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miss-fanfictions · 5 months ago

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Sundays at the Library

Part Two

Pairing] Spencer Reader x glasses wearing! shy! librarian! fem!Reader

Synopsis] Spencer talks to the sweet librarian at his new library and slowly Sundays become his favorite day of the week.

Warnings] Cursing, creepy guy, misunderstandings (but its cute I promise), written from Spencer's POV

Word Count] 8.9k

Author's Note] This is my first fic here! I'm planning on doing a few more parts to this, so this is only the beginning 🙃

The first time Spencer saw you, the encounter wasn’t anything special.

If he wasn’t working, he was reading, and because he can read 20,000 thousand words per minute, he needed new books often. Not even his FBI salary could afford the amount of books he consumed in a month and his cozy apartment certainly couldn’t contain them all. Already his bookcases were spilling out onto nearby surfaces. So to quench his constant need for new books, Spencer borrowed books from the library. However, since the one near his apartment closed just a week ago, he had to find a new one. That led him to drive to the library ten minutes away.

It was larger than the one down the street from his apartment—it had a full three floors. Beyond the double doors, he followed two velvet rope barriers onto the main floor of the library, wandering past a grand front desk to his left to where the room divided into two sections and the barriers ended. In the left section, beside the desk, there were a couple computers set up, as well as two printers and a side wall dedicated to DVDs. In the other section there were tables and chairs set up for quiet studying, as well as more comfortable lounges for reading. Behind those two sections started the book shelves, nearly ceiling high and organized via genre and then further alphabetized. When he ascended the staircase at the back of the main floor, he found the upper levels were fully dedicated to rows of shelving containing books, interspersed with a few tables and lounges for reading.

He spent approximately 45 minutes getting the layout of the library, as large as it was, and finding the books he wanted to read. Of course, he got a range of books. Two books on psychology, a mathematical textbook, and another two books based in the sciences. A bit of light reading, really, just to occupy his time at home during a busy caseload week.

He balanced the heavy books awkwardly in his arms as he made his way to the front desk, practically dropping them onto the counter. His lips twisted up in embarrassment, glancing around to see if anyone was disturbed by the loud clatter. When his eyes turned back to the desk, they met the bespeckled ones of you, the librarian, seated behind the counter. They were wide behind the frames, doe-like and startled by the noise. He winced and stuttered out an apology.

Too often he embarrassed himself due to his clumsiness. Over the years, Spencer got a lot better at the shooting range, but he still couldn’t run a mile without tripping a few times, or be able to participate in sports, and he didn’t even want to think about his driving. JJ often compared the experience of being in his passenger seat to riding shotgun with her senile grandmother. No matter what he did, the awkwardness crept in and all he could do was apologize. He didn’t mean to startle the nice librarian who he would seeing every week for the foreseeable future.

“It’s fine,” your voice was a gentle whisper, perfect for the quiet of the library. You closed the book on your lap and placed it out of sight under the counter, standing up to help him. That’s when he could take you in completely, with your long flowy skirt and oversized sweater. Perhaps a shy attempt to battle the chill running through the library, or maybe a purposeful effort to hide yourself away from prying eyes. He could tell—despite your attire—that you were his age or maybe a little younger. You lacked the wrinkles, grays, and even the weathered dullness associated with age. Your hair was done up messily, effortlessly, and his eyes tracked your chewed up fingernails as you tucked a few strands behind your ears, out of the way of your eyesight.

He thought you were plain and shy. The soft pastels and neutrals that colored your clothes and the fact the garments covered you so entirely, made you blend into the background. Had he not needed to speak to you directly, he might not have noticed you tucked behind the desk, folded up in your chair with your nose deep in a book.

“Can I check these out for you?” You asked him, and he almost missed it due to both his staring and your airy cadence.

“Oh, uh, yes,” he said, then quickly added. “And a library card, please. I’m new to this library.”

“I’ll just need an ID then,” you held out your hand while he rummaged through his wallet for his state ID, and when he placed it into your palm he was careful not to touch your hand. It was less about you as a person as it was his disdain for germs.

You went about clicking and typing at the computer to the side of the desk, face plain as if whatever you were doing you had done a thousand times. Your nimble fingers only stuttered when you glanced back at him, catching his eyes as he watched you before he darted them away from your face, caught. Quickly, you grabbed the mouse, clicking only three more times before handing back his ID. He was careful not to touch your hand or meet your eyes as he took it back.

He didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with his staring, he had a habit of it, always trying to profile. But you were just a meek librarian, and there was no reason to take note of your behavior. You went about printing out a physical copy of his new library card, and he opened one of his books to occupy himself as you did so.

When you turned back to him, you scanned a plastic card before offering it to him with a small smile. “Thank you,” he mumbled as you went about scanning the books on the counter with the same barcode reader. You were on the fourth book when your brows creased and you looked back up at him.

“Are you studying?” You asked, the words sudden as if you couldn’t hold the thought off your lips.

“No, this is just some light reading,” he answered politely, because it was. Though he forgot that was maybe not normal, because you giggled at his reply.

The sound brought his eyes to your lips, the way they parted to let the breathy noise out. It was a unique giggle, though he supposed everyone’s is, but something about it suited you so completely. It was soft, and when he glanced around the library to see that no one else had heard it, he thought it was also just for him. There was no taunting, just joy that you emitted in the most delicate of sounds. If only he could understand what he did to extract it from you.

“Right,” You said jokingly, and then he thought maybe you didn’t believe him, but he didn’t get a chance to assure you he was being truthful before you finished checking out the books. “Here you go, have a nice day, Spencer.”

He hesitated, thrown off by your use of his name, but cleared his throat and collected his books nonetheless. He thanked you and mumbled a brief goodbye as he did so, not looking back as he rushed out of the library. When he got to his car, he used a pack of disinfectant wipes on the books and set them up in his passenger seat, thoughts of the little librarian withering away to the casework waiting for him at work tomorrow.

—

He finished the books quickly, in only two days actually, but thankfully most of his time was taken up by his work. In his remaining free hours, he resorted to rereading a few books on his shelves. On Sunday, he collected his library books and drove the ten minutes back to his new library, exactly one week since his last visit.

The inside was chilly and smelled like old paper and leather. There weren't many people he could see on the main floor, a few of what looked like college students spread out studying and some preteens huddled on the computers, whispering snarks and giggles. He walked up to the front desk, following the rug and the velvet rope barriers that led right to it from the entrance. This time he didn’t pass by the desk, but stopped at it to place down his books—quietly.

Your familiar framed eyes looked up at him, just as doe-like as surprise crossed them right before a smile took hold. Again, you closed the book in your lap, though this time Spencer caught a glimpse of its orange and yellow cover before you hid it from sight. He couldn’t make out the title. “Back so soon?”

It had been exactly a week since he’d seen you, and though he had not thought of you much since then, Spencer was incapable of forgetting a face. You looked just as you did last week—messy updo, baggy clothes, bare face. It seemed that was your natural state, or at least what you wore to work, but what Spencer wore to work was pretty much his normal wardrobe and he worked in the FBI, not a library.

“Yes, I need to return these books,” he told you, returning your smile with a quirk of his lips and placing his library card on top of the stack of books.

When your eyes roamed back down from his to the five books, your brows furrowed. “Give up on studying then?” You asked, scanning the books back into the system.

For a moment, Spencer was confused, then he recalled every word of your last interaction, and realized you still thought he checked the books out to study them, likely for some graduate classes, given his age. “No, I wasn’t studying them. I just needed a few books for casual reading after work.”

You paused once you turned to the computer, looking at him down your glasses. “Casual reading?” Your eyes went back between the thick books and his face, a smirk of disbelief growing. “You read all these books in a week?”

“Yes.” He shrugged.

“For fun?” You had a skeptical eyebrow quirked.

“That’s what casual reading normally implies.” Spencer furrowed his brows at your line of questioning. Maybe most people wouldn’t read such topics simply for fun, but why would he lie about that?

At that, you giggled again, a bird’s song, and resumed clicking at your computer. Your gentle laugh tickled something deep in his chest. Again, there was no malice or ill intent to it, not any that he could see behind your genuine eyes and smile. You simply thought he was a funny guy, and no one ever thought that of Spencer. He was too awkward, or too serious, or even too annoying to be fun.

You took the stack of books in your arms, the pile reaching right up to your chin, and walked them to a cart behind you. When you turned back, you were still smiling sweetly at him. “Your light reading has been checked back in.” You slid his library card across the counter.

He plucked the card back off it with a thanks, tucking it into the pocket of his sweater vest. For a moment, he debated telling you about his PhDs, his eidetic memory, and maybe even his genius IQ because Spencer always felt the need to prove himself—to state facts—because he wasn’t the funny guy. He was very serious and all the things he was telling you weren’t just silly jokes. Then he worried he might wipe the smile right off your face, and he couldn’t let himself do that. So instead he gave you a stiff nod and continued into the library.

. . . Only to spin right back around, fist awkwardly pressed against his lips. “Oh, also, what is the maximum amount of books I could have checked out at once?”

You had just cracked the spine of your book again when you looked back up at him, a swirling look of confusion on your face. “Ten books, but you don’t have any out so I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Spencer gave another nod, spinning back around on his heels and taking himself right up to the second floor of the library. He spent approximately 37 minutes collecting books from around the library, setting them aside at tables as he weaved through the rows of bookcases for the different genres. A wealth of knowledge in all areas was useful for his job, and also just for him personally. He found great pride in knowing many things, as annoying as others might find his incessant info-dumping.

When he finished, he took a stack of books from the table and carried them down from the second floor, slowly stepping down the stairs and craning his neck around the stack to watch his steps. He could be uncoordinated at his best, so there was no need to tempt fate into sending him tumbling down the staircase by not paying attention.

After successfully making it down, he took long strides to the main desk and set the stack down on the counter. Of course, you looked up at him again, however skipped surprise and jumped into an inviting smile. You closed your book and stood up, taking in the books he set in front of you. “Another five to check out then?”

“No, actually, I’ll be right back.” He turned away so fast he almost missed the way your smile faded and you leaned over the counter to watch him ascending the stairs again, spindly legs taking them two at a time.

He grabbed hold of the second tower of books, nearly dropping the top one in his haste to get back to you. After that he continued to take the stairs carefully even as he felt your eyes on him. Maybe especially because he felt your eyes on him, because if you watched him fall down the stairs he’d have to drive an additional ten minutes away to find another new library, because he certainly wouldn’t be able to look you in the eyes anymore.

Beside the first stack on the counter, he set the second, then placed his library card between them. “This is it, I promise.”

Again, you glanced between him and the books, eyes bugging behind their glass shelter. After a moment or so, as if you were making sure he was serious (he was), you began scanning his card and the books. Despite the larger quantity of books, you were slower as you ran the barcodes on the back, taking the time to read the titles and authors.

“Are you a graduate student?” You asked, looking at a book on human genealogy.

Spencer twiddled his thumbs. “No, I’m finished with school for now, but I might go back for another PhD in the future when I have more time,” he answered honestly, the words flowing out quickly, even though he wasn’t sure why he was telling you that. Only about two percent of the U.S. population has a PhD, and an even slimmer percent had more than one. So it was an unusual thing to say.

He thought you might laugh again, or even question him, but you simply hummed and moved onto the next book, chewing your lip. “I’m in a graduate program for poetry,” your voice was quiet, as required by the library environment, but more so than usual, like you seemed embarrassed to share that information.

It made sense you were a graduate student working in a library while earning your MA in writing. He wondered if you had plans for your degree beyond getting a slight pay increase as a librarian. There was a career as an author, or maybe you wanted to be a teacher or a professor, he could see you doing that, standing in front of a class in your skirts and sweaters pointing at a chalkboard with a ruler, though that image was outdated. More likely you’d be in front of a white board or presenting from a projector.

“That’s interesting. I find myself reading a lot of nonfiction recently—it helps more with my job, though I also just enjoy facts and statistics—but I’ll always have a special appreciation for fiction. I’m fond of poetry in particular because it’s created for multifaceted analysis,” even in his own whisper, the words were breathy and fast. He had to catch his tongue between his teeth when he caught your eyes trailing back up to him. “What do you plan on doing with your degree?”

“Write poetry hopefully,” the words came out in a gust of wind and your eyebrows quirked up, as if you didn’t believe even your own dream. “Maybe you can analyze it one day.” You finished scanning out the books, putting them back into two neat piles as you did. You went about clicking at your computer, making sure the books were grayed out in the system, avoiding his eyes.

So you did want to be a writer then. He could easily see that as well. Though he got the sense you didn’t believe your aspiration was attainable, and it likely wasn’t due to lack of skill. He told himself he wouldn’t profile you, but he did it practically subconsciously. Your lowered gaze, modest clothes, shy smile, and even chewed nails all pointed to a lack of confidence in yourself. He wasn’t sure why. You were pretty in your own right, and were clearly intelligent and hard working if your pursuit of a masters degree said anything. If you needed a little encouragement, the least he could do was give it to you. “I look forward to it,” he said, and he was just as sincere as he always had been.

It only seemed to increase your embarrassment, causing your face to shy further away from his gaze. “Thank you, Spencer.” Even if you couldn’t look at him, your tone was of genuine appreciation, and if he tilted his head just right, he could see the wisp of a smile on your face.

He nodded with a tight lipped smile, staring at you while he waited for the conversation to continue, only to realize you’d finished with his books and it was over. His hands stuttered to gather up the first heap of books, muttering about how he’d be back. However he only got a few paces when he heard you say his name again, feet stopping dead.

“Would you like me to help you carry these out?” You were already trying to get a hold on the books.

Quickly, he shook his head. “No,” the words came out abrupt and firm, louder than he’d ever spoken before in the library, and you flinched.

“You shouldn’t be following anyone out of here to their cars. This library has a disturbing lack of cameras and an abduction, even in a public area, can happen in less than ten seconds. It’s safest for you to remain in the library and follow the good practice of having someone walk you to your car after your shifts.” Spencer felt obligated to warn you strictly, because your distinct quietness and sweetness made you the perfect prey for the killers he hunted daily.

Though he almost regretted it as he watched the way your hands retreated from the books, crossing around yourself, and the gentle smile became forced. “Oh. I–I guess I’ll keep that in mind.”

Spencer nodded and hesitated, but didn’t linger much longer before exiting the library and heading back to his car. He was quick to toss the books into his car, your tangled smile stuck in his mind. Was it an odd thing to say? He was only trying to warn you, to keep you safe. But the look on your face, you didn’t seem at all grateful for the advice. Spencer took brisk strides back to the library entrance. You were standing there behind the front desk, arms still crossed, a distant look on your face. When you heard him approaching the counter taking in breath just a little faster from boardline jogging back, you barely spared him a glance. He scared you a bit, he realized, and he didn’t want to leave you like that.

He paused beside his leftover books, wetting his lips. “I didn’t mean to scare you with what I said before.” He finally caught your eyes and you seemed to hear him out. “I work in law enforcement, for the FBI actually, and all too often I see cases of nice girls like you who go missing just because you want to help people. Unfortunately it’s a pretty common ruse. So, I—I didn’t tell you all that to make you worry, but because I want you to be safe,” he admitted, and your face softened again, your hands falling back to the counter. It brought a smile to his own face to see you relax your guard again. “It’d also be awful if my librarian went missing. Who will check out the heap of books I keep bringing you?”

You giggled, your lips pulling into a toothy smile. “It’d definitely suck, but I’d hope you’d put those FBI skills of yours into finding me.”

Spencer chuckled, ducking his head into his chest to quiet the sound as he pulled his books into his arms. “Of course I would, and I wouldn’t stop until I did.” He was good at his job, he never stopped until he found their victim, their unsub.

You bowed your own head, hand holding your glasses to keep them from slipping down your nose. “Goodbye, Spencer.” You gave him a small wave with the other hand, ending the conversation with averted eyes, but he still noticed the growing color in your cheeks.

He fumbled with his own wave under the stack of books, really just an outward flash of the fingers he could manage to peel away for a second, and he was glad you weren’t looking at him with how awkward it was. He turned on his heel, pink growing in his own cheeks, and exited the library again for the final time today. The gears in his head grinded the whole way to the car and continued as he grappled to get into it and wiped the books with disinfectant.

You lingered in his mind longer than a librarian should have. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to warn you, to explain himself to you, or even comfort you. There was something about you, as meek and bashful as you were, that he found charming. Perhaps he saw himself in you, the insecurity. Or maybe it was how different you were from his job, where he was met with the most wicked minds and evil acts. You in comparison were the very image of innocence and life, in your pastel purples and yellows, lively eyes magnified behind glass, and your—your laugh. He liked your giggle. Even though he suspected at times it meant you didn’t fully believe him, he let you find him unserious, just so he could continue to hear that sweet sound tickle his ears in a way that scratched an itch inside him.

He was sitting in the parking lot staring out the windshield lost in his thoughts of you. When someone walked by, he found himself clearing his throat and finally putting his car in drive. You dissipated from his mind as he pulled out of the parking space because his Sunday at the library was over.

—

It took five days for him to finish the ten books from the library. The team was in California from Tuesday through Thursday, but he took four books with him to read during his down time and while on the jet. He still ended up with spare time that he spent shopping with Penelope and babysitting Henry for JJ and Will’s date night. It was for this reason he was glad to be back in the library on Sunday.

Inside he was hit with the familiar crisp air and the vague smell of paper and coffee. The tables to the left had quite a few more students than usual, though there were not very many to start with previously. He wondered if a bout of exams were coming up. As Spencer neared the front desk, he could smell something else, a faint vanilla scent maybe.

You were there as always, standing this time, and almost leaning over the counter to see the door. You smiled when you saw him and he realized that you must be wearing perfume, because around you the vanilla air became thicker.

“Sunday at 11am. You're more reliable than my alarm clock,” you hummed cheekily.

Spencer set the books he held in his hands on the counter, his messenger bag following them up. “Having a routine is actually really good for you. It’s been proven to reduce anxiety and stress and also helps people to cope with certain mental illnesses,” he told you, pulling the rest of his books out of his bag.

If you were thrown off by his fact telling, you didn’t show it. “That makes sense. I like having a routine, but I’m pretty sure my friends think it makes me boring.”

Spencer dug around in his vest pocket for his library card, brows furrowing. “Why would you think that?”

You plucked it from his fingers, bringing it to the barcode reader without breaking your eye contact. “Because they say it to me all the time.”

“Oh,” Spencer snorted a little and clutched the strap of his bag closer. There’s something different about you today. You’re much more talkative and playful, but it’s also in your appearance too. Your glasses are still perched on your nose and your face is bare as it always is, but your updo is more put together, less stands fall away into your face. You wear another long skirt, but it's tighter, less flowy, and he can nearly make out the shape of your legs through it. You’re wrapped in a cardigan too, but where one side falls open he can see your tank top underneath and the sight of your skin has him clearing his throat and bringing his eyes back to your face.

“And how was your recreational reading?” You’ve started to scan the books back into the system. “You must have been pretty entertained with ten books in seven days.” You state it like a fact, but your tone has a whimsical disbelief to it.

“Actually I finished them in five days,” he corrected with an incline of his head.

You reply quickly, like the words were primed in your mind. “Then you should have come back sooner.” Under the teasing, you sound serious, looking up from the books at him, lashes fluttering against their glass encasement.

“I would, but I’ve been pretty busy at work.” He was too. He would spend hours in the library reading if working at the BAU didn’t take up so much of his time. He loved his job of course, and he wouldn’t have it any other way, but what is someone with his talents to do but hole himself up gorging every book he can get his hands on. Spencer had a thirst for knowledge, that’s why he wanted to be in the library so much.

“Well, that’s too bad then. What do you do for work?” Your head tilts with interest and he almost mirrors the movement, brows furrowed.

“I told you—I work for the FBI. Specifically, I’m an agent in the Behavioral Analysis Unit.” He has an eidetic memory which means he can remember every word you’ve said to him and every word he’s ever said to you, so he knows he’s told you this before. Of course he knows people forget things, but they also normally remember when he tells them he’s in the FBI.

Your face falls a bit and you chew your bottom lip, brows creasing. “Oh. . . right.” You finish scanning the last book quickly, gathering a couple into a pile to carry to a cart behind you.

Spencer’s not exactly sure what he’s done to upset you, but his fingers twitch with the itch to fix it. Unfortunately, he’s got the idea his job is what makes you so uncomfortable. It wouldn’t be the first time someone was unsettled by the fact he carried a badge and gun, or that he had the authority to arrest people. But you had joked about it last week, possibly were soothed by the fact he was a cop after his blunt and maybe eerie warning. So why were you suddenly so upset with him?

The thought occurred to him then that maybe it was because you didn’t completely believe the things he was saying. Not only that, but you were no longer finding whatever game you think he’s playing by telling you those things to be funny. As you carry the rest of the books back to the cart, he fidgets with his fingers, wondering if it was time to show you proof of what he’s been saying. Or did you really even care? Maybe he was wrong and you would be even more frightened by him presenting you with his badge. Was it odd to flash his FBI credentials at his librarian? That was all you were after all. He didn’t even know your name.

You were back to clicking at the computer when you glanced at him. “They’re all checked in.”

Spencer froze as you pulled him out of his thoughts, his hands locking in the joints before dropping to his sides into fists. That was your cue for him to leave. “Right, thank you.” He went to walk away, but his feet were stuck. “. . .thank you, um, I just realized I don’t know your name.”

You didn’t have to tell him, you could have brushed it off. You were just the librarian and one didn’t need to know the librarian's name, but you looked back at him again, eyes studying his face. Then, you murmured your name so softly he almost leaned in to hear it louder. Soundlessly, he let your name ghost over his lips.

He used it as he thanked you one last time, certainly overkill but it seemed like the only correct way to exit. Although he only got a few feet before he heard you call his name.

“Spencer, wait!” You didn’t yell, he’s never heard you yell, but your voice was the loudest he’s ever heard it. You always spoke in a whisper or a hushed tone, but your voice was nearly normal when you called him back. The urgency of it had him back in front of you in just two strides.

You dipped beneath the counter and when you came back up you placed a basket on it. “When I used to go on picnics to read in the park, I used this basket. Well, I haven’t gone in a long time actually, but I thought maybe you could use it for all the books you check out,” you were bashful, tilting your head down and only sparingly meeting his eyes. Spencer was in shock, all he could think about was how this was one of the nicest things someone’s ever done for him. You gave him whiplash with how quickly you seemed to forgive whatever trespass he committed against you. He wondered even if he exaggerated the interaction in his head.

The basket was woven, made from wicker, and had two handles at the top. It was rectangular in shape, pretty deep, and large for a picnic basket, he thought, big enough for fruits, pastries, sandwiches, and maybe more. It was a very nice basket, and the thought that you were giving it to him made his heart ache the most. You’d considered him, truly sat down and thought about him and then decided you were going to gift him a solution to his awkward problem. Not often did people solve his problems, it was always the other way around.

“Wow,” his finger grazed the side, considering the cost such a nice piece must be. “Are you sure? I really couldn’t take your basket it’s—”

“I don’t use it anymore,” you interrupted him for the first time. He realized that you never cut him off, you had always listened to him. “You can have it. . .” Your face was kind, then suddenly dropped into a panic. “Only if you want it of course! You don’t have to take it. I guess it’s kind of silly, carrying a picnic basket in a library. . .” You started to pick your nails, not meeting his eyes.

“I don’t think it’s silly,” he assured you quickly, leaning just a bit closer so he could catch your eyes again. “Thank you so much. Now I don’t have to worry about falling down the stairs or taking two trips to my car.”

Your smile returned with a breathy chuckle. “Yeah, you kind of made me nervous going down the stairs like that with all those books. You don’t strike me as very. . . coordinated.”

“Ouch,” Spencer said, though he smiled back at you. You’d read him there, he was not very coordinated at all. Knowing physics was one thing, existing smoothly and with grace on the physical plane was another.

“Sorry,” you shrugged half heartedly.

“No, you’re right. Thank you for the basket and uh, I’ll be back,” he waved you goodbye as he walked toward the stairs and you fluttered your fingers back at him.

Spencer took exactly 52 minutes and 34 seconds adding books to his new basket. He got a few stares and side glances as he toted it around, mainly from a group of teenagers huddled at a miniature table and chair set in the children’s section. They snickered as they peeked up from their circle at him, but it wasn’t anything Spencer wasn’t used to. All his life people had laughed at him for a variety of reasons—he was too scrawny, too small, too bumbling, too nerdy—the list was miles long. All he could do was grow thicker skin, and he had. So he didn’t let it bother him as he wandered the library, adding books to his basket.

No, the reason Spencer took so long to pick books was because each time he slipped one into a wicker embrace, he thought of you. He blinked and saw your face like a phantom burned into his retinas. The way the corners of your mouth twisted in your smile when you were so excited to give him the basket flashed and faded in his vision. Sometimes he cursed his eidetic memory because he’d memorized your face in its entirety with all its most miniscule details and peculiarities—and he didn’t even mean to. He would find himself staring into the empty space in the basket and have to drag his brain clawing back into reality.

His watch had ticked past 12 when he made his way back down the stairs to the main floor, lugging his basket in his right hand. It was heavy, weighed by two textbooks and eight other decently thick books, but the woven willow held strong.

At the landing he could see across the library that you were already checking someone out. He meant to add himself to the queue, but pivoted to a lounge chair between two bookcases just as he got close enough to hear your voice. Immediately he felt wrong, a churning disgust with himself in the pit of his stomach. It was weird, wasn’t it? To watch you from afar just to gauge your behavior? But he had to know, it burdened his brain to wonder if you were just so saccharine it spilled out to everyone around you or if particularly you poured your sugar onto him.

You didn’t see him duck between the shelves to the lounge chair, not in any way that he could tell. With a tranquil neutral face you scanned the book that the college girl at the counter placed in front of you. The interaction was done in comfortable silence, even when you finished the transaction and she said her thank yous, you merely mumbled a “you’re welcome.”

It was different from how you interacted with him, he realized. You were much more playful and chatty with him, but he wasn’t sure what exactly inspired it in you. You were clearly shy, maybe anxious, but in some moments it faded when you talked to him. He didn’t think he said anything particularly special, but thinking you saw something in him that made you so comfortable, so cheerful, made his stomach flip in a way he couldn’t understand.

The next man in the queue placed his book on the counter. He was the only other person waiting. You asked him absent-mindedly for his library card. He was older than you and Spencer, mid to late 40s if Spencer had to guess, but it gave him an idea about how you interacted with men as well. Which was just as bland as your interaction with the college girl before you. Spencer had a fleeting thought that maybe—just maybe—you liked him. Why else would you be so inclined to laugh with him? To be so shy sometimes you couldn’t meet his eyes? He’d read books, watched movies, and he knew the signs. He was just not used to spotting them in women interacting with him.

He cleared his throat as if to shake off the idea. It was vain, and in all likelihood an arrogant over analysis of the little interaction he’s had with you. He was about to get up and put himself in line behind the man when he heard his lurid voice croak out.

“How about you give me a smile, pretty?”

Spencer froze in place, white knuckle grip engraving the grooves of the entwined handle into his palm. Something like anger flared in his chest. It grew hotter as he saw the way you bowed your head even further from the man's sight, pulling your cardigan closer around your body.

“Um, yeah, could I just get your library card?” You squirmed under his leering gaze, lips faintly curling into the most awkward half-smile you could muster.

Despite the way you clearly showed you were in duress, the man leaned closer over the counter. “My name’s Todd.” He slid his book across the counter to you like that tidbit of information helped any. “I’ll take this book and your number, baby.” Spencer’s jaw clenched.

His body tingled with the readiness to step in, to tell this Todd fucker to leave you be because obviously you weren’t interested. But his mind, the logical side of him, stopped him because Spencer also respected you and your autonomy. He was not an expert on women, but he knew quite a few strong women in the BAU who would be offended if he stepped in to defend them when they were capable of doing it themselves. He definitely didn’t want to offend you if you were able to brush off Todd on your own.

The uncomfortable smile dropped to a grimace. “If I could get your library card. . .” Your hand hesitantly reached for the book only for Todd to grasp your wrist in a tight hand.

“Stop asking for the damn card,” his voice dropped into a growl. “Baby, I’m just trying to talk to you.”

Your arm fought to pull your hand back behind the counter, but Todd’s grip tightened and pulled back to keep you close. “Sir!” Your voice pitched higher, eyes widening almost too big for their frames. “Sir, please let go—”

Todd huffed, face screwing up in frustration. “Why’re you being so difficult?”

“Sir, you’re hurting her and you need to let go now.” Spencer practically flew over to the front desk. It was his instincts as an FBI agent kicking in. The need to de-escalate and protect was driving him. This man was now hurting you and he was not going to allow it to go any further.

Todd’s scowl looked Spencer up and down, assessing whether or not he could take him. He must have come to the conclusion Spencer was not a threat because he puffed up his chest and continued gripping your wrist. However, he was so distracted by Spencer, you were able to yank your arm away, rubbing at your wrist with your free hand. Todd shot you a similar glare before leveling his even angrier gaze back on Spencer.

“We’re just having a conversation here, asshole. So why don’t you get back to your books,” Todd barked at him so loud they had now attracted all the eyes in the library. But Spencer was only looking over at yours—your creased brow and the watery worry the glass highlighted.

“Spencer, it’s—” You didn’t get to finish as Todd whirled his head between you and Spencer.

“Spencer? No fucking way this wimp is your boyfriend.” Behind the rage, Todd looked almost smug.

But Spencer wasn’t. He hit his own boiling point and was passed asking politely. He pulled his credentials from his pocket and flipped them open in Todd’s face. “No, I’m the FBI agent who is going to arrest you for harassment, assault, and public disturbance if you don’t get out of this library right now.”

Todd’s head reeled back at the badge in his face, eyes squinting between the lettering and Spencer’s face. Realization of how much shit he was in passed briefly over Todd’s face before reverting to his glower. He must not have wanted trouble with the FBI though, because he started taking steps backwards toward the exit. But he couldn’t leave with a completely bruised ego.

“Whatever man. If you want the uppity bitch so bad you can have her!” Todd slammed open and closed the door as he made his grand exit. The entire library watched it, listening to him as he got his last dig in and fleeing before Spencer could make him eat his words. He didn’t have his cuffs or gun on him, but he’d dealt with enough unsubs to know he didn’t need them to handle Todd.

When all the eyes slowly went back to their business, sure that Todd wasn’t coming back into the library, Spencer’s gaze returned to you. Your eyes were dinner plates, mouth agape, still clutching your wrist.

Spencer frowned, whispering your name. “Are you okay?”

“You’re an FBI agent. . .” The words slipped out of you in one shocked exhale. His brows furrowed. He just rescued you from an arrogant asshole and that was what you were stuck on, something he’d told you several times.

“Yes? But I told you—”

“You were serious?” Your head bobbed forward in disbelief. So you really hadn’t been believing what he was saying.

“Of course, why would I lie about that?” Spencer was confused and deep down a little hurt. It was such an odd thing to lie about to a stranger, he didn’t understand why you thought he wasn’t truthful.

“I–I don’t know,” your eyes bounced around in a panic. “I thought you were just trying to impress me. I mean—you don’t really look like an FBI agent you’re. . . young? I don’t know, I thought you were flirting with me so I—” Your hand clasped over your mouth. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry, sir—agent—”

“Spencer.”

“What?”

“Call me Spencer,” he gave you a tight lipped smile, a near look of pity on his face. Your complete panic reassured him you were just as embarrassed over the miscommunication as he was. “Technically it would be Doctor, since I have three PhDs—but you can just call me Spencer.”

“But—But I didn’t. . . you were being serious the whole time and I. . .” You stuttered, shaking your head in confusion. “I was so unprofessional. . .”

Spencer chuckled, unable to hold it back. “Unprofessional? Just because I’m an FBI doesn’t mean I can’t like to talk to people. And I like talking to you, you don’t have to be embarrassed about it.” His disappointment dissipated quickly. Your shyness and embarrassment was so genuine and charming he couldn’t find the space to be upset with you beside all his amusement.

You crossed your arms, somehow becoming even more bashful. “You’re sure it's okay?”

“Of course it's okay.” Spencer grinned.

A small sigh of relief breezed past your lips. “Okay. . . I should—I should definitely apologize for not believing you.” You meet his eyes then with such profound remorse. “Because I am really sorry. It’s just. . . your accomplishments seemed so amazing they were kind of hard to believe, especially for someone so young.”

It was Spencer’s turn to become bashful. His head ducked and he laughed quietly. “I guess they can be hard to believe. Especially when you aren’t meeting me at work. I just thought maybe all the books helped prove it.”

You let out a shaky laugh, eyes wandering back down to the countertop. “I kinda thought that was also to impress me. I didn’t really think you were reading all of them.”

“Well. . . I do.” He shrugged, figuring you had to believe him now. As you smiled at him, he realized he left his basket and books back at the chair. “Speaking of reading, I’ll be right back.”

You eyed him as he retrieved the basket and set it on the counter in front of you along with his library card. “Oh, were you sitting over there?” You looked curious. Certainly you hadn’t seen him sitting there today or anytime before.

Spencer coughed into his fist. “Um, just for a second.” He moved on quickly, removing the books from the basket. “Thank you for this again, by the way, it’s so much easier to carry all the books.”

You hummed, eyebrows jumping up. “Yeah. . . I’m having trouble believing I really gave an FBI agent a picnic basket to carry books in.” You started swiping the books over the barcode scanner, adding them back into the basket once they appeared on the computer screen next to you.

He cracked a half smile. “I think you watch too many movies. We’re not as serious as you think we are.” Hotch’s face flashed in his eyes and he thought maybe they were pretty serious, but not off duty. Hotch could also be serious enough for the whole team sometimes, so maybe he wasn’t a very good example. “And I like the basket. It was nice of you to think about me.”

Your eyes caught on his for a moment, glazed over in thought, so deep you bumped the basket as you went to set the book you held into it. It snapped you back into reality and you watched your hand as you tucked away the book, clearing your throat. “You’re sure it’s not weird?”

Spencer’s head tilted to the left, considering you. He didn’t know what he could do to pull you back from this rut of self-consciousness. He was starting to regret ever pulling out his badge because now you seem standoffish in a way you never were with him before. He wanted to go back to when you laughed and smiled at him and didn’t find him intimidating. “Of course it’s not,” he paused a moment, wetting his lips. “And this isn’t weird either, y’know? Me being in the FBI? I’m still Spencer.”

You looked back at him again, eyes searching his face. “I know that. I’m. . .” You stared at him a second longer, taking in a deep breath and releasing it with a smile. “I’m letting it sink in.” You continued scanning the books quietly, not meeting Spencer’s eyes as he absentmindedly picked at a loose string in his pocket.

His thumb brushed against his FBI credentials and the encounter just before this revelation came flooding back. He glanced over at the double doors as if to make sure Todd had not come back, though Spencer already knew he didn’t.

“Are you okay?” You met his eyes, brows pulled together. “About before—with that guy?”

