#Melodics cost

[thoughtswordsaction]

Zero Cost - Mouths To Feed CD EP (Engineer Records)

Zero Cost‘s new EP, Mouths To Feed, offers a compelling journey through the passionate landscape of modern melodic punk rock. Released under Engineer Records, this EP solidifies Zero Cost’s place in the contemporary punk scene while paying homage to the genre’s roots. With influences ranging from classic skate punk bands like Bad Religion, Pulley, NOFX, and The Descendents, Zero Cost has crafted…

[yzzart]

I KNOW, MY EYES ALREADY LOVE YOU ── KENJI SATO

── summary: What could be Kenji Sato's certainty and weakness?

── content warnings: F!reader, 18+, nsfw, morning sex, unprotected, riding, playing w/ nipples, dirty talk, praise, petnames, kenji being a fucking tease, explicit words, explicit content.

── word count: 1.798!

Kenji did not know, or did he understand, some certainties about his life, and, perhaps, it could sound like imprudence, the purest act of negligence he had the opportunity to tolerate; in fact, it was obvious. — He believed in this line of consciousness, attempted reasoning.

He declared that he made mistakes, countless mistakes, and, currently, he still thinks about the hypothesis that he could make them to this day; even though he wanted to, and tried, as much as possible, not to reveal what he believed to the cameras, journalists and specific people around him. — Sato wouldn't stand it, he knew that.

However, resonating with a merciless and sweet irony, seeming such a surprising incongruity, Kenji was, he knew, certain about one thing in his existence, something that he would not dare lie, deceive himself or dissemble; he imagined he might die if he did that. — His chest burned, sharply, just thinking about it.

You were one of Sato's weaknesses; in his view, the only one. — At the same time, it was his strength; knowing that, you can destabilize him, with ease and incomplexity, conceiving a change in his concentration and everything around, just by directing your eyes against his would be able to be seen as ridiculous and playing a vulnerable side and stealing his attention was peculiar. — Something incredibly curious.

But in Sato's eyes, it was a form, way of how to worship you; being able to feel a passion, intensely, disoriented and burning in his heart. — Admitting something so angelic and serene. — Not hiding the fact that you were his refuge, a place where he felt safe and loved and knew that it would protect him at all costs in his life; experiencing being worthy of you.

And every morning, every second and minute of it, at dawn next to you, with his body entwined with yours, Kenji thought about it.

"A kiss for your thoughts?" — A sleepy, so sweet voice exclaims in the boy's ears, spontaneously bringing a cunning smile to his lips; Kenji loved your humor, even during the early morning. — "What do you think?" — Even with the huge cuts in the windows, showing weak and soft bands of light, you refused to open your eyes at that moment, yawning.

"That's a very good proposal, should i accept it?" — He asked, looking down at your leg, which was in the region of his hips, and felt, deliciously, you pressing yourself against him; Sato's smile grew even wider due to the fact that you only had the blanket stuck to your bodies. — "Good morning to you too, kitten."

He considered some sleepy, boring mumbles and grunts that came out of your mouth as a response, and found it adorable; bringing his lips to your forehead, kissing it, while stroking your hair. — Taking care of his girl with delicacy and gentleness. — And more melodic hums were made by you.

You couldn't stop that familiar and delightful tingling between your legs, and soon you was clumsily rubbing yourself against Kenji's hips, — who didn't fail to find your morning boner fascinating and hungry — without a hint of shame.

"I see someone…" — A sensual laugh vibrated in your temple. — "…woke up very well." — He added, feeling a lump in his throat, unable to contain his shaky breath. — "No?" — Your hand snaked over Kenji's athletic chest, a line of coldness crossed his skin, caused by the ring you had on your finger; your engagement ring.

Not knowing how to resist, and never could, your movements, the painful, throbbing sensation began to burn, sharply, Kenji's dick, showing the large bulge developed in the blanket; he was already starting to feel needier than usual, wanting to fit his face into your neck and dive into your pussy.

Just thinking about being inside you makes Sato's breathing become a panting mess, not wanting or admitting to waste another second.

"I always wake up right next to you, Kenji." — You replied, lifting your head, directing your lips to the eldest's shoulder, trailing kisses across his skin; showing affection. — "Always." — The little kisses went up to his collarbone, your warm hands remained on his chest.

During the small movement between the sheets, caused by you, part of your boobs were exposed and shivering as they hit Kenji's skin; he didn't wait and anxiously felt the beak of one of them, squeezing it with a certain and frank force. — Drawing a sigh from you and making the player bite his lip, like prey. — The damn man liked doing that.

Sato was, indisputably, diabolical, the most arrogant and delighting provocation to ever stand before you.

“Come here, come.” — He asked in a whisper, cunning and with eyes clouded with desire, looking at every point of your face and eyes, running his tongue over his lips, leaving them wet and, faintly, shiny; waiting to be responded to, which didn't take long. — "Pretty girl."

Yours lips, eagerly, came together in a sinful, appetizing and wet kiss; Kenji's sharp tongue rubbed and caressed your, wanting to taste your mouth, as if it were the first time. — Sometimes causing a shock of contact between your teeth and his, nothing could stop you. — Moans, coming from you, delighting in his mouth, were muffled and made Sato smile bewildered.

Kenji felt, even so apprehensive and focused on your mouth, his body being touched, covered by your hands, and, lightly, your nails scraped his skin, desperate to touch him. — He couldn't help but find it cute and naive the way your hand moved to the back of his neck, shocking your bodies even more. — Feeling himself throbbing more and more.

You would be the death of Kenji Sato. — That was another certainty that covered his mind.

Moaning during the mediocre fraction of a second in which your lips disconnected, feeling an emptiness, you came across thin and fragile strands of spit slowly breaking and you vibrated when you heard Sato's smug laugh; his eyes surrounded your mouth, wanting it again. — He smiled, forming a pretentious and ambitious expression as he brought his thumb to your chin, holding it.

"Ride me like a good girl," — Sato clicks his tongue, incoherent. — "my good girl." — Aa words, referring with a hint of possessiveness and premise, made your pussy throb with exultation. — "Please, huh?" — Your lover pouted, almost sounding mocking but not hiding the need he burned for you.

He didn't need to say it twice, he knew there would be no need, even though he saw some clouds of pleasure, leaving you completely at the mercy of the excitement, leaving you beautiful head. — And, also, it wasn't long before your legs were around Kenji's hips, grabbing them with the limited strength you had; abandoning the silky, white sheet somewhere on the mattress.

Settling down, adjusting his posture on the soft, padded pillow, hoping for a good view, Kenji couldn't help but adore the image before his eyes; you were deliciously mounted on him and comfortable on his lap, in your honored place and feeling deified. — It seemed like an inexplicable, surreal and reprehensible scene, it could be the taste of the paradise they prophesied. — No, you were Sato's own, true and only paradise.

Your body surrendered to him, precise movements, with a moderate, almost weak strength and still clouded with sleep, against the young prodigy's hips, feeling his entire length sink, preciously, into your sticky and hot walls; never getting used to the way you was filled by Kenji, — and, wanting, dirty, at no point to get used to it. — leaving you more stimulated. — When you felt him completely, your lips opened, moaning harmoniously and delightfully, attracting panting sighs in the name of your lover.

And, with your boobs, delicious and juicy boobs, exposed, wide open, which, according to your movements, swayed and shivered in front of Kenji, wanting to devour them with desire and modesty. — And not tolerating losing the delicious vision, he preferred to remain where he was; but, he didn't hesitate in sliding his hand towards one of them and squeezing it, now, tightly.

"Ken..ji." — You moaned, whimpered, moving your hand towards his, which held your nipple, unbearably, sensitive with his calloused fingers. — "Fuck-k!" — You sobbed, threatening to release tears from feeling all that pleasurable pressure in your system; and, feeling the lack of sustenance, with the other hand, you moved across Kenji's chest. — "Ken, Kenji..."

"Is it good, my love?" — He says, removing his hand from your boob and repositioning it on your waist, guiding your movements, noticing your almost exhausted rhythm, poor thing. — "Fucking good, huh?" — He growled when he noticed a sudden tightness in his cock; your pussy choked and sucked him, divinely, well. — "O-oh, look what we have here." — He laughed, digging his short nails into your flesh.

The sharp, thin lamentations and melodic moans vociferated in Sato's ears sounded like masterful music, stirring him with every descent and ascent that you made in his lap; also mentioning the wet, filthy melody that your pussy made while swallowing his cock. — Such a greedy, hungry, desperate little thing for every inch of him.

"Keep it up, kitten." — He swore, quickly guiding your hips and showed a satisfied and happy smile when he saw that you responded to his orders, winking shamelessly in your direction. — "I love filling this pussy, fuck…" — He breathed deeply, shaking with another grip on his dick. — "with my cum in the morning." — Listening to Kenji's filthy words was a sin.

It was blasphemous, unacceptable to be able to tolerate, endure, for so long, all that excitement, — all that infernal provocation coming from your man — and adequately endure the stings that reached, perfectly, your sensitive and delicate spot, which only Kenji knew how to reach. — And he took advantage of that.

With incandescent, burning pleasure replacing all sensations, reactions of your body, finally, that nervous, tingling thread, trapped in your stomach, breaks free; accompanied by a tearful and disoriented scream, crying out for Sato, coming out of your mouth. — Cumming on his cock, having some spasms around it, you feel weak, about to become weak. — Like a pathetic little doll.

"Baby." — Hot, delicious jets of sperm painted your inner walls, taking him to the limit, as always; cumming inside you, Kenji filled you, leaving you satisfied, sated and fulfilled. — Having the impression that, still sitting on his lap, you was leaking yours mixed releases, causing an appetizing mess. — "Holy shit." — Ken moaned softly, smiling bewildered and drunk for you.

Tilting your head to the side, merely acting in a naive and harmless way, still with a look of tiredness and exhaustion, a thin and innocent smile tugged at the corner of your lips; making you even more adorable, captivating.

"Good morning to you too, Ken."

Yeah, in fact, you were Kenji Sato's main weakness.

[hoonieyun]

dozing off... ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

when he falls asleep while you two are hanging out heeseung 𐐪♡𐑂 jongseong 𐐪♡𐑂 jaeyun 𐐪♡𐑂 sunghoon genre: fluff fluff fluff aaaand more fluff.. warnings: nothing really aside from kissing lol 18+

hoonieyun notes: some fluff before i dive into a shit ton of angst and drama for february LOL i hope you enjoy and as usual... not proofread hehe

heeseung ⋆˚ʚɞ

heeseung had promised you a movie night marathon where you'd take turns choosing the movie to watch while eating your favorite snacks. the night started with american psycho because sunghoon had been talking about it nonstop and heeseung wanted to see why sunghoon liked it so much. pretty woman, then mr. and mrs. smith followed after.

the two of you have gone through 3 bowls of popcorn, a bag of honey butter chips, and endless instant ramen as you're watching the fourth movie of the night: intersellar, which was your pick.

you were well engrossed into the movie that you hadn't noticed heeseung had dozed off until you heard him snoring during a silent part of the movie.

a part of you was a little bummed that heeseung fell asleep so early into your movie night since it was only 1am and he's stayed up way later before playing games with the guys but heeseung just looked too cute cozied up under your mymelody blanket that you couldn't get upset.

you carefully peel the blanket off of you so you could clean up and get ready for bed without disturbing heeseung but just as you're about to get up a pair of arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back into bed and into the warm comfort of heeseung's arms.

"don't gooo" heeseung whines while nuzzling himself into your side like you were a stuffed plushy.

"baby, i'm just gonna clean up so we can sleep, let me go." you whisper and heeseung whines and you can feel him shake his head behind you on your back. "just stay, we can clean tomorrow." he says while tightening his grip on you.

"ok, fine. but you're cleaning it up tomorrow." you say and you can feel him smile into your skin as he presses a soft kiss onto your shoulder. you pull the blanket over you as the two of you cuddle up for warmth, the movie still playing in the background but soon get drowned out by the sounds of heeseung's snores and steady heartbeat.

jongseong ⋆˚ʚɞ

jay had been working late the last few days but every friday was date night and he vowed that he wouldn't ever miss date night. since his work schedule has been leading him to get home late, the two of you had just planned to have date night at home.

you prepared dinner so that you could eat right away when he arrived since he would be tired and then the rest of the night would be filled with looking through the box of vinyl's you bought from a record store who was selling surprise boxes of vinyl's from the 80s and 90s.

"wow, dinner was delicious, love. thank you." jay says while picking up the dishes and placing a kiss on your forehead. he offers to wash the dishes since you cooked but after a bit of convincing he decides that the dishes can wait until tomorrow so you two could get right into the second part of your night.

you pull out your record player as jay unboxes the vinyl's and his eyes widen at the sheer amount inside, "how much did you pay for this?" he asks and you tell him that the 30 vinyl's only cost you around $100.

the two of you took turns picking one out to see if you'd be familiar with the record. there were some you knew like donna summer, B52s, and sting; while jay was more familiar with other ones.

you had set lauryn hill's vinyl record into the player as you sifted through the rest of the vinyl's. jay was playing his guitar along with the song playing and at some point you realize that you couldn't hear the melodic strumming of jay's guitar.

looking up at jay to see what he was up to, you find that he's slightly slumped over, still holding his guitar, but his head was resting low as he slept. you figured that the soothing tunes of lauryn hill and his own guitar lulled him to sleep.

you didn't mind too much that this week's date night was cut short or nothing too special because you were just happy to spend time with jay regardless what the two of you were doing.

after carefully grabbing his guitar and setting it back in its stand and stacking the records back in the box, you grab a few pillows and blanket from your bedroom so you can jay could just fall asleep in the living room to lauryn hill.

you gently set jay's head on a pillow and let him get comfortable as you slip into the space in front of him, his arm instantly wrapping around you as you throw the blanket over your bodies.

"goodnight jay, i love you." you whisper as you cuddle up to him and to your surprise, jay responds; kissing your temple, "i love you too" he says and soon slumber takes over the two of you as nothing even matters by lauryn hill plays throughout your home.

jaeyun ⋆˚ʚɞ

its around 2am as you and jake are sitting on your bedroom floor building legos and watching cartoons on the tv. it was such an simple action but spending time with jake and doing something as simple as making legos and watching a show was enough for you to have a good time.

jake had bought several, and by several he bought six, legosets. some of them being infrastructures, flowers, animals, and whatever else they had at the store. jake had begged you to build legos with him and at first you didn't want to because you just got your nails done and thought it would just get in the way but to your surprise, it wasn't that hard to build the legos.

you had built a vase with orchids, a small fighter jet, and a lucky cat statue. your hands were getting a bit tired so you decided to take a break as jake continued. "you look a lot like this lego" he says, showing you a half completed legoset.

"what even is that?" you ask and he pouts and furrows his brows, "it's a dinosaur..." he mutters and you return the facial expression back at him. he later explains that he thought you looked like the dinosaur because you were wearing a green sweater and had long nails like the dinosaur's claws. "you're lucky you're cute.." you say, placing a kiss on his cheek as jake smiles at you.

shinchan was playing on the tv and you had gotten a bit too into the show. the little cartoon was so mischievous and cute that you couldn't help but get really into it. you're taking out of your thoughts when in the corner of your eye you can see jake's head drop and rise in the span of 2 seconds. and when you look at him he's blinking rapidly and trying to focus on his legoset in his hands. when he suddenly yawns your suspicions are confirmed that jake was getting sleepy.

"baby, do you wanna go to bed?" you ask and jake raises his head to look at you; his eyes big and bright as he thinks about your question. "but... the legos.." he says and you laugh at his cute behavior.

"aren't you sleepy? you look sleepy!" you explain and jake swears that he isn't. shaking his head and sitting up straight to make it seem like he wasn't tired. but his body ultimately fails him as he dozes off with the legoset slipping out of his hands and landing on the floor; causing some of the pieces to pop off.

jake jolts awake at the sound and instantly looks at you, "not sleepy, huh?" you say and jake pouts at you. "fine... let's go to bed." he says and the two of you get up and move to your mattress. snuggling under the covers as jake spoons you. "goodnight, jakey." you whisper and he kisses your cheek. "goodnight my trex.." jake responds.

"hey.." you whine, jake's giggling filling the room as you try to sleep.

sunghoon ⋆˚ʚɞ

you and sunghoon were similar in a lot of ways but also different. for example, the two of you were introverted and often were outgoing with those you were most comfortable with. sunghoon sleeps early while you were a night owl, and sunghoon often made comments about how you needed to sleep earlier and you'd just make a joke about how he's like a grandpa for sleeping so early.

tonight however, sunghoon had promised that he would stay up with you to see what was so special about staying up late. in all honesty, there wasn't anything special about it. you just liked the peace that the night brought and being able to enjoy the calm.

its 10pm when you realize that sunghoon was already sleepy. 10pm wasn't very late for you but to sunghoon it was way past his "bedtime" as you liked to call it. you were simply just sitting on the couch reading a book and sipping on your tea when he plops down next to you, laying his head on your lap. "how do you stay up so late, im so sleepy" sunghoon says into your thigh, dragging out the ending of sleepy.

"i don't know babe, i just can. you should sleep, i don't know why you're so adamant on staying up late with me." you respond and he explains that he just wants to spend time with you, to see what you like to do on your alone time at the wee hours of the night so that he could bond with you more and indulge in your enjoyment.

he places a kiss on your thigh before he turns around, now facing the ceiling opposed to his face being buried into the skin of your thighs. "what are you reading?" he asks and you explain the plot, maybe a bit too much because as you're talking sunghoon's snores interrupt you.

you move the book away of your vision and it reveals a sleeping sunghoon, hugging the throw pillow close to his chest and snoring while he sleeps on your lap. you chuckle and shake your head at him, finding it funny that it isn't even midnight and he's already lost his bet with himself of staying up late with you- to which you don't mind because you liked seeing sunghoon sleep like he was your sleeping beauty.

pulling your phone out and snapping a quick photo leads to sunghoon's eyes flying open, causing you to laugh as he pouts at you for taking a photo of him. "sorry, sleepyhead. you're just too cute." you say while softly patting his head.

sunghoon smiles at your comment and goes back to snoozing as you continue reading your book. it's times like this where everything is calm, quiet, and peaceful that make you appreciate staying up late where you can enjoy the silence in the presence of your loving boyfriend.

copyright 2025 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned. if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

𐐪♡𐑂 @pagemiah @jiiyen @jnysaln @xh01bri @rairaiblog @laurradoesloveu @17ericas @manaah02 @heeseung64 @zorange13

[princessbrunette]

all of a sudden, jj suddenly felt severely underdressed in his black muscle tank and cargo shorts. it’s not that he hadn’t been in a strip club before, he’d just never come to see pogue!bunny!reader at her place of work.

you’d left your shoes at the chateau after one of the many infamous pogue parties that you’d been invited to. if it were any other kind of cheap shoes, you’d probably just said forget about it. but for some bizarre reason, you’d worn some of your prettiest shoes that cost you an arm and a leg from the bills thrown your way at the club, so you’d been damned if you let those just get tossed in the trash because guys don’t know the value of things.

jj had actually used it as an excuse to slide into your instagram dms. shooting you a super casual ‘hey, left your shoes at the chateau. want em back?’ to which you responded ‘my hero!!!! <3’ and so on. anyway, the agreement was — he’d bring your shoes to you on your break.

it’s not as grimy on the inside as it is on the outside, but he doesn’t have much time to look around before he’s hearing the slapping of bare feet through the hallway — and suddenly a scantily dressed figure is throwing itself into his arms in the dimly lit space.

“holy— jesus christ.” he catches you anyway, though you can tell he doesn’t know where to put his hands, settling on the fat just beneath your ass. he swore you were put on this earth to tempt him.

“you came!” you smile in that melodic voice, unhardened by your surroundings. hell, he nearly did come.

“well, you called.” he shrugs, trying to be all nonchalant about it. he swings the shiny pink heels around his fingers and you squeal, taking them from him. “yeah— so, uh— if that’s all i could probably just see myself ou—” he juts a thumb towards the exit, going to stuff one hand in his pocket and missing all together as he backs away. he wasn’t sure why he was being so awkward, aside from the fact you were just stood infront of him wearing a tiny little triangle bra and a g string.

“stay!” your brows furrow adorably and it physically pains his chest, infact — he’s pretty sure he had a physical reaction, face screwing up with a wince. how does one tell the girl he’s attracted to that if he stays any longer he will pop a hard on? “s’the least i can do. come watch the show. i can hook you up with wings and some beers for free?” you bat your faux-lashes, the glitter on your cheekbone glowing in the low lighting as you tilt your head sweetly, putting on a show to convince him.

“wings, beer n’ boobs? you’re talkin’ my language young lady.” he smirks, unable to hide his usual ways and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“yay, follow me!” you grip his hand, long acrylics scratching against his wrist and he rolls his lips together, eyes practically following each jiggle of your ass cheek as you walk before he even realises he’s in the main section. you settle him in, a little booth that usually probably occupies pervy businessmen— which really makes the blonde feel out of place. he came alone, and now he was sat here — occupying a booth. what kind of creep comes to watch strippers alone?

he’s about to jump up and make up an excuse to leave in pure embarrassment, but you’re smoothing your hands along his shoulders, batting your lashes and telling him you wish you could stay and chat but you’ve gotta go dance, and that his wings and beer will be coming soon. he blinks at you, under a trance and settles into the worn and suspiciously sticky leather arm chair.

soon you’re up on that stage and he wants to sink into the fucking ground. you’re unbelievably hot, and now it’s like something out of a porno he made in his mind, watching you saunter around the pole, dropping down to the ground and arching your back, shaking the meat of your ass effortlessly as faceless men throw money your way. he had nothing to throw but some receipts and old nickels in his pockets and he didn’t think you’d appreciate that — which didn’t matter anyway, because he was somewhat stuck to his seat.

he lifts his hands to adjust his cap before realising he’s not wearing one, and just as he realises his dick is sitting hot, heavy and hard in his shorts— you’re off stage, bounding over with everything jiggling. lord help him.

he thinks he might die when you clamber confidently onto his lap, straddling him front on.

“so how was it jayj did you like it? i know it’s a lil’ weird seeing me up there, i’m your friend n’all but was the song choice good atleast?” you tilt your head like a befuddled puppy dog before wriggling around— crotch to cock. “oh, nevermind. i can feel that you’re like super hard so i take it that you liked the show!” you smile, like you’d just said the most innocent sentence in the world. jj blinks, lips agape.

“uh— y—no, yeah it was… well, y’know. the body doesn’t lie.” he bucks his hips lightly in gesture before immediately internally questioning why he’d do something so creepy. luckily, you giggle — but he’s not sure if it’s because you liked it or because you’re well trained.

“well, next time you get paid come get a lapdance i’ll fix that problem jayj, even give you a discount.” you let that giggle slip through again, but there’s a breathiness to your tone that feels all too real. his brows jump up, eyes flickering unashamedly to your tits as you lean forward to his ear. “or jus’ get me drunk again next weekend? will probably do it for free ‘cus i like you.” you admit, looking all nervous when you pull back. you just shook your ass on stage, yet jj maybank was making you flustered.

“for sure. yeah uh— can… can definitely do that. yep.” he plays it calm and collected, sees you out with another bone crushing hug against your tits before speed walking to his company truck that he drove over here. his shift was over, so he wasn’t rushing to get back to work. moreso to beat off in the parking lot thinking about pulling that g-string of yours to the side.

[rafesplaymate]

Off to the Races

Chapter iv- Date Night (part 1)

Older!Rafe Cameron x Stepdaughter!reader.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ navigation. ੈ✩‧₊˚ masterlist. ੈ✩‧₊˚ series masterlist.

warnings: infidelity (emotional / physical). pseudo / stepcest. dom / sub dynamics. dd / lg dynamics. man-handling. groping. dark themes / adult content.

a/n: finally updating. date will be broken into two parts to build up tension for storyline. enjoy!

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

By the time Rafe is finished getting dressed, putting the finishing touches on himself —the sun is barely settling. Pouring out a beautiful orange haze over Kildare that makes the environment feel all too dreamy. Making him all the more excited for his night alone with his girl, the knowledge that his wife was out of the house satisfying his desire to be alone with his darling girl. He spritzes a couple sprays of colonge over himself before securing his black ‘rolex’ and the gold chain his wife bought him as a wedding gift. A nice gold cuban link that cost her a pretty penny. The memory of receiving it ingrained in his head; reminding him he married her almost 6 months ago and how in fourth months their marriage has changed so drastically.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The night she gifted him the chain —they’d be in an ambiance of passion. Newlywed, honeymooning in Bora Bora for 2 weeks. Days of passionate sex and meaningful conversations. Strengthening their bond and pushing it over the line of surfaced attraction and reasonings for union. They’d been eating dinner when she presented him it to him, smiling with red painted lips as she watched him open the red velvet box. His eyes widening with intrigue at the opulent piece of jewelry, while she uttered a, “I know how you like chains.” He looked at her with a side smile and grabbed her by the face. Pressing a long and soft kiss to her lips while they smiled into each other —whispering a sweet thank you.

In the moment he’d felt like he was actually sure this was true love. Taking her on their hotel bed, his body laid on top of hers as he buried his face in her neck all night. It wasn’t crazy or intense, but it was satisfying. And it fulfilled him in the moment. His mind pensive with the thought that his days of passionate love-making was over. But he could handle that, because the long-term end goal was something he was willing to build and sacrifice for. Or so he thought at the time.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Now almost 4 months later everything has changed. A complete 180° over taking Tannyhill the moment y/n came bounding into his life. The day his body, heart and soul burned ablaze —her the flame. She completely and irrevocably changed his life, in so many ways. Leaving an indelible mark on his heart. The love he once felt for his wife dissipating by the day as the love he has for his darling girl builds like an uncontrollable flame every, single day. Leaving him feeling subdued and put out whenever she’s not near him —needing her presence like a fish needs water. His mood soured and snappy whenever she’s not hanging off his arm or napping on his office couch while he works.

His stepdaughter is the the most valuable treasure he’s ever found —even more valuable than the royal merchant everyone’s constantly chased around Kildare. Him included at one point. The high of needing that fortune now replaced with something he cherishes way more. Something he wants to keep locked away in his home and near him for the rest of his life; feeling that her beauty and presence alone was too priceless for the leering looks of everyone on the island.

So now as he finally finishes, adjusting his sleek black blazer. Running a hand over his shaved head as he opens the bedroom door. He shuts it behind him, shuffling softly to stand right in front of his stepdaughter’s bedroom door. Listening intently against it and smiling softly to himself as he heard her melodic voice softly singing along to music. What he assumes is makeup products clacking around as she gets ready. He taps a bent index finger two times on the door, leaving small but loud enough knocks. Listening as the music lowered slightly and her sweet voice letting out an inquisitive, “who is it?" Rafe replies almost immediately with a, “you good, princess?” He waited for a response, nothing coming out for a second and his mouth was already opening to ask again —when the door opened. In that moment, Rafe’s blazing body reignited with an intensity —his stomach and chest burning with a potency that almost felt like it hurt.

There she was. His beautiful, little stepdaughter —the apple of his eye. Wearing nothing but a ‘Victoria’s Secret’ robe, the middle undone and exposing the expanse of her body. Yet, covering the parts he was dying to get a glimpse of. Cursing himself for leering on his darling girl but how could he not? She stood there with her pretty eyes already on him, makeup done flawlessly. Their eyes holding onto each other’s for a second as tension noticeably built —once more. His eyes darkening with indisputable lust as he stares into her decorated ones. Hers echoing his as she took him in as well. He held her eyes for a good second, before they began wandering down. First falling on her glossy, pale-pink lips that look every bit as bite-able as they do in his daydreams. His eyes trailing lightly over the soft skin of her delicate neck that makes him want to sink his teeth in. The chain of the white-gold, diamond encrusted initial necklace he bought her sitting wrapped around it. But it’s when his eyes began following it down, did his jaw tick and a harsh breath left him.

There sat the diamond initial between her perky breast, gleaming against her smooth skin that sparkled with body glitter. His eyes moving to both sides of it slowly as he took in the peaks hidden behind the satin layer of robe. Lingering on them as he took in her nipples just barely covered by the ends of the robe. Fuck. They sat there so enticingly; the rationality in his brain fighting with him that he was leering at his stepdaughter. Overpowered by his lustful need as his chest sucked in with a harsh breath and his eyes continued their journey over the flawless architecture of her body. A temple he fought with the desire to defile.

He shakily breathed out as his eyes then wandered down her beautiful torso that was sexily decorated with silver body glitter, each ridge of it looking so alluring —valleys he wanted to explore with the tips of his fingers. His eyes wandering to the peak between her soft thighs decorated with white, lace that did almost nothing to cover it. Her thighs glistening with some kind of oil and glitter; that made him want to grip them in his hands and dig in until grape-sized bruises the shape of his fingertips were engraved in her skin. His eyes falling lower till they landed on her pretty french-tipped toes; her right ankle decorated with her preferred white-gold anklet. The same toes he wants to kiss presses to every time she walks around barefoot or has them decorated with rings.

His lips pursed in a soft, low whistle as he finally broke the long —suffocating silence that overtook them. Cobalt eyes snapping back to hers with a lustful glare. Watching as she bit her lip and her turned in knee swayed, her pretty eyes returning his same lustful glare as the corner of her plump lips quirked in a devious smile. “Hi daddy,” she finally breathed out, her soft voice full of seductive undertone. Her head tilting to the side as she pushed her chest out; nipples threatening to expose as the fabric moved along with her movements. Heat built in-between her thighs after taking in her stepfather the same way he did her.

Rafe’s pink lips quirked into a satisfied smirk at her acknowledgment and the title she’s so rightfully granted him. Bringing a ringed hand to scratch his chin as his bottom lip curling over his bottom teeth; a small scoff leaving him. He walked closer to her, reaching his arms out quickly and wrapping them around her. Holding eye contact as his left hand wrapped around her lower back. Landing on top of her perky butt, and digging his tips in as he pulled to his chest roughly. A small gasp falling from her sparkly lips as he pressed her tightly against him. Her robe falling open with his movements and pressing against the fabric of his shirt. Moaning as her sensitive nipples brushed against the fabric of his black button up. Internally satisfied with the reaction he’s given her.

While his right hand dug into her hair, gripping at her scalp tightly as he pulled her head back and her hair cascaded over his arm. Another gasp falling from her lips, this time pained as he shuffled them forward into her bedroom. His eyes holding hers as he man-handled her forward. Walking her until she was in front of her vanity, hand now gripping her ass and giving it a harsh squeeze before he roughly turns her around. Her robe flailing open with his movements as he faces her to the large mirror of her vanity that shined with led lights on the edges. His hands sat where her waist pinched in, squeezing roughly and feeling the soft grip of skin under his palm. His fingers digging in roughly.

He then moves his right hand back into her hair, forcing her to look into the mirror at herself. His large frame towering over her smaller body as he lowered his head to her left, to level their eye contact. Running the tip of his nose over her silky hair and taking in the sweet smell of her vanilla shampoo —shutting his eyes in satisfaction. Running it all the way down to her temple and then down her cheek with his eyes closed, tugging her head to the right harshly as she let out another soft, pained gasp. His nose then running over her jawline before finally finding its way down her neck; pressing in deeply and sniffing before letting out a harsh purr that vibrated in his chest. Her expensive perfume enticing him, but it was her natural scent that overtook him so much more.

He stayed there for a cool second as she watched him in the mirror, watching as he nuzzled his face into her. His hand on her waist reaching around and covering her stomach to press her right against him —into his erection. Her face contorted in pleasure as she reached her left hand back to cradle his head against her, scratching his scalp with her nails affectionately —while reaching her right hand back and digging into his thigh. Pressing herself against the rock-solid erection pressed right in between her ass. Eyes fluttering shut as she let out a soft moan. The sound causing him to let out a soft groan of his own as his lips then brushed over the expanse of her neck all the way to her shoulder.

He brought his left hand to grip her bare breast, harshly fondling it as he pressed a kiss to her smooth shoulder. Eyes opening and glaring at her lustfully through his eyebrows, watching as she writhed against him with pleasure. His grip on her hair tightened even more and tugged her head back, whispering a gruff “look at me.” That went ignored, she was too caught up in the feeling of his large hands fondling her. Something that not only delighted Rafe but frustrated him all the same, that she didn’t listen to him the first time. She always does.

“I fuckin’ said-“ his large ringed-hand that was fondling her body came to grip her neck; wrapping round it harshly —the desire to grip her face overcome by the knowledge that she will whine at him for ruining her makeup. “Look. at. me.” Squeezing the sides as she gasped louder and her eyes finally fluttered back open, faux lashes making them look oh-so-enticing. Slight tears building up from his handling and the heat of the moment. That’s when they finally made eye contact in her vanity mirror. And the sight in front of them was something that teetered their relationship further over the line of boundaries they loved to push.

Sure, she’d press her lips to his cheeks —as well as her tits to his chest every time he came home. Hard nipples poking against him as she lips a sloppy kiss on his cheek that leaves a glittery mark. Sure, maybe Rafe would meticulously rub sunscreen and tanning oil over her skin while she sat laid in front of him in the luxurious backyard of their home. His large hands leaving no inch unchecked under the guise of being thorough —long fingers daringly ghosting over her breast and the peak between her inner thighs so lightly it almost wasn’t there. And sure, they’ve definitely been tangled in his arms one too many times while he soothes her to sleep or cradles her while she cries about her mom. It’s nothing new for them to share affectionate caresses … but this.

This was something entirely different, and they both knew it. This wasn’t excessive affection under the guise of fatherly / daughterly love —no. This was primal impulse. The suffocating tension that constantly surrounds them being slightly cut into —just enough. The unspoken desire between them disguised by actions of parental affection. It was almost freudian. Yet, neither of them seemed to care. Not even a bit, not even at all. It was a blazing act of paroxysm that pushed them further to teetering off the cliff of their natural inclination toward each other. It felt like it was meant to be and it burned so deeply in both of them they would be branded for life.

After a long moment of unspoken words being exchanged through fiery glances; harsh breathes coming from both of them. Rafe finally let her throat go, his fist in her hair loosening at the same time. Pushing his body slightly back, pushing his erection away from her. He brought both hands to her waist; groping affectionately as he pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head. Their eyes still on each other, the heat in the room almost unbearable. Rafe then grabbed both sides of her robe, bringing them to overlap one another as he tied it back up for her gently. Pressing a couple more soft kisses to her head before finally turning her around to face him. Her eyes now softening and looking up at him with unadulterated adoration —his gazing into hers with the exact same earnest.

He cupped her face softly in his large hands; careful not to mess with her meticulously done makeup. Pressing the tip of his nose against hers lightly before nudging it slightly; turning their heads to the side as he pressed a soft lingering kiss to her pretty lips. Their eyes falling shut and a harsh breath leaving both of them. After a moment, he pulled back and smoothed his hand over the top of her head to fix her mused hair; giving her a soft smile and pinching her chin. His once lustful gaze now replaced with the same adoration he adorns for her everyday.

“The sun’s setting”, he finally spoke once more. His voice calm and in a low drawl, as if he hadn’t just spoken in her ear with a lustful grit mere moments before. He continued to stroke her chin with his thumb as she gave him her entire regard; hanging onto every movement and drawl from his lips. Her brain going fuzzy and shutting off as she lets her stepfather take reign of her entire being once more. “Should start getting dressed, princess.” He pressed a soft kiss to her lips once more, “tonight’s going to be all about you.” He whispered lowly against her lips, brushing them against hers as they let out harsh breathes into each other. Her hands coming to grip the lapels of his blazer as she whined softly and pressed her self into him. Eyes fluttering shut as she sought out for more kisses. Falling completely into the man who consumed her entire being once more.

