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edenesth · 2 months ago

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Until Death Claims Us

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

AU: vampire au

Word Count: 5.3k

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

Genre: angst, horror

Rating: Mature (M)

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

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

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Regret.

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

It hadn't always been this way.

⸸

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

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

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

How sweet of him.

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

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

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

Another time, human.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⸸

Falling into his orbit had been so easy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Once again, he had spared you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⸸

Then there was that night in the park.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⸸

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⸸

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

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

As you read, questions flooded your mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⸸

Has it been days... or weeks?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⸸

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⸸

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it would be soon.

⸸

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⸸

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

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

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

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

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

I'll join you soon, my love.

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

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

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 1 year ago

Text

a/n: a quick little something that i couldn’t stop thinking about so i had to write it. the final hockey fic of the year and it feels fitting that it’s barzy after all the love you gave me on the last one. there’ll be more to come with this little family so join me for the ride in 2024! happy new year, all! 🫶🏻

word count: 3.4k

tw: super brief innuendo, vague mention of bad birth experience, brief mention of negative body image

summary: you and mat bring talia to meet santa at the islanders family holiday skate

You hum along to the Christmas song playing on the Alexa speaker, dancing and making silly face at Talia so she’ll laugh while you’re getting her ready instead of freaking out. “Santa, baby, slip a sable under the tree,” you croon in an off-key, over the top voice, “for meeee.”

She giggles, displaying the one and a half teeth she has popping out of her bottom gums. You bicycle her legs on the changing table, making quick work of her diaper change. “So, what are we thinking for the fit today, Miss T?” You tickle her bare tummy and blow a little raspberry on her skin, making her shriek with laughter again. “Oooh, I just love that sound.”

It’s two weeks before Christmas, Talia’s first, and you’re getting ready to head over to Northwell for the Islanders’ family holiday party. You’re excited to have Talia meet Santa and skate with her and Mat. The house is decorated, you’re speeding along to the actual holiday, and Talia’s being the sweetest baby. It’s wild to think that this time last year you were telling Mat about your pregnancy and after the craziness of the last few months of your pregnancy and Talia’s birth, you’re finally feeling more normal and less anxious about doing something wrong.

“Maybe a dress,” you lift the seven-month-old onto your hip and wander over to her closet, where all the clothes are color cordinated, thanks to Liana’s Thanksgiving visit. You flip through the tiny clothes, the little hangers clacking against the rack. Talia bounces on your hip, kicking her feet and you’re convinced that you have a permanent bruise on your ass cheek from where her little heel constantly makes contact. “Or how about the little plaid jumpsuit from Auntie Syd?”

Talia giggles and yanks at your hair. You wince and take your hand away from the jumpsuit. “Okay, maybe not the jumpsuit. I’m thinking red velvet dress for Santa and something warmer for skating, what to you think, Talia Bee?”

You continue to narrate your actions while you pick out the little red velvet dress that you’d been unable to resist when you went to the Americana a few weeks ago. It’s so soft and you know Talia, with her dark hair and light eyes, is going to look like a Christmas angel. She’s the perfect mix of you and Mat, with Mat’s coloring, and you just want to spend your time staring at her and cuddling her, especially because you hadn’t been able to hold her right away after her early birth. Emotion clogs your throat as you think about those scary first days and weeks, and you make the effort to push those emotions away, kissing the baby on her forehead. “Okay, mama’s being silly,” you murmur. “Let’s get you ready.”

Talia’s decked out in her little tights and the dress, kicking her feet happily, hands fisting the soft velvet fabric of her dress. You brush her shock of dark hair off her forehead, tidying it up with a little red bow hairclip, before lifting her up and helping her stand on the changing table. She bounces her knees, squealing excitedly, and your heart expands.

You settle her back on your hip once she’s dressed and move around to pack the diaper bag, tossing the outfit change - a pair of hunter green corduroy leggings and a fluffy white pullover with a hood and bear ears - into the separate compartment from the diapers and everything else. You make sure there’s another, less fancy outfit change in the bag as well, plus her diapers and a whole host of toys to keep her occupied.

The Christmas playlist shuffles back to “Santa Baby” and you laugh a little, singing along dramatically to make Talia giggle. You dance around with her in your arms and jump when Mat’s voice breaks in through the music and your singing, “she’s really whoring herself out for Santa, huh?”

You turn and there’s your husband, leaning against the door to the baby’s nursery, looking handsome as sin in his dark jeans and cream sweater. His hair is slightly damp from his shower and he’s barefoot. A teasing smile splits his face.

You grin back at him, adjusting your grip on Talia as she lunges in your arms for Mat. “She’s just a woman who knows what she wants,” you reply, handing Talia over to him. He takes her easily and kisses her cheek.

Mat scoffs. “Sounds like a pain in the ass to me. Talia Bee looks like she’s ready to meet Santa, huh?” He wrinkles his nose at her and she giggles, grabbing at his face, little fingers hooking in his mouth. He play bites at them and she giggles, bumping her head against Mat’s. “Ow,” he mumbles.

You wipe subtly at your eyes, hormones still a little wonky, and Mat shakes his head at you. “No tears. I’ve got Princess T, we’ll hang out while you get ready,” he says, reaching out to nudge at your side to get you moving. He turns to Talia and says, “right, T? Daddy will entertain you while Mama gets even prettier than she already is.”

“Charmer,” you roll your eyes. “Do not let her get messy, please.”

“Oh, there went my plans to finger paint,” he laughs, making Talia laugh too. Their faces are nearly identical when they laugh and you can’t believe that this is your life.

When you finish getting ready, after only some minimal negative thoughts about the few extra pounds still lingering on your body, you find Mat and Talia in the den, entertaining each other. Mat’s laying on his stomach on the couch, a hand extended to Talia with a pile of puffs on his palm. He watches as Talia pinches one at a time and puts them carefully in her mouth. “Good job, T,” Mat coos, his free hand rubbing at the bottom of her foot.

“Puffs were a smart choice,” you comment, grinning when Talia looks over at you and immediately ignores Mat and the snacks in favor of waving her hands at you for you to pick her up.

Mat rolls partially onto his side to look at you and immediately wolf whistles, making you blush. “Hot mama,” he says, teasing you with his words. But the look in his eyes is all genuine heat and you wrinkle your nose at him.

“Stop that,” you wave him off, lifting Talia onto your hip. “I probably shouldn’t even be wearing these pants,” your free hand smooths over the black leather on your thigh, “I need to lose like another ten pounds.”

“You’re literally the hottest woman I’ve ever seen,” Mat says sincerely, getting to his feet and popping the remaining palmful of puffs into his mouth. The baby snacks are surprisingly delicious. He chews, swallows, and says, “if we weren’t nearly running late, I’d a thousand percent eat you out on the couch right now.”

“Mat!” You yelp his name and cover Talia’s ear with your free hand. “Little ears!”

“She has no idea what I’m saying,” he laughs, tilting your chin up so he can kiss you. His tongue slides past your lips and you deepen the kiss, grinning against his mouth until Talia lets out a shriek because neither of you is paying attention to her. Mat pulls back from the kiss and laughs harder, giving her a dramatic, smacking kiss on the cheek. “Can’t forget about the princess.”

You kiss her other cheek, smushing her face in between yours and Mat’s and Talia giggles happily, kicking her legs and pushing at your faces with her hands.

Talia naps a little in the car, her head lolling and cheek pressed against the side of her car seat. Mat’s hand stays firmly on your thigh for the entire drive and you try not to think about the way your thighs spread when you’re sitting. But when you get to the practice rink and all of the kids are running around, it’s easier to push those thoughts away. Mat carries the diaper bag and the skates while you have Talia and your purse.

“Let the party begin,” he crows dramatically, throwing his hands up in the air. You snort a laugh behind him while some of the guys roll their eyes at him.

“Party’s already started,” Bo teases, “with Barzy fashionably late.”

“Do you think these good looks just happen naturally?” Mat asks, pouting like Zoolander.

Noah breezes by with Brock’s two oldest kids yanking on his hands. He comments, “yeah, we all knew it took you a lot of work to look halfway decent.”

“Please continue chirping him,” you say, “his ego’s almost too big for the house.” Mat helps you take off your jacket while you’re still holding Talia and he takes the opportunity to pinch your ass in retaliation. “Ouch! I’m sorry,” you giggle. Talia tugs at your hair and you’re convinced that sometimes father and daughter have a psychic connection.

Mat wanders off to put your jackets somewhere and you end up in a little huddle with Sydney, Kristy, and Holly. They take turns cooing over Talia’s little dress and she thrives on the attention, giving them gummy smiles and giggles, drool covering her chin that you have to keep wiping off. The older kids are all wandering around, running in the open areas, and the noise echoes off the high ceilings in the rink’s lobby. It’s decorated for the holidays and you find yourself looking around for Mat to see if he’ll join you for a picture in front of the tree.

He appears, with a Santa hat perched crookedly on his head, and Jack Cizikas hanging off his back. “Did anyone see Jack?” He asks seriously, looking between you and the other women. “We can’t find him!”

Jack’s giggles are infectious and you find yourself laughing too, bouncing Talia on your lap. “Did you check the ice?” You ask and Mat turns around, like a dog chasing its tail, with Jack swinging around, laughing hysterically.

“I’m here!” He yelps and slides off Mat’s back. Mat widens his eyes in a dramatic expression.

“Whoa! Have you been there the whole time?” Mat shakes his head. “Your dad and I couldn’t find you!”

Jack looks up at Mat and then over at his mom, who’s hiding a laugh behind her hand. “Mom, isn’t Mat supposed to be good at spotting things?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. “Like pucks? I’m bigger than a puck!”

With that, he runs off to find the other kids, leaving the adults laughing in his wake. Mat shakes his head, “damn. The kid’s a savage.”

Kristy shrugs, “he spends too much time around hockey players.”

“That’s why we’re only having daughters,” Mat says to you, cupping his hand over Talia’s head. “They’re nicer to their dads than boys are.” Talia reaches for him and wraps her entire hand around his ring and pinky fingers.

You snort, “wait until the teenage years, I don’t think you’ll be singing the same tune.”

“Forget teenage years,” Sydney laughs, “Winnie’s terrible twos almost prevented Alice from even existing at all.”

“Let me have my fantasy,” Mat grins. “You guys are mean, right T? You’re not gonna be mean to Daddy when you’re older?” He lifts her from your lap and hugs her close, wincing when she yanks at a hunk of his hair while she giggles, leaving a spot of drool on his shoulder.

“How about we try that Santa picture while she’s in a good mood?” You suggest, getting to your feet to disentangle her chubby fingers from Mat’s hair. The last thing you need is for him to think another buzz cut is a good idea.

The other wives nod. Holly chimes in, “you have to get that picture before nap time otherwise it’s a total loss.”

Kyle and Ashlee are finishing up their pictures with Santa when you and Mat get over to the little workshop area that’s been set up. Luca’s grinning from ear to ear, a candy cane clutched in his fist. “Candy!” He cheers when he sees you and Mat, brandishing the sweet and nearly whacking Ashlee in the eye. She ducks a little and huffs a laugh through her nose.

“Not the first candy cane he’s had today,” she admits to you, while Kyle holds out a hand to Talia for a high-five. Mat helps her give the other man a slap on the palm and all three cheer.

“She’s still sugar free,” you grin. “But I can’t vouch for how much sugar the big child has had.”

“Absolutely none,” Mat cuts in haughtily. “This energy is all natural life endorphins, Squeaks.”

Mat’s natural life endorphins have him practically bouncing in to see Santa, all big smile and bright eyes. You’re both so excited to see Talia meet Santa for the first time and the man the team’s hired looks absolutely perfect for the part. He greets you all happily, with a booming voice full of joy. “Ho ho ho!” He laughs. “Who do we have here?”

“This is Talia,” you tell Santa with a big cheesy grin on your face. Mat has her facing forward, one forearm propped under her butt and the other wrapped securely around her stomach. She squints at Santa curiously, suspiciously, but doesn’t make a peep.

“Oh, ho! Talia, have you been a good girl this year?” Santa asks, a twinkle in his eye that you don’t think can be faked. He must be a grandfather in his real life, you think while snapping photos.

Talia pinches her lips together, her eyebrows drawing together in a furrow. Mat jiggles her up ans down a little, “T, why don’t you show off that Barzal charm? Give Santa a smile.”

“She’s usually very chatty,” you explain to Santa, who shrugs and says he’s seen it all. Mat lifts one shoulder too and goes to hand Talia over to Santa so you can get a picture, but the second she leaves Mat’s hands, Talia begins sobbing, letting out an earsplitting wail.

“Oh my god!” You take her back immediately, holding her against your shoulder and swaying so she’ll calm down. Mat’s apologizing in the background. “Oh, Talia Bee, it’s okay. Mama and Daddy are sorry. You’re okay.”

She keeps crying on your shoulder and you wince at Mat, who looks shocked and says, “I had no idea she’d freak out like that.”

“It happens much more often than you’d think,” Santa offers kindly. “The littlest ones like to have mom and dad in the picture too.”

Talia hiccups in your arms, she’s stopped crying now, but her face is still all red. You pepper soft kisses over her cheeks and forehead, cuddling her close until she starts chewing on the side of her fist quietly. Her head is tucked under your chin and she looks over at Santa with a pretty impressive stink eye, considering she’s only seven months old.

“I’ll keep a hold of her,” you tell Mat, “and we can all just get a group shot. Hopefully that doesn’t set her off.”

He agrees and sits on one side of Santa while you take the other, carefully keeping Talia from seeing Santa directly. You smile and tickle Talia lightly, hoping it gets her to smile at least. Once the picture is taken, Santa offers you both a jolly smile and Mat a candy cane. He takes it happily and immediately unwraps it to pop it in his mouth with the hook part hanging out of his mouth. He scrolls through the photos that were taken and cracks up at one, showing it to you as you head back towards the main lobby.

“Oh god,” you giggle at the photo of Talia freaking out, her face bright red and mouth opened in that horrible wail. “This is so mean to laugh at.”

“At least when she needs therapy for her Santa phobia we can show her this as the starting point,” Mat jokes, while setting one of the nicer photos of the three of you as his new phone background.

“You’re horrible,” you swat at his arm, adjusting Talia on your hip. She grumbles and nuzzles her face against your shoulder, patting at your chest. She lets out a high pitched squeal and you kiss her cheek. “Okay, I know. You’re hungry, right, baby? Daddy can go get Mama a snack and I’ll feed you.”

You turn to Mat and give him puppy dog eyes. He’s already laughing when you ask, “will you get me snacks while I feed your child?”

He snorts. “Of course. What do you want, sweet or salty?” While he waits for your answer, Mat cups his hand over Talia’s head and rubs his thumb over the shell of her ear. His love language has always been physical touch, his hands always on your body in some way, and now he does it to Talia, constantly holding her little hand or cupping his palm over her head.

“How about a little mix of everything?” You reply, leaning over Talia to give him a kiss on the cheek before disappearing into one of the side offices so you can feed the baby. Mat brings a plate of snacks and once you’re done feeding Talia, he takes her to burp so you can get straightened out. While he pats her back, Mat tells Talia how excited he is to take her on the ice and how cute she’s going to look in her little sweater. You love when he’s extra adorable with her, it honestly makes you want to give him a dozen more babies. When Talia’s a little older and you’ve had some more distance from your labor with her you’re going to bring it up with Mat.

Half the team is already on the ice when you get to the rink after changing the baby into her warmer outfit. Everyone’s having a good time skating and the kids all look beyond delighted to be taking turns skating with their dads. You sit on the lowest bleacher level and watch Mat make quick work of his skate laces, tying off the knots efficiently. You go to hand Talia over so you can lace up your own pair, but Mat kneels in front of you instead.

“What are you doing?” You ask, watching him pull off your boots. He cups a hand around your ankle and guides your foot to the skate boot. You automatically wiggle your feet into the skates, reflexively stomping down so your heel settles into place. He adjusts the tongue of the skate and makes quick work of your laces too, knotting them tightly.

“Taking care of my girl,” he replies with a cheeky grin before patting your ankle to signify that he’s done and you can stand up. Talia reaches for Mat and he takes her, knowing that you’d rather he hold her while you’re on skates since he’s more comfortable walking on the blades.

“You’re sweet,” you smile, following him onto the ice, your phone in hand to take pictures. Talia’s eyes are wide and Mat holds her securely while she has her head practically on a swivel to watch all the action. She waves to everyone as they skate past, excitedly kicking her legs in Mat’s arms. Whenever one of the guys waves to her, she squeals happily, nearly falling out of Mat’s arms in order to reach for Gunnar Horvat when Bo skates past with him. Mat laughs and picks up his speed a bit to get the breeze on her face.

Your stomach twists a little nervously and you follow him, slower of course, saying, “Mat, don’t go too fast, okay? I don’t want - just be careful!”

He nods and slows down, spinning to face you and skate backwards a little. They both have matching looks of joy on their faces. “This is the best,” he grins, bouncing Talia in his arms and then leaning down to let her feet touch the ice. She giggles, kicking at it, and you take video, knowing you’re going to watch it back a million times. “She’s a real ice baby.”

“It’s in her blood,” you wave at Talia from behind the camera so she’ll look at you. Mat helps her wave back and swings her a little, grip firm under her armpits. She shrieks with delight as he swings her back up into the air and into his arms. Her little cheeks and nose are pink and the fluffy fleece makes her look like a little polar bear. “You are the cutest little baby in the world,” you can’t help but coo at her.

“All thanks to her having the cutest mom in the world,” Mat winks at you, skating away with a laugh.

#mat barzal #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal x you #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #nhl fic

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letsgetrowdy43 · 1 year ago

Text

Domestic bliss—

Quinn Hughes x reader

Request: Quinn asking his girlfriend to move in with him

Quinn had been on a two-week roadie, and by the end of the second week, he wanted nothing more than to fly back to his apartment, to her, so he could be held in the comfort of his bed.

When the time came and he was home, pulling out his keys and unlocking the door, he was met with the reality of his dark and cold apartment. His house looked the same and when he had left, it was untouched and unloved in his absence and he hated it.

Quinn sent her a text asking her to come over for the night as he entered his bathroom to shower, the stress of the away games rolling off of his back with every step into his apartment, making it a ritual to leave the stress of work at the door, not bringing it into his safe space.

A soft smile took over his face as he opened his cabinet mirror to see her toothbrush in the cup, and many other little self-care items she had left in their designated spot in his bathroom. He loved that she took up room in his life, loved that he could go into every room in his apartment and see reminders of her, she was a constant presence and he loved it. Almost as much as he loved her.

She got in the door just as he got out of the shower, a shy smile on her lips as he walked out of the bathroom with wet hair and a towel around his waist. "Hey dove," his cheeks grew flushed as he walked into the kitchen where she was leaning up against the counter, a growing grin on his face as she pulled him in for a hug, "missed you so much, you have no idea." "I think I have some idea," she whispered back, taking a deep breath and inhaling the smell of soft eucalyptus radiating off of him as she pulled away, she took his face into her hands and planted a kiss right on his lips, "now get dressed, I wanna make dinner and watch a movie."

He made a bee-line to his room to grab some clothes, a warm smile on his face as she trailed right behind him. Quinn dug up some pyjamas for himself and her, handing her an old shirt to change into as well, his eyes wandering as she stripped herself of her work shirt, a smirk on his lips as she caught his stare. "Creep," she mumbled as he shook his head. "Just admiring how perfect you are," he shrugged as she pulled the shirt over her head. The look of his old Michigan shirt on her made him weak in the knees, adoring how heavenly she looked, the fabric showing just the right amount of thigh, she was honestly an angel Her laugh was like music to his ears as she kissed both of his cheeks, her heart pounding as his hands gently squeezed her torso, never getting used to how electrifying his touch was on her skin.

She then stripped herself of her jeans, "can you grab me the shorts I left here last month," another example of her life overlapping with his, the thought of her clothes mixed in with his made him feel a little dizzy, the domesticity of it all was perfect. "And what if I don't want to?" he asked, a hint of suggestion in his voice as she rolled her eyes at him. "You want me to make dinner in my underwear?" He looked at her with a knowing look, "I wouldn't object." She let out a huff of fake annoyance, "fine," she grinned before making her way to the kitchen.

She stood over the stove, a grin on her face as she began making breakfast for dinner, his favourite comfort food. He loved how she just knew things about him like that, it made him feel all bubbly inside, heart-melting even.

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her torso, head dipping in the crook of her neck as she started the scrambled eggs, "Dove, I think I'm obsessed with you," he mumbled into her skin, hands gripping her his shirt. Her face grew hot at the confession, but she played it off as if it had no effect whatsoever, "sounds a bit like a 'you' problem Q." "It is a problem, and a growing one, I can't get enough of you," he placed a wet kiss on the exposed skin of her neck, a chill running up her spine at the purest form of love he was displaying.

"I'm gonna burn the eggs if you keep it up." "Burn them for all I care, just need you," he grinned at the vibrations her laugh sent through him. "You can have me all you want the moment you're fed and we are in bed watching a movie" she reasoned as he let out a pretend groan and returned to unpacking his away bag.

Once dinner was done and eaten Quinn had taken it upon himself to load up the dishwasher, not wanting to put in the energy of hand washing, as she readied herself for bed and picked out the movie for the night.

She laid basically on top of Quinn as he ran his fingers through her hair, limbs a tangled mess as they watched whatever comedy she had decided to play. "You played really well this trip, you're getting really close to beating that record," she grinned into his skin. "You've been keeping up with my stats?" he asked, voice hoarse from the tired state he was in. "Of course, I watch every game," She moved up on the bed to be face-to-face with him, "I think I'm obsessed with you," she quoted him with a grin as he leaned forward to peck her on the lips.

He stared at her for a second, eyes tracing over her features, words on the tip of his tongue as her fingers ran up and down the length of his arm. "Y'know I was gone for two weeks and you were all I could think about," he whispered, his thumb gently running over the apples of her cheek, "and how I couldn’t wait to get home to you, I've never felt that way about anyone before."

She blinked, her eyes full of adoration as she smiled at his confession, "I missed you an unhealthy amount, always forget how much the distance sucks," her hand held the wrist of his that was cradling her face. "I'm sorry" "Don't apologize for living out your dreams," she shook her head slightly, "besides if you weren't you we never would've met, and I would never have the bragging rights that I have a hot superstar defenseman boyfriend, what's the fun in that?" He laughed as she leaned forward and kissed just below his eye, "I never really believed in soulmates, but if life had been different, I still think we would've made our way to each other," he mumbled, arm looping around her waist to pull her into his chest, chin resting on top of her head, "I would've made sure to find you, in this life, and every other one after it." "You're such a sap," he laughed again, her lips placed gentle open-mouthed kisses to his arm.

"All week I was itching to get home, and when I got here everything felt so wrong." "Why?" "You weren't here, my house was lacking my real home, you," he said truthfully, Her eyes began to water at his words, head dizzy from the amount of love she was holding for him. "And it made me realize that I don't think I ever want to come home to a house if you're not living with me in it," she pulled away to look at him again, his crooked smile found its way onto his expression, and his eyes were filled with some sort of relief from the revelation.

She returned his smile with a dopey grin, "are you asking me to move in?" "Only if you want to Dove, if you're not ready, that's okay, but I'd love to know that when I get home you'll be here waiting for me." The girl placed a kiss on the hand intertwined with her, "I'll always be here for you, for however long you'll have me," she admitted, a bit embarrassed by how her eyes had begun to water again and face filled with bush at her confession. "So forever sounds good to you?" she nodded as he dipped his head down to capture her lips in a slow kiss, not one filled with hunger, or desperation, no, one that showed his love for her. It was tender and caring, and so full of emotion that even his eyes began to fill with tears.

And in that moment he knew that this wasn't just about having some sort of domestic bliss with her, this was a future in the making, a whole life flashing before his eyes as her hands gently tugged at his damp curls. Melodic laughter left her lips as he broke away for a second to whisper a short ‘I love you’ before pulling her as close as humanly possible in to his chest.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes blurb #vancouver canucks

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mariacrow · 1 year ago

Note

HIII! It's so nice to find someone who also enjoys bayverse! If I may, could I request bayverse bumblebee fluff between the events of dotm and aoe, where bumblebee and reader are taking a break from running to stargaze? Poor thing seems so stressed to the point there's no bubbly cheer in the 4th movie

Maybe you could sprinkle in a little angst in which cybertron is mentioned and bee points out its approximate location in the sky? Have a wonderful day/night!

