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fics-and-quotes-andthelike · 7 months ago

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What Happens in the Shadows

Title: What Happens in the Shadows

Pairing: Alastor x reader

Word Count: ~5,155

In which Mimzy has suspicions about Alastor’s feelings towards the reader, and plans to use them to her advantage.

A/N: Part 4 of my Never and Always series

Warnings: TRIGGER WARNING (attempted assault), angst, fluff

Mimzy was a lot of things. She was loud, she was brash, she was showy, and she was bold. She was also, however, good at picking up a scent. Whether it was a good deal to be made, money to be earned, or an advantage to be won, Mimzy was there.

This usually led to one of two things.

One, she would get too confident, pushing herself into a corner when the tables inevitably turned against her, leaving her scrambling to the closest ally she had as a defense.

The second option was much more rare, when she would take her time, allowing herself to gather enough facts to truly know a demon’s weaknesses before pouncing and closing a deal. Though it didn’t happen often, those that did manage to fall under Mimzy’s control were there for eternity, serving and slaving away as she ever so slowly gathered more power.

Mimzy was ever so hungry for power, after all, even if she was bad at obtaining it.

Which is why, when she witnessed the small spectacle at her club between her dear friend Alastor and a lowly sinner who had done nothing but dance with a woman, the gears in her head had started to turn.

She had never mentioned the incident to anyone else, of course. She wasn’t stupid. She knew that the Radio Demon would have her head if she so much as breathed a word of it.

But he couldn’t stop her from thinking. He couldn’t stop her from watching. He couldn’t stop her from noticing. And he most definitely couldn’t stop her from coming.

~~~

“Ya think ya boyfriend would let mine go if you asked nicely?”

You flushed and looked away. “Alastor is not my boyfriend.”

Angel Dust winked over at you. “Uh-huh, sure. Whateva ya say, dollface.”

“He’s not,” you insisted. “We’re just friends.”

From his place behind the hotel bar, Husk put down the cup he was cleaning and looked up at you. “You and Angel are ‘just friends’. You and me? Just friends. You and Alastor?” He shook his head, picking up a new cup as he looked over at you with an expression of vague concern. “You’re more than that.”

“Ha!” Angel said as he pointed over at Husk in triumph.

You could feel embarrassment pooling into your stomach. “You’re both wrong. Al doesn’t-” you struggled to find the words. “Al doesn’t like anyone that way,” you said hesitantly. “And I know for a fact that he doesn’t like me that way. He just feels responsible for me now, that’s all.”

Husk huffed lightly, his eyes narrowing. “Alastor’s never felt responsible for anyone in his life. Not for the souls he’s collected, and definitely not for a sinner that doesn’t owe him any more than the dirt on her shoes.”

You looked away. “I do owe him,” you muttered. “He saved my life.”

Angel laughed forcefully. “That was his choice, toots. You don’t owe him nothin’, ya hear me?” He glanced over at you, his expression bordering on desperation as he searched your eyes.

Maybe you didn’t agree, but it wouldn’t do anybody any good to have Angel and Husk worrying over you with each passing moment while you stubbornly believed that Alastor was a good man who had earned your trust long ago.

So instead, you nodded, smiling softly. “I know.”

Angel nodded firmly, but the concern in his eyes was still overwhelmingly present.

You couldn’t blame him, of course, but you wished with all of your undead heart that the three most important people in your life would just get along. Not that it would ever happen while Alastor held Husk’s soul.

You let out a long exhale before you clapped your hands together and smiled over at the hotel’s bartender. “Alright, enough of that.”

Angel Dust’s expression relaxed as he turned to Husk as well. “She’s right. Pour me a drink.”

Husk returned your grin with one of his own, pouring the three of you a glass and sliding yours over.

The three of you sat in silence for a moment, staring down at your drinks as you thought. You couldn’t say exactly what was going on in Husk and Angel’s heads, but you knew that you personally were thinking about a specific radio-themed Overlord.

You hadn’t seen Alastor since the two of you had danced together in your bedroom a few days prior. It made sense that you hadn’t seen him the day after, of course. It was your day with Angel, and Alastor would love nothing less than to get involved in your makeover session.

The days after that though, were different. Normally, you’d at least catch a glimpse of the demon before he left the hotel to run his radio show or do whatever else Overlords did in their free time. If you weren’t able to catch him before he left, he would always drop by the hotel a little later on, even if just for a moment. But no matter what, he would always stop by your room at the end of the day, and the two of you would just talk.

But now, you hadn’t seen or heard from Alastor in days. You weren’t worried, per say. You knew he was more than capable of taking care of himself. You did miss him, though, and you would be lying if you said that you weren’t looking forward to your next evening conversation.

You drummed your hands lightly on the counter before shifting off of your barstool. It wasn’t likely that Alastor had finally stopped by, but it wouldn’t hurt to check. “I think I’m going to turn in for the night.”

Angel Dust quirked an eyebrow at you playfully. “Sure thing, toots. Just goin’ to bed, nothin’ to do with Smiles at all, right?”

You blushed and turned away, walking towards the staircase leading up to your room. “Goodnight.”

“Have fun,” Angel called up after you as you climbed the stairs and walked down the hallway to your room as quickly as possible.

You breathed a deep sigh of relief when you were able to reach your bedroom without any more comments from Angel. Though, that was probably courtesy of Husk. You made a mental note to thank him in the morning.

You closed your door behind you and leaned against it with a sigh.

Something flitted across your vision. You jerked back.

The object popped up in front of you, causing you to bite back a scream before you recognized it as Alastor’s shadow.

You huffed in annoyance and pushed away from your door, walking around the shadow and making your way to your bed before plopping yourself down. “That was absolutely unnecessary,” you said.

The shadow only smiled, quickly weaving its way over to sit beside you. It took your hand and raised it, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

You blushed. “Fine, I forgive you,” you said with a giggle.

The shadow’s smile broadened, using its other hand to gently put its claws to your throat as your laughter slowed.

“Not that I don’t love to see you,” you said as your eyes took a quick scan of your room. “But where’s Alastor?” The shadow made a small noise before reaching back and pulling a note off of your nightstand. It turned your hand over to place the folded piece of paper in your palm.

You pulled your hand back and opened the note, your eyes skimming over it as you tried to keep your heart from sinking.

It was a short note, and straight to the point. Alastor wouldn’t be coming back to the hotel that night due to some unfinished business with gaining new territory. He didn’t know when he’d be back. He wished you a good night.

You folded the note again and placed it in between yourself and the shadow. “It’s alright,” you said, forcing a smile on your face. “I understand.”

But the shadow’s smile had lessened significantly, and it stared at you almost expectantly.

“I’m fine, really,” you insisted. “I know he’s busy. I’m just glad he’s okay.”

The shadow looked unconvinced. But, you noticed with disappointment, its eyes had started to flicker back to your window.

“You need to go,” you said. It wasn’t a question.

The shadow looked back at you regretfully.

You reached out and placed your hands on its cheeks, lowering its head until your foreheads touched. “I’ll be okay,” you said quietly. “I promise.”

You released it and moved back.

The shadow caught your hands and pulled you back in, pressing a kiss to each of your palms before pressing them to its chest where its beating heart would have been. It gave you one last long look before it released you and melted back into the shadows, disappearing out your window.

You stared after it for a moment. Part of you wished that it had been Alastor who had come into your room and kissed your palms goodnight. The other, less selfish part of you knew that he had done the best that he could, and you appreciated it more than words could say.

“Don’t worry, he’s always like this,” a voice said from the other side of your room.

You nearly jumped out of your skin as you spun around, searching for its source.

Mimzy stepped forward from the shadows and gave you a sickening smile. “It doesn't mean he doesn't care about you.”

“What are you doing here?” you blurted without thinking. Your hands clutched your bed sheets as she approached you as casually as you would approach a friend in public. But you weren’t in public. And you most definitely weren’t friends.

“Oh, don’t give me that, doll,” Mimzy said with a wave of her hand. “I’ve been dying to see you ever since Al brought you to my club.”

“Why?” you asked before pressing your lips together. It wouldn’t do you any good to antagonize her, you knew. But you couldn’t seem to stop yourself. “What do you want from me?”

A small voice in the back of your head wondered how she had managed to slink into the shadows and avoid Alastor’s. Shadows were part of his domain, after all. Shouldn’t he have sensed her?

Mimzy’s smile changed into something more sinister. “I don’t want anything from you, doll. You’re a sweet little thing, but-” she looked you up and down with a note of disdain. “I have a feeling you wouldn’t make me much revenue.”

You felt an anger flare up inside of you. You stood, crossing your arms and pasting what you hoped was a firm expression on your face. “If you don’t want anything from me, why go out of your way to sneak into my room?”

The club owner’s smile only grew. “Relax, sugar, I’m not here to trick you into services. I’m here to talk about ol’ Alastor.”

You tried to hide the surprise and fear that shot through your core. “What about him?”

“Well,” Mimzy said with nonchalance as she began to stroll through your bedroom, poking at your belongings. “We both know that he tends to keep to himself. Not many friends, but loads of enemies, am I right? But he’s really just a sweetheart, that’s why we’ve been friends for years now.”

You blinked. “Alright.”

“But,” Mimzy continued, her voice oddly sweet. “I noticed the other night that he’s taken a bit of a shine to you.”

You dropped your arms and shook your head. “That’s not true. Alastor and I-”

Mimzy waved a hand dismissively. “Now, I’m not one to stir up unnecessary drama. But Al’s my friend, so I’ve been a bit worried about him since then.” She turned to look at you, her eyes boring intently into yours. “He’s an Overlord, you know. Lots of enemies. If any of them find out about you, think about what it’ll do to his reputation. Or worse,” she said, her eyes widening dramatically as she placed her hands on her cheeks. “His power.”

You flinched.

If you were being honest, the very same thought had crossed your mind more than once. Every time you went out with Alastor, even for a brief moment, you worried about being seen with him. You worried what it would do for his image.

He had been quick to ease your concerns, reassuring you that nobody would dare cross him, even if he were to be seen with you.

Even so, you had noticed that he was careful to never touch you, and rarely ever look at you, when the two of you were in public.

But, it seemed, despite all of his precautions, that your night together at Mimzy’s might have started something that you had feared from the very beginning.

You swallowed heavily, meeting Mimzy’s gaze as you repeated the same words that Alastor had said to you, time and time again. “Nobody would dare cross the Radio Demon.”

Mimzy nodded enthusiastically in agreement. “Of course they wouldn’t, sugar. But they might mess with you. And if Al cares about you half as much as I think he does, well, that’ll be enough to ruin everything that he’s ever worked for.”

You bit your lip with worry. You were never quite as good as Alastor when it came to hiding your emotions. “So why did you come to me?”

The demoness shrugged. “I knew Al would never listen if I told him that you were bad for him.”

You winced.

“But,” she continued, “I thought maybe you could convince him.”

An alarm bell began to ring in the back of your mind. “Convince him of what?” you asked wearily.

“To keep his distance from you,” Mimzy said, a little too quickly for your liking. “The longer you stick around, the more he gets attached. And the more he gets attached, well…” she smiled, her teeth sharp and her eyes dark. “The more likely it is that our old friend gets tossed out of commission.”

Your gaze hardened. “You want me to stay away from Al? Fat chance.”

Mimzy laughed, the sound forced and brittle. “Not at all, sugar. I won’t be the one who ripped the two of you apart.” She began walking towards your bedroom door. “In fact, I think you two are adorable together. But, you see, it’s not just Alastor I’m looking out for. I’ve gotta take care of myself, too,” she said as she turned to face you.

You recoiled at the sight of her hardened eyes and cruel expression.

Your bedroom door opened, revealing two large demons that closed the door behind them, blocking your exit. You whirled around as another demon entered through your window, cutting off your only other means of escape.

“Mimzy-” you began.

“Don’t you worry, doll. They can’t exactly kill you again, can they?” she giggled. “They’ll just rough you up a little so that Alastor can finally come to his senses.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked as panic began to set in.

“Let me explain it in simple terms for you, hun. I need you to help me break Alastor and get him away from you. Whether or not you help me willingly is completely up to you,” she said with a shrug.

“If Al does care about me,” you said desperately, “then it won’t do any good for you to hurt me. This is just going to make things worse for him. It’ll make him angry. He’ll lash out.”

Mimzy’s eerie grin only grew in size. “Oh, I’m counting on it, sugar. I can’t exactly gain more territory with the Radio Demon breathing down everyone’s neck. If I can get to him through you, he’ll be too upset to think straight.” She chuckled. “If I’m lucky, he’ll be the cause of his own downfall. With him out of the way, things can be the way they’re meant to be.”

The three demons surrounding you came closer.

“Mimzy,” you gasped. “Please, don’t do this. Alastor’s one of your oldest friends, he doesn’t deserve this.”

The club owner tilted her head in consideration. “Well, I suppose I can make an exception.” Her teeth flashed. “If you were willing to cut a deal with me.”

The demons grew closer still.

You could feel your resolve faltering. One measly deal to get out of this mess didn’t sound too bad. But as you looked back over at Mimzy, her eyes flashing and her smile turning into a snarl, the voice in your head that screamed out to protect Alastor came to the forefront of your mind with full force. Any deal that you made with Mimzy would only be used to hurt Alastor, and you would never forget how you had met him in the first place.

He had saved you once. You weren’t going to make him save you again.

You straightened and stared straight into Mimzy’s eyes. “I hope you get what’s coming to you,” you spat.

The sinner shrugged. “Whatever you say, doll. Have fun, fellas!”

You heard your door open and close as the demons drew nearer, blocking your view.

A deep fear spread throughout your body, starting in your chest and working its way out. You could scream, but you were almost certain that Mimzy had found a way to mute the sounds from your room to the rest of the hotel. Nobody was coming to save you.

You squeezed your eyes shut and braced yourself as a feeling of regret shot through your heart. You had never thanked Husk for having your back. You had never finished your makeover with Anthony. You had never told your friends how much they had helped you, and how much you appreciated them.

You had never told Alastor that you loved him.

You let out a sob. You cursed yourself for crying.

A hand grabbed your arm roughly, your eyes flying open in horror. But before the demon could do so much as pull you closer, a shadow swept through your window and across the room, knocking the other two demons away from you. The third demon tightened his grip on your arm, but it was already much too late.

The lights in your room began to flicker as a new shadow entered your room. It grew in size, becoming more and more solid until it finally took the shape of one of the most feared Overlords in Hell.

“I do believe,” Alastor said to the last standing demon as his antlers began to grow and his eyes began to flicker. “You have something that belongs to me.”

You didn’t wait to hear the demon’s response before you shut your eyes and turned away. You knew what came next, and though you had yet to argue with Alastor over his methods, you had no wish to see them for yourself.

The demon’s hand was ripped from your arm. Even without your sight, you were able to hear the screams of all three intruders as Alastor and his shadow punished them a mere feet away from you.

You sank down onto the ground, keeping your eyes closed as you pulled your knees up to your chest and buried your head in your arms. The tears that had begun to flow earlier suddenly returned with a vengeance, making their way down your cheeks as you sobbed violently.

You’re safe. You’re safe. Al is here now. You’re safe, you thought to yourself as you pulled your knees in tighter.

But another, horrible voice spoke up as you cried. He wasn’t able to see Mimzy, it said. Why wasn’t he able to see Mimzy? If this happens again, will he know? Will he miss it?

Can he save me?

You gasped and whipped your head up when a gentle hand brushed your arm.

Alastor was staring right back at you, kneeling on your floor. His smile was tense and close-lipped, his expression concerned. “It’s only me, mon chere.”

You glanced behind him and noticed vaguely that Mimzy’s three demons were nowhere to be seen.

Your chest began to hitch as you tried to hold your tears back. “I’m so sorry, Al,” you said, hating the way your voice broke. “I should have been able to defend myself, I’m so sorry.” The tears began again, your body slumping forward as you began to weep.

A pair of arms caught you and gathered your body closer until you were resting against a warm chest.

Al’s shadow, you thought to yourself as you nuzzled closer.

One of its arms wrapped around your back, holding you close, while its other hand grasped one of yours and pressed it to its chest. It held you tightly, allowing you to cry and hiccup into its shoulder.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there before your sobs became whimpers, and your whimpers became hiccups. You weren’t sure how long it held you before you were able to breathe properly.

The hand holding yours released you gently, coming up to wipe your tears away from your face.

You finally opened your swollen eyes, already regretting having been found in such a vulnerable state.

You came face to face with Alastor’s shadow. Holding Alastor’s staff.

Standing across the room.

You gasped and pulled back violently, causing yourself to fall out of Alastor’s lap and onto your floor.

The Overlord didn’t react, instead watching you with an expressionless smile on his face.

“I thought you were your shadow,” you stammered. “I didn’t realize-”

“I do hope you aren’t going to apologize for reacting to the given situation, my dear,” Alastor said as he tilted his head at you. He sounded, much to your surprise, mildly annoyed.

You froze. “Are you mad at me?”

A flash of irritation appeared in the Overlord’s eyes as his teeth gleamed. “We’ve now spent a notable amount of time together. I do hope you know me a bit better than that.” His voice held a note of challenge.

You sniffed and brought your knees to your chest once again without a response.

Alastor’s eyes softened and his smile eased at the sight of your trembling form. He sighed, the sound revealing an internal exhaustion that he would never admit to out loud. “I assure you, mon chere, my anger does not lie with you.”

You nodded, looking away.

Silence. Deep silence.

But you couldn’t avoid the upcoming conversation forever.

“People have seen us together, Al,” you finally said, your throat raw. You looked up at him. “People who want to take your power.”

You didn’t miss the way the demon’s smile tensed.

“I won’t be the reason that you lose everything you’ve built so far,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “You deserve more than what I can give you.”

Alastor stood abruptly, climbing gracefully to his feet before offering you one of his clawed hands and pulling you up beside him.

He released you and grasped your chin in between his fingers, tilting your head up to face him.

“Any demon who hopes to steal my power is going to find themselves sorely disappointed, my dear, regardless of whether or not your presence is noticed.” His eyes hardened. “I am more than capable of holding on to what I’ve gained.”

“You couldn’t sense Mimzy,” you blurted, regretting the words as they left your lips, but unable to stop them. “You didn’t realize she was there until-” you swallowed. “What if it happens again, but this time they come for you?” You hated how desperate you sounded. “What if they hurt you, Al?”

The Overlord tilted his head. His smile twitched and his grip only strengthened as he looked down at you with something resembling regret. “I do admit that both myself and my shadow were a bit distracted during its visit, and I do apologize for not preventing this whole ordeal before it ever began.”

“That’s not what I meant-” you started weakly.

Alastor’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Though I can promise you that such a thing will never happen again, mon chere. Not while I still stand.”

You didn’t respond. Not because you doubted his ability to take care of you, of course. But because you didn’t want this added responsibility to prevent him from taking care of himself.

“I do hope,” the demon continued, the static in his voice suddenly disappearing as he searched your gaze. “That you haven’t finally begun to doubt me.”

You shook your head as well as you were able to with his fingers still clutching your jaw. “No,” you whispered. “Never.”

And in a rare display of courage, you reached out, placing your hands gently on either side of the Radio Demon’s face as he released your jaw. You pulled him down until your foreheads met. “Never,” you repeated, your voice firm. “And if you really aren’t worried, and you want me to stay, then I will.” You pulled back to look into his eyes. “I’ll stay with you. Always.”

Alastor’s hands reached up and settled on top of yours as his eyes bore into you. “That’s quite the commitment, my dear,” he said. There was something strange in his voice, something that sounded almost like uncertainty, almost like tension, almost like fear.

Your grip on his face tightened as you looked up at him. “I mean it, Al. I’ll stay with you, if you’ll have me. If you’re sure.”

Now, there were a great many things that Alastor would never do. He’d never make a deal that he wasn’t in control of. He’d never submit to the Vees. He’d never tell Charlie the real reason that he was in her hotel.

He’d never tell you that he loved you.

But, he found as he stared into your eyes, he would absolutely give up everything that he’d ever built if it meant that he got to keep you.

“I don’t intend to lose anything, my dear. Least of all you.”

You blushed, maintaining eye contact as a gentle smile took the place of your previous frown.

Alastor leaned forward. You followed his lead, expecting to press your forehead to his, when he surprised you by placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

You pulled back and smiled up at him before pulling him down to place your own kiss on his cheek.

Maybe Mimzy was right. Maybe you were something of a danger to the Radio Demon. But you’d be double-damned if you were going to give up on him so easily.

“Now,” Alastor said, his eyes flashing dangerously as he released you and stepped back. His shadow surged forward, returning Alastor’s staff to its rightful owner and standing behind its master with a chilling grin.

Alastor faced you, his smile gentle and his eyes hard as the static returned to his voice with full force. “Would you care to give me the name of the foolish soul who tried to harm what was mine?”

~~~

Nobody had seen or heard from Mimzy in days.

Three new screams had joined the Radio Demon’s broadcast.

You’d been too afraid to leave the hotel for a few days.

Alastor had begun checking your room every night before leaving you alone.

Nobody else at the hotel knew what had happened to you. Not even Angel and Husk.

You gained back your courage in the following weeks with help from Alastor.

The two of you had grown closer than ever.