“Oh.” You shrugged, rolling your wrist unconsciously. “Yeah, I’m fine. We get one of them every now and again. Normally they’re pretty harmless.” A glimmer of realization passed over your face. “Um, thank you! I should have said that before. Not everyone would have done that.”

Spencer shook his head, waving off your thanks. “Of course. I’m sorry you have to deal with that.” He was again reminded of the fact he was not a woman, and even though his job was to put away serial killers—monsters, creeps, pervs—he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be in your shoes. You shook it off well, but he didn’t doubt you were scared in the moment. Probably wondering how far he would take it, whether your reaction was appropriate, if your employer would be angry at you. He was just glad he was there to step in.

Slowly, you finished scanning all the books, tucking them neatly into the basket in an organized order he thoroughly appreciated. Heaviest books sat at the bottom and lighter books were stacked on top of them. You paused, flipping through the last book in your hand, a biography of Max Born, a German-British physicist.

“So. . . you really do read 20,000 words per minute?” You had a cheeky grin as you peeked up at him from beneath those frames, and suddenly you were back. Spencer smiled.

“Yup. I also have an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal.

You giggled, nodding along. “Right. Well then I guess this isn’t even enough books for you.” A finger waved over at the basket.

“It depends on work, actually. I’m usually busy, but I often have to travel too and then I become really busy so I don’t have time to read,” he explained. When he did sit down to read, he could get through one to three books, depending on their volume. “But yeah, ten books in a week is kind of light.”

You tapped the book in your hand with your thumbs, thinking. “Okay.” Suddenly you dropped the book into the basket, dipping below the desk to set another book in front of him. Examining it, he realized by its orange and yellow coloring it was the same book you had been reading the last time he was in the library. It was The Poetry of Pablo Neruda and from the look of its creased spine and faded orange cover, it was well loved. “You should read this too then.”

Spencer turned the book over in his hands, looking at you with a twisted face of confusion. “But the check out limit is ten books?”

You shook your head, gesturing for him to add it to the basket. “It’s not a library book,” when he still looked puzzled, you continued. “It’s my book. You can borrow it from me.”

Your kindness and generosity was both shocking and overwhelming. Spencer wasn’t sure how he was to thank you for being so gracious to him. He could only think of one thing. So he quickly fumbled his wallet up onto the countertop. “You have to let me give you something for this—”

“Spencer,” as you said his name, your hand covered his as he dug for bills to give you. “You don’t owe me anything.”

He shook his head, bewildered. Not only was your kindness startling, but so was the feeling of your hand on his. He had to stop his body from flinching at the contact. He was mostly uncomfortable at the thought of people touching him, but your palm was warm, soft, and offered the most comfort he’d felt in a while. “The basket and the book? It’s too much. I mean. . . you’re too nice.”

Your lips spread into a bright smile, flashing him your teeth. “Just bring me back your analysis. I’d love to hear what an IQ of 187 can cook up. Deal?”

Spencer laughed, ducking his head as he nodded in agreement. “Deal.”

When the laughter faded and his head came back up, he looked at you for a while longer, just feeling the paperback cover underneath his fingertips. You met his eyes just for a few moments, twiddling your own fingers. “So um, see you next Sunday?” You asked. He dared to see hope in your eyes.

“See you next Sunday,” Spencer agreed again. He hesitated putting the book in his new basket then finally left the front desk, waving you goodbye as he did. He watched over his shoulder you return his wave as he exited through the double doors.

Spencer walked back to his car practically swinging the basket, so in his head he didn’t even realize he still had a smile on his face. He set The Poetry of Pablo Neruda aside as he disinfected his books and wondered what he would do the rest of his day off. What he was sure of, deep in his chest, was that he was excited for next Sunday.

Part Two

#spencer reid x reader #spencer Reid x y/n #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x shy!reader

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thewritingrowlet · 1 month ago

Text

The Tireless Wife, ft. Red Velvet Irene

tags: creampie, deepthroat—you know what, just read the whole thing, hm?

length: 8k+

author's note: I speedran this fic so please forgive me if it's too messy; I just wanted to make use of this free time.

p.s. this fic takes place before and after The Determined Wife.

Irene walks in the bedroom as you’re gathering your consciousness after a very good, post-sex sleep. “Ah, good morning, my love.” She high steps towards the bed to join you, taking her rightful place in your arms. “Love, on a scale of 1 to 10, how awake are you?” “Seven, probably.” You rub your eyes to see if maybe you can improve that score. “Okay, maybe eight and a half,” you revise.

Irene thinks that it’s not good enough; she wants you to be 100% in the right mind this morning, which is odd. She sits on your lap and starts kissing you passionately, seemingly in high spirits; she’s likely very satisfied with the fact that you’ve granted her wish to be bred.

“Tell me again.” “Nine and a half,” you tease. Your wife rolls her eyes. “Ugh, please don’t play hard to get.” You chuckle. “Aww, come on, love; I just want more kisses.” She puts on the beautiful smile that’s unique to her and only her. “Ah, fine, you win.”

She comes in for one more deep kiss, going as far as invading the space of your mouth with her tongue—it’s unfortunate that she breaks it soon after, though. “If that didn’t make it 10, I’m going to suck you off,” she says. “Sounds tempting,” you tease, “well, maybe later—let’s get to your point first.”

With a smile, Irene fishes something out of her shorts pocket and hands it to you with a closed palm. It is only when she lets go that you can see what it is: a pregnancy test device with two lines on it. “I’m a mother, love,” Irene starts breaking into tears, “I’m a mother, and there’s no question that you’re the father.”

Tears, endless of them, start flowing freely out of your eyes and onto your cheeks. “Y-you’re pregnant, my love?” Your grip on the little test kit weakens as your hand starts trembling—oh, look: a tear lands on the device, right where the little screen is. “I am,” Irene joins you in crying, “thank you for granting my wish.”

You put the small device to the side because you want to use your hands to hug your wife. “No, no, no,” you say, “thank you for giving me such a huge blessing.” Irene starts crying more freely, and you can’t help but do the same. “We’re going to become parents, love—isn’t that crazy?” “It is,” you agree with her, “thank you for making it possible for us, love.”

Irene pulls away from the hug, placing her hands on your shoulders instead. “You need to get ready for work, don’t you, love—let me start your shower.” You shake your head. “Screw work,” you say, “I want to spend this wonderful day with you and only you.” Your words draw a wide smile on her face. “Sounds great, love.”

She turns around before leaning against your chest, placing your hand right on her stomach that’s now occupied by the little one—your little one (the fetus hasn’t formed yet, yes, but the point still stands). Irene giggles as you rub her belly gently. “You’ll need to come up with some names, love.” “You first,” you say, “do you have ideas?” She taps her chin as she thinks of a candidate. “Jihoon-ie if it’s a boy, and Hyewon-ie if it’s a girl.”

You’re a little startled; Jihoon was the name of your little brother who passed away just before he turned 9 years old (you were 13 at the time) due to cardiac arrest. Your parents, specifically your mom, took his passing heavily, falling into what you learned years later as depression, which explained why they weren’t at home a lot—they were busy seeking help from professionals, both at home and abroad.

Irene knows about this story, obviously; you’ve taken her to his resting place a few times. “His memories can live on with our child, love,” she explains the reason behind the idea. “I’m glad that you have that idea, but personally, I think I’d let him rest,” you say, and Irene dares not argue.

“What about your ideas, love?” You take a few deep breaths as you try to come up with some names. “I don’t have any boy names in my head, but Yeseo if it’s a girl,” you say. Irene likes your idea; she thinks that it’s such a pretty and cute name for a girl. “Well, we’ll need to wait until they can tell if we’re having a son or a daughter.”

Mr. Hwang, the cook, has made some fettuccine for breakfast, since Irene said that she’s been craving pasta—a pregnant woman shall have what she wants. So, here you are: sitting at the table in the dining room with Irene, ready to fill your stomach with this tasty-looking dish.

Seeing the tall glass of water reminds you of something important that you want to address with Irene. “My love,” you place a hand over hers, “now that we’re going to become parents, let’s stop drinking alcohol, hm?” She nods enthusiastically. “I was about to suggest that idea to you, hon.” You smile. “I’m glad that we’re on the same page.” “About that, though,” she backtracks, “what about our collection? We have some nice wine and champagne.”

You ring the kitchen bell, and Mr. Hwang appears after a few seconds. “Yes, sir?” “Do you drink, Mr. Hwang?” “I do, sir, occasionally,” he admits. “Nice,” you put on a thumbs-up, “would you like to keep our liquor collection? We want to stop drinking now that we’re expecting.” His eyes widen in surprise. “I would be honored, sir, but as far as I know, they’re expensive.” You smile kindly while placing a hand on the side of his arm. “The only thing I care about, Mr. Hwang, is my wife and my child’s health—I don’t care about those bottles.” “If you say so—oh, and congratulations on the pregnancy, sir.”

After convincing Mr. Hwang to keep your collection of liquor for himself, you return to your wife. “Mr. Hwang will take care of those bottles, love; we won’t have to throw them out,” you inform her. “Erm, actually,” says Irene, “can we give the Masseto to my parents, love?” You agree with her request, thus officially marking the start of the transition to a clear-headed life without alcohol.

You invite Irene to join you on the sofa because you think that you have some things to discuss with her. “What do you want to talk about, love?” “Which hospital do you want, and how do you want to deliver the baby?” After thinking about it for a while, Irene says she wants to try delivering without surgery but is open to it as the last option. As for the hospital, she chooses the Sacred Heart Hospital, which is a very good hospital that’s also not too far from your house.

“Next up, our stuff,” you say, making Irene confused. “What do you mean?” “Well, we’re going to need a new car; I don’t think transporting the 3 of us in that 911 or your Genesis is a good idea.” “Do you want to sell the 911?” No, you don’t want to; Irene bought that silver speedster as a birthday present for you. “I was thinking that we should just buy a new one—something that can accommodate us and our child comfortably.” She pulls out her phone to search for options, but you stop her. “That doesn’t have to happen today, love,” you say, “we can think about that later on; I was just trying to get it out there, you know.”

Irene moves to sit on your lap. “I have some things to ask from you, love,” she starts on a new subject, “tell me what you think about them, okay?” You nod to get her to continue. “First, whenever possible, please come home early and don’t spend too much time working.” You say yes without hesitation, which satisfies her. Work will always be there, but your child’s growth and other important moments only happen once—wouldn’t want to miss your child’s first word or first step, would you?

“Second,” she puts up two fingers in front of your eyes, “please have mercy on me when we have sex.” You ask her to elaborate further. “I know that we can get rough sometimes, so let’s turn it down a bit to make sure the child isn’t in danger or anything.” “What about the frequency?” You take your turn to ask. “Just the usual, please; I’ll tell you when I want it, and you can tell me when you want it.” Again, without hesitation, you agree to her terms, which apparently serves as a segue for her next point.

“Can I have you, love?” You grin as you feel your cock getting hard. “You certainly can, love—can I have you as well?” Irene giggles cutely. “That goes hand-in-hand, doesn’t it?” “Just wanted to make sure, baby.”

Because of the time and day, there are other people in the house (i.e. the cook and the cleaning staff), so the only place you can have sex in is the bedroom. On your way to the bedroom with Irene in your arms, she taps your chin to get your attention. “Love, Miss Jo wants to take a leave to visit her parents,” she says. “We’ll go out later and get her some stuff to take home.”

You set Irene gently onto the bed in compliance with her request to take things easier during sex. “Ah, my gentle giant,” she comments. She hasn’t used that nickname in quite some time, now that you think about it. That name was given to you by your fellow student council members (including Irene) back in university when you refused to beat up a toilet peeper and would rather have him formally punished by the university and charged by the victims. “I thought you’ve forgotten that name.” She lets out a giggle. “How can I forget, love?”

You come in for a kiss to indicate that you’ve had enough chatter, and Irene welcomes you warmly as usual. “Please, love,” she gulps, “please start already.” You reach for her pajama top and undo the first button. “Patience, baby; I still need to undress you.” She cooperates by undoing her top starting from the bottom button and meeting you halfway. “There, I helped,” she says, making you laugh a little. She then proceeds to pull down her shorts just as you’re about to ask her.

Your gaze lands on her firm belly where your child is being safely kept. “I hope you won’t hate me when my stomach gets bigger.” You shake your head rapidly. “There’s no way I’d hate you for that—you’re my wife and that’s our child in your belly,” you say, and you see that Irene’s eyes are threatening to burst.

You join her in bed after undressing yourself and after she has taken off her underwear. You then pull her into a hug and peck her head everywhere, making her let out that lovely laugh that’s special to her. Once you stop, she places her hands on each side of your face. “I swear on everything I have that I’m so glad that I ended up with you and not with that Kim Junghwan guy.” “He never deserved you,” you say, demeaning. “That is true,” she agrees with you, “you and only you, love.”

You take the bottom position today, letting Irene have her way with you. “I have a feeling that I’d not be able to ride you as well with a big belly,” she comments as she moves to sit on your lap. You’re starting to get ticked off, but at the same time, she’s coming from a good place, so for now, you simply let out a sigh. “Love, please don’t worry about the sex; we’ll adapt as the pregnancy continues. Just focus on your health and stress levels, please.” Irene places her hands on her chest. “That’s touching, love—thank you.”

With your cock in hand, she aims it at her entrance. “Here I go,” she notifies you, as if you couldn’t see what she’s doing. Irene slowly goes down on your shaft, hugging it with her tight and warm walls. You breathe deeply as she starts moving up and down. “Fuck, that’s good,” you praise her to rile her up. “Yeah, daddy?” There it is: the kink that you love the most—Irene has always been quick to use it.

Irene bends backwards slightly and fixes her grip on your knees. After making sure that she’s steady, she starts moving faster on your cock, and you desperately want to hold those bouncing plump tits of hers. “Daddy, daddy,” she chants, “oh, you’re so deep in me, daddy.” “Keep it up, baby—fuck, you’re doing so well.”

Irene might not be the best at working out, but damn is she good at managing her stamina during sex; it feels like she has this extra battery pack that’s specifically used for sex, and as long as praises and words of affirmation keep flowing out of your lips, that battery will never die.

“Oh, no, daddy,” she slows down a little, “I think I’m about to cum.” “I don’t see the problem with that.” You slap her butt a few times to get her to speed up again. “Go on, baby; be good and cum for me.” Irene nods and picks up the pace again, trying to adhere to your command to “be good.”

Irene’s thighs shake violently when her first orgasm hits while her walls are gripping your shaft very tightly, making it very hard to you to not just bust right here. You pull her towards you and hug her. “Good job, love—very good job.” “You—oh, you always bring the best out of me, daddy,” she replies despite the heavy pants. “I can say the same about you, love,” you whisper back.

Without retreating from her pussy, you roll over until you’re the one on top. “You’re so sweaty, love,” you comment while wiping her forehead, “that must’ve been exhausting for you.” Irene shakes her head feebly. “A-anything to make you happy, daddy.” The way she always puts your pleasure as the top priority is touching. “Alright, let’s take a breather first, okay?”

“Take a breather,” you say, but you’re still slowly moving back and forth in her pussy, making her let out soft moans despite the exhaustion. “Ha-have mercy—please, daddy,” she utters faintly, almost too quiet to reach your ears. “Don’t worry, baby; I’m being gentle.”

As you keep fucking her like this, you can feel your orgasm inching closer, so you pause for now. “Okay, I’m going to stop here—I don’t want to cum without your full attention.” “B-but you have my attention, daddy.” You chuckle. “Your eyes are barely open, love.” When you see her opening her mouth to make an argument, you quickly lean in for a kiss to interrupt her. “Relax, love, we have all day.”

You’ve spent the last few minutes kissing (while still being inside her), and Irene is the first to break it. “When are you going to give me your cum, daddy?” You assess that she has recovered enough for you to finish this, so to answer her, “Right now.” You straighten your back and prepare to start. “Where do you want it, love?” Irene scoffs. “Where else?” “But what about your career?” The callback to the career vs. child argument makes her laugh. “I’m literally pregnant right now, in case you forgot—fill me however much you want, daddy.”

You place her legs together on one side of your shoulder and start fucking her. Irene promptly places her hands on her tits, doing whatever she can to add more stimulation on top of that you’re giving her. “Daddy, you’re close, aren’t you? I can feel it, you know.” You let out a hum to answer her. “Give it to me whenever, daddy.”

You fasten your grip on her legs as you turn up the pace to the maximum of your ability. Your wife has now been reduced to moans and screams; she no longer has the headspace to play with her tits and instead just puts her hands on each side of her head.

“Love, I—” Before you can finish your sentence, semen escapes your shaft and enters her body, making her let out a long, sensual moan because of the warmth. “Oh, daddy,” she gasps, “oh, God, you’ve filled me again.” You let go of her legs and fall limply onto her body. “I love you, baby,” you say right into her ear. “I love you more, daddy.”

As you roll closer towards your house, you see your wife patiently waiting for you in the front garden among the flowers. She turns her head and puts on a smile for you, and you swear to God that exhaustion and stress from work has been taken away, and along with it, your breath.

You quickly jump out of your car, stumbling on your own leg in the process. “Welcome home, love,” she greets you with open arms. You take your rightful spot in her arms, and you can feel her belly bump against yours. “Tired, love?” “I was but not anymore,” you say. “It’s like magic, isn’t it—the moment you see your significant other, everything else just disappears.” “Absolutely,” you agree with her.

Irene invites you to sit on the garden bench with her, but you opt to take a knee in front of her instead. You rub her belly gently to greet your little one, and Irene looks at you with a smile of approval. “I want to say that I’m tired, but it doesn’t feel right.” You furrow your eyebrows. “Why not?” “I mean, it’s you who went to work, not me.” “That’s absurd; you might be at home, but I imagine being pregnant is tiring.” You can tell that she wants to make another argument, but the way you’re looking at her right in the eyes makes her bury that intention.

“Have you eaten, by the way?” Irene nods. “I asked Mr. Hwang to make me lentil soup for lunch.” Lentil soup sounds nice and healthy, which is important for a pregnant woman. “It was so delicious, by the way.” You laugh. “He’d be in deep trouble if it wasn’t.”

You think that this is enough catching up for now and that it’s time to get into the house, so you carry her inside safely. Irene says she wants to watch TV because she’s “tired of being in the bedroom,” so you put her down on the sofa and hand her the remote. You then tell her that you’ll join her after taking a quick shower.

When you get back to the living room to join her, you see that Irene is watching this little documentary on Giethoorn, this beautiful hamlet in the Netherlands where rivers run everywhere. She keeps letting out wows as shots of the area are shown on screen, deeply immersed in the show. “Do you think we can move there one day, love?” “Oh, man, I hope so; that looks like a really nice place to live in.” Irene turns your head towards you. “Maybe if we can’t live in the Netherlands, we can live in some quieter place instead—Damyang or Jinhae, perhaps?” You smile at her. “We’ll see what we can do, alright?” Not satisfied with just words, she makes you make a pinky promise that you’ll seriously consider it.

You didn’t know that you fell asleep, only waking up because you feel soft pokes on your thigh.

“Hngh?”

“Love, you’re tired, aren’t you?”

“A little.”

“Please, that doesn’t look like a little.”

“A little lot, perhaps,” you change your answer.

“I was going to invite you to sleep, but you haven’t eaten yet.”

“That’s fine, love.”

“No, it’s not fine—do you want to have food delivered here?”

“Eh, sure,” you accept her offer, “order something light for me, please.”

Irene doesn’t say anything, presumably busy scrolling through the food delivery app to find something for you. “Light, light, light—what’s something that’s light?” “A lamp—haha, get it?” Irene slaps your thigh for your joke. “Daddy is really funny, isn’t he, Hyewon-ah?” Hearing your wife say that name startles you a tad. “Hyewon-ah? Really?” “I don’t know,” Irene shrugs, “I just like that name.” “Oh, I thought we’ve found out if we’re having a daughter.”

Irene focuses on ordering food again, and something finally catches her fancy. “What about some toast, love?” “What toast?” She shows you the available options, from peanut butter toast to kimchi and cheese toast. “Get me one peanut butter toast, please.” She says that it’s a better deal to order at least 3 toasts, so she adds some other toast to the order. “It’ll be here in around 45 minutes, love.” You thank her for the help and then invite her to rest her head on your lap.

“Love me, please,” she says in this aegyo-esque voice. You bend down and peck her on the forehead. “Anything specific, love?” Irene opens and closes her mouth a few times, seemingly trying to judge if she should speak her mind. “You’re so tired, though,” she utters, and you can already tell what she’s getting at. “You want me between your legs, don’t you?” Your wife covers her red face. “W-well, if you put it like that…” “We’ll wait until I have some food in my stomach and see how we can proceed—do we have a deal?” “Yes, deal!” The way her voice cracks makes you laugh. “My, my, aren’t you a cutie?”

The toasts are here: you’ve grabbed the bag from the delivery man and put it on the living room table.

You pick up the box with the text “PB” written on it. Irene says that she has bought some toast from this place before and hopes that you’ll like it like she does. You nod in satisfaction after taking the first bite. “I think I know what brand of peanut butter this is,” you comment. She scratches her head in cluelessness. “I don’t know, love; they all taste the same to me.”

You notice that Irene has two hands on top of each other on her stomach and keeps licking her lips while watching you eat. “Want to have a bite, lovely?” She nods timidly. “It looks so good,” she admits, “b-but I don’t know if I should eat.” You tilt your head in confusion. “Why not?” “Erm, I think that’s ultra-processed food—that’s one. Two, I don’t want to gain too much weight.” Weight can be quite a sensitive subject, especially considering that your wife has always been paying close attention to it.

You keep chewing as you think of a reasonable answer—well, here it goes: “I’m sure that you have good intentions, but I’m almost certain that one toast won’t hurt you or Hyewon-ie.” You can tell that she’s starting to get swayed, as proven by how she has a box with “CHOCO” written on it in her hands. “Forgive me, Hyewon-ah, but I really want this toast.”

You panic a little when Irene sheds a tear after taking a bite. “Oh my, are you okay, love?” She nods again. “T-this is so good, but I feel so guilty for eating this—oh, I’m so sorry, Hyewon-ah.” You put down your and her toast on the table so that you can hold her hands. “Love, love,” you try to get her to focus on you, “it’s okay, no one is yelling at you for eating one toast—not me, not Doctor Shin, and certainly not Hyewon-ie.” “A-are you sure?” “Yes,” you say in a resolute tone. “We’ll be just fine, trust me.”

Feeling decently comforted and assured by your words, Irene asks if she can have her toast again, so you give it back to her. You make sure you don’t forget to wipe that random tear off her cheek while you’re at it. “Thank you,” she utters softly. “You’re welcome, my love,” you say equally softly.

After finishing those tasty and quite filling toast, Irene asks if she can have you between her legs, so you stand up from your seat and stretch your body to warm up. “I apologize in advance if I finish too fast; I’m kind of tired.” Your wife shakes her head. “As long as your load is mine, I don’t really see the problem with finishing fast—I’ll probably finish before you, anyway.”

There’s only you and your wife in this house right now, but that doesn’t change the fact that sex should only happen in the bedroom for the next 6 to 7 months; it’s more comfortable for her and safer for your child.

After getting undressed, Irene asks to be helped sit on the stool that she prepared earlier today. “It seems like you have an idea,” you comment. “Yes,” she says, “I want you back there.” “What happened to turning it down?” “This isn’t our first time, is it—just remember to be gentle.”

You open the bedside drawer to find the lube and see that it’s not there. “We don’t have lube?” Irene looks away to hide her red cheeks. “Erm, I might or might not have used it earlier.” You furrow your eyebrows. “You used it? For what?” She shyly admits that she fucked herself in the rear with a dildo this afternoon. “I-I wanted to prepare for you, because I know you like it when I think ahead.”

It’s not strange or new to you that your wife is lustful; you’ve known that for years at this point. That said, you’d think that being pregnant would turn that lustfulness down, but it doesn’t seem like it so far—in fact, it feels like she’s more lustful than ever.

You stand in front of her and hold her chin. “Oh, love, what would you do without me—who could satisfy you if not me?” “I don’t know, daddy; it’s always been you since day one.” You reward her with a kiss for answering correctly. “May I, then?” Irene giggles slightly. “Certainly.”

You walk around and look for your target. “I’m pulling this plug out, alright?” After getting a nod of approval from your wife, you gently tug on the plug. “Ngh!” Irene clenches her fists when she feels her rear being stretched by the wide part of the plug. “Relax, love—it’s almost out.” With a pop, the plug is finally out of her tight ass, and you quickly put your mouth on it for the first time ever in this marriage, making your wife gasp in shock. “Daddy, no, I’m dirty there.”

You ignore her and keep running your tongue on her puckered hole; quite fun, you must admit. Occasionally, you try parting her cheeks apart so that you can put the tip of your tongue in her rear.

Feeling weak, Irene starts tumbling forwards, but you catch her just in time to save her from going face first onto the floor. “God, you’re so crazy, daddy.” “Your new task, baby, is to keep it clean all the time—is that clear?” Irene nods in obedience. “Y-yes, sir; I will try my best.” You squeeze her butt cheek lightly. “Good girl,” you praise her.

You get on your feet and hug the panting woman from behind. “Are you alright?” “Y-yes—fuck, you’re fucking crazy.” You pinch a nipple, more surprising than painful. “That’s not how you speak to me, woman.” “S-sorry, sir, b-but you are indeed crazy.” You kiss her on the back of the head. “I hope you didn’t mind, by the way.” Your wife shakes her head. “Not—oh, not at all.”

“Sir, daddy,” Irene can’t choose between the two, “would you fuck my ass, please?” “Thought you’d never ask, baby.” You stroke your shaft to make sure that it’s properly hard and ready while your wife spreads her butt cheeks to give you access. You place the tip right on the entrance of her forbidden hole. “Are you ready, baby?” “Yes—oh, God, fuck, yes.”

You waste little time and go deep right away into her warmed-up hole. “Fuck, you’re always so tight right here.” “Hngh! Ngh!” Irene can only let out grunts as she’s getting overwhelmed by the stimulation you’re giving her. “No one can touch you like I do, hm?” She shakes her head weakly as a response, still unable to say anything back.

You hook her arms backwards as you get ready to fuck her to make sure she doesn’t fall off the stool. “I’m yours, daddy—fuck me however you want,” she says, as if it was ever a question. “Bet.”

With this steady posture, you start fucking her ass roughly, forcing Irene to scream with each thrust delivered. “My husband is fucking amazing—Hyewon-ah, daddy is fucking amazing,” Irene thinks as the sounds of your hips crashing against her butt enter her ears.

As time goes on, everything starts to get blurry for Irene, and it doesn’t help that from this position, she has no control over how fast you’re fucking her. “P-please stop,” she says weakly, hoping that it’ll still reach your ears amongst the clapping sounds. It doesn’t seem like you heard her, though; you’re still fucking her ass recklessly, which leaves her no other choice but to just yell out loud. “DADDY, STOP—PLEASE!” Hearing her scream makes you stop abruptly with more than half your shaft still lodged in her ass. “Daddy, please, let me breathe,” Irene begs.

Still panting, you gently retreat from her gaped ass. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” you just realize how rough you’ve been. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry, love,” you repeat to show sincerity. You pull her into your arms and take a seat on the edge of the bed, and the sight of your wife crying (from getting fucked in the ass, nonetheless) twists your heart like nothing else. You keep repeating apologies while rubbing her stomach gently, hoping that doing so could also tell Hyewon that you’re regretful of your actions.

Irene feebly reaches for your face. “I-it’s okay; it was good until it became overwhelming, daddy.” You lie her down on her side and inspect the result of your recklessness—it seems like she didn’t get injured by your shaft. “I think you’re fine, baby.” “Great,” she replies, “so what are you waiting for?” You blink rapidly in confusion. “I thought you were in pain?” “I never said that,” she shrugs. Seeing that you’re silent, Irene piles on. “C’mon, look at yourself, daddy: you’re still hard and ready to fuck me—let me finish the job, please.” “Fine,” you give up, “I’m not getting in your ass again, though.”

Irene says that you have a deal and asks you to lie down so that she can take control, which is fine by you; you’ve had enough “fun” being dominant tonight. You keep an eye on your wife as she aims your shaft towards her entrance from the cowgirl position. You grit your teeth when Irene slowly sits down on your cock—you’re in her ass again. “Oh, fuck, welcome back, daddy.” “I thought we had a deal.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Irene deflects, “anyway, I hope you enjoy the ride, hihihi.”

Irene rests her subtly bulged belly on your body while her hips are busy bouncing up and down along your length. She keeps chanting “you’re in my ass” as if you can’t tell that you are indeed in her ass. You reach around and slap her butt. “Go faster.” Having planted her hands on your chest, Irene tries to bounce faster on your cock. “Oh, oh, yes—how’s this, daddy?” It’s you who can’t respond this time; just like earlier, the way her muscles are squeezing you prevents you from thinking straight and coming up with words to say.

You rest your head on the pillow while your wife is busy fucking herself on your cock (while moaning so freaking freely), and for some reason, your eyelids feel like they weighed 100 kilograms—what the hell are they so heavy for? “You must be close, daddy,” Irene makes a keen observation. “Uh-huh,” are all that escape your lips. Hearing that you’re close serves as fuel for Irene to keep up the tempo and make you bust with her ass; this tireless woman can be very crazy in bed, pregnant or not.

“Love, I’m about to—oh, fuck, I’m about to bust,” you warn her. “Yeah?” Her voice is barely heard thanks to the endless clapping noises. You grip the pillow your head is resting on as your cock starts twitching wildly in her rear. “Baby, please,” you let your desperation to cum be known to her.

Irene slams herself down onto your body, and you instantly erupt, surprising the both of you at the same time. She throws her head back as your warm semen floods her ass. “Oh, oh, yes, daddy.” It was her who did all the work, but it’s you who’s panting heavily.

“Love, thank you so much.” Irene removes you from her ass and lies down next to you. “Even when tired, you’re still so strong,” she praises while her hand runs along your length. “What’s your secret, daddy?” “You’re my secret; if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be like this.” You let out a low moan when your wife manages to squeeze the last bit of semen out of you. “You’re so cute, you know that?” You chuckle. “No, I don’t.”

It feels odd to not have Irene welcome you at the driveway, especially since she’s been doing that consistently for the past few weeks, too. Her Genesis is parked neatly in the usual spot, so she must be at home, but where is she?

“I’m home.” You close the door behind you and scan your surroundings—still no sign of your wife, making you wonder if perhaps she’s asleep. You make your way towards the bedroom, and your jaw drops immediately when you see her kneeling on the floor while being almost entirely naked. Irene buckles a little, presumably because she feels a fetus kick. “Even Hyewon-ie doesn’t approve,” you comment.

You rub the side of her face gently. “What on God’s green earth are you trying to do, love?” The ball gag in her mouth prevents her from answering, but she has this little spanker in her hands that she’s trying to hand over to you. “Love, please, what are you doing?” Irene just looks at your feet while her hands are on her thighs. “This isn’t how a woman in her second trimester is supposed to behave, is it?” You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths to get yourself together. “Fine, I’ll play your game.”

Your wife steals some glances as you undress in front of her, and when you’re finished, you take the time to take off her bra, exposing her tits that you swear have grown bigger recently. You then lift her onto her feet to remove her panties, and Irene instantly drops back down onto the floor after you’re done. “Oh, you’re that serious, aren’t you?”

You pick up the slim paddle from the floor and prepare to swing. “Wait, where do I hit her?” You look for places to hit her on, but the more you think about it, the more that you don’t want to do it. That said, you imagine that it’d disappoint her if you chicken out, so you decide to play along until she taps out.

You hit her on the right shoulder once. “Ngh!” Irene lets out a yelp of surprise when the paddle lands. “That’s one.” You move the paddle to your other hand and hit her on the left shoulder. “I’ll count until 29, okay?” Irene nods in response, and that’s when you look for other targets.

You ask her to show you her palms and hit them successively. “Any ideas?” Your wife taps her thighs, indicating that she wants to be hit there, so you hit those two spots, harder than you’d like to admit, making her grunt in pain. “Sorry.” That sounds less sincere than you’d like, but it’s okay, you’ll make it up to her later.

Before you continue, you join her on the floor and unlatch the gag. “This doesn’t look comfortable, so I’m taking it off,” you say. Irene relaxes her mouth now that she’s free. “Thank you, master.” You sigh. “Master? Really?” Irene nods enthusiastically. “Yes, master.”

You stand back up and swing at her tender breasts out of nowhere. “Fucking naughty, aren’t you?” As Irene opens her mouth to say something, you hit her breasts again. “You’re pregnant, and this is how you fucking act? Explain yourself.” You tell her to explain herself, but you don’t give her the chance to do so, interrupting her with a hit on the forearm. “M-master, please.” “Please what?” You subconsciously raise your tone. “Please punish me; I-I’ve been naughty.” You roll your eyes. “Fuck it, we’re going back to zero.”

You hit her on different places in rapid succession, and Irene screams after each one. “How many?” “S-six, master.” “Good,” you praise her emptily, “count to 18, slut.” You initially chose 29, which is the date she was born, but changed it to 18, which is the date you were born. As much as you’re putting on a cold charade for her, you don’t have the heart to hit her 29 fucking times.

You tell her to get on her hands and knees to expose other parts of her body. You smack her on the back a few times before moving on to her butt and hitting it a few more times. “How many?” Irene chokes up momentarily before she manages to get her answer out. “T-twelve, sir.”

To end the show, you give her some hard hits on the back of her thighs. “E-eighteen, master.” “On your knees,” you command, and Irene obeys right away. “Explain yourself, or else.” “I-I was just trying new stuff,” she says. “Is that it?” Irene just nods, and you can’t help but sigh, feeling somewhat frustrated by her simple answer.

“Love, be honest with me: why are you acting like this?” After taking a deep breath, Irene proceeds to explain the whole thing, from how she tore the left rear tire of her car against an elevated curb while trying to pull into a gas station this afternoon, to the fact that she touched herself thrice while thinking about you. “L-like I said, I’ve been very naughty.” You exhale deeply. “Those few things don’t require punishment—especially not of this sort.” Your wife shakes her head. “But I want to be punished,” she insists.

“Have you had enough, or what?” Irene slowly shifts her gaze to meet yours, and you know that she knows that you’re aroused, as shown by your erect cock. “Do whatever you please, master,” she says, hiding her excitement behind the façade of obedience.

Still kneeling in front of you, Irene eases you into her mouth. You place a hand on the back of her head and pull her towards you, forcing your cock deeper. She’s taken you deep plenty of times, so this is neither new nor difficult for her. “Hold it there and count to 10.” After finishing her count, Irene retreats until only your tip is in her mouth. “Very good—now do it 9 more times.”

Irene does as you command, doing each repetition passionately, much to your satisfaction. “That’s very good, love,” you make sure you don’t forget to praise her. You retreat from her wet mouth to let her breathe, and she promptly inhales sharply. “I-I hope I did well, sir.” You smile kindly. “Of course; you always do everything so well.”