Coming right up ;)

❁ Bumblebee x reader ❁

2nd person

female reader

fluff

takes place between Transformers: Dark of the Moon and Transformers: Age of Extinction

stargazing, cuddling, comfort, reassurance

It’s been a few months since Sentinel and Megatron have been defeated. Everyone is just.. so tired of everything. Running, fighting, dealing with everything all over again. It’s a never ending loop. You’ve also noticed Bumblebee seems a bit down lately… As if that happy bumblebee inside of him stopped buzzing…

Tonight he decided to stay with you, in your garage. He wouldn’t come out though. Usually he’d have fun in your backyard, make some mess on accident, tap your bedroom window and try to come in through the backyard door.

You decided to check on him. You opened the backyard garage door.

“Bee…?”

He let out a low buzz.

“Hey…” you warmly smiled at him and approached, giving his hood a gentle pat, “You okay there…?”

He was silent for a couple of seconds, then he carefully transformed, supporting himself with his knee as he was leaning closer to you.

Standing in front of him, you cupped his faceplate with both of your hands, lovingly looking into his beautiful, shining blue orbs. He sunk into your tender touch, closing his optics… Your heart ached for him but you didn’t let that warm smile leave your face.

“Resting, huh?” you spoke to him softly, your voice like the sweetest honey dripping from your mouth.

He opened his optics, looking at you like a sad puppy… He nodded.

“Come on out. The sky is beautiful tonight.” you stepped aside.

His spark warmed up as he carefully got out, walking farther into your backyard, looking up. He happily buzzed as he slowly sat down on the soft grass, touching it a little.

He then looked at you and let you climb on his servo. He brought you closer to his face and let you sit on his chassis. He kept his servo gently wrapped around you, just in case. You were gently holding onto his index digit while looking up at the starry sky.

“Do you ever wonder how many lives are out there, similar to us? What we’re looking at now is an endless space… Technically, we all share the same sky.” you smiled, “I think that’s beautiful… and unsettling.” you chuckled.

You gave him an idea. He pointed at Venus.

“Yeah, that’s planet Venus.” you smiled.

He lifted his other arm closer to you as a clear hologram of Venus shined from the top of his forearm. Your eyes widened as the hologram reflected in your pretty eyes.

“The planet of love.” he spoke over the radio as he lovingly looked at you, his optics spinning and expanding.

He made you blush and giggle, “Oh you…” your heart fluttering. You gave his face plate a soft smooch which made his spark turn into a puddle and almost leak out of his chassis. He scooted you a bit closer and snuggled against your face and shoulder as you moved your arm under his chin and placed your soft hand onto his face plate.

He then pointed onto another shining dot in the sky. It was Saturn. He also displayed its hologram.

“My favorite— planet in the Solar system.”

Dialogue option 1:

“Aww! It’s so cute you did research. Saturn is my favorite too!” you smiled at him.

“Twins!!” he made you laugh with that girly quote from a movie.

Dialogue option 2:

“Aww! It’s so cute you did research. A lot of people also like Saturn, its rings make it look so unique.”

“What’s your favorite— planet?” he asked over the radio.

You told him your favorite one in the Solar system. He scanned the sky and pointed at it.

“There!” he showed you the hologram of it. While you were looking at it in awe, he was too busy looking at your cute face with wide, sparkly eyes full of surprise and a big honest smile.

“Can you show me your planet?” you asked curiously.

Bumblebee looked up at the sky again. He was scanning it a bit longer. He couldn’t find it…

“It’s too— far away… I can’t find it…” he said with a sad face expression.

“Oh, Bee… I’m so sorry… You must miss it a lot…” you said while gently caressing his face plate.

“I do…” he showed you the hologram of his planet he kept in his memory… He deeply vented and ex-vented, as if he sighed…

“Wow… it’s beautiful…”

“Was…” Bee let out a sad buzz as he turned off the hologram.

“Heey heyheyhey.. Don’t lose hope, buddy, okay?” you said reassuringly with a warm smile, “You will bring it back one day. I know you will. Hope dies last.”

He gently nuzzled his face plate against your soft cheek and hair, closing his optics as cute, low buzzing rumbled in his warm chassis. He held you close with both of his servos as you touched his face plate with both of your tiny hands.

He gently pressed his muzzle against your lips, as if he wanted to kiss you… That made you giggle as you gave him a sweet, long kiss. You made his bumblebee-like antennas wiggle as his spark almost started beating like a human heart.

He slowly lay down on the nicely trimmed, fresh grass, keeping you close to him as he was gently petting your head with his index digit. You sighed lovingly and relaxed in his tender, caring embrace.

“I could stay like this with you forever…” you said.

“Me too— Y/N…” he actually said your name… He almost made you cry…

He played “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak, it’s one of his favorite summer songs.

You continued stargazing and enjoying some relaxing, mostly vintage music that Bee was playing over the radio while cuddling. This might be one of Bumblebee’s favorite moments with you so far.

Dividers belong to @cute-sushi-roll , @tex-treasures 🌻

#transformers #transformers x reader #bumblebee x reader #bayverse transformers #bayverse bumblebee #transformers dotm #transformers aoe #autobots #transformers bumblebee #bumblebee #x reader #transformers fanfiction

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redheadspark · 11 months ago

Text

Universe

Summary - a few of Alec Rhysand's firsts. Part of the Ocean Eyes Series

Warnings - just fluff :)

Crawling

Alec was always a babe of observation, ever since he came into the world screaming and making his presence known in Velaris. He loved knowing what was happening around him, his bright blue eyes always moving and gazing around. You knew he inherited it from his father: always watching with silence. It made you laugh to see almost the same look on your son’s face as his father’s own face when they were side by side, even giggling at one point as Azirel was holding Alec and they were watching Cassian and Rhysand banter with one another during one of your Inner Circle dinners that was held once a month. You were hiding your laugh behind your smile, not wishing to ruin the moment of your mate and son showing the same judgemental face towards Cassian as he was trying to make the table laugh with an Illyrian camp story. The only other person who caught on was Feyre, who was hiding her smile behind her wine glass.

You were not even surprised when it came to Alec wishing to crawl. When he wasn’t being held by Azriel or when he wasn’t on your hip, he was sitting upright and looking at everything around him in earnest. Although you were never too far away from him while he was perched on a quilt that was a gift from Elaine, he was always observing everything. Perhaps you could tell he wanted to be able to move around and be closer to you and Azriel, or he simply never wanted to miss out on what was happening with his family during gatherings, Alec was ready to move.

It finally happened one afternoon, you were gathering some lavender from the garden outside your house since it was now overgrowing. Azriel was inside the house, going over last-minute spy information he got from Dawn Court. He wanted to make the proper paperwork before giving it to Rhysand and Feyre, then making sure to devote the rest of his time to both yourself and Alec.

You were humming, enjoying the small amount of sun you’d had for the first time in a week since it was still technically the rainy season in Night Court. Clipping a few tall strands of lavender that were full and ready for use, you paused to look over at Alec who was only a foot or two way on his quilt, seeing him play with the wooden blocks that were his favorite toys. You admired him, seeing how he was growing day by day before you could simply stop time itself. One minute he was an infant swaddled in your arms, and now he was on his way to the toddler years. Time was now a thief to you, a thief that you hated but at the same time, you savored the small moments. Like now, playing with the wooden blocks in his chubby fingers and babbling to himself to keep himself occupied while his mother was not too far away.

“Honey, I’ll be ready to head out to the River House in about 10 minutes,” Azriel called out from inside the house, “Feyre wants to have you and Alec come along too. Apparently, Nyx wants to see his cousin,”

You had to laugh as you grabbed the clippers again and snipped a few more lavender strands to place in the basket. You of course weren’t paying attention to your son, though you knew that he was alright in his spot and with his favorite blocks. But you heard a new sound, apart from the soft breeze in the high trees behind your house and the bumble bee that was hovering near the lavender garden. It sounded like movement in the grass to which you paused to look.

Your eyes went wide at the sight: of Alec crawling over to you.

His eyes were on you, big and shining blue in the sun as his dark hair was pushed out of his sight, a gleeful grin on his face while his hands and knees were working overtime. It was almost like a dream seeing him crawl to you, determination on his face as his eyes were zoned in on you. A smile appeared on your face, an overwhelming sense of joy while you finally found your voice.

“Azriel!” You called, not wanting to sound concerned or panicked but wishing to get his attention. You knelt down, placing the clippers down as you held out your hands for Alec, hearing him giggle as he was still crawling over towards you. Although he wasn’t fast, you knew he was determined, and you were patient as you heard the back door open abruptly.

“What is it—“ Azriel fell silent after he saw Alec crawling toward you, a smile was now on his face too as Alec was so close to getting to you. The determination on Alec’s face, let alone a hint of stubbornness that he got from his father, made your heart beyond full as he finally made it into your arms. You Immediately engulfed him close, peppering his face with kisses as Alec squealed in delight. Azriel’s own arms were around you from behind, the three of you enjoying this small moment together as a family.

You hated time, but not in this moment with your son.

First Words

“Come on, Alec. I know you wanna say your first words, come on!” Azriel urged his son, who simply grinned with a hint of saliva on his chin. You had to laugh from your spot on the couch, thumbing through another page in the book you were currently reading thanks to Nesta. Azriel was on the floor, back against the couch near your leg as Alec was perched in his lap. With the rain coming through Velaris and making all of its residents stay inside, you and Azriel did not mind one bit. With a roaring fire in the fireplace and a roast already cooking in the oven, it was the perfect day to have family time together.

Azriel made it his mission to make Alec say his first words, which amused you since you weren’t too worried about it yourself. Alec would squeal, shriek, and babble to his heart’s desire when something amused or intrigued him. He was no quiet babe, nor was he screaming constantly either. But Alec made his voice heard constantly, a pleasant sound to your ears from morning to night. Azriel could tell it was on the tip of his tongue that his son wanted to say his first word, and he would try and coax it out of him whenever he could. Yet Alec was still shy and reserved, an evident trait he inherited, and you knew he would talk when he was ready.

“You can do it, buddy!” Azriel tried again, only seeing Alec smile at him with a gummy grin and giggle as his father rolled his eyes. You had to swat his shoulder with your book as he looked at you.

“He’ll speak when he’s ready,” you reminded your mate, though Alec was still staring at you lovingly with his bright eyes while your mate was glaring at you, “No need to pressure him, sweetheart,”

“He’s so close to talking though,” Azriel commented as you giggled, leaning down to kiss Azriel’s forehead lovingly as he shoved your leg with his shoulder, “He’s a smart boy and I know he wishes to talk,”

“And he will, when he’s ready too. I think he’s inherited his stubbornness from you,” you joked with him as you got up from the couch. Azriel rolled his eyes at you as you leaned down to kiss Alec on the head. As you were moving away from the pair of them to head to the kitchen, a clap of thunder was heard near the mountain range. The rain got louder, but it would never mask the soft sound heard from Azriel’s lap.

“Momma!”

You froze in your spot, hearing that singular word sound so light like a cloud, and cheerful, almost like bells. Was it a trick that was playing in your mind? Were you hallucinating? You had to turn around to the source of the voice, seeing Azriel too was frozen as Alec was still in his lap, but his gorgeous eyes were on you and you only. He grinned, the spitting image of his father from the hair to his nose and cheeks, his hands were clasped together.

Alec said his first word. He called out to you.

“Did he….” You trailed off as Azriel was now smiling from ear to ear, laughing as Alec was reaching for you with his little fingers. Your mind was reeling and your heart was about to burst out of your chest from the simple sound of your son calling your name, saying your name so easily as if it was natural to him.

“That’s my boy,” Azriel breathed, trying to hold back his own tears as you finally rushed over to fall to your knees in front of your son. He giggled as you held your hands to your son, almost like an offering of sorts as you found your voice.

“Say it again, baby. Say it again, for me!” You urged him as Alec simply grinned.

“Momma! Momma Momma!” He repeated it, you finally laughed with small tears in your eyes as you scooped up your son in your arms, swinging him around in your arms as he laughed and clung to you. Your world seemed brighter and fuller, all simply from hearing your son call you “Momma”.

Even before this moment, you knew you were his Momma, it was one of the best titles you would ever have and hold close to your heart. But to hear him call you that, with his own unique voice that you would never forget for as long as you lived, it was another wave of love that seemed to overflow within you.

Once you finally stopped twirling your son, you saw the wave of happiness on his own face as you were kissing his cheeks and snuggling him close. A new milestone was made, tucked away in your little home on a rainy day, with the two most important beings in your life, and you couldn’t be happier. Nothing else could replace this feeling, this new core memory.

This small bubble of happiness was suddenly destroyed by another clap of thunder that was closer now, making Alec lose his smile and shake in fear. He hid in your neck, whimpering from the sudden sound as you held him close and rocked him. He was no fan of thunder or loud noises, rightfully so, and to feel him press against you so close to feel safe made your heart break.

“It’s okay, baby,” You cooed as he clung to your shirt and whimpered against your skin. You rubbed his back with your knuckles, kissing his hair over and over while you were swaying in your spot and grinning against his hair, “It’s just noise, little one. Nothing will hurt you, I promise. Momma’s got you, I always got you,”

Azriel got up from his spot on the ground, holding both you and Alec close as you were still consoling your son in your arms. You felt so much pride in your son, though he was still so new to the world and has yet to make his mark. Not to you, he made a place in your heart with no sign of being moved out. Not just from holding your son, but being held by your mate who was just as moved in the small moment in our little home.

You heard Alec once more, whimpering, “Momma,” against your neck as you sighed and grinned at the same time. Looking away from Alec, your gaze went to Azriel who was smiling at you with tears in his eyes. You both shared this small moment as Alec was feeling safe in your hold, Azriel kissing your cheeks with affection while his arms around you felt secure and intimate at the same time.

You were Alec’s Momma, and you will always be his Momma until your last dying breath.

First Steps

“Any word from Spring Court?” Cassian asked as Azriel watched Rhysand roll his eyes and huff with a hint of annoyance.

“You mean from Tamlin?” Rhysand countered back, to which Azriel and Cassian chuckled from their spots around the study at River House. It was a warm summer day, Rhysand wishing to discuss some formalities with both Cassian and Azriel while their mates were catching up with one another out in the back garden. All six of you were a tight-knit unit at this point, loving to enjoy each other’s company as much as you could when you had the time. That also included Alec and Nyx, who formed a tight bond as cousins and loved having playdates together.

So as you, Nesta, and Feyre were chatting outside in the garden and discussing future birthday plans for Nyx, the males were going over their own mundane topics while watching Nyx and Alec. Both of them were playing in the study on a large rug, Alec watching his cousin walking back and forth with toys to share with him as Alec crawled after him in earnest.

“He’s gotten smart with my advice and has stayed quiet. As for Eris in Autumn Court, that joke of a Prince doesn’t know when to stay quiet and save his own face and reputation. At least his father is gaining his reputation back amongst the other High Lords,” Rhysand explained.

Azriel’s shadows flickered at the mention of Eris, Rhysand seeing the reaction and giving Azriel a knowing look as Azriel’s hazel eyes drifted out to the window, “The man is all talk and no bite, Azriel.”

“Not to me when he mentioned my mate and son,” Azriel replied in a cool tone, Cassian clasping his shoulder as Azriel kept his stare on the flowing river just outside the window. He could still remember that meeting, hearing the sarcastic and sadistic tone in that fae’s voice. He felt his whole demeanor shake and almost crumble into a thousand pieces once Eris mentioned his family, making it seem like it was some game to him. Azriel never saw it as a game, not when the life of his family was now exposed and out in the world.

“Azriel,” Rhysand said his name, making the Shawdowsinger shift his eyes back to the High Lord, “Eris has enough common sense to understand the danger he is putting himself in when he said that. He would have to not only go against the High Lord of Night Court but the only Shadowsinger in all of Pythian. Eris is a fool, nothing more than that,”

Azriel looked from him over to Nyx and Alec, who were chattering with each other and mostly making noises at each other with big smiles and laughter. Ever since Eris mentioned his family, Azriel thought about the safety of his home and what he could do to make it better. Night Court was already tightly secured and hadn’t had a breach of security for some time, not since before the war against Hybern. The other Courts never dared to try anything against their home, and no humans even came close either.

But still, the lingering thought of his family, his whole world, being taken from him or losing their lives because of him. He made sure there was heightened security around their little home, always knew where you and Alec were at all times thanks to your connection through the bond and made his spy missions and jobs short to stay close by. You knew that he was simply keeping his family close and safe, you weren’t going to argue with him when it came to that. But you also knew that he would be consumed by the paranoia if it got too far. Luckily you confided in your cousin, who made sure Azriel stayed sane.

“Our sons are well protected,” Rhysand reassured Azriel as Alec was giggling at Nyx, “Their fathers and mothers are too powerful to let any harm come to them,”

“Along with their Aunt and Uncle,” Cassian hummed in agreement, Azriel looked at him and saw Cassian give him a short nod, “I’ll handle Eris on my own if he tries anything against our family,”

“Let’s leave him be for now, we have other things to talk about anyways,” Rhysand calmly steered the conversation out of bleakness and weary to a higher topic, “Your mate, my cousin, is due for a birthday pretty soon if I remembered correctly. Around the same time as Summer Solstice, do you have any ideas?”

“A trip to the mountains,” Azriel explained, rolling his shoulders and letting the bitterness of Eris be released from his tension as he smiled at the mention of his mate, “I can tell taking her to the mountains brings her peace and quiet. Thanks for letting us use your cabin, by the way,”

“Anytime you want to use it, you don’t have to ask,” Rhysand said with a softer smile, “And I think my cousin will like a birthday getaway.”

“Why don’t you let Nesta and I use your cabin again?” Cassian asked, almost in amusement but in curiosity as Rhysand threw a playful glare at the Commander.

“Because the last time I did that, I had to replace the furniture in the master bedroom, along with the tub that happened to be my favorite,” he cooly replied, though he chuckled as Cassian scoffed. Azriel still saw an underlying smirk on Cassian's face when Rhysand looked away.

“I'm also told to give you a subtle hint to not take your mate to the mountains until after her birthday,” Rhysand explained to Azriel as he gestured his head over to the door leading out of the room, “Apparently, Feyre and the girls are planning a surprise party for her at Rita’s, reserving the entire restaurant for the Inner Circle just for the occasion and for several hours that night,”

“That’s mighty nice of them, I’ll be sure to remember that,” Azriel commented, then walking over to see Alec standing on his feet and holding himself up against the windowsill. The sun shone through to lighten his face and his eyes, almost giving them the same shade of sapphires while he saw Azriel approach him.

“Dada! Dada!” He called out, reaching out with one hand in his father’s direction as Azriel grinned. Azriel loved hearing his son call out to him, babbling to him about his day when he would come home, or laughing when Azriel would tickle his sides or blow raspberries on his stomach. He was barely talking, saying a few words here and there but he mostly called for his mother and father.

Azriel could tell in the way his son would hold himself up that he was ready to walk, finding his balance quickly and getting strong In his stance. Just like when Alec was learning to talk, you reminded Azriel to let your son take his time, even when Azriel was once again impatient and wished for his son to take the plunge and walk already. He was already a speed crawler, amazing Azriel in how fast he would crawl all around the house, and Azriel would try and catch up with him every once in a while.

If he was fast crawling, Azriel knew Alec was going to be a runner.

“Here, Uncle Az! He likes this toy!” Nyx said to Azriel, walking over to hand him one of the stuffed toys. Alec watched his three year old cousin give a toy to his father, his eyes wide as Azriel smiled at Nyxx.

“Thank you buddy,” Azriel said to Nyx, then he heard the small paddling of feet on the hardwood floor. He looked, his eyes going wide and his mouth open in shock as Alec was walking, carefully and on wobbly feet, over to him. His hands out to balance, yet his eyes were on Azriel as Rhysand and Cassian were watching as well. No one wanted to move or break the tension that was there, but Alec was determined to get to his father, or perhaps to the toy in his hands as Azriel was watching in stunned silence.

“Look at that…” Cassian said in a hum and a soft smile as Alec was now in front of his father, falling into his hold to grab the toy in his fingers. Azriel hugged him tight, his stomach dropping at the sight of his son walking on his own. More importantly, his son walking to him. It felt like an out-of-body experience, Azriel scooping Alec to stand up and hug him close in his arms while Nyx clapped.

“He walked, see daddy?! Alec can walk now!” Nyx asked Rhysand as Rhysand walked over to clasp Azriel on the shoulder.

“It goes by fast, Az. Before you know it, he’ll be flying with you in the sky,” Rhsyand informed him. Azriel smiled, not realizing that he was on the verge of crying from seeing his son take his first steps. No longer was he thinking about Eris, or of the potential target on the back of his family. None of that was an issue at the moment, he only focused on the boy who was shoving the toy in his face and giggling at him. This little being that had him wrapped around his lethal finger, that made him believe in an organic love just like his mother did, he was Azriel’s universe now.

Azriel will protect his universe with everything in him.

The End

Tagged - @valeridarkness @impossibelle @acourtofbatboydreams

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rklve · 1 year ago

Text

SHOT GLASS OF TEARS | JEON JUNGKOOK - DRABBLE ONE

summary: when eveything falls apart

➣ pairing: jk x f!reader

➣ 1.6k words

warnings: angst.

song inspo: shot glass of tears - jk

I was cold, now I'm freezing stuck in a permanent season and we both know you're the reason I'm not the same as before I don't feel anymore

part one | part two | drabble one

He feels like his heart is being ripped outta his chest. Never thought he would feel this pain. Not this kind of pain, inflicted by you at least. Anyone but you. Feels betrayed, blindsided, backstabbed. No, he can’t even look you straight in the eyes right now. Everything he sees is blur. Confusion. Pain. Tears. “Koo..” you say softly, trying to reach out to him again. Trying to soothe him with your sweet tone. Your sweet touch. Anything. But he refuses to give in. Refuses to let you get away with this. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to us, Bee.” he chokes out, “Can’t fucking believe” “You gotta understand that—“ “I do!” he shouts out “I do understand.” he looks down to you as you shrug on his bed, big eyes glistening full of tears. His favorite eyes. Now he doesn’t seem to know them anymore. He actually feels like he doesn’t know you, the person he spent the past years with. The person he loves the most. His safety zone. His fucking soulmate. Or at least that’s what he thought you were. Before this mess. Before he found out you were planning on leaving him. “What about our dreams?” he babbles out “What about our promises, Bee?” he whispers, words waterlogged, and he feels like he’s about to cry, he really is. Feels sick to his stomach. Feels powerless and overwhelmed. Feels trapped in a nightmare that he can’t wake up for shit. He tries to look at you again, but now you’re the one refusing to keep an eye contact. You’re hurt, resentful, regretful. You didn’t want it to be this way. “It meant nothing to you, right?” he lets out a dark, sour laugh. “Jungkook! Of course they did!” you gasp out, like you’re the one hurting right now. No, you can’t be hurting more than he is. “I applied to it so long ago! It was my dream job! It is a perfect opportunity!” “And why didn’t you tell me that?” he bites back “I was your fucking boyfriend, for god’s sake!” You hold your breath, stomach dropping to your knees as you hear his words. Was. I was your boyfriend. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s breaking up with you. You’re breathless, like someone’s just jabbed right in your gut.

Frozen, you can’t answer him. The words are there, bitting at the back of your teeth, but you can’t say them. Can’t say you wanted to tell him everything. Can’t beg him to not leave you, cause you’ve already hurt him enough.

You really wanted to tell him everything. But you know Jungkook. Know he’d do anything he thought would be good to your future. You were scared he would break up with you months ago just so you could go peacefully to another country. But breaking up with you now? After all you’ve been through. No. You thought he would understand. He would accept. He would at least want to be friends. “Before anything, I was your best friend, y’know?” he whispers under his breath. Like he’s listening to your thoughts. Reading your mind, like he always seemed to do. “I just can’t accept the fact that you did all this behind my back. The search, the application. The fucking interview! Literally, what the hell? What would you do if I never found out? You’d fucking leave without saying goodbye too?” It all feels like a sick joke. You can’t formulate one right sentence in your mess of mind. The words just gather up in your throat and refuse to leave your mouth. It sticks there. It feels heavy, almost suffocating. Your belly is funky, and for the first time in the presence of your favorite boy in the world, it is not in a good way. And it’s all your fault. He just looks at you, paralyzed, in a way too. He won’t let the tears pooling up his eyes fall. He won't look at you anymore. He won’t give you a chance to win him back. He won’t give the million cracked pieces of his heart to you again. To anyone, ever again. It feels like an eternity before he’s able to finally say, “Well, if you won’t say it, I will” he shutters, “Goodbye.”

