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miss-fanfictions · 4 months

Text

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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sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts · 4 months

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.

266 notes · View notes

violetsiren90 · 5 months

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?

Drabbles: 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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alessiamalfoyzabini · 6 months

Text

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.

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 | 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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xenaxena · 1 year

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 · 6 months

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 · 2 months

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 · 4 months

Text

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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heavenlycloud · 1 year

Text

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.

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┊:·.♡☆°

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

438 notes · View notes

bookwyrminspiration · 1 year

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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pawnshopbleus · 6 months

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Miller's Girl

Chapter Three - The Meeting

Professor!Joel Miller x Fem!College Student!Reader Very Loosely based off of the new movie, Miller's Girl, starring Jenna Ortega and Martin Freeman

Summary - Your landlord decides to raise the rent in your studio apartment the day you are fired from your job. In need of money, you sign up for a babysitting service your friend suggested. You didn’t expect to get an offer so quickly, and you also didn’t expect to come from your professor.

Series contains - cursing, mature language, teacher x student relationship, age gap, smut, fluff, angst, non beta read chapters and everything else I forgot to mention

Authors Note - after i dont know how long and several fights and bomb and shooting threats at my school, i'm back. I wrote this at 12 am so I hope you can understand it.

College, no outbreak, and modern AU

The Miller residence was a cozy two story home in the suburbs of Austin. The exposed brick fireplace climbed up the side of the black and white home. The green grass was a little too long for the pristine way Professor Miller held himself.

You walked along the concrete walkway to the front door. You wiped your sweaty hands on your black pants and knocked on the door. You hoped that Professor Miller wouldn’t notice the circles under your eyes or the fact that you wore these exact pants to class two days ago.

When the door opened you didn’t see Professor Miller towering over you. You didn’t see anything until you looked down a little bit. Standing there in all her might was a little girl no older than thirteen.

“Sarah! What did I tell you about opening the door without asking who it is?” you heard Professor Millers stern voice yell from somewhere in the distance.

“Sorry Dad but I think the babysitter is here!” Sarah yelled back.

Sarah looked at you and shrugged her shoulders before skipping away. You stood still, not wanting to enter the home uninvited. The door was left wide open and you could feel the cold air wafting out of the home. The pay as a professor must be stacked to keep the AC running in the middle of October.

“What are you just standing there for? Come in,” Sarah says with a hand on her hip.

“Did your dad say it was okay?” you ask, not wanting to make your professor and future boss angry.

“Yes, I did.” Professor Miller says from the stairs.

He’s wearing something much more casual than what you are used to seeing him in. The blue jeans and white shirt that are sticking to his body make him look like he does something physical for work. If you didn’t know any better you would have thought that he was some sort of contractor.

“Professor I-” “When you’re here it's Joel. Just Joel.”

You nod your head and look at your shoes. Your beat-up Converse aren't exactly appropriate for a meeting with your future employer, but it was these or the flip flops that squeak every time you walk.

“Go ahead and sit on the couch. Sarah, go to your room.”

Sarah stomps up the stairs and into her bedroom. Joel walks over to the accent chair across from the couch and sits down. He huffs as his body hits the soft velvet of the furniture. He leans back and spreads his legs, almost as if he were making room for someone to sit on his lap.

Your eyes roam from his lap to his grey eyes that are staring back at you. You’ve just been caught eyeing your professor like a slut. Whether he minded or not didn’t come up as he gets straight to the point.

“Look, you are the most qualified person for this job. Your resume and experience are great and you seem like a nice girl, but I don’t know if I can trust you with my daughter.”

“Look, Joel, I know that my being late to your class could have affected your perception of me, but I think I would be great with your daughter. She was wearing a Madden Boys shirt when I walked in, right? Well, I saw the Madden Boys in concert just last year! I think having a cool babysitter would do her some good.”

“Did you just call yourself ‘cool’?” Joel asks.

You open your mouth to say something and then close it as nothing comes out.

“How about I give you a trial week? You’ll get paid a flat rate and if Sarah likes you then you can stay.”

“That would be wonderful! Thank you, Joel.”

Your peppy attitude threw Joel off. When you first arrived at his home, you were cautious and timid but now you were smiley. He has never seen someone with such a bright smile. All thirty-two teeth were on display as you shook his hand and thanked him once again for this opportunity.

Your hands were also unbelievably soft compared to his calloused hands. The same hands that cramp when they hold a pen for longer than fifteen minutes.

You leave his home after that, your mysterious scent lingers in the spot where you once sat. Joel jogs up the stairs and almost trips on his daughter who is sitting on the top step.

“I like her,” Sarah mumbles, her voice barely audible as her face rests on her knee.

“Well, we’ll see about that kid,” Joel says as he walks to his office and closes the door behind him.

As much as Joel wants to not like you. As much as Joel wants to blame you for being late to his class, he can’t. He could tell how sincere you were when you apologized to him. Your soft eyes begged for his forgiveness while he tried his best to not look into them. It was like a siren's call, slowly luring him into a trap that he didn’t want to be in again. He loved one woman and she left him alone with a baby and no money.

The optional homework he assigned burned a hole in his desk. The key word was ‘optional’ and still almost all of his students did it. As much as he loved it when his students took advantage of every opportunity they got, he hated that he had to grade the work.

After almost a hundred essays on why Victorian architecture is important, Sarah knocked on his door. She opened the door and placed a basket of cookies on his desk. The basket looked like Easter came very late. There was plastic wrap covering every inch and crevice of the pink and white basket. Pink and blue bows stuck to the top and bottom of the basket. Inside the basket held what looked like two dozen cookies.

“The babysitter came by and dropped these off. She said that there's a note in there but only you can read it.”

Joel peered around the basket for a sign of the note but couldn’t find it anywhere.

“Can you hurry up and open it? I really want a cookie.” Sarah crossed her arms over her chest and leaned her weight on one hip.

“Sarah Miller, are you rushing me?” Sarah nodded her head. Joel shook his with a smile on his face. He loved that his daughter felt like she could be sassy with him. This type of banter made him feel like he was a good father.

Unwrapping the basket was Joel's idea of hell. The texture of the wrap felt weird under Joel's hands and the bows and glitter fell to the floor, making a mess. A pink bow fell into his black coffee which made him groan. He would have to make another.

Sarah snatched two cookies and skipped her way to her room. Coincidentally, those two cookies were hiding the note that he was looking for. The small white square of construction paper housed five words. In loopy writing, it said ‘I hope you like cookies.’ It was so simple yet it made Joel close his eyes and rest his head on the back of his chair.

#joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #the last of us fic #tlou

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highlordofkrypton · 2 months

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ACOTAR Omegaverse Week // Day 1 - Nesting

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

SUMMARY: Tamlin's things have been going missing from his manor in the Spring Court. More specifically, all the clothes Rhysand has gifted him are disappearing one by one. It's time for him to get to the bottom of this mystery.

PAIRING: Alpha Tamlin x Omega Rhysand

TAGS: General Audiences, fluff, light angst, nesting, no smut

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Ahhh, my very first entry to @acotar-omegaverse-week! I've never written for Omegaverse before, so this is totally new to me. Hopefully, as the week goes on I get a better grasp of the universe. I hope you guys like it!

TAMLIN AND THE CURIOUS CASE OF UNGIVEN THINGS

That's strange… It was here just last night.

Tamlin stares at the plush velvet chair by his closet, the one where he tosses things that he is either far too lazy to put away in the separate room three feet away dedicated to his and his mate's clothes, or that he uses frequently enough that there is no point in putting it away. The shawl was made of white fur, purchased somewhere in the Winter Court—or so Rhysand told him.

He liked that shawl. It was nice to throw over his shoulder and run his hands through its softness, absent-minded, while working.

Perhaps it has been sent to cleaning.

The High Lord catches Alis, startling the little urisk who was puttering around the manor chasing chirping dustmites with her broom.

"My lord!" She straightens, as if she should never offend him with the sight of her… doing her work. Alis has old values, ones that Tamlin does not particularly adhere to.

"Good morning, Alis. Have you seen my shawl? The white one?" Tamlin describes it, holding his hands out to better show its size. "I would think it was sent to cleaning since it's not on my chair."

"No, no… I instructed the others not to touch anything on your chair unless you put it away for cleaning." Alis hums. It's better that way, so not to assume their lord was done using it when he still needs it. "Perhaps someone took it by accident. I hope it's not another sock elf."

"I thought we put out old clothes for them to steal instead of our laundry." Tamlin frowns. The sock-elves had stolen a sweater he rather liked, too.

"I thought so, too. I will look into this myself, my lord." Alis bows and shuffles away as quickly as she can without running.

Maybe he shouldn't kick up such a fuss. A new shawl can easily be bought, but he doesn't have the heart to tell Rhysand that he lost yet another gift from him. Come to think of it, Rhysand has been giving him a lot of things lately. Tamlin should give him something in return; he's been so busy with work, the gifts must have been a quiet way to ask for his attention.

Rhysand, much like the shawl, is nowhere to be found in the manor. He left a note on their beside table, a vague but trustworthy 'be back soon'. His absence gives Tamlin time to think of a way to shower him with the adoration he deserves, so he gathers a piece of hand-pressed parchment, a quill with gold ink and heads to his library to sit in his favourite chair—

"My chair is missing?"

Now this is ridiculous. It was an egg-shaped chair with a base made of marble and a very comfortable cushion. The chair was large enough to accommodate Tamlin both in his already massive Faerie form and in his beastly shape, should he want to curl up in something den-like.

"Your what?" Rhysand asks, popping his head into the library.

"My chair. My favourite chair. It's missing." Tamlin motions at the very empty spot in the very full library. There's even a circle on the ground of dust and discolouration where it used to be—that's how long it was there.

"Oh my," Rhysand says in muted concern. "This is a tragedy. Oh well, we'll just have to order a new one."

"I don't want to order a new one. I liked that one. Do you know how long it takes to get the cushions to fit you just right?" It also smells of him, his childhood, and it has all the memories that matter. "What if they don't make them exactly like that anymore?"

Tamlin huffs, trying not to pout. Oh, if the other Lords could see him now, sulking because he can't find his favourite egg-shaped chair.

Rhysand approaches him, reaching up to cup his cheek and caress it with his thumb. "I'm sure it'll be alright. I remember the exact dimensions. We'll get you a new one and break it in together?" He grins.

The thought of marking their territory and just basking in each other, erasing the scent of anyone else who's ever touched the chair makes him happy. Tamlin is a simple faerie; he asks for very little, and if Rhysand promised to cuddle him for all eternity and nothing else, he would be a very, very happy man.

Tamlin leans in, pressing a kiss against Rhysand's lips, smiling, and pulling him close. He moves to his neck, breathing in the scent of him and nipping at the skin there lightly. Humming, a very different kind of territorialism spurs in him.

"Wait, wait," Rhysand palms his chest, politely asking for distance. "I wanted to give you another gift."

The Night Prince steps back, opening a drawer encrusted in one of the ornate wooden bookshelves and pulls out a black box. He hands it to Tamlin.

"What… What is this for? Rhys, you're spoiling me. I should be begging for your forgiveness for being busy." Tamlin accepts the gift, but doesn't open it. "You should know," he starts, looking openly guilty. "I keep misplacing the things you've given me. I suspect we may have a sock-elf problem, but I should have been more careful."

Rhysand smiles; he isn't angry at all. "Things are… things. What matters to me is being able to give you these gifts. Even if you make use of them for just a day, it's good enough for me. Open it."