Nobody had seen or heard from Mimzy in weeks.

~~~

You leaned back against your bed’s headboard, watching as Alastor had his shadow sweep through your room once again.

“I’m fine, Al,” you said, trying to contain your laughter. “Really. Nobody else is going to get in. There’s locks on the windows, and your room is close enough to be able to hear if something goes wrong.”

Alastor hummed in acknowledgement, though his eyes continued to roam around your room until he was satisfied.

He turned to you with a grin. “I’m only protecting what is mine, mon cœur.” He turned to your door, walking away from you with his shadow following close behind. “I do expect to see you bright and early in the morning for a short stroll.”

It was your turn to hum in agreement.

You were more than thrilled with the offer, of course, but you felt a sense of unease that threatened to keep you up all night. You didn’t doubt Alastor’s abilities, of course, but you worried about what might happen to him if he was attacked while he was momentarily distracted with keeping you safe.

Alastor’s hand reached towards your doorknob. “I bid you a good night, my dear.”

“Will you stay with me tonight?” you blurted before you could lose your courage.

Alastor froze in place, his hand hovering. His shadow, however, was much more reactive. It leapt up in excitement and made its way back over to your bed, jumping in beside you and nuzzling its head against your cheek.

You giggled and pulled away, allowing the shadow to slowly run a clawed hand from the base of your throat up to your chin before looking back over at its owner.

He had turned to look at you, a fond expression on his face as he watched the interaction.

“Only if you want to, of course,” you said hurriedly as your smile began to slip. “I don’t mean to pressure you.”

Alastor waved a hand dismissively before he made his way over to you. “You couldn’t pressure me if you tried, my dear.”

Your heart soared as you moved over, giving him enough room to not have to even brush against you during the night.

The Overlord climbed into your bed easily, settling against your headboard before looking down at you with a raised eyebrow. “I do hope you weren’t expecting me to sleep.”

You smiled. “Not at all.” You began to shuffle around to get comfortable and to avoid looking into his eyes when you said, “I just feel safer when you’re here, that’s all.”

The last words of your sentence had hardly left your lips before Alastor’s shadow finally moved from its place on your other side. You laughed as it nudged you over before wrapping its arms around you and pulling your back to its chest, giving you a sense of security that you had never found with anyone else.

You closed your eyes and nuzzled in, allowing yourself to be swept away in a wave of comfort and exhaustion. “Goodnight, Al,” you murmured as you drifted away. “Thank you. For everything.”

You fell asleep before you could hear his response.

So you didn’t see his eyes soften. You didn’t see him reach out and grasp one of your hands in his own. You didn’t see him lean down and press a soft kiss to your temple. You didn’t hear his last words before he began to doze as well.

“Thank you, mon cœur.”

Part 5 Here!

A/N 2: I really hope you guys enjoyed this one!! This is an ongoing series, so let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

I’d also like to continue writing for Hazbin Hotel, so send me requests and let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any those as well :))

Taglist: @severusminerva @anh4125 @midorichoco @rapturenyx @maybememoriesx @martinys-world @axellovesalastor @mo-0-o @looking1016 @saturn-alone @sirens-and-moonflowers

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endless-ineffabilities · 8 months ago

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The Bolter (part three)

Steve Rogers x f!reader

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

in this chapter : The reader returns to New York for the first time after Steve left, reuniting with Bucky. We see a little more of what the reader and Steve went through while on the run.

themes/warnings : pining, tension, unrequited love, two sad saps (reader and Bucky) trying to get over trauma and heartache :(, language, brief mention of injuries

word count : <2k

main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist

2024, three months after Steve's departure

You just finished your second mission since the final battle.

Since Tony. Since Nat.

Since... him.

Only three months, or rather, three long months. You don't know why Sam was worried that you are apparently overworking yourself.

He keeps calling you up, checking in from time to time, making sure that you are allowing yourself to relax. Have a little break. Stay with them in New York for a while. Maybe even have a couple of sessions with the therapist Bucky is seeing.

He must have done a darn good job at convincing you, or maybe you were just exhausted, because you arrive back in New York soon enough.

And Bucky comes knocking on your door not long after.

Your eyes meet, both of you blocking your doorway. Not a single word needs to be said - the understanding you two share runs much deeper.

Two kindred abandoned souls and whatnot.

You step aside to let him through and close the door behind him. His hair is trimmed shorter now, and with his getup, he could pass as just another civilian. It takes another beat of silence before he finally asks, "So how are you?"

You snort at how ridiculous his question sounds. He knows. "How are you?" you counter, eyebrows raised in a challenge.

"Touché," he says, shrugging off his leather jacket and placing it atop your kitchen island. He knows his way around. He's been here before, on the many nights you both shared drinks with Natasha, Sam and... him.

Damn it. You curse internally. It's okay, his name was Steve. He's not the fucking boogeyman.

He gives you a quick once over, immediately noticing that you're putting a lot of your weight on your left leg.

"I fell out a window," you sigh.

"Fuck's sake," he grimaces, shaking his head.

"Hey, we can't all be super soldiers, Buck. My muscles are just a bit softer than yours."

He presses on, still concerned, "Checked in for your physical yet?"

"Booked it for tomorrow," you respond. "But it shouldn't be too bad."

You feel his eyes continue to scan you, but in a non-invasive way. He's checking for more injuries, more signs of wear and tear. He's a lot like Steve, but his gaze is different, less commanding.

More broken.

"Anything new?" you have to ask to distract yourself, and he picks up on it right away. About Steve. He hasn't shown up like he said he would. You had been dreading it - the possibility of seeing a much older Steve, after he got to live out his life in this timeline.

He promised he would try and find you. A version of him, at least. White-haired and wrinkled and weary, but still your Steve. He said you would see him again, in what would be his future and your present, and say a real goodbye. Maybe even tell you all about his life and his girl.

You thought you blocked all that out, but sadly it did not slip your mind. You remember. And you didn't want to be there when it happens.

But nothing did, and you didn't know whether to be worried or relieved.

"Nothing," Bucky shakes his head. "But Dr. Banner is keeping track on whether there are any anomalies in the timeline, specifically in where Steve went back. Everything seems to be normal."

He's fine, and he finally got his normal. And you should let go.

As if he can read your mind, Bucky says, "It's hard to let go, isn't it?"

He's struggling. Of course he is. Bucky also has an old skin to shed, and bones to bury. You never encountered the Winter Soldier back in the day, but you heard of him.

Once you got to know Bucky, you never needed to know anything else. This is who he really is, and he's a good person. He's your friend.

And Steve trusted him. He believed in him. That would have been enough in your eyes, if anything.

"What makes you think I haven't let go yet?" you smile weakly.

He exhales, smiling back. Because, he seems to say, I know you.

Stepping forward, he opts for putting a hand on your shoulder first, unsure. He squeezes gently once, but then changes his mind and pulls you in for a hug at the last second, careful not to add any stress on your leg.

It takes the breath out of you, with his vibranium arm wrapped around your midtorso.

"I'm glad you're back," he mumbles against your hair.

Bucky knows that only you would really understand. The others, maybe they loved Steve too. Admired him. But it was different with the two of you.

Clint can move on with his family. Sam has his new responsibilties. Thor is out of world. Wanda has her own burden to bear. The world will go on as it always has.

But not for us, you think. As he held you tight, you decide that you will help Bucky through it. You will make sure that he gets the peace that he deserves and he is able to let go of Steve. Even if doesn't happen for you, this would be enough.

You offer him a drink after a moment, and he accepts without hesitation.

This is how it starts. This is how the two of you begin to move on.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

2017, ten months after the Avengers' Civil War

"Where were you?" Steve's voice came from somewhere in the room. He was seated in the small living room of your shared cabin, blinds drawn shut, almost out of sight.

You twisted around, and let your duffel bag fall to the floor. Squeezing the bridge of your nose, you let out a shaky breath. "What the hell, Steve, you nearly scared me."

You rummaged through the cupboard, looking for your stashed whiskey. "Nearly," you repeated in jest, when you heard him making his way to you.

You got a much better look at him then. His hair had darkened due to its length, and his beard was thicker. You were going to need several swigs of hard alcohol to resist jumping his bones.

"I was worried," he said, and his tone was gentler. It made you feel guilty, and you didn't know why. "I came back from Wakanda and you were gone."

"I wasn't gone, Steve. Sam needed help getting away with something, you know how it is. We don't exactly have a set schedule on when and where to go, given our fugitive status."

"I know, I know," he said right away, frustrated. What's wrong with him? "But you could have called, left a note - "

"A note could have been intercepted."

" - anything. Just to let me know how you are. You could have been taken in for all I know - "

"You really think I would let them take me in?"

He threw a stern glare your way, propping a hand on his hip. Based on his stance, you thought of how it looked like Captain America was about to give you a good scolding.

But you beat him to it. You were just too tired, and your arm was killing you. "Look, Steve, I had to help Sam and you were still in Wakanda checking up on Bucky. I didn't think it was a big deal. I thought I would be back here by the time you - "

"What's wrong with your arm?" he interrupted you, his practiced eyes easily noticing the damage, and reached for your forearm. "Take your jacket off."

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head before you can catch yourself. "What?" you squeaked, but you knew just what he meant.

Steve was on full Captain mode, always looking out for anyone he feels responsible for. That's all it was. You had to remind your hopeful self that it was nothing more.

His hands were waiting by the neckline of your jacket, asking for permission. Ever so polite, even when his mood is sour.

You can ignore a lot of things, compartmentalize your emotions. You're used to it all, not getting too attached to anyone or anything as a result of your chosen life.

But you couldn't ignore the burning feeling his fingertips left behind as they grazed your skin. When he guided you to the couch so he can take a better look at the bruises on your arm, you were seated close. The closest you've ever been to each other, but he didn't look fazed at all.

Of course not. This doesn't mean the same to him, as it does to me.

You watched him the entire time, his long eyelashes almost grazing his cheek as he looked down at his work. His brows furrowed in concentration. Once in a while, he mumbled something that sounded like, never should've happened, or gotta watch out next time.

It didn't take long for him to fix you up nicely, your arm disinfected and wrapped in gauze.

After you thanked him, you stood from the seat, ready to compartmentalize that moment too. Because that was not the time to go falling for anyone, especially not someone who was just too good for you.

But he grabbed your hand before you walked away, looking up at you as he stayed seated.

"Steve?" There it was again, that burning. That warmth. If he didn't notice the goosebumps on your skin before, you were sure he saw them then.

"I - " he hesitated, before finally deciding on, "I'm glad you're okay."

You tilted your head, smiling. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, y'know."

His worried and serious expression drops and he smiled, eyes all crinkled.

And that was one sight you won't ever be able to ignore.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

A week later, Natasha dropped by. Sporting a brand new white-blonde hairdo that suited her just as fine as her signature red.

You teased her about it, saying how she must have been waiting for an opportunity like this to have an excuse to drastically switch out her hairstyle.

The two of you sat on the bench on the patio while Steve chopped up wood in the distance, looking like a right ol' lumberjack.

He looked too damn good, and it annoyed you. He wasn't making any of it easy.

"You could switch your hair out too, you know. It helps in going incognito," she reached over and twirled a strand of your hair.

You swatted her hand away playfully, grinning, "Oh, but my face is too memorable so it might not even work."

"Oh really?" she smiled, with that mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, Steve certainly seems to think so."

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"He looks at you like you're his sun or something," she stretched out, amused by the obvious rush of blood to your face.

You shook your head profusely, because of how wrong you thought her assumptions were. "He looks at me because there's no one else around here to look at. Not for at least fifty miles or even more."

"Honey, please. It's my job to know these things."

"Oh, is it now?"

"Mhmm," she patted your knee, tilting her head in Steve's direction without turning to look at him. "I'm willing to bet Tony's LA mansion that he's looking at you right now."

"No, he's not - "

"Then prove me wrong."

But you turned, and you couldn't prove her wrong.

Your eyes met Steve's and when he realized your attention was on him, he simply smiled.

Like you were his sun, Natasha had said. But she was a bit off the mark.

You were never Steve's sun, but he was yours.

Read part four here ~

taglist (let me know if you wish to be added!) : @vicmc624 @littleliyah16 @babezawa @klammykayla @justsebstan @blue--ingenue @numblytemporary @bradshawass @delicious-xx

It will be a bit more of jumping back and forth through time, before we see everyone back together (even Steve? 🤷🏻‍♀️)

It's the start of a potential Bucky x reader. I gotta be careful here because I might just flip and want the reader to be with him instead.. who could ever look over Bucky???? He's going to make it hard for us that's for sure.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers #the avengers #mcu #chris evans #captain america #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #the bolter

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the-faceless-bride · 9 months ago

Note

can i have yandere clawd and deuce poly 😪 iltsm( i love yr writing ur one of my fav writers btw 💞)

Omg. I love both of them so much. 🥩🐍 Bluckle the FUCK up, it's a long one. I love them so much. I gave each their own section as to how this started, then the poly together. If you want more of them... Please... Please ask me. P.s. sorry about all the monster puns, I couldn't help myself

🌕New Ghoul in School🐍

Warnings: OOC Clawd, OOC Duce, OOC Cleo?, OOC Draculaura? Clawd being a kicked puppy, yandere content, controlling behavior, turning to stone, non-con hugging, cuddling and Kisses, forced closeness, UNHEALTHY BEHAVIOR!, accusations of cheating, emotional cheating?

Characters : Clawd × Reader × Duce

Proof read : nope

Requested?: yes

You had just transferred from your normie school, Turns out people are so accepting of finding out you're a monster. So you transferred to Monster High, and being a new ghoul didn't seem so hard until you tripped an orange werecats tail and she picked a fight with you...

"and just Who, do you think you are? I don't know how you are your Normie friends play, but you don't want to mess with me Ghoul. I'll make you sorry-"

"why don't you go and pick on someone your own size Torilie?"

"yeah, Dude. Not cool."

🐾🐍 • and that's how it started. Just two Mansters defending the New Ghoul. They knew Torilie was one to pick fights and figured they would help you stay out of trouble for the time being. And the three of you became three peas in a pod. And while you all thought it was great, their Ghoulfriends... Had other ideas.

🐍🕶️ • Cleo started having problems as soon as you had arrived. Your first day she already knew who you were, what you were, where you came from, and if you were cool enough to be popular and associate with the Ghouls she does. And she deemed you not worthy. And that was putting a strain on your friendship.

🐍🕶️ • Duce was grown increasingly tired and frustrated. He loved Cleo, he did. But she could be... Emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausting. When they go out he has to change his personality to not embarrass her, she dictates who can can hang out with and when, and he has to constantly hear from her that he should be doing as she asks and says and do it happily as she goes against what her family wants to be with him. He doesn't want to do that anymore. He wants to be able to Shoot Hoops with Clawd, sit with Jackson at lunch, and talk about the Hissstory test. Listen to whatever playlist Holt made or play dodgeball with Slow Mo. Without Cleo saying when he can and can't.

But he just can't leave her. He's become so dependent on her. Hell, the last time She went to Scarise without him, he nearly went crazy as he didn't know what to do. He couldn't leave Cleo. Even if he wanted to... Unless. Maybe he didn't need to be dependent on her. Maybe. He could be dependent on you.

🐍🕶️ • Duce began to test the waters, which was the start of his obsession. For example at lunch when Cleo tells him to get the green eyed Salad and a water, he'll then turn around and ask you... Sometimes when you feel the burn of Cleo's raging stare you won't respond or say the same as Cleo, but on the days you don't pay attention or to stressed to care you recommend the meat plant sandwich and the yummy razzberry soda pop you've been drinking the past few days. And he'll pick your recommendation. And it Infuriates Cleo. He likes that with you, he has a choice, where Cleo demands and tells. You offer and recommend.

🐍🕶️ • this intimately ends in an explosive argument that Spectra has a field day covering. And Duce does something, not him. Her. Or anyone else in the school say coming. "I'm breaking up with you Cleo." a long still silence fills the halls as everyone takes a moment to process what he just said. Before Cleo screams and storms away, and Duce... Doesn't feel as heartbroken as he thought he should.

🐍🕶️ • Duce starts spending most if not all his free time with you and Clawd, well. Mostly you as Clawd gets called from Draculaura a lot. And while he's sad he can't spend more time with Clawd he's happy to spend time with you. You help groom his snakes, you help him pick which sunglasses he should wear each day, (even though they are all just different shades of red) as well as his many band sweaters. Rumors spread like wildfire, especially with Spectra's gossip site.

"Duce trades princess for new Ghoul?! Stay tuned for the possible new hot relationship??"

🐾🌕 • when Clawd first met you he thought you were great! He got a new friend to hang out with! Sure Manny, Heath, Gill, and Duce we're cool but Clawd has a thing for fashion and self-care, that's not something he really talks about with them BUT that's OK! cuz now he can talk about it with you! He ended up spending a bit of free time with you, anytime Draculaura was out and shopping or just Fanging out with her Ghoulfriends or catching up with her Cousin, he would spend his afternoon with you. Getting his hair straightened and trimmed, getting manicures so his nails don't get too sharp and ridged. And eventually, when he's comfortable with you, he'll start playing games. Like fetch or chase. The only issue is that when Duce started to come around more and Cleo trying to keep him on a leash, slowly Draculaura started calling him and needed him more and more. He didn't think much of it, until Duce's big breakup with Cleo. A week later Draculaura wouldn't leave him alone for a second, and anytime you started approaching she took his hand and pulled him in another direction.

🐾🌕 • it started becoming draining, he loves spending time with his Ghoulfriend. He truly did. But not when every two seconds she was hinting and implying all the time he spent with you was him creeping around behind her back. Nothing he did or said made her change her mind, now everything he did seemed to set her off. She was so paranoid, that he went out of his way to make her a gift to show that he loved her, but he accidentally made it worse, he had to try and hold back tears and puppy cries as she said, "Bad Clawd!" over and over while tugging his ear. He doesn't understand what he did wrong, he just made a new friend. You nor him did anything. So why was she being like this?

Any attempts to talk about it were shut down, as she tried keeping him away from you. And he just couldn't take it anymore, he liked being clingy but he was clingy because he genuinely wanted to be around his partner not just sticking to them like glue-watching like a hawk to 'catch them in the act'. He would go as far as to say this was worse than the time he was dumped for Valentine the love manipulator.

🐾🌕 • Clawd began to confide in you, Draculaura wouldn't listen to him so he was happy you did. He spent hours just sitting under a tree at the back of the school with you, drawing doodles in the dirt, ears tucked back to his head as he vented about his feelings and how the recent arguments had affected him, you tried to help every time. But eventually, word got to Draculaura about your little meetings, and stormed over one day with her ghoulfriends in toe.

Both you and Clawd had to endure the burning glare of the Ghouls, Draculaura ranting and raving and ultimately giving him an ultimatum. You or her. And Clawd's ears pinned flat to his head, he didn't want to lose his Ghoulfriend but he didn't want to lose you either. But before he could answer Draculaura said something that gave him the push to his ultimate answer. "ugh, I should've known! A guy hangs out with other guys like him! And Duce is a lying, dirty, cheater and so are you! And this new Ghoul sure has some nerve to go around sneaking with other Mansters knowing they are dating someone! If that's the kind of Manster you are Clawd then maybe... Eh *hick* MaYbe we shouldn't Be togEther!" a moment passes where Clawd looks down into Draculaura's wet violet eyes, sighs, then answers. "maybe we shouldn't." the ghoul's Gasp and Draculaura sobs, "FINE! WE ARE OVER!"

🐾🌕 • Clawd thought relieved he wouldn't be interrogated every day and being told he's bad, he's still heartbroken that the Ghoul he thought he'd spend his life with was gone. He clung to you and Duce for security and long talks to make him feel better and eventually, he did. Clawd was back to his peppy, wide-eyed, excitable self again. In fact, he's the happiest he's been. His mood wasn't Even shaken when he found out Draculaura had begun dating his sister, he just didn't care. He was happy.

🐾🌕 • It wasn't until a late-night Chat; that you and Clawd had stayed over at Duce's house after seeing a new skinwalker Scareitage Boovie that Clawd discovered that not only He had feelings for you but so did Duce... And well, he had always liked Duce maybe even more than just a bro, but this changed everything. And they agreed. A scarily wonderful idea...

"Vampy puts doggy out for good? Or does Doggy like the Dog house with his chew toy?"

🐍🐾 • now Duce and Clawd are softer yandere's than the normal. But that doesn't mean they won't use force if they need to. Duce is a Dependant, laid-back, stalker-type yandere. He's ok with letting you have wiggle room as long as he knows where you are at all times and can get to you in a short period. Whereas Clawd is a Clingy, overprotective, worshiper-type Yandere. Clawd wants to be near you all the time if you let him, but he's ok with letting you go for a while as long as he has Duce he always knows where you are because Duce knows, if at any point Duce doesn't know for some reason or he's not around Duce to find out, he'll use his nose to track you down.

🐍🐾 • You probably wouldn't know they are yandere's unless you start trying to spend more time with others that aren't them. The more you try and hang out with Operetta and Cupid they start to get a little more aggressive and demanding of your time and attention. Which can trigger some alarm bells that something isn't right. The best thing would be to try and talk and compromise they are willing to do that as long as you promise to let them keep tabs "for safety reasons," and you spend time with them immediately after.

🐍🐾 • after a month or two they start to be more openly affectionate and act like a Throuple, it went over your head at first with Duce's laid-back attitude and Clawd's over-excitable personality being normal, but the more Clawd wanted to play fetch and hug you, and Duce constantly being around you despite having the freedom to hang out with his other dudes you start to get the idea they might be romantically interested.

🐍🐾 • You opened to the idea, and the relationship seemed to be working well... Until they started to become, overwhelming. Clawd always over your shoulder, Duce always seeming to know where you are... Even when you didn't tell him where you were. And things took a turn when you tried to tell them you needed space. "You're... Breaking up... With us?" you sputtered, you definitely didn't answer and deny fast enough as you felt your body start to stiffen and cold. Duce had turned you to stone. Clawd whimpered while holding your cold stiff stone body, "im sorry sweetheart. But we can't have you running from us. Just be good ok? Please?" after that you'd been chained to them by that point. Nobody would've believed you if you told them the school's Cool guy and oversized puppy were forcing you into a relationship...

🐍🐾 • they aren't too harsh on punishments. For the most part. Once you tried to run away once, you waited for a moment to be alone before printing off trying to get somewhere, anywhere but there. But you forgot who you were dealing with and Clawd chased you down. Clawd's punishments involve many forced hugs, kisses, and closeness. If he shows how much he loves you at some point you'll see it's true and love him too! Right?

Duce will turn you to stone anytime he gets an idea you're about to run off. He makes Clawd drag you to his house. Which takes a lot of manipulation and convincing. Clawd doesn't want to lock you away to be alone. He wants you to be around them! But Duce scares him into going along with it. Even sometimes provokes him to anger to be more willing to lock you in a dirty old basement.

🐍🐾 • overall. As long as you stay and promise to love them, and don't mind clinginess it's a cute relationship... But if you reject them, you'll spend a lot of time in an old basement in Duce's home, alive but unable to move. To feel. Or scream.

#monster x reader #yandere monster #monster fucker #monster boyfriend #monster high headcanons #monster high x reader #monster!reader #clawd wolf x reader #clawd wolf #Duce x reader #Monster high clawd x reader #Monster high Duce x reader #yandere monster x reader #yandere poly #Monster boyfriends x reader

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sigilsmut · 1 year ago

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𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 - 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈

Damn my ass did not make it in time again. Am I still gonna post it? Sure why not.

This goes out to @sanjisblackasswife as a small present. I hope this is ok Timi 😭 🖤 Happy (belated) birthday

CW: established relationship, cunnilingus, vaginal penetration, lingerie, a few petnames, Sanji being a pervert per usual, just plain nastiness

“How are you fairing, mon cher? Are you still with me?” Sanji’s muffled voice asks you as if he hadn’t snatched three orgasms from you in the past 2 hours.

As expected, you couldn’t form a proper sentence, your mind as hazy as your watery vision. He was three fingers deep into your pussy while his other hand kept a vice grip on your body. That didn’t stop it from squirming as much as it could, however. A string of moans blessed his ears like the sweetest melody. Smooth, creamy legs spasming around his dizzy head.

The blonde had surprised you with a heartful breakfast earlier, slaving over the stove at the ass crack of dawn to make sure your birthday started off on the right foot. When you expressed concern over how tired he’d be, he simply brushed it off, reassuring you that ‘it’s what my goddess deserves’.

Of course, a banquet was also held for your special day. It was filled with numerous activities, rounds of bubbly drinks, and little heartwarming speeches of how each Straw Hat (in their own quirky way) was grateful to have you in their lives. And you were just as grateful to have them in yours.

But what kickstarted the moment between you two was towards the end of the night, where Sanji had walked in on you changing. By accident? On purpose? Who fucking knows. If his flushed cheeks, slick grin, and nose running of blood was anything to go off of, he didn’t feel any remorse seeing you in your scantily clad lingerie.

A baby blue set, complete with white garters and a pair of blue satin panties. All in his favorite color. You went on a birthday shopping spree with Nami earlier and the set caught your eye. Thinking it’d be cute for you and your boyfriend, you immediately put it on after purchase. It was apparent now that it was a good choice to make.

After locking the door behind him, his long legs carried him to where you stood near the bed. He gently set his hands on your waist, and after giving him the go-ahead, it was downhill from there.

Hands groping and tracing over areas where his lips followed close behind, no part of your sun-kissed bronze skin was left unmarked. The stubble on his chin tickling your belly and inner thighs as he went along. It’s what led to now, with three of his fingers curling into you and his tongue tracing circles around your clit. The sheets became stained with the mixture of your juices and his saliva, but neither of you seemed to care. The bed shook from how aggressively he humped into the mattress, rolling his hips and dragging his hard on against the sheets. The friction made a delicious burn grow against the tip of his cock, and a groan bellowed from his chest.

“Lemme have another one, Y/N-swan...” He mumbled. He took your clit into his mouth and hummed, picking up the pace with his fingers. Your back arched off the bed, screaming into the darkness of the spare bedroom as you gushed into his mouth. He lapped up everything you gave him and only eased off of you once your fingers pushed his head away.

“You taste absolutely divine, darling, like the sweetest nectar I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting. I can never get enough of eating you out.” He heartfully grins like the nasty pervert he is.

Finally he sits up and strips himself of his boxers, groaning as his cock sprang free and slapped against his abdomen. In your stupor, you drooled at the sight and weakly reached forward to dab at his tip. He shudders.

“Such a pretty dick, ‘Ji...” you sweetly murmured. You swear you’ve never seen a man move so fast.

You blinked and he was hovering over you. Your body quivered as you realized that he was already pushing inside you, eager to bring you back to cloud nine with him this time. As his pelvis kissed yours, so did your lips, your eyes rolling back into your head as you tasted yourself. The bedframe slammed into the wall as his lithe hips snapped into yours. Your eyes widened, balling the sheets into your fists as you held on for dear life. Sanji gazed down at you in astonishment.

From his perspective, the moon was absolutely gorgeous, but not as gorgeous as you. Sanji thought he might cry, still in disbelief that he got to have and pleasure someone as beautiful as you. Your watery brown eyes looking up at him with so much love, your locs sprawled out all over the pillows and yet framed your face perfectly. Your puffy lips in an ‘O’ shape, crying out from his purposeful thrusts. Your brown skin seemed to be glowing with how the moon shone on you. In his eyes, your beauty outshone all the stars in the sky, your angelic voice reaching the Heavens at this point.

It’s almost as if that was his goal with how fast he was going.

His slender hands lifted your lower body, wrapping your smooth legs around his waist to push himself in deeper. The blonde craned his head back and moaned, feeling your velvety walls clamp around his cock in a vice grip. His breath hitched, slamming his hips into you even harder and rolling his mushroom head into that one spot that made your toes curl. The bed creaked and croaked underneath the two of you, and it was absolutely certain that Nami would give you shit for how loud you’re being.

“Gimme another one, cherie, pretty please..” He weakly begged of you. His fingers rubbed over your clit rapidly and you groaned, the amount of pleasure overwhelming you. Your whole body shook as a silent moan escaped. Your walls squeezed again and the tension in your belly released. “S-Sanji-!”

“That’s it, princess. Let go for me” he encouraged you. He mewled as you reached your high for seemingly the fifth time tonight, your juices gushing all over his pelvis and all over your thighs. His curly brows scrunched together and tears began to swell in his eyes, groaning as he filled your walls with his warm, sticky load. You have never felt fuller than this moment.

His body curled over you, his hot labored breath in your ear. He turned to you, moving a loc out of his way to plant a soft kiss on your forehead. “Happy birthday, my sweet Y/N.”

“Thank you Sanji.” You smiled lovingly and he returned your expression. Once you calmed your breathing, you reached your hand up to caress his cheek. Sanji was eager to lean into your touch, swooning at how adorable you looked in your after-coitus glow. Suddenly his eyes widened in realization. “I almost forgot.”

He then reached over and took your panties in his grasp, stuffing them in the deep recesses of his pants pocket. You furrowed your brows at his actions, even though you knew good and well what the reason was.

“For safe keeping.” He grinned. He was gonna keep the pair as a reminder of tonight.

“You play too damn much!” You laughed, lightly smacking his shoulder. He laughed with you, stretching back on the bed and collecting you in his arms. Peppering your face in little kisses, he looked up at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Would you like to go again? You’re welcome to ride me if you want, you are the birthday girl after all.”

#sanji x reader #sanji x black reader #one piece x reader #one piece smut #sanji x reader smut #pure nastiness #i hope this was toe-curling enough for you #.romanticism

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fic-dumpster · 30 days ago

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Deer in headlights | Short stories: Public disturbance

1k+ words || Bonten x Reader

fluff mostly, typical shenanigans, no beta and not edited, commas placed everywhere, tried to write it as gender-neutral as possible, let me know if I missed anything.

The thing about going shopping with Bonten is not the unnecessary stuff they buy nor the amount of attention they get; it's the bathroom. Every time you have to go to a public place, they don't let you go alone.

How many times have you heard women shriek in terror because you didn't notice Sanzu or Rindou following you inside the ladies’ washroom? The worst part was that they were surprised and asked what was wrong like it was the most normal thing to do, and they weren’t doing something inappropriate.

That's why you’re pulling Kokonoi with you. He's not going to intimidate the women occupying the bathroom, at least not like the other four waiting at the nearest bench. Takeomi, Sanzu, Kakucho, and Rindou remained with all the shopping bags there. Kokonoi could pass unnoticeable.

After buying some things and drinking three iced teas, of course, your bladder would be full, and you’ll have no other choice but to go with someone. Mikey and his orders about your safety. It’s not like the rest didn't agree with him.

Two doors and a lock later, you are in a stall with Kokonoi. The latter refused to turn around.

“Koko, just turn; I can't pee like this,” you grumbled.

“No, It’s weird to stare at the door,” Kokonoi replied.

“Then close your eyes!” But you didn't mean it like that because he did close his eyes, but the idiot didn't turn around.

You peed, staring at Kokonoi, who was trying to hold back his smile.

“See, it wasn't that bad,” Kokonoi said as he dried your hands together with his under one of those automatic air dryers, “you always make such a fuss.”

“Why do I feel you enjoy this,” you murmured, ignoring the previous statement.

And you were right. A wicked side smile adorned his face. Kokonoi basked in the privilege of being able to be alone with you, handpicked by you, only you, while the rest drowned in jealousy. Except for Sanzu. He was drowning in a strawberry and banana frappe, angrily slurping the chunks of frozen fruit that weren't properly triturated.

“Where are they? Kokonoi is taking too long with Y/N,” spat the Sanzu, suspecting the worst, “I bet my left sack that he’s having se-”

“A line in the bathroom? That happens often,” intruded Takeomi as he remembers a time when he had to take Senju to the bathroom. Why do women take so long? Internally wondered the scarred man.

Rindou and Kakucho groaned from carrying the most bags out of them and they also followed Sanzu’s line of thoughts. Three out of four men sighed in unison.

All laments were put to a halt by Takeomi’s phone ring. The screen showed Kokonoi’s name, and an unpleasant feeling stuck in the older man’s gut. It only worsened as soon as he picked up and heard your screams of desperation.

“Help!!! Takeomi!!!!!! I need your help!! It’s an emergency!!” you didn't give Takeomi time to ask any questions. You blurted out your location and ended the call after screaming for him to hurry.

Takeomi didn't notice the other three men present had leaned over to hear the conversation, and not a second later, Sanzu, Rindou, and Kakucho dashed towards the place you mentioned over the phone, leaving Takeomi with all the shopping bags, alone.

“Hurry up, Y/N needs-” Turning around, Takeomi realized he was talking to none but shopping bags. “Bastards.”

“I can't believe you snatched my phone for that,” Kokonoi massaged his temples, already expecting the dumbasses to show up guns blazing in the middle of a shopping mall after your call for help.

“But I am out of battery, and it's an emergency!!” you said.

“I don't think this qualifies as an emergency,” sighed Kokonoi as he eyed the crowd around him and the stage with colorful lights. “Besides, how are the rest supposed to find us?”

On cue, Sanzu’s obviously loud call of your name could be heard above the tumult of people. Kokonoi had to give them credit; that was pretty fast. He could recognize the pink mane not too far from where he stood and Rindou’s purple head too.

“Koko, do you see them?!” you grabbed his sleeves with urgency. “I can’t see! Let me—” You used him as a ladder, climbing until your eyes could see above the crowd.

Rolling his eyes, Kokonoi let you do as you pleased. What else was he supposed to do? Once your head popped up from above the crowd, you enthusiastically waved at the trio, beckoning them over. As soon as they were close enough to touch you, Sanzu, Rindou, and Kakucho surrounded Kokonoi, who was attempting to hold you in his arms, and began inspecting every inch of skin they could reach.