You're trembling from your head to toe. Can't remeber the last time you were this fucked up. Probably never.

Lola just keeps patting your back, kindly waiting till you calm down so you can explain everything that happened. You don't think you can, tho.

The fresh wound is still very open. Aching, burning, hurting.

Jungkook left you.

Damn, he probably hates you.

And he's so very right to do so.

Just last week, both of you were talking about moving in together.

Like everytime he talks about wanting to spend lifetime with you, you know he meant it. And you did too. You wanted to do it all with him.

But you were so frustrated.

So damn frustrated with work, with your future, with your goals.

You always wanted to fulfill your dream to be an veterinary cardiology especialist. It was your ultimate dream, your ultimate goal, but you couldn't to it here, in your city. And you always knew that.

That's why you applied just as you gratuated for a great study program, where you would work with the greatest in the area, you would learn so much and make all kinds of connections.

But there was a problem.

It was in another country. Australia to be exact. Five thousand miles away. Too far from the bubble you’ve forever been. Far from your friends, your family. Far away from Jungkook.

But still, it was just a dream.

Until it wasn't.

They actually reached out to you. They were impressed with your dedication throughout college and had good feedbacks from your professors and your boss at the clinic your currently working on. They saw the passion within you. Said you were eveything this program was about.

And that's where it led you.

You postponed the pain, and it led you to an even greater fall.

Now you are completely devastaded. Wondering if you did the right thing. Can't get your mind off Jungkook's sad, hurt eyes. You know how he felt, you know him just like the back of your hand, but you still were stupid enough to think it would be better to hide it from him till the last minute.

Exactly a week before the trip.

No, you weren’t leaving before telling him.

You were actually going to his house that day so you could get it out of your chest. Tell him everything. Every little detail. Cross your fingers and hope he'd understand and support you. Tell him you loved him and would be willing to try long distance until you could end the program, then you two would decide how you two would end up. Hopefully happy, lovely and together. Keep on planning on how many kids you'd want. If it'd be better to have a sister for Bamie first, instead.

So many options, so many thoughts. But it’s all gone down the drain.

Gone the moment he openned his computer where you forgot your e-mail logged the last time you went to his place.

Gone as soon as he saw the last e-mail from the program giving you a warm welcome.

Gone the minute he realized you've been keeping a huge ass secret from him. A secret that would ruin his trust, would shatter his heart and would make him doubt all the times you've been together.

All the promises

All the sweet touches and warm eyes

All the i love you’s

He just can’t believe in your love anymore.

He doesn’t want your love anymore.

And that’s your worst nightmare.

“Is he coming?” Lola suddenly says, holding tight on your hand like she doesn’t want you to let go.

You look at her, sad eyes averting from the car window for a second to reply but you are not able to. Your throat is filled up with a huge lump again. Actually, you think it never went away since you stepped out of Jungkook’s apartment that day.

But it’s worst today.

So much worst.

The tears bubble in your eyes again as you unlock your phone searching for an answer that never came.

You | 4:20 PM

my flight is at 7.

in case you want to say goodbye.

It’s 6:15 PM.

No reply. No sign.

You breathe out again.

Breathe in.

You can do this.

It’s your dream.

You can do this.

So you arrive at the airport, check-in, and sit with Lola to wait until you can get on that damn plane.

You’re doing this.

Until you catch sight of the boys from distance.

Your heart skips a million beats.

Did he actually come for you?

But just a second later, the same heart that was running a mile away comes to a halt, is squeezed out of life as you realize,

He’s not here.

As the group approaches, you realize he’s the only one who isn’t. Even Taehyung, who did not seem to enjoy the idea of seeing your face right now came to say goodbye.

Now all of them look at you apologetic, as if it’s their fault the one you needed the most is not there for the farewell.

But you know better.

You’re the one to blame.

So you say your goodbyes, hold back your tears and give them the tightest hugs there is, soak up all the good lucks and try to mentalize again. You want to start this new capther with good thoughts. Need to feel the happiness you are supposed to.

But you're numb.

Cause all you think about is him.

And how you wish it didn't end up like this.

YAYYY I'M FINALLY BACK WITH THE DRABBLES!!!!

i actually started writing a happy drabble, the one of when they've met BUT jungkook leaving me in here all alone took out the angst monster in me I HAD TO BE SOUR SOMEWHERE!!!!

anyways, as you know eng is not my first language so i'm sorry if there are any typos! please leave comments if you like the story, i'll accept requests too <3

taglist: @kooliv @serendipity713 @5seos @pointofviewyugyeom @glitterybreadtimemachine @olimpiiaa @kooklovee @coffeewkth @valwnn @tae-hibiscus @skzthinker @lazyyhooman @sharkipoonis @kiylasstuff @kissyfacekoo @spicxbnny @cookysstuff @somehowukook @bd123sworld @ashleylookatme @kookies-n-spice @pamzn

tysm for supporting rainy days, i hope you enjoy :) xx

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cozzzynook · 4 months ago

Note

Hurt/Comfort Involving Predacon Bumblebee and Predabee

Bumblebee sluggishly opens is optics finding himself in the same dark cell since his capture. He groans as he slowly shifts his aching plating that's riddled with surgery welds and fresh scars, letting out hiss he is finally able to stand on shaky peds before slowly walking up to the bars of his cell. Outside his cage he can see the see the many machines and tools of the mad scientist lab, the sickly buzzing of the lights made Bee's helm rattle with a ponding headache. He then turned his attention to look down at his now clawed servos, it seemed little by little Bee found his frame changing slightly and considering that he was constantly given energon rich with medical grade it seemed the mad scientist wasn't snuffing his spark any time soon.

Slowly Bee turns and with his new talons carefully carves a new tally mark on the wall. It has been 3 months since his capture and it seems his own team have either forgotten about him or assumed he was one with All Spark but it didn't stop the hurting in his spark. Feeling tears starting to well up in his optics Bee then sits on the cold floor and pulls his knees as tight to his chest as he can before burying his face in his servos before quietly sobbing to himself. Bee had long cried himself dry when he heard someone approach his cell, letting out a faint snarl the yellow mech turns to face the visitor only for his optics to grow wide. Predaking stood outside the cell holding what seemed to be a old blanket. Carefully he larger mech slipped the blanket through the bars before giving a little smile, Predaking has been the only company Bumblebee has had in these past months and ever day little by little the yellow mech finds himself growing closer to the predacon.

Quickly picking up the blanket and hiding it in the darkest corner of the cell Bee walked over back towards the bars and slipped his servos through the bars to hold Predaking's own servos. They hold each other closely as they can while Predaking softly whisperers promises that he will find a way out for Bee and make sure they will never have to deal with the Decepitcons again. Bumblebee gives a soft purr nuzzling his helm into the larger mechs chest enjoying the warmth and comforting scent, he knew escape would be risky especially when he is so weak from the constant changes to his frame. Just then the sound of heavy footsteps grew closer making Predaking pull away sharply and leave the lab but not before giving a soft longing gaze at the yellow mech. Bumblebee then sulks back deeper into his cell letting out a snarl as purple scientist returns to his lab ready to finish his latest "Project".

It was late into the night when Bumblebee awoke from his latest "surgery", his frame was sore and tired as he slowly pulled himself back onto his pedes. He quickly scanned over his frame looking for what has been changed this time only to discover strange weld markings around where his T-Cog was. Panicking he quickly transforms his Alt-Mode excepting his T-Cog to have been removed or tampered with but he soon finds himself easily shifting into his other mode only to find that his prison cell was suddenly too small. Confused Bee looks at his reflection in the energon left just outside his cell, letting out a startled yelp Bumblebee finds no longer as a muscle car but a large yellow and black predacon. Finally understanding the strange changes to his frame Bee allows himself to transform back into root-mode so he is longer cramped in his cell, he then begins pacing back and forth unsure if it was worth the risk trying to escape and return to his team in this new mode.

It was mid-afternoon when the alarms of the Nemesis began blaring alerting everyone on bored. Both Predaking and Bumblebee ran down the halls causing havoc in their wake as they headed for the ships dock. It didn't take long for the pair of predacons to barge their way through a barricade of unfortunate Cons before finally landing on the open dock. Predaking nudges Bee to open his new wings and take to the air while he holds off the others, being unsure and not wanting to leave Predaking behind Bumblebee begs for him to follow. Letting out a stream of fire to block the main doors to the dock Predaking joins Bee's side before leaping off the dock and taking flight, Bee closely follows behind struggling at first but quickly gets the hang of it, together they head into the mountains hoping to lose the Decepticons there before making their way into a near by forest.

A Couple of weeks on the run Bee and Predaking spend a rather cold morning cuddled with each in a small make-shift den in the changing forest. Fall has turned the once bright green leaves into shades of red, orange and yellow for Predaking he can't help but stare in awe and wonder as he carefully watches the leaves fall around them. Bumblebee smiles burying his helm into the larger mechs side letting out a flirty purr before flashing a smirk as he carefully flutters his wings in a teasing manner. Predaking looks at Bee a bit shocked at first but he let outs his own purr as he carefully pulls the smaller mech into his lap before giving a gentle nip on Bee's scared neck while slowly allowing his servos explore his partners frame. They spend the morning just wrapped in each others warmth and love and for Bee its the first time he truly has felt alive and loved.

Sometime later in a dark cave Bumblebee is lying in a nest tending to a clutch of eggs while Predaking keeps watch over his growing family. Meanwhile in the Auto-bot base Ratchet nearly spits out his energon cube he was eating when the main monitor beings beeping. There on the screen is Bumblebee's spark signature showing that the yellow scout was alive and well. The medic hardly believes it hoping it was just a glitch since they lost contact with Bee after he was ambushed all those months ago, they sent a search party only to come up with nothing and have been quietly grieving the lose of the yellow mech. Ratchet suddenly stands up and runs towards Optimus hab to let Prime know of the good news while hoping Bumblebee was alright.

(Hope you enjoyed this little idea :D)

Oh my gosh this is so cute and sweet!!!!

Poor bee getting changed into a predacon but the change brought him the love of his life and a family aahhhhh!!!!

I just know Optimus is going to bear hug Bee when he sees him, predacon form and all 😂

#predacon #predaking x bumblebee #transformers #bumblebee #predabee #predacon sparkling #predaking tfp #tfp predabee #tfp predaking #tfp bumblebee #predacon bumblebee

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xxsycamore · 1 year ago

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𝙋𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙏𝙧𝙪𝙢𝙥𝙨 𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙣 (ARTHUR X READER)

↬ 🩸 ❝ Now, now…❞ Arthur unfolds yet another towel, laying it on the bed. ❝ You've surely heard that this is one way to treat period cramps.❞ ❝ What is?❞ ❝ Orgasms.❞

Arthur Conan Doyle x f!Reader • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Menstruation; Menstrual Sex; Period Cramps; Embarrassment; Kink Negotiation; Vanilla; Arthur is gentle; Pet Names; Gentle Sex; that gets a little not so gentle; Vaginal Fingering; Vaginal Sex; Kissing; Lots of it; mentions of blood drinking; Creampie; Aftercare; Post-Coital Cuddling; Crying; Dacryphilia • wordcount: 3,177 • masterlist

a/n: I've been trying to finish this fic for months 😭 My first period sex fic! Hope you enjoy!! If you happen to suffer from cramps and you want your favorite ikevamp suitor comforting you in their own unique way, may I also offer: Napoleon, Comte, Mozart, Theo, Leonardo, Sebastian 💕(All fics in this series share the same opening scene!)

It’s another beautiful day at the mansion, and the sun is continuing to shine brightly outside as afternoon settles in. Your list of chores is more than half-way done now, the morning was a productive one and you pat yourself on the back for pushing through at your usual pace, even if your period surprised you early this morning. Sleeves rolled up and armed with a feather duster, you march towards the lounge room to take care of another chore.

Specks of dust dance in the afternoon sun, windows wide open, as you complete your task little by little. Soon the sections left to dust decrease and you start to tire - a minor pain in your tummy appearing as well, as if to persuade you into taking a short break. You throw a look at the grandfather clock. You’ve been a busy bee; not even the distraction of dusting off some of Comte’s highly intriguing antiques couldn’t get you late on your own schedule.

You sit down at the spacious couch area, grab a throw pillow to hug, and fall on your side - shoe-covered feet juust hanging off the couch because it won’t be worth the effort of taking them off for just a minute or two of rest.

Uh-oh! The pain doesn’t go away and only gets worse instead. Suddenly moving as much as a millimeter equals signing a death warrant.

“Help” You whisper to yourself, clutching onto the throw pillow.

Trying to escape from the pain in the realm of your imagination, you fantasize about nicer things…and that means fantasizing about your boyfriend, Arthur. If only he was here right now, you're sure the pain would be way more bearable. Maybe he would sit in the armchair next to you and take out the small journal he keeps on his person to work on his current draft. You love relaxing in the ambient sound of his pen scribbling across the paper, it has helped you fall asleep many nights. On those, he'd normally write on his desk, but seeing you snuggled onto yourself alone on the bed never sits right with him. It typically doesn't take him too long to come join you under the warmed-up covers. You think about how he props the book against his knee, how he plays with the ends of your hair spilled across the pillow when he gets deep in thought…

You also think about how on some nights, you just can't sleep, and he just can't write - when those innocent idle caresses start growing into more, and your gazes meet for a second too long. Arthur would slowly remove his glasses and turn off the night lamp; then in a flash, his lips are attacking your neck with passionate kisses before your eyes can get used to the darkness.

How did your mind trail off to this, again?

"Arthuuuurr…" You groan as the loneliness begins growing stronger with your daydreams, and the cramps chime in as well.

You hear the floorboards creak outside the door and you raise yourself to a sitting position, calling an abrupt end to your short break. Maybe you'll go take some medicine, after all…

"Calling for me, luv?"

You stand awkwardly in front of the couch for a second, staring at Arthur as if he is a fraction of your imagination still. He's not, and if it wasn't for the godawful cramps you'd be throwing yourself on his neck right this instant.

"D-Did you really hear me? It can't be possible!"

Thankfully, he's the one shortening the distance so you don't have to, planting a greeting kiss on your cheek.

"Oh? So you did call my name?" A wide grin occupies his lips now, satisfied with himself and his little accidental guess that wins him the sight of your blushing face.

Realizing his bluff, you purse your lips, removing yourself from his smooching range.

One look at you and Arthur is nodding as if all the checkboxes in his head are now marked. However, he's not celebrating the brilliancy of his deductive mind with a smirk this time; he looks remarkably concerned.

"You were lying down just now, luv, didn't you? Are you in pain? Your period came?"

Despite the best efforts of this persisting pain, expressions other than a bitter frown are still able to play on your features, and you're honestly impressed. "Yes, yes, and yes, but…how did you know?"

Arthur steals himself another kiss, on the corner of your lip this time. "How did I know? Is it so strange for me to know my lover inside out?"

Whispering his reply is all a part of the flirty little trick to win you over, and you wish he didn't - because it works a little too well with the whirlwind of emotions and hormones inside you. You shiver whole, barely able to spare a thought or two about the actual reason. Didn't you catch him taking a bath today? Did he take a peek in your underwear drawer, armed with the knowledge about which panties are the "period panties" (which surprisingly IS a thing even with the circumstances of this time and age!), and notice their absence? Some pervert he is. It wouldn't even be his first time doing this, but still, you're not mad. Not when he's palming and caressing your shoulders while sneaking in another kiss on your pouting lips. You love his attention, especially now that you missed it so much.

"Now luv, what are we going to do with you, hmm?"

You shiver as his hands wander all the way down to your hips and linger there.

"Should we get you something warm to press to your belly? Or maybe take you on a light walk once you're done resting? One word and I'll do everything for you, my dear."

"Arthur, you're spoiling me…"

"Think about it, I'll wait."

Oh, thinking is not good. Not when he's so close with little to no room left to be closer than that, save for the one thing you absolutely cannot ask of him. Your thoughts start getting shameless; cursed be the conditions that are not letting you pounce on him. Even if you're never going to live down the shame of it, you wish you could just hump his leg to a sweet, sweet release and be over with it. It would end quickly and without mess.

Arthur looks at you differently now, and you can feel his gaze examining you. You try to control your breathing which might have quickened in the last couple of seconds. But he's too good at this.

"Something the matter, luv? You seem hot."

His cool hand on your cheek feels too good, as if asking you to nuzzle into it, slip the thumb in your mouth and suck. You summon some much-needed self-control at the price of a sharp breath that puts the attempts at steady breathing to waste. You decide to spill the beans, groaning as another cramp creeps its way onto your nerves, both metaphorically and literally.

"I'm horny."

You expect pity at most. This sort of blurted-out-of-nowhere confession is more typical of the man in front of you, so even with this, you're not doomed to become the bigger pervert between the two of you; it's relieving somehow. You hope that Arthur understands.

"Ah."

It's a small exclamation, and it could mean many things coming from his mouth of all people. While leaving yourself wholly in his hands and their gentle messaging motions, you should've considered that he is ready to sweep you off your feet any second. Like he does right now.

The sudden loss of balance surprises you, and you find yourself carried bridal style. Arthur turns with you in the direction of the door, but before taking a single step, he leans in to whisper to you. With your arms wrapped around his neck, you have no chances of escape as his warm breath hits your lips.

"I think I just thought of a way to relieve you from your pains, darling."

***

To your surprise, you're dropped off at the chaise longue once in your shared bedroom. You watch in near horror as Arthur brings out towels and lays them on the bed. It's not long before you connect two and two, and you have to protest.

"Arthur, you're surely not thinking about-"

"Now, now…" Arthur unfolds yet another towel, giving it a small shake. "You've surely heard that this is one way to treat period cramps."

"What is?"

"Orgasms." Arthur catches your gaze, having finished preparing the bed. You watch him approach and you change the position of your legs on the chaise longue, pressing your thighs together.

Sometimes you hate how awfully familiar Arthur is with the human body given the fact that he used to be a doctor - a field doctor, but a doctor nonetheless - everything from your anatomy to your bodily reactions being a mere tool in his hands to love you and to take care of you, should the need arise. You should be glad to have such a knowledgeable boyfriend by your side, even if it embarrasses you to no end when he puts his skills into action.

"But, it's gross!" You insist in a near-shout, realizing that he's now close enough to hear you even in a meek whisper. "Just think of all the mess… I don't want you to be grossed out with me."

"My dove."

Arthur caresses your neck, pressing his thumb into the underside of the top button of your shirt and easily undoing it, then moving to the next. He pretends he doesn't possess the skill of getting it all done with in seconds, and you're not a fan, even if it gives you time to arrange your thoughts. He wets his lips and continues.

"Nothing about you could ever gross me out. I think this exercise would help me prove that to you, even… and maybe by the end of it, you'll truly believe me."

Soon there are no more buttons left for him to undo.

"I happen to know how to wash blood from bedsheets."

Shivers go straight to your nethers, images of sleepless nights flash in your mind with the reminder of the sharp tips of his fangs perforating the skin of your neck.

"I'm a blood-drinking bastard, remember?…" He latches his mouth into your neck, but keeps his fangs to himself. Despite doing nothing to stop him, you know that losing more blood is not the wisest thing to do right now, and you're already sure Arthur keeps that in mind. You still enjoy his teeth on you, even the ones that don’t aim to break the skin. Before he can suck long enough to leave a mark, he breaks the contact, needing you to be good and listen for a little longer.

"Some blood cannot get in my way of giving you pleasure. Quite the contrary."

You whine at his comment alone, as embarrassing as it is, and you realize that you've been rubbing your thighs together a little too hard. It doesn't go unnoticed by your boyfriend, as he places his warm hand on your knee, smirking at the way you shiver and release the tense muscles of your thighs. He pats you in encouragement. "Will you stand up for me, my princess?"

Complying quietly, you stand up on shaky legs. Arthur hugs you from behind, distracting you with kisses as he untucks your open shirt from your skirt, moving to his next target. Soon the two pieces of clothing pool at your feet, leaving you only in your underwear. His hand is gentle as it guides you to bed like many times before.

You lie down with the soft towels underneath caressing your lower body, and it's not as awkward as you thought it would be. Arthur doesn't give you much time to dwell on it as he climbs ontop of you, claiming your mouth in a passionate kiss.

Burning hot need pools in your belly, a tang of pain mixing with it, and you realize you've almost all forgotten about your cramps. Instead of being wary of upcoming sensations flaring them up, you feel like chasing the prevailing lust that now resides in your loins. Arthur's got you. You want to experience this together with him.

Eager to show him your progress, you guide his right hand between your open legs. To your surprise, he lets out a groan, breaking the kiss to look down and rub the place at the apex of your thighs.

You didn't expect to feel him through the obstacles in the way, and your own sensitivity catches you unprepared. The noise you make is familiar to Arthur, it's hardly the first time he's got you helpless and dying for him to touch you like that. Though it usually takes a bit more toying with you. He keeps rubbing down on it until your body is certain this is nowhere near enough for what it needs.

"Arthurrr… Please…"

"Begging already? My, aren't you cute?"

You pout at his teasing, taking matters into your own hands as you try to shimmy out of your panties. He's there to help, hands meeting yours as he pulls them down and out of the way.

You shut your legs together out of embracement, and Arthur is prepared for this reaction as he quietly tuts you, resuming his ambush on your lips, and you give into his ways of convincing you.

Feeling the tips of his fingers on your clit, electricity runs through you and you thrust your pelvis up involuntarily. Arthur remains collected as his fingers dance around your bundle of nerves, but no matter how gentle he is, his touch feels too good for some reason. You can feel how slippery it is, but the feeling is not too alien to you, and that's a relief. While drowning in the sweetness of Arthur's kisses, it all feels like a regular night with him, you're just extra wet and sensitive.

"Arthur- Are you gonna…" You don't finish, instead running your hand down his toned body and to the front of his pants.

He chuckles. "Only if you can handle it, luv. Say the word and I'll give you what you need. But if you think that would be too much, I can make you cum on my hand now and here."

It all sounds lovely to you, but the hormones playing with your head are demanding all you can take and more. You want to explore this sensation all the way, despite the tad of embarrassment still threateningly lingering in the back of your head.

"I want you inside…" You blurt out, raising your legs in an attempt to make Arthur hurry up and slip inside you already. You obviously don't need more preparation, as you're sure it's not only the blood lubricating your hole anymore.

The shadow of lust darkening Arthur's blue eyes is alone at fault for your walls clamping down around nothing. The rustling of a belt coming undone is music to your ears as you count the seconds before Arthur claims the place between your legs once again.

Same as when you felt his fingers, the tip of his very hard cock makes you jump, but now Arthur chooses to simply observe from above as you forms writhe. You feel him coating himself in your juices and the filthiness of the act makes you moan on the spot. The repeating tease of him threatening to breach your entrance only to withdraw is making you crawl out of your skin.

"Are those tears in your eyes, Luv? Oh, you poor thing, we teased you too much now…"

You're shocked to discover that your vision is indeed blurry. Hormones at fault, you mutter a sound of surprise that turns into a moan as Arthur finally enters you.

"Oh— My god, so— big-"

Arthur groans like you rarely hear him do. He must have felt that too. You're really tight around him.

It's good he slips his tongue between your lips again because the smallest thrust would make you explode. You're getting drunk on this sensation, feeling him so intensely. Just as you begin to relax, he starts grinding inside you.

"Ahhhh- More, more!"

Eager to give you all you want, Arthur complies until you start hearing the wet noises of him thrusting inside you. It's making your face red, but you can't help moaning at every thrust, adding to the sultry sounds.

Arthur is as lost in it as you are, and your heart sings at being the source of his maddening need. Hearing his low noises of pleasure drives you closer and closer to the edge, as all you can think about is cumming together with him.

Locking your legs around his torso, you egg him on to tip over the edge now and here. The unmistakable noise of him cursing under his breath floods you with desire just as you thought you couldn't feel needier, but then something happens that catches you off guard. Arthur moves his head away from where it was nestled against your neck and at first, you aren't sure about the reason before you hear his muffled groans. He fills you with his hot cum just a second after.

You realize that just now, he was biting the pillow. The bloodthirst must have gotten to his head, and he… did everything in his power not to drain you of more blood.

Seeing him so out of control makes you scream as a violent, powerful orgasm is ripped out of you, your body seemingly having a mind of its own as it humps against Arthur through it, and he holds you down by the folds of your knees to ride the pleasure off for you. It's one of the best orgasms you've ever had.