Tamlin kisses Rhysand again, opening the gift. It's a beautiful dark green robe, almost black, that glimmers with colours when held directly under sunlight. It's beautiful. More importantly, it's so soft and velvety.

"You should wear it. Make sure the size is right," Rhysand grins.

***

There's only so much Tamlin can lose before it starts to keep him up at night. The beautiful deep emerald robe disappeared after a day of having it, which is a record, honestly. He can't pass it off as a conniving creature playing a trick on him anymore. It's now a reflection of his capabilities as High Lord. A skill issue, per say.

Then again, he could be awake because the right side of his bed is empty and there is nothing more sobering that missing a part of him.

Tamlin worries. Everyone knows that.

He sits up on his bed and realizes his sheets are missing too? What is going on? Tamlin expects the slide of cool spidersilk against his bare skin, and though he naturally runs hot and kicks the sheets off, he still expects them to be there.

A part of him wonders if Rhysand was kidnapped, bundled up in the fancy sheets he insisted on and carried away into the night. The thought makes Tamlin jealous. If there is any sweeping away to be done, it is by him and him alone.

Fuck taking the stairs; Tamlin must find his mate quickly. He blows open the windows with a hint of magic, launching himself out of his manor and tumbling onto the ground, two floors down, with ease and grace. He sniffs the air, and locks onto the scent, sprinting straight into his forest.

Any other night, he would drink in the beauty of the trees, the symphony of the cicadas, the owls and the foxes, but Tamlin is on a mission. He cannot and will not be stopped until he finds his mate. His hunt takes him down a familiar path, straight towards his second home—a den that he played in as a child, then turned into his own safe haven as he grew older and his father grew crueler. It is the only place where his secrets are harboured and his vulnerabilities are shown.

He hasn't needed his den since Rhysand came into his life—since Rhysand stayed in it.

Tamlin blinks, and his eyes shift to better accommodate the darkness.

"Rhys? I know you're in here."

No response.

As he steps into his den, he realizes… it's been transformed.

The den has always been nothing more than a cave. It's walls were enough to make him feel safe and he would always sleep facing its entrance. No one could get him without his knowledge. The animals would visit and watch over him, of course, but no one else was welcome. (Not until Rhysand.)

Now, it's brimming with things. All the things Tamlin thought he lost, the gifts ungiven and taken back by one clever mate. He walks along the edges, touching the portraits of them and of Rhysand's family. He finds nearly every toy from his childhood; his mother had tried to save what she could from his father's annihilation of his childhood, and Rhysand must have found where she hid them. Tamlin picks up a toy cart with a long, long string. He used to fill this thing with flowers and berries, then drag it along behind him through the forest and all over the manor.

There are books here too. Tamlin recognizes them as Rhysand's. The Spring Court has never tolerated human 'fairy-tales' and he only knows of them because Rhysand has read him each one as proof that humans are brilliant.

Naturally, his egg-chair is here, too. Tucked at the back of the cave, right up against the wall, its opening is blocked by pillows upon pillows. Rhysand's scent leads right to it.

Tamlin tries to hide his smile as he leans in and plucks one pillow out. The rest start to topple, but Tamlin is careful to push them inwards into the nest.

"It seems I have found my thief."

Rhysand's expression is far too cool for someone buried to the neck in Tamlin's clothes.

He's hiding.

That's the problem with faeries like them. The way they were raised—it didn't matter what their natures were. They needed to be exactly what their fathers needed of them. Tamlin needed to be strong and immovable. Soft things were barred from him, even his heart needed to be made of stone. Rhysand needed to be sharp, but not bothersome. He always handles things alone.

Tamlin doesn't ask why he wasn't told or invited to help.

"May I enter?"

Rhysand shrinks into his pile, hiding his face except his watchful violet eyes. "You may," he says without a hint of emotion.

Tamlin crawls into the nest, careful not to squish Rhysand or disturb the hoard of things. Rhysand likes his things in particular order. Tamlin has no preference, so he's happy to adjust to his mate.

"I'm wounded," Tamlin sighs dramatically, taking Rhysand's own words and intonation for when he isn't getting his way. "My mate would rather my things than me and my," he pauses, trying to find a word that only Rhysand would use. "Luscious self?"

"Luscious? I do not say luscious." Rhysand unburies himself to glare at Tamlin. "You were busy."

"And you know that I would drop everything for you, if you told me you were nesting."

"I don't need you to drop everything. I have everything under control." Rhysand's jaw ticks, determined to handle himself. Were they in the Night Court, Rhysand would run his court, nest and make sure that Tamlin doesn't lift a finger because that's just who he is.

Tamlin crawls closer, squishing him purposely this time.

"Then control me," Tamlin leans in, breathing his words against Rhysand's warm lips. "Fit me into your plans. Hoard me like all these things. I am yours," he reminds his mate, kissing him slowly. "Do with me as you please, as long as you're doing it with me."

All this is new to both of them.

Tamlin has always known his dominant Alpha nature, and for his own safety, he had to swallow back his instincts. He wasn't afraid of what his father would do to him, but rather everyone else between them—his brothers, his mother and everyone Tamlin has even glanced at. The battle between Alphas is ugly and violent, especially in the transition of power. At the end, they both knew it was his father's mistake for not killing him at birth.

For Rhysand, Tamlin knows it was the opposite. Suppress, suppress, suppress, was his mantra. Not only did he have to hide, but he needed to deny every instinct within him. At least Tamlin could be a lesser version of himself, but Rhysand…

"You are perfect." Tamlin whispers between kisses. "You are stronger than I am."

"Liar," Rhysand denies.

"You are," Tamlin hums, catching his lower lip between his teeth. "I wouldn't have been able to do this alone. I need you by my side. Also, my den is a lot cozier than it was before. I might have to move out here."

Rhysand rolls his eyes and kicks at him from the layers of stolen clothes. "Flatterer." He says, clearly won over.

Tamlin pushes the clothing aside, snuggles in beside Rhysand and curls at his side, before putting the nest as it was. He says nothing, happy to kiss Rhysand's shoulder and listen to him breathing.

"I want to have a baby," Rhysand says suddenly.

The confession has Tamlin tensing, a reaction that comes from deep within rather than anything to do with actual thoughts. He eases after a moment. "Okay."

"I'm not even sure we'd be good," Rhysand can't even finish the sentence. The shame is visceral. His mother did her best and his father was selective in his affections. He knows how true mates love each other, and he knows how it feels when an Alpha rejects his offspring. It's not that he thinks Tamlin would—Tamlin would be a great father. "I just… With you… I feel ready. My body wants…"

The half-Illyrian flushes, turning to try and bury his face against Tamlin, but they only end up in a more intimate position, foreheads pressed against one another. Tamlin can see the worry on his face. Tamlin kisses them way.

"We will be good parents."

"How do you know?"

"Because we know pain. We know everything not to do."

Tamlin will never raise a hand against his mate or his children. He will never use them as weapons. He will listen when they speak. Everything his mind and body has come to know—all the violence and punishment he has come to expect—he will go against it. He will raise his little ones without fear. They will be free to be happy.

"That's horrible, you know that right?"

"But it's the truth." Tamlin assures, nuzzling Rhysand. "We have all the time in the world. You can over analyze this as much as you need," he teases.

"Oh, fuck you."

The Spring Lord grinds against Rhysand's hip with a playful grin. "Mmm, is that a request?"

#ACOTAR OMEGAVERSE WEEK IS FINALLY HERE #I AM SHYYYYYYYYYYYY DOING SOMETHING NEW #acotaromegaverse2024 #nesting #omegaverse #acotar #tamlin #pro tamlin #rhysand #tamsand #my fics

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alessiamalfoyzabini · 5 months

Text

Dark Moon | Chapter Fifteen - The End

Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 3k

Warnings | +18, yandere themes, wedding, Stockholm syndrome, murder, smut, messy bathroom sex, fingering, blowjob, teasing, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, body worship and kissing, this is not for minors

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 ❤️

This is the last chapter of Dark Moon, a story that I wrote in a period that was not easy for me, in fact the dark tones come from the negative emotions that pushed me to write this story to test myself with this genre, so I really hope you enjoyed Dark Moon, I would be happy to receive comments about it ❤️

As for possible extras, who knows, maybe they will come just like what happened with Happy Ending 😉

Also, it was really nice to be able to talk with you! Thanks for all the love and support, see you with the next story I am already writing 🤧

Chapter List - Previous - The End

"Where is Y/N?" asked Taehyung, receiving a glare from Jimin.

"Stop it, Taehyung, she's afraid of him, and I'm certainly not going to force her to attend because you think it will help with her trauma," hissed Jimin, looking around.

He had let Y/N fall asleep in his arms before silently leaving the apartment to finish her uncle's execution.

Taehyung wished she was there, he argued that seeing her own nightmare die would help her heal faster, Jimin on the other hand was convinced of the exact opposite, she had run away from the bastard, dead or alive she never wanted to see him again, that was the gist.

"It was just an idea..." put the other's hands forward.

"Jimin, everything is ready" Hoseok warned him electrified, it had been a long time since they had proceeded with a real execution and this was the time to enjoy another one.

The boy nodded as he continued down the dark corridors of their base with the others, the room they were holding the man in was a cell like any other, it was only the way they were torturing him that differentiated the prisoner from the others.

Mikkel was bound hand and foot by a thick rope, which went to twist around his neck with a noose still wide enough not to suffocate him completely.

He stared at everyone with spirited eyes, and Jimin noted how disgusting and repulsive the man looked more like an ugly gray rat.

"You have the wrong man, I'm just a loan shark, the Kims would never say anything important to me," he licked his lips nervously, he had a horrible accent.

Jimin walked around him, his shiny black shoes made a sinister ticking sound.

Heel, toe.

He stopped in front of him again, bending at the knees.

"The Kims are our allies, we don't need to know shit about them," he said squaring him with disgust, "And we certainly wouldn't use shit like you for our own purposes."

Mikkel looked around agitatedly, Jungkook rocked back on his own feet, smiling cheekily at the man.

"Then why am I here?"

Jimin's eyes thinned, "Let's clean up, Mik," he said making the man fidget, "Does the name Y/N mean anything to you?"

Surprise and panic soon won out and he began to struggle, unaware of the damage he was doing to himself, the more he moved the tighter the noose around his neck tightened.

"You thought you were getting off scot-free by abusing a little girl who was part of your own family, threatening her parents and then making the poor mother look like a fool," Jimin began, approaching until he could read every distorted thought in the man's increasingly swollen eyes, "You took advantage of their miserable financial status and threatened to throw them out on the street if they talked, even naming certain acquaintances, who didn't like the publicity you gave, so... one way or another you're dead anyway," he growled, grabbing the knot and pulling to speed up the choking.

Mikkel coughed airlessly, tried to wriggle and escape Jimin's death grip, but to no avail, the more he moved, the more he urged Jimin not to let go.

"That's nothing compared to what you put Y/N through, you son of a bitch," he shouted, throwing a punch at the man now with no more air in his lungs, blood began to come out of his nose as his body was invaded by jerks and survival impulses, he cried out mute for mercy, but the boy's eyes remained stone.

Jimin backed away retrieving his gun, but when he pointed it at the monster he had second thoughts, with one bullet he would have died too quickly, so he just watched along with the others as he suffocated in the ropes and his own blood, in the last moments when Mikkel looked desperately at Jimin once again, the latter smiled.

"Y/N, my wife, sends her regards and wishes you to burn in hell," he greeted him amusedly, emphasizing how Y/N was now simply his.

When they saw the eyes turn glassy, with no more life behind them, Hoseok huffed.