“You seem fine,” said Sanzu, holding your face in between his palms, pressing your cheeks until your lips puckered like a fish.

“Becaushh I am,” you mumbled with your fish lips, “pleash let my cheekshh go.”

Sanzu couldn't help but coo at you, and without any warnings, he planted little pecks on your lips, making Kokonoi frown, he sat first row for the PDA show.

“Enough! That's enough!” Shouted Rindou, prying Sanzu’s hands away from your face as Kokonoi moved with you still in his arms, separating you both. Kakucho stood there, watching Sanzu and Rindou fight while Kokonoi scolded Sanzu from afar.

“Have you no self-control?!” screamed Kokonoi.

“Like any of you have any when it comes to Y/N!” Sanzu defended himself.

“That’s true,” acknowledged Kakucho.

Everyone talking loudly on top of each other.

As the scene transpired, none noticed the circle of people who observed the whole thing. Some murmured about a lovers’ quarrel, while others about a kidnapping, and debated whether they should call security.

You, on the other hand, remembered why you called them in the first place.

Ah, right. You needed a charger. But none was paying attention to you, hanging like a chihuahua in Koko’s arms.

Not a minute later, security appeared and escorted everyone out for causing a public disturbance.

Takeomi watched the minutes pass by on a TV screen near the bench you all left him. With all the bags and now his own phone without battery, He wondered when would you all come back to pick up all the shopping bags.

#omificstags #bonten x reader #tr fanfiction #tokyo revengers #omi.dih

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darkmxgician · 12 days ago

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Scales Untilted- Part 1

pairing: noah x reader. sweet boyfriend Noah. tags: drinking, swearing, fluff

word count: 2.1k

story song: sugar honey ice and tea by bring me the horizon

taglist: @sorrowsofsilence @angelsdevils @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @montgomery-929496 (I don’t know if you guys just wanted to be tagged on the other stuff so lmk)

I lean back from the mirror after finishing putting on mascara, assessing if I have any smudges I need to fix before I’m done. After a layer of setting spray I go to my walk in closet and start assessing what to wear. I’m going to a BBQ so something summery would be the ideal choice. After agonising over my clothes for a while I choose a white cropped cami and green floral midi skirt, it has a long slit up the side showing off my tanned legs. The heat in LA was unbearable at times, but at least I was always tan. I took my rollers out and let my long hair fall down my back, tying up the top section in a loose bun. After adorning some jewellery I was ready to go.

My friend Davis didn’t live far from me so the taxi took no time, I felt nervous, I’d never met his roommates before, we usually hung out at my brothers house. I did some artwork for his roommates band, and he knows food is the way to my heart, so when they offered to cook for me as a thank you, I couldn’t refuse. I peeled away at the label on the bottle of wine in my lap. When the car pulled up at the address I thanked the driver and took a deep breath and started up the short path. The front door opened to Davis, who grinned and pulled me into a bear hug “wow y/n, you actually look like a girl”, “don’t get used to it” I laugh, following him inside. The house was actually decorated nicely, and clean, considering a group of guys live here. Davis leads me into the kitchen and I’m so busy being nosy that I almost walk into him when he stops. Three men stood by the sink, all tall, tattooed, with dark hair. “y/n this is Jesse, Matt and Noah, guys this is y/n”, they all turn towards me and smile. I wave and return their smiles, although a little more awkward. Jesse and Matt said hi and then return to their conversation. Noah remains facing me, his brown eyes don't leave mine, I feel my cheeks starting to heat and look down at my feet. I was raised on a tour bus so I’m used to feeling the eyes of men on me. I’m not used to being affected by it, what is wrong with me? “Do you want a drink y/n?” Davis startled me with his question, “yeah, sorry” I mutter and give him the bottle I brought with me. I dared a glance at Noah whilst Davis poured my drink and found him looking back to his friends conversation, as if feeling my eyes on him he turned his head to look at me again, I quickly turned away again.

After my initial awkwardness, which was very uncharacteristic for me, I ended up chatting to Matt about lord of the rings for over an hour, we compared tattoos since we both have sleeves based on the series and it just went from there. I felt more at ease and my usual comfortable self. I was used to being around groups of men, I was raised on my brothers tour bus with his band mates, who are my family. I kept finding myself stealing glances at Noah, I don’t know what was wrong with me, he wasn’t the first attractive guy I’d met, hell I’ve turned down guys who look like him 1000 times. Still, I couldn’t help myself, he was covered in tattoos, right up to his neck, his hair was tied into a bun, and the t-shirt and jogger shorts were really working for him. I didn’t realise I’d been staring and he turned and met my gaze, he walked over and I suddenly didn’t know what to do with my hands, I quickly picked up my drink and took a sip to calm my nerves. Why was I reacting like this? When he reached us, he kept his eyes on me whilst addressing Matt “Hey, Davis needs your help with the burgers”. After a quizzical look, Matt was gone. I was alone with Noah, he towered over me, more so than the other guys. “Looks like you need a refill”, he gestured for my glass, “oh, yeah, thanks” I mutter, passing it to him. He smirks at me and heads inside to the kitchen, I trail behind him, suddenly feeling very small in his presence.

He pulls my wine out of the fridge and pours a large glass before turning back to me, I was leaning against the worktop for support as I watched him. He cleared the space between us in 2 steps and suddenly I was surrounded by his cologne, he was intoxicating. He smiled down at me, leaning one hand on the worktop behind me, “here you go, y/n”. Hearing my name on his lips was enough to make me blush, my mouth was suddenly very dry. I licked my lips and realised my mistake when he tracked that movement, his eyes dipped to my mouth. “Thanks Noah” I attempted a smile, his eyes coming back to look straight into mine, “no problem y/n” he smirks and pushes off the counter, aiming to go back outside. He looks back at me as if to say ‘are you coming?’, “hey where is your bathroom?”, I blurt out, blushing once again. He points me me towards a white door and I follow his directions. I step inside and lean on the sink, needing to regain a bit of control over myself.

I step back into the blistering LA sun, shielding my eyes to assess who and where to go to in the open garden. The guys are all sat around a table, it seems they’d finished cooking whilst I was regaining some composure in the bathroom “hey, y/n, your veggie burger is here” Davis shouts, pointing at the burger in the empty spot next to Noah. Brilliant. I smile and head over, Noah pulls my chair out with one hand, not even looking at me as he’s mid conversation with Jesse. I mutter a thanks to him and turn to Davis “thanks mate, this looks good”, he grinned at me with a mouth full of food, making me giggle. That got Noah’s attention, he draped his arm over the back of my chair and looked at Davis, who was oblivious. I reached for the ketchup and a napkin in the centre of the table, then leant back into the chair, into Noah’s arm, god he was huge. I kicked off my sandals and pulled my legs up, I can never sit on chairs properly, I like sitting with my legs crossed. After getting comfy I cover my burger in ketchup and set the plate in my lap. I forgot about Noah’s lingering gaze after the first bite, hunger took over and I devoured my food, adding more salad to my plate between bites. The guys all continued talking about various topics, music, anime, video games. I mostly concentrated on my food until they mention attack on titan, “NO don’t” I almost shout, “I’m only on season 1, no spoilers please” I add, realising they were all staring at me now. “ok guys, no spoilers, but how good was that last episode” Matt says to Noah, who completely ignores him. “You’re watching attack on titan y/n?”, I turn to look at him, not realising how close he was sitting, I nod eagerly, not able to answer with a mouth full of food. He smiles at me and I was suddenly very glad to be sitting down. Matt taps Noah’s shoulder to get his attention, continuing their discussion. His eyes linger on me for a moment, I can feel my cheeks heating again and quickly look away, taking a big drink from my glass.

The rest of the night went by in a blur, partially because I drank the whole bottle. I’m a lightweight and don’t drink much, so the buzz from the wine had me feeling giddy, I couldn’t stop giggling at everything Noah had to say, his answering smiles knocking me on my arse. Before I knew it, it was 1am, had I really been here for 10 hours? The boys start clearing up, plates and glasses litter the table and I stand up to help, stumbling and tripping over my discarded sandals. Unsurprisingly, Noah is there. He steadies me with an arm around my waist, pulling me into his side. “Sorry, I’m too clumsy for my own good”, I smile at him, my world tilting a little, making me squint. He chuckles to himself, “how far away do you live? I can’t drive you so if you need to stay we can figure something out”. I was suddenly very aware of the rest of the guys, who were uncharacteristically quiet. The last thing I want is to be drunk and babbling to them all, especially Noah. “I don’t live far, I’ll just get a taxi, it’s how I got here earlier”, I slur my words a little but manage to get my point across. Fuck me, he’s really attractive.

I can’t help but notice how disappointed he looks when I pull out my phone to check for an uber. I loop my arm through his and start walking inside, partly needing his balance, but mostly wanting to be close to him. “Do you mind waiting outside with me?”, I flutter my eyelashes at him, unable to help myself. I’m not usually good at flirting, I’m awkward with any romantic interactions, but for some reason I found myself trying. He seemed to perk up at that, pulling me along with him, he announces that I’m leaving and I get pulled into a few hugs, Davis kisses me on the top of the head as he slings an arm around me. That’s when I realise Noah is holding my hand, he squeezes it as he shoots daggers at his friend. I wave bye to the boys and we head outside. I try to check my uber app and can barely see the screen, closing one eye to try and focus my vision. Noah chuckles next to me and takes my phone, clicking my home address and connecting me to a driver. I lean into him, “thanks Noah”, he wraps an arm around my shoulder and walks me towards a low wall in his front garden. “It says it’ll be 7 minutes, so I’m glad I get more time with you before you leave”. I turn to face him, his eyes are bright, a brown so deep I could get lost, like an endless forest. His face is dusted with freckles and tan from the heat in LA. His eyes remain fixated on mine as I assess him. His mouth pulled up into an easy smile, he was so close I would just have lean over and I could kiss him. I stop that thought in its tracks, but not before my eyes dip to his mouth. He watches me, his arm tightens on my waist, pulling me closer. I let him, getting lost in the moment, he reaches his other hand over and tilts my chin up so he has better access. My eyes flicker shut and I inhale a shaky breath, his lips hover over mine, with the ghost of a kiss, and then he pulls away. I groan in frustration and he laughs, the sound a melody that calls to my very soul. “You’re drunk y/n, I’d like you to be sober and lucid the first time I kiss you”. I look up at him with the best puppy eyes I could muster and sigh. He starts typing something on my phone and I scan the street, praying my taxi was still far away. “I put my number in, so please can let me know when you get home”, I nod enthusiastically, “I promise”, I stick out my pinky finger for him to shake. He pinky promises me, chuckling at my childish tendencies. “Can I call you tomorrow?”, he looks nervous as he asks, “of course”, I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. I lean my head against his shoulder and let out a contented sigh, hoping once again that the car takes its time so I can bask in his company for as long as possible. And thats when I release I’m in way too deep already.

#noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian x reader #soft! noah #bad omens fluff #scales untilted #my writing #txt

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hellishjoel · 1 year ago

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burning desire

10.3k // pairing:dbf/neighbor!joel x f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3

summary: An argument with your mother before family dinner leaves Joel worried about you. He sneaks you away to grab a drink and talk about what’s on your mind.

warnings: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, dbf/neighbor!joel, soft-hot-protective!joel, rocky mother-daughter relationship (this one ain't for the weak - mommy issues galore) & discussions of verbal fighting, slight clues of abandonment issues, smut, swearing, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel in his 40s), pet names, praise!kink activated, unprotected p in v (yes finally, the edging is over), mentions of birth control, slight cockwarming if you squint, slight degradation kink

A/N: I crave three things after writing this chapter: Joel, Joel Miller, Joel fucking Miller. Also, I’m almost done with The Last of Us Part 1 :(( sad that it’s ending, but it’s been so much fun to play! Enjoy this chapter <3

Your parents make good on their invitation and ask Joel over for dinner. A steak dinner, to be exact. Paired with wine, mashed potatoes, green beans, and a pie your parents picked up from the local bakery in town.

You sort of hope Joel pulls out his long list of excuses to evade any awkwardness.

Sorry, can’t tonight. I’m finishin’ up somethin’ for work. Can’t wait another day.

Or,

Hey, maybe another night. Not feelin’ too hot.

When in reality, it’s more like,

I can’t come over for dinner tonight because I might bend your daughter over my truck if I see her again.

As active as you and Joel have been, you have yet to hit a home run in lewd baseball terms. In fact, all the bases in your and Joel’s game were totally screwed up. You hit third base before you hit first, and you weren’t even sure if there was a second base. It was all just so confusing now.

But you wanted the home run, you wanted Joel, you desired him in that light. You wondered if he was ready for it.

Screwed over by your father asking Joel over for dinner and screwed over by Joel agreeing, you had no other choice but to sit through it and act like everything was normal.

And everything was normal for the first half of the day before you and your mother got into it.

The argument was recycled. You wished she would come up with better material. But it always came down to what you wanted to do after this summer since you recently graduated. And that was an ongoing war.

After two door slams, your mother retreating to her bunker, and you finding shelter in the bathroom, you’d say today’s battle was over.

You sit on the floor, bare feet touching cold tile. In a way, it soothes your shaky body.

No matter how old you get, this feeling never seems to waver with its intensity. The feeling that no one’s listening, no matter how hard you scream for them to hear you. Regardless of how often you have these conversations, you become a small child again, being scolded and told that what you thought and wanted wasn’t right.

You managed to collect your journal expertly hidden in your bedroom before fleeing to the safety of the bathroom. You flip open the pages with teary eyes.

You wish you didn’t have to admit that this was your safe space. On the bathroom floor, back flushed against the dark wood door as you closed your eyes and tried to calm your breathing.

June 17th 2:28 P.M.

Mom started a fight with me about not traveling again. She says it’s crucial for me to start my career immediately. I don’t even know what I want to be yet.

You have to pause to blink back tears. You wish you had your life figured out like it felt everyone else did.

Why does she have to care so much that I want to leave for a little bit? It’s not like it’s forever. There’s so much more out there. I’ve studied miscellaneous classes for four years and want a break. Why do we always have to have this conversation over and over again? She always asks how I will take care of student loans and bills. I have repeatedly told her that I’ve been saving up for a while to do this. She keeps saying she wants what’s best for me and doesn’t want me to start my career too late. She says it’s hard to let me go.

I love her, and I appreciate her support through school, but school is what taught me about independence as well as academics. I want to live my life and have experiences you can only get by leaving home for a little bit. Maybe then I’ll better understand what I want for my future.

Your writing pauses, and you stare straight ahead at the beige wall, blurry eyes reading another cheesy sign. Bathroom - Open 24 Hours - Seat Yourself.

You decide to spare a moment of your mother’s casualties and pencil in something else that’s been recently stirring.

I’ve been seeing Joel Miller casually since the start of this summer. I can’t believe I’m even writing this. It’s weird -- but in a way, it’s also not? He’s older by like a mile, but he’s familiar, comfortable. Easy to talk to. It doesn’t feel like he’s judging me. I’m not trying to read too much into it, but this summer sucks less because of Joel. Whether he knows it or not.

---

You and your mother work around each other while setting up dinner in the backyard garden. She steps back inside to grab more wine glasses.

You’ve put on a nice summer dress. The hem lands somewhere on your thighs and flows with the breeze. After sobbing on the cold bathroom tile for an hour, you don't feel very pretty, but eating outside and soaking up some fresh air might make you feel better.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Joel Miller was the largest, broadest, lumberjack-est man you had ever met, but he moved as quietly as a mouse. Your eyes blink a few times as you haphazardly set down the bowl of mashed potatoes on the circular table.

“Hi.”

Your voice is raw and red, softer than usual. Joel seems to instantly take notice. You see it in the way his eyes soften. He moves a little closer, hands resting on the back of one of the white outdoor dining chairs.

Your face probably reads more panicky than intended. He picks up on your faulty mood and assumes the worst.

“Do they.. Do they know?” He asks, eyebrows knitted with a deep furrow in between.

Your eyes go doe-ish, shaking your head and occupying your hands with a spare cloth napkin.

“What? No. Why would you think that?”

He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to. He takes one long look over your being and you feel it in the space between you.

Somethin’s wrong.

Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine, Joel.

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing on you more.

Suddenly, you felt exposed. Like someone had ripped the curtain open on you. No one had ever seen right through you like this before. It was unsettling, but god, you just wanted to lean right into it.

If your parents weren’t just inside, you’d walk right into his front and curl your head in his chest just under the hook of his chin. You’d close your eyes and wrap your small arms around his waist.

He’d encircle you in his big, protective arms and shield you from the pain you’ve felt today. You’d listen to his heart thrumming against his chest, using the rhythm to try and slow down your breathing while he whispers to you in his sweet southern drawl.

S’alright, sweetheart. Everything’s gonna be okay. I see you tryin’.

His eyes flitter into light again, ease passing across his features.

“Like the dress.” He looks over you with a condescending little smirk. This man has never seen you in a dress in your life.

“Shut up. It’s just for dinner.”

He lets out a cocky little tut. “‘Cause you knew I was comin’ over?”

When you look up at him again, his hand gently rests over yours. You don’t have time to appreciate it; the sliding back door opens, and your father’s big booming laughter shakes the nearby lake. Joel’s subtle touch is instantly gone.

“Joel! So good to see you! Hey, great bonfire a few weeks ago.”

You take a deep breath and excuse yourself from the shop talk. You don’t want to be alone with your mother in the house, but the table still needs to be set up. You work around each other in silence. She grabs the salad, you grab the dinner rolls and green beans. You could hear a pin drop.

---

Dinner would have been better if you had an appetite. You spent the majority of your time making a tilled farm field out of your mashed potatoes. You’d flatten out your helping with a fork and then gently run the fork’s ribs through the moldable potatoes and create little crop lines out of it. You don’t always play with your food, but you weren’t really up for conversation. Your mother takes notice. She hates it. She hates that you were letting your personal problems exist in the company of others.

The only time you looked up even slightly was when Joel started talking. Sort of a calm in an unknown storm, you suppose. He looked so handsome without even really trying. You wore a crooked smile as you looked over the dark green button-up he was wearing. It was starting to be your favorite color, he wore it so well.

There were points where your parents would turn to each other. And Joel would turn to you. It was sort of a silent check-in.

Under the protection of the table, his hand found your knee, his big fingers lightly playing with the hem of your dress. It was the first time you cracked a real smile all dinner. Your hand ghosted over his, your nails lightly running soothing, slow lines on the underside of his wrist by his watch.

You doin’ okay?

Mhm.

It didn’t dawn on you that Joel might have felt he did something to cause your saddened mood. And this was his way of asking. You bit down on your lower lip, feeling his fingers lightly interlock with yours over your knee. Your eyelashes flutter at the warmth it propels through your body. It was just what you needed. Everything was going to be okay.

---

You’re working over a stubborn steak juice stain on a plate as the sun sets over the lake and glistens a soft yellow-orange hue through the windows in the kitchen. Your parents are moving around you while you rinse the dishes, back turned to them as they spoke in mundane conversation and pack up leftovers.

You don’t see him, but you can feel Joel’s presence as he enters the doorway. He watches you. He watches your parents. You wonder what he sees. The next thing you know, he’s shaking your parents hands and bidding them goodnight.

He stops at you. As the running faucet splashes against a few forks and a wine glass, you spare him a glance.

“Walk me out?” Your parents take notice of his ask. And not in the way you expect.

You tilt back and forth on your feet, looking back to the dishes. You really just wanted to finish what was left to clean and read in your room for the rest of the night.

“Uhm-”

“Go on and walk him out, honey. We’ll see you soon, Joel. Thanks for stoppin’ in.”

Your eyes go from Joel’s, to your parents. If they were anything, at least they were oblivious.

You and your mother share a look before she sighs and exits the kitchen. Your jaw loosens, not even realizing how hard you were grinding your teeth while looking at her.

“Yeah. Okay.” Your murmured voice is barely audible above the gushing sink faucet. After you set the plate on the drying rack and smear your wet hands on a dish towel, you walk Joel outside.

The night breeze off the lake sets in a layer of goosebumps up your arms.

Joel’s boots scuff against the gravel and dirt in his driveway, his footsteps pausing at his truck and turning to face you.

The rising moon and setting sun work in unison to highlight his aquiline nose and silver-sprinkled jawline. He’s charmingly handsome. Rugged features meet a stone facade.

You take a hesitant look back into the house. The kitchen light is still on, but no one is in the small windows.

“You wanna tell me what’s really goin’ on with you?” He crosses his arms, cocking his leg out as he leans his weight onto one of his hips.

You muster up a shrug and fold your hands around your arms to keep the light chill away. It felt like you couldn’t tell the truth, the house and your parents inside watching over you. The pressure of it all makes your shoulders lurch up a bit into your neck.

But Joel continues to press you. You’re making him nervous, you think, because he’s not accustomed to seeing you so quiet.

“Are you..” His words falter and fall off, and you can see the frown creased into his mouth. “You’re wantin’ t’stop seein’ each other?”

“What?” Now you’re the one frowning, closing the gap between you and Joel and taking him by his hand to the other side of the truck, using it as a shield between you and the rest of the world. Your back flushes against his driver-side door.

“No, I don’t want to stop seeing you, Joel.” You frown and squeeze his hand a little tighter in assurance. “Trust me. You’re kind of..” You struggle to make the words fit. Nothing seems right. You’re kind of the only person I want to be around right now.

Joel looks a little relieved. He doesn’t make you finish your sentence. He seems to connect the dots. Joel looks from your solemn face to the house behind you—the cause of your ill-stricken mood.

“How about we grab a drink n’talk.” It’s not a question, exactly, it’s more like a command.

You don’t want to talk about what happened, and you have a sneaking suspicion that if you two go off together, your parents will be asking questions.

You push the toe of your sneaker into the gravel and twist slowly back and forth.

“I should just head back inside. My parents are probably waiting up for me, anyway. Cleanup duty.” You say unenthusiastically with a dash of sarcasm. Joel’s eyes are looking past you, still at the house. You turn around to follow his eyeline. All the lights in the house have been turned off—even the porch light. Joel scowls at the sight, thinking how he always leaves the light on for Sarah.

The caged-in feeling returns, your chest tight as you look to your feet and try to breathe through the ache your heart held. You wanted to get out of here, and now.

“Never mind.” You bite down on your lower lip to hold it together. “Let’s go.”

You’re already swinging open Joel’s door, rust creaking at the joints as you slide into the passenger seat. These old trucks with no center console were so cool to you. Maybe you'd appreciate it more if you weren’t in such a shitty mood. But Joel’s already in the truck beside you, the warmth he’s radiating was welcome. His key turns in the ignition, and it clicks a few times before the engine roars to life.

You don’t talk, he doesn’t force you to. You feel at peace putting some distance between you and the lakehouse.

Joel drives past neighborhoods with funny street names. Thunderbird Lane. Firefly Drive. Sugar Loaf Lane.

As the sun just finishes setting, the whole town is covered in an orange glow that will soon fade to purple. Everything flies by your window, and moving at this speed feels like the cage is lifting around your chest, the clasps on your wrist snapping free.

Rolling down the window makes the breeze funnel into the truck and flow through your hair. Before you know it, your body is halfway out of the window.

“What ‘n God’s name do you think you’re doin’?” Joel’s tone was warning, his fist catching your dress in a fist around your lower back in an attempt to make sure you didn’t get thrown out of the truck. “Get back in here.”

You turned back so Joel could see you, eyes lit, and a smile from ear to ear. His hold slowly loosens at the sight before him.

Back arched out the window, he drives a little slower and towards the center of the road. You look up, arms outstretched into the night air as you breathe everything in. Fresh lungs, filled with a new perspective, no tears left to cry as you hang out of Joel’s window. The stars gleam, and the universe is vast.

Oh my god. You hear yourself mumble, feeling freedom reeling through your entire body. And like that, you were new again.

A satisfied sigh leaves your lips. You’re back in the truck now, and you roll the window up but not completely closed. The wind still tickles a breeze into your thrown-about hair. You look to Joel, his eyes already on yours.

Joel sees your fire has been re-lit, thrashing out licks of flame and building in intensity. He adores you wild and free.

“Better?”

You fix the space between you, your body melting into his side as your head lazily rolls onto his shoulder. His heavy arm finds its way around the tops of your shoulders to keep you sedentary.

“Much better.”

---

He ends up passing the central part of town. It’s better this way. Go somewhere he won’t be recognized with a woman half his age. He’s the one who lives in town throughout the year. You and your family only visit in the summer. It doesn’t help that the town is small, and Joel is one of a handful of skilled contractors in the area.

His rusted truck lulls to a jittery stop outside a small bar lit by a red neon sign reading, Past Lives. You wander inside, passing empty barstools and a glowing dartboard, while your sneakers crunch peanut shells littering the ground. You nearly slipped on a large pile of them, but Joel’s hand was firmly on your bicep before you could flail any further.

“You might be the clumsiest woman I’ve ever met.” He mutters, annoyance passing over his features.

You roll your eyes and scoot onto one of the tall barstools at a small square table against the wall. “I doubt that’s true.”

He shrugs his shoulders and cracks open a peanut, tossing it into his mouth. “You’re right. Your mother is the clumsiest woman I know. You get it from her. Once, I watched her glide five or six feet down the end of the dock and land in the water.”

An ill feeling passes over you again, pursing your lips as you trace your finger around the small bowl Joel is picking his peanuts from.

Joel halts his movements, chewing included, and watches as your eyes stare meaninglessly at the table.

“Never really seen you like this. Thought I’d like it if you were quiet for once. But now it just feels out of character.”

Joel’s boot teasingly nudges your sneaker under the table. His brown eyes look warm despite the lack of light in the dingy bar. Your stomach twists thinking about how he looked under the moonlight just half an hour ago.

Those pretty eyes of his meet yours. Soft. Kind. “Talk to me.”

A beaten-up sigh leaves your lips, tugging at the hem of your dress.

After a drink or two, you tell Joel everything he missed before dinner. How you and your mother fought. How it was all venom and tears, leaving you cold and alone on the bathroom tile. By the time the battle came to a halt, there was no clear winner or loser.

Joel’s an attentive listener. He doesn’t interrupt. He knows when to prompt you need a push. Joel’s pile of peanut shells has turned into a small molehill. The ice in your drink sloshes around as you start talking with your hands.

“I love her, I mean, she’s my mom. But she’s always fought me on this. This-this-...”

“The traveling,” Joel assists, his large hand nursing a small glass of whiskey. He looks amused like he enjoys watching you spew. You supposed he feels more relieved to see you explode like this rather than holding it all in.

“And-and it’s so much more than that! She fought me about leaving Texas for school, she fought me about doing a semester abroad, she just can’t let me go, it’s suffocating!”

You didn’t mean to sound so passionate, and you hadn’t realized how vocal you became until someone slowly clapped on the other side of the bar in appreciation. You stifled a laugh and put your head shyly in your hands.

He nods slowly, waiting to see what you’ll say next. You’re using him like you’re journaling at home, now it’s just interactive.

You sigh and pinch at the bridge of your nose, closing your eyes as you listen to an old country slow song humming throughout the bar.

“Didn’t even wanna come back this year.” Your words are barely above a murmur.

This makes Joel pause. “What d’you say?”

You sit up straight and sigh, crossing one leg over the other under the table. These stupid drinks are making you tell the truth. Be more vulnerable than you would ordinarily be. But it’s also because you’re talking to Joel, and he’s always been interested in what you have to say.

“I didn’t want to come back this year. These past few years, I didn’t come back to Danbury because I sort of- purposely- busied up my summer. Internships, work, anything to keep me busy and out from under their-their….” You pause to make hand gestures that are wide and all-encompassing.

Joel juts his jaw out to the side, lips pursed before he speaks again.

“M’happy you came back.”

There’s a moment of silence. Joel’s eyes aren’t on yours anymore. He’s swirling his glass around slowly and watching his ice rotate in a sloppy circle. You slowly start to smile as he looks bashful.

“What did you say, Mr.Miller?” You pry teasingly, reaching your hand over and gently stroking his watch band. The nickname makes his eyes narrow on yours.

“Nothin’. Forget about it.” He throws back the last of his drink, and you’re cooing for him to continue.

“Wha- Joel, come on! Why did you say that?”

He’s just trying to buckle down his smile, hiding it with his whiskey glass and shaking his head.

“Didn’t say nothin’.”

“Yes, you so did. Don’t even try to lie.”

“I’ve never lied a day in my life.”

Your eyes go wide, and now you’re smacking his forearm. He’s shoving quarters at you now, sliding them to your side of the table as a form of distraction.

“Can you just-” He scoffs under his breath and rolls his eyes, finalizing his quarter total to four. “-fuck off, go put a song on the jukebox.”

You sneer at him but obey. You look for something particular, pausing on Little Lies by Fleetwood Mac, smirking at him as you punch in his quarters. He seems confused as to why you stay standing at the jukebox.

The chorus hits, and you point accusingly at him as you do so.

“Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies,” you can’t even finish before your right foot catches on more slippery peanut shells, freezing like you were caught on ice skates and trying not to fall.

Joel’s hand has a vice grip on your bicep again until you regain your balance. God. Your face gathers heat as you snatch your phone off the table, and he lets out a laugh at your expense.

“Can’t sing,”

“Hey-”

“Can’t walk in a straight line.”

“I had like four drinks.”

“Two.” He corrects. There’s no hiding that you’re just unbearably uncoordinated.

“God. Just- get me out of here, Miller.”

Joel was biting back a smile. He likes teasing you, taunting you. Only because you know how to serve it back to him.

“Not until you see this. Wanna show you somethin’.” He sets down his whiskey and lays down cash to cover the tab.

You start your stride, and Joel’s already looking at you with instilled concern. You insist I’m fine. Go on. You follow him through a narrow hallway towards the restrooms, an exit door lit up with a red sign over it.

The walls are filled with signs, pictures, and letters, all illuminated by a soft flickering strip light. These were trails that people had left along the way, passing through the bar and leaving a piece of them behind for strangers to admire. It was like a memory wall.

Joel leans back against the men’s restroom doorframe, arms crossed as he silently admires the wall. And you.

Your fingers brush an old family picture timestamped from the late 80s. There were business cards, from bankers to bonds bailsman.

You feel Joel’s hand cast warmth on your hip, guiding you further down the hall. You follow his eyeline to a large yellow-light spoiled wall map. There were push pins all in different parts of the world.

“Look at all of these, Joel!” Your eagerness was evident as you stepped in front of him, finger flying from one point to the next, squinting past the tacks to read the cities people have visited.

“Bangkok, Thailand. Paris, France. Of course. London, Dubai, Tokyo.” Your voice trails off, finger-stopping around the empty parts of the map that some of the bargoers had yet to venture off to. The pins around the state of Texas were ironic.

You gently took a step back, Joel's broad and hardened front caressing your back. His arms gently wrap around you before they clasp at your front. You rest your temple against his bicep as you sigh. You found comfort in him tonight more than he could understand.

Your neck cranes to the side and up, observing his defined jawline from below. “Have you ever been out of the country?” Your face is lit with excitement, only to fall as he slowly shakes his head. You turn back to the map, your fingers gently holding onto his muscular forearm.

“Am I crazy for wanting to leave?”

You can feel a heavy breath leave through Joel’s nose, the air fanning over the top of your head.

“You’re not leavin’. You’re travelin’. You’ll come back, eventually.”

The muscle in your jaw twitches, and your eyes move to the Eastern side of the map, spotting the tiny European countries.

“Maybe my mom is so worried that if I decide to leave, I might not come back.” You say it as a joke. It makes Joel muster up a tut. But maybe, just maybe, you mean it.

---

You feel drops scatter from the dark black clouds overhead as you rush out to the truck, feeling the cold rain splash onto the exposed skin of your thighs.

Joel’s hot on your heels, doing his little side hop down the stairs and jogging lightly with his arms tucked into his sides. He’s already tossed you the keys to his truck. His body hovers over yours and shields the raindrops from landing on your head as you fiddle with unlocking the truck door.

“Any day now.”

His babbling thwarts your concentration.

“Fuck off, it’s like- rusted shut.” You tease before giving the handle one large tug, and it gives way with a creak. You slip in, dress hem tangling up on your upper thighs. Your hand flies to fix it instinctually, but you slow down when you see how adamantly Joel admires the exposed skin.

When you two make eye contact, he’s already cleared his throat and put the key in the ignition. He cranes his neck back to look out the rearview window, left hand cranking the wheel with precision while his right arm wraps around the back of your headrest. You swallow the lump in your throat, watching Joel reverse out of the bar’s parking lot and back onto the main road.

Your heart thumps, and you think he can hear it because his eyes are on yours when he turns back around. Magnetizing. And you have a hard time facing him without feeling a little shy. Because you’re thinking incredibly naughty things now.

On the drive home, the rain pelts the truck and hard. Joel’s wimpy wipers are working at full speed. He’s not concerned because he knows these streets with his eyes closed. He turns up the radio a little bit to drown out the rain. He does it for you to ease your nerves.

“You’re quiet.” He murmurs, his eyes still on the murky road in front of him.

You can’t help but be quiet. He looks so fucking hot. As dim streaks of lightning skitter across the sky, you see the silver hairs in his mustache and beard. His rain-dampened curls are recoiling, fresh, and wavy. His thick neck was lined with strong veins and muscle.

“So are you.” You murmur back.

His eyes catch you in sneaky glances. Your hair, pretty and dry since he shielded you in the bar’s parking lot. Dress half rumpled up your thighs, smooth skin of your legs exposed to his wandering pupils.

The truck suddenly shifts, veering off the main road.

“Woah,” you gasp, thinking the truck had slid at first. But Joel’s foot was still on the gas, cautiously guiding you off to a side road. You look around, covered by darkness and trees that shield your existence but do little to veil the obscene thoughts racing through your head.

Joel finally throws the truck into a parked position, your eyes watching as his hand snaps the keys out of the ignition.