Hormones shifting once again in the chemistry of your brain, you glow with the aftermath of pleasure running through your body, head to toe, and suddenly the need to hold Arthur close grows tenfold. His hands move to cushion the back of your neck as he kisses you softly, spent and content as you are, chuckling against your lips.

"Aren't you going to ask why we haven't done this sooner?"

Still catching your breath, you want to groan at how quickly he regained his cockiness, being a textbook gentleman just a second ago. Though, you can totally see his point now.

"I just…really don't want to look down right now."

"You don't have to. Leave the cleanup to me. I'll take good care of you."

The whispered promise is already lulling you into a deeper relaxation, as you rest your limbs with no intention to get up anytime soon. Arthur is… absolutely, shamelessly spoiling you rotten. Both with his gentle care and with his ways of casually giving you one of the best orgasms of your life, making you discover a new kink.

Oh, and your pain is completely gone, by the way.

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran @pumpumnnnp @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @keen19thcenturygoatsstudent @lordsister @ikemen-banshou @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lucyw260 @princess-pray-a Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp arthur #ikemen vampire arthur #ikemen arthur #ikevamp fanfic #ikevamp smut #tw periods #tw period sex #tw blood #ikemen #ikemen vampire fanfic #ikemen series #ikeseries #otome #otome fanfic

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mayasaurusss · 2 months ago

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Day thirty: Search for me in the night. Sweetpea masterlist

A/N: a few things. First, I have not yet watched the show, so this version of Rhiannon is what I gathered about her from other fics I've read. This might have some errors about her personality or the show all together. Secondly, I haven't proofread this :')

Contains: light smut, description of wounds, not proofread.

How much time has it been? One week? A month? Years? You don't even remember why you kept on following, but you know it's your only option, it's your duty. Your boots sink in puddles of water, grimed by mud and fallen leaves; the harsh cold autumn wind bends the trees and hits your face, making an uncomfortable feeling rise from the tip of your nose to the end of your cheeks. What the priest had told you was that there was something that you'd have to take care of, something that "Your kind surely knows how to handle". You hadn't liked how he said it. Still, you continue, searching and asking around for your target: a young woman with brown hair. That's all you knew about her, despite the fact that she was described as begin an outgoing person and that she had a mole on her right cheek.

You were closer to your target by now: during your travels you met a vendor, a woman who had pinpointed you to where the woman went, as well as telling you tales of the creature that roamed the forest in the dark dead of night. You knew nothing more than this, and you thought to yourself that "Maybe, next time that priest gives me a job to do, I'll ask for more details".

The road is winding, difficult to walk on through the slippery mud and vines poking at your legs. You are short out of breath, and the road just keeps on going. You have been walking on this hill inside the forest's heart for a while now, maybe twenty minutes, and the rain has begun to fall down on your body heavily, making your journey less than pleasant. If you only could, you'd fall to your knees and hit the ground, giving up on your research. But you can't, you won't. Just as you were about to give up, you see something in the distance: a path that unravels to an old manor, much bigger than any you've ever seen. It looks old, like it has been there for centuries, but has been well maintained through time. You can see the dancing reflection of fire from inside one of the rooms, giving you the urge to run inside and dry yourself in its warmth. But as much as you feel relieved to have found shelter, you know not of letting your guard down. No, the difficult part has just started.

You let five minutes pass, eyes vigilant to see if anything weird happens, before you make a bee line to the manor's door. You know on the heavy wood door one, two, three times before they're swung open. A brown eye peers at you, sizing you from head to toe. Whoever is behind the door is silent, waiting for you to talk first and tell them your troubles. "Good evening ma'am! I have-" you swallow your saliva, watching how the stranger's eye is suddenly very interested in your neck. "I am sorry to have disturbed you, but I've been caught by a storm. Is there any chance I could ask for shelter?".

As if just now understanding the meaning of your words, the stranger's eye lids up and you hear her voice for the first time. "Sure, come on in!".

The manor looks huge inside; darkness seeping into every corner, high walls that seem to continue on forever and a grand staircase that leads to the first floor. You are so awestruck in admiring the room that you don't notice the woman who has been standing near you all this time. "If I hadn't seen the strength of the storm outside, I would have thought that the only reason you came in was to take my home away from me!". You feel the heat of embarrassment creeping on your cheeks and turn around to see the most beautiful woman you've ever seen smiling at you.

She has an aura to her person that makes you want to fall down and worship her. You are so enraptured by her beauty that you don't immediately notice the mole on her right cheek. Your target.

You quickly clear your throat, hoping she didn't notice your strange behaviors, and put on your facade quickly. "I am sorry miss, I hope I'm not too much of a bother" she simply hums, looking at your state, "Not at all, and please call me Rhiannon".

"Follow me" with that, you follow her to the first floor of the house, making your way through the darkness. "This manor is centuries old," she explains, "my family has never intended to install any light system, so during winter most of the rooms are dark. We'll have to walk using this" she lights a candlestick and takes your hand, walking you through the hallways. "Why don't you light some oil lamps then?" you can't see her but you hear her laugh, suddenly sounding much more sinister in the dark. "You never know. I wouldn't want my house to be set on fire, it's best if I can see it directly".

Finally she stops at a door and walks inside, leaving you in the dark hallway. You feel shivers run along your spine, the unnatural silence getting to your nerves. You are not sure if those whispers you hear is the wind hitting against the windows or a figment of your imagination. Sooner than you expected she comes back with fresh clothes and a towel. She roughly dries you off and hands you the clothes. "Dry yourself then get changed and come back to the living room. We wouldn't want you to get sick would we?".

She hands you the candlestick then walks away, heading to the living room once again. "Wait!" you call out to her, "Don't you need this?" you ask, gesturing to the candlestick. "Don't worry" she says "I can see in the dark just fine".

"Besides, you'll need it more than me" her voice gets lost inside the house's hallways, stopping abruptly. You enter inside the room she just came out of and change yourself quickly, trying to pay no mind to your crippling fear. When you come back down she's in the living room, resting on one of the armchairs. "About time you came down" she gestures to a chair she put beside the fire. "Sit down, dry yourself by the fire".

You sink on the armchair, feeling the warmth of the fire on your skin. "Have you eaten?" she asks, standing up and moving to walk to the kitchen. "I haven't" you hear rustling from the other room and she comes back minutes later with some cookies and hot tea. "I don't have anything else, I'm sorry" you just smile in return, not making any comment. You spend the evening chatting, listening to the story of her life and telling her yours. By the time the fire needs to be fed again, you fell asleep. You are so deep in your dreams that you fail to hear the scraping of a chair begin moving against the floor. As autumn and winter come, it's been harder and harder getting anything under her teeth. The storms are too strong, the snow too heavy and nothing that is alive walks those hills. She has been waiting a long time for this. She can already taste blood on her tongue, swirling inside of her mouth. From behind the chair she stands above you, bending over to reach for your neck. With one hand she supports your head while the other tightens on your shoulder. It looks so inviting, she thinks and bares her teeth, getting ready to bite down.

Just as she's about to sink her teeth in, you wake up. "R-Rhiannon? What's going on?" as if her skin was burnt, she quickly retreats. "I am sorry to have woken you up. I just wanted to tell you that I have a spare bedroom for you to sleep in. "You just hum groggily, "Actually, I'd rather sleep here by the fire. If that's okay with you?".

She tries to shove her anger down her throat, biting her lip. "Sure, rest well" she smiles and with that, disappears into the shadows.

The morning after you hear Rhiannon walk down the stairs, her steps heavy against the steps. "Good morning, have you slept well?" you just hum in response, stroking the sleep out of your eyes. "Has the storm passed?". Rhiannon looks outside to see rain pouring down and obscuring the windows, "Not yet. It's best if you stay here a bit more " you notice she's putting on a coat, and ask her "Are you going out?" .

"I need to buy some food if you stay here" she opens the door, letting the cold wind speed inside, "Don't steal any of my things! I'll know".

That last part sounded more threatening than you'd like, but you just wave at her goodbye and wait for the door to be closed again. As soon as you see her figure disappearing into the trees, you scour the mansion. You explore, study its hallways, search for any incriminating things that may pinpoint if she's indeed the target of your search. "A monster, that woman is" the priest had told you, "a leech. Your kind surely knows how to handle them".

A 'leech', a vampire. It was hard to believe that woman was one of them, but there was something to her that you knew was wrong. Curse the fact that you fell asleep yesterday's evening, who knows if she let a side of her sleep out of her control while you were sleeping. You search but don't find anything, only books containing her family's history. Before Rhiannon comes back, you make sure to hide the tools you had hid in your clothes in one of the corners of the house, in the first room Rhiannon had gone into. You hear the door open downstairs. "Shit!" you hide the stake in a closet underneath a pile of old clothes, before hurrying downstairs.

"Exploring much?" you hear Rhiannon ask you from the kitchen and you draw in a sharp breath, "Uhm, yeah sorry about it". "There's nothing to be sorry about. This place is big, it's best if you know it's halls". She has bought many things: meat, vegetables, bread and some sweets. "For today's afternoon snacks" she says, noticing at how you're eyeing the cookies, "Just a little treat for my sweet guest". You heat up a bit hearing how she called you. 'Sweet'. That is a good compliment, but slightly creepy coming from a suspected vampire.

You spend the afternoon watching the rain fall down, chatting and reading from Rhiannon's stash of books. "The storm seems to never stop" you mutter into your hand, watching the pools of water getting more and more full by the second. "You are unlucky. During this time of the year here, it always rains or snows". Great, you're trapped here with a stranger who presumably is a vampire with no way out.

"Oh, I get it".

As the days go on, the storm doesn't stop. With the rain falling down more and more harshly, Rhiannon becomes more and more furious. She lashes out at you out of the blue, inconsistently. You try to not let her words affect you because you know that they hold no real meaning behind them. You have noticed how she becomes paler by the day, and despite consuming an alarming amount of meat, barely cooked, she looks like a starving woman.

"I'll go to my study" she tells you, putting on a smile which you know it's just a fake to hide her distress.

"Don't follow me" it's all she says before disappearing into the manor's shadows. You move behind her, as quiet as a mouse, following her through the maze that is her home. Hallway after hallway, turn after turn you move inside the house, trying to keep up with her pace. Since you've been following her, it seems she has begun to move faster and faster, unnaturally.

The chase has been going on for so long that you think she's testing you, secretly just moving in circles to drive you mad. She stops abruptly in front of a door and enters the room, leaving the door open and the opportunity for you to quietly sneak behind.

You steal a glance at the room, sizing it up: dark, bigger than you'd thought, no escape other than the door.

Rhiannon is leaning on a desk covered in books and lit candles, mumbling something under her breath, distracted. If she truly is a vampire, this is the right moment to strike.

You grip the stake in your hand, shaking, a trickle of sweat falling from your brow. Every step you take is meticulously calculated, not one bit heavier than needed, not one second faster. You stalk, moving closer to your target, so close that you can taste the smell of her perfume on your tongue. Inadvertently, your attention is caught by a corner of the room. You notice how just that corner's stones have been painted sloppily, like whoever painted just gave up and left it to dry. It was coloured with the most deep red you've ever seen, beautifully haunting. A shame it seemed to start blackening under time's passage, forming clumps in the cracks between the bricks, following down to a stain on the floor.

You can vaguely make out the shape left by something that had been left there for a while, bloody hand prints tinting the gray stones.

"You are too slow, hunter" your blood runs cold and in an instant your body is slammed against one of the walls. Rhiannon is above you in mere seconds, gripping at your wrists with an inhuman strength. You can't make out her face, shrouded in darkness, but you can hear her breath, heavy and slow.

"Rhiannon! Let me go!" you struggle against her, trying to slip away from her grip. She grabs your stake and throws it away, "Why should I do that baby? You were the one that put yourself into this" she descends on you, breathing on your neck slowly, savoring the smell of your fear.

"Snooping around my stuff, spying on me..." you feel a cold sensation spread on your neck when you see her teeth bared, reflecting the candle lights.

'No... I want to live!' you use all your strength to kick her in the stomach, making her fall on the floor with a groan. You grab the stake and move to face her, ready for her next move.

"I thought you might be different!" you yell, readying your body for combat, "But you're just another blood sucking fiend!".

A bone chilling chuckle echoes in the dark, its owner's face made of shadows. "Just another blood sucking fiend? Oh baby" she delivers a strong blow to your chest, making the air escape from your lungs. Another blow on your jugular and you're falling on the floor, momentarily incapacitated.

She pushes you with her boot, holding you firmly between its sole and the floor.

"I am not just another blood sucking fiend. I have noticed how you look at me" she slowly descends down on you, stroking at your arms, silently admiring the strength behind them. "How you steal glances at me when you think I'm not looking" she squeezes one of your biceps with her hand, then twists the skin painfully, making a trickle of blood escape your veins.

"I bet you've thought about it for a long time" her hands reach for your neck and the stake. "How you've dreamt of taking me by the neck, sinking that thing you call a weapon in me, watching life fleet from me", the sexual innuendo is not lost to you and it makes heat travel up your body.

The stake is broken into billions of pieces in her hand, splinters falling on your face and in her flesh, faint traces of blood coloring her hand.

"But it didn't go as you planned, did it? Now you are the hunted one, and I will enjoy eating you alive".

She starts to kiss down on your jaw, taking time to take care of every patch of skin before her. "W-what are you doing?" she doesn't answer, too focused on traveling beyond the nape of your neck.

"You are enjoying this, aren't you?" her smirk is to die for, making you want to strip away your pride and just let her take you already. "As if" you mutter, trying to act cool, but the facade is broken as you feel her press teasingly against your crotch.

"Let's see about that" in a moment, your pants are stripped away, leaving you bare in front of your predator. "As far as I know about this, you're enjoying it way too much".

As she sinks her fingers deeply inside of you, she comes back up, leaning in to kiss you. Lips clash against one another, teeth bare and biting at the skin. She pushes her tongue past your lips, savoring every single one of your tastes. Meanwhile, her fingers speed up, hitting that spot inside of you that makes stars bloom behind your eyelids.

"Rhiannon!" you gasp, hugging her shoulders close to you. Her face is scrunched, focusing on the rhythm of her fingers plunging inside of you. You want her to talk to you, to tell you how good you've been for her, or how naughty you were. Rhiannon rolls her hips in the air, trying to mimic the feeling of trusting inside of you.

"You know what, my dear hunter?" she moves so that her hips rest against her hand, moving them in time with her trusts. "I think you don't put yourself in other's shoes enough", her breath fanning over your skin.

"Let me help" and as you reach your peak, she bites down on you, hard, drawing blood. She drinks from you, red blood tainting her lips. Her tongue pursues your blood, swirling it inside her mouth, savoring every single one of your tastes.

She sighs contentedly, feeling euphoric after finally feeding. "See, it wasn't so bad, was it?" she gives you a deadly smile. You notice how her blood is dripping from her wrist, almost seeping into your wound. Cold fear blooms in your chest, the reality of your situation setting in. She laughs, "Relax, love" letting go of your wrist.

"I'd love to turn you, but I'd much rather keep your blood warm for a little bit" you feel your heart sink, suddenly much more aware of the situation you are in. "Don't worry dear, it won't happen unless you ask me to" she stands up and brings you up with her, hugging your body close. "Come on, lover" she inhales your scent deeply, licking over the wound she gave you, "let's take this somewhere more comfortable".

#sweetpea x reader #rhiannon lewis x reader #halloween writing prompts #fictober

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chimivx · 2 months ago

Text

‘…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 ✞ 14k { two 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, 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 !!

Hyunjin stood beside a pew.

His slender hands tipped with manicured fingers were full of a woman’s face, his palms pressed to her teary, blusher stained cheeks. Speaking in what sounded like hymns, he spoke to her, though he spoke to everyone in the room. A lullaby, his voice gentle enough to charm one into a trance, it carried around the church, wafting higher, louder than the chords from the chestnut organ on the second floor balcony. Moving with grace, floating about the marble flooring, he truly was marvelous, a sight to behold, the Holy Spirit flowing through every limb, every vein, using him as a conduit. A tall, long haired, crystal clear skinned conduit with the sharpest eyes and the softest jaw.

They adored him, the women in the wooden rows. Within their wide eyes, their anxious gasps when he’d approach them, the way they’d fidget with their hair, their hats, their clothes when he turned his back to them. They sought out his approval in a different way than other churchgoers sought out Christophers. In two years Jisung has learned this, has privately discussed it with Hyunjin, asking him if he knew why his services were full of women, acquiring the answer he needed. A flash of Hyunjins dark eyes over his glasses, nothing more, and they never spoke of it again.

It wasn’t hard to figure out why they were the way that they were, attentive, teary eyed, submissive. They valued him, his words, his teachings. Addicted to his tone, every twist of his lean body hidden beneath layers of clothing, Jisung swore some expressed their love aloud when Hyunjin would be stuck in a ramble, minutes of passionate words spewing from his lips half making sense, but it didn’t matter. It made sense to them. He belonged to them.

This woman, one Jisung has seen plenty of times before when Hyunjin preached, wore a mint green dress, one long enough to cover her knees. A white sweater hugged her shoulders, tied delicately over her chest, a pearl necklace hanging along the collar above the knot of her sweater. She had to have been in her thirties. Months ago, the first time Jisung spotted her and took note of her attendance at one of Hyunjin’s Friday night services, she had been accompanied by a man in a tailored suit tugging along a child in a yellow dress no younger than five.

Like most men who occupied the same room as Aphrodite's son himself, he radiated an envy, a type of confusion on his face as every female in the room seemed to respond to Hyunjin without a second thought, like they’d been subdued.

It humored Jisung, he’d turned it into a game. How many men would accompany their wives to Hyunjins Mass, and for how many times, before the wife would show up alone? Multiple times a week? Gaining the confidence at each Mass to move up a pew, and then two more?

This woman once sat in the back. With her family, then with her child, then alone. Each week she moved closer. Inching closer, drawn to the man on the marble, eyes full of intrigue. Pollen to a bee. It seemed she’d become acquainted with some of the other women her age in the crowd, joining them where they’d sit, but most times she sat as close as she could to the altar, on the end of the pew, nearly hanging herself over the edge when Hyunjin would drift by, hopeful eyes gaping up at him.

Today she had gotten what she wanted, what she’d been longing for. In the sacristy gathering candles Jisung made sure to mumble something about her to Minho, both boys breaking out into hushed giggles, keeping them hidden from Hyunjin in the next room. Now, as Hyunjin whispered a prayer into the whimsical air that hung about his Masses, with his eyes fluttered shut and his lips barely moving, he dropped his chin and pressed a kiss to her forehead, just where her smooth, neatly tied hair met her skin.

Releasing her, she fell into a fit of sobs, and Hyunjin held out his arms continuing his stroll down the aisle, heavy words tearing their way out of the constructs of his heart, his chest. The woman cried, she pressed her hands to her cheeks and the woman beside her wrapped an arm around her back to either comfort her, or congratulate her. Jisung wasn’t sure which.

Flickering his eyes over to the pew on the opposite side of the church, across the aisle from the inconsolable, very married woman, he smiled. Minho returned it.

Hyunjin never looked at her again.

About forty five minutes later Minho and Jisung were side by side, hurrying down the hall that surrounded the outside of the church, both laughing, exchanging hushed observations of the women in today's Sunday service. Spending some time bidding attendees goodbye, the two made rounds around the entrance hall after, straightening things up and gathering any items left behind by their forgetful, or two year old owner. Having changed from his alb, Jisung wore a button down and slacks, Minho mirroring his appearance, one that Hyunjin took the time to compliment him on.

“I'm more surprised that you allowed your attention to slip away from the service,” Minho said, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his slacks.

Jisung, hands swinging at his side, threw his head back and laughed. “No one even knows what he’s talking about half the time, I mean what was that today?”

Minho shrugged, his lips pulled into a smug grin. “Ask the woman in the third row.” Jisung peered over at him, the eldest exchanging something with him before the laughter started all over again. “Do you think he knows?”

“Oh, he knows,” Jisung said. The two rounded the corner, having arrived at the back of the church, and just as they turned, Hyunjin stepped from one of the offices, a bag slung over his shoulder. Jisung grabbed Minho by the collar of his shirt and yanked him backward, disappearing back down the hall before the priest could see them. Pressing himself against a cinderblock wall, he forced Minho beside him, keeping him in place. “He’s still here,” Jisung whispered, trying to keep his giggles at bay.

Holding his breath, Minho blinked down at the little hand clutching his shirt buttons, turning his chin to the boy focused on the other end of the hallway. Amusement lit up his expression, his round cheeks rippling to life with a smile too big for his face. Neither of them moved until the footsteps stopped, the carpet of the sacristy silencing them until the creak of the door signaled his exit. That’s when Jisung whipped his head toward Minho and released a heavy sigh.

Minho couldn’t take a breath until Jisung let go of his shirt, which he did, after three excruciatingly long seconds.

“Sorry,” the boy said quietly, taking a step away from Minho, hoping to resume their walk home. “I didn’t want him to see us.”

Minho cinched his brow, unmoving from the cinder blocks. “Why?”

“We were…” Jisung paused, turning himself around to face Minho completely, “We were talking about him, I couldn't…” Minho pushed himself off the wall, “Wouldn’t be able to face him if he…” Minho walked toward Jisung, a slow stroll. The boy closed his mouth, the man’s eyes somehow willing it shut.

Five days had passed since that evening, the one spent in the corner of Jisungs absolute comfort. Five days had gone by without a mention of what was said, what had been done. Five days since Minho acknowledged that there was in fact something there, whatever that may be. They’ve worked through their differences, faster than Jisung has with anyone. Both boys have spoken their truth, even more so over the last week now that they found it much easier to speak freely amongst one another.

But, then again, there were those words.

Beautiful boy. From a whisper that made its home snugly in the forefront of Jisung’s mind. He’s heard them before, but not like this. Elderly women would throw him the compliment, teachers and different priests growing up would mention it to him when he needed cheering up, he’s even sure his mother probably uttered the words at some point, but all of them together, they didn’t add up to how this one made him feel.

It fueled him, filling him with a warmth he wasn’t quite familiar with yet.

Whatever it was, it told him that he was safe with Minho, like all the other times he’s heard it had taught him. He could still feel the drag of his thumb over his skin, over his lips that parted, a breath falling through them before he leapt from the floor, his hold, and suggested they go inside to the house for dinner. Part of him stayed there, half of his consciousness heavily focused on the breathing, the whispering, the touching. The other half yearned to go back, his subconscious mind slowly leaking things to the half zoned in on the indescribable moment, things he still couldn’t decipher.

For five days he’d been able to avoid it, living happily within his own mind, keeping the moment to himself, for himself. Spending most of his days with Minho, working, reading, studying, flipping through the pages of East of Eden while Minho rambled his take on the novel shifting Jisungs perception entirely within two nights of discussion, it was enough time to push it down toward the box in his heart where Jisung kept all things he knew he couldn’t talk about with anyone other than himself.

It never made it inside.

Five days had passed since that evening and Jisung found the curiosity too much to bear. While they worked Jisung found himself observing Minho more than he initially sought out. While reading, he watched how his lips moved and the way his brown eyes glided over the text. Strong hands gripping onto his novel, the man sitting on the floor of his bedroom while Jisung sat on the edge of his mattress, he was aware of the flutters in his stomach while Minho spoke of his favorite characters, a passion alight in his typically reserved brow.

In five days they traded places. Jisung became the watcher, Minho evolving into the watched.

“If he knows then why does it matter if we’re caught talking about it?”

Jisung blinked. “What?” The words went over his head.

Minho stood in front of him, the familiar inches between them, separating them. Lowering his brows, a smile perked onto his lips. “What are you thinking about right now?” The smallest shake of his head must’ve given him away. Either that or how big his eyes had grown. “You’re not allowed to pull this with me anymore, Jisung,” Minho sighed, sarcasm hanging in the air, “Use your words.” His voice had dropped an octave. Surely it wasn’t on purpose. Then again, his chin had dropped too, the man peering at the boy through the top of his gaze, the smirk pulling at his pink lips giving Jisung that feeling in his stomach. He didn’t mean it this way, he couldn’t have. Jisung pressed his sweaty palms to his slacks. “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” Jisung whispered.

“Me?” His whisper was quick, as if he were expecting Jisung to say anything else.