"That was too fast," Jungkook commented, pulling out his own gun and unloading it on the body to make sure he was really dead.

"He's dead, that's all that matters," said Seokjin who had been merely observing in silence, "Get rid of the corpse cleanly, I don't want any surprises," he ordered, but everyone's attention was on Jimin.

"Wife?" asked Taehyung with a smile.

"He actually said wife, this jerk decided to settle his head," laughed Namjoon, interrupted by Yoongi who also laughed.

"No, that little head will always be crazy."

"So you're getting married with a celebration?" asked Jungkook, joining the confused chorus of questions and jokes.

"My guess is he's already signed papers, he seemed overconfident," reasoned Hoseok, both Jin and Jimin were getting nervous.

"Listen, you-!"

"When and how they get married is Jimin's and Y/N's business, as for us, we must realize that there is a new family member to protect," he clapped his hands vigorously, "Now, get rid of the body," he repeated.

Jimin nodded in Jin's direction in thanks, then turned to Jungkook, "Make sure that not even the bones can lie on this earth, you understand what I mean, right?"

Of course it was clear, the seriousness and awareness of having to do one's duty well had returned to the room.

The ceremony had been small and for a few friends, Jimin did not like to show off, and Y/N could not bear to see unfamiliar and dangerous faces staring back at her.

The wedding dress, on the contrary, was wonderful.

It wrapped the girl's figure gracefully, her shoulders were uncovered thanks to the bodice's boat neckline, which was white with light blue highlights and had many small flowers woven along the neckline and hips, it then continued with a long skirt made of silk and fluffy tulle, with her hair made slightly wavy and scattered loosely on her back and the thin, shiny tiara placed on her head, everyone had agreed that she was an adorable and pure fairy.

Jimin, for his part, in his sleek, total-black smoking with crystals sprinkled across his chest and shoulders, had never taken his eyes off her, like a hawk aiming at its seductive prey. There was a change in him too, his hair had been dyed blond, for Y/N had been like seeing a fallen angel waiting for her at the altar, she had smiled shyly at him arm in arm with Seokjin.

It had been frightening to meet him again initially, but in time she had realized that if taken gently, Jin was by no means evil and had always been very calm and gentle with her.

Now she was there, joining her hand with Jimin's, and emotion invaded her.

She paid no attention to the priest's words, the ritual they were performing was being handed down in the Bangtan band, it was the man who had to do everything, the bride simply had to say,

"Yes, I do."

It had been so easy to say it, no hesitation, no flash of fear, she looked at Jimin through the foolish eyes of love, he lowered himself onto her who discovered she was swept up in a fiery and electrifying cloud, when their lips touched Jimin held back no longer, he held her by the waist and pulled her into a deep and dead-end kiss, he was possessive and passionate and sought her out every time she tried to catch a breath.

The few guests applauded, giggling at the fierce hunger of the blond, who let her go only to gaze contentedly at those swollen, scarlet lips of kisses.

But it was not his intention to stop there.

They accepted the congratulations of the Bangtans and some of their relatives, Y/N met Taehyung's mother and father and found them a delightful couple, almost unable to believe it when the father said with some pride that he too had been a Bangtan before his son.

In contrast, there was no sign of Jimin's parents, probably not even knowing that their son was alive.... From what Jimin had confessed to her one night, his mother was a street prostitute and his father was a singer who toured the world, Jimin had been born by mistake.

Y/N had immediately rebuked him, he was not a mistake, he was her complex and sweet boyfriend, although he had not been a saint at first, now he was showing her that he was a caring partner and madly in love. Perhaps even too madly.

"Anyway, my husband and I wish you well and happy life together," trilled the woman, gently pinching the cheeks of the girl, who blushed under such motherly attention; now she understood why Taehyung was the most affectionate of his friends, he had not grown up with terrible parents.

"Treat her well, Jimin... it's not easy to find someone who understands and accepts our kind of life," he tapped the young man's shoulder with a hand that was anything but playful, despite the boxy smile his son had inherited.

"Oh, I'll treat her like a queen," he smiled sweetly, but Y/N saw the shadow of something more evil, something that manifested itself exactly forty minutes later, when everyone was now occupied with the banquet.

"W-We'll have to wait," stammered the girl, trembling under the velvety kisses the young man was leaving all along the portion of skin the cleavage had left, free to be cuddled and adored by him, "If you leave me marks they will show!"

Jimin laughed on her neck, "I won't leave you any marks, I just want to have a taste," he promised, licking down to the cleft between her breasts with his erection pressing into his pants.

He cast a glance at the girl and let out an approving cry, he had taken her in his arms making her sit on the sink, her back was resting against the large mirror behind her and her legs were held open, with the skirt pulled up over her hips and the white fishnet stockings on display, all for him and she was so sexy in his eyes...

"You've already had a taste this morning!" hissed Y/N, glancing occasionally at the bathroom door.

Jimin returned to leave moist trails of kisses on her chest, suddenly lowering her bodice and noticing to his pleasure that she was totally naked, Y/N gasped praying that nothing had been torn off, cast a reproachful glance at the man, melting away soon after, however.

Jimin's condition was no better, his once perfectly coiffed hair was now messy and scattered across his forehead, his tuxedo jacket had been tossed into some corner of the bathroom, and his dark, gleaming shirt had been opened by almost every button, which made her quietly admire the invitingly toned appearance of his abdomen, cased with deep attractive and manly lines, with her hand she followed one, entranced, to his waistband where a more than obvious bulge made her throat tighten.

Jimin licked his swollen lips stained with her lipstick, "I can't go back that way."

"No, you can't," murmured Y/N as she got off the shelf and knelt in front of him, who inhaled in eagerness to touch her.

She took off his leather belt and lowered the zipper of his smartly cut pants, watching raptly as his cock pushed against his boxers, there was already a wet spot staining the fabric, and she licked gently there, already finding the taste she now knew by heart and could no longer do without, Jimin clenched his fingers around the edge of the sink until his knuckles turned white, with a small smile the girl also freed him of his men's underwear and finally took the swollen, heavy shaft into her mouth, standing still for a few moments, trying to get used to that girth once again.

"Fuck," breathed Jimin tremblingly, his balls clenched as he registered the image he was experiencing, "Oh, fuck, you're sucking me off in a wedding dress," he cursed, risking coming immediately, Y/N closed her eyes and holding her breath swallowed a few more inches until her nose brushed against the man's pubis and she felt her throat fill with his cock, she slid over the entire length again, licking insistently the sensitive frenulum area, her intimacy was on fire when she noticed the tremor in her husband's legs, giving him pleasure gave her pleasure, it was a sensation she had never experienced with anyone else. It made her feel powerful and weak at the same time.

Jimin moved his pelvis against her mouth, each discharge was a violent lash that he needed, the tone of his voice rose, and, they were both sure, if anyone passed by the bathroom door, they would hear a man enjoying thanks to a dreamy blowjob.

"Y/N, stop," he ordered in a guttural voice, but the woman sucked harder on his entire length, letting her saliva slowly slide all over his cock to make the job easier, in response Jimin grabbed her head, giving one last thrust that made her choke for a few seconds before releasing her completely, "Get up," he hissed, his taut and vibrating cock was already on the verge of releasing his cum.

The girl licked her lips with a sly smile, pleased that she had reduced Park Jimin to a quivering little thing, as if grappling with his first blowjob, but Jimin was not of the same opinion.

"You little bitch."

He made her turn, bending her over the sink and raising her glitzy skirt over her hips again, that position was the same as that night before everything went to hell, but she didn't feel the suffocating anxiety of the first few times, with time she had realized that Jimin would never hurt her again, and now she quivered every time she found herself bent over with Jimin behind her, watching her desire-laden body.

The blond man pulled her panties of the same color as her fishnet stockings, felt her intimacy with two fingers to see how wet it was and found it deliciously soaked and quivering, he hummed with satisfaction at that result and penetrated her lightly, Y/N opened her mouth sighing, her belly contracted recognizing that pleasurable stretch between her yielding flesh.

Jimin removed his fingers now soaked with her wetness and used them to gently caress her swollen, sensitive clitoris as he penetrated her all the way down, slowly sliding his cock into her who more than welcomed it, Y/N's head dangled forward as she responded to Jimin's rhythmic thrusts with hushed, choked moans, the fingers around her rosy bud amplified the sensations of the cock pinning her down in that bathroom, where everyone could have found out in a very few seconds what was going on.

"Oh God ... oh God ...!" she exclaimed unable to say anything else, Jimin went deeper with a sometimes desperate cry.

"My wife," he sighed in her ear, bending entirely over her with his hips clicking faster and rougher, "I'm fucking my wife," he gasped causing her walls to clench as they flickered in mad pleasure, with wide, glazed eyes she listened to Jimin repeat those words, she loved hearing him say them, her heart was swollen with love and pride, now no one would dare to hurt her, ever again.

The blond lifted her up against his chest, fixing his eyes straight into hers through the mirror that gave a sinful image of their bodies joining sensually, he held her tight like that as he intensified the rhythm of his thrusts, by now sinking into that slippery heat breathlessly, his hand worked under her skirt faster, Y/N moaned seeking his lips, Jimin also penetrated with his tongue into the young woman's mouth, pinching a florid nipple as a provocation.

It worked, with a shrill scream between their joined mouths Y/N came violently, clutching his cock that discharged moments later in her belly between thick boiling filaments, they continued to move in unison until the pleasure turned totally to discomfort due to overstimulation.

They sighed exhaustedly, but without moving.

"I told you not to leave marks on me, but you did worse," she laughed wordlessly, observing his devastated state, not that Jimin was any better off.

He kissed her neck gently, leaving her, who groaned annoyed at the loss.

"We have a valid excuse now."

"What excuse?"

"Well..." he helped her up her bodice by lacing it from behind, shooting her a mischievous look, "To get out of here without anyone noticing and finish in our room what we started."

Y/N widened her eyes, "We can't! They came here for us and then I'm too tired now to-" she could not finish the sentence, Jimin took her in his arms without any effort.

"It's our wedding, we can do what we like," he said with a smile that gave him a cheerful and absolutely adorable air, "And I want lots of children," he blew on her lips kissing her repeatedly, she laughed between their lips, unable to retort.

She did not know how exactly she had ended up trusting her fallen angel, but she was sure of the fact that she was now hopelessly in love with him, as he was with her.

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creative-heart · 6 months

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"In the embrace of dawn"|| Enzo Vogrincic x fem! Reader

A/N: Hi my lovelies! So this is a second part to "In the heat of the night" which you can read Here inspired from a message by my lovely @cyliarys-starlight who said I could not end it that way, so here we go.

TW: Brief description of domestic violence, mention of alcohol consumption, a bit of sex talk.

Please if you or someone you know is victim of domestic violence, reach out to the authorities.

Word Count: 2.3 k

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Enzo woke up slightly when he felt the body heat lacking from him and stretched trying to get his senses back awake as he looked around the hotel room, thinking maybe she was in the bathroom, or even had stepped out to get something to eat; so he frowned in confusion when he saw the note laying on the bedside table as he read through it a couple times; still trying to make sense of it “This was good, far too good for our own benefit, but it was just in the heat of the night, you’re better off without me, believe me, I know it. Take care, have a great life, xoxo Y/N (your blue diamond)”- what could she have meant with him being better off without her, Enzo couldn’t wrap his head around it, of course, they had known eachother for just a hot minute, he couldn’t say he was in love, and he knew Y/N was guarded and hiding something he couldn’t quite pinpoint, but he did know something, and that was that for once, when the tall guy was with her, he felt normal again, he felt warm, he felt like someone cared about Enzo, not actor Enzo.