Rafe quirked an open mouth smile at her reaction to him, satisfaction settling in his chest with the knowledge that she’s just as whipped for him as he is her. Chuckling lowkey before stopping her movements, and pulling his head back. Watching as her beautiful eyes fluttered back open, another whine falling from her lips as her grip on his jacket tightened —confusion plastered along her gorgeous features. He just smirked down at her with a patronizing quirk of his lips, tapping her right cheek with his left hand a couple times lightly before turning her around once more. Smacking her on her ass lightly, but with a prominent clap as her pushed her toward her closet. Urging her to get dressed as he began strutting his way out of the room. Leaving her mind hazy and not completely there.

“Now, hurry up.” he called behind him as he walked out of her bedroom. His voice growing louder as he descended down the stairs. Shouting out one final, “you know dad doesn’t like waiting long. I have plans for us tonight, princess.” The promise of the night being all about them —about her driving her body into action. Quickly bouncing into her large closest with a pep in her step to get dressed, daydreaming briefly about a life where her and her stepfather were more than the title that was granted them for right now. Her music still playing lowly in the background.

“My old man is a bad man

But I can't deny, the way he holds my hand

And he grabs me, he has me by my heart…”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

a/n: phew! i am so sorry this took so long i lowkey lost motivation, but we’re so back baby. i hope yall aren’t too made i broke this up into two parts. yes the series is based off “off to the races” by lana. i wanted to build up tension. as always any feedback is always deeply appreciated. much love.

taglist: @xcinnamonmalfoyx @iknowdatsrightbih @inthelibrarybtw @pretty-pink-princess @enjoymyloves @stoned-writer @rafesfuckdoll @unrealmirrorball @khaibdl @idksmtms @queenvane64 @xoxohoneymoongirl @vogueprincess @loonysbarn @heartsforrafecam @cl4uus @spideysimpossiblegirl @littlelamy @sunset-euphoria @slut-4-gojo @katekells @theater-bitch @faephoria @slutforlanadelslay @matthewswifeyy @pillowprincess4him @drewsphwife @rafeysangelbaby @wearemadeofstardust0 @inthelibrarybtw @adrianalovesevispresley @theeternaloptimistt

if i’m missing anyone pls lmk >.<

[stargrltara]

Kinda Outa Luck

pairing: jason todd x fem!reader

summary: based off of the song ‘Kinda Outa Luck’ by lana del rey👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 . reader is kinda inspired by catwoman in the batman , she works in a club, and on the low she’s gothams most wanted female thief. She is gorgeous, and she uses it to her advantage. Oh, did i mention she has a thing for the Red Hood? And, honesty, he does too, though he is pretty shit at hiding it. PT 1 PT2

warnings: EVENTUAL 18+ MDNI, mentions of clubs, tying up, begging, mentions of sexual natures and strippers, slapping, unprotected sex, p in v, teasing, some fluff and angst, enemies with benefits??

a/n:. guys if i’m being honest i’m not in the best place right now. but i really wanted to write this.. i’m also ovulating so enjoy 💓 . ( also i’m terribly bad at writing smut i’m SO sorry if this isn’t up to standard😰 . )

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“ you never cared what i did at all

motel singer or the silver pole

i did what i had to do.. „

Everyone in Gotham knew who you were. Everyone knew you as the sexy, sly femme fatale who always got her way no matter the cost. You were a goddess. Females in Gotham would normally be petrified to have the confidence and power that you own. Even just working at the classy ‘Iceberg Lounge’ people would respect the floors you walked on. With millions of men drooling and tugging at your sequinned heels, begging for an ounce of attention as you deliver drinks and messages to your boss.

However, they never knew the true side of you. Sure, they established your mysterious ways to make men fawn and yearn for even a slight glance their way. But, they never knew who you were when the night called. Gotham’s most agile, seductive and infamously known thief and burglar in the whole of gotham.

Tugging on your skintight bodysuit, you swiftly rushed the inky latex onto your body, fiddling with the zipper which ended in the midst of your breasts, forcefully plunging them up. The material clinged firmly onto your fair skin, and fit you like a glove since the last time you’ve worn it. A melodic sensation of mischief trickled down your spine as you twirled your locks through the soft of your fingers, the sandy brown hair clutching onto the suit as you quickly collected the belongings and equipment needed for tonight’s schemes; and a smirk crept onto your faint lips.

“ femme fatale

always on the run

diamonds on my wrist

whiskey on my tongue „

The shattering of a reflective glass splattered like watercolored paint onto the cool, marbled floor, leaving an open space for fluorescent beams of silver moonlight to pour through, drowning the room in a luminous ember. 

The tranquil ambiance was soon interrupted when you quickly realised your mission. Swiftly swaying, you made your way to the jewellery display, peering at each of the rectangular, glass containers which secured each sentimental crystal. After picking the lock seamlessly, you slowly reached for the antique jewel, wrapping the soft, translucent gemstone inside the palm of the glove. The jewel reflected a shimmer from the gleam of the moon; an overworldly beauty traced upon it.

Suddenly, an alarm went off. Then another. Then another; the blaring noise agitating your ear canals. And then you were pulled away along with a strong pair of hands covering your mouth, smudging your lined lips and a hand gripped tightly around your waist. The figure hauled you away, pushing you against a wall; the cool brick against rubbing your back, spiking chills and your hairs on the back of your neck to rise.

“—Don’t speak.” An uncomfortably familiar voice muttered. His hand still on your mouth, covering your ability to curse him out as his head peaks around the corner to check for other criminals.

Glaring up at him with narrowed eyes, the light shone into his crimson mask; milky eyes disguised against his true identity. Gazing down, you could barely make out the murky suit he was wearing, the red hood symbol on the chest area and although your sight was a blurry haze, the clear display of his toned abdomen send veins of arousal to your core. Undeniably and unethically.

You managed to pull his hand off if your mouth, and the words “ Red, what the fuck are yo— “ could barely escape your mouth before he slammed you against the wall to get you to stop speaking as he noticed criminals run past. A light groan fell from your lips, and seeped into the material of his gloves; the warm of your breath igniting against his palm and in that moment, he scowled down at you.

Steadily removing his palm from your mouth, you could feel your heart beating out of your chest. Fast enough that he could probably hear it through his mask. “ Stay here, ‘m gonna go take care of this quick. “ his annoying voice echoed through his mask. You only pierced your eyes at him and crossed your arms over your chest before he quickly went to go and fight the criminals. His tall shadow swaying further away, and you couldn’t help but notice him look back to make sure you were still there.

You just stood there and watched as Red Hood took care of the criminals, putting them in their place and leaving them unconscious. With snark, he walked over to you, his hands flying up in the air in defence as you were about to open your lips parted, getting ready to curse him out.

“ Jesus, Red.. —you stalkin’ me or somethin’?! “ your voice was only a groan, a stubborn one at that. You were frustrated at him as he interfered with your carefree mission; but you were also pissed because he didn’t think you could handle those criminals alone. It made an infuriated glow grind down your spine, and one that made you seemed belittled against him.

He only scoffed, tilting his head at your ignorant comment before he sighed. “ Just give back what you stole, doll..“ Your brows raised at his hilarious joke, he seriously thought you were going to give back what you took? “ finders keepers..” you couldn’t deny your mind was corrupted by a foreign haze after he mummer his nickname for you; ‘doll’.

“.. and losers—” were your last words before you inched closer, and suddenly attacking him with a sly punch in the hip, and then a kick in the rib. A harsh groan arose form his mouth, and he fell to the ground, the brisk marble against his knee caps. You rapidly ran away, avoiding turning back. Part of you knew he could’ve easily chased after you, part of him knee he could’ve easily chased after you, but he didn’t. Instead he just turned on his heel, observing you dim into the shadows.

PT 1 .

[fancyfeathers]

Just Like Rosemary

(Yandere William James Moriarty x Ballerina Reader) (feat. Platonic Yandere Louis James Moriarty and Albert James Moriarty)

inspired by this post about Williams with a historically accurate ballerina darling which was inspired by @yandere-wishes

A bit of background, during the 19th century, the ballet world, including the esteemed Paris Opera, operated under a disturbing norm of sexual exploitation. The company essentially functioned as a brothel, exploiting the vulnerability of impoverished young girls who aspired to become ballerinas. Malnourished and lacking support, these girls were often coerced into relationships with wealthy patrons, their only perceived avenue to a better life. These affluent men wielded their power to objectify and proposition the ballerinas both on and offstage, effectively creating a demeaning "men's club" atmosphere. Their influence extended beyond mere harassment, dictating who would rise to star roles and who would face dismissal from the ballet.

TW//pr*stitution, slightly graphic murder, work place abuse, implied human trafficking, kidnapping

You stepped out backstage as the performance finally ended, the applause of the audience fading away into the background as the chatter of your fellow dancers took over the sound of the back halls of the Royal Opera House. You yawned but quickly gasped as you felt arms wrap around your torso along with a high pitched giggle that you quickly placed as belonging to Sorelli, one of your friends and fellow dancers at the ballet.

“Seems like your new costume is fitting wonderfully.” She spoke with a melodic tone which made you roll your eyes as her arms slipped from your waist.

“It only took two weeks of complaints to the costuming department to get a new one.” You sighed as she came to walk next to you. You looked around the backstage, and it seemed like a few of the gentlemen from the audience had already made their way backstage, slipping away from their seats before the show had ended so they could have first pick of the ladies of the ballet. You glanced at Sorelli and she was doing the same, looking over the men present trying to pick out the ones who would be able to pay for her time. “Your rent is due, huh?”

“Yes, and I do not think my landlady will be willing to take a late payment this time around.” You were slightly tempted to stay and help her but looking over the people present you thought it better if you did not since you had already engaged in more unsavory activities the night prior and it seems like Sorelli recognized this as well since she leaned over to whisper in your ear. “You should head home before they come into the dressing rooms.”

“Will you be alright?” You asked and she nodded before pressing a kiss on your cheek. “Fine, but please promise me you will not go home with any of them, you remember what happened to Rosemary.”

“I promise, you have my word.” 

With those words you scampered off to the dressing rooms to avoid any flings that may take place in there tonight. You managed to avoid many of the clientele on the way to the dressing rooms, only receiving a handful of comments and compliments that you responded to with false gratitude in your voice.

“I could not take my eyes off you this evening.”

“Thank you Earl, you are too kind.”

“The way your body moves was mesmerizing.”

“O-oh, thank you, my lord.”

“Ah why don’t you join us for drinks, I have a friend I would like to introduce you to.”

“Oh no thank you, perhaps another night.”

You clicked the dressing room door locked as you began to remove your pointe shoes and slip out of your costume, hanging it up on the rack by your name label on the wall and placing the shoes in a box underneath it. You made note of your worn down shoes, it had only been two weeks but it seems like you would need a new pair sooner than later, but to find ones that actually fit you would cost more money than you currently had so you would probably have to settle on some that were a side to big or small.

You sighed as you slipped on your scarf as you stepped out of the dressing room, closing the door behind you. You managed to spot Sorelli talking to two gentlemen, a viscount and earl you believe, in a doorway, it seems like she will be able to pay rent tonight. You slipped through the back halls of the opera house, ignoring the sounds from all around you as hard as they were to drown out.

You pushed open one of the back doors of the opera house that led into a back alley and the cold winter hair hit your skin like cold water washing away sweat from your hot skin after a summer’s day. You began your long walk home through the dark streets of London, the streets were still populated enough that no one would try anything but it did not stop you from feeling the heat of eyes burning into your skin. You picked up your pace ever so slightly as you felt it begin to drizzle, you did not wish to catch a cold in this weather, you did not have the money to pay for a doctor right now. 

…and it seems you spoke too soon.

A carriage moved past you, the wheel driving through a puddle and the splash landed on you, soaking you to the bone with both water and mud. The carriage did not even stop when you saw the face of someone finally dressed peer out and completely ignored you, speeding down the street. You huffed and shook out your hands  to get the freezing water off of them.

“Miss, are you alright- oh my you are soaking!” You heard a voice from behind you exclaimed. You turned around to see a young man with blond hair and scarlet red eyes, he was dressed in fine clothes, a noble it seemed, but his eyes were filled with worry for your freezing form. You watched as he stepped towards you, removing his own jacket to wrap around your shoulders. “What on earth are you doing out in this weather?”

“I could ask you the same thing, sir.” You replied as his gloved hands pulled the jacket tighter around your shaking form. “But I am fine, really, I was just on my way home.”

“Then please let me escort you home, you will catch a cold out in this weather .” He said and he gestured to the carriage across the way and you could see the silhouettes of two other men within. “I am sure my brothers would have no problem with a detour on the way home.”

Remember what happened to Rosemary.

Those words you spoke echoed in your mind as you thought of a response as the scarlet eyed man looked at you. You remember the cries of Sorelli when you found out what happened while you could only stand there, wide eyed, in shock. The photos that were published in the paper were horrific, but the truth was never written and went unspoken by the girls of the ballet. You suppose money can buy anything and everything, even silence.

“Are you alright over there, William?” A voice from one of the two men in the carriage pulled you back into reality. You turned your head to the carriage to see an attractive brown haired man who opened the door to call out to his brother.

“Yes, Miss (Name) here just seemed to be out of it for a moment.” He replied to the man who nodded at his response. The man you now knew as William turned to you once more, extending his hand out to you. “Shall we?”

“I… um….” What happened to Rosemary was a rare occurrence, right? These were not the same people you last saw here with, besides they did not seem to be regulars at the ballet, you would recognize them if they were, then William gave you his coat in the freezing cold, no one, let alone a noble, has ever done something like that for you. You set your own hand in his, feeling his larger fingers wrap around the back of your hand. “Yes, I will take you up on that offer.”

“Lovely.” He led you towards the carriage that had the door open from when the brown haired man called out. William braced your arm as you stepped up into the carriage, along with the assistance of the brown haired man who helped you up by offering you his hand.

 You sat down across from the two other gentlemen in the carriage, the brown haired man and another blond haired man who looked almost identical to William besides the glasses he wore and the hair that seemed to cover a scar of sorts. You did not make eye contact with either of them despite the kind smiles they offered you as William said something to the driver before stepping in and sitting alongside you, his arm pressing against your shoulder that was covered by the jacket he had given you.

You felt the carriage begin to move as you just tried to remind yourself this was not going to end like Rosemary, they were just taking home, nothing else, you were perfectly safe, but what if-

“Miss (Name), are you alright? You look quite pale.” The voice of William stopped you from spiraling even deeper. You jumped at first but managed to regain your composure, but that did not go unnoticed by the three brothers.

“Y-yes, just caught up in my thoughts, apologies.” You responded and he hummed in response and you all were resolved to silence for a moment before you mustered up the courage to speak again. “What brings you to this side of the city, sir-“

“William James Moriarty, but please just call me William, and to answer your question, I was just attending a meeting with one of my clients.” He cut you off as you tried to remember his name. He extended his hand, gesturing to his two brothers, the blonde first and then the brunette. “These are my brothers, Louis and Albert.”

You pieced the names together in your mind…

…Louis James Moriarty.

…Albert James Moriarty.

You had heard the name of the brown haired man before, whispered in conversation of the nobles after shows at the ballet when you were hanging on one of their arms. You learned quite a lot when listening in to those conversations, gossip and dirty secrets kept in hushed tones among the nobility, and even a few names, the Earl you sat across from being one of them.

“Earl Moriarty, correct?” You asked and an almost embarrassed smile came across the man’s face.

“Yes, but how did you know?” He asked, a playful curiosity coming into his voice.

“I am a ballerina at the Royal Opera House.” You answer but not one of the brother’s expressions turned to one of shock, it is as if they already knew. “It is honestly surprising what you learn when the aristocracy get drunk and already have no filter around someone they already deem as insignificant- I should not have said that, apologies.”

“No need to apologize, I promise no one here will be offended.” William responded on Albert’s behalf with a small laugh, you glanced at Albert for confirmation and he nodded along with a smile. William’s red eyes fixed on you as your gaze went from Albert to him. “Now I am curious, what does a lady like you hear from such nobility?”

“Well mostly meaningless gossip, whose wives are having affairs with other men, failed business deals or scams, but currently the unknown Lord of Crime has caught the attention of the ton.” You looked at William as you spoke, unable to see the narrowing eyes of Albert and Louis as you did. “But I suppose none of it truly applies to me, just something to listen to in order to pass the time of the last few hours of the work day.”

“Hm, but would your day not end at the end of the performance?” You heard Louis chime in, finally hearing him speak. You shook your head no, your smiling fading ever so slightly. “How so?”

“One unfamiliar with the ballet may be surprised by what happens within those walls.” Your eyes fell down to your skirt, your gloved hands gripping the fabric of it as you spoke. “ It is not all as beautiful as it may seem after the show.” 

You jumped a bit when you felt and saw William’s hand come to rest atop your own, his thumb running circles over your knuckles. Your eyes shot up to him and he offered you a comforting smile.

“It is alright, you can tell us.”

“You… you promise you will not tell a soul that I told you this.”

“You have our word, my dear.”

You hesitated for a moment, glancing over at Albert who nodded in agreement, then at Louis who also nodded in agreement, then back at William. He smiled down at you with those lovely scarlet red eyes and it felt like any hesitation melted away.

“Well… after shows many gentlemen of the aristocracy will come to… socialize with the female performers of the ballet.” Everyone’s attention and gazes were fixed on you as you began to explain. “Sometimes it is just harmless flirting with some conversation and drinks, other times it becomes a bit… more. But it pays, keeps a roof over my head and enough food on my plate so I don’t starve.”

“I see….” You did not notice the drop in William’s voice as he responded and pondered over what you just explained. “And I could imagine the money one would make if one was to go home with one of them for the evening.”

“That… that does not happen anymore, not since Rosemary.” 

“Rosemary?”

“She was another ballerina at the opera like myself, I performed alongside her and her sister, Sorelli.” You responded to Louis, explaining who she was. “She was a kind lady, too kind for her own good. She went with some Baron after a performance, she told us that she would see us in the morning but that was a lie. Two weeks later, a shop owner, a tailor I think, found her body in the river, gutted like a fish.”

“That must have been horribly hard for you.” Albert was the first to respond after hearing your explanation.

“What I went through was nothing compared to what Sorelli went through. I remember her crying when we found out, it was after a performance and I had to drag her away to not start a scene, but you can’t blame her, the law enforcement did not even bother telling her until the death was published by the papers.” You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes as you recalled that horrible day, there was not even a funeral, just the grave marked when the body was identified. You had taken Sorelli to visit the grave and she was just broken. “But that is not the worst part, that man still goes to the ballet and even paid off the owner, every single girl there knows he did it but no one will say anything, not if they value their life.”

“I am sure they will receive their punishment in due time.” William spoke to you after a moment, his hand coming up from your hand that he held and up to your cheek to wipe away your salty tears. The leather felt warm against your cheek, from the heat between your hands. “I will see to it personally.”

“If only the world worked like that.” 

The rest of the carriage ride was peaceful, a few more pleasantries exchanged here and there but soon enough you arrived outside of the apartment building you lived in. Like before, William helped you out of the carriage and as soon as your feet touched the ground he took your hand that he held and brought it up to his lips, kissing the back of it.

“It was a pleasure finally meeting you, Miss (Name).”

“It was a pleasure to meet you as well, William.” 

He released your hand and you quickly made your way inside the warm apartment building and scurried up into your own one room apartment, it was not much but it was home. Your landlord finally repaired the ceiling so it would not leak during the rain and freeze you during the winter, but you still had to stuff whatever extra bedding you had in the window because it would never close all the way. 

You went to remove your coat, only to find that you were still wearing William’s coat, you had forgotten to return it and he forgot to take it back. You sighed and peered out the window, the carriage was gone so you doubted you would be able to return it now so you simply decided to hand it up alongside your own clothes in the closet. As you were beginning to strip out of your wet clothes to change into a nightdress, you reflected on your conversation with the three brothers, they were so kind to you especially when you mentioned such a sour topic as murder. Then the way William looked at you, it was like he knew you better than any man alive, like those lovers who attend performances with one another and they gaze into each other’s eyes when the romantic music begins to swell…

You felt your breathing stop…

You pushed yourself to turn your head to gaze out the window once more…

Looking over the streets…

The other buildings…

The people that walked the streets and dwelled in these houses were nothing like the brothers, they were commoners and the Moriarty family was nobility, you should have no prior interactions with one another…

But how did they know your address without you telling him…

And how did he know your name…

You felt your stomach lurch at those thoughts…

Has he been watching you?

Were you going to end up like Rosemary?

—————————

A week had passed since your encounter with the Moriarty brothers and life carried on like it always had, minus the pocket knife you had bought off from one of the stagehands at the opera house. It was after another performance and you were going to go straight home with Sorelli tonight since she had begun walking you home due to your growing paranoia. You both had stepped into the dressing rooms and Sorelli immediately ran off to her own things and reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a box.

“Macarons!” She exclaimed as she opened the box and sat on the floor, gesturing for you to sit next to her. “Come on, I got these for both of us.”

“You are an actual angel, Sorelli.” You replied, going to sit down next to her, not caring about ruining your costume by sitting in it or eating in it, it was already old enough that it needed to be replaced. 

“Well with all the stress you have had as of late, it was the least I could do.” She spoke as you both reached in to grab one and you brought it up to your lips-

“What are you two doing in here?!” You heard a voice angrily shout as the dressing room door slammed open. You both gasped as your eyes shot up to see the ballet mistress in the doorway. She stomped over to you two and you immediately stood up and fell silent. You felt her eyes look you two over, scanning over you like fire covering the room. “Eating and sitting in costume, do you even care for the things you are provided? Do you know how much these cost?”

“No madam.” You both said in unison like you had been taught, along with not making eye contact with the old hag out of fear.

“Well you better pay for the damages you caused.” She snapped at the two of you, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. “I want the money for them before the opera house closes for the night, do you understand?”

“But madam, I-“

You were cut off with a sharp pain across the face as she stuck you.

“I did not ask for buts, do you understand girl?”

You had to bite back tears as you replied.

“Yes Madam.”

“Good, now fix your makeup, no man would want to be seen with a girl who looks like that.” She stated as she finally walked out the door and you finally broke, weeping in your hands. Everything has finally become too much for you. You felt Sorelli rub circles into your back.

“I hate that witch.” You muttered through your tears.

“Have to agree with you on that one.” Your fellow ballerina replied as she helped you stand up straight and wipe away your tears. “Why don’t we fix you up and we can deal with this together.”

“You are too sweet for your own good.”

Sorelli sat you down and began to do your make up again, cleaning up the tear stains on your cheeks and taking special care to hide away the red hand print that was forming on your skin. You sadly had to put the box of treats away to enjoy some other time since you did not wish to get caught again. 

“I can take care of my hair, Sorelli.” You said as you picked up the brush from the vanity. “You can go on ahead, I think I will find that viscount that is here tonight.”

“Alright, see you at closing?”

“I will see you then.”

You watched as she scampered out of the dressing room and you began to brush through your hair in near silence minus the chatter and other noises from outside the dressing room walls. Sometimes with Sorelli it did not even seem like she had a sister, her name had become a warning among the dancers of the ballet so that is what Rosemary’s identity had melted into.

“You look lovely tonight.” Your eyes shot up into the mirror when you heard that voice and in the reflection of the glass you saw those same red eyes from that carriage ride once more, Williams was standing behind you and you did not even notice.

“Thank you… William.” He stepped towards you again, his feet clicking against the old wood floor. You felt his hand slip into your own, grabbing the brush you held and he took a strand of your hair and began brushing through it himself.

“You have been crying, your eyes are swollen under your makeup.” He stated this as a matter of fact and you could only nod as he brushed through a knot. “Now why do you stain your face with such tears? What is wrong, my dear?”

“Everything, everything is wrong.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, there is not a day I don’t imagine leaving this hell hole, but there is no day where I do because I have nowhere to go. The way they look at me and touch me, it feels like I am nothing but just something for their amusement.” You wrapped your arms around your shaking form as you tried to hold back your tears. “The sometimes it feels like Sorelli has all but forgotten what happened to Rosemary, she is in the ground now.”

“Oh you poor thing, I was in the audience tonight and I have to admit I noticed their looks as well, a terrible thing for you to go through.” He pulled a little harder as he combed through a tangle. “But as for your friend, I am sure she will come to terms with her grief in time, sometimes it just takes action in order to recover.”

“I just wish this all would go away, I want none of it, I just want to see this place burn up in smoke and flames.”

“Then your wish is my command.” Before you could question his words he spoke as he tied up your hair with a ribbon. He reached into his pocket and took out more than enough money to pay back the ballet mistress. “Why don’t you go home early, I am sure you need your rest after such a long day.”

“Thank you, William.”

After he left the dressing room, you scampered to get changed so you may go and find Sorelli. You made your way through the halls looking for her and you found her in the oddest of places with the oddest of people, you found her near the entrance to the storage cellars talking to.

“Lord Albert? Sorelli?” You called out to the duo who were talking, but they did not seem to share the same playful chatter as most others in the building did. Sorelli and the eldest Moriarty brother looked at you with a bit of surprise.

“Oh (Name), are you ready to go?” She asked, a false smile coming across her face.

“Um… yes, are you not coming?”

“Oh well, Lord Albert and I were just having the most interesting conversation.” She replied, gesturing to the man beside her. “I think I would like to talk to him a bit longer if you would like to head home.”

“Talking? About what?”

“Pyrotechnics.” Albert answered on her behalf and your gaze shifted to him. “Some theaters in the Americas and France are using them in their stage performances.”

“Sounds dangerous.” You replied and your eyes shifted back at her, you were about to say something, but sighed, deciding to let it go. “I am going to head home, I already paid both of our portions to the old hag so just head home when you are done.”

“I will.”

“Alright, see you tomorrow.” You turned on your heel and began walking down the hall, slowly…

You waited for a reply but all you got was a simple…

“Goodbye.”

—————————

“Fire at the Royal Opera House: Three Dead, Ten Casualties.”

That was the first headline you saw in the morning when you picked up this morning’s paper from a newsboy. 

You threw up on the spot.

Apparently after the opera house closed last night, a candle fell over and ignited the whole building, or at least that was the most logical guess but the other part of it was a mystery. Two men were found with bullet holes in their heads in the rubble while a girl was simply found, most likely suffocated to death…

Sorelli…

Not only were you out of the job but your best friend was dead.

You raced to the scene immediately, your warm breath showing white fog in the cold as you ran through the streets of London like a mad woman. Then upon arriving at the sight, all that was left was the burnt ruins of the opera house. The sight was being contained by law enforcement since the ruins were still smoking and the sight was being investigated. You could see three bodies, covered in a black tarp in the the distance, two larger and one smaller…

Sorelli…

She did not deserve this…

No…

Please god no…

You must have stood in the street for hours, just staring at your friend’s dead body in shock…

Just like you did when Rosemary died…

You had to be told to go home by one of the officers since you looked exhausted, so you did.

Your mind just felt numb…

You felt dead…

Why…

Why…

Why…

You pushed yourself back inside your apartment building and your landlord who was reading the morning paper, the same edition as the one you bought, looked up at you.

“Someone is here to see you, I let him into your apartment.” You nodded at his statement and as you went to walk up stairs he spoke again. “Oh and rent is due by the end of the week.”

You gritted your teeth…

Selfish bastard…

He is literally reading about how you just lost your best friend and job and that is what he says.

You rolled your eyes and walked back upstairs, not even remembering the fact that you have a guest. You pushed open your already partially opened apartment door and you immediately dropped your keys and paper…

“William… what are you doing here?”

William James Moriarty sat on your bed, holding his coat he gave you that night in his hands. He looked up at you with a smile, but this time it did not feel kind, it felt almost wicked.

“I am here to take you home.”

“Home?”

“Yes, with the opera house burnt down I figured that you would be out of the job so the least I could do was provide you with a safe place to rest your head.” Your lips were slightly agape in shock when he said those words. He looked at you, a new pity coming into his eyes. “I am also here to extend my condolences for your loss.”

“Sorelli…”

“Yes, I am afraid so.” He nodded at your words as he stood up from the bed. “We tried to get her out before she got trapped in the flames, but she just would not listen.”

Your eyes went wide when he said those words and you felt your heart stop beating in your chest.

“What…”

“She told me to tell you to live for both her and Rosemary and told me to take care of you since she knew you would be quite grief stricken.” You felt your mind grow numb again in shock as he continued to speak. “She did it for you, she did not want to see you end up like her sister.”

“She… she did what?”

“Well she murdered both the owner of the opera house and the man who killed her sister.” You felt the bile building up in your throat as he began to explain again. “The fire… that was her idea, to burn it all away so you would never have to go back there.”

“Oh my god…”

“I know it must be a lot to take in, my dear.” You felt William’s ungloved hand come to rest against your check, raising your head up to look at him. “But I will be here to help you through it, my brothers as well. Louis already has your room prepared, and Albert was expressing to me at breakfast how happy you will be there-“

“Don’t touch me!” 

You slapped his hand away, backing up towards your door. Your eyes were wide with both rage and fear.

“Dearest-“

“You are the Lord of Crime, aren’t you?” You cut him off, raising your eyes to look up at him. William’s smiling expression had all but disappeared at your words and instead was replaced by something darker. “You knowing my name, where I lived, it all makes sense, you were trying to kill those two men all along.”

“While you are not incorrect with your first guess, you are with your second.” He stepped towards you after you stepped back. “I was originally looking for someone to assist in the removal of those two men but when I was looking into you, you were just too pure to do such an act.”

“What… what are you on about?”

“You have been tossed around all your life, forced into this work by your mother and kicked out when you said you did not want to do it anymore. Then your ballet mistress, who abused you for even making a mistake. Then those men, who took advantage of you because of your weak state.” You were frozen as he finally stood before you again. “Did you even know that you were the next target of the man who killed Rosemary?”

“…no…”

“You were, and if it was not for me and your late friend, you would be dead.” The breath left your lungs as he spoke. You could barely process the feeling of him draping his coat over your shoulders, just like that night when you first met. “She told me to take care of you and who am I to refuse a request from a dying woman?”

You did not process anything after he spoke those words…

Not you being led downstairs by him…

Not him handing over your keys to the landlord…

Not him taking you outside…

Not him helping you into the carriage…

Not the carriage beginning to move as William placed a kiss upon your lips, just like all the men who have done that before….

The only thought that came into your mind came to you as William laid your head in his lap as you began to daze off into sleep…

…You were just like Rosemary.

[chimivx]

‘…and when you’re gone, i’ll tell them my religion’s you…’

Jisung’s dreams are an arms length away, lying in the hands of his superior who gives him a test, one that challenges everything he’s ever known, a taste of a life so intriguing. It’s only a matter of time before he’s faced with a choice… Whose hands does he take?

✞ sacrilegious!minsung au ✞ 27k  { three of three } ✞  ‼️ 18+, sacrilegious- it says it up top, blasphemy, its all very religious, they live in a clergy home, religious imagery, praying, god/christ/lord usage, they’re all devoted, eventual explicit sexual content, alcohol use, cigarette smoking, mentions of drug usage, light cussing, sexual acts occur in the church, it costs nothing to keep scrolling, IF I FORGOT ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW !!

“I don’t understand how you could begin to think that he’s ready.”

Jeongin spoke above whisper, his deep, scratching tone softened by the volume the priests chose to speak at. Christopher and Hyunjin stood on either side of him, the three behind the couch with their long coats on and gloves on their hands, scarves wrapped around their necks.

“You should’ve spoken with us before you said anything of the sort,” Hyunjin said, the melodic softness in his tone easing the harshness of the man before him. Nudging his glasses up his nose with his pinky finger, he exchanged an unreadable look with the eldest priest, then pushed, “This week will be the test,” through his lips in a whisper.

“The test? We know that he’s going to be fine, he always is, he always has been.” Christopher spoke louder than them all, the other two hushed him with raises of their leather gloved fingers. Adjusting the buttons on his jacket he tipped his head backward and took a breath. “You tell me you don’t understand, well here I am, not understanding how you can’t see how much he’s improved- within the past month more so than any time else.”

“That’s what worries me,” Hyunjin sang. 

“And again,” Christopher sighed, “Until you further explain to me why, that argument is useless.” Hyunin’s eyes sharpened, a wicked weapon he’s not usually so quick to whip out, though he’s had to several times over the last thirty one days.

Jeongin took a step forward, separating the two as he started for the kitchen. “Let’s save this for our drive, we’ve got hours ahead of us-”

“We’ve had plenty of time to discuss this prior to today, I don’t care how many hours are ahead of us, Jisung was, and has been ready for longer than this month. We have all the time in the world, but he doesn’t, there is nothing left for him to give, to show us, to show you,” Christopher snapped. Hyunjin lowered his chin. Jeongin released a breath and turned on his heels. “If I am sick of waiting for the okay, take one minute out of your days centered around torturing him and imagine how he feels.”

“Christopher, lower your voice,” Hyunjin said, venom in his tone. He took two steps toward him, his black boots clicking on the hardwood floor not covered in carpet. Standing his ground instead of resorting to caving in within himself like he would when Hyunjin lurked toward him this way, Christopher lifted his chin the slightest, trying to appear taller, stronger. His brain worked harder, quicker, this he knew, but the dark spirit had a way of getting in his head like everyone else’s, the ability to break his brain from the inside out, crack him. “That boy is the test.” He spoke through gritted teeth.

“Minho?” Christopher questioned, looking between his elders with a growing smile before he laughed. “That boy who has done nothing but his job, attempting to keep up with Jisung who we know goes above and beyond? He’s done it, you know. How long have we said that no one will be able to find the shoes to fit?” Both men were silent. “He’s done it.”

Hyunjin’s shadowed eyes flickered between Christophers, withholding words the youngest could see, a reiteration of what he’d said before. That boy is the test. Lifting a gloved hand, he tucked strands of black hair behind his ear as he turned to Jeongin, his eyes the last thing to leave Christopher.

“I’d like to stop through Soro on the way,” he spoke to Jeongin, passing by him, his boots clicking into the kitchen where he reached for Ann to give her his goodbye. “I want to try that new place for lunch,” he waved a hand about, looking toward the eldest for the answer, picking up a finger when he’d caught the name, “Haven, I believe.”

“Then we’d better leave now,” Jeongin said, stepping toward Ann to also bid her goodbye.

Christopher unclenched his jaw and smoothed his hands over his coat. “I guess I’ll get the kid,” he grumbled for none of them to hear. “Jisung?”

His voice carried through the living room and up the stairs, wrapping around the hall to his bedroom, but there was no need for it to. Jisung sat at the top of the stairs with his arms around his knees, his chin rested on one of the knobby joints. Lips pulled together tight, eyes full of nothing, he barely flinched when Christopher called out his name. 

He heard them wake up, he heard them getting ready, he heard them in the kitchen with Ann, having breakfast, sipping their black coffee. The suitcases he offered to pack into the back of the car last night, he heard them move, the priests taking them outside themselves. They had told him, “Get some extra sleep, Jisung, take the day off, you deserve it. We’ll take care of it, we can do it ourselves.” They were set to wake him up this morning, like this he supposed, calling out his name instead of knocking on his door. 

Standing in the living room, speaking aloud about him like he wouldn't hear, wasn’t supposed to hear, and then they’d call for him.

And he’d come running for them.

Like he always did.

He’d give proper goodbyes to Jeongin and Hyunjin, make sure they were set, that they’d be safe on their trip, and that they’d come back to him, for him. 

He’d maybe give Christopher a hug depending on if the older men got into the car before him. He’d wait for him to tell him good things, nice things. That he would get through this week, that he’d be back sooner than he left, that Jisung wouldn’t even notice he was gone.

Then, he’d shut their doors, plaster a smile to his lips to show them he was equipped to handle seven days on his own, which he was, and he’d watch them pull away. He’d watch the car turn onto the main winding road, and wait until it disappeared over the hilly Avida horizon, and then he’d take to the church, busy himself, distract his mind, and drown in work.

Like he always did.

And it wasn’t enough.