It went on this way for weeks, the never ending push and pull, cat and mouse, the two boys swapping places every so often. Wrapped up in one another entirely, spending more than twelve hours a day wide awake working, reading, studying, together. When Minho wasn’t in a lesson with one of the priests, he was with Jisung. If Jisung wasn’t losing himself in journals or texts, he could be found beside Minho. They traveled around the property together, becoming a proper pair, close knit friends. Opening up to one another, telling each other stories that not even the men in the house ever learned about, a bond had been built. A trust.

Jisung had, for lack of better terms, become attached to the older boy. Not in the sense that he needed him to make it through each day, but the warmth that flooded his gut when he threw his sheets off of himself in the morning to hurry to wash up and greet Minho in the kitchen… Jisung liked that feeling.

Wake up, wash up, Minho, wash up, go to bed.

He waited for him around corners while he finished up lessons with Jeongin, unsure as to why he was hiding, one of those times being found out by Hyunjin. The long haired spirit had turned a corner just past the kitchen, headed toward the bathroom in the hidden hallway of the home. The boy was pressed to the wall, peering around the archway into the living room where Minho and Jeongin strolled in laps around the space and spoke inaudibly.

“Jisung,” Hyunjin’s voice like silk on skin was hushed, yet surprised. The boy, wide eyed, stared up at him, unable to feign innocence. “I thought you were in the church.”

Blinking more times than he could count, Jisung attempted a breath and a smile, failing at both. “I was, I just was-” Laughter rolled over them, coming from the living room. Jisung looked toward the space and Hyunjin narrowed his eyes.

“Waiting for your friend,” he nearly whispered.

Jisung’s cheeks went pink, his head whipping back toward Hyunjin in a flash. “My friend?”

Hyunjin smiled at the boy, easing the nerves that suddenly sparked beneath his honey toned flesh. “It’s okay to have a friend, Jisung. It’s been over a month now, I’d be worried if you two weren’t getting along.” His dark irises sang, the depth threatening to swallow Jisung whole, like the priest had the power to delve into his brain, his heart, his soul.

That didn’t feel right.

His sultry, studious gaze. One that had the power to render women breathless, and Jisung on any good day. This time, today, his skin crawled. His stomach flipped upside down. Hyunjin, who once could comfort him better than Christopher, help him work out inner thoughts and traumas, the man who’s seen him cry over things he thought he healed from, he made the nerves worse.

Jisung hadn’t shared insight on Minho with Christopher since that day in the sacristy when he mentioned he had been struggling with this assignment. The oldest and youngest of the priests knew how to move on and let things go, and Jisung supposed that they had done so as he and Minho’s relationship improved. Christopher found time to mention to the boy that he was happy to see them working so well together. Hyunjin, he was different. He held onto things. He held onto the truth. His truth.

Fixing his posture, Jisung took a breath and steadied himself before Hyunjin. Flustered once, he decided here and now that everything he shared with Minho was his, and his only. To protect Minho. From what? He didn’t know, but the urge to shield him and his name grew stronger with every passing day.

“And what did you do to celebrate then?”

Jisung tucked the last fold into the shirt on his lap, situating it on top of a few others on the hardwood floor beside him. Reaching into the wicker basket full of warm clothes he pulled out another, a light blue tee, folding it neatly.

A foot away from him Minho sat with his legs stretched out in front of him, his back against the dilapidated bedpost. Without looking up from his book he crossed his ankles over one another and shrugged. “Drank myself sick, I suppose.”

Dropping his hands into his lap Jisung sighed, acquiring a look from the man on his floor. Disheveled hair and a half untucked shirt. It’d been a long day, the two spent a few hours putting together plans for the end of year now that October was coming to a close. Trees were nearly bare, the ground around the church littered with specks of yellows, oranges, even some greens still fighting for dominance amongst the warm hues. The air had chilled, mornings becoming a nuisance now that the sun took its time rising for the day, much like how Jisung used to feel this time of year.

Minho’s lips carved into a smile. “Why’s that upsetting you?”

“Because,” Jisung huffed, taking his time folding another shirt from the basket. Sliding his fingers beneath the fabric, he pulled his lips side to side. After a beat he met his eyes.

Minho laughed, setting his book between his thighs. “Because?” he asked, raising both his brows. “Not, ‘it’s not upsetting me’?” His mockery of Jisungs voice had the boy throwing the shirt from his lap, teetering across the floor on his knees with a scowl on his face, reaching between his legs for the novel to smack him over the arm with. Face screwed up with laughter the moment the cotton was thrown to the floor, Minho held his hands up in defense and snatched his book back.

Tucking it into his chest, he pouted. “Hey, I take care of your books.” Jisung sat back on his heels, a grin painted on his face. “You take care of mine.”

“What are you reading anyway?” An attempt to grab it was dismantled by Minho turning his shoulder, shooting Jisung a playful glare over it. The boy laughed, then tried again, moving closer to him, his knee pressed to his thigh. “Come on, let me see.”

“I don’t think so,” Minho teased, twisting himself every which way. Jisung reached and reached, grabbing his arms to free the novel trapped to his chest, tugging at his white sleeves, shaking them around. “Not until you tell me the truth!”

He tried to scoot away, his legs bending at the knee, his body turning, that is until Jisung swung a leg over his thighs and planted himself on top of him. Using his weight, which wasn’t much, to keep Minho on the floor, the eldest flopped down in shock. Eyes widening, arms dropping, book falling- Minho let out a sigh and glanced to where the boy straddled his muscled thighs, the contrast in size overwhelming. Jisung grabbed the book from where it fell and read the words on the spine aloud.

“The Crucible,” the boy whispered, eyes flickering up to look at him. Uncertain silence. Flipping the book around in his hands, his palm small enough lay two across the cover, Jisung narrowed his eyes and inspected it. Worn down like his copy of East of Eden, Minho’s book had been run through, but this cover didn’t look like the others Jisung had seen before. Dragging a finger along the edge the black cover had a tear in the corner, one Jisung could slide his digit beneath. It was covered in paper, thick black paper. “Why cover it up?”

When he met Minho’s eyes the man took in a breath. “Because,” he said quietly, and Jisung dropped the book to his lap, the inches of space between their hips. Furrowing his brow, he tilted his head and a laugh spewed from Minho’s lips. “You have something to tell me too.” His hands planted firmly on the floor, the man tried his hardest to not shift beneath him, afraid that if he moved he’d scare him off. Watching his spiced brown eyes roll, Minho smirked.

“When you speak of what you went through like it’s a joke,” he paused, glancing down to his fingers he intertwined between one another, “I think I don’t understand it.”

Bobbing his head, Minho said, “That’s because you push every bad feeling away.”

Jisung snapped a hardened gaze up at the man he sat on top of. “I do not.”

Minho raised a singular brow and the boy clammed up, the safety of his inner self coming to rescue him, beginning to wrap around and pull him away. He started to slide off of Minho’s lap, but he quickly outstretched a hand, placing it to his neck gently, keeping the boy in his place straddling his legs. His cold touch sent a chill down Jisungs spine, his soft skin igniting in a fire only Minho had the power to put out. Touching his thumb to his cheek, Minho drug it along his honey’d color, his eyes following it.

His heartbeat steadied, Jisung’s did. One touch from Minho and the urge to escape the situation wasn’t a thought. Other times he’d remove himself, he knew what to do, how to avoid feeling the feeling, it was second nature at this point in his life, a lesson learned again and again, beaten into him. Going numb, but not detached. Still aware, but not here. It’s saved him before, he trusted that feeling, the way it’d rid him of all emotion, leaving him a shell where he’d move through motions without much to think about.

How that coldness could coexist with the passion for life, for his craft, for the people he loved, not even Hyunjin could figure that out. Somehow it protected him, the blanket of empty, though it left him without a heart willing to connect. The relationship he shares with Christopher, the love he holds for the man he sees as his brother, would be detrimental if lost. He once harbored that same warm feeling for the priest that he now holds for Minho, the excitement of waking up in the morning, getting to spend time with him, and now, with them. Which has solely switched into Minho over the last few weeks.

Discussions held amongst the priests had determined that Jisung’s attachment to Christopher stemmed from what life had handed him before his time here. That Christopher was to maintain boundaries, keep Jisung safe as well as aid him through this healing journey the boy had no idea he was even on. These discussions were never opened up to Jisung, he hadn’t any idea that he was an assignment for these men. An assignment they welcomed into their lives with open arms and quickly fell in love with. He belonged to the three of them, each in their own way they cared for him and watched over him, the assignment forgotten about faster than Jisung’s acceptance into the house.

“What did I say about doing this?” Minho spoke above a whisper, his voice barely loud enough to ricochet off the walls. Jisung, lips parted, didn’t move. He watched. “You don’t have to hide yourself from me, Ji.”

Eyes that once scared him, dark chocolate that threatened his safety, they now were his security. Minho knew just about everything Chrisopher knew, all the way down to the fact that Jisung was indeed uncomfortable with Minho’s arrival here. Within one glance, one persuasive gaze, Minho pulled it out of him, everything, and he never judged him for it, just like Jisung had been teaching himself not to judge Minho for his own past. The fact that he was here now, that he had sworn to Jisung that he wasn’t here to take anything away from him, only aid in his journey to the top, it had been enough for the boy to accept and move forward.

He trusted Minho. He trusted him like he trusted Christopher, but this one was his. Minho had taken to him, he seemed just as enthralled in Jisung as Jisung was in him. The three priests had each other, they were their own entity. Here within these chilly brick walls Jisung had Minho, and Minho had Jisung. They were on the same team. Minho didn’t want to fix Jisung like Hyunjin attempted to, he didn’t want to shape him into another version of himself like Christopher wanted to, he encouraged him to be himself, to think for himself, to start to want to live more freely.

“What are you thinking about?” Minho asked, his thumb dancing over Jisungs round cheek. “You get lost in there, you know that.”

“You,” Jisung whispered.

Minho smiled, touching his thumb to the boy's bottom lip. “Me?”

“I don’t know why I was so worried about you,” the boy kept his tone soft, voice low so the men around the house wouldn’t hear him, though he couldn’t pinpoint why he felt the need to hide.

Minho shrugged. “I’m not very good at first impressions, I’m kind of an ass.” Jisung opened his mouth and Minho pushed it shut with his thumb and a smirk. “Sorry,” he whispered. “You know you challenged me, and you still do. I know I still challenge you too.”

Jisung shook his head slightly and mumbled words against Minho’s thumb that he quickly took away. With a soft laugh, Jisung said again, “You don’t… challenge me anymore. We’re growing together, it’s comfortable, don’t you feel it too? You said it yourself, there’s…” Voice trailing off, he blinked a few times and shook his head, Minho’s hand dropping down to his knobby shoulder. “Anyway, I like this better. We’re friends.”

Averting his eyes to where Jisung nearly saddled his waist, Minho started to smile. “Right,” he said, lifting his hand to the boy's fluffy hair, dragging his fingers through his waves. Delicately the tips drug along his scalp, Jisung fluttering his eyes shut, his head tipping back a bit. “You’re tired,” he whispered, and Jisung tried to nod. “Let me go so you can get some sleep.”

Minho moved beneath him, sitting up, but Jisung clamped both hands to his shoulders pushing him back against the bedpost, the entire wooden thing shaking. It was old, creaky and loud. “No,” he breathed, sliding closer to his waist, Minho’s eyes shooting subtly wide for a moment. “Why leave?”

Glancing toward the clothes still in the basket and scattered about the floor, Minho said, “You need to go to sleep, and your laundry is half folded. I’m distracting you.” His hand dipped to the back of his head, his fingers still dancing throughout the waves, threatening the boy's head to tip backward again.

“No… you’re not,” Jisung sighed.

“Then explain this,” Minho whispered, catching his weight as his eyes closed. Jisung took a deep breath and let it out slowly, tipping forward.

“We’re talking,” he forced from his lips, tone hushed, eyes opening for only a second to catch a glimpse of Minho’s fond smile. “Talking is…” Jisung leaned forward, a breath falling from him as he moved, erasing the space that kept them apart. Minho, hands leaving Jisung in every way, let the boy lay himself over his chest, his head gracing his shoulder, warm breath from his parted lips tickling the skin of his neck.

“Talking is what?” Minho whispered, but it seemed the boy wasn’t going to give him an answer. His arms found their way around Minho’s back, his body weight growing heavier with each breath falling from his lips.

Pressed heart to heart, Minho gently wrapped his own arms around the boy, placing his hands over his back he’s never touched before. Everything touching now has ever touched before. Draped over him like this, Minho felt bigger than he ever has. Shoulders wider than Jisungs, the boy fit perfectly between his. Thighs thick, muscular, Jisung straddled him with his thin legs completely spread. Down his torso to his hips, Minho was wider, stockier, stronger, larger. Even the hands that caressed his back, the fingers that could count each notch in the boy's spine, they took up too much space.

Between the breath on his neck slipping beneath the collar of his shirt and his tiny frame clinging to his own, Minho tipped his chin backward, head pressing to the bed frame as he squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a shaking breath. The room grew warm, all hints of an approaching November vanishing in seconds as bubbles of heat prickled his skin from the inside out. Short breaths through his nose, Minho longed to grab his brain by the hands and whirl in a different direction, to another place, another time, but dark fluffy waves, innocent eyes, and pure, unknowing breath suffocated him.

Jisung moved with the slow rise and fall of his chest, Minho frozen beneath him aside from his slow breath. He pulled Christopher into his mind, and when that didn’t work, when the priest who walked around the house with his shirt unbuttoned didn’t cool the heat, because how on earth could he, Minho thought of Hyunjin, of Jeongin, of the people he’s seen in their Masses, the people he’s seen in church, Oh God, church, he could think of church, that’s definitely helped before but certainly not in this context. Everything about this was wrong, entirely so wrong, and Jisung had no idea, but Minho did, and for some reason that turned the heat up tenfold.

He was stuck, there was no way out. He longed to be free from restriction, the collar of his shirt and the belt of his pants.

Minutes passed. Long, deliberate minutes, painful, frustrating minutes. Minho had lost count, taking to guessing the time instead of focusing on the boy on top of him. It’d been a while, but he wouldn’t know, all the blood in his body had rushed elsewhere, there was none left to help him think. There was only one thing on his mind, and that very thing stirred after a large amount of time had passed.

Minho, his eyes pulled shut, snapped them open. Holding his breath, he waited. Jisung moved ever so slightly, his chest adjusting to a new place, his arms sliding lower as his demeanor dropped, his hips trying to move closer. Then, he stopped, he froze, and Minho squeezed his eyes shut.

Lifting his head, his chest off of Minho’s, Jisung blinked in the light and drug a hand over his face. Looking at Minho and his closed eyes, his head back against the post, he appeared to be sleeping, but Jisung wasn’t sure, nor was he certain of how long he had dozed off for himself. Dragging his gaze down his resting form, his still untucked shirt, his messy hair, his full, pouty lips, Jisung kept going, kept his eyes drawing lower down his torso until they found his belt.

His cheeks flushed pink at what he saw, what he felt, beneath the leather.

They flushed doubly so when Minho opened his eyes. Jisung wanted to climb off of his lap, shy away from him, maybe put some distance between them and act as though it didn’t happen within the coming days, but he couldn’t move. Eyes wider than they’ve ever been, he looked at Minho and the man gazed right back.

Never in his life had he been in another room with a man where this has happened, even to himself, and granted, it only happens to him sometimes when he wakes up in the morning. He’s never seen it, never experienced it, never felt it. Setting aside the nervousness that this has stirred up, his curiosity grew around it.

“Jisung, I-”

He cut him off, needing to speak first. “How?”

Jaw dropping open, a word caught in his throat, Minho squinted his eyes and stuttered before he asked, “How? You’re asking me… How?”

Tilting his head to the side, Jisung glanced between his legs and nodded. “Were you asleep? It happens to me when I sleep sometimes.” He flickered his eyes up at Minho, the man’s core tensing.

Taking a breath, he sighed. “No, I wasn’t asleep.” Jisung took a few seconds to himself, looking from his eyes to the bulge in his pants. Minho narrowed his gaze and asked, “Jisung… This has never happened to you before?”

The boy shook his head. “No,” he said quietly, “Sometimes I’ll wake up like this, but then it goes away.”

“How does it go away?”

Jisung shrugged. “It just does.”

Minho loosed a breath. “You don’t do anything about it?”

“No,” he started to laugh, sleepiness dripping all over his tone, “What is there to do about it?” As Minho flattened his lips, shock evaded Jisungs expression. “You don’t mean…”

“I think I do,” Minho whispered.

Jisung slid his hands over his own chest and grabbed the fabric of his shirt within fists. “I’ve never… I wouldn’t. It’s sinful, it goes away without needing to do… that.” He stared at Minho. “Is that something you do?”

“It’s something I used to do,” he said, and Jisung made a face. Sitting forward he leaned toward the boy and curled his lip. “Don’t look at me like that, thought you didn’t judge me anymore.”

Looking down between them, their chests centimeters from touching, Jisung shook his head. “I don’t, I don’t, I’m sorry, I just…” Meeting Minho’s glare he took in a breath, whispering, “Have you had sex before?”

Waiting a second before answering, finding the intrigue pooling in Jisungs eyes incredibly endearing, Minho nodded. “Yes, I have.”

Jisung focused on their bodies, nodding with him. “What was it like?”

Minho’s brows pulled together in the center of his forehead. “Do you want me to be honest or do you want me to appease the life you live?”

“Be honest,” Jisung whispered, eyes drifting upward to latch onto Minho’s who gave him a chance to change his mind. When he didn’t, he told him what he wanted to hear.

“It’s insanely spectacular,” his face lit up in a sarcastic excitement, his brows and eyes shooting up and out, making Jisung giggle as his head shook. “The act of it all, the build up, the satisfaction, the clear head, the euphoria, God,” he groaned and tipped his head back for a second before shooting Jisung a look. “It’s magic.”

“It’s a sin,” Jisung smirked.

Minho’s brows plummeted. “Not if you’re married.”

“And when have you been married, Lee Minho?” Jisung wiggled his eyebrows, leaning closer to the man who snickered.

“Never, Han Jisung.”

Whispers of a high school aged classroom peeked through the lid of the box he kept buried deep within himself. The box where his childhood was stored, where his secrets of Minho worries had been shoved into. Every bad thought, or every worrisome thought rather, lived in there. The things that gave him anxiety, the things that he thinks threatens his belief, whether it be his own or His.

At Preso, in the middle of a dimly lit classroom, he remembers needing to always tune out the things the sixteen year old boys like himself would say, the things they’d tease each other with. They’d talk about girls and the ones they see outside of school, sometimes even sneaking out after curfew to be with them. To be with them in the way that he’s just attempted discussing with Minho.

The next day, or mere hours later, they’d come back with stories that sent his heart racing, but soon after filling him with dread. The way the boys spoke of the girls, describing how they’d dress, how they spoke, how they would touch them, the sounds that they’d make, where they’d put things and why and for how long… The once good, pure, Catholic boys Jisung roomed with, shared a school with, had known since thirteen, he distanced himself from them.

He even put space between the one with feathered blonde hair and freckles that speckled his always smiley cheeks. Felix, a boy in his year, lived across the hall from him and his roomate Changbin. Jisung considered him a friend, the two met on his very first day when his luggage was thrown on top of the metal bed frame. Felix’s bright brown eyes and thick Australian accent invited himself over the threshold, into Jisungs room, and he helped him unpack, and then when he seemed situated, beginning to fight back tears after being ripped from all he's known, a tiny bedroom in the back of a house fit for only a couple, Felix grabbed onto Jisungs wrist and paraded him around the school, showing him everything he’d need to know.

They grew close, the two sharing an age, all their classes and similar interests. Felix didn’t outwardly associate with the other boys around them, but he listened to them, he laughed with them, and Jisung knew that he somewhat agreed with them and the way they lived their life. Shame grew within him when the boys would talk about things deemed a sin, and beside that shame, a resentment, not just for the other boys, but for Felix as well.

By the time the two were nearing eighteen they hardly spoke, space had been shoved between them, and Jisung knew exactly which night to blame. Similar to where he was now, atop a lap, he was beside Felix, the two studying in his bedroom. Over his bed covers tucked neatly at the edges, their arms brushed one another while they spoke and flipped through pages in books, all normalcy shared between the two. It grew later into the night, Seungmin, Felix’s roommate, was away at home for the weekend, so the boys had a free room. Not even knowing if it had passed midnight or not, both boys were nodding off, pencils dropping on top of unfinished notes that scribbled off toward the edges of the paper.

Jisung made the first move, shoving his books off his lap, resting against the white wall that stood tall behind them. His eyes shut, and Felix somewhere along the few minutes, he’d done the same. They slept for a while, clock ticking away, minutes and hours eating away at the time while their bodies moved and their unconscious selves got comfortable. When they awoke, everything changed, and Jisung longed to get those two minutes back.

Eyes fluttering open, his gaze met the ceiling, laying flat on his back over Felix’s mattress. Taking a deep breath, feeling a weight on his chest, he tipped his chin down and found his friend sprawled across him, an arm over his torso, a leg tangled with one of his own. He was awake, laying over his chest looking up at him with his round, wide, bright brown eyes full of something Jisung couldn’t place.

But, he was drawn toward it.

Within a minute he had tightened the arm that wrapped around Felix at some point, maneuvered himself around so that he was facing him, and clenched his jaw. No words were spoken, the two laid in utter silence for thirty seconds staring at one another, until Felix moved toward him, his head turning just a bit, sending Jisung’s heart into his throat. The boy leapt from the bed, leaving Felix and his heart shaped parted lips behind, gathered his things and darted across the hall to the safety of his own bedroom. Felix had been barely able to mutter the words “I’m sorry,” before he was gone.

It ended the friendship they shared for five years. Felix was kept in the very bottom of Jisungs locked box in his heart, behind shame, right next to guilt. He never sought out any help. He never confessed his sin, that if he didn’t leap out of Felix’s bed he may have let him kiss him. But, Felix was like the other boys. He partook in their banter. If he kissed him he’d expect more, and that wasn’t right, Jisung didn’t want that then, and besides even if he did, Felix was a boy.

“You’re doing it again,” Minho whispered, bringing Jisung back to where he sat on his lap, millimeters between their noses. “Come back to me,” he smiled, “Where do you keep going?”

That space within him, it stayed open.

“What were you thinking about?” Jisung asked, and when Minho raised a brow, he gestured between their bodies. “Minho, what were you thinking about?”

Taking his bottom lip between his teeth, the eldest took a sharp breath and Jisung felt his heart burst. Bobbing his head, Minho’s eyes flickered to Jisungs lips, and he whispered, “You.” A breath corrupted the boy's lungs, and fear flashed over Minho’s face. “It’s not a bad thing,” he continued to speak in a whisper, “I’m sorry, Ji, I tried to do what you do apparently, I tried to just make it go away, I-”

A pang of adrenaline ran through him, energy coursing through Jisungs veins, a different part of himself grabbing the wheel instead of the one he’s conditioned himself into for the last two years of his life. Reaching up, he grabbed the sides of Minho’s face and squished his cheeks, the man’s eyes shooting open wide. Just touching the tip of his nose with his own, they met eyes, Minho knocked breathless by the passion that radiated in Jisungs. Passion and curiosity. He held him with confidence, but he could tell he was scared shitless beneath the surface.

Fingertips pressing into his skin, Jisung took his thumbs to his cheeks and pulled the trick Minho had done twice now, grazing his cheekbones gently, exploring the porcelain clear softness with a carelessness, yet with all the care in the world. A face he’s now realized he’s longed to touch for a while now. A face he’s yearned to be close to since the day he stepped into Christophers office.

Christopher. Jisung should be running from this, from what he was doing. Now that he was fully aware, fully conscious of what’s happened and what’s been happening, he should hightail it to his superiors office, or his bedroom to wake him and pour his soul out while he knelt at his feet begging for a forgiveness only God could give him.

Any other given day he’d cower behind him. Jisung would hide behind Christopher, using him as a shield from anything and everything on the outside that didn’t serve him or his life. That feeling should be larger than it was right now, it should be overpowering everything Jisung was doing, everything he was feeling for the man he sat on top of, the man he held in his hands. The beautiful, rough around the edges, soul enlightening man who now seems like he’s gotten everything he’s ever wanted.

Jisung smiled.

There should be fear. Where was the fear? The guilt? With Minho gazing up at him, his lips quivering as Jisung studied his complexion, Jisung felt nothing but an ache, one he still didn’t understand, but one he wanted to know. Needed to know. He was intoxicating, he’d overridden everything Jisung has ever known.