You take a seat on the edge of the bed while you wait for Irene to get herself together. “Anything else, master?” A lit bulb appears over your head. “Is it just me, love, or have your breasts gotten bigger?” She takes a quick look at herself. “I-I think they have indeed grown, master.” “They look so soft, don’t you think?” She nods to your question. “Would you like to touch them, sir?” “I have a better idea,” you say, “put them around my cock.”

Irene crawls towards you and places your cock right between her extra plump tits. “Like this, sir?” You moan in a low voice as your shaft grinds against her tits. “You—oh, fuck, you’re so good at every-fucking-thing.” Your wife blushes. “I aim to please, master.” “Oh, trust me, I’m very pleased right now, love.”

Much to your pleasure, Irene presses her chin against her chest and catches your tip with her mouth every time it pokes through her tits. You pet her head gently. “Good fucking job, baby—fuck, I’m about to bust.” “Please, give me your cum, master.” Irene moves her tits faster, eager to have your first load of the day.

You throw your head back and close your eyes as semen spurts out of the tip of your cock, landing all over her face and chest. “Oh my, very thick,” she comments. “I love how you taste, master; your diet works well for me too, you know.” You chuckle. “Good to know, baby.”

You invite Irene to lie down in bed with you. “You haven’t cum yet.” “Yes, I have; I told you I touched myself a lot today.” You get your tie from the messy pile of clothes. “Hands above your head, please.” She puts her hands together above her head, and you tie them together. “Are we ready?” Irene looks at you nervously. “Please have mercy, master; I’ve had a lot of orgasm today.” “That wasn’t my doing, was it?”

Irene gasps in shock when she feels your hand on her little nub. “Sensitive much?” “Please, master.” “Please what, baby?” “I need to cum again, master—make me cum with your hands, please.” “Well, since you asked so nicely.” You use one hand to stimulate her nub and use the other to play with her tits, going fast and fervent right from the gate.

In the moment of high stimulation, Irene accidentally kicks you in the head—how did that even happen? “That’s not nice.” “I-I—fuck, I’m so sorry, master. I didn’t mean it.” “That’s strike one, Miss Bae,” you warn. To punish her behavior, you increase the intensity of stimulation on her pussy, making her jolt around more. It’s fine if she were to kick you again; you have some more ideas in your head to get her back.

Your wife keeps moaning loudly and freely as her fourth orgasm looms ahead. “Master, master,” Irene begs for your attention, “I won’t last too long, master.” “Oh, is that so?” You plunge two fingers into her pussy and finger-fuck her, and Irene can’t help but moan, possibly until her voice disappears.

Your hand starts getting tired, but as timing has it, she’s also very, very close to orgasm. With an ear-piercing scream, Irene explodes: her legs are shaking violently, and her juice is coming out torrentially. “Very, very good, my love—you’re such a big bomb, aren’t you?” You free her hands and move to barrage her sweaty head with pecks. “We’ll wait until you’re relaxed before doing anything else, alright?”

Amid all this, you notice that you’re getting rock hard again. You start stroking your cock with the sight of your naked wife in front of you. Irene, in her exhausted state, looks at you. “Don’t waste your cum,” she says vaguely. “What do you mean?” “Put it somewhere in me, master,” she clarifies. You stop for a moment. “You’re very exhausted, love. I don’t want to burden you with more sex.” Your wife shakes her head. “I can take it, don’t worry.”

You take a position in between her legs, aiming your cock at her pussy in the process. You announce that you’re going in, and Irene moans weakly at the first contact. She tells you that you need to do all the work this, citing her exhaustion. “Never thought I’d hear such words from you; you’ve been tireless recently,” you say, earning a little chuckle from her.

You kiss her while your shaft goes in and out of her, dropping whatever charade you’ve been using these past few hours. “I love you, baby—I love you so fucking much.” “I-I love you more, hon—you’re the best for me.” Her warm words make you smile. “I’ll stay by your side until death do us part, my love.” “You have a deal.” You hug her tightly when your second load of the day enters her body.

“We’ll rest a bit, if that’s okay with you.” “Sure,” Irene says, “I can’t even stand up right now.”

You feel rapid taps on your chest, making you wake up crassly in surprise. When your eyes are open enough to provide vision, you see that your wife is seated in bed with Yeseo in her arms. “Yes, love?” Irene doesn’t answer your question and instead, starts breaking down in tears. “C-can you take care of her a little? I-I want to rest.”

You slap yourself as hard as you can for leaving your wife to sleep and, in turn, forcing her to tend to your child alone. “My goodness, I’m so sorry, love.” You open your hands to receive your daughter who is wrapped snug with a little blanket, and Irene immediately falls flat onto the bed—she’s still crying, though. “Go to sleep if you can, love; I’ll keep her safe.” “I’m such a bad mom,” she insults herself unnecessarily, “I can’t even stay up for my daughter.” “No, you’re not a bad mom—trust me, you’re not.” To offer her some peace, you tell her that you’ll be in the living room with Yeseo until morning. “I’ll see you later, okay?” You give her a peck as a parting gift.

“Yeseo-yah,” you whisper softly, “while mommy catches her breath, we’ll hang out in the living room, okay?” Having been born just a few weeks ago, Yeseo can’t respond much aside from a small head movement, which you’ll gladly accept as an answer. “We’re going to get along very well, aren’t we, sweetie?”

You turn on the TV to watch something in an attempt make sure you don’t fall asleep, and that’s when you see the time: 02:09 a.m. “We’re staying up late, sweetie—I hope you won’t make this a habit when you’re grown up,” you comment.

You make sure that the TV is muted so that it doesn’t startle your daughter when this video starts. “Oh my, look at that place, Yeseo-yah.” A shot of beautiful countryside scenery in Jeju steals your attention, and it’s very hard to resist the temptation to move there with your family. “What do you say we move there, sweetie?” Yeseo lets out a small squeal, and you guess that she’s interested in living there. “Aha, great minds think alike, hey?”

You remember your wife asking if the family can move to somewhere quieter to raise Yeseo in, and now that she’s actually here, you’re really contemplating the opportunity. In your head, you try to think about what work would be like if you lived in a place like Jeju, which is even farther from the big capital. Your brain suggests stepping down from your post and earning from dividends, which sounds like a sound idea. Irene had stepped down from her position of director of risk management two months before Yeseo was born, so it’s not the craziest idea to follow suit.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you and mommy, Yeseo-yah.” You want to say that you’re willing to die for them, but Irene’s words enter your mind: why die for family, if you can be healthy and stay by their side instead? You laugh a little as you recall that exchange. “Mommy is an amazing person, sweetie. Sometimes I can’t believe I ended up with her.”

Irene wakes up around 6 hours later, feeling somewhat refreshed after a decent night’s sleep. The first thing she does is obviously to check up on her husband and daughter.

“Look at you: sleeping with Yeseo in your hands.” Irene unlocks her phone and takes a picture of you sleeping with your mouth wide open while Yeseo is chilling in your arms. She gets teary eyes looking at this scene in the living room.

She never had the idea of being childfree and has taken a more neutral stance about it, but at the same time, having Yeseo is quite the surprise turn of her life.

Irene quietly joins you on the sofa to not disturb your peace. “Love, love,” she whispers, trying to get you to wake up, “wake up, please; it’s time for work.” “Screw work,” she hears you say, “I’m stepping down.” She knows that you’re referring to your job. “Are you sure?” “Yes,” you reply again, “we’re moving to Jeju.”

Before getting too excited, Irene makes sure you’re awake. “Love, seriously, wake up.” The way you’re suddenly looking at her with eyes wide open makes her jump. “Yes?” “Were you serious about moving to Jeju?” You nod. “I’ve talked with Yeseo about it, and she agreed.” Irene bursts out laughing, shaking her head in amusement. “Sure, she did.” “Just ask her yourself if you don’t believe me.”

She plays along with your joke and asks Yeseo about her opinion on moving out of the big city, to which she replies by crying out loud, taking the two of you by surprise. “What, what, what,” you panic, “is she hungry? She’s probably hungry, right?” Irene unbuttons her pajama to expose a nipple Yeseo can latch on, so you hand your daughter over to her to be breastfed.

“Sorry, love, but these tits aren’t solely yours anymore,” Irene quips. You start laughing out loud, finding it difficult to stop. “What—what are you talking about? Why did you say it like that?” Your wife joins you in laughing. “I don’t know—it just felt right to say it.” You shake your head, highly amused by your wife’s odd statement. “It’s fine; I’m totally content with sharing them with Yeseo,” you clarify.

You take one last look at your house that is now empty. “We spent a fortune on this house, didn’t we, love?” You nod in agreement. “It’s crazy how much we bought this place for,” you reply. “I hope you won’t regret moving out,” Irene expresses her concern. You look at her right in the eyes while your hands are on either side of her waist. “We’re doing this for Yeseo—this is bigger than just the two of us, love.”

You walk with her outside towards the driveway, where Yeseo’s stroller is parked. “Isn’t she so cute?” “She is,” you say, “I swear I will do and give everything for you and her.” Irene puts on a big smile.

“We’ll give her a good life and a bright future, love.”

“We absolutely will.”

#girl group smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader #male reader smut #smut #red velvet smut #irene smut

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loserlvrss · 1 month ago

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𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐆 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 l. minho ( 이민호 )

synopsis | minho will always take care of who he loves, and you love that.

pairing : lee minho x fem!reader genre : drabble, domestic fluff warnings : mentions of being sick & food, skinship word count : 0.6k authors note : i know u know lee know btw

“just sit down,” your boyfriend was pushing you into the barstool beside the kitchen island.

your arms crossed over your front, features pouting. “you know, minho, i’m sick, not useless.” you exaggerated with your hands, swinging them out beside you. “i can—i can, i don’t know, cut up the carrot or something!”

he smiled adoringly at you, like one would a cute animal or small child, and shook his head. “what kind of chef boyfriend would i be if i made you do the work?”

you rolled your eyes, knowing that it was ultimately useless to argue with the lee minho; he’d get what he wanted in the end. and frankly, you weren’t good at cooking. that’s why you two worked so well, he had his little hobby to destress and you were always fed. a win-win.

so, when you woke up in the middle of the night with a stomach ache, only sleeping a couple hours after that, he was quick to jump into the kitchen. he wanted to make you something his mom would make when he was sick as a kid—you found the gesture sickeningly sweet. he must really love you, you thought.

he’d gotten started in silence. usually he’d let you talk about everything and nothing at the same time, but he’d never pry if you didn’t feel like it. and, today must’ve been one of those days, as you just watched with closed lips.

he looked so beyond good when he cooked—arguably better than the food. and nothing was more attractive than his desire to take care of you. he didn’t even go back to sleep until he knew you were okay, trailing you into the bathroom and getting you medicine before you even asked. he made sure you were warm and properly cuddled under the blankets (in his arms), rubbing your back until peacefully off in dreamland.

honestly, you owe those couple of hours to him.

“hey, minho?” the silence was finally broken, your boyfriend stopping all his movements for a second and looking at you. his eyebrows rose in a non-verbal approval to go on and ask. “i know we’re already dating, but i have a big crush on you. i just thought you should know.”

he huffed out a laugh, “is that so?”

“yeah, in case you want to do anything with that knowledge.” you admitted innocently, “like marriage or something.”

“i plan on it, love.”

you made a face, something between disbelief, mock-disgust and blushing. “if you were over here i’d kiss you… thrice.”

he eyed you suspiciously, “you just didn’t want to say twice ‘cause then i’d start dancing to alcohol free.”

“maybe,” you joked, getting from your chair and making your way around the counter. he pretended to be offended, steadily chopping up the various vegetables again, and ignoring you. “you know i love your one-man show, baby.”

he smirked slightly—though you couldn’t see—but still was childishly giving you the silent treatment. you pleaded, wrapping your arms around his waist and kissing his clothed spine once, before pressing your cheek to it. “there’s literally no one else i’d rather listen to sing red velvet while they shower.”

“i knew you listened, weirdo.” he chuckled, “if you wanted me to sing to you, i would, you don’t have to creep around.”

you lightly squeezed, “oh, shut up.”

and then suddenly he burst out into song, scaring you, but then sending you into a fit of giggles as the choreography soon followed; the knife safely out of his grip.

you watched in awe of his playfulness, disguised by straight lips and lidded eyes. you really couldn’t read a book by its cover, you thought, because this stupidly-handsome book always knew how to make you feel better.

networks : @blossomnet @starlit-network @k-films @kstrucknet

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alessiamalfoyzabini · 14 days ago

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Howl at Midnight

Pairing | werewolf!Jimin x human!Reader

Word Count | 7.5k

Warnings | +18, angst, smut, halloween theme, an apparently abandoned castle (don't trespass on other people's property 🤧), mentions of a pact made with the city's residents, poison, MC doesn't really have much choice 💀, forced nudity, dark themes and also yandere (?), underneath MC finds the situation exciting, bites and marks, sink the canines and drink blood, PWP, oral sex, pussy worship, dubcon, begging, virginity loss, unprotected sex (use protection!), vaginal sex, big dick, knotting, MC abandons herself to her fate (I think Jimin's supernatural nature contributes in MC's choices), eat cum, this is not for minors.

This fanfiction is dark and yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | You always thought you lived in a quiet, small town. You never imagined that the locals would be able to keep such a secret for centuries, you fell into their trap… But it doesn't seem so bad.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys!!! 🥹

My best friend and I challenged each other to write a Halloween-themed story using the following keywords: werewolf - halloween - virginity - castle - poison.

I don't know why I came up with such a story, it was supposed to be something simple but my dark side took over WAY too much 💀

Anyway my best friend liked the story and suggested that I publish it, so here it is, I already apologize for any mistakes and for the plot which is not who knows what 🥺

Howl at Midnight was written for recreation, but I still hope you enjoy it ❤️

PS: I really didn't know how to classify this story, when in doubt I put the warning “yandere,” since there are behaviors that go a little beyond 😵‍💫

Permanent Taglist | @katherine-kookie, @btsuga-d, @reallygenerouskoala, @takemeaway5402, @velvet-stardust2002, @jimincrystal, @ke1k029, @kylafox09, @pantara, @themwordsblog, @angelicsmilesworld

It's a rather dark night, you think, as the flickering lights of street lamps barely illuminate your path. You and some of your friends have decided to spend Halloween night roaming the more desolate streets of your small town, rather than attend the party of the school's homecoming queen, the most popular and at the same time most hated girl ever by you and your friends, a common ground that has certainly welded your friendship.

You are reminded of the afternoon you spent at Glenn's house deciding how you would spend Halloween night; Glenn's initiative had been rather unique, since he was not a fan of that holiday.

“It will be fun, everything is so scary at night, we might even meet a real vampire! I mean, not like Edward Cullen, I mean one who doesn't sparkle-” but Glenn's excited monologue had been badly interrupted by his girlfriend, Claire, who had hit him over the head with a book, and who knows why, said book was actually titled Twilight. You remember giggling, willingly accepting that idea, but now...

“We were simply supposed to go for a walk, Glenn,” you mutter ruefully, looking around, “Do you want to tell me where you're taking us?”

The red-haired boy snorts again, settling into his vampire costume bought at a thrift store stall, “Come on Y/N, what would life be without a little thrill?”

Claire, for her part, nods in turn with a euphoric smile, as if she knows something you don't, prancing merrily dressed as a red devil among black lace decorations and lace.

“Life would be as it has always been, wonderful,” you blurt out nervously, freezing suddenly.

The asphalt has run out and the streetlights have stopped dimly illuminating the entire street, you are at the edge of the most talked about lands in your town. When and how exactly did you get there?

“Here we are, my girls,” you hear Glenn say, satisfied with his feat.

“What are we doing here?” you swallow, far from cheerful.

Answering you is Claire, “It's an abandoned castle and this is Halloween night, what do you say?”

You grit your teeth, shaking your head, “You're crazy, I'm not going in there!” you take a step back, your heart stirring, but Glenn stops you in a single moment.

“Where do you think you're going? I promised your brother I'd keep an eye on you,” he tells you sternly, and you know he's right, you can't just leave on your own, the streets are empty but it would still be dangerous.

“Don't you want to see what it's really like inside, aren't you the least bit curious?”

Short answer? No.

More articulate answer? Fuck no.

“Come on, don't be a wimp now!”

You snort, casting a glance at the castle in question.

It is as large as it is gloomy; the older inhabitants of the town have always spoken of the presence of various monsters within it, which is why the lands surrounding the castle are so large, preventing the actual growth of the otherwise large and well-populated town. Some of the land had been ceded to keep the monsters quiet.

That's some bullshit. And you're certainly not a wimp.

What will you find in there, maybe overgrown spiders? You shake your head, certainly nothing up to the Acromantulae seen in Harry Potter.

“I'm not afraid,” you limit yourself to saying, Glenn and Claire seem satisfied with your answer as they begin to step over half of the downed iron bars surrounding the gates of the immense building. It bothers you that they haven't bothered beyond you, but it's Halloween night; you can't really spoil their fun.

You hold on tightly to one of the rusty old iron bars, lift one leg trying not to fall off because of the bulky skirt of your witch costume, and end up straight on the ground covered with dry mud and grass, thank the heavens that it hasn't rained in the last few days, otherwise goodbye costume, although more like an elegant medieval dress and nothing more than that.

“Guys, wait for me!” you exclaim as you turn toward them, but you find yourself rolling your eyes.

The darkness is almost completely pitch black, only the moon high in the sky gives you some brightness in that open space surrounded by green trees and uncultivated grass. Your friends are not there.

“Please tell me this is a joke, please,” you growl, turning only a few seconds to climb over the railing, “Glenn? Claire?”

A shiver of unease snakes down your spine, as if someone - or something - is watching you. But you immediately banish the absurd thought. The Halloween atmosphere always makes everything quite scary; your friends chose that place for that very reason.

Imagining that you simply find them in front of the castle's entrance, you also wander down the path that actually looks like anything else by now. You will meet each other there.

The wind blows without worrying about your bare shoulders because of the dress's boat neckline; the cape had long since been taken away along the way. You bought it in an antique store and the elderly man seemed quite eager to get rid of it. He even gave you a discount.

The sound of falling leaves under the force of the draught is quite terrifying, especially now that you've discovered you can't use your cell phone. There is absolutely no service there, and isn't that how the best horror movies begin?

A frustrated groan leaves your throat, you don't have to think about it.

“Glenn?” you try to call out once more, but along the path echoes the hoots of an owl that is probably scrutinizing you with condescension, wondering why a silly girl like you is wandering around in such a desolate, godforsaken place.

When you arrive at the gates of the castle, you find yourself admiring the extraordinary Gothic architecture of the huge, ancient building made of stone and marble. The fact that it has survived over the centuries without any kind of restoration is a testament to the good materials that were used.

One by one, you walk down the stone steps, sudden thunder jolts you violently, and with fear in your veins you throw yourself toward the immense reinforced door, finding it ajar, a sign that Glenn and Claire must have already entered. You ignore the hint of annoyance, since they could at least wait for you, you must escape the sudden storm.

Wordlessly you notice the large, thick black clouds enveloping the sky, obscuring even the immense full moon.

You carefully close the ancient gateway, looking around the thick-walled atrium decorated with paintings that are surely worth more than your current home, not to mention the carpet you are walking on, though a bit worn, is definitely from the time of the castle's founding. You wonder which lord lived there and whether it can be traced in the history books.

“Claire?” you whisper, afraid of disturbing someone, but who exactly?

Sighing wearily, you really have no time or inclination to play along with your friends, you rest your hand on the wrought-iron railing of the staircase, beginning to climb so that you can find those two idiots as soon as possible and get home safely.

They say 'God makes them and then matches them up,' right? You mentally growl, well, you would’ve just wiped them out instead.

Between corridors that are not real corridors but dead ends, some narrow and some exaggeratedly large, you finally find the wing reserved for rooms, hating the enormity of that place.

“Hey, you ... are you here?” you ask, slowly opening a bedroom door with one eye closed and one only slightly open, fearing to find the two lovebirds doing strange things in the leto of an abandoned castle, because they would be perfectly capable of it.

But what you find is just a lavishly decorated bedroom absolutely empty of any other life forms but you.

“This is definitely a joke,” you chuckle mirthlessly, clutch your arms to your chest, and continue that unwelcome tour of yours, continuing to open rooms at random, with no more expectation of finding anyone in them, until you come to a rather large bedroom.

Quite different from the others, which up to that point had been yes, beautiful, but empty, lacking a soul.

This one was immense just like the castle itself, yet warm, thanks to the burning fireplace. The four-poster bed was adorned with red silk sheets, as were the velvet curtains tied to the solid wooden columns, on the walls finely decorated with gold paint were hung medieval tapestries, depicting hunting parties, running horses and wolves, wolves everywhere. One that particularly strikes you depicts two wolves and a woman in the center, they seem ready to bite her fiercely, you notice with discomfort.

High glass windows with curtains left open allow lightning to illuminate the entire room, followed by a terrible, howl-like rumble.

That horrible noise seems to awaken you from the sort of trance you fell into while admiring the surely master bedroom, and you finally take serious note of the burning fire. Why a working fireplace in a castle uninhabited for years?

“To many the night brings counsel, to me it has brought a lovely maiden, I see...” you gasp surprised and terrified, turning toward the silky, warm, yet slightly hoarse, almost growling voice.

A relatively young man watches you with his shoulder resting against one of the stained glass windows. You had not seen him. No. He was not there before, you are absolutely sure.

His dark, shiny hair has been grown down to his neck, some curling around his sharp, elegant jaw, the neck left bare by his unbuttoned, white shirt is a set of sinuous, sharp, powerful lines. The soft black pants do nothing to hide the wonderful figure of his long legs, his feet are bare, you notice. He feels perfectly comfortable, as if... as if that were his home.

“I-I... I'm sorry, it's Halloween and some friends of mine thought...” you try to explain with your hands clasped to the skirt of your dress, but you are immediately interrupted by the man's sophisticated, sassy giggle.

“They thought it was a brilliant idea to violate my property?” you pale at his question.

“We... the whole town believes the castle is uninhabited,” you reply with a shy breath, trying to justify them.

The young man breaks away from the glass window, slowly approaching you, you take steps back, inadvertently bumping into one of the pillars of the bed.

“And does it look uninhabited to you, little girl?”

Little girl? By the look of him, he wouldn't seem that much older than you, in fact.

Now that he has moved closer, standing only a foot away from you, you notice details of his face that you did not catch a few moments earlier.

He has high, pronounced cheekbones, and his lips seem so plump and soft that you blush at the thought of kissing them, his nose is well-proportioned and straight, while the peculiar shape of his eyes gives him a rather sweet and angelic air, although the fun written in them is anything but angelic.

“I didn't know, I'm really sorry, sir,” and it's true, the last thing you want is to be a nuisance to someone you don't even know, “I'll get my friends back and we'll leave right away, I promise.”

Dark eyes rimmed with long eyelashes watch you closely, before dropping to the rest of your body. Suddenly you remember the deep cleavage of your witch's dress, your skin burning under his watchful gaze.

“Right now there is no one else in the castle, except you and me,” he approaches again, you can feel his warm breath meet your neck, you shiver as the man clasps one hand above your head, around the pillar of the bed, doing the same with the other. This makes it clear how statuesque his physique is, compared to your more petite one, you also catch a subtle citrus fragrance, light and not cloying, is that him?

With a huge effort, you process his words, widening your eyes. No one else?

“But how-”

“In my opinion you made it all up, little girl,” he sneers, "Just admit that it was your curiosity that drove you here," but you shake your head, vehemently denying it.

“I really came here with friends!” you fret, you've never been good at handling pressure and this guy is not helping you at all.

“Oh, really?” a devilish smile makes its way across his soft, smooth cheeks, "So it's just a coincidence that you're wearing this dress?" you don't know how to answer the question, you can't, not when he lowers a hand over you, brushes the outline of your face with a finger, trailing down the delicate line of your neck to your cleavage, your rippling, shivering skin longs to receive his touch once more, you struggle to recover.

“Th-this dress?” you stammer in shame, his finger is still grazing your chest and you are doing nothing to push it away.

“Mh-mh,” he nods, pushing your cleavage down a few millimeters, enough to make you squeak with red cheeks, “How much do you know about this castle and its owners, little girl?”

Nothing, you'd like to answer, but your eyes already communicate your answer as he pulls back, finally letting you breathe. His scent still hovers around you, though.

“Year 1479, the people of the town of Howl enter into an agreement with the seven lords of Midnight, ceding a part of their lands to these noble lords and agreeing to send a virgin once every ten years, on the so-called Halloween Night,” he narrates, leaving you speechless, “In return, none of the townspeople would be hunted down and killed, does that ring a bell?”

“L-Listen to me, I really don't know what you're talking about, I definitely have to go now,” you nod at your own words, but the door slams shut along with a new and terrible rumble, an anguished cry involuntarily leaving your throat.

“The dress you're wearing is soaked in poison, little girl” the imperious tone terrifies you, automatically your body closes in on itself, as a kind of protection.

“This must definitely be a joke, it is Halloween after all,” you whisper to yourself with tears in your eyes.

“It's a security, for us. It ensures that the girls don't run away, because we are the only ones who can neutralize that poison” you don't know why the man started speaking in plural, you just know that you have to leave, even though something inside you is screaming at you not to. Because it could end very badly.

“You'd better take it off, your body might absorb more poison than is really necessary, the sooner we start the better,” he sighs, beginning to take off his white shirt, showing off a well-built, smooth chest and abs studded with thin scars lighter than his skin, swallowing without any more salivation, following long lines of black ink that weave across his pecs, forming some kind of mark, perhaps related to some cult.

“What are you doing!”

The man tilts his head, his soft hair following the movement meekly, and grasps the edge of his pants, running his forefinger and thumb over it defiantly as he watches you, “I'm taking what was given to me, little girl,” he sneers again, not at all impressed by your shock.

It was not uncommon for him and his brothers to be served girls who were totally unaware of their own destiny, they were tiresome at times, they would not stop shaking and crying, praying not to be deprived of their purity, but you smell so delicious that it might make him go beyond your dullness.

The fabric of his excellent quality pants slowly flows over the flawless skin of his toned legs, the blood rushes straight to your cheeks, and your heart misses a beat with a strangled “iiih” as you realize that the stranger has not only freely undressed in front of you, but is not wearing any underwear.

You've certainly never seen a naked man in person, but based on your anatomy books, that is definitely not a normal penis.

With a strange feeling of dizziness and no little embarrassment, you realize that even at rest, it is definitely big, with a swollen base almost as big as perfectly round testicles and such obvious purplish veins that you wonder if it is actually already hard, in its own way. Could that vibrant pink be an indicator? God, what the hell are you thinking?!

After a little dizziness your eyes fly to the closed door, you have to leave, run.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks you, smiling with a hint of danger in his eyes, “Do you want to run? Run away from me? Know that this will only excite me more.”

You try to look away from his cock, with extreme difficulty, as he spoke, his cock had moved slightly, as if agreeing with the man's words. You ignore the slight jolt between your legs.

“If I can get through the gates of your property, will you let me go?” you propose almost shyly, staring into his sly eyes.

“Um... if I let you go, you'd die from the poison, but if that's what you want...” he shrugs, making you frown. The story of the poisoned dress might be bullshit to convince you to let him fuck you, but what if it's not?

You shake your head, it's all just a bluff. This man is clearly a pervert, maybe he gets off on fucking on such nights with stranger women.

“That's what I want.” you assure with a note of panic in your voice, the desire to escape is so urgent you can hardly think, “Open the door.”

But the man shakes his head, “Strip and I will leave you free to roam my lands until I find you.”

“I don't-!” the words die between your lips, his singsong expression gone, giving way to a sternness that clashes with his regal features, the difference making that contrast frightening.

“I like to play, little girl ... but I don't tolerate whining, don't make me angry, because I might decide to take you now, we have a bed available right here and now,” he hisses, clenching his fist against the polished wooden backboard of the four-poster bed. The more he looks at you, the more his balls throb fiercely; he's trying to control his desire; if his cock hardens, that's the end.

You're the first woman he's seen in 60 years, finally his turn has come, and there's no way he'll let you go. Do you want to play? He'll let you, but eventually you'll give in to his desires. The scent of your sweet virgin pussy makes his wolf growl, eager to get out to meet you.

Perhaps you sense something strange, because with trembling fingers you go to unbutton the side opening of your dress, a little sorry to him, the plunging neckline raises and shapes your breasts invitingly, though the stench of the poison with which it is imbued leaves him disgusted. An idea of humans to persuade chosen women not to flee, his eyes scroll over the ancient clock hanging above the door, the hands turn and you have just four hours to go before the poison takes effect, killing you. He would be sorry to see you die without having had a chance to taste you first.

“Tic-Tac, the clock is ticking, little girl... the slower you are, the more likely you are to die,” he informs you with a smile, your fear written all over his face igniting his loins; he has to restrain himself so he doesn't jump on you, and you're aware of that now, too.

Your eyes study his shoulders, they have stiffened noticeably, and with embarrassing speed you unfasten the last side button, letting the soft black fabric of your dress slip off like a veil, leaving you in your bra and panties. You start up under his eyes, which move to observe every nook and cranny of your body, from the soft breasts enclosed in the cups of the purple lace bra, going lower and lower, past the delicious curve of your hips to the tightly clasped mount of Venus covered by more purple lace. You yourself realize that for a man who wants to possess you, that kind of lingerie might make you look like a neatly wrapped gift in his eyes.

“Don't stop,” he tells you hoarsely, his eyes veiled with glowing lust.

The blood leaves your veins; if he were to take you, you would already be ready to receive him. As your fingers move to get rid of your bra as well, you realize you don't find it such a disturbing idea after all, even when you finally pull down the light fabric of your panties, showing off something no boy has ever had the honor of looking at, his nostrils flaring as if to inhale something in the air, you are aroused.

“You'd better start running, little girl, I'm going to give you exactly twenty seconds head start,” his voice comes out as a guttural sound, making you widen your eyes and really run, when the door suddenly opens wide.

You don't even wonder what strange contraption he used to close or open the door without having to physically do it, you just know you are definitely in danger.

Every nook and cranny of the castle is an unknown, he owns it, he may know passages unknown to you; therefore, you always try to wander the corridors with no visible openings. A tense, animalistic roar makes you scream in terror, with spirited eyes you look down the stairs, you are close to the stairs to the hall, the door has not been locked, you just need more time, you can make it.

You sling yourself barefoot down, almost tumbling from your haste and throw yourself out, skipping the stone steps and then to the wild path, short of breath and fear dictating your decisions, you remember it took you a good twenty minutes to get to the castle, but walking the whole path is out of the question, it would be too obvious and easy, you necessarily have to lengthen the path and consequently put in more time to get away from that terrifying place.

With horror you realize that you don't know where Glenn and Claire might be at all, would he hurt them if he found them?

Of course he would.

You don't know the man, but you have noticed all too well the bestial aura around him; he is someone capable of harm, and he will harm you if you cannot escape him.

Your feet step on scattered branches on the ground and you whimper trying to ignore the pain, another roar - or maybe it's a howl? - rips through the air, mingling with the howls of the rushing wind, and you stifle an anguished cry.

Scratches open along your body, trees ravaged by bad weather and never tended seem to want to block your way in every way possible, and the darkness certainly doesn't help.

Like a wounded animal you limp aimlessly, not imagining the hunger of the ravenous beast that sneers at the scent of your blood.

You feel tired, sluggish at times, your peripheral vision somewhat obscured, an excruciating doubt makes its way into your mind. Could it be that the story of the poisoned dress was true?

But why sell it to you, how could the seller have known that your friends would take you to that castle on Halloween night?

You begin to stagger, a sharp twinge in your head stops you, it is so painful that you collapse on the icy, muddy ground.

You realize you are screwed in every sense of the word when a weight suddenly crushes you to the ground, you scream in terror and wide-eyed, trying to shake it off.

Jimin doesn't think twice about clasping you in his vigorous arms, burying his nose on your neck damp with cold sweat, the accelerated beat of your heart rumbling in his own chest, driving him to moan with need. He presses himself against your soft curves, basking in your feverish warmth despite the stormy, icy night.

“Don't hurt me,” you shake your head with your eyes closed, trying to fight the unusual fatigue to plead with him, "Please, I was wrong, forgive me...I won't come back here again, I swear," the boy snorts against your flustered skin.

He reluctantly lifts himself up to allow you to turn toward him, you find some strength to open your eyelids wide, being invested by his sometimes divine appearance. His eyes, no longer as black as you thought they were, are tinged with an extraordinary shade of gold, he watches you from receptive pupils as you notice the grin on his mouth, a mouth larger than you remembered. There is something strange, not human, about him now. And despite the run he must have made to keep up with you, he doesn't have the slightest hint of fatigue in his breath, he's as fucking fresh as a newly bloomed rose.

“You're dying, little girl,” he hums, shaking some hair off your forehead, you lose a beat at the sight of long claws where once there were short, well-manicured nails.

The claw grazes your skin unhurriedly, you feel it scratch without hurting, you anxiously lick your lips closing your eyes, you are so sleepy that you even willingly accept your fate, Jimin snorts through his nose, almost laughing, before lowering himself onto your jugular.

It would be really easy for him to sink his canines into your flesh and bite your throat to rip it out, but fortunately for you he is not a vampire. All he wants is to sink his cock into your pussy and make you cum repeatedly, but if you died it would be hard to put his plan into action. He wants you alive and receptive.

He licks a long streak of saliva onto your delicate neck, heedless of the dirt that has stuck to your skin, before gently biting you. Your reaction is immediate, you start sobbing like a puppy at the feel of his fangs penetrating your flesh, you cling to his shoulders trying to move him weakly from you, and you kick awkwardly with your legs, legs that are locked in a vice grip by his. That way it is easy to feel something hard and heavy pressing against your belly, you try not to think about it as the man seems inebriated by the taste of your blood flowing straight down his throat.

The bitter taste of the poison is revolting, but fortunately your blood has such sweet notes that it counterbalances that horrendous taste in a balanced way, here, now he just has to lick your wound thoroughly. He collects the last rivulets of your blood with his tongue, before dripping his saliva into the tiny holes created by his sharp canines, little holes that begin to close with light smoke, cauterizing the wound and partly removing the poison toxins from your blood.

With no longer a grip on your throat, your head falls limply back to the ground, you gasp trying to fight off the shock of such an experience.

“Mpf!” his tongue invades your mouth treacherously, the taste of your blood making you squeal on his lips, so unfairly soft and pleasant to the touch. The hot and unusually long muscle pushes into your oral cavity eagerly, saving your life has as if awakened the more primal side of Jimin, one of the seven lords who unleashed hell in Howl's town. And the mating ritual has begun, but you cannot know this.

You break free by gasping for air, “W-why?” you stutter breathlessly, “You don't even know me!” you cry as you drive your nails into his forearms, triggering in return a reaction of possession in him, prompting him to grab your thighs and lift them onto his shoulders to your profound horror, he is so wild as he spreads your legs wide open to sink his face in between them that you can't utter a single breath.