He looks over at you expectantly. And you just deadpan.

“Get over here." He says between gritted teeth, voice drenched in lust as he snaps off his seatbelt and then your own.

His large hands pull you in as soon as you’re free. You don’t waste another minute, straddling his lap and resting between him and his steering wheel.

You clutch the collar of his dark green button-up, tugging him by his neck into your kiss. It’s messy and desperate, but you've wanted to taste him since dinner. His greedy hands are wrinkling your dress. The cold air tickles your warm thighs, and you whimper into his mouth.

Joel’s kisses are rough but fluent; he speaks the language of your lips. You take a moment to admire how different the two of you are and how it feels like he’s the key to your lock.

His warm palms slip up the front of your thighs as he kisses you, hasty and happy. He takes the hem of your dress with him. Joel is as warm as a furnace. He’s heating you from the inside out as your core begins to ache for him.

He pauses the kiss, large palm coming up to cup your cheek as his thumb traces along your lower lip. You take the time to catch your breath, feeling his own fog against the window next to you.

“Not exactly the most romantic spot.” His eyes shift with lust-filled guilt. “M’sorry.”

You work up a smile, leaning in to gently kiss his cheek and up his cheekbone.

“It’s okay. We’re not romantic.” Your clarification feels like a lie. He doesn’t need to know that.

The rain outside becomes blurred, and Joel’s looking through you again. Right through you. Your chest pounds under his watchful eyes. He sucks in the side of his cheeks, looks you up and down your face.

Don’t lie to me.

Don’t make me tell you the truth.

He decides to let you move on unscathed, your thighs clamping around his own with your knees at either side of his hips. His worry lines are stamped into his forehead as he looks over you cautiously.

You break into a smile, unable to stand him looking at you like you’re a lost puppy. “Joel,” you whisper into his ear, soft lips giving his ear a kiss as your nose lightly brushes against his soft curls. Your voice drops to a whisper, sweet and divine. “Don’t make me beg, Mr. Miller.”

Your lips suckle his earlobe and cast your tongue along the curve while his fingertips immediately dig deeper into the flesh of your hips. The sensation makes his cock twitch in his jeans.

You smirk as you grind your hips into his lap, a suppressed grunt leaving his parted lips. He’s into it. “You like this, Mr. Miller?” Your words are murmured against the shell of his ear, teeth gently catching his earlobe and lightly tugging.

Your words along with the rhythm of your hips over his lap have him in a tailspin.

“Knock it off.” He warns, teeth gritted, a low growl emitting from his throat while he grips you at the waist to pause any movement. He looks so sexy snarling at you like this. Your hand reaches between you two, palming against his cock until you feel it swell into the heart of your hand.

Joel is lazily planting kisses on the soft skin of your neck, he’s distracted by how good your hand feels.

You take turns half undressing one another. Joel pushes your dress up to your waist and loops his index finger into the band of your panties. He guides them down with your assistance. You kick the material off your ankles and move to pop open each button of his long sleeve. He goes to shrug it off, but you smile and tighten your hold on the collar.

“I like it on. Just wanna see your chest hair.”

His mouth tilts into a crooked smirk.

“‘lright, then. Good to know.” He leans back in and places messy kisses on your exposed neck. You can feel how badly he wants to sink his teeth in, but you share the mutual rule of keeping those things below the collar. Out of sight, out of other people’s nosy minds.

You struggle to admit that jimmying open his belt at this angle was pissing you off. You’re holding your breath until it clicks open, and you let out a sigh of relief. So does Joel.

A gasp leaves your lips as Joel lifts the both of you up purely with the strength of his hips, a low grunt leaving his pouted lips as he pushes his jeans down to his knees, along with his boxers. You sit back down over him and feel his heavy shaft pressing against your slick center. His girth makes you whimper.

The rhythm of the rain eases your racing heart. You take Joel’s pulsing member into your slightly shaky hand.

“Nervous?” It’s not cocky or concerned, just curious.

“M’not nervous.” You mutter, starting to pump his cock to get him to shut up. And it works. For a minute.

His head falls back into the seat as he watches you in admiration, his own hand wandering between your spread legs and gliding two fingers through your slick. His forefinger grazes against your clit, and he has you whimpering again.

“S’okay to be nervous.” His thumb slowly starts delicate circles into your bundle of nerves, and now he’s got your legs quivering.

You’re chewing at the inside of your cheek, shifty eyes meeting his. You pace your words this time. “I’m not nervous, Joel.” You pull away from him to create a line of spit from your mouth, landing on his pink tip already drizzling in precum. You swallow your nerve and bring yourself to meet his eyes. “Not with you.”

The mutual understanding links the two of you together, bound to the agreement in silence. You have a burning desire for one another. You’re scared, and he knows it. You push him to the limits, his heart beats for you.

Steam fogs the windows of Joel’s truck. The rain dances a fine line between pounding and pouring to slow and subtle.

Joel’s kisses lull you into a peaceful existence. You take off your dress, unable to stand anything between you and Joel. He’s warm as he wraps his arms around you, your tits flush against his thick chest.

You line him up by his base, Joel’s trying to hold himself still under you. You’re focusing hard, and he kisses your temple to ease your thoughts. He murmurs something, but you’re too busy concentrating.

His pink tip meets your warm flesh, and his tip slowly parts your walls. He’s seething between his teeth, how tight you are washes pleasure over his face. He wants you to go slow. You don’t want him to go easy on you. You can’t help but let his name tumble from your lips in desperation.

“Joel,” you whine, one hand clenching the fabric of his button-up by his shoulder while the other still weakly holds his base.

“M’here, baby.”

He’s rubbing soothing circles in your hips with his forefingers, trying to distract you from the stretch he’s creating inside you.

His breaths are coming out in hot puffs. The truck isn’t cold anymore, in fact, it’s only steaming up.

“So- fuckin’- tight.” He murmurs, eyebrows knitted together as his jaw was dropped open.

It was sharp at first, but the further you sank over him, the more you couldn’t contain yourself. As soon as his balls were flushed against your core, you were kissing him. Hot and heavy, desperate and needy, can’t get enough of each other sort of kisses. One of his hands holds the back of your head to keep you close while your fingers are delicately feeling up his chest and mazing through salt and pepper hair.

You smirk lazily against his lips, pulling away to rest your head on his shoulder. With this leverage, you start to roll your hips down onto his. Joel’s hands assist, squeezing your ass and guiding you smoothly up and down his shaft. You’re both moaning one another’s names, hazy eyes watching each other as long as they can before eventually drifting closed.

You wished you weren’t fucking in his truck, your riding skills were a lot better than this, but if you try and pop up, your head will just smack into the roof. And he’ll make fun of you for as long as he knows you.

“God- feel so good, Joel.”

You’re panting already a few minutes in. You don’t want Joel to think you can’t do this, you don’t want his help. But your body is crammed in limited quarters, and you’re already sweating.

He feels good. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s had sex. He’s not exactly the most outgoing of gentlemen. Thinking about him being with other women, maybe even women his age stirs a weird pit inside your stomach.

One hand steadies itself on Joel’s forearm while the other gently clutches his cheek. You leave a messy moan against his ear.

“Do you like fucking girls half your age, Mr. Miller?” You ask with a teasing smirk, messy kisses against his stubble and his ear ensuing.

He’s grunting every time you throw yourself back into him, skin clapping against his thighs, his hands slipping from your hips to your ass and squeezing the juicy flesh. “-like fuckin’ you.”

A low, extended groan leaves his lips as he holds your hips down, filling you full and having you sit with it. You throw your head back, and your eyes shudder closed with a loud moan occupying the truck.

You tell yourself that you’re both just fuck happy. You can worry about the depth of Joel’s words later. He feels too good inside of you for the first time to give a shit.

Joel’s thrusts bring you back to life, hand landing against his window and leaving a print mark against the steamy glass.

Joel senses your languid movements. He thinks you look pretty being fucked in his trunk during a thunderstorm. The darkness wraps the both of you up, only seeing flashes of each other’s features. He combs his large hand into your hair, catching your striking features with his hooded eyes. The slope of your nose. The curvature of your collarbones. Your pretty lips that he can’t stop staring at.

Joel enjoys the control too much for you to be on top for a second longer.

You collapse onto the truck’s long leather seat, lips parting in surprise as he maneuvers you to lie back without slipping from your entrance.

“H-Holy fuck, Joel-” You’re breathless.

Joel’s jaw clicks tighter as he flattens one of his large palms beside your head for leverage, hovering over you as he begins to methodically snap his hips into yours. Your desperate cries for more fill the truck.

Both of you are horridly cursing, some in the form of whines and moans and others in the form of whispered grunts.

Fuckin Christ-

Holy shit, Joel, please-

Feel so god damn good, princess-

Oh f- fuck me Joel, fuck me!

You’re already feeling the knots in your stomach tether tighter and tighter together, back arching as your chest brushes against his nose.

Joel takes the opportunity and licks a hot stripe between your breasts. You know he tastes your glistening sweat, but the trail from his tongue makes you clench tighter around him.

You catch Joel’s unfiltered groan in your mouth, his forehead resting against yours as his amber eyes grace yours.

He’s close, you can see it in the way his features contort and his thrusts become more unpredictable. You had no idea he could fuck this good.

Joel brings a hand up to your lips and offers you two fingers. You whimper but reluctantly take them past your mouth. You suckle and lather your tongue up and down each digit, it makes his cock twitch inside of you.

He plucks his fingers free with a pop, a trail of spit extending from your bottom lip to your chin as he reaches between you both.

Finding your swollen bundle of nerves doesn’t take him more than a second. You were so turned on it was almost painful.

Joel’s tip sweetly kisses your cervix at this angle, and you are so close to spilling over. Your hands cup his face, pulling him into you as you share a messy kiss. You think about how scared you were to kiss him before, but now it makes you feel a sense of protection and safety. You wrap your arms around his neck, you need him close.

“Joel,” you whimper, clenching your eyes closed and dropping your jaw as he finds the perfect rhythm circling your clit.

“Can’t hear ya, baby,” He grunts into your ear. You can feel him tiredly smirking against your cheek, knowing he’s fucking you so good you’re struggling to find the words.

“Fuck,” you mutter, your legs clenching tighter at the sides of his hips. “M’on birth control, finish inside me,” you whisper against his ear.

You can hear him let out a short, breathy chuckle against your ear. It only drives him more, knowing he can fill you up.

“Y’sure, sweetheart?”

“Want to?”

His teeth are gritted as he growls into your ear. ��Course I wanna fill your sweet cunt up.”

It was hopeless after that.

A crack of thunder and a strike of lightning conspire, your view of Joel illuminating his gorgeous face in a white-silver flash.

The tight coils inside you snap free, a broken moan of his name being the last thing you remember saying before white stars filled your vision. Your hold on Joel loosens as your orgasm crashes through you ungracefully, making you twitch and rut your hips below him.

His fingers and his thrusts don’t stop. He rides out your orgasm, following suit until he flushes his hips against yours and lets out a heavenly groan of your name. You’re still under him, vision blurry and hearing fuzzy. He finds solace in the crook of your neck, nuzzling a home for himself in the space and losing himself deep inside you.

His body shudders lightly as he finishes, spilling white streams into you for who knows how long. Your hand is gently stroking the hair at the back of his head, fingers combing through dark curls as he breathes hot air against your neck.

You both slowly blink back to life. He’s complimenting you, but you’re too blissed out to hear the details.

So good, baby… Such a pretty fuckin’ girl... So lucky.

Joel tuts softly as he attempts to free his softened length, but you whine and tighten your legs around his hips to keep him stationary.

Your eyelashes flutter as you feel gentle kisses by the corners of your eyes, tiredly smiling as you open them before slowly sitting up onto your elbows. Joel takes the opportunity to pull out and yank his boxers and jeans back into place, securing his belt last.

He still keeps his shirt unbuttoned for you, partially because you have a hold on a random corner to keep it so.

With the absence of your pants hotboxing the truck, you slip back into your dress with a light shudder. You reach past Joel’s leg to retrieve your panties and pull them up your stems to keep his spillage to a minimum.

“Good?” He asks, a smile slowly growing on your lips. He looked so fucked out. You both probably did. You attempt to fix Joel’s hair, and he takes his thumb to swipe away the saliva trail on your chin.

“Good.” You agree. Quiet and sapped, but good.

You force Joel to play a few games of tic-tac-toe on the foggy glass before the storms lighten up, and you can actually see more than a few feet in front of the road.

You’re picking at the skin around your nails the entire drive home. So many questions compile in your worn-out brain.

What if your parents noticed you were gone? What if they were awake, waiting for you by the kitchen window, and they see you slip out of Joel’s truck? Try explaining yourself after that one.

As Joel pulls into his driveway, you observe the lake house is still dark and silent. Empty but also not. Joel’s warm palm is on your leg. It draws your attention away from the window, focusing just on him.

“Joel?”

“Hm?”

You shift your jaw before you lay your head back against the headrest, gentle pitter patters of the last rain cloud splashing on the window.

“What do you do when you’re not working? Like on that Saturday when I talked to you at your truck.”

He musters up a half-mouth smirk. “Didn’t do much talkin’ that I recall.”

You roll your eyes and slam a closed fist against his shoulder. It barely rocks his arm, let alone his body. “M’serious.”

He lets out a long sigh and looks out the windshield. “I do stuff around town or- for the town.”

He’s so hard to push details out of. He’s like a jammed stapler.

“Go on. So, like, volunteering?”

Joel rolls his eyes and shrugs. “S’not really like that.”

“That’s what it sounds like.”

He doesn’t say anything, just sort of starts smiling. “Just like keeping myself busy. But now I have you on my plate.” He teased. Your chest felt warm, knowing he kept a place for you in his hectic life.

“What sort of stuff are you working on right now?”

He takes a long, deep breath through his nose. You can hear it whistle before he lets it all out of his mouth, followed by clearing his throat.

“Y’know that old church past that big field on the east side of Danbury?”

You mindlessly shake your head and shrug.

“When I was a kid, I used t’go to that church-”

“For God?” You can’t help but blurt it out in shock.

He narrows his eyes on you and smirks.

“M’not exactly the Godly type.” You look over his chiseled jawline and beautiful, robust features. You’d have to disagree. He looked like one of God’s favorites.

“So.. why are you trying to fix an old church?”

Joel slowly smiles, eyes mindlessly on the dashboard of his truck before he answers. “I have a thing for the broken, used, and abandoned.”

Your head cocks to the side, and you give him a look, pressing him for an honest answer. Or maybe it was an honest answer, and you’re just looking for a better answer.

He shuffles around in his seat before he continues, hand still aimlessly circling on your thigh. “It wasn’t operable when I was a kid, just rundown, abandoned. There used to be a stained glass mural on the-uh... east-facing wall. So when the sun came up through it, the whole place just- lit up.” He pauses and shifts his focus to you.

“Now, y’know, it’s fallin’ apart. Dumb kids throwin’ rocks at it and chipping away the glass, age makin’ it all dust-covered.” Joel shrugs and falls back into his closed pit of secrecy.

“So… you’re fixing up the town.”

A pause. “More or less.”

“You know how to make a stained glass mural?”

He shakes his head and purses his lips. “No. But I can figure it out.”

You twist your lips and slowly climb over his lap once more. His eyes watch you curiously while his hands settle on your hips. You cup either side of his neck, fingertips lightly brushing up against messy curls.

“Can I see this mural you’re working on?”

He takes a long time to answer. So much dead silence fills the truck you start to feel a bit awkward about asking, like maybe it was too far.

“Please.” You ask or tell rather. You kiss his lips lightly to try and sway his pending decision. “I won’t judge, I think it’s cool.”

“Cool?” He instantly chirps, cocking an eyebrow up at you.

“I didn’t say you were cool-”

“You most certainly did.”

You’re shaking your head, and his pointer finger is prodding into your side to get under your skin. “I said that it’s cool. The stained glass stuff, that is what is cool.”

He’s already sneering at you. “Whatever you say, princess.” You can feel your cheeks singe with heat. Your hand anxiously scrabbles for the door handle, letting the rusty door creak open for your exit.

Sneakers scrape gravel after you climb out of Joel’s lap, his boots landing suit.

He smoothes a hand down your dress, your eyes watch before you face him.

“You gonna be alright?” Joel's face is laced with slight concern, his head cocking past you and looking to the house.

You shrug and shake your head. “Yeah. We’ve had this fight before, and we’ll have it again.”

He doesn’t seem satisfied with the answer. He’s teetering on his heels as a stray raindrop lands on your cheek.

“You can..” He trails off as his thumb comes up and brushes away the droplet, hand lingering before he cups your cheek. “Y’know, can always stay with us if you need a break. M’sure Sarah would love the company.” And so would he.

Your eyes soften, the gesture warm and safe. You couldn’t even imagine the trouble you’d stir up at Joel’s house. Sure, you could occupy yourself with Sarah when she returned from camping, but what would you and Joel do? Well, besides the obvious…

Your lips curl into a tight smile, not wanting him to reel in his invite out of pure bashfulness.

“Thank you. I’ll keep it in mind.” Your eyes are on his until he sighs, his shoulders reset into that of a broad lumberjack once more. His eyes looked like they were scheming. It’s fast, like a flash, and before you know it, the look is gone.

“Take care of yourself.” He leans down and plants a kiss on the crown of your head, thumb skimming up the line of your cheekbone. Suddenly, your heart is racing again.

You cup his cheeks and pull him down for a real goodbye kiss, two sets of pouted lips against one another, unwilling to let go until you have to.

---

“What are you doing after work?” You’re on a call with Joel, phone pressed between your ear and hunched shoulder.

“What are you wearing right now?” He taunts, voice crackling in and out of connection since he was currently working at a house out of town.

“Ha.” You deadpan, closing the sliding glass door behind you as you step back into the empty lake house, skin sweltering from being in the sun for the better half of the afternoon reading on the dock. “No, really, I could use your help.”

The phone volume shrills in your ear as you hear an electric saw roar to life, Joel cursing repeatedly as he walks away from all the noise. “Jesus fuckin-.. so damn lou- Can you hear me better?”

Once the saw dulled, you put the phone back to your ear. “Yeah.”

“What do you need help with?” His voice sounds a little preoccupied like he’s trying to focus on you, but he’s got a million things running through his head.

“My window.” You say with a frown, stepping into your bedroom and cursing at the sight of it. “Won’t open. Maybe you can crack it open with some of your handy dandy tools.”

You smile as he musters up a little laugh at your hardware knowledge or lack thereof. “I don’t know about today, baby.”

“You are the property maintenance guy for our lakehouse now, right? You have a duty to help me.” You tease, stepping back outside with a fresh bottle of water and an apple. Your teeth pierce the skin, and the apple’s juices gush past your lips.

“Jesus, fine. I’ll be over. I’m almost done.”

You purse your lips to hide your smirk. God, he can’t even see you, but you don’t want him to know he’s got you flustered.

“Parents are running errands today... If that’s extra incentive for you to hurry up.”

Joel pauses on the other end. He’s probably got that stupid smirk on his face. “In that case, I’ll leave now.”

“I knew you’d see things my way. Thank youuu.” You playfully coo.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.

An hour later, Joel’s outside your window while you assist from the inside. His face is twisted in concentration, eyes narrowed on a misaligned hinge that he works free with a screwdriver, realigns, then screws tight into its proper place.

He looks stupid hot so focused like this. Tanned skin, hair a little dusty from work. The veins in his forearm were bulging as he uses pressure to keep the hinge in place. You had to blink a few times to keep yourself from staring. He feels it.

“Can I help you?” His voice was thick and echoing since he was speaking to you between a glass pane.

You bite back a smirk and shake your head.

He pulls off the hinge and nods, pats it a few times before looking at you and giving you a thumbs up.

You decide to let him come inside before you open the window yourself, twisting at the string of your bikini bottom as you wait. He took in your appearance as soon as he parked in the driveway.

“What?”

“...Nothin’. Like the outfit.”

“Joel, I was sunbathing. And reading. It wasn’t an intended distraction.” It was.

“Mhm.”

Joel appears at the entrance of your bedroom. You silently curse yourself for not updating it more. It still looked like a sixteen-year-old fangirl lived in it.

He appreciates the posters and magazines, checking his handiwork at the window.

“Wanna give it a go? Open it?”

You eagerly smile and step up to the window, playfully tugging on it and heaving.

“I-.. It’s still stuck.” You say with a frown. “Joel, you said you fixed it.”

“What? Shouldn’t be-” He’s already got his hands on the frame and tugs, feeling it easily slip up and open. You’re giggling as his face deadpans.

“You think you’re so funny.” He taunts, his body turning towards you as he chucks his tools haphazardly on your bed. You’re already attempting to take leaps and bounds away from Joel, but his arms are long, and so are his strides.

His rough hands capture you by your waist, dusty and calloused fingers ghosting over your warm skin.

Joel’s lips eagerly greet yours, both of you grinning into the kiss. It’s slow as you let it envelop you. Your heart races. He’s not supposed to be here, your parents could come home any time now.

You bite down on your lower lip, feeling butterflies in your stomach as he backs you up against your wall, foreheads gently pressed together. His eyes flick behind you, and your head follows his gaze.

“Boybands, huh?”

You roll your eyes and smirk, fingers moving to the button of his jeans.

“Shut up, Joel. Leave the boybands out of it.”

A car door slamming catches both of your attention. Heads whip on instinct, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Your parents are home, and Joel’s half-hard in your palm.

“Oh, shit.” You curse.

Joel’s already moving, grabbing his tools off your bed, and adjusting his jeans. “Lemme handle it.” Your heart pounds as you and Joel greet your parents at the door. They walk in with fresh shopping bags. A cheesy sign for the living room sticks out from one of them.

“Joel?” They both ask in unison, looking between the man beside you and you in your bikini. Your mother’s face lightly flushes.

“Hey, Joel! Good to see ya!” Your father sets the bags on the table and grabs a beer from the fridge. You shift on your feet and just let Joel lead.

Your dad’s oblivious, your mother is more curious

“What are you... What are you doing here?” She tries to ask casually with a little smile.

Joel raises his screwdriver, strategically keeping the toolbag in front of his lower half. You try not to smirk.

“Was fixin’ your daughter’s jammed window.”

Your mother's face softens before she smiles. “Y’know, that thing has been jammed for… years. Thank you.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile and nod. “Yes. Thank you, Mr. Miller.” The light glare he sends you means you’ll pay for that one later. Joel clears his throat and nods, too. He turns to you now, and you share a look.

“Just… let me know if it happens again. Might need to replace the hinge entirely. Small piece of it could be broken, might be why it keeps slippin’ out of place.”

“Yeah. For sure. Thanks.”

You walk past your mother and open the door from him, but he still stands between your parents. What the hell is he doing?

“While I have you both, I was just tellin’ your daughter ‘bout a business trip I have comin’ up.” Huh? “ It’s not for Miller Contracting. It’s more for the town. I’m gettin’ materials for the old church-”

“Oh, the one with the broken stained glass mural on the east side of town?” Your mother chirps in. “We just drove past it. Just saying how someone needs to fix it up.” Joel’s lightly nodding to your mother’s words, her face soft as she listens to him with curiosity.

“Well, I was tellin’ her about it ‘cause I could use some help getting materials from a supplier in Houston. I’d normally ask Sarah to tag along and help, but she said she’s got some graduation parties next weekend that she doesn’t wanna miss. Would it be alright if-”

“Oh, of course! Yes, please, if you need her help and she wants to go, she’s all yours.”

Your eyes are wide, trying not to seem too shocked by Joel secretly sweeping you out from under your parents without them even noticing.

Joel turns to you, eyebrow cocked. “That okay with you? Next weekend. Friday to Sunday sort’f thing.”

A whole weekend alone with Joel? Your insides are bursting, but you have to seem apathetic.

“Mhm. Sure.”

Joel sneaks you a private smile. “Really appreciate it. Ya’ll have a good rest of your evenin’.” And with that, he’s out the front door.

You couldn’t believe what just happened.

You try to act casual before you make it off to your room, but your mother’s voice pulls you to a halt.

“Ah-ah, not so fast. Back it up.”

You quietly sigh before coming back to the main part of the kitchen. She narrows her eyes on you and lightly crosses her arms. Your fight with her from yesterday is still fresh, and it makes holding prolonged eye contact difficult.

“Are you seeing a boy?”

Your eyes widen on instinct. Your dad pauses the sip of his beer and watches you carefully. You try to hold together a poker face as best as you can, but you’re worried your shock is already seeping through.

“Wha- A boy? Why would you think that?” The laugh you force out sounds too fake. And you’re a terrible liar. You feel so hot all of a sudden. You wished Joel was still here to talk you in and out of shit. It was a skill of his you’d surely have to learn.

“Well, we heard the door close really late last night after you walked Joel out. We were just wondering if... You know, there’s a special someone that you’re seeing.” Of course, she hoped you would tie yourself down to someone in Texas.

“Yeah, did a boy pick you up after dinner or somethin’?” Your father presses, eyes narrowing protectively over you. “You seein’ a boy or not, honey?”

You didn’t want to lie, but you certainly weren’t ready to tell them the truth about you and Joel.

“Uhm.” Your brain scrabbles for an answer and ultimately chooses poorly. “Sorta. I don’t know. Kind of?”

Your mother tightens her lips in a smile and nods a little. “We’ll let it go for now, but-”

“God- Mom, please.” You groan and put your face in your hands, closing your eyes and wishing this nightmare was over.

“But,” she annoyingly emphasizes, “If it gets serious, we want to meet this young man.” She says with a firm nod before turning back to your father and putting away the items in their shopping bags.

Meet him? They want to meet the boy you’re seeing? What will they do when they find out the boy is actually a full-grown man, a forty-something-year-old with a teenage daughter? And that man was not only their friend and neighbor but Joel fucking Miller. Fuck. Your luck was running out.

---

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intoanotherworld23 · 2 years ago

Text

Pick Your Battles

Pairing: Reader x Bradley Bradshaw

Warnings: None

Summary: Bradley broke your heart when he accused you of betraying him, and you haven’t seen or spoken to him since. Until you are both called back to Top Gun to help with a dangerous mission that nobody’s ever attempted before

I do not own the rights to these characters or any part of the movie this is simply for entertainment. I hope you guys enjoy this first part, and let me know what you guys think so far!! If you wish to be added to a tag list please don’t hesitate to ask and I’ll be more than happy to add you! Heart it! Reblog it! Enjoy it! XOXO

✨Please do not copy and paste or steal my work or take credit for this without my permission or you will be reported✨

Part 2

It's been too long since you've seen Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw and the thought of his reaction terrified you. Not knowing how he would feel about you returning to Fightertown. Once you got the letter asking you to return you knew without a doubt Bradley would be there. The two of you didn't end things well the last time you saw each other.

Telling him how you felt and his response was not at all what you thought. He suddenly became angry and upset with you. Slamming the door on the way out as you fell on the couch crying your eyes out. Everyone was worried about you after that, but nobody dared to bring his name up to you.

You've known Bradley since you guys were children. After all you were the daughter of Tom Kazansky aka 'Iceman'. Taking after him and becoming top of your class in Top Gun. Earning the call sign of 'Frostbite'. Also, becoming the only female pilot to have three confirmed air to air strike kills. Your father was a legend amongst pilots and you were becoming one now too.

After you and Bradley graduated it seemed like you two became a lot closer. Everyone could see it except for the two of you, until one day Bradley got upset you went on a date with some other guy. Seeing that side of him had you wanting him closer, and into your arms.

It confused you beyond all doubt since you two were just friends, but then it made you realize your true feelings for him. That's when you decided to confess how you felt about him, after a bottle of wine of course.

Now here you were sitting at the bar of the Hard Deck constantly looking back to seeing when he would come in. Sipping on your beer as you nervously looked around at all different kinds of colors laughing and playing pool or shooting darts.

Wondering if these were the pilots you would be training for this mission. Turning down their offer of leading this mission ever since the accident, and settling for being an instructor instead. Your father was not happy about your choice but understood why you did it. Not wanting to lead another mission where someone else dies.

"You okay hon?" Pennys sweet voice asked when she noticed you staring off into space.

"Oh yeah I'm just thinking." Snapping out of it to look at her. "Obviously too hard huh?"

"He's going to be glad to see you." She knew exactly what and who you were thinking about.

"Yeah right he'll walk through that door and see me and walk right out." Groaning at the image and feeling yourself become saddened at the thought.

"No he won't I bet you he'll see you and have that big smile on his face and give you a big Rooster hug." She smiled at you with reassurance making your lips quirk up. "He cares about you."

"Not enough to reach out to me." Shaking your head as you finished the rest of your drink.

"You could have done the same for him." Raising her eyebrows at you with that look of 'it works both ways'. "You two just need to talk."

Not saying anything you just looked at her watching as she went to go help other patrons. Trying to repeat her words in your head that he missed you just as much as you missed him. Although it would be hard for him to forget you confessing your feelings to him. You just don't let something like that be forgotten.

In the deep part of your mind you couldn't help but think he still was upset and would want nothing to do with you. Then the two of you would have to work on this mission ignoring each other, and acting like enemies.

"Y/N?" Instantly recognizing that voice making you turn around and break from your thoughts.

"Uncle Maverick." Exclaiming as you hopped off the stool to give him a hug. "It's so good to see you."

You've known Pete Mitchell ever since you were little, and he was also your Godfather. He was like family to you and whenever you couldn't go to your father you would go to him. He was proud of you when you graduated from Top Gun, reminded him of being with your father.

Of course you knew of the feud between him and Bradley, but you didn't actually know what it was about. All you know is Maverick did something so badly that he wanted nothing to do with him. Then one day Bradley called you screaming if you knew something about his papers being pulled which of course you didn't, but he didn't believe you and continued to yell at you.

It seems like Bradley will have not only one person he can't stand here.

"It's good to see you too." Pulling back so he could sit next to you waving at Penny a blush on her cheek. "How are you?"

"I'm good I'm good." Nodding your head as you looked at your hands on the bar top. It was a lie. "How about you?"

"Well I can't complain." He gave you a nudge making you playfully roll your eyes with a smile. "I'm assuming you got a letter as well."

"Yeah I did and I was asked to be the lead in it." Once he heard that his eyes went wide a huge smile on his face like a proud father.

"Well shit congratulations I'm happy of you." Clapping a hand on your back your face remained stoic.

"I turned it down." Stating to him before he could get anything else out. "I told them I wouldn't lead this mission."

"Why would you do that?" He asked too quickly and saw the look on your face before nodding. "I get it."

Only a few people knew about the accident including Pete, since your father didn't want it to be a public thing which you were kind of thankful for. Seeing as it traumatized you, and never wanting to ever relive that moment again. Not that you were trying to sweep it under the rug you just didn't want someone reminding you of that day.

All of a sudden you heard a bell ringing and both you and Maverick looked up in confusion. Penny standing there with a huge grin on her face as everyone whooped and hollered in joy. She pointed to a sign that said 'disrespect a woman or a pilot or place your phone on the bar top and you pay for a round'.

Looking down you saw Pete's phone on the bar top making your bend your head back in laughter. He just chuckled with a shake of his head as Penny was then bombarded with men and women at the bar.

"Way to go Uncle Mav." Patting him on the back as you continued to laugh. "I'll have another one Penny."

Handing you a bottle you saw a blonde haired man with thick arms in a khaki uniform that you very much recognized walk you up to the bar. His eyes looking at Pete and then shifted over to you a small smirk on his face.

"Four beers Penny please." Looking over to Pete briefly before grabbing his drinks handing them over.

"There ya go." Giving her wonderful smile the mans gaze still lingering on you.

"Thanks hon." He then looked back to Pete. "Thanks for the drinks pops." Giving a wink before he turned around walking back to the other pilots.

"I'll be right back." Hopping off the stool as you headed to the restroom glancing over at the blonde man to see his eyes on you.

The other three guys he was with all looked over to what he was looking at. You hated when people stared at you like that even if they didn't know who you were. Just wanting to keep your last name from being revealed to anybody for as long as possible.

Looking away you went into the bathroom stepping in front of the mirror placing your hands on either side of the sink. Staring at yourself asking yourself if you could really do this.

Could you handle the pressure of this mission? Could you handle being around someone that you love who doesn't feel the same? Starting to doubt yourself even more now, but reminding yourself of Penny's words.

Splashing cold water on your neck you gathered yourself quickly before heading out the door. Glancing around you noticed that name blonde haired man now standing in front of you. His eyes glanced you up and down taking in your torn jeans and white tank top.

"Hi there darlin." He said twirling a toothpick between his white teeth. "What's your name?"

Ah he clearly didn't recognize you and had no idea who you are then. Maybe you could have some fun with this.

"My names Y/N." His hand lifted up to grab yours in a shake you didn't bother to give him your last name since it would give away too much.

"The names Jake Seresin." Stating with such pride it almost made you roll your eyes. "Call sign Hangman."

"Hangman?" Repeating with a confused look on your face but he just smiled.

"You ever meet a pilot in person?" Shaking your head playing the stupid girl he probably thought you were.

"Well todays your lucky day sweetheart." He stepped closer to you this time. "I happen to be the best pilot there is."

This guy needed an ego check or something surprised his head hasn't exploded yet from thinking too highly of himself. Never the less you decided to go along with whatever game he was playing.

"Is that so?" Asking him crossing your arms over your chest his eyes glancing down briefly before smiling at you.

"Come join me and my fellow pilots." Placing his hand on your back leading you over to a group of khaki uniformed pilots playing pool.

"Guys this here is Y/N." He introduced you making everyone's eyes gaze over to you.

"Hi." Squeaking out like you were some shy little girl feeling utterly stupid.

"This is Coyote, Payback, Fanboy, Phoenix and Bob." Pointing to everyone each of them giving you a wave or smile.

These were probably all the pilots that you were going to help train on this mission. It absolutely terrified you how many lives you were potentially holding in your hands. A part of you feeling bad for not voicing who you actually were, but you didn't want the looks and questions who knew they would ask.

"Still bothering innocent women I see?" The girl Phoenix spoke up making everyone laugh.

"Couldn't help myself Phoenix." Pulling you closer to him making you a little bit uncomfortable. "She's a beautiful woman."

"Which doesn't make sense as to how you got her?" Fanboy joined in everyone nodding their heads in agreement.

"Yeah she doesn't know who you really are." Phoenix responded as she looked at you.

"Judging by the call sign I think I know everything I need to." Your voice ringing out making the others look at you with wide grins and laughter.

