“This is what you want isn’t it?” You’re demanding of her, even when she’s blubbering, barely able to breathe let alone respond. Just trying to hold on.

But you’re not letting her.

You’re taking her to that place that’s beyond words, that’s beyond thought. The place where all she can do is feel and react. And she’s doing that so beautifully, her body shaking, her cunt quivering around your cock. It’s building and building, the things you’re doing to her, saying to her, making her choke on her own spit, making her eyes roll back and her mouth drop open, until all she can repeat, over and over again is your name.

“Again,” she shapes another word, another plea. She’s a total disaster of need. “Please, again, make me cum again.”

“You'll cum when I say you can,” you growl, forcing her to choke on another whine. The strangled noise goes straight to your cock; makes it throb harder inside her, drive deeper into her. You let go of her hair, only to palm her tit, squeezing into the flesh hard. Giselle jolts, a squeal escaping her lips. “But since you’ve been so good, I’ll let you cum before me again. Just this once. Just because it’s Christmas.”

You’re being evil, you know it, she loves it, but it's the best part. She clearly wouldn't want it any other way.

”Yes.” Giselle’s beaming, shivering with excitement. Getting fucked into utter ruins and thanking you for the privilege. “Thank you, use my pussy, do whatever you want, just let me cum.”

That sparks an idea, “Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want,” Giselle pants, not a single idea of what she’s agreeing to. But maybe that's the whole point. “Anything.”

There’s a grin that splits your face that you can’t help, that you don’t bother suppressing. “I’m not going to ask for permission anymore, Giselle. I’m just going to fuck you the way I want. Make you addicted to my cock. Take you how I want, cum in all your holes, fill you up over and over again.”

Giselle’s eyes go wide, nearly stops breathing entirely. So close. Knowing that the next words out of your mouth are going to decimate her completely.

“Gonna make you start the New Year knocked up.”

She freezes.

“God—” Giselle’s a fucking wreck, on the verge of something explosive, something else entirely. “Oh my God.”

She just needs you to give her that push.

“You love it, don’t you? Being made nothing more than a fucking cumdump for me? That’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”

You’re fucking her too hard, hammering into her too roughly, it’s a wonder that she can even manage a stuttered, “I—I—”

“Fucking say it, Giselle,” you say, “Spit it out.”

It’s too difficult for her to fit the words together, to form her reply, so it means all that more when she manages to tell you. “I want it.”

“Want what?”

“Your cum in me. All of it. Until I’m, until I’m—” She’s there, lost in it, in the idea of you ruining her in such a permanent, irreversible way. Or maybe completing her, making her whole, making her perfect for you and only you.

But you’re so close too. Right fucking behind her. All she has to do is say it.

“Until you breed me. Fill me with your cum, give it to me. I need it. Make me your permanent cocksleeve and never let me go. Make me yours—completely, forever yours. Make me your fucking whore.”

“Good girl.”

And with that, she’s gone.

Hits her like a fucking meteor. Leaping right off the most intense high she’s ever climbed. Bucking and quaking against your bar, your cock still impaled inside her, mercilessly undoing her. It’s nothing short of fucking pornographic, fucking depraved the way it’s destroying her.

Seizing her entire body in pleasure, her nails digging into the wood, scraping up marks that will prove to be a sweet, everlasting reminder of the exact moment she became yours. Fracturing her, breaking her apart into a million tiny pieces and then remaking her all over again as something purely sexual—something that only exists for your satisfaction.

“So fucking good, your cock, God it’s you, just you—” Giselle’s words dissolve into a keening cry that shatters the remaining silence of the bar. “Breeding me so good—”

Nothing short of a miracle that she’s still on her feet, that she can still do anything at all. One last thing she needs to do in the dying embers of her lucidity, one final goal—choke your cock with her cunt, wring you dry, make you flood her with your cum.

“Cum, cum, fill me, breed me, give me your—”

“Take it,” you exhale, “Take it all.”

And it’s Giselle in her entirety that overcomes you, overloading your senses with the pure, distilled feeling of just her. The smell of her sex, her perfume, the feel of her curves, her softness, the perfection that is her pussy, enveloping your cock, drenching it in her wetness. These things that you’ll never, ever be able to forget.

But it's her words that make you erupt.

“Breed me, Daddy!”

You cum deep into Giselle’s pussy.

Buried inside her, rushing white hot, thick and heavy. Ropes and ropes of it, spurting inside her, painting her insides, coating her walls until it’s just sheer heat and you making her whole.

Her cunt’s clenching around you, she’s begging, slurring moans and whimpers that there’s no fucking chance you have of comprehending—just basking in the knowledge that they’re desperate, needy sounds that are all for you.

She can’t keep it all in. But she needs to.

Something knocks the architecture out of her legs, but you’re quick enough to wrap your arms around her, holding her tight, keep her on her feet. Keeping her from collapsing entirely, just letting her pulse around you, clench and quiver.

You’re kissing her into the shoulder, cooing these affirmations, keeping her with you, telling her the truth of it all, “Such a good girl, Giselle. Taking my cum so well.”

Giselle can’t say anything. She sobs. Face buried in her hands. Not from pain, not even close. You’ve never seen pleasure look so much like agony. So much like release.

It’s overwhelming.

You try to make a move, take a step back. But Giselle flexes her cunt, clutching you tighter. Reaches back with her hand for your thigh to stop you.

“Wait,” she whispers. "Not yet. Don't move. Keep your cock inside me. Don't let a single drop get out."

You give her the time, because she’s just so perfect like this. So unfathomably gorgeous, all fucked up and cum-drunk. In ways no one should ever be. Like you’ve torn the wings off an angel, brought her down to Earth and made her yours.

You revel in it.

“Take your time,” you breathe; the exhaustion, the strain, the adrenaline pumping through your veins all coming to a head at once. Keeping your cock plugging up her cunt. Leaving all your cum inside.

Neither of you are moving anywhere. Not until she says so.

Giselle laughs.

“Perfect,” she sighs, voice hoarse and shaky. “I knew it would be perfect. I knew you would ruin me like this. God, I don’t ever want to go back.”

You’re laughing too, harsh, airless chuckles that feel like they’re being torn out of your chest. You twitch your cock inside her. “You think you have a say in the matter?”

“I guess I don’t,” she giggles.

You look around at the scene of the crime, the evidence you've left on her. The marks on her skin, her shoulder, her neck. The ruins of her dress, her panties. The tearing of her stockings. Her tear-filled eyes, her smeared mascara, her drooling lips.

And her cunt, so full of you, so very yours.

It’s barely believable. She may not have burned down the bar, but there’s certainly a fire that’s been set. One that’s not likely to die down anytime soon.

It has you swelling inside her all over again.

Gisele feels it.

“Say,” she starts, wriggling her hips against you, making you groan. “You didn’t have any Christmas plans, right?”

Your hands slip down to her hips, idly massaging into the small of her back. “None at all.”

Giselle’s laughter subsides into a contented exhale, her lashes fluttering as she looks at you with a soft smile. Her hand reaches back, caressing the side of your face. “And the rest of the year?”

“Nothing that can’t be cancelled.”

“Good,” she says, her breath sweet against your cheek. “Cancel them all. Close up for the holidays. Shut all the doors. Stay inside with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And do what?”

“Get to work,” Giselle answers, pulling you into a last kiss, threatening to undo you all over again. “You did promise to knock me up by New Years.”

#kpop smut #giselle smut #aespa smut #male reader

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bluejutdae · 10 months ago

Text

• best friend Stray Kids saving you (or being saved by you) from a bad date | Felix x you

genre: romance, best friend to lovers

warnings: none, except that i am not satisfied at all with this but I’ve read it so many times I’m starting to hate it. I might edit heavily later

The moment you park outside the restaurant Lixie is in, you press the call button. Faking an emergency is not too hard, you talk about a friend getting injured and at the hospital, exaggerating your tone and almost making Felix laugh.

He’s out in less than five minutes. Under his bright smile there’s something you can’t decipher. He gets in your car and just his presence makes you happy. Everyone loves Felix, and you’re not immune to his charm either. He’s always kind, generous, sweet and funny. You’re really lucky to have him in your life.

“Ice cream?”

“Yes, please.” It’s so funny to hear his deep voice in such a childish tone.

You don’t press for answers about his date during the drive to your favorite ice cream place, you put on some music and sing loudly with him. Save for that indecipherable look in his eyes, he seems pretty normal.

You take your ice creams and decide to take a walk on the riverside. The wind is pretty chill, but neither of you mind too much. It’s him who brings up the date he was on.

“The date… it was like a blind date. But I didn’t know it was a date until it was too late.”

“Uh- what?” It doesn’t make sense: how did he manage to go on a date without knowing?

“Hannie.” Yeah, maybe it makes sense. Jisung means well, but most of the time the execution is, at best, messy.

“How did he get you?”

“He begged me to go on a double date on the premise it was just because this girl he wanted to go out with was wary of going out alone with him so she’d bring a friend with, but we were supposed to be just wingmen. Or so he told me.”

He licks his ice cream and shakes his head.

“About 10 minutes before we were supposed to meet he called and told me it was a lie and it was a blind date…”

You’re not sure as to what to say. It is very on brand for Jisung, but you can also understand how frustrating it can be for Felix. He’s a sweetheart, he must have felt guilty for having unwillingly misled the girl.

“I couldn’t just leave and stand her up. She knew nothing about the lie, so it wasn't her fault.”

“Was she nice, at least?”

He nods, but he seems almost distracted. “She was nice. Pretty and funny, to be honest.”

“Why didn’t you stay, then?”

He slows down to a stop, and the moment you notice you turn around to look at him, a question on your face. He cleans his mouth with the small napkin and exhales with a small grimace.

“Lix?”

“Because I like you. And I’m not interested in other girls.”

He likes you. Felix likes you. And not in a friendly way. In a like like way. You weren’t expecting that.

“I-“ you start, but you don’t know how to continue that sentence. What do you say to your best friend who just said he likes you? Do you even like him? You’ve always been pretty good at keeping your feelings in check, so after knowing him, when it was clear you were headed towards just being friends, that’s what you set your mind -and your heart- to. He’s your friend, and you didn’t even ever consider more.

“I’m sorry. I’ve kept it from you for a while but I couldn’t anymore. That’s why Jisung insisted on this date. He was trying to distract me.” He turns slightly to watch at the river flowing fast but quietly. “Things don't have to change. If you don’t feel the same it’s okay, but I’d like to stay friends if you’re okay with that. I don’t wanna lose you.”

The idea of Felix losing you is ridiculous to you, nothing is ever gonna make you distance yourself from him. You try to tell him so by hugging him. “Lixie, we’ll always be friends, no matter what.”

You speak into his jacket, and maybe it’s easier this way.

“I thought we were only meant to be friends, so I didn’t even consider looking at you in a different way.” You can feel him tense under your hug. “Wait, wait, listen to me please.” Still hugging him you try to look at him, a smile on your lips. He’s your best friend, he’s the best person you’ve ever met. Being liked by him is an honor, and if you think about it, trying to be something more it’s not something that you hate.

“You’re my best friend, Lix. You know I love you, and I think you’re perfect. I never let myself think about you like that, but I know that if I give it a chance, it’d be so easy to fall in love with you romantically.”

“You don’t have to make yourself like me.”

“Don’t be silly. I’d be lucky to love you. Give me a chance?”

He’s smiling now, and he’s so so pretty like this. He’s always pretty, you tell him constantly, but when he smiles it’s his best look.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure Lixie. Let me take you out on a date? I promise to spoil you…”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you out?”

“It’s okay. You can ask next time.” You kiss him on his cheek and hold his hand, making him resume your stroll.

He really is easy to love, and not even a month later you ask yourself how you ever managed not to be head over heels in love with your best friend boyfriend.

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #bluejutdae #skz #felix x you #felix x reader #felix x female reader #felix fluff #felix fanfic #felix imagines #felix scenarios #Thiana writes Felix

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charliemwrites · 4 months ago

Text

хозяин

Nobody. You wish it weren’t so apt. But he’s not a person, not anything of Earth.

Content: Dub-Con, Biting, Scratching, Exhibitionism, Possessive Behavior, Toxic Behavior

You must have pissed something off in a past life. Or they’re planning on giving you something really good in the next one. Because this… this is too much. He’s too much.

We are exactly right for you, khozyain.