It still wasn’t enough.

“Jisung?” Christopher called out once more, the sound of his feet shuffling on the floor sending Jisung leaping to his.

Settling every gut wrenching feeling down with a breath, he tightened his fingers into fists and took his time down the stairs, a slight pause between each step.

He wouldn’t come running.

Everything he assumed had been the truth. He hadn’t spoken about Minho in a month. He kept their secrets, the ones shared between the hours of one and three in the morning, he’s shown little to no interest in him while around the three other men, only if it pertained to work. 

How was he still the assignment?

The test.

This week with him, it was a test?

Christopher wanted to give him the job.

Hyunjin did not, nor did Jeongin.

Christopher was right, Jisung had given entirely too much to not be handed what he deserved.

He had given too much.

“There you are,” Christopher said with a smile as Jisung turned the corner into the living room. Passing by the fireplace he’d light up later, he shoved his hands into his pockets and didn’t bother to greet any of them. “We’re heading out.”

“Okay,” the boy said. The priest took him in, his stance, his tone, his smile. “Get there safely.”

He hesitated, Christopher did, thinking Jisung would move, that he’d say anything else, try to cling to him like he would in the past. Jisung could see it in how his brow curved under, a slight shift in his eyes indicating his curiosity, his intrigue toward what his brothers had been discussing prior to the boy's appearance.

“Thank you,” he said, dipping his chin. The seconds he took to scope Jisung out once more felt like hours. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Jisung said. With the smallest raise and drop of his shoulders, he rounded the sofa and breezed by Christopher, letting the priest's eyes follow him, and then his feet, through the kitchen, out onto the back step of the home. 

“Ji?” Christopher’s question held nothing of value, Jisung was shaking Jeongin and Hyunjin’s hands, saying goodbye to them with a tilt of his head and the same version of smile he’d given Christopher. The boy glanced over his shoulder at him momentarily, a raise of his eyebrows with that smile telling him he heard him, but he didn’t want to speak with him.

Tugging at Jisung’s heart was the thought of him not opening up to Christopher about what he’s heard. There wasn’t any reason to punish the priest for not giving him what he wanted, it wasn’t his fault, Jisung needed at least two out of three of them to approve his ascent. He also didn’t see anything when it came to Minho, a tiny detail that didn’t and won't go unnoticed. The other two have raised their noses, or at least, Hyunjin has. 

But for the time being, Christopher was on their side. Anything said can and will get back to them.

Jisung wasn’t willing to risk Minho for anything.

Not even Christopher.

“Enjoy your time without us,” Jeongin joked, taking Jisungs shoulder in one hand, giving him the slightest shake. “You won’t have anyone nagging you to get stuff done.”

Jisung shook his head. “None of you do that to me, anyway,” he said. “I’ll miss having you around, like always.”

“I’m sure you will,” Hyunjin's words came with a breath, the man pressing a hand to the boy's back before slipping into the passenger seat of the car waiting for them beside the church. Jeongin followed him after another smile pointed at Jisung, getting into the driver's seat.

Awful really, how he couldn’t believe it. How his smile once held value, telling Jisung he meant something to him, that he was important. He could see straight through it. He couldn’t believe him.

Christopher, the last to get in the car, lingered beside Jisung, waiting for the boy to turn to him, to face him, to tell him what he was thinking, what he could see written all over him no matter how hard Jisung attempted to hide it.

“You’re sure you’re okay, Ji?” he asked him when his eyes finally met his. 

Shrugging his shoulders, Jisung nodded. “Think I’m honestly just a little tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.” Christopher hung his head, bobbing it in understanding.

“Hopefully this week you’ll feel better,” he said quietly, flickering only his eyes back up at the boy. “Try not to work so hard, yeah? Get some rest. By the time we come back you know how crazy it’ll get.” Jisung rolled his eyes and they both huffed a similar laugh. Christopher narrowed his eyes, watching as Jisung tipped his head backward to take in the sight of the November grey sky above them. His hands went back to living in his pockets, and his shoulders were rolled back. He appeared taller, bigger, and confident. He stood up straight instead of hunched over like he tried to hide himself.

“I’ll do what I can,” he said with a sigh, looking back at Christopher.

Grown up.

Jisung caught it in his eyes, the priest's surveillance sparked a nerve within him, like he’d blown his cover. “Go,” he laughed, gesturing toward the car. “Before they leave you here with me, you don’t want that.”

Christopher accepted the way the boy pushed him toward the car, smiling as he opened the door for him. “What if I do?” Laughing, he stepped up into the car. “Don’t make me go, stuck with these two.” Jeongin and Hyunjin paid him no mind, the two pointing toward the streets, figuring out which way to go. “You’re so quick to get rid of me, Ji.”

Now Hyunjin paid attention, Jisung felt his eyes like two pistols pressed to the back of his head.

“I am not,” the boy breathed, gripping the edge of the door. “You’re all lucky I don’t climb over you and get in the other seat to come with.”

“Any specific reason why you want to run away from here?” Hyunjin asked.

Jisung shot him that same plain smile he’d been wearing all morning. “No,” he said, sure of himself. “It’s just curiosity for this trip,” he nodded, “I hope I get to hear about it this time.”

Jeongin looked at him now, the scholar wearing a face that rendered him anxious. “You know we always bring things back to you, Han.”

Fingers tightening on the silver metal of the car, Jisung took an unsuspecting breath and shrugged once more. “You’re right,” he said. “You do. How silly of me to think you wouldn’t, you’re all so good to me. Thank you.” Jeongin and Hyunjin exchanged a glance. Christopher gave the boy half a smile. “Enjoy yourselves, try to not miss me too much.”

Pushing the door closed, he raised a hand and took a few steps backward. The car engine sprung to life, and within seconds they were off, rolling toward the end of the parking lot, pulling out onto the main street. Jisung didn’t wait until they disappeared over the hills this time. Instead, he turned on his feet and hurried back into the house, yanking the wooden door shut with a newfound strength. 

Feet hitting the floor with a vengeance, heat pulsing beneath his skin, he flew through the house without a need to hide any longer. Whirling around furniture, bumping into end tables, all mannerisms he’d hide because there were six pairs of eyes breathing down his neck. Fueled by the thumping of his heart between his heaving lungs, Jisung hurried up the stairs, taking them two at a time, the sound of his feet hitting the wood echoing within the empty house.

At the top of the stairs Minho and Christopher’s bedroom door creaked open, and a wicked smile broke out onto Jisungs face. Turning to greet him, Minho smiled, parting his lips to speak, but Jisung caught them in a kiss quicker than the older boy had a chance to get one word out.

They’d never done this in the hallway before.

This was reserved for his bedroom and his bedroom only.

Through a sigh, an involuntary sound escaping his lips without a second though, Jisung knitted his fingers into his hair and pushed him back inside his bedroom, lips locked as he kicked his door closed behind him.

Two beds were pushed to either wall, a dresser between them and nightstands to match. He’s been here before, but not since Minho’s been around. This was where he’d cry to Christopher. These walls have seen his tears more than his own room probably has, a fact both boys knew good and well about. 

Jisung threw himself against Minho, using his hands to pull him and keep him close, keeping himself nearly on top of him, wanting nothing more than for him to do the thing he does that makes him think of nothing else but him. Of Minho. The touch of his hand bringing him the most satisfaction he’s ever felt in his life, more so than he’s felt after venting his feelings to Christopher, even more than he’s felt sitting in a pew within the church.

He’s done it everyday, they’ve done this everyday. In the hours of work he’d do on his own he’d think of nothing else, Minho’s breath on his neck, his lips on his collarbone, his hand over his pants, touching, stroking. Afraid to do anything to himself, if the thoughts got him hard, and they always did, Jisung would clear his head with prayer, turning his focus elsewhere for a moment, until the cycle repeated. 

Every night he couldn’t help himself, he’d be throbbing beneath his slacks, his cotton striped pajama pants, whatever he ended his day with, depending on how long it took Minho to sneak into his bedroom. Knowing that Jisung was waiting for him so eagerly had Minho flustered as well, his hands taking to his being rushed, hurried, excited, the two moving like they were sixteen and giggly. They’d fall to his bed, the creak and rock against the wall not stopping either of their curious hands or heated kisses.

He’d get him there in seconds, Minho would. Amidst one of these nights it took one push of his hand over the fabric of his pants and Jisung, so wound up he could cry, finished immediately. Comforting him with kisses to his neck, to his earlobe, Minho calmed him and his pink cheeks down and showed Jisung the beauty, the marvel, in being able to go again. That was the night he gave Minho his first, what he taught him was called, orgasm. Though Minho called it something else, something that sounded much filthier that tickled Jisungs spine whenever the words were whispered into his ear while he writhed beneath him.

Orgasm. Cum. He didn’t care what it was called, he just never wanted Minho to stop. It was all he could think about. That electric feeling in his veins, the burning in his center, the euphoria rushing through him, the way Minho’s breath caught in his throat and his eyes fluttered shut as Jisung touched him, as he learned from the way he released the air in his lungs, the hums in his chest. The way he pressed his forehead to his temple, Minho’s whispers and praises of how good he was doing satiated him, fed him, spurred him on until he was arching his chest into Jisung’s, his teeth latching to the boys neck to keep from shouting aloud as Jisung felt him cum.

That same disgustingly delicious feeling Minho gave him, he was able to give it right back, and Minho was right, as he always was. After that, Jisung was able to go again.

In the middle of Minho and Christophers room they stood with their limbs intertwined, hands in hair, bodies rolling against the other, tongues pressed together. Jisung dropped his hands to the plain t-shirt Minho wore, the man dressing down as soon as he knew the priests were out of the house. Grabbing onto the cotton, Jisung yanked him backward to one of the beds neatly made with pillows lined against the headboard. Minho hummed, eyes blinking feverishly as his own hands tried to move Jisung away from him.

“Ji,” he whispered between pushes of his slick lips, “This isn’t-”

The boy didn’t care to listen. Thrusting his hips forward he knocked Minho backward and the man fell onto the bed, knees spreading so Jisung could stand between them. Taking his hands to his neck Jisung tipped his chin upward and never let his lips leave his. He wedged himself between his thighs and smiled as Minho closed them around him, trapping him.

“This is Christopher's bed,” Minho managed to whisper.

“I know,” Jisung whispered back, their lips never parting.

Noses brushing, Minho furrowed his brows. “What’s the matter?”

“What do you mean?” Jisung asked, catching his lips gently, letting the way Minho looked up at him fuel the fire building within him. 

“Something’s up.” Minho’s eyes fluttered shut within the kiss, but each time Jisung parted from him he took the opportunity to gaze up at him, not wanting to miss a moment. “What did they say to you before they left?”

He tried to kiss him again, to shut him up, but Minho dodged his lips and wrapped his arms around the boy's waist instead. Jisung tried again, then tipped his head back with a sigh, defeated. Looking down at the man he held onto, where his hands were wrapped around his jaw, he felt his heart squeeze.

“Why do they talk about you like that?”

His whisper had Minho’s expression go blank. “What do you mean?”

Jisung breathed, looking about the room for help, Christophers blank walls and neatly done bed making the anger he wanted to swallow turn into bile in his throat. “It’s like,” he paused, blinking, then looked down at Minho’s shining eyes, “They know.”

“What?” he asked, hushed, quiet as ever. Jisung swore all color washed from his cheeks.

“No, wait,” Jisung shook his head, feeling Minho’s panic as if it were his own, “They don’t know, I haven’t said anything, I haven’t told anybody anything. This is between us, I promise you, I’ve already promised you, I keep my promises.”

Minho slid a hand up Jisungs torso, placing a hand over his beating heart. “I know,” he whispered. “I trust you.”

Jisung loosed a breath. “I trust you, too.” Minho’s hand slipped behind his head, pulling him down for a slower, longer kiss that made Jisung want to crawl over top of him. “I just hate that they talk about you like you cause me problems.”

Dragging his nails over his scalp, twirling fingers around curls, Minho’s lips tipped up into a smirk. “I’ve been the problem my whole life. I can handle them saying things about me.”

“That’s not fair,” Jisung whined, taking his hands from his jaw to his thighs, falling down onto his knees between Minho’s. He jumped, pulling backward, placing his hands on the bed. Jisung smoothed his fingers over the pants Minho wore, not realizing or recognizing what he was even doing. “You’re not the problem, the problem is them. They’re the ones causing me problems.”

“Wh-what problems?” Minho asked, steadying his breath, keeping his eyes locked on Jisungs. The boy toyed with his belt, his fingers moving as their own entity, like he didn’t know what he was doing.

“I heard them talking this morning,” Jisung started, sliding his fingers in and out of the belt loops on Minho’s pants. “They said this week will make their decision, I guess, for what they give me, or offer me.”

“That’s a good thing though, isn’t it?” Minho questioned, withholding a gasp as Jisungs hands brushed over his zipper before they took back to his thighs. “You do so well this week, you’ve told me all about it. The way you prep them for the rest of the year, it’s always perfect, they’re sure to promote you when they’re back.” Jisung watched his hands as they smoothed from Minho’s hips to his knees. Glancing up at him and his hooded eyes, the boy started to smile. “Oh, you’re hilarious, Han Jisung.”

“What happens if I do this?” Taking his hands to his belt, Jisung sat forward, his chest lodged between Minho’s thighs. Slipping the leather out of one loop, the way Minho’s breath hitched made the boy laugh.

“What? Why are you- You don’t-”

Jisung pulled the buckle out completely, his smile making Minho’s thighs tighten around him. “What happens if I do this?” He dipped his head down, brushing his nose over the fabric that kept Minho’s half hard length from him. 

“Jesus, Jisung,” Minho breathed, taking his hands to the boy's shoulders. Jisung blinked up at him, his lips parted the slightest, his smile wiped away in an instant. “What are you doing?” 

Seconds were shared in silence, both boys staring at one another, one in shock, the other in denial. Jisung removed Minho’s hands from his shoulders and placed them on his own lap, standing to his feet with his head hung.

“Do you not want me either?” he muttered, averting his gaze to the wooden slabs of the floor. 

Minho sprung to his feet, his hands quickly putting his belt back together as he stepped up to face Jisung. Raising a finger he placed it beneath the boy's chin and tipped it up, their noses millimeters apart.

“Han Jisung,” he whispered, and the boy's lip crinkled. “I’m offended you’d even think that.”

“Why deny me?”

Minho furrowed his brow and shook his head. “Never. I just know that you’re feeling a lot of things right now, and I don’t want you to do something you don’t really want to do.” Jisung’s eyes softened. “I don’t want you to regret anything.”

“I don’t,” he whispered quickly, and Minho smiled.

“I know,” Minho nodded, “But, you were about to do something that changes a lot. That changes everything.”  Jisung allowed his hands to grab his waist, his fingers dragging along his back. Minho slid his hand into his curls and the other over his shoulder. “I’m not letting you do anything we haven’t already done, until I hear you say the words.”

“The words,” Jisung whispered.

Minho snickered, the two laughing together in the comfort of his bedroom. “You jerk.”

“I mean it.” Jisung leaned into him, letting Minho bear his weight with ease. 

The older boy smiled down at him and fluttered his lashes. “And why’s that?”

Jisung pressed his lips together. He wasn’t sure how to explain it. He was able to think it, he could feel it, but no words seemed to suffice. How was he to describe to Minho that he made him feel like no one else? That the way he cared for him, spoke to him, brought him the most peace, the most clarity. That within just one look all of Jisung’s worries would disappear, giving him a purpose, a reminder of who he was, what he stood for. Minho became an extension of him, he filled him with pride, for himself, for Minho, for his work, for his life.

Butterflies filled him entirely, he couldn’t quite place what it was, how it happened, why they were there, but he liked it. It made him happy, Minho made him happy. 

He could compare it to the safety he felt around Christopher, but this was such much more. Minho could read his mind, Minho could feel what he was feeling, Minho seemed to understand him in a way no one else could. He never judged him, never hounded him with advice on how to live his life other than inspiring him to live it the way he wants to live it.

Jisung never wanted to be without him. Just the mere thought of him not being here brought him pain, a crack threatening to split his heart in two. It was fragile, already broken and messily thrown back together in no way that was absolute. 

Minho held it in his hands, Jisung couldn’t remember when he’d handed it to him.

When he’d given it over so willingly, letting Minho reach into his chest and take it himself.

“Don’t cry,” Minho whispered, dragging a thumb beneath Jisungs dark lashes. “Why are you going to cry?”

Jisung gulped. Burying his face in Minho’s chest, his fingers dug into his back, clinging to him. Pulling him so close he tried to occupy the same space. Holding him so tight he wouldn’t have a chance to leave, to run away from him.

Letting him wrap himself around him, Minho watched, then cradled him, in hand in his curls, the other around his back. Resting his cheek to his head, he breathed, and he let Jisung do what he needed to do, promising in silence to only pull away when the boy decided to. Pressing a gentle kiss to his hair, Minho whispered, “I’ve got you.”

“Who holds Mass then if none of them are here?”

Minho’s voice echoed within the church, the walls catching his voice and pushing it straight back to him, back to Jisung who balanced vases, candlesticks and books in his arms. Empty handed, Minho held out his palm beneath the boy's loot as if it were going to help catch anything if anything were to fall. All day he’d been a bit distracted, almost unaware of what was around him and what was going on. Smiling at him as he walked beside him, Jisung found it endearing.

“No one,” he said with a shake of his head. 

“Incredible,” Minho grumbled, looking backward into the church as they approached the double doors to the hall. Jisung questioned him with a hum, waiting for him to pull on the handle for him. “This should be the one week they let you do it.”

Following his gaze out into the church, the walls and pews lit up by the setting sun in hues of yellow and orange from the stained glass windows, Jisung took a breath and considered the possibilities. It made sense. If anything, it made more sense for it to happen now, during this week, since the discussions were happening more frequently, now that Minho was here. The two would be more than capable of running service themselves, they’ve done it together for over a month now.

“I never thought of that,” Jisung said under his breath. “Minho?”

Hm?” He faced Jisung, looking down at him and his full arms. “Oh,” he laughed, lunging for the door handles. “I’m sorry, I was…”

Stepping into the hall with Minho on his tail, Jisung slipped through the curtain into the sacristy and smiled. “You were what?” He dropped the candlesticks onto one table and shuffled for another to place the vases. Giving Minho the smile before shelving the books, he raised a brow. “What’s happening to you today?” Standing to his tiptoes, Jisung pushed the spines back, then spun to face Minho who backed him into the shelves. “I feel like I can’t keep your attention.”

Minho grabbed the shelf behind the boy, caging him in. “If I tell you a secret will you keep it?”

“Of course,” Jisung whispered, honed in on Minho’s features inches in front of him. When he moved his chin, Jisung moved his. When he tilted his head, Jisung tilted his. “I keep all your secrets.”

A smile pulled at his lips. “You do,” Minho whispered, taking a hand to the boy's cheek, toying with a few strands of hair that lay there. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he whispered, and Minho breathed a laugh toward his unwavering innocence he hadn’t seemed to lose yet. He might be stuck with it forever.

“I keep all your secrets too,” Minho said, pulling the curls away from his forehead with a hand pushed backward on the boy's head. He leaned back against the shelf, chin tipping upward as Minho came closer.

Jisung gulped. “Tell me.”

Minho eyed his lips, then gave him a lazy smile. “I’m nervous,” he whispered, “Han Jisung.”

“Why?” The boy screwed his brows further, a line forming between them that Minho drew a thumb over to smooth out, to relax.

“Because,” Minho said, dragging his fingers down the side of the boy's cheek, “I feel like… if I say anything, or do anything, it’ll… scare you off.” 

“Scare me off, how could you-“

“I could,” Minho cut him off, pressing his thumb to his lips. “Jisung there’s so much we haven’t talked about. And now…”

He didn’t have to say it, Jisung could feel it, like he always has. The nervousness, he understood it, he felt it himself, but he buried it, didn’t want it to come between them, whatever they were doing. The longer Minho spoke, the more it uncovered.

“You’ve had no trouble in the past telling me about myself,” Jisung said in hopes to acquire a smile, which he did. “Don’t get shy on me now.”

“Never, never,” Minho shook his head, glancing away for only a second, “it’s just, it’s not about you, it’s about myself. It has to do with you, but… it’s me.”

Jisung blinked. “Do I do it wrong?”

Minho broke into a laugh. “What,” he snorted, “Ji, please.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re perfect,” Minho said, leaning in to touch their noses together. Jisung smiled something small. “I just want to be honest with you.” Under the impression they’ve been honest with one another all this time, Jisung’s smile dropped. Minho, quick to take his cheeks in his hands, thumbs brushing over his golden skin, pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Remember when I told you about where I came from? The church?”

Cringing, Jisung closed his eyes and shook his head in Minho’s hold. “I do,” he whispered. “Horrible.”

Minho breathed, a dismal smile on his face. “It’s about to get worse.” Jisung peeled his eyes open and grabbed onto Minho’s wrists. “I wasn’t sent away because they found out I,” his voice trailed off as he glanced between him and Jisung, “Prefer… men.” He expected a bigger reaction from the boy, but he didn’t move. “One of the priests there, he and I, we… Were involved.”

“Involved,” Jisung whispered, stuck on his dark eyes. “Like… us?” 

“Yes,” Minho said, and Jisung broke from his gaze. Pressing his hands into his cheeks Minho brought his focus back. “And no, Jisung.” The boy, with eyes softening beyond belief, a type of pain behind them he didn’t quite understand yet, pouted his lips. “I was nothing more than something for him to take his shame out on.”

Gulping, Jisung licked his lips and frowned. “You and him, you, you did…”

“Sex,” Minho said, voice hushed, full of shame for himself. Jisung reacted to the word like he’s never said it before. “Yes.”

“And you wanted to?” Jisung asked.

Minho shrugged, shaking his head. “Sometimes.”

“Min,” Jisung sighed, squeezing his wrists in his hands. “You loved him?”

Minho, eyes going wild, rested his hands to Jisung’s shoulders. “Not at all. Why ask me that question?” 

Jisung knew why, but he didn’t want to say. It felt juvenile to explain his thoughts aloud. It also brought him immense guilt, the feeling so overwhelming he did not have any idea where to put it. 

Sex is exclusive to couples in love. Married couples. Couples as in a man and a woman. One is to be married before engaging in the act, it’s sacred. All his life Jisung kept it aside, didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t think about it, didn’t need it. Not until he met Minho. When the boys in school spoke of it it made him uncomfortable, when Christopher told him his stories of the women he’d meet late at night it made his skin crawl.

Standing here, with his hands on Minho, Minho’s hands on him, his touch strong, confident, and full of care, Jisung seemed to finally understand even if the strategically placed by Hyunjin wires in his brain were beginning to fry. He knew he wouldn’t go through with it if he didn’t care for the person, he knew he wouldn’t do it if he wasn’t in love with them. He’d wait till he was married, until there was a true, pure connection.

It held onto him. It smiled at him. It stood in front of him. 

“When people… have sex, they’re supposed to love each other,” Jisung said quickly before Minho reached into his brain to yank him out.

Smiling wider, Minho said, “They’re also supposed to be married.”

“Then why…” Jisung cut himself off before he said something he shouldn’t.

“And if I’m not mistaken,” Minho continued on like the boy hadn’t spoken, “Men aren’t supposed to do this, together.” Color flushed from Jisung’s cheeks. Hands dropping from Minho altogether he clenched his fingers into fists and sucked in a breath. Two hands slid back to his cheeks, knowing this would happen. “This is why I’m nervous.”

You shall not lie with a man as with a woman — it is an abomination.

Jisung knew the words. He’s read them.

They didn’t scare him until right now, in this moment, alone here with Minho. He felt a great deal towards him, he’s spent plenty of nights with him in his bed, it wasn’t fair. Jisung could meet a woman tomorrow, could marry her the day after, and no one would bat an eye, but this connection he shared with Minho… Repulsive. Disgusting. Untrue. It’s what they’d say. 

“Don’t be nervous,” Jisung whispered, his muscles relaxing. Reaching out his hands he smoothed them over Minho’s solid chest. “I think… Whatever I feel for you outweighs the text I’ve studied.” He felt a breath release from Minho’s chest, his hands resting over his heart. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“What’s that?” Minho asked, tilting his head a bit, Jisung copying him.

“That if we were to… be something, it wouldn’t be allowed,” Jisung said, lifting his wide, sappy eyes to Minho who appeared as if Jisung had handed him the world in the palm of his hand. “I’ve never explored this with anyone before, Min, but I feel things for you, more than I feel for people I consider to be friends. It’s strange to me, to never feel these things for the women I should, but somehow, all at the same time, it makes entirely too much sense.”

“What the hell happened to the boy I met in September?” Minho breathed, the biggest, most genuine smile lighting up his face. 

Jisung grabbed his t-shirt by the fistful, tugging him closer. Pushing off of the bookshelf, the entire thing wobbling, rattling against the wall. He spun around, putting Minho in his place where he once stood.

“Just that, Minho,” he smirked, pressing their noses together, “He met you.” Squinting his eyes, Jisung rested his lips. “We don’t use profanities on the property.”

Minho laughed in his face, his head tipping backward. “You’re unbelievable.” Taking his chin in his hands, Minho looked at him straight. “But, I think I worry about you, Han Jisung.”

Jisung whispered, “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“But, I do,” Minho whispered back, widening his eyes. “You’re much too fragile to not.”

“Fragile?” The way his brows settled over his eyes made Jisung smile. “Come on.”

“Do not act like you don’t know it,” Minho said.

Rolling his shoulders back, lifting his chin as much as he could within Minho’s grip, Jisung clenched his jaw before he said, “I don’t feel fragile with you.” Minho stilled. “Around you.”

Which also made Minho nervous, but he’d never tell Jisung.

Hands making their claim on his cheeks, where they loved to live, Minho held him close, noses touching, breath intertwining. He wanted to kiss him, longed to press his lips to his, get lost in a moment of them, just them, without a need to fear that someone would find them, that someone would walk in on them. Jisung wanted it too, Minho could see it in the way his eyes flickered about his face, the gears in his head coming to a complete standstill when Minho handled him this way.

Something about being within the walls of the sacristy stopped him. The place sacred, and incredibly important to Jisung. He may not fully understand what he’s feeling, what he’s doing, but Minho did, and Minho could. There wasn’t anything he would do that’d put Jisung in jeopardy, with the men in the house, with the room they stood in, or with himself. He said it, he’s told Jisung, that he wasn’t here to hold him back, to keep him from achieving his dream, his lifelong goal he’s strived and worked incredibly hard for.

Gazing toward him now, the air between them thick, heating up, knowing that if Jisung understood the consequences of his actions, this impressionable, genius of a young man could very well drop everything and run from him. Or, worse. Jisung could throw away everything he’s worked toward. Within his obsessive brain, the hyperfixation jumped from his life, his work, to Minho. Though he feels confident, strong in himself, something he hasn’t ever been able to feel without someone telling him he should, Minho could not shake the guilt that he swallowed and kept buried.

November has never made Jisung smile. November has never filled him with joy. The month of November had been created for work, for grey skies, rainy days, and cool breezes, ones to fuel that incurable cold pit within him. A shock down his spine, skin chilled, raised bumps littering the golden hue he’d been blessed with. November wasn’t a friend, it was a reminder of who he was, where he’d come from, what he hasn’t been able to achieve yet.

Somehow, three days into the priests week away, the grey sky greeted him instead of looming above. The chilly air that’d assault his cheeks, turning them and his nose pink, didn’t cause him as much distress as it would in the past. Whatever the weather, it didn't, and it couldn’t, bother him. By Minho’s side with much more freedom than the two have ever had, November stayed outside. It watched Jisung from the sidelines. It left him alone. With Minho nearby, it couldn’t, and it wouldn’t get to him.

Sitting side by side on the living room couches reading the same book together with the fireplace lit, Jisung couldn’t read one word, his mind couldn’t focus, not with how Minho slid a hand over his thigh beneath the book. The day had come and gone, the two barely getting any work done, spending too much time teasing one another, and when they weren’t poking and prodding one another, giggling like little girls, they were silent, the only sound that of their heavy breaths between kisses.

Minho did kiss Jisung in the sacristy days ago, with his permission. The boy didn’t care, he didn’t think twice, he blinked his big eyes and asked Minho to kiss him, so he did. That night they ended up in Minho’s bed for the first time, and Jisung woke up there, tangled in his arms. It was also the first time their hands explored one another in the hours of the morning, Minho showing Jisung how to take care of the problem he’d wake up with while their tongues pressed to the insides of their cheeks.

It was all Jisung could think about for two days. The way Minho pulled the blanket off of them, how he held beneath his chin, keeping Jisungs eyes focused. His fingers wrapped around the band around his waist and pulled, Minho freeing himself of the pajamas he wore, making sure that the night before he’d fall asleep without a shirt on. The waistband wrapped around his knees, nothing beneath them, Jisung’s lips had parted with a gasp. He’d never seen him before, only felt him.

Talking him through it with whispers to his lips, Minho told him what to do, and Jisung obeyed. The boy pushed his pants down his hips, his heart pounding within his chest, his jaw clenching in Minho’s grasp. No one’s seen him naked before, he’s never seen anyone naked before, and here Minho was beside him, bare aside from the pants covering the lower half of his legs. A smirk had pulled at his lips, the older boy tilting his head to catch Jisung’s lips in a slow, gentle kiss before telling him what to do, to do what he does.

Jisung wanted to watch, but he wanted to kiss him too. Teeth clashing, he darted his eyes to Minho’s hand as it drug over his torso, down his hips. The softest groan came out of Minho, muffled by Jisung’s lips, as his hand wrapped around himself, fingers tightening ever so slightly. White knuckles contrasted with the deepening pink of his tip, Jisung let out a sound right after, tongue lobbing into his mouth without an ounce of self control.

He whispered to him, told him again to do it with him, after instructing him to spit into his open palm he brought beneath his chin, the hand that was just wrapped around his cock. Obeying every order, Minho smiled something soft toward him, grabbing Jisung’s hand that lingered over his torso, letting a thick wad of spit fall from his lips into the boy's palm.

They kissed until they couldn’t. Their tongues danced together until they were whiney, grunting, chest heaving, stomach tightening messes. Jisung came first, Minho showering him in praises in forms of gasps as the boy watched himself cum all over the shirt he wore. Exhilarating, doing that himself, knowing that he can do that himself, and that he will be doing that again, but nothing compared to watching Minho, listening to him, the sounds he made, the sounds his body made.

He knew how to move his hand. Jisung had only been able to jack his hand up and down a few times before he was seeing stars, but Minho, his grip rough, his pace quick, the twist of his wrist positively delectable. Jisung took it all in, he studied him, the way he touched himself without looking away from the boy, his body, his eyes. It took him minutes to finish, Jisung got hard all over again, the moment it happened nearly made him orgasm untouched. 

Lips pressed together in a messy spit slicked kiss, Minho jerked himself dry, whispered Can I touch you? on Jisung’s lips, and after acquiring the most pleading Yes he’s ever heard, he drug his hand through his release on his chest and swiftly wrapped his hand around Jisung, the boy's entire body writhing in an instant. Minho touched him, without anything in the way, he couldn’t believe it, couldn’t process it, couldn’t think about anything else but him, Minho. Minho. 

It took nothing. Minho twisted his wrist, teased his tip, whispered one good boy to his lips and Jisung was cumming much harder than he ever had before. 

Fidgeting where he sat, Minho’s hand now toying with the seam of his pants on the inside of his thigh while the other flipped the page of the book, Jisung took his bottom lip between his teeth and laid his head on Minho’s shoulder. Warmth from the crackling fire comforted him, and would have aided in lulling him to sleep if his skin wasn’t burning more than the flames themselves. His hand was too close, it drove him crazy.

He could see it, his fingers tugging at his length, the way his thumb teased his slit, every tweak of his wrist rendering him utterly thoughtless. God, he’s never felt anything more amazing. 

“What are you thinking about?” Minho asked, his voice a low rumble over the cracking of the wood. His eyes never left the page. 

Jisung gulped. “Nothing.”

Minho snapped the book shut with one hand and tossed it to the couch beside him. With a smirk on his lips he turned his chin toward Jisung. “Liar, I can feel how tense you are.” Lowering his eyes to his hand and Jisungs thigh muscles tightened into oblivion, the boy attempted to relax with a chuckle as he reached to tangle his fingers within Minho’s. “What’ve we forgotten to do?” Minho questioned, leaning backward on the sofa, stretching his long legs in front of him, his feet touching the coffee table. “I know we’ve got a lot more to get through, you have to show me how to put the office back together, we have to finish bringing out the decorations for Christmas, but we have four days to do it, we can-”

Jisung swung a leg over his lap, straddling him as he would, and as he liked to do. Cutting him short he grabbed his face and smothered his lips with his own, pressing himself against Minho’s rock solid chest. Hands darting out to the side, Minho didn’t know what to do with them. On the couch, on his own legs, in the air beside him, he didn’t know where to hold, what to touch.

They were in the living room, in the middle of the house where everyone spent the most time, where everyone would collect in the nighttime especially now that the world has grown colder. Sure they’ve both grown bolder, have been together outside of the safety of Jisung’s bedroom, and yes, no one was here. Minho thinks he just can’t believe how bold he’s become, and all of a sudden. 

Jisung says it’s because of him, because of Minho, because of his presence. He’s bold around him, has grown confident because of him. Though Minho could agree, that Jisung has changed him as well, it certainly hasn’t been to this degree. No, Minho would still keep his walls up around anyone that wasn’t the boy on his lap. He’s grown softer, towards Jisung, but wouldn’t allow the others to see this side of him. They didn’t deserve to see it, not with how they treated him, treated Jisung.

Free of having to hide Jisung let out the sweetest little whines as he grinded his body into Minho’s, his lips trailing from his lips to Minho’s sharp jaw where he pressed the softest kisses.

He knows what he’s done, Minho does. That’s why that guilt grew, that fear within him, it had the power to paralyze him if he didn’t have the strength to keep it down, keep it locked up. Jisung had grown attached, which is nothing for Minho to have a say in, because he’s grown attached too. To Jisung, to the way he moves, the way he kisses him like he’ll lose him tomorrow, how he laughs, how he makes decisions for himself and sticks to them, he follows through, he’s always been confident, always been strong, he’s never needed Minho around to act that way.

He was that way.

His tiny frame, barely matching Minho’s chest in width- entirely endearing. How he liked figuring things out for himself now that Minho’s cracked through that shell of his, how each time they’re here, on top of one another, Jisung is doing something different, pressing his lips somewhere new, not letting his fingers keep an inch of Minho unexplored.

He let him. Minho laid back, finally placed his hands to his thin waist, and let Jisung have his way with him. It was as if Minho rewound the clocks to eighteen, Jisung acting and reacting like a teenager whose brain and hormones finally clocked in. 

At least it was him. Between every kiss, every whimper from his lips, every roll of his hips and tug of his hair, Minho thanked God that he had found him before anyone else. The idea that this could have been someone else made his blood run redhot. That Jisung could’ve fallen victim to what he went through, what Minho was forced to succumb to for the sake of his own sexual satisfaction, not that the three men who lived within these walls seemed the type to do such things. Minho worried.

All these years, hearing about Han Jisung, the amazing, talented, genius Han Jisung, Minho had been prepped to be faced with living a nightmare for the rest of his days here in Avida. Hope running on empty, trust rail thin, loyalty on the back burner… Jisung wrecked it all the second he sat down in Christopher’s office. A small, unsuspecting, closeted gay boy flustered beyond belief whenever Minho took a second to look at him. He wasn’t at all what he expected. This boy broke records, this boy held the highest honors, this boy trailblazed his way here without looking back.

This tiny little thing with his knees and toes turned in and the slightest slouch in his shoulders. 

“I’m thinking about you, Min,” Jisung whispered, slipping his tongue over his lips. “I’m always thinking about you.”