"Ouch darlin you hurt me." Placing a hand over his heart acting fake wounded.

"Besides I only go for real talented pilots." Your words had everyone's mouth wide open hollering.

Typically you were as tough as nails and always spoke your mind. In order to keep up this charade of being a normal person you kept your real personality down a few notches. Just wait until the next morning when they would see you, and you just couldn't wait for their reactions.

"I like her." Phoenix said and everyone nodded in agreement making you smile.

"Are you a pilot or?" Coyote asked once everyone quieted down.

Before you could respond your gaze wondered over to the front door watching as a couple people walked in. The person in front who you immediately recognized as Bradley. Wearing an old Hawaiian shirt with a white tank and faded blue jeans. A pair of aviators shielding you from his eyes.

He was a lot bigger the last time you saw him, and certainly looked better looking than the last time. Feeling yourself starting to drool as you looked him feeling like a creep for just staring at him. Thankfully he didn't even see you otherwise you would have been incredible embarrassed.

Something that was definitely different about him was the mustache he was rockin. He definitely didn't have that the last time you saw him, and you gotta admit he looked really good wearing it. He looked just like his dad which made you smile at the thought.

The butterflies in your stomach had you feel lightheaded and flustered. Your full attention was on him watching as he greeted a couple people before his gaze turned over to your group. Feeling your nerves get the better of you you tried shielding yourself from his view.

Not wanting to be seen as you saw him walking towards your group. He still hadn't seen you yet which you were thankful for. Maybe you could sneak away without being seen, and you could avoid the awkward conversation.

Shielding your face by Jake's side when he was literally just a few feet from you talking to the other pilots. Hearing his voice had your heart fluttering and you wanted nothing more than to say something and run into his arms.

"Bradshaw." Hangman greeted with a smirk making Bradley look over in your direction. "As I live in breathe."

"Hangman." He responded back with slight tone animosity making it known the two didn't exactly like each other. "You look... good."

"Oh I'm good I'm very good." His cocky tone was really starting to get to you feeling an arm wrap around your waist.

Quickly glancing your eyes over without moving your head watching him as he leaned against a pole placing his hands in front of him.

"Thought they wanted the best of the best." Bradley shot back at him making you smile into Jake's arm.

The pair just stared at each other like there was a silent war going on between them. The group looked between the two waiting for someone to speak first. Things were becoming too much for you and you just wanted to get out of there. Until you felt someone staring at you.

"Whose your victim tonight?" His words had your stomach drop feeling dread take over your body.

"This gorgeous girl is Y/N." Holding you to his side like you were some sort of prize. "She's never met a pilot in real life."

Keeping your face hidden hoping he wouldn't recognize you or act like he didn't know who you were. Glancing over you made immediate eye contact with him and you watched his lip twitch instantly recognizing you. His eyes looking to Hangman's arm around your waist making his hand ball into a fist.

You were still just as beautiful since he saw you last. Beating himself up for how he left things with you, and not telling you how he felt. Once he was told his papers were pulled he accused you of knowing and not saying anything to stop it to which he felt betrayed.

"Really?" He asked not taking his eyes off you his jaw clenching for multiple reasons.

"Figured if she were to meet a pilot it should be the best there is." He said cockily making your roll your eyes this time.

"But you aren't the best pilot." Bradley responded back making you and others chuckle. "She is."

Your eyes went wide not knowing who he was talking about maybe hoping he was talking about the other woman Phoenix instead. That wasn't the case though when you were completely unaware that he was pointing to you. Slowly moving your head to look at him his eyes solely on you.

He had this look on his face that would couldn't make out. Until you saw that look in his eye that told you he was about to blow your cover. Please Bradley don't you mouthed to him, and he just smirked.

"Yeah right and I'm Superman." Hangman joked not noticing how you were now frozen in place.

"God your such an idiot Hangman." At first you didn't know who he was talking to. "You clearly don't know who this is do you?"

Feeling everyone look over at you as you continued to stare at him shaking your head at him begging him not to tell. Judging by the look on his face you knew what he was about to do to you.

Your breathing was becoming very heavy and shallow. The air in your lungs was becoming restricted and you could feel your palms sweating waiting for him to spill the beans. The glancing from you to Bradley waiting in anticipation.

"What are you talking about?" Phoenix spoke up as Jake continued to stare at him a confused look on his face.

"Who is she?" Someone else said but you didn't know who.

"Your little date over there is a pilot herself." Jake snapped his head down to look at you an angry look on your face.

"Her names Y/N Kazansky daughter of Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky." Soon as they heard your last name some of them gasped or their eyes went wide in shock. "Call sign 'Frostbite."

"Holy shit." Hearing someone say as you now felt all eyes on you, but your focus was on the man with the mustache glaring at him feeling like steam was coming off your body.

"You two know each other then?" Bob asked really speaking for the first time that night.

"Unfortunately." His words had you wincing and your heart slowly breaking at how horribly he was treating you.

Once Bradley saw your reaction he felt bad but he couldn't take them back. A part of him wanted to walk up to you and hold you and tell you he was sorry he knew it wouldn't fix everything. Even though the group was going to find out eventually you wanted it to be on your terms, and not through Bradley who did it out of spite and possibly hatred.

Before anyone else could say anything you tore yourself away from the group, and practically zoomed out of there. Feeling a tear running down your cheek Penny watching with concern making Maverick turn around to look as well.

One things for sure that you know now. Bradley Bradshaw hates you.

——————————————

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respectthepetty · 10 months ago

Text

Pit Babe Jeff x Alan & Kenta x Pete Colors Ep. 11

I'm challenging myself with this show and seeing how good my color skills really are, so I'm doing my normal thing of watching it double-speed on mute, but now, the captions are off also. It's just colors and vibes here.

Disclaimer: I've been listening to Drake's "You Broke My Heart (Fuck My Ex)" on repeat for over two hours, so I'm *in* my feels, and all of them are salty.

Jeffrey, the red? Really?! Is it because you are looking at Barbie suffering and know the truth?! YOU KNOW, MOTHERF*CKER!

Love that Pete's side starts with the blue-est drink because he is a GOOD MAN, while Waymond's side begins with the non-blue side since he cannot pick a side in this color war!

Peter, I know you were a red, but I also notice you in that blue blazer, and the way you look at Waymond. I wish Waymond could see that no matter how much the red may linger, he NEEDS to make a choice. Be blue. Commit to it, Way Way.

Babe is back in black, Alan is blue, and Jeffrey is a LIAR!

"You broke my heart. I had my doubts about you from the start! I swear you're dead to me. Does Mercedes make a hearse? FUCK MY EX!"

All I'm getting out of this is Jeffrey and Charles have a dad and Decanus was the fall guy for this very-dumb-plan. I am not a Dean apologist, but I am very much on his side, without a doubt, no hesitation.

Alan Scale - 12/10. Why?! WHY?! It's not even the damn outfits. IT'S THE RED TUBE OF PRODUCT PLACEMENT Y'ALL ARE SHARING! Are y'all secret agents?! Do y'all have superpowers? What in the hell is y'alls deal?!

KIMBERLY! Not wearing red. I wouldn't either. Fuck them hoes. You're a free man now. I love you and I like you.

Alan, you have never done anything wrong (expect apologize to lying Jeffrey), and you using the blue tube of product placement is healing my soul. I love you. I like you. I respect you.

Pete in the blue shirt too! My holy trinity is coming through. Kimberly, Alan, and Peter, you are good men, and I have never doubted you. You three will save the day like the PowerPuff Girls. Sugar, Spice, and Chemical-X. Beat the hell out of Mojo Jojo Big Red. And in case it's not clear: Alan = Buttercup, Kim = Blossom, Pete = Bubbles

Kentana, why do you have spies at Bubbles' place?! You were spying on him in the woods, and y'all had that moment. Why are you so obsessed with him?

Jeffrey, in the blue. Better be telling Buttercup you're sorry for LYING and that you love him. You will never find a better man. NEVER!

Oh, are you telling him that?!

I think you are! There is pink!

Buttercup, these was cheesy af, and I'm disgusted at myself for smiling when the hearts connected.

POP OFF, SIR! Sex on the blue bed!

Sex in the blue shower!

Cuddles in the blue bathroom! Jeffrey is gonna be blue one way or another, even if Alan has to -redacted- it into him.

Big Red did wear red once?! Color me shocked, but who are these kids in the past? A blue kid and red kid? Which one are you, Kentana?

I love that the blue is *right* there next to Kentana, yet he stays in the black. He is a Black Brooder, but he is blue-adjacent, and I just do not understand why he can't be loyal to the blue instead of the red.

Oh, wait! Was that them as kids?! Pete, in his red pants, emerged from the blue (because he has always been a GOOD MAN!), but . . . that means Kentana was the little blue kid? Kentana, what made you go black? The abuse? The manipulation? You and Barbara are the same text, but different font, and I just need you to be better. Kiss Peter and let him heal you because this is the second time you have pushed him against a wall, and I think you want any excuse to be on him.

Waymond, I'm stressed over your ass. Color-coded boys in love get happy endings, and unlike Kentana who is color coded black and Southwest Airlines and Vegas' Hedgehog who are just pure color chaos, you refuse to pick a damn color. And do you know what that means? No happy endings. You are paired with Peter, and he is trying with you, but it's episode 11 and you haven't solidified your color. Are you black? Are you blue? Are you red? Are you gonna kiss Peter because if not, Kentana sure looks like he will? ARE YOU GOING TO GET A HAPPY ENDING?!

Peter, always in the blue! ALWAYS! Give that blue to Waymond. Give that blue to Kentana. And kiss them! I cannot support Waymond and Kentana's wrongs if they don't kiss a boy (with consent, Waymond!)

KENTANA! In the dark, again. Pete is always coming from the blue, and you are always in the dark. SEE THE LIGHT, KENTANA!

Oh my god! The dark versus light. Y'all were best buddies since childhood. Quit your shit, Kentana. You are a good guy in there. I saw it in the beginning when you looked sad that Barbie was being hit, but I need you to act! I need you to do something, and I'm hoping it won't be sacrificing yourself. Kiss a man! Kiss Kimberly already! You and Waymond are scaring me!

OH SHIT!

Pete. Liked. It.

Waymond. Waymundo. Way. I thought you were supposed to be with Peter and Kimberly and Kentana would be the new Kardashians, but . . . are you going to be the sacrifice? You cannot settle on a color. You haven't kissed a man (with consent). You are drinking all the time. You were taking pills to cope with life. Kiss any man so I can know you are safe.

FUCK!

Way, please touch Whiny Winifred and convince him not to do shoot. Way, please do not take a bullet for Barbara to atone for your sins. Barbie can fix himself if he is shot. Way, please do not do this to me. Please. I'm begging you.

Don't. Fucking. Do. It.

#pit babe #pit babe the series #the colors mean things #and they will guide me the whole way through #color coded boys in love #episode 11 #way is gonna do it #he is gonna break my heart to redeem to himself #It's because I like Nut that I cannot be rationale about this #I'm gonna be stressed all week

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silentwhispofhope · 2 years ago

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*Limping to your request box* I MISSED YOU AND I WANT TO GIVE YOU AN IDEA FILLED WITH FLUFF!! Is it okay to request?

💞[Skin Writing/Drawing Soulmate AU]✍️ 🖌️ - Reader is an artist and constantly draws many art in their skin because it's just so satisfying! Their soulmate Vash feels appreciated, in love, and beautiful whenever Reader's drawing appear on his skin. Their art just gives him a reason to love his skin despite skin scars 🥺 🖋️ - Reader does calligraphy, and they sometimes quote the bible doing it cause why not? Soulmate Wolfwood just looks with a soft, maybe teasing smile as he sees his soulmate's work. 😎 📜 - Reader is a poet and they randomly have ideas and prompt all throughout the day, so they grab a pen and start writing all the poetry from their head. Soulmate Knives who's intellectual and curious admires whenever his soulmate's writing appear on his skin, he just covers it from others eyes because pest don't deserve to see this beauty. 🌱

YOU CAN PICK TWO OUT OF THE THREE!! IT'S YOUR CHOICE MY FRIEND!!! 😍💝💌

- Sugar Plum Anon 💟

A/N: Just for you Sugar Plum Anon, I’ll do all three <3 I do hope you’re alright though! Please do stay safe! Since I’m doing all three, I hope you’re alright with headcanons instead of normal lil’ one shots. :)

Skin Writing/Drawing Soulmate AU Headcanons

Vash

He was absolutely scared out of his mind when he first saw the ink appear on his skin. He even went as far as to try to scrub his skin raw, and the ink was still fresh as ever. Poor blondie is wondering how the hell something like this is happening.

Meanwhile, you’re doodling like there’s no tomorrow with your ballpoint pen, tracing the outlines of your veins and doodling smiling faces.

Over time, Vash learns to just accept the random appearance and disappearance of drawings across his body. At the end of the day, it’s like a fun little game to see what’s been sketched on him underneath his turtle neck.

It takes a while for Vash to realize that it’s his soulmate doodles appearing on his skin. Warmth floods his heart each time he thinks of this, causing him to lovely trace the marks across his own skin.

He would laugh sometimes at the sudden ink smear appearing on his skin before new sketch marks appeared, your work hypnotizing him. He especially loved when you used different colors, almost painting his skin like a canvas. Eventually, he makes the move to respond.

So imagine your surprise when you find a poorly drawn flower appear on your skin. Ensue the same panic Vash experienced when you remembered you didn’t draw that.

Wolfwood

Scrubbing his skin did nothing. Seeing the scripture on his forearm made him wonder if he had perhaps gotten too drunk the night before and had gotten a tattoo.

The fancy calligraphy was choice, especially with that proverb. For the lips of the adulterous woman drop honey, and her speech is smoother than oil. Wolfwood decided that there could be worse things etched into his skin from that old religion.

You, on the other hand, were giggling to yourself. Oh, the irony of something appearing to beautiful but naughty. A snort escapes from one of your nearby friends.

He didn’t put anymore thought into it until the next day when the ink disappeared. Lowkey, thought he was super dehydrated for him to imagine that, but nope, even after drinking tons of water, the ink was no longer on his skin.

Cue some praying. He nearly has a heart attack when more ink appears on his skin. He has to go back to the orphanage and ask the elders for help on understanding the situation. Turns out it’s a soulmate thing, one which they didn’t even bother to mention until now.

Overtime, he appreciates the calligraphy he appears on his skin, particularly when new motifs appear. Wolfwood liked seeing you test new things and watch as the ink appear on his skin.

However, he was very glad to wear long sleeves when you would write down a particularly dirty proverb like 5:19. He would always end up blushing a bright red like a tomato, a huge contrast to his normal, stoic personality.

Imagine, your surprise when you notice fresh ink on your skin. For your ways are in the full view of the LORD in basic script.

Knives

He almost didn’t see the script appear on his arms, the ink nearly blending into his suit and pale skin. His fingers traced the letters he could make out. Knives immediately knew what this meant, it was his soulmate reaching out- most likely not knowing what was happening.

He tried to ignore it the best he could and kept himself covered with his cloak. Having someone would just drag him down, make it harder to reach his goal of eradicating humanity. However, his curiosity got the best of him.

Taking another look, the bleach blond quickly recognized the letters as chords with their denoted accidentals. Luckily for him, he new how to play. It was child’s play, really.

Meanwhile, your trying to understand how to play different songs only by listening too them. You were too stubborn to look them up, very confident in your ability.

And so it became a pattern for him to decipher your song you had written on his arm. He would spend hours playing the piano, watching the notes on his arm be crossed out and replaced. The composition rarely stayed imprinted on his skin for longer than a day.

Often, Knives would see lyrics being written with the chords. A little artist are we now? His small joke to himself caused a small smile. He would end up humming them, his low voice cutting through the air. It was for the sake of rhythm, he told himself.

Imagine your surprise when you saw a new. mark you knew you hadn’t inscribed into your skin, a word marked out for another.

#trigun stampede #trigun x reader #vash x reader #wolfwood x reader #knives x reader #vash the stampede #nicholas wolfwood #millions knives #gender neutral reader #trigun #reader insert

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arson-09 · 10 months ago

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Acowar Review✨✨ sjm needs to pay for my therapy✨✨

Its not as infuriating as acomaf but its still… bad.

Point 1: the court of ignorance and dumbassery

Lets cut to the chase. why the FUCK didnt feyre read Tamlin and Luciens minds at ANYPOINT while she was doin her hot girl shit of taking the spring court down??? huh sjm??? why is your fmc only powerful when convenient. So much could have been cut down. Acowar was way too long.

The whole destroying of the spring court didnt even make that much sense. Im all for a girlie getting back at the people who wronged her but feyre ended up hurting a lot of innocent people in the process. Feyre even tries to ignore the consequences of her actions. She had to invade peoples minds and manipulate people to get them to turn against tamlin and all this could have been avoided if she read his damn mind and learned he was a double agent. Lucien even hinted towards it

Part One: Princess of Carrion »

Chapter Six

None. It was either go to war with the Night Court and Hybern, or ally with Hybern, let them try to stir up trouble, and then use that alliance to our own advantage further down the road." "What do you mean," I breathed. But Lucien realized what he'd said, and hedged, "We have enemies in every court. Having Hybern's alliance will make them think twice." Liar. Trained, clever liar.

If feyre is supposed to be so smart, and she did pick up on this, why didnt she do anything? This is so frustrating.

Then once she leaves the spring court i found myself frankly not caring. Acomaf hadnt given me enough to care about the inner circle so i didnt and sjm cant make me like rhysand. which i have so many gripes but for word counts sake let me name my main ones

Point 2: Sarah Janet Maas and her shitty love interests

the ignoring rhysand sexual assault of feyre and EXCUSING it and his little habit of not telling his court things

Part Two: Cursebreaker »

Chapter Twelve

Was it going on before you even left?" I whipped my head to him, even if I could barely make out his features in the dark. "I never touched Rhysand like that until months later." "You kissed Under the Mountain." "I had as little choice in that as I did in the dancing." "And yet this is the male you now love." He didn't know-he had no inkling of the personal history, the secrets, that had opened my heart to the High Lord of the Night Court. They were not my stories to tell

here we have sjm acknowledging that yeah, rhysand Sexually Assaulted Feyre UtM in Acotar. Without her consent he dressed her inappropriately (which she was uncomfortable with) had her dance provocatively in his lap, kissed her, and made her drink alcohol so she wouldn't remember the details all without her consent. Yet Sjm is going “its fine” now and feyre herself going “you just dont get it…” ⁉️⁉️⁉️

Now see if sjm actually planned for rhysand to become the love interest why didnt she just avoid all this by having Amarantha make rhysand do this to feyre? Because that would have solved some issues but no. Because Rhysand did all this of his own free will in acotar. He actively chose to do this to feyre. To humiliate her and anger Tamlin because rhysand is obsessed with Tamlin.

Rhysand also loves to not tell his own court things. I was and still am very angry over him not telling Mor, Azriel, Cassien and at the very least his Wife about his plan with the court of nightmares. Just why.

Mors anger towards Nesta also makes no sense. sjm stop writing girl on girl hate challenge impossible

Point three: That one toy story scene “I dont wanna play with you anymore!”

Now tamlin. Tamlin tamlin tamlin im so sorry love for what sjm has done to you. If i start ill never stop. What Tamlin said to feyre and rhysand at the high lords meeting was out of pocket but he also wasnt wrong about some things. Also from established character these actions make no sense and his actions havent made sense since acomaf because sjm threw him and his character away to play with shadow daddy and bad morals. But she also cant commit to making a character of hers actually evil so tamlin saves the whole day by bringing the autumn court to fight and saving rhysand life. Tamlin has redeemed himself by sjm standards but she then wrote the holiday novel which i have read and detested.

Overall the plot was fine. i guess. it probably looked better when compared to the characters.

Sjm learn to redeem characters outside of “ooh they were abused and have trauma so everything they do is okay” for guys and “she fell in love/had sex with the most PERFECT MALE TO EVER MASCULINE.” its boring and flat. Also i know what happens in Acosf (i will not be reading that ty) so wtf happened to Nesta bro. she got the tamlin treatment. boooo 👎

to end off heres some of my favorite highlights from acowar 50%+ thru the book.

#a court of wings and ruin #anti acowar #anti sjm #sjm critical #anti rhysand #anti feysand #tamlin #pro tamlin #This book was bullshit

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0xstarzx0 · 9 months ago

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WRONG NAME

Tell me if you liked it and if you want a part2? [it’s my first writing.]

TW: non-con, smut, domestic violence, fear, cheating, anxiety.

[English is not my native language.❗️❗️]

STORYLINE: the reader cheated on her boyfriend with Rafe, she thought he would never find out until the day she got the wrong name…

{TWO WEEKS AGO} That night, you didn’t plan anything. You were supposed to have dinner with your boyfriend, Thomas, but he had something unexpected. He’d been working for over two hours.

you decided to drink a glass of red wine and sit on your couch watching deseparate housewives, a series that you and your mother loved until Thomas decided to move to an island that you didn’t even know existed

The Outers Banks "Paradise on earth" promised you Thomas, he had just been accepted into a company called camera association or camireon associate no idea he didn’t want to tell you, he just dragged you here without telling you anything more.

You watched the show attentively when your phone vibrated, you took it and some chise in you woke up, why? Because the person who’s texting you and Rafe fucking Cameron.

This guy must be the sexiest, hottest guy you’ve ever known, his mouth, his eyes, his hands, his body every part of him was perfect. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him to do anything unimaginable to you. Rafe was just the opposite of Thomas. Thomas was a little smaller than Rafe his hair is black with very light white skins. his eyes turned black compared to those of Rafe who looks like the ocean, In summary Rafe was all the opposite of Thomas. Rafe was one of your great fantasies that you decided not to touch for the sake of your love for Thomas who disappeared from day to day.

You look at Rafe’s message and read it "Are you still standing?" he asks. "yes why?" you ask out of curiosity.

"I need you now, can you vemir at my place in Tannyhill?" he simply replied

Why did Rafe need you? it was more than twenty-three hours pass but despite the hour tom want to go was stronger than anything you had imagined

"I’m coming," and everything you answered, you got up to go upstairs and pick out clothes that covered a little more than your short shorts, then you got in your car and drove to the blond’s house.

When you rang her door and she was open, you walked in and said you were there. "come upstairs," Rafe told you. Of course you listened to him as bewitched by his authoritarian tone, you fucking wet like a fountain. When you went upstairs and he told you to come over to his office you were a little shocked to see him shirtless with two glasses of wine, rosé one of your favorites from the bottle.

"Y/N we need to talk." "What?" you answered innocently.

Rafe gets up furiously you step back until your back touches the door recently closed by you

"do you think I’m stupid?"he said slightly irritated "What? No, of course not." you said. "really? From what you see, I see no other choice. Since we’ve known each other, you just light me up like a slut and now you come to my house like a bitch when I ask you. and you dare to play the innocent?"

You don’t know if it’s the fact that he’s mad in his words or that this is true but you squeeze your thighs to limit the heat between her, Rafe’s effect is fucking Dangerous.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rafe." You say at the same height as a mumure, probably out of fear that if you speak a little more it will sound like a moan from you. "Really Y/N? You look pretty excited though. You just asked and I’d fuck you like the bitch you a-"

"fuck me." you raise your head to see Rafe completely shocked. "What?" he asks you shocked by your answer." Please fuck me Rafe, you told me to ask so I did it, you do it, make me feel alive." You approach him and start kissing his torso. He grabs your chin firmly forcing him to look him in the eyes.

"I’m going to fuck you so badly that you won’t be able to walk properly for several days, you know that?" He asked you to make sure you realize the shit you’re doing. yes Rafe I know it" You don’t even have time to finish your sentence that your lips meet that of Rafe.

after that everything went fast, the moans he uttered when he was inside of you was just a beautiful melody, the position you and he had made are honorable, the kisses he gave you and the fact that he is destroyed your pussy, everything was unimaginable, even dirtier and more magical than in your dreams.

______________________________________________ {NOW}

You didn’t forget that night, it was unforgettable, your body only wanted Rafe but despite that, you haven’t seen her since for fear of cheating on your boyfriend. Thomas is nice but he’s a jerk who gets violent fast, maybe that’s why you stay with him.

When Thomas comes into your room you’re on the bed watching a rose water movie. He sits next to you and starts touching himself through his pants. You don’t pay attention until he grabs your wrists with one hand and the lees together. "No" you already say tired of his behavior." Why?" said he, then, who thrust his head into your neck." I don’t want to" "I had a bad week baby, I just want to relax and fuck my future wife".

"I don’t give a fuck Thomas no is no" you said a little bit angry.

He doesn’t listen to you and already starts unbuttoning his pants, he takes it off at the same time as his boxer, shit Rafe has a bigger one. He starts pushing inside you when you don’t even agree, actually Thomas usually takes what he wants from you without asking your permission. So it doesn’t surprise you when he starts moaning your name by saying things like "damn you’re tight baby" or "let daddy fill you with his babies yeah?"

As he pushes his cock into you, he touches your G-spot. You moan so hard that he accelerates and continues to touch your sore spot, despite Thomas being above you, you, you thinking about Rafe the way he was so good in you.

while you feel your orgasm coming you scream his name. Thomas stops instantly and you stand there moaning of your orgasm, "Who the fuck is Rafe?" He screams with incomprehension. You freeze under him, not knowing what to say." What I says Thomas?" You try to deny. "No Y/N you said Rafe" Thomas takes off and looks at you with a look full of hate

"you’re completely delusional I said Thomas baby…" you deny as much as possible what Thomas says. Thomas is unstable, he already raped you for talking to another man than him.

You don’t even have time to say anything more than Thomas slaps you violently, your head bumps into the head of the bed and he grabs a handful of your hair squeezing them as hard as possible.

you cry and yell at the help already knowing how will unfold the following.

part2?

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chimivx · 2 months ago

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‘…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 ✞ 24k { one of three } ✞ ‼️ 18+, sacrilegious- it says it up top, blasphemy, its all very religious, they live in a clergy home, religious imagery, praying, god/christ/lord usage, they’re all devoted, eventual explicit sexual content, alcohol use, cigarette smoking, mentions of drug usage, light cussing, sexual acts occur in the church, it costs nothing to keep scrolling, IF I FORGOT ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW !!

Three times.

Deafening, three chimes of the clock tower is all it took for Han Jisung to stretch his legs through the courtyard, skipping over the crooked cobblestones, slipping into the crack of the dilapidated wooden door of the clergy house. Just through the back door hanging on its hinges lived a kitchen, one always hot and steaming. The house's caretaker, Ann, slaved away day and night ensuring that the men who resided within the home were well fed and taken care of. Between long hours lost in books or prayer, Jisung has had his fair share of visits from Ann, the tall, hollow cheeked, grey haired woman knocking on his door into the hours of the night after he’s missed dinner, or if he’s left his light on for too long.

Many times he’s found himself being dragged out of the church by his collar, the elderly woman forcing a meal into the gangly boy with a waist no wider than the length of his forearm. While he’d sit on the stool beside the stove shoveling whatever it was she’d filled the bowl with for him, he’d listen to her scold the older men, the priests in the other room, damning them for working him too hard.

Sunday was the big day, Jisung couldn’t help himself, they were his favorite. Everything would be perfect, and they always were perfect, ever since he’d been granted the internship everything has been perfect.

If he ever caught himself lost in daydreams, gazing out the window at the land draped in green, the tans and beiges of the courtyards speckled with pink and purple flowers, he’d sometimes begin to wonder if that was why he’d never been offered a higher position. Everything’s perfect. If he were to acquire what he wanted the clergy would be forced to pick someone new to fill his, now, entirely too large shoes. The three priests who lived in the home, who preached in the church just next door, they’ve grown accustomed to Jisung and his perfectionism, though it’s the very thing that made him consider himself flawed.

He’s spoiled them rotten, and if not to excel himself forward in his career, his lifelong dream of becoming a preacher, showing off to the older men that he was worthy, that he was more than capable of reading his own sermons and shaking parish members hands after mass was held, being showered in their thanks, their gratitude- he did it to spite them. Not that he’d ever admit that.

It was a feeling he’s swallowed down his entire life, one he’s often attempted to pray away. Not the overwhelming infatuation with being absolute perfection, but a constant berating need to be so terribly good that no one else could ever compare.

Only one priest above him could come close in the race that was perfect intern. Christopher, a man five or so years older than Jisung who always wore his curly hair short and well kempt. A man who Jisung noticed liked to undo the first two buttons of his black shirt while he read in the study late into the night, a hand rolled cigarette burning between his plump lips that pursed as his eyes scanned over the words scattered about the page. Christopher took pride in being the one to hire Jisung, taking him beneath his wing, cracking jokes over drinks with the members that Jisung had surpassed him in expectations. That was how he knew it wasn’t his time. Until right now.

Quickly approaching two years of daunting tasks, cleaning for hours on end, preparing for masses, ensuring the hours of worship went exactly as planned, Jisung was instructed to meet with Christopher after he finished his duties in the sacristy. Organizing book after book, arranging throws of freshly cleaned fabrics, sorting through hundreds of candles, dusting antique gold, the second that tower told him it was three o’clock and that he was free to go, he bolted.

Years he’s worked for this, sleepless nights he’s acquitted for this, it was finally here, minutes away from falling right into his slender little hands. As he barreled through the kitchen, making sure to express his greetings to Ann who gave him nothing but a smile, he couldn’t help but begin to wonder what he’d be allowed to do first. Surely not Sunday’s mass, it was only two days away, he wouldn’t have enough time to prepare, and besides, Christopher was set to preach then.

Breezing through a short hallway that toward the left led to a laundry room, and toward the right led to a small bathroom, Jisung stepped into the more than adequate living room with ample space to house three large couches around an apple wood table facing a fireplace with a structure that matched the cobblestoned sidewalks outside. To his right, a wall of glass outlined and accented in dark wood, the study, a room through the chestnut archway with bookcases for walls and comfortably cushioned chairs that Jisung has fallen asleep in once. Hardwood creaked beneath the sunken blue rugs all of the furniture sat upon, the house impossible to sneak around in.

Behind the fireplace there was a staircase that matched the floors, hardwood that took one up to the second floor where four bedrooms fit the men with ease. Christopher in one right at the top of the stairs, the two other priests, Hyunjin, a quiet man who used to scare Jisung a bit, and Jeongin, the eldest and wisest, resided in the two bedrooms to the left of Christophers. Their three rooms were close to the stairs and big enough to house another person within it without feeling cramped. Jisung’s bedroom was shoved toward the back. Up the stairs to the right, down the hall and around a corner. A bathroom separated the pattern of rooms, but regardless, his room may as well be off the map. There certainly was little to no room to house anyone else with him.

With a promotion though, things could change. Jeongin did just hit his mid-thirties, certainly he wouldn’t want to live out his entire life in a home with three other men. Though he did appear to be the one most dedicated to his faith, following every little detail of every single scripture like his life depended on it, Jisung couldn’t imagine Jeongin living here forever. Perhaps a promotion meant other things would change as well.

Passing by the staircase he calmed his racing heart with a deep breath, pushing the air deep into his chest, repeatedly telling himself to not get his hopes up too high. There was just no way that this was anything else, Christopher asking to meet with him, setting up an appointed time and everything. This had to be it.

Tugging at the collar of his white button up Jisung stepped into a dark hallway standing in front of a white wooden door with a golden handle. The smell of cigarettes and musky cologne wafted through the cracks, through the broken keyhole beneath the knob. Christopher was here, he was already inside. Jisungs heart sprung up into his throat.

Wrapping his hand around the cool metal, Jisung pushed the door open with a breath, stepping into the sunlight that poured through the white linen curtains into the office. Unable to help the smile on his face, he grinned as he closed the door gently behind him, placing his hand flat to it for a few seconds before he turned to face Christopher, the broad shouldered man perched upon the edge of the large desk.

A cigarette hung from his lips, the glowing tip bobbing as he smiled larger than he already had been. “Jisung!” His deep, melodic voice echoed in the room full of chairs that matched the couches out in the living room, bouncing off bookshelves and filing cabinets.

Smile faltering as Jisungs eyes spotted another head in the room, dusty brown hair in a chair pointed toward Christopher, the boy took a couple steps forward and planted his focus on his superior.

“Christopher,” he breathed, nodding his head as if to bow to the older man who waved his formality away and beckoned him closer with a wag of his fingers. “I came as fast as I could.” Jisung started through the room, his focus forward.

“I’m sure you did,” Christopher said, something sly pulling at his lips, cigarette ash sprinkling onto the hardwood of the office. Jisung approached the desk and the priest gestured to a chair to the right of him. The other man in the room was seated to his left, dressed simply in slacks and a button down like Jisung, but with silver jewelry dripping from his wrists and his neck.

Glancing from the man who didn’t spare him a look just yet, Jisung set his gaze on Christopher as he sat down on the edge of the flattened cushion, a curiosity growing within him.

Taking the rolled paper from between his teeth, the priest stood to his feet, adjusted his belt, then rounded the worn wood carved desk that had been set in this clergy house for decades. History was written within it, written on it, beaten into the top of the wood, whispers of clergy members' past left behind for future ones to remember, to protect. He sat down in the chair behind it with a creak and folded his hands, resting his muscled arms over the desk.

Christophers brown eyes darted between the two sitting before him, the ghost of a smile making a home on his plush lips. “Jisung, I’d like you to meet the newest member of our parish,” he said, eyes zeroing in on his intern. Trying to hide the breath that corrupted his lungs, Jisung folded his hands in his lap and pressed his lips together.

Here we go.

They’ve found a new intern, someone to take his job from him, and he was about to be handed a new one. Interesting choice though, Jisung would tell Christopher later, considering this man wore a straight fringe over his forehead slightly parted toward the center, with silver jewelry wrapped around his joints, chains linked together like Jisung’s never seen before. His jaw, sharp, matched his nose in curvature, the details carved delicately. His features may as well have been handcrafted by Michelangelo himself.