It’s not just the taste of leather and oil on the back of your tongue each morning. Or the crimson smears on your sheets before bed. You could live with the shit sleep, the centuries of foreign memories, and the occasional hankering for raw meat that thins your appetite to nothing.

“You’re KorTac’s best operative?”

It’s a question you’ve heard a dozen times before – and will likely hear a dozen times more. The criticism is valid. You’re not an imposing figure; nothing impressive about you. Look more like a child in a Halloween costume than anything resembling a soldier. The question never bothers you because the unofficial title is as ill-fitting as the gun strapped to your thigh.

It’s not you they need to worry about bothering.

“We are. Problem, soldat?”

“There’s no problem, Nikto,” you answer in Sebastian Krueger’s place.

No, Krueger is too busy wondering where the big, dark figure behind your shoulder just came from. He could have sworn you stepped out of the transport alone. In broad daylight, no less. (That doesn’t mean there aren’t shadows.)

Nikto grunts, nearly tripping you with how closely he walks, toes of his boots nipping at the heels of yours. A stride twice the length of your own but doggedly following, not leading.

“Thought there was only one ‘a ya,” Declan O’Conor muses.

“Paperwork issue,” you lie, smiling.

Nikto grunts, pressing into your back as you stop in front of your temporary captain. You have to brace against his oppressive weight, feel yourself flush a bit when you don’t quite manage.

“Who’re you, then?” Declan asks, eyes on your shadow.

“Nikto,” comes the gruff reply.

Nobody.

You wish it weren’t so apt.

But he’s not a person, not anything of Earth. You don’t know if he ever was; he never gives you a straight answer when you pluck up the courage (or frustration) to ask. Last time, he told you that if he ever wanted to feel human, he’d just be inside you. (You’d flushed, didn��t know if he meant in your mind, where he often takes up unwanted residence, or… elsewhere. Couldn’t make yourself ask him to clarify, afraid of the answer. Jumped whenever he touched you for a week.)

You don’t know the exact bounds of this pact either. He listens to you only sometimes. When it suits him – or when it least suits you. And you’re not immune to his cruelty either, as the bruises and bitemarks and scratches can attest. Nothing like the romanticized crossroads deals you see in tv shows and movies.

Truthfully, you’re not even sure if he’s a punishment for you or if you’re a reward for him. What’s that line you read online once? Dog heaven is squirrel hell. Did he make a deal with you, or did he make a deal with something else, and you’re just collateral?

You never bother to ask. He’ll just click his forked tongue and tell you that it won’t get rid of him either way. The worst part is that he’ll be right. You’re pretty sure the Christian God as you know Him has nothing to do with any of this.

The mission doesn’t matter, not really. You only listen for objectives. Whoever needs killing, whatever information needs gathering, wherever the hostages are. The rest is all useless extra, so much noise to Nikto, not even listening. He’s too busy bullying his way between your thighs, sinking his teeth into the meat through your cargos.

You’re never sure if he’s visible or the other operatives just avoid looking at him in these moments. Regardless, you flush and kick at him when his jaw locks too hard. It’ll bruise livid and ugly, and he’ll fuck the head of his cock into the aching ring of teeth prints left behind.

He’s insistent when the briefing is over, riled up by the promise of bloodshed. Pushy and growling, nearly snapping through his “mask” as he herds you like a rabid shepherd to your temporary quarters.

He fucks you in the doorway though, using one thick arm to bounce you like a personal fleshlight. The other keeps your jaw forced open so he can spit and lick into your mouth, obscene and filthy.

You push and squirm, but he just laughs that awful, maniacal rattle and grinds your clit into his pelvis. Until you start to mean it when you whimper “no” and “stop.” It always makes him cum so hard that you taste ichor in the back of your throat.

It’s too much to hope that you’ll eat in the mess hall uninterrupted. Nikto’s presence attracts the worst, and Krueger is compelled to pick at the weakness you exude. It’s no question that he’s a bigger, stronger, meaner beast than you. But like a dying soldier left to scream in the field, there’s a muzzle hidden out of sight, awaiting whatever is lured in – for mercy or to feast.

Krueger takes the seat across from you, one of his boots landing heavy and threatening on top of yours. You eat quietly, picking at your mashed potatoes and rubbery chicken. Listen to him jab and jeer.

Nikto is there but he’s not. He’s laughing in your ear at all the true but derisive things Krueger is taunting you with. All the sins he boasts of and the reactions he takes as proof of your inadequacy for the assignment you’ve been brought for. It would hurt more of you didn’t know it was true – and if your nerves weren’t rattling.

There’s a line, always a line. Some fault hidden beneath the surface that you don’t see until the ground splits and swallows up the unfortunate soul above.

This time, it’s a comment about how much more useful you’d be as a cockwarmer.

The plastic fork is an inch from his eye by the time you finish blinking.

“Nikto, stop!”

It snaps in his tight fist – but stops. Krueger hasn’t even processed how close he was to losing half his sight before you’re yanking Nikto back by the straps. He’s growling, snarling, half-crazed over a comment he’s made himself. You abandon your mostly full tray and the table altogether, putting all your weight and strength into dragging him from the cafeteria.

“Calm down, that’s enough!” you shout over the animalistic sounds ripping from his throat.

He turns on you instead. Pins you to the wall just outside, in full view of anyone passing on their way to dinner.

“Mine, mine, mine,” he’s chanting. Ripping through your pants (that’s the second pair this week) and thrusting against the seam of your ass. Already leaking precum from an obsidian tip at the small of your back, the corpse-pale base nestled between your cheeks. If he had the coordination through the frenzy, he’d stuff it into you dry and tight. As it is, it’s all he can do to buck against you, fingers digging divots into the cement wall, dust raining down on your face.

Mine, mine, mine, he chants inside your skull in languages known and unknown. You’re leaking through your underwear, too overwhelmed and bewildered to be anything but turned on. Fear is synonymous with attraction, those two wires soldered together and circuited to your pussy.

Copper fills your nose, warmth drips down your lips. Nikto scents it like a hound, yanks your head back to lap at the blood, groaning into your mouth.

Yours, yours, yours as his cock splutters against your spine, too hot. Tingly, almost caustic. You can barely breathe and he’s hauling you over one big shoulder, scooping your slick to prod at the hole he was just grinding against.

Us as you’re pinned with nowhere to go and no voice to praise or protest. In a room darker than a void. Suspended on an endless continuum of pleasure and pain, phantom claws raking your skin and phantom mouths filling whatever holes his cock isn’t occupying.

Sometimes you wonder if the plural “we” and “us” he tends to use is in reference to you and him, or…

The mission is going to be a success, it always is. You separate from the rest of the KorTac squad, shooing Nikto’s hands out from under your shirt. The claw marks still sting; the sooner you can get out of tac gear, the better.

He cracks his neck as the two of you approach the infil point. It sounds like snapping bone. A crescent moon carves into the night sky, sharp enough to cut yourself on.

“Is it time, khozyain?”

Those cajoling whispers caress your ears again. To let him run rampant, to let him fill your bath with blood. He’d be a scourge on the earth if you let him, a one-man apocalypse. The death of the world for a slip of the tongue.

Your hold on his leash is so tight that it’s imprinted past the skin, down into muscle. But on nights like tonight, for things like this… you let out the lead.

“Stay clear of Point B,” you remind into your com.

“Roger,” all others agree.

If they know what’s good for them, they’ll abide by the plan like holy writ. Not even you can promise their lives if they stray.

Shadow looms behind you, grows with each beat of your heart, spills over your shoulders, threads down your arms. You don’t dare glance at the inhuman head hovering right by yours, the maw parting for vicious, pearlescent teeth and pooling saliva. Hungry. Starving.

“Nikto.”

A rolling, ravenous churr vibrates through your skull. The lowest windows of your target begin to crack.

“Hunt.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #nikto cod #nikto x reader #call of duty nikto #heavy kink

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fangsandfeels · 1 year ago

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The vagueness of Astarion sleeping mechanics drives me mad sometimes

So, the game says that elves don't sleep - to the point where it's ironically stated that the only way for them to experience sleeping is to either drink a potion of Angelic Slumber or "get hit really hard with a chair".

Instead, they enter a semi-aware meditative state (Revery) where they experience memories from their past lives (usually most positive and emotional parts). Or they just sorting through their current memories.

Now, we've seen Astarion meditating if his way of lying on a bedroll is anything to go by. He is also immune to sleeping spells. We could also see him sleeping (in a Durge run). I know that devs technically recycle the same sleeping pose for all romanced companions, but still. Also, Astarion has nightmares, which is not typical for elves.

Of course, when I was going through the lore, I scratched the surface, but from what I understood, Revery is supposed to be a controlled state, and nightmares aren't exactly controlled.

But, I've found a very interesting bit that (so far) is still considered part of the official canon:

Elves can sleep and dream just like any human, but almost all surface elves avoid doing so. Dreams, as humans know them, are strange and confusing to elves. Unlike the actual memories of one’s primal soul, present life, or past lives, dreams are uncontrolled products of the subconscious, and perhaps the subconscious minds of those past lives or primal souls as well. An elf who dreams must always wonder whose mind these thoughts first arose from, and why. Priests of Sehanine Moonbow are an exception: they sleep and dream to receive signs from their god, and elves consult such priests to interpret their own dreams."

From: Mordenkainrn's Tome Of Foes, Chapter 2: Elves

And not only does this little bit explain a lot, but it also provides some food for your fic writing purposes.

Now, I'm entering the headcanon territory, so be warned.

Astarion's access to Revery got horribly fucked up after he had been Turned. Not only does he no longer have access to his previous lives since he is technically dead and plucked from the cycle, but he also can't even have his happy or good memories before he became a spawn. Even if they are still there, somewhere in the memory palace, getting to them requires going through the catalog of traumatic and painful memories he acquired after being enslaved by Cazador. It's like running through a burning house trying to rescue your family photo - and the hall gets longer each time. So, entering a trance means confronting the worst memories of his life over and over because there is nothing else there.

Due to this Astarion may resort to sleeping, which elves don't usually do. Elves don't like dreams because dreams are subconscious, and they can't be controlled, which scares them. For Astarion, however, it means there is a chance of him subconsciously dreaming of something nice or just being blissfully empty. However, it doesn't safeguard him from nightmares which (because they are the product of his unconsciousness) get even more twisted than simple memories.

Additionally, there can be a possibility that after becoming a spawn he got cut off from meditation and trances completely, relying on sleeping only: at least, the cut spawn epilogue by Withers mentions how while Astarion needs to sleep again, he doesn't sleep alone. While we don't know what that means exactly (and whether it will ever be implemented in the game), I assume that the tadpole gave him the ability to meditate back, but it was a small improvement because his memory headspace no longer holds happy memories capable of offering solace or refuge.

So, my personal headcanon is that he switches between meditating and sleeping depending on how aware he needs to be, and whatever option feels less torturous at the moment.

For instance, in his Origin run, when he remembers the moment of Cazador carving scars into him, he is in a trance. Which is why the memory is so horribly vivid, as if he is reliving it anew.

However, when he has a nightmare where Cazador finds him, he is sleeping and experiencing a memory affected by his subconsciousness. Which is why he jolts himself awake and desperate to know the limits of his freedom.

So, yes, the man literally can't catch a break.

On a happier note (and for your hurt/comfort fanfiction purposes), once Astarion starts traveling with Tav and the group, his memory bank gets updated with memories that are actually fun and nice, so he has something to linger upon when he is meditating. Sleeping gradually becomes a bit more pleasant experience because his subconsciousness got more material to work with, so the quality of his non-controlled dreams has to gradually improve.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion brainrot #dnd elves are strange #feel free to correct me if i goofed up #because it's quite likely i goofed up

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edenesth · 2 months ago

Text

Until Death Claims Us

Pairing: vampire!Hongjoong x human!reader (+ a bit of boyfriend!Seonghwa x girlfriend!reader)

AU: vampire au

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: You were a fool to believe you could save him. You should have heeded everyone's warnings to run, but now you found yourself in need of saving—from him, the very embodiment of the devil.

Genre: angst, horror

Rating: Mature (M)

Trigger Warnings: violence, implied sexual assault, emotional abuse, kidnapping, gore and blood, coercion, isolation (being trapped/cut off from loved ones), substance use, death, self-harm, suicidal thoughts

A/N: Happy Halloween, folks! This contains dark themes and is not my typical cutesy little romance fic (been feeling violent lately), you've been warned.