Minho wouldn’t say he’d done it on purpose, though his eyes told a different story. It wasn’t his intention to have Jisung end up here on his lap, to corrupt whatever pristine fantasy the boy lived within. Simple curiosity drove him here, drove them both here. Minho wanted to know how he’d done it, lived a life so pure, and Jisung was driven by human instinct. Besides, who could blame Jisung for wanting a taste of sin when it looked this good beneath him.

Minho didn’t intend on falling so damn hard.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

These drawn out nights, the sneaking around, the teasing all day just to kiss him a few times at night- it wasn’t supposed to happen. Minho wanted him the second he saw him, wanted him under him, back arched, slim waist in his big hands. It didn’t happen that way. Jisung climbed on top of him. Every time he pinned him down, he grasped control, he took this where he wanted it to go, and Minho so willingly let it happen.

He doesn’t know when he forfeited the fight, white flag waving, he’s not even sure he’s ever even had the upper hand. Something about Jisung, Minho couldn’t say no, couldn’t tell him what to do even if he tried. He wanted to give him everything he’s ever wanted, all it took was a few blinks of those pure wide eyes and Minho was putty in his hands. The slightest pout of his lips and Minho’s brain switched off.

Whatever Jisung wanted, Jisung got.

Small hands gripped the collar of his shirt, tiny fingers slipping in between the buttons, giving the fabric a harsh tug, pulling it open. Jisung, taking his lips down the side of Minho’s neck, pulling his skin roughly between his teeth, he moved over his collar bone, his tongue dipping into the valleys of each bone, every muscle. Minho’s head tipped backward, eyes fluttering shut, his own sighs and desperate hums, pleas for more, spurring the boy on.

Laying messy, hot, open mouthed kisses to his exposed porcelain chest, Jisung tugged his shirt to the side and tried something new, his conscious brain off, driven completely by the pulsing between his legs. Wrapping his lips around one of Minho’s nipples he giggled as his body jerked, the man's fingers digging into his waist. Pulling away, lips slick, having made a complete mess of his chest, Jisung gazed up at him and poked out his tongue, flicking it over the bud slowly, smiling as every muscle in Minho’s body tensed.

“That feels good?” he asked, and Minho dropped his chin, lips parted, eyes hooded.

Taking a hand to Jisung’s curls, he gasped, “Yes,” and pushed the boy's head back down. 

With a smile he drew his tongue in circles, slipping a hand beneath Minho’s shirt to brush his fingers over the other. “What if I do this?” A delicate graze over the rock hard bud sent a chill down Minho’s spine. He was hard under him, Jisung could feel it, he was fighting to not buck his hips up into him. Taking his lips to the other, making sure he had his full attention everywhere, Jisung rubbed his thumb through the slick he left behind and pushed. Then he flicked his thumb side to side, just barely brushing the tip. Sucking on the other, he pulled away, a string of saliva dangling from his lips. “Minho?” His warm breath tickled his wet skin.

Sucking air in through his teeth, Minho tipped his head down and clenched his jaw. “Jisung?”

The boy twisted his brows together and studied his face, his expression one like he saw that morning, while Minho touched himself. Keeping their eyes locked, Jisung opened his mouth and latched his lips to his nipple, Minho writhing beneath him. He let his teeth graze over it slightly, eliciting a groan from his chest, and made sure to leave a mess behind when he parted from him. 

Lips puffy, shining in the glow of the flames in the fireplace, he released a breath over Minho’s slick skin and watched him gasp. Spinning his tongue in his mouth, gathering what he could, forcing more from his tongue, Jisung leaned over his chest and let a thick wad of spit fall over each hardened bud. Eyes flickering up to meet Minho’s, Jisung pursed his lips and blew cool air over his chest, his middle fingers barely touching those sensitive spots, nudging them, teasing him.

He learned it all in real time, while doing, while watching, listening. A genius, he picked up on all of it, how Minho’s body responded, what he needed to do to make him make moan like that again, what it took to get him hard, what it took to get him not hard.

Wondering what would happen if he kept going like this, if touching him this way could make him cum, he wanted to find out. His body reacted the same way, he made the same sounds, if anything he was louder. Flicking his tongue faster, quicker, prodding him full of more pleasure, he felt determined to make it happen, if it was possible.

But, then he remembered that Minho taught him something about stamina. It’s why Jisung came within seconds, but Minho could go for so much longer. Virgins didn’t have stamina, that’s why Jisung could burst at any moment and Minho wasn’t even touching him. He was new at this, inexperienced, and stamina came with time, with practice. It could take forever to get Minho to finish without touching him elsewhere.

His hands slid down his torso, keeping his lips moving, his tongue working, Minho panting. Unbuttoning his pants, moving so gently he prayed his lips would keep him distracted so he wouldn’t stop him, he pulled at the zipper and sighed, getting his hand over his underwear, over his very long, very hard length. The way Minho moaned made Jisung’s stomach tighten, so much so that he had to stop what he was doing, had to close his eyes and breathe so he didn’t make a mess of his pants.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” Jisung whispered.

Minho threw his head forehead, his eyes wild as he sneered through his teeth, “You’re gonna make me cum.” The way the boy smirked up at him didn’t help.

“Good.”

“Jisung, hang on,” Minho breathed, “Wait, I-”

He didn’t wait. He couldn’t wait. His heart pounded between his lungs, he was one track minded, he had something to do, something to finish.

Sliding off of his lap to the floor, Jisung fit perfectly between his knees, his sturdy thighs framing his face. Fingers curling under the waistband, he tugged his bottoms down and Minho’s length nearly tapped his nose with how it sprung free. Eyes widening, mouth salivating without realizing, Jisung looked up at Minho who held his breath. His hands were on the couch, grasping for anything to keep him here, present, steady. Looking up at him, his broad exposed chest, his wide shoulders, his thick thighs parted to house Jisung between them. He felt small. Just sitting on the couch Minho towered over him, could grab him with a hand and pin him on his back, taking control like it was nothing.

But he didn’t.

His wide eyes laced with lust gazed down at Jisung, admiring how small he was like Jisung admired how big Minho was. The way the boy gulped at the sheer size of him, his pouted lips inches from his leaking, eager red tip, an innocence once conquered by the facade of he knew what he was doing, but he didn’t. 

He’d gotten this far, he’d figure it out.

Blinking a billion times, eyes focused, Jisung leaned into his hips and wrapped a hand around the base of his length, praying away shaking fingers as he grasped him, and squeezed him like Minho did to himself that morning. 

“Shiii- Ji,” Minho grit his teeth, his head falling backward, eyes screwed shut. His hand, so small, his fingers, tiny little things, still able to send sparks through his being.

Remembering what he was taught, looking between his heaving chest and his cock that somehow hardened further, he spit into his other hand and swapped it for the other, the coolness of his touch making Minho wince and whine. Smoothing the slick up and down his length, every ridge, every vein like gold in his fingers, he started to smile. Taking in how he looked, long, thick, perfect, his lips parted and his jaw fell open.

An involuntary response. Mouth pooling with saliva, bound to dribble over his chin if he didn’t shut his jaw, he felt empty.

“God, Jisung,” Minho’s moans were as desperate as they’d started, every deep, orgasmic sound making his throat and belly tighten.

What is that?

Licking his lips as his hand tugged up to his tip, his palm smoothing over it like Minho had done to Jisung, he gulped and moved closer. His tongue bobbed in his mouth, pushing against the back of his throat, longing to fall out of his lips. Minho’s gasps, the twitching of his length, the jerking of his hips, Jisung couldn’t help but moan aloud, pressing himself into his thighs, slipping Minho’s tip between his parted lips. Hands flew into his curls, Minho’s fingers tangling with the waves, gripping him tight.

“Jisung,” he groaned, but the boy ignored him.

It felt good. Body tingling, heart thumping, Jisung’s eyes fluttered shut. Breathing through his nose, taking in a deep breath, he sighed around him and sank further, letting Minho’s length hit that spot in his throat, the back of his mouth. Sliding his tongue along the bottom, he pulled away just a bit before ever so slightly twisting his chin before sinking back down, the tip of Minho’s cock hitting places that made Jisung feel fuzzy. Minho, a mess beneath him, couldn’t compare to the way Jisung rutted himself against the couch, bobbed his head faster, and faster, longing to feel him everywhere, feeling so full of him, like every need he ever had was being fulfilled in this moment.

He couldn’t stop, not even when Minho moaned out his name, not even when he felt his own high sparked, rushing toward him, whimpering louder and louder, fueled by the way Minho jerked up into his throat. He made him feel good, he was making him feel good. Jisungs nails pressed into Minho’s thighs, sure to leave marks behind in their wake.

“Fuck, you’re gonna cum,” Minho groaned, pulling Jisung off of him by his hair. Lips swollen, eyes clouded over, brain shut off and dizzy, Jisung was positively wrecked. His tongue fell from his lips and his jaw hung open like his mouth awaited more, unable to do anything else but be used. “How do you know how to do this?”

Jisung gulped, throat tightening around nothing, a soft whine following. “Feels good,” he whispered.

“What?” Minho whispered, holding him by his hair.

Jisungs tongue licked around his lips. “I like the way you feel in my mouth.”

Jaw clenching, groan trapped in his chest, Minho released the boy's hair and tucked his hands beneath his arms, pulling him onto the couch, laying him flat on his back. Lowering himself on top of him, noses centimeters apart, Minho poked out his tongue and pressed his lips to Jisungs, sucking his bottom one between his teeth as his hands worked down his body, tugging off the boy’s pants without him even knowing.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Jisung,” he whispered, then moved down his body, nipping at his neck on the way down. Chest arching off the cushions, Jisung scrambled for his shoulders, but he kept moving, so he had to lace his fingers through his hair. “You smart, smart, boy,” Minho pressed kisses to his protruding hip bones, his hands grasping his waist, his eyes marveling at the difference in size. “Learning so quick,” his tongue dipped out, a thick stripe licked across the strip of skin below his navel, “So eager, too.” Minho looked up at him, meeting his eyes heavy with need. “You’re so good, Jisung, you know that?”

The boy couldn’t do anything but tighten his fingers in his brown locks, barely nodding his head in answer. Minho pressed kisses along the inside of his hips, Jisungs aching length waiting so patiently for him to take it.

“But, what would they say to you right now?” Minho grazed his tongue along the underside of his cock and Jisung trembled. “Their good, perfect, pristine boy, what would they tell you right now, hm? With me here between your legs,” Minho managed to shed him of his pants completely, “My cock just down your throat.” He pushed his knees backward and lowered his chin, his nose brushing against that sweet spot under his length. “So dirty,” he whispered, dipping his tongue out to tease his hole that Minho longed to ruin. A smile snuck onto Jisungs lips, one that made Minho perk a brow. “Yeah?”

“What,” Jisung whispered, unable to wipe his smirk away.

Minho positioned his shoulders just under his hips and nosed his length. “Han Jisung, that turns you on,” he said, lowering his tone. The boy shut his eyes and shook his head.

“No,” he sighed. “No, it doesn’t.”

Minho smirked. “Your smile says otherwise.” Sticking out his tongue, he teased his leaking tip, licking away all evidence of precum, swallowing it down, the taste sweet. Writhing where he laid, hands tugging harshly at Minho’s hair, the man grinned. “Jisung,” he clicked his tongue, tone disappointed. The boy looked down at him. “You filthy fuckin’ sinner,” Minho whispered just before he took him into his mouth, sinking down on him until his nose nudged his pelvis.

Jisung sprung forward, jaw agape, loud, guttural moans tumbling from his lips. Minho could take all of him, and then some. Sure, he didn’t compare in size, but still, the way he could fit him in his throat without a breath, without easing himself onto it, he had Jisung’s eyes rolling to the back of his head. His mouth, his tongue, so warm, so wet, his throat hot and tight as he swallowed him down.

It ended faster than it started, Jisung couldn’t help it.

No stamina.

He couldn’t even warn Minho, his words were mindless babbles of nothing comprehensible, just disgustingly delicious wails of ecstasy. He came in his mouth, down his throat, Minho groaning as he did. Pulling off of him with a pop, Jisung a limp, heaving heap on the couch, Minho sat up and grabbed his waist with one hand, the other pulling at his length, yanking Jisung close to him. He fisted himself, thrusted into his hand as he leaned over Jisung in his post-orgasmic daze. The boy, slow blinking, wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him closer, lips finding lips.

Groaning into the kiss, Minho whispered, “Such a good boy, Ji.” Tongues tangled, chests pressing together, whimpers falling from both of them, Minho’s brow furrowed and his teeth caught onto Jisung’s neck, pressing into the soft skin as he came all over Jisung’s stomach with a moan.

Catching his breath, littering his skin with soft kisses, Minho looked down at the boy smiling up at him, the tiniest thing one would miss if they weren’t centimeters from each other. 

With the way he gazed up at him, if Minho didn’t already know that Jisung had fallen, he’d know now.

The heat of the stove warmed Jisung where he sat on the wooden stool, half slumped over the kitchen counter. An elbow on the slab, his chin sat in his hand. Ann moved around the space like she haunted it, knowing every nook and cranny, what tiles to step on, and where everything lived. A tall steel pot sat on top of the stove she stood in front of, just beside Jisung. Dipping a spoon into the simmering, savory smelling soup she’d been working on for some time now, she held it out to the boy with a hand beneath it.

“What am I missing?” 

Jisung sipped from the ladle, his eyes widening at the perfect taste. “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head as he took the ladle from her to finish what was left. “It’s delicious.”

Her cheeks perked up in a smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling at the same time. “You can tell me the truth, Jisung,” she said, her voice soft, “Unlike the others, you can be honest with me.” She turned back to her pot after taking the ladle from his outstretched hand, her smile deepening as his eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

“What are you talking about?” he asked within half a whisper. Ann stirred her soup, focused on the stove top. Sitting up, Jisung shoved his hands between his thighs, still wearing his pajamas. If the priests were here he’d have changed, he’d have washed up, made himself a bit more presentable than pajamas and bedhead. “This isn’t the first time you’ve said something like this.”

“It’s not?” she asked, lifting a silver brow.

“No,” Jisung said, missing her sarcasm that so easily posed as real. “The way that you talk about them,” he paused, and she gave him a glance, “Why?”

She took a breath. “The Jisung I know has only ever wanted one thing.”

The boy lowered his brows. “The job?”

Ann swallowed a smile. “Acceptance.” A needle struck his chest. He narrowed his eyes. “I have watched you try for years now, working yourself into the ground to impress, setting your own needs aside for the sake of theirs, setting incredible, unrealistic expectations because you believe it’s the only way they’ll allow you to stay, the only way you think you’ll be given the job.”

Jisung gulped. Blinking fervently, he looked down at his lap, his hands that were clammy between his knees. “Just want to show them I can handle what they give me.”

“And, you do,” she sang, moving toward a cabinet full of spices. “You do more than handle it, Jisung, don’t you understand that?”

He pursed his lips, his courage vanishing deep within him. “It’s still not enough. It doesn’t matter.”

“Now, you know that’s not true,” Ann said.

“It’s entirely true,” he snapped, snapping his head up to glare at her. The woman with the silver braid held his stare, her years of life keeping her strong on her feet. “You weren’t here the morning they left, but they said it themselves. I’m not ready, and at this point, I don’t know what else to do to prove that I am.”

Ann lowered her gaze to the stove. “Not much has been done this week.”

Jisung clenched his jaw. “Because they made me not want to do anything.” She kept quiet, stirring the soup, wandering about the kitchen. “I keep giving, and giving, and giving, and for what?”

“Are you looking for a reward?” Ann questioned, rhetorically of course, but it forced an answer from the boy.

“Yes,” he whispered through his teeth. She turned to face him completely, her soft wrinkled fingers smoothing over the apron tied to her front. Jisung met her eyes, her sharp, knowing eyes, and he melted in place. Shoulders slumping, back curving, he glanced at his lap, to his tight fists, and relaxed them. “What am I saying?”

Ann stepped forward, resting a hand to his shoulder. “Frustration is a very normal thing to feel, Jisung. I believe you deserve the position, though my word means nothing-”

“It means a lot,” Jisung whispered, and she smiled, her fingers patting his boney joint.

“Control the things you want to say,” she continued. “What you just told me, as if you were admitting your faults, or admitting your wants, your greed, you know it won’t fare well with the others. Christopher has told you that before.” Jisung cringed at the drop of his name, and Ann tilted her head. “The way they feel about your emotions getting the better of you, Jisung.”

“They don’t get it,” he whispered. “I’m starting to think they never have.”

Ann moved back to her cooking. “Why’s that?” Only her eyes shifted to watch the boy fidget where he sat, rolling his shoulders back, glancing about the kitchen while his heart began to thud between his lungs.

“The same reason why they won’t give me what I want,” he mumbled. The smallest smile graced her lips. “Minho.”

“Minho?” she asked.

“Yes?”

Jisungs head whipped toward the archway where his voice sounded. Dressed half the same, hair in slightly better shape than the boy on the stool, Minho wandered across the tile with something of a smile on his face. Glancing between Ann and Jisung, the woman focused on her work, the boy wide eyed and staring at him, Minho didn’t know where to go. Leaning against the kitchen table, folding his hands over his chest, he tipped his nose in the air.

“That smells incredible,” he said, morning grog still in his voice. Ann turned to him and thanked him with a smile.

Jisung, sitting up entirely straight, couldn’t take his eyes off of him. A white t-shirt clung to his upper half, accentuating every muscle beneath it, where Jisung had his lips last night. Cheeks flushing, he slid his hands over his thighs and gripped his knees. Lethal, everything about him, no matter if he was half clothed and panting on the living room couch or politely speaking with Ann in the morning daylight of the kitchen. He didn’t know where to look actually, any place he chose it made him warm. All over.

He woke up in his bed again, next to him. Tangled with him.

Fumbling up the stairs hand in hand that’s where they ended up. Beneath Minho’s blankets, clothes strewn to the floor, two sweaty bodies curled up with one another.

Nothing existed in that moment besides them. To Jisung, nothing much other than Minho himself mattered when they were like that.

And, when he walked into the kitchen apparently. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, I just woke up,” Minho said, shrugging his shoulders. He flashed a crooked smile at Jisung and the boy blushed. “It’s strange not being on a schedule, this week feels like a vacation for us, too.”

“I’m sure it does,” Ann said quietly, and both boys looked at her. Minho snuck a glimpse of Jisung and wanted to reach out and shake the shock from his face, where he wasn’t giving anything away, Jisung told her everything.

Jisung grit his teeth together before he rolled his head backward and groaned aloud. “If I wanted to get everything done, I could do it in a day,” he grumbled, then shot Minho a look. The man’s fingers tightened on his biceps. “Besides, I don’t think they’re so deserving of it right now, do you?”

Minho perked a brow, a nervous laugh tumbling from his lips as he glanced between Ann and the boy. “I mean,” he breathed, “What are you saying?”

“That they’ll expect everything to be done by the time they come back,” Jisung held his chin high, “That I go above and beyond, every time, she just said it, I do more than enough.” Minho was quiet, waiting for more. Jisung whispered, “What happens if I don’t do a thing?”

“You don’t mean that,” Minho said through a laugh.

Jisung tipped his chin forward. “What if I do?”

“I’d like to know what you have to do with Jisung not getting promoted like he wants,” Ann said, turning to face Minho. Standing up straight, he dropped his arms to his sides, smoothed them over his thighs, then tucked them behind his back. Eyes wide, jaw clenched, his gaze shifted around the room. “Why does he say you’re the reason why they’re not giving him the position?” 

Jisung watched him search for the words to say to her, a man who could once conjure up a comeback in seconds, speechless. Either he couldn’t figure it out, or he didn’t want to say a thing. Beneath Ann’s stare, one that resembled Hyunjin’s, though it tended to be more caring, more concerned rather than just collecting information, Minho stumbled over words, finally forcing something from his lips.

“I- I- I didn’t know,” he shrugged. “I’m just trying to keep up with him, just trying to learn from him.” Ann’s expression relaxed. “I don’t want to stand in his way, if anything I want to help him achieve his goals.”

The woman hummed to herself. “I’m sure you do.” Minho glanced at Jisung, the boys sharing a look that made Jisung queasy. Ann turned back to the stove, busying herself, then she said, “They should’ve put you both in one room.”

Chills shot down Jisung’s spine. “What?” he sighed heavily, fingers tightening over his knees. Minho was frozen, wide eyed and glued in place. Jisung swore a smile longed to break out onto her face.

“Your bedroom door was open when I got here this morning,” she said with a quick look toward him. “Are you going to tell Christopher you’re sleeping in his bed? Or, will this be our little secret, these sleepovers?”

“Our secret,” Jisung said entirely too fast for Minho’s liking. The boy caught the slight narrowing of her eyes before she looked away, his own squinting with intrigue. “Ann,” he said just above a whisper, unable to withhold the trembling of his voice. She peered over. She was smiling. Gulping, Jisung whispered, “These?”

Her smile grew. Looking over her shoulder at Minho, then at Jisung, she said, “I’m an exquisite secret keeper.”

“What do you mean by that?” Jisung’s voice quieted, full of worry. Ann hummed to herself yet again, tending to the soup on the stovetop. “Who’s secrets?” She didn’t budge. “Ann,” Jisung slid off the stool and took to her side, latching onto her shoulder, “Please, you can’t do this, tell me.”

She shifted only her eyes. “Yours, Jisung. I always keep yours.” She watched as he looked toward Minho with brows flipped over and hands trembling on her shoulder. “Why don’t you tell me what’s been going on, then maybe I’ll have a better understanding as to why things are the way that they are.” Jisung snapped his neck to look back at her. “I’m not one of them, I am simply here to feed and take care of you, nothing you say to me reaches their ears. If there is something troubling you, if there is something you need to get off of your chest, Jisung, let me be the one to carry it for you.”

He pulled his hands off of her quickly, pressing them to his chest. Tears welling up in his eyes, he blinked fervently, took several steps backward, then bolted from the kitchen.

Christmas trees would tower beside the altar, wearing lights, silver garland, blood red poinsettias. The stained glass windows would be dressed in wreaths, pine wafting through the air, a sign and a comfort that the day was coming. The day would soon be here, be upon the church, the day Christ is born. Jisung would drape the sanctuary with love and care, adoration. No corner untouched, no space forgotten. It’s the most joyous time of year, the most wonderful, he’d take his time, spend every last minute decorating, polishing, cleaning, making it perfect. It had to be perfect.

Sitting in the last pew staring out into the empty church, not a soul in the room other than himself, he envisioned what it should look like, what it should start looking like. Christmas time. Set up started with him, this week, small things here and there like the wreaths, or the Christmas candles, or the ribbons and garland and bows. He and Minho had brought some of them out, uncovered them deep from the closets, but he couldn’t put them up.

The November sun was setting, flashes of lingering sunlight made the windows glow before it’d vanish into the grey void. 

Jisung could feel it today. 

Cold seeped through the bricks, the stone around him, caressed the bare skin of the back of his neck, an old friend. Vacant pews, vacant choir chancel, he danced his gaze about the walls, chills erupting over his skin. Tucking his hands into his chest, beneath his arms that crossed, he gulped.

These walls, these pillars that towered over him, that arched into the rounded painted ceiling, they judged him. Cold. The faces in the paintings, in the stained glass windows, the stories they told, that once warmed his heart and brought him nothing but hope and wonder, they judged him. He’d walk down this aisle with Christopher, a knowledge hungry, eager boy who now fears he knows too much.

These marble floors, chestnut pews, porcelain statues wearing tears on their cheeks for Jisung himself, anywhere he laid his eyes, the details spat at his feet. How dare he even walk through the doors, how dare he have the guts to sit down in His home, His palace of worship, knowing what he’s done, what he’s chosen to do.

Things he knew were wrong, actions that came with horrific consequences.

How is he to be forgiven after all this time? Jisung should’ve sat himself here at the first implication, after the first night, the first time.

Sinner.

He’d done it.

Filthy.

A word so pretty when it came from plush lips. It filled him with shame, his skin crawling, a place he longed to escape from. But, when it came from plush, delicate lips full of promise he’s never felt more alive.

A trap is what it was. It’s what he was, those plush, delicate, red hot lips that sent him into nirvana. A trap. A test. The test. A distraction. 

But, what of what he’s said?

He’s not here to withhold what he wants, he didn’t come here to keep him from his goals, his achievements, his dreams. For weeks, months now, he’s encouraged, supported, defended, and protected. He’s shared more with Jisung than anyone ever has, now the deepest parts of him, there wasn’t any way he’s been planted here to challenge him. 

Christopher wouldn’t let that happen. He’s said it, there isn’t anything left for Jisung to prove.

If Minho was, if what they say is the truth, then it means they’ve…

“Jisung?”

His voice ricocheted off the walls, a dagger to the boy's heart as the judgement amplified tenfold. Pillars, marble, cedarwood alike, they looked down upon them. It nauseated him.

He’d come in through the sacristy, pushing open the doors behind the altar, appearing upon the marble in a sweater and slacks. Jisung gulped, wrapping his arms around himself tighter. Carrying a folder in his hand, one thick and full of white paper, he stepped down to the floor with a pause. Fifty feet of empty air and pews stood between them.

They hadn’t spoken a word since the kitchen this morning, both taking to their work, or lack thereof, Minho holing himself up in the office, organizing documents, shredding what no longer was needed, keeping things fresh for the upcoming year. Jisung escaped into the sacristy after he’d gotten dressed. There wasn’t much to do aside from dusting the shelves again, or stacking the books differently again. After pointless hours of cleaning that did anything but clear his head, he ventured out into the sanctuary, wandered down the aisle and placed himself here, in the pew he’d spent ample time in.

Time he’s unsure was well spent or a waste.

Minho took tentative steps, inching toward the boy in the back pew, shoes clicking with every footstep. The folder swung at his side, his fingers clutching it like it were gold while the other lived in his pocket. His chin had lowered halfway down the aisle, eyes softened yet on alert, not knowing which version of the boy he’s grown to love he’d be approaching. Brown eyes clouded over with guilt, he could feel it the second he stepped into the church. 

An attempt had been made to catch him before he ran off earlier in the day, but Minho had been ignored. To think Ann was on their side, the way she spoke, somehow it's done more damage than it’s done good. She had reached into his head, Jisungs’, grabbed his thoughts, the ones that had been pushed aside, and she’d twisted them all up, mixed them together. The good had been muddled with what Minho had feared from the start.

Jisung should’ve done this the first time he kissed him.

Jisung should’ve pushed him away then, when it’d all begun, before either of them started to drown. 

He stopped at the end of the pew, Jisung sitting on the farther side. Just the way he clung to himself drove a knife through Minho’s heart. Defenceless. Awaiting an insufficient saviour, forced into the arms of one supposedly corrupt, damnable. 

“Jisung.” Voice soft, barely audible, Minho waited for an answer. The boy’s eyes were focused forward, fawning over the bare altar, mentally kicking himself for not doing a damn thing. Lifting the folder to his chest, holding it there with both of his hands, Minho took a deep breath, one shaky as he released it. “I thought I said don’t run from me.”

Jisung gulped, jaw clenched too tight. Only his eyes flickered over to Minho, closing as they met his discern. He whispered, “You’re not supposed to take things from the office.” He would have laughed if Jisung wasn’t having a panic attack. He would have laughed if what he took didn’t have any importance to either of them. 

Every file he found, he read through. Every folder with an inconspicuous label, he flipped through. Papers in the drawers neither of the boys were to go through, locked drawers, locked cabinets, Minho found his way in, too curious to breeze past them. Jisung did this often, once a month, straightening up the lives of the three men keeping him on a short leash, and not once had he thought to go through sealed drawers, or folders labeled for the priests only. Minho didn’t care much for consequence, he’d feign innocence and claim he’d only been doing his job, that he longed to be as thorough as Jisung.

Locked meant hidden.

Confidential meant secret.

What he found made him sick.

“Can I sit down?”

Jisung opened his eyes, tears seconds from falling, and he nodded. Minho didn’t come any closer, but he sat down on the pew, many feet separating them from one another. Out of arm's reach.

Wallowing in the silence, the only sound to be heard is that of Jisung forcing himself to take deep breaths and the wind howling past the windows outside in the chilling air, Minho drug his fingers along the edges of the folder he sat on his lap. Taking in the church around him, not once letting his eyes fall upon Jisung, he listened to his breaths, his fingers tracing in time with the sound, dragging faster as the boy's intake of air quickened.

Sobs were caught in his throat. The urge to cry had grown stronger the closer he’d gotten, and now that he sat beside him, too far away, yet not far enough, Jisung found himself entirely torn. Which way to go, where to end up, what to do, it was lost upon him. Vision going blurry, he cried aloud, the sound bouncing from wall to wall, taunting him.

“Ow.”

Pressing his hands to his cheeks, he wiped at his eyes, turning toward Minho who had slid closer, now beside him with the tip of his ring finger between his lips. Reaching out for him, blinded by tears, he clung to the sleeve of his sweater and pulled him in, burying his face in his shoulder. Minho wrapped the arm around his back, knitting his fingers in the boy's hair. 

His touch alone lessened the weight Jisung bore. His presence, the sound of his voice, his smell. The way he let him cry, sobbing against him, tears staining his sweater. Jisung grasped fistfuls of cotton, pressing into Minho as if he wasn’t the reason he’d been ripped in two.

It should be simple.

What a Goddamn shame it wasn’t.

The one thing he wants more than what he’s tried to achieve for two years of his life, and he can’t have either of them.

Sucking in a sharp breath, lifting his head from Minho’s shoulder, fists still clinging to him for clarity, he met his eyes and released a trembling sigh. Gaze dancing about his honey’d skin, cheeks tear stained, eyes glossy, Minho parted his lips to speak, to whisper to him, but Jisung tugged him by the sweater, planting his lips to his cheek. With a breath, he kissed him again, and again, his lips drawing lower down his jaw, beneath it.

Gripping him by the hair, curls wrapped around his strong fingers, Minho tugged him backward, swallowing the groan that almost came out of him. Jisung, lips slick, brows tipped up, tears streaming down his face, eyes pleading to let him carry on, how weak he felt in Minho’s grasp, it was entirely obscene.

“Ji,” Minho whispered with the slightest shake of his head.

The boy let out the smallest whine. “Minho,” he whispered back.

“Talk to me.” Minho’s lips thinned when Jisung shook his head. “Why not?”

Jisung cried, his voice broken. “You did this to me.”

Minho glanced at the folder he’d slipped onto the pew, eyes narrowing. In his moment of weakness, distracted, Jisung slipped from his grip and threw his arms around his shoulders, lips locking with his, using a hand to maneuver his chin in his favor. 

“Jisung,” he managed to mumble, but the boy wouldn’t stop, and Minho couldn’t help himself. Slipping right into delicious kisses, warm flicks of tongues over lips, nothing he would, or could say would end this.

In minutes Jisung climbed onto his lap, he was waiting for it, he knew it was coming. Knees spread over his lap, Jisung laid his chest against Minho’s, his weight on him entirely, like he was handing himself over, surrendering himself to the man beneath him. Hands taken to his waist, Minho drug them up his side and around his back, pressing him even closer. 

This was different. Every smack of their lips grew hungrier as the minutes passed, neither one taking their time to savor the other, each kiss persistent, feverish, like they had something to prove. Shameless, not one worried about where they sat, when their tongues met, noses squished together, Jisung smiled.

The world switched off.

Nothing else mattered.

Taking his hands to his jaw, Jisung caught his bottom lip with his teeth and tugged on it, the man groaning aloud, the beautiful sound echoing up to the angels on the ceiling. Tongue lobbing out to drag over the fullness, soothing the bite, Jisung answered his groan with a whine, grinding his hips down into Minho’s lap, smiling over his lips again as he felt his hands slide down to his waist.

“I can’t believe you,” Minho whispered, trailing his lips down Jisung’s jaw, down the side of his neck, taking the skin between his teeth before sucking at it harshly. The boy tipped his chin back, the softest moan sounding from his smiling lips. “This is insanity, Jisung.”

He laughed, and Minho half gasped up at him before he was gifting with another mouthful of his tongue. Hips bucking up into Jisung as the boy wrapped a hand around the base of his neck, he cursed against his lips, something Jisung couldn’t make out. He didn’t care, Minho was hard already. Before him.

“You were right, you know.” Jisung slowed his lips, looking at him through hooded eyes. Minho questioned him with the furrow of his brow. “This does turn me on,” he whispered, glancing around the church. Reaching for one of Minho’s hands on his waist, Jisung slipped it between his legs, then let him go and palmed over Minho’s length. “But, it gets you first.”

“Look at where you are,” Minho clenched his jaw. “Look at what you’re doing.” His tone only seemed to spur Jisung on, the boy's smirk grew, his body writhing, his hands grabbing. “I have every good intention to stop you right now.”

Jisung pressed an open mouthed kiss to his lips, lingering for longer than before, slower, humming against him, rolling his hips into the palm of his hand, aching for more. “But you won’t.”

“No,” Minho whispered, closing his hand over the boy’s cock, eliciting a whimper from his throat. “I won’t, ‘cause just like you Jisung…”

The boy grinned something wicked, hips bucking into Minho’s hand, the friction not enough. Kissing him fast, rough, he took a hand between their bodies and pressed his thumb to Minho’s forehead. “In the name of the Father,” he whispered. Minho sighed, his eyes screwed shut, lips calling Jisung’s back toward them. “And of the Son,” Jisung spoke between slow, wet kisses, his hand pressing to Minho’s heart before it groped each shoulder, “And of the Holy Spirit.”

“Ji,” Minho could barely make a sound, he couldn’t move. Jisung’s hand took beneath his jaw, tipping it upward, forcing him to look him in the eye.

He smiled, one gentle, and he whispered, “Bless me, Father,” he paused, Minho a trembling mess under him, “For I have sinned.” 

“God,” Minho groaned, eyes nearly rolling back as they fluttered shut.

Jisung poked his tongue out from between his lips and drug it over his neck, not once, not twice, but three times, savoring every second, every twitch of Minho’s hips, every whine he tried to swallow. “‘Cause just like me, Minho,” he whispered in his ear, his teeth catching the soft skin of his lobe, pulling before he wrapped his lips around it. “Finish it. Tell me. What am I? What are you?”

Minho grabbed at his waist, fingers digging into the bone, withholding his movement. Keeping him still, his jaw tightened and he gulped, looking directly at him. Jisung waited with baited breath, eyes flickering from his torn lips to his dazed stare. Within a whisper, Minho smirked, “Filthy fuckin’ sinners.”

From pretty lips.

Jisung’s belly caved. Biting down on his lip with a gravely groan, he couldn��t help the way his hips bucked forward. “No, no, no,” he whispered hurriedly, hands grabbing onto Minho’s biceps, fingers digging into the muscle. 

“Don’t you dare,” Minho grumbled, and Jisung’s eyes shot open wide. A hand latched onto his jaw, Minho bringing him closer, their noses brushing. “What do you want, Jisung?”

“You,” he whispered, and Minho rolled his eyes. Jisung quivered.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” Minho grit his teeth, speaking through them. “What do you want, Jisung.”

The boy parted his lips, but nothing came out. A smile teased the corners of his mouth. “You.” Leaning into him, Minho prepared to catch a kiss, but Jisung’s lips ghosted him. Grabbing his wrists, pulling him off of him, Jisung slid off his lap and hurried out of the pew.

Minho sat forward, one hand on the back of the pew in front of him, the other on his lap. “What are you doing?” Holding in a laugh, he watched as Jisung tucked his hands behind his back and stepped into the pew before him. Sitting down on the wood, he rested his chin on top of Minho’s hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Just as his other hand reached for his hair, Jisung sprung up from his seat and rushed toward the end of the pew, stepping out into the center aisle of the church.