For himself, for the final two minutes he now would admit he regrets with Felix, and for Minho, who looked up at him like his friend had years back. Closing the little space left, moving ever so slowly, Jisung closed his eyes and touched his lips to Minho’s, the man barely pushing back. The pulsing energy within his veins that would easily be colored with hues of purple and blue, it coursed through every muscle and spun red hot, a pit forming in his gut, growing outward from there. Parting from him with the smallest release of breath, neither boy opened their eyes.

“Jisung?” Minho's whisper was nearly inaudible.

“Yes?” The boy spoke just as quiet, his hands trembling where they held him.

Minho took a quick breath. “Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

This close Jisung could feel the warmth of the air that flowed from his lips, noticed that it intertwined with his own, becoming something shared, something of theirs. Gulping, Jisung clung to him tighter. “No,” he forced out, nervous to say the words.

As if MInho could feel it, he leaned forward and slid his hands over the boy's back, parting his lips further, wanting so badly to devour him, splay him over the floor and make a mess of him. “It’s okay,” he whispered, opening his eyes to Jisung’s confused brows, his eyes he forced closed. “It’s okay,” he repeated, nodding his head in his hold. “Look at me, Ji.”

He listened. His eyelashes brushed his lids as he met Minho’s soft, reassuring smile, but tears began to pool, turning his vision blurry. The box in his heart was creaking to a close, all of these huge, overwhelming feelings getting shoveled into it. “I’m sorry,” the boy whispered, fighting a sob, holding the tears back as best as he could. “I don’t know why I.. I’m sorry.”

Minho took a hand to his cheek, brushing away the tears that started to slip. “It’s okay, you’re okay, you don’t have to say you’re sorry.”

“Don’t run away from me.”

Minho now brought both hands to the rounds of his cheeks, Jisung sliding his own arms around the man's neck, hooking them around each other. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise you.” Jisung pressed his forehead to Minho’s, blinking away some more tears that slipped onto the collar of his shirt. “I told you, Han Jisung,” he started to smile, “I feel it too.”

“What is it?” Jisung sniffled, and Minho pressed his lips together.

At this point Minho would have to spell it out for him. This wasn’t something he could learn in a book, or from Christopher. If he hadn’t been so sheltered for twenty four years he’d know exactly what was happening, what was shared between them both, something Minho could smell on him the second they met eyes for the very first time. He’d hinted, and hinted, but Jisung truly was clueless. Surprising for someone who attended The Preso Academy, a school known for its sexual and lovers scandals, for students and teachers both.

Jisung didn’t think he was capable of having feelings toward someone of the same gender as him, that’s not something a boy like him believes in. He’s told the opposite, that it’s wrong, that man shall not lie with man, even though Minho knows it’s the best sex he’s ever had. Jisung hadn’t a clue that what he had were feelings for Minho. Whether romantic, or purely lustful, Minho could see it, and he was feeling them too. The boy already had tears to shed, he’d save the bomb drop for a later time, when he wasn’t sleepy and having his world shaken.

“Real,” Minho whispered. “Something we can talk about later, okay?” Jisung gulped, then nodded. “Do you trust me?” The boy nodded again. “It doesn’t scare me,” he said, keeping Jisung’s attention, “I need you to know that.”

“Okay,” he breathed.

Minho shifted the boy's chin a bit so their eyes were level. “I also need you to promise me something.” Jisung stilled, Minho’s charm overtaking his trembling. “You talk about this with me. I know it’s a lot, I know you don’t understand it, but I do. Okay? If you need somebody, you come to me.” Jisung nodded, and Minho sighed. “I need you to say it, Ji. Tell me you will. Christopher doesn’t know what to do here, he doesn’t get this. None of them do, and they never will. The place I came from, they sent me away because of this. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“Sent you away?” Jisung’s eyes filled with sorrow.

Minho smiled and squished his cheeks. “Yes. That’s why I’m here. They wanted to be rid of me. I asked for guidance, and over time when it had finally been revealed why I needed such help, they pawned me off. They didn’t want me.”

Tears welled in the boy's eyes once more. “Does Chris… Does he know this?”

Minho eased his pounding heart with a deep breath, one Jisung took with him. “I don’t think he does. The priest I worked under, he… Let’s just say there came a point where he was ashamed of me. Couldn’t stand to look at me any longer. To keep questions off of himself, he didn’t tell anybody.”

Jisung tangled his fingers in Minho’s hair. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” the man scoffed, a smile dancing on his lips. “I’m much better now.”

Things fell quiet, their voices, the air, their breath. Having glanced away, studying between them, a space that no longer existed now that they were pressed together again, Jisung lifted his gaze and nodded. “I promise. You, I promise you.”

“Good,” Minho said, his smile growing. “I don’t want you to feel bad about this, Ji.” The boy shifted on top of him, keeping his hold in his straight, thick hair. “Do you?”

Jisung shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Minho narrowed his eyes at Jisung’s that continuously flickered between his gaze and his lips. Whispering, he asked, “Do you want to kiss me again?” His tongue poked out between his lips as he nodded. “Do it.”

He darted forward, jaw chasing after Minho’s, lips parting in hurry. Before he could catch him in a kiss, he whispered within the shared air, “I’m sorry for crying on your birthday.”

Breathing through a laugh, Minho shook his head and caught a quick kiss, taking the boy by surprise. “Ji, this is the best one I’ve had in years.” The boy finally cracked some sort of smile, and Minho’s being filled with satisfaction. “Please, kiss me.”

And he obliged, the boy shoving himself forward on top of Minho, knocking him backward against the bedpost he once leaned on with a loud creak. Unsure of what to do, he followed Minho’s lead who, without telling Jisung, followed his lead. The boy kissed him in a rush, lips pushing against his like he was unleashing, unlearning ten years of his past, taking them back for himself. Letting him tear his fingers through his hair, kissing him sloppily because he’d never had practice, Minho reveled in joy, in patience. He allowed Jisung to learn, to figure things out, to move on top of him in ways his body had never moved before.

It was only when he tried to shove his tongue in the mix that Minho yanked him away, the boy a mess, his hair pushed back from his forehead and swollen, spit covered lips courtesy of Minho. Sleep lived in his eyes, it was adorable, Minho couldn’t help but smile.

“What did I do?” Jisung whispered, catching his breath.

“You need to go to bed,” Minho said, and Jisung groaned, trying to lean back into him. “No, Jisung,” Minho snickered, keeping a strong hold on the pouting boy's chest. “Sleep. You can kiss me tomorrow.”

Taking a hand from his hair, Jisung touched a thumb to just below Minho’s bottom lip, dragging it along the fullness, wiping it clean. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Minho parroted for sureness, dipping his chin to meet Jisungs eyes with a small smile.

The boy cracked a smile, a small laugh escaping him as within him buzzed with what he thinks is happiness. “Okay.”

Christopher stood in the center aisle, his feet planted firmly in hazy blue light shining in from the stained glass windows of the church that grew tall over his head. Facing the altar, standing in the back of the church, he had an arm crossed over his chest while the other's elbow rested on top of it, his hand curled over his chin, a finger situated sideways between his lips. His eyes focused on the tiny being moving calculated, yet hurriedly about the altar. Straightening things up, cleaning, dusting, keeping everything neat and tidy, November had begun and Jisung hadn’t changed.

The church just held three days worth of celebrations, moments of remembrance, dinners held, prayers spoken. Large crowds occupied these walls that surrounded Christopher, music playing, voices singing. Their community came together, they connected through Mass and the dinners held afterward in one of the larger halls in the center of town here in Avida. It was time for mourning the dead, to grieve all who had come before, but then celebrate the never ending life waiting in Heaven.

Jisung, who Christopher typically had to convince to feel some sort of joy this time of year, took the lead on most of the projects, not that it surprised anyone to an extent. The boy became reserved in the months of fall, the months of winter, like most humans, but Christopher saw a brand new light in his eyes. Always arriving promptly, where once lived a solemn smile now lived a beaming grin. Where there once were withdrawn brown eyes there now were perky, awake, sparkling brown eyes. He took control of the set up, he had Christopher, Jeongin and Hyunjins schedules prepared and turned into them before they asked, and he stayed late for the clean up.

A week or so ago Hyunjin had mentioned something to Christopher, a mere mumble in the dark of the hall late at night after a glass of wine. There’s a new pep in his step. As relieved as the youngest priest was that Jisung didn’t seem like he was going to hibernate within himself this winter, he found himself pondering over what’s changed, and why he wasn’t involved. His job was getting done, Jisung continued his practices, excelled at his work, Christophers job was getting done. Jisung was on track, that’s what mattered.

Time spent with the boy had begun to grow thin. The new pep in his step turned him into a whirlwind Christopher found himself unable to tie down. It could be mania, they had all thought it at some point, discussed it even, but he remained logical, calculated, steady, grounded. It could be an outward cry for help, forcing a smile, pushing himself harder and further until his light would snuff out.

Or, he could simply be happy.

Outbursts had lessened, his hardheadedness taking a break which threw everyone off, especially Hyunjin. The shadowlike man harbored the strongest curiosity for Jisungs change in behavior, considering he was bursting at the seams in frustration just over a month ago. He spoke with his brothers, telling them in great detail with very large words that Christopher cannot remember, that it’s very unlike a human being to change suddenly, as quick as Jisung had, without an outside factor affecting him.

He had been quick to mention Minho, throwing out the boy's name without much reason aside from the fact that he’s been the only major change around the parish since Jisung had come aboard. Not only that, but he had been given to Jisung, the boy forced to work with him, beside him, sharing such tight space and ample amount of time.

Christopher didn’t see it. Their relationship hadn’t changed. Whenever they were around one another they kept quiet, they never sat close enough to argue, or even talk much in that case. After expressing his doubts with adjusting to Minho’s arrival it appeared that Jisung had made it through the transition. A rocky start to the new addition, but his confidence had come back. Christopher couldn’t see what Hyunjin could see, but when it came to Jisung he would do what it took to figure it out.

Heading toward the altar, both of his hands slipping into the pockets of his slacks, Christopher focused his eyes on the shining marble floor stained with color. As he approached Jisung who now leaned against the altar waiting for Christopher to reach him, the priest sighed and flashed him a sideways smile, a dimple popping into his cheek.

“Leaving me?” Jisung asked, his bubbly voice floating into the open air.

Shrugging, Christopher said, “I think so, I have to catch up on some things.” Tilting his head to the side, he narrowed his eyes slightly and asked, “Have you seen Minho?” and watched how the boy reacted to the mention of his name.

He didn’t.

“He might be in the office in the house,” he said without a change of expression, a switch in tone. “Jeongin left us with a lot of paperwork to go through, why do you guys always do this to me before Christmas?”

Sharing a small laugh with the boy, Christopher hung his head with the facade of shame. “Because,” he said, snapping his head up to grin at Jisung, “We all aspire to be you, Ji. On time and on top of our stuff, but unfortunately we aren’t.”

“Well, get better at it,” Jisung teased, his cheeks pulling wider as his smile grew.

“We’ll try,” Christopher scrunched his brow for a second, a sure indication that nothing would change. The priests would remain last minute procrastinators. Jisung giggled before he turned to collect a few books around the delicately carved statues, and the priest watched.

Glancing over his shoulder, Jisung made a face, laughing again. “What have I done to make you so intrigued with me today? Feel like you’ve been watching me for hours.”

“Because I have,” Christopher said through a breath, forcing Jisung to spin around on his heels, worry dusting his brow. Waving a hand, the priest uttered, “No, no, no,” then he huffed, “I just… Will miss you when we go away, you remember that’s coming up soon, right?”

Jisung shifted the books to one of his hips, bearing the load that had his body leaning left. “You mean the week-long trip the three of you take up to Northern Sainte to meet with all other Reverends and Parish members from all over the map.” Christopher hesitated his nod, a smile breaking out at Jisungs knowledge, and the two laughed. “Yes, Chris, I’m aware. It happens between these holy days in November, before the end of the calendar year, before the liturgical year begins. I stay here, I prepare for the birth of Jesus Christ, you three do whatever it is you do in Sainte, and then you come back here and tell me nothing.”

As melodic as his flow was, the end of his monologue fell flat. Disappointed.

Christopher tucked his hands behind his back, holding onto one finger. “Well,” he cleared his throat, “Perhaps next year you’ll be joining us.” Jisung’s jaw fell agape bringing a bigger smile to Christophers face.

That was a big hint. That was a Christopher knows something and can’t hold back from slipping it to Jisung hint. He had to tell Minho.

Watching as Christopher left him in silent excitement and anticipation, Jisung bared his teeth and let out a happy sound so loud it bounced off the high walls and tall ceilings making its way back to him, gracing his ears. Adjusting the books on his hip he darted from the altar, feet smacking on the marble floor as he hurried for the double doors and threw them open with one hand. He raced into the sacristy, shoved the books on the shelf without much order and barreled for the old wooden door.

Outside in November, skipping over the wet leaves pressed into the concrete, the cool air calmed him slightly, but not enough. Perhaps next year you’ll join us. It was happening. At some point within the next year, it was happening, Jisungs dreams were coming true.

Wiggling himself into the back door of the clergy house, the door stuck on the stone of the step, Ann ended up taking it from him, hitting him on the shoulder with her wooden spoon. Stumbling back, letting the woman take care of it without the need for force, she turned with a smug smile and ruffled Jisungs hair.

“What’s put you in a good mood, huh?” Her voice crackled from her chest, but it warmed Jisungs heart. Shoving his hands into his pockets he shrugged. “You’ve always been an awful liar, Jisung, come on now,” she moved the stool over from the stove and suggested he sit down, “Tell me.”

Glancing at it, Jisung laid a hand over the rounded wood and gave her a soft toothless smile. “I’ll come back after dinner, I have to go find Minho.” Dashing from her side, Jisung reached the archway of the kitchen before her gentle voice pulled him back a step.

“You’re an awful liar,” she sang.

Turning, Jisung perked a brow. “I’m not lying,” he said. “I’m really going to find Minho.” Ann shot him a look, her stark grey ponytail dancing over her back clothed with a sweater and a long skirt to match.

“But you’re not coming back after dinner,” she said, a knowing smile tugging at her thin lips. The way Jisung screwed up his brow and scoffed made her laugh, something of a cackle that once sounded like a beautiful melody. “I haven’t spent any time with you since that boy has been here, Jisung. Do you know that?”

Jisung tangled his fingers together in front of his chest, pouting his lips while he thought. “You’re probably right,” he said above a whisper, “I’m sorry, Ann.”

The woman waved her left hand that wore a golden band on her ring finger. “It’s nothing to me, you know this,” she said, then her voice lowered. “You just watch yourself, young man,” she raised a finger and pointed it toward him, “I hear their whispers.”

The floor came out from under him a bit. “Their whispers,” he repeated, and she nodded. “What do you mean, their whispers? Are they… What are they saying?”

Her finger made its way to her lips. “Remember what I tell you, Jisung. What do I say to you when their voices get too loud?”

He glanced at the floor, the tile cheering him on as it always had. “Be… Be me.”

“Be you,” Ann whispered, her smile making him melt into one as he looked up at her. “Always be you, Jisung. You’re exceptional.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled, his cheeks heating up under the praise.

Ann shook her wooden spoon toward him. “Go,” she ordered. “Find your friend.”

He didn’t find him until after midnight, and he didn’t do any finding, he was the one found.

Sitting in bed against his headboard, The Crucible in his lap, resting on his bent knees, Jisung chewed at a fingernail, his eyes scanning the text at lightning speed. Word after word the letters poured in and formed the pictures in his mind, everything about the story intriguing yet frightening. Occult, witchcraft, women dabbling in the art… It was wicked, unbelievable, and all the more cruel what happened to these people.

The door to his bedroom swung open and he leapt a mile, the peaceful quiet corrupted by his gasp and the creak of the metal hinges. Minho, laughing silently at his reaction, snuck inside, checking out the hall before he gently pulled the door shut, making sure to twist the knob before it closed, sneaking in successfully.

Tossing the book aside, Jisung sat up, a smile painted on his lips matching the one Minho wore as he came toward the bed. “Hi,” he whispered, holding back a giggle.

“Hi,” Minho said, and his voice cleared the boy's head of all thoughts. Leaning over the mattress on his hands, the bedframe creaked and both boys froze at the sound. “How was the rest of your day?” Moving on after a few quiet seconds, Minho tried to sit down on the bed, but the wood groaned in fatigue. Clasping his hands over his mouth, Jisung swallowed his laugh as Minho closed his eyes in defeat. “How do we not hear you throughout the night on this thing?” Eyes shooting open, he ogled the boy who finally broke out in hushed laughter. Shaking his head Minho sighed and gestured a hand toward himself. “Get over here, you’re lighter, it’ll let you move.”

Shifting to his hands and knees the bed did in fact let the boy move, his tiny frame crawling over the blankets toward Minho, sitting down right beside him on his knees while the man's legs dangled off the side. “The rest of my day went well,” Jisung said, getting as close to him as humanly possible. “Christopher told me something today.”

Minho licked his lips. “Yes, he told me something, too.”

“You go first,” they both said at once, breaking into fits of quiet laughter.

“You go, you go,” Jisung said between breaths. “Please, tell me.”

“What’s this trip they take?” Minho asked, his eyes scattering all over Jisungs face like he hadn’t been able to look at him properly in days. “A week they go away? To Sainte? He told me about it, I had no idea.”

Jisung took a breath, finding comfort in his voice. “It’s annual. They meet with all the other churches.”

Minho glanced away and let out a singular laugh that resembled a scoff. “So he was telling the truth.”

The boy screwed his brows up, tilting his head. “Why wouldn’t he tell you the truth?” Minho looked back at him, his expression blank, then he shook his head.

“Not sure, just seemed strange to have this pop up soon after starting here,” Minho said. It didn’t take but six seconds for his gaze to be taken over by a darkness. “Also, don’t think I can believe we’ll be alone here for a week.” His whisper sent chills over Jisungs skin, the little bumps erupting over his honey complexion.

His lips were inviting. Jisung, focused on them, wanted to lean over his shoulder putting space between them and kiss him, but he had news to share.

“Christopher said I’ll be going with them next year,” he said softly, his smile lighting up his cheeks.

Minho’s flickered onto his lips for all of half a second. “You- You’ll be going with them?” he asked. After Jisung nodded, his hair bouncing wildly on his head, Minho focused down to his feet. “That means it could happen any day now, right?”

“Yes,” Jisung breathed, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth. “I can’t believe it.”

Scoffing, Minho shot him a look. “Yes, you can. You’ve worked hard for it.” His tone didn’t match Jisungs in excitement, knocking the boy down a few pegs.

“What’s wrong?”

Minho cinched his brows. “Nothing, that’s exciting, I’m happy for you.”

“No you’re not,” Jisung said, leaning toward the man, closing the space over his shoulder. Close to him, looking him in the eye, Minho couldn’t hold back a laugh. “I’m being serious.”

Sliding an arm around Jisungs back, Minho bobbed his head. “I know you are.”

“Then, what’s the problem?” Jisung spoke in a whisper. “How many times have you said that you want to help me achieve this?”

Dragging a hand up and down his spine, Minho glanced from the boy's lips to his narrowed eyes. “Many times,” he said. “And it still stands true.” Jisung placed his chin on his shoulder, looking up at him through his lashes. Shining eyes, wide and innocent, they persuaded him without Jisung needing to say another word. “Okay, I guess I wasn’t ready for it to happen so fast.”

Hesitating, Jisung eyed his lap, then decided to climb over top of it, wrapping his legs around Minho’s waist. Slinging his arms around his back, he pressed their chests together and looked up at him with a smile, one the man sizes larger than him tried to return. Ignoring the pit in his stomach, Jisung lowered his eyes to Minho’s lips and tipped his chin forward, pressing a quick, chaste kiss there.

“Daily kiss,” Jisung whispered.

Minho, through now hooded eyes, blinked and chuckled. “Thank you,” he sighed. The eldest took his arms around the boy's back, grabbing onto his wrist, letting his hold drop around Jisungs waist. His arms could probably wrap around him twice if they really tried. Holding his gaze, a smile resting on his lips, Minho said, “We haven’t done that in about a day.” Jisung shook his head, the tips of their noses brushing. “You’ve been so busy.”

“We’ve been so busy,” Jisung corrected him.

“Right,” Minho rolled his eyes in agreement. “We’ve been busy. You guys take holidays seriously around here.” Jisung’s smile told him he wanted to hear him say more. “The dinner, the Masses that felt more like a poker hall this time around…” A giggle blessed Minho’s ears. “You outdid yourself, Ji. I hope you feel good.”

The boy brushed the tips of their noses together again. “I do.”

“Good,” Minho smiled, but it started to fall after seconds of gazing at one another. “How am I going to be able to do what you do without you?”

“What do you mean?” Jisung began to sit up, but Minho kept him snug against his body.

“I mean,” the man scoffed, popping his brows, “You set the standards here. I don’t know how I’m going to live up to your…” Minho shrugged, glancing away before he smiled at the boy on his lap. “To you.”

His soft voice tickled Jisungs cheeks pink. “You’re good at what you do too, Minho,” he whispered, and Minho’s smile grew, “You’re going to be great.”

Letting his words get lost in the air, Minho took a long blink and whispered, “Thanks, Ji,” before turning his chin to catch the boy's lips in a kiss that he led.

Since the night of his birthday Minho took most control, solely because Jisung had no idea what he was doing. Every time Minho slipped into his bedroom after the clock struck twelve, making sure to not go to his room first, sacrificing his own time for the sake of sneaking through Jisungs door, he let the boy figure things out, but guided him while doing so. Small whispers between the mashing of lips, the clashing of teeth if Jisung grew too eager, Minho let him know what was what, what was too much, what wasn’t enough, what could be better, and what was good.

Knowing Jisung, Minho made sure to let him know when he was doing a good job, when he liked what he was doing through a happy hum or a breathless, sweet whisper. A fast learner, he caught onto it all quickly, faster than Minho expected. He liked doing it, kissing Minho, he enjoyed it, and though each night would end with Minho asking him if he was okay, if he felt okay, Jisung would stun him with a kiss.

Much like he was now, Jisung knitting his fingers in Minho’s hair, letting his lips take over, parted, sloppy, hot and wet. It never went further than this, and somehow they both were okay with that. Jisung loved to do this, sit on his lap, shove his tongue between Minho’s lips, breathe him in and writhe on top of him. He didn’t know what came next. He had an idea of what came next, of what happened after something like this, but he couldn’t do that.

Those were words he spewed to Minho when the man took his lips down Jisungs jaw, to the soft skin of his neck, kissing it, grazing his teeth over it. Even him putting his lips anywhere but on Jisungs felt wrong, like it shouldn’t be happening.

None of it should be happening, the kissing, the heavy breathing, the touching, the yearning, the insane amount of saliva the two have exchanged over the last week.

But, he loved it. It made his heart race, in a good way, it made him excited. Everyday, since Minho’s birthday, it’s all Jisung has been able to think about. Make it through the day, kiss Minho at night. Get the work done, get into bed, and wait for Minho to get on his bed. Like clockwork, Jisung wrapped himself around his waist and tried to kiss him in new ways he’d never had since the day before. Like how the people in some of his and Minho’s books would kiss, even if they were mostly married couples.

He was only kissing Minho, there were no rules against kissing. Lips pressing together. An innocent act that Jisung pretended didn’t have him waking up compromised like Minho had been days ago. He couldn’t help it, he was beginning to find him in his dreams, and those dreams weren’t kind to him. Minho would kiss him of course, most times here in his room or elsewhere that Jisung couldn’t make out, but as the dream progressed, his hands would touch him. They’d slide everywhere, they’d grab him places he shouldn’t be grabbed.

Waking up after a slumber like that, he’d been in trouble. He’d ached, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Ignoring the moments in the foggy dreams where he’d envision Minho beneath his covers with him waiting for him to wake up with this problem, he’d watch the man pull the blankets back and wrap his hand around…

“Jisung,” Minho whispered harshly, his hands grabbing hold of the boy's waist tight and firm. Pausing, lips sucking at the skin of Minho’s neck, Jisung took note of his racing heart, his burning skin and where he was placed on his lap. Hips pressed forward, they were mid roll against Minho’s. Pulling his head back, he took in a shaking breath and released it in a panic. “Ji, it’s okay,” Minho said as fast as he could, but the boy had already begun to spiral.