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

"You're being such a good girl today," he taunted, pulling back slightly from your neck. The skin was bruised and ruptured from his relentless biting, a trail of blood staining the silk of your robes. "I wasn't expecting this—especially after the little show we put on for your poor loverboy yesterday. What was his name again? Park Seonghwa, wasn't it?"

You lay still beneath him, your gaze fixed on the familiar ceiling you'd come to know all too well during each struggle, each time he took you against your will.

"It's over, Hongjoong," you murmured, and his grin only widened as he licked his bloody fangs, mocking. "Over? For whom? You know you're mine, don't you? I'm not letting you go. Not now, not ever, my pet."

A small smile crossed your lips. "Exactly. I'm counting on that. I don't plan on leaving without you either. I won't let you hurt or threaten the people I love again—my boyfriend, my brother, my best friend..."

His eyes narrowed at your words. "What are you—" But before he could finish, the poison you'd ingested began to take hold, creeping through him bit by bit. He gasped, his hand clutching his heart. "Wh-what have you done?"

You chuckled bitterly, a trickle of blood trailing from your nose. "Wolfsbane and monkshood, enough to kill us both within the hour."

He gasped at your words. Vampires were immune to many things, but the herbs you'd named were among the deadliest known to any living thing—even to his kind. His claws flew to your neck, tightening as he growled, "Are you out of your goddamned mind, woman?!"

You smirked humourlessly. "Go ahead. End me now. It'd be a mercy."

Realising the force of his grip on your throat, he released you quickly, a shaky hand brushing your face as he noticed the blood trickling from your nose. If the poison was already taking a toll on him, your mortal body must be suffering a thousand times worse. "Do you really hate me this much?"

You shook your head, pulling your face away from his touch, but he only grasped you again, forcing you to meet his gaze—just as forceful as ever. That was the Kim Hongjoong you knew. "You're joking, right? You took me from my family, my friends, my… my lover, and forced me to stay by your side, to be fed on and used as you pleased. What else could I feel for you?"

He furrowed his brows, the pain in his chest intensifying as he struggled to keep his focus. "But, darling, I did it because I love you. I've told you over and over. If you weren't so stubborn, you could've been my queen. I was going to turn you—"

Tears of disgust welled up in your eyes as memories of this endless nightmare resurfaced. Weeks, months… you'd lost track. Maybe your family would know how long you'd been gone. "Love? You call this love? You don't torture someone you claim to love. You don't even know what that word means, you monster!"

Regret.

Immense, suffocating regret was all you felt. It had consumed you from the moment you'd fallen into Hongjoong's trap, ensnared by his cunning words and dark allure.

It hadn't always been this way.

⸸

"Ow!" you yelped, clutching your scraped knee as you eased yourself into a sitting position, recovering from the clumsy fall. You should have watched where you were going, but your mind had been lost in thought, still sulking over your cancelled plans. Your boyfriend had last-minute work obligations, leaving you disappointed after you'd looked forward to your date all day. Worse still, both your brother and best friend had their own commitments, so you were left to walk home alone, wishing Seonghwa were there to pick you up.

"Hey there, you alright?" a warm voice interrupted, and you looked up to see a stranger standing beside you, his hand extended politely, yet without touching.

And that was how you met him, on a chilly autumn evening. Kim Hongjoong had been so kind, so gentle, as you spilt your frustrations to him. He listened with a soft smile, guiding you to a nearby bus stop, supporting you with a careful hold, and tending to your wound with a small bandage. Before leaving, he draped his coat around your shoulders, leaving you with a comforting warmth.

How sweet of him.

What you didn't know was that as he walked away from you that night, his soft smile faded, replaced by a dark scowl. His fists clenched at his sides, and he cursed himself under his breath. He had planned to drain you right there on that empty street; it was the sweet scent of your blood that had drawn him to you in the first place. But the moment he saw you—eyes wide, vulnerable, and tangled in frustration—something inside him shifted, and he had done something he'd never done before: he spared his prey.

Had it been any other woman, she would have lost her life in an instant. It went against his nature to let a meal walk away unharmed. But you had been different somehow, your innocence tugging at some long-buried part of him he'd rather keep forgotten. "Pathetic," he muttered, disgusted with himself, before casting a glance over his shoulder, watching you as you disappeared from sight, his coat still wrapped around you.

"Another time," he murmured to himself, eyes narrowing with resolve. If he saw you again, he wouldn't hesitate.

Another time, human.

"Babe? What's this?" your beloved's voice called out, and an instant smile lit up your face as you turned to greet him that evening. "Hwa, you're home!" But as you tried to rush to him, a sharp pang in your knee held you back, and his eyes quickly caught the slight wince. In an instant, he was at your side, Hongjoong's coat discarded on the chair beside you.

"What happened? Are you okay?" he asked, worry furrowing his brow as he knelt beside you, inspecting the bandage.

You laughed sheepishly. "I may or may not have tripped over my own foot. But a kind stranger helped me out—he's the one who gave me his coat." You nodded toward the garment that Seonghwa had been eyeing earlier. "He found me by the side of the road, got me to a bus stop, and made sure I was alright before he left."

Guilt flashed across your boyfriend's face as he cupped your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin. "I'm so sorry I had to cancel, baby. It's my fault you were out there alone. Does it still hurt?"

You shook your head, leaning into his touch. "Not anymore. You're here now, and that's all that matters."

His expression softened as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Well, I'm just relieved someone was there to help. Good thing that man found you."

At the time, you nodded in agreement, warmth spreading through you at the thought. But if you had known then what you knew now, you would have wept, realising that this was only the beginning of a nightmare you could never have anticipated.

⸸

Falling into his orbit had been so easy.

"It's you!" you beamed as you stepped out of your workplace, your face lighting up at the sight of the kind stranger who had offered his coat and helped you just days before. The man smiled, his expression warm and charming as he nodded.

"It is me. I was just passing by and noticed you finishing up your shift," he said. "Heading home now?"

You nodded, stepping closer. "I am! And I actually have your coat all cleaned and ready, but I didn't bring it with me today. I can return it to you next time you pass by."

He chuckled, his gaze unwavering. "Why wait? I'll walk you home now, and you can give it to me there."

Maybe you should have been more cautious about leading a stranger to your doorstep. But he was your saviour, after all—surely you could trust him… right? If only you had thought twice back then, if only.

"Would you like to come in for a bit? It's a little chilly outside; let me just grab your coat real quick," you said, hurrying inside, leaving the door open behind you as you went to find it. Unhurried, the vampire stepped in, his eyes alight with satisfaction. Your scent filled the space, sweet and intoxicating. He took a slow breath, biting back the urge to sink his teeth into you right then. How awfully trusting you were—it made him want to draw this out, savouring the game.

He wandered into your living room, pausing at the wall lined with photos. His gaze darkened slightly as he took in the images of you with another man, holding you close, kissing you in some. Ah, yes, the lover. His lips twisted in a faint sneer, though when you returned with his coat folded neatly in your arms, he met you with a polite smile.

"Let me guess," he said smoothly, pointing to a photo, "this must be the lucky guy who had to cancel on you that night?"

You glanced at the picture and nodded, smiling. "That's him—my boyfriend. He was really grateful you were there to help me out."

Hongjoong's grin widened ever so slightly, amusement flashing in his eyes. "Grateful, is he?" he murmured, his voice silky, almost too smooth.

But you missed the glint of slyness in his tone, sending him off with a wave and a warm smile. Later that night, the vampire clutched the coat to his face, breathing in your scent with a low growl, his grip tightening. He hadn't realised until now how intoxicating the pull was, but he knew one thing for sure: this coat would never leave his grasp again—not until he had you for himself.

Once again, he had spared you.

But this time, it wasn't mercy—it was control. He'd see just how long you would continue to trust him, let him in. And then, he thought with a twisted smirk, he would show you exactly who he was as he drained every drop from you.

If you thought that would be the last time you'd see him, you were sorely mistaken. Almost every evening after that, he would appear outside the cafe just as your shift ended, leaning against the lamppost as though he'd been waiting.

"Want some company on the way home?" he'd ask, his voice always gentle, words wrapped in warmth as he mentioned it was on his way anyway.

And so, you'd let him walk beside you, night after night. He always seemed to know just what to say, as though he could read your mind. Every word was perfectly timed, his soft laughter like music that drew you in before you even realised it. He began to open up about his life, weaving tales of heartbreak and loneliness that tugged at your heart, his voice so sincere that it was easy to believe him.

"They say life is easier with someone who truly understands you," he'd murmur, eyes dark and searching as he glanced your way. He'd mention how it felt to be isolated, misunderstood—and somehow, it felt like he was talking to you, like he was a lost soul just waiting for the right person to come along.

And he'd pause, his gaze softening. "It's rare to find someone who… just gets it, you know?"

You'd nod, heart aching, wanting so badly to be that someone, to fill that void you thought you saw in him.

You had no idea then that he was slowly slipping under your skin, blurring the lines of trust and intuition until you found yourself more invested in him than you ever thought possible. That he wasn't seeking connection or friendship—he was weaving a web, each thread perfectly placed. And all along, his hunger lay just beneath the surface, patiently waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.

If only you had known what it meant to be the "friend" of a vampire.

⸸

Then there was that night in the park.

You'd found him sitting alone on a bench, his figure slouched, his head bowed as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. His expression was distant, empty, as he stared down at his hands—hands that seemed unblemished but, if only you'd known, had just left a trail of lives snuffed out too soon. No human could have sensed it, but his hunger for you was unmatched, something primal that no other blood could satisfy, not even the hapless souls he'd claimed just hours before.

But you, blissfully unaware of the darkness around him, only saw someone you thought of as a friend. Someone you might save, if you showed him kindness. Your heart ached at the sight, and you quietly sat beside him, reaching out to take his hand. His fingers were cool against yours, a chill that settled into your skin, but you brushed it off as a sign of the evening's autumn air.

"Everything alright, my friend?" you asked, your voice soft, filled with worry you didn't understand.

He didn't even glance up, yet he squeezed your hand lightly, as though your presence had grounded him. "I… I think I might've done something I'm not exactly proud of," he murmured, his voice trembling just enough to pull at your heart.

You sighed, your thumb tracing small circles on his hand, offering him a gentle squeeze without pressing him to share. "It's okay, Joong. I… I know your life hasn't been easy. Whatever it was, you probably had no choice." You gave him a small, reassuring smile. "Nobody's perfect. I just want you to know you'll always have a friend in me."

As you spoke, he finally looked at you, but there was a sharp glint in his eye, a brief, almost predatory gleam that flickered just for a moment. And though you noticed the faint trace of crimson near his collar, you dismissed it as a trick of the streetlight or perhaps a stain from a spill. Why would you have thought any differently?

What you didn't know was that every word, every gesture, was like fuel to his fire. He'd lured you in, time and again, feeding off your kindness, growing closer with each moment, all the while concealing what lay beneath that soft, gentle exterior. And you, too blinded by trust, saw only the broken soul he wanted you to see, never realising just how deeply you'd fallen into his hands.

If you'd known what he was hiding, you'd have run. But then, if he had his way, running wouldn't have saved you.

⸸

Regret. Deep, suffocating regret washed over you as you recalled how blindly you'd trusted a stranger you barely knew, dismissing every warning from those who loved you.

"Babe, I really don't have a good feeling about this guy you've been talking to," Seonghwa murmured one evening, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you washed the dishes. "I know he helped you that night, but his actions lately…"

You'd bitten your lip, drying your hands before turning to embrace him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I know it seems strange, Hwa, but he honestly just feels like someone who needs a friend. Maybe I'll introduce you two someday."

You had brushed off his concerns, convincing yourself you were just being overly cautious. How could you have known then what lurked beneath Hongjoong's warm smile and attentive gaze? The way he listened, the kindness in his eyes—it all felt genuine. But now, those memories were shadowed by the haze of your own naivety.

Thinking back to Seonghwa's concerned eyes and protective arms, the ache in your chest deepened. He had only wanted to shield you, to keep you safe, but you'd shrugged off his worries like scattered autumn leaves that night in the park. How could you have ignored the instincts of those who loved you?

You remembered your brother's warning too. "He knows you have a boyfriend, right? Then why is he still so…" he sighed, catching the frown on your face. "Just be careful around him, noona." His brow had been furrowed, his voice tinged with the protectiveness you’d come to expect from him.

Even your best friend had weighed in. "Gurl, he's hot, single, and lonely? Maybe he could use someone like me as a distraction!" she teased, laughing before her face turned serious. "But honestly, your brother and Hwa are right. You don't know him that well. Stranger danger, babe. You shouldn't be so trusting."