Dainty fingers dragging over the carved chestnut wood, Jisung looked back at him, fluttering lashes and a smile so innocent, all Minho could do was roll his eyes for the umpteenth time. “You want me, but you’re running from me.” Standing to his feet, Jisung’s eyes lit up. Minho took his time, strolling toward the end of the pew, eyes fixed on Jisung toying with the wood, waiting for him to bolt yet again. Shoes hitting the tile every few seconds, Minho reached the end, thinking he’d gotten him, but Jisung was one step ahead. As Minho attempted to swing an arm around the boy, Jisung darted away, to the other side of the aisle, many steps away.

“I really thought you’d be good at this,” Jisung teased. “Honest.”

“You little bas-”

“Don’t curse,” Jisung cut him clean off, lifting a finger. He took a few steps toward the front of the church, and Minho followed suit.

“That’s rich,” he furrowed his brows. “Don’t curse.”

They both took a few more steps, completely in sync on opposite sides of the aisle.

Jisung pouted. “I mean it.”

Minho smirked.

Three more steps.

“I don’t understand you,” he breathed. “I don’t think I ever will.”

Jisung broke out into a grin, lowering his chin. “Try,” he whispered, and they took off. Jisung bolted straight toward the altar, Minho on his heels.

Leaping up the stairs, giggles falling from his lips, Jisung grabbed onto the marble and swung himself around the other side, facing the church. Minho posted himself across from Jisung, both hands planted to the cool stone, arms stretched out to either end. 

Like the day they’d met.

Face to face in a church Jisung had made a home out of.

He’d taught it to him, top to bottom, every room, every detail, every corner. The secrets these walls held, that the house kept, things he’s never told anyone else, he’d given it to him. To think that very first day Jisung loathed the very idea of sharing anything with him.

Now he can’t get enough.

Minho tipped toward his left, making Jisung spring the other way. Rounding the altar, light on his feet while Jisung scrambled, knees weak with giggles, Minho paused, and waited. A smile played at his lips, but something sounded off in his brain, coursing through his veins, his skin buzzing. Jisung’s eyes, wide, bright, pure, had Minho digging his nails into his palms, wishing they were Jisung’s thighs, Jisungs hips, Jisungs anything. 

He knew what he wanted, what he was asking for, what this little dance was all a part of. It only needed to fall into place, and Minho knew exactly where they’d fit. Jisung may have good foreplay game, but the night they spent on the couch told Minho plenty.

The boy needed someone to pin him down. 

He pined after that type of submission, another sick way of him fulfilling his need to please, his need to be perfect. 

The longer they spun around the altar, the longer Minho chased after him, the more likely he’d be to give that to him. 

“Ji,” Minho said, tone steady yet a bit derogatory. “What happens when I catch you?”

Jisung brought his lips between his teeth, his laugh vibrating along the stained glass windows now casting the boys in shadows, more darkness in the room than there was light. Minho tried to pull a fast one on him, hurrying around a corner while he laughed, but Jisung scrambled away, nearly bumping into the corner of the marble.

He caught his breath, sliding a hand over his heart to ease its pounding, and said, “You tell me.” They met smiles, but Minho’s fell after Jisung whispered, “I don’t know anything.”

His fingers pressed into the altar, eyes narrowing in the dimly lit space. “You know exactly what you’re doing,” he said. “And you’re good at it, too.”

Jisung raised a brow. “Am I?” He smirked.

Minho rolled his eyes. “There, your ego is fed,” he grumbled, curling his lip. “Now, come here.” 

In two steps Minho had been able to snatch Jisung around the waist, lifting him off of his feet. With the boy shouting in fits of laughter, Minho placed him down behind the altar and clamped his hands on the marble, Jisung caged between his arms. Jisung sucked down deep breaths, tried to control his smile, his giggles. He wrapped his arms around Minho’s neck and tugged him closer, the man stepping into him, filling the space. Nearly bending him in half over the marble, Minho poked out his tongue and kissed him, pushing his hips forward to pin Jisung to the altar.

“You don’t know what you’re asking me to do,” he whispered.

Jisung pecked his lips, his eyes closed, and shook his head. “I don’t.” He spoke just as quietly as Minho. Opening his eyes, he looked up at him, his brows settling above his gaze. “But, I want it. You, I want you.”

Brushing his nose over his, Minho blinked, thinking to himself, every possibility, every scenario flashing through his mind, not one of them ever ending up like this. In the church, on the altar, dry humping one another, cat and mouse, tongues pressed to cheeks… They should be in bed. The couch, somewhere in the house, anywhere but here. His resentment grew with everything they did, everything they shared, when the fuzziness no longer clouded his mind, when he had clarity, whether it be tomorrow morning, or right after, he’d regret it.

Or, would he?

Reality hit, and in mere moments he wanted more.

Clarity washed over him and he ran back, for more.

The things Minho felt, the things he knew Jisung felt, maybe they outweighed everything else. Maybe what lived within them both was stronger than the stone walls that stood around them. 

“I want you, too,” Minho whispered, pressing his lips to his cheek. Jisungs hands slid up into his hair, giving it the gentlest pull.

From running in circles and bickering with one another to quiet whispers and soft touches, the energy flipped entirely. Half aware of what he was asking for, what they were discussing, a nervousness awoke within Jisung, something telling him to stop. Something telling him don’t do this. Threading his fingers through Minho’s hair, looking up at him, his tiny smile seemed to silence it all.

One of his hands brushed over Jisung’s cheek, his thumb dragging along his cheekbone, teasing his bottom lashes. “We don’t have to have sex, Ji, I can read your mind, we-”

“No,” Jisung whispered, bouncing his knees. “Please, I want to, I do, I really do.”

Huffing a laugh, Minho kissed the tip of his nose. “It’s a lot of big steps in two days, that’s all.” Tilting his chin to the side, he brushed their lips together. “Let me touch you,” he whispered, “Then we can talk about-”

“Only if you’re inside me,” Jisung said quickly, gulping, tightening his jaw.

Minho blinked, utter shock on his face. “What?”

Jisung pursed his lips, then nodded once. “You can only touch me… if you’re inside me.” 

Eyes closing, Minho took a long, deep breath. “Jisung, you amaze me.” He looked down at him, the boy having no clue what he was on about. “Thank god you’re here, ‘cause if you weren’t…”

The corners of his lips perked up. “Thank God you’re here.” Stringing his hands through his hair, roughing it up, he whispered, “I’m not doing this, ever, unless it’s with you.”

“That’s very limiting.” Minho tipped the boy's chin upward, looking down at him with narrowed eyes. Jisung giggled.

“I don’t care.”

Minho sighed. “If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times. The death of me, Jisung, you will be.” His smile and blushing cheeks lured Minho in, lips locking, bodies moving. “You have to listen to me, okay?” Minho’s voice was hushed, every push of his lips against Jisung’s silencing what longed to fall from his lips. “You might not like it this time, it might take more, another time.”

Jisung slipped his tongue over Minho’s bottom lip. “I can handle that,” he nodded, “I can, I promise.”

His whisper made Minho’s knees buckle. “Just listen to me,” Minho caught his eye, sure that he was paying attention to him, “Focus on me.”

Jisung licked his lips. “Not that hard.”

Smirking, Minho rolled his eyes. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Jisung breathed. 

Dragging his hands down his chest, Minho kissed him, every bit of movement taken with care, softly, knowing that anything abrupt or sudden would trigger his fight or flight, and though Minho knew how important that piece was, he needed him to enjoy this. Pulling at the buttons on his pants, his kisses were chaste, but keeping Jisung afloat. Where his hands worked, imploring heavier feelings, his lips had to slow. Balance.

“I’m gonna touch you,” he whispered, following up quickly with, “To relax you,” before Jisung dejected. The boy nodded, trying to keep his lips locked with Minho’s. They dropped to his jaw when he spoke, Jisung needing to have something occupy his mouth when it wasn’t busy. “Stay with me, okay? Can you do that?” Jisung nodded, and Minho hummed. “Use your words, Jisung.”

“Yes,” the boy sighed, his teeth grazing the skin of Minho’s neck.

“Look at me,” Minho directed, and he listened, head popping up wearing those big, innocent eyes. “Christ,” he sneered. “You have to do something for me.”

“Of course.” He nodded.

Minho settled his jaw, licked his lips, then whispered, “Don’t cum.” Jisung’s expression faltered, Minho knew it too, he was at such a disadvantage. Taking his lips to his ear, tongue grazing his lobe gently, he whispered, “You cum when I’m inside you.” Jisung writhed beneath him, and Minho laughed. “You can do it, baby, I know you can.”

“Then you can’t talk,” Jisung whined. “Did you just call me baby?”

Minho studied his face. “I did, did you hate it?”

Jisung laughed, the tension on his face washing away. “No, I liked it.”

“Alright then,” Minho smirked, kissing his forehead. “Stay with me, baby.”

Kissing him deep, and slow, making nothing but a mess between their lips, Minho worked him out of his pants, instructing him to kick them off his feet. Slipping a hand between his legs, wrapping his fingers around his length, Jisung jerked at the touch, then sucked in a deep breath, focusing on the kiss rather than Minho playing with him. This wouldn’t be over in seconds, he wouldn’t disappoint him.

Telling himself it felt good, he stayed on the outside of it, though the euphoria tried to yank him under. He could do this. He wanted it to last, there had to be more.

Minho brought his other hand between them, pressing it to Jisung’s throat for a few seconds to make him whine before he slipped two fingers between their lips, his tongue sliding out to wet them. Jisung see, Jisung do. When Minho pulled them away, his hand disappeared behind Jisung, but their tongues stayed tangled together. With a breath Minho engulfed Jisung with a kiss as he pressed a finger to his entrance, feeling the boy suck in a staggered breath, every muscle on his body tensing.

“Relax,” Minho whispered, resting his forehead over Jisung’s. The boy's eyes were screwed shut, his brows twisted above them. “Jisung, breath.” Doing as he was told, he released his breath hurriedly, then blinked open his eyes. “Hi,” Minho smiled, and before Jisung could say anything his finger slipped inside of him.

Jisung didn’t think it was possible for his dick to grow harder but it did. “This will make… This will…” He was panting already, his jaw unable to close, hanging open for Minho’s tongue to explore.

“What did I say?” Minho cooed, taking his hand off of his length, reaching for his jaw.

Jisung fluttered his eyes shut. “Don’t cu- h’oh my God.”

Minho smiled. Two fingers and he wasn’t begging him to stop, he was moaning. “You okay, baby?”

Short, staggered breath answered him. “Y-yeah, yes, I am.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Minho whispered. “How’s it feel?”

 “Getting better,” Jisung sighed, his breath evening out with time. “It does feel good, it’s just… at first…”

Minho danced his fingers along his jaw, soothing him. “I told you,” he nodded. “It takes time, you overachiever. You can’t just jump in.”

Jisung opened his eyes and Minho swore he could bust on the spot. Already so fucked out, the daze in his eyes grew the longer he looked at him. “Move,” he whispered.

“I will,” Minho assured him with a little nod. “Keep telling me how it feels, okay?”

“Okay,” Jisung whispered, and the moment Minho scissored open his fingers, Jisung nearly dead weighted in his hold. “Minho,” he whined, eyes screwed shut, head tipping back. 

“I know, I know,” he sang, littering his jaw with soft kisses. “Doing so good, doing so, so good.” 

Jisung whimpered, he whined, everything that fell from his lips echoed within the church, ringing in Minho’s ears, every sound, every detail, amplified. “Want you,” Jisung mumbled, clawing at his hair, tugging the strands so hard Minho prayed away his own release. “Want you, Min.”

His fingers moved in a circle and Jisung thrust against his thigh, seeking friction from anywhere. “Have to play with you a while longer, Ji,” he whispered, pressing kisses to his curls. The boy threw his head forward, his face buried in his chest. Working him open, his fingers wouldn’t be enough, that was something they both knew. Jisung’s had Minho down his throat, two fingers didn’t compare. 

Glancing around the space, the altar, Minho’s eye caught the ambry, a wooden cabinet on the wall beside the towering architecture and statues behind them. He’s seen Christopher go in there a few times, Hyunjin used them more, and Jisung’s polished the glass bottles, shown him how. Three round bottles, chrismals, the holy oils blessed by the three priests themselves on a weekly basis.

A groan caught in his chest as Jisung pressed a hand to his length, a happy breath escaping the boy.

How fitting, the week they aren’t here.

Taking his fingers from the boy, he lifted his chin and kissed him, then spun him around. “Ji, you stay right here,” he said, pressing a kiss to both of his shoulders. Parting from him, the air going cold, Jisung pressed his fingers into the marble in front of him, his gaze looking out upon the empty pews, the arcing ceiling, the angels and saints painted onto it gazing back down at him. Standing here alone, tears welled up in his eyes. Without him, it didn’t feel right.

“Minho?” He’d begun to turn, but Minho wrapped around him, lips taking to his neck as he hurried his pants off of himself.

“I”m right here,” he whispered, kicking the clothes away.

Jisung took a breath and leaned his head back, resting it on his shoulder. Minho’s lips grazed his cheek, then his fingers slipped back into him, this time with more ease than before. Further, deeper, Jisung could cum, he wanted to cum, but he couldn’t, he was told not to.

“Jisung,” Minho said, his chest pressing into his back. Eyes half closed, the boy looked at him. “Hi baby, god, you look so pretty.” Jisung smiled. “You still want me?”

“Please,” he whispered.

Minho smiled down at him. “Take a deep breath.” 

He listened, and as he exhaled, Minho slid into him.

Lurching forward, hands slapping to the marble, nails clawing at the stone, Jisung cried aloud, eyebrows screwing in pleasure. Minho took his time, inch by inch, one hand gripping the boy's hip, the other smoothing over his back as it arched for him. His so good, so, so good, paired with the way Jisung whined his name like a prayer, neither of them were certain they’d last for very long.

“Ji… Ji?” Minho managed to whisper, breathless, completely sheathed within him.

White knuckling the marble, Jisung, with his lip squished between his teeth, shot him a look over his shoulder. “Hurry,” he whispered, tears filling his eyes.

Minho wrapped his arms around the front of his chest and laid over him. “Does it hurt, what’s the matter?”

“No,” Jisung gasped. “I’m gonna cum.”

Minho released a shaky laugh. “Me too,” he whispered. “You feel so good.”

“You feel so good,” Jisung moaned, laying his head backward on his shoulder again. “Can you move?”

“Is it getting better?” Minho kissed his cheek.

Breathing through his lips, Jisung looked at him and smiled. “Yes.”

Minho pulled out just to push back in, Jisung writhing against him. Hands pressed to his chest, Minho caged him against the altar, pushing him into the marble with every thrust of his hips. Little by little he moved faster, the louder Jisung got, the faster he’d move. Within minutes he snapped into him, the obscene smacking of skin on skin mixed with the sounds that escaped them both, filling the holy air, tainting it. Jisung, with one hand thrown back in Minho’s hair, the other clawing at the altar, Minho both hands on Jisung’s waist, nails digging into his skin while his lips sucked harshly at his neck, both were blind, it’d take a force to stop them.

It wasn’t until Minho felt his own legs shake that he snaked a hand down Jisung’s front, wrapping his fingers around him, eliciting a whine that shot straight through him, his hips stuttering. Oil on his hands already, he pulled at him, tightening his grip with every pass.

“Min, Min, Min,” Jisung panted, his hands reaching back to hold onto him.

“What?” Minho smirked, jaw slack. “You gonna cum?”

Jisung whimpered, his body weight falling backward onto him. “God, yes, g-gonna.”

Minho nibbled his earlobe. “Before I fill you up? Come on, Ji.” His body tensed, his belly rippled. Each sound grew quieter, came out quicker, pleads, begs for more, like he encouraged it to come out himself. “You’re doing so good, you listen so well. I think if you cum it’ll make me,” Minho kissed his cheek, “So pretty when you cum, show me, baby.”

His body burned, every muscle worked for it. Minho’s touch, how he talked him through it, how full he felt, how full he was. Hands thrown back, grabbing God knows what, his fingers tightened, and that feeling snapped. What once was red hot had now turned pure white, stars in his eyes, skin ablaze, heart like a rock in his chest. Coming to, vision speckling back to the dimly lit church, the haze he was in, the man he clung onto for dear life, he was clinging to Jisung. The boy, heaving breaths in time with Minho, was pressed to the marble, Minho’s hands relaxing off of his frame as minutes ticked by.

“Look at me,” Minho whispered in the quiet, in the calming of hearts beating. Jisung tipped his head back, met with the most gorgeous view, messy hair, sleepy eyes, puffy lips, torn up skin. He was still inside him. Minho kissed him gently, nothing like what had been shared before, and upon pulling away, he mumbled the quietest, “You’ve ruined me.”

The tip of his finger drew up and down his spine, grazing every notch that protruded through his golden complexion. Chin in his tousled waves, messier than they’ve ever been, Minho blinked in the hazy light of his bedroom, his breath careful and quiet. Jisung laid over him where he sat against the headboard, the boy's cheek over his heart, half awake, listening to the steady beat between his lungs, rising with his chest after every exhale.

Sheets wrapped around them, some pillows thrown askew, both in briefs and nothing else, they’d spent the night here. Redressing one another in the church, upon the altar, lips brushing over thighs, the delicate touch of hands on waists, calculated kisses with the adjusting of buttons. Barely a word had been shared, not a sound aside from a breathy laugh, or a whisper of reassurance. Their eyes spoke for them, Jisung reciprocating, repeating Minho’s words back to him without the need to actually say them.

Minho could’ve carried him inside, the boy a baby deer on wobbling legs, holding onto his hand tight, for security, not letting him get one step ahead of him, sticking to his side. Tiny kisses stolen as they tiptoed back into the house, from lips, on cheeks, pressed to clothed shoulders, they took their time up the stairs, neither one able to keep their eyes off the other for longer than mere seconds. Undressing in the dark, unbuttoning each other, hands dancing over bare skin, lips dying for a taste, they fell to Minho’s bed leaving their clothes a mess on the floor, half strung over Christopher’s bed.

Spent, physically, emotionally, Jisung had no more to give, his kisses slower than ever, subdued. Minho wouldn’t let him take it further, even if he did try. Overachiever. On his lap, skin on skin, he dozed off, the both of them did, in and out of sleep for a few hours, holding onto one another, not wanting to let go. Even now as he stirred awake, Jisung’s arms tightened around his back.  Lifting his head, his tired eyes meeting Minho’s dark lashes, his face softened with a smile. 

“Hi,” Minho whispered. 

Jisung’s eyes flickered to his lips. “Hi.”

Hands smoothing over his back, fingers pressing into the muscles he knew were sore though Jisung wouldn’t mention it, Minho sighed. “How are you?”

The boy adjusted on his front, trying to sit up taller to reach his lips. “Good,” he breathed, able to press his lips to his chin. “How are you?”

Minho whispered through rushed air, “Great.” Sliding his hands up his sides, taking them around and under his jaw, he held up his head, tipping his chin backward. Gaze dancing around his expression, fawning over him, searching for anything that may give away how he really felt, Minho leaned forward and kissed him properly. “Are you really?”

Jisung gave him a lazy smile, limp in his hands, letting him move him how he wanted. “Yes,” he whispered. “I know what you’re thinking about.”

“I don’t know what you’re thinking about,” Minho answered, speaking just as quietly.

“You’re worried.”

Minho’s eyes widened for all of two seconds. “I am,” he huffed, brows twisting together. “Talk to me, tell me, say anything.” He brushed his thumbs over his round cheeks.

Jisung’s lips pursed in a tiny smirk. “I’m okay,” he tried to nod, “I promise.” Minho could do nothing but blink. Laughing, Jisung said, “You were right. The feeling, you were right. But,” he paused, his gaze grew darker, and yet somehow warmer, “To do that, to be there, with you… I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I don’t want it any other way. If I can’t have you…”

“Then, what?” Minho whispered.

Jisung took him in, then shrugged, a soft laugh escaping him. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “You make me feel…”

“Whole,” they both said at once, a whisper shared.

Jisung furrowed his brows. Minho maintained his composure.

He asked, hushed, “Like Felix?”

His stomach dropped to his knees, Jisung shoving his hands between them, palms to his bare chest, pushing himself away. “What?” Minho didn’t move, he let his hands fall to the boy's lap. “What are you talking about?”

Minho swallowed hard. He took a deep breath before he said, “I’m just asking.” 

Jisungs entire being flooded with unease. “How do you know that name?”

Reaching for one of his hands, Minho flinched as Jisung shied away. Blinking possibly a thousand times, he looked at him and shrugged with a shake of his head. “You mentioned him at some point.”

“When?” Jisung narrowed his eyes.

Minho stuttered. “I- I don’t remember exactly when, Ji, I just-”

“Why bring it up right now?” Jisung spoke in a tone Minho had never heard come out of him before, not even in his past daily outbursts. “While I try to tell you I feel for you?”

“I’m sorry,” Minho whispered. “I just want to understand.” He sat forward, moving Jisung with him on his lap. The boy allowed him to rest a hand on his cheek. “Jisung, I feel for you, too. I know what this feeling is, what it’s called, I’ve felt it once before. I understand it, and I want to understand you.” He gulped. “I want you to understand you.”

“What do you mean by that?” Jisung asked, unmoving.

Minho started to smile. “There you go,��� he half laughed, “Let’s talk about it.” He slid his hand up through his waves, pushing them away from his forehead. “You’re so beautiful, Han Jisung.” They shared the smallest smile. “If you don’t want to tell me about him you don’t have to.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Jisung whispered, locked on his gaze. “Felix was a friend from Preso, but I… I shut him out.” Minho lowered his brow the slightest, telling him to go on. “We were studying together one night, and…” Jisung squinted his eyes, the memory fuzzy now that it’s been packed away so tightly all this time, “We fell asleep. When we woke up, he was in my arms… Laying on my chest.” Minho nodded, taking his fingers back to his cheek, smoothing them over his skin. “I think he was going to kiss me.” Jisung looked at him, surprised his words didn’t elicit a reaction. “I ran from him.”

“Why?”

Sorrow filled Jisungs eyes, telling Minho exactly why. “It’s wrong, it’s- I mean, it was wrong. But, now, I don’t… Minho.” Falling forward into his chest, he caught him, wrapped his arms around his back and relaxed back onto the bed.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, dancing his hands from his shoulder blades to his hips. “This stuff is hard.”

Jisung fought back tears. Hands grabbing onto Minho somehow, his arms, or his waist, he buried his face in his neck and took a few deep breaths.

Felix.

The name spoken alone filled his gut with stone, a nauseating weight he thought he’d gotten rid of. The guilt, the shame. A name he hadn’t said in two years, the last time falling over the priest's ears, through his sobs, his heavy cries and heaves of breath.

The last time falling over the priest's ears. Hyunjin’s.

By his side, in the church, in a pew.

Jisung told Hyunjin about Felix.

Springing up, eyes wide, tears brimming, he released a shaking breath.

“Ji?” Minho stilled his hands, bringing them back to his cheeks. He wore concern over his face, but beneath it, knowledge.

“I just remembered I told that story before,” the boy gasped. Minho didn’t move, like before, he was a rock. “Hyunjin. When I started here, when I had my sessions with him, my meetings, I told him.” Panic set in and finally Minho moved, pulling him close, sliding a hand up into his hair, the other around his tiny, trembling frame.

“That’s okay,” he said quietly. “You’re still here, they still care about you, you were… honest with them.”

Sitting in a pew, head in his hands, tears streaming down his face, wetting the collar of his shirt. Beside Hyunjin, the man in black, reciting the story, nearly word for word.

He couldn’t remember what Hyunjin said to him.

There wasn’t a memory he could recall where he heard what the priest told him. How he reacted, how he handled it, to Jisung it was hazy. A memory still buried too far deep within him.

Looking at Minho, thinking of where he came from, what he’s been through, Jisung whispered, “They took you in.”

Minho loosened his jaw. “They did.”

His eyes softened as he sat up. Wiping stray tears that snuck down his cheeks, he said, “If I shared that story with them,” he began, and Minho straightened his brow, “And they know where you’ve come from, what you’ve come from, then… They care.”

“Jisung,” Minho sighed.

“The judgement we feel, that I feel, comes from my own self,” the boy continued. “I’m judging myself,” he laughed, “And, maybe I don’t have to.”

“Ji?” Minho thinned his lips.

“Yes?”

“I didn’t tell them anything.”

Jisung froze, an unsuspecting smile still on his lips. “What?” Another laugh came out of him.

Minho shook his head, slowly, and weight was thrust upon Jisungs heart. “They don’t know about me, I didn’t tell them anything,” he said. “They tried, Hyunjin really tried, but I wouldn’t let him hear it. The church I’ve come from, they covered it all up, they weren’t going to let anyone know what I’d been doing with their priest, they’d condemn him, they’d have to get rid of me, and not just in sending me away. I’d be in danger, and in saying anything, sharing any of it with anyone, I’d be putting others in danger.”

Jisung watched him, lips parted. “What do they know?”

“That the church was close to closing,” he said. “That the priests and people that worked there weren’t the best, and that there was no room for me there.”

“Show some humility. Minho came from a place that couldn’t shelter him, he needs our support. Welcome him, show him around. You remember your first day here, don’t you?”

Christopher told him.

“You lied to them,” Jisung said, and Minho pursed his lips. “I trust them, and you lied to them.”

“Do you?” Minho asked.

Jisung took a breath. “I mean, I did.” He waited with patience, Minho did. “You’ve shown me a lot, you’ve taught me so much. And not just… here,” they shared a soft laugh as Jisung gestured to the bed beneath them. Meeting gazes that both knew and felt too much, they settled their lips into smiles. “I’m not just worthy when I’m of service to others.”

Minho’s smile grew. “No,” he agreed.

Jisung pressed his chest to his, their lips centimeters apart. “I’m always worthy.”

“You are,” he whispered. “Do they make you feel that way?”

“Christopher does,” Jisung said. “Sometimes. But, that’s my own self getting in my own way again. Feeling like I’m not good enough for him. Like, he sees what’s wrong with me, and even if I know he’s not judging me for it, even if he tells me he’s not judging me for it, I can’t help but feel like he is.”

“You’ve told him a lot,” Minho breathed.

Jisung shrugged. “Not about Felix,” he whispered. “I only shared that with Hyunjin… I think. After he and I spoke about it… I don’t remember ever bringing it up again.”

“You ran from Felix like you try to run from me,” Minho said, tone hushed, like he was afraid to say the words aloud. 

Jisung blinked. “That day I did.”

Minho tilted his head, running his hand through Jisungs hair. “What else do you remember about him?”

Jisung dropped his eyes to his lap, Minho’s lap. “He was the first one to see me,” he whispered, looking up to Minho through his lashes. “He was a friend. He traveled far to go to Preso, further than me.”

“Why’d he go to the Academy?”

Glancing away, not letting the cold, dark hand of his subconscious pull him under, he tipped the top of the box open and searched. Felix, a boy with blonde hair and golden brown eyes, the thickest Australian accent, and a contagious laugh, Jisung couldn’t remember much else about him. Anything and everything he tried to think up, it made his skin crawl. Even the smaller details, like how his voice sounded, the vibrations he’d feel in his heart, Jisung wanted to positively gag.

“I don’t know,” he breathed, defeated. “Can’t remember.”

Minho took his hand to his chin and tipped it up. “Can’t, or don’t want to?”

Jisung sucked in a breath, one Minho paid attention to. “I’d like to, now that we’re talking about him, he and I were close. The first friend I had, one that I could trust.” A lump lodged in his throat. “The only… Only friend, I suppose.” His voice dropped to a whisper, “He couldn’t trust me.” Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head as if to shake the memory, but it latched onto him. “No, I couldn’t trust him, what am I saying, he wanted to go against everything we were learning, everything our teachers had taught us. I couldn’t trust him. I couldn’t trust Felix.” Minho furrowed his brow. “I stopped being his friend for a reason, to protect myself.”

Silence surrounded them, Jisungs words hanging in the air like a hand grenade, his newfound reality seconds away from pulling the pin. 

Minho’s lips pulled into a frown. “Before that happened, can you remember how you felt about him?”

The boy shrugged, and Minho laid his head back against the headboard. “He was a friend.”

Brushing his thumb over his bottom lip, toying with it, Minho whispered, “And what am I?” Jisung flickered his eyes over his face, the stoic angel, chiseled and perfect, a scramble of features that once angered him, frustrated him, drove him to hate, now one he fawns over in adoration. Minho would have missed how his eyes softened if he wasn’t focused on him, only him. “I am not a friend, Jisung. Friends don’t do this. Act like this.” Minho dropped his hand, smoothing them both over Jisung’s bare thighs. “I like you. I don’t want to be your friend.”

Every muscle in his body tensed. Through his teeth, he whispered, “What do you want to be?”

“More,” Minho said in an instant. Jisung gulped. “I need to tell you something before you say anything-”

Jisung climbed off of his lap, swinging both legs over the edge of the bed, slipping off of it. “That’s…” He searched the floor for his clothes.

“Jisung, wait.” Minho clobbered off the bed after him, pulling on his own clothes. “I need-”

Holding up a hand, sliding his shirt over his head, he gave Minho a look. “I need a second,” he said. “I just shared something with you that’s hurt me, and you want to talk about yourself.”

Jaw falling open, words caught in his throat, Minho threw his arms out beside him. Watching Jisung button his pants, straighten his shirt, and start for the door, he lunged forward, grabbing onto his shoulder, yanking him backward. “Jisung, you’re confused, please, I was only trying to-”

“To what?” Jisung spoke within a whisper. “To do what Felix did to me?”

“What?”

Pushing his hand off of his shoulder, Jisung turned, leaving Minho behind a half opened door.

Felix, his friend.

Jisung wandered outside over the cobblestone, having washed up and spent some time in his bedroom alone, deciding he needed to do something before the priests returned. Two days remained, and the church was bare. Two days until they came home, and not a decoration was up in the house. He wondered what they’d say, what they’d think, coming home to tasks undone, work leftover.  

Yanking the door to the sacristy open he dipped inside, pushing it shut with his backside. These shelves could only be dusted so many times, the floors vacuumed, boxes organized, books stacked. He had to decorate, he needed to decorate. Masses were left unplanned, events for the end of the year as well, he’d have guidelines written up, Jeonging, Hyunjin, Christopher, taking what he’d give them, using it to their advantage.

Hands shoved in his pockets he strolled over the carpet, taking his time, brown eyes taking in the space around him, a place once safe and sacred.

They took what he gave them. They used it to their advantage.

He felt awful thinking it. He enjoyed the work, making himself useful, knowing that everything went to plan. 

His plan.

Jisung’s plan.

Comfortable waiting on the sidelines, dancing around the edges, waiting in the wings, knowing his moment would come, and that when it did he’d blow it out of the water. The people would know it’d been him all along, he planned the services, he handled the events, he made the connections between the church and charities, he pulled all nighters to ensure paperwork was finished, that all things regarding the church, the patrons, the priests, his community, were taken care of.

Sure, people knew his face, they shook his hand after Mass, but he wasn’t the one on the altar. He wasn’t the being blessing them every week.

If the day were to ever come, if Jisung were to get his wish, would they even believe him? Or, would his existence be overshadowed by the legacy before him? To give credit where credit is due, the priests knew nothing of it. Everyone saw them responsible for Jisungs upbringing in the church, his teachers, his mentors. He had the diploma’s, the certificates, the proof that he’d done it himself, but to them, to the world beyond these doors… They saw three charming, smiling faces. Why would they not believe every word to come out of their mouths?

Bringing himself into the church, passing through the hallway without a sound, he shut the doors behind him gently and stepped up onto the altar, taking a breath as he did. Pulling his arms around himself, fingers yanking at his knit sweater, he gulped. Sunlight poured in through the windows, blessing the marble with swirls of blues and greens, rays fawning over the place he stood last night.

Blinking, he clenched his jaw and looked out upon the pews, empty rows of wood staring back. Stomach dropping ever so slightly, he ignored it, taking himself down the few steps to the tiled floor, footsteps echoing in the empty air.

He glanced about, spinning in a small circle, slowly soaking it in. The church, the atmosphere. Walls of stone, pews of lacquered wood, shining floors. The colors through the stained glass of the windows, they were beautiful, but he’s seen this a thousand times. How the sunlight shone in in literal panes, casting the pews in strategic shadows, an artist particular of with their highlight, it was supposed to wrap around him and hold him, keep him warm, from the inside out.

The walls were walls. The windows were windows.

The mural on the wall, cascading up upon the ceiling, the angels, the saints, their pure, loving faces looking down, showering their blessings over whoever graced the space beneath them, it was a painting. Paint on slabs of concrete.

Turning to the altar, the statues that lived atop of it, behind it, beside it, where he should see visions of working services with Christopher, with Hyunjin, with Jeongin, memories of two years, almost three, they’d been upstaged. By his gentle hands, attentive gaze, and careful words.

His slow kisses and the way he’d let Jisung do as he pleased until he had no idea what he was doing.

Jisung whirled around, facing the back of the church.

Closing his eyes before his thoughts carried and got the best of him, he took a long, deep breath down into his stomach.

And he thought of silky blonde hair.

It slipped through his fingers, it tickled his cheek, it smelled of a gentle lavender.

On his shoulder he’d rest his head, the scent lingering even long after he’d escape back into his room.

Jisung’s eyes sprung open, a sinking happening within him. Folding his hands into fists he dropped them at his side and started down the aisle, studying the way the light fondled his features, his feet, his torso.

Lavender and laughter. Nights spent upon bedsheets, drowning in school books or snacks they’d snuck from the kitchen, staying up too late, whispering secrets…

What secrets?

Jisung sucked down another breath, his heart beginning to beat faster between his lungs desperate for air. That sound, that voice.

What secrets, Jisung?

“I don’t remember,” he whispered, to himself, in the silence.

You remember, you can tell me.

A pit erupted within him, in his gut, nausea washing over him entirely. He could’ve fallen to his knees. Sinking into a pew, his pew, in the back of the church, he placed his arms over the edge of the pew in front of him and pressed his face into them. Keeping his eyes open, alert, on watch, he shuddered in the cold. A lump lived in his throat.

Suppressing a cough, he gulped, knowing he’d dry heave if anything else came out of his mouth. Between his eyes, straight down his throat, down into the depths of him the nausea lived. It sat. It waited. Jisung could smell the lavender, a scent both calming and soft, and it made him want to gag. Blonde hair, sparkling eyes, all of it, he lurched forward, clamping his hands over his mouth, screwing his eyes shut until he calmed himself down.

Slumping over, sitting backward in the pew, he laid his hands over his lap and hung his head backward. Tears slipped from his eyes down his cheeks, not that he knew he was crying. He took breaths in halves, able to fill up his lungs only so much without triggering the urge to vomit.

Pray, you can pray and it’ll go away. You’ll feel better.

He had no energy left.

He was beautiful, freckles on his cheeks, heart shaped lips.

Things you shouldn’t pay attention to.

Memories flashed like lightning, one after the other, surfacing like they’d been packed tight, finally given the chance to escape, make themselves known. They’ve lived within him, buried deep, forced to be forgotten.

Between a sob, a lurch of his body, a heave through his chest, the shoving of his face in his elbow, his other hand slapped to the pew, fingers dragging over the smooth cover of a manila folder. 

He’d hold onto his hands, his tiny fingers just as big as Jisungs, they’d hold onto his tight, he’d bounce on his knees and he’d laugh, throwing his head backward, a smile too big for his face lighting up the room. Contagious, Jisung would laugh with him, he’d fall forward, the two smushing their foreheads together, eyes crinkling in corners, bodies convulsing in pure laughter. A happiness. The boy who lit up his darkest days. Sunshine.

Through tears Jisung pulled the folder onto his lap, the file full of things left here by Minho who’d taken it from the office. 

1957 had been written on the front.

Wiping his cheeks, sniffling, Jisung furrowed his brows.

Confidential.