His neck, slender in size, had one of those silver chains wrapped around it, hugging it ever so perfectly. Beneath it lived another. Beneath that one, a cross, dangling between two milky buttons. It seemed ordinary, the shining cross generic, not like the one made of pure gold, encrusted with genuine jewels that hung around Jisungs neck. He tucked it into his shirt every morning. The crucifix belonged to his grandfather, a token passed down to him from his grandfather. When the time was to come, Jisung would hand it down to his grandson, hopefully after a marriage or when he would take up the family trade and work in the church, serving his God.

He appeared legitimate. Strong faced, proper posture though his legs were crossed, an attentiveness while Christopher spoke. His dark eyes, a deep brown, or a mahogany, or a warm, rich chocolate, they studied. Analyzed. So statuesque, when he turned his chin to look at Jisung, the boy nearly leapt back into place.

“This is Lee Minho,” Christopher said, holding out a hand toward the man who’s analytical gaze had gone cold. Rich milk chocolate turned dark and bitter, and Jisung didn’t like the way it tasted. Within seconds this man had gone from someone whom Jisung would like to get to know to someone who just set their boundaries without even opening his mouth.

Facing him completely, Jisung was now able to see just how beautifully crafted Minho's being had been blessed. Completely symmetrical, his eyebrows set in place above his eyes, two straight lines that set further boundaries for him, his slender lips, the top plumper than the bottom, softening the sharpness his edges created. This was a man who was to not be messed with. Every little siren, every red light going off, flashing in Jisung’s head told him plenty.

Minho was here for business, he was going to get what he wanted, and Christopher made a mistake hiring him.

“Pleasure to meet you, Minho,” Jisung said, dipping his chin.

Something shifted within his jaw, a setting taking place as the analytical eyes flashed back onto his face. Then, he smiled, only the corners of his lips lifting, rounding the apples of his cheeks. “The pleasure is all mine, Jisung.” He didn’t seem to blink often. His eyelashes have dusted his cheek maybe three times since he’s looked at Jisung.

Beneath his gaze was hot. It wasn’t fun being on the receiving end of someone studying you. Since he was young Jisung has always been the studier, not the one being studied. If this was how everyone he’s been caught observing felt he’d regret every single one. Like Minho had reached over the chairs and wrapped his hands around Jisung’s neck, warmth crept up through his chest, his cheeks hopefully not turning pink. Air a foreign subject, the darkness within his eyes wound Jisung thoughtless, the bitterness laced with a charismatic charm. He felt so small. Minho had only been looking at him for not even a minute and he’d already established his dominance. His place.

Jisung could only suck in a breath when Minho turned to smile at Christopher.

“He’s moved down here from Soro,” the priest said, nodding toward Jisung, “and he’ll be working beside you. I wanted to formally introduce the two of you here.” Parting his lips, Jisung sat straight up, tucking his ankles beneath the chair, knitting them together. “I’ve already told Minho how great you’ve been, Ji. The straight A’s in school, the honors, the awards and degrees and all the decadence from every institution you’ve walked into and tribalized into your own.” Christopher glanced at Minho with a smirk. “He is the best of the best. You’re going to learn great things from him, and one day, because we have the space, you’ll be one of us.”

You’ll be one of us.

Jisung narrowed his eyes, pointing them back at Minho who shared a smile with Christopher, his teeth making an appearance, all perfect in a row.

Today was the day Jisung was supposed to be made one of them.

“We’ll find space for you in one of the bedrooms upstairs, though you may be paired with Hyunjin or myself. Jeongin, since he’s been here so long, we allow him this sort of seniority, you know, for lack of better terms to describe it. I’d say that you could room with Jisung, but I’m not sure the space is enough. Though it’d be perfect, wouldn’t it?” Christopher smiled at Jisung, the boy now watching him with his brows nestled above his eyes. “The two of you will be spending a lot of time together, it’d make sense to share a room, Minho, you’d be a pro in no time.”

He couldn’t get a read on the situation at hand, couldn’t make sense of it. Picking it apart, putting it back together, it was too simple. Too simple for Jisung to come up with something logical to explain why he hadn’t been granted a higher position. Now that Minho had arrived, he’d been hired, taken under here at the house like Jisung had been two years ago by Christopher… Or, maybe, that was it.

Jisung’s last and final task.

Lee Minho.

Something about it didn’t feel right, however. Whether it be the way Minho carried himself or the way his eyes seemed to devour Jisung on the spot. It’d be a challenge. As threatening as he came off, Jisung mentally prepared himself to take this on, to whip Minho into shape and mold him into Han Jisung quality. No matter how painful the matter appealed to Minho, a certain dread was written on his face whenever his gaze brushed over Jisung, the man bobbing his clenched jaw while Christopher spoke, spilling more stories of Jisung and his successes.

He came from Soro, this man with the bitterness steaming out of his ears, a town poorly developed with only one church in the center of the madness they considered community. Jisung had visited twice. Once on his own while enrolled in his years at university, and another with Christopher, accompanying his senior on a matter of business, an exchanging of private documents that Jisung has yet to read with his own eyes.

That trip had only happened a few months ago, sometime in the spring. He supposed Soro wasn’t so bad then, the flowers along the streets reminded him of here, Avida, home. Trees greener than green lined streets of cracked pavement and misery, an immediate heaviness invading his chest when the car crossed the lines of Tamoe, the neighboring town, and sped them deep into Soro. It wasn’t a nice place to be in terms of people and behavior, Jisung had been told his entire childhood to avoid it.

The only reason he’d ventured there on his own after he’d turned eighteen… His own pure, impulsive curiosity. Jisung needed to know. Sitting beside his treacherous perfectionism, one throne below, his insatiable need for knowledge.

Lee Minho came from Soro, from that church he’d visited months ago with Christopher. In fact, he may have even been there when Jisung stepped through the gnarled wooden doors accented in faded bronze and tarnished gold. The tiled floors needed to be redone, the pattern had been chipped, the colors dingy from years of dirty shoes treading over them, like no one took the time to scrub between the grout. His heart seconds away from sinking in as he tipped his chin backward, up toward the high ceilings as he walked and found dust layered on the ornaments, cobwebs hanging from chandeliers with flickering bulbs.

Jisung had been able to care for his church for years without help, on his own, with the occasional five minutes of straightening up after a service by the priest. How someone could and would allow their sacred place, their sanctuary, to be so mistreated, it drove him mad. It fueled the passion he held for his own church. He would never see it turned to what he experienced that day, he wouldn’t stand for it. Priest or intern, Jisung intended to care for what he loved.

Minho came from this church. He must have. If he was their intern, or something of the sorts, if he worked for them, it meant he had taken part in the church becoming so desolate. Uncared for. Messy and one gust of wind away from ruin.

This would be a challenge. Jisung would need to watch him like a hawk.

“I’m very happy to be here,” Minho said, his voice like a needle to the skin, like the rest of him. He stood to his feet, his slacks loosening around his thighs. Stretching a hand toward Christopher who also rose out of his chair, the priest grabbed onto it and shook it with vigor.

“Spend the rest of your time today getting acquainted with the place.” Christopher's grin made Jisung’s skin crawl. How he could hold his hand innocently without a second thought as to who he was allowing into this parish… They walked into that church together. They experienced the heaviness together. And Christopher now held it by the hand and welcomed it into his home. Their home. Jisung’s home.

Minho thanked the priest, then turned to Jisung who sprung to his feet. Stepping closer to the boy, the bitterness evident in his eyes, Minho held out a hand, one Jisung took out of pure submission, not knowing what else to do. His grip, strong, tight, dismantled any chance of defense Jisung could muster up. His hand engulfed Jisung’s entirely, his fingers reaching his forearm, the digits probably capable of making a perfect circle around his wrist. In more ways than one, Minho was much larger than him. With him standing on his feet he towered over Jisung by a few inches, looking down at him, his eyelashes unmoving.

That energy from before that rendered him breathless came back, a weight sitting on his chest, triggering a tingling within his veins, a nervousness. Tearing his hand away Jisung shoved them in his pockets and glanced toward the floor, swearing that Minho snickered to himself as he turned back toward Christopher who sat back down his desk.

“Thank you for this opportunity, Father,” Minho said, a smile on his lips, one Jisung could hear. Bowing his head Christopher smiled back and gestured toward the door. With one more look down at the boy in front of him, Minho blinked and the smile wiped from his cheeks instantaneously. “Shall I meet you outside?”

Jisung cleared his throat and pressed his palms to his thighs within his pockets. Shaking his hair aside, he met Minho’s eyes and stuttered before pushing, “I’ll come find you,” from his lips, just above a whisper. Three seconds of silence passed, then Minho removed himself from the room, his shoes clicking on the hardwood until the door was pulled shut.

“Jisung,” Christopher said softly, allowing the boy to take however long he pleased to look at him. To his surprise, it took no time at all. Jisung, with his hands pressed to his legs, bounded for the front of the desk, twisting his eyebrows together. Christopher froze, his jaw agape with lost words between his teeth.

“No warning at all,” the boy whispered, tightening his jaw. “Do you know how-” Jisung cut himself short, shoving the tip of his thumb between his front teeth. Christopher waited with a patience unknown to the pistol in front of him. “Why blindside me?” Jisung took a breath, dropping his hand to his side. “I’ve been here two years, I’m in full control of this position, and you throw me this.”

Christopher shifted in his chair, sitting backward. “It was sprung on us, Ji, I had no choice but to do it this way. I’m well aware of the high standards you hold yourself to, and you know we admire you as you are, but keep that ego in check.” Jisung gulped, lowering his glare to the wood of the desk. “Show some humility. Minho came from a place that couldn’t shelter him, he needs our support. Welcome him, show him around. You remember your first day here, don’t you?”

“I do,” Jisung whispered, looking the priest in the eye. “I was twenty, about to turn twenty one, and I held within my heart a desire to serve you, to serve Hyunjin and Jeongin, to serve our Lord, and continue this journey in my faith.” A smile tugged at Christopher's lips. “With a single bag on my shoulder I left my parents behind, whom I served all my years prior, and I devoted my life to you. To Christ.”

Nodding once, Christopher thought with his hand, drawing it around in a circle before pointing it toward Jisung, stating the obvious that flew over the boy's head. “Jisung,” he breathed, taking the fingers to the bridge of his nose, “I admire your devotion, I really do. If anything, that is where you outdo all three of us.” Christopher looked at the boy, his wide, somewhat saddened mocha colored eyes and his fluffy hair laying over his forehead. “I know what you expected, coming here today,” he lowered his voice, “I feel sorry for not being able to give it to you.”

Jisung pressed his fingers to his palms, willing away the urge to snap at him out of frustration. It wasn’t his fault, Christopher was a mere pawn for the bishop to play with, giving his orders for the priest to flesh out within his own parish. All over the country it worked this way, Jisung knew his place, he knew Christopher’s place. While in this house he was the one to carry out these decisions made together with the three of them, most of the time they were ordered by the bishop to follow through, which in turn meant Christopher had to follow through.

Hyunjin argued he was too softhearted to deal with being the bearer of bad news, even good news, any news at all. He didn’t want the responsibility in his hands, he knew Christopher had a clearer way of speaking, of relaying his thoughts. A confident charisma. Jeongin had the position before and simply didn’t want it any longer. When Christopher came around the eldest handed it over with little worry that he wouldn’t be able to live up to the expectations. Like Jisung, Christopher straight away proved himself more than worthy.

“You deserve it,” the priest said, and Jisung softened. “Trust me on that, Ji. You of all people deserve to be where we are,” he paused for a moment, making the boy look up at him, then, he whispered, “You just have to do this one last thing. I promise.”

“He’s come from Soro, Chris.” Jisung’s concern spread onto his face, his soft cheeks.

The priest hung his head for all of two seconds. “I know,” he whispered.

“The church of Saint Denis,” Jisung continued on, “We both walked through it. That’s where he’s come from, isn’t it?”

“He’s right out there, Ji, why don’t you go find out for yourself?” Christopher leaned forward onto his desk, his hands folding over a grey folder full of papers with 1959 written on the front. A full report of the year so far, the records, the history made. Some type of paperwork from Minho would be in there, just like Jisungs was in the folder labeled 1957. “You could make a friend, you know, he’s not much older than you. Surely you can’t enjoy spending all of your time with us old people.”

Jisung cracked a smile, one Christopher returned. “You’re only thirty, I’ve just turned twenty four. We’re not so different.”

“Ah,” the priest raised his chin and his brows, “So you think.” Pressing his lips together he flickered his eyes toward the closed door and sighed. “Go, Jisung. I’ll be here if you need me, but I have no doubt that you can handle this on your own.”

Jisung stepped out of the office, pulling the door closed behind him quietly, always careful to not disturb the peaceful air that hung about the house. The priests moved just the same, quietly, with a poised purpose and a courtesy to the other men that resided within the cinder block walls. After speaking with Christopher Jisung’s doubts for dealing with Minho had faded somewhat, that is until he turned within the dimly lit hallway and found him perched against the wall opposite of him.

Arms folded over his chest, over the cross that hung from his neck, he had one foot on the wall, the other outstretched before him. That stone cold look was on his face, and it felt as if Jisung hadn’t spoken to Christopher at all. In a single look Minho could swallow him whole and spit him back out, only to devour him once more, finish him off. Jisung, not usually uncomfortable in front of new people, part of the reason why he was so certain he could preach in a room full of utter strangers, felt nervous. Especially now that he stood here alone with the man.

Somehow, beneath the chilling rest of his face, Minho wore the ghost of a smirk, a reminder to Jisung of that arrogant snicker that left him in a breath so quiet that Christopher couldn’t hear it. Jisung wondered if the priest would even believe him if he told him about it.

“Uh, I’ll be honest with you,” Jisung willed his breath to remain steady, “I wasn’t prepared to give out any tours today.”

Minho’s eyes looked from Jisung’s attempt at a smile, then drew back up to his eyes. “That’s not very star student of you, is it?”

Lips parting in shock, Jisung couldn’t tell if it was sarcasm or not. “I just… No one told me that you were coming, I didn’t have the chance to…”

His smirk grew ever so slightly, his fingertips pressing into the fabric of his white shirt around his biceps. “Relax, Han Jisung, I’m messing with you.” Pushing off the wall with one foot, Minho took a step closer to the boy. “Besides, you’d be able to pull something out of your ass in seconds wouldn’t you?”

“Oh,” Jisung sighed, his eyes widening. “We don’t use profanities on property.”

The dark chocolate of his eyes danced around Jisung’s face, the analytic showing through once again. “‘Course you don’t,” he said above a whisper, narrowing his glare slightly. “Apologies, Han Jisung.”

Tilting his head, the boy let out a quiet laugh. “You can call me Jisung.”

“How old are you, Jisung?”

The intensity of his stare had the boy rocking on his feet. “I’ve just turned twenty four a little over a week ago.”

Minho was a statue. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you,” Jisung whispered. “And… and, you?”

“I’ll be twenty six in about a month.”

“That’s great,” Jisung swallowed, hard, “We’ll certainly celebrate, Hyunjin is a stickler for recognition and tradition. He’s our feeler, if you will.” Minho turned from him, releasing the strangling hold he had over Jisung, the boy feeling like he was allowed to breathe again. He studied the walls and the next room while Jisung spoke. “Christopher’s the brains, as you can probably tell, you go to him if you have any issues or things you need to work out. Jeongin, he’s rarely seen unless it’s for meals or prayer, but he’s our scholar. A teacher. I learned a lot from him and I continue to do so, if you ever need to-”

Minho turned to face him abruptly, cutting him clean off. “And what of you, Han Jisung?”

“I’m- I’m sorry?” Jisung stuttered, shaking his head. Minho prodded his cheek with his tongue.

“Come on, don’t get humble on me now.” Minho smiled. He actually smiled, and Jisung’s knees buckled. “You’re all three of them wrapped into one, aren’t you?”

Jisung never thought about this. He was always his own entity. Sure, he was inspired by the priests he worked for, but he’d never compare himself to them. Every move he made was his own.

“I- I never… I don’t think I’d say that,” Jisung laughed, a nervousness wavering within it, “The three of them, they’re extraordinary, the best our church has seen in years, I cannot compare.”

Minho dropped his gaze down to Jisungs shoes and allowed it to drag up his stature with ease. Jisung longed to shrivel into a ball of nothing. “Interesting.” A curiosity burned where the bitterness once lived. “Han Jisung of Avida, belonging to the Saint Joseph Calasanz Church, astronomically successful in his schooling which then led him to his position here working alongside the best and the brightest?”

Mouth suddenly dry, Jisung gave a meek nod. “That’s… that’s me.”

“I feel like…” Minho paused, walking closer to the boy, a few inches between them. Jisung held his breath. Lifting a hand above the boy's head, Minho measured a foot of air. “I feel like you need to be here,” he muttered. Jisung blinked fervently, pointing his eyes up at his hand, then to his face where he believed a smile was resting. Minho moved his hands to Han’s shoulders, hovering them above the white cotton, then extended them outward. “And, here.”

They met eyes and Jisung pursed his lips, Minho blinking down at him.

“You’re so…”

“Small?” Jisung offered, a mere squeak from his squished lips.

Minho squinted, his lips crinkling. “Hm, no, I was going to say awkward,” Jisung gasped, his eyes shooting open, making Minho laugh, “But, small works, too. Maybe you are somewhat self aware, Han Jisung.”

The boy cringed. “Call me Jisung.”

Rubbing his lips together, Minho then nodded, and said, “Okay, Jisung.” Stepping backward, he nodded behind him. “Work your star student magic, this is a test. How perfect will this tour be?”

With one word he managed to wreck the ‘he’s kind of alright’ image Jisung attempted to build. Here in this hallway, within a few minutes, Minho undid what he’d done in the office, but with one word tangled it all back up again.

He’s the test.

Lee Minho, the challenge.

A cathedral stretching tall into the greying skies of the September-esque weather lived cozily on the edge of the massive green plot of land, the clergy house situated directly behind it, hidden by the peaks and towers atop the church. Around it, the crooked cobblestones, the path winding around the building on both sides, meeting the grand staircase that led up to the delicately carved, well preserved double doors that one often needed two hands to pull open. Along the grainy bricks of pure stone that made the two stories of the church were gardens of flowers and freshly trimmed hedges and bushes alike.

Trees lined up, separated by four feet of space on the other side of the cobblestones would grow across the way, their branches hanging over the paths, creating a canopy of sorts, granting passerbyers a break from the beating sun. Soon the green would settle, and the happy hues would turn a warm yellow, and orange, a comfort, the leaves one day covering the stones.

Oftentimes when it’d rain in autumn, they’d become so slippery that one would have the hardest time rushing from place to place. An act that took Jisung three times to learn. One can only hit the ground with books stacked in their arms so many times before realizing the leaves were trying to teach him something.

Everyday when he passes through the alleyway, the small strip of stone between the church and the house, he’s reminded to slow down. To breathe. To take his time. To think things through.

The round stones laughed at him, rattling as he stepped over them with Minho trailing behind, the man lagging by a few steps, hanging behind Jisung as they walked throughout the house, brushed by Ann in the kitchen and stepped outside to the overcast skies.

“She’s always in that kitchen,” Jisung said, wiggling the heavy back door to the clergy house open so that Minho could follow him out. The wood drug, caught along the concrete of the step. Minho, once outside, tipped his chin backward, his stoic gaze taking in the church and its size. “Ann is kind,” Jisung said, forcing the door shut with both hands, then joined Minho at his side, “As long as you’re kind to her.”

“Learned that the hard way, did you?” Minho asked, shifting only his eyes sideways to look at the boy who shrugged.

“Ever since I’ve been here she’s been kind.” Jisung stepped off the concrete and onto the colored stones, starting for the back door of the church. “Christopher used to tell me I was lucky that I didn’t deal with her rigidness the first few weeks. Both Jeongin and him endured it, before they earned her trust.”

Three strides.

Jisung grabbed the shining handle and twisted it, yanking the door open with ease, a blast of heavy, musky, incense filled air washing over him. Glancing over his shoulder, Minho was already there peering inside, his jaw closed tight. With a slight jump, startled, Jisung whirled himself around and stepped inside.

“What of Hyunjin?” Minho asked, letting the door close gently behind him, one of his hands guiding it shut. Dim light engulfed them. A soft glow from the stained glass, well sheltered windows illuminated the space, but nothing more.

Having taken to putting things in their place already, as if he wasn’t here an hour ago, Jisung straightened out some books and gave Minho a curious look. “What about him?”

“You didn’t mention him,” the man said, his voice the quietest it’s been. Inside the sacristy, a room half the size of the sanctuary that resided through the curtain on the archway and outside the double doors behind that, the air was still. Every sound that they made became incredibly muted, yet entirely loud for either of them. Almost sound proof. The fabrics hanging around, draped on the walls, and the books lining the shelves acted as a barrier, a different type of sanctuary.

Minho stepped around with a caution, hands in his pockets, letting his eyes do the discovery of the cluttered, yet organized space around him. His gaze fell upon Jisung a few times, the boy never happy with the placement of something.

“That’s because the two of them started like Ann and I,” he reached above his head, rising to his tiptoes, pushing a line of books back on the shelf so that they were in line with the rest.

Minho stopped behind a table with wooden chests stacked on top of it, little and large and all sizes in between. Dragging his middle finger along the edge of one he popped the yellow gold latch open and lifted the lid an inch. Three thick cream colored candles laid inside, every single one of them in their purest form, perfect and untouched. When Jisung turned toward him, wiping his hands on his slacks, Minho closed the lid and met his eyes.

“Hyunjin joined our parish when he was a child.” Jisung came to Minho’s side, his attention dropping the table where he flicked the latch of the chest to lock it, then brushed his hand over the lid, wiping away imaginary dust. “He’s lived here in Avida all his life, his parents belonged to the church.” Minho watched Jisung work, yanking at the chests, pulling them out of place just to put them back where they started. “He decided what he wanted to do with his life when he was very young, and he’s been working here since age ten.”

A smile tugged at Minho’s lips. “Someone more ambitious than yourself, I see.”

Jisung straightened himself out, taking in the amusement that trickled onto Minho’s expression. It jostled something within him. Jisung couldn’t place if it were frustration or anger, or both. The feeling wasn’t debilitating, he could handle it, he wouldn’t let it fuel his response. Swallowing it down, fingers curling over top of a wooden chest, Jisung bobbed his head and blinked.

“I, uh, I suppose so,” he said, willing his tone to be strong, telling himself to ignore the comment. Minho’s the challenge, he was meant to come with these types of hurdles. The frustration settled in further as Minho’s amusement grew.

“How old is Ann, anyway?” he asked, dropping his eyes to the table and Jisungs clenched fist. His eyelashes fanned along his prominent cheekbones. With a breath, Jisung shrugged.

“No one knows,” he said, and Minho looked up at him. He glowed in the splashes of color from the windows, the warm tones setting his skin alight with a blush Jisung wasn’t sure Minho would be able to produce naturally. Shadows contoured his already chiseled jaw and nose, deepening his artisan aura.

Jisungs frustration threatened to turn sour. No man's appearance ever filled Jisung with envy, his faith wouldn’t allow it.

‘All men are created equal.’

‘We are all equally made in God’s image.’

‘Every human being is the object of the love of God.’

Through his word Jisung has never needed to feel inferior, nor has he ever been presented with a situation where he’d feel less of himself. Standing here with Minho, since he’s laid eyes on him in the first place at that, he begins to assume that that's what this feeling is. It has to be. An envy of how perfectly symmetrical his features had been placed, a jealousy being spurred on by the utter man he was. Strong, wide, taller than Jisung. A man who’s filled out his face and knows how to fix his hair. A man who knew what to say to knock Jisung down a peg when for two years he’s been living in a comfortable solidarity that everything he’d been doing was perfect.

Jisung couldn’t remember to comb his curls some mornings, not when there was work to do. The mess would hang over his forehead, the black locks brushing his eyebrows unless they were pushed backward from his forehead hours into work. He wasn’t tall, nor would he consider himself strong. Compared to most men, including all three in the clergy house, Jisung’s probably half of what each of them weighed. His clothes hung off of him, his belts desperately clinging to his waist to keep his slacks in place. He was small.

Growing up he’d never been an object of affection, not that it was his goal, nor was it ever really a thought. Girls in school would pay attention to him, but he’d go through his days without needing that attention like other boys would. The matter never bothered him, he had his school work to worry about, he couldn’t see why some of his old friends would waste time running after girls. Little did he know his round cheeks, fluffy hair and gentle build were what the girls wanted.

Inferiority. That’s the feeling Minho gave Jisung. That was the lesson to be learned here.

Puffing out his chest, or attempting to, Jisung nodded toward the curtain. “Shall we continue?”

Minho relaxed his face and blinked. “You’ve not told me about this room.”

God, why did he talk like that?

“Surely a man of your expertise who can land a job like this knows what room this is, Minho,” Jisung said, snapping his jaw shut. With a harsh turn of his body he hurried away from him, tugging the curtain in the curved archway aside.

Through the archway was a long, skinny hallway stretching to the right and left, both ends winding around to the front of the church’s entrance hall where the double doors and grand staircase hugged the outside. Along the hall were a few doors to offices, small rooms where records were held or where the priests would work for church matters only. The floor, covered in marble tile outside of the carpeted sacristy, shone in the light fading in through the small rectangular windows built into the walls just below the tall ceiling.

Jisung flew through the double doors, the sound of them being pulled open echoing into the spacious sanctuary, the church. Hidden behind the altar, a tall marble structure that built into the ceiling, Jisung ascended a staircase of five steps, matching the tile of the floor, and took a moment to himself. Closing his eyes, folding his hands over his chest, he breathed in the crisp air laced with nostalgia and released with the quick mutter of a prayer, one his father and his father before him taught him.

‘Oh Jesus, my King and Lord, by the grace of the heavenly Father and the power of the Holy Spirit, guide me in all righteousness as I serve You today at the Altar so I may be always worthy of Your presence.’

Engraved in his mind since he was a young child, Jisung recited the words aloud, whether quiet or with his chest, whenever he was to cross the altar or approach it. A sacred place, the most intriguing part of all for Jisung. The body and blood of Christ, the Bible, one that’s met the hands of priests from centuries before Jisung, before Christopher, before Jeongin.

Unlit cream candles upon it now, in their golden candelabras matching the sconces along the pristine walls of the church, ones Jisung has replaced and scrubbed clean again and again. The altar, free of any objects now aside from the candles as there was no mass taking place, glittered in the sunlight of the fading afternoon. Along both walls that seemed a mile high lived matching sets of stained glass windows telling the story of Christ, of the Virgin Mary and her life's journey with her one and only son. In the four o’clock hour now the sun poured in casting rays over the chestnut pews that Jisung adored much more when they were full of smiling faces, old and young.

Walking across the front of the altar, many steps above the church, looking down into the pews, he imagined what it’d feel like to stand here in a sanctuary full of people. Full of worshipers like himself, their eager ears listening to what he’d have to say, his own homilies, his own take on the scripture left behind for their naked eyes looking for direction. A direction he’d give them, he’d guide them, he’d take them someplace unimaginable, a place full of hope and undying love.

“This place is huge.”

Startled once again Jisung’s shoulders ate his ears, his heart leaping into his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Minho muttered, and Jisung could hear the smirk he wore. Turning to face him, evidently he didn’t wear much on his face which was somehow worse. Standing on the altar within the town's most beautiful, most prestigious church, walking into it for the first time he didn’t show an ounce of appreciation in his stoic self. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Jisung sighed, giving his head a shake. “You’re sneaky,” he said quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets. Averting his attention to the altar behind him and the angelic statues situated above and around it, he took another longing deep breath. “Are you always so quiet, Minho?” Stepping up to the shining altar Jisung took out a hand and placed it on top, the marble cool to the touch, soothing his frustrations within.

The man’s feet scuffed along the floor, alerting Jisung he was moving closer to him. “I suppose I am,” he said. He snuck up to Jisung’s side, placing a hand on top of the altar. Continuing his slow stroll he rounded the side, dragging his fingers along the marble until he was across from Jisung, their hands mirroring each other, fingers splayed out to cover as much space as they possibly could. Three feet separated them physically, but the moment Jisung looked into his eyes it was as if the air between them ceased to exist.

“Your church in Soro,” Jisung said, keeping his voice low though it bounced around the vacant space without even trying. “The Church of Saint Denis.” Minho’s eyes shifted to the marble, his chin maintaining its height. “That’s where you’ve come from, isn’t it?” He nodded in answer, his brown eyes taking back to Jisungs, now a grappling hold. “I wanted to ask you if it was alright… I’ve visited before, and-”

“I know you have,” Minho whispered. Jisung clamped his jaw shut. The mans demeanor didn’t change, but Jisung did not like the way those words spewed from his lips. “And I know what you’re going to say, Han Jisung.” Every pause between his words festered a nervousness in Jisung’s gut. “I encourage you to not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned.”

Jisung hung his head. “I know the words,” he whispered. “Please accept my apology, it was not my intention to offend.”

“You really do live your life by the book, don’t you?” Minho asked within a breath after a beat of silence. Jisung looked to him in surprise, eyes wide and shining, finding Minho waiting for an answer with baited breath, his own gaze engrossed in a curiosity Jisung couldn’t make out. “Surely I thought you’d be able to weasel the information you wanted out of me, or you’d fight back with something smarter, more obscure than Matthew or Luke, but… Simple words from simple passages and you’ve been subdued.”

Jisungs fingers on the altar moved into a fist. Minho took note. “The words aren’t simple, they’re sacred, as are the passages.”

“Of course they are,” Minho said, beginning to round the other side of the altar, approaching Jisung with a tenacity. “The word of the Lord.” Pausing at his side, Jisung turned his chin to look up at him. “Have you never wondered what life would be like if they were wrong?”

“Never,” Jisung whispered.

“Have you never looked on the outside, have you never challenged the text, never thought your own thoughts? Never wondered why we’re confined to the rules within the passages written by, and translated by people of the past again and again, where something could’ve and may have been misread?”

That frustration Jisung attempted to hide away leapt into his chest, his blood boiling beneath his skin, a disbelief clouding his expression as this man stood inches away from him, a man he’s to share his position with. A man speaking words Jisung has never before attempted to think about in his life. He’s never seen the other side, he’s never wanted to. Never has his curiosity ever threatened to drag him that way, never threatened to take him down a path that goes against everything he’s ever known.

“I challenge you to do so. It wouldn’t just open you up to empathy beyond your imagination, it would broaden your perspective as a preacher. How do you expect to stand up here in front of hundreds of imperfect people looking for answers if you don’t even understand where they’ve gone wrong to have the need or the desire to sit within these pews? Every person you’ve ever met, every person you will preach in front of has sinned somewhere in their life whether or not you have, Han Jisung.”

Jisung gulped, willing his voice strong enough, he said above a whisper, “I liked you better when you were quiet.”

A toothy smile flashed onto Minho’s face, knocking Jisung breathless. “And I like you just the way you are, Jisung.” He held onto his eyes for a few more seconds before directing his attention toward the entrance hall doors that seemed a mile away. “The choir sings from there, correct?” Minho gestured a hand to the second floor balcony that opened up above the church, shoved toward the back behind all of the pews so the voices in the choir would shower down onto the churchgoers.

“Yes,” Jisung said, unable to produce anything else to plead his case, or argue back. Minho knew it too, and that killed Jisung tenfold. The amusement in the man's cheeks made him sick.

“Take me there,” he said, looking at Jisung, knowing.

The boy sighed and glanced up to the balcony nestled under the painted ceilings of the cathedral, saints and angels dancing about the blues and whites of the ethereal sky. “Ann will have us for dinner soon, we shouldn’t take too long. It’s your first dinner, that’s important for her.” It also explains why she’s been working in the kitchen since early afternoon. She only did so for special occasions, Jisung should’ve seen Minho coming.

Putting his hands in his pockets, Minho, still wearing a smile, said, “The clock hasn’t struck five. When it does we’ll head back, I’m not done here yet.” Jisung didn’t have anything to say, he was entirely defeated, pacified. “Not done with you, either.”

Within the warm kitchens brick walls there was a table that could seat six and this evening five of those chairs were occupied. Sitting at the end of the table Jisung had Christopher to his left and Hyunjin to his right. Beside Hyunjin sat Jeongin who took a sudden interest in the house's newest addition, Minho, sitting at the other end of the table, directly across from Jisung. In the yellow glow from the light fixture mounted into the ceiling the men ate, they sipped their wine, and they laughed.

Conversations flowed through stories of the past, Jeongin ensuring that Minho knew his fair share of history before he retired for the night. The eldest telling stories meant that his first descendant below him was correcting him, Hyunjin flashing looks at Jisung that were making him giggle when Jeongin would get details all wrong.

“You’re thirty six, have you left your memory in the first half of your thirties?” Hyunjin hollered, outstretching an arm to shove Jeongin’s elbow off the table, the man with neatly styled hair scoffing at the one with hair that grew down his neck. Thin, half rimmed glasses sat on the end of his button nose, Hyunjin tossing his head back with a laugh, catching the spectacles before they fell to the floor. “I mean seriously, Yang, pull yourself together, it’s no wonder you can’t keep your mother happy.”

Snickers sounded around the group, Christopher nearly spitting out his wine across the table at Hyunjin. Jisung laughed along with them, picking at his plate of various meats and veggies. The others had scarfed it down it seemed, the moment they were presented with the food it was gone in a flash. Even Minho at the other end of the table, he filled up a plate after watching the elders do so and had dug right in. Acting as if he’d been here for months, Minho slipped into the laughter and chatter with ease, asking all the right questions at the right time.

At Jisungs first dinner the boy couldn’t shut his mouth. Full of excitement that bled everywhere on top of everyone, he overwhelmed them with questions, with statements, with facts. The elders couldn’t get the information out fast enough, they were forced to, otherwise Jisung would begin assuming things on his own. They learned quickly that night that his brain worked faster than his mouth, more often than not that first dinner his foot may as well have been on the plate because it made a happy home in his mouth.