It happened to him. It happened right now. Jisung couldn’t even go back to figure out when, or how, or why… Well, he knows why, but why. Glancing between them, his skin on fire, Jisung snapped his eyes shut and groaned. Attempting to get up, to vacate his lap, Minho held onto him.

“Jisung, please,” Minho whispered, taking the hits and the shoves with ease. The boy's hands couldn’t do much damage. “Listen to me, it’s okay, I wanted to stop you before something-”

“Let me go,” he said, raising his voice enough to startle Minho into releasing him. His feet hit the floor and he stumbled backward, dragging his hands through his hair. Standing didn’t help, if anything it made it worse, more noticeable, taunting him, and Minho was here to watch it all happen. Pressing his palms over his eyes Jisung spun toward his door and laid his arms on it, focusing his body weight forward, one knee bent, the other foot keeping his balance.

Minho, focused on him, lowered his brows and sighed to himself. This was learned. Rehearsed. He supposed this was what Jisung did to make it go away. “Ji, talk to me, please.” Whispers fell from the boy, whispers Minho couldn’t hear, but he spoke them like a prayer. Another sigh came from Minho as he rolled his neck backward. “You promised to talk to me. This happened to me, now it’s happening to you, it’s okay, it’s-”

Jisung whirled around, his eyes teary, his cheeks pink. “Stop talking, you’re making it worse,” he choked out, dragging another hand through his hair, pushing it all backward. He covered his face once more, attempting to press his thighs together as if that’d help anything. His shallow breath and tensing muscles told Minho plenty.

Rising to his feet, the man took a few strides toward him, taking his time while the boy uttered more pleads for forgiveness into his palms. Not letting how he tried to cower away from him stop Minho, the boy leaning into his touch regardless, he slid his hands around the back of his neck, pressing a kiss to his forehead which ceased all whispers.

“Jisung.”

The boy dropped his hands, keeping them by his side. Shining eyes looked up at Minho and his own problem started to manifest. “Yes?”

Minho danced his thumbs beneath his jaw. “You don’t know what you were doing, the way you were moving, it’s okay. It’s something your body wanted, you didn’t know if-”

“I did,” Jisung whispered, and Minho’s jaw snapped shut. The boy nodded, a cry lodged in his throat. “I was… lost in it, I was thinking about you in my dreams and I didn’t realize what I was doing, but I did know what I wanted.”

Minho stuttered before he said, “Y-your dreams?” Heaving a breath, he shook his head a bit. “What about your dreams, you’ve never said anything about dreams before, what are you talking about?” Jisung blinked. “You knew what you wanted, Jisung, what are you saying?”

A smile perked onto the boy's lips, something small, unnoticeable, but Minho caught it. “I dream about you, Minho.” He was certain the man's legs would give out if he whispered the words again. “You do things to me,” he gulped, but Minho gaped, “Things you told me you used to do to yourself.”

Minho stepped forward, pressing Jisungs back to the bedroom door and his forehead to his. Caging him in, his darkened eyes alight with more than just curiosity, Minho controlled his breath but answered Jisung with a blink of his brown eyes. “Tell me,” he whispered behind his teeth.

Cheeks heating up, Jisung shied away, trying to shimmy out of Minho’s hold, looking away from him with an uncertain groan. “No, I can’t, I-” Minho used his hands to tilt Jisungs chin back up, their equally full of lust eyes meeting. The eldest grit his teeth. “Jisung. Tell me.”

What should’ve frightened him only fueled the ache in his gut, in his veins, in his pants. A different part of him he’s never taken the time to get to know, he needed to know what happened next. Why did he long to kiss Minho, and why did he want to thrust his hips up against him while doing so? In fact, why did his lower half attempt to make contact while he stood here in front of him, and why did the softest whine slip from his lips and make Minho’s pupils grow in size?

“You kiss me,” Jisung whispered, and Minho hung onto every word. “We always do that. But, sometimes… Most times… You touch me.” A breath corrupted both their lungs, Minho clenching his jaw tight. “You touch me where you said you would touch yourself, and… I can never feel it. I can only watch it.”

“That’s because no one’s ever touched you before, Jisung,” Minho said, and the boy blushed. “You’ve never even touched yourself, of course you don’t know what it feels like.”

His heartbeat was so loud he was sure that Minho could hear it. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed hard, and nodded ever so slightly. “What does it feel like?”

Minho thinned out his lips. “It feels like-”

Jisung cut him off by sliding his arm up around his neck. Brushing their noses together, the boy whispered, “Don’t tell me.” Minho waited with baited breath, and when Jisung spoke he swore he could’ve made a mess of the pants he wore. “Touch me.”

“Ji,” Minho spoke with caution, “Do you know what you’re asking me to do?” The boy nodded, his expression unchanging. “You want me to touch you there?” Jisung nodded again, and Minho huffed a laugh. “The very thing you just tried to pray away, you want me to touch it.”

He barely smiled, but he nodded for the last time. “Please.” Red hot feelings washed over Minho. He longed to groan aloud, but three men were sleeping just down the hall, so instead, he kept it between the two of them and started to slide a hand down Jisungs torso, watching as the boy sucked in air like it was his job. Keeping his eyes focused on his, his expression, his emotion, Minho whispered, “If you want me to stop you tell me to stop, okay?” Jisung nodded, and a groan tore through the eldest teeth. “Words, Jisung.”

“Okay,” he barely whispered, already gone and Minho’s hand hadn’t even reached his belt yet. When it did, his knees buckled. Fingers slipping over the leather, a gasp ripped through the boy's chest, his head falling backward as the most insatiable pleasure invaded his body, his skin, his blood, his brain. His hand pressed to his hardened length, having stopped as he reacted so suddenly. Minho took his other hand behind his head, cushioning it from hitting the wood of the door.

Lips parted the slightest, eyes glazed over in seconds, Jisung took in short breaths. He pulsed, within his chest and Minho’s hand, he’d never not been thinking about anything, but there were two things on his mind. His hand, and his face. He wanted his hand to move, and he wanted to kiss him, all at once.

Like he could read his mind, Minho leaned in, pressing his parted lips to Jisungs, the boy happily accepting his tongue in his cheek, his open mouth suffocating the sound Jisung made when Minho palmed him. The slightest drag of his hand, the most powerful of feelings. It started so slow, the kisses, the touching, but in seconds they were rash and ragged, no thoughts other than one another and the need for release, the need to reach ultimate euphoria.

Hot, heavy breath pumped between them, the air in the room turning warm, a little sweaty, moreso when Minho pressed his own hardness to Jisungs thigh, rutting against him in time with the swift massage of his hand. Jisung was a panting mess, Minho accepted that. He also accepted the fact that this was all they were going to do for a while, and he’d take it. There’s no other place in the world he’d rather be right now.

“Talk to me,” Minho whispered between wet kisses, latching his lips back to Jisungs quick to muffle his insufferably adorable whines. “That feel good?” Pulling back a bit, looking down at him and his upturned brows raised in the center, Minho smiled. His eyes opened, as did his jaw, and Minho, faster than lightning, took his lips there, softening the sound that came straight from Jisungs chest.

“Good,” Jisung whispered when Minho released his lips. “Fe… Feels so good.”

Pressing his nose to his temple, Minho smirked and let the boy's head lull forward onto his chest, his own heart beating a mile a minute, he’d be able to feel it. Tangling his fingers in his curls, Minho took in a large gust of air and held it for a few seconds before he pushed it through pursed lips. Every thrust of his hips into Jisungs thigh drove him mad, because it wasn’t enough. The contact, the friction, was satisfactory at best. It amazed him how Jisung trembled, he shook in his arms, and Minho barely moved. Even the first time someone touched him, he’s certain it didn’t feel this way.

Until suddenly it did.

A breath caught in his throat and his hand tightened around Jisungs length eliciting a moan out of the boy. Jisung had snuck a hand down their bodies, over his thigh and between Minho’s legs. A whisper of disbelief tumbled out of them both, the boy's eyes rolling back before they closed and he tipped his head back into Minho’s hand once more.

“Jisung, you don’t have to do that,” Minho’s voice was wrecked, it made Jisung flutter his eyes open.

“I want to,” he whispered between hurried breaths. “Want to touch you, want to feel you, want to,” he gasped, “Want to-”

His other hand grabbed onto Minho’s that groped him and he yanked it away, off of him, away from him. Looking up at him, his eyes were wide, full of nervousness.

“What?” Minho asked, his voice barely audible. “Are you okay? I’m sorry.”

Jisung blinked an infinite amount of times, using his breath to ease the feeling that bubbled up inside of him. Calming himself down looking at Minho, he licked his lips and asked, “What was about to happen?”

Minho quirked a brow. “What do you mean?”

“That…” Jisung took a second to collect his thoughts, but he couldn’t string any together. “That feeling,” he said. “It… kept getting bigger. Felt good, but… When does it stop?”

Minho broke out into a smile, swallowing his laughter for the boy's sake. “Ji?” The boy nodded and Minho said, “Hold onto me, kiss me, and let that feeling happen to you.”

Wrapping his arms around his neck like they were, Jisung began, “But, how will I know it’s-”

Minho finished, “You’ll know. Trust me. I’m right here, focus on me, let me take you there.” They shared a few seconds. “Okay?”

Jisung nodded. “Okay.”

Within seconds they were back to where they were, lips a mess, dirty breaths, hands and arms wrapped around one another clinging for sanity. Jisung listened to Minho, he paid attention to him, he let him take care of him, he fell into him headfirst, this feeling and a whole other one he couldn’t begin to decipher at the moment. His hand moved like magic, over his pants, but still, like magic. Minho was right, it was insanely spectacular. The act of it all, the build up, the satisfaction, the euphoria. It’s magic.

That need within him grew, the one that scared him before. Keeping his lips on Minho’s he allowed his body to move the way it wanted, pushing against his touches, his calculated ministrations that felt memorized, practiced. Either way it felt really, really good, and Jisung couldn’t keep it together, his legs trembled, his heart pounded, his brain clouded over in white hot daze, whatever was within him, it grew, and it grew, and he writhed, and he whined, and Minho praised him when he wasn’t dragging his tongue over his lips, and Jisung begged him to keep going, begged him to never stop touching him, and then he…

“Oh my God,” he moaned, muffled by Minho’s mouth. Hips stuttering, pressing so far forward he needed Minho to keep him on his feet. His skin buzzed, his veins coursed with euphoria like Minho said he’d feel. Everything he said, it was the truth. Satisfaction. Euphoria. Magic.

And all the more sweaty, and sticky, and wet, but God.

Releasing his cryptic hold on Minho, apologizing for the way his fingers dug into his skin, Jisung caught his breath and gazed up at him, the smile on his face telling him plenty. “What?”

Minho pressed his lips together, kissing his forehead before whispering, “Made you cum.”

Thinking to himself, realizing Minho still harbored a hard-on pressing into his thigh, Jisung asked, “Can I make you do it too?”

A breath shot through the man, his eyes widening and his heart rate skyrocketing. “Not tonight,” he said, and the disappointment that washed over Jisung tugged at his heart. “We’ve got to sleep. If you try, we’ll be here all night, and not for the reasons you think.”

masterlist ✞ talk to me ✞ ao3

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.

#stray kids au #skz au #minsung au #minsung stray kids #minsung fic #minsung smut #minsung fanfic #minsung #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fic #lee know x han #lee know x han jisung #skz smut #skz angst #sacriligious au #idk how to tag this tbh #nervous #m&td

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grapejuicestyless · 2 years ago

Text

Love Me Until My Breathing Stops?

Harry Styles x Fem!reader

Angst to Fluff

DISCLAIMER!: There are some very serious topics in this. Depression, mentions of fucked up relationships. This is not romanticizing this at all.

Teaser: "Now they'd pass with whispers about how she'd only ever be a shell of who she once was. Destroyed by the weight of the love that she'd given so recklessly and the evil she'd let sleep next to her in her bed at night."

To be honest, I had no idea where it went so irreparably wrong. You never notice you're slipping until your feet are out from under you and your head hits the floor. Maybe that's how I never saw it coming.

My bed was my new home, my tears were my midnight snack and my eyes were probably permanently shut from the puffy skin that was blotchy and irritated beyond belief. My pillow was my sanctuary and the darkness was my friend. I miss my old friend sunshine. I miss the backyard barbeques and the reunions in the park. I miss the kids running from the bees and the smell of the wet grass in the mornings.

It had been a month, two weeks, three days, twenty one hours and thirteen minutes since I'd fallen, unable to pick up the shattered pieces that became my identity. The shadow of the girl who used to find peace in the smiles from people passing by. The girl who threw welcome home parties and tended to her garden every afternoon. Now they'd pass with whispers about how she'd only ever be a shell of who she once was. Destroyed by the weight of the love that she'd given so recklessly and the evil she'd let sleep next to her in her bed at night.

I'd been so convinced that he was the one. Grew up these past few months believing I was all that he saw. Breathing him was slowly killing me. I thought so highly of the man I shared my in's and out's with. I'd wake up early just to see the even rise of his chest, dreaming of his curly hair and our future together. Now in my own suffering, I dreamt that he drowned.

But it wasn't his fault, no he'd asked if I would be okay. I promised I'd be okay. There was no okay, how could he believe me? How can someone simply be okay after wrecking the only thing I'd been sure of in my entire life? No, there wasn't okay. There was simply bad and worse.

Today, was bad.

On days like this, I would talk myself up to a shower. Rid myself of the stench of rock bottom. Ridding myself of the killer that drove him away. How could he be so forgiving to me not being enough? How could he brush off my wasted potential and blame it on himself. Guilt till consumed me whole, even if he'd underlined it in red that it was him, not me. His unfaithfulness that had torn a sweet love story to ashes. Tell me, how could the attentive wife to be miss the smirk hiding beneath his winning smile, his lessons really just weapons targeted at my deepest hurts. Every comforting explanation was twisted way back to what I feared most.

Soon, I'd find myself in the kitchen, raiding the empty cabinets and the ransacked fridge. There was only crumbs and lemon juice in the entire house by now. The appetite I'd worked up gone at just the flashbacks of the slow dances in the crack of the refrigerator light. His hand over mine and his empty promises soothing in my ear. Did he want me or did he want me not? I heard one thing, now I'm hearing another.

I felt rage boiling, the slam of the door rattling the plates in the sink and the pan on the stove. Ripping my hair from my head was the only reliever of the pain, tearing apart my body hoping that eventually it could be put back together into a beautiful bloody mess. Wearing my hurt on my sleeve and praying to god that, that someone could love me just as much for that.

I was thinner now, shedding the pounds like I had anymore to spare. The only clothes that still fit was a white ruffled dress that fell just below my knees. The straps hanging loosely and my feet slipped into black Mary Janes and red socks. I wonder how ghostly I looked stepping into the sun. Skin greyed from the lack of light.

I counted my breathing, noted the cracks on the pavement and counted the daffodils on the walk into town. All to cease the tears pushing behind my eyes.

It was nice out, the air was crisp and warming with the middle of spring having sprung. Vines were growing and the world was getting loud again. It was peaceful, I wanted a piece of that inner silence for myself. Maybe it would bring me a sort of closure, pushing me towards a more okay future.

I listened to the bell rattle with the push of the door, hands hanging loose at my sides. I waved towards the girl working the counter in the flower store. She smiled, recognizing the unrecognizable shadow that waltzed into the humid room. I pasted on the fake togetherness I'd mastered from unexpected visits from family and friends. Trying to imitate the girl who had lost her way long ago.

"Do you have any tulips?" My eyes remained glued to the flower beds as I searched the store for any bright pink clusters.

"A few in the back row, though you might need to hurry, they're quite popular today." I nodded, scurrying to the back in hopes to finally get what I wanted.

There, I saw the empty basket, the last bouquet of bright pink tulips being held up to a tall man. He was maybe six feet tall, but his posture made him seem a little shorter. His hair was chocolatey brown with free falling curls and waves pushed behind his tortoise shell sunglasses. He wore a teal cardigan over a white graphic tee that read something in blue I couldn't quite make out from the angle. His legs fit into lose jeans with rips at the knees and blue and white checkered vans. His laces were ripped slightly, probably from stepping on them, and he smelled like sweet vanilla.

He looked like happiness, a ray of modern day sunshine and fair love, his nose still buried between two flowers, eyes fluttered shut.

Some white carnations lined with a hot pink sat near the tulips, they looked just as beautiful as the fresh flowers that I'd missed by a second too late.

I let myself sigh after taking in the clean smell from the center of them, the crinkling of the paper distracting me from the hurt I felt inside.

"You planning a wedding?" His English accent wasn't horribly noticeable, but still able to be picked up on. I cracked a smile, trying to be polite. Trying to be the girl I missed.

"Something like that, yeah." He laughed, we made eye contact.

I could see his dark green eyes now, sparkling with interest. I can only imagine the lack thereof that I returned to him.

"I'm Harry." He held out his hand, smiling so much so there were crinkles by his eyes.

"I'm y/n." I met his palms. They were soft yet rough around the edges. His fingers had been picked at and he had guitar string scars across his hands.

There was a silence. It was comfortable, relaxed but still, I itched to back away.

"It was nice to meet you." I stepped back, walking away faster than I came to pay for the carnations clenched between my shaking hands.

"Hey wait!" His footsteps were heavy, hammering into the asphalt. I turned, but continued to move backwards, a faint smile played on his lips. Chasing after the beautiful fool who secretly adored the interest the random flower shop boy took in her.

"Missed me already?" I turned back to walk forwards once I felt his arm bump mine.

"Can't help it, you're just so missable!" He joked, flowers facing down at the ground, hitting each other as we walked close together. We left a petal trail as we walked.

"You say that to every girl you meet?"

"Only the runaway brides dressed up like Dorothy on her way to Oz." I covered my smile in my hand, brushing the blush off.

"I'm flattered." We shared a look, walking in silence as we looked at each others eyes.

"So tell me about yourself, Dorothy."

"Dorothy?" He pointed to my shoes, I scoffed.

"Okay..." I thought on it, counting the cracks again.

I knew I was barely together. Barely able to keep up with the work that seemed to just pile itself onto my back. I knew that my finger still stung from when I ripped off the engagement ring and told him to go to hell. I knew I was a fucked in the head, a childish girl who only wanted to be loved like she loved others. I knew at one point I would've said all these things to Harry, a man I'd met only a few minutes ago. Trusted him easily and let him in without an inch of doubt. But I also knew that wasn't fully me anymore.

"I haven't met the new me yet." I smiled at him, chewing at my cheek at the curious eyebrow lift and the breathy laugh.

'What about you, Harry? Who are you?" I looked to my feet.

"I'll let you decide." He looked to my face, my eyes finding it almost impossible to meet his warm gaze.

"Someone who reads too many love stories."

"Says the one dressed as Wendy from Peter Pan." I laughed, meeting his stare finally.

"Am I Wendy or Dorothy?"

"Why not both?" He was unbelievably easy to talk to, even in my mess and hurt, it soothed the panging in my chest with every breath he took.

"Let me walk you home, y/n?" I smiled.

"Okay." We fell into a silence again, out of teasing and jokes to share for the five minute walk remaining. I went back to counting the daffodils and he went back to sniffing his flowers. I went back to silently pulling myself together, picking up any shards of myself that had fallen and focused on my breathing.

"This is mine." I looked towards the dark home, the garden still neat despite the overgrown plants and the few dead plants. I looked back at Harry, then to his feet where his tulip petals continued to fall. They looked bare, hurt and dying now. I met his eyes again.

"Take good care of those tulips for me?" He froze, confused about the sudden request after my silence towards him and his polite offer.

"Yeah, of course." I nodded, turning myself slowly towards my front steps. I took in the pale blue of my paint, the new white shutters beautiful and perfectly matched with the white wrap around porch that hugged the west corner of the home snuggly and the short, white picket fence. You would've never expected such a fuck up to live in such a nice looking home.

"Bye, Harry." Waving, I made my way up the driveway, passing the fence and the the garden. All while he stood there, done with the chase, done with my mood swings. My politeness and my silence. My trust and my question. He stayed outside of my lawn, feet stuck to the sidewalk like gum.

Seven months, one week, six hours and eighteen minutes since I'd fallen, unable to pick up the shattered pieces that became my identity. Seven months, one week, six hours and eighteen minutes since the man who hung the moon for me in my eyes confessed his infidelities and left me to throw a pity party for myself. Almost six months since the next best thing had entered my life. My best friend, Harry.

Unlike my ex-fiancé, Harry came back. He came back and picked up the shards that I'd let crack and bleed under my feet and glued me back together. He'd come by once a week at first, checking up after noticing the vacant look in my eyes when we first parted ways. How I'd slipped into the darkest house he'd ever seen. Cold, tired, worked to the bone. Once turned into twice. Twice turned into four and four turned into almost everyday. His knock at my door my favorite sound. Yet, what he knew of me, wasn't fully me.

Even with Harry and his flowers decorating my home. Even with his laugh and his trusting demeanor, part of that girl I was was forever lost. That engagement ring hadn't only taken skin, it had taken the foolish woman who slept next to a liar and swallowed her pride. It had taken my ability to let people in so easily. And I wish he hadn't taken that from me, because as stupidly blind she was, she was some of the best parts of me.

"The Notebook or Ten Things I Hate About You?" Harry hoped over the back of my couch, his arm falling limp around my shoulders, each hand holding a movie for me to chose.

"Is that even a question?" I snatched the disc with Heath Ledger on the cover and waved it around Harry's face. He smiled, ruffling up my hair before getting up to pop the disc in.

"I need to stop asking you these things, Dorothy. I was hoping for the notebook." I stuck my tongue out, my heart flooding with a familiar warmth only Harry could pull from me.

I bit my cheek until it bled, my shoulder squished between his chest and the bend of his elbow. Silently, I mouthed the lines to the movie, my lips brushing against the soft cotton of Harry's white t-shirt.

"That tickles, my love." He laughed, craning his head down while mine stretched up. Crinkles folded by my eyes, smile lines permanently tattooed on my skin from just the past few months. What was a curse for others, was a permanent reminder of the adoration I had gained for Harry and his ability to fix what was irreparably shattered.

"What?" His whole body shook with a silent giggle, eyes reflecting the movie and an emotion I couldn't pin. I remained silent, eyes flicking down to his lips, his eyes following mine. I felt his touch tighten around my back and his body heat up.

Closer and closer, longer and longer. I panicked the closer I got to wrecking this beautiful relationship we'd built over a silly crush I'd obtained.

Sure, he was nice. He was handsome and possibly the best thing that had ever walked into my life, but stacking every single one of those reasons and more couldn't make me risk everything. I couldn't deal with someone else I loved walking out of my life.

I inched away, scared. I watched his face freeze, eyes relaxed and breath hot on my lips.

"Harry." I whimpered.

"Y/n."

"What if we fuck this up? What if after tonight you change your mind? I can't do that again Harry. I can't pick myself up again." I quietly rambled, tense, scared of the idea that I would face the hatred for my own reflection for weeks and weeks again.

"Y/n." He repeated, softer.

My mouth stopped, eyes flicking to observe his expression over and over. Trying to fight back the tears that built and built.

"I swear to you, I'm not going anywhere. If you trust me, let me in just this once, I wont leave until you're kicking me out." He searched my face now, an internal fight going on in my head. He made it so hard to think being so close him.

"Love me until my breathing stops?" I asked, tears springing from under my eyes and gathering at my waterline now. Scared, just as I was all those months ago. no longer a vacant stare, but one of fear and uncertainty.

"I'll love you until my breathing stops." He wiped under my eyes, fingers quick to land on my cheeks. He waited, patiently for any sign that it would be okay to continue.

I nodded, swallowing.

"Okay."

"Okay?" He smiled, shoulders slumping like a weight had been lifted and he was at ease.

"Okay." I returned the feeling, lips brushing his. They were soft and plump. They tasted of buttery popcorn and chocolate. His nose bumped into mine, skin brushing skin and limbs tangling the longer we tried to hold onto the moment.

When we pulled away, it was breathless, and suddenly I realized the man who'd hurt me seven months, one week, seven hours and three minutes ago hadn't stolen the best parts of me, he only scared her into hiding.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst

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ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes · 7 months ago

Text

The Phoenix and the Crow

part thirty-six

pairing: kaz brekker x fem!reader

genre: neutral

el's thoughts: i'm about to spam post about four chaptersss so enjoyy!

masterlist

They needed to get to the treasury, but Kaz would need some kind of cover while he picked that inscrutable lock, and there were druskelle everywhere. They rounded the corner and saw Nina, Matthias and a person they both assumed must be Bo Yul-Bayur running from the treasury. He’d been about to call out to them when the explosion hit, and everything went to hell.