As he runs his tongue along your pulsing, hot folds, Jimin realizes with nastiness that during your escape you got wet for him, he had smelled your arousal as he pursued you, on some people the quickened heartbeat has that effect, but the sweet and slightly salty taste of your juices are now a definitive proof for him. And you can't deny it, you love how he teases you by slowly sliding around your swollen clit, plays with it by holding it between his lips and then releasing it after sucking hard, almost biting it. He tortures it by pricking it quickly with the tip of his tongue and then returns to lapping your thick juices from the soft slit, which seems to melt every time that devilish tongue penetrates it, managing to lick and stimulate walls that a normal tongue could never reach.

You shyly move your pelvis against his face, your thighs stained with your arousal tremble against his cheeks, and a terrible heat makes you pant desperately. The man abandons your slit to push himself again against your unbearably sensitive folds, they are so moist that you can hear the noise they make every time that cursed tongue stimulates them to push a few millimeters toward your clitoris, never reaching to touch it.

“God!” you curse, suddenly reaching out an arm to grab his hair, not recognizing yourself when you desperately push him against your pussy, longing for the pleasure he was spoiling you with at first.

His arousal makes him grunt like a wounded animal as he sinks into your core with languid, sensual movements, rewraps your desperate clit with his lips and tongue before continuing with more direct, zigzagging movements, crushing it at times with the flat part of his tongue and then flicking it with the tip soon after. He would never stop kissing and licking you like that, his tensed cock vibrating each time he eats you up a little more, delightedly swallowing your juices, enjoying retrieving them each time they flow between your wide-open, rosy thighs. A clearer, liquid substance squirts slightly out of your slit, causing you to shake around his head, you clench your lower lip between your teeth with tears sliding down your flushed cheeks, you are instigating Jimin to pleasurably hurt you, and the funniest thing is that you don't even notice.

Finishing licking some of that shiny, transparent substance from your inner thigh, the boy moves up your body, biting slowly at the flesh of your belly and then higher and higher to the softness of your breasts, titillating a turgid nipple before pulling it between his lips.

“W-What are you doing to me?” you gasp, wishing he would never stop adoring and cuddling your body, why? Just moments before you were running from his clutches, why are you lifting your pelvis now, inviting him to take you as if you've been waiting for this all your life?

“Are you just...” he murmurs, before kissing your chin with his devilish lips, "Responding to your desire" he kisses your mouth again, an electric sensation forcing you to comply, chasing his tongue with yours, collapsing to the spicy taste that is now all over his mouth, your taste.

With half-closed eyes you realize that the dark lines of ink are moving, taking the shape of a wolf watching you, you have no way to comprehend the unsettling sensation that invades you. The man, with one hand pressed against your bare back, forces you to turn away without you having any say in the matter, you find yourself with your face to the ground and the wind blowing down your back, shivering under his fiery, golden eyes, your legs trembling from the effort to keep you on your hands and knees, fighting the sweet pain pulsing in your naked pussy.

“Now hold still, little girl,” he murmurs in your ear in a husky voice, sensuously pumping his cock with one hand, swollen veins pushing against his palm, which squeezes along the entire shaft to the base, then back to the thick tip from which he is already dripping his thick cum, "I need to get all the venom out of your pretty little body, am I right?" he sneers, positioning himself at your entrance.

You open your eyes wide, panic stifled by arousal, but it's still there nonetheless, clenching your fingers between the grass and damp earth, rubbing your knees against pebbles that make you moan in pain. The length of his cock begins to push against your slit, forcing it open for him, a choked cry leaves your throat, feeling your walls that, despite their wetness, struggle to let him in.

“You're still so tight,” hisses the man unfamiliar to you, "I must spoil you some more, huh?" he chuckles, sliding his hand between your legs, using his index finger to stimulate your throbbing bud, you gasp arching your back and raising your buttocks toward the man, who takes the opportunity to plunge his cock another inch into your entrance, which throbs and squeezes him rhythmically, almost making him lose control of the situation.

The sensation of the claw grazing your folds each time he presses and massages your swollen clitoris brings you almost to the edge, you feel a wild sexual desire, something you never experienced even during your teenage years, a crucial period of sexual development.

“Go ahead, please!” you exclaim breathlessly, pressing your forehead against the ground, every single millimeter that moves inside you without really penetrating you is like torture, your index finger moving languidly, and you're going fucking crazy.

“Are you really begging?” he teases you, you grit your teeth until it hurts, but finally you give in.

“Please... fill me, take me!”

“Do you want it?” he asks again, pulling the tip almost completely out, the only part he had managed to get in, you clench your legs desperately trying to recover what your intimacy has lost.

“Yes! I want it! I want your cock, I want it to fill me all the way, and I want it now!” you growl with an anger that burns under your skin, looking at him from behind, his face is an emotionless mask, but his eyes...oh, those never lie, you read the fire of desire in them, he's suffering that anticipation as much as you are. Bastard.

“You begged for it so well, little girl... I'll just have to satisfy you,” the cavernous tone clashes with his appearance, but it anticipates what happens next and leaves you breathless, abandoning your contracted clitoris he grips your hips tightly, almost penetrating your delicate flesh with his claws, pushing himself into you with a vigorous thrust, instantly breaking the thin membrane at your entrance, effortlessly. The burning that follows makes your eyes water, your body instinctively trying to escape the man's savage assault, suddenly realizing that you have lost your virginity that way, out in the open, sweaty and dirty, just like an animal.

The man on top of you hisses and makes strange deep sounds, inebriated by the sensation of his throbbing cock finally and completely squeezed between your trembling walls, trying to adjust to the abnormal size. You gasp whimpering, moving your pelvis trying to disentangle yourself from the overgrip, his claws are hurting you, but he doesn't seem to want to let go, not now that he is buried so deep.

With a grunt he thrusts out slightly, watching as your pussy instinctively clings to him, as your thick juices and virginal blood wet his entire length, lubricating him. Leaning toward you, he lets a long trickle of saliva fall back between your buttocks, slipping between them reaches the point where you are joined. He thrusts back into you forcefully, striking deeper and deeper, and you feel every detail of his cock penetrating you and thrusting higher and higher, touching points so delicate and sensitive that you howl meekly, like a she-wolf offering her whole self to her mate, the pain has been replaced by the need to be possessed, you move against his pubes with urgency, the thread of pleasure is getting thinner and thinner, you feel incredibly wet, practically soaked, and the sounds of your union are so obscene that you are shamefully aroused. Your walls flutter drunkenly with pleasure, at one point with the thick, red tip he manages to hit the entrance to your cervix with precision, you stiffen whimpering breathlessly, and Jimin collapses on top of you, continuing to move his hips tirelessly and with spellbinding sinuosity.

You take it so well that it is impossible for him not to want to have you again and again, throwing back his head to be hit by the moonlight that increases his desire, his pupils widen and he feels his testicles clench with urgency as the base of his cock swells, making him shake all over. Without a second thought, he begins to enter you with deeper and longer thrusts so that his whole cock sinks into you without any more constriction, he hears you panting and crying and this only causes him joy, you are completely abandoned to him and your sensations.

You're about to come, you're not so ignorant that you don't know what's happening to your body, you've even heard of intense orgasms, but this... god, this is going to be devastating, you know very well. It's nothing like the ones you had with masturbation, this one is deeper, snaking through your lower belly and you feel it in your uterus. You stiffen all over, trying to block the erection that keeps pinning you down between hard, sensual thrusts, every time it touches your cervix you risk going crazy.

“Don't stop me, little girl... It's here, isn't it?” he gasps at you, slamming into you once more, high up between the entrance of your uterus and another sensitive area that makes your clitoris and walls tear with intense pleasure, your toes curl and you can't help but nod desperately, "Alright, love," he replies without even realizing it, kissing your bare, sweaty shoulder, his knot is almost complete, but he wants you to come before he gives you his cum.

He teases a sensitive, turgid nipple with the tip of a claw as he reaches the point of your union, massaging your folds to help you come, though with a hint of naughtiness he doesn't dare touch your clitoris, he wants you to orgasm on your own, knowing that the intensity then will be greater and you will collapse weak and distraught in his arms.

“Oh, fuck-!” you widen your eyes, being hit by a pressing and beautiful sensation of jouissance, sucking him furiously into you amid tremors and searing waves of pleasure, the same clear liquid as before leaks from your slit, this time in a greater quantity, causing Jimin to grunt as he is run over by your jet, slamming into you almost brutally, streams of his cum fiercely fill your core, as if to mark you for life, and finally his knot swells completely, locking him inside you.

Although immobilized, he cannot stop coming, his testicles quivering violently, and only one thing could quell his aching desire. With his eyes now almost completely encompassed by the black pupil, he pushes your hair away from your neck, exposing your previously tortured skin.

“Why does this go on?” you ask feverishly, confused by the enormous weight widening your walls and locking his big cock into you.

“Sssh” he rubs the tip of his nose against you, making you shudder, "Just wait a little longer" his words are followed by an excruciating twinge, his grown canines penetrating like blades into your skin and sinking into your flesh amidst your shocked and submissive screams, your body surrendering to his force, instinctively submitting and waiting for him to finish marking.

Jimin loves blood, your blood, it pleasantly bathes his tongue with its density and sweetness, he moans with need as he loses himself in your scent, instinct commands him to move his hips once more, even though you are both locked together, with a weak moan you take in the last strings of his cum, resting possessively in your belly, you feel heavy and unbearably full, but at least he seems to be finished, you feel him relax as he once again licks the holes left by his teeth, healing them. He looks like a wolf cleaning up after his mate after mating.

“What are you?” you ask wearily, by now surrendering to the idea that the man cannot be a mere human, that probably everything he has told you, from the poison-soaked dress to the deal with the town, is real.

“Jimin” you hear him grunt at such a low frequency that if you hadn't been alone, you probably wouldn't have heard him. You snort weakly.

“I asked you what you are, not your name,” you murmur, the strange, heavy weight preventing you from moving, hissing as Jimin moves awkwardly between your legs, putting you in a more comfortable situation, letting you rest against his chest lethargically, occasionally kissing the back of your neck and licking your neck, or behind your ear.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't like all that attention; you feel a delicious bite around your heart as you cling to his embrace, protected from the evening chill.

You don't know exactly how long you spend like this, maybe forty minutes, maybe an hour, the fact is that finally that thing between your legs seems to melt away, making you sigh almost strangely.

Jimin gently untangles himself from you, leaving your warm shelter slowly and with a feeling of emptiness that stuns you, your legs finally relax and you try to move them to regain some mobility, you feel his cum pushing to come out and two of his fingers enter you, plugging your entrance. No claws, you notice as he slowly turns you around.

You hiss at the burning, your knees are completely ruined, but Jimin begins to sprinkle them with kisses and saliva, the man is back between your thighs again, you can see his long, wild hair shining as he licks and sucks your skin from time to time, all the way to his fingers, he moves them slowly inside you and you twitch involuntarily, closing your eyes at the warmth of his tongue licking a thick streak of cum and juices dripping roughly from you, pushing it down to your hypersensitive clitoris and you moaning in pain.

“Don't do it,” you gasp, closing your legs tightly, but he doesn't give up, grabbing your chin between two fingers and forcing your mouth wide open, your heart faltering with a strange emotion, you let him spit all his creamy load into your mouth, running along your tongue with a surprised cry.

“Swallow,” he orders with a gleam of interest in his eyes.

You do as he tells you, wanting to please him in every way possible, accepting him back into your mouth for a slow, intimate kiss. It is also dominant and sweet, intense.

“I'm Jimin, a werewolf and also one of the masters of the castle,” he explains pushing you against his bare chest, you hug him back as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be there, clasped to him on a bed of dry leaves, "You are my mate, it's no accident that you were chosen ... being a virgin at your age is unusual for humans, but not for us wolves, you waited for me," he emphasizes with fire in his eyes.

“But ... my friends?” you can't help but ask, which makes him chuckle.

“My people have learned to be among humans, they recognized you by scent and led you to me at the right time, they are fine,” he informs you with a caress, “In fact, you should worry about yourself,” he says with a note of reproach.

“H-How?” fear advances again.

“I've waited too many years for your birth, little girl... it's time to repay the wait,” he hums as something hot and hard returns against your belly.

“Jimin, wai-!” too late, the tip of his cock captures your entrance again, this time with more ease and the next thrust has you writhing against him with tears in your eyes, “Oh, shit!”

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sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts · 6 months ago

Text

𝕿𝖜𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝕿𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 | 2

read chapter 1 - here [MASTERLIST]

screencaps and gifs: Pinterest

Pairing: dark!Joel Miller x Fem!reader

Warnings/tags: MDNI 18+, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, BLOOD, Auctioning people, talks of BDSM, talks of virginity, talks of... Sex..aftercare..limits..NDA..discomfort...virginity..masturbation..anxity, Dom and Sub dynamics, underage drinking (20), food, kissing, making out, Joel starts to get a little obsessive or toxic THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION, YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME

Summary: A mysterious message and a weekend away with the man who just bought you for a VERY large amount of money. What could go wrong?

WC: 5.9K

A/n: Thank you for all the love in the first part. My question for you all is, what do you want to see happen next? Any theories? Or expectations?

For notifications follow - @sinful-mind-joyful-fics

You stood up, smoothed out your dress, and took a deep breath. As you stepped towards the stage, the curtain drew back slightly, giving you a tantalizing glimpse of the auction room. The ambient lighting cast a soft glow, illuminating the expectant faces of the bidders, their anticipation palpable in the air.

Stepping into the spotlight, you felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. The auctioneer's voice echoed in the room, commanding attention as he announced, "And now, presenting number 3, starting bid at $500."

The initial bid was quickly followed by a murmur of excitement. "$600," someone called out confidently. You scanned the crowd, noticing the bidder: a sharply dressed woman with an air of authority.

"$700," another voice chimed in, this time from a man in a sleek, black suit, his demeanor cool and composed. The numbers climbed higher, each bid like a jolt to your already racing heart.

"One thousand," a younger man with a mischievous glint in his eye offered, leaning forward in his seat.

The bids continued to rise, the energy in the room intensifying with each new number. "Five thousand," declared a distinguished older gentleman, his silver hair gleaming under the lights.

As the auctioneer teased the crowd, "Ten thousand, do I hear ten thousand?" you felt a wave of nausea. Your heart was pounding, and your stomach was in knots. The bids climbed higher and higher, the room a blur of faces and voices.

"Twenty thousand," someone else from the crowd stood up. "Thirty thousand, do I hear thirty thousand?"

You felt sick as the numbers continued to go up. Your heart was in your throat, and you felt dizzy and lightheaded. "Fifty thousand," the auctioneer's voice teased the crowd, sending another ripple of excitement through the room.

"Seventy thousand," a man in an extravagant velvet suit called out, his voice dripping with arrogance.

As you tried to stay coherent, the numbers continued to climb. "One hundred thousand," someone else bid, and your anxiety spiked.

"One hundred and twenty thousand," the auctioneer prodded.

A tall man from the back corner suddenly stood up, his voice cutting through the chatter, "Nine hundred thousand." Your stomach flipped upside down. The man exuded an air of confidence and power, his presence dominating the room. His gaze was intense, filled with hunger and determination, and he seemed to linger on you.

Just as the bidding war was getting more intense, another man jumped up, his voice commanding attention. "One million dollars." He looked directly at the first man, his eyes full of challenge.

The crowd began to stir, eager to see what would happen next. "One-point-seven million," the first man replied, his voice steady and confident, his gaze still locked on you.

"Two million," the second man countered, raising an eyebrow, his voice calm but firm.

Suddenly, the room fell silent, everyone holding their breath. The auctioneer looked around, gauging the tension. Then, the first man spoke again, his voice clear and decisive, "Three million."

The second man's eyes widened in surprise, realizing he had been outbid. He shook his head in defeat, stepping back into the shadows. The crowd erupted in applause.

As the auctioneer declared, "Three million is the winning bid, going once... going twice... sold!" a sense of relief washed over you. But then, you heard the voice again, familiar and unsettling. It was Joel.

Faith hurried to your side, her expression a mix of concern and urgency. "You should be careful around Joel," she whispered. "He's intense and not someone to take lightly."

Joel walked up to the stage, his presence as commanding as ever. He extended a hand towards you, his eyes softening slightly as they met yours. You took his hand, and he helped you down from the stage with a surprising gentleness. His grip was firm, yet reassuring, and you found yourself leaning into his strength as he guided you through the crowd.

He guided you towards a table nestled in the quieter corner of the room, where a man awaited, already rising to his feet with a welcoming smile. "Hi there, I'm Tommy," he greeted, extending his hand in a gesture of hospitality. His demeanor exuded a relaxed charm, a stark contrast to Joel's intensity, and his eyes radiated a genuine warmth.

"Hi," you replied, your voice a bit shaky as you took his hand. Joel pulled out a chair for you, and you sat down, feeling a mix of nerves and curiosity. Joel then settled into the chair beside you, his arm draping casually over the back of your seat. You could feel the heat of his presence, both comforting and intimidating at the same time.

The room buzzed with conversation and laughter, but at your table, an awkward silence stretched out. You fiddled with the edge of your dress, Faith's warnings echoing in your mind. Joel's intense gaze didn't waver, and you struggled to find your voice.

"So, uh, do you come to these things often?" you finally asked, trying to break the ice.

Joel's lips twitched into a slight smile. "Not really," he replied. "But when I do, I make sure it's worth it."

You swallowed hard, his words hanging heavily in the air. Tommy, sensing the tension, leaned in slightly. "Don't mind Joel," he said with a chuckle. "He's always been the strong, silent type. I'm here to make sure he doesn't scare you off."

You managed a nervous laugh. "Well, he's definitely... intimidating."

Joel's expression softened a bit more. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I just... I knew I had to have you."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. Despite the fear and uncertainty swirling inside you, there was something undeniably captivating about him. "Thank you," you said softly, unsure of what else to say.

Tommy cleared his throat, trying to lighten the mood. "So, what do you like to do for fun?" he asked, leaning forward with genuine curiosity.

You glanced at him, grateful for the distraction. "I like reading, mostly. And I used to paint a lot before school got so hectic."

Joel's interest seemed piqued. "What do you paint?"

"Landscapes, mostly," you said, finding it easier to talk about your passion. "I love capturing the way light changes everything."

Joel nodded, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "I'd like to see your work sometime."

Before you could respond, the auctioneer's voice boomed through the room once more. "And now, presenting number 14, starting bid at $500."

You tensed, recognizing Faith's number. Joel's hand tightened slightly on the back of your chair as both you and Tommy turned your attention towards the stage. Faith walked out with confidence, her eyes scanning the crowd with a boldness that made you proud and anxious at the same time.

Tommy leaned closer to you, his voice low. "That's your friend, right? Faith?"

You nodded, feeling a mix of pride and worry. "Yeah, that's her."

Tommy's gaze lingered on Faith for a moment, then he glanced at Joel. "Didn't you buy her once?"

Joel’s expression darkened slightly. "Only once," he confirmed, his tone cold. "She knows how to put on a show. Knows how to please the crowd."

Tommy smirked, his eyes fixed on Faith with a calculating glint. "Think she’s worth another go?"

Joel’s eyes followed Faith's every move, his jaw set in a hard line. "Maybe. She’s got her uses."

You felt a wave of discomfort wash over you at their callous remarks about Faith. She was your best friend, not just a commodity to be traded. The casual way they spoke about her, reducing her to mere utility, made your skin crawl. You tried to mask your unease, but it lingered in your expression.

The bidding for Faith started off slow but quickly gained momentum. You could see the determination in her eyes, matching the rising excitement in the room.

"One thousand," someone called out, followed by another bid of "Two thousand."

Tommy seemed to be considering his options. He glanced at you, then back at the stage. "She's a hot ticket. Could be a good investment."

Joel watched the scene unfold, his gaze never leaving Faith. "She can handle it. She’s been through worse."

The bids continued to climb, and you could see Faith holding her ground, her composure never wavering. Suddenly, Joel’s voice broke through the din. "Thirty thousand," he called out, his tone calm but firm.

You stared at him in surprise, and Tommy chuckled. "Looks like Joel’s interested."

Joel met your gaze, his expression unreadable. "Just making sure she has a fair shot," he said, but there was a protective edge in his voice.

"Thirty-five thousand!" someone else shouted, and you could see the tension in Joel's face.

"Forty thousand," Joel countered, his tone unwavering.

Tommy's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Fifty thousand," he said, raising the stakes.

Joel's jaw tightened, but he didn't back down. "Sixty thousand."

Tommy raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the competition. "Seventy thousand."

The auctioneer's voice cut through the room. "Seventy thousand, going once, going twice—"

"Eighty thousand," Joel declared, his gaze locking onto Faith.

Tommy leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. "Ninety thousand."

Joel's expression darkened, and you could feel the tension between the two brothers. "One hundred thousand," Joel said, his voice low and dangerous.

The auctioneer's hammer hovered in the air. "One hundred thousand, going once, going twice—"

"One hundred and fifty thousand," Tommy interrupted, his tone smug.

The room fell silent, and Joel's eyes burned with a mix of frustration and resignation. The auctioneer's hammer came down. "Sold! Number 14 for one hundred and fifty thousand!"

Tommy looked satisfied as he watched Faith being led off the stage. "She's going to be quite the addition," he said, a hint of anticipation in his voice.

Joel's hand tightened on your shoulder, his expression hard. "Just make sure you know what you're doing."

Tommy laughed softly. "Oh, I do. Trust me."

As the room settled back into its buzz of conversation and anticipation, a club worker approached your table, carrying a folder. "Mr. Miller, here are the details for number 3," she said, handing it to Joel.

He took the folder, his fingers brushing against yours for a moment. "Looks like we have some reading to do," he said with a small smile, opening the folder and beginning to review its contents. You tried to focus on the conversation with Tommy, but you couldn’t help but feel the weight of Joel's attention on you, mingled with the echoes of Faith’s words in your mind.

Tommy leaned back in his chair, watching Faith being led away. "She’ll make someone very happy tonight."

Joel snorted. "She’s got a reputation for it. Knows how to work the room."

Tommy glanced at you, raising an eyebrow. "Think your friend will be okay?"

You nodded, trying to muster confidence. "Faith is strong. She knows what she’s doing."

Joel's hand slid from the back of your chair to your shoulder, squeezing gently. "Don’t worry. She’ll adapt. They always do." His words were meant to be reassuring, but they sent a chill down your spine.

Tommy smirked. "Well, let's see how long she lasts this time."

As the conversation continued between Joel, Tommy, and yourself, a club worker approached your table, carrying a folder. "Mr. Miller, here are the details for number 3," she said, handing it to Joel.

He accepted the folder, his fingers briefly brushing yours. "Looks like we have some reading to do," he remarked, opening the folder to review its contents. You couldn’t help but wonder what secrets lay within, and why Joel seemed so focused on them.

Meanwhile, Tommy excused himself from the table, his eyes still fixed on Faith as he made his way over to her. You watched him go, a sense of unease settling in your stomach at the thought of Faith being in his hands.

Turning back to Joel, you couldn't help but ask, "Why did you bid on her?"

Joel glanced up from the folder, his expression guarded. "She's an interesting choice," he replied cryptically, his tone giving nothing away.

"But why her?" you pressed, needing more than just a vague answer.

Joel hesitated, his gaze distant for a moment before returning to meet yours. "Let's just say she's caught my attention before," he replied evasively.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. Whatever Joel had planned, it was clear that Faith was at the center of it. But as you watched Tommy approach her, you couldn't shake the feeling that she was walking into a dangerous game, with no way out.

Joel seemed to sense your unease, and he leaned back in his chair, studying you thoughtfully. "You seem nervous," he observed, his voice low.

You forced a smile, trying to appear unaffected. "Just a little overwhelmed," you admitted, the weight of the situation pressing down on you.

Joel nodded in understanding, though there was something unreadable in his gaze. "It's a lot to take in," he agreed, reaching for his glass and taking a long sip.

As he set the glass back down, he glanced at the folder in his hand. "Well, it was nice meeting you," he said casually, though there was an undercurrent of dismissal in his tone.

You watched in silence as he stood up, the folder tucked under his arm. "Take care," he added, before turning to leave.

A wave of relief washed over you as he walked away, though it was tinged with a sense of apprehension.

As Joel got up to leave, you couldn't help but feel a surge of curiosity mingled with a tinge of anxiety. "Wait," you called out before you could stop yourself, your voice betraying your uncertainty.

He paused, turning back to look at you with a raised eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "Yes?" he prompted, his tone tinged with a hint of impatience.

You hesitated, unsure of what you wanted to say. "How... how am I supposed to get home?" you finally blurted out, realizing that you hadn't thought that far ahead.

Joel's lips curved into a sardonic smile. "That's not my concern," he replied cryptically, before turning on his heel and disappearing into the crowd.

You watched him go, a sense of unease settling in the pit of your stomach. With Joel gone, you suddenly felt very alone.

You sighed, feeling a mixture of relief and apprehension as you glanced down at your phone. The lobby furniture wasn't very comfortable, but you preferred it to the makeout sessions and almost porn-worthy sounds emanating from the ballroom where the auction had ended. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the low murmur of intimate conversations, creating a strange juxtaposition of luxury and lewdness.

A message flashed on the screen from a number you didn't recognize, adding to the unsettling atmosphere of the night. "Did you get home safe?" it read, the concern evident in the sender's words.

"I'm nowhere close to home," you replied, your response tinged with hesitation. Who could be reaching out to you at this hour, and why?

Almost immediately, another message popped up. "Need a ride?" it asked, accompanied by a link to a ride-sharing app. Your instincts urged caution, but the uncomfortable ambiance of the dimly lit lobby made you consider the offer more seriously.

"Who is this?" you typed, fingers hovering over the send button. You needed to know more before trusting a stranger.

"If you take the ride, I'll pay for it. And I'll call you to tell you who I am," came the prompt reply, offering a small glimmer of reassurance amidst the uncertainty.

You put your phone down to think about how reckless accepting the offer might be, then considered the cost. The Uber from campus to the venue had already been $50, split between you and Faith. Did you really want to spend more money? No.

"Fine," you sent the message quickly, trying to commit before you could second-guess yourself.

Twenty minutes later, one of the workers caught your attention. "There's a cab for you, miss." You smiled at him and made your way outside, where a sleek black SUV was waiting. This was definitely more than the $50 you and Faith had split for the ride here, you thought as you opened the car door.

You got comfortable in your seat and messaged Faith that you were leaving for the night before your phone rang just as the car got onto campus.

"Hello?" you answered, your voice tinged with curiosity.

"Hey, sweets," came the familiar southern drawl. It was Joel.

"Joel?!" You stopped in your tracks, a mix of surprise and apprehension in your voice. "How the hell did you get my number?"

He chuckled softly. "It was all in your file, remember?"

You wanted to bang your head against a wall. He was right. "Did you get home safe?" he asked, his tone genuinely concerned.

You sighed. “I'm walking there now.”

His tone changed as he continued, “Walking? I got you a cab?”

You smiled at his concern. “Relax, I'm walking to my dorm.”

“Are you close?” he asked.

You clicked the button to the elevator. “Yeah, just about to head up. So, why did you bid on me?” you asked, curiosity getting the better of you as you stepped into the elevator.

Joel's voice was thoughtful. “You caught my eye. There was something about you that stood out.”

“Stood out how?” you pressed, leaning against the elevator wall.

“Hard to explain,” he replied. “But I felt like I needed to know more about you.”

You smiled, feeling a strange mix of flattery and suspicion. “Well, now you know I like to paint landscapes.”

Joel laughed softly. “Yeah, and I'd still like to see your work sometime.”

The elevator doors opened, and you stepped out into the hallway. “Maybe someday,” you said, walking towards your dorm room.

“So, tell me more about yourself,” Joel said, his voice steady and inviting.

You hesitated for a moment. “I’m a student, obviously. Trying to make ends meet with a couple of part-time jobs. I like reading, painting, and trying to keep my head above water with school.”

Joel listened intently. “Sounds like you have a lot on your plate.”

“Yeah, but it keeps me busy,” you replied, unlocking your dorm room door and stepping inside.

“What about you?” you asked, closing the door behind you.

Joel sighed. "Not much to tell. My brother and I run a high-earning contracting business. It keeps us pretty busy, moving around a lot."

You sat on your bed, kicking off your shoes. "Sounds exciting. What kind of contracting?"

"Construction, mostly. Big projects, high stakes," he replied. "We take on jobs that require precision and a lot of planning. It's demanding but rewarding."

You leaned back against your pillows, trying to relax after the chaotic night. "It must be nice to see something you've built come together."

"Yeah, it is," Joel agreed, his tone softening slightly. "There's a satisfaction in creating something lasting."

There was a pause, a moment of comfortable silence, before Joel cleared his throat. "I need to talk to you about something."

You tensed, sensing the seriousness in his voice. "What is it?"

"Some things came up in your file," Joel began, choosing his words carefully. "Things I think we should discuss."

You swallowed hard, your mind racing. "Like what?"

Joel hesitated before speaking again. "It mentions you're a virgin."

Your breath caught in your throat, the bluntness of his words hitting hard. "Why does that matter?"

"It’s part of the agreement we entered into," he said, his voice steady but firm. "I want to talk about what that means for both of us."

You sat up, heart pounding. "I don't understand."

"I'd like you to come over to my place for the weekend," Joel continued. "We can go over the contract, and I can answer any questions you have. It's important that we’re both on the same page."

The suggestion hung heavily in the air, the implications clear. You felt a mix of fear, curiosity, and something else you couldn’t quite identify. "This is all very sudden," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I know," Joel replied gently. "But it’s important. I want to make sure you’re comfortable with everything. That you understand what's expected."

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "And if I come over... what happens then?"

"We talk," Joel said simply. "We figure out what this means for us. And we take it from there."

The weight of the decision pressed down on you. The night had already been overwhelming, and now this. But there was a part of you that was intrigued, that wanted to know more about this enigmatic man and what he wanted from you.

"Okay," you said finally. "I’ll come over this weekend."

"Good," Joel replied, a note of relief in his voice. "I'll pick you up on Friday evening."

Thursday night, your phone buzzed with a message from Joel. You opened it, heart pounding, eager to see what he had to say.

"Hey, I wanted to give you some more details for this weekend. I'll pick you up at 6 PM tomorrow evening."

You read the message, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness. Another message followed.

"Pack enough clothes for a couple of days. Casual is fine, but bring something nicer for dinner. And anything else you might need to feel comfortable."

You typed out a quick response, your fingers trembling slightly. "Got it. Anything else I should bring?"

A few moments later, Joel's reply came through. "Just yourself. And an open mind."

You set your phone down, the weight of the upcoming weekend settling in. You began to mentally prepare yourself, thinking through what to pack and what to expect.

The next day passed in a blur of nervous energy. You spent most of the afternoon packing a small suitcase, carefully selecting clothes that fit Joel's description. Casual wear, a nicer dress for dinner, and a few personal items that you hoped would make you feel at ease.

As the clock approached 6 PM, you found yourself pacing your dorm room, second-guessing your decisions. Your phone buzzed again, breaking the cycle of your anxious thoughts.

"I'm here," read Joel's message.

You took a deep breath, grabbed your suitcase, and headed outside. The evening air was cool against your skin as you spotted Joel's black Ford F-150 parked near the entrance. He stepped out as you approached, his presence as commanding as ever.

"Ready?" he asked, his eyes meeting yours with a steady gaze.

"As ready as I'll ever be," you replied, trying to muster a smile.

He took your suitcase and placed it in the bed of the truck, then opened the passenger door for you. You slipped inside

As Joel started the truck and drove away from campus, you stole glances at him, trying to read his expression. The silence between you was thick with unspoken questions and possibilities.

"Do you have any questions before we get there?" Joel asked, breaking the silence.

You thought for a moment, then decided to voice your concerns. "What exactly are we going to discuss?"

Joel's eyes flicked over to you briefly before returning to the road. "We'll go over the details of our arrangement, make sure you understand everything. And I want to make sure you're comfortable with the terms."

You nodded, feeling slightly more at ease with his straightforwardness. "And... what happens if I'm not?"

"Then we figure it out together," Joel said firmly. "This is about making sure we're both on the same page."

The city lights gradually gave way to the serene, picturesque landscape of the countryside. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the rolling hills and tranquil lakes, you felt a sense of calm wash over you.

Eventually, Joel turned onto a narrow, winding road that led to a secluded lakeside property. The house that came into view was stunning, a perfect blend of rustic charm and modern elegance. Nestled among tall trees and overlooking a pristine lake, it felt like a world away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life.

Joel parked the truck and helped you with your suitcase, guiding you to the front door. As you stepped inside, the warmth and comfort of the house enveloped you. Hardwood floors, large windows, and tasteful decor created an inviting atmosphere.

"Welcome to my home," Joel said, his voice carrying a note of pride. "Let me give you a tour."

He led you through the spacious living room, with its cozy fireplace and plush furniture. The kitchen was a chef's dream, equipped with state-of-the-art appliances and a large island. Joel showed you the dining area, which offered a breathtaking view of the lake through floor-to-ceiling windows.

"We'll have dinner here later," he said, pausing to let you take in the view. "It's one of my favorite spots in the house."

You continued the tour, passing a home office, a library filled with books, and a den with a large flat-screen TV. Finally, Joel led you upstairs to the guest room where you would be staying. The room was beautifully decorated, with a comfortable bed, a sitting area, and an en-suite bathroom.

"Make yourself at home," Joel said, setting your suitcase down. "Dinner is at 8 PM. Please put on something nice; I want to discuss our contract in a more professional way."

You nodded, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves. "Thank you, Joel."

He gave you a reassuring smile. "Take your time to settle in. I'll see you downstairs."

After he left, you took a moment to unpack and freshen up. You chose a dress that you hoped struck the right balance between elegance and professionalism. As you prepared for dinner, your mind raced with questions about what Joel would say and what the future might hold.

At precisely 8 PM, you made your way downstairs. The dining table was set with care, and Joel stood by the window, gazing out at the lake. He turned as you approached, his eyes taking in your appearance with a brief but appreciative glance.

"You look lovely," he said, pulling out a chair for you.

"Thank you," you replied, taking your seat.

The table was set perfectly, with red roses in the center adding a touch of elegance. Joel's seat was at the head, and yours was next to him.

“So, what do you think?” Joel asked, watching as you took a sip of wine.

“Of the house?” You giggled for a moment, setting your glass down. “Yes, it’s beautiful.”

Joel smiled. “And the food?”

You glanced down at your plate and took a bite. “Oh, shit.” You hadn’t expected it to taste so good.Joel had prepared: a perfectly seared filet mignon, accompanied by creamy mashed potatoes and asparagus sautéed with garlic and lemon zest. The flavors were so rich.

Joel's smile widened. “Eat up. We’ll go over the details once we’re done. Oh, and that’s going to be your only glass of wine tonight.”