At the time, you'd laughed it all off, buoyed by a sense of invincibility in your own trust and optimism. But now, standing face-to-face with the darkness beneath Hongjoong's charm, the weight of every ignored warning settled heavily on your conscience. He'd played you, twisted your kindness into his own weapon, feeding on your good intentions to serve his own dark needs. If only you had listened.

⸸

"I find myself in a dire situation and in need of your help. If your words are sincere and your care for me as genuine as you've claimed, then please, come to me at once."

You should have heeded their warnings on that fateful day. As you picked up the note outside the cafe, your name scrawled across it, you noticed the handwriting—almost ancient, as if penned with a quill. It was signed by Hongjoong and carried an urgent request for you to come to his residence immediately.

As you read, questions flooded your mind.

First, why had he never exchanged numbers with you? Did he even own a phone? You realise now you've never seen him with one. His communication felt so… archaic. Perhaps he was simply a fan of old-fashioned ways, though the thought brought little comfort.

Then there was the urgency—what could he need you for so desperately? If he'd come all the way to leave the note, why not just speak to you? It struck you then that he'd never entered the cafe, never bought a drink, or even lingered to chat.

And the address… secluded in the middle of nowhere. Why would he live so far from everyone? A shadow of doubt tugged at you, urging you to reach out for advice from those who cared about you. But against your better judgement, you let the image of his pleading, dark eyes linger in your mind. Before you knew it, you were on your way, heart racing with anticipation and dread.

Each step felt heavier than the last, the echoes of your loved ones' warnings circling through your mind. Yet you pushed them aside, drawn by an inexplicable pull to see him again. It was as if you were stepping toward a dark abyss, its presence invisible yet pressing close. The setting sun cast long shadows, stretching as if to hold you back. But the illusion of connection, once so warm and real, propelled you forward.

As you reached his residence—a grand, ancient mansion, the air turned colder, a chill that crept down your spine. You paused at the door, dread settling in your stomach as if the very walls whispered the warnings you'd ignored. Was this a terrible mistake? You took a deep breath, pushed aside your hesitation, and knocked, the sound seeming to dissolve into the gathering twilight.

"You're here, at last, my dear," he murmured, voice dripping with sarcastic satisfaction. He turned, and in an instant, the false warmth vanished, twisting into a grin that revealed razor-sharp fangs.

"I've been waiting. And I'm starving."

⸸

Has it been days... or weeks?

"Wh-what the hell are you doing...?" you choked out, pressing a trembling hand to your neck to staunch the blood trickling from the bite he'd left. You were sprawled across his bed, barely able to move, every ounce of strength drained from you. Above, he stood with your phone in hand, snapping photos of you with a twisted, relished focus—capturing every vulnerable angle as if he were savouring an art piece on display.

"Making a collection to send to your little boyfriend, of course," he said, tone laced with mockery.

Your heart plummeted at the mention of Seonghwa. "N-no..."

Hongjoong smirked, his eyes dark and cold. "Oh, don't worry, darling. He wouldn't dare interfere if he knew what was good for you. And you'll behave yourself too, won't you? Wouldn't want anything happening to your precious family and friends, after all."

It hit you then—the grim reality. Your life as you knew it was over. He was a centuries-old monster, a bloodthirsty fiend who had you completely at his mercy. You were a mortal trapped in his web, no longer a person but a mere vessel to sate his hunger and whims.

Escape was a fleeting dream; you were too weak, too vulnerable. But in the dark corners of your mind, one thought persisted—an escape of a different kind. If you could somehow slip from this existence, you might at least put an end to this misery. Yet a lingering fear held you back: Seonghwa, your family, your friends. Were they still out there, searching for you, hearts heavy with worry? The thought of them stepping into this nightmare in a desperate attempt to find you gnawed at your soul.

You could take any fate for yourself, but the idea of your loved ones in harm's way was a weight you couldn't bear. So you swallowed back the dread, praying that they would find peace, that they would move on, even if you couldn't.

⸸

"Smile, darling. Loverboy has come to see you."

You gasped, a weak cry escaping your lips as his weight pressed you deeper into the mattress. You could barely push back against him, every ounce of strength drained, yet you clung to the disbelief—he couldn't have brought Seonghwa here. Not to witness this, not to see you in this state, drugged and used as Hongjoong's plaything. It had to be another one of his twisted games.

But as you turned your head to the window, horror struck you. There, just outside, stood your boyfriend. His eyes were wide, a mix of shock and agony contorting his face as he registered the scene before him: his first love, his entire world, bare and broken beneath another's hands.

A strangled sob left you as you watched him stumble back, his gaze a shattered mess of disbelief and betrayal. And then, without another glance, he turned and fled. The monster above you let out a dark chuckle, pressing a bruising kiss to your lips before pulling back with a smug, twisted satisfaction.

"And there he goes," he murmured, the words dripping with poison. "That should do it—no more foolish rescue attempts, no more endless searching. Just you and me, my dear. Don't worry; I'll take care of you from now on."

You lay there, his words echoing in your mind, the last remnants of your heart breaking into pieces. Your tears spilt freely, soaking the pillow beneath you as the reality sank in. With your boyfriend now gone, the final shred of hope and sanity within you slipped away. Yet, beneath the ache, something sharper flickered to life—a resolve you hadn't known you could possess.

The emptiness left you with nothing to lose. Hongjoong thought he'd finally won, thought he had you in his grasp forever. But he didn't know the lengths you'd go to escape him, the price you were willing to pay.

As your tears dried, you knew—if this was to be your end, he was going down with you.

⸸

Staring down at the wolfsbane and monkshood you'd collected, carefully wrapped in a small piece of parchment, your hands trembled. This was it. Once you took them, there would be no going back—the amount you'd prepared was enough to kill a bloodsucker within an hour, let alone you, a mere mortal. You took a shaky breath, steeling yourself to swallow the bitter herbs.

But just as you brought the packet closer, footsteps echoed down the hall, deliberate and unhurried. Heart racing, you hurriedly tucked the packet beneath the bed, barely managing to slide it out of sight as Hongjoong sauntered into the room, his gaze settling on you with that ever-present glint of sadistic amusement.

"Aww, look at you," he purred, eyes narrowing with mock sympathy. "Missing loverboy already, hm?" He let the words linger, watching the tension twist in your expression. "I am sorry he might not return the sentiment. Not anymore. Maybe you should just focus on me, darling." He crawled onto the bed, his movements slow and taunting, each slithering inch bringing him closer until his familiar, bone-chilling embrace enveloped you once more. The kind of hold that wrapped around your very spirit, pulling you down like an anchor.

The image of Seonghwa's face, etched with horror, surfaced in your mind, and you bit your lip to keep from crying out. How could he have been forced to see you like this? Swallowing hard, you clenched your fists, determined not to give this monster the satisfaction of seeing your tears.

But his lips grazed your neck, chilling as they pressed over the bruised, unhealed bite marks that would likely never get the chance to heal. A shiver raced down your spine. The coldness of him… It was like every hope of escape was slipping further away.

"Joong…" you whispered, voice barely audible. You felt him freeze for a moment at the sound of his name, the way you'd once used it back when you'd believed his act. Back when you'd truly cared for him. The silence stretched, the flicker of tension you'd caught in him melting back into amusement.

"Before I came here... before all of this…" your voice cracked, but you forced yourself to continue, needing to see if there was even a fraction of humanity left in him. "Was there ever one moment where the side you showed me was sincere?"

His eyes darkened, amusement shifting into something almost unreadable. His expression stayed carefully composed, but his grip tightened, as though he sensed the question held more weight than he was prepared to deal with. For a moment, you thought you saw something there—guilt, maybe, or regret? But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that cold, detached gaze.

"Oh, my poor, naive love," he murmured, voice soft but devoid of empathy. "Sincere? That side of me was whatever you wanted it to be. And it did its job beautifully, wouldn't you agree?" His lips curled into a smirk, as though he savoured the pain reflected in your eyes.

With that answer, a profound calm settled over you, solidifying the choice you'd been struggling with. He had no redemption. No humanity. And soon enough, he'd feel what it was like to be powerless, too. The herbs were just beneath the bed, waiting to release you both from this wretched game.

And it would be soon.

⸸

Your own recklessness had led you here; there was no one else to blame. And yet, the thought of Seonghwa tightened painfully around your heart. He had been everything—the one you imagined beside you in every future, the light in all your darkest moments. Now, he was left only with the haunting image of you powerless, taken by the monster who loomed over you.

The vampire had turned your suffering into a twisted show, a grotesque performance designed to break every last bit of faith Seonghwa held for you. How could he possibly still love you after witnessing this? How could anyone?

But perhaps that was for the best. If it meant he'd let go of the desperate need to search for you, you could leave this world knowing no one would mourn your tainted existence. And with that bleak acceptance, your resolve crystallised. Hongjoong had unknowingly given you all the tools you needed, and you were finally ready to use them. The knowledge from his library, the herbs in his greenhouse—all his arrogance had left him exposed.

You'd consumed more than enough of the poison just before his feeding time, driven by a singular determination to end this—no more hesitation.

The venom surged through your veins, dizzying yet invigorating, each heartbeat counting down to your final moments—and his. You focused on that thought as his grip on you began to waver, his dominant presence starting to crumble as the poison took effect.

As your vision began to blur, clarity sharpened in your mind. This wasn't just an escape; it was vengeance. The thought fueled the last remnants of strength in your body.

"Do you feel that, Kim Hongjoong?" you whispered, forcing your voice to hold steady despite nausea clawing at you. "This is the end for you, and I'll die knowing you'll never hurt anyone else again."

He looked down at you, disbelief flickering into grim acceptance, and then, to your surprise, a small grin crept across his lips. He lay down beside you, fingers reaching out to entwine with yours. "You sly little fox… this is why I love you so much. No one else could have done this to me, no matter how they tried. At least we'll be together in the afterlife. I may be dying, but I'll die happy knowing I've won over Park Seonghwa."

The poison surged stronger with every heartbeat, each pulse dragging you deeper into the icy grip of darkness as the final remnants of your strength began to fade. "You're delusional, Kim. You'll have me... only until death claims us."

⸸

"No! No, it can't be!" Seonghwa's voice tore through the night, raw and desperate as he tried to break free from the arms restraining him. His screams cut the air, his cries echoing in the vast, empty silence that had settled around the mansion. But the police officers, your brother, your best friend—everyone held him back from reaching you… or what was left of you.

If only you could have held on just a moment longer. The sirens had drawn near, filling the air with the promise of help, of escape, but they'd come too late. Your boyfriend had done the only thing he could, knowing that a rash attempt to rescue you would have meant his death too. He'd left after seeing you one last time, shattering as he took in the horror of your suffering, knowing you'd endured all this while he searched tirelessly for you.

Now, at last, he was here, hands still reaching out for you, ready to bring you back into his arms—but all that was left was an empty, still form entwined in the lifeless arms of the very monster who'd stolen you from him. His sobs were relentless, tearing from his chest as he stumbled forward, pleading, his body wracked with the pain of a thousand what-ifs.

If only he had fought harder to keep you by his side. If only he hadn't cancelled that night. If only he'd never let you cross paths with Hongjoong. The blame—merciless, relentless—wrapped around him like a noose, each regret tightening its hold.

This ache would follow him, a cycle of blame and guilt that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He would never be the same.

I'll join you soon, my love.

This has got to be one of my personal favourites, I do love me some sadistic shit from time to time. Hope y'all enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it!

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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anarchotahdigism · 10 months ago

Text

"The Biden era has normalized illness and demonized mitigations for the sake of “back to normal”. We now live in a country where educated liberals genuinely think it’s okay-and in fact good- that their kids are constantly ill (to be expected given the immune system-damaging nature of COVID). Where leftists argue that killing old people is less harmful than wearing masks. Where concern for community health is painted as cowardly and using the modern scientific tools we are lucky enough to have is portrayed as rude and stupid. And terribly, this liberal political project under Joe Biden has come down like a hammer on community solidarity, leaving “the vulnerable” squabbling with their mocking former comrades. It’s hard to overstate just how much damage the normalization of COVID has done to the very concepts of public health and community.