‘They blew up the lab,’ he’d thought as debris rained down around them. ‘I definitely did not tell them to blow up the lab.’

“For Saint’s sake…” Y/N cursed.

All of what happened in the following few minutes had been completely improvised on Kaz’s part. All he told Matthias originally was to meet them by the ash when Black protocol began to ring. He thought he’d have more time to explain before they fell through the dark.

“This is going to sting a bit, but if we live, you’ll thank me later.”

Nina and Matthias had yet to recognize them until both Kaz and Y/N slid their hoods off. The Inferni quickly slipped the thick druskelle coat off her shoulders as well.

“Don’t pop the baleenbefore you hit the bottom,” Kaz called. Then he grabbed Bol Yul-Bayur and launched them both into the back mouth beneath the roots of the tree.

Y/N placed her hand over her heart and muttered the shortest prayer before throwing herself after them. The last thing she glimpsed was Matthias and Nina following her. She heard gunfire—and then she was falling into the black, into the cold, into the throat of Djel, into nothing at all.

She felt her back hit the water with breath-taking force, as she bit down on the baleen. It might have been a mere second too late as the air had already bee knocked out of her and when the baleen formed she felt like she was choking. The water rushed around her and clogged her ears, she tried to keep her eyes open but the current made it a painful task. Her body was thrown around and dragged through the tunnel.

Panic began to set in her bones as the strain in her chest and throat grew tighter with each passing second. She could feel her fingers begin to spark but clenched her hands in fists to prevent the water around her to heat up. If she lost control she could boil the water while they were all still under. She couldn’t risk that.

The current didn’t ease up on them for another few minutes and by the time she emerged from the water she felt so drained. The weakest she’d felt in months. Her hands crawled across the gravel that dug into her palms. Once she was far enough out of the shallows, she threw herself on her back and gasped audibly for air while resting her hands on her chest trying to control the harsh convulsions her body was experiencing.

She could faintly hear Nina and Matthias farther down the shore to her left. From the tones of their voices she could tell that something was wrong, but she had no physical strength to mover herself to see.

She felt as if the cold water seeped through, passed her flesh and into her bones, she had a chill in her body that she couldn’t seem to shake. The remains of her energy was used in her attempts of warming her body from within. She had never felt so cold in her life since her body naturally ran really warm, nearly burning at different times.

“I. Should. Let. You. Die.” Matthias’ voice could finally be heard clearly and startled Y/N.

She rolled to her side with her palm on the floor in front of her to support her weight. The body laid between Nina and Matthias was nothing but a blurry figure, but it didn’t take long before she realized who they were hunched over.

“Let me help before you crack his sternum. Does he have a pulse?”

“Kaz.” Her voice croaked and sounded foreign to her ears as she pushed herself to her knees, slowly rising to her feet. A flame licked its way up her hand to her arms stopping at her elbows in her last attempt to warm her body. She knew Kaz wouldn’t let her touch him if she felt this cold and just the thought caused a sense of desperation to kick into her system. Her chest felt hallow and her breath was shallow, a feeling she thought she would be used to, but the reasoning behind it caused despair to settle in her bones beside the unwavering chill.

Once she made it to the others she saw Nina place her hands on his chest and brought her lips to his, preforming cardiopulmonary resuscitation.

“Will he live?” Bol Yul-Bayur asked causing Y/N to startle as she forgot he was still with them. She gave him a good look over and furrowed her eyebrows, only now realizing he looked far too young to be the highly claimed scientist they have been searching for.

A sputtering cough caught her attention and she saw Kaz jolt upright, pushing Nina off of him. “Get away from me,” he gasped, wiping his gloved hand over his mouth. Kaz’s eyes were unfocused. He seemed to be staring right though the Heartrender. “Don’t touch me.”

“You’re in shock, demjin,” Matthias said. “You almost drowned. You should have drowned.”

Y/N shot him a cold glare from where she sat to the side behind Kaz.

Kaz coughed again, and his entire body shuddered. “Drowned,” he repeated.

The Inferni felt her heart ache at the sight of him and forced her flames to grow slightly larger to ensure he could feel their warmth without them touching him.

Nina nodded slowly. “Ice Court, remember? Impossible heist? Near death? Three million kruge waiting for you in Ketterdam?”

Kaz blinked and his eyes cleared. “Four million.”

“I thought that might bring you around.”

He scrubbed his hands over his face, wet coughs still rattling his chest. “We made it,” he said in wonder. “Djel preforms miracles.”

“You don’t deserve miracles,” said Matthias with a scowl. “You desecrated the sacred ash.”

Kaz pushed to his feet, staggered slightly, drew in another shaky breath. “It’s a symbol, Helvar. If your god is so delicate, maybe you should get a new one. Let’s get out of here.” He turned to Y/N who still sat on her knees now by his feet and held a gloved hand out to her.

Nina threw up her hands. “You’re welcome, you ungrateful wretch. Y/N, you’re really going to settle?”

The Inferni had no mental strength to respond so she only rolled her eyes and kept walking at Kaz’s side.

“I’ll thank you once we’re aboard the Ferolind. Move.” He was already dragging himself up the boulders that lined the far side of the gorge. “You can explain why our illustrious Shu scientist looks like one of Wylan’s school pals along the way.”

The group of five made it over the rocky wall of the gorge that led them to the other end of the bridge above, a bit closer to Djejrholm. Y/N had never been so physically exhausted in her life, but she couldn’t let herself rest. She had a country to save and the others had a prize waiting for them. They’d gotten further than any crew before them. They’d blown up a building at the heart of the Ice Court. But they’d never make it to the harbor without Inej and the others.

They kept moving. The only other option was to sit on a boulder and wait for the end. A rumbling began from somewhere in the direction of the Ice Court.

“Oh, Saints, please let that be Jesper,” Nina pleaded as they pulled themselved over the lip of the gorge and looked back at the bridge festooned with ribbons and ash boughs for Hingkalla.

“Whatever is coming, it’s big,” said Matthias.

“What do we do, Kaz?”

“Wait,” he said as the sound grew louder.

“How about ‘take cover’?” Nina asked, bouncing nervously from foot to foot. " ‘Have heart’? ‘I stashed twenty rifles in this convenient shrubbery’? Give us something.”

“How about a few million kruge?” said Kaz.

A tank rumbled over the hill, dust and gravel spewing from its treads. Someone was waving to them from its gun turret—no, two someones.Inej and Wylan were yelling and gesturing wildly from behind the dome.

Y/N looked at Kaz, she smiled to herself at the sight before her. “Saints, Kaz, you actually look happy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he jested back with her. There was no mistaking it. Kaz Brekker was grinning like an idiot.

“I’m assuming we know them?” asked Kuwei.

But the crew’s elation dimmed as Fjerda’s answer to the problem of the Dregs rolled over the horizon. A column of tanks had crested the hill and was crashing down the moonlit road, dust rising in plumes from their treads. Maybe Jesper hadn’t gotten the druskelle gate sealed. Or maybe they’d had tanks waiting on the grounds. Given the firepower contained behind the Ice Court’s walls, she supposed they should count themselves lucky. But it sure didn’t feel that way.

It wasn’t until Inej and Wylan were thundering over the trestles of the bridge that Y/N could make out what they were yelling; “Get out of the way!”

They leapt from the path as the tank roared past them, then came to a gear-grinding stop.

“We have a tank,” marveled Nina. “Kaz, you creepy little genius, the plan worked. You got us a tank.”

“They got us a tank.”

“We have one,” Matthias said, then pointed at the horde of metal and smoke bearing down on them. “They have a lot more.”

“Yeah, but you know what they don’t have?” Kaz asked as Jesper rotated the tanks’d giant gun. “A bridge.”

A metallic shriek went up from the armored insides of the tank. Then a violent, bone-shaking boom sounded. Y/N heard a high whistling as something shot thorugh the sir past them and collided with the bridge. The first two trestles exploded into flame, sparks and timber plummeting into the gorge below. The big gun fired again. With a groan, the trestles collapsed completely.

If the Fjerdans wanted to cross the gorge, they were going to have to fly.

“We have a tank and a moat,” said Nina.

“CLimb on!” crowed Wylan.

They boosted themselves onto the sides of the tank, clutching at any groove or lip in the metal for dear life, and then they were rolling down the road toward the harbor at top speed.

As they roared past the streetlamps, people emerged from their houses to see what was happening. Y/N tried to imagine what their wild crew must look like to these Fjerdans. What did they see as they poked their heads out of windows and doorways? A group of barely-adults clinging to a tank painted with the Fjerdan flag and charging along like some deranged float gone astray from it’s parade.

“We have a moat!”

taglist: @katherinereid @littlecat21 @jahayla-parker @maliciousbrekker @brekkershadowsinger @brekkers-desigirl @clunaes @wonderland2425 @bookloverfilmoholic @karensirkobabes @bookworm-center @el-de-phi @so-get-this-sammy @skittleabyss @crispy-croke @cometsghost @auttumnsayshi

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x y/n #six of crows #six of crows x reader #six of crows imagines #ellora.writes

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chubbypie · 11 months ago

Text

At the enfermary

Summary: you were a new doctor at a college, and one day, a hot and polite professor come to your office.

Warnings: smutt. Oral (v receiving). Fluff. Cute.

Wc:4.4k

It´s been some months since you started your new job, a doctor at the enfermary of the college. As you were new, every person who came to see you, the nurses would explain who they were. You were really fond of your job, especially in a cozy ambient like the college, it´s dark academia vibe always in the air, always giving you a feeling of peace and concentration.

You were used to receive a small number of students perday, always giving you time to focus on your researches on the end of the spedient. This was your reality until one very specific day, when you recieved a professor at your consultory. As the nurses told you, he was the head of the literature department. When he came in, you hold your breath for a few seconds as you took his kind face in. His features were sharp, the jaw beeing able to cut better then a scalpel, his deep green/blue eyes behind his glasses looking a bit in a rush, his thin lips pressed togheter, expressed cheekbone,some slight expression lines around his eyes. His hair was light brown, kinda long, but not to much, shaping perfect messy curls. You were informed his name was Professor Hiddleston.

"Hello." He greeted.

"Hello! Please, take a sit." You pointed to the chair in front of your table. He quickly seated. "Professor Hiddleston, right? What can i do for you today?"

"Well, i have a small knee problem, and i usually take some pain killers for it. I always cary then with me, however, this morning, i had a reunion with the staff and left my house in a hurry and i happened to forget them. Moreover, in five minutes i have another class and, therefore, i don´t have time to come back home. So i came to the conclusion that the enfermary might have some." He explained.

"Sir, would you have some diagnostic from your doctor here with you, so i could know exactly what sort of pain killers to give you?"

" Unfortunatelly, i don´t have it now. But i take ibuprofen."

You got up from your chair and went to the cabinet in the wall. As you found the medicine and turned to him, you thought you saw him glancing at your back. Of course it was your imagination. You gave him the ibuprofen, he thanked you and said good bye.

That night, you found yourself thinking about the unexpected presence of the professor at your office. A couple of weeks passed before you saw him again.

"Doctor y/n, Professor Hiddleston is here to see you. May i send him in?"

"Sure." You said in a low volume. You were startled to receive him at this time of the day, since it was 6 pm and all the teachers were supposed to have leaved to their homes. There were only students who lived at the campus this time.

"Hello," he said politely, "I hope i´m not disturbing you at this time!"

"Not at all. I have time here until 7 pm." You said with a smile. " How can I help you?"

"Well, as you know, i have a knee problem, and everything was fine until the middle of this morning. I was going to get some brunch when i suddenly felt a sharp pain run through my leg. I went directly to my office to get some medicine. I took it and waited. The hours passed and the pain lighted a little, but i can not do rough movements. Now, you might be asking yourself why i came here, instead of my doctor. This week he is at a conference in Chicago, and i don´t have any other to go. At lunch break, i remembered you, and how kind you were to me the last time, so i decided to come here."

"You are always welcome here, professor!" You said blushing as his gaze weighted on the small necklace that rested at your slight cleavege. " So, tell me everything about your knee sore."

" In the middle of last year i broke my knee while i was rehearsing for the anual play of the college. I had spent weeks at fencing training with other collegue and some day i went to rough at a step and i felt, feeling my knee deslocate and broke. I passed through a surgery and many physiotherapy. I got my knee back on the game again, but with some limited movements."

" How long did the swelling persisted?"

"About a week."

"Can you run?"

"I usually avoid."

"Did you took any other kind of medicine for pain?"

"Morphine in the begining and sometimes paroxetine."

You took some notes in your computer and then looked back at him. "Well, Professor, if you don´t mind,i would like to analise your knee to see if everything is in order."

"Sure. And, please, you can call me by my name."

"I´m sorry sir, but i´m new here, and the nurses only introduced you to me as Professor Hiddleston." You said with an uncomfortable smile.

"Oh, that´s right, i never properly introduced myself. I´m Thomas, Thomas Hiddleston. But you can call me Tom." He sais as he reaches you a hand to shake.

"Nice to meet you, Tom. I´m y/n l/n." You say as you shake his hand. His hand were lightly caloused. You guidded him to the litter. You hadn´t observed his character until now. He was really tall, had a lean body. Broad shoulders like a swimer. You could see he worked out those arms throught his navy blue sweater. He wore slim black jeans pants, and when he seated, you could see thigh muscles clunge to them.

As he sat, you got closer to him, feeling butterflies in your stomach. You put one hand above his knee, squeezing the top part. You feel his thigh muscles stiff. " Does it tickle?" You asked with a grin, still looking at your hand on his knee.

"A little." He says with a chuckle. He couldn´t take his eyes from your profile. He observed the hair you just lowly tired to get out of the way. He passed his eyes through your long legs while you still analyzed his injury. You were wearing a beige pantalona pants with a black social shirt buttoned until a few centimeters from your collar bone, which held a necklace. You were tall for a woman, not the skinny tipe nor the fat, right in the middle. You had thick thighs and arms. Your waist was noticable. Your hair reached your breasts, it was brown, with little curls at the end. Your pupils were black. You didn´t considered yourself to much pretty, considering that everyday you saw a bunch of skinny college girls. However, in Hiddleston´s mind, you were the prettiest woman he had ever laid his eyes on. But appearence was little for him, he really knew that he felt something for you when he noticed three books on the corner of your desk, beside your computer. You had Byron, Tolkien and Homero. Of course you had other books too, but these three caught his attention. Such different authors. His curiosity was poking him to know more about your personality.

After you finished to analize his knee, you saw his knuckles were white, probably because of the tickles. "It doesn´t surprise me you have a disconfort, your knee is a little swollen. Did you do to much effort with it lately?"

"I went swiming last night, and before i went diving, i runned a little. I think that must be cause."

"Put your leg on top of the littler please." He did as asked. "If your knee get swollen again, do exactly what i´ll do now." You put both of your hands on his ankle and started to give squeezes until his knee. When it got there, you grabbed it and with the pad of your thumbs, you messaged it gently, circling it up his thigh. The only thing he could think about is how he wished his leg was bare, so he could feel your skin. "Got it?" You asked.

"Yes, thank you so much. My doctor would just have given me some medicine instead of teatching me this." He grinned.

"I hope you get better soon. Before you sleep, do the massage again and put your leg on a pillow. If tomorrow it still hurts, let me know."

You both said good bye and went to your houses. You were happy to have seen him again, he was not only handsome, but really polite. And, honestly, you loved his thyrsty glances at your body. The next day, after you had been in your office for an hour, the nurse asked you "There is someone here, may i send him in?"

"Yes." You responded. You were happy to see it was Professor Hiddleston.

"Hello, y/n."

"Hello! Is your knee better?"

"It´s perfect. I came here to thank you for yesterday. I know you are not supposed to do this kind of appointment with members of the college, so i really appreciate it."

"Please, it was nothing. You were in pain, and it could get really serious, since it was something involving a broken bone." You said.

"Well, i-i really wanted to ask you, if you don´t mind, and if you don´t have any plans, if you´d like to go for lunch with me today." He asked shyly, getting the courage to say it looking at your eyes in the end.

You were shocked for a moment. " Yes, i´d love to. What time is good for you?"

"My last class of this morning ends at 12:15. Does this sound good for you?"

"Perfect, i´ll wait you outside your class then."

"What time do you usually take a break?" He asked.

"12".

"If you want to wait for me inside of my class, feel welcome!" He offered.

You smiled and he went back to his building on the campus.

It was 12. You took your coat and headed to his class. You thought if you´d enter or not, but decided you would. You took a sit in the huge anfitriat. He was giving a lecture about Hamlet. You were sad you couldn´t hear it from the beggining.

His class finished and you headed to a restaurant out of the campus, so you could have privacy. You sat and ordered. As you waited, conversation floated around you two.

"So, you told you were new at the college. Where did you work before?" Tom asked.

"Actually, i was a resident at Burke´s hospital before i came here. I finished residency last year. And i thought, how i wanted to do some research, a quiet place to work would be nice, and nothing better then a college to work."

"What research are you doning right now?"

"Mostly some drug research, on how it´s lack of some specific condiments can affect the brain."

"It sounds amazing."

"Talking about amazing, i heard the end of your lecture today, it was trully interesting. I wish i had heard it from the beggining."

"You like Hamlet?" He asked with his brows rised.

"I love it. It´s one of my favourite plays. Not that i´ve read much of them, but still."

"What are your thoughts about it?"

"Well, i think my opinion is the most common one: the play exceed some niitch existentialism (if you consider him an existentialist), how beautiful Horatio and Hamlet´s friendship was, how incredulous was Claudius, how blind was his mother... You know, i hadn´t really depth myself on the play yet, so i could only notice this yet." As you finished, he was mesmerized.

"Well, after this brieth demonstration, i can assume that you are a really well read person." He said.

"It depends, actually, i just happen to know some stuff. But after this class today, i can see that you really knows are you talk about in this matter."

"It trully is my passion. Sorry my intrusion, but i saw yesterday that you had Homero on your desk. I would love to hear what you have to say about him."

"Oh, those books are the ones i haven´t read yet. That Homero will be my first book of his. But after i finish it, you´ll be the first one to know my thoughts about it. I´m curious, actually. As a literature professor, what do you like to read?"

"I really like Shakespeare roman plays, like Coriolanus, or Anthonio and Cleopatra. But i usually read phylosophers too."

"I´m really fond of phylosophy. What philoshopher did you last read?"

" My last one was Emmanuel Kant, do you know his work?"

"Toughth one! I know his work, but in a rude way. I like his idea of trying a truce between rationalism and empiricism. But his conception of morality, i´m absolutely passionated about it. What do you think of him?" You noticed his smile.

"It´s nice to find a like minded person. I am myself passionate about his morality thesys too. However, sometimes it can be dangerous, in my opinion." You frowned your brows in confusion."Well" he explained, "think of two people usying his concept of morality, one is considered goog, the other bad. The good person is prone to always think straight, to not take alternative paths to benefit them. Although, the bad person, they will try to convince themself that the thing they are trying to do is right, that in the end everyone would do the same, beacuse everyone´d want the same resoult as the person thinking about it. It can be considered a very subjective moral. And, lately, i´ve connected a few points that it lead me to Machiavelli, because, if the person considered bad use Kant´s morality concept, they would be gently impliyng that 'the end justifies the means', so, this person could be called machiavellic, thus, leading them to not being moral at their whole beeing, because everybody knows Machiavelli used to say how someone who wanted to stay in power could forget the morality for a little, for the greater good. So, it´s actually a paradox the Kant´s morality in bad people."

The food came and conversation went by. You went back to the college and since that lunch, you grew closer each day.

Two onths passed. The status of your realtionship growed to dates and more dates. Dinners at fancy restaurants, lunches at his office or yours, making out at movie theaters and at your office, you even spent nights at each others houses. But the making out never lead to anything more, it was just kisses, naughty hands and cuddles. So, at the beggining of the third month, you decided that it was time. You could feel that his hands always wanted to go down further, his mouth wanted to explore more of your body.

You headed to one of his lectures, it was in the middle. You just loved to watch him working. He always smiled blushing as he saw you at one of the chairs, always paying attention to every single world. His lecture finished. After everyone got out, you went to the wooden aisle and gave him a kiss on the cheek and invited him to your house this evening. He could clearly see your intentions in your gaze, and he was eager for you as well as you were for him.

"Consider it a pajama party, honey. So, now you know what to wear." You whispered at his ear and left his class. The night came, you put one of his shirts that he'd forgotten at your place one day, and you decided to wear nothing undernath it. Only a blood red lace penties.

He arrived. As you opened the door, you saw him in a pajama shirt and shorts. He was holding a piece of pie that he bought at your favorite place. You two dine,and he insisted on helping you do the dishes. He could make every moment special. As you washed and he dried, you two were listening to music and dancing with the song. After, you went to the couch to watch a movie, as always. But today you´d make a movement. Little you knew what he had in mind.

"Darling, what do you think if we watch it at your bedroom´s tv?" Without thinkin, you took his hand and went there. You both laid on the bed and you lighted some candles, so the lights would be better. As you were laid, he sat at the edge of the bed, in the middle of your ankles. He took one of your legs and started massaging it while looking softly at you.

"I remember the first time you touched me. I record that it was not a really good day for me, since i could barely walk because of the pain. But then you toutched me and my mind cleared for the first time in hours. Since that day, i was eager to feel more of you, and i think that it is finally the time, if you consent." You nodded. "Words, dove."

"Yes."

"Good. And if you let me, i´d like to take my time before worshiping you." You sighed as he changed the leg. His hands felt like soft cotton. After a while, he had moved behinde you, making you sit, then massaging your backs, slowly, with the right pressure. You laid again and he hovered your body, kissing you gently on the mouth before lowering himself to face your blood red lace panties. He took them of carefully, than inhaled sharply at the vision of your core, eyes hungry. He smoothed it with one hand, than lowered his face to kiss it. He took your legs on his hands and placed then above his shoulders. He trailed kisses through your inner thighs until your folds. Your breaths were heavy. Then, he started to slowly lick your clit, making you give quiet moans. He toyed with the tip of his fingers your entrance. One finger entered you, then another, curling themselves inside you. The fingers movement followed by his mouth working in your core made you a moaning mess. You arched your back and with his other hand he placed it gently at your pelvis. After a couple of minutes you say "T-Tom, i´m gonna cum."

"Please, my dove, whenever you are ready." It didn´t take you to long before cuming on his mouth. You could feel him licking your juices and humming in approval. "So pretty, so incredible perfect." He said locking at your body, making you blush inexpectedly.

You sat on the bed and went to give him a kiss on his neck. Your hand took the hem of his shirt and pulled it of. You had never seen him shirtless, only felt his muscles throw his sweaters. God, he was defined, his belly was slim as a wall, his shoulders and arms strong as the ones of a soldier. As you looked you ran your fingertips throug his pale skin, making him shiver below. With a bold attitude, you lean against him and kiss his mouth, one of your hands grabbing his manhood, gently squeezing, eager to know it. He took of his pants and went to kiss you again, but you avoided his mouth, looking at him and saying. "Are you that shy?"

"I beg your pardon?" He asks in confusion.

"Take of your boxers, silly." You say with a mischivious grin. He took of, exposing his length. It was perfect, a little thick and longer then the average. Perfect. You pushed him to lay down as you straddled his lap. You gave gentle thrusts on his cock with your hands. He was already hard so you hovered over his lap and sat back down, both of you moaning. It was the first time you heard him moan, and you loved the sound. It was deep and huski. You went for a kiss, but as you broke it for air, you realised he was now on top of you. He started to wickedly suck your neck as he thrusted slowly into you. After a while he starts to go harder. You were already starting to feel the heat on your lower stomach when he started to go faster. You screamed his name as he pushed you up and down whith his cock. "I know i´m wearing a condom, but i still feel the urge to ask, may i come inside you?"

"Of course, honey." In a metter of minutes, you cum, soon followed by him, as he felt your walls clunge on his length. Still inside you, he embraces your torso and pulls you to top him. "Am i not to heavy to stay with all my weight on top of you like this?" You shyly ask, with concern in your eyes.

"Darling, you weight less then my books." He says massaging your lower back. You kiss him passionately, thinking what you did to deserve this man. After cuddling for a while, you push his cock out of you and invites him to a shower.

Now, both bathed and ready to sleep, he whispers in your ear "I can not wait for more pajama nights like this."

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