He tossed and turned for a while on the bed before grabbing his phone to check the time, 6 am; he checked his schedule, he had just a few scenes to shoot today, he would go over to talk to Y/N right after, he didn’t care, he didn’t agree with the brunette on what she had said on her stupid note. He could take whatever she had to throw his way. He got out of bed and made his way to the bathroom reluctantly, not really wanting to wash away the night before, or her intoxicating scent from him, but knowing he needed to get ready for work. Once he was ready he made his way downstairs and to the cafe across the street to get some fuel in him before heading to the studio. The memories and images of last night still replaying on his brain in a merciless loop, the way Y/N’s lips tasted; how soft her warm skin felt underneath his; the way her breath hitched in the back of her throat when he kissed that specific spot on her neck or her inner thigh; he swore he could listen to the small woman breath out his name a million times and would never get tired of it.

Sure enough, three stupid scenes took up most of his day, his head already at the Velvet Lounge, or at the bar they had gone afterwards, even worse, his mind kept going back to his hotel room and he couldn’t think straight, he could still taste Y/N on his tongue, and he was more determined than ever. When Enzo could finally get rid of work, he made his way to the club, making sure to stop by a flower shop on the way, he had seen the tattoo of what seemed a Jasmin flower on Y/N’s lower back at some point and he got a small bouquet. He got off the Uber a block or so away and made his way to the alley, his hands shaking softly and his breath a little heavier than he would have thought it would be, he fixed his hair and clothes before knocking on the side door. He really thought he hadn’t done anything wrong to make her leave and that she wouldn’t have spoke to her friends about him in a bad way; his mind was spiraling so he was a little surprised when a slightly older redhead woman opened the door. “Yes? How can I help you handsome?” Cady eyed the man standing in front of her up and down, and it slowly dawned on her, this was the guy she had seen Y/N talking to a few times.

“Is urm…Y/N…Blue Diamond in? I need to talk to her, would you please tell her Enzo is here?” he smiled softly, bouquet in hand. Cady gave him another full look before humming softly and disappearing back into the building. “Y/N Honey!” she called out “There’s quite a hunk of a young man standing outside the door saying he wants to talk to you…Enzo he said his name was”. Y/N’s head snapped up from her journal so fast she got dizzy, the color completely drained from her face “oh…not welcomed? I can go back out and tell him to get lost” Cady pointed back over her shoulder, always protective of the younger woman.

Y/N sighed getting up and shook her head “no, thanks mama, not necessary, he’s not bad, on the contrary, he’s too good” she took a quick look at herself in the mirror, her gray sweats and oversized hoody covering her body-she had asked for the day off today, alleging she didn’t feel all that good-, she pulled her arms around her and walked out to meet him taking a deep breath before opening the door. Y/N was determined to just usher him away as soon as she opened the door; but the sight of the tall, handsome, caring guy standing outside clearly nervous as hell, with a bouquet of jasmins in hand and a worried expression on his face made her halt to a stop. “Enzo….didn’t expect to see you here, not after I left at 4 am and left that note” she looked down at her own feet when he looked her way. Enzo cleared his throat and moved a bit closer making her look up at him again.

“First, these are for you” he said handing the bouquet over “I saw a jasmin tattoo on your back and I thought I might be on the right track” he rambled on as she took the flowers -a small tight smile as a reply- “I must admit, I was a bit surprised when I woke up to that note, please, please tell me it’s not something I did…I couldn’t forgive myself if I wronged you in any way” he kept looking at her, big puppy eyes, concern plastered on his look as he fidgeted with the ring on his finger “I just…I wanted to come over and tell you, I don’t know what you’re holding back, I have no idea what you’ve been through, and I know we’ve only known each other for a bit, I’m not pretending like I know all about you, nor demanding to… I would never force you to share something you’re not comfortable with..” Y/N looked up at him, her eyes sparkly, small smile pulling at the edges of her lips as he rambled on, he was quite endearing and adorable-added to how hot he is and how good he fucked me last night, I could get used to the rambling- she thought but let him continue “I just want you to know, that you’re more than enough, and there’s no way something like what we shared last night, isn’t the best thing ever….I would love to, if you let me, get to know every nook and crany of you, inside and out, know your brain, know your heart, and take the time to mend it back together, protect you from whatever…whomever you might be escaping and protecting yourself from”. As he said that she pulled him in by his coat standing on her tiptoes she kissed him softly, a new sensation running in that kiss, it wasn’t the need and want that it had the night before, it was calm, it was safe.

Enzo was a bit surprised to be cut short from his well rehearsed speech by Y/N, not like he would complain about feeling her lips on his; hands naturally and easily falling to her waist pulling her in gently to him, needing to shield her from the outside world in every possible way. When they felt like they needed to breath before they passed out, they broke the kiss and Enzo rested his forehead against hers. “You are adorable, persistent, but adorable” she whispered. “You’re also right, there’s a lot about me you don’t know, a lot that I don’t know if and when I will be ready to let out…but as much as I wanted to pretend that I was okay leaving you behind, it tugged at every fiber of my being, this somehow in some crazy way, feels natural, feels good, and I like it”. A slow grin spread across the taller’s face as he placed another kiss on her lips.

“This might be a lot to ask for, and please don’t think it is because I don’t like you being here, but I would love to spend every second with you… getting to know you, would you please come stay with me?” she bit her lip and looked down shortly thinking about what he was asking of her, she closed her eyes and in the first act of trust she had shown in god knows how long, she nodded. “Please give me a few minutes go grab a bag of my things?” she looked up at him, she still felt terrified, and out of sorts in ways, but something about his presence, his warmth, made the weight on her shoulders get easier to bear; Enzo placed a chaste kiss on her lips and nodded. As Y/N walked into the building, she found Cady, Astrid, Michelle and even Andrew piled up on the other side eavesdropping and looked at them with a quizzical look. “Excuse you?” she said.