You looked at Joel, puzzled. He quickly explained, “You’re still only 20, and you need a clear head. The wine’s just to take the edge off.”

Joel took a sip of his own wine, and you let your mind wander. The meal was mostly silent, the clattering of plates being the loudest sound in the house. Faith had talked to you last night and helped you pick out your dress. She and Tommy were doing well, and she used her contract to help explain what yours might be like.

The first document was what you expected: an NDA agreement. It was short and to the point.

The second form you picked up was different from what Faith had described. Instead of being a "down and dirty" list, the title read, "Contractual Agreement of Limits Between Dominant and Submissive."

“So, don’t be scared or intimidated by the second form,” Faith had said. “It may sound daunting, but it’s just to make sure you’re comfortable with what will happen. I can help you through it. The rest, well… you and your Dom will be having lots and lots, and I mean lots, of experimental sex.”

You gasped and playfully hit her. “Not for my first time, right?” you asked, anxious.

Faith laughed and gave you a teasing look. “Not right away. But if your Dom wants to do that, it’s up to them. It’s all about consent. And don’t worry, you’ll… you’ll have fun. I promise. And if you need more time to be ready, there are plenty of ways to experiment and get comfortable. Just remember, you always have the right to say ‘no’ and stop the session. Your Dom is there to make you feel pleasure, not discomfort.”

Back in the present, Joel watched you with a calm intensity as you finished your meal. he stood and retrieved the vanilla folder. He opened it and laid the documents on the table.

“First, the NDA,” Joel said. “It ensures that everything we discuss and do remains confidential.” He slid the paper and a pen toward you. After reading it carefully, you signed and handed it back.

“Now, the contract,” Joel continued, placing the more detailed document in front of you. “This outlines our arrangement, including boundaries, limits, and expectations. It's important to be thorough so we’re both on the same page.”

You scanned the pages, your eyes catching on certain terms and conditions that made you blush. Joel patiently walked you through each section.

“Section one covers our roles. I’ll be the Dominant, and you’ll be the submissive,” he explained. “This section also outlines the responsibilities we each have.”

“What if I’m not comfortable with something?” you asked, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Joel’s expression softened. “That’s what section two is for. It lists hard limits—things you absolutely don’t want to do—and soft limits—things you might be open to exploring over time.”

You nodded, still feeling a bit overwhelmed but reassured by Joel's explanations about safewords and aftercare. Suddenly, something washed over you, and you stood from your seat. Taking his and your plates, along with the silverware and glasses, you moved toward Joel's kitchen. He followed you, confused.

“Hey? What's the matter?” he asked.

You smiled at him and grabbed the other dishes left on the table. “The table's dirty. That's no way to do business,” you joked as you began to wash the dishes. “Do you have a garbage disposal?”

Joel grabbed your arm, stopping you dead in your tracks. “Talk to me,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. He reached over to grab a towel, gently drying your hands and ridding them of soap.

You sighed. “I'm a virgin.” Joel looked into your eyes intently as you continued, giving up on formality. “Fuck, Joel, I'm nervous. I'm not even sure if I want to have sex. The closest I've gotten to having sex is my vibrator.”

Joel let go of your hands. “Sit,” he said, pointing to the counter.

“What?” you asked, surprised.

“Sit.” He grabbed your hips and lifted you onto the counter. “Do you trust me?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.” And with that, he kissed you.

His lips were firm yet gentle against yours, sending a shiver down your spine. The kiss deepened as his hands found their way to your waist, holding you close. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him even closer. You could taste the lingering wine on his lips, and the scent of his cologne filled your senses.

Joel's hand slid up to cup your cheek, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you parted them, allowing him in. The kiss grew more intense, more demanding, as his other hand gripped your thigh, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter.

You moaned softly into his mouth, your body reacting to his touch in ways you hadn't anticipated. The sensation of his tongue exploring your mouth, combined with the heat of his body pressed against yours, ignited a fire within you. You felt yourself melting into him, your previous nervousness beginning to dissipate.

After what felt like an eternity, Joel pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. Both of you were breathing heavily, the air between you charged with electricity.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice husky.

You nodded, still catching your breath. “Yeah. That was...”

“Intense?” he finished for you, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah,” you agreed, your heart pounding in your chest.

Joel brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch tender. “We don't have to do anything you're not ready for. Tonight, I just want to make sure you're comfortable.”

His rough, calloused hands slid up your dress, sending shivers down your spine. "Unless you want to try something..." he murmured, his voice low and tantalizing. You blushed, biting your lip as you looked up at Joel.

He pulled you in for another deep, passionate kiss before moving to your neck, trailing soft kisses down to the parts of your skin that weren't covered by your dress. He dropped to his knees, spreading your legs gently. "What are you doing?" you asked, your voice a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

"Shh... trust me," he whispered, his hands wandering under your dress to pull down your panties. He slid them into his pocket with a mischievous grin before returning his attention to you. His lips brushed over your calves, teasing you lightly as you bit your lip in anticipation.

Joel suddenly lifted your legs over his shoulders, placing a soft kiss on your clit. The sensation made your legs tremble, the warmth of his tongue sending waves of pleasure through you. Without holding back, he began to explore you with his mouth, his tongue lapping up every drop of your arousal as if it were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.

You moaned, your head falling back against the cabinet with a soft thud, but you didn't care. When Joel paused to check if you were okay, you grabbed his salt-and-pepper hair, pushing him further into your pussy. He gripped your legs harder, his tongue moving faster as your moans grew louder.

"Oh fuck..." you gasped, panting as your orgasm built. Your legs began to shake uncontrollably, and you finally came on his face. Joel let your legs slide off his shoulders, wiping his mouth with a satisfied smile.

"Dessert was good," he joked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Instead of responding, you swiftly pulled him in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. The night had only just begun, and you were ready for whatever came next.

He pulled away, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and tenderness. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up," he said softly. Scooping you up in his strong arms, he carried you princess-style up to the guest room where you were staying. He set you gently on your feet, his touch lingering. "Use the bathroom," he instructed, his voice firm but caring.

You nodded and went to the bathroom, the cool tile floor grounding you after the whirlwind of emotions and sensations. When you emerged, you found Joel had set out your pajamas neatly on the bed. Next to them was a note in his bold handwriting: "Forget the contract. I have something better in mind."

Your heart skipped a beat as you read the note, a blend of excitement and curiosity bubbling up inside you.

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deathblacksmoke · 15 days ago

Text

love is a gentle thing | n.s. fic

pairing: noah sebastian x reader (gender neutral)

summary: after going to haunted house with the boys, noah and reader spend the eve of his birthday cuddled up at home.

cw: brief descriptions of a haunted house, mentions of anxiety, 30 year old movie spoilers, lots of fluff

word count: 1.3K

author's note: happy birthday, sweet noah 🩷✨ for the first of the noah requests, @lma1986 requested the bad omens boys and crew doing a haunted house walkthrough followed by some fluffy things at home. hope i did this one justice, my love <3

taglist sign-up | title from "velvet ring" by big thief

In an unexpected turn of events, you’ve managed to drag Noah here. He had agreed after little more than a mention of wanting to do something fun for his birthday while everyone was in town. Though his concession had been reluctant, you were met with the soft smile that’s always told you he isn’t too put out by it.

As you stand in line, he’s tense beside you. It’s nothing out of the ordinary for him, but you trace a finger along the back of his hand to comfort him anyway. His face spreads into a smile before Ruffilo stretches up on the other side of him and throws an arm around his shoulders. Noah melts into his friend, Nick doing the work to soothe him the rest of the way. You feel so grateful that you can have all of Noah’s favorite people together like this. You knew his actual birthday would be a hard sell, that he’ll want to spend the day holed up inside and you’ll happily join him, but you love that he’s allowing himself to form happy birthday memories, too.

This is much more your scene than it is his, but as the line moves forward, you can feel your nerves kicking up. The website’s promise — Scariest Haunt in the City! — had been a draw when you and Matt were planning. Now, though, your anxiety has spiked. You loop your pinky through Noah’s, needing the little bit of reassurance you find in his touch. He looks down at you before he links your fingers together, giving your hand a squeeze. Still slightly restricted by Nick’s arm around him, he swings your clasped hands gently between you, a mostly-successful attempt at slowing your racing heartbeat.

Upon entry, you’re greeted with a narrow hallway, darkness, dust, and a vague smell of rot. Each creak of the floorboards causes you to jump, your hand tightening more and more around Noah’s until you’re sure you’ll cut off his circulation. The room of mirrors makes you uneasy, especially as you see shadows darting around behind you, unaccompanied by any sound. The anticipation is the worst part of it, never knowing when someone will pop out of a dark corner to grab you. You whip your head around at a distant noise and Folio laughs at you, claps you on the shoulder.

“You’ve got to lighten up,” he tells you, making you roll your eyes. “They’re not allowed to touch you.”

You don’t correct him. After a few minutes pass you get to watch, amused, as one of the scare actors that had been waiting gives Folio a little push. It’s nothing more than a small shove, but it’s enough to spook him. He shrieks and takes off running, squealing a what the fuck?! as he bolts for the exit. At least the rest of you were wise enough to actually read the consent forms you’d signed.

Noah doesn’t let go of your hand as you exit the house, a reassuring weight in his grasp. You chance a glimpse up at him and find him wide-smiled with sparkling eyes, throwing his head back as he laughs with his friends.

You feel warm all over, so pleased that you were able to get him out of the house today, that he was able to have a good time. There had been a vague worry that he would hate this, but you had kept your hopes up and all of your anxieties hidden. They’re washed away at the sight of his pretty grin, as genuine as you’ve ever seen it.

“A friend of mine’s band has a show in North Hollywood tonight if anyone wants to go,” Davis interjects. The tiredness is starting to seep into your bones, home sounding more and more alluring, but it does sound fun. Just as you’re about to look to Noah and count yourselves in, he squeezes your hand twice: your agreed-upon signal that he wants to head home. You don’t blame him; it has been a long day. You knock your shoulder gently into his.

“I’m feeling pretty tired, but you guys go have fun!” you offer. A disappointment flashes across their faces, something that warms your heart as you shuffle a little closer to Noah. “Noah drove us.”

You’re pleased to be his excuse any day. They’re softer on you than they are on him, anyway.

As you’re saying your goodbyes, you notice the lightness in Noah’s shoulders that wasn’t there this morning, his characteristic hunch nowhere to be seen. He holds the hugs a little longer than normal, the smile never leaving his face, and you feel so happy. You’re grateful for everyone for helping to make this a good day for him.

He fixes you with his dazzling smile as you walk back to his car, and his joy seeps into you, too.

“Are you happy?” you ask him, knowing his answer but wanting to hear him say it anyway.

“It was a good day,” he replies, his grin spreading somehow wider.

The moment is interrupted by Folio jumping out from behind Noah’s car for one final scare. You let him believe it worked, that you didn’t notice him missing during goodbyes or see his shoe peeking out from behind Noah’s back tire. You give your best attempt at a jump and shocked gasp, and it seems to satisfy him. Noah just pulls him into a hug.

“Thanks for coming, man,” he says, and Folio gives him a clap on the back.

“Come on, Folio, we’re leaving!” you hear Jolly shout. He gives you a final hug before he takes off running back to the group.

“He acts like I didn’t see him running over here the moment the rest of us left the house,” Noah says as he opens the door for you, and you laugh along with him.

You end the evening cozy on the couch, with a coffee table littered in take out containers and a movie you’ve seen a dozen times before.

As Billy confesses his plot to Sidney, Noah slumps, resting his head on your shoulder and sighing.

Your brow furrows in concern momentarily, but he has a look of complete calm on his face.

“What’s up, honey?” you ask him. He tilts his head just so, peering up at you with his pretty brown eyes. You can’t keep yourself from running a hand through his hair, giving it a little tug and straightening it again.

“Thank you for today,” he responds. Your body warms all the way through. “I know I can get weird on my birthday. Thank you for making it special for me.”

You don’t tell him that the only thing you’ve ever wanted is to see him happy, but you think he knows.

“Of course,” you offer, without a second thought. You press a kiss to his forehead and his smile makes your heart thud. “I wanted you to make nice memories with your friends.”

“And you.” he adds. And me, you agree, nodding as you run a finger along the nape of his neck, down over the exposed bit of his shoulder.

He sprawls over your lap like a big dog who doesn’t quite know his size. You maneuver him, and yourself, so you’re both lying down with him flush to your chest.

You press a kiss to the flower tattooed at the nape of his neck, your new favorite spot to pepper with affections. His hand rests over where yours is lying on his tummy, his fingers linking with your own.

“I only ever want to see you happy,” you decide to tell him anyway, because he deserves to hear it. He brings your hand up to his mouth, pressing kisses to your knuckles, expressing his gratitude better than his words ever could.

tags <3

@circle-with-me @darksigns-exe @baddestomens @ladyveronikawrites @sitkowski

@somebodyels3 @sorrowsofsilence @collapsedglasshouses @cookiesupplier @spicywhenspeaking

@lma1986 @abiomens @agravemisstake @cncohshit @xserenax-13

@dominuslunae @poisongirl616 @iknownothingpeople @thisbicc @fadingangelwisp

@alwaysfightforwhoyouare @theanarchymuse95 @flowery-mess

#noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian rpf #bad omens fic #bad omens rpf #dividers: saradika #deathblacksmoke works

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violetsiren90 · 7 months ago

Text

The Light of Your Eyes

Pairing: best friend's younger brother!Changbin x f!Reader

Genre: one-shot; friends to lovers; smut and fluff; hurt/comfort

Summary: Can the gentle touch of an unexpected pair of hands on your body heal the wounds of your soul?

Sequel: Arms Around Me

Content warnings: 18+ (minors, dni), age gap romance (consenting adults); mentions of break-up and unhealthy past relationship dynamics; depression and anxiety symptoms (mild); MC has self esteem struggles, some are body-image related; the ex was low-key emotionally abusive tbh 😒; depictions of alcohol consumption (no drunkenness); depictions of food and eating (MC has a moment of negative thought patterns in regards to food consumption); gaming/watching movies; emotional breakdowns; kissing (so much kissing, guys); Fluffy fluffy FLUFF 💕; making out; interrupted shenanigans; cuddling; shirtless Binnie 👀; strong and gentle Binnie 🥺💘 ; working through FEELINGS 😅 ; breast play; nudity; oral sex (f. receiving); feedbag position; confessions and new beginnings.

Word Count: ~9300

Author's Note: Well, here it is - my first Binnie fic! I wanted to make it as sweet and sexy as he is...which, I know, is impossible, so I gave it my best shot! Hopefully, it's something worthy of his face-claim. I'm not going to make any judgements as to whether I feel it fits the bill, but rather like the man himself, tell you to be the judge of your own opinions! Jutdae!! 😂💗 But in all seriousness, if you decide to read this story, thank you! I hope it brings you something warm and fuzzy!

*The poem at the beginning is an original, and is what inspired this story!

Acknowledgements: I cannot thank @moni-logues enough for beta reading this for me, and for all her hype and humor and general human decency - this story wouldn't be what it is without her! 💖

As always, if no one has told you today, please know that you're loved, and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

the

Bright color of my laughter and the

Melody of the curve of my hips and the

Soft velvet of my irises

seemed

To have taken their first breath,

Opening gently - like flowers perfuming my soul

- When bathed in the light of your eyes.

"Changbin? What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," he says with a little smirk, whipping a dish towel over his shoulder as he shuffles back to let you in.

Fair enough, you suppose. You are showing up without notice. Not that you ever need to give his sister any notice - as your best friend, there's a key with all the others in your purse that unlocks the door you're closing behind you. You wouldn't have even knocked had his car not been parked in the driveway.

"Where's Nari?" you ask, glancing at the gaming console hooked up to the massive flat-screen, and a bullet blender cup half filled with something thick, pale and probably protein-packed sitting on the coffee table.

"She went out of town for the weekend," he calls, heading back toward the dining area. "Last minute work thing."

Damn.

Your apartment is boring and barren and lonely. You wanted to hang out. You've been coming around more than usual – almost as often as when you were in grad school together. But Nari had her own life, you understood. You had your own life too.

And then three months ago, on New Years Eve, your long-term boyfriend called it quits. It wasn't as if you were heartbroken. Not really. The relationship had been sick and slowly dying. But returning to a life lived in solitude was proving a difficult adjustment – especially navigating the new and constant stillness which left you the mental space and dexterity to run up against the shadows of wounds unhealed. And you didn't feel like growing into your EQ. You felt like distracting yourself. So you ended up at your bestie's place more often than not, these days.

You sigh, trailing toward the kitchen. You won't stay long - if her younger brother is house sitting, he'll probably have people coming over. It's Friday night, after all, and he's twenty-four years young.

The sound of running water, and music from a little speaker playing a catchy beat laced with fast-paced rap draws you into the warmly-lit, open kitchen. You recognize the voice on the track.

"This new?" you ask, dropping your bag on a barstool and rounding the island to where Changbin is up to his elbows in suds at the sink. He's in a black band tee and bright blue joggers, his curly dark hair unstyled.

He looks over his shoulder and nods.

"What do you think? Wait, no, lemme start it over..."

You smile to yourself as he hastily dries his hands and whips out his phone, pulling the track back to the beginning. He braces himself against the edge of the sink, gnawing on his bottom lip as he bobs his head with the lyrical punches and runs.

You smile to yourself, leaning your back against the counter beside him.

"This is good, Bin," you nod earnestly.

"Yeah?" he asks, returning to his soapy task.

"It really is. Hyunjin's pretty damn fast. Not as fast as you, but who is?"

You grin, bumping your hip into his side.

He smirks down into the bubbles.

He's wanted to make music for as long as you've known him, and even fifteen years ago he could spit out a diss track that would have you wetting yourself laughing. He and his buddy, Hyunjin, met in high school and started messing around with music senior year. They committed to the dream, and both worked full-time gigs - Hyunjin as a tattoo artist and Changbin as a personal trainer - while promoting their artistry in their spare time. Production was a tough road to take when they were counting on nothing but raw talent and guts, but you'd always been an unflinching supporter.

"We've got a gig next Saturday...at The Eight Ball," he remarks, looking over at you as a proud smile presses a tiny dimple into his bread cheek.

"What?!" you squeal, turning to smack him on the arm. "Dude, that's fantastic! Oh my god, congratulations!"

"Thanks, and ouch!" he replies, rubbing his arm with a pout that you ignore. It couldn't possibly have hurt him, not with those biceps.

He moves to the fridge, a grin still plastered on his face.

"You should come!" he urges over his shoulder as he appraises his sister's stash before grabbing an energy drink. "I know the boyfriend isn't into rap, but you could come with Nari..."

You scoff softly.

"Doesn't really matter what he likes anymore," you mumble bitterly.

Changbin freezes as he's about to crack open the beverage in his hand.

"Wait, what? Did you guys...is that over?"

You purse your lips and nod. Changbin looks completely taken off guard in a way that surprises you.

“When did that happen?”

You reach back to clutch at the cold tile of the countertop.

“Beginning of the year.”

He scratches his head.

“Nari didn’t…why didn’t you say something?”

You shrug, your eyes falling. For reasons you'd never considered, you’d rarely brought your ex around or even brought him up to Changbin.

He turns to the still open fridge and swaps out his energy drink for two beers, opening both and sliding one across the island between you.

"How you holding up?" he asks in earnest concern, a little furrow appearing between his dark brows.

You want to tell him that you're fine - it's what you've been telling everyone else - but from the way he holds your gaze before letting his eyes search your face, he's looking for a real answer. You pull your lip between your teeth. You're not ready to form the words that spell the truth. He sees it.

"Ah," he waves dismissively, "Fuck that guy. You're too good for him anyway. What an idiot."

You blink, a little smirk tugging at your lips.

"You don't have to hate on him just because we're-"

"I'm hating on him because I hate him," he stares at you unflinchingly, taking another swig of his beer. "He wasn't good to you, didn't make you happy. I'm glad he's gone. Seriously, fuck him."

You didn't expect that sort of reaction out of Changbin. Not that you expected anything, but the strong, certain tone he took in regards to your ex's unworthiness has a tiny little warmth glowing in your chest. It was like him to feel strongly and take a stand, but to have his conviction aimed at you...

"Thanks, Bin," you murmur softly, hiding your smile behind your beer.

The young man nods, and his lips part as if to speak when his phone buzzes in his pocket. As he answers the call - clearly, from the nature of his greeting, one of his buddies - you're reminded that you’re trespassing on his Friday night. Draining your beer, you grab your bag and slip out of the kitchen.

You huff a little sigh as you pull on your shoes, lingering listlessly for a moment before pulling open the door. The thought of going home has your stomach churning. You can't go back and be alone there.

You can't.

You have to.

How pathetic could you possibly get? you consider sickly, staring out into the darkness. Your self-loathing and mounting anxiety battle for dominance as you will yourself to take the step over the threshold that will carry you to your car…

Click.

The door swishes shut, and you blink in confusion before you note a bulky arm stretched over your shoulder, hand pressed to the wooden frame below the peephole.

You turn into Changbin's frame and he jostles backwards, hand dropping to your shoulder.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asks, a little smirk playing on his lips.

You try to get your bearings as you resurface from the flash flood of inner turmoil, blinking up at him in confusion.

"Uuhh...home?" you answer, jerking a thumb back toward your intended exit.

Changbin shakes his head.

"You just got here."

"Well...I came to see Nari but she's gone, so..."

When the faintest shadow of hurt seems to flicker over his features at your words, you stammer to clarify.

"Bin, it's Friday, I- you've got plans, right? I don't want to be in the way...Like, it's really nice seeing you don't get me wrong, but, it would suck to have one of your sister's random friends underfoot if you're...if..."

You trail off. He's watching you in amusement now, arms crossed and bottom lip pulled between his teeth, one eyebrow cocked just a little higher than the other.

"What?" you press him, now a bit self-conscious at your rambling and still on edge from the surging anxiety of moments ago.

Damn, what was with you? You'd been a mess lately, and now you couldn't even get your words out with Nari's kid brother?

"I do have plans."

Changbin's words interrupt your muddled self-assessment. You glance up at him.

What? Okay, that's what you had been trying to...

"I plan to kick your ass at Super Smash Bros Brawl," he quips, turning to round the couch and settle in front of it before reaching for the blue controller discarded on the coffee table.

Huh?

You watch him start up the game and move through selections. Shuffling toward the back of the couch, you place your hands on it. He wants to hang out? Now that he found out you'd been dumped. Nari's away, so he's falling into stride, you think to yourself. You sigh. You should be grateful. Instead, you feel like a burden.

"Um, Bin..." you murmur, "You don't have to do this..."

"Do what?" he asks without looking back. "I'm not going easy on you, if that's what you mean. And I'm using Kirby - nonnegotiable."

Your heart melts a little as your eyes rest on him. He's always been a good guy, and it was like him to do this sort of thing - look out for someone when they were feeling low. Leaving simply because you don't feel worthy of his care and attention risks hurting him more than you.

You slowly slip out of your shoes and cross into the living room, retrieving a red controller from atop the console before sinking onto the carpet beside him. You toggle through your choices before landing on Link. Changbin glances over at you disparagingly.

"Link sucks."

"Kirby sucks."

"Hey!" Changbin, practically shouts in your ear, "Don't insult my widdle cutie guy..."

You grimace theatrically at the baby talk.

"Don't ever do that again."

"Or what?" Changbin challenges as he immediately unleashes a combo move that has your character hurtling toward the edge of the battle stage.

You hop around, avoiding him and trying out different button combos. It's been forever since you played this game. Your ex had been a Halo enthusiast. You were never big on first person shooters, but you tried to get into it for his sake. He hadn't the patience to help you learn, though, and after a couple of sessions of grimaces and apologies on your behalf mumbled into his headset, he'd stopped taking you up on your offers to join him.

Kirby darts back and forth across the screen after you on stubby pink legs. Eventually you get the hang of things and are returning his attacks, though he easily bests you in an embarrassingly short sequence of moves.

"Sorry, I'm no good at video games," you mumble apologetically.

The smug look falls from Changbin's face.

"Why are you sorry?" he raises a brow, dropping his controller into his lap, a little smile still playing on his lips.

You shrug. His smile fades.

"Who says you're no good?"

Shit.

You shift your focus to the screen and toggle for a new character.

"Best two out of three."

You can feel his eyes still on you as you opt for Princess Peach.

Two out of three turns into five out of eight, and around eleven out of twenty, the doorbell rings. When Changbin turns in surprise toward the sound, you take the opportunity to deliver a critical blow, winning your first match of the night. He rolls his eyes as you giggle wickedly and moves to answer the door.

You pull your phone from your pocket reflexively to check the socials you've deleted, before sighing and tossing it across the room to land on the carpet with a thud.

"Did you just throw your phone?"

Glancing over your shoulder, you catch him shooting you a quizzical look over a stack of pizza boxes tall enough to feed a small army. Clambering to your feet you trail after him into the kitchen.

"You do have plans, you liar!" you elbow him as he opens the top box and pulls out a slice, hissing as the melted cheesy overflow burns the tips of his fingers.

"Ow!" he snaps up a napkin and cradles it under the steaming piece of pizza, shaking his other hand before holding up his fingers in front of you.

"Blow on 'em," he whines.

You raise your eyebrows.

"You're joking."

He pouts and you want to laugh. This big, grown man is seriously going to give you the lip right now?

"That's what you get for having no patience, Bin..." you tsk disapprovingly.

He lets out a little disappointed sigh.

"Meanie..." he grumbles, and lets his hand fall.

You return your focus to the obscene amount of food now stacked on Nari's kitchen table.

"So, I'm sure people are going to start showing up, so I'm just gonna..."

Changbin hands you a paper plate with two slices of pizza and heads to the fridge where he fishes out two more beers. You stare at the plate in your hand.

"I...Bin..."

"What, you don't like sweet potato?" he asks with a smirk, cracking open a can and handing it to you.

You blink at him in confusion.

"Please enjoy this meal compliments of Han Jisung, who never remembers to update the address on his delivery app. Now, load up on pizza and let’s get back to it because I'm not trying to let you act like you came out on top from winning that last match on a fluke."

You scoff at his last remark. Watching him pile several slices onto his plate, you take a bite of yours. It tastes good, and you realize as it hits your stomach that you haven't eaten all day. When was the last time you ate a real meal? When was the last time you wanted one?

"Noona?"

Changbin's voice makes you realize you had zoned out and when you blink up at him, there's just nine inches of disposable dinnerware between you. His lips are pursed and his eyes trace your features, their gaze gentle but searching.

"You alright?" he asks.

There it is again; the concern. He isn't just checking in. His voice is soft and low, like his eyes. As a rule, Changbin's voice is strong, resonant - saying everything from his chest without even trying. So when he's gentle, when he pulls himself back...

"Do you miss that guy?" he murmurs.

"No!"

You say it so quickly.

Changbin nods.

"I'm just..." Fuck, why are you suddenly so emotional? "I think I'm...adjusting. Y'know?"

He nods again slowly. Then he reaches up and touches your face, dragging his thumb over the side of your mouth and suddenly your brain waves flat-line. Your eyes widen and your lips part, but before you can even process what's happening, he drops his hand to swipe it on a napkin.

"Had sauce on your face," he mumbles, and you can't read his.

His mouth is tugged up in a small smile but somehow it looks sad, and his eyes look like they're still asking a question that was never really answered. Before you can consider any further, he picks up his plate and heads back toward the living room.

You follow him, still half in your head.

When you sit down next to him, there's something hanging unspoken in the foot and a half of space between your bodies. Something has shifted, gone taut.

Shit, had you made him uncomfortable? Why had you stared at him like a weirdo when he...wait, he touched you...

Your eyes shift over to where he sits beside you. He runs a hand through the wavy hair over his ear. Has he always been so beautiful? He turns quick enough to catch you staring and you put your plate out of your lap. The pizza smells so good but suddenly you can't touch it.

Changbin initiates another round, which you lose in record time. Your stomach grumbles.

"You better eat if you're going to have any hope of beating me again," he goads, finishing off his third slice to abandon the crust with the others on his plate before launching another game.

"I had enough," you deflect, pushing your plate toward him.

"You took two bites."

"I need to cut back."

"Like...go on a diet?"

"Yeah."

His brows furrow and his tongue slips between his lips as he sends Kirby into a hammer flip that lands as a critical hit and you wince.

"What have you eaten today?"

"What?"

"You heard me."

"I...I don't know. I..."

Your stomach twists. The hunger is there, but so is the anxiety. The fear of being judged for eating too much or too quickly or...

The game pauses. Your plate slides back toward you over the carpet.

"The rest of that piece. Or whatever else you want. But something."

His voice is gentle but firm. You sigh.

"Fine," you murmur, grabbing the half-eaten slice.

You take a bite, and slowly raise your eyes to his as they regard you patiently.

"Sorry," you mumble, covering your mouth, shifting away from him.

"Why now?"

"I make gross noises when I eat."

"What? No you d-"

A hand tugs at your elbow. When you look back toward him his handsome face holds so many things, and you watch as they take turns seizing his features. Horror...pity...anger.

"Who told you that?" he asks lowly, but it doesn't sound like a question. "Noona..."

He squeezes your elbow.

You feel everything you've been shoving down in your chest begin to well up.

Fuck, no!

Your lip trembles.

He's shifting to face you.

You shake your head and press your eyes shut.

Your hand is encompassed in a larger one.

"It's lies, all of it," Changbin whispers with desperate conviction...and your dam breaks.

He pulls you into his arms as you sob with abandon. One of his hands encircles your waist tugging you against his broad, warm chest, and the other slips to brush tenderly over your nape as you tuck your face into his neck.

"He's a liar...shhhh...he's a lying piece of shit," he insists earnestly, into your hair. "You're perfect. He's the one who needs to fix himself. You're so, so perfect."

Perfect? You let your heart hold the word in its palm for one precious moment before pushing it away. Your heart had never been one to accept gifts it didn't think it deserved.

You weep and weep in his strong arms until you run out of tears, and then he holds you while you breathe. As the catharsis of your breakdown begins to settle in, you wonder at the comedown - a softer, warmer one than you've ever known – and you consider the loveliness that has broken your fall.

Soft and firm, everywhere he touches you. And warm. So warm. Not just the heat radiating from his body like a furnace – the velvet rasp of his voice, the absolute and unfaltering nature of his embrace.

Your hands move tentatively against his back. Soft cotton stretches and bunches between your fingers over his sturdy frame. Where your face is pressed to his collar every breath draws in a comforting combination of detergent and cologne. When you close your eyes and sigh, letting your weight sink against him further, you feel his arms tighten in response.

"Sorry," you croak feebly.

"Stop," he implores you, "Every time you apologize, I want to sock that guy in the face."

"I...I'm so stupid, I didn't even really realize..."

"No," his arms squeeze you again, "He had your trust. It was his job to protect you."

Protected. That's how you feel right now. Safe. So, so safe. Letting him hold you and reassure you felt good...it felt right. But yet again, the voice in your mind that liked to remind you how much of a burden you always were speaks up in a sickly whisper.

You pull yourself slowly from his arms and off his lap. Drawing yourself up to stand, you wipe your hot cheeks, puffy red eyes finding his like the needle of a compass. Unprepared for what awaits you in his gaze, your knees nearly give out beneath you.

Changbin is looking up from where he kneels before you, the yearning in his eyes unchecked as they burn with an unasked question and an unspoken promise.

"I should go," you whisper, barely able to form the words.

"Don't," he says, standing.

"If I stay I'll just wreck your night," you mumble.

"You could never," he insists, lips tugging into a little smile. His eyes are still pleading.

"Changbin..." you breathe, suddenly drowning again in the fizzy serotonin his words ignite in your chest. "You don't want..."

"You let me be the judge of what I want."

His hands find your arms and he pulls you in. There are centimeters between you. His eyes rest on your lips. Your heart hammers in your ears as your brain begins to malfunction the way it had when he touched your face...

"D-do I have something on my-"

Mouth? His.

The whole of your being floods with something beautiful and ineffable at the touch of his lips and no voice, no doubt, no force in the world could be stronger than the one that pulls you into him. Your arms fly up to wrap around his neck and tug yourself impossibly closer. His hands drop to your waist, pressing desperately in kind, and your bodies mold together. You flush with heat, sparks igniting in your belly and skittering through your veins as his lips move against yours. He stumbles back, pulling you with him as his knees buckle at the edge of the couch, and your body spills over his lap.

Your fingers card into his hair.

His hands drop to the back of your hips.

Your tongue brushes his bottom lip.

He moans.

At the gorgeous, deep sound from his chest, you pull back, fighting the smile that pulls at the corners of your mouth. What the fuck is happening right now? You don't get much time to consider as his head falls against the backrest and his eyes flutter open.

"Sorry," he grins bashfully. The tips of his ears burn pink.

"Now who's apologizing for no reason?" you tease, pressing your hands to his chest.

He smiles so sweetly in return you feel you might physically melt. And then the smile fades and the lids of his eyes grow heavy and he leans up to claim your mouth.

His lips taste the same as a moment ago, but their press is slower, hungrier. His hands are powerful and assertive as they hook under your thighs and pull your hips flush against his own in a single tug. You gasp softly against his lips and you feel his smirk. You feel his smirk and something else - something beginning to press up into your ass through your jeans.

Licking into his mouth, you push down, grinding your hips over his in a slow, deliberate undulation. The groan that falls from his lips unlocks something inside of you that needs to know every sound he makes and how to elicit them. Your mouth drops to his neck.

Suddenly, he's gripping your waist and pivoting to lay you on the cushions, slotting himself between your legs. You're still dizzy from the sudden rush of movement, when your legs curl around his hips and over his ass and–

A loud buzzing from the coffee table has you mourning the press of Changbin's lips to your throat as he glances at the caller ID.

"Shit!" he scrambles to sit up, hand still gripping your thigh above your knee when he presses the phone to his ear.

"Hey," he runs a hand through his hair. "What? Nothing. No, I didn't forget. I will, I will."

You recognize his tone of voice. There could only be one person on the other end of the line. You sit up, your head beginning to clear as the reality of the situation washes over you.

"Okay, yeah. Yeah, yeah. Be safe. Love you."

Changbin presses the end-call button and tosses the phone onto the cushion beside him. He leans back against the couch and claps his hand against your leg with a sigh.

"She really knows how to wreck a moment for me."

You crack a wry smile.

"I mean, it's probably for the best that we don't desecrate your sister's couch."

His eyes widen as horror, disgust, and amusement wage war across his features. You burst into a fit of giggles. He feigns a gag. You laugh so hard that you snort.

"S-sorry," you clap your hand over your mouth, still tittering while your ears heat in embarrassment.

Changbin's face softens again. He reaches for your hand and pulls it from your face, threading his fingers through yours.

"Cut it out."

"What? I can't be embarrassed about snorting like a pig?"

"No. It's cute," he smirks.

"It is not!"

"Mhm. Everything you do is cute."

He glances over at you, a lopsided smirk on his perfect lips, his eyes sparkling. He means it.