My beliefs throughout the pandemic have never changed: that vulnerable people deserve access to society, that mitigation must be prioritized, that great progress is possible with great effort, that community care is most critical in times of state abandonment. It’s hard to know where to go from here, at the nadir of a COVID response that vilifies and mocks any gesture toward prevention and care. But for those of us who are still here, education must start from a place of unpacking several years-worth of propaganda, while learning from disability justice activists who have reckoned with their social marginalization for decades.

Despite the multitude of falsehoods that continue to be poured over the heads of our comrades by outlets that can’t or won’t reckon with Biden’s failure, the truth has the advantage of being obvious, and patient. So we’ll continue to repeat it, until the people are ready to hear it: COVID is not mild. COVID is not harmless. COVID is not inevitable. COVID is not over. Stay safe out there."

#covid #eugenics #genocide joe #blue maga #death to america #genocide #wear a mask #queer cripple #anarchism #anticapitalism #ableism #anarchotahdigism #antifascism

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imperator-titus · 6 months ago

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Favorite Party Banter [Minthara Edition]

[Astarion (Ascended)] [Halsin/Jaheira] [Gale] [Karlach] [Lae'zel] [Minsc] [Minthara] [Shadowheart] [Wyll]

I often miss party banter because of party comp (and sometimes just straight up can't hear??) so here's a collection of my favorite bants while going through dialogue files. I know the wiki has the banter (most? all?) but I added the file names and dev notes.

Either Minthara is the main speaker/subject or I think Minthara's reaction is good shit.

Not in any particular order.

[PB_Minthara_Shadowheart_ROM_Act3_002]

Minthara: I cannot tell if you are more a deviant or a debutante, Shadowheart.

Minthara: I would like to test both aspects of your character when next you find yourself alone at night.

Shadowheart: I’m not quite sure I like where this is going.

[PB_Karlach_Minthara_ROM_Act3_001]

Karlach: It’s funny seeing you so smitten, Minthara. Didn’t think you were able. {Devnote: With concern}

Minthara: I took my first lover before you were a spark in your father’s eye, child.

Karlach: Go on.

Minthara: She was a high priestess of House Vandree. Beautiful, elegant, ruthless. {Devnote: friendly rather than flirtatious}

Minthara: I adored her, and had been sharing her bed for some time when the order came that she must die.

Minthara: I stayed with her while the poison did its work, and whispered words of comfort as she slipped away.

Karlach: Oh no. {Devnote: quiet, shocked, just heard a very sad story}

[PB_Gale_Minthara_ROM_Act3]

Gale: I found an empty bottle of venom in camp, Minthara. Safe to assume it was yours?

Minthara: Indeed. I have been dosing my partner while they sleep by my side.

Minthara: They refuse to take it in their food, but I must build up their immunity in case we ever visit Menzoberranzan together.

Gale: Let’s never speak of this again.

[PB_Astarion_Minthara_ROM_Act2]

Astarion: So how does Lolth feel about romance? Are you expected to bite your mate's head off afterwards?

Minthara: Be grateful I no longer follow the Spider Queen's teachings. If I did, you would be the first to fall into my web. {Devnote: Teasing Astarion with a grotesquely exaggerated version of how she would seduce him}

Astarion: I can't tell if you're joking. She is joking, right? {Devnote: first phrase to Minthara, then appealing to the party at large for support}

[PB_Laezel_Minthara_Act2_ROM_001]

Lae'zel: Our leader is a fool for love, Minthara. I'd never be compelled to conduct such a poorly-planned jailbreak.

Minthara: They did not do it for love. They did it for my prowess in combat, as well as coitus. I excel in both.

Lae'zel: As do I. Sometimes the acts are not dissimilar.

[PB_Gale_Minthara_ROM_Act2]

Gale: I'm glad to know you have a softer side, Minthara. I was beginning to think you rather heartless.

Minthara: Loving another is not soft, wizard. It is one of the hardest things a person can do.

Gale: So you admit you've found love! How delightful - I'm happy for you both.

#bg3 #bg3 dialogue #minthara #shadowheart #karlach #gale dekarios #astarion #laezel #text post #titus post #minthara baenre #bg3 minthara #bg3 meta

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captainofthedauntless · 8 months ago

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Wants

Rise Leonardo x Reader imagine

Info + Warnings: Reader needs help wrapping gifts at the last second before a party. Leo's their hero. And a huge distraction. No gendered language, pronouns, or Y.N used for Reader. An attempt at Spanish by a very not Spanish speaking writer. Established relationship. Arguably steamy. Set a few years post movie.

Commentary: IDK what the fuck happened here.

See, here's the thing.

You are extremely, incredibly kissable.

He knows this. He knows this like he knows his swords are sharp. He knows it in his bones.

He also knows you have somewhere to be.

(Really, his motives were good. He came over just to help you finish wrapping your friend's birthday gifts (okay, and give you shit for only now getting around to it). He just wanted to be a supportive boyfriend and make sure you had time to get ready in peace.)

And yet, because he's either an idiot or an asshole, here he is, boxing you in at your table and kissing you.

See, the thing... you look really, really good. And you smiled at him when you walked out of your room, all dressed up and looking forward to the party you're going to and grateful for his help.

And he's only human- turtle- hm.

He's not immune, is his point.

So here you are, getting kissed, and his hands are on your waist and yours are grabbing handfuls of his shirt and he's very, very happy.

It's only when you gasp against him- his hand slipped, okay, he hadn't meant to squeeze your hip like that- and the sound makes his heart skip one beat and crash into another that he realizes- with all of the force of getting hit by a train- that he has to stop.

It's like cutting off his own arm.

But he does it, he pulls back- pushes back against every fiber of his being that wants to keep you close enough that he can almost hear your heartbeat- because you have places to be.

And you deserve much, much better than him being a desperate disaster against your dining table.

Now he's staring.

He's staring and his hands are still on your waist and your hip and he has to stop. Has to. Needs to. Like, muy rápido, right now, yesterday has to stop.

"...Hi," He says, voice all shaky and gooey through his grin.

"Hi," You repeat, a little dazed as you're still clinging to his shirt.

You're smiling at him again. He's not sure you ever stopped.

Shit. Fuck. He has to walk away.

He wants to keep you there for the rest of your natural lives.

"You gotta go," He mutters grimly, and he realizes how fucked it sounds immediately, and he throws himself into an uncharacteristically jumbled explanation because his brain is still offline. "It's late- you gotta- the thing- I'm- fuck I don't want to stop kissing you."

You cock your head as you process his messy babble, blinking twice, and then you're laughing.

And then he's laughing, because really it's that or take one of your butter knives and portal himself into the ocean, and if he does that he can't do this again.

"I gotta go," You confirm with a wry, bittersweet smile, not letting go of his shirt.

It's going to be so wrinkled.

He literally could not give less of a fuck.

"You gotta go," He repeats, more to himself than you, and you must know that because you're laughing again and you must really not care about... whatever urgent thing you have to go to... whatever that was, because you're not helping him stop like. At all.

You're gonna be the death of him one day.

"Maybe... you could come back by tonight? We could watch that stupid racing movie you've been talking about-"

"It's a heist movie, thank you-"

"-And, uh..."

"Don't say chill. I'll explode. I'll expire."

"I was trying to say cuddle," You say, bashful and exasperated at the same time, somehow. As though he'd ever say no. As if he knows how to say no to you. As though he ever, ever stood a chance.

It's beyond cute. It's enough to make him want to squish you and literally never let you go.

"You gotta go," He groans, his hands darting up to cup your cheeks and squeeze your face softly. "You're gonna drive me insane. What even is this again?"

"Birthday party."

"They'll have another-"

"Leo!" You laugh over his playful persuasion.

"You can send a card-"

"Leo."

"I'll pay for postage. I'll lick the stamp."

"Leonardo," You breathe, all fond exasperation, as though you'd ever let go of his shirt. As though you're any better than he is.

He almost wants to push just a little farther, see what else he can get you to call him.

He really wants to.

He wants a lot of things around you.

And even more when he's not around you.

And now, he's facing min-ee-mum four hours being not around you.

He hates it.

He takes the feeling and balls it up and three-point-shoots it into his mind's trashcan, because you deserve to go and have fun and be merry and all that jazz. He gets you to himself enough- never enough, literally never enough- that he can share.

Plus, he did a fantastic job wrapping those gifts.

And, as easily as he twists and leads and convinces other people, he's played himself right into a corner, because now it's both you deserve him being normal here AND his ego.

He'd be impressed by himself if it weren't for the fact that it means he loses.

He shakes his head a little, because he lost the plot minutes ago and you really gotta go and he's still got you against the table.

"Movie night?" He asks, just to hear you talk. He knows the answer.

"Movie night," You confirm happily, releasing his shirt.

He whines a little. He's barely even embarrassed at this point.

You laugh again and smooth the fabric out, hands warm on his plastron and making him a little insane again, before you press a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you for your help, honey."

"Thank me by making sure those are put front and center on the table, yeah?"

You glance at the boxes- done up in blue ribbon, you notice- and nod. "Art deserves to be displayed," You say seriously, and he's dangerously close to kissing you again because you're perfect.

"Yoooou-"

"Gotta go?" You finish with a knowing grin, eyes smug, head tilted playfully, perfect.

"Extremely, extremely yes. If you don't go I'm never gonna let you go. You gotta go."

"Hm..."

"Nope!" He says quickly, cutting off whatever tease is about to come out of your mouth, clinging to his sanity by half a thread. "Nope, nope, you are taking those boxes and you are going and you're going to have a great time and be safe and that is final."

"Are you telling me or yourself?"

Perfect. The death of him. Smug and clever and kissable and the worst and the best.

"Both, apparently."

"...I can be a few minutes late-"

"Baby, gorgeous, mi vida, if you don't get out of this apartment-"

You laugh bright and mischievous and delightful, and you press a quick kiss to his lips, and you scoop up the gifts and your keys ("You can port out, right?" "I think I'll manage.") and your phone and wallet and he grabs the door for you, because he's a gentleman (unwilling to be an inch farther from you than he has to).

"See you tonight," You promise, turning back to look him in the eye with more open affection than he was ready to see outside his own reflection.

"See you tonight," He agrees, knowing he sounds lovesick.

You leave, he closes the door, he slumps forwards to rest his forehead against it as he turns the lock and laughs breathlessly because his chest feels like it's going to explode from how much of it is just you.

#*writing #imagines #x reader #tmnt x reader #leonardo x reader #rottmnt x reader #aged up characters #leonardo #2018

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evolnoomym · 3 months ago

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2. Million Dollar Man

Sugar-Daddy!Joel Miller x f!OC

General Masterlist | “Runaway Butterfly 🦋” Masterlist | Support me |

Summary: A look at your daily routine, a little friend gets introduced, 1st Date jitters and Joel Miller enters the game.

Rating: 18+ explicit content mdni!!!!

Word count: 3.5 k

Warnings: no y/n, f!reader, working out, pills (Silica), mentions of eating, struggles to eat in front of others, shaving, allusions to sa, Mommy issues, panic attack, alcohol consumption, weed consumption, flirting, bantering, Moon is not a blank slate (sorry)

If I missed anything please let me know 🙏��

Authors note: Here we go Chapter 2 for y’all, I hope you enjoy 🩵

Shoutout to @saradika-graphics & @cafekitsune for the dividers 🫶🏻

Big thank you to @lady-bess for beta reading 🫂🌙

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that. I’m totally here for constructive criticism or feedback on how to improve. In general I appreciate comments, likes and reblogs greatly 👌🏻

It was a normal day for you just the same as always. Waking up at around 9 am, you continue to roll around for another hour slowly getting more acclimated with being up, until you decide it’s time. Sitting on the edge for a moment you roll your shoulders and lightly stretch that aching back of yours, the most will be dealt with later.

The first thing after swapping your sleeping gown with a black cotton camisole and some black cozy shorts, is to make your bed. It's a routine, almost always exactly the same as a way to feel secure, it brings you comfort. You start by shaking out the three blankets, two regular sized and one large blanket. One after another, followed by all your pillows, which at this point must be in the double digits region. You like to practically swaddle yourself. Next you meticulously put the pillows at their designated places and after folding the blankets those get the same treatment. One final sweep of your hand to even out some creases and it’s on to the next step.

Every night before going to sleep you prepare a tall glass of water alongside two Silica supplement pills on your dresser across from your bed, downing them is the next step of the routine. Afterwards it’s time for some plant caretaking which consists of checking if any of your baby’s produced a new leaf or need some water. Since you spent the entirety of yesterday, from morning to evening watering all of them, they are in perfectly healthy condition.