Astrid smiled and with her thick russian accent said “Whoever your prince in shining armor is, can’t he take me with him as well?” Y/N laughed and nudged her playfully going to pack a small bag. “You know that whenever you want to, you have a place and a job here sweetie” Andrew said and she looked back at them “it’s not like I’m leaving for good, I’ll just go for a few days and be back, I still need to work” she said her goodbyes and walked back out the door where Enzo awaited, he wrapped his arm around her waist protectively and walked back to the hotel.

~~~

A month or so had gone by, and the familiarity between them made Y/N feel safer than ever, like she could tackle whatever came her way, she also knew that filming was almost over for him, and soon he would leave the city. As she got some snacks for them, while Enzo waited on the couch she took a deep breath, she finally thought she could tell him her story. Deep in thought she made her way to the couch sitting down. Enzo looked up from his phone “what’s troubling you babe?” he said in that soft mellowy voice of concern that Y/N had gotten to know quite well in this time together; she nodded softly sitting down.

“Remember how you told me you would never force me to share my story?” she said barely above a whisper, Enzo put his phone down giving Y/N his undivided attention now- everything else could wait, the world could wait- and nodded; “well….I think that….if this is to be anything more than a passing fling to end when you leave New York in 2 more weeks…you deserve to know” he frowned at all the beating around the bush, but he let her, whatever she was getting ready to say had to be really important and he laid his hand on her knee in a protective way to encourage her. The petite woman took a deep breath and fixed her eyes on a loose string on her cardigan and started talking. “When we first met, I had just started working at the Velvet Lounge….I got there, because I got to New York with nowhere to go, anyone to turn to, I am….I’m originally from a small town in the state of Missouri, called Rocheport, and… I had just left, nothing on my back but the clothes I was wearing and a backpack, I urm…I’m married…my husband…his name is Luke, and one night, he…he got drunk, as he usually did but that night he got mad, and he…he…” she bit her lower lip, feeling some tears running down her face she quickly wiped at before going on “he laid a hand on me, so as soon as he passed out from the booze, I left, enough money for the bus ticket out of there on the first bus I found and I ended up here, so I… I just felt like I couldn’t trust…anyone really” she tentatively looked up from her lap to find an Enzo she had never seen before, jaw tight with tension, dark eyes, but not the dark she was used to see when they had sex, no, this was different, he hadn’t realized his hands were in fists. “please don’t look at me differently”she whispered.

He looked at her his gaze softening when he heard her say that “oh baby, I could never” he whispered bringing her close to his chest. “I just wish I could have protected you from that son of a bitch, I want to protect you every day of my life, as long as we’re together, nothing’s ever gonna harm you again, and that bastard better pray I don’t ever cross paths with him because I will not care, I will kill him; I swear I will kill him.” Y/N held onto him face buried in his chest feeling it raise and fall rapidly from his breath “Thank you for letting me into your world” he whispered in her ear “I’ll make it my life’s work to make yours better if you let me” she looked up at him, eyes glossy with tears and he leaned down cupping her cheeks as he kissed her deeply, in a way that let her know that no harm could ever get to her ever again, not as long as he was beside her, not as long as they were together.

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@cyliarys-starlight @madame-fear @luceracastro @candycanes19 @lastflowrr @koiibiito @espinasrubi @castawaycherry

#lucia <33 #lsdln cast #fanfiction #fluff #enzo vogrincic fic #lsdln x reader #enzo vogrincic x reader #enzo x reader #second part #creative-heart

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hh0320 · 2 years

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𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫, 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞;

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

pair. rockstar! hyunjin x fem! reader (+ felix, minho, chan) | genre. visual gothic rock band, romance, hurt/comfort, toxic skz, set in the late 90’s-early 00’s | warnings. profanity, smoking, mature themes, drug & alcohol abuse, violence, descriptions of drug use, mental health struggle, use of petnames | word count. 10k

a/n: i want to apologize for taking so long with this chapter. i had no idea so many ppl would message me about this story, begging me to continue it. i never abandoned the velvet boys, they’re always in my heart, i’m always thinking about them even when i’m not writing. anyway, this one is a wild ride, so i just want to mention that i don’t associate the boys with these behaviors, nor the language spoken. this is purely fictional, these are just characters. one more chapter to go. thank you for reading! feedback is always appreciated 🤍

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @adoreweb, @j-0ne25, @streetlight-s.

Hyunjin hadn’t seen you in two and a half months.

Hadn’t had heroin for more than that, nothing to numb him, the pain, the voices, the fucking train wreck his band had become after the ‘biggest rock scandal in ten years.’ So they’d slept with a couple groupies—big fucking deal. But it wasn’t just that, was it, because apparently one of them was now fucking pregnant and demanding for the father to recognize the child, to compensate for his doings.

It wasn’t just that, because it was the slut Hyunjin had fucked. A big fucking deal because Minho has been exposed for his cocaine indulgence, and has had to answer to the authorities, to pay bail and do community service or go to prison for a year. Chan wasn’t talking to them. Felix had been violent with Hyunjin for the first time since they met, beating the shit out of him outside their hotel, paparazzi gathering like crows to feast upon their rotting flesh.

And now Velvet Opiate was going on a national tour, press for before and after their album release. Thirty dates, over the course of winter. The label thought it wise to ride this wave of unprecedented publicity to the cost of their demise. The band was in shambles, Hyunjin was absolutely certain they’d break up before this year came to an end. They’d fucked it all up, let fame get to their head, let the cash control them, lead them to the brink of destruction.

Here they lay, clowns in a circus, with new hair colors, and an upgraded wardrobe, Westwood Spring collection ‘00. A new fucking century ahead of them with nothing to show, the world coming to an end. His mind was a dark place, darker than ever. There was no escape from this, no light at the end of the tunnel. Hyunjin would have to walk in the nine circles of Hell for all eternity, regretting ever being alive. Such was the fate of an unloved child.

No Felix, no you. Just him and his pathetic druggie ways, a vessel full of holes, loveless, poison in human form. You’d know by now, he’s sure, after all, every channel in the country is reporting on the news, another band flying too close to the sun, blinded by arrogance and ambition. A fucking cliché.

A day before they were to mount the tour bus, Hyunjin went to look for you at the club you worked at. If you were even still there, he didn’t know, he wasn’t able to contact you, wasn’t allowed to, and after everything, was too ashamed to try. His angel, his pure girl; he’d tainted you now, had dragged you into his bullshit life, spread the plague, and possibly lost you forever. But you were still his, his lifeline, the only exit, the only beginning he ever had.

Hyunjin would explain, he would beg, he’d get on his knees and kiss the fucking ground if you so desired. If it meant you’d stay with him. Felix saw him leave, bangs covering his tired eyes, leather jacket a few sizes too big on him. His friend had stopped eating a while ago, was now stubbornly relying on nicotine and alcohol for survival.

His friend but always more. The rings wrapped tight around his middle finger, heavy. Ivy luring him deep in its vines, drowning down under. Twins no more, they whispered to him sometimes. Felix would look in the mirror and see black, would think of Hyunjin and dream of a blade digging into his very chest, by his own hand. Honeycomb locks on his shoulder as he cried, as his knees gave out, death greeting him with a cold handshake.

You’re losing something important, his mind would say. You’re letting it slip right through your fingers. Just the night before, a nightmare like no other. The corpse of him lying next to his lover's. A suicide, a sacrifice.

“In a rush?” He calls out to the knife. Let it do its killing—it is fate, after all.

Hyunjin jerks, didn’t expect to hear Felix’s voice. A week had passed like a decade. It had been loneliness rendering him sleepless, lying on a bed that wasn’t his, no one to calm him down, to bring him back to reality.

Hyunjin also had no voice, had screamed it all out in his alcohol induced breakdown, had smoked it gone. He tried to reply anyway, wouldn’t miss the opportunity of mending things with his twin, his best friend. His equal.

“Never—for you,” he rasped, words broken in half.

They move closer like magnets, and the tension suffocates the blonde, makes him want to dip his head in ice water, freeze his brain, shock himself into a heart attack. This is what it feels like meeting Felix in the middle—like electrocuting yourself.

“I don’t want your fucking flattery,” Felix snarls, but he means none of it. Pay attention to me always, come to me at long last, no more of this torture.

Hyunjin flinches, fidgeting for a cigarette. “What do you want, then?” It is a whisper, because it is the question that matters most.

It is the truth that will ruin or make him.

They stare at each other, light and dark, black and gold, and a single moment passes before they both reach for each other, fingers grabbing onto fabric, pulling closer. Hyunjin’s bruised eye still hasn’t healed, and his cut lips sting as Felix presses him own on them. The fight is evident, because it’s them and they will never truly attest to this, to what runs between them, cocks too proud, bond stronger than bodily pleasures.

Still, hands push, mouths devour. In public, for anyone to see, under security cameras. Does it even matter at this point in their career, so beyond fucked over by their choices and decisions?

“What will your girl say about the bitch you knocked up?” Felix mumbles into the kiss, and Hyunjin growls, pins him against the wall between their rooms.

“Keep her out of your jealous fucking mouth.”

“What will you do, Hyunjin?” And that’s it. Like nothing happened. “You can’t keep her; you can’t let her go. Don’t go.”

The taller boy pulls back, straightens his jacket, lights a cigarette. Black stares, lips swollen, angry, hurt.

“If I don’t see her, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stay clean this time, Felix. I say this to you as a cry for help. So no one can say shit to me.”

His friend sighs, and wipes at his mouth. Hyunjin looks at the rings on his finger, then at his own identical ones. “What if she refuses you, then? You’re gonna have to marry this girl, Hyun, do you understand how fucked this is?”

“I can’t do this right now, Lix.” With a press of his forehead against his twin’s, Hyunjin turns and goes straight for the stairs, descending in a hurry.

The more time he wasted, the less likely it was you’d forgive him. Felix kissed him, that was all that mattered—one good fucking thing in the world. He wishes he could say the same for the itch.

It was back. And it was stronger than ever.

Red Lights remained the exact same, an aching constant to Hyunjin's stormy life. In reality, nothing much had changed, nothing at all—except him. Drunks still occupied the bar stools, powder was still being snorted off the sinks in the bathrooms rendered in neon hues, the booth he frequently reserved was empty, off limits to anyone but him and his chosen company. His manager still paid a percentage to the club, the bartender still asked if he needed the ‘White Lady.’ Out of habit, perhaps. Hyunjin knew better than most—habits were fucking hard to break, even harder to quit.

“It’s our favorite guitarist, everyone!” You exclaim from behind him. “Jisung, give him a shot, quick. He has plenty to celebrate these days, it seems.”

He can’t turn around fast enough, and you give him no time to do so. You ignore his outstretched hand, ignore everyone’s gasps as they recognize the familiar face that’s been playing on every TV in the country. Jisung gives him the clear shot hesitantly, eyes drifting between the golden-haired man and the waitress he’s worked with for the past year. He’ll be damned. But it doesn’t matter; none of it does. You’re all red and black, smoky eyes and sweaty skin—furious with him, and understandably so. All he wants is for you to look at him, to give him a chance to explain.

Hyunjin feels very much like the prey now, standing in the middle of the bar as you circle around him in your leather skirt, the same skirt he’d fucked you in all those nights ago. You carried a different light then, you seemed brighter, more innocent. A sweet angel trapped inside the wings of the Devil. This time there were no wings, no sweetness about you. He’d cut his own freedom off and had sucked you dry—what he does best, what ultimately ended up happening to the one person he tried so fucking hard to keep clean, good.

He sensed the red poke under his skin, bleed onto him, take over his mind. He drank the strong liquid, tasted it on his chapped lips. His eyes followed your every movement silently, like a small child waiting to be reprimanded. Be angry with me, angel, yell at me, hit me, kill me if you must—anything but this. Please.

“Give me my bag, won’t you, Han?” you address the brown-haired man again once you come back from the table you’re serving. The music should drown you out, but Hyunjin has never heard anything clearer in his life. He’s clinging to your words by a thread—the cursed lifeline.

When your gaze falls on him, he almost breaks down right then and there. “Come on, Hwang Hyunjin, soon-to-be father, and a married man I’d assume. Let’s end this once and for all, shall we?”

“Angel, for fuck’s sake, don’t do this—”

You’re the biggest storm he’s ever had to endure. Your eyes are lightning that strikes him dead. He’d die by your hand, he’d die. He would. He knows this, he swears it.

“I’m going on break,” you call out and turn to walk away towards the back door. Hyunjin is out of breath, scared out of his body, doesn’t know what else to do other than follow.

So he does. Hitting the nails on his own coffin, delivering the eulogy for his funeral. Knife, the song he wrote for you, the title track available everywhere at midnight, the lyrics repeating in his head, a mantra, a wish, a prayer. He was never religious, but if one single God was willing to listen—let me keep her, let me keep her, let me have this one thing, this one girl, please, the only girl that matters.