You fluster, gaze dropping to your enjoined hands, and concentrate on tracing little patterns on the back of his with your thumb. He sighs.

"Wanna watch a movie?"

The request takes you by surprise and your heart squeezes. If it was any other guy, the night would have been over. For the fourth time tonight, you had been about to head for the door, and for the fourth time, Changbin makes you feel wanted. So you stay.

You grab a big, fluffy blanket from the basket in Nari's room, and when you return, Changbin has the lights dimmed and Your Name ready to go on the TV. You smile as you settle in beside him, tossing half the blanket over his widespread legs.

"We don't have to watch this just because it's my favorite, you know," you insist, but he shakes his head.

"Taki's ma' boy," he smirks, shooting you a glance as he presses play on the remote.

You're not quite sure what it means, but you feel your heart skip a beat just the same.

You love this movie. You love that you've seen it enough times that you can talk through it. You love that Changbin is more than willing to talk over the film himself. You're not certain when it happened, but by halfway through the movie his arm is stretched out behind your shoulders and your head rests on his bicep.

"Do you remember seeing this together in the theater?" he asks suddenly, tilting his head toward yours.

You grin.

"You cried and Nari gave you shit about it," you recall.

"You bailed me out. Told her all the sniffling was you. Never even teased me about it either."

Changbin smiles down at you, his eyes sentimental.

Butterflies flutter their delicate wings in your ribcage. How does he make you feel this way?

Your eyes dip to his lips for a moment. Sighing, you nuzzle into his shoulder, hiding your face as much as seeking his warmth. His arm slips off the back of the couch to curl around your shoulders and pull you into his side. The movie plays on.

When the credits roll, Changbin stretches and yawns, and watching him it dawns on you that, working at a fitness center, he's an especially early riser.

"We should call it a night," you offer, standing and stretching yourself, but you're tugged back down into Changbin's lap, yelping as you topple onto him.

His arms encircle your hips as he regards you with a sleepy grin.

"What, do I live here now?" you tease.

"Stay the night," he urges, tightening his arms around you. "You really want to drive back now?"

You chew your lip, eyes tracing over his face. This is all more than a bit unreal, and you haven't given yourself even one second to process what's happening, lest you utterly panic. All you know right now is that your little ship had been sinking and he had hauled you into a lifeboat. Everything outside of him seems like a raging sea.

You nod.

"Okay," you whisper, combing his hair away from his forehead. “I’ll stay.”

His eyes dip shut at your touch and the butterflies flutter gently once more.

A few minutes later, you take Nari's room and slip into a pair of her cotton shorts, which do basically nothing to contain your ass, and tug on a plain white tee that stretches snugly over your torso. How a big guy like Changbin could have emerged from the same genetic pool as his teeny tiny sister was beyond you. As you glance in the mirror, your heart sinks. You don't like how the tight fit is pressing you out everywhere you're most self-conscious. But, they are just pajamas, and they're all you have at your disposal.

As you're about to head into the master bathroom to finish your nightly routine, you remember that the toothbrush and toiletries you keep on hand at Nari's are in the little half-bath attached to the guest room. You groan, glancing at yourself again in the mirror, and pull a blanket around yourself before crossing the hall.

Hoping Changbin hasn’t yet fallen asleep, you knock hesitantly on the door. You hear the bed creak before the door opens to reveal a head of mussed hair and hands scrubbing over bleary eyes. But it's not what you notice. Your apology for rousing him dies on your lips as your eyes glue themselves to his bare chest. Blinking dumbly, your eyes climb from his soft stomach subtly rippling with the presence of strong abdominals up to a pair of impressive pecs with wide-set, dusky nipples. His flannel pajama pants settle at his hips, accentuating how his body broadens as it rises from his waist to his full chest and wide shoulders flanked by bulging biceps. Thick. He's so fucking thick you could bi-

"...Noona?" he rumbles, his voice husky from sleep. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing...sorry..." you rush out, ripping your gaze up to his. "My toothbrush is in your room – I mean! in your bathroom. That's where I usually stay, so...but I didn't think you'd be asleep. Sorry, I can just..."

He rubs over one of his eyes with his palm as he steps aside.

"You can grab it."

Right. You shuffle in awkwardly, trying not to step on the blanket dragging around your feet. As you cross the dark room, you try not to dwell on the rumpled sheets of the bed that speak of his body having lain between them, or the soft smell of his cologne hanging in the air. You quickly retrieve the little toiletry bag and, as you move to squeeze past Changbin at the door, he eyes the fluffy shroud you're clutching to your chest.

He raises a sleepy eyebrow.

"I'm sure Nari has pants you could..."

"I'm wearing pants!" you bluster, "They just...don't fit."

You move out of the doorway to make your way back to your room, but a hand cups the side of your face and turns it as soft lips meet your forehead.

"Good night, noona," he murmurs with a little smile before retreating back into his room.

You stand in the hall, staring at his door, the butterflies absolutely aflurry.

Despite your best efforts, you can't sleep. Your mind is full of the last five hours. Full of Changbin.

He had kissed you. You had kissed him back. And it had felt...

You roll from your side to your back, sighing up at the dark ceiling. You chew on your lip as you remember breaking down and his arms around you. You would usually feel regretful and ashamed after baring yourself like that to someone. You despised moments of weakness. But you couldn't bring yourself to hate the moments in his arms. You didn't regret them. In fact, you wanted him to hold you again. You wanted to feel vulnerable in his hands, and you wanted him to keep you safe.

You feel heat rush up from your neck as you recognize these feelings.

You must be absolutely shameless, you conclude in wonder. You should be freaking out right now - this was Changbin, for Christ's sake – Nari's brother! You should be wondering what happens next, and what all of it means...but even so you can’t bring yourself to care. All your mind can focus on is how his arms felt like waking up after a nightmare to song birds and soft sunlight.

After an hour or so of tossing and turning, the salty pizza from dinner has you parched and slipping out to the kitchen for a drink. You pull a glass from the cupboard and fill it at the fridge, gulping down the contents to refill it again. Suddenly, you feel two strong arms snake around your waist and you start, sloshing your water and smacking the back of your head into the man holding you. You hastily set your glass down and turn in his arms as he lets out a groan, one of his hands releasing you as it flies up to cup the front of his face in pain.

"Bin, oh my god! Are you okay? You scared me!" you chide with a chuckle as you reach up to push his hand away and brush the tips of your fingers across his nose.

He pouts down at you and you smile.

"Did I wake you?"

He huffs.

"Yeah. To get your toothbrush. Then I couldn't go back to sleep."

"Sorry," you groan, still stroking over where you had struck his face. "Does it hurt?"

He nods.

"Kiss it better," he mumbles cutely.

You roll your eyes, but lift your lips to comply when suddenly he interrupts the motion with the soft press of his mouth to yours. It's slow and sweet, and you're struck all over again with how quickly you melt at his touch - a sensation you cannot imagine ever growing accustomed to, but to which you are fairly certain you are in danger of growing entirely addicted.

"Bin..." you whisper against his lips, "Bin, what are we-"

"Liar," he murmurs, pulling back.

Your mouth parts in confusion as you stare up at him, still drunk on his lips.

"You said the clothes didn't fit. You should wear this all the time," he smirks as he squeezes low on your waist.

Your cheeks heat as you remember what you're wearing, but you don't have long to be anxious over it as he presses his lips to your nose...the corner of your mouth...your jaw. You tremble as you lean into him, fingers splaying over his warm, bare chest.

"Let me show you," he whispers against your skin.

"Sh-show me...what...?"

He draws back, pressing his forehead to yours.

"How perfect you are."

You still, eyes flicking up to his. They're dark and tender and pleading. You let out a little shuddering breath.

"I...you don't have t-"

His arms hold you closer, gentle but insistent.

"Let me," he whispers, the tip of his handsome nose brushing over the dip of your cupid's bow. "Please. I want to."

You swallow, eyes dropping to his lips. You want it too, you find. You want his hands and lips and eyes all over you, bringing warmth everywhere they meet your aching body. You nod and take his lips again with yours.

"Yeah?" he murmurs against them.

"Yeah," you breathe, slipping a hand up the back of his neck and into his hair.

He groans in response, deepening the kiss as he licks at your parted lips and when your tongues brush, sparks burst in your belly. You feel it all slipping, the masks, the walls - every barrier you hold up to shield yourself from not being enough. His arms are strong and his lips are tender and you can't focus on anything but the perfection of being so utterly held.

His mouth moves to caress your jaw, under your ear, down the column of your neck, and suddenly you feel the edge of the counter pressing into the small of your back. His hands grip your waist and he hitches you onto the tiled surface with ease. It's cold against your bare legs, but you don't have more than a second to register the discomfort as Changbin nudges his way between your knees. He runs his hands over your thighs as his eyes trail from your panting lips to your lightly heaving chest.

You feel your nipples pebble under his gaze and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, his eyes glinting with mischief as he runs a hand up your side, over your shirt, to rest under the swell of your breast. He flicks a thumb over the hardened bud and you whimper and jump. He laughs softly, his smirk spreading into a full smile as he squeezes your breast and brings his eyes to yours.

"Your pretty body likes me, noona," he puffs proudly, massaging you deftly through the soft cotton of the tee.

You don't have a witty retort. Your body likes him so much that it frightens you. And with the deep affection you already feel, have long felt, for him...

You reach to gently tangle your hand again in his coarse, dark curls. He glances up, a sweet little smirk tugging at his pretty lips again.

"Bin..." you sigh.

"Hmm?" he hums as he slips his hands to your bottom and tugs you forward so that you're flush against him.

You dip your head and your lips ghost his.

"Nothing," you whisper, and you kiss him again. Again and again.

His hands slide from your ass to slip beneath your shirt at your lower waist and he kneads the soft flesh above your hips.

"So soft. Feels so good," he groans into your mouth.

You moan as the walls of your pussy contract. You're beginning to ache, beginning to drip – and his words seem to affect you as intensely as his touch.

He moves his lips to latch onto the soft skin of your neck and suck, his hands bunching your shirt up and up until his mouth pops free from your skin and he's pulling the thin garment over your head and tossing it aside. The cool air pricks your skin and you become keenly aware, for the briefest moment, that you are sitting on your best friend's kitchen counter, stripped down to her sleep shorts, with her brother between your thighs. As your brain races to decide whether to find that incredibly arousing or absolutely panic-inducing, Changbin's cherry lips rewire your neurological pathways in favor of the former when they close around your right nipple. Your head lolls back, colliding with the cabinet door and it clatters.

"Shit..." you hiss softly, threading your hands into his hair and gripping it by the roots.

Your eyes slip shut and you focus on the sensation of his warm tongue slipping over the peaks of your breasts, his strong, smooth palms cupping and caressing. And then you feel his little puffs of breath and the nudge of his nose at the valley of your chest as he groans and smushes your tits up to meet his face.

"I fucking live here now," he mumbles into the globe of your breast, and despite the heat of the moment, you softly laugh. You laugh and you feel his smile pressed to your skin.

Then suddenly he's pulling you into his arms in a bridal carry. You know he's strong, as you wrap your arms around his neck, but can't push away a pang of self-consciousness as he bears your weight.

"Bin, I'm so heavy..."

"You're not."

"I don't want you to..."

"Stop it," comes his voice in a soft, deep command as he halts in his tracks to kiss you.

He kisses you and kisses you until you believe that he could carry you until the end of time, and then he takes you into the guest bedroom and sits you gently on the bed. The bed with the mussed sheets that smell like him. The sheets that he's leaning you into as you push yourself to the middle of the bed while he hovers over the top of your body, his lips never leaving yours.

As he sinks down over you, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress has warmth licking through your veins. You move your hands to caress over his broad back, feeling his muscles ripple beneath your fingers as he shifts to prop himself up on his elbow. You use the free space to trace your hand down his chest and abdomen until you reach the waistband of his pants. If he'd just push himself a few inches up you could...

He pulls away, just barely breathless, and his eyes find yours. He reaches down with his right hand to pull yours gently from between your bodies and to his lips, before threading his fingers through yours and pressing your joined hands into the sheets beside your head.

"I want to eat you out."

He says it so simply, so confidently, and you can feel more arousal gush to join what's already begun to paint your inner thighs.

"Fuck..." you breathe, your fingers trembling in his grasp.

"Can I?" he asks, kissing your lips softly again.

For a moment you're afraid of what saying yes will mean, of the intimacy of it all, of the possibility that you won't measure up, someway, somehow, or maybe...that you will - and what in the world you would do with that level of acceptance...

You let out a shaky sigh, as you hold his gaze. It arrests you and washes over you. You remember his eyes as he knelt on the living room floor, and all they pleaded with you to disbelieve, to unlearn.

Yes. Yes...If it's him, you want it, whatever it means.

You surge forward, pressing your lips to his, your hands weaving through his hair, pulling him in. He lets out a tiny whimper as you devour him, kissing him with determined abandon until you have to come up for air.

"Yes, Bin, yes," you shudder into his mouth as he pants over you. “Yes I want you to.”

In answer, he presses one last tender kiss to your lips before moving to kiss down your body. He moves slowly, but with purpose, pressing an adoring mouth to every part of you that’s bared. He kisses your ear, your neck, your collarbones…he moves over your shoulders and down your right arm to the tip of each finger. He kisses your breasts and down your stomach. He kisses your belly button, and over your hips and down your left thigh. He kisses the inside of your knee, and bends your leg to kiss over your calf and down to your ankle.

You can barely watch him, as he brushes his lips over you, but he flicks his eyes up to yours so often you don’t dare look away. There is something flickering in his gaze, something like a challenge - daring you to contradict, to doubt what he seeks to impress upon you - and you begin to feel something strange and new. Something you’d never found at the touch of a lover, blooming in your chest and unfurling like a proud little flower under the sun: the strong, heady beauty of esteeming yourself worthy of his desire. It terrifies you a bit, and the ugly voice that has heckled you so often tries to cast doubt, but Changbin’s lips and hands are too persistent and assured for the harbinger in your mind to linger long. And the tidal wave of lovely feelings crashing over you threatens to destroy the shabby prison your heart has lingered in for so long.

Changbin lays his head on your thigh as he brings his hand off the other to cup your pussy over the softness of your shorts. His groan is nearly as loud as yours when he rubs over your mound, and it makes you impossibly wetter. He’s so unabashed and liberal with reacting to what he enjoys, and he is clearly enjoying you as much as he ever has anything.

He moves to bring his face to your clothed cunt, hovering over you for a nanosecond to catch your eyes as he mouths down over you. Your jaw drops open, and when his teeth scrape dully over your clit, your hips jerk and you fist the sheets. Changbin pulls back with a smirk, and sits back on his knees between your legs. He pulls one of your legs up to lean against his shoulder as his hands instinctively knead over the muscles of your calf and thigh.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, with a little smile.

You nod with one of your own.

“I’m gonna lift you, okay? You can hold onto my legs, but I’ll have you, so don’t worry.”

You bite your lip and nod, suddenly a little shy. Look at him. Where did he get all this confidence?

He drops your leg briefly to tug off your shorts and panties, cursing at how wet you are, and gently slipping two fingers to brush between your glistening lips and over your clit. You gasp at the sensation - his fingers deft, his touch soft but firm where you ache for him. And then, suddenly, he is sliding your legs back up to rest against his chest and shoulders. His hands slip down to your hips and he effortlessly tugs your ass over the incline of his thighs and flush with his abdomen. Your heart starts to thrum in your chest. His body is warm and sturdy against the soft plush of your ass. Heat floods your cheeks when you sense a slickness against him where your arousal has begun to smear against his stomach. He, however, is far less bashful. Widening the gap between your thighs, he dips his head down, inhaling deeply.

"Fuck…" he murmurs, squeezing your legs where he holds them.

When he raises his eyes to yours again, they’re unlike you’ve ever seen. They’re dark and hungry and hooded in a way that nearly intimidates you. His expression is full of heat, and manly in its sudden gravity. He watches you as he slips his thumbs under your waist and, slowly with strong hands, pulls your hips up beneath his chin. Your legs bend at the knees and drape around the crown of his head. Your spine curves where your upper back is flush with his thighs, your arm on either side of his kneeling form, and as he embraces you tightly around the hips and waist, you feel nearly every ounce of your weight suspended in his hold. The blood rushes to your head where it lays against the mattress, your neck curving just shy of his knees, offering a clear view of his gorgeous face as he wastes no time in pressing his open mouth to your labia.

Your core muscles flex in response, hips pressing higher against him as you feel ripples of exquisite pleasure trickle through your body from above. The smooth muscle of his tongue slips past your entrance and begins fucking into you. Your head swims, the slightest dizzying restriction of oxygen dampening your ability to focus on anything but the bliss of his hot, wet mouth. Being tasted has never felt this intense. You whimper, your hands reaching around his body to find purchase on his muscular ass. You feel the press of his throbbing erection into your back as his tongue fucks unhurriedly into you. He’s rock hard, and all for you. From the sight of your naked body, the feel of you in his hands, the taste of you on his tongue. From the sounds pouring off of your lips as he worships your sex.

Your legs begin to shake. You’re so totally in his hands. He holds you, lavishes you, consumes you. Nothing stands between you and ecstasy, and you can feel your climax fast approaching as pleasure ebbs and flows like a crashing tide on the rhythm of his firm, languid strokes.

"Ch-Changbin! Nhhh!" you mewl, you voice throaty and muffled from your position.

He growls against you and you nearly cum then. One of his hands drops to squeeze the soft mound of your right breast. Your cheeks burn, sweat beginning to bead on your forehead and neck. You can feel your pussy throbbing - hot and sticky and swollen with stimulation - as he devours it like the flesh of ripened fruit. His lips encircle your clit and suckle as the tip of his tongue flicks over the erect peak of your bud.

And then it all goes white. You lose all sense but feeling as you rock your hips up to meet him, the tension in your abdominals adding sinfully to the fluttering pulsating of your pussy. There’s nothing but you and him and his arms around you and his mouth against the most intimate parts of you as your orgasm washes over you in electrifying slow-motion, pulling you under a tidal wave of bliss for what seems like an eternity. Your lips part in a silent scream of his name, your eyes pressed shut, as he works you through the longest and most intense climax your body has ever experienced.

You feel him place one last sweet, gentle kiss to your cunt before moving the hand on your breast to one of your thighs as he guides you back down onto the bed. You’re panting and boneless as you watch him draw an arm over his cum-slicked chin and cheeks. For a moment he simply looks down at you, a victorious air about him as his eyes trace your sated features and his gorgeous chest heaves with labored breath, then he crawls forward on the bed, stretching himself out on his side next to you, his body flush with your own. He slips his hand over the soft skin of your belly and rubs it soothingly as he watches you with a little grin.

“You good?” he asks in a raspy murmur.

You reach for his face, bringing it to yours as you kiss him with what wherewithal you have. You pull away, still breathless.

“Am I good? Seo Changbin, I think I could fly.”

His answering smile is so filled with joy and pride and affection that you think you truly may have sprouted wings. You roll to your side to press yourself against him, your hand tugging at the waistband of his pajamas, but he takes your hand again in his.

“Not tonight.”

“Why?”

“Tonight is yours.”

“Bin…”

“I’m yours.”

You blink up at him, his head resting on his hand, his eyes sparkling and soft.

“If you’ll have me,” he raises your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “You don’t have to answer right now. I know you’re going through a lot, and this is all…new.”

He smiles again, glancing down as his features take on a boyish shyness.

“But I care for you. And, however things work out,” his eyes lock with yours again, “I’ll always protect you.”

Your heart stands still. There are things that are too deeply lovely for words to be wasted on them. Any words but three - three that are already deeply true, but which have begun to mean something beautiful and different tonight, burying themselves like a little seed in your heart that needs time to grow. So for now you let yourself cry tears that fall like raindrops in the sunlight, and drift to sleep with the steady beat of Changbin’s heart.

“Ay!” Nari’s voice cuts through the din of chatter as her hand shoots out to narrowly prevent a fellow patron from snagging the chair beside her. “Sorry, seats are taken.”

She takes a sip of her beer and stretches her short legs as far as they will reach across the two empty chairs beside her.

“The guys are gonna have to hustle if they’re gonna sit with us,” she says reproachfully, dark brows rising as her eyes scan the venue for the bodies that belong in the seats you have been desperately attempting to reserve for the last hour.

The Eight Ball is crowded to bursting, and you scan the stage for signs of the evening’s openers. Checking your phone, you find that it’s nearly eight. You also find a text that brings a smirk to your lips.

“What?”

You glance up at Nari, who’s staring at you suspiciously.

“Nothing…” you mumble, flipping your phone back over onto the table. You sip your cocktail through a straw.

“Are you texting him?”

You nearly choke on your drink.

“What? Who?”

“You know who,” Nari mocks, narrowing her eyes at you. “The jerkwad.”

“Oh my god, Nari, no!” you sigh, as your phone buzzes again.

She glances at it.

“Then what was with the look? Who are you…”

“Are these for us?” a voice belonging to a smiling, dimpled young man in a black hoodie with a matching beanie pulled over his head saves you from further explanation.

“Jesus, Chris, finally,” Nari admonishes as he takes the seat next to you, pulling her legs off the remaining chairs to free them up for the other two men that follow behind him.

The freckled blond pulls Nari into a side hug which she returns, booping his nose before leaning across him to peer menacingly at his friend.

“Yo, Jisung,” she barks, “If you’re gonna order several hundred pizzas, how about taking some with you next time? My fridge is still stuffed.”

The young man blinks wide, surprised eyes at her before his brain catches up with her scolding.

“Sorry, but it wasn’t my fault!” he insists poutingly. “I ordered them because Changbin asked me to and then he canceled gaming weekend ‘cause he had a girl over.” he grumbles, causing the other two to snicker.

“Nice,” Chris giggles.

This time you do choke.

Your eyes fly to your best friend, watching the barrage of questions bubbling up on her face when a voice cuts through the din, silencing the crowd and unknowingly saving himself for the time being.

“Good evening, Eight Ballers!” Changbin rasps into his mic as Hyunjin waves, as ridiculously beautiful as ever, beside him.

You look at Changbin’s eyes.

They’re bright and confident and determined. You smile and cheer when he finishes introductions. As the band hits the first few notes of the opening number, his gaze finds yours, and it’s full of so many things.

His eyes sparkle with seven days worth of secrets – of waking up to your eyes and arms, of a weekend of nothing but bare bodies and hearts, of weeknight phone calls until the wee hours of the morning…of a new way of caring for each other that you’ll eventually tell the others, but that is just yours for now.

As you look at him, so full of adoration, you hope you can offer him even a fraction of the new world he’s only just begun to share with you – and the reflection you see a little more beautifully each day in the light of his eyes.

-Fin-

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xenaxena · 1 year ago

Text

Needy

— masterlist

— pairing: dean winchester x female reader

— summary: you go to dean’s room begging

— word count: 1.1k

— warnings: smut, porn with little plot, p in v, cock warming, orgasm denial, dom dean sub reader, unprotected sex, i’m like 99.999% sure doing what’s described in this fic will give you a serious std so do not do this!

— want smut without plot? scroll down to —xxx—

— author’s note: my first time writing smut and publishing it, feedback is always welcome and appreciated! (seriously please let me know what you think! i can’t answer comments but i will read and appreciate each one! if you want to stay anonymous please don’t hesitate to send an ask! <3)

You shifted uncomfortably on your desk chair, unable to focus on the work in front of you. It was just general research, not really important.

“Shit,” you mumbled to yourself, slamming the book closed. You stood up, left your room, walked down the hall, and knocked on Dean’s door.

“Hey, Y/n,” he smiled when he opened the door. “Everything okay?”

“Really need your cock,” you blurted, eyes widening a bit when you realized you really said the exact words running through your head. “I mean- Uh-”

“Come on in, sweetheart,” he replied. He stepped aside so you walked into his room, he shut the door behind you. “Really need my cock, huh?” He smirked.

“Um…yeah.” You nodded a little. He backed you up into the wall, still smirking. He cupped you through your leggings.

“Fuck!” he groaned. “You’re fuckin’ soaked!” He squeezed your pussy, making you moan. “All for me?”

“All for you, just you Dean!” you exclaimed.

He pulled his hand away suddenly, you whined a little.

“Take off your clothes, wait for me in my bed,” he told you. “I’m gonna take a quick shower.”

“Yes, sir,” You replied, he smirked again. He slapped your ass as you walked over to the bed.

***

He’d been in the shower nearly thirty minutes. He’d never taken that long, you were getting inpatient. You knew he was teasing you. Truthfully he’d been out of the shower nearly twenty minutes already, he’d just been sitting in the bathroom thinking of you. Thinking about how you looked right now - naked, waiting for him, needy. You were so fucking desperate and he knew it.

When he finally came back into his room, he was wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

—xxx—

“You naked under there?” Dean asked, seeing you sitting in his bed with the blankets covering you. You nodded vigorously. “Good.”

He dropped the towel and you let out a gasp, squeezing your thighs together at the sight of his hard dick already leaking with pre-cum. He must’ve been needy too. His smirk just grew as he walked over to his bed before he tore back the covers and revealed your naked body.

“Mhm, gorgeous as ever, sweetheart,” he muttered, biting his lip and eyeing you up and down.

“Right back at you,” you replied. You went to grab his cock but he gripped your wrist and shook his head.

“No, no, you don’t touch me, I touch you.”

“Dean-” you groaned but he cut you off with a rough kiss to your lips. He climbed into bed, not breaking the kiss, and manhandled you until you were on top of him.

“Ready?” he asked, you nodded. “Words, sweetheart.”

“So ready Dean, fuck!”

He lifted your hips and slid you down onto him. Your velvet walls fluttered around him as you struggled to accept his size. Your breath had caught in your throat but when you bottomed out a loud groan erupted from your lips.

You waited a moment before starting to bouce up and down; your hands on his abdomen and keeping you balanced on his cock. He gripped your hips and slammed you down after you lifted.

“Don’t move,” he instructed, you furrowed your brows a little. He let go of your hips but you didn’t dare move.

“Dean?” you whimpered. He didn’t say anything, just watched as you got more and more revved up. “Can- Can I move now?”

He shook his head. “I never actually said I’d fuck you, did I?”

“Wh-What?” you asked, brows furrowing with worry as your core continued to ache with want.

He faked a huge yawn. “I’m actually pretty tired, let’s go to sleep.” He reached to the side and turned off the light.

“Dean!” You lightly smacked his chest.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart! You can keep me warm all night,” he mocked, smirking. “Now, c’mon,” he pulled you down onto his chest, keeping himself nestled in you, “let’s get to sleep.”

“Dean, please!” you whispered, tears brimming your eyes.

“I promise I’ll fuck you raw in the morning, okay?” He stroked your back.

“O-Okay,” you whispered.

A few minutes passed and Dean was getting more and more frustrated. You were soaked and feeling your wetness drip onto his pelvis was driving him nuts. He suddenly lifted you off on him and tossed you to his side.

“Don’t worry,” he mumbled when you let out a whine. “Just putting you on your side.” He slipped back in from behind you and you groaned.

***

You woke up before Dean; sore and starved for sex. You sat up and checked the clock to be sure it was in fact morning. You flipped the light on but that didn’t wake Dean up. You looked down at him; he was still hard, he was starved for sex too.

You positioned yourself above his hips, lined yourself up, and slid down his length with a loud moan.

Dean’s eyes flew open.

“Good morning!” he exclaimed. He pulled you down into a kiss before flipping you both over so he was on top. “Gonna make good on my promise,” he groaned, you let out a sound. “Words!”

“God fucking damnit Dean!” you exclaimed. “Fuck me!”

“Whatever you say.” He smirked. He watched your facial expressions as he thrust himself into you repeatedly.

You chanted his name like a prayer; as if he was your god and you were a mere witness to his glory.

He watched as your tits moved with each thrust, as your face contorted with pleasure, as your mouth hung open. You reached down to touch yourself but he slapped your hand away.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. He replaced your hand with his own, took your clit between his thumb and index finger, and tugged at it.

“Oh god, Dean!” You moaned as your eyes flung open to see his smirking face. “Fuck! You feel so good!”

“So fuckin’ beautiful when your like this,” he groaned. “All fucked out, taking me like a pro, moaning like a goddamn porn star!” His praises only made you moan louder. “That’s my girl!”

“I-I’m c-close! So close Dean,” you whined.

“Me too, baby, me too.” He nodded, rubbing your clit forcefully. Your eyes started rolling back, indicating you really were about to gush all over him. “Come with me.”

As if on cue, a wave of pleasure washed over you as a powerful orgasm ripped through your body. Dean let himself go, shooting ropes of cum into your tight cunt.

After a few moments, he rolled to the side as his limp cock slipped out of you.

“Best damn wake up call ever,” he breathed, causing you to smile. “If you ever feel like waking me up like that again, don’t you fuckin’ hesitate.”

“Right back at ya, Dean,” you replied.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester smut #supernatural fanfic #supernatural #supernatural smut #mdni #xenaxena

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drapopia · 8 months ago

Text

hard day's work

pairing: papa emeritus ii x reader

warnings: some small mentions of getting hot and heavy, the usual mention of secondo and the reader having a healthy sex life

summary: For a man who boasts of a plush king sized bed, Secondo surely loves falling asleep in an armchair with a good book, to the despair of his back the next day.

word count: 1.4k

authors note: whoa buddy, here's another ghost drabble! i have a hard time with secondo's personality, especially in softer, domestic spaces. i just hope i've done a sort of okay job? with time comes improvement! hopefully ya'll enjoy it, feedback is highly appreciated! :)

————

The room is silent, save for the hum of the central heating and the occasional flip of a page.

Well, it’s almost silent. Secondo sits in the corner of the room in his armchair made of lush velvet, a dark green that stands out against the muted gray robe he wears. You can see the slow rise and fall of his chest, his head reclined back against the chair at an angle. You can tell that if you don’t wake him soon, he’ll wake up tomorrow with a grumble and a hiss, and you would have to rub the knots from the base of his neck with a coo and a kiss. Not that you mind, but you don't want him in pain, even if he enjoys the feel of your hands on his sorest spots.

His hands rest on his lap, the book he was reading was slowly but surely slipping out of his hands. His breath is still light and even, a far cry from the usual deep snores he lets out when he’s checked out for the day. From your spot on the loveseat across the room, you can see his nose twitching in the cold air. Although being curled up in the fleece blanket on the couch is appealing, the thought of leaving him in the cold, even while dozing, makes your heart twinge in distress. How many times had he roused you from your sleep after a long movie, picking you up gingerly and tucking you into your shared bed? You couldn’t count, you couldn’t help but feel comfortable around him. You always had, even when you first entered the Ministry.

With a sigh, you pull yourself up from your sitting position, walking as quietly as possible towards him. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you got closer to him, standing beside and gazing down at him. His face was bare of paint, his eyes only holding a small smudge of black at the tightest corners of his crows feet. His nose was still twitching with the rise and fall of his chest, his breath light and slow. As quietly and gently as possible, you reach for his book to pull it from his loose grasp. Your hands close around it, and mark it to keep his place. Turning it over, you inspect the cover with a small smile. He was re-reading Crime and Punishment. You had teased him many times about it, how he would scoff and roll his eyes about his distaste for older Russian literature. How he felt it went on and on, was repugnantly repetitive, self pitying and obnoxious. But here he was, turning the pages once more of a book he ‘despised’.

Shaking your head, you turn towards him once more and place your hand on his cheek. You feel the harsh contours of his face, thankful that you couldn’t feel any tension in the apples of his cheeks. This week had been hard on him so far, and it was only Wednesday. You had found him earlier in his office when you stopped with a teeny-tiny quick pick-me-up espresso. While he had thanked you with a kiss and a light squeeze of your hand in his, you had seen the way his shoulders remained bunched with tension, how his hands had a tremor as they held the tiny cup in his hand. And now here he was, as docile as the lambs he spoke of in his captivating sermons at Mass.

Leaning forward, you press a kiss to his cheek and pull away a fraction, noticing the way his eyelids twitched and his small mustache scrunched up. Smiling, you pepper kisses on his cheeks, as delicately as you can muster. A soft huff of breath hits your neck from where you’re positioned.

“Cara, what are you doing?” He murmurs, a ricochet of heat hitting your stomach at the deliciously rich timbre of his voice. A large hand, free of his gloves and comfortably warm, hits your hip. You pull back slowly, meeting his gaze as he blinks his syrupy eyes to clear the sleepiness.

“You know you can’t sleep here, you’ll be groaning all day tomorrow. This armchair doesn’t look all that comfortable, to be quite honest.” You whisper softly.

“That’s what you think.” He says quietly, the corners of his lips barely noticeable and curling into an almost imperceptible grin. Secondo was more permissible, a tad bit more open when he was slowly slipping from sleep. His eyes held a softness, his words losing their bite. And while you loved the cold charm of him in the day, it always made your heart skip a beat to see him so delightfully unguarded when he woke to the sight of you.

You pat his chest softly with your hand, raising up with a soft puff. “Come on, we’ve gotta get you into bed.” Your lips turn up at the corners at his small huff of exertion, extending your hands in an inviting gesture towards him. He slides up the armchair, stretching out slightly as he grabs your arms to pull himself up with a groan. And just as he rises from the chair, his arms come to wrap themselves around you, gazing down at you.

He looks at you, a fond smile on his face. Without the guards of papal paint or his sunglasses, his face was so kind. So much easier to see the way the creases on his forehead melted, the way his eyes crinkled with barely concealed adoration. “Sleep? I suppose we could.” He rasps, leaning in to press a kiss against your lips. HIs accent was deliciously thicker in the throes of sleepiness, and you felt the hair on your neck rise.

You return the kiss, your lips moving in a well practiced synchronicity. But unlike the passionate nights you shared and the lascivious words he would whisper in your ear with no shame, there was no heat behind the kisses you were exchanging now. Even as his hands curled behind your back, tracing the curve of your spine with dedication and reverence. You smile against the kiss, breaking it as you pull back.

“Come on,” you whisper and press a kiss to the tip of his nose before he could scoff in mock distaste. “I’ll warm up the heating blanket, maybe give you a back rub? Read you some more of that delicious Russian literature you like so much?” You say teasingly, grabbing his hand and walking towards your large bedroom the two of you found respite in every day. In each other's bodies, words, and simple gestures.

“I hate Dostoevsky, you know this.” He grumbles, ambling beside you to wrap his arm around your waist and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek as your feet hit the plush carpet of your room.

“Of course, of course. And that’s why you fell asleep with it in your hands.” You smile, rolling your eyes. You reach the bed, pulling back the duvet. Slipping in with a sigh, you pull the covers up to your neck and nestle in, much like a rabbit in its burrow.

Secondo slips off his robe, completely naked. Before you can admire him, he slips into bed beside you and pulls the covers over himself. Maybe tomorrow you can catch a quick peek, but for tonight, you'll be content with the heat of him beside you.

“I had to bore myself, send myself off to sleep, no?” He leans back against the pillows, gesturing lackadaisically for you to lay against him. You shuffle closer to him, his warmth a soothing balm to the unease of the day.