Though your most treasured plant, the monstera deliciosa, gets a little extra attention, you take her out onto the tiny balcony attached to the bedroom and generously spray each leaf with water. Maybe it does nothing but you’d like to believe that the effort is appreciated and repaid by continually birthing bigger and bigger sliced leafs. She gets to soak up the water, enjoy the fresh air as you leave the door open to also get some air flowing throughout the room and once the bedroom opens the rest of the tiny apartment.

You slip on your black loafers, take the empty glass, your iPhone and go to the kitchen which is situated outside your bedroom on the left. You have one of those pearl curtains attached to the wood panel above the walkthrough. It's oldschool and sometimes a little inconvenient but you like the beautiful blue colors it adds. You reach up into the cupboard for a shot glass which gets filled with a horrific tasting immune shot, a concoction of turmeric, ginger, lemon, orange and apple juice - burns like hell on the way down but at least it’s supposed to be good for you.

You down another glass of water immediately after which soothes your esophagus, it washes away any bitter taste left and when you brush your teeth the overpowering minty taste does the rest.

Karl Jr. -your beautiful black fur baby- would then get his breakfast served. Followed by some more morning stretches as well as a watered down version of your usual evening workout routine to help your back pain be less severe. Once your done it’s quite calming to just sit on the rolled out yoga mat placed in front of the open balcony door, you enjoy to feel the breeze passing over your face along with the early morning sun rays, it’s peaceful.

If it would be just an ordinary day you would now sit at the tiny desk in your living room with your grinder and long papers, preparing a morning j, which after smoking would be followed by breakfast.

But today is different. You have a “Date”. Well it might not be the right word to describe the occasion but a business meeting sounds too formal for a walk through the nearby park.

“Joel Miller wants to meet you”, that’s what the message read that was atomically sent by the Sugar-Daddy website and after some rather tame exchange of words with him it was decided to meet up in person. He suggested a restaurant but you declined that offer quickly, eating in front of him and most of all eating with so many people surrounding you, watching you, judging you? No that would be uncomfortable, so you pitched the idea of walking through the park just a short 15 min walk from your apartment. The two of you decided to meet at 3 pm, at the entrance of the park and go from there.

Through some weird intuition you luckily had taken a “everything” shower yesterday, before going to bed. You spend 2 hours scrubbing every nook and cranny on your body, shaving your legs and armpits. It was just a meet up so there was no reason to go crazy on your downstairs area, you didn’t plan on taking him home. Besides you were never one for taking the other person to bed on the first meeting, not that you didn’t try, you did. Seeing everyone around you having those casual encounters with no trouble, made you think you had to do the same and be like them. To feel like you fit in that’s what you tried, but it never went past some awkward kisses, they would try for more which you always brushed off as it just didn’t feel right and that’s where it would end.

You wondered why casual hookups never worked out until one day you did. Dating became less important after those discoveries, you could not open up that way anymore, it always felt like playing a character, pretending to be something you’re not.

A facade can only be kept for so long until it all falls apart or they discover the truth and they always do. The last date you went on was almost 2 years ago and the last time you had sex was at 17 which was losing your virginity to him. Now looking back it makes sense why you couldn’t be like the others.

Even in the 8 months of living here you did not make moves to really meet anyone on a romantic or platonic level. Well except Theresa your neighbor, she’s the only friend you made since moving here. She is 34 years old, single -which you don’t understand as she’s very gorgeous- and has two cats.Theresa takes care of you in the form of making sure you get up, eat and don’t succumb to the pressure in your mind. Almost like a Mother would.

Sitting at your make up table you decided on a simple makeup look, just a bit concealer, blush, bronzer, mascara and peach gloss. Of course you also wear your favorite jewelry set containing moon shaped earrings and a necklace with a moon pendant. Gifted by Theresa after she learned of your fondness for the moon and the story surrounding your name.

Next up was the outfit, which again, was not anything special. A black tank top, flowy black pants and well worn black converse. Before leaving you put on your vanilla perfume and mango scented body spray.

After locking your own door you stop at Theresa‘s apartment door, raise your right hand, knock and wait. She opens up appearing to have just woken up.

“Do I look okay?”

You do a twirl on wobbly knees.

“You look more than okay sweetheart,” she gives you one of her rare soft smiles “I know you’re nervous but you got this,yeah?”

“I got this,” deep breath in and out “I’m okay and I got this.” You reaffirm.

“Atta girl, if he does anything weird I’ll come get you and rip his balls off.” She’s joking but you know she would do it for you.

“I’m sure one day you’ll get the chance to live out this little dreams of yours, but this guy actually seems nice.”

You quickly glance down at your phone, realizing you have to get going you say goodbye to Theresa.

“Shit, I gotta go or else I’ll be late. I’ll talk to you later okay?”

“Of ‘course go get him kiddo, you better tell me everything later. Be careful, yeah?”

As you are already almost halfway down the stairs you exclaim a loud affirmative yes.

Off you go.

The park is unusually crowded for a Sunday afternoon. A bunch of kids are loudly playing on the playground near by and there’s a baby crying in its stroller alongside the mother trying to quickly soothe her baby. People are walking by having their own conversations. You can hear cars driving around and occasionally a honk. It’s overwhelming, so many things happening at once and you’re immediately reminded of why you avoid going outside.

Today however all these people are also a protection shield in case something goes wrong. You’re more careful these days than back then, you learned from what happened.

To say you’re nervous would be an understatement,no, not even smoking before leaving helped to calm you down. These tricks may have helped you then but now it’s a different story.

You remember that day years ago vividly, it was supposed to be the second date with the significantly older police apprentice which inevitably would also be the last time seeing him. The plan beforehand was to meet friends at the park, there you would hang out, smoke weed and drink cherry liqueur to make yourself more pliant before getting picked up by that man. It was so stupid, he drove so far away to a lake and by the time you got there it was already dark. So much could’ve happened. He set up a Picnic, with strawberries and a whole bottle of wine for you to finish on your own, which you did. Back then you fortunately still had your luck, nothing bad happened and he just drove you back home after not getting into your pants.

Sitting on this bench now feels just like 6 years ago. Even though now it might be worse you’re shaking and the air leaves you in panicked little huffs. The ringing in your ears gets steadily louder, black spots are clouding your vision and the pressure forces you to close your eyes. That’s when you hear it, a voice, a deep octave fighting its way through the ringing.

“S’cuse me, Hello Darlin’ I thin…-“ he doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before you immediately shoot up from the bench coming to a halt right before him. That spurt of energy however didn’t last long, almost immediately you feel your legs giving out and you would’ve collapsed weren’t it for those big strong hands gripping your shoulders to keep you from falling.

“Woahh hold ‘ya horses darlin easy, breathe ‘kay, in an out…can you do tha’ for me?” his voice makes you open your eyes to see nothing but a very nice lookin yellow Lakers shirt. You couldn’t lift your head up just yet. Instead you wanted to try to make this less embarrassing “I-I…I’m okay, ughh” a wheezing sound left you, breathing so much after basically slowly suffocating was a bit derailing. You wanted to open your mouth again to say something but he cut you off “No, Shhh, just breathe don’t worry but anythin’ right now.”

And that you did, after approximately 5 minutes which felt like lifetime you felt good enough to finally look at him. Now you felt breathless for an entirely different reason, that being the tall Texas glass of water right in front of you. His hair was nicely combed back, he wore thick black glasses, a gorgeous smile peeking at you from under his mustache and the best thing, his hands were still on your shoulders even though his grip got softer.

After looking him up and down you just stared at his face and probably looked like a fish out of water with your gasping at a rapid speed. The whole situation caught up with you, making you take a step back. His hands slide down your arms till he no longer touches you. Shanking your head you started to apologize “I’m so sorry, this so embarrassing..-fuck I’m really sorry you had to witness this.”

He just looks at you like you said something ridiculous “Darlin’ you don’t need to apologize for havin a panic attack or anythin. Alright?”

“Yeah you’re right, thank you, for helping with the breathing and stuff.” You nod

“Don’t mention it, you wanna sit down again or-?”

“No need to sit down again, moving around is probably the best, there’s a pond just a short walk from here. It’s a little more secluded,” you look around “, than here.”

He nods “You lead the way M’lady,” giving you a cheeky smile.

“Keep up Mr.Miller,” you retort and swivel past him with a cheeky smile of your own.

It was a quick 5 minute walk, which was spent in comfortable silence, allowing you to recover from the panic attack. Luckily your favorite spot is free, a wooden bench placed only a few feet away from a cute little pond surrounded by trees and lushes green bushes.

“There we go, please have a seat,” you motion for him to sit down.

You can’t help but watch him get comfortable and spread his meaty thighs. It’s an invitation for your gaze to go directly to his crotch. Images of what a guy like him must be packing flood your brain, most of all what he could do with that.

“Darlin’ did ya not learn that staring is impolite,” that certainly snaps you back into reality quickly, eyes going back to his face. You can feel your cheeks get warm at being caught, you surely must be looking like a tomato.

You sit down next to him and start to apologize “I..I am so so..sorry,” you don’t even dare to look at him.

“Hey sweetheart,” two of his thick fingers tip your chin up “look at me, s’ all good okay?” the look in his eyes is expecting. “Yes it’s all okay,” you nod and his expression turns into a pleased smile.

“That’s a good girl,” those specific words, in that deep molasses tone momentarily stun you. Is he doing this on purpose or is it just who he is?

His deep chuckle let’s you know that he’s well aware of the effect those words have on you. Cheeky.

The short silence is broken by you first.

“Sooo, have you done this before?” What a stupid question, he most likely has done this before, he’s gorgeous, who wouldn’t want him as their Sugar-Daddy ?

“Yes, I have done this before, have you?”

Now this makes you let out a genuine laugh.

“What’s so funny sweet girl, huh?” He inquires.

“Look at me, do I seem like the kinda girl that catches the attention of a Sugar-Daddy?” Pointing at yourself, completely ignoring what he just called you.

“You got my attention, don’t ya?” The smile he gives you makes you realize that this is one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen and those cute dimples will never leave your mind. “Also let’s not kid ourselves you're breathtaking, pretty girl.” The final nail in your coffin is the wink he sends you.

For a moment you just stare at him.

“Anyway,” you have to look away from his smug face towards the pond to hide your reaction, you try hard to contain your blush “i have never done this before. Though I have thought about trying this.”

He appears to process that answer.

“What’dya want out of this arrangement?”

A good question, but calling this an arrangement sounds so clinical and cold. Shouldn’t it be more than that? Isn’t your body part of this deal?

“Best case scenario I get a genuine connection out of it, someone to call home, to rely on, something real you know?” He nods in understanding.

“Obviously the money is an aspect too, it’s security, it means not having to worry about making ends meet and just living carefree.”

A shaky breath leaves you after dumping everything on him.

He scratches his scruffy jaw looking deep in thought “What would that carefree life look like?”

You know exactly how to answer, maybe you shouldn’t be so honest but you feel like that will get you plus points. Besides you got not much to lose.

“I’d like to travel, see a bit of the world, take photos of all the majestic sights I’ll come across. Live in a secluded house, close to the nature. I’d wake up paint, take care of my plants, try out delicious recipes and I’d be happy.” It might sound simple to him but that’s all you’d need. A safe warm home.

“I can make that happen for ya sweetheart,” he sounds serious, too serious and you don’t want to get your hope’s up, so you switch the topic.

“Why didn’t it work out with the previous two women?” You interested why neither worked out, how could you fumble a man like Joel.

“The expectations in the arrangement didn’t align, they wanted a quick dime, not really interested in interpersonal relations and I got bored.” He says it with such a nonchalance.

“Where they my age?”

“No, they were both older than you,” you are not sure how to feel about that answer, is it better or is it worse?

“Why don’t you just try normal dating, you’re clearly attractive so it shouldn’t be hard, right?” He could have anyone in the world, yet he sits here on this old bench with you.

“ ‘s harder than it might seem darlin’, the company keeps me busy, the people I interact with most are business acquaintances and that’s not a good mix.” Yeah don’t mix business with pleasure, but isn’t that what you two will do?

“What do you expect of me, what do i have to do to make this work. I..I mean in case you want me,” the nervous stuttering will definitely be something you’ll think about for the next couple days. Why must you sound so desperate for anything?

You’re relieved that he doesn’t acknowledges your nervous word salad.