You pass the threshold of the exit door first, Hyunjin holding it open for you, the proximity of your bodies stirring the darkness inside him. He’s been unfaithful to himself, not just to you. Even if nothing had been official between you; he’d proved you right, the words you threw at him that first night. He broke your trust, and didn’t even have the goddamn decency to, at least, tell you. The fact he’s getting any sort of ending is a fucking miracle. Mercy from an angel that could never belong to him.

“You changed your hair,” you comment coldly, keeping as much distance from him as possible.

He closes the metal door behind him slowly, leans on the coolness of it, the wet pavement glistening underneath his boots. He swallows, biting on the inside of his cheek. Then his fingers reach for the cigarettes again. Fucking habits.

“It wasn’t me,” he replies, and he wishes that’d be enough for other things too.

The man that fucked that girl, it wasn’t me. Anything that’s ever happened to him because of his addiction, it wasn’t him either. It couldn’t be. The lead guitarist on stage that tries to be cool, cigarette smoke clouding his vision, any time he’s doing interviews and says all that pretentious shit he’s rehearsed a thousand times over—he’d never be Minho, or Felix, or anyone besides a fake. A clown. An actor in a bad movie.

But the boy who paints alone in his temporary rooms? He likes to believe that’s him, or it could be. That somewhere inside, he had the potential of leading a peaceful life, with small happy moments like finishing a sketch, or writing a song. The person that came up with ‘Knife,’ the person he is with Chan and his notes, when they write melodies in the older members' makeshift studio. That’s who Hyunjin wishes most of all to be, to become. Someone worthy, someone able to provide happiness for others, not just for himself. Even a little.

“I wrote you a so—”

“I’d got you this to celebrate the conclusion of your recordings. Before… everything.” You move towards him to give him a black box, the familiar cross-topped orb surrounded by a ring logo he’s been wearing for most of his career staring back at him. You move back before he can keep you there, close, closer.

You slip away, again and again.

“(Y/N),” he looks at the box, then at you. The smoke burns his eyes. “Please, I can’t accept this.”

Despite your hard facade, he notices the slight flinch at his words. You turn your face away. Hyunjin panics, thinking he’s somehow offended you, so he quickly opens your gift, balancing the cigarette between his teeth. The silk encase contains a heavy metal chain with a locket hanging in the center of it, his name engraved on it.

“No,” he mutters, unable to control his body anymore, unable to control fuck all for that matter. “Angel, no, listen to me—”

You’re relentless, frozen in that fucking place of yours, so far away, suffocatingly too far. He forgets about what he should do, how he should respect your boundaries, your wishes. He lunges forward and grabs your wrists, turning your palms to him. He gives you the locket, as if the mere box touching his fingers burns him, gives way to fire and ruin. It does. It does.

“Put it on me,” he pleads, gripping at your delicate skin. “You got it for me, give it to me properly.”

You shake your head, and there are tears falling on his knuckles now. He sees them roll away, scorch his fingers, seep through his pores. Hyunjin shakes you, doesn’t know how else to convey his want. He wants to kiss you, wants to take you away, slip inside you, forget the shitshow that won’t stop happening, even then, especially then, because that means he’ll have to come back from it, from the special place, a place he never wants to escape from, the peaceful place he’s been dreaming of all his life.

Your fingers open the clasp as he leans forward, hands wrapping around your waist, and he inhales your scent, wishing this chain could interlock with another, so he can in turn wear it around your delicate neck and keep you close to him forever. It doesn’t last long, this daydream. The lock falls heavy against his sternum, and you pull away slowly, avoiding to touch back, to feel how real he feels under the tips of you. Because he is—real. He has been since the first day he locked eyes with you. You brought him to life, pulled him in, showed him his own heart.

The bag hanging from your shoulder drops to the ground, the thud of it a closing, an ending. He doesn’t accept it, he realizes he’s hurting you, that he should fuck off, leave you alone, he’s embarrassing himself, he’s pathetic in his attempts–Hyunjin has never fought for someone to stay. Has never had to, his life so full of people willing to leave, birds lingering on his branches before flying off, a moment of rest, somewhere to lay their burden, before they’re gone again, free, weightless. He’d accepted his fate, had made his peace—before you, all of it before you, and for every day after that never the same, nothing after you.

“I have no hold over you, rockstar.”

He blinks. For one goddamn second where human nature takes over and his eyes close—you jerk away from his touch and drop something in his hand. A small thing, something so mundane. A key. He blinks again, but it’s blurry this time, everything is. His heart has stopped, it seems, shop shutting down, system hijacked. Out of service. Hyunjin is crying. And it’s a first in the way that he’s never cried for love, not really, has never really known what it is to weep for it, even with Felix, because that was a different love, not this, not you, not you, not you—

“No,” the heaviest word he’s had to push out his lungs. “No, you’re wrong.” He searches for your eyes, he tilts his head, your gaze, he just needs that small connection with you, his body is on fire, his soul is decemating, he will die tonight, it hits him like a ton of bricks. If you walk away from him, he will die.

And it’s not blackmail, it’s not a manipulation tactic to get you to stay—you won’t know this, you won’t be aware, he won’t do that to you. You know nothing about that part of him, you never will. You’ll leave him behind and go back to bleeding red, and he’ll remain there, as he was, with his key and his engraved name and the itch that will take over once and for all. Maybe this time no one will find him, no one that can bring him back to a reality where he has no other escape other than death; no twin, no music, no band, no you. No you no you no you, fuck him fuck fuck fuck fuck—

Hyunjin doesn’t register his feet moving, his boots splashing in the rain puddles. He must look fucking insane, but he runs with all his might, as fast as he can—and then he throws that goddamn key away, never to see it again, never to be rid of this locket, of this weight that signifies your existence to him, whatever ounce of love you’ve felt for him. He wants all of it to lay on his back and push him to the ground, shove his fucking face in the mud and scream at him—I was here! I was here once and you shunned me away! You don’t deserve me.

An inhuman voice tears from his throat, a sound alien to him, he doesn’t recognize it. He looks around, surprised, awakened. He can’t breathe, and when the fuck will he stop crying? It’s two weeks ago all over again. He’s out of control, mad with grief.

“Hyunjin, you’re scaring me. Please stop. Stop!” Your hands on him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

There is no gravity holding him, nothing tying him down. He kneels, neck exposed to you, your gift. He stares at your stomach, as all fight escapes him. Nothing to lose, already lost. He sings, the lyrics that bloomed inside him once, now sung barely above a whisper—

I tried counting her smiling pain… I’ve lost my dreams and my love; lashed by the rain, I’m crying, I’m crying, I’m crying…

“What do I need to do, to be able to live as I am, without dressing myself up?” Hyunjin stops and looks up, at your tear stained face, a mirror looking back at him with nothing to say. He’ll say it for you, he’ll admit to the one truth he can. “I’ll wear this till the day I fucking die. I swear it, angel.”

Your beautiful face scrunches in pain, trying so hard not to break down, wanting to let him go, but holding on to him for dear life. “You don’t owe me anything,” but it’s not true. It’s not true.

He’s never been more sure of anything else— “I owe you my fucking life.”

Can you lose yourself two times over? He’ll never apologize for feeling so intensely, for getting fucked over for his heart. This is his show, his little play up on that stage he put himself on, and the curtains aren’t drawing just yet. The last act hasn’t yet began.

He doesn’t see you again until his birthday, half a year later.

Minho wipes at his nose.

Take his pixie dust away and he’ll resort to his absolute last option—pills. Anxiety pills, to be exact, forcibly prescribed by his former doctor for his unhinged nerves; former because the son of a bitch thought he’d try his luck with the ruthless bassist. The only way he’d be able to finish the tour, and go the fuck back into hiding at once, away from all the goddamn crazy people—their supposed fans—and their accusatory fingers.

If there was one thing, Lee Minho never pretended to be anything other than what he was. Who he was. An orphan. A loveless person, someone that had lost all hope, not just for himself but for everyone else, too. Part of him had died in that accident a few years back, and the rest of him had no intention of trying to revive whatever remained. There was no reason.

So, crushing and snorting Lexapro had become the new normal, the temporary solution to making it through shows and press. Getting rid of all evidence was proving to be quite the task, though, and it was taking a major toll on the purple haired man, only second to his and his band mates’ insomnia problems. The cause—obsessive stalker fans that seemed to monitor their every waking moment, waiting for a sliver of an opening to bring them down, to destroy them once and for all.

It’d started with a fucking mistake. As most things do. A split second of weakness, a lack in judgement. He should’ve known better, as should’ve Hyunjin. Because of this, all were to suffer until their heads were on flaming spikes on national television for the world to witness. Minho would rather slice his wrists open and bleed to death in the crammed tour bus bathroom, than answer to the public for his private life.

He was hurting no one. And he was certainly done with slip ups. One more show, he kept repeating putting on the outfit laid out by the stylist for tonight. One more show and I’ll be free. He thinks this until it’s time for soundcheck, and the lead guitarist is nowhere to be fucking found. Minho doesn’t even have to look at Chan to know.

The arena was empty, stretching enormous from ground to ceiling, the echo great and deafening as the staff tuned the instruments in the background. Rows upon rows of empty seats, exit lights shining brightly on each side. Felix sat on the second aisle, smack in the middle, boots propped in the seat in front of him, red plaid pants with buckles and zippers making him stand out amidst endless grey.

“Why fucking bother?” He calls out to the drummer, words resounding. “He does this shit every single day.” Black strands of hair fall in his eyes, and Minho doesn’t miss the bitterness of his tone.

“People paid to see us, Felix,” Chan replies, making his way from his drum set. His bulky biceps flexed as he pushed his hair back, the black sleeveless shirt accentuating the muscles further. “We owe it to them to at least have all four members on the damn stage.”

“Do we now,” Minho mutters under his breath. Fleeing, lately, had started to sound like a sane idea. A small mercy, even.

“You tried the waiting room?”

“I just came from it.”

The bassist clears his throat, descends the stairs from the stage. “Someone’s providing him with it—I’d check the staff’s bus’.”

Chan whips his head towards him. “I thought Joon had checked every motherfucker during the hiring process.”

“Rats can slip through cracks, Bang.”

Wasn’t that the truth. It was, after all, how he’d managed to survive all those years. He knew better than most about sneaking around; killing yourself with the help of others—people that would benefit from your downfall, because that way they could sell you out, make profit out of your misery.

Velvet Opiate fed on misery. They relished in it.

Minho was about to call for security to go and find Hyunjin, discreetly and without fuss. As was the way of such awful situations, where no one particularly wanted to get their hands dirty—or find a rotting corpse in a random parking lot in a city entirely too far from home. He informed them of the alleged whereabouts, but just as the two men were walking away, Chan cursed loudly and smacked his hand on the back of a seat, expression furious, exhausted, worried.

“I’ll go my goddamn self. Fuck this.”

Felix shot up immediately, hand reaching to halt his older friend. Chan avoided it swiftly, and walked determined to the nearest exit, set on figuring this out on his own—again. How many chances till they pronounce you a lost case? Minho wonders. A cursed battle.

“Chan, wait!” Felix tries to follow.

Minho holds him back. “Don’t. You’ll only make it harder for yourself.”

The boy’s eyes were wide, anxious. In love. For the longest fucking time, and despite, which was a curious thing. What we can do for it, suffer endlessly in loops—for someone to hold our hand, wrap themselves around our bones. Minho had it, once. Never again after that.

“He doesn’t know how to deal—”

The bassist sighs. “And you do? Yongbok, you insist on this torture and for what? You’re soft and blinded by selfishness. Love,” he chides. “Hyunjin doesn’t need someone like you.”

He sees the pretty hands balling into fists, the snarl of the younger’s lip, the hate burning in his button eyes. It does nothing for him.

“You’re wrong,” he spits, and there’s pure venom laced in his words. “None of you understand him, you’ve never tried to. He shoved needles in his fucking veins, Minho, do you think he cares about himself when he does that?” Tears gather, and fall. Minho remains silent, bites his tongue. “Motherless, lost in the world, clinging on a girl that’s long abandoned him… what the fuck, man. What’s it gonna take!”

He’s running before the older boy can stop him again. Pushes the heavy door open and disappears into the bright sunlight, leaving the bassist behind. The only one unshaken by the possibility of the events. It wasn’t indifference or coldheartedness that kept Minho grounded in the arena; it was calculated compassion. No one wants to hear a story twice—how he, too, was motherless, lost in his mind and in the goddamn world, clinging onto remnants of a girl half forgotten—no one cares, because a story told too many times is fucking reality, it’s been-there-done-that, it’s no big deal.

But Minho wasn’t someone that complained a whole lot, if ever. And he isn’t letting his friend die because it’s a hassle to get involved; he does it because addiction doesn’t stop unless there’s no one around to grab onto. No help, no second third fourth fifth chance. Hyunjin needs a fucking wakeup call harsher than nearly OD’ing. No one coming. His worst fear slapping him in the face.