“Just come curl up with me instead, problem solved.” You murmur, and Secondo chuckles at your comment as he leans over to flick off the lamp on his nightstand.

“What do you think it is we’re doing here, amore? I want you here with me, not the dreadful pages of a self pitying bastard pouring his heart out.” He says softly, his eyes falling closed. Papa is still tired, the rise and fall of his chest becoming more even. Your hands reach out instinctively, patting his tummy with as much care as possible.

“That almost sounds like an ‘I love you’, Secondo.” You say quietly, the tease barely noticeable under your exhaustion, feeling your own eyes slip closed under the weight of the darkness over you both. His hands pull you closer, his chest hair a cushion on your cheek.

“I do love you.” He says softly, the soft silence around the two of you relaxing the both of you quicker than you’d like to admit. “Now shush, amore.” He says firmly, but with no bite. You smile to yourself, and all you hear is the soft breathing of your Papa, your best friend beside you.

#the band ghost #ghost the band #secondo #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus ii x reader #ghost bc #secondo emeritus x reader #reader insert #ghost fanfiction #x reader #secondo emeritus #my writing

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mattmurdock-wife24 · 3 months ago

Text

From a boy to a men

Author's note: hi sweetie! Hope you like this one, have a good reading ✨️

This was a request

Warning: none, just pure soft and fluff stuff, and kisses

He hears his name shouted, adored, praised. He's never felt better, to be idolized, loved. He was raised for this, to be the sparkle in people's eyes, but all the lying and pretending didn't go down your throat.

You are the princess of the kingdom allied to Kenji's, promised to each other from birth. And you couldn't understand why everyone loved him so much, he's arrogant, petty, careless, a complete idiot and you hated him for it.

Today you'll meet him for dinner at his house, with your parents and his father. Where he'll ask for your hand in marriage, since your 18th birthday was not too long ago.

So you put on your most breathtaking dress, tidy up your wavy hair and put a cute bow in it, and drape a blouse over your dark skin. You enter the castle to be greeted by a warm embrace from the king, Gedde Wanatabe. Your eyes meet Kenji's, which have a wicked, dark glint in them.

The dinner itself was peaceful, but as it drew to a close, everyone became tense, and King Wanatabe handed Kenji a little black velvet box. Everyone got up, and Kenji knelt down in front of you, who were still sitting there in shock - it was really happening. You could hear your heart in your ears and you feared that Kenji would hear it too. The ring fit perfectly on your finger.

Everyone smiles, relieved, and leaves the "bride and groom" alone. You put your hands on your waist, trying to get as far away from Kenji as possible after the wedding, you hear him laugh and you grimace. "Why are you always so fucking mad at me?" He exhales.

"Because you're an idiot "And?" " because you're irresponsible" "And what, princess?"

You get angry and your body makes a sign to leave and he grabs your arm.

"I know you think I'm an idiot, but this idiot here is going to become the king" you sigh, annoyed "Your title doesn't matter, what matters is your heart, if you even have one! " you sigh " if you want to be a good king, a good husband. Become a man first, because all I see here is a bruised, asshole boy."

Your words hurt him in a way he had never felt before, it was like a bucket of cold water. He felt dirty, guilt rising through his body, so he was determined to do better, for you, for the kingdom.

He began to work harder, pulling all-nighters to resolve royal issues. He treated his subordinates with modesty and even his relationship with his father had improved, now all that was left was for you in his hands to love and care for... forever.

The big day had arrived, and you were on edge. You hadn't seen Kenji since that night. You look at yourself in the mirror, watching as the beautiful white lace dress dances down your curves. You're startled by the knock on the door, but you open it anyway.

You meet Kenji, who stares at you in amazement. You see a certain desperation in his voice when he says that you two need to talk.

"What do you want? The ceremony is about to start." "I did everything you asked, I changed, for you, for the crown, for my father. I worked until I couldn't anymore. And you were right, I was a piece of shit" you stare in disbelief at his words, this certainly wasn't the Kenji you knew "please"he whispers in your ear "be mine"

You were at the altar, with Kenji by your side, staring at you with a passionate look, which only made you even more nervous. When the priest said "till death do you part" Kenji grabbed you around the waist and kissed you deeply. Part of you felt embarrassed by the number of people watching, but another part of you just wanted to enjoy the moment, enjoy this new Kenji. "I'm already yours, I always have been" you sigh back into his ear.

hiii lovely soul, hope you liked it!

My requests are open and I write for several characters, and sometimes I can make an exception haha

Likes and reblogs are very much appreciated 😊✨️

#ultraman ken #kenji sato #ultraman #kenji sato smut #ultraman netflix #ken sato #ultraman rising #ultraman rising x reader

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eliashirsch · 6 months ago

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God Tier Top Gun Fanfictions. A Masterlist. (4/3)

More Top Gun fic recs:)) Different pairings ahead.

Winner Categories:

1. Best of the Best Authors (1/3)

2. Best of the Best Series (2/3)

3. Best of the Best Fics (3/3)

4. Honorary Mentions (4/3)

REMINDER! READ THE AUTHORS' TAGS AND WARNINGS!!!

Honorary Mentions

gold rush by gamerring @asimmutableasgravity

All his life, Jake Seresin has wanted to live his life as loud as possible. So that when he dies, people can place flowers on his casket. When the light hits him, sunbaked and smiling and grinning. He's whole and happy and everything he could ever want. He bites down on his teeth. Later, he hunches over the porcelain, petals falling out of his mouth, and is already one step in his grave. - Flowers, fighter pilots and the true fatality of your feelings spilling out.

Jake angst:)) And here’s another one from gamerring:

it's nice to have a friend by gamerring

"Will you marry me?" Ice is on his knees. His posture screams military, but his face is genuine. His eyebrows are furrowed in worry and a hesitant smile plays at his lips. The ring sits in a green velvet box. The band is gold and shiny, with a diamond inlaid in the middle. The rock seems to glow under the sunset, and Maverick's heart starts beating against his chest. This- it's spectacular. It's breathtaking. It's not for him. He bites his cheek for a microsecond, and then forces a smile."That's great. She can't say no to that." And a traitorous part of his soul hopes she does. - Three times Maverick should have said something, and the one time he did.

Just read the summary:) (This is canon.)

Lessons in pushing boundaries by will_thewisp

Maverick never needed lessons in pushing boundaries. Not if those boundaries are about going faster, further or screwing up on an ever increasing scale, because he'd run off the edge of the world before he'd let a thought that scared him shitless take root in his mind. It was enough that it was already in his heart. Or Maverick crashes the Darkstar and needs a very long time to learn that there's things that can and should be fixed. And that he's always had the tools to do it.

Don’t forget a tissue when reading this!

Amen by demiclar @demiclar

"What do you want done with your body when you die?" Pete Mitchell grieves his best friend.

Can you tell I love Mav angst?:)

Vanilla Milk by Specter_Ross

After the mission, Rooster is struggling to sleep so Maverick pulls some old methods out from when Bradley was a kid, in hopes of helping him.

I never get tired of reading MavDad and Bradley:)

A Perch Built for Two by chase_acow @cowsalot

Rooster is well known for keeping his own company, but between Maverick's reemergence and the suicide mission, Hangman manages to weasel his way into Bradley's attention. He's never let an alpha so close to him before, but Hangman might be the best choice - experienced and unlikely to ask for more than Bradley was willing to give. Unfortunately for him, it's Bradley who wants more, and he has no idea how to ask for it.

Another win for Hangster!

A Little Unconventional by McDanno50

Maverick didn’t know how he ended up here a month after the mission – on his back with his legs spread for not one, but two, hungry alphas. These alphas wanted Maverick so much that they no longer fought but worked together all in the name of mutual pleasure. It felt too good to be true, like a fevered dream conjured up by a broken mind. But even if he couldn’t believe his eyes, he had four other senses to rely on. A self-indulgent fic in which Omega!Maverick gets fucked by Alpha!Bradley and Alpha!Jake. That's literally it.

Mav/Bradley/Jake:)))))

Not Clamorous For Pardon by Arsenic @arsenicjade33

Okay, but what if the Navy didn't outlaw flogging as a punishment in 1896? Asking for a friend.

Another one of my favorite tropes: Mav being bullied by the Navy:(

still dangerous by cygnettine

Where was he? Jake was to his right, Bradley in front of him, the girls between their dads. Someone was missing. He was missing. Why was he missing? He was supposed to be there; that was a family dinner and he was family, he was his whole soul, why wasn’t he there? *** Maverick loses himself and wanders helplessly in his own mind until someone finally comes to his rescue.

Mav has Alzheimer's Disease:(

take a chance on the edge of life by Lacerta

It was a suicide mission. Of course they didn't succeed on their first try. - When Maverick dies, he loops back to the morning before.

An Edge of Tomorrow AU. Love this one.

you've got the win in your bag by discosleaze @paulmezcal

“I’m going to go in and get something pierced, and if you’re a good boy, it’ll be my nipple. If you’re not, it’ll be my tongue.” Speaking of tongues, Bradley just about swallows his. “Why would that be a bad thing?” he croaks out, not enjoying how amused Jake is, mocking, even. “Well, Bradshaw, because I wouldn’t be able to blow you for weeks afterwards.” Jake contemplates a second piercing, Bradley contemplates nothing.

asdfghfghjkjhgfdsadfg. This one’s too hot for me.

How Big? by thenofutureshoe

"Most people would have had to give themselves a pep-talk, most people would have been nervous or unsure of the whole thing, Maverick Mitchell was not most people. He was a fucking power bottom and proud of it. This was not his first rodeo, pun intended. And he always got his man." Once Maverick hears the story behind Slider's callsign, it sounds more like a challenge than anything else.

This one… I never thought their difference in size could be this hot…

a dream of crashing by thefireplanet

Maverick buys a plane. Somehow, this becomes Iceman’s problem.

THIS ONE’S NOT COMPLETED! But it’s still so fun to read and the characterization is spot on!

and the bunny goes 𝒽𝑜𝓅, 𝒽𝑜𝓅, 𝒽𝑜𝓅 by Meadow_Wanderer

Contrary to expectation, he rarely measures time by the number of years he's lived without his father. Instead, he appraises in happenings. Every birthday, school graduation, and precious firsts; every milestone passing as the memory of his father becomes fainter and fainter until finally he reaches the last occasion where the end and the beginning meet, the son and the sire a breath's width apart, like reaching to touch one's reflection in the mirror. The very same one he'll face in just shy of a few hours.

Weird and fun!

you are not alone (i watch over you) by redwithlove

“Bradley, do you remember the time when you were eight and you wouldn't let me near your Pops for two days?” “What, really? Why?” “Yeah, for two whole days, can you believe it? And it all started over a can of Pringles.” Or—Bradley with Ice and Maverick over the years.

Mav and Ice and Bradley being family:) My favorite genre of topgun fics:))

PHEW! That's all the fics I've got! Thanks for reading until the end! Don't forget to leave a comment on these fics if you enjoyed them!

Here's my google doc for all four categories! >> God Tier Top Gun Fanfictions: A Masterlist

#as always if you know these authors' tumblrs feel free to tag them!#and tell me if i tagged the wrong person or put the wrong link:')#this was a fun journey and i was reminded of how much fun i had reading all of these!#i hope y'all enjoyed my yapping:)#icemav #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #iceman x maverick #top gun 1986 #top gun maverick #top gun #hangster #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #fanfic rec #top gun fic recs #fanfiction recommendation

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naturallyteal · 2 months ago

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Good Omens fic recommendation my “best of September”:

Find the Light by @klikandtuna

“Find the light

But the light finds you

The shadows slide off, no dusk, no dew

Can mar the glory of what you’ve become

Preserved in amber, born anew

From pondwater

Pondwater”

(quote from the song lyrics in this fanfic)

(My fanart for this fanfic based on the painting “Bachschleuse” by Johann Wilhelm Schirmer, 1827-28, Kunstpalast Düsseldorf, Germany. It’s very symbolic. 😎)

In the ever flooding ocean of stories, there are some that stand out, that I think about days or weeks later, that touch me more than others. Once a month, I make a post about one of those:

This story takes the reader on a journey of hurt and comfort, trauma and healing, fear and courage. Instead of the summary, I’d like to quote the beginning, that told me right from the start that this was going to make a rewarding read:

He stood at the window, full in the afternoon sunshine that angled in between the curtains—velvet, once the color of a fine Zinfandel but now somewhat faded on the outer side, with a few trailing threads at the hem that brushed over the floorboards. Every year, Michael would suggest replacing them; every year, he would pretend to consider it. But he loved those worn old curtains. He reached out as he stood there, closing a fold of the fabric between two fingers to feel the warmth that the sun had infused there, the soft prickle as the tiny strands shifted.

The intercom chimed. A pleasant sound—a low, musical chirp. (They had cycled through seven different machines before finding one whose alert had pleased him.)

“Sir, Adam Young to see you.”

In 15 chapters and ~ 97 k words, this e-rated Human AU with teacher Aziraphale and rock star Crowley is a story that captured me, that made me think, that is still with me weeks later. It’s so well written that it, again, makes me regret a lot of those “real books” by “professional authors” I bought and read in the years before I found the AO3, a lot of which did not come up to this high quality. There’s music in here, a poetic song, metaphors that really spoke to me, and flashbacks that were expertly handled and used to tell the story the best way possible. There’s also fanart! Needless to say, the characters are relatable and loveable.

One word regarding the e-rating, as this is something many people either love or hate: the scenes regarding sex in this are rather rare, can not be called smut at all, are very tasteful, some are more described symbolically than explicitly, and still manage to be highly erotic.

👍

GO read!

Tagging List under the cut

Let me know if you want on it for future posts of mine!

Let me know if you want off the list:

@echogracebeloved @oxribs @copperplatebeech @thescholarlystrumpet @simonezitrone79

@siriosa @captainblou @alphacentaurinebula @ineffablefool @ashfae

@fellshish @vidavalor @thindarkdukewrites @crowleys-bright-red-hair-streak @kimberleyjean

@dragonfire42 @lickthecowhappy @ineffablenlghtingales @turquoisedata @di-42

@dierama-mojo

#good omens #fic recommendation #good omens poetry #good omens fanfiction #go read!#good omens fanart #good omens fanfic rec #good omens fic recs

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heavenlycloud · 2 years ago

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the veil~ smau

pairing: huh yunjin x fem! reader, aespa 5th member fem! reader x huh yunjin

status: ongoing... ➸ 04/15/2022 // taglist OPEN

synopsis: making friends— that’s all you downloaded this new app for, that’s all the new app is supposed to be for. the original plan goes awry when you meet the girl that seems to be your perfect match.

genre: fluff, angst, crack, social media au, romance, comedy, strangers to lovers, idol au

starring: le sserafim, aespa, minji and hanni (new jeans), itzy, nana (woo-ah!), sieun (stayc), jurin (xg), shotaro (nct), heejin (loona), dosie (purple kiss), yeri (red velvet), felix (skz), gaeul (ive), somi, keeho (p1harmony), lily and haewon (nmixx), remi (cherry bullet), txt, lee chaeyoung (fromis_9), beomhan (fm entertainment), more

warnings: swearing, dirty jokes, lightly implied nsfw

fic notes: this is a work of fiction i made for fun just like my other works. i'm not assuming the sexualities, personalities, platonic/romantic relationships between any and all idols used in this fic. idols born after 2003 will not be frequently written in or directly involved with any romantic relationship/implied nsfw at any time.

author notes: this is my first smau!!! i've been wanting to make one for years and i finally found the motivation and confidence to do it. right now i haven't figured out an update schedule since i'm still in school, but i'll work on finding one if people actually want one. some chapters may be very text heavy opposed to tweets and messages just to contribute to the plot.

‎♡‧₊˚˘͈ᵕ˘͈‎ 彡♡ ༘*.ﾟ .·:¨༺ ʚ♡ɞ༻¨*:·.﹢࿐ ☆

┊┊┊┊°⋆ ꒰♡꒱⋆°

┊┊┊୨♡୧ ₊˚๑ * ⋆

┊ ┊˚εїз⋆ ༄

┊:·.♡☆°

before you begin please read the profiles, how it works, and introduction

profiles: the androids | the angels

how it works: the veil app

0. introduction: i got a match

i. one: hell froze over

ii. two: oh that bitch GAY

iii. three: the face of a cold blooded killer

iv. four: you think im cute? part ii. text + social media posts

v. five: hey bby gorl i want u

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alessiamalfoyzabini · 7 months ago

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Dark Moon | Chapter Fourteen

Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 4,5k

Warnings | +18, yandere themes, Stockholm syndrome, fluff, smut, slight panic attack at first, body worship, pussy worship, pussy eating, face riding, fingering, nipples licking, couch fucking, vaginal sex, intense orgasms and devastating emotions, soft yandere Jimin, mentions of ruined childhood

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | She just wanted to escape her past, take charge of her life and break out of her steel cage, praying in God for a miracle that could change her life for good.

And her prayers were heard, but it was not the Divine that answered her.

That was certainly the devil in the guise of an angel, she thought as those corrupted and empty eyes searched her soul with extreme voracity.

He turned a sweet, false smile on her, before pushing her into the abyss.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! 🥰❤️

Hope you are happy with this update! This one is a bit longer than the others! Always let me know your thoughts, you make me very happy ❤️

PS: Forgive me for the mistakes, it was not an easy week for me and I did not have much time 😭❤️

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie, @seokjins-luigi, @pjmsneverland, @jimincrystal, @ajkwww, @ungodlyjoon , @hecateslittlewitchling , @namjoonsbuspass , @darkuni63 , @xicanacorpse , @jiminismine4ever , @btssimpjaneth , @antisocial-mochi267 , @reallygenerouskoala , @velvet-stardust2002 , @angelicsmilesworld

Taglist is open!

Chapter List - Previous - Next

"I finally found you," huffed Seokjin in front of Choi Minhoo, the man had been tied to a wooden chair, only Minho, Seokjin, Jungkook and Namjoon were present in that warehouse. The latter were just waiting for Jin's order to act; they were vibrating with fury.

"Be careful, Jin! My family members won't be happy about this!" he ranted with foam at his mouth, as frightened and rabid as a rat in a trap, Jungkook growled at those words, put his hand to his gun that he faithfully kept in his pocket, but a glance from Seokjin froze him in place.

"Uh, that's scary," put on a fake pout Jin with those beautiful rosy lips of his, "Now I'm going to shit my pants, look."

"Take the piss out of me, they're going to destroy you anyway," he growled, but that only made the man in charge of the Bangtans smile more broadly.

"That slut of a cousin of yours hurt Jimin when he was just a little boy, the result was that her body was dismembered by my dogs, and she was still alive while they ate her, you kidnapped and raped his woman, which amounts to another member of my family now," he began as he walked toward Minho, before grabbing the collar of his torn jacket, "I'm tired of having to pick up the pieces of what you and your damn family break, I will kill you all, child or adult, I will eradicate you from this world as the haughty and arrogant scum that you fucking are," he hissed, tightening his grip so tightly that the tendons in his wrists trembled before he pulled away.

Inhaling before recomposing himself, Namjoon and Jungkook looked at each other with a smirk-that was Jin.

"Jin! Jin! Kim Seokjin, stop!" shouted Minho after him as the man walked away, giving way to his bodyguards, "You said you were interested in politics, right! I can introduce you to the prime minister!" he finally shouted desperately, but Seokjin ignored him expressionlessly.

Neither he nor Jimin would have soiled themselves for such a being. He had deliberately decided not to tell Jimin about Minho's capture, knowing him he would have wanted to kill him with his own hands, but he wanted him to spend more time with Y/N.

He knew that sooner or later Jimin would fall into the arms of a woman he would love with sincere passion, that was what was needed for a troubled soul like his.

They needed to be done with the Choi family forever, all of them.

For days there had been a tense air in the house, Jimin was not there-according to him he had vital research to do-and in his place Taehyung had arrived to keep her company. He did not even use the guest room, preferring the living room sofa to Y/N's dismay.

The living room was her favorite place to read and eat, with Taehyung having conquered that piece of the apartment by now she could always be found hanging around it and disappearing.

Taehyung on his part tiptoed around when she was present, feeling uncomfortable.

He had endangered her with his indifference, plus he had also seen her in an extremely delicate moment, where she was weak and naked in every way.

He always peered at the girl with a pout, undecided how to start a possible conversation, she was not helping him at all in this, she was always so quiet and on her own....

With a snort he saw her head for the kitchen for a snack. He had to do it now.

"Y/N" when he reached her the woman gasped slightly, she had not expected him to come and talk to her, they had ignored each other so peacefully until now, inside she regretted leaving her room.

"Yes?" she huffed slightly, turning away.

At first glance Taehyung looked like a man of integrity, serious and good at his job, but at that moment he was showing his face full of emotion. He seemed nervous about something.

"I ... would like to apologize to you," he said with a note of embarrassment, the girl's eyes widened.

"To me?"

"Yes, it was my fault that they managed to catch you that day. It was my responsibility to control and protect you, I broke my word and for that I apologize" Taehyung bowed respectfully, Y/N was simply stunned.

They had never treated her with that much respect, why now?

Something told her that Jimin's hand was present.

"It's not totally your fault, I attacked your friend and you were reasonably pissed off, I apologize for making you worry about Jimin's condition.... I lost my mind in that instant, I did the only thing I thought was right so I wouldn't suffer anymore," she explained with regret.

"You did what anyone would have done," Taehyung replied, "My anger aside, Jimin was not behaving well with you and you did what you thought was right, that doesn't mean I would allow you to do it again, but I can still understand and yes, it remains my responsibility what happened to you, there won't be a next time."

Y/N nodded a little embarrassed, the determined expression in those languidly slitted eyes put her slightly in awe.

"Um... would you like some strawberry tea? I've made too much for myself," she said turning slightly toward the full teapot, with a small smile Taehyung agreed.

"I love strawberries."

Jimin came home with such a serious look on his face that it made Y/N guess that it was better to turn away from him.

Taehyung had left ten minutes earlier and the idea of being alone with a Jimin in that state unnerved her, she did not want to think that the boy would attack her again for his frustrations, so it was best not to pull the cat's tail too much.

The boy in question noticed the girl's strange attitude, she was moving in a hurry to wash her dishes, she wanted to run to her room and this would have been clear even to the least empathetic person in the world.

"Y/N" the sound of his voice uttering her name so quietly made her freeze suddenly, the water continued to flow in the sink without any more purpose and she did not move to stop it, "Can you come here please?"

She closed her eyes with a soft, inaudible sigh, counted to three before turning away with a slight smile.

She left everything in the sink and turned off the water, then walked over to him who sat at the table staring at her with predatory, glittering eyes, one rings-decorated hand tapped on his thick, muscular thigh, the elastic fabric of his pants wrapped around it beautifully and she found herself swallowing, "Sit here."

She did as she was told and the boy's arms soon wrapped around her at hip level, Jimin buried his head between her neck and shoulder, inhaling her sweet scent.

Y/N felt herself flaring up, the sensation of Jimin's warm breath warmly caressing her made her heart, already swollen with unexpressed emotions, throb.

"Jimin?"

"I've missed you," he repeated the words with which he had returned her the day he found her, Y/N instantly relaxed noticing that Jimin did not mean to hurt her in any way.

"I missed you too," she returned the hug, sinking her face into the soft locks of the man who smiled broadly in response.

"It's been especially stressful to handle things today."

"Are you looking for Minho?"

She asked quietly, not giving away how much even mentioning his name destabilized her, but Jimin knew her well by now; in fact, he sent her a reproachful look.

"Don't ask things you don't want to know, baby," he softly stroked one cheek still marked by a light bruise.

"I just wish you would confide in me, you keep everything inside and then you get sick."

"I won't be sick if you're with me," he replied seriously, peering longingly at her, his eyes lowered to her sugary lips and he closed his eyes, trying to hold himself back.

"Jimin...."

"Y/N." he stopped her by pronouncing her name firmly, "I want to make love to you."

A delicious twinge of pleasure made her intimacy throb, the arms she held tightly around the boy's neck trembled, "Jimin, I don't know if..." she felt so confused.

Fuck, she wanted him. She wanted him with all her heart, but she didn't want to be reminded of Minho, or his henchman hitting her repeatedly as she and Jimin lost themselves in their moment.

"Let's try it," she narrowed her eyes at the man's pleading tone, it was a new side of Jimin she never thought she would see, perhaps he had never begged any woman to fuck, the idea that she was the first one he begged even for a kiss appealed to her, "If anything happens I will stop immediately."

After that reassurance she found herself nodding with soft legs, Jimin kissed her with transport, savoring those sweet lips that tasted of tea and strawberries, fuck, it could become his new favorite taste.

Y/N reciprocated more calmly, trying to keep up with the man's voraciousness that did not just stop at her lips, but sank into her mouth languidly seeking the woman's tongue, gently intertwining in a perfect dance for them.

In a way she found it touching how tender Jimin was in squeezing her hips without hurting her, she had never experienced such intimacy with a man before, she liked it, and she did not want it all to end and go back to the dry old normal.

When they parted a few tears escaped from the young woman's eyes, Jimin stepped back slightly wiping the path they traced along her tender cheeks.

"Should we stop?" he asked sympathetically, but Y/N denied it immediately.

"No, it's just... I liked it, I've never done it like that," she said.

"Like that?"

"So intimate, with someone who loves me" she pulled up with her nose crinkling her eyes.

Jimin's blood froze in his veins, not that he had been a saint, but those words punctuated how much the childhood of the girl he was holding in his arms had sucked.

He kissed her again, feeling in his mouth the salty, lukewarm taste of her small tears that broke his heart, yes, Park Jimin now felt sorry for a past that did not belong to him, but love did that and more, it changed people and Jimin fit perfectly into that category.

He loved her and would get anything that made her sad out of the way, he slid into the neckline of her blouse, kissing every available flap of skin before he himself pulled off every single button that separated him from that body that drove him crazy. From the first time he had seen her, he knew he would desire her every hour of every day, sometimes it hurt so much it was unbearable.

When he freed her from that restraint he found himself face to face with the young woman's bare breasts, he inhaled wordlessly at the sight, god how much he had missed this, even as Minho's now superficial footprints on that divine temple made him growl.

Then he frowned, "Were you bra-less the whole time with Taehyung around?"

Y/N shrugged her shoulders, "It hurt..." she mumbled embarrassedly, referring to the bruises clearly, the bra pressed painfully against them.

Jimin inhaled softly, again bridging the distance between the two of them with yet another kiss of the evening, lulling her gently with his breath, his hand slipped over a rosy little button, teasing its tip, which rose turgidly under Jimin's expert touch, which descended to gently lick the areola before gently biting the tip of the sensitive nipple.

Y/N in response pushed her chest into Jimin's mouth, sighing in sweet waves of desire.

The man pulled away only long enough to effortlessly pick her up and carry her to the sofa in the living room, Y/N held back a surprised sob, and she watched the man's playful smile.

"Will we do it here?" she asked curiously, Jimin chuckled.

"We'll do it everywhere, sweetheart," he sighed, attaching himself to the girl's neck with his mouth, sucking and kissing her soft neck to leave his personal mark; he wanted to remove Minho's presence everywhere from her, "And I'll make you feel sensations you never had a chance to experience."

"Mh..." she squeezed her eyes shut under the weight of Jimin descending lower and lower, marking a glowing trail of wet kisses and bites all along her belly, with his hand he passed the barrier of her panties and barely grazing her pubis he sank his hand into her intimacy, gathering between his fingers a large amount of transparent essence that had already left her throbbing slit. It was the first time he had felt her so soaked for him; it felt like a dream.

"Fuck," he cursed excitedly, quickly slipping off his pants with his free hand, giving his big, hard cock some relief.

He went back to sucking one of her turgid nipples as his fingers began to play between her folds, Y/N moved her hips willingly against his hand, in her mind the only thing present was the idea of Jimin taking her on that couch.

"How do you feel?" he asked blowing hot air on one nipple, Y/N's clit twitched seeking attention.

"It feels good... so good," she whimpered, her thighs trembling, "And I want to feel you inside me, Jimin."

The latter smiled, amazed at the woman's stance, before a more wicked grin furrowed his cheeks.

He leaned closer to the girl's ear before murmuring, "And I'm going to come inside you with my cock and my fingers, soon my cock will be the only thing you'll feel between now and tomorrow, baby doll," he ignored the girl's faster breathing and continued licking her earlobe between his lips, "But first I want you to feel what my tongue can do, I'm going to lick your pussy so well that you'll cry for it," he took off his shirt as well, showing off his well-delineated and strong abs, a deep V went down to below the layer of his boxers that he hastened to carelessly throw on the floor, the sight of his swollen cock already moist with precum made her swallow without any more saliva.

She simply spread her legs for Jimin, but the position reminded her of the one they had forced her into and she stiffened.

"Jimin..." she closed her legs again shaking her head, Jimin immediately reached for her.

"Hey, hey...what's going on, baby?"

"I can't do it like this, I'm sorry" she still couldn't get over her trauma, she was about to have a panic attack and didn't want to disappoint Jimin, but the boy hugged her again.

"There are many ways to do it," he chuckled lightly trying to make her calm down, "Don't feel wrong, you're not."

"R-Really?" she looked at him curiously, wanting to have sex with him, but other than missionary and doggy style she had not tried anything else, ever.

The man nodded, "Give me some space, love."

She did as she was told and saw Jimin lie down in her place, she stood looking at him confused.

"What should I do now?" she asked innocently, Jimin gave her a smug look.

"Sit on my face."

The woman widened her eyes, what was she to do?

"I ... are you serious?"

"Trust me, we'll both like it," he replied biting his full lips, making Y/N's legs tighten.

She sighed slightly and listened to the boy, with some difficulty due to her inexperience she found herself with Jimin's face at the height of her soggy core, she found it incredibly awkward, but that feeling of imprisonment was gone.

From his side Jimin gazed in ecstasy at her wet intimacy, licking his lips he opened her folds with a gentle thrust of his fingers, before leaving a long, slow streak of saliva with his tongue, until he stopped at her swollen and needy clitoris, Y/N widened her eyes and collapsed onto the man who did not complain.

With her nose pressed against the young woman's pubis, she sucked conspicuously on that sweet trembling pearl, Y/N cried out in shock at those strange sensations she had never experienced before, Jimin's soft tongue enveloped her softly, but the pleasure was intense, it was all so terribly beautiful and hard at the same time that she began to shake her hips trying to escape from the continuous strokes of Jimin's fast tongue. The boy seemed to love eating her.

"Fuck, oh... oh! Jimin!" she shrieked breathlessly, the man held her thighs tightly preventing her from escaping, sinking his tongue into her hot and wet entrance, Jimin's eyes rolled back at that sweet taste, he could drink Y/N's essence all his life, she would never be enough for him, his cock trembled releasing thick whitish liquid, he could have easily come that way, his balls throbbing painfully with every moan or scream the girl let out without any more reins.

"Please, please stop!" she cried as she felt something coming, something powerful and devastating.

With the tip of his tongue Jimin again played with the shiny, quivering clitoris, finishing with a light bite that made the young woman stiffen, locking her in the grip of a powerful and strong orgasm, breathtaking in places, her first fucking orgasm.

She began to tremble and weep, no longer even able to bear the gentle caresses of the man adoringly wiping away all her pleasure that had soiled the inside of her thighs down to Jimin's chin.

She rolled to the side clutching her legs and wincing again, Jimin lying on his side wrapped his arms around her, kissing her neck and shoulders, gently brushed one thigh and invited her to raise one leg, "That's it, baby girl... let me feel how good I did," he chuckled as he aligned himself with her entrance, lightly pushed the massive tip of his cock already lubricated with his own cum against her ultra-sensitive slit, Y/N gasped slightly with blurred vision, but let him.

Jimin pushed himself into the sublime depths of her pussy with a delighted sigh, tried to be gentle and delicate, but her almost impossible to groove intimacy soon made him lose his mind, the girl's previous orgasm had made her walls more perceptive and consequently also tighter, each thrust was an immense rush of pleasure and stun for the boy, who pounded hard until his swollen balls popped against the girl's sweaty skin, who opened her mouth wide, feeling a stunning mix of enjoyment with a hint of pain that made her lose her mind, pressed her mouth against the back of the couch to keep from screaming, Jimin gasped against her ear.

It was different from all the other times, she was experiencing pleasure, those thrusts were delicious, not painful, Y/N was simply happy.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! You hold me so tight, my love," he sang lost in his daze, his swollen shaft began to quiver and tremble over and over again, he was coming, "Aaahh... Oh, my-! Fuck, Y/N!" he growled her name like a prayer, quickly sank his cock deeper, touching her cervix again and again, causing the woman to tremble wordlessly as she reached for the man's hand to clasp it between hers.

"I'm coming!" he exclaimed without now a breath, the girl nodded.

"Me too, oh God, me too," she replied without any more concern for her moans, Jimin smiled proudly and taking the young woman's chin in his hands he forced her to look at him.

"Open your mouth" he grunted with dark eyes, Y/N obeyed already knowing what was about to happen and accepting it with pleasure, Jimin spit into her oral cavity and before giving her time to swallow he kissed her, mixing their flavors and tongues, that was enough to make the young man's cock throb, whose pleasure exploded in violent spurts of white liquid in the girl's lap, over and over again he pumped himself into her, who came in an orgasm more intense than the previous one, she could not even find the strength to scream, she just stood there taking the man's seed in spasms.

Jimin waited for her to calm down before leaving her with his now soft and satisfied cock, he lay down beside her more comfortably and kissed her many times, wiping her face of tears with his lips and and gifting her affectionate gestures that even he did not know he was capable of.

He was fucking in love with her.

"I have a surprise for you," he murmured in her ear.

Y/N turned to him with a joyful smile, it had been two weeks since that intense and wonderful evening, Jimin had woken her up the next morning with a series of sweet kisses and breakfast in bed, he was so different from the man who had kidnapped her and that helped her fall in love with the boy even more.

"Really?" she asked trying not to appear too excited, Jimin nodded softly.

"Close your eyes," he said, but the girl looked at him suspiciously.

"Is this perhaps another one of your wild sessions that see your mouth eating me, Park Jimin?" she said with a raised eyebrow, Jimin at first had spent so much time telling her that he would never give her pleasure with his mouth, she still could not believe how much the boy liked to use his tongue to fuck her over and over again, he seemed almost obsessed. She obviously did not complain.

Jimin grinned slyly, "That one later, love," he chuckled, confirming the girl's thoughts, but Y/N stopped at that affectionate nickname, he always called her "love".

She smiled with a warmed heart once again and closed her eyes, when Jimin was satisfied he moved on to the next step.

"Now open your hands."

Y/N puffed slightly, but listened to him once more, something very light and rectangular was placed on her palms.

"Open your eyes."

When she opened her eyes again, she found herself in front of an emerald-colored letter. It was beautiful, little gold leaves were drawn around the edge, intertwining, but still she did not understand what the boy was getting at.

"You wrote me a letter?" she laughed softly, but Jimin shook his head.