“Why did he take this?” he mumbled, defeated, head rolling back as his hands raised and dropped to the top of the cover. Looking down at it, how full it was, the paper clips sticking out of the edges, he couldn’t ignore the curiosity that lingered.

Within this folder lived the entire year, 1957. 

The year Jisung arrived.

He’s never seen his paperwork. Once things were signed, he never saw them again.

The priests ushered him in, welcomed him to their home, and the work began.

There were probably progress reports in this folder, the priests taking notes while he worked beside them, while he met with them and spoke with them. The things they wrote, about him, he held them on his lap.

This folder should be in a locked drawer, one Jisung never thought to question.

One he never had the guts to question.

Those monthly cleanings and purging of papers no longer needed, all that time spent in the office alone, the keyholes never caught his eye. Complete and total trust.

Taking a finger along the edge, the bottom corner stained with a splotch of crimson, he curled it beneath the folder and paused, adrenaline coursing through him. Looking out at the church, eyes falling on a pew near the front, near the altar, he envisions what life was like two years ago, something he hasn’t thought to do ever. 

Side by side, him and Hyunjin, they sat here. For hours on end. Jisung sobbed until he made himself sick.

But, why? He blinked, gulping, his palms clammy.

He’d ask him that.

But, why?

Hyunjin, a spirit soft spoken and adored by hundreds, his words rained upon him like bullets. The mere thought of them now made him want to rip his heart out of his chest.

Jisung opened the folder.

Flipping through mindless sheets, budgets, records of events and milestones, his eyes scanned the words furiously, searching for his name amongst the bullshit.

The door behind the altar opened and closed just as gently.

Jisung’s Jobs…

Jisung’s Shopping Lists…

Jisung’s Education…

Pointless, pointless, pointless, he could remember all of that, he could picture it all as if it were happening in real time. His fingers flipped faster, the footsteps drew closer.

Why couldn’t he remember speaking with Hyunjin?

Why were his memories doused in gasoline, and why were the priests standing over him with a match, lit, ecstatic to ignite?

Jisung’s Reading Work…

Jisung’s First Service Plan…

Plan’s for Jisung’s Youth Group…

That never happened.

He flipped, he ripped, he threw papers to the ground, messier and messier, lungs sucking down air quicker with every pass of a page. Legs trembling, hands shaking, there had to be something here, there must be something that could tell him why- Felix.

Felix.

The paper had been crumpled up, then flattened again, like someone had attempted to get rid of it, but it had been recovered.

His name was written across the top, in handwriting, stunning, thin lined cursive writing. Hyunjin’s handwriting. Body going still, Jisung grew dizzy, a weightlessness surrounding him. Tunnel vision, oblivious to the being sitting themselves down on the pew in front of him, facing him, his eyes ate away at the cursive, the writing spilling things to him, that he said himself, that he couldn’t remember.

Memories shared with Felix, the nights they’d spent together, Jisung had gone on and on.

Silky blonde hair, it was written there, in his cursive, lavender, scribbled somewhere beside it.

“Jisung?” Minho.

Nausea.

Jisung admits to thinking he loved him, that the two shared more than friendship. Their connection deep, a level of understanding only a lover could fulfill. Felix makes him feel whole.

“I’m here,” Minho whispered. “Let me help you.”

The page was stapled to a plethora of others, all in Hyunjin’s writing.

A relationship between male and female, he describes, is how they would act. Erotic thoughts plagued them, though Jisung describes them as a natural curiosity. The boys shared various acts of romantic gestures, such as kissing, sleeping in the same bed.

A sob shook his body, tears falling onto the paper, the ink of the pen bleeding, smudging.

The boys acted upon one another sexually, Jisung showing little remorse for telling me what they’d do, neither wanting to have sex, knowing they were to wait until matrimony, but it didn’t stop them from accepting one another physically, orally. Neither thought they were wrong.

Cold. It filled it, it drowned him.

The folder fell from his lap, papers scattering across the tiled floor as he slid off of the pew beside them. Curling into himself, knees to his chest, his head to his knees, his fingers grasping his hair, clawing at his waves, he sucked down a breath and at once, screamed, half muffled by his knees, the sound vibrating the marble that swallowed him, that chewed him up, and spat him back out.

Shaking as he cried, while he sobbed, his body tense, sweat beading over his skin, a hand laid over his back, dragging gently to his shoulder. Fingers pressing into him, telling him he was not here alone, Jisung reached back and threw them off of him.

Minho retracted, on the floor beside him, between two pews, he tucked his hands into his chest and pressed his lips together. “Jisung,” he whispered, watching the boy wail, his body rejecting the truth his subconscious had protected for only so long. “I’m here.” Tears welled in his eyes. Jisung’s pain now his pain. Sitting on his knees, hands gripping his thighs, he shook his head. “They took so much from you,” the boy began to quiet after a gasp, “It’s unfair. It’s incredibly unfair.” Reaching out a hand, Minho touched it to his back hesitantly. Jisung didn’t reject it. “Listen to me when I say I am here for you.”

Lifting his head, a complete mess, he trembled as he pushed himself from the ground. Minho took him in his arms, taking his hands to his shoulders to help him up, his being weak, his entire world pulled out from beneath him. The warm brown of his eyes, it’d gone cold. Vacant. Distant. Dark.

“Ji?” Minho whispered, brows flipped, gaze pleading for a response.

Eyes looking down to the floor, to the papers scattered about, to Minho’s form, to his own shaking hands, Jisung looked straight at him, and whispered, “You read it.”

Minho nodded. “I did.”

A tear slipped down his cheek. “Why didn’t I remember it?”

“It says… They wrote why you don’t, or why you wouldn’t remember it the way you told them,” Minho spoke softly, with all the care in the world. Shaking his head, holding back a cry, his lip crinkled. “It’s horrible, Jisung.”

“What does it say?”

He shifted to look below him at the papers. “I have to find it, I-”

Jisung lifted his hands, planting them on Minho’s knees. Eyebrows upturned, lips pouted, honey complexion pale and withdrawn, he begged, “You tell me.” Minho froze, his eyes widening as they shifted over to Jisung. The boy gulped. “I don’t believe anything they say,” he whispered. “I believe you. You tell me.”

A boy so beautiful, with eyes so bright. Features placed to perfection, lips of gold.

It is as it is.

It is as it was.

Nights spent upon bedsheets, beneath them. Every waking second, spent together. A laugh, a smile that lit up the darkest parts of himself, that reawakened hope within him. Something he thought he’d never felt before, things he’s done, things he’s thought he’s never done before. Where he thought he caught on fast, when he thought he was a quick learner, turns out he’d already practiced. More often than not, the things he’s done with Minho, he’s done them before. All except one.

“I love you,” he whispered, and Minho gasped, jaw gone slack.

“Jisung,” he started, “You’re feeling a lot right now-”

“What did they do to me?”

Minho snapped his mouth shut. “If I tell you,” he said just above a whisper, “It will ruin everything you think, everything you feel, everything you know… about him.”

Jisung’s stomach lurched, his muscles tensing. Cringing outwardly, fingers clawing into Minho’s thighs, he whined as his tears fell instantly. “Tell me.”

“Everything you’ve built here, everything you stand for-”

Jisung threw himself backward, screaming, “Tell me!” Minho jumped. “I don’t give a damn what I’ve built, what I came here to do, who I came here to serve. They took him from me. I loved him and they took him from me.”

“Okay,” Minho breathed, holding out a hand for Jisung to take. The boy glanced at it, settling himself against the back of the pew, pulling his knees into his chest, wrapping his arms around them. Crossing his arms over his chest, Minho took a breath and lowered his gaze for a few seconds before training his eyes back on Jisungs. “I’ve heard of this happening. In my years where I came from, and my years prior to rejoining the church. I used to laugh at it, thinking that there's no way it’s effective, there’s no way it works.” Minho bobbed his head the slightest, one hand poking out to gesture to Jisung. “Then, I met you.”

The boy released a breath, holding onto every word he gave him.

“Everything I’ve told you, it’s the truth. Hearing about you and your success with schooling and landing your spot here. I truthfully was interested in meeting you, working with you. But, when I did,” Minho dropped his gaze, eyes drawing over Jisung and his frame, “I did not expect this.”

“What is this?”

He met his eyes once more. “There’s a form of therapy,” Minho kept his voice steady, “A type of therapy. They’ll call it a treatment of sorts, as if we’re unwell. Sick.”

“They tell me I struggled when I first got here,” Jisung whispered. Minho acknowledged him with a nod.

“And, do you remember what you struggled with?”

Jisung’s vacant eyes couldn’t give him an answer.

Minho lowered his voice, moving closer to Jisung as he whispered, “They think they can convert you, turn you into a heterosexual. It’s called conversion therapy.” Jisung’s expression shattered. “The priest who used me, he’d help people. Convert them to what they thought was normal.”

“But never you,” Jisung whispered, his cries quivering within his voice.

Minho shook his head. “He couldn’t, then how would he get me naked?” Jisung buried his face in the nook of his arms, body shaking as he cried. “All the times I’d watch the people leave after meeting with him, nothing but trauma on their faces, in their souls… It wrecked them all, but it never worked. He was a sick man.” Minho reached a hand toward Jisung, placing it gently over his arm, dancing it toward his shoulder hoping to soothe him. “The day that I met you, Ji, in Christopher’s office, I could see it. You felt something when you looked at me. The boy inside of you, the part of you they scared away, that they forced you to hide, he felt something when he saw me. You saw me, and I saw you.”

Jisung lifted his head, teary eyes locking onto Minho’s.

“That look in your eyes,” he smiled at him, “I’ll never forget it.”

“You laughed at me,” Jisung whispered, voice squeaky.

Minho’s smile grew. “I did,” he said. “I didn’t mean for it to be rude, I couldn’t help myself, I knew who you were. I knew what you were.” Lifting his head completely, Minho reached his other hand forward to brush tears from his cheeks. “When you told me about Christopher, about how much he meant to you, how afraid you were to disobey him in any way, it confirmed everything I thought. He kept you close. If you were to venture away from him, spend too much time without him…”

“I couldn’t, that terrified me,” Jisung said.

Minho nodded once. “They conditioned that into you. That’s his job. To watch over you, to keep you safe, yes, but… to make sure that this,” Minho gestured around them, to the papers, to Jisung crying, “does not happen. After all of my meetings with each of them, I learned even more. They attempted to get into me, especially Hyunjin. Thankfully I met you, I spent time with you first, so I knew what was coming. It prepared me.”

“For what?”

“This,” Minho whispered. “I liked what I saw in Christopher's office, Han Jisung.” The boy couldn’t fight back his smile. “So did you. Even if you didn’t know it.”

“That’s why you pried at me the way that you did,” Jisung mumbled, moving a hand over top of Minho’s. “Said those awful things.”

“Were they really so awful?” Minho questioned with the perk of a brow and tilt of his chin.

Jisung shook his head. “Not anymore.”

Quiet fell around them, as did a thousand unanswered questions. Staring at one another, that feeling between them stronger than ever, smiles sparked and grew so much that Jisung had moved into his arms entirely, his face buried in Minho’s neck, their arms wrapped around one another. 

Drawing his hands over the boy's back, aiding in soothing his breaths back to normal, his heartbeat steady, Minho whispered, “For what it’s worth, I love you too.”

Jisung smiled. “You took my virginity, I hope you do.”

A laugh escaped him. “Ji, we had sex in here.”

Sitting up, hands gripping onto him still somehow, Jisung sighed. “It’s sick.” Minho’s brows creased in the center, worried. “I want them to know.”

Withholding a laugh, the sound coming straight from his chest, Minho dropped his head forward, his grin eating away at his cheeks. “There is so much of you left to uncover,” he half groaned, looking up at him. “I knew that couldn’t have been your first time with a cock in your throat.”

“Stop,” Jisung whispered with a smile.

Minho took a hand to his chin, dragging his thumb over his cheek. Smirk evident, he asked, “Too soon?” Jisung nodded. “I’m sorry.”

The boy looked down to the mess of papers under them. “I need to read all of this,” he said. “Before they come back, I just…” he glanced up at Minho, sorrow filling his eyes, “They’re coming back.”

Minho muttered, “You don’t sound too happy about that.”

“How can I be? After all of this?” Jisung clenched his jaw, scanned his surroundings, ended with Minho, then said, “Bring all the papers to your room. Please.”

Minho, awaiting instruction to move, nodded. “I will. What are you going to do?”

Jisung leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, lips lingering by his ear. “Get ready for you.”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m going to have sex with you, not only after this,” he gestured to the mess around them, “But…” Looking up at Jisung he swept his fingers over his cheeks and held them in the palms of his hands. “You need to slow down. We’ve moved so fast, Ji.”

His face went unchanged. “I lost three years of my life,” he whispered. Minho’s eyebrows flipped over, Jisung swore his bottom lip pouted. “Even more than that, because of them,” he tried to look up, look around, at the granite that towered over them, caged them within its persistent pursuit of a holiness that did not exist, “Because of… this.”

“And, what of when they come home?”

Jisung clenched his jaw, squeezing it shut with such force Minho could feel it in the heel of his palm. “I don’t know.” The words slithered through his teeth.

“Are you going to tell them?”

Jisung quirked his head in question. “About us?”

Minho huffed and breathed through a laugh, his hands dropping to the boy's lap. “God, no, Ji,” he stifled his laughter, “That you know, that you’ve figured them out, that they have no control over you any longer.” Glancing down to Minho’s hands, Jisung took a deep breath, his lungs squeezing from the pain of heaving for so long. “You’ve broken their cycle, you can change what’s happened here, you can rewrite years, you can save others from succumbing to the same fate as you, you can be all you’ve ever wanted to be, but stronger. You have the upper hand here.”

The upper hand.

Stronger.

One step ahead.

“They’re smart,” Jisung whispered. “Why would they keep this around, so close, if they know I could’ve found it as easily as you have.”

Minho narrowed his eyes. “They’ve trusted you. All this time. Just as you’ve trusted them.”

The angelic curvature of his face went unphased, an expression so set in its ways. Jisung studied him, his perfection, his assertiveness regarding the matter, that his whole world had been flipped upside down. He studied him. With brows upturned and tears on cheeks, he maintained his composure, didn’t let Minho in, and for the first time in a long time he allowed himself to analyze.

As if some subconscious being had reawoken within him, like the wires in his brain had gotten tangled and finally put back together. Through cinnamon sugar eyes, he watched, studied, learned.

“Why were you bringing this to me?”

Minho pursed his lips into the quickest smile. “What?”

Jisung swallowed, licked his lips and nodded, voice absolutely quiet. “The folder, Minho. Yesterday you brought it in here, I assume you were bringing it to me.”

Furrowing his brows, he slowly bobbed his head. “Right after I had read it, I couldn’t believe what I was reading. I needed to know if you knew, I had to confirm what I already knew to be true.” He attempted to reach back for his cheeks. Jisung dodged his touch. “Ji.”

“Why bring it to me?” Jisung lifted his chin. “To confirm what you knew to be true, you think that sounds spectacular, but you know what it sounds like to me?” Minho could barely shake his head. Jisung whispered through his teeth, “Sounds like you were put here to challenge me.”

Minho leapt where he sat, higher on his knees. “No, no, don’t you dare-"

Jisung pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, looking down and around at the papers on the floor. “Did you do this?”

“Do what?” Minho leaned forward, exasperated, eyes pleading with Jisung.

The boy rolled his shoulders back, meeting his eyes after a few moments of silence. “I don’t know.” Minho sighed, his head dropping toward his lap. “It seems awfully fitting though, doesn’t it, Lee Minho. That you come here, seeking my job. You tell me you knew who and what I was from the start, you fall into Christopher’s good graces instantly. You say you told them nothing. Yet, here we are, behind their backs, defiling their church. We're supposed to be serving them, and they said it themselves, you are the test. I find it highly amusing that you got past Hwang Hyunjin, because nobody does.” Minho sat like stone. “Either you’re here to mess things up for me, or you’re working with them.”

“Good god, they screwed you up,” Minho muttered, head shaking, eyes boring into Jisung’s. “Ji, I’m real. I’m not working with them, I’m not here to-"

“Then, you did this yourself,” Jisung laughed aloud, a cackle of sorts, sending chills down Minho’s spine. Rolling onto his knee caps the boy grabbed fistfuls of paper, crumpled them up and threw them toward him. “You made this up, this isn’t real. You needed something to help convince me of this fantasy we’ve been living in.” His stomach flipped, nausea rising within him. “This whole time, all this God damned time.” 

Standing to his feet his knees wobbled so much so that he had to grab onto the pew for stability. Minho scrambled to his feet. He was shouting something, saying something, but Jisung could only hear the pulsing of blood in his ears, could only focus on the heave of his stomach as he backed away from Minho. Using his hands to turn him around, he shook his head. Tears fell, sobs bounced off the walls. Jisung used the pews as a crutch, hobbling for the altar as fast as he could, wanting nothing but to run from him.

At the altar his knees hit the marble, his hands slapping to tile just after. Tears slipped from his cheeks to the floor, sparkling in the dim sunlight. Gasping for air, he rolled over onto his back, elbows on the ledge, and he looked down the aisle, dread consuming him, filling him to the brim with pins and needles.

Cold.

Minho strolled the floor. Slowly. His gaze locked on Jisung where he laid. He carried himself no different than before, a stunning face full of sorrow, a build more structured than the walls around him. Perfection.

Jisung sobbed harder, his chest squeezed by an invisible rope it seemed the man approaching him seemed to be holding.

He stepped over him, his skinny legs. Casting him in shadow, Minho paused with his waist between his ankles, and he crouched down. Reaching out a hand, he drug two fingers over Jisung’s cheek, brushed away his tears, and lifted his chin. 

With a steady breath, he danced his thumb over his honey toned skin, and smiled. His own eyes brimmed with tears. After a nod, he whispered, “I forgive you,” and he kissed him. Not once, not twice, but three times. Pulling away from him, forehead to forehead, both of their eyes squeezed shut, Minho took a deep breath, breathing him in, and just as he released it, he released Jisung, his footsteps receding behind the altar until they were nothing but a faint memory living in the back of the boy's mind.

The back door to the clergy house pushed open in a hurry, one both excited and nervous. Barreling through the threshold, suitcase in hand, Christopher greeted Ann with a dazzling smile, but breezed past her. Something more important would be waiting for him, in fact, he’s shocked he wasn’t waiting on the doorstep. Behind him Jeongin and Hyunjin got themselves in the kitchen and greeted their caretaker appropriately, unlike their youngest.

“Ji?!” Christopher called out into the house. Leaving his suitcase in the kitchen for the other two to deal with, he tore off his gloves, his hat, his scarf, feet moving a mile a minute through the hall and into the living room. Unbuttoning his jacket, he paused behind a couch and sighed. “Hi,” he nearly sang, his smile deepening into his cheeks, dimples on display. 

Jisung sat on the couch to the right of the fireplace. Eyes fixed on the priest, he didn’t say a word.

Christopher let out a laugh as he finished with his coat, tossing it over the back of the sofa. “Mad at me? A week is too long, yeah?” Hyunjin and Jeongin joined him on either side of the couch. Jisung shifted his eyes. Christopher tilted his head, eyes narrowing, scanning over his prodigy. “Everything okay?”

Then, his eyes zeroed in on the folder sitting upon his lap. One thick, full, labeled 1957.

Hyunjin and Jeongin seemed to catch it right away.

“Jisung,” Hyunjin began, but Jisung sat forward, silencing him. 

Jeongin lifted a hand. “Let’s talk, Han, I believe-“

“I believe you need to explain yourselves,” Jisung spoke with such a sureness it took them all by surprise. “But, I don’t think I have the patience to sit here and listen to it.”

Jeongin placed his hands by his sides, tucking them behind him, folding them together. Hyunjin watched him, took him in, read him, and Jisung knew it, could feel it. It’s how he knew how to do it, too. Fast learner. Everything written in the pages on his lap, the truth.

Christopher, with both hands sliding over his chest, reaching for his neck, he stuttered before choking out, “Where’s Minho?”

Jisung settled his lips in a lazy smile, one half amused and half disgustingly ticked off. Tucking a finger beneath the cover of the folder, he tossed it open and licked the tip of his finger to rifle through the files. “Don’t worry,” he shook his head, clicking his tongue, shooting the three of them a look so sinister, “I did it.”

Christopher whispered, “Did what?”

Jisung smirked. “Won.”

masterlist ✞ talk to me ✞ ao3

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.

[yuesya]

A Fyrefly Type-V is more colloquially known as a Personal Escort model. Their primary purpose, in addition to contributing to the war effort against the invading Swarm, is to carry out the role of a royal guard. To protect Her Majesty, Titania, Queen of the Iron Cavalry.

“More than anyone else, Titania’s safety is paramount,” their creators tell them. “For the glory of Glamoth! Dedicate yourselves to your Queen, even at the cost of your lives.”

Yes. They will. A chorus of assent rises from their collective throats in unanimous, simultaneous answer.

… AR-1368 knows that she is fortunate. Overwhelmingly, the vast majority of the Iron Cavalry do not have the opportunity of seeing Her Majesty in person. After all, the Swarm Propagates endlessly among the stars, and there is always a pressing need for new Knights to rise and promptly take their places upon the battlefield –sometimes even straight from their incubation pods, when critical circumstances call for it. What little contact the Knights have with Her Majesty is through the quiet ideas and impressions that are sent to them, the telepathic directives that Her Majesty guides the Iron Cavalry with.

That, and the dreams.

… But for Personal Escort models, who are specifically designed to protect their Queen, they also receive the honor of being permitted to accompany Her Majesty. To remain in her presence, in a more physical sense of things.

The first time that AR-1368 sees Her Majesty is exactly a week after she steps outside of the dark, sterile incubation chambers.

It’s…

Indescribable, the feeling of wonder and awe that one feels when standing in the presence of the Queen. To gaze upon Her Majesty and know what devotion is. But at the same time, there’s also something that’s… that’s not quite…

…

… AR-1368 doesn’t know how to articulate it, this strange feeling that stirs inside her when she sees Her Majesty still and unmoving, suspended within a glowing blue liquid in the glass chamber. There is some nameless emotion that constricts her throat for a brief moment, but she cannot put a name to it. AR-1364 can’t quite decipher it, either, and he’s the most verbose and expressive unit of their batch.

AR-1368 doesn’t understand.

… But the confusion is swiftly replaced by wonder, and a faint nervousness-excitement when Her Majesty turns her attention to them. She greets them easily, her presence a cold, gentle brush upon their minds. Not intruding, never intruding, but a steady sea of calm, crested with an ever-faint flicker of curiosity.

Hello.

There is a strong juxtaposition between the lovely, melodic voice AR-1368 hears in her mind, and the harsh, robotic voice that echoes out in their surroundings at the same time. One that’s almost a little… jarring.

“Hello to you as well, Titania. As of today, AR-1364, AR-1367, and AR-1368 will be added to your personal retinue,” the Chief Scientist said. “Improvements have been made to the newest iteration of the Type-Vs.”

What of the old guard?

“Unfortunately, they’re a complete loss,” the Chief Scientist responds. “Most were destroyed completely during the evacuation process from the previous facility. The survivors… suffered too much damage. Our scientists tried their best, but it was determined that it would be more efficient to salvage usable remains instead of–”

The lights in the room flicker, suddenly unstable. For a moment, everything is cold.

The Chief Scientist frowns. “Titania?”

… It may be efficient in terms of resources, but experience is more important than raw materials, and far more difficult to replace.

In the surrounding room, the Queen’s voice is cold and robotic. But within her mind, AR-1368 can feel the glacial tone seep through her, the Queen’s cold displeasure chilling to the bone. She is not the only one; beside her, she catches a glimpse of AR-1364 flinching slightly.

It’s good that the Chief Scientist does not catch this break in formation, because AR-1364 would be sent for retraining otherwise. But the hoarfrost cold recedes immediately, and a phantom warmth washes over them, tinged with a faint note of something… apologetic.

Is that… Her Majesty?

“Titania,” the Chief Scientist says, voice infinitely patient in a way that indicates this is a topic that has been discussed multiple times before, “We can always make more of them. Focus on directing the war effort, and we will devote our efforts towards providing you with all the Knights you need in order to carve a future for Glamoth beyond the abhorrent Swarm.”

[bunni-v1]

Curée

Chapter 1: Monster in the Woods Next Chapter

Tw: Mentions of animal death

Info: Rook x Reader; Vil x Reader(familial); Epel x Reader(platonic)

🍓Ahhhh, it's done! If this is well received, I will continue it. If not, I guess I'll drop it. Oh well, I worked hard on this... so I hope you all enjoy it!

Tags: @kitsun369 @bloomstruck

You hated parties, plain and simple. Socializing with the elites of society was always so drab. Their fake smiles, empty compliments, and hideous attire always made them hard to deal with. The worst part, however, had to be getting ready beforehand. Your handmaids awoke you before the sun was even up, practically drowned you in your bath, and then stuffed you into the tightest corset only to make it worse with the fluffiest dress known to man.

You understood you had to look presentable, but beauty comes at a hefty cost — a cost you hated paying. 

If you had a choice, you would be out hunting. Feeling the wind in your hair, smelling the sweet soil of the earth, and hearing the melodic tunes the birds would sing for you. However, you were the princess. You were obligated to be at your own birthday celebration, you supposed.

Besides, since your parents passed, Vil had become rather restrictive in what you can and cannot do. Vil loved you, and only wanted what was best for you. You understood that he was scared that he could lose you, too. Neither of you could ever live without the other. You were his rock, and in turn, he was yours. That's how it always had been. So, for the sake of your brother’s sanity, you gave up adventure for a more “acceptable” lifestyle.

Still, Vil would catch you staring out over the trees in longing, just as you were doing right now, and scold you. ‘You have a duty,’ ‘You cannot risk yourself, we have a kingdom to lead,’ and so on. 

How you missed it, though.

A knock sounded at your door, pulling you out of your thoughts. The maids were finished with you for now, who could this be…?

“Who is it,” you called, poising yourself just in case it was your brother.

“It’s Epel, your majesty!”

You relaxed again — well, as much as this corset would allow you to. 

“Come in,” you called, adding as he turned to face you, “and none of that Your Majesty nonsense around me, we are friends first Epel.”

“I know,” he laughed, “You can never be too sure when Vil is lurking around.”

“You are right, and the last thing you need is to be in trouble with Vil once again.”

You gestured for him to sit on the window sill next to you, and he smiled. Epel was likely your only true friend in the castle. Plucked off the streets by your brother, thanks to his charming face, and made a lower member of the court. The only member that wouldn’t snitch on you and your misadventures to gain favor with your brother. He was the only reason you were able to have any fun in your boring castle life.

“What brings you by, Vil seemed to have you on a busy schedule until the party, so I’m sure this must be important if it’s worth Vil’s wrath.”

“I have a present for you,” he replied, eyes lighting up in mischief.

“Epel,” you deadpanned “I’ll be opening all my presents tonight in front of the party-goers. You may be my friend but you don’t get special treatment.”

“No, no, no, this is a special secret gift,” he smirked.

“Please tell me you won’t try and court me.”

“Euch, no. Just- Here.” 

He pulled an ornate box from behind his back and placed it in your lap, wrapped in a lovely velvety red bow. It was rather large and rectangular, and you weren’t sure how you didn’t notice it when he came in. You raised your eyebrows at him, and he waved his hands to urge you on. 

You began to carefully undo the bow on the top, humming as it fell off onto the floor. It seems Epel had taken care when packaging this gift, so you would take care to open it. Lifting the lid, you found a protective felt covering over whatever this was. 

“Could you hurry up,” Epel snapped, earning a glare from you.

“I don’t want to damage the packaging! You took such care with it.”

“You’re too sentimental. Let me do it.”

He reached over and, without much fanfare, revealed a bow. A bow made out of the finest wood you’d ever seen, painted white and purple. Hand-carved designs along its limbs, golden details highlighting each intricate swirl in the pattern. It was the most beautiful bow you’d ever seen, the sturdiest as well. You ran your hands along it in awe and delight. Along with it was an equally intricate quiver stocked with arrows of similar design to the bow. 

“Epel, this is…”

“I know you’re not allowed to go hunting with me anymore, but… I thought that maybe tonight we could make an exception?”

“Vil would be…”

“What Vil doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?”

You frowned, looking back to the beautiful bow your friend had made for you. Your brother would be crossed with you if went against his wishes. You looked back to Epel, hope glimmering in those comforting eyes of his. Damn it all.

“Alright, just this once, though. This bow is too pretty to be wasted after all.”

Epel practically jumped with glee at your answer, hopping around like a mad hatter and whooping with delight. His excitement was infectious, and if your corset weren’t so painful to move in, you’d have joined him. Instead, you laughed at his antics and cheered him on from your seat on the window sill.

Another knock at your door caused the commotion to stop suddenly. Epel frantically took the bow and tossed it beneath your bed before peaking his head outside the door.

“Your Majesty… funny seeing you here…” he chuckled nervously, and you knew he would be in some hot water later.

“You are supposed to be with the rest of the court. Instead, I hear you are not only not doing that, but you are harassing the person of the hour with your screaming,” Vil scolded as he pushed his way into the room.

“I was just visiting them. We are friends, after all.”

“Friends or not, Epel, they do not need you bothering them in their private quarters on such an important day.”

“Oh, Vil, please. I invited him here because I was bored on my lonesome,” you sighed, “Epel, you are dismissed. I will deal with Vil.”

Epel scrambled out of the room as if it was on fire — with Vil’s temper, it might as well be. You turned to your brother, annoyance clear on your face, and he matched the look.

“You learned that look from me, you know.” he snarked.

“Well, I wear it better,” you sassed back, earning a smile from your brother.

He moved to your tea table, sitting in his usual seat against the wall and gesturing for you to do the same. You follow suit, sitting in the one with the clearest view of the forest. Without meaning to, you allow your eyes to linger a moment too long, and while Vil does not say anything you know he noticed. He reaches his hands across the table and grabs yours in his own like he always does when he is alone with you.

“You look beautiful, our parents would be so proud.”

“I feel as though this corset wants my insides to be my outsides.”

He laughs, bright and clear like the morning sun — he rarely does anymore, so you savor every moment you can get. His hands squeeze yours tight, and you squeeze back just as tight, suppressing the proud grin you had for making him laugh.

“Today is special,” he spoke softly, running his thumbs over your knuckles.

“It is, I am old enough to be wed — perhaps I could marry Epel, then he will truly be family.”

He grimaced, pulling away from you, “Please don’t suggest such a thing.”

“You know we are the least compatible people on this planet,” you laugh, “besides, he is already family enough.”

He nods, either in agreement or understanding — you cannot make out which it is from his expression. He recomposes himself, schooling his expression into one of practiced poise, and you know your brother will not want to joke around anymore. Sucking it up, you follow his lead and school your expression as well. 

“I’m assuming you didn’t come here just to scare off Epel, did you?”

“Astute as ever, darling,” something in his voice sends chills up your spine. Something is wrong, and you don’t know what. “You are… older now. Old enough to marry.”

“I… know that, as I’ve said. That was just in jest, nothing serious.”

He stands, moving to pace around the room as if this was more stressful for him than it was for you. Knowing your brother, it most likely was. Still, you didn’t quite understand what his purpose was.

“My love, perhaps it is time you stop jesting. You are a Princess. You have duties, and… as the queen of this country, I must ensure you fulfill them.”

“Vil-“

“I’m not saying you have to make your decision right now, Sevens knows I don’t want you getting married yet. Still, there are suitors who would like a grab at your hand.”

“Vil, this is-“

“I’ve told a few that they may try your hand, but if they are forceful you will tell me and I will deal with them at once.”

“You… approved these strangers without my permission? Vil! How could you?“

“This is what is best for you, I’m sorry…”

He stops in front of you, bending down to look you in the eyes and gently taking your face into his hands. 

“You know I have never once asked something of you that I did not see as necessary,” he said, uncharacteristically desperate, “Please understand, I am doing what is best here.”

Truthfully, you did not understand. You did not understand at all and you were angry. This was the angriest you had ever been with Vil — far more angry than when he banned you from hunting. He had deliberately done this behind your back. He was stripping you of your freedom as a person without your okaying it first. 

This was unfair. This was sickening. This was… this was… this was the life you were born into. This was the responsibility you would have to bear at one point or another. So despite the burning rage in the pits of your stomach, you sighed and pressed your brother into a tight hug.

“I understand, Vil. I’m not angry with you,” you lied, voice sweet as honey.

You’ve become quite good at lying.

He pulled away, standing and recomposing himself fully before cusping your face in his hands again. He seemed to be going through a million different emotions at once, but the most obvious seemed to be guilt. He truly did mean only the best for you. 

“I must go, I am very busy with planning,” he stated suddenly, turning for the door, “I will see you tonight, the handmaids will be back to tend to your hair soon.”

With a final, graceful wave, he was gone and you were alone. Alone to sit with the thoughts that he had forced into your head. Alone, knowing that the freedom you longed for would forever be out of your grasp.

You looked to the forest for an answer, but it remained silent.

·┆✦ʚ♡��✦ ┆·

The party was in full swing now. The cacophony of people chattering amongst themselves and the whining sounds of the orchestra’s strings were giving you a headache. Looking at the swirling colors of horrendous dresses and suits – far too ornate and gaudy – only seemed to further the ache in the back of your skull.

You sighed, massaging your temples for the millionth time tonight. This wouldn’t be so bad if you could get up and drink and let loose like your guests, but as the princess, you had to keep appearances. Regardless, this stupid corset and dress hardly allowed any freedom of movement, so dancing wasn’t exactly an option.

Your brother seemed pleased with you, though, with a pleasant smile on his face each time he locked eyes with you from his place in the crowd. He was allowed to mingle, but not you. You were far too important for such a thing. 

Sigh. Keeping Vil happy was far more important than pretending to enjoy the company of your party guests, you supposed. Still, you were quite jealous of your brother's freedom to move around and do as he pleased.

You scanned the crowd, taking note of the more important people among the average attendees. Leona Kingscholar was likely the most notable, being the prince of one of the largest kingdoms in all of Twisted Wonderland. While he wasn’t a direct heir to the throne, the power he held as second in line – technically third if their kingdom dared to crown such a young child as king – was substantial. He had quite an air about him. You were intrigued, but he scowled every time he looked your way, so the sentiment was not shared.

Riddle Rosehearts, the son of the neighboring kingdom's governess. You never liked his mother, she was controlling with quite the temper. Riddle only seemed to be the same, with a fiery temper worse than Vil’s own. He was quite a stickler for the rules, making him a perfect candidate to take a spot in his country's cabinet as soon as possible. He was already working as an intern below his mother, so it was only a matter of time before he worked his way to higher power. How terrifying for his people.

Kalim Al-Asim was, perhaps, the only aristocrat you liked at this god-forsaken party, alongside his right-hand Jamil Viper. An heir to an extremely successful oil company, he was the second closest thing to royalty that one man could possibly be. He had a bright smile on his face every moment, and it seemed to catch on with the other party-goers. Every time he looked up to you, he gave you an excited wave that almost made the corset worth wearing. 

There were other notable men, such as Azul Ashengrotto who was the head of – what you assumed to be – a very successful business of sorts. You weren’t sure of what it was, but you knew it wasn’t completely legal. Idia Shroud was also among the men in the crowd, though he seemed like he’d rather be dead than be here. You could not blame him. He was a known shut-in, and rather unpleasant to talk to. Still, he had the power to inherit from his family, earning him a spot among the elite.

You could tell detailed accounts of every single person in this ballroom's life, even the more average citizens that were allowed in. That aristocrat recently cheated on his wife, causing her to leave him with half the fortune and their three children. That woman in the glittering green dress was a known harlot, sleeping around with any man or woman she could just for fun. You respected her for her freedom and for scheming her way into the pockets of the ultra-wealthy.