“ ‘s not a whole lot I expect, but I need flexibility” your eyebrows shoot up “not that kind of, time-wise I need ya to be…bendable,” he can’t help but laugh now “ I’m not making it any better am i?”

“No you’re not, but that’s fine i know what you are trying to say”

“Could you live with that, sometimes there’s gonna be a short notice to go somewhere which might mean flying and I want ya with me,” He explains the conditions.

“I could, it’s okay” you nod confidently “do you also want me to play your eye-candy at those fancy functions rich people have?” Again honest curiosity, you’ve never done this before.

He shakes his head “I don’t want ya to play eye-candy, you would be my partner and my equal.” His goddamn smile will be your downfall. You are about to open your mouth when a loud ring cuts you off, it’s not your phone, it’s his.

He looks apologetic and mouths a “sorry” before picking up the call.

You only get bits and pieces.

“Yes - Tommy ya know I’m busy - hmm - seriously how could that happen - yeah I’m on my way.” His voice took on an angry tone and his smile disappeared.

After hanging up he closes his eyes, squeezes the bridge of his strong nose in annoyance and takes one deep breath.

“Everything alright?” You softly ask.

“Yeah, no,” he opens his eyes and the tense expression switches to an apologetic one “something at our current construction site must’ve gone absolutely wrong and I need to fix it.” He sighs loudly.

“I’m sorry darlin’, this is why I need ya to be -“

“Flexible,” you finish for him and he nods.

“I’m real sorry that our conversation gets cut short,” he leans in and his hand lands just above your knee squeezing lightly “I’d like to continue this “getting to know each other” perhaps when ya visit my office, then you see me looking more professional.” Adding another wink to finish off.

“I’d like that too, Mr. Miller.” You note how his pupils dilate when you call him by that name, already loving the effect you have on him.

When the two of you get up, you immediately start to miss his hand on your leg, but as you walk to the entrance of the park he places said hand on your lower back, to guide you.

“Well here we are, I had a -” he speaks up first but gets cut off yet again by a loud honking.

The source is a black Mercedes Benz.

“Uh, that’s my driver,” he pulls you in for a hug and a quick peg on the cheek “listen I had a great time and can’t wait to see ya again. Please text me when ya get home, okay?”

When he pulls away you nod “I will,” you almost promise and off he goes. Quick strides towards the car, slipping in and taking off with squealing tires that make you think it might be more serious than he let on.

Your phone chiming takes you out of your stupor, a message from Joel, something sweet yet simple.

J: Get home safely, Moon Girl ;)

©️ evolnoomym 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

People I think might be interested: @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @joelmillerisapunk @joelslegalwhre @punkshort @burntheedges @almostfoxglove @taeslarityy @joelsdagger @kulekehe @sawymredfox @axshadows @toxicanonymity @beardedjoel @littlemisspascal @strang3lov3

Taglist 🦋: @joelalorian @msjarvis @stevie75 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @beefrobeefcal @baronessvonglitter @sherala007 @noisynightmarepoetry @moonlitbirdie @thundermartini @sjc7542 @inept-the-magnificent @maiyart @imdrinkingpedro

#joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #Mina’s writing #My writing #🦋🦋🦋

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wonwoosthetic · 8 months ago

Note

when will we get a new chapter for minnie 🫶🏼

a/n: now! ˙ᵕ˙ this was a request sent to me through my Google form, so thank you to whoever wrote it🤗 I hope you guys like the quick little chapter!

series masterlist

warnings – pregnancy scare, short mention and implications of infertility, jokes and mentions about sex

word count – 4.6k

summary – minnie gets a little scare and there’s only one member she can think of to call

pairing – minnie & vernon (mentions of wonwoo x minnie x mingyu)

Better Safe Than Sorry 🌷 Minnie

Minne was in a panic. For the past two hours, the girl hadn't found a second of rest, pacing around the apartment, trying to keep herself busy before the thoughts running through her brain could catch up with her. Vernon was supposed to be here 10 minutes ago, only adding to her anxious state. Wonwoo and Mingyu were at the gym, thank God, she thought to herself.

The past few days, or more so even two weeks, had been... interesting. It started with a headache spanning over multiple days, only for it to turn into a migraine. Or so she thought. Throwing up, going to bed as early as possible, and sleeping in for as long as she could. Something was not right. Add the random heat flashes she had experienced the week before and Minnie started speculating. The moment she realised that her period had been a few days late made her shut down.

It was so secret that women in the industry encountered irregularities with their cycles as stress and diets dominated their lives. But Minnie and the entirety of Seventeen were in a good place. None of them was totally overworked at that point, thanks to their new contract. Diets were, thanks to the need to fit into the impossible beauty standards, still a topic of discussion but they were doing fine. Right?

It was one night out that made her mind spiral. Rapidly.

Minnie was enjoying a dinner with her closest friends from school, having made a reservation in one of their favourite restaurants a week ahead to make sure they'd get a private room. Food and drinks were passed around the table, discussions and conversations were flowing and laughter filled the room. Everyone was having a good time. When it hit that point of the night where people were slowly starting to leave, say their goodbyes and make promises to meet up again soon, the female singer was left with her two closest friends from that group.

Léon, once a boy too afraid to show his true colours, is now a proud man with a husband waiting for him back in their new hometown in Spain. And Hana, the legend of a best friend who had gifted Minnie her first vibrator, and now the owner of one of the most-visited clubs in the nightlife of Hongdae.

The two were well tipsy while Minnie had held herself back a bit. They were still giggling at one of their friends who had stumbled through the door as he exited, the multiple shots of liquor clearly taking over his body.

"You look a little paler than usual," Léon suddenly commented, glancing at the idol with a slight frown, "Are you okay?"

"She probably just got a new IV infusion for extra light skin," the other girl joked, getting a chuckle out of the singer. Hana had never been a fan of the idol life.

Minnie shrugged, her finger circling the rim of her glass, "I've been feeling kinda off."

Her friend downed the last shot on the table before turning to her in confusion, "How off?"

Minnie sighed, "I've had a headache for like... a week now. And two days ago I was throwing up all day. Even yesterday and today when I woke up I felt like I had to puke..." The two friends were eyeing her carefully, letting her speak freely. "And then I had some random, like... heat flashes?" She glanced up to meet their eyes, "I don't know what the hell that was, but... yeah... something's going on, I don't know. But I don't want to provoke it with alcohol."

"That," the guy of the group leaned back, eyes now wide, "does not sound good."

"Yeah, but it must be something with my immune system. My period's also God knows where."

"You missed your period?!" Hana gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Girl-" Léon eyed her with a surprised expression, but Minnie was quick to stop them.

"No, no, no," she waved her hands, "It's not like that. I've missed it before, but it... it's a weird coincidence."

"What do you mean 'not like that'? That sounds a lot like being pregnant to me!" The tattooed girl hissed at her.

That was the first time she had heard the word out loud. Of course, it had crossed her mind. Just like every other woman. The moment her period was late, the first thought to come to her was 'shit, what if I'm pregnant', only to dismiss it a second later at how ridiculous it sounded.

"No, I-... we have the tour and we're preparing for a new album, and it's just... stress or something."

"But you've been stressed before. Way more stressed," the guy in front of her commented. "I don't want to scare you, but... you know..."

"If there's anyone that could be pregnant, it's you, Min," Hana casually told her, leaning back against the cushioned seats.

Minnie frowned as she glanced at her. "What the fuck do you mean?"

"No one's getting laid like you," she laughed, making the other two at the table chuckle and Léon threw his head back in glee.

"Oh, shut up!" The idol exclaimed, "You've got a line of men waiting for you to call them back after leaving their apartment in the middle of the night. And that's just from last week."

"That's not true!" Hana pointed her finger at the girl. "You get two dicks on a regular! Every day, I bet!"

"It's not every day!"

"Every other day then," the only guy quickly commented before their discussion could get any louder.

Minnie shrugged, "Yeah... so what?"

"My God," he chuckled with a shake of his head, "I'm jealous. Honestly." Making the girl laugh out loud.

"No, but seriously," Hana stopped the two, letting silence wash over the table once again. "Have you thought of it?"

"No! Because..." Minnie went quiet.

"They're not using condoms. Don't lie to us," Léon glared at her, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

Hana faked a gasp, "You slut."

"You're not even using them on strangers!" Minnie pointed out, only for her friend to slap her hand away.

"This isn't about me!"

"Whatever..." the singer mumbled, her eyes back on the glass. It was still half filled with the mix of Soju and beer she decided not to finish.

"Okay, but seriously," Léon started again, "Could there... be a possibility?"

"For one, I'm on the pill," she explained, noticing her friends opening their mouths to argue, so she continued, "I know! I know that's not 100% safe, but it's... very safe-"

"I don't know about very safe, to be honest," Hana went back to nursing a glass of water. "My mom was on the pill and look at me now," pointed at herself with a proud grin.

"Don't make me scared," Minnie mumbled as she fell back onto her chair with a sigh.

"We don't want to scare you," her guyfriend explained, letting the other girl continue,

"But take a test, just in case," Hana shrugged. "You know how many pregnancy scares I've had? Still, better safe than sorry." She ended her speech by finishing her water.

Minnie's gaze had landed on her lap, where her thumbs had already started fidgeting with each other. "I...," she started with a sigh but stopped herself again right away.

"What?" Léon wondered, keeping a close eye on the singer, but she just shook her head and brought the glass of alcohol up to her lips.

"Nothing." And downed the last bit.

Four days later Minnie was still fighting her stomach each day, going out of her way to try and get as little food and water into her system as possible, knowing it would only trigger her and make her run to the toilet. On the other hand, the lack of nutrition was most definitely also adding to the nausea. There seemed to be no way out for the female singer.

On the verge of tears, overwhelmed with emotions, she had texted Hana in the morning, begging her to go to the store to buy her a pregnancy test. She was still very much in denial of the possibility of her being knocked up, but there were too many signs... But then again, she remembered the conversation she had with her gynaecologist two years ago. The doctor had only let a few words fall from her mouth before Minnie realised what she was trying to tell her.

At the sound of the front door's bell, the idol's head perked up, a second before she was rushing to the door. Once she pressed the camera button, she came to face with the young rapper she had called and pressed to open the door downstairs.

"Thanks!" Came through the speakers as Vernon disappeared into the building.

For the next minutes it would take him to come up, Minnie tried to pretend to have to do something, just praying the time would pass by quicker. The tests, yes multiple, were already placed on the counter of the main bathroom's sink. Hana had arrived with two in her bag, along with chocolate and prosecco to celebrate in case they'd be negative. The alcohol was chilling in the fridge while the sweet treat was waiting for her in the cabinet, with her definitely enjoying it either way of how the tests would come out.

Another doorbell sound rang through the apartment, notifying the female member of his arrival. With a few big steps, she stopped in front of the door, pulling it open in a swift motion. A wide-eyed Vernon standing right in front of her.

"Are you okay?"

"I don't know," she mumbled, catching him off-guard as she pulled him in.

With a frown, the younger member stood right in front of her, shuffling his feet out of his shoes before he followed her down the hall.

"What's going on?"

She continued to walk in silence, only coming to a halt in the middle of the living room. Vernon stopped at the corner into the hallway, leaning against the wall.

"Alright," Minnie sighed, bringing her hands up in front of her, "Look..."

"Oh," the '98 Liner nodded, understanding this was going to be even more serious than he had expected. As if her call, asking him 'Can you come over? Like now? Just for a bit?' with zero explanation didn't alert him enough already, her stance certainly brought his heartbeat up.

"Are you okay?" He repeated his question, taking a seat on the edge of the couch, not daring to lean back in comfort.

The girl pressed her lips together, nodding as she avoided his gaze. "I-... I think so, yeah."

"That's not a yes, so that's alarming."

"No, wait-" she stopped him, "Just-... listen, okay?" Making him nod, so she could continue. "I called you because I know- or, at least I hope, you... won't judge me," his frown made her rush her words out even quicker. "And you won't overreact, because I- I don't even know if I really should be concerned, and honestly, I don't think I should be and if you ask me, I think it's impossible, and I'm overreacting, but some other people have made me think otherwise."

"Oh...kay?" Pure confusion was still written across his face. A beat of silence washed over the two as Minnie thought about what to say next. She was looking around the room, knowing there was no way out and she had brought herself into this situation.

She took one deep breath before blurting out, "I need to take a pregnancy test," pressing her lips tightly together again as she waited for a reaction.

Vernon's eyebrows shot up the moment the words tumbled from her lips. He closed his eyes for a split second, trying to take in what she had just said to him.