With Minho, maybe it was his age. Jisung was a mere child when he started. Minho has had years of practice in another church, he was about two years older than Jisung, so it wasn’t a wonder as to why this socializing came easy to him. He portrayed himself a different Minho than Jisung had just spent two whole hours with, however. For some reason once he shook the hands of Hyunjin and Jeongin it was like a wall melted away. At the table tonight as he smiled at him, the rigidness of his being didn’t exist.

Until he’d spare a glance toward Jisung moving food around on his plate with his fork knitted tightly in his fingers. Then the walls built back up.

Maybe Minho was right, maybe Jisung was just awkward.

“A working memory is important to women,” Christopher said, adding to the teasing of Jeongin. Tipping his glass toward him, he pulled his lips down into a smile and laughed.

Jeongin exchanged a glance with Minho who took a sip of his wine, enthralled with the discussion. “You’d know all about that Christopher, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, you’re a nuisance!” Christopher threw a hand toward him, sitting back in his chair. Jisung nibbled his bottom lip and gave a look to the man to his left. As if he could feel it, Christopher looked back at him while the men talked amongst themselves. “He’s kidding, Ji. Don’t you let those words get stuck in your head.”

“A joke from years ago, Jisung,” Jeongin said, turning the attention back on himself. “Before his sudden switch to God's grace your role model there was quite popular with the ladies.” A small smile took to Jisungs lips as he glanced to Christopher.

“You’ve never told me this before,” Jisung said, and the older man shrugged, sipping his wine.

“It was never important,” he muttered. “Besides,” he sighed, sitting forward, setting his glass on the table, “It was why I made the sudden switch. Women are wonderful gifts from God, but involvement with the wrong kind and you’ll be wishing for more than forgiveness.” Christopher gave the boy a look that informed him he’d speak of it later, that now was not the time.

“What about you, Jisung?”

The question shot a hole into his gut. Christophers face lit up, his eyes darting every which way, Hyunjin furrowed his brows, and Jeongin chuckled aloud. Meeting eyes with the man who asked the question, Jisung tightened his grip on his fork. The insecurities he felt looking at his face seemed to double beneath the pressure of the question.

When it took a few seconds for him to sort out his thoughts, the older men around him attempted to answer for him.

Hyunjin uttered, “Jisung is a sweet boy.”

“Our Jisung certainly wouldn’t think that way, not after all he’s been through,” Jeongin said.

Christopher listened, then added, “He’s so one track minded, I’ll be shocked if he…”

Minho held up a hand with a smile and slight roll of his eyes. “Let him answer for himself,” he huffed a laugh, and the men around him agreed. How? Jisung wasn’t sure, because if he were him he’d be reprimanded until the following morning. “Seems you all need to learn about it, too, let’s see what he has to say.”

Four sets of eyes burned into him, Jisung only able to stare into the ones that taunted him from the other end of the table. Sitting backward in his chair, his legs crossed, his silver cross hanging over his chest, he was smug as ever. In seconds he’d been able to tug him right back into the church, on top of the altar where he blatantly asked him of his sins. And now, here he was, at the dinner table with men who have become his family, asking him again.

Christopher may have been able to admit it, his history before he ventured into the church, but Jisung? Not only was there nothing to admit, nothing to say, but there was a disgust that grew there in that empty spot, and Jisung couldn’t place why.

“No,” Jisung whispered, glancing down at his full plate he certainly wasn’t touching now.

“No?” Christopher asked, his voice soothing the harshness this once comfortable setting was turning into. Jisung dropped his fork and tossed the napkin from his lap onto the table. “Ji,” Christopher nearly shouted as the boy pushed his chair back abruptly.

Standing to his feet, Jisung threw his hands out to his sides and looked over the men around the slab of wood. “How can you all sit here and have this conversation? I preferred the stories, or when we discussed scripture, not women.”

“We weren’t even discussing it, it was only a question, we’ll move on,” Hyunjin said, willing Jisung to sit with a wave of his hand. The boy grabbed the back of the chair and shoved it under the table, rattling the glasses on the surface as he did.

“Han, sit down,” Jeongin said, acquiring a look from Minho.

“No, I’m sorry, I can’t,” the boy muttered, dragging a hand through his curls, exposing his forehead. Without another second or another peace offering from one of the men, Jisung turned on his heels and hurried from the kitchen, through the living room and up the stairs. He left them in silence, feeling sick and hungry all at once.

“Strong sense of justice that one has,” Jeongin said, shaking his head. “Even jokes he can’t take.”

“But, it wasn’t a joke,” Hyunjin said, his voice smooth and melodic, entrancing Minho every time he spoke. “It was a legitimate question, he has every right to feel upset or uncomfortable.”

“Of course you would say that,” Jeongin muttered, reaching for his wine.

Hyunjin jutted his head backward. “You know how he is, Jeongin, it’s not like this is the first time you’ve met him, Jisung has stormed away from this table more times than I can count. Even when we’ve had guests, members of other parishes here with us, other priests from other churches. You know Jisung, we all do, he’s going to stand firm in what he believes in even if that means causing a scene.” The man with the long dark hair and glasses balled up his own napkin and tossed it beside Jisungs, rising from his chair. “Now let me go talk to him like I always do, I’ll get him back down here.”

“No,” Minho said suddenly, politely holding up a hand. Three heads turned toward him. “Please,” he said, standing up, tucking his chair beneath the table neatly. “Let me. I think I may have said something to him earlier that brought this on. Please, let me apologize to him.”

Hyunjin, after a glance at Christopher, sent Minho on his way with a nod. “Up the stairs to the right, around the corner.” Once he was gone, a satin white flash, Hyunjin sat down and leveled with Jeongin, focusing on Christopher. “Has it been decided where he’ll be living?”

“I was thinking of putting him with me, but Hyunjin, if you’re up for a roommate…”

Hyunjin narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, the man the face of peace and serenity, a calmness exuding him. “Put him in your room, Chris,” he said, then looked at Jeongin who gave him a nod. “He got comfortable way too fast, you’ll need to keep your eye on him.”

Up the stairs to the right, around the corner.

The floor creaked louder on the second floor than it did on the first, Minho approaching Jisung’s door as quietly as he possibly could. Behind the inch of plywood Jisung sat on the edge of his bed, leaned over his knees with his head in his hands. The light bulb hanging from his ceiling flickered as he took deep breaths down into his stomach, easing the emptiness and the nausea that existed in unity.

The entire day played through his head, a cassette rewound and replayed as soon as it was over. A normal morning spent preparing for the weekend, for the three days of mass, in peaceful quiet, nothing more to do than hum to himself while he prepped the books and set up the candles. Waiting anxiously excited for his meeting with Christopher, he had no idea that his entire belief system was hours away from being threatened, questioned.

He’d been told stories like this one, how temptation would waltz straight up to the door and not even knock before allowing itself inside, seducing one without them even realizing it was being done before it was too late and they had nothing left to do but beg the Lord for forgiveness. It looked him in the face, it said the words to him, it put thoughts in his head he’s conditioned himself to ignore. When it came from such a pretty face it became believable. Considerable. His tongue was persuasive though Jisung batted it away, fought it out of his head.

Then, at dinner, to involve his seniors in such a discussion, one he didn’t even start, but continued. They’ve never spoken that way around Jisung before, that could only mean it was his doing, his persuasion even if he didn’t speak it aloud. He brought an energy that encouraged others to turn, even the strongest of the strong.

He’s just arrived, it hadn’t even been a full day, and he was already infecting the house and the men that lived inside. Jisung wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t stand for it. Tomorrow he’d speak to Christopher, he’d express his doubts whether or not the elder assumed it came from a place of envy, which it did not.

A knock sounded at his door.

Dropping his hands he glanced up at it and sighed. He’s met Hyunjin this way numerous times, he was simply waiting for the knock at this point. Sliding off his bed he took three strides over the hardwood and gripped the handle.

“I know what you’re going to tell me,” he said before he opened the door, “You can save your breath if you’d like.” Stepping back from the wood as he pulled it open, his breath catches in his throat.

“Do you?” Minho asked, a different type of emotion laced in his brows as he stood in the doorway, an emotion that Jisung couldn’t place.

Jisung longed to slam the door in his face, but he was paralyzed in place. “I thought you were Hyunjin,” he mumbled.

“I asked him if I could come instead,” he said, pressing his hands to his thighs. “He defended you, by the way, after you left.”

Jisung clenched his jaw and perked a brow, Minho watching it. “He usually does,” he whispered, sure of himself, and Minho swallowed a laugh. “Why are you at my door and not him? Go back downstairs and involve yourself in conversation of wrongdoings with men I thought I knew.”

He bobbed his head ever so slightly, that ghostly smile hanging around his lips. “I need to apologize to you, may I come inside?” Jisung lowered his brows and pouted in thought. He wanted to come into his room and apologize. “Better to not do it out here where everyone may hear me, I want to talk about what happened in the church.”

Jisung scoffed. “You keep your irreligious ideology out here, Minho.” Pushing the door shut, Minho caught it with one hand, staggering Jisung backward a bit.

“We started this all wrong,” Minho said, poking his head around the wood to keep his eyes on the boy. “Please, hear me out.”

“We didn’t start anything,” Jisung sneered. “You let me know exactly who you are and what you’re here to do.” A crack appeared on Minho’s face for the first time since Jisung had laid eyes on him. The cold exterior, the walls he’s built up, the facade he’s been portraying. It cracked, and Jisung sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and Minho took a step back.

Christophers words came back, “Minho came from a place that couldn’t shelter him, he needs our support.”

‘Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, with all malice, and be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.’

“Ephesians 4:31-32,” Jisung whispered, stepping back from his door, opening it as far as it would go.

Minho blinked, taking Jisung walking into his bedroom as an invitation and stepped inside. Taking the door in his hands he closed it gently and took his time turning around. He recited the passage aloud, the one Jisung stated, and turned to find the boy waiting, a plea for forgiveness on his face.

“You don’t have to give me that, it is I who needs to apologize to you, and ask for your forgiveness,” Minho began, taking a step closer. “I went too far. I said some things I didn’t mean, things that have been stuck within me since I was young.” With a twist of Jisungs brow, Minho breathed through a laugh. “People like you, people who have nothing but faith and total trust in their God, you challenge me.”

Jisung took a step backward and sat down on his bed. Gesturing to the desk in the corner and the space beside him, he allowed Minho to make his own decision, finding a spot to sit in the wooden chair that he pulled from under the old school desk, sitting on it backwards.

“If I give you a life story I expect one back, Han Jisung,” he smiled.

The boy nodded, his face never changing. “Just speak, please.”

Intaking a breath, one far too deep for Jisung’s liking, telling him he was about to get hit with the cold hard truth, Minho settled his arms over the back of the chair and spilled his mind.

“For the record, I’m not here to be a priest, even though Christopher said it when we met,” Minho shook his head, “That’s not what I am here to do. I’m quite content living my life doing your job. I stated that when I moved here, and I’ll be willing to say it again, as many times it seems fit so that you know that I am not here to take something away from you.” Jisung swallowed, keeping his head moving as Minho spoke, expressing he was actively listening. “I’m not fit to be a preacher, it’s not in my nature, I mean, look at us right now. You’re sitting here listening to me apologize to you when we’ve only met hours ago.”

“People aren’t my forte,” Minho said, then nodded his head. “But, they are yours. This life was meant for you, Jisung. I’ll admit, my behavior stemmed from a place of envy.”

Jisung sat up straight. “Envy?” he muttered, and Minho nodded again.

“You’re a legend now, Han Jisung,” Minho said, squinting his eyes. “Everyone who comes up in the schools behind you, they know your name. The two years you’ve spent here, creating another perfect name for yourself, you’re setting the standard. All of us in your position, we’re compared to you, and so many of us are rooting for you to move up.”

“Even you?” Jisung whispered, his eyes locked on the man in his chair.

Minho tightened his jaw. “Even me,” he raised a brow. “It may not seem like it based off of today, but I am.”

“What was all of that?” Jisung asked, gathering the fabric of his slacks between his fingers. “You had me up here contemplating whether or not to tell Christopher to fire you.”

A flash of that cracked expression hit his face as he looked away and shook his head. “Deserved, I suppose.”

“The words you spoke,” Jisung breathed, the disbelief clouding over him like it once had, “They were unnatural to me, Minho. A person in your place, here in this church, you can surely understand why it scared me.”

“Of course I can,” Minho answered. “Please understand I am still learning. I wasn’t brought up like you, like Hyunjin. I am much more like Christopher, having lived a whole other life before turning to Christ.”

Silence fell between them. After three seconds, Jisung lifted a hand, encouraging him to continue. The two sitting with one another like a sinner and preacher in penance. Minho, fluttering his lashes, pointed his eyes to the floor and dropped his chin.

“I was lost. I’d just started my late teens, maybe nineteen if I can even remember correctly, and I fell in love.” Lifting his eyes he met Jisungs. “Not with a woman, not with a human being, but poison. I was around some bad people at the time, the kind of people who speak like I had spoken to you earlier. Their influence was intoxicating, sometimes even more so than the garbage we fueled ourselves with.” Minho’s lashes brushed his cheeks with every blink. “I grew up with God, my mother, a single woman who had me quite young, she introduced me to his word the day I was born. We attended church every Sunday, that church up in Soro,“ he flashes Jisung a look, “Sometimes we’d even go during the week if she was able to get us there.”

“She was beautiful, everyone tells me I have her face,” he laughed to himself, and Jisung yearned to smile, because he believed it. “I left her when I turned eighteen, don’t ask me why. If I had to come up with a reason I’d tell you what I tell everyone else, that that teenage syndrome got me. She gave me everything and I ran from it, I abandoned her, my faith, my life that was quite alright, all because I met some people who sparked my interest. People who questioned my love for Christ, people on the other side who challenged me like you do, and you’re on the right side.”

A long sigh left him, Minho taking a second to collect his thoughts. The right side, Jisung was on the right side. According to Minho he’s been on the right side his entire life.

But, what of this wrong side?

Minho never said it was wrong. He’d simply addressed, and suggested believing in Christ was the right side, the right thing to do. Jisung knew what existed, he knew his probabilities after death, but this one was a new one.

Where there is right, where there is wrong… Is there something in the middle? A place in between it all where neither right or wrong exist? Could both be true at once? Could someone be right and wrong?

“What of the middle?” Jisung whispered, and Minho looked up in a hurry. “I was wrong as well, Minho. To dismiss your words in such a hurry that is, though I’m certain if they delivered differently and not in a way that attacked my faith I may have listened to you. I now know that either way I should have just listened to you, you know, if I’m looking to become a well rounded preacher.” Minho smirked. “I’ve never seen this other side, I’ve only known faith. Forgive me for the judgment, I don’t want to be this… know it all who looks down upon others.

“Just a know it all, then, right?” Minho teased. Jisung rolled his eyes while he laughed. “Come on, star student.”

“No, I don’t want that,” Jisung said, relaxing his smile. Shaking his head he took a breath and ran his hands along his thin legs. “I’m very good at what I do, but I’m humble about it.” Minho perked a brow. “I’m learning to be humble about it.” The boys shared a soft laugh. “When you’re isolated here with three other men who praise you like their lives depend on it, it’s a little hard to come down.”

“They care about you,” Minho said, and Jisung expressed his gratitude by closing his eyes and pressing his hands together, tipping his chin backward. “They want you to succeed. But, they keep you in check.”

Releasing a breath, Jisung dropped his hands and shrugged toward Minho. “They do, it’s necessary.”

Minho narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “Do you ever get time to yourself? When you aren’t serving them?”

A playful smile evaded Jisungs face, his disproportionate lips flattening. “Don’t test me, Minho.”

“I’m serious,” he held up both of his hands, his dark eyes shooting open wide. “I’m asking you person to person, unrelated to faith.” Grasping the back of the chair he tilted his head again. “I think it’s also me… checking on you. Do you ever get the chance to be you, and not Han Jisung?”

Looking from his hands to Minho, Jisung clenched his jaw along with his fists. After a breath, he mumbled, “I don’t think I ever allow myself to.”

Something flickered into place on Minho’s face, his eyes blinking, reopening to a complete fresh start. “Perhaps I can teach you, while you teach me.”

Cotton brushed over his fingers, the soft fabric tickling his prints while he straightened it where it hung. Lips pulled taut, Jisung studied the garment and made adjustments where necessary. Christopher had worn this yesterday, the green vestment adorned with silver and gold stitching while he stood before a church filled to the walls. Men, women, children, every eye in the room, on Christopher. They laughed while he spoke, out of pure enjoyment for his words. Their gaze followed him as he paced the length of the altar, waiting for him to say more. Children ran to him when he called them forth to give them His blessing.

Jisung, serving Christopher at his side, watched it happen with a smile. He’d never seen his superior happier, more alive than when he was preaching for hundreds of people, some of whom didn’t even have a pew to sit in. Holding their babies on their hips, their children in their hands, they were content in standing, keeping toward the walls.

They just wanted to listen. They just wanted to hear Christopher speak.

He had the power to bring them to tears, and he would, and he did, without even trying. Jisung’s never seen Christopher plan the details of the worship he’d lead, the priest would review, scribble mindless notes, and walk into the cathedral with his head held high and his shoulders rolled back.

And everytime, without fail, he’d knock them dead.

Or, to their knees, where they’d hang their heads in prayer. Jisung would wear this one day. So close to success, to his goals, everyone around him knew it as well. Just Sunday morning, standing beside Christopher after mass, heeding greetings and thanks as the church cleared out into the brisk September air, many women, many men, those who have known of Jisungs journey since the very beginning, congratulated him. Oftentimes they’d spend an immense amount of time after service talking with Christopher, or Hyunjin, or Jeongin, whoever had led, and evidently Jisung would be there too. They learned of his life, his dreams, the older women typically rooting for him more so than the men.

Over the last two years Jisung has built up his own reputation in the Church of Saint Joseph Calasanz. The people took pride in having him a part of their parish, their mission, their community, and Jisung took great pride in it as well. Partly the reason as to why he’d run such a tight ship, or attempt to. There was no room for disappointment. He wouldn’t allow it.

“Now that you’ve made it through the weekend,” Jisung took a breath, stepping back from the wall of fabric, tilting his head slightly to catch any deluding details, “How do you feel?” Turning around, facing his back to the corner, he sent a small smile down to the floor where Minho sat, his back against a table leg, a book in his lap where his knees were tucked toward his chest.

Pointed eyes flashed from the text to the boy, his jaw locked in place. “Fine.”

Jisung folded his hands behind his back and nodded, taking a few steps toward him. “Just fine? They’re going to speak with you about it,” he crouched down to the floor and sat on the carpet beside him, a foot of space between them, “You can gather your thoughts with me. Plus, I’m intrigued to know what you thought of how our services run.”

Minho loosed a breath, closing the book his eyes were skimming over. Setting it between him and Jisung, he crossed his legs and shoved his hands in his lap, letting his gaze fawn all over the sacristy. “It was… different,” he said. “Nothing like how we’d do things in Soro.”

“How would things go-”

“You feel informal,” Minho cut him off, shifting around on the floor to face Jisung who snapped his jaw shut.

“In-Informal?” he stuttered, moving to face him as well.

Minho nodded. “Which surprises me. For you, that is,” he said, his eyes dancing around Jisungs complexion. “With how much you look up to Chirstopher, I can’t believe you’re alright with how he runs his service.”

An unease sparked within Jisung. Unable to shift his eyes elsewhere, he had no choice but to succumb to Minho’s analytic glare. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t take what I say the wrong way,” he said. “Isn’t that what Christopher has to tell you? Don’t let these words get stuck in your head?”

Jisung gulped. “It’s a little hard not to when you’re speaking of someone who I care a great deal for.”

Minho smirked, then it disappeared as fast as it had appeared. “It felt informal is all. Christophers service yesterday morning. I noticed it was your most popular, the pews were overflowing, there were people standing around along the walls. He’s a great speaker and he knows how to connect with his people, but… The poise you convey, you didn’t get it from him. His mass is borderline completely imperfect,” he paused, then started to smile, “Perhaps it’s why he’s so loved by them.” Glancing down to his lap, giving Jisung a chance to breathe, Minho blinked and huffed a laugh. “They can relate to him.”

He tried to hold it, but the scoff came out anyway. Shifting himself away from Minho, Jisung pulled his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around his knees. The two spent a majority of the weekend together when they weren’t eating or sleeping. Minho helped Jisung prepare for mass, trailing behind him like a dog awaiting his next orders. The man attended mass while Jisung served, the elder priests decided it’d be a good start for him to observe and study the way things were done before he had the chance to serve himself, or take the lead on organizing one with Jisung.

Friday night mass went smoothly. Half the church filled up, Jeongin ran it according to his plans, Jisung served by his side, Minho sat in the first row to Jisungs left toward the end. The eldest priest held the most structural service, an older crowd looking for the stricter rules to follow, a heavier penance.

Saturday evening, just as the sun was setting, Hyunjin preached for a slightly larger crowd, one that now had more children sitting on their parents laps. He drew a younger crowd, one typically full of women. A quieter, calmer, more intuitive type of service to attend, Hyunjin went by the books but couldn’t help himself when a mood struck, swaying up and down the center aisle, taking patrons by the hands to exchange gratitude and take away their sorrows. His service wouldn’t end by the appropriate time, as hard as Jisung tried to make it happen, Hyunjin would either end early or late, whichever felt right to him. Minho sat in the back, behind the crowd, observing.

Sunday morning, Christopher's mass, the one Jisung leapt out of bed for. The most joyous of the three services this weekend. Minho acquired a seat in the middle somewhere, lost in the sea of headdresses, suits and fedoras. Jisung was the happiest beside Christopher. The two had a chemistry that Minho’s never experienced. The priest treated Jisung as if he were a younger brother, even outside the church doors. Especially outside the church doors.

In the late evenings, after everyone had eaten and the two older men stowed away to their bedrooms before the clock struck midnight, Minho spent some time in the study with Christopher and Jisung. Reading while the two of them studied notes together, while they read through passages together, both of them in an armchair side by side, leaning over the middle, Minho watched them. Christopher with his shirts top buttons undone, his broad, muscled chest and the gold cross that hung over his heart completely exposed, and Jisung, his fluffy hair pushed back on his forehead the more tired he became as the hours ticked away.

Narrowed eyes studied the paper, studied the text, flickering up to Christopher occasionally as the oldest boy read aloud. Deep cinnamon dusted with gold, sometimes swimming in a chocolate crimson, Jisung’s eyes held a greater love for Christopher than Minho had originally thought. Observing their connection over the last three days, Minho could conclude that Christopher had Jisung wrapped around his finger. With what he learned of Jisungs devotion to his faith, and the undying devotion and need to serve Christopher, within that big brain of his Han Jisung was nothing more than an insufferable people pleaser, and incredibly impressionable.

The boy stood with his skinny legs on shaky ground, a foundation cracked and horribly glued together. By Christopher, of course. What caused the cracks in the first place? Minho didn’t know, but he guaranteed it’d be easy to find out.

With how he reacted to the insinuation from a conversation held days ago, that he should broaden his perspective on the act of sinning, of those who do and have sinned, Minho knew what he’d done.

Don’t let those words get stuck in your head.

“You’re the happiest with him,” Minho said just above a whisper. Jisung dropped his chin, his focus down on his knees. “Out of all three, you’re the happiest with Christopher.” Only the boy's eyes attempted to look at Minho who smiled. “His service may be abnormal, you may or may not have realized that, and if you haven’t then I realize now that I’ve made some more unintentional waves…”

Jisung pouted his lips in what almost looked like disgust. “I did realize, I just didn’t assume it was a problem.”

Minho caressed his chin with a hand, somewhat willing his smile to relax. “I never said it was a problem, Jisung.” Leaning forward toward him, Minho tilted his head and Jisung finally turned his chin. “It’s strange to me, to know how you are, and to see how he is. Surely you’ve known of his past, a man like Christopher doesn’t keep it all inside does he?”

“Not anymore,” Jisung muttered. “He’s opened up plenty, to Jeongin or Hyunjin, and me.”

Minho gave him a half smile and nodded. “Me too.”

Jisung’s expression faltered, a shock bleeding onto his features. It took Christopher weeks in the start of Jisungs time here to open up to the boy. As curious as Jisung is, and was, Christopher held back, bit his tongue. Minho’s been here four days now and already learned of his past, his journey. He’d been trusted so soon, too soon.

“I know,” Minho whispered, as if the thoughts were written across Jisungs forehead. “Sharing a room with him leaves a lot of time to talk.” He pulled his brows together. “Did you know he hardly sleeps?”

“Yes,” Jisung hissed, tightening his lips. The way he toyed with the words, speaking them as if they meant next to nothing, it shook Jisung up inside.

Some sort of fear he supposed, it snuck its way into his heart. Every connection was different, Jisung knew this, and perhaps Minho needed to feel secure quicker. That had to be why Christopher was so lenient with him so early on. Minho needed the support, Jisung remembered. It did seem like Christopher, to overshare too soon, to gain his trust, to show that he was also someone who could be trusted.

“What have I said that’s upset you?” Minho asked, his voice quiet. His eyes never stopped moving, even when Jisung would meet them, Minho’s would continue their fondling of his features.

“It’s not what you’ve said,” Jisung mumbled, focusing down on his slacks that hung off his legs. Minho moved closer to the boy, the foot of space between them reducing to an inch or two. Jisungs breath caught in his chest, he didn’t dare look up at him.

“You can tell me, Han Jisung.” As playful as his tone was, it didn’t match the energy coming off of his being. Jisung couldn’t read it, couldn’t figure it out. “Better to tell me now then years from now when you have the power to fire me or send me away.”

Sneaking a glance at him, the chiseled features watching over him intently, Jisung felt a spark ignite within his veins, one full of nerves. “Christopher opened up to you faster than he did with me, that’s all.”

Minho’s lips tipped up, the entirety of his being having stilled. He waited for Jisung to continue, and when he didn’t, when he was quiet for a moment's time, he asked, “Is that all?”

“I’m still working through what we spoke of Thursday night,” he muttered in a rush, averting his eyes back to his knees. Jisung wished he hadn't said it. The words fell from him, seemingly unconscious. “And now with this I’m just not sure what to think.”

“About what?” Minho asked, his quiet voice sending a chill down Jisungs spine.

Blinking, scattering his gaze about, Jisung looked at Minho and pulled his lips into a frown. “I want to be the best that I can be, right?” Minho answered with a nod. “Christopher draws the biggest crowd, doesn’t he?”

“It’s not about how big the crowd is, Jisung.”

The boy squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his hair about. “I don’t mean it in that sense, I just… I want them to hear me.” Opening his eyes, he looked into Minhos, the man gazing down at him, listening. “I want them to listen to what I have to say, I want to lead, I want them to take from me what they need and I want nothing in return.”

“You don’t want their love and appreciation?” Minho asked, and Jisung sighed.

“Of course I do,” he whispered. “But, if what you say is true, that my name already holds some sort of bizarre meaning to people, I have to keep that up, don’t I?” With a tilt of his head, Jisung blinked and allowed his eyes to travel around Minho’s face. “I have to be the best I can be, I have to be the greatest and they’ll know that, they’ll look forward to that, I have to…”

His voice tapered off as a smirk grew on Minho’s plush lips. Narrowing his eyes, Minho could see the inner battle happening within the boy's mind, the torment he was putting no one but himself through. Whether his ego had completely erupted or not, Jisung was sure of himself.

Minho whispered, “You have to be God?”

Jisung’s soul leapt from his bones. Lurching forward, falling into Minho, he grabbed onto his arm, his knees digging into his lap. The boy’s eyes were wild, wide and frantic as he chanted his negation. His little hands wrapped around Minho’s forearm, the muscle strong and firm. Laughing while he expressed his disagreement for his words, Minho tipped his head back, his grin only growing.

“Never say those words to me again,” Jisung babbled on and on, shaking Minho as much as he could. “Are you messing with me? Why on earth would you ever expect me to say that, I would never think that, I’d never say that, I’d never believe that. If any of them heard you say that they’d question us both, you’re crazy! We’re in the church, Minho, and you say that? Is that what you think of me? Is that what you think I think of me?”

Minho smiled up at him, the boy half on his lap looking down at him still shaking him around. He ceased with a breath, Jisung, letting go of Minho’s arm, but not moving from his lap. Pushing his hair from his forehead, the act shifting who he was as a person entirely, the chubby cheeked bouncing boy turning into a striking young man for all of three seconds, Jisung dropped his hands to his lap and took a deep breath.

“It is not what I think of you, Han Jisung,” Minho said. The silence that engulfed them was deafening, different than it was a bit ago when the two started to work in this room. Far apart from each other. On opposite sides of the sacristy. Barely a good morning mumbled from Minho when he stepped inside shortly after Jisung, and now the boy was in his lap. “Don’t let those words get stuck in your head,” Minho whispered.

“How long have you known of me?” Jisung asked, not letting Minho even catch his breath after he spoke.

Stuttering, Minho pushed, “Years,” from his lips, and Jisung, locked in on his eyes, nodded.

Parting his lips to speak, Minho’s eyes flickering down to watch them, the door to the sacristy creaked open and Jisung hurriedly fumbled himself out of Minho’s lap, leaping onto his feet. Over the tables, over the heaps of furniture and antiques and books, Christopher walked inside with Hyunjin behind him, the two dressed in complete black, their hair neatly done.

“In my drawer,” Christopher said to the man with the long hair in close proximity to him. Hyunjin pulled the door shut and hushed him with one look. Wandering further inside, their gazes scanned the premises and found Jisung. Christopher smiled, Hyunjin perked a brow. “There you are, I figured you’d be here. Where’d you send Minho off to?”

Jisung glanced down at him still on the floor, his smile gone, his stoic default back in action. Though, his eyes were different. They weren’t analyzing him, nor were they judging him. His gaze was just that, a gaze. Jisung cleared his throat and shook his head, shaking away the feeling it gave him. The same one he felt after realizing he’d jumped into Minho’s lap on accident.

“He’s-”

“Right here,” Minho breathed, standing up, greeting the older men with a raise of his hand at his side.

“Ah,” Christopher chirped, walking toward the two. “Perfect, then.” Hyunjin hung behind, his eyes settling on Minho, his brows now a flattened line behind his glasses. “Jisung I was hoping to have a moment with you,” Christopher glanced between the boys, “Minho, that means I’m going to hand you over to Hyunjin. I’ll ease you in, I’m not giving you to Jeongin first.” The two shared a quiet laugh, one Hyunjin or Jisung didn’t take part in. “Plus, I think you’ll find that Hyunjin is easier to talk to than I may be.”

Minho pressed his hands together, smiling. “Thank you, Christopher.”

“No need to thank me,” he said with a shake of his head, “If anything, later on,” he leaned toward Minho, “You may be condemning me for putting you through his one on one exam of yourself. You may come out an entirely different person.”

Snickering, Minho said with a shrug, “Or perhaps not.” Hyunjin dipped his chin, staring at Minho from above his lenses. His intense glare didn’t falter even as Minho looked over at him. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“As am I,” Hyunjin sang, his voice a soft flowing melody as he took himself toward the door and outside of the church.

Minho smiled at Christopher, bid him goodbye, and gave a look to Jisung, one the boy couldn’t return. “I’ll see you.”

Weaving himself through the boy and his master, Minho followed Hyunjin outside, but not before Jisung managed to mumble, “Sure, see you.”

Once he was gone, out of sight and earshot, Christopher pulled a face and shoved his hands into his pockets. Sitting in his hip slightly, he cocked his chin and did a onceover of his prodigy standing in front of him. “What’s wrong?”

His voice, clear and strong, Jisung felt the need to jump, but he didn’t. “Nothing is wrong,” he said, quiet and meek.

Christopher pulled his brows together and chuckled. “You’re a terrible liar, Ji, you know this, what happened? Do we need to talk about something?”

Jisung folded his hands in front of him and glanced at the carpet. “No, Christopher, we don’t, I’m telling you the truth. I guess I’m still getting comfortable with this assignment.”

Stepping over to one of the sturdy tables in the room, Christopher brushed over it with his hand as if to check for dust while simultaneously teasing Jisung, because he knew it was clean, he sat down on it, his legs stretching in front of him. “Well, good, I guess this is perfect timing then.” Jisung tiptoed to his side and perched himself on the edge of the table as well, his legs not stretching as far as his seniors. In fact, he couldn’t even sit on the ledge, he simply leaned against it. “I wanted to talk about Minho.” He caught himself, tilted his head in thought, then smiled at Jisung. “The assignment,” he laughed, “Is that how you see this?”

Jisung shrugged. “In a way, yes, I do,” he said. “You said it yourself, I have to do this one last thing, and then I become you, or, I mean, work with you, beside you, like one of you.” Christopher, actively listening, nodded his head slowly. “I’m not taking this lightly, I hope you know that.”

“It’s you, Ji, I know that,” he said.

“It’s… strange,” the boy whispered, allowing his eyes to dance about the room he’s spent his morning in. “He’s come from a different world, it seems. Apparently we don’t run our masses like they do, or, you don’t run your masses like they do. He said they were informal?”

“And what did you say in return?” Christopher asked softly, watching Jisung search through his brain for the right answer. “Jisung?”

Releasing a breath, the boy turned his chin and cringed. “I didn’t say anything,” he whispered. “I feel like whenever he speaks I…” Jisung blinked, averting his eyes from Christophers.

The priest nudged his elbow with his own. “Finish that thought, Jisung.” The boy couldn’t look up at him, no matter how hard he tried. A sigh came from Christopher, one that pulled Jisungs lips into a frown. “You two are utter opposites.” Jisung nodded in agreement. “You’re ambitious, you’re goal oriented, you stick to a routine, a schedule, and you don’t let anyone steer you from that. Unfortunately, Minho’s the same way.” Now Jisung looked up at him, whirling his head around faster than he ever had in his life.

“But, but, you just said we’re opposites,” Jisung whispered in disbelief.

Christopher shrugged. “I may have just totally lied. I said that without thinking, though there is some truth… I mean, look at your two personalities, you’re confident and outgoing, Minho may be a little more reserved sometimes, a little rough around the edges. It takes a second to get to know him, but with you, it’s as if someone has known you their whole life. You’re inviting, you’re friendly, you attract people with your good energy.”

Jisung pressed his lips together. “And Minho doesn’t?”

“I didn’t say that,” Christopher narrowed his eyes. “As different as you two are, Jisung, I fear you have more in common than you think. Two sides of the same coin you two are.” Scrunching up his face, Jisung hung his head, staring down at the leather shoes on his feet. “You don’t like that, and I understand, but I feel as though you two could become friends. Give it some more time, it’s only been a short while.” When the boy didn’t answer, Christopher took a breath. “Is there something else that’s causing you to feel this way?”