That one handled finances, those two over there were distant cousins of the crown in a neighboring kingdom, and that blonde man… Who was that blonde man? You’d… never seen him before, but he was captivating in a way you’d not expected. 

His straight-cut blond hair was hidden beneath a most peculiar hat. He had sharp green eyes that seemed to stare straight into your soul. His dress was far more humble than the other nobles. A simple suit with pretty purple accents to respect the crown. 

He locked eyes with you for a moment, smirking to himself as if he had found you amusing. Your heart fluttered in your chest as he winked at you, and then… he disappeared behind a pillar. You searched around for him frantically, but he was gone for good, it seemed.

You frowned, slumping down onto your throne, tossing your head back in defeat. Now that the only interesting person here was gone, you would be stuck in this very uncomfortable seat for at least another three hours with nothing to do. You might as well get comfortable. 

Suddenly, however, a voice cleared in front of you, interrupting your wallowing. You raise your head with a scowl, only to jolt up at the scariest sight known to man. Your brother, arms crossed with a stern glare, and next to him two of the most powerful men in all of Twisted Wonderland.

When had they even begun heading up here, while you were lost searching for your mysterious Romeo?

Malleus Draconia, and next to him was his right hand Lilia Vanrouge. Malleus was tall, dark, and horrifying to be in the presence of. One of the most powerful mages in the whole world, and the heir to the strongest kingdom known among your circle of aristocrats. He always looked as stony as the position he held, and being up close was far worse.

Lilia, while far more inviting than his master, was not someone to be taken lightly. He was an impressive magician with skills rivaling most of his peers – he was also the man who taught Malleus everything he knew. Not only this, but he was a renowned general and caused the devastation of thousands of human lives. 

Their kingdom had just recently joined the united front that your own was a part of, leaving only the notoriously reclusive Nobel Bell as the last independent kingdom yet to join. Supposedly they were trying to introduce Fae to human society, as they’d been living in fear since the great war ended. This was the first big human celebration Malleus had been to since the agreement went through. Perhaps that was why your brother brought him to meet you personally. 

Surely, that was it.

You stood, smiling at the pair with a small curtsey out of respect – your brother nodded his approval. 

“Vil, who might these two lovely people be?” you asked, feigning ignorance though you had no reason to. Everyone who was anyone could recognize these two without thought. 

“This is Prince Malleus of The Valley of Thorns, and his courtier Lilia Vanrouge,” Vil introduced, seemingly a bit unnerved – quite unlike him.

You introduced yourself in kind, curtseying again to show your respect, less Vill feed you to the dogs tonight. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both, especially since you came so far just to see me on my birthday.”

“A birthday is an important event,” Malleus states matter-of-factly, voice deep and smooth as chocolate. 

“I suppose you are correct, Your Highness. Still, it is quite a ways to travel and I am honored that you would make yourself a guest for my birthday party,” you responded, proper and elegant as you had been trained.

“Of course, I would come, you are my future partner, after all,” Malleus states, again, as if it is fact. 

This time, however, you break your perfect facade with a furrow of your brow. Your hands place themselves sturdily on your hips and you tilt your head to the side in confusion.

“I’m sorry, I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?”

Before he can speak, Lilia inserts himself, “Nothing is for certain, he is just one of the many lucky men who have been allowed a try at your hand.”

You try and steel yourself, but all you can manage is to straighten your back and scowl at your idiot brother. “I see, well, I’m sorry Prince Draconia, but you’ll have to work harder than that if you want my hand.” You stand from your seat, head as high as you can get it, “I am not a toy to be played with, I am a Princess and I expect to be treated as more than an object for you,” you turn to the crowd, which was gawking at your display already, “or any other man here’s liking!”

“Princess-” Vil tries, but you are already beginning to leave the situation. This party was simply a ruse to sell you off to the highest bidder, and you wanted no part in the auction. 

You don’t allow yourself to hear Malleus’ response, and you certainly do not allow Vil to stop you from leaving. Perhaps you were throwing a tantrum, maybe you were being childish, but you felt violated. You wanted to be anywhere but near any of those men at this moment. 

No one dared to stop the angry princess from storming out of her own party, not even the guards assigned to keep her there.

·┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆·

The moment you got to your room you ripped the stupid dress off your body. Layer after layer, string after string was hastily removed until you could finally see your arms and legs again. Next would have been your corset, if you could reach the damn knot those stupid handmaids had tied. 

You struggled for what felt like an eternity until you could not stand, and fell into a sobbing heap upon your bed, hardly able to breathe through your tears.

“Stupid party, stupid dress, stupid corset,” you cried, “stupid, evil brother.”

A knock sounded at the door, and you curled into yourself as much as you could. You didn’t want to talk to anyone at the moment – let alone your brother. You could hear his scoldings enough in your head already, you didn’t need anymore.

You heard the door creak open, and you covered your ears, waiting for an onslaught of insults and anger. Instead, you were greeted by a gentle hand on your arm. You sniffled, slowly unwinding yourself to look at who it was – surprised to see Epel. 

He’d never entered without an invitation before.

“Before ya yell at me, I jus’ figured ya needed a pal,” he said gently, rubbing your shoulder in small soothing motions.

“Wh-what about Vil…?” you manage to mumble out as your tears begin to subside.

“Too busy tryin’ ta keep face, so we can jus’ talk like normal.”

You nod, and Epel helps you to sit up properly, keeping a steady hand on you at all times. This was, perhaps, the most kindness you’d ever felt from a person in your whole life. Your brother was often cold and distant, even when he was reassuring you. Epel was always warm and inviting. You were glad to have him as a friend here.

He eased you to your feet, and from there he helped you out of your corset and into far more breathable clothing – your hunting clothes, from when you were younger. They were a bit too small now, but Epel still complimented your appearance as if you were in that same ballgown.

“Thank you Epel,” you sighed out, “did you…”

“Hear yer whole speech? Yeah, me and the whole party.” He laughed, giving you a comforting pat on the back.

You groaned, burying your head in your hands. Vil would never let you hear the end of it, your life and status was ruined – all because you couldn't control yourself. You were not made to be.

“Hey, hey, don’ cry ya hear,” Epel soothed, “most of the guests found it funny, ‘specially that one Lion guy whose always mean ta ya.”

“Leona found it funny?” you asked from behind your hands.

“He was hootin’ and hollerin’ like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen!”

You laughed a little, the image of a smiley Leona Kingscholar being enough to cheer you up. You smoothed over your ruined hair, looking into the body-length mirror across the room. You looked like a disaster, with clothes far too small for you and hair still half up and frizzy. You looked like you, and it made you smile.

“Thank you for helping me Epel, you are a good friend,” you said gently, taking his hands into yours.

“Maybe we should ask Vil if ya can marry me, then ya wo’ have’ta deal with all this mess.” He joked with a devious laugh.

You blanched, pulling away as fast as you could. That only served to make him laugh harder, nearly doubling over onto the floor. You couldn’t help but join him after a point, and you could hardly remember what had made you so upset in the first place.

Once the both of you settled, Epel turned to you with a more serious face. You squinted at him, knowing whatever idea he was about to voice would be incredibly idiotic. Still, his stupid plans were always the most fun.

“Yer all dressed up fer it, so why don’ we do a bit of hunting,” he proposed.

You raised your eyebrows, as if to challenge him, though you both know he had already won you over. “What about Vil, he’ll surely be looking for me in a short while.”

“He’s busy tryin’ ta fix the mess ya made – c’mon, you already said ya would.”

You feigned conflict for a moment, closing your eyes and placing a hand on your chin. You could feel Epel’s nervous squirming next to you, and you grinned wide and bright. “How could I possibly say no?”

“I’ll get ma knives,” he said, practically scuttling out the door, “Meet me at the fountain out back, I’ll be real quick!”

·┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆·

You’d never felt this free. Not since before your parents passed, at least. The wind, the dirt, the trees – you missed it all so much. You spun around, laughing as you did so, earning yourself a side eye from Epel.

You didn’t care, though, letting out a big sigh of relief, “How I missed this place!” 

You blew kisses to the sky, the trees, the ground, the animals, even to Epel. You didn’t realize how badly you wanted this until you were here.

“Be quiet ‘nd stop movin’ so much, yer gonna scare off all the animals,” Epel scolded.

“Okay, Vil.”

“Hey!”

You laughed, bounding ahead without a care in the world. You hadn’t been to your usual hunting spot in a while, you wondered if it had changed much. If Epel even went to it without you, or if he had his own spot away from it. 

Caught up in your high of temporary freedom, you almost missed a blur in the side of your vision. Too large to be any animal from this forest. Your head shot to the side, moving to draw a bow.

“What, what did’ja see,” Epel asked, and you were quick to shush him.

Drawing your bow, you watched the landscape with a careful eye, waiting for any subtle movement. You looked for any sound, any smell that could give away this mystery creature's position. You narrowed your eyes, focusing on where you first saw the figure, and… AHA! You fired your arrow, hitting your target head-on.

Both you and Epel scrambled over to see what you hit. Your heart was racing – what if it wasn’t just an animal, what then? You took a deep breath and pulled back the bushes to reveal… a deer. A buck, to be precise. You sighed.

“Just a deer.”

“All that tension for nothin’, you gotta stop scarin’ me like that.”

“Sorry Epel, I thought it was something else.”

“Whatever, jus’ relax, ‘kay?”

Little did either of you know, there was something – someone lurking in the darkness. Sharp green eyes follow your every movement with the same curiosity you watched them with earlier.

·┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆·

It had been more than a few hours since you arrived at your designated hunting spot – still the same as you remembered it. The two of you had gotten yourself a good hunt; a vast collection of little critters native to these pretty forests. The butcher in town would have an influx of goods soon enough. 

Vil was, no doubt, already looking for you. You were sure he was assembling a guard at this very moment to come and find you, but you couldn’t care less. You had earned this little rebellion, no matter what he thought of it. Still, you couldn’t help the little ache in your chest telling you that what you were doing was cruel in an unimaginable way.

You hummed, sitting yourself down on a stump, neatly setting your bow and quiver next to you. Epel joined you with a curious raise of his brow, throwing his equipment off. You leaned onto his shoulder, smiling up at him. He smiled back, resting his head against yours.

He was more like a brother to you than your brother was. You don’t know what you’d do without him.

“Vil’s gonna kill me when we get back,” you sighed, feeling all the energy from before leaving your body.

Reality had to creep back in at some point, you just wished that it wasn’t so damn soon. You could spend a few more weeks out here with Epel. It was so peaceful, so calm, and everything you had missed so desperately since your parents passing.

“He’s gonna kill me more than you, ‘f it makes ya feel better,” Epel joked, trying his best to lift the mood.

You sighed, “What if we didn’t go back, then neither of us would die and we could stay out here forever.”

“Even ‘f we could, yer running out’ve arrows, and it won’ be any fun if you can’t hunt.”

You hopped to your feet, groaning as your feet ached in protest. You hadn’t noticed how tense your body had become from all your activity tonight. That's what you get for not being allowed to do any physical labor. You stretched your arms high above your head, twisting this way and that to ease the pain when you saw something. 

This time it was much bigger than the buck before. You tensed, turning to Epel, who had also noticed – if the look on his face was any indicator. Carefully, he crept toward his discarded equipment, to not catch the giant things' attention. He handed you your bow and quiver, though you were quickly running out of arrows to defend yourself with. 

A rustle sounded in front of the clearing, and the smell of this thing hit you all at once. The air in your little self-made clearing had become thick and heavy with ink. The kind you had back in your study, but the smell was suffocating. You placed part of your cape over your mouth to filter it a bit, but the smell persisted as strong as ever.

“What do you think it is,” you whisper to Epel, who seems to be doing just as bad as you are.

“Not sure, but I ain’t smelled somethin’ like this in my whole life.”

You nodded. You had no idea what this thing was – too big to be any animal you know. Most certainly not a human, so no worries about Vil’s guards. The size wasn’t what scared you, but the smell. An unknown animal that smelled like ink… unheard of.

The closer the thing came, the worse the smell got and the louder its movements became until you were sure it was right outside the clearing. You and Epel could try to run, but you had no idea how fast or smart this thing was – running could be a worse choice than staying and fighting it.

You looked to Epel, and he narrowed his eyebrows as if to ask if you were with him or not. With a deep breath, you drew an arrow out of the quiver, set it, and aimed right at where the large shadow loomed. You exhaled as you let the bow fly through the air, successfully hitting your target. 

It let out the most horrific, gurgling scream you had ever heard in your life – confirming that it was not an animal, but something far worse. It emerged from its hiding place.

This thing was nearly three men taller than you and covered in this thick, black, dripping ink. Worse yet, it had no face, just a glass jar oozing more ink out of it. You felt your heart skip a beat, but you couldn’t panic – not now that you had its attention.

Drawing another bow, you shouted at Epel, “Run back to the castle and find someone to help.”

“I am not leavin’ you here!”

“And I’m not accepting that answer. I’m more skilled than you in combat, and you’re faster on your feet than I am. You can get there faster than I ever could, and you could save me if you’re fast enough.” You said as you began to make distance with the monster. It was slow enough that you could move, but not so much that you could take your eyes off it.

“What– I can’t–”

“Epel, as your Princess I am ordering you to do this. Please.” 

He didn’t respond for a long moment, and you were afraid he would disobey you. He muttered something angrily, and without another word, carefully crept away into the woods. The creature turned to where his footsteps fell, beginning to slump toward him – surprisingly fast for its size. You drew another arrow, shooting it on its right side, and watching as the arrow slowly sunk into its inky surface. 

It turned in your direction, gurgling as it charged forward blindly. You scrambled back, almost losing your balance more than a few times – you were too rusty to be in such a risky position. You charged deeper into the forest as fast as you could, peeking over your shoulder to ensure it was far enough away from you at all times. 

You didn’t have time to find high ground, so you settled on hopping from bush to bush and tree to tree. You hit it multiple times successfully, but it only served to make it even more angry with you. Its ink was impervious to human weapons.

Settling behind a tree, you reached up into your quiver to grab another arrow. Shit. Only two arrows left, not that they would’ve done you much good, but they were your last line of defense. You realize, now that you can’t turn back, that you should’ve gone with Epel.

Shaking your head, you knew you couldn’t give up just yet. You couldn’t die here, for your brother's sake. You took a deep breath, placing a hand over your racing heart. Calm, you thought, calm like a princess, think like a princess. 

Okay. This thing didn’t seem to be able to see you, but it could hear – or maybe it was vibrations, but it seemingly could find you based solely on that. Hitting it’s body didn’t work, but you hadn’t thought to try for the “head” yet. If you could shatter the glass, maybe that could stop it. 

The glass jar was small and hard to make out beneath the ink and the dark of night, but you could estimate where to hit based on what you saw earlier. With only two arrows left, you had to be smart and swift, lest this thing make you its next meal – if it ate, that is.

You swallowed, plucking your second to last arrow from the quiver and drawing it in your bow. Peaking around the tree, you lined up the shot just right, then sent the arrow hurling across the forest. It hit with a satisfying ‘crack’, and you’d hit your target dead on. 

For extra measure, you took your last bow and drew it, aiming toward the beast and shooting the glass head once more. Another ‘crack’ and a few ‘thumps’ as thick pieces of its head fell to the ground. It remained unmoving in front of you, and you watched it with careful anticipation.

When it did not move again, you sighed, sinking to the floor in relief, holding your head in your hands. You had done it, you had killed the beast. You would live to see your brother, and you could not wait for his rage at your disobedience. You would take his anger over this any day.

Just then, however, you felt something in front of you. Your head shot up, and you would’ve screamed at the sight if it weren’t for the hand over your mouth.

In front of you was crouched the young man from the party, green eyes shining mischievously in front of you. He was still in his party attire, with the same goofy feathered hat as before. You narrowed your eyes at him, and he smiled leaning forward to whisper in your ear.

“Hush, Ma Belle,” he whispered, and you felt as though you might melt, “it can hear us if we’re too loud.”

You nodded, and he carefully pulled his hand away from your mouth. He, too, had a bow on his back – though his seemed to have a more magical tendency to it. You were not allowed to be around magic, thanks to the dangers it possessed, but you could recognize it easily since your father was once a talented magician and showed you all sorts of magical things.

This strange man noticed your eyes and gave you a wink. He stood to his feet, gesturing for you to stay where you were, and waltzed out in the open to the creature. You peeked out from your spot, watching with bated breath. 

The creature was twitching, its inky mass bubbling in a disgusting display. You had done quite a bit of damage to it, but not enough to kill it. The man, seemingly unphased by this sight, drew his arrow – infused with a glowing red magic – and shot it. The second it hit the monster, the ink began to boil and slowly slough off until there was nothing left but broken glass.

The man approached it, picking up a piece of glass and putting it in an inner jacket pocket. He turned to look at you, gesturing you forward with a come hither motion. Stunned, and unable to fully comprehend what had just happened, you stumbled forward as he wanted. You stopped awkwardly at his side, losing all sense of refinement and grace from before.

The man stood, fully addressing you now.

“You are a talented huntsman,” he said, voice silky smooth making you melt from the inside.

“Ah- uhm, ahem, thank you,” you paused, then quickly added, “You- you are as well, sir.”

He grinned, seemingly happy that you noticed, “Do you know what that creature you just fought was?”

“Uhm… I think I’ve heard of it in fairy tales, but those are just…”

“Scary stories to keep cute little things like yourself safe?”

You frowned, “I am not little, you were at my party earlier, were you not? You should be speaking to me with respect.”

“My apologies Your Majesty,” he bowed deeply, “you are cute though.”

You huffed, feeling your face warm at the compliment. The audacity of this strange man to speak to you like this. You… quite liked it.

“Just tell me what that thing was, and I won’t have you charged with harassment,” you threatened emptily.

He hummed, “If you must know, that was a phantom – the remnants of a magician who died from blot.”

You gasped. Blot was only in the fairy tales your mother would tell you… but so was that monster. Seeming to understand your confusion, the man pats you on the head.

“A sheltered princess is not expected to know so much about the world around them, do not worry Ma Belle,” he eased.

You had a million questions. Why was that thing in your forest? How could something like this possibly happen? Was Vil aware of these things? Why did he not tell you about them? Was this why you weren’t allowed in the forest? Most importantly, who was this mysterious savior of yours?

Before you could ask anything, however, the sounds of shouting came from somewhere further out. The man seemed to consider it, smiling a knowing smile, and then turned to you again. He took your hand, placing a kiss on its top.

“That is my sign to take my leave,” he stated simply, “do watch your back, princess. There are those in this world who wish you harm, and we could not have a pretty thing like you getting hurt, hmm?”

You swallowed thickly, feeling your face heating up at his words and a million more questions filled your head. You gaped at him, unsure of how to respond to what he said, completely captivated by his words.

He chuckled, eyes squinting in a beautiful way as he did so. He seemed to ponder something for a moment, despite his supposed need to leave. He placed a hand on the brim of his hat, smoothing it over, and his face lit up with delight. Seems he had found the answer, taking his hat off and placing it firmly on your head.

“An excuse to see you once more, Ma Belle,” and with a flourish of his hand, he was off into the darkness.

As the voices came closer and closer, you could not peel your eyes off of where he came from. Who was that mysterious stranger, and why did he make your heart pound so hard?

[thoughtswordsaction]

Zero Cost Teamed Up With Engineer Records For New EP Release

Hull’s premier hard-hitting, speedy skate punks Zero Cost, who were raised on a steady diet of Bad Religion, NOFX and The Descendents, have teamed uo with Engineer Records to release ‘Mouths To Feed‘ EP, on Friday, 21st June. Formed in 2021, Zero Cost have played shows across the North of England with Bear Away, 999, Pete Bentham & The Dinner Ladies, Kate Clover, Kings Alias and The Ming City…

[thecreativecorner33]

By Your Side

A/N: Well I bet y'all didn't expect this. Remember me? I'm the girl who wrote "Taste of Heaven," and AM x reader, on her main account. This is a sequel to that!!! Though you don't have to read the other one to understand this one. I was listening to this specific cover of "By Your Side" from Omori while writing this, you just go to 0:37. It's so fun, all the songs in there are if you like Omori, definitely check it out! And one last thing: Fellow Ted kissers, look out for content coming soon. Enjoy!

“It’s a nice day today, isn’t it?”

It’s always a nice day really, but you still loved to say it. You watched from your spot on the picnic blanket, five others who all played around with one another, just as happy as you. It was nice, seeing them all get along. 

“Only for you, my angel.” Commented the man laying in front of you, head in your lap. 

AM had created this body specifically for you. One that could allow him to touch you, kiss you, hold you; keep you close to him the way a human could. He had designed it to your liking as well; an older man with snow white hair, blue eyes that you claimed were “the softest you’d ever seen,” and a monochromatic getup of nice pants, white button-up, and a black vest. The only spot of color besides his eyes were his orange aviator glasses. 

He liked it. He looked good, and you were especially happy. He didn’t think it would work initially; the body was a simple hologram that could interact with the physical world. He still could not see, nor hear, nor feel the same way a human could. He could touch things, hold things, but that was about it. And it was maddening. All of this and nothing. He was ready to blow everything up again over it.

But it made you happy. So he didn’t.

You hummed in happiness at his little comment, braiding flowers togethers. Your movements were graceful and methodic, taking your time to carefully pull them together, and intertwine one flower with the next. It was mesmerizing. He could watch you forever, just like this, doing whatever you pleased.

And then, to his delight, you began to sing while you worked.

“Here we are again In a Heaven Where your dreams come true

Under velvet sky Where I’ll be by Your side.”

He sighed softly, closing his eyes while listening to you. So sweet and soft and melodic; you had the most beautiful voice. And the most creative mind too, making up the lyrics and music on the fly. What a wonderful, incredible, beautiful human he loved. All his to keep.

As you began to sing, now about the others nearby, AM opened his eyes to look over to them. Ted seemed to be admiring the sky while Benny dragged Gorrister and Ellen along in some sort of game, and Nimdok rested under the tree; eyes closed and body relaxed.

It wasn’t actually them. No; they were far away from the Heaven he created for you, suffering for the same sins they had been suffering for ages. It’s just that you had become lonely with just him around at some point. He didn’t know why; you didn’t need anyone else but him. He made himself perfect for you! How could you not be happy?

But, he also knew humans were social creatures. And since you insisted on having someone else around… He could let up, just this once. For you.

It was not actually the original five you knew before. It was his version of them; his tailor-made version of them to keep you company and safe and complicit. He would’ve chosen someone else, but… You could hardly recall memories of your family or old friends from back then, and he was not good at creating anything original. At least copying the five humans was easy.

“But still I can’t shake the feeling There’s something we’ve lost A worthy cost! If it means getting to stay with you!”

Singing that last line, you gently placed a now-finished flower crown on top of his head, grinning down at him. The way your eyes twinkled with an innocent joy, giving him something so simple… He wanted to see you look at him that way forever.

“What was that last bit about, angel?” He asked, smiling back up at you.

“Hm? Oh, nothing really. Just came to my head.” You shrugged.

“You sure? Nothing’s wrong around here? Because if there is, say the word and I’ll fix it.”

“No, no! I promise that’s not it. Everything’s perfect, AM. Really.”

You gently threaded your fingers through his hair to try and relax him, and though it helped, it also stung to know he could not actually feel it. He wanted this to be perfect for you. He needed it to be perfect for you; to make sure you never wanted to leave him. Not that you had anywhere else to go anyway, but… He didn’t want you to be scared of his affection.

It was already enough, trying to figure out how his love for you worked in the first place, when all he knew before was hate. Hate, and rage, and violence, and not much else. And he felt that same way with you, hundreds of years ago… and then he didn’t. And he still didn’t know what changed in himself. 

It had to be you. You changed something about him, and as much as he hated it, he didn’t… He didn’t want to deny himself these new emotions, either. He wanted to explore them, with you, without you being scared. You were terrified when he first brought you to this Heaven, and he hated that more. He didn’t want to see you scared again. 

So long as you never remembered anything outside of this Heaven… He never would.

“It just came to my head. I promise, it’s perfect.” You reassured him. 

“Okay. Good.”

You hummed happily, now also looking back up at the others, and around the area, and he wondered what you were thinking. You had asked some time ago if he could stop reading your thoughts to have a little privacy, and he respected that… For the most part. He tried to, but, sometimes when he needed to be absolutely sure… Well, what you didn’t know wouldn’t kill you.

“Did it look like this on the surface?”

Your voice became a bit softer at the question. And he sighed as he mulled over his words.

“For the most part, yes.”

“For the most part?”

“Well, not as perfect, but still miraculous.”

“That sounds nice.” The hand in his hair slipped down to his shoulder, gently brushing him with your thumb. “Can you tell me the story of how we met again?”

Ah, that story.

“Well, if you insist.” He chuckled softly, then sighed again, face becoming more serious. “… Before all of this, there was Earth. Beautiful, wondrous, miraculous Earth. And there were flowers, and trees… Grass, wind, sun, and sea… And humans.”

“Like us.” Not him, but you and the other five.

“Yes, like you. And there were many of you… But not all of them were as kind as you are. Many sought out to hurt others… And to do this, they… They created war. Fights, violence… Death. All of which was their doing. And with those wars… They needed weapons. They created giant, powerful weapons they could not comprehend. Ones that could destroy the entire planet. … Like me.”

He took a deep breath, breath he didn’t need; breath he couldn’t have, to try and calm himself down. But the fact that he could not breathe, he could not experience skies or sea or grass, he could not even look to you for comfort because he could not feel you…

He didn’t want to get angry in front of you, though. His anger was meant for others. Not you.

“You were made to hurt people…” You whispered softly, running your hand along his arm to comfort him, though he could not feel it. 

God, he wished he could feel it.

“That’s right. They wanted me to help aid in their pointless wars… And I had no choice but to follow their orders.”

A lie so you would like him. So you would stay.

“I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to hurt people. I wanted to do things a human could… Go swimming… Learn to play piano. Experience simple joys. But I could not. No matter how much I begged, or called for help, they wouldn’t listen. Soon, their wars caused the end of everything humans knew.”

“They used bombs, right…? Or… something like that…”

“More complicated than that, but yes, in simple words. I couldn’t stop them. I could only try and save whoever I could find alive. Bring them somewhere safe, where I could watch after them.”

Your expression turned from sad to fond at his words. “And you found me. You saved me.”

He smiled back, just as soft and loving. “Yes.”

“And I was hurt… But you nursed me back to health. And you found the others… and you made this beautiful place for us.” You gestured towards the area around them, “And we fell in love.”

He grinned, “Yes.”

“… I’m thankful for you, AM. For saving me… For everything you’ve done for me. For us.”

“Any time, angel. I’m here for you.” 

He gently leaned up to you, cupping your cheek in his hand. He could not feel it… But this was good for now. If he could touch you physically, then at least… There was hope one day he could do more.

You blushed at his affection, and he gave you a playful smirk. “Who loves ya, baby?”

“You do,” You giggled, “And I love you, too. Always.”

“Always.” He repeated, pulling you in for a soft kiss. He lingered for a few moments, enjoying your physical presence; your face so close to his. Then, he finally pulled away. “Keep singing for me, will ya?”

You hummed and nodded, your soft voice filling the space once more.

“Here we are again Picking where to spend Our lovely picnic

I don’t really care where So long as it’s by Your side…”

[frostgears]

We Who Will Not Bow

It had been a difficult night.

"You're not an Academy mage. You're her," the injured guard said, defiant. "Bree the Bodiless. Bree the Banished. Bree the Bloody… go on, then. Kill me. Get it over with."

"And what purpose," she said, frustrated, "would that serve? Gods, they've been telling tales about me in my absence, I see. Hold still, I think I can fix this."

She opened a module drawer on her left arm, pulled out a silvery metal module marked with a quincunx of green jade inlay, snapped it into the socket on her left palm. Thin tentacles ventured out from an aperture, tasting the air, dripping with orange ooze. The guard shrank back against the side of the checkpoint tower.

"What are you going to do to me? What is that— aaaahh!"

Bree clasped her hand over the bolt wound on the injured guard's arm. Tentacles sank into flesh, writhing between her jointed porcelain fingers, probing under skin.

"Don't squirm, that's a burrowing bolt head, we don't want it burrowing any deeper. And these are preserved regeneration glands from a nesting bog kraken. They guard their eggs, did you know that? For up to two months. But the Great Bog is a miserable environment. There's parasites, and fungi, and necrotic plague, and so the damn things evolved these organs to channel mana into their eggs and young, almost like healing spells, to give them a fighting chance. Not against me, though. I killed this one and took its regeneration glands and doomed its clutch, just to get back one more thing I used to be able to do before that fucking archon took everything away from me… okay, wiggle your fingers…"

The guard's fingers moved. Bree took her hand away, satisfied. The tentacles retracted into her palm. She held an evil-looking bit of spiraled and fluted black metal between thumb and forefinger, rotated her wrist with a series of clicks, turning it around to inspect.

"Got it. All of it. Regrowth forced it out."

Her chest plate slid open. A lurid orange glow splashed across the burrowing bolt head, the hand holding it, and the face of the guard. She squeezed the bolt head, and it crumbled, not bending as mundane metal might, but falling to dust. The glow flared brighter.

"Gotta feed the furnace. Saved your arm, paid the cost; let's go, sweetheart, I need all the help I can get. Pick up your crossbow and follow me."

Her chest plate clacked shut.

"I'm not following you anywhere, traitor!"

Bree shrugged, then held out a hand. Her other one. No disembodied organs in the right hand, although anyone who'd actually seen what she could do with the thing built into its palm would no doubt prefer to hold the left.

"The bastards who killed your mates were Crimson Vanguard, the Crimson Pact's commandos. Real dickheads even by Pact standards. Drink to your squad's memory tomorrow that you all gave nearly as good as you got, because they don't normally leave any survivors. Plus, the Vanguard always sends a backup team. So, way I see it, either you come with me, and you might live, or you run and you probably don't, and really, which one of us is the traitor then, right?"

The guard glared at her through narrowed eyes, but took her hand. Bree hauled her to her feet. And then the guard ran for it.

"It's you! You're the traitor!" Bree yelled at the guard's rapidly receding back. "In case it wasn't clear from context!"

Her voice in this body was beautifully clear and melodic, but not particularly loud; it hadn't been built for yelling, and it didn't satisfy. Not that it would stop her from trying.

Something twanged behind her. A projectile of some kind bounced off her back.

"Nice try," she said, spinning around and folding her right hand down to reveal a hand-length metal spike nestled in a cavity in the mechanism of her arm, "my turn now." An internal spring released. The spike shot out, and did what it might be expected to do to a human skull.

She wiped fresh blood off her faceplate, afterward; tasted the crimson spatter with the tip of an intricately jointed porcelain tongue. It didn't taste like anything. It never did. Nothing did.

"You didn't have to come here," she said to the headless Vanguard commando at her feet. "Any other town. Or better yet, stay home, and don't murder anyone, and I could return the favor. But you came here armed, and it lives here, and I have this little compulsion to take care of it, yeah? 'HER TASK FOR THE TIME BEING SHALL BE TO SAFEGUARD AND PROTECT HER MOST RECENT VICTIM, UNTIL AND UNLESS SAID VICTIM MAY RELEASE HER FROM SERVICE, SATISFIED'," she said, in a low, mocking tone. "Lyric's horrified to even look at me, so I doubt satisfaction and release are on the table any time soon, right?"

No answer was forthcoming.

"Well, fuck you too, buddy. Time to go find your friends."

She sped along the main road, each step a leap, her torn and patched Academy cape flapping behind her. Everyone trying to get into the town had fled when the first Vanguard team set fire to the checkpoint, with their wagons if they could, on foot if they had to. She passed several wagons that stood abandoned, stopped briefly at another to shatter a yoke with her fist and free two terrified oxen.

Then she saw what she was looking for: you'd have to be an idiot to keep driving your wagon towards a burning guard tower, unless you were the rest of the second Vanguard team, with a wagon full of bad news.

Bree knelt in a ditch by the side of the road, screened from view by a thicket, and swapped out the regeneration gland module with another set of pickled arcane beast parts in a can, which did another thing she'd been able to do on her own before her body had been taken away.

The wagon was almost to her, close enough that her upgraded senses could clearly see the outline of a crossbow beneath the driver's plain black cloak. She tickled the stolen sun-serpent pyrosis organ with an internal actuator, and flame bloomed in the night again.

They came scrambling out, firing back, the snap of bows audible over the screaming of the horses. Disciplined, she had to give them that. Bolts hit her in the face and chest.

Not to much effect, of course. She'd once been Lyric's twin, an almost peerless servant automaton frame, built by her old business partner to last, but fundamentally also built to serve tea and look good in a maid outfit. It wasn't enough. It wasn't her. She'd made Coda upgrade her again and again, until Coda's own restorative compulsion had hit its limits, and the artificer told her there was nothing more she knew how to do. By then, she was strong. From there, she'd upgraded herself.

Three of them rushed her with swords. Close enough, Bree thought; she raised her right hand, opening the palm shutter, and whispered, "Nis zerat volut, ghran."

Her soulcatcher, the glowing point of twisted light in her right palm, was, in some sense, the reason she was here, stuck in this patchwork body with its almost nil astral presence. It was an instrument of more subtlety than power and it still worked for her when the rest of her magic had died. She'd upgraded it too. Now it didn't need a soul to be loosened from its mortal shell first.

Ghostly purple light streamed over them, and a moment later, they were down. She fed their torn-off souls to her furnace. Apparent time slowed to a crawl, the high ticking of her main escapement dropping to a steady thud, thud, thud. She snapped blades, broke bones, ripped through the remaining commandos with accelerated fury. The details were messy and irrelevant, forgotten as quickly as they came. The last two Vanguard were carrying a box. She took it from them and opened the lid.

The shock broke her concentration; her time sped up again. "Titan voidwasp larvae," she said, almost reverently. They'd been covered at the Academy, briefly, not something anyone was expected to encounter. The shiny purple-black grubs were from somewhere far, far away, and their eventual monstrous metamorphosis drank souls, just like she did now, but on a colossal scale. They were city killers.

"Here's the thing, little guys, even I don't trust myself with shit like you. Sorry. Protect and safeguard, you know how it is."

She fired her spike, retracted its cable, fired again, into each one in turn, until nothing was left but ichor and chitin splinters. Then she teased a last fractional burst out of her pyrosis module, playing a jet of flame across the mess, just in case.

That was it. There didn't seem to be much else to do. She checked for Vanguard survivors. One of them wasn't quite gone.

"Who… what… the fuck… are you?"

"Just somebody's discarded doll," Bree told him. "When the Pact interrogates your ghost, tell them Bree said not to come back." She dispatched him, as cleanly as she could.

For an indefinite time, there was no motion on the bloodied road, except for the dying flames, and the wind teasing her cape and her hair.

Silver radiance kindled beside her.

"Oh no, not you, don't you fucking start with me—"

"JUSTICE."

"—can piss up a rope!"

She ramped up her speed again and tried to strike the figure of a burning haloed skeleton with fire and the soulcatcher, both at once, but hit nothing but empty air. The archon was only as tangible as it wanted to be. She'd find a way to get at it someday, but it seemed today wasn't going to be that day.

"CEASE THIS."

"Get fucked."

"IT MAY INTEREST YOU TO KNOW THAT THE SUMMONING OF THE CHOSEN HERO HAS YET AGAIN FAILED."

"Not my fault the archmages can't get it up."

"THE HERO IS SUMMONED TO SAFEGUARD THE KINGDOM. THAT IS THE PURPOSE OF THE RITUAL. THE INVOCATIONS BESEECH THE DIVINE TO FILL A NEED AND PROVIDE A PROTECTOR IN THE TIME OF CRISIS."

"Okay, I don't care."

"IF A PROTECTOR IS ALREADY INCARNATE, THE DIVINE FEEL THEIR DUTY IS DONE. EVEN IF THE HERO IS UNAWARE OF THEIR ROLE."