“That girl of his figured it out faster than his own band,” he muttered bitterly to the emptiness staring at him.

The bass greeted him in melancholy.

Outside, Felix caught up to the leader, eyes panicked, searching the parking lot maniacally.

Chan’s anger was calmer, a sea storm felt deep within him, bubbling but contained for the meantime. It took nothing for him to lash out at strangers, but to family? He had the patience of a hundred old oak tree, unyielding, the roots having roots, having roots…

They took upon searching the buses themselves, Felix climbing up the stairs and yelling at everyone to tell him if they’ve seen Hyunjin. Some were still getting ready or having a late breakfast, but all looked at him dumbfounded, confused.

“He’s not with you?” A light technician asked dumbly.

Felix rolled his eyes and walked back the way he came from, ignoring the musty smells and disgusting underwear on the floor. “No, I’m asking ‘cause he’s right outside.”

“Are you giving me snark, boy?”

The black haired boy turned around so fast he saw stars. Two men standing near him widened their eyes and backed away in surprise, but the older man only pressed further, his nose stuck high in the air.

“Do you wanna fucking go?” Felix asked, riled up. “Cause I’ve been itching for a fight, bro, so don’t fucking play with me.”

No one expected it to escalate that fast, but before anyone could even blink, the two men were at each other’s throats, punches midway. Everyone jumped in just before the assistant stage manager could land his fist on the rockstar’s face, and that’s when Chan showed up, his loud voice making the singer stop and look.

“What the fuck are you doing?” It boomed down on all of them and shook the walls of the bus. “Are you fucking serious with this bullshit?” Breathing labored, stare wild, sweat dripping. “Come help me find my goddamn friend!” He barked. “All of you or you’re fucking fired, you hear me?”

And with that he stormed out, not caring to diffuse the situation, whatever it was. He couldn’t give a shit at that point. Hyunjin could be dead, and everyone seemed to care for their ass and their fucking pride. Fuck out of here.

“He’s not here,” is the only thing he’s heard so far, but just to be sure, he personally took a look around the bunks and in the bathrooms, keeping an eye out for any drugs or alcohol while he was at it. They’d been warned against any harmful shit for this tour; one strike and you’re out, special orders from the drummer. For their sake, it was a good thing he’d actually found nothing.

“I’ll call the hotel. Maybe he somehow found his way back,” Felix says and moves away from him, phone against his ear.

Chan doubted it, but it didn’t hurt to check. “I’m losing hope here, Hwang,” he mumbled to himself, quietly praying the tall boy would magically appear right in front of him, safe and sound. Highly unlikely; matter of fact, the possibilities of that happening were so slim that he wanted to laugh at himself for even considering it, but the desperation was so far etched in his brain, that he seemed to be hanging firmly from some sort of daydream. ‘October men and their maladaptive dream states,’ he had a girl tell him once, and he’s never forgotten it since.

“How’d you know when I was born?” He’d asked stupidly, as if this chick wasn’t a fan that had just attended his concert.

Her smile was the sexiest thing on her. “Hon, you wear ‘please love me I’m a good boy’ on your forehead.”

“Found him! Fuck, Chan!” Felix’s voice took him out of the bittersweet memory.

What did the brown-haired boy expect to see—not this. Anything but this. His mouth fell open, but no sound came out, could come out, and his head turned the other way immediately upon witnessing his bandmates state. Felix was on his knees next to him, completely on autopilot—Chan could see it from his dead eyes, doing what he did the last time he found him like this. Calling an ambulance, his other hand on the barely responsive guitarist, shaking him, keeping him awake.

“Fuck you for doing this to me twice, Hwang Hyunjin. Fuck you.”

Honeycomb hair over dilated, dark eyes, the pale man smiled a Cheshire smile, back sliding off the wheel of the bus. The leader actually whimpered seeing him do that, so completely lost in his high, his mind tripping over itself. The boy he knows used to be quiet, yes, introverted and thoughtful, but creative—so fucking creative, and animated. Full of life. Not this, whatever this was. Never this, and God fucking damnit when did it happen; when did he lose his best friend, the boy that came to him with a guitar and said he wants to play in a band? It all just seemed such a fucking lifetime away now.

“They’re saying they’ve already dispatched a vehicle to our location—” Chan sees Joon running up to them, a few of the staff he saw earlier in the venue behind him. It was only then that he noticed the siren going off in the near distance. “What do you mean, this is my first time calling you—”

“Minho called them,” Chan concluded, arms hugging his chest sadly. His cheeks were wet. “He already knew this would be what we’d find.”

The singer paused, looked up at him. Chan nodded sympathetically. Hyunjin’s head was dropping towards his twin again, but his lips were moving, his expression relaxed.

“The fucking asshole.”

“A realist,” the leader corrects. “Truly, Felix what did you think? That he’d be off buying us waffles or something? It’s his birthday and he’s falling off the side of a fucking bus, needle in hand. I can’t fucking do this anymore!”

"How much time do we have?" their manager asks roughly. "I told you, Bang. I told you if I ever found him doing this shit again, he's out!"

The drummer felt fire rush through his body, his fist rising in the air, all eyes on him—before connecting with the man's jaw, knocking him back, the sound violent, breaking. And fuck, did that feel good. It was a long time coming, the last fucking straw. He was done with it, the entire goddamn thing, taking orders, getting yelled at for situations completely out of his hands, the micromanaging, the sacrifices that lead to nothing—

Everyone was miserable. Everyone was hurting. Everyone wanted out.

"I'm sick of you putting words in my mouth. Sick of your fucking watch ticking like we're always running on your schedule. Look at him!" Chan croaked, the rage in his voice unbearable. "Fucking look at what your isolation did to him! Own up to your goddamn mistakes, you fucking coward!"

"Chan..." a dissonant sound behind him, coming down on him like a loved one from Heaven. "You got my back, Chan. Don't you?" a raspy laugh, not quite all there. "You got my back..."

Felix moved away, a supportive hand at the back of his twin's head, watching him with a crumpled gaze. Was the euphoria passing? If so, the best of the high was over. A life wasted for fifteen minutes of numbness. Of chemical happiness. The singer couldn't seem to keep the tears from running—and they ran, those useless things, hot, stinging, burning. What good did they do? Look at his love, watch as he's ruining himself on the dirty floor. He wasn't strong enough to even touch that goddamn needle, always hated getting shots, ever since he was a little kid. How could he bear taking the only thing that provides relief from his better half? His mirrored self? Even knowing it's a dead thing, even knowing it's not really that, that does the hurting.

It's the heart. The stupid heart.

"Why don't you kill me, then?" the honey dipped boy asked, paralyzed. Adrift. Broken. "Why don't you kill me?" A tear. Another tear. A pit of Hell, a mimicking nothingness. "Let me die, Chan..."

There are some words you don't say aloud. That make the monster real, that shatter the illusion. The leader could face the cold, hard truth—that the best guitarist he's ever known, the one that puts his soul in his music, in his fingers, his delicate hands—that person is a drug addict. That he uses needles to inject his liquified powders, and that his highs usually last three hours. That his friend has the deepest dark circles for a person who sleeps the most out of all of them. Sometimes, he has to slap him awake, force his eyes open. These are all truths, easy to digest, not-so-scary sentences that he's used to by now. That he's had to live with, in order to keep his band together.

But this? The fact of it? Who can face this? Who can be the bearer of the cross?

"Not me, Hyun," he replies, devoid of any emotion but sheer will for life. "Try in the next fucking life. I like having your sorry ass around a little too much."

Kintsugi, the Japanese called it. Repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. It treats breakage as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise. There was no fixing Hwang Hyunjin. But maybe they could start to respect that, instead of desperately trying to cover it up, to get angry with it.

"Huh..." A crack of a smile, much like porcelain. "Is it still my birthday, Lix?"

Felix sniffled, rubbing at his nose, huffing out a devastating laugh. "It is, you goddamn menace."

A sheepish nod, soft golden bangs hiding beautiful, closed eyes. "Then we have a concert to attend, don't we?"

"I think so. You need a cigarette?"

A hand falling on top of his. An eclipse, the moon and the sun meeting, at long last. A celebration of the dark side.

"You know it." Then a hum, as his soulmate in male form lights the stick for him, taking a drag to get it going, then putting it between his fingers. A hum that turns into a familiar melody. "I just went through so much hell, went through so much, darling... I'm the warning, burn...burn..."

Chan nears his friend, extending an arm for him to take. The younger man peeks an eye open to it, inhaling smoke until his lungs know nothing else. He assesses the gesture, knows it means no more sulking on the pavement, no more gut-wrenching pain. Alone no more. Perhaps never alone, though not always clear.

He took it.

"Cancel the ambulance, don't let the crows anywhere near," the drummer tells a security guard. "We don't need this. It's our last show today."

As for Velvet Opiate, the curtains were drawing. Indefinitely.

Felix would love to say that their last concert was a hit, a success by label standards, and that everything went according to plan, but—well, that would be a fucking lie, wouldn't it? The setlist consisted of twenty songs, excluding the encore, most of which fell on him to pull through, and with twenty-nine shows on their back, plus countless radio shows and interviews for the album, his voice was completely and utterly fried, hanging on by herbal tea every night, and vocal rest—never. He liked to believe he took care of himself, definitely better than the others, but was that really true, or just default when pitted against an addict, an almost convict, and an insomniac?

It wasn't judgement. It more so felt like pity. What was Lee Yongbok's thing? What did he offer except deep, cave-like vocals and front man looks? Wasn't that just the bare minimum? What set him apart, what was the deciding factor for his status in the Rock scene? The poster outside the arena had him positioned in the center, newly dyed black hair pulled back in a half ponytail, standing next to Hyunjin, resting an arm on his naked shoulder as the guitarist smoked a cigarette and looked down at his Ibanez RG550. Always together, never apart. Out of everyone, it feels like he believed it the most. Is he worth nothing besides this? He didn't want to be petty anymore, have this green intent to turn everyone away from his moon, because he knew it wouldn't realistically get him anywhere. What was his twin above all?

Straight. To Felix, the line would always be bent.

Alas, he wasn't a realist. But he also wasn't an asshole. As soon as that spotlight shone on him, he noticed you in the first row, still as death, big arms wrapped around you, a man much taller than him hugging you from behind. Did you come to haunt? A ghost unable to find its way out of the body, destined to float about the living world until someone set it free? Was it closure you were seeking, so many miles away from home, and on the day Hyunjin had decided to play ridiculously fucking high?

If so, why rub salt on the wound? Why bring hemlock to a man so willing to die? He wished for many things then; for Hyunjin to go blind and never notice you, ever again. For that padlock to magically open itself and fuck off back to where it came from, because where Chan had never heard the blonde begging to die, Felix had to physically stop him from ending it all, that night he came back from you. He still remembers stealing all sharp objects from his room, and locking the boy in the bathroom, hearing his banging, his pleading, his tears through that white door, relentless, haunted haunted haunted, until the early hours of the next day.

When would Hyunjin escape the ghosts? Jesus, fuck.

"Good evening, we're called Velvet Opiate," he spoke in his baritone tone. The one he had to force. "Welcome to the Knife Tour. There's nothing left to fucking bleed. Let's go!" he screamed, as the intro to 'Liar' played by Minho, a bass-heavy tune that he'd written himself.

During the first three songs, Chan kept his eyes entirely on the lead guitarist. He wasn't quite stumbling, just sort of...balancing on his legs like they were sticks, with that famous cigarette that never seemed to burn out. He made no mistakes, kept up with the tempo, and generally looked fine, so the drummer decided to return back to his instrument and quit babysitting.

The first bottle was thrown when Hyunjin locked eyes with you. It smashed right next to him, and nearly scraped his cheek. Felix froze, but continued singing, turning momentarily to check on his bandmate. If he saw it or not, it wasn't written anywhere on his face, instead seeming to be entirely hypnotized by the inevitable standing mere feet away from him.

"I saw your face, I saw your face...and the light," the singer drawled dreamily, as security found the person responsible and dragged them away.

There seemed to be a group of them, all gathered on Hyunjin's side, and some of the fans took notice of that, yelling and pointing at them. Felix showed the problem area with his hands to the remaining staff, but not before a different person managed to throw another one, this time hitting the microphone stand. He maneuvered around it, grabbing the mic and walking to the other end of the stage, crouching to sing to a fan that was screaming her lungs out, reaching her arms out to him.

“I’m gonna please you, please me, please you, please me.” The lights turned a deep red color, staining everything in the arena, as Felix jumped to the barricades and sang the words close to the girl’s mouth, staring into her eyes. She went ballistic and started crying immediately, so he petted her hair and moved away quickly, hand in the air to collide with open palms.

On the stage, Minho was studying the crowd coldly, waiting for that one last fucking straw that’d make him lose it and get on the first plane back to Tokyo. He’s had enough—of this forsaken tour, of the aggressive fans, the bullshit that came with fame. They’d sold one million copies in their first week, for fuck’s sake, why do they need to tour the entire nation? It was a goddamn cash grab, nothing but a circus, and they were only getting forty percent of it.