"Ehm... for... what?"

Minnie looked at him perplexed, "What do you think people take pregnancy tests for?" She knew sex ED in South Korea wasn't good, but she had hoped it wasn't that horrible.

"Well, I hope you're not gonna take it for the reason I think you might be taking it," he glanced up at her.

He called himself lucky to get to have her as an older sister despite only being born two months apart. Vernon and Minnie had been close ever since he became a trainee under Pledis, the older girl taking him in as a little brother in an instant. Over the years, she had realised that the lack of an age gap was starting to show as she found herself looking up at him more and more, mentally and literally physically as he had shot up in height. She had found herself looking for comfort in him, asking him for advice or even just listening to him. While some members were more physical when it came to showing their appreciation and love, Vernon kept himself in the background, choosing quiet acts of kindness as his love language, which she sometimes appreciated even more than anything else. But even with all the love the two had for each other, their sibling-like relationship was no secret and not kept behind closed doors.

"And what is the reason you're not hoping for?" She had crossed her arms in front of her chest, her eyes still unsure of whether or not to lock with his.

Vernon sighed and shook his head before glancing back up at her, now finding her gaze. "Do you seriously think you're pregnant?"

"No," she was quick to answer.

The '98 Liner rose from his seat. "Then why take the test?"

"Because!" Minnie started pacing around the room again, fixing her hair along the way.

"Because?" He nagged her.

The girl to a stop. "Better safe than sorry."

Vernon couldn't help but sigh again, "Minnie..."

"There's a 0.01 per cent chance-"

"Don't say 0.01 because if it really was 0.01 you wouldn't even think of taking one!" He pointed a finger at her, quickly realising the rude gesture and putting his hand down again. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Okay, then maybe a slightly bigger chance... I don't know..." the female member bit down on her lip as her voice quieted down. Her gaze was back on the floor. "I'm scared."

Her confession made the rapper look back at her. He understood the seriousness of the situation, yet he had never seen the girl that way before. On a night out with the group, they had found out about the first pregnancy scare she had had years before, but she acted differently about it then. Took it with a lot more humour. But now, the woman in front of him just confessed to being scared. And he was the one she had trusted to confront about it.

Vernon glanced around the room. He couldn't freak out. He was supposed to help her here.

"Don't be scared," he tried to assure her, getting up from the sofa to take a step closer to her. "Are you serious though?"

Fallen silent, the girl just nodded. After not getting a verbal response back, she spoke up to explain, "I just... I've been feeling kinda... off. It's weird," she brushed it off, "and I really- I don't think I am, but... what if I am?"

Vernon accepted her answer, taking a second to himself. "Okay," he took a deep breath in and out. "It's okay. You have a test?" He asked her.

Minnie nodded.

"You went out and bought one?" Not even trying to conceal the concern in his voice.

"No," she told him, passing him as she made her way to the bathroom. "Hana got two for me."

"Where's she?" The younger member was hot on her feet.

"At work," Minnie explained. "She bought them on her lunch break." She stopped in front of the door, turning around to come to face with the rapper.

Vernon lowered his voice. "Why did you call me?"

The female idol shrugged.

He was desperate at this point. It felt like the wrong situation to be in for him. "Why not... Minghao... or... Shua, or Coups-"

"Coups would have me on a leash and drag me to get me castrated the moment he heard the words 'pregnancy test'!" She defended herself, getting a slight chuckle from him in return.

"Don't know how that would work but you're probably right. He'd do it at the word 'pregnancy' already," he mumbled.

"And... Shua would be way too emotional and... I don't know... Hao too. They'd be so... careful around me and try to comfort me-"

"You don't want to be comforted?"

"Not right now," she shook her head and gulped as he met his eyes. "I called you because you're the only person I know who can just sit there and be there for someone. Without overreacting... or... freaking out. And I'm kinda freaking out, so I need someone with a cool head right now."

"Not gonna lie," Vernon confessed, "I'm freaking out a little though."

"But you're hiding it well."

"Ditto," he nodded at the female member.

Another moment of silence washed over the apartment. Minnie took a quick look into the bathroom, her eyes immediately on the two pink packages by the sink.

"It's basically impossible that I'm pregnant," she admitted. The wheels in Vernon's head started turning, thinking that it was never truly impossible, unless... but he decided not to question her further.

"But I had weird... signs, I guess. And Hana and Léon made me scared. I just wanna make sure."

The '98 Liner nodded along to her words, shaking his head even harder the moment she looked back at him. "Do that. Take the test. Or tests," he dramatically pronounced the plural form.

Minnie nudged her head after a second to take a breath. "Can you come with me?"

Vernon immediately frowned. "Wh- Into the bathroom?"

The girl nodded.

"Ew, no! I'm not gonna watch you piss, bro."

She rolled her eyes, "Don't watch me pee. Just sit next to me," pointing to a stool they had in the bathroom for whatever reason. "Hold my hand?" She batted her eyes at him, mostly to lighten up the situation, while holding a bit of seriousness behind her ask.

"Absolutely fucking not," he shook his head. "Go. I'll be right here."

She eyed him up and down, scrunching up her face. "You're not a real one."

Vernon's eyebrows shot up. "If that's the requirement, I'm good," brushing her off and pushing her to finally get into the bathroom. "Weirdo," he mumbled, getting a last glare. At least she hasn't completely lost her spark, he thought to himself.

The moment she disappeared into the room, Vernon was met with the silence of being by himself. It was only then he realised that he hadn't even asked her about Wonwoo and/or Mingyu. Thinking, if anyone should be there, it would be the two men in question. He passed the thought after a moment of debating, coming to the conclusion that she'd have her reasons. Even after her explanation, he was still slightly confused as to why she'd rather have him than them here with her. He decided he'd rather stay in the unknown rather than pester her with more questions. Right now, she needed a friend, not an interrogator, by her side.

Vernon cleared his throat awkwardly.

The duo had found their way onto the couch with the two tests placed neatly on the coffee table ahead of them, facing down so neither one of them could even dare to get a glimpse of the results before the timer went off.

"And... ehm...," he tried to pass the time, hoping to somehow soothe the nerves rushing between both of them. "So... if you were though, like... pregnant," he carefully wondered, seeing her almost flinch at his words. He turned to look fully at her, finding her already staring at him. "Would you... w-would you... you know...," Vernon let out a chunk of air, "know whose it is?"

The time he had to himself let his mind wander to places he didn't even want it to go, but he couldn't help it.

Minnie stayed quiet for a few seconds, the words hitting her clearly hard as her eyes drifted off him.

"Ehm...," she took a deep breath. "I... I- eh... I... no?" Lowering her head, her gaze was back on her hands intertwined in her lap. She gulped, "I don't- I don't think so, n-no..." The confession appeared in the form of a big lump in her throat.

While she was able to have her fun with the two men in her life, it was only now that she came across an obstacle like this. Of course, they had had conversations about protection, being careful instead of mindless, and consent. Yet, the topic of a possible pregnancy while still taking precautions seemed to have passed them.

Vernon nodded, his lips tightly pressed together. "Alright... damn...," he raised his eyebrows. "That- that's... wow, impressive... I mean- g-good for you. That's... good for you. And I- I mean not good good for you if you're pregnant, but, you know... good as in good for-"

"Vernon?"

"Yeah, I'm shutting up."

Not the time or place for a conversation like that, nor did she want to go into more detail about the couple's constellation in the bedroom with one of her closest friends, whom she considered her little brother. Neither did Vernon. But the silence had become dreadful.

Any other day, the duo would have no issue sitting next to each other in complete silence, yet, at that very moment, both wanted anything but to stay quiet. And finding a topic of conversation seemed more challenging than ever before.

The '98 Liner could see her shaking leg in the corner of his eye, unsure of how to comfort her well enough since it was the first time in a situation like that for him too. In an attempt to help her, he reached out and placed his hand on her knee, hoping it would calm her.

"It's okay," he quietly told her, turning his head to meet her clearly frightened gaze.

"Is it though?" She kept the conversation going.

He retrieved his hand again to turn the rest of his body to face her more clearly.

"You said it's... very unlikely." He continued to choose his words carefully, not trying to overstep and drag her into a hole she might not get out of.

Minnie nodded. "Yeah...," she whispered, hugging herself as if she was freezing. "Very unlikely, but... never impossible, right?"

Vernon shrugged his shoulder, "I think only you'd know that. If it's possible or not."

Whether they were talking about the act of conception or possibly rather the chances of her fertility would stay between the two.

The girl gulped. "It's unlikely. Very, very unlikely."

A quiet pat on her back gave her the validation and comfort she craved and asked for.

"That's why I called you," Minnie confessed after a short few seconds of quietness.

"Hm?" Vernon glanced back at her after his eyes had been fixed on his phone.

"You can just sit here. Accept it, without a big reaction. And I still feel comforted. You... your presence is very comforting."

The question as to why him and not the men that lived with her was still burning his tongue, yet he didn't even dare to let it fall from his lips. Maybe another time.

"I still don't think I'm the right person for something like this-"

"You are," she quickly reassured him. "I didn't even think of anyone else."

The truth was, were the first people to pop into her head her lovers? Yes, of course. But in a moment of panic, in a situation that could affect either one of their lives immensely, she didn't want to confront them. Not with 100% certainty of a result. She wanted to avoid the unnecessary anxiety and hysteria spreading to other people involved in this. Not if there's nothing to be worried about in the first place, she kept on convincing herself.

In addition, as they had talked about before, knowing the rest of her members, there was a group of them that would try to be as emotionally available as they possibly could, their arms around her during the entire process, trying to console her while she just needed someone next to her. The other part of them would turn it into the headline of their tabloid, running around frantically, trying to make sense of the situation, while freaking out, scaring her even more.

And then there was Cheol, the oldest of them all, she shook her head as she didn't even want to think of a possible reaction of his. Yes, he'd support her no matter what, but the image of disappointment on his face was something she couldn't stomach.

Silently, Vernon leaned back, a tight smile on his lips. He appreciated her honesty.

Their sweet moment of companionship was interrupted by the sound of the teeth-shattering, chill-sending sound of his alarm. Vernon didn't even think of changing the ringtone, just opting to go with the standard iPhone one, making the girl shudder as he turned it off.

"Alright," he sighed. "You ready?"

Minnie nodded, pushing herself up to sit further on the edge, her knees close to hitting the coffee table.

"I do one, you do one?"

"Dude, you peed on that, I'm not touching it!" His exclaim made her look at him dumbfounded.

"I peed on that part," she pointed at the end covered by a plastic cap. "You won't even touch it."

But Vernon just shook his head. "You do it."

"Real supportive," she mumbled at him with an amused glare and nudge of her head.

Rushing down the number from three to one in her head, with a deep breath, she turned one test around, wanting to rip the bandaid off quickly and get it over with. Carefully, she looked at the small electronic display, ready for the worst to hit her.

"Not pregnant," she read out loud with a big breath of air. With a quick move, she turned around the second one, a content smile on her lips as she found the same result.

"Not pregnant," Vernon nodded, looking at the coffee table ahead of him before turning towards the female member. "You okay?"

Minnie pressed her lips together tightly, looking at him with a somewhat smile on her face as she nodded. "Yeah..."

Her gaze fell back on the white and blue plastic, her hands still cramped up in her lap as the younger rapper let himself fall further back into the blue couch. He let a moment pass, giving her the silence to herself.

"You know," he patted her back, gaining her attention, "If you were though...," she met his eye. "I'd drive you. Check-up... or...," with a motion of his hand, he pretended to cut his neck, getting a chuckle from her in return.

"I know," she whispered, not trusting her voice to become any louder. Too many emotions were rushing through the short moment, too many for at that time after coming close to what she'd describe as a heart attack.

In the blink of an eye, she had her arms wrapped around his torso, making the younger member smile softly as he returned the embrace. A comforting hand ran up and down her arm. It wasn't often he reciprocated the show of affection from her, but he'd let her for now, knowing she most definitely needed it.

With her cheek against his shoulder, he felt her tightening her arms in a pulse as she spoke up again.

"That's why I called you."

Taglist: @waosobii @chaebb @lunarxsun @hoe4wonwoo @kimhyejin3108 @soobzao @billboard-singer @cosmicwintr @zwiehe @alixnsuperstxr @angie-x3 @smooore @allthings-fandoms @lllucere

#minnie 🌷#seventeen #seventeen oc #seventeen 14th member #vernon

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