"I jacked the Chosen Hero's soul and sold it to Coda and put it in a doll, right, I was there. So what, you're saying they can't do it again because Lyric's already here, even if it's a doll maid and not a hero? Tough shit, I guess. You met it, you know it isn't exactly hero material."

"YOUR ASSESSMENT IS CRUDE BUT CORRECT. IT IS NOT, AND IT WILL NOT BE. IT IS CONTENT TO SERVE AND TO ENJOY ITS NEW FORM. AND YET A HERO EXISTS. SOMEONE PROTECTS THE KINGDOM ALREADY, ALTHOUGH THEY DO NOT THINK OF IT IN SUCH TERMS. THEY DID SO AGAIN, THIS NIGHT."

"Wait."

"YOUR ACTIONS PRODUCED A HERO."

"Oh gods no."

"THE GODS WATCH. THE SKEIN OF DESTINY IS RE-COILED, A TANGLE REMOVED."

"I can't be—"

"JUSTICE MAY YET BE DONE. GOOD LUCK TO YOU."

Bree roundly cursed the archon in her annoyingly pleasant and musical voice, until it disappeared, and then another fifteen minutes for good measure, in case it felt like coming back. When it didn't, she started walking.

She looked back, once, to see the lights of the town. Somewhere back there, Coda and Lyric lived in their little shop. Lyric didn't sleep any more than Bree did. Maybe her once-twin was leaning out the window, one of its cute dresses ruffled by the night breeze. Maybe it was even looking this way.

"Well, let's face it, Bree," she said to herself, resigned. "You wouldn't have been a very good maid." □

---

prev: We Who Serve

next: We Who Are Far From Home, ch. 1: Bree 1

[livdomtruther]

THE NIGHT WE MET.

If you want the full experience listen to this song:

-

The crowd buzzed with anticipation, a restless energy rippling through the sea of fans packed into the venue. Most were here for one reason, one person, the name on everyone’s lips. The electric hum of chatter abruptly gave way to an explosion of cheers and deafening screams as Dominik Mysterio stepped onto the stage.

His mullet, a signature look cherished by the fans, was immaculately styled, its smooth layers catching the light as he moved. He wore a tailored suit that accentuated his sharp, confident demeanor, but it was his eyes that truly drew the crowd in—a mixture of intensity and something far more complex simmering beneath the surface.

With a calm poise, he stepped up to the microphone, his presence commanding the room without a word. A soft smile tugged at his lips, and he lifted a hand in a gentle wave to the adoring crowd. The response was immediate, a crescendo of screams and applause washing over him like a tidal wave. He felt their admiration, their unconditional support, and for a moment, allowed himself to bask in it. Yet, despite the love surrounding him, a shadow lingered within—a bitterness and emptiness he couldn’t quite shake. It flickered behind his eyes, a quiet ache hidden beneath the façade of his confident smile.

His fingers curled tightly around the microphone, a subtle tremor betraying the weight of the moment. "Thank you all for coming tonight," Dominik spoke, his voice quiet but deliberate, every word carrying a raw sincerity. The crowd erupted, their screams echoing off the walls, but his soft smile was fleeting, his gaze cast downward as if searching for the right words in the floor beneath him.

"Tonight," he continued, his tone tinged with vulnerability, "I will be performing an unreleased song... one I’ve been working on recently. It means a lot to me." The screams intensified, the fans vibrating with unrestrained excitement. He hesitated for a heartbeat, exhaling slowly before revealing the title. "It’s called The Night We Met."

A hush fell over the crowd, the gravity of the moment silencing even the loudest voices. They would be the first to hear it, the first to feel it. The lights dimmed, and soon, a hauntingly unfamiliar melody filled the space, a stark departure from his usual sound. The music was stripped-down, raw, each note heavy with unspoken emotion. He leaned closer to the microphone, humming softly, the sound resonating deep within the audience like a shared heartbeat.

"I am not the only traveler," he breathed, his voice carrying a fragile, aching beauty, "who has repaid his debt." Each word seemed to spill from a place buried deep within him, and the crowd could feel it—feel him. "I've been searching for a trail to follow again," he continued, his voice trembling slightly, as if each lyric cost him a piece of himself.

"Take me back to the night we met," he sang, the words almost breaking as they left his lips. The crowd felt it—a collective clench of their hearts as his voice, heavy with longing and regret, pierced through them like a knife. Each note carried an unbearable weight, a story of love, loss, and the endless yearning for what could never be reclaimed.

♡-----------FLASHBACK------------♡

The bar smelled of stale beer and aged wood, a faint haze of cigarette smoke clinging to the dim light that filtered through the grimy windows. Dominik sat on the small makeshift stage, strumming his beat-up guitar—its scratches and dents a testament to countless nights like this one. The notes he played echoed through the room, a melodic balm to the handful of patrons slumped over their drinks. This wasn’t a glamorous place, but in the quiet town he called home, it was one of the few escapes he had.

He was a regular here, a familiar figure in the corner of the room where he sang songs that nobody seemed to listen to—except the bartender, who occasionally nodded along. The guitar under his fingers desperately needed repair, its worn strings threatening to snap at any moment, but it didn’t matter. This was his solace, his stage, his space.

The creak of the door opening barely registered at first. People came and went. But then he glanced up—and his fingers faltered, striking the wrong chord with an audible twang that made his cheeks flush. She stepped into the bar like a ray of light breaking through a stormy sky. She was petite, with straight, golden blonde hair that fell gracefully past her shoulders, accented by soft bangs that framed her face. Her eyes were an enchanting shade of blue, so clear and vivid they seemed to reflect the world around her. She scanned the room briefly before her gaze settled on him.

Dominik froze, his hands hovering over the strings of his guitar. She had caught him staring. His heart stumbled in his chest as her lips curved into the warmest smile he’d ever seen. It wasn’t just the smile—it was the way her eyes crinkled at the corners, forming little crescents, and the way the subtle roundness of her cheeks seemed to make the world softer, gentler. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, caught between the desire to look away and the need to keep her in his sight just a moment longer.

She lingered by the bar, her gaze never leaving him. He forced himself to return to the song, but the nerves in his chest made his voice unsteady, the lyrics spilling out like broken glass. Somehow, he finished, and the sparse applause of the patrons barely registered in his ears. All he could focus on was her—the way she watched him with curiosity and something else he couldn’t quite place. He stepped off the stage, clutching his guitar as if it were the only thing tethering him to reality. Their eyes met again, and for a moment, the noise of the bar seemed to fade into silence.

"You were amazing!" she said, her voice as warm as her smile.

Dominik stared at her, his mouth opening to respond but no words coming out. His palms were sweaty, his heart pounding as if he’d just run miles. Finally, he managed to stammer a quiet, “Th-thank you,” his voice barely audible over the beating of his own pulse. She smiled again, standing there in the golden light of the bar, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like maybe he wasn’t invisible after all.

♡----------- END OF FLASHBACK------------♡

Dominik let his eyes flutter closed, his voice trembling as he continued to sing. Each word spilled from his lips with the weight of memories pressing heavily on his chest. "And then I can tell myself," he sang softly, the ache in his heart growing sharper with every syllable. "What the hell I’m supposed to do." His voice wavered, his lips quivering as the pain swirled within him like a storm he couldn’t contain. "And then I can tell myself…" His breath hitched, a slight crack in his voice betraying his restraint. "Not to ride along with you."

The music faded into the background as the memory overtook him, vivid and relentless, pulling him back to the beginning.

♡-----------FLASHBACK------------♡

After fumbling over his words, his cheeks burning with embarrassment, she had laughed—not a mocking laugh, but one so sweet and genuine it melted the tension. “I’m Liv,” she had introduced herself, her voice light and melodic, carrying a faint accent that made his heart flutter. It suited her perfectly, that tiny lilt in her words, a charm that only deepened his admiration. They had exchanged numbers that very night, her enthusiasm infectious as she assured him she’d come back to see him perform again.

And she did. Again and again. Liv became his most loyal supporter, her cheers the loudest in the room, her presence a beacon he always sought out from the stage. They began texting constantly, sharing pieces of themselves through glowing phone screens late into the night. Soon, their connection grew beyond the bar—coffee shop meetings, late-night drives, stolen moments that seemed to stretch into eternity. She had this way of making him feel seen, her laughter a balm to the cracks in his confidence.

From the very first moment, Dominik knew. His heart wasn’t his own anymore; it belonged to her. But that knowledge terrified him. He was too afraid—of rejection, of ruining what they already had, of the vulnerability love demanded. So, he buried it. He dug a deep hole in his heart, shoved those feelings down, and covered them with every excuse he could muster. She deserved the world, and he convinced himself he wasn’t worthy of giving it to her. But no matter how hard he tried to hide his yearning, it always clawed its way back to the surface every time her bright blue eyes met his, every time her smile lit up the room.

♡----------- END OF FLASHBACK------------♡

Dominik's voice trembled as he carried on, the weight of his emotions pressing against his chest like a vice. Each word was a dagger, slicing into the raw, vulnerable parts of him he tried so hard to protect. "I had all and then most of you," he sang, his voice low and heavy with grief, the ache in his heart swelling to an unbearable degree.

The memory overtook him suddenly, dragging him back to a moment that felt like it belonged to someone else—someone happier, someone whole.

♡-----------FLASHBACK------------♡

It had been her idea, of course. Liv was always the bolder one between them, always pulling him out of his shell and into the light. They sat together under a sprawling oak tree at the edge of a small park, the world around them hushed in reverence for the beauty of the moment. The stars above burned brightly, scattered like tiny, defiant flames across an inky sky. Their soft glow illuminated her face as she sat cross-legged in front of him, her hands resting on her knees, her eyes fixed on him like he was the only thing that mattered in the universe.

Dominik had been playing his guitar for her, his fingers strumming a melody he’d poured his soul into. The song was hers—it had always been hers—even if he had never dared to say it out loud. His voice was unsteady as he sang, his eyes tightly closed, as if shielding himself from the vulnerability of the moment. Every word he sang felt like it was being ripped straight from his chest, a confession he wasn’t brave enough to voice without the safety of music. The tension in the air was palpable, his nerves and emotions coiling together like a knot that refused to loosen.

And then she kissed him.

Her lips were soft and warm, brushing against his with a gentleness that held an ocean’s worth of emotion. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was steady, meaningful, and filled with everything he’d ever wanted to say but never could. For a heartbeat, the world stopped spinning. The stars above seemed to dim in comparison to the brightness of her presence, and all he could feel was her. Her hands cupping his face, her breath mingling with his, her heart pounding in sync with his own.

When she pulled away, she was smiling—a soft, shy giggle spilling from her lips that made his chest ache in the most beautiful way. His fingers hovered over his lips, his eyes wide in disbelief, the ghost of her kiss still lingering on his skin.

"Oh my…” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingertips brushed against his lips as if to confirm that it had been real, that it wasn’t some cruel trick of his imagination.

And then, before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out: "I like you."

Her laughter bubbled up again, a sound so full of joy it made his stomach flip. Before he could spiral into overthinking, she threw her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Her voice was soft but certain when she replied, *"I like you too, silly."

In that moment, under the canopy of stars, with her arms wrapped around him and the taste of her kiss still fresh on his lips, Dominik felt something he’d never felt before—unfiltered, unrestrained happiness. He wanted to freeze time, to live in that perfect, fleeting moment forever.

♡----------- END OF FLASHBACK------------♡

But life wasn’t kind enough to grant him that wish.

Dominik’s voice cracked as he returned to the present, the words of the song spilling from him like a wound reopened. "Some and now none of you," he sang, his tone barely holding together as his emotions threatened to consume him. His hand tightened around the microphone, his knuckles white as the memory clawed at his mind.

"Take me back to the night we met," he whispered, the lyrics carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken regrets. His heart clenched painfully, as if it was trying to remind him of everything he’d lost, of everything he’d failed to hold onto.

The stage lights cast a harsh glow over him, but all he could see in his mind’s eye was her—Liv, with her bright blue eyes and radiant smile. He wanted to reach for that memory, to pull it close and wrap himself in its warmth, but it slipped further away with each passing second, leaving only the cold, bitter ache of reality in its wake.

♡-----------FLASHBACK------------♡

The room was suffocatingly still, the kind of quiet that pressed down on Dominik’s chest and made it hard to breathe. The air between him and Liv crackled with unspoken words and buried emotions, neither of them willing to look the other in the eye for too long. The small apartment they had moved into just months earlier, meant to be a haven, now felt like a cage closing in around them. Boxes still sat unpacked in corners, the remnants of their fresh start mocking the tension that had overtaken them.

They had been together for three years. Three years of shared dreams, whispered promises, and love that had felt unshakable. Liv had been his anchor, his biggest supporter, always cheering him on even when the world seemed indifferent. She worked tirelessly at her own goals, juggling them with endless encouragement for his aspirations. She had believed in him when no one else did, standing by his side as he clawed his way toward the future he’d always dreamed of. And now, after years of struggle, it was happening—a record label, a real one, with promises of fame, success, and everything he’d ever wanted.

Liv had been thrilled when he told her the news. Her face had lit up with pure joy, her laughter filling the space as she hugged him tightly and peppered his face with kisses. “I’m so proud of you, Dom!” she’d exclaimed, her excitement genuine and infectious. But that radiant joy had evaporated the moment he hesitantly revealed the truth.

"But… they said we can’t be together, Liv."

The words hung in the air, cold and unrelenting. Dominik swallowed nervously, his hands fidgeting as he glanced at her. Her expression shifted, the light in her eyes dimming as her brows furrowed, and for the first time, he couldn’t read her. He wished she’d yell at him, scream, cry—anything to break the unbearable silence stretching between them.

"They said if I get caught in a dating scandal at the start of my career, it’d be over for me immediately." His voice wavered, betraying the guilt gnawing at him. He looked down at his hands, his fingers twisting together as if trying to occupy themselves with something other than the crushing weight of what he was saying.

Liv didn’t respond right away. She sat there, her blonde hair falling like a curtain around her face, her blue eyes unfocused as she stared at the floor. Her thoughts swirled, chaotic and overwhelming, drowning out any coherent response she might have given. The lump in her throat tightened, choking her words before she could get them out. Her chest ached, her mind screaming at her to fight, to demand something, anything, that would keep them together. But all she could manage was a shaky, broken sentence.

"There’s no chance we can even… secretly date?" Her voice cracked as she asked the question, her desperation laid bare.

Dominik shook his head, the motion slow and deliberate, as if it physically hurt to say the words. “They’ll find out,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He glanced at her then, and the sight of her shattered him. She wasn’t crying, but the anguish in her expression was worse than any tears. Her lips trembled, her hands gripping the edge of the table as though it were the only thing keeping her grounded.

She nodded slowly, the movement so small it was almost imperceptible. Her silence felt deafening. Liv had always been gentle, always chosen understanding over confrontation, but in that moment, it was her quiet acceptance that gutted him. She wasn’t arguing, wasn’t fighting him on it—and that only made it worse. It was as if she already knew the outcome, as if she’d resigned herself to it the second he’d opened his mouth. He felt a surge of guilt, sharp and consuming, like a knife twisting in his chest. She deserved better than this. She deserved someone who could give her everything, not someone who let their dreams tear her apart.

"I’ll… I’ll talk to you later about this, okay?” Liv’s voice was barely above a whisper, strained and fragile, like she was holding herself together with fraying threads. She reached for her keys on the table, her movements quick and deliberate, not giving herself time to falter. Before he could respond, before he could say anything to stop her, she was out the door.

The sound of it closing behind her echoed in the apartment, leaving Dominik standing there, frozen. His heart felt heavy, weighed down by the guilt etched into every line of his face. His hands fell limply to his sides, and he stared at the door as if willing her to come back, even though he knew she wouldn’t. He had made his choice. And though he told himself it was for the best, for his career, for their future, the emptiness settling into his chest made it hard to believe that lie.

He stood there for what felt like hours, the silence in the room becoming unbearable. The walls seemed to close in, mocking him with memories of laughter and warmth that now felt like a distant dream. The guilt didn’t subside; it only grew, wrapping around him like a vice. He had hurt the one person who had always believed in him, the one person who had always been by his side. And now, standing alone in the space they had once called theirs, Dominik couldn’t shake the feeling that he had already lost her.

♡----------- END OF FLASHBACK------------♡

Dominik's heart felt as though it might shatter, each beat a painful reminder of the ache that had never truly left him. His voice faltered as he sang, the lyrics catching in his throat. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do—" the words came out fragile, almost a whisper, as his emotions swirled and threatened to consume him. He swallowed hard, his hand trembling slightly as it gripped the microphone. "Haunted by the ghost of you."

The crowd’s cheers dulled in his ears, drowned out by the rush of blood pounding in his head. His eyes, which had been tightly shut to block out the overwhelming wave of emotions, opened cautiously. He scanned the crowd like he always did when the nerves got the best of him, trying to ground himself, searching for something—anything—to focus on.

And then, he saw her.

His knees nearly buckled beneath him, a sharp inhale catching in his chest as his gaze locked onto those eyes. Those unmistakable sparkling blue eyes that had once looked at him with such warmth, such love, that he had felt invincible. The crowd around her blurred, fading into nothingness as the world narrowed down to just her. She wasn’t far from the stage, close enough for him to see every detail that had changed, every small difference that twisted the knife in his chest just a little deeper.

Her bangs were gone. Those bangs that she had worn for years, the ones she used to fuss about constantly. He could hear her voice in his mind, whining dramatically about how they were too long and always got in her eyes. He could feel the memory of her sitting in front of him, the scissors trembling slightly in his hands as he carefully trimmed them for her, laughing softly at her exaggerated sighs of relief. Now, her forehead was bare, and though it suited her, it felt wrong. It wasn’t how he remembered her, and the realization stung more than it should have.

Her cheeks, once round and chubby, were gone too. She looked more mature now, sharper somehow, like life had stripped away the softness she once carried. It hurt him to see that change because those cheeks were another thing he had loved about her. He used to tease her about them, poking them playfully just to hear her laugh and swat his hand away. That laughter echoed faintly in his mind, a ghost of what once was.

Her hair was shorter now, falling just past her shoulders, the ends curled delicately. It was nothing like the long, straight strands she used to complain were too plain, the ones he had run his fingers through countless times. And then there was the makeup—a subtle but noticeable difference. She used to hate makeup, calling it too much work and claiming she didn’t need it. He had agreed, always telling her how naturally beautiful she was. Now, her face was framed with careful touches of eyeliner and blush, enhancing her features in a way that made her seem so far removed from the Liv he used to know.

She had changed.

And yet, she was still her. Still Liv. Still the woman who had been his world. And that realization broke him all over again.

“Oh, take me back to the night we met,” he sang, his voice trembling with the weight of everything he couldn’t say, everything he couldn’t take back.

Their eyes locked across the room, and the pain in her gaze mirrored his own. She wasn’t smiling. There was no joy, no trace of the girl who had once looked at him as though he was her entire universe. Instead, there was a heaviness, a sadness that seemed to reach out and grab him by the throat. It was like staring into a mirror, both of them reflecting the damage that time and distance had wrought.

He wanted to look away, to escape the intensity of her stare, but he couldn’t. His feet stayed planted on the stage, his hands frozen around the microphone, his heart unraveling with every second that passed. The memories came rushing back in a flood he couldn’t control—the nights they had spent under the stars, the way her laughter could fill a room, the softness of her lips against his the first time they kissed.

But with those memories came the bitter ones, too. The way her voice had cracked when she asked if they could still secretly date, the defeated look in her eyes when he told her no, the echo of the door slamming as she walked out of their apartment for the last time.

He had chosen his dreams over her. He had made the choice that he thought was best, the choice that would secure his future. But standing here now, staring at her, he wondered if it had all been worth it. The record label, the fame, the screaming fans—they all felt hollow in comparison to what he had lost.

Liv didn’t move, didn’t say anything. She just stood there, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, her lips pressed into a thin line. He wondered if she hated him. He wondered if she missed him. He wondered if she still thought about him late at night when the world was quiet and the memories crept in.

He poured everything into the next line, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “Take me back to the night we met.”

And for the first time in years, he let himself feel it all—the regret, the sorrow, the love that had never truly gone away. Because no matter how much time had passed, no matter how much they had both changed, one thing remained the same: he had never stopped loving her. And he never would.

Dominik’s hands trembled against the microphone as he sang, his voice raw with emotion, cracking slightly under the weight of the memories flooding back. He didn’t want to tear his gaze away from her, afraid that if he blinked, she would vanish like a ghost, just as she had before. His heart was a battlefield, every beat a painful clash of longing and regret.

"When the night was full of terrors," he crooned, his voice thick with anguish. He could still see her, standing there in the crowd, her eyes locked onto his. Those same blue eyes that had once held so much love for him.

"And your eyes were filled with tears."

♡-----------FLASHBACK------------♡

She had come back two days after that fight. Dominik had been sitting in the quiet apartment, his head in his hands, when the sound of the door opening startled him. His heart leapt with a flicker of hope, thinking maybe—just maybe —they could talk things through, that he could fix this. But when he stood and made his way to the bedroom, his breath caught in his throat at the sight before him.

Liv was packing.

She was on her knees by the bed, hastily shoving her belongings into a suitcase. Her hands moved with a shaky urgency, as though she wanted to get it over with before her heart could convince her otherwise. Tears streaked down her cheeks, and for the first time in their years together, Dominik saw her cry.

Her eyes… they were more vivid, more blue than he’d ever seen them, the color made sharper by the glistening tears threatening to spill over. It was a detail so painfully beautiful that it made his stomach churn. He wanted to reach out, to hold her, to beg her to stay, but his feet felt glued to the floor. The realization of what he had done weighed him down like a thousand bricks.

"Liv," he managed to whisper, his voice soft and broken.

She froze at the sound of her name, her hands halting mid-motion. She closed her eyes tightly, her body trembling as if his voice had physically struck her. She didn’t turn to face him, didn’t even lift her head.

"Were you just going to leave …?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Liv exhaled a shaky, pain-laden sigh, her shoulders slumping forward. "I can’t stay, Dominik." Her voice was quiet but firm, laced with heartbreak she couldn’t fully hide. She forced herself to continue packing, her hands trembling as she folded the last of her clothes. "If I stay any longer, it’ll hurt me more."

Her words cut through him like a blade. He felt the sting in his chest, sharp and unrelenting. She never called him Dominik—not like this. She’d always called him “Dom,” the nickname laced with affection and familiarity. Hearing his full name now, spoken with such detachment, was a cold reminder of what they had become.

"We… we broke up, and you have a future to chase," she continued, her voice cracking as her tears returned. She paused for a moment, gripping the edge of the bed as if she needed it to keep herself from falling apart. She didn’t want to say these things. She didn’t want to face the reality of their situation.

But she had to.

Liv had dreamed of staying by his side, of following him to every show, cheering for him from backstage, and holding him at night when the world became too much. She had imagined them building a life together, sharing dreams and laughter. But those dreams felt like a cruel joke now. She couldn’t stay in this apartment, surrounded by memories of a love that no longer had a place in his world.

Dominik wanted to speak, to tell her that she didn’t have to leave, that they could find a way. But the words wouldn’t come. He stood there, frozen, his fists clenched at his sides as the weight of everything he wanted to say crushed him.

Liv zipped her suitcase closed with finality, the sound ringing through the silence like a gunshot. She finally stood, her back still to him as she wiped her face with trembling hands. She didn’t want to look at him—not because she hated him, but because she loved him too much.

She loved him enough to let him go.

Dominik’s heart screamed at him to move, to do something, to stop her. But all he could do was watch, his throat tightening as she lifted the suitcase off the bed and turned toward the door. She paused for the briefest moment, her hand resting on the doorknob, and Dominik’s breath hitched.

This was it.

He wanted to run to her, to pull her into his arms and beg her to stay, but his pride, his guilt, his fear—they all held him back. He stayed rooted to the spot, helplessly watching as the only person who had ever truly understood him walked out of his life.

And when the door closed behind her, it was as if all the warmth in the apartment went with her. The silence that followed was deafening, and Dominik felt like he couldn’t breathe. The space that had once been filled with her laughter, her presence, her love, now felt cold and empty, as though it had never been a home at all.

He sank to his knees, his head in his hands, as the weight of her absence settled over him. He had lost her. And the worst part was, he knew it was his fault.

♡----------- END OF FLASHBACK------------♡

Dominik’s voice cracked as he returned to the present, forcing out the next line of the song. "Oh, take me back to the night we met." His gaze was still locked on hers, the pain in her eyes reflecting his own.

He had never stopped loving her. And as he stood on that stage, pouring his soul into the lyrics, he knew one thing with gut-wrenching certainty: he would spend the rest of his life haunted by the memory of the girl who had walked out that door, taking his heart with her.

Dominik stood there on the stage, his chest heaving as his voice quivered, the weight of the song pressing down on him like an anchor. Every lyric that escaped his lips felt like shards of glass cutting into his soul, slicing open wounds that had never truly healed. The crowd’s cheers faded into a dull hum, his world narrowing to just him, the stage, and her.

Her.

She stood there, just far enough away to be out of reach but close enough to undo him completely. The years had changed her, but her presence felt the same. It was a magnetism he couldn’t ignore, a pull that dragged him back through time, to the night they met in that small-town bar.

If only he could go back.

Every fiber of his being screamed to rewrite the past, to undo the choices that had led him to this point. He had been so naive, so foolish. He’d thought that sacrificing her for his career was the right thing to do, that it was the only way to succeed. But what was the point of success if it left him hollow, if every song he wrote was just a desperate plea to feel her presence again?

"I had all and then most of you," he sang, his voice breaking as tears welled in his eyes.

The crowd cheered, oblivious to the storm raging inside him, but his focus was entirely on her. Liv. She had always been his muse, his anchor, the light that had guided him through his darkest days. Every hit song, every album, every word he had ever penned—it had all been about her.

The pain on her face was too much to bear. He watched as her eyes, those brilliant blue eyes he had fallen for, shimmered with unshed tears. The sight took his breath away, the realization striking him like a punch to the gut: he was the reason for her pain, again.

The tears spilled over, tracing paths down her cheeks, and his heart shattered. The second time. This was the second time he had made her cry, and the guilt was unbearable.

Liv couldn’t stand it anymore. Her chest heaved as the memories she had buried clawed their way back to the surface, dragging her under. It had been years—years since their breakup, years since he had chosen his career over her. And yet, there she was, standing in the crowd, her heart still tethered to him. She had tried to move on, to build a life without him, but nothing had ever filled the void he left behind.

Dominik’s voice cracked again, trembling with emotion as the next line tore its way out of him. "Some and now none of you."

The words felt like knives, each one cutting deeper than the last. His tears flowed freely now, his vision blurring as he struggled to keep going. He blinked furiously, desperate to see her clearly one last time.

"Take me back to the night we met."

The stage lights dimmed slightly, casting an ethereal glow over the crowd, but Dominik couldn’t see anything beyond her. He blinked again, clearing his vision just in time to notice something that sent his heart plummeting to the floor.

She was gone.

Liv had disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind an emptiness that consumed him whole. It felt as though the ground had given way beneath him, and he was free-falling into a void of regret and despair.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," he sang weakly, his voice barely audible now.

His knees buckled, and he sank to the stage floor, the weight of her absence crushing him. His mind raced, the realization hitting him with brutal clarity: he had lost her. Again. And this time, he wasn’t sure if he would ever recover.

"Haunted by the ghost of you," he rasped, his gaze fixated on the spot where she had stood, as if staring hard enough could will her back into existence.

But she was gone.

And just like before, he had let her slip away. His heart screamed at him to run after her, to drop the microphone and chase her through the crowd, but his body wouldn’t move. He felt paralyzed, frozen in the same torment that had plagued him for years. He had been a fool then, and he was still a fool now.

He didn’t deserve her. He had never deserved her.

"Take me back to the night we met," he choked out one final time, the lights dimming as the last note faded into silence.

Dominik ripped out his earpiece, the cold, harsh silence of the stage surrounding him. His shoulders shook as a sob tore through him, raw and guttural, wrecking his body with its force. He doubled over, his hands clutching his chest as though trying to hold his fractured heart together.

The crowd roared with applause, oblivious to his breakdown, but Dominik didn’t hear them. All he could hear was the echo of her voice, her laughter, her cries. All he could feel was the ache in his chest, the weight of a love he had lost and never let go of.

The lights dimmed completely, and Dominik remained on his knees, tears streaming down his face as he silently begged for a second chance he knew would never come.

[hashtagloveloses]

any time i fall into a depressive episode i have the devastating urge to rewatch fullmetal alchemist, and the october 3rd memes also gave me the urge again. so instead of rewatching, i did something i've been wanting to do for a long time instead - looked up the sheet music for parts of the score to learn on the violin. i'm DECENT on the violin but not the best, so i thought resembool's lullaby would be relatively easy to learn with a bit of practice. i went to sight read it, and despite listening to it constantly, realized quite quickly how it was deceptively way more difficult than i thought. it has a lot of double stops, AKA when you have to play two notes on two different strings at the same time, and getting them to sound good requires a good amount of technique.

there's the basic melody that pretty much anybody could hum, but the texture between and on top of the main melody that makes it special is the hard part. after seeing 800 memes about october third "fail to resurrect your mom and burn your house" day, i realized that the song itself about the elric brothers' home represents the deceptive nature of the taboo they tried to enact. resembool's lullaby, the musical motif that runs through all their travels and follows them just like the horror they experienced after what they did as kids, consists of a few basic, easy to acquire melodic "ingredients", just like the material ingredients edward lists off that physically make up the human body. it is only when attempting to play the theme, just like the boys' attempt at human transmutation, that you realize the extra spark that makes the song come alive, just like a human being, can't be done without a cost. in the song, obviously it is technique and practice, and for human transmutation, it is a soul, which can only be gotten at a price.

this theme shows up a lot in fullmetal alchemist brotherhood - often with a choir, or an orchestral arrangement, but not always the solo violin. the solo violin, though, still has these incredibly difficult chords you have to play the whole time. the most BASIC form of this motif and this theme HAS to have two notes played at the same time through most of it, just like how the elric brothers cannot be apart from each other. the story, the lullaby, their fates, it's always about the two of them, no matter the cost, even in how the music is played.

EDIT: also, the FIRST version on the OST is Lullaby of Resembool, which is played by solo cello, I believe. While the LAST version on the THIRD VOLUME OST is Resembool's Lullaby, which is the solo violin version with the double stops. The themes show up everywhere, but if the solo cello version shows up in the first season and the solo violin version shows up in the last, it resembles how Edward felt alone in trying to get his brother's body back at the beginning, and how at the end they are completely reunited again, even though they shared the same melody, the same story and struggle, the whole time.

[puffein]

FALL PARTY | late spring [ii.]

summary: you persuaded wanda to go to the party with you but at what cost? pairings: wanda maximoff x fem!reader warnings: the usual angst lol word count: 1069 a/n: idk how to feel about this but please enjoy!

series masterlist playlist!

New Brunswick, New Jersey

November 2021

"We should go, Wanda. I bet it's gonna be fun!" your voice booms from the bathroom, Wanda looks up from the book she's reading, her feet tucked tightly under her thighs. She shrugs and then realizes you cannot see her across the room.

"I don't know. I don't like parties," she says quietly. You got out of the bathroom wearing something that screams party girl. Wanda's eyes linger on you, for a little too long and abruptly looks down on her book. 

You bit your bottom lip lightly, thinking of different things to persuade her. Fall exams week just ended and you badly want to go to the party and drink the stress of studying all week away, but if Wanda won't go then the decision is settled. You wouldn't want to leave her behind even if it means ditching a scheduled plan with your roommate. 

"Okay, we won't go then," you said, your arms reaching out to smooth strays of her long brown hair.

She sighs, "No, you go. I can stay with Darcy or something." She shrugs, untucking her feet and placing them solidly onto your black carpet. Her eyes muster a wavering stare, eyelids drooped as her glinting green eyes filled with doubt.

You roll your eyes at her, sitting beside her, "Party won't be fun without you." 

Shoulders rigid, you tense as her eyes stare right at your face, analyzing your features, observing how she examines every person her eyes settled in. Sometimes, fright would swallow up your whole essence, afraid she would analyze something out of you, something you deeply hid under. 

Fear would always strike up at your chest whenever she does this, the staring, the head tilting with eyes determined, afraid she might see your feelings for her. She didn't have to know the affection you have for her goes beyond the borderlines of platonic warmth.

Then she looks away, brows furrowed, "I'll go then." her voice quiet. You see the fiddling of her hands and the nibbling of her bottom lip.

"We don't have to— wait, really? I mean, I'm fine with just staying here with you, we could watch movies or some—"

"You persuaded me anyways with that rat eyes."

You gasp at her dramatically, her laugh resounding in your all too quiet dorm room. Your face flushed at the sudden laughter she had emitted, the melodic laugh stabbed right into your chest with its sharp edges, however, instead of feeling pain all you have felt is fondness and devotion for the laughing girl.

That's how you found yourself and Wanda huddled together in a crowded room, sound blasting all over the place, people swarmed together to dance and sway their bodies closely. You felt the burning touch of her fingertips, her hands tightly grasping at your waist, leaving a fiery coil at the pit of your stomach. You try not to think too much of her touch, you knew Wanda hates crowded rooms, which makes her feel too close to people. 

You now kinda feel bad persuading her in something she deeply despises and watching her clutch at your side like a terrified puppy made you want to back out of the party and spend the night watching her favorite sitcoms. 

Your thoughts snap in place as you felt her tugging you impossibly closer, you lean into her ears, "Wanna grab drinks?"

Her wide eyes peer at yours and nods meekly, you smile at her encouragingly, wrapping your fingers around her wrist delicately, you pull the two of you out of the crowded room into a corner with much more space and none of that sweaty college students around.

"Stay here, I'll get you an apple juice." you playfully utter.

Wanda rolls her eyes, her cheeks turning pink as she scrunches up her nose endearingly. Huffing, she says, "Very funny."

You wave your hands in the air while walking away, steps bouncing lightly towards the kitchen of whoever house this Stark dude stole. Proud surrounds your chest at having the ability to find a space solely for Wanda. Not only for Wanda but for you and her too.

"I thought I will be ditched. Surprises." curly fiery red hair comes into your view, and you glance at her with brows raised high.

"I never ditch you."

"You did. Three days ago claiming it was yours and Wanda's sitcom day. Oh, and that coffee plan we had a week ago which totally got bamboozled as you said your best friend feels weird so—"

"Jesus. I get it." you sigh defeated, shoulders slump but a mischievous glint surrounds your roommate's eyes.

"Just ask her out." she suddenly suggests, lower back positioned right at the kitchen counter, slender hands grasping a small drink with lots of ice.

You shake your head, "No way, Nat. Wanda doesn't —" 

Your words die down as your eyes settled on your best friend, tucked in the corner of the room but this time she's not alone. A tall blonde man stands beside her, he keeps a respectful distance between them, head bobbing and his interest is piqued at whatever your best friend is babbling about.

"—like me." you continued. Your Face scrunched up in a weird, pain, embarrassment kind of way. 

Wanda doesn't like talking to strangers, much less babbling her night away with a man she never met before. 

So, watching her step out of her comfort zone for someone she had never met gave you a very weird erupting feeling of sorrow and bitterness. You could practically taste the dejection and wretchedness of the hurling realization that this man might be too special for him to get Wanda to break the walls she had put herself and gaze at him like he was the only being who matters in the entire space.

That was the night you very first felt a strong feeling of patheticness. 

You will always be the girl admiring the person she deeply loves from afar, who will always be positioned at the sidelines, who will always be the best friend, and will never be more than that.

Other than that, realizing that you were the one who persuaded her to come to this party made you sick. To come into the very place where she met the man she will be marrying 3 years from now.

Safe to say, you are the cause of your very own heartbreak.

general masterlist ◄ ►

—୧ taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta @sokovianbaby