Well into the set, Hyunjin looked like Hell. While Felix had taken it upon himself to speak and interact before introducing the next song, the guitarist sat down by the stairs and lit a cigarette, his naked, sweaty torso glistening under the intense lighting. Minho watched as he took his earpiece out and motioned to a staff to come to him, leaning to say something, before the person ran off to do whatever he was instructed to. The blonde hair was sticking to his neck, but it also blended in with the paleness of his skin, making him appear angelic, or something close to it. Ironic, considering, the bassist thought.

Still. Something was bothering him; it was clear to see. And it wasn’t the high.

“Every time I remember…nails dig into my heart,” Felix sings, then pauses, hearing the rest of the words being sang to him. “Oh, what lovely voices! But do they sing it as good as our lyricist?” He turns to the boy on the stairs, currently hunched over smoking, guitar on his back, his eyes never leaving your figure, as yours don’t either.

A man? In his show? While he’s bound by your chains? How cruel of his angel.

“Oi, Hyunjin. You wanna sing this one? My throat is fucked, lover boy,” the main singer waits for the request to register in the guitarist’s ears, before a sound person appears out of thin air to pass him a microphone. “Doesn’t he look fuckable today? Such a shame there’s no one to warm his bed…”

Twenty thousand voices joined to yell, “I can!” Even Minho couldn’t help chuckling to that.

Hyunjin checked to see if the microphone worked, shyly, taking the cig out of his mouth slowly, exhaling smoke like a goddamn fireplace, before bowing his head slightly to the crowd, and introducing himself.

“Hello, I’m Hyunjin of Velvet Opiate,” he mumbles, pushing hair out his eyes with his thumb. The fans went insane.

It was no secret he was the most popular member, despite never wishing to be. The label always promoted him as a sort of Jim Morrison character, brooding and quiet. Which he was—but not because of reasons the public might think. He was surprised no one had picked on the fact he was high as a fucking kite. Himself, he thinks he’s about the highest he’s been in a long time. Nothing spins, yet everything moves.

“His first baby,” Felix meant the song, but Chan inwardly facepalmed. “Most likely,” he added, humor to lessen the tension. “Acapella, Hyun?”

“No,” he replied. “This is ‘Knife.’ For the girl that breathed life into me then broke my fucking heart.”

The eerie melody started playing, the musician they’d hired to be on the keys specifically for this song following after. Taking a deep breath, and a long drag of nicotine, Hyunjin joins in a gentle, hard voice, a reprimanding tone, watching his girl in the arms of someone else—

“If I can have something from you… I have nothing, I’m so sad…I can’t take being alone. Every time I remember, nails dig into my heart…”

They must hate him now. Or resent him. Once the adrenaline of the concert, of the music passes, they’ll turn against him once more, prey for their headlines and magazine articles. Just a product made specifically to be taken apart, forced to turn itself into a thousand pieces so there’s enough for everyone. He’ll gladly be their doll, he thinks. You seem to hate him too. In fact, you do, don’t you?

Something he can’t take. He won’t.

He got up and walked down the remaining steps, all the while keeping the same breathy, heartbreaking tone that had you limply hanging from your date’s arms, gasping for air. He wasn’t the best singer, he was nowhere near one, to be completely fucking honest, but no one could sing that song better than him, in that specific moment, as you’re staring at his face like he’s the one that tore you apart.

The lock is still around my chain, angel. Until I die. I told you.

“Let me hear your voice more, I tried so hard to bear with it…the knife turns, my heart spills, blood mixed with tears…it must be my love. Here lies my love…”

Chan brought the drums to a crescendo, while Hyunjin gave his mic to a sound staff standing nearby, and brought his guitar around, feeling the strings under the tips of his fingers, eyes falling closed, his only purpose in life taking ahold of him, guiding him through, keeping him afloat. The rush is the same, he muses bitterly. Strumming chords, being in your presence—it equals his spoon, his lighter. His needles. Every time his soul is empty, he simply picks another addiction.

How truly fucking pathetic.

He plays for you, then. Stands right in front of you and that fucker, and pours his cursed, goddamned heart out, until nothing is left—the last of the poison outing, finally, finally, ridding him of humanity, of the filth and the shit, and his own weak attempts at pretending to understand life, and living, and why that fucking thing just has to keep…beating.

For what? So, he can witness with his own two eyes that for the one time that truly mattered—that he cared, that he loved, whatever the fuck that meant, he was abandoned? Again? And again, and again, and again. Lead guitarist/songwriter, Hwang Hyunjin, they’d said, is caught up in another scandal. Sources say the girl, twenty-year-old so-so, was receiving treatment at so-so hospital, when a pregnancy test came back positive. She alleges, that the baby belongs to the superstar, member of the controversial band Velvet Opiate.

A baby. His karma for betraying an angel. He expects to be buried six feet underground and never go anywhere, neither up nor down. Scum of the earth, and so he will remain. For his bones to decay, for his flesh to rot.

“How cynical you’ve become, my beautiful boy,” his mother would say, before leaving him alone once again.

Are you proud of your boy now, mom? He asked the crowd silently, fingers creating sound, creating art. His legacy of dust. Beautiful but never loved. Talented but immobilized.

“I tried counting her smiling pain… I’ve lost my dreams and my love; lashed by the rain, I’m crying, I’m crying, I’m crying…”

Bangs cover wet eyes. Fingers bleed on the smooth wood of the guitar, Ibanez RG550, always, but Hyunjin feels none of it. Not the heartbreak, not the injury. What does he feel?

Jealousy. How heavy his lids are, how sweaty his chest is. Unusually. Almost…painful?

He looks down. There’s blood everywhere. There’s glass all around him. He looks up. You’re freeing yourself from the arms, you’re screaming at him, you’re jumping the barricade. High as a fucking kite, huh? Must’ve been one of those beer bottles from earlier. Keep talking, Hyunjin, keep thinking, keep thinking!

A big noise on the stage. Minho smashing his guitar to smithereens. Minho walking out. On them. On him. On him.

“Who the fuck threw that?” Felix’s deep voice vibrates through him. “Who the fuck threw that?!” Louder. Angrier.

Life played out in slow motion after that. Like in the movies Hyunjin would watch as a kid. The lights would whirl, twirl, move move move, the people’s faces would melt off, their voices like a rewinding cassette, and his body would be floating, above all, nothing happening to him, nothing at all. He’d like for something to happen to him, he thinks, for once. He’s been too isolated, too cuddled.

Even dying requires a pass, a question for every attempt, hand raised, waiting patiently for something that never comes, that is never allowed.

The soundtrack to his life? His own digits playing the intro to their next song, unaware that he’s bleeding out in front of thousands of people, one member down, at long last the much-anticipated clown circus, coming in your town!

Don’t miss it!

He jostles out of sleep, sitting up at once, eyes wild, searching in the dark, chest heaving, needing air where air cannot be found. He'd blacked out again. He rubs his face, comes back to life, focuses on the one fixture of light, a bright hope on the other side of the tunnel. Hyunjin squints, tilts his head, tries to understand how a lamp has a head, and arms, and beautiful legs.

It walks, too. The light looks a lot like you, he thinks. Am I still high? Or am I finally... has the time come? Am I dead? Am I dead? He realizes he says this outloud, but his mouth doesn't stop moving, the shakes won't wear off for a little while still, and his cheeks are wet again.

When will he stop being so weak? He saw an angel and begged for death, instead of redemption. He's sick to his stomach, he can't stand himself. It's you, it's you, there, right there, coming over to him like you'd never left, never turned away, never abandoned—like a mother would come for her child, except he knows nothing about that, not how it feels, not how it looks.

Hyunjin jumps from the bed, long legs clad in black kicking off blankets, limbs reaching out, strands of yellow covering his vision, shielding him from reality, holding him in the in-between, a place where he gets to hold you again. To hold you. He's sketched your body so many fucking times, a hundred, a thousand, a mess of paper and coal, fingers stained for weeks, and then he's brought the drawings close to his heart, closed his arms around it, held it and prayed for sleep, cradled you, shushed you, sang to you, eyes closed, empty rooms. Always alone. Always half-mad.

When his bony arms wrap around a corporeal body this time, when there's flesh under his touch, a rush of blood, a beating pulse—he hugs it tight, God, he hugs it. You. The lifeline, the angel, the sweet thing that wanted to see him again, and again, so long ago now, it seems. For whatever damned reason, somehow, you've deemed him worthy enough to come back for him, and won't you please take him away this time? Won't you end his misery, stop refusing yourself to him?

"Your wound!" You exclaim, but there's no wound for him, no pain in your presence. Only pure euphoria, the brightest kind. He's overwhelmed, intoxicated, harnessed.

He bumps you against chairs, against desks, and smashes lamps, never once leaving you, never once caring for the destruction, the consequence, only wanting to be part of you, skin of your skin, the breath inside your lungs, so that he never has to part from you again. And he cries; he cries hard, ruinously, like a little boy would, and you let him, because he looks like he's travelled through Hell and back, twice over. He's pale, malnourished, injured, and hurting. So visibly hurting, despite his numb reactions to it. If you wonder, or if you know, you never say. You hold him back, because he leaves you no choice. Because there is no other choice.

When the heels of your shoes hit the nightstand, he collapses on his knees, and takes you down with him. He doesn't mean to, you see; to sink so deep, every time, to bring you too, but he can't help it, he doesn't know any other way, any way out. He really just wants out, and could you show him? Could you at least tell him? He's missed you. He's missed you so fucking much.

"I can't do this, Hyunjin. I'm not."

"I wanted to see you," he says quietly, like he's ashamed. In all of the rain and the thunder, this one thing, he whispers it. Like he's afraid to disturb it.

"God, it doesn't matter," you croaked, but you were crying, too. You wept with him, for him. "It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter..." you repeated, shaking your head against his shoulder, losing oxygen.

He was squeezing the life out of you, he was everywhere. His blood was on your clothes. Make it stop, make it easier, make it last.

"Your song," he pulls back just to stare at your face, to search, to see. "Did you hear it? I wrote it for you."

You nod, and you smile, but it's a sad thing. Your hand caresses his cheek softly; your porcelain boy, trapped in a living body. "I did, rockstar. I did."

The genuine curve of his lips made you hide your face, your tears. You couldn't break. If you broke, it'd be ten times worse for him. But how to be strong, when your heart still beats the same for him? When you've never been a good liar.

"Happy birthday," you sniffle, and wipe at your eyes. "I brought you a gift."

His gingerbread eyes look at you like you've just told him something incredible. You're not sure if you want to know what it is.

"You're the gift," he mumbles, playing with your hair. His touch burns you. You want it as much as you want nothing to do with it.

"Hyunjin..." You reach up, at the desk, and pull your bag down on the floor with you. He watches, angel features in full mode, and you think blonde hair suits him a lot. "I went back to find it. I searched for hours."

It was the key he'd thrown away. His expression shattered at once. You rushed to explain, scared, terrified he's misunderstood—

"I know you don't want it, but I felt so bad about how it ended, that I just... couldn't leave it alone," you pressed your lips together. "So, I put a chain through it. I thought if you were to wear the padlock forever, I should do the same thing with the key. I wanted you to wear it on me."

His fist closed around your open palm, and he smashed you against his chest with one arm, breathing in your sweet scent. He'd never be alone again. That one thought was enough to get him through anything. There would always be someone out there holding a piece that can unlock him, a piece more important than death. I love you. I love you with whatever's left of my heart, and my soul. I'm yours entirely. All he had to do was seek them out, like he'd promised.

His fingers unclasp the necklace, and you hold your hair up and out of the way, exposing that pretty neck he tasted once, a million years ago. The taste on his tongue never faded, he never let it. He swore to himself he wouldn't touch another woman, ever again. He'd do his duty, and suffer silently, as he was meant to.

But seeing the key fall above your breast, it was too much. How would he let you go this time? You'll take everything. Everything.

"The band is going on hiatus," he admitted. "The girl is about to give birth; I bought her a house outside of the city. It's—I'm having a boy." Where the fuck were his cigarettes?

"I bet he'll be beautiful," you comment, putting a finger under his chin to lift his face. "Like you," you smile. "But you need to stop, Hyunjin. You need to stop."

You wait as he looks for his pack, as he brings the lighter close to his mouth, as he inhales, and drops his head again. "You knew?" he asks, embarrassed.

"Not till today." You gently lift one of his arms, the damage on the skin answer enough. "I can't get back together with you, rockstar. But I'll be there, if you need me."

Hyunjin huffs out a laugh, smoke coming out of his nostrils. "I'll always need you, angel."

You grin, bumping your knee against his. "Then I'll always be there."

There they were again. The angel eyes. The ones from your first meeting. They looked straight through you, those. Watercolor eyes. God's eyes.

"You have cursed me, sweetheart. I can't see anything but you." Full circle, with an open ending.

Like his words from before, they cut deep. They made a house in you. You would never separate from him, you think, not ever.

Love tormented, love purple and blue.

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