Jisung straightened out and scanned the room while he sorted out his thoughts. There were maybe a thousand ways he could answer Christophers question and not one of them would satisfy his superior. He could bring up the fact that he was envious of the connection Minho and Christopher seemed to share, but that alone could cause a rift between the two of them personally, and that was something Jisung longed to avoid for all time.

He could tell Christopher of Minho’s irreligious speech the day he met him, how he sparked something within Jisung that the boy was planning to keep hidden, locked away in a box. Jisung didn’t want to get Minho fired, not now, not after he had apologized to him after that day, showing some sort of humility, but, apology or not, his words still weren’t sitting right. It was uncomfortable to think about the other side, the wrong side, or so the two spoke of it. Knowing it was not the way to go, not the correct stone to turn over, Jisung decided to swallow it down.

Then there was this morning, Minho questioning Jisung yet again, differently this time. Teasing him, in ways that Jisung, and the entire Catholic religion, deemed inappropriate, leading the boy to attempt to physically shake the idea out of his head. The act landed him in his lap, atop his knees, where Minho gazed up at him with his chocolate brown eyes so sweet it turned Jisungs stomach sour. He had no choice but to feel sour, to feel a disgust building within him. That was better than acknowledging the fact that looking down at him and his pretty face had made his heart flutter.

No, Jisung would not be thinking of that. There have only been four days spent with him, he was not ready to consider him a friend.

“I don’t think so,” Jisung ended up mumbling. “If there is, I can’t place the words,” he looked up at Christopher, “Not yet, at least.”

“I understand,” he bowed his head. “If you ever figure it out, you come to me, alright?” Jisung nodded, focusing back on his shoes. “Aside from working through the social aspect, he’s pretty sufficient workwise, correct?” Jisung flattened his lips when he shot Christopher a look, then the two laughed together. “Unfortunately, he is.”

The priest slung an arm around the boy's back and tapped his hand between his shoulder blades, three times. “Good to hear, Ji. That’s all that matters anyway, right?” Pushing off the ledge, Christopher took a deep breath and spun around in a circle taking in the views of the room with walls stretching high. “You really do such a good job here, Jisung. I’m going to miss it when you no longer have total control over what goes on around this place, this room.” Gesturing a hand around to the well organized space, Christopher started for the door. Gripping the handle, he smiled at Jisung. “Seems we’ve found someone adequate enough to fill your shoes,” he pushed the door open with a creak of its hinges, “Almost.” He was gone after a wink.

The worn leather of the chair comforted him, the cushions wrapped around him, pulling him in, keeping him warm, keeping him safe. A book in his hands, Jisung had his head leaning against the high back of the chair, sitting sideways in it, his legs pulled up on the arm, the book perched on his knobby knees. His copy of East of Eden wore torn pages, a curved cover and worn down edges. Jisung has been through this book more times than he could count, it’s been one of his favorites since it’s been published.

Ever knowingly clear to Jisung the semblance of Aron and Cal, the twin brothers the story parades around, the two are another representation of Able and Cain. Though Jisung feels slightly wrong for indulging in a warped story of two biblical figures, he cannot help himself, especially now.

After he ate dinner with Christopher, the other men occupied, and shared an insightful discussion, Jisung snuck away to this chair and stuck his nose in his book. He could read it with his eyes closed. Now, he kept a pencil at his side, and when something caught his eye or stood out to him, he underlined it, or he circled it, or he left notes in the margins to come back to later.

He blamed Minho. That pit in his gut grew, the one he discovered Thursday night in his bedroom while the dusty brown haired man sat at his desk.

Right and wrong.

Good and bad.

And Jisung had the nerve to ask, but what of the middle?

Could something be there? Was it possible to be neither good nor bad, just simply… existing?

Little life experience left him curious, he supposed. Having lived his twenty four years in the church, spending all of his given time serving Christ… He felt sick to his stomach thinking about it.

Jisung never knew any different. He knew God, and God knew him. He knew prayer. He’s memorized passages from the Bible. He could run a mass himself with his hands tied behind his back blindfolded. One day when he’s up there he’d actually like to try that, and he’d challenge the others as well. The others whom he cannot discuss this feeling with.

It felt sinful to bring it up around Christopher. As a man who’s grown into Christ, Jisung isn’t so sure he’d understand the intrigue behind going backwards.

Not backwards, inbetween.

Not toward the wrong, in the middle.

Regardless of triggering an awful thought for the others, the fear that struck him came from that place within him that desired perfection. If he were to come forward, he’d disappoint. If he let the men in the house even begin to think that he was having these thoughts of betrayal, all the work he’s done to prove himself worthy would have been for nothing.

Still, a curiosity grew.

It’d been silly of Minho to insinuate Jisung knew nothing of sin. He could easily shove Adam and Eve into his face, or Judas, or Peter, or Paul… Many have sinned, many have been forgiven. Nearly all. Christopher has come into his own, has moved through his obstacles with success. If he had been able to do so, Jisung figures he’s allowed to have this curiosity.

It was only natural, wasn’t it? And, how fitting for this to happen right before his promotion, right before he’s allowed to stand where Christopher stands.

Flipping a page, a smile pricks onto his lips.

Minho had been right after all. If Jisung were to become a well rounded preacher, a priest who understands each and every one of his churchgoers, he would need to learn of life beyond the walls he resided within. Jisung needed to experience something. That terrified him yet filled his gut with a cluster of butterflies he couldn’t quite understand.

Quickly, he slammed the book closed and tipped his chin backward, stretching his back as he blinked at the glow of the chandelier above him. Intaking a breath, he held it for three seconds, then let it out from between his lips, slow and steady. Twisting on the leather he placed his feet on the floor and took himself over to the bookshelf on the far side of the study and slid his book into place dragging his middle finger down the spine before spinning on his heels.

Sliding his hands down his sides, he rested them on his thighs, digging his fingertips into the muscle that only protruded because the boy lacked any substance. Clenching his jaw, he closed his eyes. Taking a slower, more intimate breath, Jisung released it through his nose and tilted his head side to side, the joints cracking as he did. When he opened his eyes, Christopher was standing in the archway of the study.

“Heading to bed?”

Jisung pulled his fingers into fists.

Tell him. The thought tugged at his brain.

Tell him, talk to him, he’d want you to tell him.

Jisung nodded, feeling a yawn overcome him. “I think so,” he mumbled, starting for the living room behind Christopher.

The priest's eyes drew toward the shelf the boy walked away from. “What were you reading?”

Pausing by his side, Jisung looked up at him, inches between them.

Sit him down now, this is the time.

“Just… Uh, just my favorite,” Jisung said. Christopher tightened his lips into some sort of smile. “Goodnight, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Placing a hand to his shoulder before the boy hurried off, Christopher looked him in the eyes and waited a few seconds before he said, “Goodnight, Jisung. God bless you.”

He tried to smile, at least, he tried to smile as big as he could. Jisung couldn’t find it in him. He knew he was a terrible liar, he’d never been good at the art. So better for him to try to smile, while he could sweep it under the rug with the excuse that he was tired, that it’d been a long day, and that he was not harboring these thoughts of other ideals.

He couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t tell any of them.

He would figure this out himself.

Barreling down the stairs, his copy of East of Eden within his hand, Jisung wore the tiniest smile. A week had passed, it’d been just over seven days of Minho starting his work here and Jisung could feel the older men warming up to him more with every passing hour. Sufficient in his work, Minho mirrored Jisung daily, keeping up with the details, keeping up with the way Jisung moved and kept the priests happy. The two fell into a rhythm unspoken. Jisung does, Minho copies him. Jisung speaks, Minho listens to him. Jisung struts around the church telling Minho every miniscule fact he’s going to need to pay attention to, Minho watches him spin in circles around the beams of multicolored sunlight pouring over him from the stained glass windows.

The moment in the sacristy, Jisung in Minho’s lap, they never spoke of it. Jisung thought about it everyday since it had happened, but they never brought it up together. He wondered if it stuck in Minho’s head as well, even though he now said the same things Christopher liked to say to Jisung, don’t let it get stuck in your head. Late into the night, unable to rest his head, the way that Minho looked at him haunted his being. It didn’t feel right. Staring at his ceiling, sifting through the unease around it all, Jisung attempted to rid his mind of the matter.

If Minho didn’t talk about it, Jisung wasn’t going to talk about it.

There wasn’t anything to talk about. At least that’s what Jisung told himself, that it was nothing.

Whether or not it was something, Minho didn’t make it known. So, Jisung took the older boys' lead.

Everyday Minho spent time with one of the priests, one on one time to get to know them, to bond with them and allow them to get to know him, something Jisung went through when his job first began. Hours with Hyunjin dishing out life’s mysteries and the things that clung to your subconscious, Jisung had appreciated it, but he didn’t really remember much of it. They’d spoken of things that Jisung hadn’t been able to speak about with anyone in, well, ever. Hyunjin delved into his restless brain, his energetic joints, and he picked it all apart, not one thought left untouched. By the end of it all, most sessions ending in tears, Jisung found himself able to open up easier.

The feeler handed him over to the scholar.

Jeongin spent days studying with Jisung. Knowing Hyunjin had given Jeongin a progress report, he found comfort in knowing he didn’t have to spill his guts to the eldest member of the house all over again. Possibly the reason why Jisung doesn’t remember much of Hyunjin ripping him open and sewing him back together, he never had to talk about it ever again. Days with Jeongin turned into nights with Jeongin, the two staying up late in the study or within the walls of the church, reviewing scripture and sharing thoughts on fact versus myth. Jisung found it easier to laugh with the eldest than the middle, which inturn made it easier to laugh with the youngest.

The scholar passed him on to the brain.

He was who Jisung met first. Christopher. After two weeks of surviving with little personal contact with the curly haired man, on the day he first met with him he seemed to fall straight onto his knees. Christopher figuratively picked him up with a smile, an arm around the shoulder, and became Jisung’s rock. After a month he finally felt like he belonged, like the men around him accepted him. Time spent with Christopher, incomparable to anything else. His favorite days were spent with him. The moments he held close to his heart, like the night a resurgence of his days with Hyunjin bubbled to the surface.

Tears streaming down his face, his pillowcase stained with the moisture, Jisung had just enough willpower to push himself out of bed, out his door and down the hall. Making sure he knocked on the right one, Jisung pressed his back to the wall beside it and sucked air deep into his stomach like Hyunjin had taught him to. Seconds passed and the bedroom door opened gently, dark curly hair poking out of the crack. Without warning, not wasting another moment, Jisung hurried into his arms showing no ounce of shame. Christophers warm hold, his strong arms around his back comforting him, Jisung sobbed into his shoulder for only God knows how long. On the edge of his bed, a mattress much larger than the one Jisung slept upon, the boy cried and babbled mindlessly to his mentor he’d only claimed as his mentor probably only a few days prior.

After that night Christopher shaped into a brotherly figure for Jisung. If he wasn’t one before, he turned himself into one for Jisung’s sake. The boy kept his fears, his doubts, beneath the surface. Way, way beneath the surface where no one would be able to find them unless they took hold of Jisungs heart like Christopher had. Right place right time, is what the youngest of the priests would say when the elders would question how the two had grown as close as brothers. Jisung knew this too, he and Christopher sharing sly smiles whenever the playful jealousy of the men would come into play.

They were very different, something they both knew, but they never let it bother them, or get in the way of a meaningful friendship, a connection deep enough they no longer had to express their trust, or their loyalty to one another.

Until now, it seemed.

At the bottom of the stairs, rounding the corner to the living room, Jisung came to a sudden stop. Perched on the forest green of the couch facing the fireplace, facing Jisung, Minho sat beside Christopher, the two hovering over a book, notebooks living on either of their laps. Christopher spoke quietly, the soft hum of his deep voice carrying over to the boy though he couldn’t hear what he was saying. Minho’s eyebrows were low, his eyes pointed and focused, paying attention to the man beside him.

He didn’t look like that when he worked with Jisung. Minho didn’t make this face when he studied what Jisung said, when they read things together, when they reviewed masses. He’d stare at him. Even while Jisung read aloud, Minho would stare at him, at his lips as they moved, at his eyes.The boy would crack jokes that he wasn’t paying attention, but then Minho would recite the passages straight back to him word for word showing him that he was in fact paying attention.

Next to Christopher, a few inches between them, he read the words, he scribbled in his notebook, he nodded while the man spoke. He answered Christophers questions with straight forward answers, not slick comments that weren’t always slick to try to get Jisung to snap, to fly off the handle. Seeing them together this way, working like he and Christopher used to work, a jealousy sparked within him. A jealousy that coexisted with the frustration that Minho didn’t take his work as seriously as he did with the elders, though that could be just it. Christopher was older, Minho needed to impress him, Minho longed to impress him. If he was anything like Jisung, Christopher saying the two were similar, then that was his goal.

Tipping his head up to crack his neck, rolling the joint around, Christopher broke out into a smile when he caught Jisung lingering in the archway of the living room. “Hi, Ji,” he said softly, and Minho barely moved his head, his eyes flickering up to peer at the boy.

Jisung cleared his throat, taking a few steps onto the carpet. “Hi,” he said, tucking his book behind his back. Christopher noticed and chuckled. “What are you guys doing? I’m sorry to interrupt.” Minho lifted his head now, his studious gaze now studying Jisung.

Christopher gestured to the books and released a breath. “Everything we did with you.” Nodding, he said, “Each church is different, the way they go about teaching the bible and spreading God’s word, so, naturally Minho and I are just making sure he’s getting into our flow of things.”

Jisung came closer, teetering off to Christophers side of the couch, dropping his eyes to the books, avoiding Minho’s stare that followed him. “Great,” he said, then lowered his brows as he looked to his mentor. “I did this with Jeongin,” he spoke quietly.

“And Minho is doing it with me,” Christopher said, giving Jisung his infamous tight lipped smile. Jisung swore Minho hid one as he turned his head away to focus back on his books. As if he could read Jisungs mind, Christopher bobbed his head and said, “We can have dinner tonight, okay?”

A heat rose to Jisungs honey toned cheeks. For some reason it felt humiliating for Christopher to touch on a fact that was unfortunately well known around the house, and now to Minho as well. A cold chill of juvenile washed over Jisung, as if he’d pouted his lips and begged for Christophers attention. To tell the truth, it is what he was asking for even if the words slipped out all wrong. The insinuation had been there, standing right at the scene of the crime. Jisung may as well have screamed the words.

“I’ll give him back soon, don’t worry,” Minho’s tone slithered across Jisungs skin. Meeting his eyes, they disarmed Jisung. Christopher laughed, turning to his books with a shake of his head.

“Come on, we’re almost done for today,” the priest said, running his finger over the tiny words on the crisp page.

Minho didn’t look down. He held Jisung by the gaze, barely blinking. Christopher had begun to read aloud, soft mumbles falling over deaf ears. Rich brown drew over Jisungs composure, drawing down his neck, down his body, where he clasped a hand over his button down and stood up completely straight. He moved quietly, Jisung did, loosening his collar around his throat that tightened while simultaneously making sure all of him was covered. Minho eyed his hand before his gaze dropped to Jisungs torso, staring him down shamelessly. Jisungs skin crawled, like Minho had the power to see beneath what he wore.

A thought that was pushed out as soon as it had shown up.

With a slow blink Minho looked up at him, his lips perking up ever so slightly in a way that made Jisungs stomach tighten.

Minho’s tongue poked between his lips, wetting the pink plushness, and then Jisung…

He turned away with the heave of a breath, not giving him a second look as he stormed from the living room toward the kitchen, hanging his head low, almost running headfirst into Hyunjin who stepped through the archway. Pushing himself to the wall as the boy rushed by without a mumble of apology, Hyunjin watched him hurry out of the kitchen door, heading toward the church. Tucking some strands of his long black hair behind an ear, Hyunjin glanced into the living room, making note of who was sitting on the couch.

Strike two.

‘Joe Valery got along by watching and listening and, as he said himself, not sticking his neck out. He had built his hatreds little by little—beginning with a mother who neglected him, a father who alternately whipped and slobbered over him. It had been easy to transfer his developing hatred to the teacher who disciplined him and the policeman who chased him and the priest who lec-tured him. Even before the first magistrate looked down on him, Joe had developed a fine stable of hates toward the whole world he knew.’

Jisung’s fingers clasped the edges of the book tighter, his bottom lip making its way between his teeth. In a corner of the silent sacristy, under the sunlight from the window above him, he nested in the safety of his comfort room. In the endgame of his book now, something roiled within him. An ice cold energy broke into his chest, a familiarity, an old friend.

‘Hate cannot live alone. It must have love as a trigger, a goad, or a stimulant. Joe early developed a gentle protective love for Joe. He comforted and flattered and cherished Joe. He set up walls to save Joe from a hostile world. And gradually Joe became proof against wrong. If Joe got into trouble, it was because the world was in angry conspiracy against him. And if Joe attacked the world, it was revenge and they damn well deserved it—the sons of bitches.’

That chiling energy spread, invading his gut, every vein. It hit him like it did the very first time he read these words.

‘Joe lavished every care on his love, and he perfected a lonely set of rules which might have gone like this:

1. Don’t believe nobody. The bastards are after you.

2. Keep your mouth shut. Don’t stick your neck out.

3. Keep your ears open. When they make a slip, grab on to it and wait.

4. Everybody’s a son of a bitch and whatever you do they got it coming.

5. Go at everything roundabout.

6. Don’t never trust no dame about nothing.

7. Put your faith in dough. Everybody wants it. Everybody will sell out for it.

There were other rules, but they were refinements. His system worked, and since he knew no other, Joe had no basis of comparison with other systems. He knew it was necessary to be smart and he considered himself smart. If he pulled something off, that was smart; if he failed, that was bad luck.’

Jisung snapped the book shut, tossing it beside him. It hit the carpet with a gentle thud. Threading his fingers into his loose curls, he tucked his knees into his chest and rested his elbows atop them. A lump lodged into his throat suddenly, one he gulped away successfully though it still brought tears to his eyes.

Side eyeing the book on the floor, Jisung took a shaky breath before he reached for it, shifting onto his knees, opening the roughed up pages to his place. Reaching behind him on the window ledge he palmed for a pencil, one rolling into his grasp. Pressing the lead to the page he circled Joe’s rules, all seven of them.

For years these rules have lived in his mind. These words have been stuck in his head. He pressed the pencil into the paper and circled them again. The letters struck him just as hard this time around, now that he had this secret, one that festered with shame. A guilt hung from his ribs, encapsulating his heart. He circled the words again, the lead digging into the paper. Sucking in a breath through his teeth, tears slipping from his round cheeks onto the leafy paper, he circled and he circled and circled until the lead tore a hole through the page and the door to the sacristy creaked open.

Tossing the pencil aside, book flying with it, Jisung hurled them as far as possible from him, he cried aloud and buried himself back against the wall, sheltering himself with books and fabrics and chests and boxes. Hands covering his eyes, he sobbed into them, fingernails digging into his scalp, his fingers clawing at his curls.

Footsteps came closer, a slow stroll that Jisung couldn’t pick up on. He could barely hear over his hurried breath, the whines he tried to keep to himself. Pulling his legs into himself, leaning over his knees like he once was, he heard the sound of a swipe and then the fluttering of pages. The urge to jump to his feet and tear the book out of the hands of whomever had interrupted him roared within him, but Jisung couldn’t seem to move. He was frozen. Paralyzed in a feeling he hadn’t had in years.

The pages stopped flipping. Words were being read. Six steps forward, and Jisung had been wrapped in their energy. They crouched down in front of him, Jisung unknowingly having ceased his crying since the book left the floor. Peeling his hands from his face, his tear stained cheeks and his puffy eyes, a gust of air is stolen by his lungs.

Minho, staring down at the back cover of the book, wearing the smallest grimace, flickered his eyes up to Jisungs when the boy took his shield down. Silence surrounds the two, but between them, some sort of understanding.

Blinking as he took in his wet lashes, Minho bounced the book in his hand and shook his head subtly. “Joe is shot and killed at the end of his story, you know that right?” He spoke gently, not an ounce condescending. Jisung, clenching his jaw tight, nodded. Minho looked down at the book, his fingers dancing over the cover. “You believe in him, in his rules?” His fierce gaze would’ve struck Jisung down if it were eleven days ago. “He’s not a good guy, I’m genuinely shocked you’ve spent so much time analyzing his character.” Minho sat down in front of Jisung, holding the boy's attention. “He’s a criminal, an escaped criminal. He takes advantage of a dying woman and her assets, and then shows off the fact he’s still very much a criminal, that he’s not changed, that he is and alway be what he was made out to be from the very start.”

Jisung found himself breathing steadily. Minho kept talking, rambling on about the character and every character involved with him. He held so much knowledge of the novel, too much, like he’d read it extensively like Jisung had himself.

“You’ve read this?”

Minho nodded. “Several times.” Popping his brows, he flipped through the pages aimlessly. “Cannot believe that you’ve read it, too.” Mumbling to himself, lowering his voice, he said, “Han Jisung, reading about betrayal, liars, manipulators, whores…” The two met eyes right when Minho knew the boy would speak up. “I know,” he cut him off before he could get any words out, “But, it says words like that right in the text.” Minho dropped the novel to the floor. “You’re the one who brought it into the church.”

Jisung’s lips were stuck shut.

“Why were you crying?” Minho asked, his tone soft, filled with knowing. “The book?” Jisung nodded. “Why?” The boy didn’t move. “For what reason?” Jisung clasped his arms around his legs. “It’s a story full of tragedy after tragedy. I figured you were more of a Wizard of Oz type of man.”

Jisung blew air through his nose harshly. “That’s a children's story,” he muttered, squinting his eyes, and Minho smiled. Jisungs heart sunk into his gut.

“I read it when I was twenty, I quite enjoyed it,” Minho said, proud of himself, tilting his chin up. Jisung couldn’t help but crack a smile at his face, the man's goal achieved without Jisung even knowing. “This is a Han Jisung I don’t know.” Looking at him square, Minho narrowed his eyes and took a breath. “A side of you I didn’t expect.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jisung whispered, glancing down at his knees. Minho scooted closer to him, making his head lift quickly in surprise.

“But, I will,” Minho said, nodding. Mirroring the way Jisung sat, he thinned his lips and flickered his eyes between the boys’. “Those weren’t cries over reading literature, those were cries that have been hurt. That have gone through pain.” Jisungs lip crinkled, and Minho nodded again. “You heard my story hours after meeting me, and I’m willing to go through it again. You can trust me, Jisung.”

“There’s nothing to know,” he whispered.

“I highly doubt that.”

Jisung released a sigh. “I swear.”

Minho pulled in a sarcastic gasp. “Strong words to support such a weak argument. Han Jisung, you expect me to believe-”

He snapped. “Why do you always do this?” Minho froze. “To me, you only do this to me. What, is it because I’m younger than you are? You’re a couple years older so you get to tease me like this?”

“Jisung, I didn’t-”

“You did,” the boy sneered through a laugh. “I’m not living out the rest of our lives like this, Minho. Stop doing this to me.”

It fell quiet, the only sound Jisung could hear was the pulsating of blood in his ears. Quickly regretting his outburst, he did feel ten times lighter. Minho didn’t look away, instead he smiled.

He smiled.

“Feel better?” he asked, and Jisung couldn’t help himself.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Minho bobbed his head, the smirk still evident of his victory. “Want to talk to me now?”

Threading his hands through his hair, pushing the curls from his forehead, they stayed flipped backward and Jisung watched Minho’s lips part in real time. All amusement washed away, he gaped toward Jisung, his jaw snapping shut only when the boy's brows twisted together.

It reminded Jisung of earlier, in the living room, where Minho sat on the couch beside Christopher. The moment that fueled half of the cries that bled from his lips. It frightened him, the way Minho looked at him. Jisung has never seen a pair of eyes so alert, yet so soft. So gentle, yet so powerful. So satisfied, yet starved.

Minho could read his mind, he had to have been able to hear every thought flowing through Jisung’s head. His chin tilted ever so slightly to the right, a subtle movement Jisung could pick up on because he was staring at him too. A weight tugged at his heart, no, tugged at his stomach. Minho’s pretty eyes blinked, they moved to Jisungs lips, and back up again. He sighed, pressing his fingers into his skin.

Jisung couldn’t begin to explain what was happening inside of him, he couldn’t pick it apart like he usually could. Everything he’s ever experienced he’s been able to logisticize it, figure out what it meant, know how it would end before the end ever manifested. There had always been a plan, a next step, a foreshadow, some sort of hint that would alert Jisung what came after this, what happened next. Locked in on Minho, the man's gaze softening more than it ever had since he’d met him, Jisung couldn’t think of anything.

He sat before him totally, utterly thoughtless.

“What’s going on in that big brain of yours?” Minho whispered. Jisung didn’t dare to move. Minho’s tongue slipped between his lips, a smirk threatening to break out as Jisung’s gaze dropped to it. “What are you thinking about?”

“I don’t know,” Jisung whispered, his brows flattening over his eyes. Minho moved himself closer, his feet touching the boys gently.

“I think you do.”

Jisung pressed his lips together and inhaled through his nose, letting the air out long and slow. That cold pit that once invaded his being had disappeared at some point, Jisung no longer felt totally empty. “Christopher doesn’t like it when I read this book,” he said, speaking quietly, gesturing toward the novel on the floor. Minho furrowed his brows, glancing to it before giving Jisung his whole attention.

“Why not? It’s excellent.”

“It is,” Jisung breathed. “But, it’s not good for me.” A perk of a brow was answer from Minho enough. Jisung tipped his head back against the fabrics hanging on the wall behind him and sighed. “It doesn’t put me in a good place.” Jisung looked at him again, the two sharing a head nod.

“Why pick it up again if it burdens you?” Minho asked, still as ever.

“I’m not sure,” Jisung shrugged. “I haven’t read it in a few years, since I’ve been here, but I was really attached to it through school. It was the one thing aside from my clothes that I brought from home that was actually mine. I bought this book. It’s mine.” Minho listened, he didn’t dare interrupt, not even as tears slipped down the boy's cheek. “I’d read it every night, I’d pick all these people apart, I’d learn from them, the right and the wrong, I’d take from them because they were there for me when nobody else was around. I gave my all to everyone, all the time. People took, and they took, and not once was I given anything in return, not once did I ever ask for anything in return.” Jisung reached for the book, shaking it in front of him, dropping it onto Minho’s lap. “They never asked for anything.”

“But, they still make you feel this way, why?”

Jisung scoffed, sliding his hands over his cheeks, wiping them dry. Slapping them to his knees, he shot Minho a look and cringed. “Because, Minho, it’s a reminder that nothing is perfect. These people aren’t perfect, life isn’t perfect, everyone around me isn’t perfect, nothing can be perfect, I’m not…”

“I’m not perfect, you know that,” Minho said. Jisung blinked and looked at him, the sorrow in his eyes making Minho frown. “Christopher isn’t perfect, you know that. The other two, I guarantee you they are not perfect. No one needs to be, no one should have to be. If you’re worried what God is going to think, you know that his love for you is absolute whether you’re perfect or not.”

Jisung watched him speak. He watched his lips, the way his cheekbones moved, how his nose scrunched a bit in emphasis of his word. His dark eyelashes brushed over his porcelain smooth skin, his complexion clear and bright. In the setting sun through the windows, his being was washed with warm hues of fading color, like that first day Jisung brought him into this room, his favorite room. He watched him speak, his words filling that extra space the chilling cold once occupied.

“You aren’t perfect, Han Jisung,” Minho continued, “But you come pretty damn close.” He glanced upward and waved a hand around, pointing to a small statue of the Blessed Mother. “Forgive me,” he said, and Jisung cracked a laugh. “I don’t know who turned you into this,” Minho turned back to Jisung, sitting forward, crossing his legs under him, “Or, if you did this to yourself, but you need to remember how incredible you are.”

“My parents,” he whispered so low Minho didn’t even hear him.

“Hm?” the man questioned, brows pulling to the center of his forehead. “I didn’t-”

“My parents,” Jisung said, nodding his head once. “The people who raised me, that is until they sent me to the all boys boarding school in Sainte.”

“The Preso Academy,” Minho mumbled.

“Yes, I was thirteen,” Jisung said, and Minho cringed. “I don’t know why they sent me, they never really gave me a reason, but if I had to make one for them, or to ease my mind, which it did, I used to tell myself it was because I looked like my mother and acted like my father. They didn’t know what to do with that, so they gave me to the school.” Confusion crept onto Minho’s face, and Jisung hummed. “Right, that part, gosh I haven’t told this to anyone since I started working here. My parents, the people who raised me, they’re my grandparents.”

Minho maintained a steady composure, shifting only when Jisung needed him to. Giving him a nod, he scooted closer, their legs now touching.

“I never knew my real parents, I was always told they split as soon as we came home, days after my birthday,” Jisung said. “My mother was fifteen, my father barely a year older. They left me with my grandparents, this was when they lived in Soro, but shortly after ending up with me they moved down here to Avida.”

“And then they sent you to Preso all the way up in Sainte,” Minho said.

Jisung took a slow blink. “They did. We spent all the years before practicing this religion. It was all we would do, all we would talk about, all we would read or listen to. We went to mass as many times a week as we could, and God forbid I didn’t sit still the entire time.” Taking a breath, he shrugged. “They beat it into me, God, Jesus, Christ. They sheltered me, they disciplined me, they sent me to bed in tears, but, they gave me the greatest gift I could’ve ever received.”

“Were you ever able to come home?” Minho asked.

“Holidays, the summer, the normal school breaks,” Jisung nodded, “Yes, I was. But, I tried to spend that time in the church, here.” He glanced at the door that led to the sanctuary. “I’d sit in the pews in the back, just to listen.” Minho narrowed his eyes, watching as Jisungs began to pool with light. “I’d walk here, rain or shine, through the snow, and I’d sit back there, in my soaking wet clothes, for hours. The choir rehearsed a few times a week, I’d show up for that.”

“You’d sing?”

Jisung let out a laugh. “Gosh, no, I’ve never even tried. I just… liked to listen. I still do. The music, it makes me feel good. Reminds me of those endless hours I’d spend here.” He lowered his eyes. “Because I didn’t want to go home.” Looking up at Minho, he pursed his lips. “Horrible, isn’t it? They put a roof over my head, they fed me, they taught me about Jesus, and I couldn’t spend any of my time with them.”

Minho shook his head. “Not at all,” he said, and Jisung screwed his brows together. “You’re surprised to hear me say that, really?” They both laughed. “What did you expect me to say? That you’re terrible, you’re going to Hell because you were a teenager who didn’t want to sit at home all day with his parents. At least you were in a church, Han Jisung, I was hiding in alleyways with broken bottles.”

Life experience.

“What was it like?” Jisung whispered.

Minho rolled his eyes. “Horrific,” he uttered. “I don’t think I want to get into it right now, I finally got you to talk to me about something else other than how amazing Christopher is.” Jisung thankfully laughed, easing Minho’s heart. The boy reached out and tapped his knee, Minho almost snatching his slim wrist, but held himself back.

“He is amazing, Minho, but now I know I no longer need to remind you,” Jisung smiled.

Smiling with him, Minho looked away, toward his lap, his eyes straying toward the book that sat on the floor beside them both. “Jisung,” Minho began, lifting his gaze to the boy, “You said the last time you read this was around the time you started here.”

“Yes,” he sighed, following Minho’s line of sight to the novel. He became aware of how close Minho had gotten since he’d sat down. He felt his heart rate pick up. “If your start was anything like mine, dealing with the three men in that house, then I know that it couldn’t have been easy to give them your story,” Minho met his eyes. “I know you may be holding some things back from me because I’m not Christopher, though I hope you’ll share it with me in the future, but, a conversation with Hyunjin must’ve not been easy.”

Jisung clenched his jaw and shook his head. “I do not like to talk about it.”

“Fair enough,” Minho nodded, “I just… Can I ask you this?”

Sitting forward, his legs pressing into Minho’s, Jisung whispered, “You can ask me anything.”

Inches spread between their noses. “You say they never ask anything of you, the people within these pages,” he paused, and Jisung bobbed his head, “Have you tried to escape through them because of me? Because of what they’ve asked you to do?”

“Minho,” he sighed, glancing away for all of three seconds, “No, it’s… Okay, yes, but it’s more than that.”

“Because of what I’ve said,” Minho whispered, his eyes catching Jisungs, holding them with a newfound strength. “Because I’ve taken you to that place where you fear imperfection. For two years you’ve been able to control it all. I know the men in the house don’t force you to talk about it, I doubt they even ask you about it.” Jisungs lips had parted somewhere amidst his words. The intensity in which he spoke accelerated his heart faster. It wasn’t in vain, he didn’t spit venom in his face, he caressed his feelings in understanding. “You’re awful at hiding things, you wear your thoughts on your face, ever since I’ve gotten here you’ve been struggling.”

Minho moved closer, if it were even possible. Jisung’s heart rose to his throat. Trying to ease his breath, the air moved through him short and rushed.

“Jisung, I’m sorry I took you there,” he whispered. “It wasn’t my intention to put you back into a bad place, if anything I wanted to be able to move you forward to a good place, that’s why I’m here.” The boys watched one another, Minho trying his hardest not to smile as Jisungs eyes danced over his face. His eyes widened more than they normally would be, a sappiness hanging within them. Shining, glistening, the deep cinnamon Minho could taste. “Please, forgive me, and let me help you.”

Silence. Beating hearts. Quick, curious, longing breaths. Full lips, a chiseled nose, beguiling eyes. What would it feel like to reach out and hold him in his hands?

Jisung squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head, scrunching his brows into a mess that mirrored the one in his head. Sucking in a shaking breath, he released it with a gasp as Minho took a hand to his jaw, thumb hooking around one side of his chin, turning him back to face him. Opening his eyes, shock flooded his irises. The soft skin of his thumb drug across his skin, then it touched his bottom lip gently, tentative yet so confident.

“You beautiful boy,” Minho whispered. Jisung went numb, his touch was electric. “Don’t worry,” he narrowed his eyes with a subtle nod. “I feel it, too.”

masterlist ✞ talk to me ✞ ao3

huge thank you & shoutout to @minkieater for always reading before something is posted and supporting me always <3

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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