"Open it..." he said simply, and there Y/N could see all his nervousness.

She looked at it again, opening it slowly and pulling out a parchment-colored wrapper, she unwrapped it too and her breath caught.

She brought a hand to her mouth and sobs immediately escaped her control, Jimin held her by the shoulders to prevent her from falling.

In her hands were two photographs, the first depicted her sister smiling in the arms of a man with western features, it had been taken at a park well lit by green trees and sunlight, she looked so happy and healthy.

In the second she always had a big smile on her face, but in her arms she held a small bundle that she looked at with eyes full of love.

"She's alive," she sobbed against the chest of Jimin, who nodded relieved to have seen no negative reaction.

"Yes, she ... was bought by a wealthy american, he wanted to give her to his son as a birthday present, but he didn't expect that his son would fall in love with her and decide to marry her, she is fine and lacks absolutely nothing, Y/N."

Y/N lifted his flushed gaze into that of the boy, "Thank you, Jimin.... I know you shouldn't have investigated a client, but you did and I thank you," she hugged him as if he was her only pillar of support, which he really was.

But the boy did not look happy, shortly afterwards he sighed.

"There is also another thing in truth."

Y/N broke away slightly.

"I know everything, I know why you ran away from your family, I know why you changed your name, everything."

The woman froze.

She began to shake her head, trying to pull away, but Jimin held her back, "How did you… no, why?" she was lost, why would Jimin do such a thing? She wanted to forget her past!

"How long have you known?"

"Since you disappeared, the last words you said to me… I had to understand, Y/N."

"No! You shouldn't have done-"

"Your uncle met the end he deserved to meet," he said suddenly.

The implication was there, heavy in both their minds.

They looked at each other a few moments, then Jimin hugged her out of the blue.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," he began to repeat like a mantra with his lips pressed to her temple, "He won't hurt you anymore, baby," he whispered, Y/N snuggled softly against him.

"Never again?" she made in a tiny little voice, as if the child self was asking for reassurance from the man who had become the center of her world.

"Y/N, I haven't changed," he said, the steel in his eyes confirmed to the girl what she had suspected. Jimin had not changed, he loved her and treated her well, but the killer behind those half-moon eyes that smiled at her was always there, ready to snap at Kim Seokjin's every command, and to tell the truth that realization calmed her, "I made him pay for every single disgusting thing he did to you and I made sure he will never do anything like that to anyone else ever again," he concluded, returning his mind to the moment of capture.

It had not been easy to track him down, it had turned out that he was a loan shark under the command of another Korean Mafia family, that was what got him a lot of money unlike his brother and sister-in-law.

"He played us, he said he was going to help our family," she trembled with her eyes glazed over and grainy, looking at Jimin with sadness and sorrow, "Instead it was just an excuse to..." a gasp of vomit blocked the words in her throat, Jimin brushed a light kiss against her forehead.

"That bastard got the punishment he deserved, now you're with me, that's what's important, okay?" Y/N nodded quickly, seeking comfort in his arms. Little Y/N cried bitterly in the mind of the now adult girl, seeing her mother giving in under her father's pressure, the man feared losing her brother's favor and ending up on the street.

"Do you really love me?"

"More than my own life," Jimin replied immediately, Y/N licked her lips.

"Good, because I love you too, Jimin," she whispered dimly, but the boy heard her anyway, smiling relieved he still cradled her with his chin resting on her head.

"I'll take care of you, I won't let you lack anything," he promised, Y/N closed her eyes letting him carry her to bed like a cute little doll.

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bookwyrminspiration · 1 year ago

Text

Transcript of The Trade, the Marella KOTLC short story (Including the author introduction)

Note: OG pictures taken by Kenna!, provided by @fintan-pyren. Some words are obscured and the transcript may contain errors. Neverless, I hope this is useful to anyone who may need/want it :)

Hello, wonderful Keeper readers! Some of you might already know that I love to sneak a little something extra into the paperback versions of my books whenever I can (since I don't think hardcover readers should get to be the only ones who sometimes find fun bonuses). For those who didn't know that: surprise! :)

I knew I wanted to include a story from Marella's POV this time. Not only is she on the cover (looking fierce and fabulous!) and a fan-favorite character, but she also had some key scenes in Stellarlune that we only got to "hear" about. The Keeper books are limited to Sophie's POV, so I can only include moments where Sophie is present--and since Sophie didn't go with Marella to her meetings with Fintan, we only learn what Marella tells Sophie later. But what if there was something Marella didn't share?

Over the next few pages, you can watch one of Marella's conversations with Fintan play out in real time and hear all Marella's thoughts and reactions to what's happening. I've called this story "The Trade"--and I've worked in lots of fun little extra details (some of which might even turn out to be important later...*wink*).

For those wondering, this story is based a [sic] scene in chapter 31 of Stellarlune--and if you haven't read Stellarlune yet: SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT! Reading this first will probably be confusing and will also give away a few tidbits too early. You'll be much happier if you start by reading Stellarlune and then come back here for all the Marella fun once you're done!

Happy reading! [shannon's signature]

"Ugh, I hate this place," Marella muttered, shaking the freshly fallen snowflakes out of her gilded blond hair much harder than necessary and yanking her thick velvet cape tighter around her narrow shoulders.

She said the same thing every time she had to trudge through the knee-high snowdrifts and found herself staring at the icicle-crusted entrance to the now familiar cave.

Didn't matter how many times she'd gone there--or how important her visits were. She was never not going to dread making the long, slippery trek down to Fintan's frozen cell.

The cave looked like some sort of open-mouthed snow beast waiting to devour everything in its path--which was probably intentional, since the prison was designed to be as miserable as possible.

Especially for someone like her.

The goblin guards even gave her pitying stares as they moved aside to reveal the endless icy path that wound down and down--and down a whole lot more--to a place where the tiniest glimmer of heat had long since been swallowed up by the suffocating cold.

No amount of clothing could keep Marella warm in the heart of the prison She'd actually tried wearing so many layers that she'd looked like an overstuffed gulon--and she still couldn't stop shivering. And the whole "body temperature regulation" thing wasn't exactly possible when she had to use so much concentration to make sense of Fintan's ranting.

it wasn't fair.

Everyone else got to train their special abilities in fancy rooms at Foxfire, with Mentors who weren't creepy, unstable murderers.

But they weren't Pyrokinetics.

Marella was lucky the Council was letting her use her ability at all.

They could just as easily label her Talentless, kick her out of their snobby academy, and ban her from ever sparking another flame.

Or they could decide she was too dangerous and lock her away.

in fact, Marella wouldn't have been surprised at all if the Council was already building an icy cage just for her--but the thought still made her shiver and wish she could've manifested as...

Nope.

She stopped herself from finishing that sentence.

If life had taught her anything, it was that there's no point wanting things that were never going to happen.

Instead, she focused on the thin beams of sunlight streaking through a gap in the gloomy gray clouds. The light was far from warm, but if she really concentrated, she could feel a hint of lingering heat tangled among the brightness.

She called the warmth closer and soaked it in--let it pool under her skin, pounding with her pulse, swelling with every heartbeat. Growing hotter and hotter and hotter until...

Snap!

A flick of her fingers sent a small tangle of flames sparking to life above her left palm.

"Feel better?" Linh asked as Marella let out a long, slow sigh.

Marella nodded--though she definitely could've done without the whispered that were now hissing around her head.

The flames had a soft, crackly voice. And they always made the same plea.

Feed me.

Fire craved fuel--constantly wanting more, more, more--and it would've been so easy for Marella to let the fire swell bigger and bigger and bigger.

But that was the kind of thing that would lead to a lifetime of shivering in an underground ice cube, so she forced her gaze to shift to Linh, who stood in a small, snowless circle surrounded by a halo of hovering snowflakes---none daring to touch her long silver-tipped hair or shimmery purple cape.

Marella knew how hard Linh had fought to achieve that level of control, and how tentative Linh's hold over her ability still was. But the fact Linh could stand in a sea of frozen water and do nothing except keep the falling snow from settling on her flushed pink cheeks was very...

Annoying.

Then again, everyone annoyed Marella a little.

Her dad used to call her "fiery" long before he realized how accurate that description truly was.

But it wasn't Marella's fault!

People tended to be annoying.

Especially a Hydrokinetic who was currently looking all peaceful and pretty and perfect while making snowflakes flutter and spin in intricate patterns.

That didn't mean Marella wasn't also grateful that Linh was willing to tag along to her Pyrokinetic lessons. it was nice to see a friendly face after hours of Fintan's rambling. Plus, it seemed like a good idea to have someone with water powers around while she practiced setting things on fire.

They were even finding some pretty cool ways to work together. Fire and water might be opposites--but that didn't mean they couldn't be combined. Marella had actually figured out a way to ignite Linh's rain, and she couldn't wait to use that little trick on the Neverseen--assuming those black-cloaked losers ever showed up again.

For a fearsome, unstoppable rebellion, they sure spend a lot of time hiding.

"Are you going to start by asking him about the cache or do the lesson first?" Linh asked, reminding Marella why they were there.

Marella shrugged. "Depends on Fintan's mood."

Sometimes he was already babbling about some fancy new fire trick when she arrived, as if he'd started the lesson without bothering to wait for her. Other times she couldn't get anywhere with him until she'd let him go on and on and on about how foolish the Council was, or how badly he'd been wronged, or how much he missed the feel of a flickering flame--and she didn't necessarily blame him for the last one.

Part of her wanted to hold on to her fireball forever.

Make it her smoky little pet.

Instead, she curled her fingers into a fist and snuffed it out--but she didn't let all the heat dissipate. She called a single tingling glint deeper, letting it sear through her veins and settle into her heart.

She knew it was a risky move, even with all the defenses she wrapped around it. But she couldn't bear the cold emptiness of Fintan's prison without a least a tiny fleck of warmth tucked away.

A secret spark whispering, I'm here. You're not alone.

"Okay," she said, weaving a few strands of her hair together to clam her twitchy fingers. She'd picked up the nervous habit years ago--after her mom's accident--and the tiny braids were kind of her trademark now. "i guess I should stop stalling and head down to deal with Sir Creepysparks, huh?"

Linh smiled. "Probably. Unless you want to rehearse what you're going to say."

"Nah. I'm just going to offer him an ugly flower--that doesn't exactly need a big speech. Oh, but that reminds me..."

She reached into her cape pocket and pulled out the spiky dark blue Noxflare--which looked more like a dying weed than a super-rare flower--and held it up to the guards. "Mr. Forkle already checked this before I brought it here, to make sure it's safe for me to offer to Fintan. but I figured you'd want to check it too."

"We do," they agreed in unison as one of the biggest, deadliest-looking guards took the Noxflare from Marella and brought it over to the other goblins.

A lot of mumbling about potential kindling and fire hazards followed.

Eventually, the guards decided to quick-freeze the Noxflare into a block of ice in case there was any heat stored inside.

"Whoa," Marella said when the scary guard returned with the flower-filled ice cube--which had turned out as big as her head. "How heavy is that thing?"

The guard studied Marella's skinny arms. "I can carry it for you if you'd like."

"That's probably be smart." Marella was pretty sure she'd drop it, or her fingers would freeze off during the long walk--and using telekinesis would drain her mental energy. "But can you stay out of sight? I was planning to tell Fintan he can only see his weird flower thing if he gives me access to his memories, and that's kinda ruined if there's a giant goblin holding it right next to me.

Not that it made the plan any less pointless.

Fintan was obviously going to turn her down.

He's already made it super clear that the only trade he was interested in was for his freedom--which was never going to happen.

Marella doubted a dying flower frozen in ice was suddenly going to make him be like, You know what? Who needs out of this horrible prison when I can have that!

But she was out of other ideas.

And Sophie wanted her to try the Noxflare thing, so...

Whatever.

Marella didn't care about Sophie's current power trip the way Stina did.

As long as she didn't have to be the one coming up with all the plans--or almost dying all the time--Marella was fine following orders. Especially if she got to say I told you so when they turned out to be a huge waste of time.

"Sure you don't want me to come with you?" Linh asked as Marella pulled thick gloves onto her hands. "Fintan likes me."

Marella wasn't sure if "like" was the right word, since Fintan didn't seem to like anybody. But he'd definitely been impressed with Linh.

He'd demanded to speak with "the Hydrokinetic" after Marella mentioned she practiced her pyrokinesis with Linh, so Marella had convinced the goblin guards to let Linh down into the prison. And when Fintan asked for a demonstration of Linh's ability to ensure she wouldn't "hinder his training," Linh had stirred up all the ice shards on his floor and made them rain around him like he was trapped inside a snow globe--which actually made him applaud.

Apparently, most Hydrokinetics struggled to manipulate water in its solid form, and were limited to liquid water or water vapor.

But not Linh.

Of course.

Marella was pretty sure that Linh was more powerful than any of her other friends.

"Well, if you need me, you know where to find me," Linh said as Marella forced her feet to carry her into the cave. "I'll just be here, making another snow menagerie." She flicker her wrist and wove the hovering snowflakes into a soaring alenon.

"Ugh, at least make some ugly creatures this time," Marella called over her shoulder. "I want to see a row of snow ghouls when I get back here. Or a giant Princess Purryfins!"

Linh gasped. "Princess Purryfins is not ugly! I'm going to tell her you said that!"

Marella laughed. "I'm sure you will."

She would've teased Linh more about her ridiculous obsession with her pet murcat, but the frigid air from the prison hit Marella hard, and she had to lock her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

As least she didn't have to make the journey by herself this time.

Marella could hear the scary goblin guard keeping pace several steps behind her as her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim blue light cast by a series of glowing spheres dangling from the ceiling. The downward slope grew steeper with each winding curve, and Marella was always tempted to try sliding down the icy floor instead of walking--but she'd probably end up crashing into one of the weird ice thrones outside Fintan's cell. And she knew better than anyone that injuries couldn't always be healed.

Plus, the trudge gave her a chance to add extra defenses to the heat she'd tucked away in her chest.

She often wondered if Fintan had hidden a few sparks of his own when he was arrested. After all, he had to know the Council would put him on ice for the rest of eternity. Wouldn't he try to preserve what little heat he could?

But Marella had stretched out her senses a zillion different ways and never felt the slightest tingle of warmth when she was around him. So either there was nothing to find or Fintan was that good.

She had a horrible feeling it was the latter, and he was waiting for just the right moment to reveal his grand plan--but that wasn't the kind of thing she should be thinking about before having to face him.

Still, she spent the next few turn trying to figure out what she'd do if she were right.

Her feet turned numb while she plotted, and her bones were officially aching by the time the path widened-- the only warning that they were getting close to Fintan's cell.

A few curves later, his cage came into view: a stark, icy bubble in the center of a circular cavern.

The round wall was reflective on the inside, so even though Marella could see Fintan pacing along the edge of his frozen barricade, he wouldn't be able to see her until she triggered the sensor by sitting in one of the freezing thrones positioned at the only point Fintan could peer through.

He looked extra tired that day--his sky blue eyes sunken by more shadows than usual, and he kept muttering under his breath about incompetence as he tucked his messy blond hair behind his pointy ears with a bit more force than necessary.

Marella glanced back at the scary guard, making sure he'd ducked into the shadows near the back of the cell before she made her big appearance. Then she took a deep breath and pressed her hand against her heart, reaching for her secret spark of warmth one last time before plopping into the closest ice throne.

"Awwwww, looks like you missed me," she said, tossing back her hair and flashing her brightest smile.

She liked to start her visits by showing Fintan she wasn't afraid of him--even if she totally was.

But Fintan didn't glance her way.

"I'm not in the mood for games," he warned as he continued his slow march around his cell.

"Neither am I" Marella assured him, deciding that was her cue to start with the cache. She sat up taller, trying to look extra confident as she added, "But I do have an awesome trade to offer you!"

Fintan sighed. "If this is about my cache, I already told you what I'm willing to accept. Unless you're here to grant me a day of freedom--"

"I'm definitely not. But! I found something you should like even better." She paused, hoping the extra bit of anticipation would somehow make her offer should more exiting when she told him. "Noxflares!"

Fintan scrunched his slender nose. "What are Noxflares, and why would I care about them?"

Marella tilted her head, trying to tell if he was faking.

She hadn't expected him to jump around or applaud or anything--but she had expected him to at least know what Noxflares were.

Then again, his mind had been shattered and pieced back together so many times, his memories had to be in shambles--and Ancient minds tended to be a total mess anyway, since they were crammed with thousands of years of information and the past and present blurred together.

"Would it help if I told you I stopped by your old estate on my way here?" she asked, "Your garden could use some gnomish help, by the way. All the plants have turned into a giant dying tangle. But I dug around and managed to find this scraggly vine with dark pointy flowers--and I hear that plant is special to you, so I picked a few and--"

"You picked my Noxflares?" Fintan snapped, rushing to the wall of his cell and pressing his palms against the ice. "You must let me see them!"

Marella's lips curled into a huge smirk. "I thought you didn't know what they were."

Fintan gritted his teeth so hard, it sounded like cracking ice.

"Hey, I'm not saying I won't share. Buuuuuuuuuuut it'll cost you--and I'm pretty sure you can already guess what I want." She paused for another beat before she added, "Just so we're clear: I'll show you one of your Noxflares if you open your cache and show me what's inside."

Fintan's jaw tightened even more and his hands curled into fists.

But he didn't say no.

He didn't say anything--which was definitely new.

Marella had already offered him a long list of trade suggestions that she, Linh, Maruca, and Stina had all come up with--some really cool ones! And Fintan had shot down each one down before she could even finish the offer.

She couldn't believe he looked so tempted by an ugly flower.

but as the silence dragged on, Marella started to wonder if she'd misread the situation.

maybe she'd pushed him too hard--taunted him too much--and now Fintan was letting her sit there in the cold, knowing the icy throne was turning her butt and legs numb.

She was trying to decide if she could make standing up look like a power move when Fintan told her, "Fine. You have a deal--but since you're only offering one Noxflare, I'll only show you one memory."

Marella barely stopped herself from blurting out, SERIOUSLY?

"Orrrrrrrrrrrrrr," she said instead, wanting to kick herself for not bringing more Noxflares with her. The whole thing had just seemed so silly--and the first few she'd picked had crumbled to dust. But the vine had lots more flowers, so she could fix the mistake super easily. "How about I go back, grab eight more Noxflares, and then you show me all nine memories?"

Fintan grinned. "Tempting. But one Noxflare is really all I need."

Need?

Marella wasn't a fan of that wording.

But before she could ask him what he needed it for, he added, "My offer expires in ten seconds," and started counting down.

By "six" she decided that one memory was better than nothing.

"Fine," she said, pulling the cache from her pocket and holding the marble-size orb up to the light. "But you go first. How do I open this thing?"

No way was she going to risk letting him back out--especially since he probably wasn't going to be happy when he saw his precious flower was stuck in the middle of a giant ice cube.

Fintan held out his hand. "Give me the cache, and I'll open it."

Marella laughed. "Hard pass."

"Ah, but you don't have a choice. I'm the only one who can access the memories. And I need to make physical contact with the cache in order to do so."

Marella squinted at the tiny gadget.

She didn't know much about caches--aside from the fact that only Councillors used them and that each colorful inner crystal held a single Forgotten Secret. But she did know that Dex had already tried everything he could think of to open the cache and failed--and he was one of the best Technopaths ever.

"Do I need to start counting down again?" Fintan asked. "I believe we'd gotten to five..."

Marella chewed her lip. "Uh, how do I know you're not going to destroy the cache or try to hold it for ransom or something?"

Fintan's smile was colder than his cell. "You'll just have to trust me."

"Yeah, I don't see that happening."

Fintan shrugged. "Then our deal is off."

Marella rolled her eyes. "Come on. Even if I wanted to, it's not like I can open your cell door and hand the cache to you."

She wasn't even sure if his cell had a door. The wall looked like one big solid piece of ice.

"You've proven to be very resourceful during our lessons," Fintan reminded her.

"Yeah, but--"

"It's your call," he interrupted. "If you want a memory, you'll have to trust me."

She snort-laughed--but before she could get another word out, he repeated, "You'll just have to trust me." And she could tell that was the only response he was going to give.

She turned to the scary guard, who had started pacing in the shadows. "Is there a way to pass Fintan a small item?"

"Ah, you have a hidden goblin escort--I knew you were resourceful!" Fintan clapped his hands. "And yes, there is a way to pass me my cache, otherwise I wouldn't have suggested it. Any guard can open the disgraceful tube they pass my horrid, frozen bits of food through. The cache should fit nicely."

The guard gripped his sword. "I cannot allow any unauthorized item to enter his cell."

Fintan clicked his tongue. "Clearly you're not considering the fact that I've already had plenty of chances to make this trade--and turned them all down. Do you think I would do that if the cache was even remotely useful to me?"

The goblin couldn't argue with that logic.

Neither could Marella.

And when Fintan went back to counting down, she told the guard, "The Black Swan knows I've been trying to make this trade--and they're working with the Council now. No one would let me do this if they thought the cache was dangerous."

Then again, they'd never discussed the possibility of handing the cache over to Fintan--but surely someone must've considered that during all their endless talking and obsessive overplanning...right?

Besides, if anything went wrong, she could always remind them that this was Sophie's idea.

"I don't like this," the scary guard growled. But Marella gave him her I-totally-know-what-I'm-doing glare until he set the frozen Noxflare down with a particularly dramatic thud, snatched the cache, and spent an eternity squinting at the tiny crystal, spinning it all different ways. "If anything happens, my priority will be subduing the prisoner--not protecting you. Are you certain you want to take that risk?"

Marella absolutely wasn't.

But...this might be their only shot at seeing one of Fintan's Forgotten Secrets.

Plus, she had her tiny little spark buddy she could call on if she needed. Surely she could use that to...

To what?

Take down a superpowerful, much more experienced Pyrokinetic with a history of murdering poeple?

But...did she really want to wimp out?

Sophie wouldn't.

And yeah, Sophie had, like, a permanent bed in the Healing Center. But Marella was pretty sure their whole group would vote "DO IT!"

There were also a dozen other armed goblins who would rush down as backup.

And Linh could attack Fintan with her cutesy snow animals.

It'd almost be worth it to watch Fintan get swallowed up by an ice wave shaped like Princess Purryfins.

"I can handle myself," she decided, using a tone that hopefully sounded intimidating.

Fintan's gleeful laughter echoed of the ice.

The scary guard muttered something about the arrogance of elves as he reached toward the top of Fintan's frozen cell and felt around for a specific spot. A faint clicking sound followed, and a tiny round door slid open--far out of Fintan's reach.

"I can neutralize you within seconds," the guard reminded him as he held the cache up to the opening. "By numerous means. Some far more painful than others."

"Yes, I'm well aware of the absurd lengths the Council has taken to keep me contained," Fintan assured him. "But I don't plan on giving you a reason to use any of them. Not today, at least."

The guard bared his supersharp pointy teeth, and Marella wanted to shout NEVER MIND, JUST KIDDING! But she let the guard shove the cache through the tiny opening--and then it was too late to change her mind.

All she could do was watch the glass orb make its slow descent, rolling around and around and around--down some sort of invisible path etched into the wall of the cell.

Her stomach backflipped with each rotation, and she felt more than a little vomit-y when the cache dropped low enough for Fintan to catch it. But he simply held it up and studied it.

Then he coughed on it.

And sneezed on it.

"Ewwwwwww," Marella groaned when he followed that up by drooling on it. "You know, there are better ways to give it your DNA."

"Yes, I'm aware." Fintan cleared his throat and launched a slimy blob of spit at the cache. "I also know your little Technopath friend is going to ask you how I accessed the memories, so feel free to give him a detailed list." He wiped the cache dry with his fingers and then ran it through his greasy hair before sneezing and coughing on it again. "Some of these methods are vital. Some are distractions. None can be re-created without me--but it'll be fun if he tries, don't you think?"

He laughed so hard, it brought tears to his eyes, and he smeared them across the cache before sneezing and spitting on it again--making Marella very glad she had gloves to keep her hands clean once he returned the cache.

Assuming she actually got it back...

She tried to make out what he was saying when he started mumbling a bunch of stuff into the crystal, but the words were all mushed together. He also tapped the cache in so many different places that she doubted even Sophie and Keefe with their fancy photographic memories would be able to re-create the patterns. And he looked so smug as he did it all that Marella decided to look as bored as possible--which was why she was barely paying attention when the cache flared to life, projecting a small hologram of Fintan standing alone in a wide, empty field.

"Huh," Marella mumbled. "Gotta admit, I was expecting something a little more exciting than a tiny glowing Fintan in the middle of nowhere doing...nothing."

"Then you should learn to be more observant." Fintan pointed to the swaying grass around the hologram's feet, and after a few seconds, Marella realized there was a vine of blooming Noxflares. "I figured I'd show you what Noxflares can do, since you're so generously bringing one back into my life."

Marella squinted at the tiny flowers, waiting for something to happen.

And waiting.

"So...they...blow in the wind?" she asked.

Fintan sighed. "No, they do this."

The hologram of Fintan waved his arms, and all the Noxflares erupted with searing white flames.

"Yeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaah, still not seeing why this needed to be a super-hush-hush Forgotten Secret," Marella grumbled as the Fintan hologram flicked his wrist and added purple fire to the white.

Sure, the flames were pretty--but all flames were beautiful.

"Try thinking like a Pyrokinetic!" Fintan snapped. "Tell me, are there any other flowers that could remain intact under such an inferno?"

Marella couldn't think of any.

And the Noxflares still didn't burn when the Fintan hologram added yellow flames to the fiery mix.

but other than clearly being fire-resistant, Marella didn't see the Noxflares actually doing anything--and the hologram of Fintan must've been equally unimpressed.

He frowned at the flaming petals and dragged a hand down his face, mumbling "something's missing."

"Still not seeing the point of this," Marella noted. "I mean..."

Her voice trailed off as the tiny Fintan waved his arms again and blasted the Noxflares with pink flames--which made the flowers spray sparks in every direction.

The effect was breathtaking.

Kind of like the sky during the Celestial Festival.

But that still didn't necessarily scream, THIS MEMORY IS IMPORTANT.

"How come the grass isn't catching fire?" she asked, grasping for anything that might be significant. "Do the Noxflares protect it or something?"

"No, I was protecting it. A pyrokinetic should always be in control of their flames."

He sounded so smug Marella was tempted to remind him that he let five Pyrokinetics die when he tried to teach them how to call down Everblaze and they all lost control--but that would probably make him throw one of his tantrums and send her away.

She needed the cache back first--and to hopefully find something useful in this boring memory. But sadly, all Fintan's hologram did was stare blankly at the stars and mumble "something's missing" again before the image flashed away.

"That's it?" the scary guard demanded, beating Marella to the complaint.

"Yeah, so...you put on a little fire show all by yourself with some spark-shooting flowers," she added, trying to sum up what she'd seen. "You were clearly disappointed by that little show. And then you must've remembered you needed to..."

She waved her hands, cuing Fintan to fill in the blank with whatever was "missing."

But he just stood there, staring at the cache with the same glazed look he always got whenever he started rambling about the beauty of fire--and Marella wished Linh had come with her after all.

Linh could pelt him with snowballs or something to snap him out of it.

But then she realized...

"You never figured out what was missing--did you?"

Fintan blinked and met her gaze. "Noxflares are full of possibility. But they need to burn."

"That doesn't answer my question," Marella noted.

Fintan shrugged. "Context was not part of our bargain."

"yeah, because I figured when I saw the memory, it would be obvious why it's this big Forgotten Secret. How does you setting some flowers on fire and then realizing you did it wrong matter to anyone?"

"I did nothing wrong," Fintan assured her, with a particularly haughty smile--butt Marella wasn't buying it.

There was a tightness around his eyes that was way too familiar.

Her dad had that same tightness every time her mom was having one of her "bad days," and she knew exactly what it meant.

Disappointment.

Frustration.

A hint of helplessness.

So she marched over to the guard and grabbed the frozen Noxflare from the floor--too irritated to even notice how heavy the ice must've been as she hauled it back.

She plopped it in front of Fintan's cell. "Ta-da! One ugly flower, as promised--and I'm sure you're not surprised that I had to freeze it before i brought it down here."

"I'm not." Fintan dropped to his knees and gazed at the Noxflare like he was seeing a long-lost friend.

He pressed his hand against his cell, trying to get as close as he could. "Such power. Such...promise."

"Uh-huh," Marella agreed, letting his stare and stare, hoping it would help him let his guard down.

When his eyes turned a little teary, she went in for the kill.

"But there is something still missing, isn't there? That's why you saved this memory--to remind yourself to keep looking."

A whole lot of painful silence passed before Fintan slowly nodded.

Marella wanted to feel triumphant.

But all she'd done was prove the entire trade had been pointless.

There was no game-changing clue.

No dirty little secret about the past.

Certainly nothing to help them stop their enemies.

And she had a pretty strong hunch the other eight memories in the cache would be just as ridiculous.

"The answer is out there," Fintan murmured. "I can feel it. I just can't grasp it. Perhaps..."

"Perhaps?" Marella prompted when his eyes locked with hers.

Fintan stepped closer to the ice, keeping his voice low, like he didn't want the guard to hear him. "Perhaps a different Pyrokinetic is meant to find the truth. One who's already convinced the Council to trust her."

Marella laughed. "The Council doesn't trust me."

"The fact that you're here for a pyrokinesis lesson says otherwise--particularly since the lesson is with me." He started circling his cell again, mumbling under his breath and nodding. The only words Marella caught were "possible," "improvising," and "best option."

After three more times around the cell, he stopped in front of Marella again, leaning even closer to the icy wall as he whispered, "I believe it's time for me to offer a trade of my own."

"A trade," Marella repeated, not missing the way the scary guard gripped his sword.

Fintan glared at him. "This conversation is between me and my prodigy. She stands here of her own free will, shielded by who knows how many different kinds of protections--and she can leave anytime she pleases. Your presence is no longer needed."

"You still have her gadget," the guard argued.

"I suppose I do. but that can be easily remedied." Fintan set the cache on whatever invisible ledge it had slid down in the first place and gave it a good shove, sending it spinning up the path toward the top of the cell.

The guard had to scramble to catch it when it launched out of the ice bubble.

"See?" Fintan said, shifting his gaze back to Marella. "I can be trusted."

"Pretty sure the only thing I can trust is that you'll do what's best for you," Marella countered.

"As long as you get what you want, why would you care? After all, no matter what, I'm still stuck in here, aren't I?" He waved his arms around his little ice bubble, which suddenly looked way less secure than it had during her other visits. "Oh, relax--all I'm asking for is a little information."

Marella crossed her arms. "Right--and information has never gotten anyone hurt or killed."

"It's not that kind of secret. It's..." He frowned. "Honestly, I don't know what it is--and for someone my age, with my connections, that says something, doesn't it? I doubt any of the Vackers even know the full truth."

"Then how am I supposed to find it?" Marella demanded.

"As I said, you've proven to be quite resourceful. Particularly when you team up with your little friends." He scowled at the guard again before motioning her to step closer--until her ear was practically pressed up against the ice.

A voice in the back of her head kept screaming, WHY ARE YOU LISTENING TO HIM?

But...she was curious.

And there was nothing wrong with hearing his offer, was there?

Fintan's breath fogged the ice, obscuring his face as he whispered, "All I ask is that if you ever find out what's missing from the Noxflares, you share it with me."

"Why?" Marella glanced at the frozen flower, wishing she could see something more than just ugly shriveled petals.

"Because I want to know," Fintan said simply. "And because I can give you what you want in return."

"The rest of the memories in your cache," Marella clarified.

Fintan nodded. Then his lips curled into a smile. "And one other--something you've long wondered about, even though you probably don't admit it to yourself."

Marella raised one eyebrow, refusing to show any more interest than that.

Fintan cupped his hands around his mouth and pressed them to the ice before he whispered, "I know what happened to your mother."

Marella sucked in a breath.

"Yes," Fintan added. "I'm talking about her 'accident'--if we can really call it that. I know why she fell. And why her injuries were so incurable."

Marella stumbled back, collapsing into the nearest throne and hugging herself to stop her body from shaking with tremors that had nothing to do with the cold.

A tiny, terrified part of her had always thought the story she'd been told about her mom's fall hadn't totally made sense.

But everyone--everyone--was convinced it had been an accident.

Even her father.

And if it wasn't...

She leaned toward Fintan. "I don't need your games."

"Oh, this definitely isn't a game. But it's the only way you'll ever know the truth, and before you start overthinking everything, consider this: You have all the power here. Make the trade, don't make the trade--it's totally your call. You also don't have to make a decision right away. I'm trapped in this prison. I'll never find the answer on my own--and I'll never know if you find the answer unless you decide to tell me. So there's zero pressure. No one even knows we've had this conversation--and don't worry about the guard. See how frustrated he looks? That's because I made sure he only heard what I wanted him to hear. The rest is our little secret."

Our little secret.

Fintan was probably the last person she should have a secret with.

And yet...he had a point.

No one knew he'd made her this offer--and it wasn't like she'd come to any decision.

She didn't even have the information Fintan wanted anyway!

And with the way their investigations always seemed to go, she'd probably only find a whole lot more questions.

So there was really no point in telling anyone about this.

She could tell them whens he needed to.

If she needed to.

That wouldn't be wrong...would it?

It didn't feel wrong--or it wouldn't have if Fintan's smile wasn't so creepy.

"I'm not agreeing to anything," she said, wanting to make that very clear.

"You're not," Fintan assured her. "So how about we put this out of our minds and get started with our lesson? I'm sure your Hydrokinetic friend is wondering why you haven't come up to practice yet."

Linh was probably starting to worry.

She'd probably also built enough snow animals to make a frozen Sanctuary.

"Fine," Marella said, standing up and dusting ice off her cape. "What do you want me to work on today?"

"How about I teach you how to make those colored flames you saw in the memory," Fintan suggested. "You know, in case that ever comes in handy."

He winked, and the guard groaned and held out the cache to Marella. "Sound like I'm no longer needed."

"You aren't" Fintan agreed.

The guard growled--looking scarier than ever--and turned to march away. But he spun back after a few steps. "He's right that I don't know what he offered you. But I can tell you're tempted. And I hope you're smart enough to reject it. Never make a deal with someone who has nothing to lose."

"I'm not," Marella promised.

And she wasn't.

She hadn't made any decisions--except to keep this to herself. But that didn't mean anything.

She was just trying to avoid a ton of drama and arguing and having people give her advice she didn't need.

Plus, everyone has secrets.

Shoot--the great Sophie Foster had more secrets than anyone.

So it was fine.

Everything was fine.

Nothing had changed.

Time to focus on controlling her fire.

And yet, for the rest of the lesson, the tiny spark in her heart burned hotter and hotter and hotter. Whispering a new plea.

Trust me.

#kotlc #haha! did it!#it's entirely possible there are errors here. so if anyone notices one feel free to point it out so I can fix it #this isn't professional or anything #but anyway. wow that short story huh?#major win for the fandom #in my opinion #loss for my poor poor fingers though #my god #did this instead of homework

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